HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/herfacewasherfor01robi
 
 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 BY 
 
 F. W. ROBINSON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 ''grandmother's money," "no church,' 
 '^little kate kirby," 
 
 (fee, &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MAELBOROUGH STREET. 
 1873. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 LONDON; 
 PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TDGWISLL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 BLENHEIM STBEET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 US 
 
 INSCRIBED, 
 
 IN ALL TRUE FRIENDSHIP, 
 TO 
 
 JAMES WEST, Esq., F.R.C.S., 
 
 OF 
 BIRMINGHAM. 
 
 
 5
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 CHATTER 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. In the big room at *' The Bull " 
 
 1 
 
 n. WmSTLESHAFT AT HOME 
 
 11 
 
 m. Helena ....... 
 
 24 
 
 rv. The INIeeting in the Snow . 
 
 41 
 
 V. Weddercombe 
 
 63 
 
 VI. Brother and Sister .... 
 
 71 
 
 YU. Valentine I^Ierrick .... 
 
 81 
 
 Vni. Frankly . . . 
 
 98 
 
 IX. A LATE Visitor 
 
 112 
 
 X. The Yol^^g Lady from Weddercombe 
 
 126 
 
 XI. The sick Housekeeper 
 
 142 
 
 Xir. Friends for a Night .... 
 
 157 
 
 Xin. A restless Woman .... 
 
 168 
 
 XIV. False Information .... 
 
 179 
 
 XV. Disco\t:red 
 
 193 
 
 XVI. A AVoiLiN AT Bat .... 
 
 210 
 
 XVn. The Terrible Past .... 
 
 222
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAQE 
 
 Xym. The first Friend 233 
 
 XIX. Very Young ! 249 
 
 XX. The Papers 257 
 
 XXI. Unconvinced 268 
 
 XXn. Another Mystery 278 
 
 XXin. The old Battle- Ground .... 288 
 
 XXIV. The Messenger 303 
 
 XXV. Reparation 312
 
 HER FACE AVAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE BIG KOOM AT " THE BULL." 
 
 " f^ OING, going !" and once more the ivory 
 ^ hammer was raised above the little car- 
 roty head of the auctioneer. " No advance upon 
 four thousand six hundred pounds t This mag- 
 nificent freehold property going for the small — 
 I may say the absurd — amount of four thousand 
 six hundred pounds ! No advance, then ? Go- 
 ing—go " 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft had really intended to close 
 proceedings at last ; in his mind's eye there was 
 no further bidding likely to ensue. The big room 
 at '' The Bull " was not so full as it had been ; 
 the company had grown weary of Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft's not too eloquent discourse — those who had 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 come for curiosity's sake were making a terrible 
 noise in descending the stairs, and those who 
 meant business were shufEing their feet restless- 
 ly, and gaping and rubbing their eyes — when a 
 low, clear, musical voice — a woman's voice — 
 brought fresh interest to bear upon the case, 
 and checked the downward tendency of the 
 hammer. 
 
 " Four thousand seven hundred." 
 
 " Four thousand seven hundred ! Only just 
 in time — thank you. Four thousand seven hun- 
 dred, I think you said, madam ?" the auctioneer 
 remarked, as if the sudden suspicion had seized 
 him that this might not be a legitimate transac- 
 tion — that some young person, *' up to her larks," 
 had made her appearance in the club-room of "The 
 Bull " with the intention of creating confusion 
 at the eleventh hour, and throwing out the 
 legitimate bidding. There were a stir and con- 
 fusion below him, and he was scarcely satisfied. 
 In the first place, the last bidder was a new 
 comer ; in the second, she was a stranger to him 
 — he who knew everybody in Chingford ; and, 
 in the third, it was a remarkable feature at a 
 country sale for a young lady of eighteen years 
 of age to enter the room and bid in propria
 
 IX THE BIG ROOM AT THE BULL. 3 
 
 persona for a shooting-box and fifty acres of land 
 attached thereto, it was eccentric — it was un- 
 bnsiness-Hke — it was so sensational that Mr. 
 Whistleshaft felt himself bursting into a cold 
 perspiration at the excitement and curiosity of 
 his friends, neighbours, acquaintances, and pa- 
 trons. Everybody in the room was looking to- 
 wards the last bidder, who, unprepared for the 
 attention which she had created, shrank nerv- 
 ously to the side of a tall, hard-featured, elderly 
 woman,in a big, old-fashioned straw bonnet cross- 
 ed with broad black ribbons. 
 
 " Four thousand seven hundred pounds !" said 
 Mr. "Whistleshaft, less energetically. " Come, Sir 
 Charles, another hundred," he added, almost 
 coaxingly, to the gentleman who had been out- 
 bidden ; " the property is a bargain at anything 
 less than six thousand. The railway will be 
 through it in a year or two — it's a fortune to 
 investors." 
 
 Sir Charles, a thin, spare man, with a black 
 cravat fastened so tightly round the throat that 
 it was a miracle it had not stopped more than 
 half the circulation of his blood, shook his head 
 emphatically in dissent, and then stood on tiptoe 
 to gaze over the hats of the company at the lady 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 who had outbidden him for the Weddercombe 
 property. He had, in his own opinion, gone a 
 little beyond the mark in offering four thousand 
 six hundred pounds — the place had been a 
 fancy of his ; it adjoined his own estate ; it 
 would have rendered his possessions complete, 
 and he had not considered a hundred or two in 
 keeping Bennett, the wholesale draper, away ; 
 it was the full outside value, and he had offered 
 it. Sir Charles was a suspicious man, and the 
 voice of the last bidder suggested a sister, or some 
 relative of Whistleshaft's, sent to run him up at 
 the last moment, the auctioneer knowing full 
 well that he. Sir Charles, had set his heart upon 
 the property. It was a shabby artifice, a trans- 
 parent bit of Whistleshaftism, he thought, and 
 ten per cent, more of the blood in his body con- 
 trived to squeeze past his black stock and 
 deepen the purple in his cheeks, as he reflected 
 upon the matter, and glared at a shght, graceful, 
 dark-haired girl, whose veil, drawn before her 
 face, did not dim in any great degree the lustre 
 of two big browm eyes, or disguise the excite- 
 ment and anxiety that were in them. 
 
 There was no further bidding. Had the 
 young lady fired a pistol at Mr. Whistleshaft,
 
 IN THE BIG ROOM AT THE BULL. 5 
 
 or made him an offer of marriage in the middle 
 of his business pursuits, there could have been 
 scarcely more confusion in the room. It was 
 very unaccountable, the auctioneer thought. 
 He wished that he had allowed his hammer to 
 fall a moment earlier. He had had a good offer for 
 a small property from Sir Charles, and should 
 have been satisfied with obliging the Baronet — 
 for the Baronet was an old customer. Heaven 
 and earth ! perhaps the young lady was a luna- 
 tic, and that old woman in the big straw bonnet 
 was her keeper ! The sooner the mystery Avas 
 cleared up the better. In the whole course of 
 his experience he had notknow^n anything like it. 
 
 " Going — no more offers — positively going 
 then, this fine property, for a mere song ! Going 
 — gone I Gone for four thousand seven hundred 
 pounds. Your name, madam ? Will you please 
 to step this way and pay your deposit ? Gentle- 
 men, I must ask you to make room for the lady ; 
 I must really." 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft descended from his pulpit 
 and took his place beside his clerk. He was 
 hot and nervous ; he was sure that something 
 Avas wrong by the manner of the purchaser, by 
 the noise and bustle of the county gentry and
 
 6 HER FACE WAS HER L'ORTUNE. 
 
 farmers and townsfolk who had filled " The Bull" 
 that day. He was prepared for any excuse, for 
 all his trouble over again that day week, for 
 giving the young lady in charge of the rural 
 constabulary, or entering an action against her 
 parents and guardians for allowing her to inter- 
 rupt him in his profession, and bring discredit to 
 him. Young ladies did not buy estates strongly 
 recommended for the shooting accommodation 
 they afforded, and for being situated in a good 
 hunting county. Why the deuce had he not 
 thought of that before, and not snapped at ano- 
 ther hundred pounds in his greed forcommission? 
 Why had he not asked the lady if she really 
 intended to purchase the property — if she had 
 fully considered the matter when she took him 
 and the company unawares by entering the room 
 at a late hour of that wintry afternoon, and bid- 
 ding, over the heads of the general community? 
 There was considerable difficulty in the pur- 
 chaser making her way to the auctioneer, despite 
 his remonstrances. The little world of Ching- 
 ford was a curions world, and was extra curious 
 that day ; and it was not till the tall, angular 
 woman, by whom she was accompanied, had 
 shouldered a passage for her companion grave-
 
 IX THE BIG ROOM AT THE BULL. 7 
 
 ly and persistently, that Mr. Wbistlesbaft and 
 the young lady were face to face, with a mob of 
 Chingford folk closing round them. 
 
 *' Is there no private room where this can be 
 arranged ?" asked the young lady, glancing with 
 a certain amount of nervousness at the faces 
 near her. *' Is it the country fashion to transact 
 business in this manner? Where is your office, 
 Mr. — Mr. Wbistlesbaft f she asked, after a mo- 
 ment's hesitation over a name that was un- 
 familiar to her. " I will call upon you in the 
 evening." 
 
 " Oh, yes," thought Mr. Wbistlesbaft—" it's a 
 practical joke, then !" He had been "done" — 
 it was all a delusion, and he the victim of it. 
 The whole thing was very plain. 
 
 " My office is in the High Street ; but, before 
 you quit the room, madam, I must trouble you 
 for your name and address, and for a deposit of 
 ten per cent, upon the purchase-money, as stated 
 in the conditions of sale, which you will find on 
 page two." 
 
 He had no faith in getting a halfpenny from 
 her, and he was therefore very much astonished 
 when the lady drew forth a small red morocco 
 pocket-book, and ^aid, calmly,
 
 8 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " That will be four hundred and seventy 
 pounds. I will give you a bank-note for five 
 hundred." 
 
 *' Thank you — God bless us — dear me !" ejacu- 
 lated Mr. Whistleshaft. 
 
 She was not an escaped lunatic, hut o, bond /ide 
 purchaser ! The bank-note was a guarantee of 
 good faith ; it was a fresh, crisp, brand-new and 
 unmistakable Bank of England note for the re- 
 spectable sum of five hundred pounds. He did 
 not remember when he had been more glad to 
 see a bank-note, and there had been epochs in 
 his career when bank-notes were scarce enough. 
 
 " I will write you a receipt for this," he said ; 
 " and, if you will favour me with the address of 
 your solicitor, I " 
 
 *' I will call upon you this evening, at your 
 office," was the reply. 
 
 " Can I call ujDon you, madam f he asked, 
 w^ith great politeness. 
 
 She hesitated for an instant, as though con- 
 sidering the expediency of the proposal, and 
 then said, 
 
 " No, thank you. I will call at seven, on my 
 way back to the railway-station." 
 
 " Thank you, madam. iVnyone will show you
 
 IX THE BIG ROOM AT THE BULL. \) 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft's office in the High Street. 
 What name shall I put down hi the receipt?" 
 
 There was so strange a silence in the room, 
 which was darkening now in the twilight, that 
 the entry of a waiter with two lighted candles 
 in plated candlesticks was resented as a turbu- 
 lent intrusion upon an interesting stage of the 
 proceedings, and an angry " hush " rewarded 
 his appearance. 
 
 " What name ?" repeated the lady, oddly 
 enough, and like a woman who was in doubt 
 concerning it, or reluctant to disclose it. 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft looked up, and the hard- 
 featured woman at his side said, in harsh tones 
 — " Shaldon." 
 
 " Miss Shaldon," said the other, as a lady's 
 address-card was placed by the side of the 
 receipt, which Mr. Whistleshaft was signing. 
 *• That is the name." 
 
 " Christian name, if you please f inquired the 
 auctioneer. 
 
 ''Helena." 
 
 "Thank you.'* 
 
 The receipt was filled in, and tendered to 
 Miss Shaldon, who placed it in her purse, and 
 then, folloAved by her grim attendant, walked
 
 10 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 slowly from the room, plenty of way being made 
 for her now, and many respectful glances being 
 cast in her direction. 
 
 It was in this wise that the Weddercombe 
 property was arranged to change hands, and 
 the mystery of Helena Shaldon began with the 
 first step towards the transfer.
 
 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 
 
 MR. WILLIAM WHISTLESHAFT, Estate 
 and House Agent, Licensed Auctioneer 
 and Appraiser, 4, High Street, Chingford, sat 
 before the fire in his best room, and waited for 
 the pleasure of Miss Shaldon's company. The 
 old-fashioned brass clock, in its mahogany case, 
 in the centre of his mantelpiece, had already 
 chimed half-past seven, proving that Miss Shal- 
 don was a young lady wanting sadly in habits 
 of punctuality, a virtue which, as a rule, is set 
 down as incontestably feminine. When it was 
 a quarter to eight, a pretty, auburn-haired, 
 fresh-faced girl, of sixteen or seventeen years 
 of age, put her head round the door, and laugh- 
 ed pleasantly at her brother.
 
 12 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " How about this wonderful Miss Shalclon 
 now, Will ?" 
 
 '• It's rather odd, but I haven't given her up 
 yet," was the reply. 
 
 *' Has she given you up ?" was the sister's 
 suggestion. 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't, Polly," Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft said, querulously. " I don't wish to be 
 interrupted or disturbed, I wish that I hadn't 
 told you anything concerning this business." 
 
 " Oh, how cross we are !" ejaculated Miss 
 W^histleshaft ; and then the door closed with 
 the faintest suspicion of a slam, and Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft was left to himself. 
 
 " Thank heaven I've got a deposit !" he mut- 
 tered. 
 
 When the timepiece had struck eight, he took 
 the bank-note from his pocket-book, and in- 
 spected it carefully. There was no doubt of its 
 legitimacy — so far so good ; but what was the 
 next step, if Miss Shaldon had left for London 
 without favouring him with that call which she 
 had promised ? He was of a nervous, even an 
 irritable temperament, for he walked about the 
 room, and round and round his horse-hair-bot- 
 tomed chairs, dropping into each in turn, making
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 13 
 
 fitful snatches at a local newspaper, and vainly 
 eudeavoiu'ing to take an interest in its contents. 
 
 " It's deuced annoying," be said, when he 
 was standing by the window, with the blind 
 drawn partly aside ; " I wonder where she has 
 got to?" 
 
 The windows of Mr. AVhistleshaft's best room 
 looked upon the High Street, which was dimly 
 lighted by gas, and deserted at that hour. The 
 Ghingford folk went early to bed, and there was 
 not a shop open in the place. It was a dull, 
 dark night, and as he pressed his face close to 
 the glass, he became aware that soft filaments 
 of snow — the forerunners of a Winter's storm 
 — were flickering slantwise across the street. 
 
 •• It's not a nice night, but then business is 
 business," he soliloquised ; " and if I knew where 
 to find her, I'd " 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft jumped back a foot, as a big 
 bare hand — a claw-like kind of hand — swung 
 itself round from the left, where his street door 
 was,rand rattled its nails with startling sudden- 
 ness against the window-pane through which 
 he had been peering. Before he had recovered 
 himself, a sallow, rigid countenance was pressed 
 against the glass without. The auctioneer.
 
 14 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 who was a man of observation, recognised the 
 woman by whom Miss Shaldon had been accom- 
 panied that afternoon. 
 
 " Let me in," he heard her say distinctly ; 
 and Mr. Whistleshaft took the hint, and went 
 into his small hall, opened the street door, and 
 admitted the woman, who entered with ponder- 
 ons-like steps, as a man might have done carry- 
 ing a heavy weight on his back. Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft peered eagerly over her shoulder, in the 
 hope of discovering Miss Shaldon behind her, 
 but there was no sign of that lady. He was 
 far from satisfied, and when his visitor was 
 standing in the hall, he put his head round the 
 door into the cold street. 
 
 "Are you looking for anyone?" asked a grat- 
 ing voice in his ear. 
 
 " For your mistress," he replied ; " is she — 
 isn't she " 
 
 '* No — she is not." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft took the reply to mean that 
 Miss Shaldon was not coming that evening. 
 He shut his street door, and led the way to the 
 room he had quitted, placing a chair for his 
 visitor, who sat down therein with all her
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 15 
 
 weight — and she was evidently a weighty wo- 
 man — after which it was heard cracking like a 
 nut. Looking at her as she sat under an un- 
 pretentious ormolu finger-post kind of gas 
 branch, he was astonished at her height, and 
 angularity, and ugliness. She might have 
 passed for a man in disguise, had it not been 
 for a certain womanly expression that is difficult 
 to define, and that not even her unmitigated 
 plainness could take away. She was an older 
 woman also than he had heretofore imagined, 
 for, as she pushed back the bonnet from her 
 face, as if to breathe more freely, and as women 
 of an inferior class are in the habit of doing, 
 Mr. Whistleshaft observed that her hair was as 
 white as snow. He regarded this fact with too 
 much intentness to please her, for she absolute- 
 ly scowled at him. 
 
 " Never mind that," she said, gruffly ; " I can't 
 help it." 
 
 " Excuse me ; I was only wondering " 
 
 " Whether it was age or trouble f she said, 
 quickly. " Say trouble. Now let us get on." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft wondered what kind of 
 trouble had bleached her hair ; but he sat oppo-
 
 16 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 site her, and did not put his wonderment into 
 words. 
 
 " I have had some difficulty to find you," the 
 woman commenced. " It's " like a dead street 
 after dark." 
 
 " It's a little dull, perhaps, but my name is 
 on the brass-plate outside." 
 
 " I didn't see it, and I didn't care to ask any- 
 body," she replied. " I have come to say that 
 my mistress — you were right about her being 
 my mistress — will see you at ' The Bull.' " 
 
 *' Miss Shaldon is there, then ? I was afraid 
 that she had left Chingford by the eight o'clock 
 train." 
 
 " She will not leave Chingford at all." 
 
 *' I shall be most happy to Avait upon Miss 
 Shaldon at ' The Bull,' " said Mr. Whistleshaft, 
 very politely — for Miss Shaldon was rich, and 
 might put business in his way. " I liope that 
 Miss Shaldon has not expected me. I certainly 
 understood that her intention was to call here 
 upon her wa}^ to " 
 
 " London. So it was. But she has changed 
 her mind." 
 
 " Changed her mind." Mr. Whistleshaft felt 
 uneasy and nervous again. If this mysterious
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 17 
 
 Miss Shaldon was of so volatile a disposition, 
 it was probable that she had changed her mind 
 concerning the purchase of the Weddercombe 
 property, and wanted her deposit back. He 
 was of a conciliatory and obliging disposition, 
 but, so far as that little point was concerned — 
 not if he knew it ! 
 
 " x\t what time will it suit Miss Shaldon's 
 convenience to see me, my good woman ?" was 
 his next inquiry. 
 
 The " good woman " had one unamiable trait 
 — her temper was not of the best, the trouble 
 at which she had hinted having possibly soured 
 it. She knit her brows, thick and bushy and 
 grey, at the patronising cognomen which Mr. 
 Whistleshaft had bestowed upon her. In small 
 matters there was an odd punctiliousness about 
 her. 
 
 " i don't care to be ' good-womaned,' " she 
 said, half thoughtfully ; " my name is Graves." 
 
 It was not a cheerful kind of name, and Mr. 
 Whistleshaft's back broke into goose-flesh. 
 
 "It will suit Miss Shaldon's convenience to 
 see you now," she said, half satirically ; " and 
 you can come along with me." 
 
 " Certainly," said he, rising with alacrity. 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 He would be glad to understand the position, 
 Miss Shaldou, and even Mrs. Graves, more 
 clearly, and the sooner the interview liad taken 
 place the better. Mrs. Graves did not rise with 
 him, hoW'Cver. 
 
 " I think she will see you now," Mrs. Graves 
 added, somewhat doubtfully. ^' She has met 
 friends, but I suppose they have gone by this 
 time." 
 
 " Oh, she has friends in Chingford, then ?" 
 Mr. Whistleshaft exclaimed. 
 
 *' No, they're not Chingford people. It's they 
 that stopped her coming here." 
 
 " 1 see," said Mr. Whistleshaft. 
 
 " She's a young lady with many friends ; you 
 needn't think she's without them because she's 
 here with me for company, or because " 
 
 She did not complete her sentence. She rose, 
 and, after tightening a plaid shawl across her 
 chest, walked towards the door. Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft was a curious man, and in this instance 
 he was bursting with curiosity. 
 
 " Because Mrs. Graves ?" he said, interro- 
 gatively. 
 
 " Or because she comes to such a place as 
 Weddercombe," Mrs. Graves said, after a steady
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 19 
 
 stare at the auctioneer, '^ which suits her, and 
 which she will suit." 
 
 '^But " 
 
 " Shall we go r 
 
 Mrs. Graves did not wait for an answer to 
 this question, but strode into the passage, and 
 endeavoured, without success, to open the door. 
 
 " Allow me, Mrs. Graves," said Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft ; " there are two locks, you see." 
 
 " What do you want with two locks ?" asked 
 Mrs. Graves, somewhat curious in her turn. 
 
 " One is kept locked during the day ; at night 
 the second is an additional security." 
 
 "Are there bad characters about this place, 
 then r 
 
 "Certainly not," was the unhesitating reply. 
 
 " I'm glad to hear it," she muttered to her- 
 self, as if it were a matter of importance to 
 her. Mr. Whistleshaft, a trifle more perplexed, 
 stepped after her into the street ; he closed the 
 door behind him, and the two incongruous items 
 of humanity went together up the High Street, 
 where the snow had it all its own way along 
 with the wind, and was whirling and eddying 
 in sharp fierce currents that were unpleasant to 
 confront. 
 
 c2
 
 20 HER FACE ^YAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 '' It's a rough night," said the auctioneer ; 
 " Miss Shaldon was quite right not to face the 
 elements." 
 
 ^'Ay," was the half assent, as Mrs. Graves 
 trudged on, with her bonnet so much upon her 
 shoulders that Mr. Whistleshaft was half dis- 
 posed to tell her of it. She had forgotten that 
 the heat of his room had led her to push it im- 
 patiently from her face, and of the snow of 
 heaven drifting a little amidst time's snow upon 
 her head she took no heed. 
 
 "Miss Shaldon does not look very strong," 
 he said. 
 
 He w^as more interested in Miss Shaldon than 
 in Mrs. Graves, and any information concerning 
 her would be thankfully received. He was a 
 young man — only eight-and-twenty — and youth 
 and beauty interested him almost as much as 
 auctioneering, or the affairs of his friends and 
 neighbours, or the general news of Chingford, 
 which was a place, however, that rarely had 
 any news beyond the market prices. 
 
 " She is strong — you mistake," said Mrs. 
 Graves. 
 
 " A slight girl, pale, and delicate-looking — I 
 should scarcely have thought that," he said.
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOME. 21 
 
 " She is very strong," Mrs. Graves repeated ; 
 *' I do not know that I have met, in all my life, 
 a stronger woman." 
 
 " Strong-minded, you mean ?" 
 '' I don't mean that." 
 
 " Will she keep much company at Wedder- 
 combe, supposing that she has taken Wedder- 
 combe for herself, do you think?" continued the 
 
 auctioneer. " Or perhaps her parents, or " 
 
 He stopped as the ungloved and hard hand of 
 his companion gripped his arm familiarly. 
 
 " You are a curious man, I take it," said the 
 old woman ; " shall I give you some advice be- 
 fore we go any further'?" 
 
 " Ahem ! yes, if it will be of any use to me," 
 he said, discomfited by her earnestness and 
 gravity. 
 
 " Ad\ace from old people is often of benefit to 
 the young," she remarked, sententiously ; " and 
 you do not appear to be a particularly wise 
 young man." 
 
 " Don't I, though ?" he replied, with a forced 
 little laugh. '^ Well, what's the advice, old 
 lady?" 
 
 "It's no use trying to worm anything out of 
 me — cleverer people than you have tried that
 
 22 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 before," she said bluntly ; " and it's no use yonr 
 trying to get anything out of my mistress. You 
 will best serve her and your own trade by 
 leaving her alone. She has nothing to disguise, 
 but nothing to relate, and she will object most 
 strongly to any interference." 
 
 " T don't want to interfere with Miss Shal- 
 don," said Mr. Whistleshaft, restive beneath this 
 reproof; "what made you think that I did? 
 I'm not an inquisitive man, thank Heaven ; I'm 
 well known and respected, and looked up to in 
 this town, and anybody can tell you that's the 
 truth, ma'am." 
 
 Mrs. Graves was not paying much attention 
 to this encomium. When he had finished, she 
 said — 
 
 " I will tell you, if you like, what my mistress 
 has come to Weddercombe for." 
 
 " What for ?" he asked in a tone which belied 
 part of his last assertion. 
 
 " Peace." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Whistleshaft, baJBled for an in- 
 stant ; then he added sharply, " Hasn't she found 
 any peace where she came from ?" 
 
 Mrs. Graves, startled at this rejoinder, pulled 
 her bonnet over her head, and walked on more
 
 WHISTLESHAFT AT HOIklE. 23 
 
 rapidly. It was one point scored by the auc- 
 tioneer. 
 
 " I did not say that," she replied, hastily. 
 
 There was no further conversation between 
 them till " The Bull Inn " was reached. Outside 
 its doors she pointed to a window immediately 
 above the portico. 
 
 " Is that blind drawn to the bottom of the 
 window?" she inquired. "My eyesight is not 
 what it used to be." 
 
 " It's drawn down half way." 
 
 *' You'll have to wait somewhere till you're 
 sent for, then." 
 
 *'I shall be in the coffee-room. Anyone 
 knows me," he said, boastfully, as he strutted 
 into the coffee-room aforesaid; and Mrs. Graves 
 went up a broad flight of brass-edged stairs 
 without taking further heed of him.
 
 24 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HELENA. 
 
 THE auctioneer and estate agent, who, by 
 some ingenious means, had contrived to 
 make a living out of the little town of Ching- 
 ford, was not a being of any great degree of 
 refinement. It may be set down in three words 
 that he was a vulgar man. His own words 
 make good the assertion. 
 
 " This is a blessed rum start !" he said, as he 
 marched into the coffee-room and towards the 
 fire burning therein, shaking off the snow from 
 his hat and coat as he proceeded. 
 
 He was perplexed, and did not see his way. 
 There was something very mysterious about 
 Miss Shaldon and the old woman who was her 
 companion, and the more he saw of them the 
 less he understood them. What did that hate-
 
 HELENA. 25 
 
 fill old woman mean by giving him advice, by 
 setting herself up as his equal, by almost warn- 
 ing him ? And then, as a climax, to bring him to 
 "The Bull Inn," where he discovered that a code 
 of signals with the window-blinds had been 
 arranged between mistress and servant before 
 he could procure the honour of an admittance to 
 the former ! Brooding upon it all as he walked 
 towards the extremity of the room, he arrived 
 at the conclusion that it was " a blessed rum 
 start,*' and, though he might have expressed 
 himself in more graceful phraseology, he was 
 certainly correct in the main. 
 
 He was not aware until he had reached the 
 hearth-rug that a man was ensconced in a 
 capacious leathern arm-chair before the fire. 
 The back of the chair was turned towards him ; 
 and the individual, sleeping with his hands in 
 his pockets and his shoulders above his ears, 
 was another little surprise when he had reached 
 the mantelpiece. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir — I did not know 
 
 that " Mr. Whistleshaft began, and then he 
 
 came to an abrupt conclusion, as he discovered 
 that the stranger was sleeping heavily. " One 
 of Miss Shaldon's friends," was his next idea, as
 
 26 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 he looked down upon him. Certainly a stranger, 
 a person whom he had not seen before in Ching- 
 ford ; he should have known him if he had. No, 
 he had not seen that face before — he should 
 never forget it again. He stood with his back 
 to the fire and studied it, as if it were a face 
 that he should like to learn by heart. It was 
 rather a handsome countenance in its repose, 
 with a forehead that overhung the eyes a little, 
 and was surmounted by a mass of brown hair, 
 wavy and tangled, which flourished luxuriantly ; 
 a moustache of enormous length trailed from his 
 lips almost to his shoulders. He was shabbily 
 dressed, his coat cuffs were frayed, and there 
 was a wide rent and a glimpse of dirty linen 
 under his left arm. At his feet lay a felt hat, 
 which had slipped from his nerveless fingers in 
 his sleep and fallen to the floor. 
 
 " Yes, my man, I shall know you again, if it 
 is necessary," said Mr. Whistleshaft. " Perhaps 
 you're another Shaldon — a poor relation, or a 
 disreputable one ; there's no telling who you 
 are, but, if you haven't something to do with 
 those two witches up-stairs, I'm hanged !" 
 
 The door opened, and Mrs. Graves entered, 
 with a letter in her hand. She had removed
 
 HELENA. 27 
 
 her bonnet, and looked, if possible, more angular 
 without it. She beckoned to Mr. Whistleshaft, 
 who crossed the room towards her. 
 
 *' Miss Shaldon waits for you," she said. 
 
 " Will you lead the way, Mrs. Graves f 
 . *' It is room Xo. 14. You can find it yourself, 
 I hope." 
 
 *' I'll try," he said. 
 
 He went out of the room, and Mrs. Graves 
 held the door open and watched him up the 
 stairs. He glanced back when he knew that 
 the turn of the staircase would take him out of 
 view, and Mrs. Graves was still following him 
 with her keen grey eyes, almost as if she doubt- 
 ed him — almost as if she suspected that he would 
 retrace his steps and come back to listen. As 
 if he would have dreamed of such a dirty action 
 as that I 
 
 He reached the door of Xo. 14 and knocked. 
 A soft voice from within bade him enter, and 
 he turned the handle and stepped into the 
 room. 
 
 Miss Shaldon was sitting at an open desk, 
 with a pen in her right hand, and her left sup- 
 porting her head. She was gazing very intent- 
 ly at the door, and it was not till he had closed
 
 28 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 it behind hira and approached her that the 
 thoughtful far-away look died out of her eyes. 
 She was very pretty he had thought that after- 
 noon, but, without her hat and veil, and with 
 her raven hair in striking contrast to her pale 4l 
 face, she appeared, even to this unrefined in- f 
 truder, singularly beautiful. There was hardly 
 a fault to be discovered in her features, which 
 were of a Grecian type, and betokened refine- 
 ment, education, possibly high birth. It was a 
 speaking countenance, as the phrase runs — it 
 told a great deal of its owner's thoughts in its 
 strange flexibility. She had been almost afraid, 
 Mr. Whistleshaft thought shrewdly, that some 
 one else Avould enter the room instead of him — 
 perhaps " that seedy cove" downstairs, with a 
 moustache big enough for six. She seemed 
 very glad to see him instead, and William 
 Whistleshaft took it as a compliment. 
 
 " Good evening," Miss Shaldon said, cheerful- 
 ly, with a smile that seemed to set him in a 
 glow, and give him pins and needles in his 
 temples ; " pray sit down, Mr. Whistleshaft. I 
 have to apologise for bringing you back to the 
 inn, but I could not call at your house, as I had 
 at first intended — I was detained here."
 
 HELENA. 29 
 
 " It is of no consequence," said the auctioneer, 
 politely. 
 
 " This is a dreadful night to bring you from 
 your fireside — from your wife and family, per- 
 haps ?" 
 
 "I am not married, Miss Shaldon," he hasten- 
 ed to explain. 
 
 " That is a disadvantage to a business man, I 
 have heard," she said ; " but then I have heard 
 a great many wise observations in my life." 
 
 There was a ring of satire, even of sadness, 
 in her tones, but she shook it off like a water- 
 drop the instant afterwards. She was a young 
 woman of much excitability, of ready speech 
 and action. 
 
 " Concerning this Weddercombe estate now ? 
 We will get to business, if you please." 
 
 " If you please, madam." 
 
 "I see here" — and she took from the table 
 the printed papers relating to the sale, and let 
 them drop again — " that the purchaser is en- 
 tij:led to immediate possession of the property. 
 What do you call immediate possession?" 
 
 " As soon as the deeds can be examined by 
 your soHcitor, and the fresh deed conveying 
 the property to you is made out, signed, and 
 sealed."
 
 30 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Are your solicitors honourable men ?" 
 
 " To be sure !" cried Mr. Whistleshaft, shocked 
 at so personal an inquiry. 
 
 " Of long standing in the county ?" 
 
 " The firm, from father to son, has existed in 
 these parts a hundred years." 
 
 " I will leave the matter in their hands alto- 
 gether. I can trust them as my solicitors also. 
 It's a matter of no great consequence if I can't," 
 she added. 
 
 " Of no great consequence !" Did she mean 
 by that sudden and reckless observation that, if 
 she were even defrauded of her property, it 
 would not matter ? How rich the young lady 
 must be ! 
 
 *' I will write to them this evening," she 
 said ; " I wish to be settled at Weddercombe 
 before the week is out." 
 
 " I am afraid, madam, that is impossible." 
 
 " I will try to conquer impossibilities," she 
 said, lightly. 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft had nothing to say in reply 
 to this, and Miss Shaldon closed and locked her 
 travelling-desk, and exchanged her seat for one 
 close to the fire, before which she spread her 
 fair w^hite hands, as though she were cold,
 
 HELENA. 31 
 
 gazing steadily at the cheerful flame meanwhile. 
 
 It was in this mood that she forgot the pres- 
 ence of Mr. Whistleshaffc, till his nervous cough 
 brought her back from a land that was foreign 
 to every thought of his, and from which she had 
 possibly come to Chingford to escape. 
 
 " The house lies back from the main road half 
 a mile, I think?" 
 
 " About that distance, I should say." 
 
 "And is not visible from the main road?" 
 
 "Not even in the Winter-time, Miss Shaldon." 
 
 " A fair seclusion shut in amongst the trees, 
 away from a sad world," she said, apostrophising 
 the fire rather than Mr. Whistleshaft. " Peace 
 will come there, or never." 
 
 Peace ! Miss Shaldon was in quest of it — the 
 old woman had said so half an hour since. 
 
 " I beg pardon — you remarked " began 
 
 the auctioneer. 
 
 " I hardly know what I am saying," she said, 
 with a smile ; " my journey to-day has disturbed 
 me. Who is Sir Charles ?" she inquired, in a 
 different tone. 
 
 " A gentleman who was extremely anxious 
 to secure the property, as it adjoins his own." 
 
 " Sir Charles— what?— Grandison ?"
 
 32 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Come, you haven't got the name quite 
 right," he returned, venturing on a laugh him- 
 self, as Miss Shaldon smiled again ; " it's Andi- 
 son, not Grandison. I don't know anybody of 
 the last name in these parts." 
 
 " Mr. Richardson said Sir Charles Grandison 
 v^as a finished gentleman," said Miss Shaldon, 
 dryly. 
 
 " What, Richardson the blacksmith ? Lor', 
 he does not know anything about gentlemen ; 
 and it's Andison, madam, not Grandison, please 
 to remember. You cannot offend Sir Charles 
 more deeply than by calling him out of his 
 name." 
 
 " I shall not have an opportunity of calling 
 him by any name," said Miss Shaldon. 
 
 " He will be your neighbour, madam." 
 
 " His plantations will adjoin mine, certainly ; 
 but his mansion is two miles from my house. I 
 object to neighbours." She looked up and 
 caught Mr. Whistleshaft's glance, which was 
 full of the deepest interest. " I have not learn- 
 ed to love them as myself, at present, though I 
 may be more foi'tunate at Weddercombe." 
 
 She laughed, and, if there were a sad under- 
 tone echoing amidst her mirth, it was not per-
 
 HELENA. 33 
 
 ceptible to Mr. Whistleshaft. He had been 
 surprised to find so agreeable a young lady ; 
 and, however mysterious she might be, he felt 
 that he was sure of his money, and that he bad 
 not been made a dupe that afternoon. When 
 she rose, he perceived for the first time that she 
 was in mourning, and that there was crape 
 upon her dress ; he wondered that it had not 
 struck him before, but he had been gazing at 
 her face, and vainly endeavouring, in his shallow 
 little way, to guess at truths which had puzzled 
 wiser men than he. He rose also at her hint, 
 and she said — 
 
 "I think we understand each other, Mr. 
 Whistleshaft. You will exert your best ability 
 to second my wish to obtain possession of the 
 property as soon as possible. I wish to be at 
 home — to feel at home." 
 
 " You may rely upon my best endeavour to 
 secure the end that you desire," Mr. Whistle- 
 shaft said, with a low bow; "but " 
 
 " But it wall be done. You will do your best, 
 and success awaits you. Thank you very much. 
 Good evening." 
 
 Mr. Whistleshaft bowed himself from the 
 room, and Miss Shaldon returned to her desk, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 and wrote a letter to those solicitors whose 
 movements she w^as anxious to expedite. She 
 was a woman skilful with her pen, and to whom 
 words came freely ; a letter of two pages was 
 finished in a few minutes, and she was sealing 
 it when Mrs. Graves came into the room. She 
 w^as even humming a tune softly to herself as 
 the old woman entered, and that was a surprise 
 even for Mrs. Graves. 
 
 '' Singing — at last !" she said. " You !" 
 
 " Was I r she cried. " Oh, I did not think that 
 that would ever happen again — did you ?" 
 
 '' No." 
 
 " Time is a great restorer ; it may bring me 
 back my old self, or something better and less 
 worldly, Jane, if I wait and hope and pray." 
 
 " I'll pray it may, along with you," said Mrs. 
 Graves earnestly. 
 
 " Has Arthur gone ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That's well. He keeps his word, and all the 
 shadows are stealing back from me. Presently 
 there will be light for the poor little woman to 
 whom you cling so faithfully. I think there 
 will — I am sure there will !" she cried, clapping 
 her hands together like an impulsive child.
 
 HELENA. 35 
 
 " You are too quick and rash and weak." 
 
 She bad told Mr. Whistleshaft that Helena 
 Shaldon was very strong — were Mrs. Graves's 
 statements to be implicitly relied upon ? 
 
 The younger woman accepted the reproof in 
 all humility. 
 
 ^' I am like an escaped bird to-night, Jane ; 
 I am not myself — you must not mind me," she 
 said, half apologetically, but still in the same 
 excited tones. " See, I begin my new life — that 
 peaceful rest of which I am hopeful. With the 
 world at arm's-length, shut in at Weddercombe 
 with my books and birds, with no one to trou- 
 ble me, and no one whom I shall care to trou- 
 ble, with the past at rest and the future free 
 from anxiety, there Avill be light and life enough 
 for my acceptance and rejoicing." 
 
 The white-haired woman regarded her with 
 great interest and affection. 
 
 *' Ah h if you were not so young !" she said. 
 
 "I shall grow out of that," Helena Shaldon 
 replied, half-mockingly ; •' and I don't feel young 
 — only at times, you know. Heaven knows 
 that I grew old very early in my life." 
 
 The thoughts of that premature ageing deep- 
 ened the expression of her beauty, but sad- 
 
 d2
 
 36 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 dened it intensely. The watchful old woman 
 saw this. " But you never despaired ; you kept 
 strong, and fought through it all." 
 
 " Fought through it to this," she said, with a 
 momentary bitterness. " Yes !" 
 
 " You have had a fatiguing day. I would try 
 to rest, Helena." 
 
 " I think I will, ' she answered wearily ; *' if 
 I dream of being settled at Weddercombe, I 
 shall be happy enough. You said," she added, 
 in allusion to some past dialogue between 
 them, " that Weddercombe was one of my wild 
 fancies. Is it so ?" 
 
 " That depends upon how it turns out." 
 
 " Ah ! so it does. Still you must not dash 
 me down too suddenly, when I am sanguine of 
 the better days." 
 
 " I am an old w^oman, Helena, and look at life 
 darkly. But 1 will do my best." 
 
 *' As you have always done." 
 
 "As I have always done," echoed Mrs. 
 Graves. 
 
 Helena rested her hands on the shoulders of 
 %ier companion, and kissed her on both cheeks. 
 
 *' You will come to my room before I am 
 asleep," she said.
 
 HELENA. 37 
 
 " As if you were a child, and I had charge of 
 yon," responded Mrs. Graves. 
 
 "Yes, take care of me, Jane," said Helena 
 Shaldon ; " oh, my second mother, when the 
 first " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! the mother is dead, and the 
 dead must rest," interrupted Mrs. Graves. 
 " Your friend, your second mother — anything, 
 Helena, so long as you wish it, and I still live. 
 But will you wish it always ?" she asked, jea- 
 lously. 
 
 "Always." 
 
 " I the humble servant, housekeeper, ' mis- 
 tress of the robes,' and you the great lady com- 
 ing down in state to rule at Weddercombe." 
 
 " To try to rule myself, you mean," she said. 
 " There, good night ; if I have been too wilful, 
 too excitable, too troublesome to-day, forgive 
 me and forget it." 
 
 " I forgive you and forget it, Helena," was 
 the answer ; " and if I have been too cold and 
 unsympathetic, why " 
 
 " But you haven't," said the fair girl, inter- 
 rupting her; "for I understand you, and don't 
 mind you. There !" 
 
 She kissed the old woman again, and passed
 
 38 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 out of the room, and Mrs. Graves, after stand- 
 ing motionless for a while, walked to the win- 
 dow, drew" the blind aside, and looked out at 
 the snow, which was still whirling all ways at 
 once in the old-fashioned street. After a long 
 survey of the desolate landscape under its night 
 aspect, she let the blind fall, took the letter 
 which Helena had written downstairs, gave 
 orders to the landlady that it was to be de- 
 spatched by special messenger in the morning, 
 and went again to Helena Shaldon's room, as she 
 had promised her. 
 
 The young mistress had already fallen asleep, 
 tired out with the fatigue of travelling, and of 
 much excitement on her journey down to Ching- 
 ford. Mrs. Graves's apartment was a room ad- 
 joining that of Miss Shaldon, and the old wo- 
 man passed immediately to it, and returned 
 with a heavy cloak across her arm, and her big 
 bonnet swinging by its broad black strings. 
 
 She listened to the deep breathing of the 
 sleeper, her hard face twitching with a strange 
 emotion. A few words escaped her, spoken so 
 loudly, too, that, had Miss Shaldon slept less 
 heavily, they might have awakened her. 
 
 " Is it peace, or will she fret her life away " in
 
 HELENA. 39 
 
 this place, as she has almost done already ? 
 Heaven help her ! This is one of the unlucky 
 women, like Jane Graves." 
 
 She stooped and kissed her on the forehead, 
 and Helena murmured in her sleep — 
 
 *' Is that you, Jane?" 
 
 *' Yes, it is I." 
 
 " No one has seen us, then — no one has 
 watched us ?" was faintly whispered. 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " That's well." 
 
 Helena Shaldon passed into a deep and less 
 restless sleep, and Mrs. Graves opened the door 
 carefully and noiselessly, changed the key from 
 the inside to the outside, closed the door and 
 locked it, removing the key, and dropping it 
 into the depths of her pocket. On the landing- 
 place without she put on her cloak and bonnet 
 hurriedly, and went downstairs once more, like 
 a spirit suffering from unrest. 
 
 " I shall not be long," she said to the land- 
 lady, a rosy-faced, broad-chested dame of some 
 forty years ; "I have purchases to make in the 
 town." 
 
