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 OF THE 
 
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 or ILLINOIS 
 
 v.l-3
 
 l,^t
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 SI 
 
 BY 
 
 COURTENEY GRANT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LITTLE LADY LORKAINE," "OUR NEXT NEIGHBOUR," ETC. 
 
 Human soul 
 Must rise from individual to the whole. 
 Self-Love but serves the virtuous mind to wake. 
 As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
 The centre moved, a circle strait succeeds. 
 Another still, and still another spreads ; 
 Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; 
 His country next, and next all human race ; 
 Wide and more wide, th' oerHowinjrs of the mind 
 Take every creature in, of ev'ry kind ; 
 Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest. 
 And Heaven beholds its image in his breast.— Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON; 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1878. 
 
 [All Rights reserved.]
 
 CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTEllS.
 
 y,l~3 
 
 LAND AHEAD! 
 
 i CHAPTER I. 
 
 I hold it truth, with him who sings 
 ^ ' To one clear harp, in divers tones, 
 
 ^ That men may rise on stepping-stones 
 
 I. Of their dead selves to higher things. 
 
 In Ifemoriam. 
 
 — Like a broad band of liojht sbone the waters of 
 ^- the Rhine in the rays of the soft moonlight ; the 
 V^ mountains on either side seemed to ghower and 
 frown on the river, as though they were jealous 
 sentinels of such beauty. The bright water, now 
 sometimes lost in their dark shadow, and now 
 emerging into a dazzlingly brilliant silver light, 
 seemed to be coquetting, archly smiling, with its 
 guardians. The hills too seemed sometimes won 
 over, as though bending their heads in the moon- 
 light to listen to its voice; then as suddenly 
 
 V OL. I. B
 
 2 LAND ahead! 
 
 retreating into tile black gloom of shadow and 
 shutting their souls to the siren's song. 
 
 Nature's majesty was, however, as usual, sadly 
 interfered with by the busy hand of man ; here 
 the shrill sound of the railway whistle awoke the 
 old hills with a sudden start, and there the ugly 
 shape of a steamer and the paddle of its wheels 
 and its smoking funnel overshadowed the still 
 beauty of the river. So far had the hand of 
 Progress advanced in the year 1867. 
 
 Among the human freight on board one of 
 these boats sat a group of German students ; 
 they were not thinking about the beauty of the 
 scenery, they were seeking their amusement from 
 another source. They had at first attempted 
 some raillery on a worthy old couple who were 
 seated near them, amid their bundles and packages, 
 ready at the first signal to disembark ; but the 
 old people had very soon discovered the intentions 
 of the young men, and turning a deaf ear to all 
 their questions, treated them with sovereign 
 contempt. 
 
 " You must leave the good man alone, I think, 
 my friends,'' said a young German, laughing, as 
 he saw their discomfiture, and sympathized with 
 their feeling of weariness, consequent on having 
 no frolic on hand.
 
 LAND ahead! 3 
 
 " Ah ! they are dull/' said one of the students, 
 smiling back to him. 
 
 The young man wrapped his cloak more closely 
 around him, and pursued his walk up and down 
 the deck. 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked another of the group, 
 taking his pipe out of his mouth, and leaning 
 over the little table towards him who had spoken. 
 
 ** I do not know. From Berlin, I think." 
 
 ** An officer, surely." 
 
 " Yes," said another, stopping to pull a long 
 draught of beer, " I have seen him ; I think he is 
 in one of the Garde Eegiments." 
 
 " And I," said the first, " have seen him at 
 Heidelberg, I am sure." 
 
 The young stranger passed them once or twice 
 in his walk, but he did not seem anxious for 
 conversation. He stopped, and presently leaning 
 over the side of the boat, to all aj)pearance was 
 lost in his own reflections. 
 
 *' He must be deeply in love to look at the 
 moon like that," said one. 
 
 " Yes ! " said another, " something: like this." 
 
 And with a rich full voice he trolled out a 
 song, while the rest joined in chorus, clinking 
 their glasses, and raising their voices so loud that 
 no other sound could be heard. 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LAND ahead! 
 
 A young Englishman who head been hovering 
 about, and was evidently tired of his own society, 
 laughed out loud as they concluded. 
 
 " Could not you give us an English song, mein 
 herr ? " asked one of the students. 
 
 "Nothing so fine as that," said the youth; 
 " and then you would not understand it." 
 
 " Not understand love-songs I Oh ! what men 
 must we be then? All the world understands 
 love-songs. But ach ! I forgot. The English 
 have not got any, nor do they understand love 
 
 at all." 
 
 " Oh, but they do though, and all the more 
 perhaps that they do not sing or say so much 
 about it as you Germans.'' 
 
 Anger flashed out on the faces of the students. 
 
 " You English think of nothing but money- 
 making. There is no poetry, no soul in you." 
 
 " I don't know about our souls," said the 
 English youth ; " but we have plenty of poetry." 
 
 " Not in the people, not universal, as we have. 
 You have your one poet perhaps in a hundred 
 years. We are all poets." 
 
 " AYhat do you say to our Shakspere ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that is what you Englishmen all say. 
 He existed — if he existed — some centuries ago, 
 and is to last you for all time."
 
 LAND ahead! 5 
 
 ^'Ifhe existed ! what do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 " Many think it took many men to produce 
 his writings, and that all you call his work is 
 not by him." 
 
 " Germany is jealous of England," said the boy 
 thoughtlessly. 
 
 " Jealous, mein gott ! Do you hear ? Jealous ! 
 of such a little country of merchants and money- 
 makers and traders. Why ! .what are you to us ! " 
 
 " Hear him ! " 
 
 *' Listen to that!" 
 
 They got up on their feet and began to surround 
 him, animation on their faces, delighted to have 
 picked a quarrel at last, and it might have turned 
 out rather awkwardly for the Englishman had 
 not the officer, who had been listening idly to the 
 conversation without joining in it, now stepped 
 into the circle. 
 
 " You are a little hard in your arguments, my 
 friends, on this gentleman. He is but one against 
 you all, and his German at least sounds to me 
 better than your English." 
 
 " He says we are jealous of England." 
 
 " Ach ! that is not true. But you chose 
 your words badly, — they were not courteous ; 
 and jealousy is not courteous, so he mistook." 
 
 *' Oh ! he mistook ! " grumbled they sullenly.
 
 6 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' We are not civil either to our foreign guest," 
 he continued. "I for one offer him a glass of 
 our Bavarian beer, and drink his health." 
 
 The youth smiled as he thanked him, and 
 apologized for his bad German as he set down his 
 glass, saying his lack of words often caused him to 
 choose stronger terms than he should use naturally. 
 
 "They are dangerous fellows, those young 
 Heidelberg men," said the officer, drawing him 
 slightly apart. " They always try to quarrel, and 
 do not care how they begin. '^ 
 
 " I was foolish to join in their conversation." 
 
 " Look at them now calling for a song. By 
 Heaven, I will give them one." 
 
 And stepping up to them, the stranger sang 
 them a song in a rich well-modulated voice. 
 
 Shouts of applause followed, and one voice 
 after another rang out drinking his health and 
 that of his friend. The young Englishman smiled 
 doubtfully at the gay German, as they were thus 
 coupled together. 
 
 Just then the steamer stopped, voices called, 
 and lights on the river bank showed they had 
 reached a place of some importance. 
 
 " Ach ! this must be Sonnenthal," said the 
 German. "Adieu, my friend! Adieu, all of 
 you ! I must leave you ! "
 
 LAND ahead! 7 
 
 The Englishman then awoke as from a reverie, 
 and with true insular stolidity shouldered his bag, 
 nodded a silent adieu to the group, and, landing, 
 was soon lost in the crowd, and seen no more. 
 
 His quasi-friend, on the contrary, immediately 
 became the centre of an animated crowd. He 
 had more luggage than the Englishman, and 
 there seemed to be some difficulty in collecting 
 it ; then, when it was collected, he was persecuted 
 by officious men, all anxious to carry it away. 
 Singling out one of them, the possessor of the 
 baggage bade him stand by it till he returned, 
 and stepping across the road, he accosted the 
 portly landlord of the inn, who was standing in 
 the porch with his hands in his pockets, smoking 
 his pipe. 
 
 The steamer had gone off by this time, and there 
 was comparative quiet. 
 
 '* How can I best get to Sonnenfels, my friend — 
 driving or walking ? I have been before, but I 
 forget." 
 
 " If mein herr would drive I can e^et him a 
 carriage at once, or if he walks one of my men 
 shall show him the way ; it is short but steep." 
 • " But I have luggage." 
 
 ^' Well, mein herr, I think I would drive." 
 
 " Then order me a carriage."
 
 8 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Will mein herr step inside '? Ach I " said the 
 good man, as he half turned and saw his visitor's 
 face in the full light, "but I do not think you 
 are a stranger here ! I think, nay ! I am sure," 
 and he drew his hand across his brow as he spoke, 
 " that I have seen you before." 
 
 " You are clever at faces then indeed ; but yes ! 
 I have been here before." 
 
 " I was sure of it. And now I think of it — 
 you are our lady of Sonnenfels' cousin, he who 
 came two years ago, to stay so long she hoped, 
 just before Hans Senden died, and who went 
 away so soon. How we all talked about it ! ^' 
 
 " Did you ? " 
 
 " Count Valentin von Broderode, is it not ? " 
 
 "The same, my friend. Will you order my 
 
 carriage J 
 
 2" 
 
 With many obsequious bows, the landlord left 
 him, and Valentin, growing impatient, alternately 
 consulted his watch and the distant but sub- 
 stantial form of the Castle of Sonnenfels, situated 
 on the summit of the hill above the town. 
 
 "Tell me about the death of my cousin's 
 husband !" said he to the old man when he came 
 back. " Was it very sudden ? " 
 
 " It was. But will not mein herr take some 
 refreshment? not a glass of wine or beer or any-
 
 LAND AHEAD 1 9 
 
 thing ! acli ! gut ! some of my Assmanshausen — 
 it is ofood — we are famous for it — and the vines 
 were good last year." 
 
 "It is excellent, Herr Flugel. But tell me 
 about Hans Senden." 
 
 " But it was sad. You know he was subject 
 to fits of passion, strangely excitable ; it seemed 
 too that he had heart-disease, which no one knew 
 before ; and so one day, all of a sudden, after one 
 of these bursts of anger, he suddenly fell down, 
 and they found he was dead." 
 
 " How dreadful ! But what excited him so ? " 
 
 " Ah ! that no one knew. They were alone, he 
 and our lady, and it was something she said. 
 It was very soon after you had been here, and 
 had left so abruptly. Perhaps now Count von 
 Broderode will stay longer ? " 
 
 There was a sly twinkle in the landlord's eye 
 as he put this question, but Count Valentin 
 answered haughtily — 
 
 " No ! I have only come on family matters. I 
 shall not stay." 
 
 "Our lady is lonely, they say, and has so few 
 visitors." 
 
 " Ah ! here is the carriage, I suppose." 
 
 " But no ! how quick they drive. That can- 
 not be Heinrich ! Ah ! let me see ! AVhy, -it
 
 10 LAND ahead! 
 
 is our lady herself; she has come to fetch 
 youj " 
 
 Yon Broderode stepped out into the porch just 
 as the coachman pulled up, and was instantly 
 greeted by shrill female tones. 
 
 ^' Ah, Valentin ! are you there ? — have you been 
 waiting ? I am so sorry, but I could not help it. 
 We were at a concert, and we could not get 
 away ! " 
 
 " Oh, there is no hurry, Lotta ! I have only 
 just come ! " 
 
 " This is Frau Steingracht, Valentin ! poor 
 Hans' sister ! she is prepared to like you for my 
 sake, Valentin ! " 
 
 There was disappointment amongst the little 
 group round the inn at this advent of Frau 
 Senden. The landlord's fly would not be wanted, 
 nor more would the porter's truck or his assistance. 
 Having paid for his refreshment at " The Three 
 Eoses," and having distributed a handful of 
 small coins amongst the disappointed porters, 
 Valentin was soon installed in the carriao-e Avith 
 the two ladies, and proceeded up the hill to 
 Sonnenfels. 
 
 " How lovely your castle looks in the moon- 
 light, Lotta ! " said he. " I have been admiring 
 it with Hans Fluofel."
 
 LAND ahead! 11 
 
 *^ Did you remember him, Valentin ? ^' 
 
 " No ; but he remembered me." 
 
 The road to the castle was steep and circuitous, 
 and Valentin leaned back in the carriage, letting 
 the soft moonlight influence him and lull him 
 to silence, for with the eagle glances of Frau 
 SteiDgracht upon them, the cousins found con- 
 versation, save that of the most trivial kind, 
 almost impossible. Lotta had written to him, 
 entreatino^ him to come, but assio'nino^ no reason 
 save that of relationship and old aff"ection ; and 
 later, as they paced the terrace together, the 
 thoughts that had been haunting him all day as 
 he journeyed from Berlin came surging to his 
 lips with such force he could scarce repress them. 
 Lotta was an enigma to him ; and he was almost 
 sorry he had come. 
 
 He watched her now, flitting about coquettishly 
 amid the shadows made by the moonlight, now 
 standinor aw^aitinor him in the silver sheen, 
 answered gently her tender words, and received 
 with something like pity her adulation and veiled 
 flattery. If only it had been courteous, he would 
 have asked why she had sent for him ! 
 
 " I come to you almost as a stranger, don't I, 
 Lotta ? It is so long since." 
 
 *' You left so abruptly."
 
 12 LAND ahead! 
 
 " So mucli has liappenecl since then. But I 
 did not find you last time — not the Lotta of 
 days gone by. That was why I went." 
 
 " And yet 1 am the same." 
 
