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 "LI B R.AFLY 
 
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 UNIVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 323 
 M146p 
 1888 
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 PECCAVI." 
 
 a &otei 
 
 EMILY F. D. OSBORN. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 g.*frWflBAtt»tt* t MW*, / 
 
 bonbon : 
 
 SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY & CO. 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
 
 Butler & Tanner, 
 
 The Selwood Printing Works, 
 
 Frome, and London.
 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Unexpected News i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Husband and Wife 24 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 The "Ogre" 40 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 " Tell Me what it is " 63 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 j In the "Ogre's" Den 81 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 " I Never Change My Mind " 100 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 ;S A Bad Look-Out 116 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Introduces Two New Characters . . . .132 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Geoffrey Dering . * . 147
 
 iv Contents of Vol. I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Qualms 166 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 Going Away 188 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 The Trehernes 203 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 A Contretemps 228 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Meetings 247 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Spoke in the Wheel 262
 
 PECCAVL" 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 UNEXPECTED NEWS. 
 
 " Well, I wash my hands of the whole 
 affair ! " 
 
 " Certainly you can, sir. You have no 
 possible responsibility in the matter, and can't 
 even be accused of having been ' accessory to 
 the fact. ' So make your mind quite easy on 
 that point. But you will let her come here, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 The individual who gives utterance to the 
 somewhat egotistical speech with which this 
 story opens, is the Reverend Edwin Saunders, 
 the very personification of a sleek, well-to- 
 do, comfortable-looking parson, — a man who 
 
 vol. i. * B
 
 Peccavi." 
 
 chooses to accept life and its many mysteries 
 with easy philosophy, and is well satisfied 
 with himself and with his surroundings. One 
 can see at the first glance, by the cut of his 
 glossy coat, by the spotlessness of his white 
 tie, by his general aspect of plumpness and 
 trimness, that he is well endowed with this 
 world's goods. Mr. Saunders has a genial, 
 ruddy countenance, and a hearty manner, and 
 strangers are impressed with the idea that 
 he is a kind-hearted, good-natured man. The 
 latter he may be, when to be so costs him 
 nothing ! But those who know him best, 
 and have penetrated beneath that oily sur- 
 face, are inclined to dub him a thorough 
 humbug, hard as a mill-stone where his own 
 interests are brought into question, his chief 
 god being his personal comfort. He greets 
 an acquaintance with a hearty handshake and 
 overflowing expressions of cordiality, and goes
 
 Unexpected News. 
 
 home to bully his wife and crush her de- 
 pressed spirits still more thoroughly by a 
 new exercise of conjugal authority. He 
 preaches eloquent sermons on the sins of 
 self-indulgence and uncharitableness, and goes 
 straight from the pulpit to his luxurious mid- 
 day meal, drinking his choice bottle of pale 
 sherry with none the less gusto, because he 
 knows that his cadaverous-looking curate can 
 afford to support himself on nothing better 
 than plain water, out of that pitiful stipend 
 of £60 a year, which is all that he allows 
 him. Mr. Saunders is "hail-fellow-well-met" 
 to all men. He does good to himself, and, as 
 a rule, men speak well of him ; but within 
 the four walls of his own home he shows 
 himself in his true colours, and is a perfect 
 specimen of a narrow - minded, dogmatic 
 tyrant. But enough of this gentleman. His 
 type is a common one, and as he is to take
 
 'Pcccavi." 
 
 no prominent part in this tale of ours, he 
 merits not a lengthier disquisition. 
 
 His companion is a tall, fair, curly-headed 
 and blue-eyed young man of eight and twenty, 
 by name Charles Devereux. He is a Captain 
 in the — th Hussars, now quartered at Alder- 
 shot, in the immediate neigbourhood of which 
 place is situated Mr. Saunders' cure. Captain 
 Devereux has just been making rather a 
 startling announcement, to the effect that a 
 week ago, he and Ruth Eyre, the Rectory 
 governess, were united in the bonds of matri- 
 mony, during her absence for the Midsummer 
 holidays. 
 
 Mr. Saunders is quite aware that Captain 
 Devereux has been a frequent visitor at the 
 Rectory during the past three months, but he 
 has never taken the trouble to inquire into 
 the motives of his constant appearance there. 
 On hearing the young man's confession, the
 
 Unexpected News. 
 
 Rector's first feeling is one of actual contempt 
 for the folly which led to the commission of 
 such an act. But then, even in the days of 
 his earliest youth, the clergyman had never 
 been wont to be governed by impulse him- 
 self; never once did he act without well 
 counting the cost of what he was about to 
 undertake. The faults of rashness and im- 
 prudence were never, as he reflects now and 
 then with a complacent smile, laid to his 
 charge. He had certainly possessed the old 
 head on young shoulders, refuting the accuracy 
 of that old saying, which denies the existence 
 of such an anomaly. 
 
 Under these circumstances, it is too much 
 to expect from him that he should sympathise 
 with Captain Devereux's ill-judged rush into 
 matrimony. Luckily, however, the matter 
 is not one which immediately affects himself, 
 and if the young man chooses to make a fool
 
 Peccavi." 
 
 of himself, and to run the risk of being dis- 
 inherited, why, then, he must take the conse- 
 quences on himself. So that when Captain 
 Devereux reiterates a little impatiently, " Well, 
 Mr. Saunders, you will say Yes, won't you ? 
 It will be for only a few days, as I shall go 
 straight off to my uncle, after bringing her 
 here, and shall be back again directly. Other- 
 wise, if you object, the poor child will be 
 quite alone in London, for her uncle goes to 
 Margate to-morrow with his family," the 
 clergyman responds amiably enough, — 
 
 " I must just ask my wife's opinion first, 
 and if she has nothing to say against it, 
 we shall be happy to welcome Miss — Mrs. 
 Devereux here to-morrow." 
 
 "Thanks, awfully." 
 
 Captain Devereux is quite satisfied with 
 this half promise, for, in common with the 
 rest of the Rector's friends, he knows well that
 
 Unexpected News. 
 
 Mrs. Saunders never dares to lift up her 
 voice in opposition to her husband's, and that 
 the suggestion of his consulting her is a mere 
 fa$on de parler. 
 
 " At all events," repeats the older man, 
 with recurring egotism, " if your uncle should 
 disapprove of the step you have taken, he 
 cannot reproach me, as I was as ignorant of 
 all that was going on as " 
 
 " As the babe unborn ! " interrupts the 
 other, with a half- vexed laugh. " Of course 
 you were, sir. Didn't I say so before ? If 
 it would be of the slightest comfort to you, 
 I'll take care to assure my uncle of the fact. 
 Not that I except to find any, or, at least, 
 much difficulty in dealing with him." 
 
 " Youth is always so sanguine, and so 
 confident of success ! " returns Mr. Saunders, 
 with an air of superior wisdom. " You think, 
 then, that he won't be angry ? "
 
 8 "Peccavu" 
 
 " I don't think so. But even if he does 
 cut up rusty at first, I think I can get round 
 him. Though not exactly what you would 
 call a sweet-tempered old man" — with a 
 short laugh — "he has always given in to me 
 somehow, and let me have what I have 
 wanted. He is not a man with many weak- 
 nesses, either, but I do believe, if he has one 
 at all, it is for me, curious to say. Every- 
 body used to say that I could turn him round 
 my little finger." 
 
 "Well, I heartily hope that 'everybody' may 
 turn out in this case to be right," answers 
 Mr. Saunders, speaking cordially. " Of course 
 you know your uncle best, but I can't help 
 wondering — excuse me — that you didn't think 
 it would be better policy to seek his consent 
 before the marriage took place. Miss Eyre's 
 family is — well, very respectable and estimable, 
 I have no doubt ; but some men in Mr.
 
 Unexpected Nezus. 
 
 Falconer's position put an exaggerated stress 
 on connections and " 
 
 " Oh, I have no reason to suppose that 
 my uncle cares for that sort of rubbish," 
 says Captain Devereux airily. " I didn't 
 marry Ruth for her family, but for herself, 
 and I am sure that, when once my uncle has 
 seen her, he will admire and like her ; indeed, 
 he can't possibly help it. But as to telling 
 him of my intention before, that's a very 
 different thing. He might have had all sorts 
 of objections and prejudices. Now that the 
 deed is done, he must bow to the inevitable. 
 No, depend upon it, I've hit upon the wisest 
 plan. I know how to manage him." 
 
 Perhaps Captain Devereux is secretly less 
 confident than his words imply, for after a 
 moment's pause he hastens to add, — 
 
 " And, even if he does see fit to make a 
 bother about it all, what then ? I am surely
 
 io "Peccavi. 
 
 old enough to do as I like, without asking 
 any one's permission. I am my own master, 
 and " 
 
 Mr. Saunders raises his eyebrows slightly, 
 and the young officer is not slow to compre- 
 hend the gesture. 
 
 " At least, I am not accountable to him for 
 what I take it into my head to do," he con- 
 tinues, a little hotly. "Of course, he can 
 disinherit me, if indeed he has ever decided 
 to make me his heir, which he never told me 
 for certain ; but that does not tie me down 
 to consult him about every trifle that happens. 
 At my age " 
 
 " Do you call your marriage a trifle, then ? " 
 puts in Mr. Saunders, with a little sarcastic 
 laugh. " Upon my word, I envy you your 
 power of taking things so easily. Most men 
 in your position would take some little trouble 
 to conciliate a relation who has so much in
 
 Unexpected Nezvs. 1 1 
 
 his power. But youth is romantic, as we all 
 know, and quite superior to the prosaic, every 
 day details of life. Love in a cottage, and all 
 that sort of thing, has something very attrac- 
 tive about it, when we are quite young, and 
 don't trouble our heads about the bread and 
 butter side of the question." 
 
 " Hang it, Mr. Saunders ! One would think 
 you were reading off a copy book ! " exclaims 
 Captain Devereux, half laughing, half vexed. 
 " Do you think me an utter fool ? I know as 
 well as anybody else that a fellow can't get 
 on without a certain amount of money, but I 
 don't think it's the least likely that I shall 
 be obliged to try the experiment. Just at 
 first I half thought of taking Ruth down with 
 me, and presenting her to them as my wife, 
 before they had time to collect their senses ; 
 but I don't think I shall now. I shall go 
 down alone."
 
 12 "Peccavi? 
 
 "I would advise that course, rather than the 
 other," counsels Mr. Saunders. 
 
 " Well, it would not be a good plan," returns 
 Captain Devereux, " too like a scene on the 
 stage, don't you think ? However," he goes 
 on, looking at his watch, " I see I have only 
 an hour more to catch the train back to town. 
 Don't you think, like a good fellow, you could 
 go at once, and talk to Mrs. Saunders about 
 letting Miss — Mrs. — Ruth come here to- 
 morrow? I'll bring her myself, and then go 
 on straight to Whincote." 
 
 Mr. Saunders rises slowly to comply, with 
 the movement of a man who is not accustomed 
 to hurry himself much at any time. It is not 
 difficult to predict that, in ten years' time, he 
 will have acquired portly, not to say elephan- 
 tine dimensions. 
 
 "You will join us at luncheon before you 
 leave ? " he says, stopping as he reaches the
 
 Unexpected News. 13 
 
 door. " Mrs. Saunders will quite expect 
 you." 
 
 " Thanks. I will have a mouthful, and a 
 glass of sherry, if I can spare the time," 
 returns his visitor, inwardly chafing at this 
 fresh delay. 
 
 " Oh, this little business with my wife 
 won't require much time," says the clergyman, 
 with a light wave of the hand, indicative of 
 his intention to quash peremptorily any pos- 
 sible objections she may raise. " Bless your 
 soul, she'll be only too eager to talk it all 
 over with you." 
 
 Then he really does go upstairs, leaving 
 Charlie to wander up and down the study- 
 by himself for fully five minutes, too restless 
 to think of sitting down. At the expiration 
 of that time, the study door is gently opened, 
 and Mrs. Saunders enters the room, — a 
 diminutive, timid-looking woman, with a de-
 
 14 "Peccavi." 
 
 pressed air about her, inspiring strangers 
 with the notion that she is ill-treated by her 
 husband, which is a question often mooted 
 by their acquaintance. She now appears 
 more than usually flurried and nervous, being 
 quite overwhelmed with amazement at hear- 
 ing the intelligence just communicated to her. 
 She smiles kindly, however, on Captain 
 Devereux, for she has a warm heart, and is 
 delighted with the permission given her to 
 hold out a friendly hand to her ci-devant 
 governess, at this important crisis in her life. 
 It is a fact, moreover, — which some of her 
 friends scoff at, — that deep down in her heart 
 there trickles a tiny spring of unquenched 
 romance, and this stolen marriage, with its 
 secrecy, and with its suggestion of a mutual 
 passion so powerful as to lead them to cast 
 all prudential considerations to the winds, 
 appeals irresistibly to her keenest sympathies.
 
 Unexpected News. 15 
 
 In the course of her own life the poor woman 
 has had little enough romance, and, perhaps 
 for that very reason, she is the more ready- 
 to take a vicarious interest in that of other 
 people's lives. 
 
 As he hears the sound of the opening 
 door, Charlie Devereux turns round anxiously, 
 but a first .glimpse of Mrs. Saunders' enthu- 
 siastic face relieves his mind, and tells him 
 that the object of his journey down to Mid- 
 marsh parsonage is gained, a cordial welcome 
 being evidently in store for his young wife 
 there. 
 
 " So glad to see you, Captain Devereux," 
 she murmurs, in her shyest manner, as she 
 shakes hands with him. " And so surprised 
 at your news, which Mr. Saunders has just 
 told me ! It quite took my breath away. 
 Fancy little Miss Eyre being married — and 
 to you ! Dear me, it is quite like a story in
 
 1 6 "Peccavi." 
 
 a novel. But how on earth shall we get on 
 without her ? What will the children do, 
 poor little things ? " 
 
 Charlie laughs rather unsympathisingly, and 
 is obliged to own that this is a portion of 
 the subject which he has not yet taken into 
 consideration. 
 
 " You will have to look out for another 
 governess, Mrs. Saunders," he says, with easy 
 adaptiveness. "They're not difficult to find, 
 are they ? " 
 
 "It will not be every one that will suit me 
 so well as Miss Eyre did," returns the clergy- 
 mans wife, with a sigh of resignation. " The 
 children were so fond of her, and got on so 
 rapidly with their lessons under her care. 
 She was so conscientious, and so sensible 
 with them. However, I must try " 
 
 Mrs. Saunders interrupts her little lamen- 
 tations, seeming to have become suddenly
 
 Unexpected News. 17 
 
 aware that they are rather out of place just 
 at that moment, and that she is expected 
 to congratulate the newly-made bridegroom, 
 rather than condole with herself. 
 
 " But I am so glad to hear she is married, 
 and I hope you will both be very happy," 
 she adds, with a suspicion of moisture in her 
 eyes. " I am sure she deserves every happi- 
 ness, poor child, for she is as good a girl as 
 I know anywhere. But she might have let 
 us into the secret, I think — unless it. was 
 your wish to keep it from us, Captain 
 Devereux ? " 
 
 "Well, that was my doing, I am afraid," 
 he replies. " She was very anxious to write 
 to you about it, I know, and didn't half like 
 keeping you in the dark. But I persuaded 
 her not to, as I did not want it to get 
 round to my uncle's ears before I broke it 
 to him myself." 
 
 vol. 1. c
 
 Peccavi." 
 
 " You need not have been afraid of its 
 reaching him through us, of which indeed, 
 there could be no possible chance," says Mrs. 
 Saunders, inclined to feel aggrieved. " We 
 would have kept the secret well, if you had 
 trusted us with it. But that doesn't matter 
 now. I am longing to see the dear child 
 again, and Mr. Saunders says you will bring 
 her down here to us to-morrow. I shall 
 never remember to call her Mrs. Devereux, 
 I'm sure." 
 
 " You will let her come and stay here, 
 then ? " asks Charlie. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course we will," she answers 
 quickly. " Mr. Saunders told me that he 
 had settled with you that she was to come ; 
 and we will both do our best to keep up 
 her spirits while you are away. I suppose 
 you will not be gone long ? " 
 
 "Not more than two days, if I can pos-
 
 Unexpected News. 19 
 
 sibly help it," replies Charlie. " I'd stay 
 away only one, if I were my own master, 
 but my uncle might object to so short a 
 visit. Besides, I must wait for a favourable 
 moment to tell my story." 
 
 " There's the luncheon bell ! " cries Mrs. 
 Saunders, interrupting him. " Do come in 
 at once, and get something to eat. Ah, 
 Edwin's calling me ! He does not like to be 
 kept waiting." 
 
 Captain Devereux follows his hostess into 
 the dining-room, where he swallows a hasty 
 meal, pulling out his watch every now and 
 then, to see if he is in time for his train, 
 with constant apologies for so doing. Mr. 
 Saunders cuts him slices of cold beef, and 
 Mrs. Saunders presses cold apple tart and 
 coffee cream on his notice with earnest en- 
 treaties, for they are both of them people 
 who feel wretched if they see that their
 
 20 "Peccavi! 
 
 dainties are unappreciated. Another glass of 
 claret is forced upon him as he rises to take 
 leave, and once again expressing warmest 
 thanks for the hospitality proffered to his 
 wife, he pats the heads of her two flaxen- 
 haired pupils, and hastens to depart. Mr. 
 Saunders has also risen from his seat, and 
 announces his intention of accompanying his 
 guest as far as the station. He finds it no 
 easy task to keep pace with the younger 
 man's rapid strides, as he hurries along, seem- 
 ingly unconscious of the burning rays of 
 the sun, so anxious is he not to miss his 
 train. 
 
 " You'll give my kindest regards to your 
 wife," he jerks out spasmodically, as they 
 march along. " And tell her that she'll 
 be very welcome here, as long as she likes 
 to stay. Of course I don't, as a rule, ap- 
 prove of secret marriages — on the contrary,
 
 Unexpected News. 21 
 
 I consider that they are to be much repre- 
 hended ; but still, taking into consideration 
 the circumstances of this case, I'll judge her 
 leniently, you may tell her." 
 
 Charlie is just a little inclined to take 
 offence at this apparently officious rebuke, 
 but, glancing at his companion's face, he 
 catches sight of a lurking smile thereon, and 
 comprehends that the vicar affects a jesting 
 humour in his speech, so he responds in the 
 same strain. 
 
 " I'll tell her!" he retorts. " I'll say that 
 you'll let her off easily, after a pithy sermon 
 on the evils of marrying in haste and repent- 
 ing at leisure. She'll be quite crushed by the 
 prospect before her." 
 
 " Where were you married ? At what 
 church, I mean ? " the clergyman resumes, 
 more in his ordinary tones, for they have 
 now arrived within a hundred yards of the
 
 Peccavi." 
 
 station, and, as no train is yet in sight, Charlie 
 Devereux relaxes his speed. 
 
 " At the church of St. James the Less in 
 
 M Street," replies the latter. " You can 
 
 see it all properly down in the register there, 
 if you wish to go to town and have a look at 
 it. You may take my word for it, however, 
 that it was all done regularly and correctly." 
 
 " And you were married by banns, I sup- 
 pose ? " proceeds Mr. Saunders, sitting down 
 on one of the benches on the sunny platform 
 and passing his handkerchief lightly over his 
 forehead. 
 
 " Banns ! " scornfully repeats Captain 
 Devereux. "No such thing ! Why, I should 
 have had to go and stay in the parish for 
 three weeks beforehand, shouldn't I ? As it 
 was, I found it no very easy matter to get 
 leave of absence for a fortnight on * urgent 
 private business.' No, no, I got a special
 
 Unexpected News. 23 
 
 license, of course ; it's much the best way. 
 Oh, here's the train at last. Good-bye, Mr. 
 Saunders •; thanks awfully for your kindness ; 
 you'll see me down with Ruth at eleven o'clock 
 to-morrow morning. I shall just bring her 
 up to the Rectory, and rush off again at once 
 
 to C shire." 
 
 Then Captain Devereux swings himself 
 into a first class carriage, and proceeds to 
 light a cigar, leaning out of the window the 
 while, and nodding a smiling farewell to the 
 clergyman. The latter lingers by till the 
 train moves on, then turns on his homeward 
 way, impressed with a certain admiration for 
 the royal manner in which the young officer 
 soars high above the paltry considerations of 
 pounds, shillings, and pence, apparently wholly 
 untroubled by the possibility that these good 
 times of travelling first-class may be drawing 
 very near their close.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 Arrived in London, Captain Devereux loses 
 no time in hailing a hansom, and drives rapidly 
 off to the Grosvenor Hotel, where he knows his 
 wife is anxiously awaiting his return. Their 
 brief honeymoon was spent at Tunbridge 
 Wells, and they only reached London the 
 previous evening. Very little time has been 
 allowed to the young bride to lose the strange- 
 ness of finding herself an inhabitant of that 
 luxurious hotel, which she has hitherto only 
 gazed at occasionally from outside with some- 
 what envious eyes. She feels rather like a 
 waif and a stray in this unknown world, upon 
 which she has so suddenly been launched
 
 Husband and Wife. 25 
 
 — this young and newly-made wife — and is 
 watching eagerly for her husband's arrival, 
 as if they had been separated for years instead 
 of hours. She is peeping shyly over the stair- 
 case to catch the first glimpse of him as he 
 enters, and together they pass into the bright 
 little sitting-room which he has engaged for 
 her. 
 
 Ruth Devereux is rather nondescript and 
 unstriking in appearance. She is neither 
 tall nor short, neither dark nor fair. Her 
 plentiful brown hair is smoothly drawn off her 
 face, and plaited in a knot behind, and her 
 dress is quiet and in good taste, but with 
 nothing remarkable about its style or " cut." 
 Nine women out of ten would have dismissed 
 her at once from their minds with the sinele 
 epithet " dowdy," and perhaps not altogether 
 without reason. They would have wondered 
 what on earth there could be in that very
 
 26 "Peccavi." 
 
 ordinary-looking girl to induce handsome, 
 popular Charlie Devereux to marry her, and 
 to risk the shipwreck of his future fortunes. 
 A girl like that, of no family whatever, with 
 an utter want of good looks, without the faint- 
 est soufipon of " chic," — without, in short, any 
 single attraction to account for his infatuation 
 — the thing was absurd ! But the tenth and 
 more discerning woman might possibly admit 
 the fact that she had a peculiarly fascinating 
 smile, and, noting the frequent merry sparkling 
 expression in her eyes, might allow that 
 beneath the surface there might be hidden 
 charms which would be sufficient to explain 
 his falling- in love with her. This smile of 
 Ruth's is indeed her chief claim to beauty, 
 for, in smiling, her whole face is transformed, 
 and few, under these circumstances, would de- 
 signate her as a plain woman. She is smiling 
 now, at this moment, — smiling radiantly, in the
 
 Husband and Wife. 27 
 
 delight of having her husband with her again, 
 and consequently, she is looking her very best. 
 
 " Oh, Charlie, I am so thankful you are 
 back again!" she cries, again and again. " It 
 has been so forlorn without you, all this 
 morning ! I do hope you have been suc- 
 cessful with Mr. and Mrs. Saunders, have 
 you ? Ever since you left, I have been 
 dreading that they would refuse to have me, 
 and wondering what I could do in that case. 
 For, really, I could not stay here by myself, 
 even for two or three days." 
 
 " Nor should I have thought of letting you 
 do such a thing," returns he, with decision. 
 " I would have concocted some better plan 
 for you than that. But, however, we need 
 not think of that now, for it is quite settled 
 for you, just as I told you it would be. Mr. 
 Saunders is ready to receive you with open 
 arms, and his wife "
 
 Peccavi." 
 
 " Is prepared to do ditto," interrupts Ruth, 
 laughing. " You need not try to make me 
 believe, Charlie, that Mrs. Saunders attempted 
 to do anything but follow meekly in ' dear 
 Edwin's ' lead. But it is too bad of me to 
 laugh at her, for I really am very fond of her, 
 and " 
 
 " And I consider she sets you a valuable 
 example of wifely obedience, my dear ! " 
 
 " Do you indeed, sir ? I wonder if I ever 
 could arrive at such a state of crushed sub- 
 mission as she has done, and resign myself to 
 being a complete cipher ! Well, but tell me, 
 Charlie, were they inclined to look upon me 
 as a depraved mortal, for marrying you in such 
 a hurry, and for keeping them in the dark 
 about it ? " 
 
 " Saunders evidently thought it his ' duty 
 towards his neighbour ' to assume a little 
 mild disapprobation at first," answers Captain
 
 Husband and Wife. 29 
 
 Devereux, " but he soon came down from his 
 stilts, and allowed that it was no business of 
 his — an obvious fact, which my natural polite- 
 ness prevented me from contradicting. As 
 for Mrs. Saunders, she was all flutter and ex- 
 citement, and in her secret heart, I believe, 
 applauds you heartily. So everything is 
 smooth with them, and you have nothing to 
 do but pack up your goods and chattels, Ruth, 
 and come down with me there early to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Oh, how glad I shall be to leave London !" 
 cries Ruth, impulsively. " It is so hot and 
 close here, and so glaring ! " 
 
 " Poor little thing ! " says her husband, com- 
 passionately. " It has been a dull morning for 
 you, hasn't it ? Well, as soon as it gets cool 
 this evening, and all the grandees have left 
 the Park, we'll go out there for a stroll, 
 and have it all to ourselves, and then come
 
 30 "Peccavi" 
 
 back and wind up with whitebait and cham- 
 pagne." 
 
 Captain Devereux is anxious to keep the 
 fact of his wife's existence a secret until the 
 momentous interview with his uncle is over, 
 and she is recognised as one of the family. 
 He will not take her to the Park at a fashion- 
 able hour, for he is certain of then meeting 
 some of his numerous acquaintances, London 
 being still tolerably full, although it is the 
 middle of July, and the season is drawing to 
 its close. Ruth is perfectly cognisant of his 
 motive in keeping her thus in the background, 
 and is more than content to fall in with his 
 wishes, while, with the prospect of a tete-a-tcte 
 walk with him in the twilight, she would be 
 only too ready to eschew whitebait and cham- 
 pagne for the remainder of her life. 
 
 " I am getting so anxious about your visit 
 to Mr. Falconer, Charlie," she says, presently.
 
 Husband and Wife. 31 
 
 11 Just fancy, if he should be very angry with 
 you, and refuse to have anything more to do 
 with you ! " 
 
 " Fancying things is a very bad habit, to 
 which I never give way," returns he, with 
 mock gravity. "What a little goose you are, 
 Ruth ! I tell you it will be all right with him. 
 He has never refused me anything in my life." 
 
 " Perhaps you have never asked him yet for 
 anything very important ? " 
 
 " I've applied to him more times than I 
 could easily count, for supplies of money," re- 
 plies Captain Devereux, frankly. " And in his 
 eyes, that is the most important request I could 
 possibly make, for it certainly costs him an 
 effort to ' shell out.' And yet he has never 
 said ' No ' to me. Don't you think that is 
 something to go upon ? I know he's awfully 
 fond of me, and you'll see if I don't work the 
 thing well."
 
 32 "Peccavi" 
 
 " You certainly have the most irrepressibly 
 sanguine nature, haven't you ? " says Ruth, 
 passing her hands over his fair curly locks with 
 a smile. " I only hope you are right. Then 
 there is your cousin to help you, isn't there ? " 
 
 " Milly ? Oh, yes, she's a regular brick ; and 
 I know she'll stick to me through thick and 
 thin. Unfortunately, though she doesn't mind 
 bearding him the least, she isn't much of a 
 favourite with him, so it won't better my cause 
 much if she takes up the cudgels for me. But 
 still " 
 
 " Charlie, I can't help wondering how it was 
 that you didn't fall in love with your cousin, 
 and marry her," suddenly puts in Ruth. " It 
 seems such a natural arrangement, and I dare- 
 say it would have pleased your uncle." 
 
 " I daresay it would ; only a fellow doesn't 
 generally marry a girl just to please his uncle," 
 retorts he. " Besides, marry Milly ! What a
 
 Httsband and Wife. 33 
 
 ridiculous idea ! I never dreamt of such a 
 thing ! We've always been just like brother 
 and sister, and I'm sure the possibility never 
 crossed her mind either. What rum creatures 
 women are ! They jump at conclusions like a 
 flash of lightning, with no reason on earth." 
 