 " You will find the shops all closed, I think." 
 
 " I hope not."
 
 40 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Is it anything that I can .lend you till the 
 morning ?" 
 
 *^No." 
 
 " It's a dreadful night — is there anything — " 
 
 But Mrs. Graves had not waited for any fur- 
 ther conversation with the hostess of " The Bull 
 Inn ;" she had dived into the street, and turned 
 in the direction of the dark country lanes in lieu 
 of the town of which she had spoken. The 
 driving snow met her, cold and fierce, but she 
 did not bend her head in order to escape it. 
 She went on peering keenly into the darkness, 
 which the white lines of the storm crossed — a 
 woman who expected to meet some one on the 
 road.
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE MEETING IX THE SXOW. 
 
 i|"RS. GRAVES had no great distance to 
 trudge through the snow before arriving 
 at the object of her quest, but her journey was 
 not the less uncomfortable. In homely phrase, 
 it was not a night for a cat to be out. The 
 snow came down in earnest, and the Avind 
 seemed surcharged with plaint and pain, as 
 though it bore along with it the moanings of a 
 whole city of afflicted. 
 
 A quarter of a mile along the snow-laden 
 road, and Mrs. Graves was at her journey's end. 
 He for whom she had ventured into the desper- 
 ate night was waiting for her under the broad 
 eaves of an outhouse, which might have been 
 a barn, or a range of stabling, or the back of 
 half-a-dozen wooden cottages for what could be 
 seen of it in the darkness and through the
 
 42 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 blinding snow-flakes. He had Lad some diffi- 
 culty in finding shelter from the storm, for the 
 snow was drifting all ways, and it was only by 
 keeping his back close to the building, and 
 by shuffling with his feet, that he avoided being 
 buried to the knees. He was smoking a short 
 clay pipe for comfort's sake, and was taking 
 matters philosophically. One leg was crossed 
 over the other ; his hands were thrust into the 
 depths of his coat-pockets : his felt hat was 
 pulled over his ears and down to his eyebrows ; 
 his coat-collar was turned up to meet the rim of 
 his hat, and. there was little seen of him but the 
 tip of his nose and some straggling hairs of his 
 very long moustache. Mrs. Graves was for a 
 moment mider these circumstances somewhat 
 doubtful of his identity, for she peered at him 
 closely, and said in a sharp, quick tone, " Ar- 
 thur?" 
 
 " Yes, it's Arthur. What a delightful night, 
 Mrs. Graves !" 
 
 "Is this a season for scoffing?" she cried, in a 
 sharp, quick tone of reproof. 
 
 *'I don't know," he added, with a short laugh. 
 "An old fellow in the town told me it was 
 seasonable weather for the time of year, and he
 
 THE :^1EETIXG IX THE SXOW. 43 
 
 ought to know best ; he has Hved longer than 
 I have. Hadn't you better stand against the 
 wall — unless you are frightened of me?" 
 
 " I'm not frightened of yon," said Mrs. Graves, 
 accepting his invitation, after shaking some of 
 the heavy snow from the shoulders of her cloak ; 
 " no one ever frightened me." 
 
 " I'm a terrible fellow, too," he remarked, 
 with another short laugh, that was peculiar 
 at that time and place. " You know it ; she 
 knows it ; a great many wiseacres in the world 
 suspect it. You have a bad cough," he said, 
 in a different and more kindly tone ; " how's 
 that?" 
 
 " The cold has seized me. I shall get rid of 
 it in a day or two," was the reply. 
 
 " Why did you insist upon my waiting for 
 you here ?" he asked. " Why could you not 
 have told me all that I wanted to know in the 
 parlour of ' The Bull Inn V " 
 
 " There were eavesdroppers about." 
 
 *'I have nothing to conceal," said he. 
 
 " But we have," replied Mrs. Graves ; " and 
 you know it." 
 
 " I don't know it," said Arthur. " In her 
 place I would have concealed nothing. In little
 
 44 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 England there is no hiding anything for long; 
 we come face to face with the objectionable 
 before we are aware of it." 
 
 " Ay, that's true," muttered Mrs. Graves. 
 
 " Meaning that I am objectionable f he said, 
 shrugging his shoulders. " Go on. I do not 
 dispute the argument. Arthur Barclay is an* 
 objectionable fellow — idle, heartless, selfish, and 
 cruel, in society's opinion ; and, in this old 
 woman's, something very much worse than that. 
 
 Eh r 
 
 He had taken his hand from his pocket, to 
 rest it familiarly on the shoulder of the woman 
 at his side, and he peered into her face for her 
 answer with a certain amount of interest on his, 
 wdiich even the shadows about it did not wholly 
 conceal. 
 
 *'No, not worse than that, perhaps," she 
 murmured. 
 
 " ' Perhaps !' What a deal that ' perhaps ' 
 signifies !" he said. " Well, T am under a cloud 
 — I submit. You are for Helena ; she's every- 
 thing to you, and I am nothing." 
 
 " She is all that is good — she has suifered 
 much," said the woman, as if in extenuation. 
 *' You are a strong man."
 
 THE MEETING IX THE SXOW. 45 
 
 '• Bad men, they say, are weak," he added, 
 with careless levity, although a keen observer 
 might have detected a touch of bitterness in his 
 reply, " and I never could keep strong. When 
 everybody's hand is against a man, Mrs. 
 Graves, there is a mighty strength in the force 
 which thrusts him aside. You don't object to 
 my tobacco ?" 
 
 Mrs. Graves looked hard at him, as if he were 
 a man who puzzled her sorely, and then said — 
 
 " When I gave you that letter to-night, and 
 you would have heaped upon me a hundred 
 questions, I said that I would answer them 
 here or not at all. I am here to reply to them, 
 and not to listen to your maunderings." 
 
 " Spoken like Mrs. Graves," said Arthur ; 
 " and she was always a sensible and superior 
 kind of woman. When I was a little boy of 
 three years of age — a self-willed, fretful, pretty 
 little chap — I thought so." 
 
 A low moan escaped the woman. 
 
 "For mercy's sake, speak to the purpose, 
 and spare us both !" cried Mrs. Graves with ex- 
 citement. " You were my master's nephew, 
 whom I loved then — whom alone I had to love 
 in that strange house, and in my strange life.
 
 4(3 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 I was a faithful friend and servant to you till — " 
 
 "Till Helena Shaldon came between us and 
 enchanted you — this beauty whose face was her 
 fortune !" 
 
 " What a fortune !" exclaimed Mrs. Graves ; 
 " poor miserable girl, what a fortune !" 
 
 " It was not to be despised." 
 
 " She would give it away to-morrow for the 
 happiness she lost in acquiring it." 
 
 " Ah !" said Arthur, drily ; " she tells you 
 that, and you are credulous. You believe in 
 her ; I never did." 
 
 " You never believed in anything," remarked 
 Mrs. Graves; "and it is that curse which has 
 made you what you are." 
 
 *' I have already intimated, Mrs. Graves, that 
 you are a sensible and superior kind of woman ; 
 but, for all that, I doubt if your perspicacity 
 can determine what I am. I don't know my- 
 self. I have tried to make myself out and 
 failed." 
 
 "What do you want with me?" asked Mrs. 
 Graves, shortly. 
 
 "To deliver a message from me to your young 
 mistress— from the wretch Barclay to the peer- 
 less Helena," he replied. " For twelve mouths
 
 TBE MEETING IX THE SNOW. 47 
 
 she has refused to see or hold comDiuuication 
 ^vith me. I terrify her. She hates me." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Graves, in low assent. 
 
 " And it is I who should hate her ; there is 
 the anomaly, old lady." 
 
 " Go on," said Mrs. Graves, impatiently ; 
 " what more V 
 
 " I promised to hold aloof for twelve months, 
 and to make no effort to seek her out. I kept 
 my word." 
 
 " And she has kept hers." 
 
 " Yes ; but she would not see me to-night 
 after all. She sent me down a letter instead, 
 and owned that she was afraid to confront me." 
 
 " It is the truth." 
 
 " ^Yhat a fiend I must be !" he muttered. " Or 
 -whsit a fiend it is her policy to make me out." 
 
 " She tries to think for the best," said Mrs. 
 Graves. 
 
 "Do you help her?" , 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " In what way f 
 
 " No matter in what way ; I help her." 
 
 " Good old woman," he said ; and here again 
 his hand fell upon her shoulder fiimiliarly and 
 kindly. " Upon my word, I don't think you hate
 
 48 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 me, after all : you and I are old friends, and there 
 was a time when I came with all my sorrows to 
 you, and you were a strong shield between 
 myself and unhappiness. I didn't treat you 
 well, Jane." 
 
 "No, you did not" she answered. 
 
 " And in return you did not treat me well." 
 
 " Heaven knows that that is false !" she cried. 
 
 " You believe all that your mistress tells 
 you." 
 
 " I know her as I know my own heart," ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Graves, indignantly, " and hence 
 I trust in her. If you have dragged me here to 
 tell me over again " 
 
 " Don't get excited — there's the mistake. 
 You dragged me to this place, if yoa remember. 
 Here is the letter," he said, producing a missive 
 from his pocket; "and it contains — how 
 much?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 "Guess?" 
 
 " I don't wish to know." 
 
 " Guess ?" he said again. 
 
 " A thousand pounds, perhaps," she said, thus 
 compelled to reply. 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds — ten times as much
 
 THE 31EETIXG IN THE SNOW. 49 
 
 as I expected, or had a right to expect, cou- 
 sidering her promise." 
 
 "So much as that," said Mrs. Graves, in a 
 listless manner that showed the amount had 
 not in any way surprised her ; " I hope that 
 you will do some good with it." 
 
 " I am not very sanguine as to what it will 
 do," he said, returning the letter to his pocket ; 
 *• there is an evil spell upon such money as this, 
 Jane, and no good may come of it to me. 
 Money will do her no good either, if there's any 
 justice under heaven." 
 
 " Let us get back to the town," said the 
 woman, shivering. 
 
 "I am going that way," he said, pointing 
 along the country road. " I gave her my word 
 that she should hear no more of me, and she 
 believes that I will keep it. Why does she 
 trust to my word, knowing what a wretch I 
 am?" 
 
 " I cannot tell," 
 
 " Why has she no fear that I shall come back 
 — that a year or two hence, when she is settled 
 down, has made friends, has married — why 
 does she not think of my return, to blast her 
 new ambitions, as the villain of the play always 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 does, to slow music?" he asked, mockingly. 
 
 " I speak for you, Arthur," she replied. " I 
 tell her she can trust you." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Graves. Your most obedient 
 servant to command," he said, taking off his felt 
 hat, and making her a low bow, stepping for- 
 ward into the snow even to go through his 
 obeisance, with a great degree of mock so- 
 lemnity. ''Words fail to convey the proper 
 sense of my eternal gratitude." 
 
 He pulled his hat over his brows again, and 
 approached her again, with a new and sterner 
 expression on his face ; and the woman, strong- 
 minded though she was, shrank from him for 
 the first time, and cowered for an instant against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Now tell her this for me," he said — " that 
 she knows that she can trust me, and it is from 
 no championship on your part that she does so. 
 She knows how much of my life has been 
 bhghted by her interference, and that I despise 
 her for it. I discredit her wholly, and the world's 
 verdict is the verdict of my own heart." 
 
 " Oh! don't say that," cried Mrs. Graves; "you 
 have no right to say it." 
 
 " Tell her also," he continued, in the same
 
 THE MEETING IN THE SNOW. 51 
 
 hard tones, " that I do not thank her for her 
 generosity, that I do not take her money as the 
 price of my silence, and that I am not bribed to 
 go away by her munificence. Had I seen my 
 way, had there been a hope, a chance, even a 
 dream elsewhere, I would sooner have touched 
 fire than one penny of her money. I take it, 
 but it is to my eternal shame." 
 
 " These are bitter words — I will not be your 
 lackey to repeat them," she broke out, defiantly. 
 
 " Then I will repeat them myself." 
 
 He turned his face towards the town, and 
 Mrs. Graves clutched him by the arm. 
 
 " I will tell her all," she said ; " don't go back 
 again." 
 
 " Very well," he answered ; " I can trust your 
 word, as Miss Shaldon can trust mine. And 
 now, old friend, old servant of the house of 
 Barclay, good-bye, and Heaven send you clearer 
 judgment." 
 
 " Good-bye. Heaven send you, Arthur, that 
 clearer judgment too, w^hich it will in its own 
 time, I pray." 
 
 She raised her hands to heaven, as though 
 imploring it to bear witness to her prayer, and 
 there was something intense and touching in 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 U(ilVEfiSITy OF ILUNOIS
 
 52 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 the rugged face looking upwards to the sky. 
 
 Thus they parted without another word, and, 
 
 in the drifting snow, the old woman and the 
 
 young man turned their backs upon each other.
 
 53 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 
 
 THE coming of Helena Shaldon to Chingfovd, 
 and the purchase and possession of the 
 Weddercombe estate, were items of a nine-days' 
 wonder, which faded away before the leaves 
 were green upon the trees. When it was 
 Summer-time, Helena Shaldon was quite "an 
 old inhabitant ;" and, if the " landed gentry " 
 were "stand-offish," and the wives of the 
 *' landed gentry " did not put themselves out of 
 the way to cultivate Miss Shaldon's acquaint- 
 ance, that young lady was all the more grateful 
 for their reserve. She had come to Wedder- 
 combe for peace, as Jane Graves had told Mr. 
 Whistleshaft one night last Winter; and, if 
 peace had not come speedily, as she had almost 
 hoped that it would, still there were rest and 
 security. That little coterie of rich nobodies
 
 54 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 living within twenty miles' circle of Wedder- 
 corabe, and that called itself " society," talked 
 about Miss Shaldon, but did not visit her — with 
 one or two exceptions. The Rector of Ching- 
 ford called occasionally, and the Rector's wife 
 had been twice to Weddercombe ; for Miss Shal- 
 don was a liberal giver, and the poor of the 
 village of Hernley, and of the adjacent and the 
 more pretentious toAvn of Chingford, had had 
 reason to rejoice over her advent. Sir Charles 
 Andison and Lady Andison had also honoured 
 Miss Shaldon with a visit of ceremony, accom- 
 panied by their son, ]\tr. Percy Andison, who 
 had seen Miss Shaldon at church, and desired 
 to pay his respectful compliments ; and Miss 
 Shaldon had not returned the call. Mr. William 
 Whistleshaft visited Weddercombe frequently 
 in the early times, ostensibly on business to 
 begin with, subsequently out of sheer anxiety 
 concerning Miss Shaldon's health ; after which 
 he discovered that Miss Shaldon was not at 
 home, or that she sent down her compliments, 
 and was too busy to see him. As it was five 
 miles from Chingford to Weddercombe, and 
 Jane Graves's wooden features were only to be 
 found at the end of the journey, Mr. Whistle-
 
 WEDDERCO]\IBE. 55 
 
 shaft gave up an odd idea which he had allowed 
 to nestle in the innermost recesses of his heart. 
 He never owned that he was a vain man, not 
 even to his sister, who kept house for him, and 
 who was afraid that he was ; but he had 
 thought it possible that Miss Shaldon, coming 
 into a strange place, might not find the acquaint- 
 anceship of a respectable, fresh-coloured — he 
 was nearly saying good-looking — bachelor alto- 
 gether disagreeable. He was not " a fellow who 
 ran after the girls" — not he, indeed ! He had 
 had one or two good chances of securing a wife 
 with a pretty face and some expectations — he 
 was not going to dash into matrimony and make 
 a fool of himself; but he felt that he should 
 have liked to keep company with Miss Shaldon. 
 In his homely but forcible phraseology, she was 
 " tip-top," and would have suited him. Un- 
 fortunately he did not suit Miss Shaldon ; and 
 at last he was of opinio q that old mother 
 Graves — as he disrespectfully termed a lady 
 who, in his opinion, was far from *' tip-top" — 
 had done her best to disparage him in the eyes 
 of her mistress. In the onward course of time 
 there was no telHng what might happen, 
 though.
 
 56 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Untroubled by many visitors then, carrying 
 out to the best of her ability and power the 
 quiet life which she had planned, loving peace, 
 becoming patient, possessing no ambition, re- 
 sisting quietly but strongly the force of a past 
 sorrow, which seemed to have isolated her from 
 kith and kin, Helena Shaldon settled down at 
 Weddercombe. Shut in by the trees, even sub- 
 merged by them, the fair woman realised as much 
 of happiness as she had anticipated would fall 
 to her share. She had made up her mind to be 
 content ; she had taken to the place from her 
 first accidental glimpse of it through the windows 
 of her travelling carriage ; she had had a nervous 
 horror of society, and felt that she might escape 
 it, and that here at last was home. Let them 
 talk of her without its walls, and wonder who 
 she was, and whence she came, and w^hy this 
 silent, solitary life seemed, despite her youth, to 
 suit her best — it mattered not. Their comments, 
 even their suspicions, would not reach her ears, 
 and would scarcely affect her if they did. She 
 was living for herself, not for them; and she was 
 not naturally a restless or dissatisfied woman. 
 
 Still Weddercombe for a residence at all 
 seasons of the year was far from conducive to
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 57 
 
 a cheerful frame of miud. It had been termed 
 a shooting-box before Miss Shaldon had 
 purchased it and transformed it into a lady's 
 residence. It was an old-fashioned red-brick 
 house, containing some twelve or fourteen rooms 
 — not more — and lay back from the main road 
 several hundred yards. A narrow and circuitous 
 drive through a thick plantation led up to the 
 house, which in the Summer-time was lost 
 amongst the trees. There was a gamekeeper's 
 lodge, half as large as the house itself, built of 
 black old timber, and glistening with latticed 
 windows, lying half a mile still deeper in the 
 woodland; and here the servants of the great 
 folk had been drafted in old times, when the 
 house was full of company, and Colonel Chester's 
 shooting party had mustered in more than fair 
 proportion. From this lodge the gamekeepers 
 had departed ; the key had been turned upon it, 
 the house was empty, and already wore a 
 desolate look to the few who came across it. 
 The game was left to itself, or to the poachers ; 
 no shooting was to be allowed in the preserves, 
 Miss Shaldon had already intimated to those 
 whom it might concern — Sir Charles Andison 
 for one — and Weddercombe grew lonely, and
 
 58 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 was oppressive in its loneliness to all save 
 its possessor and the grim woman whom she 
 had chosen for companion. 
 
 Still, as has been intimated, Helena Shaldon 
 had made no mistake in her selection of a 
 residence ; there was that in its solitariness 
 which pleased her, and time increased her satis- 
 faction rather than diminished it. Looking upon 
 her one bright morning in June, some six 
 months after the sale of the property at " The 
 Bull Inn," she appears a different being from the 
 delicate girl whom Chingford had tlien encoun- 
 tered for the first time. She had worn mourning 
 at that period, but of late days some flecks of 
 colour had crept into her dress, with the deeper 
 dye of health that had come back to her cheeks. 
 The house stood upon a grass plat, which had 
 been made bright with standard roses and huge 
 stone vases full of geraniums and fuchsias — a 
 patch of garden ground belted round by the 
 plantation from which it had been snatched. 
 The windows of the drawing-room opened upon 
 the lawn, or rather upon a green bank which 
 sloped down to the lawn, and the light dance- 
 music which was being rattled off" skilfully from 
 the piano within, and which escaped in a pleasant
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 59 
 
 flow of melody to the Summer air without, was 
 tolerably significant of the spirit of the player. 
 The listener thought so ; for there was an in- 
 truder upon the Weddercombe estate that morn- 
 ing, and neither old Baynard, at the entrance 
 gates — the warder of the place — nor Mrs. 
 Graves, grim custodian of the inner sanctum, 
 was aware of this invasion of the territory. 
 She — for the intruder was of the feminine gender 
 — had come her own way to the establishment, 
 and was now standing with a hand on one of 
 the stone vases, listening with rapt interest to 
 the music. In the sunshine which fell upon the 
 place that morning, and filled it with light and 
 brightness, the listener seemed to belong to the 
 picture, and form part of it. 
 
 She was a pretty blonde of eighteen years of 
 age, with a ripple of golden hair that was all 
 her own, and did not take its colour from New 
 Bond Street, and wdth two large violet eyes, 
 ■which were very striking and uncommon, apper- 
 taining as they did to a girl who was wondrous- 
 ly fair. They gave life to the face, and relieved 
 it from that insipidity which wdll at times mar 
 beauty of this class. It was a happy-looking 
 face, that was deserving of more than a passing
 
 60 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 glance ; and, as she listened to the music from 
 ■within the house, the interest, and the smiles 
 born of the pleasure which the music gave her, 
 added in no small degree to the charm of its 
 expression. 
 
 How long this young lady, who was so ela- 
 borately costumed for the country that she 
 might have stepped out of a plate of French 
 fashions, would have remained there listening it 
 is impossible to record, had not the music sud- 
 denly ceased, and the player, Avith a marvellous 
 rapidity of action, stood at the open window, 
 her hands parting aside the lace curtains, so 
 that she could see more clearly into the garden. 
 The brunette regarded the blonde with a well- 
 bred air of suspicion ; and then Helena Shaldon 
 came down the green bank and confronted her 
 unexpected visitor. 
 
 " I am afraid that you have mistaken the 
 house," she said, calmly and courteously. 
 
 " No, I have not," answered the fair girl ; 
 " you are Miss Shaldon. I am Miss Andison — 
 haven't you heard of me ? Has not papa, or 
 mamma, or Percy, or anybody, told you of my 
 existence ? Oh, that's too bad ; but it's just like 
 them, and so here am I left to introduce myself
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 61 
 
 before I can get nice and friendly and neighbour- 
 like with you. Well, I am Miss Andison, and I 
 hope you will not scold me for taking you un- 
 awares in this unconventional fashion. I hate 
 ceremony between girls — don't you, now ? " 
 
 It was a rapid outpouring of words, and her 
 volubility was another surprise to Helena Shal- 
 don, although she could not refrain from smil- 
 ing at it. 
 
 " I came home last night," she said, before 
 Helena could reply : " I have been travelling 
 with my aunt on the Continent — haven't you 
 heard of that either ?" 
 
 Miss Shaldon had not received that piece of 
 information, and was about to say as much, 
 when Miss Andison darted off again. 
 
 " Of course you haven't, if you haven't heard 
 of me before. What a silly I am I" she cried. 
 " But you must not mind that. Miss Shaldon. 
 This is a kind of place where the intellect does 
 not expand half so much as the mangold-wurzel. 
 I hate Hernley Hall, and Weddercombe, and 
 Chingford, and all those slow old places, full of 
 slow old fogies and grave old dowagers, who 
 either give you the horrors or make you die of 
 laughter at them. I like town— Belgravia, Rot-
 
 G2 HER FACE ^YAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 ten Row, concerts, balls, and the Opera. Oh, 
 the Opera, isn't that jol — sublime ?" 
 
 She pursed her lips at this slip of the tongue, 
 although she had corrected herself almost in 
 time. Miss Shaldon did not appear to regard it. 
 Helena had hardly recovered from the surprise of 
 her visitor, and scarcely knew in which way to 
 respond. The girl's flow of spirits and flow of 
 language, her total unconsciousness that she was 
 doing anything out of the common way, and her 
 complete disregard of conventional rule, amused 
 rather than vexed Helena. It was an outburst 
 of vigorous life upon her own quiet existence, 
 and she scarcely objected to it. There was 
 something pleasing and original about the girl 
 that attracted her and aroused her curiosity. 
 Sir Charles and Lady Andison she had almost 
 disliked at first sight, and their son Percy was a 
 dreamy, reserved young man, who stared at her, 
 and kept his mouth shut ; but this was an object 
 of interest that she had not credited Hernley 
 Hall with possessing. 
 
 " I am not fond of town life, and society is 
 objectionable to me," said Helena, in reply. 
 
 "At your age ?" cried Miss Andison. 
 
 *' Yes, at my age."
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 63 
 
 '•I cannot understand that — perhaps you'll 
 tell me all about it though," said Miss Andisou 
 — " when we are better friends of course, and 
 you can feel that you can tell me anything. 
 I'm not much of a gabbler," she added, with in- 
 elegant frankness ; " and, if you don't care to 
 tell me, I shall never ask you. I'm not a 
 Paul Pry either. Oh, how I hate Paul Prys ! 
 There was an old cat of a teacher at my school 
 
 iu Paris But there, that's a long story, and 
 
 we need not talk about it now. Can't w^e sit 
 down somewhere, Miss Shaldon ? I have walked 
 across country to get at you, and lam rather 
 tired." 
 
 " Will you step into the drawling-room for a 
 moment?" 
 
 " For half an horn- — if you can put up with 
 me for so long," she added, with the sudden 
 conviction seizing her that she might be con- 
 sidered a bore before that period of time had 
 elapsed. " When I tire you, tell me to go, or 
 give me a hint tliat I am in the way — I shan't 
 mind in the least. I wished to see you very 
 much — and here I am. That's the story." 
 
 They went up the sloping bank, and into the 
 room which Helena had recently quitted. The
 
 64 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 fair girl was a keen observer in her way, for she 
 pointed to an oval mirror above the piano, 
 and laughed very pleasantly and musically. 
 
 " That's how you saw me : I hope I did not 
 look too much like a ghost. Miss Shaldon, and 
 scare you ?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Shaldon, thoughtfully ; *' I 
 am not easily scared now." 
 
 When they were seated, facing each other, 
 endeavouring, perhaps, under their long eye- 
 lashes, to *' make each other out," Helena Shal- 
 don said very quietly, 
 
 " You Avished to see me. May I ask why ?" 
 
 " I heard that you were of my own age — that 
 you had purchased this shooting-box, and were 
 living here all alone, and that you were very 
 beautiful. Why, it was a romance to begin 
 with !" 
 
 " You are at a romantic age." 
 
 " Well, so are you, for that matter," was the 
 quiet response. 
 
 *' Oh I I am much older than you, child," said 
 Helena. 
 
 " I am eighteen." 
 
 " I am nineteen," said Helena, with intense 
 gravity, as befitted her superior years, "and
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 65 
 
 naturally olcl-fasbioned. I have come to Wedder- 
 combe to live io peace, and away from society, 
 and the curious people of which it is composed." 
 
 "I hope that is not a hit at me," said Miss 
 Andison, frankly ; " though I have been a little 
 curious." 
 
 *' If I have not realised your expectations," 
 said Helena, with the faintest ring of satire in 
 her tone, " you must lay the blame on those who 
 have foolishly aroused your curiosity." 
 
 *' Percy sketched you pretty accurately, 
 though," said the Baronet's daughter, thought- 
 fully, in her turn ; " and I am not disappointed 
 in you in the least." 
 
 *' You are an outspoken girl, or affect to be so 
 — I hardly know which," said Helena, very 
 calmly ; " and it is as well to speak out, in my 
 turn, so that we may understand each other at 
 once. I have no stoiy to tell ; always consider 
 me a woman who is without one, and who will 
 be ever the most indebted to those who leave 
 her most to herself." 
 
 Miss Andison rose immediately, and held out 
 a dainty little hand in its grey kid glove to her. 
 
 " 1 told you to give me a hint when I was in 
 the way, and I have got it. Good morning." 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 6Q HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE . 
 
 " Good morniDg, Miss Andison," said Helena, 
 rising also. 
 
 At the French window, and after the two 
 young women had shaken hands together, Miss 
 Andison stopped suddenly again. 
 
 "I am afraid that I have made a bad impres- 
 sion upon you by this unceremonious visit," said 
 she, regarding Helena attentively ; " but I dis- 
 like formality, and thought — I hardly know 
 why — that I might be natural here." 
 
 There was so wistful a look in the violet eyes, 
 that Helena Shaldon softened at once. 
 
 " Pray do not apologise ; I do not require it," 
 she said, hurriedly. 
 
 " When they spoke of you last night, I 
 thought to myself, ' Why, here's another friend 
 for me — some one I shall like, and who will like 
 me, as everybody else does.' This is not the 
 first time that I have seen you, you must 
 know," she added. 
 
 The colour that of late days had stolen to 
 Helena Shaldon's cheeks left them on the in- 
 stant, and was replaced by a greenish pallor. 
 The dark eyes dilated, and had a look of sur- 
 prise, almost of horror, in them ; and, standing 
 at the window again in their parting, as in their
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 67 
 
 first meetiDg, Helena's hands clutched at the 
 lace curtains, as if even their frail support were 
 better than nothing in that moment of her con- 
 sternation. 
 
 " Not the first time — that you have — seen 
 me !" she whispered, almost to herself. 
 
 " I have seen a drawing that was made of you 
 in church some weeks ago, and it is very like 
 
 you." 
 
 The colour went back to the cheeks — more of 
 it than was necessary, for it overflowed to brow 
 and throat, reddening them both. 
 
 " That was a liberty — an irreverent and fool- 
 ish one !" she cried. 
 
 " Worthy of the irreverent and foolish fellow 
 who sketched it," added Miss Andison. " Yes, 
 I am quite of your opinion there. Good day 
 again, Miss Shaldon." 
 
 " Good day." 
 
 Miss Andison went slowly along the garden 
 walk towards the carriage drive, having evi- 
 dently made up her mind to return home in a 
 more orthodox fashion than she had left it. She 
 walked on very pensively and a little crestfallen 
 at the poor result of her visit, and the dark- 
 haired lady of Weddercombe watched her till 
 
 f2
 
 68 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 the turn of the drive took her from view. A 
 heavy sigh escaped her then, and the touch 
 of a hand upon her shoulder made her start. 
 It was Mrs. Graves who had stolen to her side. 
 
 " Company ?" said the elder woman, inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Yes — company." 
 
 *' I saw her from the window of my room. A 
 bird of gay plumage, wasn't she ?" she added, a 
 little scornfully. 
 
 " Bright with colour, as youth should be," an- 
 swered Helena. 
 
 "Who was she?" 
 
 *' Miss Andison." 
 
 " A daughter of the Baronet over yonder ?" 
 
 *' Yes." 
 
 *^ What did she wantf 
 
 " To dash at me for a friend, as a boy dashes 
 at a butterfly," said Helena, with a sad smile — 
 " to read my heart as she reads her last novel 
 from the library. My heart, Jane — you hear?" 
 
 "The paltry curiosity of the high-bred !" 
 cried Jane Graves. 
 
 " Yes — possibly." 
 
 " You sent her away with the conviction that 
 she was not wanted ?"
 
 WEDDERCOMBE. 69 
 
 " Yes," said Helena, sadly. 
 
 Mrs. Graves looked hard into the face of the 
 young mistress, and said, quickly, 
 
 *' You don't regret it — you know how much for 
 the best it is that you should stand aloof from 
 all of them ?" 
 
 " 1 know it, Jane, but I may regret it for all 
 that," was the reply. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " She was of my own age — one who spoke 
 from the heart and seemed to have an interest 
 in me — a girl I could have learned to like in 
 time, unless my first impression has deceived 
 me." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mrs. Graves, jealously, " it is as I 
 thought. The life is getting weary, and I am 
 wearying you along with it." 
 
 " Don't think that," was the reply. " You are 
 the one friend who believes in me, and so God 
 bless you, Jane." 
 
 " No, no, young mistress but true friend, let 
 me rather say God bless you instead. It will 
 be the prayer more likely to be heard," said the 
 woman, almost passionately. 
 
 " Are prayers ever heard, I wonder T' was 
 the strange, sceptical question, as the girl
 
 70 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 sat down and clasped her hands together. 
 
 " Yours and mine were a little while ago ; re- 
 member that." 
 
 " I had forgotten for the moment," said 
 Helena, shuddering. 
 
 " You are unwell ; this visit has disturbed 
 you. It is as it always is," cried Mrs. Graves, 
 " when strangers will not let you be. Try to 
 rest, Helena, on the couch." 
 
 *' No ; to rest is to think, and I don't want to 
 think before the night comes. I will go on with 
 my music." 
 
 She made an impulsive dash at the ivory 
 keys of the piano, and resumed the waltz from 
 which the coming of Miss Andison had disturbed 
 her. But it was an ineffectual attempt — a de- 
 fiance of the probabilities, which ended in dis- 
 comfiture. She was very weak at times, and 
 she gave way and bowed her head over the 
 keys in a sudden fit of despair until the old wo- 
 man put her arms round her, and kissed her in 
 her grief, as her mother might have done. 
 
 " Courage, Helena," she murmured ; " we 
 have got over the worst now."
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 BROTHER AXD SISTER. 
 
 MISS ANDISON continued her tlioiigbtful 
 progress along the carriage drive, walking 
 very slowly, and beating her closed parasol 
 against the silk skirt of her dress as she pro- 
 ceeded. The interview with the proprietress of 
 Weddercombe had not been more satisfactory 
 to her than to Helena Shaldon ; she had anti- 
 cipated a different result — she had left Hern- 
 ley Hall that morning prophesying it. He to 
 whom she had prophesied it laughingly was 
 waiting for her in the high road beyond the 
 lodge gates — a slim, sallow-faced young man, 
 with a small, dark moustache, small, piercing 
 black eyes, and with long black hair, from which 
 some inches might have been cut with advan- 
 tage to his general appearance. As he walked
 
 72 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 up and down the road, with his hands behind 
 him, and his gaze directed to the dusty road- 
 way, he might have been taken for a German 
 professor, deep in the study of matters abstruse 
 and ponderous. He advanced eagerly towards 
 Miss Andison as she opened the gate, and, "as 
 she passed through, the head of Mr. Baynard, 
 lodge-keeper and gardener, poked itself round 
 the door of his cottage, and looked after her 
 with amazement. 
 
 " Wei], Floy, you have seen herf was the 
 young man's first question. 
 
 " Yes, and spoken to her, Percy," was the re- 
 ply. " I have had a long talk, in fact, but it 
 has been all on my side." 
 
 " It was a madcap adventure, Floy," said 
 Percy Andison, "and I knew no good would 
 come of it." 
 
 " I don't say any harm has come of it," was 
 the half-laughing answer. " I told you, and 
 papa and mamma, that I should see the fair 
 mystery for myself — that I should storm the 
 enchanted castle and ' interview ' the enchant- 
 ress." 
 
 " Whom you have offended ?" 
 
 " N-o, I don't think I have," said Florence,
 
 BROTHER AXD SISTER. 73 
 
 half-hesitatingly. " She laughed once or twice 
 with me, or at me, and we got on pretty well 
 together till towards the end of the conference." 
 
 " And then ?" 
 
 " Oh, then she cooled off awfully." 
 
 " She became reserved, you mean." 
 
 " Yes, if you like that way of putting it bet- 
 ter — she became reserved," said Florence, 
 mimicking a certain pedantic method of expres- 
 sion that was natural to her brother. 
 
 " Well, tell me all about it," he said, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 Florence Andison dashed into a full and 
 somewhat highly-coloured account of the inter- 
 view, and, though the young lady was evident- 
 ly fond of narrative, and overwhelmed her little 
 incident with an amplitude of detail concerning 
 the dress, deportment, and general appearance 
 of Miss Shaldon, her brother listened with re- 
 spectful attention to every word. 
 
 " Ah ! you have offended her," he observed, 
 with a sigh that he was unable to repress — an odd 
 and forcible sigh that told his case expressively. 
 
 Florence laughed pleasantly again, and even 
 very unceremoniously tapped him on the back 
 with her parasol.
 
 74 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " My dear, dreamy, old-fashioned boy, have 
 you been studying yourself to death all these 
 years for no other end than to fall in love with 
 a girl whom you know nothing about, and con- 
 cerning whose antecedents nobody else knows?" 
 she cried. 
 
 " In love ? Nonsense, Floy ; you should 
 know me better than that," he said, reddening 
 a little, and taking off his hat to breathe more 
 freely, and as if the weight of it were oppressive 
 to him. 
 
 " You deny it, then ? " 
 
 "Deny it? To be sure I do," he answered; 
 "I have never spoken half a dozen words to 
 Miss Shaldon, and I consider it unfair of you, 
 Floy, to attribute my interest in her — I do not 
 deny my interest — to a foolish and unw^orthy 
 sentimentalism." 
 
 " Ah ! 1 know," said his sister, nodding her 
 head once or twice emphatically, in response to 
 this energetic protest. 
 
 " Because I took her part last night against 
 what, I repeat, are my mother's ungenerous sus- 
 picions — because I said that no lady is bound to 
 furnish her neighbours with credentials as to 
 her birth and position — because I said that she
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 75 
 
 was good, and kind, and liberal to the poor, 
 who already understand her better than we do, 
 and because, when you asked rae what she was 
 like, I said that she was very beautiful, am I 
 to be laughed at, Floy, and is your romantic 
 imagination to construct a love-story from these 
 slender materials ? Girls of your age cannot 
 think of anything else but love, upon my hon- 
 our I" he cried, with considerable energy. 
 
 " All right," said Florence, demurely ; " I 
 won't chaff you any more." 
 
 '' Florence, will you allow me, in all brotherly 
 affection, to repeat again that I detest slang." 
 
 " It's very fashionable." 
 
 " I loathe and despise it. It's a sign of " 
 
 " I'm breaking myself of it by degrees. I 
 think it's Val's fault," she said. " I like to imi- 
 tate him in everything, you know." 
 
 " I had a letter from Val this morning." 
 
 " Does he know that I am back in England ? 
 Does he talk of coming down to Hernley? 
 What does he say ? Is there anything so very 
 improper in one man's letter to another that 
 you can't show it me?" she added, petulantly. 
 
 '• And ' Haven't I a right to see it V you 
 should have added," said Percy, with a smile.
 
 76 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 as he produced a letter from bis breast-pocket. 
 " There it is, Florence." 
 
 Percy Andison had succeeded very skilfully 
 in turning the conversation from a subject that 
 was embarrassing to himself; he had played his 
 cards well, and, after all, seemed more than a 
 match for his sister. He knew that a letter 
 from Valentine Merrick would be everything to 
 little Floy ; that in her travels on the Continent 
 she had not forgotten his friend, who had made 
 himself even a year ago so very agreeable to 
 her that Sir Charles Andison had interfered, 
 and spoken his mind plainly, and nearly crushed 
 a first affection remorselessly in the bud. Sir 
 Charles had said that his daughter was too 
 young to know her own mind, and that Valen- 
 tine Merrick might have known better, and 
 waited a longer period, and, in fact, said and 
 done a hundred wiser things ; and Valentine 
 Merrick, a man of good family with a little pro- 
 perty and a great deal of pride, had said that he 
 would keep away for twelve months, to give 
 fair play to Miss Andison, and show his own 
 disinterestedness and his faith in her ; and so 
 the twelvemonths had rolled away, and Florence 
 Andison was back in her father's house.
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 77 
 
 Yerj attentively, and with a heightened 
 colour, she read the letter which her brother 
 had given her. Her hands shook a Httle, and 
 she turned aside as they walked on, so that her 
 brother should not perceive her agitation. 
 
 "He is coming, then?" she murmured, at last. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And you haven't given him a hint of the 
 time that I'm likely to be back — not a hint, 
 Percy?" 
 
 " Well, I might have said " 
 
 " Oh ! you cannot hide the truth from me — 
 it always pops out of your mouth, or prints it- 
 self in big capitals on your open countenance !" 
 she cried. "And he does not decline, or plead 
 any pressing engagement, but says how happy 
 he will be to come." 
 
 " Which means " 
 
 " Yes, I think I know what it means," she 
 added, looking down in some confusion, and yet 
 looking very happy. 
 
 They went on side by side together in silence, 
 until the great gates of Hernley Hall were 
 reached, and the distant mansion was seen upon 
 the higher ground beyond — a house that a 
 prince might have inhabited without looking
 
 78 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 particularly shabby. When they were ap- 
 proaching the house, Florence turned to her 
 brother again. 
 
 *' Percy, you and I have been great chums in 
 our time," she said, suddenly. 
 
 " Two children together, the only two — yes," 
 said Percy ; " and we became inseparables in 
 consequence." 
 
 "We did not have any secrets from each 
 other ; you were always more like a great girl 
 than a boy, weren't you, Percy?" 
 
 " Florence, you should not talk like that ; it 
 isn't fair." 
 
 " Well, you are not a man till next week, at 
 all events," she said, " and I cannot keep a 
 secret for the life of me. I don't want to deny 
 that I like Val Merrick just as well as ever I did, 
 and that if he likes me as well, why, I shall 
 think twenty thousand times more of him be- 
 fore the month is out. And he wouldn't talk of 
 coming again, and at once, without he was as 
 true and as constant as I knew he always would 
 be from the first." 
 
 " He's a noble fellow ; he's my heau-ideal 
 of manly honour, Floy." 
 
 " Not that I want him to know all that I tell
 
 BROTHER AXD SISTER. 79 
 
 you, Percy," she said, quietly ; *' let him find the 
 truth out for himself." 
 
 *' To be sure." 
 
 " And it approaches " 
 
 " And he approaches through a haze of golden 
 glory, like the sun," said Percy, half-jestingly. 
 
 " How poetical we are I" said Florence ; " and 
 yet we are not in love I " 
 
 "No." 
 
 '* I told Miss Shaldon that you had sketched 
 her in church, and she said that it was irreverent 
 and foolish, and " 
 
 ** Oh ! Floy, Floy, you have never been so 
 indiscreet as that !" cried Percy. " You have 
 spoiled everything by your indiscretion ; you 
 have made me look an idiot in her eyes, or a 
 fast wretch that has sent you to her with a — 
 with a — with a shallow pretence of " 
 
 " And you are not in love with Miss Shaldon!" 
 said Florence, interrupting him. " And I, a 
 sensible girl, with a perfect knowledge of all the 
 symptoms, am called upon to believe your 
 statement ! There, boy, leave it to me I" 
 
 " Leave what to you ?" gasped forth Percy, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Leave it to me to bring it all round beauti-
 
 80 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 fully," she said, with confidence ; " to coax Miss 
 Shaldon from her hermitage — to make a friend 
 of her— to make her your friend. I have seen 
 her, and I like her for myself. In the haze of 
 golden glory, my poetic brother, I see her com- 
 ing too."
 
 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK. 
 
 rpHERE was a flutter of excitement next day 
 ■^ amongst the inmates of Hernley Hall ; for 
 Mr. Valentine i\Ierrick, of the Inner Temple, 
 had taken the trouble, or the precaution, to 
 telegraph to Mr. Percy Andison that he was on 
 his way towards him, and that the train due at 
 Chingford at 4*50 p.m. would, the Fates permit- 
 ing, land him amongst old friends. It was 
 great news, this coming of the barrister before 
 his time, and each member of the worthy family 
 received it after his or her fashion, and each 
 was far from stoical. 
 
 Valentirae Merrick's advent foreshadowed a 
 gi-eat change — the beginning of a new life to one 
 at least of that grand establishment — and all the 
 Andisons were aware of this, and were glad or 
 sorry according to their respective natures. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 S2 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 There was no mistaking the fact that Valentine ■ 
 Merrick had set aside his briefs in a busy time of 
 the season, and was coming down to court Miss 
 Florence Andison. He had shown his patience 
 and perseverance and pluck by waiting twelve 
 months — by taking Sir Charles Andison's ad- 
 vice, and submitting to his parental authority 
 — by acting honourably and straightforwardly 
 and trustfully, with confidence in himself and 
 the " bit of a girl " whose head he had turned 
 and whose heart he had touched when he was 
 last at Hernley. 
 
