L 1 B R.AR.Y OF THL UNIVERSITY or ILLI N0I5 F952f v.i TIME WILL TELL: ^ 3tm of Bmtit By S. W. FULLOM, AUTHOR OF "the aREAT HIGHWAY," " POR lOTE-OR MONEY, "the man of THE WORLD," ETC., ETC. " The end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it." Shakespeare. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1868. \^All rights reserved.^ i DE. SPENCEE THOMSON, M.D., L.R.C.S.E., OF ASHTON, TOEQUAY, AtrXHOE OP THE "DICTIOIfAET 01" MEDICINE," "WANDERINGS AMONG WILD PLOWEES," ETC., ETC., THIS STORV IS INSCRIBED, IN APPRECIATION OF HIS PROFESSIONAL AND LITERARY TALENTS, AND IN TOKEN OF ESTEEM, BY THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER I. MOTHEE AND DAUGHTEB . II. MB. BLANDFOKD III. THE SEPAEATION . IV. THE MANSION IN &EEAT STANHOPE V, Annie's bedeoom . VI. A MIDNI&HT VISITOB . VII. DOCTOBS' COMMONS VIII. THE LODGINGS . IX. THE SOUTH WESTEEN EAILWAT X. THE BTJBIED LETTEE . XI. DB. CHOWLEB AT HOME XII. A SUBPEISE XIII. PEIVATE INFOEMATION XIV. PUESUIT XV. A BLOW XVI. BUSHEY PAEK . XVII. ANNIE EINDS A COMPANION FAOft 1 10 19 27 35 41 48 73 80 100 115 127 143 157 169 177 197 IV CONTENTS. ciiArrKB PAGE XVrif. ON TUK WATCH .... 20i XIX. THE DAUOHTEE OF TUE WORKING MAN 214 XX. THE FEEEET .... 219 XXI. DITTON FEKEY . . 226 IXII. CONFIDENCE .... 249 XXIII. DIFFEEENT EOADS 258 XXIV. rnoposAL defeueed . . . 26G XXV. BUNNING INTO DANGEE . . 277 XXVI. DOMESTIC BLIS8 .... 286 XVVU. ESUEU COMMON . . . 304 TIME WILL TELL CHAPTER I. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. "I HOPED to find you happier, mamma," said a young girl, her arms encircling her mother's neck, while she gazed in her face. She had bounded into the room in her hat and mantle, having just arrived from Paris, and her eyes, as she entered, beamed with expectation. And her mother, too, had brightened, though the brightness came through tears, an effect the girl instantly noted, and reflected herself. Little more than seventeen in years, she seemed but a blossom beside her mother; VOL. I. 1 2 TIME WILL TELL. for time was crumbling one flower while it unfolded the other. Tlieir faces presented that resemblance common in such relations, which, however, might pass unmarked, only the daughter's embracing arms now brought them in conjunction, and made it apparent. The likeness was divided, as it were, by the flight of a day, the girl being fresh and blooming, in beauty's morning, while the beauty of the mother was as an autumn sunset, the hues dulled and the light under a cloud. " I thought home would be pleasanter now papa has come into so much property," continued the girl, mournfully. " Let us not speak of this now, Annie, dear," replied her mother. " You must be fagged after your journey; and Miss Bal- combe, too — where have you left her ?" " She heard papa was engaged, and would not come in," answered Annie, with a vexed look. " She has friends close by, and she ordered the cabman to drive her on." " I think she ought to have seen me. She was sent to Paris to bring you home, TIME WILL TELL. 3 and — and — but tliey all learn to treat me as a cipher." " Dearest mamma," said Annie, with a caress ; " at least I shall now be with you, and we shall be happy in that." " Yes, if that might be, dear Annie !" " Why should it not be ?" Mrs. Blandford seemed to evade the ques- tion. " Come, you must have something to eat," she said. " It was last night you crossed the Channel, I suppose ?" " Yes ; and we had a good rest at Dover, so I am not at all tired." But she yielded to her mother's wishes. The servant brought in luncheon, and she sat down and made a pretence of eating, saying little till the tray was removed. Then she spoke in a more cheerful tone — " What is this about an estate, mamma ?" she said. " You have given me only dark hints in your letter. What estate is it, and how does it come to papa ?" She had touched a warped chord, and the response told of new troubles. "It comes from the Holmes family, to 1—2 4 TIME WILL TELL. which he is the heir ; but it is entailed on males, and your father's grievance is, that having no son, at his death it passes to a stranger. Mr. Charles Harrifield, the heir presumptive of Lord Bramblecourt, will get it, not you, Annie." "I don't want it," repUed Annie; "so don't let that disturb you, mamma." " Unfortunately it affects us both very much, dear, and may cause us great trouble." " In what way, mamma ?" " It is a story I have never told you, but, I fear, we are completely at your father's mercy, and this business embitters his feel- ing towards us." " Has it not always been embittered ?" said Annie, her cheek flushing. " At least, he has never been kind — he has never been to me what you have, mamma, and to you I have thought him cruel." " It was not so once," sighed Mrs. Bland- ford, " nor can I say that he has ever treated me harshly — only coldly, Annie. But it is time vou should know how I stand to him, TIME WILL TELL. 5 for this it is that makes me uneasy. His first wife was my sister." " Your own sister ! How strange !" " It is a sad story, altogether. She was a year older than I ; our father died when we were children, and she was my mother's favourite, so had everything she wished for. She fell in love with your papa, when he was a suitor to me, and she and my mother lured him from me." Annie, who had dropped her eyes, now looked up again, but made no remark. " My mother lived to see them married, and that was all. At her death she left my sister all her fortune. Nothing fell to me but a small annuity, derived from my father." " How cruel !" murmured Annie. "My sister soon followed your grand- mamma to the grave, when circumstances threw your father and me much together ; I could not forget — I never had forgotten, that he once professed to love me, and he declared that his sentiments had never changed. He ascribed his marriage witli G TIME WILL TELL. my sister to the manoeuvres of my mother, and her confidante — who had once been the confidante of his own mother. I was will- ing to believe what my heart wished. So he persuaded me to accompany him to Prussia, where a marriage with a deceased wife's sister is allowed ; and it was thought that this legalised our union in England." " And does it not ?" cried Annie, breath- lessly. " When I noted a growing coldness in your father, I began to have misgivings about it, and I have lived in terror ever since. But our jeopardy was increased by your father's succession to the Holmes estate, because he has become so anxious to bequeath this property to a son ; and this morning he dropped some words which have struck me to the earth !" " What did he say ?" asked Annie, bend- ing forward, as her mother hesitated, and gazing in her face, at the same time catching her hand, and clasping it in both her o^vn. " Tell me, mamma, I have long felt there was something unspoken between us — some- TIME WILL TELL. 7 thing in wliich I might give you comfort, the comfort of sympathy, at least. You have now admitted me to your confidence ; tell me all. We may advise together, for I am no longer a child. The year I have passed at the school in Paris has so altered me : you must see it has !" The mother raised her eyes, and rested them on Annie, as if to note the change, but the glance was listless, and seemed to take nothing in. She did perceive — she had be- fore perceived, indeed, that Annie was be- come a beauty — only the mother's pride was now overborne by anxiety for the future. Her brow cleared, notwithstanding ; for no woman could look on such a daughter un- moved. Annie's face struck at once — at the first glance. Not that she possessed a showy complexion : her face was so toned by sentiment that it rather appeared under a veil, but it was a veil of soul. The effect was now heightened by the downcast gaze of her eyes, which were almost hid by the frino-e of lonsr, silken lashes. What im- pressed was the delicate tints, the soft out- TIME WILL TELL. lines, Und tlic environing air of romance, presenting her as in a dream. The style of her beauty changed when she raised her eyes — eyes of the rarest shade of hazel, so clear and deep, and beaming, that they claimed to be called amber. And the same term would almost describe her hair, which was a bright chestnut, and enclasped her brow, like a queen's cro^vn — then escaped from under her hat, and threw two curls on her neck. " I have little more to tell you, Annie," her mother answered, " except that he said wc must sejjarate /" " What did he mean ?" said Annie, wildly. " I considered him to mean that he would try to annul our marriage," her mother re- plied, with a flood of tears. There was a pause, as if the words sug- gested thoughts which both mother and daughter shrank from uttering, but to which neither could shut her eyes. They had been silent but a moment, however, when the ringing of a bell, from an ujDper room, caused them both to start. TIME WILL TELL. 9 " That is Jiis bell," said Annie. " No doubt he has seen me arrive, and is enquir- ing for me. I must go to him." " You think he will like it ?" replied Mrs. Blandford, dubiously. " Well, do