 " Their wits work faster than men's do, my 
 dear, that's all," answers his wife, patronisingly. 
 " Well, anyhow, I hope Milly will do her best 
 to help you, and I shall feel grateful to her for 
 the rest of my life. Charlie," she adds, with a 
 sudden change of tone, " can you imagine — 
 seriously — what we could do, if Mr. Falconer 
 cut you off altogether ? " 
 
 " Certainly I can. I could sweep a crossing, 
 and you might possibly take in washing. Or 
 we might " 
 
 " Seriotisly, Charlie, I said. Just suppose 
 for one moment that the worst was to happen, 
 what could we do ? I might get together a 
 
 vol 1. D
 
 34 "Peccavi." 
 
 few pupils in time, perhaps. And you would 
 leave the army " 
 
 " I'll be hanged if I would ! " cries he, ener- 
 getically. " Leave the army, indeed ! Not I ! 
 My uncle would have to put on the screw 
 precious tight before I would do that. But, 
 for goodness' sake, Ruth, do stop this flow of 
 harrowing ideas. You're a regular bird of 
 ill-omen ! " 
 
 As he utters these last words rather im- 
 patiently, the door of their room is opened 
 by a waiter, who ushers in a gentleman, an- 
 nounced as " Mr. Eyre." Not a very pre- 
 possessing-looking person is this new-comer. 
 There is shabby gentility apparent in his outer 
 man, and his countenance displays a shifty, 
 furtive expression, which, together with his 
 habit of never looking any one full in the face, 
 would be far from inspiring a stranger with 
 confidence in the man. He is Ruth's uncle —
 
 Husband and Wife. 35 
 
 her only near relation in the world — as Charlie 
 remembers now and then with something like 
 a thanksgiving in his heart, when he has been 
 in Mr. Eyre's company for any space of time. 
 He is, by profession, a doctor, whose scanty 
 clientele, somewhere in the region of Camber- 
 well, does not afford him very much practice 
 in the art of healing. The truth is, that Mr. 
 Eyre's career has hitherto been a complete 
 failure. Somehow or other he cannot get on 
 in the world, labour as he will. He began 
 life with very little, and after fifteen years of 
 hard struggling, still has very little to show 
 for his pains. The knowledge that he is un- 
 popular among his patients, and daily growing 
 more so, is ever present with him, and acts 
 as a dead weight on his spirits. A very 
 little more pressure put upon his moral be- 
 ing, a few more steps downhill, and it is 
 quite within the range of possibility that
 
 36 "Peccavi." 
 
 Mr. Stephen Eyre will degenerate into a 
 reckless, thorough-going scamp, who will 
 take his revenge on the world for having 
 treated him with such contumely, by setting 
 its laws at defiance, and adding one more 
 to its already long list of good-for-nothing 
 rogues. 
 
 Mr. Eyre's face usually wears a hard, un- 
 yielding expression — the expression of a man 
 who feels he has been worsted in the race of 
 life ; but as he comes into the presence of his 
 niece and her husband, he does his best to 
 conjure up a faint shadow of what, by utmost 
 courtesy, could be called a smile. 
 
 " So you are back, my dear Char , my 
 
 dear Devereux," he begins, with a compound 
 of servility and insolence in his manner, which 
 tries Charlie's forbearance to the utmost limit. 
 " You managed that little business satis- 
 factorily, I hope ? "
 
 Hiisband and Wife. 37 
 
 " Yes ; I am croinof to take Ruth down to 
 the Rectory to-morrow," returns Captain 
 Devereux shortly. 
 
 "Ah, that is as it should be. Dear Ruth 
 will then have a pleasant refuge during your 
 short absence, and I can therefore leave town 
 with an easy mind. Your Aunt Ellen and the 
 children are literally pining to be at Margate," 
 continues Mr. Eyre, turning to his niece. 
 
 " I am very glad to think that you need not 
 delay on my account, Uncle Stephen," she 
 answers heartily. " Not that, in any circum- 
 stances, I should have expected you to change 
 your plans for me." 
 
 " And you will let me know all about your 
 interview with your uncle, I hope," pursues 
 their visitor, addressing Charlie. " Poor old 
 gentleman, I quite feel for him, — I do, indeed ; 
 it will be such an unexpected piece of news 
 for him. Ruth, you will not forget to let me
 
 3& " Peccavi!' 
 
 have a line as soon as Devereux comes back. 
 I shall be so anxious to hear, for I look upon 
 you, naturally, as almost my own child now, 
 having so lately acted a parent's part in the 
 recent — ahem — happy and important event in 
 your life. And now I will not detain you 
 longer ; I see you are on the point of going 
 out." 
 
 This fact Captain Devereux takes no pains 
 to deny. Indeed, he is only longing for Mr. 
 Eyre to depart, and can scarcely conceal the 
 impatience he feels. Even Ruth cannot bring 
 herself to press him to stay on. 
 
 " Good-bye, Uncle Stephen," she says ; " I 
 will be sure and write to you." 
 
 " And when everything is comfortably settled 
 for you — as I trust it may be — you must ask 
 me to run down and see you, wherever you 
 are. I must be the first visitor in your new 
 home, Ruth." Then he kisses her warmly,
 
 Husband and Wife. 39 
 
 wrings Charlie's limp hand with effusion, and 
 goes. 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " ejaculates the latter, as 
 the door is closed behind him. " I know you 
 won't be hurt by my saying it, Ruth, but the 
 truth is, I don't ' cotton ' to your uncle at all." « 
 
 " I know you don't, Charlie, and I don't 
 exactly wonder at it. I know very little of 
 him myself, for I have hardly seen him since 
 I was a baby. But I own that he is not pre- 
 possessing. Now, cant we go out for a little 
 while, don't you think ? These rooms are so 
 hot." 
 
 Captain Devereux takes his wife down to 
 Midmarsh the next day, and leaving her in 
 charge of good-natured Mrs. Saunders, who 
 welcomes her with mingled admiration and 
 awe, leaves himself by the next train en route 
 for C — shire, there to carry out his not very 
 agreeable mission.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE "OGRE." 
 
 On the morning of the day when Ruth 
 reaches Midmarsh, the master of Whincote 
 Abbey is hobbling downstairs to breakfast, 
 with one foot bandaged up in token of a 
 recent bout with his persistent enemy, the 
 gout. He leans on the arm of a solemn 
 old butler, who guides his steps with osten- 
 tatious vigilance. Mr. Falconer is not a very 
 pleasing old man to look at. He has the ap- 
 pearance of being much older than his real 
 age — sixty-one, and his face — the most con- 
 spicuous feature of which is a red-tipped 
 nose — -wears an habitually cross, ill-tempered 
 expression, while a certain striking contraction
 
 The " Ogre." 
 
 of the lines of his mouth suggests the idea 
 of his being a mean and a miserly man. 
 And his mouth does not belie, him. Mr. 
 Falconer has one strong ruling, and ever- 
 growing passion — the saving and hoarding of 
 money, of which he has already more than 
 he knows what to do with, for what aim 
 and purpose it is beyond the power of any 
 one to divine. A long way after his love 
 for saving and screwing and pinching comes 
 a tiny, faint, and altogether unworthy-of-the- 
 name spark of affection for his nephew and 
 reputed heir, Captain Charles Devereux. 
 The old miser is in possession of an income 
 of some twenty thousand a year, so that he 
 has more than sufficient to leave to him, 
 without going to the trouble of heaping up 
 further savings and scrapings together. True, 
 there is yet another dependent on his bounty, 
 in the shape of a niece, — who is the Milly
 
 42 "Peccavi" 
 
 mentioned by Charlie as being his cousin ; 
 also, like him, an orphan, and the only child 
 of a younger sister of Mr. Falconer, and 
 of Charlie's mother; but Milly, too, could be 
 amply provided for without any extra effort 
 on his part, one might think. Mr. Falconer 
 is absolute master of his property, and if 
 the fancy takes him, can leave the whole 
 of it away from his own flesh and blood. 
 Nor is he behindhand in impressing this fact 
 on his nephew and niece, both of whom, he 
 considers, have a pernicious tendency to 
 under-estimate the power accruing to wealth. 
 Milly Byron is no great favourite with 
 her uncle, as has already been hinted. She 
 gets little else but hard words and querulous 
 complaints from him ; but the knowledge that 
 her uncle only tolerates her, if, indeed, he 
 does not positively dislike her, does not in 
 the least disturb her peace of mind. She
 
 The " Ogre: 1 43 
 
 returns his sentiments with interest, and 
 makes no attempt to win his good graces. 
 Indeed, Mr. Falconer is a man who is de- 
 cidedly an object of aversion to all who 
 know him. Children fly from him after 
 one glance at his ungenial, cross - grained 
 face. His servants, one and all, hold him 
 in absolute detestation, and are in the 
 habit of thanking their stars when his 
 periodical fits of gout assail him, and keep 
 him a prisoner in his room, thus giving 
 them a respite from the unremitting vigil- 
 ance of his hawk-like eye, and from the 
 unabated shower of abuse which is levelled 
 by him at their heads all day long. Charlie 
 Devereux is the only individual in all the 
 world who feels something like compassion 
 for the unlovable old man. 
 
 " Poor old chap," he says, on a previous 
 occasion, when Milly greets him with a hot
 
 44 "Peccavi" 
 
 recital of some new and most unattractive 
 trait in the character of their mutual rela- 
 tion ; " you make him out a perfect brute ; 
 and I can't help thinking you exaggerate 
 his bad points. I don't find him such an 
 awful skinflint as you say he is." 
 
 " I daresay you don't ! " is Milly's response. 
 "And for the very reason that you don't 
 see so much of him as I do, Charlie. You 
 ought to come and stay a month or two 
 at the Abbey with him alone, and then I 
 feel confident that your admiration for him 
 would be unbounded at the end of that 
 time." 
 
 Mr. Falconer, meanwhile, is on the stairs, 
 chuckling to himself with grim malevolence 
 as he foresees how his sudden appearance 
 at breakfast, for the first time after three 
 weeks of confinement to his room, will re- 
 sult in the dismay of his niece, and the
 
 The " Ogre." 4 5 
 
 discomfiture of the unprepared household 
 generally. His sharp little ferrety eyes 
 glance hither and thither, as he makes his 
 slow progress downwards, eager to catch 
 sight of unlawfully-left-open doors, or of some 
 carelessly-slurred-over or altogether-forgotten 
 house-work ; but, as he peers, and peers in 
 vain, his naturally sour temper gets worse 
 and worse. Proceeding gingerly, and unex- 
 pectedly failing in his eager endeavour to 
 detect any offender in a dereliction of duty, 
 he turns to the butler, whose eye, more 
 cognisant of the ins and outs of his fellow- 
 servants' doings, is quicker than his master's 
 to descry a glimpse of a housemaid's cap 
 in a spot where it has no business to be. 
 He tries to convey a warning sign to the 
 audacious trespasser to decamp quietly while 
 there is yet time, a feat successfully per- 
 formed by her, with a wild stare of awful
 
 46 "Peccavi. 
 
 alarm when she perceives who it is that is 
 coming downstairs. Unfortunately for the 
 long-suffering butler — May by name — his 
 good-natured effort on her behalf has for 
 one second diverted his attention from 
 the immediate task he has in hand, and 
 the consequence is a stumble on the last 
 step. 
 
 " You blundering idiot ! " cries Mr. Fal- 
 coner, whose eyes are blazing with wrath 
 and pain. " Is that the way you pretend 
 to help your master downstairs ? Why don't 
 you look where you let me put my foot ? 
 You're just as useless as if you had only 
 half a leg, instead of two ! If you don't 
 take more pains than that to be of use to 
 me, I'll find some one else who will, I can 
 tell you ! Confound you, man, can't you 
 open the door without all that wriggling at 
 the handle ? Here, Milly, come and open
 
 The "Ogre? 47 
 
 it for us. What's the good of your stand- 
 ing there in the room, without moving a 
 finger to be of any help ? " 
 
 Not a muscle of May's countenance betrays 
 that he takes any heed of the reproaches 
 poured down upon his well-seasoned head. 
 He throws open the door with a jerk, an- 
 ticipating Milly's decidedly inert show of 
 coming forward in response to her uncle's 
 call, and, having placed Mr. Falconer in his 
 arm-chair at the breakfast-table, deposited the 
 letter bag close to his plate, and noiselessly 
 carried out various directions given him by 
 the exacting old tyrant in a harsh, authorita- 
 tive voice, he withdraws to inform his com- 
 panions below-stairs of " the guv'nor being 
 in one of the very worst tantrums he ever 
 did see him in." Uncle and niece are left 
 alone. The former has no very engaging 
 expression on his face, as he scowls across
 
 48 "Peccavi." 
 
 the table at her, trying to find some- 
 thing about her on which he can hang 
 a complaint, for he loves to live in an at- 
 mosphere of perpetual and often self-created 
 grievances. He is not a man whom one 
 would select out of a crowd as a pleasant 
 companion ; not a man to inspire confidence 
 in the minds of his fellow-creatures ; not a 
 man to whom one would care to appeal in 
 distress, or make a confession like that 
 which Captain Devereux intends to make 
 this very day. 
 
 Milly Byron sits calmly in her place at the 
 head of the table, and affects no surprise, or 
 indeed any emotion whatever, at sight of his 
 unlooked-for presence. She is a dark-haired, 
 curly-headed young lady of about three- 
 and-twenty, with deep blue eyes, faintly- 
 coloured cheeks, and full red lips. She would 
 be undoubtedly remarkably handsome, were it
 
 The " Ogre." 49 
 
 not for the half-defiant, half-apathetic, and 
 wholly discontented expression, which mars 
 the beauty of her face. Well may she look 
 discontented, for the life she leads with the 
 only relation she possesses in the world, except 
 her young cousin, is of the dreariest kind ; 
 blank, and monotonous enough to break the 
 spirit of any woman, while she has no power 
 at all in her hands to improve matters for her- 
 self. 
 
 Some people — and not very few either, for 
 a man who counts his income by tens of thou- 
 sands can always command a certain number 
 of champions and defenders — declare that there 
 must be a great deal of good in Mr. Falconer 
 beneath the surface, for has he not allowed 
 these two young relations of his to make the 
 Abbey their home, ever since they lost their 
 parents, and taken upon himself all the burden 
 of their maintenance and education ? His 
 
 vol. 1. E
 
 5Q "Peccavi" 
 
 critics, on the other hand, stoutly contend that 
 it would have been a crying shame, if he had 
 been content with doing less for his own 
 sisters' children, and that there is no cause for 
 praise in what is such an obvious matter of 
 duty on his part. To his nephew the old man 
 is as indulgent and liberal as it is in his nature 
 to be ; for the young man has somehow 
 managed to secure the nearest approach to a 
 soft corner in that fossilized heart. Perhaps 
 the very coolness and easy off-handedness 
 with which he solicits and receives so many 
 substantial favours at his uncle's hands go 
 further in the way of strengthening the 
 mingled admiration and pride which are 
 secretly cherished for him by the old man, 
 than the most eloquent form of outspoken 
 thanks would do. 
 
 With regard to Milly — Milly the unfortunate 
 — who has never yet attained the undesired
 
 The " Ogre." 51 
 
 prominence of even a second favourite with 
 the master of the Abbey — the sum total of 
 the benefits which he bestows on her is easily- 
 counted up. He gives her free board and 
 lodging in his house, and allows her a certain 
 sum — no very large one — for her dress and 
 other personal expenses. She has a maid to 
 herself, and a horse is kept for her use, which 
 she can either ride or drive as she pleases ; 
 but beyond that, his hand moves no further. 
 He goes into no society whatever, nor re- 
 ceives any visitor at the Abbey. Occasionally 
 — very, very rarely — he is induced to let her 
 go with her maid on a short visit to some 
 one of her friends, but for many months to- 
 gether she is usually condemned to lead a 
 solitary, cheerless existence, with a sour old 
 invalid for her sole companion, her only re- 
 creation being Charlie's not-too-frequent visits, 
 when he can get leave of absence from his
 
 52 "Peccavi! 
 
 regimental duties. Poor Milly has not even 
 the freedom of action and uncontrolled liberty, 
 which might in some degree compensate for 
 the ineffable dulness of the life she leads. 
 Mr. 'Falconer is always making demands on 
 her services in a small way. When he is ill, 
 she must come and read aloud to him, and 
 woe betide her if her attention wanders the 
 while ! When he is well, she is liable at 
 all hours to be called upon to walk with him, 
 or drive in state along the dusty high-road in 
 a close carriage, pulled by a pair of fat, over- 
 fed horses. Oh, the misery of those terrible 
 drives, with the rasping voice of that dread- 
 ful old man buzzing in her ears with an un- 
 ceasing flow of grumble! Milly has become 
 skilled in the art of devising various means 
 whereby to escape this odious penance. But 
 she is too frequently baffled by the persist- 
 ency of her not- easily -hoodwinked captor,
 
 The " Ogre:' 53 
 
 and borne off by him in triumph to this daily 
 ordeal. And in minor details, in matters so 
 trivial as to be hardly worth recording, Mr. 
 Falconer shows an aptitude for inventing 
 pin-pricks and miniature thumb-screws which 
 is perfectly astonishing ; so that her every- 
 day life with him is by no means a bed of 
 roses. She is gradually growing hardened 
 against his attacks, and, as time goes on, finds 
 an increasing pleasure in giving him a Ro- 
 land for his Oliver, without the least regard 
 for the policy of the course pursued. 
 
 On this particular July morning, when they 
 find themselves at breakfast together, she is 
 even in a less complaisant mood than usual, 
 for she dislikes his having taken her by sur- 
 prise. She had been looking forward to a 
 comfortable, solitary meal, and behold, here 
 he is come to interrupt her enjoyment. 
 Surreptitiously she thrusts the novel — in
 
 54 " Peccavi, 
 
 which stolen pleasure she is in the habit of 
 indulging when alone — on her lap under the 
 table, and resigns herself sulkily to her fate. 
 Milly is of a romantic disposition, devoted 
 to novel-reading, and given to weaving per- 
 petual fancies about the future — a bright, 
 glorious future, as unlike the dreary present 
 as possible. In her castles in the air, her 
 cousin Charlie is always the prominent figure, 
 the hero of her dreams ; as is but natural, 
 seeing that her acquaintance with the other 
 sex is extremely limited. Milly is one of 
 those girls to whom it is a necessary part 
 of existence to cherish a beau-ideal, and to 
 find some one upon whom to lavish their 
 girlish fancy. Hers is a most impressionable 
 nature — impressionable, perhaps, rather than 
 very steadfast ; and her predilections are 
 very much at the mercy of Fate, who throws 
 objects in her way. Just at this moment she
 
 The " Ogre." 55 
 
 believes herself to be deeply in love with 
 her cousin ; and as all the novels she reads 
 invariably wind up with a happy culminating 
 point, so she is firmly convinced that such 
 will be her lot, and that Charlie and she, in 
 the natural order of things, will become hus- 
 band and wife. 
 
 She has been thinking about him only this 
 very morning, and wondering when he means 
 to come to the Abbey again. She glances 
 curiously at the letter-bag lying by her 
 uncle's side, thinking it very likely that it 
 may contain tidings of Captain Devereux. 
 
 "You look uncommonly glad to see me 
 downstairs again, I must say," is her uncle's 
 genial greeting, rousing her from her reverie. 
 
 11 1 am glad to see you so much better 
 again, Uncle John," she responds, with an 
 effort to say it heartily. 
 
 " You give me precisely the idea of that
 
 56 "Peccavi? 
 
 being the case," he sneers. "If that is the 
 face you wear when you are pleased, I 
 wonder how you manage to express regret. 
 Don't try to take me in with that humbug, 
 miss. You know you would give your eyes 
 to hear that I was going to stay in bed 
 another week. It's no good for you to try 
 and contradict me, for you can't look me in 
 the face and deny it." 
 
 Milly, apparently, has no intention of sub- 
 mitting to the test. With a disdainful shrug 
 of the shoulders, she gives up all attempt to 
 speak smoothly to him, and assumes her most 
 careless and supercilious manner. 
 
 " I wouldn't contradict you for the world, 
 Uncle John," she answers, looking him full in 
 the face, and speaking slowly and distinctly. 
 
 " You impertinent, audacious minx ! " cries 
 the old man, in a burst of wrath. " How 
 dare you speak to me in that way ? You'd
 
 The "Ogre? 57 
 
 better take care how you behave towards 
 me, or you may find yourself in the wrong 
 box altogether, I can tell you. And pray, 
 may I ask, by what right do you have three 
 separate dishes at breakfast, all for your own 
 eating ? I never heard of such extravagance 
 — such sinful waste. Ring the bell. ,, 
 
 Milly rises to obey him, with an imper- 
 turbable face, and without showing the small- 
 est sign of alarm at his rough manner. 
 
 " May," says his master, when the butler 
 appears at the door, " listen to what I have 
 to say. When Miss Byron breakfasts by 
 herself in future, you will see that the cook 
 sends up only one dish. I don't care what 
 it contains, but there is never to be more 
 than one. You understand ? I will not have 
 such reckless waste going on in my house 
 as three hot dishes, — for one person, indeed ! " 
 
 " If you please, sir, I think Mrs. Brown
 
 58 "Peccavi." 
 
 must have sent them up, fancying you was 
 coming to breakfast along with Miss Byron," 
 says May, apologetically. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," storms Mr. 
 Falconer. " You invent that to get her out 
 of the scrape, May ; but I'm not such a fool 
 as to be taken in by you. Tell Brown that 
 if she spends her time in fancying things, 
 she must go elsewhere to indulge in her 
 favourite amusement, for I won't put up with 
 any of that sort of nonsense. And you're 
 just as bad as she is. I believe you con- 
 cocted that cock-and-bull story. Now don't 
 stand there staring at me any longer, but be 
 off and say what I have told you to that 
 fool downstairs." 
 
 May disappears, with his usual " Yes, 
 sir," too glad to be able to escape so easily 
 this time, and he casts glances of commisera- 
 tion in the direction of Milly as he goes,
 
 The " Ogre" 59 
 
 for she is looked upon as an object of kindly 
 pity by the united household. 
 
 She sits, meanwhile, as impassive and un- 
 concerned as if she had been a spectator 
 of a raging thunder-storm many miles dis- 
 tant, which could not possibly affect her 
 peace of mind or her personal safety. She 
 listens next to — or rather endures, for she pos- 
 sesses the enviable faculty of completely ab- 
 senting her thoughts from the present at will 
 — a rambling diatribe against the shortcomings 
 of servants in general, and of Mrs. Brown 
 in particular, which lasts fully ten minutes. 
 During that space of time she shows no 
 outward impatience, but her mind wanders 
 considerably from the subject in hand, as is 
 shown by her taking advantage of the first 
 pause to change the conversation. 
 
 " When are you going to open the letter- 
 bag, Uncle John ? "
 
 6o "Peccavi" 
 
 " Whenever I choose to do so, Miss Curi- 
 osity," snaps he, in return. 
 
 Another shrug of the shoulders on her 
 part, and then, after the lapse of a few 
 minutes, her uncle proceeds slowly to unlock 
 the bag, having, in reality, forgotten all 
 about his letters until her words reminded 
 him. 
 
 " None for you," he exclaims, after turning 
 over the contents of the bag with deliberate 
 hands. There is a tone of spiteful triumph 
 in his voice as he makes this announcement, 
 and he glowers maliciously at her under his 
 eyebrows, while he proceeds to tear open his 
 own envelopes. 
 
 Milly catches sight of Charlie's handwriting 
 on a letter among her uncle's budget. 
 
 " You have got a letter from Charlie, I 
 see," she remarks, with supreme indifference 
 to the chance of meeting with a severe snub.
 
 The " Ogre." 61 
 
 " What the deuce has that got to do with 
 you ? " returns Mr. Falconer, reading the not- 
 very-lengthy epistle three times over, with 
 the most provokingly deliberate examination 
 of its contents, but without imparting to her 
 a single word about them. 
 
 "Your cousin will be here to-day," he 
 snarls out at last. 
 
 The flush of delighted surprise which 
 spreads over Milly's face at this announce- 
 ment would betray her secret to the most 
 casual observer, but luckily Mr. Falconer is 
 not looking at her. 
 
 "" Do you hear what I say ? " he cries, in 
 wrathful accents of his raised voice. " Your 
 cousin will be here to-day." 
 
 " I heard you say so, but what the deuce 
 has that got to do with me ? " retorts Milly, 
 mimicking his manner, and marvelling at her 
 own temerity the while.
 
 62 "Peccavi" 
 
 Mr. Falconer looks as if he could eat her 
 up in his fury. 
 
 " Leave the room this instant, miss ! " he 
 cries, waving her to the door, and shaking 
 his nst at her in his rage. " I will not have 
 such an impudent, good-for-nothing, ill-con- 
 ditioned creature any longer in my sight. 
 Be off with you, and see that you mend 
 your manners before daring to show your- 
 self again in my presence, or you'll catch it, 
 young lady, in a way you won't like — mark 
 my words." 
 
 And, grumbling and growling, the old man 
 returns to the contemplation and completion 
 of his solitary repast.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "tell me what it is." 
 
 Milly goes away from the dining-room, 
 chuckling to herself as she recalls her uncle's 
 discomfiture at her audacity, and not one 
 whit depressed by his parting threat. She 
 hardly looks on banishment from his august 
 presence in the light of a punishment, and 
 she at once resolves on effacing herself effec- 
 tually for the whole morning, before it enters 
 his head to revoke his decree, and send for 
 her to bear him company in his drive, which 
 he is well aware that she cordially detests. 
 Before going out, however, she sends for the 
 housekeeper, and tells her to see that Captain 
 
 Devereux's room is got ready for him ; then, 
 
 6 3
 
 64 "Peccavi." 
 
 playing her part in the farce of ordering 
 dinner, imposed on her by the head of the 
 house, but which is indeed a farce, because 
 he never fails himself to alter every single 
 dish in her selected menu> she snatches up 
 her hat and parasol, and steals softly out of 
 the house. 
 
 Long experience has taught her which are 
 the best paths to choose in order to evade 
 the vigilant sweep of her uncle's ever-watchful 
 eye, and she has many a haunt and hiding- 
 place within a hundred yards of the house, 
 known only to herself, where she can rest 
 secure from any attempt on his part to un- 
 earth her. She has brought a book in her 
 hand, but she does not plunge into it this 
 morning, as usual. On reaching the spot 
 which has been in her mind's eye for the 
 last quarter of an hour, a retreat so cleverly 
 screened from the observation of passers-by
 
 " Tell me what it is." 65 
 
 that no one would ever dream of there being- 
 room for a rabbit to burrow in it, far less for 
 a young lady to recline at her ease, — she 
 throws herself down on the ground, and gives 
 herself up to a train of pleasant reflections. 
 The world no longer seems dull and dreary 
 to her now, with the prospect of her cousin's 
 visit before her. She counts the hours 
 which must elapse before he can arrive at 
 Whincote over and over again, — wonders 
 how long he will be persuaded to stay when 
 once there, and cons over all sorts of plans 
 for his entertainment during his, too probably, 
 brief visit. Stretching herself at full length 
 on the mossy grass, she tilts her shady hat 
 over her eyes, to keep off a stray sunbeam, 
 which slants through a tiny opening in the 
 thick bushes around, and has selected the 
 tip of her nose as a resting-place, and remains 
 motionless in this attitude for a very long 
 vol. L F
 
 66 "Pcccavi" 
 
 time, occupied with thoughts of the treat in 
 store for her. In her secret heart, Milly has 
 a growing hope and belief that her cousin 
 reciprocates the feelings she cherishes for 
 him. Is he not invariably glad to see her, 
 and impatient if she is not at hand directly he 
 arrives ? Does he not confide every little 
 trifle to her still, as in the old days of their 
 childhood ? His manner — so cordial and 
 affectionate — must be intended to express 
 something more than cousinly liking on his 
 part. She will not believe otherwise, and the 
 possibility of a rival in his heart never even 
 crosses her mind. So she reasons to herself, 
 poor Milly, and dreams happily on, until the 
 clanging of the luncheon bell summons her 
 to the house. Fortunately for her, Mr. 
 Falconer does not appear downstairs, pro- 
 bably not caring to encounter his belligerent 
 niece again just at present. So she enjoys
 
 " Tell me what it is!* 67 
 
 unwonted liberty throughout the afternoon 
 also, and at about four o'clock, ventures to 
 emerge from her cool and secluded retreat, 
 and takes up a position under a tree on 
 the lawn in front of the house, knowing that 
 her cousin cannot now be more than half 
 an hour longer before he comes. And there 
 she is sitting, eagerly listening for the sound 
 of wheels, yet outwardly calm, as he drives 
 up to the door, and, in less than five minutes, 
 he makes straight towards her. 
 
 " So here you are, Milly, with a book in 
 your hand, as usual," is his greeting, not ob- 
 serving the subdued excitement of her manner 
 as she rises to welcome him. " Well, and how 
 is the Ogre ? " he asks, throwing himself care- 
 lessly on the ground at her feet. 
 
 The " Ogre " is a nickname invented by 
 Captain Devereux for the strictly private use 
 of himself and Milly when talking of Mr.
 
 68 "Peccavi." 
 
 Falconer, whom, however, in spite of her 
 representations, he will obstinately persist in 
 believing that she paints too blackly. 
 
