LI E) R.ARY 
 
 OF THL 
 U N IVERSITY 
 or ILLl NOIS 
 
 82 3 
 
 V. I
 
 A GOOD HATER 
 
 FREDERICK BOYLE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 • CAMP NOTES,' ' LEGENDS OF MV BUNGALOW,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 i3ubU3hcrs iiv €)rbinar» to '^tx ^Vlajestu the (Qufcti. 
 
 1885. 
 
 [All nights Beserved.]
 
 V. 0. 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 I. 
 
 OUPt HEROES 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 SCARSHOLME 
 
 . 44 
 
 III. 
 
 LORD DUNSCOMBE 
 
 . 78 
 
 IV. 
 
 IX HYDE PARK . 
 
 . 119 
 
 V. 
 
 THE PEELE HOUSE 
 
 . 151 
 
 VI. 
 
 AN ESCAPADE 
 
 . 187 
 
 VII. 
 
 MR. BEAVER 
 
 . 233 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE CONSEQUENCES 
 
 . 281 
 
 ^
 
 A GOOD HATER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OUR HEROES. 
 
 ^HERE is no district in London, I 
 think, so gracefully respectable 
 as Eaton Square. That address 
 suggests a mediocrity which is golden in 
 every sense — disdainful of pretension on 
 one side, and of dull dignity on the other. 
 And a typical house therein was Mrs. 
 Acland's, small but airy, broad of window, 
 high of ceiling ; its few rooms equally 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 A Good Hater 
 
 convenient for receiving a score of cliosen 
 guests, and comfortable for tlie family. 
 Taste had directed the expenditure of a 
 vast amount of cash in furnishing them. 
 There was no crowding of objects, and no 
 display ; but somehow, if a \'isitor looked 
 in any direction with an observing eye, he 
 saw something unusual — a very small matter, 
 perhaps, but one that pleased him. It was 
 declared by many jjersons who speak with 
 authority, that no dwelling in London, 
 positively none, was so perfect in every 
 detail. And not a few would have liked to 
 add, if they dared, that the ladies therein 
 were most consummate of all. 
 
 Although Mrs. Acland was treated by 
 everybody as the owner — that is to say, the 
 lessee — of this delightful house, it belonged 
 in reality to her son since he came of age, 
 and before that event to his trustees. Ihit 
 Huo^h had never asserted nor even recoa- 
 nised his rights against his mother. All
 
 Our Heroes. 3 
 
 the world esteemed and liked and re- 
 spected Mrs. Acland, but her children 
 idolized her. A woman of large but most 
 shapely frame, her features, too pronounced 
 for the word ' pretty,' but too soft for 
 'handsome,' could only be described as 
 charming. The laugh was always ready to 
 her dark eyes ; not the laugh of complacency 
 or of feeble good-nature, but shrewd as 
 kind. Neither she nor her children had 
 known a day's illness in their lives. 
 
 A very picture of intelligent ease and 
 graceful happiness was this lady ; but she 
 had gone through trouble, as was generally 
 known. Her husband was drowned before 
 he came into the estate of Worstan, which 
 now belonged to his son, and for some 
 years the widow had to live upon a meagre 
 allowance. She made no secret of her bitter 
 experience — Mrs. Acland had no secrets — 
 but she alluded to it only, with laughing 
 tact, as her excuse for a broad and charitable 
 
 1—2
 
 A Good Ilatcr 
 
 knowlednfe of the world wliicli mi_f]^lit be 
 thought to need explanation among dames 
 of a certain standing. An abstract acquain- 
 tance with human nature and an abstract 
 consideration for its weakness are expected 
 of everyone nowadays ; but Mrs. Acland's 
 views upon the matter were decidedly 
 practical. Servants alone regarded her 
 with distrust ; not because she was unkind, 
 for nobody could show more indulgence, 
 but because she saw throu2;h them with 
 such good-natured keenness, understood so 
 well what , ought or ought not to be over- 
 looked, made up her mind so inexorably, 
 and was always right. In brief, a woman 
 fascinating in the best sense, u companion 
 cultured and interesting, a judicious adviser, 
 a warm friend, and, if need be, a cool and 
 resolute antai>*onist. 
 
 Of her children, Hugh, the elder, had 
 not quite entered his twenty-fourth year at 
 this date, the prologue of our stor}-. I.
 
 Our Heroes. 5 
 
 need not speak of his character, but it may 
 be said that a mother so reasonable as Mrs. 
 Acland would hardly have hoped, even 
 though she had wished, to have it better 
 than it was. Hugh had gone through the 
 training ^^^'oper for a man of family and 
 means and station, with such credit as is 
 fitting, without scandal, but not without 
 such little adventures as gentlemen of the old 
 school think becoming to young blood. If 
 he passed not an inch beyond — seeing that 
 the boy had spirit, fine health, and quite 
 a sufficient proportion of conceit — it may be 
 that his mother's influence saved him un- 
 consciously. She knew the temptations 
 that beset golden youth, and she warned 
 her son, not by grave precept, nor by 
 argument, still less by appeal. Hers was a 
 better way, which all parents cannot follow, 
 unhappily. She told stories that made 
 Hugh laugh, but pointed a moral all the 
 sharper and all the more enduring- because
 
 A Good Hater, 
 
 they left him to draw it for himself. And 
 so he passed Avithout damage through the 
 years of greatest danger to the freshness of 
 liis heart, and to the accumulations of a 
 long minority. One could not find a blither 
 young fellow in town, nor a catch more 
 desirable to parents who considered the 
 happiness of their .daughter ; nor one mora 
 difficult to secure, wliilst he confided all 
 inclinations of that grave sort to his 
 mother. 
 
 The other child was Edith, eighteen years 
 old on December 10th next, but commonly 
 granted at least a twelvemonth more, because 
 she had been ' brought out ' at a very early 
 age. In her one recognised at a glance 
 the beauty w^hich had distracted her mother's 
 contemporaries ; the exquisite shape, rounded 
 as a woman's but slender as a girl's, the 
 features perfect though ' unclassical,' tlic 
 large eyes full of intelligence j but not the 
 expression. Mrs. Acland's real experiences
 
 Our Heroes. 7 
 
 of life had taught her cheerfulness and 
 charity. When no one could be spying, 
 her air was still quick with such easy 
 enjoyment of life as an untroubled con- 
 science and happy circumstances bring to 
 a sound digestion. Edie could laugh with 
 a glee more cheerful than her years, and 
 very often did ; but depression seized her 
 when alone. The girl's nature was thought- 
 ful and self-questioning. Had she been 
 less strong of constitution, she would pro- 
 bably have felt ' a call ' or a craze. Perceiv- 
 ing this, Mrs. Acland, always practical, 
 introduced her to society at an age much 
 earlier than is common. Edie was several 
 months under sixteen when she began 
 to accompany her mother to balls and 
 parties ; but no one suspected her youth, 
 and in the circles, not unimportant, where 
 they moved, Miss Acland was a reigning 
 beauty from the outset. Her triumph was 
 complete and immediate, but it had not the
 
 A Good llaier. 
 
 effect upon her Avhich had been desired. 
 Up to a certahi point, Edie felt interested 
 in gaieties, dress, partners and the rest, 
 but the point never moved. Mrs. Acland 
 watched her daughter more anxiously, 
 for low spirits in a girl seemed to her 
 cheerful disposition a very grave portent. 
 She began to think with distress that an 
 early marriage was desirable; but Edie 
 did not share this view evidently, for she 
 had checked several young men whose 
 attentions were welcome in the highest 
 quarters. 
 
 This report must not be misunderstood, 
 however. It is strictly confidential, giving 
 the state of thinsrs in Mrs. Acland's house- 
 hold not as the world saAV it, but as it 
 really was. No two opinions were current, 
 indeed, about the lady herself; her ojumi 
 and lively disposition, her good sense, and 
 pleasant humour spoke for themselves. 
 ]>ut people were apt to think Hugh more
 
 Our Heroes. 
 
 bumptious than lie really was ; and for Edie, 
 they declared her to be the very nicest girl 
 that' such a beauty could be — a little too 
 grave, perhaps, but gravity sat so charmingly 
 on her intelligent face — a little too clever, 
 possibly, but so unaffected with it all ! And 
 the world was unanimous that another 
 family so blest in every way could not be 
 found in Britain. Which was the reasoned 
 opinion of Mrs. Acland herself. 
 
 w ^ ^ ^ ^ 
 
 The companion picture represents a 
 snowy plain beneath the Ivhojak Amram 
 Mountains, in Afghanistan. Battery X o, 
 R.A., is encamped there, with its escort of 
 Sepoys, returning to India. The day has 
 b^en very hot, and round the tents the 
 snow is melted and trampled into puddles ; 
 but the coming frost has begun, and men 
 throng round the fires, clad in their sheep- 
 skins. Officers stump up and down before 
 the mess-tent, eagerly awaiting the bugle.
 
 10 .1 Good Hater. 
 
 which will not sound for half an hour ; but 
 in their tents it is deadly cold, and the 
 solitary candle is depressing. One of them, 
 however, is writing within ; his shadow falls 
 blurred upon the canvas. 
 
 ' ... In a few Aveeks we hope to be in 
 the old quarters at Meerut, and we call it 
 jyoinor " home." The word unsettles me. 
 AVhen shall I see you and my real home 
 again? They say I have a fair chance of 
 promotion, and — one does not mind talking 
 nonsense to one's mother — of honours you 
 Avill value more. If the promotion comes 
 off, I fondly think I will apply for leave at 
 last ! How the eternal difficulty about cash 
 is to be got over I have no idea at all, but 
 the mere thouo-ht cheers one on this drea- 
 riest of campaigns. I vow the snow of 
 Scarsholme is warmer than that round my 
 tent now. 
 
 ' Talking of home and you, mother, natu-
 
 Our Heroes. 11 
 
 rally brings Grace to my mind — when I 
 have time to think, indeed, those three sub- 
 jects turn about in my mind with a regu- 
 larity almost disconcerting to a man who 
 has so many other things to think of. 
 Grace's letter acknowledging the photograph 
 reached me at Cabul, and I've worn a smile 
 off duty ever since — unfortunately we are 
 so seldom off duty that the men persist in 
 regarding me as a grave and serious per- 
 sonage. Tell me confidentially, mother, 
 what Grace said. She must have been 
 startled. I looked at my own likeness very 
 long, very many times, before sending it, 
 and at the glass, too. Somehow I do not 
 recognise the lank face which they both 
 show as mine. I don't own it, and I don't 
 feel it as my property, though I have too 
 much reason to believe that the impostor 
 has established a general impression that lie 
 is the real and the only Captain Richard 
 Saxell in her Majesty's Artillery service.
 
 12 A Gaud Hater. 
 
 Don't repeat this nonsense to Grace, but tell 
 me what she said at the first glimpse of the 
 pliotograph. I think I understand her well 
 enough to know that that impression will 
 recur and abide. . . . 
 
 ' You complain that I give so little detail 
 of our life in the field. I have really had 
 few adventures. A battle in these times is 
 no personal affair, so to speak, especially for 
 a gunner. When you read that Battery X 3 
 took part in an engagement, you know that 
 Captain Saxell was there, doing his duty as 
 well as he knows how. And Captain Saxell 
 can tell you little more. I have had only 
 one bit of adventure since the campaign 
 l)egan. It was in the action of Abdallah- 
 Ivurez, which you read of. The Ghilzai 
 <rliazis charged us suddenly, breaking the 
 line of infantry. We limbered up to with- 
 draw, but tlie last gun stuck, and before it 
 could be got out fifty of them were on us. 
 We made the best fight possible, but our
 
 Our Heroes. 13 
 
 men are unarmed — that is, they allow us 
 only twenty-five carbhies to a battery, and 
 small blame to those who decline to meet a 
 Pathan knife with a whip! Such as had 
 carbines stood their ground, and the gun 
 was brought awa}^ AVe went after it helter- 
 skelter. I thouo-ht all had o-ot off, until 
 some one cried that Sergeant-Major Raikes 
 was missin<i\ I looked back. The Ghilzais 
 were chasing us in a crowd, but a number 
 of them clustered round a pony, on which 
 they were trying to lift something. The 
 30th B. C. charged at that moment, and we 
 had the good fortune to rescue poor Raikes, 
 little hurt. He is very grateful. I must 
 tell you about our sergeant-major some day, 
 as we sit round the fire at home and Grace 
 
 asks for stories. He is an odd fellow 
 
 There goes the mess-bugle — not too soon, 
 for my ink is fi'ozen. We shall reach 
 Chaman to-morrow, where I shall post this, 
 and expect letters from you and Grace.
 
 1-4 A Good Hater 
 
 Our route is not through the Khojak Pass, 
 but tlirough the Guaja. This detour will 
 cause some delay, so you will not be sur- 
 prised if my next is somewhat behindhand.' 
 ***** 
 
 Three days later Captain Saxell wrote to 
 another correspondent : 
 
 ' In the Guaja Pass, Nov. 25. 
 ' Dear Vane, 
 
 ' I found your letter of October 1st 
 at Chaman. It has distressed me much — 
 more even than 3^0 u thought. I had been 
 cherishing hopes which must now be thrown 
 aside. When I think of the shifts to which 
 poverty compels my poor mother, I feel 
 hopelessly enraged against Fate. ^ly brain 
 has been working incessantly to devise some 
 fresh saving, which might enable me to 
 remit even £20, but I can think of none. 
 I shall write to Grace frankly this mail. It 
 is not right she should be tied to a pauper
 
 Our Heroes. 15 
 
 who is verging on tlie fogey at twenty-nine 
 years old. If I have been deceiving myself, 
 I hope I have not been deceiving Grace — 
 and I think not. We have both regarded it 
 as a vision. If it were realized, I should be 
 the happiest fellow living — or, at least, as 
 happy as the best ; and Grace perhaps would 
 pay me the same compliment. But it 
 cannot be realized, Yane, so far as I see. 
 If my majority was posted in the next 
 Gazette, it w^ould make no effectual differ- 
 ence. After all, a girl of eighteen cannot 
 seriously feel the breaking of an engagement 
 with a man whom she has not beheld for 
 nine years — or close on it. For the rest, I 
 can do nothing! Would it be impossible 
 for my mother to engage one of those " lady 
 helps " we read of as a housekeeper? With 
 her own income, Grace's allow^ance, and the 
 money I remit, she has means which would 
 be wealth to some ladies. Management is 
 lackinir. • . .
 
 IG .1 Good Hater. 
 
 ' Our situation here is not one to raise the 
 spirits. We are snowed up in the Guaja Pass 
 — on the right side, fortunately. The great 
 cliffs, where a child with a crowbar could 
 crush a regiment, lie behind us. I cannot 
 believe there is another scene in the world 
 like that. Imagine a road only fifty feet in 
 width, overhung by mountains that rise 
 just like a wall on either side I don't know 
 how many hundreds of feet high, vast rents 
 and cracks intersectino- them. Rocks as 
 big as a house are poised above one's head, 
 so cut and riven that it seems a breath of 
 wind would hr'm<r them down. And think 
 also in what country we were travelling I 
 At a giddy height, no bigger than birds, 
 the Kakar scouts looked down on us. We 
 saw them climbing and gesticulating, their 
 wdiite felt robes sparkling in the sunshine, 
 whilst we crept on in twilight. -Men 
 scarcely spoke, but toiled along with eyes 
 upraised, expecting every step to be tlieir
 
 Our Heroes. 17 
 
 last. That fright is over, thank Heaven! 
 By sunset yesterday we reached this small 
 amphitheatre in the defile, and thought our 
 troubles past. 
 
 * But when I woke in the dull grey dawn, 
 our camp was buried in snow. It lies a 
 foot deep even on the hills, and if the wind 
 rises we may be almost smothered in drift. 
 Things are very serious, for we have but 
 six days' fodder. However, you will hear 
 the end long before this reaches you. We 
 are escorted, as you know, by six companies 
 of the 130th N. I. Our Pathan Sepoys are 
 particularly lively, but all the rest lie torpid 
 with cold. Even the Sikhs are helpless ; 
 when spoken to they look up Avith great 
 eyes and drawn features, but do not move. 
 Our servants simply want to die in peace, 
 and T expect that a good many of them will 
 find their prayer granted before morning. 
 My Pathan grass-cutter has dug a hole in 
 the middle of the tent, which he keeps full 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
 ^
 
 18 A Good Hater. 
 
 of charcoal, and so I am able to write, 
 thawing my hand every five minutes. To 
 talk to you, old friend, distracts my 
 thouglits, 
 
 ' To a painter's eye, I suppose our camp 
 would be mighty picturesque. It lies in a 
 small valley just below the Kotul, the head 
 of the pass. Those lofty cliffs I spoke of 
 seem to overhang it in the rear. The gams 
 are ranged across, pointing forwards — a 
 bad disposition if we are attacked from the 
 rear, but the men were worn out last night, 
 as were officers indeed. Our stained and 
 rao-ored tents look more discreditable than 
 ever against the pure white of the snow. 
 It lies so deep that most of the stunted 
 bushes are hidden beneath it, and the jagged 
 hillsides slant smoothly down. There are 
 fine pista-trees about, gnarled, grey old 
 stumps, with heads like a thousand snake^i 
 writhing and fighting. AVe hear scai'ce a 
 sound in camp, but ravens croak inces-
 
 Our Heroes. 19 
 
 santly as they flap from liill to hill, and 
 starved partridges twitter in the snow. 
 
 ' The Major summoned me to council as 
 I was w^ritino' the last line. It seems that 
 an Afridi Sepoy casually remarked to one 
 of his officers that the Kakars are sure to 
 attack. Examined by the Colonel, he says 
 a Kakar Sepoy told hmi so, and the Kakar 
 cheerfully admits the prophecy. He ought 
 to know^ the ways of his own people, so we 
 have been doing what we can to prepare. 
 Guns have been turned by main force to 
 command the flanks, but we found it im- 
 j)ossible to take up a new position. It will 
 be necessary to strike the pal tents if the 
 enemy really comes. When all has been 
 done our situation will be very ugly, com- 
 manded as it is on every side within easy 
 range of a jezail. However, it's as God 
 wills — we are doing our best. The camp is 
 busy enough now. Men relieve each other 
 with the spade, clearing broad paths to the 
 
 2—2
 
 20 A Good Rater. 
 
 hills by which our pickets can be reinforced 
 
 without delay, and raising sungas. I have 
 
 run in to warm my feet whilst the men 
 
 take their dinner. 
 
 ' 8 p.m. 
 
 ' No sign of the enemy all day, and they 
 cannot approach us in the dark. I must 
 tell you a very odd thing. I was seated on 
 a fallen pista-tree, superintending a gang of 
 men. The sergeant-major of the battery 
 was beside me, and we spoke of the 
 measures to be taken in case of attack. 
 Raikes, I must tell you, is a very old 
 soldier, who has evidently known better 
 days ; in fact, he is an educated man, and 
 a gentleman by birth, one can see that. 
 He took a gloomy view of things. At 
 last he said, " I should like to speak witli 
 you, sir, after work's done." I consented, 
 of course ; I can't tell you all he said, but 
 it came to this : 
 
 * Oar poor sergeant-major married young;
 
 Our Heroes, 21 
 
 his wife deceived him; he enlisted and came 
 to India, leaving such indications as made 
 people suppose him dead. Some short time 
 afterwards a considerable property devolved 
 upon him or his heirs. He did not hear of 
 the fact for a long while, and then he took 
 no steps. His son inherited, he supposes. 
 But now Raikes has made a will, which, as 
 he declares, leaves everything he can dis- 
 pose of to somebody else, and he asked me 
 to take charge of it. 
 
 ' Such requests are common enough when 
 a soldier has some trifle to dispose of, but 
 this case is different. The sergeant-major 
 talks as if he Avere a rich man. The people 
 his will disinherits won't thank me. I 
 asked who they were, and he said they 
 were his wife and a daughter, whom he 
 does not acknowledge. The son also, in 
 part, I suppose. 
 
 ' I plainly pointed out that the com- 
 mission was not agreeable, but he insisted.
 
 22 A Good Hater. 
 
 One doos not like to refuse a service in 
 front of the enemy, and liaikes has a sort 
 of claim upon me. So, after dinner he 
 came Avith his witnesses and gave me the 
 document sealed up, in the presence of St. 
 Paul, our Major. I resolved to write an 
 account of the transaction while it w'as 
 fresh in my mind 
 
 ' Mahmoud Khan-ka-Killah, Nov. 28. 
 
 ' Through the defile, as you see, and my- 
 self little hurt ; but too many of our poor 
 fellows are left behind. When the bugle 
 sounded at dawn on the 26th snow was fall- 
 ing softly. The men drank their tea and 
 mustered for fatigue-duty. The snow fell 
 thicker. I had crossed to the native lines, 
 where the Pathan Sepoys were working- 
 cheerily, as many as could get shovels. 1 
 saw them pause, listening. There was 
 such a clang of tools and hearty English 
 voices where I stood with the Colonel that
 
 Our Heroes. 23 
 
 we could hear nothing else. Suddenly, 
 they ran towards their tents. I ordered 
 our men to cease working, and dead silence 
 followed, except a faint clash of arms where 
 the Pathans had vanished. Then in the 
 distance, high overhead, where hill-tops 
 loomed unseen in mist and driving snow, 
 we heard a ringing chorus. In long-drawn 
 notes it swelled and sank, to burst out in a 
 new direction, till every slope and crag 
 around us echoed. 
 
 ' " Sound to arms, trumpeter !" cried 
 Colonel Blair, running. Before he reached 
 the tents, his gallant fellows were muster- 
 ing, the Pathans noisy and excited, the 
 Sikhs shivering but &tead3^ As the native 
 bagpipes screamed, and the drums rattled, 
 we heard no reply up above. The song 
 had ceased abruptly when its purpose was 
 answered in showing the surround com- 
 plete. 
 
 ' Our dispositions were already settled.
 
 24 A Good Hater. 
 
 The high ground immediately about our 
 camp was held by pickets, as large as our 
 strength would bear. The danger lay in 
 a rush of overwhelming numbers, who 
 might get within charging-distance under 
 cover of the snow, which fell heavily. 
 Sentries had been pushed out as far as was 
 safe, and the ground surveyed overnight. 
 Colonel Blair sent off parties at the double 
 to reinforce the pickets, and to occupy the 
 sungas we had built. Within a few 
 moments the firing began, dropping shots 
 at first, which multiplied and thickened till 
 we stood in a ring of fire, though not a 
 flash was to be seen. Colonel Blair walked 
 anxiously up and down before the three 
 companies of Sepoys remaining in camp. 
 The doctors were preparing a field hospital 
 under a tree, round which lay dhoolies 
 ranged in a circle, the bearers squatting 
 amongst them. Some had lit their hubble- 
 bubbles for a last smoke.
 
 Our Heroes. 25 
 
 ' In such a fight gunners are helpless. 
 We had loaded with grape, armed the 
 drivers, and then we could but wait events. 
 Wounded men came straggling from the 
 pickets. Then bullets began to spit and 
 whizz among us, showing that the enemy 
 was creeping nearer. Half a company of 
 Sepoys, young Birt at their head, doubled 
 off and vanished. The firing had slackened 
 in the quarter to which they went, but it 
 broke out more fiercely, and crackled with- 
 out pause. 
 
 ' That was a terrible fifteen minutes. 
 Then the fall of snow began to cease. We 
 could see ten yards — twenty. The flash of 
 musketry and the sharp puffs of smoke 
 became visible, but dim and indistinct. 
 Our pickets still held their own, but the 
 ragged flags were tossing perilously near 
 them. Only an instant I looked. A shout 
 from the Major drew all our eyes away. 
 At fifty yards' distance, grey -robed figures
 
 2G A Good /later. 
 
 came pouring from the rock itself, scores of 
 tliem, one upon another. " Fire !" At 
 that range grape sped like a solid shot, but 
 ricocheting from the cliflP it dropped the 
 foremost in a lieap. Before another gun 
 could be discharged, we "vverc fighting hand 
 to hand. The Sepoys poured in to our 
 ►support with fixed bayonets, their dear old 
 Colonel at their head. The Pathans had 
 only swords, but yelling their " AUah-hu!" 
 ej'es aflame, hair streaming, giant bodies 
 half- stripped, they took the guns witli a 
 rush. It was an awful tussle, Yane ! We 
 were driven back amono- the tents before 
 tlie Sepoys reached us. Enemy and friend 
 tripped over the ropes, and fought on the 
 miry ground. When the soldiers pushed 
 through, forcing back the rusli, wounded 
 Pathans caught them by the leg and 
 dragged them down, bithig and stabbing, 
 llaikes, our sergeant-major, fell like that ; 
 and before I could rescue him the Kakar
 
 Our Heroes. 27 
 
 devil had twice run liim through, holding 
 his right hand in his teeth. But our 
 Sepoys pressed on, and a flank attack 
 cleared the ground. Most of the Pathans 
 fell where they stood. As the last of the 
 fugitives vanished, a burst of " Allah-hu !" 
 told that one of our pickets was over- 
 whelmed. But the enemy saw the failure 
 of their main attack, and they did not 
 follow up. After firing a volley into camp, 
 and murdering the wounded, they with- 
 drew. We pitched some shells haphazard, 
 and all was over. 
 
 ' Our losses are heavy, and of those not 
 mortally wounded a large proportion will 
 die of wet and cold, and misery. It was 
 dreadful to hear the cry of brave men that 
 night. At sunset came a thaw, but it 
 brought them no ease. A south wind 
 melted the snow all night, and the sun rose 
 furiously hot. Before noon the road was a 
 muddy torrent, every slope a quagmire.
 
 28 A Good Hater. 
 
 AVe had not dhoolies enough for the 
 wounded, but to stay was death for all. I 
 say nothing — I shall never bear to speak 
 of that march. Fancy yourself helpless 
 amidst all the horrors of despair and agony 
 that one could laboriously imagine ! We 
 buried nine before starting, six more by the 
 roadside ; their dhoolies were re-occupied 
 before they had grown cold. By evening 
 we were not clear of the pass, and we 
 camped in the mud, under heavy rain. 
 Nine deaths in the night, and five on 
 the morning's march. We have sent to 
 Quettah for aid. I expect to arrive there 
 in about a week, and I will keep this o^^en 
 for the latest news. 
 
 ' Quettah, Dec. 8. 
 
 ' The latest news is startling. Poor 
 Raikes died this afternoon, but you will 
 not see at a glance how that affects me. 
 
 ' I gave him as much time as I could,
 
 Our Heroes. 29 
 
 since he continually asked for nie. There 
 was no hope, and Raikes did not deceive 
 himself. I never saw a man, who con- 
 fessed that his life had been godless, so 
 perfectly cool and determined. He told me 
 in outline at various times a good deal of 
 his story, which was sad enough, but 
 generally he did not pretend to have 
 merited better fortune. A desperately bad 
 man, I should think, who had naturally 
 fallen into bad society. 
 
 ' Our sergeant-major's real name was 
 Acland, and he was heir to a good estate — • 
 Worstan. I think I have heard of that 
 place. He supposed that in due course it 
 fell to him, and that it is now in possession 
 of his son. Acland made an unhappy 
 marriage when very young. His wife de- 
 ceived him with a man named Beaver, after 
 the son's birth. His father had cut him 
 off on account of the marriage, and his 
 circumstances were quite desperate. He
 
 -.1 Good Hater. 
 
 avenged himself on Beaver by knocking 
 him down in liis own park, and beating 
 him until he was left for dead, then 
 carried out a scheme which made ])eople 
 believe him drowned ; — went away to Lon- 
 don, and enlisted as John Raikes. From 
 that day he held no communication with 
 his family. 
 
 ' Worstan was owned by an uncle, with 
 whom he was never on bad terms, but an 
 ill-conditioned sort of fellow; — like all of 
 his race indeed, as Acland suggests. At 
 the death of this uncle his father would 
 succeed. One or both may be living now, 
 for they were both excellent lives, but 
 the chances are against it, of course. Tf 
 they are dead, the bo\' has Worstan pro- 
 babl}'. You will soon see what a strong 
 motive I have for telling you all tliis. 
 
 ' The uncle once told him, after a quarrel 
 with his father, that he should leave him 
 all the personalty, a large sum. Acland, or
 
 Our Heroes. 31 
 
 Raikes, has no doubt that he did so, if the 
 old man is dead. And that personalty, 
 whatever it be, is left by will to myself ! 
 
 ' It lias been inherited, Acland supposes, 
 by his wife, son, and reputed daughter, if 
 they are alive, or by their heirs. I can 
 hardly trust myself yet to discuss the 
 matter. 
 
 ' This morning the last change came, and 
 he sent for Major St. Paul, who commands 
 our battery, myself, and Sergeant Atkins, 
 the surviving witness of his will. He asked 
 me to bring the paper, broke the seals, and 
 begged St. Paul to read it aloud. You 
 may fancy my astonishment. I urged him 
 to think again, pointing out that I had no 
 rights, and so on. He declared that I had 
 saved his life once, and had tried to do so a 
 second time ; that his son was provided for ; 
 as to his wife and the daughter whom he 
 disowned, they had no claim to considera- 
 tion. One cannot argue at length with a
 
 32 A Good Hater. 
 
 dying man. After many words, I said that 
 under all tlie circumstances I would not 
 refuse ; but I flatly declined to commit 
 myself further, thougli you know how great 
 my temptation is. 
 
 ' Acland saw me hesitate, T suppose, and 
 he added a codicil there and then, which 
 you Avill observe. It forbids me to com- 
 promise with his widow, or whoever it 
 may be, and declares if I entertain such a 
 notion, or refuse to accept the legacy, my 
 rights pass to my mother, under the same 
 stipulation ; and in case of her declining, 
 the money is left to Chelsea Hospital. 
 It was clear that Acland was influenced 
 as much by malice towards his wife as 
 by gratitude towards me, and, though it 
 was painful to speak sharply, I could not 
 forbear to say as mucli. He answered : 
 " We're good haters in our family, sir, and 
 we mostly die in a dreadful frame of mind. 
 But it isn't only that. I've made a reso-
 
 Our Heroes. 33 
 
 lution to leave you, who saved my life, 
 what I have justly to dispose of ; and I 
 know just as well as I know that I am 
 dying, how she'll make a fool of an honest 
 man like you. The years I passed with her 
 taught me something of the cool wicked- 
 ness a clever, taking woman will practise 
 for sport ; and Margaret will have all her 
 interests at stake here. As sure as you're 
 alive, Saxell, or as I'm nearly dead, she'll 
 deceive you somehow. If you believe me, 
 and fight out the case, she'll contrive that 
 some doubts shall haunt you. But I don't 
 expect you will be able to resist the clever 
 tricks. She will turn you round her finger, 
 and make you so uncomfortable that you'll 
 be glad to accept some small amount and 
 let the matter drop, or else you'll refuse 
 altogether. That I don't mean to submit 
 to. Mrs. Saxell may be less trusting, and 
 any way she's a woman. If I'm wrong 
 about her, the Governors of Chelsea Hos- 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 ^4 Good Hater. 
 
 pital can't be wheedled. That's liow it 
 is !" 
 
 ' He had spoken with great force, and he 
 dropped back exhausted. Then the chap- 
 lain came, and we left him. The man died 
 suddenly in my arms just as I returned. 
 Davies, our chaplain, tells me that he did 
 not speak again. 
 
 * Kow, what am I to do about it ? As 
 regards the value of the will and codicil in 
 law, that is a matter for you to examine. 
 But I know that judges are very tolerant 
 of irreofularitv in form when the testator 
 was a man killed in the service of liis 
 country. I put that question aside. 
 
 ' It is not to be doubted that Acland 
 wished to revenge himself upon his wife ; — 
 we call him Acland, you see, because St. 
 Paul agrees with me that his manner and 
 bearing towards the last are quite consonant 
 with his story so far. And it is not to be 
 assumed that a man who knew he was
 
 Our Heroes. 35 
 
 dying would tell a falsehood. There is the 
 jDOSsibility that he spoke under an hallucina- 
 tion. That, in the first place, would seem 
 improbable from what I personally knew of 
 Raikes. None of us, officers or comrades, 
 would believe it without medical authority 
 or clear proof. He was not j)opular, but 
 the men respected him, and we all put con- 
 fidence in our sergeant-major. There are, 
 I gather now, some vague traditions of his 
 having broken loose ; but they refer to 
 several years back, when he was serving in 
 P. 2. Since we have known him in this 
 battery he has been a quiet, self-contained, 
 trustworthy soldier, not likely to be given 
 to illusions. And St. Paul is just as well 
 satisfied as myself that this tale is no 
 sudden fancy. As to that, we shall know 
 more when his effects are overhauled at 
 Meerut. He has authorized me to take 
 possession of them, and to make any use I 
 think best of his papers there. 
 
 I 3—2
 
 36 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' The mail is closino' : I have not said a 
 tithe of "what is in my mind, and I must 
 huriy. Although it is certain that A eland 
 hated his wife, and wished to do her as 
 much injury as possible by making such a 
 Avill, yet if she was what he declares, and 
 if her children have the estates, why, 
 then, the loss of this money will not ruin 
 her. Perhaps that should not be a final 
 argument against my acceptance of it with 
 honour. I did save liis life, however, and 
 I tried my best to save it again. The gift 
 is not unearned, in a sense. And think 
 what a difference it will make, not so mucli 
 to me as to my mother and Grace! At 
 the beginning of this letter I was almost 
 desperate for want of pence, and within a 
 few days a prospect of riches, enormous to 
 me, has opened. I will not give it up 
 without full inquiry. 
 
 'Perhaps Mrs. A eland is dead, and her 
 daughter also, ]")ossibly. In that case I
 
 Our Heroes. 37 
 
 have no hesitation. The son is provided 
 for. But I am running on in ignorance. 
 Upon you, Vane, I rely to collect the in- 
 formation which must guide me. I know 
 you woul4 do so much for friendship, but 
 I beg you to regard it as -a matter of 
 business. If it is not exactly etiquette for 
 a barrister to undertake such inquiries, put 
 them into the hands of a confidential lawyer. 
 And meanwhile address your first impres- 
 sions to Meerut, where we shall be estab- 
 lished before a reply could reach me. And 
 pray, my dear Vane, recollect what my 
 anxiety will be until you can forward a 
 definite opinion. 
 
 ' Yours ever, 
 
 * Richard Saxell. 
 ' Rupert Vane, Paper Buildings, Temple. 
 
 ' P.S. — ^For heaven's sake, not a word to 
 my mother ! I beg you to regard this as 
 an imperative condition.'
 
 38 A Good Hater 
 
 'Meerut, Jan. 17. 
 ' Dear A^vne, 
 
 ' I have forwarded to you to-day 
 
 every scrap of paper found in Raikes's 
 
 quarters here. They show, as we thouglit^ 
 
 that this assumption of his identity with 
 
 Hugh Acland was no deathbed fancy. A 
 
 lawyer's trained intelligence may observe 
 
 many points that escape me. You will 
 
 find, however, allusions of very long date, 
 
 and many broken imprecations on his wife, 
 
 such as he repeated to us. The diaries are 
 
 much mutilated, and I suppose a court of 
 
 law might hesitate to admit them in such 
 
 form. Yet the facts positive are there, and 
 
 the pages torn out may have referred to 
 
 quite other matters, which Acland did not 
 
 care to preserve when ordered on campaign. 
 
 ISt. Paul has seen everything. I almost 
 
 wish he had not now, but of that presently. 
 
 He sealed them up in due form. 
 