 She had not known her own mind last year, 
 Sir Charles had affirmed; but the starchy Baronet 
 was wrong, for his daughter had clung to her 
 first impressions with a tenacity that even Conti- 
 nental travelling, with her aunt as escort, had 
 had no power to affect. Had Sir Charles Andi- 
 son been less exacting, the result might have 
 been more satisfactory, supposing that he had 
 not cared for Mr. Merrick, or had wished to keep 
 his onlj^ daughter at Hernley for a few years 
 longer. A year's separation was an ordeal, but 
 there was something romantic about it to a 
 " seventeener ;" it was a match between con- 
 stancy and time ; there was a story in it — almost
 
 YALEXTI^'E MERRICK. 83 
 
 a plot — and the characters were a clever young 
 fellow, a fair maiden, a father as stern as the 
 heavy parent of the last heavy play, and a mo- 
 ther who had hoped for a great alliance, and 
 considered young barristers to be as speculative 
 commodities as young curates or young doc- 
 tors. They might be full grown presently, but, in 
 the early days of their fledglessness, it behoved 
 well-to-do people to keep guard over their mar- 
 riageable daughters. 
 
 Certainly Valentine Merrick came with cre- 
 dentials of more than ordinary force. He had 
 been a big boy at Eton when Percy was a little 
 one, and he had taken care of Percy, and been 
 his friend. They had never completely lost 
 sight of each other. Despite the six years' dif- 
 ference of age between them, Val Merrick had 
 always been Percy's hero. Sir Charles Andison 
 had known j\lerrick's father, and had admired 
 Merrick's mother, too, before she was married, 
 and in his own impressionable days. The young 
 barrister came of a good family, and his father 
 had left him seven or eight hundred a year ; and 
 it was prophesied in the profession that Val was 
 one of the men who would rise — Val Merrick 
 being clever and energetic, a man on whom 
 
 G 2
 
 84 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 solicitors relied already in cases requiring brains 
 and judgment, and whom old stagers at the Bar 
 were glad to get as junior counsel. 
 
 "He will be a great man," cried Percy; and 
 Valentine Merrick's mother w\is precisely of the 
 same opinion, it may be recorded at once. 
 Florence Andison had not a doubt of this also, 
 though her experience of the Bar was limit- 
 ed to the fact that Val hid his chestnut hair 
 under a horsehair wig ; Sir Charles thought it 
 not wholly improbable ; Lady Andison had not 
 thought about it. That estimable lady had no 
 theories ; she looked at the world as it was. 
 Valentine Merrick had seven or eight hundred a 
 year, and it was a poor and paltry amount in 
 the estim.ation of an Andison. 
 
 " I shouldn't have married you on that," she 
 said very frankly to her lord and husband as 
 they sat after luncheon talking the matter over 
 together. 
 
 " No, it would not have been wise," her hus- 
 band assented. " But I am afraid that we have 
 gone too far, and that there is no stopping this 
 love business." 
 
 " My own opinion is, Sir Charles, that you do 
 not want to stop it."
 
 VALEXTIXE ^lERRICK. 85 
 
 " I don't know that I do," said Sir Charles, 
 reflectively ; " though I don't want to part with 
 Floy yet awhile — though I don't intend to part 
 with her. If she likes him, and if he likes her, 
 I can't see, ray dear, exactly what else is to be 
 done but give our consent. It is not a great 
 match ; but he's a gentleman, and there's no 
 telling what a son-in-law we may have to be 
 proud of one of these days." 
 
 " I shall not interfere," said Lady Andison — 
 " clearly understand that I shall not interfere in 
 any way. Sir Charles." 
 
 *^ Ahem ! — no — exactly." 
 
 Sir Charles Andison's private opinion was 
 that his better half interfered with everything 
 and everybody, but he did not express it just 
 then. He was a man who loved peace as a rule, 
 though he could put himself out, and assert his 
 authority and his position, when anything par- 
 ticularly displeased him, or touched that pride 
 of which he had an excellent stock on hand. A 
 year since he had taken offence at the love-mak- 
 ing that had gone on under his very nose, and 
 had been startled by Valentine Merrick's formal 
 proposal for his daughter ; he had trusted in 
 time to put an end to a silly flirtation, and to
 
 86 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Valentine and Florence forgetting each other. 
 Having borne each other in remembrance, he 
 was too fond of his girl to continue in opposi- 
 tion ; Floy must not be unhappy, and Valentine 
 might come to Hernley Hall and speak up like 
 a man, if he liked. 
 
 His eldest son — the heir to his house — the 
 studious, pale-faced, half-disposed-to-be-round- 
 shouldered Percy — was glad of Val Merrick's 
 coming too. There was no disguising his satis- 
 faction; he was full of suppressed excitement 
 and exultation ; he set his books and studies and 
 collections aside, along with that thoughtful 
 deep-down expression which was natural to his 
 countenance, and against which Sir Charles had 
 protested more than once, feeling perfectly as- 
 sured in his own mind that Percy could alter 
 his " woe-begones " if he pleased. 
 
 " What a difference Val will make in the place!" 
 cried Percy. " How he will brighten everything 
 up ! What a deal he will have to tell us I Had 
 I not better be off now ? It's a long drive to 
 Chingford." 
 
 " It's about five miles,'' said Sir Charles, dryly. 
 
 " Yes, but I don't want to drive Tom and 
 Topsy too fast ; the atmosphere is warm, and
 
 VALENTINE ^lERRICK. 87 
 
 I am not a good hand with, the reins. I think 
 ril go, sir, unless you want the ponies this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 " I shall not require them," said his father. 
 
 Percy Andison drove away, and his sister 
 Florence watched him down the stately avenue 
 from the window of her room, whence it is pro- 
 bable that she would be peeping at the time of 
 his return. She was excited, nervous, almost 
 eccentric that day, but only her maid was 
 aware of the fact. *' Floy is very thoughtful," 
 Sir Charles had said to himself; "she either 
 hesitates, or she's over head and ears in love 
 with the barrister. I suppose it's the latter; 
 and, if so, by Gad, she shall have him !" 
 
 Meanwhile his son, with the groom in the 
 back seat, upright and trim and wooden- 
 visaged, drove into Chingford in style, and 
 was treated with becoming reverence, and 
 saluted with much cap-doffing by the wor- 
 thy townsfolk. Percy iVndison was short- 
 sighted, and did not respond to half the cour- 
 tesies with which Chingford received him, and 
 had not the groom, after his custom, given 
 warning now and then in a deep bass, he would 
 have scarcely reached the railway station with-
 
 88 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 out loss of infantine life, which invariably court- 
 ed danger in Chingford by rolling in the middle 
 of the road. 
 
 He was at Chingford station three quarters of 
 an hour before time ; so he gave the reins to the 
 groom, descended, and w^ent into the little 
 booking-office, out of the sun. He sat down and 
 read from a pocket edition of Lucretius till the 
 train was signalled approaching, when he got 
 up in a hurry and left Lucretius on the seat, 
 where it was found by a little boy, who sold it 
 afterwards in the town for threehalfpence. 
 
 The train had scarcely stopped at the plat- 
 form when Valentine Merrick leaped out and 
 grasped the hands of his friend. It was a forcible 
 greeting between two young men whose diverse 
 pursuits had set them apart in life, but who had 
 a natural liking for each other, and there was 
 much hand-shaking and pleasant welcoming 
 and that natural hearty laughter which is get- 
 ting as scarce now-a-days as Wallsends. 
 
 Valentine Merrick was hardly a handsome 
 man, but he was a man at whom most folk look- 
 ed twice. There was something out of the 
 common way about him — some of the shrewd- 
 ness and cleverness with which the world had
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK. 89 
 
 credited bim was evident npon his coimteiiance. 
 No one would have taken him for a simpleton 
 with that broad massive forehead, and tlie 
 large, gray, piercing eyes beneath it ; and not a 
 little of the energy of his character was express- 
 ed by the firm chin and the clear-cut mouth, over 
 which no moustache acted as a veil. His whis- 
 kers were small and fair, and of complexion he 
 had little ; he had ground it down to a drabby 
 white by hard study in his rooms and hard 
 work in the murky atmosphere of law courts. 
 The air of Chingford and Hernley would give 
 him a healthier colour presently, which in town 
 he would quickly lose again ; but, as far as con- 
 stitution went, Val Men-ick was as strong as a 
 Hon. He was a man above the middle height, 
 broad-chested and muscular, with a mass of 
 brown hair that seemed curling and tivisting 
 fifty ways at once under the broad brim of his 
 deer-stalker. 
 
 He was certainly a shrewd man, with a capi- 
 tal memory. He forgot nothing ; he brought his 
 umbrella out of the carriage, and a small bag 
 that looked as if it had business papers within 
 it — which it had— and he reminded the porter 
 that there were a hat-case and a fishing-rod, as
 
 90 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 well as a portmanteau, to be disinterred from 
 the luggage-van before he ventured to depart. 
 He was liberal with his tip to the railway-ser- 
 vant who looked after his luggage, for the man 
 said " Thank you " very heartily, and remained 
 in a chronic state of hat-touching until Yal had 
 been driven away. The latter took a compre- 
 hensive view of his property in the back of the 
 four-wheeler and by the side of the man in 
 livery before he settled down to Percy Andi- 
 son's society. 
 
 '' Will you drive, Val f asked Percy. " I think 
 you like " 
 
 " Of course I like I" cried his friend, seizing 
 the reins. " It gives me an idea of power and 
 property, and it affords you an opportunity of 
 dozing off in Dickens's fat boy style." 
 
 " I am not as sleepy as I used to be." 
 
 " More wide awake, eh, Percy f said Merrick. 
 " With an eye to what is passing in the world, 
 which is a greater study than geology, astrono- 
 my, and mathematics, and harder to become a 
 master of? Tom and Topsy pull a bit — they're 
 too fresh ; we must take the impudence out of 
 them to-morrow, Percy." 
 
 ''You remember their names?" said Percy, 
 laughing.
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK. 91 
 
 " Yes, and why we christened them, from 
 Mrs. Beecher Stowe's novel, and who christened 
 them with mock formality and much form. She 
 is well, I hope ?" 
 
 "Florence is very well, thank you, Val." 
 
 "At Hernleyf 
 
 " Yes— at Hernley ?" 
 
 " That's all right. It's like driving back to 
 the old times, and kicking the last twelve 
 mouths into the ditch by the wayside," said 
 Val. 
 
 " That is rather hard on the last year," ob- 
 served Percy. 
 
 " Serve it right." 
 
 " And yet you have been successful in it," 
 said Percy, reproachfully. 
 
 "Yes, and I am not ungrateful. Oh! Time, 
 bring the old year out of the slough of despond, 
 and rub it down carefully — I didn't mean to 
 serve a faithful friend like this !" 
 
 He was in high spirits, and Percy participated 
 in them ; it was a merry couple bowling along 
 towards the Baronet's house through the fair 
 green English landscape which lay on either 
 side of them. After a few inquiries as to the 
 health of Sir Charles and Lady Andison on the
 
 92 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 part of Yaleutine, and after a question or two as 
 to the health of ^Irs. Merrick, Valentine, who 
 had been regarding Percy steadily, said, 
 
 "You have improved, old boy! By Jove! 
 you have improved !" 
 
 "In good looks?" asked Percy, lightly. 
 
 " Hang it I you never had any of them," said 
 his friend as lightly in return ; and then, after 
 another ringing laugh had been exchanged, 
 Valentine Merrick explained himself more clear- 
 ly. " You have lost that heavy, brooding look ; 
 you are not half as absent as you used to be — 
 you actually listen to all that a fellow tells you," 
 said Merrick. " Ten to one you don't study so 
 hard !" 
 
 " Possibly not. My father tells me that I 
 do ; but then he would make a Centaur of me, 
 and have me always on horseback for my liver's 
 sake." 
 
 " And there's nothing in Chingford, or Hern- 
 ley, or Weddercombe, or anywhere, which has 
 taken off the twenty-five per cent, of neutral 
 tint V 
 
 "Nothing, Val." 
 
 " Then your liver's better — there's not a 
 doubt of it I" cried Val. " And, talking of
 
 VALEXTIXE ^lERRICK. 93 
 
 Weddercombe, how's Colonel Chester — red-hot, 
 pepper}^, explosive Chester? Do jou remember 
 how I aggravated the old beggar about his 
 shooting once?" 
 
 "Yes, I remember. But Colonel Chester is 
 dead." 
 
 " Poor old boy ! Is he, though ?" said Mer- 
 rick, more thoughtfully. "And I have been 
 wondering in the train what he would say to 
 me if I met him at your father's table. Who 
 has Weddercombe ? — Sir Charles ?" 
 
 " Sir Charles wanted it, but it w^as bought 
 over his head." 
 
 " By an enviable neighbour, who will allow 
 me to fish in that trout stream which runs at 
 the back of the gamekeeper's cottage. All the 
 big trout get there — haven't you noticed it, 
 Percy?" 
 
 " I never fish." 
 
 ** You shall come and see me — that is, if this 
 neighbour " 
 
 '^ iMiss Shaldon." 
 
 " What, an old maid ! Heaven and earth, an 
 old maid at Weddercombe ! What does she 
 want there?" 
 
 " She is a young woman, Val, very bright and
 
 94 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 beautiful, with a glimpse of the angel in her 
 eyes." 
 
 " Have you been looking very closely after 
 the angel in them, then, you rascal ?" cried 
 Valentine. " Come, tell us all about Miss 
 Shaldon — 
 
 AVho is ber father? 
 How is her mother ? 
 Has she a sister, 
 And a very big brother ?" 
 
 " If you rattle on like this, I shall not tell you 
 anything — and it's a down-right romantic mys- 
 tery," said his friend. 
 
 " Oh ! confound it ; and I have come to Hern- 
 ley Hall to escape mystery — the great mystery 
 of the law, and the law's victims. Plaintiff and 
 defendant, prosecutor and the prisoner at the 
 bar, are the victims, of course — that is, between 
 you and me, understand, but don't let it go any 
 farther." 
 
 Percy smiled, but essayed to change the con- 
 versation. He pointed to a corn-field flushed 
 with the golden promise of the next month's 
 harvest, and said something about the crops 
 which the farmer was hkely to have ; but Valen- 
 tine Merrick simply nodded and said,
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK. y5 
 
 •' But this Miss Shaldon ?" 
 
 " Well," said Percy, reluctantly returniug- to 
 the subject, " she has been here about six months. 
 She is very good and kind to the poor ; she 
 is very beautiful, and she lives at Weddercombe. 
 That's all." 
 
 " I don't see any great degree of mystery in 
 that." 
 
 " The mystery lies in so young a woman liv- 
 ing at Weddercombe — shutting up her youth in 
 that melancholy, miserable place, preferring a 
 companionless existence to that society which 
 she would adorn so well." 
 
 " Alone there ?" said Val Merrick, thoughtful- 
 ly. ''Do you mean quite alone?" 
 
 " Yes, with the exception of a servant or two, 
 and an ugly old woman for housekeeper." 
 
 " How old is she r 
 
 " Eighteen or nineteen." 
 
 " And very plain, you say ?" 
 
 •' Plain ! I said that she Avas very beautiful/' 
 said Percy, indignant at this. 
 
 " Ah, I see what has brightened you up a bit," 
 said Valentine dryly ; " it's the tender passion 
 which has touched the heart and shaken the 
 liver of this dry old stick beside me. You must
 
 96 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 introdsice me to Miss Shaldon. When will this 
 paragon of female loveliness be at Hernley ?" 
 
 ^'She never visits — she never receives visitors." 
 
 " How then " 
 
 " We liave seen her at church — we meet her 
 at times in the village. Floy called there yes- 
 terday, <5ut of curiosity, and got snubbed tre- 
 anendoudy." 
 
 " Was she not glad to see Floy ?" 
 
 ^' Not a bit." 
 
 "Hang it, I can't understand that!" said 
 ValentidEO indignantly. " This Miss Shaldon 
 must be n person of bad tone and vile taste 
 — a retired publican's daughter perhaps — publi- 
 cans make a heap of money, you know." 
 
 Percy would not dwell any longer on this 
 topic. He insisted upon talking about the crops, 
 ;and Valentine Merrick let him have his own way, 
 and became interested, or appeared to be, in the 
 probable yield of the harvest. 
 
 " It is a little odd," said the barrister, as they 
 turnod into the broad avenue leading to Hernley 
 Hall 
 
 « What is odd ? That this field should grow 
 more quarters of corn than " 
 
 " No. It is a little odd that a girl of nineteen
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK. 97 
 
 should shut herself up in Weddercombe. There 
 must be a reason for it — it is not a fancy." 
 
 " Never mind," said Percy restlessly. " You 
 will hear enough of that from Florence and my 
 mother. I can only see that Helena Shaldon 
 has a perfect right to do as she pleases." 
 
 ''Certainly ; and Helena, did you say?" 
 
 "Yes, Helena. There's nothing odd about 
 that name, surely ?" 
 
 " It's a pretty name ; I like it," said Merrick, 
 somewhat thoughtfully again. 
 
 "Perhaps you liked a Helena too, once upon 
 a time ?" cried Percy jestingly. 
 
 " No ; but once upon a time there was a cer- 
 tain Helena who " 
 
 " Who f repeated Percy, as he paused for 
 
 consideration, or checked himself abruptly. 
 
 " Who made eyes at Percy Andison, and turn- 
 ed him from stone to life — it's a softening pro- 
 cess you w^U read of in mythology. Oh, here's 
 home !" cried he as they drew up before the 
 stately entrance of Hernley Hall ; " for it's like 
 coming home again to see this place. I said a 
 year ago," he added, with a touch of firmness in 
 his tone, " that I would be here this very day, 
 and ] am no false prophet." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FRANKLY. 
 
 T/ALENTINE MERRICK'S reception by the 
 T head of the house of Andison was com- 
 pletely satisfactory. He had had a doubt in his 
 own mind as to how he would be received, for he 
 had written to Percy and invited himself to 
 Hernley with the freedom of one who felt assured 
 of his welcome, although he was not quite cer- 
 tain what Sir Charles would say to him. The 
 old gentleman had been angry at their last 
 meeting, twelve months ago, and had said, " A 
 year hence you will be sorry for this — a year 
 hence you and my daughter will not care a straw 
 for each other ;" and there was Valentine Mer- 
 rick back to disprove the force of argument on 
 his side, and to hope for the best as regarded the 
 lady.
 
 FRANKLY. 99 
 
 He was ud commonly sanguine. Percy would 
 have written and asked him to keep away had 
 affairs been unfavourable ; Sir Charles would 
 have surely dropped a stiff line or two to the 
 same effect, Avinding up with " I told you how 
 it would be."' But no one had set a barrier in 
 the way of his coming, and there were no 
 enemies to confront. He had formed his esti- 
 mate of Florence Andison's character a year 
 back, and believed in her firmness and courage. 
 He had not been deceived ; they would all be 
 glad to see him back at Hernley. 
 
 Sir Charles bowed over the barrister's hand 
 as a gentleman of the ruffles and pigtail school 
 of etiquette might have done, and said, " Wel- 
 come, 'My. Merrick !*' as if he meant what he was 
 saying ; and in the friendly salutation Valentine 
 knew that all was well. Sir Charles had never 
 disliked him ; on the contrary, he had taken to 
 him as a friend of his own as well as Percy's, 
 until the impressionable Florence had alarmed 
 her father with fears of a hasty and repentant 
 match. Sir Charles had not been quite certain 
 that Valentine knew his own mind, and he was 
 sure that his daughter did not ; and, like a wise 
 parent, he had stepped between them and cried 
 
 H 2
 
 100 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 " Time !" Now, with twelve months for reflec- 
 tion, the picture was set in a new light, and the 
 Baronet thought that he could trust both of 
 them. At all events, let them meet, and see if 
 they liked each other still ; if they did, he would 
 be proud of his clear-headed, quick-witted son- 
 in-law, whom he would see in judge's ermine 
 some day. Valentine w^as very clever — every- 
 body said so. Better that his daughter should 
 marry a clever fellow than an addle-pated no- 
 body with thousands of acres of land and not 
 half an inch of intelligence. He was not sorry 
 for the result ; he w^as almost sure now that 
 Florence would be happy with Valentine Mer- 
 rick, and that was everything. And, if the 
 worst came to the worst, why, there was money 
 enough in the Andison coifers, to advance the 
 Merrick interest, put Valentine into Parliament, 
 and float him towards prosperity. 
 
 " The ladies are dressing for dinner, Mr. Mer- 
 rick," Sir Charles explained, as a quick glance 
 of the grey eyes took in everything within half- 
 a-dozen yards of him. " They will be happy to 
 receive you in the drawing-room presently, I 
 am sure. Jones, show Mr. Merrick to his 
 room."
 
 FRANEI.Y. 101 
 
 Valentine followed a stately footman of six 
 feet two — a prize footman, with two of the best 
 calves in the county — who led the way upstairs ; 
 and a few minutes afterwards the barrister was 
 alone with his portmanteau and his other be- 
 longings. 
 
 He flung himself into a capacious arm-chair, 
 and pitched his felt hat across the room. There 
 seemed a sense of rest, even of luxury, possibly 
 of triumph, in reposing there, with his full- 
 veined white hands clasped, and his deep-set 
 eyes looking before him at the pattern on the 
 walls. 
 
 " The same rooms, the same scenes and char- 
 acters, the same position, the same life and love 
 and fortune! Val Merrick," he said, apostro- 
 phising himself, " you're a lucky man ; you were 
 born under a lucky star, that is not likely to 
 wane. I wonder what I have done to deserve 
 all this. I'm no better than other men — I'm a 
 trifle worse as regards many traits of character. 
 I'm beastly selfish — I'm fond of money. I have 
 a horribly good opinion of myself, that disturbs 
 otiier folk's opinion of themselves. I'm not a 
 saint — I don't believe in saints. I am beset by 
 huge ambitions. If anyone were to know the
 
 102 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 end and aim of mj life, what a fool I should he 
 thought !" 
 
 He reflected npon all this, and forgot that 
 his portmanteau was unlocked, and he still in 
 travelling dress, until a sepulchral gong be- 
 gan booming in the hall by way of hint that 
 dinner was nearly ready. He dressed hurriedly, 
 and almost ran downstairs afterwards; dreaming 
 away time had never been a habit of his, and 
 this was only the reaction after calculating the 
 value of every minute in town. 
 
 He was last in the drawing-room ; they were 
 all there, and waiting for him, a Mr. Dimsford, 
 the family doctor, the only guest besides him- 
 self. Florence was in white, and looking almost 
 like a bride ; he could seethe blushes on her face 
 and neck as he advanced, and it was pleasant 
 to note her embarrassment, and to feel sure that 
 he had not been forgotten. He thought Lady 
 Andison, with whom he first shook hands, a 
 trifle inflexible about the backbone ; she was 
 formal and angular and patronising, but that 
 was her way, and he did not care a great deal 
 for Lady Andison's way. Indeed, he had given 
 such excellent imitations of that lady to his mo- 
 ther last year, that Mrs. Merrick had thought
 
 FRAXKLY. 103 
 
 that, if her Valentine had been less ambitions, 
 he would have been an actor rather than a bar- 
 rister. 
 
 When dinner was announced, he had to escort 
 Lady Andison into the dining-room, but Flor- 
 ence sat on the other side of him, and that 
 made amends for a great deal. Yes, it was 
 pleasant to have this fresh happy young girl at 
 his side, and to note how her shyness and em- 
 barrassment wore off beneath his own natural 
 manner, which set her at ease. He was not 
 embarrassed in any way himself — why should he 
 be? He was not naturally nervous, and that 
 fair amount of success in his profession which he 
 had already achieved had given him self-pos- 
 session and strength of nerve. He did not blush 
 and stammer when he spoke to Florence iVndi- 
 son ; that " sense of nearness " to her to which 
 the poet alludes did not thrill him to the tips of 
 his dress boots ; he could never have understood 
 so extraordinary a sensation. 
 
 He was in higher spirits than usual ; he knew 
 that he should make her a good husband when 
 the time came, and that she would make him 
 one of the best and most fairy-like of wives ; he 
 was certain that she was really and truly in love
 
 104 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 with him, and he was very happy in the con- 
 sciousness of her preference, of the suitability of 
 the match, of the smoothness of his path ahead, 
 and its plenitude of roses by the way. He knew 
 that Sir Charles would not shake his head any 
 more at him, that Percy w^ould rejoice, that 
 even Lady Andison would not offer opposition, 
 and that the Baronet's daughter would accept 
 him without any nonsensical affectation ; hence 
 his high spirits were not to be wondered at. 
 Lady Andison would have preferred him more 
 grateful for being acknowledged by the family, 
 more humble and reverential in her presence, 
 more awe-struck by the wealth and position be- 
 fore him ; but he was not awe-struck, and it was 
 out of his power to be more conciliatory and 
 less cool. The idea was ingrained in him that 
 he was as good as they were — that a time 
 w^ould come when he would soar above the 
 heads and the aspirations of any old-fashioned, 
 well-to-do, sleepy country family — that the world 
 would acknowledge him and talk of him, and 
 that to know Merrick would be something for 
 people to be proud. 
 
 With these ideas Valentine might have be- 
 come a nuisance to that society of which he
 
 FRANKLY. 105 
 
 thought himself an ornament, bnt he was a man 
 of sense, and he was a born gentleman in his 
 way. fle never spoke of himself, or of his pro- 
 fession, if he could help it ; if he knew that he 
 was a cleverer man than three-fourths of the folk 
 whom he met out, he took no pains to convince 
 them of the fact ; he was always natural, and he 
 was too proud a man to be vain. 
 
 On that particular evening he was full of 
 anecdote, and not lacking in humour ; he inter- 
 ested Lady Andison with the latest town tattle, 
 he charmed Florence with his opinions upon 
 authors, actors and singers, and he was great 
 on politics with Sir Charles and Mr. Dimsford. 
 Percy Andison did not share in the general con- 
 versation a great deal ; he listened for awhile 
 with a certain amount of attention, forcing him- 
 self to be amused with topics in which he took 
 not one grain of interest, and then, after a habit 
 of which there was no breaking him, he went off 
 into a dreamland of his ow^n, and became as ab- 
 sent as usual. 
 
 " Don't you think so, Percy ?" woke him up 
 over the last course. Valentine had been ad- 
 dressing him, and Sir Charles, whose irritation 
 would display itself every day at Percy's indif-
 
 106 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 ference or abstraction — although he might have 
 become used to it by this time — glared at his 
 son across the table. 
 
 " I don't know what is the subject nnder 
 discussion, upon my honour," said Percy, 
 frankly. 
 
 " I wonder what on earth you were thinking 
 about," remarked his father, petulantly. 
 
 " That would be difficult to explain," Percy 
 Andison remarked. 
 
 " Are you quite sure that Miss Shaldon was 
 not at the bottom of that last brown study?" 
 asked Valentine. 
 
 "Miss Shaldon!" exclaimed Sir Charles — 
 " you don't know anything about that lady, Mr. 
 Merrick f 
 
 " Only what Percy was good enough to tell 
 me as we drove from the station," answered the 
 barrister ; " he informs me that she's a mystery, 
 a romance, a " 
 
 " A lady," said Percy, very quietly, but with 
 some confusion of manner. 
 
 " I hope she is," said Lady Andison, doubt- 
 fully ; " I try to think that she is, but I cannot 
 understand a young person so wholly without 
 friends, relatives, and acquaintances."
 
 FRAXKLY. 107 
 
 "They are all coming presently," cried Flor- 
 ence, "she has not been here long, and she is a 
 lady." 
 
 " You admire her f said Valentine to her. 
 
 " Yes," answered Florence ; " though she 
 does not admire me a bit. I offended her by 
 taking her unawares at Weddercombe ; but I 
 was in a hurry to see her, and Percy spoke in 
 such raptures about her beauty, that I sin-prised 
 her by a flying visit. 
 
 " I am not aware that I spoke in ' such rap- 
 tures,' as you term it," said Percy, a little caus- 
 tically. " I told you, Floy, that we had a new 
 neighbour, and you paid her a morning call in a 
 rather unceremonious manner. There's nothing 
 very remarkable in that." 
 
 " But there's something very remarkable in 
 her, is there not, Percy dear?" said Florence, 
 archly ; and Percy reddened a little, and looked 
 a gross or two of daggers at his sister. 
 
 " I think that we are talking a great deal of 
 nonsense," said Sir Charles, tetchily ; and as 
 this was taken as a hint that the host objected 
 to the topic of conversation, the subject was 
 adroitly changed by Valentine. 
 
 Time passed on, the dessert followed the din-
 
 108 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 iier, and the ladies' departure followed the des- 
 sert. The gentlemen, left behind, drew their 
 chairs closer together, brought the decanters 
 within easy reach, and went head-foremost all 
 four of them into politics, which Percy conde- 
 scended to consider a congenial topic, now that 
 his mother and sister had departed. They 
 talked politics till the prize footman brought in 
 the coffee, and a second prize footman glided 
 round with milk and sugar ; and wlien that little 
 ceremony had been gone through, and the ser- 
 vants had left, Valentine Merrick drew his chair 
 close to the Baronet's, looked very steadily and 
 earnestly into his sharp face, and said, in a low 
 voice, " Sir Charles, it is as well that I should 
 tell yoQ at once all that I have in my mind in 
 coming to your house." 
 
 " Very well, ^Ir. Merrick," said Sir Charles 
 bowing gravely, though he was taken a little, 
 aback by our hero's frankness. 
 
 *' Doctor Dimsford, before joining the ladies, 
 you would not object to a cigar in the garden 
 with me," said Percy, " while Mr. Merrick and 
 my father discuss business for a few moments ?" 
 
 "Ah, you know my weakness; I shall enjoy 
 a cigar immensely," said the Doctor.
 
 FRAXKLr. 109 
 
 Percy laughed across at Valentine as he fol- 
 lowed the Doctor through the open French 
 window to the lawn beyond, but Val remained 
 very grave as befitted the occasion. 
 
 AVhen the two men were alone, Valentine 
 went as straight as an arrow to the subject, 
 and Sir Charles put the tips of his fingers to- 
 gether and listened graciously. 
 
 "I might have deferred this statement till 
 the morniog. Sir Charles, but there was no ex- 
 cuse for delay," he began. " 1 have come here 
 with a purpose, which I think you know, and 
 to which I hope you do not object. Twelve 
 months ago I informed you of the state of my 
 feelings as regarded your daughter Florence, 
 and you told me in return to wait twelve 
 months to give her time and myself time, to 
 keep even twelve months away from her, so 
 that any fleeting fancy might die of its own 
 weakness. I come back twelve months to the 
 day — I am received at Hernley Hall with much 
 courtesy and kindness — may I take that as an 
 earnest that my attentions are not objection- 
 able, and that I have your permission now to 
 speak to Florence ?" 
 
 Sir Charles released his finger-tips and held
 
 110 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 out his band towards Mr. Merrick. "You 
 may." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you!" cried Valentine, 
 with warmth. 
 
 " I believe that you will make my Florence a 
 good husband. I don't want to lose her yet 
 awhile, you understand — she is the only girl, 
 and Pleaven knows that I am very proud of her." 
 
 Sir Charles's voice broke here, but he made a 
 dash at the sherry, and carried away all trace 
 of emotion with his " whitewash." He Hnked 
 his arm in Valentine's, and the two made their 
 way slowly towards the French windows in 
 amicable contiguity. 
 
 " I am glad that you have spoken out, Valen- 
 tine," said he, calling his companion by his 
 Christian name for the first time in his life. 
 
 " I thought it was the better plan." 
 
 " Infinitely better." 
 
 "It gave you an opportunity of telling me to 
 go, should I have been wrong in my estimation 
 of your sentiments regarding me," said Valen- 
 tine. 
 
 " I should have not let you approach as far 
 as my dinner-table if I had been inclined to act 
 the stern father ; and, by the way," he added.
 
 FRANKLY. Hi 
 
 as they stood together on the lawn, " Let Lady 
 Andison hear a similar statement to-night, so 
 that there may be no unfair preference." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir Charles — and," he added to 
 himself, "Florence, too, or I'm a milksop!"
 
 112 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 
 
 rpHIS was a little dinner-party, without for- 
 * mality — a mere family meeting — where 
 the Doctor had dropped in, and where Valen- 
 tine Merrick was one of the family. There had 
 been no punctiliousness observed ; and Doctor 
 Dimsford, though he wondered what business 
 the Baronet had with the barrister, had not 
 thought it out of course to be turned into the 
 garden along with Percy. He loved a cigar, 
 but Sir Charles Andison objected to smoking. 
 From the drawing-room windows of the stately 
 mansion the gentlemen were perceived upon 
 the lawn, and presently Valentine was des- 
 patched as special messenger to induce Lady 
 Andison and her daughter to join them. This
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 113 
 
 Avas a failure, or a success, according to one's 
 way of looking at the matter. Florence 
 thought it was the former, until he who thought 
 it was the latter explained at a later hour of 
 the evening. 
 
 Lady Andison would not venture into the 
 garden ; it would soon be dark, and she had a 
 sensitive throat and was subject to neuralgia. 
 Florence might enjoy the cool evening air if 
 she liked, and if she would wrap herself up pro- 
 perly ; and so Florence shortly afterwards was 
 seen upon the lawn in a cloud of blue gauze 
 over her head and shoulders, and Valentine 
 Merrick, to her secret astonishment, remained 
 behind to talk to her mamma. 
 
 Valentine had marched on steadily and in a 
 business-like fashion to the end that he had in 
 view ; he had prepared his plan of action, and 
 the time to strike was when the iron was hot. 
 Lady Andison was prepared for him then, and 
 he sat down and started his subject with befit- 
 ting deference and in all humility. He was not 
 quite certain of Lady Andison — what she would 
 say, or in what way she would say it. He 
 knew that she considered him almost in the 
 light of a bad " catch " for her daughter ; that 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 she looked down upon his present position, and 
 was not sanguine of the future. He was cer- 
 tain that she would be patronising and cold 
 and unsympathetic, and look as if she regretted 
 the coming of that engagement which it was 
 beyond her power to prevent, and possibly tell 
 him so by way of a wind-up ; and it was his 
 aim to conciliate Lady Andison, and to impress 
 her, if possible, by his best behaviour. 
 
 He succeeded better than he had anticipated. 
 He was frank and courteous and deferential ; 
 he pleaded eloquently for her vote and interest ; 
 he took her completely into his confidence as to 
 his position in the world ; he spoke very warm- 
 ly of his affection for Miss ilndison, his friend- 
 ship for Percy, his general admiration for every 
 member of the family. 
 
 Lady Andison did not warm into enthusiasm, 
 but she did not check the flow of his eloquence ; 
 finally she accepted him for her future son-in- 
 law, and granted her generous permission for 
 him to speak to Florence upon the subject. 
 Everybody seemed to know what Florence 
 Andison would say, and to talk of the future as 
 though she had already consented to become 
 this man's wife. Even Valentine Merrick was
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 115 
 
 quite sure of the conquest that he had made. 
 
 Probably this fact accounted for the young 
 barrister's coolness in the midst of that happi- 
 ness which would have bewildered most men of 
 his age. His heart did beat a little more rapid- 
 ly when he found himself on the lawn with 
 Florence, when Percy seized the Doctor's arm 
 and trotted him to a remote part of the garden 
 to inspect a splendid specimen of a standard 
 rose, and when Sir Charles Andison, after a 
 few words, walked slowly, and even sadly, to- 
 wards his wife in the drawing-room. This was 
 the end, then, thought the Baronet; and his girl 
 would belong to the barrister rather than to 
 him, after that meeting on the lawn. It was 
 natural — it was the way the world went round ; 
 and he had only brought up Floy, and loved 
 Floy, to lose her. It was the fate of fathers 
 who had pretty daughters, and he was no worse 
 off than other men. 
 
 What Valentine Merrick said to Florence 
 Andison at the first opportunity that he had of 
 addressing her alone, there is no occasion to 
 dwell upon. Its purport may be guessed ; it is 
 known with what object Mr. Merrick had left 
 town for Hernley, and how he went straight to 
 
 i2
 
 116 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 the end in view, when it suited his inclination. 
 He liked Florence, and he was not bashful. He 
 was an honourable and a straightforward man, 
 and poor Floy had had the man in her heart, as 
 he knew, for twelve months. 
 
 She was a little coy, but she was an un- 
 affected girl of eighteen, and there w^as no dis- 
 guising — ^hardly an attempt to disguise — all the 
 happiness she felt at meeting Valentine Merrick 
 again. He told his story ; or, rather, he took 
 up the thread of a story first spun in those very 
 grounds when she was twelve months younger; 
 he proposed and was accepted, and there they 
 were, Corydon and Phyllis, walking slowly up 
 and down the velvet lawn together, lovers 
 acknowledged, man and woman engaged to be 
 married. True, the man had not seen a great 
 deal of the maiden, and the maiden knew very 
 little of the habits of the man ; but they were 
 sure that each understood the other's heart 
 perfectly well, that there were no enigmas in 
 their breasts, that all would be very smooth 
 and bright and rose-tinted in their blissful 
 journey through life. Plenty of love, plenty 
 of faith, and plenty of money— where could 
 lurk a sunken rock under the sea to wreck
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 117 
 
 the happy couple in their voyage together ! 
 
 " I think it's quite time Floy and Mr. Mer- 
 rick came in," said Lady Andison, suddenly. 
 
 She had been watching them through her 
 gold-mounted eye-glasses, and the three gen- 
 tlemen were standing at the card-table think- 
 ing of whist, three and a dummy. There was 
 no chance of a fourth; it would be very hard 
 on the fourth, Dr. Dimsford had said, laughing- 
 ly, now that he had seen more clearly into the 
 position, which the Andisons made no great 
 effort to conceal. 
 
 " It's a fine dry evening," said Percy — " why 
 should we disturb them, mamma ?" 
 
 " That lawn is never dry — and the tea is get- 
 ting cold — and I think Mr. Merrick has spoken 
 quite enough nonsense to Florence for one 
 evening — and it doesn't look well," said Lady 
 Andison in a low fretful tone. " Percy, tell them 
 that " 
 
 " Here they come, mamma." 
 
 Valentine and Florence both understood "the 
 proprieties," and after all they had only taken 
 one more stroll upon the lawn when there had 
 been a move towards the drawing-room. They 
 came in bright and radiant ; Florence very beau-
 
 118 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 tiful, Valentine with all the deep thoughts of 
 his profession set apart from him, it was evident 
 by the laughing look upon his face. They were 
 not ashamed of their engagement, or what might 
 be said of it by any gentleman there disposed to 
 be facetious. They were proud of it, and were 
 even a little disappointed on their entrance that 
 no remarks were made upon their preference for 
 each other's society. Lady Andison filled tw^o 
 little dainty Sevres cups with tea for them, and 
 the servants in attendance waited upon them as 
 they sat side by side upon the sofa. 
 
 The three gentlemen settled down to whist, 
 and at the second game induced Lady Andison 
 — who was a lady who required a great deal of 
 persuasion to do anything — to take Doctor 
 Dimsford for a partner. Miss Andison was asked 
 to play the piano — a feat which she performed 
 very feebly and imperfectly, not being highly 
 proficient at that instrument, and Valentine 
 putting her out by whispering to her all the 
 time, under the pretence of turning over the 
 leaves of the music. 
 
 '* Thank you, my dear," said Sir Charles, when 
 she had finished playing. 
 
 "Very nicely played indeed," said Doctor
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 119 
 
 Dimsford, who had not paid attention to a note 
 
 of it — "excellently pla Your trick, Lady 
 
 Andison." 
 
 " Thank you, Doctor — I am perfectly aware 
 that it's my trick," said Lsidy Andison with 
 acerbity. 
 
 There was a great deal of whist and very 
 little music. Valentine and Florence discovered 
 a huge photographic album to bury themselves 
 in, and sat side by side again, and turned over 
 its leaves both at the same time, with their hands 
 constantly meeting in the clumsiest manner. 
 
 " This is Percy's album, not the family collec- 
 tion of notabilities," said Florence : "these ugly 
 old men are all members of learned societies." 
 
 " They do run rather ugly," said Valentine, 
 looking at them ; " but I dare say that they are 
 grateful for being blessed with big brains instead 
 of babies' faces, Flo." 
 
 " I should not like to be a handsome man," 
 said Floy, thoughtfully. 
 
 " No, I suppose not ; nor to marry one either." 
 
 " Oh, I wouldn't marry a handsome man for 
 the world I" she answered, readily. 
 
 " I must be rather plain," thought Valentine ; 
 " I must look uncommonly plain this evening."
 
 120 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 ''That's a handsome face — that's Doctor Dims- 
 ford's eldest son — and that's Mr. Whistleshaft, 
 the auctioner at Chingford. Percy," elevating 
 her voice, " why have you put that odious little 
 man into this book V 
 
 ''What — who?" murmured Percy, absorbed 
 in his whist. 
 
 " Mr. Whistleshaft." 
 
 " Oh I he's very well, 1 believe," said Percy. 
 
 The lovers gave him up as past reasoning 
 with. 
 
 " He's studying heads — that's the reason, per- 
 haps," said Florence. 
 
 " I prefer studying hearts," whispered Valen- 
 tine. 
 
 " How many, sir ?" asked Florence, archly. 
 
 " Only one." 
 
 " Oh, of course ! But I should like to know, 
 really," she said, dropping her voice, " if there 
 ever was at any time of your life — before you 
 knew me — one tiny heart that might have inte- 
 rested you somewhere — just a little ?" 
 
 " Never," said Valentine, very fearlessly. 
 
 "Honour?" 
 
 " Honour bright, Flo," cried Val ; " for you 
 must know I never thought that I should fall
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 121 
 
 in love, or be able to afford the time, or find 
 the lady. When you peep into my rooms in the 
 Temple some day, and I show you row after row 
 of big law-books, dry as ashes to him who loves 
 not the law as I do, and tell you that I have read 
 them all, and studied them all, and mastered 
 them all, you will understand what a little time 
 I have had for anything save work." 
 
 " But you did find time to — to like me, Val f ' 
 she murmured. 
 
 ''Ah, I did!" 
 
 " And you will never find time to get tired of 
 me — to forget me in the big law-books again ?" 
 
 "Is that likely?" 
 
 " I seem to have been caught so easily," she 
 said, with a little sigh, " as if I had been such 
 dreadful spoons — oh, I beg pardon, that's not a 
 genteel way of talking to one's betrothed." 
 
 '' I hate gentility, it's a sham." 
 
 " Yes, but don't tell mamma. She— ah, there's 
 Percy's sketch of Miss Shaldon ; I thought it 
 was next the poor fellow's heart." 
 
 " Like a pitch plaster for a hoarseness," said 
 our hero, as he stooped and picked up the little 
 square piece of drawing paper which had flutter- 
 ed from the book to the carpet ; " I beg your
 
 122 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 pardon, Floy — that's not a genteel way of 
 putting it either — the simile I mean, not the 
 plaster. Percy was almost a genius with his 
 pencil once, and this should be a likeness." 
 