 " More Ogre-ish than ever," is her emphatic 
 reply. " You haven't seen him yet, Charlie ? " 
 
 " Not I. I got a message from His Royal 
 Highness to say he would see me in his room 
 in half an hour's time. So I must do my best 
 to possess my soul in patience till the happy 
 moment arrives." 
 
 "It's one of the pleasures that will keep, I 
 daresay," returns Milly, composedly. " He 
 was like a bear with a sore head this morning. 
 He abused me and May and Brown all in a 
 breath, collecting together the very choicest 
 terms out of his own special vocabulary for 
 our benefit ; and all about such a trifle." 
 
 "A storm in a tea-cup," comments Captain 
 Devereux, laughing. " I suppose he's had a 
 touch of gout, hasn't he ? "
 
 11 Tell me what it is" 69 
 
 ''A touch of gout!" repeats Milly, with 
 affected alarm. " For Goodness' sake don't 
 be so rash as to mention it in that light way 
 to him when you see him. He calls it ' the 
 most confoundedly pertinacious bout' that he 
 has ever experienced," she adds, with an 
 exact reproduction of her uncle's irritable 
 accents, and Charlie laughs again — this time 
 a little abstractedly. 
 
 "He doesn't appear to be in a particularly 
 charming humour, by your description. But 
 perhaps he'll have had time to cool down a 
 bit before he honours me with an audience." 
 
 14 Oh, yes ; he won't be cross to you," cries 
 Milly, confidently. " He always shows his 
 best side to you — though bad is his best, I 
 must say ; and so you don't believe in his 
 being what I make him out — the veriest old 
 tyrant that ever walked the earth," she adds, 
 with mournful viciousness.
 
 70 "Peccavi" 
 
 " I can quite believe that a closer intimacy 
 with him might dispel some of my illusions 
 with regard to his character," responds Charlie, 
 easily ; " and I cannot pretend that I am so 
 devoted to him that I grudge every day 
 spent away from him ; but, for all that, you 
 do lay the colour on rather strong, I fancy, 
 Milly. However, it's rather important for 
 me to find him in a decent humour to-day, 
 for I've got something particular to say to 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " cries Milly, sympathizingly, 
 and a little fearfully. " I hope it's nothing 
 very bad, Charlie. You haven't got into 
 very much debt, have you ? Or you haven't 
 been backing a bill " 
 
 This vague suggestion is a quotation from 
 the last novel she has been reading. 
 
 " I confess," she continues frankly, " that 
 I have not a very clear idea of the mean-
 
 " Tell me what it is!' 71 
 
 ing of backing a bill. Is it to get some 
 money out of him ? " 
 
 " Well, I can't say that I should object to 
 a present of any trifle which he might feel 
 disposed to bestow on me," is Captain De- 
 vereux's reply. " If he offered me a hundred- 
 pound note, for instance, I don't know that 
 I should hurt his feelings by refusing it. 
 But, wonderful to relate, the chief object of 
 my visit to him to-day is not directly con- 
 nected with money." 
 
 Now that the actual moment for confession 
 is come, even though the recipient of his news 
 is only Milly, who has always been his staunch 
 friend and champion, Captain Devereux feels 
 unaccountably shy about coming to the point. 
 
 " Tell me what it is, won't you ? " asks un- 
 suspecting Milly. " Then perhaps we can put 
 our heads together, and concoct some plan for 
 getting round the Ogre."
 
 J2 "Peccavi." 
 
 How often have they hatched these little 
 plots together before now ! and how often 
 has Milly's quick wit hit upon a manoeuvre 
 by which the old man has been cajoled or 
 outwitted, and their point ultimately gained, 
 always for Charlie's benefit ! Milly never 
 fails to throw herself heart and soul into 
 the task of smoothing the way for him by 
 the little means in her power. She is ever 
 the one to devise plans and suggest ideas, 
 while he, by reason of his superior influence 
 over their all-powerful mutual relation, is the 
 one to whom the carrying out of her crafty 
 advice is entrusted. But the disclosure he has 
 to make now is evidently of greater moment 
 than those in previous cases, and Milly is 
 struck by the hesitation of her cousin's manner, 
 and by the unwonted flush which dyes his fair 
 complexion. 
 
 " Would you rather not tell me what you
 
 " Tell me what it is." 73 
 
 have to say to the Ogre ? " she asks, sub- 
 missively, yet a little aggrieved at heart, for 
 he has seldom kept his secrets back from 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, I'll tell you," he answers, bringing 
 it out with a burst. " The fact is, Milly, 
 that I've been and gone and got married " 
 
 He stops short, taken aback by the effect 
 his news has on his listener. Milly has grown 
 white as death, and stares at him w T ith fixed 
 eyes, as if utterly unable to take in the sense 
 of his words. 
 
 " Married ! " she echoes, with a gasp of 
 horror. It is all she has power to articulate. 
 
 " Yes, married," repeats he, trying to carry 
 it off lightly, but not a little irritated by her 
 manner. " One would think I had just 
 owned to having committed a murder, to look 
 at your face." 
 
 " Married ! " again cries poor Milly, with
 
 74 "Peccavi? 
 
 increasing agitation. " Do you mean to say 
 that — that you have got a wife, Charlie ? " 
 
 " I believe that is generally what one under- 
 stands by a man saying he is married," he 
 answers, with an impatient laugh. " The fact 
 of marriage necessitates the existence of a 
 wife, doesn't it ? For Heaven's sake, Milly, 
 don't sit there like that, looking as if you 
 had seen a ghost ! Have you never heard 
 of a man being married before ? " 
 
 " You are really married, then, without 
 telling any one, — without letting me know ? " 
 cries poor Milly, fighting hard to receive the 
 blow with a decent show of self-command. 
 " Oh, how could you, Charlie ? " 
 
 "Well, I should have been ready enough 
 to tell you all about it, if I had thought it 
 safe to do so," says the young man, with a 
 feeling that he has behaved rather ungrate- 
 fully towards her. " But, you see, if the Ogre
 
 " Tell vie what it is." 75 
 
 had in any way got a hint of it, and found 
 out that you had known it all along, he'd 
 have pitched into you like fun ; so I thought 
 it best to keep quiet till it was all done, and 
 then to come and take him by storm. You 
 look awfully taken aback by it all, Milly, 
 but I suppose it is because you are afraid 
 for me, and you think he will be put out 
 about it, don't you? It's really good of you 
 to be bothered by my affairs in this way, 
 but I haven't much fear. I think I can trust 
 myself to bring him round — in time." 
 
 Milly looks as if she has not heard a w r ord 
 he has been saying, and, indeed, her next 
 question proves that her thoughts have wan- 
 dered on quite another tack than the probable 
 reception of the news by the arbiter of their 
 future destinies. 
 
 "Who is she?" she asks, in low, concen- 
 trated tones.
 
 7 6 " Peccavi." 
 
 ''She is a Miss Eyre — Ruth Eyre — or rather, 
 was so," returns Captain Devereux, glibly 
 enough. " I have been seeing her a good 
 deal lately at the house of a clergyman near 
 Aldershot, where she has been staying — no ! 
 I'd better tell you the truth at once — where 
 she was governess in his family." 
 
 This part of his story — the fact of his 
 chosen wife occupying a position so inferior 
 to his own — does not seem to strike fresh 
 horror into his cousin's mind. After the 
 crash of the first thunderbolt, her ears ap- 
 pear to be deafened to the reports of any 
 subsequent minor shocks. Woman-like, she 
 clings to the particulars which most nearly 
 affect her. 
 
 "Is she pretty?" is her next query, made 
 also in the same dry, constrained voice as 
 before. 
 
 " Pretty ! " cries Charlie, rising from his
 
 " Tell me what it is" 77 
 
 lowly position as he speaks. " You just see 
 her, and judge for yourself, Milly. I'm sure 
 that you and she will be friends the moment 
 you meet," he asserts, with the blind con- 
 fidence of unobservant mankind. " You'll 
 think me a fool if I begin to rhapsodize about 
 her to you, so I'll just hold my tongue, as I 
 hope it won't be many days before you see 
 her." 
 
 Milly cannot bring herself to respond cor- 
 dially to this wish. A cold shivering runs 
 through her frame as she pictures to herself 
 Charlie bringing his bride with him on his 
 next visit, and showering all his affection 
 upon her, — perhaps expecting his cousin to 
 do likewise. She clenches her teeth tightly 
 together, as the ghastly vision rises before 
 her mind's eye, and inwardly exclaims, " Never, 
 never, never ! " 
 
 Charlie is a little surprised at her moody
 
 7% "Peccavz." 
 
 silence, but he ascribes it to the fact of her 
 being still overwhelmed with astonishment 
 at his unexpected tidings. 
 
 "Women are always so long in getting over 
 the surprise of a thing," he reflects, somewhat 
 crossly, looking at his watch, which shows 
 him that it is time to go and keep his appoint- 
 ment with his uncle. " Well, I must be off," 
 he says cheerfully, " if I want to start well 
 in the coming ordeal You see, Milly, of 
 course it doesn't signify a rap, but it makes 
 it a little more doubtful how the Ogre will 
 take it, Ruth being, or rather having been, 
 a governess, you know. Not that I have 
 any reason to suppose he will care about 
 that ; do you think he will ? Couldn't you 
 come with me, and make him understand 
 that point better than I can ? " 
 
 This cruel proposal is the last straw which 
 proves too much for Milly's endurance. In
 
 " Tell me what it is." 79 
 
 her opinion, it is the most barefaced instance 
 of adding insult to injury that she can possibly 
 imagine. 
 
 " No, no! That is quite out of the 
 question," she answers hurriedly, and looking 
 steadily away from him. ''I'm no good at 
 all ; he never listens to anything I say. You 
 can manage much better without me, and " 
 
 Here she loses all self-control. She is 
 deadly pale ; her lips tremble ominously, 
 and, trying to rise from her seat, she staggers, 
 and falls back upon it again. 
 
 " Perhaps you're right, after all," replies 
 Charlie, who is again consulting his watch, 
 and does not perceive the state of agitation 
 she is in. " I must gather up my courage, 
 then, for single combat with the Ogre, and 
 I shall do my best to face him, unsupported. 
 I'll come out to you, Milly, and tell you all 
 about it as soon as I get away," he adds,
 
 8o "PeccavL" 
 
 with a wave of his hand, as he turns to 
 leave her. " I've got a lot to say to you 
 still." 
 
 She waits till he is out of sight, and then 
 she raises herself from the bench on which 
 she has been sitting, rushes across the lawn 
 with the speed of a frightened deer, hurries 
 upstairs to her own room, locks the door, and, 
 throwing herself on a sofa, finds vent for the 
 misery which oppresses her soul in the untold 
 luxury of "a good cry."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN THE " OGRE'S " DEN. 
 
 Although, up to the present moment, Captain 
 Devereux has been credited with possessing 
 more than an average amount of personal 
 courage, and has never been known to suffer 
 from nervousness or timidity, he begins to 
 comprehend the meaning of the expression, 
 " shaking in your shoes," as he makes his 
 way to his uncle's study. He would give 
 something, just then, to have done with the 
 necessary task before him, and to have 
 accomplished the plunge. But he does not 
 let a trace of his weakness be apparent in 
 his face. Nor is there anything in the aspect 
 of Mr. Falconer, as he sits back in his arm- 
 vol. i. 8l G
 
 82 "Peccavi." 
 
 chair, with his leg carefully supported by a 
 neighbouring sofa, which is in the least calcu- 
 lated to inspire fresh dread in his mind. On 
 the contrary, the " Ogre " is decidedly en- 
 couraging, not to say affable, and his usually 
 forbidding visage relaxes into what is intended 
 to be a smile as he holds out a hand to 
 welcome the only individual in the world 
 for whom he entertains something akin to a 
 liking. 
 
 " So you've come to see me — at last," are 
 his first words. " You don't run the risk of 
 satiating us with too much of your company, 
 eh, Charlie ? " 
 
 " I have been very busy one way or another 
 lately," is the evasive answer. " It's awful 
 hard work to get leave of absence at this 
 time of the year. And how are you, Uncle 
 John? Milly tells me that you've had 
 another touch of gout."
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 8 
 
 o 
 
 " Milly always makes out that I've had 
 nothing the matter with me whatever," replies 
 the old man, angrily. " I wonder what she'd 
 say if she were laid up as I have been for 
 three weeks. I wish she had a ' touch ' of it 
 too, and then we'd soon see who makes the 
 greatest outcry over it, — she or I. It has 
 been the sharpest attack I have had for years, 
 and I feel twinges of it even now," he adds, 
 with a vicious look at his offending foot on 
 the sofa. 
 
 " I'm awfully sorry to hear it," exclaims 
 Charlie, infusing double sympathy into his 
 tone, for fear the patient should detect an 
 inclination to smile. " I quite believe that 
 you've suffered immense pain, but I don't 
 think Milly meant to make little of it. She 
 said, indeed, that you had been very ill." 
 
 " Don't let us talk of that provoking girl any 
 more, for Heaven's sake," says Mr. Falconer,
 
 8 4 "Peccavi" 
 
 peremptorily. " She's the most audacious 
 chit that I ever came across, and some day 
 she'll repent her impudence, unless she looks 
 out. Only this morning she laughed in my 
 very face, and mimicked me in the coolest 
 manner — mimicked me ! Just conceive such 
 impertinence. Is it possible that you are 
 laughing, Charlie ? " he adds, turning his head 
 sharply round as he hears something suspi- 
 ciously like a chuckle at his side. 
 
 " Laughing ! " repeats Charlie, with com- 
 mendable gravity. " I laughing ! I was only 
 just preventing myself from sneezing." 
 
 " I don't know why you should trouble your- 
 self to do that," answers the old man, only half 
 convinced. " Sneeze away as much as you 
 want to — what does it matter ? " 
 
 " I was afraid it would prevent my hearing 
 what you were saying," meekly observes 
 Captain Devereux, with ready wit. " And
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 85 
 
 it has quite passed off now ; I don't want to 
 sneeze at all." 
 
 " Hum ! " snorts his uncle, still unbelievingly. 
 " However," he resumes, in a more amiable 
 manner, " I was going to ask you how long 
 you are going to stay here, now you have 
 come at last, Master Charlie ? I suppose 
 you're in very flourishing circumstances, as 
 usual, and it would be sending coals to New- 
 castle to talk of offering you any little extra 
 advance, eh ? " 
 
 This is said in a would-be playful manner, 
 and has the effect of a Polar bear trying to be 
 sportive. 
 
 Charlie has, by dint of long experience, 
 become an adept in the art of entering into 
 the varied moods of this curious specimen of 
 humanity before him, and responds promptly 
 to his vein of pleasantry. 
 
 " You can try the experiment if you like,"
 
 86 "Peccavi" 
 
 he answers, laughing. " I should be sorry to 
 baulk you if you are seized with a generous 
 impulse in my direction." 
 
 With an unmelodious cackle, Mr. Falconer 
 takes out his cheque-book, and hands over a 
 slip of paper to his nephew, who receives it 
 with warm expressions of gratitude. 
 
 11 You young men are all alike, " remarks he, 
 leaning back in his chair. " You seem to 
 think that bank-notes grow upon the hedges, 
 by the way you chuck them away broadcast. 
 Where should I be, I wonder, if I had been 
 as reckless as you are at your age ? Certainly 
 not in a position to make you a present of 
 that sort," pointing to the cheque in Charlie's 
 hand. 
 
 "It appears to me, by your own showing 
 then, Uncle John, that the result of your 
 saving and screw — economizing in your youth, 
 is that you are able to provide means for
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 
 
 fostering my 'recklessness,' as you call it," 
 returns Captain Devereux, astutely. " I 
 
 confess I don't see the use of " 
 
 " Gathering for others to scatter, eh, Charlie? 
 No more do I, young man ; but there are 
 certain limits I set myself, which you would 
 find it difficult to induce me to overstep. 
 A fifty-pound note now and then I may 
 afford, but you mustn't expect it often, I warn 
 you. I have so many claims on my money 
 — claims which you know nothing about, my 
 boy." 
 
 "Well, if I had lots of money " begins 
 
 the young man, impulsively. 
 
 " Go on, my boy. Pray finish your sentence. 
 
 ' If you had lots of money 
 
 " I'd better keep my ideas to myself, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " Not at all ! I should like to hear them. 
 Besides, there are two classes of people in
 
 88 "Peccavi" 
 
 this world, who are privileged to say what 
 they like, you know." 
 
 " Meaning fools and children? Thanks for 
 the compliment," says Charlie, with a good- 
 tempered smile. " Even after that crushing 
 snub, Uncle John, I will venture to face your 
 sarcasm. I was going to say, if I had lots of 
 money, I'd contrive to get all the fun out of it 
 I could. I rather think I would make it spin !" 
 
 " I rather think you would!" assents Mr. 
 Falconer, grimly. " Luckily, I may safely 
 predict that your present ideas will undergo 
 some slight modification before many years 
 have passed by. And now tell me, sir " — with 
 an abrupt change of subject — " when are you 
 going to think of marrying ? " 
 
 Charlie turns pale. Can he possibly have 
 heard ? But he is reassured by seeing that 
 wretched parody of a smile of his again, 
 guiltless of any latent meaning.
 
 hi the l% Ogres " Den. 89 
 
 " I — I don't know exactly," he stammers 
 out, much embarrassed. 
 
 " Because you'll have to marry sometime 
 or other, you know," pursues Mr. Falconer, 
 with decision. " There's your cousin, Milly, 
 now — she's a pert chit, to be sure, and has 
 the tongue of the very fiend incarnate himself, 
 but you might not mind that so much, as you 
 could keep her in order, you know. If you 
 have thought of her, Charlie, why, I may as 
 well tell you that I should have no objec- 
 tion to the marriage. What do you say, 
 eh ? " 
 
 Then Charlie feels that the moment is come 
 for the fatal leap to be taken. 
 
 " I have no doubt that Milly would make 
 a capital wife to any man in the world," he 
 replies, with as much unconcern as he can 
 muster. " But," he adds, with an exaggerated 
 attempt to be humorous, " I am afraid I
 
 90 "Peccavi." 
 
 couldn't marry her without committing bigamy, 
 Uncle John." 
 
 " Bigamy ! What the devil do you mean ? " 
 asks Mr. Falconer, sharply. 
 
 " Isn't it called bigamy when a man goes in 
 for two wives at a time ? " inquires Charlie, 
 innocently. " And I am already married." 
 
 " Married ! you married ! " roars the old 
 man, starting up in his chair, and facing his 
 audacious nephew with a blaze of anger in his 
 eyes. " Was it possible that you meant me to 
 understand that you are already married ? " 
 
 Milly's amazement and horror, as she listened 
 to her cousin's revelation, were as nothing in 
 comparison with Mr. Falconer's. 
 
 Captain Devereux is so immensely relieved 
 by having got over the worst part of his task, 
 that he feels able to pull himself together and 
 fight valiantly in the struggle which he knows 
 is imminent.
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 91 
 
 " I certainly did intend to convey that to 
 your mind," answers he, growing a little 
 nettled. " By the way you take it, Uncle 
 John, one would think I had told you that 
 I had got the plague. Why shouldn't I be 
 married ? You were advising me just now to 
 beein to think about it." 
 
 " Do you suppose that I meant you to go 
 and marry Heaven knows whom in this sort of 
 hole-and-corner way, without letting me know 
 a word of your intentions ? " storms Mr. Fal- 
 coner ; then, quickly calming himself down to 
 a portentous stillness, he inquires : " Who 
 may be the lady whom you have so promptly 
 made into Mrs. Charles Devereux ? " 
 
 14 She was a Miss Eyre, a young lady whom 
 I met at a clergyman's house near Aldershot," 
 answers his nephew, wincing a little. 
 
 " Might one inquire what her exact status 
 in society was ? " asks Mr. Falconer, with in-
 
 92 "Peccavi" 
 
 creasing blandness. " Am I to understand 
 that she is the daughter of the said clergy- 
 man ? " 
 
 " No, you are not," cries Charlie, waxing 
 hot as his uncle grows cooler. " She was the 
 governess in his family, if you care to know 
 every detail, Uncle John." 
 
 " Governess, indeed ! Then I surmise that 
 she is not very bountifully supplied with this 
 world's goods," continues the old man with 
 biting sarcasm. " Pray don't trouble yourself 
 to assure me that her mental and physical 
 charms amply compensate for her lack of more 
 substantial endowments," he adds, waving his 
 hand imperiously as Charlie is about to speak ; 
 then, more suspiciously composed in manner 
 than ever, he asks in slow, distinct accents, — 
 
 "And I suppose that you are come to beg 
 me to receive this — lady — as my — what is it — 
 niece-in-law ?"
 
 In the ''Ogres " Den. 93 
 
 11 I certainly hope you will do so," returns 
 Charlie, still undaunted. " I came down from 
 town to-day on purpose to tell you of my 
 marriage." 
 
 11 Then- all I can tell you is that you are 
 most confoundedly mistaken," screams Mr. Fal- 
 coner, positively shaking all over in a sudden 
 and overpowering paroxysm of rage. " How 
 dare you come to me in this — this impertinent 
 way, and sit down before me to tell me of your 
 marriage with a girl whom I have never set 
 eyes on, and whom no one knows anything 
 about at all ? Then you hope I will receive 
 her in my house ! How dare you for one 
 moment think that I will stand such a thing, 
 sir ? " 
 
 And Mr. Falconer, looking like a baited 
 bull, with the normal red hue of his nose dyed 
 to a deep purple colour, almost shakes his fist 
 in his nephew's face.
 
 94 u Peccavi" 
 
 11 I am sorry I did not tell you beforehand, 
 Uncle John," says Charlie, trying to control his 
 temper. " But I thought that " 
 
 " What the deuce do I care to know what 
 you thought ? " bawls Mr. Falconer, interrupt- 
 ing him with increasing anger. " I don't wish 
 to hear one word more from you on the sub- 
 ject of your reasons for playing me this trick, 
 or of anything else. You've gone your own 
 way to work now, and you may get out cf it 
 as best you can. But there is one thing you 
 must get out of at once, and that is my house. 
 Do you hear me ? Be off with you this 
 very night, and never let me see you darken 
 its threshold again. Ten thousand devils ! 
 You marry a governess, and expect me to 
 receive her ! Your impudence surpasses all 
 belief." 
 
 Poor Charlie looks quite aghast at this 
 utterly unlooked-for termination to the inter.
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 95 
 
 view which he fondly hoped to pass through 
 so easily. 
 
 " But, Uncle John " he begins, too be- 
 wildered to know what he is going to say. 
 
 " Don't Uncle John me, if you please!" re- 
 turns Mr. Falconer, harshly. " I'm not your 
 uncle any longer, from this day forth, and 
 you're no nephew of mine. I trust I may 
 never hear your name mentioned again ; and 
 now, the sooner you leave me, and go back to 
 your aristocratic and wealthy bride, the better 
 it will be," he shouts, with spiteful emphasis. 
 
 Charlie blazes up in his turn. 
 
 " You'll have the goodness to be careful in 
 the way you speak of her ! " he cries, rising 
 from his chair. " But," he continues, with one 
 more effort to give the old man a chance of 
 recovering himself, " I don't mind what you 
 say just now — in the first heat of your surprise. 
 I daresay you're vexed at my having kept my
 
 96 " Peccavi." 
 
 intention secret from the first. You don't 
 really mean all you say, I feel sure." 
 
 ''You'll soon see whether I do, or not!" 
 responds his uncle, furiously getting up, and 
 hobbling to the bell, which he pulls with a 
 ringing peal. 
 
 " If you have unpacked Captain Devereux's 
 things, May," he says quietly to the butler, 
 who appears at his summons, "put them back 
 in his portmanteau immediately. Captain 
 Devereux will not sleep here to-night." 
 
 May looks as if he fancies he could not 
 have heard the order aright. 
 
 " What the devil do you mean by standing 
 there ? Do what I tell you at' once," calls 
 out his master, promptly. 
 
 And the perplexed servant has no resource 
 but to go, with his usual, " Yes, sir." 
 
 Charlie sees now that his cause is indeed 
 lost.
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 97 
 
 u One day you will come to repent of your 
 harshness towards me, I feel sure," he says, 
 with dignity, and without another word of 
 expostulation, he adds, " I will go " 
 
 " Yes, go ! " interrupted Mr. Falconer, with 
 a malicious scowl. " Go and starve, for all 
 I care ! And don't presume to show your 
 face in this house again." 
 
 " You need not fear that, sir," are Charlie's 
 last words to his uncle ; and then he marches 
 out of the room, holding his head high in 
 the air, and, to all outward appearances, 
 victor in the recent contest, but inwardly 
 raging with anger, mortification, perplexity, 
 and a sense of smarting under cruel ill-treat- 
 ment. 
 
 May meets him in the passage, and, with 
 the privilege of an old servant, accosts him. 
 He is devoted to the young man, as indeed 
 is every member of the household. 
 
 vol. 1. H
 
 98 "Peccavl" 
 
 " Is this really true, sir ? " he asks, lowering 
 his voice to a whisper. " Does Mr. Falconer 
 mean what he says, that you are not going 
 to stay here ? " 
 
 " Most certainly he means it, May," an- 
 swers Charlie, with reckless defiance in his 
 tone. " Look sharp, and put my things to- 
 gether, there's a good fellow. I'm going oft 
 directly, — as soon as I have seen Miss Byron. 
 Mr. Falconer and I have had a row," he 
 adds, in answer to the inquiring look on the 
 old butler s face. "He doesn't like my hav- 
 ing taken upon myself to marry without first 
 asking his permission, and so we've split al- 
 together." 
 
 "I am very sorry to hear it, sir," says the 
 butler, sympathizingly. " And you're really 
 married, sir ? Couldn't you have kept it 
 back a little longer from him, don't you 
 think, sir ? "
 
 In the "Ogres" Den. 99 
 
 " I'm afraid not," answers Charlie, with a 
 short laugh. " But I daresay he'll come 
 round in time, May." 
 
 The old butler shakes his head mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 11 Mr. Falconer is not a gentleman who 
 comes round very easily, sir, I fear," he says, 
 in still lower tones. " But I hope, for your 
 sake, that he will this time." 
 
 And then he turns dejectedly away to obey 
 Mr. Falconer's commands, and Charlie, with 
 an encouraging nod to him, rushes off in 
 search of Milly.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " I NEVER CHANGE MY MIND." 
 
 Captain Devereux finds Milly in the draw- 
 ing-room, sitting by the open window. She 
 
 # 
 
 has recovered her self-control pretty fairly 
 again now, thanks to the aid of those timely 
 tears, which she shed upstairs, far from the 
 range of prying eyes. She still feels angry 
 and mortified, — not a little disposed to cherish 
 bitter thoughts against her cousin, and still 
 more against his innocent wife. But the first 
 fury of the hurricane has spent itself, and this 
 daughter of Eve is now consumed with a 
 burning wish to learn more details of the 
 startling event. When she sees her cousin 
 come in with a dark frown on his good-look-
 
 "/ A T cver Change my Mind!' 101 
 
 ing face, and with all the signs in his de- 
 meanour of being in overwhelming distress, 
 Milly is unselfish enough to cast aside all 
 thoughts of her own grievances, and she rises 
 hastily to meet him, intent only on inquiring 
 into the cause of his perturbation, and on 
 helping to chase it away, if possible. 
 
 In a few hurried words — for he is anxious 
 not to delay his departure — Captain Devereux 
 graphically describes the stormy scene which 
 has taken place between him and his uncle. 
 
 " So here I am, literally ordered out of the 
 house," he adds, in conclusion. " I never 
 could have believed it possible that he would 
 be so obstinate and so furious as he showed 
 himself this evening." 
 
 " Horrid old creature ! " responds Milly, in- 
 dignantly, and shaking her fist vigorously in 
 the direction of his room. " Perhaps you'll 
 begin to believe now, Charlie," she adds, with
 
 102 "Peccavi" 
 
 pardonable triumph in her voice, " that he is 
 all and more than all that I said. But I 
 don't really think he can be so inexorable. 
 
 I feel sure that he will think better of it, and 
 retract in a short time." 
 
 " Well, we'll hope for the best," is Charlie's 
 answer, given in a perceptibly less sanguine 
 tone than he had made use of to her only an 
 hour ago, in prophesying the outcome of his 
 visit. " But he doesn't look like it yet, I can 
 tell you. If you had only heard him abuse 
 me like a pickpocket ! No name was too 
 bad for me." 
 
 " My imagination is capable of supplying 
 those little details," responds Milly, drily. 
 
 II Experience has long since taught me that 
 his vocabulary is not by any means choice. 
 But— joking apart, Charlie — I'm most dread- 
 fully sorry to hear of this. What will you 
 do, supposing that he is immovable ? "
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind." 103 
 
 "Starve!" cries the young man, bitterly. 
 " I can't conceive what there will be for me 
 to do, as I've nothing on earth beyond my 
 pay, and Ruth hasn't a penny. However, 
 we'll trust that it won't come to that pass." 
 