 " No ! oh no ! I have lost her ! You cannot 
 help it ! Do you remember the old garden at 
 home ? you were my bright fairy then ! Now — 
 but we cannot help it ! You have lived ; and 
 I — I was a boy then ; I am but beginning life 
 now ! " 
 
 " And you believe in it, Valentin ? " 
 
 " In life ? certainly ! " 
 
 " And so do I ; only I would begin again ! 
 liCt me go back for a moment and tell you. He 
 is dead, so it is no sin now." 
 
 *' Lotta, how did he die ? " 
 
 " It was his heart. He was in a passion." 
 
 " What about ? " 
 
 She walked a few paces on, she stopped to 
 pluck a flower; the full moonlight was on her 
 face, and then she met Valentin's eye boldly, and 
 said — 
 
 " We quarrelled about you." 
 
 The sound of a window being shut made them 
 both start, a,nd she whispered — 
 
 *' It was Martha Stein gracht. She must have 
 heard. I had no idea she was listening. Valentin,
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 13 
 
 we are undone. I never breathed this to a soul 
 before, and now to think that she should know." 
 
 " We had better go in." 
 
 " Yes ; I cannot say more now. To-morrow, 
 Valentin, for it is late. Good-night." 
 
 Valentin could hardly congratulate himself on 
 the confession he had heard, and when at last 
 he left the terrace, and betook himself to his 
 slumbers, a strange assembly of figures haunted 
 him, amongst which the corpulent and defunct 
 Hans Senden and Heidelberg students, with 
 ghastly wounds on their faces, were the principal 
 intruders.
 
 CHAPTER II. I 
 
 '• Fortune brings in some boats that are not steer'd." ' 
 
 Oi/mbeline, Act iv. Sc. 3. 
 
 The next morning Valentin lay stretched at full ] 
 
 length in a green alley — Lotta Senden had told j 
 
 him to await her there, and he, having restrained ! 
 
 the impulse to ask her why she had sent for him, j 
 
 was exercising as much patience as he could i 
 
 master. On each side of him the walls of ■ 
 
 verdure shut him in, till, narrowing in the \ 
 
 distance, they apparently met, and mingled in \ 
 conclave over their prisoner. Above him the 
 
 waving tree -tops seemed to touch the steel j 
 
 blue of the sky, stooping now and again as •: 
 
 though to waft a blessing on him, or as though ] 
 
 to speed him a kiss by the passing zephyr ; just i 
 
 there, towering above the trees, rose the old \ 
 castle of Sonnenfels, like a hoary sentinel, seamed 
 
 and scarred with centuries of history, and looking j 
 
 down with something of scorn on the idle youth. i 
 Behind there was a blue background of distant 
 
 i
 
 LAND ahead! 15 
 
 mountain, to be caught but seldom, when the 
 tree-tops waved a pass for the graceful forms ; 
 below him, now and again, he saw the bright 
 waters of the Rhine sparkling through the parted 
 leaves ; around him rose the hum of myriads of 
 insects, birds darted across his strip of possession, 
 and the flowers and shrubs filled the air with a 
 thousand perfumes, and steeped his senses in 
 delio^ht. 
 
 A sense of peace came over Valentin ; his 
 thoughts flew back to the time, years ago, when 
 he and Lotta w^ere children together, and they 
 had vowed eterhal constancy. What dreams 
 they had had, what castles in the air they had 
 built ! He laughed now as he thought of them ; 
 he was very sure Lotta must laugh at them too 
 now ! Life was so very difi'erent from that. 
 
 Lotta herself is flittins; before him now as he 
 thinks thus ; here she is with her fair hair, 
 laughing mien, deep blue eyes, and svelte figure ; 
 here she is peering at him through the parted 
 leaves of a chestnut tree, crowned with a wreath 
 of bilberries. . 
 
 " Come, Lotta, come," and he waved his hand, 
 half displeased, half in jest, "we cannot be 
 children always ; we grow out of it in time ; we 
 leave it behind. Come, be reasonable.''
 
 16 LAND ahead! 
 
 ** Are you so old then, Valentin ? " said she, as 
 she came and sat herself beside him ; "for me, I 
 feel as if my youth — nay ! my childhood — might 
 come back to me ; and I would gladly have 
 it so ! " 
 
 " Your wealth and your freedom seem to suit 
 you, Lotta ? " 
 
 " Yes, but, Valentin, put them out of your 
 mind, cannot you ? I want you to see me as I 
 used to be ! " 
 
 " I shall never do that again, Lotta ! " 
 The young man's face darkened as he spoke, 
 while hers paled under his glance. 
 " Never again ? " faltered she. 
 " Listen to me ! How long is it since you and 
 I spoke together — face to face ? Five — six years, 
 is it ? Do you remember the day we parted 
 under the old willow tree at home, when I went 
 to Heidelberg ? What did we say then ? That 
 you were to be my little wife, that I was to 
 be so proud of you, and that you in your turn 
 would always worship me ! Do you remember, 
 Lotta ? '^ 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well ! the next news I had was that you 
 were promised to Hans Senden, a rich merchant : 
 a man ever so much older than yourself, a man
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 17 
 
 below you in station, a man whom you could not 
 love, a man whose money you did love. From 
 that moment you were another person to me." 
 
 " Valentin, be generous ; you forget the 
 pinching poverty, the weary days in Berlin. 
 Hans Senden seemed good ; he was very rich ; 
 you were away, and I only did what I was told." 
 
 " And you expected to be happy ? " 
 
 "As far as doing right makes one " 
 
 " Oh no, Lotta ; say as far as being false 
 makes one happy." 
 
 " But I was not false. I was always true to 
 you," 
 
 Valentin stared at her. 
 
 " You and I could not have married ! I was 
 not happy ; but I had hopes that ultimatel)? I 
 might do you good, and if you had not been 
 unkind I might have been happier." 
 
 " I unkind ? " 
 
 " Why did you grow so handsome ? Why did 
 you dance with every one at the balls but Lotta 
 Senden ? Why did your face wear that con- 
 temptuous smile when you met me ? Why, once 
 when you spoke, was it only to twit me on my 
 diamonds ? you did not even admire them ! " 
 
 Valentin laughed. 
 
 " I remember that night. Hans Senden 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 LAND ahead! j 
 
 looked so old, so very old; and so gouty, ■ 
 and so unhealthy. The diamonds seemed such a { 
 mockery ; and so did your love. You preferred \ 
 the diamonds to me. You: knew I could not ! 
 give you diamonds." " . j 
 
 " But he could not live for ever. How stupid | 
 men are." ! 
 
 " Hans Senden must have been very stupid ! " ; 
 said Valentin bitterly. i 
 
 " Is all that terrible game I played for you to 
 go for nothing, Valentin ? " asked she tenderly. 
 " That daily death in life, that bitter sel^sacrifice, 
 that utter self-abnegation that you might be rich 
 and happy some day — is all that to count for j 
 nothing ? Surely when you came to Sonnenfels i 
 two years ago you saw it all then ? surely you \ 
 understood, and you saw what I suffered daily — ' 
 nay ! hourly — and you must at least have pitied 
 me ? " I 
 
 There was a. moment's silence. ; 
 
 " Am I to be candid, Lotta ? " ! 
 
 Her affirmative answer was scarcely audible. 
 
 *' I saw you so changed, your falsehood had so 
 changed me, that I could not pity you. I scorned 
 you. Forgive me, Lotta." * j 
 
 She hid her face in her hands. ] 
 
 " You were so changed, so altered, so faded ;
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 19 
 
 you seemed to have lost caste. You were my 
 star no more ; I looked in vain. You were noble, 
 regal, bright no more. You had learned to serve, 
 to obey, to scheme, to flatter. Lotta, I could 
 not bear it, and I left you and Sonnenfels I 
 thought for ever. Why have you sent for me 
 now ? " 
 
 There was a silence, only broken by the voices 
 of the birds and the insects murmurino; around 
 them. 
 
 " Why have you sent for me now, Lotta ? " he 
 repeated, more kindly, taking her hand. 
 
 " Oh, Valentin ! you are unkind, cruel ! " 
 
 He did not answer. 
 
 " Well, do not care for me ! " she said presently 
 passionately. " In Berlin, I dare say, now you 
 have a thousand loves. But at least be my 
 cousin still ; I am so alone in the world, so 
 forlorn, so forsaken." 
 
 " Always, Lotta, always, trust me." 
 
 " At least be my friend." 
 
 '' Always, believe me." 
 
 " And stay with me now for awhile, and 
 brighten my life a little with your society." 
 
 " Surely I will." 
 
 " Just because — of — our old promises." 
 
 "Which, dear, you broke." 
 
 C 2
 
 20 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Just then Martha SteiDgracht appeared at the 
 end of the alley. 
 
 " I think I shall leave you, Lotta," said he 
 quickly. 
 
 " Yes ; adieu." 
 
 And womanlike, she smiled, though her dearest 
 hopes had just been shattered to the ground. 
 
 " Cannot I mend up my broken happiness even 
 now ? " thought she, as he smiled reassuringly in 
 answ^er to her. 
 
 Meanwhile Valentin, starting to his feet, lighted 
 a cigar and followed the windings of the green 
 path down the hill-side. It brought him to 
 Sonnenthal ; there nestled the houses under the 
 protecting presence of the stern old castle, and 
 the sun gleamed down upon them, and on the 
 sparkling river, and on the boats, as though 
 shedding its blessing upon them all. 
 
 To Valentin, just come from crowds and from 
 a society which gave him little time for reflection, 
 this bright morning scene was particularly 
 soothing, and productive of thought and calm 
 meditation. He was accustomed to be very 
 independent, and to endeavour to shape out his 
 future life just as might seem to him good. Now 
 his future seemed to him too beautiful, too 
 unsullied, too fciir to be weio^hted with Lotta
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 21 i 
 
 Senden ; that old dream of his seemed now faded 
 and false ; he had risen above it ; he had left the ^ 
 
 cloud behind him, for it to wreathe itself into I 
 
 another shape. 
 
 While thus thinkino^, as he leaned on the 
 parapet above the water, Valentin had been idly- 
 watching a little boat on the river. He had 
 watched it because it was there, not seeing it 1 
 
 perhaps more particularly than anything else that j 
 
 floated before his eyes. Just now his attention, | 
 
 however, was particularly directed to it by seeing ] 
 
 the excitement of a group of men on the bank of I 
 
 the river. They were shouting, gesticulating, 
 and attracting the attention of every one to the -; 
 
 solitary occupant of the boat, as also arousing the j 
 
 young man himself to a sense of his danger. i 
 
 Two large steamers were simultaneously approach- ] 
 
 ing him from opposite directions, and the little • 
 
 boat, that looked but like a mere fly in the path 
 of two elephants, must, in the tumult of waters 
 they caused, be inevitably swamped. 
 
 It is too late now to avoid them or to escape 
 the opposing currents : even now the boat turns 
 like a tee-to-tum in the whirl of waters. The 
 excited crowd is surgino^ to and fro in its 
 excitement. The whole town seems there. The 
 cries are redoubled. The men on board the
 
 22 . LAND ahead! 
 
 steamers shout and attempt to stay their 
 unwieldy machinery. Alas ! it is vain ! There- 
 capsized, bottom-upwards is the little boat. 
 
 But while others look and call and gesticulate 
 helplessly, Valentin does more. Eushing down 
 the steps, stripping his clothes off as he goes, he 
 pushes through the frightened crowd, and 
 prepares for a mad attempt. A girl standing 
 there calls out in terror ; but he only meets her 
 fear with a smile, and waving his arm, springs 
 recklessly into the dazzling water. 
 
 Quick as thought, some men, already pushing 
 off in a boat, try to reach the strong swimmer, 
 while in breathless suspense the crowd watch the 
 fainting, spent efforts of the unfortunate youth 
 who had been upset, and the strong strokes of 
 Valentin. 
 
 " Holy God ! will he do it ? " 
 
 " Will he reach him ? " 
 
 " Ah ! he can Dot ! The Ehine is so strong ! '' 
 
 " Ah !" said the portly landlord of "Die drei 
 Eosen," '' that such a good strong life should be 
 spent thus ! Mein Gott ! mein Gott ! " 
 
 '' Will no one help him ? can no one save him ? 
 Oh ! who can swim ? " said the girl, who had 
 screamed when Valentin jumped into the water. 
 
 "Who cares for the sickly English youth?
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 23 
 
 Our young German is worth half-a-dozen of 
 him ! '* 
 
 "It is Frau Senden's cousin/' said Heinrich 
 Flugel, mournfully. " He only arrived at 
 Sonnenfels last night/' 
 
 " To meet his death.'* 
 
 " What will she do ? what shall we say ? " 
 
 "Ah ! this Ehine ! it looks so fair, but it is so 
 strong — so cruel ! Ach, mein Gott ! " 
 
 But just then a shout rent the air. The man 
 was saved. Valentin has reached him, and now 
 the boat is there. Valentin catches hold. Yes ! 
 see ! they have them — have lifted them both in 
 — drowning man and saver. With rapid strokes 
 they are being borne back to land. 
 
 " God be praised ! " rose the murmur. " How 
 marvellous ! how beautiful ! " and some of the 
 old women fell on their knees, while the men 
 smiled, and the girl who had been so frightened 
 hastily wiped a tear from her eye. 
 
 " How good it is to see the young and strong 
 using their youth and strength for others ! " said 
 an old woman, going on with her knitting as she 
 spoke. " That is right ! but how few do it ! " 
 
 But here they conie ! * Valentin, pale indeed, 
 but eager, excited, seeking something. Full of 
 care for the life he had saved, tenderly watching
 
 24 LAND ahead! 
 
 liim, calling for restoratives, proud of him as 
 though he were his own possession ; looking 
 down on the calm, unconscious face as though 
 wondering over his histor}^ and then looking up 
 suddenly, apparently in search of something. 
 Was it his clothes ? 
 
