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 THE FALLEN LEAVES 
 
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 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES 
 
 BY 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS 
 
 FIRST SERIES 
 
 IX THREE VOLUMES.— Vol. I. 
 
 Honbon 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1879 
 
 {The rese-n'ed right 0/ translating this book has been secured by the 
 necessary registrations. Translations into the French, German, 
 Italian, and Dutch languages are published l>y arrangement zvith 
 the author. \
 
 PRINTED AT THE CAXTON PRESS, BECCLES*
 
 f^3 
 hi 
 
 >ft ^^ 
 
 r4 
 I' 
 
 i 
 3 
 
 C0 
 
 CAROLINE 
 
 
 f 
 
 i
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fallenleaves01coll
 
 Experience of the reception of The Fallen 
 Leaves by intelligent readers, who have 
 followed the course of the periodical pub- 
 lication at home and abroad, has satisfied 
 me that the design of the work speaks for 
 itself, and that the scrupulous delicacy of 
 treatment, in certain portions of the stor}', 
 has been as justly appreciated as I could 
 wish. Having nothing to explain, and (so 
 far as my choice of subject is concerned) 
 nothing to excuse, I leave my book, mthout 
 any prefatory pleading for it, to make its 
 appeal to the reading public on such merits 
 
 as it may possess. 
 
 W. C. 
 
 Gloucester Place, London, 
 I July 1st, 1879.
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 U
 
 ■^
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 I. 
 
 The resistless infliiences which, are one day 
 to reign supreme over our poor hearts, 
 and to shape the sad short course of our 
 lives, are sometimes of mysteriously remote 
 origin, and find their devious ways to us 
 through the hearts and the hves of 
 strangers. 
 
 While the yoimg man whose troubled 
 career it is here proposed to follow was 
 wearing his first jacket, and bowling his 
 first hoop, a domestic misfortune, falling 
 on a household of strangers, was destined 
 nevertheless to have its ultimate influence 
 over his happiness, and to shape the whole 
 aftercourse of his hfe.
 
 4 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 For this reason, some First Words must 
 precede the Story, and must present the 
 brief narrative of what happened in the 
 household of strangers. By what devious 
 ways the event here related affected the 
 chief personage of these pages, when he 
 grew to manhood, it will be the business 
 of the story to trace, over land and sea, 
 among men and women, in bright days 
 and dull days alike, until the end is reached, 
 and the pen (God willing) is put back in the 
 desk. 
 
 II. 
 
 Old Benjamin Eonald (of the Stationers' 
 Company) took a young wife at the ripe 
 age of fifty, and carried with him into the 
 holy estate of matrimony some of the habits 
 of his bachelor life. 
 
 As a bachelor, he had never willingly 
 left his shop (situated in that exclusively 
 commercial region of London which is 
 called ^'the City") from one year's end
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 5 
 
 to anotlier. As a married man, lie per- 
 sisted in following the same monotonous 
 course ; with this one difference, that he 
 now had a woman to follow it with him. 
 ^' Travelling by railway," he explained to 
 his wife, ^' will make your head ache — it 
 makes my head ache. TraveUing by sea 
 will make you sick — it makes me sick. If 
 you want change of air, every sort of air 
 is to be found in the City. If you admire 
 the beauties of Nature, there is Finsbury 
 Square with the beauties of Nature care- 
 fully selected and arranged. When we 
 are in London, you (and I) are all right ; 
 and when we are out of London, you (and 
 I) are all wrong." As sm-ely as the autumn 
 hohday season set in, so surely Old Eonald 
 resisted his wife's petition for a change of 
 scene in that form of words. A man 
 habitually fortified behind his own inbred 
 obstinacy and selfishness is for the most 
 part an irresistible power within the limits 
 of his domestic circle. As a rule, patient 
 Mrs. Eonald yielded ; and her husband
 
 6 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 stood revealed to liis neiglibours in the 
 glorious character of a married man who 
 had his own way. 
 
 But in the autumn of 1856, the retribu- 
 tion which sooner or later descends on all 
 despotisms, great and small, overtook the 
 iron rule of Old Konald, and defeated the 
 domestic t3rrant on the battle-field of his 
 own fireside. 
 
 The childi'en born of the marriage, two 
 in number, were both daughters. The elder 
 had mortally offended her father by marry- 
 ing imprudently — in a pecuniary sense. He 
 had declared that she should never enter 
 his house again; and he had mercilessly 
 kept his word. The younger daughter (now 
 eighteen years of age) proved to be also a 
 source of parental inquietude, in another 
 way. She was the passive cause of the 
 revolt which set her father's authority at 
 defiance. For some little time past she had 
 been out of health. After many ineffectual 
 trials of the mild influence of persuasion, 
 her mother's patience at last gave way.
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 7 
 
 Mrs. Eonald insisted — yes, actually insisted 
 — on taking Miss Emma to the seaside. 
 
 '*" What's the matter with you?" Old 
 Eonald asked ; detecting something that 
 perplexed him in his wife's look and manner, 
 on the memorahle occasion when she as- 
 serted a will of her own for the first time 
 in her life. 
 
 A man of finer ohservation would have 
 discovered the signs of no ordinary anxiety 
 and alarm, struggling to show themselves 
 openly in the poor woman's face. Her 
 hushand only saw a change that puzzled 
 him. " Send for Emma," he said, his 
 natural cunning inspiring him with - the idea 
 of confronting the mother and daughter, 
 and of seeing what came of that. Emma 
 appeared, plump and short, with large blue 
 eyes, and full pouting hps, and splendid 
 yellow hair : other\\ise, miserably pale, 
 languid in her movements, careless in her 
 dress, sullen in her manner. Out of health 
 as her mother said, and as her father saw. 
 
 '^ You can see for yourself," said Mrs.
 
 8 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Ronald, ^^ that the girl is pining for fresh aiic 
 I have heard Ramsgate recommended." 
 
 Old Ronald looked at his daughter. She 
 represented the one tender place in his 
 nature. It was not a large place ; hut it 
 did exist. And the proof of it is, that he 
 began to yield — mth the worst possible 
 grace. 
 
 '* Well, -we will see abont it," he said. 
 
 ^* There is no time to be lost," Mrs. 
 Ronald persisted. '' I mean to take her to 
 Ramsgate to-morrow." 
 
 Mr. Ronald looked at his wife as a dog 
 looks at the maddened sheep that turns 
 on him. ^'You mean?" repeated the 
 stationer. '' Upon my soul — what next ? 
 You mean ? Where is the money to come 
 from ? Answer me that." 
 
 Mrs. Ronald declined to be drawn into a 
 conjugal dispute, in the presence of her 
 daughter. She took Emma's arm, and led 
 her to the door. There she stopped, and 
 spoke. ^' I have aheady told you that the 
 girl is ill," she said to her husband. '^ And
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 9 
 
 I now tell you again that she must have 
 the sea air. For God's sake, don't let ns 
 quarrel ! I have enough to try me without 
 that." She closed the door on herself and 
 her daughter, and left her lord and master 
 standing face to face with the wreck of his 
 own outraged authority. 
 
 What farther progress was made by the 
 domestic revolt, when the bedroom candles 
 were lit, and the hour of retirement had 
 arrived vith the night, is naturally in- 
 volved in mystery. This alone is certain : 
 On the next morning, the luggage was 
 packed, and the cab was caUed to the door. 
 Mrs. Eonald spoke her parting words to her 
 husband in private. 
 
 ^' I hope I have not expressed myself too 
 strongly about taking Emma to the seaside," 
 she said, in gentle pleading tones. ^^ I am 
 anxious about our girl's health. If I have 
 offended you — without meaning it, God 
 knows ! — say you forgive me before I go. I 
 have tried honestly, dear, to be a good wife 
 to you. And you have always trusted me.
 
 10 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 haven't you ? And you trust me still — I 
 am sure you trust me still ? " 
 
 Slie took liis lean cold hand, and pressed 
 it fervently : her eyes rested on him with a 
 strange mixture of timidity and anxiety. 
 Still in the prime of her life, she preserved 
 the personal attractions — the fah calm re- 
 fined face, the natural grace of look and 
 movement — which had made her marriage 
 to a man old enough to be her father a 
 cause of angry astonishment among all her 
 friends. In the agitation that now pos- 
 sessed her, her colour rose, her eyes bright- 
 ened ; she looked for the moment almost 
 young enough to be Emma's sister. Her 
 husband opiened his hard old eyes in surly 
 bewilderment. '^ Why need you make this 
 fuss?" he asked. "I don't understand 
 you." Mrs. Ronald shrank at those words 
 as if he had struck her. She kissed him in 
 silence, and joined her daughter in the cab. 
 
 For the rest of that day, the persons in 
 the stationer's employment had a hard time 
 of it with their master in the shoj^. Some-
 
 TEE FALLEX LEAVES, 1 L 
 
 thing had upset Old Eonald. He ordered 
 the shutters to he put up earher that even- 
 ing than usual. Instead of going to his 
 club (at the tavern round the corner), he 
 took a long walk in the lonely and lifeless 
 streets of the City by night. There was 
 no disguising it fi'om himself; his wife's 
 behaviour at parting had made him uneasy. 
 He naturally swore at her for taking that 
 Uberty, while he lay awake alone in his bed. 
 '^Damn the woman! What does she 
 mean?" The cry of the soul utters itself 
 in various forms of expression. That was 
 the cry of Old Eonald' s soul, literally 
 translated. 
 
 ni. 
 
 The next morning brought him a letter 
 from Eamsgate. 
 
 *^ I wiite immediately to tell you of our 
 safe arrival. We have found comfortable 
 lodgings (as the address at the head of this
 
 12 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 letter will inform you) in Albion Place. I 
 thank you, and Emma desires to thank you 
 also, for your kindness in providing us with 
 ample means for taking our little trip. It 
 is beautiful weather to-day ; the seals calm, 
 and the pleasure-boats are out. We do not 
 of course expect to see you here. But if 
 you do, by any chance, overcome your 
 objection to moving out of London, I have 
 a httle request to make. Please let me 
 hear of your visit beforehand — so that I may 
 not omit all needful preparations. I know 
 you dislike being troubled with letters (ex- 
 cept on business), so I will not write too 
 frequently. Be so good as to take no news 
 for good news, in the intervals. When you 
 have a few minutes to spare, you will write, 
 I hope, and tell me how you and the shop 
 are going on. Emma sends you her love, 
 in which I beg to join." So the letter was 
 expressed, and so it ended. 
 
 ^' They needn't be afraid of my troubling 
 them. Calm seas and pleasure-boats ! 
 Stuff and nonsense ! " Such was the first
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 13 
 
 impression wliich his wife's report of herself 
 produced on Old Eonald's mind. After a 
 while, he looked at the letter again — and 
 frowned, and reflected. ''Please let me 
 hear of your visit beforehand," he repeated 
 to himself, as if the request had been, in 
 some incomprehensible way, offensive to 
 him. He opened the drawer of his desk, 
 and threw the letter into it. When business 
 was over for the day, he went to his club 
 at the tavern, and made himself unusually 
 disagreeable to everybody. 
 
 A week passed. Tn the interval he wrote 
 briefly to his wife. '' I'm all right, and 
 the shop goes on as usual." He also for- 
 warded one or two letters which came for 
 Mrs. Eonald. No more news reached him 
 from Eamsgate. '' I suppose they're en- 
 joying themselves," he reflected. '' The 
 house looks queer without them ; I'll go 
 to the club." 
 
 He stayed later than usual, and dranlv 
 more than usual, that night. It was nearly 
 one in the morning when he let himself
 
 14 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 in with his latch-key, and went upstairs to 
 bed. 
 
 Approaching the toilette-table, he found 
 a letter lying on it, addressed to ^' Mr. 
 Eonald — private." It was not in his wife's 
 handwriting ; not in any handwriting 
 known to him. The characters sloped the 
 wrong way, and the envelope bore no post- 
 mark. He eyed it over and over sus- 
 piciously. i\.t last he opened it, and read 
 these lines : 
 
 ^' You are advised by a true friend to lose 
 no time in looking after your wife. There 
 are strange doings at the seaside. If you 
 don't beheve me, ask Mrs. Tm-ner, Number 
 1, Slains Eow, Kamsgate." 
 
 No address, no date, no signatm'e — an 
 anonymous letter, the first he had ever 
 received in the long course of his life. 
 
 His hard brain was in no way affected 
 by the Hquor that he had drunk. He sat 
 down on his bed, mechanically folding and 
 refolding ther^ letter. The reference to 
 "Mrs. Turner" produced no imjDression
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 15 
 
 on liim of any sort : no person of that 
 name, common as it vras, liaj)pened to be 
 numbered on the list of his friends or his 
 customers. But for one circumstance, he 
 would have thro\vn the letter aside, in 
 contempt. His memory reverted to his 
 wife's incomprehensible behaviour at part- 
 ing. iVddressing him through that remem- 
 brance, the anonymous warning assumed a 
 certain importance to his mind. He went 
 down to his desk, in the back of6.ce, and 
 took his wife's letter out of the drawer, 
 and read it through slowly. ''Hal" he 
 said, pausing as he came across the sen- 
 tence which requested him to wiite before- 
 hand, in the unlikely event of his deciding 
 to go to Eamsgate. He thought again of 
 the strangely persistent way in which his 
 wife had dwelt on his trusting her; he 
 recalled her nervous anxious looks, her 
 deepening colour, her agitation at one 
 moment, and then her sudden silence and 
 sudden retreat to the cab. Fed bv these 
 irritating influences, the inbred suspicion
 
 16 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 in his nature began to take fire sloTvly. 
 She might be innocent enough in asking 
 him to give her notice before he joined 
 her at the seaside — she might naturally 
 be anxious to omit no needful preparation 
 for his comfort. Still, he didn't like it ; 
 no, he didn't hke it. An appearance as 
 of a slow collapse passed little by little over 
 his rugged wrinkled face. He looked many 
 years older than his age, as he sat at the 
 desk, with the flaring candlelight close in 
 front of him, thinking. The anonymous 
 letter lay before him, side by side with his 
 wife's letter. On a sudden, he lifted his 
 gray head, and clenched his fist, and struck 
 the venomous written warning as if it had 
 been a living thing that could feel. 
 '' Whoever you are," he said, "I'll take 
 your advice." 
 
 He never even made the attempt to go 
 to bed that night. His pipe helped him 
 through the comfortless and dreary hours. 
 Once or twice he thought of his daughter. 
 Why had her mother been so anxious about
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 17 
 
 her ? Wliy had her mother taken her to 
 Eamsgate ? Perhaps, as a Wind — ah, yes, 
 perhaps as a blind ! More for the sake of 
 something to do than for any other reason, 
 he packed a handbag with a few neces- 
 saries. As soon as the servant was sthring, 
 he ordered her to make him a cup of strong- 
 coffee . After that, it was time to show 
 himself as nsual, on the opening of the 
 shop. To his astonishment, he found his 
 clerk taking down the shutters, in place of 
 the porter. 
 
 "What does this mean?" he asked. 
 " Where is Farnaby ? " 
 
 The clerk looked at his master, and 
 paused aghast with a shutter in his hands. 
 " Good Lord ! what has come to you? " he 
 cried. " Are you ill ? '' 
 
 Old Eonald angrily repeated his question : 
 " Where is Farnaby ? " 
 
 " I don't know," was the answer. 
 
 '^ You don't know ? Have you been up 
 to his bedroom ? " 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ^^ Well?" 
 
 '^ Well, he isn't in his bedroom. And, 
 what's more, his bed hasn't been slept in 
 last night. Farnaby's off, sir— nobody 
 knows where." 
 
 Old Eonald dropped heavily into the 
 nearest chair. This second mystery, follow- 
 ing on the mystery of the anonymous letter, 
 staggered him. But his business instincts 
 were still in good working order. He held 
 out his keys to the clerk. '■^ Get the petty 
 cash-book," he said, ^' and see if the money 
 is all right." 
 
 The clerk received the keys under pro- 
 test. *' That's not the right reading of the 
 riddle," he remarked. 
 
 " Do as I tell you ! " 
 
 The clerk opened the money-drawer 
 under the counter ; counted the pounds, 
 shillings, and pence paid by chance cus- 
 tomers up to the closing of the shop on the 
 previous evening ; compared the result 
 with the petty cash-book, and answered, 
 " Eight to a halfpenny."
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 19 
 
 Satisfied so far, old Eonald condescended 
 to approach the speculative side of the sub- 
 ject, with the assistance of his subordinate. 
 ^'If what you said just now means any- 
 thing," he resumed, ^'it means that you 
 suspect the reason why Farnaby has left my 
 service. Let's hear it." 
 
 "You know that I never Hked John 
 Farnaby," the clerk began. "An active 
 young feUow and a clever young fellow, I 
 grant you. But a bad servant for all that. 
 False, Mr. Eonald — false to the marrow of 
 his bones." 
 
 Mr. Eonald' s patience began to give way. 
 " Come to the facts," he growled. Why 
 has Farnaby gone off without a word to 
 anybody ? Do you know that ? " 
 
 " I know no more than you do," the 
 clerk answered coolly. " Don't fly into a 
 passion. I have got some facts for you, 
 if you will only give me time. Turn them 
 over in your own mind, and see what they 
 come to. Three days ago I was short of 
 postage-stamps, and I went to the office.
 
 20 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Farnaby was there, waiting at the desk 
 where they pay the post-office orders. 
 There must have been ten or a dozen people 
 with letters, orders, and what not, between 
 him and me. I got behind him quietly, 
 and looked over his shoulder. I saw the 
 clerk give him the money for his post- 
 office order. Five pounds in gold, which I 
 reckoned as they lay on the counter, and a 
 bank-note besides, which he crumpled up 
 in his hand. I can't tell you how much 
 it was for ; I only know it luas a bank-note. 
 Just ask yourself how a porter on twenty 
 shillings a week (with a mother who takes 
 in washing, and a father who takes in drink) 
 comes to have a correspondent who sends 
 him an order for five sovereigns — and a 
 bank-note, value unknown. Say he's turned 
 betting-man in secret. Very good. There's 
 the post-office order, in that case, to show 
 that he's got a run of luck. If he has got 
 a run of luck, tell me this — why does he 
 leave his place hke a thief in the night ? 
 He's not a slave ; he's not even an ap-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 21 
 
 prentice. When lie thinks he can hetter 
 himself, he has no earthly need to keep 
 it a secret that he means to leave yom* 
 service. He may have met with an acci- 
 dent, to be sure. But that's not my behef. 
 I say he's uj) to some mischief. And now 
 comes the question : What are we to do ? " 
 
 Mr. Eonald, hstening with his head down, 
 and without interposing a word on his 
 own part, made an extraordinary answer. 
 ^' Leave it," he said. ^' Leave it tiU to- 
 morrow." 
 
 ''Why?" the clerk answered, without 
 ceremony. 
 
 Mr. Eonald made another extraordinary 
 answer. ''Because I am obliged to go out 
 of town for the day. Look after the busi- 
 ness. The ironmonger's man over the way 
 will help you to put up the shutters at 
 night. If anybody inquhes for me, say 
 I shall be back to-morrow." With those 
 parting dhections, heedless of the effect 
 that he had produced on the clerk, he 
 looked at his watch, and left the shop.
 
 22 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 lY. 
 
 The bell which gave five minutes' notice 
 of the starting of the Eamsgate train had 
 just rung. 
 
 While the other travellers were hastening 
 to the platform, two persons stood passively 
 apart as if they had not even yet decided 
 on taking their places in the train. One 
 of the two was a smart young man in a 
 cheap travelling suit ; mainly noticeable by 
 his florid complexion, his restless dark eyes, 
 and his profusely curling black hair. The 
 other was a middle-aged woman in frowsy 
 garments ; tall and stout, sly and sullen. 
 The smart young man stood behind the 
 uncongenial-looking person with whom he 
 had associated himself, using her as a 
 screen to hide him while he watched the 
 travellers on their way to the train. As 
 the bell rang, the woman suddenly faced 
 her companion, and pointed to the railway 
 clock.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 23 
 
 " Are yon vraiting to make up your mind 
 till the train has gone?" she asked. 
 
 The young man fi'owned imjoatiently. 
 **I am "waiting for a person "whom I expect 
 to see," he answered. ^^ If the person 
 travels by this train, we shall travel by it. 
 If not, w^e shall come back here, and look 
 out for the next train, and so on till night- 
 time, if it's necessary." 
 
 The woman fixed her small scowling gray 
 eyes on the man as he replied in those 
 terms. "Look here!" she broke out. "I 
 like to see my way before me. You're a 
 stranger, young Mister ; and it's as likely 
 as not you've given me a false name and 
 address. That don't matter. False names 
 are commoner than true ones, in my line 
 of life. But mind this ! I don't stir a 
 step farther till I've got half the money 
 in my hand, and my return-ticket there 
 and back." 
 
 " Hold yom' tongue ! " the man suddenly 
 interposed in a whisper. " It's all right. 
 I'U get the tickets."
 
 24 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 He looked wliile he spoke at an elderly 
 traveller, hastening by with his head down, 
 deep in thought, noticing nobody. The 
 traveller was Mr. Eonald. The yonng 
 man, who had that moment recognised him, 
 was his runaway porter, John Farnaby. 
 
 Eeturning with the tickets, the porter 
 took his repellent travelhng companion by 
 the arm, and hurried her along the plat- 
 form to the train. ^' The money ! " she 
 whispered, as they took their places. Far- 
 naby handed it to her, ready wrapped up 
 in a morsel of paper. She opened the 
 paper, satisfied herself that no trick had 
 been played her, and leaned back in her 
 corner to go to sleep. The train started. 
 Old Eonald travelled by the second class ; 
 his porter and his porter's companion 
 accompanied him secretly by the third.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 25 
 
 V. 
 
 It was still early in the afternoon when 
 Mr. Eonald descended the narrow street 
 which leads from the high land of the 
 Sonth-E astern railway station to the port 
 of Eamsgate. Asking his way of the first 
 policeman whom he met, he tm-ned to the 
 left, and reached the cHff on which the 
 houses in Albion Place are situated. Far- 
 naby followed him at a discreet distance; 
 and the woman followed Farnaby. 
 
 Arrived in sight of the lodging-house, 
 Mr. Eonald paused — partly to recover his 
 breath, partly to compose himself. He 
 was conscious of a chano-e of feelins: as he 
 
 o o 
 
 looked up at the windows : his errand 
 suddenly assumed a contemj)tible aspect in 
 his own eyes. He almost felt ashamed of 
 himself. After twenty years of undisturbed 
 married Hfe, was it possible that he had 
 doubted his wife — and that at the instiora- 
 
 o 
 
 tion of a stranger whose name even was
 
 26 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 unknown to liim ? ^' If she was to step 
 out in the "balcony, and see me down here," 
 he thought, ^^ what a fool I should look!" 
 He felt half-inclined, at the moment when 
 he lifted the knocker of the door, to put 
 it hack again quietly, and return to 
 London. No ! it was too late. The maid- 
 servant was hanging up her hirdcage in 
 the area of the house ; the maid-servant 
 had seen him. 
 
 ^^ Does Mrs. Eonald lodge here ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 The girl lifted her eyehrows and opened 
 her mouth — stared at him in speechless 
 confusion — and disappeared in the kitchen 
 regions. This strange reception of his 
 inquiry irritated him unreasonably. He 
 knocked with the absurd violence of a man 
 who vents his anger on the first convenient 
 thing that he can find. The landlady 
 opened the door, and looked at him in 
 stern and silent surprise. 
 
 '' Does Mrs. Eonald lodge here ? " he 
 repeated.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES, 27 
 
 The landlacly answered with some appear- 
 ance of effort — the effort of a person who 
 was carefully considering her words hefore 
 she permitted them to pass her hps. 
 
 '' Mrs. Eonald has taken rooms here. 
 But she has not occupied them yet." 
 
 *^ Not occupied them yet ? " The words 
 bewildered him as if they had been spoken 
 in an unknown tongue. He stood stupidl}^ 
 silent on the doorstep. His anger was 
 gone ; an all-mastering fear throbbed heavily 
 at his heart. The landlady looked at him, 
 and said to her secret self: ''Just what I 
 suspected ; there is something wrong ! " 
 
 '' Perhaps I have not sufficiently ex- 
 plained myself, su^," she resumed with grave 
 poHteness. '' Mrs. Eonald told me that she 
 was staying at Eamsgate with friends. She 
 would move into my house, she said, when 
 her fiiends left — but they had not quite 
 settled the day yet. She cahs here for 
 letters. Indeed, she was here early this 
 morning, to pay the second week's rent. I 
 asked when she thought of moving in. She
 
 28 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 didn't seem to know; her friends (as I 
 understood) had not made up their minds. 
 I must say I thought it a httle odd. Would 
 you Hke to leave any message ? " 
 
 He recovered himself sufficiently to speak. 
 " Can you tell me where her friends hve ? " 
 he said. 
 
 The landlady shook her head. '' No, 
 indeed. I offered to save Mrs. Eonald the 
 trouble of calling here, by sending letters 
 or cards to her present residence. She 
 decHned the offer — and she has never 
 mentioned the address. Would you like 
 to come in and rest, sir ? I will see that 
 your card is taken care of, if you wish to 
 leave it." 
 
 ''' Thank you, ma'am — it doesn't matter — 
 good morning." 
 
 The landlady looked after him as he 
 descended the house-steps. '•' It's the hus- 
 band, Peggy," she said to the servant, 
 waiting inquisitively behind her. ^^Poor 
 old gentleman ! And such a respectable- 
 looking woman, too ! "
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 29 
 
 Mr. Eonald walked mechanically to the 
 end of the row of houses, and met the T\ide 
 grand view of sea and sky. There were 
 some seats behind the railing which fenced 
 the edge of the chff. He sat do^ni, per- 
 fectly stupefied and helpless, on the nearest 
 bench. 
 
 At the close of hfe, the loss of a man's 
 customary nourishment extends its debiH- 
 tating influence rapidly from his body to his 
 mind. Mr. Eonald had tasted nothing but 
 his cup of coffee since the previous night. 
 His mind began to w^ander strangely ; he 
 was not angry or frightened or distressed. 
 Instead of thinking of what had just hap- 
 pened, he was thinking of his young days 
 when he had been a cricket-player. One 
 special game revived in his memory, at which 
 he had been struck on the head by the ball. 
 '^ Just the same feeling," he reflected 
 vacantly, with his hat off, and his hand on 
 his forehead. ^^ Dazed and giddy— just the 
 same feehng ! " 
 
 He leaned back on the bench, and fixed
 
 30 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 his eyes on the sea, and wondered languidly 
 what had come to him. Farnaby and the 
 woman, still following, waited round the 
 corner where they could just keep him in 
 Yiew. 
 
 The blue lustre of the sky was without a 
 cloud ; the sunny sea leapt under the fresh 
 westerly breeze. From the beach, the cries 
 of children at play, the shouts of donkey- 
 boys driving their poor beasts, the distant 
 notes of brass instruments playing a waltz, 
 and the mellow music of the small waves 
 breaking on the sand, rose joyously together 
 on the fragrant air. On the next bench, 
 a dhty old boatman was prosing to a stupid 
 old visitor. Mr. Eonald listened, with a 
 sense of vacant content in the mere act of 
 listening. The boatman's words found their 
 way to his ears like the other sounds that 
 were abroad in the air. '' Yes ; them's the 
 Goodwin Sands, where you see the light- 
 ship. And that steamer there, towing a 
 vessel into the harbour, that's the Eamsgate 
 Tug. Do you know what I should like to
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 31 
 
 see ? I should like to see the Eamsgate 
 Tug hlow up. Why? I'll tell you why. 
 I belong to Broadstairs ; I don't belong to 
 Eamsgate. Very "well. I'm idhng here, 
 as you may see, without one copper piece 
 in my pocket to rub against another. 
 What trade do I belong to ? I don't belong 
 to no trade ; I belong to a boat. The boat's 
 rotting at Broadstairs, for want of work. 
 And aU along of what ? All along of the 
 Tug. The Tug has took the bread out of 
 our mouths : me and my mates. Wait a 
 bit ; I'll show you how. What did a ship 
 do, in the good old times, when she got on 
 them sands — Goodwin Sands ? Went to 
 pieces, if it come on to blow ; or got sucked 
 down little by little when it was fair 
 weather. Now I'm coming to it. What 
 did We do (in the good old times, mind 
 you) when we hajipened to see that ship 
 in distress ? Out with our boat ; blow- 
 high or blow low, out with our boat. And 
 saved the lives of the crew, did you say? 
 Well, yes ; saving the crew was part of the
 
 32 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 day's work, to be sure ; the part we didn't 
 get paid for. We saved tlie cargo, Master ! 
 and got salvage ! ! Hundreds of pounds, I 
 tell you, divided amongst us by law ! ! ! 
 Ab, those times are gone. A parcel of 
 sneaks get together, and subscribe to build 
 a Steam-Tug. When a ship gets on the 
 sands now, out goes the Tug, night and 
 day alike, and brings her safe into harbour, 
 and takes the bread out of our mouths. 
 Shameful — that's what I call it — shameful." 
 The last words of the boatman's lament 
 fell lower, lower, lower on Mr. Eonald's 
 ears — he lost them altogether — he lost the 
 view of the sea — he lost the sense of the 
 wind blowing over him. Suddenly, he was 
 roused as if from a deep sleep. On one 
 side, the man from Broadstairs was shaking 
 him by the collar. ''I say. Master, cheer 
 up; what's come to you?" On the other 
 side, a compassionate lady was offering 
 her smelling-bottle. ''I am afraid, su', 
 you have fainted." He struggled to his 
 feet, and vacantly thanked the lady. The
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 33 
 
 man from Broaclstairs — mth an eye to 
 salvage — took charge of the human ^Teck, 
 and towed him to the nearest pnbhc-honse. 
 '^ A chop and a glass of brandy- and-water," 
 said this good Samaritan of the nineteenth 
 century. ^' That's what you want. I'm 
 peckish myself, and I'll keep j'ou com- 
 pany." 
 
 He was perfectly passive in the hands 
 of any one who would take charge of him ; 
 he submitted as if he had been the boat- 
 man's dog, and had heard the whistle. 
 
 It could only be truly said that he had 
 come to himself, when there had been time 
 enough for him to feel the reanimating 
 influence of the food and drink. Then 
 he got on his feet, and looked with in- 
 credulous wonder at the companion of his 
 meal. The man from Broadstairs opened 
 his greasy lips, and was silenced by the 
 sudden appearance of a gold coin between 
 Mr. Konald's finger and thumb. " Don't 
 speak to me ; pay the bill, and bring me 
 the change outside." When the boatman 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 joined liim, lie was reading a letter ; walk- 
 ing to and fro, and speaking at intervals 
 to himself. '^ God help me, have I lost 
 my senses ? I don't know what to do 
 next." He referred to the letter again: 
 ^^ If you don't beHeve me, ask Mrs. Turner, 
 Number 1, Slains Eow, Eamsgate." He 
 j)ut the letter back in his pocket, and rallied 
 suddenly. '' Slains Eow," he said, turning 
 to the boatman. ^' Take me there directly, 
 and keep the change for yourself." 
 