 ' The story suggested by these fragments
 
 Our Heroes. S9 
 
 seems plain enough, and it is what I told 
 you, with more detail. Acland fell in love 
 with a beautiful girl at Oxford, beneath 
 him in station ; deceived her apparently, but 
 married her a few weeks before a son was 
 born. His father cut him off, and the pair 
 were as miserable as he at least deserved to 
 be. Connected somehow with the betrayal 
 w^as Julius Beaver, evidently a rich man, 
 and evidently feared as well as hated by 
 Acland. The latter seems to have dis- 
 covered — or, I should say, he vehemently 
 suspected — that Beaver and his wife were 
 playing him false a few years after the 
 marriage. The evidence is not stated, but 
 Acland's jealousy and rage are shown in a 
 score of violent passages. He assaulted 
 Beaver desperately, ingeniously made it 
 appear that he was drowned, and vanished 
 for ever. There the case is, in brief 
 
 ' I know you will look into it for me. 
 The first step is to ascertain the mere facts
 
 40 A Good Ilatcr. 
 
 — whether the uncle is alive, or the father, 
 or Mrs. Aeland, or her children ? Then 
 you will learn easily enough whether there 
 was any money, and what has become of it. 
 You quite understand my position, I trust. 
 If I can lay claim to this bequest, honestly 
 and honourably, I will pursue it ; by 
 honestly I mean that Raikes or Aeland 
 had it justly to leave, and by honourably 
 I mean that no innocent person Avill be 
 gravely affected by the loss of it. On these 
 conditions, you will shape your course 
 resolutely. 
 
 ' There is a simple step I recommend as 
 a soldier, subject to 3^our discretion. You 
 may send your clerk to the Adjutant- 
 General's office; let him find the date of 
 John Eaikes's enlistment — it was at AVest- 
 minster, December 14, 18G2 — and take 
 down the names of every recruit who joined 
 within a short time of that day. It will be 
 easy to trace them ; and lot him hunt up
 
 Our Heroes. 41 
 
 those who joined the Artillery. Recruits 
 feel rather lost in barracks ; they fraternize 
 and gossip. Although I don't suppose that 
 Acland was a man to tell his secrets, he 
 must have been particularly lonely, and 
 there is the chance. He evidently drank, 
 and under such circumstances he would 
 probably drink harder. If you find among 
 the Artillery recruits any described as 
 *' well-educated," direct special attention to 
 them. They would be Acland'.s friends, if 
 they came within his reach. 
 
 ' That is all I have to say on the direct 
 issue, but you will allow me to mention 
 something, not for yourself, but in view of 
 the probability that you may have to 
 employ a lawyer, or to show papers to an 
 agent of the other party — if there be one. 
 The circumstances and conditions of Acland' s 
 marriage cannot affect my interests, so far 
 as I see ; if they did, if I am bound to go 
 into all that, the persons affected being
 
 42 A Good Hater 
 
 alive, I would almost throw the matter up 
 this instant. But I do not see how they 
 can be brought into any questions that 
 may arise. The vague accusations of his 
 wife's misconduct with Beaver cannot be 
 suppressed altogether, I fear, since they 
 are contained in the diaries all through ; 
 but the other matter is only named in a 
 rambling manuscript, which seems to have 
 been intended for a declaration of Acland's 
 wrongs and grievances against his wife. 
 They have nothing to do with me. If he 
 behaved to her like a scoundrel in the 
 beginning, and if she avepged herself after- 
 wards, Acland was the only man who has 
 no right to reproach her. I do not know 
 that she did, and I have no wish to know. 
 Therefore, keep that manuscript back. To 
 tell the truth. Vane, I would not have sent 
 it even to you, but St. Paul insisted. 
 
 ' He has also compelled me to forward 
 the rough draft of a letter dated three years
 
 Our Heroes. 43 
 
 since, from Mhow, and addressed to Miss 
 Acland ; so I understand the very fragment- 
 ary hints, but it is difficult to believe that 
 a man could write a cold-blooded narrative 
 of her mother's weakness and guilt to a young 
 girl. That draft is the ugliest feature in an 
 ugly tale. I vainly repeat to myself that it 
 does not alter facts, that the legacy of a 
 scoundrel, if honestly earned, is as valid as 
 that of a saint. My only comfort is that 
 the letter perhaps was never sent, or never 
 received. I could almost hope that the girl 
 had died before it reached her. 
 
 ' Now I have done. You can guess my 
 anxiety to hear from you. 
 
 ' Yours ever, my dear Vane, 
 
 ' Richard Saxell. 
 
 'Rupert Vane, Paper Buildings, Temple.'
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 SCARSHOLME. 
 
 HE holiday visitor lias seldom a 
 good word for Scarsliolme. His 
 experience mostly justifies an 
 emphatic belief that it never stops raining 
 there. But residents tell another story. 
 They declare that the sentinels of the sky 
 keep an anxious watch over that secluded 
 glen. Always there is a scurrying of 
 clouds aloft, now in balls and drifty batta- 
 lions, now in big masses which surge above 
 the hill-tops, and swell slowly into sight 
 until the broad heaven is canopied. If 
 strangers be spied approaching, these clouds
 
 Scarsliolme. 45 
 
 pour a deluge ; but when the village rests 
 at peace, and no forms appear but those 
 familiar, approved of heaven and men, they 
 drop just so much moisture as the earth 
 implores, and slide away. And when the 
 sun shines at Scarsholme, no spot is more 
 lovel3\ The hills around it gleam and 
 sparkle, the still tarns glisten, the tiny 
 ' forces ' leap in ribbons of white foam from 
 cliff to brae. Far-stretching pinewoods, 
 blue in the distance, black -green at hand, 
 fill every gap in the coronet of hills. 
 Yellow pastures, hedged by walls of stone, 
 chequer the bleak fell. Skeletons of mighty 
 rocks lie half- hid among brambles, tall fern, 
 golden gorse, and purple heather. 
 
 The Picts' Scaur is a conspicuous land- 
 mark. Every dalesman not a downright 
 infidel believes that this grey shoot was 
 channelled by invading savages, who slid 
 down the hill sitting on their shields. A 
 small cottas^e stands at the foot of Picts*
 
 46 A Good Hater. 
 
 Scaur in its own pretty grounds, divided 
 from the road by a little brook. All about 
 the place shows refinement and ease. The 
 bridge is graceful ; the stream -banks are 
 planted with taste. From the drawing- 
 room of the cottage opens a conservatory, 
 of that handsome size which demands a 
 stove and a good gardener. Such a dainty 
 little house it is that one naturally looks 
 for the stable, and one finds it charmingly 
 concealed beside the vinery. Quite a little 
 picture, thinks the tourist, surveying it 
 with rueful admiration, as he recalls his 
 dull villa at Bradford or Birmingham. 
 People who live there must needs be happy 
 he thinks, and he asks their name. The 
 coachman replies that all this country 
 belongs to Lord Bainforth, of Daneham 
 Castle. His tenant in the cottage, who has 
 made gi-eat improvements, is Mrs. Saxell, a 
 widow lady, whose son distinguished him- 
 self so much in Afo-hanistan durinir tlic
 
 Scarsholme. 47 
 
 war. The coachman seldom fails to add 
 that her niece, Miss Palliser, is the hand- 
 somest young lady of those parts. And all 
 the tom-ist party agree that Mrs. Saxell 
 must be a happ}^ woman. 
 
 But she does not look happy at all on a 
 bright June day, poring over household 
 books and papers. Handsomely and 
 fashionably she is dressed in a quiet way ; 
 everything in the room is handsome and 
 fashionable in a quiet way. The furniture 
 is not new ; some of it, in fact, is a good 
 deal worn, but it bears evidence of taste and 
 costliness. Even the cat, dozing at the 
 sunny window, is thorough-bred Persian. 
 
 The lady's face is naturally harsh of out- 
 line and austere, with large black eyes, 
 full of questioning and suspicion — the face 
 of one obstinate but flighty, quick to 
 imagine evil, fierce to resent it, but not 
 ill-tempered nor unamiable while things go 
 smoothly. Things are not going smoothly
 
 48 A Good Hater. 
 
 to-day, however, and ]\Irs. Saxell's frown 
 becomes more and more grim as she reads 
 and notes. The budget is embarrassed. 
 
 A bright young creature enters, tall and 
 lithe, in that sweetest age of girlhood which, 
 for a figure like hers, promises a stately 
 fulness. The face is absolutely beautiful, 
 fair, blue-eyed, ros}', without a fault. That 
 is, no doubt, the supremest type of loveli- 
 ness, regarded as a mere development of 
 colour and shape. Every man sees its per- 
 fection, and perhaps the dullest clown is not 
 less affected thereby than is the keenest 
 judge of beauty. But the latter may not 
 be attracted beyond eye-worship, for such 
 charms, however exquisite, are apt to be 
 co-related to a weak and connnonplace 
 character. 
 
 The rule did not apply in this case : 
 Miss Palliser did not look feeble in an}- 
 sense, and certainly not uninteresting. A 
 wulful and im])ulsive spirit dwelt in her
 
 Scarshoime. 49 
 
 lovely eyes ; the laughing mouth showed 
 both firmness and daring. It was not a 
 clever face, nor perhaps very amiable ; but 
 quick and good-tempered. 
 
 ' You sent for me, auntie ?' she said. 
 
 The gaze of Medusa could have been 
 hardly more severe than that which this 
 young person met so gaily. 
 
 ' I demand,' said Mrs. Saxell, ' an explana- 
 tion of this item in Armside's bill. He 
 charges you with twenty yards of real 
 Dacca muslin, at five shillings a yard, and 
 five yards of silk at eight and sixpence. 
 What does it mean ?' 
 
 ' Oh, don't look at me over your spec- 
 tacles, auntie ! You look like Minerva 
 and her owl at once !' 
 
 ' I insist on a serious answer. What is 
 the meaning of this charge which is put 
 down to last week ?' 
 
 ' Why, the meaning of it is a dress for 
 Lord Rainforth's ball. Chumpy Armstrong 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 A Good Hater. 
 
 is coming in to-day to make it. Isn't that 
 economical ?' 
 
 ' You have dresses enough. I shall re- 
 turn all this unnecessary material !' 
 
 ' Armside won't take Indian muslin back. 
 He got it expressly for me. Make the best 
 of it, auntie dear, and you'll see how nice 
 I shall look.' 
 
 ' Such thoughtlessness is wicked, Grace. 
 Armside's bill comes to £46 3s. 6d., and 
 where am I to find the money? My poor 
 Richard ! This is how a silly girl wastes 
 the money you earn at the risk of your life !' 
 
 A preliminary pout, delicious to observe, 
 but threatening. ' Don't bring in Dick, 
 please, auntie. He would not object to my 
 spending a very few pounds for a ball at 
 Daneham.' 
 
 ' He would object, if he were wise, to 
 your going at all. AVhen girls are engaged 
 they ought not to go to balls — that's my 
 opinion.'
 
 Scarsholme. 51 
 
 ' It isn't Dick's, nor mine. And if 
 engaged girls should not go out, it's much 
 more unbecoming for married women ; — but 
 you didn't Shut yourself up, auntie. As 
 for the dress, / could have got on very 
 well without a new rosary. Take it out of 
 my allowance.' 
 
 ' Your allowance was forestalled last 
 quarter. It is not calculated on a scale to 
 buy Indian muslins.' 
 
 ' jSTor to build rosaries!' Grace said to 
 herself. 
 
 ' What did you mutter ? Are you in- 
 capable of perceiving what must be the end 
 of all this extravagance ? Ruin stares us 
 in the face!' 
 
 ' Well, auntie, really now, is it my fault ? 
 Girls must have dresses, but they want very 
 little else. May I go ?' 
 
 ' It was thoughtless of me to summon 
 you from your silly occupations.' 
 
 Grace went out, with an impatient pur- 
 
 4—2
 
 52 A Good Hater. 
 
 sing of the lips. But she turned, and saw 
 her aunt miserabl}' bent over the figures. 
 Swift and graceful she sped back, and kissed 
 the faded cheek impetuously, crying : 
 
 ' Don't trouble about those wretched bills, 
 dear. You can say Dick is coming home, 
 and then all will be riu-ht.' 
 
 ' Don't speak of Richard, Grace I It is 
 terrible for a mother when she dreads to 
 think of meeting her son. There! You 
 are going to the Rectory! Be. home to 
 lunch. And by-the-bye, as you pass Foote's 
 shop, tell him his men went away at five 
 o'clock last night. It's shameful, when the 
 days are so long. They might have finished 
 the rosar}^ a week since, but they wish to 
 increase their bill, the unprincipled artisans ! 
 Tell Foote this downright.' 
 
 ' T will, in so many words.' 
 
 Grace bounded out, and Mrs. Saxell in- 
 dulged a short but comforting reverie on 
 the delights expected from her new rose-
 
 Scarsholme. 53 
 
 house. Then, with redoubled sternness, 
 she set herself to studying a hopeless 
 budget. This duty was not often per- 
 formed. So long as her balance at the little 
 Scarsholme Bank was not absolutely ridi- 
 culous, bills accumulated unread. But 
 when the courteous manager reluctantly 
 called attention to the fact that she was 
 overdrawing, Mrs. Saxell became very 
 flurried. This was an occasion of peculiar 
 anxiety. By the last mail, her son spoke 
 with some confidence of returning home; 
 his mother speculated in alarm whether he 
 was counting upon her economies to tide 
 them over the furlough. 
 
 For an hour, with intervals of bewildered 
 retrospect, Mrs. Saxell examined her situa- 
 tion ; at the end of that time, a sound of 
 wheels drew her, not reluctant, to the 
 window. A dogcart familiar to all the 
 inhabitants of Scarsholme as belonging to 
 the Station Hotel, at Preston, passed up
 
 54 A Good Hater. 
 
 the little drive. By the coachman sat a tall 
 3'oung man in tweeds and pot-hat. Mrs. 
 Saxell recognised a tourist. A little water- 
 fall in the grounds sometimes attracted that 
 variety of the human race, and her servants 
 were used to deal with them. She went 
 back to the accounts. 
 
 Presently entered a maid, ' If you jDlease, 
 'm, the gentleman wants to see you,' and 
 handed a card. 
 
 'Mr. Hugh Acland? Tell him I am 
 very sorry, but I can make no exceptions. 
 The waterfall is strictly private.' 
 
 The maid returned. ' Please, 'm, he in- 
 sists on seeing you. He asked particularly 
 if you read the name on his card.' 
 
 ' Say I did, and that it conveyed no 
 reason why the rule sliould be violated in 
 his case.' 
 
 Re-entry of maid. ' Please, 'm, he swore 
 
 at the waterfall, and he says Oh, 'm, 
 
 here he is!'
 
 ScarsJioIme. 55 
 
 The visitor brushed past, and stood before 
 Mrs. Saxell, a youth with sharp but hand- 
 some features and quick eyes. 
 
 ' Let me correct this young person/ he 
 said. ' I did not swear at the waterfall, but 
 expressed a hasty wish that it might be 
 suppressed by — in fact, a dam. May I have 
 the honour of a few minutes' conversation 
 with you alone, madam ?' 
 
 ' I am sorry you should be disappointed, 
 sir, but really the waterfall is not worth 
 the praises that have been bestowed upon 
 it, and ' 
 
 ' Excuse me, Mrs. Saxell — I have the 
 honour to address Mrs. Saxell ? Then I 
 must ask, did you really glance at my card ? 
 And it conveyed to you the idea that I was 
 looking for bits of scenery ?' 
 
 ' It conveyed to me no idea at all, sir.' 
 
 ' This is most extraordinary ! My name 
 is Acland, madam.' 
 
 Mrs. Saxell reviewed in spirit all the
 
 56 A Good Hater. 
 
 headings of her bills, found no Acland there, 
 and answered sternly, ' Well, sir?' 
 
 ' It is stupendous ! A call from Hugh 
 Acland does not surprise you?' 
 
 ' It surprises me only in the sense that I 
 cannot account for it.' 
 
 'Well, then, madam, let me tell you, 
 since you forget the name, that I am the 
 man, and the brother of the young lady, 
 against whose fortune your son has made 
 some cock-and-bull claim.' 
 
 * If you are not mad, sir, I can only reply 
 that whatever my son does is certainly right 
 and just.' She rang. 
 
 ' Do I understand that you are not ad- 
 vised of Captain Saxell's pretensions ? That 
 shows, I tliink, what they are wortli. 
 When a man keeps a secret from his mother 
 he cannot have much confidence in his 
 story. I must explain, then.' 
 
 ' If you think proper, sir.* 
 
 The maid entered. ' Call the gardener,*
 
 Scarsholme. 57 
 
 Mrs. Saxell said, ' and any man about the 
 place. Keep them in the kitchen till wanted. 
 I shall be glad to hear your explanation, sir.' 
 
 ' I have first to beg pardon, since you are 
 unacquainted ' 
 
 * Never mind that ! The facts !' 
 
 ' The facts come to this. My father 
 was drowned nearly twenty years ago. A 
 scoundrel who belonged to Captain Saxell' s 
 battery, mortally wounded in the affair of 
 the Guaja Pass last November, made a will 
 under my father's name, in which he left the 
 personal property my father would have in- 
 herited, which is now in possession of my 
 mother, my sister, and myself, to your 
 son ' 
 
 ' Allow me ! How could this man will 
 away your father's property?' 
 
 ' He declared, I say, that he was my 
 father, not drowned, as all the "svorld knew 
 he was. The villain's story went that he 
 resolved to disappear, and for this pur230se
 
 58 A Good Hater. 
 
 made people believe him drowned, whilst he 
 enlisted in the Artillery. And on his death- 
 bed he pretended to confess.' 
 
 I shall not try to sketch the effect of the 
 communication on Mrs. Saxell. But if she 
 could not quite control her features she 
 remained mistress of her nerves. 
 
 ' I am obliged to you for telling me all 
 this. But now, may I ask your motive in 
 calling ?' 
 
 ' It seemed to me probable, madam, 
 that your son, a distinguished soldier, 
 ma}' have been deceived by a plausible 
 scoundrel ' 
 
 ' Who was dying ?' 
 
 * That seems a most important point until 
 you have heard my explanation. I have 
 come here now, madam, against the advice 
 of everyone, even of your son's friend, Mr. 
 Vane. I said to myself, men are selfish 
 and contemptible creatures, willing to risk 
 their souls for monev '
 
 Scarsholme. 59 
 
 ' Eeferring that profound observation of 
 experience to my son ?' 
 
 The youth was so utterly confounded 
 that he could not speak for a moment. 
 
 Grimly satisfied, Mrs. Saxell resumed : 
 
 ' Proceed, I beg ; you did not refer 
 the observations to my son in par- 
 ticular.' 
 
 ' No !' he eagerly exclaimed. ' I assure 
 you I did not! And I do not know by 
 experience that men Avill sell their souls. 
 Pray forget that silly remark.' 
 
 ' Is it worth while to go further ? The 
 matter seems to come to this: You wish 
 me to interfere in this action. I know no 
 more of it than you have told. But if my 
 son claims what you say is your property, 
 on legal grounds, the question for me lies 
 between your word and his. Judge which 
 a mother takes !' 
 
 ' But allow me to explain. We know 
 very well who Sergeant-Major Raikes was,
 
 60 A Good Hater. 
 
 and we can prove it to the satisfaction of 
 honest people ' 
 
 ' My son's legal adviser is an honest per- 
 son, I don't doubt. You had better explain 
 to him.' 
 
 She rang the bell, and ^lary entered mth 
 a curious promptitude. ' Show this gentle- 
 man out.' 
 
 ' But will you not listen, madam ? I 
 wish to avoid a painful and expensive in- 
 quiry by ' 
 
 ' Insulting a mother, not once, but 
 again and again. Send the men in, 
 Mary!' 
 
 ' Indeed I did not mean to insult you. 
 Taking it for granted that Captain SaxelFs 
 mother knew all, I naturally thought she 
 would understand my position. I apologize, 
 madam !' 
 
 ' There is still time to go with dignity.' 
 
 Two brawny Xorth-countrymen appeared 
 at the door, amusement gleaming in their
 
 Scarsholme. 61 
 
 light, shrewd eyes. Acland stood quite 
 unembarrassed, looking at Mrs. Saxell. 
 
 ' Show this young man to his vehicle,* 
 she said loftily. 
 
 ' Oh, I cannot object, if it's put in that 
 way ! But a guard of honour walks first, 
 I believe. Right about face, men ! quick 
 march !' 
 
 They grinned, waiting for orders. Mrs. 
 Saxell coloured with ang'er. 
 
 ' 1 command you to leave my house, 
 sir!' 
 
 ' Indeed, I do not wish to offend you. 
 If these good fellows will walk first, I'll 
 follow like a ' 
 
 He stopped short. Grace was standing 
 in the doorway, wide-eyed, between the two 
 rustics. 
 
 'And if not?' 
 
 ' If not then I will all the same, 
 
 renewing my apologies for the intrusion.' 
 
 He bowed, his eyes fixed on Grace, and
 
 62 A Good Hater. 
 
 went. A moment afterwards the dosrcart 
 drove away. As it passed the window, 
 Acland looked in and raised his hat. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? Who is that young 
 man?' 
 
 ' A very vulgar and impertinent boy, who 
 called on business. I must consult a 
 lawyer, and where to find one honest and 
 capable in this neighbourhood I don't 
 know. There's ]\Ir. Vane. Why, he men- 
 tioned Mr. Vane, my son's friend ! How 
 terribly confusing it is !' 
 
 ' Then tell me, aunt !' 
 
 * It is nothing to interest you !' 
 
 The pretty face clouded. 
 
 ' I won't be put off in this silly way, 
 aunt !' 
 
 ' Grace ! Recollect yourself !' 
 
 ' I recollect that I am eighteen years old, 
 engaged to marry Dick, who is, somehow, 
 concerned in this matter; and therefore I 
 have a right to know what it is.'
 
 Scarsholme. 63 
 
 ' When I was young, ladies did not speak 
 of their engagements in this tone.' 
 
 ' But you always say that they were 
 companions and comforts to their parents, 
 whilst we are selfish triflers. Let me play 
 one character or the other — or rather let me 
 combine the two.' 
 
 Mrs. Saxell, in truth, felt the need of 
 an adviser. Her firmness was not gener- 
 ally supported by intelligent strength of 
 mind. When a resolution was taken she 
 clung to it pitilessly, as much, perhaps, 
 because she distrusted her own judgment in 
 changing, as because she was satisfied to 
 pursue the former course. Grace knew her 
 disposition thoroughly, and played on it 
 with confidence. 
 
 So at length the bewildering story was 
 told, Grace listening in amazement, her 
 eyes open to their utmost width, her beauti- 
 ful lips parted. But the young lady had a 
 clear brain and presence of mind imperturb-
 
 64 A Good II ate?' 
 
 able. She saw daylight through the con- 
 fusion, and exclaimed, when the tale was 
 finished : 
 
 ' Now, auntie, write a telegram at once, 
 and I will take it.' 
 
 ' A telegram ? It's a shilling a word, I 
 believe.' 
 
 'Xo, no ! Xot to Dick ! To Mr. Vane !' 
 
 ' You display my folly in trusting a child 
 with secrets who instantly repeats them to 
 all the world.' 
 
 ' You forget, dear ! Mr. A'ane knows all 
 about the matter, evidently. Besides, you 
 need not commit yourself in a telegram, 
 even if there Avere a secret about it.' 
 
 ' It is never prudent to talk in business. 
 Act !' 
 
 ' But if you don't ask Mr. Yanc, how 
 will you discover what it all means ?' 
 
 The argument struck ]\[rs. Saxell. She 
 said presently : 
 
 ' I never sent a telegram in my life.'
 
 Scarsholme. 65 
 
 This with the air of a virtuous person 
 urged to commit forgery. 
 
 ' N'or I. It will be delightful. Write at 
 once, auntie !' 
 
 Mrs. Saxell frowned, reflected, arranged 
 her paper, and frowned again. After in- 
 terrogating the walls with silent severity, 
 she observed : 
 
 ' I do not see how to put it with the 
 delicacy required.' 
 
 ' Let me, dear ! " Mrs. Saxell, Scars - 
 holme, to Rupert Vane, Esq., Paper Build- 
 ings, Temple. Mr. Hugh Acland has been 
 here " — cross out " been," say " called " — 
 *' speaks of claim my son makes on 
 him " ' 
 
 ' Why, Grace, all the village will know 
 about it !' 
 
 ' Of course ! that won't do. Write 
 " speaks of claim made against him. Is it 
 true claim made?" Sixteen words. Add 
 *' Reply immediately. We anxious." There ! 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 A Good Hater. 
 
 If Mr. Vane knows about the matter, he Avill 
 understand. We should get a reply to-night. 
 Oh, how long the afternoon will be ! Now, 
 I will take it to the office before lunch.' 
 
 * My dear, a young lady cannot be en- 
 trusted with a telegraphic message of this 
 importance. I will carry it myself 
 
 ' Oh, bother — I mean, do pray make 
 haste, dear auntie! I will brino; vour 
 bonnet.' 
 
 ' Xo, no. I cannot be jflustered thus.' 
 
 ' Remember, if we are not quick we shall 
 not get the answer to-night. Let me go 
 with you, at least.' 
 
 Under this stimulus, aided by Grace's 
 deft hands, Mrs. Saxell was not so long 
 as usual in preparing, and they set forth. 
 There was a sternness in the old lady's 
 carriage, and a concentrated rigidity in her 
 eye when she walked abroad, which daunted 
 even that independent race of men who 
 dwell at Scarsholme ; but upon this occasion
 
 Scarsholme. 67 
 
 her solemnity was awful. She entered the 
 telegraph office with the air of an execu- 
 tioner who is determined not to heed the 
 entreaties of his victim, and spoke to the 
 mild young person established there in tones 
 that thrilled her Avith an overpowering 
 sense of her responsibilities toward the 
 State. More impressive still, if possible, 
 was Mrs. Saxell's demeanour in returning 
 from this expedition. Grace felt inclined 
 to shake her aunt and run away. 
 
 That afternoon w^as longer than even 
 Grace expected, but at dinner-time the 
 answer came. Mrs. Saxell received it with a 
 trembling hand, and glowered speechlessly 
 at the servant, too nervous to read. Grace 
 snatched and tore it open : 
 
 ' " True such claim made. Have taken 
 necessary steps. I kept it secret at 
 Kichard's express desire. Will write." 
 Dick wished to spare us disappointment, 
 the dear fellow! But Mr. Acland is 
 
 . 5—2
 
 68 A Good Hater. 
 
 evidently alarmed, and that is a good sign. 
 Auntie dear, we can't rest in this uncer- 
 tainty. We must go to town to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Your society would be a great comfort, 
 but I do not see what useful purpose ' 
 
 ' Why, ungrateful relative, who suggested 
 the teleo-ram that obtained vou this delio^ht- 
 full}' exciting reply ? In London you will 
 
 be ' lost, Grace was about to say, but 
 
 she prudently substituted ' dull, with no one 
 to speak to.' 
 
 ' That is very true. But I should pro- 
 bably stay only two nights. And we have 
 the expense to consider.' 
 
 ' It is not worth while to ormdfre a few 
 pounds when we are going to talk of 
 thousands.' 
 
 ' Thousands?' repeated Mrs. Saxell, catch- 
 ing her breath in a kind of snort, 
 ' Thousands ?' 
 
 ' Did you think it was a hundred or 
 two ? You dear old innocent auntie !'
 
 Scarsholme. 69 
 
 ' I have not considered it. Why do you 
 say thousands ?' 
 
 ' Ever so many reasons. In the first 
 place, Dick kept the matter a secret. He 
 would not have done that if it had been a 
 trifle.' 
 
 ' He did very wrong, whether it was a 
 trifle or not. A man has no ad\'iser so 
 sound and so disinterested as his mother. 
 I am very much grieved, and even indig- 
 nant, at Richard's conduct.' 
 
 ' The single thing we can be sure of 
 is that he thought he was acting for the 
 best. However, you admit he would not 
 have left us ignorant if it had been a 
 small affair. Then, Mr. Acland would not 
 have taken the trouble to come down. The 
 address on his card is Eaton Square. 
 That's a very rich neighbourhood, isn't 
 it?' 
 
 * So I am informed. There is something 
 in that, too.'
 
 70 A Gixxl Hater 
 
 ' One could see that he is a man of posi- 
 tion/ 
 
 * I saw that he was very rude and un- 
 mannerly. A foolish young man. too.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, but not vulgar ; and awfully 
 conceited, but not snobbish. I conclude 
 from his \dsit, his evident anxiety, and 
 Dick's silence, that the question is im- 
 portant. What do men think important 
 in affairs of money ? Not a bill like Arm- 
 side's for forty pounds something ! There- 
 fore, I conclude that one may safely talk of 
 thousands in this matter.' 
 
 ' I do not encourage you,' said Mrs. 
 Saxell, with patronizing complacency, ' to 
 give your imagination play upon general 
 subjects. But in this case it ma}' have led 
 you towards the truth. I wonder what 
 the sum will prove to be !' 
 
 ' Putting one thing with another, I 
 should say not less than fifty thousand — 
 perhaps more.'
 
 Scarsholme. 71 
 
 ' Fifty thousand pounds ? But, my dear ! 
 Recollect that this sum was left by a man 
 Avho occupied the honourable but sub- 
 ordinate post of sergeant-major in Richard's 
 battery. If he could have claimed one- 
 fiftieth of that, is it credible that he would 
 not have done so ?' 
 
 ' That argument goes too far, dear. If 
 he could have claimed a thousand or a 
 hundred or a five-pound note without some 
 inconvenience, would he not have done so ? 
 The figure even may have alarmed him. 
 We must suppose that Mr. Acland did 
 not choose to return to life. He may 
 have committed a crime, you know. Any- 
 way, his indifference or neglect, or what- 
 ever the feeling may have been, proves 
 nothing as to the amount, since we have 
 agi'eed that young Mr. Acland would not 
 be likely to trouble himself about a few 
 hundreds. I go in for fifty thousand at least.' 
 
 * Oh, how happy we shall be, Grace, if
 
 72 A Good Hater 
 
 it's half of that !' cried Mrs. Saxell. Ke- 
 collecting herself, she added sternly, ' But 
 I do not allow your childish imagination 
 to run away with me. To think, as an 
 exercise of fancy, what good deeds 
 might be performed with such a sura 
 gives a pleasing exhilaration. That is 
 all' 
 
 ' Dear Dick would come home at once. 
 I don't think I should wish him to leave 
 the Service, aunt. A civilian is poor with 
 fifty thousand pounds; but a gallant soldier, 
 distinguished and decorated, may look down 
 upon a duke. The fortune will give us 
 confidence, you know.' 
 
 This little speech reminded Mrs. Saxell 
 that the money, whatever it might be, was 
 not offered to her, but to her son and this 
 chit, his promised wife. Forthwith she re- 
 membered her grievance. 
 
 ' Richard acted for the best as he 
 thought, no doubt; but he should not have
 
 Scars holme. 7?> 
 
 kept a matter of such importance from his 
 mother. It was not dutiful.' 
 
 ' Oh, aunt, Dick is the best of sons !' 
 
 ' He is a good son, but weak, I fear, in 
 some respects. It is most fortunate that 
 the imprudence of that silly young man 
 has given me warning. He himself pos- 
 sibly is not of a designing nature, but his 
 friends evidently are. Richard would be 
 easily talked over in a money matter, and 
 I esteem Mr. Vane rather as an obliging 
 friend than as a sound man of busi- 
 ness.' 
 
 ' He's very clever, isn't he ?' 
 
 ' I believe so, in his papers and law- 
 books. But not to be trusted with great 
 interests among unscrupulous persons.' 
 
 ' Your imagination has gone far beyond 
 me, aunt. Mr. Acland does not look un- 
 scrupulous.* 
 
 ' And remark that he is not trusted 
 by the elders ! ^Moreover, appearances are
 
 74 A Good Hater 
 
 deceptive, especially ^vith the young. He 
 came here to explain something, as I 
 understood, which " honest people " would 
 believe, the effect of Avhich Avould be to 
 suppress Kichard's claim.' 
 
 When Mrs. Saxell emerged from * facts,' 
 which bewildered her, into the realm of 
 abstract suspicion, she was clear and pointed 
 enough. 
 
 ' " Honest people," ' she continued, ' is 
 generally a polite term for fools, since fools 
 is the plain English description for people 
 Avho allow themselves to be talked over. 
 Depend upon it that in an action of this 
 kind there are always underhand proceed- 
 ings, more or less reprehensible. It is 
 prudent to suspect everybody in such a 
 case, and every word ; but above all to 
 suspect explanations. If Richard is not to 
 be defrauded I must take his interests in 
 hand. It is very strange he should have 
 wished to keej) me out of it, but stranger
 
 Scarsholme. 75 
 
 to those who disbelieve in the beneficent 
 ways of Providence that an accident, as 
 they would profanely call it, should have 
 disconcerted his silly plans. I shall now 
 insist on receiving my son's full confidence 
 through Mr. Vane.' 
 
 Grace looked at her aunt curiously. She 
 was not used to think the lady very wise, 
 but perhaps, she said to herself, Dick might 
 have a less judicious counsellor in this 
 case. N^o fear that his interests would 
 suffer through Mrs. Saxell's want of atten- 
 tion ; nor that they would be surrendered 
 through weakness or pity. Her spirit was 
 like Catiline's and that of many spend- 
 thrifts — careless of money belonging to 
 herself, incapable of forethought in every- 
 day afi'airs, but keen and active and deter- 
 mined in pursuing a chance of gain. 
 
 The conference broke up under a sudden 
 anxiety of both ladies to be ' packed ' in 
 time. Mrs. Saxell took only one port-
 
 76 A Good Hater. 
 
 manteau, but to arrange it was a toilsome 
 operation. She reflected, made up her 
 mind severely upon grounds of pure 
 reason, and gave hurried orders. But 
 there was a lack of ensemble in her 
 strategy. The introduction of each separate 
 object necessitated a re -arrangement of 
 everything disposed before. The General 
 had no concerted plan, and when a dress 
 deployed, as it were, or a hairbrush sought 
 to take the order which exact tactics ap- 
 proved, some other body always stood in 
 the way. 
 
 Grace pursued the opposite system. She 
 packed the portmanteau, a bag and a 
 luncheon-basket as fast as she could stow 
 them. Then she went to bed, and remem- 
 bered a score of things actually essential. 
 It was not Avorth while to rise — in the 
 morning there would be time enough ; but 
 in the morning she could remember none 
 of them. Mrs. Saxell had s^iven herself
 
 Scarsholme. 77 
 
 and all about her vast trouble overnight; 
 but when the moment of action came she 
 was ready. Poor Grace was flurried and 
 scurried, laughing and half crying ; and 
 she started at length without several 
 necessaries, whilst her trunk was full of 
 useless things. They caught the train, 
 however ; and what trouble is worth 
 reckoning by a girl on her first visit to 
 London !
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LORD D U N S C M B E. 
 
 EliY mixed were the reflections 
 of Mr. Hugh Acland as he 
 drove back in haste to catch the 
 afternoon express ; but I need not dwell 
 upon them. By half-past eight o'clock he 
 was at home in Eaton Square, dressed for 
 dinner, and he found the ladies waiting. 
 
 * Good-evening, mams. Good-evening, 
 Edie. Anyone coming to-night ?' 
 
 ' Only Lord Dunscombe,' said ^Irs. 
 Acland. ' ]\[r. Vane's name was on your 
 memoranda, but crossed out.' 
 
 ' Yes, I distrust Vane. A man can't be
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 79 
 
 the disinterested friend of both parties in a 
 case like ours. I wrote and told him so ; 
 and he probably sees the truth of my 
 remark, since he has not answered.' 
 
 ' More hasty work for your mother to 
 undo I' 
 
 ' Is it necessary to keep friends witli 
 Yane ! AVell, you have all the diplomatic 
 talent of the family, mams, and my busi- 
 ness is to find it employment. What have 
 3^ou been about all day, little sister ?' 
 
 ' The usual thing. A girl's time is so 
 stupid that it's cruel to ask an account. 
 What have you been doing, Hughie ? We 
 haven't had a glimpse of you since yester- 
 day afternoon.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you one thing I've been, done or 
 suffered. I've seen the loveliest girl in the 
 universe !' 
 
 ' Dear me ! This before Edie ?' 
 