 They gave them to him. Gathering round 
 him, they told him he must be warm, that he 
 was precious, dear to them ; that he was a hero. 
 He lauo^hed in their faces. 
 
 Lotta Senden rushed out of the group. 
 
 " How could you, Valentin ! dear, brave 
 Valentin ! " and she kissed his hands, as her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 And then beyond he met the earnest gaze of 
 the girl who had screamed ; there was a calm, 
 proud smile on her face now ; the unrest died 
 away from his eyes, they smiled fearlessly, 
 triumphantly back to hers ; and then he turned 
 again to care for the youth he had saved. 
 
 " Who is he ? " he asked. " I travelled with 
 him yesterday evening ; he is English ; he was 
 on board the steamer with me. Who is he ? " 
 
 " He is a young English gentleman, mein 
 herr," said Heinrich Flugel, officiously. "He is 
 staying with the English clergyman here, to learn 
 German."
 
 LAND ahead! 25 
 
 " Do you know where lie lives ? " 
 *' Oh yes ! he comes every day for a boat. " 
 So they lifted him into a carriage, and Valentin 
 sat by him ; then together these two — the one 
 so proud of, so in love with life, that he thought 
 he had given the greatest treasure in giving it ; 
 and the other so white, so inert, so mysterious, 
 even now trembling on the verge, between this 
 life and the next — left the sympathizing, 
 admiring throng.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Princess : My friend, the Golden Age has passed away, 
 And yet true souls can bring it back again ; 
 Yea ! to confess to you my firm belief, 
 That golden time of which the poets sing 
 Was never more a truth than it is now. 
 Or if it ever was, 'twas only so 
 That it may always be restored again. 
 Still close together true congenial souls, 
 And share the joys of all this beauteous world. 
 
 Goethe's " Tassor 
 
 Margaret Hoffman, too, left the busy scene, 
 and took her way quietly along the river bank 
 towards her home. She was vexed with herself 
 that she had screamed when Valentin had pushed 
 by to jump into the water ; she was vexed that 
 she had shown any excitement, or had been 
 betrayed into any individual interest for Valentin. 
 She had never seen him before, had not known 
 who he was till afterwards, when the words that 
 he was Frau Senden's cousin had reached her, 
 and it had therefore been but one human being's 
 natural interest in another that had carried her 
 beyond herself.
 
 LA.ND AHEAD ! 27 
 
 Margaret's life had all been spent at Sonnen- 
 thal ; it was so very quiet, so very uneventful, 
 that it was small wonder if the excitement of the 
 morning had moved her strangely. One human 
 being on the verge of death ; the impulsive, 
 impetuous, reckless self-sacrifice of another in his 
 cause, though unknown to him ; his imminent 
 danger, and the ultimate safety of both ! If that 
 other should live, what a bond of gratitude, a lie 
 strong as life itself, would bind him for ever 
 henceforth to his hitherto unknown benefactor ! 
 
 She felt her blood stirring with a new impulse, 
 felt her soul kindling with new feelings, with 
 new enthusiasm, with new truth. It seemed to 
 Margaret like a beautiful poem, such as she had 
 read of the olden time, only infinitely more 
 beautiful, because it was true, and because she 
 had seen it. She had seen the dazzling river, 
 the danger, and then the two lives trembling in 
 the balance. How much she should like to know 
 the people ! But that she never should. Her 
 life was so diflferent, so quiet, so solitary. True, 
 her father knew Frau Senden, but when he went 
 to Sonnenfels he alwavs went alone. True, 
 Frau Senden had often promised to come to their 
 house to hear Margaret play, but then she never 
 had come. No ; Margaret could never see nearer
 
 28 LAND ahead! 
 
 those liv^es that had let in such a sudden glimpse 
 of glory on her vision. So she left the river 
 feeling very sad, and with a very full heart ; 
 another life, heroic and beautiful, unselfish and 
 full of action for others, had been shown to her, 
 but only at a distance, and it was closed in 
 reality to her and to her effort, as much as the 
 heavy gates that closed behind her shut out 
 from the courtyard the town and the busy 
 street. 
 
 "You would help me if you could, I know, 
 Fritz," said she to a great mastiff, who was 
 waiting for her inside the gates, and who showed 
 intense delight at her appearance. " But you 
 can't help me." She stooped to kiss his great 
 head and passed on. 
 
 For some unaccountable reason, unaccountable 
 to herself even, Margaret shrank from saying 
 anything about the event which had excited her 
 so strangely. It might have been partly that 
 she felt oppressed, over-burdened with an. odd 
 fluttering enthusiasm with. regard to it, and that 
 she feared her mother's sharp tongue ; it might 
 have been that she wished to keep it to herself, 
 like a strange new truth that we have suddenly 
 learnt, for which we fear any contamination, and 
 press it to our hearts, as though it were a soft
 
 (( 
 u 
 
 LAND ahead! 29 
 
 whisper tliat flatters us and makes us glad, and 
 we cannot bear others to know of it. 
 
 But in a place like Sonnenthal news flies very 
 quickly, and when a little later Mrs. Hofl'man came 
 in, Margaret's soft dreams of deeds of valour and 
 of the unselfish risking and spending of life which 
 she had seen were dispelled as a summer cloud. 
 
 " Goodness, child ! are you sitting so quietly 
 here, and what do you think has happened ? '' 
 Tell me, mother ! " 
 
 Why, a boat has been upset. All the young 
 men at Mr. Tudor's were in it, and all drowned 
 except one." 
 
 " Oh no, mother ; I don't think so ! " 
 
 " Don't contradict me. I tell you it is so. 
 They were all English, of course ; so many 
 English boys drowned. I am thinking we ought 
 to go into mourning ; you and I are English." 
 
 " Do people go into mourning for their 
 countrymen ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; yes, I think in time of war 
 they do. But so many people here seem to doubt 
 that I am English ; that will settle the question. 
 But it will be expensive." 
 
 " How were they saved, mother ? " 
 
 " But they were not saved, they were drowned. 
 The bandmaster told me so for certain."
 
 30 LAND AHEAD ! I 
 
 i 
 
 " But who saved the one ? Mr. Tudor ? " I 
 
 " Mr. Tudor ! no ! much use he would be ! If \ 
 
 he could ever find a monkey to pull the chestnuts \ 
 
 out of the fire for him, he would play the cat fast 
 
 enough." j 
 
 " Who was it ? " i 
 
 '' Some young German ! I have no patience — \ 
 
 a G-erman save a brave English boy ! " i 
 
 " Oh, come, mother I I am half German." \ 
 
 " Ah well ! but your father, my Hans, would i 
 
 be English I know if he could." I 
 
 *' But who was it ? " 
 
 " I met Heinrich Flugel, the fat landlord of 
 * The Three Eoses/ but he was too excited to talk 
 sense. He did nothing but say ' Himmel ' and ; 
 ' wunderschon ' and put his hands up. It was ' 
 some prefect, or mayor, or some grand official, I 
 think. At least Gretchen said so — and Adolf said 
 it was a private soldier. But I do not know 1 " 
 "They had all gone mad, I suppose." 
 "Yes, it is so dreadful. But, Margaret, where 
 is your father ? gone off again after his old 
 rubbish ? I dare say he will not be back in time 
 for' dinner or anything. What does it matter 
 what those old bones and stones are that he 
 found yesterday, up in the hills above Hermann's 
 vineyard ? " •
 
 LAND ahead! 31 
 
 " It would please him so, mother, if he could 
 verify them, and find he was right in his first 
 idea." 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say ! But there it is ! Only an 
 idea after all. And what is an idea ? nothing of 
 any use at all that I can see, except to walk your 
 father and his pony to a couple of shadows, and 
 to keep us waiting for dinner, and then to keep 
 Hans sitting up all night." 
 
 " Ah, but if he should succeed, mother — " 
 
 " Succeed ! haven't I heard that ever since you 
 were born ? But what would it lead to ? " 
 
 '* You would be a great lady," said Margaret, 
 rightly conjecturing Mrs. Hoffman would not 
 object to the homage the wife of a learned man 
 wins, even though she herself may be unable to 
 share anything of his learning. 
 
 "If he would write poetry now ! " mused 
 Mrs. Hoffman, with her cheek on her hand, 
 looking out on the great river, '^ that would be so 
 much more in my line. In old days in England, 
 Margaret, I had such clever people round me. 
 Poets, and authors — and painters — and your 
 father used to talk and to write poetry ; but he 
 never published it. Now it is all planets, and 
 philosophy, and stones, and dull rubbish." 
 
 " He is so alone, mother. There is no one* to
 
 32 ■ LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 help him. He wants sympathy, and energy, and 
 life, and books, and congenial spirits, all to push 
 him on." 
 
 " I wish we did. not live here. I wish we were 
 in England. There I could get him on. I 
 believe if it were not for his old mother he 
 would not care so much for Germany." 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Hans 
 Hoffman came in, and when he did so he was 
 tired. 
 
 " And," said he, as he threw himself into the 
 arm-chair which his VAdfe had lately vacated, 
 " so is Schock ! " 
 
 Schock was his cob. 
 Where is your mother, Margot ? " 
 She went to sit under the trees, and hear the 
 band." 
 
 " And you, my child ? " 
 
 *' I thought I would wait for you, father. 
 Was it very hot up there ? Are you sorry you 
 went, or did you find you were right, eh, father? " 
 
 The lines smoothed themselves away from his 
 brow as he clasped his hands over his head, and 
 laughed at her. 
 
 "As if you knew anything about it ! As if I 
 could possibly get anything about it into your 
 silly little head ! " 
 
 a 
 
 a
 
 LAXD AHEAD ! 3e3 
 
 The orleam of fun g-lanced into her face from 
 his, like a sun-streak stealing over the world. 
 
 " What a comfort to be silly and to know 
 nothinor 1 " said she, kneelino; before him and 
 trying to pull his arms down towards herself. 
 
 They were like two children at play. 
 
 " You are not old, papa ! " said she suddenly, 
 a moment after. 
 
 " Dear me ! no ! Sometimes I cannot imagine 
 what has become of the years, or whither they 
 have flown, for T cannot feel the weight of them." 
 
 " Teach me all you know, papa ! " and she put 
 her head coaxingly against his shoulder. 
 
 " When you say that, Margot, I feel as if I 
 knew nothing/' 
 
 His voice sounded soft and orentle — like reo^ret, 
 or a tear, coming no one knew why. 
 
 *' I am not sure that you know so much though 
 after all," she answered, changing her tone, as if 
 to dispel his sadness. " Sometimes I think that 
 if I knew one thing w^ell, all the rest w^ould come, 
 for one thing depends so much on others, they 
 must be related. The centre of the circle is the 
 difficulty, is it not ? " 
 
 " You have begun to learn, Margot." 
 
 Then he told her of the gallant rescue of life of 
 which he had heard ; not very clear was he either 
 
 VOL. I. _ - J)
 
 34 LAND ahead! i 
 
 about what had happened ; but after hearing that 
 
 a steamer had been upset by a little boat, and j 
 
 the river black with drowning corpses, — after \ 
 
 hearing that a man intending suicide had in- ; 
 
 voluntarily upset another who still washed to i 
 live, and to save further crime the suicide had 
 
 brouo-ht his victim to land and had then been I 
 
 detained, — Hans Hoffman had at length gathered : 
 
 that a young German had saved an Englishman. I 
 
 " Did not it make you happy, father ? " | 
 
 '' Yes," said he, " the news of the brave deed ; 
 
 and the enthusiasm I saw, did make me happy. \ 
 
 It brought me back a breath of youth and I 
 
 strength and hope once more ! " \ 
 
 '' It was beautiful ! It was glorious ! I saw it, : 
 
 father ; I tliink I never understood life and self- | 
 
 sacrifice before." ] 
 
 ''Why, Margot, what is this?" exclaimed the : 
 astonished Professor, as he looked at the excited 
 
 girl- ... . i 
 
 How often had he rejoiced in her quiet con- | 
 
 tentment, and now what volcano of enthusiasm I 
 
 and aspiration was bursting upon him ! For i 
 
 . Margot to feel, to want, to hope, as he had felt, ; 
 
 and hoped, and wanted ! Oh no ! how bitter the I 
 
 years had been ! She must never know such ■ 
 
 bitterness. i
 
 LAND ahead! 35^ 
 
 Ah ! little did lie know what dreams and 
 fluttering hopes had already embittered that 
 young life ! Had they found no place in her 
 heart, could she have comforted her father so 
 well or so fully as she had done ? Only from 
 her own past suffering could she know how truly 
 to offer her store of sympathy. 
 
 His awakened fear expressed itself on his face, 
 and then turning away, his eye fell on the people 
 walking below, and on the varying lights in sky 
 and river. 
 
 " Suppose you Avere to play to me, Margot ?" 
 
 How softly the sweet tones fell into his soul ; 
 how they seemed to dispel his doubt and weari- 
 ness, and to harmonize with his unexpressed 
 aspirations and needs. 
 
 " Stay for me, Margot ! Stay ! let me accom- 
 pany that." 
 
 The swelling tone of his harmonium rose and 
 filled the air, and melody after melody was heard 
 through the house, and peace filled the old man's 
 heart. 
 
 Meanwhile, other ears than theirs heard the 
 music, for outside the house stood a carriao-e, and 
 descending from it were Count Valentin von 
 Broderode, Frau Senden, his cousin, and Frau 
 Steingracht, her sister-in-law. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 The heavy iron gates were open, so they 
 entered without asking for permission. 
 
 " Let us surprise them/' said Frau Senden, 
 who always imagined herself to be a bright fairy, 
 brino-ing sunshine and happiness wherever her 
 face was seen. 
 
 Through the old courtyard they went, up the 
 stone stairs, then stood a moment to look at a 
 picture that was let into a panel in the wall, 
 stayed listening to the music in the little ante- 
 chamber, and so came to the room. 
 
