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 Jtt*5 20W
 
 BITTER IS THE RIND. 
 
 HAWLEY SMART, 
 
 ATTTHOE OF "BEEEZIE LAyGTOX," "A EACE FOE A WIFE." 
 
 " On serre l'orange ; on en jette l'ecorce." 
 
 " Aimons vite 
 Pensons vite 
 Tout invite 
 A vivre vite 
 Pensons vite 
 Ail galop 
 Monde falot." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1870. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved.
 
 S"3 3 
 vvl 
 
 « 
 
 BITTEB IS THE RIXD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DE DEIBYS OF ST. HELENS. 
 
 ON the borders of that broad belt of 
 woodland, which separates the fens 
 from the wolds of Lincolnshire stood 
 " St. Helens," the country seat of the De 
 Dribys. It was a queer, rambling old 
 house, of what can only be described as 
 the composite style of architecture. The 
 Elizabethan, with its sharp gables and 
 mullion windows, perhaps predominated ; 
 but the old house had been added to so 
 often by the whilom regnant, De Driby, 
 as to have quite lost its original charac- 
 teristics. The remains of a moat were 
 VOL. i. b 
 
 7
 
 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 perfectly distinct — indeed, parts of it had 
 been converted into fish-ponds. The 
 low stone archway still showed the grooves 
 of the ancient portcullis, though the old 
 drawbridge had been made into a per- 
 manent way. 
 
 A fine undulating park stretched away 
 up to the woods, which formed its bound- 
 ary on two sides of the domain. On the 
 third lay a broken woodland country, 
 while the fourth looked over a cultivated 
 flat, terminating in the large alluvial track 
 of reclaimed fen, bright on this April 
 morning, of which I am writing, with the 
 fresh green corn crops of that stiff clay 
 country. 
 
 The De Dribys had been settled many 
 centuries in these parts. Originally, in 
 times long, long gone by, they had 
 been vassals to the mighty monastery of 
 Cottenham. In the days when the monks 
 of Cottenham owned all those fair woods 
 and pleasant undulating lands, stretching 
 right up to the very edge of the now
 
 The De Dribys of St. Helens. 3 
 
 reclaimed marsh and morass country, the 
 De Dribys had been " riders and reivers " 
 at the beck of the then Prior of Cotten- 
 ham. The Priors of Cottenham, in those 
 times, had been Church Barons of great 
 state and power, and the De Dribys had 
 ranked as the principal of their warlike 
 followers. Indeed, the sacred banner of 
 St. Botolph and the whole of the armed 
 followers of the monastery had been more 
 than once entrusted to their keeping and 
 guidance, and their well-known cognizance 
 of "the bare arm and bloody dagger" 
 had been seen in the front of most of the 
 sanguinary struggles between the houses 
 of York and Lancaster. 
 
 " They're a fell race, yon De Dribys," 
 was a maxim of the country side, and in 
 their annals were certainly few stories of 
 their having erred on the side of mercy. 
 Fierce, rapacious, and turbulent, they 
 seemed to have mixed with it a species 
 of prescient cunning or instinct, that ever 
 prompted them to quit the falling cause 
 
 b 2
 
 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 precisely at the critical moment, so that 
 they emerged from the stormy days in 
 which their lives were passed with a 
 constant accumulation of this world's gear 
 in lands or plunder. In the early part of 
 the reign of Henry VIII., a certain Sir 
 Simon De Driby, who then represented 
 the family, had arrived at great power 
 and opulence ; he bearded and even defied 
 his liege suzerain, the Prior of Cottenham. 
 Perhaps, like the vultures, he scented the 
 coming slaughter. It may be the family 
 instinct told him that the days of monas- 
 teries were numbered. Certain it is that 
 he was an early professor of the Reformed 
 Faith, and that when the dissolution of 
 the monasteries took place, he showed that 
 the reiving talents of his family had not 
 in the least deteriorated. He swooped 
 down upon Cottenham with his " merry 
 men," as the cut-throat retainers of 
 the brigand barons of those days were 
 termed, turned the Prior and monks 
 out of doors, and seized upon all those
 
 The Be Bribi/s of St. Helens. 5 
 
 rich lands and pleasant woods for him- 
 self. 
 
 But there were a good many vultures 
 afli^kt at that time, keen in the eve and 
 subtle in the nose, for the picking of the 
 monachal bones. Such a rich prize as 
 Cottenham was scarce likely to escape 
 their rapacious vision, and ere Sir Simon 
 had finished the plundering of the monas- 
 tery, he found two or three birds of prey 
 as strong in the wing and as long in the 
 spur as himself, who showing but little 
 awe for " the bare arm and bloody 
 dagger," were evidently determined to 
 have their share of the broad acres and 
 bonny woodlands. 
 
 They came, too, armed with strong 
 injunctions of restraint from the Crown. 
 Sir Simon thoroughly deserved the epithet 
 attached by the country people to his 
 race. He was " fell " as his most relent- 
 less ancestors, and the expulsion of the 
 Cottenham monks had taken place under 
 circumstances of exceptional brutality.
 
 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 Vce victis — there is little mercy shown to 
 the fallen, and those who for centuries 
 had been the tyrants of the people, ex- 
 perienced but little commiseration at 
 their downfall. Still, for men anxious to 
 share in the plunder, it made a very 
 pretty pretext — the unnecessary harshness 
 that Sir Simon had used at Cottenham. 
 
 The subtlety of his race, however, still 
 stood Sir Simon in good stead. He was 
 not strong enough to resist, but quickly 
 found the commissioners on his proceedings 
 only wished to participate in the spoliation. 
 He had, it is true, to disgorge in part; 
 but, from his superior knowledge of the 
 country, contrived to keep the lion's share 
 in his own hands. 
 
 During the troubles of the Stuarts, the 
 De Driby of the day long held aloof, 
 finally declaring for the Parliament, yet 
 he never had taken a part so prominent as 
 to endanger him at the Restoration, so 
 that the family tided through that stormy 
 period without loss of life or lands, if
 
 The Be Dribys of St. Helens. 7 
 
 without gain. It certainly was from no 
 reluctance to plunge into bloodshed and 
 deeds of violence, for there never yet had 
 been a De Driby who had refrained from 
 such, with little reck of life or conse- 
 quence, should he deem his interests re- 
 quired it. The race, as a rule, seemed 
 ever to have one end in view — personal 
 aggrandizement. For this they had risked 
 their lives and lands freely, and had 
 proved stern, hard creditors when came 
 their day of reckoning. I should rather 
 opine that at the time of the civil war, 
 the then De Driby had never been exactly 
 able to see his way, that is, on which side 
 it would be safest to embark, until a little 
 too late. He erred, perhaps, from over- 
 caution. It was an hereditary instinct of 
 the family. 
 
 It is astonishing how people make their 
 way who set up and religiously worship 
 the idol of self-interest. It may narrow 
 the general intelligence, but it makes it 
 surprisingly acute on that one particular
 
 8 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 point. That was the great creed of the 
 De Dribys. 
 
 " And whatsoever king shall reign, 
 I'll still be Vicar of Bray, Sirs." 
 
 Firm adherence to this belief saw them 
 through the Jacobite troubles, though a 
 De Driby in those days slightly compro- 
 mised himself from a premature belief 
 that, 
 
 " The King would enjoy his own again ;" 
 
 but he backed out in time, and still the 
 family flourished. 
 
 Their knell was, however, ringing. 
 Never had they owned more broad acres, 
 or been in receipt of a larger annual 
 income than when George III was king ; 
 but Sir Ralph, the present baronet's 
 father, had the old blood in him still. 
 It is true, the days of reiving, spoliation 
 and assignment were gone — there were 
 no monasteries to plunder — no lands to 
 be given for service rendered — no attainted
 
 The Be Brlhys of St. Helens. 9 
 
 estates in the market for those who faith- 
 fully adhered to the House of Hanover ; 
 but the dice-box was ringing at White's, 
 and Fox and my Lord Rivers were losing 
 their thousands at a sitting. Sir Ealph 
 played with the boldest of that gambling 
 crew. He played with all the persistent 
 energy of his race — impassable in his 
 moments of victory as in those of defeat. 
 His dark saturnine aspect at first pro- 
 duced some raillery amongst that witty 
 and reckless circle ; but the readiness and 
 accuracy of Sir Ralph's pistol soon proved 
 the danger of jesting with a man who had 
 no appreciation of humour, and was full 
 as " fell " as the worst of his family. 
 Still the old marauding spirit was strong 
 in him, and it was not till many a goodly 
 acre was shorn from the family property, 
 that Sir Ralph came to the conclusion 
 that the dice-box was a robber on a 
 bigger scale than himself, and with whose 
 power it was hopeless to cope. The 
 natural instinct of the family still showed
 
 10 Bitter is the Bmd. 
 
 itself, for lie contrived to marry an heiress 
 whose fortune went a considerable way 
 towards the rescue of his entangled 
 estate. 
 
 Sir Ralph having taken unto himself a 
 wife, then betook himself to St. Helens, 
 and compensated himself for his reverses 
 at White's, by harrying his tenants and 
 waging a fierce internecine war with the 
 poachers — pursuits which, in those days, 
 entered largely into the lives of most 
 country gentlemen. 
 
 Sir Ralph was blessed or afflicted (it is, 
 you see, such a perfect matter of chance 
 which way it turns out) with two sons 
 and three daughters. The sons followed 
 much in the steps of their father, and 
 were noted amongst the wickedest and 
 wittiest set in the early part of the 
 present century. In those convivial times 
 just after Waterloo, when men drank port 
 wine to about treble the extent their 
 degenerate descendants imbibe light claret, 
 the two young De Dribys were beating
 
 The Be Dribys of St. Helens. 11 
 
 the watch, patronizing the prize ring, 
 scouring the town, gambling at Wattier's, 
 and getting drunk at "the Finish," with 
 the elite of the land. Just as their race 
 was about run, Sir Ralph betook himself 
 off, as Dickens' cobbler observed " sorne- 
 veres," and Sir Giles, the elder brother, 
 reigned in his stead.. Horace, the 
 younger, with true family instinct, took 
 to himself a wife, the only daughter of an 
 eminent corn-factor, who had contrived to 
 amass a very pretty plum in those days of 
 war prices and prohibitive tariffs. It 
 saved him from the Fleet, and after making 
 her life a burthen to her for some half 
 dozen years, he did the only thing left 
 him to do in compensation, he died ; 
 leaving her with one son, named after his 
 father. 
 
 Of the daughters of the De Dribys of 
 this generation, the eldest behaved so 
 indecently as to marry a well-to-do yeoman 
 of the country. Great was the scandal 
 when it was known that Sara De Driby
 
 12 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 had run away with young Alister Thorn- 
 dale one fine May morning. Old Sir 
 Ealph cursed them with most becoming 
 unction, he was not at all the sort of 
 father to omit that ceremony. Alister 
 Thorndale disposed almost at once of his 
 farm, and they were supposed to have 
 emigrated to America. But Sara's name 
 was never mentioned, and the De Dribys 
 of the present day had long lost sight of 
 her who had brought such dire disgrace 
 on " the bare arm and bloody dagger." 
 
 The second, Eleanor, remained unwed, 
 and at the time my story commences, was 
 a quiet old maiden lady, living somewhere 
 in the suburbs of London, while Jessie, 
 the youngest and prettiest, the flower of 
 the flock, had done what the sweetest 
 blossoms so constantly do, married Sefton 
 Merrington, one of the brightest, hand- 
 somest, and most irredeemable scape- 
 graces that ever went through a nice 
 property in some half-dozen years. Still, 
 poor thing, if she had had her troubles
 
 The Be Dribys of St. Helens. 13 
 
 they had been much tempered to her. 
 Eeckless as her husband was, he had loved 
 her dearly to the last — compensation to 
 a woman who loves for much misery; 
 and when consumption cut the knot of 
 all his difficulties, which it too soon did, 
 she quickly joined him in his quiet grave 
 in the south of France, bequeathing her 
 little boy to the guardianship of his uncle, 
 Sir Giles. 
 
 So much for the family history — I fear 
 it has proved but tedious in the 
 narration ; but it is necessary for the 
 understanding of this story to relate it. 
 It is rather the fashion in these days to 
 scoff at hereditary vices, or hereditary 
 virtues ; but " what's in the blood will out 
 in the flesh." Breeders of horses, of 
 stock of all kinds look for the trans- 
 mission of certain points and qualities. 
 Why are we to suppose that the human 
 race should not follow the same law. 
 With the exception of intellect, I think 
 it undoubtedly holds good. " Vous savez
 
 14 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 cette hi cle la nation ; le genie ne se 
 transmet pas" quoth the great Napoleon. 
 Some families transmit the same good 
 looks from generation to generation, 
 others the same violent headstrong temper, 
 some tenacity of purpose, others dire 
 vacillation. The De Dribys had always 
 been characterized for most unscrupulous 
 views, with regard to their own aggran- 
 dizement. It was the old fierce maraud- 
 ing spirit of the middle ages carried to 
 an extent, which if exposed, the nine- 
 teenth century brooketh not. 
 
 There were few pleasanter rooms to be 
 found than Sir Giles's own particular 
 sanctum at St. Helens. An octagon, with 
 three windows looking over the chase, 
 with its gnarled twisted old oaks, not 
 monarchs of the forest like their North- 
 amptonshire brethren, for the light soil 
 of the Lincolnshire woodlands produceth 
 no such sylvan giants, but quaint weird- 
 looking trees that seemed as if they had 
 seen strange things in their time, and
 
 The Be Dribys of St. Helens. 15 
 
 might unfold strange stories could they 
 speak ; oaks that you could imagine 
 tenanted by some nymph or dryad of the 
 forgotten old days — those dear supersti- 
 tious old days, in which ghosts and 
 phantoms were a reality to the men who 
 lived in them. In these times we are 
 taught it is all optical delusion, indi- 
 gestion, or heaven knows what. At all 
 events your friends refer you to science 
 or the Polytechnic, if you mention such 
 things. The dapple-coated deer raised 
 their heads with that half-frightened, half- 
 curious look, which compels one always 
 mentally to compare them with primitive 
 women, the hares leaped lazily over the 
 grass, the rabbits were in their usual 
 state of mixed fuss, impudence, and ap- 
 prehension, and the regal old cock phea- 
 sants sunned themselves, and strutted 
 before their plainer helpmates, as if the 
 peacock on the pleasaunce was not quite 
 the bird he thought himself, in their esti- 
 mation at all events.
 
 16 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Seated in an easy lounging chair in this 
 same pleasant octagon, this fine afternoon, 
 is Sir Giles De Driby, the present owner 
 of all this fair estate. A gentleman of the 
 old school, but a gentleman pur sang 
 every inch of him. Slight, pale, tall, 
 with an aquiline nose, and piercing dark 
 eyes, he carries his sixty and odd years 
 well. The thin, compressed lips augur 
 a man whom it would be by no means 
 safe to cross, or take a liberty with, there's 
 a fire in the dark eye, and a but half 
 suppressed sneer on the lip, which, to 
 the physiognomist, tell the tale of a bitter 
 and sarcastic temper. Sir Giles, indeed, 
 had lived his life in the fastest set of his 
 time, and had imbued therefrom a cvnical 
 philosophy, the morality of which was at 
 the lowest ebb. He was a disciple of a 
 school much in vogue in his day, who 
 scoffed at faith in man, or virtue in 
 woman, and though the old vices had 
 brought their own retribution, and gout, 
 sciatica, &c, lashed him at times pretty
 
 The Be Bribys of St. Helens. J 7 
 
 severely, lie still clung to the polished 
 scepticism of his younger days. " Curses 
 like chickens come home to roost, 5 ' saith 
 the Eastern proverb. This is probably an 
 error of translation, " curses " should 
 have been rendered " vices." 
 
 At the writing-table near the window 
 an elderly man is turning over a mass 
 of papers. They look a good deal like 
 tradesmen's accounts, as, indeed, they 
 are. This is Birkett Moseley, more com- 
 monly known on the country side as Birk 
 Moseley. He is Sir Giles's agent, and at 
 present engaged in deep conference with 
 his employer on the subject of these evil- 
 looking documents. 
 
 " Go on, sir," said Sir Giles. " Fifteen 
 hundred and something, I think, was your 
 last observation." 
 
 " Fifteen, forty-seven, nine. Whatever 
 can he ha' done with it — that's what 
 beats me." 
 
 " I dare say it does. With a De Driby 
 for a mother, and Sef Merrington for a 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 father. I can't say I see much cause for 
 astonishment." 
 
 "But he declares he has never played, 
 and you know — you see, Sir Giles — you 
 recollect." 
 
 " Don't be unpleasant in your reminis- 
 cences, Moseley. It's astonishing how 
 money-grubbers like you always contrive 
 to make remarks out of season. The 
 Israelite always reminds you your bill's 
 falling due exactly when you wish to hear 
 least about it." 
 
 " But fifteen, forty-seven, nine, and I've 
 not got to the end yet, and — and — " he 
 said. 
 
 " He didn't play. Don't suppose he 
 did, or it would have been more. If he 
 did, sir, he did it in such miserable fashion 
 as neither his father nor uncle could be 
 held responsible for. Gad ! sir, the boy 
 has better blood in his veins. We've 
 played a bold game from time immemorial, 
 and poor Sef Merrington was no craven 
 at anything he went for."
 
 The Be Brihys of St. Helens. 19 
 
 " True, Sir Giles ; and if ye'd not 
 crowed so loud, nor flown so high, there'd 
 have been more acres, perhaps, at St. 
 Helens, and less mortgage than there is 
 now." 
 
 "My dear Moseley, I have already 
 animadverted on the peculiar deficiency 
 of tact in your organization," said Sir 
 Giles, blandly, as he raised his eye-glass. 
 " Perhaps you'd be kind enough to arrive 
 at the total as rapidly as is consistent with 
 your astonishment." 
 
 " But if he didn't play, Sir Giles, what 
 could he ha' done with it ?" 
 
 " Went security for a friend, perhaps," 
 sneered the Baronet ; " or, more pro- 
 bably, conceived a grande passion for some 
 precious daughter of Eve. Thought, as 
 boys of his age are wont to do, that 
 beauty in quiet silks loved him for himself 
 alone, and has just discovered that your 
 demure, angelic faces are to the full as 
 vicious and expensive in their habits as 
 their flaunty sisters of worse taste and 
 
 c 2
 
 20 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 more gorgeous apparel. But enough of 
 this. Whatever the boy has chosen to 
 make a fool of himself about, he has 
 frankly owned it, and it happens to be 
 my whim just now to put him straight 
 with the world. What does it all come 
 to?" 
 
 There was a silence of some minutes, 
 broken only by the scratching of Moseley's 
 pen, and the muttered ejaculations he 
 made over his work. At last he paused, 
 and observed : 
 
 " It'll be a matter of two thousand and 
 a trifle over to settle the job, Sir Giles, 
 and where you're to find the money, I 
 don't rightly know." 
 
 "Raise it on the Cottenham fen lands," 
 replied the Baronet, despotically. 
 
 "It's all very well; but I don't see 
 how ye'll get any one to advance more 
 money on them. I'm thinking they're 
 mortgaged now about up to their full 
 value." 
 
 " Well, raise it somewhere else, then.
 
 The Be Bribys of St. Helens. 21 
 
 It's your business to see how the money 
 can be obtained." 
 
 " Like the rest of 'em, like the the rest 
 of 'em," muttered Moseley. " It was just 
 the way your father, Sir Ralph talked; 
 and your brother, Mr. Horace, in his day 
 was, aye, just the same. Find the money, 
 and de'il mind what it costs. Stay a 
 moment, Sir Giles," pursued Moseley, as 
 he saw the Baronet was about impatiently 
 to interrupt him. " I'm thinking ye'd 
 better, if ye'd not object, have this money 
 from me. I've saved a bit sin I've been 
 the family agent, and if you'd gie me a 
 small mortgage on St. Helens, it would be 
 a good investment for me till such time as 
 it suited you to pay it off." 
 
 " No, sir, I don't like the idea of mort- 
 gaging St. Helens." 
 
 " Well, then, I must try what I can 
 do elsewhere ; but it'd be the simplest 
 way. Ye'll pay half per cent more to 
 any one else, and ye'd be doing me a good 
 turn too, Sir Giles, for I dunno where
 
 22 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 to invest my little savings rightly. Of 
 course, ye'd pay it off just when it suited 
 ye;" and here Moseley stopped and looked 
 keenly at the Baronet. 
 
 " Psha !" said Sir Giles. " I don't 
 know why it should not be so. A mere 
 sentimental fancy that the old acres never 
 yet have been under mortgage; the outlying 
 property has always sufficed so far for 
 such purposes. Sentiment is a weakness 
 that should expire with our majority. 
 Have it as you will, Moseley, and hark 
 ye, the mortgage may as well be for three 
 thousand as two while we're about it. A 
 few extra hundreds will come in handy." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir Giles, certainly ; that 
 can make no possible difference ;" and his 
 keen grey eyes twinkled as he tied up the 
 papers. 
 
 " By the way, you've got your daughter 
 home again, I hear. How does she adapt 
 her French airs and French graces to that 
 old house of yours ?" 
 
 Moseley' s voice changed a little, and it
 
 The T)e Brihys of St. Helens. 23 
 
 was in a more constrained tone than he 
 had as yet used that he replied, 
 
 " My daughter, if she has had a bit of 
 Continental teaching, is quite content to 
 make her father's home hers. I reckon 
 there's no great harm if she can talk 
 their lingo and drum a tune od the 
 piano." 
 
 " Not at all," said Sir Giles, blandly ; 
 " all farmers' daughters, and most ladies' 
 maids in these days of intellectual develop- 
 ment, at least profess such accomplish- 
 ments. You must bring her up to dine 
 here some day, shortly, and let me have 
 the pleasure of hearing her play." 
 
 " Thank ye, thank ye. She's a good 
 girl, Sir Giles, though you're always so 
 full of your gibes at my having given her 
 a bit more learning than you think neces- 
 sary. But I'll be off now. Ye expect 
 Mr. Fortie to dinner, and he'll happen 
 be down by the afternoon train. She's 
 been in long enough 'most for him to get 
 here by this."
 
 24 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Even as he spoke, there was the sound 
 of wheels grating over the gravel under 
 the window, succeeded by the clang of 
 the bell, and the opening and shutting 
 of doors, and in a couple of minutes the 
 door was thrown open by the stately butler 
 with : 
 
 " Mr. Merrington, Sir Giles." 
 Fortie Merrington entered the room, and 
 shook hands with his uncle and Moseley 
 with the greatest bonhommie imaginable. 
 There was not a particle of the returned 
 prodigal in his manner. Not a sign that 
 the catalogue of sins just discussed was 
 the balancing of his ledger. But it must 
 be borne in mind that Fortescue Mer- 
 rington had come of age some few weeks 
 before — had some small property of his 
 own, and that when he submitted these 
 debts of his minority to his uncle (also 
 guardian), he fully supposed the means 
 for their liquidation were to come out of 
 his own resources, and, therefore, felt 
 little compunctions regarding them. Sharp
 
 The Be Dribys of St. Helens. 25 
 
 and bitter remarks on his folly, he, doubt- 
 less, anticipated; but Fortie Merrington 
 was one of the few people who came in 
 contact with Sir Giles who was not in the 
 least afraid of him. 
 
 It had never been in Sir Giles to care 
 much for his fellow-creatures in any shape ; 
 but as far as it was in him to yield to 
 such weakness he had done so, in favour 
 of his youngest sister and her scapegrace 
 husband, Sefton Merrington. Their child, 
 the bright, cheery, handsome youngster 
 who, from boyhood, never seemed to stand 
 in awe of him, had also won imperceptibly 
 on his nature ; and the household were 
 wont to say, " Master Fortie might break 
 the decanter, while the glass would cost 
 his cousin Mr. Horace dear." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Fortie, I was just off as 
 ye came in. Not but what I'm glad to 
 've had the chance to shake hauds wie 
 ye; but you and Sir Giles '11 be for a 
 clack now, so I'll just wish ye good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, Moseley ; but mind, you'll
 
 26 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 see me down the river to taste the home- 
 brewed, and try for a trout in the mill 
 dam to-morrow, most likely. I must see 
 my old play-fellow, Katie, too. She must 
 have grown out of all recollection by this." 
 
 "You're always welcome, ye know, Mr. 
 Fortie, and Katie '11 draw ye the ale her- 
 self, though she does play the piano ;" and 
 the old man, who had not at all got over 
 Sir Giles's sneer, took his departure. 
 
 " And so, sir, you're following in your 
 father's footsteps, and have contrived to 
 make a tolerable hole in your pittance 
 before you have well come into it." 
 
 " Never mind that now, uncle. I'm 
 afraid I've made rather a fool of myself; 
 but we'll talk that all over after dinner. 
 I'm off to dress now." 
 
 " Gad !" muttered Sir Giles, as his nephew 
 left the room ; " they learn their lessons 
 quick in these days. Always take a nar- 
 cotic before a homily. I presume the 
 young villain thinks he'll bear my lecture 
 best with a bottle of wine in him."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NAIAD OF THE STREAM. 
 
 THE Rectory of St Helens was about 
 a mile and a half from the Manor 
 House, a large red-brick parallelogram, 
 pointed with stone. Anything much 
 uglier it would have been difficult to have 
 built. The wayfarer, who took it into 
 his consideration, oscillated much as to 
 the conclusion he ought to arrive at res- 
 pecting it — whether it was a poor house, 
 or a Methodist chapel of some pretension. 
 But when he looked at the prim garden, 
 with its dipt yew and beech hedges laid 
 out in the same uncompromising rect- 
 angular fashion, he felt intuitively that 
 it was the residence of a clergyman of 
 equally rectangular views, and suppressed
 
 28 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 his irreverent whistle. The genus tramp 
 would have voted it most unpromising in 
 aspect, and would probably have ex- 
 pressed their impressions in some such 
 wise as, "Don't look a give away lot, 
 that ere." 
 
 Such was the residence of the Reverend 
 Horace De Driby, the son of Sir Giles's 
 only brother. But though one may at 
 times draw some inference, with regard 
 to a man's disposition from his domicile, 
 yet, in the case of the Eeverend Horace, 
 this would have been perfectly un- 
 warranted, as he had only come into the 
 living (a family one) some two years ago, 
 and the Rectory and garden were pretty 
 much as he found them. He was about 
 ten years older than his cousin Fortie 
 Merrington. A dark saturnine-looking 
 man, of whom nobody professed to know 
 much ; quiet and reserved in manner, and 
 of an apparently phlegmatic tempera- 
 ment, yet his parishioners had already 
 found out that Horace De Driby had a
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 29 
 
 strong will of his own, and held to his 
 point with inflexible tenacity when his 
 interest was aroused. For the rest, he 
 was a type of the old orthodox clergyman, 
 he preached two sermons a week, gave 
 his poorer parishioners port wine, and 
 half-crowns if they came to him in trouble, 
 issued an organized dole of flannel and 
 coals at Christmas, and interfered or 
 troubled himself very little further with 
 his flock, beyond the necessitous births, 
 marriages, and funerals gave occasion. 
 
 Across the pleasant meadow lands, 
 following the course of a bubbling spark- 
 ling brooklet, on his way to the red-brick 
 Rectory, strolled Fortie Merrington, the 
 morning after his arrival. He had had 
 his lecture from Sir Giles over night ; but 
 it had resulted in little more than the in- 
 culcation of certain worldly precepts by 
 that gouty Mephistopholes. 
 
 "What a jolly morning it is," said 
 Fortie, to himself, as he paused to regard 
 the stream with the eye of a fisherman.
 
 30 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 " Jove ! there ought to be a good trout 
 under the willows there, just below the 
 eddy. What a fool I was not to bring 
 a rod. Ha ! I thought so," as a sudden 
 splash and swirl of the waters told that 
 a trout of pretensions had emerged from his 
 retreat, and was on the feed. " Never mind, 
 I'll have a shy down here to-morrow," 
 and he lounged on, carelessly watching 
 the swallows as they skimmed and dipped 
 incessantly in the brook. He stopped a 
 second on coming to a stile, to watch 
 a kingfisher in his panoply of blue and 
 green, who was transacting a little busi- 
 ness on the water on his own account, and 
 then placing his hand on the top rail he 
 vaulted lightly over and stood trans- 
 fixed. 
 
 What signified trout, swallows, or king- 
 fisher ! — he had lighted on the Naiad of the 
 stream herself. With hat thrown aside, 
 'neath the shade of the hedge, and ap- 
 parently engaged in sketching, sat an 
 extremely pretty girl. She raised her
 
 TJie Naiad of the Stream. 31 
 
 bead from her drawing, upon perceiving 
 Fortie, looked quietly at him for a mo- 
 ment, and then bowed. Fortie raised his 
 hat with a puzzled expression, and hesi- 
 tated. A smile flickered about the young 
 lady's mouth, as she rose and said, 
 
 " What ! Mr. Merrington, don't you 
 know me ? Have you forgotten your old 
 fishing assistant ?" 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say — yes, 
 you must be Katie Moseley. 
 
 " Yes, I'm Katie Moseley ; you can't 
 say I've grown out of recollection, for 
 I'm sure I am not so very much bigger 
 than when you last saw me ;" and she 
 glanced down with a smile at her own 
 petite figure. 
 
 " No, but you've altered a good deal, 
 you know. I can hardly believe you are 
 the same little girl who used to come 
 out and carry my bait for me, when I was 
 a boy at Eton." 
 
 " Well, I've what's termed grown up 
 since then, though I haven't come to
 
 32 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 much.. You've changed too, Mr. Mer- 
 rington, a good deal since those days, 
 and paid more attention to your growing 
 than I have done. It's very sad, isn't it ? 
 I always wanted to be tall, and I haven't 
 achieved it." 
 
 " Never mind, Katie, you'll do very 
 well as you are ; but you take one rather 
 by surprise, I forgot all this time I have 
 been away that you have been developing 
 into a young lady. I heard your father 
 say something about it too yesterday." 
 
 " What," she replied, laughing, " did 
 you still picture me as the little unkempt 
 girl whom you used to bribe with goodies, 
 to perpetrate all sorts of unfeminine feats 
 in those pleasant old fishing times. Oh, 
 dear, what scrapes you led me into. You 
 don't know the weeping my torn frocks 
 and wet feet of those days used to result 
 in." 
 
 " Ah ! I am afraid I encouraged you 
 in most unladylike pursuits in times lang 
 syne. I've a faint recollection of corrupt-
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 33 
 
 ing you by means of burnt almonds 
 chiefly, and that there was a compo of 
 chocolate and sugar could tempt you to 
 face any wrath of the home authorities." 
 
 "Yes, you took terrible advantage of 
 my weaknesses in those matters. I can 
 recollect even now a terrible struggle 
 with a big eel you had hooked, and how 
 you comforted me when I sat down and 
 cried at the dreadful mess I had got into 
 in taking him off the line, with Everton 
 toffee," and Katie burst out into a low 
 laugh, as memory conjured up the 
 picture. 
 
 " Ah ! it was very wrong of me, though 
 we had a deal of fun together all the 
 same. I don't think I recognized what 
 vials of wrath would probably descend 
 on your poor little head when you re- 
 turned home all wet and draggled. But 
 what are you going to do now ? Sketch 
 on?" 
 
 " No, I think not, I'll go home now. 
 You can carry some of my things for me, 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 if you will. I suppose you are ou your 
 way to the Rectory ; and so often as I've 
 carried your fishing basket, I think you 
 owe me a turn, don't you?" 
 
 " Only too glad. You'd better put on 
 the hat though, the sun strikes hot. 
 But what have you been about all these 
 years, since I last saw you ?" inquired 
 Fortie, as he gathered up some of his 
 companion's sketching materials. 
 
 " I have been at school in Paris the 
 last three. I only returned about a couple 
 of months ago." 
 
 " And how did you like that, Katie ?" 
 
 "Very much," she replied, as they 
 paced on side by side. " It was very 
 pleasant, you know, to have girls of my 
 own age to associate and talk with ; at 
 home here I had no companions, there I 
 made several friends." 
 
 " And became awfully clever," chimed 
 in Fortie. 
 
 "I don't know about that," laughed 
 the girl. " I learnt a good many things
 
 The Naiad of the Stream, 35 
 
 of one sort and another. They didn't 
 allow me to grow up quite an ignoramus, 
 you may suppose.'' 
 
 "Ah, well, if they did their duty by 
 you, Katie, as well as I did previously, 
 you ought to be, as I said before, awfully 
 clever." 
 
 "Oh, you!" she retorted, laughing. 
 " I am afraid I had to unlearn all your 
 lessons to start with. I don't think they 
 would have quite appreciated the intelli- 
 gence I had acquired regarding the use of 
 a landing net." 
 
 " Useful accomplishment all the same. 
 Still you must have had a pleasant time 
 there, Katie." 
 
 " I had ; there's only one drawback 
 to it all, but I'm afraid I shall feel that 
 bitterly. I learnt one thing more than 
 was good for me." 
 