 The boatman's gratitude was (apparently) 
 beyond expression in words. He slapped 
 his pocket cheerfully, and that was all. 
 Leading the way inland, he went down- 
 hill, and uphill again — then turned aside 
 towards the eastern extremity of the town. 
 
 Farnaby, still following, with the woman 
 behind him, stopped when the boatman 
 diverged towards the east, and looked up 
 at the name of the street. ^^ I've got my 
 instructions," he said ; ^^ I know where he's 
 going. Step out ! We'll get there before 
 him, by another way."
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 35 
 
 Mr. Eonald and his guide reached a row 
 of poor Httle houses, with poor Kttle gardens 
 in front of them and hehind them. The 
 back windows looked out on downs and 
 fields l}T.ng on either side of the road to 
 Broadstairs. It was a lost and lonely spot. 
 The guide stopped, and put a question with 
 inquisitive respect. '' What number, sir ? " 
 Mr. Eonald had sufficiently recovered him- 
 seK to keep his own counsel. '' That will 
 do," he said. ^'You can leave me." The 
 boatman waited a moment. Mr. Eonald 
 looked at him. The boatman was slow to 
 understand that his leadership had gone 
 from him. ^'You're sure you don't want 
 me any more?" he said. ^^ Quite sure," 
 Mr. Eonald answered. The man from 
 Broadstairs retired — with his salvage to 
 comfort him. 
 
 Number 1 was at the farther extremity 
 of the row of houses. When Mr. Eonald 
 rang the bell, the spies were already jiosted. 
 The woman loitered on the road, within 
 view of the door. Farnaby was out of
 
 36 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 sight, round the corner, watching the house 
 over the low wooden palings of the back 
 garden. 
 
 A lazy-looking man, in his shirt sleeves, 
 opened the door. "Mrs. Turner at home ?" 
 he repeated. "Well, she's at home; but 
 she's too busy to see anybody. What's 
 your pleasm-e ? " Mr. Eonald dechned to 
 accept excuses or to answer questions. "I 
 must see Mrs. Turner dkectly," he said, 
 " on important business." His tone and 
 manner had their effect on the lazy man. 
 "What name?" he asked. Mr. Konald 
 declined to mention his name. " Give my 
 message," he said. "I won't detain Mrs. 
 Turner more than a minute." The man 
 hesitated — and opened the door of the front 
 parlour. An old woman was fast asleep on 
 a ragged little sofa. The man gave up the 
 front parlour, and tried the back parlour 
 next. It was empty. "Please to wait 
 here," he said — and went away to deliver 
 his message. 
 
 The parlour was a miserably furnished
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 37 
 
 room. Througli tlie open window, the 
 patch of back garden was barely visible 
 under fluttering rows of linen hanging out 
 on lines to dry. A pack of dirty cards, and 
 some plain needlework, littered the bare 
 little table. A cheap American clock 
 ticked with stern and steady activity on the 
 mantelpiece. The smell of onions was in 
 the an. A torn newspaper, with stains of 
 beer on it, lay on the floor. There was 
 some sinister influence in the place which 
 affected Mr. Eonald painfully. He felt 
 himself trembling, and sat down on one of 
 the rickety chahs. The minutes followed 
 one another wearily. He heard a trampling 
 of feet in the room above — then a door 
 opened and closed — then the rustle of a 
 woman's dress on the stairs. In a moment 
 more, the handle of the parlour door was 
 turned. He rose, in anticipation of Mrs. 
 Tm-ner's aj^pearance. The door opened. 
 He found himself face to face with his wife.
 
 38 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 VI. 
 
 John Farnaby, posted at the garden 
 paHng, suddenly lifted his head and looked 
 towards the open window of the back par- 
 lour. He reflected for a moment — and 
 then joined his female companion on the 
 road in fi'ont of the house. 
 
 *' I want you at the back garden," he 
 said. '' Come along ! " 
 
 *' How much longer am I to be kept 
 kicking my heels in this wretched hole ? " 
 the woman asked sulkily. 
 
 " As much longer as I please — if you 
 want to go back to London with the other 
 haK of the money." He showed it to her 
 as he spoke. She followed him without 
 another word. 
 
 Ai'rived at the paling, Farnaby pointed to 
 the window, and to the back garden door, 
 which was left ajar. ^' Speak softly," he 
 whispered. '^ Do you hear voices in the 
 house?"
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 39 
 
 a 
 
 I don't hear what they're talking about, 
 if that's what yon mean." 
 
 '' I don't hear, either. Now mind what 
 I tell you — I have reasons of my own for 
 getting a little nearer to that window. Sit 
 down under the pahng, so that you can't 
 be seen from the house. If you hear a row, 
 you may take it for granted that I am 
 found out. In that case, go back to 
 London by the next train, and meet me 
 at the terminus at two o'clock to-morrow 
 afternoon. If nothing happens, wait where 
 you are till you hear from me or see me 
 
 again." 
 
 He laid his hand on the low pahng, and 
 vaulted over it. The linen hanging up in 
 the garden to dry offered him a means of 
 concealment (if any one hapx^ened to look 
 out of the window) of which he skilfully 
 availed himself. The dust-bin was at the 
 side of the house, situated at a right angle 
 to the parlour window. He was safe behind 
 the bin, provided no one appeared on the 
 path which connected the patch of garden
 
 40 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 at the back with the patch in front. Here, 
 running the risk, he waited and listened. 
 
 The first voice that reached his ears was 
 the voice of Mrs. Eonald. She was speak- 
 ing with a firmness of tone that astonished 
 him. 
 
 '' Hear me to the end, Benjamin," she 
 said. '' I have a right to ask as much as 
 that of my husband, and I do ask it. If I 
 had been bent on nothing but saving the 
 reputation of our miserable girl, you would 
 have a right to blame me for keeping you 
 ignorant of the calamity that has fallen on 
 us " 
 
 There the voice of her husband inter- 
 posed sternly. ''■ Calamity ! Say disgrace, 
 everlasting disgrace . ' ' 
 
 Mrs. Eonald did not notice the interrup- 
 tion. Sadly and patiently she went on. 
 
 " But I had a harder trial still to face," 
 she said. ^'I had to save her, in spite of 
 herself, fi-om the wTetcli who has brought 
 this infamy on us. He has acted throughout 
 in cold blood ; it is his interest to marry
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 41 
 
 her, and from first to last lie lias plotted to 
 force tlie marriage on iis. For God's sake, 
 don't speak loud ! She is in the room above 
 us ; if she hears you it will be the death 
 of her. Don't suppose I am talking at 
 random ; I have looked at his letters to 
 her ; I have got the confession of the 
 servant-ghi. Such a confession ! Emma 
 is his victim, body and soul. I know it ! 
 I know that she sent him money (iny money) 
 from this place. I know that the servant 
 (at her instigation) informed him by tele- 
 graph of the birth of the child. Oh, 
 Benjamin, don't cm^se the poor helpless 
 infant — such a sweet little girl ! Don't 
 think of it ! don't think of it ! Show me 
 the letter that brought you here ; I want 
 to see the letter. Ah, I can tell you 
 who wrote it ! He wrote it. In his own 
 interests ; always with his own interests 
 in view. Don't you see it for yourself? 
 If I succeed in keeping tliis shame and 
 misery a secret from everybody — if I take 
 Emma away, to some place abroad, on
 
 42 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 pretence of lier health — there is an end of 
 his hope of becoming your son-in-law ; 
 there is an end of his being taken into 
 the business. Yes ! he, the low-lived vaga- 
 bond who puts up the shop- shutters, he 
 looks forward to being taken into ]Dartner- 
 ship, and succeeding you when you die ! 
 Isn't his object in writing that letter as 
 plain to you now as the heaven above us ? 
 His one chance is to set your temper in a 
 flame, to provoke the scandal of a discovery 
 — and to force the marriage on us as the 
 
 only remedy left. Am I wrong in making 
 any sacrifice, rather than bind our girl for 
 life, our own flesh and blood, to such a man 
 as that ? Surely you can feel for me, and 
 forgive me, now. How could I own the 
 truth to you, before I left London, knoT\ang 
 you as I do ? How could I expect you to 
 be patient, to go into hiding, to pass under 
 a false name — to do all the degrading things 
 that must be done, if we are to keep Emma 
 out of this man's way ? No ! I know no 
 more than 3'ou do where Farnaby is to be
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 43 
 
 found. Hush ! there is tlie door-bell. It's 
 the doctor's time for his visit. I tell you 
 again I don't know — on my sacred word of 
 honour, I don't know where Farnahy is. Oh, 
 be quiet ! be quiet ! there's the doctor going 
 upstairs ! don't let the doctor hear you ! " 
 
 So far, she had succeeded in composing 
 her husband. But the fury which she had 
 innocently roused in him, in her eagerness 
 to justify herself, now broke beyond all 
 control. ''You he!" he cried furiously. 
 '^If you know everything else about it, you 
 know where Farnaby is. I'll be the death 
 of him, if I swing for it on the gallows 1 
 Where is he ? where is he ? " 
 
 A shriek from the upper room silenced 
 him before Mrs. Eonald could speak again. 
 His daughter had heard him ; his daughter 
 had recognized his voice. 
 
 A cry of terror from her mother echoed 
 the cry from above ; the sound of the 
 opening and closing of the door followed 
 instantly. Then there was a momentary 
 silence. Then Mrs. lionald's voice was
 
 44 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 heard horn the upper room calhng to the 
 nurse, asleep in the front parlour. The 
 nurse's gruff tones were just audihle, answer- 
 ing from the parlour door. There was 
 another interval of silence ; broken by 
 another voice — a stranger's voice — speaking 
 at the open window, close by. 
 
 ^'Follow me upstairs, sir, directly," the 
 voice said in peremptory tones. ^' As your 
 daughter's medical attendant, I tell you in 
 the plainest terms that you have seriously 
 frightened her. In her critical condition, 
 I dechne to answ^er for her life, unless you 
 make the attempt at least to undo the 
 mischief you have done. Whether you 
 mean it or not, soothe her with kind W'Ords ; 
 say you have forgiven her. No ! I have 
 nothing to do with your domestic troubles ; 
 I have only my patient to think of. I don't 
 care what she asks of you, 3^ou must give 
 w^ay to her now\ If she faUs into con- 
 vulsions, she will die — and her death will 
 be at your door." 
 
 So, with feebler and feebler interruptions
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 45 
 
 from Mr. Ronald, the doctor spoke. It 
 ended plainly in his heing oheyed. The 
 departing footsteps of the men were the 
 next sonnds to he heard. After that, there 
 was a pause of silence — a long pause, hroken 
 hy Mrs. Ronald, calhng again from the 
 upper regions. '^ Take the child into the 
 back parlour, nurse, and wait till I come to 
 you. It's cooler there, at this time of day." 
 
 The waihng of an infant, and the gruff 
 complaining of the nurse, were the next 
 sounds that reached Farnaby in his hiding- 
 place. The nurse was grumbling to herself 
 over the grievance of having been awakened 
 from her sleep. ''After being up all night, 
 a person wants rest. There's no rest for 
 anybody in this house. My head's as heavy 
 as lead, and every bone in me has got an 
 ache in it." 
 
 Before long, the renewed silence indicated 
 that she had succeeded in hushing the child 
 to sleep. Farnaby forgot the restraints of 
 caution for the first time. His face flushed 
 with excitement ; he ventured nearer to the
 
 46 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 window, in liis eagerness to find out what 
 might happen next. After no long interval, 
 the next sound came — a sound of heavy 
 breathing, which told him that the drowsy 
 nurse was falling asleep again. The window- 
 sill was within reach of his hands. He 
 waited until the heavy breathing deepened 
 to snoring. Then he drew himself up by 
 the window-sill, and looked into the room. 
 
 The nurse was fast aslee^^ in an arm- 
 chair ; and the child was fast asleep on her 
 lap. 
 
 He dropped softly to the ground again. 
 Taking off his shoes, and putting them in 
 his pockets, he ascended the two or three 
 steps which led to the half-open back garden 
 door. Arrived in the passage, he could just 
 hear them talking upstairs. They were no 
 doubt still absorbed in their troubles; he 
 had only the servant to dread. The splash- 
 ins: of water in the kitchen informed him 
 that she was safely occupied in washing. 
 Slowly and softly he opened the back par- 
 lour door, and stole across the room to the 
 nurse's chair.
 
 IHE FALLEN LEAVES. 47 
 
 One of her hands still rested on the child. 
 The serious risk was the risk of wakinof 
 her, if he lost his presence of mind and 
 hurried it ! 
 
 He glanced at the American clock on the 
 mantelpiece. The result relieved him; it 
 was not so late as he had feared. He knelt 
 down, to steady himself, as nearly as pos- 
 sible on a level with the nurses' knees. By 
 a hair's-breadth at a time, he got both hands 
 under the child. By a hair's-breadth at a 
 time, he drew the child away from her ; 
 leaving her hand resting on her lap by 
 degrees so gradual that the hghtest sleeper 
 could not have felt the change. That done 
 (barring accidents), all was done. Keeping 
 the child resting easily on his left arm, he 
 had his right hand free to shut the door 
 again. Arrived at the garden steps, a slight 
 change passed over the sleeping infant's 
 face — the delicate little creature shivered as 
 it felt the full flow of the open au\ He 
 softly laid over its face a corner of the 
 woollen shawl in which it was wrapped.
 
 48 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 The child re^DOsed as quietly on his arm as 
 if it had still heen on the nurse's la^D. 
 
 In a minute more he was at the paling. 
 The woman rose to receive him, with the 
 first smile that had crossed her face since 
 they had left London. 
 
 ''So you've got the bahy?" she said. 
 '' Well, you are a deep one ! " 
 
 ''Take it/' he answered irritably. "We 
 haven't a moment to lose." 
 
 Only stopping to put on his shoes, he led 
 the way towards the more central part of 
 the town. The first person he met directed 
 him to the railway station. It was close by. 
 In five minutes more the woman and the 
 baby were safe in the train to London. 
 
 " There's the other half of the money," 
 he said, handing it to her through the car- 
 riage window. 
 
 The woman eyed the child in her arms 
 with a frowning expression of doubt. "All 
 very well as long as it lasts," she said. 
 "And what after that ? " 
 
 " Of course, I shall call and see you," he 
 answered.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 49 
 
 She looked hard at him, and expressed 
 the whole value she set on that assurance in 
 foui' words. " Of com'se you will ! " 
 
 The train started for London. Farnaby 
 watched it, as it left the platform, with a 
 look of unfeigned relief. "There!" he 
 thought to himself, "Emma's reputation is 
 safe enough now ! When we are married, 
 we mustn't have a love-child in the way of 
 our prospects in hfe." 
 
 Lea^dng the station, he stopped at the 
 refreshment room, and drank a glass of 
 brandy-and-water. " Something to screw 
 me up," he thought, " for what is to come." 
 What was to come (after he had got rid 
 of the child) had been carefulh' considered 
 by him, on the journey to Eamsgate. 
 "Emma's husband-that-is-to-be " — he had 
 reasoned it out — " will naturally be the first 
 person Emma wants to see, when the loss 
 of the baby has upset the house. If Old 
 Konald has a grain of affection left in him, 
 he must let her marry me after that I " 
 
 Acting on this view of his j^osition, he 
 
 VOT,. I. E
 
 50 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 took the way that led back to Slains Eow, 
 and rang the door-bell as became a visitor 
 who had no reasons for concealment now. 
 
 The household was doubtless already dis- 
 organised by the discovery of the child's 
 disappearance. Neither master nor servant 
 was active in answering the bell. Far- 
 naby submitted to be kept waiting with 
 perfect composure. There are occasions on 
 which a handsome man is bound to put his 
 personal advantages to their best use. He 
 took out his pocket-comb, and touched up 
 the arrangement of his whiskers with a 
 skilled and gentle hand. Approaching foot- 
 steps made themselves heard along the 
 23assage at last. Farnaby put back liis 
 comb, and buttoned his coat briskly. ^' Now 
 for it ! " he said, as the door was opened at 
 last. 
 
 THE END OF THE PROLOGUE .
 
 THE STORY. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 AMELIUS AMONG THE SOCIALISTS. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNlVERSlTf OF llUNOK
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 53 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Sixteen years after the date of Mr. Eonald's 
 disastrous discovery at Ramsgate — tliat is 
 to say, in the year 1872 — the steamship 
 Aqicila left the j)ort of New York, bound 
 for Liverpool. 
 
 It was the month of September. The 
 passenger-list of the Aquila had compara- 
 tively few names inscribed on it. In the 
 autumn season, the voyage from America 
 to England, but for the remunerative value 
 of the cargo, would prove to be for the 
 most part a profitless voyage to sliipowners. 
 The flow of passengers, at that time of 
 year, sets steadily the other way. Ameri- 
 cans are returning from Europe to their 
 own country. Tourists have delayed the
 
 54 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 voyage until the fierce August heat of the 
 United States has subsided, and the de- 
 licious Indian summer is ready to welcome 
 them. At bed and board the passengers 
 by the Aquila on her homeward voyage 
 had plenty of room, and the choicest 
 morsels for everybody alike on the well- 
 spread dinner-table. 
 
 The wind was favourable, the weather 
 was lovely. Cheerfulness and good-humour 
 pervaded the ship from stem to stern. The 
 courteous captain did the honours of the 
 cabin-table mth the air of a gentleman 
 who was receiving friends in his own house. 
 The handsome doctor promenaded the deck 
 arm-in-arm with ladies in course of rapid 
 recovery from the first gastric consequences 
 of traveUing by sea. The excellent chief 
 engineer, musical in his leisure moments 
 to his fingers' ends, played the fiddle in 
 his cabin, accompanied on the flute by that 
 young Apollo of the Atlantic trade, the 
 steward's mate. Only on the thu'd morn- 
 ing of the voyage was the harmony on
 
 TEE FALLEX LEAVES. 55 
 
 board the Aquila disturbed by a passing 
 moment of discord — due to an unexpected 
 addition to the ranks of the passengers, in 
 the shape of a lost bird ! 
 
 It ^\-as merely a ^'eary little land-bird 
 (blown out of its coin-se, as the learned in 
 such matters supposed) ; and it perched on 
 one of the yards to rest and recover itself 
 after its long flight. 
 
 The instant the creature was discovered, 
 the insatiate Anglo- Saxon dehght in killing 
 birds, from the majestic eagle to the con- 
 temptible sparrow, displayed itself in its 
 full frenzy. The crew ran about the decks, 
 the j)^ssengers rushed into their cabins, 
 eager to seize the first gun and to have the 
 first shot. An old quarter-master of the 
 Aquila was the enviable man, who first 
 found the means of destruction ready to 
 his hand. He lifted the gun to his 
 shoulder, he had his finger on the trigger, 
 when he was suddenly pounced upon by 
 one of the passengers — a young, sHm, sun- 
 biunt, active man — who snatched away
 
 5G THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 tlie giin, discliarged it over the side of the 
 vessel, and turned fiiriously on the quarter- 
 master. ^^ Yon wretch ! would yon kill the 
 poor weary bird that trusts our hospitality, 
 and only asks us to give it a rest ? That 
 little harmless thing is as much one of 
 God's creatures as you are. Tm ashamed 
 of you — I'm horrified at you — you've got 
 bird-murder in yom' face ; I hate the sight 
 of you ! " 
 
 The quarter-master — a large grave fat 
 man, slow alike in his bodily and his 
 mental movements — listened to this extra- 
 ordinary remonstrance with a fixed stare 
 of amazement, and an open mouth from 
 which the unspat tobacco-juice trickled in 
 little brown streams. When the impetuous 
 young gentleman paused (not for want of 
 words, merely for want of breath), the 
 quarter-master turned about, and addressed 
 himself to the audience gathered round. 
 ^' Gentlemen," he said, with a Eoman 
 brevity, 'Hhis young fellow is mad." 
 
 The captain's voice checked the general
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 57 
 
 ont"break of laughter. ^' That will do, 
 quarter-master. Let it he understood that 
 nobody is to shoot the hu'd — and let me 
 suggest to you, sir, that yon might have 
 expressed yonr humane sentiments quite 
 as effectually in less violent language." 
 
 Addi'essed in those terms, the impetuous 
 young man burst into another fit of excite- 
 ment. ^^ You're quite right, sir ! I deserve 
 every word you have said to me ; I feel 
 I have disgraced myself." He ran after 
 the quarter-master, and seized him by both 
 hands. ^^ I beg your pardon; I beg your 
 pardon \rLi\i all my heart. You would have 
 served me right if you had thrown me 
 overboard after the lancrua^'e I used to you. 
 Pray excuse my quick temper ; pray for- 
 give me. \Yhat do you say ? ' Let by- 
 gones he bygones ' ? That's a capital way 
 of putting it. You're a thorough good 
 fellow. If I can ever be of the smallest 
 use to you (there's my card and addi'ess in 
 London), let me know it; I entreat you let 
 me know it." He returned in a violent
 
 58 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Imny to tlie captain. '' I've made it up 
 with the quarter-master, sir. He forgives 
 me ; he bears no mahce. Allow me to 
 congratulate you on having such a good 
 Christian in your ship. I wish I was hke 
 him ! Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, 
 for the disturbance I have made. It 
 shan't happen again — I promise you that." 
 The male travellers in general looked at 
 each other, and seemed to agree with the 
 quarter-master's opinion of their fellow- 
 passenger. The women, touched by his 
 evident sincerity, and charmed with his 
 handsome blushing eager face, agreed that 
 he was quite right to save the poor bird, 
 and that it would be all the better for the 
 weaker part of creation generally if other 
 men were more hke him. While the 
 various opinions were still in course of 
 expression, the sound of the luncheon bell 
 cleared the deck of the passengers, with 
 two exceptions. One was the impetuous 
 young man. The other was a middle-aged 
 traveller, with a grizzled beard and a pene-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 5[^ 
 
 trating eye, wlio had silently obseryed the 
 proceedings, and who now took the oppor- 
 tunity of introducing himself to the hero 
 of the moment. 
 
 '' Are you not going to take any 
 luncheon ? " he asked. 
 
 '^ No, sir. Among the people I have 
 lived with we don't eat at intervals of 
 three or four hours, all day long." 
 
 ''- Will you excuse me," pursued the 
 other, "if I own I should like to know 
 what peojole you have been living with ? 
 My name is Hethcote ; I was associated, 
 at one time of my Hfe, with a college 
 devoted to the training of young men. 
 From wdiat I have seen and heard this 
 morning, I fancy you have not been 
 educated on any of the recognised systems 
 that are popular at the present day. Am 
 I right ? " 
 
 The excitable young man suddenly 
 became the picture of resignation, and 
 answered in a formula of words as if he 
 was repeating a lesson.
 
 •()0 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 '^ I am Claude-Amelius-Goldenlieart. 
 Aged twenty-one. Son, and only child, of 
 the late Claude Goldenheart, of Shediield 
 Heath, Buckinghamshire, England. I 
 have been brought up by the Primitive 
 Christian Socialists, at Tadmor Com- 
 munity, State of Illinois. I have inherited 
 ■an income of five hundred a year. And 
 I am now, with the approval of the Com- 
 munity, going to London to see hfe." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote received this copious flow 
 of information, in some doubt whether he 
 had been made the victim of coarse 
 raillery, or whether he had merely heard 
 a quaint statement of facts. Claude- 
 Amelius- Goldenheart saw that he had pro- 
 duced an unfavom-able impression, and 
 hastened to set himself right. 
 
 ^* Excuse me, sir," he said, "I am not 
 making game of you, as you seem to 
 suppose. We are taught to be courteous 
 to everybody, in oiu' Community. The 
 truth is, there seems to be something odd 
 about me (I'm sure I don't know what).
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 61 
 
 whicli makes people whom I meet on my 
 travels curious to knoY/ who I am. If 
 you'll please to remember, it's a long way 
 from Illinois to New York, and curious 
 strangers are not scarce on the journey. 
 When one is obliged to keep on saying 
 the same thing over and over again, a 
 form saves a deal of trouble. I have made 
 a form for myself — which is respectfully 
 at the disposal of any person who does 
 me the honour to wish for my acquaint- 
 ance. Will that do, sir ? Very well, then ; 
 shake hands, to show you're satisfied." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote shook hands, more than 
 satisfied. He found it impossible to resist 
 the bright honest brown eyes, the simple 
 winning cordial manner of the young fellow 
 with the quaint formula and the strange 
 name. '^ Come, Mr. Goldenheart," he 
 said, leading the way to a seat on deck, 
 ^' let us sit down comfortably, and have a 
 talk." 
 
 ^^ Anything you like, sir — but don't call 
 me Mr. Goldenheart."
 
 62 ■ THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ''Why not?" 
 
 ''Well, it sounds formal. And, besides, 
 you're old enough to he my father; it's 
 imj duty to call tjou Mister — or Sir, as we 
 say to our elders at Tadmor. I have left 
 all my friends behind me at the Com- 
 mimity — and I feel lonely ont here on this 
 big ocean, among strangers. Do me a 
 Mndness, sir. Call me by my Christian 
 name ; and give me a friendly slap on the 
 back if yon find we get along smoothly in 
 the course of the day." 
 
 "Which of your names shall it be?" 
 Mr. Hethcote asked, humouring this odd 
 lad. "Claude?" 
 
 " No. Not Claude. The Primitive 
 Christians said Claude was a finicking 
 French name. Call me Amehus, and I 
 shall begin to feel at home again. If 
 3^ou're in a hm'ry, cut it down to three 
 letters (as they did at Tadmor), and call 
 me Mel." 
 
 " Very good," said Mr. Hethcote. 
 ^' Now, my friend Amelius (or Mel), I am
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 63 
 
 going to speak out plainly, as you do. 
 The Primitive Christian SociaHsts must 
 have great confidence in their system of 
 education, to turn you adrift in the world 
 without a companion to look after you." 
 
 '' You've hit it, sir," Amelius answered 
 coolly. ^^ They have unlimited confidence 
 in their system of education. And I'm a 
 proof of it." 
 
 ^' You have relations in London, I sup- 
 pose ? " Mr. Hethcote proceeded. 
 
 For the first time the face of Amelius 
 showed a shadow of sadness on it. 
 
 "I have relations," he said. ''But I 
 have promised never to claim their hospi- 
 tality. ' They are hard and worldly ; and 
 they will make you hard and worldly, too.' 
 That's what my father said to me on his 
 death-hed." He took off his liat when he 
 mentioned his father's death, and came to 
 a sudden pause — with his head bent down, 
 like a man absorbed in thought. In less 
 than a minute he jnit on his hat again, 
 and looked up with his bright winning
 
 ()4 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 smile. ^^ We say a little prayer for the 
 loved ones who are gone, when we speak 
 of them," he explained. '^But we don't 
 say it out loud, for fear of seeming to 
 parade our rehgious convictions. We hate 
 cant in our Community." 
 
 "I cordially agree with the Community, 
 Amelius. But, my good fellow, have you 
 really no fiiend to welcome you when you 
 get to London ? " 
 
 Amehus answered the question mysteri- 
 ously. ^^ Wait a little ! " he said — and took 
 a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat. 
 Mr. Hethcote, watching him, observed that 
 he looked at the address with unfeigned 
 pride and pleasure. 
 
 " One of our brethren at the Community 
 has given me this," he announced. '^It's 
 a letter of introduction, sir, to a remark- 
 able man — a man who is an example to all 
 the rest of us. He has risen, by dint of 
 integrity and perseverance, from the posi- 
 tion of a poor porter in a shop to be one 
 of the most respected mercantile characters 
 in the City of London."
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 65 
 
 With this explanation, Ameliiis handed his 
 letter to Mr. Hethcote. It was addressed 
 as follows : — 
 
 To John Farnahy, Esquire, 
 
 Messrs, Ronald & Farnahy, 
 Stationers, 
 
 Aldersgate Street, London^ 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Mr. Hethcote looked at the address on 
 the letter with an expression of snrj^rise, 
 which did not escape the notice of Amehus. 
 " Do you know Mr. Farnaby ? " he asked. 
 
 '^ I have some acquaintance with him," 
 was the answer, given with a certain ap- 
 j)earance of constraint. 
 
 Amehus went on eagerly vdih. his ques- 
 tions. ^' What sort of man is he? Do 
 you think he will be prejudiced against 
 me, because I have been brought up at 
 Tadmor?" 
 
 ^^I must be a httle better acquainted, 
 Amelius, with you and Tadmor before I 
 can answer youi' question. Suppose you 
 tell me how you became one of the 
 Sociahsts, to begin with ? "
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 67 
 
 ^^I was only a little boy, Mr. Hethcote, 
 at that time." 
 
 ii Very good. Even little boys have 
 memories. Is there any objection to your 
 telling me ^vhat you can remember?" 
 
 Amelius answered rather sadly, with his 
 eyes bent on the deck. '^I remember 
 something happening which threw a gloom 
 over us at home in England. I heard that 
 my mother was concerned in it. When 
 I grew older, I never presumed to ask my 
 father what it was ; and he never offered 
 to tell me. I only know this : that he for- 
 gave her some wrong she had done him, 
 and let her go on living at home — and that 
 relations and friends all blamed him, and 
 fell away from him, from that time. Not 
 long afterwards, while I was at school, my 
 mother died. I was sent for, to follow her 
 funeral with my father. When we got 
 back, and were alone together, he took me 
 on his knee and kissed me. ' Whicli ^^11 
 you do, Amelius,' he said; ^'stay in Eng- 
 land with your uncle and aunt ? or come
 
 68 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 mth me all tlie way to America, and never 
 go back to England again? Take time to 
 think of it.' I wanted no time to think 
 of it ; I said, ^ Go with yon, papa.' He 
 frightened me by bursting out crying ; it 
 was the first time I had ever seen him in 
 tears. I can understand it now. He had 
 been cut to the heart, and had borne it 
 hke a martyr ; and his boy was his one 
 friend left. Well, by the end of the week 
 we were on board the ship ; and there we 
 met a benevolent gentleman, with a long 
 gray beard, who bade my father welcome, 
 and presented me with a cake. In my 
 ignorance, I thought he was the captain. 
 Nothing of the sort. He was the first 
 Socialist I had ever seen; and it was he 
 who had persuaded my father to leave 
 England." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote's opinions of Socialists began 
 to show themselves (a httle sourly) in Mr. 
 Hethcote's smile. '' And how did jom get 
 on with this benevolent gentleman?" he 
 asked. "After converting your father, did 
 he convert you — with the cake ? "
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 69 
 
 Amelius smiled. '' Do him justice, sir ; 
 lie didn't trust to the cake. He waited till 
 we were in sight of the American land — 
 and then he preached me a little sermon, 
 on our arrival, entirely for my own use." 
 
 ^^ A sermon?" Mr. Hethcote repeated. 
 '^ Very httle religion in it, I suspect." 
 