 ' Ob, I do our princess so much justice 
 that I believe only her brother could think
 
 80 A Good Hater 
 
 Grace the loveliest creature in the world. 
 Others Avould stand awe-struck and be- 
 wildered between the two.' 
 
 ' Like the ass we read of ! Never mind 
 me ! Who is Grace ?' 
 
 ' Yes, who is Grace ? Lord Dunscombe, 
 who is Grace ?' 
 
 The new-comer was a very handsome 
 man, tall, fair-haired, with the complexion 
 of a girl, bronzed, not burnt, by Indian 
 suns. His large eyes were grave and quiet, 
 but the full red mouth and the crease 
 between his smooth brows betrayed passion 
 and temper. 
 
 ' Grace ?' he repeated thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Oh, Dunscombe is going to re\'iew all 
 the Graces in the universe, and to answer 
 your conundrum in a twelvemonth — Avrong. 
 I'll tell you who she is — Grace Palliser, 
 the niece of ]\Irs. Saxell.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Saxell!' exclaimed both the ladies ; 
 but dinner Avas announced at this moment.
 
 Lord DuYiHComhe. 81 
 
 Edie sat grave and silent through the 
 meal, but that was her usual habit. No- 
 thino' was said about Grace before the 
 servants, but when they had withdrawn, 
 she exclaimed abruptly: 
 
 ' How did you come to see Mrs. Saxell's 
 niece, Hugh ? Are they in town ?' 
 
 ' They are at Scarsholme, a charming 
 place. By-the-bye, Dunscombe, it mostly 
 belongs to your father. I congratulate 
 you.' 
 
 ' I thought the name of Saxell was 
 familiar, somehow. So that is the lady ? 
 I have heard of the lovely Grace, then. I 
 have even seen her, years ago." 
 
 ' And what were you doing at Scars- 
 holme, Hugh ? Do you mean that you 
 called on those people ? What for ? By 
 whose advice ? How incredibly foolish !' 
 
 Mrs. Acland interrupted. 
 
 * My dear child, these family explanations 
 cannot interest Lord Dunscombe.' 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Ko ; but Lord Dunscombe will be 
 pleased to hear the latest news. Well, 
 Hugh ?' 
 
 ' Well, my little sister, I went to Scars - 
 holme of my own accord. Would you 
 believe it, mams, Mrs. Saxell knew 
 nothing of the business ?' 
 
 ' No, I would not believe it !' Edie said 
 decisively. 
 
 ' It's true, nevertheless. She could not 
 have deceived me.' 
 
 Edie made an impatient gesture. 
 
 ' And what passed ?' said Mrs. Acland. 
 
 ' The old dragon would not talk things 
 over quietly. If Captain Saxell takes after 
 his mother, we may gird up our loins for a 
 real fight. She is as grim and as angular 
 as the queen of clubs. Our interview ended 
 with a situation. The old lady fetched two 
 cads to pitch me out of doors, and I don't 
 know Avhat would have happened had not 
 Grace made her appearance.'
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 83 
 
 ' You seem to have got on intimate terms 
 dth the young lady in a short time!' 
 
 ' Then I went away. We didn't even 
 peak. The driver told me who she was.' 
 
 * But what did you say ? How did you 
 xplain 3^our visit ?' cried Edie. 
 
 ' Mrs. Saxell would hear no explanation. 
 \^ith that respect for the head of a family 
 *'^hich my little sister does not emulate, she 
 owed that whatever her son did was right, 
 nd called her myrmidons to expel the 
 lasphemer.' 
 
 ' AVhat will people say of this. Lord 
 )unscombe ? How will it affect the bettino- 
 11 our case ? The clubs will hardly accept 
 he ingenuous story as it stands. It's a 
 ound maxim in life, I have been told, 
 lever to give credit to an adversary for 
 lownright madness.' 
 
 Hugh flushed. 
 
 ' My dear Edie,' Mrs. Acland interrupted 
 n her pleasant way, ' you allow your feel- 
 
 6—2
 
 84 A Good Hater. 
 
 ings to affect your temper, which is unlady- 
 like. These little tiffs are not common in 
 my family, Lord Dunscombe.' 
 
 ' You have honoured me with so many 
 opportunities to juds^e that I could not be 
 misled on that point. Depend on it, Miss 
 Acland, the club will never learn of Huo'h's 
 escapade from me.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said she carelessly, rising, ' I did 
 not suspect you of tattling. Here's a kiss 
 of forgiveness, my silly little brother.' 
 
 The two men kept silence for a time. 
 Hugh said at length : 
 
 ' The mams allows us to smoke here.' 
 
 They lit. Another pause. 
 
 ' By-the-bye, Dunscombe, are people 
 talking much about this disagreeable busi- 
 ness of ours ? You know all that goes on.' 
 
 ' Frankly, they are talking, of course. 
 After that paragraph in the Age, everybody 
 is asking everybody what it means; but no 
 one can answer exactly. I suppose I am
 
 Lord Dimscoinbc. 85 
 
 better informed than most, thanks to Mrs. 
 Acland's confidence — which I value very 
 liighly, Hugh, I assure you — but I know 
 hardly anything.' 
 
 ' I wish the dear old mams would extend 
 more of her confidence to me, for I'm 
 almost as ignorant. Doesn't it strike you 
 as absurd that I should be kept out of the 
 secret in this way ? — I don't mean the secret, 
 but out of the details, you know. As my 
 father's son I have a sentimental interest 
 that seems worth attention, and as his heir 
 I am the principal party concerned.' 
 
 ' I thought the will did not touch your 
 landed property ?' 
 
 ' Of course not ; but if it were anything 
 but an act of spiteful madness or an hallu- 
 cination, it would take the most of my cash, 
 deprive my mother of her income and my 
 sister of her fortune, and that would come 
 to much the same thing for me. Don't you 
 think it's monstrous '
 
 <S6 A Good J later 
 
 Hugh stopped suddenly, flushing. He 
 was impetuous and fi'ank of speech, not to 
 say thoughtless, and it only occurred to his 
 mind at that instant that he was complaining 
 of his mother. 
 
 Dunscombe answered the idea, not heed- 
 ing the interruption. 
 
 ' So you went to assert yourself with 
 Mrs. Saxell ? Do you think that, on the 
 whole, you made anything of that ?' 
 
 ' I must confess that I didn't, so far,' 
 Hugh answered unwillingly. 
 
 ' Speaking for myself,' Dunscombe con- 
 tinued, ' Avithout any reference to matters 
 where I can't follow vou, I Avill sav that 
 my respect and admiration of Mrs. Acland 
 is such that, if I held an opinion opposed 
 to hers, I should think many times before I 
 acted on it.' 
 
 Hugh looked at him sharply, as if feeling 
 the point of the lesson and resenting it. 
 
 Dunscombe added hastily :
 
 Lord Dimscom.be. 87 
 
 ' Pray don't imagine that I am advising 
 you. My remarks are quite in the ab- 
 stract.' 
 
 ' So I should suppose, of course,' Hugh 
 said drily. ' But perhaps that visit to 
 Scarsholme was injudicious.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Acland does not seem much con- 
 cerned.' 
 
 ' Oh, she never does ! But Edie's feeling 
 about those people is downright savage. 
 You know, Dunscombe, I can't honestly 
 blame Saxell — not in my heart of hearts. 
 He's a poor man, and it must be an awful 
 temj)tation.' 
 
 ' Ladies can't draw these distinctions.' 
 
 ' I don't care,' Hugh continued. ' To see 
 that beautiful creature would justify any 
 imprudence. You never beheld a girl in a 
 picture so lovely.' 
 
 'Indeed!' 
 
 ' You are thinking of Edie — eh ? By- 
 the-bye, have j^ou reflected that you have
 
 88 .1 Good Ilatrr. 
 
 no small interest in our family trouble ? 
 That is, if you are still of the same 
 mind.' 
 
 ' Captain Saxell lays no claim to Miss 
 Acland's hand, I believe.' 
 
 ' You are not mercenary, anyhow. ' 
 
 A pause. 
 
 * She does not care a pin for me, Hugh V 
 Dunscombe burst out. 
 
 ' Well, my dear fellow, you know my 
 sentiments. I like 3^011 immensely, but 
 rather as a friend than as a brother-in-law. 
 And look here, Dunscombe : as you have 
 introduced the subject, I must say that I 
 don't understand how you can speak 
 seriously of marriage, leading the life you 
 do.' 
 
 ' I have never dared to speak of it, as 
 you know. If I had the vaguest hope, I 
 would live in a manner worthy of ]\Iiss 
 Acland.' 
 
 ' I hope so, for all our sakes. They
 
 Lord Dunscombe. 89 
 
 say you find very pretty consolations 
 meanwhile. But it's no business of 
 mine. ' 
 
 ' I wish you would make it your business, 
 Hugh. You don't doubt that I speak the 
 truth ?' 
 
 ' Frankly, Dunscombe, I don't doubt that; 
 but, as I told you long ago, I will not try 
 to influence my sister either one way or the 
 other. You are not the husband I should 
 choose for her ; but she is a girl who will 
 choose for herself, and I grant you it's 
 quite possible that the man she falls in love 
 with will be very much less symjjathetic to 
 me than you are, though on other grounds, 
 perhaps. Let us change the subject.' 
 
 ' One moment, Hugh. I have sometimes 
 feared — and I could not say what pain it 
 has caused me — that Miss Acland may have 
 made her choice already.' 
 
 ' Otherwise she could not have resisted 
 Lord Dunscombe ? I can relieve you of
 
 00 A Good Hater. 
 
 that fear — Edie cares for no one. — Xow, tell 
 me, does Mrs. Saxell visit at Daneham ?' 
 
 ' Yes. Until my sister got engaged, she 
 had a girlish admiration for your Grace. I 
 often used to hear of her, and it's odd we 
 have never met of late years.* 
 
 ' Lucky for all parties, perhaps, excepting 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' And you, possibly. I shall have the 
 pleasure soon, I dare say. My brother 
 JIalph brings his bride home on the 27th, 
 and the governor is inviting all the country- 
 side to a ball. He makes a ridiculous fuss 
 over Ralph.' 
 
 * You're not a loving brother, Duns- 
 combe. I note that among other demerits 
 that might have been personally interesting 
 under other circumstances.' 
 
 * My dear fellow,' said Dunscombe 
 anxiously, ' don't judge on imperfect know- 
 ledge. I like Kalph very well ; but ]\ain- 
 forth has been nagging me about him ever
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 91 
 
 since we were boys. It isn't as if he was 
 very clever or very good. I'll give you 
 the explanation, Hugh. If Ralph were the 
 eldest, my father would prefer me.' 
 
 ' I say, get me an invitation to your place 
 on the 27th.' 
 
 ' Come with me as my peculiar guest ; 
 my mother shall send you an invita- 
 tion to the ball. We have some odd 
 customs in our family, which I will put 
 3^ou up to. There's the piano. Shall we 
 go ?' 
 
 Miss Acland played, as she did all else, 
 correctly, brilliantly, without enthusiasm. 
 When Dunscombe asked what was the 
 piece, she turned back to see. He expressed 
 admiration of her skill in performing such 
 difficult music at sight. 
 
 ' Oh, I had j^ractised it lots of times, 
 without observing the composer's name. 
 That isn't in the lesson.' 
 
 ' You don't care for music, then ?'
 
 1)2 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Oh yes ; it helps the clay along. There's 
 dressing and breakfast and Ebony — that's 
 my horse, you know — and dressing and 
 lunch, and music and a drive, and dressing 
 and tea, and dressing and dinner, and talk 
 and bed.' 
 
 ' No reading, Edie ?' asked her mother. 
 ' That's exceptional, like a ball.' 
 ' What a little humbug you are, Edie !' 
 ' Explain yourself, sagacious brother.' 
 ' You want to pose as a female cynic, 
 despising human pleasures. Don't believe 
 her, Dunscombe. She's a small volcano 
 of sentiment and devotion, and all 
 that.' 
 
 ' People who live on volcanoes don't 
 suspect the fire underneath, sometimes. So 
 you may be right, though I can't imagine 
 how you should know.' 
 
 ' I recollect former eruptions.' 
 * 1 never had any beside measles, and 
 that was not bad — was it, mamma ?'
 
 Lord Dimscomhe. 93 
 
 ' Hugh refers to mental outbursts,' replied 
 Mrs. Acland, laughing. 
 
 ' Then he is unkind and inaccurate. All 
 my nurses will declare that there never was 
 a child who broke out less.' 
 
 ' I spoke metaphorically. Until two or 
 three years ago you ' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't understand metaphor.' 
 
 She began playing quietly to herself. 
 
 ' My daughter is a very matter-of-flict 
 young person, now,' said Mrs. Acland to 
 Lord Dunscombe. ' But Hugh is right in 
 saying that we recollect her in quite another 
 character.' 
 
 ' I am a little humbug, then ?' Edie cried, 
 wheeling round upon the music-stool. 
 ' This becomes a serious charge. What is 
 the basis ? My harmless statement appar- 
 ently that music occupies its due place 
 among the day's events, like eating, and 
 exercise, and talking" nonsense. But doesn't 
 it ? Do I sit down to play because I am
 
 94 A Good Hater. 
 
 seized with an irresistible impulse ? am I 
 possessed ? Xot at all I I play because 
 that is the proper thing to do at a certain 
 hour, and it gives me a certain pleasing 
 sensation, like eating. ^lusic under such 
 conditions is the dullest and least poetic 
 of all the customary events I named. When 
 I sit down to dinner I don't know what 
 is comino-. AVhen I ride, I can 2:0 which 
 way I will, and perhaps I shall not return 
 to the place I started from. AVhen I talk, 
 I don't know what I shall say or what 
 the other person will answer. But when 
 I open my music-box and my book, the 
 process and the result are only a matter 
 of chords and strin2;s. There is not an 
 atom of my own self in the sounds which 
 an eminent composer has arranged for me, 
 and an eminent manufacturer has supplied 
 me with wires and bits of ivory to execute. 
 The composer's soul may have found rest 
 in it, but mine does not, except by a
 
 Lord Dimscombe. 95 
 
 mere appropriation of his feelings. Mechani- 
 cally I reproduce some one else's ideas on a 
 machine, and that does not interest me 
 more than any other conventionality.' 
 
 ' But all music must be rendered by some 
 instrument.' said Dunscombe. 
 
 ' The voice is a machine, and our minds 
 are machines. But there is such a thing 
 as real music, nevertheless — a strain that 
 tells its own story of passion or sadness, 
 fresh from a human heart ; the cry of a 
 man or woman who could not keep silence 
 under deep feeling, and spoke in tones that 
 all the world will recognise for ever. That 
 is music, as that is poetry. The day's events 
 bring no such feeling to me.' 
 
 ' I should like to hear real music,' said 
 Dunscombe. 
 
 '. Who would not ?' she answered 
 coolly. 
 
 ' You have given a distinct challenge,' 
 Mrs. Acland said, ' and, under the penalty
 
 1)6 A Good Hater. 
 
 of conviction for talking nonsense, you must 
 illustrate the theory.' 
 
 'But, mamma, Lord Dunscombe does not 
 understand ! Xone of those composers 
 Avrote what was real music for me. I say 
 that music is that which springs from the 
 heart — the utterance of individual passion. 
 I can copy or imitate, but reproduction is 
 not real music. Besides, we must dress, 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' There is time, I think vou oujjht to 
 show what you mean, dear, if you mean 
 anything.' 
 
 ' Oh, it is so much trouble. And it 
 excites me to repeat those screams of 
 pathos ! Do you insist ?' 
 
 ' My daughter, I command.' 
 
 * My sister, I imperatively imj^lore !' 
 
 ' That jars ! I call this real mirsic, 
 Lord Dunscombe. Born, not manufac- 
 tured.' 
 
 She struck a dozen Avild notes, interroga-
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 97 
 
 tive, sharply distinct, perilously near to 
 discordance. 
 
 ' The poet is hesitating what form to 
 give his thought,' said Edie, with convic- 
 tion. ' Now he has it.' 
 
 A rush of sound, a clanging of human 
 passions, through which ran a clear thread 
 of melody, interrupted, pausing, struggling, 
 but swelling at length to a burst of 
 triumph, ceasing abruptly in a few dropped 
 notes. 
 
 ' What demoniac scream is that ?' Huoh 
 cried, his eyes aglow. 
 
 ' They call it " Hunniades' March." No- 
 body made it. It grew ! That's man's 
 music — here is woman's.' 
 
 A sad, low theme, with changes and 
 twists and returns to the original motifs 
 broken by unexpected peals of laughter, 
 which died into lingering sobs, and ended in 
 slow despair. 
 
 ' Where did you find such extraordinary 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 A Good Hater 
 
 compositions ?' Mrs. Acland inquired 
 wonderingly. ' They are mad !' 
 
 ' Divinely mad, I think ! That is called 
 Roumanian, but it is old as human life and 
 woman's suffering ! Pray don't thank me, 
 Lord Dunscombe. Good-night !' 
 
 Mrs. Acland said, ' You won't be late, 
 Hugh ? I must have half an hour's con- 
 versation.' 
 
 'When my mother says "must," Duns- 
 combe, we always obey; but she doesn't 
 often test our virtue. Will one o'clock do, 
 mams ?' 
 
 ' If you are punctual.' 
 
 ' Count on me, dear ! Good-night, dear 
 little family humbug !' 
 
 ' Hugh is a good boy,' his sister remarked 
 when they had gone, 'but very silly!' 
 
 ' That's tautology, my child ! You said 
 he was a boy ! And he is — very !' 
 
 When Hugh returned, Mrs. Acland was 
 waiting for him. ' To-morrow,' she said.
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 99 
 
 * you accompany me to Mr. Vane's chambers 
 witli our lawyer. You know the case in 
 outline, but it is possible allusions may 
 be made which will strike less painfully if 
 I prepare you. Listen attentively, there- 
 fore, my son, for I need not say how 
 distressing these reminiscences are to me. 
 
 ' I have never concealed that my birth 
 was not equal to your father's. My own 
 father was an Independent minister at 
 Oxford. An undergraduate at Christ 
 Church paid me attentions, but I did not 
 like him. This man, Hardwicke, introduced 
 to me, as his friend, your father, who 
 came up to the same college. We fell in 
 love, but I dared not ask my parents to 
 consent to our marriage, and Hugh was 
 still more afraid. I made a terrible mistake, 
 which has never ceased to bear its fruits : 
 after a long resistance, I consented to a 
 secret marriage. Hardwicke had long since 
 pretended to be reconciled to his disappoint- 
 
 7 2
 
 100 A Good Hater. 
 
 ment. He was now ordained, and he per- 
 formed the marriage privately. I may 
 mention here that doubts arose afterwards 
 as to its legality, and we were married 
 again.' 
 
 ' Do I understand, mother,' cried Hugh 
 hotly, ' that this point has been raised by 
 Saxell ?' 
 
 ' Most certainly not ! It has no interest 
 for anyone, and I mention it only because 
 I wish to have no secrets from my son. 
 
 ' By means we could not guess at the 
 time, Hugh's father heard of tlie marriage, 
 and withdrew his son's allowance ; as for 
 the uncle, whose fortune you inherit, he 
 held no communication with either. I 
 must tell you, Hugh, for the comprehension 
 of my story, that all the Aclands were 
 quarrelsome and jealous and vindictive. 
 
 ' We should have been in difficulties at 
 the outset, but my liusband's mother died, 
 leaving him a small fortune. He left
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 101 
 
 tlie University and acknowledged me. We 
 were neither wise nor prudent, and Hugh 
 fell into bad hands. His greatest friend, 
 besides Hardwicke, was a man named 
 Beaver, whom they knew at Oxford, though 
 he was considerably older than they. 
 
 ' Beaver was our evil genius, and is — a 
 man of enormous wealth, great talent, and 
 unbearable selfishness and affectation. He 
 professed to admire me — always in an 
 impersonal manner, as if I had been a work 
 of art. — It is painful for a mother to speak 
 of these things to her son ' 
 
 ' If an angel tried to misinterpret your 
 conduct I should not believe him !' 
 
 ' It is that knowledge which sustains me, 
 my son ! You will never doubt me, 
 Hugh !' 
 
 ' I know you too well, mother !' 
 
 They kissed fondly. 
 
 ' I disliked and distrusted Beaver. But 
 — I am laying bare all the truth to you ! —
 
 102 A Good IJafrr 
 
 he amused me, and he made life pleasant 
 with endless schemes of diversion. I was 
 innocent and thoughtless ; your father, 
 though passionate, was secret. He said 
 afterwards that his jealousy had been 
 aroused from the first, but I do not believe 
 it. As soon as I learned the incredible 
 truth I begged him to break off acquaintance 
 with Beaver. But they had relations — of 
 money I suppose — which forbade this. AVe 
 remained in the same position, constantly 
 associated with a man whom the husband 
 suspected and the wife both hated and 
 feared. A dreadful time. And it lasted' 
 for months !' 
 
 * But, mother, is it possible my father was 
 such a cur as to bear this state of things — 
 for money?' 
 
 ' I believe in my heart that he did 
 not really doubt me. But his temper 
 was reckless, the shifts he was put to 
 had maddened him against all the world,
 
 Lord Dunscombe, 103 
 
 and lie avenged himself on me. Hugh was 
 not a cur ! He might have grown, under 
 other circumstances, into a strong man. 
 But, please do not interrupt — let me hurry 
 on ! 
 
 ' Things became desperate with us. I 
 do not know what projects Beaver and my 
 husband had in view, but he suggested we 
 should retire to Wolfingham, a village near 
 his own home of Beaverlowe. This was 
 in the autumn of 1862. Hardwicke had a 
 curacy at Laystone, three miles away, and 
 the three men were constantly together. 
 At AVolfingham things grew worse and 
 worse. One morning, after a terrible scene, 
 Hugh rode away. I never saw him again, 
 dead or alive.' 
 
 Mrs. Acland was deeply affected. Hugh 
 took her hand and kissed her, murmuring 
 consolation. What painful recollections had 
 been lying under his mother's smiling face ! 
 
 ' He did not return that night, but I was
 
 104 A Good Hate?'. 
 
 not alarmed. The clergyman of the village 
 came next morning with hints of calamity. 
 T made him speak out. The horse yom* 
 fotlier was riding had regained the stable 
 late, having evidently swum the river, which 
 ■\\as in flood. There is a ford by Wolfing- 
 ham Bridge, which Hugh was accustomed 
 to use. Upon its farther bank they found 
 hoof-marks where the horse had entered the 
 water, but none to correspond on the near 
 side. A hundred yards below the bridge, 
 at a spot which was deep and dangerous at 
 all times, they found prints, as though the 
 horse had clambered out AN^ith diflicult}'. 
 It had been swept beneath the bridge. 
 Your father's hat was found some miles 
 below, in a bush that overhung the 
 stream.' 
 
 ' This I have heard,' said Hugh, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' Captain Saxell's assertion is that your 
 father was not drowned, but deliberately
 
 Lord Dunscombe. 105 
 
 carried out a scheme to persuade us of his 
 death. Wait ! I am controlling myself, 
 Hugh, to tell this story dispassionately ; 
 do not unnerve me ! It is probable that 
 Sergeant Raikes had not heard the evidence 
 we possess ; or he was too shrewd to raise 
 questions by referring to it. According to 
 his statement your father rode his horse 
 half-way across the ford, dismounted, threw 
 his hat into the stream, drove the horse 
 into deep water, and returned. But there 
 is an independent statement, that of a man 
 named Peake, who was crossing Wolfingham 
 Bridge at that hour. He told his story the 
 next day, recollect. Peake heard cries in 
 the river, and looking over the parapet he 
 saw a body washed down. No one else was 
 missing from the neighbourhood, and in all 
 these years it has never been disputed that 
 the body was your father's !' 
 
 ' It was not found ?' 
 
 ' It was carried out to sea, no doubt.'
 
 1(JG A Good Hater. 
 
 ' And the inquiry proved nothing de- 
 cisive ?' 
 
 ' There was no inquiry. Hugh's father 
 returned my letters unopened, and his uncle 
 did not answer them for months.' 
 
 ' But when my great-uncle died ?' 
 
 ' That was six years afterwards. The 
 trustees took it for granted, so far as I 
 know, that Hugh was dead ; if they made a 
 serious inquiry I did not hear of it. You 
 had twelve years of minority, and they may 
 well have felt assured that if Hugh was still 
 living he would 'certainly appear to claim 
 his own in that time. Xow, let me go 
 back. This accident happened on Decem- 
 ber 9th, 1862 — the evening of next day 
 Edie was born. When I recovered full 
 consciousness, I did not know Aviiere to 
 turn for food.' 
 
 ' My poor mother !' 
 
 ' I hid myself in London, and lived by 
 the sale of my jewellery. When that was
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 107 
 
 exhausted, your great-uncle sought us out, 
 and made an allowance. Now, give me all 
 your attention. You know who Sergeant 
 Raikes was ?' 
 
 ' His right name was Henry Hardwicke ?* 
 ' Yes, my husband's friend, and his bitter 
 enemy ! He also disappeared, two or three 
 days later, under discreditable circumstances. 
 It w^as on December 14th that Raikes 
 enlisted in the Artillery at Westminster — 
 not two days after Hugh's supposed death, 
 as Captain Saxell declares in his case, since 
 that occurred on the 9th, but two days 
 probably after Hardwicke had vanished 
 from Laystone. This man, Raikes, can be 
 traced all through, of course, from the 
 moment of his enlistment until he died, 
 with a black lie in his mouth. He put his 
 age at twenty-five years, the maximum for 
 Artillery recruits, observe; Hugh had just 
 reached that age, and he did not look it ; 
 but Hardwicke was twenty-eight. These
 
 108 A Good Hater. 
 
 details, however, and others more important 
 I need not insist upon witli you. Are there 
 any questions that occur to your mind ?' 
 
 ' I must ask, mother, what part the man 
 Beaver played at this time ? Was he in the 
 nei2:hbourhood ?' 
 
 ' I believe he was, but we held no com- 
 munication. Some hints reached me, mere 
 gossip, of a fight between him and Hugh 
 that evening, in which Beaver was badly 
 hurt. 
 
 ' Where did my father ride to ?' 
 
 ' Your father went to dine with Hard- 
 wicke, and he did. I see your drift, Hugh. 
 But whatever may have been the truth in 
 that scandal, Beaver had no part in Hugh's 
 death. He was not the man to commit 
 murder.' 
 
 ' Did you see Peake ?' 
 
 ' I have never seen him. The clergyman 
 of Wolfingham conducted what inquiries 
 were made, and told me the result. My
 
 Lord Dunscombe. 109 
 
 great object now is to find Peake, who cer- 
 tainly survives, and in a few days I hope to 
 find him.' 
 
 ' Where is he now ?' 
 
 ' AYe advertised, and the man answered, 
 but he is distrustful. A promise of reward, 
 however, seems to be producing its effect, 
 and we hope to see him shortly. Now, 
 Hugh, you will be better able to follow the 
 discussion to-morrow. It is not a formal 
 meeting of lawyers.' 
 
 They parted tenderly. 
 
 Eupert Yane was a small, dried-up man, 
 with the brows and eyes of a sage, the 
 mouth of a sensitive woman. In matters 
 that did not regard himself, when the result, 
 if painful, would not come before his own 
 eye, he rivalled Achitophel in the sound- 
 ness, and if need be the cruelty, of his 
 advice. But where his own interests or 
 friendships were concerned, Vane showed 
 hesitation and weakness. This seldom
 
 110 A Good Hater 
 
 happened, of course, and he had already 
 won standing as a junior of promise. 
 
 Mrs. Acland, Hugh, and their solicitor, 
 Mr. Gorman, met at Vane's chambers next 
 day. 
 
 ' In suggesting this interview,' he said, 
 ' I act uj^on the general drift of Captain 
 Saxell's instructions. His anxious desire 
 is to take no advantage, and he confidently 
 hopes to be met in the same spirit. It is 
 my good fortune that circumstances enable 
 me to carry out this idea with special 
 facilities. I have been acquainted with 
 Mrs. Acland and esteemed her for many 
 years, and Richard Saxell is my dearest 
 friend. Knowing both parties so well, I 
 have ventured to bring them face to face, as 
 it were. 
 
 ' Up to the present time I have not 
 employed a solicitor. Captain Saxell does 
 not profess to be indifferent about the issue. 
 If he can claim this money with justice, and
 
 Lord Dunscombe. Ill 
 
 without inflicting a penalty too heavy on 
 the present holders, he thinks he has earned 
 it at the risk of his life, and he means to 
 take it. As for the second of these condi- 
 tions, if Mrs. Acland or her son take that 
 ground, they will address themselves to the 
 claimant direct. All I have to do at this 
 first meeting is to hand over the papers 
 with which I am furnished at present, and 
 to explain Captain Saxell's position. 
 Briefly, it is this : he acts absolutely on 
 my discretion. If I find that the asser- 
 tions of Sero^eant Raikes are false, I am 
 authorized to throw up the case. There 
 can be no compromise. But unless they 
 are proved to be so, Captain Saxell will pro- 
 ceed — as at present advised.' 
 
 'It is a responsible position for you,* 
 said Mr. Grorman. ' In the event of your 
 abandoning the Captain's claim, I under- 
 stand that it passes to !!Mrs. Saxell ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; but I opine that our refusal to
 
 112 A Good Hater. 
 
 persevere would seriously prejudice her 
 chance. What I would urge, and I am 
 sure of meeting the sympathy of Mrs. 
 Acland and her son in the suggestion, is 
 that they meet the facts advanced openly 
 and straightforwardly. There is no re- 
 servation on Captain Saxell's part. All 
 the evidence on w^hicli he relies has been 
 laid in summary before Mr. Gorman, and 
 I now offer copies of the originals. If new 
 facts should arise, they will also be sub- 
 mitted. I add also a copy of the formal 
 document by which Captain Saxell autho- 
 rizes me to withdraw his claim instanter if 
 I think right to take that course. It is to 
 me a flattering proof of his friendship and 
 confidence ; to you an indisputable assurance 
 of his sincere srood faith. We work, tliere- 
 fore, not as enemies, but as rivals, anxious 
 to discover the truth. The question before 
 us, the whole question, practically is. Was 
 Sergeant Kaikes Hugh Acland, senior ; or
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. ' 113 
 
 did that gentleman die, as was generally 
 understood, in 1862 ?' 
 
 ' Allow me,' said Hugh, ' there is another. 
 If you can prove that Raikes was a man 
 named Hardwicke, for instance, it would 
 not be necessary to go further.' 
 
 ' In that case he would not be Acland. 
 ISTow, the first inquiry that arises is as to 
 the handwriting. You have seen several 
 specimens, Mrs. Acland, and here is a mass. 
 I understand that though you do not declare 
 the evidence of the handwriting conclusive 
 to all the world, you are satisfied it is not 
 your husband's ?' 
 
 ' It is the writing of a man who tries 
 laboriously to imitate another person's 
 hand. Where Kaikes scribbled hastily, as in 
 notes which do not concern the case, his 
 writing was utterly different to that of 
 papers which have reference to it. Take 
 these examples side by side.' 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' It is very true, but most men have two 
 handwritings at least,' said Vane. 
 
 ' AVe hope to identify the scribbled hand, 
 however,' said Gorman. 
 
 ' I recognise it as that of Plardwicke,' 
 Mrs. Acland declared. ' I am trying to 
 obtain some acknowledged instances of his 
 
 *&* 
 
 writing. 
 
 'We think that Mr. Beaver, of Beaver- 
 lowe, has old letters of Hardwicke's. Pro- 
 bably that gentleman may be able to give 
 valuable information, but he has not replied 
 to Mrs, Acland as yet.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Vane, J you have our case in 
 every particular. We shall not press you 
 in the least. May the right triumph, and I 
 doubt not that it will.' 
 
 Hugh felt that he was squeezed out of 
 the discussion in which he had so great 
 an interest. Drawing aside, rather sullen, 
 he turned over the paj^ers and diaries laid 
 out on a table.
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 115 
 
 ' Many pages have been cut out here,' 
 he cried suddenly. ' May I ask who cut 
 them?' 
 
 Vane was silent, troubled ; Gorman looked 
 reproachfully at IMrs. Acland. Resolutely, 
 but with heightened colour and eyes that 
 burned, she met the inquiry. ' Those pages 
 I have already seen, Hugh, and they were 
 removed out of consideration for me and 
 my son. Hardwicke was not a villain by 
 halves ! Now, Mr. Yane, allow us to ex- 
 press our gratitude for the very kindly and 
 honourable manner in which you have pre- 
 sented this painful business. We beg you 
 to convey the same assurance to Captain 
 Saxell. He may depend on it we shall 
 meet him with equal frankness.' 
 
 The clients withdrew ; Gorman lingered.. 
 * This is no common affair, Vane,' he said, 
 ' and you are not treating it in a common 
 manner. I confess I am more interested in 
 it than in any case I recollect.' 
 
 « — 9
 
 116 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' The one thing clear to me is that Raikes 
 was a very extraordinary person. You did 
 not know Huo;h senior?' 
 
 'No; but from what I learn we could 
 not rest our case upon the inherent impro- 
 bability of his conduct,' Gorman replied. ' I 
 mean, in pretending to be drowned, and 
 serving twenty years in the ranks. He 
 was wrong-headed enough for any eccen- 
 tricity.' 
 
 * So I have heard. Mrs. Acland brought 
 in all the good qualities the family can 
 boast, they say. What an incredible villain 
 Raikes must have been, whoever he was !' 
 
 ' Mrs. Acland is her own lawyer, and I 
 could take quite an unj^rejudiced view if 
 there were anything to found a judgment 
 on. One of the most extraordinary facts is 
 that neither Acland nor Hardwicke seem to 
 have had any friends in j^articular.' 
 
 ' Not so extraordinary if Sergeant Raikes 
 was a type of both ! You forget Beaver.'
 
 Lord Dunscomhe. 117 
 
 ' Not likely ! He was a worthy third, as 
 far as I can gather.' 
 
 ' I suspect that Beaver could tell us a 
 good deal, if he liked.' 
 
 ' So do I, but I suspect he won't if he can 
 help it. We have made some inquiries 
 about him. Whether it was the disgrace of 
 the beating A eland gave him, or the shock 
 of his death, or mere eccentricity tliat broke 
 out at that time, we have no means of 
 judging; but Beaver shut himself up from 
 that day, and devoted his time to pictures 
 and orchids.' 
 
 ' That's not what I hear at all ! He's a 
 great hunting man, a model landlord, and 
 all a country gentleman should be. So they 
 say at the Bhadamanthus.' 
 
 ' A good example of the old story. We 
 are both right. But nobody sees him off the 
 hunting-field, except his tenants. Beaver- 
 lowe used to be the liveliest house in the 
 country; but never a guest has entered it
 
 118 A Good Hater. 
 
 these twenty years, nor has the master 
 entered another house.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Acland must have been very beau- 
 tiful,' said Vane, with no apparent connec- 
 tion. 
 
 ' And Beaver, they say, was very fas- 
 cinating and very fast,' replied Gorman, 
 lauofhino;. 
 
 ' Does that bear upon the case ? I think 
 we'd better drop the subject.' 
 
 ' I am not at all sure that it does not 
 bear upon the case, seeing that Acland was 
 a mad brute. However, I don't ask your 
 opinion.' 
 
 'I ask yours, then, without prejudice! 
 Come, now!' said Vane. 
 
 ' Upon my honour, the more I think of it 
 tlie more puzzled I am.'
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN HYDE PARK. 
 
 'UGrH looked upon his mother as 
 the dearest and best and cleverest 
 of women. But this feeling did 
 not reconcile him to the exclusion of his 
 views and experience in the grave matter at 
 issue. Young men of property learn self- 
 confidence in affairs, if not wisdom, at an 
 early age, and Hugh, perhaps, had more 
 than his share. Beyond dispute, his interest 
 in Captain Saxell's claim was most serious, 
 both financial and sentimental, but he found 
 himself put in the background. Though 
 ready to declare that his mother was the
 
 120 A Good Hater. 
 
 cleverest of her sex, he did not think that 
 feminine ability is adapted to inquiries of 
 this sort. 
 