 "What's that?" inquired her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " A mistake," said the girl seriously, 
 " I learnt to become a lady." 
 
 d 2
 
 36 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 "Ah," replied Fortie, in a somewhat 
 puzzled manner. " Well, Katie, there's 
 no harm in that." 
 
 " No, not exactly ; but it is calculated to 
 make life very driste for me in time to 
 come. It's not likely," continued the 
 girl, sadly, " that I shall ever be acknow- 
 ledged as one about here. No, Mr. 
 Merrington, father meant it for the best ; 
 but when I think upon it sometimes, I 
 almost wish it had been otherwise. I turn 
 off here ; thanks for carrying my drawing- 
 board. Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, Katie ; I don't quite under- 
 stand you." 
 
 " No ; well you will when you think 
 about it. I hope you'll come and see us 
 the first time the fishing brings you down 
 near the cottage," and with a bright smile 
 and little nod, Katie tripped across the 
 hand bridge which led to her own home, 
 and left Fortie to pursue his way to the 
 Rectory. 
 
 " What a pretty girl she's grown,"
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 
 
 thought Merrington. " Don't quite under- 
 stand why she should feel unhappy be- 
 cause she's been properly brought up. 
 Should think playing the piano, drawing, 
 and all that sort of thing great pull for 
 women myself; you see they can't hunt, 
 shoot, and fish like us. Jove ! it is lines 
 on them that, when you come to think 
 of it. Crochet, croquet, and balls can't 
 make up for it, besides we can do balls 
 too. Xo, it's lines on women and no 
 mistake," and still lost in the immensity 
 of conjecture, that the enumeration of 
 women's limited pursuits had aroused in 
 him, Eortie knocked at the Rectory door. 
 Well, we are about to change all this. 
 The great question of woman's rights is 
 now agitated with considerable vehemence, 
 and by the time they have obtained all 
 they lay claim to, there will, at all events, 
 be no cause to complain of lack of em- 
 ployment on their behalf. It may be 
 that the women of the day are only a little 
 in advance of their age.
 
 38 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Thoughts that great hearts once broke for, we 
 Breathe cheaply in the common air ;" 
 
 Still, I am afraid that the pioneers of 
 woman's social change of status must 
 make up their minds to leave unfulfilled 
 one part, at least, of woman's mission, 
 and die unmarried. 
 
 Mr. De Driby was at home, and Fortie 
 was duly ushered into the study. There 
 was no great sympathy between the two 
 cousins, albeit they had always been upon 
 good terms; the difference of their ages 
 was against it, and although Horace De 
 Driby was a fair horseman and tolerable 
 shot, it was more the old family instinct 
 that had made him so in his youth, than 
 any real love of field sports such as 
 ran riot in the blood of his more mercurial 
 kinsman. 
 
 " Well, Fortie," he said, as they shook 
 hands, " I suppose you've come down to 
 spend some time with us now ?" 
 
 " I don't know about some time. I've 
 come for a bit; but, you see, there's
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 39 
 
 nothing: to be done much here in the 
 summer, and I'm not a reading fellow like 
 you." 
 
 " Not yet ; but you'll perhaps become so. 
 I don't think I was much in that way at 
 your age. Besides, Sir Giles won't readily 
 part with you for some little time. He's 
 very fond of you, and has had but little of 
 your society lately." 
 
 " Yes, d^ar old uncle, I think he's glad 
 to see me, though he spares me none of 
 the old cutting remarks. Not in him to 
 let any one off those." 
 
 " No," replied the Rector, meditatively. 
 " He's quite as caustic to those he likes as 
 to those he dislikes." 
 
 " Yes. By the way, Horace, I met 
 little Katie Moseley on my way here. 
 Who would have thought of her turning; 
 out such a pretty girl ?" 
 
 " She has grown up pretty, I am told. 
 I can hardly say I have seen; just 
 caught a glimpse of her in church now 
 and then. Old Moseley, I fancy, has fallen
 
 40 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 into the usual mistake of the age, and 
 entirely over educated her for her sta- 
 tion." 
 
 " Jove ! she looks and speaks as if 
 she'd become any station. But I suppose 
 that is it, she will find no fitting associates 
 about here." 
 
 " None, if all I hear about her is true. 
 He's made a lady of her; but that don't 
 make a gentleman of him, and the country 
 is not more likely to recognise her in that 
 capacity than it is him. Social error of 
 the day, Fortie." 
 
 "Ah! I'm not up in these problems. 
 But what do you do with yourself ? Now 
 you've got the living, you're a rich man, 
 and can afford those little runs to town 
 you used to be so fond of. I should keep 
 a curate if I was you." 
 
 " I do keep a curate, which enables me 
 to go away for a short time as often as 
 I please. I established one just before 
 Christmas, a Mr. Phillip Filancler. He's 
 not over clever, but he does what I tell
 
 TJie Naiad of the Stream. 41 
 
 him, which is something, and seems to 
 have no very positive views, except on the 
 subject of his own personal attractions. 
 He is always bewailing the dearth of 
 ladies' society in these parts." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! he's to be pitied down 
 here, if that's his line. What some man 
 at Oxford described as a slippery curate. 
 No moral insinuation, Horace ; it only 
 means one of those white milk-and-water 
 parties for whom the girls are always 
 working slippers, muffatees, &c, and 
 whom some young woman marries by 
 violence in the course of three years or 
 so." 
 
 The Rector smiled as he replied : 
 
 " Well, Phillip Filander I leave to take 
 care of himself on that point. What do 
 you think of doing, Fortie ? It's getting 
 about time you decided on a profession of 
 some sort, isn't it ?" 
 
 " Just what Sir Giles said last night. 
 It's all very well to say you ought to do 
 something, but what the deuce are you to
 
 42 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 do ? Now, I can tell you quite easily 
 what I don't like in that way, but can't 
 for the life of me see anything that I do ? 
 Take the navy. Well, from what I've 
 seen of ships, the accommodation is inferior. 
 Shark-fishing, from all I hear, is not so good 
 as pike. Shooting Cape pigeons and sea- 
 gulls won't do after grouse and partridges ; 
 and then, Horace, how about hunting ?" 
 and here Fortie stopped aghast at the 
 hardships of the naval profession. 
 
 " But you needn't be a sailor," said his 
 cousin. 
 
 " No, of course not. But I'm always 
 turning the subject over in my mind. I 
 went down to Aldershot one day last year 
 to see a friend of mine. It was a wet 
 Sunday, and I only went because London 
 was unendurable. Jove ! he was living in 
 a couple of cupboards, and the one where 
 his bed was, leaked. I dined at mess, but 
 it was the dreariest entertainment I ever 
 saw. Everybody was yawning by ten, 
 and looked as if they would like to go to
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 43 
 
 bed, but I suppose their cupboards all 
 leaked too, so they sat up and smoked 
 till it should stop raining. Don't think I 
 
 should like the armv." 
 
 1/ 
 
 M But a man at your time of life is lost 
 without a profession." 
 
 " Good heavens, Horace ! You're Sir 
 Giles over again, without the claret. I 
 suppose I shall be lost, then, whatever 
 that means. I haven't head for the bar, 
 and you've monopolized all the church 
 preferment of the family." 
 
 " No use talking to you at present, 
 that's evident." 
 
 " No, as Sir Giles said last night in his 
 pleasant way, s As you're endowed with a 
 mind, I presume you were sent into this 
 world for some wise purpose, which at 
 present appears inscrutable.' " 
 
 " And what, may I ask, did you say to 
 that?" inquired the Hector. 
 
 " Roared, Horace, as I replied, ' Quite 
 right, uncle, but not at all inscrutable. 
 'Forty-eight claret was made to be drunk,
 
 44 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 partridges were made to be shot, and 
 foxes to be hunted, and I was created for 
 those three special purposes. Moreover, 
 St. Helens seems a fit field for my 
 labours.' " 
 
 " Sir Giles laughed, I presume ?" 
 
 "Yes. He was good enough to say 
 that I possessed impudence if I didn't wit, 
 and that I should probably find it the 
 better qualification of the two in these 
 days." 
 
 " And that, I suppose, was about the 
 sum of the conversation that passed be- 
 tween you ?" 
 
 "Yes," laughed Fortie. "He remarked 
 blandly, as he lit his bedroom candle, 
 8 that, though I didn't seem adapted for 
 anything else, he had never seen anybody 
 so admirably fitted to tread in the foot- 
 steps of his progenitor and go to the devil 
 as his father did before him.' With which 
 pious benediction he left me to do a weed 
 by myself." 
 
 "Like him, very; though he's fond of
 
 Th e Na ia d of the Street m . 45 
 
 you, Fortie, he don't treat you much better 
 than other people." 
 
 "Perhaps not; but his bark's a deal 
 worse than his bite. He paid an awful 
 lot of money for me the other day, and 
 wouldn't hear of it's being charged against 
 my own little patrimony, which I fully 
 expected." 
 
 " What ! you've been in difficulties, 
 then ?" asked his cousin, curiously. 
 
 " Yes, I came to grief a bit," answered 
 the other, curtly, " though that's neither 
 here nor there. How is my aunt ? and 
 when is it you expect her down ?" 
 
 " My mother wrote word she should be 
 here by the afternoon train to-day ?" 
 
 " Well, Sir Giles wants you both to dine 
 at the Manor House the day after to- 
 morrow ? Will that be right ?" 
 
 " Yes, half-past seven, I suppose," re- 
 plied Horace. 
 
 " Exactly. He didn't say anything 
 about the curate ; but I should think he'd 
 mean it. Will you tell him to come too r"
 
 46 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " He generally asks him when he has 
 people to dinner, so I'll bring him." 
 
 "Well, good-bye, Horace. Give my 
 love to my aunt, and for the present, 
 adieu." 
 
 He lit a cigar when he got outside the 
 Rectory gates, and mused a good deal 
 over the events of the morning. Fortie, 
 if he was not very clever, had a fair 
 amount of common sense. He knew that 
 Sir Giles and his cousin Horace were both 
 right when they suggested it was getting 
 time he made up his mind to do some- 
 thing. Out of the wreck of his father's 
 property, there remained not very much 
 over four hundred a year to Fortie, while 
 he was quite aware that his capabilities of 
 spending money very far exceeded that 
 modest income. He knew that in the last 
 three years of his life, he had exceeded 
 the three hundred a year allowed him to 
 the tune of a couple of thousand pounds, 
 and he also knew that he had had the 
 spending of pretty nearly his whole in-
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 47 
 
 come. Sir Giles was very kind to him, 
 it was true ; but still Horace De Driby 
 was his heir, and though scarce a third of 
 the property was entailed, yet it was 
 natural to suppose Sir Giles would leave 
 most of it to go with the baronetcy. 
 
 As Fortie thought of these things, 
 virtuous resolutions stirred him, he was 
 one of those natures so strong in theory, 
 so weak in purpose. It might indeed have 
 been said of him, 
 
 "In glorious morrows I am resolute;" 
 
 but the resolves of to-day melted like the 
 hoarfrost beneath the succeeding sun. 
 He was always seeing and determining 
 what he ought to do — always postponing 
 beginning to do it. It's a very every-day 
 character, there's not apparently a germ 
 of the heroic in it, yet these weak pur- 
 poseless characters often, once or twice in 
 their lives, stand out and show a power 
 of that greatest of virtues, self-sacrifice, 
 we would little give them credit for.
 
 48 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 They clo it too, generally, with a simplicity 
 and single mindedness that strikes us all 
 the more forcibly on account of their 
 previously frivolous lives. 
 
 " Jove I" muttered Fortie (it was a pet 
 adjuration of his) " they're right, I must 
 be something. I don't quite know what 
 yet, but I'll come to a conclusion before 
 the month's out, there's no particular 
 hurry ; I can think it well over while I 
 am down here, and in the meantime some 
 of these trout want killing." He was 
 walking along the banks of the stream 
 now. " Oh ! here's Katie's sketching 
 nook. To think of the little thing who 
 used to run about with me five years ago 
 and help with the trimmers, growing up 
 into such a pretty girl. She is pretty 
 and no mistake. I'll go down and see old 
 Moseley to-morrow, proper thing to do. 
 Besides he asked me to come and try the 
 old ale. Might be hurt if I didn't. 
 Shouldn't like to hurt the old fellow's 
 feelings. Known him all my life. What
 
 The Naiad of the Stream. 49 
 
 blue eyes they were." The last observa- 
 tion could hardly apply to Moseley ; but 
 Fortie, with all the casuistry of vingUet- 
 un, was cheating himself on the subject 
 of a feminine attraction. As we grow 
 older we admit it at once, but in our 
 young days we ever try to humbug 
 ourselves in the first instance, though 
 we make up for it by the way we bore 
 our associates on the subject shortly after- 
 wards. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DINNER AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 MRS. DE DRIBY lias arrived at the 
 Rectory as expected, and has clasped 
 her son to her breast in all the gushing- 
 ness (if I may be allowed the expression) 
 of her elevated nature. She is a woman 
 on a large scale, and though on the wrong 
 side of fifty not in the least incliued to 
 admit it. She is wont to describe herself 
 to her intimates as " all soul, my dear, and 
 adoring intellect." The first part of 
 which proposition is a strong argument 
 in favour of materialist views, while with 
 regard to the second one can only say 
 there is much truth in the old aphorism, 
 to wit that " people are apt to be covetous 
 of that of which they themselves have
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 51 
 
 little." The daughter of a nobody with 
 reference to family, she had been married 
 by a De Driby consequent on his necessi- 
 ties. She had had but a hard life of it 
 during that short period, and nothing 
 but the astute tying up of her marriage 
 settlement had prevented her lamented 
 husband from running through every 
 shilling of her fortune. But if of humble 
 origin herself, nobody could have more 
 thoroughly identified herself with the 
 family of her adoption. She could correct 
 any De Driby of them all regarding the 
 genealogical tree — the race were known to 
 be proud of their ancient line, but no 
 lineal descendant of " the bare arm and 
 bloody dagger " had ever yet held his 
 head so high, because the blue blood of 
 many generations of robbers and reivers 
 coursed through his veins as the widow. 
 
 It is breakfast at the Rectory. Mrs. 
 De Driby having been properly got up by 
 the sylph who presides over her toilette 
 is languidly sipping her tea. Milkmaidish 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 1H!MW
 
 52 Bitter is the Hind. 
 
 as she deems colour, she is forced to use 
 a soiupgon of rouge and a few other 
 accessories to conceal the landmarks of 
 time. Art must assist nature if we would 
 fain look blooming in our eleventh 
 lustre. 
 
 " And you tell me, Horace, that Fortie 
 Merrington is down again at the Manor 
 House ?" 
 
 " Yes, mother ; Sir Giles has been 
 reckoning much on his coming. Has just 
 paid his debts for him, so he told me 
 yesterday. Don't look well does it ?" 
 
 " No ; but Giles is just the man to 
 humour the whims of a scape-grace like 
 that. He has a fellow feeling for wicked- 
 ness and extravagance, it's a family weak- 
 ness, my dear." 
 
 " Still, it would be hard if he carried it 
 out so far as to leave nearly everything 
 away from the title, and you know 
 what a lot there is he can do as he likes 
 with." 
 
 " Of course ; but, my dear Horace, a
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 53 
 
 De Driby would be a De Driby, I should 
 assume, to the last. Our race has never 
 forgotten its obligations to its descendants. 
 What our ancestors perished on the 
 scaffold for, what they risked life and 
 lands for, what in short — in fact, I'm 
 afraid I'm too imaginative, Horace. You 
 must bear with your mother's poetical 
 tendency. I mean, in short, Giles could 
 never think of doing such a thing." 
 
 "Impossible to say;" rejoined her son. 
 " Nothing can be more unsatisfactory 
 than my situation here. Few men, with- 
 out speaking plainly, can indicate more 
 clearly to another the position he holds 
 them in, than Sir Giles. He has contrived 
 to do that in a way no child could mistake 
 as far as I am concerned. I am his 
 nephew and the parson of the parish, 
 nothing more ; although, at all events, I 
 must succeed to the Baronetcy and a 
 modicum of the property, he thoroughly 
 ignores me as his heir." 
 
 " It may be sheer ignorance on his part ;
 
 5-i Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 perhaps if I spoke to him he would see 
 the thing in its proper light. As a De 
 Driby, I am sure he would wish to see his 
 heir recognized as such in the country." 
 
 " Better not, mother ; Sir Giles knows 
 his own mind and is ill to meddle with 
 on any point, let alone this. No, mother 
 dear, depend upon it, and I say this 
 with all deference to your superior know- 
 ledge of the world, you will do no good 
 by interfering. Simply count tricks into 
 the enemy's hand." 
 
 Horace knew his mother well; without 
 that little salve to her vanity it would 
 have been hard to persuade her to hold 
 her tongue, should occasion offer, as it 
 was sure to do. 
 
 " Well, perhaps I had better not, at 
 all events, at present; though I think I 
 have some weight with your uncle. You 
 recollect how pleased he was with that 
 hint I gave him about the fernery last 
 year. But, Horace, whom do you desig- 
 nate as the enemy P"
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 55 
 
 " Fortie Merrington, of course. He's 
 likely though, I think, to cut his own 
 throat." 
 
 " G-ood gracious !" screamed Mrs. 
 De Driby. 
 
 " I speak metaphorically, mother. All 
 I mean is that he is young and foolish, 
 and that his father's blood runs riot in 
 his veins." 
 
 " Sefton Merrington was terribly wild, 
 but I hardly understand you, Horace." 
 
 " I only mean that I deem Fortie likely 
 to succumb to the usual temptations of 
 youth, and that his extravagance will ere 
 long produce a breach between him and 
 Sir Giles. If he does not, some slight 
 assistance must be given him, that's 
 all." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Mean ! that I have no intention, if I 
 can prevent it, of inheriting barren 
 honours," replied her son, fiercely. 
 " Mean that I have no ambition to be 
 the first pauper baronet of rny race.
 
 56 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 From our respective positions in life, 
 Fortie Merrington and myself stand as 
 antagonists for an inheritance of near 
 seven thousand a year. In justice it 
 should be mine, and I'll not throw away 
 any chance of that succession, because 
 my uncle may be infatuated about a 
 spendthrift boy. I shall feel justified in 
 taking any steps that may further my 
 ends in this respect. I feel that I am 
 merely defending my birthright." 
 
 " But, my dear Horace, there can be 
 no doubt about it.. I don't think Fortie 
 can be capable of any such designs as you 
 would seem to insinuate." 
 
 "Pshaw, mother; you don't under- 
 stand me. Fortie has neither brains 
 enough, nor command enough of himself 
 to work much detriment to me in this 
 affair. But I feel instinctively that the 
 ball is at his foot, had he sense enough 
 to kick it. Look at the way my uncle 
 paid his university debts the other day. 
 Would he ever have done as much for
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 57 
 
 me ? He has cared always more about 
 him than any other living creature. 'Tis 
 what I said before, whatever we may 
 be outwardly, from our social position 
 Fortie Merrington and myself must be 
 foes in reality." 
 
 These were not very christian views 
 for a minister to hold with reference 
 to his near relation. Still it might 
 be urged in extenuation, that Horace 
 had certainly never had any vocation for 
 the Church. He had entered it, as, alas ! 
 too many men do, solely with a view to 
 the easy income the family living would 
 almost at once put him in possession of. 
 The former rector was a very old man 
 when Horace came of age, and Sir Giles 
 had strongly advocated his preparing to 
 fill the vacancy when it should occur. 
 His mother had nothing left but the 
 income her settlement secured to her. 
 Horace was, consequently, entirely de- 
 pendant on either Mrs. De Driby or Sir 
 Giles, and the latter had pretty plainly
 
 58 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 intimated that nominating him for the 
 living of St. Helens would be all the 
 assistance he intended to render. Again, 
 his mother from his boyhood had im- 
 pressed upon him that he was the heir 
 to the baronetcy and estates, and for 
 some years Horace had viewed with 
 jealous eyes the increasing partiality of 
 Sir Giles for his cousin. He had brooded 
 over it, as men of his reserved tempera- 
 ment are apt to do, till it seemed in his 
 eyes a piece of flagrant injustice, that he 
 was not already recognised as his uncle's 
 heir. He felt that Jacob was already 
 defrauding Esau of his birthright, and 
 had finally worked himself up to such 
 a pitch on the subject, as to feel almost 
 justified in taking any steps that might 
 preserve to him what he deemed his 
 rightful inheritance intact. Consequently, 
 when he learnt from Fortie that Sir Giles 
 had paid his debts for him, the fact pre- 
 sented itself to his mind in the distorted 
 light of an alienation of property that
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 59 
 
 should justly, in course of time, have 
 descended to himself — hence his bitter 
 converse with his mother. 
 
 When he reflected on this conversation 
 subsequently, he rather regretted that he 
 had told his mother so much ; for though 
 he had at present no devised plan for 
 weakening Fortie's place in his uncle's 
 regard, yet his common sense told him 
 that his mother would be an eminently 
 unsafe coadjutor in any scheme he might 
 think fit to attempt. As he shrewdly 
 conjectured, Fortie was likely to prove 
 his own enemy shortly, with his sensuous, 
 pleasure-loving nature and habits of ex- 
 travagance. That uncles don't continue 
 paying debts, and are wont to get irrit- 
 able on repeated application, Horace was 
 naturally aware, and from his knowledge 
 of Fortie's character, he drew the con- 
 clusion that it would not be very long ere 
 Sir Giles was troubled with a similar 
 application. Then he thought, hazily, 
 must be his time to widen the breach.
 
 60 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 In the meanwhile there was nothing to be 
 done, but to watch Fortie's proceedings 
 both at St. Helens and elsewhere care- 
 fully. _ 
 
 It is the night of the dinner-party at 
 the Manor House. Sir Giles is standing 
 looking every inch le grand seigneur on 
 his own rug. These dinners were wont 
 to afford much mirth to the old man. His 
 sister-in-law, if he did not get too much 
 of her, an event which he took special 
 care should seldom occur, was a source of 
 intense quiet amusement to him. He 
 delighted in drawing her out ; her mingled 
 affectation of dignity and intellect tickled 
 the old cynic amazingly. He was accus- 
 tomed to ask Moseley to dinner much as 
 he would have asked his doctor, solicitor, 
 or his smaller neighbours. Sir Giles, in 
 his innermost heart, believed that he could 
 count the people on his fingers who, in all 
 Lincolnshire, were really his compeers. 
 His conduct on these occasions was the 
 distinguished condescension of royalty,
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 61 
 
 and quite a thing to behold. Sir Giles, 
 beneath his polished scepticism, concealed 
 an unswerving faith in the greatness of 
 the De Dribys generally, and himself in- 
 dividually. He never had done anything 
 of note, but that did not prevent his 
 believing there were very few things he 
 could not have accomplished had it been 
 worth his while. It was, perhaps, the 
 intense stress his sister-in-law laid on the 
 family dignity, coupled with the fact that 
 she was not really one of them, that gave 
 him such pleasure in her society. 
 
 The men who, like Sir Giles, sit with 
 their hands in their pockets, and believe 
 they can do anything they choose in this 
 world, are innumerable. It is not till 
 dire necessity compels them to face the 
 collar that they realise the difference be- 
 tween doing and dreaming. They awake, 
 then, to the sense of what labour means, 
 and find out what drawing-room talent 
 really is worth when brought into the 
 public market.
 
 62 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Now, the presence of old Moseley had 
 once or twice shocked Mrs. De Driby on 
 these occasions. She bore with little 
 patience that anything so plebeian should 
 move 
 
 " Betwixt the wind and her nobility." 
 
 The impracticable old man, too, was 
 wont to make things worse by his utter 
 abnegation of Mrs. De Driby' s claim to be 
 considered a superior being. When you 
 reflect that Sir Giles, in addition to his 
 annual joke of placing Mrs. Horace and 
 old Moseley in juxtaposition, was about to 
 introduce on the stage so bourgeoise a 
 production as Miss Moseley; that, more- 
 over, he had been previously informed she 
 was very pretty, and quite the lady, you 
 may conceive he was looking forward with 
 great glee to the entertainment. 
 
 The solemn old butler announced Mr., 
 Mrs., and the Misses Stephenson, and Sir 
 Giles moved from the hearth-rug to wel- 
 come his guests. Mr. Stephenson was
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 63 
 
 the rector of the adjoining parish — a 
 genial, hearty man, blessed with a buxom 
 wife and a couple of blooming daughters, 
 fresh, fair, pleasant, honest country girls, 
 much addicted to dancing and croquet. 
 Then arrived Moseley and Kate, which, 
 with the addition of Horace, his mother, 
 and the Rev. Phillip Filander, made up 
 the party. 
 
 Fortie contrived to take Kate into 
 dinner without much difficulty, and the 
 party were speedily immersed in the con- 
 sumption of soup. 
 
 The announcement of dinner had fol- 
 lowed so immediately upon Mrs. De 
 Driby's arrival, and she had been, more- 
 over, so taken up with greeting her 
 brother-in-law and nephew, that she had 
 had no opportunity of scanning the re- 
 mainder of the party. But now she raised 
 her eye-glass, and swept the table with her 
 usual insolent stare. 
 
 u My dear Giles," she murmured, " I 
 see you still think it incumbent on you
 
 64 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 to entertain that dreadful old Moseley. I 
 should have thought his intense vulgarity 
 would have sickened you by this. But 
 who is that extremely pretty girl next 
 Fortie ?" 
 
 " Oh, she's only just arrived in these 
 parts ; promises to be quite an acquisition 
 to the neighbourhood, doesn't she ?" 
 
 " Of course, I can hardly say about 
 that, as I haven't the pleasure of her 
 acquaintance ; but she is very good-look- 
 ing, and dressed in very good taste. Who 
 did you say she was ?" 
 
 " I only observed, T think, an acquisi- 
 tion to the neighbourhood; but if you 
 wish to know more particularly, Louisa, 
 that is Moseley's daughter," and here Sir 
 Giles glanced with an amused expression 
 at his sister-in-law. 
 
 " Giles, you're joking, surely !" gasped 
 the lady. 
 
 "Not at all, and I quite concur with 
 you that she is a very pretty, well-dressed 
 young woman." 
 
 t
 
 A Dinner at the Manor Rouse. do 
 
 " Young woman, yes, that's the term 
 for her. What could have induced you to 
 ask her here ? My dear Giles, the house- 
 keeper's room is the proper place for her, 
 as the butler's pantry is for her horrible 
 old father. The minx, too, to dare to 
 dress herself up like that !" and Mrs. De 
 Driby looked volumes of wrath at un- 
 conscious innocence. 
 
 Little aware of the black looks directed 
 towards her, Kate was laughing and talk- 
 ing merrily with Fortie. I don't think I 
 have described Kate Moseley yet. Look 
 at her as she is to-night, for assuredly you 
 will seldom see her to more advantage. 
 A small but almost perfect figure, attired 
 in white silk, with pale blue trimmings, 
 which assorted well with her rich golden 
 tresses, deep blue eyes, and clear com- 
 plexion; hands and feet which protested 
 against her plebeian extraction ; but it 
 was not in these rested the real charm 
 of Kate Moseley — it was the riant mouth, 
 the quick play of the mobile features, the 
 
 VOL. I, F
 
 66 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 rapid flash of the sparkling eye, all show- 
 ing the quick, intelligent mind within, 
 that constituted her real fascination ; and, 
 wanting these, beauty after all is reduced 
 much to the lay figure one sees in some 
 hair -dresser's window. She was but 
 eighteen, yet few men, or, for the matter 
 of that, women either, who, attracted by 
 her beauty, had once been led to talk to 
 Kate Moseley, ever left her side without a 
 lingering regret. Clever and accomplished 
 though she was, it was not that. It was 
 more the quick, sympathetic way in which, 
 almost by intuition, her mind seemed to 
 resolve itself into yours. The stupidest of 
 her father's labourers seemed gifted with 
 an intelligence above himself as he talked 
 with Miss Kate. Men always left her 
 with the complacent idea that they had 
 been more than usually brilliant during 
 their converse with Miss Moseley. Still, 
 as yet, but few men, and those certainly 
 not of the higher educated order, had had 
 much chance of being benefitted in this
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 67 
 
 wise. Her marvellous adaptation of her 
 own mind, one might almost say her own 
 self, to the companions of the hour, was 
 that rare gift we seldom see. It is not 
 altogether associated with either talent or 
 genius, and yet no foolish person ever 
 possessed it. More a woman's gift than a 
 man's, yet, as a rule, fatal to the pos- 
 sessor. Women of this class, with the 
 choice of scores of lovers, invariably 
 choose the wrong one. 
 
 I am afraid Hood was right when he 
 wrote : 
 
 " But alas ! alas ! for the Woman's fate, 
 Who has from a mob to choose a mate. 
 'Tis a strange and painful mystery ! 
 But the more the eggs, the worse the hatch ; 
 The more the fish, the worse the catch ; 
 The more the sparks, the worse the match ; 
 Is a fact in a Woman's history." 
 
 Men who possess it are generally voted 
 the most pleasant people out; but, in 
 most instances, have gone irretrievably to 
 the bad before they turn thirty. 
 
 f 2
 
 68 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Pretty Kate Moseley, at present, was 
 oppressed with no such misgivings. It 
 was very sweet to her, with her talent 
 and education, to find herself at a well- 
 appointed table and amongst gentle-folks. 
 Her father's establishment was liberal 
 enough, and Kate sole mistress thereof, 
 for her mother had died some dozen years 
 ago ; but Kate had laboured in vain to 
 introduce therein the refinement which 
 comes by nature to those born to it. 
 Moreover, it was a rich treat to be con- 
 versing with people who had been edu- 
 cated up to her own standard. I speak 
 in a geueral way, for if truth must be 
 confessed, I think it probable that Kate 
 could have not only thoroughly extin- 
 guished Fortie, but have also reduced to 
 dire discomfiture the Rev. Mr. Stephenson 
 on many of the current topics of the 
 day. 
 
 " No, libel ! libel rank in the extreme, 
 Mr. Merrington," laughed Kate; "though 
 since we last met I have been to school,
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 69 
 
 and learnt, I hope, a little. I can still 
 relish all the dear old country pursuits as 
 of old. I could still clap my hands and, 
 I believe, scream with delight at seeing 
 you kill a good fish, as I did years ago, 
 when you landed that three pound trout in 
 the mill-dam, and I held the net. Don't 
 you remember how wet I got in the 
 operation, and how you did scold because 
 I missed him the first time ?" 
 
 "Yes, I recollect it well. You were 
 always wet, torn and dishevelled in those 
 days, Katie. I suppose you are awfully 
 proper now ?" 
 
 " Well, if you mean I am not the un- 
 tidy, harum-scarum little girl of those days, 
 I trust not. I'm as fond of all that sort 
 of fun as ever, but I've learnt to avoid 
 tumbling into the water ; that my hair 
 looks better properly done up than flying 
 wild about my shoulders, and that at 
 eighteen the world expects us to be neat 
 and nicely dressed, though it don't pay much 
 attention to our proceedings at twelve."
 
 70 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " I suppose you learnt no end of a 
 lot of things at that place you were 
 at in Paris. More than I did at Oxford, 
 I'll be bound. I learnt to row a bit, and 
 rather improved my form to hounds and 
 in tandem driving ; but I think that is the 
 sole result of my University career." 
 
 " Ah, well, I think I did a little better 
 than that. I'd every chance, and one 
 must have been very idle and very stupid 
 not to have picked up something. Now, 
 I don't think I transgressed grievously 
 on either of those points." 
 
 " I have no doubt you have turned out 
 awfully clever. When we get into the 
 drawing-room, Katie, you must let me 
 ascertain whether you are better on the 
 piano than you used to be with a landing- 
 net." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Merrington, is time never 
 to grant oblivion to my juvenile sins ? 
 Surely, as we captured that mighty trout 
 at last, you might yield absolution now 
 to those long past primary errors."
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 71 
 
 " Well ; yes, right of arraignment, I 
 think, may be fairly said to have lapsed. 
 What was that ? I beg your pardon, Mr. 
 Stephenson, but what is that story that 
 you have convulsed Filander with ?" 
 