 ^' Very little indeed, sir," Amelius an- 
 swered. '^ Only as much rehgion as there 
 is in the New Testament. I was not quite 
 old enough to understand him easily — so 
 he wrote down his discourse on the fly-leaf 
 of a story-hook I had with me, and gave it 
 to me to read when I was tired of the 
 stories. Stories were scarce with me in 
 those days ; and, Vviien I had exhausted my 
 little stock, rather than read nothing I read 
 my sermon — read it so often that I think I 
 can remember every word of it now. ^ My 
 dear httle boy, the Christian religion, as 
 Christ taught it, has long ceased to be the 
 rehgion of the Christian world. A selfish 
 and cruel Pretence is set up in its place. 
 Your own father is one example of the
 
 70 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 truth of this saying of mine. He has ful- 
 filled the first and foremost duty of a true 
 Christian — the duty of forgiving an injury. 
 For this, he stands disgraced in the estima- 
 tion of all his friends : they have renounced 
 and abandoned him. He forgives them, 
 and seeks peace and good company in the 
 New World, among Christians like himself. 
 You will not repent leaving home with 
 him ; you will be one of a loving family, 
 and, when you are old enough, you wiU be 
 free to decide for yourseK what your future 
 life shall be.' That was all I knew about 
 the Sociahsts, when we reached Tadmor 
 after our long journey." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote's prejudices made their 
 appearance again. ^'A barren sort of 
 place," he said, '^judging by the name." 
 
 *^ Barren? What can you be thinking 
 of ? A prettier place I never saw, and never 
 expect to see again. A clear winding river, 
 running into a little blue lake. A broad 
 hill- side, all laid out in flower-gardens, and 
 shaded by splendid trees. On the top of the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 71 
 
 hill, the buildings of the Community, som.e 
 of brick and some of wood, so covered ^dth 
 creepers and so encii'cled with verandahs 
 that I can't teU you to this day what style 
 of architecture they were built in. More 
 trees behind the houses — and, on the other 
 side of the hill, cornfields, nothing but corn- 
 fields rolHng away and away in great yeUow 
 plains, till they reached the golden sky 
 and the setting sun, and were seen no 
 more. That was our first view of Tadmor, 
 when the stage-coach dropped us at the 
 town." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote still held out. ^^ And what 
 about the people who Hve m this earthly 
 Paradise?" he asked. '^ Male and female 
 saints — eh ? " 
 
 '' Oh dear no, sir! The very opposite of 
 saints. They eat and diink hke their 
 neighbours. They never think of wearing 
 dh'ty horsehair when they can get clean 
 linen. And when the}^ are tempted to 
 misconduct themselves, they find a better 
 way out of it than knotting a cord and
 
 72 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 tlirashiug their own backs. Saints ! Tliey 
 all ran out together to bid us welcome like 
 a lot of school-children; the first thing 
 they did was to kiss us, and the next thing 
 was to give us a mug of wine of their own 
 making. Saints ! Oh, Mr. Hethcote, what 
 mil you accuse us of being next ? I 
 declare yom' suspicions of the poor Socialists 
 keep cropping up again as fast as I cut 
 them down. May I make a guess, sir, 
 without offending you? From one or two 
 things I have noticed, I strongly suspect 
 you're a British clergyman." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote was conquered at last : he 
 burst out laughing. '^ You have discovered 
 me," he said, ^^ travelling in a coloured 
 cravat and a shooting jacket ! I confess I 
 should like to know how." 
 
 '^ It's easily explained, sir. Visitors of all 
 sorts are welcome at Tadmor. We have 
 a large experience of them in the travelling 
 season. They all come with their own 
 private suspicion of us lurking about the 
 corners of theii' eyes. They see everything
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 73 
 
 Tve have to show them, and eat and drink 
 at our tahle, and join in oiu' amusements, 
 and get as pleasant and friendly with us 
 as can be. The time comes to say good- 
 bye — and then we find them out. If a 
 guest who has been laughing and enjoying 
 himself all day, suddenly becomes serious 
 when he takes his leave, and shows that 
 little lurking devil of suspicion again about 
 the corners of his eyes — it's ten chances 
 to one that he's a clergyman. Xo offence, 
 Mr. Hethcote ! I acknowledge with pleasure 
 that the corners of ijour eyes are clear 
 again. You're not a very clerical clergy- 
 man, sir, after all — I don't despair of 
 converting you, yet ! " 
 
 " Go on with your story, Amelius. 
 You're the queerest fellow I have met with, 
 for many a long day past." 
 
 ^^I'm a little doubtful about going on 
 wdth my story, sir. I have told you how I 
 got to Tadmor, and what it looks like, and 
 what sort of people live in the place. If I 
 am to get on beyond that, I must jumji to
 
 74 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 the time when I was old enough to learn the 
 Eules of the Community." 
 
 '' Well— and what then ? " 
 
 '^ Well, Mr. Hethcote, some of the Eules 
 might offend you." 
 
 ^'Try!" 
 
 ^^ All right, sir! Don't blame me; Tm 
 not ashamed of the Eules. And now, if I 
 am to speak, I must speak seriously on a 
 serious subject ; I must begin with our reli- 
 gious princij^les. We find our Christianity 
 in the spirit of the New Testament — not in 
 the letter. We have three good reasons for 
 objecting to pin our faith on the words 
 alone, in that book. First, because we are 
 not sure that the Enghsh translation is 
 always to be depended on as accurate and 
 honest. Secondly, because we know that 
 (since the invention of printing) there is 
 not a copy of the book in existence which is 
 free from errors of the press, and that (before 
 the invention of printing) those errors, in 
 manuscript copies, must as a matter of 
 "ourse have been far more serious and far
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 75 
 
 more numerous. Thirdly, because there is 
 plain internal evidence (to say nothing of 
 discoveries actiaally made in the present 
 day) of interpolations and coiTiiptions, in- 
 troduced into the manuscript copies as they 
 succeeded each other in ancient times. 
 These di-avrbacks are of no importance, 
 however, in om- estimation. We find, in 
 the spirit of the book, the most simple and 
 most perfect system of rehgion and morality 
 that humanity has ever received — and with 
 that we are content. To reverence God ; 
 and to love our neighbour as om'selves : if 
 we had only those two commandments to 
 guide us, we should have enough. The 
 whole collection of Doctrines (as they are 
 called) we reject at once, without even 
 stopping to discuss them. We aj^ply to 
 them the test suggested by Christ himself : 
 by their fruits ye shall know them. The 
 fruits of Doctrines, in the past (to quote 
 three instances only), have been the Spanish 
 Inquisition, the Massacre of St. Bartho- 
 lomew, and the Thirty Years' War — and)
 
 76 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 tlie fruits, in the present, are dissension, 
 bigotry, and opposition to useful reforms. 
 Away with Doctrines ! In the interests 
 of Christianity, away with them ! We are 
 to love our enemies ; we are to forgive 
 injuries ; we are to help the needy ; we 
 are to be pitiful and courteous, slow to 
 judge others, ashamed to exalt ourselves. 
 That teaching doesn't lead to tortures, 
 massacres, and wars ; to envy, hatred, and 
 malice — and for that reason it stands re- 
 vealed to us as the teaching that we can 
 trust. There is our rehgion, sir, as we find 
 it in the Eules of the Community." 
 
 ^' Very well, Amelius. I notice, in pass- 
 ing, that the Community is in one respect 
 like the Pope — the Community is infallible. 
 We won't dwell on that. You have stated 
 your principles. As to the application of 
 them next ? Nobody has a right to be rich 
 among you, of course ? " 
 
 "• Put it the other way, Mr. Hethcote. 
 All men have a right to be rich — provided 
 they don't ma':e other people poor, as a
 
 TILE FALLEN LEAVES. 77 
 
 part of the process. We don't tronl3le our- 
 selves miicli about money ; that's the truth. 
 We are farmers, carpenters, ^veavers, and 
 printers ; and ^hat ^'e earn (ask our neigh- 
 bours if we don't earn it honestly) goes into 
 the common fund. A man who comes to 
 us with money puts it into the fimd, and so 
 makes things easy for the next man who 
 comes with empty pockets. While they are 
 ^ith us, they all Hve in the same comfoii, 
 and have theu' equal share in the same 
 13rofits — deducting the sum in reserve for 
 sudden calls and bad times. If they leave 
 us, the man who has brought money with 
 him has his undisputed right to take it 
 away again ; and the man who has brought 
 none bids us good-bye, all the richer for his 
 equal share in the prohts which he has 
 personally earned. The only fuss at our 
 place about money that I can remember 
 was the fuss about my five hundred a j'ear. 
 I wanted to hand it over to the fund. It 
 was my o^ii, mind — ^inherited from my 
 mother's property, on )my/i coming of age.
 
 78 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 The Elders wouldn't hear of it : the Council 
 wouldn't hear of it : the general vote of the 
 Community wouldn't hear of it. ' We 
 agreed with his father that he should decide 
 for himself, when he grew to manhood' — 
 that was how they put it. ^ Let him go 
 hack to the Old World ; and let him he free 
 to choose, by the test of his own experience, 
 what his future life shall be.' How do you 
 think it will end, Mr. Hethcote ? ShaU I 
 return to the Community ? Or shall I stop 
 in London? " 
 
 Mr. P e answered, without a mo- 
 
 ^n, ^^You will stop in 
 
 . d ,0: - 'It ( 
 
 two to one, sir, he goes 
 
 :uK to the Community." 
 
 In those words, a third voice (speaking 
 in a strong New England accent) insinuated 
 itself into the convers-.ition from behind. 
 AmeUus and Mr. Hethcote, looking rounr 
 discovered a long, lean, grave stranger—^ 
 with his face overshadowed by a "" 
 felt hat. '' Have you been listf
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 79 
 
 our conversation?" Mr. Hetlicote asked 
 hanglitily. 
 
 ^^ I have been listening," answered the 
 grave stranger, ^^witli considerable interest. 
 This young man, I find, opens a new 
 chapter to me in the book of humanity. 
 Do you accept my bet, sir ? ]\Iy name is 
 Kufus Dingwell ; and my home is at Cool- 
 spring, Mass. You do not bet ? I express 
 my regret, and have the pleasure of taking 
 a seat alongside of you. What is your 
 name, sir ? Hethcote ? We have one of 
 that name at Coolspring. * much 
 
 respected. Mr. Claude ^ 
 you are no stranger tc 
 procured yom- name from tL . , r t, 
 
 the little difficulty occurred just now abu 
 the bird. Yom' name considerably sur- 
 prised me." 
 
 ^^AVhy?"Ameliu. asked. 
 
 L'* Well, sir — not to say that your surname 
 
 v'ueing Goldenheart) reminds one unex- 
 
 rj^.ijfi^ly of ' The Pilgrim's Progress ' — I 
 
 'O be already acquainted with you.
 
 80 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Ameliiis looked puzzled. "By reputa- 
 tion ? " he said. '^ What does that mean ? " 
 
 " It means, sir, that you occupy a j)i'o- 
 minent position in a recent nuniher of our 
 popular journal, entitled The Coolspring 
 Democrat. The late romantic incident 
 which caused the withdrawal of Miss MeUi- 
 cent from your Community has produced a 
 species of social commotion at Coolspring. 
 Among our ladies, the tone of sentiment, 
 sir, is universally favourable to you. When 
 I left, I do assure you, you were a popular 
 character among us. The name of Claude 
 A. Goldenheart was, so to speak, in every- 
 body's mouth." 
 
 Amehus listened to this, with the colour 
 suddenly deepening on his face, and with 
 every appearance of heartfelt annoyance 
 and regret. " There is no such thing as 
 keeping a secret in America," he said, 
 irritably. " Some spy must have got 
 among us ; none of our people would have 
 exposed the poor ladj^ to public comment. 
 How would you like it, Mr. Dingwell, if the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 81 
 
 newspaj)er publisliecl the private sorrows of 
 your wife or your daugliter ? " 
 
 Eufus Dingwell answered witli the 
 straightforward sincerity of feehng which 
 is one of the indisputable virtues of his 
 nation. ^'I had not thought of it in tliat 
 Hght, sir," he said. ^^ You have been good 
 enough to credit me witli a wife or a 
 daughter. I do not possess either of those 
 ladies ; but your argument hits me, not- 
 withstanding — hits me hard, I tell you." 
 He looked at Mr. Hethcote, who sat silently 
 and stifSy disapproving of all this familiarity, 
 and apphed himself in perfect innocence 
 and good faith to making things pleasant 
 in that quarter. '' You are a stranger, sir," 
 said Eufus; '^ and you will doubtless wish 
 to peruse the article which is the subject 
 of conversation?" He took a newspaper 
 slip from his pocket-book, and offered it to 
 the astonished Englishman. "I shall be 
 glad to hear your sentiments, sir, on the 
 view propounded by our mutual friend, 
 Claude A. Goldenheart." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Before Mr. Hethcote coiild reply, Amelius 
 interposed in his own headlong way. ^' Give 
 it to nie ! I want to read it first ! " 
 
 He snatched at the newspaper slip. 
 Eufus checked him with grave composure. 
 ^^ I am of a cool temp)erament myself, sh ; 
 but that don't prevent me from admhing 
 heat in others. Short of boiling point — 
 mind that ! " With this hint, the wise 
 ISTew-Engiander permitted Amelius to take 
 possession of the printed slij). 
 
 Mr. Hethcote, finding an opportunity of 
 saying a word at last, asserted himself a 
 little haughtily. '' I beg you will both of 
 you understand that I decline to read any- 
 thing which relates to another person's 
 private affairs." 
 
 Neither the one nor the other of his 
 companions paid the slightest heed to this 
 announcement. Amehus was reading the 
 newspaper extract, and placid Rufus was 
 watching him. In another moment, he 
 crumpled up the shp, and threw it in- 
 dignantly on the deck. ^'It's as full of lies 
 as it can hold ! " he burst out.
 
 THE FALLEN LEA VES. 8 
 
 Q 
 
 " It's all over the United States, by this 
 time," Eiifus remarked. "And I don't 
 doubt we shall find the English papers 
 have copied it, when we get to Liverpool. 
 If you will take my advice, sir, you will 
 cultivate a sagacious insensibility to the 
 comments of the press." 
 
 ''Do you think I care for myself?" 
 Amehus asked indignantly. " It's the poor 
 woman I am thinking of. What can I do 
 to clear her character ? " 
 
 '' Well, sir," suggested Eufus, '' in your 
 place, I should have a notification circulated 
 through the ship, announcing a lecture on 
 the subject (weather permitting) in the 
 course of the afternoon. That's the way 
 we should do it at Coolspring." 
 
 Amelius listened without conviction. 
 '' It's certainly useless to make a secret 
 of the matter now," he said ; '' but I don't 
 see my way to making it more pubKc still." 
 He paused, and looked at Mr. Hethcote. 
 ''It so haj^pens, sir," he resumed, "that 
 this unfortunate affair is an example of
 
 84 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 some of the Kiiles of our Community, 
 -which I had not had time to speak of, 
 when Mr. Ding well here joined ns. It 
 will be a relief to me to ». jntradict these 
 abominable falsehoods to somebody ; and 
 I should like (if you don't mind) to hear 
 what you think of my conduct, from your 
 own point of view. It might prepare me," 
 he added, smiHng rather uneasily, ^'for 
 what I may find in the Enghsh news- 
 papers." 
 
 With these words of introduction he told 
 his sad story — jocosely descr "" ad in the 
 newspaper heading as ^^Miss M'ellicent and 
 Goldenheart among the Socialists at Ic 
 
 mor."
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 85 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 '^ NeaPvLY six months since," said AmeKus, 
 ^^we had notice by letter of ihQ arrival of 
 an unmarried English lady, who wished to 
 become a member of om- Community. You 
 will unde:^:tand my motive in keeping her 
 family name a secret : even the newspaper 
 j-.j:t£fe grace enough only to mention her by 
 he± Christian name. I don't want to cheat 
 you out of your interest ; so I will own at 
 jnce that Miss Mellicent was not beautiful, 
 and not young. When she came to us, she 
 was thirty- eight years old, and time and 
 trial had set their marks on her face plainly 
 enough for anybody to see. 'N'ot^dthstand- 
 ing this, we all thou*^'' h n interesting 
 woman. It might "" .. .he sweetness
 
 86 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 of lier voice ; or perhaps it was sometliing 
 in her expression that took oui' fancy. 
 There ! I can't explain it ; I can only say 
 there were yonng women and pretty women 
 at Taclmor who failed to win ns as Miss 
 Mellicent did. Contradictory enongh, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 Mr. Hethcote said he understood the con- 
 tradiction. Rufus put an appropriate ques- 
 tion : '^ Do you possess a photograph of this 
 lady, sir ? ' ' 
 
 ^'No," said Amehus ; ^' I wish I did. 
 Well, we received her, on her arrival, in 
 the Common Room — called so because we 
 all assemble there every evening, when the 
 work of the day is done. Sometimes w^e 
 have the reading of a poem or a novel ; 
 sometimes debates on the social and poli- 
 tical questions of the time in England and 
 America ; sometimes music, or dancing, or 
 cards, or billiards, to amuse us. When a new 
 member arrives, we have the ceremonies 
 of introduction. I was close by the Elder 
 Brother (that's the name we give to the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 87 
 
 chief of tlie Community) when two of the 
 women led Miss Mellicent in. He's a 
 hearty old fellow, who lived the first part of 
 his life on his own clearing in one of the 
 Western forests. To this day, he can't talk 
 long, without showing, in one way or 
 another, that his old famiharity with the 
 trees still keeps its place in his memory. 
 He looked hard at Miss Mellicent, under 
 his shaggy old white eyebrows ; and I heard 
 him whisper to himself, ' Ah, dear me ! 
 Another of The Fallen Leaves ! ' I knew 
 what he meant. . The people wdio have 
 drawn blanks in the lottery of hfe — the 
 people who have toiled hard after hax^piness, 
 and have gathered nothing but disappoint- 
 ment and sorrow ; the friendless and the 
 lonely, the wounded and the lost — these are 
 the people vvliom our good Elder Brother 
 calls The Fallen Leaves. I like the saying 
 myself; it's a tender way of speaking of our 
 poor fellow-creatiu'cs who are down in the 
 w^orld." 
 
 He paused for a moment, looking out
 
 88 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 tiioiigiit fully over the vast void of sea and 
 sky. A j)assing shadow of sadness clouded 
 his bright young face. The two elder men 
 looked at him in silence, feehng (in widely 
 different ways) the same compassionate in- 
 terest. What was the life that lay before 
 him? And — God help him! — what would 
 he do with it ? 
 
 ^' Where did I leave off?" he asked, 
 rousing himself suddenly. 
 
 "You left Miss Mellicent, sir, in the 
 Common Eoom — the venerable citizen with 
 the white eyebrows being suitably engaged 
 in moralizing on her." In those terms the 
 ever-ready Rufus set the story going again. 
 
 " Quite right," AmeHus resumed. " There 
 •she was, poor thing, a little thin timid 
 creature, in a white dress, with a black scarf 
 over her shoulders, trembling and wonder- 
 ing in a room full of strangers. The Elder 
 Brother took her by the hand, and kissed 
 her on the forehead, and bade her heartily 
 welcome m the name of the Community. 
 Then the women followed his example, and
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 89 
 
 the men all shook hands \<iih. her. And 
 then our chief put the thi'ee questions, 
 which he is hound to address to all new 
 arrivals when they join us : 'Do you come 
 here of your own fi-ee will ? Do you hring 
 vdih you a written recommendation from 
 one of our brethren, which satisfies us that 
 we do no wrong to ourselves or to others in 
 receiving you ? Do you understand that 
 you are not hound to us by vows, and that 
 you are fi'ee to leave us again if the life here 
 is not agreeable to you?' Matters being 
 settled so far, the reading of the Piules, and 
 the Penalties imposed for breaking them, 
 came next. Some of the Pailes you know 
 already; others of smaller importance I 
 needn't trouble you with. As for the 
 Penalties, if you incur the lighter ones, you 
 are subject to pubhc rebuke, or to isolation 
 for a time from the social life of the Com- 
 munity. If you incur the heavier ones, yon 
 are either sent out into the world again for 
 a given period, to return or not as you 
 please ; or you are struck off the hst of
 
 90 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 members, and expelled for good and alL 
 Suppose these preliminaries agreed to by 
 Miss Mellicent \di\x silent submission, and 
 let us go on to tlie close of the ceremon}^ — 
 the reading of the Pailes "which settle the 
 questions of Love and Marriage." 
 
 *^Aha!" said Mr. Hethcote, ''we are 
 coming to the difiiculties of the Community 
 at last!" 
 
 '' Are ^\e also coming to Miss Mellicent, 
 sir?" Eufus inquired. ''As a citizen of a 
 free country in which I can love in one 
 State, marry in another, and be divorced 
 in a third, I am not interested in your Rules 
 — I am interested in 5'our Lady." 
 
 "The two are inseparable in this case," 
 Amehus answered gravely. " If I am to 
 speak of Miss Melhcent, I must speak of 
 the Rules ; you will soon see why. Our 
 Community becomes a despotism, gentle- 
 men, in dealing with love and marriage. 
 For example, it positively prohibits any 
 member afflicted with hereditary disease 
 from marrying at all ; and it reserves to
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 91 
 
 itself, iu the case of eveiy proposed 
 marriage among us, tlie riglit of per- 
 mitting or forbidding it, in council. We 
 can't even fall in love with eacli other, 
 ^thout being bound, under penalties, to 
 report it to the Elder Brother ; T^'ho, in his 
 turn, communicates it i'o the monthly 
 council ; who, in theu' turn, decide whether 
 the courtship may go on or not. That's 
 not the worst of it, even yet ! In some 
 cases — where we haven't the slightest in- 
 tention of faUing in love with each other — 
 the governing body takes the initiative. 
 ' You two Tsill do well to marry ; we see it, 
 if you don't. Just think of it, ^ill you ? ' 
 You may laugh ; some of om' happiest 
 marriages have been made in that way« 
 Our governors in council act on an estab- 
 lished principle : here it is in a nutshell. 
 The results of ex2:)erience in the matter of 
 marriage, all over the world, show that a 
 really wise choice of a husband or a wife is 
 an exception to the rule ; and that husbands 
 and wives in general would be haj^pier
 
 •92 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 togetlier if their marriages were managed 
 for tliem by competent advisers on either 
 side. Laws laid down on such lines as 
 these, and others equally strict, which I 
 have not mentioned yet, were not put in 
 force, Mr. Hethcote, as you suppose, with- 
 out serious difficulties — difficulties which 
 threatened the very existence of the Com- 
 munity. But that was before my time. 
 When I grew up, I found the husbands 
 and wives about me content to acknowledge 
 that the Eules fulfilled the purpose with 
 which they had been made — the greatest 
 happiness of the greatest number. It all 
 looks very absurd, I dare say, from your point 
 of "siew. But these queer regulations of ours 
 answer the Christian test — by then' fruits 
 ye shall know them. Cm' married people 
 don't live on separate sides of the house ; 
 our children are all healthy ; wife-beating is 
 unknown among us ; and the practice in 
 our divorce court wouldn't keep the most 
 moderate lawyer on bread and cheese. Can 
 you say as much for the success of the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 9o 
 
 marriage laws in Europe ? I leave you, 
 gentlemen, to form your own opinions." 
 
 Mr. Hetlicote declined to express an 
 opinion. Eufus declined to resign liis in- 
 terest in the lady. "And what did Miss 
 Mellicent say to it ?" he inquired. 
 
 " She said something that startled us all," 
 Amelius replied. '' "When the Elder Brother 
 began to read the first words relating to 
 love and marriage in the Book of Eules, she 
 turned deadly pale ; and rose up in her 
 place with a sudden burst of courage or 
 desperation — I don't know which. ' Must 
 you read that to me ? ' she asked. ^ I have 
 nothing to do, sir, ^-ith love or maniage.' 
 The Elder Brother laid aside his Book of 
 Eules. ^ If you are afflicted with an heredi- 
 tary malady,' he said, ' the doctor from the 
 town will examine you, and report to us." 
 She answered, * I have no hereditary 
 malady,' The Elder Brother took up his 
 book again. ^ In due course of time, my 
 dear, the Council will decide for you, 
 whether you are to love and marry or not.'
 
 '94 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 And he read the Kules. She sat down 
 ao^ain, and hid her face in her hands, and 
 never moved or spoke until he had done. 
 The regular questions followed. Had she 
 anything to say, in the way of ohjection ? 
 Nothing ! In that case, would she sign the 
 Kules ? Yes ! "When the time came for 
 suj)per, she excused herself, just like a child. 
 ^ I feel very tired ; may I go to bed ? ' 
 The unmarried women in the same dormi- 
 tory with her anticipated some romantic 
 confession when she grew used to her new 
 hiends. They proved to be WTong. ' My 
 life has been one long disappointment,' was 
 all she said. *You will do me a kindness 
 if you will take me as I am, and not ask me 
 to talk about myself.' There w^as nothing 
 sulky or ungracious in the expression of her 
 wish to keep her own secret. A kinder and 
 sweeter woman — never thinking of herself, 
 always considerate of others — never hved. 
 An accidental discovery made me her chief 
 friend, among the men : it turned out that 
 her childhood had been passed, where my
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 95 
 
 childhood had been passed, at Shedfield 
 Heath, iu Buekinghamshhe. She was 
 never weary of consiiltmg my boyish recol- 
 lections, and comparing them with her own. 
 ^I love the place,' she used to say; ^ the 
 only happy time of my life was the time 
 passed there.' On my sacred word of 
 honour, this was the sort of talk that passed 
 between ns, for week after week. What 
 other talk could pass between a man whose 
 one and twentieth birthday was then near 
 at hand, and a woman who was close on 
 forty? What could I do, when the poor, 
 broken, disappointed creature met me on 
 the hill or by the river, and said, ^ You are 
 going out for a walk ; may I come with 
 you ? ' I never attempted to intrude myself 
 into her confidence ; I never even asked 
 her why she had joined the Community. 
 You see what is coming, don't you ? / 
 never saw it. I didn't know what it meant, 
 when some of the younger women, meeting 
 us together, looked at me (not at her), and 
 smiled maliciously. ^My stupid eyes were
 
 96 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 opened at last by tlie woman who slej^t in 
 the next bed to her in the dormitory — a 
 woman old enough to be my mother, who 
 took care of me when I was a child at 
 Tadmor. She stopped me one morning, on 
 my way to fish in the river. ' Amelins,' she 
 said, ' don't go to the fishing-house ; Melli- 
 cent is waiting for you.' I stared at her in 
 astonishment. She held up her finger at 
 me : ^ Take care, you foolish boy ! You are 
 diifting into a false position as fast as you 
 can. Have you no suspicion of what is 
 going on ? ' I looked all round me, in 
 search of what was going on. Nothing out 
 of the common was to be seen anywhere. 
 * "What can you possibly mean ? ' I asked. 
 ^ You will only laugh at me, if I tell you,' 
 she said. I promised not to laugh. She 
 too looked all round her, as if she was afraid 
 of somebody being near enough to hear us ; 
 and then she let out the secret. ^ Amelius, 
 ask for a holiday — and leave us for a while. 
 Mellicent is in love with you.' "
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 97 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Amelius looked at liis companions, in 
 some doubt whether they "wonld preserve 
 their gravity at this critical point in his 
 story. They both showed him that his 
 apprehensions were well founded. He was 
 a little hm't, and he instantly revealed it. 
 '^ I own to my shame that I burst out 
 laughing myself," he said. " But you two 
 gentlemen are older and wiser than I am. 
 I didn't expect to find you just as ready to 
 laugh at poor Miss Mellicent as I was." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote declined to be reminded 
 of his duties as a middle-aged gentleman 
 in this backhanded manner. '' Gently, 
 Amelius ! You can't expect to persuade 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 IIS tliat a laughable thing is not a thing to 
 he laughed at. A ^^oman close on forty 
 who falls in love with a young fellow of 
 twenty-one ' ' 
 
 ^'Is a laughable circumstance," Rufus 
 interposed. '^ Whereas a man of forty who 
 fancies a J^oung woman of twenty-one is all 
 in the order of Nature. The men have 
 settled it so. But why the women are to 
 give up so much sooner than the men is a 
 question, sir, on which I have long wished 
 to hear the sentiments of the women them- 
 selves." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote dismissed the sentiments 
 of the women with a wave of his hand. 
 ^' Let us hear the rest of it, Amelius. Of 
 course you went on to the fishing-house ? 
 And of course you found Miss Mellicent 
 there ? " 
 
 ^' She came to the door to meet me, much 
 as usual," Amelius resumed, '' and suddenly 
 checked herself in the act of shaking hands 
 with me. I can only suppose she saw 
 something in my face that startled her.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 90 
 
 How it happened, I can't say; but I felt 
 my good spirits forsake me the moment I 
 found myself in her presence. I doubt if 
 she had ever seen me so serious before. 
 ' Have I offended yon ? ' she asked. Of 
 course, I denied it ; but I failed to satisfy 
 her. She began to tremble. ' Has some- 
 body said something against me ? Are you 
 weary of my company ? ' Those were the 
 next questions. It was useless to say Xo. 
 Some perverse distrust of me, or some 
 despair of herself, overpowered her on a 
 sudden. She sank down on the floor of 
 the fishing-house, and began to cry — not 
 a good hearty burst of tears ; a silent, 
 miserable, resigned sort of crying, as if she 
 had lost all claim to be pitied, and all right 
 to feel wounded or hurt. I was so dis- 
 tressed, that I thought of nothing but con- 
 soling her. I meant well, and I acted like 
 a fool. A sensible man would have lifted 
 her up, I suppose, and left her to herself. I 
 lifted her up, and put my arm round her 
 waist. She looked at me as I did it. For
 
 100 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 just a moment, I declare she became twenty 
 years younger ! She blushed as I have 
 never seen a woman blush before or since — 
 the colour flowed all over her neck as well 
 as her face. Before I could say a word, she 
 caught hold of my hand, and (of all the 
 confusing things in the world !) kissed it. 
 ' No ! ' she cried, ' don't desj)ise me ! don't 
 laugh at me ! Wait, and hear w^hat my 
 life has been, and then you will understand 
 why a little kindness overpow^ers me.' She 
 looked round the corner of the fishing-house 
 suspiciously. ' I don't Avant anybody else 
 to hear us,' she said; 'all the pride isn't 
 beaten out of me yet. Come to the lake, 
 and row me about in the boat.' I took her 
 out in the boat. Nobody could hear us 
 certainly ; but she forgot, and I forgot, that 
 anybody might see us, and that appear- 
 ances on the lake might lead to false con- 
 clusions on shore." 
 
 Mr. Hethcote and Eufus exchanged sig- 
 nificant looks. They had not forgotten the 
 Eules of the Community, when two of its
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 10 L 
 
 members showed a preference for eacli other's 
 society. 
 
 AmeHus proceeded. '' Well, there ^ve 
 were on the lake. I paddled wdth the oars, 
 and she opened her whole heart to me. 
 Her troubles had begun, in a very common 
 way, with her mother's death and her 
 father's second marriage. She had a brother 
 and a sister — the sister married to a German 
 merchant, settled in Xew York ; the brother 
 comfortably established as a sheep-farmer 
 in Australia. So, you see, she was alone 
 at home, at the mercy of the step-mother. 
 I don't understand these cases myself; but 
 people who do, tell me that there are gene- 
 rally faults on both sides. To make matters 
 worse, they w^ere a poor family ; the one rich 
 relative being a sister of the iirst wife, w^ho 
 disapproved of the widow^er marrying again, 
 and never entered the house afterwards. 
 Well, the step-mother had a sharp tongue, 
 and Mellicent was the first person to feel 
 the sting of it. She was reproached with 
 being an encumbrance on her father, when
 
 102 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 she ought to be doing something for herself. 
 There was no need to repeat those harsh 
 words. The next day she answered an ad- 
 vertisement. Before the week was over, 
 she was earning her bread as a daily gover- 
 ness." 
 