 His perfect confidence in Mrs. Acland 
 made Hugh feel the more aggrieved by the 
 withholding of secrets. Those pages torn 
 from the diary were said to be scandals 
 against his mother. If so, they were mani- 
 festly absurd, and all the world knew it — 
 why keep them from him ? He persuaded 
 himself that they were not abstracted for 
 that reason. His mother had seen them ; 
 but she, in natural haste and indignation, 
 would not observe them closely. Yane, the 
 mutual friend, had probably withdrawn the 
 pages because there was something decisive 
 therein, a hint which would set the question 
 at rest. Anyhow, since they could not 
 possibl}' harm his mother nor shake his 
 faith in her, he ought to see them. So, 
 after thinking this over, he went back to 
 Paper Buildings for an explanation, at the
 
 In Hyde Pari. 121 
 
 hour when Vane dressed. That gentleman 
 repulsed him, and they quarrelled. 
 
 Returning through Pump Court, Hugh 
 met an old lady and a young one. At a 
 glance he recognised the tall, lithe figure 
 and graceful head, but the elder lady did 
 not know him. Sternly she asked her way 
 to Paper Buildings, which Hugh gave 
 rather incoherently. The young companion 
 smiled a very little, as they turned away 
 with thanks. 
 
 Here was news. But when Hugh men- 
 tioned it after dinner, Mrs. Acland was not 
 at all diverted. ' This is the first conse- 
 quence of your meddling, Hugh !' she said, 
 with iin irritation very unusual. ' You 
 have set these people inquiring and annoy- 
 ing. Captain Saxell understood his mother, 
 and he ATished to keep her ignorant of the 
 reversionary claim until we had prepared 
 our case at leisure. You have acquainted 
 her with it, and she can urge him by force.'
 
 122 A Good Eater, 
 
 ' How, mother ?' 
 
 ' I don't know the legal form. But Mrs. 
 Saxell can take action to compel the trus- 
 tees — Major St. Paul, in fact — to execute the 
 will of Sergeant-Major Raikes, or to show 
 cause why they omit to do so in a reasonable 
 time. I had troubles enough before !' 
 
 ' What were you doing in the Temple, 
 Hugh ?' asked Edie. ' Oh, do keep quiet, 
 dear, and leave wiser heads to settle the 
 matter.' 
 
 Mrs. Acland's severity had passed. She 
 cried, laughing : 
 
 ' Apologize to your brother at once, you 
 impertinent girl ! Hugh is learning wisdom 
 every day b)' experience. I could wish he 
 practised it in other people's business, but 
 the desire is laudable. So Mrs. Saxell has 
 come to town ! And she is accompanied by 
 the Toveliest girl in the world ? Tell us 
 about her — is she like Edie ?' 
 
 ' I hope not — not in all respects.'
 
 In Hijde Park. 123 
 
 ' Oh, Hugh !' 
 
 ' I mean that I hope she doesn't bully 
 her brother, if she has one.' 
 
 'We never quarrelled in our lives until 
 this horrid news came, and now something 
 is always going wrong. You went to see 
 Mr. Vane ?' 
 
 ' I went to complain to the Lord Mayor 
 that I am not allowed a vote in my own 
 freehold. Pie said it was monstrous, and if 
 I would bring the obstructive parties before 
 him he would fine them sine die.^ 
 
 ' You went to Mr. Yane for some infor- 
 mation which you do not like to ask 
 mamma ? That is it ? Will you tell me ?' 
 
 ' I don't know anything,' he answered, 
 colouring hotly, ' and I don't wish to know 
 anything but what she tells me.' 
 
 ' Leave it all to her, dear Hugh, and I 
 will behave so prettily you shall be askamed 
 to recollect you ever thought of preferring a 
 creature to me.'
 
 124 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' I say, this is serious, little sister ? Am 
 I neve?' Nor you ?' 
 
 * I can speak for myself. I never will ! 
 Don't laugh, mamma.' 
 
 ' Then, to change the conversation, I will 
 give you news. Peake will call on me to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 * At w^hat time ?' asked Hugh. 
 
 ' I don't think your presence will be 
 necessary, dear, and it might embarrass the 
 man. I will tell you all that passes.' 
 
 Hugh felt still more keenly that he was 
 kept outside of the family interests. 
 
 ' I shall not go out this evening,' Mrs. 
 Acland continued. ' If you will write a line 
 to Mrs. Palgrave, Edie, she will be pleased 
 to chaperon you, no doubt. And, Hugh, if 
 you are going near the Rhadamanthus I 
 wish you would leave a note for Mr. Yane.' 
 
 ' To tell him Peake is coming ?' 
 
 * No, dear ; but to consult what can be 
 done to keep Mrs. Saxell quiet.'
 
 In Hyde Parle. 125 
 
 ' Could I advise you about that ?' 
 
 ' No doubt, and I should be very pleased 
 to discuss the matter. But our talk could 
 not do much good, I fear, unless Mrs. 
 Sax ell has come up to ask your opinion, 
 and "will abide by it. I do not understand 
 that you are upon such terms with the 
 lady?' 
 
 ' I am almost sorry I'm not, mams, if it 
 would lead you to confide in me.' 
 
 ' Hughie I' exclaimed his sister, in 
 rebuke. 
 
 ' You will learn to be patient with men, 
 my dear,' said Mrs. Acland pleasantly. 
 * At least, I hope so, in spite of the decided 
 " I never will," just now. It is a wife's 
 first lesson, and a mother finds it eas3\ 
 No, my boy ; I am not offended in the very 
 least. But you will give Mr. Vane my 
 note ?' 
 
 ' Of course I will, inscrutable but charm- 
 in qt mams.'
 
 126 A Good Eater. 
 
 Two liours later Vane drove up, and he 
 was closeted some time with Mrs. Acland. 
 
 ' You may depend upon me.' he said, in 
 wishing her good-night. ' It is Saxell's 
 wish, and my own strong conviction, that 
 his mother should not be excited about this 
 affair. She loves money, not for its own 
 sake, but for the pleasure of spending it — 
 of thro win or it about, if she had enousfh. 
 We have an appointment for to-morrow 
 afternoon. I shall urge her to return at 
 once. Your friendly message shall be 
 given. Allow me to sa}' it is just what I 
 should have expected from you. Under 
 happier circumstances, ]\Iiss Acland would 
 have found Grace a delightful com- 
 panion.' 
 
 Hugh meantime was playing billiards at 
 the Rhadamanthus with a tall, burly, 
 pleasant-looking youth little older than 
 himself. 
 
 * You will chancre vour mind before
 
 In Uyde Park. 127 
 
 October, Bob,' he said. ' That's 27, 
 marker.' 
 
 ' I don't think I shall. It will be an 
 awfully interesting trip. Why don't you 
 come with us ?' 
 
 ' I should like it above everything. Are 
 there elephants there ?' 
 
 ' They're the local equivalent of our 
 rabbit. You bag them at odd moments, 
 Avhen game is out of season. ' We shall 
 travel leisurely through Ashanti np to 
 this mysterious place, Telaga, shooting as 
 we go, and doing trade enough to pay our 
 expenses. Pringle will push on farther, 
 but he undertakes to accompany me back 
 as far as Coomassie. I have only twelve 
 months' leave, you know.' 
 
 ' How you will enjoy yourselves ! But 
 the country is terribly unhealthy, isn't 
 it?' 
 
 ' Only on the coast. That's game ! 
 Where's Dunscombe to-nio-ht ?'
 
 128 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Does anyone know?' asked Hugh. 'I 
 want to see him particularly.' 
 
 ' Saving errors caused by human frailty 
 and variations of clocks,' said a bystander, 
 ' you'll find him waiting round the corner 
 in his night-cab at a quarter-past eleven.' 
 
 ' Round what corner ? Why in his 
 night-cap ?' 
 
 ' Cab, with a " b," illiterate youth ! I 
 don't know exactly what corner, but the 
 one frequented by scions of nobility who 
 haunt the Variety Theatre.' 
 
 ' Dunscombe is rather forcing the pace 
 there, isn't he ?' asked somebody. 
 
 ' He's distanced all the field ! ]\Iaud has 
 fiillen in love at last !' 
 
 ' I don't believe it. The news is too bad 
 to be true ! Making: love to Maud was a 
 public diversion, more innocent than most, 
 and Dunscombe is too good a sportsman to 
 interrupt it. Shooting a fox is venial com- 
 pared with this.'
 
 In Hyde Park. 129 
 
 ' A monstrous expensive diversion, one 
 way and another ! He'll effect a public 
 economy if he puts a stop to it !' 
 
 ' What a mean and unsportsmanlike view 
 to take ! Who ever grudged a good fox 
 his goose ?' 
 
 ' You refer to Maud Latham, I suppose?' 
 said Hugh. 
 
 ' If you take it in that serious tone, I 
 vow I didn't for one !' exclaimed Milroy. 
 
 ' I didn't mean to be serious. Is she 
 fascinating off the stage ?' 
 
 ' Not a bit !' growled an elderly man. 
 * Maud Latham is the fashion with a 
 generation of unprincipled idiots, that's 
 all !' 
 
 ' Who was the fashion in your genera- 
 tion, Blake ? The daughter of Herodias ?' 
 
 ' Oh no ! Blake's contemporaries didn't 
 dance ! They were arboreal in their habits, 
 and the height of fashion was to walk on 
 two legs !' 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 A Good Hater. 
 
 At tlie place indicated Hugh found 
 Dunscombe, who looked much annoyed. 
 l>ut liis doings were no business of Hugh's, 
 and he resolved more strongly that they 
 never should be. 
 
 ' I want you to do me an odd service,' 
 he said. 
 
 ' Keckon it done, and proceed.' 
 
 ' Will you lend me that shrewd fellow of 
 3'ours to-morrow ?' 
 
 ' Moore ? Certainly !' 
 
 ' I want him to interview Vane's clerk 
 and find where Mrs. Saxell is staying in 
 town, as I am not on very good terms with 
 Vane.' 
 
 ' Ah ! The loveliest girl in the world 
 accompanies her aunt, I suppose ? Are 
 you going to call again ?' 
 
 ' I have no intentions at all beyond dis- 
 covering where they live.' 
 
 ' Well, I'll send Moore first thing to- 
 morrow. But \o\\ are not the man to con-
 
 In Hyde Park. 131 
 
 tent yourself ^'ith sighs and envyings, 
 Huo^h ! Take care.' 
 
 A fair girl with large dark eyes came 
 from the direction of the stage - door. 
 Dmiscombe raised his hat, put her into the 
 brougham waiting, gave his coachman the 
 name of a restaurant, and bade Hugh 
 good-night. 
 
 Moore arrived early, took his instruc- 
 tions without remark, and two hours after- 
 wards returned with the address. Mrs. 
 Saxell was staying at an hotel off Bond 
 Street, of which neither he nor Plugh had 
 ever heard ; in truth, the lad}" had stayed 
 there on her wedding-trip, thirty-five years 
 before ; sentiment led her back perhaps, or 
 perhaps she preferred any familiar place 
 among the perils of London. Moore, sent 
 to reconnoitre, brought intelligence that it 
 was quite an ' outside establishment,' as he 
 gravely called it. 
 
 ' I just threw an eye over the books, sir. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 A Good Hater. 
 
 The ladies' rooms are Nos. 64 and 65 on 
 the second-floor. Nos. 63 and G6 are 
 empty, and so is No. 72, just opposite.' 
 
 ' What an invaluable man you are !' 
 Hugh exclaimed, laughing rather uneasily. 
 * Lord Dunscombe must prize 3^ou.' 
 
 ' Oh no, sir,' Moore answered, with a 
 respectful smile. ' His lordship doesn't 
 give me any employment in this way.' 
 
 ' Discreet as sagacious ! I feel sure you 
 don't gossip. Take this !' 
 
 ' Thank you, sir. If there's anything 
 I'm master of, it's my tongue.' 
 
 ' Ijy-the-bye, what was the number of 
 that empty room opposite ?' 
 
 ' I put it down, sir. No. 72.' 
 
 Up to this time Hugh had formed no 
 plans. He did not even purpose con- 
 sciously to haunt the hotel, though it 
 would have come to that, doubtless. But 
 such matter-of-fact hints produced their 
 result on a young man. Moore took it for
 
 In Hyde Park. 133 
 
 granted that he would not only watch but 
 enter the building ; not only enter, but 
 establish himself there, as close to the 
 ladies as possible. Had the suggestion 
 been made directly, Hugh would have been 
 shocked and indignant. But coming as a 
 thing of course, the action which a gentle- 
 man might be expected to follow, he enter- 
 tained it, and that is fatal in such cases. 
 After all, why not ? 
 
 So, within an hour, Hugh drove up with 
 a portmanteau, and engaged the room ; but 
 when he found himself inside, what little 
 impudence dwelt in his honest young soul 
 oozed out. While he hesitated, a door 
 opened opposite, and Miss Palliser's voice 
 was heard in tones of complaint — ' Unkind 
 to leave me all alone.' 
 
 ' It is not fitting for you to accompany 
 me on a business interview. I will be back 
 as early as T can, and, after dinner, we will 
 go to the theatre.'
 
 134 A Good Hater. 
 
 A moment afterwards the rustle of a 
 dress and the tap of stately feet went 
 down the passage. Then a man came by, 
 and a rattle of plates followed his entrance. 
 Grace spoke again, while the door Avas 
 open: 
 
 ' Send the chambermaid, please !' 
 What she said when the girl went in, 
 Hugh did not hear, but the reply was 
 enough. ' Why, miss,' answered the 
 chambermaid, ' if you turn to the leit 
 Bond Street is the third turning ; and if 
 you go straight on, you can't mistake 
 Regent Street when you come to it.' Pause 
 and murmur; chambermaid's voice again. 
 ' Yes, miss, but if I was you, I wouldn't 
 go to those streets for a walk, not without 
 your ma. There's the Park now, if you're 
 dull. Turn to the right and keep straight 
 along, it'll bring you there. Young ladies 
 sometimes goes to the Park alone, but not 
 to l>ond Street; nor yet Regent Street.'
 
 Li Hyde Park. 135 
 
 The chambermaid departed. There's 
 something to be said for these old-fashioned 
 hotels, Hugh thought. A servant at the 
 International or the St. George would not 
 have given number sixty-five good advice 
 as well as service. 
 
 It was a long twenty minutes before he 
 heard the door reopen; then light feet 
 pattered down the corridor. He followed 
 23resently, lit a cigar in the hall with 
 elaborate unconcern, and stood upon the 
 step to reconnoitre. The graceful form he 
 could not mistake had a hundred yards' 
 advance. Men turned to look after it, but 
 the hateful race of messieurs qui suivent les 
 fcmmes does not abound in those parts 
 of London ; and, besides, Grace wore a 
 veil. Hugh almost wished some gigantic 
 scoundrel would address her, that he might 
 introduce himself under a chivalrous aspect. 
 But unmolested Grace walked in maiden 
 innocence, not by any means unaware of
 
 136 A Good Hater. 
 
 admiration, but ignorant of danger or 
 impropriety. She knew that her aunt 
 would disapprove the promenade ; but Mrs. 
 Saxell disapproved most actions of young 
 people. 
 
 Khythmic and delightful to observe as is 
 the walk of a girl symmetrically shaped, 
 a young man has difficulty in timing his 
 steps therewith. Knowing the destination, 
 Hugh turned off round a block of houses, 
 struck into Park Lane, and descended as 
 Miss Palliser crossed the road. Upon 
 entering the Park, she hesitated whether to 
 go right or left, but finally turned towards 
 Hyde Park Corner, on the garden-side. 
 Whilst deviously skirmishing among tlie 
 trees opposite, Hugh kept her in sight. 
 AVhen she crossed at the bottom, he made 
 a long leg, reached Rotten PiOw, and 
 advanced to meet his fate. 
 
 The world was at lunch, and few besides 
 nursemaids and country j^eople occuj^ied the
 
 In Hyde Park. .137 
 
 path. Hugh had no experience of such 
 adventures, and his heart beat violently, 
 his throat was dry. If Grace did not 
 acknowledge him, or received his bow 
 coldly, he had not courage to address 
 her, though he would have bitterly re- 
 proached -himself afterwards. When his 
 eager eyes detected her a long way off, 
 Hugh felt almost sick with nervous tremor. 
 But Grace found things dull in London, 
 and her frame of mind was rebellious. 
 
 As they drew near she did not pretend 
 miconsciousness. Dissimulation was cer- 
 tainly not numbered among Grace Palliser's 
 many faults, but rashness and heedlessness 
 were. It must be remembered, however, 
 that in the wilds of Scarsholme, where she 
 had dwelt since leaving school, there was 
 little occasion to master the rules of daily 
 conventional etiquette. 
 
 Hugh's bow was accepted with a frank 
 little smile, which reassured him forthwith.
 
 138 A Good Hater. 
 
 * I knew I could not have been mistaken 
 yesterday,' he said, stopping. ' It was 
 Mrs. Saxell who asked me the way to 
 Paper Buildings.' 
 
 * Yes. I think I am lost again. Can 
 this be Hyde Park ?' 
 
 ' It is Rotten Row.' 
 
 ' Rotten Row ! I thought all the world 
 crowded there ?' 
 
 ' All the world has gone home to lunch 
 just at present, excepting you and me.' 
 
 Huo'h had turned, and was walkino^ side 
 by side with his divinity. Grace did 
 not notice anything unusual in his conduct. 
 She said : 
 
 ' Oh, I don't belong to the world ! I 
 came here to take my first peep at it from 
 the outside.' 
 
 ' Like Moore's Peri.' 
 
 ' Not at all like Moore's Peri, for I am 
 not disconsolate, and I don't long to 
 enter.'
 
 In Hyde Park. 139 
 
 ' And Rotten Row, just now, resembles 
 Paradise only in its solitude.' 
 
 ' In its freedom from wicked persons, you 
 might have said.' 
 
 ' That is a prettier way to put it, 
 but it comes to the same thing, perhaps. 
 If you will accept my escort for an 
 hour you will see the wicked world 
 return.' 
 
 ' And, if not, shall I be visited with 
 blindness, or will the wicked world stay 
 away? I don't perceive the necessity of 
 your escort, Mr. Acland. And when you 
 remind me of the fact, I know it is not 
 proper to be walking with a gentleman 
 to whom I have not been introduced. Good- 
 morning.' 
 
 ' If we have not been introduced. Miss 
 Palliser, by what magic do we know each 
 other's names ?' 
 
 ' A question I ought to ask, not you. 
 We are not so inhospitable at Scarsholme
 
 140 A Good Hater 
 
 as to turn a gentleman out of doors without 
 knowing who he is !' 
 
 ' A person guided only by that incident 
 would think my name was Adam.' 
 
 'Oh! — well, you will admit that a girl 
 should not walk alone with a gentleman 
 she does not know from Adam. Good- 
 morning ! ' 
 
 • Dropping the question of names, it is 
 certain that we do know each other some- 
 how.' 
 
 ' Rather anyhow,' murmured Grace. 
 
 ' And I venture to assert that there is 
 less impropriety in walking with a man 
 whose name and position and character you 
 are acquainted Avitli, than alone.' 
 
 ' Impropriety ! What do you mean ?' 
 Grace flushed angrily. 
 
 ' Only to persuade you to endure my 
 presence,' said Hugh, in alarm. 
 
 ' Have I done wrong ? What a shame that 
 a girl can't walk out on such a lovely day!'
 
 In Hyde Parle. 141 
 
 ' She can walk as she pleases, under 
 proper escort.' 
 
 ' But yours is not proper.' 
 
 ' It is better than none. I am sure Mrs. 
 Saxell would have been pleased to accept 
 ic, when she gave you permission to stroll 
 out.' 
 
 * What a mischievous ' she stopped. 
 
 ' But useful man you are,' Hugh added. 
 
 ' That is not what I was going to say. 
 Mr. Acland, I don't believe this meeting 
 was accidental — answer me upon your 
 honour !' 
 
 ' I own I followed you from the hotel.' 
 
 ' How did it happen you were passing 
 the hotel ? Upon your honour !' 
 
 'What a suspicious character yours is!' 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 ' It was not an accident. I beg you 
 to leave me.' 
 
 She did not pretend to be grievously 
 indignant, but her eye was firm enough and
 
 142 A Good Hater 
 
 her tone. Hugh made some embarrassed 
 explanation. 
 
 ' You are young and thoughtless,' she 
 answered — ' that's the best and the worst I 
 think of you. Xow be good enough to let 
 me return alone.' 
 
 ' I obey. We shall shortly meet under 
 happier auspices.' 
 
 ' What do you mean by that ?' 
 
 ' At Lord Rainforth's ball.' 
 
 ' How do you know I am going ? you 
 have been asking about me ?' 
 
 ' Dunscombe is my friend ; he ma}' 
 possibly have mentioned the grave fact.' 
 
 Hugh took off his hat and left her, not 
 quite mistress of the field. She was not 
 hurt perhaps, certainly was not surprised, 
 when, facing on the steps of the hotel, 
 she observed the enemy hovering in the 
 rear, a hundred yards behind, 
 
 Hugh's servant called next day to pay 
 his bill and remove the portmanteau. Mrs.
 
 In Hyde Fart 143 
 
 Saxell and her niece were in the hall, just 
 leaving-. Grace overheard the man's con- 
 versation and his master's name. On the 
 long journey to Scarsholme she was silent 
 and not good-tempered — found the day hot, 
 the carriage dusty, the sandwiches tasteless, 
 the milk a criminal compound of chalk and 
 water; remarks all true enough, but 
 original for careless Grace. Mrs. Saxell 
 offered no consolation. 
 
 ' Eemember that I did not ask you to 
 accompan}^ me,' she said. 
 
 ' I have had all the disagreeables, and 
 I have done no good — that's what irritates 
 me, aunt,' Grace replied. ' If you had 
 let me go with you yesterday we should 
 not be returning just as wise as we came. 
 I could almost cry !' 
 
 * For heaven's sake don't carry your 
 silliness that length ! I took you to a 
 theatre, child !' 
 
 ' Yes, and I am grateful, dear ! But we
 
 14-i A Good Hater. 
 
 did not go to London for that pur- 
 pose.' 
 
 ' It is annoying and disrespectful, Grace, 
 to keep on in this way. Mr. Vane showed 
 me clearly the uselessness of remaining in 
 town at a great expense. He told me how 
 the case stood, which I have explained to 
 you. I must say I think Richard quixotic 
 in ffivino^ the Aclands so much time to ixet 
 up their case — making them acquainted 
 with all his evidence, too ! Mr. Vane 
 thinks it will cause no difference in the end, 
 but I still think it foolish.' 
 
 ' For my own part, 1 don't trust Mr. 
 Vane. Dick doesn't know that he is fiiendly 
 with the Aclands. I should have insisted 
 on employing my own lawyer.' 
 
 ' You forget that llichard would not con- 
 fide in his mother — with the best motives, 
 I hope, but there it is. I trust I have too 
 much pride to interfere.' 
 
 ' And so we may lose sixty thousand
 
 In Hyde Park. 145 
 
 pounds on punctilio ? Oh, think if we had 
 sixty thousand pounds !' 
 
 ' I prefer to think upon more profitable 
 and edifying subjects. I fear the Aclands 
 will feel their loss cruelly. By-the-bye, 
 Mrs. Acland entrusted Mr. Vane with a 
 friendly message. She expressed her deep 
 sense of Richard's consideration and honour- 
 able dealing, and said she hoped, however 
 this affair ends, that we should not allow 
 personal animosity to creep in.' 
 
 ' Oh, I wonder whether she knows you 
 turned her son out of doors ? What did 
 you answer ?' 
 
 ' I desired Mr. Vane to say that I appre- 
 ciated the grace and Christian feeling of her 
 expression. I could do no less, whatever 
 the lady's motive.' 
 
 ' What motive could she have, besides 
 friendUness and charity ? You ought to 
 write to Mrs. Acland, auntie.' 
 
 ' That would be very injudicious. I must 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 A Good Hatei\ 
 
 not commit myself; Richard has gone much 
 too far, in my opinion.' 
 
 ' But I might write.' 
 
 ' You will do nothing of the sort!' 
 
 But Grace liad made up her mind on 
 that point. After a while she asked : 
 
 ' Will young Mr. Acland be ruined if we 
 
 succeed ?' 
 
 * 
 
 ' I was very glad to learn that he has 
 several thousands a year, independent of 
 Richard's claim. But his sister will lose 
 all her fortune.' 
 
 ' Poor girl ! Is she pretty ?' 
 
 ' I did not ask such a frivolous ques- 
 tion.' 
 
 After another long pause, Grace said : 
 
 ' And we must remain in this uncertainty 
 until after the long vacation ! How dull it 
 will be waitinii' at Scarsholme all throuoli 
 the summer and autumn ! I shall hate the 
 place !' 
 
 * I trust you speak heedlessly. It woul<l
 
 In Hyde Pari. 147 
 
 be terrible if this prospect of worldly for- 
 tune unhinged your mind to that degree. 
 Hate Scarsholme !' 
 
 ' And the new rosary ! Oh, how happy 
 people are who have heaps of money — do 
 what they like, stay in London as long as 
 they please, and go to a theatre every 
 niofht — like Miss Acland!' • 
 
 ' That is an unfortunate instance. Afber 
 a youth of frivolity, she may find herself 
 without the means to pursue her career of 
 dissipation, and too probably she has no 
 solid resources to fall back upon.' 
 
 ' Well, at least she will have lived, not 
 vegetated. You know, auntie, you are just 
 as eager for this fortune as I am ; but you 
 won't own it because frankness isn't proper !' 
 
 ' I prefer silence to scurrilous observa- 
 tions. If Richard gets his own, he will 
 use his means and opportunities for a better 
 purpose than mere enjoyment, I trust.' 
 
 ' Oh, no doubt. But he will pick up a 
 
 10—2
 
 148 A Good 'Hater. 
 
 good deal of mere enjoyment in seeking his 
 better purpose.' 
 
 'If he allowed you to guide him, he 
 would indeed. I am not blind, Grace. I 
 see very well what is passing in your 
 mind.' 
 
 ' I shall be glad if you will tell me, then, 
 for I thought it was quite empty.' 
 
 ' This glimpse of London has unsettled 
 you. Your mind, such as it is, was always 
 fixed on luxury, and show, and self-display. 
 You envied every woman, however plain, 
 who had a carriage with a coat-of-arms and 
 a liveried footman. After passing yourself 
 off for a duchess incognita at the theatre, 
 you were ashamed when I told the com- 
 missionaire to fetch a cab before a dozen 
 impertinent boys dressed out, who waited 
 to see us. You would have given your 
 soul to hear him cry, " Miss Palliser's car- 
 riage!" and to go off in a coach and six. I 
 understood very well. It was no discovery
 
 In Hyde Park. 149 
 
 that you are mad to join the throng of 
 giddy, vulgar triflers !' 
 
 * Indeed I am not, aunt,' Grace began ; 
 but her tone was even more startled than 
 indiij;nant. 
 
 ' I have long been acquainted with your 
 character. Refined pursuits, such as appeal 
 to the artistic sentiment, have no attraction 
 for you. Your utmost wish would be to 
 lead the fashion, however stupid, so long as 
 it was dazzling and costly — to outshine 
 everybody in display, and to secure selfish 
 enjoyment. How far temptation might lead 
 you if it were offered I am distressed to 
 think. Your future gives me many sleep- 
 less nights.' 
 
 Grace had really been shocked to admit in 
 her own mind that something of this charge 
 might be true. But the sentimental con- 
 clusion, so ridiculously false, spoiled all the 
 effect. She laughed. 
 
 ' I'll try to be a better girl, auntie, if it's
 
 150 A Good Hater. 
 
 only to restore your night's rest — to give 
 my mind, such as it is, to artistic pur- 
 suits.' 
 
 ' You had better,' replied ]\Irs. Saxell 
 grimly. ' Richard has not means ; and if 
 he win the means, he has no inclination to 
 take a show wife.' 
 
 ' Oh, as for that, he and I will settle 
 those questions between us.' 
 
 Mrs. Saxell grunted, not approvingly, 
 and they went to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE PEELE HOUSE. 
 
 ^^''^''^^''^R. PEAKE is with mamma now,* 
 said Edie, as her brother en- 
 tered, after his stroll in the 
 Park. 
 
 ' What is he like ?' 
 
 ' An ugly man. I only caught a glimpse 
 of him.' 
 
 * Was the mams agitated, poor darling ?' 
 
 ' I could see she was, but he would not.' 
 
 They talked while Edie sat working. 
 
 ' We are good friends now, princess, aren't 
 we ?' 
 
 ' So long as you don't annoy me — quite.'
 
 152 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Mayn't I speak ?' 
 
 ' Not of lier, nor of any of the hateful 
 people. I loathe them — reptiles !' 
 
 The word seemed so humorously inaccu- 
 rate to describe Miss Palliser that Hugh 
 laughed out. His sister flashed a glance at 
 him. 
 
 ' I ought not to have laughed,' he said 
 penitently. ' I.et us talk of something else. 
 Give me your opinion of Dunscombe.' 
 
 * It has not chano-ed.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear that. Never allow 
 yourself to be persuaded, dear. I do be- 
 lieve that he loves you ; but — why, you 
 colour!' 
 
 ' Girls sometimes do, when brusquely told 
 that gentlemen are in love. But under no 
 circumstances could I get beyond a mode- 
 rate liking for Lord Dunscombe.' 
 
 ' Speaking without any reference to him 
 at all, I don't think you are capable of love, 
 Edie. Something like half the gilded youth
 
 The Feele House. 153 
 
 of England have passed before your eyes, 
 and not one have you looked at twice.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I don't care for gilded youth ; 
 perhaps, as you say, my character is de- 
 ficient. It doesn't matter much, either 
 ^vay.' 
 
 ' Oh, was that what you meant last night 
 by saying, " I never will " ? Do you think 
 there is no man worthy of 3'ou? Mind, 
 little sister, I don't think there are many.' 
 
 ' There are thousands and millions ! It 
 doesn't matter what I mean. No one has 
 shown the right to ask me at present — no 
 one, that is, who has claimed it.' 
 
 ' You may stand in another light, prin- 
 cess, if Saxell carries off your fortune.' 
 
 ' In that point of view, then, I shall not 
 reoret the loss.' 
 
 ' You want a hero, child — just as if you 
 were only sixteen ! There are not many 
 heroes about.' 
 
 ' Then I'll contentedly put up with my
 
 154 A Good Eater. 
 
 silly brother !' she laughed. ' But please 
 understand that I don't want anyone, hero 
 or boor. If 1 did, he would be something 
 quite different from Lord Dunscombe.' 
 
 ' We are both agreed on that point. If 
 I had not felt sure, I should not have men- 
 tioned his feeling.' 
 
 ' I am not complimented. Lord Duns- 
 combe is a pleasant acquaintance, and I 
 know no harm of him. But I sometimes 
 think that, if one went much below the 
 surface, one would find ugly depths. — This 
 conversation is very unedifying, Hugliie. 
 Let us change it.' 
 
 'No; I want to hear your views. No 
 girl is incajDable of love, and you least of 
 any. Describe your ideal !' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! I declare I have not the 
 shadow of one! What is the meaning of 
 this cross-examination ? Are you trying — 
 I do believe you are ' 
 
 'What?'
 
 The Peele House. 155 
 
 ' To get hints from me for your own 
 use.' 
 
 ' What an absurd idea ! But what 
 then?' 
 
 ' I don't know what then.' 
 
 ' There are limits to feminine ingenuity. 
 Now, describe your hero.' 
 
 ' One need not be modest with one's little 
 brother. I am worth a true man's winning, 
 not without trouble and self-distrust. A 
 true man is brave, and thoughtful, and 
 kind; light-hearted because he is fearless, 
 ready because his intellect is trained, and 
 kind because he is good. I have not 
 analyzed my ideal beyond these points.' 
 
 ' You have gone quite deep enough to 
 exclude most men. It's lucky that girls in 
 general are not so exacting.' 
 
 * I knew you were trying me !' 
 
 ' Perhaps I want to suggest a friend.' 
 
 ' Spare us all three ! If I could love 
 any man, I don't wish to find him.'
 
 156 A Good Hater 
 
 ' Have you made up your precious little 
 mind never to marry ? It is too absurd !' 
 
 ' Why ? One girl in every three does 
 not marry, as somebody calculates.' 
 
 ' Girls like you are outside of calculations. 
 But have you made up your mind ?' 
 
 ' There is no need ! If I have met my 
 hero, he did not show interest in me, and I 
 did not recognise him. So prepare yourself 
 to see me remain on hand, like a priceless 
 diamond in a shop, which no queen happens 
 to see, and no subject can afford to buy !' 
 
 ' And which the unbusiness-like jeweller 
 cherishes and admires so fondly that in his 
 heart he dreads a royal visit, lest the Queen 
 should be tempted. There's a pretty speech 
 for a brother ! And all true !' 
 
 ' You have gleams of reason, my darling 
 Hughie,' said Miss Acland, laughing and 
 blushing. ' The priceless diamond is very 
 happy in its nest, and only afraid that the 
 jeweller will desert it.'
 
 The Peek House. 157 
 
 ' By-the-bye, I saw Bob Holmes last 
 night. Poor Pringle is really going to seek 
 consolation for his disappointment in West 
 Africa.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry for Major Pringle. He 
 is a noble fellow. Surely West Africa is a 
 dreadful country to travel in !' 
 
 ' Bob wanted me to join them, and I 
 should have been awfully tempted had I 
 been free. The climate is healthy when 
 vou leave the coast.' 
 
 ' You would not have had the heart to 
 abandon us, Hughie !' 
 
 * I don't know ! Think of the excitement 
 and the novelty ! Here comes the mams ! 
 Well, dear ?' 
 
 ' The interview has been painful, but 
 conclusive, I hope. Don't ask any ques- 
 tions yet, dear Hugh.' 
 
 Her children comforted her with loving 
 words and kisses. 
 
 ' I think I shall not have to see him
 
 158 A Good Hater. 
 
 agcain,' said Mrs. Acland. ' AVill you ring 
 the bell, Hugh ? If Edie can go with me, 
 I should like a drive.' 
 
 ' I am not invited ?' liuo^h asked, lauo-h- 
 ing, but rather sore. 
 
 ' Not because I do not love you as well, 
 my son,' Mrs. Acland exclaimed with 
 emphasis. ' You are both equally dear to 
 me. But Edie will sit quiet and still, 
 giving me only a little pressure of the 
 hand and a look ; you would shuffle and 
 talk and kindly try to distract me — in short, 
 you would be a kind, good son, and you 
 would brinfic me home more tired than I 
 set out.' 
 
 ' Had ever man such a charming, false, 
 dear, Machiavelian mother ! There ! I 
 will leave you to feminine wiles and con- 
 solations. Good-bye, sweetest mams !' 
 
 He went to seek Dunscombe. After 
 employing a man's servant in dubious 
 ways, the merest courtesy exacts that an
 
 Tlie Peele House. 159 
 
 account be given. So Hugh said to him- 
 self, but in fact he was influenced as much 
 by the longing to talk things over with an 
 experienced friend. It was not heroic, but 
 none of my characters make that pretension. 
 They have no more of the delicacy or 
 chivalry we read about than other people. 
 Huo-h's feelino^ towards Grace was far below 
 the point of intensity which forbids a youth 
 to name the object of his pure love. The fun 
 and excitement of the chase still counted for 
 much, and he told his story with humour. 
 
 ' Upon my soul,' said Dunscombe, ' when 
 you move you go apace ! This is the 
 young fellow who rebukes simple-minded 
 men like me !' 
 