 " I was telling him a country-side story 
 of thirty years ago. You know, Barnby 
 Beck, Fortie? I'm talking of it before 
 the bridge was built, of days in which 
 the country was not so well drained as 
 it is now, and when that ford, after a 
 heavy downfall, was deepish to cross. In 
 those times, our farmers and their wives 
 often went about on the old pillion, 
 lovingly together on one horse. A hale 
 old man, whom I remember well, had been 
 with his wife to visit some friends named 
 Martin, at Hatley. They had dined with 
 them early, passed a pleasant afternoon, 
 and as the sun got low they started to 
 return home. The good old lady was 
 accustomed, as they say in these parts, 
 6 to take her drops freely,' and after she 
 had been duly hoisted on to the pillion
 
 72 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 behind her husband, the hospitable Mrs. 
 Martin insisted on her having 'just a 
 stirrup-cup ;' the good lady yielded, and 
 midst mutual good wishes they started. 
 The soft summer air, the drowsy hum of 
 the insects, and the sweet scented grasses 
 and wild flowers proved irresistable, and 
 long before they came to Barnby Beck 
 the farmer and his wife were nodding. 
 This mattered little, for the patient old 
 horse pursued his way home leisurely. 
 There had been one or two very heavy 
 showers since they had last passed that 
 way, and when they arrived at the ford 
 it was much swollen. The old horse 
 paused, his master only trumpeted in his 
 sleep. Carefully did Dobbin essay the 
 passage ; but the water came up to his 
 girths. The shock of the cold stream to 
 their feet awoke husband and wife with 
 a sudden start, their equilibrium was lost, 
 and in a second the pair were soused into 
 some three feet of clear running water. 
 A tremendous splash, a struggle, and as
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House, 73 
 
 the old lady regained her feet (still dream- 
 ing of the pleasant party she had left) 
 she gasped out, * No, Mrs. Martin, no, 
 my dear, not a drop more on any account, 
 thank you* " 
 
 " Capital, Mr. Stephenson, capital. 
 Poor old lady, she was a splendid speci- 
 men of ' the spirit is willing, but the flesh 
 is weak/ even in her dreams," continued 
 Fortie, "her resolutions were virtuous." 
 
 "Yes;" laughed the narrator, "she's 
 by no means the first backslider who has 
 been brought to see the error of his ways 
 by a douche bath of discomfort. A good 
 homily might be deduced from that little 
 story. Hope it will never come home to 
 you, Fortie." 
 
 Mr. Stephenson had his own ideas on 
 the subject of Fortie' s character, and was 
 not disposed to consider strength of 
 mind one of his characteristics. 
 
 Here Mrs. De Driby, with a sweeping 
 bow to the table, rose majestically and 
 heralded the departure of the ladies.
 
 74 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Pass the claret, Fortie, you young 
 people, I know, affect abstinence on the 
 subject of wines," cried Sir Giles. " The 
 age soothes itself with the idea it don't 
 drink, which simply means they have 
 grown hypocritical on that point. In my 
 younger days, I think we rather gloried 
 in getting drunk — bad, stupid, I'll admit ; 
 but I fancy ' delirium tremens ' claims its 
 own quite as often now-a-days as it did 
 then." 
 
 " Surely, Sir Giles, you must admit," 
 said Mr. Stephenson, " that we don't 
 indulge in the excesses our forefathers did 
 in that respect." 
 
 " Don't admit it in the least — the 
 vices of mankind really vary very little 
 in all ages ; but fashion regarding them 
 does much. Drunkenness and intrigue 
 were the fashion in my younger days. 
 Light claret, intellect, and the march 
 of civilization, are the mode now. 
 Bah ! it comes exactly to the same 
 thing ; those vices underlie the current
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 75 
 
 of society now instead of running at the 
 top, and with precisely the same strength 
 as they ever have done. The decorum of 
 one age is nob the decorum of the next. 
 This generation exceeds the last in hy- 
 pocrisy, and that is about all you can say 
 for them. Twenty years hence it will 
 probably be the vogue to blazon your 
 immorality again. An immutable circle, 
 my dear sir. We glory one half of the 
 century in what our descendants are 
 ashamed of in the next ; but the whole 
 thing is a mere case of ebb tide or 
 flood." 
 
 "Well, I'm glad to say, Sir Giles, that 
 I differ from you in toto, and believe in 
 our gradual improvement." 
 
 " Of course you do ! we see it from 
 different points of view. You, consequent 
 on your profession, go on hoping; just 
 as I, from my worldly point of view, go 
 on doubting. But we'll drop the argu- 
 ment, Stephenson — have a glass of sherry 
 and then we'll go to the drawing-room."
 
 76 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 It was not to be supposed that Mrs. 
 De Driby could afford even to acknow- 
 ledge the existence of such inferior clay 
 as Kate Moseley. She had seated herself 
 with great dignity near the fire-place, and 
 confined herself to patronizing quiet Mrs. 
 Stephenson, who bore it meekly. But 
 the good-natured Stephenson girls and 
 Kate had collected around the piano at 
 the other end of the room, and after a 
 little talk amongst themselves, Miss 
 Stephenson opened the instrument and 
 played a lively set of valses — then Bessie, 
 the youngest, sang an old English ballad, 
 and finally Kate trilled out a little French 
 chanson with such espieglerie and ex- 
 pression that Mrs. De Driby sat aghast with 
 horror and indignation. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Stephenson, I must 
 apologize, but Giles is so thoughtless. 
 Of course he never should have asked 
 that Miss Moseley , any more than her 
 vulgarian old father. But the idea of her 
 having the impertinence to sing her
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 77 
 
 abominable French songs here — I really 
 must put a stop to it." 
 
 Supremely ignorant of that language, 
 Mrs. De Driby had ingeniously demon- 
 strated to herself that the acquirement 
 thereof was totally unnecessary. Her 
 argument was simple — she lumped French 
 plays, novels, songs, &c, together, and 
 pronounced them immoral. The people 
 she regarded as imbued with a spirit of 
 infidelity. Any thing French, therefore, 
 unconnected with dress, was unclean and 
 accursed in her eyes ; and despite Mrs. 
 Stephenson's deprecation, she would un- 
 doubtedly have interfered to prevent any 
 repetition of such song on Kate's part, 
 had not the entrance of the gentlemen 
 diverted her attention. 
 
 " No ; pray don't get up," exclaimed 
 Fortie, as Kate rose abruptly from the 
 piano. " I told you I hoped to hear you 
 play. One song as a quittance of all 
 your past misdeeds with the landing 
 net."
 
 78 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 " Better not," laughed Kate, " suppose 
 I only aggravate those past and well- 
 nigh condoned offences. Think what my 
 situation would be then." 
 
 " Don't believe her, Mr. Merrington ; 
 she sings and plays charmingly," cried 
 Miss Stephenson, with real honest en- 
 thusiasm. " Do make her give us another 
 song?" 
 
 So Kate sat down again and sang the 
 " Sands of Dee," with a weird mournful 
 pathos that made her hearers' hearts 
 stand still as she trickled out — 
 
 " They rowed her in across the rolling foam, 
 The cruel, crawling foam, 
 The cruel, hungry foam, 
 To her grave beside the sea." 
 
 "Yes;" said Mrs. De Driby to her 
 brother, mid the applause that followed 
 the termination of the ballad. " She is 
 becoming more guarded since you have 
 appeared ; but really I thought I should 
 have had to interfere before, did I not, 
 Mrs. Stephenson ?"
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House, 79 
 
 " Why, what did she do before we came 
 in ?" inquired Sir Giles, with an amused 
 expression on his face. 
 
 " Oh ! sang something dreadful in 
 French, don't ask me — it was of Vol- 
 tairean tendencies, I know it was. The 
 flood of democracy that pervades the age is 
 something too awful to contemplate. Peo- 
 ple seem to have no regard now-a-days 
 for where Providence has placed them, 
 and you, Giles, to encourage such a crea- 
 ture — you, a De Driby !" 
 
 " My dear Louisa, it strikes me if the 
 democracy produce pretty daughters that 
 sing as well as Kate Moseley, we shall 
 all have to go — " 
 
 " Yes. I'm sure I don't know where," 
 interrupted Mrs. De Driby. " I believe 
 Bath is still considered aristocratic. In 
 the meanwhile, perhaps you will ring for 
 my carriage." 
 
 "In short, for the present," laughed 
 Sir Giles, "you mean to go to bed." 
 
 "I am surprised that a man in your
 
 80 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 position can jest on such subjects. The 
 levelling tendency of the age is a thing 
 to draw tears from — from — from the great 
 Golgatha of Nations !" and, wrapped in 
 all the satisfaction this tremendous pero- 
 ration carried with it, Mrs. De Driby, her 
 son, and her dignity departed. 
 
 " Miss Moseley," said Sir Giles, " you 
 sing very nicely, have been well taught, 
 and have by nature what can't be taught 
 — expression." 
 
 Kate bowed, with a soft murmured 
 "Very good of you to say so, Sir Giles. 
 I am afraid there is more good-nature 
 than honesty in your praise, as you really 
 know what good music is, and I am afraid 
 I hardly do." 
 
 "I say what I think, Miss Moseley," 
 replied Sir Giles, curtly. " I always do ; 
 it's my way." 
 
 It certainly was, in one sense. His 
 thoughts about his fellow-creatures were 
 generally of a most cynical and acidulated 
 order, and Sir Giles seldom deprived his
 
 A Dinner at the Manor House. 81 
 
 associates of the luxury of sharing them 
 with him. 
 
 " You sing like a siren, Kate," whis- 
 pered Fortie, " and I'll never presume to 
 think you stupid again. " 
 
 " How good of you. I suppose I ought 
 to curtsey. I have been taught to always on 
 such occasions, as one of my governesses, 
 a clever Parisian, used to say, s Time 
 spent in acquiring a good curtsey is far 
 from being wasted. It is the best re- 
 joinder a woman can make to a doubtful 
 compliment.' " 
 
 " But I didn't mean that. I meant — " 
 
 " Stop ; here's our carriage. You can 
 tell me what you meant next time we 
 meet. Good night. Good night, Sir 
 Giles." 
 
 And so terminated the dinner at the 
 Manor House. 
 
 " What a darling Kate Moseley is !" 
 mused Fortie, over his cigar. " To think 
 of that little dishevelled child turning out 
 such a lovely girl." 
 
 VOL. i. G
 
 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 "Pretty little thing, that Moseley," 
 thought Sir Giles, in the privacy of his 
 bedchamber. " Clever, too, and with style. 
 How they acquire it, I don't know; but 
 these middle classes come nearer to us 
 than they did. It'll last my time, but I 
 
 suppose the country will be a d d 
 
 republic or thereabouts by nineteen 
 hundred. Fortie seems smitten. Wonder 
 whether it'll be a bad attack? Bad for 
 that Moseley chit, I presume, anyhow."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ET THE RIVER. 
 
 A BRIGHT May morning, and the 
 sun flashes down on the winding 
 streamlet, which sparkles back again its 
 greeting to 
 
 " Day, the mighty giver," 
 
 as George Eliot so prettily sings. The 
 little river ran serpentining all through the 
 Manor of St. Helens, and was fair to 
 look upon that spring morning, although 
 its willowy banks were flat, and rose but 
 some three feet or so above its level. 
 
 "It don't promise a good fishing day, 
 Mr. Fortie," observed the keeper, touch- 
 ing his hat, as Merrington strolled into 
 
 g 2
 
 84 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 the stable-yard in languid enjoyment of 
 the morning cigar. 
 
 " No ; too much sun and not enough 
 wind, eh, Jackson? But I shall have a 
 shy at the trout all the same. Which way 
 had we better go ?" 
 
 " Well, if you think good, sir, I expect 
 we'll have as good sport down towards 
 ' the deer leap ' as anywhere ; but it ain't 
 likely trout '11 look at a fly much with 
 such a cussed sun out as this, till towards 
 the afternoon." 
 
 " All right ; get the rods out, and I'll 
 be ready for you in a quarter of an hour 
 or so ;" and throwing away his cigar, 
 Fortie lounged back to the house, to see 
 if his uncle was yet down, for Sir Giles 
 was capricious in his breakfast hour, and, 
 though seldom early, varied between ten 
 and twelve, as a rule. He was late this 
 morning, and Fortie had breakfasted with- 
 out him. 
 
 He found his uncle over his tea and 
 Times in the dining-room.
 
 By the Elver. 85 
 
 " Glad to see your aunt's lost none of 
 her dignity. She's still as horrified as ever 
 at the advance of democratic opinions — 
 painfully afraid of returning to the class 
 from which she sprung, eh, Fortie ?" said 
 Sir Giles, after the usual greeting had 
 passed between them. 
 
 " Yes," laughed Merrington ; " poor 
 dear aunt Louisa firmly believes she was 
 * born in the purple.' " 
 
 " Xatural ! Commend me to a new 
 peer for a thorough aristocrat. If you 
 wish to convert a Eadical, give him a 
 place in the Government. They never 
 stopped Wilkes' mouth till they enlisted 
 him on the side of order, by letting 
 him taste the sweets of a salary paid 
 quarterly." 
 
 " The same principle as a reformed 
 poacher makes a good keeper," responded 
 Fortie. 
 
 " Yes, as Jonathan Wild and Vidocq 
 made great thief-takers. A proselyte in- 
 variably becomes a persecutor of his former
 
 86 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 associates, more especially when a stipend 
 is the reward of his apostacy. But where 
 are you off to ?" 
 
 " Going to try for a trout, though it's 
 not a very promising day." 
 
 " Ah ! you'll perhaps reach the Rectory. 
 If you clo, tell your aunt from me, my 
 intellects get so confoundedly rusted clown 
 here, I can hardly follow her. Just ask 
 her to explain what she meant by ' a 
 Golgotha of Nations,' will you?" and Sir 
 Giles chuckled grimly as his nephew left 
 the room laughing. 
 
 Jackson was about right in his views 
 of the day with regard to the fishing. 
 Whether the trout were asleep, whether 
 they were not hungry, or whether their flies 
 were prepared " without a due acquaintance 
 with the subjectivity of fishes," I can't say, 
 but certain it is that the two whipped the 
 stream perseveringly without a rise till 
 they arrived at Gibbett's Nook, just oppo- 
 site the Deer Leap. The spot was so 
 called, because there, in the early days
 
 By the Paver. 87 
 
 of the Georges, a noted reiver of the 
 Marsh country had expiated a long cata- 
 logue of crime, and the peasantry at 
 nightfall were still wont to hurry past 
 the place where Piers Thornton " dree'd 
 his doom." 
 
 " We may give it up for the present, 
 Jackson. I shall go and smoke a pipe 
 under that old clump of Scotch firs. I 
 don't suppose the spirit of the old outlaw 
 will interfere with us in such sunlight as 
 this." 
 
 " Xo, we'll be safe enough now," 
 laughed the keeper. " But for all that, 
 I'd not care to be about them firs much 
 after sundown." 
 
 " Why, you don't believe in ghosts ? 
 You don't really suppose you would see 
 anything of Piers Thornton, if you were 
 watching there at midnight, do you ? I 
 suppose you watch this ground as well as 
 any other when the harvest moon shines 
 bright enough for netting ?" 
 
 w Xo, Mr. Fortie, we don't, and
 
 88 Bitter is the Bind, 
 
 wouldn't care to," replied the keeper. 
 " There ain't no occasion either, for 
 there's ne'er a poacher in these parts 
 would draw net over these fields, or set 
 snare in these firs." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " 'Cause its unchancy like. They do 
 say queer things may be seen at dark in 
 this very clump we're sitting in. I never 
 saw any myself; but then, certain, I 
 never went to look." 
 
 "Why, d n it, man, you don't 
 
 believe in such things, do you ? You, 
 wouldn't be afraid, would you ?" 
 
 "Well, Mr. Eortie, I'm afraid of no 
 flesh and blood poacher that ever put 
 foot in shoe-leather ; but I gin into 
 things you can'fc grapple with. Don't 
 believe either this here Thornton at 
 present, mind I'm not saying what 
 he might have done times long since 
 ever traps ; leastways the birds, hares 
 and things does wonderful well down 
 this away. I don't like meddling with
 
 By the 'River. 89 
 
 what I don't rightly understand. You, sir, 
 at all events ought to be careful, for 
 whenever he's seen he bodes trouble to 
 your family, leastways to a De Driby ; 
 so my grandmother used to say, and 
 she'd great knowledge, had my grand- 
 mother." 
 
 " Dare say she had ; never mind, tell 
 us the old legend, if you recollect it. 
 If I ever heard it I've forgotten it." 
 
 " Don't know the story of Piers Thorn- 
 ton, your great grandfather, and ' the 
 Spinning Xook,' Mr. Fortie you're laugh- 
 ing at me." 
 
 " Not at all, Jackson ; I really don't. 
 Go on." 
 
 " You know that little holt we call the 
 Spinning Xook, which never was without 
 a magpie's nest since I remember ; times 
 too as we've trapped, poisoned, and shot 
 'em off — you know that, sir, don't 
 ve ?" 
 
 Fortie nodded. 
 
 "Well, thev do sav them everlasting
 
 90 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 magpies is the spirits of Piers Thornton, 
 and the woman he murdered and died 
 for." Jackson stopped to let this awful 
 communication have its full weight, but 
 his auditor smoked on tranquilly. 
 
 "You know nothing about the story 
 then, sir ? and what's more, them as 
 knew the rights of it is all gone long 
 since ; but I'll tell ye as much as I 
 knows. My gran'mother used to tell it 
 this how : that years ago a good-looking 
 woman in a red cloak arrived at St. 
 Helens, and wanted to see your ancestor. 
 She was a country woman like, but 
 claimed to have a hold on the Baronet 
 of some shape, leastways she wouldn't 
 leave till she had seen him. She sat at 
 the gate till he came home from his 
 hunting, and when he saw her he said 
 wrathfully, roughish-like, you know, 
 6 What, you here, Maggie ; how dare you 
 after all I've said to you.' 
 
 " They say she answered him vicious : 
 ' I've dared much for you, it's time you
 
 By the Elver. 91 
 
 dared a little for me. I never heard 01 
 a De Drib j who feared before.' 
 
 " He looked very black and angry at 
 that, and bade her come in. What took 
 place between them no one knows, but after 
 half an hour she came out, turned on 
 the threshold and said : 
 
 " ' Let no one ever believe in your race 
 from henceforth. 'Tis well I brought my 
 spinning-wheel, for some one will need a 
 shroud ere long.' 
 
 " She had left her wheel, . it seems, in 
 the village. On leaving the Manor House 
 she went back and got it and some pro- 
 visions. For the next two days she sat 
 at .the edge of that holt, and when passers- 
 by questioned her, as to what she was 
 doing, she only plied her wheel and 
 answered, ' that which will soon be 
 wonted.' 
 
 " On the third morning that dark-eyed 
 gipsy -looking wench was found at her 
 post, with her throat cut from ear to ear, 
 a broken spinniug- wheel, and a half-made
 
 92 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 shroud lying beside her. How evidence 
 brought the act home to Piers Thornton, 
 how your ancestor pursued him with 
 relentless animosity, how, in his endea- 
 vours to escape he took that desperate 
 jump across the deer's leap, of which the 
 foot-prints are kept clear to this day, you 
 know, Mr. Fortie, as well as I can tell 
 you. But they do say the murdered 
 woman was either Piers Thornton's wife, 
 mistress or sister, and that your great 
 grandfather had brought her to shame." 
 
 " Jove !" said Merrington, " that's 
 rather a good story, Jackson. I never 
 heard it all before, though I have bits of 
 it. But what do you mean about the 
 ghost of Piers Thornton boding no good 
 to our family ?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Fortie, you don't mean to 
 say you never heard the old rhyme about 
 Piers Thornton and the De Dribys ?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Why all the country-side as has got 
 any learning and gumption knows that.
 
 By the Elver. 93 
 
 They say it's true too, though I'll not say 
 I know that from my own knowledge. 
 
 " ' When for nights three the sea aar* rolls, 
 Teeming with disembodied souls ; 
 Shrieks Thornton round his leafless tree, 
 De Driby then his fate must dree.' " 
 
 " And you believe that to be the 
 case ?" 
 
 " Well, my grandmother did, and she 
 was a knowledgeable person." 
 
 " Well, Jackson, I think we'll make 
 another start again now, and work our 
 way back to the Manor House. You'll 
 have to give me timely notice of Piers 
 Thornton being much about, so that we 
 may lock up the plate, &c. ; for from his 
 habits in this world, I should think the 
 spoons are the thing Sir Giles need be 
 most anxious about." 
 
 " It's ill jesting 'bout such things, Mr. 
 Fortie," said the old keeper, sulkily; he 
 believed implicitly in the truth of his 
 
 * Aar — the sea-fog — a bit of the old Scandinavian 
 tongue still in vogue in the fen country.
 
 94 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 legend himself, and bad told it with 
 genuine earnestness. Consequently, he 
 was not well pleased with Merrington's 
 jesting observation. 
 
 The trout, as they fished their way 
 homewards, seemed to have lost the 
 Spartan fortitude and self-denial of the 
 morning, and lost their lives in pursuit 
 of a sophism, in a way quite worthy of 
 mankind. Tt was with well-filled creels 
 they arrived once more opposite the Manor 
 House. 
 
 " Leave me the small basket, Jackson, 
 and take the fish home. I shall work a 
 little way further up stream I saw a 
 good fish rise under the willows at the 
 bend there the other day," and Fortie 
 continued his way. 
 
 After two or three unsuccessful casts, 
 however, it occurred to his mercurial 
 imagination that he had had enough of it. 
 
 " Jove !" he muttered, " I'll go up and 
 call on old Moseley, have a chat with 
 Katie, and that'll about fetch one round
 
 By the River. 95 
 
 for dinner. This old place isn't lively and 
 that's a solid fact." 
 
 He pnt up his rod, and strode rapidly 
 along now. It was probable that this 
 thought was latent in his brain when he 
 sent Jackson home with the fish. He 
 soon came in sight of the dark red-brick 
 gabled old house, all smothered with 
 creepers and ivy, that constituted the 
 agent's abode — with its garden, filled 
 with bright spring flowers, running down 
 to the clear fresh stream he had been 
 fishing. Katie herself, occupied with 
 some woman's work, was seated in the 
 shadow of the porch, the dark shade of 
 which seemed a fitting frame-work to the 
 picture of her fair self, with her glistening 
 tresses and light draperies. She did not 
 perceive him until he had got within a few 
 yards of her, when the crunch of his 
 heel on the gravel, as he forsook the soft 
 shaven turf, caused her to raise her 
 head. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Merrington, this is good of
 
 96 Bitter is the Bmd. 
 
 you," smiled Katie, brightly, as she rose 
 and extended her hand. " Coming to 
 see me so soon, and also, I hope, to 
 present me with part of the proceeds of 
 the day's plunder. I like to think you 
 haven't forgot the little assistant of ' auld 
 lang syne.' " 
 
 " That would be ingratitude," returned 
 Fortie, at the same time feeling rather 
 embarrassed, as he reflected that the neat- 
 looking basket slung across his shoulder 
 contained nothing but the slight grassy 
 bed on which the big trout under the 
 willows should have placidly reposed, 
 had he assisted that mighty fish to fulfil 
 the destiny he had himself decreed. " But 
 I am so sorry I have no share of the 
 day's spoil to offer you, I sent what I 
 had killed home by Jackson, as I passed 
 the bend level with the Manor House, 
 thinking I was sure to kill a good fish or 
 two between that and here." 
 
 " And you haven't — oh dear ! and the 
 very sight of you suggested trout for
 
 By the River. 97 
 
 dinner. Don't look so serious, I am not 
 such a gourmand as to trouble myself 
 much about it." 
 
 " Don't chaff, Katie." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to pretend not to 
 understand that — but I do. Shall I trans- 
 late it freely, now ? French idiom, I 
 presume for, i put on your company 
 manners, Katie. 5 " 
 
 (( Why on earth can't you be serious ?" 
 
 " What ! because you have caught no 
 fish. I don't see that is reason sufficient 
 — moreover, I am in mood to be very 
 much the reverse." 
 
 " Xo, I don't mean that ; but let's talk 
 sensible." 
 
 " Merci, Monsieur" said Katie, as she 
 bent her head low. " Did they teach 
 the science of compliments at Oxford, 
 and if so weren't you plucked, or spun, 
 or whatever they call it ? Oh dear ; to 
 think that my converse should be ever 
 held anything else. I assure you I am 
 not accustomed to be told so." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Nonsense, Katie ; you know what I 
 
 mean/' 
 
 " Perfectly;" laughed the girl. " Shall 
 I tell you ? You're puzzled, and can't 
 quite make up your mind how you ought 
 to talk to the little girl you knew years 
 ago. Surely you might have found out 
 the other night, that the little girl has 
 grown up and takes her place as a young 
 
 woman." 
 
 "Yes, and a very pretty one too. I 
 told you so the other night. I recognized 
 the fact there and then." 
 
 "You did, Mr. Merrington;" said 
 Kate, more seriously than she had hitherto 
 spoken. " Forgive me if I say you have 
 not learnt the alphabet of life so 
 thoroughly as I have. Last time we met 
 you were three years my senior — now I 
 am that older than you. Don't be 
 angry," she continued, "it is ever so, a 
 girl at eighteen is intuitively older than 
 a man of one-and-twenty." 
 
 " I'll not object," laughed Fortie, " you
 
 By the River. 99 
 
 shall be any age you choose to put your- 
 self at, Katie." 
 
 "You asked me to be serious a few 
 seconds back, now listen to me. You 
 treated me the other night with a certain 
 amount of condescension. No woman, 
 who is not a fool, ever bears that except 
 from unworthy or interested motives. 
 Your very compliment on my appearance 
 savoured of patronizing approval." 
 
 That the young men of these days 
 are not easily taken aback, I will admit. 
 That the majority of young men of 
 twenty-two would have deemed them- 
 selves perfectly equal to the occasion, I 
 have no doubt. The lore and startling 
 experiences that flow from their lips on 
 such points in club smoking-rooms, and 
 other places where men do congregate, 
 are wont to humble quiet people like 
 myself much. We suck hard at our 
 cigars, and muse with flushed faces on 
 our own surprising ignorance, concerning 
 the ways and windings of women. But 
 
 h 2
 
 100 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Fortie, I am sorry to say, happened to 
 be no more equal to the occasion than I 
 should have been. It is so easy to assert 
 what you would do or say under certain 
 circumstances ; but let the circumstances 
 come like a thunder-storm upon your 
 unprepared head, and you are mostly in 
 the position of ' the man without an 
 umbrella.' When the assault comes from 
 a young and pretty woman, defence waxes 
 difficult. Prettily knit brows and lustrous 
 eyes, belonging neither to a man's wife 
 nor sister, are wont to induce a feeling if 
 not of guilt, at least of being somehow 
 in the wrong, when the coral lips con- 
 nected with them commence upbraid- 
 ing. 
 
 "My dear Katie," stammered Fortie 
 at last. " I'm distressed beyond measure. 
 I'm sure I hadn't the slightest inten- 
 tion—" 
 
 " Stop, Mr. Merrington, and listen 
 once more to me. Of any intention, I 
 acquit you, else I had never talked to you
 
 By the Fiver. 101 
 
 a the way I have. But recollect, life is 
 likely to be hard for me. For good or 
 for evil, I've been brought up a lady — out 
 of my station, if you will — still I intend 
 to be either received as such or not 
 at all." 
 
 Fortie was rather at a loss as to how 
 to continue the conversation. He had 
 been most decidedly caught without his 
 umbrella, and began to think Kate by no 
 means improved on further acquaintance. 
 How was he to divine that he was ex- 
 piating the sins of his aunt — that Kate 
 was avenging the slights Mrs. De Driby 
 had put upon her npon his luckless self. 
 But so it was, and " the little minx," as 
 Mrs. De Driby had termed her, was quite 
 aware of the iujustice of her charges, and 
 that it was so. It is given to many of 
 us in this world to bow our heads to the 
 vials of wrath, that are reduced by a 
 fellow-creature's short-comings. Woman 
 has rather undefined ideas about justice, 
 though her perceptions are remarkably
 
 102 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 clear as to the necessity of vengeance. 
 As long as somebody is scalped on these 
 minor occasions, she is not wont to be 
 very particular as to its being the actual 
 offender. 
 
 But now that her small vengeance was 
 accomplished, and she saw Fortie much 
 humbled and discomfited, Kate began 
 to relent and felt that she must send him 
 away, at all events, comforted. 
 
 " Now, dou't look so penitent about 
 it," she exclaimed, " and please don't 
 be angry. I get a little sore about my 
 position at times, and your aunt took 
 good care to let me feel it last night. 
 Come inside and let me get you a glass 
 of the old ale as I used to do," and Katie 
 led the way in doors. 
 
 Fortie followed ; but this sudden change 
 only still more confused his mental per- 
 ceptions. From duchess to dairy-maid — 
 from young lady of his own standing to 
 old Moseley's daughter, Kate seemed to 
 have passed in a few seconds. He thought
 
 By the River. 103 
 
 he could talk to her now; "but, Jove! 
 you know," he muttered, as Kate tripped 
 out of the pretty parlour, "if I make 
 a mistake she'll be on her stilts again in 
 a moment." 
 
 She glided back in a few minutes with 
 a tankard, and poured him out a foaming 
 glass of amber-coloured ale. 
 
 "There;" she said, "I'm sure you 
 must want that after such a hot after- 
 noon's work. Tell me what you did and 
 where you've been ? I know the river 
 well, remember." 
 
 So Fortie began recounting his day's 
 sport, and was soon at his ease again. 
 
 " I am afraid you like neither my aunt 
 nor my uncle, Kate," he observed, at 
 length. " Beg pardon, I suppose I ought 
 to say Miss Moseley." 
 
 "Now, you don't suppose anything of. 
 the kind, Mr. Merrington." 
 
 " Well, but if I call you Katie, I should 
 imagine you ought also to call me by my 
 Christian name, as in days of yore."
 
 104 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 " Put with great casuistry," laughed 
 the girl. " But, you see, it isu't quite 
 the same thing. You may call a dependant 
 like poor little me, nearly anything it 
 seems good to your mightiness to con- 
 descend to. But, mind, though in con- 
 sideration of our youthful scrapes, I'll 
 allow Katie, yet the lower orders rise 
 sometimes when too severely trodden on. 
 So be careful ; I've imbibed Republican 
 ideas at Paris." 
 
 " That don't answer the question. Why 
 shouldn't you call me Fortie?" 
 
 " \Yell, I should not so much mind, 
 just between ourselves, and when I'm 
 pleased with you; but in public, I dare 
 not be so democratic. Besides, think of 
 your aunt. It might kill her if she heard 
 me address you as Fortie," and here Kate 
 burst into a fit of laughter at the idea of Mrs. 
 De Driby's face under such circumstances. 
 
 " Well, I know you don't like her," 
 replied Fortie ; " but that needn't hinder 
 you and I from being friends."
 
 By the River. 105 
 
 " Xo, I should hope not, and though 
 Mrs. De Driby did her best to spoil my 
 evening for me the other night, she was 
 unsuccessful." 
 
 " Oh ! So you enjoyed yourself, then, 
 Katie, after all ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I did, very much. You were 
 all very kind but her." 
 
 " Why, I thought 1 hadn't behaved, for 
 one, as I ought to have done." 
 
 " Ah, never mind now. I've had it out 
 with you, and was hardly fair to you, 
 besides." 
 
 " Glad you admit that. Walk to the 
 end of the garden with me, Katie, won't 
 you? 
 
 " Yes ;" and the girl rose with her hat 
 hanging by the strings negligently over her 
 arm, and accompanied Fortie down the 
 walk. 
 
 " And what do you think of my 
 uncle ?" 
 
 " He was very civil to me, and I've 
 heard he's by no means that to every
 
 106 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 one. In his own house, of course, he's 
 6 monarch of all he surveys ;' but he'd 
 be nicer if he didn't impress that fact 
 quite so much upon his guests." 
 
 " How I wish he could hear your 
 criticism ! But I must say good-bye. 
 Won't you say 6 Grood-bye, Fortie,' in 
 memory of old times ?" 
 
 " Mr. Merrington, your most obedient 
 servant," laughed Katie, as she swept him 
 a curtsey wonderful in its majesty for one 
 of her small size. Then following it up 
 by a laughing little nod, Kate Moseley 
 tripped back to the house. 
 
 Regarding Fortie, one might say with 
 Mercutio : 
 
 " 0, flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified!"
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MANAGER'S ROOM, 
 
 THREE weeks slip away, during which, 
 regardless of variations in the weather, 
 Fortie continues to whip perseveringly for 
 trout. It is seldom that he does not con- 
 trive but that his fishing shall lead him 
 at some period of the day into close 
 proximity with that red brick house by 
 the river. It is a matter of course that he 
 should look in. Katie, too, had always 
 taken a great interest in the achievements 
 of his rod. What more natural than that 
 she should bring out a book and join 
 him? At the expiration of that time, 
 Fortie is hopelessly in love with Kate 
 Moseley, although he has not as yet ex- 
 plicitly declared his passion. Kate requires
 
 108 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 very little information on that subject, but 
 her feelings towards him are by no means 
 so pronounced. She likes him better, cer- 
 tainly, than any one she has yet seen. It 
 is only natural, as Fortie and the Rev. 
 Phillip Filander are the only two young 
 men educated up to her own standard 
 with whom she has been as yet thrown 
 in contact. She shrinks from the " well 
 to do " young farmers who are occasional 
 callers at her father's house, and these 
 young gentlemen, by no means more diffi- 
 dent on the subject of their personal at- 
 tractions than their betters, have quickly 
 arrived at the conclusion that Miss Moseley 
 gives herself airs. There is innate refine- 
 ment about Katie, even had it never been 
 cultivated. There are fine fibres in her 
 nature that rebel instinctively against 
 coarseness of manner, word or gesture. 
 It did not jar the least upon her to talk 
 to her father's labourers, but it did so very 
 much when it came to conversing with 
 her father's guests. More especially did
 
 TJie Manager s Room. 109 
 
 the loud, boisterous manner and rather 
 coarse jokes of the younger of them repel 
 her; while she, certainly, on her part, 
 rather alarmed them. 
 