 Noiselessly they opened the door, but they 
 need not have feared. Both father and daughter 
 were too much absorbed in their music to notice 
 them. They were being carried on the wings of 
 melody far from the present, and if they heard 
 the door open, neither turned caring to inquire 
 who had come in. 
 
 The three visitors stood silent. 
 
 It was a pretty room : distemper on the walls, 
 patches of Persian carpet on the floor, flowers 
 and laro;e -leaved ever careens arranged on stands 
 in the corners and by the windows, a little bird 
 in its cage. A few pictures, some bronzes, some 
 antique carving, likenesses hanging, modest orna- 
 ments in women's work, and books, — the piano 
 and the harmonium. On a table rests a bas-relief
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 37 
 
 of the head of the son they have lost : Margaret 
 did it years ago. All they saw was suggestive of 
 poverty, of simplicity, of coolness, and of an 
 intense love of art. 
 
 The long rays of the setting sun came in and 
 rested on Margaret's head ; they made a glory 
 round her dark hair, and lig^hted on the outline 
 of her face, still turned away. 
 
 Valentin leaned forward to look, and as he 
 looked he learnt that the girl whom he saw 
 before him was the one who had feared and felt 
 for him in the morning, that the eyes now bent 
 on the notes had met his, and had smiled into 
 his at the moment of his triumph. 
 
 Just then Frau Senden let her parasol fall, and 
 the illusion was over. Margaret turned round 
 with a start, and a flush of crimson covered her 
 face and throat as her eyes met those of the 
 stranger. Hans Hoffman jumped up, and laughed 
 and stammered, but Valentin leaned against the 
 wall and smiled. 
 
 " But, gnadigste Frau, how did you get here ? 
 Now did you come from the clouds ? " 
 
 " No, Professor ; you said I might come whenr 
 I liked." 
 
 " Did you come in at the window by a sun- 
 beam V
 
 38 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No. Do go on playing." 
 
 " How did they come, Margot ? " 
 
 Margaret laughed and blushed, but dared not 
 say a word. She wished her father knew that that 
 was the young man who had jumped into the 
 river. 
 
 Frau Senden begged, implored, entreated, 
 finally almost commanded more music, so the 
 melody filled their hearts once again. 
 
 But Valentin was not satisfied. He moved a 
 step forward, and listening so, looked down on 
 the girl's face. 
 
 How reserved, how proud she seemed ! had 
 she really felt for him ? what a cold, clear-cut 
 profile ! But at last she stole a glance at him. 
 Was it that she was trying to recognize him ? 
 was she looking again for her hero of the morn- 
 ing ? So their eyes met. He thought her cold 
 no longer: they were earnest grey eyes that 
 shimmered away into tenderness and pathos, — 
 pathetic over the music to which her soul was 
 listening, and Valentin lost himself in dreams as 
 he stood there looking at her. How strange it 
 was meeting her thus, and watching her helpless 
 silence as she played to her father's accompani- 
 ment ; it was a history in itself. And what a 
 rhapsodist the old man seemed ! How engrossed
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 39 
 
 he was ! Would he never see those stray glances 
 wandering over his daughter's face any more than 
 the idle sunbeams resting there ? 
 
 When the music ceased Frau Senden went up 
 to Margaret and took her hand. 
 
 " If I had known of the treat in store for me 
 I should have come lonor aero. The dear Professor 
 has often asked me, but I did not know — none of 
 us knew. To-day we were passing on our way 
 from Mr. Tudor s and heard the music. Forgive 
 me, dear, my late coming, and show it by coming 
 often to Sonnenfels." 
 
 Then while Valentin talked to the Professor, 
 Frau Steincrracht crossed the room to Maro^aret 
 and thanked her for her music. 
 
 Between the . pauses you heard the river 
 murmuring. 
 
 " Professor, I bring you a hero. My cousin 
 Valentin saved a man's life this mornino^. Were 
 you there, by the river- side ? Did you see it ? " 
 
 The bright flush mounted to Valentin's cheek, 
 and he put out his hand as though to stop 
 her. 
 
 But just then Margaret's eyes sought his, and 
 a flash of intelligence passed between them. He 
 left the old Professor and came to the girl's side, 
 letting his cousin tell the story as she liked. -
 
 40 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 His earnest glance sought Margaret's sympathy, 
 and she gave it. Suddenly, involuntarily, she 
 expressed it, and he caught it as though it were 
 some good gift from heaven. 
 
 ''It was beautiful ! It was good ! That was 
 life," murmured Margaret, enthusiastically. 
 
 '' I looked for vou when I came back. Your 
 smile told me I had done right." 
 
 But the old Professor came to him, bowing 
 with a sort of old-world politeness, and with his 
 hands outstretched. 
 
 "And is it really true ? Did you really do 
 this thing ? Ah ! it is good. It makes us 
 happy. And he is alive ? Mein Gott ! " 
 
 '^ Yes. We went to see him before we came 
 here. That, in fact, was how we came here." 
 
 Valentin was in no hurry to go away, and he 
 asked first about one thing, then the history of 
 another. 
 
 "And the house itself? tell me. Professor; 
 what do you call it ? It looks so curious from 
 the street and the river. I have wondered much 
 and often about it." 
 
 " It is called Blumenthal," said Hans Hoffman, 
 smiling mysteriously. "I called it so ; my wife 
 laughs, but Margot here," and he put his arm 
 round his daughter as he spoke, " is my flower of
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 41 
 
 the vale. The house is but a dressed-up ruin 
 after all." 
 
 "It is just fit for romance," said Frau Senden. 
 
 "It is a sort of place where children always 
 dream they want to live," said Valentin. 
 
 The Professor lausfhed. 
 
 " I believe that is why I took it, when I was 
 looking for some place for my household gods. 
 It was then but a mere den of discomfort ; and 
 these old mullioned windows and heavy arches 
 and stone steps seemed, indeed, more durable 
 than conducive to comfort. But necessity can 
 turn much to her use, and now the house that 
 was bought for a nlere song is often ^n object of 
 envy to the lover of comfort, as well as to him 
 who only seeks the artistic and curious. Will 
 you explore some of its mysteries ? " 
 
 Mysteries, incongruities indeed there were. 
 Bright flowers everywhere, pictures, modern 
 chairs, niches for flowers, small terraces and 
 smaller turrets, huge blocks of stone, and on the 
 roof a little garden. 
 
 The Professor laughed ^s^leefully as he saw their 
 astonishment at the shrubs growing, at the little 
 paths cut between the shrubs, and at the seats 
 set here and there. 
 
 " Failing acres/' said he, " why not make a
 
 42 LAND ahead! 
 
 flower-garden of your ceiling ? The breath of 
 heaven will not fail it, and at least it may be 
 purer and reach the tender shoots sooner." 
 
 Then suddenly they came to the opening of 
 the dungeon where the prisoners used to be 
 thrown, and a few steps further on there was a 
 niche where repose the ashes of some martyr to 
 something. Fritz, the great mastiff, walked 
 about gravely with them, and seemed to enter 
 into the explanations given and to sympathize 
 with them all. 
 
 Below there was a large dining-hall, like a 
 cave, with creepers covering the otherwise bare 
 walls. Through the inner gates at the end, 
 beyond the opening of the cave, was a terrace ; 
 it was brilliant with flowers, all resplendent in 
 the sunlight. Close below flowed the shining 
 river. The plain antique iron chandelier that 
 hung from the centre of the roof seemed well in 
 keeping with the simple furniture and the style 
 of the hall. 
 
 They were standing in the court- yard again ; 
 they had seen all. The moment of parting had 
 come, and the Professor was loading Valentin 
 once again with praise for his brave act. 
 
 "You first made me proud of it," said he, 
 turning aside to Margaret.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 43 
 
 '' It must be glorious to be so strong, so noble/* 
 said Margaret. 
 
 And Frau Steingraclit looked at her face and 
 wondered. 
 
 " We must go home, Lotta," said she. 
 
 " Yes, we must go. Good-bye, Professor. Good- 
 bye, dear child, good-bye. Come, Valentin!" 
 
 A smile, a pressure of the hand, and they were 
 gone. The Professor escorted them to the great 
 iron orates, and Maro^aret was left alone to dream 
 over the wonderful day by herself.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 That old and antique song we heard last night : 
 Methought it did relieve my passion much, 
 More than light air and recollected terms 
 Of these most brisk and giddy-paced times. 
 
 Twelfth Night, Act ii. Sc. 4. 
 
 Joy, gentle friends ! joy and fresh days of love 
 Accompany your hearts ! 
 
 Midsummer NighVs Dream, Act v. Sc. 1. 
 
 The next morning, Dudley Vane, the youth 
 whose life had been saved by Valentin, on 
 opening his eyes to a dim consciousness of 
 returning life, was further mystified by seeing 
 his benefactor standing at his bed-side. At the 
 strange moment yesterday, when it seemed as 
 though life were bidding him farewell, as the past 
 flashed in vivid retrospect across his memory, 
 then suddenly, like an angel's, this beautiful 
 bright face had appeared to him. His last 
 thought — if it could be called a thought — was 
 that into this bright angel's arms his spirit would 
 be committed. During his life he had often
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 45 
 
 wondered and puzzled himself how his soul, — 
 that strange part of him whose existence he had 
 even sometimes doubted, and whose being he 
 could never understand, — ^he had often wondered 
 how this part of him could ever wing its way 
 above this world and gain entrance into another. 
 In his dim, practical, common-place range of 
 intellect he had often doubted how that journey 
 was to be taken ; and now, at the point of death, 
 it had seemed to him quite natural, and to be the 
 solution to his doubt, that he had seen the angel 
 there. Often in the long wintry nights, at home 
 at Froghambury, he had lain awake and. suffering, 
 for he was weak and delicate, and, listening to 
 the boisterous, angry wind, he had pictured to 
 himself the poor houseless souls leaving the earth 
 in that frightful darkness, winging their way 
 through the driving rain and angry elements, 
 and knocking in vain at heaven's portal. When 
 he saw a star glimmering sometimes through the 
 dark clouds he took heart aorain, and thouo^ht God 
 was looking on ; and then, when he fancied once 
 more the fluttering, anxious, suffering spirits, God 
 seemed very near to him, and heaven and a soul 
 possibilities. But now this morning, after death, 
 to wake ao-ain and see his ano^el near to him was 
 very mysterious. Was he after all not to die ?
 
 46 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 had his soul been refused, and could he, in fact, 
 never leave the earth 1 
 
 He opened his eyes again, for he had shut 
 them under the first oppression of doul:)t and 
 difficulty, and they rested wonderingly on 
 Valentin's face. A growing consciousness dawned 
 in them. And then they travelled on to a gaunt 
 figure standing by Valentin, and the light of 
 recognition seemed to shine in them. Then they 
 scanned the short man who was standing next, 
 and then, as though weary with their long journey, 
 they closed gently. 
 
 The tall man was Mr. Tudor, the clergyman 
 with whom Dudley Vane was living to learn 
 German ; the short man was the doctor, and 
 Dudley's fancied angel was Valentin von Brode- 
 rode. 
 
 *' I think he will do now," said Mr. Tudor, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " I would not stay longer now. Count von 
 Broderode," said the doctor; "it might excite 
 him if he were to see you. Come again, later." 
 
 The marble statuesque face set in its frame of 
 dark hair had curiously interested Valentin ; he 
 felt an interest in its owner as if he were his own 
 property now that he had brought him back to 
 the world ; he began to think unconsciously that
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 47 
 
 evidently the English youth's future career was 
 in some mysterious way bound up with his own. 
 But he obeyed the doctor's decree. 
 
 " You will let me know, Mr. Tudor, when I 
 may come back ^ You will come and see us at 
 Sonnenfels, and tell us how he goes on ? " 
 
 Mr. Tudor almost clasped his hands together 
 with effusive gratitude, as in fancy he already 
 saw the charmed gates of Sonnenfels opening 
 before him, and the dim vista of comfort, warmed 
 claret and good dinners, beyond ; but he hastily 
 cast his eyes on the patient, hoping his sudden 
 gratitude might pass for his resuscitation, and 
 promising Valentin frequent intelligence of his 
 progress, the visitor took his leave. 
 
 How suddenly Valentin's ideas about his visit 
 to Sonnenfels had altered, thought he to himself, 
 as he climbed the hill on his return. But 
 yesterday he was feeling bored, dissatisfied, con- 
 templating a speedy departure, and now the chief 
 interest of his life is here. First, this youth ! 
 Oh, he took care to put the youth first. He 
 must find out all about him ; he must know him, 
 thoroughly and intimately ; he had not cared 
 much about him on the steamer, but now it is 
 different. Often he had heard of strange friend- 
 ships influencing a whole life-time, having begun
 
 48 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 in some such way as this acquaintance of his with 
 Yane ; he must make Dudley like him, outside 
 and beyond any foolish feeling of gratitude for 
 the natural act of one human being towards 
 another. Dudley Vane's pale handsome face 
 haunted him strangely. Then, yes ! there was 
 another face. Why had Margaret feared for him 
 so at the river-side ? why had she smiled so ? and 
 why, when their eyes and hearts had met yesterday 
 in a tremulous wave of feeling, provoked by that 
 
 music, why ? Valentin leaned over the parapet 
 
 on the hill- side, and threw a stone into the Khine, 
 listened for the sound, and presently went on 
 with his walk. But there was no answer to his 
 thought, or was it intelligibly continued. 
 
 On reaching the terrace at Sonnenfels, he found 
 Frau Steingracht walking up and down by the 
 aid of her stick. 
 
 " I am taking a little exercise in the shade," 
 said she, when she saw Valentin coming up the 
 steps. 
 