 "Dear old Percy is almost a genius in many 
 things," said Florence ; " and that is a likeness 
 cleverly caught." 
 
 " At church, where many young fellows are 
 caught, I am told," he said, dryly, " where " 
 
 And then Valentine Merrick came to a full 
 stop, held the sketch at arm's length, stared his 
 hardest at it, and forgot what he was talking 
 about. Florence waited very patiently, looked 
 over his shoulder at the sketch, and then look- 
 ed, after a while, at her lover with a half 
 curious, half attentive gaze, which he failed to 
 perceive in his absorption. 
 
 There was nothing striking in the sketch ; it 
 represented the face of a pensive, beautiful girl ; 
 it was -a mere outline lacking the expression 
 which shade or colour might have given to it — 
 but it held Valentine Merrick spell-bound. He 
 sat there like a man perplexed as well as 
 fascinated ; and the broad forehead seemed to 
 be jutting still more over the grey eyes as he 
 gazed at it with an eager interest.
 
 A LATE VISITOR. 123 
 
 '* It is very strange," he said at last, and al- 
 most to himself. 
 
 " What is very strange, Val ?" asked Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 He was surprised that she had heard him, but 
 he said, " It is a very strange face — don't you 
 think so ?" 
 
 " No, only that it is very beautiful, and one 
 that I liked at first sight — almost as much as 
 you do, Val ?" she added archly. 
 
 "I never said that I liked the face, Flo- 
 rence." 
 
 "Perhaps it was my jealousy. Oh. you don't 
 know what a jealous girl I am — what a dreadful 
 life I shall lead you when any lady looks at 
 you even. I'm awfully jealous — that's my weak- 
 ness." 
 
 "I said that this was a strange face, Flo," 
 Valentine remarked, still w^ith the sketch in his 
 hand ; " but I am inclined to doubt it, after all. 
 The closer I study this, the more convinced I 
 seem to be that I have seen it before. So this 
 is Helena Shaldon, your brother's romance." 
 
 "How did you know her name was Helena?" 
 asked Florence, very quickly. 
 
 " Percy told me so this afternoon."
 
 124 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Ah, very likely," said Florence ; '' he will 
 grow eloquent upon Miss Shaldon at any 
 moment. And she is really very nice and very 
 pretty, and I only wish she would let me call 
 her ray friend." 
 
 " You have quite enough friends, Florence. 
 The new deceive us very often." 
 
 " You are a new friend — almost." 
 
 " I hope not ;" and here his hand strayed to 
 hers and pressed it. "And, Flo, if you will 
 take my advice, you will make no new friend 
 here. The lady is mysterious, your mother 
 says ; and mysterious young ladies without an- 
 tecedents may prove very dangerous company." 
 
 " I feel, Val, that 1 can trust her." 
 
 " That is sentiment, not reasoning, and it is 
 the impulsive nature that gets into scrapes, 
 and " 
 
 The door opened, and the footman appeared 
 with so scared an expression of countenance 
 that Valentine stopped, and the whist-players 
 held back their cards and gazed at the intruder. 
 
 " What is it, James f cried Lady Andison. 
 " Is anything on fire ? Have you broken any- 
 thing?" 
 
 ''If you please, my lady, it's the young lady
 
 A LATE VISITOR, 125 
 
 from Weddercombe," he said, comiDg forward 
 with a salver on which a card was placed. " She's 
 very anxious to see somebody at once. She's 
 very much excited, ma'am." 
 
 Lady Andison took the card from the salver, 
 and levelled her double eye-glass at it critically. 
 
 "Yes, it's Miss Shaldon, sure enough," she 
 remarked. 
 
 •' What can she want ? " muttered the 
 Baronet. 
 
 " Something has happened," said the Baronet's 
 son. 
 
 *' I shall know now," said Yalentiue Merrick 
 to himself.
 
 126 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE YOUNG LADY FROM WEDDERCOMBE. 
 
 AFTER realising completely the fact that 
 Miss Helena Shaldon had arrived at Hern- 
 ley Hall, Lady Andison half rose from her chair, 
 as if with the intention of going to her, and then 
 sat down again. 
 
 '' Show Miss Shaldon in," said Lady Andison. 
 
 " She is coming. You will now have an op- 
 portunity of seeing her, Val," whispered Flor- 
 ence in her lover's ear. 
 
 Valentine Merrick did not appear greatly 
 impressed by the chance which had been offered 
 him ; on the contrary, wdien Florence had risen, 
 and was standing close to the door, as though 
 anxious to be the first to welcome the visitor, 
 he screwed himself round in his corner of the 
 couch and applied himself with extraordinary 
 assiduity to the photographic album, which he
 
 THE YOrXG LADY FROM ^VEDDERCOMBE. 127 
 
 had already gone through with Florence Andi- 
 son. He did not even look up when Miss Shal- 
 don was ushered into the room ; but his abstrac- 
 tion, or his studied reserve, escaped notice in 
 the excitement created by the young lady's ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 Helena Shaldon was very pale ; a small black 
 lace bonnet had fallen back from her face, 
 which, striking in its beauty, and possessing a 
 new and scarcely earthly aspect in its pallor, 
 was more deserving of Valentine Merrick's 
 attention than the stolid gallery of portraits in 
 his hands. 
 
 " Welcome, Miss Shaldon," said Florence, 
 shaking hands with her ; " I trust that nothing 
 has happened at AVeddercombe to alarm you?" 
 
 " We should be very sorry to hear " Sir 
 
 Charles had begun, when the lady of Wedder- 
 combe hastened to explain herself. 
 
 " You will excuse my w^ant of ceremony in 
 calling at this hour and in this manner," she said, 
 addressing Lady Audison, and speaking with a 
 rapidity which was difficult to follow, " but I 
 am w^ithout assistance at Weddercombe, and 
 Mrs. Graves, my housekeeper, has been taken 
 suddenly and seriously ill. Dr. Dimsford is
 
 128 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 here, I am told. I have been to his house, and — " 
 
 " I am Dr. Dimsford," said the physician, ris- 
 ing, and bowing very poHtely — " and at your 
 service, Miss Shaldon." 
 
 " Pray come at once, then — do not lose a 
 moment !" she cried. " I have never known her 
 to be ill before — not ailing for a minute. 
 Great Heaven! if she were to die, and leave me 
 quite alone." 
 
 " Is it a fit or what f asked Dr. Dimsford. 
 
 " I don't know — I can't tell ; I have seen a 
 great deal of illness, but nothing like this. Can- 
 not we go at once, please?" she urged, wringing 
 her hands in her distress. 
 
 " My dear young lady, you may be unneces- 
 sarily alarming yourself," said the physician ; 
 " let me beg of you to be calm. I am quite 
 prepared to accompany you." 
 
 '' Thank you." 
 
 " If I can be of service in any way. Miss 
 
 Shaldon " Percy began, but she checked 
 
 him in the same hasty and half absent manner. 
 
 " No, thank you — I only require Dr. Dims- 
 ford's assistance. My carriage is at the door," 
 she said. 
 
 " If you would let me come with you for an
 
 THE YOUNG LADY FROM WEDDERCOJklBE. 129 
 
 hour or two," said Florence eagerly ; " you are 
 very much excited and distressed." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Miss Andison, but — 
 no," she added, hesitatingly. 
 
 Lady Andison was gesticulating mysteriously 
 to her daughter, who, however, failed to per- 
 ceive her, and Valentine's head for a moment 
 peered round the scroll end of the couch and 
 was turned in the direction of Miss Shaldon. 
 
 "If — if anything should happen — if Mrs. 
 Graves should be very ill," said Florence. 
 
 Helena Shaldon became a shade paler, and 
 looked with a pitiful terror at the speaker. 
 
 *' Oh ! }es ; and I so weak in time of danger 
 — so weak as this after all," she cried. " Thank 
 you again, Miss Andison : you are very con- 
 siderate. I had not anticipated so much kind- 
 ness at your hands, but " 
 
 "I will go back -wdth you," cried Florence, 
 and the instant afterw^ards she had darted out 
 of the drawing-room. 
 
 "Stop that mad child, Sir Charles!" cried 
 Lady Andison, lying back half prostrate in her 
 chair. " It's sure to be something catching." 
 
 " No, no, it is nothing of that kind," answer- 
 ed Helena. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 "You can't tell, you don't know, Miss Shal- 
 don— you haven't caught everything I suppose," 
 murmured Lady Andison. 
 
 '^ I will bring Miss Andison back, if I see any 
 cause for fear," said the doctor. 
 
 " There is no necessity " began Miss 
 
 Shaldon, when Florence Andison bustled back 
 into the room, heavily cloaked and hat in hand, 
 and took up the subject in her own way. 
 
 " There is every necessity. You are not well. 
 Miss Shaldon ; and I am sure that some one of 
 your own age will be of comfort and assistance 
 to you. I am always a comfort too, and so 
 handy ! I'm quite ready. Mamma," in a low voice, 
 as she stooped and kissed her, '' I may go — I 
 must go. Good-bye till to-morrow. Good night, 
 papa — you don't mind, I am sure. Good night, 
 Percy — good night, Valentine," she said, flitting 
 round to the couch ; " 1 may go, mayn't I ? You 
 don't mind?" 
 
 " It's too late to express an opinion, Floy," 
 he said, very thoughtfully ; " but you may go, 
 on one condition." 
 
 " Ah, you are joking with me I" 
 
 "Not at all." 
 
 " Well, tyrant, w^hat is it ?"
 
 THE YOUXG LADY FROM WEDDERCOMBE. 131 
 
 " That Percj and I fetch you in the morning." 
 " Very well — certainly — if all's well," and then 
 she ran out of the room, followed by Doctor 
 Dimsford and Miss Shaldon. Percy and Valen- 
 tine Merrick brought up the rear ; they went 
 through the hall and into the cool, dark grounds 
 in front of the house, where Miss Shaldon's car- 
 riage was waiting. 
 
 Percy Andison took the opportunity to improve 
 the occasion, and walked on by the young lady's 
 side, expressing the hope that she would find on 
 her return that the housekeeper was better. 
 Valentine Merrick kept very much in the back- 
 ground, as if to allow fair play to his friend. 
 There was no overtaking Miss Andison, and he 
 had given up the idea — if, indeed, he had ever 
 entertained it. 
 
 He was an eccentric as well as a clever man, 
 it may be thought. He had said his adieux in 
 the drawing-room, and he did not care to repeat 
 them ; he disliked vain repetitions. Florence 
 Andison was not aware that he was there to see 
 the last of her until she suddenly caught sight 
 of him standing against the dark background of 
 laurustinus planted on one side of the great 
 
 k2
 
 132 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 portico, and looking hard at her and her com- 
 panion by the light of the carriage lamp within. 
 She waved her hand to him, and he retm-ned the 
 salutation without a smile upon his face. 
 
 "I have offended him by leaving him like 
 this," thought Florence, with a sigh. " Heigho ! 
 I hope he's not a bad temper — not going to 
 take offence at every little thing I say or do 
 that is contrary to his pleasure. Oh no — that's 
 not like my Val." 
 
 Meanwhile Valentine and Percy stood bare- 
 headed outside in the Summer night, watching 
 the carriage recede down the drive. 
 
 '' This is an odd start, Merrick," said Percy ; 
 " but I hope it's nothing serious." 
 
 " Miss Shaldon may be a lady easily alarmed," 
 replied Valentine, curtley. 
 
 The tone of his reply struck Percy, who look- 
 ed more intently at him, standing there in the 
 darkness ^s if he did not care to go indoors 
 again. 
 
 '*You don't like Florence's departure, Val?" 
 he said, quickly. 
 
 ^' I cannot say that I am particularly delight- 
 ed," was the dry reply. 
 
 *' But this is a case of emergency — the house-
 
 THE YOUNG LADY FROM WEDDERCOMBE, 133 
 
 keeper is ill, and her mistress is nervous and 
 easily alarmed, you see." 
 
 '' I see," said Valentine. " And, if the house- 
 keeper dies, what does Florence know about 
 death?" 
 
 "Ehl" 
 
 " She has subjected herself to a great trial — 
 an immense shock. Like your mother, I object 
 very seriously to this." 
 
 " Why didn't you say No f 
 
 " It was early time to assert ray authority, 
 and she was anxious to go," replied Valentine. 
 
 " Yes ; and under any circumstances she will 
 be of service — it is her duty to be of service," 
 said Percy. " Florence is a brave girl ; and, if 
 the worst comes, she will not give way. For 
 my part, I am glad that she has gone, Val — and 
 I cannot help saying so." 
 
 " You are smitten by the attractions of Miss 
 Shaldon," said Valentine, contemptuously. 
 
 "I don't acknowledge that, Val," cried Percy; 
 " I am certainly interested in her." 
 
 " Or in the mystery about her ?" 
 
 " That may have something to do with it." 
 
 "Mysteries have their attractions for certain 
 orders of minds ; but there are mysteries which
 
 134 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 hide dark lives and hideous things," said Valen- 
 tine. 
 
 " Ah, but this is a mystery which hides only a 
 great sorrow." 
 
 " How do you know f asked Valentine curtly. 
 
 " Look at the sadness of the face, the heart- 
 weariness of expression, the beauty and purity 
 even of that sadness," cried Percy, enthusiasti- 
 cally. 
 
 *' Would not repentance for first error assume 
 that kind of look — or remorse — or shame f 
 
 " Nothing like it," cried Percy ; " and you have 
 no right, Val, to suggest such a thing — upon 
 my soul, you haven't !'' he cried, indignantly. 
 
 " I was only asking a question," said Valen- 
 tine, laughing at last, and laughing very im- 
 moderately, as there did not appear to be a 
 great deal of fun going about. " Your pardon, 
 signor, but you are very far gone. You are 
 deeply touched by the charms of this lady with 
 a secret ; you are as mad as a hatter, Percy ; 
 and the simile reminds me that we are standing 
 here bareheaded. What are you waiting forf 
 
 " What are you waiting for, Val ?" was the 
 rejoinder. 
 " For you."
 
 THE YOUNG LADY FROM WEDDERCOMBE. 135 
 
 *' Come along, then," said Percy. 
 
 The two young men went into the house and 
 rejoined the Baronet and his helpmate, whom 
 they discovered aggravating each other by 
 much tartness of expression There had been a 
 difference of opinion, during the absence of 
 Valentine and Percy, between Sir Charles and 
 his wife, and the subject of discussion had been 
 the departure sans ceremonie of Florence Andisoa 
 to Weddercombe. Lady Andison had asserted 
 the entire proceeding to be of the wild-goose 
 class of expedition, and Sir Charles had consid- 
 ered that Florence had only acted up to her 
 own warm and generous impulses, and could 
 not have done less than offer her assistance to 
 a neighbour situated as Miss Shaldon was. 
 
 " Miss Shaldon has no right to be situated as 
 she is, Sir Charles," Lady Andison was saying, 
 as they entered. 
 
 "Miss Shaldon knows her own business best, 
 3^ou may depend upon it. Lady Andison," Sir 
 Charles replied with severe politeness. 
 
 " Florence should have taken her maid with 
 her," said the lady, " if she was determined to 
 lower herself in this way, Florence knows 
 that I do not like Miss Shaldon — that I distrust
 
 136 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Miss Shaldon's reasons for hidiDg herself." 
 
 "Lady Andison, in moments of serious alarm, 
 of dangerous illness, of a crisis, as it were, in 
 our existence, we do not weigh everything 
 scrupulously," said Sir Charles. "Florence did 
 not think of her maid, or of her mamma's preju- 
 dice, I fear : she only dashed at the idea of get- 
 ting away." 
 
 " Which was very complimentary to all of 
 us," said Lady Andison ; " what does Mr. Mer- 
 rick say ?" 
 
 Valentine was annoyed at being dragged into 
 the discussion, but he disguised his vexation 
 with admirable skill. He had practised hiding 
 his annoyance for years from stupid witnesses, 
 obstinate juries, aggravating judges, and the 
 counsel on the other side. 
 
 " I must confess that I think Florence will be 
 of great service to Miss Shaldon," he replied. 
 " She is about the lady's own age, and the lady 
 is evidently of a nervous temperament, who 
 may need a friendly hand and womanly sympa- 
 thy. You, my dear Lady Andison, cannot ask 
 me to blame Florence for anything she says 
 and does ?" 
 
 " Well, no, I suppose not," said Lady Andi-
 
 THE YOUNG LADY FROM ^-EDDERCOI^IBE. 137 
 
 son ; " but Sir Charles is so unpleasantly disputa- 
 tious when any opinion is expressed that is con- 
 trary to his own, and, poor man, he is so invaria- 
 bly in the wrong, that " 
 
 "My dear, I am going to bed," said Sir 
 Charles, cutting short her estimate of his char- 
 acter ; and, after a hasty good night all round, 
 he walked with precise steps from the room. 
 
 Valentine Merrick, pleading the fatigue of the 
 journey as his excuse, followed the Baronet's 
 example, and repaired to his own apartments, 
 where, after the manner of a man who was far 
 from fatigued, he unpacked from his valise a 
 small travelling-desk, which he set on a table 
 near the window, and unlocked and opened. 
 He did not commence writing immediately 
 after these preparations ; he walked up and 
 down his spacious bedchamber, and thought a 
 great deal of Florence, of Miss Andison — of 
 what he should say to his mother, perhaps — his 
 mother, w^ho would be restless till she heard 
 from her boy, and was quite sure that he had 
 got down to Hernley in safety. 
 
 He was at his desk at last, where he dashed 
 off the following note, which affords some faint 
 clue to his character : —
 
 138 HER FACE WAS IIF.R FORTUXE. 
 
 " llornloy Hall, January 2G, 18— 
 
 •* My Dear Mother, — You ^vill be glad to 
 hear that I have reached the old quarters ia 
 safety, and am once again in the happy hunt- 
 ing grounds where I first chased the heiress 
 your prudence thought long ago would be a 
 fitting helpmate for me. They were all pleased 
 to see me — everyone of them, I heartily be- 
 lieve—although Lady A. might have been a 
 trifle more cordial in her greeting with advan- 
 tage. Old-fashioned, warm-hearted, poetical 
 Percy almost cried at the railway-station 
 when he met me ; I felt that I had neglected 
 him. even slighted him, when 1 saw him again, 
 but he did not reproach me by a word. He is 
 a good fellow, and destined to much unhappi- 
 ness— as good fellows always are, let them be 
 as rich as Jew financiers. 
 
 "And Florence? — you will say. Well, my 
 dear mother, it is all settled ! I have not hesi- 
 tated ; I have not concealed my love, and let 
 concealment prey on my leathern cheek: I have 
 had the cheek to declare myself instead. There 
 is a pun for a tired traveller, let oif in a mo- 
 ment at 11.30 P.M.; excuse the vulgarity of it, 
 for the sake of the exquisite humour contained
 
 THE TOrXG LADY FEOM WEDDERGQAIBE. 139 
 
 in its expreseion f Yes, Florence is mine, and 
 Yon are happr. So am I, though sons are 
 never highly hilarious, as a rule, over maternal 
 counsel tenderly conveved. I am happy — I 
 shall always be happy ; she's a frank, fearless, 
 exceedingly pretty young woman, who will 
 make yonr son one of the best and most exem- 
 plary of wives. I have done well ; never, in all 
 my life, please God, shall I experience one re- 
 gret for this day, though I have not felt as ro- 
 mantic and maniacal as the novelists wonld 
 have us beKeve tiiat we do in the first flush of 
 onr courtship. 
 
 " I don't say that Florence is without faults 
 — that I wholly admire her slap-dash way of 
 going ahead — that, though I am slangy my- 
 Belt I like the sharp things or odd things which 
 escape her now and then : but I see that she is 
 diarmingly natural, truly affectionate and 
 earnest, and I estimate the value of my prize 
 from another point of view besides the money 
 one. I shall be a wonderful husband in the 
 days ahead, awfully attentive even, when the 
 briefs will allow me. 
 
 "Sir Charles will not hear of a kasty marriage 
 — and I do not want to dash head-first into wed-
 
 140 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 lock, like Harlequin through the shop window. 
 Floy and I will wait a reasonable period, before 
 we say ' I will.' Write me a long letter soon, 
 and tell me all the home news — who has called, 
 and who has not, and how the world rolls on 
 without me. Never mind about business ; unfor- 
 tunately my clerk in the Temple will keep me 
 posted in those details too well. 
 
 " Good night, dear mother. I am writing 
 this in the stilly hours, so that you may not 
 think I am neglecting the best friend I have in 
 the world, * bar none ' — as the ' sporting gents ' 
 say. No; not even Floy Andison. Could I 
 confide in her yet awhile, as I do in you ? Ever 
 your affectionate son, 
 
 " Val Merrick." 
 
 The postscript was a strange one. Was it 
 more important than the letter, after the fashion 
 which is unjustly attributed to letters penned 
 by feminine hands ? Probably. 
 
 " P.S. — In my private letter drawer — com- 
 partment B — you will find, I believe, a sealed 
 packet of papers, marked on the envelope, 'Bar- 
 clay.' Please post it to me, and register the
 
 THE YOUXG LADY FROM WEDDERCOMBE. 141 
 
 same for safe transmission. If not to be found, 
 surprise my clerk at the Temple by a look-in, 
 and ask him to refer to compartment B in the 
 press by the fire-place, and look for the papers 
 there. This is immediate ; business haunts me 
 still, you perceive. Good night."
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 
 
 THE journey to Weddercombe was conducted 
 with much swiftness, as though Miss 
 Shaldon's coachman had received orders not to 
 spare horseflesh in his efforts to save time. As 
 might have been expected, it was not a cheer- 
 ful journey ; nor did Miss Shaldon and Floy 
 Andison converse together at any great length 
 during the ride from Hernley Hall to the late 
 Colonel Chester's shooting-box. Dr. Dimsford 
 prepared himself for his case by asking many 
 questions of the lady who had disturbed him at 
 his whist, and Florence sat and listened. 
 
 Mrs. Graves had been found lying stiff and 
 insensible on the floor of her room, it appeared, 
 and had been lifted into bed by Helena and a 
 servant-maid. She had recovered conscious- 
 ness, but scarcely reason, and had talked and
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 143 
 
 raved and gesticulated until the moment of 
 Helena's setting forth in search of the doctor ; 
 those servants whom she could trust having 
 been already sent in different directions, and 
 one alone having returned with the information 
 that Dr. Dimsford was at Hernley Hall, whither, 
 in her impulsiveness, Helena had determined to 
 follow him. 
 
 " If she should die, I don't see what to do," 
 she said. 
 
 Was this selfishness, or the despairing cry of 
 one who feared losing the only friend she had 
 in the world ? 
 
 "Courage, ^liss Shaldon," said the Doctor; 
 " from your description of the symptoms, I have 
 a hope that there is nothing to fear. Mrs. 
 Graves is subject to these attacks, perhaps?'* 
 
 " No," said Helena. 
 
 " Is she related to you ?" Florence ventured 
 to inquire. 
 
 "Not by blood," answered Helena; "she is 
 intimately related to me by ties of friendship 
 which nothing can alienate or weaken. She is 
 everything to me — the dearest, stanchest, most 
 unselfish of friends, humble as her position is, ill- 
 educated as she may be."
 
 144 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " One of those faithful old servants that are 
 getting out of fashion, I conjecture," said the 
 'Doctor. 
 
 "More than that," replied Helena, thought- 
 fully, " infinitely more than that." 
 
 " A female Caleb Balderstone," added the 
 Doctor, jocularly. 
 
 The lady whom he addressed did not smile 
 at the effort he made to give a pleasant turn to 
 the conversation. She regarded him steadily 
 and said, 
 
 " With a female Ravenswood for mistress, as 
 misanthropic and mysterious as the gloomy 
 hero of Scott's novel, only not in reduced cir- 
 cumstances. That is what they say in Ching- 
 ford and Hernley, I believe V 
 
 There was a touch of bitterness in her tone, 
 even a tinge of sarcasm, as though the verdict 
 of Chingford and Hernley had affected her more 
 than she cared to confess, and Florence said 
 quickly, 
 
 " Chingford and Hernley, on the contrary, 
 sing loudly the praises of Miss Shaldon." 
 
 *' You flatter me," answer Helena. 
 
 " The poor speak of you as their benefactor." 
 
 *' They are very good," said Helena, *' and
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 145 
 
 very patient, the best of them. Ah, I envy the 
 patience of the poor." 
 
 Florence did not ask why ; something deter- 
 red her from putting the question to her com- 
 panion. They were silent the remainder of the 
 way to Weddercombe, where a surprise awaited 
 them. As they stopped before the house, the 
 door was opened, and the gaunt woman con- 
 cerning whom so much anxiety had been ex- 
 pressed, stood on the threshold, holding a light 
 in one hand, and shading her eyes with the 
 other, as she gazed towards the equipage. 
 
 " There she is !" cried Miss Shaldon, with ex- 
 citement. " It is she ! She is better — she is 
 well again — it is like coming out of her 
 coffin ! " 
 
 Florence shuddered at the comparison, and, 
 with the strong light on the lower part of the 
 housekeeper's white and rigid face, it did not 
 look unlike it. 
 
 " Is this the lady who has been illf asked the 
 Doctor in a low, surprised tone. 
 
 " Yes, thank Heaven !" 
 
 Doctor Dimsford did not see anything to 
 thank Heaven for ; he had lost a patient, and 
 had been dragged from a comfortable game at 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 whist at an unreasonable period of the evening 
 to an alarming case which proved not to be 
 alarming at all, and which had evidently been 
 grossly exaggerated by Miss Shaldon. 
 
 Still Mrs. Graves had been ill ; there was no 
 looking at that lady's face and doubting the 
 fact, though she seemed to resist scrutiny and 
 glare defiantly at the Doctor already. Taken 
 altogether, the grim housekeeper was not a 
 pleasant being to confront, as Miss Shaldon and 
 her two visitors stepped from the brougham to 
 the house. 
 
 " You bring company at a late hour, madam," 
 said Mrs. Graves, in a deep voice. 
 
 *' I bring assistance to you, Jane," said Miss 
 Shaldon, timidly, almost apologetically, " I left 
 you very ill." 
 
 *' I was poorly — perhaps," answered Jane 
 Graves, in a hesitating manner, as though un- 
 certain of the fact; "there was no occasion to 
 send for any help for me. I don't require any 
 help — I won't have any." 
 
 '' Oh, yes, you will — to oblige me, Jane," said 
 Helena, coaxingly ; " I am uneasy — I have been 
 very much alarmed," she pleaded. 
 
 " Some folk are easily scared," said Mrs. 
 Graves, sententiously,
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 147 
 
 She stood in the doorway still, as if disposed 
 to bar all iugress to the house, and only backed 
 reluctantly and sullenly when her mistress was 
 close upon her. 
 
 " Who is this V she said, in a loud whisper, 
 as Miss Andison passed. " The lady who came 
 yesterday ?" 
 
 "Yes — Miss Andison. Miss Andison," said 
 Helena, addressing Florence, " this is my faith- 
 ful friend and old companion, Mrs. Graves." 
 
 " I am glad that you are better, Mrs. Graves," 
 said Florence. " This is my friend Dr. Dimsford, 
 whom we have brought to see you." 
 
 " I don't require any doctors, thank you," was 
 the slow answer vouchsafed to this. 
 
 " But, my good lady, doctors are necessary 
 evils, you know," said the physician in his 
 cheeriest tone — that tone which had reconciled 
 many in his time to pills and nasty mix- 
 tures. 
 
 " I don't know," was the answer, " I am only 
 certain that I don't believe in them." 
 
 " How is that ?" 
 
 " I never had a doctor in my life — I am not 
 going to begin now." 
 
 She reeled suddenly, and a faint cry escaped 
 
 l2
 
 148 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Helena, who ran to her and put her arms round 
 her. 
 
 This sudden weakness, this alacrity of assist- 
 ance on Helena's part, annoyed Mrs. Graves, 
 and she gently disengaged Helena's hands, 
 drew herself up very stiffly, and led the way to 
 the drawing-room, where two wax candles were 
 burning. 
 
 *' You'll allow Dr. Dimsford to ask you a few 
 questions, Jane," said Miss Shaldon, eutreating- 
 ]y, " I have brought him on purpose." 
 
 " I won't have any doctors to attend upon 
 me," said Jane Graves sturdily. 
 
 " I shall be very uneasy — I shall not rest, if 
 you remain thus obstinate." 
 
 Mrs. Graves bestowed a quick glance upon 
 her mistress, and muttered, 
 
 " I am not obstinate — there was no occasion 
 for the doctor — I don't like doctors ; but, if he 
 wants to ask me any questions, he can — 
 there." 
 
 " That's a good kind Jane," cried Helena. 
 
 " But not with you in the room — or that lady 
 — only himself," insisted Mrs. Graves. 
 
 Helena Shaldon willingly consented. 
 
 " You have not seen ray little library, Miss
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 149 
 
 Andison," she said ; and, linking her arm in that 
 of Florence, in a new and friendly manner that 
 surprised her companion, the two young women 
 left Mrs. Graves to the Doctor's questioning, 
 and crossed the hall to a room filled from floor 
 to ceiling with books. 
 
 *' Here I read my life away," Eelena said, half 
 jestingly, half sadly ; " here are the friends who 
 never tire of me — who never forsake me. Are 
 you fond of reading ?" 
 
 *' Occasionally," said Florence ; " I like music 
 and riding better. One studious member is 
 enough in a family." 
 
 " Your brother is studious." 
 
 " Yes ; how did you know that ?" 
 
 " Your mamma told me on the one occasion 
 that she favoured me with a visit," replied 
 Helena. 
 
 The two girls — for after all they were little 
 more — did not sit down. Florence wandered 
 from case to case of books, regarding curiously 
 the titles, probably trying to guess at the 
 character of Miss Shaldon from the volumes that 
 had been massed together ; and Helena follow- 
 ed, glancing at the bright young face with an 
 interest which seemed growing upon her as she
 
 150 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 gazed. The books became a fresh subject for 
 Florence to marvel at, there were so many deep 
 and ponderous tomes amongst them, but she 
 did not comment upon the collection until 
 Helena said, 
 
 "The subjects of my books surprise you, I 
 perceive." 
 
 "Some of them are awfully deep," ejaculated 
 Florence, thus appealed to, " and not at all in 
 my line. I would not attempt to read them for 
 the world." 
 
 **I have not read those at which you are look- 
 ing now." 
 
 " Then — " began Florence, when her com- 
 panion anticipated her inquiry. 
 
 " They belonged to a friend of mine." 
 
 " Ah, I see ; yours by inheritance?" said Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 She took from the shelf one of the volumes 
 that had attracted her by its title and opened it. 
 Helena made a half movement as if to restrain 
 her, and then turned away and walked towards 
 the window, drawing the heavy curtains aside 
 as though to note the beauty of the night. On 
 the inner side of the cover was the book-plate of 
 a previous owner, the crest and coat of arms
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 151 
 
 elaborately engraved, and " Michael Barclay"' 
 written in Italian hand beneath. This was the 
 name of the friend, Florence thought at once, 
 but she was a discreet girl and asked no ques- 
 tions. The impression had seized her that by a 
 natural accident she had learned something 
 which her companion did not care that she 
 should know. 
 
 " Some of these books I have purchased at 
 sales," said Helena's voice, so close to her side 
 again that she started ; " I am fond of sales, you 
 are aware. It is the etiquette of book col- 
 lectors to respect the book plates of previous 
 owners." 
 
 "Yes," answered Florence. "My brother 
 Percy is very particular about his book plates. 
 How he would like to see these volumes I 
 Some of them are very scarce, I should 
 say?" 
 
 " I believe that there are some scarce books 
 amongst them," answered Helena, without 
 noticing Florence's allusion to her brother. 
 
 Florence was replacing the volume, when the 
 door opened and Doctor Dimsford entered the 
 library. Both women looked towards him 
 eagerly; his face was not particularly bright,
 
 152 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 and Helena Shaldon, evidently a quick reader 
 of faces, went towards him anxiously. 
 
 *' She is not well — she is worse than she pre- 
 tends to be !" cried Helena. 
 
 " She pretends to be quite well, so she is 
 evidently worse than that, Miss Shaldon," said 
 the Doctor ; " and she has been seriously and 
 suddenly ill. Is she — you will excuse m^^ ask- 
 ing the question — a truthfal woman V 
 
 " Very truthful." 
 
 "She denies being subject to these attacks, or 
 that this is anything of moment. My own idea 
 is that this is not the first time Mrs. Graves 
 has been prostrated in the manner which you 
 have described to me this evening." 
 
 " It is possible," said Helena, after reflecting 
 upon this; "she would keep everything from 
 me if she could ; not having so much confidence 
 in my self-command as I have myself. But she 
 is not very ill, surely T' she added. 
 
 " No — no," said the Doctor, hesitatingly ; 
 '• she may be going on now very well, although 
 she is not quite right yet. She wants watch- 
 ing; she has acted injudiciously in getting up. 
 I have persuaded her to return to bed and rest 
 until the morning."
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 153 
 
 " Thank you," said Helena, gratefully. 
 
 " And from my little case I have compounded 
 a composing draught, which I have also induced 
 her to take." 
 
 " Why, Doctor, you have done wonders ; for 
 Mrs. Graves is very firm at times," said Helena. 
 
 " Not a doubt of that. Now, Miss Florence, 
 I think that 1 may offer you my escort back to 
 Hernley Hall." 
 
 " To-night !" said Florence Andison in pro- 
 test, *' when I have come to stay with Miss 
 Shaldon, and to be of assistance if necessary !" 
 
 " There does not appear any necessity to re- 
 main — any absolute necessity, that is," replied 
 the Doctor, with an evident effort to catch Miss 
 Andison's eye without attracting the attention 
 of Miss Shaldon. 
 
 *'But I intend to remain." 
 
 "Thank you. Miss Andison," said Helena, 
 warmly ; "I should be glad if you would stay 
 now, if I am not disturbing you too much, or 
 rendering those at home in any way anxious 
 concerning you. But there is no absolute ne- 
 cessity, as Doctor Dimsford tells us." 
 
 '' You are alone in this place f 
 
 " I have my servants," answered Helena,
 
 154 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " and yon mnst not consider me before yourself. 
 Talk the matter over with your friend whilst I 
 go and see Mrs. Graves, and in any way that 
 you decide consider me none the less grateful." 
 
 As she passed from the room, Doctor Dims- 
 ford crossed to Florence's side, and said, in a 
 low tone, " You must not stop here; you must 
 get back to Hernley as soon as you can." 
 
 *' Why ?" asked Florence. 
 
 " That old woman is mad," answered the 
 Doctor ; " she may lead you a terrible life in 
 the night. There is no occasion to expose 
 yourself to this trial. Miss Shaldon is quite 
 willing that you should return ; and you are 
 young and unused to sickness." 
 
 " Miss Shaldon is young, and more nervous 
 than I," said Florence, very firmly ; '' look at 
 her poor white face to-night." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " I shall stop ; I should be a chicken-hearted 
 girl to run away." 
 
 " What do you think Mrs. Graves said was 
 the cause of her illness ?" 
 
 *' I cannot guess," replied Florence. 
 
 " A ghost — a real ghost in her room — at her 
 elbow, in the twilight !"
 
 THE SICK HOUSEKEEPER. 155 
 
 Florence Andison was a brave girl, but 
 there was an instinct to break forth into goose- 
 flesh at the Doctor's statement. She drew a 
 deep breath, and then deKvered herself of an 
 extraordinary word for a yonng lady on whom 
 a vast amount of money had been expended for 
 her education. 
 
 " Bosh !" she ejaculated. 
 
 " Of course it's all nonsense — hallucination — 
 bosh," said the Doctor ; " but that is no 
 reason " 
 
 "It is every reason why I should stay at 
 Weddercombe to-night," affirmed Florence. '* 1 
 like Miss Shaldon, and I intend to stick by her, 
 and show that I am as plucky as the rest of the 
 Andisons. I am not going to run away. Here 
 is a chance of making a friend, and friends are 
 scarce ; and this dark-eyed lady I liked at first 
 sight. There, good night. Doctor : I shall not 
 be gobbled up, body and bones and all, before 
 daylight." 
 
 ** You are a most extraordinary young wo- 
 man," said Doctor Dimsford ; " and I admire 
 your courage and resolution ; but," he added, 
 archly, " you'll lead Mr. Merrick a terrible life 
 some day."
 
 156 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 '* Oh ! Doctor," said Florence, laughing and 
 blushing. 
 
 Doctor Dimsford was a friend of the family, 
 and was not going too far with his jesting, at 
 which he laughed himself very heartily. Helena 
 Shaldon re-entered and found them very merry 
 together. 
 
 " What is the decision f she asked, anxiously. 
 
 " That I am not going away to-night," said 
 Florence, decisively. 
 
 "Thank you," Helena said again, as though 
 she had feared to pass the night without her.
 
 157 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FRIENDS FOR A NIGHT. 
 
 HELENA SHALDON and Florence Andison 
 returned to the drawing-room, and sat 
 down in defiance of late hours. 
 
 " I have given orders for a room to be pre- 
 pared for you, Miss Andison," said Helena ; 
 " there will be no occasion to sit up all night. I 
 only seem to require the consciousness of a 
 friend near me." 
 
 "I am very glad that you consider me a 
 friend — that you call me one," said Florence, 
 quickly. 
 
 ** You have acted like a friend in coming to 
 help me with your sympathy. I am for ever 
 indebted to your kindness. When we have 
 assumed our old positions — you at Hernley, I at 
 Weddercombe," said Helena—" I shall bear you 
 in kind remembrance."
 
 158 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Is there any necessity for assuming the old 
 positions," asked Florence, " now that you and 
 I are beginning to understand each other f 
 
 " Yes," said Helena, in reply. She looked 
 down at the carpet, as though endeavouring to 
 read some lesson that was woven there with 
 the pattern, and then looked up suddenly. "• I 
 am not fitted for society," she said, in further 
 explanation ; " I have been recommended rest 
 and peace — the world distracts me always." 
 
 " But I am not society or the world." 
 
 "You come from it — you are part of it — 
 knowing you more intimately would lead me 
 closer to it and unsettle me." 
 
 " That need not follow," said Florence. 
 
 " Oh, it would ! I am impressionable and 
 weak. You must not think that I am a strong 
 woman because I chose this life, or that I chose 
 it out of love for solitude and self-communion. I 
 cannot help it," cried Helena, with a sudden 
 passion that surprised her listener ; " jt is forced 
 upon me." 
 
 " But " 
 
 " There, there, Miss Andison, do not question 
 me — do not ask me to explain," said Helena, in- 
 terrupting her. " I have no story to tell. It
 
 FRIENDS FOR A XIGHT. 159 
 
 would be a miserable recital of regrets, and 
 disappointments, and mistakes, were I to tell it, 
 and you would not believe a word. Like the 
 fairy tales, it is too wonderful," she added, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " I Avill not ask another question,'' said Flor- 
 ence, kindly ; " I do not wish to pain you. I am 
 not an inquisitive woman ; but you must take 
 this assurance to heart, that 1 believe in you." 
 
 " You are very kind to say so." 
 
 " I believe in you," repeated Florence ; " I 
 trust you implicitly, in the face of all the mys- 
 tery which it pleases you to wrap about your 
 life." 
 
 " Which it pleases me I" cried Helena, ironi- 
 cally. " Yes, you are very young, and you have 
 not learned to know the world at all. For what 
 you know of me even, I may be simply an ad- 
 venturess." 
 
 *' I don't think 1 am a bad judge of character 
 — young as I am," said Florence, with a naive 
 conceit at which Helena Shaldon smiled. It 
 was a fair bright smile, that warmed the heart 
 of Florence towards her. 
 
 *' I wish that you would call me Florence for 
 the time that I stav here," she cried ; " till we
 
 160 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 say good-bye to-morrow we may consider our- 
 selves friends, I hope ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Helena. 
 
 " I hate your ' Miss Andison this,' ' Miss Andi- 
 son that ' from people I like. Nobody calls me 
 Miss Andison but the flunk — the servants," she 
 said, correcting herself. 
 
 " Florence, then. It is a pretty name," said 
 the other. 
 
 " I like Helena the better of the two. It's 
 more stately — more romantic." 
 
 " You are at a romantic age," replied Helena. 
 
 A maid-servant entered at this juncture. 
 
 "Miss Andison's room is ready," she said. 
 
 *' Thank you. I will show Miss Andison to 
 her room myself," said her mistress. 
 
 The servant Avithdrew, and Florence said — 
 
 *' I am not going to my room yet, unless you 
 wish it. Why, I am as wide-awake as an owl !" 
 
 " When you please, Miss Florence." 
 
 " Oh, that's like a gawky girl in frilled trou- 
 sers ? ' Miss Florence, will you have any more 
 bread-and-butter before you are put to bed?' 
 and that sort of thing. It is Florence — Floy — 
 Flo — that's what they call me at home, and what 
 you must call me here."
 
 FRIENDS FOR A NIGHT. 161 
 
 Helena laughed at her companion's remon- 
 strance ; the colour came back to her cheeks, and 
 there was more brightness in the big dark eyes. 
 Surely this was a woman fitted for society, 
 and to adorn society, thought Florence; if she 
 could only lure her back to it, as she had pro- 
 phesied that she would to her brother Percy, 
 what a triumph for her ! If Helena would only 
 grow to be her friend in earnest, what a satis- 
 faction to herself ! She had no real friend of 
 her own age — only a heap of acquaintances who 
 called at Hernley and made stately visits, and 
 expected stately visits back again. And she had 
 taken to Helena Shaldon unaccountably. 
 
 They passed an hour together talking. Helena 
 was surprised to find how rapidly time had flit- 
 ted by, when a gilt time-piece in the room 
 chimed twelve o'clock. She rose at once. 
 
 " I promised Mrs. Graves that I would not sit 
 up to-night — that I would leave the maid in the 
 next room, so that she could call to her if she 
 wanted anything," said Helena. "I am break- 
 ing my word, and my dear old friend will be 
 very angry." 
 
 The "dear old friend" seemed almost mis- 
 tress there, thought Florence Andison, shrewdly. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 Was Mrs. Graves's will so strong and absolute 
 that it cowed that of Miss Shaldon ? she won- 
 dered — for Miss vShaldon seemed afraid of her. 
 
 "Shall we go upstairs now, Florence f Helena 
 inquired. " May I act as chaperon f 
 
 " I'm not sleepy in the least," replied Florence. 
 " I am a great talker — I should like to talk all 
 night." 
 
 " We will rise early in the morning, if all's 
 well," said Helena, " and stroll in the grounds 
 before breakfast. Like a tenant-farmer, I will 
 show you my improvements — only they will be 
 improvements in my flower-garden and my fern- 
 ery, my rockery and my aviary." 
 
 " We have a big aviary at Hernley — you must 
 come and see it." 
 
 Helena shook her head. 
 
 "I mean when everybody is out, and you can 
 slip in at the back-door," Floy said, laughingly, 
 when Helena laid her hand upon her arm. 
 
 " You must not satirise the fate which keeps 
 me to myself," Helena Shaldon said, sadly. 
 