 " Oh, no," says Hilly. " I feel certain that 
 he said more than he meant in his heart. 
 Are you going now ? " she continues, seeing 
 that he makes a movement towards her. 
 
 " I must go, as I don't want the old cur- 
 mudgeon to find out that I'm still hanging 
 about. I'm going to sleep at the Falconer 
 Arms to-night, and go back to Midmarsh 
 early to-morrow morning. Nice food this 
 will be for gossip in the village, won't it ? I 
 say, Milly, if by chance he should show any 
 signs of yielding in the course of the evening, 
 you might just send me a line down there 
 to-morrow morning before I leave, mightn't 
 you ? In any case, if you wouldn't mind
 
 104 "Peccavi" 
 
 sending to tell me how things are going on, 
 I should be cdad." 
 
 o 
 
 " I will, certainly, Charlie. I shall pro- 
 bably be invited to the Ogre's presence to- 
 night, and, if I come out of it without his 
 having gobbled me up, I'll be sure to keep 
 you ate courant of the state of his mind." 
 
 " Thanks, awfully. I know you'll stick to 
 me, won't you, Milly, like a brick, and do 
 your best to fight my battles ? I can trust 
 my affairs in your hands, as I would in no 
 one else's, and I feel almost certain that this 
 split won't last long. Good-bye, then, for 
 the present, dear. Even if the Ogre refuses 
 to give in, we'll manage some way of seeing 
 each other now and then, won't we, Mil ? " 
 
 And for the first time since they have 
 passed the age of childhood, Charlie De- 
 vereux stoops down and cordially embraces 
 his cousin, while Milly, though she cannot
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind." 105 
 
 help wincing a little, is too much influenced 
 by pity and sympathy for him to let him 
 guess how the action tries her. 
 
 " Good-bye, Charlie. You shall have a 
 note from me in the morning. May would 
 do anything for you, I know, and he'll find 
 some means of sending it. And, Charlie," 
 she adds, with a supreme effort of self-sacri- 
 fice, ''mind you give my love to Ruth, and 
 tell her I hope we shall meet very soon." 
 
 " I won't forget, Milly. Oh, by the bye, 
 there is one thing more I want to do," he 
 says, coming once more back a few steps. 
 " The old fellow presented me with this 
 cheque for fifty pounds in the early part of 
 our interview, and I forgot all about giving 
 it back to him afterwards. I wouldn't keep 
 it after what he said. So perhaps you'll 
 return it to him, Milly, with my compli- 
 ments."
 
 io6 "Peccavi." 
 
 An imperious ring in the direction of the 
 study is heard at this juncture, and, shortly 
 after, May enters, and informs Miss Byron 
 that Mr. Falconer wishes to see her in his 
 room immediately. 
 
 "Say that I'll come directly, May," she 
 answers, with no pretence whatever of hurry- 
 ing herself. " And, May, you know that 
 Captain Devereux's luggage is to be sent 
 down to the Falconer Arms." 
 
 " I was just going to ask where it was to 
 go, miss," answers the butler. " Everything 
 is ready packed, and Withers is waiting to 
 wheel it down now." 
 
 With another hurried farewell, Charlie now 
 takes a final leave of his cousin, and, passing 
 through the open window, strides quickly 
 away across the lawn, — an exile from the 
 only home which he has ever known and 
 which he loves so dearly, and has almost
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind." 107 
 
 unconsciously taught himself to consider in 
 the light of his certain heritage. 
 
 Milly relieves her heavily burdened soul 
 with a deep-drawn sigh, and then leisurely be- 
 takes herself to her uncle's room, her compo- 
 sure not being ruffled very much by meeting 
 May on her way with a second and more per- 
 emptory summons, which he delivers almost 
 in a whisper, as if her temerity in keeping his 
 master waiting had taken his very breath away. 
 
 Mr. Falconer is seated at his writing-table, 
 engaged apparently in arranging packets of 
 old letters. He looks up as she enters, but 
 instantly returns to his occupation, without 
 uttering a word. Milly's powers of endurance 
 do not enable her to support this seeming 
 disregard of her presence for more than two 
 minutes. 
 
 " Do you wish to speak to me, Uncle 
 John, as May told me?" she asks, coldly.
 
 io8 "Peccavi" 
 
 " Your intelligent mind might have sug- 
 gested that such a question is superfluous," 
 is his sneering reply. " It is not very likely 
 that I should send for you with the sole view 
 of wasting your time and mine, or for the 
 mere pleasure, — a most exhilarating one, I 
 must admit, — of enjoying your society. Yes, 
 to be sure, I wish to speak to you, and you 
 may sit down to listen to me, rather than 
 stand in that ungainly attitude any longer, 
 like a soldier on parade. In the first place, 
 why were you so long in coming ? I sent 
 May to call you at least ten minutes ago." 
 
 " I was with Charlie in the drawing-room," 
 says Milly, boldly, seating herself with the 
 utmost coolness. 
 
 " Were you, indeed ? — hearing from him 
 his nice little tale, and his disappointment at 
 my reception of the delightful news of his 
 romantic marriage ? " asks Mr. Falconer,
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind!' 109 
 
 with a grim laugh. " Well now, hear what 
 I have got to say to you, Milly. I imagine 
 you are endowed with a fair average amount 
 of common sense, though I can't affirm that 
 I have seen much evidence of it yet, and it's 
 precious little that women can boast of at 
 the best. But perhaps you will be able to 
 take in what I require of you, and. under- 
 stand that I am in earnest. From this day 
 forth, I desire that you will not mention 
 your cousin's name in my presence again. 
 Any attempt that you may think of making 
 to restore him to favour, no matter in what 
 form or at what distance of time, will be 
 utterly thrown away, quite useless, and will 
 only damage your own interests. So I ad- 
 vise you to bear this in mind. I know that 
 you side with him against me," he adds, 
 contemptuously; " and I am confident that, 
 in the course of time, you will be persuaded,
 
 no "Peccavi." 
 
 or your own foolish head will prompt you, to 
 try what you can do with me on his behalf. 
 But once for all, I give you warning that 
 it will be of no avail, and you know me 
 well enough to be aware that I never change 
 my mind. Your cousin has made his bed, 
 and now he must lie upon it. His future 
 does not concern me in one way or another. 
 You understand my commands, I presume ?" 
 " Fully, insomuch that I am not quite an 
 idiot, and you have succeeded in making 
 them very clear," answers Milly, with a sneer 
 excelling her uncle's ; " and, if you want to 
 know my opinion, Uncle John, I consider 
 that you have behaved very badly to Charlie ! 
 After all, what has he done ? He has 
 married a girl a little below him in station, 
 without consulting you about it first, because 
 he knew you would have knocked it on the 
 head. And for this you turn him out of
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind!' 1 1 1 
 
 the house, and say you will have nothing 
 more to do with him ! I call that a horrid 
 shame ! " 
 
 " Pray inveigh against me a little longer, 
 if it amuses you, my dear," returns Mr. 
 Falconer, leaning back in his chair, and fix- 
 ing his eyes on her indignant countenance 
 with a disagreeable smile. "It is the last 
 time that I shall gratify you in this way, 
 for, if after to-night you bring up your 
 cousin's name before me, you will find me 
 a less patient listener, and I shall refuse to 
 be thus spoken to by an audacious minx 
 like you," he pursues, with rising anger. 
 
 11 You can't prevent me from making use of 
 my tongue, that I am aware of," retorts his 
 niece, defiantly. " And I will say " 
 
 " You will say what you please, I have 
 no doubt, but not in this room, or in my 
 presence," he answers, menacingly. " And
 
 ii2 "Peccavi. 
 
 while we are on this subject for the last 
 time, I may as well tell you that my inten- 
 tions are to allow your cousin two hundred 
 a year, and to-morrow I shall write to my 
 bankers, directing them to pay that sum 
 quarterly to his account." 
 
 " How extremely liberal of you, Uncle 
 John!" 
 
 " I have no wish to listen to your com- 
 ments on my actions, miss. Liberal or not, 
 it is all that he need ever look for at my 
 hands, and that you may tell him if you 
 choose, as I presume you mean to correspond 
 with him. It's a great deal more than he 
 has any right to expect from me, after his 
 conduct towards me, — indeed, he may con- 
 sider himself deuced lucky that I don't serve 
 him out as he deserves, and give him nothing 
 at all ; but " 
 
 " Oh, I nearly forgot ! " cries Milly, inter-
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind." 113 
 
 rupting him with slight ceremony. " I have 
 brought you this cheque, which he says he 
 wouldn't keep, as it was given to him be- 
 fore he told you of his marriage. I quite 
 agree with him." 
 
 " Indeed ! " is Mr. Falconer s only reply, 
 as he pockets the cheque. " Take care of 
 your manners, Milly — take care. That out- 
 spoken frankness of yours is very charming, 
 no doubt, but it is not the best way of get- 
 ting on in the world, and I advise you not 
 to make such lavish use of it, as your future 
 prospects in life will depend very much on the 
 way you conduct yourself, young lady." 
 
 "If you mean me to understand that you 
 might leave me the fortune which ought, by 
 rights, to be Charlie's," says she, with charac- 
 teristic bluntness, <( I can only assure you that 
 I would never accept it, Uncle John, and that 
 1 would give it up to him." 
 
 vol. i. 1
 
 1 14 "Peccavi" 
 
 11 Your purpose does credit to your affec- 
 tionate heart," answers her uncle, with a 
 mocking bow. " Unfortunately, such self- 
 sacrificing intentions seldom survive the wear 
 and tear of time. It is really curious to note 
 how a few years can change our ideas with 
 regard to the disposal of our property. 
 Haven't you remarked it yourself ? And 
 now you may go for the present, as I have 
 told you all I had to say to you. After 
 dinner, I shall want you to come and read 
 the paper to me here. By the way," he 
 calls out after her, checking her progress to 
 the door, " I forgot to mention to you that the 
 butcher's book has been much too hi^h this 
 week. You must see to it, and bring it down 
 for the future. I won't stand such waste in 
 my house." 
 
 " I will do my best to curtail our alarm- 
 ingly high expenditure," replies Milly, with
 
 "/ Never Change my Mind." 115 
 
 cool sarcasm. " I suppose you'll be satisfied 
 if I contrive to reduce it by the sum of one 
 whole shilling a week, won't you ? Your 
 income might then just suffice to cover it, 
 don't you think ? " 
 
 And with a scornful laugh, she turns away, 
 not allowing time for the threatening growl, 
 which greets her cutting remarks, to expand 
 into a torrent of sharp words. She leaves 
 her uncle's presence, to collect her thoughts 
 after the disturbing occurrences of the day, 
 to mourn over her shattered hopes, and to 
 turn over in her mind various schemes by 
 which her cousin's interests might be for- 
 warded. At all events, she reflects, there is 
 a tiny crumb of comfort to communicate to 
 him in the promised pittance of two hundred 
 a year.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A BAD LOOK-OUT. 
 
 At an early hour the next morning, Charlie 
 receives the following note from his cousin : — 
 
 " My dear Charlie, — 
 
 " I had a long interview with the Ogre 
 last night, but I am sorry to say that I have 
 no good news to give you. He is as hard 
 as granite, and up to this moment shows no 
 symptom of yielding. He gave me to under- 
 stand that any efforts I might make on your 
 behalf would be labour thrown away, and told 
 me to let you know that if you wrote to 
 him, your letters would be returned unopened. 
 Such is his genial frame of mind just now, 
 
 Tl6
 
 A bad Look-out. 1 1 7 
 
 and it doesn't look encouraging, does it ? He 
 means to allow you ^200 a year, which you 
 will hear about through his bankers. Miserly 
 old wretch ! But don't despair ; I don't, by 
 any means. I will let you know the very 
 instant a thaw sets in. Keep up a good 
 heart, and be patient if you can. I feel as 
 if I should like to go and shake him for 
 half an hour without stopping ! I will write 
 very often. 
 
 " Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 " Milly." 
 
 Captain Devereux is not a little disgusted 
 at the contents of this letter ; for, during the 
 last few hours, he has brought himself to 
 expect that the tidings of a complete recon- 
 ciliation will reach him with the morning's 
 dawn. In his heart, he never really believed 
 that Mr. Falconer would keep to his decision,
 
 n8 "Peccavi. 
 
 after having had twelve hours to think it 
 over. But now that he has proved so obdurate 
 thus far, what grounds are there for hope that 
 he will relent in the future ? None, so far 
 as Charlie can see, even in his most sanguine 
 moments ; and he fails to find much comfort 
 in Milly's note, which is meant to be encou- 
 raging, because she wishes to cheer him up — 
 not from any very strong convictions in her 
 own mind. Captain Devereux begins to per- 
 ceive that the outlook of his future prospects 
 is tending to gloom and darkness unpalatable 
 to realize. As he settles himself down in his 
 corner of the railway carriage, there is a 
 heavy cloud on his usually sunny face, as he 
 thinks of the many luxuries he will have to 
 dispense with henceforth — luxuries which he 
 has been accustomed to look upon as almost 
 necessities of life. He will have to set about 
 it at once, and to retrench on all sides, and
 
 A bad Look-out. 1 1 9 
 
 the idea is not a pleasant one to him. He 
 does not think it incumbent on him to begin 
 to practise economy all at once, so that he 
 still takes a first class ticket as a matter of 
 course, and the porters discover no difference 
 in the amount of his " tips." The habits of 
 years are not to be broken through in a 
 moment, nor are our natures ,to be. trans- 
 formed thus easily. Things may have changed 
 for him for the worst, but he is Charlie De- 
 vereux, ruined, and open-handed still. 
 
 He has telegraphed to Ruth from the 
 Falconer Arms to prepare her for his early 
 return, and he has scarcely left the station 
 of Midmarsh, before he catches sight of her 
 slight figure coming swiftly to meet him. 
 After an exchange of mutual, joyous greet- 
 ings, Ruth takes possession of his arm, and 
 slowly they proceed towards the Rectory. 
 
 " And now do tell me, Charlie, what it
 
 20 "Peccavi." 
 
 means, your coming back so much sooner 
 than you intended," she asks, eagerly. " You 
 so carefully worded your telegram, that it was 
 impossible to guess if you had good or bad 
 news for me. Does it mean that your uncle 
 positively jumped at the prospect of a ready- 
 made niece-in-law, or does it mean that he 
 sent you promptly off with " 
 
 " Don't joke about it, Ruth, please/' he 
 answers, with a return of the cloud to his 
 brow, and a seriousness of manner most un- 
 natural to him. " It's all up with me in that 
 quarter, I fear ; and I'm so bothered about 
 ft all that I'll be hanged if I know what to 
 do." 
 
 And then, as concisely as he can, he lets 
 her into the state of affairs. Poor Ruth's face 
 falls considerably, for she begins to feel that, 
 when Charlie, ordinarily so light-hearted and 
 so determined to make the best of things,
 
 A bad Look-out. 121 
 
 talks in such a despairing strain, there can 
 be no possible loophole for hope remaining. 
 She does not remind him of her counsel not 
 to be too certain of success before he started 
 forth on his diplomatic errand, for she can- 
 not doubt that he is seriously worried and out 
 of spirits, but she tries hard to encourage him 
 by a few timely words. 
 
 " It does sound unfortunate, certainly," she 
 says, reflectively. " But still, Charlie, I don't 
 know that I expected much more from him at 
 first. By all you told me of him, I felt sure he 
 was the sort of man to be very angry about 
 it, and to dislike being taken by surprise in 
 that way ; but I think he won't hold out long." 
 
 " You think so because you don't know 
 what he is like," returns her husband, feel- 
 ing that the last twenty-four hours have con- 
 siderably improved his acquaintance with his 
 relative's disposition. " When any one dares
 
 122 "Peccavu 
 
 to thwart him, or contradict him, he's as ob- 
 stinate as a mule, and as malicious as — a 
 monkey. Milly always said so, and by Jove 
 she was right ! I wouldn't give much for the 
 chance of making it square again." 
 
 " I can't bear to hear you talk in that de- 
 sponding way, Charlie, dear," she says, softly ; 
 " you, of all people, to make out that the case 
 is hopeless ! Why, I thought your favourite 
 motto was, ' Never say die ! ' " 
 
 "Well, of course I don't mean to give it 
 up without doing all I can," responds Captain 
 Devereux, roused to momentary energy. 
 " Milly, I know, will help, though that won't 
 be much. It's no good my writing to him, 
 for he vows he won't open my letters." 
 
 " And I wouldn't think of doing such a 
 thing, if I were you ! " cries Ruth, with spirit. 
 i( I think he has behaved very badly to you, 
 and it is he who ought to hold out the olive-
 
 A bad Look-out. 123 
 
 branch. All we can do is to trust to time, 
 and let him see how we can get on without 
 him." 
 
 " Precious badly, I'm afraid," is Charlie's 
 dejected reply. "What good will his paltry 
 £200 a year be to us ? I have managed to 
 get through at least four times that amount 
 hitherto with the greatest ease. I don't 
 know what we can do, Ruth, if he persists 
 in this." 
 
 ." I suppose you must leave the army, 
 Charlie ? " 
 
 Charlie gives a groan of combined impatience 
 and misery. 
 
 " Don't talk of it ! " he says. " I see nothing 
 else for me to do, of course. But after that, 
 even, how can we live on that wretched, 
 contemptible income ? " 
 
 " You'd get something, wouldn't you, 
 Charlie, by the sale of your commission ? "
 
 124 "Peccavi." 
 
 " Well — something — yes, certainly,' , returns 
 he, with hesitation. He can barely refrain 
 from smiling, even in this moment of trouble, 
 as he wonders how much of that amount 
 would remain to him after clearing off those 
 ( ' few little debts," which seem to him to 
 acquire an alarming degree of importance in 
 his present state of mind. 
 
 " And then, you know, you could see if 
 you couldn't make a little money by your 
 writings. You told me you had rather a turn 
 for novel- writing," pursues the young wife, 
 with increasing ardour, beine too much occu- 
 pied with her own little schemes to remark 
 on his shifty answer. " Oh, I feel certain 
 that we should get on somehow, Charlie." 
 
 11 Somehow ! " he echoes, with bitterness. 
 " Yes, we might manage to scramble along 
 somehow, and just keep ourselves from the 
 workhouse, perhaps ; that's about as much
 
 A bad Look-out. 125 
 
 as we could do, I fancy. But let's drop this 
 not very lively subject, Ruth. I'm too hot 
 and cross at present to face it." 
 
 " Poor Charlie ! Do come and sit down 
 in this shady corner, and rest yourself," she 
 suggests, with ready tact and sympathy. " I 
 am so sorry about it all, my darling, and I 
 feel so guilty, too ; for, if it had not been 
 for me, all this bother would never have come 
 to you." 
 
 " Now, Ruth, if you ever dare to hint at 
 such an idea again, I'll— I'll throttle you!" 
 answers Charlie, with playful earnestness. 
 "What in the name of wonder has that got 
 to do with the matter at all, you little goose ? 
 Do I look as if I repented of the step I 
 have taken ? " he adds, with his sunniest 
 smile, which speaks of infinite happiness. 
 "If you take such preposterous notions into 
 your head, I shall be sorry that I let you
 
 126 "Peccavi." 
 
 know anything about it. We'll make the old 
 screw grind his teeth with rage when he sees 
 how splendidly we can get on without his help, 
 won't we ? It isn't necessary to have a lot 
 of money to live on, is it ? only it's better fun 
 to be rich," he concludes, meditatively. 
 
 " Well, as I have never known what it is 
 to be rich, I don't know how much I lose, 
 I suppose," replies Ruth, with a light-hearted 
 laugh. " I feel this trouble only for you, 
 Charlie, as you have been accustomed to such 
 an easy-going life." 
 
 Their conversation is here interrupted by 
 the approach of Mr. Saunders, who has been 
 vainly trying to find them, quite unable to 
 repress his curiosity as to the result of Captain 
 Devereux's visit to his uncle. He pulls a 
 long face when he hears what the young man 
 has to tell. 
 
 " I am truly sorry for you both," he says,
 
 A dad Look-out. 127 
 
 with an expression of sincerely mournful 
 sympathy. "All the more sorry for you, 
 because you started off with such confident 
 anticipations of success," he adds, addressing 
 Charlie, with clerically well-turned, if rather 
 prosy, language. " But, at all events, this 
 circumstance will have the beneficial effect 
 of furnishing you with a useful lesson in 
 bearing an adverse turn of Fortune's wheel 
 with patience and resignation." 
 
 Charlie does not convey the impression of 
 being an embodiment of these two estimable 
 qualities, as he stands moodily by, kicking 
 viciously from time to time at the gravelled 
 path beneath his feet, and evidently paying 
 but scant attention to what Mr. Saunders is 
 saying ; but Ruth answers for him with prompt 
 readiness. 
 
 11 You don't know how well he is taking 
 his disappointment, Mr. Saunders," she cries.
 
 i 2 8 "Peccavi." 
 
 " It's ten thousand times worse for him than 
 for me, you know, because he has always 
 been taught to consider himself his uncle's 
 heir. And now " 
 
 " Well, there is one favour which you must 
 promise to grant me," interrupts the Rector, 
 with an impulse of kindly hospitality — a 
 quality in which he is far from being deficient. 
 " It will give us the greatest pleasure — I may 
 speak for my wife too — if you will consent to 
 stay with us for the remainder of your leave 
 of absence, with Mrs. Devereux. We were 
 regretting only this morning that her visit to 
 us would most likely soon come to an end. 
 Pray remain here till you shall have time to 
 think over matters a little." 
 
 "And perhaps then, — five days more, 
 haven't you got ? — there will be a letter 
 from Mr. Falconer, apologising to you," ex- 
 claims Ruth, with her beaming smile.
 
 A bad Look-out. 129 
 
 " Most probably !" he answers, with a 
 short and incredulous laugh. " I shall be 
 only too glad to accept your very kind in- 
 vitation," he says cordially, as he turns 
 towards the Rector, " if you are sure it will 
 not bore Mrs. Saunders." 
 
 "Bore her, my dear fellow!" replies the 
 friend-in-need. " Not the least in the world. 
 She is most intensely interested in your affairs, 
 and delighted to imagine that she is actually 
 in some way connected with the hero and 
 heroine of so romantic a drama." 
 
 So they stay on at Midmarsh Rectory, 
 welcome guests to their sympathetic host 
 and hostess, and their visit would have been 
 one of unmixed enjoyment to the whole party 
 were it not for the cloud of doubt and un- 
 certainty hanging over the heads of the young 
 couple. Day after day they watch eagerly 
 for that hoped-for letter to arrive, but day 
 
 vol. 1. K
 
 130 "Peccavi. 1 
 
 after day are they doomed to disappointment. 
 Milly writes twice during that period, but 
 her reports are very far from being satisfactory. 
 She is obliged reluctantly to confess that the 
 " Ogre " is positively unmanageable for the 
 present, and that, as she is invariably banished 
 from his sight whenever she attempts to 
 bring Charlie's name forward, she sees nothing 
 that can be done, just now at least. She 
 therefore advises her cousin to wait quietly, 
 and to hope for better times, which may 
 eventually come for him. Charlie's spirits 
 fall lower and lower as the day of his 
 obligatory return to Aldershot draws near, 
 and on the last morning they sink to zero. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Saunders have entreated him 
 to let Ruth stay with them still another week ; 
 and when this period has passed by, still 
 without any movement in Mr. Falconer's 
 direction, Charlie puts away from him all
 
 A bad Look-out. 131 
 
 delusive ideas concerning his relenting. With 
 a spirit of defiant energy he sends in his 
 papers to the authorities, and thus finally 
 severs his connection with his cherished 
 profession. 
 
 He and Ruth settle down to battle with 
 their new circumstances as best they may 
 in a tiny house in Kensington, where he 
 turns his attention to light literature, and 
 she contrives to get together a few pupils, 
 as a means of adding to their slender in- 
 come.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INTRODUCES TWO NEW CHARACTERS. 
 
 The only person that Mr. Falconer admits to 
 his acquaintance at all is a certain Mrs. Ver- 
 schoyle, a widow lady who rents a small cottage 
 from him on the Whincote estate, and lives, so 
 to speak, at his very gates. Mrs. Verschoyle is 
 a pretty, graceful, interesting-looking creature, 
 with a soft voice and insinuating manner — a 
 manner indicating a marvellous amiability to- 
 wards humanity in general and Mr. Falconer 
 in particular; but, to Milly, always suggestive of 
 a cat-like claw beneath that velvety exterior. 
 Mrs. Verschoyle's age is difficult to guess at. 
 She ma)- be anything between thirty and fifty ; 
 but if one is to believe in the little hints which 
 
 132
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 133 
 
 she dexterously lets drop from time to time, she 
 is far nearer the former than the latter decade. 
 
 During the nine months she has been a 
 tenant of " The Wigwam," — such being the 
 name of her tiny abode, — her attempts to gain 
 the good-will and friendship of the occupants 
 of the Abbey have been persevering and 
 worthy of all praise. Unrebuffed by Mr. Fal- 
 coner's persistent avoidance of her, unruffled by 
 the discordant grunts and discourteous snubs 
 with which he received her first deprecating 
 advances, she has never once flagged in her 
 efforts, never once let slip an opportunity of 
 making herself agreeable to him, and to Milly 
 too. 
 
 And she has her reward. The process of 
 thawing Mr. Falconer has been a long and 
 weary one, but by degrees she has advanced 
 step by step, and may now be considered to 
 have won her goal. Mr. Falconer tolerates
 
 134 "Peccavu 
 
 her — almost forgets to use strong language in 
 her presence ; and, on the pretext of coming 
 "to have a little chat with dear Miss Byron," 
 Mrs. Verschoyle's visits to the Abbey are by 
 no means infrequent. She has the proud satis- 
 faction of knowing that, with the exception of 
 the clergyman's wife, she is the only lady who 
 is ever encouraged to enter its inhospitable 
 portals. She has made a conquest of the 
 master of the great house, or what may be 
 called a conquest in connection with one so 
 farouche as he, and she piques herself on her 
 success. As to Milly — well, Milly is not to be 
 brought over by Mrs. Verschoyle's sweet 
 smiles and honeyed words as yet. Blunt and 
 straightforward as the day, the girl distrusts 
 and dislikes this soft-tongued neighbour of 
 theirs, and takes but little pains to conceal her 
 feelings. But of late Milly has appeared to 
 discourage her friendly overtures less per-
 
 Introdtices two new Characters. 135 
 
 sistently. Since her cousin was so unfortu- 
 nately exiled from the home of his boyhood, 
 a phase of apathy and indifference to every- 
 thing around her has seemed to submerge her, 
 and for many weeks she has betrayed no in- 
 terest whatever in the small events of her daily 
 life. She has had no spirit left to contend 
 with Mrs. Verschoyle's minute manoeuvres, 
 and she has allowed Mr. Falconer's perpetual 
 sneers and sarcasms to fall on her ears un- 
 heeded. Her uncle believes that the girl is 
 coming to her senses at last, and is beginning 
 to realize the futility of opposing his will any 
 longer. Mrs. Verschoyle, too, notices the 
 change, and wonders whether the prolonged 
 depression of her spirits is due entirely to 
 sympathy with her cousin's wrongs. 
 
 But latterly, during the last week or two, 
 Milly's demeanour has again altered. She 
 looks brighter, and is once again full of spirits ;
 
 136 "Peccavir 
 
 is somewhat restless in her movements, and 
 apparently unable to sit still for long together. 
 There is a light in her eye, an elasticity in 
 her step which speaks of some inward cause 
 for happiness, and Mrs. Verschoyle's keen 
 glance is not slow to perceive the alteration. 
 
 " That girl has found some one to put the 
 thoughts of her cousin's troubles out of her 
 head," she says to herself sagaciously. " I 
 wonder who on earth he can be ! M 
 
 Coming one afternoon to pay a visit to the 
 Abbey, she meets Milly dressed for going out, 
 on the very steps of the house. The look of 
 annoyance which momentarily flits across her 
 face as she catches sight of her visitor is not 
 unobserved by the latter. 
 
 11 She is vexed at my coming to stop her 
 just when she is going off to meet him," is her 
 comment, as she gives vent to a low, malicious 
 chuckle.
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 137 
 
 Outwardly, she is all smiles and cordiality. 
 
 " Just going out, dear Miss Byron ? So 
 fortunate I am just to have caught you ! I 
 thought I would stroll up to try and get a 
 peep of you and Mr. Falconer. It is so long 
 since I have seen you." 
 
 " You must have had a hot walk," returns 
 Milly, not too graciously; "and it is very 
 seldom that I am in at this time of the after- 
 noon." 
 