what you think best; and, remember, nothing binds him to me but you, Annie." " My poor, dear mamma." They embraced, and Annie left the room. CHAPTER IL 1 MR. BLANDFORD. The bell rang, as Annie conjectured, from Mr. Blandford's room, so called from being exclusively devoted to that gentleman, and j only accessible on his invitation. The house j stood in the Clapham Road, and the apart- | ment looked out on a back garden, closed by I the backs of other houses, and on a distant ', gasometer. But it may be doubted if these features were known to Mr. Blandford, who i cared little for the beauties of nature, ! whether the nature was metropolitan or rural, and nothing drew him to a window | but the sound of a carriage stopping before ] the house. Otherwise he took life easy. A ^ moderate independence had placed him above ^ TIME WILL TELL. 11 work, from his youth up, and afforded him means for some indulgences ; for he found society at his club, so never entertained at his own house. He was a fine-looking man, on the shady side of forty, and had rounded the Cape gallantly — not without damage, a line here, and a dint there, but with his face still bright, and his figure untouched. In fact, a man half his age might have found him a dangerous rival in a lady's bower. Mr. Blandford was now in council with his lawyer, Henry Eavel. He was not a vicious man, nor altogether what the world accounted heartless ; for he entertained a certain reverence for right, and was even capable of affection, though of a cold, un- certain kind. Hence he felt some repug- nance to the project under his consideration. But his dominant feeling was love of self, and this generated a habit of seeing every- thing in a light consonant with his own wishes, so that he no sooner formed a design than he saw reason to believe it immaculate. Nor did his opinion waver if the design was 12 TIME WILL TELL. a little crooked, provided it answered the end. Like the Jesuits, he considered it just to commit a small wrong in order to do a great right, the right being rendered to himself, and he balanced the wTong by what he deemed a compensation. The present case rather strained his conscience — it was doing right ^v^th such a decided eye to profit, and he found some difiiculty in re- sisting this conclusion. But the fact grew more and more obscured; his scruples vanished before his logic ; and the lawyer found him in a frame of mind to do right at all risks — provided there was none to himself. Mr. Ravel was ready for his bidding — to a certain point, and this point Mr. Bland- ford was not likely to overstep. Under a composed aspect and dignified mien, Mr. Ravel's mind was, in fact, more supple than another man's back, but not beyond his own notions of meum and tuum. In short, he was no rogue, but simply hastened to be rich — not by years of toil, nor through the drudgery of his profession, but by hook or TIME WILL TELL. 13 by crook, as he found it expedient. Hence it was impossible for bim to be mealy- mouthed, or to stick at trifles, though he took care both to keep within the law, and to do nothing to compromise his respecta- bility. " All is settled with the house-agent, I presume ?" said Mr. Blandford. "Everything, sir. I have taken over the house, furniture, carriage, horses, and servants, just as they stand," replied the lawyer. "The carriage has been panelled with your arms, and the servants have assumed your liveries. I have arranged that you shall accompany me there this morning, and be put in possession." " That is well. And the other matter — " here Mr. Blandford betrayed the slightest touch of embarrassment — " this very painful business." "Very painful, indeed," observed Mr. Eavel, furtively scanning his client, before he helped him out. " A great trial to me." "No doubt, sir." 14 TIME WILL TELL. " But you observed that tlie judge de- cided, in tlie suit my letter pointed out to you, that a marriage in Prussia was just as invalid as in England, and so granted a decree of nullity." " Yes." " Humph ! I think I instructed you to submit my case to a proctor." " And I have done so, sir. I obtained the opinion this morning, and it — " Mr. Ravel drew a paper from his pocket, and handed it to Mr. Blandford, who ran his eye over the contents. " I am free !" he exclaimed, unguardedly ; then recollected himself, and his cheek flushed as he quietly added — " free to act liberally in this matter. I wish to be thoroughly Hberal, Mr. Ravel. Mrs. Bland- ford — for so I must still call her — has spent a great part of her life with, me, and now incurs some^ — some appearance of humiha- tion, you see ; so I wish to make her what will not only be a liberal allowance, but even a compensation" " A very just view, sir." TIME WILL TELL. 15 "I tMnk the principle is just," Mr. Blandford resumed. " And I wish you to break the business to her — the sooner the better : to-morrow, say. She can stay here till quarter-day, when our tenancy expires, and I shall have provided her a more suita- ble residence by that time. She shall also have an allowance of seven hundred a year, and I will reheve her of all charge for our daughter ; but she is to undertake to give her up to me, and to hold no communication with her for the present — you understand, for the present y "Perfectly," said Mr. Eavel, discerning that /or the present meant for ever. " You can have no difficulty in arranging this for me ?" " Not the least, sir. What you propose, is, of course, for the young lady's inte- rest." " Just so. I see I can leave the matter to you, and as we have brought up Miss Blandford's name, and you mention her in- terest, it might be mutually advantageous if we went a little more into this branch of the 16 TIME WILL TELL. subject. I should like to consult you on a point connected with it." •' Be assured, you may command my best advice." " I may want something more — your co- operation," smiled Mr. Blandford, with slight emphasis. " The truth is, I should like to secure an interest for my daughter in the succession to the estate. This, as you know, goes, in default of male issue of mine, to Charles Hamfield, who is also heir pre- sumptive to your client. Lord Bramblecourt. Mr. Harrifield's means are not large, and he is a bit of a squanderer. Now, suppose he and my daughter were to match, and I dowered her with a third of the rents during my life." " A third of the rents is a large offer," re- marked the la^vyer, with some surprise. " It will be a compensation to him." " What is he to be compensated for ? he always knew you were the first inheritor, and that he has no claim unless you fail of male issue." " True," said Mr. Blandford, with his 4 TIME WILL TELL. 17 usual suavity, tliough not till after a mo- ment's pause, as if for recollection. " But I may now contract auother marriage, and this might throw him out, you see." The lawyer glanced askance at the speaker, and then bent his head : he had suddenly remembered some rumour of a flaw in Mr. Blandford's title. "You consider this affair will be diffi- cult ?" said Mr. Blandford. " It will require management, sir. Your divorce will be an (Obstacle, from its rendering Miss Blandford illegitimate." " She won't be so in the estimation of society. She will still bear my name, and be recognised as my daughter. And I think the divorce tells just as much the other way, because it increases the probability of my haviug a male heir ; and Mr. Harrifield will see that by marrying Miss Blandford, he not only makes sure of a present interest in the estate, but also raises a barrier to my marry- ing again. Will you think this over ?" " I will give it immediate attention." " That is well," said Mr. Blandford. " And VOL. I. 2 18 TIME -WILL TELL. now WO will go to the new house, and take possession of it." They rose together, and it was at this moment that Mr. Blandford, as has been already mentioned, rang the bell, bringing up the housemaid. " Was that any one for rae arrived in the cab, just now ?" he asked. " It was Miss Blandford, sir," answered the servant. " Oh !" And he walked out of the house in company with the lawyer. The servant met Annie on the stairs. " Is papa alone now, Mary ?" Annie asked. "He's gone out with Mr. l?avel, Miss," replied the servant. And she related what had passed. * " Well, he knows I am here," observed Annie, her hp trembling at this display of her father's indiflerence. " Tell mamma I have gone to my own room, ]\Iary." And she retreated along the passage. CHAPTEE III. THE SEPARATION. Nothing could be completer than Mr. Blandford's dominion over his wife and daughter. He was never harsh, and never spoke in anger, yet he had brought them to regard him with awe, and he required but to say " do this," and it was done, or " go there," and they went. They could have given no reason for their compliance ; it was a habit, and they obeyed, because they never dreamt of resisting. Both were disquieted at his going out without seeing Annie, and their uneasiness increased when hour succeeded hour and he continued absent. They understood that his succession to