 ' The cases are utterly diflferent,' said 
 Hugh, with sudden gravity. ' But we are 
 not going to discuss yours. I have the 
 Countess's invitation for the ball. A thou- 
 sand thanks, Dunscombe. Has Mrs. Saxell 
 accepted, do you know ?'
 
 160 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Of course. We are all going up next 
 Friday to arrange for welcoming Ralph 
 with clue honour at Daneham. If you have 
 nothing better to do, come with us.' 
 
 Hugh consented gladly, and in due time 
 found himself in a railway carriage with 
 Lady Rainforth and ber daughter Madge ; 
 Carruthers, to whom that young lady was 
 engaged ; General the Hon. George Randall 
 and his wife ; Paul Randall, a cousin, and 
 Dunscombe. 
 
 Lord Rainforth prided himself on being a 
 Dalesman. After a stormy }-outli and a 
 penitent middle-age, he had settled, philo- 
 sophic and contented, in the old home, 
 among grey fells waist-deep in bracken, 
 sunny copses of oak and birch, dark pine 
 woods. Neither wife nor children dwelt 
 with him, now that Ralph had married. 
 Lady Rainforth argued that as she had 
 borne no part in the errors deplore'd, she 
 could not be justly called upon to share
 
 The Peele House. 161 
 
 the penance ; and her husband accepted 
 this reasoning. But all paid frequent visits 
 to Daneham, and the family met upon 
 kindly terms. Lord Eainforth preferred 
 his second son, observing too many of his 
 own foibles in the elder. When Dunscombe 
 was a very young ' sub ' in India, he had 
 been named extra A.D.C. to the Viceroy, 
 and his prospects were excellent. But he 
 fell into one of those blatant scandals which 
 cannot be overlooked, though charitable 
 persons scarcely blame a boy who is the 
 victim. In self-reproach and anger, Duns- 
 combe sent in his papers, and returned to 
 lead an utterly useless life at home. 
 
 Hugh had met all his companions saving 
 the General, but they appeared in a new 
 character to-day — the old ladies frank and 
 motherly; Lady Madge still tired with last 
 night's ball, but willing to be amused ; the 
 young men in high spirits. 
 
 Lady Hainforth observed to Hugh : ' You 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 A Good Hater. 
 
 are warned that you will meet foes on our 
 neutral ground ?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Saxell and Miss Palliser Lave 
 nothing to do Avith the question.' 
 
 ' Has Grace turned out as pretty as she 
 promised?' asked ]\Irs. Randall. Duns- 
 combe's lips mutely framed ' The loveliest 
 girl in the world !' but the General replied : 
 
 ' If she promised she has kept her word 
 better than most young ladies do. But you 
 are wrong, Mr. Acland, in thinking that 
 she has no interest in Captain Saxell's 
 claim. It is an act of charity to warn all 
 you young civilians that Miss Palliser has 
 chosen the long sword, saddle, bridle, and 
 all the other accoutrements of the honest 
 soldier !' 
 
 ' Dear me !' exclaimed his wife, ' all the 
 accoutrements — already ?' 
 
 • I allude to the ornamental ones, my 
 dear, sung by poets.' 
 
 ' But the poet has sung of certain other
 
 The Peele House. 163 
 
 imminent and deadly togs, in express allu- 
 sion to the soldier,' murmured Carruthers. 
 
 ' His advice to your sort, sir, was to pen 
 your mistress's eyebrow. Go do it, and 
 don't blaspheme.' 
 
 * Oh, let me pen your eyebrow, Madge ! 
 It is my duty ! Countess, use your 
 authority !' 
 
 ' You have set this silly young man's 
 brain whirling, General. He will talk of 
 penning my eyebrows for a week.' 
 
 Whilst all were laughing and chatting 
 gaily, Hugh sat aghast. Dunscombe ob- 
 served him, and said : 
 
 ' You don't tell us who the lucky soldier 
 is, General?' 
 
 ' Captain Saxell, of course — Major Saxell, 
 Y.C., I should say — the hero of Abdallah 
 Karez and the pride of our county. Here's 
 last night's *' Gazette !" Promotion and 
 the Cross in one number. That's glory — 
 and luck !' 
 
 11—2
 
 164 A Good Eater. 
 
 ' I remember him as a boy,' said Lady 
 Rainforth, ' He was full of spirit and fun/ 
 
 ' We saw him in India,' observed Mrs. 
 Randall, ' It was at a dak bungalow some- 
 w^here.* 
 
 ' At Mhow, my dear, when we were going 
 to Gwalior. He had tiffin with us.' 
 
 ' I remember him very well. A hand- 
 some figure of a soldier, full of spirits — 
 though he had trouble enough you told me. 
 General.' 
 
 ' Poverty was his only comj^laint, my 
 dear. Although he is opposed to our young 
 friend in a matter of business, I must say I 
 love Dick Saxell.' 
 
 ' If the brave deserve the fair,' said Lady 
 Rainforth, ' he and Grace Palliser are well 
 matched.' 
 
 ' If !' exclaimed Carruthers — ' do vou 
 throw doubt on the poet's authority ? 
 Madge will never let me pen her eyebrows 
 now, and life becomes a weary blank.'
 
 The Peele House. 165 
 
 With such composure as he could sum- 
 mon, Hugh observed : 
 
 ' They told us Major Saxell had been 
 eight or ten years in Lidia.' 
 
 ' Somethmg like it. He went out with 
 St. Paul, who has commanded the battery 
 since — let me see — 1873, I think.' 
 
 ' And he has not been home ?' Lady 
 Madge exclaimed. ' Grace is only eighteen 
 now. He must have won her heart by 
 letter.' 
 
 ' Proposed through the post, as Pyramus 
 did to Thisbe,' cried Carruthers. 
 
 ' I should scarcely call it an engagement 
 under the circumstances,' Dunscombe said. 
 * Suggestion is the strongest word appro- 
 priate. There's a chance for gay civilians 
 yet, General!' 
 
 ' Not against this !' cried the old warrior, 
 waving his ' Gazette ' triumphantly. ' This 
 will defeat your heartless schemes to rob 
 the war-worn soldier of his bride! AYhat
 
 166 A Good Eater. 
 
 are your airs and graces beside her Majesty's 
 l^ublic acknowledgment of a man's valour, 
 judgment, and — good fortune ? Crawl into 
 holes and hide yourselves, you young land- 
 loupers and counter-jumpers, when the 
 successful soldier clanks by !' 
 
 ' My dear General, you carry an old joke 
 too far.' 
 
 ' No ! We are all Randalls here except 
 Carruthers, who has taken advantage of the 
 family degeneracy. Where is the soldier 
 amongst them? Don't interrupt ! an old 
 man of the last generation, who has not 
 been lucky, though he — I won't be inter- 
 rupted, I\Iartha! There's Dunscombe, our 
 future chief! He began life like a Randall, 
 but — what do you sa}'? Oh, I beg ten 
 thousand pardons, Mr. Acland! We were 
 talking so freely and pleasantly that I forgot 
 you were not one of the family.' 
 
 ' I am flattered, General ! Pray don't 
 bring me down to my level by an apology!'
 
 The Peele House. 167 
 
 ' Level be hano-ed, sir ! If it comes to 
 that, what I said about a Randall applies to 
 an Acland. Why is an Acland a civilian ? 
 — I mean the head of the house. I knew 
 your grandfather and your great-uncle — 
 they were soldiers. I often met your father. 
 If he had lived and prospered you would 
 have been one of us, no doubt ; but loafing 
 Eandalls and others of the sort have cor- 
 rupted you.' 
 
 ' Dear General, we don't mind you at all; 
 but may I point out that my mother is 
 trying to go to sleej), and that Madge is 
 softly dreaming?' 
 
 ' This would be a favourable opportunity 
 to pen her eyebrow, don't you think ?' 
 
 ' Oh, go to sleep, cuckoo !' 
 
 Silence for an hour ; then intervals of 
 wakefulness, for casual refreshment, and 
 more light talk. Hugh did his best to take 
 part in it, but he was miserable. The an- 
 nouncement that Grace was enijfaafed, and
 
 1G8 A Good Hater 
 
 lost to him, suddenly stirred his amused 
 admiration into hot love. Unreasonable, 
 but very natural. 
 
 In the afternoon they reached Preston, 
 where the Earl was waitino^ — a biic, clear- 
 eyed, white-whiskered chieftain. He shook 
 hands with the General, nodded all round, 
 kissed his daughter, and carried off her 
 ladyship for a drive tete-a-tete. 
 
 I have hinted that Lord Rainforth was 
 an eccentric philosopher. ' You will not be 
 introduced till this evening-^' Dunscombe 
 whispered to his friend. ' There are some 
 family regulations I must explain.' 
 
 Daneham Castle lies about ten miles 
 from Preston, a house as pleasant as may 
 be found in the pleasant North- country. 
 No trace of Gothic does it show, saving the 
 Peele House at the back, a memorial of 
 times when Randall was no better than 
 Elliot or Forster or Armstrong. Not once 
 nor twice had the head of the ftmiily been
 
 The Peek House. 169 
 
 suspended over that massive portal, before a 
 canny Randall came to power avIio profited 
 by the warning, and sought less dangerous 
 means of prosecuting ends identical. That 
 he and his successors did not search in vain 
 is proved by the stately pile Avliich masks 
 their antique donjon. The Italian architect 
 who designed it, in the middle of the last 
 century, wept and raged when forbidden to 
 demolish the Peele House. He declared it 
 a ' naughtiness,' a shameless crime. But 
 the Rainforth of the day was firm. Re- 
 monstrations could not move his barbaric 
 soul, and sarcasm he met with oaths. So 
 the Peele House w^as not touched. It could 
 not be made to harmonize with the repro- 
 duction of some Grand Ducal palace in 
 Tuscany, and the architect did his best to 
 hide it behind the central block of his pala- 
 tial castle. 
 
 Whilst Lord Rainforth and the others 
 alighted" at the Italian portico, Dunscombe
 
 170 A Good Hater. 
 
 and Hugh drove on, past the facade and 
 the west Aving, and drew up at the squat old 
 gateway of the Tower. 
 
 ' You must know,' said Dunscombe, 
 alighting, ' that the heir-apparent has occu- 
 pied this original seat of our family since 
 the castle was built. As soon as a Duns- 
 combe comes of age, he takes up these quar- 
 ters, and there he entertains whom he pleases, 
 subject to rules which I must explain.' 
 
 The grim and hoary arch had been made 
 as cheerful as circumstances allowed with 
 Indian matting, bright tiles, flowers and 
 hangings; but it was very old-world still. 
 A narrow slit on either side gave admittance 
 to a vault -like corridor, with nooks in the 
 thickness of the wall, to shelter a few des- 
 perate defenders when the gates were forced. 
 The chambers to which it led, and the dun- 
 geons at the back, were used by servants, and 
 for storage. A straight, steep staircase as- 
 cended from the guard-room to the great
 
 The Peele House. 171 
 
 hall, where it ended abruptly behind a 
 screen of modern raising. Following Duns- 
 combe through the doorway of carved oak, 
 Hugh stood in admiration. The hall was 
 of no great size, though it occupied all the 
 area of the building. At this floor the 
 ancient staircase had been cut away, and its 
 ' well ' marked by the screen referred to. 
 In the space gained by destruction of the 
 massive wall and steps, two large Tudor 
 windows, commanding a delightful scene, 
 lighted the whole apartment, which had 
 been dark at summer noon when dependent 
 on the narrow meurtrieres. They now were 
 filled with glass, of colours pale and sub- 
 dued, but deep enough to shut out the 
 Itahan palace. By either side of each stood 
 a suit of armour, not dusty and loose- 
 jointed, but gleaming as on a day of battle, 
 and set in attitudes easy and significant. 
 And everything about the room was, or 
 seemed to be, in harmony with those antique
 
 172 A Good Rater. 
 
 trophies ; even the loungLng-chairs, of wliich 
 the springs and cushions had been cunningly 
 fitted upon antique frames. The tables 
 shining like black mirrors, the cabinets, the 
 pictures, the flower-pots, even the ash-trays 
 and cigar-stands, were genuine bits of moyen- 
 age, fitted sometimes to another use. The 
 only things modern, but these not incon- 
 gruous, were the stairs of beaten brass 
 which wound spirally upward, and the 
 carpets of Turkestan ; which latter, being 
 Oriental, differed but in age from those 
 that a Randall Crusader mij^ht have brou<2rht 
 from the Holy Land. 
 
 ' It is the most perfect thing I ever saw 1' 
 Huo'h exclaimed. ' All so ele2:ant and 
 bright, though grave ! You must have 
 passed years in Ward our Street!' 
 
 ' Oh, so many Dunscombes had given 
 their minds to furnishing the Peele House 
 there was little for me to do ! Come and 
 see your room !'
 
 The Peele House. 173 
 
 They mounted the brazen steps to a floor 
 above, divided into six rooms, small, but as 
 prettily modern as Gothic windows and 
 three-foot walls will allow. Above this 
 were servants' rooms. 
 
 ' There's time for a cigarette and a brandy 
 and soda without killing 3"our appetite,' 
 said Dunscombe, as they returned to the 
 hall. ' I must make you acquainted with 
 the rather curious usages of our family. 
 You understand that this tower belonor's to 
 the Dunscombe of the moment. His guests 
 are his own ; he may or may not introduce 
 them over the way, and the Lord Rainforth 
 of the moment may or may not recognise 
 them. Although the governor and I have 
 never had an unfriendly word, he is a 
 stickler for precedent, and he keeps up all 
 the formalities. I shall presently take you 
 across and introduce you, and he will ask 
 you to dinner. I shall mention that you 
 are staying some days, and he will solemnly
 
 174 A Good Hater. 
 
 express a hope that whenever I honour his 
 table you will accompany me. The first 
 time you see him, every day, 3'ou will 
 remind him of this standino^ invitation ; and 
 he will graciously assure you of welcome. 
 Vary the form as ingeniously as you can ; 
 the dear old fellow likes niceties of that 
 sort.' 
 
 ' How very droll and curious !' 
 ' For exceptional entertainments you will 
 receive a special invitation ; to the ball you 
 are already asked. Then, you must tell 
 your servant not to enter the front door; 
 even if you forget while in the castle, and 
 send for him, he must not do it. He may 
 go to the servants' hall, and anywhere at 
 the back, as much as he pleases. Under no 
 circumstances must you ask a person staying 
 at the castle into this tower. If you want 
 to do so, you must apply to me and I will 
 invite him, after asking my father's per- 
 mission.
 
 The Peele House. 175 
 
 ' These rules seem odd, but they were all 
 devised at one time or another by the prac- 
 tical experience of our ancestors, and a story 
 hangs to each of them. That forbidding 
 Dunscombe to invite Rainforth's guests 
 without his knowledge and consent dates 
 from a tragic legend which I will tell you 
 one day. N"ow I think you are posted, and 
 it is time to dress.' 
 
 ' The General has taken away my appe- 
 tite,' said Hugh dismally. 
 
 ' Oh, the rivalry of a man in India, not 
 seen for eight years, is not very alarming !' 
 
 They went to the house together, entering 
 by a side-door. 
 
 ' This walk,' said Dunscombe, * is the 
 objection to a very pleasant arrangement. 
 For generations we have talked of covering 
 it in, but when Dunscombe becomes Rain- 
 forth he always fears the innovation.' 
 
 Even intimate acquaintance with great 
 nobles in London scarcely prepares a man
 
 176 A Good Hater 
 
 to behold them Avitli indilt'erence arrayed in 
 all their glory at home. ] Jarring an un- 
 conscious disregard of money, and a matter- 
 of-fact luxury in details, it had not struck 
 Hugh that Dunscombe was remarkable 
 amongst young men of gentlemanly poj«i- 
 tion. Xow it suddenly came home to him 
 what a grand personage is an English lord 
 of ancient birth and fortune. ISTot the 
 superb house nor the train of servants 
 impressed him much — a lucky financier has 
 these things as splendid. It was the care- 
 less sense of continuity with ancestors in 
 mail and wig, the allusion to historic names 
 and deeds quorum pars magna fait every 
 Randall and every Dunscombe, in the person 
 of his forefathers. Hugh was a gentleman 
 by birth, of ancient lineage. His name and 
 his forefathers were not unknown ; but the\' 
 had served in the ranks, as it were, whither 
 this kingly race had led. 
 
 ' We have the portrait of an Acland in
 
 The Peele House. 177 
 
 our gallery/ said Dunscombe. ' She married 
 — I forget; the governor knows, perhaps. 
 Ah, if your sister could be influenced by 
 the precedent, how diligently would I get 
 it up !' 
 
 When they reached the drawing-room the 
 ceremonies indicated were duly performed. 
 It was a small dinner. The elder ladies did 
 not appear, few of the house-guests had 
 arrived, and for such a late entertainment 
 no one of the neighbourhood had been in- 
 vited. Hugh sat next to General Randall, 
 who said : 
 
 ' Dunscombe has asked me to smoke my 
 cheroot in his quarters to-night. I am 
 pleased to make acquaintance with the third 
 generation of your family. Is the shoot- 
 ing at Worstan kept up as it used to 
 be?' 
 
 ' Come and report, sir. You knew my 
 father, then ?' 
 
 * Slightly. Youi* great-uncle commanded 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 A Good TTater. 
 
 the 100th when I joined. He was on good 
 terms with his brother then, your grand- 
 father. Hugh's death was ver^^ sad. How 
 is Mrs. Acland ?' 
 
 ' Do you know ner, too ?' 
 
 ' Didn't the wedding take place in my 
 drawling-room? She has never mentioned 
 that? Ay, sad to think of now ! Sad 
 story altogether !* 
 
 Hugh did not show the astonishment 
 he felt. ' My mother,' he said, ' does not 
 allude to those times willingly. I have 
 heard very little about them. Will you 
 tell me all you can think of?' 
 
 ' It's very little, but you're welcome to 
 what I remember.' 
 
 AVhen dinner ended. Dunscombe cere- 
 moniously asked permission of his father to 
 entertain the General. It was granted ; and 
 whilst the other gentlemen adjourned to 
 billiards, these three withdrew to the Peele 
 House. i
 
 The Peek House. 179 
 
 ' No alterations, eh ? No new old pots 
 or kettles? You spend your pocket-money 
 less innocently.' 
 
 ' Improvement is not possible, surely !* 
 said Hugh. 
 
 ' Humph ! Upon these matters the 
 opinion of the elder and the younger gene- 
 ration seldom coincide. Put in another 
 form, Rainforth seldom approves of Duns- 
 combe's 251'oceedings. And that brings us 
 to the subject of your family, Mr. Acland. 
 I've been trying to recall my memories of 
 your father,' the General continued, thought- 
 fully inspecting his cheroots. 'He was a 
 baby when I first saw him at Worstan, and 
 little more when I went to India. What a 
 fuss everybody made over the heir! And 
 they tell me that not a soul troubled him- 
 self to ascertain whether he was living or 
 dead twenty-five years later ! There's a 
 moral in that.' 
 
 ' I observed, in my short military career,' 
 
 12—2
 
 180 A Good Eater. 
 
 said Dunscombe, ' that field-officers are 
 always immensely interested in morals — 
 Lord, what a slip ! I hit the blot myself, 
 General ! In mercy spare us a play on 
 words !' 
 
 The General answered only with a look. 
 
 ' I recollect meeting your father in 1855, 
 when I took leave from India. He was at 
 Oxford then — a fine, dashing young fellow. 
 It was Acland's great misfortune that he 
 did not enter the service. That would 
 have smoothed him over. Your family are 
 knotty, very — that is, they were.' 
 
 ' YoLi said that my father was married 
 in your house. How did that happen ?' 
 
 ' Ah, it was a chain of circumstances, of 
 which I can tell you only a little bit. I 
 got home again in August of the ]\Iutiny 
 year, fell in love on the voyage, and, as 
 soon as I recovered, chose hunting-quarters 
 within reach of the lady. Xo need to look 
 at me, Dunscombe ! You are very well
 
 The Peele House. 181 
 
 acquainted with her, for she is my wife. 
 I took a box by Laystone, of a man named 
 Beaver. One day the parson called with a 
 note from him, saying that he had promised 
 to allow Hugh Acland to be married in his 
 drawing-room ; but it Avas found incon- 
 venient, and would I lend them a corner 
 somewhere ? You will guess that I had a 
 kind of unreasoning sympathy for young 
 folks in that position, but I refused to hear 
 of it without the authority of Acland's 
 parents. The parson urged me, and then 
 your father came. He showed a letter of 
 my friend Pete's (that was your great- 
 uncle), which, so far as I remember, told 
 him pretty well to go to the devil his own 
 way, and enclosed a cheque for a wed ding - 
 present. I have hinted that Pete and his 
 brother, your grandfather, were on bad terms 
 then. I wrote to both of them, and neither 
 answered. So, to cut the matter short, 
 your father and mother were married one
 
 182 A Good Hater. 
 
 day in the parlour of my cottage. Beaver 
 and I and an old woman were the witnesses, 
 and we all wore pink and tops — that is, the 
 men did. After the ceremony we rode to 
 the meet, had a fine run, and got home for 
 a wedding dinner. It was all your father's 
 idea, and a good one. You might have 
 thought it was no marriage at all, but just 
 a gathering of old friends for a domestic 
 tableau vivant, so to speak. The oddest 
 and the prettiest wedding I ever saw, but 
 Martha wouldn't consent to follow the 
 example. AYhat a charming woman Mrs. 
 Acland was — is still, I'll be bound, for 
 hers is a type that lasts ! Your father was 
 a handsome man too. I didn't see them 
 afterwards, I think. So that's all I can tell 
 you.' 
 
 *l'm very much obliged to you, General. 
 The clergyman's name was Hardwicke, I 
 suppose ?' 
 
 'Hardwicke it was, of course. A lively
 
 The Peek House. 183 
 
 fellow for a parson — full of spirits, I mean. 
 Pie made us all laugh with his speech after 
 dinner.' 
 
 ' Did you see much of your landlord, 
 Beaver ?' 
 
 * ISTot much. I dined once at Beaverlowe 
 with the most extraordinary crowd of 
 lunatics you could find in an asylum. 
 There were all sorts and all conditions of 
 men, but all mad. Beaver himself was too 
 clever by half — one of those fellows you 
 don't know where to have. It always 
 seems an odd thin<x to me how well I 
 recollect that man, though I saw so little of 
 him.' 
 
 ' So fast or so dull ?' asked Dunscombe. 
 
 ' That wasn't it either way. What I 
 seem to remember is his queerness ; but he 
 rode like a devil. Perhaps it was his 
 wealth and old blood that struck me, when 
 such an odd chap carried them, you know. 
 But I really couldn't say much about
 
 184 A Good Hater. 
 
 Beaver. He was above my understanding, 
 and I didn't see more of him than could be 
 helped, after making up my mind to that. 
 Is he alive ?' 
 
 ' T believe so. AVe hope he will be able 
 to give valuable evidence in the case.' 
 
 * I trust you will find him a willing 
 witness then, for I fancy Beaver would 
 be awkward to drive. Now, you young 
 fellows are going to make a night of it, I 
 suppose ? Very proper at your time of life, 
 but at mine we prefer the daylight while we 
 can enjoy it.' 
 
 When they were alone, Dunscombe asked 
 how the suit was progressing, and Hugh 
 frankly told what he knew. In the narra- 
 tive it became disagreeably apparent to 
 himself what large gaps his ignorance was 
 compelled to leave, and the other's questions 
 irritated him. Again, Int by bit, Hugh's 
 grievances came out — how the inquiry 
 seemed to be carried on above his head,
 
 The Peele House. 185 
 
 how there were secrets, how parts of Raikes's 
 diary had been suppressed by Vane with 
 Mrs. Acland's concurrence. When all had 
 been told, Dunscombe himself rebuked the 
 imprudence. 
 
 ' You really must learn,' he said, with 
 kindly gravity, ' to control that frank 
 tongue of yours, Hugh ! With me there's 
 no harm done, of course, for I'm almost as 
 much interested as if the case was my own. 
 But the other side might be very pressing 
 to know what was in those j)apers sup- 
 pressed.' 
 
 ' Why, Yane suppressed them with 
 Saxell's knowledge !' Hugh exclaimed ; 
 but he already felt his silliness. 
 
 ' Saxell, I understand, is a chivalrous 
 sort of enemy, but he's not the only one. 
 I've been talking to people who know his 
 mother, and what they tell of her leads 
 me to think that she won't stand on chivalry 
 when her time comes. Take my advice !
 
 186 A Good Hater. 
 
 I've learned some prudence in hard school- 
 ing, Hugh. If I'd not been as honest us 
 you are nou', I shouldn't be fretting my life 
 away, ruiribd by a woman. That knocks 
 the innocence out of a man, with a 
 vengeance ! Don't say one word about 
 your business to anybody here — not even 
 to the General. He's a fine old soldier, but 
 old soldiers wlio have nothing to do are 
 the worst mischief-makers on earth. Xow 
 let's chamxe the conversation !'
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 AN ESCAPADE. 
 
 .0 fashionable jDersons summoned 
 from town in the waning height 
 of the season, beauties of nature 
 appeal in vain. Among the victims brought 
 down by Lady Rainforth in her suite, a 
 general sense of ill-usage rose so early as 
 next day. No preparations had been made 
 for their amusement beside, as Dunscombe 
 put it, a rapturous imagining of Ralph's 
 return, beatified and married. Lord Rain- 
 forth thought he had done all the duty of a 
 host when he had conscientiously inspected 
 the stable, the larder, and the cellar of a
 
 188 A Good Hater 
 
 After that, lie vanished till 
 dinner-time, and Dunscombe made no 
 effort to replace his father. As the breadth 
 and grandeur of the festivity designed 
 became more evident, his discontent swelled 
 visibly. 
 
 Upon the third day, at breakfast, Car- 
 nithers raised his voice. 
 
 ' Dear Lady Rainforth,' he began, ' as a 
 disinterested party, I am commissioned to 
 beg that you will find some pleasing mis- 
 chief for these young men to do. Their 
 hands are idle, and they have been brought 
 up in the fear of the Evil One. Couldn't you 
 ask some of the ladies invited to the ball to 
 come a few days earlier ?' 
 
 * I should think ]\Irs. Saxell and Grace 
 might be tempted, mamma !' said Madge. 
 
 *We will carry the invitations!' Grisain 
 exclaimed. ' The General w^ill sketch out a 
 plan, and we irresponsible bachelors will 
 execute his strategy. Carruthers — oh, Car-
 
 All Escapade. 189' 
 
 ruthers will head the assault with his 
 smile. Ladies yield at discretion to his 
 smile.' 
 
 ' Prudent boys tremble at his frown I 
 Remember, dear Lady Rainforth, that you 
 will at least be rid of these offensive youths 
 until dinner-time.' 
 
 * It is worth while to try, dear. Write 
 
 notes to ' Mrs. This and Miss That, 
 
 with whom our story has no concern. 
 
 The young men rode away in high spirits^ 
 The cottage at Scarsholme was their first 
 point of attack ; Hugh made an excuse, 
 and waited at the inn. When they returned^ 
 \^dth Mrs. Saxell's assent, they had a 
 theme for rhapsody which lasted the after- 
 noon. 
 
 ' If manhood suiFrage was not an empty 
 farce,' said Grisain, ' Miss Palliser would be 
 elected member for the county.' 
 
 ' She is Avorth}^ of a House to herself, I 
 should think ! How gladly would I give
 
 190 A Good Hater. 
 
 lier mine, with all the wdrldly goods that a 
 pernicious monetary S3'stem has left me !' 
 cried Phil Randall. 
 
 ' We would make \ierjeu7ie Premiere of an 
 adoring party,' continued Grisain. 
 
 ' I dare say she would prefer the Home 
 Office,' said Dunscombe. 
 
 And all agreed that Miss Palliser was 
 the loveliest girl in the world. Duns- 
 combe smiled at Hugh as he added, 
 ' Excepting one !' 
 
 'Excepting one!' hastily interposed Car- 
 rathers. 
 
 ' Excepting one !' Grisain murmured, in 
 romantic reverie. 
 
 ' Oh, I except one too, for the sake of 
 harmony!' grumbled Philip. 
 
 ' And I don't except any at all beneath 
 the angels !' cried Hugh. 
 
 All looked at him, and laughed. 
 
 'Why, you ' began Carruthers, and 
 
 paused.
 
 All Escapade. 191 
 
 * Didn't ' softly continued Phil. 
 
 ' See her !' ended Grisain meditatively. 
 
 ' I trust your unanimous judgment V 
 Hugh said. 
 
 They absently exclaimed ' Oh! that's it!' 
 one after another, and dropped the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 Hugh's heart beat violently as he entered 
 the drawing-room next day. Instinct 
 guided his eye amongst the ladies present, 
 and the first person he saw was Grace, 
 seated by her aunt. After paying Lord 
 Kainforth the compliments rigorously ex- 
 pected every evening, he was quite over- 
 come by nervousness ; but Dunscombe took 
 his arm, pinching it severely, and led him 
 up to the encounter. Mrs. Saxell, fore- 
 warned, recognised her visitor with a strong- 
 look of displeasure. 
 
 Madge, General Eandall, and Carruthers, 
 whom Dunscombe had made accomplices, 
 executed a stratesjic movement which
 
 192 A Good Hater. 
 
 covered the operation, and his lordship 
 assumed a diplomatic tone. 
 
 ' I am taking a liberty, Mrs. Saxell, 
 which your generous nature will under- 
 stand, if it cannot approve. Loyal and 
 chivalrous enemies are the best friends off 
 the battle-field. I wish to make known to 
 each other two persons whom all of their 
 acquaintance esteem. Let me present to 
 you Mr. Hugh Acland.' 
 
 A dozen emotions had passed visibly 
 across the old lady's face, but Dunscombe's 
 speech, carefully framed and rehearsed, 
 resolved them all to grim acquiescence. 
 How could she remain hostile when credited 
 with loyal and chivalrous sentiments ? — 
 how explain that she had turned out of 
 doors a friend of Lord Dunscombe ? Mrs. 
 Saxell smiled acidly and bowed. 
 
 Then Grace had not told her of the 
 meeting in Hyde Park ! Immensely relieved, 
 Hugh made his S2")eech in turn.
 
 An Escapade. 193 
 
 ' I beg you, Mrs. Saxell, to obliterate a 
 recollection of which I am deeply ashamed. 
 With all my heart I congratulate the 
 mother of a noble foe upon the honours he 
 has won.' 
 
 ' Your remarks are very gracefully turned, 
 sir,' said Mrs. Saxell, relenting ; they 
 should be, Dunscombe thought, when he 
 took an hour polishing them. ' I willingly 
 forget the occurrence ; and I am obliged to 
 your lordship for giving me an opportunity 
 to thank Mr. Acland for the kind mes- 
 sage his mother sent us through Mr. 
 Vane.' 
 
 Dinner was announced ; Dunscombe 
 oflfered his arm. 
 
 ' Will you take Miss Palliser, Hugh ?' he 
 said. 
 
 During this time Grace had held herself 
 ostentatiously outside the conversation, 
 showing the whitest, pearliest of shoulders, 
 but the coldest too. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 A Good Rater 
 
 ' I lia^'e not — er — hum !' murmured 
 Hugh. 
 
 ' Will you carry your kindness — er — 
 hum ?' murmured Dunscombe to Mrs. 
 Saxell. 
 
 ' Grace, my love, Mr. Hugh Acland offers 
 you his arm.' 
 
 She looked up with such freezing power 
 in her eyes that Hugh shivered. The 
 others turned — all the room was mo\^ntr. 
 Those only remained still ; Hugh speech- 
 less. 
 
 ' I will take your arm/ said Grace, 
 rising, ' but not in sign of forgiveness.' 
 
 ' You can never say anything so hard as 
 I have said to myself.' 
 
 ' You have said nothing to yourself so 
 hard as you deserve. I did not know then 
 what a horrid insult you put upon me. I 
 have asked since.' 
 
 ' My conduct was foolish and indelicate, 
 but surely if it had been wilfully insulting 
 
 i
 
 A71 Escapade. 195 
 
 you would have felt it so before others told 
 you.' 
 
 This argument seemed to strike Miss 
 Palliser. She sat down without reply. 
 
 ' I was so pleased to hear of Captain 
 Saxell's promotion and his cross.' 
 
 Grace said nothing, but ate her soup 
 with a frank enjoyment unusual but delicious 
 to observe. *I wish I was that spoon !' 
 thouo;ht Huo^h. 
 
 He tried again. 
 
 ' Your stay in London was very 
 short.' 
 
 ' It gave me some experience.' 
 
 ' Which longer acquaintance would 
 possibly not confirm. Grievous mistakes 
 are made upon insufficient knowledge.' 
 
 ' A slight knowledge contents me, and 
 it matters very little whether I make mis- 
 takes or not.' 
 
 ' Be merciful !' Hugh whispered. ' I 
 implore you to believe in my penitence.' 
 
 13—2
 
 196 A Good Hater. 
 
 She threw a keen look into his eyes, and 
 softly laughed. 
 
 ' I quite believe you don't like snubbing. 
 There ! I forgive, because it is not worth 
 while to resent.' 
 
 After that they chatted very smoothly 
 and gaily. Grace did not conceal her 
 interest in the dinner, which she criticized 
 with dainty science. Hugh's ignorance 
 diverted her. 
 
 * Don't you love nice things ?' she said. 
 ' I adore them all — dress and flowers and 
 jewellery — in short, all that money will 
 buy. I was born wicked, and no one has 
 succeeded in converting me.' 
 
 ' Any change would be for the worse !' 
 exclaimed Hugh enthusiastically. 
 
 ' You mean by that foolish speech that 
 my personal appearance meets with your 
 approval. I was referring to my character, 
 of which 3"ou know less than nothing.' 
 
 ' Less than nothing !'
 
 An Escapade. 197 
 
 ' Yes, for what you think you know is 
 all wrong.' 
 
 ' Will you enlighten my ignorance ?' 
 
 ' I am eg'otistical enouo;h to do so — that's 
 one point. I am extravagant, frivolous, 
 really incapable of thought — unless like a 
 savage, for some object visible and strongly 
 desired. Then I am as inquisitive as a 
 monkey; selfish — but I can't remember all 
 the list at once.' 
 
 ' And the good points ?' 
 
 ' They are all qualified by a negative 
 condition. I am good-tempered, so long as 
 nothing puts me out. 1 am kind-hearted, 
 when not asked to take trouble or to 
 sacrifice my own pleasure. I am liberal 
 and forgiving, because I can't look far 
 ahead nor far behind. And courageous, 
 because I am a Dales woman.' 
 
 ' I have listened attentively, but I do not 
 see the weight of your self-accusation. 
 All the bad qualities you claim are shared
 
 198 A Good Hater. 
 
 by nine hundred and ninety -nine girls in a 
 thousand ; and statistics tell us that the 
 remaininsT one is an idiot.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you ! It is such a relief to 
 find that one is thoroughly commonplace 
 and ordinary !' 
 
 ' I said that your evil qualities were 
 shared by all other women. Your virtues 
 are your own.' 
 
 ' But when I tell you I have none !' 
 
 ' It proves that you have frankness and 
 modesty — which are two to begin with. 
 You must know a few girls. Are many 
 angelic !' 
 
 ' No ; most of them are silly and 
 cowardly.' 
 
 ' Then you have two more virtues above 
 the girls of your acquaintance. Two pairs and 
 a flush is considered a good hand at poker.' 
 
 ' You mean that I should do fairly as a 
 housemaid ? AVe dilute truth in these 
 parts.'
 
 All Escapade. 199 
 
 'No, indeed ! I hazarded a little jest 
 drawn from the fashionable game of cards. 
 It meant that a player blest with your hand 
 would face any fortune.' 
 
 ' You have an unfair advantage,' an- 
 swered Grace, laughing and blushing. ' I 
 don't know the game. It is one that seems 
 to lend itself to equivoque.' 
 
 ' Therefore is it called " poker " — an in- 
 strument proper to the cheery fireside, but 
 the readiest of weapons in a fray.' 
 