 Shrewd and essentially sympathetic in 
 her nature, Kate had rapidly penetrated 
 Fortie's character. She knew already 
 pretty nearly both the best and the 
 worst of him. She had divined not only 
 the gay, light, chivalrous nature that 
 women are apt to so dearly love, but 
 she recognised both his instability and 
 weakness besides. Kate had made up 
 her mind, not that she must of necessity 
 marry, but that if ever she did marry it 
 was essential for her happiness that her 
 husband should be a gentleman. 
 
 On the whole, she was rather pleased 
 when, having announced his intention of 
 going to London for a month or so, he 
 came to bid her good-bye. She rather 
 washed to think matters over for the 
 present, while there was little difficulty 
 in withdrawing altogether from the posi-
 
 110 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 tion if she chose. So they two parted, 
 with warm protestations on his side which 
 Kate met, as was her wont, in that playful 
 manner, half jest, half earnest, which, 
 though it sometimes made Fortie very 
 angry, yet after all had a strange charm 
 of its own for him. So much so that, 
 after the manner of lovers generally, he 
 felt he would not, his irritation having 
 had time to subside, have had her other- 
 wise. 
 
 Possessed of a chair and a fragrant 
 cabana, Merrington is lazily contemplating 
 the kaleidoscope of " Vanity Fair," as it 
 breaks into different segments or groups in 
 the crowded Row, when a passing lounger, 
 slipping his arm from his companions, 
 crossed towards him and exclaimed : 
 
 " Fortie Merrington, thou infantile pro- 
 moter of my juvenile comforts, once more 
 welcome to Babylon. ( How came he thence 
 — what doth he here ?' in the words of 
 the poet, or thereabouts. How are you ?" 
 
 " Deuced glad to see you, Fripley.
 
 The Managers Room. Ill 
 
 Was thinking of beating up your quarters 
 in a day or two. Suppose you are still 
 in the old rooms ?" 
 
 " Yes, for the present, the Temple 
 still possesses its brightest ornament. 
 Of course, I am still meditating that 
 Belgravian palace that my wandering 
 affections have recurred to any time these 
 last five years. But the British public 
 has not yet recognised my talents in a 
 pecuniary point of view sufficiently to 
 warrant that aristrocratic move. Besides, 
 1 whisper it not in Gath,' Belgravia is 
 pretty stupid in the season, and a desert 
 out of it." 
 
 The speaker was a slight dark man 
 about the middle height, clear shaved, 
 with the exception of a well-trimmed 
 moustache with quick bead-like eyes, that 
 appeared to take in at a glance, not only 
 all their surroundings, but even things 
 that seemed without their ken. 
 
 For tie had been Fripley Furnival's fag 
 at Eton. There is not, you will say,
 
 112 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 much intimacy between an Eton fag and 
 his master, especially when some five or 
 six years divide them; but Fripley had 
 always been kind to, and fond of c the 
 little un,' and Furnival was one of those 
 public school heroes about whom their com- 
 peers predict such mighty destinies, and 
 whom small boys regard as Alcibiades re- 
 surgat. Fripley had not, and as far as 
 could be seen was little likely to realize 
 these warm-hearted prophecies. He 
 knew everybody in town, and he had 
 done a bit of most things. All his friends 
 agreed he could be anything he chose, 
 but then you see he had arrived at the 
 ao-e of twenty-eight and still not chosen. 
 He had written a few things for the stage, 
 and had been successful. Many of the 
 reviews recognised him as an acute and 
 clever commentator. Magazines liked 
 his articles, and society welcomed him 
 cordially. Yet with all this, Fripley at 
 eight-and-twenty was still no where, he 
 wanted continuity of purpose— what he
 
 The Manager's Room. 113 
 
 did, lie did well, and in no way belied 
 the promise of his youth, but steady 
 resolute labour seemed quite beyond him, 
 and it was useless apparently to expect 
 sustained effort from Fripley Furnival. 
 Men of this class, I need scarcely say are 
 a very welcome addition to the genuine 
 idlers of society, all more or less bored 
 with themselves. A man who talked 
 cleverly of most things, and might be at 
 any time expected to do something really 
 good and worth talking about was a 
 man to know ; consequently Fripley had 
 no lack of acquaintances. He took all 
 this just as it came, entered keenly into 
 the enjoyments of this world, proclaimed 
 himself a philosopher, whose theory was 
 that all the roses you may gather are 
 bare compensation for the thistles allotted 
 to you, that he would make the most of his 
 spring time, and when the autumn days 
 came on, then should the world be edified 
 by the results of his experience and 
 observations. 
 
 VOL. I. i
 
 114 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Ah ! it's no new theory that. Let 
 me have my fling now, and I'll settle 
 clown to real honest work when it is over. 
 It is little work we are good for when 
 we have had that fling, and we are very 
 chary of communicating our experiences 
 to the friends of our riant days. A few 
 weak men may whimper over their past 
 days of sin and folly ; but I think as a 
 body we take our punishment in silence 
 and humility, and have the grace to keep 
 oar feelings to ourselves. 
 
 " Sit down;" said Fortie, " and have 
 a weed if you've nothing better in hand, 
 we haven't met for months." 
 
 " All right, I'll tell you what we'll do, 
 just smoke a baccy quietly and contem- 
 plate 'the raree show' here for half an 
 hour, then you shall give me some lunch 
 at the Areopagus, and afterwards we'll 
 stroll up and see Brazeley Basinghall. 
 I've a little business with him about 
 three." 
 
 " Who the devil's he ?" inquired Fortie
 
 The Manager's Boom. 115 
 
 " Manager of tlie Hvacinth, not a bad 
 sort — kind of fellow you ought to know 
 as far as Brazeley has time ever to know 
 anybody ; but he lives in such a devil of 
 a hurry, I can't conceive his even finding 
 time to die. When he does, I should 
 think he'd leave directions that he is to 
 be taken by special train to the nearest 
 cemetery, and that the burial service is to 
 be as short as it can be made, as he 
 is anxious about something or another in 
 the next world." 
 
 "Eather a character," remarked Fortie. 
 
 " I don't know about that ; theatrical 
 men are always in a devil of a hurry to 
 see somebody, without time to see some- 
 body else. It's their normal state, though 
 Basinghall's state of perpetual bustle is 
 rather in excess of most of his class." 
 
 Many a bow and nod was bestowed on 
 Furnival's chair, as the twain leisurely 
 consumed their tobacco. 
 
 " Who's that ?" inquired Fortie, as a 
 good-looking, lady-like girl gave a laugh- 
 
 i 2
 
 116 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 ing nod to Fripley, supplemented by a 
 slighter one from her cavalier. 
 
 " That ? Bessie Medlecott, of the 
 Parthenon. She's first singing chamber- 
 maid there. Out of the bill to-night, I 
 suppose, or else she'd be at rehearsal. 
 That's Jim Driver, the burlesque writer, 
 she's walking with. Rumour says he is 
 sweet there, and he might do worse, for 
 Bessie's clever, and a real good girl to 
 boot. She'll bring grist to the mill in 
 a couple of years or so. She's just got 
 her opening, and works hard." 
 
 " Works hard !" ejaculated Fortie. 
 " Why, you don't mean to tell me that 
 actresses ever have to do that ?" 
 
 "Weugh!" whistled Fripley. "Yes, 
 6 young un,' though you, like many other 
 people, seem blissfully unconscious of the 
 fact, an actress, if she is ever to do any- 
 thing in her profession, has to work as 
 hard as a milliner, and with not a deal 
 better salary at starting. Even after 
 they've got through the drudging, they
 
 Tlie Managers Room. 117 
 
 have plenty of hard work, though they're 
 more fairly remunerated for it ; but the 
 work, my Fortie, sticks to them to the 
 end, as it does in everything else that 
 money is to be made by." 
 
 11 By the way, I suppose you've got 
 something else coming out, by your ap- 
 pointment with Basinghall." 
 
 " Gela depend. I've been pretty fairly 
 successful with two or three things, but 
 managers are not fighting for my pro- 
 ductions as yet. We call them ' groovy ' 
 people, because they so much prefer 
 taking the work of an old hand to look- 
 :ug at that of a new. Of course they 
 are right in a business point of view, and 
 the public corrects their mistakes, as it 
 does other people's on most points. No, 
 my boy, there's nothing to test what your 
 work is worth, as a general rule, like the 
 value the public put on it. I don't say 
 it was always so ; but in these days a man 
 is generally appraised at his fair value in 
 his own time."
 
 118 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Well, come along and get some lunch ; 
 the place is thinning," and the two strolled 
 towards the regions of Pall Mall, in which 
 the Areopagus was situated. 
 
 " And what line of country do you 
 intend to take up ?" inquired Furnival, as 
 he leisurely sipped some highly-to-be-com- 
 mended light claret. " A man in these 
 days must be a millionnaire or something, 
 you know. There never was a wider 
 scope than there is now, though I'll admit 
 there's plenty of entries for every stake." 
 
 " Scope !" ejaculated Fortie. " Why, 
 unless you ' go for ' the Church, the Bar, 
 the Navy, the Army, or the Medical pro- 
 fession, what is a gentleman to be ?" 
 
 " My dear Merrington," replied the 
 other, in pitying tones, " now do be 
 sensible, please, and drop all that ex- 
 ploded bosh about family dignity. The 
 Howards, Montmorencies and De Dribys 
 must awake to the conclusion that those 
 glorious old days, in which such distin- 
 guished families were allowed license so
 
 The Manager s Room. 119 
 
 unlimited that, as Hume expresses it, 
 1 Thieving was not the peculiar habit of 
 the low and indigent, but often common 
 to them with persons of rank and landed 
 estate,' are long gone by. The Mont- 
 morencies obtain their plunder legally now 
 on the Stock Exchange ; the Howards are 
 conversant with the price of cotton. Come 
 off your stilts, man, if you mean to talk 
 sensibly." 
 
 " Well, look here, Fripley, without chaff. 
 I should like to turn my hand to some- 
 thing. Suggest?" 
 
 "Hum!" mused the other. "There's 
 comic singing justifies a brougham and 
 pair of horses in these days. Now, don't 
 get riled. I've heard you do ' The Rat- 
 catcher's Daughter ' very fairly in times 
 lang syne. Then you might start ' the 
 adventurer game,' political demagogue, or 
 Exeter Hall ; they all require nothing but 
 implicit belief in yourself, and unlimited 
 assurance. Men make very good livings 
 out of all three, and become eminent
 
 120 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 people and of newspaper notoriety in fol- 
 lowing them. Don't be childish," he con- 
 tinued, as the other made a movement 
 of impatience. " ' Keep your temper, 
 if you keep nothing else,' is a maxim that 
 has pulled a good deal bigger men than 
 you or I through scores of times since 
 the world began. But come along now, 
 and I'll give you my views about your 
 future career on another occasion." 
 
 The two departed, and after a short 
 walk up the Strand, turned up one of 
 those smaller streets to the left, and 
 arrived at the stage-door of the Hyacinth. 
 
 " Governor in, Collins ?" inquired Fur- 
 nival, as the janitor touched his hat. 
 " Take my card up, and say I've come 
 to see him by appointment," and like one 
 of the initiated, Fripley immediately fol- 
 lowed the dirty-faced boy to whom his 
 pasteboard was at once transferred. They 
 blundered down two or three all but dark 
 passages, both up and down small lots of 
 stairs, and the boy knocked at a door,
 
 The Manager's Room. 121 
 
 with the observation to his companions of 
 " You wait here." 
 
 " Come in, and be expletived," res- 
 ponded the energetic voice of the 
 " despot of the realm." " Who the 
 deuce is it ? I can't see anybody. I 
 haven't time. Fripley Furnival — tell 
 him I'm out. Stop ! His last farce 
 went, didn't it? Then, of course, his 
 
 next will be d d. Expended the little 
 
 humour he has in him in that last effort." 
 
 " It was a very good farce, and had a 
 very fair run; you know it as well as I 
 do," said a woman's voice. 
 
 " Don't know anything of the kind. 
 How should I ? I haven't time to recol- 
 lect these things. Now, will you go ? I 
 tell you it can't be done." 
 
 " Yes ; and I tell you it must be done 
 and shall be done." 
 
 " Oh ! very good. You intend to for- 
 feit your engagement, I suppose, and say 
 you'll not play it without those altera- 
 tions ?"
 
 122 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " No, Brazeley ; I'm not quite a fool. 
 I shall play it; but I'll play it down." 
 
 "Very good, miss, if that's your way 
 of thinking. The sooner you seek another 
 engagement the better." 
 
 " I shan't do anything of the kind. 
 There's plenty of theatres in London, but 
 I prefer this. The manager, I know, is 
 about the most cross-grained old thing in 
 town; but he did me a good turn at 
 starting, and I haven't forgot it." 
 
 " Then why the devil can't you do what 
 you're told ?" 
 
 " Because I know better what's good 
 both for him and for me." 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Mr. Basinghall, " I 
 like you, I do — you, whom I brought out, 
 and—" 
 
 " Who's been a credit to the theatre 
 ever since. Now, listen to me for a 
 moment. I can make nothing of the part 
 without those alterations." 
 
 " But I tell you, the author will never 
 submit to them."
 
 The Manager s Room. 123 
 
 " There, that'll do ; you leave the 
 author to me. Just ask him to attend 
 the next rehearsal, and if he don't give 
 in, I'll do all I can with it ; I give you 
 my honour." 
 
 " You're a nice article to have on the 
 premises, upon my life you are, Miss 
 Jerningham ! After taking up a manager's 
 time half of this morning, — you want to 
 bully an author all to-morrow. There, 
 do go, for goodness sake. I'll write to the 
 author, and if he's such a confounded fool 
 as to attend the next rehearsal, you may 
 settle it with him. Now, boy, show Mr. 
 Furnival in." 
 
 The two had been unwilling auditors 
 of a considerable part of the foregoing 
 conversation, and now, in obedience to 
 their youthful conductor, entered the 
 apartment. 
 
 " My dear Furnival, delighted to see 
 you. Haven't seen you for an age. Never 
 have time to see half the people I want 
 to see," exclaimed the manager, a fresh,
 
 124 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 florid, dark-complexioned man of fifty or 
 thereabouts. Miss Jerningham, I think 
 yon know." 
 
 Having shaken hands with Basinghall, 
 and presented Fortie to him, Fripley 
 shook hands with the actress. They were 
 old acquaintances, and rather friends in 
 their way. 
 
 " Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. 
 Merrington. Hope we shall be good 
 friends when we know each other." 
 
 This was the manager's way ; he always 
 welcomed people cordially, whether he 
 knew them or not. It was not altogether 
 humbug on his part, for he was a genial, 
 warm-hearted man, and had done many 
 a kind action in the course of his career; 
 but he saw in the way of business so 
 many people, and made out of the way 
 of business so many acquaintances, that 
 he really hardly at times could recollect 
 who he did know and who he did not. 
 This general bonliommie was, consequently, 
 a safe line to assume, and saved the
 
 Tlie Manager's Boom. 125 
 
 hurting of sensitive people's feelings from 
 deficiency of memory regarding their per- 
 sonality. 
 
 " It's a long while since I've seen you, 
 Mr. Furnival. You never come down to 
 see what we're doing here nowadays," 
 remarked the actress. 
 
 " Well, I didn't come behind to con- 
 gratulate you on your B Rose Delmar ' in 
 • The Ball on the Roll,' but I was there 
 all the same on the first night to see it. 
 Give you great credit, Lizzie ; one of the 
 best things you've done, to my mind, 
 and, you know, I always have thought 
 we hadn't seen the best of you. Rather 
 hope we haven't yet, and don't think we 
 have." 
 
 " Very nice of you to say so ; but I'm 
 glad you liked me in * Rose.' It is a good 
 part, and I tried hard to make the most 
 of it. The papers all spoke well of me." 
 
 " I should think so. No more c walking 
 parts ' now, Lizzie, eh ?" 
 
 " No, indeed," said the actress, with a
 
 126 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 saucy laugh. " Brazeley's beginning to 
 see I've got something in me when I 
 get a chance. Do you recollect how 
 pleased I was when you persuaded him 
 to give me that ' chambermaid bit ' in 
 your first farce. I have got a bit beyond 
 that now," said the actress, with a saucy 
 toss of her head. 
 
 " Of course, Your Highness. Still, 
 Lizzie, though you're ' leading lady,' 
 you'll have to do all you can with this 
 thing of mine. It's not so good as e Hose 
 Delmar,' as a part ; but you must do my 
 heroine for me all the same." 
 
 " It'll be very bad if I decline to do 
 all I can with anything of yours. When's 
 it to come out ?" 
 
 " I say, Basinghall, what do you mean 
 to do about my comedy ? When have you 
 aD opening for it ?" 
 
 " Well, I really can't tell you. I don't 
 mean to withdraw this c Ball on the Roll ' 
 as long as it draws ; and though houses are 
 not quite so big as they were, it's still
 
 The Manager 9 s Boom. 127 
 
 drawing very fairly. I've a comedietta of 
 Stur^e's in rehearsal, as Lizzie Jerningham 
 there will tell yon. When we've finished 
 with that, we'll have a shy at you. I 
 can't tell you any nearer. Managers must 
 live, though actresses and authors seem 
 to think they are only intended to intro- 
 duce them to the public." 
 
 " Well, I shall look in again when I 
 see that thing of Sturge's announced." 
 
 " All right, my boy ; and now, 'pon my 
 life, you must all clear out. I've heaps to 
 do." 
 
 " Good-bye, Brazeley," said the actress. 
 " Now, don't forget amongst your num- 
 berless avocations you've a lot of us to 
 dine with you at Greenwich next Sunday 
 week." 
 
 " Gad ! I nearly had. I say, Furnival, 
 you'd better come, too, and if your friend 
 there will accompany you, I shall be 
 charmed to see him. Now, please go, 
 everybody." 
 
 A shake of the hand from the two
 
 128 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 gentlemen, and a little nod from the lady, 
 and the trio moved towards the door. 
 
 " Take my card in, you young cuss," 
 said a voice with a strong American 
 accent. " I reckon he'll see Seth Thorn- 
 dale, and be glad to do it when he hears 
 he's about his location. If he's engaged, 
 ask for how long ; he knows time's 
 money as well as I do." 
 
 They paused as the before-mentioned 
 boy opened the door, followed closely by a 
 good-looking man about thirty years of 
 age. 
 
 "Beg pardon, I'm sure," said the in- 
 truder, lifting his hat to Lizzie; "but I 
 always stick to my card as close as a 
 tender to an engine on these occasions. 
 Only way, I tell you, if you want to do 
 business. Hope I'm not interfering with 
 you in any way." 
 
 " Not at all," replied the actress, with 
 a bow ; "we are just leaving," and she 
 swept out of the room, followed by her 
 companions.
 
 The Manager's Room. 129 
 
 " How air you, Brazeley ?" said the 
 new comer, as the Manager cordially 
 shook hands with him. " Shocks to you, 
 I opine, seeing me in this old country, 
 ain't it now ? but I've a piece all ' blue 
 lights and sensation ' running pretty slick 
 the other side, and I did a biggish stroke 
 in petroleum last week, so I reckoned 
 I'd just run across and see if you'd any- 
 thing here in the way of plays or talent 
 that would suit, to fetch our Metropolis 
 for the autumn. Our folks, you see, 
 crave for novelty — express trains, blue 
 fire, aud a fellow on the line don't last 
 'em long. I like to pitch a drawing-room 
 comedy into them after that, till they're 
 on pins and needles for another dose of 
 sensational excitement. Pity we can't 
 get a chap to write us a real good slow 
 poisoning piece. I think that would tell 
 — not to prove fatal till the fifth act. 
 Good-looking girl dying all through, you 
 know, eh ?" 
 
 " Don't care what brought you, I'm 
 VOL. i. k
 
 130 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 devlish glad to see you ; but I've no time 
 to talk with you now. No need to talk 
 to you about a manager's business. Come 
 and dine to-night. There's my address, 
 Seth. Mind, sharp seven. Now hook 
 it." 
 
 " All right, old man, seven it is, 
 streaked lightning ain't a circumstance 
 to the way I'll make tracks. Guess 
 I've got an idea for you which ought 
 to fetch the Britishers. Off she goes. 
 Where's that young Mcodemus that 
 showed me up, I'll never get out with- 
 out a pilot." 
 
 Basinghall rang the bell, and the Ameri- 
 can manager, for such in truth he was, 
 though he combined various avocations 
 with it, departed. 
 
 " That's a devilish pretty girl," said 
 Merrington, as after putting the actress 
 into a cab, he and Fripley once more 
 strolled westward. 
 
 "Yes, she is," returned the other sen- 
 tentiously, "and as good as she's pretty.
 
 Hie Manager's Room.. 131 
 
 She lives at home with her parents, and, 
 I should think, finds best part of the 
 money. Her father is a professor of music, 
 and teaches the piano, singing, &c, as 
 far as he can, a good little man enough, 
 but he don't make a big sum per annum 
 at it. "Whether he can't teach, or people 
 won't be taught I don't know ; but he's 
 glad to take a turn in the orchestra here 
 when they want an extra violin. Lizzie 
 don't like it, and since her position in 
 the theatre has improved, I fancy he 
 don't often perform. As for her mother, 
 she's now a confirmed invalid — ladylike 
 woman, and I should think originally of 
 better class than her husband ; but I 
 don't know at all who or what she was. 
 Good-bye, you'd better come down to 
 this dinner of Basinghall's on Sunday if 
 you've no other engagement. Safe to be 
 a pleasant party." 
 
 " Done with you, I'll call for you at 
 your chambers about four." 
 
 " All right, once more good-bye," and 
 
 k 2
 
 132 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Fripley shot up one of those bye streets 
 of the Strand leading to the river in 
 pursuit of his own devices.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DOWN AT GEEENWICH. 
 
 110RTIE is floating along on the pleasant 
 current of London life. The question 
 of what he is to take to for a livelihood 
 is rather thrust into the back-ground just 
 now, as a problem in no immediate want 
 of solution. Plenty of time to think about 
 that. In the meanwhile he is seeing some- 
 thing of life, and trying to discover for 
 what avocation he may deem himself more 
 especially fitted. It is not particularly 
 calculated to harden the bone and sinew 
 of character in its twenty-second year, 
 this floating down the sunny sensuous 
 stream of pleasure. It is very ques- 
 tionable too, whether Fripley Furnival 
 is a judicious associate for a young man
 
 134 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 just launched upon town. Fripley meant 
 to do nothing wrong when he introduced 
 Fortie into the various sets of which he 
 was a welcome member. They had done 
 him no good, for whether literary, thea- 
 trical, or otherwise, Fripley mixed with 
 the fastest and most dissipated of all. 
 Clever people, too, they were mostly, 
 whose talents threw a glamour over the 
 real frivolity and uselessness of their lives. 
 Many men who had done just enough, as 
 he himself had, to show what they could 
 be, if they would only give steady ap- 
 plication, wanting which, genius how- 
 ever great seldom takes its place in the 
 drama of life. 
 
 Fripley, and his associates too, had in 
 great measure struck out their scheme in 
 this world; they pursued it, though per- 
 haps indifferently, and fitfully, still they 
 did work to some extent. But Fortie 
 glided along with them a mere pleasure- 
 loving atom, seeking nothing, hoping no- 
 thing, doing nothing. The pursuit of
 
 Down at Greenwich. 135 
 
 pleasure is one of the most fatiguing of 
 avocations, and the boredom inseparably 
 from it a penalty bitter to render; but 
 Fortie, still in the first flush of manhood, 
 does not as yet feel this. It is to him as 
 yet all a garden of roses, and " the canker i 
 the bud" a discovery he has as yet to make. 
 
 It is with a light heart this bright June 
 morning, that humming ' Ah die la morte ' 
 he jumps into a hansom and is whirled 
 to the narrow archway of the Temple. 
 He is going to call for Fripley, as agreed, 
 to accompany him down to Basinghall's 
 Greenwich dinner. Discharging his cab, 
 he plunges into the intricacies of that 
 legal community, and speedily gained the 
 door of Fripley's chambers. 
 
 Responding to the " come in " which 
 recognized his knock, he entered, and 
 found Fripley and an associate languidly 
 inhaling their tobacco after an extremely 
 late breakfast. 
 
 " How are you, Fortie, my prince of 
 revellers ? Here's a day for Greenwich.
 
 136 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 To the devil with your work-a-day world 
 for the next twelve hours, 
 
 " 'Tis merry, 'tis merry in Fairyland, 
 When fairy birds are singing, 
 When the Court doth ride by the monarch's side, 
 With bit and bridle ringing.' 
 
 Basinghall's our monarch to-day, and the 
 fairy birds shall sing. By the way let 
 me introduce you to Mr. Halden." Frip- 
 ley's companion, a slight effeminate look- 
 ing youth with chestnut hair, big hazel 
 eyes, and an upper lip as yet devoid of 
 down, half rose from his arm-chair and 
 languidly acknowledged the introduction. 
 
 " Yes, it's a charming day for a run 
 down the river," replied Fortie, as he 
 returned Halden's salute. 
 
 " Sit down, have a smoke and make 
 Halden's acquaintance, and in about an 
 hour we'll start for the Temple of White- 
 bait and water-souche. True priests of 
 Isis as any of the days of yore in which 
 that voluptuous superstition nourished."
 
 Down at Greenwich. 137 
 
 The Honourable Jiin Halden, youngest 
 son of my Lord Fieranford, was rather 
 deceptive in appearance. Boyish as he 
 looked, he had numbered some five-and- 
 twenty summers, and there was but little 
 of this world's wickedness in which he 
 had not graduated. The youthful face 
 with its hazel eyes and pleasant smile 
 had already wrought "grief" to both 
 women and men in its generation. Society 
 rather eschewed Jim Halden, as a detri- 
 mental with the worst of characters. His 
 male associates were wont to designate 
 him as a loosish fish, which might be 
 rendered that with an uncontrollable pro- 
 pensity to borrow, he conjoined an 
 equally obdurate disposition on the point 
 of payment. He had had a turn at 
 pretty well everything he should not do ; 
 but had never applied himself in any 
 way to anything that the world, looking 
 at it in the most favourable light, (and 
 it is wont too to make the best of an 
 " Honourable,") could possibly recognize
 
 138 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 as creditable. He had bet with a mag- 
 nificence neither warranted by the results 
 or his limited income. He had displayed 
 the same breadth of view, mixed with the 
 same absence of mind, with regard to 
 settlement in various play transactions. 
 He was great in abnegation of principle, 
 and sublime in indifference to the results 
 thereof. It was a mystery to the many 
 how he still carried on ; but as Fripley 
 once remarked, " as long as there's any- 
 body in London with twenty pounds to 
 lend on personal security, Jim Halden 
 will never come to want." How it was 
 that his numerous creditors allowed him 
 his liberty, seemed inexplicable. But my 
 Lord Fieranford had announced publicly, 
 and in the emphatic language that that 
 sporting peer generally employed, "that 
 
 he'd be d d if he'd stand to Jim any 
 
 longer," so it may be presumed they 
 thought extremities were useless and ex- 
 pensive. 
 
 The pale smooth face, and easy train-
 
 Down at Greenwich. 139 
 
 ante manner gave not the slightest clue 
 to his countless past iniquities. He 
 looked, with the exception of a rather 
 languid air, as if he had but a few 
 months left Eton or Harrow. He chatted 
 pleasantly with Fortie, the latter with 
 his gay impulsive disposition was prone 
 to convert the acquaintances of the hour 
 into friends at short notice. He put 
 down Halden as a man scarcely his own 
 age, though in knowledge of the world 
 the Honourable Jim was a good ten years 
 his senior. Not a profitable acquaintance 
 for a young man meditating on a profes- 
 sion, and yet it never occurred to Fripley 
 there might be harm in bringing those 
 two together. He knew Halden so 
 thoroughly himself, it never flashed across 
 him Fortie might prove less learned. 
 
 " Time we were off, at last," cried Fur- 
 nival. " Run and get a cab, William. 
 Better go by rail, I think, unless any- 
 one's death on the river." 
 
 " River, I think," said Halden. " Comic
 
 140 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 rather always on Sundays, you know. 
 Couples ' on the spoon.' Materfamilias 
 and her chickens ' on the out/ &c. Be- 
 sides it's fresh air in a small way. I vote 
 for the boat, what do you say Har- 
 rington ?" 
 
 " Ah ! I'm all for the water," replied 
 Fortie. 
 
 " Be it so then," said Furnival, " come 
 along, and we'll go 
 
 " ' Down the ruby river.' " 
 
 The comedy suggested by Halclen 
 turned out a lamentable failure. It is 
 hard to see the fun of a crush in which 
 bad tobacco and babies are dominant, 
 and the trio felt it rather a happy release 
 when they made their escape at Green- 
 wich pier. Of course Basinghall had not 
 arrived. Men who live in a hurry are 
 invariably behind time nine-tenths of their 
 existence ; but they easily made out their 
 party, amongst whom they at once re- 
 cognised Lizzie Jerningham, accompanied
 
 Down at Greenwich. 141 
 
 by an elderly actress, a Mrs. Crosse, by 
 way of chaperone, and the Mr. Thorn- 
 dale they had encountered on leaving the 
 manager's sanctum. 
 
 " Fine day, gentlemen," observered the 
 latter, " the old climate can do the thing 
 handsome when it chooses. I rather 
 expect one of the reasons you don't get 
 such a flood of fine weather as we're 
 accustomed to the other side, is that 
 the weather's getting a little tired of being 
 amiable so everlasting. You're all here 
 any how ; and the location's small, so you 
 can't shift. But with us if the climate got 
 cantankerous you see, why we'd up 
 sticks and strike out for a new territory." 
 
 " Perhaps so;" said Fripley, a little 
 nettled at the very free and easy manner 
 of the interlocutor. " Here we use 
 umbrellas instead of emigration when the 
 weather is showery." 
 
 " Had me fairly," laughed the other, 
 heartily. " I thought to get a rise out 
 of you, and you've the best of it."
 
 1 42 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " How do do, Lizzie ?" said Furnival, 
 as lie shook hands with her. " Oh, Mrs. 
 Crosse, congratulations on your new 
 line." 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired that 
 lady. 
 
 " Why, don't you know two years ago 
 you devoted your great though mistaken 
 energies to growing old. Charmed to 
 see you have returned to your original 
 avocation of growing young again." 
 
 " Fripley, my youthful adorer," re- 
 joined the lady, laughing, " if you're not 
 more guarded in your language, I'll carry 
 you off and marry you, as sure as I'm a 
 widow." 
 
 " Come here, Mr. Furnival," said Lizzie, 
 " and tell me about this new comedy, and 
 what I've to do in it. I am sure it's 
 clever." 
 
 " You're right ; there are two points 
 upon which I've never had a doubt, one 
 is my own ability, the other your thorough 
 comprehension of it."
 
 Down at Greenwich. 143 
 
 " Ah !" laughed the actress, " my coin- 
 prehension has a good deal to say to it, 
 you know, when we get your ability before 
 the foot-lights. If I don't interpret 
 genius nicely, I'm afraid genius might 
 be goosed. But the British Public 
 wouldn't treat me so now, I think." 
 
 " I should fancy not ; between ourselves 
 they've acknowledged your talents with- 
 out quite making up their mind about 
 mine. You needn't look down upon me 
 though, I shall ' fetch em ' yet. Recollect 
 I sprouted first and helped you a little." 
 
 " Yes, I don't forget, and if the Lion isn't 
 quite as big as the Mouse once thought 
 him, the Mouse will do her little best to 
 help him all the same. We'll make the 
 comedy go, Fripley, never fear, when 
 Brazeley lets us try." 
 
 " Ah ! long live the king — here he comes, 
 looking as if he'd walked all the way, and 
 beaten the express two minutes. Got his 
 wife with him, too." 
 
 " How do do — How do do, everybody.
 
 144 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Seth, my Trojan, delighted to see you. 
 Fripley, you look as if you really did go 
 to bed last night. Ah, Lizzie; a day 
 that behaves with decency to bonnets, isn't 
 it — the wife will be charmed to see you 
 again. Mrs. Crosse, I'm ashamed of you 
 if you keep on growing backwards in this 
 fashion, you'll have to come back to the 
 singing chambermaids of days gone by. 
 How do do, Mr. Merrington. Glad to see 
 you, Halden — -come along up-stairs, I'm 
 sure dinner is ready or thereabouts. 
 Here waiter, 
 
 " ' Go call for Bait, and let for Bait be called ; 
 And let the caller thereof in his vocation call 
 Nothing else but Bait, Bait, Bait.' 
 
 Crononhotonthologos, my dears, or some- 
 thing like it." 
 
 Following the manager, the whole party 
 trooped up stairs into one of those plea- 
 sant rooms at the " Ship," of which 
 joyous memories remain to many of us. 
 The party in all numbered some twelve
 
 Down at Greenwich. 145 
 
 or fourteen, and except Halden and Mer- 
 rington were all more or less theatrical. 
 Basinghall, with true dramatic instinct, 
 called upon a stout gentleman, who was 
 wont in the profession " to do the heavy 
 fathers," to face him, and the party sat 
 down. 
 