property involved arran^c- 2—2 20 TIME WILL TELL. ments which might take him out unexpcci- edly, aud heuce they would have thought little of the incident on another occasion ; but he had not seen Annie for a year ; he knew she had arrived ; and at a time when they had so much reason for misgiving, it seemed ominous that he left her ungreetcd. They expected that he would return to din- ner, but he made no appearance, nor had he come back when the household retired to rest ; not that this was unusual, as he let himself in v/ith a latch-key, at all hours. But no step on the stairs announced his re- turn to-night, and the morrow found him still absent, making them both miserable. Thus they watched for him through the morning, alternately expecting and dread- ing, and, with strained ears, starting at every knock at the door. Annie tried to reassure her mother, and did afford her comfort, though she could not give her courage — the courage a sense of wrong began to kindle In herself. She was really as depressed as her mother, but she was nerved by resentmont, which Inspired TIME WILL TELL. 21 her with self-reliance. She had brooded over such experiences before, and they had been silently consolidating her character, moulding it unnoted, and fostering qualities ready to be developed. Their influence was felt by Mrs. Blandford, without her realising their scope, and the mother leant on her child. " Here is papa, in a carriage," cried Annie, suddenly, as she looked from the window of the drawing-room, late in the afternoon. Mrs. Blandford left her chair, and peered round the curtain, so as to keep out of view from the outside. At the gate was a car- riage and pair, with liveried coachman and footman, and Mr. Blandford had just alighted, in company with Mr. Eavel. They stood a moment, and then walked up the garden to the house. " What has he brought Mr. Eavel for again ?" said Mrs. Blandford to Annie, with a dismayed look. Annie's heart sank, she knew not why — except that she was infected by the unde- fined dread of her mother. 22 TIME WILL TELL. Mr. Blandford left the lawyer below, and entered the drawing-room alone. " Ah, Annie ! you arc back again," he said, with his blandest air ; and his eyes ran over her face and form, brightening in the survey. " You have grown a woman — and a devihsh fine one, I must say. Well, you have come back just in time, for I want to take you to our new house." He spoke as if he had been away but an hour, and they ventured no reference to his protracted absence. " Are we to go this evening, papa ?" asked Annie. " This moment," he answered, with a smile. " Take with you only what is neces- sary, and your other traps can follow to- morrow. How soon -will you be ready — I suppose ten minutes will do?" " Mamma can't be ready in that time, I am afraid." " Oh, yes, yes, Annie, if our things are to remain till to-morrow," said Mrs. Blandford, timidly. " Well, you have business to attend to TIME WILL TELL. 23 here," rejoined her husband. " Mr. Ravel is waiting to see you in the dining-room, and you had better go to him." And he added to Annie, " You can bid your mother good evening." They were used to obey, and raised no objection, nor did Annie seem disturbed, though a tremor seized her mother, and she could hardly return her embrace. Annie hastened away, leaving Mrs. Blandford with her husband. He walked to the window, and looked out, humming an air. " Am I to join Annie, to-morrow, Eobert?" the wife asked, after a moment's pause. " Gro down to Mr. Eavel, and he will tell you all our arrangements," answered Mr. Blandford, mildly. " I have entrusted them to him, and there is no use going over them twice." " No," she replied, and added desperately, " But — but I hope I am not to be parted from her long." And she passed out of the room — unan- swered, but not unmarked. There was a kind of sentiment about Mr. Blandford, and 24 TIME WILL TELL. this gave saducss to the reflection that tliey would never meet again — that he had heard that voice for the last time. But it was a momentary vibration — like a blow on a rock — felt, but leaving no impression. And there stood his carriage and horses to divert his attention. Moreover he knew that he was acting right, and, however trying to our feelings, the determination to act right gives an inward strength, when it leads to the object we wish. He had won this woman in her youth, and been eighteen j-ears her husband, but the law now invalidated such marriages, and to prolong the connexion would be a public scandal. True he was not bound to take away her child. But the cliild was also his, and he relieved her of a bui'den, while securing the girl advantages she could not otherwise obtain. These were the motives he would have put forward — and not untruly — for he felt the tie of nature in Annie, and coveted her affection, at the same time that he looked to her forming a brilUant marriage. But he was also prompted to this course b}^ other TIME WILL TELL. 25 considerations whicli it might not be conve- nient to avow. Hardly had he reviewed these thoughts when he turned from the window, and fol- lowed his wife from the room, fearing she would intercept Annie, and concert some alliance. But Mrs. Blandford had no faculty for plotting, and she went straight to the dining-room to meet the lawyer. Meantime, Annie reached her chamber, but, instead of dressing, sat down to reflect, a habit so inveterate with her on such occa- sions, that it might be called a part of her toilet. She thus fell into a whirl of thought, while Mr. Blandford was expecting her ap- pearance, and it required a message to recall her to the duty of equipping;; herself. Mr. Blandford knew, indeed, that getting ready was not one of her virtues, and, besides being of too serene a nature to be ever rufiled, was content that she should, as he thought, spend some time at her glass, so he showed no impatience when she at last appeared. Mary followed them to the car- riage, and put in a small bag. 26 TIME WILL TELL. " You haven't taken a lady's license, and smothered us with luggage, Annie," smiled Mr. Blandford. " This is all I need till to-morrow, papa," Annie answered quietly. " Then we want no more," he returned. And he called out to the footman " home /" The word thrilled Annie's ear, as the carriage drove ofi'. CHAPTER IV. THE MANSION IN GREAT STANHOPE STREET. Mr. Blandford wished to be very friendly with Annie. He wanted to break down the barrier raised between them by his coldness in time past, and lure her into a bond of affection. But, to his chagrin, he was met by coldness on her part ; so after two at- tempts to draw her into conversation, he desisted, seeing the moment was inopportune. Something must be allowed for habit, he thought; and Annie had been too much accustomed to regard him with awe, to rush all at once into familiarity. Moreover, she had probably been listening to complaints from her mother, and he longed to tell his version of the story, though,, on reflect^* ^ 28 TIME WILL TELL. he decided to avoid details, and confine bis communication to what it was absolutely necessary she should know. Even this be deferred ; for, understanding, and perhaps over-estimating the effect produced by glitter on women, he conceived that his disclosure would be taken better by Annie amidst the splendour of her new home. Just now, too, it must be confessed, he hardly felt up to the mark ; for, in spite of the calm in his face, the readiness of his smile, and the modulations of his voice, he felt uneasy within. Annie had taken him by surprise ; he parted with her a child ; she returned a woman, and a beauty ; and he saw that he had committed a blunder in neglecting to hail her arrival. Then was the time to make his point, when he could have met her at the door, and received her with open arms. Now, whether from habitual constraint, from shyness, or from partisan- ship with her mother, or from uncertainty about her own position, she would not let him retrieve his mistake, and he found himself considering how she was to be p "o- TIME WILL TELL. 29 pitiated, instead of having her, as he ex- pected, under his control. The carnage rolled through the streets, over the bridge, past the gay shops, and amidst streams of people, and none dreamt that it was a link in a romance. Annie kept her gaze on the v^^indow, with the same expression; but it was unce Lain whether her eye noted what it saw, Tor she seemed to start from a reverie, whvhich left one in doubt whether he was ironical or earnest ; " but one result, you know, is worth a host of expectations. You had no doubt when you first proposed to come ; you still have none ; but I dare- say this doesn't mean that you have made no progress ?" 