 He joined her, and every now and then they 
 paused, leaning on the stone parapet, and looking 
 down on the river and on the changing views 
 before them. 
 
 Frau Steingracht was a source of mild wonder 
 to Valentin ; he had never seen her before his
 
 LAND ahead! 49 
 
 arrival at Sonnenfels the other evening, and there 
 was a certain vague look and a certain wandering 
 «mile on her face which he could not understand. 
 Sometimes she talked vivaciously ; at other times, 
 more especially in Lotta's presence, she would sit 
 morosely silent. A little grey shrivelled-up old 
 woman, with a manner that betokened she had 
 seen better days, and eyes that let out gleams of 
 discontent, at variance with the flitting unreason- 
 ing smile ever present on her face. 
 
 Now, two passions ruled Frau Steingracht's 
 life, and these two were love and hatred. Would 
 not Valentin have shrunk away had he known 
 on what a volcano he was treading ? Love, be it 
 understood, impersonal ; love to be implanted 
 between the people around her ; love, the unseen, 
 invisible power which she knew well, influenced 
 and swayed their lives ; which she, as a spectator, 
 could watch, and either aid or mar ; in plain 
 words, match-making was her passion. She was 
 sure that matrimony was the be-all and end-all 
 of man's existence, and the only guarantee of 
 happiness. 
 
 The other ruling passion was active, personal, 
 rabid enough, and that was hatred towards Frau 
 Senden. 
 
 If Valentin could only have known that such 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 LAND ahead! 
 
 two influences were at work in the soul of the 
 little old lady, he would have had less difficulty 
 in understanding the half-malevolent smile which 
 had puzzled him so strangely. 
 
 "It is a paradise, this Sonnenfels, is it not ? " 
 said Frau Steingracht, as she stumped along 
 by his side. 
 
 '^ It is indeed," said he. " The situation is so 
 lovely ; and then Lotta and her poor husband 
 have made the castle so charming." 
 
 " Ah yes, Eden indeed ! But the serpent is 
 here nevertheless. I suppose nothing earthly 
 can be perfect ; Satan must be somewhere." 
 
 " The shadow, you mean — the opposing influ- 
 ence," stammered Valentin. He felt that he did 
 not understand her. 
 
 " Lotta's is a most discontented nature ; she is 
 never satisfied, always wanting something that 
 she cannot get ; she jars upon me dreadfully and 
 wearies me terribly." 
 
 *^ How strange, she used to be so merry and 
 contented." 
 
 '' Ah ! I have seen a good deal of her.^* 
 
 They stood leaning on the stone balustrade, 
 and Valentin plucked a flower from those that 
 w^ere waving above his head in one of the vases 
 stationed along the terrace.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 51 
 
 " You have been liere long ? " 
 
 "Ever since Hans, my poor brother, died. 
 He gave her into my charge, and he gave me 
 into hers, as it were, for I am very poor, and she 
 is rich. He was the youngest of us, and was 
 very well off, owing to all sorts of luck he had 
 with different enterprises in which he was engaged, 
 and — he died so suddenly, that there was no time 
 to make a provision for me, so he gave Lotta into 
 my charge/' 
 
 " I see. So you live here ? " 
 
 " For the present. She cannot be left alone. " 
 
 " No, she is still too young for that." 
 
 " I wish she might marry again. The responsi- 
 bility is almost too much for me. And she wishes 
 it herself. Not that I envy the man of her 
 choice." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " She is so exacting, and so wearying. Then 
 there is nothino^ great, nothino^ elevated in her 
 character — I mig-ht almost sav there is no soul in 
 her; not that that is necessary, fortunately, in;^; 
 wife. *;-v^- 
 
 Valentin walked a pace or two ahead, and did 
 not answer. 
 
 " Now how different from that little girl we 
 saw yesterday; she seemed — all souL" 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 uNivERsiry OF \wms
 
 52 LAND ahead! 
 
 Valentin turned round on his heel. 
 
 " Yes, I agree with you, Frau Steingracht/^ 
 
 The old lady smiled. Had she not seen his 
 admiration for Margaret yesterday ? and had she 
 not, fearing the bitterness of hopeless love for the 
 girl, taken him and Lotta away as soon as she 
 could ? But since then Lotta had provoked her 
 more than ever, and she had thought Valentin 
 might as well see a little more of Margaret. 
 Lotta should not win him. 
 
 " And Margaret Hoffman's music ! was it not 
 beautiful V 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I asked Lotta to send for them. They are to 
 come and spend the afternoon to-day or to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 " Are they really ? How good of you, Frau." 
 
 " I thought you would like it. I took quite a 
 fancy to the girl ; she seemed to me so beautiful, 
 and the embodiment of all that is pure and in- 
 tellectual and artistic." 
 
 " And the father ! " 
 
 " Yes ; what a clever head ! and how genial ! 
 But above all, how pretty the devotion was of the 
 one for the other ; such a perfect sympathy I 
 never saw. I wish I were not poor — not merely 
 a poor relation. What nice happy little parties
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 53 
 
 I would have, and what good I would do with 
 my money. I would ask all the people who 
 wanted pleasure, who wanted to come — not one 
 of those who do not. I would be an example to 
 silly Lotta." 
 
 Valentin went into the house with his heart 
 much warmed towards Frau Steingracht, but 
 feeling dissatisfied with, and disappointed in 
 Lotta. 
 
 Meanwhile the Hoffmans had received Lotta's 
 note of invitation ; and the colour mantled to 
 Marp^aret's brow as she heard her mother read it 
 aloud. The Professor looked up with a pleased 
 smile, and immediately put on his spectacles that 
 he might the better observe the expressions on 
 the faces of his wife and dauo^hter. Maroraret's 
 heart beat fast with pleasure ; she longed in- 
 tensely to go. How often had she looked up to 
 Sonnenfels from the busy valley, from the gardens, 
 and from the river. How she had envied its 
 calm serenity ; how she had admired its grandeur. 
 " Oh ! mother — you will say yes ? " 
 " Fanny, you will yield to temptation 1 " 
 Frau Hoffman leaned back in her chair, turning 
 the note backwards and forwards, and beating her 
 foot impatiently on the floor. 
 
 " I don't know, Margaret ; this is very extra-
 
 54 LAND ahead! 
 
 ordinary ! Here tliey leave one for months and 
 years unnoticed, with never so much as a card or 
 an inquiry, though professing friendship for Hans, 
 and now all at once, as soon as they discover you 
 can play the piano, and are willing to be of use, 
 they send down for us all, without so much as 
 waiting to know if their acquaintance will be 
 pleasant to me or not." 
 
 " I really think they asked where you were 
 that day they came," said the Professor, dreamily. 
 
 " Anil what did you say, Hans, eh ? " 
 " " I think I said I had locked you up in the 
 dungeon." 
 
 " Can t you be serious, Hans ? You are enough 
 to drive a woman wild." 
 
 " Or did I say that you had gone to buy bread 
 for us to keep us alive ? I know I said you were 
 the ant of the family." 
 
 " For all the world like a stupid German Frau. 
 I would not have had them think that for worlds." 
 
 '' Time was, wife — well, well ! then go up to 
 Sonnenfels, and show them you are not that." 
 
 ''I do want to go all over Sonnenfels so much," 
 said Margaret. 
 
 " My connection is a great deal better than 
 theirs." 
 
 " It does not bring us much fun, mother."
 
 LAND ahead! 55 
 
 *' It is a civil note, Fanny/' said the Professor, 
 pretending to read it, but in reality enjoying the 
 perplexed faces all the while. 
 
 " Who is Fran Senden, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " A merchant's widow, Fanny, that is all. But 
 he was a man of taste, and he had beautiful vine- 
 yards." 
 
 " Just because she has money she is to have 
 power too, is she ? Well, that is the way of the 
 world." 
 
 "It is only a false power you know, Fanny, 
 over false people." 
 
 " But are we to obey it ? " 
 
 " Obedience is not required of us yet, Fanny ; 
 only she thinks now to give us pleasure. It 
 would be wrong to refuse for the sake of Margot 
 there. Very likely, if it should come to obedi- 
 ence when our swords have met — " 
 
 " She may end by obeying us," said Margaret, 
 with sudden inspiration. 
 
 Hans laughed. 
 
 " You see if we say ' No ' now, mother, they 
 will not ask us again." 
 
 "And I was out when they came ! Eeally 
 these German people have no manners ; they 
 seem to forget that I am English. That alone 
 gives me precedence."
 
 56 LAND ahead! 
 
 Hans laughed again. 
 
 " You must show your superiority, Fanny, by 
 your gracious condescension. You must begin 
 by being willing to give pleasure." 
 
 " Look, Margaret ! I will say we are engaged 
 to-day, but could come to-morrow. That will 
 not look like wishing to jump down their throats." 
 
 *' Perhaps they cannot have us to-morrow, 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Then I cannot help it.'' 
 
 So the salve was applied to Frau Hoffman's 
 pride, and Margaret was on thorns till the answer 
 came from Frau Senden that the morrow would 
 suit her equally well.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 Yes, ye moss-grown walls, 
 Ye towers defenceless, — 
 
 Where are all your trophies now ? 
 Your thronged courts, the revelry, the tumult, 
 That spoke the grandeur of my house, the homage 
 Of neighbouring Barons ? 
 
 Mt/sterious Mother. 
 
 Margaret was amply repaid for all her anxiety 
 when the next afternoon came, and she found 
 herself climbing the hill at Sonnenfels with her 
 parents. What a glorious summer afternoon it 
 was ! They went up looking, admiring, breathing 
 beauty, and stopped to turn and to look again. 
 There was the river everywhere, and the hills 
 and woods everywhere too. There were bright 
 flowers on terraces, waving leaves, and above all, 
 smiling down on them, laughing children's faces : 
 the owners were young visitors from Sonnenthal. 
 There were little enclosed gardens, and a fountain 
 playing in the sun. Leaving this, they passed 
 the chapel, and so through the house, on to the 
 broad terrace where Frau Senden, her sister-in-law, 
 and Valentin were waiting to receive them.
 
 58 LAND ahead! 
 
 " How kind of you to come," exclaimed Lotta, 
 as she hastily advanced to greet them, holding 
 Frau Hoffman's hand in hers, English-fashion, 
 for a full half-minute, and leading her, as she 
 spoke, to a seat beside her own. 
 
 Frau Steingracht, meanwhile, monopolized the 
 Professor, and Valentin and Margaret stood facing 
 each other. 
 
 Laughing children's voices from the garden 
 filled up the pause. 
 
 " I thought of coming to fetch you, and then I 
 thought I would not. It has been a long after- 
 
 noon.'' 
 
 a 
 
 Will you and your daughter come and sit 
 here ? " said Frau Steingracht to Hans ; " I wish 
 she would ; I want to know her better." 
 
 What was it like, sitting there to rest with 
 these kind friends, listening to their bright talk ? 
 It was like a beautiful dream to Margaret. She 
 sunned herself, as it were, in their company ; she 
 saw all glorified by her excited imagination. To 
 her, who had sighed the other morning for the 
 communion of such brave spirits as Valentin, to 
 her all here shared his nobleness, his grandeur of 
 soul. To her, Frau Senden shone with a borrowed 
 light ; and Frau Steingracht was a kind old fairy, 
 who sought only the happiness of mankind. For
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 59 
 
 the old lady beamed on her as she talked, and 
 now Valentin had joined them, and his earnest, 
 courtly gaze set Margaret thinking of the knights 
 of the olden time. 
 
 Frau Senden had just proposed an expedition 
 over the house and to the old castle, when foot- 
 steps were heard ascending the stone steps, and 
 in another moment the tall figure of a gentleman 
 was seen approaching. He did not offer, however, 
 to advance to the party, but went towards the 
 door, as though to ask admittance at the house. 
 
 " That is Mr. Tudor," said Frau Hoffman, " the 
 English clergyman." 
 
 " The gentleman, Valentin, at whose house 
 your young friend Mr. Vane lives." 
 
 Valentin started up and went to meet him. 
 
 " Oh, my dear sir," said Mr. Tudor, standing 
 hat in hand as Valentin came near to him, " I am 
 ashamed to trouble you at this genial hour ; but 
 the fact is, I could not come before, and young 
 Vane is so much better, and he wished to see you." 
 
 " I will come immediately." 
 
 Mr. Tudor cast a longing glance at the chairs, 
 at the unmistakable evidences of refreshment on 
 the stone table, at the fumes of tobacco emitted 
 from the Professor's mouth, and at the comfort of 
 the party lounging there. Sonnenfels had been
 
 60 LAND ahead! 
 
 his vision of Paradise for months ; now that 
 fortune had opened the gate so unexpectedly, 
 was he to be ousted so soon ? 
 
 " Oh, my dear sir, I would not trouble yourself 
 this evening, not at this late hour '' 
 
 " Oh ! but I insist '' 
 
 " But, in fact, I assure you, it would be much 
 better if you will come in the morning ; he is 
 asleep now, and it is so late, I should be sorry to 
 have him disturbed." 
 
 " Oh ! in that case of course I obey. But you 
 will stay with us a little, will you not ? My 
 cousin will like to hear how Mr. Vane is, and 
 your company would give us so much pleasure ? '^ 
 
 So Mr. Tudor, only too willing, was led up by 
 Valentin, and warmly greeted by Frau Senden, 
 who had already seen him when inquiring after 
 Dudley Vane. 
 
 " I have long wished to know that man," said 
 the Professor, eyeing him anxiously. " To me he 
 has always been a curiosity." 
 
 " W hy ? " asked Frau Steingracht. 
 