 ' Please express your wit in the terms of 
 cribbage ; there I can follow you.' 
 
 ' Then I decline. There is a hostile 
 science in your tone, and I feel " one for 
 my nob " already threatening. Let us 
 resume the former subject, which had a 
 balmy fascination for both. You are not 
 more wicked than is becominsf. Miss 
 Palliser.' 
 
 * Your impertinent rattle amuses me. 
 Frankly, Mr. Acland, I didn't think you
 
 200 A Good Hater. 
 
 so ready. We didn't observe the quality 
 at Scarsliolme.' 
 
 * Not many actors conld double the part 
 of Coriolanus with Romeo.' 
 
 ' I don't understand ! But please spare 
 me the explanation. I'll look it up. Lord 
 Rainforth has Dr. Johnson's works, I sup- 
 pose.' 
 
 ' Coriolanus is not Johnson's. It was 
 composed by AY. Shakespeare Thackeray, 
 music by Sir John Smarto.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you ! But even in the Park 
 you were not really droll — not intentionally, 
 I mean.' 
 
 ' A man is not intentionally droll when 
 he is frightened to death. But I fondly 
 thought I had some pleasing conceits.' 
 
 ' I observed the conceit. It was not 
 pleasing in my opinion. Tell me now, Air. 
 Acland, how did you find out where we 
 were staying ? Did Mr. Vane tell you ?' 
 
 ' Does the homing pigeon consult a
 
 A?! Escapade, 201 
 
 weather-cock ? Instinct guides him in a 
 manner he cannot explain — at least, I 
 never heard a pigeon give a lucid and 
 categorical analysis of his method.' 
 
 ' I am quite serious in asking this. 
 When I forgave you, it slipped my memory. 
 But I expect an answer.' 
 
 ' Upon your own head be it, then ! Is 
 your modesty so unsuspicious that you 
 think people would not notice you passing, 
 nor speak of you afterwards ? I am afraid, 
 Miss Palliser, you will find it difficult to 
 preserve incognito in London. It may be 
 done in these parts, but not in an appre- 
 ciative centre of civilization.' 
 
 ' Oh 1 Then the policeman at the corner, 
 or a friend at the Club, or somebody told 
 you !' 
 
 ' I may answer, " Yes." ' 
 
 ' You may answer anything. We will 
 change the conversation. Are you Lord 
 Rainforth's guest or Lord Dunscombe's ?'
 
 202 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Dunscombe's, and we live disconsolate 
 at the Peele House.' 
 
 ' So I thought. Now, you wish to merit 
 forgiveness, as I understand ?' 
 
 ' I merit it already, by all Protestant 
 doctrines.' 
 
 ' By faith ? It is always an error, I 
 believe, to try to rule mankind, and more 
 especially womankind, by theological dogma. 
 I insist upon works in profane matters. 
 Persuade Lord Dunscombe to give a tea- 
 party at the Peele House. He does some- 
 times — that is, he has done so.' 
 
 ' It is a small request, and one that does 
 not depend on me. Impose something 
 greater.' 
 
 ' I shall be quite satisfied and forgiving 
 if you succeed. I have never seen the 
 Peele House — oh dear, there's Lady Eain- 
 forth signalling, and I have not sipped this 
 delicious claret; now that opportunity is 
 lost! How disappointing life is !'
 
 An Escapade. 203 
 
 With a rustle of dresses the ladies rose 
 to leave, but Dunscombe arrested the move- 
 ment. He said : 
 
 * The gardener begs Lord llainforth to 
 let him know what colours or combinations 
 are desired in the bouquets he has to 
 furnish for Thursday. If every gentleman 
 will note down the ideas of the lady next 
 him we shall get the information in two 
 minutes.' 
 
 ' What is your notion, Miss Palliser ?' 
 Hugh asked. 
 
 ' Oh, my bouquet should be white and 
 flimsy, to match Dacca muslin. As trans- 
 parent as possible. Tea-roses, azaleas, if 
 he has any left ; and trimmed with two 
 tints in blue, light and dark.' 
 
 'I quite understand. Whether the re- 
 sources of botany run to two shades of 
 blue is the gardener's question.' 
 
 ' Any respectable milliner would supply 
 me with two hundred ! Don't profanely
 
 204 A Good Hater. 
 
 suppose that Nature has a more limited 
 stock.' 
 
 ' It is the milliner's business, you know, 
 to meet ladies* fancies.' 
 
 ' And what do you suppose flowers are 
 intended for ?' 
 
 ' I haven't the faintest notion,' he replied. 
 ' Perhaps they are meant to suit the fancies 
 of humble bees.' 
 
 ' What a wicked thought ! Humble bees 
 know their place better. Wild flowers are 
 quite good enough for them, but woman 
 must have variety and choice. The 
 wonders of horticulture are meant for 
 us.' 
 
 When the ladies withdrew, Dunscombe 
 moved to the bottom of the table and 
 signalled Hugh to take a place beside him. 
 The notes were handed in, with pleasant 
 comments. 
 
 ' It seems to me,' said Dunscombe, * that 
 Miss Palliser has the most distinct idea
 
 All E,scapade. 205 
 
 what she wants. I could arrange the 
 bouquet myself.' 
 
 *I hope she may get it,' murmured 
 Hugh. 
 
 ' Is it all made up ?' Dunscombe 
 whispered. 
 
 ' The offence ? Yes. It was only skin- 
 deep.' 
 
 ' Well then, be satisfied ! I have been 
 watching you, my boy. Don't get beyond 
 your depth.' 
 
 ' Why not ? It's mighty pleasant 
 swimming.' 
 
 ' You may easily push out too far to 
 return. Miss Palliser is a born flirt, Hugh, 
 and these unconscious man-eaters are the 
 most dangerous.' 
 
 ' Miss Palliser is not unconscious. Far 
 from it.' 
 
 ' I'm glad you can regard her critically. 
 Leave it to Saxell, among your other ill- 
 wishes for him, to verify the analysis.'
 
 206 A Good Hater. 
 
 * What has prejudiced you against her ?' 
 
 ' I thou2:ht this was all fun, as innocent 
 for you as I'll be bound it is for Miss 
 Palliser. But it seems to me that you are 
 getting serious, and I don't like it.' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 ' In the first place, this young lady is 
 eno^acred.' 
 
 ' You said yourself that the engagement 
 must be a farce.' 
 
 ' In one sense, but you have nothing to 
 do with that. In your interest I have been 
 talking to Lady Seagrim, who is clever but 
 not malicious. Miss Palliser can count her 
 scalps in this neighbourhood. She lends 
 herself to any degree of admiration, but 
 when a young fellow follows the natural 
 course, after so much encouragement, she 
 is very much surprised, rather hurt, and 
 thinks it an impertinence. So Lady 
 Seagrim tells me. Miss Palliser is what I 
 call an innocent man-eater. She wants to
 
 An Escapade. 207 
 
 make a match as big as you please — not 
 consciously, I dare say, but that's what her 
 instincts point to. I have seen girls 
 enough to recognise the style. Take 
 warning.' 
 
 ' I know you mean kindly, Dunscombe, 
 and I'm oblis^ed. But don't outrag-e com- 
 mon-sense by telling me you have seen one 
 other girl like Miss Palliser. Honestly 
 now ?' 
 
 ' I have seen but one handsomer — that's 
 what you mean, I suppose ? But the 
 character is not at all uncommon, if you 
 will allow me to think so. Now I've said 
 my say, and you will profit or you won't. 
 These men will begin to think we are con- 
 spiring.' 
 
 ' By-the-bye, Miss Palliser is anxious to 
 see the Peele House.' 
 
 ' Pm not in the humour for tea-parties. 
 At her next visit.' 
 
 Dunscombe rose, and led his friends
 
 208 A Good Hater. 
 
 to the smoking-room for a cigarette. Hugh 
 joined the ladies at once, and told Grace 
 the result. She flushed witli annoyance, 
 and said sharply : 
 
 ' How could you have put it to be 
 refused ? Every girl in the county has 
 had an invitation without asking !' 
 
 ' Dunscombe was more in the humour for 
 tea-parties then, I suppose. It's a merry 
 frame of mind which certainly doesn't 
 possess him just now. There's sometliing 
 noxious in the air of Daneham just now, as 
 it seems to me ; and the best of dispositions 
 give way to injustice and violence. We 
 shall live through it, Miss Palliser, under 
 a treatment of philosophy and tonics.' 
 
 ' Do you hint a reproach at me, sir ? Oh, 
 chivalry ! what are we coming to ? I have 
 a right to be angry, ]\Ir. Acland, and I will 
 avenge myself.' 
 
 ' I should not dare to question your right. 
 But a young lady's vengeance, as I have
 
 All Escapade. 209 
 
 always understood, is an explosive of the 
 deadliest character, which plays the mischief 
 in all directions. I will undertake to find 
 Dunscombe in a better temper if you can 
 be patient for a few hours.' 
 
 ' Don't ask him again on any account ! 
 I should be seriously angry, Mr. Acland — 
 or rather, let me say, I should be humiliated. 
 It's very well as it is. We shall see.' 
 
 The next day, after lunch. Lord Rain- 
 forth mustered all his guests of the Randall 
 name, to welcome the bride and bridegroom 
 at Preston. Hugh was witness to the 
 struo^o^le that Dunscombe underwent before 
 he could bring himself to take part in this 
 ceremony. The honours paid to Ralph 
 were thought exaggerated even by the 
 family, and it was not surprising that 
 Dunscombe resented them as aimed mali- 
 ciously at himself. He went to the station, 
 hoAvever, in a mood which bears might 
 contemplate with envy and despair to rival, 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 A Good Hater. 
 
 leaving Hugh seated at the window of the 
 Peele House. 
 
 From this elevation he presently observed 
 Miss Palliser setting out alone for a walk ; 
 the day was fine, the house dull, Aunt 
 Saxell in bad temper, and she herself 
 particularly lively. Hugh descended the 
 winding stair like an acrobat, and hurried 
 in pursuit so fast that when Grace turned 
 she said : 
 
 ' Dear mCj Mr. A eland, I thought it was 
 a mad bull after me !' 
 
 ' Only an idiotic calf, I assure you !' he 
 answered, walking beside her. 
 
 ' You are going my way ?' 
 
 ' Yes, if you don't mind.' 
 
 ' On the contrary ! I can put you down 
 wherever you are going, and resume my 
 course.' 
 
 ' Miss Palliser, you encourage a very 
 unfeeling class of wit. AVhat have I done 
 to be shot at continually in this way ?'
 
 An Escapade. 211 
 
 ' Do I shoot at jou ? It must be because 
 you bit back so smartly. The dull Dales- 
 women are not used to be caught up at a 
 half-word, or a glance, or a tone !' 
 
 ' The men round here must be a stupid 
 lot, I see.' 
 
 'Indeed, you are quite mistaken !' Grace 
 exclaimed warmly. ' For the county class 
 they are just the same here as anywhere 
 else, of course ; but they've character, which 
 Southerners haven't — generally. And as 
 for the others, I can tell you that there's 
 more intelligence and more fun in a cottage 
 of our North- country than in a village of 
 the Midlands, or a Parliamentary district 
 in London.' Calming, she added, ' But we 
 are not quick in the sense of smartness — I 
 admit that.' 
 
 ' Any facts you are good enough to 
 impart, I treasure in my deepest soul,' 
 Hugh answered, ' and especially if they 
 concern your friends. I have now a much 
 
 14—2
 
 212 A Good Hater. 
 
 more exact conception of tlie Border 
 character. But you failed to listen atten- 
 tively.' 
 
 ' You said the Dalesmen Avere a stupid 
 lot!' 
 
 ' Pardon me ! My remark was that I 
 now saw they must be a stupid lot, evi- 
 dently referring to the context.' 
 
 ' This sort of thing is quite in their way of 
 humour ' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! Thank you, Miss Palliser.* 
 
 ' I didn't mean that ! Their jests demand 
 a lot of time and attention, that's all. I 
 forget the context.' 
 
 ' Please don't embarrass me "udth more 
 explanation, then! — oh, must I ? The cue 
 was " caught up " — you said the Dalesmen 
 were not quick at that exercise with 
 3'ou — and then I — this is torture, Miss 
 Palliser !' 
 
 ' So it is, poor boy, and I'm ashamed of 
 mj-sclf. Thank you kindly all the same.
 
 A?i Escapade. 213 
 
 Now I'll tell you something ; I have heard 
 from Miss Acland.' 
 
 In his utter surprise Hugh blurted out, 
 after a thoughtless way he had, ' What 
 on earth — er — I'm so awfully pleased, that 
 I don't find pretty expressions ! How did 
 this delightful event come to pass ?' 
 
 ' Did not Mrs. Acland tell you that when 
 we were in town — you don't forget that 
 time, perhaps ? — she sent me a very kind 
 messao'e throuo^h Mr. Yane and aunt ? 
 
 ' Then this is what Mrs. Saxell referred 
 to last night ! My mother did not mention 
 the incident ; but she is always doing kind 
 actions. It slipped her memory, no doubt 
 — she has never seen you. I am overjoyed 
 —well ?' 
 
 ' Well, auntie delivered the message, and 
 after thinking about it for some days I 
 made up my mind that I ought to reply, 
 and I did. See, this was forwarded to me 
 to-day from Scarsholme.'
 
 214 A Good Hater. 
 
 Hnsfh read : 
 
 ' My dear Miss Palliser, 
 
 ' Mamma has instructed me to 
 answer your graceful note. She con- 
 gratulates herself upon the impulse that 
 moved her to send you an expression of 
 goodwill, and I am pleased to act as her 
 secretary. It is agreeable to exchange 
 messaojes of esteem durino; hostilities. 
 Mamma is satisfied that Major Saxell is 
 acting under an assurance of right, and she 
 does not blame him ; still less his mother, 
 and still less again yourself. If we should 
 ever meet, it will be with an expectation 
 on my side that the acquaintance mil be 
 pleasing. 
 
 ' Yours sincerely, 
 
 ' Edith Acland.' 
 
 ' Isn't it just what such a letter should 
 be under all the circumstances — so pretty, 
 and nice, and cool ?'
 
 A71 Escapade. 215 
 
 To Hiii!-h, however, it su^-o-ested a e'ood 
 many reflections. Once again his mother 
 had thought fit to take a step, without 
 consulting him, without even mentioning 
 the subject, tliat might well prove imjDortant 
 and must certainly interest himself. This 
 was irritating and alarming. 
 
 But, on the other hand, what a gracious 
 ste]D it was ! By her delicate and becoming 
 advances, Mrs. Acland had bridged the gulf 
 which seemed to keep the families asunder. 
 And the letter ! Huo-h could imao-ine the 
 laughing diplomacy by which his sister had 
 been coerced to write it, not unwillino:. 
 Grace would reply, no doubt, a correspond- 
 ence would follow, and then — who could 
 say what might happen ! All this the 
 doing of a mother whom he reproached with 
 want of confidence ! Hugh felt ashamed. 
 
 ' Do you think,' Grace continued, ' that 
 I might venture to write to Miss Acland 
 direct ?'
 
 216 A Good I rater. 
 
 ' Most certainly ! Letters are written to 
 be answered — especially by young ladies.' 
 
 ' What a very clieap little witticism ! If 
 ever the records of primeval man turn up, I 
 shall expect to see that sort of thing in his 
 copybooks. Yes, I know 3'ou don't mean 
 anything ; but you should not get into the 
 way of repeating commonplace without 
 even the excuse of meaning it. Have you 
 ]\Iiss Acland's photograph ?' 
 
 Hugh took the locket off his chain and 
 presented it ; whilst Grace indulged rap- 
 tures of admiration over the portrait of his 
 sister, he devoured with his eyes the beauty 
 not less exquisite, though less spiritual, 
 which bent over the likeness. It did not 
 offend him to be called ' boy,' nor to be 
 patronized and schooled. Hugh's conceit was 
 superior to that feeling. The memory of her 
 engagement jarred upon him j'tainfully from 
 time to time ; but, as Dunscombe said, India 
 is a long way off, and a ' l)oy ' may be 
 
 I
 
 An Escapade. 217 
 
 capable of upsetting a boy-and-girl attach- 
 ment. Hugh did not think of the treachery 
 — would you have done so, reader, at his 
 age ? Would any man that ever lived out- 
 side the covers of a story-book ? 
 
 ' This is Mrs. Acland, I suppose ?' Grace 
 said, looking at the photograph opposite. 
 * I think you are the luckiest youth in the 
 world to have such a mother and such a 
 sister.' 
 
 ' If I only get a wife to match — as 
 beautiful as Edie, and as good, as bright, 
 and high-spirited as my mother ! I cannot 
 be called a happy youth till then !' 
 
 ' Surely you haven't thought of marrying 
 yet ?' she answered mischievously. ' That's 
 quite a grave, grown-up amusement !' 
 
 'Grave amusement is a very happy ex- 
 pression. I have thought a good deal about 
 it lately.' 
 
 Grace was evidently cogitating other 
 matters.
 
 218 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Tell me now,' she said, ' may I take 
 Mrs. Aeland's kind expressions sincerely — 
 and Edie's too ? I may call your sister 
 *'Edie"?' 
 
 ' Yes, as a beo:inninfi^ !' 
 
 ' Beixinninof of what ?' 
 
 ' Why, of friendship : what else ? Pre- 
 sently it will be " darling " between you ! 
 Then you will kiss at brief intervals, and 
 grow to one another like Siamese Twins. 
 And all tlie younii' men of the neio^hbour- 
 hood will be attacked by jaundice, and fade 
 in green despair.' 
 
 ' Nothing fades green except old clothes ; 
 but all green things fade — leaves and cater- 
 ])illars and boys ! You have not answered 
 my question. Does Edie really and truly 
 feel kind towards me ? AVould she like to 
 be my friend ? I have never had a friend 
 except silly schoolgirls ?' 
 
 ' If Edie sa3's so, it is true.' 
 
 * She doesn't say so ! I want to ask her,
 
 An Escapade. 219 
 
 and I daren't ! Will you ? Say I am not 
 wicked, nor stupid, nor vulgar, nor ugly, 
 and I lono' to love her !' 
 
 ' I will write this afternoon.' 
 
 * That's kind ! What shall you say ?' 
 
 ' May I tell you ?' he asked, warming 
 suddenly. 
 
 * Please do !' But when Grace looked 
 up in his face, she coloured, and added with 
 a little smile, ' No ! I'm sure you will put 
 the request nicely, and that's enough.' 
 
 ' I bhall say, Miss Palliser ' 
 
 ' You will say very pretty things, no 
 doubt, which my modesty would be shocked 
 to hear !' 
 
 ' How do you know ? I shall say ' 
 
 ' I would rather not, really !' 
 
 ' I shall say ' 
 
 ' Don't tell me, I beg !' 
 
 When Miss Palliser was decided, a rare 
 mood because she had rarely occasion, her 
 manner forbade doubt. Hugh obeyed with
 
 220 A Good Hater. 
 
 .some trepidation, but in two minutes they 
 were chatting merrily again. 
 
 The party had returned when they got 
 back, and ]\Irs. Ralph was holding a levee. 
 Hugh retired to the Peele House, and wrote 
 an enthusiastic letter, be":2;infic Edie to make 
 definite overtures. 
 
 Next afternoon occurred the banquet, to 
 be followed by a ball, or rather two balls, 
 for the tenantry had their own. All the 
 country-side, of every degree, accepted Lord 
 Rainforth's invitation. As Dunscombe and 
 Hugh sat in the Peele House, watching the 
 line of carria":es and o-isfs and tax- carts 
 mounting the hill, the former muttered : 
 
 ' How these creatures flock to the trough ! 
 In better days, nothing but an alarm of 
 Scots on the Border would have called such 
 a crowd to Daneham.' 
 
 The less important folk assembled in a 
 large marquee, between the Hall and the 
 Tower, where public enthusiasm could not
 
 All Escaitade. 221 
 
 disturb the aristocrats. The host, his two 
 sons, and all the guests bearing the name of 
 Randall, sat out the early dinner of the 
 tenantry, and made the usual speeches. 
 They withdrew in time to dress for the 
 fashionable entertainment, where the dis- 
 courses went throu2:h a second edition. 
 Dunscombe's handsome face was sullen as 
 he heard the cheering for his younger 
 brother. It was, in truth, an exaggerated 
 welcome for a cadet who had done nothimx 
 since his birth to merit honour. People 
 even asked in whispers what the demonstra- 
 tion signified. 
 
 Immediately after dinner, the aristocrats 
 visited the marquee, now cleared. They 
 danced a miscellaneous and amusing qaa- 
 drille ; then the ladies retired for their own 
 ball. It is quite needless to tell how lovely 
 Grace appeared in her robe of Indian muslin 
 and blue silk. How and when it should be 
 paid for was a question that did not cross
 
 222 A Good Hater, 
 
 lier mind, though it qualified Mrs. Saxell's 
 admiration. Hugh, of course, liad secured 
 as many dances as Miss Palliser's rather 
 vague sense of etiquette allowed, to the dis- 
 gust of other bachelors. Foremost among 
 his rivals was a young Artillery officer on 
 leave of absence from Meerut. He had 
 served in the Afghan War, he knew X 3 
 J^attery as well as his own, and Major 
 Saxell was his most intimate friend, as he 
 declared. Upon these credentials he claimed 
 privilege in addressing Grace, and she 
 granted it readily enough, until the young 
 man had told all he knew about Dick. 
 AYhen he showed signs of exhaustion, and a 
 Avish to deviate from this topic. Miss Palliser 
 did not pretend more interest. 
 
 Supper was announced for midnight, and 
 Huu'h had obtained the favour of escortinc: 
 Grace. As the crowd pressed out of the 
 ball-room, she said, ' I should so like another 
 breath of air before going in !' and they 
 
 I
 
 A?i Escapade. 223 
 
 strolled through an open window. The 
 summer night was radiant, though the 
 moon had almost set. Gaily talking the}' 
 passed round the wing and gained the 
 broad terrace at the back. Upon one side 
 stood the tent, prettily warm with lights 
 inside, and still resonant with music, though 
 the guests had nearly all departed; solemn 
 and still in front loomed the grey Peele 
 House, its small lower windows faintly 
 aglow with colour, those in the top story 
 shining white in the moonbeams. Suddenly 
 interrupting herself, Grace exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Acland, now you can take me 
 into the Tower without the knowledge of 
 that disagreeable Lord Dunscombe! There 
 is no one about !' 
 
 ' Ask me anything else, but ' 
 
 ' I ask you nothing but that ! You 
 won't ? Then I shall go by myself ! You 
 are bold at following, I know !' 
 
 The taunt was successful. Huirh closed
 
 224 
 
 A Good J later 
 
 liis arm on hers and led the '\va3\ ' You 
 promised never to refer to that — that in- 
 cident a2:ainl' 
 
 ' Did I ? Then it was on the understood 
 condition that you never offended me again/ 
 
 ' Your promises are not straightforward.' 
 
 ' It depends. I should keep my word 
 under proper conditions.' 
 
 * What are they?' 
 
 ' It is not worth while to tell you. Do 
 you know, Mr. Acland, you are not nearly 
 so entertaining as you were at first !' 
 
 ' I am not so lisrht-hearted.' 
 
 ' Then pray throw something overboard, 
 and resume your buoyancy ! What an odd, 
 ])retty, awful entrance! These are the 
 only stairs ? I feel as if I was going to 
 execution ! — oh, how charminn: — how ! — 
 what ! ' and so on. 
 
 Grace was delighted with the hall and 
 its plenishing. Hugh followed her about 
 imj^atiently. Some of the younger guests
 
 A?! Escapade. 225 
 
 haJ talked of dancing in the marquee, now 
 almost empty, after supper, and the danger 
 of discovery was imminent. But Grace 
 would not listen to hints. 
 
 At length Hugh spoke out in despair. 
 ' Don't play with that dagger, Miss Palliser ! 
 It is edged and poisoned as scandal !' 
 
 She understood his emphasis and his look ; 
 her animated complexion paled, her eyes 
 dilated. ' Oh, how silly I am with all my 
 cleverness ! Let us go immediately ! Why 
 did you not tell me it was wrong ?' 
 
 ' I am afraid you would not have listened.* 
 
 ' Perhaps not at first, but afterwards ! 
 Go on, and see if anyone's about.' 
 
 The terrace was vacant, but shadows 
 swiftly turning chequered the canvas sides 
 of the marquee. They slipped in unper- 
 ceived, and Grace instantly recovered all 
 her spirits. She called for a country-dance, 
 and the ring of her happy laughter told that 
 care was forgotten. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 A Good Hater. 
 
 It was very late when Hugh sought the 
 Tower, leaving broad day outside. Duns- 
 corabe was smoking moodily in a flare of 
 candles. He had resisted with great effort 
 the display of his ill-temper through the 
 evening, hut it now had full possession. 
 At Hugh's entrance, however, he tried to be 
 pleasant. They talked of Miss Palliser, and 
 Dunscombe renewed his warning. 
 
 ' It's too late to advise me !' said 
 Hugh. 
 
 * So bad as that already ? No champagne 
 in it ? I hope the morning light will brmg 
 3'ou clearness of vision.' 
 
 ' The morning light was broad enough 
 when I came in to show my fate.' 
 
 ' Confound these summer mornings ! One 
 can turn gas off when it becomes too know- 
 ing. Well, you sympathize with me at 
 last, Hugli, or you soon will, unless I am 
 mistaken.' 
 
 ' AVhat do vou mean ?'
 
 An Escapade. 227 
 
 ' What I have ah'eady hinted.' 
 
 ' That she is a flirt ? Excuse me, my 
 dear Dunscombe, but the suspicion is pre- 
 posterous.' 
 
 ' Of course ! But there is something else. 
 Did you observ^e her with Henderson? — 
 idiotic of me to ask ! When he was talking 
 of Meerut and Afghanistan and cliota hazari 
 and 'piikarow and all that, apropos of Major 
 Saxell, the young lady looked as if she 
 could have kissed his ugly face. It may 
 have been acting, but I think not. If she's 
 reall}^ constant — that is, if she believes her- 
 self to be — so much the better for you. 
 You're young enough to get over a broken 
 heart before the shooting. By-the-bye, how 
 old are you exactly?' 
 
 ' Twenty-three last February. Why?' 
 
 ' I was only wondering what w^as the 
 difference between your age and Miss 
 Acland's.' 
 
 ' She is nineteen on December 10th.' 
 
 15—2
 
 228 A Good Hater. 
 
 'What will your sister say when she 
 hears you have deserted to the enemy?' 
 
 ' Oh, she's half disarmed towards Miss 
 Palliser. You know mv mother sent a 
 polite message, which Grace prettily acknow- 
 ledged. Edie replied, of course, and a cor- 
 respondence is about to begin. I think it 
 such a charming incident!' 
 
 ' You would, of course !' 
 
 ' AYhen a conversation runs into sneers, 
 it's time to go to bed. Six o'clock, by 
 Jove !' 
 
 ' A pleasant hour ! I promised to tell 
 you the story of Pack Randall, and this is 
 just the time. We'll turn in at seven pre- 
 cisely. In Pack's day, the brothers of our 
 family were not so devotedly attached as 
 they are now ; I don't quite know when it 
 Avas. Pack, the eldest, had quarrelled with 
 his father about politics, and with his 
 brother Steeve about a young cousin wlio 
 lived at Dancham, in the old Manor House,
 
 A?i Escapade. 229 
 
 for the Castle ^vas not built. The family 
 took ciifFerent sides, of course, in some 
 trouble; and one day there was a skirmish, 
 or a battle, or something. In the evening 
 Pack came to this tower secretly, and he 
 sent a message to his cousin begging her to 
 come to him. She was not a prudent 
 3'oung person, and she did so. While they 
 were talking, in this room, Steeve appeared, 
 and with remarkable presence of mind drew 
 his sword, stabbed Susan Randall to the 
 heart, and charged at Pack. I don't know 
 why he did so, but the historians of the 
 time seemed to think such conduct quite 
 natural; and I am not sure that they were 
 wrong, in the abstract. Whilst Pack de- 
 fended himself, Steeve dropped his sword 
 suddenly, and fainted. You may imagine 
 that the lady had Pack's first attention, and 
 when he remembered his brother that indi- 
 vidual was found to be dead. So, in pro- 
 cess of time, was Susan, My excellent
 
 230 A Good Hater 
 
 forefather was tried for murder ; but it was 
 proved that all Steeve's wounds had been 
 caused by firearms, in the late engagement 
 probably. So he got off ; and in the final 
 result, here I am. If Pack had been hanged, 
 it is thought most probable that I should 
 have been somebody else, and what a 
 disaster for the nation that would have been ! 
 Rainforth did his best to get a conviction, 
 however. AVe were a merry family in those 
 days, and we keep the tradition so far as 
 altered circumstances Avill allow. 
 
 ' That is the reason why there are re- 
 strictions on the intercourse between the 
 Castle and the Peele House. Xow, we have 
 three-quarters of an hour yet before sur- 
 rendering. Let us discuss this storj^, and 
 I'll tell you another.' 
 
 ' Your legends and your temper are 
 equally grim. I don't feel equal to discus- 
 sion, even if I could keep awake.' 
 
 ' Go to sleep in your chair, but don't leave
 
 An Escapade. 231 
 
 me alone ! Look ! There's Steeve's sword, 
 with the blood still upon it, they say. If I 
 wasn't so confoundedly timid about hurting 
 people's feelings I'd have the rusty old thing 
 cleaned.' He approached the embrasure to 
 take it. ' Why, here's Miss Palliser's 
 bouquet! Oh, guileless youth, do you 
 thus trifle with the love of the war-worn 
 soldier, and go to bed with a smooth con- 
 science? Here's a subject for discussion that 
 will rouse you ! Keep on reciting the circum- 
 stances until I implore you to go to bed !' 
 
 Hugh's face betrayed him. In a changed 
 voice Dunscombe said: 
 
 ' Miss Palliser has been here ?' 
 
 Hugh could not find a word to urge. 
 
 ' 1 would not, I could not have believed 
 that you were capable of such a breach of 
 hospitality.' 
 
 Hugh coloured with anger and shame, 
 but sat speechless. 
 
 ' You knew our rules, and you knew
 
 232 A Good Hater. 
 
 what we are. If my father learns this, the 
 consequences will be most serious to me. 
 It is shameful, Acland !' 
 
 ' I have nothing to answer ! Put my 
 apology into the most abject words you 
 please, but spare me your insults !' 
 
 ' I have not insulted you.' 
 
 'No? Then I won't wait till you 
 begin.' 
 
 Hugh took up his paletot and quietl}- 
 went out into the joyous splendour of a 
 summer mornino-. 
 
 a
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. BEAVER. 
 
 Y DEAR HUGH, 
 
 ' Don't be so confoundedly 
 touchy. If I spoke harshly, 
 make allowance for the surprise, and for 
 family annoyances which have been up- 
 setting me, as you know. I apologize 
 most sincerely. Write by return of post, 
 like a good fellow as you are, and say you 
 
 know I am 
 
 ' Always yours, 
 
 ' DUNSCOMBE. 
 
 ' Observe that this is written within ten 
 minutes of your departure.'
 
 234 A Good Hater. 
 
 General Randall indulged a lifelong prac- 
 tice of inspecting every department of a 
 household in which he might chance to re- 
 side, that fell within male province. He 
 also took brief and incidental but vigorous 
 forays into the feminine realm ; for a long 
 presidency of regimental canteens had 
 brought a miscellaneous store of domestic 
 matters within his purview. On the morn- 
 ing after the ball he was up at his usual 
 hour, and found a superb opportunity to 
 examine the field-state and the general re- 
 turns of Daneham. I can quite understand 
 that an old soldier u23on holida}^ may be 
 detested by servants. He is restless, up at 
 all hours, and if inclined to pry no pene- 
 tralia are sacred. Then he knows so much, 
 and he is so j)ainfully direct in questioning. 
 Woman's business is no mystery nor taboo 
 for him. Dear old General Randall, who 
 made no use at all of his discoveries, was 
 dreaded like a plague at Daneham.
 
 Mr. Beaver. 235 
 
 On this occasion he questioned and ad- 
 vised everyone about the place. And at 
 noon, with Lord Rainforth's permission, 
 he visited the Tower. Dunscombe was 
 still in bed, but he would insist on seeing' 
 him. 
 
 ' Are we summoned to chant a madrigal 
 under Ralph's window?' his lordship asked, 
 yawning. 
 
 ' I have called upon a serious matter, 
 Dunscombe. Do you know that young 
 Acland brought Miss Palliser here last 
 night ?' 
 
 ' Well ?' 
 
 ' Did you know ?' 
 
 ' You mean to ask, did the governor 
 know ? I presume you have seen him before 
 coming here?' 
 
 ' I mean nothing more than I say. Did 
 you know?' 
 
 ' I know that a breach of the family regu- 
 lations was committed. Apres f
 
 236 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' I was not thinking of your father for the 
 moment, but of the scandal. It makes a 
 certain difference, of course, if you were in- 
 formed of Miss Palliser's visit.' 
 
 ' I didn't know she was under your 
 charge, General. You have a serious re- 
 sponsibility, it strikes me.' 
 
 ' Miss Palliser is not in my charge, but 
 the honour of a brave soldier absent on 
 duty to his Sovereign is the care of any 
 man worthy the name. I ask once more, 
 did you know of this business ?' 
 
 ' I regret I'm too sleej^y to answer. 
 Would you kindly pull doAvn the blinds 
 before you go ?' 
 
 'No, I will not, Lord Dunscombe!' and 
 the General stalked out. 
 
 No whisper of her foolish doings had 
 reached the public ear when Grace came 
 down to breakfast. She left with Mrs. 
 Saxell immediately after, and among the 
 gentlemen who thronged to say good-bye
 
 Mr. Beaver. 237 
 
 Grace smiled sarcastically to note Hugh's 
 absence. 
 
 He meantime walked to Preston. The 
 curious look of passers-by warned him 
 that dress-clothes, buckled shoes, black silk 
 stockings, and a white tie are unusual on a 
 North-country road at seven a.m. Before 
 reaching the town he had made up his 
 mind to visit AVolfingham ; the key of the 
 mystery lay with Mr. Beaver, so Mrs. Acland 
 thought. Hugh did not propose to call on 
 him, of course. Such an idea could not 
 enter his head after late experiences. But 
 it miofht be desirable to know what the 
 gentleman was doing. Any way, a run to 
 AVolfingham couid do no harm, and he 
 would have the melancholy satisfaction of 
 beholding the scene of his father's death. 
 They would not expect him home for some 
 days. 
 
 So Hugh bought clothes at Preston, and 
 in the evenins;- he reached the villa2:e of
 
 238 A Good Hater. 
 
 Wolfiiigliam, put up at the Royal Beaver, 
 and invited the landlord to have a glass of 
 wine after dining. 
 
 * An odd name you have chosen for your 
 house,' he said, to begin conversation. 
 
 ' Gentlemen mostly think it odd, but I 
 didn't invent it, sir,' the landlord answered. 
 ' All this country belongs to Mr. Beaver ; 
 and he says, leastwise his forefathers used 
 to say, that the crown of England was 
 theirs by right. So the inn here has been 
 called " The Royal Beaver " time out of 
 mind.' 
 
 ' I am most agreeably surprised to find 
 such comfortable quarters in a small village 
 like this. It's quite a large hotel you've 
 got, landlord, with stabling for a troop of 
 cavalry, as it seems to me. And excel- 
 lentl}^ managed, too! AVhere do you find 
 your customers ?' 
 
 ' Ah, that's a stor}', sir. You see, when 
 Mr. Beaver was a young man, he had a deal
 
 3fr. Beaver. 239 
 
 of company, more than his house could 
 hold — ay, and more than this inn could 
 hold, into the bargain. Besides the 
 stabling you see, I've pulled down a 
 matter of twent}^ boxes, with servants' 
 rooms and all that.' 
 
 ' Mr. Beaver hasn't much accommodation, 
 I suppose ?' 
 