 Here Eiifus stopped the narrative, having 
 an interesting question to put. '^ Might I 
 inquire, sir, what her salary was ? " 
 
 '' Thirty pounds a year," Amelius replied. 
 '' She was out teaching from nine o'clock 
 to two — and then went home again." 
 
 "There seems to be nothing to complain 
 of in that, as salaries go," Mr. Hethcote 
 remarked. 
 
 " She made no complaint," Amelius re- 
 joined. " She was satisfied with her salary; 
 but she wasn't satisfied with her life. The 
 meek little woman grew downright angry 
 when she spoke of it. ' I had no reason to 
 complain of my employers,' she said. *I 
 was civilly treated and punctually paid ; but 
 I never made friends of them. I tried to 
 make friends of the children ; and sometimes 
 
 •J*-
 
 J HE FALLEN LEAVES. 103 
 
 I thought I had succeeded — but, oh dear, 
 when they were idle, and I was obHged to 
 keep them to then* lessons, I soon found 
 how httle hold I had on the love that I 
 w^anted them to give me. We see children 
 in books who are perfect little angels ; never 
 envious or greedy or sulky or deceitful ; 
 always the same sweet, pious, tender, grate- 
 ful, innocent creatures — and it has been my 
 misfortune never to meet with them, go 
 w^here I might ! It is a hard world, AmeHus, 
 the world that I have hved in. I don't 
 think there are such miserable lives any- 
 where as the lives led by the poor middle 
 classes in England. From year's end to 
 year's end, the one di'eadful struggle to 
 keep up appearances, and the heart-breaking 
 monotony of an existence without change. 
 We lived in the back street of a cheap 
 suburb. I declare to you we had but one 
 amusement in the whole long weary year — 
 the annual concert the clergyman got up, 
 in aid of his schools. The rest of the year 
 it w^as all teaching for the first half of the
 
 J 04 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 day, and needlework for the young family 
 for the other half. My father had rehgious 
 scruples; he prohibited theatres, he pro- 
 hibited dancing and light reading ; he even 
 prohibited looking in at the shop-windows, 
 because we had no money to spare and they 
 tempted us to buy. He went to business in 
 the morning, and came back at night, and 
 fell asleep after dinner, and woke up and 
 read prayers — and next day to business and 
 back, and sleeping and waking and reading- 
 prayers — and no break in it, week after 
 week, month after month, except on Sunday, 
 which was always the same Sunday ; the 
 same church, the same service, the same 
 dinner, the same book of sermons in the 
 evening. Even when we had a fortnight 
 once a year at the seaside, we always went 
 to the same place and lodged in the same 
 cheap house. The few friends we had led 
 just the same lives, and were beaten down 
 flat by just the same monotony. All the 
 women seemed to submit to it contentedly 
 except my miserable self. I wanted so
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 105 
 
 little ! Only a change now and tlien ; only 
 a little sympathy when I was weary and 
 sick at heart ; only somebody whom I could 
 love and serve, and be rewarded with a 
 smile and a kind word in return. Mothers 
 shook their heads, and daughters laughed 
 at me. Have we time to be sentimental ? 
 Haven't we enough to do, darning and 
 mending, and turning our dresses, and 
 making the joint last as long as possible, 
 and keeping the children clean, and doing 
 the washino^ at home — and tea and sug^ar 
 rising, and my husband grumbling every 
 week when I have to ask him for the ho use - 
 monev. Oh, no more of it ! no more of it ! 
 People meant for better things all ground 
 down to the same sordid and selfish level — 
 is that a pleasant sight to contemplate ? I 
 shudder when I think of the last twenty 
 years of my life ! ' That's what she com- 
 plained of, Mr. Hethcote, in the solitary 
 middle of the lake, with nobody but me to 
 hear her." 
 
 *' In my country, sir," Eufus remarked,
 
 106 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ^'the Lecture Bureau would have provided 
 for her amusement, on economical terms. 
 And I reckon, if a married life would fix 
 her, she might have tried it among Us by 
 way of a change." 
 
 '' That's the saddest part of the story," 
 said Amelius. '' There came a time, only 
 two years ago, when her prospects changed 
 for the better. Her rich aunt (her mother's 
 sister) died ; and — what do you think ? — 
 left her a legacy of six thousand pounds. 
 There was a gleam of sunshine in her life ! 
 The poor teacher was an heiress in a small 
 way, with her fortune at her own disposal. 
 They had something like a festival at home, 
 for the first time ; presents to everybody, 
 and hissings and congratulations, and new 
 dresses at last. And, more than that, 
 another wonderful event happened before 
 long. A gentleman made his appearance 
 in the family circle, with an interesting 
 object in view — a gentleman, who had 
 called at the house in which she happened 
 to be employed as teacher at the time, and
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 107 
 
 had seen lier oeciii)iecl ^vitli lier j)i^ipil^- He 
 had ke^^t it to himself to be sure, but he 
 had secretly admired her from that moment 
 — and now it had come out ! She had 
 never had a lover before ; mind that. And 
 he was a remark ablv handsome man : 
 dressed beautifully, and sang and played, 
 and was so humble and devoted with it all. 
 Do you think it wonderful that she said Yes, 
 when he proposed to marry her ? I don't 
 think it wonderful at all. For the first few 
 weeks of the courtship, the sunshine was 
 bricrhter than ever. Then the clouds be^-an 
 
 o o 
 
 to rise. Anonymous letters came, describ- 
 ing the handsome gentleman (seen under 
 his fair surface) as notliing less than a 
 scoundrel. She tore up the letters indig- 
 nantly — she was too delicate even to show 
 them to him. Signed letters came next, 
 addressed to her father by an uncle and an 
 aunt, both containing one and the same 
 warning : ^^ If your daughter insists on 
 having him, tell her to take care of her 
 money." A few days later, a visitor ar-
 
 108 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 rived — a brother, who spoke out more 
 plainly stilL As an honourable man, he 
 could not hear of what was going on, 
 without making the painful confession 
 that his brother was forbidden to enter 
 his house. That said, he washed his 
 hands of all further responsibility. You 
 two know the world, you will guess how 
 it ended. Quarrels in the household; the 
 poor middle-aged woman, living in her 
 fool's paradise, bhndly true to her lover ; 
 convinced that he was foully wronged ; 
 frantic when he declared that^he would 
 not connect himself with a family which 
 suspected him. Ah, I have no patience 
 when I think of it, and I almost wish I 
 had never begun to tell the story ! Do 
 you know what he did ? She was free of 
 course, at her age, to decide for herself; 
 there was no controlling her. The wedding 
 day was fixed. Her father had declared he 
 would not sanction it ; and her step-mother 
 kept him to his word. She went alone to 
 the church, to meet her promised husband.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 109 
 
 He never appeared; he deserted lier, 
 mercilessly deserted lier — after she had 
 sacrificed her own relations to him — on 
 her vredding-day. She was taken home 
 insensible, and had a brain fever. The 
 doctors dechned to answer for her life. 
 Her father thought it time to look at her 
 banker's pass-book. Out of her six thou- 
 sand pounds she had privately given no 
 less than four thousand to the scoundrel 
 Avho had deceived and forsaken her I Xot 
 a month aftenvards he married a vounof 
 girl — with a fortune of course. We read 
 of such things in newspapers and books. 
 But to have them brought home to one, 
 after living one's own life among honest 
 people — I tell you it stu2:)efied me ! " 
 
 He said no more. Below them in the 
 cabin, voices were laughing and talking, 
 to a cheerful accompaniment of clattering 
 knives and forks. Ai'ound them spread 
 the exultant glory of sea and sky. All 
 that they heard, aU that they saw, was 
 cruelly out of harmony with the miserable
 
 110 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 story which had just reached its end. With 
 one accord the three men rose and paced 
 the deck, feeling physically the same need 
 of some movement to lighten their spirits. 
 With one accord they waited a little, before 
 the narrative was resumed.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. Ill 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 Me. Hethcote was the first to speak again. 
 
 ^^ I can understand the poor creature's 
 motive in joining your Community," he 
 said. ^' To a person of any sensibiUty her 
 position, among such relatives as you 
 describe, must have been simply unendur- 
 able after what had happened. How did 
 she hear of Tadmor and the Socialists ? " 
 
 ^' She had read one of our books," Amelius 
 answered ; " and she had her married sister 
 at New York to go to. There were mo- 
 ments, after her recovery (she confessed it 
 to me frankly), when the thought of suicide 
 was in her mind. Her rehgious scruples 
 saved her. She was kindly received by 
 her sister and her sister's husband. They
 
 112 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 proposed to keep her with them to teach 
 their children. No ! the new life offered 
 to her was too like the old hfe — she was 
 broken in body and mind ; she had no 
 courage to face it. We have a resident 
 agent in New York ; and he arranged for 
 her journey to Tadmor. There is a gleam 
 of brightness, at any rate, in this part of 
 her story. She blessed the day, poor soul, 
 when she joined us. Never before had she 
 found herself among such kind-hearted, un- 
 selfish, simple people. Never before " 
 
 he abruptly checked himself, and looked a 
 little confused. 
 
 Obliging Kufus finished the sentence for 
 him. ^' Never before had she known a 
 young man with such natural gifts of fas- 
 cination as C, A. G. Don't you be too 
 modest, sir ; it doesn't pay, I do assure you, 
 in the nineteenth century." 
 
 AmeKus was not as ready with his laugh 
 as usual. " I wish I could drop it at the 
 point we have reached now," he said. 
 '^But she has left Tadmor; and, in justice
 
 TEE FALLEN LEA VES. 1 13 
 
 to her (after the scandals in the newspaper), 
 I must tell you how she left it, and why. 
 The mischief began when I was helping 
 her out of the boat. Two of our young 
 women met us on the bank of the lake, and 
 asked me how I got on with my fishing. 
 They didn't mean any harm — they were only 
 in their customary good spirits. Still, there 
 was no mistaking their looks and tones 
 w^hen they put the question. Miss Melli- 
 cent, in her confusion, made matters worse. 
 She coloured up, and snatched her hand out 
 of mine, and ran back to the house by her- 
 self. The girls, enjoying their own foolish 
 joke, congratulated me on my prospects. I 
 must have been out of sorts in some way — 
 upset, perhaps, by what I had heard in the 
 boat. Anyhow, I lost my temper, and / 
 made matters worse, next. I said some 
 angry words, and left them. The same 
 evening I found a letter in my room. ' For 
 your sake, I must not be seen alone with 
 you again. It is hard to lose the comfort 
 of your sympathy, but I must submit. 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 114 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Think of me kindly as I think of you. It 
 has done me good to open my heart to you.' 
 Only those lines, signed by Mellicent's 
 initials. I was rash enough to keep the 
 letter, instead of destro^^ing it. All might 
 have ended well, nevertheless, if she had 
 only held to her resolution. But, nnluckily, 
 my twenty-first birthday was close at hand ; 
 and there was talk of keeping it as a festival 
 in the Community. I was up with sunrise 
 w^hen the day came ; having some farming- 
 work to look after, and wanting to get it 
 over in good time. My shortest way back 
 to breakfast was through a wood. In the 
 W'Ood I met her." 
 
 'Mlone ? " Mr. Hethcote asked. 
 
 Eufus expressed his opinion of the wisdom 
 of putting this question with his customary 
 plainness of language. ^' When there's a 
 rash thing to be done by a man and a 
 woman together, sir, philosophers have re- 
 marked that it's always the woman who 
 leads the way. Of course she w^as alone." 
 
 *^ She had a little present for me on my
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 115 
 
 bii'thday," Amelius explained — ''a purse of 
 her own making. And she was afraid of the 
 ridicule of the young women, if she gave 
 it to me openly. ' You have my heart's 
 dearest wishes for your happiness ; think of 
 me sometimes, Amelius, w^hen you open 
 your purse.' If you had been in my place, 
 could you have told her to go away, when 
 she said that, and put her gift into your 
 hand ? Not if she had been looking at you 
 at the moment — I'll swear you couldn't 
 have done it ! " 
 
 The lean yellow face of Paifus Ding- 
 well relaxed for the first time into a broad 
 grin. ^' There are further particulars, sir, 
 stated in the newspaper," he said shly. 
 
 ^'Damn the newspaper!" Amelius an- 
 swered. 
 
 Eufus bowed, serenely courteous, with 
 the air of a man who accepted a British 
 oath as an unwilhng compliment paid by 
 the old country to the American press. 
 '^ The newspaper report states, sir, that she 
 kissed you."
 
 116 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 '' It's a lie ! " Amelius shouted. 
 ^^ Perhaps it's an error of the press/' 
 Eiifus persisted. '' Perhaps, you kissed 
 
 ^^ Never mind what I did," said Amehus 
 savagely. 
 
 Mr. Hethcote felt it necessary to interfere. 
 He addressed Enfus in his most magnificent 
 manner. ^'In England, Mr. Dingwell, a 
 gentleman is not in the habit of disclosing 
 these — er — these — er, er " 
 
 ^' These hissings in a wood ? " suggested 
 Kufus. " In my country, sir, we do not 
 regard kissing, in or out of a wood, in the 
 light of a shameful proceeding. Quite the 
 contrairy, I do assure you." 
 
 Amehus recovered his temper. The dis- 
 cussion was becoming too ridiculous to be 
 endured by the unfortunate person who was 
 the object of it. 
 
 '' Don't let us make mountains out of 
 molehills," he said. **I did kiss her — 
 there ! A woman pressing the prettiest 
 httle purse you ever saw into your hand,
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 117 
 
 and wishing yon many liappy returns of tlie 
 day with the tears in her eyes ; I shonld 
 like to know what else was to be done but 
 to kiss her. Ah, yes, smooth out your 
 newspaper report, and have another look at 
 it ! She did rest her head on my shoulder, 
 poor soul, and she did say, ' Oh, AmeHus, 
 I thought my heart was turned to stone ; 
 feel how you have made it beat ! ' When 1 
 remembered what she had told me in the 
 boat, I declare to God I almost burst out 
 crying myself — it was so innocent and so 
 pitiful." 
 
 Eufas held out his hand with true 
 American cordiahty. "I do assure you, 
 sir, I meant no harm," he said. '^ The 
 right grit is in you, and no mistake — and 
 there goes the newspaper! " He rolled up 
 the slip, and flung it overboard. 
 
 Mr. Hethcote nodded his entire aj^proval 
 of this proceeding. Amehus went on with 
 his story. 
 
 ^^ I'm near the end now," he said. ^' If 
 I had known it would have taken so long to 
 
 jr*
 
 118 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 tell — never mind ! We got out of the wood 
 at last, Mr. Eufus ; and we left it without a 
 suspicion that we had heen watched. I was 
 prudent enough (w^hen it was too late, you 
 will say) to suggest to her that we had 
 better he careful for the future. Instead of 
 taking it seriously, she laughed. * Have 
 you altered your mind, since you wrote to 
 me ? ' I asked. ^ To be sure I have,' she 
 said. ' "When I wrote to you I forgot the 
 difference between your age and mine. 
 Nothing that ive do "will be taken seriously. 
 I am afi'aid of their laughing at me, 
 Amelius ; but I am afraid of nothing else.' 
 I did my best to undeceive her. I told her 
 plainly that people unequally matched in 
 years — women older than men, as w^ell as 
 men older than women — were not uncom- 
 monly married among us. The council only 
 looked to their being well suited in other 
 ways, and declined to trouble itself about 
 the question of age. I don't think I pro- 
 duced much effect ; she seemed, for once in 
 her life, poor thing, to be too happy to look
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 119 
 
 beyond the passing moment. Besides, 
 there was the birthday festival to keep 
 her mind from dwelling on doubts and fears 
 that were not agreeable to her. And the 
 next day there was another event to occupy 
 our attention — the arrival of the lawyer's 
 letter from London, with the announcement 
 of my inheritance on coming of age. It 
 was settled, as you know, that I was to go 
 out into the world, and to judge for myself ; 
 but the date of my departure was not fixed. 
 Two days later, the storm that had been 
 gathering for weeks past bm'st on us — we 
 were cited to aj)pear before the council to 
 answer for an infraction of the Rules. 
 Everything that I have confessed to you, 
 and some things besides that I have kept to 
 myseK, lay formally inscribed on a sheet of 
 paper placed on the council table — and 
 pinned to the sheet of paper was Mellicent's 
 letter to me, found in my room. I took the 
 whole blame on myself, and insisted on 
 being confronted with the unknown person 
 who had informed against us. The council
 
 120 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 in3t this by a question : — ^ Is the informa- 
 tion, in any particular, false ? ' Neither of 
 us could deny that it was, in every particular, 
 true. Hearing this, the council decided that 
 there was no need, on our own showing, to 
 confront us with the informer. From that 
 day to this, I haye never known who the 
 spy was. Neither Mellicent nor I had an 
 enemy in the Community. The girls who 
 had seen us on the lake, and some other 
 members who had met us together, only 
 gave their evidence on compulsion — and 
 even then they prevaricated, they were so 
 fond of us and so sorry for us. After 
 waiting a day, the governing body pro- 
 nounced their judgment. Their duty was 
 prescribed to them by the Eules. We were 
 sentenced to six months' absence from the 
 Community ; to return or not as we pleased. 
 A hard sentence, gentlemen — whatever %ve 
 may think of it — to homeless and fiiendless 
 people, to the Fallen Leaves that had drifted 
 to Tadmor. In my case it had been already 
 arrano-ed that I was to leave. After what
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 121 
 
 liad happened, my departure was made com- 
 pulsory in four- and- twenty hours ; and I 
 w^as forbidden to retm^n, until the date of 
 my sentence had expired. In MelKcent's 
 case they were still more strict. They 
 would not trust her to travel by herself. A 
 female member of the Community was 
 appointed to accompany her to the house of 
 her married sister at New York : she w^as 
 ordered to be ready for the journey by sun- 
 rise the next morning. We both under- 
 stood, of course, that the object of this was 
 to prevent our travelHng together. They 
 might have saved themselves the trouble of 
 putting obstacles in our way." 
 
 " So far as You were concerned, I sup- 
 pose ? " said Mr. Hethcote. 
 
 " So far as She was concerned also," 
 Amelius answered. 
 
 "How did she take it, sir?" Kufus 
 inquired. 
 
 " With a composure that astonished us 
 all," said Amelius. ^*We had anticipated 
 tears and entreaties for mercy. She stood
 
 122 TEE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 up perfectly calm, far calmer than I was, 
 with her head turned towards me, and her 
 eyes resting quietly on my face. If you can 
 imagine a woman whose whole being was 
 absorbed in looking into the future ; seeing 
 what no mortal creature about her saw ; 
 sustained by hopes that no mortal creature 
 about her could share — you may see her as 
 I did, when she heard her sentence pro- 
 nounced. The members of the Commimity, 
 accustomed to take leave of an erring 
 brother or sister with loving and merciful 
 words, were all more or less distressed as 
 they bade her farewell. Most of the women 
 were in tears as they kissed her. They said 
 the same kind words to her over and over 
 again. ' We are heartily sorry for you, 
 dear ; we shall all be glad to w^elcome you 
 back.' They sang our customary hymn at 
 parting — and broke down before they got to 
 the end. It was she who consoled them! 
 Not once, through all that melancholy 
 ceremony, did she lose her strange com- 
 posure, her rapt mysterious look. I was
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 123 
 
 the last to say farewell; and I own I 
 couldn't trust myself to speak. She held 
 my hand in hers. For a moment, her face 
 lighted up softly with a radiant smile — then 
 the strange preoccupied expression flowed 
 over her again, like shadow over a light. 
 Her eyes, still looking into mine, seemed to 
 look beyond me. She spoke low, in sad 
 steady tones. ^ Be comforted, Amelius ; 
 the end is not yet.' She put her hands on 
 my head, and di'ew it down to her. ^ You 
 will come back to me,' she whispered — and 
 kissed me on the forehead, before them all. 
 "When I looked up again, she was gone. I 
 have neither seen her nor heard from her 
 since. It's all told, gentlemen — and some 
 of it has distressed me in the telling. Let 
 me go away for a minute by myself, and 
 look at the sea."
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 AMELIUS IN LONDON.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 127 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Oh, Eufus Dingwell, it is sncli a rainy day ! 
 And the London street which I look out on 
 from my hotel window presents such a dirty 
 and such a miserable view ! Do you know, 
 I hardly feel like the same Amelius who 
 promised to write to you when you left the 
 steamer at Queenstown. My spirits are 
 sinking ; I begin to feel old. Am I in the 
 right state of mind to tell you what are my 
 lirst impressions of London ? Perhaps I 
 may alter my opinion. iVt present (this is 
 between ourselves), I don't like London or 
 London people — excepting two ladies, who, 
 in very different ways, have interested and 
 charmed me. 
 
 Who are the ladies ? I must tell you
 
 128 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 what I heard about them from Mr. Hethcote, 
 before I present them to you on my own 
 responsibihty. 
 
 After you left us, I found the last day of 
 the voyage to Liverpool dull enough. Mr. 
 Hethcote did not seem to feel it in the same 
 way : on the contrary, he grew more fa- 
 miliar and confidential in his talk with me. 
 He has some of the English stiffness, you 
 see, and your American pace was a little 
 too fast for him. On our last night on 
 board, we had some more conversation 
 about the Farnabys. You were not inte- 
 rested enough in the subject to attend to 
 what he said about them while you were 
 with us ; but if you are to be introduced 
 to the ladies, you must be interested now. 
 Let me first inform you that Mr. and Mrs. 
 Farnaby have no children ; and let me add 
 that they have adopted the daughter and 
 orphan child of Mrs. Farnaby's sister. This 
 sister, it seems, died many years ago, sur- 
 viving her husband for a few months only. 
 To complete the story of the past, death
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 129 
 
 has also taken old Mr. Eonalclj the founder 
 of the stationer's business, and his ^ife, 
 Mrs. Farnahy's mother. Dry facts these — 
 I don't deny it ; but there is something 
 more interesting to follow. I have next to 
 tell you how Mr. Hethcote first became 
 acquainted with Mrs. Farnaby. Now, Piufus, 
 we are coming to something romantic at 
 last! 
 
 It is some time since Mr. Hethcote ceased 
 to perform his clerical duties ; owing to a 
 malady in the throat, which made it painful 
 for him to take his place in the reading-desk 
 or the pulpit. His last curacy attached him 
 to a chmxh at the West-end of London ; 
 and here, one Sunday evening, after he had 
 preached the sermon, a lady in trouble came 
 to him in the vestry for spiritual advice and 
 consolation. She was a regular attendant 
 at the church, and something which he had 
 said in that evening's sermon had deeply 
 affected her. Mr. Hethcote spoke T\'ith her 
 afterwards on many occasions at home. He 
 felt a sincere interest in her, but he dislilved 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 her husband; and, when he gave up his 
 curacy, he ceased to pay visits to the house. 
 As to what Mrs. Farnaby's troubles were, 
 I can tell you nothing. Mr. Hethcote spoke 
 very gravely and sadly when he told me 
 that the subject of his conversations with 
 her must be kept a secret. ^^ I doubt 
 whether* you and Mr. Farnaby will get on 
 well together," he said to me ; '' but I shall 
 be astonished if you are not favourably im- 
 pressed by his wife and her niece." 
 
 This was all I knew when I presented my 
 letter of introduction to Mr. Farnaby at his 
 place of business. 
 
 It was a grand stone building, with great 
 plate-glass windows — all renewed and im- 
 proved, they told me, since old Mr, Eonald's 
 time. My letter and my card went into an 
 office at the back, and I followed them after 
 a while. A lean, hard, middle-sized man, 
 buttoned up tight in a black frock-coat, 
 received me, holding my written introduction 
 open in his hand. He had a ruddy com- 
 plexion not commonly seen in Londoners,
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 131 
 
 SO far as my experience goes. His iron- 
 gray liair and whiskers (especially the 
 whiskers) were in wonderfully fine order — 
 as carefully oiled and combed as if he had 
 just come out of a barber's shop. I had 
 been in the morning to the Zoological 
 Gardens ; his eyes, when he lifted them 
 from the letter to me, reminded me of the 
 eyes of the eagles — glassy and cruel. I 
 have a fault that I can't cure myself of: 
 I like people, or dishke them, at first sight, 
 without knowing, in either case, whether 
 they deserve it or not. In the one moment 
 when our eyes first met, I felt the devil in 
 me. In plain English, I hated Mr. Farnaby ! 
 
 '' Good morning, sir," he began, in a loud, 
 harsh, rasping voice. " The letter you bring 
 me takes me by surprise." 
 
 ''IthouGfht the writer was an old friend 
 
 o 
 
 of yours," I said. 
 
 *'An old friend of mine," Mr. Farnaby 
 answered, ''whose errors I deplore. When 
 he joined your Community, I looked upon 
 him as a lost man. I am surprised at his 
 
 writing to me. 
 
 11
 
 132 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 It is quite likely I was wrong, knowing 
 nothing of the usages of society in England. 
 I thought this reception of me downright 
 rude. I had laid my hat on a chair ; I took 
 it up in my hand again, and dehvered a 
 parting shot at the brute with the oily 
 whiskers. ^ 
 
 ^' If I had known what you now tell me," 
 I said, '' I should not have troubled you by 
 presenting that letter. Good morning." 
 
 This didn't in the least offend him. A 
 cmious smile broke out on his face ; it 
 widened his eyes, and it twitched up his 
 mouth at one corner. He held out his hand 
 to stop me. I waited, in case he felt bound 
 to make an apology. He did nothing of the 
 sort — he only made a remark. 
 
 "You are young and hasty," he said. 
 " I may lament my friend's extravagances, 
 without failing on that account in what is 
 due to an old friendship. You are probably 
 not aware that we have no sympathy in 
 England with Socialists." 
 
 I hit him back again. " In that case, sir,
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 133 
 
 a little Socialism in England would do you 
 no harm. We consider it a part of our duty 
 as Cliristians to feel sympathy ^vith all men 
 who are honest in their convictions — no 
 matter how mistaken (in our opinion) the 
 convictions may be." I rather thought I 
 had him there ; and I took up my hat again, 
 to get off with the honours of victory while 
 I had the chance. 
 
 I am sincere^ ashamed of myself, Paifus, 
 in telling you all this. I ought to have 
 given him back "the soft answer that 
 turneth away wrath" — my conduct was a 
 disgrace to my Community. What evil 
 influence was at work in me ? Was it the 
 air of London ? or was it a possession of 
 the devil ? 
 
 He stopped me for the second time — not 
 in the least disconcerted by what I had said 
 to him. His inbred conviction of his own 
 superiority to a young adventurer like me 
 was really something magnificent to witness. 
 He did me justice — the Philistine-Pharisee 
 did me justice ! Will you believe it ? He
 
 134 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 made his remarks next on my good points, 
 as if I had been a young bull at a prize- 
 cattle-show. 
 
 " Excuse me for noticing it," he said. 
 '' Your manners are perfectly gentlemanlike, 
 and you speak English without any accent. 
 And yet you have been brought up in 
 America. What does it mean ? " 
 
 I grew worse and worse — I got downright 
 ■ sulky now. 
 
 " I suppose it means," I answered, ^' that 
 some of us, in America, cultivate ourselves 
 as well as our land. We have our books 
 and music, though you seem to think we 
 only have our axes and s]Dades. Englishmen 
 don't claim a monopoly of good manners at 
 Tadmor. W^e see no difference between an 
 American gentleman and an English gentle- 
 man. And as for speaking English with an 
 accent, the Americans accuse us of doing 
 that." 
 
 He smiled again. ^^How very absurd! " 
 he said, with a superb compassion for the 
 benighted Americans. By this time, I sus-
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 135 
 
 pect he begau to feel that he had had 
 enough of me. He got rid of me with an 
 invitation. 
 
 " I shall be glad to receive you at my 
 private residence, and introduce you to my 
 wife and her niece — our adopted daughter. 
 There is the address. We have a few 
 friends to dinner on Saturday next, at seven. 
 Will you give us the pleasure of your 
 company? " 
 
 We are all aware that there is a distinc- 
 tion between civihty and cordialit}^ ; but I 
 myself never knew how wide that distinction 
 might be, until Mr. Farnaby invited me to 
 dinner. If I had not been curious (after 
 what Mr. Hethcote had told me) to see 
 Mrs. Farnaby and her niece, I should cer- 
 tainly have slipped out of the engagement. 
 As it was, I promised to dine with Oily- 
 Whiskers. 
 
 He put his hand into mine at parting. 
 It felt as moistly cold as a dead fish. After 
 getting out again into the street, I turned 
 into the first tavern I passed, and ordered a 
 
 r 
 
 «
 
 136 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 drink. Shall I tell you what else I did? 
 I went into the lavatory, and washed Mr. 
 Farnaby oflf my hand. (N.B. — If I had 
 behaved in this way at Tadmor, I should 
 have been jDunished with the lighter penalty 
 — taking my meals by myself, and being 
 forbidden to enter the Common Koom for 
 eight and forty hours.) I feel I am getting 
 wickeder and wickeder in London — I have 
 half a mind to join you in Ireland. What 
 does Tom Moore say of his countrymen — he 
 ought to know, I suppose ? '' For though 
 they love woman and golden store : Sir 
 Knight, they love honour and virtue more ! " 
 .^ They must have been all Socialists in Tom 
 Moore's time. Just the place for me. 
 
 I have been obliged to wait a little. A 
 dense fog has descended on us by way of 
 variety. With a stinking coal lire, with the 
 gas lit and the curtains drawn at half- past 
 eleven in the forenoon, I feel that I am in 
 my own country again at last. Patience, my 
 friend — patience! I am coming to the ladies.
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 137 
 
 Entering Mr. Farnaby's private residence 
 on the appointed day, I became acquainted 
 with one more of the innumerable insinceri- 
 ties of modern Enghsh life. When a man 
 asks you to dine with liim at seven o'clock, 
 in other countries, he means what he says. 
 In England, he means half-past seven, and 
 sometimes a quarter to eight. At seven 
 o'clock I was the only person in Mr. Far- 
 naby's drawing-room. At ten minutes past 
 seven, Mr. Farnaby made his appearance. 
 I had a good mind to take his place in 
 the middle of the hearth-rug, and say, 
 ^'Farnaby, I am glad to see you." But 
 I looked at his whiskers ; and tlieij said 
 to me, as plainly as words could speak, 
 '' Better not ! " 
 
 In five minutes more, Mrs. Farnaby joined 
 us. 
 
 I wish I was a practised author — or, no, 
 I would rather, for the moment, be a com- 
 petent portrait-painter, and send you Mrs. 
 Farnaby's likeness enclosed. How I am to 
 describe her in words, I really don't know.
 
 •138 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 My dear fellow, she almost frightened me. 
 I never before saw such a woman ; I never 
 expect to see such a woman again. There 
 was nothing in her figure, or in her way of 
 moving, that produced this impression on 
 me — she is little and fat, and walks with a 
 firm, heavy step, like the step of a man. 
 Her face is what I want to make you see as 
 plainly as I saw it myself : it was her face 
 that startled me. 
 