2G8 TIME WILL TELL. " Certainly not. I have won Miss Bland- ford's confidence, gained an influence over her, and, I think, rendered myself almost indispensable to her. This is doing much in a fortnight." " Pardon me there ; to a person of your endowments, all this was a matter of course, and I shall be disappointed if you haven't done more. 3ow has Annie taken your advice about returning home ?" " Well, I have not touched on that sub- ject yet." " Indeed*!" said Mr. Blandford, with a smile of surprise. " No !" answered Jessie, composedly. " I saw that if I did, I should make her mis- trust me — that she would reject my advice, and that then the subject could not be resumed." " I do homage to your discernment, but this is a lady's mode of making progress, and I don't see how it brings us nearer our object." " I wish so to time my words, that the object may be accomplished in a moment," rejoined Jessie. TIME WILL TELL. 269 " You are always right, and nothing could be more desirable, but, unfortunately, I have entered into arrangements, which require Annie to be under my roof at once, I wish her to come out this season ; I have spoken about it to Lady Clara Mullet; and the season won't stand still while we are manoeuvring. But I needn't dwell on these points, because you have too quick a perception not to appreciate them." " It is because I appreciate them that I wish to proceed cautiously, not to mar all by a hasty movement. Annie is so young — " "While she is young is her time for coming out," interrupted Mr. Blandford. " I have views for her, and neither the views nor her youth will wait. She is now in her bloom : but her bloom may fade in a month ; for I need hardly tell you that it is not every woman who retains her beauty at six-and- twenty." " Let us hope Miss Blandford is safe for her teens, at any rate," replied Jessie, her lip trembling at the allusion to her own age. " But, since you desire it, I will speak to her 270 TIME WILL TELL. at once, and use every persuasion to bind her to your wishes — only I can't answer lor success." " No : you will, as you said just now, only make her mistrust you. There is but one way to proceed, Jessie ; and it is the way I told you in the first instance. When you are out walking, you must lead her to the place I showed you, where I shall be waiting with a carriage, and w^ill end all difficulty by taking her home." " I can't do it, Mr. Blandford." " What it is to have to deal with young ladies !" exclaimed Mr. Blandford, in a play- ful tone. " They are the most provoking, agreeable, unmanageable, compliant beings in existence ; and Miss Jessie Balcombe unites all these characteristics in the highest degree. Now, pray what is there objection- able in this scheme ? You acknowledge that I have no object but Annie's happiness. You are willing to set this before her in the strongest way ; yet you raise up obstacles in your own scruples." " It is useless for us to discuss this point, TIME WILL TELL. 271 sir," said Jessie, stiffly. " I have made up my mind not to move in it." "Then you are coming round to what I suggest," rejoined the complaisant Mr. Blandford; "for when a young lady has made up her mind not to do a thing, she is always on the way to do it. And there are reasons why Jessie Balcombe should be willing to serve me — reasons why she shouldn't consider herself so independent of me, if she knew them." " / do know them, and I recognise them, sir, as I hope I have often shown. I know that I owe all the advantages I possess — my education and my present position, to your liberality.'" Jessie seemed, by a variation of her tone, to lay a significant emphasis on the last word. " So your mother couldn't keep that secret," said Mr. Blandford, smiling. " Ml/ mother had no secrets from me," an- swered Jessie, slowly, with her eyes turned on the floor. Mr. Blandford drew back, as if his breast had been struck by a bullet. 272 TIME WILL TELL. Jessie saw the start, though she did not look up, and slic kept lier eyes down even when Mr Blandford moved round to where she stood. She recognised the moment as a crisis in her life, bringing a collision long contemplated, though now rising unexpect- edly, and she knew not whether it would produce a rupture or a compact. Indeed, her mind had no fixed impression at the moment, but was borne away by memories, as in the hour of death, when we are said to see, as from a height, all our past life in a glance. She thought not of Mr. Blandford, nor the passing incident, but of her own girlhood, and the lapse between. And here stood one central figure, the suitor for her love, impressing everything else, recalling her flight from his very arms, and her cherished hope that those arms would circle her again, when he should seek her out, and avow an honourable attachment ; hope now dead, but embalmed, and treasured still. Mr. Blandford had reminded her that she was six-and-twenty, that woman bloomed to-day and withered to-morrow, and since TIME WILL TELL. 273 delays were so dangerous, must lose no time in capitalising their charms. She had paused too long, and must now put this dead and embalmed hope out of her sight. She must marry ! This was the conclusion to which she came, or rather leaped, over the torrent of her memories. And now Mr. Blandford stood by her side. " I can't pretend to misunderstand you, Jessie," he said. " You mean that the secrets you heard from your mother were mine ?" " Both yours and her own," replied Jessie, still looking down. " How happily you describe them ! Yes, they were as much hers as mine, for she had her proportion of the profit, and I see, from her bequeathing them to you, she intends them to be a family provision." Jessie had resented Mr. Blandford's allu- sion to her age, but had cooled down, satis- fied to have shown him that he was in her power, and remembering, as her judgment returned, that it was not her interest to quarrel. But she received this jibe at her VOL. I. 18 274 TIME WILL TELL. motlior more in sorrow than in anger. Her face paled, her bosom heaved, and a tear burst from her eyes, and hung like a diamond in their long lashes. Then she became sud- denly calm, in a moment mastering her emotion, and perhaps her conscience. " My mother had no such intention," she said, in a quiet tone, " as you know she never sought these fatal secrets ; they were confided to her, and she never betrayed them. I make no condition, and desire no reward, for maintaining the same silence." " But silence is not one of the virtues of your sex, Jessie," said Mr. Blandford, in his mocking tone, " and the example of your mother doesn't appear so immaculate to me as to yourself. Now, what if I were to exact some other guarantee ?" Jessie took his offered hand, held it an in- stant, as if in hesitation, and then put it to her lips. " You have the guarantee of my gratitude," she said softly. The action appeased Mr. Blandford, flatter- ing his vanity, while it allayed his mistrust, TIME WILL TELL. 275 and lie did not leave it without response. In fact, it brought him to consider Jessie in a new relation. He never lost sight of the object for which he was seeking an annul- ment of his marriage, namely, the trans- mission of his estate to lineal heirs, and it occurred to him that when he obtained the de- cree, he wovld find no more eligible wife than Jessie. If he desired her silence, what would seal her lips like unity of interests, cemented by matrimony? and on the other hand, where, at his age, could he look for more af- fection ? These considerations passed through his mind in a lump, as it were, and he de- cided for the match at once, though he was too wary, in circumstances so delicate, to do more than hint his intention. " Since I hold this hand, I ha.rdly like to release it," he said, with a gentle pressure, " but I know this must be now — only I shall hereafter ask you for a guarantee more dur- able than gratitude." Again Jessie's face paled, and her lip trembled, but these signs of agitation, what- ever they implied, were unnoted by Mr. 18—2 276 TIME WILL TELL. BlandforJ, who hurried on to the other sub- ject on his mind. " Now, Jessie, you really must help me in this business of Annie," he said. *' Be as- sured, that when she is once in my charge, she will be too well satisfied to make it a grievance against you, and, indeed, it can't possibly be imputed to you, if ^jou act as I have suggested." " Give me three weeks," entreated Jessie. " Let me have time to reason with Annie ; and if I can't prevail, I will act as you wash." " Well, you shall have your way," said Mr. Blandford, pleasantly ; " and I hope the result will verify the proverb in the length of your Ufe." Jessie rose to depart, and Mr. Blandford attended her to the passage. " In three weeks we meet again," he said, as they parted. Jessie did not seem elated by the prospect of becoming his future wife ; for as she emerged from the hotel, she drew a deep breath, as if relieved that the interview was over. CHAPTEE XXV. RUNNING INTO DANGER. On the same afternoon Dr. Chowler left Doc- tors' Commons earlier than usual, saving tlie 4.30 train, and thus securing a margin of time before his dinner hour. To a careless glance he might present no difference from his ordinary appearance at that stage of the day ; yet a close observer would note some- thing — a sort of renovation of his face, pro- bably due to a wet towel, and a freshness in his whiskers, traceable