 "I beg pardon. Oh! I am very sorry if I 
 have hurt your feelings, Helena !" cried Florence, 
 flinging her arras round her neck, and kissing 
 her.
 
 FRIEXDS FOR A NIGHT. 163 
 
 They went up the neatly-carpeted stairs, with 
 their arms round each other's waists, more like 
 sisters than friends — very unlike two women 
 who were to see nothing of each other again 
 after to-morrow. On the landing space, which 
 was somewhat narrow, they paused. 
 
 ''Wait for me," said Helena; "I am going 
 to Mrs. Graves's room — I must see her again." 
 
 The door of the housekeeper's room was ajar, 
 and Helena Shaldon pushed it silently open and 
 walked in. The instant afterwards she came 
 to the open doorway, and beckoned Florence 
 towards her. 
 
 ""Will you see how peacefully she is sleeping? 
 You are not afraid ?" 
 
 "Afraid? Not I," said Florence, boldly. 
 
 She followed Helena, and stole with her to 
 the bedside of the housekeeper. The room was 
 full of shadow, although a light was burning 
 on the mantelpiece, and Mrs. Graves was sleep- 
 ing so peacefully, and looking so waxen and 
 yellow in her sleep, that Florence grew suddenly 
 nervous, and thought that the old woman was 
 dead. She leaned forward quickly, and Hstened 
 for the breathing, which was slow and regular. 
 
 Helena was an observant woman. 
 
 m2
 
 164 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " You thought that she was dead ?" she said, 
 in a low whisper. 
 
 *' Her appearance struck me as peculiar — I 
 had hardly time to think," said Florence, gazing 
 at the face still, and half-disposed to shudder at 
 it, it was so stern, and set, and strongly marked, 
 with shades of blue beneath the sunken eyes, 
 and signs of a moustache upon the upper lip. It 
 was a deep sleep, but in the grim immobility of 
 features there was a strange stamp of misery as 
 well as firmness. Florence was glad when they 
 had left the room — it was a face that would 
 haunt her for awhile. She feared that she was 
 not so strong-minded as she had anticipated. 
 
 *' We have changed places to-night," caid 
 Helena, sorrowfully ; " and I come to see her in 
 her sleep instead. As a rule, it is the old ser- 
 vant who steals to my bedside, and, if I am 
 awake, asks if I am well." 
 
 " I should not like that," said Florence ; 
 " waiting for her would keep me restless." 
 
 " I have grown used to it — it has been her 
 habit for years. I seldom wake now, though I 
 know when she is at my side even in my sleep." 
 
 Helena looked in at the maid appointed to 
 sit in the next chamber, said a few words, and
 
 FRIENDS FOR A XIGHT. 165 
 
 then led the way along a corridor to another 
 part of the honse. 
 
 " This is your room, Florence," she said, as 
 they passed into another apartment, where a 
 light was burning ; " and here a whole array of 
 birds, amongst the trees without, will sing to 
 you when it is daybreak." 
 
 Florence looked round the room which they 
 had entered. It was a spacious apartment, 
 furnished with exquisite taste, and full of costly 
 appointments — the boudoir and bed-room com- 
 bined of a princess. 
 
 " This is your room," said Florence, quickly. 
 
 "At your service," answered Helena Shaldon. 
 
 " Oh ! I will not disturb you like this." 
 
 " The best room for the visitor, and, if this is 
 not the best, it is the brightest — to suit the 
 bright and happy disposition which I can't help 
 envying a little." 
 
 " I don't know that I am very happy," said 
 Florence, thoughtfully ; " I know that I am not 
 miserable, and that it would take a great deal 
 to dash me down. But I must not rob you of 
 your room." 
 
 " My will is law in my own house," said Helena, 
 decisively; "my room adjoins your own, and
 
 166 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 that is the only one which I could change with 
 you, if 1 were disposed to do so." 
 
 " Then why " 
 
 " No, no, you must not sleep there," said 
 Helena. 
 
 " Is it haunted ?" asked Florence, laughing- 
 ly. " If so, you had better share this room with 
 me." 
 
 " It is haunted, after a fashion," was the enig- 
 matic answer; " and I prefer to sleep in it, 
 Florence. Should I get much sleep with your 
 prattling here, do you think?" she added, with 
 another of her rare smiles. 
 
 "Ah, you are as obstinate as I am," said 
 Florence ; " 1 see that." 
 
 '•Are you very self-willed, then ?" 
 
 " They tell me that I am," answered Florence, 
 " but I don't believe it. Val thinks so too, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " Who is Val f asked Helena, curiously. 
 
 " Who is Val ? Why, the gentleman — the 
 nice-looking fellow — who was in the drawing- 
 room this evening when you came for Doctor 
 Dimsford," was the reply. 
 
 " I did not see him." 
 
 " He was on the couch."
 
 FRIENDS FOR A NIGHT. 167 
 
 " Yes, I remember now. A gentleman with 
 his face turned from me, deep in the study of an 
 album. And he is nice-looking, Florence ?" 
 Helena inquired. 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Is he engaged to Miss Florence Andison, of 
 Hernley ?" asked Helena, smiling. " Will she 
 confess as much as that to me?" 
 
 " Yes ; I am too proud of him to wish to hide 
 it," said Florence. " I was formally engaged to 
 him to-day, but I have loved him — oh, ever so 
 long !" 
 
 " What is he ? A country gentleman — a 
 nobleman I Why should not beauty like yours, 
 and a position like yours, win an Earl for a hus- 
 band V cried Helena. 
 
 *' He is a barrister." 
 
 " A barrister !" repeated Helena, in so different 
 a tone that Florence turned towards her from 
 the dressing-table at which she was standing, 
 drawing the rings from her dainty white fingers. 
 
 " Yes, and a very clever one too. I hope to 
 live to see him Attorney-General at least." 
 
 " What is his name ?" 
 
 "Merrick — Valentine Merrick," answered Flo- 
 rence.
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAN. 
 
 THE effect of Valentine Merrick's name upon 
 Helena Shaldon was startling, and the Baro- 
 net's daughter did not fail to perceive it. She had 
 been regarding her companion very steadily, 
 and the sudden departure of the colour from 
 her face, the dilatation of her eyes, the wild look 
 in them which followed, and the quick impulse 
 which took the small white hands to the bosom 
 and kept them pressed there, surprised Florence. 
 The instant afterwards Florence thought it 
 might have been fancy, born of the late hours 
 and that strain upon the nerves brought about 
 by the novelty of her position and the house- 
 keeper's illness at Weddercombe. 
 
 Miss Shaldon was smiling again, and the 
 colour was returning to her cheeks.
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAN. 169 
 
 " He will make you one of the best of husbands, 
 I hope," she said. 
 
 " Do you know him?" Florence asked, quietly. 
 
 *' The name is not unfamiliar to me — it sur- 
 prised me," answered Helena, very calmly. "I 
 knew a gentleman of the name of Merrick once." 
 
 " Where did he live ?" 
 
 "In Yorkshire," she answered, after a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Ah, that can't be my Valentine," said Flo- 
 rence ; *' he is always in town, or at his mother's 
 house at Richmond." 
 
 " No — it cannot be the same," mused Helena; 
 " the gentleman I mean Avas a stern, hard-fea- 
 tured, plain man, whom I disliked very much, 
 and whom a girl like you would never fancy for 
 a lover. Shall I bid you good night now f 
 
 " T begin to feel a little tired, Helena." 
 
 " After all, I had no right to take you at your 
 word and bring you to this place," said Helena, 
 regretfully ; " and you see that I do not require 
 your assistance. Heaven forbid that I should, 
 Florence !" 
 
 "Amen to that." 
 
 " I was selfish, and wanted company, that's 
 all. Good night," said Helena.
 
 170 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Florence re-echoed her good night, and 
 Helena left her. 
 
 In that room which Miss Shaldon had said 
 was hannted in its way — what could she mean 
 by that ? — Florence heard her walking to and 
 fro for a long and wearisome time that she 
 thought w^ould never come to an end. The walls 
 were thin, and the mistress of the house had for- 
 gotten it ; once, unless Florence's ears had de- 
 ceived her, a low moan escaped the inmate of 
 the next room, and Florence, too proud to be- 
 come an eavesdropper, tapped lightly against 
 the walls. 
 
 " What is it?" Helena asked at once from the 
 other side of the partition. 
 
 " Did you call me ?" 
 
 " No, child, no." 
 
 " Are you speaking to yourself, then f 
 
 " It is a bad habit of mine. You should have 
 been asleep by this time, Florence. Good night 
 once more." 
 
 " Good night," said Florence back again. 
 
 All was peace at last. Miss Shaldon had 
 taken the hint thus delicately conveyed, and 
 not a sound disturbed the silence which now 
 reigned throughout the house. Florence took
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAX. 171 
 
 one peep at the dark night ; saw that the trees 
 were very thick and close together, and that the 
 branches were swaying to and fro in the night 
 breeze a few feet from her window ; after which 
 survey of the woods that hemmed her in she ex- 
 tinguished the light and crept into her nest. 
 
 She wished that she had been less hasty, as 
 she lay there very wide-awake and staring. In 
 her own room at Hernley she objected to lamps 
 or night-lights, and loved the night for itself; 
 but at Weddercombe she thought that she might 
 have been less precipitate with advantage. It 
 was the force of habit tiiat had led her to extin- 
 guish the light, and she regretted it, although 
 she closed her eyes and tried to sleep. 
 
 She had not locked the room door, she remem- 
 bered suddenly, and, as it was a strange house, 
 and she was shut in with strange people, she 
 considered that she might have exercised that 
 amount of discretion at least. She smiled to 
 herself at these thoughts the moment after- 
 wards, and then endeavoured to forget them 
 and go back in imagination to Hernley, 
 and to Valentine, and to dreamiugs of that 
 future life which her engagement with him 
 foreshadowed. What a change it would be
 
 172 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 from the Hall ! She would have to live in Lon- 
 don when she w^as married to Valentine, and 
 she had always loved London — its life and 
 bustle and gaiety and crowds of human kind. 
 Not in a grand house —Valentine's income would 
 not allow of that at present — but in a pretty 
 neatly furnished dove-cot somewhere. Not with 
 Valentine's mother ; she remembered Valentine's 
 mother coming to Hernley for a few days last 
 Summer with her son, and how she had admired 
 the tall stately gray-eyed lady with the soft voice; 
 but she thought that she w^ould not like her 
 to live with her — to have her as part of her own 
 home for ever and ever. Valentine loved his 
 mother very much, but he was too sensible a 
 man to oppress a young wife with a mother-in- 
 law. Memorandum : — To drop the faintest and 
 most delicate of hints that this w^ould not be 
 acceptable — to take the first opportunity of say- 
 ing so. 
 
 She went to sleep after this, for how long a 
 period she did not know, but she woke up with 
 a start, with one of those half-nightmare plunges 
 •which suggest a fall from a house-top or a 
 precipice into space, and she lay there with a 
 galloping heart and an unpleasant feeling of 
 having had quite enough of it.
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAN. 173 
 
 Yes, there she was, very ^^n.de awake again, 
 conscious that it was still dark, and disposed to 
 be once more nervous, fancying by degrees that 
 some noise in the room had awakened her, and 
 trying to guess what it had been like. She 
 distended her eyes and made out the window 
 and the white lace curtains faintly in the dark- 
 ness, and a glimmer of light upon the oval of the 
 mirror on the dressing-table. That light became 
 something to brood upon and grow nervous 
 concerning as she lay there. 
 
 She had not observed it at an earlier period 
 of the night ; she was only sure that all was 
 very dark before dropping off to sleep. If the 
 door of the room were wide open, the light 
 from an oil-lamp on a bracket on the landing- 
 place at the extremity of the corridor might fall 
 upon the mirror. The position of the dressing- 
 table seemed to suggest that explanation ; but 
 then who had opened the door? She remem- 
 bered Helena Shaldon closing the door and 
 turning the handle. AYho had opened it after 
 she had gone? 
 
 This was an uncomfortable thought to oppress 
 the mind of a young lady of eighteen, lying alone 
 in a strange house, in which strange things had 
 happened, and whose inmates were certainly a
 
 174 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 little out of the common way. She wished that 
 she had not come to Weddercombe — that she had 
 not slept in Helena Shaldon's room — that she 
 had exercised more precaution before retiring to 
 rest, and turned the key in lock. She was 
 nervous now, but she was not wholly dismayed 
 as a boarding-school girl, oppressed by reminis- 
 cences of all her ghost stories, might have been 
 under similar circumstances. She sat up in bed, 
 after one little instinct to creep under the sheets 
 till the morning, and looked intently at the mir- 
 ror; and the story of whathad scared Mrs. Graves 
 and stricken her with a sudden illness suggested 
 itself suddenly, and kept up the rapidity of her 
 pulsations. 
 
 " Yes, the mirror had been so placed that the 
 full extent of the corridor, with the lamp burn- 
 ing in the distance, was plainly seen within it 
 like a picture. She was right ; it was as her quick 
 ideas had suggested ; but here her hands clutch- 
 ed up the bed-clothes in her consternation, and 
 brought them beneath her round little chin. 
 Some one was proceeding slowly down the cor- 
 ridor towards the lamp — a tall figure in grey, 
 whose garments trailed upon the floor as it re- 
 ceded noiselessly.
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAN. 175 
 
 Florence's first impulse was to scream, her 
 second to check that impulse, and to say 
 clearly and sharply, but not too loudly, " "Who is 
 there ?" 
 
 Second thoughts are not always best, per- 
 haps ; for, when the figure paused, as if Flor- 
 ence's voice in the stillness of the night had 
 fallen on its ears and arrested further progress, 
 she was sorry that she had spoken — exceedingly 
 sorry when it turned, after a few moments' con- 
 sideration, and came back with slow, regular 
 steps in the direction of the room. 
 
 It w^as not the ghost which had scared the 
 impressional Mrs. Graves, but Mrs. Graves her- 
 self — Florence w^as sure of that ; and, of the 
 two, she thought that she would have preferred 
 the ghost, as the housekeeper came on with her 
 rigid yellow face peering from the hood of a 
 long waterproof cloak, and her grey hair trail- 
 ing beneath it. 
 
 Was she mad ? Doctor Dimsford had said so. 
 Was she walking in her sleep? Was she ill 
 again? Under any circumstances Florence 
 thought that it would be advisable to lie down 
 and draw the bed-clothes over her head ; at that 
 hour of the night she could not look at Mrs.
 
 176 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Graves. There would be time enough to 
 scream and wake Helena Shaldon if necessary. 
 She had lost seven-eighths of her courage, but 
 the last fraction rendered her discreet even 
 then. 
 
 Mrs. Graves came slowly into the room. 
 Florence could hear the naked feet falling softly 
 upon the carpet, and the hard, irregular breath- 
 ing of the woman was. close to her ear. Pre- 
 sently a large heavy hand was laid upon her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " You called me, Helena," said the low deep 
 voice. " Cannot you rest to-night ?" 
 
 *' No," said Florence, in a whisper. 
 
 She did not care to sit up and explain to Mrs. 
 Graves that the estimable but eccentric lady 
 w^as ignorant of the fact that a stranger was oc- 
 cupying Miss Shaldon's room, at Miss Shaldon's 
 especial request — the less said the better, and 
 the more speedily would follow the house- 
 keeper's departure. 
 
 " I have awakened you suddenly — you were 
 sleeping calmly when I came in. Try to rest 
 again." 
 
 " Yes," responded Florence, as Mrs. Graves 
 seemed waiting for her answer.
 
 A RESTLESS WOMAN. 177 
 
 " I am well, and very strong, dear," whisper- 
 ed Mrs. Graves. '• You need not fear that I am 
 going to die. I was frightened this afternoon 
 hj one from those old days which were so bitter 
 to US both, and he scared me as a ghost might 
 have done. I told the doctor that it was a ghost 
 that had alarmed me," she added. 
 
 *' Indeed," murmured Florence, as Mrs. Graves 
 waited patiently for her response. 
 
 *' You will fancy a hundred worse things than 
 this if I do not tell you ; and you and I must 
 keep within doors for a while, lest he should 
 recognise us — that's all. We are quite safe. Do 
 not take your early walk in the grounds to- 
 morrow, and all mil be well. Here no one will 
 perceive us." 
 
 She waited for her answer again, but 
 Florence did not respond. The impulse was 
 strong upon her to rise and explain, but an al- 
 tercation would ensue with a woman who 
 would be angry, perhaps, and resent her being 
 there and listening to this strange communica- 
 tion. Moreover, it was possible that Mrs. 
 Graves was asleep, and rambling in her sleep. 
 
 " I could not rest to-night without making 
 sure that you were here — not watching for me 
 
 VOL. L N
 
 178 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 and wearing your life away with anxiety. Try 
 to sleep again, dear, and remember to keep 
 within the house. It is not Arthur — he will not 
 break his word to me, Helena — but Merrick the 
 barrister, the man who was cruelly unjust at 
 York, and whom we cannot fear too much." 
 
 Florence did not respond; her heart was 
 beating very rapidly ; the night was like a frag- 
 ment of a dream. 
 
 " Asleep again," said Mrs. Graves in a whisper 
 to herself, " and I have disturbed my darling. 
 Heaven spare this poor innocent from further 
 trial ! She has had enough for all her weary 
 life." 
 
 A heavy sigh followed this quick prayer ; then 
 the hand was removed from Florence's shoulder, 
 and the figure went slowly from the room, and 
 along the landing-place.
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 FALSE INFORMATION. 
 
 FLORENCE ANDISON did not sleep any 
 more till daylight, although she got out of 
 bed and locked the door very quickly after Mrs. 
 Graves's departure. There was much to perplex 
 her, and render her wakeful ; in coming to 
 Weddercombe she had stumbled upon the mys- 
 tery of Helena Shaldon's life, and ^vith that life, 
 unless Mrs. Graves had been talkiug in her 
 sleep, was connected her lover Valentine. She 
 was not only wakeful, but disposed to be 
 miserable. The gloom of the house had settled 
 on her heart. Valentine had a mystery too, and 
 concealed it from her. He had known Helena 
 Shaldon before : he did not care to tell her so, 
 or to confide in her ; perhaps a year ago he had 
 loved her very much — who could tell what are 
 
 n2
 
 180 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 the actions of these men when they are away 
 from the women who trust them ? It was a 
 new and bitter axiom of Florence Andison's, full 
 of worldly scepticism, from which she would 
 have recoiled twenty-four hours since. 
 
 It was all very strange, but possibly Val 
 would tell her everything ; she was not in such 
 a " dreadful hurry " that she could not give her 
 lover breathing time at Hernley Hall before he 
 made his revelation. He would tell her every- 
 thing — of course he would — in good time. He 
 had already hinted that he half disliked her 
 going to Weddercombe, and perhaps Helena 
 Shaldon had faults and failings of character that 
 the future would reveal to her, as well as to Val 
 Merrick. Perhaps he had always disliked Miss 
 Shaldon, and never been in love with her, 
 although it seemed so easy to love this dark- 
 eyed woman with the gentle voice. She should 
 be glad, for she would not like to hear that 
 Valentine had ever loved, or had felt disposed 
 to love, another woman — anything would be 
 better than that ! 
 
 In the early morning — which came at last, 
 thank Heaven ! — she fell off to sleep. She felt 
 safer and less morbid when the daylight came.
 
 FALSE INFORMATION. 181 
 
 and the birds bad begun their chattering and 
 chirping in the trees outside. She had thought 
 out the story then, she hoped, and she was 
 ■weary with it and her hours of wakefuhiess. 
 She was sleeping soundly when a light hand 
 tapped upon the thin partition of the wall 
 which divided her room from Miss Shaldon's. 
 Florence was soon awake, and thinking again 
 of Mrs. Graves's vagaries. 
 
 " It is six o'clock, Florence," said the voice of 
 Miss Shaldon from the adjoining room. " Will 
 you come with me, or rest still ? I am going 
 for a stroll in the Avoods." 
 
 " I will come with you," Florence answered. 
 It was bright daylight, wherein fears subside 
 and realities assume their fair proportions ; but 
 Florence did not care to be left wdth Mrs. 
 Graves. She would be too glad to accompany 
 Helena, she thought ; but, when she w^as 
 dressed in a morning robe, which she had 
 brought with her in a small valise, she remem- 
 bered Mrs. Graves's warning to her imaginary 
 mistress to keep within the house. She might 
 be assisting to betray Helena by not telling 
 her everything — by accompanying her through 
 the grounds of Weddercombe? Hardly, she
 
 182 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 thought, after a little consideration — for, if it 
 was Valentine Merrick of whom Mrs. Graves 
 was afraid, he was a late riser, and left the 
 early hours of the morning to folk more wake- 
 ful than he. 
 
 She was dressed when Helena Shaldon tried 
 the handle of the door, which she found fastened. 
 
 " Ah ! Florence," she said, entering with a 
 bright smile, born of a fair night's rest, which 
 Miss Andison had not enjoyed, " you lost your 
 ourage after I had left you, then, and locked 
 your door !" 
 
 "Yes — I thought it was advisable," said Flo- 
 rence, quietly. 
 
 " I envied your courage last night — T thought 
 what a brave, strong girl you were, and how 
 admirably fitted to cope with the world, and 
 light your own battles," said Helena, regarding 
 her half sadly ; " and, after all, you are perhaps 
 as nervous as I am." 
 
 " There were noises in the house," said Flo- 
 rence, " and I thought that I would shut them 
 out." " And Mrs. Graves along with them," she 
 added to herself. 
 
 "Very probably you heard me sigh in my 
 sleep. My faithful old friend tells me that is a
 
 FALSE IXFORMATIOX. 183 
 
 confirmed habit of mine. Do you dream much ?" 
 she asked, almost irrelevantly. 
 
 " Sometimes." 
 
 "I am an awful dreamer — a martyr to dreams," 
 she said, shuddering. 
 
 *' It is the lonely life which you have chosen, 
 Helena," Florence remarked. 
 
 " Perhaps so. Let us steal downstairs with- 
 out waking Mrs. Graves — my maid tells me that 
 she is sleeping soundly, and that is strange for 
 her at this hour. Rest will bring back all her 
 strength, I hope." 
 
 Again Florence Andison thought that she 
 would relate the adventures of the night to 
 Helena, and again she paused. Presently Mrs. 
 Graves would tell all to Helena, and, if not, it 
 would only disturb Miss Shaldon's mind to hear 
 of the mistake. She would respect the secret, 
 if it was a secret, that had been strangely be- 
 trayed to her a few hours ago. This fair girl 
 had had enough trouble without her interference. 
 
 They went together out of the house and into 
 the deep woods beyond it. It was a bright 
 Summer morning, full of sunshine, and much of 
 the gloom of Weddercombe had been dissipated 
 by the glory of the day. In the ever-changing
 
 184 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 lights and shadows which flickered about their 
 path, in the golden haze filtering through the 
 foliage, in the various tints and hues of the 
 trees, there was more beauty than depression. 
 That June day, Weddercombe was a place to love 
 and live in — to find that peace of which Helena 
 Shaldon had avowed she was in search. 
 
 There had been many improvements in the 
 property since Helena had been mistress of it, 
 and these were shown to her new friend. There 
 was a picturesqueness in the surroundings that 
 Weddercombe had not possessed in Colonel 
 Chester's time ; that gentleman had not studied 
 pictorial eftect, only the propagation and de- 
 struction of pheasants and partridges. A rockery 
 of some extent had been erected in a remote 
 part of the grounds, and here ferns had been 
 planted in profusion, and various mosses, which 
 Helena described at full length, though Florence 
 was certainly no wiser for the explanation. 
 There was an especial fernery also, of glass and 
 iron, where were rarer specimens, requiring a 
 warmer atmosphere, and beyond this was an 
 aviary of considerable extent, that reduced the 
 one at Hernley Hall to insignificance. 
 
 " You see that I shall be happy presently,"
 
 FALSE INFORMATION. 185 
 
 said Helena, " following out my little hobbies, 
 and content with that seclusion which suits my 
 tastes and health better than society. I love 
 Weddevcombe already — I should be sorry to be 
 compelled to leave it." 
 
 " Nothing is likely to compel you but your 
 own desire for change," said Florence. 
 
 "Perhaps not; but a great misfortune, a 
 great loss, would make me hate the place. From 
 the house to which trouble has come, I have 
 always fled away like a coward." 
 
 " You are impressionable." 
 
 " Yes. That is why I hide myself away from 
 everybody," she replied, " playing bo-peep with 
 society." 
 
 Helena Shaldon's spirits rose with the day. 
 The bright morning, the fresh air, the assurance 
 that Mrs. Graves was well again, the companion- 
 ship — fleeting as it was — of one of her own age 
 and sex, all tended to render her full of anima- 
 tion, and forgetful of her past. 
 
 How close the past came to her again when 
 Mrs. Graves suddenly appeared at her side, there 
 w^as no guessing at, but the face shadowed at 
 the grim expression on the housekeeper's coun- 
 tenance. Mrs. Graves had put her big straw
 
 186 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 bonnet on her head, and was not more pleasant 
 to look at adorned in that fashion. 
 
 *' You should have known better than this, 
 Helena," she said, half sullenly, half reproach- 
 fully. " It is not acting wisely to come here." 
 
 " Why not r 
 
 Mrs. Graves looked at Florence Andison, and 
 said, 
 
 " It is early morning, and you are delicate." 
 
 *' Have I not always taken an early walk, 
 Mrs. Graves ? Oh ! my dear old friend," said 
 Helena, with solicitude, "you are cross with me 
 to-day — you are not quite well yet. It is you 
 who should have rested within doors till my 
 return." 
 
 "I am well enough," said Mrs. Graves, shortly. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it." 
 
 *' 1 told you last night what had made me ill," 
 
 said Mrs. Graves. " I came out Where 
 
 did you sleep?" she asked, suddenly. 
 
 " In the red room, where the pictures are," 
 answered Helena. 
 
 " And this — young lady ?" indicating Florence 
 with a quick gesture of her hand. 
 
 " In my room, Jane. Why do you ask f 
 
 " I went to your room last night, then," she
 
 FALSE IXFORMATIOX. 187 
 
 said, addressing Miss Andison, and regarding 
 her suspiciously. " Do you remember my com- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Yes, I think 1 do," was the reply. 
 
 Florence saw the misery of suspense in both 
 these women's faces, and thought that it would 
 be better to evade the truth, if possible, and 
 spare them. They would have no faith in her 
 discretion ; they knew very little of her, and it 
 would be difficult to explain what she had heard. 
 She did not think of how this secret might affect 
 herself — she only felt that Helena Shaldon 
 would be unhappy if she approached closer to it 
 by one step. 
 
 " I spoke to you, and for a while you an- 
 swered me," said Mrs. Graves, inquiringly, "and 
 then were silent. Do you remember that 1 " 
 
 " I remember that I lay wakeful for hours, 
 and then dozed off," said Florence ; " perhaps 
 you were part of the dreams I had." 
 
 Mrs. Graves did not ask any more questions. 
 Her countenance did not clear, as Helena 
 Shaldon's did ; she was a more suspicious wo- 
 man. 
 
 " Breakfast is ready," she said, abruptly ; *' it 
 was laid before 1 left the house."
 
 188 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " We will return in a few minutes." 
 
 " Will Miss Andison stay to breakfast f asked 
 Mrs. Graves. 
 
 ** Certainly she will," said Helena ; " this is 
 one of my neighbours of whom I am not afraid, 
 Jane. She has been very kind. When she 
 heard last night that you were ill, and when 
 she saw that I was alarmed, she came to be of 
 help, if help were needed." 
 
 " We are indebted to Miss Andison," said 
 Mrs. Graves, in a low voice. 
 
 She walked away in the direction of the 
 house, looking behind her once or twice to make 
 sure that they were following her, and coming 
 to a full stop again when she saw that they 
 had turned suddenly from the direct path. 
 
 " They have strayed away !" she cried, 
 stamping her foot passionately upon the ground. 
 "Now if she only knew the danger she was 
 braving, and that he may meet her at any mo- 
 ment here ! What a fool I have been ! — what a 
 dullard — not to warn her, not to " 
 
 She stopped, her tongue clave to the roof of 
 her mouth, and a strange guttural sound, like 
 the growl of an animal, escaped her, as she be- 
 came aware of two gentlemen approaching from
 
 FALSE IXFORMATIOX. 189 
 
 the direction of the house. They were Valen- 
 tine Merrick and Percy Andison, who had risen 
 betimes and walked over to Weddercombe for 
 the earliest news. They came on laughing and 
 talking, the former looking right and left of 
 him. Mrs. Graves pulled her bonnet more 
 closely over her face and walked towards them, 
 a woman at bay. 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Graves," said Percy, as 
 they met ; " for you are Mrs. Graves, I presume, 
 whom I have the pleasure to congratulate on 
 her rapid recovery." 
 
 " I was not ill — that is, not very ill." 
 
 "Bile, perhaps," Valentine Merrick remarked, 
 lightly. 
 
 Mrs. Graves thrilled at the voice, but did not 
 betray any outward or visible sign of emotion. 
 
 "Very likely, sir," she answered, in a cold 
 tone ; " I am naturally bilious." 
 
 " We were told at the house that Miss 
 Shaldon and my sister were in the grounds, 
 and that you had followed them," said Percy. 
 " Do you know in which direction we are likely 
 to discover the ladies ?" 
 
 " I have not met them," said Mrs. Graves. 
 
 " Indeed !"
 
 190 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " They are not that way," she said, with sur- 
 prising coolness, considering the falsehood she 
 was glibly telling ; " I have been to the extent 
 of the grounds in that direction. They have 
 probably gone to the gamekeeper's house — 
 which lies over there." * 
 
 " Come, Val," said Percy, turning at once. 
 
 " Can I deliver any message, gentlemen, 
 should they return before you discover them ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Tell them that we will call in the course of 
 the morning for Miss Andison, if you please," 
 said Valentine, politely, " and that we have 
 simply strolled over now for inquiries." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 From the half-drooped eyelids the old wo- 
 man peered for an instant at the barrister. He 
 had not recognised her — he had forgotten her 
 and her name ; thank heaven that she had 
 faded completely out of his memory ! It was 
 natural that he should not bear in remembrance 
 the features of an old woman, humble and 
 commonplace, and whom he had only seen once 
 in his life, but she had recollected him and been 
 terribly afraid of him. 
 
 The tw^o gentlemen turned in the direction
 
 FALSE INFORMATION. 191 
 
 which she took some pains to point out, and 
 she watched them till the curve of the narrow 
 path hid them from view, when she wheeled 
 round and went back the way that she had 
 come, taking long strides, and walking with her 
 big strong hands clenched. 
 
 Out of sight of Mrs. Graves, Valentine sud- 
 denly caught his companion by the arm. 
 
 " Halt !" he said. *' I am not going any 
 further in that direction." 
 
 " This is the right path, Val," said Percy ; 
 " for Mrs. Graves said " 
 
 " That old woman is a liar of the first class," 
 said Valentine, before his companion could 
 complete his sentence ; " and she is sending us 
 on the wrong road." 
 
 " Nonsense ! With what object ?" 
 
 " Pure, disagreeable, and malicious jesting," 
 replied Merrick. " Mrs. Graves is a woman 
 fond of a joke. Didn't it strike you that there 
 was a roguish twinkle in her eyes? Last 
 night's illness was a hoax. This morning's in- 
 structions are intended to hoax us also, or I am 
 very much mistaken." 
 
 " You must be mistaken," said Percy, positive- 
 ly. " There is no earthly reason "
 
 192 HER FACE WAS HER EORTUXE. 
 
 "How do you know?" asked Val. "Miss 
 Shaldon objects to company ; her life is spent 
 in dodging it, and Mother Graves gives all her 
 valuable aid and assistance to the laudable ob- 
 ject which her mistress has in view. Yonder is 
 my way. Oh, confiding young philosopher ! 
 You can wend your steps in that direction if 
 you please." 
 
 " I'm not a betting man, but ten pounds to 
 five that you do not find Miss Shaldon and my 
 sister in that direction," said Percy, with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " Done ! And right about face !" cried Val- 
 entine, laughing, as he seized his friend's arm 
 and compelled him to accompany him on the 
 path upon which he had made up his mind to 
 find his fiancee and the mistress of Wedder- 
 combe.
 
 193 
 
 CEAPTER XV. 
 
 DISCOVERED. 
 
 HELENA SHALDON and Florence Andison 
 did not return imnaediately to the house 
 after Mrs. Graves's announcement of breakfast. 
 Amidst that fair landscape, and in the sunshine, 
 they lingered yet, the one forgetting her 
 mystery of sorrow, the other setting aside her 
 suspicions. Years ago Helena Shaldon had 
 been a light-hearted girl, and a visitor at 
 Weddercombe was a great change, and a greater 
 relief than she had even anticipated. In her 
 heart she had taken already to Florence — it had 
 leaped towards her on the first day of her ac- 
 quaintance, when Floy had made her unceremon- 
 ious entry into Weddercombe ; and Floy's frank- 
 ness, her trust, her freedom from all affectation, 
 her beauty — so striking a contrast to her own — 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. ' 
 
 added to the kindness which brought her 
 there a second time as visitor — all attracted 
 Helena towards her new-found friend. It was 
 the natural re-action after life with Mrs. Graves, 
 who was old and stern, and far from cheerful — 
 a woman who did her best to brighten her 
 mistress's life, bat whose natural temperament 
 rendered her efforts powerless. 
 
 Florence Andison, who had taken to Helena 
 at first sight also, thought that all mysteries 
 would be easily dissipated, and that she should 
 love Helena Shaldon very much indeed. She 
 could not reconcile this gentle, graceful, tender- 
 hearted lady with deception, and she was sure 
 that Valentine was the soul of honour. It 
 would be easy to explain where and in what 
 manner those two had met each other, if they 
 ever had met each other — if it were not, after 
 all, a mistake, which similarity of name had 
 helped to create. At all events, she was not 
 going to distress herself about impossibilities 
 and contingencies and guesses wide of the 
 truth — that was not like Floy Andison. 
 
 They were returning towards the house, 
 walking very slowly, but discoursing very 
 volubly — chirruping like the birds amongst the
 
 DISCOVERED. 195 
 
 branches overhead. Florence sustained the 
 greater burden of the conversation, and flitted 
 from subject to subject with grace and anima- 
 tion. Helena knew her whole life in this half- 
 hour's wandering through the grounds together. 
 
 " I don't see, Helena, why this is to end — to 
 collapse thoroughly, you know," she cried, en- 
 thusiastically, and forgetting everything but her 
 liking for Helena, and her pleasure in her 
 company; "if you don't care to enter society — 
 even to come to Hernley — you might let me 
 drop in here once a week, or twice a week, like 
 this." 
 
 *' I should be very glad if " 
 
 Helena Shaldon paused, as if fearful to com- 
 mit herself by any expression of opinion. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Mrs. Graves ap- 
 peared before them again. She had succeeded 
 in masking her emotion, and w^as as rigid as 
 ever. 
 
 " Can I speak to you for a moment, madam ?" 
 she said, with grave politeness, to her mistress. 
 
 " Certainly, Jane. What is it ? You will ex- 
 cuse me, Florence?" 
 
 Florence nodded her assent, and strolled on 
 in advance. The paths were circuitous, and at 
 
 o2
 
 196 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 times of a maze-like complexity. A few yards 
 took her out of sight of Helena and her house- 
 keeper. She was scarcely out of sound, how- 
 ever, for she stopped suddenly as a faint half 
 shriek came from the spot she had quitted. It 
 was so quickly uttered, and so quickly sup- 
 pressed, that Florence thought that it might be 
 another of those fancies which had come upon 
 her, thick and fast, within the last ten hours of 
 her life. She paused to listen, and then w^ent 
 on a few more paces to pause and listen again. 
 
 Mrs. Graves came upon her then, and pass- 
 ed without a word, as though she had not seen 
 her, and Floy retraced her steps to find Helena 
 where she had left her, standing with clasped 
 hands looking at the grass. One more fancy of 
 hers, perhaps, but Helena seemed very pale, 
 and with much of the light quenched from her 
 face. She looked up as Florence approached, 
 and smiled faintly, but with an effort. 
 
 "I have not kept you long," she said. '* Shall 
 we walk towards the house now ?" 
 
 " If you w^ish. No bad news from Mrs. Graves, 
 I hope ?" Florence said. 
 
 "Oh no." 
 
 They went on in silence for a few more
 
 DISCOVERED. 197 
 
 yards, and then Helena said, suddenly and 
 warmly, 
 
 " Miss Andison — Florence — the time may 
 come more quickly than I fancied for you to hear 
 a strange story about me and my life. Will 
 you do me a favour ?" 
 
 " Yes, I will," answered Florence, readily. 
 
 " Thank you. Should you hear that story — 
 which I pray you never may — don't believe it, 
 or else come to me to hear my answer to it. It 
 is — every atom of it — full of prejudice, I swear !" 
 she cried, with increasing fervour. 
 
 " Oh, Helena ! " exclaimed the younger 
 woman. 
 
 " Yesterday I would not have said as much 
 as this — I would not have cared very much 
 for your opinion of me ; it would have been 
 only one more, and I could have shrugged 
 my shoulders and said, ' Let her think so too 
 — what matters it?' Now," looking at her 
 trustfully, " I should like you to think well of 
 me." 
 
 " I will never think ill of you, Helena— I pro- 
 mise this with all my heart." 
 
 Helena shook her head sadly. 
 
 " Oh, you are young and impulsive and im-
 
 198 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 pressionable. I will not bind you to so rash a 
 promise ; I will only thank you for the warmth 
 of heart which prompts the declaration. Still, 
 don't believe it all if you can help it. Trust me 
 for a little while, if you can." 
 
 " I don't see " 
 
 "Hush! Do you hear voices?" asked Miss 
 Shaldon, suddenly. 
 
 " I think I do." 
 
 "Men's voices, are they not?" 
 
 " Yes," said Florence, after listening again, 
 " Percy's—and Val's !" 
 
 '' They are early visitors ; it would have been 
 better if you had met them alone. But," she 
 added, with a sudden pride that attracted Flo- 
 rence's notice, "I shall not run away from 
 them." 
 
 " Run away — I should think not, indeed !" 
 
 " You must introduce me to this favoured 
 swain — this Mr. Merrick," she said, lightly. 
 
 " I shall only be too happy," answered Flo- 
 rence. 
 
 They turned another curve of the serpentine 
 path and faced the men advancing. 
 
 " Ten pounds to me," they heard Valentine 
 Merrick say, as they approached.
 
 DISCOVERED. 199 
 
 " Confound it ! — but does it not strike you as 
 an odd proceeding?" Percy asked, in a low 
 voice, which the ladies did not hear. 
 
 " Not at all," answered Valentine in the same 
 key. 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen met. Percy raised 
 his hat and shook hands with Miss Shaldon ; 
 Valentine shook hands with Florence and 
 raised his hat to Helena, regarding her very 
 gi'avely and steadily. 
 
 Florence Andison was studying the first meet- 
 ing also — she could not help it any more than 
 she could help breathing — but she saw nothing 
 to surprise her. Helena was self-possessed ; she 
 looked at Mr. Merrick with a grave composure, 
 as a lady about to be introduced to a gentle- 
 man might look, and when Florence went 
 through the customary formula, Helena bowed 
 and said, calmly, 
 
 " You gentlemen are early visitors at Wedder- 
 combe." 
 
 " We were anxious to know how Mrs. Graves 
 had passed the night," said Percy, " and were 
 agreeably surprised this morning by finding 
 that lady in the grounds. However, she " 
 
 "Mrs. Graves has one of those strong con-
 
 200 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 stitutions which quickly rally from a shock," 
 said Valentine before Percy had completed his 
 statement ; " and it is satisfactory to think that 
 Miss Shaldon is spared from illness in the 
 house. An old and faithful servant, I presume, 
 Miss Shaldon f 
 
 " Yes, and one to whom I am greatly attach- 
 ed," said Helena, in reply. 
 
 "A faithful servant is a staunch friend rather 
 than a domestic," observed Valentine. " You 
 have a charming place here." 
 
 " It is a pretty place," was the answer. 
 
 " Is it not a trifle too dull, too secluded, for a 
 lady 1" Valentine inquired carelessly. 
 
 " I have my amusements here, Mr. Merrick, 
 and I love seclusion," replied Helena, as they 
 walked slowly in the direction of the house. 
 
 "A strange confession for one so young as 
 you are. Miss Shaldon." 
 
 "Do you think so f was the light reply. 
 
 The path was narrow, and it was impossible 
 to walk four abreast ; hence Percy and his sister 
 preceded Miss Shaldon and Valentine Merrick. 
 It was not as any of them had wished, with the 
 exception of the barrister, who had ungenerously 
 contrived that this should be the order of pro-
 
 DISCOVERED. 201 
 
 cession. It looked like accident rather than 
 design, but it annoyed Percy Andison excessive- 
 ly, until his sister laughed at him, when he 
 coloured highly and got into a rage. 
 
 "It's very selfish of Val to talk to Miss Shaldon 
 in this way," said Florence, " when you have so 
 few opportunities of saying a few words, too, my 
 poor Percy. Upon my word I am inclined to be 
 jealous myself, and say something sharp and 
 bitter." 
 
 " Don't go on with that nonsense, Florence. 
 They'll hear you in a minute." 
 
 " Not they. Miss Shaldon is far too much in- 
 terested in Val's conversation. How they talk, 
 to be sure I" 
 
 " I can't hear a word myself." 
 
 "Drop a few paces behind, if you want to 
 hear what they are saying," said Florence 
 quietly. 
 
 " You know what I mean, well enough," said 
 Percy, indignantly — "that I cannot hear the 
 sound of the voices — not that I wish to learn the 
 subject-matter of their conversation. I don't 
 believe that they are exchanging one syllable 
 together." 
 
 He was right ; they were walking side by side
 
 202 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 in silence. The little formalities and conven- 
 tionalities between two persons recently intro- 
 duced had been gone through and had died out, 
 and they had made no effort to keep each other 
 amused. Miss Shaldon looked calmly before 
 her, but Valentine observed her closely, as one 
 might look at a statue or picture which he had 
 failed to understand, and yet felt an interest in. 
 Suddenly their pace slackened as if by common 
 consent, and the distance between them and the 
 couple in advance became much greater in con- 
 sequence. When another sharp turn of the path 
 concealed Percy and his sister from view, Valen- 
 tine Merrick said in a low, deep tone, 
 
 *'Do you remember me?" 
 
 The colour quitted the face of Helena Shaldon, 
 and from the silence which followed it seemed 
 to Valentine as if the one appealed to was 
 summoning courage to deny all knowledge 
 of him. He thought that he could read that 
 hesitation in her ; he was prepared for her 
 opening more widely her dark eyes and affect- 
 ing astonishment at his inquiry. It w^ould be 
 like her, taken at a disadvantage by the direct- 
 ness of his question. He waited patiently for 
 her answer, and it came at length. The voice
 
 DISCOVERED. 203 
 
 was very firm ; she had only been gathering 
 strength to cope with him. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 " You are not surprised to find me here ?" 
 
 " No. My housekeeper saw you yesterday." 
 
 ^' The false name which you have assumed de- 
 ceived me until I saw your face — that and the 
 circumstances under which we met last are not 
 likely to be forgotten." 
 