 So far as I can pretend to judge, she 
 must have been pretty, in a plump healthy 
 way, when she was young. I declare I 
 hardly know whether she is not pretty now. 
 She certainly has no marks or wrinkles ; her 
 hair either has no gray in it, or is too light 
 to show the gray. She has preserved her 
 fair complexion ; perhaps with art to assist 
 it — I can't say. As for her lips — I am not 
 speaking disrespectfully, I am only describ- 
 ing them truly, w^hen I say that they invite 
 kisses in spite of her. In two words, though 
 she has been married (as I know from what 
 one of the guests told me after dinner) for
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 139 
 
 sixteen years, she 'Vv'ould be still an irresist- 
 ible little woman, but for the one startling 
 drawback of her eyes. Don't mistake me. 
 In themselves, they are large, well-opened 
 blue eyes, and may at one time have been 
 the chief attraction in her face. But now 
 there is an expression of suffering in them — 
 long, unsolaced suffering, as I believe — so 
 despairing and so dreadful, that she really 
 made my heart ache when I looked at her. 
 I will swear to it, that woman lives in some 
 secret hell of her own making, and longs 
 for the release of death ; and is so inveter- 
 ately full of bodily life and strength, that 
 she may carry her burden with her to the 
 utmost verge of life. I am digging the pen 
 into the paper, I feel this so strongly, and I 
 am so wretchedly incompetent to express 
 my feeling. Can you imagine a diseased 
 mind, imprisoned in a healthy body ? I 
 don't care what doctors or books may say — 
 it is that, and nothing else. Nothing else 
 will solve the mystery of the smooth face, 
 the fleshy figure, the firm step, the muscular
 
 140 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 grip of lier hand when she gives it to you — 
 and the soul in torment that looks at you 
 all the while out of her eyes. It is useless 
 to tell me that such a contradiction as this 
 cannot exist. I have seen the woman ; and 
 she does exist. 
 
 Oh yes ! I can fancy you grinning over 
 my letter — I can hear you saying to your- 
 self, " Where did he pick up his experience, 
 I wonder ? " I have no experience — I only 
 have something that serves me instead of it, 
 and I don't know what. The Elder Brother, 
 at Tadmor, used to say it was sympathy. 
 But Ae is a sentimentalist. 
 
 Well, Mr. Farnaby presented me to his 
 wife — and then walked away as if he was 
 sick of us both, and looked out of the 
 window. 
 
 For some reason or other, Mrs. Farnaby 
 seemed to be surprised, for the moment, by 
 my personal appearance. Her husband had, 
 very hkely, not told her how young I was. 
 She got over her momentary astonishment, 
 and, signing to me to sit by her on the sofa,
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 141 
 
 said the necessary words of welcome- 
 
 evidently thinking of something else all the 
 time. The strange miserable eyes looked 
 over my shoulder, instead of looking at me. 
 
 ** Mr. Farnaby tells me you have been 
 living in America." 
 
 The tone in which she spoke was curiously 
 quiet and monotonous. I have heard such 
 tones, in the Far West, h'om lonely settlers 
 without a neighbouring soul to speak to. 
 Has Mrs. Farnaby no neighbouring soul to 
 speak to, except at dinner-parties ? 
 
 ^^ You are an Enghshman, are you not ? " 
 she went on. 
 
 I said Yes, and cast about in my mind for 
 something to say to her. She saved me the 
 trouble by making me the victim of a com- 
 plete series of questions. This, as I after- 
 wards discovered, was her way of finding 
 conversation for strangers. Have you ever 
 met with absent-minded people to whom it 
 is a relief to ask questions mechanically, 
 without feehng the slightest interest in the 
 answers ?
 
 142 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 She began. " Where did you live in 
 America ? " 
 
 *^At Tadmor, in the State of Illinois." 
 ^' What sort of place is Tadmor ? " 
 I described the place as well as I could, 
 nnder the circumstances. 
 
 ^' What made you go to Tadmor ? " 
 It was impossible to reply to this, without 
 speaking of the Community. Feeling that 
 the subject was not in the least Hkely to 
 interest her, I spoke as briefly as I could. 
 To my astonishment, I evidently began to 
 interest her from that moment. The series 
 of questions went on — but now she not 
 only listened, she was eager for fche answers. 
 " Are there any women among you ? " 
 *' Nearly as many women as men." 
 Another change ! Over the weary misery 
 of her eyes there flashed a bright look of 
 interest which completely transformed them. 
 Her articulation even quickened when she 
 put her next question. 
 
 ^^ Are any of the women friendless 
 creatures, who came to you from England?'*
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 143 
 
 '^ Yes, some of them." 
 
 I thought of MeUicent as I sj^oke. Was 
 this new interest that I had so innocently 
 aroused, an interest in MeUicent ? Her 
 next question only added to my per|)lexity. 
 Her next question proved that my guess had 
 completely failed to hit the mark. 
 
 ^^Are there any young women among 
 them?" 
 
 ]\rr. Farnahy, standing with his hack to 
 us thus far, suddenly turned and looked at 
 her, when she inquired if there w^ere 
 ^^ young " women among us. 
 
 '' Oh yes," I said. '' Mere girls." 
 
 She pressed so near to me that her knees 
 touched mine. ^'How old?" she asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 Mr. Farnahy left the window, walked 
 close up to the sofa, and deliherately inter- 
 rupted us. 
 
 '' Nasty muggy weather, isn't it ? " he said. 
 ^^I suppose the climate of America " 
 
 Mrs. Farnahy deliherately interrupted her 
 hushand. ''How old?" she repeated, in a 
 louder tone.
 
 /^' 
 
 ,144 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 I was bonnd, of course, to answer the lady 
 of the house. ^' Some girls from eighteen 
 to twenty. And some yonnger." 
 
 '' How much yoimger ? " 
 
 " Oh, from sixteen to seventeen." 
 
 She grew more and more excited ; she 
 positively laid her hand on my arm in her 
 eagerness to secure my attention all to 
 herself. ''American girls or English ? " she 
 resumed, her fat, firm fingers closing on me 
 with a tremulous grasp. 
 
 " Shall you he in town in Novemher ? " 
 said Mr." Farnahy, purposely interrupting 
 us again. "If you would like to see the 
 Lord Mayor's Show " 
 
 Mrs. Farnahy impatiently shook me hy 
 the arm. "American girls or English?" 
 she reiterated, more obstinately than ever. 
 
 Mr. Farnahy gave her one look. If he 
 could have put her on the blazing fire and 
 have burnt her up in an instant by an efi'ort 
 of will, I believe he would have made the 
 efi'ort. He saw that I was observing him, 
 and turned quickly from his wife to me.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 145 
 
 His ruclcTy face was pale witli suppressed 
 rage. My early arrival had given Mrs. 
 Farnaby an opportunity of speaking to me, 
 which he had not anticipated in inviting me 
 to dinner. "Come and see my pictm-es," 
 he said. 
 
 His wife still held me fast. Whether 
 he liked it or not, I had again no choice 
 but to answer her. " Some American girls, 
 and some English," I said. 
 
 Her eyes opened wider and Vider in 
 unutterable expectation. She suddenly 
 advanced her face so close to mine, that I 
 felt her hot breath on my cheeks as the next 
 words burst their way through her lips. 
 
 " Born in England ? " 
 
 "No. Born at Tadmor." 
 
 She dropped my arm. The light died out 
 of her eyes in an instant. In some incon- 
 ceivable way, I had utterly destroyed some 
 secret expectation that she had fixed on me. 
 She actually left me on the sofa, and took 
 a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. 
 Mr. Earnaby, turning paler and paler, stepped 
 
 VOL T. L
 
 146 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 up to her as she changed her place. I rose 
 to look at the pictures on the wall nearest to 
 me. You remarked the extraordinary keen- 
 ness of my sense of hearing, while we were 
 fellow-passengers on the steamship. When 
 he stooped over her, and whispered in her 
 ear, I heard him — though nearly the whole 
 hreadth of the room was between us. '' You 
 hell-cat ! " — that was what Mr. Farnaby said 
 to his wife. 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece struck the 
 half-hour after seven. In quick succession, 
 the guests at the dinner now entered the 
 room. 
 
 I was so staggered by the extraordinary 
 scene of married life which I had just 
 witnessed, that the guests j)roduced only a 
 very faint impression upon me. My mind 
 was absorbed in trying to find the true 
 meaning of what I had seen and heard. 
 Was Mrs. Farnaby a little mad ? I dismissed 
 that idea as soon as it occurred to me ; 
 nothing that I had observed in her justified 
 it. The truer conclusion appeared to be,
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 147 
 
 that she was deeply interested in some 
 absent (and possibly lost) young creature ; 
 whose age, judging by actions and tones 
 which had sufficiently revealed that part 
 of the secret to me, could not be more than 
 sixteen or seventeen years. How long had 
 she cherished the hope of seeing the gui, 
 or hearing of her ? It must have been, any- 
 how, a hope very deeply rooted, for she 
 had been perfectly incaj)able of controlling 
 herself when I had accidentally roused it. 
 As for her husband, there could be no doubt 
 that the subject was not merely distasteful 
 to him, but so absolutely infmiating that 
 he could not even keep his temper, in the 
 presence of a third person invited to his 
 house. Had he injured the girl in any 
 way ? Was he responsible for her dis- 
 appearance ? Did his wife know it, or 
 only suspect it ? Who tuas the girl ? 
 What was the secret of Mrs. Farnaby's 
 extraordinary interest in her — Mrs. Farnaby, 
 whose marriage was childless ; whose in- 
 terest one would have thought should be
 
 148 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 naturally concentrated on Iter adopted 
 daughter, her sister's orphan child ? In 
 conjectures such as these, I completely lost 
 myself. Let me hear what your ingenuity 
 can make of the puzzle ; and let me return 
 to Mr. Farnahy's dinner, waiting on Mr. 
 Farnaby's table. 
 
 The servant threw open the dramng- 
 room door, and the most honoured guest 
 present led Mrs. Farnaby to the dining- 
 room. I roused myself to some observation 
 of what was going on about me. No ladies 
 had been in^dted ; and the men were all of 
 a certain age. I looked in vain for the 
 charming niece. Was she not well enough 
 to appear at the dinner-party ? I ventured 
 on putting the question to Mr. Farnaby. 
 
 '' You will find her at the tea-table, when 
 we return to the drawing-room. Girls are 
 out of jolace at dinner-parties." So he 
 answered me — not very graciously. 
 
 As I stepped out on the landing, I looked 
 up ; I don't know why, unless I was the 
 unconscious object of magnetic attraction.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 149 
 
 Anyhow, I had my reward. A bright young 
 face peeped over the bahisters of the upper 
 stahcase, and modestly withdrew itself again 
 in a violent hurry. Everybody but Mr. 
 Farnaby and myself had disappeared in the 
 dining-room. Was she having a peep at the 
 young Sociahst ? 
 
 Another interruption to my letter, caused 
 by another change in the weather. The 
 fog has vanished ; the waiter is turning off 
 the gas, and letting in the drab-coloured 
 daylight. I ask him if it is still raining. 
 He smiles, and rubs his hands, and says, 
 ^'It looks like clearing up soon, sir." This 
 man's head is gray ; he has been all his life 
 a waiter in London — and he can still see 
 the cheerful side of things. What native 
 strength of mind cast away on a vocation 
 that is unworthy of it ! 
 
 Well — and now about the Farnaby dinner. 
 I feel a tightness in the lower part of my 
 waistcoat, Paifus, when I think of the
 
 150 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 dinner; there was such a quantity of it, 
 and Mr. Farnaby was so tyrannically resolute 
 in forcing his luxuries down the throats of his 
 guests. His eye was on me, if I let my plate 
 go away before it was empty — his eye said, 
 '^ I have paid for this magnificent dinner, 
 and I mean to see you eat it." Our printed 
 list of the dishes, as they succeeded each 
 other, also informed us of the varieties of 
 wine which it was imperatively necessary to 
 drink with each dish. I got into difficulties 
 early in the proceedings. The taste of 
 sherry, for instance, is absolutely nauseous 
 to me ; and Ehine wine turns into vinegar 
 ten minutes after it has passed my lips. I 
 asked for the wine that I could drink, out 
 of its turn. You should have seen Mr. 
 Farnaby's face, when I violated the rules of 
 his dinner-table ! It was the one amusing 
 incident of the feast — the one thing that 
 alleviated the dreary and mysterious spec- 
 tacle of Mrs. Farnaby. There she sat, with 
 her mind hundreds of miles aw^ay from 
 everything that was going on about her.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 151 
 
 entangling the two guests, on lier right 
 hand and on her left, in a network of vacant 
 qnestio2is, just as she had entangled me. I 
 discovered that one of these gentlemen was 
 a barrister and the other a shipowTier, by 
 the answers which Mrs. Farnaby absently 
 extracted from them on the subject of their 
 respective vocations in life. And while she 
 questioned incessantly, she ate incessantly. 
 Her vigorous body insisted on being fed. 
 She would have emptied her wineglass (I 
 suspect) as readily as she plied her knife 
 and fork — but I discovered that a certain 
 system of restraint was established hi the 
 matter of wine. At intervals, Mr. Farnaby 
 just looked at the butler — and the butler 
 and his bottle, on those occasions, deliber- 
 ately passed her by. Not the slightest 
 visible change was produced in her by the 
 eating and drinking ; she was equal to any 
 demands that any dinner could make on 
 her. There was no flush in her face, no 
 change in her spirits, when she rose, in 
 obedience to English custom, and retired to 
 the drawing-room.
 
 152 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Left together over tlieii' wine, tlie men 
 began to talk ^^olitics. 
 
 I listened at the outset, expecting to get 
 some information. Our readings in modern 
 history at Tadmor had informed us of the 
 dominant political position of the middle 
 classes in England, since the time of the 
 hrst Eeform Bill. Mr. Farnaby's guests 
 represented the respectable mediocrity of 
 social position, the professional and com- 
 mercial average of the nation. They all 
 talked glibly enough — I and an old gentle- 
 man who sat next to me being the only 
 listeners. I had spent the morning lazily 
 in the smoking-room of the hotel, reading 
 the day's newspapers. And what did I hear 
 now, when the poUticians set in for their 
 discussion ? I heard the leading articles of 
 the day's newspapers translated into bald 
 chat, and coolly addressed by one man to 
 another, as if they were his o\\tl individual 
 views on public affairs ! This absurd im- 
 posture positively went the round of the 
 table, received and respected by everybody
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 153 
 
 with a stolid solemnity of make-believe 
 which it was downright shameful to see. 
 Not a man present said, " I saw that to-day 
 in the Times or the Telegraph,''' Not a 
 man present had an opinion of his own ; or, 
 if he had an opinion, ventured to express 
 it; or, if he knew nothing of the subject, 
 was honest enough to say so. One enor- 
 mous Sham, and everybody in a conspu'acy 
 to take it for the real thing : that is an 
 accurate description of the state of pohtical 
 feehng among the representative men at Mr. 
 Farnaby's dinner. I am not judging rashly 
 by one example only ; I have been taken 
 to clubs and public festivals, only to hear 
 over and over again what I heard in Mr. 
 Farnaby's dining-room. Does it need any 
 great foresight to see that such a state of 
 things as this cannot last much longer, in a 
 country which has not done with reforming 
 itself yet ? The time is coming, in England, 
 when the people who have opinions of their 
 own will be heard, and when Parliament 
 will be forced to open the door to them.
 
 154 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 This is a nice outbreak of republican free- 
 dom ! What does my long-suffering friend 
 think of it — waiting all the time to be 
 presented to Mrs. Farnaby's niece ? Every- 
 thing in its place, Eufus. The niece fol- 
 lowed the politics, at the time ; and she 
 shall follow them now. 
 
 You shall hear first what my next neigh- 
 bour said of her — a quaint old fellow, a 
 retired doctor, if I remember correctly. 
 He seemed to be as weary of the second- 
 hand newspaper talk as I was ; he quite 
 sparkled and cheered up when I introduced 
 the subject of Miss Kegina. Have I men- 
 tioned her name yet ? If not, here it is 
 for you in full : — Miss Kegina Mildmay. 
 
 ^' I call her the brown girl," said the old 
 gentleman. ''Brown hair, brown eyes, and 
 a brown skin. No, not a brunette ; not 
 dark enough for that — a warm, delicate 
 brown ; wait till you see it ! Takes after 
 her father, I should tell you. He was a 
 fine-looking man in his time ; foreign 
 blood in his veins, by his mother's side.
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 155 
 
 Miss Eegina gets her queer name by being 
 cbristened after his mother. Xever mind 
 her name ; she's a charming person. Let's 
 di'ink her health." 
 
 We drank her health. Eemembering 
 that he had called her "the brown girl," 
 I said I sii2:)posed she was still quite young. 
 
 '' Better than young," the doctor an- 
 swered ; "in the prime of life. I call her 
 a girl, by habit. Wait till you see her ! " 
 
 "Has she a good figure, su' ? " 
 
 "Ha! you're like the Tm-ks, are you? 
 A nice-looking woman doesn't content you 
 — you must have her well-made too. We 
 can accommodate you, sir ; we are shm 
 and tall, T\T.th a swing of our hips, and we 
 walk like a goddess. Wait and see how 
 her head is put on her shoulders — I say 
 no more. Proud ? Xot she ! A simple, 
 unaffected, kind-hearted creatm-e. Always 
 the same ; I never saw her out of temper 
 in my life ; I never heard her speak ill of 
 anybody. The man who gets her will be 
 a man to be envied, I can tell you! "
 
 156 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ''Is she engaged to be married?" 
 
 " No. She has had plenty of offers ; 
 but she doesn't seem to care for anything 
 of that sort — so far. Devotes herself to 
 Mrs. Farnaby, and keeps up her school- 
 friendships. A splendid creature, with the 
 vital thermometer at temperate heat — • 
 a calm, meditative, equable person. Pass 
 me the olives. Only think ! the man who 
 discovered oHves is unknown ; no statue 
 of him erected in any part of the civilized 
 earth. I know few more remarkable 
 instances of human ingratitude." 
 
 '' I risked a bold question — but not on 
 the subject of olives. " Isn't Miss Kegina's 
 life rather a dull one in this house ? " 
 
 The doctor cautiously lowered his voice. 
 "It would be dull enough to some women. 
 Eegina's early hfe has been a hard one. 
 Her mother was Mr. Eonald's eldest 
 daughter. The old brute never forgave her 
 for marrying against his wishes. Mrs. 
 Eonald did all she could, secretly, to help 
 the young wife in disgi-ace. But old
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 157 
 
 Eonald had sole command of the money, 
 and kept it to himself. From Eegina's 
 earliest childhood there was always distress 
 at home. Her father harassed by creditors, 
 trjdng one scheme after another, and fail- 
 ing in all ; her mother and herself, half 
 starved — with their very bedclothes some- 
 times at the pawnbrokers. I attended 
 them in their illnesses, and though they 
 hid their ^Tctchedness h'om everybody else 
 (proud as Lucifer, both of them !), they 
 couldn't hide it from me. Fancy the 
 change to this house ! I don't say that 
 li\dng here in clover is enough for such 
 a person as Eegina ; I only say it has its 
 influence. She is one of those young 
 women, sir, who delight in sacrificing 
 themselves to others — she is devoted, for 
 instance, to Mrs. Farnaby. I only hope 
 Mrs. Farnaby is worthy of it ! Xot that 
 it matters to Eegina. What she does, she 
 does out of her own sweetness of dis- 
 position. She brightens this household, 
 I can tell you ! Farnaby did a wise thing,
 
 158 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 in liis own domestic interests, when he 
 adopted her as his daughter. She thinks 
 she can never be grateful enough to him — 
 the good creature ! — though she has repaid 
 him a hundredfold. He'll find that out, 
 one of these days, when a husband takes 
 her away. Don't suppose that I want to 
 disparage our host — he's an old fiiend of 
 mine ; but he's a little too apt to take the 
 good things that fall to his lot as if they 
 were nothing but a just recognition of his 
 own merits. I have told him that to his 
 face, often enough to have a right to say 
 it of him when he doesn't hear me. Do 
 you smoke ? I wish they would drop their 
 pohtics, and take to tobacco. I say, Far- 
 naby ! I want a cigar." 
 
 This broad hint produced an adjournment 
 to the smoking-room, the doctor leading 
 the way. I began to wonder how much 
 longer my introduction to Miss Piegina 
 was to be delayed. It was not to come 
 imtil I had seen a new side of my host's 
 character, and had found myself promoted
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 159 
 
 to a place of my o^n in Mr. Farnaby's 
 estimation. 
 
 As we rose fi'om table one of the guests 
 spoke to me of a visit that he had recently 
 paid to the part of Buckinghamshire which 
 I come from. '' I was shown a remarkably 
 picturesque old house on the heath," he 
 said. '' They told me it had been inhabited 
 for centuries by the family of the Golden- 
 hearts. Are you in any way related to 
 them ? " I answered that I was very 
 nearly related, having been born in the 
 house — and there, as I supposed, the matter 
 ended. Being the youngest man of the 
 party, I waited, of coui'se, until the rest 
 of the gentlemen had passed out to the 
 smoking-room. Mr. Farnaby and I were 
 left together. To my astonishment, he put 
 his arm cordially into mine, and led me out 
 of the dining-room with the genial fami- 
 liarity of an old friend ! 
 
 ^'ITL give you such a cigar," he said, 
 ^' as you can't buy for money in all London. 
 You have enjoyed yourself, I hope ? Xow
 
 160 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 we know what wine yon like, you won't 
 have to ask the butler for it next time. 
 Drop in any day, and take pot-luck with 
 us." He came to a standstill in the hall; 
 his brassy rasping voice assumed a new 
 tone — a sort of parody of respect. ^^ Have 
 you been to your family place," he asked, 
 ^' since your return to England?" 
 
 He had evidently heard the few words 
 exchanged between his friend and myself. 
 It seemed odd that he should take any 
 interest in a j)lace belonging to people who 
 were strangers to him. However, his ques- 
 tion was easily answered. I had only to 
 inform him that my father had sold the 
 house when he left England. 
 
 '' Oh dear, I'm sorry to hear that ! " he 
 said. " Those old family places ought to 
 be kept up. The greatness of England, 
 sir, strikes its roots in the old families of 
 England. They may be rich, or they may 
 be poor — that don't matter. An old family 
 '^5 an old family; it's sad to see their 
 hearths and homes sold to wealthy manu-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 161 
 
 factiirers who don't know who their own 
 grandfathers w^ere. Would you allow me 
 to ask what is the family motto of the 
 Goldenhearts ? " 
 
 Shall I own the truth? The hottles 
 circulated freely at Mr. Farnahy's table — 
 I began to wonder whether he was quite 
 sober. I said I was sorry to disappoint 
 him, but I really did not know what my 
 family motto was. 
 
 He was unaffectedly shocked. ^^ I think 
 I saw a ring on your finger," he said, as 
 soon as he recovered himself. He lifted 
 my left hand in his own cold-fishy paw. 
 The one ring I wear is of plain gold; it 
 belonged to my father, and it has his 
 initials inscribed on the signet. 
 
 '^ Good gracious, you haven't got your 
 coat-of-arms on your seal ! " cried Mr. 
 Farnaby. '^ My dear sir, I am old enough 
 to be your father, and I must take the 
 freedom of remonstrating with you. Your 
 coat-of-arms and your motto are no doubt 
 at the Heralds' Office — why don't you ai)ply 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 for them ? Shall I go there for yoii ? I 
 vn)l do it with pleasure. Yon shouldn't he 
 careless ahout these things — you shouldn't 
 indeed." 
 
 I Hstened in speechless astonishment. 
 Was he ironically expressing his contempt 
 for old famihes ? We got into the smok- 
 ing-room at last ; and m}^ friend the doctor 
 enlightened me privately in a corner. 
 Every word Mr. Farnahy had said had 
 heen spoken in earnest. This man, who 
 owes his rise from the lowest social position 
 entirely to himself — who, judging hy his 
 own experience, has every reason to despise 
 the poor pride of ancestry — actually feels 
 a sincerely servile admiration for the acci- 
 dent of birth ! '' Oh, poor human nature ! " 
 as Somebody says. How cordially I agree 
 with Somebody ! 
 
 We went up to the drawing-room ; and 
 I was introduced to '^ the brown ghi " at 
 last. What impression did she produce on 
 me ? 
 
 Do you know, Eufus, there is some per-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 1G3 
 
 verse reluctance in me to go on witli this 
 inordinately long letter just when I have 
 arrived at the most interesting ^Kit of it. 
 I can't account for my own state of mind ; 
 I only know that it is so. The difficulty 
 of describing the young lady doesn't per- 
 plex me like the difficulty of describing 
 Mrs. Farnaby. I can see her now, as 
 vividly as if she was present in the room. 
 I even remember (and this is astonishing 
 in a man) the dress that she wore. And 
 yet I shrink from writing about her, as if 
 there was something wrong in it. Do me 
 a kindness, good friend, and let me send 
 off all these sheets of paper, the idle work 
 of an idle morning, just as they are. When 
 I write next, I promise to be ashamed of 
 my own capricious state of mind, and to 
 paint the portrait of Miss Regina at full 
 length. 
 
 In the mean while, don't run away with 
 the idea that she has made a disagreeable 
 impression upon me. Good heavens ! it 
 is far from that. You have had the old
 
 164 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 doctor's opinion of her. Very well. Mul- 
 tiply his opinion by ten — and you have 
 mine. 
 
 [Note : — A strange indorsement appears 
 on this letter, dated several months after 
 the period at which it was received : — " Ali^ 
 ■poor Amelius ! He had better liave gone 
 back to Miss Mellicent, and j^ut njy toith the 
 little draivbacJc of her age. What a bright^ 
 lovable felloio he was ! Good-bye to Golden- 
 heart ! " 
 
 These hnes are not signed. They are 
 known, however, to be in the handwriting 
 of Kufus DingwelL]
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 165 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I PAKTicuLAELY "Want joii to coDie and lunch 
 with ns, clearest CeciHa, the day after to- 
 morrow. Don't say to yourself, ^^ The 
 Farnabys' house is dull, and Regina is too 
 slow for me," and don't think about the 
 long drive for the horses, from your place 
 to London. This letter has an interest of 
 its own, my dear — I have got something- 
 new for you. What do you think of a 
 young man, who is clever and handsome 
 and agreeable — and, wonder of wonders, 
 quite unlike any other young Englishman 
 you ever saw in your life ? You are to meet 
 him at luncheon ; and you are to get used 
 to his strange name beforehand. For which 
 liurpose I enclose his card.
 
 166 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 He made his first appearance at our 
 house, at dinner yesterday evening. 
 
 When he was presented to me at the tea- 
 table, he was not to be put off with a bow — 
 he insisted on shaking hands. '^ Where I 
 have been," he explained, "we help a first 
 introduction with a httle cordiality." He 
 looked into his tea-cup, after he said that, 
 with the air of a man who could say some- 
 thing more, if he had a little encouragement. 
 Of course, I encouraged him. "I suppose 
 shaking hands is much the same form in 
 America that bowing is in England?" I 
 said, as suggestively as I could. 
 
 He looked up directly, and shook his 
 head. " We have too many forms in this 
 country," he said. '' The virtue of hospi- 
 tahty, for instance, seems to have become a 
 form in England. In America, when a new 
 acquaintance says, ' Come and see me,' he 
 means it. When he says it here, in nine 
 cases out of ten he looks unaffectedly 
 astonished if you are fool enough to take 
 him at his word. I hate insincerity. Miss
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 167 
 
 Kegina — and now I have returned to my 
 own country, I find insincerity one of the 
 estabhshed institutions of Enghsh Society. 
 ^ Can we do anything for you ? ' Ask them 
 to do something for you — and you will see 
 what it means. ' Thank you for such a 
 j)leasant evening ! ' Get into the carriage 
 with them when they go home — and you 
 will find that it means, ^ What a bore ! ' 
 ' Ah, Mr. So-and-so, allow me to congratu- 
 late you on your new appointment.' Mr. 
 So-and-so passes out of hearing — and you 
 discover what the congratulations mean. 
 ^ Corrupt old brute ! he has got the price 
 of his vote at the last division.' ' Oh, Mr. 
 Blank, what a charming book you have 
 written ! ' Mr. Blank passes out of hearing 
 — and you ask what his book is about. 
 ' To teU you the truth, I haven't read it. 
 Hush I he's received at Court ; one must 
 say these things.' The other day a hiend 
 took me to a grand dinner at the Lord 
 Mayor's. I accompanied liim first to his 
 €lub ; many distinguished guests met there
 
 168 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 before going to the dinner. Heavens, how 
 they spoke of the Lord Mayor ! One of 
 them didn't know his name, and didn't 
 want to know it ; another wasn't certain 
 whether he was a tallow-chandler or a 
 button-maker ; a third, who had met with 
 him somewhere, described him as a damned 
 ass ; a fourth said, ^ Oh, don't be hard on 
 him ; he's only a vulgar old Cockney, with- 
 out an li in his whole composition.' A 
 chorus of general agreement followed, as 
 the dinner-hour approached : ' What a 
 bore ! ' I whispered to my friend, ' Why 
 do they go ? ' He answered, ^ You see, 
 one must do this sort of thing.' And when 
 we got to the Mansion House, they did that 
 sort of thing with a vengeance ! When the 
 speech-making set in, these very men who 
 had been all expressing their profound con- 
 tempt for the Lord Mayor behind his back, 
 now flattered him to his face in such a 
 shamelessly servile way, with such a meanty 
 complete insensibility to their own baseness, 
 that I did really and literally turn sick. I
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. IGO 
 
 slipped out into the fresh aii', and fumigated 
 myself, after the company I had kept, with 
 a cigar. No, no ! it's useless to excuse 
 these things (I could quote dozens of other 
 instances that have come under my own 
 observation) by saying that they are trifles. 
 When trifles make themselves habits of 
 yours or of mine, they become a part of 
 your character or mine. We have an in- 
 veterately false and vicious system of society 
 in England. If you want to trace one of 
 the causes, look back to tlie httle organized 
 insincerities of English life." 
 
 Of com\se you understand, Ceciha, that 
 this was not all said at one burst, as I have 
 written it here. Some of it came out in 
 the way of answers to my inquiries, and 
 some of it was spoken in the intervals of 
 laughing, talking, and tea-di'inking. But I 
 want to show you how very different this 
 young man is from the young men whom 
 we are in the habit of meeting, and so I 
 huddle his talk together in one sample, as 
 Papa Farnaby would call it.
 
 170 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 My dear, lie is decidedly handsome (I 
 mean our deligiitful Amelias) ; his face has 
 a bright, eager look, indescribably refreshing 
 as a contrast to the stolid composure of the 
 ordinary young Englishman. His smile is 
 charming ; he moves as gracefully — with as 
 httle self- consciousness — as my Itahan grey- 
 hound. He has been brought up among 
 the strangest people in America ; and 
 {would you believe it ?) he is actually a 
 Socialist. Don't be alarmed. He shocked 
 ns all dreadfully by declaring that his 
 Socialism was entirely learnt out of, the 
 New Testament. I have looked at the 
 New Testament, since he mentioned some 
 of his principles to me ; and, do you know, 
 I declare it is true ! 
 