 Fortie found himself placed between 
 Lizzie Jerningham and Seth Thorndale, 
 and immediately devoted himself to the 
 pretty actress. 
 
 " I've only lately had the pleasure of 
 seeing you, Miss Jerningham, on the 
 boards, compliments are superfluous, 
 though I must tell you how charmed I 
 was." 
 
 "Yes, you are quite right about com- 
 pliments being a superfluity on that point ; 
 men always think they are bound to say 
 that to us. No, the real compliments to 
 an artiste, Mr. Merrington, are full houses, 
 attentive audiences, a genuine round of 
 applause here and there, and the lauda- 
 tory criticisms of the papers. We believe 
 
 VOL. i. l
 
 146 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 the press when it tells us we do well, and 
 our managers when they raise our salary. 
 For the rest I put it down to the every 
 day change of society." 
 
 " Yet you seemed pleased when Fur- 
 nival told you the other day he liked your 
 < Rose Delmar.' " 
 
 "Ah! that is different; Fripley, you 
 see, is an old friend and lent me a lift at 
 starting. He is to a certain extent one 
 of us, and in my early days was not the 
 least reticent about home truths the other 
 way. I own I was glad to hear he was 
 pleased." 
 
 " Well, I must confess I know little 
 about what you call the business part of 
 the profession, I never saw a rehearsal. 
 Never was in a theatre, before Fripley 
 took me the other day, except to the 
 stalls or dress circle. Till he undeceived 
 me I had no idea that it was hard 
 work." 
 
 " I daresay not, Mr. Merrington ; very 
 few of an audience have. Yet I have
 
 Down at Greenwich. 147 
 
 been on the sta^e at rehearsal from ten 
 till three, gone home, been back at the 
 theatre at half-past seven, not got away 
 again till twelve, have sat up to study 
 a new part then till near three, and been 
 back once more at the theatre by ten 
 the next morning, and shall probably 
 often have to do so a^ain." 
 
 " Well, sir, did you make a pretty fair 
 1 collect ' out of the Ascot business ?" 
 inquired Seth Thorndale. " As for me, 
 the book-makers ' struck ile ' as we say 
 the other side; the dollars spurted out 
 of my pockets into theirn in a most re- 
 markable manner." 
 
 " Yes," said Fripley, " I went down 
 and won a trifle, but I do very little in 
 that way, you've been on the Turf in 
 your own country I presume ?" 
 
 " Yes, I've had a turn at that, not 
 many things I haven't tried I think ; you 
 see when my father died, the mother, 
 sisters and I, though we had enough to 
 scrape along on, weren't left with a pile 
 
 l 2
 
 148 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 that's certain. There's an everlasting 
 lot of ways of making dollars in most 
 countries, but I reckon, as far as I've 
 seen, that America tops creation for 
 originality and versatility on that point. 
 Our citizens, you see, change the groove 
 pretty quick if it don't do. If we can't 
 make one thing pay, we may another. 
 I'm a theatrical manager just now of one 
 of the leading New York houses ; but 
 it aint but a few years back I was 
 6 running a chapel.' " 
 
 " What the deuce is that ?" inquired 
 Fripley. 
 
 "Well, you see, I leased the chapel, 
 put in a good stirring parson at a fixed 
 salary and then I let the pews. Yes, if 
 you've a preacher that draws, it pays well 
 that does. But our people are given 
 to strong doctrine, and it's no use en- 
 gaging one who don't give it them. Say, 
 Brazeley," he continued, whispering across 
 Furnival to the manager, " who's the old 
 lady opposite, think I've seen her before."
 
 Down at Greenioich. 149 
 
 " Mrs. Crosse. Very likely, she was 
 engaged in your country for a couple 
 of years or so, a good while ago. Used 
 in her youth to do singing chambermaids, 
 breeches parts, and a little in the dancing 
 line, cachuca, hornpipe, provincial ballet 
 and so on. Does the old ladies now, no 
 great talent, but very safe. Real good 
 utility actress in her way." 
 
 " Ah ! a sort I wish there were more of. 
 Difficult to find our side. They all think 
 they're stars and the audience fools, when 
 they don't draw. Suppose it's a good 
 deal the same here though and every- 
 where else. ' Turn up your picture 
 cards,' my boy, as Wendell Holmes says. 
 we shall come at what you're worth then. 
 The hand ain't much when you see it 
 counted out mostly." 
 
 "No," said Furnival; "but geese will 
 think themselves swans, and try to sing 
 to the end of time. You and Brazeley 
 there, I dare say, dispel a good many 
 illusions per annum."
 
 150 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Well, a man, or woman either, for 
 the matter of that, ain't much unless he 
 believes in himself; but there's two ways 
 of looking at it. There's your soft, 
 spongy, white-livered kind, who sit down 
 and whimper when they don't succeed, 
 and talk of unappreciative audiences. 
 Digging, felling trees, and such like's the 
 best cure for their complaint. But there's 
 the other lot, who are real grit, who 
 grind their teeth and say, ' You won't 
 hear my play, or read my novel, or come 
 to see me act ; but by G — d you shall, 
 and be thankful to do it, before I've done 
 with you.' " 
 
 " Yes ; no man need accept a first 
 public verdict. They are generally fairly 
 right, though, and if he succeeds, it is 
 because he has done better the second 
 time," replied Furnival. 
 
 " Beg pardon, Brazele}^," said Halden, 
 in his usual languid tone from the bottom 
 of the table, "but if you'd let us have 
 a glass of sherry, we might get to some
 
 Down at Greenwich, 151 
 
 coffee and smoke out on the balcony." 
 
 " Exactly. Quite forgot. Pass the 
 sherry, Seth. Here, waiter, coffee, tea, 
 liqueurs, cigars — everything. Have it in 
 the balcony, eh ? cool and comfortable ; 
 look at the ships, water, moon, and so 
 on. Suppose there is a moon. Gael ! 
 if there isn't ! I'd have had one down 
 from the theatre, if I'd thought of it. 
 You should see my moon, Seth; it's a 
 stunner, I tell you, quite as good as the 
 original in a limited district," 
 
 " Reckon I've a sun it ain't a patch 
 upon," was that worthy's sententious re- 
 joinder, as the party strolled out on to 
 the balcony. 
 
 "No, Miss Jerningham, I haven't a 
 profession." 
 
 "Not rich, and haven't a profession!" 
 said the actress, opening her fine dark 
 eyes to their fullest extent. "But what 
 do you do ? Don't you want money ? 
 We want so much now-a-days. I don't 
 suppose you ever knew what it was to
 
 152 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 be poor, but I have, and, Mr. Merrington, 
 I didn't like it. I'll never be very poor 
 again, if work will save it." 
 
 " No, I've never known what it is to 
 be poor." 
 
 " Ah, I see ; your friends find you 
 plenty of money." 
 
 " No, indeed, Miss Jerningham. I've only 
 a small income of my own to depend upon." 
 
 "Then why don't you do something? 
 It is so easy for men to make money — so 
 hard for us poor women." 
 
 Fortie was staggered. The cynical ex- 
 postulation of Sir Giles, the frigid re- 
 marks of his cousin, the laughing com- 
 mentaries of Fripley on his want of a 
 profession, had never moved him as did 
 the quiet observations of the pretty girl 
 at his side. Lizzie Jerningham looked 
 very handsome in the fair sheen moon- 
 light. No bonnet controlled the masses 
 of her blue black hair, and the well-fitting 
 silk robe showed off her lithe supple figure 
 to great advantage.
 
 Down at Greenwich. 153 
 
 " What a delicious evening it is," mur- 
 mured the actress, as they stood gazing 
 out upon the river, over the glittering 
 waters of which, skiff, wherry and other 
 craft still glided. " It is such a treat after 
 night after night of boards and footlights, 
 to get once in a way into the fresh air. 
 Evenings like this are rarities with 
 
 me." 
 
 " I suppose so, yet you love your 
 profession and the applause that greets 
 your successes." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! hard work as it is at 
 times, I am fond of it now. It is a 
 career dear to most of us who succeed. 
 There are few other phases in life where 
 woman tastes more frequently the sweets 
 of gratified vanity." 
 
 " And you are not above owning that 
 weakness ?" 
 
 " No," laughed the actress, " it is in 
 me strong, I fear; and, moreover, Mr. 
 Merrington, take my word for it you'll 
 find it, a little more or a little less, not
 
 154 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 varying very much either, in every 
 woman you will ever meet, and if I add 
 in every man also, I shall not be far 
 out." 
 
 Here they were interrupted by Thorn- 
 dale. " About time to make tracks, I 
 reckon," observed that gentleman, as he 
 sauntered up to them. " Brazeley's 
 ordered his fiacre. Guess I'd best do 
 the same. Can I be of any use to you 
 and Mrs. Crosse, Miss Jerningham, about 
 getting back to town?" 
 
 " No, thanks, we've a carriage of our 
 own." 
 
 " Well, I've two seats to spare if any 
 one wants a ride." 
 
 Seth Thorndale could talk very fair 
 English when he chose ; but with that 
 extreme self-assertion that constitutes 
 rather a weak point in the American 
 character, he preferred as a rule to inter- 
 lard his converse with Americanisms. It 
 was a sort of protest against the old 
 country generally that relieved his mind,
 
 Down at Qremwich. 155 
 
 Fortie saw Lizzie and her chaperon 
 to their brougham. He lingered a mo- 
 ment at the carriage window as he said 
 good-bye to Lizzie, and expressed a hope 
 he should shortly see her again. 
 
 " Depends more upon you than me, 
 Mr. Merrington," laughed the actress. 
 "You see you have confessedly nothing 
 to do, and I have lots ; but I trust we 
 shall meet again ere long." 
 
 u Now, Fortie, my chick, get your coat 
 and come away," exclaimed Furnival. 
 " You're all ready, ain't you, Jim ?" 
 
 " Been good for a start the last hour, 
 myself. Did my devoir to Mrs. Basin g- 
 hall, and felt rather exhausted in the 
 process. She was a good-looking woman, 
 but that's were it is, she was" 
 
 " Pleasant to talk to though, now. 
 "Well, Fortie, my boy, have you enjoyed 
 your day ? Have the fairy birds been 
 singing ? You had a good deal of Lizzie 
 Jerningham to yourself, and she can make 
 •things couleur de rose when she's so
 
 156 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 minded, and it must have been your fault 
 if she was not." 
 
 " Yes, thanks to you, I have put in 
 a very pleasant evening." 
 
 " Don't know about my having much 
 to say to it. Should fancy if you asked 
 them, Basinghall or Lizzie would take 
 credit to themselves upon that subject. 
 Though, perhaps, if you go back to first 
 causes, I was the source from which your 
 gratification sprang." 
 
 Ere they separated, Fortie had accepted 
 an invitation to dinner from Halden. An 
 evil augury. Jim Halden was not ad- 
 dicted to playing the amphytrion, and his 
 dinners boded little good to his guests.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CURATE'S NEWS. 
 
 HT. HELENS is fair to look upon these 
 ^ pleasant summer days when, 
 
 " Midsummer, like an army with banners, is moving 
 through the heavens." 
 
 Things trickle along so gently in these 
 quiet out of the way country places, that 
 existence dwindles almost to a monotone. 
 It is curious how, by a merciful law of 
 Nature, the mind contracts under these 
 circumstances, how we arrive gradually 
 at an interest in the health of our neigh- 
 bour's turkeys, still more intensified at 
 the intelligence that his potatoes are 
 struck with blight. Men fret a good 
 deal when they first commence this sort 
 of life, after having been accustomed to
 
 158 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 more exciting scenes. But if they have 
 passed the first flush of manhood, they 
 soon acquire such minor interests as I 
 have mentioned. The tranquillity soothes 
 them : they become lotos eaters, and shrink 
 from anything that may disturb the calm 
 easiness of existence. To the very young 
 such solitude is a blight ; sympathy and 
 selfishness are the fundamental principles 
 of the human mind, say the philosophers. 
 To eliminate the former is to inculcate 
 the latter. But to those who have 
 stemmed the shock of life's fierce torrent, 
 it is a relief. 
 
 Kate Moseley had not as yet settled down 
 to the dull monotony of her home life. 
 If she had been but a school girl before, 
 it had been on an advanced scale. The 
 pension to which she was attached was 
 of a very liberal and enlightened type; 
 the elder girls were taken about to see 
 most of the great sights of Paris, such 
 as the Louvre, &c. She had, too, dear 
 friends of her own age, and of her own
 
 The Curate's News. 159 
 
 intellectual culture to associate with. 
 After the first excitement of her return 
 home, that home speedily palled upon 
 her. Then came the meeting with Fortie, 
 and that pleasant flirtation which had 
 added more zest to existence than Katie 
 was quite aware of at the time. His 
 departure did him good service, for while 
 he, immersed in the whirl of London life 
 only occasionally thought about her, Kate 
 brooded a good deal over those pleasant 
 wanderings by the river. 
 
 She was rather a coquette, and for 
 sheer lack of employment had of late 
 tried her hand on the Reverend Phillip 
 Filander, whom she was gradually reduc- 
 ing to a state of extreme prostration. Of 
 course, with plenty of resources within 
 herself she had no business to have felt 
 bored, distrait, ennuye ; but however 
 great our resources in our nineteenth 
 year, we yearn for sympathy in our pur- 
 suits. 
 
 She had coaxed her father once or twice
 
 160 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 into taking her up with him to the Manor 
 House, and she had made good use of 
 those opportunities. She had exerted all 
 her powers to charm on Sir Giles, and 
 the old cynic was pleased with her fair 
 young face, fresh ideas, shrewd remarks, 
 and clever deference to himself. She had 
 extorted permission to visit the library 
 when she chose, pleading the dearth of 
 books in her father's house. But she 
 beo-an now to wish Fortie would return. 
 She liked him better than she thought 
 she had done, and Kate began to ponder 
 whether marriage were not possible be- 
 tween the two. She was far too clever 
 not to see all the difficulties of the situa- 
 tion. Sir Giles might smile at their 
 flirtation, but his wrath would be at 
 hurricane pitch should they murmur 
 matrimony. Then she thought of Mrs. 
 De Driby, and Kate laughed a saucy little 
 laugh, as she thought of that lady's face 
 if the time should ever come when she 
 should address her as dear aunt.
 
 The Curate's N&ivs. 1 01 
 
 Miss Moseley has not got over Mrs. 
 De Driby's contemptuous treatment of 
 her pretty self on the occasion of Sir 
 Giles's dinner, and two or three similar 
 passages have added fuel to the flames of 
 her indignation. How women do hate 
 each other under these circumstances - 
 What vengeance will they not cherish in 
 their hearts, and with what virulence 
 will they not mete it out to the offender 
 when the hour comes. 
 
 Kate this spring evening is toying 
 with some feminine frivolities at a little 
 table on the close-shaven lawn by the 
 streamlet's bank. Pretty enough picture 
 she makes, with her golden hair and light 
 diaphanous draperies, and so thinks the 
 Reverend Phillip Filander, as he makes 
 his way across the soft grass to pay his 
 now almost daily visit. 
 
 I have not as yet said much about the 
 curate, the type is very common-place. 
 There are so many men imbued with 
 vanity and bashfulness. He was a good 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 Bitter is the Bind: 
 
 little man at bottom, but in his secret 
 soul he cherished two beliefs. One that 
 he possessed within him pulpit eloquence 
 of no mean ability ; the other that he 
 was an omnipotent power with regard to 
 womankind. These opinions were theo- 
 retical in the extreme, a more harmless 
 Don Juan could not have existed, even 
 had not the curate's character completely 
 precluded his aspiring to anything worse 
 than mild flirtation. Women are wont 
 wonderfully to strengthen a man of this 
 type in his belief. It is extraordinary the 
 compassion they feel for shyness in the 
 male creature — they are tender with him, 
 and draw him out and make much of him 
 from sheer pity at his shamefacedness. 
 What wonder that the man sometimes 
 mistakes their motives, and attributes their 
 kindness to the result of his own fasci- 
 nations. For vanity, bear it in mind, is a 
 very component part in shyness. It is 
 connected a good deal, especially in the 
 male sex, with the fear of not being
 
 TJie Curate's News. 163 
 
 appraised at the value we place upon our- 
 selves. A shy curate in particular is 
 wont to be much taken care of by the 
 fair members of his flock. Phillip Fil- 
 ander thoroughly believed in his success, 
 as he would have expressed it, with the 
 ladies. Look at the slippers, sermon- 
 cases, watch-guards, &c, which attested 
 the triumph of the conqueror. 
 
 Regarding his pulpit eloquence, he com- 
 posed little oratorical effects into which 
 he emptied the slight knowledge ac- 
 quired in his Oxford days — stuttered 
 them forth to an agricultural confiresration 
 who slept quietly through his classical 
 allusions. Whether his sermons were 
 good or bad, his unfortunate hesitating 
 delivery precluded all possibility of judging. 
 The greater discourses of the greatest 
 divines must have fallen flat filtered 
 through such a feeble channel. Why is 
 not committing to memory as much com- 
 pulsory in the pulpit as on the stage ? Can 
 a preacher who stumbles about his manu- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 script ever arrest the attention of a con- 
 gregation? Do not the great readers of 
 the day invariably know their readings by 
 heart ? The book is a mere accessory, 
 they glance at it for effect but not for 
 information. 
 
 Kate, to divert the monotony of her 
 existence, has entangled the curate in a 
 mild flirtation ; but I wot that is little 
 likely to disturb Miss Moseley's peace of 
 mind. With her great sympathetic power, 
 she is likely to be dangerous many times 
 to men before she is meshed herself. Yet, 
 come the time soon or come it late, Kate 
 is of that nature that loves once and for 
 ever. Such women marry or do not 
 marry the love of their heart, but it lingers 
 with them to the death. The last kiss 
 may be with the husband, but the last 
 thought is with that one lost love. 
 
 But all this time the curate has been 
 advancing, and now taking off his hat 
 wishes Miss Moseley " good day." 
 
 Kate extends her little hand as she
 
 The Curate's News. 165 
 
 says, " Delighted to see you, Mr. Filan- 
 der, though it's but a poor compliment ; for 
 truth to say I was getting so bored with 
 embroidery that any interruption would 
 have been welcome." 
 
 " Charmed I'm sure to think that, that, 
 I should be of such es-essential service." 
 
 Mr. Filander had no real stammer, it 
 was simply shyness that made him falter 
 in his speech. 
 
 "Well," smiled Kate, "what have you 
 been doing with yourself this delicious 
 day ? I have just received an invitation 
 from the Stephensons to a croquet party 
 for Tuesday next. I suppose you are 
 going." 
 
 "Yes, I think so, that is I said I 
 would." 
 
 " Of course you are. There is so little 
 doing in this quiet place, that anything of 
 the kind which brings us in contact with 
 our fellow-creatures is a relief." 
 
 " Yes," replied the curate, getting 
 more at his ease. " Their parties are
 
 166 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 always pleasant, so I suppose I shall go." 
 
 A great weakness of mankind, " sup- 
 posing they will go," when they have 
 already quite made up their minds on the 
 subject. But it does not do to hold one- 
 self too cheap, so as a salve to our vanity 
 we express ourselves thus, the thing 
 might do as a derniere ressource. The in- 
 firmity is by no means confined to the 
 provinces, and is exemplified quite as 
 often in a London season. 
 
 " A Mrs. Briarly I hear is to be 
 there ; who is she ? I never heard of her 
 before." 
 
 " Well, I never met her, but I hear she 
 is the widow of a squire of the neighbour- 
 hood who died under, under rather ex- 
 ceptional circumstances nearly two years 
 ago." 
 
 A delicate way of explaining that a 
 series of experiments in strong drinks on 
 a weak constitution had resulted in a 
 premature grave. 
 
 " Mrs. De Driby and the Rector,
 
 The Curate's News. 167 
 
 I presume, will be of the party ?" 
 
 "Ye — yes, and I d — did hear some- 
 thing about Sir Giles. Mr. De Driby 
 seems rather in a way about about Mr. 
 Merrington." 
 
 " Why, what of him ?" inquired Kate, 
 sharply. 
 
 " He didn't say much, but he hinted or 
 seemed to th — th — think that he was not 
 going on well in towu. I don't know 
 what, b — b — but I believe his father was 
 very wild, and Mr. Merrington takes after 
 him." 
 
 " I never heard that because a man's 
 father was guilty of serious crimes," 
 replied Miss Moseley, " that it was a 
 necessity or law of nature that his 
 son also should be addicted to the 
 same." 
 
 Mr. Filander was a little startled at the 
 acerbity of Kate's manner, and meekly 
 deprecated such opinion, although he 
 said that it was so in the more modified 
 form of wildness of disposition at times,
 
 168 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 and that he feared Mr. Merrington had 
 got into some trouble. 
 
 But this also Katie laughed somewhat to 
 scorn, and the curate found Miss Moseley 
 much less kind to him than usual. He 
 lingered on a little, but the rumour he had 
 brought regarding Fortie had set Katie 
 thinking. She was distrait and absent, 
 and sooth to say a little waspish at last 
 with him. She longed to be alone, and it 
 was with feelings of considerable satisfac- 
 tion that she at last saw the curate take 
 his departure. 
 
 When he was gone, Katie rested her 
 head upon her hand and began to think — 
 she thought first whether she really cared 
 for Fortie Merrington. ISTo, she liked 
 him and should be most sincerely sorry 
 for him if he had got into a scrape of any 
 kind, no more than that ; then she thought 
 of what little she had heard her father 
 tell relating to Sefton Merrington. Not 
 much, but wild stories they were, as far 
 as she recollected. From her knowledge
 
 Tlie Curate's News. 169 
 
 of Fortie's unstable disposition, she could 
 but admit that Filander had fair grounds 
 for his assumption, although she had 
 utterly refused to recognise such reason- 
 ing from his lips. Then she thought 
 what if she went up to the Manor House, 
 she might probably see Sir Giles and 
 perchance hear something more authentic 
 from him concerning Fortie's misdoings. 
 
 Katie caught up her hat, and tripped 
 lightly along the bank of the stream. 
 She wondered whether Fortie was really in 
 trouble, then she thought of all those plea- 
 sant strolls along that very path with him 
 only some two months or so ago, when 
 he affected to fish and she to sketch. 
 Pleasant they were though neither of 
 them did much in their pretended call- 
 ings. Katie's knowledge of the world 
 was as yet circumscribed, and derived 
 principally from works of fiction. Des- 
 pite her French training, she had imbibed 
 as yet but little of Balzac, and was 
 innocent of George Sand, two writers
 
 170 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 that expand the mind a good deal at 
 eighteen, though whether in the right 
 direction is perhaps liable to question. 
 She felt instinctively that Horace dis- 
 liked his cousin, and was not likely to 
 gloss over any story to his disadvan- 
 tage. 
 
 Full of such thoughts, she arrived at 
 the Manor House. The servants were 
 used to her flitting visits there now. 
 " Scandalous," Mrs. De Driby had termed 
 them, when they first came to her ears ; 
 but happening to make that remark 
 to her brother-in-law, he had quietly 
 replied : " Nonsense, the girl is well 
 enough, let her alone, Louisa. If she 
 likes to tumble over the old books, 
 she may as far as I am concerned." 
 
 Katie just asked if Sir Giles was in, 
 and on receiving the reply " he thought 
 not," from the footman, made her way 
 to the old library without further in- 
 quiry. 
 
 Once there, she soon hunted out a
 
 The. Curate's JSfetvs, 171 
 
 book, and sat down to look it over a 
 little before she returned home. But 
 it would not do, she was still thinking of 
 Fortie, and what scrape he might have 
 got into, or whether he had got into 
 a scrape at all. It might be mere spite- 
 ful prediction on Mr. De Driby's part. 
 Well she must go now, so she tied up 
 her two volumes of Elizabeth Brown- 
 ing, put on her hat and started ; ere 
 she had got twenty yards from the house 
 she met Sir Giles. 
 
 " Plundering the old library again, 
 I see Miss Moseley," said the Baronet, 
 as he raised his hat. " Not a vice the 
 young ladies of the present day are 
 addicted to." 
 
 " I suppose, Sir Giles, they read as 
 much as their grandmothers did," re- 
 torted Kate. 
 
 " Yes, a little more ; they read all the 
 proceedings of the Divorce Court, and 
 most of the French novels. They don't 
 condescend much to the English, un-
 
 172 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 less accredited as very highly spiced." 
 
 " In the name of my sex, I cry libel, 
 rank heretical libel, Sir Giles. Are you 
 not afraid of prosecution." 
 
 " I should be — no libel incurs such 
 heavy penalties as truth ; the enunciators 
 of that have paid dear for their whistle 
 time out of mind." 
 
 " Ah, that's the way you always evade 
 me. No; women are not all of the 
 type you would lead one to suppose. 
 Some of them still read sensible books, 
 and lead sensible lives." 
 
 " Egad I" laughed the Baronet, "they're 
 like the honest man of Diogenes then, 
 a little difficult to meet with. I don't 
 know that they're worse than the men 
 though." 
 
 " Ah ! talking of the men, when's 
 Mr. Merrington coming down again?" 
 
 "Weugh!" whistled the Baronet, 
 " sets the wind in that quarter." 
 
 " No," said Katie, as her cheeks 
 flushed, and her eyes sparkled, " the
 
 The Curate's News. 173 
 
 wind does not set in that quarter. If 
 I can't make a common inquiry of 
 courtesy without being misconstrued, I'll 
 wish you ( good evening,' Sir Giles. I 
 could have fancied Mrs. De Driby 
 making such a remark, but not you," 
 and Kate, drawing her small self to her 
 full height, was about to depart in 
 her wrath. 
 
 " Stop, Miss Moseley," said the Baronet, 
 and his half jesting tones became frigid 
 as he spoke. " I was never yet accused 
 of discourtesy to a lady. I should have 
 thought what an old man like myself 
 might say to a girl like you, should be 
 viewed in a different light from that in 
 which it might appear coming from a 
 lady. In my day, a maxim much inculcated 
 was, that loss of temper was loss of 
 manners." 
 
 "Ah, Sir Giles, I beg your pardon; 
 but you must own Mrs. De Driby has 
 a bitter tongue of her own. She has 
 made me sensitive on many points on
 
 174 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 which I have no call to be. You must 
 forgive me, if I got angry without 
 cause." 
 
 Katie was a little hypocritical after 
 the manner of women en such subjects. 
 
 " Yes, I can fancy Louisa has said 
 sharp things to you. You come from 
 her own class. No people are so spiteful 
 to the class just below them, as those 
 who have just emerged from it. But 
 when people are quite assured of their 
 station, Miss Moseley, they don't commit 
 such betises. However, I see you forgive 
 me Fortie was very well when I heard 
 last from him, so now good-night," and 
 the Baronet stalked away. When he 
 talked of never having been discourteous 
 to woman, he believed he spoke the 
 truth. He was quite unconscious of the 
 extreme impertinence conveyed in his last 
 speech. On the contrary, he thought he 
 had behaved with all the stately politeness 
 of that old school he so much affected. 
 
 As for Kate, she ground her little white
 
 Tlie Curate's News. 175 
 
 teeth as she muttered, " Yes, you can be 
 as rude in your way as your sister-in-law. 
 These aristocrats, they don't think we're 
 the same clay as themselves. Va, the 
 time will come perhaps when you De 
 Dribys will think differently." 
 
 Katie had imbibed strong republican 
 ideas in her scholastic career at Paris. 
 Her most intimate friend at the pension 
 had been an American girl, called Zare 
 Harlaud. Zare was democratic to the 
 tips of her pretty fiugers, and had, in the 
 end, embued Kate with a strong dash of 
 her own opinions on these points. With 
 her little head full of such thoughts 
 Katie returned home. 
 
 " Well, girl !" said her father, as she 
 entered. Ye've been up to the big house 
 for books, I s'pose. Did ye see aught of 
 Sir Giles?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw him just as I came away. 
 How proud he is, father !" 
 
 " Aye, child, they ever were ; they're 
 fell as they're proud too, the whole race.
 
 176 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 They never forgive them as crosses 'em. 
 I mind his father with poor Steve Fos- 
 berry, the time he angered him about 
 the shooting. Poor Steve and his family 
 had been on the farm for generations, 
 but Sir Ralph said go he should, and go 
 he did. He offered more rent and pleaded 
 hard to be allowed to stop in the old 
 place he had been born in ; but it was 
 no use. I think I see Sir Ralph now, 
 as he said in his cold gibing way. ' No, 
 my man, there's but two things left I'll 
 do for you ; as an old tenant, I'll give you 
 an elm tree when your time comes, and 
 let you six feet by three of the estate 
 on perpetual lease.' " 
 
 " Oh, father, did he say that ?" 
 " Yes, my lass, and meant it. Sir Giles 
 aint a deal better either. Dear, it seems 
 but yesterday that Squire Cunliffe crossed 
 him about that right of way. I recollect 
 when the magistrates gave it against 
 him, Sir Giles said in his grim way, ' Ah, 
 Mr. Cunliffe, you don't know the expense
 
 The Curate's Nexus. 1 
 
 < < 
 
 of road making jet ; but you. will before 
 you die.' He did, poor man, for it ruined 
 him clean. Sir Giles brought action after 
 action against him, they moved from 
 court to court, and when the right was 
 finally decided in Cunliffe's favour, he'd 
 about spent all he had in law. I don't 
 know how much it cost Sir Giles ; but 
 what did he care, he had broken Cun- 
 liffe, and I don't think he troubled his 
 head much about the roadway after. 
 But didn't I hear ye say, Kate, ye'd an 
 invite to go and see these Stephenson 
 people." 
 
 " Yes, father, and you too. You don't 
 suppose I would go unless you were in- 
 vited ?" 
 
 " Eh, girl, that's all very well. You're 
 good to think of the old father in a way too. 
 But it won't work. When ye've passed 
 your life at the plough ye don't run 
 handy in the carriage. They mean kindly, 
 but ye must learn to gad about by yerself, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 lass. I'm over old for junketting, much 
 more for quality frisks." 
 
 " But, father, you must go too, or else 
 I shall not." 
 
 " Tut, tut, child, leave the old man to 
 go his own way ; but I'll have you go. 
 It's dulsome like for a bright young thing 
 like you, this lonely life. And mind, 
 Katie, I'll have you dressed with the 
 best. I know naught about such things 
 myself; but see you've silks, satins, and 
 such like fripperies with the best of 'em. 
 I've plenty to rig my little girl out in 
 anything she fancies. I've made a bit 
 of money in my time, and I've only you 
 to think of, child." 
 
 " I know, father dear, I can always 
 have what I like in that way, but I want 
 you to come with me." 
 
 " And I tell you, I won't — and I won't 
 have you stay to home neither. Ye must 
 learn to go about by yourself, lass. It 
 can't be helped. I want you to mix with 
 all these fine folk, as ye're fit for. Ye
 
 The Curate s News. 179 
 
 looked better nor any of them that time 
 at the Manor Honse. I'll always find 
 the brass, girl — there's a bit in the 
 bank." 
 
 "But why won't you come, father ?" 
 " Don't argue, child ; but do as you're 
 bid. A steer's a good beast in its way, 
 but it don't look its best in a flower- 
 garden. I'll stay home, and you shall 
 tell me all about it afterwards." 
 
 Birkett Moseley loved his daughter very 
 dearly, and was extremely solicitous she 
 should settle well in life. He had brought 
 her up as a lady, and wished to see her- 
 become one ale facto by marriage. His 
 strong natural sense told him that her 
 sphere was not that which he had been 
 brought up in. When he saw how much 
 she was made of that night at the Manor 
 House, he rapidly resolved that he would 
 never be a drag upon her getting into any 
 society. With his keen penetration, lie 
 saw that people would welcome the pretty 
 brilliant educated girl, who w^ould shrink 
 
 N 2
 
 180 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 from the rough unpolished father. His 
 love was great, and witnessing Kate's 
 little social triumph that evening had been 
 very sweet to him.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A SOCIAL SPIDER. 
 
 SEATED in his study, Horace De 
 Driby was musing over many things. 
 He reflected with bitterness over the cold 
 welcome he had received from Sir Giles 
 but yesterday, and with what interest 
 he had spoken of Fortie. He thought 
 vindictively over the idea of three-parts of 
 that rich inheritance, which he had been 
 brought up to regard as his own, being 
 alienated from him. His strong sombre 
 mind had pondered much over this of late, 
 and the more he pondered the more did 
 his naturally fierce nature resent what he 
 deemed the injustice that threatened him. 
 It is true he was in utter ignorance of 
 Sir Giles's real intentions, and that after
 
 182 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 all lie might not like to separate the pro- 
 perty from the baronetcy. The pride of 
 race was equally strong both in uncle and 
 nephew. No De Driby had ever done so 
 before, but then this was the first instance 
 in which there had not been a direct 
 descendant. 
 