 " Do you consider it your duty to betray me f 
 asked Helena, scornfully. " Have I so deeply 
 injured you," she added, with emphasis, " or are 
 you so great a reformer of society that you will 
 be the first to point me out?" 
 
 " The position has become complicated by 
 your acquaintance with Miss Andison." 
 
 *' I know it." 
 
 " 1 am engaged to be married to Miss Andi- 
 son." 
 
 " I know it," Helena said once more. 
 
 " She has told you that already," said Valen- 
 tine; "it is a rapid delivery of unimportant 
 news. Miss Shaldon — I will call you Miss Shal- 
 don for argument's sake," he said, decisively — 
 " I don't wish to harm you, or to interfere with 
 you in any way."
 
 204 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," she criecl, eagerly 
 and gratefully. "I did not think you would be 
 so merciless as to strike me down in cold blood.'' 
 
 " But, I was going to add when you interrupt- 
 ed me just now — though it is not my place to 
 harm you or to say, if I can help it, one word 
 against your past — I find you with my friends, 
 living near them, and in disguise." 
 
 " Well r she asked. 
 
 " I must have time to consider the position, 
 now that I am convinced that Helena Shaldori 
 and Helena Barclay are one. When can I see 
 you again ?" 
 
 " I am always at home." 
 
 " There are servants about — there is that wo- 
 man Graves." 
 
 " I will be at the gamekeeper's house at eleven 
 to-day." 
 
 " Where is that r 
 
 " It is a ruin in the plantation on the left. 
 There is no missing it." 
 
 " I will be there." 
 
 This was all that passed between them. They 
 were both admirable actors, for as they emerged 
 into the open they wore everj^-day faces, which 
 told not of the depth and intensity of the secret
 
 DISCOVERED. 205 
 
 that lay between them. Florence saw nothing 
 to excite her or render her suspicious. " They 
 have never met before," shes aid to herself, as- 
 suringly ; "it is all a mistake." 
 
 On the lawn in front of the house the four 
 stood talking for a while, and Percy found his 
 long coveted opportunity to address Helena 
 Shaldon, to speak of the flowers and birds and 
 ferns of which the place was full. Helena did 
 not ask them into the house, and in this she 
 was inhospitable, and the gentleman took this 
 as a hint to go after a few minutes' further 
 gossip. 
 
 "At what hour are we to drive over and 
 fetch you, Florence f inquired Percy. " That is, 
 if Miss Shaldon will permit you to leave her." 
 
 " 1 have no excuse for detaining her any lon- 
 ger from her friends," answered Helena — " I 
 wish I had," she added, with a sudden impulse, 
 at which Percy and Florence smiled, and Valen- 
 time Merrick knit his brows. 
 
 " 1 don't think that I shall require any escort 
 home," said Florence, " and, at all events, I shall 
 not ride." 
 
 " Very well: but the sun will be hot presently." 
 
 " So it should be in June, Percy. Do you
 
 206 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 want a cold sun by way of solar phenomenon?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " I don't want my sister to hold np to ridicule 
 the anxiety that I feel for her welfare," said 
 Percy, in a reproving aside. 
 
 " All right, Percy— I'll take the hint. And if 
 now you two young fellows take yourselves off," 
 she added, in an aside too, " 1 shall get some 
 breakfast — not without. There isn't a chance, 
 my lad, of your being asked in to throw your 
 sheep's eyes at her. I am paving the way, 
 breaking the ice, by degrees — and that's all." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake don't talk slang ! She 
 will hear you, and think you are mad," cried 
 Percy, in wild confusion. 
 
 " Valentine," said Florence, " if you and 
 Percy should be straying across the fields be- 
 tween eleven and twelve o'clock this morning, 
 you will probably meet me. I shall adopt the 
 cross-country route by way of preference to the 
 high-road ; and my compliments to papa, and 
 if he sends the carriage I shall not get into it." 
 
 With this saucy message the ladies parted 
 from the gentlemen, and Helena and Florence 
 sat down to breakfast. 
 
 Helena was thoughtful, though she tried hard
 
 DISCOVERED. 207 
 
 not to be, and Florence used all her exertions to 
 render herself agreeable. There had been much 
 mystery to meet her in this house ; even in the 
 grounds that morning it had confronted her, 
 and Helena's late excitement had perplexed her 
 vastly; but she had been assured that it was all 
 a mistake, that Helena had met, at some time or 
 other, another Mr. Merrick, and that in a few 
 days she would know the length and breadth 
 and depth of all this complication. Helena was 
 fearful of being talked about — perhaps of some 
 wretched scandal or calumny by which she had 
 suffered coming to her ears before she could ex- 
 plain it satisfactorily — and her nervous suscepti- 
 bilities had made a mountain of a mole-hill. As 
 if she could not trust Helena Shaldon — as she 
 was sure that she could — as if her faith in her 
 would not always stand the test ! 
 
 When she was going — and Helena was look- 
 ing very wistfully at her — she burst forth with, 
 
 " I wish that you would tell me all now." 
 
 "All what?" asked Helena, knowing full 
 well, but taken aback by the outspokenness of 
 Florence. 
 
 " All your life ; and let me help you if I can, 
 and — if you want help."
 
 208 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 '' You may help me with your confidence 
 some day, if there should arise a need to tell 
 you my history, w^hich 1 pray may never be 
 the case." 
 
 '' Yes, you have said that before," said Flo- 
 rence thoughtfully. 
 
 " It would distress you, for it is a history of 
 sorrow, as you already guess," she continued. 
 " There, go now, Florence, and don't ask me any 
 more questions. Thank you for your kindness 
 — for the blessing of that companionship which 
 will not come again." 
 
 She flung her arms round her, and kissed her 
 many times. 
 
 " Not again," repeated Florence, " when the 
 companionship and friendship are beginning?" 
 
 *' Y^'ou will never think so well of me as you 
 do at this moment, with your hands in mine," 
 said Helena ; " I am easily suspected — and sus- 
 picion comes so soon. Still, Heaven bless you, 
 Floy !" 
 
 Thus the two girls parted from each other, 
 and Helena from the window of her drawing- 
 room watched the fair-haired daughter of the 
 Andisons pass from her. It struck eleven as 
 she stood there. She went from the room, and
 
 DISCOVERED. 209 
 
 returned with her garden hat upon her head. 
 "Now for the worst," she murmured, as she 
 stole away into the depths of the woodland 
 lying beyond her quiet home. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A W M A N A T B A Y . 
 
 HELENA SHALDON was the first to arrive 
 at the rendezvous agreed upon between 
 her and Mr. Merrick in their whispered con- 
 ference. The barrister was not punctual, or had 
 altered his mind, or had resolved to spare her 
 the pain of such an interview^ as this must be 
 perforce, and Helena had the place to herself. 
 
 It was a lonely spot ; the old gamekeeper's 
 lodge had become part of the still life of the 
 landscape, and was a gloomy edifice falling fast 
 to ruin. Imaginative beings at Weddercombe 
 would have called it haunted, but Weddercombe 
 folk had sufficient real troubles to leave the un- 
 real to itself, and the present run of mind of its 
 inhabitants was to unmitigated dulness, in 
 which no fancy existed.
 
 A WOMAN AT BAY. 211 
 
 In the bright June sunshine the deserted game- 
 keeper's lodge was picturesque enough, with 
 its moss-grown thatch, its black timber sides 
 over which the ivy trailed profusely, its lattice 
 windows blinking here and there, and its back- 
 ground the quivering green of a hundred trees. 
 It was only in the damp Autumn and the fierce 
 Winter that the place was depressing under its 
 aspect of neglect. 
 
 There had been a fierce storm last Winter in 
 this part of the country, and some of the trees 
 at Weddercombe had been levelled by the 
 blast ; one large fir lay still across the garden 
 fence, which it had crushed down by its weight. 
 As it had fallen in the tempest so it lay there 
 still, with its branches ragged and unlopped. 
 On the trunk of this tree Helena Shaldon sat 
 and waited for the coming of her persecutor. 
 Yes, he would be her persecutor, she saw, and 
 there would never be rest for her again. She 
 must succumb to Fate, or defy it ; and in either 
 case peace was on the eve of passing from her. 
 She had come to Weddercombe for it, but the 
 odds had been against her from the first. 
 
 " It is impossible that such a man as he will 
 spare me," she thought as the time passed by, 
 
 p2
 
 212 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 and it ^vas a quarter past eleven by the little 
 gold watch which she consulted. " Surely," with 
 a shudder, " he is as cruel as he looks — as he 
 was on that awful day last year. He is sure to 
 come." 
 
 She sat there very patiently ; as time stole on 
 there was no effort to escape, and no hope of 
 release from persecution. She was in the toils, 
 and must bide his time to come to her. It was 
 deep thought in which she submerged herself 
 at last, forgetting time and place, the object of 
 her waiting, and the tardiness of him for whom 
 she waited. His appearance at her side came 
 upon her at last as with a surprise for which she 
 had not prepared herself; she looked at him 
 with dismay when she became aware that he 
 w^as standing a few paces distant, with his keen 
 grey eyes fixed on her. 
 
 " Oh ! you are here," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes. I am sorry that I could not keep my 
 appointment to the minute, but 1 was detained 
 upon my road," said Valentine, advancing — " I 
 met Miss Andison." 
 
 '' I regret it," returned Helena. 
 
 *' It is a matter of no consequence," he said. 
 "May I sit down by your side?"
 
 A WOMAN AT BAY. 213 
 
 "If you are not afraid of me," she answered; 
 *'for I am a dangerous woman." 
 
 He regarded her attentively as he sat down 
 on the fallen tree. 
 
 "No," he said, slowly, "I am not afraid of 
 you. I do not suppose that it would be worth 
 your while to get rid of my objectionable 
 knowledge at one blow." 
 
 " Sucfi a woman as you think I am would not 
 hesitate to do it," answered Helena, in the same 
 mocking tone. 
 
 " Such a woman as I think you are would be 
 extremely cautious in getting rid of evidence in 
 that fashion," said Valentine. 
 
 Helena Shaldon clasped her hands together, 
 and compressed her lips before facing him 
 again. 
 
 " Be brief, Mr. Merrick," she said. " Tell me 
 what I have to fear, and then leave me to the 
 misery which you have lielped to create." 
 
 " Which I have helped to create !" he repeat- 
 ed. " You forget that that misery is of your 
 own making, and that I have had no hand in it." 
 
 "You have — you have I" she cried twice, pas- 
 sionately. 
 
 "In the way of business I have expressed my
 
 214 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 opinion on your conduct — I could not help that, 
 Miss Slialdon. Shall I say Miss Shaldon f 
 
 " Call me Avhat you please." 
 
 " You were Helena Barclay when we met 
 last. Why do you come to Weddercombe under 
 an assumed name ?" 
 
 "Is it not natural that I should wish to 
 escape that name you mention? Innocent 
 or guilty, would I choose to bear it and its 
 shame one moment longer than it was in my 
 power to cast it off?" 
 
 She spread forward her hands impulsively, as 
 though she cast from her the brand of which she 
 spoke, and Valentine Merrick watched her with 
 increasing intentness. She was a study of 
 character in which he w^as deeply interested. 
 
 '• You would have done better to leave Eng- 
 land," said Valentine, thoughtfully ; " here there 
 is not room to hide yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I am not in hiding," she cried, 
 scornfully, " and scarcely in disguise. As 
 Helena Shaldon I was known for the first six- 
 teen years of my life, and I have come back to 
 it again, as though the peace that belonged to 
 the old days might come back with it. But you 
 will not understand my motives — you have lois-
 
 A WOMAN AT BAY. 215 
 
 understood and prejudged me. I am not here 
 to explain — to you of all men!" 
 
 " I do not seek an explanation," he replied. 
 
 " Tell me what I am to expect from you, 
 then," she said, impatiently. 
 
 " I told you a short wdiile since that I had 
 no wish to harm you, or to utter, if I could help 
 it, one word against you," he said. " Heaven 
 forbid that it should be my province to hunt 
 misguided women to death! — but I find you 
 Miss Andison's friend." 
 
 " She is no friend of mine," said Helena. 
 
 " She is young and impressionable — she has 
 taken a strange fancy to you ; the mystery 
 about you even helps to attract her — she has 
 faith in you, and a woman's love for you." 
 
 " Heaven bless her for it !" cried Helena 
 Shaldon, looking upwards. " She sees the truth 
 more clearly in her innocence and faith than 
 you with all your cunning." 
 
 " She has not heard the truth." 
 
 *' Or that version of the case which you will 
 consider it your duty to impart to her," said 
 Helena scornfully again. 
 
 " Not if you leave Weddercombe." 
 
 *' Leave here !" cried Helena, " That, then, is 
 the condition of your silence ?"
 
 216 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Why would you hound me from this place?" 
 
 " In the interest of her to whom I am be- 
 trothed," he answered, sternly ; *' even in the 
 interest of my friend her brother, who is weak, 
 poetical, and imagines a story about you that is 
 as unreal as your life. I have no wish to be hard 
 upon you, but you must leave here." 
 
 " If I consent never to speak to Miss Andison 
 again — never to see her?" 
 
 " She is self-willed — she will seek you out — 
 complications must arise, and much mortifica- 
 tion to her, and new misery to you," he said. 
 " Take my advice, madam, and quit this part 
 of the country, where chance has brought us 
 thus strangely face to face again. Quit Eng- 
 land, and seek in a new life some atonement 
 for a dreadful past. You were very young 
 — you were sorely tempted — you " 
 
 " Stop !" cried Helena, passionately. " I will 
 not hear another word of your counsel — I reject 
 it, and your sympathy. Of my life, of my heart, 
 of that dreadful past to which you drag me 
 back, you know nothing — you never did know !" 
 
 " Well, well," said Valentine, shrugging his 
 shoulders, " it is sufficient for me to say that you
 
 A WOMAN AT BAT. 217 
 
 and Florence Andison cannot be friends — that if 
 you remain here it will become my painful duty 
 to warn her of you — to reveal the facts so far 
 as I am acquainted with them, and leave her 
 own judgment to decide." 
 
 " Tell her what you please," said Helena, 
 more firmly still ; " I remain at Weddercomhe." 
 
 " Very well," said Valentine, rising. 
 
 " I would have shut myself away from all the 
 world if it had been in my power," said Helena, 
 rising also ; " not from fear of the world's 
 opinion, which, God knows, I value not now, 
 but in the hope of rest. You have forced me 
 back to the light — you believe the worst of me ; 
 now do your worst and leave me. Here I hold 
 my ground, or die." 
 
 She waved her hand in the direction of the 
 Andisons' estate, as if indicating the way that 
 he should take ; in her indignation, her defiance, 
 she was very beautiful, and he felt like a coward 
 who was waging war against a defenceless wo- 
 man, whose past career it would be merciful 
 and manly to conceal. But she was dangerous 
 and deceptive, and must not be Florence Andi- 
 son's friend. The result of such a friendship it 
 would be impossible to foresee, or^ to prepare
 
 218 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 against. He felt deeply for the woman, driven 
 thus to bay, but he must stand as shield be- 
 tween her duplicity and Florence. 
 
 " If yon would only go away !" he said again. 
 
 " I have taken m}^ last stand, and the veil be- 
 fore my past and me may drop when it pleases," 
 she replied. "When the time comes I ma}^ tell 
 my own story in defence to those who have 
 thought well of me, but never to you. If they 
 condemn me, I can bear it." 
 
 He bowed, but made no answer. He was 
 startled and impressed, but the facts came back 
 to his memory with tenfold force, and her very 
 manner told against her, and warned him of 
 her dangerous deceptiveness. He was a barris- 
 ter, he had studied human nature from a prison- 
 ers' dock point of view, and he trusted only in 
 evidence and honest witnesses. There was no 
 theory that could make Helena Barclay differ- 
 ent from what she was to him. 
 
 He was moving away slowly, when she 
 turned to him again. 
 
 " If, despite my mysterious life, Miss Andison 
 has trusted in me — as she has — I claim the 
 right to tell her the truth," said Helena ; " you 
 will only be my accuser, not my judge."
 
 A WOMAN AT BAY. 219 
 
 " All this might be spared you if " 
 
 " If I would leave Weddercombe ; but I shall 
 not," she answered. " I have said so — I shall 
 never change my mind. Miss Andison " 
 
 " Miss Andison must not see you again." 
 
 " I have to be consulted on that little matter, 
 I think," said a clear sharp voice behind them ; 
 and then Florence Andison stepped from amidst 
 the deep belt of firs which girdled that portion 
 of the estate. 
 
 " Florence 1" exclaimad Valentine, half in sur- 
 prise, half in anger. '• You have followed me 
 — you have suspected me I" 
 
 " I am not a heroine, as Miss Shaldon is," said 
 Florence, tetchily ; '• and I am not to be de- 
 ceived, as you and this lady may have imagin- 
 ed. I did suspect that you knew each other, 
 although I tried hard not to do so ; and your 
 excuse for leaving me and coming this way, 
 Valentine, was so poor a one that I naturally 
 doubted you. You must excuse my ill-breed- 
 ing, — but I followed." 
 
 " I am very sorry for this," said Valentine 
 Merrick, with deep gravity. 
 
 ''I have not listened," added Florence, hasti- 
 ly. '' You will do me the justice to believe
 
 220 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 that I do not care for the secret that there is be- 
 tween YOU two, if it pleases you to keep it to 
 yourselves; I think even that it is a paltry little 
 mystery, easily explained, and that I have a 
 right to an explanation, though I do not ask 
 you for it, ]Miss Shaldon, and hardly expect 
 
 that you, Val, will refuse me, unless " 
 
 There was a wistful look in the violet eyes 
 as she hesitated, but Valentine was staring 
 on the ground, and stirring last year's dead 
 leaves with his walking-stick. He was under 
 suspicion also — he, a man so proud of his hon- 
 our, so strong in his defence of right, to be dis- 
 trusted by a girl who had whispered of her 
 faith in hira only yesternight, to be followed to 
 this spot too, and to be compelled to drag into 
 the daylight that long array of facts which 
 would utterly crush down another woman ! 
 He was an obstinate man, and had long ago 
 waged war against dictation. From her who 
 was to be his wife he had expected the most 
 imphcit trust, and she had turned upon him al- 
 ready. True, the position was peculiar, and he 
 was w^ith another woman in Weddercombe 
 Wood ; but Florence Andison should not have 
 doubted him !
 
 A WOMAN AT BAY. 221 
 
 '* Miss Andison must take my word that I am 
 here in her interest, not in my own, or Miss 
 Shaldon's," he said coldly as she paused ; " pre- 
 sently I may explain more fully," 
 
 Florence shrunk back at his words, and 
 glanced from him to Helena. It was the latter 
 who was the least embarrassed of the three now. 
 
 " I will explain, Miss Andison," she said. 
 
 " No, no !" began Valentine, when she inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 "I will have my way in this ; I will not leave 
 all explanation to you, unless she should wish 
 it afterwards. Miss Andison," she said, turning 
 to her, and speaking with a firm, unfaltering 
 voice, " it is in your interest alone that Mr. 
 Merrick is here. He is afraid that I am no fit 
 companion for you. Twelve months ago I was 
 tried for my life at the York Assizes, and Mr. 
 Merrick was the counsel for the prosecution." 
 
 " For — for your life !" gasped forth the aston- 
 ished Florence. 
 
 " Yes," said Helena, still very firm and strong, 
 — " on a charge of wilful murder !"
 
 222 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 
 
 IT was a revelation totally unlooked for by 
 Florence Anclison in her wild guesses at 
 the mystery of Helena Shaldon. She had 
 never associated the lady of Weddercombe 
 with an idea of crime. A family quarrel, a 
 secret marriage, a strange misunderstanding 
 that time would rectify, a wrong that time 
 might render right, a cruel father, a step- 
 mother — anything in the way of romance her 
 imagination had suggested, but nothing of the 
 semblance of this awful truth which fell from 
 Helena's lips in the hour of her self-denuncia- 
 tion. A faint cry of astonishment, of horror, 
 escaped her; then she went, pale and trem- 
 bling, and forgetful of her past suspicions of her 
 lover, to Valentine's side, and linked her trem- 
 bling hands upon his arm.
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 223 
 
 " Oh, Val, is this true, or is she mad ? " she 
 murmured. 
 
 '' It is true." Valentine Merrick answered. 
 
 " And you would have spared her — you " 
 
 "I wished her to leave Weddercombe," said 
 Val. " I saw the harm that might arise from 
 your want of knowledge of her history." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I see all now." 
 
 "You see nothing, Miss Andison," said Helena; 
 and at the sound of her voice Florence started, 
 and clung more closely to Val's side. " But 
 you are afraid, and a terror of me is already at 
 your heart. You cannot help that, poor child, 
 and I forgive you for it freely. I said this 
 morning, Florence, — if I may call you by that 
 name again, — that suspicion would come soon, 
 and that you would never think so well of me 
 as you were thinking then, for 1 knew that such 
 a bitter hour as this was on its way towards us. 
 Only a few minutes ago," she added, sadly, " I 
 thought it was an easy task to tell my story 
 after my own fashion. But there, let it go — I 
 will not attempt the impossible. I leave the 
 history to him who, in his own conceit, knows 
 me thoroughly. I am too proud now to say 
 another word."
 
 224 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 She bowed, and walked slowly from them, 
 and neither man nor maiden essayed to stop her. 
 She did not waver in her progress ; all the past 
 passion and excitement had vanished from her 
 face, leaving it as white and cold as marble; the 
 worst had come, and she had found strength to 
 encounter it, and a pride to resist the rush of 
 its oncoming. She passed from them with a 
 conscious self-dignity and power that were re- 
 markable to witness, remembering the frail, 
 weak girl of last night, and was, even in that 
 hour, a greater mystery. 
 
 " That is an extraordinary woman," muttered 
 Valentine, looking after her. " I could under- 
 stand her innocence — I could understand her 
 firmness and crime " 
 
 " Oh ! Val— what is it ? Tell me everything." 
 
 *' After all, is it necessary ?" he said. " Is it 
 fair? Now that your suspicions of me are set 
 at rest, cannot we let that poor woman's life 
 rest too f 
 
 " My suspicions ! Ah ! Val, you are angry 
 with me and my jealousy. But I could not help 
 it, and you were not placing confidence in me." 
 
 " There, we will not say anything more about 
 it," he said, passing his arm round her, and kiss-
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 225 
 
 ing her lightly on the cheek ; *' but it is a bad 
 beginning of our engagement to distrust me, 
 Floy. As for my confidence — would you have 
 me unburden all my professional secrets to you, 
 Floy, and smother you with last year's briefs ?." 
 
 "No; but Helena Shaldon was my friend, 
 and " 
 
 " And I wished to arrest that friendship, with- 
 out injuring her if I could," he said, as they 
 proceeded towards the meadow-land of Hernley. 
 *' I would have let her pass away, and spared 
 you both. The Fates were against it, and here 
 we are." 
 
 " Tell me about her. Let me try to under- 
 stand her. She said ' wilful murder,' Val," said 
 Florence, shuddering — " the wilful murder of 
 whom f 
 
 " Of her husband, Michael Barclay." 
 
 " Married !" exclaimed Florence. 
 
 " Yes — fancy a woman shunting her husband 
 by express into the siding beyond this life, 
 Floy." 
 
 " Oh ! don't talk like that — don't jest at such 
 a horror as this has been," Florence implored. 
 
 '' I forgot myself. I am like a doctor, old and 
 tough, and unimpressionable, and Helena Bar- 
 VOL. T. Q
 
 226 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 clay's case is only one out of a hundred, with 
 nothing very new about it. It should not affect 
 either you or me — we have nothing to do with it." 
 
 " I liked her so much ! Oh ! Val, perhaps she 
 was innocent ! I think she must have been. 
 Did not the jury acquit her ? Does she look 
 like a woman who could take her husband's life? 
 How was it ? Tell me everything, and let me 
 judge for myself." 
 
 " I expect the papers by the next post from 
 London, and you may study the details then if 
 you will," he said. " I should like to look over 
 them myself, and grope in the dark for extenu- 
 ating circumstances, as I should have done had 
 I been the counsel in ber behalf." 
 
 " Well ?" said Florence, as they went on to- 
 gether. They had passed through the shrub- 
 bery, and Valentine had lifted his lady-love over 
 a wire fence, and the broad fat lands of Hernley 
 lay between them and home. 
 
 " Well, Miss Inquisitive," said Valentine, " 1 
 am not going to make a long story out of this ; 
 the simple facts will take me three minutes, 
 perhaps, and I must leave speculation concern- 
 ing them to you." 
 
 " Go on, please," said Florence, impatiently.
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 227 
 
 *' Helena Shaldon married Michael Barclay ; 
 * she was young, and he was old ' — she was 
 poor, one of the reduced-circumstances division 
 of the grand army of the unlucky, and he was 
 abominably rich. People wondered, I believe, 
 why she married him, for all that, for he was a 
 brute, and had led his own nephew and adopted 
 son a nice life of it, before he took it into his head 
 to ask Helena Shaldon to become his wife." 
 
 " Well ?" said Florence again. 
 
 "He married Helena, and treated her with 
 greater cruelty than he had done his nephew ; 
 he was certainly an old savage, but women 
 marry savages at times, and are faithful to 
 them, and grow to think them beauties. In this 
 instance old Michael Barclay died suddenly, a 
 few weeks after he had made a will in favour 
 of his wife, and it was found, upon .opening the 
 old gentleman, that he had taken prussic acid 
 enough to kill a bullock." 
 
 '' Oh, don't talk like that !" 
 
 " Merely my professional way, Floy," said 
 Valentine ; " I can't pump up any great measure 
 of pity for old Barclay, a man whom I never 
 saw. That's the story." 
 
 "Not all." 
 
 q2
 
 228 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 '* Very nearly. Suspicion pointed to the 
 young wife ; little things gathered strength and 
 became ugly proofs of evidence ; and, if it had 
 not been for much false swearing on the part of 
 Mrs. Graves — there is no doubt that she lied 
 amazingly to get her mistress off — Mrs. Barclay, 
 nSe Shaldon, would have certainly been hanged. 
 There was a failure of justice ; Mrs. Graves's 
 evidence was not thought to be false till after 
 the trial, and Helena Barclay was pronounced 
 not guilty. I made a splendid speech, Floy," 
 he continued — "you shall read that to-morrow 
 too — and the judge summed up against her ; but 
 the Yorkshiremen were hard-headed and resist- 
 ed facts. Spinks, for the defence, talked a great 
 deal of youth and innocence, of sentencing to 
 death one so weak and fragile as the prisoner, 
 of the responsibility of condemning her — and 
 her FACE saved her. It was her fortune. It 
 brought her money the first time — it saved her 
 life the second." 
 
 " And you are sure that Helena Barclay 
 poisoned her husband ?" said Florence. 
 
 " As sure as I can be of any thing upon earth." 
 
 " But her denial of it — her courage at the last 
 — that look upon her face, Val."
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 229 
 
 " Her face again !" laughed the barrister. 
 
 " I caunot believe her to have been so desper- 
 ate a woman then, to be so deceitful a woman 
 now." 
 
 *' Old Barclay treated her very badly, and she 
 was driven mad by his cruelty and suspicions — 
 that's the truth, I imagine, Floy," said Val. '' I 
 don't say that she was not very sorry afterwards, 
 that she is not very penitent for all the past, but 
 she is no fit companion for Floy Andison ; and 
 I told her so this morning." 
 
 " And she ?" questioned Florence. 
 
 "Defied me — ordered me off the premises — act- 
 ed the injured heroine to perfection," he answer- 
 ed, " and very nearly imposed upon my own 
 flinty heart. Yes," he added, thoughtfully, " she 
 is a dangerous woman ; we must warn Percy of 
 her too." 
 
 " Poor Percy !" said Florence with a sigh. 
 *' There is another whom it will be difficult to 
 gain over to your version of the legend." 
 
 " Another ! Are you not convinced yet ?" 
 
 "No," said Florence, boldly. 
 
 " The natural perversity of the feminine intel- 
 lect, that is beyond all reasoning and is dead to 
 argument !" cried Valentine, laughing.
 
 230 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 *' Where is this nephew — the adopted son — 
 the man who was treated badly by Michael 
 Barclay f asked Florence. 
 
 "I don't know anything of him." 
 
 " Why was not suspicion directed towards 
 him ?" asked Florence, eagerly. " Did he bear 
 a good character I" 
 
 " Rather a bad one, I believe — half profligate, 
 half spendthrift. He was one of the principal 
 witnesses against Mrs. Barclay, and he gave his 
 evidence with regret, but with much frankness 
 and fearlessness. It was the one blot on the 
 case that the counsel for the defence sought, by 
 implication, to throw the guilt upon him." 
 
 " If the nephew were a revengeful man now," 
 said Floy Andison — " if the counsel's idea was 
 correct after alH" 
 
 *' Spinks — that's the barrister of whom we 
 are talking — never thought her innocent from 
 the first. He fought her case well, and got 
 her off, and it has lifted him up in the profession 
 vastly — but he never believed in her. He and 
 I have had many a joke about our battle on the 
 Northern Circuit last year. It was a victory for 
 him — but it was not fairly won." 
 
 *' This is dreadful," said Florence, shuddering.
 
 THE TERRIBLE PAST. 231 
 
 " It is not a cheerful story to consider," an- 
 swered Valentine. 
 
 They were silent for some time after this ; 
 they went on side by side, each pondering on 
 the problem of human life, each construing it 
 after a different fashion, and marvelling at the 
 strangeness of the incidents that had brought the 
 tragedy U Weddercombe, and set it down in 
 that peaceful country place, to scare all honest 
 folk there 
 
 " Oh, Val," said Florence, suddenly, " if she 
 should be innocent — if, after all, you and the 
 world are wrong, and she is right — what misery 
 she has Dome and suffered from and fought 
 against ! It would account for her manner, her 
 nervousiess, her strangeness ; I can reconcile 
 her life and gentleness, her courage and pride, 
 with iiMOcence, but not with such a crime as you 
 belie vf her guilty of." 
 
 "Wnat, not yet convinced!" said Valentine, 
 laughng. 
 
 " I ot yet," cried Florence, with excitement. 
 
 " The facts — which you shall see, Floy — are 
 aganst her ; and I believe in facts. But, if I 
 allrvs^ed my imagination play," he said — " if I 
 daed to do it — if I were romantic or confiding,
 
 232 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 were younger even at the Bar — I should believe 
 in Helena Barclay." 
 
 " Then you are not surprised, Val, that my 
 faith is not completely shaken ?" 
 
 "No. For a moment to-day I was weak 
 enough to think that she was a deeply-injured 
 woman," he answered ; '^ but it was only for a 
 moment, Floy."
 
 233 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 
 
 THE brighter days at TVeddercombe had soon 
 died out, along with its mistress's hopes of 
 a fairer and more peaceful time. In six fleeting 
 months the vision had faded, and she was facing 
 the old truths, from which there was no escape 
 in England. She had shunned society, but so- 
 ciety had found its way to her, brought with it 
 the terrible accusation that had already render- 
 ed life a burden to her. She had been tried for 
 murder, and the verdict of " Not guilty " had 
 been followed by the derision of a sceptical 
 community. The newspapers had sneered at 
 the escape, and sifted, with cruel acrimony, the 
 evidence that had saved her; and the world was 
 a barren place, wherein she could find no shelter, 
 nor meet with one friend. To know her history
 
 234 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 was to set men's hearts against her ; she had 
 seen that from the first, and she had fough t 
 hard, and with a woman's cunning, to submerge 
 her past. Accident had betrayed her, and she 
 was in the glare of the noonday sun again. 
 
 So be it ; she had done her best, and failed. 
 She had grown very weary of the chase ; she 
 would lie down and die now, making no further 
 effort at escape. They who doubted her in this 
 new strange sphere into which she had entered 
 should see at least that she did not steal away 
 from them ; here at Weddercombe was her last 
 stand-point, where she would fight out her life. 
 She told this, and more than this, to the house- 
 keeper, Jane Graves, who sat with her all that 
 day in the drawing-room, and listened to the 
 news. Friend rather than attendant, mother 
 rather than friend, the old woman was always 
 at her best when the young one was stricken 
 down. 
 
 Mrs. Graves heard all with attention ; she 
 argued with philosophy ; she scofied at man's 
 detraction and false judgment ; she pointed out 
 once more, with a rough eloquence that was 
 touching and forcible, that after all it was 
 only the old position — they two together to
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 235 
 
 believe in one another, and leave the world to 
 think what it pleased of them — at least, it was 
 no worse than it had ever been. 
 
 " Ah, I don't know that," said Helena, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 " Where is the difference ?" asked Mrs. Graves. 
 
 "Don't ask me. Tell the servants, Jane, that 
 my name is Barclay, not Shaldon. I have given 
 up for good !" she cried, half restlessly, half de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 " Given np attempting to hide yourself and 
 your past trouble. Well, I asked you to do 
 that a year ago," said the housekeeper. "Chang- 
 ing your name was a confession of weakness, al- 
 most of guilt, to such little-minded folk as we 
 have met at Weddercombe." 
 
 " Sometimes I think that you do not believe 
 in me, Jane," said Helena, timidly — •" that you 
 see only a young woman who was driven to des- 
 peration by much unkindness, and who snatched 
 at liberty by any means." 
 
 " You should judge me better than that," said 
 Mrs. Graves, reproachfully. 
 
 " For you saved my hfe " 
 
 " By swearing that you w^ere not in the house 
 when Michael Barclay died. Ay, it was rank
 
 236 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 perjury, Helena. Heaven forgive me, if it will, 
 knowing that I did it to save yon from the evi- 
 dence that was turning against you !" 
 
 "Arthur's," said Helena, shuddering; *' ah, 
 that dreadful man I" 
 
 " It is you who mention him, not I," answered 
 Mrs. Graves sullenly. 
 
 " Well, well, the worst has come, and we are 
 not wholly stranded, Jane," Helena cried, with 
 sudden animation. " See how strong and 
 brave I am beneath it all. I said that I had 
 given up — on the contrary, I resist. The 
 reality is not so bad as the fancies which have 
 haunted me." 
 
 Mrs. Graves was not deceived by the new 
 manner which had been assumed by Helena 
 Barclay — to give her the name bestowed in her 
 unlucky marriage. Helena was variable in her 
 moods ; there would come a time of deep de- 
 spondency again — it would be natural to the 
 woman hunted by her kind. She was not 
 strong enough to keep always strong, and of 
 the reaction the housekeeper was afraid. Still, 
 Helena had fought bravely, and the reahty was 
 not very terrible. What was the opinion of 
 Miss Andison, or Miss Andison's friends, after
 
 THE FIRST FRIEXD. 237 
 
 all? Helena had never sought their compan- 
 ionship ; she had held aloof from them. It was 
 they who had sought her out, and by their in- 
 terference brought about the truth. 
 
 "No, the reality is not so bad," said Mrs. 
 Graves ; " fearing for you shook me down yester- 
 day; and yet this Merrick can do us no harm. 
 We can defy him." 
 
 *'A hard, cruel man," murmured Helena. "I 
 see him looking at me still, and hear his voice 
 of accusation — it has been ever ringing in those 
 dreams of mine which I cannot escape from — 
 dreams of that awful dock, where I was stand- 
 ing with all eyes turned on me. Oh ! the eyes !" 
 she cried, spreading her fair hands suddenly be- 
 fore her face. 
 
 " Courage, Helena — you have promised to 
 keep strong, my poor weak child, whom a breath 
 of calumny seems to wither suddenly." 
 
 The old woman put her big strong arm round 
 the neck of her young mistress, and drew the 
 head upon her broad breast, where she whispered 
 soothing words and kindly counsel, until her 
 eyes closed, and Helena slept as an infant might 
 have done, tired out with the crosses and disap- 
 pointments of its fretful little life.
 
 238 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 It was a striking picture in the subdued light 
 that shone from the waxen candles on the table 
 — the fair and youthful countenance in close 
 contiguity to the deeply-lined visage of the 
 elder woman sitting there, incongruous and out 
 of place with the surroundings of a luxurious 
 home, rugged and immovable in her watch, and 
 hardly seeming to breathe, lest she should wake 
 her who had dropped off to sleep upon her 
 breast. 
 
 They sat there for an hour without an intru- 
 sion on their peace, and then the door opened 
 softly, and a maid-servant stole on tip-toe into 
 the room, as if such scenes as this were not 
 uncommon, and to be prepared for. 
 
 Mrs. Graves held up one hand in warning, 
 despite the cautiousness with which the maid 
 had proceeded towards her, and a deep "Hush!" 
 was hissed from her thin lips. The servant 
 stopped. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Mrs. Graves in a low 
 whisper. 
 
 " A visitor." 
 
 " I did not hear a knock." 
 
 " I met the gentleman in the garden-ground 
 beyond, and told him that my mistress was un-
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 239 
 
 well, and could not see hira, but he would insist 
 that I should bring in his card," explained the 
 maid, in a quick and hurried tone of voice. 
 
 " Tell him to go — tell him that she is ill, and 
 cannot, under any circumstances, be seen," said 
 Mrs. Graves. 
 
 " Stay — what is it ? What has happened 
 now?" cried Helena, suddenly sitting up, with 
 her dark eyes dilated, and her face full of 
 anxiety and inquiry. "I will have nothing 
 kept back from me — I told you that I was very 
 strong !" 
 
 The servant-maid held forth the salver con- 
 taining the card which Mrs. Graves had not 
 deigned to inspect, and Helena took up the card 
 and read it. 
 
 *' Mr. Percy Andison," she read aloud, as she 
 looked down on the carpet, and thought deeply. 
 *' Show him in," she said at last ; " I will see 
 the gentleman." 
 
 '' Helena !" cried Mrs. Graves, in astonishment. 
 
 Helena Barclay smiled ; there was a strange, 
 set expression on her features at that moment. 
 
 " You forget, Jane, that I have not given up, 
 but that this is a fight against fate. Here is my 
 first opponent," she said, bitterly.
 
 240 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 "Ay, if you can keep strong," said Mrs. 
 Graves, " this may be as well. I will stay with 
 you." 
 
 " No, leave me to myself. You need not fear 
 that I shall be a child before this weak young 
 man," said Helena, somewhat scornfully. 
 
 *•' As you will," muttered Mrs. Graves, rising ; 
 and, as Percy Andison entered, she passed from 
 the room, and, after one glance askance at him, 
 shut him in with her young mistress. 
 
 She was a woman of no tine feelings, however; 
 strange associations, time, indifference to the 
 world's opinion, had all marred them long ago, 
 and she took up her stand on the other side 
 of the door, folded her arms, leaned her head 
 against the panel, and set herself to listen dili- 
 gently. She was not a curious woman ; and it 
 was with no idle wish to gather up the scraps of 
 conversation from within that she took her posi- 
 tion there. 
 
 A few minutes' eavesdropping satisfied her 
 that Helena was not likely to give way. 
 
 " The lassie will keep brave before the likes 
 of him," she said, as she marched away down 
 the corridor, *'and I'm not wanted here." 
 
 Meanwhile, Percy had approached Helena
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 241 
 
 with much manifestation of anxiety on his 
 pale, sharp featm-es. He was in full dress be- 
 neath his grey overcoat, like a man who had 
 risen in haste from the dinner-table or drawing- 
 room to visit her ; and w^hen he sat down in the 
 chair to which the mistress of Weddercombe 
 had waved her hand, it was evident that he was 
 trembling nervously. 
 
 Helena observed this, and was surprised. 
 The man before her was a pedantic, absent, old- 
 fashioned prosaic kind of being, she had fancied, 
 not one prone to be excited in any way, even 
 by such news as had been detailed to him, and 
 w^hich she read upon his face. 
 
 "You are astonished at my unceremonious 
 visit," he stammered forth. 
 
 " I am used to surprises, Mr. Andison. Last 
 night, if you remember, I surprised you and 
 your friends," said Helena, with great calmness. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Shaldon ; but " He paused as 
 
 she held up her hand to stay his further speech. 
 
 " They will tell you at Hernley that I am a 
 widow lady of the name of Barclay, aud that 
 there remains at Weddercombe no further ne- 
 cessity for disguise. They have already told 
 you," she added, with asperity. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 HEPx FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 '' Yes." he confessed. 
 
 *' Your friend iSlv. Merrick has been qnick 
 \vith his information," said Helena. " He did 
 not threaten mu in vain. He is a man of his 
 ^vord, Avhom yon should value very hig'hly, for 
 such men as he are scarce." 
 
 " Let me do him the justice to assert that I 
 have insisted upon the truth — that it was only 
 by my fixed determination to learn everything 
 that had distressed my sister and him " 
 
 " And him !" echoed Helena. 
 
 *' That I have ascertained all that has 
 occurred," continued Percy, without taking- 
 heed of her second interruption. 
 
 ''And the reason that urges you, Mr. Andi- 
 son, to pay me the honour of a second visit on 
 this memorable day ?" inquired Helena. 
 
 '• Ah I you cannot guess that — you will not 
 guess that !" he cried. 
 
 " I am at a loss to conjecture," said Helena, 
 after regarding the gentleman attentively, "un- 
 less you are instructed to demand my inmiedi- 
 ate departure from a place that 1 outrage by 
 my presence. If so, pray return with my an- 
 swer, that there is no power in persecution to 
 drive me from this home — that I may leave it
 
 TIIE FIRST FRIEND. 243 
 
 of ray own free will sorae clay, but at no man's 
 bidding now — that here I take my stand, a 
 stronger woman than you found me first." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Shaldon — Mrs. Barclay," cried 
 Percy, " can you believe me guilty of the 
 effrontery of coming to you with so vile a mes- 
 sage as that V Can you attribute to me so un- 
 generous a partf 
 
 " I am a woman who has lost faith in my 
 fellow-creatures, just as my fellow-creatures 
 have lost faith in me." 
 
 *' No !" cried Percy. 
 
 " No r repeated Helena, wonderingly. 
 
 *'I have not lost faith in you, madam," con- 
 tinued Percy, with strange earnestness. " I 
 have come to Weddercombe to tell you so. It 
 is with that object I am here as an intruder in 
 a home which accident has brought much grief 
 to. I beg you to believe, Mrs. Barclay, that I 
 see in you only a victim — that I would stake 
 my life upon your innocence, and that you may 
 rely upon me always as a friend." 
 
 " You are aware that I have been tried for 
 murder?" said Helena, coldly and calmly. 
 
 " They have told me so." 
 
 " They believe that I was guilty of the crime, 
 
 r2
 
 2 M HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 but was fortunate enough to escape the con- 
 sequences of it." 
 
 " What they believe, or disbelieve, is nothing 
 to me," cried Percy, with increasing animation. 
 " My sister is not against you ; she is very, very 
 sorry and distressed — she cannot credit the foul 
 slander, and will come, I hope, to tell you so — 
 she is not like this Merrick." 
 
 ^' Your friend !" said Helena. 
 
 " Oh, he is no friend of mine that thinks you 
 capable of committing so heinous a deed !" said 
 Percy. 
 
 " You have quarrelled with Mr. Merrick about 
 me?" said Helena, wonderingly. 
 