 Oh, I forgot — the young Sociahst plays 
 and sings ! When we asked him to go to 
 the piano, he got up and began directly. 
 ^'I don't do it well enough," he said, "to 
 want a great deal of pressing." He sang 
 old English songs, with great taste and 
 sweetness. One of the gentlemen of our
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 171 
 
 party, evidently disliking Hm, spoke rather 
 rudely, I thought. "A SociaHst who sings 
 and plays," he said, " is a harmless Sociahst 
 indeed. I begin to feel that my balance is 
 safe at my banker's, and that London won't 
 be set on fire with petroleum this time." 
 He got his answer, I can tell you. ^' Why 
 should w^e set London on fire ? London 
 takes a regular percentage of your income 
 from you, sir, whether 5^ou like it or not, on 
 sound Socialist principles. You are the 
 man who has got the money, and SociaHsm 
 says : —You must and shall help the man 
 who has got none. That is exactly what 
 your own Poor Law says to you, every time 
 the collector leaves the paper at your 
 house." Wasn't it clever? — and it was 
 doubly severe, because it was good-hu- 
 mouredly said. 
 
 Between ourselves, Cecilia, I tliink he 
 is struck with me. When I walked about 
 the room, his bright eyes followed me 
 everywhere. And, when I took a chair by 
 somebody else, not feeling it quite right
 
 172 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 to keep him all to myself, he invariably 
 contrived to find a seat on the other side 
 of me. His voice, too, had a certain tone, 
 addi'essed to me, and to no other person in 
 the room. Judge for yourself when you 
 come here ; but don't jump to conclusions, 
 if you please. Oh no — I am not going to 
 fall in love with him ! It isn't in me to 
 fall in love with anybody. Do you re- 
 member what the last man whom I refused 
 said of me ? '^ She has a machine on the 
 left side of her that pumps blood through 
 her body, but she has no heart." I pity 
 the woman who marries that man ! 
 
 One thing more, my dear. This curious 
 Amehus seems to notice trifles which escape 
 men in general, just as toe do. Towards 
 the close of the evening, poor Mamma 
 Farnaby fell into one of her vacant states ; 
 half asleep and half awake on the sofa in 
 the back drawing-room. ^'Your aunt 
 interests me," he whispered. '' She must 
 have suffered some terrible sorrow, at some 
 past time in her life." Fancy a man seeiug
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 173 
 
 that ! He dropped some hints, Tvhicli 
 showed that he was puzzling his brains 
 to discover how I got on with her, and 
 whether I was in her confidence or not : 
 he even went the length of asking what 
 sort of hfe I led with the uncle and aunt 
 who have adopted me. My dear, it was 
 done so delicately, with such irresistible 
 symj)athy and such a charming au' of 
 respect, that I was quite startled when I 
 remembered, in the wakeful hours of the 
 night, how freely I had spoken to him. 
 Not that I have betrayed any secrets ; for, 
 as you know, I am as ignorant as every- 
 body else of what the early troubles of m}' 
 poor dear aunt may have been. But I did 
 tell him how I came into the house a help- 
 less little orphan girl ; and how generously 
 these two good relatives adopted me ; and 
 how happy it made me to find that I could 
 really do something to cheer their sad 
 childless lives. ^' I wish I was half as good 
 as you are," he said. ''I can't understand 
 how you became fond of Mrs. Farnaby.
 
 174 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Perha23S it began in sympathy and com- 
 passion ? " Just think of that, from a 
 young Englishman ! He went on con- 
 fessing his perplexities, as if we had known 
 one another from childhood. '^I am a 
 little surprised to see Mrs. Farnaby present 
 at parties of this sort ; I should have 
 thought she would have stayed in her own 
 room." ''That's just what she objects to 
 do," I answered; "she says people wdll 
 report that her husband is ashamed of her, 
 or that she is not fit to be seen in society, 
 if she doesn't appear at the parties — and 
 she is determined not to be misrepresented 
 in that way." Can you understand my 
 talking to him with so little reserve ? It 
 is a specimen, Cecilia, of the odd manner 
 in which my impulses carry me away, in 
 this man's company. He is so nice and 
 gentle — and yet so manly. I shall be 
 curious to see if you can resist him, with 
 your superior firmness and knowledge of 
 the world. 
 
 But the stran2:est incident of all I have
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 175 
 
 not told you yet — feeling some hesitation 
 about the best way of describing it, so as 
 to interest you in what has deeply interested 
 me. I must tell it as plainly as I can, and 
 leave it to speak for itself. 
 
 Who do you think has invited Amelius 
 Goldenheart to luncheon ? Not Papa 
 Farnaby, who only invites him to dinner. 
 Not I, it is needless to say. Who is it, 
 then? Mamma Farnaby herself I He has 
 actually so interested her that she has 
 been thinking of him, and dreaming of him, 
 in his absence ! 
 
 I heard her last night, poor thing, talking 
 and grinding her teeth in her sleep ; and I 
 went into her room to try if I could quiet 
 her, in the usual way, by putting my cool 
 hand on her forehead, and pressing it gentlv. 
 (The old doctor says it's magnetism, which 
 is ridiculous.) Well, it didn't succeed this 
 time ; she went on muttering, and making 
 that dreadful sound with her teeth. Occa- 
 sionally a word was spoken clearly enough 
 to be intelhgible. I could make no con-
 
 176 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 nected sense of what I lieard ; but I could 
 jDositively discover this — that she was 
 dreaming of our guest from America ! 
 
 I said nothing about it, of course, when 
 I went upstairs mth her cup of tea this 
 morning. What do you think was the first 
 thing she asked for ? Pen, ink, and paper. 
 Her next request was that I would ^Tite 
 Mr. Goldenheart's address on an envelope. 
 ^' Are you going to write to him ? " I asked. 
 '^ Yes," she said, ^' I want to speak to him, 
 while John is out of the way at business." 
 '^Secrets?" I said, turning it off with a 
 laugh. She answered, speaking gravely 
 and earnestly, ''Yes; secrets." The letter 
 was written, and sent to his hotel, inviting 
 him to lunch with us on the first day when 
 he was disengaged. He has replied, ap- 
 pointing the day after to-morrow. By way 
 of trying to penetrate the mystery, I in- 
 quired if she wished me to appear at the 
 luncheon. She considered with herself, 
 before she • answered that. ''I want him 
 to be amused, and ^nit in a good humour,"
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 177 
 
 she said, "before I speak to him. You 
 must hmch ^vith iis — and ask Cecilia." 
 She stopped, and considered once more. 
 ^'Mind one thing," she went on. ''Yoiu' 
 uncle is to know nothing about it. If 
 you tell him, I mil never speak to you 
 again." 
 
 Is this not extraordinary ? Whatever 
 her dream may have been, it has evidently 
 produced a strong impression on her. I 
 firmly believe she means to take him away 
 with her to her own room, when the 
 luncheon is over. Dearest Cecilia, you 
 must help me to stop this ! I have never 
 been trusted with her secrets ; they may, 
 for all I know, be innocent secrets enough, 
 poor soul ! But it is surely in the highest 
 degree undesirable that she should take 
 into her confidence a young man who is 
 only an acquaintance of ours : she will 
 either make herself ridiculous, or do 
 something worse. If Mr. Earnaby finds 
 it out, I really tremble for what may 
 happen. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 For tlie sake of old friendship, don't leave 
 me to face this difficulty by myself. A line, 
 dnly one line, dearest, to say that you will 
 not fail me.
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 MRS. FARNABY S FOOT.
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 181 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was an afternoon concert ; and modern 
 German music was largely represented on 
 the programme. The patient Enghsh 
 people sat in closely-packed rows, listen- 
 ing to the pretentions instrumental noises 
 which were impudently offered to them 
 as a substitute for melody. While these 
 docile victims of the worst of all quackeries 
 (musical quackery) were still toiHng through 
 their first hour of endurance, a passing 
 ripple of interest stirred the stagnant sur- 
 face of the audience, caused by the sudden 
 rising of a lady overcome by the heat. She 
 was quickly led out of the concert-room 
 (after whispering a word of explanation to 
 two young ladies seated at her side) by a
 
 182 TEE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 gentleman who made a fourth member of 
 the party. Left by themselves, the young 
 ladies looked at each other, whispered to 
 each other, half rose from their places, 
 became confusedly conscious that the 
 wandering attention of the audience was 
 fixed on them, and decided at last on follow- 
 ing theu' companions out of the hall. 
 
 But the lady who had preceded them 
 had some reason of her own for not waiting 
 to recover herself in the vestibule. When 
 the gentleman in charge of her asked if he 
 should get a glass of water, she answered 
 sharply, '^ Get a cab — and be quick about 
 it." 
 
 The cab was found in a moment ; the 
 gentleman got in after her, by the lady's 
 invitation. ''Are you better now?" he 
 asked. 
 
 " I have never had anything the matter 
 with me," she replied, quietly; "tell the 
 man to drive faster." 
 
 Having obeyed his instructions, the 
 gentleman (otherwise Amelius) began to
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 183 
 
 look a little puzzled. The lady (Mrs. 
 Farnaby herself) perceived his condition of 
 mind, and favoured him with an explana- 
 tion. 
 
 "I had my own motive for asking you 
 to luncheon to-day," she began, in the 
 steady downright way of speaking that 
 was peculiar to her. ^' I wanted to have 
 a word with you privately. My niece 
 Eegina — don't be surprised at my caUing 
 her my niece, when you have heard Mr. 
 Farnaby call her his daughter. She is my 
 niece. Adopting her is a mere phrase. 
 It doesn't alter facts ; it doesn't make her 
 Mr. Farnaby's child or mine, does it ? " 
 
 She had ended with a question, but she 
 seemed to want no answer to it. Her face 
 was turned towards the cab-window, instead 
 of towards Amehus. He was one of those 
 rare people who are capable of remaining 
 silent when they have nothing to say. 
 Mrs. Farnaby went on. 
 
 '^ My niece Ptegiua is a good creature in 
 her way ; but she suspects people. She
 
 184 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 has some reason of her own for trying to 
 prevent me from taking you into my con- 
 fidence ; and her friend Ceciha is helping 
 her. Yes, yes ; the concert was the ob- 
 stacle which they had arranged to put in 
 my way. You were obliged to go, after 
 teUing them you wanted to hear the music ; 
 and I couldn't complain, because they had 
 got a fourth ticket for me. I made up my 
 mind what to do ; and I have done it. 
 Nothing wonderful in m}^ being taken ill 
 with the heat ; nothing wonderful in your 
 doing your duty as a gentleman and looking 
 after me — and what is the consequence ? 
 Here we are together, on our way to my 
 room, in spite of them. Not so bad for a 
 poor helpless creature like me, is it ? " 
 
 Inwardly wondering what it all meant,, 
 and what she could possibly want with him, 
 Amehus suggested that the young ladies 
 might leave the concert-room, and, not 
 finding them in the vestibule, might follow 
 them back to the house. 
 
 Mrs. Farnaby turned her head from the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 185 
 
 window, and looked liim in the face for 
 the first time. '* I have been a match for 
 them so far," she said; ''leave it to me, 
 and you will find I can be a match for them 
 stiU." 
 
 After sa}dng this, she watched the 
 puzzled face of Amelias with a moment's 
 steady scrutiny. Her full hps relaxed into 
 a faint smile ; her head sank slowty on 
 her bosom. '' I wonder whether he thinks 
 I am a little crazy ? " she said quietl}^ to 
 herself. '' Some women in my place would 
 have gone mad years ago. Perhaps it 
 might have been better for me ? " She 
 looked up again at Amelius. " I beheve 
 you are a good-tempered fellow," she went 
 on. '' xAi'e you in your usual temper now? 
 Did you enjoy your lunch? Has the Hvely 
 company of the young ladies put you in a 
 good humour with women generally ? I 
 want you to be in a particularly good 
 humour with me." 
 
 She spoke quite gravely. Amehus, a 
 httle to his own astonishment, found him-
 
 186 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 self answering gravely on his side ; assuring 
 her, in the most conventional terms, that 
 he was entirely at her service. Something 
 in her manner affected him disagreeahly. 
 If he had followed his impulse, he would 
 have jumped out of the cah, and have 
 recovered his hberty and his Hght-hearted- 
 ness at one and the same moment, by 
 running away at the top of his speed. 
 
 The driver turned into the street in 
 which Mr. Farnaby's house was situated. 
 Mrs. Farnaby stopped him, and got out at 
 some little distance from the door. ''You 
 think the young ones will follow us back," 
 she said to Amelius. "It doesn't matter; 
 the servants will have nothing to tell them 
 if they do." She checked him in the act 
 of knocking, when they reached the house 
 door. "It's tea-time downstairs," she 
 whispered, looking at her watch. " You 
 and I are going into the house, without 
 letting the servants know anything about 
 it. Noio do you understand?" 
 
 She produced from her pocket a steel
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 187 
 
 ring, with several keys attaclied to it. ^' A 
 duplicate of I\Ir. Farnaby's key," she ex- 
 plained, as she chose one, and opened the 
 street door. " Sometimes, Avhen I find 
 myself waking in the small hours of the 
 morning, I can't endure my bed ; I must 
 go out and walk. My key lets me in 
 again, just as it lets us in now, without 
 disturbing anybody. You had better say 
 nothing about it to Mr. Farnaby. Xot 
 that it matters much ; for I should refuse 
 to give up my key if he asked me. But 
 you're a good-natured fellow^ — and you 
 don't want to make bad blood between 
 man and wife, do you ? Stej) softly, and 
 follow me." 
 
 Amelius hesitated. There was something 
 repellent to him in entering another man's 
 house under these clandestine conditions. 
 *^ All right!" whispered Mrs. Farnaby, 
 perfectly understanding him. " Consult 
 your dignity; go out again, and knock at 
 the door, and ask if I am at home. I 
 only wanted to prevent a fuss and an
 
 188 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 interruption when Eegina comes back. 
 If the servants don't know we are here, 
 they will tell her we haven't retm'ned — 
 don't you see ? " 
 
 It would have been absurd to contest 
 the matter, after this. Amehus followed 
 her submissively to the farther end of the 
 hall. There, she opened the door of a long 
 narrow room, built out at the back of the 
 house. 
 
 " This is my den," she said, signing to 
 Amelius to pass in. ^' While we are here, 
 nobody will disturb us." She laid aside 
 her bonnet and shawl, and pointed to a 
 box of cigars on the table. "Take one," 
 she resumed. '^ I smoke too, when nobody 
 sees me. That's one of the reasons, I 
 dare say, why Eegina wished to keep you 
 out of my room. I find smoking composes 
 me. What do you say ? " 
 
 She lit a cigar, and handed the matches 
 to Amelius. Finding that he stood fahly 
 committed to the adventure, he resigned 
 himself to circumstances with his cus-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 189 
 
 tomary facility. He too lit a cigar, and 
 took a chair by tlie fire, and looked about 
 him with an impenetrable composure 
 worthy of Eufus Dingwell himself. 
 
 The room bore no sort of resemblance 
 to a boudoir. A faded old Turkey carpet 
 was spread on the floor. The common 
 mahogany table had no covering ; the 
 chintz on the chairs was of a truly 
 venerable age. Some of the furniture 
 made the place look hke a room occupied 
 by a man. Dumb-bells and clubs of the 
 sort used in athletic exercises hung over 
 the bare mantelj)iece ; a large ugly oaken 
 structure with closed doors, something 
 between a cabinet and a wardrobe, rose on 
 one side to the ceiling ; a turning lathe 
 stood against the opposite wall. Above 
 the lathe were hung in a row four prints, 
 in dingy old frames of black wood, which 
 especially attracted the attention of Ame- 
 Hus. Mostly foreign prints, they were all 
 discoloured by time, and they all strangety 
 represented different aspects of the same
 
 190 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 subject — infants parted from their parents 
 by desertion or robbery. The young Moses 
 was there, in his ark of buh'ushes, on the 
 river bank. Good St. Francis appeared 
 next, roaming the streets, and rescuing 
 forsaken children in the wintry night. A 
 third print showed the foundhng hospital 
 of old Paris, with the turning cage in the 
 wall, and the bell to ring when the infant 
 was placed in it. The next and last subject 
 was the stealing of a child fi'om the lap 
 of its slumbering nurse by a gipsy woman. 
 These sadly suggestive subjects were the 
 only ornaments on the walls. No traces 
 of books or music were visible ; no needle- 
 work of any sort was to be seen; no 
 elegant trifles ; no china or flowers or 
 dehcate lace-work or sparkling jewelry — 
 nothing, absolutely nothing, suggestive of 
 a woman's presence appeared in any part 
 of Mrs. Farnaby's room. 
 
 *' I have got several things to say to 
 you," she began ; "• but one thing must 
 be settled first. Give me your sacred
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. IDl 
 
 word of honour that yon will not repeat 
 to any mortal creature what I am going 
 to tell you now." She reclined in her 
 chair, and drew in a mouthful of smoke 
 and puffed it out again, and waited for his 
 reply. 
 
 Young and unsuspicious as he was, this 
 unscrupulous method of taking his con- 
 fidence by storm startled Amehus. His 
 natural tact and good sense told him 
 plainly that Mrs. Farnah}^ was asking too 
 much. 
 
 ^' Don't be angry mth me, ma'am," he 
 said; ^^I must remind you that you are 
 going to tell me your secrets, without any 
 wish to intrude on them on my part " 
 
 She interrupted him there. ^' What 
 does that matter?" she asked coolly. 
 
 AmeHus was obstinate ; he went on with 
 what he had to say. ^^ I should like to 
 know," he proceeded, ^' that I am doing 
 no wrong to anybody, before I give you my 
 promise ? " 
 
 ^' You T\dll be doing a kindness to a miser-
 
 192 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 aMe creature," she answered, as quietly as 
 ever; "and yon will be doing no wrong 
 to yourself or to anybody else, if you 
 promise. That is all I can say. Your 
 cigar is out. Take a light." 
 
 Amelius took a light, with the dog-like 
 docility of a man m a state of blank amaze- 
 ment. She waited, watching him com- 
 posedly until his cigar was in working order 
 
 agam. 
 
 " Well ? " she asked. " Will you promise 
 now ? " 
 
 Amehus gave her his promise. 
 
 " On your sacred word of honour ? " she 
 persisted. 
 
 Amehus repeated the formula. She re- 
 clined in her chair once more. ''I want 
 to speak to you as if I was speaking to an 
 old friend," she explained. "I suppose I 
 may call you Amelius ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 '^Well, Amehus, I must tell you first 
 that I committed a sin, many long years 
 ago. I have suffered the punishment ; I
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 193 
 
 am suffering it still. Ever since I was a 
 young woman, I have had a heavy burden 
 of misery on my heart. I am not reconciled 
 to it, I cannot submit to ifc, yet. I never 
 shall be reconciled to it, I never shall sub- 
 mit to it, if I hve to be a hundi-ed. Do 
 you wish me to enter into particulars ? or 
 will you have mercy on me, and be satisfied 
 with what I have told you so far ? " 
 
 It was not said entreatingly, or tenderly, 
 or humbly : she spoke with a savage seh- 
 contained resignation in her manner and 
 in her voice. Amehus forgot his cigar 
 again — and again she reminded him of it. 
 He answered her as his own generous im- 
 pulsive temperament urged him ; he said, 
 *' Tell me :iiothing that causes you a 
 moment's pain ; tell me only how I can 
 help you." She handed him the box of 
 matches; she said, ''Your cigar is out 
 again." 
 
 He laid down his cigar. In his brief 
 span of hfe he had seen no human misery 
 that expressed itself in this way. '' Excuse 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 me," lie answered; "I won't smoke jnst 
 now." 
 
 She laid her cigar aside hke Amelius, 
 and crossed her arms over her bosom, and 
 looked at him, with the first softening 
 gleam of tenderness that he had seen in 
 her face. ^^ My friend," she said, ^' yours 
 will he a sad hfe — I pity you. The world 
 will wound that sensitive heart of yours ; 
 the world will trample on that generous 
 nature. One of these days, perhaps, you 
 will he a wretch like me. No more of 
 that. Get up ; I have something to show 
 you." 
 
 Eising herself, she led the way to the 
 large oaken press, and took her hunch of 
 keys out of her pocket again. 
 
 '' About this old sorrow of mine," she 
 resumed. '' Do me justice, Amelius, at the 
 outset. I haven't treated it as some women 
 treat their sorrows — I haven't nursed it and 
 petted it and made the most of it to myself 
 and to others. No ! I have tried every 
 means of rehef, every possible pursuit that
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 195 
 
 could occupy my mind. One example of 
 what I say will do as vrell as a hmidred. 
 See it for yom'self." 
 
 She put the key in the lock. It resisted 
 her first efforts to open it. With a con- 
 temptuous hurst of impatience and a sudden 
 exertion of her rare strength, she tore open 
 the two doors of the press. Behind the 
 door on the left appeared a row of open 
 shelves. The opposite compartment, he- 
 hind the door on the right, was filled by 
 drawers with brass handles. She shut the 
 left door ; angrily banging it to, as if the 
 opening of it had disclosed something which 
 she did not wish to be seen. By the merest 
 chance, Amehus had looked that way first. 
 In the one instant in which it was possible 
 to see anything, he had noticed, carefully 
 laid out on one of the shelves, a baby's long 
 linen frock and cap, turned yellow by the 
 lapse of time. 
 
 The half-told story of the past was more 
 than half told now. The treasured relics 
 of the infant threw tlieii* little ghmmer of
 
 196 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 liglit on the motive which had chosen the 
 subjects of the prints on the wall. A child 
 deserted and lost ! A child who, by bare 
 possibihty, might be living still ! 
 
 She turned towards Amelius suddenly. 
 ^^ There is nothing to interest you on that 
 side," she said. '^ Look at the drawers 
 here; open them for yourself." She drew 
 back as she spoke, and pointed to the upper- 
 most of the row of drawers. A narrow sHp 
 of paper was pasted on it, bearing this in- 
 scription : — " Dead Consolations ^ 
 
 Amelius opened the drawer ; it was full 
 of books. '^ Look at them," she said. 
 Amehus, obeying her, discovered diction- 
 aries, grammars, exercises, poems, novels, 
 and histories — all in the German language. 
 
 ^'A foreign language tried as a rehef," 
 said Mrs. Farnaby, speaking quietly behind 
 him. " Month after month of hard study 
 — all forgotten now. The old sorrow came 
 back in spite of it. A dead consolation ! 
 Open the next drawer." 
 
 The next drawer revealed water-colours
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 19 T 
 
 and drawing materials huddled together in 
 a corner, and a heap of poor Httle con- 
 ventional landscapes filHng up the rest of 
 the space. As works of art, they were 
 wretched in the last degree ; monuments 
 of industry and application miserably and 
 completely thrown away. 
 
 ^' I had no talent for that pursuit, as you 
 see," said Mrs. Farnaby. ^^ But I per- 
 severed with it, week after week, month 
 after month. I thought to myself, ' I hate 
 it so, it costs me such dreadful trouble, it 
 so worries and persecutes and humiliates 
 me, that this surely must keep my mind 
 occupied and my thoughts away from my- 
 self ! ' No ; the old sorrow stared me in 
 the face again on the paper that I was 
 spoiling, through the colours that I couldn't 
 learn to use. Another dead consolation ! 
 Shut it up." 
 
 She herself opened a third and a fourth 
 drawer. In one there appeared a copy of 
 Euclid, and a slate wdth the problems still 
 traced on it ; the other contained a micro-
 
 198 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 scope, and the treatises relating to its use. 
 '^Always tlie same effort," she said, shut- 
 ting the door of the press as she spoke ; 
 "and always the same result. You have 
 had enough of it, and so have I." She 
 turned, and pointed to the lathe in the 
 corner, and to the cluhs and dumb-hells 
 over the mantelpiece. "I can look at 
 tliem patiently," she went on ; " they give 
 me bodily relief. I work at the lathe till 
 my back aches ; I swing the clubs till I'm 
 ready to drop with fatigue. And then I 
 lie down on the rug there, and sleep it 
 off, and forget myseK for an hour or two. 
 Come back to the fire again. You have 
 seen my dead consolations ; you must hear 
 about my hving consolation next. In jus- 
 tice to Mr. Farnaby — ah, how I hate him ! " 
 She spoke those last vehement words to 
 herself, but with such intense bitterness of 
 contempt that the tones were quite loud 
 enough to be. heard. AmeHus looked fm'- 
 tively towards the door. Was there no 
 hope that Eegina and her friend might
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 199 
 
 return and interiTipt them ? After what he 
 had seen and heard, could lie hope to con- 
 sole Mrs. Farnahy ? He could only wonder 
 what object she could possibly have in 
 view in taking him into her confidence. 
 ^* Am I always to be in a mess with 
 women ? " he thought to himself. '^ First 
 poor MelHcent, and now tliis one. What 
 next?" He lit his cigar again. The 
 brotherhood of smokers, and they alone, 
 will understand what a refuge it was to 
 him at that moment. 
 
 "■ Give me a light," said Mrs. Farnaby, 
 recalled to the remembrance of her own 
 cigar. " I want to know one thing before 
 I go on. Amehus, I watched those bright 
 eyes of yours at luncheon-time. Did they 
 tell me the truth ? You're not in love with 
 my niece, are you ? " 
 
 Amelius took his cigar out of his mouth, 
 and looked at her. 
 
 ''' Out with it boldly ! " she. said. 
 
 Amelius let it out, to a certain extent. 
 ■" I admire her very much," he answered.
 
 200 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 '-'' Ah," Mrs. Farnaby remarked, ^^ you 
 don't know her as well as I do." 
 
 The disdainful indifference of her tone 
 irritated Amelius. He was still young 
 enough to believe in the existence of grati- 
 tude ; and Mrs. Farnaby had spoken un- 
 gratefully. Besides, he was fond enough 
 of Eegina already to feel offended when 
 she was referred to slightingly. 
 
 "I am siu'prised to hear what you say 
 of her," he burst out. ^' She is quite de- 
 voted to you." 
 
 '' Oh yes," said Mrs. Farnaby, carelessly. 
 ^' She is devoted to me, of course — she is 
 the living consolation I told you of just 
 now. That was Mr. Farnaby' s notion in 
 adopting her. Mr. Farnaby thought to 
 himself, ^ Here's a ready-made daughter 
 for my wife — that's all this tiresome woman 
 wants to comfort her : now we shall do.' 
 Do you know what I call that ? I call it 
 reasoning like an idiot. A man may be 
 very clever at his business — and may be 
 a contemptible fool in other respects.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 201 
 
 Another woman's child a consolation to 
 me I Pah ! it makes one sick to think of 
 it. I have one merit, Ameliiis ; I don't 
 cant. It's my duty to take care of my 
 sister's child; and I do my duty willingly. 
 Eegina's a good sort of creature — I don't 
 dispute it. But she's like all those tall 
 darkish women ; there's no hackhone in 
 her, no dash ; a kind, feehle, goody-goody ^ 
 sugarish disjDOsition ; and a deal of quiet 
 obstinacy at the bottom of it, I can tell 
 you. Oh yes, I do her justice ; I don't 
 deny that she's devoted to me, as you say. 
 But I am making a clean breast of it now. 
 And you ought to know, and you shall 
 know, that Mr. Farnaby's hving consolation 
 is no more a consolation to me than the 
 tilings you have seen in those drawers. 
 There ! now we've done with Eegina. No : 
 there's one thing more to be cleared up. 
 When you say you admire her, what do 
 you mean ? Do 3'ou mean to marry her? " 
 For once in his life Amelius stood on his 
 dignity. " I have too much respect for the 
 
 ^
 
 202 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 yoiing lady to answer your question," lie 
 said loftily. 
 
 *' Because, if you do," Mrs. Farnaby pro- 
 ceeded, '' I mean to put every possible 
 obstacle in your way. In short, I mean to 
 prevent it." 
 
 This plain declaration staggered AmeKus. 
 He confessed the truth by implication, in 
 one word. 
 
 ^^ Why ? " he asked sharply. 
 
 '' Wait a little, and recover yom- temper," 
 she answered. 
 
 There was a pause. They sat, on either 
 side of the fireplace, and eyed each other 
 attentively. 
 
 ^' Now are you ready ? " Mrs. Farnaby 
 resumed. ^' Here is my reason. If you 
 marry Eegina, or marry anybody, you will 
 settle down somewhere, and lead a dull 
 life." 
 
 ^^ Well," said Amelius ; ^^ and why not, if 
 I like it?" 
 
 '' Because I want you to remain a roving 
 bachelor ; here to-day and gone to-morrow
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 203 
 
 — travellmg all over the Avoiicl, and seeing 
 everything and everybody." 
 
 ''What good ^ill that do to you^ Mrs. 
 Farnaby ? " 
 
 She rose fi*om her own side of the fire- 
 place, crossed to the side on which Amelins 
 was sitting, and, standing before him, 
 placed her hands heavily on his shoulders. 
 Her eyes grew radiant with a sudden interest 
 and animation as they looked down on him, 
 riveted on his face. 
 
 '' I am still waiting, my friend, for the 
 living consolation that may yet come to 
 me," she said. ''And, hear this, Amehiis ! 
 After all the years that have passed, yoii 
 may be the man who brings it to me." 
 
 In the momentary silence that followed, 
 they heard a double knock at the house- 
 door. 
 
 " Eegina ! " said Mrs. Farnaby. 
 
 As the name passed her lips, she s^^rang 
 to the door of the room, and turned the key 
 in the lock.
 
 204 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 Amelius rose impulsively from his cliair. 
 
 Mrs. Farnaby turned attlie same moment, 
 and signed to him to resume his seat. 
 ^'You have given me your promise," she 
 whispered. ^' All I ask of you is to be 
 silent." She softly drew the key out of the 
 door, and showed it to him. ^^You can't 
 get out," she said, ''unless you take the 
 key from me by force ! " 
 
 Whatever Amelius might think of the 
 situation in which he now found himself, 
 the one thing that he could honourably do 
 was to say nothing, and submit to it. He 
 remained quietly b}^ the fire. No imaginable 
 consideration (he mentally resolved) should 
 induce him to consent to a second
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 205 
 
 confidential iDterview in Mrs. Farnaby's 
 room. 
 
 The servant opened the house-door. 
 Eegina's voice was heard in the hall. 
 
 '^ Has my aunt come in ? " 
 
 ^*No, miss." 
 
 " Have you heard nothing of her ? " 
 
 " Nothing, miss." 
 
 '^ Has Mr. Goldenheart been here ? " 
 
 **No, miss." 
 
 *'Very extraordinary! What can have 
 become of them, Ceciha ? " 
 
 The voice of the other lady was heard in 
 answer. '' We have probably missed them, 
 on leaving the concert-room. Don't alarm 
 yourself, Regina. I must go back, under 
 any circumstances; the carriage will be 
 waiting for me. If I see an^^thing of your 
 aunt, I will say that yon are expecting her 
 at home." 
 
 "One moment, Ceciha ! (Thomas, 3'ou 
 needn't wait.) Is it really true that you 
 don't like Mr. Goldenheart?" 
 