 Then his thoughts finally settled down 
 upon what his town correspondence had 
 brought him anent Fortie and his doings. 
 He had dropped no hint the day before 
 to Sir Giles of what he had heard, his 
 acute penetration had told him that Fortie 
 must commit himself first in his uncle's 
 eyes without his intervention, but once let 
 that happen, as he felt it surely would, 
 and it should be his care to see the breach 
 never closed. The sore on both sides 
 should never heal. Let him alone to 
 produce gangrene in the wounds. 
 
 His dark eyes glittered, as he muttered : 
 u So the young fool has taken the first 
 step without my moving a finger. Clay- 
 ton, who writes me this, knows the Baby-
 
 A Social Spider. 183 
 
 lonish life in all its phases. I should 
 think I might rely upon his information. 
 Nevertheless, I think it's worth running 
 up to town to see about. I've a business 
 man too, that I paid pretty dearly for 
 making the acquaintance of in my yonnger 
 days, that it might be worth while to 
 look up again. He could be useful in 
 certain changes of my game, and could 
 always obtain me the most reliable infor- 
 mation about Fortie's pecuniary affairs. 
 For money too, I should think there're be 
 little he'd stick at. Mere question of how 
 much." 
 
 So Horace determined that he would 
 proceed to London by the afternoon train, 
 and entering the drawing-room apprised 
 his mother of his intention, and then 
 taking his hat started for the lodgings of 
 the Reverend Mr. Filander, to tell him he 
 must prepare himself to perform the whole 
 of next Sunday's duties. 
 
 That gentleman was not a little per- 
 turbed, and stuttered out, " but my dear
 
 ] 84 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 sir, I've not quite pre — prepared my own 
 sermon, and this you know is Fri — Fri — 
 Friday. So little time you see to get re — 
 ready a second." 
 
 " You can preach one of the old ones 
 over again," retorted the Rector, senten- 
 tiously, " the agricultural mind is slow to 
 receive, and I daresay has not yet 
 thoroughly mastered any of your dis- 
 courses. Any way, I must go, so do the 
 best you can." 
 
 " What can take you to town, my dear 
 Horace, in this abrupt manner !" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. De Driby, on his return. 
 " I'm sure, considering the short stay my 
 health admits of my making in this part 
 of the country, it's very inconsiderate, to 
 say the least of it, to leave me all by 
 myself." 
 
 " It's only for three nights, mother, 
 I shall be back on Monday, and with 
 your intellectual resources, what might be 
 dull to another woman wall not affect 
 you."
 
 A Social Spider. 185 
 
 " Ah, yes, my dear, I shall have to live 
 within myself as of old," replied Mrs. De 
 Driby, intensely mollified by this Jesuiti- 
 cal remark. " If it was not for the duties 
 that society exacts from people of our 
 station, I could, with pleasure resign myself 
 to a solitary life in the great world of 
 intellect. To wander through the play 
 of Shakespeare's fancy, the majestic 
 thoughts of Bacon, the polished, accuracy 
 of Hume, the sweet imaginings of Shelley, 
 the sublimity of Milton, the, the — in 
 short, my dear boy, to a life of intellect." 
 
 Mrs. Horace quoted her authors pretty 
 glibly. She was by no means the first 
 woman, who has assumed reading the 
 title pages in a library constitutes a 
 liberal education. Her son was most 
 thoroughly conversant with his mother's 
 weaknesses, yet on the one point of the 
 family pride and his right to the entire 
 inheritance, he was as complete a convert 
 as she could have wished. 
 
 Self-interest sometimes blinds men's eyes
 
 186 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 to truth. Keen sighted on every other 
 point, Horace De Driby never recognised 
 that his uncle had already provided for him, 
 and had further the right to do what he 
 liked with his own On this point he was 
 smitten with mental obliquity. He saw 
 only an uncle meditating a deadly wrong 
 to himself, and a scapegrace boy on the 
 watch to take advantage of it. That Sir 
 Giles had as yet not contemplated the 
 time when he must resign the lands of 
 St. Helens and all other possessions in 
 this world on the one hand, and that 
 what would be the result when he did, 
 had never crossed Fortie Merrin Eton's 
 volatile mind on the other, never entered 
 into his calculations. He had enunciated 
 the maxim that he and Fortie, from their 
 social position, must be foes. He looked 
 upon Sir Giles as the monarch waxing old, 
 for whose sceptre they were bound to 
 struggle, and Horace De Driby with the 
 family thirst for aggrandisement strong 
 on him, vowed Fortie should be never a
 
 A Social Spider. 187 
 
 penny the better for his uncle's death. 
 These strong tenacious minds, when 
 they once grasp a belief of this kind, in- 
 corporate it with their very being. The 
 law courts are prolific in such instances. 
 In them, rights of way, and rights of 
 water-courses have been battled for as 
 fiercely, aye, and died for as grimly, as 
 three centuries ago they had been on 
 blood-stained fields. Has not Mr. Dickens 
 given us the immortal picture of " the 
 man from Shropshire." Do we not all 
 know that his prototype exists and will 
 exist till " the wicked cease from troubling, 
 and the weary are at peace." Under 
 these circumstances, in the old days, you 
 slew your adversary in fair fight if you 
 could. As the age advanced, you paid 
 other people to perform that sometimes 
 dangerous service for you. In these 
 days, uncultivated minds mostly prefer 
 poison ; but the higher and more intel- 
 lectual class rely principally upon social 
 calumny. It is a tolerably deadly poison
 
 188 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 in the hands of an unscrupulous enemy, 
 and verily, my brethren, your path must 
 have been straight and virtuous through 
 life, if a good hater with no regard to 
 veracity cannot envenom the life blood of 
 your social system. 
 
 In one of those dark gloomy little 
 streets that run from the East Strand 
 to the river, dwelt Mr. Eichard Phinny, 
 attorney-at-law. The ground floor of the 
 house was fitted up as offices, over them 
 lived Phinny and his brood. On the 
 ground floor, with the assistance of a 
 couple of clerks, Phinny pursued his 
 vocation of a social spider. Above, Mrs. 
 Phinny and her daughters gave them- 
 selves up to the all absorbing phantom- 
 chase of what they termed gentility, that 
 is in genuine English the aping of their 
 betters. Mr. Phinny, in his web-like 
 gloomy offices, sucked weekly the blood 
 of divers social butterflies for the benefit 
 of his ambitious belongings upstairs. A 
 stout oily man with an unctuous voice,
 
 A Social Spider. 189 
 
 a low chuckling laugh, and a habit of con- 
 stantly washing his hands when he spoke 
 to you. His practice lay a good deal in 
 the discounting line. Few of the usurers 
 of London but whom were well acquainted 
 with Mr. Phinny. Whether acting in their 
 behalf, or trying to smooth the difficulties 
 of some sanguine, youthful, and reckless 
 signer of stamped paper, the attorney 
 contrived to invariably get a good pull at 
 somebody's quill feathers. Most of his 
 clients, as he wished them an unctuous 
 farewell, entered into the feelings of a 
 Lincolnshire goose after plucking time. 
 The world was wont to look hard and 
 cold, as it doubtless does to those despoiled 
 innocents of the fen country. 
 
 Mr. Phinny would probably in confidence 
 have told you that feathers must be had, 
 that social geese are as much a law of 
 creation as their ornithological brethren, 
 and that he was no crueller than the 
 Lincolnshire housewife. In one sense he 
 was ; opportunity serving, he was apt to
 
 190 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 pluck with ungenerous closeness, inso- 
 much that some of the social geese that 
 passed through his hands never arrived 
 at anything like full plumage again 
 during their life time. 
 
 It was down this street, a short time 
 after his arrival in town, that the Rev. 
 Horace De Driby might have been des- 
 cried making his way. He walked like a 
 man in no uncertainty about his destina- 
 tion, and turned through the little outer 
 door like a man conversant with Phinny's 
 offices, as, in truth, he had been at one 
 period of his life. 
 
 Yes, the Rev. Horace in his time had 
 gone through the process of a compulsory 
 moulting in that grimy little den, and 
 that so little to his own satisfaction, that 
 he could hardly repress a slight shudder 
 as he inquired of one of the clerks if Mr. 
 Phinny was within. The reply was in the 
 affirmative, and he was at once ushered 
 into that inner sanctuary, which one of the 
 initiated had once described as the entrance
 
 A Social Spider. 191 
 
 to the everlasting sea of accumulative 
 debt. 
 
 " Dear, dear, Mr. De Driby, to think 
 of the many years it is since I've had 
 the pleasure of seeing you !" exclaimed 
 the presiding deity (there are deities for 
 evil as well as for good in this world, 
 and, perchance, the former have the more 
 worshippers of the two). He spoke in 
 those strong unctuous tones, that imply 
 an invitation to a glass of brown sherry 
 and a biscuit must be the first proposition 
 of their owner. " Yes, it seems a long- 
 time since I last had the honour of seeing 
 you. But you look well, sir, you look 
 well; the destroyer has dealt leniently 
 with you. Pray be seated. You have 
 been saved the wear and tear of business, 
 it is likely. How I envy you. As for 
 me, you find me at the collar as before, like 
 the old mill horse, Mr. De Driby, doomed 
 to travel his petty circle, and drop in 
 harness at last." 
 
 " The world don't seem to have used
 
 192 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 you badly," replied Horace. " You look 
 much as I remember you some years 
 ago." 
 
 " You flatter me — yes, sir, flatter me. 
 It's kiud of you to say so ; but the 
 constant work begins to tell. I feel it, 
 not but what I am equal to it as yet. 
 My clients don't find their interests suffer, 
 I think, in my hands. But might I in- 
 quire in what way I can be useful ? Time, 
 unfortunately, you see, is money to us 
 professional people." 
 
 " I shan't detain you long. I presume, 
 if it is made worth your while, you could 
 speedily ascertain pretty nearly how 
 much paper any young man in town 
 has afloat r" 
 
 " Hum, yes. I should fancy so, in a 
 few days. There would be expenses to 
 incur, you are, of course, aware. Any 
 one you are interested in ?" 
 
 "Of course I am, or I shouldn't take 
 the trouble to see about it " 
 
 " Would it be too much to inquire in
 
 A Social Spider. 193 
 
 what way you are interested on the sub- 
 ject r 
 
 " Yes. Take my instructions or not, 
 as you please ; but don't ask superfluous 
 questions." 
 
 " Pardon, Mr. De Driby. I have no 
 intention of doing so. But allow me to 
 make one observation. AYhen you do see 
 a solicitor, it is best to make a clean 
 breast of it to him. I have made that 
 remark a good many times, Mr. De Driby," 
 continued the attorney, washing his hands 
 and addressing an imaginary audience 
 over Horace's head, " though I can't 
 call to mind that anybody ever benefitted 
 much by it. But, dear me, the scores 
 of fine young men who have done me 
 the honour to consult me, and rendered 
 my efforts unavailing through these half 
 confidences." 
 
 " It's no young man in your sense 
 of the phrase who has come to see you 
 now. Secondly, I have not come to 
 consult, but to direct." 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear sir, I was 
 only speaking for the best, I assure 
 
 you." 
 
 " It will save a deal of time, Mr. 
 Phinny, if you will thoroughly under- 
 stand, that the man who now speaks 
 to you, is very different from the in- 
 experienced collegian you remember. 
 I apply to you, simply as I consider 
 you the easiest channel for acquiring 
 the information it is my whim or busi- 
 ness to procure. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 " Certainly ! my dear sir, certainly I" 
 replied the attorney, again washing his 
 hands, though with considerably less 
 assurance, than he had shown at the 
 commencement of the interview. 
 
 "Good? then in eight-and-forty hours 
 I must know how far Mr. Fortescue 
 Merrington is involved with the Jews, 
 or whether he is not involved at all. I 
 must further know, as much as you can 
 pick up in the time, with regard to his
 
 A Social Spider. 195 
 
 general liabilities, debts to tradesmen, 
 debts of honour, &c. You've made a 
 note of the name I see, that's his address. 
 I have nothing more to add, further 
 than that you will call upon me on 
 Monday morning with such information 
 as you have acquired at Cox's Hotel in 
 Jermyn Street." 
 
 " I will do my best. Your instructions 
 Mr. De Driby, if not confidential, are — 
 he — he — short and explicit." 
 
 " I see no further necessity for ex- 
 planation, Mr. Phinny. If your in- 
 structions are not quite clear, perhaps 
 you will say so." 
 
 " Perfectly ! perfectly ! my dear sir. 
 How I wish all my clients were anything 
 like as lucid as you are." 
 
 " Good day then," and Horace rose, 
 resumed his hat and passed out. 
 
 " Good day, good day, my dear sir. 
 Slack," he cried, to one of his clerks, 
 as the door closed on the Rector, "just 
 bring me the ledgers of '55 and '56, I 
 
 o 2
 
 196 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 want to look through them. I think I'll 
 just look through our former relations 
 a bit. I must understand this business 
 a little better — I've known a simple in- 
 quiry turn out very profitable in my 
 time ; people will sometimes pay con- 
 siderably sooner than it should be known 
 they have made it, harmless though it 
 maybe;" with which remark Mr. Phinny 
 betook himself to a severe study of the 
 back ledgers. 
 
 Monday brought the Rector but little 
 information, that is what he deemed 
 useful information. The attorney re- 
 ported that as far as he could make out, 
 Fortescue Merrington's name was as 
 yet unknown to the tribes, that he could 
 learn nothing about any liabilities he had 
 incurred of any consequence, that he 
 lived in a fasti sh set ; but that there was 
 one fact to make him uneasy if he took 
 an interest in Mr. Merrington — " 
 
 "And that is ?" inquired Horace. 
 
 " His intimacy, sir, with the Honour-
 
 A Social Spider. 197 
 
 able James Halden ; that young man 
 has brought a good many of his intimates 
 into trouble. His own acceptance is 
 not worth the stamp it is written on. 
 Perfectly aware of that fact he, as far 
 as he can, persuades his friends to write 
 their names for his benefit, and has been 
 unusually successful so far." 
 
 " Ah ! thank you, that will do for 
 the present. But you will remember, 
 Mr. Phinny, to keep your eye on this 
 case, please." Horace spoke as indif- 
 ferently as if he were exhorting a sub- 
 ordinate to attend to a rather curious 
 case in natural history that had lately 
 come under his notice. 
 
 The attorney retired, well satisfied with 
 the douceur that had rewarded his re- 
 searches, but completely in the dark as 
 to what motive his employer could have 
 in such inquiries. " Never mind," he 
 muttered to himself, "when it's worth 
 a man's while to know about the pro- 
 ceedings of a young gentleman like this,
 
 198 Bitter is the Bind, 
 
 it's likely to be a long surveillance, and 
 it will go hard if I don't know ' the why ' 
 before my turn of detective is over."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ANATOMY OF CROQUET. 
 
 HORACE DE DRIBY returned to St. 
 Helens in ample time to escort bis 
 mother to the Stephensons' croquet party. 
 That estimable lady looked forward to 
 doing a good deal in the patronizing way, 
 a role she dearly loved, on the occasion. 
 She therefore welcomed the avatar of a 
 fine day with condescending approbation. 
 
 "I'm really quite glad, my dear," she 
 observed to her son at breakfast, " that 
 the Stephensons have got such charming 
 weather for their party. It is so hard 
 on little folks in the country, when they 
 have been exerting themselves to the 
 utmost for days past, to be thwarted by 
 the capriciousness of our climate. Women
 
 200 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 in poor Mrs. Stephenson's position na- 
 turally feel failure in these entertainments 
 so much. She is such a nice unassuming 
 person, that I should have felt it a duty — 
 yes, quite a duty, my dear Horace, to 
 have shown there for a few minutes 
 almost under any circumstances." 
 
 I regret to say that these miserable 
 Stephensons, utterly unconscious of the 
 honour about to be conferred upon them, 
 were not the least perplexed about these 
 arrangements, but certainly a little per- 
 turbed at the unfortunate circumstance 
 of Mrs. De Driby's acceptance of their 
 invitation. 
 
 " Such a bore for you, dear mamma," 
 said Isabel, the eldest. " You'll have to 
 talk to her all the afternoon. We couldn't 
 help asking her, but who would have 
 thought she would come ?" 
 
 Gorgeous in silk, lace, and parasol, did 
 Mrs. De Driby sweep up the Stephensons' 
 lawn, already studded with a little knot 
 of croquet enthusiasts sending the red
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 201 
 
 through the hoop, and the adverse black 
 into solitude and sulkiness in the adjacent 
 shrubberies. There was Mrs. Briarly, a 
 bold dark-eyed buxom widow in slight 
 mourning, looking as if she had borne 
 the loss of the dear departed very fairly, 
 and having evident intentions of providing 
 herself with a substitute ere the year was 
 over. At present she was apparently 
 employed in the subjugation of the Re- 
 verend Phillip Filander. There were the 
 Stephenson girls dressed in neat costume 
 and Spanish hats ; there was Kate Moseley 
 in the light muslin draperies, coquettish 
 straw hat and pale blue ribbons she so 
 much affected ; and last, though not least, 
 Sir Giles, talking to Mr. Stephenson, was 
 looking on at the fray. 
 
 " So charmed, so delighted to see you, 
 my dear Mrs. Stephenson 1" exclaimed 
 Mrs. De Driby, taking her hostess's 
 hands in both her own, (it was her no- 
 tion of affability.) " So fortunate in your 
 weather too. What, Giles, you here ? I
 
 202 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 had no idea you were a votary of cro- 
 quet. Ah, we live and learn, Mrs. 
 Stephenson !" 
 
 " Doubtful in some cases, Louisa — cer- 
 tainly not as a rule." 
 
 " Ah, you are laughing at me because 
 I don't understand it." 
 
 "Not the least. Yery few of the 
 players do. It's the finest anatomist of 
 character I have contemplated for some 
 time. Give the game time, and it will 
 dissect the minds of all these people 
 who think they are merely knocking 
 balls through hoops." 
 
 "I don't quite follow you, Giles." 
 
 " Of course you don't, because you 
 don't follow the game. Sit down here 
 and watch it attentively for half an hour, 
 and then compare your opinion with 
 mine." 
 
 A grim smile flitted across Sir Giles' 
 face as his sister-in-law prepared deliber- 
 ately to follow his suggestion. 
 
 At this juncture, one of the young lady
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 203 
 
 players who had just been roqued with 
 uncalled for severity from the other end 
 of the lawn to nearly where Sir Giles and 
 Mr. Stephenson were standing, exclaim- 
 ing, " Oh, what a shame !" rushed across 
 in pursuit of her ball. 
 
 " There, Stephenson I" exclaimed the 
 Baronet, " a case in point. Women were 
 not intended to run. Nothing justifies a 
 woman in running but the threatened loss 
 of her life or her lover. Specimen of 
 irrepressible womanhood that." 
 
 The game proceeded, showing forth, as 
 the Baronet predicted, much bitterness 
 and anguish of spirit. Equable tempera- 
 ment, and steady nerve had their victory 
 as they do usually on the greater battle- 
 fields of life. The conquerors crowed 
 over the vanquished after the immutable 
 law of nature. Vce victis was, as of old, 
 the predominant cry, and the beaten in 
 the tournay bore the scoffs of the victors 
 with as little patience as they do in larger 
 matters. The triumph of the one party
 
 204 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 is vexation to the other through life 
 generally. The genial winner must 
 produce the discomfited loser. We 
 can't all have even the sugar plums we 
 play for, and are wont inwardly to weep 
 over these lost confitures, much as we did 
 in the days of our childhood ; we think 
 we have attained stoicism when we 
 no longer bore our friends with our 
 plaints. 
 
 " There, Louisa," whispered the Ba- 
 ronet, as a fresh game having commenced 
 Isabel Stephenson roqued Mrs. Briar ly's 
 ball far away to the extremity of the 
 ground, " do you see that ? Can you 
 translate ? — that means Mrs. Briarly has 
 monopolized the Curate considerably more 
 than seems right in Miss Stephenson's 
 eyes, she don't care a rush about separat- 
 ing their balls ; but she don't mean to 
 stand that tete-a-tete any longer." 
 
 It suited Sir Giles' cynic temperament 
 to reduce the game to a metaphysical 
 problem. " Clever, that," he remarked.
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 205 
 
 " You don't suppose Mr. Gilmour meant 
 to roque that ball, it might be the game, 
 but it was not his game ; how cleverly he 
 missed and has dropped himself down with- 
 in a couple of yards of your daughter 
 Jenny. Not a bad player that young gen- 
 tleman, whatever people may say of him." 
 An elderly young lady here came up to 
 Mr. Stephenson, and in answer to his 
 inquiry of how she was getting on, re- 
 plied, " Oh, shockingly ! I can't get any 
 one to help me through my hoops." 
 
 " They never can, Stephenson, at that 
 age ;" chuckled Sir Giles, as the young- 
 lady betook herself once more to her ball. 
 " She has no more right to expect to be 
 helped through her hoops than on with a 
 ring." 
 
 " Why, you don't suppose, Sir Giles, 
 that people really play croquet with all 
 these far-fetched schemes that you, in the 
 bitterness of your humour, are just now 
 pleased to attribute to them." 
 
 66 My dear Stephenson," replied the
 
 206 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Baronet, in that bland manner with which 
 he was wont to make his most acrid ob- 
 servations. " I don't mix much in the 
 world now, but I have in my day. I fancy 
 I am a very tolerable judge of life's 
 counters as used in society. You may 
 think that invitations mean simply hospi- 
 tality, that the ball-room means socia- 
 bility, enjoyment, aud dancing. Pshaw ! 
 men and women are gambling for hearts, 
 and speculating on social advancement. 
 A dinner party is often a hard-fought field 
 — not a ball but produces its Io triumjphe 
 to some, the fatal vce victis to others. I 
 know nothing that affords greater scope 
 than croquet for clever manoeuvring of 
 this sort." 
 
 "Well, Sir Giles; it's my belief that 
 four-fifths of the people who play it, do so 
 heartily from mere love of the game and 
 for sheer amusement ; however, I see 
 there's something in the eating and drink- 
 ing way going on. I am afraid it's useless 
 asking you to join our nondescript meal,
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 207 
 
 but come and have a glass of wine at all 
 events. I will guarantee my sherry sound 
 and honest." 
 
 " I'll just say good-bye to Mrs. Stephen- 
 son, and then I must be going ; I hate 
 being out after sunset now, and regard 
 evening dews with horror and dismay." 
 
 Mrs. De Driby was, as may be imagined, 
 a sight to see throughout the day. She 
 patronized meek Mrs. Stephenson, till the 
 daughters of that estimable lady simmered 
 with wrath, while Kate Moseley bubbled 
 over with wickedness. She levelled her 
 gold eye-glass, with what she deemed 
 aristocratic condescension, on the baser 
 clay it was her lot to mix with. 
 
 " Does you great credit, Mrs. Stephen- 
 son, indeed, quite an elegant collation. 
 How you and your dear girls manage it, 
 I'm sure I can't imagine. But thanks to 
 your bringing up, they know how to be 
 useful as well as look nice, after household 
 cares have been attended to ;" aud here 
 Mrs. De Driby smiled urbanely, feeling
 
 208 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 that she had been sweetly compli- 
 mentary. 
 
 " What an affected piece of impertinence 
 she is," whispered Isabel Stephenson to 
 Kate, " how I should like to shake her. 
 I don't mean to say that Jennie and I 
 haven't done our best to make our table 
 look pretty, but we don't want to be 
 reminded of our labours in that way. Mrs. 
 De Driby would insinuate that we have 
 doue all the cooking." 
 
 " And what harm if you had, Isabel ?" 
 retorted Kate. "I'm a nobody, and 
 therefore it don't much matter what I 
 think ; but if I wanted my party to go off 
 well, I should not mind what work I lent 
 my hand to beforehand. It's little I'd 
 reck of what the Mrs. De Driby' s of this 
 world might say on the subject." 
 
 "Thanks, Katie;" replied Miss Ste- 
 phenson, " but take care, your own turn 
 will come ere long." 
 
 " How unkind of you to frighten me ; 
 I can only hope I may prove equal to the
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 209 
 
 occasion when it does," replied Kate, 
 demurely. 
 
 Isabel Stephenson looked curiously at 
 her neighbour for a minute, and then said, 
 " I should not wonder if you did, and to 
 say the honest truth I should rather like 
 to see you tried." 
 
 "Mr. Filander !" exclaimed Kate, as 
 the curate made his way into her vicinity, 
 " I wonder yon dare venture near me, 
 after the scandalous manner yon have 
 neglected me all day ; are yon not afraid 
 the pent up torrent of my indignation may 
 overwhelm you ?" 
 
 " I'm sure, Miss Moseley, it was not 
 from want of inclination, but — b-b-b-but 
 you see," stnttered the curate, " Mrs. 
 Briarly not understanding the game, she 
 required so much instruction." 
 
 " And so you smoothed the stony places 
 for her, did you ? Metamorphosed the 
 rude iron hoops into golden circlets; be- 
 ware of such alchemy, Mr. Filander — 
 transmuted the cage of rancour and des- 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 210 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 pair into a bower of roses — again, I say, 
 take heed, Mr. Filander." 
 
 The curate coloured in confusion at 
 Kate's merciless attack ; but aid arrived 
 from an unforeseen quarter. Mrs. De 
 Driby was making her way down the 
 room, her carriage having been announced. 
 She paused to say good night to the 
 Stephenson girls. " Ah, Miss Moseley," 
 she exclaimed, "I dare say you have 
 found out by this time the sad mistake 
 your father made in sending you to that 
 absurd French school. Quite unfitted you 
 for a country life, no doubt ?" 
 
 "Not at all; come and try, Mrs. De 
 Driby. We will give you some croquet 
 any day you like to name next week, and 
 if I can't make as good a syllabub as ever 
 you tasted, then you shall say my French 
 schooling was a mistake." 
 
 Mrs. De Driby's face was a sight to see, 
 as Kate, with a pleasant smile, gave her 
 off-hand invitation. The idea that a chit 
 of a farmer's daughter, to whom she
 
 The Anatomy of Croquet. 211 
 
 looked upon it as a condescension on 
 her part to speak, should presume to ask 
 her, Mrs. Be Driby, to croquet and sylla- 
 bub, literally took away her breath. She 
 recovered herself with a violent effort, 
 and like a true woman nerved herself for 
 the occasion. Levelling her glasses at 
 the offender, she executed the nearest 
 imitation of a smile she could command, 
 and retorted, 
 
 :( I am afraid, Miss Moseley, your Paris 
 education has hardly made you under- 
 stand your position in this country," then 
 without waiting for a possibility of a reply, 
 Mrs. De Driby swept away in her magni- 
 ficence, trumpeting in her wrath like an 
 irate elephant. 
 
 The blood rushed to Katie's temples, 
 and her little hands for a few seconds 
 made wild work with her pocket-hand- 
 kerchief. She knew she had been worsted 
 in an encounter with her bitterest foe. 
 What gall that is to women, women only 
 understand; it is vinegar to them to 
 
 p 2
 
 212 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 be beaten in snch encounters at all times, 
 but verjuice pure and unadulterated when 
 the victor is of their own sex. Katie 
 could have cried with vexation ; but they 
 never do that. Commend me to a woman 
 for bearing social punishment unmoved. 
 We male creatures whimper much more 
 over our hurts. She has had her day's 
 pleasure, and in the silence of her bed- 
 chamber may ask whether le jeu vaut la 
 chandelle.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " THE WOLF DINES WITH THE LAMB." 
 
 THE heart of Piccadilly throbs strong ; 
 the fitful pulse of Bond Street 
 knows no rest. Carriage after carraige 
 rolls home with its freight from the 
 Park. The tide of pedestrians ebbs, flows, 
 and eddies between Apsley House and 
 the Regent Circus, anon whirling fiercely 
 up Park Lane, then sweeping with more 
 tranquil movement down decorous St. 
 James's towards Marlborough House and 
 the Palace. It is about eight o'clock on 
 a fine July evening. 
 
 With a light dust coat thrown over his 
 evening dress, Jim Halden saunters in 
 his usual listless way up St. James's 
 Street, crosses into Bond Street, and
 
 214 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 makes his way leisurely towards Long's 
 Hotel. He is on his way to dine there 
 with Fortie Merrington. That gentleman 
 had duly benefitted by the invitation he 
 had accepted on the occasion of the Green- 
 wich dinner, and this had rapidly led to 
 considerable intimacy between them. Hal- 
 den could be an amusing companion 
 enough when he chose to exert himself. 
 He had seen much of this world's wicked- 
 ness, and could expatiate pleasantly 
 enough on his experiences thereof, when 
 it suited him to do so. Fortie, like most 
 young men, had a weakness for the chro- 
 niques scandaleuses of London life, all of 
 which I need scarcely say the Honourable 
 Jim had at his finger ends, to say nothing 
 of having been a personal actor in two or 
 three of by no means the most venial of 
 such histories. It was true Fripley Fur- 
 nival was an equally instructive associate 
 on these points ; but then Furnival, though 
 in an irregular way, did follow the pur- 
 suit of literature, and his time was often
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 215 
 
 engaged. Halden, on the contrary, seemed 
 to have come into this world for no ap- 
 parent object ; to be intensely bored with 
 it, and to be only too glad to assist or be 
 assisted in killing the time that hung so 
 lamentably heavy on his own hands. So 
 there had sprung up a close intimacy 
 between those two, based simply on the 
 fact that they were both idle men, and 
 had so drifted together, much as ships 
 do in a calm. No force directing, the 
 same principle applies both to animate 
 and inanimate bodies. The loungers of 
 any watering place will exemplify what I 
 mean. 
 
 Jim Halden sauntered slowly up the 
 steps of Long's, in utter oblivion that his 
 presence had attracted the attention of a 
 sleek individual in a tall shiny hat, who 
 had been previously engaged in sucking 
 the top of a short stick in an indolent 
 manner on the pavement outside. But 
 before he was well into the entrance hall, 
 the individual in question turned sharply,
 
 216 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 followed him, and tapping him on the 
 shoulder, remarked, 
 
 " All right, Mr. Halden, you're my 
 prisoner." 
 
 The Honourable Jim's countenance 
 changed not a muscle as he turned 
 leisurely and confronted his assailant. 
 He looked him over quietly, and then 
 calmly observed, 
 
 " Never saw you before. What's your 
 d d name, in the first place ?" 
 
 " Which it's Noakes, of Cursitor Street, 
 Sheriff's Officer, County of Middlesex," 
 replied the other, equally unmoved. 
 
 " Happy to make your acquaintance, 
 Noakes, though perhaps under rather un- 
 favourable circumstances. I like a man 
 who answers to the point. Now then, 
 whose suit, and how much ?" 
 
 " Solomon and Levy ; one eighty and 
 costs." 
 
 " Step in here for a moment. Waiter, 
 get me some sherry-and-bitters. What 
 do you feel like, Noakes ?"
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 217 
 
 " Well, sir, I think I'll have a rinse of 
 brand j-and- water." 
 
 " What do the costs come to ?" inquired 
 Halden, as the waiter departed to perform 
 his order. 
 
 " Seventeen, thirteen and six," replied 
 the sheriff's delegate. 
 
 " Waiter," inquired Halden, as that 
 functionary returned with the required 
 liquids. "Mr. Merrington has not ar- 
 rived yet, has he ?" 
 
 "No, sir; called in on his way home 
 to dress just now. Said you was to be 
 told he should be ten minutes late or 
 so." 
 
 Halden leisurely sipped his sherry-and- 
 bitters, apparently wrapped in thought. 
 At last he said, 
 
 " Hum, I think I have it. Noakes, do 
 you want to make a tenner easy ?" 
 
 "Well, sir," grinned that worthy, " I'm 
 sure I'm agreeable, if I sees my way clear. 
 I don't want to inconvenience a gentleman 
 any more than I'm obliged."
 
 218 Bitter is the Rind, 
 
 " Then finish that brandy-and-water 
 sharp, and ring the bell. Show me up 
 to the room Mr. Merrin^ton has en- 
 gaged," said Halden, as the waiter ap- 
 peared in answer to the summons. 
 
 "Yes, sir, this way, please, sir," and 
 he conducted them to an upstairs sitting- 
 room, with a couple of windows looking 
 over Bond Street, in which a dinner had 
 been laid for two. 
 
 " Thanks. Now look here, Noakes, 
 there's no exit from this room except 
 by the windows or the door. The win- 
 dows are a great deal too high to jump 
 out of without breaking one's neck, con- 
 sequently I can only come out by the 
 door. I'm o;oing: to dine here with a 
 friend, you can have a chair in the pas- 
 sage to watch the door so that I can't 
 leave without your knowledge. I'll make 
 that all riovht with the waiters. You're 
 stopping to see me on business. Now 
 here's ten pounds down if you'll delay 
 this arrest for three hours, and then make
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 219 
 
 it in here for four hundred pounds instead 
 of one eighty and costs." 
 
 " Don't see your little game, Mr. Hal- 
 den," returned Xoakes, after turning the 
 matter over in his mind for some 
 seconds. 
 