 "Yes, I know. I know your fondness for 
 being out of doors, and I assure you I quite 
 enter into your feelings. I quite revel in these 
 glorious summer days, and could sit out all 
 day in the sunshine, watching the birds and 
 flowers. And where were you going to just 
 now ? For a ride, I suppose ? " 
 
 Mrs. Verschoyle is quite aware that such is 
 not Milly' s intention at this moment. 
 
 " A ride ? " echoes the girl. " Not I. It is
 
 138 "Peccavi" 
 
 much too hot, and surely you can see that I 
 have not got my habit on ! " 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " Mrs. Verschoyle lifts up 
 a gold-rimmed eye-glass, and affects sudden 
 blindness. " How stupid of me ! Of course I 
 see now. But I am so used to see you out 
 riding, and you seemed so devoted to it, that I 
 naturally supposed you had your habit on. 
 But latterly you have appeared to have taken 
 a fancy for walking about." 
 
 " Very likely ; one gets tired of doing the 
 same thing always." 
 
 Milly's tone is careless, but the colour mounts 
 up in her face a little, for she feels that there 
 is a hidden meaning in the other's words. 
 
 " I am sure you must value the liberty you 
 have," continues Mrs. Verschoyle blandly ; 
 " you always seem to me to be such an envi- 
 able young lady, — able to do exactly as you 
 like from morning till night."
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 139 
 
 11 Except when I have to do things for my 
 uncle !" puts in Milly grimly. 
 
 " Ah ! but, my dear, I always think Mr. Fal- 
 coner so wonderfully good and considerate in 
 the way he lays so little claim to your time. 
 Many men would be always wanting to chain 
 you to their side, and look for all sorts of little 
 attentions. And, by the way, how is your 
 dear uncle ? Has he at all got over the shock 
 of the disappointment of learning that your 
 cousin was married ? " 
 
 " I don't know about the shock of it, but he 
 has never got over his anger against Charlie, 
 and never will, I suppose. One would think 
 that Charlie had committed some dreadful 
 crime." 
 
 " My dear Miss Byron, look at the affair 
 from your uncle's point of view. It was such 
 a vexatious thing for him to find Captain 
 Devereux had ruined his prospects in life by
 
 140 "Peccavi" 
 
 marrying an obscure governess ; and to keep 
 it a secret from him too — not to give a hint 
 of his intentions to him." 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Verschoyle, I do not see any 
 good in going over all this ground again ! " 
 interrupts Millie impatiently. " We have dis- 
 cussed it before, and as we are never likely to 
 agree about the matter, I think we had better 
 drop it once for all. I cannot think why my 
 uncle should choose to talk over these things 
 with outsiders." 
 
 " Oh ! but, my dear Miss Byron, you surely 
 do not look upon me as an outsider — I, who 
 have been so interested in you and your uncle 
 since I first came here. And he has been so 
 kind in always making me feel quite at home, 
 and treating me, as I might say, quite like one 
 of the family. Just after this unfortunate 
 business about Captain Devereux happened, 
 I ventured to condole with him, for I knew it
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 141 
 
 must be a severe blow to him, and he at 
 once accepted my sympathy, and gave me 
 an insight into the details of the story. So it 
 is but natural that I should allude to it now 
 and then." 
 
 11 You may allude to it as much as you like 
 to him," answers Milly, with emphasis, "but 
 I myself would rather not speak about it. It 
 is something new to me to find that Uncle 
 John is so unreserved about his private affairs." 
 
 " I daresay you do not quite understand 
 your uncle's character," says the elder lady, a 
 little patronizingly. " Young people are so 
 apt to possess superficial observation, and to 
 form one-sided views of human nature without 
 taking the trouble to study it thoroughly. I 
 flatter myself that I understand your uncle 
 fairly well, and to my mind he is " 
 
 " The very reverse of amiable," interpolates 
 Milly, half joking.
 
 142 "Peccavt." 
 
 " On the contrary, I find him a most agree- 
 able companion, and " 
 
 " Do you really mean that, Mrs. Ver- 
 schoyle ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do. To me he has always been 
 a most considerate friend." 
 
 " Wonders will never cease ! " exclaims 
 Milly, laughing. "The idea of his being 
 called an agreeable companion ! Certainly he 
 must have two sides to his character! Mrs. 
 Verschoyle, do you understand German ? " 
 
 " A little, yes." 
 
 " Then you know what I mean when I 
 say that the German expressions ' Hausteu- 
 fel ' and ' Strassengel ' seem to fit him well, 
 according to your ideas and mine. And very 
 little of the ' Engel ' there is about him, I am 
 certain," adds the girl, sotto voce. 
 
 Mrs. Verschoyle tries her best to look 
 shocked.
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 143 
 
 " You naughty girl ! " she exclaims, shaking 
 her finger at her. " How can you speak of 
 your kind uncle in that way ? But I know 
 you are only joking. And now, do you think 
 he would like me to go in and have a little 
 chat with him ? I see you are all impatience 
 to be off, and he is good enough to say some- 
 times that my visits cheer him up a little." 
 
 " I am sure he will be delighted to see 
 you," says Milly, with suspicious alacrity. 
 " He is in the library." 
 
 "You don't think there is anything — any- 
 thing odd in my paying him a visit ? " asks 
 Mrs. Verschoyle, simpering, and trying to look 
 conscious. " People are so foolish, you know ; 
 they will talk about nothing." 
 
 For answer, Milly bursts into a peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 " I really did not know what you meant at 
 first," she :ays, recovering herself. "The idea
 
 144 "Peccavi." 
 
 of thinking of the proprieties in connection 
 with Uncle John! I should as soon have 
 thought of wondering whether it would have 
 been ' odd ' to pay a visit to Noah in his 
 ark." 
 
 And she laughs again. 
 
 " My dear, I was only looking at it from a 
 conventional point of view. It doesn't do 
 for all of us to set the opinion of the world 
 wholly at defiance. Not that I am one to be 
 tied down by those considerations as a rule — 
 not at all ; on the contrary, I fear I am sadly 
 negligent of the opinions of other people. 
 Well, good-bye, Miss Byron ; I hope you will 
 have a pleasant walk. Don't you find your 
 solitary rambles a little dull now and then ? " 
 
 Again Milly flushes a little, but she looks 
 Mrs. Verschoyle full in the face as she an- 
 swers, — 
 
 " Indeed, I do not. I usually like my own
 
 Introduces two new Characters. 145 
 
 company better than that of most other 
 people's." 
 
 And then she turns away, delighted to be 
 set free. She walks across the lawn, and 
 through the garden gate at a moderately slow 
 pace ; but once out of view of the windows, 
 she quickens her movements, apparently un- 
 heeding the scorching rays of the sun over 
 her head. Across the meadow adjoining the 
 Abbey garden she hastens, then into a shady 
 beech copse, which offers a cool and inviting 
 resting-place, and which is, presumably, the 
 goal of her journey. Turning the corner of 
 one of the narrow glades which run at right 
 angles from the principal pathway, she comes 
 upon a young man clad in a suit of light 
 grey, sitting upon the fallen trunk of a tree. 
 He starts to his feet as he hears her ap- 
 proach, and advances to meet her. 
 
 " How late you are!" he exclaims reproach- 
 vol. 1. L
 
 146 "Peccavi" 
 
 fully. " I had almost given you up. What 
 has kept you ? " 
 
 Evidently Mr. Geoffrey Dering is not a 
 man who appreciates being kept waiting. 
 But Milly does not resent his tone ; she is 
 too Mattered by this evident impatience for 
 her arrival.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GEOFFREY DERING. 
 
 Milly's hero — who is destined to exercise 
 such a strong and baleful influence over her 
 life — is of about two-and-thirty years of age. 
 In appearance he is tall and slight — slight 
 almost to a fault, according to the standard 
 of masculine build. His face is one of those 
 which may be called either plain or good- 
 looking as criticised by his detractors or his 
 friends. He has fair hair, which he wears 
 closely cropped in the fashion of the day, 
 and a light moustache ; bluish-grey eyes, 
 which are set deeply beneath his clearly de- 
 fined brows, and a somewhat large nose. 
 His mouth has a curious, wry expression, 
 
 147
 
 148 "Peccavl" 
 
 which seems to imply that its owner could 
 on occasion give vent to sarcasms, and even 
 perhaps venomous little speeches with much 
 effect. And his eyes have a shifty, furtive 
 look in them, which would impress a stranger 
 with the idea that his character lacked open- 
 ness. 
 
 Such is Geoffrey Dering to look at — of an 
 ordinary type enough, most men would say, 
 and not of a very prepossessing type either. 
 Yet to Milly he is the embodiment of perfec- 
 tion. She is completely fascinated by him ; 
 with him, she feels herself to be in Elysium ; 
 without him, life wears a dreary, grey-hued 
 aspect, and all days are blank. Once again, 
 the old, old story is being enacted for Milly 
 — poor, impulsive, unreflecting Milly, who, all 
 unconsciously, idealizes her hero in her own 
 mind to such an extent as to render her in- 
 capable of judging how much her creation
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 149 
 
 resembles the original mould. She is in love 
 with a fantasy, a deified, impossible being, 
 the offspring of her own imagination, between 
 whom and the real Geoffrey Dering there 
 yawns a wide gulf indeed. His voice is to 
 her like the voice of the gods, his words un- 
 like the words of ordinary mankind, though 
 common-place they might appear to out- 
 siders. To her there is a charm about his 
 most trivial utterances which interests her 
 and enthrals her as the utterances of no 
 other man had ever yet done. 
 
 Side by side they sit down on the felled 
 tree, and she tells him how she was delayed 
 by Mrs. Verschoyle's arrival. Milly has the 
 power of relating such trivialities in a manner 
 as to render them amusing to her audience, 
 and Mr. Dering laughs heartily as she 
 recounts the conversation with considerable 
 humour, and by a few vivid touches, she
 
 150 "Peccavi." 
 
 paints Mrs. Verschoyle as she is so clearly, 
 that she furnishes a lifelike portrait to 
 him. 
 
 " I don't fancy her by your description, I 
 confess," he remarks. " I know so well that 
 stamp of woman — all softness outside, but 
 spiteful and vicious as a cat all the time." 
 
 Milly nods her head in acquiescence. 
 
 " Yes, that is just what I feel she is. I 
 do not like her at all, although I have no 
 reasonable grounds for saying so." 
 
 " A sheer case of instinct, depend upon 
 it," returns Geoffrey oracularly. " And it is 
 generally safe enough to trust to that. If I 
 were you, Miss Byron," he adds, with mean- 
 ing, " I should not be [inclined to make a 
 great friend or confidante of her." 
 
 He has lived long enough in the world — 
 this shrewd, far-seeing young man — to have 
 acquired a good deal of celerity in reading
 
 Geoffrey Dering. \ 5 1 
 
 the motives which sway the actions of others, 
 and he divines enough of the widow's little 
 game to feel sure that she cherishes no very 
 friendly feeling towards Milly. 
 
 The girl blushes a little under his gaze. 
 
 " Oh, of course not," she says hurriedly ; 
 " I should not think of doing so — I have not 
 the least wish to make a friend of her at all ; 
 — but — Mr. Dering" — she grows hot and em- 
 barrassed as she knows not how to put into 
 words what she would say — " I wanted to tell 
 you — to say — that I have been thinking how 
 I am sure I ought not to come like this, and 
 meet you here." 
 
 She brings out the last words boldly 
 enough, but she does not dare look up at 
 him. A great tide of shame takes possession 
 of her soul, for she feels she is violating every 
 code of propriety in consenting to meet 
 him here to-day, and Milly is a good, honest
 
 152 "Peccavi! 
 
 girl at heart, and hates deception and mys- 
 teries of all kinds. 
 
 Geoffrey Dering takes one swift, searching 
 glance at her before he answers — a glance 
 of which she remains utterly unconscious. 
 
 " My dear Miss Byron ! " he cries, with 
 what appears to be astonishment, though 
 there lurks a curious expression of half 
 triumph, half contempt, in his eyes, as he 
 lets them droop downwards again. " What 
 a very tender conscience you must have ! 
 Why, you don't really mean to say you think 
 there's anything wrong in your allowing me 
 to spend half an hour with you now and 
 then, and exchanging ideas, and doing our 
 best to wile away a few of the weary hours 
 of these long summer days ? Do you know 
 what people say, what the whole country is 
 saying, of you ? " he continues, warming with 
 his subject, and watching carefully the effect
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 153 
 
 of his words on her — " that it is a most 
 awful shame that Mr. Falconer keeps you 
 shut up as he does, never letting you see a 
 soul, or go into society. They pity you most 
 awfully, and I don't believe there's one other 
 young lady in England who'd stand it, and 
 put up with the life as you do." 
 
 Milly draws herself up proudly. 
 
 " I don't care to hear what other people 
 say about me, and I certainly am in no need 
 of their compassion." 
 
 " Of course you're not," he responds 
 promptly, fearful of having made a false step. 
 "You're quite right, Miss Byron; the opinions 
 of the world outside our walls are not worth 
 repeating or listening to. I would not have 
 mentioned the subject, only of course I can- 
 not help hearing things discussed among my 
 neighbours, and I have felt so very sorry 
 for you, and have often wished to express
 
 154 "Peccavi" 
 
 my sympathy for you," he adds, in lower 
 tones. 
 
 And Milly, listening with lowered head, 
 wonders how he can speak of being sorry for 
 her, and of feeling pity for her, when she 
 considers herself one of the most blest and 
 fortunate women in the kingdom, and would 
 not change places with the Queen on her throne. 
 
 " After all," resumes Geoffrey, in his or- 
 dinary manner, " you and I have only seen 
 each other — how many times is it, Miss 
 Byron ? " 
 
 " This is the third time, I think," she an- 
 swers quietly. She feels rather hurt at his 
 not being able to remember the exact number 
 of their meetings as faithfully as she does. 
 Every incident connected with each one, every 
 word which has passed between them, is im- 
 printed indelibly on her heart, though not for 
 worlds would she let him discover this.
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 155 
 
 " The first time was when I met you out 
 riding, and picked up your whip for you," he 
 goes on, never once taking his eyes off her 
 face. " I shall always bless that day, as being 
 the one of my first introduction to you. 
 Fancy my never having seen you before then ! 
 Although it is true enough that I have been 
 little at home of late years, and you — you 
 have been shut up in the Abbey walls, as if 
 you were an enchanted princess. What a 
 shame it was ! " 
 
 His words and looks so plainly intimate that 
 he considers his loss in the matter to have 
 been almost irreparable, that the girl again 
 reddens beneath the fixity of his gaze, and 
 hastens to break the silence. 
 
 " And the second time I saw you," she 
 says hurriedly, "was here, just close to where 
 we are now." 
 
 " Yes. Some good angel must have
 
 156 " Peccavi." 
 
 prompted you to walk by that day. I hadn't 
 the faintest notion that such good luck was 
 in store for me. And when you told me 
 that this was a favourite walk of yours, was 
 there anything very wicked in my saying that 
 I liked it too, do you think, and asking you 
 if you were likely to stroll this way again ? 
 Mr. Falconer would not take me up for tres- 
 passing if he saw me, would he ? " 
 
 " No, no, of course not. But still, he might 
 not like it. Indeed, I'm sure he would be 
 angry." 
 
 " Miss Byron, tell me the truth — be as open 
 and frank as I know it your nature to be, 
 and don't be afraid of hurting my feelings. 
 Do you wish me to come here no more ? 
 Are you tired of me ? If so, you will only 
 have to tell me, and I will never intrude on 
 you again." 
 
 How cleverly he knows how to manipulate
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 157 
 
 the girl, and to rivet his chains yet more 
 closely ! At the very thought of not seeing 
 him again, of giving up these stolen inter- 
 views, which have already grown to be so 
 perilously sweet to her, Milly's heart gives a 
 great throb, and her whole soul rebels at the 
 prospect. 
 
 " Of course I do not wish you to stay 
 away," she says, as calmly as she can. " Do 
 you imagine I am so fond of my own com- 
 pany that I am content to live and die with- 
 out ever speaking to a soul beyond my uncle 
 and the servants ? " with an effort to speak 
 jestingly. " Only I dislike anything that is 
 not above board, and this is not that, you 
 know, and I feel that Uncle John would have 
 a right to be angry with me if he found it 
 out." 
 
 Mr. Dering is silent for a moment, and 
 when his words come, they are spoken slowly,
 
 158 "Peccavu 
 
 as if he were weighing each one as he utters 
 it — 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right and wise in 
 considering your uncle's wishes so much," he 
 begins. 
 
 " Wise ! Why wise ? " inquired Milly 
 quickly, struck with the tone of his voice. 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Dering ? " 
 
 Again he hesitates. 
 
 " Very naturally you would wish to try and 
 stand well with him, and not offend him." 
 
 " I can't make out what you mean," re- 
 sponds Milly impatiently, tapping her foot 
 on the ground. " Why on earth should I be 
 so afraid of offending him ? To tell you the 
 truth, there's very little love lost between 
 him and me, and if I don't like doing what 
 I am doing now, it is chiefly because 
 I know I am doing something wrong — not 
 from fear of displeasing him. Why, I do
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 159 
 
 a hundred things all day long for which he 
 blows — he scolds me as hard as he possibly 
 can." 
 
 Geoffrey laughs. 
 
 " You evidently don't give a thought to 
 the policy of your proceedings," he remarks 
 lightly. 
 
 " The policy ? " — she furrows her brow in 
 perplexity. " Oh, I see what you mean ! " 
 abruptly. " You think that I ought to study 
 him and consider him because of all the 
 money he has to leave. But I have not the 
 remotest chance of coming in for that." 
 
 " No ? The world in general, nevertheless, 
 looks upon you in the light of the heiress of 
 the Abbey." 
 
 " Really ? How very odd ! But even if I 
 did get the Og — my uncle's money — I should 
 never dream of keeping it. I should hand it 
 over to Charlie in a moment."
 
 160 " Peccavi" 
 
 11 Charlie is your cousin, Captain Devereux, 
 is he not ? What a fortunate individual he 
 is ! And I cannot say how I admire you, 
 Miss Byron, for your utter indifference to the 
 charms of £ s. d" 
 
 There is just a suspicion of a sneer in his 
 voice as he makes this remark, but it fails to 
 penetrate her ear. 
 
 " There is not much merit in my being in- 
 different to what I feel certain I shall never 
 possess," she says, with a laugh. " Probably 
 you think it is a case of sour grapes. But 
 indeed, Mr. Dering, I have never for one 
 moment really thought that my uncle would 
 make me his heiress. He certainly once gave 
 me a very vague hint " 
 
 " A vague hint ? " repeats her companion, 
 trying hard to veil his eagerness. 
 
 " Yes ; a hint that I must take care how I 
 behaved to him, or it might be the worse
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 161 
 
 for me ; which I suppose meant that it had 
 entered into his brain to conceive that it 
 might possibly be better to leave his money 
 to me rather than to a hospital or " 
 
 " And you are his nearest relation, I think, 
 are you not ? " inquires Geoffrey carelessly. 
 
 " Charlie and I are his only near relations, 
 except some cousins, four times removed, 
 whom he ngver sees. Poor Charlie ! what 
 a pity it is he so completely ruined his 
 chances by his hasty marriage ! You know 
 the story, of course ? " she adds, looking up 
 at him. 
 
 He nods his head. Of course he knows 
 every detail of the ill-starred marriage and 
 subsequent quarrel. Indeed, he would not 
 be here now dallying with this girl had it 
 not been for the facts which have been re- 
 vealed to him by means of gossiping friends 
 and neighbours. 
 
 VOL. i. M
 
 1 62 "Pcccavi." 
 
 " He and Uncle John were such good 
 friends before," continues Milly, pursuing the 
 thread of her reflections. " There was no 
 doubt that Charlie would have been heir to 
 everything— money and property and every- 
 thing. And now " 
 
 " And now you must see if you cannot do 
 your best for your cousin, and give him back 
 some of what he has lost, when it comes to 
 you," says Mr. Dering easily. 
 
 " Some of it ! Of course I should give 
 him back all!" cries Milly warmly. "And 
 for that reason, and that only, I do really 
 try and put up with Uncle John when I 
 can. Only he is so trying ; you have no 
 idea ! And we suit each other as little as 
 fire and water." 
 
 " I have no doubt that he would try the 
 patience of a saint," responds he heartily. 
 " And very few people would be as forbear-
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 163 
 
 ing as you are, I am sure ; but you will al- 
 ways have the consolation of thinking it is 
 for your cousin's sake that you hold yourself 
 back." 
 
 And then he dexterously changes the con- 
 versation, and makes himself so agreeable to 
 the fascinated girl that time passes by un- 
 heeded, and she is only roused to a know- 
 ledge of the hour by a glance at her watch. 
 Then she jumps up hurriedly and declares 
 she must be off — her uncle will expect her to 
 be back in time to give him his tea. Geoffrey 
 does not attempt to detain her. He has 
 gained a half promise from her that she will 
 " walk that way " again to-morrow, and is 
 quite satisfied with the progress he has made 
 that afternoon. He has learnt many things 
 that he wished to know, and he feels confi- 
 dent that he has advanced many steps in her 
 good graces. He knows that she will count
 
 164 "Pcccavi" 
 
 the hours till the time of their rendezvous 
 for the morrow arrives, and that nothing will 
 induce her to fail him. And for himself, — 
 well, he may as well pass an idle afternoon in 
 making himself pleasant to her as do anything 
 else ; and with the contingency of a possible 
 heiress-ship in the future, he does not con- 
 sider he is altogether wasting his time. And 
 then the girl herself is lively and amusing, 
 and is evidently beginning to like him^ and 
 he has no objection to carry it on a little 
 further, at all events, till he can see how 
 things turn out. So he bids Milly a tender 
 farewell, and contrives to convey a good deal 
 of meaning into the depths of his eyes as he 
 lets them dwell on hers, when they clasp hands 
 at parting; and then they go their different 
 ways. He walks off with a brisk, easy step, 
 whistling as he goes, and busy in thinking of 
 — well, of a hundred things, in which Milly
 
 Geoffrey Dering. 165 
 
 certainly has no part or lot. She hurries 
 away in a guilty, noiseless manner, her face 
 plainly showing that she is anxious to avoid 
 meeting any one just at this moment. Never- 
 theless, she finds time to cast one or two 
 surreptitious glances in a backward direction, 
 and an involuntary sigh escapes her as each 
 time she looks she fails to catch sight of 
 Geoffrey executing the same manoeuvre on 
 her behalf. At last he disappears entirely 
 from her view, and as she runs quickly round 
 the corner of the wood, she finds herself in 
 the very arms of the last person she wishes 
 to encounter — none else but Mrs. Verschoyle 
 herself!
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 QUALMS. 
 
 Milly recovers her self-possession at the 
 unexpected meeting as best she may, and 
 stammers out a profusion of apologies for 
 having so abruptly cannonaded against the 
 widow. The latter smiles good-humouredly, 
 and assures her that it was not her fault in 
 the very least. 
 
 " On the contrary, it is / who ought to 
 apologise to you," she says suavely. " I 
 very rarely come this way, but it was such 
 a lovely afternoon, that after I had paid my 
 visit to your uncle, I was tempted to make 
 a little detour before going home. I had no 
 idea I should be an involuntary spectator of 
 such a pretty little scene," she adds pointedly.
 
 Qualms. 167 
 
 Milly turns scarlet. 
 
 " What scene ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 14 Dear Miss Byron, don't be angry with 
 me ! I may as well tell you at once that I 
 saw you taking leave of Mr. Dering just 
 now ; you made quite a picture, I assure you, 
 standing there holding each other's hands, 
 and both looking so happy and so handsome. 
 But what a naughty girl you are to run off 
 like that, and pass the afternoon with a young 
 gentleman without letting any one know 
 anything about it ! Dear me, I had no idea 
 you were such a sly puss ! " 
 
 Milly positively can find no words to utter 
 in reply, so completely is she dumbfounded. 
 
 41 Don't look so dreadfully unhappy, my 
 dear girl, pray ! " continues Mrs. Verschoyle, 
 in her softest tones. " After all, I don't 
 see that you have done anything so very 
 reprehensible. Young people will be young
 
 1 68 "Peccavir 
 
 people to the end of the chapter, and have 
 their little mysteries and their stolen pleasures ; 
 and it is not so very long ago that I was 
 young and impulsive too, and, I dare say, 
 did just the same. So I can quite well 
 understand all about it, and you may depend 
 upon my not betraying your secret. We will 
 keep it quite to ourselves, won't we, dear ? " 
 
 Milly's pride rises up in arms at her 
 patronizing tone, and at her assuming so 
 easily that henceforth their interests will in 
 some sort be identified. 
 
 " I hate keeping things to myself," she 
 answers shortly. " I never meant it to be 
 a secret." 
 
 " But you surely do not intend to confess 
 your little — escapade — to Mr. Falconer, Miss 
 Byron ? Sooner than that, I would strongly 
 advise you to give up Mr. Dering altogether, 
 and make up your mind to see no more of
 
 Qualms. 169 
 
 him." (How Milly winces, and how quickly 
 the other perceives that she does ! ) " For, 
 you know, gentlemen so seldom understand 
 or sympathise with this kind of thing. 
 They are so apt to magnify its importance, 
 and to be so hard upon us for what is, after 
 all, but a little harmless love of fun and 
 excitement. But it is curious that you should 
 have selected Mr. Dering, of all people, as 
 your friend." 
 
 " And why so, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Because he is — well, if I were to repeat 
 the exact words in which I have heard him 
 and his father described, I should say that 
 they are a pair of most thorough scamps." 
 
 Mrs. Verschoyle drawls out the words in 
 her silkiest tones, and gives vent to a light 
 little laugh as she concludes. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it ! " cries Milly 
 impulsively.
 
 i-jo "Peccavi" 
 
 " I dare say not ; and I have no doubt 
 that it is an absurd exaggeration. Probably 
 they are no worse than the rest of the world. 
 But the story goes that they have been living 
 pretty well by their wits for the last five 
 years or so, having run through every penny 
 of their income before that by betting and 
 gambling, and all sorts of dreadful things. 
 Now they have come back to that old tumble- 
 down house of theirs to live, as the only 
 resource left to them ; and they fill it with 
 a number of fast friends, and play cards all 
 night long. How they contrive to get along 
 at all is a mystery to everybody. But I am 
 not saying that all this is true," adds Mrs. 
 Verschoyle rather eagerly. " I am only 
 repeating to you the common report of the 
 neighbourhood. And as to the son — but no, 
 I will not tell you any more, for fear you 
 should think me ill-natured."
 
 Qualms. 1 7 1 
 
 " But indeed you must tell me, now you 
 have begun," says Milly firmly. " As to Mr. 
 Geoffrey Dering — what have you heard ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing much, only that he is a 
 great favourite with ladies, and that he is 
 given to flirt desperately with them, and then 
 suddenly cool off and declare that he meant 
 nothing by it." 
 
 Mrs. Verschoyle smiles serenely as she 
 mentally contrasts her very mild version of 
 Mr. Dering's proclivities with the original as 
 it was told to her. 
 
 " But this does not matter to you, dear 
 Miss Byron," she continues caressingly. 
 14 You are far too wise and sensible a girl to 
 let yourself fall in love with a man you know 
 nothing about, however good-looking and 
 attractive he may be. It is very natural 
 that you should like to talk to him now and 
 then, if only to passer le temps. And your
 
 172 " Peccavi" 
 
 life is such a very quiet one that no one 
 could possibly blame you for taking what 
 little diversion comes in your way. Poor 
 child ! I always pity you so much shut up 
 there, with no companions of your own age. 
 I do hope, Milly, — you will let me call you 
 Milly for the future, will you not ? — that you 
 will let me try to do what little I can to amuse 
 you and be of use to you now ; will you ? " 
 
 And Milly, disagreeably conscious that 
 she has, in some degree, laid herself under 
 an obligation to this smooth-tongued lady, 
 feels constrained to answer her as graciously 
 as she can. 
 
 "I have not the least objection to your calling 
 me Milly," she says, "and I am much obliged 
 to you for wishing to be of use to me. But 
 I am afraid Uncle John will not even let me 
 see much of you. He hates my knowing 
 any one."
 
 Qualms. 1 73 
 
 " Oh, my dear, trust to me, and I will see 
 if I cannot manage matters somehow, so as 
 to make your existence a little less dreary 
 than it is now. Your uncle was quite cheerful 
 and genial this afternoon, and I almost feel 
 sure that I could in time persuade him to 
 agree to any little request I might make to 
 him. And now, dear, I must not keep you 
 talking any longer. Try and not let yourself 
 be too desperately smitten with the charms 
 of Mr. Geoffrey, and pray feel easy in the 
 assurance that your little secret is perfectly 
 safe with me. And don't waste a second 
 thought on that silly gossip which I was 
 foolish enough to repeat ; it has most likely 
 not a grain of truth in it." 
 