 "What! has it come to that, already ?
 
 206 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 I'll try to like liirn, Eegina. Good-bye 
 again?" 
 
 The closing of the street-door told that 
 the ladies had separated. The sound was 
 followed, in another moment, by the opening 
 and closing of the dining-room door. Mrs. 
 Farnaby returned to her chair at the fire- 
 place. 
 
 ^^ Eegina has gone into the dining-room 
 to wait for us," she said. '' I see you don't 
 like your position here ; and I won't keep 
 you more than a few minutes longer. You 
 are of course at a loss to understand what I 
 was saying to you, when the knock at the 
 door interru^Dted us. Sit down again for 
 ^YQ minutes ; it fidgets me to see you 
 standing there, looking at your boots. I 
 told you I had one consolation still possibly 
 left. Judge for yourself what the hope of 
 it is to me, when I own to you that I should 
 long since have put an end to my life, with- 
 out it. Don't think I am talking nonsense; 
 I mean what I say. It is one of my mis- 
 fortunes that I have no religious scruples to
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 207 
 
 restrain me. There was a time when I 
 beheYecl that religion might comfort me. I 
 once opened my heart to a clergyman — a 
 worthy person, who did his best to help me. 
 All useless ! My heart was too hard, I 
 suppose. It doesn't matter — except to give 
 you one more proof that I am thoroughly 
 in earnest. Patience ! patience ! I am 
 coming to the point. I asked you some 
 odd questions, on the day when you first 
 dined here ? You have forgotten all about 
 them, of course ? " 
 
 ^' I remember them perfectly well," 
 Amelius answered. 
 
 ''■ You remember them ? That looks as 
 if you had thought about them afterwards. 
 Come! tell me plainly what you did think ?" 
 
 AmeKus told her plainly. She became 
 more and more interested, more and more 
 excited, as he went on. 
 
 '' Quite right ! " she exclaimed, starting 
 to her feet and walking swiftly backwards 
 and forwards in the room. " There is a 
 lost girl whom I want to find ; and she is
 
 ^08 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 between sixteen and seventeen years old, as 
 you thonght. Mind ! I have no reason — 
 not tlie shadow of a reason — for beheving 
 that she is still a living creature. I have 
 only my own stupid obstinate conviction ; 
 rooted here," she pressed both hands 
 fiercely on her heart, " so that nothing can 
 tear it out of me ! I have lived in that 
 belief — Oh, don't ask me how long ! it is so 
 far, so miserably far, to look back ! " She 
 stopped in the middle of the room. Her 
 breath came and w^ent in quick heavy gasps; 
 the first tears that had softened the hard 
 wretchedness in her eyes rose in them 
 now, and transfigured them wdth the divine 
 beauty of maternal love. " I won't distress 
 you," she said, stamping on the floor, as 
 she struggled with the hysterical passion 
 that was raging in her. '^ Give me a 
 minute, and I'll force it down again." 
 
 She dropped into a chair, threw her arms 
 heavily on the table, and laid her head on 
 them, Amelius thought of the child's 
 frock and cap hidden in the cabinet. All
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 209 
 
 tliat was manly and noble in liis nature felt 
 for the unhappy woman, whose secret was 
 dimly revealed to him now. The little 
 selfish sense of annoyance at the awkward 
 situation in which she had placed him, 
 vanished to return no more. He ap- 
 proached her, and put his hand gently on 
 her shoulder. '^I am truly sorry for you," 
 he said. ^' Tell me how I can help you, 
 and I will do it with all my heart." 
 
 ^^ Do you really mean that ? " She 
 roughly dashed the tears from her eyes, 
 and rose as she put the question. Holding 
 him with one hand, she parted the hair 
 back from his forehead with the other." 
 " I must see yom- whole face," she said — 
 ''your face will tell me. Yes: you do 
 mean it. The world hasn't spoilt you, yet. 
 Do you beheve in dreams ? " 
 
 Amelius looked at her, startled by the 
 sudden transition. She dehberately re- 
 peated her question. 
 
 ''I ask you seriously," she said; ''do 
 you believe in dreams ? " 
 
 YOL. I. p
 
 210 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Amelius answered seriously, on his side. 
 *^ I can't honestly say that I do." 
 
 ^' Ah ! " she exclaimed, ^' hke me. I 
 don't beheve in dreams, either — I wish I 
 did ! But it's not in me to believe in 
 superstitions ; I'm too hard — and I'm sorry 
 for it. I have seen people who were com- 
 forted by their superstitions ; happy people, 
 possessed of faith. Don't you even believe 
 that dreams are sometimes fulfilled by 
 chance ? " 
 
 '' Nobody can deny that," Amelius re- 
 plied; *nhe instances of it are too man^^ 
 But for one dream fulfilled by a coinci- 
 dence, there are " 
 
 '*A hundred at least that are not ful- 
 filled," Mrs. Farnaby inter]30sed. ^^Very 
 weU. I calculate on that. See how Httle 
 hope can Uve on ! There is just the barest 
 possibihty that what I dreamed of you the 
 other night may come to pass. It's a 
 poor chance ; but it has encouraged me .to 
 take you into my confidence, and ask you 
 to help me."
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 211 
 
 This strange confession — this sad revela- 
 tion of despair still unconsciously deceiving 
 itself under the disguise of hope — only 
 strengthened the compassionate sympathy 
 which x\melius already felt for her. '■^ What 
 did you dream ahout me ?" he asked gently. 
 
 ^^It's nothing to tell," she repHed. "I 
 was in a room that was quite strange to 
 me ; and the door opened, and you came 
 in leading a young girl by the hand. You 
 said, ^' Be happy at last ; here she is." 
 My heart knew her instantly, though my 
 eyes had never seen her since the first 
 days of her life. And I woke myself, cry- 
 ing for joy. Wait ! it's not all told yet. 
 I went to sleep again, and dreamed it 
 again, and woke, and lay awake for awhile, 
 and slept once more, and di-eamed it for 
 the third time. Ah, if I could only feel 
 some people's confidence in three times ! 
 No ; it produced an impression on me — 
 and that was all. I got as far as thinking 
 to myself, there is just a chance ; I haven't 
 a creature in the world to help me ; I may
 
 212 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 as well speak to him. 0, you needn't remind 
 me that there is a rational explanation of 
 my dream. I have read it all up, in the 
 Encyclopedia in the hbrary. One of the 
 ideas of wise men is that we think of some- 
 thing, consciously or unconsciously, in the 
 daytime, and then reproduce it in a dream. 
 That's my case, I daresay. When you 
 were first introduced to me, and when I 
 heard where you had been brought up, I 
 thought dkectly that she might have been 
 one among the many forlorn creatures who 
 had drifted to your Community, and that 
 I might find her through you. Say that 
 thought went to my bed with me — and we 
 have the explanation of my dream. Never 
 mind ! There is my one poor chance in 
 a hundred still left. You will remember 
 me, Amehus, if you should meet with her, 
 won't you? " 
 
 The implied confession of her own in- 
 tractable character, without religious faith 
 to ennoble it, without even imagination to 
 refine it — the unconscious disclosure of the
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 213 
 
 one tender and loving instinct in her nature 
 still piteously strngglLag for existence, ^vitli 
 no sympathy to sustain it, ^*ith no light to 
 guide it — would have touched the heart of 
 any man not incurably depraved. AmeHus 
 sx)oke with the fervour of his young enthu- 
 siasm. " I would go to the uttermost ends 
 of the earth, if I thought I could do vou 
 any good. But, oh, it sounds so hopeless!" 
 
 She shook her head, and smiled faintly. 
 
 ^' Don't say that ! You are free, you have 
 money, you will travel about in the world 
 and amuse yourself. In a week you viill 
 see more than stay-at-home j)eople see in 
 a year. How do we know what the future 
 has in store for us ? I have my own idea. 
 She may be lost in the labyrinth of London, 
 or she may be hundreds and thousands of 
 miles away. Amuse yourself, Amelius — 
 amuse yourself. To-morrow or ten years 
 hence, you might meet with her ! " 
 
 In sheer mercy to the poor creature, 
 Amelius refused to encourage her delusion. 
 " Even supposing such a thing could
 
 214 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 happen," he objected, ''how am I to know 
 the lost girl ? You can't describe her to 
 me ; you have not seen her since she was 
 a child. Do yon know anything of what 
 happened at the time — I mean at the time 
 when she was lost ? " 
 
 '' I know nothing." 
 
 '' Absolutely nothing ? " 
 
 ''Absolutely nothing." 
 
 " Have you never felt a suspicion of how 
 it happened? " 
 
 Her face changed : she frowned as she 
 looked at him. " Not till weeks and 
 months had passed," she said, "not till it 
 was too late. I was ill at the time. When 
 my mind got clear again, I began to sus- 
 pect one particular person — httle by little, 
 you know; noticing trifles, and thinking 
 about them afterwards." She stopped, 
 evidently restraining herself on the point 
 of saying more. 
 
 Amehus tried to lead her on. " Did you 
 suspect the person ? ' ' he began. 
 
 "I suspected him of casting the child
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 215 
 
 helpless on tlie world 1 " Mrs. Farnaby 
 interposed, with a sudden burst of fury. 
 *^ Don't ask me any more about it, or I 
 shall break out and shock you!" She 
 clenched her fists as she said the words. 
 ^'It's well for that man," she muttered 
 between her teeth, " that I have never got 
 beyond suspecting, and never found out the 
 truth ! Why did you tm^n my mind that 
 way ? You shouldn't have done it. Help 
 me back again to what we were saying a 
 minute ago. You made some objection ; 
 you said ? " 
 
 *' I said," Amehus reminded her, '' that, 
 even if I did meet with the missing ghi, I 
 couldn't possibly know it. Audi I must say 
 more than that — I don't see how you your- 
 self could be sure of recognizing her, if she 
 stood before you at this moment." 
 
 He spoke very gently, fearing to irritate 
 her. She showed no sign of irritation — she 
 looked at him, and hstened to him, atten- 
 tively. 
 
 "Are you setting a trap for me?" she
 
 216 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 asked. '^ No ! " she cried, before Amelius 
 could answer, ^' I am not mean enough, to 
 distrust you — I forgot myself. You have 
 innocently said something that rankles in 
 my mind. I can't leave it where you have 
 left it ; I don't like to be told that I 
 shouldn't recognize her. Give me time to 
 think. I must clear this up." 
 
 She consulted her own thoughts, keeping 
 her eyes fixed on Amelius. 
 
 ** I am going to speak plainly," she an- 
 nounced, with a sudden appearance of 
 resolution. ^'Listen to this. When I 
 banged to the door of that big cupboard of 
 mine, it was because I didn't want you to 
 see something on the shelves. Did you 
 see anything in spite of me ? ' ' 
 
 The question was not an easy one to 
 answer. Amelius hesitated. Mrs. Farnaby 
 insisted on a reply. 
 
 ^^Did you see anything? " she reiterated. 
 
 Amehus owned that he had seen some> 
 thing. 
 
 She turned away from him, and looked
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 21 T 
 
 into the fire. Her firm fiill tones sank so 
 low, when she spoke next, that he could 
 barely hear them. 
 
 " Was it something belonging to a child? " 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 '' Was it a baby's frock and ca^D ? Answer 
 me. We have gone too far to go back. I 
 don't want apologies or explanations — I 
 want. Yes or No." 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 There was an interval of silence. She 
 never moved ; she still looked into the fire 
 — looked, as if all her past hfe was pictured 
 there in the burning coals. 
 
 '' Do you despise me ? " she asked at last^ 
 very quietly. 
 
 ^'As God hears me, I am only sorr}^ for 
 you ! " Amelius answered. 
 
 Another woman would have melted into 
 tears. This woman still looked into the 
 fire — and that was all. '' What a good 
 feUow ! " she said to herself; "what a good 
 fellow he is ! " 
 
 There was another pause. She turned
 
 218 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 towards him again as abruptly as slie had 
 turned away. 
 
 ^^ I had hoped to spare you, and to spare 
 myself/' she said. "If the miserable truth 
 has come out, it is through no curiosity of 
 yours, and (God knows !) against every wish 
 of mine. I don't know if you really felt hke 
 a. friend towards me before — you must be 
 my friend now. Don't speak ! I know I 
 can trust you. One last word, Amehus, 
 about my lost child. You doubt whether I 
 should recognize her, if she stood before me 
 now. That might be quite true, if I had 
 only my own poor hopes and anxieties to 
 guide me. But I have something else to 
 guide me — and, after what has passed 
 between us, you may as well know what it 
 is : it might even, by accident, guide you. 
 Don't alarm yourself ; it's nothing distress- 
 ing this time. How can I explain it ? " 
 she went on ; pausing, and speaking in some 
 perplexity to herself. " It would be easier 
 to show it — and why not ? " She addressed 
 herself to Amelius once more. "I'm a
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 219 
 
 strange creature," she resumed. ^^ First, I 
 worry you about my own affairs — then I 
 puzzle you — then I make you sorry for me 
 — and now (would you think it?) I am 
 going to amuse you ! Amehus, are you an 
 admirer of pretty feet ? ' ' 
 
 AmeHus had heard of men (in books) who 
 had found reason to doubt whether then- 
 own ears were not deceiving them. For 
 the first time, he began to understand those 
 men, and to sympathize with them. He 
 admitted, in a certain bewiklered way, that 
 he was an admirer of pretty feet — and 
 waited for what was to come next. 
 
 '^ When a woman has a pretty hand," 
 Mrs. Farnaby proceeded, '' she is ready 
 enough to show it. When she goes out to 
 a ball, she favours you with a view of her 
 bosom, and a part of her back. Now tell 
 me ! If there is no impropriety in a naked 
 bosom — where is the impropriety in a naked 
 foot ? " 
 
 Amelius agreed, like a man in a dream. 
 ^^ Where, indeed ! " he remarked — and 
 waited again for what was to come next.
 
 220 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 '^ Look out of window," said Mrs, 
 Farnaby. 
 
 Amelius obeyed. The window had been 
 opened for a few inches at the top, no 
 doubt to ventilate the room. The dull ^dew 
 of the courtyard was varied by the stables 
 at the farther end, and by the kitchen sky- 
 light rising in the middle of the open space. 
 As Amelius looked out, he observed that 
 some person at that moment in the kitchen 
 required apparently a large supply of fresh 
 air. The swinging window, on the side of 
 the skyhght which was nearest to him, was 
 invisibly and noiselessly pulled open from 
 below ; the similar window, on the other 
 side, being already wide open also. Judg- 
 ing by appearances, the inhabitants of the 
 kitchen possessed a merit which is exceed- 
 ingly rare among domestic servants — they 
 understood the laws of ventilation, and 
 ajDpreciated the blessing of fresh air. 
 
 '' That will do," said Mrs. Farnaby. 
 ^'You can turn round now." 
 
 Amelius turned. Mrs. Farnaby's boots
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 221 
 
 and stockings were on the hearthrug, and 
 one of Mrs. Farnahy's feet was placed, 
 ready for inspection, on the chair which 
 he had just left. ^^Look at my right foot 
 first," she said, speaking gravely and com- 
 posedly in her ordinary tone. 
 
 It was well worth looking at — a foot 
 equally heautiful in form and in colour : 
 the instep arched and high, the ankle at 
 once dehcate and strong, the toes tinged 
 with rose-colour at the tips. In hrief, it 
 was a foot to he photographed, to be cast 
 in plaster, to be fondled and kissed. Ame- 
 lius attempted to express his admiration, 
 but was not allowed to get beyond the first 
 two or three words. '^ No," Mrs. Farnaby 
 explained, "this is not vanity — simpty 
 information. You have seen my right 
 foot ; and 3^ou have noticed that there is 
 nothing the matter with it. Very well. 
 Now look at my left foot." 
 
 She put her left foot up on the chair. 
 ^' Look between the third toe and the 
 fourth," she said.
 
 222 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Following his instructions, Amelius dis- 
 covered that the beauty of the foot was 
 spoilt, in this case, by a singular defect. 
 The two toes were bound together by a 
 flexible web, or membrane, which held 
 them to each other as high as the inser- 
 tion of the nail on either side. 
 
 *'Do you wonder," Mrs. Farnaby asked, 
 ^'why I show you the fault in my foot? 
 Amelius ! my poor darling was born with 
 my deformity — and I want you to know 
 exactly what it is, because neither you nor 
 I can say what reason for remembering it 
 
 there may not be in the future." She 
 stopped, as if to give him an opportunity 
 of speaking. A man shallow and flippant 
 by nature might have seen the disclosure in 
 a grotesque aspect. AmeHus was sad and 
 silent. ^' I like you better and better," she 
 went on. "You are not like the common 
 run of men. Nine out of ten of them 
 would have turned what I have just told 
 yoii into a joke — nine out of ten would 
 have said, ' Am I to ask every girl I
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 223 
 
 meet to show me her left foot ? ' You are 
 above that ; yon nnclerstand me. Have I 
 no means of recognizing my own child^ 
 now ? " 
 
 She smiled, and took her foot off the 
 chair — then, after a moment's thought^ 
 she pointed to it again. 
 
 '' Keep this as strictly secret as you keep 
 everything else," she said. "In the past 
 days, when I used to employ people pri- 
 vately to help me to find her, it was my 
 only defence against being imposed upon. 
 Eogues and vagabonds thought of other 
 marks and signs — but not one of them 
 could guess at such a mark as tliat. Have 
 you got your pocket-book, Amelius ? In 
 case we are separated at some later time, 
 I want to write the name and address in it 
 of a person whom we can trust. I persist, 
 you see, in providing for the future. 
 There's the one chance in a hundred that 
 my dream may come true — and you have 
 so many years before you, and so many girls 
 to meet with in that time ! "
 
 •224 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 She lianded back the pocket-book, which 
 Amehus had given to her, after having 
 inscribed a man's name and address on one 
 of the blank leaves. 
 
 ^' He was my father's lawyer," she ex- 
 23lained ; ^^ and he and his son are both 
 men to be trusted. Suppose I am ill, for 
 instance — no, that's absurd ; I never had a 
 day's illness in my Hfe. Suppose I am dead 
 (killed perhaps by some accident, or perhaps 
 by my own hand), the lawyers have my 
 written instructions, in the case of my child 
 being found. Then again — I am such an 
 unaccountable woman — I may go away 
 somewhere, all by myself. Never mind ! 
 The lawyers shall have my address, and my 
 positive orders (though they keep it a secret 
 from all the world besides) to tell it to yow. 
 I don't ask your pardon, Amelius, for trou- 
 bling you. The chances are so terribly 
 against me ; it is all but impossible that 
 I shall ever see you — as I saw you in 
 my dream — coming into the room, leading 
 my girl by the hand. Odd, isn't it ?
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 225 
 
 This is how I veer about between hope and 
 despair. Well, it may amuse you to remem- 
 ber it, one of these days. Years hence, 
 when I am at rest in mother earth, and 
 when you are a middle-aged married man, 
 you may tell yoiu' T^ife how strangely you 
 once became the forlorn hope of the most 
 TVTetched woman that ever lived — and you 
 may say to each other, as you sit by 
 your snug fireside, 'Perhaps that poor lost 
 daughter is still living somewhere, and 
 wondering who her mother was.' No ! I 
 won't let you see the tears in my eyes again 
 — I'll let you go at last." 
 
 She led the way to the door — a creature 
 to be pitied, if ever there was a pitiable 
 creature yet : a woman whose whole nature 
 was maternal, who was nothing if not a 
 mother ; and who had lived through sixteen 
 years of barren life, in the hopeless antici- 
 pation of recovering her lost child ! 
 
 '^ Good-bye, and thank you," she said. 
 *' I want to be left by myself, my dear, with 
 that little frock and cap which you found 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 out in spite of me. Go, and tell my niece 
 it's all right — and don't be stupid enongh to 
 fall in love with a girl who has no love to 
 give you in return." She pushed Amehus 
 into the hall. ^' Here he is, Eegina ! " she 
 called out ; " I have done with him." 
 
 Before Amehus could speak, she had shut 
 herself into her room. He advanced along 
 the hall, and met Eegina at the door of the 
 dining-room.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 227 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The young lady spoke first. 
 
 ^' Mr. Goldenlieart," she said with the 
 coldest possible politeness, ''perhaps yon 
 will be good enongh to explain what this 
 means ? " 
 
 She turned back into the dining-room. 
 Ameliiis followed her in silence. ''Here I 
 am, in another scrape ^4th a woman ! " he 
 thought to himself. " Are men in general 
 as unlucky as I am, I wonder ? " 
 
 "You needn't close the door," said 
 Eegina maliciously. " Everybody in the 
 house is welcome to hear what I have to 
 say to you." 
 
 Amelius made a mistake at the outset — 
 he tried what a little humihty would do to
 
 228 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 help him. There is probably no instance 
 on record in which humility on the part of 
 a man has ever really found its way to the 
 indulgence of an irritated woman. The 
 best and the worst of them alike have at 
 least one virtue in common — they secretly 
 despise a man who is not bold enough to 
 defend himself when they are angry with 
 him. 
 
 '^I hope I have not offended you?" 
 Amelius ventured to say. 
 
 She tossed her head contemptuously. 
 "Oh dear, no! I am not offended. Only 
 a little surprised at your being so very 
 ready to oblige my aunt." 
 
 In the short experience of her which had 
 fallen to the lot of Amelius, she had never 
 looked so charmingly as she looked now. 
 The nervous irritability under which she 
 was suffering brightened her face with the 
 animation which was wanting in it at 
 ordinary times. Her soft brown eyes 
 sparkled ; her smooth dusky cheeks glowed 
 with a warm red flush ; her tall supple
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 229 
 
 figure asserted its full dignity, robed in a 
 superb dress of silken purple and black 
 lace, which set off her personal attractions 
 to the utmost advantage. She not only 
 roused the admiration of Amelius — she 
 unconsciously gave him back the self- 
 possession Tvhich he had, for the moment, 
 completely lost. He was man enough to 
 feel the humiliation of being despised by 
 the one woman in the world whose love he 
 longed to win ; and he answered with a 
 sudden firmness of tone and look that 
 startled her. 
 
 ''You had better speak more plainly 
 still. Miss Eegina," he said. "You may 
 as well blame me at once for the misfortune 
 of being a man." 
 
 She drew back a step. '' I don't under- 
 stand you," she answered. 
 
 " Do I owe no forbearance to a woman 
 who asks a favour of me?" Amelius went 
 on. " If a man had asked me to steal into 
 the house on tiptoe, I should have said — 
 well ! I should have said something I had
 
 230 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 better not re^Deat. If a man had stood 
 between me and the door when you came 
 back, I should have taken him by the 
 collar and pulled him out of my way. 
 Could I do that, if you please, with Mrs. 
 Farnaby?" 
 
 Eegina saw the weak point of this defence 
 with a woman's quickness of perception. 
 *'I can't offer any opinion," she said; 
 '' especially when you lay all the blame on 
 my aunt." 
 
 Amelius oj^ened his lips to protest — 
 and thought better of it. He wisely went 
 straight on with what he had still to say. 
 
 " If you will let me finish," he resumed, 
 '^ you will understand me a httle better 
 than that. Whatever blame there may be, 
 Miss Eegina, I am quite ready to take on 
 myself. I merely wanted to remind you 
 that I was put in an aw^kward position, and 
 that I couldn't civilly find a way out of it. 
 As for your aunt, I wiU only say this : I 
 know of hardly any sacrifice that I would 
 not submit to, if I could be of the smallest
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 231 
 
 service to lier. After wliat I heard, while 
 I was in her room " 
 
 Eegina interrupted hira at that point. 
 **I suppose it's a secret between you?" 
 she said. 
 
 '^ Yes ; it's a secret," AmeHus proceeded, 
 '^ as you say. But one thing I may tell 
 you, without breaking my promise. Mrs. 
 Farnaby has — well ! has filled me with 
 kindly feeling tow^ards her. She has a 
 claim, poor soul, to my truest sympathy. 
 And I shall remember her claim. And I 
 shall be faithful to what I feel tovv^ards her 
 as long as I hve ! " 
 
 It was not very elegantly expressed ; but 
 the tone was the tone of true feeling : his 
 voice trembled, his colour rose. He stood 
 before her, speaking with perfect simplicity 
 straight from his heart — and the woman's 
 heart felt it instantly. This was the man 
 w^hose ridicule she had dreaded, if her 
 aunt's rash confidence struck him in an 
 absurd hght ! She sat down in silence, 
 with a grave sad face, reproaching herself
 
 232 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 for the wrong whicli her too ready distrust 
 had inflicted on him; longing to ask his 
 pardon, and yet hesitating to say the simple 
 words. 
 
 He approached her chair, and, placing 
 his hand on the back of it, said gently, 
 ^' Do you think a little better of me 
 now?" 
 
 She had taken off her gloves : she silently 
 folded and refolded them in her lap. 
 
 *^ Your good opinion is very precious to 
 me," Amelius pleaded, bending a little 
 nearer to her. ^' I can't tell you how sorry 
 
 I should be " He stopped, and put it 
 
 more strongly. *^ I shall never have 
 courage enough to enter the house again, 
 if I have made you think meanly of me." 
 
 A woman who cared nothing for him 
 would have easily answered this. The calm 
 heart of Kegina began to flutter : some- 
 thing warned her not to trust herself to 
 speak. Little as he suspected it, Amelius 
 had troubled the tranquil temperament of 
 this woman. He had found his way to
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 233 
 
 those secret reserves of tenderness — placid 
 and deep — of which she was hardly con- 
 scious herself, until his influence had en- 
 lightened her. She was afiaid to look up 
 at him ; her eyes would have told him the 
 truth. She lifted her long, finely shaped, 
 dusky hand, and offered it to him as the 
 best answer that she could make. 
 
 Amelius took it, looked at it, and ven- 
 tured on his first familiarity with her — he 
 kissed it. She only said, ^' Don't!" very 
 faintly. 
 
 "■ The Queen would let me kiss her hand 
 if I went to Court," Amelius reminded her, 
 with a pleasant inner conviction of his 
 wonderful readiness at finding an excuse. 
 
 She smiled in spite of herself. ^' Would 
 the Queen let you hold it?" she asked, 
 gently releasing her hand, and looking at 
 him as she drew it away. The peace was 
 made without another word of explanation. 
 Amelius took a chair at her side. " I'm 
 quite happy now you have forgiven me," 
 he said. '' You don't know how I admire
 
 234 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 you — and how anxious I am to please you, 
 if I only knew how ! " 
 
 He drew his chair a little nearer; his 
 eyes told her plainly that his language 
 would soon become warmer still, if she 
 gave him the smallest encouragement. 
 This was one reason for changing the 
 subject. But there was another reason, 
 more cogent still. Her first painful sense 
 of having treated him unjustly had ceased 
 to make itseK keenly felt ; the lower 
 emotions had their opportunity of assert- 
 ing themselves. Curiosity, irresistible curi- 
 osity, took possession of her mind, and 
 urged her to penetrate the mystery of the 
 interview between AmeHus and her aunt. 
 
 ^'Will you think me very indiscreet," 
 she began slyly, ^' if I make a little con- 
 fession to you ? ' ' 
 
 Amelius was only too eager to hear the 
 confession : it would pave the way for 
 something of the same sort on his part. 
 
 " I understand my aunt making the heat 
 in the concert-room a pretence for taking
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 235 
 
 you away with her," Regina proceeded ; 
 '^ but what astonishes me is that she should 
 have admitted you to her confidence after so 
 short an acquaintance. You are still — what 
 shall I say? — you are still a new Mend of 
 ours." 
 
 ''How long will it he before I become 
 an old friend ? " Amehus asked. '' I mean," 
 he added, with artful emphasis, '' an old 
 friend of yours .^ ' ' 
 
 Confused by the question, Regina passed 
 it over without notice. " I am Mrs. 
 Farnaby's adopted daughter," she resumed. 
 " I have been with her since I was a little 
 girl — and yet she has never told me any 
 of her secrets. Pray don't suppose that 
 I am tempting you to break faith Avith my 
 aunt ! I am quite incapable of such con- 
 duct as that." 
 
 Amelius saw his way to a thoroughly 
 commonplace compliment, which possessed 
 the charm of complete novelty so far as 
 his experience was concerned. He would 
 actually have told her that she w^as in-
 
 236 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 capable of doing anything which, was not 
 perfectly becoming to a charming person, 
 if she had only given him time ! She was 
 too eager in the pursuit of her own object 
 to give him time. *^ I should like to know," 
 she went on, '' whether mv aunt has been 
 influenced in any way by a dream that she 
 had about vou." 
 
 Amehus started. ^^ Has she told you of 
 her dream?" he asked, v\dth some appear- 
 ance of alarm. 
 
 Eegina blushed and hesitated. ^' My 
 room is next to my aunt's," she explained. 
 *'We keep the door between us open. I 
 am often in and out when she is disturbed 
 in her sleep. She was talking in her sleep, 
 and I heard your name — nothing more. 
 Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it ? 
 Perhaps I ought not to expect you to 
 answer me ? ' ' 
 
 ^' There is no harm in my answering 
 you," said Amelius. '^ The dream really 
 had something to do with her trusting me. 
 You may not think quite so unfavourably 
 of her conduct now you know that."
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 237 
 
 ^*It doesn't matter what I think," Eegina 
 replied constrainedly. ^' If my aunt's 
 secrets have interested yon — what right 
 have I to ohject ? I am sure I shall say 
 nothing. Though I am not in my aunt's 
 confidence, nor in your confidence, you will 
 find I can keep a secret." 
 
 She folded up her gloves for the twentieth 
 time at least, and gave Amehus his oppor- 
 tunity of retiring by rising from her chair. 
 He made a last effort to recover the 
 ground that he had lost, without betraying 
 Mrs. Farnaby's trust in him. 
 
 *^ I am sure you can keep a secret," he 
 said. ^'I should hke to give you one of 
 my secrets to keep — only I mustn't take 
 the liberty, I suppose, just yet ? " 
 
 She knew perfectly well what he wanted 
 to say. Her heart began to quicken its 
 beat ; she was at a loss how to answer. 
 After an awkward silence, she made an 
 attempt to dismiss him. " Don't let me 
 detain you," she said, ''if you have any 
 
 engagement. 
 
 j>
 
 238 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Amelius silently looked round liim for 
 his hat. On a table behind him a monthly 
 magazine lay open, exhibiting one of those 
 melancholy modern ^' illustrations " which 
 present the EngHsh art of our day in its 
 laziest and lowest state of degradation. 
 A vacuous young giant, in flowing trousers, 
 stood in a garden, and stared at a plump 
 young giantess with enormous eyes and 
 rotund hips, vacantly boring holes in the 
 grass with the point of her parasol. Per- 
 fectly incapable of explaining itself, this 
 imbecile production put its trust in the 
 printer, whose charitable types helped it, 
 at the bottom of the page, with the title 
 of ^' Love at First Sight." On those 
 remarkable words Amelius seized, with the 
 desperation of the drowning man, catching 
 at the proverbial straw. They offered him 
 a chance of pleading his cause, this time, 
 mth a happy indirectness of allusion at 
 which not even a young lady's suscepti- 
 bihty could take offence. 
 
 ''Do you believe in that?" he said, 
 pointing to the illustration.
 