 ^* He looks so eminently respectable ; then see 
 how tall and superior and sleek he is ; then he is 
 always smiling — he smiles even when he preaches ; 
 and yet sometimes his smile is so unpleasant that 
 one wishes he would swear instead. ^^
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 61 
 
 " Oh, Professor ; how shocking ! " 
 
 " Will you come, Mr. Tudor ? we are taking 
 Frau Hoffman on a voyage of discovery. Will 
 you join us ? " 
 
 He jumped up in answer to Frau Senden's 
 invitation with the alacrity of a youth of twenty ; 
 and it was curious as they went, noting this and 
 that, to see the different objects which interested 
 the different visitors. 
 
 "It is age that gives beauty to inanimate 
 things, in contradistinction to animate ones,'' said 
 Mr. Tudor, half contemptuously, as he noticed 
 Hans Hoffman's ecstasy over an old clock he saw 
 on the stairs. 
 
 " True, sir ; very true. Half of these ancient 
 objects of our adoration are rather ohjets 
 d'ingtnuite than ohjets d' ai't^ for they are more 
 curious than beautiful ; but they show the 
 development of the human mind, and sometimes, 
 I suspect, when I come across their minute detail 
 of handiwork, that our forefathers were more 
 strictly and minutely ingenious than we are, 
 though their minds refused to take broad views 
 in the mass, such as our more liberal education 
 discloses to us." 
 
 " At all events, sir, we learn much by looking 
 at ancient work ; we form our opinions of the
 
 62 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 me a who lived before us by the work they 
 did." 
 
 It was interminable, their talk. Every bit of 
 china, every figure, every suit of armour, every 
 mask, would have detained Hans Hoffman an 
 hour; and Mr. Tudor, in kindness, would have 
 hazarded some opinion or other. 
 
 " You love these things ? " said Hoffman, in a 
 fit of gratitude for so much sympathy. 
 
 " I ? oh no. I — I am a Diogenes — a Curius 
 Bentaius. I see these things, and I admire 
 them, but I wonder at them. I live simply, as a 
 bird in the air ; what should gold and pictures 
 and the splendour of art be to me ? " 
 
 Hoffman bowed his head, half in humiliation, 
 half in discontent. 
 
 " Yet look at these colours, look at this face," 
 said he, pointing to a Murillo. 
 
 " Hans, my dear," called his wife, " come here 
 — look out of these dear little trellised windows ; 
 did you ever see a view of the river like this ? 
 Look ! it sets me thinking of Tennyson's * Lady 
 of Shallott.' " ^ 
 
 " Ah ! Nature, Nature," sighed Mr. Tudor, as 
 he followed Hoffman to the window ; " she is my 
 goddess. What to me are Titian's or Murillo's 
 colours when I have such a picture as this ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 63 
 
 Just below were Valentin and Margaret ; Lotta 
 was standing with them ; and now Hoffman and 
 Mr. Tudor, leaving the cabinets and pictures and 
 carved bedsteads, went down to join the party 
 outside. Led by Valentin, they climbed up to the 
 highest point of the hill, where the ruins of the 
 old castle stood. 
 
 Here had Valentin tempted Margaret purposely, 
 and here he let his fancy roam as he watched her 
 earnest face, lighted so frequently by sudden 
 smiles. 
 
 " What a great castle it must have been," said 
 she. " I feel a very pigmy standing here.'' 
 
 "Very sprites and pigmies we may indeed 
 feel," answered he, *' beside these old walls that 
 have seen so much history." 
 
 "More than two thousand soldiers were 
 garrisoned here once when it was besieged," 
 said Mr. Tudor. 
 
 " Cannot you fancy them living here, lookino- 
 out now of that window, now of this, tellinof oi 
 the enemy's numbers to their comrades down 
 •there in the court-vard below ? " 
 
 " Or shouting down jokes to each other below, 
 said Mr. Hoffman. 
 
 " Yes ; and going clanking across in their 
 armour.''
 
 64 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Yes ; and cleaning their guns and swords/' 
 and Margaret shuddered ; " and then looking out 
 of their port-holes on to the river for very 
 weariness of their long captivity." 
 
 *' And longing to fight for very weariness too/* 
 said Valentin. 
 
 *' Yes ; and think of orders being shouted out 
 here, and the walls echoing them roujid and 
 round/' said Mr. Tudor. "And fancy the 
 sentinel on w^atch up there." 
 
 "Is it very old ? when was it built ? " asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " In the thirteenth century/' said Herr Hoffman. 
 
 " Poor old castle 1 it is not now much more 
 than a shell." 
 
 " No, indeed. There is not much left now to 
 tell the tale. It has stood against many blasts of 
 fortune, and has presented the same solemn face 
 to just wars and to unjust wars ; in repelling the 
 invader, and in levying black-mail on the 
 merchandize passing on the river, it preserved 
 the same proud exterior." 
 
 " Not much left indeed," said Mr. Tudor, « 
 impatient of the Professor ; " save the huge 
 cellars and the crypt-like vaults where they kept 
 their provisions, and the dungeons where they 
 kept their prisoners, and the secret passages by
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 65 
 
 which they received their supplies, there is 
 nothing much now." 
 
 " Come round some of these mounds with me," 
 said Valentin to Margaret, " and let us look 
 throuo-h some of those embrasures, and let us 
 fancy ourselves living some hundreds of years 
 ago. Could you do it, fair lady ? Could you 
 come back with me a century or two and be 
 content so ? " 
 
 Valentin stopped in his ascent, and threw a 
 swift dance on her face as she stood below him 
 on the broken stairs. 
 
 " Yes," she said. " If we could fly back through 
 the ages and on again, through time as through 
 space, how happy should we be." 
 
 " Have you no anchor here in Sonnenthal then ? 
 Could you leave the place and the century so 
 gaily ? " f 
 
 " I should like to see everything, to know every- 
 thing," said she passionately ; *' then I could come 
 back to Sonnenthal." 
 
 *'You would not come back," said he, half 
 laughing, half pitying her. " Mother Eve again ! 
 You women will all eat of the fatal tree ; * You 
 must know,' you say, and you suffer accordingly." 
 
 " I think sometimes," said she, softly, "that if 
 we knew everything, that if we were wiser, if we 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 66 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 could foresee a result, instead of merely answer- 
 ing to an influence, then we should never suffer, 
 never be sad, or sorry, or sick, or poor, or remorse- 
 ful. There would not be much idle hope indeed, 
 but there could be no vain regrets either." 
 
 *^ But how can we learn so much ? " asked he, 
 stopping again. 
 
 " I do not know. When we have learnt it, 
 then it is time to die." 
 
 He looked in her face sharply, and uttered a 
 half-exclamation, putting out his arm as though 
 to hold her. 
 
 " I am not going to die that T know of," said 
 Margaret, smiling gently. 
 
 But the pain of the thought was still there, and 
 yet he would not know or have her know how 
 sharp it was. 
 
 " I often come up here," said he^hanging the 
 conversation : "I alwavs think these used to be 
 the drawing-room and boudoir of the Ladye of 
 the Castle. Cannot you fancy it ? the hand- 
 maidens left working and laughing together in 
 the gay, many-windowed room, looking out on 
 the glistening Rhine ; and the Ladye, with hand 
 on heart gazing alone, stilling anxiety, doubt, and 
 care in this little corner recess, watching too the 
 dazzling dancing river, but head and heart alike
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 67 
 
 intent on town, castle, and cloud gathered around 
 her. Below she sees the busy street, but it and 
 its hum are far away, and more than probable 
 her thoughts, interests, and troubles would take 
 her far beyond such a narrow horizon." 
 
 Margaret smiled at the pretty story he had 
 woven, and together they turned away, walking 
 in silence till they came to the place where the 
 echo speaks with a dozen tongues, and where 
 Valentin made the hills resound with his own 
 name and Lotta's, and at last with " Margaret." 
 
 Then running down they came to a bilberry 
 bush waving its bright berries in the evening 
 breeze, and Valentin must needs gather a branch 
 and twist it round Margaret's hat. 
 
 " Father will laugh," said she, blushing. 
 
 " He wdll call you Cleopatra." 
 
 " He will not think of it." 
 
 Then, being full of mischief, he led her to the 
 wishing-well, where she almost saw his face 
 reflected with hers, but she was too quick for 
 him, and ran away, reaching before him the 
 terrace where the others were sitting, and looking 
 strikingly handsome with her heightened colour 
 and fantastic head-dress. 
 
 F 2
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 " The chasm in which the sun has sunk is shut 
 
 By darkest barriers of enormous cloud, 
 Like mountain over mountain huddled — but 
 
 Growing and moving upwards in a crowd ; 
 And over it a space of watery blue, 
 "Which the keen evening star is shining through." — Shelley. 
 
 It was after dinner, and they all sat out in front 
 of the house sipping their coffee. The still 
 evening hour had come, and the day was nearly 
 spent ; the dying light in the sky shed some- 
 thing of sadness over the gradual approach of 
 night. 
 
 But by degrees a thousand lights were reflected 
 in the river, and now and then a boat crossing 
 marked its path with a flickering ray. Below in 
 the town too, lines of lamps shone out, and pre- 
 sently the gardens were lit up ; here from the top 
 of the hill tbey could see the coloured lights, 
 while now and again the sound of music from the 
 band playing there was borne up to them. Later, 
 as the darkness increased, the scene and the lights 
 
 /
 
 LAND ahead! 69 
 
 shone out clearer. How weird it seemed, know- 
 ing there was a crowd of human beings moving 
 below, but unable to distinguish the forms. 
 
 " We might be spirits of another world," said 
 Valentin to Margaret, in a low voice. 
 
 The sympathy of isolation seemed to draw the 
 little party closer together. 
 
 Suddenly, like a fiery dart, a stream of coloured 
 light shot up into the air. 
 
 •* What ! fireworks to-night 
 
 j> 
 
 The rocket burst into a thousand colours over- 
 head, and falling, met the sister reflections in the 
 river. 
 
 Then in quick succession one tongue of flame 
 followed another ; at one moment the very world 
 below seemed on fire, and the figures stood out in 
 black distinctness, as though waiting for the last 
 judgment ; the next instant there was a shower 
 of gold and silver : you could fancy men picking 
 it up and rejoicing over their wealth ; then, with 
 a burst of joy, more rockets filled the air, again a 
 fountain of fire sent its spray hither and thither 
 among the trees, and fell with its fiery waters 
 into the tiny lake in the gardens ; and then at 
 last, with a chorus of loud exulting music, the 
 band soothed and harmonized the excitement of 
 the hour, and all was still.
 
 70 LAND ahead! 
 
 "Do you drink the waters liere, or take the 
 baths, Frau Hoffman ? " asked Lotta. 
 
 It broke the silence, and called every one back 
 to practical life with a start. 
 
 " Yes, I drink my glass every day. I go 
 through my course when the season begins." 
 
 " And it has just begun ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the midsummer season. You see, here 
 at Sonnenthal in the season we all profess to be 
 invalids more or less. We are not, you know ; 
 Heaven forbid ! But we wear all their arts and 
 graces and affectations, and they come on easily, 
 fit us well, and for the time are very comfort- 
 able." 
 
 "It is rather amusing to go down to the 
 Brtinnen early." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Tudor ; " people all want to 
 talk to help themselves through the time they 
 have to walk, and they want to forget they are 
 walking." 
 
 " They are often really pleasant,'^ said the 
 Professor. 
 
 " I meet many of my country-people thus," said 
 Frau Hoffman. " And I often think a talk about 
 my dear country, and hearing a little chance 
 news of old friends, does me more good than all 
 the mineral waters in the world."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 71 
 
 " Frau Senclen/' interposed the Professor, " I 
 am always telling my wife that we are dependent 
 on our spirits, on our minds ; that it is not bread 
 that keeps us alive, but the nourishment our 
 hearts and souls get that does us good. She 
 does not believe me, but let her put it in her own 
 language, and she tells me the same thing Avithout 
 knowing it." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Tudor quickly, " people say 
 that the world is bursting with the variety of 
 opinions it contains, and the quantity of books 
 that have been written about them ; but I say 
 with Herr Hoffman, that after all it is only that 
 dififerent people speak different languages." 
 
 "It is the whisper of the breeze from her 
 native land that does Frau Hoflfman good," said 
 Valentin. 
 
 Frau Hoffman smiled vaguely, moved in her 
 chair, and smoothed her best silk dress with her 
 hand. She began to think she was a greater, a 
 more rare character than even she herself had 
 dreamed before. She moved a little nearer to 
 Frau Senden, for she began to feel confidential. 
 
 " You love your happy England, madame ? " 
 
 " Ah ! Meine Frau, if you could understand it. 
 I do not say I feel exiled, but one is lonely 
 sometimes. When I sit among my flowers,
 
 72 LAND ahead! 
 
 watching the big steamers pass on the river 
 rolling away to the sea, I long to take shelter on 
 its bosom, and float back to old England, and see 
 the old Thames, the dear old Thames, instead." 
 
 " Ah ! your Thames may be beautiful, but you 
 do not liken it surely to our dazzling, dancing 
 Ehine ? It goes rollicking on as though in very 
 pride of life ; swirling, sweeping on, never still, 
 always pushing on, always eager, always alive/' 
 
 " Our Thames is great too," interposed Mr. 
 Tudor ; " magnificent sometimes, madame ; but 
 half asleep always ; just as we English are half 
 asleep, selfish, cautious, prudent, without senti- 
 ment, without that deep sense of earnest life and 
 loo'ic which seems to actuate the Germans." 
 
 Frau Hoffman looked up at him curiously. 
 Was he laughing ? or did he really think so ? or 
 did he only want to please Frau Senden ? She 
 turned her back upon him and went on with her 
 confidences. 
 
 " We have much sentiment certainly," said 
 Frau Senden in a low, uncertain voice. 
 