 The landlord laughed with intense 
 amusement. ' That's a good un sir! — you'll 
 excuse me, but that is a good un, that is I 
 AYhy, you might a'most put my house into 
 the old hall at Beaverlowe, and the chimneys 
 wouldn't touch the roof; and what they call 
 the new hall is bigger than that. As for 
 stables, lord bless you, sir, it's a cavalry 
 barrack !' 
 
 ' But I've heard Mr. Beaver doesn't en- 
 tertain so much now?' 
 
 ' That's where it is, and my house is 
 empty in consequence. But I don't com- 
 plain, sir. Though there's never a soul
 
 240 A Good Hater. 
 
 besides the neijjhbours comes nioh the 
 place, it's kept up just as it always has 
 been — equal to give a duke his supper and 
 his bed, if one should come this way.' 
 
 ' The house seems quite new.' 
 
 ' ]\Iv father built this one : but the name's 
 been here, as they say, ever since the stream 
 ran. Do you chance to know anything 
 about our stream, sir ?' 
 
 ' I have very sad associations with it.' 
 
 ' Excuse me, sir, but I was sure of that 
 when I saw your face. Your name will be 
 Acland ? Ay, I remember you a baby, sir, 
 and I could almost think I was a boy again 
 myself, talking to your father. The like- 
 ness is extraordinary. And Mrs. Acland, 
 sir ? I hope the poor lady is well ?' 
 
 ' Very well. You remember my father's 
 death ?' 
 
 ' As if it was yesterday ! A sad circum- 
 stance, sir ! They still talk about it in the 
 village. He was riding our old horse, you 
 
 I 
 I
 
 Mr. Beaver. 241 
 
 know, which had crossed the ford a 
 thousand times — aye, and more than that ! 
 How that horse came to miss the road none 
 of us can make out.' 
 
 ' But you don't doubt my father was 
 drowned ?' 
 
 ' Ah no, poor gentleman ! But it was an 
 extraordinary thing. There's no doubt of 
 his being drowned, is there, sir ?' 
 
 ' None at all. Is Mr. Beaver at his house 
 now ?' 
 
 ' He never leaves it. Mr. Beaver did all 
 his gadding when he was young. If you'd 
 like to see the ford, I'll show you in the 
 morning -with pleasure — that is, I'll show 
 you, sir.' 
 
 The landlord was called away, and Hugh 
 found himself alone, with several hours to 
 sret throuo:h before bedtime. He tried to sit 
 and think, a process that seems easy to dull 
 mortals, easy also perhaps to philosophers 
 and men of stupendous nature, but mighty 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 A Good Hater. 
 
 difficult to persons of average intelligence. 
 Giving up the effort, he rose and went down. 
 
 The passage was occupied by a number 
 of .men, and going out, Hugh Avas aware 
 that they looked at him keenly, though 
 with the side-glance of politeness. It 
 occurred to his mind that if those fellows 
 could be led to gossip, they might possibly 
 give him useful information, and he re- 
 turned shortly. 
 
 No bagmen visited this hamlet, and the 
 landlord, with a rare intelligence, had re- 
 frained from entitling his parlour the 
 commercial room. More than that, since 
 farmers did assemble there prett}' often, he 
 had painted ' Farmers' Room ' upon the 
 door. But the occupiers at that hour of 
 the evening were not precisely agricul- 
 turists, though at such a place every inhabi- 
 tant has an interest in the soil. Huo-h 
 thought to recognise such characters as a 
 lawyer's and a parish clerk, a church-
 
 Mr. Beaver. ^ 243 
 
 warden, a schoolmaster, a doctor's assistant, 
 a butcher, the keeper of the post-office, and 
 so on — ten altogether. Most probably he 
 quite mistook their avocations, but for con- 
 venience we may identify these worthy folk 
 by the functions Hugh assigned them. Any 
 way, he saw that all were residents, and all 
 of an ao;e to recollect his father's death. 
 
 The blank and sudden pause that fol- 
 lowed his entrance told more plainly than 
 words the subject of an animated conversa- 
 tion that had been proceeding. But in the 
 remotest village nowadays some travelled 
 person may be found who tries, at least, to 
 cover an awkward incident like this. The 
 lawyer's clerk said promptly, ' Good-even- 
 ing, sir. I hope I see you well.' And the 
 parish clerk added in emulation, ' I w^as 
 just about to drink, sir, and I humbly put 
 your health in it !' 
 
 The others muttered approval, and 
 dipped their noses to the toast. 
 
 16—2
 
 244 A Good Hater. 
 
 'I am obliged,' said Hugh, 'and I'll 
 drink your healths heartily as soon as I can 
 get the means. But I don't flatter myself 
 that this kind reception is due to my own 
 merits. You recognise rae, and you are 
 good enough to transfer to me the kindlv 
 feeling you had towards my father.' 
 
 This little speech produced an effect. 
 The lawyer's clerk — a man of humour evi- 
 dently — choked behind his hand ; the 
 butcher flushed ; the parish clerk blew out 
 his cheeks ; the churchwarden assumed an 
 air of sternest scrutiny, as suspecting irre- 
 verent sarcasm; the schoolmaster looked as 
 if he would like to get out of this : — in 
 short, each after his fashion plainly ex- 
 pressed his repudiation of the theory. 
 
 Hugh coloured with indignant embarrass- 
 ment. ' You seem to have a less pleasant 
 recollection of my father,' he said, 'than I 
 had hoped. I will not intrude upon you.' 
 
 ' No indeed, sir I' exclaimed the lawyer's
 
 Mr. Beaver. 245 
 
 clerk. ' We only remembered that your 
 father was a gentleman, and didn't mix 
 with the like of us ' 
 
 ' And the cockerel pipes as the old cock 
 crows !' muttered the butcher. 
 
 ' It isn't likely, sir, that Mr. Jones here, 
 nor yet Mr. Brown, not to name the 
 rest of us, would wish to hint anything 
 unkind. Pray sit down, sir. We're 
 heartily glad to see you !' 
 
 ' That's what we are !' everyone pro- 
 tested, and truly enough, doubtless, for a 
 sensation equal to this had not enlivened 
 their village since the great event of 1862. 
 
 Hugh seated himself, after a moment's 
 hesitation. ' Now, gentlemen,' said he, 
 ' quite in a friendly way, among ourselves, 
 what were your grievances against my 
 father?' 
 
 They sat silent, not for Avant of matter 
 evidently, but in embarrassment. 
 
 ' Let it rest, sir,' said Mr. Brown at
 
 246 A Good Hater. 
 
 length. * AVe all of us recollect you kindly, 
 if you're the little chap ^Ir. Acland used 
 to carry on his saddle. And we should 
 like to hear how you've got on.' 
 
 * But T want to know. I want you to 
 speak out, and I promise not to take 
 offence. Did my father harm any of you, 
 or yours ?' 
 
 All said ' Xo,' but with a reluctant air. 
 ' AVhat do you mean ?' cried Hugh, warm- 
 incr. ' Did he ?' 
 
 * He ran over Johnny Tubbs in one of his 
 fits !' muttered somebody. 
 
 ' But the child was little hurt, for I 
 attended him,' Mr. Brown answered. ' And 
 Mr. Acland gave his father twenty pounds.' 
 
 ' AVell, is that all ? Did he owe you any 
 money ?' 
 
 ' That he did ! — but we've been paid.' 
 
 ' Then what is it ?' 
 
 ' You can see pretty well, sir,* said the 
 doctor's assistant. ' Mr. Acland didn't
 
 Mr. Beaver. 247 
 
 give himself pains to make common people 
 like him.' 
 
 ' Common people ?' murmured the church- 
 warden indignantly. 
 
 * You have desperately long memories 
 here ! I hope they're as good for cherishing 
 kindnesses as for sliofhts. When the 
 offender was drowned at your doors, and 
 near twenty years have passed, random con- 
 duct might be forgiven and forgotten !' 
 
 ' But if it comes to that,' growled the 
 butcher, ' was he drowned — eh, Mr. 
 Williams ?' 
 
 ' What do you mean by that ? ' Hugh 
 exclaimed again. ' Does an^^one here 
 doubt it ?' He had identified Mr. Williams 
 by the general glance turned on him ; it 
 was the schoolmaster. 
 
 ' This isn't right, Mr. Grubb,' he cried, 
 in vexation and alarm. ' I have never said 
 it was Mr. Acland I met — never ! I defy 
 any gentleman here to charge. me with it'
 
 248 A Good Hater. 
 
 Hugh calmed at once. ' There is no 
 question of charging you, Mr. WiUiams,' he 
 said quietly. ' Pray let me hear what you 
 fancied you saw.' 
 
 The schoolmaster was persuaded to tell his 
 story at length : the facts were few enough, 
 but circumstances and incidents and explana- 
 tions made a long narrative of them. In 
 the winter of 1862 he was suffering from 
 sleeplessness and nerves, and he went to 
 some friends at Laystone. On the night of 
 December 9th he had not shut his eyes for a 
 week or so ; thinking that the open air might 
 relieve him, he rose quietly and left the house. 
 It was about two a.m., very dark and misty. 
 Passing the post office, where there was a 
 lamp-post, he saw, to the best of his belief at 
 the time, Mr. Acland, who dropped a letter 
 in the box and walked on. It struck him 
 as curious that a gentleman should be out 
 at such a time, but much less extraordinary 
 in the case of Mr. Acland than of any
 
 Mr. Beaver. 241) 
 
 other person he ever heard tell of. On re- 
 turning home Mr. Williams fell asleep, the 
 first time, if you would beheve his solemn 
 word, etc. He slept and dozed all that day, 
 and it was not till evening that they told 
 him of the drowning. In the excitement of 
 the moment he disputed it, telling what 
 he thought he had seen. Of course it was 
 fancy — no one could be so well convinced 
 of that as himself. Mr. Williams appealed 
 anxiously to his habitual audience to con- 
 firm the declaration that he had never pre- 
 tended otherwise. 
 
 They all admitted the statement of fact, 
 but with glances suggesting that they knew 
 better than Mr. Williams himself what he 
 had seen. The parish clerk whispered, 
 as all rose upon the stroke of ten : ' It was 
 your poor father's ghost, sir ! He was not 
 one to rest in his grave, and much more at 
 the bottom of the river ! Good-night, sir!' 
 
 Hugh begged Mr. Williams to stay, and
 
 250 A Good Hater 
 
 he remained most unwillingly. No more 
 information could he give. He had not 
 observed Mr. Acland's dress, or anything 
 about him. He did not believe that the 
 figure was a ghost. The incident Avas a 
 common case of mistake. 
 
 Hugh passed a wakeful night. The feeling 
 of these honest villagers, who knew his father 
 well, and remembered him bitterly, was dis- 
 tressing. That trouble he must keep to him- 
 self, but the story of Mr. \Mlliams was no 
 such simple question. Under the new cir- 
 cumstances, it had quite a new significance. 
 Hugh had gone further than prudence 
 advised in hinting to the schoolmaster that 
 it was not thought impossible by some, the 
 man he saw mio-ht have been Acland him- 
 self; but all the more earnestly Williams 
 protested that his eyes had deceived him. 
 Huo-h could not doubt that he would 
 declare the same in a court of justice, if 
 called upon to tell his tale. And so, after
 
 Mr. Beaver. 251 
 
 painful thought, he resolved to keep this 
 secret also aoainst his mother and all the 
 world. 
 
 Under the landlord's guidance next day 
 Hugh visited the melancholy spot. Scarcely 
 twelve inches depth the water had that 
 bright summer morning. Boys were play- 
 ing there, laughing and calling to one 
 another. A brood of ducks swam to and 
 fro beneath the alders ; cattle stood knee- 
 deep in the river, whirling their tails rest- 
 lessly. 
 
 ' It doesn't seem the place for a strong 
 man to drown,' said the landlord; 'but 
 there's a power of water in flood- time. The 
 horse landed there betwixt the alders.' 
 
 ' Anyone standing on the bridge could 
 see the whole breadth of the ford.' 
 
 He was thinking of Peake's statement. 
 
 ' As for that, sir, it was near nine o'clock, 
 and I was abroad myself that night. You 
 couldn't see your hand before you.'
 
 252 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Peake had a light, perhaps.' 
 
 ' Not that I ever heard of. He heard a noise 
 of splashing and shouting — that was all.' 
 
 ' You forget. Peake saw my father 
 washed under the bridge.' 
 
 ' I don't remember that,' he continued 
 dubiously; 'and I heard him tell the story 
 above a time or two before he left these 
 parts. No doubt you're right ; but if he 
 did, he must have carried a lantern.' 
 
 The landlord thou2;ht over this idea 
 silently for awhile, as they turned back. 
 
 ' Ah, well,' said he at length, ' it's a long 
 while ago. You were speaking of Mr. 
 Beaver yesterday, sir. He was in the house 
 at that moment, drinking a glass of ale at 
 the bar in his pleasant way.' 
 
 ' Did you mention me ?' 
 
 ' I didn't, sir, because ' he hesitated. 
 
 ' But some of them did.' 
 
 ' You thought he might not care to hear 
 mv name ?' 
 
 I
 
 Mr. Beaver. 253 
 
 ' Why not, sir ?' 
 
 ' You should know better than I.' 
 
 ' Well, he might not, of course I 
 
 don't know anything about it. But, as I 
 was saying, some of the rnen did name you. 
 You're so like your father, you see, that all 
 the village has been talking. When I came 
 down from your room, sir, he spoke to me 
 about you.' 
 
 ' What did he say ?' Hugh asked eagerl}'. 
 
 ' He asked how you looked, and how 
 Mrs. Acland was, and that. Alwaj^s civil 
 and good-hearted is Mr. Beaver, though 
 people who don't know him don't like him, 
 I dare say. Ten to one he will call to-night, 
 coming from the cattle-show at Battley.' 
 
 Hugh had intended to leave in the after- 
 noon, but nothing pressed, and the chance 
 of seeing Mr. Beaver, perhaps of speaking 
 to him without formality, made a strong 
 temptation. He wrote to Mrs. Acland, and 
 hunir about the inn.
 
 254 A Good Hater. 
 
 Late in tlie afternoon a gentleman rode 
 up, two grooms behind him. The village 
 women wreathed themselves in smiles ; the 
 grocer and the linendraper ran to their 
 doors, and bowed and rubbed their hands 
 with an expression of beatitude. No need 
 to ask who the Squire is when he rides 
 throusrh his own hamlet. Huc^h saw a 
 slight, wiry man, who carried his years 
 jauntily. 
 
 The face was very handsome, in a high- 
 bred style, but very keen ; the smile 
 ready to his thin lips had something sar- 
 castic ; but a pleasant-looking gentleman, 
 and the sfreetins: of the villaofers seemed 
 warm. Hugh observed nothing to justify 
 his mother's strong expressions. Mr. 
 Beaver's dress Avas not so quiet as it might 
 have been. A loose scarlet necktie, with a 
 jewel in it that glitters su2)erbly, is not the 
 usual costume for elderly gentlemen who 
 visit cattle-shows; and a pair of grooms,
 
 Mr. Beaver. 255 
 
 mounted on thoroagli-breds of pedigree, 
 might be thought pretentious. 
 
 Mr. Beaver dismounted at the inn door, 
 and Hugh went downstairs. Two or three 
 farmers returning from market stood outside 
 the bar, and mth them Mr. Beaver had 
 instantly begun a merry conversation. He 
 looked up sharpl}^ as the youth went by, 
 watched him lounge to the doorway, and then 
 entered the bar. Presently a servant came 
 to Hugh and asked him to step inside. He 
 did so. Mr. Beaver was alone. He did 
 not offer his hand, but began at once, 
 standing — 
 
 ' I should have known you, Mr. Acland, 
 wherever we met. Many pleasant memories 
 of mine are associated with your face, and 
 some which I do not care to dwell on. I 
 presume you have come here about a matter 
 of which Mrs. Acland has twice written ?' 
 
 ' I had no fixed intention whatever in 
 cominsr.'
 
 256 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Well, I called this evening to see you. 
 I can say to a son what I was embarrassed 
 to write to a mother. Mrs. Acland seems 
 to fancy that this Raikes, who claims to 
 have been your father, was Harry Hard- 
 wicke — of that I know nothing, of course, 
 one way or other. But ]\Irs. Acland thinks 
 that I can tell something of Hardwicke. 
 She is quite mistaken. The circumstances 
 of his departure from Laystone are probably 
 unknown to her. On that night, after 
 Hugh Acland had dined with him, the 
 Rector happened to call, and found Hard- 
 wicke drunk. He had at least more judg- 
 ment than to apply to me after that dis- 
 grace.' 
 
 ' I don't see why you should feel em- 
 barrassment in telling my mother this, sir. 
 She wrote twice.' 
 
 ' It is not that. If I took any part in this 
 inquiry, I should be obliged to speak tlie 
 truth. And that I am very unwilling to do.'
 
 Mr. Beaver. 257 
 
 ' It would be unpleasant for us ?' 
 
 ' It would. Acland told me that he 
 meant to desert your mother.' 
 
 ' When did he tell you this ?' 
 
 ' On the nio^ht he carried his resolve into 
 effect,' Mr. Beaver answered, with a steady 
 searching look. 
 
 ' Will you speak frankly, Mr. Beaver ?' 
 said Hugh, after a pause. 
 
 ' I will speak frankly, so far as I know. 
 But in confidence.' 
 
 'Do you believe that Raikes was my 
 father ?' 
 
 ' I supposed you were going to ask that, 
 and I qualified my promise. Whether 
 Raikes was Hugh Acland I cannot possibly 
 say, but it does not seem to me improbable, 
 and no one knew your father so well. This 
 is in confidence ; but you may tell your 
 mother, with my kindly Avishes, that if I 
 have not answered her it is because I can 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 A Good Hater. 
 
 do your cause no service. When I can 
 help her I certainly will.' 
 
 He motioned to go. They had not sat 
 down, and both went out. As Hugh 
 passed the bar window, he heard ^Ir. 
 Beaver resume his laughing talk with the 
 farmers. 
 
 Mrs. Acland did not get her son's letter 
 in time to prevent grave anxiety. For 
 Dunscombe's note, carried to Preston by 
 a groom, travelled with Hugh to town, and 
 was delivered the same nisrht. His sig^na- 
 ture upon the envelope naturally perplexed 
 the ladies. The morning post brought a 
 second letter, bearing Lord Eainforth's 
 autograph on the outside. And meantime 
 arrived Hugh's servant, expecting to find 
 his master at home. All he knew was that 
 ]\Ioore, Lord Dunscombe's man, told him to 
 pack and follow Mr. Acland, who had 
 left. Seriously alarmed, Mrs. Acland tele- 
 graphed both to Rainforth and Dunscombe.
 
 Mr. Beaver. 259 
 
 The latter did not reply j tlie former 
 answered : 
 
 ' Lord Rainforth presents his compli- 
 ments to Mrs. Acland, and desires to inform 
 her that Mr. Hugh Acland was Lord Duns- 
 combe's guest. Lord Rainforth is not 
 acquainted with his movements.' 
 
 This harsh reply increased the conster- 
 nation. Grave measures impended, when 
 Dunscombe called with the telegram, which 
 had been redirected to him in town. He 
 admitted that Hugh lefi unexpectedly, and 
 his embarrassment suo:o'ested all kinds of 
 
 (Do 
 
 suspicion. If all was right why did he 
 not explain ? Dunscombe took himself 
 away precipitately, and forthwith Mrs. 
 Acland opened Lord Rainforth's letter : 
 
 ' Sm, 
 
 ' I understand by common report 
 that last evening you escorted a young- 
 lady through the Peele Tower, without 
 
 17—2
 
 260 A Good Hater 
 
 asking my consent, nor, I believe, my 
 scJn's. You may be ignorant of the laws 
 of propriety, or indifferent to them ; but 
 on arrival here you "were made acquainted 
 with the customs res}3ected in a family that 
 had received you Avith kindness. I trust 
 myself to say no more. 
 
 * Your obedient servant, 
 
 ' Rainforth.' 
 
 They sat aghast. 
 
 ' It was Miss Palliser ! Oh, these people 
 are our Fates, mamma !' Edie cried. ' And 
 I was befifinninff almost to like her. Let 
 us read Lord Dunscombe's letter !' 
 
 That relieved them somewhat. Hugh 
 was not lying in Daneham woods with a 
 bullet through him. And next day came 
 his letter from Wolfingham, which tliey 
 read together. 
 
 ' The landlord forgets that Peoke had 
 a lantern/ said ]\Irs. Acland. ' He was
 
 Mr. Beaver. 261 
 
 a cow doctor, and had been visiting a farm 
 in the neighbourhood.' 
 
 ' I wish Hugh would rest quiet, and 
 leave things to wiser heads !' 
 
 ' He acts according to his nature, my dear, 
 and we have no cause to complain of that 
 upon the whole. There are few boys of high 
 spirit and quick temper who have given 
 their friends so little annoyance. I think 
 we need not speak to Hugh about Lord Rain- 
 forth's letter. I will put it on his table.' 
 
 ' He has done nothing wrong, mamma, 
 I'm sure of that ; but he's so very thought- 
 less sometimes. And the dear, silly fellow 
 seems to have found a kindred spirit. Don't 
 you begin to think, mamma, that Hugh's 
 admiration for Miss Palliser is becoming 
 rather grave ?' 
 
 ' I have no secrets from my children, 
 dear. The idea struck me long ago.' » 
 
 ' And in the same breath you declare that 
 you have no secrets!'
 
 262 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' Distinguons, my child ! I did not say 
 that I have no thoughts which I keep to 
 myself. Life Avould be intolerable if Ave 
 told all that passes through our minds. 
 Many ideas occur to me which you would 
 not like to hear.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it ! Try me!' 
 
 ' As a mere idea, I could wish you were 
 married to this man or that whom I dare 
 not suo-o'est.' 
 
 GO 
 
 'You unnatural mother!' cried Edie, 
 blushing. 
 
 ' You see ! It does not answer even to 
 hint all one thinks !' 
 
 ' Xame one man in particular.' 
 
 ' No, we have gone quite far enough. 
 Let us return to Miss Palliser.' 
 
 ' I believe, mamma — I have always sus- 
 pected — that you would like to see me en- 
 gaged to Lord Dunscombe I' 
 
 ' Then you yourself do not confide every 
 thouirht to me?'
 
 Mr. Beaver. 263 
 
 ' You do not deny it ?' 
 
 ' I cannot control your wild ideas. But, 
 to sjoeak seriously, since you have intro- 
 duced the subject, you know I would not 
 interfere with your choice. I have the 
 most perfect confidence in my daughter's 
 judgment. But there are few men or 
 Avomen who secure the grand prize.' 
 
 ' I understand what you mean. But, 
 indeed, I don't ask for so much.' 
 
 ' Only all the virtues combined with all 
 the graces ! Sad experience has taught me 
 to understand men ! You would not ac- 
 cept a Christian hero if he presented him- 
 self — not one, at least, of the type generally 
 understood. Don't stare ! I will explain. 
 You demand, before choosing, certain quali- 
 ties which are not correlative, as the word 
 goes, with others that you exact — that is 
 to say, I never met them together.' 
 ' ' Explain the explanation, dear.' 
 
 ' It is difficult — hardly possible, perhaps,
 
 264 A Good Hater. 
 
 for your inexperienced comprehension. 
 You demand a handsome man. Oh, not 
 the tailor's type — much less the hair- 
 dresser's ; but one a good deal more diffi- 
 cult to find. Then the hero must be bright 
 and quick, but at the same time firm ; 
 enterprising, yet gentle ; self-confident and 
 modest ; brilliant and clever, but pious ; a 
 very fascinating creature, and not too 
 young, but never in love till he saw you. 
 Such a being may exist, for the possibilities 
 of human nature are endless ; but, so far as 
 I have had opportunities to judge, half the 
 qualities you ask are not to be reconciled 
 with the other half. Xow, Lord Duns- 
 combe has merits, but he is very human,' 
 
 ' I should not be afi'aid, so far as that 
 goes, to take him with his faults, if I loved 
 him. My self-conceit goes as far as that, 
 for I quite admit that he has merits, and I 
 believe he is fond of me. But who could 
 love a man who cannot go straight by his
 
 Mr. Beaver. 265 
 
 own will ? You do not wish me to marry 
 him?' 
 
 ' That is going much too far. I see you 
 have thought about it, and that's enough ; 
 I mean, that you have considered the matter. 
 Let us return to Miss Palliser. Have you 
 kept her letters ?' 
 
 ' Yes, they're so odd !' 
 
 She read them aloud, with judicial de- 
 liberation. How astonished would Grace 
 have been to hear the sentences, put down 
 as fast as heedless pen would follow eager 
 brain, thus weighed and analyzed. 
 
 ' What is your opinion, mamma ?' 
 
 ' I should think her what they call a smart 
 girl — that is, quick, thoughtless, worldly, 
 amiable enough, good-tempered, particularly 
 Avell aware of her fascinations. Kot at all 
 an unprofitable friend for my brooding little 
 daughter if circumstances permitted ; and, I 
 must say, not an impossible sort of bride 
 for my son. I should not be inclined to
 
 ^2G6 A Good Hater. 
 
 condemn her unheard. Hugh might fall 
 into hands very much worse.' 
 
 ' I am not sure about that, but I should 
 have liked to know her. Of course, it is 
 impossible now !' 
 
 ' Why, darling ? We know that they 
 have acted very foolishly, and we are not 
 surprised. To desert Miss Palliser would 
 be a kmd of admission that they were worse 
 than foolish. Do not drop your correspond- 
 ence. I am afraid the poor girl will suffer 
 for her imprudence, and a letter from you 
 would be a comfort.' 
 
 ' How kind and thoughtful you always 
 are! But reallv, when Huo'h is in love 
 with her, is it judicious?' 
 
 ' It just occurs to me that we are talk- 
 ing foolishness indeed ! Miss Palliser is en- 
 gaged to Major Saxell. ]\Ir. A^ane told me 
 so. Probably Hugh is not aware of that.' 
 
 ' Engaged ? Then she is no friend for 
 me, mamma. That settles the question.'
 
 Jfr. Beaver. 267 
 
 ' I don't see how, my dear. If she has 
 been flirting with Hugh, that is another 
 matter. But engagement does not cure 
 sill^ girls of their silliness, unfortunately. 
 Wait at least until your brother comes.' 
 
 ' I will if I can. You are quite too 
 calmly good-natured, mamma.' 
 
 When Hugh reached home, very late in 
 the evening, his elaborate explanations of 
 the sudden departure from Daneham were 
 cheerfully admitted, and he thought him- 
 self vastly clever. But this pleasing sensa- 
 tion was dispelled at sight of the letters 
 on his dressing-table. He answered Lord 
 Kainforth at once : 
 
 ' My Lord, 
 
 ' For the offence I gave without pre- 
 meditation I apologize. I venture to think 
 that it did not justify the words addressed 
 to me, but if they afford your lordship 
 relief I must not complain. Lord Duns-
 
 268 A Good Hater. 
 
 combe knew nothing of the matter, ami 
 when he heard, he expressed senthnents so 
 nearly akin to yom* lordship's that I left 
 his roof then and there.' 
 
 To answer Dunscombe was not so easy, 
 and Avhilst Hugh meditated Mrs. Acland 
 tapped at his door, in the prettiest of caps 
 and the freshest of peignoirs. 
 
 ' Now, dear,' she said, ' tell me all about 
 it.' 
 
 ' About what, mams, for gracious' 
 sake ?' 
 
 ' Oh, about one matter I can guess as 
 much as is necessary. You have been 
 to Wolfingham ? AVhat happened there ?' 
 
 Hugh told his meeting with Beaver, and 
 gave the message. Mrs. Acland listened 
 thoughtfully. ' 
 
 ' So that is what has changed you?' she 
 said. ' Oh, don't trouble to deny it, my 
 boy. Beaver is still my enemy? AVell,
 
 Mr. Beaver. 269 
 
 the right will triumph at last, but it's 
 cruel to make a son distrust his mother.' 
 
 ' I distrust you !' he cried, with a growing 
 emphasis on every word. * Not if all the 
 Beavers were translated, and spoke with 
 the tongues of angels ! But I begin to 
 think, dear, that we may have been mis- 
 taken.' 
 
 ' And I tell you we are not, Hugh I' Mrs. 
 Acland exclaimed, with sudden vehemence. 
 ' That falsest and most cunning of villains 
 has succeeded so far ! He has made you 
 doubt, and that was all he dared at present. 
 But we may look for more developments of 
 his ingenuity !' 
 
 ' We can so easily disconcert him, mother, 
 with a bold resolution.' 
 
 ' By admitting that Hardwicke was Hugh 
 Acland — by allowing their hate to beat us 
 at last ? Never ! I would rather die here, 
 now, than give them such delight ! But I 
 am very wrong to show temper! We will
 
 270 A Good Hater. 
 
 talk pleasantly and gravely. You propose 
 to give up your property because Mr. Beaver 
 does what he can to su])port Mr. Hard- 
 wicke's imposture ?' 
 
 ' It will not be our fortune, motlier. We 
 shall still be rich. And the fact that Peake 
 is evidently exaggerating had more weight 
 than anvthins: Beaver said.' 
 
 *I forgot that. Peake carried a lantern, 
 and he always said so.' 
 
 ' That, if proved, would change the case 
 entirely ! It is stated in his first deposition ?' 
 
 ' No doubt. I have the local newspapers, 
 which referred to the accident. There you 
 will find it. Is that all ?' 
 
 ' That is quite all.' He had made up 
 his mind to keep silence about the ghost 
 Williams had seen, and his mother's heat 
 confirmed the resolve. But that heat be- 
 wildered him. Hardwicke's jealous dis- 
 appointment flaring up in death might, in 
 a sensC; be understood ; but why was
 
 Mr. BeavPT. 271 
 
 Beaver supposed to be implacable ? What 
 grievance had he ? And why did Mrs. 
 Acland, so calm and easy-going and reason- 
 able, flash with anger at his name ? 
 
 If her keen eyes observed Hugh's indeci- 
 sion, she did not remark upon it. ' Will 
 you be satisfied now, Hugh,' she said, ' and 
 leave all the matter to me ? Twice you 
 have interfered in a delicate and painful 
 inquiry — how many more times I do not 
 know. But on both these occasions grave 
 disputes have arisen between us. If your 
 confidence in me is restored, promise that 
 henceforth you will let your mother conduct 
 the affair.' 
 
 ' I promise faithfully,' Hugh exclaimed, 
 not without relief. 
 
 ' I register that vow, and we will talk 
 of pleasant matters — Miss Palliser, for 
 instance ?' 
 
 * I am in love, mams, and she and I have 
 got into a scrape.'
 
 272 
 
 .1 Good Hater. 
 
 ' Are you certain the young lady is 
 free?' 
 
 ' You have heard something, then ? It 
 is absurd to suppose that there can be a 
 serious engagement between- Grace and 
 Major Saxell, when they have not met 
 since she was a child.' 
 
 ' Before I decide about that, tell me wliat 
 has passed.' 
 
 ' I recognise your quiet sarcasm there, 
 mams. If Miss Palliser is so fast now, she 
 may have been precocious enough to fall 
 seriously in love at ten years old ! But, 
 indeed, she is unlike other girls.' 
 
 ' As the mother of a girl, I cannot 
 pretend to regret the difference excessively. 
 But let me have her story, wliich will not 
 be put in the worst light by you, I con- 
 clude.' 
 
 ' It is not quite a laughing matter, I 
 fear !' said Hu!2:h. 
 
 To own one's self wrong is pleasanter than
 
 Mr. Beaver, 273 
 
 to own one's self weak. He accepted so 
 much more of the responsibility for a joint 
 escapade than belonged to him, that the 
 account might easily have been understood 
 in a sense very different to the truth. But 
 Mrs. Acland was not deceived. 
 
 ' You do not use the privileges of your 
 sex,' she said, with smiling bitterness. 
 ' The world will be quite read}^ to throw" 
 all the blame on Miss Palliser !' 
 
 ' Poor child ! Yes, I have been think- 
 ing of that. Couldn't you. write to her 
 kindly ?' 
 
 ' I'm afraid,' she said, ' that would be 
 rather injudicious and scarcely dignified.' 
 
 ' Well, Edie might ! They have been 
 corresponding, and she owes Miss Palliser 
 a letter, I think.' 
 
 ' You are aware of that ?' 
 
 ' Of course ! There was no harm in her 
 showing it me, was there ?' 
 
 ' There is no harm, I hope, in anything 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 4 Good Hater. 
 
 my son allows. It may be difficult to 
 persuade Edie, however.' 
 
 * Oh, I think she would give her life for 
 you, mams, and almost for me. She puts 
 little value on it herself, poor dear ! I can 
 persuade Edie.' 
 
 ' Well, I have no objection. Suppose 
 you sketch your idea of the letter which 
 would comfort Grace.' 
 
 Hugh wrote a draft, not without hesita- 
 tion, nor abundance of erasures. When it 
 was presented Mrs. Acland laughed. 
 
 ' Why, what is this ? So far as I can 
 understand plain English at a late hour of 
 the niofht, it is a warm invitation to take 
 refuge in Eaton Square if things turn out 
 uncomfortable at home ! Edie will never 
 transcribe this, Hugh, and I should not 
 allow her ! Let us dismiss the subject for 
 a while. In the morning I will try my 
 own ability. Now, have you answered 
 Lord Rainforth ?'
 
 Mr. Beaver. 275 
 
 Hugh showed the letter. 
 
 ' It is very well,' said Mrs. Acland. ' I 
 should add the expression of a hope that 
 Lord Rainforth will accept the apology on 
 his son's account. Put that in a form as 
 dignified as you please !' 
 
 ' It is all owing to their silly, musty 
 practices at Daneham ! You are very 
 anxious, mams, to exculpate Dunscombe 
 with his father.' 
 
 ' One of my chief employments lately has 
 been to undo the mischief my boy has 
 wrought. Have you answered Lord Duns- 
 combe ?' 
 
 ' I think I shall not answer at all. To 
 tell the truth, this affair comes in very 
 timely to relieve me from an embarrassing 
 position. Dunscombe has fallen into a 
 habit of making me the confidant of his 
 feelings towards Edie, though I have never 
 encouraged him. It is a good opportunity 
 to break off.' 
 
 18—2
 
 276 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' I do not encourage him myself. But 
 you are well aware, Hugh, that I should be 
 pleased to see Edie regard him with more 
 favour.' 
 
 ' Oh, mother, you don't know ' 
 
 ' I know more, perhaps, than you ! Lord 
 Dunscombe is not an ideal husband. But 
 his faults are not vices, and they would 
 vanish for ever if he had a wife whom he 
 loved and respected, as he does Edie. I 
 should not hesitate to trust my child to 
 him. Put romantic notions aside, Hugh, 
 and compare Lord Dunscombe with other 
 young men who would stand a chance of 
 acceptance from her. She will marry 
 neither a prig nor a rake, neither an out- 
 sider, nor a commonplace man, nor a 
 vulgarian, nor a Philistine, nor an aesthete. 
 The range of choice is very limited, for 
 Edie is not even indifferent to good looks, 
 and the youth whom I should call average 
 horrifies her. Can you name one among
 
 Mr. Beaver. 277 
 
 those likely — that is, not wholly unlikely — 
 to succeed in the lonsf-run, ao^ainst whom 
 there are not arguments as strong as 
 against Dunscombe, while the advantages, 
 of any sort, are not incomparably less ? 
 Look at it in that way/ 
 
 ' I can't, mams ! It is not that Duns- 
 combe is conspicuously fast as men go, but 
 that he is so fast whilst declaring and pro- 
 testing himself in love with Edie. If regard 
 for her is not able to keep him straight 
 now, when he has all to lose, how can you 
 hope that it will be strong enough when he 
 has secured her ?' 
 