 " Good-night," says Milly in reply, but not 
 with any very responsive warmth in her tone. 
 She feels angry and humiliated to think that this 
 woman — whom she likes less than ever now —
 
 174 "Peccavi? 
 
 has her, so to speak, in her power, and has 
 instituted a claim on her friendship by her 
 forbearance in keeping her counsel. When 
 she finds herself alone in her room that night, 
 and has time to think over all that has 
 happened, she is more than ever inclined to 
 distrust her professions of affection, and wishes 
 with all her heart that fate had not been so 
 cruelly unkind as to mix up Mrs. Verschoyle, 
 of all people, in her affairs. She feels con- 
 fident in her own mind that that lady is not 
 genuinely fond of her at heart, and she is 
 dimly conscious that there is some deep hidden 
 motive beneath that smiling exterior, which 
 alone can account for her sudden interest in 
 her, and in her newly born readiness to serve 
 and shield her. She passes a sleepless night 
 in deliberating on what she is to do next. 
 Once the notion floats across her mind that 
 it would be almost wisest to go to Mr.
 
 Qualms. 175 
 
 Falconer, and boldly inform him that she 
 has made acquaintance with Geoffrey Bering, 
 and so rid her conscience of the burden of 
 the secret which lies on it. But she laughs 
 out loud to herself as she pictures the scene 
 which would follow her voluntary confession, 
 and finally dismisses that alternative altogether 
 from her thoughts. In the end, she does 
 what nine girls out of ten would resolve to 
 do in her position, — namely, makes up her 
 mind to temporize. She will see Geoffrey 
 again first before she decides on anything, 
 will put the whole case before him, and 
 be guided by his advice how to act in 
 the dilemma. One fixed resolution runs 
 through all her meditations the while, 
 though she hardly admits its influence even 
 to herself, and that is, that come what will, 
 she cannot possibly give up seeing him — 
 cannot, under any circumstances, cut the
 
 176 "Peccavi" 
 
 Gordian knot of her difficulties by this very 
 obviously desirable method. Anything but 
 that, — but to see him no more, to relinquish 
 all the sweets of her sub rosd " friendship " 
 now, when she is but just beginning to learn 
 how unutterably precious it is becoming to 
 her ! No, she has not the strength for that. 
 Already he has gained such an ascendancy 
 over her mind that her usually clearly defined 
 principles of right and wrong are just a trifle 
 obscured and blunted, and she is doing her 
 best to twist and turn every possible argument 
 she can devise as an excuse and a palliation 
 for herself in the path of crookedness and 
 double dealing upon which she has entered. 
 Naturally true and open as the day, she is 
 conscious of a falling off from her moral 
 standard, but she has almost persuaded 
 herself that such deterioration is excusable, 
 if not commendable, under certain peculiar
 
 Qualms. 177 
 
 circumstances — such circumstances, for in- 
 stance, which seem to surround her existence 
 at this moment. When one argues and 
 reasons and persuades one's self after this 
 fashion, it affords strong- evidence of an 
 outside influence being already at work in 
 undermining one's better nature, and in 
 blinding one's eyes, so that one forgets to 
 note that the first downward step is taken. 
 After that it all goes on so easily. 
 
 Milly thinks over all that Mrs. Verschoyle 
 has said about Geoffrey Dering's character and 
 antecedents, too, of course. She is too shrewd 
 and sensible a girl to dismiss it from her mind 
 as if it were not worth a second thought, or to 
 disbelieve it utterly. She is of the opinion that 
 there is rarely so much smoke without a fire, to 
 quote a homely saying ; and allowing a good 
 deal for exaggeration and inaccuracy, she is 
 quite inclined to admit that there is some truth 
 
 vol. 1. N
 
 178 "Peccavi" 
 
 in what she has heard, and which evidently 
 most people accept with unmitigated belief. 
 But, strange to say — or, rather, to those who 
 have studied human nature, and especially 
 woman's nature, it is not strange — the know- 
 ledge that he is not exactly the Sir Galahad her 
 fancy had pictured him serves but to increase 
 her interest in him tenfold. It gives a sort of 
 piquancy to the situation, a flavour of naughti- 
 ness and niceness combined — the notion that 
 the man whom fate has decreed should be 
 thrown across her path should be one of all 
 others who is most spoken ill of by the world, 
 and is metaphorically branded as a black sheep. 
 It tickles her sense of humour to think of her- 
 self so carefully guarded and pertinaciously 
 kept apart from all contamination with man- 
 kind, and then, at the first opportunity, be- 
 coming friendly with a man whom rumour 
 paints as an undesirable acquaintance, to say
 
 Qualms. 179 
 
 the least of it. Her spirits rise as the 
 novelty of the situation unfolds itself before 
 her mind's eye. The longing for the for- 
 bidden apple finds a place in most female 
 hearts, just as much as it took possession 
 of the mind of our common mother in days 
 of yore, although in the case of some it may 
 for ever remain dormant, — and the spice of 
 wickedness which is attached to it renders 
 it none the less alluring. Nevertheless, she is 
 not altogether at ease as she ponders over the 
 future, and wonders what will be the end of 
 it all. Like most girls, she has a vein of 
 quixoticism in her nature, and vague dreams 
 of being the instrument of reforming Geoffrey 
 Dering from his evil courses, and of hearing 
 him acknowledge at some very far-off day that 
 her influence has been the saving of him, and 
 raised him up to a new life, tend still more to 
 strengthen her arguments, and to furnish yet
 
 i So "Peccavi." 
 
 another plausible motive for doing that which 
 she wishes to do — prosecute the acquaintance- 
 ship. How truly convenient it is when we 
 can so plainly demonstrate that duty walks 
 hand in hand with our secret desires ! 
 
 The next morning's post brings Milly a 
 powerful aid to the solution of the difficulty 
 which perplexes her, in the shape of an invita- 
 tion from the only young lady friends she can 
 boast of — Edith and Dorothy Treherne, who 
 live in a large old house in one of the Midland 
 counties, with a grandmother, who seems to 
 have no object in life but to study and gratify 
 their whims and pleasure. The Trehernes 
 are the only people with whom Milly is ever 
 allowed to stay, so that she has but little fear 
 of a refusal from Mr. Falconer this time. 
 And she always enjoys going to see them so 
 much, and just now the invitation happens to 
 be especially welcome. Besides which, Edith
 
 Qualms. 1 8 i 
 
 holds out another strong inducement for her 
 com in o\ which is that Charlie and his wife have 
 also been asked to come down to the Park, 
 and Milly, guiltily conscious of having of late 
 a little neglected her cousins interests, is all 
 the more eager to rush off and welcome him 
 and his bride. Yes, she certainly will go, and 
 go as soon as she possibly can. She will 
 run and ask her uncle's leave before her heart 
 fails her at the idea of leaving Geoffrey so 
 soon, and then, when the letter of acceptance 
 is written, it will be impossible for her to draw 
 back. 
 
 Before she goes to her uncle's study, she 
 tears her friend's note into a hundred little 
 pieces, and throws them in the grate, smiling 
 to herself as she pictures his fury if he had 
 been able to read the contents, for this is 
 an exact reproduction of Miss Treherne's 
 letter : —
 
 1 82 "PeCcavi" 
 
 11 Dear old Mill, — 
 
 11 Granny says I am to write to you, and 
 command you to come here immediately for as 
 long a time as the Ogre can reconcile himself 
 to the loss of your society. We have asked 
 Charlie and his bride too, and after keeping 
 us waiting for four days for their answer, he 
 writes to say they will come on Saturday for 
 three nights, as his ' business ' cannot spare 
 him for more than that. What is his 
 'business,' I should like to know? I think 
 the Ogre has been most inhuman in his be- 
 haviour to him, merely because he chose to 
 please himself in the choice of a wife ; but 
 between ourselves I can't help thinking Master 
 Charlie has been rather a duffer to give up 
 Whincote Abbey and all that for the sake of 
 a little obscure governess, who, I hear, is 
 neither startlingly lovely nor alarmingly fasci- 
 nating. However, she may be virtue itself in-
 
 Qualms. 183 
 
 carnate, as we shall find out when we see 
 her, and after all it is better to be good than 
 pretty, isn't it ? She must have something to 
 recommend her, don't you think ? Of course 
 you will not breathe a hint to the Ogre of their 
 being here ; but there is no earthly reason that 
 I can see why we should cut him and ignore 
 her simply because he does. Now mind you 
 cajole or frighten him somehow into saying 
 1 Yes,' and come off as quickly as you can — to- 
 morrow or Saturday at latest. We are dying 
 to see you again, and to try and shake off the 
 rust of your convent life once more. Granny 
 sends her love, and says you must bring your 
 best frocks, for there are lots of tennis parties 
 going on. Dorothy says very little about it, 
 but you know that she is aching to catch sight 
 of you again. 
 
 " Your loving 
 
 Edith Treherne."
 
 1 84 "Peccavi." 
 
 The smile conjured up by her friend's 
 irreverent letter still hovers on Milly's lips as 
 she enters the " Ogre's " domain, and after the 
 briefest morning greeting, she rushes headlong 
 to her point at once. 
 
 " I have had a letter from Edith Treherne 
 this morning, Uncle John," she begins, after 
 having vouchsafed him the very mildest form 
 of a kiss that can be imagined upon the top of 
 his forehead. 
 
 11 By your condescending to inform me of 
 that interesting fact, I imagine that your letter 
 contains something more than the mere idle 
 tittle-tattle of an empty-headed girl," he 
 answers pleasantly. 
 
 " You are quite right, Uncle John. How 
 clever you are at guessing, to be sure ! They 
 ask me to go and stay with them, and " 
 
 " And you want to go, of course. Spare 
 yourself the trouble of saying it. Gadding
 
 Qualms. 185 
 
 about all over the place, that is your idea of 
 pleasure, I know." 
 
 "Well, really, Uncle John, if you are under 
 the delusion that / am a gadabout, I wonder 
 what you would say if you knew what Edith 
 and Dorothy do?" says Milly, laughing 
 merrily. " Why, they are never at home for 
 two weeks together, unless they have the 
 house full of people." 
 
 " Then all I can say is, that I thank Provi- 
 dence that He did not give me Miss Edith 
 and Miss What's-her-name as nieces or grand- 
 children," says Mr. Falconer, with angry 
 fervour. 
 
 " I feel certain they would join you in a 
 chorus on that score," answers his niece pertly. 
 " But you have not said whether I may go or 
 not yet." 
 
 " Go ? Go anywhere you like, so long as 
 you don't pester me with questions ! " is his
 
 1 86 "Peccavi." 
 
 hasty reply. But Milly is too grateful for 
 the consent to be fastidious as to the terms 
 in which it is couched. " What on earth 
 should I want you here for ? You're of no 
 use to me, or to any one else, as far as I can 
 see. 
 
 " Some people, you know, Uncle John, are 
 created more for ornament than for use, aren't 
 they ? " asks Milly meaningly. 
 
 " And you flatter yourself that you are of 
 the former class ? " sneeringly. 
 
 " Oh dear no ! I haven't yet quite made 
 up my mind as to my special mission in this 
 world ; but there really do seem to be some 
 people who are intended neither for use nor 
 beauty, curiously enough. Don't you agree 
 with me ? " 
 
 And she darts him a swift glance, pointing 
 her innuendo by a sarcastic smile. 
 
 11 I don't know what you're talking about,
 
 Qualms. 1 8 7 
 
 and I certainly have no time to waste in 
 listening to your ridiculous nonsense." 
 
 " ' Harebrained utterances of an irrespon- 
 sible frivolity,' eh?" quotes Milly saucily. 
 11 Well, I'll relieve you of my presence, Uncle 
 John, if you'll only tell me how long I may 
 stay, and whether I may go to-morrow." 
 
 11 You may stay a week, and no longer, 
 mind ; and you may go this moment for all 
 
 care. 
 
 "Thanks; that's all right. And now" 
 (aside) " to tell Geoffrey."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 GOING AWAY. 
 
 Milly is the first to arrive at the trysting 
 place that afternoon. Indeed, Mr. Dering is 
 so long before he puts in an appearance, 
 that she has experienced all the tortures of 
 the various stages of suspense, fear, and des- 
 pair in the interim, and is finally convinced 
 that he intends to fail her. After quite three- 
 quarters of an hour waiting for him, her last 
 grain of patience ebbs away, and she turns 
 sick with misery and disappointment as she 
 vainly strains her eyes in the direction he 
 ought to come, and perceives no sign of his 
 approach. 
 
 " He will not come now. I shall not see 
 him again," she repeats over and over to her-
 
 Going Away. 189 
 
 self a hundred times, and utter blankness 
 falls over her spirit, and chills her very blood. 
 " He must have been hindered in some unex- 
 pected manner ; it is not his fault, of course," 
 she argues, with the blind faith of a woman 
 deeply in love ; he would not voluntarily break 
 his appointment with her. But it is very 
 hard, very trying, and to-morrow she is going 
 away, and this is her last chance of seeing 
 him, and of letting him know what her plans 
 are. And then once again — for the last time, 
 she tells herself — she takes a long, careful 
 survey of the path by which he comes, and 
 with a hopeless, dreary feeling, takes a few 
 steps in the direction of the Abbey, giving 
 up all expectation of his coming. 
 
 And then — and then her quick ear catches 
 the sound of a hasty footstep, and she looks 
 round once more, and, swift as thought, she 
 finds herself in heaven again, and all her
 
 190 vPeccaw. 
 
 wretchedness is turned to bliss unspeakable. 
 He is here — at last! He is coming rapidly 
 towards her, and she turns and awaits his 
 coming with the deep red colour mantling in 
 her cheek, and a smile of welcome, which 
 betrays more of her inmost feelings than she 
 has any idea of, irradiating her countenance. 
 A moment ago she had been inclined to feel 
 a little sore and indignant with him, but she 
 has no thought of reproaching him ever so 
 gently now he is here, and accepts his eager 
 excuses with easy indulgence. 
 
 " It was enough to try any man's temper ! " 
 he exclaims. ''Just as I was starting off, an 
 old friend of my father's took it into his head 
 to call, and nothing would serve him but that 
 I must stay and talk to him. He declared 
 it was years since he had seen me. And 
 there was I, cursing my luck, and longing to 
 be here, and yet quite powerless to get away.
 
 Going Away. 191 
 
 The thought of your waiting here for me 
 nearly drove me mad." 
 
 " I felt sure that something had prevented 
 you coming," answers Milly ; " and, indeed, 
 I had just given you up, and was going home 
 a^ain." 
 
 " Never do such a thing as to give me up, 
 Miss Byron, when I have told you I will 
 come," he says earnestly. " Always believe 
 that I will keep my appointments at any cost. 
 I may be a little late, as I was to-day, but 
 no power on earth will make me fail. What- 
 ever happens to prevent you, I will always be 
 there ! " 
 
 And, rightly or wrongly, his tone and his 
 words carry the most thorough conviction to 
 her heart, and henceforth her faith in him 
 will be troubled by no shadow or doubt. 
 
 " Next time, then, I shall know better," 
 she answers, smiling; "and now, as I have
 
 192 "PeccavV 
 
 not very much time to spare, let me tell you 
 at once of my news." 
 
 And then she confides to him the story of 
 her meeting with Mrs. Verschoyle the day 
 before, and tells him of the invitation she 
 has this morning received and already accep- 
 ted. His face falls visibly. 
 
 " Going away ! " he repeats, in accents of 
 genuine dismay. " What do you want to 
 go away for ? Are you not happy here ? " 
 
 " Yes," she falters ; " quite — very happy — 
 but, you see, they are my great, my only 
 friends, and they have asked me specially to 
 meet Charlie and his wife, and it would be 
 so unkind to refuse." 
 
 " Unkind ! you think far less of being unkind 
 to me than to your cousin and his wife ! " he 
 says reproachfully. (Truly their intimacy has 
 advanced with rapid strides since their clan- 
 destine interviews were planned.)
 
 Going Away. 193 
 
 Even yesterday his manner towards her was 
 far more deferential and less familiar. But 
 Milly, silly child, is much too flattered by his 
 obvious dislike to the prospect of her departure 
 to note the difference. 
 
 " What shall I do without you when you 
 are gone ? " he continues, assuming a gentler 
 and still more reproachful tone. 
 
 "What did you do without me up till these 
 last two weeks ? " she retorts, with an attempt 
 to speak lightly, in order to avoid falling into 
 too serious a vein. 
 
 " Ah, what did I do, indeed ? " sentimen- 
 tally. " I cannot conceive. I cannot even 
 remember. To me it appears that my real 
 existence only dates from the day when 
 accident introduced us to each other. Before 
 that, everything seems to be a blank ; and 
 how I could have endured my life I cannot 
 imagine." 
 
 vol. 1, o
 
 194 "Peccavi" 
 
 And he continues to expatiate in the same 
 strain for several minutes, and, clap-trap and 
 commonplace as his utterances and reflections 
 are, to Milly's inexperienced ears they bear 
 the charm of utter novelty, and she drinks it 
 all in with fluttering heart, and believes that 
 never, surely, did any man's voice own such 
 melodious tones, or breathe such sweet and 
 pleasant words. But for all he says and 
 urges, she yet does not waver in her reso- 
 lution. 
 
 " I think it would be better for me to go," 
 she repeats. "It will only be for a week, and 
 then — I know it is foolish of me, but I am 
 haunted by the idea that something disagree- 
 able will come of Mrs. Verschoyle seeing us, 
 in spite of her sugared words, and then " 
 
 "Well, perhaps you are right," concedes 
 Mr. Dering, graciously condescending to give 
 his tardy consent. " After all, as you say,
 
 Going Away. 195 
 
 it will only be for a week. Where do these 
 friends of yours live ? " 
 
 " At Bearsted Park, in H shire," answers 
 
 Milly. 
 
 " Bearsted Park ! why, that is close to the 
 place belonging to some friends of mine — the 
 Lesters — who are always begging me to go and 
 stay with them. Only last week they wrote 
 and implored me to go and pay them a long 
 visit. How would it be if I were to propose 
 myself there for to-morrow, on the same day 
 that you go ? What do you think of this plan ? " 
 
 Think! What did she think of it? If 
 she were to speak out exactly what is in her 
 mind, Milly would have told him that she con- 
 sidered it a heaven-born inspiration, an idea 
 which suffices to lift her up to the very top- 
 most heights of supreme ecstasy. But being a 
 woman, and anxious above all things to cloke 
 her real sentiments with an affectation of in-
 
 196 " Peccavi!' 
 
 difference, her answer is confined to a demure 
 little, " I think it is a very good notion." 
 
 11 Is that all you can find to say about it ? " 
 instantly returns he. "Just that little cold 
 speech, — you think it ' a good notion ' ? " 
 
 She lifts up her eyes to his, trying her best 
 to speak frankly and unconsciously. " Of 
 course I mean that I should be very glad if 
 you could manage it," she says, making a 
 supreme effort to appear cordial, but not un- 
 becomingly eager. Unfortunately, her ability 
 falls short of her will, and before the words 
 are well out of her mouth, her eyes droop 
 again, and a pink hue suffuses her face. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must be content with 
 that," he says. " And, of course, I will man- 
 age it. I am determined to manage it. I 
 will throw over all my present engagements," 
 — which exist only in his imagination — "and 
 telegraph to old Lester the moment I get
 
 Going Away. 197 
 
 home, to say I am coming down to-morrow. 
 I know them so well that I need have no 
 scruple about proposing myself. And how 
 about these friends of yours ? Are they the 
 sort of people who will let me come and see 
 you at their house, or must we " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Treherne is the kindest person 
 in the world," answers Milly hurriedly, guess- 
 ing the alternative he is about to suggest, 
 and curiously anxious to prevent its utterance. 
 " She will always make you welcome." 
 
 " Blessings on her ! Then we will make 
 the most of our time, and try and enjoy our- 
 selves to our hearts' content in that one week. 
 Perhaps, on the whole, it is as well that you 
 should go away now, as Mrs. Verschoyle has 
 thought fit to mix herself up with your affairs. 
 She is the most inveterate gossip " 
 
 11 I thought you did not know her." 
 
 "No more I do, personally ; but I have
 
 198 "Peccavi" 
 
 heard a good deal about her. And so she 
 made herself pleasant to you yesterday, and, I 
 suppose, gave you to understand that anything 
 she had seen or overheard ' by pure accident ' 
 would be sacred with her ? " 
 
 " Something of the kind," replies Milly. 
 " She was so amiable, that for that very reason 
 I was disposed to doubt her." 
 
 " You are quite right — she is not a woman 
 to trust. And now tell me, Miss Byron, did 
 she not give you a slight sketch of my char- 
 acter gratis, as well ? Did she not throw out 
 hints of my being a most disreputable ac- 
 quaintance for you ? Ah ! you look guilty. 
 You need not answer me ; I can pretty well 
 guess what her insinuations were like." 
 
 " I hardly listened to what she said," an- 
 swers Milly, in low tones, intent on showing 
 him that Mrs. Verschoyle's innuendoes have 
 had no power to influence her against him.
 
 Going Away. 199 
 
 " I am sure you did not. You are far too 
 generous-minded and too just to let yourselt 
 be swayed by the paltry gossip of a silly 
 woman like that. Once for all, Miss Byron, 
 you may accept it as a pretty safe rule never 
 to believe more than one half of what you 
 hear from similar unreliable sources. But 
 even if her story were true — and I have never 
 made a pretence to you of being a saint, have 
 I ? — if I were indeed as black as I feel sure 
 she painted me, would you think it necessary 
 to turn me the cold shoulder, and pass me by 
 on the other side ? Would you do this ? 
 Answer me." 
 
 He has drawn closer to her as he speaks, 
 and is bending eagerly forward, mercilessly 
 fixing his gaze on her averted face. 
 
 " I don't think I would," she answers at 
 last, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. " I 
 do not generally give up my friends without 
 very good cause."
 
 200 u Pcccavi." 
 
 " And I may consider myself as one of 
 your friends ? It is awfully good of you to 
 say so. Well, Miss Byron, I will be frank 
 with you. I will tell you that it is possible, 
 even probable, that in the course of time you 
 will be forced to listen to all sorts of sad tales 
 about me. There is always a grain of truth 
 in all these things ; as I said before, I have 
 no wish to set myself up to be better, or even 
 nearly as good as other men — but you will 
 bear in mind that there will be a great deal 
 that is false and exaggerated mixed up with 
 it all, won't you ? I have had a hard life, 
 perhaps, in some ways, and have, I think, 
 been more sinned against than sinning ; but 
 there, I don't attempt to find excuses for 
 myself; it is a mean way of trying to shift 
 one's burden upon other people's shoulders. 
 If I had an incentive, a motive," — looking at 
 her meaningly, — " it is more than likely that
 
 Going Away. 201 
 
 it would be the saving of me. But, however 
 much you may come to despise me and pity 
 me, will you promise me now that you won't 
 throw me off altogether — at all events, without 
 a hearing ? " 
 
 He holds out his hand as he speaks, and 
 Milly feels she can do no less than give him 
 hers, and respond to his pleading eyes by 
 making the required promise. Nor does she 
 even affect to be offended when he retains 
 his clasp of her hand for full three minutes, 
 and before releasing it, raises it to his lips. 
 She feels as if she were walking on air as 
 she leaves him to turn homewards, and all 
 that evening she remains in a semi-trance, too 
 wholly engrossed with her happy dreams to 
 pay any attention to what is going on around 
 her. The gibes and sharp remarks which 
 Mr. Falconer gives vent to fall on deaf ears. 
 She is living in a world of her own creation,
 
 202 " Peccavir 
 
 and her mind is occupied entirely with re- 
 calling every syllable that Geoffrey uttered. 
 Again and again she goes over every detail 
 of the afternoon's interview in her memory ; 
 and in dwelling on his most trivial speeches, 
 and in tracing his every feature and expression 
 in her imagination, she is feverishly, supremely 
 happy. 
 
 It is superfluous to add that Mr. Dering is 
 not guilty of a similar weakness. He has not 
 put many hundred yards between him and 
 Milly before he brings out his betting book, 
 and becomes absorbed in its contents, and, 
 beyond ruminating for the space of five 
 minutes on his chances of finding: it a good 
 speculation to carry matters to the utmost 
 extent in her direction, he almost forgets the 
 fact of her existence.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE TREHERNES. 
 
 " You darling duck of a girl ! How delighted 
 I am to see you ! No, Dolly, you shan't touch 
 her till I've had a good hug ! I got down 
 first ! " 
 
 " Now, Edith, do go away ! I can't get 
 near her if you fasten her in your arms in 
 such an absurd way ! Oh, Milly dear, how nice 
 it is to have you here ! " 
 
 Such is the joyous greeting bestowed on 
 Milly at her arrival at Bearsted Park on the 
 Saturday afternoon, and, laughing and breath- 
 less, she returns their warm embraces with 
 interest, and feels, as she always does when 
 with them, how good it is to find herself 
 
 there ! 
 
 203
 
 204 " Peccavi." 
 
 u Perhaps you will let me have a chance 
 of saying ' How do you do ? ' now, girls," says 
 a cheery voice behind them, and Milly runs 
 up the steps to meet a charming old apple- 
 cheeked, silver-haired lady, who stands there, 
 benignantly smiling at her granddaughters' 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Treherne, it is so kind of you 
 to ask me to come here," says Milly, lovingly 
 kissing her. " It is just as if I had escaped 
 from prison for a time." 
 
 And she glances round the familiar old hall 
 with an expression of ineffable content. 
 
 " And pray, what leave of absence has your 
 jailer granted you ? " inquires Edith, linking 
 her arm in her friend's, and dragging her 
 towards the tea-table. 
 
 " One whole week ! " says Milly, with su- 
 preme satisfaction. 
 
 <( Only one wretched little week ! How
 
 The Tre hemes. 205 
 
 intensely scrubby of him ! Well," — thought- 
 fully, — " we must try and cram as much as 
 we possibly can into that space of time, if you 
 really must not stay longer ! Granny, you 
 must think of something jolly for us to do 
 every single day while Milly is here ! " 
 
 " I think you will have plenty of plans in 
 your own frivolous little head, without having 
 recourse to me, chatterbox," returns the old 
 lady, smiling indulgently on the spoilt pet of 
 the family. " You don't find her much wiser 
 or less giddy-pated than she was when you 
 last saw her, do you, Milly ? " she adds, turning 
 to her guest, who answers cordially, — 
 
 " I hope Edith will never be very different 
 to what she is now." 
 
 " She won't let me get in a word edgeways," 
 grumbles the younger sister — a quieter, smaller, 
 fairer edition of Edith. " Never mind, my 
 turn will come presently "
 
 2o6 " Peccavi." 
 
 "Milly, are you aware that Captain and 
 Mrs. Devereux are under this roof at this 
 very moment?" breaks in Edith, without 
 waiting" to let her sister finish her sentence. 
 
 " Not really ? Charlie here ? and Ruth ? 
 Oh, why didn't you say so before, Edie ? 
 Where are they ? and when did they come ? " 
 
 " Half an hour ago, and they are gone 
 upstairs to take off their ■ things,' or some- 
 thing, before they have tea. They'll be here 
 in a second. Charlie is as nice as ever, only 
 he looks thin and pinched ; but Mrs. Charlie ! 
 
 — oh, Milly, what a woful You haven't 
 
 seen her yet, have you ? " 
 
 " No ; I've never had the chance." 
 
 11 Well, you won't mind my saying what 
 I think, I know ; she is one of the most 
 ordinary-looking people I have ever seen. 
 So dowdy, and so utterly uninteresting. She 
 may be as good as gold, of course, but I
 
 The Tre hemes. 207 
 
 must own to being a little curious as to 
 what extraordinary charms Charlie saw in 
 her, which are certainly not visible to the 
 casual observer." 
 
 " My dear Edie, you have hardly spoken to 
 her at all," remonstrates Mrs. Treherne. 
 
 11 My dear granny, you know that there 
 never was my equal for taking a person's 
 measure — mental and physical — in the space 
 of two seconds. I saw quite enough of Mrs. 
 Charlie to know that she is not pretty ; in 
 fact, / should call her plain — not attractive, 
 and I should say, decidedly not clever. Then 
 she has no money, no family, no aiiy\\\m<g ; 
 so there must be something in her which my 
 dull eyes cannot discern — something hidden 
 very carefully away from sight, which will 
 explain Charlie's infatuation for her, and, we 
 will hope, amply compensate him for having 
 given up Whincote Abbey, etc., for her sake.
 
 2o8 " Peccavi." 
 
 But what this extraordinary powerful charm 
 is, I confess I have not yet discovered." 
 
 " Well, I think she is a nice, pleasing little 
 thing, and I am sure she is very devoted to 
 her husband." 
 
 "I can't think how she could be 'off' it, 
 granny, to use a vulgar expression," returns 
 Edith, refusing to be checked in her eloquent 
 flow of talk. " When she thinks of the sacri- 
 fices he has made " 
 
 " Edie, do stop talking for a moment ! " 
 puts in her sister impatiently. " I hear them 
 coming downstairs." 
 