 " Don't suppose you do ; but you've 
 made your capture, I haven't the least 
 intention of escaping. On the contrary, 
 shall most likely make a good thing of 
 it. You've a tenner down, here it is," and 
 Halden fluttered a bank note before the 
 officer's eyes, " for sitting three hours in 
 that passage." 
 
 " Ten pound's a deal of money," mut- 
 tered Noakes, " I don't know. You'll 
 give your word it aint a plant ?" he con- 
 tinued, dubiously. 
 
 "Not on you, I'll swear; but look 
 sharp, my friend will be here directly, 
 and then it will be too late." 
 
 " Give us hold," said Xoakes, holding 
 out an avaricious claw for the tempting 
 note. " I'll chance it. I'll act on the
 
 220 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 square with you and not come in till 
 it's struck eleven. Mind you do the 
 right thing too, sir !" 
 
 "All on the straight, I give you my 
 honour. Now clear out, and keep out 
 of the gentleman's way as he comes up-- 
 stairs. Waiter," continued the Honour- 
 able Jim, " let this man stay outside, 
 I shall want him later in the evening." 
 
 The waiters at Long's are little wont 
 to be surprised at the eccentricities of 
 their patrons. 
 
 It was at the other great caravanserai 
 of batchelorhood, lived that member of the 
 fraternity, whose vocation was so touch- 
 ingly described in that quaint old lyric 
 of bye-gone days beginning, 
 
 " My name is John Thomas, the waiter at Limmers'es, 
 At the corner of Conduit Street, Hanover Square ; 
 My sole occupation is filling of brimmerses, 
 To solace young gentlemen laden with care." 
 
 Still his brethren of Long's devote a good 
 deal of their time to assuaging the woes 
 of young England's life by similar reme-
 
 TJie Wolf dines with the Lamb. 221 
 
 dies. It takes a good deal to produce 
 any feeling of astonishment on the part 
 of these hardly tried, well drilled servi- 
 tors. 
 
 Jim Halden divested himself of his coat 
 and hat, and sat down tranquilly to await 
 the advent of his host. He had not to 
 wait many minutes ere he heard a quick 
 light step on the stairs, and Fortie 
 entered. 
 
 " Awfully sorry to have kept you 
 waiting, Jim ; but I got away from the 
 Park so late. Yes, dinner at once," he 
 added, to the white neckclothed official's 
 mute appeal. 
 
 " Don't apologize, only just got here 
 myself." 
 
 " Well, come along and sit down. Told 
 you there was no one to meet you," and 
 Fortie began ladling out the soup. 
 
 " Eather a relief, one gets so bored by 
 big dinners towards the end of the sea- 
 son ; besides, it's too hot for them unless 
 you migrate to Greenwich or Richmond.
 
 222 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 In a tete-a-tete you've no row, are not 
 obliged to scream if you want to say any- 
 thing, and one does get waited upon. I 
 know I dined the other day at Blan- 
 ton's, got literally nothing to eat. Not 
 half servants enough, and I was too tired 
 to shout at 'em." 
 
 " You're quite right. Now this is 
 quiet, cool and comfortable. Come along 
 with the champagne, waiter." 
 
 " Nothing much going on," remarked 
 Jim. " Odd if there was, people all too 
 languid to get into scrapes ; there's Mrs. 
 Clarke Fletcher can't summon up energy 
 to run away with young Rawlinson, she 
 meant it at one time, I should think — 
 he, poor young beggar, gone past re- 
 demption, hopeless case of spoon, and's 
 fool enough to only wish she would." 
 
 " No, the season is pretty well played 
 out; it's getting about time to cut it. 
 Where to is the question — you know 
 Baden, Homburg and all these places?" 
 
 " Rather. Unlike Tom Protherton's
 
 Tlie Wolf dines teeth the Lamb. 223 
 
 dog; I could tell stories about most of 
 'em." 
 
 " "What's the joke about Tom Prother- 
 ton's dog ?" inquired Fortie. 
 
 " Never heard that story ? It's rather 
 good; they dev'lish near laughed old 
 Protherton out of the Carlton with it. 
 Pity they didn't, he's about the biggest 
 bore in it — fellow who is always button- 
 holing the unwary, to inflict on them in- 
 terminable stories which never have a 
 point. In an evil moment, he accepted 
 from somebody one of those Pomeranian 
 dogs with the tightest tail that ever was 
 curled. I believe Furnival was the origi- 
 nator of the joke; but Alec Leicester was 
 the man who practically adapted it to the 
 suppression of a nuisance, and on the old 
 villain perpetrating his next outrage, ex- 
 claimed, ' My dear Prothero, I never can 
 hear a tale of yours without thinking of 
 your dog.' 
 
 " ' My dog ! why what do you mean?' 
 
 " ' Mean ! pooh ! nonsense ! man, you
 
 224 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 can't be ignorant of what all London has 
 decreed, that you're never to tell a story 
 again without your dog being there, so 
 that one may have a chance of seeing the 
 two stiffest tales in London unfolded to- 
 gether. 5 
 
 " The chaff spread everywhere, and 
 4 where's the dog,' saluted old Prothero 
 whenever he attempted one of his endless 
 narratives." 
 
 " Jove ! not bad;" said Fortie, "help 
 yourself, and send the claret across. What 
 cursed luck I had the other night." 
 
 "Ah, at whist — yes; paper run against 
 you. Didn't have a very good time myself, 
 though cards rather helped me through 
 at the finish." 
 
 "Come in;" said Fortie, as a pair 
 of knuckles drummed heavily on the 
 door. 
 
 Halden glanced at the clock which was 
 on the stroke of eleven, and taking out 
 his cigar-case observed, " Time for a 
 weed."
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 225 
 
 " Hallo ! -what the devil do you want ?" 
 inquired Fortie, as the door opened and 
 Mr. Noakes cautiously insinuated his body 
 into the room. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir ; I hates to disturb 
 gentlemen at dinner, so I've waited a bit 
 till I heard coffee was all over right and 
 comfortable ; but Fve a little bit of busi- 
 ness there with Mr. Halden that won't 
 keep any longer." 
 
 Halden, who had by this time lit his 
 cigar, turned leisurely round in his chair, 
 and said, " Well, my man ?" 
 
 Noakes advanced, and handing him a 
 strip of parchment replied, 
 
 " Caption — Solomon and Levy — Four 
 hundred and costs." 
 
 " D — d scoundrels !" exclaimed Halden, 
 " they swore this should wait till the end 
 of the month. I told them I couldn't 
 meet it before, but that it would be all 
 right then." 
 
 " Can't help it, Mr. Halden — I knows 
 nothing about that. My orders is to 
 
 vol. I, Q
 
 226 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 bring you or the blunt back, that's all I 
 knows." 
 
 "What on earth is the matter?" said 
 Fortie, " is it an arrest ?" 
 
 " Afraid so ; these sharks promised to 
 wait till the end of the month, at which 
 time I've made all arrangements for 
 meeting this bill. Put not your trust in 
 money-lenders." 
 
 The converse of the remark might 
 perhaps have been more applicable to Jim 
 Halden. Many of them had wept over 
 monies parted with in that direction, and 
 anathematized the day that made them the 
 proprietors of the Honourable Jim's auto- 
 graph. 
 
 " Jove ! this won't do, you know ;" 
 said Fortie. " We can't wind up a jolly 
 dinner like this. Look here, my man, just 
 step outside for ten minutes and tell the 
 waiter to get you anything youlike to drink." 
 
 Mr. Noakes looked a little dubious, he 
 glanced first at Fortie and then at his 
 prisoner. An almost imperceptible quiver
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 227 
 
 of the latter' s left eye-lid decided him. 
 
 "Well," he said, "I don't want to be 
 disobliging, but it aint business this here, 
 howsomever I don't mind for ten minutes 
 or so; but mind, gentlemen, I can't be 
 kept waiting all night." 
 
 No sooner was the door closed than 
 Fortie exclaimed, 
 
 " Hang it all, Jim ! can't anything be 
 done about this business ?" 
 
 " It's hard lines," responded Halden, 
 " very hard lines. I've worked all I knew 
 to get this four hundred together, and 
 they promised me to wait till the end of 
 the month for it. Now," he continued, 
 plaintively, " the brutes make this arrest 
 — they know it will add another fifty or 
 so to my debt. I did think at last I 
 should be clear of the vultures ; but now 
 it's all over," and putting down his cigar, 
 the Honourable Jim leant his head on his 
 hands in a most lugubrious manner. 
 
 Halden had not studied men and their 
 dispositions for nothing. Neither could 
 
 Q 2
 
 223 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 anyone accuse him of having altogether 
 thrown away his opportunities at the 
 theatres. He did his quiet despair in an 
 artistic fashion, that no actor of light 
 comedy could have surpassed. The 
 feelings of his auditor were thoroughly 
 aroused, at the sight of his calm cy- 
 nical friend breaking down in this 
 fashion. 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense ! old fellow," cried 
 Fortie, " fill your glass and let's talk 
 it over, I dare say we can square it 
 after a little confabulation. No use 
 being down in your luck about it." 
 
 Halden filled his glass and shook his 
 head moodily. 
 
 " Look here ;" continued Merrington. 
 " You say you are safe to have this 
 money by the first of next month ?" 
 
 Jim nodded assent. 
 
 " Well, if you will promise to let me 
 have it back then, I can find it for you 
 now. It'll take all I've got and I shall 
 have to a little overdraw my account
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 229 
 
 to boot; but that won't matter for 
 three weeks or so." 
 
 " By Jove ! Merrington, you are a good 
 fellow. I couldn't have asked you to 
 do this, but if you can manage it you 
 will be doing me a great turn. It will 
 be all right again the beginning of next 
 month." 
 
 The bell was rung, a pen and ink 
 brought, and while Fortie wrote out a 
 cheque for four hundred, Halden scrawled 
 his I.O.U. for a similar amount. Mr. 
 Noakes was summoned and the cheque 
 laughingly handed to him. But here 
 arose a little difficulty. 
 
 "No doubt," said Mr. Noakes, "this 
 here piece of paper is werry much to be 
 preferred to Bank of England notes, 
 being quite as good and rayther more 
 portable. But cheques ain't money, least- 
 ways so we are taught in our perfession. 
 'Spose gen' man I takes this back to my 
 employers and find it a regular Aldgate 
 Pump one, what do you think they'd
 
 230 Bitter is the Bind, 
 
 say to that. Why it'd be ruin to me, 
 it would " 
 
 " Confound it !" said Fortie, as he 
 rang the bell, " they'll give us cash for 
 it in the house. Waiter, send the land- 
 lord here." 
 
 This produced the managing clerk of 
 the establishment, who stating that the 
 proprietor had gone some hours before, 
 desired to know if he could be of any 
 use upon the occasion. But Fortie's 
 request staggered him. He apologised, 
 and said that he had not so much at 
 command. It was not probable that he 
 had, but in any case it was hardly to be 
 supposed that he would cash a cheque of 
 that extent, without ascertaining before- 
 hand whether it was good for the amount. 
 The Honourable Jim Halden was pretty 
 well known at Long's, and his being an 
 intimate friend of the drawer of the 
 cheque was not calculated to inspire con- 
 fidence. It was true Merrington was 
 also an habitue and had always paid his
 
 The Wolf dines with the Lamb. 231 
 
 way, but an order for four hundred cash 
 was rather a different thing from one 
 for a carte blanche dinner and unlimited 
 dry champagne and claret. 
 
 The manaodnof clerk was dismissed, 
 Fortie really distressed, Noakes inexor- 
 able. But Jim Halden's mind rose to 
 the occasion. It was by no means the 
 first time he had been inconvenienced by 
 such contretemps. He was still master 
 of the situation. 
 
 " Tell you what we'll do, Fortie. You 
 don't mind spending the night in the 
 passage at half-a-sovereign an hour, eh 
 Noakes ?" 
 
 " No," grinned that worthy, " not if 
 it's twenty-four hours long." 
 
 "Good, then go back on those terms. 
 I don't feel a bit like bed, do you ? Scribble 
 a line over to Hamilton at the ' Thalamus,' 
 he's safe to be there ; ask him to come 
 over and bring one or two other fellows, 
 and we'll have a regular night at 
 whist."
 
 232 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Great idea," replied Fortie. " An 
 inspiration, by Jove ! Jim, you're a 
 genius, and we'll play till the banks 
 are open." 
 
 The note was sent, and Hamilton, with 
 two or three equally reckless despisers 
 of the laws of Nature, soon made their 
 appearance. The consumption of grilled 
 bones, soda-and-brandy, cigars, &c, with 
 the concomitants of unlimited chaff and 
 continuous whist carried that scapegrace 
 crew on in their wild revel till long 
 after the breakfast hour of the decent 
 London citizen ; and when with throbbing 
 temples, Fortie threw open the shutter 
 and let in the glare 
 
 " Of babbling, gaudy and remorseless day," 
 
 his cheque was cashed, he had been in- 
 doctrinated into high play, and naught 
 was left him but a splitting headache to 
 remind him of that pleasant evening with 
 Jim Hal den.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE ACTKESS AT HOME. 
 
 A MODE ST little house in the vicinity 
 of the Regent's Park, constituted 
 the home of Lizzie Jerningham. To speak 
 more truthfully her dwelling place bor- 
 dered on Baker Street, or, as the denizens 
 of that district delight to render their 
 address, she was of Blank Street, Portman 
 Square. People of those parts are wont 
 to cling to the latter as forming part of 
 their direction. It is supposed to throw 
 the halo of its own heavy respectability 
 over a wide radius. Though for the 
 matter of that, a certain Mr. Thomas 
 Moore, not altogether unrecognised among 
 the songsters of Britain, lived for some 
 two or three years in George Street, a
 
 234 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 thoroughfare that in appearance is far 
 from poetic. I never pass the house 
 without a smile, at thinking that the 
 Catullus of his day lived, when writing 
 those amorous effusions, in that grimy- 
 looking second floor. The vignettes of 
 Slopperton accord more with one's idea 
 of the dwelling place of the author of 
 Lalla Rookh, &c. 
 
 The comforts of that home, such as 
 they were, and the unpretentious little 
 household was well to do, were in great 
 part owing to Lizzie's histrionic labours. 
 Her father, a music-master by profession, 
 had run away with the daughter of a 
 clergyman at the time under his tuition. 
 Such a social outrage was not to be 
 tolerated, and poor Mrs. Jerningham's 
 relations at once washed their hands of, 
 and wept over, her. Music-masters find 
 a living hard to come by in London, 
 and the bitter struggles incumbent on 
 genteel poverty, in the course of a few 
 years, broke down Mrs. Jerningham's
 
 The Actress at Home. 235 
 
 naturally delicate constitution. A family 
 came, as a family invariably does when 
 there is little to keep them on, and the 
 poor lady, to add to her woes, had to 
 mourn the loss of two little ones which 
 a kind Providence had taken early from 
 the vale of tears and short commons 
 they had entered upon. There remained 
 to her now but two children, Lizzie, just 
 in the commencement of her twenty- 
 second year, and who was now fairly 
 installed as one of the minor idols of the 
 hydra-headed and capricious British Public, 
 and the youngest of all, a boy at school. 
 
 The buffeting of the world, the low 
 estimate that that world had formed of 
 his capabilities, and the perpetual struggle 
 to keep the wolf from the door, had long 
 reduced poor Mr. Jerninghara to a humble 
 and spiritless frame of mind. Such work 
 as he now obtained, he performed much 
 as the mill-horse goes through his allotted 
 labour. No uncommon type. The lofty 
 aspirations of youth are seldom realized,
 
 236 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 and it is but too often we see that the 
 daily labour that forms the heritage of 
 man has lapsed into mere drudgery. He 
 presents that mournful converse of what 
 should be the reality of life, the working 
 to live, instead of living to work. Men 
 who have thus failed, look according to 
 their good or evil natures with either 
 intense admiration or splenetic envy upon 
 those whose exertions in the great arena 
 have been crowned with success. Poor 
 Mr. Jerningham had had his sunny dream- 
 land like most of us, and pictured himself 
 at a West End theatre conducting the 
 orchestra in the most perfectly fitting kids. 
 The success of his daughter, as an 
 actress, threw a stream of sunshine on 
 his prosaic life. To do him justice, he 
 really little regarded the increased comforts 
 of home which her now tolerably liberal 
 salary allowed. He was wrapped up in 
 her success. He had failed, it is true 
 himself, but he lived again in the triumphs 
 of his daughter. To see her act, to see
 
 The Actress at Home. 237 
 
 the audience enchained by her art, and 
 listen to the plaudits that rewarded one 
 of her happiest efforts, was elysium to the 
 heretofore broken-spirited man. It was 
 on this point only Lizzie thwarted him. 
 He would have been well content to play 
 second violin in the orchestra, and witness 
 his darling's success, believing firmly as 
 he did that she was the first comedy 
 actress in London. But Lizzie was inex- 
 orable. She could not bear the idea of 
 her father figuring in such an inferior 
 position to herself at her theatre. 
 
 " Anywhere else, father dear, and I 
 don't mind," she was wont to say ; " but 
 I won't be a swell in a place in which 
 you are nobody. Come and see me when- 
 ever you like. I love to think you are 
 looking on at my successes, but not from 
 the orchestra. Of course I can always 
 get orders for you. If you insist on 
 keeping up an engagement at some 
 theatre, let it be any one but mine." 
 
 Mr. Jerningham was an honest hard-
 
 238 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 working man, and scorned to be entirely 
 beholden to his daughter's exertions. He 
 recognized, for he was troubled with a 
 sensitive mind, the feelings with which 
 Lizzie spoke. Sorely as it grieved him 
 not to behold his pet nightly, he bowed 
 to her decision, and henceforth his violin 
 discoursed melody at a neighbouring 
 temple of Thespis. 
 
 Lizzie, book in hand, is tramping up 
 and down what is looked upon by the 
 conventionalities of the house as her 
 study. 
 
 Lizzie, to use her OAvn expression, is 
 " hammering at a part." She looks very 
 handsome as she paces the room, her dark 
 eyes sparkling, the coral lips slightly 
 quivering as she enters upon some of the 
 more animated bits assigned to her role. 
 The blue-black masses of hair braided up 
 behind in the grand old classical knot, 
 which the ladies of this age have ignored 
 for the hideous chignon (a fashion in- 
 troduced by some leader of ton whose
 
 The Actress at Home. 239 
 
 locks would scarce brook counting). The 
 well-fitting muslin draperies which show 
 yet shroud the lithe pliant figure. The 
 quick rapid play of countenance, as the 
 brows now corrugate for a moment at 
 something she don't quite like or don't 
 quite see how to make the most of. Anon 
 breaking into a flood of sunshine, such 
 as streams athwart the footlights to her 
 admirers at the Hyacinth. 
 
 A sharp jerk of the bell interrupts 
 Lizzie's studies. In her Bohemian life, 
 the conventionalities are not observed 
 with the strictness they are in the more 
 melancholy superstrata of excessive re- 
 spectability. She quietly opens the door 
 to hear who the caller may be, and as the 
 inquiry of, Miss Jerningham at home, 
 reaches her ears, steps into the passage 
 and says, 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Merrington; and very glad 
 to see you. Step in here and sit down, 
 though I can't ask you to stay long, for 
 I've got all that to learn," and Lizzie
 
 240 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 pointed to the book she had just thrown 
 down. 
 
 " Yes, I know your time is of value to 
 you. You shall tell me to go whenever 
 you want to get to work again. But I 
 haven't seen you for nearly a week, so 
 thought it time to come and pay my 
 devoirs. You haven't been in the park 
 for a mouthful of fresh air the last few 
 days." 
 
 " No, the truth is I have a good deal 
 to get up, and poor mother has been so 
 unwell lately that the little time I have 
 had to spare I have devoted to her. How's 
 Mr. Furnival? 'The Ballon the Roll' 
 still runs so well that I don't know when 
 there will be a chance for his piece." 
 
 " Oh, Fripley's very well, he says it's all 
 your fault, for if your Rose Delmar wasn't 
 so good, people would have tired of ' The 
 Ball ' some weeks back. Says he'll never 
 forgive you if you don't do as much for 
 him." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Merrington ;" laughed the
 
 The Actress at Home. 241 
 
 actress, "tell him to mind the part is as 
 good, and I'll promise he shan't have to 
 complain of me. But what have you been 
 doing lately ?" 
 
 " Well ! besides bewailing your absence 
 in the park, I've been knocking about 
 with Jim Halden a good deal — you know 
 him ?" 
 
 "Yes, very slightly; but that's even 
 more than I care for. Don't be offended, 
 Mr. Merrington, when I say that the less 
 you see of Mr. Halden the better." 
 
 "Why?" inquired Fortie, with some 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Never mind the why," retorted Lizzie. 
 " Women are never expected to give their 
 reasons. Still I do know a story or two 
 about Mr. Halden, that are to say the 
 least of it very little to his advantage." 
 
 She might have spoken in stronger 
 terms, for Lizzie, among her acquaint- 
 ances, numbered one on whom the 
 Honourable Jim had brought unutterable 
 woe. 
 
 VOL. 1. R
 
 242 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Jim is a loose fish I know," mused 
 Fortie, "but I don't think there is any 
 harm in him beyond he is such an unlucky 
 fellow." 
 
 " Accept that then as an omen. Mis- 
 trust him, because his star is not in the 
 ascendant," replied the actress, laughing; 
 " but. time's up. I don't want to be in- 
 hospitable, but I must get those words 
 into my head." 
 
 "I bow to the necessity while I deplore 
 it," returned Fortie, rising, " I hope you 
 will indulge yourself with a run oq 
 Sunday." 
 
 "Yes, mind you are there to be my 
 cavalier. Bring Fripley with you if you 
 can. I want to talk to him about this 
 new piece of his. Good bye," and Lizzie 
 and her visitor shook hands. 
 
 It may easily be inferred from the fore- 
 going, that Fortie and Lizzie Jerningham 
 had seen a good deal of each other since 
 that memorable dinner at Greenwich. The 
 actress was fond of an hour in the Park
 
 The Actress at Home. 243 
 
 after her early dinner, before the theatre 
 once more claimed her for its own, and 
 Merrington had been a constant and 
 favoured attendant on such occasions. 
 His habitual courtesy won on a girl, who 
 was often repelled by the freedom men 
 thought her position justified in their 
 relations towards her. Don't thinkj;kere 
 was any tendresse either on her part or 
 his in this seeming intimacy ; she was 
 quite as well pleased to meet and walk 
 with her old ally, Fripley Furnival. Peo- 
 ple utterly unacquainted with stage life, 
 are wont to come to the conclusion that 
 an actress from her profession must, of 
 necessity, be of light character. Their 
 want of charity is proportionate with their 
 ignorance on the subject. 
 
 Ah, ye mothers of the middle classes, in 
 whom this idea so strongly predominates, 
 instead of turning up the whites of your 
 eyes, and in the old Pharisaical spirit 
 thanking God that ye are not as this 
 woman, ponder over the the statistics of 
 
 E 2
 
 244 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 the Divorce Court, and consider whether 
 you ever worked as hard or were ever 
 called upon to withstand anything like 
 the temptation of your sisters of the stage. 
 Before clothed in your garments of virtue 
 and purity you condemn; see to it that 
 your own ranks in proportion produce no 
 more erring sheep, than that luckless pro- 
 fession which you at once admire and 
 affect to despise. But when did woman 
 ever set in judgment on woman and show 
 mercy. 
 
 Fortie mused a good deal over what 
 the actress had said on the subject of 
 Halden. " Devil of a sell," he soliloquized, 
 " if Jim's not all right — makes that four 
 hundred look fishy, and I shall want 
 it badly by the first of next month. 
 Whist and ecarte too ain't as kind as 
 they were at starting, t'other way on 
 altogether just now." 
 
 Here Fortie' s musings were inter- 
 rupted by a collision with a passing 
 passenger who exclaimed.
 
 The Actress at Home. 245 
 
 " Reckon, stranger, counting the eyelet- 
 holes in your boots ain't judgmatical 
 when you're walking about this metro- 
 polis. Beg pardon, Mr. Merrington, 
 didn't see it was you, I always go in for 
 being first in abuse in case of collision, 
 though I guess my own top lights were 
 turned in the wrong direction this 
 spell," and Seth Thorndale, for such was 
 the speaker, shook hands heartily with 
 Fortie. 
 
 " Glad to see you again, thought you 
 must have returned to America," replied 
 the latter, " as I have never come across 
 you since Basinghall's dinner." 
 
 " Off next week ; I have had a regular 
 good look at all your theatres, and I tell 
 you, you ain't a patch upon us for ac- 
 commodation, arrangement, and comfort. 
 You've more good actors and actresses 
 than we have, but you've adopted the 
 sensational drama from us and that will 
 soon thin their ranks. A real startler, 
 such as fetches our citizens, don't require
 
 246 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 above three or four real artists — all the 
 rest is blue fire, unlimited supers and 
 scenery. Don't know why I'm bothering 
 you about all this, but you see a man 
 is no good unless his heart is in his trade, 
 and then he can't help talking about it. 
 My trade is spectacular representations, 
 
 or any other d d representation that 
 
 is likely to catch the taste of the New 
 York public." 
 
 " Why you'd go in for regular Bar- 
 num business then !" 
 
 "Why not? of course I should, if it 
 produced dollars; The collecting of dol- 
 lars is the great principle of trade. This 
 side, you have a lot of people who are 
 always talking about the improvement of 
 the masses. Well, let 'em improve them. 
 A manager only caters for the pub- 
 lic, and in his own interest tries to 
 provide the public with the entertain- 
 ment they want. When they go in for 
 the intellectual, they'll find it all ready 
 for them at the Cracknell Theatre, New
 
 The Actress at Home. 247 
 
 York ; but as long as they like sensation, 
 sensation it is to the biggest extremity 
 I can give 'em with safety to their minds 
 and the theatre." 
 
 " Well," laughed Fortie, " I suppose 
 you're right. What attracts must be your 
 first consideration." 
 
 " Gospel truth as ever you spoke ; don't 
 matter what you deal in, all you've got 
 to do is to find out what fetches the top 
 of the market in your line, whether it's 
 sensational dramas, sensational novels, 
 pedigree wheat, high-bred cattle, or gaudy 
 calicos." 
 
 " Ah, I should like to see that country 
 of yours." 
 
 " Do, sir, do. It'll open your eyes, it 
 will. I don't mean to say there ain't 
 some of your institutions here but what 
 I think better than ours ; but if you want 
 to see a country where, if a man has 
 gumption and grit in him to start with, 
 he need never remain poor, just run 
 over and stay for a spell under the star-
 
 248 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 spangled banner. Our eagle may be a 
 young bird, but he's pretty strong in the 
 pinions, and flies high, he does." 
 
 " Well, I must say good-bye and plea- 
 sant voyage to you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Recollect whenever 
 you come to see our Great Eepublic — and, 
 mind, you ain't half done travelling or 
 seen the world till you have — you look 
 up Seth Thorndale. Any one in New 
 York, nearly, will tell you where to find 
 me. I'll give you as good a dinner as 
 ever you sat down to ; right glad to see 
 you, and you shall know what terrarpin 
 soup, soft shell crabs, and canvas-back 
 ducks mean. Don't forget; and now 
 good-bye, Mr. Merrington." 
 
 And with a hearty shake of the hand 
 they separated. Little did Fortie think 
 then under what circumstances he should 
 next meet Seth Thorndale.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LONDON IN AUGUST. 
 
 HORACE DE DRIBY at St. Helens 
 is moodily cogitating over a letter 
 which had arrived by that morning's post. 
 It was from Mr. Richard Phinny, and con- 
 tained the curt announcement that some 
 of Fortie Merrington's paper had at last 
 appeared in the market, and requested 
 instructions regarding it. That astute 
 solicitor further observed that one bill 
 was the invariable precursor of many, 
 and they might now be looked for much 
 as dead leaves in autumn. Horace twists 
 the letter about in his restless fingers. 
 What he has looked and hoped for seems 
 in a fair way to come to pass. 
 
 Still meditating, the Rector looks down
 
 250 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 a long vista, and sees himself enthroned 
 lord of St. Helens. He thinks over many 
 improvements he will effect in the estate, 
 when his reign shall have commenced. 
 What a different course he will pursue 
 from Sir Giles. How, instead of standing 
 aloof in cynical disdain, he will take his 
 place in the county, and become a political 
 power therein. Horace is conscious of 
 talent and latent power to become a 
 leader amongst men. Angrily he reflects 
 that the profession his uncle has com- 
 pelled him to embrace shuts him out from 
 the political arena, and thinks but for 
 that the day might have come when 
 he should have represented the county 
 in Parliament. 
 
 Strong, stern, and ambitious, he feels 
 little personal animosity towards Fortie. 
 He regards him merely as an obstacle 
 that must be swept from his path. 
 Feeling of kith he had none. With all 
 the relentless purpose of his race he 
 had determined to crush him, not from
 
 London in August. 251 
 
 any individual dislike, but as one who 
 looked inimical to his interests and 
 aggrandizement. His resolution on the 
 point was as immovable and uncom- 
 promising as the old Roman dictum, 
 delenda est Carthago. Merrington must 
 be ruined. But how ? he had mapped 
 that out roughly as yet. As aforesaid, 
 he had calculated upon Fortie's sensuous, 
 pleasure-loving disposition, and want of 
 firmness of character. The result was, 
 even now showing the accuracy of his 
 prescience. What ought to be his first 
 move. To wait and watch had been his 
 original determination. So far it had 
 been successful. Was the time come 
 for more active measures ? He thought 
 not. 
 
 " I may as well tell Phinny, at all 
 events," he muttered, "to get posses- 
 sion of all the bills the young imbecile 
 may throw into the market. It is well 
 to hold the strings that move the puppet, 
 even if it is not advisable to pull them.
 
 252 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 The rope is hardly long enough yet, but 
 the coils circle fast, as Phinny says, when 
 the beginning is once made. I don't 
 want him to tell me that, though if any 
 one should be a judge of such matters 
 it is he. H — m, it's hard to predict, but 
 I daresay Sir Giles will bear this next 
 attack on his purse-striugs. When a man 
 has but one weakness, he hugs it closely, 
 and besides partiality for Fortie, no mortal 
 could accuse my cynic uncle of another. 
 My mother talks about the fancy he has 
 taken to that chit of a Moseley girl. As 
 Johnson said of the Twickenham wasp, 
 when Boswell asked him what Pope meant 
 by a certain line, s He hoped, sir, it would 
 annoy somebody.' Sir Giles patronizes 
 Kate Moseley much on that principle, 
 with an eye, perhaps, to my mother in 
 particular. No ! many a winning game 
 is thrown away from want of patience. 
 I'll just write half-a-dozen lines to Phinny, 
 and then wait." 
 
 And how, these last two or three weeks,
 
 London in August. 253 
 
 has it fared with Fortie ? He has so far 
 expanded his mind, that he has imbibed 
 all the first rudiments of play under the 
 tuition of Halden. It has proved more 
 exciting than lucrative, and Fortie has 
 paid pretty smartly for his initiation. 
 The 1st of August has come and gone, 
 and brought forth no question of the re- 
 payment of the four hundred lent at 
 Long's. On the contrary, Merrington 
 now is nearly as much indebted to his 
 Mentor as that, though Halden can't, of 
 course, in decency press for payment. 
 The Honourable Jim is not much given 
 to the toleration of outstanding accounts, 
 when the ledger shows a balance in his 
 favour. But he handles the pigeons that 
 fall into his hands with consummate skill, 
 and generally reserves the quill feathers 
 for the final plucking. His victims find 
 the world grow cold before they discover 
 they are unable to fly. 
 
 It is a time of much mental perturbation 
 to the jeunesse doree of London life, when
 
 254 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 comes that first awful discovery of their in- 
 ability to lay their spendthrift hands upon a 
 five-pound note. The sky lifts as their more 
 initiated associates first introduce them 
 to the Eleusinian mysteries of "bills." 
 Once more the reckless revellers pursue 
 their Circean orgies, careless of the quick 
 gathering storm-clouds. But the tempest 
 soon breaks, and the usurious wolf has 
 his fangs fast in the throat of the impecu- 
 nious lamb — black lambs perchance, but 
 none the less despairing and hopeless in 
 the merciless clutches they are now 
 writhing in. Beculer pour mieux sauter 
 is an axiom in money lending. The ac- 
 commodating discounter, when he deems 
 his time come, has generally resolved on 
 a relentless worry, and leaves not his 
 victim till the bones are picked clean. 
 
 It has been said that man never knows 
 how quickly two months can pass, till he 
 has drawn a bill at sixty days' sight with 
 some slight misgivings at starting about 
 meeting it when it falls due. No such
 
 London in August, 255 
 
 thoughts clouded Fortie's mind in his 
 pleasant career on his road to ruin. 
 Money goes and comes back is a fact 
 patent to all who play. The run was 
 against him just now, but of course luck 
 must turn. As Halden said, whist and 
 ecarte always come round if you stick 
 steadily to the same stakes. As far as 
 he, Halden, was concerned they did, and 
 pretty generally to his advantage. He 
 had never been accused of foul play, 
 though undoubtedly of sharp practice^ 
 and he unmistakably was a scientific per- 
 former at most games that conduced to 
 the acquisition of that lucre, for which 
 those bottomless pockets of the Honour- 
 able Jim were ever agape. 
 