 '' Yes, madam." 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Helena sadly ; " I 
 was not worth quarrelling about, and separating 
 such friends as 1 have heard that you two 
 are. Every man has a right to his opinion, and 
 there are no proofs of innocence to which I can 
 direct you. Mr. Merrick does not look at the 
 best side of human nature, but then he is older 
 than you, and has had a terrible experience of 
 life. You are very young, Mr. Andison." 
 
 " I am twenty-one," he hastened to explain ; 
 '' I am not a foolish, headstrong boy, carried 
 away by impulse and romance."
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 245 
 
 " You have not heard the facts — you have 
 seen but little of me, and know less." 
 
 " I do not wish to hear the facts," said Percy, 
 warmly ; " 1 know only, madam, that you have 
 been very unforjtunate— that I have seen your 
 sorrow, and been drawn towards it from the 
 first day that you and I met in Hernley church. 
 I knew it was a great sorrow, and I believe now 
 that it is a great injustice." 
 
 " Yes, you are very young," said Helena, 
 looking at him with a fair, bright smile, which 
 quivered to his heart's depths, *' and very im- 
 pulsive and weak, to come like this and tell me 
 of your confidence. Still I am very grateful — 
 I thank you very, very much. Heaven knows 
 I have been waiting for human sympathy, 
 hoping for it from some pure-hearted woman 
 like myself, perhaps — not looking for my solace 
 in a stranger's generosity." 
 
 " Oh, not a stranger ! I have known you for 
 six months ; I have seen you very, very often — 
 more often than you imagine or I can dare to 
 tell you. You have been to me a mystery, but 
 
 you " 
 
 He stopped in his rhapsody as the colour 
 mounted to the face of his listener. He had
 
 246 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 betrayed himself in his warmth and earnestness, 
 and little knowledge of active life ; and there 
 was a frightened look in the dark eyes regard- 
 ing him. 
 
 *' I shall be always a mystery, I fear," said 
 Helena, as he paused, " and it will not be worth 
 your while to comprehend me. I cannot ex- 
 plain the past, for that is a mystery by which I 
 suffer still ; but my husband died, and they say 
 in York that I killed him." 
 
 •' They lie !" cried Percy, energetically. 
 
 ''Yours is a Quixotic defence of a helpless 
 woman," said Helena, rising, and extending 
 her hand towards him, " and you may repent it 
 as you grow older and take the trouble to learn 
 my story. Still, for the courage that brought 
 you to Weddercombe to tell me of your trust, 
 of your belief in me rather than in my detrac- 
 tors, for that warmth of this young English 
 heart which cheers me with kind words, I 
 thank you very humbly, and I bid Heaven bless 
 you in this last farewell." 
 
 " Oh, madam — last farewell !" he cried, his 
 hand trembling in her own like a timid girl's. 
 
 Yes, he was weak, and very young, poor 
 Percy !
 
 THE FIRST FRIEND. 247 
 
 " It is not likely that we shall meet — that I 
 wish you to constitute yourself my champion — 
 that I shall see any of you again of my own 
 free will," she answered. " From Weddercombe 
 I shall never stir again, and I will receive no one 
 here." 
 
 " Never leave Weddercombe — never leave it 1" 
 
 " I think not," she said. " I can shut myself 
 away from the world, and not be more unhappy 
 than I have been." 
 
 " It will be a living tomb !" cried Percy. 
 
 " No, a quiet home," ansvvered Helena. " I 
 have no friends to regret beyond this place." 
 
 " Not one !" 
 
 " Not one." 
 
 " If you would only let me call you friend!" he 
 cried, his voice faltering and breaking, and his 
 hand fastening on her so closely that she could 
 not escape his clasp. "If you would believe that 
 I trust in you, and would give me time to win 
 your trust back in return — if you would believe 
 in my long watch of you and deeper thought — 
 if you would not turn away from one who has 
 been yours, solely and wholly yours, from the 
 first day you came to Weddercombe." 
 
 " Cease — cease : this is madness ! " cried
 
 248 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Helena, SDatching her hand from him and re- 
 tmng with backward steps towards the door, 
 whither he followed her with his hands out- 
 stretched. 
 
 " Yes, the madness of love !" he cried. " Oh, 
 Helena, pity me ! — have mercy on me ! I love 
 you !"
 
 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 VERY YOUXG ! 
 
 PERCY ANDISON'S was an unceremonious 
 dash at love-making, characteristic of his 
 blundering self. It was out of time and out of 
 tune. It was premature, and warranted by no- 
 thing which had preceded it, or which might 
 follow. It was altogether one of those huge 
 mistakes which full-hearted, single-idea'd men 
 perpetrate and suffer from occasionally when 
 carried away by the whirl of their own im- 
 pulsiveness. 
 
 Percy had burned to show his faith in Helena 
 Barclay, to demonstrate to her, by something 
 striking and remarkable, that the world's 
 verdict, the world's slanders, had had no power 
 to turn him from his reverence. Below the 
 depth of his student's nature lay the romance of 
 a young man who had mixed but little in
 
 250 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 society and seen nothing of life. She was in 
 great trouble, and he had learned to love her 
 long ago. And in trouble the truth came to the 
 surface. 
 
 " Mr. Andison, you forget yourself," exclaim- 
 ed Helena, almost as excited as her suitor by 
 this sudden and strange avowal ; " you affront 
 me ! 
 
 "Ah, don't say that," cried Percy; " I would 
 surrender my life to do you service — to save 
 you from pain. Don't say that I affront you !" 
 
 "It can't be true," whispered Helena, half to 
 herself; "it is wholly unnatural." 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay," said Percy, recovering a little, 
 and speaking in a deep and suppressed voice, 
 " Heaven is my witness that you would have 
 never known of my passion, never have guessed 
 at it, had you remained the woman whom I first 
 found here. It is your misery which betrays my 
 secret — the consciousness of your loneliness, of 
 that affliction which you fight against, but which 
 bears you down completely. I see in you an 
 injured woman suffering under much suspicion, 
 struggling vainly and growing weaker in the 
 struggle, and I am forced to tell you that you 
 are not alone — that I learned to love you long
 
 VERY YOUXG. 251 
 
 ago — that I trust in you implicitly, and would 
 stand between you and the world — that there is 
 happiness only with you, and in the thought of 
 you, for me."' 
 
 Helena Barclay had sunk into a chair again, 
 and was trembling beneath the force of Percy 
 Audison's confession; there was no doubting the 
 truth of it, and pity fur him and his weakness 
 was gaining ground rapidly, now that she was 
 recovering from the shock. She was no longer 
 afraid of him. 
 
 "Mine is a young life, Mr. Andison," she said 
 in a low voice, " and Heaven is witness that it 
 has been a strange one, but this is not the least 
 strange incident in it. What made yon think 
 of me i What folly led you to put faith in one 
 whom all the rest distrust?" 
 
 *' Ah, madam, I read truth and virtue in your 
 face." She smiled faintly. 
 
 " You are the first who has read so fair a story 
 from it," she answered ; " yet I am none the 
 less grateful, and none the less impressed by 
 your confidence. But," she added very quietly, 
 as he uttered a low wild exclamation of surprise 
 and joy, " you must not talk to me of love — 
 that is far removed from any thought of mine.
 
 252 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 I would entangle no man's life, and no man's 
 thoughts with mine, so help me, Heaven ! I am 
 best alone. I should bring to you a heavy burden 
 of unhappiness for dowry, and my money would 
 be a curse rather than a compensation. Your life 
 is beginning, Mr. Andison — mine was ended long 
 ago." 
 
 " No, no !" objected Percy. 
 
 "You will thank me for my advice some day 
 — a very little while hence," she said. 
 
 "What advice?" he murmured, in a faint be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 *■' I am going to advise you to leave Hernley," 
 she replied — '* to see London — to get away from 
 wdiat must be enchantment, to lure you from a 
 life as suspected as my own. You have studied 
 hard, and grown weak instead of wise ; no man 
 of prudence would have acted as rashly as you 
 have done to-night. Had I been the adven- 
 turess they think me, I should have taken 
 advantage of your weakness, your distraction, 
 and have snatched at the opportunity of saving 
 myself by your abasement. But I think that I 
 understand you, and I am merciful in shutting 
 from you every hope of me." 
 
 '• Oh, not every hope !" he cried passionately
 
 VERY YOUNG. 253 
 
 again. "I have been rash — I see my weakness 
 in affronting you — but give me time to prove 
 that this is not a boy's fancy, but the ambition 
 of my Hfe. Oh, Helena, give me time !" 
 
 "No," she answered firmly; "let it all end 
 now, for your sake as well as mine." 
 
 " It cannot end," he muttered. 
 
 " If I could convince you of the folly of all 
 this," she said, "before I thank you for your 
 trust, for the honour even which you have done 
 me by your rash avowal ! I have told you that 
 I would blight no man's future with the sus- 
 picions that beset me ; and if, as by a miracle, my 
 name was cleared, it would be to some strong 
 brave man that I might turn for aid, knowing how 
 weak I am, and what help through life I should 
 require. There, do you understand me, Percy?" 
 
 It was the first time that she had called him 
 by his Christian name, but he took no comfort 
 from it; his quick perception assured him that 
 it had been uttered in pity for his weakness, and 
 to reconcile him to her conviction that he was 
 the last man whom she could love. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " I understand." 
 
 " Mine are hard words," she said more kindly, 
 and as a woman might have spoken to one
 
 254 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 many years her junior, " but it is no use talking 
 sentiment and smoothing over hard truths. 
 You are very young," she said once more that 
 night to his discomfiture, " and will forget this 
 in good time. It is a trial that Providence has 
 sent early to you, and from which you w-ill read 
 your lesson presently." 
 
 He inclined his head gravely ; he had recover- 
 ed his composure ; there were dignity and self- 
 possession in his bearing as he stood before lier. 
 He had dashed at his love and been baffled 
 — it was all over with his hopes, and she was 
 killing him almost with compassion. 
 
 She rose and extended both her hands to him 
 suddenly, and the action for a moment took him 
 off his guard. 
 
 "And now that you understand me, and that 
 there can be no mistake between us, let me thank 
 you again, Mr. Andison, for your faith," she said. 
 " It is the remembrance of this night that gives 
 me new strength, for it assures me that there 
 are truer hearts in the world than I thought. 
 You come without a proof of my innocence, and 
 in the face of facts in which other men believe, 
 to protest that you place credence in me. Heaven 
 bless you for it, let me say again before you go."
 
 VERY YOUNG. 255 
 
 " If I could be of any service," he began, when 
 she checked him. 
 
 " The fashion of electing champions has died 
 out with English chivalry," she said, half sadly, 
 half satirically, "and you must dedicate your 
 life to a nobler service than to that of a woman 
 who has been tried for murder." She shuddered 
 and changed colour : then she added quickly, 
 " But I do not ask you to take back your con- 
 fidence. I urge you to believe in me a little. 
 I thought that I should learn to love my hus- 
 band when they made me marry him — I was 
 sorry when he died — I should have been glad 
 to die instead of him, and get away from this ! 
 There," she added, " I have not said a word to 
 any living being — I have held back in my pride, 
 and let them think the worst of me ; but to you, 
 who think the best, I tell a fragment of the 
 truth, — only a fragment I — and thank you, ay, 
 with all my soul ! Good-bye." 
 
 " Do you mean for ever '? Is it possible ?" 
 
 " Yes — yes, I think so," she said, " for you 
 wdll give me your word that this ends all — that 
 you will never see me again ?" 
 
 " I cannot do that." 
 
 "You leave me in suspense and fear," she 
 cried reproachfully.
 
 25Q HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Mrs. Barclay," he said, very sadly, *' I will 
 do my best. I understand my folly, and I will 
 try to profit by your counsel. But my faith 
 will live as long as my love for you." 
 
 He dropped her hands at last — she had made 
 one feeble effort to withdraw them earlier, but 
 she had placed them in his own for pity's sake, 
 and in gratitude, and he had clung to them — 
 and went away blindly, and with his head bent 
 down, a man who had failed miserably in the first 
 great effort of his life to pass from his old self 
 to a dream beyond it.
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE PAPERS. 
 
 PERCY ANDISON was not seen at Hernley 
 Hall again that night. The next morning 
 he took his breakfast in his room ; and it was 
 not till the dinner-hour that he faced the various 
 members of his family, and tried to look as 
 steadily at Valentine Merrick as that rising- 
 young barrister looked at him. 
 
 The story of the identity of Miss Shaldon 
 with the widow Barclay, who was tried at 
 York assizes, had not been detailed to Sir 
 Charles or Lady Andison ; only three persons 
 at Hernley were in the secret at present ; it had 
 not been bruited abroad — there was an instinct- 
 ive desire not to promulgate the news without 
 sufficient warranty, and a secret kind of hope 
 in Florence's breast that there might never arise 
 the necessity for so doing. Perhaps Mrs. Bar- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 clay's inDocence might be proved ; probably she 
 might leave Weddercombe ; and, at all events, 
 it seemed no one's province to cast another stone 
 at her. Florence and Percy had been warned 
 of their neighbour's character for their own sake; 
 it had been Yal Merrick's task, and, unpleasant 
 and painful as it had been to war against a 
 woman, he had not shrunk from his duty. If 
 it had fallen to other hands he would have been 
 glad, for Percy had resented the information, 
 and, in his indignation, had betrayed the force 
 of the wild passion to which he had succumbed. 
 Still Val Merrick was not sorry for all that had 
 occurred — Percy would recover from the shock, 
 and thank him presently. They who see their 
 strong fancies torn from their grasp are not 
 grateful to him who snatches them away, though 
 it be for the after-good of their lives. 
 
 Percy was not a man whose nerves were of 
 iron, and there were signs that within the last 
 twenty-four hours he had suffered a great deal. 
 If he had striven to take his place there in calm- 
 ness, and to excite no extra attention, he was 
 disappointed, for his mother, watchful through 
 her gold-rimmed glasses, exclaimed at once, 
 
 '' What's the matter, Percy f
 
 THE PAPERS. 259 
 
 " Xothing is the matter, that I am aware," he 
 answered. 
 
 He had steeled his nerves to respond witli 
 composure, but there was no smoothing over 
 the haggardness which a sleepless night had 
 created. 
 
 " You're as white as a sheet, Percy," affirmed 
 Lady Andison ; " we have not seen you all day, 
 and something has happened, I am sure." 
 
 "Hard study, I am afraid," said Valentine, 
 with ease, and by way of suggesting an ex- 
 cuse. 
 
 Percy took the hint immediately. 
 
 " Yes, I have been studying hard — very hard," 
 he answered. 
 
 They had had high words yesterday evening, 
 or rather Percy had taken a a high tone to him- 
 self, and resented every imputation against He- 
 lena Barclay, as though he had been constituted 
 her defender, and Percy had not forgiven Val 
 Merrick, or ceased to regard him as the author 
 of the miseiy which had occurred, but he was 
 grateful to the barrister for the suggestion. 
 He was annoyed at Merrick's friendly tone, 
 but perhaps that was as well before company, 
 although he was sure, very sure, that he and 
 
 s2
 
 2 GO HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 Valentine ^vould never be friends again. He 
 had been deceived in him, and the man's hard- 
 ness and cruelty were still amazing him. 
 
 " I wish there was not a book in the place," 
 muttered Sir Charles — after which awful ex- 
 pression Percy's haggard appearance became no 
 longer a matter of great interest. 
 
 Valentine Merrick took the lead in the conver- 
 sation ; he was a man paid to talk at times, and 
 society relied upon one who was generally 
 equal to the occasion. That evening he was 
 unusually brilliant, he was full of repartee, 
 and Percy, disposed to be unjust, thought 
 what a cold callous wretch Valentine was 
 to be relating his anecdotes thus glibly, and 
 did not give him credit for endeavouring to 
 divert attention from himself. Hence it was 
 evident that Val Merrick had come down " with 
 a run " from the high estimation in which Percy 
 Andison had been inclined to hold him. 
 
 xlfter dinner Val and Florence strolled in the 
 garden. They were licensed to stroll by special 
 engagement, and Sir Charles dozed, and Lady 
 Andison looked now and then from the drawing- 
 room window at the happy couple. Percy had 
 gone to his own room, too depressed for general
 
 THE PAPERS. 261 
 
 company. Having been balked in his first love, 
 he seemed disposed to sulk with the community 
 at large. 
 
 There was but little florid sentiment, or any- 
 thing appropriate to the occasion, between Val 
 and Florence that evening ; it was Percy Andi- 
 son who formed the one topic of conversation. 
 
 '• I should be very sorry, Yal, if you and he 
 were to become bad friends," she said. 
 
 " If he cannot see that I have only put him 
 on his guard, and if he take offence at it, a 
 friend like him is not worth having," answered 
 ^'alentine, almost sternly. 
 
 " Oh, Val, you are offended too ? " 
 
 " You heard how he went on last night, Flo, 
 and yet last night's hard words I forgave him," 
 said Valentine ; " but the sullenness of to-day I 
 should resent if " 
 
 " If what ?'' asked Florence, anxiously. 
 
 '' If he were not Flo's brother," answered Val- 
 entine, more tenderly. 
 
 " Thank you," said Florence, gratefully press- 
 ing her lover's arm with the fair little hand that 
 rested on it ; "1 knew you Avould not make a 
 grievance out of this, and that you would re- 
 member that Percy is desperately in love."
 
 262 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 « Poor Percy !" 
 
 "Is he to be pitied for loving?" she asked, 
 archly. 
 
 " For loving an unworthy object every man 
 is — if he love in earnest/' 
 
 "Yes, but Helena Barclay has not been 
 proved unworthy yet. Ah, Val, you mustn't 
 look cross," she implored ; " I don't doubt you — 
 and yet I don't believe in this poor woman's 
 guilt. 1 — I have been trying — if only to obHge 
 you — but I can't — there !" 
 
 " Your sex is hard to convince," said Val, 
 laughing, " but I have done wdth the argument, 
 and you must have your own way." 
 
 " If you had only seen and heard her when we 
 two w^ere together, Val !" 
 
 " If I only had !" he cried, ironically. 
 
 " As for keeping from her altogether, like a 
 coward, or running the other way when I meet 
 her in the village, as if I were afraid that she 
 was going to poison me next, I couldn't do 
 it, Yal ; and you must not try to persuade 
 me." 
 
 " ^^V)man is naturally wilful," said Valentine, 
 sententiously. 
 
 " I'll keep my word with you, and wait till
 
 THE PAPERS. 263 
 
 the papers come ; but as for always sneaking- iii 
 a corner away frcm her — not a bit of it !" cried 
 Floy, with excitement. 
 
 "Forcible, but not elegant phraseology," said 
 Valentine, lightly. " I admire your courage, 
 though I am not impressed with that honour 
 and obedience which you will have to swear to 
 me one day. But if you can get over my papers, 
 my brief, my collection of facts, you are a less 
 sensible young woman than I take you for, Flo." 
 
 " When will the papers be here ?" asked Flor- 
 ence, anxiously. 
 
 " They are here," was the answer. 
 
 " Oh, let me have them ! Where are they ?" 
 
 "In your brother Percy's hands by this time," 
 replied Valentine. " I have sent them up to his 
 room, with my compliments. They arrived by 
 this evening's post." 
 
 " Sent them to him ? He will destroy them.'' 
 
 " The deuce he Avill I" said Valentine, taken 
 aback at this. " He will never be so foolish as 
 that ; he will respect property that does not 
 belong to him ; and besides I shall be with him 
 before he has finished reading." 
 
 " Will he read them ?" asked Florence, du- 
 biously.
 
 2G4 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Every word of them, from the beginning to 
 the end, in order that he may confute me with 
 my own evidence, which, however, is over- 
 whelming." 
 
 " Will it convince a man who is in love with 
 the woman whom it accuses f asked Florence. 
 
 " Yes," said Valentine, decisively. 
 
 Florence shuddered. 
 
 *' I hope not," she said, " for I cannot believe 
 her to be so terribly deceptive. Oh ! I could 
 not believe in anyone afterwards !" 
 
 " Passing from one extreme to the other — like 
 a woman," said Valentine, stooping suddenly 
 and kissing her cheek. " There, let us get 
 Helena Barclay off our minds, Flo, and grow 
 eloquent upon our own sweet selves." 
 
 Florence blushed and looked down. 
 
 " I'll try," she murmured, " but " 
 
 "But what r' 
 
 '* But I should like you to leave the drawing- 
 room early to-night, and go to Percy. T — I am 
 uneasy about him, Val. I have never seen him 
 look so wan and ill and wild as this. I will go 
 to him now and tell him that you are coming." 
 
 " No, don't do that," said Valentine hastily ; 
 *' leave him to my papers, which will sober him
 
 THE PAPERS. 265 
 
 and strengtheu him, or for once I am out of my 
 judgment." 
 
 " How proud you are of your judgment !" 
 cried Florence. " I am beginning to discover, 
 sir, that you have a terribly good opinion of 
 yourself." 
 
 '' I am not the only barrister with that idea ; 
 and then I find humanity about me so positive, 
 so obstinate, so easily impressed by fancies, so 
 thoroughly disposed to discredit sober facts." 
 
 " And humanity about you so like Florence 
 Andison !" she added. 
 
 After which badinage they forgot Helena 
 Barclay for awhile. 
 
 In the drawing-room the woman under sus- 
 picion came to their minds again, and Valentine 
 saw by his lady-love's grave looks that she 
 wished him to depart in search of Percy. The 
 conversation had come round to the son, and 
 there was a grand excuse, of which Valentine 
 availed himself. 
 
 *' I'll go and see where he is," said Val, 
 rising; "if I do not bring him down this even- 
 ing with me, I'll stay and amuse him, if pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Sir Charles, drily ;
 
 206 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 " but I should leave him to get out of his tan- 
 trums with the same facility that he got into 
 them." 
 
 " That's a nice paternal speech/' remarked 
 Lady Andison. 
 
 *' I don't see why the whole house should be 
 upset because he chooses to avoid us," said Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 " I don't see that the poor boy's upset any- 
 thing but your sense of politeness, and " 
 
 Valentine did not stay to hear more. He 
 knew that Sir Charles and his wife would mut- 
 ter their discontent for another half-hour. Sir 
 Charles had been disappointed in his whist, 
 and Lady Andison had neuralgic twinges that 
 evening, and these marital sparrings were very 
 frequent at Hernley Hall. They did no harm, 
 and they led to no ill-feeling between man and 
 Avife ; but spar this couple would, in season and 
 out of season, as if their eternal bickerings 
 brought to them some little recreation when 
 other sources failed. 
 
 Valentine went direct to Percy's rooms, two 
 spacious apartments on the first floor, communi- 
 cating with each other — the front room half- 
 study and half-library, full of old books and
 
 THE PAPERS. 267 
 
 scientific apparatus, heaped and huddled to- 
 gether as in the den of an alchemist. 
 
 Valentine knocked, but Percy's voice from 
 within did not bid him enter. After knocking 
 twice without receiving a response, Valentine 
 turned the handle and entered the room, closing 
 the door behind him, and then pausing beyond 
 the threshold. 
 
 "Don't move — don't speak to me yet," said 
 Percy's voice, faintly, and yet urgently. 
 
 Valentine Merrick had been right in that 
 judgment of which Floy Andison had told him 
 he was vain. The Barclay papers were in the 
 hands of the student, and the student, white 
 and ghastly in the moonlight, sat in the deep 
 recess of the window, which was open wide to 
 the night, with a lamp burning on a small table 
 at his side. It was a striking picture, at which 
 Valentine Merrick might well pause, wondering, 
 as he stood there, if after all he had acted 
 wiselv.
 
 2i)8 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 UXCONYIXCED. 
 
 JT was a face of misery, almost of horror, in 
 the moonlight that streamed in at the win- 
 dow, which Percy had dashed open as if he had 
 needed air, taking his place in the recess, and 
 dragging a table and lamp to his side. He had 
 unfastened his collar and white necktie, and 
 one thin hand was fidgeting nervously at his 
 throat, as though a sense of suffocation was 
 upon him. His dress-coat was lying at his feet, 
 along with a heap of papers, part of the damn- 
 ing evidence of which Val Merrick had boasted 
 to his betrothed. 
 
 The barrister paused for a few minutes, and 
 then, realising somethingof what had happened, 
 he advanced very quickly. 
 
 " Percy, you have been overpowered — you 
 are ill?"
 
 UNCONVINCED. 269 
 
 " No — no," muttered Percy ; " let me be." 
 
 *'You will catch cold, sitting there in the 
 draught." 
 
 " There is not a breath of air stirring — let me 
 be." 
 
 " I am sorry if anything has seriously dis- 
 turbed you," said his friend, calmly ; '^ but I 
 thought you stronger than this, and I was anx- 
 ious to let you know the truth, and to save you 
 from a romantic and false theory." 
 
 " Let me be," said the hollow voice for a third 
 time. " I have only a few more pages to read. 
 For Heaven's sake give me time to understand 
 them !" 
 
 «' I will wait." 
 
 Valentine sat down a few paces from his 
 friend, and watched him very keenly — his chin 
 resting on his arms, which he crossed on the 
 back of the chair. Here was a new study for 
 which he had not bargained — a new phase of 
 character in a man who had been dull and com- 
 monplace, even with all that wealth of learning 
 which he had silently acquired unto himself. If 
 it was not a mad face — if they were not mad 
 eyes glaring at the manuscript — still he looked 
 like a man whom horror, disappointment, and
 
 270 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 mortification of spirit might drive mad, and he 
 guessed then the full extent of Percy Andison's 
 weakness. He did not interrupt him again, and 
 when finally the paper fell to the ground, with 
 the rest of the documents, printed and written, 
 that lay huddled there already, he did not in- 
 trude in haste upon the misery of him whom he 
 watched thus closely. 
 
 Percy turned to the window and looked 
 out at the moon and stars, and drew in deep 
 breaths of the night-air, with his thin hand still 
 lingei'ing at his throat ; and it was not till he 
 turned and regarded Valentine in a half-vacant 
 way that the spell of silence which had reigned 
 so long within the room was broken. 
 
 " You have read the papers, Percy ?" Valentine 
 inquired. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And my old brief f 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And my notes on the case?" 
 
 " Every one." 
 
 " Well ?" said Valentine, interrogatively. 
 
 " And the result is that I believe in Helena 
 Barclay's innocence !" cried Percy, with a sudden 
 warmth of manner.
 
 u^'CONVI^XED. 271 
 
 " Impossible !" said Valentine, quietly. 
 
 " I am not to be deceived by this artfully- 
 concocted chain of incidents, welded together 
 for your own end, — the deliberate destruction of 
 that Avoman !" cried Percy, still more warmly. 
 
 " Percy I" said Valentine, half angrily, half 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Had the jury believed you at York assizes, 
 she would have been hanged," said Percy, furi- 
 ously .'' " Great heaven ! hanged by the neck 
 till she was dead !" 
 
 " She killed old Barclay," said Valentine, very 
 positively. 
 
 " It's a base lie !" answered Percy. 
 
 Valentine Merrick regarded his companion 
 very scrutinisingly before he replied to him. 
 
 " I had had a hope that twenty-four hours' 
 cool deliberation would have calmed you, 
 Percy," he said at last — " would have given you 
 time for sober reflection. I was sure, at least, 
 that the perusal of those papers would have 
 proved to you that I had not hastily judged 
 Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 " You have added to the bitterness of her 
 whole life." 
 
 "By endeavouring to save my friends from
 
 272 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 her dangerous society. I cannot regret that," 
 said Valentine, picking up his papers very care- 
 fully, and assorting them and refolding them as 
 he continued his discourse. 
 
 " What are you going to do with those 
 documents ?" asked Percy, in a less excited tone. 
 
 " Not publish them," replied Valentine, " but 
 read them again with a new interest, now that 
 Helena Barclay's life has touched our own — a 
 circle within a circle, widening out strangely, 
 and taking in more lives and mysteries than we 
 dreamed of last week. Will you tell me one 
 thing?" 
 
 "What is it?" Percy rejoined, sullenly. "I 
 cannot answer — I will not answer — all your 
 questions." 
 
 "Where is the weak point here?" said Valen- 
 tine, striking the papers on his knee. " What 
 has suggested a flaw, a mistake, an idea — how- 
 ever fleeting — of Mrs. Barclay's innocence? If 
 you have found one, I shall be quite as glad as 
 
 you." 
 
 " For what reason ?" 
 
 " Because hers is a face so like innocence 
 and truth that its awful power to deceive 
 amazes me, if I am right and you are wrong,"
 
 UXCOX^'IXCED. 2 ( o 
 
 was the reply. " And if yon are right what 
 deep injuries she has sustained — how she has 
 suffered — what a life hers has been !" 
 
 Percy turned impatiently from the papers. 
 
 " I am heart-sick of them," he said — ^' they 
 have frozen my soul. Do you think I could 
 criticise and analyse that miserable story as 
 though I cared nothing for her ? I have only 
 read her troubles, seen her martyrdom, shivered 
 as she stood a hair's breadth from the scaffold 
 — where you would have placed her if you could 
 — thanked God when she escaped, as if this 
 were a case of yesterday and I had loved her all 
 my life." 
 
 " Yesterday, Percy Andison, you and I were 
 friends, and already this woman has stood be- 
 tween us, and led you to utter words which 
 from anyone else I should have resented. I 
 have spared you," Valentine added, " for your 
 sister's sake, for your own, seeing what folly it 
 all was, and how unlike yourself you were. 
 But you have said to-night that I lie — you have 
 hinted that I have a motive in aspersing the 
 character of this woman — in your silly champ- 
 ionship you have set lance against one who-m 
 you have known from a boy, and in the defence 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 of a stranger with whom you have been acquaint- 
 ed only a few weeks. You trust her, you 
 distrust me, and I will prove her guilt to you." 
 
 " I will not hear a word against her — never 
 again, so help me Heaven !" cried Percy. '^ I 
 asked her last night to become my wife." 
 
 " You I" cried Valentine in his surprise. " You 
 are engaged — she and you are to be married 
 presently ! " 
 
 " She has refused me — she will never, never 
 see me again." 
 
 He leaned his arms upon the window-sill, and 
 sank his head upon them in his grief. There 
 was another long silence, and then the hand of 
 Valentine Merrick was laid upon his shoulder 
 gently. 
 
 " Percy, I am sorry," said Valentine — " I had 
 no idea that it had gone so far as this ; only 
 two days since and you denied your affection 
 for her." 
 
 " We were jesting — this is stern reality," mur- 
 mured Percy. 
 
 " Is it not rather a romantic weakness, which 
 absence from home, or travel, or a strong will, 
 will easily conquer?" inquired Valentine.
 
 UNCONTINCED. 275 
 
 "xAfter all, what do you know of Helena Bar- 
 clay r 
 
 "That I love her, and that she will never 
 love me," answered Percy, looking np again. 
 " I don't know anything else— I don't care to 
 know." 
 
 " Nonsense ! A man like you frames his 
 heroioe from the first pretty girl he meets, and 
 this has been the result. Presently will come a 
 brighter and a fairer and a better genius. Try 
 to take my word for it, and let us forget all 
 the hard words which in her defence you have 
 heaped upon me." 
 
 " Her accuser !" said Percy. 
 
 " It's a hard name, but I do not know that it 
 is misapplied," answered our hero. " I tried to 
 save my friends from a dangerous acquaintance, 
 and it was a painful task, from which I shrank. 
 I have failed to convince one who should have 
 believed in my honesty of purpose, and spared 
 me from the charge of malice against a woman 
 whom I saw yesterday for the third time in my 
 life." 
 
 Percy did not answer. Something had sud- 
 denly attracted his attention in the park-land 
 
 t2
 
 276 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 beyond, for be leaned from the window and 
 peered out. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Valentine. 
 
 "Nothing — only the old mastiff prowling 
 about," was the slow reply. 
 
 He closed the window, drew the heavy cur- 
 tains across it, sat down wearily in bis chair, 
 and reached his hand out for the nearest book 
 wdthin his reach. Valentine took the hint and 
 rose. 
 
 " Good night, Percy," he said ; " I shall sit up 
 to-night and read these papers again, searching 
 for anything in them that may tell in Helena 
 Barclay's favour." 
 
 " You are prejudiced — and will fail," muttered 
 Percy. 
 
 " Good night," said Valentine again. 
 
 " Good night," was the slow response. 
 
 Valentine departed reluctantly. He was 
 vexed at Percy's obduracy ; he was still more 
 angry at the cold manner in which his advances 
 towards reconciliation had been met ; he was 
 deeply grieved at his friend's infatuation and 
 folly ; he felt that he hardly understood him. 
 
 Would he not have been more puzzled had 
 he seen Percy Andison, after his departure,
 
 UNCOXVIXCED. 277 
 
 draw back the curtains once more, open cau- 
 tiously the window, and take his place thereat, 
 as watchful and expectant as if with the deep- 
 ening of the night he built on strange events 
 coming to pass at Hernley ?
 
 278 
 
 CHAPTER XXIT. 
 
 ANOTHER MYSTERY. 
 
 VALENTINE MERRICK repaired to his room 
 in a stern and unenviable frame of mind. 
 He was dissatisfied with the result of his inter- 
 view with Percy ; he was sorry for the influence 
 which the widow Barclay seemed already to 
 exercise on the life of a man who would pre- 
 sently be related to him. He walked up and 
 down the apartment, and thought it over, and 
 grew more angry at his friend's infatuation the 
 longer he took for consideration upon it. In 
 Helena's refusal of Percy's offer for her hand, 
 he saw only a fresh design, a deep-laid scheme 
 to lure on a weak nature, and to steal back to 
 society by the means of a second husband. 
 The more time he took to reflect upon the 
 point, the more he convinced himself of this ;
 
 ANOTHER MYSTERY. 279 
 
 though there were strange breaks in his reason- 
 ing, and strange revulsions of feeling, for which 
 he could not account, and which set before him 
 the woman he suspected in all her grief and 
 pride and beauty — an enigma beyond his power 
 to construe. 
 
 " Very dangerous," he muttered at last, " and 
 trebly dangerous now that it has come to this. 
 I must save Percy ; she must leave the place. 
 He is no match for her ; he is awfully weak, 
 and confoundedly obstinate. How hot the 
 house is to-night ! Percy was right about the 
 air at least ; one can't breathe with all these 
 curtains and windows closed." 
 
 He opened the window and took his lamp to 
 a little side-table standing in a recess similar 
 to that wherein he had discovered Percy. 
 
 " I wonder if I look as cheerful a ghost as 
 he did?" mused Valentine, as he leaned back, 
 lighted a cigar, and opened the documents 
 which had already fascinated and terrified 
 Percy Andison. 
 
 " 'The Helena Barclay case,'" he said, reading 
 aloud the head-line of a newspaper which he 
 had just opened, after which he indulged no 
 further in soliloquy.
 
 280 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 The Helena Barclay case ! If it had brought 
 misery to one pure-hearted woman, it had at 
 least brought fame to him. From that time he 
 had prospered. He had made his mark before 
 that day ; but here he had scored it deeply, 
 and added to his strength and name. He had 
 been talked of after that case ; he had become 
 more famous already than many men who had 
 grown grey and lined at the Bar. He had not 
 won the day, but he had won his spurs ; and it 
 was an obstinate jury that saved Helena Bar- 
 clay, not a judge's summing up, nor a skilful 
 counsel's defence. Everybody in the profession 
 knew Val Merrick after that speech at York. 
 The London papers had taken up the story of 
 the crime, and, if it had feded out of recollec- 
 tion of late days, Valentine Merrick's dream of 
 prosperity had not flided with it. He was 
 rising in the world ; it was odd that the woman 
 at Weddercombe had been the cause of it in 
 some degree, and had helped him over what 
 might have been years of a long and toilsome 
 journey up the hill. 
 
 He let the paper rest upon his lap whilst he 
 thought of this — and thought so deeply that 
 his cigar went out, and he had to lose time in
 
 ANOTHER MYSTERY. 281 
 
 relighting it, after which he set himself seriously 
 to the business that he had on hand. 
 
 He was a rapid reader, and the facts were 
 not new to him ; he went quickly but critically 
 over the old ground, trying to see a reason for 
 Percy's inflituation, a loophole of escape even 
 for her whom he had long ago prejudged. But 
 it was a story clear as water — there were the 
 opportunity, the motive, the temptation, and 
 the crime. It was a sin commonplace enough, 
 and only startling on account of the position of 
 the sinner and the wealth of the victim. Burial 
 clubs and insurance ofQces had this crime to 
 fight against continually, and to be swindled 
 b3^ It was a something which interfered wdth 
 profits, and could not always be shaken by its 
 lying throat and brought to judgment. Ignor- 
 ance had often wit enough to trade and trifle 
 with life's sanctity for money's sake. Here 
 Tvas a young woman who got rich, immensely 
 rich, and secured her freedom from tyranny at 
 a blow. 
 
 " If Michael Barclay had not been such a 
 horrible old brute," mused Valentine, " Helena 
 his wife might have fared worse at the hands 
 of a Yorkshire jury ; nay, if the Beast had poi-
 
 282 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 soned the Beauty, instead of Beauty the Beast, 
 poor old Barclay would have been hanged as 
 high as Haman — not a doubt of it ; and Helena, 
 the peerless, the dangerous, the deceptive, there 
 is not a doubt of you !" 
 
 He tied the red tape round his papers again 
 — he had read them all, and he had not chanced 
 upon one extenuating circumstance. It was all 
 clear enough ; no wonder that poor Percy had 
 sat choking over the facts which he could not 
 reason away. Val stood up and stretched him- 
 self; he flung the stump of his cigar into the 
 garden ; he leaned out and took a last look at 
 the night and the night's loveHness, with his 
 hand upon the curtain which would shut out 
 the scene a moment hence. The misty park- 
 land, stretching in its hght and shadow under 
 the clear white moon, did not lead the gazer 
 into rhapsody, but rather into a profanity that 
 was sudden and starthug. 
 
 *' The devil !" ejaculated Valentine Merrick in 
 his amazement — not that he had been surprised 
 or shocked by any glimpse of that gentleman 
 flitting about Hernley Park, Herne-the-Hunter 
 fashion, but that the sight of Percy Andison, 
 proceeding in great haste across the park, and
 
 AXOTHER ^lYSTERY. 283 
 
 as if towards Weddercornbe, took away for 
 once that self-composure upon which he was 
 disposed to plume himself. 
 
 It was Percy Andison, and not walking in 
 his sleep. Somnambulists were not in the habit 
 of running, and of jumping across deep trenches ; 
 they always seemed w^alkingas if to slow music, 
 and groping their way onwards — at least the 
 only two that he had ever seen — Amina in the 
 opera, and the housekeeper's son at his cham- 
 bers, a fat lout, w^ho ate heavy suppers, and 
 whom he had met once in his rooms tilting up 
 the decanters — in his sleep he said — and taken 
 back by the ear to his mother. 
 
 Yes — unmistakably Percy Andison ; and he 
 was intensely sorry to see him stealing from 
 the house when its inmates were supposed to 
 be at rest. It had come to that already, then — 
 to assignation and intrigue — the w^oman of the 
 "world luring the youth by the strength of his 
 romance or the folly of his infatuation, and he, 
 blindly credulous, striding on to his fate ! 
 
 It should not be ! He would save Percy in 
 spite of himself. The man was being duped, 
 and by a woman of no common craft or courage 
 — one who stopped at nothing in the way of
 
 284 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 her will, and whom no past danger terrified. 
 What might happen he knew not, but he must 
 interfere, at any hazard, for Percy's sake — for 
 Floy's. In desperate cases one adopts desperate 
 remedies. 
 
 He extinguished the light in his room for 
 precaution's sake, seized his felt hat, and 
 dropped from the wiudow to the grass beneath, 
 without a moment's consideration as to the 
 means by which he should be able to return 
 to the establishment. He had only one thought, 
 to step between Percy Andison and Helena 
 Barclay — to save one and to warn the other — 
 to overtake Percy in the first instance, and 
 remonstrate with him if he would listen. 
 
 But beyond the open ground there were deep 
 shadows where no moonlight pierced, and 
 where Percy Andison was completely lost. 
 Percy knew every turn of hill and dale, and 
 Valentine Merrick thought of this when he had 
 reached the shadow-land himself, and found 
 everything beneath the trees of a pitchy black- 
 ness which no eye could pierce. He of whom 
 Valentine w^as in search had disappeared as 
 completely as though he had sunk down a trap
 
 ANOTHER MYSTERY. 285 
 
 prepared for the purpose. There was not a 
 sign of him, and the only sound was the quick 
 rustle of the leaves in the night breeze. 
 
 Valentine Merrick set his back against a tree, 
 and reconsidered the position. 
 
 '• Have I a right to watch him !" he muttered 
 to himself — " to endeavour to discover him ? 
 After this night, wall he not consider me his 
 enemy ?" 
 
 He quickly arrived at a determination; he had 
 never been slow in making up his mind, and 
 that doubt as to his own prudence which had 
 seized upon him he shook off impatiently. It 
 w^as a woman who had committed a murder, who 
 might be leading on Percy by a false show of 
 innocence, and who might even feel revengeful 
 at the discovery of her identity. He did not 
 know, he could not guess at the motives of one 
 who stood so much apart from ordinary 
 humanity. He was astonished at his own re- 
 luctance to proceed, at the frequency with 
 -which her fair countenance, full of pity, sorrow, 
 pride — rose before him beseechingly, and checked 
 him even yet. What a snare and a talisman 
 to one of Percy's temperament, when he him-
 
 286 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 self felt that he would like to spare her, too, if 
 she would only go away ! 
 
 He passed through the deep belt of trees into 
 the misty grey moon-shimmer once more, but in 
 the landscape beyond there was no sign of 
 human life. He went on, glancing back sus- 
 piciously, and then proceeding with a stern set 
 countenance upon the way which he had chosen. 
 He should find Percy in good time ; how to act, 
 or what to say, upon discovering him, he did 
 not know at present — chance must determine 
 that. 
 
 He set his face towards Weddercombe — it 
 was there that he should find Percy Andison, 
 he thought. It was at Weddercombe that the 
 mystery lived, and the woman who had taken 
 her husband's life had raved about her misery 
 and innocence. It was at AVeddercombe that 
 fresh troubles and fresh complications were 
 rising rapidly about him and his friends, and he 
 was advancing to fight against them, or to take 
 his share of them. 
 
 He crossed the wire fence which formed the 
 boundary line between the Andison estate and 
 that which appertained to Mrs. Barclay's, and 
 then went steadily onwards. Reminiscences of
 
 ANOTHER MYSTERY. 287 
 
 his meeting with Helena seemed to take him in 
 one particular direction, as if by instinct, for he 
 went straight as an arrow towards the game- 
 keeper's lodge.
 
 288 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 
 
 BRIGHT and clear as was the night, there 
 "was only shadow -laud at Weddercombe, 
 which might have represented the life of its 
 owner, so dense and dark was it under its pre- 
 sent aspect. The trees were too nnmerons, and 
 the Summer foliage too thick, for much of the 
 night's beauty to find its way here, and it was 
 only by looking upward through a tracery 
 of branches that one caught at times the fitful 
 light of the stars. 
 