to recent combing, while his cravat had been readjusted, and his clothes neatly brushed, whereas it was his custom to return from the wear of the day somewhat dusty and rusty. He carried his traditional leather bag, containing a brief 278 TIME WILL TELL. or two, Ijut felt it an incumbrance, and stood on the platform considering how it might be disposed of. The obvious plan was to send it homo by a porter, but here rose two objec- tions : first, it would announce his own ar- rival, and thus apprise Mrs. Chowler that he had left work prematurely ; secondly, it in- volved a gratuity to the porter, which she would deem a piece of extravagance. Sud- denly his eye lighted on the booking-clerk, and he struck out a third course. " I wish you would take care of my bag for half an hour," he said, " I will call for it then." The clerk was good-natured, and complied : so Dr. Chowler left the station unencumbered. He bent his steps to Miss Cottle's, walking delicately, and arriving in perfect trim. His knock could be heard in the next house ; in fact, it reached the ear of Mrs. Booles, and she flew to the window in one dwelling, as Midge, in her character of substitute, hurried to the door in the other. " Oh ! we've come, have we ?" thought Mrs. Booles, " and as smart as an old pin. I TIME WILL TELL. 279 thought she was expecting us. She's in the garden, to be sure — but she'll come in now, deary !" These observations were un uttered, but Mrs. Booles supposed herself to be address- ing them to Dr. Chowler, and now went to spy how Annie would fulfil her expecta- tion. Miss Cottle's garden contained an arbour, which stood close to the fence, and Mrs. Booles had constructed a peep-hole which commanded the spot. This proved of great service, for the arbour was a haunfc of Annie's, and Mrs. Booles liked to have her in view when she supposed herself secluded. Annie and Miss Cottle were together when Midge hurried down the garden, and an- nounced Dr. Chowler. " I can see him in the summer-house," said Annie to Miss Cottle, " and you can go on with your gardening." "How will he like that?" replied her timid hostess. "Well, it is what I should prefer in mamma's absence, and though he might 280 TIME WILL TELL. to speak of her afTairs before you, he can't object to your being in sight." But object Dr. Chowlcr did — and almost as he appeared. "Who is that old fright?" he said, as Annie invited him into the arbour. Annie looked round. " A\Tiere ?" she asked, naively. Dr. Chowler coloured a little. " Can't that old woman leave her cabbages for a while ? or better — shall we go into the house?" " You will find it more agreeable here," answered Annie, in a cold tone. She took no notice of his allusion to Miss Cottle. " So we are to look to the agreeable," he resumed. " You carry romance into every- thing, and impart it to everyone. To think of your meeting the learned of the law in a garden — the garden of Eden, I shall call it. You see, you can make a starched proc- tor poetic. How doth the little busy bee — " and he pointed to Miss Cottle — " roam from flower to flower : I don't know whether I have it quite correct, but I feel the spirit TIME WILL TELL, 281 of it." And lie placed his hand on his breast. His speech conciliated Annie, and she laughed. " You are busy yourself, too," he con- tinued — for Annie was knitting : " and you glide from stitch to stitch, as a bird from one twig to another." " That isn't so pretty as roaming from flower to flower. You don't improve, Dr. Chowler, and I think poetry is not your vein, after all. But do tell me one thing — are there any tidings of my mamma ?" " What a sybil you are ! Now you know this is what I have come about." " Then I have guessed right ! And you bring good news !" " As far as it goes. Touton has traced her to within a mile of Walton, when the chaise was met by a private carriage, but where this went to he has been unable to discover — only he can hear nothing of it on the road, and he believes that it stopped by Walton. He has marked a house there, and I have sent him back to watch it." 282 TIME WILL TELL. " And that is all ?" said Annie, disap- pointed. " All ! My dear young lady, you mustn't expect miracles. This is a great step, and I believe we shall know your mamma's abode within three days." " Do you, really ?" " I do— really !" averred Dr. Chowler, in his gay way. She was cheered by his words, and could not help smiling. " Now I feel rewarded," resumed Dr. Chowler. " You see, I hurried off with the news directly it reached me, and left every- thing else to the winds. My one thought was to make you happy." ** I am very sensible of your kindness," said Annie, gratefully. " I have something more to tell 3'ou. You wished me to do everything to delay the suit in the divorce-court. I am happy to say your papa can now take no proceedings till next term. The list of causes to be tried was closed to-day." "I am so glad !" exclaimed Annie. Then TIME WILL TELL. 2S3 her colour faded, as if the satisfaction were mingled with pain. "I can't conceive your motive for being glad. The divorce must come, and I should have thought the sooner the better." " Why, so ?" " Because it will release your mamma from an equivocal position, and establish what you seem to desire — your own inde- pendence of your father." Annie was silent. "I see you are resigned to it now," said Dr. Chowler." " On the contrary. I wish earnestly for delay." " Why ? you must tell me why, and I shall know better what to do." A blush tinged Annie's cheek, but left it pale. " I have a reason," she faltered. Dr. Chowler recurred to his original no- tion that this, if truly stated, could be nothing but an apprehension that the annul- ment of the marriage would interfere with her own chances of matrimony, but Annie's 284 TIME WILL TELL. manner did not encourage liim to pursue the subject, and at this moment, his ear caught tlie announcement that it was five by Surbiton clock, warning him to depart. So he rose to go, and Annie gave him her hand. " You shall see me again in a few days, when we may be able to take your mamma into counsel," he said. "But I mustn't have you thinking too much. It is bad for the complexion, you know. Ah ! now your roses are coming back." He seemed to be talking to cover his detention of her hand, but Annie now drew it away, and he was obliged to go. He praised Miss Cottle's gardening as he passed, and wished her at Botany Bay. Nobody was aware that the scene had another spectator. But Mrs. Booles, from the peep-hole of her observator}^ had seen more than Miss Cottle had — indeed, more than occurred, and she only regretted there was not the same facility for hearing. But she caught a few stray words, and her imag- ination filled the void, indicating the nature TIME WILL TELL. 285 of Dr. Cliowler's intrigue ; and this slie conceived it to be her bounden duty to communicate to his wife. Such a step required to be undertaken dramatically, and she decided to visit Mrs. Chowler in disguise, which would both insure secrecy, and be in keeping with the business ; hence calculated to produce a greater impression. CHAPTER XXVI. DOMESTIC BLISS. The parsimony of Mrs. Chowler had its weak side ; for though it only pinched the parlour, it starved the kitchen, and this involved her in a chronic change of servants. It was in vain that she tried maidens of different countries, exhausted the registry- offices, and tapped the workhouses ; no girls could be found without a stomach, and this oversight of Nature kept her in continual worry. Not only had all her servants stomachs, but she came to the conclusion that they were in that particular doubly provided, like the camel, and she daily won- dered at the quantity they accommodated. Hence servants rarely stayed with her longer TIME WILL TELL. 287 I than a month, though they departed at the i cost of their character; for Mrs. Chowler \ either retained this credential as compensa- j tion or only surrendered it in a state too , damaged for use. .. She had now been some days without a ; housemaid, which threw a strain on the ' cook ; and, therefore. Dr. Chowler, on re- i turning from his interview with Annie, was ! not surprised to find the door opened by ; Arabella. ' " That's right, Arry," he said, playfully, " help cookey !" J " Don't say a word — cook has gone," whispered Arabella. ! " Then we have nobody ?" rejoined the i stunned doctor. " Why did you let her go ?" ! " She said her month was up, and she i would go." I " Month up ! You don't mean to say we \ have kept a servant a month," said the ' j doctor, satirically. i " Now, don't c/iaf, or you will put mam- < mair in a tantrum, and she is now very j civiL" ! 