 '' Yes, you have. And, dear madame, I have 
 found sentiment on the whole unsatisfying. Do 
 not let dear Hans hear what I am saying ; he 
 could not understand, his heart is so tender. 
 But I married him for love, and think what it
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 73 
 
 was ! I had to give up my religion. Well ! but 
 you know just then Hans was my religion — and 
 so — but then that was not the worst part, for I 
 had, in giving that up, to give up my inheritance 
 too. If Ulrich, my boy, had but lived, we would 
 have gone to Engrland and have fouo^ht it out, 
 and we would have got it back from those wicked 
 Eoman Catholics. Money and religion should 
 never interfere with each other.'' 
 
 " So your boy died ? " 
 
 " Yes. Did not you see the basso-reiievo that 
 Margaret did of him, the day you came ? It is 
 in the room there." 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " He was so beautiful. I often and often stop 
 and look at it, and wish I had him back, till the 
 tears come, and then I look out and see the river 
 — and then that makes me sad too, for it won't 
 take me away." 
 
 " But your home must be so happy 1 " 
 
 " Oh, it is a curious sort of place. I should 
 not mind if there were no dungeon below, and 
 not that sort of cemetery above, where I know 
 murdered people have been put. I am dreadfully 
 afraid of ghosts. " 
 
 " Yes ; so am I. But the house looks so pretty 
 from t-ie river. People always ask whose it is.'^
 
 74 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Yes ; I know. They always put up their 
 glasses on the steamers ; I see them out of my 
 telescope ; and they ask all sorts of questions, 
 and then they refer to poor ill-used Murray, and 
 are very cross because he cannot tell them half 
 enough." 
 
 " Are you not proud of it ? " 
 
 " It was Hans' idea. It is full of surprises 
 inside, though miserable enough without ; and it 
 is really comfortable. But it is lonely, and the 
 solitude is sometimes horrible." 
 
 " But then you have the Ehine." 
 
 "And the Ehine always has something to say," 
 said Valentin from behind. 
 
 "And with such a husband and such a 
 daughter, madame, you cannot be dull ? " 
 
 " Dull, Frau Senden ? Oh no ! But they are 
 sufficient for each other. Hans has impregnated 
 Margaret with all his follies, and so long as they 
 are together they are content. Of course I 
 delight in it, but still a young woman should not 
 dream her life away. There should be energy, 
 ambition ; something else besides art." 
 
 " A touch of worldliness." 
 
 " Yes ; a woman must be worldly to get on ; 
 for she has nothing but herself to push her on. 
 Now they are both so calm, they drive me wild."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 75 
 
 " She is a charming companion for her father." 
 
 " Oh yes ; when I hear them reading the 
 poets together, and talking of art, I think of my 
 young days, when just such talk made me forego 
 everything for Hans ; but still — alas ! I know 
 now what I did not know then ; one cannot live 
 on such talk/' 
 
 " There are bread and meat to be thought of." 
 
 " And clothes, Frau Senden ; Margaret's clothes 
 are my terror and dismay." 
 
 " But she is charmingly dressed." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Ah, well ! to-day, 
 perhaps. But if only she and Hans would not 
 be so careless about everything ! I wonder if a 
 bath in the Ehine would do them good ? I have 
 to arrange all. I sometimes wish for an earth- 
 quake that would bring the old mountains and 
 all Hans' fossils toppling about their heads ; and 
 sometimes I sio^h for a second deluo-e, which 
 should send the OTeat Ehine swirlinof round us, 
 and lift up the old house and float away with it. 
 I think perhaps they would be roused then." 
 
 "How charming this is, madame," said Mr. 
 Tudor, as he took a chair beside them. " Your 
 voices sound like soft music in the distance. I 
 had no idea the town would look so well at 
 night. Perhaps, though, darkness covers its
 
 76 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 many defects, and certainly your company lends 
 enchantment to the view." 
 
 He sipped his coffee, and presently blue wreaths 
 of smoke were encircling his features, and an 
 expression of placid content was written thereon, 
 as though he were a very German. 
 
 " How is your patient, Mr. Tudor ? " asked 
 Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " Oh ! better, marvellously better. What a 
 wonderful escape it was. Count von Broderode, 
 what letters I have written home to England ! I 
 could not help it ; my heart was full. It will be 
 in all the papers ; they will all love Germany 
 now ; German heroism will be in every English- 
 man's mouth ; your gallant deed will knit the 
 two countries closer together than ever." 
 
 Valentin laughed. 
 
 " I did nothing, absolutely nothing.'' 
 
 " Who is he, this young Mr. Vane ? " asked 
 Frau Senden. 
 
 '' English, madame ; an English gentleman. 
 He is the nephew of Sir Gilbert Vane, an English 
 baronet, of Froghambury Park ; in all probability 
 he will succeed, as his uncle is not married. And 
 a very fine estate it is." 
 
 " Is he a nice boy ? " 
 
 **Nice, madame ! He is charming ; a piece of
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 77 
 
 crystal, Nature's gentleman ; so honest, so simple; 
 a little rough perhaps, but a little experience and 
 a little more of the world will soon rub the 
 corners off." 
 
 ** I shall like to know him," said Frau Senden. 
 
 " A little dull at his books, perhaps ; yes, a 
 little. In fact," he added, leaning over to Hans 
 Hoffman, and speaking in his ear, " he is a failure, 
 a dead failure, and that is why I am honoured 
 with his company, I suppose ; but I must not 
 say this now. Not, madame," he went on, 
 resuming his former tone, ^'not, I should say, 
 quick at languages. But English — oh ! an 
 Englishman to the back-bone. For me, I am 
 not English.'' 
 
 " Not Eno;lish ? " exclaimed several voices at 
 once. 
 
 " No ; I am Welsh. Owen Tudor was my 
 ancestor ; a fine old family, madame. You don't 
 know anything about it, I dare say, but royal 
 blood flows in my veins, and in me you see the 
 forlorn scion of a noble house." 
 
 "Dear me ! " said Frau Steingracht. 
 
 ''Tell us more about Mr. Vane," said Frau 
 Senden, quietly. 
 
 " He has no father living ; his mother now 
 reigns supreme at Froghambury, for the smaller
 
 78 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 house where she and her children lived was burnt 
 down a little while ago ; I have reason to think 
 Sir Gilbert does not like the change of her 
 kingdom." 
 
 "Why not?'' 
 
 " Well, I hardly know. But old bachelors are 
 apt to be tenacious of their rights, and I fancy 
 Mrs. Vane is one of those ladies who cannot see 
 limits. She has a daughter, Lilly, w^hom I do 
 not know. Dudley is delicate, very." 
 
 " And are they both at Froghambury ? " 
 
 '' Both." 
 
 " And so Owen Tudor was your ancestor ? " 
 said Frau Steingracht, leaning forward. 
 
 " Do you remember reading to me the other 
 day, father, about Dean Swift ? " said Margaret 
 to her father in a low voice. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " This surely is a modern Dean Swift. I 
 wonder if he has a Stella. But let us hear what 
 he says." 
 
 " Ah, madame, there is nothing in such memory 
 that 1 know, save the comfort it brings when one 
 is poor, and when one suffers ^ from the whips and 
 scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud 
 man's contumely, and the spurns that patient 
 merit of the unworthy takes.' Then pride comes
 
 LAND ahead! 79 
 
 to the rescue, and one does not feel the injury 
 done, for it is only one's own forbearance that 
 allows it." 
 
 " You love Shakspere, sir? " asked the Professor. 
 
 " Shakspere ! '' Mr. Tudor took off his hat ; 
 " he is the OTeat master. I never breathe his 
 name without showing him respect. What 
 harmonies, w^hat power, what knowledge of 
 human nature, what passion, and w^hat natural 
 human laughter do we not hear from his 
 characters ! " 
 
 " His strength is wonderful. But how you 
 reverence and worship him, you English. We 
 Germans pick him to pieces, I fear, disrespect- 
 fully." 
 
 "And so you may. He had no 'mortal coil 
 to shuffle off ; ' there are no traces of beginning, 
 of progress, of failure ; he was great always ; he 
 was a god always. ' Poefa non fit^ sed nasciturJ " 
 
 " Some plays seem to surpass others, but then 
 they seem to owe their position more to their 
 own nature and subject matter than to any 
 inequality of their author's power." 
 
 " Yes ; other men may ' rise on stepping-stones 
 of their dead selves to higher things,' but 
 Shakspere had no trammels, no dead self to cast 
 aside."
 
 80 LAND ahead! 
 
 " And so you like Tennyson, Mr. Tador ? " 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " And you, Fraulein ? " 
 
 " I know most of him by heart." 
 
 " Ah ! that is right. Learn him, love him, 
 steep your soul in him ; you cannot do better." 
 
 " How fond you English are of recommending 
 books to each other," said Frau Senden. 
 
 " Yes," said Frau Hoffman. " Some time asfo 
 at the spring I met a poet whom I used to 
 know in London ; he sat there talking while we 
 drank our tumblers of water ; he advised me to 
 read this and that, prosed and wondered away 
 over metaphysics, said I should read ' Old 
 Mortality,' and that when he met me in the 
 next world he would ask me if I had read it. I 
 saw him again this morning, and he did not know 
 me. If he has forgotten me in this world, how 
 can he remember me in the next ? " 
 
 *^ His intelligence perhaps may be sharper 
 then," said Valentin ; " for we shall be all 
 intelligence then." 
 
 ** How well my tailor's house looks from here," 
 remarked Mr. Tudor. *'It looks beautiful in 
 the moonlight. Truly he is the most important 
 man in Sonnenthal." 
 
 " Keally ? How ? " asked Frau Senden.
 
 LAND ahead! 81 
 
 *'A tailor always is, madame. Do you not 
 know he is the most powerful of men ? he 
 makes or mars our fortunes as he lists. We may 
 have a title, wealth, position, but what use are 
 they if we cannot carry them worthily ? How 
 can we make our way through a crowd with 
 anything like respect if our coat fits badly ? Will 
 any lady smile upon us, is there any chance of 
 our winnino^ the dearest wish of our hearts, if our 
 tailor bears us a grudge V 
 
 " You are right, Mr. Tudor, quite right," said 
 Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " What a strange man for a clergyman ! " 
 murmured the Professor. 
 
 It was getting late, and the Hoffmans rose to 
 depart. Mr. Tudor said he would walk with 
 them, and Valentin must see them to the bottom 
 of the hill. Frau SteinOTacht watched them 
 moving away ; Mr. Tudor walked in front with 
 the Professor and his wife, V^alentin and Margaret 
 followed. 
 
 " It has brought us a new breath of life, Lotta, 
 having young people here." 
 
 " Yes, Martha ; it is pleasant." 
 
 As for Valentin, parting was dreadful. 
 
 " Must you really go ? " 
 
 " You know I must," Margaret answered. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 LAND ahead! 
 
 " You will come back ? You like Sonnenfels ? " 
 
 " Yes, oh yes ! It is perfect. And you are all 
 so charmino^. Frau Senden so handsome and 
 
 gay, Frau Steingracht so kind, and you so " 
 
 she blushed and stopped. 
 
 *S So— what?" 
 
 " I forgot." 
 
 *' You shall not go till you tell me/' 
 
 He barred her way. 
 
 " So clever.'' 
 
 " You like clever people ? " . 
 
 " It is life. But I have met so few ; only 
 father, I think. It makes one miserable always 
 to be with stupid people who cannot understand, 
 that is why I like Sonnenfels. A place may 
 be lovely, but it is the spirit of the place that 
 hallows it to me. Where very stupid persons 
 live, though it may be beautiful, it only seems 
 to me a fool's paradise. There must be energy, 
 vigour, life, vitality, the spirit speaking and 
 working, and then I can sit by, look on, and 
 listen content." 
 
 " Who is the spirit of Sonnenfels for you ? " 
 
 She looked up in his face, wondering. He 
 had said it in a low voice, hardly like a 
 question, and now the dark moon-shadows hid 
 his features from her» But her face was clearly
 
 LAND ahead! 83 
 
 seen in the soft light; the colour rushed to it 
 guiltily. • 
 
 The others were saying good-night ; so she put 
 her hand in his, and that was all the answer she 
 gave him. 
 
 4^ 
 
 G 2
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 Oh, there are looks and tones that dai't 
 An instant sunshine through the heart, 
 As if the soul that minute caught 
 Some treasure it through life had sought. 
 
 Light of the Harem. 
 
 A FACE looking out of tlie window, all among 
 the flowers ; a face that was a flower itself, 
 Dudley Vane, passing down the street, saw and 
 wondered. There were cinnerarias, roses, gera- 
 niums, and purple iris — a bank of varied colour, 
 and then the face ; a beaming, excited, happy 
 girl's face. He passed on, but scarcely conscious 
 of where he was going, or of aught but the girl 
 he had seen. He was on his way to meet 
 Valentin, but now the thouo-hts that had been 
 busy in his mind about the brave youth who had 
 saved his life were almost ousted from his brain. 
 He went on, met Valentin sitting on a boulder of 
 rock half way up the hill, with his hat in his 
 hand, and greeted him enthusiastically ; but 
 Margaret Hoffman was in his head all day.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 85 
 
 Yet it Avas a joyous afternoon wliicli they 
 passed ; a lively gratitude filled Vane's heart, 
 and he bowed as to a superior to all Valentin's 
 opinions and sayings ; while Valentin, delighting 
 in the novel society of an Englishman, and 
 prejudiced in Vane's favour by the romantic 
 opening of their friendship, received the adulation 
 with almost a return of orpatitude. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when Vane, 
 delighted with the inmates of the castle, left 
 Sonnenfels, and then it was only after having 
 exacted a promise from Valentin to come to 
 dinner with himself and Mr. Tudor at " The 
 Three Eoses " that eveningr. 
 
 Lotta Senden looked a doubtful assent to 
 Valentin's absence. 
 
 " But, Lotta, I like Vane so much." 
 
 " Because he is new ; you have never met an 
 Englishman before." 
 