 Before the gamekeepers lodge, where the 
 building that was dropping fast to ruin usurped 
 the place of what had once been woodland, 
 some patches of moonHght fell across the 
 grass, and gave a weird appearance to the 
 scene ; and here, on the trunk of the tree which
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUXD. 289 
 
 last "Winter's storm had levelled to the ground, 
 Valentine Merrick took his seat, as he had done 
 two days ago by the side of the woman whose 
 life he had unveiled, and who had grown trebly 
 dangerous. 
 
 Whether Val Merrick expected that she would 
 take her place at his side again, or that she 
 would return this way after her meeting with 
 yoimg Andison, is a doubtful point to ascertain; 
 certain it is that he took his seat like a man 
 determined to wait awhile, in the hope that the 
 mystery would solve itself without further effort 
 of his own. 
 
 It was not a cheerful spot in which to rest, 
 and to think again of all that had happened 
 since he came to Hernley — of the love-making 
 and peace-breaking, of the friends and enemies 
 that he had made in a few hours, of the romance 
 which had seemed to meet him from the mo- 
 ment that he had set foot in this retreat, lying 
 so completely apart from the wear and tear of 
 his every-day life, and bringing about so new 
 and utter a change that it might have been 
 years since he was in his chambers in the 
 Temple. 
 
 If he had really made enemies, it was scarcely 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 a safe place ; only a little while ago Helena 
 Barclay had told him that even in the sunshine 
 he should have learned to fear a meeting with 
 her at that solitary spot, if he believed that she 
 estimated at no value any life that stood in the 
 way of her advancement. He remembered that 
 mocking taunt upon her lips, and the disdain 
 of her dark eyes, and he had not thought the 
 worse of her — nay, had only been struck by her 
 defiance. 
 
 Had he been a nervous man, he would not 
 have sat there ; had he been more cautious, he 
 would have been armed to resist, as though 
 assassination might not be wholly out of date 
 at Weddercombe ; but he was courageous, and 
 he had never been a particularly prudent man. 
 Here was a friend to save, a friend who had 
 leapt at love like a harlequin, who might be en- 
 snared at any moment, and linked for life to an 
 adventuress, and he had come to rescue him. 
 He would receive no thanks in return, but it 
 was his duty to his friend, and to that friend's 
 sister. 
 
 He was not quite certain that he had adopted 
 the right course — for he had acted on the spur 
 of the moment, and there had been no time for
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 291 
 
 sober reflection — but still he had a policy to 
 follow, and he must warn Helena Barclay that 
 there would be a stern opposition to any scheme 
 of hers that sought to raise her in society by the 
 sacrifice of his friends. 
 
 He eat and listened for approaching footsteps, 
 but the heavy rustling of the trees was the 
 only sound that disturbed the night's stillness. 
 Percy, coming in search of his lady-love, would 
 pass this way, and Helena Barclay, returning 
 from a rendezvous, would have to make a wide 
 circuit to escape it : he had not calculated his 
 chances badly, and a visit to this part of the 
 world twelve months ago had rendered him 
 master of the situation. He could afford to wait 
 half an hour, or an hour — his time was his own, 
 and he was far from sleepy. 
 
 He had not been there a quarter of an hour, 
 however, before the mystery which seemed 
 congenial to Weddercombe, and appertaining to 
 its solitude, took a fresh shape, and surprised 
 him, stimulating his curiosity rather than un- 
 nerving him. As he sat facing the game- 
 keeper's lodge, he became suddenly conscious 
 that the door was slowly opening inwards. It 
 was all very dark before him, but the door did 
 
 u2
 
 292 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 not open noiselessly ; it creaked and wheezed 
 like a door that had suffered from inaction and 
 inattention, and bad weather, and had rheumatic 
 pains in consequence, and the sound of its grat- 
 ing hinges came sharp and distinct to the ears 
 of the watcher, and set him on his guard. 
 
 The place was too full of shadows for Val 
 Merrick to detect anything save a deeper black- 
 ness where the door had been a moment since, 
 but, when the tall figure of a man stepped from 
 the lodge and came with long strides towards 
 him, Val thought it was quite time that he 
 stood up and prepared for a crisis that seemed 
 to be impending. This was a new and un- 
 looked-for danger, and he must make the best 
 of it. If he had ventured into the lion's den, it 
 would be no use to beg the lion's pardon and 
 withdraw — he must fight for supremacy, and 
 against odds, if it were necessary. His heart 
 beat more rapidly, but he was not dismayed. 
 
 " What are you doing here ?" asked the new- 
 comer peremptorily. 
 
 ** Rather what are you doing in a place where 
 you have no right to be ?" asked Valentine in 
 as stern a tone as the other had adopted. 
 
 "I am here on business," was the short answer.
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 293 
 
 " So am I." 
 
 '' With Miss Shaldon ?" said the man, betray- 
 ing surprise at Val's coolness of reply. 
 
 " With Miss Shaldon," replied our hero. 
 
 *' That's infernally odd — if it's true," he 
 added, doubtingly. " Resume your seat, young 
 fellow — I am not going to hurt you." 
 
 "That's exceedingly kind of you," answered 
 Valentine Merrick ; " for I never liked being 
 hurt." 
 
 The man resented this flippant tone. He 
 had sat down on the trunk of the tree after 
 his invitation to Valentine, but he looked up 
 quickly and said, with no small fierceness, 
 
 " I could hurt you, if 1 liked. I dare say one 
 blow of my fist would pulverise the life out of 
 a man of your size, and I have never been dis- 
 posed to receive insolence calmly or to take it as 
 wit. He who insults me does it at his own risk ; 
 my temper was soured years ago, and I have 
 been dangerous ever since." 
 
 These remarks were not uttered in a boastful 
 spirit, despite the angry tone of the speaker, and 
 there was a ring of discontent in his last words 
 that struck him who listened as peculiar. 
 
 " Shall I insult you very much more by asking
 
 294 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 for a light ?" said Valentine, taking a seat by his 
 side and looking still more keenly into his face. 
 The man had taken a short clay pipe from his 
 mouth to address Valentine ; he passed it to him 
 without saying a word, and Valentine opened 
 his cigar-case, drew a cigar therefrom, and 
 lighted it from the red glow in the bowl, puff- 
 ing perhaps more than was necessary at the 
 embers, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the man 
 who had emerged so suddenly from the lodge. 
 
 He had seen him before — his memory for 
 faces had not failed him ; here at his side was 
 one more actor in that terrible tragedy which 
 had had its beginning in Yorkshire. In another 
 place and at another time he would have passed 
 him ; but, meeting him at Weddercombe, he en- 
 deavoured to associate him with the life and 
 mystery of its owner, and the truth came more 
 quickly to the foreground than he at whom he 
 gazed could readily believe. 
 
 " You'll know me again," said the man as he 
 took the pipe from Val's hand. 
 
 " I knew you twelve months ago, Arthur Bar- 
 clay," answered Valentine. 
 
 The man thus suddenly recognised muttered 
 a half oath, and then put the pipe into his mouth
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 295 
 
 and smoked on in silence for several minutes. 
 He turned to Valentine at last, and spoke in a 
 hoarser, deeper tone. 
 
 " Very likely," he said ; " if you have ever 
 known Downton Manor House, or Downton 
 Vale, you have known Arthur Barclay. He did 
 not keep himself in the background, or hide his 
 light under a bushel ; he gambled, and drank, and 
 raced, and fought, and blasphemed wdth half the 
 reprobates in Yorkshire. He spent his money 
 on them ; he lent every vagabond money that 
 came to him with a reasonable lie for it. Are 
 you one of the old gang ? For curse me if I 
 can tell in this light ! I fancy that you must be, 
 by your infernal impudence. What name ?" 
 
 " Merrick." 
 
 " I never heard the name, or it has been shut 
 out of my thick head by the march of events of 
 greater consequence." 
 
 " Very likely." 
 
 " Where did we meet last ?" 
 
 " At the York assizes, when Helena Barclay 
 was tried for the murder of her husband." 
 
 " Perdition seize you for reminding me of 
 that !" exclaimed the man, angry in real earnest 
 now, and turning upon Valentine, who held
 
 296 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 back his head a little, as if doubtful whether his 
 companion would clutch him by the throat or 
 not. "How dare you come out of the darkness 
 like a devil, and remind me of the horrors of that 
 time ? What is it to you ? What accursed fate 
 has brought a witness of it all to confront the 
 woman who is hiding here ?" 
 
 " Say, rather, what stern justice?" 
 
 " Ay — well — what stern justice ?" repeated 
 Barclay, letting his hands drop, and re-assum- 
 ing as by an effort his calm demeanour. 
 
 " An accident has betrayed the identity of 
 Miss Shaldon with your uncle's widow." 
 
 " I thought it would ; as if she " He 
 
 paused, and then said, quickly, " What have you 
 to do with her life or the story ? If you are 
 here for hush-money, name your price, and let 
 me settle with you instead of that miserable 
 woman." 
 
 " Why should you do that f ' 
 
 " I don't know, — out of consideration for her 
 feelings, I suppose," he added, with a short 
 laugh ; " and, at all events, to spare her the 
 shame of such a meeting as this would be. If 
 I see her — and it is just possible — I will tell her 
 that I have done her one good service."
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 297 
 
 Valentine was puzzled at this ; but he hasten- 
 ed to explain. 
 
 " I am not here for hush-money. Mrs. Barclay 
 and I already understand each other." 
 
 '' Are you fool enough, or rash enough, to be 
 her lover ?" asked the man, leaning forward 
 with an eager curiosity for Valentine's answer. 
 
 " No," was the reply ; " I am here in a friend's 
 interest, and simply to offer Mrs. Barclay my 
 advice." 
 
 " In this place ?" 
 
 "Yes; I believe that she will pass in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 " I shall believe that you are an escaped luna- 
 tic presently," said Arthur Barclay. '' When 1 
 watched you from the house yonder, I had that 
 idea first. Why should she come at such a time 
 in this direction f 
 
 " Because you have sent for her." 
 
 This was a shrewd guess of Valentine Mer- 
 rick's, for he could not imagine that Arthur Bar- 
 clay would be waiting there without a motive. 
 The man started, and his fingers pnlled at his 
 long moustache with a certain degree of per- 
 plexity, as he looked down at the grass and 
 bracken growing at his feet.
 
 298 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " You are right," he said at last — " because I 
 have sent for her or her messenger. Perhaps 
 you are her messenger instead of Mrs. Graves — 
 is that it r 
 
 " No," answered Valentine. 
 
 "Then who are you?" exclaimed Arthur 
 Barclay, with his old fierceness. " Do you think 
 that I am here to guess jouv riddles, or that I 
 shall allow you to remain and listen to my 
 business ?" 
 
 " I have said that my name is Merrick," re- 
 plied Valentine, still imperturbable and aggra- 
 vating ; " 1 can only add that my profession is 
 the Bar, and that I was counsel for the prose- 
 cution when your aunt by marriage was tried 
 for her life. I am not here with a mystery — I 
 hate mystery, and am doing my best to stamp 
 it under foot. It is in a friend's interest that I 
 have trespassed on Mrs. Barclay's estate ; what 
 the extent of that interest may be I must de- 
 cline to inform you." 
 
 Arthur Barclay listened patiently, and when 
 he had finished he struck a light on his fusee- 
 box, and held it while it blazed and sputtered 
 close to the features of the man who had in- 
 truded on his solitude, and who shrank not at
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUXD. 299 
 
 the inspection. This operation afFordecl Valen- 
 tine the same opportunity of more closely ex- 
 amining his companion, and of judging how 
 time had dealt with him since he had seen him 
 last in a witness-box. At the Assizes he had 
 been struck by the rugged face, its fierceness 
 and firmness, the lines and scars thereon, and 
 the big watchful eyes that redeemed it and 
 softened it. The straightforward rough man- 
 ner in which this man had given his evidence 
 had impressed him at that time also, and Val 
 regarded him with interest. 
 
 It was the same face, a trifle more lined and 
 scarred, stamped with less anxiety and sup- 
 pressed excitement, but with a greater depth of 
 thought. In his evidence of twelve months since 
 it had come out — under the triple pressure of 
 an examination, cross-examination, and re-ex- 
 amination, all of which seemed directed to set 
 him in a bad light — that he had led a desperate 
 life and with desperate associates, thinking of 
 little else save his own selfish will, and drifting 
 by the common rule from bad to worse, until his 
 name had grown a terror in the quiet Yorkshire 
 village which murder had made famous. Valen- 
 tine had been struck with the boldness of the
 
 300 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 man's replies, by his supreme indifference to the 
 light in which they set him, by the total ab- 
 sence of disguise about his past, by the courage 
 with which he faced the Court. There had 
 been something in Arthur Barclay that had in- 
 terested him ; and, with his soul in his own 
 cause, he had felt indignant at the counsel for 
 the defence stripping from the man's past every 
 rag and shred of self-respect, and suggesting 
 where the real criminal might be lurking. 
 
 Arthur Barclay had not altered much ; but, if 
 there was any change, it was for the better, Val- 
 entine fancied, in the few brief moments which 
 the light allowed. 
 
 " Yes, you're the man," said Barclay. " I 
 thought the voice was not unfamiliar. You 
 can't be getting up a case here," he added, 
 thoughtfully ; " they don't put barristers on the 
 business of police-officers, and you have met 
 Mrs. Barclay by accident. I think that I under- 
 stood you to say as much as that?" 
 
 "Accident has made me acquainted with Mrs. 
 Barclay again," returned Valentine. 
 
 " Then it is not the old business which brings 
 you to the place to-night ?" 
 
 "No."
 
 THE OLD BATTLE-GROUND. 301 
 
 "I'm glad of that; keep your own counsel, 
 and don't trouble me again," he said, bluntly. 
 " I have enough business upon my mind to care 
 very little for yours, only your sudden appear- 
 ance took me into that hiding-place along with 
 the rats. But I think that I understand one 
 thing." He laid a heavy hand on the arm of 
 the barrister. 
 
 " What is it ?" asked Valentine. 
 
 " That you have no faith in Mrs. Barclay ; 
 that your idea of her character, her strength of 
 will, and her duplicity, is on a par with mine ? 
 You barristers say a great deal that you don't 
 mean, and rave of the virtues of your miserable 
 clients ; but, when you spoke at York against 
 Mrs. Barclay, you believed that she swept that 
 old man's life away remorselessly ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 *' Y^ou did not think that it was I," he said, 
 with greater excitement ; " my career did not 
 suggest that it might end in such a crime as 
 hers r 
 
 "No." 
 
 " And your opinion is unchanged ?" 
 
 " Wholly unchanged," replied Valentine Mer- 
 rick.
 
 S02 HER FACE WAS HEK FORTIT^E. 
 
 " Then I'll tell you what brings me to Wed- 
 dercorabe," he said. 
 
 '' I thought that you were not going to trouble 
 me again," said Valentine, dryly. 
 
 '^ I have altered my mind. Consider," he re- 
 replied, as his hand fell heavily on VaFs arm 
 again, where it rested like a hand of metal, 
 " that I subpoena you for a witness — for I shall 
 want one presently."
 
 303 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE MESSENGER. 
 
 THE conference tbns strangely begun, and 
 which might have had a stormy ending, 
 seemed taking an amicable turn, as the two 
 men sat together in the shadows, like conspira- 
 tors plotting against the peace of Helena Bar- 
 clay. The idea suggested itself to Valentine, 
 and he imagined the fresh astonishment and 
 indignation of the hunted woman at finding 
 them together. Appearances would be against 
 him once more, and she would believe that he 
 was using every means to get at the secrets of 
 her life, in order to disclose them to the Andi- 
 sons. It did not matter what she thought, Val 
 conjectured, and her suspicions might aid him 
 in his own cause ; but still he scarcely cared 
 for the false light that might play upon his 
 motives. Stranore that he should not wish to
 
 304 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 appear in the light of a spy, in the eyes of such 
 a designing woman as this — but so it was, he 
 fancied. 
 
 " I have come to Weddercombe to pay this 
 lady some money that I borrowed of her," said 
 Arthur Barclay, " and I wrote to her that she 
 would find me here." 
 
 " A queer place to settle money matters." 
 " Ay, it is," was the reply, *' but it suits us 
 both. She has a repugnance to meet me at any 
 time — just such a horror as a woman might 
 have who thought that I had killed her husband. 
 From the day of her arrest, even in her prison, 
 she has kept up that farce — as though she would 
 deceive herself, if possible." 
 
 '' And she has lent you money since?" 
 '' She gave me last Winter ten thousand 
 pounds — or rather she flung it at me with a 
 theatrical scorn and gross munificence — a gift 
 by which she thought she would satisfy her 
 conscience, and even my rapacity. I was starv- 
 ing, and I took it. I can't say that I am a rich 
 man now, but I bring it back to her, along with 
 a fair amount of interest, and I thank Heaven 
 that I shall be free once more from the shame of 
 such a charity. So — you — see — now " — striking
 
 THE MESSENGER. 305 
 
 Merrick's arm with each word, to give force to 
 his interpretation — " that I will have no share 
 in Uncle Michael's money. She strove for it all 
 — she sold her soul for it — and I will have no 
 part and parcel with her unholy bargain." 
 
 He dashed his pipe from his lips to the ground, 
 he clapped his hands together, sprang to his 
 feet, and walked to and fro ; he flung himself 
 by the side of his listener again, and said, 
 
 " You shall be my witness to the transfer ; 
 yoQ are a man whom I can trust, and my good 
 genius — sometimes I think I have one, for all 
 the devil in me — has sent you to me this day." 
 
 " I don't see why you should drag me into 
 this affair," said Valentine, hesitating again ; 
 " it is a matter that rests entirely between you 
 and Mrs. Barclay." 
 
 "Yes, but I do not trust the lady," said 
 
 Arthur. " Suppose there is some scheme to 
 
 No, after all, that is not like her." 
 
 " Then you can dispense with my services ?" 
 said Valentine. 
 
 " I don't know that I can," was the answer ; 
 " and, as you are here to meet Mrs. Barclay — 
 and, by heaven, I cannot understand how that 
 is ! — we may as well confront her together." 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Hark !" said Valentine — " is she approach- 
 ing, do you think ?" 
 
 Both men listened attentively, and in the 
 silence of the night it was evident that footsteps 
 were advancing. 
 
 " She must come from that direction," said 
 Arthur Barclay, pointing towards Hernley ; 
 " this must be another intruder — another visitor 
 perhaps to the fair widow," he added, with a 
 scornful laugh. 
 
 " I had thought it possible that Mrs. Barclay 
 might come that way," answered Val. 
 
 The tall man peered into Val's face again, 
 and then turned away, shrugging his broad 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Well, well, there is no telling what she 
 might do, or guessing what her life is like," he 
 said. 
 
 He planted his elbows on his knees, clasped 
 his head between his hands, and sat almost 
 indistinguishable in the night that seemed to 
 deepen there ; and when Valentine rose, as if to 
 meet her w4io was advanciug, he took no heed 
 of him. 
 
 The footsteps came nearer to them. They 
 were faltering and irregular, Valentine thought.
 
 THE MESSEXGER. 307 
 
 and once or twice they ceased for a while, and 
 then came on again, becoming heavier and 
 slower as they advanced more closely home- 
 wards. Presently a dark figure, closely wrapped 
 from the night air, emerged from the narrow 
 path amongst the trees, and Valentine went to- 
 wards it. 
 
 *' Stay," he said, " one moment before you 
 proceed farther, so that I may explain to you 
 alone the reason for my intrusion." 
 
 " Mr. ]\Ierrick," said a harsh voice in reply — 
 " you here !" 
 
 " Mrs. Graves I" exclaimed Valentine. 
 
 " Well, what of Mrs. Graves V said the wo- 
 man, defiantly. '- Has she not a greater right 
 to be here than yourself? xA.nd with what ob- 
 ject do you bar my way V 
 
 " Where is your mistress ?" 
 
 "Where she should be — in her own house, 
 and," she added, caustically, " minding her own 
 business." 
 
 " You have taken a messuage from her to 
 Percy Andison to-night — you have met my 
 weak friend at her instigation — don't deny this." 
 
 Mi*s. Graves appeared to shrink for an instant 
 at his vehemence. 
 
 X 2
 
 308 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 " You have watched me. Why should I deny 
 it V she said, recovering her composure. *' I 
 have met Mr. Percy Andison." 
 
 '• I thought so. Now tell your mistress — no, 
 I will see her myself," he said ; " you are a 
 woman whom I cannot trust." 
 
 '• Not with a word, sir, that would wound her 
 young heart, if I could stand between it and 
 your malice," replied Mrs. Graves — " which I 
 can do, and which I have done." 
 
 " 1 bear no malice against your mistress, but 
 I am solicitous for him who is fast becoming 
 her dupe. You know !" 
 
 " Oh. yes — 1 know," said Mrs. Graves, con- 
 temptuously; "you are afraid that Mr. Percy 
 Andison will marry Helena Barclay, and de- 
 grade himself and family by the alliance. But 
 he will marry her, in spite of you. I say it to 
 your hateful face !" she cried. 
 
 " I will see your mistress now." said Valen- 
 tine, very firmly. 
 
 " You may add one more drop to the cup of 
 her bitterness, if you please," she said, with a 
 strange calmness replacing her past passion, 
 *' and then your power is at an end. You will 
 be sorry for the part you have played in that
 
 THE MESSEXGER. 309 
 
 girl's life. You have hunted her down in vain 
 — mark an old woman's words." 
 
 " I have not hunted her at all." 
 
 *' You have brought to her existence and 
 mine a desolation, and we shall remember it, 
 both of us, whilst we live," said Mrs. Graves, 
 meaningly. *' Now, if you will see my mistress, 
 follow one who has not the strength to stay 
 your inclination." 
 
 She moved on, and the figure crouching by 
 the tree's trunk caught her quick eye. 
 
 " What accomplice have you there ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " It is one on whom I have chanced," said 
 Val in reply. 
 
 Mrs. Graves walked towards him, stooped 
 and looked into his face, suppressing a half 
 scream of astonishment at the discovery. , 
 
 '* Arthur — you here, too I After all that you 
 promised, cannot you spare her?" she said, 
 almost in entreaty. 
 
 He stood up, and shook himself like a man 
 who had been aroused from sleep. " I have come 
 to pay the money back," he said. 
 
 " You I" ejaculated Mrs. Graves ; " and have 
 you written to tell her so ?"
 
 310 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUXE. 
 
 " Yes, two hours ago." 
 
 "I have been more than two honrs away," 
 said Mrs. Graves, " and she has been alone, 
 terrified by your letter, and praying for me to 
 return and advise her what to do. Oh ! that I 
 could see what would become of her without me." 
 
 " You had always that fear, Jane ; you used 
 to wonder once what would become of me 
 Avithout your righteous paw indicating the road 
 that I should take," Arthur Barclay said, in that 
 half-ironical, half-kind tone of voice with which 
 he addressed her once before. " Come, old girl, 
 there is nothing very terrible in my caUing to 
 pay back Mrs. Barclay's loan of ten thousand 
 pounds. Why do you shiver at the prospect ?" 
 
 " I am not shivering," replied Mrs. Graves ; 
 " and perhaps it is as well that you should come 
 to-night. I can't say," she added thoughtfully, 
 " but I think I am glad that you are here." 
 
 She led the way toAvards the house at Wed- 
 dercombe, proceeding in advance by some few 
 yards, and then coming suddenly to a stand- 
 still, and motioning Arthur to her side. 
 
 " I have not been well, boy," she said to him ; 
 " I had a shock some days ago, and am recover- 
 ing but slowly. Let me lean upon your arm."
 
 THE MESSENGER. 311 
 
 " You must have altered very much, Jaue," 
 said he, " to ask for this support." 
 
 " Yes, you are right," was the reply ; " I have 
 altered awfully." 
 
 They went on together then, and it was in 
 this strange and amicable conjunction that 
 Helena Barclay saw them advancing from the 
 window of her drawing-room. She had been 
 standing there, straining her eyes into the night 
 for a sight of friend or foe. She knew that 
 both were beyond the precincts of her home, 
 that both might approach at any moment, but 
 not together and in that strange fashion — she 
 had never dreamed of that !
 
 312 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 REPARATION. 
 
 HELENA BARCLAY shrank back from the 
 window at which she had been watching, 
 and went with hasty steps towards the couch, 
 in a corner of which she cowered until her 
 strange visitors were admitted. 
 
 No one asked her permission to enter; Mrs. 
 Graves had taken that warranty upon herself, 
 and her will had always been law at Wedder- 
 combe. How unlike that isolation from the 
 world which Helena had promised herself, and 
 what a mockery of the place and of the burying 
 of the past it seemed, when the housekeeper 
 ushered into the room those two men who 
 believed the very worst of her ! 
 
 Those two together! What new misery 
 might not that portend ? Could she bear
 
 REPARATIOy. 313 
 
 more, now that the old had nearly crushed her, 
 and her last effort to escape the past had been 
 a failure more complete than all the rest ? Had 
 misfortune steeled her to resist further trials, or 
 would another ordeal wholly break her down ? 
 She only knew that the uncertainty was ap- 
 paUing and paralysing, and that she huddled 
 away from them, a woman scared almost to 
 death, and with her pride and dignity quenched 
 out. She had fought many battles with her 
 accusers ; only a day or two back she had borne 
 herself bravely before them, but she was com- 
 pletely helpless now. She gave up ! 
 
 Mrs. Graves seemed to realise the feelings of 
 her mistress. She went at once towards her. 
 
 " Courage," she said—" I have brought good 
 news instead of bad. This is the beginning of 
 the end, whatever these men may say to-night. 
 Keep strong only a few hours longer, in the 
 name of mercy." 
 
 " Where have you been ? Why did you leave 
 me all this while?" murmured Helena, faintly. 
 
 *'Have you missed me so much?" was the 
 irrelevant rejoinder. 
 
 " Ah, yes I When you are away something 
 always happens."
 
 314 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 " Heaven help her, then !" muttered Mrs. 
 Graves, despairingly. 
 
 " I — I have had a letter," whispered Helena, 
 " from him whom you have brought here to- 
 night. Did I not say," cried she, with a flash 
 of the old spirit asserting itself, as she turned to 
 Arthur Barclay, *' that I would never see you 
 again — that the sight of you was a horror to 
 rne which I could not bear ? Had I not your 
 word to keep away ? And you^ sir," she added, 
 with a sudden and strange forbearance that 
 thrilled Valentine with its intensity of pathos, 
 " might have spared me this fresh indignity at 
 least." 
 
 Before Valentine could reply — and he was 
 for ever afterwards grateful for the quick re- 
 sponse of the man who had forestalled him — 
 Arthur Barclay said, 
 
 " The gentleman is here at my invitation, and 
 as my witness ; what other business may re- 
 quire his presence I know not and care not." 
 
 " At your invitation ?" murmured Helena. 
 
 "Oh! madam," said Arthur Barclay, scorn- 
 fully, " I have not come to torture you with any 
 allusion to an old story, or to submit again to 
 that version of it which sets the guilt on me.
 
 REPARATION. 315 
 
 The world has judged between us long ago." 
 
 "And Heaven will judge presently," mur- 
 mured Helena. 
 
 " Meanwhile on earth we'll talk of money 
 matters, madam," said Arthur Barclay, roughly, 
 " which, if you had attended to my note, might 
 have been settled through this happy medium."' 
 
 He nodded towards Mrs. Graves, who said, as 
 if in excuse, 
 
 '' I was away on business of my own." 
 
 " There is the ten thousand pounds you lent 
 me last Winter, Mrs. Barclay," said Arthur. 
 "In the presence of this gentleman, and of Jane 
 Graves, I restore the amount, with five per 
 cent, interest thereon — and I breathe more 
 freely for it." 
 
 Helena Barclay mechanically took the packet 
 of notes which he handed to her, and murmured, 
 almost helplessly, 
 
 *' What am 1 to do with this ? Why do you 
 bring it to me ?" 
 
 "To acquit myself of a heavy debt of obliga- 
 tion, I have said already." 
 
 " Yes — yes — so you have." 
 
 She continued to gaze at the carpet, until 
 he bade her, almost peremptorily, count the
 
 316 HER FACK WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 notes, which she did in the same apathetic 
 manner. 
 
 " 1 will write you a receipt," she murmured, 
 " if you wish it. But it was a gift — not a loan." 
 
 " That is why I have asked this gentleman — 
 who knows us both so well — to bear me wit- 
 ness that I restore the money, thanking God 
 that I am above your patronage ; otherwise no 
 one would believe me — not even with your 
 written testimony to back a vagabond's state- 
 ment. They would say — even you might say 
 — that I had forged the document ; for what is 
 forgery but one of my lighter offences against 
 the majesty of the law ?" 
 
 It was bitterly spoken, and Helena Barclay 
 glanced towards him as if his manner were new 
 to her. 
 
 " Will you leave me to myself now ?" she 
 said faintly. " There is no more to say, I 
 
 hope r 
 
 " I have no more to say." 
 
 " The — the receipt — if you wish — I " 
 
 " It is unnecessary, now that you own that it 
 was a gift — a gift which I restore." 
 
 " Stay," said Mrs. Graves, as he made a faint 
 inclination of his head and moved towards the
 
 REPARATION. 317 
 
 door. "I — 1 have business with you, Arthur, 
 and you must not go. Helena," she said, turn- 
 ing to her mistress, " you must leave me with 
 him ; he was like my own son when he was 
 young — I was at his mother's death-bed, and 
 promised to watch over him, and broke my 
 promise when he went wrong in spite of me. 
 He is not so bad as you believe or I have 
 thought. I loved this boy very much — he is 
 drawn to my old heart again to-night as I never 
 thought that he would be again. Leave us — I 
 would make peace with him." 
 
 Helena was bewildered ; but she rose at Jane 
 Graves's bidding, and went from the room, 
 Valentine Merrick watching her in silence. He 
 had not the heart, after all, to talk of Percy 
 Andisou. She had not met him : there would 
 be time to act in after-days — and this woman 
 was in deep trouble, with all the world against 
 her. Hence let him have the charity to spare 
 her for awhile. As the door closed upon her, 
 Mrs. Graves turned to him. 
 
 " You will not remain," she said, in a low, 
 stern tone, that showed her hate of him as 
 plainly as if she had spoken it ; '• there is no 
 more mischief for your hands to-night. All
 
 3 1 8 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 that has happened — all that will happen — is 
 your work." 
 
 " I will hold myself responsible," said Valen- 
 tine; "but " 
 
 " I cannot hear you," she hissed forth, pas- 
 sionately ; " there is not time for it. What you 
 w^ould ask of me, ask of your friend, who is em- 
 powered to tell you why I met him. Mr. Andi- 
 son is waiting for you." 
 
 Valentine, more impressed by the woman's 
 manner than he would have cared to confess, 
 withdrew at her appeal. His task was done ; 
 there was no excuse to stay. He did not be- 
 lieve in Mrs. Graves or in her statement — being 
 a man always hard to convince — but he would 
 go back to Hernley Hall, nevertheless. His 
 mission had scarcely been successful, but there 
 was more to follow, and more to do, he was 
 assured, 
 
 As the door closed on him, Mrs. Graves raised 
 her hands above her head and cursed him for 
 the evil that he had brought to that house, and 
 Arthur Barclay sat and w^atched her curiously, 
 his hand twitching at the end of his long mous- 
 tache, after his old habit. 
 
 " I surprise you," she said, turning to him.
 
 REPAKATIOX. 319 
 
 " Not much," answered Arthur ; ^' you were 
 always an extravagant woman in your temper, 
 taking your manner — catching it possibly — from 
 Michael Barclay. Why do you curse the 
 barrister f 
 
 " He found us out when we were in peace — 
 when she was learning to forget the past, and 
 all, with Heaven's help, might have been well." 
 
 " And you expected Heaven to help her !" ex- 
 claimed Arthur Barclay. 
 
 " Why not ? Ah !" she said quickly, and 
 with a half scream, " don't tell me — don't say 
 it again — or even you will be sorry for it. 1 
 want you to promise me, on your word of honour 
 — on your oath — to do one thing for me." 
 
 " For you ?" muttered Arthur. 
 
 " For myself only," was the reply. 
 
 " If for yourself, friend," said Arthur, warm- 
 ly, "I will do it — for the old time's sake of 
 which you spoke to-night. I thought that you 
 had learned to hate me too." 
 
 '' I tried once ; but. oh ! I could not. And 
 when you were hard and cruel and ungovern- 
 able, Arthur, I prayed for you the most." 
 
 " Did you?" said Arthur Barclay, wondering- 
 ly. " When I was at my worst, and past pray-
 
 320 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE, 
 
 ing for ? Now, to think of that from you ! " 
 
 He was a big, strong man, who had faced 
 much trouble and done much wrong, and who 
 had hardened for lack of kindly sympathy and 
 friendly interest ; but he put his fingers to his 
 eyes to stop the tears there. 
 
 " Now promise me, Arthur ?" 
 
 " I have promised." 
 
 " In all his recklesness I never knew Arthur 
 Barclay to break his word," said Mrs. Graves ; 
 " but I would ask him to swear this to his 
 Maker." 
 
 " In your service, yes — in hers, no," he said ; 
 and he swore to this with grave solemnity, and 
 then waited for her mission. 
 
 " Arthur Barclay, I want you to go with me 
 to York," she said. 
 
 '' With you ? When ?— at what time f 
 
 *' To set out with me, now that 1 am broken 
 down, and of no further use to her — now that 
 the old servant has given up, and sees the hope- 
 less nature of the task she strove for." 
 
 " Ah, you mistrust her at last !" 
 
 " To set out at once — this very night, this 
 very hour," she said, paying no heed to his 
 exclamation ; "to strengthen me when I give
 
 REPAKATIOX. 321 
 
 way, as I may do, for I am weak and sinful ; to 
 let me feel that I am not alone, but that he who 
 knows me best keeps with me to the end." 
 
 " To what end f ' asked Arthur. 
 
 " The end where justice meets me and the 
 gallows waits ; for " 
 
 « Well— well ?" 
 
 " For 1 poisoned Michael Barclay !" 
 
 She gave way, and sank down at his feet, a 
 woman abject, prostrate, and storm-tossed, and 
 put her arms about his knees in her abasement. 
 
 " Good Heaven I — you !" crie'd Arthur. 
 
 " Ah ! don't curse me for it yet ; wait till I 
 have told you all — of my long temptation, and 
 my motive for it. As we go on together, I 
 can tell you every word — not now. Now you 
 must pardon me for that blight I brought upon 
 two lives I had hoped to brighten by the crime 
 to which I was driven." 
 
 "You — you I" muttered Arthur Barclay, like 
 a man in a dream — " is it possible ?" 
 
 He passed his hands through his hair, and 
 clutched wildly at it in his great astonish- 
 ment ; he struggled for his breath ; he tried to 
 raise Jane Graves from the ground, and mar- 
 velled that he had grown suddenly as weak as 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 HER FACE WAS HER FORTCJNE. 
 
 a child. He bad not strength to utter that 
 forgiveness which she implored, and she took it 
 as a sign of his inflexibility. 
 
 " I haven't one excuse, and I am as certain of 
 that now as I was from the very moment of bis 
 death," vshe wailed forth ; " but it was less hate 
 of him than love for you and Helena that 
 brought me face to face with murder. I did 
 not grudge him his life — I had been his slave 
 too long for that ; but I thought of you two, 
 and your years of happiness without him — of 
 your becoming a better man, and Helena ap- 
 proaching heaven more surely. Don't you see? 
 — oh! don't you see, Arthur, why I killed him ?" 
 " Go on — I guess at it, that's all." 
 *' He was not fit to live," she cried, in 
 wild extenuation of her crime ; " after all, a 
 crueller man never made another's existence 
 a misery — he was sordid and unjust and re- 
 vengeful. It was his opposition to you, his 
 hate of you, his terrible neglect, that made you 
 shun him, drove you to evil courses, ruined 
 
 you." 
 
 " Ay, body and soul," said Arthur, shaking 
 his head ruefully ; ^' but I did not ask you to 
 avenge me."
 
 REPARATION. 323 
 
 *' You were bis brother's cbild, and I was 
 your foster-mother ; your wrongs were like my 
 own, and every step downward was a dagger 
 in me — I wept whilst he exulted. He was — " 
 
 " He is dead. In mercy's name let him rest I" 
 cried Arthur Barclay. " Get up, be wise — 
 don't tell me any more." 
 
 *' Only to say that when Helena became his 
 wife — talked into it by the foolish father who 
 lived but a few weeks after she was married — 
 dragged from a boarding-school into his arms, I 
 loved her for her gentleness and patience under 
 his severity. She clung to me in her helpless- 
 ness, and there was no one else in all the 
 world who cared for her. So," — lowering her 
 voice, " when he became the tyrant to her that 
 he had been to you — when I saw that, with 
 advancing years, he grew a greater villain, I 
 struck one blow to save her." 
 
 " Don't tell me," muttered Arthur, still in pro- 
 test, and still vainly essaying to raise her from 
 the crouching position at his feet. But the woman 
 would not rise until she had pleaded in her own 
 defence. 
 
 '* The only thing I saw before me was free- 
 dom for you two," she cried ; *' and if happi-
 
 324 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 ness had come to either of yon, I should not re- 
 gret it. There, I own it — I am no coward — see, 
 I don't flinch at saying this !" 
 
 " Horrible !" muttered Arthur Barclay. 
 
 '• If I had only saved you — or her, Arthur," 
 she continued, " but you were stubborn, and she 
 was charged with the crime. Had they con- 
 demned her at York, I should have confessed. 
 Escaping by a miracle, I hoped, I did strive 
 to think, that time would soften the shock 
 and make her, conscious of her innocence, the 
 woman that she ought to be. But the slander 
 followed her — there was no escaping it — and 
 she has been slowly sinking, sinking down. I 
 have been watching like a lynx, though — and 
 now that my confession can only reinstate her, 
 bring friends about her, open out to her that 
 life which in my vanity I thought it was in my 
 own power to create, I make it wiUingly." 
 
 " I will not hear another word ! I " 
 
 *' My confession was made to the one man 
 who believes in her. I told it him to-night. 
 She drove me to it, for she was giving way and 
 turning from me too, and then what was left for 
 Jane Graves? To-morrow, at York, I charge 
 myself with Michael Barclay's murder."
 
 REPARATION. 325 
 
 "I "will not accompany you." 
 
 *'You have sworn — I must have one friend, 
 one old face ! Don't break your oath to a woman 
 as helpless as I am ! And, oh, Arthur, forgive 
 me!" 
 
 " For the harm that you have done me — and if 
 you have done me any harm — take my pardon," 
 he said ; " it is beyond my power to forgive 
 aught else." 
 
 '• Ah, I know that," she murmured, as she 
 rose and pushed back her grey hair beneath the 
 old bonnet that she wore still. 
 
 Glancing at her strongly-marked and resolute 
 features, Arthur marvelled then why he had never 
 thought of her as capable of killing his uncle, 
 and why her long years of faithful service should 
 have weighed more in the scale than the youth 
 and gentleness of the wife whom no one mis- 
 trusted till she was Michael Barclay's widow. 
 
 " And she knows all f said he, interrogative- 
 ly. "And yet " 
 
 " She knows nothing — I dare not tell her !" 
 she cried, quickly. " I would rather die than 
 do it. She will turn away from every thought 
 of me — when I am gone, but not before. She 
 will part from me to-night with the old looks
 
 32 G HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 and words of faith, and only shudder at me 
 afterwards. And my last thought of her will be 
 the fair young face I loved so well, and sinned so 
 deeply for — the first one, Arthur, who was ever 
 kind to me — the last." 
 
 " Where are you going?" 
 
 " To her room. You will wait for me ?" 
 
 *' Yes," answered Arthur Barclay, thus ap- 
 pealed to. 
 
 She closed the door upon him, and went 
 up the stairs with grave composure — the wo- 
 man who had resolved and acted, and who 
 looked not round for escape, nor dreamed 
 of it. She had striven hard to bring happi- 
 ness to Helena Barclay — failing in this, let 
 her confess and shiver into pieces the mystery 
 which had walled in a young life from light. 
 She had looked forward to this Avhen every 
 other chance had been lost And after this there 
 could come no fresh trouble so desperately bad 
 or so hideously close. She took off her bonnet 
 and dropped it on the landing-place, and went 
 into Helena's room, after smoothing her grey 
 bands of hair with her large strong-veined hands. 
 The lamp was burning dimly in its old place
 
 REPARATION, 327 
 
 upon the bracket, and Helena lay in her bed, 
 big-eyed and wakeful, 
 
 "You have been waiting for me?" said the 
 woman. 
 
 " Yes, dear — I cannot sleep to-night. Has 
 he gone ?" 
 
 " He is going now — directly." 
 
 " He returns the money — even he will not 
 touch my gold, nor trust in me." 
 
 " He will presently. There is a change in him, 
 and for the better." 
 
 " Ah, you tell me so," she answered, smiling 
 faintly, 
 
 " There is a change in all of us — and I think, 
 child, that we have seen the worst, and from 
 this time things will mend." 
 
 " How is that possible f 
 
 " I think so — and I am never very sanguine." 
 
 " What have you heard ? Oh, is there good 
 news ? Can there be any chance of that ?" 
 
 '' Wait till the morning. I don't know yet — 
 I have not heard of anything myself, and yet I'm 
 strangely hopeful. Good night — sleep well — 
 you have prayed for yourself and for the poor 
 old woman here ?" 
 
 " Oh, my one friend — staunch and true — as if
 
 328 HER FACE WAS HER FORTUNE. 
 
 I had forgotten you in any prayers of mine ! " 
 
 " Heaven bless you then, pray on !" 
 
 *' Good night — and there is nothing more to 
 tell me," she said, her arms round the neck of 
 the withered face bent close to hers — '' you are 
 sure r 
 
 *' Nothing more, my darling." 
 
 '' You will call me at the usual time, Jane ? 
 We will have a long day to-morrow in the 
 grounds." 
 
 " Ah — a long day together !" 
 
 " And so good night again." 
 
 The old woman was strong to the last, and 
 yet that was their last meeting. Never again 
 were servant and mistress to see each other, to 
 kiss each other as they did in that moment of 
 their parting. She went out of the room with 
 the same steady step, and it was only the wild 
 uplifting of her arms without that told of her 
 despair. 
 
 She stooped and clutched at her bonnet, and 
 then groped her way downstairs, as a woman 
 might have done struck blind by something 
 more fearful than a rain of tears. In the draw- 
 ing-room she was rigid and stern, and in that 
 awful power of her will, that terrible self-repres-
 
 REPARATION. 329 
 
 sion, one could imagine the hidden danger that 
 she had been. 
 
 " I am ready, Arthur." 
 
 The man who had been brooding there rose 
 with a half groan, and followed her to the door 
 with grave unwillingness. A maid-servant was 
 in the hall, and the housekeeper Graves said, 
 
 " I shall not be long, but go to bed. I have 
 the pass-key to the house." 
 
 " Very well, ma'am." 
 
 She stepped into the darkness, and, as the 
 door closed, she glanced upwards to the window 
 of Helena's room. 
 
 " So the new life begins for her. Will you 
 hope with me, Arthur, that it may begin and 
 end in peace f 
 
 " Yes, I can hope that now," he murmured. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUS£.
 
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