288 TIME WILL TELL. Mrs. Cliowler, in fact, bad determined to leave her partner no ground for grumbling, or as little as miffbt be, consideriuj' that the hegira of servants was one of bis grievances : so sbe bailed bis appearance witb smiles, and be migbt bave been comforted, if smiles could comfort a man for tbe loss of bis cook at dinner-time. "We are all ready and waiting for you," sbe said, witb a gusli of affiibility. " But you arn't so tired, are you ? — at least, you don't appear so. You really look as fresb as wben you went out tbis morning — doesn't be, Arabella?" " Tbat be does !" agreed Arabella, anxious to keep tbe peace. " He is quite smairt." " Fiddlestick !" said tbe doctor, a little sootbed by tbe compliment, nevertbeless. " I do believe be bas been combing bis wbiskers," cried ^Irs. C, merrilj'-. Arabella joined in tbe laugb, and gave tbe wbiskers a pull, wbicb furtber gratified tbe doctor, wbo, besides possessing tbe vanity of man, was not used to such attentions from tbe ladies of bis family. TIME WILL TELL. 289 " You are both in capital spirits," he said : "just in the mood for going a gipsying." This was a little hit at the flight of the cook, and drew a deprecatory pinch from Arabella, but Mrs. Chowler would only see a joke. " You look as if you had really been a gipsying," she retorted, waggishly. The tables were now turned, and the doc- tor thought it wise to laugh, chiming in with the two ladies. Then Mrs. Chow- ler produced the cold mutton, Arabella brought up the potatoes, and they sat down to dinner. It was a spectacle for gods and men, "not to mention women. Yet, perhaps, no neighbour could have thrown a stone if every house had been of glass, and disclosed all the meannesses within. Well is it, that one-half the world knows not how the other half lives ! The dinner was got over charmingly; and Dr. Chowler drank his two glasses of Marsala, and went to his study, and his briefs. VOL. I. 19 290 TIME WILL TELL. His departure was a relief to the ladies, whom he had kept at high pressure, and who could now relax, and let off their spleen. Mrs. Chowler had petted Arabella, to secure a curb on her father; and Arabella submitted, in order to prevent a battle royal. But each felt herself a^^^grieved, and each felt nettled. The mine needed but a spark, and the pro- cess of removing the dinner things supplied the want. " What are you about ?" cried Mrs. Chow- ler, as Arabella flounced past with the glasses : "you move like a dray-horse." " Tray-horse, you mean," sneered Arabella : " that's what you are making me." " I can't make you a lady." "Nobody would expect it of you." " No, particularly if they had seen you rowing on the river, with Alfred Mockright." Here Arabella made the glasses ring. " You'll break those glasses," cried Mrs. Chowler. " Do you think they are made of iron, like yourself." " Why do you talk to me about Atlfred Mockright ?" answered Arabella. TIME WILL TELL. 291 " I shall talk as I like. How dare you speak to me that way ?" And Mrs. Chowler slapped Arabella's shoulder, " You had better slap me again," said the young lady, her eyes flashing fire. " Alfred Mockright, indeed ! Who set me on ? But it is tlie lairst time you shall throw him up to me, I can tell you." And Arabella flung from the room, bang- ing the door behind. Mrs. Chowler did not start in pursuit, being glad to end the altercation ; and she sat down to recover herself. Her rdlge had gone off, and her breath, too, leaving the reflection that both had gone too far. She wished to encourage the siege of Alfred, and feared that her taunt had so stung Arabella, that she would now renounce the design. It was no consolation to reflect that Arabella would provoke a saint — particularly as Ara- bella had not begun the quarrel, and Mrs. Chowler never deemed herself a saint, and pondering over this rap about Alfred, the thoughtful mother could have bitten her 19—2 292 TIME WILL TELL. tongue out, if tlie operation liad been pain- less, and as things stood, she nearly bit her nail oil' instead. The nail was saved by a knock at the .street-door — one of those faltering knocks, called a double-treble, indicating that the knocking party is doubtful about cither his reception or his status. Who could it be ? Be it whom it might, the door must be answered, and Mrs. Chowler considered that the service might be undertaken by herself more fitly than by Arabella. People should never descend on small establish- ments at unseasonable hours, hut they will, and the office of porter is thus forced on many a fine lady, as on Mrs. Chowler. That good housewife was rather startled, on open- ing the door, to behold on the step a muffled figure, which instantly sidled in. " I want to speak to Mrs. Chowler," whis- pered the visitor, mysteriously. The garments were the garments of man, but the voice was the voice of woman ; in fact, Mrs. Booles's. " I am Mrs. Chowler." TIME WILL TELL. 293 " Oh ! — you ! all ! how d'ye do, ma'am ? I am — am Mrs. Booles, ma'am." " Mrs. Booles ?" said Mrs. Chowler, after a pause of bewilderment, and another survey of her visitor's^garments, which, to say truth, were the Sunday attire of Mister Booles. " There's a reason for that, ma'am," replied the visitor, glancing at her dubious garb. " I've come to you in secret, because I might be watched. But we may be over- heard here. Could we go into a private room, ma'am ? for I have to tell you a very important matter. And servants" — Mrs. Booles pointed to the kitchen stairs — " have long ears, ma'am, and long tongues, too." " I should be very sorry to trust any of them, but I am glad to say I am rid of the two wretches recently in my service, and who both left me in the most disgraceful manner. I am without a servant till to- morrow." "Ah, I know what that is, ma'am. I've had great experience with servants ; and I know them : I ought to — for I have kept twenty-eight." 29 1 TIME WILL TELL. j \ "How many?" \ !Mrs. Booles repeated the number, whicli suir":ested to Mrs. Chowler that she had been in India, where, as she knew from some of the Surbiton Indians, it was not unusual for twenty or thirty servants to be kept by | a washerwoman. But Mrs. Booles unde- ceived her on this point. " I remember their all going away at once," she said, "and leaving me in that , large house, with nobody but my cousin, ; Lady Angelina de Vere. And I don't know j what I should have done but for her. She's ' above nothing, ma'am. She cooked the ; dinner, answered the door, and would have ■ washed up, if I had let her. Such a treasure ! She's now confidential lady's maid to the Queen, and I don't wonder at her Majesty I saying she's worth her weight in gold." j Mrs. Chowler now became a little fright- j ened. " I must beg you to come to the point," she said, nervously. Mrs. ]5ooles cast her eyes around — towards the backstairs, and towards the stairs of TIME WILL TELL. 295 state, and on each side — thus making sure there were no listeners. " It's about Dr. Chowler I've come, ma'am — your husband. He is — you may believe it or not, ma'am — he's like all the men." Mrs. Booles made a motion of her head, intimating thereby a low opinion of the sex. But Mrs. Chowler fired up at the reflection on the doctor. "What have you to say against hitn?" she demanded. " It's what he has said against you, ma'am, calling you an old fright — such a beautiful creature, I wonder he isn't ashamed of him- self. But let me put you on your guard, ma'am. He intends to get a divorce." " Who told you this ?" " I heard him tell her, ma'am. You know the party I mean, ma'am : the girl who lodges at that shameless Miss Cottle's, and who comes here teaching." " You can't mean Miss Staunton ?" " Nobody else, ma'am — nobody else ! The young lady, as I suppose she calls herself, hasn't deceived me with her prim looks — 296 TIME WILL TELL. leastways, not since I've seen her constantly meeting a married man, and that man Dr. Cbowler, leaving his beautiful wife at home. IJut they're all alike, ma'am. Booles is just the same, though I gave up all for him, and I believe he's now after that creature Miss Cottle." " But Dr. Chowler has business with Miss Staunton," urged Mrs. Chowler, excitedly. "Yes, ma'am — more business than you, in your trustfulness, think of: very pretty business indeed, ma'am. He is waylaying her, and visiting her whenever he can ; and to-day he comes all spruced up, if you please, and I saw he'd even combed his whiskers." Mrs. Chowler here broke into perspiration. " I once told Jane — I believe you visit Jane, ma'am : she's now married to ]\Iajor Nose- worthy — I told her that men didn't comb their whiskers without intentions, and so it turned out in her case, and so it will in this, ma'am, if you don't assert your rights. You don't know the men, ma'am, I can see. I've followed Booles — often when he's thought me slaviug at home, as I mostly am, and I TIME WILL TELL. 297 know tlie men, ma'am. And I tell you to follow — yes, ma'am : watch him if you don't believe me, and you'll see with your own eyes." " See what, my good woman ?" " See him courting her, ma'am— the good- for-nothing that she is ! for I don't blame the men half so much as the women. Does anybody mean to say they'd come on, if the women didn't encourage it ? No, ma'am ! It's her glancing and smirking and tossing her head, if you please, that's brought Dr. Chowler into her net." This tirade went into one of Mrs. Chow- ler's ears, and did not wholly go out at the