 THE FALLEX LEAVES. 239 
 
 Eegina declined to ■understand him. 
 ''In what?" she asked. 
 
 *' In love at first sight." 
 
 It would be speaking with inexcusable 
 rudeness to say plainly that she told him 
 a lie. Let the milder form of expression 
 be, that she modestly concealed the truth. 
 "I don't know anything about it," she said. 
 
 "I do," Amelius remarked smartly. 
 
 She persisted in looking at the illustra- 
 tion. Was there an infection of imbecihty 
 in that fatal work ? She was too simple 
 to understand him, even yet! " You do — 
 what ? " she inquii-ed innocently. 
 
 "I know what love at first sight is," 
 Amelius burst out. 
 
 Eegina turned over the leaves of the 
 magazine. "Ah," she said, "you have 
 read the story." 
 
 " I haven't read the story," Amelius 
 answered. "I know what I felt mj^self— 
 on being introduced to a young lady." 
 
 She looked up at him with a sly smile. 
 " A young lady in America ? " she asked.
 
 240 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ^'In England, Miss Kegina." He tried 
 to take her hand — but she kept it out of his 
 reach. ^'In London," he went on, drifting 
 back into his customary plainness of speech. 
 '^ In this very street," he resumed, seizing 
 her hand before she was aware of him. Too 
 much bewildered to know what else to do, 
 Regina took refuge desperately in shaking 
 hands with him. " Good-bye, Mr. Golden- 
 heart," she said — and gave him his dis- 
 missal for the second time. 
 
 Amelius submitted to his fate ; there was 
 something in her eyes which warned him 
 that he had ventured far enough for that 
 
 day. 
 
 ''■ May I call again, soon ? " he asked 
 piteously. 
 
 '^ No ! " answered a voice at the door 
 which they both recognized — the voice of 
 Mrs. Farnaby. 
 
 ^'Yes!" Regina whispered to him, as 
 her aunt entered the room. Mrs. Farnaby's 
 interference, following on the earlier events 
 of the day, had touched the young lady's
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 241 
 
 usually placable temper in a tender place — 
 and Amelius reaped tlie benefit of it. 
 
 Mrs. Farnaby walked straight up to bim, 
 put ber band in bis arm, and led bim out 
 into tbe ball. 
 
 ** I bad my suspicions," she said; ^^ and 
 I find tbey bave not misled me. Twice 
 already, I bave warned you to let my niece 
 alone. For tbe tbird, and last time, I tell 
 you tbat sbe is as cold as ice. Sbe will 
 trifle witb you as long as it flatters ber 
 vanity ; and sbe will tbrow you over, as 
 sbe lias tbrown otber men over. Have your 
 fling, you foolisb fellow, before you marry 
 anybody. Pay no more visits to tbis bouse, 
 unless tbey are visits to me. I sball expect 
 to bear fi'om you." Sbe paused, and 
 pointed to a statue wbicb was one of tbe 
 ornaments in tbe ball. ^' Look at tbat 
 bronze woman witb tbe clock in ber band. 
 Tbat's Eegina. Be off witb you — good- 
 bye ! " 
 
 Amebus found himself in the street. 
 Eegina was looking out at the dining-room 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 window. He kissed his hand to her : she 
 smiled and bowed. *' Damn the other 
 men ! " Amehus said to himself. ^' I'll call 
 on her to-morrow."
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 243 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 Ketuening to his hotel, he found three 
 letters waiting for him on the sitting-room 
 table. 
 
 The first letter that he oj)enecl was from 
 his landlord, and contained his hill for the 
 past week. As he looked at the smn total, 
 Amelius presented to perfection the aspect 
 of a serious young man. He took pen, ink, 
 and paper, and made some elaborate calcu- 
 lations. Money that he had too generously 
 lent, or too freely given away, appeared in 
 his statement of expenses, as well as money 
 that he had spent on himself. The result 
 may be plainly stated in his own words : 
 " Good-bye to the hotel ; I must go into 
 lodgings." 
 
 Having arrived at this wise decision, he
 
 244 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 oiDened the second letter. It proved to be 
 written by the lawyers who had already 
 communicated with him at Tadmor, on the 
 subject of his inheritance. 
 
 ^^ Deae Sir, 
 
 ** The enclosed, insufficiently ad- 
 dressed as you will perceive, only reached us 
 this day. We beg to remain, etc." 
 
 Amelius opened the letter enclosed, and 
 turned to the signature for information. 
 The name instantly took hun back to the 
 Community : the writer was Melhcent. 
 
 Her letter began abruptly, in these 
 terms : 
 
 *^ Do you remember what I said to you 
 when we parted at Tadmor ? I said, '- Be 
 comforted, Amelius, the end is not yet.' 
 And I said again, ^ You will come back 
 to me.' 
 
 ^' I remind you of this, my friend — 
 directing to your lawyers, whose names I 
 remember when their letter to you was 
 publicly read in the Common Eoom. Once
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 245 
 
 or twice a year I shall continue to remind 
 yon of those parting words of mine : there 
 will be a time perhaps when you will thank 
 me for doing so. 
 
 '* In the mean while, light your pipe 
 with my letters ; my letters don't matter. 
 If I can comfort yon, and reconcile you to 
 your life — years hence, when you, too, my 
 Amehus, may be one of the Fallen Leaves 
 like me — then I shall not have lived and 
 suffered in vain ; my last days on earth will 
 be the happiest days that I have ever seen. 
 
 ^' Be pleased not to answer these Hues, 
 or any other ^^Titten words of mine that 
 may follow, so long as you are prosperous 
 and happy. With that part of your life I 
 have nothing to do. You will find friends 
 wherever you go— among the women es- 
 pecially. Your generous nature shows itself 
 frankly in your face ; your manly gentleness 
 and sweetness speak in every tone of your 
 voice ; we poor women feel di*awn towards 
 you by an attraction which we are not able 
 to resist. Have you fallen in love ah'eady
 
 246 TEE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 with some beautiful English girl? Oh, be 
 careful and prudent ! Be sure, before you 
 set your heart on her, that she is worthy 
 of you ! So many women are cruel and 
 deceitful. Some of them will make you 
 believe you have won their love, when you 
 have only flattered their vanity ; and some 
 are poor weak creatures whose minds are 
 set on theii' own interests, and who may 
 let bad advisers guide them, when you are 
 not by. Eor 3^our own sake, take care ! 
 
 *' I am living with my sister, at New 
 York. The days and weeks glide by me 
 quietly ; you are in my thoughts and my 
 prayers ; I have nothing to complain of ; 
 I wait and hope. When the time of my 
 banishment from the Community has ex- 
 phed, I shall go back to Tadmor ; and there 
 you will find me, Amelius, the first to 
 welcome you Avhen your spirits are sinking 
 under the burden of life, and your heart 
 turns again to the friends of your early 
 days. 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear — good-bye ! "
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 247 
 
 Amelius laid the letter aside, touched 
 and saddened by the artless devotion to 
 him which it expressed. He vras conscious 
 also of a feehng of nneasy surprise, when he 
 read the lines which referred to his possible 
 entanglement with some beautiful Enghsh 
 gud. Here, with widely different motives, 
 was Mrs. Farnaby's warning repeated, by 
 a stranger writing from another quarter of 
 the globe ! It was an odd coincidence, to 
 say the least of it. After thinking for a 
 while, he turned abruptly to the thhd letter 
 that was waiting for him. He was not at 
 ease ; his mind felt the need of rehef. 
 
 The third letter was fi'om Paifus Ding- 
 well ; announcing the close of his tour in 
 Ireland, and his intention of shortly joining 
 Amehus in London. The excellent Ameri- 
 can expressed, with his customary absence 
 of reserve, his fervent admiration of Irish 
 hospitahty, Irish beauty, and Irish whisky. 
 *' Green Erin wants but one thing more,'* 
 Eufus predicted, ^' to be a Paradise on earth 
 — it wants the day to come when we shall
 
 248 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 send an American minister to the Irish 
 Republic." Laughing over this quaint out- 
 break, Amelius turned from the first page to 
 the second. As his eyes fell on the next 
 paragraph, a sudden change passed over 
 him ; he let the letter drop on the 
 floor. 
 
 *' One last word," the American wrote, 
 *' about that nice long bright letter of yoiu^s. 
 I have read it with strict attention, and 
 thought over it considerably afterwards. 
 Don't be riled, friend Amelius, if I tell you 
 in plain words, that your account of the 
 Farnabys doesn't make me happy — quite 
 the contrar}^, I do assure you. My back is 
 set up, sir, against that family. You will 
 do well to drop them ; and, above all things, 
 mind what you are about with the brown 
 miss, who has found her way to your favour- 
 able opinion in such an almighty hurry. Do 
 me a favour, my good boy. Just wait till I 
 have seen her, will you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Farnaby, Mellicent, Rufus — all three 
 strangers to each other; and all three
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 249 
 
 agreed nevertlieless in trying to part him 
 from the beautiful young Englishwoman ! 
 '' I don't care," Amelius thought to himself; 
 ^' They may say Vv'hat they please — 111 
 marry Eegina, if she will have me ! "
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH 
 
 LOVE AND MONEY.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 253 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In an interval of no more than three weeks 
 what events may not present themselves ? 
 what changes may not take place ? Behold 
 Amelius, on the first drizzling day of 
 November, established in respectable lodg- 
 ings, at a moderate weekly rent. He stands 
 before his small fireside, and warms his back 
 with an Enghshman's severe sense of enjoy- 
 ment. The cheap looking-glass on the 
 mantelpiece reflects the head and shoulders 
 of a new Amelias. His habits are changed ; 
 his social position is in com'se of develop- 
 ment. Already, he is a strict economist. 
 Before long, he expects to become a married- 
 man. 
 
 It is good to be economical : it is, per-
 
 254 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 haps, better still to be the accepted husband 
 of a handsome young woman. But, for all 
 that, a man in a state of moral improve- 
 ment, mth prospects which his less favoured 
 fellow creatures may reasonably envy, is 
 still a man subject to the mischievous mercy 
 of circumstances, and capable of feeling it 
 keenly. The face of the new AmeUus wore 
 an expression of anxiety, and, more remark- 
 able yet, the temper of the new Amelius 
 was out of order. 
 
 For the first time in his hfe he found 
 himseK* considering trivial questions of six- 
 pences, and small favours of discount for 
 cash payments — an irritating state of things 
 in itself. There were more serious anxieties, 
 however, to trouble him than these. He 
 had no reason to complain of the beloved 
 object herself. Not twelve hom's since he 
 had said to Kegina, with a voice that 
 faltered, and a heart that beat wildly, ''Are 
 you fond enough of me to let me marry 
 you ? " And she had answered placidly, 
 with a heart that would have satisfied the
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 255 
 
 most exacting stethoscope in the medical 
 profession, "Yes, if yon hke." There was 
 a moment of raptnre, ^\'hen she submitted 
 for the first time to be kissed, and when she 
 consented, on being gently reminded that it 
 was expected of her, to return the kiss — 
 once, and no more. But there was also an 
 attendant train of serious considerations 
 which followed on the heels of Amehus 
 when the kissing was over, and when he 
 had said good-bye for the day. 
 
 He had two women for enemies, both 
 resolutely against him in the matter of his 
 marriage. 
 
 Eegina's con-espondent and bosom fiiend, 
 CeciHa, who had begun by disliking him, 
 without knowing why, persisted in main- 
 taining her unfavourable opinion of the new 
 friend of the Farnabys. She was a young 
 married woman ; and she had an influence 
 over Regina which promised, when the fit 
 opportunity came, to make itself felt. Tlie 
 second, and by far the more powerful hostile 
 influence, was the influence of Mrs. Farnaby.
 
 256 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Nothing could exceed the half sisterly, half 
 motherly, good- will with which she received 
 Amelius on those rare occasions when they 
 happened to meet, unembarrassed by the 
 presence of a third person in the room. 
 Without actually reverting to what had 
 passed between them during theh memor- 
 able interview, Mrs. Farnaby asked ques- 
 tions, plainly showing that the forlorn hope 
 which she associated with Amehus was a 
 hope still firmly rooted in her mind. " Have 
 you been much about London lately ? " 
 "Have 5'ou met with any girls who have 
 taken your fancy?" "Are you getting 
 tired of staying in the same place, and are 
 you going to travel soon ? " Inquiries such 
 as these she was, sooner or later, sure to 
 make when they were alone. But, if Eegina 
 happened to enter the room, or if Amelius 
 contrived to find his way to her m some 
 other part of the house, Mrs. Farnaby 
 deliberately shortened the interview and 
 silenced the lovers — still as resolute as ever 
 to keep Amelius exposed to the adventurous
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 257 
 
 freedom of a bachelor's life. For the last 
 week, his only opportunities of speaking to 
 Regina had been obtained for him secretly 
 by the "well-re warded devotion of her maid. 
 And he had now the j)rospect before him of 
 asking Mr. Farnaby for the hand of his 
 adopted daughter, with the certainty of the 
 influence of two women being used against 
 him — even if he succeeded in obtaining a 
 favourable reception for his proposal from 
 the master of the house. 
 
 Under such circumstances as these — alone, 
 on a rainy November day, in a lodging on 
 the dreary eastward side of the Tottenham- 
 court-road — even Amelius bore the aspect 
 of a melancholy man. He was angry with 
 his cigar because it refused to light freely. 
 He was angry with the poor deaf servant- 
 of-all-work, who entered the room, after one 
 thumping knock at the door, and made, in 
 muffled tones, the barbarous announcement, 
 '^Here's somebody a-wantin' to see yer." 
 
 " Who the devil is Somebody? " Amelius 
 shouted. 
 
 YOL. I. s
 
 258 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 '^ Somebody is a citizen of tlie United 
 States," answered Enfus, quietly entering 
 tlie room. ^'And lie's sorry to find Claude 
 A. Goldenheart's temperature at biling-point 
 already." 
 
 He had not altered in tlie slightest degree 
 since he had left the steamship at Queens- 
 town. Irish hospitahty had not fattened 
 him ; the change from sea to land had not 
 suggested to him the slightest alteration in 
 his dress. He still wore the huge felt hat 
 in which he had first presented himself to 
 notice on the deck of the vessel. The maid- 
 of-all-work raised her eyes to the face of 
 the long lean stranger, overshadowed by 
 the broad-brimmed hat, in reverent amaze- 
 ment. "■ My love to you, miss/' said Eufus, 
 with his customary grave cordiality; ^'J'ZZ 
 shut the door." Having dismissed the maid 
 with that gentle hint, he shook hands 
 heartily with AmeHus. ^' Well, I call this 
 a juicy morning," he said, just as if they 
 had met at the cabin breakfast-table as 
 usual.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 259 
 
 For the moment, at least, Amelias bright- 
 ened at the sio'ht of his fellow-traveller. 
 
 o 
 
 ^^ I am really glad to see yon," he said. 
 ^' It's lonely in these new quarters, before 
 one gets used to them." 
 
 Eufus reheved himself of his hat and 
 great coat, and silently looked about the 
 room. "- I'm big in the bones," he re- 
 marked, surveying the rickety lodging-house 
 furniture vith some suspicion; ^^ and I'm 
 a trifle heavier than I look. I shan't break 
 one of these chairs if I sit down on it, shall 
 I ? " Passing round the table (littered with 
 books and letters) in search of the nearest 
 chair, he accidently brushed against a sheet 
 of paper with writing on it. ^' Memorandum 
 of friends in London, to be informed of my 
 change of addi'ess," he read, looking at the 
 paper, as he picked it up, \di\i the friendly 
 freedom that characterized him. ^'You 
 have made pretty good use of your time, 
 my son, since I took my leave of you in 
 Queenstown harbour. I call this a reason- 
 able long list of acquaintances made by a 
 yoimg stranger in London."
 
 260 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ^^ I met with an old friend of my family 
 at the hotel," Amehus explained. '^ He was 
 a great loss to my poor father, when he got 
 an appointment in India ; and, now^ he has 
 returned, he has been equally kind to me. 
 I am indebted to his introduction for most 
 of the names on that list." 
 
 ^'Yes?" said Eufus, in the interrogative 
 tone of a man who was waiting to hear 
 more. ^'I'm listening, though I may not 
 look like it. Git along." 
 
 Amehus looked at his visitor, wondering 
 in what precise direction he was to '"' git 
 along." 
 
 ^^ I'm no friend to partial information," 
 Eufus proceeded; ^' I hke to round it off 
 complete, as it were, in my own mind. 
 There are names on this hst that you haven't 
 accounted for yet. Who provided you, sir, 
 with the balance of your new fiiends ? " 
 
 Amelius answered, not very wiUingly, '^ I 
 met them at Mr. Farnaby's house." 
 
 Eufus looked up from the list with the 
 an of a man surprised by disagreeable in-
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 261 
 
 formation, and nnw'illing to receive it too 
 readily. '' How? " he exclaimed, using the 
 old Enghsh equivalent (often heard in 
 America) for the modern '^ What ? " 
 
 *' I met them at Mr. Farnaby's," Amelius 
 repeated. 
 
 ''Did you happen to receive a letter of 
 my writing, dated Dublin ? " Rufus asked. 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " Do you set any particular value on my 
 advice ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " 
 
 " And you cultivate social relations with 
 Farnaby and family, notwithstanding ? " 
 
 " I have motives for being friendly with 
 them, which — which I haven't had time to 
 explain to you yet." 
 
 Rufus stretched out his long legs on the 
 floor, and fixed his shrewd grave eyes 
 steadily on Amelius. 
 
 "My friend," he said, quietly, "in re- 
 spect of personal appearance and j)leasing 
 elasticity of spirits, I find you altered for 
 the worse, I do. It may be Liver, or it
 
 262 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 may be Love. I reckon, now I think of it, 
 you're too young yet for Liver. It's the 
 brown miss — that's what 'tis. I hate that 
 girl, su', by instinct." 
 
 ^' A nice way of talking of a yonng lady 
 yon never saw ! " Amelias broke out. 
 
 Enfus smiled grimly. ^^ Go ahead!" he 
 said. ^'If you can get vent in quarrelling 
 with me, go ahead, my son." 
 
 He looked round the room again, with his 
 hands in his pockets, whistling. Descend- 
 ing to the table in due course of time, his 
 quick eye detected a photograph placed on 
 the open writing-desk which Amelius had 
 been using earher in the day. Before it 
 was possible to stop him, the photograph 
 was in his hand. '' I believe I've got her 
 hkeness," he announced. ^^ I do assure you 
 I take pleasure in making her acquaintance 
 in this sort of way. ^'Well, now, I declare 
 she's a columnar creature ! Yes, sir ; I do 
 justice to your native product — your fine 
 fleshy beef-fed English girl. But I tell 
 you this: after a child or two, that sort
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 263 
 
 runs to fat, and you find you have married 
 more of her than you bargained for. To 
 what lengths may you have proceeded, 
 Amehus, with this splendid and spanking 
 person? " 
 
 Amelius was just on the verge of taking 
 offence. ''Speak of her respectfully," he 
 said, " if you expect me to answer you." 
 
 Ptufus stared in astonishment. '^ I'm pay- 
 ing her all manner of compliments," he 
 j)rotested, ''and you're not satisfied yet. 
 My friend, I still find something about you, 
 on this occasion, which reminds me of meat 
 cut against the grain. You're almost nasty 
 — you are ! The air of London, I reckon, 
 isn't at all the thing for you. Well, it don't 
 matter to me ; I like you. Afloat or ashore, 
 I Hke you. Do you want to know what I 
 should do, in your place, if I found myself 
 steering a little too nigh to the brown miss ? 
 I should — well, to put it in one word, I 
 should scatter. Where's the harm, I'll ask 
 you, if you try another girl or two, before 
 you make your mind up. I shall be proud
 
 264 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 to introduce you to our slim and snaky sort 
 at Coolspring. Yes. I mean what I say ; 
 and I'll go back with you across the pond." 
 Referring in this disrespectful manner to 
 the Atlantic Ocean, Rufus offered his hand 
 in token of unalterable devotion and good- 
 will. 
 
 Who could resist such a man as this ? 
 Amehus, always in extremes, wrung his 
 hand, with an impetuous sense of shame. 
 ^'I've been sulky," he said, ''I've been 
 rude, I ought to be ashamed of myself — 
 and I am. There's only one excuse for me, 
 Rufus. I love her with all my heart and 
 soul ; and I'm engaged to be married to her. 
 And yet, if you understand my way of 
 putting it, I'm — in short, I'm in a mess." 
 
 With this characteristic preface, he de- 
 scribed his position as exactly as he could ; 
 having due regard to the necessary reserve 
 on the subject of Mrs. Farnaby. Rufus 
 listened, with the closest attention, from 
 beginning to end; making no attempt to 
 disguise the unfavourable impression which
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES, 265 
 
 the anuouncement of the marriage-engage- 
 ment had made on him. When he spoke 
 next, instead of looking at x\meliiis as usual, 
 he held his head down, and looked gloomily 
 at his hoots. 
 
 '"AYell," he said, ^'you've gone ahead 
 this time, and that's a fact. She didn't 
 raise any difficulties that a man could ride 
 off on— did she ? " 
 
 '' She was all that was sweet and kind ! " 
 Amehus answered, with enthusiasm. 
 
 '^ She was all that was sweet and kind," 
 Kufus absently repeated, still intent on the 
 solid spectacle of his own hoots. ^^ And 
 how about uncle Farnaby? Perhaps he's 
 sweet and kind Hkewise, or perhaps he cuts 
 up rough ? Possible — is it not, sir ? " 
 
 '' I don't know; I haven't spoken to him 
 
 yet." 
 
 Piufus suddenly looked up. A faint gleam 
 of hope irradiated his long lank face. 
 "Mercy be praised! there's a last chance 
 for you," he remarked. " Uncle Farnaby 
 may so Ko."
 
 266 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 ^'It doesn't matter what lie says," 
 Ameliiis rejoined. " She's old enongh to 
 choose for herself; he can't stop the 
 marriage." 
 
 Eufus hfted one wiry yellow forefinger, 
 in a state of perpendicular protest. ''■ He 
 cannot stop the marriage," the sagacious 
 New Englander admitted; ''but he can 
 stop the money, my son. Find out how 
 you stand with him before another day is 
 over your head." 
 
 "I can't go to him this evening," said 
 Amelius; ''he dines out." 
 
 ' ' Where is he now ? ' ' 
 
 " At his place of business." 
 
 " Fix him at his place of business. Eight 
 away! " cried Eufus, springing with sudden 
 energy to his feet. 
 
 " I don't think he would Hke it," Amehus 
 objected. " He's not a very pleasant fellow, 
 anywhere ; but he's particularly disagreeable 
 at his place of business." 
 
 Eufus walked to the window, and looked 
 out. The objections to Mr. Farnaby ap- 
 peared to fail,^so far, in interesting him.
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 267 
 
 " To put it plainly," Ameliiis went on, 
 *' there's something about him that I can't 
 endure. And — though he's very civil to me, 
 in his "way — I don't think he has ever got 
 over the discovery that I am a Christian 
 Socialist." 
 
 Piufus abruptly turned round from the 
 window, and became attentive again. " So 
 you told him that — did you ? " he said. 
 
 '' Of course ! " Amehus rejoined, sharply. 
 ^' Do you suj)pose I am ashamed of the 
 principles in which I have been brought up ? " 
 
 '^ You don't care, I reckon, if all the 
 world knows yom' principles," persisted 
 Bufus, dehberately leading him on. 
 
 ^^ Care ? " Amehus reiterated. ''I only 
 msh I had all the world to listen to me. 
 They should hear of my principles, with no 
 bated breath, I promise you ! " 
 
 There was a pause. Eufus turned back 
 again to the window. " When Farnaby's 
 at home, where does he Hve ? " he asked 
 suddenly — still keeping his face towards the 
 street.
 
 268 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 Amelius mentioned tlie address. '^You 
 don't mean that yoii are going to call 
 there ? " he inquired, with some anxiety. 
 
 ''Well, I reckoned I might catch him 
 before dinner-time. You seem to be sort of 
 feared to speak to him yourself. I'm your 
 hiend, Amelius — and I'll speak for you." 
 
 The bare idea of the interview struck 
 Amelius with terror. ''No, no ! " he said. 
 "I'm much obhged to you, Kufus. But in 
 a matter of this sort, I shouldn't like to 
 transfer the responsibility to *my friend. 
 I'll speak to Mr. Farnaby in a day or 
 two. 
 
 Kufus was evidently not satisfied with 
 this. "I do suppose, now," he suggested, 
 " you're not the only man moving in this 
 metropolis who fancies Miss Eegina. Query, 
 my son : if you put off Farnaby much 
 
 longer " He paused and looked at 
 
 Amelius. "Ah," he said, "I reckon I 
 needn't enlarge further : there is another 
 man. Well, it's the same in my country ; 
 I do]i't know what he does, with You : he
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 269 
 
 always turns np, with Us, just at the thne 
 when you least want to see him." 
 
 There was another man — an older and a 
 richer man than Amelius ; equally assiduous 
 in his attentions to the aunt and to the 
 niece ; suhmissively polite to his favoured 
 young rival. He was the sort of person, in 
 age and in temperament, who would be 
 perfectly capable of advancing his own 
 interests by means of the hostile influence 
 of Mrs. Farnaby. Who could say what the 
 result might be if, by some unlucky accident, 
 he made the attempt before AmeHus had 
 secured for himself the support of the 
 master of the house ? In his present con- 
 dition of nervous irritability, he was ready 
 to believe in any coincidence of the 
 disastrous sort. The wealthy rival was a 
 man of business, a near city neighbour of Mr. 
 Farnaby. They might be together at that 
 moment ; and Eegina's fidehty to her lover 
 might be put to a harder test than she was 
 prepared to endure. AmeHus remembered 
 the gentle conciliatory smile (too gentle by
 
 270 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 half) mtli wliicli liis placid mistress had 
 received his first kisses — and, without 
 stopping to weigh conclusions, snatched up 
 his hat. "Wait here for me, Eufus, hke a 
 p'ood fellow. I'm off to the stationer's 
 shop." With those parting words, he 
 hurried out of the room. 
 
 Left hy himself, Rufus hegan to rummage 
 the pockets of his frockcoat — a long, loose, 
 and dingy garment which had become 
 friendly and comfortable to him by dint of 
 ancient use. Producing a handful of corre- 
 spondence, he selected the largest envelope 
 of all; shook out on the table several 
 smaller letters enclosed; picked one out of 
 the number ; and read the conclu ding- 
 paragraph only, with the closest attention. 
 
 "I enclose letters of mtroduction to the 
 secretaries of hterary institutions in London, 
 and in some of the principal cities of Eng- 
 land. If you feel disposed to lecture your- 
 self, or if you can persuade friends and 
 citizens known to you to do so, I believe it 
 may be in your power to advance in this
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 271 
 
 way the interests of our Bureau. Please 
 take notice that the more advanced institu- 
 tions, which are ready to countenance and 
 welcome free thought in religion, pohtics, 
 and morals, are marked on the enveloiDCs 
 with a cross in red ink. The envelopes 
 mthout a mark are addressed to platforms 
 on which the customary British prejudices 
 remain rampant, and in which the charge 
 for places reaches a higher figure than can 
 be as yet obtained in the sanctuaries of free 
 thought." 
 
 Eufus laid down the letter, and, choosino- 
 one among the envelopes marked in red ink, 
 looked at the introduction enclosed. ^^ If 
 the right sort of invitation reached Amelius 
 from this institution," he thought, ^^ the boy 
 would lectm'e on Christian Socialism with 
 all his heart and soul. I wonder what the 
 brown miss and her uncle would say to 
 that ? " 
 
 He smiled to himself, and put the letter 
 back in the envelope, and considered the 
 subject for a while. Below the odd rou^-h
 
 272 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 
 
 surface, lie Tvas a man in ten thousand ; no 
 more single-lie art ed and more affectionate 
 creatui'e ever breathed the breath of life. 
 He had not been understood in his own 
 httle cu'cle ; there had been a want of 
 sympathy with him, and even a want of 
 knowledge of him, at home. Amelius, 
 popular with everybody, had touched the 
 great heart of this man. He perceived the 
 peril that lay hidden under the strange and 
 lonely position of his fellow- voyager — so in- 
 nocent in the ways of the world, so young 
 and so easily impressed. His fondness for 
 Amehus, it is hardly too much to sa}^, was 
 the fondness of a father for a son. With a 
 sigh, he shook his head, and gathered up 
 his letters, and put them back in his pockets. 
 ^' No, not yet," he decided. '^ The poor boy 
 really loves her ; and the ghi may be good 
 enough to make the happiness of his Hfe." 
 He got up and walked about the room. 
 Suddenly he stopped, struck by a new idea. 
 '^Why shouldn't I judge for myself?" 
 he thought. ^'I've got the address — I
 
 THE FALLEN LEAVES. 11 ?j 
 
 reckon I'll look in on the Famabys, in a 
 friendly way." 
 
 He sat down at the desk, and Avi'ote a line, 
 in the event of Amelins being the first to 
 return to the lodgings : 
 
 ^'Dear Boy, 
 
 '' I don't find her jjhotograph teUs 
 me quite so much as I want to know. I 
 have a mind to see the hving original. 
 Being your friend, you know, it's only civil 
 to pay my respects to the family. Expect 
 my unbiassed opinion when I come back. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 ^'EUFUS." 
 
 Having enclosed and addressed these 
 lines, he took up his greatcoat — and checked 
 himself in the act of putting it on. The 
 brown miss was a British miss. A strange 
 Xew Englander had better be careful of his 
 personal appearance, before he ventured 
 into her presence. Urged by this cautious 
 motive, he approached the looking-glass, 
 and surveyed himself critically. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 TEE FALLEN LEAVES, 
 
 ''I doubt I might be the better," it 
 occnrred to him, '^ if I brushed my hair, 
 and smelt a Uttle of perfmne. Yes. I'll 
 make a toilet. Where's the boy's bed-room, 
 I wonder ? " 
 
 He observed a second door in the sitting- 
 room, and opened it at hazard. Fortune 
 had befriended him, so far : he found him- 
 self in his young friend's bedchamber. 
 
 The toilet-table of xVmelius, simple as it 
 was, had its mysteries for liufus. He ^Yas 
 at a loss among the perfumes. They were 
 all contained in a modest little dressing- 
 case, without labels of any sort to describe 
 the contents of the pots and bottles. He 
 examined them one after another, and 
 stopped at some recently invented French 
 shaving-cream. " It smells lovely," he said, 
 assuming it to be some rare pomatum. 
 ^' Just what I want, it seems, for my head." 
 He rubbed the shaving-cream into his 
 bristly iron-gray hair, until his arms ached. 
 When lie had next sprinkled his handker- 
 chief and himself profusel}^, first with rose-
 
 TEE FALLEN LEAVES. 275 
 
 water, and tlieu (to make quite sure) Avitli 
 ean-cle-cologne used, as a climax, he felt 
 that he was in a position to ap^^eal agreeably 
 to the senses of the softer sex. In five 
 minutes more, he was on his way to Mr. 
 Farnaby's private residence. 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I. 
 
 PKINTEU AT THE CAXTON I'RESS, UKCCI.ES.
 
 V
 
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