 And as they enter the room, Milly goes 
 forward impulsively to meet them, and feels 
 all her old affection for her cousin revive, 
 as she catches sight of his familiar face. 
 
 " Oh, Charlie, I was so glad to hear you 
 were here!" she cries. " How are you ? You 
 don't look particularly flourishing."
 
 The Trehemes. 209 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right, my dear Milly; at least, 
 I shall be after a few days' quiet and country 
 air. But here's Ruth waiting to be intro- 
 duced to you. I hope you two will be great 
 friends," he adds, rather shyly. 
 
 " I am sure we shall," answers Ruth 
 brightly, and Milly tries to respond cordially 
 to her advances. But she cannot help agree- 
 ing with Edie that her new cousin's appear- 
 ance is not prepossessing. Ruth is one of 
 those delicate, fragile-looking people who show 
 traces of fatigue or worry very readily, and just 
 now she has a more than usually careworn ex- 
 pression on her face. Her dress, too, of dark 
 brown merino, is not very becoming to her, 
 and looks out of place on this bright August 
 afternoon. Nevertheless, Milly resolves that 
 she will do her very utmost to make Charlie's 
 wife like her, and that she will try her best 
 to make her visit at the Park a happy one. 
 
 vol. 1. p
 
 2io "Peccavi." 
 
 Then they all take their places round the 
 tea-table, and a good deal of talking and 
 laughing goes on, in which Mrs. Treherne 
 joins as heartily as the others. 
 
 " And the Ogre, Milly, how is he ? " asks 
 Charlie of his cousin. 
 
 " Very flourishing in bodily health," she 
 answers. " Increasing age does not accom- 
 plish much in the way of mellowing his little 
 infirmities of temper that I see. I am afraid 
 I have not been a very successful ambassador 
 for your cause, Charlie, but indeed it is 
 hopeless at present. He will not let your 
 name be mentioned." 
 
 " I am sure, Milly, you have tried to do 
 all in your power, and the only thing left to 
 us is to get on as best we can, and hope 
 that he'll think better of it one of these days." 
 
 Charlie tries hard to infuse a cheerful tone 
 into his words, but Milly sees his face fall
 
 The Tre hemes. 2 1 1 
 
 a little, as if her report had dashed some 
 tiny spark of expectation to the ground, and 
 the half smothered sigh which escapes him 
 almost unconsciously fills her heart with com- 
 passion towards him. 
 
 " We won't bother ourselves by talking 
 about him any more just now," he continues, 
 more lightly. " I have lots to say to you 
 when we can get an hour to ourselves, Milly ; 
 and then we'll put our wise heads together, 
 and see if we can devise any plan for melt- 
 ing his heart. Meantime, I must say again 
 how very glad I am to see you here, dear 
 old Milly. It was awfully good of them to 
 think of asking us, and to get you to come 
 at the same time. I suppose the Ogre is 
 quite unaware that we are within a hundred 
 miles of Bearsted ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. If he had known it, 
 I am sure he would not have let me come."
 
 212 "Peccavi? 
 
 "The change will do you good, I'm sure. 
 But you are looking very well, Milly — par- 
 ticularly well, I think." 
 
 " I can't say the same about you, Charlie," 
 answers she, wondering why she finds her- 
 self blushing under his close inspection of 
 her face. " You are looking decidedly pale 
 and pinched." 
 
 " Well, I've enough bothers to make me 
 look so," he says, a little impatiently. " If 
 you only knew — but I will tell you all about 
 it later on. Ruth is the best wife in the 
 world, and the cleverest manager, but I never 
 knew till I tried it what a grind life is when 
 one has to think twice before spending a 
 fourpenny-bit." 
 
 " Poor Charlie ! " says Milly softly. 
 
 "Poor Charlie, indeed!" cries Miss Tre- 
 herne, thrusting herself unceremoniously into 
 their conversation. " My blood positively
 
 The Trehernes. 
 
 boils when I think of the way in which he 
 has treated you ! He's an inhuman old 
 wretch, and I only trust that one day he'll 
 get what he deserves ! " 
 
 " My dear Edith ! " 
 
 " My dear granny ! But I mean what I 
 say ; I really do. I wish I had a chance of 
 giving him a bit of my mind ! " concludes 
 Edith viciously. 
 
 "It is very good of you to champion our 
 cause so zealously," says Charlie, laughing. 
 11 And now, Mrs. Treherne, I know you will 
 let me take Ruth out for a turn in the 
 garden before it gets too late. I want her 
 to see how pretty it all is. No, pray don't 
 trouble to come with me " — as Dorothy is 
 about to speak — " I know my way quite well, 
 and I shall enjoy ciceroning her." 
 
 11 Don't you see, my dear Dolly, that the 
 dear man is still in the lover-like stage of
 
 2 14 "Peccavi." 
 
 married life, and wants no third person with 
 them?" says Edith reprovingly, almost before 
 the husband and wife are out of earshot. 
 
 " And is that so very absurd, my dear 
 Edith ? " asks her grandmother. " After all, 
 they have only been married little more 
 than a month." 
 
 "Time enough for them to have got over 
 their first ecstasies, I should think," returns 
 the incorrigible girl. " However, I don't 
 want to talk about them any more for the 
 present. Let them go and be happy in their 
 own way, and romance about the bliss of 
 marriage as much as they like — I am going 
 to talk to Milly. Do you know, my dear 
 child, that you are looking oceans better and 
 brighter than when I last saw you ? What 
 has come over you, Milly ? You are quite 
 a different creature. Your eyes are so bright, 
 and you have got so much more colour. I
 
 The Trehernes. 2 1 5 
 
 tell you what I firmly believe " — jumping 
 suddenly up in an excited manner — " I do 
 really believe that there s some man " 
 
 " Edith, my dear, you really do let your 
 tongue run away with you ! How can you 
 talk in that way ? " 
 
 " I can't help it, granny. I feel sure it 
 was an inspiration on my part ! I know I 
 was right! Milly, can you look me in the 
 face and say there is no man " 
 
 " You silly child, how can you ask such 
 absurd questions ? You know perfectly well 
 that Milly sees no one but her uncle and " 
 
 " If the ' Ogre ' is the cause of that tell- 
 tale blush, I'll — I'll — eat my hat ! " exclaims 
 Edith undauntedly. " It will be the first 
 case ever known of a girl looking conscious 
 when her own uncle's name is mentioned ! 
 I'm not such a fool as to swallow that ! 
 Milly, tell me the truth."
 
 216 "Peccavi" 
 
 " Edie, don't be so silly ! " remonstrates 
 Dorothy. " Come away with me to my 
 room, Milly, and don't trouble yourself to 
 answer her nonsense." 
 
 "Ah, that's all very well to shirk the 
 question in that way," says Edith, with con- 
 viction. " But see if I don't get it all out 
 of you before you lay your head on your 
 pillow to-night, my dear child ! " 
 
 And Milly knows that it will be useless 
 to attempt to evade her curiosity now, if she 
 wishes for any peace whatever during her 
 visit. So she makes the best of her circum- 
 stances, and that same evening confides her 
 little tale to the ears of a select and sympa- 
 thising audience, consisting of the two sisters 
 — Dorothy as well as Edith listening to her 
 recital with unfeigned interest. 
 
 " Well, it only proves the truth of what 
 I have said a hundred times," comments
 
 The Trehemes. 2 1 7 
 
 Edith, — she is always the first to find her 
 tongue, — " and that is, that ' neither bar nor 
 bolt can keep my own true love from me.' 
 Even you, guarded closely by the Ogre, con- 
 trive to hoodwink him." 
 
 11 Oh, Edie, that sounds so dreadful ! " 
 
 " What, hoodwink ? Oh, that doesn't mean 
 anything. And, after all, what can he expect, 
 when he treats you in such a ridiculous 
 manner ? Of course you will break out in 
 some way or other ! I should do the same 
 in your place ! " 
 
 " Well, but tell us a little more about 
 him, Milly, if you don't mind," says Dorothy, 
 who is much quieter and less impulsive than 
 her sister. " Is he very, very nice ? " 
 
 " I think he is — very nice," answers Milly, 
 trying to speak dispassionately, and quite sup- 
 pressing Mrs. Verschoyle's account of her hero. 
 
 11 And his name is Geoffrey — Geoffrey Der-
 
 218 "Peccavt." 
 
 ing — and he is coming to stay at Alresford 
 to-day ? " proceeds Dorothy. " I have never 
 heard the Lesters mention him among their 
 friends — have you, Edie ? But it will be 
 pleasant for you to meet him again, Milly." 
 
 " And a satisfaction to you to do it all 
 in a legitimate way," says Edith; "for of 
 course granny will ask him to come here — ■ 
 she'll do anything we want. And you'll 
 get to know him well, and he'll propose to 
 you before you leave here, and Mr. Falconer 
 will have to say ' Yes/ and, after all, you'll 
 be married before we are ! How sly of you, 
 Milly, to steal a march on us like that!" 
 
 " How you rattle on, Edie ! And how can 
 you talk of his proposing to me, when I am 
 sure he hasn't an idea of such a thing ! In the 
 first place, he hasn't a penny. I believe " 
 
 " That doesn't signify. You'll most likely 
 have Whincote "
 
 The Trehernes. 219 
 
 11 Very unlikely, I think. I don't see that 
 I have a chance of it." 
 
 " Why, of course the Ogre will make you 
 his heiress, if you can only bring yourself 
 to be decently civil to him. Who else should 
 he leave it all to, I should like to know ? " 
 
 11 I don't know, but " 
 
 11 But of course it will come to you. 
 Naturally it will — I feel convinced of it ; 
 and I do sometimes wonder a little, my dear, 
 that you don't try and recollect that Whincote 
 Abbey is trembling in the balance, and make 
 a superhuman effort to study his whims and 
 fancies now and then." 
 
 " If he did leave it to me, I should hand it 
 all over to Charlie," says Milly decidedly. 
 
 " Should you, really ? How refreshing it 
 is to find a person with such liberal ideas 
 in these degenerate days ! Well, if only for 
 Charlie's sake, I am surprised that you do
 
 2 20 " Peccavi" 
 
 not behave a little more diplomatically. Now 
 if it were me in question, I'm afraid I should 
 positively grovel in the dust before Mr. Fal- 
 coner " 
 
 " I am sure you wouldn't, Edie." 
 
 " I declare to you I would. As a matter of 
 fact, I possess a most mercenary nature, and 
 my one wish in life is to be rolling in riches. 
 I almost think, under the circumstances, I 
 could bring myself to — yes, I am sure I could 
 — to offer to rub Mr. Falconer's foot when he 
 has the gout in it. And if that wouldn't be a 
 test of friendship, I don't know what would." 
 
 " Edie, you really do talk more nonsense in 
 ten minutes than other people do in a week. 
 Luckily I know you well enough to feel sure 
 you don't mean half of what you say." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken, my child ; I am 
 most thoroughly in earnest, and if you'll take 
 my advice, you'll reform your ways, give your
 
 The Trehernes. 2 2 1 
 
 mind to the task of fascinating the ' Ogre,' and 
 then, when he dies — don't look so shocked, 
 Dolly, for in the course of nature he must die 
 before very long, mustn't he ? — you will be able 
 to crow over us all, with Whincote as the 
 reward of your devotion, and then you'll be 
 able to have a jolly good fling." 
 
 " Do you know, Edie, that you have taken 
 to slang much more than you used to ? " 
 
 11 I am quite aware of it. One must be in 
 the fashion, and my last chum, Teddy Brooks, 
 said it was absurd for girls not to use a little 
 of it. And so many of the expressions are so 
 fetching. But to return to the subject of your 
 Geoffrey " 
 
 " I do wish you wouldn't call him my 
 Geoffrey," says Milly, turning scarlet. " Do 
 you remember I have only seen him four times 
 in my life ? " 
 
 " That doesn't matter one little bit. In this
 
 222 " Peccavi! 
 
 sort of thing people's likings are not measured' 
 by the number of times they have seen each 
 other ; and whether it's four or fourteen times, 
 I can see you're dreadfully ' gone ' on him 
 already. But now, mind you make hay while 
 the sun shines, my dear; for remember your 
 leave only extends to a miserable week. I 
 wonder when you'll see him first ? Do you 
 expect he will be at church to-morrow ? " 
 
 "He never went to church at Whincote that 
 I know of," Milly is obliged to confess. 
 
 " That doesn't follow that he won't go here. 
 Probably he had no very powerful inducement 
 to take him there. I've no doubt that the 
 Ogre kept you well hidden from the gaze of 
 the vulgar crowd ; but to-morrow I bet you 
 anything you like he'll be there. Oh, I know 
 what sort of creatures men are much better 
 than you, you poor little nun." 
 
 " Edie, I wish you'd take yourself off now,
 
 The TreJicrnes. 22 
 
 and leave Milly to me for a little. I am sure 
 you must be quite hoarse with talking, and I 
 have hardly spoken to her yet." 
 
 " I'm going, my child. I'm beginning to feel 
 a decided tendency to yawn, and when once 
 that begins, you never know when it will stop. 
 Good-night, my dear Milly. Pleasant dreams 
 to you of the delectable Geoffrey. I'm quite 
 curious to see him myself. I'm not certain I 
 shan't go in for him as well, if he is very, very 
 too-too. Will you let me have an innings, or 
 will you scratch my eyes out if I dare to lift a 
 glance in his direction, Mill ? " 
 
 And without waiting for an answer, she 
 dances out of the room, humming a tune as 
 she goes, and continuing to fire off her little 
 mischievous speeches until she gets outside 
 the door. 
 
 11 What a rattletrap she is ! " remarks Dorothy, 
 unable to repress a smile.
 
 224 "Peccavi" 
 
 " Yes, she is just the same as ever. I never 
 met anybody with such high spirits as she has. 
 She never appears to be the least out of sorts 
 or depressed. And how pretty she is looking, 
 Dorothy ! " 
 
 " Yes,; she is very much admired. I am 
 sorry to say she is the greatest flirt I know. 
 She always has at least ten men dangling after 
 her, and she never seems to care for one more 
 than the other." 
 
 " Her day will come, sooner or later, depend 
 upon it," answers Milly, with the gravity of a 
 sage. " And you yourself, Dolly," — looking at 
 her affectionately, — " how have you been all 
 this time ? You do not look strikingly 
 flourishing." 
 
 " Oh, I am much as usual, thanks. I con- 
 fess I get rather tired of the perpetual round of 
 gaiety which Edie so delights in, and which 
 never leaves me time to think of anything else.
 
 The Trehernes. 225 
 
 I should be much happier if I were allowed to 
 keep quiet now and then, and to devote myself 
 to my painting and music. But granny is so 
 miserable when I want to get out of going any- 
 where, that I never have the heart to hold out. 
 What a curious thing life is, isn't it, Milly ? 
 And doesn't it seem rather hard that we should 
 be forced to do things we don't really like, and 
 which really can't be good for us, merely 
 because, by refusing, we should make other 
 people unhappy ? I think every one ought to 
 be allowed to go his or her own way as much 
 as possible in this world. After all, it can't 
 really be such an immense gratification to 
 granny to take me out to parties when she 
 has Edie with her, who enjoys it all as much 
 as she does herself; and I would so far rather 
 be left in peace." 
 
 " I suppose Mrs. Treherne thinks it would 
 be bad for you to give up society altogether." 
 
 vol. 1. Q
 
 226 " Peccavi" 
 
 " I don't believe it would be half so bad for 
 me as is the being taken here and there against 
 my will, and feeling irritated and bored every 
 day. But there, it is of no good to worry 
 one's self over things which one cannot mend, 
 is it ? And after all, what will such trifles 
 matter fifty years hence ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, to be sure ; but that re- 
 flection never reconciles me to the bothers of 
 the present moment. One has to live through 
 the fifty years all the same, and one doesn't 
 care to be miserable all that time. But do you 
 know, Dorothy, I sometimes think it is rather 
 odd that you, at your age, should so dislike 
 society, and enjoy everything so little ? Some- 
 times I fancy " — she looks curiously up in her 
 friend's face — " there must be some special 
 reason for it." 
 
 Dorothy, the self-contained, flushes a little. 
 
 " I don't know why you should have thought
 
 The Trehernes. 227 
 
 that," she answers, after a slight pause ; " but 
 you are partly right, Milly, and some day or 
 other perhaps I will tell you my story — such 
 story as there is to tell. Not to-night, for I 
 am not in the mood for it, and it is already 
 very late. What would granny say if she 
 knew we were still sitting up talking ? And 
 you, after your journey, too ! Hush ! Walk 
 gently along the passage, for fear she should 
 swoop down upon you." 
 
 Half an hour later both girls are wrapped in 
 the deep, dreamless slumber which seems to be 
 the peculiar property of a vigorous youth, and 
 is the result of an unimpaired digestion and 
 an untroubled conscience.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A CONTRETEMPS. 
 
 Edith is quite right in her conjecture — 
 Geoffrey Dering does make his appearance in 
 church the following morning. Milly catches 
 sight of him in the Lesters' pew the very 
 moment she enters the building, and is 
 further informed of the fact by an energetic 
 kick from Edith, and a loud whisper of 
 " Didn't I tell you so ? " She tries hard not 
 to let her thoughts be distracted by the know- 
 ledge of his presence in her neighbourhood, 
 and, beyond that first fleeting glance, never 
 once lets her eyes travel in his direction. But 
 for all that, she cannot help being very glad 
 when the service is over, and the feeling of 
 
 restraint which hung over her is withdrawn. 
 
 228
 
 A Contretemps. 229 
 
 Geoffrey joins them in the churchyard, and is 
 by her shyly introduced to Mrs. Treherne and 
 her granddaughters. The old lady makes 
 herself very pleasant to the young man, having 
 been duly primed beforehand to that effect by 
 Edith, and, in response to an expressive gesture 
 from that young lady, invites him to come up 
 to the Park and see them all that afternoon. 
 
 " If you have nothing better to do," she says 
 smilingly. " I know that Sunday afternoon 
 is generally rather an idle time for young 
 men." 
 
 And Geoffrey, with a quick glance towards 
 Milly, declares that he shall like nothing better. 
 Then they all separate, and during the short 
 walk home to the Park, Milly has to submit to 
 the fire of comments and cross-questionings of 
 the whole party as best she may. But she is 
 far too happy to care in the very least for their 
 remarks.
 
 230 "Peccaw." 
 
 After luncheon is over, Charlie asks his 
 cousin if she will come out for a walk with 
 him. 
 
 " I have not had five minutes' conversation 
 with you yet," he says, "and there are such 
 heaps of things I want to hear about, and to 
 tell you. Don't be frightened " — promptly di- 
 vining her thoughts — " I will not fail to bring 
 you back in good time to welcome your 
 friend." 
 
 " Do go with him, Milly, won't you ? " 
 urges Ruth. " I know he is longing to talk 
 to you." 
 
 Ruth is one of those amiable women whose 
 chief object in life seems to be the further- 
 ance of her husband's wishes in every pos- 
 sible way. 
 
 " Of course I will go," says Milly blithely. 
 " There is nothing I should like better than 
 a walk with you, Charlie."
 
 A Contretemps. 231 
 
 " Except, perhaps, one with Mr. Geoffrey 
 Dering," interpolates Edie maliciously. 
 
 "Let's start at once, shan't we, Charlie ? " 
 continues Milly, ignoring the interruption en- 
 tirely. " I'll be ready in half a second." 
 
 " Certainly I advise you to lose no time 
 in going off," said Edith teasingly. " These 
 young men are so erratic, you never know 
 what time they may take it into their heads 
 to turn up." 
 
 " It seems quite odd to me, Milly, your 
 having got to know this fellow," begins 
 Charlie, as they saunter off together. 
 " When I was last at Whincote, you had 
 never even heard his name, that I know 
 of." 
 
 " And it was only by pure accident that 
 I made his acquaintance," returns she, having 
 no wish to make a mystery of it with him. 
 " I told you how it was I first met him. I
 
 " Peccavi." 
 
 have a dim recollection of having heard the 
 name Derinor mentioned as one of our near 
 
 o 
 
 neighbours, but as I was never likely to see 
 anything of them, I took very little interest 
 in them." 
 
 " And the Ogre remains in blissful ignor- 
 ance ! And now, Milly, do tell me a little 
 more about him, and about the dear old 
 place. How often I wish I could transport 
 myself there ! " 
 
 And the next half-hour is spent in dis- 
 cussing trifles connected with her home-life, 
 which Charlie listens to with the avidity of 
 an exile gathering up every crumb of infor- 
 mation concerning a past which appears to 
 be for ever shut off from him now, and 
 which he yet clings to with an affection that 
 will outlive all time. In return, she ques- 
 tions him closely as to his affairs, and hears 
 with dismay of the struggle which he has
 
 A Contretemps. 233 
 
 daily to go through to make both ends meet. 
 He tells her of the many discouraging fail- 
 ures which he has had to encounter in his 
 literary career — how publisher after publisher 
 has sent back his novel rejected on his hands, 
 and how if it were not for Ruth's strenuous 
 exertions, and the fair amount of success 
 which has attended her efforts to obtain 
 pupils, they would have found it difficult to 
 get on at all. He does not in so many 
 words own that he regrets his hasty mar- 
 riage, which has brought him to this pitch, — 
 it would indeed be early days for him to do 
 that, — but she can see quite well that the 
 burden of poverty is a very galling one to 
 him, and the vein of discontent and grum- 
 bling which pervades his whole conversation 
 strikes her as being something new, and ex- 
 cites her pity. 
 
 11 Poor Charlie ! If I could only do some-
 
 234 "Peccavi." 
 
 thing for you ! " she exclaims, with a despair- 
 ing sense of her own impotency to help. 
 11 But you understand it all — how utterly 
 powerless I am. I have such very little 
 pocket-money too, that I never have even 
 a spare five-pound note." 
 
 11 As if I would take it from you if you 
 had ! " he cries indignantly. " My dear 
 Milly, I am not dreaming that you can do 
 anything for me. I know you will always 
 be the best friend I have to turn to, and 
 will look after my interests as if they were 
 your own. I am only letting you know 
 exactly how matters stand with us, as you 
 are the only person to whom I care to talk 
 about it. But it is a miserable life at the 
 best, and unless I can get a start by my 
 writings soon, I don't know what we are to 
 do." 
 
 " Never say die, Charlie, you know," she
 
 A Contretemps. 235 
 
 answers hopefully. " Some publisher will 
 be sure to take your novel one of these 
 days." 
 
 " I wish I thought so," gloomily. " But it 
 seems to me to be almost impossible to get 
 a work taken unless one is well known or 
 has a name. Now if I was only Lord Charles 
 Devereux, I feel convinced that they would 
 discover a thousand good points in my book 
 at once." 
 
 " ' But let a lord once own the happy lines, 
 
 How the wit brightens, how the style refines ! ' " 
 
 quotes Milly, laughing. " Where have I 
 heard that, I wonder ? But, seriously, Charlie, 
 I am dreadfully unhappy about you. It is 
 horrible to me to think of my living on at 
 the Abbey with everything I can want, in a 
 certain sense, and you tied down to that tiny 
 little house in an obscure street in London,
 
 236 "Peccavi? 
 
 with hardly enough to eat. What can we 
 do about it ? " 
 
 " Nothing, as far as I can see. I must 
 pull myself together when I get back, and 
 hunt up all the remaining publishers I can 
 think of, and I suppose, if I persevere, for- 
 tune must shine upon me some day. The 
 hard part of it is, that, without wishing to 
 brag, I know in my own mind that my novel 
 is quite up to the average, and really more 
 amusinor than nine out of ten that come out. 
 I read it all out to Ruth, and she went into 
 fits of laughter over it." 
 
 " Then, depend upon it, Charlie, it will 
 make its way, and one of those stupid men 
 will find out there is really good stuff in it," 
 says she soothingly, stifling the reflection 
 which involuntarily flits across her mind, — 
 that Ruth's appreciation of her husband's 
 efforts is hardly a criterion of the book's
 
 A Contretemps. 237 
 
 merits. " I've heard everybody say that if 
 a book is really good it cannot fail to be 
 found out." 
 
 " Yes, but while the idiots are slowly taking 
 the fact into their dull heads we may be 
 starving, for all they care ! " 
 
 " Oh, it won't come to that pitch, Charlie, 
 I feel certain. I do hope you are not losing 
 all your natural hopefulness." 
 
 " I hope not, but it is precious difficult to 
 feel sanguine when everything seems to go 
 against you. And poor Ruth has to slave 
 herself to death day after day with those de- 
 testable children, to earn the paltry pittance 
 which, however, we couldn't do without. It's 
 awfully hard on a fellow, it really is ! " 
 
 " Of course it is — awfully hard," sympathises 
 Milly, forbearing to remind him that it is en- 
 tirely by reason of his own imprudent act that 
 he is brought to such a pass.
 
 238 "Peccavi." 
 
 11 And another thing," pursues Charlie, with 
 masculine egotism — " what I find such hard 
 lines is the being obliged to give up all the 
 things I cared for. I can't afford to belong 
 to any decent club, and I have to cut all my 
 former friends, for fear they should ask me 
 to do this and that, for which I cannot pos- 
 sibly find the money, and because I would 
 not for worlds let them see me in my present 
 straits. So I positively live the life of a her- 
 mit, my dear Milly, and very soon I shall for- 
 get that I ever aspired to the position of a 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Oh, don't say that, Charlie. Keep up 
 your heart, whatever happens, and don't let 
 your troubles pull you down. Brighter days 
 will come, I feel assured of it. And Ruth 
 will do her best to cheer you up." 
 
 " Ruth ? yes. She is the pluckiest little 
 thing . that ever lived. I wish, Milly, you
 
 A Contretemps. 239 
 
 would try to draw her out, and make her con- 
 fide in you. She's very shy and meek, and 
 half inclined to be scared at you ; but she'll 
 soon get over that if you take her in hand." 
 
 "I will, indeed, Charlie." Milly's con- 
 science smites her as she is conscious that 
 the prospect of Geoffrey's arrival had been 
 her uppermost thought up till now, affording 
 her but scant leisure to cultivate her cousin's 
 wife. " You will be here all to-morrow, you 
 know, and I will take care to get Ruth to 
 myself. Oh, Charlie ! " with a note of dis- 
 may, looking at her watch ; " do you know it 
 is just a quarter to five ? " 
 
 " And you want to get back to see that 
 fellow ? " he says good-naturedly. " All right, 
 Milly; let's make the best of our way back. 
 I had no idea it was so late. Which path 
 was it we came in here by ? " 
 
 A question easier asked than answered, as
 
 240 "Peccavi." 
 
 a number of exactly similar paths branch off 
 from where they had been sitting, and the 
 dense foliage of the wood prevents their even 
 catching a glimpse of a decided opening. 
 First they select one path, and find that it 
 is the wrong one, then they try another, with 
 an equally unsuccessful result. Finally, after 
 the loss of at least half an hour in ineffectual 
 attempts, they succeed in getting out, and 
 hurry across the meadows to the park. But, 
 alas ! the clocks are then striking the half- 
 hour after five, and one glance into the draw- 
 ing-room, where the rest of the party are as- 
 sembled, tells her that her delay has resulted 
 in her losing the pleasure to which she has 
 all day long been looking forward. 
 
 " Come in, my dear," says Mrs. Treherne 
 genially. I am sorry to say " 
 
 " Too late, too late, — ye cannot enter now," 
 chants Edie, with a provoking emphasis.
 
 A Contretemps. 241 
 
 "My dear Milly, what have you and Charlie 
 been doing with yourselves ? Mrs. Devereux 
 was quite resigned to the notion that you had 
 eloped. To my certain knowledge your walk 
 has lasted two hours and a half. And oh, my 
 dear, what have you not lost ! " 
 
 " Charlie and I lost our way in the wood, or 
 we should have been here long ago," answers 
 Milly, too eager to know her fate to be reticent 
 of asking the question which hovers on her lips. 
 " Has Mr. Dering been, Edie ? " 
 
 " Indeed he has. He came before four, with 
 an apology for being so early ; but he had an 
 appointment at five, which he said he must 
 keep. He didn't say what appointment it was, 
 but I must say it looked rather suspicious, and 
 I advise you to be on the look-out for a rival, 
 my dear." 
 
 " Don't talk such nonsense. And he really 
 has been ? How long did he stay ? " 
 
 vol. 1. R
 
 242 "Peccavi. 
 
 " Something: under an hour, I think. He 
 left just before five. He was disgusted to find 
 you were out, and kept craning his neck out 
 of the window all the time he was here, look- 
 ing for you. Poor Milly ! it is too hard on 
 you. 
 