other, for, though she ejected Mrs. Booles's conclusions, there remained a residuum of facts which she could not clear up. To her the terrible word " divorce," which so agi- tated Mrs. Booles, merely intimated that the Doctor had been speaking to Annie on pro- fessional business, in which she knew him to be engaged for her mother ; and she had too much sense to regard Annie as a rival. But, on the other hand, the Doctor must have 298 TIME WILL TELL. behaved with great li<^htness, or lie would not have attracted the notice of Mrs. Booles ; and, furthermore, he had abstained from mentioning his visits to Annie, which showed a consciousness that they were not altogether correct. Hence, Mrs. Chowler, without being jealous, was annoyed, and the more as she saw the possibility of Mrs. Booles making the affair a town talk. So she spoke smooth to Mrs. Booles to win her silence, at the same time assuring her that she knew all about the Doctor's visits to Annie, that they were connected with a lawsuit, and that what she overheard referred to the proceedings. This communication, which she saw was dis- agreeable to her visitor, she backed up with a glass of gin : whereupon Mrs. Booles took the hint, and went off quietly, Mrs. Chowler inviting her to come again. " Not like Jane !" thought Mrs. Booles, reverting to the faithless Mrs. Major Xose- worthy. " She slammed the door in my face. But what could j^ou expect from a cook !" At this moment Dr. Chowler had finished his briefs, and was lolling in his chaii', con- TIME WILL TELL. 299 templating vacancy — yet not quite vacancy ; for he saw the figure of Annie in imagina- tion. His feehng for Annie was a kind of Intoxication. It had begun insensibly, and gone on gradually, and now it had power to make him a fool. He thought no evil — at least he meant none. What he laid out for himself was to become her Mentor : to take advantage of the absence of her natural pro- tectors, and accustom her to look to him. Thus he would acquire her confidence, and imperceptibly steal into little privileges, such as being allowed to pat her cheek, smooth her tresses, or kiss her hand — a paternal af- fair, yet with a smack of devilment in it, just sufficient to make it go pleasant. His dream was dispelled by the entrance of Mrs. Chowler, whose aspect, though the smack of devilment was not wanting, looked anything but pleasant. "Hilloa! what now?" he cried, sniffing hostilities. " You have been setting fire to your face." " You had better call me an old fright at once," suggested Mrs. Chowler, breathlessly. 300 TIME WILL TELL. Now the doctor had just been thinking of the name he had called ^liss Cottle, and here it turned up ! What could this signify ? His legal acumen instantly divined a significa- tion, connecting it with the knock he had heard at the door ; and, used to putting this and that together, he concluded that Miss Cottle had overheard the epithet, and re- venged herself by tattUng to his wife. " I can't say you are an old fright," he rejoined, with a good-humour that made him more provoking, " nor will I admit you could be a fright at all ; but I have certainly seen you looking handsomer." "You wicked man, I know what you mean," answered Mrs. Chowler. " You want beauty at your time of life, do you ? And you insinuate that mine is gone !" " What on earth are you talking about ?" " What did you dress yourself up for, when you left your office to-day? — tell me that !" " I tell you to look after your servants if you can get any to stop with 3'ou : mind your own business, and I'll mind mine." " Your business ! — it's a pretty business, TIME WILL TELL. 301 sneaking away from your office, while I am toiling and pinching at home." " You may toil as much as you like, but I'll be hanged if you shall go on pinching," answered Chowler, growing irate. " I'll give this house a new mistress." Mrs. Chowler now thought it time to as- sume, if she did not feel jealousy, in order that she might utilise the ammunition re- ceived from Mrs. Booles. " You villain, you tell me this to my face !" " To your face or your back. The housekeeping shall be done by Arabella in future." Mrs. Chowler laughed in the style of a hyena. " You must get your divorce, first," she said ; " then it won't be Arabella, you know. It wasn't for her you took a half- holiday, to-day." " I took no half-holiday. I came by the 4.30 train, instead of the 5 o'clock, and on business, and my business you undertook never to interfere with. I went straight to Miss Staunton — " 302 TIME WILL TELL. " Did you, indeed." And ^Irs. Chowler split with laughter, though it was rather strained. " Yes, to Miss Staunton, my client. I am glad you find it amusing. She doesn't, poor young lady !" " So you combed your whiskers for her, you wretch !" said Mrs. Chowler, becoming more furious as the ground for complaint gave way under her feet. " You are actually jealous, are you ?" re- torted her lord, derisively, but with flushed cheek. " So now the cat is out !" " You villain, you shan't call me a cat for nothing !" And Mrs. Chowler flew at his face. But she was intercepted by Arabella, who, here rushing into the room, seized her hands. " Mamair, mamair ! w^hat are you doing ?" she said, deprecatingly. " You leave the room !" replied her mother, wrestling to free herself. "Oh! pray be quiet, dear!" implored Arabella. And she made a beseeching gesture to her TIME WILL TELL. 303 father, who sat hke Impatience on a monu- ment, smiling at Eage. " I will mark him — I'll spoil his beauty !" cried Mrs. Chowler. " I'll scream, if you move," said Arabella, growing desperate. " You dare !" And Mrs. Chowler broke away. Arabella rushed to the window, and threw it up. Now it was Mrs. Chowler who be- came alarmed. She saw danger to her " position," and that the danger could be averted only by retreat, so she submitted to the humiliation, and, with muttered threats, quitted the room. Then Arabella closed the window, and sat down. " How miserable I am!" she exclaimed. " I wish I was dead !" And she burst into tears. The doctor felt that he was paying for his frolic. CHAPTER XXVIL ESHER COMMON. While Annie, witliout knowing it, was ex- citing this commotion in the household of Dr. Chowler, Jessie was considering how she could induce her to return to the protection of her father. Jessie desired to effect this object on several grounds. She not only thought Annie out of her sphere at Surbi- ton, but she found herself so ; and she re- flected that she might now secure for both the luxury of Mr. Blandford's abode, with the command of horses, carriages, and ser- vants, and access to the best society. There Jessie herself would enjoy the pleasures of a good position, and might carry out her design of making a suitable marriage — for, TIME WILL TELL. 305 strange to say, she ignored the prospect opened to her of a union with Mr. Bland- ford. At the same time, her reasons for de- siring the change did not shut out consider- ation for Annie. Annie was the person in the world she liked best, and she felt a real interest in her welfare. She wished her to enjoy the advantages her father could give, and use them to help her also to a brilliant destiny. Once or twice, indeed, she thought of Annie in connexion with Harrifield. Had Annie been captivated by the handsome man-of-the-world, or, worse still, had he been fascinated by her ? The ques- tion threw Jessie in a fever for the moment, though she had given up Harrifield, and de- termined on a course which would place her beyond his reach, even if he sought her with honourable intentions. But in this deter- mination she deceived herself — indeed, pur- posely shut her eyes to the secret workings in her bosom, and which had been set in motion by Harrifield 's reappearance. For the time, however, she saw no ground for beholding a rival in Annie, only it was de- VOL. I. 20 306 TIME WILL TELL. sirable to get her out of Harrifield's path ; and in her eagerness, she forgot that thrust- ing Annie into fashionable society was not the way to accompHsh this object. Her plan was cTevelopcd with consummate art, or artfulness. She advanced by degrees, and opened a fresh parallel at every step, thus creeping, as it were, up to the citadel. She began with praises of Mr. Blandford, to which Annie listened, not only with patience, but with evident pleasure. This led her into a di- gression about her own father, to whom she had been disobedient, she said ; and there- fore, could never think of him without re- proaching herself. Her regrets had an effect on Annie, and made her very grave for the rest of the evening, a mood which Jessie took care not to disturb. Next day Annie came in from her teach- ing, fagged, and Jessie went into a tirade against what she called " governessing," bringing forward its vexations with a mi- nuteness that Annie, fresh from their inflic- tion, recognised as too truthful. Then she compared the suburban world with the TIME WILL TELL. 307 world of fashion, and ran into a descrip- tion of fashionable life, and its pleasures — the balls, concerts, entertainments, and