 So believing his Mentor that the wheel 
 must turn, acknowledging the fact 
 that, 
 
 " Cards will run the contrary way, 
 As well is known to all who play, 
 And dice will conspire in season," 
 
 Fortie steadily persevered in his sacri-
 
 256 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 fices to the capricious goddess, Fortuna. 
 
 Yes, he had found something to do at 
 last, as many others of his kind had found 
 before him. One might paraphrase the 
 old saying, Get money honestly if you 
 can, but never hope to get it by gaming. 
 The few who have done so are continually 
 cited, but we don't hear of the thousands 
 that have succumbed to the cards, the 
 dice, and the race-course. How very few 
 men can play whist, or are really good 
 judges of racing. What thousands be- 
 lieve in their whist, and their talent for 
 ' i spotting the winner." E arthenware jugs 
 amongst the brass pots, can you not take 
 the old fable to your hearts ? 
 
 Town is getting very hot and very 
 dusty. People are flying to the salt water 
 — to the Moors — to bracing Switzerland — 
 to wicked, but pleasant Baden — athletic 
 young men are greasing their boots, and 
 vainly endeavouring to condense the 
 necessaries of dress and toilet into practi- 
 cable knapsacks. The park is well-nigh
 
 London in August. 257 
 
 deserted, and acquaintances, when they 
 meet you, think it necessary to explain 
 their intentions of immediate emigration. 
 Fortie Merrington still lingers — why ? Sir 
 Giles has written rather peremptorily to 
 request his presence at St. Helens. Pre- 
 parations are making for the feast of St. 
 Partridge, and there is to be a gathering 
 at the Manor House. Still the fatal fasci- 
 nation chains him. The cards and the 
 dice-box have thrown their glamour around 
 him, and though it is but a few weeks 
 since he thoroughly tasted the excitement 
 of high play — it was with those who took 
 care he should be artistically blooded. 
 The wild spirit of his father runs riot in 
 his veins, and in six short weeks Fortie 
 has learnt to feel the day flat and spiritless 
 till he reaches the fatal green table. 
 
 It was towards the end of October 
 that I once met a genial Hussar ac- 
 quaintance of mine. He had acquired, 
 I forget just now how, the rather unex- 
 pected possession of four hundred pounds, 
 
 \(JL. i. s
 
 258 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 and confided to me that he was only 
 waiting for the ratification of his leave 
 to pick up three good horses, and then 
 have a " good time," he hoped, in the 
 Atherstone country. Dire procrastination. 
 An evening in town is so dull in October. 
 One must do something. He selected 
 whist for his pastime, and when on the 
 fourth morning he received his leave en 
 regie, had succeeded in getting through 
 three hundred and eighty at the fascinat- 
 ing game. I don't think he hunted with 
 the Atherstone, and rather fancy that 
 an odd day with harriers on a pony was 
 his lot that winter. 
 
 Sauntering moodily up St. James's 
 Street one afternoon, Fortie ran against 
 Fripley Furnival. He had hardly seen 
 him for some weeks past. 
 
 " Halloa, young 'un," said that gentle- 
 man, " you look faded and seedy. What 
 the devil keeps you in town ? I thought 
 you had left, like all other elements of 
 civilization. Haven't seen you for ages,
 
 London in August. 259 
 
 what on earth have you been doing ?" 
 
 " Glad to see you, Fripley; but as to 
 why I'm in town I might ask you the 
 same question." 
 
 "Me? Oh, I've taken Tom Donald- 
 son's post as sub-editor of the Argosy 
 till the end of the month. He was getting 
 real ill, poor beggar — change was a neces- 
 sity for him. He's an old pal, so I 
 couldn't refuse, being in rude health 
 myself; but I shall be uncommon glad to 
 hand it over on the first. What sort of a 
 party had you at Goodwood ?" 
 
 " Yery pleasant ; I enjoyed myself 
 much." 
 
 " Come and have a turn in the Park 
 and tell me all about it/' said Fripley, 
 slipping his arm through Merrington's. 
 "Who had you?" 
 
 " Halden, Hamilton, Laurence Finucane, 
 Tom Sloper, of the — th Hussars, and a 
 Baron Bartini, of whom I don't know 
 much." 
 
 "Xever heard of the Baron, myself; 
 
 s 2
 
 260 Bitter is the Bind, 
 
 but by Jove, Master Fortie, if you weren't 
 in with a nice lot I never heard of them. 
 A quartette of more reckless gamblers than 
 those you have mentioned, would be hard 
 to name in all London. How did you 
 come through on the week?" and Furnival 
 looked a little inquisitively at his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Very well as regards the racing. 
 Tom Sloper and the Baron were either 
 right good judges, or in possession of 
 some very good information. I followed 
 them pretty much, and did tidily during 
 the days, but I couldn't hold my own at 
 night." 
 
 " Cards, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, we always played railway whist 
 after dinner." 
 
 " Fortie, my son, you take my advice, 
 and eschew railroad whist for the present ; 
 a game in which honours are nil, and 
 points only count, is rather too great 
 a pull for the best players. Can't say 
 regarding the Baron, but Halden and
 
 London in August. 261 
 
 Hamilton were almost bound to be winners 
 at that. Anything else ?" 
 
 " Yes, we generally wound up with a 
 little ' chicken.' " 
 
 " Another snare I should counsel you 
 to keep clear of. I am afraid, Fortie, I 
 didn't do you a good turn when I intro- 
 duced you to Halden. Bear in mind he's 
 not much to be trusted." 
 
 This was locking the stable-door a little 
 late with a vengeance. The time for 
 such counsel had gone by, and though 
 Furnival was by no means aware of the 
 harm that had come of it, yet it had 
 been a very fatal hour for Fortie in 
 which he had made the acquaintance of 
 Halden. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know," he replied, " I 
 rather like Jim, he don't affect to be 
 anything but what he is. I've seen a 
 good deal of him lately." 
 
 " Well, it's no use talking about it now, 
 Fortie, but seeing a good deal of Jim 
 Halden, as a rule, is not good for the
 
 262 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 generality of his associates. When did 
 you see Lizzie Jerningham last ?" 
 
 " Not very lately. What with Good- 
 wood and other engagements, I have had 
 my hands pretty full this last three 
 weeks." 
 
 " I also have not been about. What 
 with the responsibilities of the Argosy, 
 and other literary work of my own, I have 
 had a busy time this last month. Some- 
 body told me you had got in at the 
 Thalamus." 
 
 " Yes, thanks to your interesting your- 
 self in my behalf. I like it much better 
 than the Areopagus. It's so much more 
 sociable ; besides, I hardly knew a soul 
 in the latter, and have often thought the 
 Sarcophagus would be a more approxi- 
 mate name for it, as far as I was con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Good, that's not a bad joke for your 
 age. Quite good enough for the smoking- 
 room of that dreary and venerable insti- 
 tution. But whither do you fly when
 
 London in August. 2G3 
 
 you leave this. I presume even your 
 hours here are now numbered; you've 
 drained the season to its very dregs." 
 
 " Off next week to my uncle's in Lin- 
 colnshire for the shooting. Shan't have 
 above ten days to wait till that comes on. 
 If you've nothing better to do, you'd better 
 join our party at St. Helens, Fripley." 
 
 " I tell you what, I rather like that 
 idea. I must get out of town, and can't 
 quite settle where to go. Will you have 
 me en verite ?" 
 
 "Yes, and delighted to catch you. 
 We've lots of birds. I can guarantee 
 the claret, and you'll suit Sir Giles down 
 to the ground. It will be a tolerably 
 pleasant party. Put it down, Fripley." 
 
 "It's a match," returned the other, 
 " and I'll make my number at St. Helens 
 as soon after the first as I can." 
 
 " All right, and now good-bye. Don't 
 suppose I shall see you again before we 
 meet there," and Fortie made his way 
 through Albert Gate.
 
 264 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 Fripley wandered on, past the Knights- 
 bridge Barracks, where the sentries made 
 one hot to look upon, crossed the bottom 
 of the Ladies' Mile near Kensington Gar- 
 dens, and strolled listlessly back on the 
 other side. This steaming August evening 
 the park seems well nigh deserted. I 
 speak comparatively, for there are many 
 who are unable to withdraw their necks 
 from the collar these hot summer days, 
 and " the lungs of the metropolis" are 
 never empty. But the froth and vanity 
 of the season have betaken themselves to 
 the Moors, the country, Folkestone, Brigh- 
 ton, and the Continent. Ramsgate, 
 Hastings, all the South Coast watering 
 places, Derbyshire and the Lake country 
 are flooded with the great city's out-pour- 
 ings — out-pourings of a shade less preten- 
 sion, with whom a ticket for the Queen's 
 ball is by no means an object of paramount 
 importance. Margate, Gravesend, &c, are 
 surging over with another grade of the 
 annual overflow, a class to whom sands,
 
 London in August. 265 
 
 shrimps, buff slippers, tea-gardens and as- 
 sembly-rooms are primary objects, when 
 they temporarily vacate their cells in the 
 great London hive. All this outflow natu- 
 rally makes an impression, and on no part 
 of the metropolis is it so vividly impressed 
 as upon Hyde Park. A turn by the side 
 of Eotten Row is wont to produce feelings 
 of acerbity during the vacation. Re- 
 pinings at our lot, much discontent that 
 we are not elsewhere, and an aggrieved 
 feeling of being somehow "put upon" are 
 predominant in our manly bosoms. Bat- 
 tersea Park is quite as pretty, equally 
 healthy, and calls up no melancholy re- 
 miniscences, I would humbly suggest to 
 those so afflicted. 
 
 Fripley was a victim to all this revul- 
 sion of feeling, as he sauntered leisurely 
 back by the side of the deserted Row. 
 He lit a cigar, and began to muse medita- 
 tively over Fortie Merrington and his 
 affairs. 
 
 "Wish to Heavens/' he thought, "I
 
 266 Bitter is the Bind, 
 
 had never been the means of bringing 
 him and Jim Halclen together ; but it 
 never occurred to me at the time. It's 
 done now and can't be helped. I couldn't, 
 if I had tried, have given him a worse start 
 in London life. I wonder how far that 
 confounded Jim has put him wrong. No 
 use talking to him up here, down at St. 
 Helens he may be more amenable to 
 reason. But I'm afraid three months of 
 Halden's society is enough to have about 
 ruined any young one, more especially 
 one who has not yet chalked out a career 
 for himself. Curse it, too, somebody 
 told me the other day that Jim had been 
 displaying his talents at the Thalamus, 
 and there are too many already disposed 
 to make a gambling house of the plea- 
 santest night club in London. What a 
 fool I was not to attend to Blatherwick's 
 suggestion, and make a point of having 
 the Honourable Jim pilled there last 
 year." 
 
 Still meditating in this wise he crossed
 
 London in August. 267 
 
 the Piow once more, and made his way 
 out 'neath the Duke's statue, and ran 
 against the very man he had been men- 
 tally castigating, in Piccadilly. 
 
 " How do, Fripley," said Halden, with 
 his usual languid manner. 
 
 " Why, what on earth keeps you in 
 town, Jim ? I should have thought you 
 had been away to the Moors or ' Salt 
 Licks' three weeks back." 
 
 " No moor to go to. Nobody has seen 
 fit to ask me, and the Governor don't 
 mince matters, but says he'll be d — d if I 
 set foot on his. Getting hot and slow 
 this, though, so I'm off to Baden next 
 week." 
 
 " The old story T suppose, experiments 
 in the dveing trade or fixing a colour." 
 
 "No, Fripley, I have got through my 
 days of innocence, and don't look to 
 making a fortune over the red or the 
 black. But there's always money to be 
 made at Baden. The race week is pro- 
 lific in robberies, if you do but know of
 
 268 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 them. I usually get an advantageous 
 hint or two." 
 
 " Well, good-bye, may your specula- 
 tions be lucky, Jim," and Fripley wended 
 his wav east.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BESS. 
 
 YES, she was a vagrant looking dog. 
 A small, light, wiry bitch, with a 
 coat that no care, feeding, or attention 
 could make any other than ragged. She 
 looked a very mendicant among dogs, 
 with large patches of hair rubbed off 
 her in places. She was a disreputable 
 dog, she had a felonious manner with 
 her, and bore petty larceny imprinted on 
 her countenance. A joint missing, and 
 a score of her kind about the house, she 
 would have been convicted on her ap- 
 pearance. Nothing but a clear alibi could 
 have saved her. She was a cynical dog, 
 wont to snap viciously at those whose 
 habiliments proclaimed them unencum-
 
 270 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 bered with much of this world's gear. 
 In her dog's wisdom ; she felt they might 
 be insulted with impunity. Vagrant her- 
 self, she endured no vagrancy in hu- 
 manity. Silk and broadcloth she toler- 
 ated, welcoming them with cold politeness 
 and unbelief. 
 
 One cannot exactly say this dog had a 
 religion, but she had a faith, which is 
 something as times go, and that centred 
 in her master. This ill-conditioned look- 
 ing cur was Eortie Merrington's pet 
 retriever. He was her deity. To him 
 she owed all pleasure, or as occasion 
 demanded, for dog nature is no more 
 infallible than man's, all pain. She 
 bounded with delight at his caresses, and 
 she was not habitually a demonstrative 
 dog. With drooped ears, slinking tail, 
 and meekly crouching, she came to meet 
 the relentless punishment of her mis- 
 doings, when she could summon courage 
 to encounter that Nemesis, which she 
 knew so invariably followed the pursuit
 
 Bess. 271 
 
 of the forbidden hare, or her occasional 
 infirmities of temper. Quick and lynx- 
 eyed as a greyhound, no schoolboy on 
 the first day of his holidays ever ran 
 such madcap races as she, when such 
 little misdemeanour had been satisfac- 
 torily settled for. "With pricked ears 
 and impatient shivering, Bess sits on her 
 haunches in the warm sunshine this 
 August morning, anon giving an oc- 
 casional whimper. She wanted no infor- 
 mation, she knew that her master had 
 arrived, and visions of partridge shooting 
 and endless scampers by wood and river 
 filled her dog mind. 
 
 Yes, Fortie Merrington has at last 
 torn himself from the Circean goddess 
 of the gaming table, and arrived over 
 night at St. Helens. 
 
 Sir Giles remarked he looked worn. 
 M Been burning the candle at both ends I 
 suppose, as men are apt to do in their 
 first season. We don't improve as we 
 grow older, but we learn to economise
 
 272 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 physical powers in the pursuit of plea- 
 sure. You'll be all the better for a 
 spell of country life again." 
 
 " Do me good, no doubt ; I've been 
 living a little quicker lately than one 
 could be expected to last at. Is my 
 aunt here ? 
 
 " Yes, she is good enough to play 
 lady of the house for me this month." 
 
 Fortie felt that first quiet evening 
 at the Manor House inexpressibly 
 tedious. The expected party had not 
 yet assembled, and the dinner-table was 
 limited to the trio. His aunt opined that 
 he had left his heart in London. Her 
 nephew being hipped and distrait, she 
 jumped to the conclusion that he was 
 in love. Women are apt to assign our 
 liver complaints and moody reflections 
 over unpaid bills, or unpromising Derby 
 books, to the all-swaying power of Eros. 
 He stands so entirely to them as the 
 first power of the universe that they make 
 but little account of Plutus and Nemesis,
 
 Bess. 273 
 
 two lesser deities that a good deal more 
 influence our masculine understandings. 
 We spend much of our time in pursuit of 
 the former and evasion of the latter, and 
 for the most part with very chequered 
 success. 
 
 However, the evening wore away. 
 Very bored was Fortie, as he lit his 
 cigar in the solitude of the smoking- 
 room. One of the awful curses of the 
 gambler's life, is that it crushes out not 
 only all other interests, but even the 
 natural affections — he thinks of nothing 
 else. Society, pleasure of all kind, the 
 home ties, the ordinary loves and likings 
 of man, are all submerged 'neath the 
 fierce intoxicating torrent upon which 
 he has embarked. Merrington had con- 
 ceived a strong passion for Kate Moseley. 
 It had been sufficient to steel him even 
 against the attractions of Lizzie Jerning- 
 ham, though that they were by no means 
 easy to resist, many men could testify. 
 It is probable that but for that preoccu- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 pation of heart, he would not have re- 
 mained insensible to the charms of the 
 handsome actress. Much as he had 
 thought of Kate before, since he had 
 been launched on the whirlpool of play 
 she had hardly crossed his mind. Ab- 
 sorbed in the fierce struggle for gain, 
 he was dead to all other passions. 
 
 But now over this cigar, Kate Moseley 
 crossed his moody mind like sunshine. 
 What a brute he had been, all the fault 
 of those accursed cards, &c. Yes, he 
 would go and see Kate to-morrow — that 
 he had not written for some time he felt 
 guiltily conscious of. 
 
 I suppose it was not a very proper 
 thing those two corresponding at all. I 
 can quite fancy exception being taken to 
 it by the rigid moralists with whom it is 
 my privilege to associate ; but then with 
 the present postal facilities, it is so very 
 difficult to know with whom anyone may 
 be corresponding, that I can quite imagine 
 a good many most uncompromising
 
 Bess. 275 
 
 matrons do not at all realize the indiscre- 
 tional correspondence into which their 
 daughters may be betrayed. In the 
 case of Kate and Fortie, there was no 
 one to trouble their head about the 
 matter. 
 
 Fortie lounges leisurely out of the hall, 
 and pauses a moment to stare over the 
 park with its soft thick grass. The weird, 
 gnarled old trees are in all the full beauty 
 and grandeur of their summer panoply. 
 It is one of those bright still August morn- 
 ings, that seem as if they had begun close 
 on noon to start with. How one revels 
 in mere existence midst the trees, grass, 
 and flowers, after the hot feverish London 
 life with its heart-burnings and jealousies. 
 There is a sensation of peace, quiet and 
 repose about it. Let me be in the shade 
 and read novels, or watch the lazy hum of 
 the insects, or listen to the distant 
 murmurs from harvest-field or river ; but 
 breathe not a word to me of work to be 
 done, or of energy to be summoned up. 
 
 t 2
 
 276 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 The dolce far niente is the only fit sacrifice 
 to pay to our common mother-nature to- 
 day. 
 
 Fortie, though to a certain extent 
 sharing this sentiment, had marked out 
 still more golden hours for himself. He 
 thought how pleasant it would be to lounge 
 away the time at Kate Moseley's feet while 
 she busied herself with some apology for 
 work, or perhaps to read out one of those 
 favourite authors, and listen to her lively 
 remarks on Maude, Christabel, or Lady 
 Geraldine's courtship. 
 
 " Bess, my woman ;" he said, as he 
 strolled to where the retriever, crouching 
 on the ground with ears laid back and 
 lips twitching with impatience, was 
 switching her ragged tail, " are you glad 
 to see me ?" 
 
 As I have said before, Bess was peculiar 
 in her ways, she neither jumped nor 
 barked at sight of her master, but con- 
 ducted herself after another fashion — 
 turning her head from side to side;
 
 Bess. 277 
 
 bridling in short like a finished coquette, 
 and ever changing the arrangement of her 
 fore paws. The dog gave a low whimper, 
 sprang up on him as he loosed her chain, 
 and then careered round and round the 
 yard like a mad thing, yelping in the exu- 
 berance of her delight. A sharp word 
 from her master recalled her to his side. 
 She thrusts her nose hurriedly into his 
 hand, still quivering with anxiety for the 
 wild gallop she has promised herself this 
 summer morning. A wave of Fortie's 
 hand and she is away three hundred yards 
 in front of him — a hare dashes across her 
 path. She pauses, looks ruefully after it 
 for a moment, and then races back to her 
 master, showing a fortitude in her dog 
 nature that that master might do well to 
 emulate. 
 
 Along the river-bank went Fortie, 
 thinking much of Katie's blue eyes and 
 golden hair. It was but a short time back 
 he had strolled along that path with her. 
 His better nature was beginning to re-
 
 278 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 assert itself, and already he cursed the 
 mad folly of the last few weeks. Then 
 he began to ponder on what his liabilities 
 might be for those nights of feverish plea- 
 sure. Had it been pleasure ? nothing 
 seemed like it at the time ; but the ex- 
 citement was over — all seemed vanity and 
 vexation now. He soon reaches the low 
 red-brick house by the water. Though 
 he had not arrived unexpectedly at the 
 Manor House, yet he had never indicated 
 the particular day on which his advent 
 might be looked for, so Kate could scarce 
 know that he was once more at St. Helens. 
 He just glances in at the low porch — the 
 house seems deserted. Of course, Kate 
 such a glorious morning would have be- 
 taken herself to her favourite seat at the 
 bottom of the garden by the water's side. 
 Quickly he threads the well-known path, 
 the soft grass muffles his footsteps — he is 
 right. On the rustic bench, leaning her 
 cheek on her hand, sits Kate Moseley 
 looking dreamily over the river. Book
 
 Bess, 279 
 
 and work have fallen neglected on the 
 green sward at her feet, and the girl's 
 mind is far away lapped in the rosy visions 
 of fancyland. 
 
 It is not till he murmurs, " dearest 
 Kate " at her side, that she is aware of 
 his presence. Starting to her feet, with 
 a bright smile, she exclaimed, 
 
 " Mr. Merrington ! How do you 
 do?" 
 
 She could not disguise that she 
 was glad to see him ; for in those 
 three months that he had been away, 
 Kate had found out that she did care 
 a good deal about him; but she was 
 nevertheless conscious of having been 
 rather neglected of late. The first of 
 these feelings brought the sunshine into 
 her face, as the latter impelled her to 
 moderate her greeting. 
 
 "And is that all you have to say to 
 me, Katie, after my absence ?" continued 
 Fortie, as the girl paused. "How do 
 you do, Mr. Merrington?"
 
 280 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 " Do you deserve more ? Do you re- 
 member the curt half dozen lines that 
 have responded to my later letters ? Do 
 you know, sir, that the last two have 
 been left unanswered?" cried the girl 
 proudly. " You know I am beneath you 
 in station. You should have been all 
 the more careful to prevent my realizing 
 that fact." 
 
 " Katie, dearest, listen to reason. 
 I have come to you as my good 
 angel to save me from myself. I have 
 been mad the last few weeks, and you 
 have been sacrificed to a worthless 
 rival." 
 
 " And you dare come here to tell me 
 so," blazed out the girl, the blue eyes 
 flashing, and her mobile features working 
 with the sore wounded pride that was 
 struggling within her. " If I was wrong 
 to believe your protestations of love, I 
 thought not to encounter insult at your 
 hands — noblesse oblige has been deemed a 
 proverb with your race."
 
 Bess. 281 
 
 " Stop ! you mistake me quite. My 
 heart has beat for no other woman but 
 you, Katie. But I have yielded to the 
 fascinations of play, and forgot you as I 
 forgot all else." 
 
 The girl's face softened as he spoke, 
 what was play compared to a feminine 
 rival. "Oh, Fortie !" she said, "I'm so 
 sorry," and the tears stood in the blue 
 eyes. " I didn't understand, and you — 
 you made me very unhappy." 
 
 " Why, you're crying, Katie. No reason 
 for that, because I have made a fool of 
 myself." 
 
 " I am not crying," she replied, avert- 
 ing her head, and angry with herself that 
 a glistening tear-drop fell on her dress 
 in direct contradiction to the assertion. 
 But she said, turning again towards him. 
 " I don't yet admit your excuse, sir. 
 What preoccupation could justify leaving 
 my foolish notes unanswered?" 
 
 " None — as you rightly say, if in the 
 world's eyes you are not of my station,
 
 282 Bitter is the Rind. 
 
 I should but pay you the more deference. 
 Don't be unkind, Katie, and let me feel 
 that in my madness I have lost more than 
 I ever counted on. It is bad enough 
 as it is, I fear ; but this would so eclipse 
 the other, that that other would seem 
 of small account," and as he spoke, Fortie 
 stole his arm round the slender waist and 
 possessed himself of the little hand nearest 
 him. 
 
 Kate disengaged herself in an instant, 
 and stood fronting him. 
 
 " Fortie Merrington," she said, " you 
 are speaking to me as no man has a 
 right to do to a woman, unless he has 
 asked her to marry him. What am I to 
 understand, I believe you loyal. You 
 would not insult me, surely?" 
 
 Fortie's handsome face looked troubled 
 as he replied simply. 
 
 " I knew I loved you, and thought 
 you loved me. You never did, or you 
 could not do me this injustice. Adieu," 
 and he rose in his wrath, for Fortie was
 
 Bess. 283 
 
 very much in earnest. But ere he had 
 gone twenty paces, he could not help 
 looking round, The small proud figure 
 had vanished, and on the bench crouched 
 a visibly agitated conglomeration of 
 muslin. Katie's slight figure stood no 
 longer erect and indignant, but prostrate 
 on the bench the girl was giving vent 
 to passionate sobs. 
 
 For tie's heart failed him, in a second 
 he was by her side once more. " Katie, 
 I can't bear to see you cry. If you will 
 not believe me, what can I say to you. 
 I hoped that one day you would give 
 me leave to call you my wife. It is you 
 who have dared to question me on that 
 point." 
 
 " Oh, For tie, Fortie, will you forgive 
 me !" said the girl, as she nestled into 
 his arms. " I'm so miserable. I have no 
 mother." Here her sobs half choked her. 
 " You know I'm not of your class of life. 
 I love you so, forgive me if I feared you 
 might trifle with my love. Please," (no
 
 284 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 words can describe the pleading tones in 
 which this was uttered,) " please do think 
 how alone I stand. Forgive me now, and 
 I will never doubt you again." 
 
 " At lovers' perjuries they say Jove 
 laughs," and the halls of Olympus shook 
 with laughter. 
 
 Fortie did what I fancy few men could 
 have refrained from doing under the cir- 
 cumstances, he kissed the tears from the 
 blue eyes, called her his own darling, 
 and speedily restored sunshine to the fair 
 face that looked up at his so fondly. 
 
 Fortie, though he genuinely loved her, 
 had hardly intended to proceed thus far 
 in his flirtation with Katie when he started 
 from the Manor House. 
 
 " Et mihi res, non me rebus, subjungere conor," 
 
 saith the old satirist. Fallacious idea, as 
 
 if " men were not ever the sport of 
 
 circumstances, more especially perhaps 
 
 when circumstances seem the sport of 
 men."
 
 Bess. 285 
 
 And now came those sunshiny moments 
 that come once to most of us in the course 
 of our lives. That sweet interchange of 
 nothings, fond questioning and foolish 
 answering, that form the elysium of the 
 first acknowledgment of mutual love. 
 And Fortie made his confession of reckless 
 folly, while Kate listened in a state of 
 mingled admiration and terror, as he re- 
 counted those wild nights of play, which 
 he vowed should never happen more now 
 he was blessed with her love. 
 
 And again, loud rang the laughter 
 through Olympian halls. Despite the 
 misery it often entails on them, women 
 are apt to regard a reckless gambler with 
 a certain amount of admiration. The 
 beau jouev.r is looked upon with a species 
 of reverence in many salons. Amidst 
 more decorous society, the same feeling 
 exists mixed with horror and pity. Women 
 cannot withhold a certain amount of ad- 
 miration for recklessness in men, let it 
 take what form it may. Moreover, most
 
 286 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 women sympathize with gambling at 
 heart. 
 
 " But, Fortie dear, what will you do ? 
 You will have to pay all this. What will 
 Sir Giles say?" 
 
 " Well, pet, I don't know. I could 
 pay it perhaps without his knowledge, 
 though it's doubtful. I haven't made up 
 my mind about it yet. He's been a good 
 uncle to me, and I think I shall take him 
 into my confidence that far. But, Katie 
 love, proud as I am of you, you must 
 promise to keep our engagement a secret 
 from every one for a little, till I get all 
 these affairs settled. You'll promise 
 me that, and trust me implicitly, won't 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes, I promise and I trust. Yes, trust 
 for ever, Fortie." 
 
 And for the third time, pealed high the 
 laughter on Mount Olympus. 
 
 Fortie' s reply though labial was not 
 verbose ; but paradise is not to be more 
 than tasted in this world. A low growl
 
 Bess. 287 
 
 from Bess called attention to that astute 
 retriever, who had lain coiled on the 
 grass some few yards from their feet. 
 Her erect head, and pricked ears, told 
 her master that somebody was approach- 
 ing; and Katie and he rapidly resumed 
 positions more in accordance with society's 
 views of a morning call, than they were 
 then occupying. Yes, a dog that can be 
 depended upon is a great auxiliary in 
 surreptituous love-makiDg — an admirable 
 sentry, and defies counsel in the witness 
 box. Xo attorney would have thought 
 it worth while to subpoena Bess, though 
 nobody could have told more about, or 
 felt more disgusted at the way in which 
 her master had passed that bright August 
 morniug. A Bess of humanity would 
 have scorned to let the sun go down with- 
 out apprising the whole parish on the 
 subject. 
 
 Birkett Moseley was now seen slowly 
 approaching. The retriever cast a glance 
 at her master. She had seen Moseley
 
 288 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 often before, but had never quite made 
 up her dog mind in his case. She looked 
 upon him as an interloper now, and 
 mutely requested instructions as to 
 whether to take a piece out of the leg 
 of his trousers, or to welcome him with 
 dignified reserve. Fortie's " quiet, old 
 woman," was sufficient. Bess once more 
 stretched, herself on the grass, and sub- 
 mitted in a condescending way to be 
 petted by Katie. 
 
 " Glad to see ye, Mr. Merrington, glad 
 to see ye," said the steward, as he shook 
 hands with Fortie. " Some of 'em told 
 me this morning ye were back from 
 London. Pleased ye'll be, no doubt, to 
 get among the green fields once more, 
 and the shooting just beginning. Ye 
 were main fond of the shooting always. 
 Jackson told me the other day there 
 were more birds to year than he minds 
 for many a season. Reckon Sir Giles 
 is going to have the Manor House full all 
 next month, be he not ?"
 
 Bess. 289 
 
 w Yes, I fancy we shall have people 
 coming and going all September. I 
 haven't seen Jackson myself, but hear 
 there's every chance of good sport." 
 
 " Aye, there should be ; the hares 
 have 'most grazed the ' church close' 
 down; the sooner ye thin 'em there the 
 better." 
 
 " Yes," chimed in Katie, " there is 
 more game on the estate than the 
 tenants can bear with. The hares and 
 rabbits have made dreadful work with 
 the crops. You and your friends, Mr. 
 Merrington, must do your devoir, and 
 abate what is becoming an injustice to 
 the farmer." 
 
 " You little democrat," laughed Fortie. 
 " However, Moseley, we'll devote the 
 whole of next month to their extermi- 
 nation." 
 
 " Aye, do, and do it well while ye're 
 about it. If ye don't kill 'em off closer 
 than was done last year, I'm doubting 
 the tenants will want something off the 
 
 vol. 1. u
 
 290 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 rents, and Sir Giles won't like to hear 
 of that." 
 
 " Jove ! no, that's not his line. He'll 
 say they may leave if they don't like 
 it." 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Fortie, but you should talk 
 to him. He thinks a deal of you, and 
 mebbe he'd listen if you spoke. He won't 
 to me, and I tell ye the lands let at a 
 fair value, not counting the damage the 
 game does." 
 
 " Well," laughed Merrington, " my 
 uncle sticks pretty firm to his own 
 opinions. You ought to know that, if 
 any one does. All I can do, I think, is 
 to see that we thin the hares and rabbits 
 as far as possible next month. Good-bye, 
 I must be off now. Come along, Bess. 
 Good-bye, Katie." 
 
 A warm pressure of the hand, a pas- 
 sionate glance, and he was gone. 
 
 " Are ye going in, lass ?" inquired 
 Moseley, as Kate began to gather up her 
 feminine belongings.
 
 Bess. 291 
 
 "Yes, father; I am rather tired," arid 
 the girl walked dreamily towards the 
 house. Arrived there, she ascended at 
 once to her own room, and began to muse 
 over the events of the morning. 
 
 "Yes," she muttered, "I do love him; 
 but will they ever let me marry him ? 
 Fortie ! Fortie ! I don't know which of 
 us has been most foolish. Sir Giles will 
 never hear of it. Oh ! this caste ! why 
 should I not be deemed fit bride for 
 him?" 
 
 Here the girl walked to the glass. She 
 looked at herself steadfastly for a minute 
 or so, 
 
 " Getting so by heart the beauty which all others most 
 adore." 
 
 Apparently she was pleased with the 
 result ; the rather knit brows softened, 
 and a smile rippled over her face as she 
 murmured, 
 
 " ' Little democrat/ he called me. Ah ! 
 love makes a pretty muddle of our demo-
 
 292 Bitter is the Bind. 
 
 cratic sentiments. Once we admit him, 
 we become the willing slaves of utter 
 despotism — would barter our opinions for 
 a kind word, and change our convictions 
 for a kiss." 
 
 END OF THE FIEST VOLUME, 
 
 LONDON : 
 Printed by A. Schulze, 13, Poland Street.