 " I daresay I shall manage to survive it," 
 says Milly, with an insane wish to burst into 
 tears. " I wish I had come in before, but we 
 had no notion it was so late, and " 
 
 " Charlie made himself very agreeable, 
 evidently," puts in Mrs. Treherne soothingly. 
 " But console yourself, Milly ; you will see him 
 to-morrow, for he is going to meet us at the 
 Chapmans' tennis party." 
 
 And Milly's spirits instantly recover their 
 wonted equilibrium. 
 
 " Yes, after all, it is only deferring your bliss 
 for twenty-four hours," says Edith. " And to 
 console you still more, Milly, I must tell you
 
 A Contretemps. 243 
 
 that he talked about you the whole time, and 
 asked me no end of questions, and I sung your 
 praises till I was quite hoarse, and I offered 
 him the gratuitous information about you in- 
 heriting Whincote." 
 
 H Oh, Edie ! how could you ? And you 
 know it is not true." 
 
 11 Fiddlesticks, my dear ; you are safe to have 
 it. And you should have seen how he 
 brightened up, and how excited he got when 
 I rattled on, and dilated on your charms to 
 him. I believe he was quite ready to kiss me 
 for being so contented to discourse on the 
 subject nearest his heart. I assure you I 
 proved myself the most disinterested friend. 
 And we have all fallen in love with him, 
 haven't we, granny ? Now I have seen him, 
 I can quite enter into your feelings, my 
 child." 
 
 "He is an agreeable young man, with plenty
 
 244 "Peccavi." 
 
 to say for himself," says old Mrs. Treherne 
 cordially ; " and he took pains to make himself 
 pleasant to the old woman too, which is not 
 always the case with young men of the present 
 day." 
 
 " Ah, he is wise in his generation, and is 
 quite aware of which side his bread must be 
 buttered," sarcastically comments Edith, in a 
 sot to voce, aside. " As if there could be any 
 possible credit to him in making himself agree- 
 able to an attractive young girl like you," she 
 says aloud, running up to her grandmother's 
 side to give her an impetuous hug. " But, 
 seriously, Milly, we are all quite ready to 
 approve of your taste, and to offer you our 
 united blessing when the moment comes for 
 it to be asked for. As to Dolly " 
 
 Milly's eyes wander towards the younger 
 girl, and mutely ask for her opinion. 
 
 " Oh, it's no good asking Dolly what she
 
 A Contretemps. 245 
 
 thinks of him," continues Edith decidedly. 
 " She reserves her criticisms till she is alone 
 with you, I know. Besides, I have a suspicion 
 that he isn't exactly her ' sort' To tell you 
 the honest truth, Mill, — you won't mind my 
 saying it in strict confidence, will you ? — I'm a 
 little bit inclined to think that your Geoffrey, 
 fascinating as he is, has a decided touch of 
 the devil in him." 
 
 " My dear Edith!" " How can you say so, 
 Edie ? " "My dear child, what strong language 
 you make use of ! " 
 
 11 I knew I should raise a fearful storm by 
 that speech," says Edith, pretending to stop 
 her ears to the sound of disapproving voices. 
 " But I don't care. I will say what I think ; 
 and mark my words, one of these days he'll 
 show you the cloven foot, and then you'll have 
 to own that I was right. And now, Milly, 
 come away with me, there's a good child. I've
 
 246 "Peccavi" 
 
 got lots more interesting details to repeat to 
 you, intended for your ears alone, and you 
 shall have a turn with Dolly afterwards."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MEETINGS. 
 
 " How unkind of you, Miss Byron, to have 
 kept out of my way yesterday when I called." 
 
 This is Mr. Dering's greeting to her as they 
 meet on the Chapmans' tennis lawn the follow- 
 ing afternoon. 
 
 " Indeed it was not my fault — you know it 
 was not," she answers eagerly. " Charlie and 
 I went out walking, and we hadn't the faintest 
 idea how late it was till " 
 
 " What a fascinating person your cousin 
 must be to have made you so oblivious of the 
 flight of time ! Well, you may console your- 
 self with the reflection that you spoilt the 
 whole afternoon for me. Of course I came 
 solely and simply to see you. But look here,
 
 248 "Peccavi" 
 
 do not let us waste any more time in this un- 
 profitable discussion of what is past. We'll 
 make the most of the present, I vote. You 
 are not going to play tennis, are you ? " 
 
 " They asked me if I would, but " 
 
 " But of course you will do no such thing," 
 he says autocratically. "Can't you come for 
 a stroll towards the river ? " 
 
 11 I don't know what Mrs. Treherne would 
 say. 
 
 Instantly Geoffrey steps up to the old lady's 
 side, and in his most fascinating manner in- 
 forms her that he is going to take Miss Byron 
 down to the water to have a look at the 
 swans. 
 
 " Oh, very well ; I daresay she will like 
 to go," answers this most complaisant of 
 chaperones. " Don't overtire yourself, Milly 
 dear." 
 
 And then Mrs. Treherne turns away to
 
 Meetings. 249 
 
 speak to some other friends, thinking it only 
 natural that her young charge should wish to 
 have a little private conversation with the only 
 person among the guests with whom she has 
 some previous acquaintance. 
 
 " This is splendid ! " says Geoffrey enthusi- 
 astically, as he succeeds in persuading M illy to 
 let him tempt her to enter one of the many 
 boats moored to the river bank, and they find 
 themselves rapidly journeying down stream, 
 with, apparently, no one to observe them. 
 
 " And now, of course, we must meet every 
 day while you are here," he proceeds, leaning 
 on his oars, and letting the boat drift down- 
 wards at will. " Mrs. Treherne has asked me 
 to come to the Park and have some tennis 
 to-morrow. What a delightful hospitable old 
 lady she is ! " 
 
 " Yes, isn't she ? " assents Milly warmly. 
 " I don't believe she ever refuses anything that
 
 250 "Peccavi" 
 
 either of the girls chooses to ask her. I think 
 they are the luckiest people I know. They 
 have such heaps of fun, and as much going 
 out as they can possibly want." 
 
 11 That is just what you ought to be having 
 too," he answers. " At your age you ought to 
 have no end of balls and parties, and all that 
 kind of thing — instead of which, there you are, 
 mewed up, as if you were an enchanted 
 princess. It really is a shame. But, however, 
 — you never know what may come — in all the 
 story-books we read as children there was 
 always a charming prince who came sooner or 
 later to break * the spell, wasn't there ? and 
 rescue the hapless prisoner. I have no doubt 
 that day will come for you too." 
 
 Milly laughs a little constrainedly, for she 
 finds it difficult to control all outward sign of 
 the strange thrill which takes possession of her 
 soul as he discourses thus.
 
 Meetings. 2 5 1 
 
 11 I am afraid that sort of thing belongs to 
 story-books alone," she answers quietly. " I 
 have given up expecting the improbable to 
 happen to me." 
 
 " So soon ? Oh, no, surely not. When I 
 was your age, I remember I never woke up in 
 the morning without feeling a conviction that 
 something totally unlooked-for — and delightful, 
 of course — would occur in the course of the 
 day. I had rather a dull childhood and youth, 
 but I always felt confident that it would not 
 last — that the future held grand capabilities for 
 me." 
 
 ''Which never were realized, however?" 
 asks Milly, laughing. 
 
 " I am afraid not. But the hope of their 
 coming buoyed me up for, I may say, years 
 together. Now I fear I have come to that 
 time of life when I believe that changes, if they 
 do come, will probably be for the worse, and
 
 252 " Peccavi" 
 
 not for the better ; and I do not even wish for 
 them. But you, Miss Byron, are too young to 
 part with those illusions yet." 
 
 " I don't think I feel so very young," says 
 Milly thoughtfully. M I suppose it comes of 
 living so much by myself. I am not half so 
 light-hearted as my friend Edith Treherne, 
 for instance, who is older than I am." 
 
 " She is a lively young lady, isn't she ? But 
 we are getting quite into a dolorous mood, I 
 think, and I protest against it on this lovely 
 afternoon. I suppose we ought to turn round 
 now, oughtn't we, and show ourselves to the 
 rest of the party ? To-morrow we will have 
 a splendid time at the Park, and on Wed- 
 nesday — on Wednesday your friends and mine 
 are all going to meet at a tennis party, 
 somewhere or other, which is to end in a 
 dance. I am looking forward to Wednesday 
 more than I can say."
 
 Meetings. 
 
 u And why to Wednesday in particular ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," he replies carelessly, 
 after a moment's pause, during which he flashes 
 her a glance pregnant with meaning. " I've 
 no special reason for saying so, but I know I 
 shall enjoy Wednesday, and I mean to do so. 
 You will give me a dance or two, Miss Byron?" 
 
 She nods assent. 
 
 " My partners will not be very numerous, 
 I fancy, as I know no one about here." 
 
 " That will soon be remedied. But I am 
 thankful to have so much in my favour. And 
 now tell me" — as the boat rounds the corner 
 and brings them once again in full view of 
 the crowded lawn — "is that tall fair-haired 
 fellow your cousin — the ' Charlie ' you speak 
 of, the man who considers that the world is 
 1 well lost ' for love ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is Charlie," says Milly, looking 
 in the direction he indicates.
 
 254 "Peccavi." 
 
 * " I cannot say that he strikes one as being 
 a very powerful argument in favour of his 
 theory. He does not look as if poverty 
 particularly agreed with him." 
 
 " Poor Charlie ! Of course it is hard on 
 him to have to lead such a different life to 
 what he has been accustomed. He has to 
 give up all his luxuries one by one." 
 
 " And finds that mere love in a cottage 
 hardly compensates him for their loss," puts 
 in Geoffrey cynically. " Not likely he would. 
 Forgive my saying it, Miss Byron, but it 
 is so peculiarly like a woman to pity a man 
 for what are the only natural consequences 
 of his own imprudence and folly. He must 
 have been certain that Mr. Falconer would 
 resent his hasty marriage, — ergo, he should 
 have looked a little more before he leapt." 
 
 " But if everybody hesitated and waited, 
 and thought of the consequences so much
 
 Meetings. 255 
 
 before they made up their minds to such a 
 step, there would be an end to all romance," 
 suggests Milly, rather indignantly. 
 
 " Ah, if you come to romance, there you 
 will get beyond my depth altogether. I am 
 not at all romantic — no one was ever less so. 
 I am hopelessly, uncompromisingly prosaic, 
 and a firm believer in the substantial charms 
 of £ s. d" 
 
 There is no time for more conversation 
 between them, for by this time they have 
 reached the rest of the party, and Milly is 
 taken possession of by Charlie and Ruth, 
 the latter of whom has taken a decided likine 
 for her. But Mr. Dering contrives to get her 
 alone for one moment before she leaves, and 
 makes the most of the occasion by impressing 
 on her mind the promise she has given to 
 dance with him on Wednesday evening. 
 
 " You alone have it in your power to make
 
 256 "Peccavi" 
 
 it a delightful or a detestable party to me," 
 he says in low tones, and with a world of 
 expression in his eyes. " You will be kind 
 to me, won't you, and not throw me over 
 when the time comes ? " 
 
 " Why should I do so ? " she answers, 
 every now and then futilely struggling to 
 shake off the spell which the influence of 
 this man throws over her, and to regain her 
 natural vivacity of manner. " Have I not 
 said I will dance with you already ? " 
 
 " You promise, then, to give me as many 
 dances as I shall ask for ? " 
 
 " I will not go quite as far as that," she 
 says, laughing, but well pleased at his eager- 
 ness ; " but anything in reason." 
 
 11 1 place myself in your hands. If ever 
 the reality equals the anticipation, Wednesday 
 will be the most distractingly blissful day of 
 my life. Till to-morrow, then."
 
 Meetings. 257 
 
 "Well, my dears, I hope you have all 
 enjoyed your party," says Mrs. Treherne 
 genially, as she takes her place in the 
 wagonette. " Dorothy dear, you look very 
 grave." 
 
 11 1 am rather tired, granny. I had enough 
 of it long ago." 
 
 M My dear grandmother, haven't you yet 
 found out that Dolly has got a mind which 
 soars far above the pomps and vanities of 
 this wicked world ? She is one of those 
 people who decidedly like to take their 
 pleasures sadly. All the time she was there 
 she was thinking what a frivolous waste of 
 time it was, and was longing to get back to 
 her painting or her beloved " 
 
 " Don't tease her so, Edie, if she is tired," 
 interrupts Milly good-naturedly, always ready 
 to champion the younger sister. 
 
 " No, Edie, leave her in peace. I need 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 25 S "Peccavi." 
 
 not ask you, Miss Giddypate, if you enjoyed 
 yourself. I saw what you were about, though 
 you did not think I was observing you. 
 Flirting right and left, you naughty girl ! " 
 
 " I always try and make the most of my 
 opportunities," says Edie composedly. " And 
 you are the best of old ladies to go about 
 with, for you never bother your dear old head 
 about us, or worry us with everlasting re- 
 miniscences of the superior manners which 
 girls had in your day, as most grandfathers 
 and grandmothers do ! You are what I 
 should call delightfully lax in your notions 
 of a chaperones duties. Well, Milly, and 
 how did you get on in the gay scene ? Was 
 your young man up to the mark ? " 
 
 " Edie, how cart you ask such questions ? " 
 "That blush speaks for itself! It tells 
 me more eloquently than any words could 
 do that Mr. Geoffrey Dering has made what
 
 Meetings. 259 
 
 Captain Austin calls ' a tremendous lot of 
 running,' and is making the most of his little 
 day. Bering is getting very daring, isn't 
 he, Mill ? " 
 
 In vain Milly tries to put on a severe 
 aspect and look as if she is displeased with 
 her friend's mischievous banter. Edith is a 
 privileged person, and no one ever dreams 
 of resenting what she says, even though 
 they wince at her thrusts at the time. She 
 is no respecter of persons, and old and young 
 come in alike for a share of her insatiable 
 love of teasing. The only way to disarm 
 her is to take it in good part and retaliate 
 to the best of one's ability. Milly is quite 
 aware of this, and is rarely imprudent enough 
 to let her see that her shafts go home. 
 Besides which, she is far too excitedly happy 
 to mind such trifles. She is engrossed with 
 wondering whether Geoffrey "meant anything"
 
 260 " Peccavi." 
 
 by his pointed and repeated allusions to 
 Wednesday's meeting. Whether — whether 
 it is possible that he has any intention of 
 asking her the question which will make 
 her the happiest woman in Christendom — 
 the very thought of which is sufficient to 
 cause her heart to throb with such painful 
 rapidity even now. Surely — surely his tones 
 and his looks are intended to convey some- 
 thing more than mere ordinary liking to her 
 mind, or a passing admiration. Surely he 
 cannot be so cruel, so heartless as to single 
 her out in the manner he has done, with no 
 motive but to amuse himself, and to inveigle 
 her into a flirtation pour passer le temps ! 
 
 Ah, poor Milly, what would she have said 
 had any one, gifted with the sense of second 
 sight, penetrated into the workings of Geoffrey 
 Dering's mind, and set her doubts at rest 
 as to his intentions, which, promptly formed,
 
 Meetings. 261 
 
 owe more than she would approve of to 
 Edith Treherne's gratuitous and decidedly 
 unauthorized information concerning her 
 prospects.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A SPOKE IN THE WHEEL. 
 
 " And so you think that is the best plan — 
 for me to write to-morrow and learn our fate 
 before we leave ? " 
 
 " I certainly think so. My uncle cannot 
 possibly be quite so disagreeable on paper 
 as he would be in a personal interview. Oh, 
 how shall I ever live through the suspense 
 till the answer comes ? " 
 
 " And what if he utterly refuses to listen to 
 me r 
 
 " Oh, he won't do that, surely. Why 
 should he ? What reason have you for 
 supposing that he will ? I think that he 
 will be only too glad to be rid of me at 
 any price." 
 
 262
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 263 
 
 Geoffrey Dering is by no means so sure 
 of the fact. He does not say so to Milly, 
 but in his own mind he is well aware that 
 any inquiries which Mr. Falconer may think 
 it advisable to prosecute as to his character 
 and mode of life will not be met with any 
 very satisfactory replies. He has made a 
 bold stroke in asking Milly to be his wife 
 so soon, being still so very uncertain as to 
 her future expectations, and for once in his 
 life has paid no heed to the dictates of his 
 ordinarily calculating judgment in so doing. 
 But Edith's hints and assurances as to her 
 reputed position as the heiress of Whincote 
 have taken deep root in his mind, and, not 
 knowing when he may again have such a 
 favourable opportunity of prosecuting his 
 acquaintance, he has elected to bring his 
 wooing to a speedy end, and this very 
 afternoon — only half an hour ago — has poured
 
 264 " Peccavi" 
 
 out the old, old story in her ears. It is a 
 pity that in this case such well-simulated 
 passion should be only simulated. But 
 fortunately Milly does not detect the false 
 ring in the well-chosen words with which 
 he pleads his cause. Her answer is, of 
 course, a foregone conclusion. Geoffrey 
 suffers none of the pangs of suspense and 
 doubt which most lovers have to undergo 
 before she pours forth her timid confession of 
 love. And up till the moment when he 
 suggests the possibility of Mr. Falconer's 
 putting difficulties in the way of their union 
 her perfect happiness knows no alloy. It 
 has never occurred to her that she is a person 
 of sufficient importance in her uncle's eyes 
 for him to raise objections as to her disposal 
 of herself. She has been so systematically 
 snubbed by him, and made to feel herself 
 of no account in his eyes, that she firmly
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 265 
 
 believes that her marriage will be a matter 
 of indifference to him — that, as she tells 
 Geoffrey a little bitterly, he will " only be 
 too elad " to °fet r id of her. 
 
 But Geoffrey Dering — worldly-wise Geoffrey 
 — knows better. While he continues to re- 
 gard Milly in the light of a possible heiress 
 to his much-prized wealth, it is highly un- 
 likely that Mr. Falconer will approve of her 
 marriage with a penniless good-for-nothing 
 — as such he knows he will be represented 
 to the owner of the Abbey — and will be 
 satisfied with the prospect of his revenues 
 passing ultimately into such unworthy hands. 
 Highly unlikely, indeed ; but yet Geoffrey 
 argues the game is worth the candle. It 
 will not hurt him to make the attempt, and 
 even if he fails, he will be no worse off 
 than he was before. Besides which, he has 
 grown, to a certain extent, fond of Milly,
 
 266 "Pec cavil 
 
 and is flattered by her deep affection for 
 him. Who knows what may result in the 
 end if she remains stedfast to him, and if 
 he is content to bide his time in patience ? 
 And then, he is not wholly worthless, — no 
 man is, — and he cannot help feeling a little 
 bit touched by her loyal faith in him, and 
 by her loving determination to believe no 
 ill of him, but, through evil report and good 
 report, to cherish in her mind that lofty 
 ideal which he knows to be so absurdly un- 
 like the original in the flesh, but which he 
 is yet grateful to her for preserving. And 
 so he does his best to soothe her, and allay 
 the fears which he himself has raised in her 
 breast, by tender words and assurances that 
 he does not himself think that there will 
 really be any hitch. 
 
 " I will come up to the Park the first 
 thing on Saturday morning with the answer,
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 267 
 
 darling," he says earnestly. " But of course 
 I shall see you heaps of times before that. 
 Shall you write a line to your uncle as 
 well?" 
 
 " Oh, no; I cannot," she answers, visibly 
 shrinking. " Do you know, I have never 
 written to him once in my life yet ? He 
 always tells me he doesn't want to be bothered 
 with my nonsense. So I just write a line 
 to May to say what train I am coming back 
 by. Oh, no ; I really could not write to him. 
 I should not know what to say." 
 
 " Very well. After all, I daresay he would 
 not expect it, and he could only give you 
 the same answer as he does to me." 
 
 " And you won't mind if his letter to you 
 is not — well, not particularly polite ? " asks 
 she, clinging to his arm. " You know, Mr. 
 Dering " 
 
 " Mr. Dering, Milly ? Are you still going
 
 268 "Peccavi" 
 
 to call me that for the next three days, when, 
 for all I know, it may be my only chance of 
 hearing my name spoken by your lips ? Let 
 me have that scant satisfaction, at all events." 
 
 11 Geoffrey, then," puts in Milly, blushing. 
 " Of course I will call you Geoffrey ; but 
 somehow — until Uncle John's letter comes 
 — I cannot realize that we are really engaged." 
 
 " And so I am not to mind a few hard 
 names from him ? I promise you, dearest, 
 I will not take umbrage at the most vitu- 
 perative language he can conceive, so long 
 as he says ' Yes ' to what I am going to 
 ask him. I don't care two straws about the 
 manner of it, so as the matter is what I wish 
 it to be." 
 
 Which assertion, coupled with the vehement 
 emphasis he lays on the words, goes farther 
 to convince Milly — as he intended it should 
 — of the depth of his devotion to her than
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 269 
 
 any mere protestations of affection could have 
 done, and disabuses her mind of the last 
 lingering doubt — if, indeed, she ever held 
 any — of her love for him exceeding that on 
 his side. And so another half-hour glides 
 by all too quickly for Milly, who would ask 
 nothing more of Fate than to stay where 
 she is for the rest of the evening, so long 
 as he is with her. Possibly the time passes 
 less swiftly to him ; but if such is the case, 
 he is clever at concealing all symptoms of 
 boredom or weariness. He has a real talent 
 for love-making, and a special faculty for 
 being able to insinuate pretty little flatteries, 
 even more than for uttering them point-blank 
 — the result, probably, of many years' long 
 practice. His wooing has been very short 
 — unusually so — but, at all events, Milly can- 
 not complain, and he is determined she shall 
 have no cause to complain, of any lack of
 
 Peccavi" 
 
 warmth in his manner of prosecuting it. 
 Nevertheless, it is he, not she, who makes 
 the move, and suggests that they should re- 
 turn to the dancing-room — the scene just 
 narrated having taken place in the little 
 conservatory, which is fitted up in a way 
 admirably suggestive of romantic tete-a-tetes. 
 
 " You will tell them " — indicating the Tre- 
 herne party with a glance — " all about it, I 
 suppose?" inquires he, as he leads her back 
 to the ball-room, radiant and triumphant, on 
 his arm. 
 
 " Yes, indeed I shall. And it w r ould be 
 useless to try and keep it a secret from 
 Edie — she would be sure to guess it at 
 once." 
 
 " What is the other Miss Treherne like ? 
 She is very quiet and silent, and I don't 
 quite make her out." 
 
 " Dorothy ? Oh, she is quite charming,
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 271 
 
 and I am very devoted to her ; perhaps, on 
 the whole, I like her even better than Edith. 
 But she does not care for society, and is 
 wishing herself home the whole time. I 
 fancy " — and Milly lowers her voice — " that 
 she had a great disappointment not long 
 ago ; some one threw her over, I think, from 
 what Edie hints. Too bad of him, wasn't 
 it?" 
 
 " At last ! " is Edith's greeting, as her 
 friend draws near. " I thought you were 
 never going to reappear on the scene, and 
 granny had serious thoughts of sending out 
 a score of men with lanterns to look for you. 
 But pray don't take the trouble to make 
 excuses, my dear. I was not alarmed about 
 you — oh no, not at all ; and I did my best 
 to reassure granny, and convince her that 
 she must look for you nearer home." 
 
 " Miss Treherne, will you give me this
 
 272 " Peccavi!' 
 
 valse ? " asks Geoffrey, addressing Dorothy. 
 He had been rather attracted by the patient, 
 indifferent expression of her face, and is 
 curious to find out whether she is very un- 
 like other girls in her conversation, as she 
 is in her tastes. 
 
 Being thus left completely to Edith's mercy, 
 Milly is exposed to a running fire of cross- 
 questioning, teasing, and pitiless ridicule, 
 varied with warm congratulations and out- 
 spoken comments on the object of her choice. 
 
 " I still maintain that there is a decided 
 touch of the horned and hoofed wicked crea- 
 ture in him, my dear," she says obstinately ; 
 11 but I am not sure that I object to the 
 least little soup$on of that in a man, and I 
 quite see that there is something very taking 
 about him. He has rather a knack — as 
 some one said of somebody once — of making 
 even commonplaces sound interesting. I
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 273 
 
 think it is the look he gives you with those 
 odd eyes of his which does it." 
 
 " You seem to have studied his ways very 
 closely, my dear," mildly remarks Mrs. Tre- 
 herne. 
 
 They are all on their homeward drive, 
 when Edith thinks fit to give them the 
 benefit of her theories about Mr. Dering's 
 character. 
 
 " Of course I have, granny. Knowing 
 that in every probability he would be Milly's 
 husband some day — if you want to blush, 
 Mil, you can safely do so under cover of this 
 dim light — I thought it my duty to turn all 
 my wits to the task of making him out. I 
 don't think he is viciously disposed " 
 
 -Really, Edie ! " cries Milly half-indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " I am sure Milly must feel grateful for 
 your opinion," puts in Dorothy quietly. 
 
 vol. 1. t
 
 274 "Peccavi" 
 
 " No, I don't think he is vicious," continues 
 Edith, totally ignoring the interruption. " As 
 far as my observation goes, he is not inclined 
 to gamble, to bet, or to swear — much " 
 
 "He hates swearing ! " exclaims Milly 
 quickly. " He says he cannot see the fun 
 of it, and it prejudices him against a man 
 directly he hears him make use of strong 
 language." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it. Probably Mr. 
 Dering, like many other men, agrees to com- 
 pound for the sins he is inclined to by — 
 ahem — running down swearing, which is no 
 temptation to him. Of course, he may be 
 the greatest gambler going, for all I know, 
 but " 
 
 " I really think, Edie, you might have 
 something pleasanter to talk to Milly about 
 than Mr. Dering's possible taste for gam- 
 bling," interrupts her grandmother, half-laugh-
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 275 
 
 ing, half in earnest. " You needn't mind 
 her nonsense, my dear. It is only that she 
 thinks herself cleverer than the rest of us, 
 and a kind of magician in discovering people's 
 weak points. And now, here we are at the 
 lodge gate, and before we get in let me 
 give you a warm kiss, dear child ; and let 
 me say how glad I am that you are so 
 happy. And I hope and trust that nothing 
 will occur to disturb your prospects." 
 
 11 Or to prevent the course of true love 
 running smooth," adds Edith promptly. " I 
 say ditto to all that, Milly, and I think you 
 are a very clever girl to have chosen such 
 a nice, good-looking man. Dorothy doesn't 
 think he is good-looking, but I do. And I 
 do hope that provoking old Ogre won't put 
 a spoke in your wheel. If he does, he 
 ought to be chopped up into mince-meat ! " 
 
 And then Dorothy gives her a loving
 
 2/6 "Peccavi" 
 
 embrace, and whispers a few words of affec- 
 tionate congratulation in her ear, and after 
 that Milly is allowed to escape to her own 
 room, in solitude to reflect on the marvellous 
 brightness which has crept into her formerly 
 grey and cheerless life, the presence of which 
 already causes the world in general to wear 
 a totally different aspect in her eyes. Alas ! 
 that her golden visions should be so rudely 
 and so quickly shattered ! that her rose- 
 coloured pictures of an unattainably glorious 
 future should so soon have to be displaced 
 by the stern realities of prosaic, every-day 
 existence. The blow falls the more heavily 
 because it is almost entirely unexpected. In 
 her ignorance, in her youthful hopefulness, 
 she had barely dwelt on the possibility of 
 any obstacle being put in the way of her 
 wishes, and is proportionately dumbfounded 
 by the contents of Mr. Falconer's letter,
 
 A Spoke in the Wheel. 277 
 
 which duly arrives on the Saturday morning, 
 in response to Geoffrey's appeal. 
 
 11 Dear Sir," — it runs — 
 
 " I was not aware that you had even 
 made the acquaintance of my niece, Miss 
 Byron, until your letter informed me of the 
 fact ; therefore you will not be surprised at 
 my feeling a little bewildered when I mas- 
 tered your object in addressing me. I am 
 obliged to you for the honour you do me 
 in asking her hand in marriage, which 
 honour, for various reasons, I regret I must 
 decline, once and for always. My niece's 
 husband, unless she chooses to marry with- 
 out any regard for my opinion, must be in 
 possession of a certain assured income, and 
 his antecedents must be able to bear the 
 strictest investigation. I feel sure I need 
 add no more, except to remind you that
 
 278 "Peccdvi. 
 
 Miss Byron's prospects are entirely depen- 
 dent on my will and pleasure, and that un- 
 less she marries to please me she will go 
 to her husband literally penniless. I am 
 writing to her by this post to inform her 
 of tidings which will in some degree affect 
 her future life. I allude to my newly formed 
 engagement with Mrs. Verschoyle. 
 " I am, sir, 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "John Falconer." 
 
 Having launched which dual thunderbolt 
 on his niece's head, Mr. Falconer chuckles 
 complacently to himself as he drops the 
 letter in the box with his own hands, and 
 amuses himself with contemplating the dis- 
 may with which it will be received. 
 
 Sutler & Tanner, The Sehvood Printing Works, Trome, and Lcndca.
 
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