banquets which enlivened every day and every night. The recital interested Annie, for whom it had the fascination natural to her age ; and, perhaps, she now first realised what she had given up. Jessie saw the opportunity, and struck in while the im- pression remained. " All this is within jouv reach, Annie," she said. " You may have your carriage to ride in, the first milliners in London to attend you, jewellery, opera, the pleasures of shopping, your canter in Eotten Row, and a train of admirers ; and you, silly child, ^^re- fer slaving here in Surbiton, submitting to the awful cockneyism of the people who set themselves up as its aristocracy, forsooth. Eemember, you can't touch pitch without being defiled, and you can't be in daily con- tact with these creatures without acquiring something of their tone." " I hope I haven't deteriorated very much 20—2 308 TIME WILL TELL. as yet," answered Annie, with a laugh, though tears were in her eyes. " Well, I can't say you have improved." " And, in my case, not to advance, is to recede. I daresay I talk loud in public, like the ladies showing off on the railway platform ; or I walk as if I fancied myself the observed of all observers, like Miss Giddy, or I stand up with my back to the fire like Mrs. Bustle ; or I look the other way, when I see people I don't want to recognise, as Mrs. Chowler does. These things are catching, I know. But I am safe from contajT^ion to a grreat extent : for when I come away from these creatures, as you call them, I enter the atmosphere freshened by Jessie Balcombe, and then all my vulgarity evaporates." " I hope you, at least, find Jessie Bal- combe a safety-valve for the spleen, which a morning with such people must excite in you. " I assure you some of these people are as agreeable as Jessie Balcombe — perhaps even as ornamental. And what is more they TIME WILL TELL. 309 are kind — and what is more they don't find fault with me — and wha,t is — " But here she was encircled by Jessie's arms, and her mouth stopped by a kiss, which ffave her time both to recover breath and stem the torrent of words. " This is the first quarrel we have had — and all through my zeal for your good," said Jessie ; " all because I want to reconcile you to your papa — whom you can't help liking, I am sure." " No, I can't help liking him, but this isn't, from anything he has done, but in spite of what he has done." "Of what he contemplates, you mean," rejoined Jessie ; " it isn't done yet : it may never be done." Annie glanced up. " He may move no further in this m atter — at least, he may never carry it to an issue," said Jessie, looking a little disquieted, " and why should you forego a present good from dread of a future evil ? The present we know, and can make sure of, but what is to happen hereafter is beyond our aj^prehen- sion. Time will tell" 310 TIME WILL TELL. " Yes — only time, but that fact cuts me off from home, and from papa. Now, Jessie, let us drop the subject, and go out for a little sketching." " With all my heart," said Jessie, too adroit to force a decision, and not dissatis- fied with her progress. " But where shall we go ?" This was a question difficult to settle, and Annie called in their hostess, to whom, as one acquainted with the neighbourhood, the point was referred. But Miss Cottle's notions of the pic- turesque were limited, and she could only recommend Hampton Court Palace, which neither of the young ladies thought appro- priate ; so they determined first to dine, and then sally forth in what direction chance might dictate. Dinner was hurried forward, and they were ready to start by three o'clock, when their steps turned towards the Portsmouth Koad. The sun shone brightly, but not oppressively, and the air was tempered by a breeze which made walking a pleasure. A TIME WILL TELL. 311 quarter of an liour carried them through the stragghng street of Ditton, and brought them to the Grreen, where they felt them- selves in the country, and their spirits rose as they left houses behind. Jessie shared Annie's vivacity, and chatted away, acting on her avowed principle — not always so triumphant, of forgetting everything but the present. So they passed under a rail- way-bridge, and crossed a long tract, called Ditton Marsh, where another railway-bridge spanned the entrance to Esher common. The distance showed the spire of Esher Church, rising from a cluster of trees, and forming a little picture, which caught Jessie's eye, and reminded her of the object of their ramble. " There is a subject for you, Annie," she said, " pretty, and yet easy. Now we can have a sketching match, and see who will be done first. Sit down on this bank." " I know a bank where the wild thyme grows," answered Annie, " but this is not the one. The church view may do for a Eosa Bonheur like you, but it is beyond a 312 TIME WILL TELL. novice like me. I shall take that farm- house, ^nd your picture will be as good from there as here : so pray come over there." The house stood on the verge of the common, and was a quaint old pile, to which an oak or two gave a picturesque appearance. Eecognising its points, Jessie accepted Annie's proposal, and they crossed to the front. Here they sat down on the grass, Annie facing one way, and Jessie the other ; and respectively began their tasks. The spot was solitary, though only a stone's throw from the high road, and though skirted by another road, running to Claygate. But the girls did not feel timid ; for the farmhouse seemed a protection on one hand, and the other offered the refuge of a turnpike, while the loneliness was further broken by the occasional passage of a cart, or other vehicle. And the prosjDect was cheerful. The May sun lit up the green; the flatness of the common was relieved by a border of trees, and, beyond this, the eye rested complacently on the TIME WILL TELL. 313 distant village spire and its circling woods. To the left rose a curl of smoke, marking a gipsy encampment, but this was not near enough to be an annoyance, and for a long interval they heard no sound but of birds. These, however, kept the air alive ; for over- head sang a lark, blackbirds whistled from the oaks, and a linnet trilled his wood-notes from the hedge, and the two girls, though of such different temperaments, plied their pencils in equal enjoyment of the concert. After a time, the thud of horses' feet on the grass caused Annie to look Tip, and she beheld two horsemen, who proved to be Alfred Mockright and Mr. Eavel. She dropped her veil, but too late to escape the lawyer's recognition, and both he and Alfred reined up. Her appearance was not such a surprise to Mr. Eavel as she imagined. He was, in fact, on his way from Walton, where he had been closeted with her father ; and Mr. Blandford, having now occasion for his advice, had confided to him his discovery at Surbiton. Thus the lawyer was composed 314 TIME WILL TELL. while Annie could not repress a blush, though he made his salutation as reassuring as possible. " This is IVIiss Balcombe," Annie said, rallying, and laying a stress on Jessie's name — for she knew it was familiar to Mr. Ravel. " You and Miss Balcombe have met before, Mr. Mockright." Alfred, indeed, had instantly recognised Jessie, and now offered her his hand, though a little thrown off his balance to find her and Annie acquainted with the lawyer. " I am afraid we are intruders, and inter- rupt a pleasant employment," he said. " May we hope to see your sketches ?" " Mine is not in a state for exhibition," answered Annie. " But Miss Balcombe can show hers. Hers are presentable at an}' stage." Jessie did not catch this compliment, being at the moment accosted by Mr. Ravel. " I believe my request is unreasonable," continued Alfred, " so I shall not press it — only I wonder what you could find to sketch here, unless it was the gipsy encamp- ment." TIME WILL TELL. 315 " A gipsy encampment would be charm- ing, but where- is there one ?" replied Annie. " Over there. ' Don't you see the smoke curling up ?" " Ah, yes ! I see now." And she turned to Jessie. " Only think of a gipsy encamp- ment ! May we venture into it ? I should so like to sketch one ?" " There can be no objection to that, if you don't have your fortune told," answered Jessie, " And is it penal to be told your fortune ?" asked Annie. " Not if you have faith," observed Alfred. " Or credulity," said Jessie. Mr. Eavel made no remark, but furtively watched Annie. " I doubt if I am qualified," said Annie, "so I shall give up fortune-hunting, and confine myself to sketching. Let us go, Jessie, if you think it is prudent." And she bent to the two gentlemen, and was turning away, when Alfred proffered his escort. " And I hope you will permit me to be 31 G TIME WILL TELL. of the party," said Mr. Ravel — "for ray own sake, rather than yours, as I am afraid I can be of no service. Nor can I remain, indeed, more than a few minutes." He received a polite response, and tliey all walked on together, the two gentlemen leading their nags, and Alfred keeping at Annie's side. END OF VOL. I. BILUVO, rUKTKB, OUILDrOBD.