 ' The argument is good as an exercise, but 
 it is not borne out by experience of men. 
 Dunscombe is one of those who could reform 
 without an effort, if summoned, but do not 
 trouble to resist temptation day by day with 
 no distinct purpose before them. I know 
 what you are going to say, but remember 
 that I proposed to drop romantic ideas.
 
 278 A Good ITater. 
 
 However, this talk is all in the air. I shall 
 not interfere with Edie by even a hint. 
 What I ask of you is to accept Lord 
 Dunscombe's apology, and resume, in ap- 
 pearance at least, your old friendship.' 
 
 ' Well, I obey. But you do not expect 
 me to be cordial ? I will meet Dunscombe 
 courteously, but I'll see no more of him 
 than I can help.' 
 
 So tliat was decided. Hugh wrote a 
 cold letter of forgiveness, and went to 
 bed. 
 
 At the very earliest hour next day he 
 waited on his mother, claiming her promise 
 to draft the comforting missive for Grace, 
 which Edie was to transcribe. It was 
 drawn up, not without laughing but eager 
 disputes ; and then came the greater diffi- 
 culty. His sister refused downright at 
 first, but gradually yielded to Hugh's 
 coaxing and Mrs. Acland's light-hearted 
 way of putting the matter. But she would 
 
 \
 
 Mr, Beaver. 279 
 
 take no suggestions, and wrote in her own 
 style : 
 
 * My dear Miss Palliser, 
 
 ' My brother has returned, and he 
 has given us your nice messages. After 
 hearing from Hugh all that passed, mamma 
 desires me to say that she still desires to 
 make your acquaintance when Mrs. Saxell 
 can spare you. 
 
 ' In haste.' 
 
 ' Do cross out " still," darling, and make 
 it a little longer and a good deal more 
 cordial. Say that you share the mams' 
 wish, and end " affectionately," or " very 
 truly," at least. You are not " in haste," 
 and why say so to minimize the kindly 
 effect ?' 
 
 ' I won't write in any other form, Hugh,' 
 she answered, and signed her name ' sin- 
 cerely.' 
 
 ' I will try to believe all you say about
 
 280 A Good Hater. 
 
 Miss Palliser. If circumstances had been 
 different I dare say I should have liked her. 
 But as it is, I don't care to see her more 
 than any of the rest.' 
 
 Later in the day Hugh asked for the 
 newspaper paragraphs to which liis mother 
 had referred. They were very vague, mere 
 rumours of a ' supposed accident at Wolfing- 
 ham,' with no mention of Peake's name ; 
 only the report that ' a man crossing the 
 bridge is said to have witnessed it.' Nothing 
 about a lantern. But Hugh did not care 
 to point this out.
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 THE CONSEQUENCES. 
 
 ^RACE PALLISER had known 
 few troubles in life, and her 
 facile disposition had easily 
 shirked those which befell her. Sulks, and 
 even tears, were not unknown in Mrs. 
 Saxell's household, but only surface-deep. 
 It was not temper, however, nor calcula- 
 tion, nor mischief, nor a bored craving for 
 excitement which melted the young lady 
 one day, a week after the ball. And with 
 no faltering severity her aunt observed the 
 deluge. She was as stern as she looked. 
 ' I cannot now pretend to blame those
 
 282 A Good Hater, 
 
 people who have slighted you. Lady 
 Rainforth's reply to my demand for an 
 explanation is not at all unkindly under 
 the circumstances. You have actually no 
 excuse ! Mr. Acland is a mere boy, and, I 
 believe, a boy of fairly good principles. It 
 was not to be expected that he would 
 refuse when you pressed him, being a 
 stranger to the usages of Daneham ; but 
 your conduct showed the extremest im- 
 propriety ! And I have to say that of the 
 girl on whom my son has bestowed all his 
 gallant heart !' 
 
 ' Oh, don't tell Dick !' Grace sobbed. 
 
 ' I dare not keep the secret. You know 
 too well that the country-side is talking, 
 and scandal would carry it if I were 
 silent!' 
 
 ' He would not believe anyone else ! 
 Dick is so good.' 
 
 ' The more reason I should tell him the 
 truth.'
 
 The Consequences. 283 
 
 ' Oh, aunt, I implore you ! I will write 
 — you shall see the letter.' 
 
 ' I have decided which is the path of 
 duty.' 
 
 Angry resolution shone in Grace's eyes 
 also, tear- swollen though they were, when 
 she looked up. 
 
 ' You know, aunt, that Dick will never 
 forgive me, if you repeat what those people 
 are saying. But I hope and I think he 
 will not forgive you either. I shall not 
 bear all the blame.' 
 
 She left Mrs. Saxell glowering and 
 speechless. The old lady was outraged in 
 every feeling, but prudence warned her that 
 the hint was not injudicious. A charge 
 against Grace might finally bring about 
 disagreeable consequences. Her sense of 
 duty changed, and she waited only for 
 some pretext to yield in a manner dignified 
 and creditable. 
 
 But Grace never thought of trying former
 
 284 A Good Hater. 
 
 arts. She began a confession to Dick, and 
 to her thus engaged Edie's letter was 
 brought. Grace hardly read it before 
 dashing off an answer : 
 
 ' I was at my wdts' end wdth penitence 
 and bewilderment a moment ago ! You 
 are too tender-hearted to say what you do 
 not mean, and I accept, oh, so thankfully ! 
 Mrs. Saxell can spare me now. May I 
 come at once ? Please, dear ^liss Acland, 
 remember how anxiously I shall expect 
 your reply!' 
 
 In due course it arrived — from Mrs. 
 Acland : 
 
 ' It is not my habit to say more than I 
 mean. Your visit would be gratifying to 
 me, but I must tell you that we are going 
 abroad immediately after the season. If 
 tliat should not deter you I will write to 
 Mrs. Saxell.'
 
 The Consequences. 285 
 
 ' She will never accept that cold-blooded 
 invitation,' said Hugh dolefully. 
 
 ' My belief is,' Edie answered, ' seeing 
 how Miss Palliser took my note, that this 
 cold-blooded invitation of mamma's will 
 bring: her bv next train !' 
 
 And the guess was not far wrong. 
 Grace could not flatter herself that the 
 Acland ladies were burning to make her 
 acquaintance, but she made the best of it, 
 wrote an acceptance with gratitude, and 
 waited curiously rather than anxiously to 
 see how her aunt took the business. 
 
 Mrs. Saxell glared over a letter which 
 came two days afterwards. 
 
 ' What is this madness ? "What on earth 
 does the woman mean?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Acland asks me to stay with her 
 until she goes abroad, and I accept!' 
 
 ' You shall not go !' 
 
 ' I will !' Their eyes met, and it was 
 not Grace who faltered.
 
 286 A Good Hater. 
 
 ' I cannot believe you serious. To visit 
 Mrs. Acland after wliat has passed would 
 be another scandal, and a worse!' 
 
 * I know nobody else who Avould have 
 me. We haven't any friends, aunt !' 
 
 ' You do not deserve friends !' 
 ' If so, it is unkind of yours to visit my 
 faults on you.' 
 
 * Why do you want to go away ?' 
 'Oh!' 
 
 There was length and depth enough in 
 that ejaculation to supply a whole para- 
 graph of answer. 
 
 ' I have not written to Dick,' said Mrs. 
 Saxell feebly. 
 
 'I have!' 
 
 ' The long and the short of it is that }'ou 
 shall not quit my roof, if I have to use 
 force to prevent you.' 
 
 ' Don't be silly, aunt.* 
 
 With this astounding observation Grace 
 left the room — and nature was not convulsed.
 
 The Consequences. 287 
 
 She wrote presently, announcing her 
 arrival within three days. And then she 
 became very busy, running in and out ot 
 the house. And so it chanced that the 
 gardener's boy, carrying a letter to the 
 post, was met by Grace, who relieved him 
 of the duty, and forgot to fulfil it until the 
 eve of her departure. 
 
 It is needless to describe the phases of a 
 domestic struggle which ended, of course, 
 in victory for the more reckless combatant. 
 The power of the purse was all that Mrs. 
 Saxell could count on practically, and that 
 failed her. Grace had enough for the 
 journey. She did not look beyond. Her 
 aunt, or her guardian, or somebody, would 
 supply the needful, of course. 
 
 Mrs. Saxell was not waiting in the 
 breakfast-room as usual on the last morn- 
 ing, and after half an hour she did not 
 appear. Grace actually brimmed with affec- 
 tion that day. She said to herself that to
 
 288 A Good Hater. 
 
 leave without good-bye would be agonizing, 
 and so ran upstairs. 
 
 ' Oh, please, please, dear !' tapping at the 
 door — ' a kiss and a kind word, please!' 
 
 The pretty coaxing tone was too much 
 for Mrs. Saxell's sternness. She thought 
 the rebel had given way, and opened her 
 door, submitting to impetuous caresses. 
 But in the midst thereof, Grace ex- 
 claimed: 
 
 ' There's Miles's dogcart, auntie. It's 
 such a relief to part affectionately.' 
 
 ]\Irs. Saxell pushed the girl away. 
 
 ' You are a heartless, hypocritical creature ! 
 Stay with those people — they're of your 
 own sort. Don't return here.' 
 
 ' Oh, darling auntie, don't begin again ! 
 Good-bye.' 
 
 The announcement of Grace's arrival 
 caused a sensation, rather stupefying for 
 the moment, in Eaton Square. Even 
 Hugh stared before he sj^rang ujj and
 
 The Consequences. 289 
 
 kissed his mother. Edie said, with colour 
 heightened : 
 
 ' I have accepted all you told us, Hugh, 
 about Miss Palliser's innocence and im- 
 petuosity and the rest, but this is really 
 indelicate. I cannot believe, until I have 
 seen her, that any girl in possession of her 
 senses could be so thoughtless. The best I 
 can say for Miss Palliser is crushing to 
 your hopes, Hughie.' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 ' If she felt the very smallest interest in 
 you, she would certainly not run away to 
 your mother's house after what has passed.' 
 
 Hugh saw it, and his face lengthened, 
 but he made an effort to defend the young 
 lady. 
 
 ' Then where is the indelicacy?' 
 
 ' In forcing herself upon us. I never 
 dreamed that the invitation would be taken 
 seriously. Did you, mamma?' 
 
 ' I hoped to have heard from Mrs. Saxell, 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 A Good Uaier. 
 
 certainly. But we must make her welcome 
 now.' 
 
 ' She will make herself welcome, mams !' 
 
 ' Just so,' said Edie, ' and I shall bear the 
 brunt. ]\ramma can escape her at any time.' 
 
 ' Escape her!' 
 
 ' And you, of course, will only meet her 
 on show. All the penalty falls on me, who 
 must be fi'iendly and gossipy day and night ! 
 I detest her !' 
 
 ' My darling princess ! There are forms 
 of blasphemy which rouse pity, not anger. 
 I shall ask your revised opinion this da}' 
 week.' 
 ■ Then came Mrs. Saxell's letter : 
 
 ' Madam, — I am used to speak frankly. 
 Your invitation to Miss Palliser is an im- 
 pertinence. What your motive may be I 
 do not try to guess. If you are not aware 
 that she is engaged to my son, I give you 
 the information. She has something less
 
 The Consequences. 291 
 
 than £5,000 for her fortune. It would be 
 superfluous, probably, to add that I cannot 
 allow her to accept your kind invitation.' 
 
 ' I'di glad you asked her now, mamma,' 
 said Edie quietly. ' This explains a great 
 deal.' 
 
 ' You are a little angel !' her brother 
 rapturousl}^ exclaimed. 
 
 Miss Palliser arrived in due time. Hugh 
 was embarrassed, Edie grave, Mrs. Acland 
 cordial but restrained. Grace, alone, was 
 perfectly at ease — used to admiration and 
 liking from all she met, of high courage, 
 thoughtless as a kitten, she did not know 
 what shyness is. When Hugh introduced 
 his sister, Grace blushed beautifully, and 
 her eyes widened with pleased surprise. 
 
 ' How could you utter such a calumny, 
 Mr. Acland !' she said. 
 
 ' What calumny ?' 
 
 ' To say that I — never mind ! Would 
 
 19—2
 
 292 A Good Eater. 
 
 you kindly see about my boxes? — I am 
 glad I did not know you, Miss Acland, 
 before I invited myself so impudently. I 
 should not have dared.' 
 
 ' Am I so formidable ?' 
 
 ' Not formidable — at least — will you ever 
 let me kiss you ?' 
 
 ' Whenever you please,' Edie answered, 
 smiling, but un enthusiastic. 
 
 ' I will try hard to deserve it ! When I 
 do, will you tell me? How stupid brothers 
 are ! Mr. Acland said we should run into 
 each other's arms, and grow together, like 
 Siamese twins! Oh, thank you! yes, the 
 boxes are all risrht.' 
 
 I have no time to detail the course of 
 little events which brought the girls to inti- 
 macy within a fcAv days, admiring on botli 
 sides, protesting on Grace's part, kindly 
 tolerant on Edie's. At the end of a week, 
 the latter gave her opinion shortly. 
 
 ' She is beautiful as a dryad ! If Grace
 
 TJie Consequences. 293 
 
 possessed a soul, she would be the dearest, 
 brightest girl alive. Until she finds one, if 
 ever, she is not responsible.' 
 
 ' Can you help her, dear ?' asked Mrs. 
 Acland. 
 
 ' It's one of those cases, I think, mamma, 
 where a woman's powers of magic are very 
 limited ; and I'm afraid Hugh would not be 
 more successful even if he had a clear 
 course.' 
 
 ' Does she speak of her engagement ?' 
 
 ' Certainly. One can see that Grace 
 regards it as a settled thing, and she has 
 evidently a very great affection for Major 
 Saxell. Whether she loves him in the way 
 a girl should love her husband is another 
 question.' 
 
 ' If she did, I suppose that she would 
 have what you call a soul ?' 
 
 ' Of course, if it were real love. But 
 Grace's affection is quite a sisterly affair, 
 and marriage seems to mean nothing
 
 294 A Good Hater. 
 
 besides freedom and fun and every sort of 
 amusement that money brings. At the same 
 time, she has it firmly fixed in her mind 
 that Major Saxell is very poor.' 
 
 * And does not try to reconcile the ideas ? 
 That is carrying thoughtlessness to the 
 verge of stupidit}', and Grace is not stupid. 
 Doesn't it occur to you that she may be 
 reckoning on Major Saxell's success in his 
 claim ?' 
 
 ' Oh, mamma ! The girl is as honest 
 and loyal as possible ! She could not think 
 of that Avhen living with us.' 
 
 ' I don't really believe she does. A 
 curious character.' 
 
 ' One thing is quite certain. Hugh is 
 falling deeper and deeper in love with her, 
 and he is quite capable of a serious passion. 
 Are you not anxious, mamma?' 
 
 ' Not very, dear. He will not break his 
 heart. Lovely as Grace is, and gifted with 
 more attractions than we women can ap-
 
 The Consequences. 295 
 
 predate, she is not the girl for whom men 
 suffer lifelong agonies. I should think 
 that Hugh will get over his disappointment 
 in a few weeks, but I hope not.' 
 
 ' I know you are as wise as affectionate. 
 But why do you hope not ?' 
 
 ' Because I think that he is going 
 through an invaluable education. Hugh is 
 very young in character, but headstrong, 
 suspicious rather, and jealous of direction. 
 If there were the slightest chance of his 
 marrying Miss Palliser, I would do my 
 utmost to stop it, for she has very much of 
 his own disposition, and before they reached 
 the altar they would have laid the foundation 
 of a hundred quarrels, misunderstandings, 
 tiffs, which might become serious after- 
 wards. When both are older, and have had 
 experience, they would be not ill -matched. 
 The very best experience for Hugh will be 
 this disappointment, not too painful.' 
 
 * I am sure you are right, if only it prove
 
 29G A Good Hater. 
 
 to be not too painful ! And meantime, 
 mamma, there is a consideration which, 
 perhaps, you have not thought of.' 
 
 ' What is that ?' 
 
 ' Hugh has quite ceased to trouble 
 himself about the claim ! He has not even 
 talked of it for a week.' 
 
 ' I did not consider that, you slirewd 
 child ! But it is very true. We have not 
 had any alarms or excursions lately.' 
 
 * And my clever mamma had not ob- 
 served that, until her silly daughter pointed 
 it out! You don't do me the injustice — 
 oh dear, how ought I to put it ? You 
 don't do me the injustice to suppose that I 
 do not do you more justice than that ? 
 That isn't neatly expressed. What I mean 
 is, that I could almost believe you had fore- 
 seen the course things have taken since 
 Hugh began to hope that ^liss Palliser 
 would come here, and had arranged accord- 
 ingly — there !
 
 The Consequences. 297 
 
 ' All the suspicious nature of my off- 
 spring is not concentrated in Hugh, I see,' 
 said Mrs. Acland pleasantly. ' But my 
 plots are very harmless !' 
 
 ' Don't I know that, kindest and best of 
 mothers? If only Hugh's passion is as 
 light as we trust it is !' 
 
 Grace was as happy as the day is long, 
 counting it at the full twenty-four hours. 
 The season died in a crush of gaiety. Mrs. 
 Acland took the girls out a good deal, and 
 a score of eligible chaperons were de- 
 lighted to replace her at need. Opportuni- 
 ties of distinction in society are few, and 
 the fame of a lady who had charge of two 
 girls so notably beautiful was made for 
 the night, possibly even for the morrow. 
 
 They very often met Lord Dunscombe, 
 and he called in Eaton Square quite as 
 frequently as the laws of decorum admitted. 
 Grace soon got over the embarrassment of 
 meeting him, for he laughed at her outrage
 
 208 A Good Hater. 
 
 on the Kainforth traditions. She observed, 
 however, that Dunscombe and Hugh were 
 not as friendly as they used to be, and 
 boldly asked of the former if she was in any 
 way the cause. 
 
 ' So far from that,' he answered, ' no one 
 is as well qualified as yourself to restore 
 our understanding.' 
 
 ' Then the quarrel must have been about 
 me ? I am very clever in setting people by 
 the ears, but not in smoothing them over 
 afterwards. What shall I do?' 
 
 ' Persuade Hugh to forgive me heartily. 
 I behaved like a ruffian to him once.' 
 
 ' Won't Edie or Mrs. Acla'nd mediate ?' 
 
 ' I could not ask them, and I implore 
 you not to do so.' 
 
 * It is my duty, I suppose,' she said, and 
 promised. 
 
 But the opportunity did not come. AA^'ith 
 all her carelessness, the girl felt this task 
 awkward, and time went by. It became
 
 The Consequences. 299 
 
 necessary to consider wliat she would do 
 when Mrs. Acland and Edie went abroad. 
 Grace took it for granted that the only 
 course for her was a return to Scarsholme, 
 and she did not repress her droll lamenta- 
 tions. Edie said one day, ' Do you think, 
 mamma, that Grace means to hint that she 
 would like to go with us to Italy ?' 
 ' I'm quite sure she does not.' 
 ' And so am I. So let us ask her,' 
 ' I did not like to suggest it, but you. 
 really want a companion now. I shall be 
 very busy and preoccupied until this affair 
 of Major Saxell's is finished.' 
 
 ' And then you know, dear, Hugh is not 
 going with us. He would hardly have 
 kept away from Scarsholme when he re- 
 collected that Grace was sittino; there in 
 tears and dishevelment longing for a com- 
 forter.' 
 
 ' Do not put your cunning schemes to my 
 account,' said Mrs. Acland, laughing.
 
 300 A Good Hater. 
 
 So it was decided, and Miss l*alliser lost 
 her ill-regulated senses with joy and sur- 
 prise. Mrs. Saxell wrote that if she delayed 
 returning any longer, she need not take the 
 trouble to return at all ; but Grace only 
 laughed, and said nothing to her host. 
 
 Riding up Grosvenor Place one day with 
 Hugh, they met Lady Kainforth and Madge, 
 who bowed distantly. 
 
 ' I don't think I deserve to be treated so !' 
 said Grace meekly, though her colour 
 heightened. 
 
 ' Don't regard those people ! They are 
 animated mummies, with a modern coat of 
 paint.' 
 
 Grace laughed. ' But we were both 
 wrong, Mr. Acland! I own it, and I 
 submit to the penalty. So should you!' 
 
 ' I will submit to anything in your com- 
 pany.' 
 
 ' Then make it up with Lord Dunscombe. 
 He is so anxious to be friends !'
 
 The Consequences. 301 
 
 * I have no ill-feeling towards him. Let 
 us talk of something else. When you are 
 leaving in a few hours we might find a 
 topic more interesting than Lord Duns- 
 combe.' 
 
 'But I must have this off my mind!' 
 Her beautiful eyes pleaded earnestly. 
 
 ' Say " Forgive him for my sake," and I 
 will love him.' 
 
 ' I must not say that, Mr. Acland !' 
 
 ' But that is what you mean ? And why 
 should you not say it ?' 
 
 ' Frankly, I don't know why not. I will 
 ask Edie.' 
 
 * Oh, Edie will give you reasons enough. 
 If you feel, you must have an impression at 
 least.' 
 
 ' Hardly. Perhaps a girl is not right in 
 asking personal favours.' 
 
 ' That would depend,' he answered, press- 
 ing his horse closer ; they had reached 
 Eotten Row, and the crowd encompassed
 
 A Good Hater. 
 
 them. ' If Edie thought you'd ever consent 
 to be her sister she would approve anything 
 you did.' 
 
 ' That I don't believe, Mr. Acland ! 
 Under the circumstances you funnily 
 suggest, Edie would regard me and all my 
 doings with the extremest disapproval.' 
 
 ' She knows that I love you, and that 
 would be enough for her if she did not love 
 you herself.' 
 
 ' Pray be more careful, Mr. Acland. 
 Some one will overhear us, and may mis- 
 understand.' 
 
 ' They could not, for I am speaking 
 quite plainly. I ask you to be my wife, 
 Grace!' 
 
 ' Your But you know I am 
 
 engaged ?' 
 
 ' There cannot be love between two 
 persons who do not know eacli other by 
 sight ' 
 
 * Why not as well as between two
 
 The Consequences. 303 
 
 persons who don't know much of each other 
 except by sight?' 
 
 ' Then you don't love me?' 
 
 ' Oh, what an unfortunate girl I 
 am!' 
 
 ' Misery is very tolerable when other 
 people bear all the sting of it ! You cannot 
 have been ignorant that I adored you from 
 the first moment, and you have been play- 
 ing with me !' 
 
 ' I have not, indeed. Until this very 
 instant, I never thought of you but as a 
 kind, light-hearted friend.' 
 
 * Can you think of me gravely now ?* 
 
 ' Yes — sadly ! If I was to blame, I beg 
 you to forgive me !' 
 
 ' I am not quick at forgiving, you. know. 
 If you possessed the common feelings of 
 womankind you could not have deceived 
 me in this manner!' 
 
 Grace answered mildly: 
 
 ' I sometimes think I haven't ! But I am
 
 304 A Good Hater. 
 
 woman enoucch to re":ret this misunder- 
 standing, bitterly !' 
 
 The real thought in her mind could not 
 be expressed. It was astonishment at his 
 presumption. Other young men admired 
 her ; all did, in fact. But she could not 
 marry all, and she felt no inclination to 
 make a choice. She liked Mr. Acland cer- 
 tainly, as she liked others who were bright 
 and generous and warm-hearted and amus- 
 ing. Why should he single himself out 
 among the human race as destined for the 
 prize? Grace did not feel complimented, 
 but vexed and indignant.' 
 
 Perhaps Hugh saw the truth. 
 
 ' You don't regret it,' he said roughly, 
 ' for you don't comprehend it.' 
 
 They rode home silently. Mrs. Acland 
 came to Huoh in his dressins'-room. 
 
 ' I have news that will relieve your mind, 
 my son. Mr. Yane has written Major 
 Saxell, advising him to drop his claim.'
 
 The Consequences. 305 
 
 ' Oh, mother, I am so glad ! Then he is 
 satisfied ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' Mrs. Acland answered, smiling. 
 ' As a cool, disinterested lawyer, Mr. Vane 
 accepts evidence which, does not convince 
 my son — - — ' 
 
 ' Mother !' 
 
 ' It is not yom* fault, dear ! You have 
 tried hard, I know, but I see you cannot 
 believe — something, perhaps, you have 
 heard which has not been trusted to me. I 
 cannot tell that ; but 1 can read your face. 
 jSTo, dear, darling Hugh, don't tr}^ to ex- 
 plain, since things have turned out so. 
 The crisis is over. We will be quite happy 
 and confidential again. Now, let us go to 
 lunch.' 
 
 Grace had not learned, probably she 
 would never learn, to hide a real feeling, 
 and Hugh did not attempt it. Within 
 three minutes Mrs. Acland and Edie knew 
 as well as if they had overheard that those 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 306 A Good Hater. 
 
 two had had an unsatisfactory explanation. 
 And so they exerted themselves to make 
 talk. After lunch the brother and sister 
 remained alone. They congratulated one 
 another on the issue of the question so 
 far. 
 
 ' Now,' said Hugh, ' I can start on my 
 travels.' 
 
 ' Where do you think of going ?' Edie 
 asked, without surprise or alarm. 
 
 ' Anywhere, so long as there's big game 
 and savages in the neighbourhood.' 
 
 ' You don't really mean that ? Oh, 
 Hugh, she is not worth your honest heart 
 nor our tears.' 
 
 ' I know her better than you, and I can't 
 help it. I must get away, darling ! Help 
 me to persuade my mother.' 
 
 ' If it is so, I will help you ! My poor 
 little brother !' 
 
 * I beg of you, dear, not to allow this to 
 make any difference in your behaviour to-
 
 The Consequences. 307 
 
 wards Miss Palliser. She gave me no 
 encouragement wilfully. And I'm not 
 hopeless, Edie. Grace cares no more for 
 Saxell than for me, and it would be best in 
 my own interests to leave her for awhile, 
 even if I could keep up appearances, 
 which I can't. You will ignore all this ? 
 You will not let her suspect anything 
 of it?' 
 
 Edie promised. 
 
 Dunscombe entered the room the next 
 day before Hugh was dressed. 
 
 ' We cannot continue on these terms,' he 
 said. ' Let us have an explanation.' 
 
 ' I will give it you frankly, for I am 
 going to the west coast of Africa for twelve 
 months at least. Before you used words 
 that could hardly be forgiven, I had heard 
 remarks here and at Daneham which caused 
 me to ask myself whether our intimacy was 
 consistent with my honour. You had 
 fallen into a habit of alluding to your 
 
 20—2
 
 308 A Good Hater. 
 
 admiration of my sister, and I had fallen 
 into a habit of listening. At all times 
 I have warned you that if need arose — 
 there was no need and there is none now — 
 but if it arose I warned you that my 
 influence would be used against you. But 
 that is not enough. There are matters of 
 common report which compel me to take a 
 stronger course, and therefore I was not 
 sorry to have an opportunity of breaking 
 off our former terms. You see that the 
 case is beyond remedy.' 
 
 Dunscombe Avas white ; his mouth 
 quivered. 
 
 ' May I ask,' he said, in a changed voice, 
 ' whether you have transmitted these 
 common reports to the ladies of your 
 family ?' 
 
 ' I have not. But before I go I shall.' 
 
 Without another word, Dunscombe with- 
 drew to his own house, and summoned 
 Moore, his valet.
 
 The Consequences. 309 
 
 * Mr. Acland sent you a while ago to 
 make acquaintance with Mr. Vane's clerk. 
 What sort of man is he?' 
 
 ' Mr. Davis is not a superior person, my 
 lord. I should think he would be pleased 
 to make himself useful for a trifle, if that is 
 what your lordship means.' 
 
 * He is a respectable sort of man, of 
 course ?' 
 
 ' Quite respectable, my lord.' 
 
 ' And obliging ?' 
 
 ' Very obliging, my lord, I should say, 
 when a matter is put before him with con- 
 sideration.' 
 
 ' And money?' 
 
 * That is what I mean, my lord.' 
 
 ' Then find him this afternoon. I have 
 some annoying business, which I would not 
 ask my lawyers to conduct. If you are 
 sure that Mr. Davis is trustworthy, bring 
 him here.' 
 
 When Dunscombe returned to dress, the
 
 .^10 A Good Hater. 
 
 man was waiting. It is easy for one who 
 leads a fast life to find work for a legal 
 agent of the indefinite class. Diinscombe 
 invited Mr. Davis to sit down, showed a 
 number of letters referring to a claim which 
 he desired to comjn'omise, discussed the 
 matter thoroughly, and offered a large 
 percentage. Not till Mr. Davis rose to 
 go did he say casually : 
 
 ' It was my man who named you to me 
 as an able and discreet adviser. I lent him 
 to Acland on the occasion when he made 
 your acquaintance. Moore guarantees your 
 silence and trustworthiness in this case. 
 You will not give a stranger the address of 
 anybody concerned in my affairs?' 
 
 ' Indeed I will not, my lord,' said Davis, 
 much flurried. ' That was such a very 
 trifling matter which Mr. Moore questioned 
 me about.' 
 
 ' Well, you will not forget that there are 
 no trifles in my business ! By-the-bye,
 
 The Consequences. 311 
 
 how does the claim of Major Saxell pro- 
 gress ?' 
 
 ' It has come quite to a standstill, my 
 lord. Mr. Vane has made up his mind that 
 it will not hold water, as they say; and 
 he is writing to India by next mail, advising 
 Major Saxell to drop it.' 
 
 ' This is very pleasant news ! I am 
 particularly interested in this case, not for 
 the money question, but on account of some 
 collateral issues that seem to arise. You 
 understand me ?' 
 
 ' I am not sure, my lord,' said Davis, with 
 hesitation. 
 
 ' It is not much of a secret that I admire 
 Miss Acland,' Dunscombe replied steadily, 
 but with an effort. ' Certain hints have 
 reached me that cause a vague uneasiness. 
 You understand now ?' 
 
 ' Your lordship thinks that there is some- 
 thing which might influence him in the idea 
 of marrying Miss Acland ?'
 
 312 A Good Hater 
 
 ' Quite so.' 
 
 ' Might I ask wiiat those hints were ? 
 Possibly I could relieve }our lordship's 
 mind.' 
 
 ' AVhy,' said Dunscombe angrily, ' about 
 Hugh's birth in the first place.' 
 
 ' ]\Ir. Hugh is legitimate — doubly so, I 
 may say/ 
 
 ' That's it ! — there is a m^-stery. What 
 was the date of Mrs. Acland's marriage?' 
 
 * In the latter part of 1857, nominally ' 
 
 ' And he was born in February, 1858?' 
 
 ' Allow me ' 
 
 ' Your explanation is not enough. And 
 what is the connection of Mrs. Acland with 
 Julius Beaver?' 
 
 ' As for that, my lord, I'm sorry to con- 
 fess that we know nothing certainly. But 
 Mr. Yane is quite satisfied with her refuta- 
 tion of the innuendoes made by Sergeant- 
 Major Raikes.' 
 
 ' In such a grave matter I cannot accept
 
 The Consequences. 313 
 
 Mr. Vane's opinion any more than yours. 
 N'ow, Mr. Davis, unless I have been misin- 
 formed, Raikes or Acland or Hardwicke, or 
 whoever he was, preferred certain charges 
 against the lady, which Vane most pro- 
 perly suppressed. I am deeply interested, 
 as you perceive, in knowing what those 
 charges are, and in ascertaining for myself 
 the facts. It is needless to give you my 
 word of honour that they will not be 
 divulged. Could you obtain me a copy, or 
 a sight, of the statements which Raikes 
 made ?' 
 
 Davis hesitated no longer. 
 
 ' It is a risk, my lord,' he said. 
 
 'You may name your own terms.' 
 
 ' Your lordship wishes to marry Miss 
 Acland, but before committing yourself you 
 desire to learn the truth of certain scandals 
 against the family. Very natural and 
 proper, if I may be allowed to express an 
 opinion.'
 
 314 A Good Hater 
 
 ' You are perfectly right.' 
 
 ' Your lordship's confidence flatters 
 me ! But ^Ir. Vane, perhaps, would 
 not acknowledge my right to assist 
 you.' 
 
 ' My gratitude shall be all the more sub- 
 stantial.' 
 
 ' I might j)robably be dismissed !' 
 
 ' Let me have those papers for half a 
 day, and I will hand yx)u thi'ee years' salary 
 down on receipt.' 
 
 ' That is enough ! A poor man, my 
 lord, cannot always venture to follow^ a 
 good impulse, however strongly his better 
 nature may commend it to him. But 
 assured against the consequences, he can 
 give himself fair play. We are just now 
 transcribing all the evidence on either side, 
 to be sent to India, with Mr. Vane's remarks. 
 By a little management and good luck, 
 I might obtain possession of the documents 
 your lordship wishes to see. r>ut I beg
 
 The Consequences. 315 
 
 you not to keep them more than half a 
 day.' 
 
 ^ Have you read the things yourself ?' 
 asked Dunscombe jealously. 
 
 ' Not exactly, my lord. Mr. Yane keeps 
 them locked up. But I have confidentially 
 transcribed Mrs. Acland's answers, intended 
 for Major Saxell personally.' 
 
 ' So the case in itself falls to the ground?' 
 
 ' Absolutely. Sergeant-Major Raikes was 
 the Rev. Henry Hardwicke. as sure as I 
 
 am James Davis and your lordship is 
 
 what your lordship pleases to call yourself.' 
 
 ' Let me have a copy of Mrs. Acland's 
 reply also, if possible. When Major Saxell 
 drops the question, if he should, his claim 
 passes to Mrs. Saxell, as I understand ?' 
 
 ' Yes, and she's an ugly customer, my 
 lord. But so far as scandal is concerned, 
 her son has written Mr. Yane to destroy all 
 the matter he suppressed, before handing 
 over the evidence, if Mrs. Saxell should
 
 316 A Good Hater . 
 
 be((in proceedings ; and Mr. Vane told me 
 he would have done so on his own account, 
 without authority.' 
 
 ' That's rather a bold step, isn't 
 it?' 
 
 ' Very bold for a poor man, my lord. 
 Mr. Yane would do it, if necessary, how- 
 ever. But the lady will not know these 
 things, and if counsel ask about the muti- 
 lated diary the chances are that they can 
 be satisfied without much trouble.' 
 
 ' If the case is as plain as you describe, 
 how could Hardwicke possibly have hoped 
 to carry his fraud through?' 
 
 ' Our case is that he didn't hope. In 
 all the years he was writing slander against 
 Mrs. Acland, and pretending to himself 
 that he was her husband, Raikes never 
 made a move. AVe insist a good deal on 
 that. But when the game was up, and 
 he lay dying, it seems to have been a 
 satisfaction to him to do something at last
 
 The Consequences. 317 
 
 which would make matters unpleasant for 
 those who survived him. And if Major 
 Saxell hadn't been a chivalrous sort of 
 a gentleman, Raikes w^ould have succeeded 
 with a vengeance, whether the Major gained 
 his case or not. Your lordship will judge 
 for yourself. Though it's all lies, a lady in 
 the upper circles would have found an 
 inquiry very unpleasant. Perhaps your 
 lordship is not aware that he intended at 
 one time to write all his story about her 
 mother to Miss Acland — and most likely he 
 did so!' 
 
 ' Xo, by heaven ! I had not heard that ! 
 How do you know?' 
 
 ' We found the rough draft of a letter 
 addressed to her among the things at 
 Meerut.' 
 
 'Was there a date? What did it con- 
 tain ?' 
 
 ' It contained all the charges, put as black 
 as possible. We judge that the date would
 
 318 A Good Hater 
 
 be somewhere in 1S78. Your lordship is 
 agitated, naturally !' 
 
 ' What an infernal scoundrel ! This is 
 worse than I ever thought.' 
 
 • If we hadn't stronger evidence,' said 
 ]Mr. Davis, * the fact that Raikes was a 
 scoundrel would not prove him not to have 
 been Acland, my lord.' 
 
 ' Send what you have promised as soon as 
 you can. Good -evening.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, Gl'ILDFORD. 
 
 S. d H. 
 
 1