 " Oh yes, I have ; and that Mr. Tudor amuses 
 
 me. 
 
 " Oh, well ; your enthusiasm for each other 
 amuses me. I like to see such generous friend- 
 ship." 
 
 Meanwhile, Dudley Vane, restored to health 
 and spirits after his Ehine bath (that was a week 
 ago now), ran down the hill, and wondered as* he
 
 86 LAND ahead! 
 
 went whether he should see Margaret again. 
 But no ! Blumenthal looked shut up and 
 deserted : the blinds were drawn down over the 
 windows, and the blazing rays of the afternoon 
 sun were jealously excluded, pry and try to 
 pierce the barrier as they might. How much 
 more helpless then was Dudley's gaze from the 
 street below I 
 
 An hour later he looked again, as he passed 
 with Mr. Tudor on their way to "The Three 
 Eoses/' but still in vain. Blumenthal might be 
 a house of the dead for all the sign of life it gave. 
 
 How cool the dining-room at '* The Three 
 Eoses'^ seemed as they entered. The gentle 
 whish-wash of the river outside made Dudley 
 almost wish to jump in once more. Still he 
 shuddered involuntarily as he thought of it. 
 
 The portly landlord was sitting outside with 
 his newspaper ; he came in to greet his guests. 
 
 " Ah, Mein Herr ! A good sight indeed. The 
 gentleman has recovered." 
 
 " Oh, quite, my friend ; and going to do full 
 justice to your good fare, I assure you." 
 
 One by one the guests for the table d'hote 
 dropped in ; and presently Valentin joined them. 
 They sat by the window till it was time to take 
 their places at the long table.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 87 
 
 " I am very glad to see you again, Count 
 von Broderode ; we spent a pleasant evening 
 together at Sonnenfels, did we not ? " 
 
 " The pleasure is mutual, sir. My cousin 
 hopes you are coming again soon." 
 
 " So you thought me an amusing old man, eh ? 
 And as for a teacher — well ? " 
 
 " Ypu are a strange teacher for youth, we 
 think," said Valentin, a look of bitterness 
 clouding his handsome face for a moment. 
 
 Mr. Tudor laughed. 
 
 *' I am the impersonation of the world, its 
 humbug and selfishness ; what can a young man 
 learn more useful to him than that ? " 
 
 " But there are other things," said Valentin, 
 colouring slightly, as though ashamed of his 
 weakness, and speaking slowly, as though he 
 were feeling in the dark. " Principle, honesty 
 of purpose " 
 
 " Oh, stop ; I know the list ! Honour, 
 grandeur of aim, a great career, regeneration of 
 mankind, if you like ; I know them all. But 
 they are moonshine. Only make fools and put 
 money into the wrong men's pockets. But I can 
 talk that kind of claptrap by the yard, can really, 
 if you think it looks well and suits the cloth. 
 If it would satisfy you and Vane better,
 
 88 LAND ahead! 
 
 my conscience is elastic, and I can begin at 
 
 once." 
 
 " Heaven forbid, Mr. Tudor. Act up to your 
 lights, pray, such as they are. They are elastic, 
 too, I dare say. Be a FalstafF to Prince Hal by 
 all means. But it would be a pity to break away 
 from your lights, even yours, quite ; you would 
 have no anchor at all " 
 
 " Anchors, Count von Broderode ! I despise 
 anchors ; " and he was starting off at a tangent 
 on the benefit of perfect independence in thought 
 and judgment, when dinner was announced, and 
 putting his arm in Tudor's, Valentin led the 
 Eeverend Divine to the table. 
 
 They had hardly been seated five minutes 
 when a rustle of petticoats was heard, and who 
 should enter the room but Mrs. Hoffman and 
 Margaret. They were speedily conveyed to their 
 seats by an officious waiter, and neither so much 
 as saw Valentin, or the start of eager surprise 
 with which he had greeted their arrival. 
 
 Dudley Vane, however, saw it, and the smile 
 of pleasure on his face changed in a moment to a 
 cloud of discontent ; however, he said nothing on 
 the subject, and the conversation about fishing 
 in the Rhine, though it flagged slightly, 
 continued.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 89 
 
 " You see the current is so strong," he said to 
 Valentin. 
 
 But Valentin was looking away. He was 
 roaking absurd pantomimic gestures. 
 
 {" Oh, it is to the flower-girl — doesn't matter," 
 thought Dudley.) 
 
 " That really, except in parts of the river " 
 
 Valentin is smilinsf and bowinor liJ^e a lunatic. 
 Ah, see ! Margaret has turned, is smiling to him. 
 She has a rose in her hand. 
 
 " Oh, Von Broderode, you sent her a bouquet." 
 
 Valentin turned proudly to Vane. 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 They all laughed. 
 
 " I mean," said Dudley, colouring confusedly, 
 " who is she ?" 
 
 " Oh, don't you know ? I must introduce you. 
 Miss Hoffman, and that is her mother. They 
 live at Blumenthal." 
 
 " I think I must send a bouquet to Mrs. Hoff- 
 man," said Mr. Tudor, smiling, and thinking a 
 breath of gallantry would bring youth back to 
 his somewhat faded cheek. " Tell the lady," 
 said he to the flower-girl, " I send it to my 
 countrywoman." 
 
 " I wish I had some one to send a flower to," 
 said Dudley, with an affectation of good-humour.
 
 90 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 The serious part of the dinner was no sooner 
 over, and vacant places to be found near the 
 HofFmans, than Valentin and Mr. Tudor rose to 
 join them. 
 
 '^ May I come ? " said Dudley. 
 
 " Come ! of course," cried Valentin, gaily. 
 
 How light-hearted, how generous he felt. 
 Dudley must be with him always, wherever he 
 went. Had he not brought him back to life ? 
 must they not share their lives in future now ? 
 Must not his friends be Dudley's friends ? and 
 his pleasures Dudley's ? He felt almost proud 
 of the tall, handsome, pale, solemn-looking young 
 man, as he introduced him to Margaret. 
 
 How unlike was her greeting from that of 
 another girl. Certainly no German girl would 
 have done it. She put out her hand, and smiled, 
 as she looked full in his face, and said softly — 
 
 "It is almost as if we met you after you had 
 taken a journey to another world. You were so 
 near death, only he saved you." 
 
 The colour rushed to Dudley's face at the 
 kindly interest she took. The voice was so 
 tender. Why had she said, " He saved you " ? it 
 rankled in his heart ; she said it so proudly. 
 Valentin would have been jealous ; but had she 
 not said, " He saved you " ? did not that make
 
 LAND ahead! 91 
 
 him proud and happy ? and afterwards lier smile 
 rested on him, not on Dudley, as if he and she 
 had a common interest, and were both stronger 
 than the helpless youth he had saved. 
 
 As for Margaret, sitting beside those two, here 
 just where it had happened, where the river had 
 gone dancing by just so in the sunshine, the 
 whole scene rushed back to her mind ; there was 
 a tear of emotion in her eye. It was unexpressed 
 gladness, and in it neither Valentin or Dudley 
 had individual part. 
 
 Soon after, leaving " The Three Eoses," they 
 wandered in the gardens, where the band was 
 playing ; the w^hole town and society seemed 
 already assembled there. 
 
 " Do you often dine at ' The Three Roses ? ' " 
 asked Dudley of Margaret, the first time he could 
 speak without being overheard. 
 
 "Yes, continually." 
 
 " May I come and sit by you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said she, turning her head astonished, 
 to have a good look at him. 
 
 " Have I really your permission — your own 
 cordial permission ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 But she did not quite like it, and she moved 
 away gladly with Valentin.
 
 92 LAND ahead! 
 
 " How is it you know English so well ? " asked 
 she. 
 
 " I ? I don't know it well. My mother loved 
 English. Then languages are — inon luxe'' 
 
 How delightful to find a young man whose 
 dearest dream, whose ambition, whose luxury 
 and principal indulgence was foreign languages. 
 
 Margaret laughed. Such a young man must 
 be a safe, a delightful, a most intellectual friend. 
 She would see more of him. 
 
 "This is not the first time I have seen 
 you," said Dudley, leaning over her chair, and 
 speaking in a whisper, as the music dropped 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Is it not ? " she answered, half oppressed 
 with his sudden admiration. 
 
 '' No ; I saw you among your flowers this 
 morning, and I longed to see you again. It 
 was soon done." 
 
 A hot blush overspread her downcast face. 
 Valentin saw it ; he almost started up. 
 
 Meanwhile Dudley's heart throbbed wildly. 
 What was this that had come upon him ? he had 
 never found words so sudden, expression so quick 
 before. Was this love ? Not the ridiculous, 
 evanescent amusement he had experienced some- 
 times, but a feeling ungovernable, unconquerable.
 
 LAND ahead! 93 
 
 surging witliin him and making him at once a 
 king or a slave. 
 
 But such intense feeling was out of keeping 
 with the gay little party assembled there. 
 Margaret's rippling laughter was for ever answer- 
 ing some taunt of Valentin's, or some jest from 
 Frau Senden, for she had joined them ; Valentin 
 had indeed looked at Dudley strangely for a 
 moment, half in anger and half in wonder, but 
 the next minute he had said something about 
 " that boy," meaning Dudley, and then they had 
 laughed again. 
 
 Yet, much later, when they were parting, and 
 Dudley announced his intention of seeing Miss 
 Hoffman home, Valentin's eye met his again. 
 Valentin really thought that Dudley might 
 mar the harmony of the party so happily met ; 
 he might distress Margaret if he was for ever 
 calling the blushes to her cheek, and what a pity 
 to break up the beautiful friendship so lately 
 begun for want of a word. Boys are so stupid 
 sometimes ; he could not think his pale, solemn 
 face would really please her, besides she and 
 Valentin were such friends now ! and he and 
 Dudlev, smiled Valentin to himself, were so 
 different. From Dudley there was no sort of 
 danger, no fear of interference ; but he might as
 
 94 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 well be a friend too, for had not Valentin saved 
 his life, and were not their existences bound 
 together henceforth ? 
 
 " Don't pay her compliments, Vane," said 
 Valentin to him, as they parted, and Margaret 
 was waiting for her mother, Mr. Tudor having 
 gone on. " /know her, and she does not like it." 
 
 '' Eeally ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she is quite different from most people. 
 She and I are old friends; she is my especial 
 .friend here — my Herz-schwesterJ^ 
 
 So he issued his commands, and turned to 
 escort Lotta back to Sonnenfels. 
 
 How tenderly she hung on his arm as they 
 climbed the hill. How soft her voice sounded, 
 and how sweet her gentle laughter. But Valentin's 
 heart was steeled against her. Was that a sigh 
 he heard when they parted on the terrace, as she 
 wished him a lingering good-night ?
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 " The sweetness that pleasure hath in it 
 Is always so slow to come forth, 
 That seldom, alas ! till the minute 
 It dies, do we know half its worth." 
 
 All the bright fairies who ever worked at the 
 woof of happiness seemed to have busied them- 
 selves at Sonnenthal ; one day of golden sun- 
 shine followed another — rosy morning, the blazing 
 majesty of noon, and the still calm of even ; the 
 fleecy clouds that sped now and again across the 
 blue sky were more like the other side of 
 Heaven's smiles than any threatening of frowns, 
 while the shadows they made on the Ehine-land 
 and on the towering solemn old mountains 
 were but 
 
 " The lights and shades whose well-accorded strife 
 Gives all the strength and colour of our life." 
 
 A sunny dream in a happy valley indeed ! 
 
 The different dispositions so suddenly brought 
 together seemed to amalgamate as suddenly, and
 
 96 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 to find a mutual delight in each other s society. 
 The happy days they spent together, the joyous 
 expeditions in the hills, the voyages of discovery 
 up and down the river, the picnics in the old 
 ruined castles, the odd repasts in the quaint river- 
 side inns, the more civilized visits to different 
 towns of interest near, what a sum of enjoyment 
 it made ! • 
 
 And what good-humoured laughter rang 
 throuo-hout : now it was at some mistake in 
 talking : Frau Senden^s English was at fault, or 
 Dudley's German had sent some one into an 
 uncontrollable fit of intense amusement ; only to 
 cease when Mr. Tudor threatened to talk Dutch 
 in future without fail. Now it was some new 
 theory of the Professor's which he was labouring 
 with all the intermittent energy of his nature to 
 establish, and which Mr. Tudor immediately strove 
 with sudden enthusiasm to overthrow. Now a 
 sudden capricious outburst from Frau Send en 
 would threaten to damp the whole party, only 
 to be soothed by Valentin's and by Margaret's 
 imperturbable good-humour and high spirits. 
 
 For, meanwhile, what was going on in their 
 hearts ? They could not have answered, they 
 could not have told, they did not know, but it 
 was this : they were dreaming. A glorious.
 
 LAND ahead! 97 
 
 golden dream it was ! It had no ending, it had 
 no waking; legitimate dreams never have. It 
 had no beginning in their consciousness ; it had 
 even no distinct being. They were, and they 
 were happy. Did either think or know it ? If 
 so, it was thus that Maro^aret thouo;ht : — 
 
 " So this is life ! this is happiness ! It is 
 glorious. I used to dream of such a thing some- 
 times : of people talking and smiling around one, 
 of thought answering thought quickly, of heart 
 beating in unison with heart ; of art, and know- 
 ledge, and beauty, and life stretching out in a 
 great unknown circle before one, embracing all — 
 the whole world, every one in it — in a great chain 
 of beneficence, whether one has seen them or not ; 
 taking in hope, knowledge, faith, and expanding 
 it all. How charming, how good Valentin is ! 
 He has tauo^ht me all that ! '' 
 
 And if Valentin thought about it, this is what 
 he thought : — 
 
 " So this is life ! How glorious it is. How 
 never-endingly bright it is. What peaceful 
 glory it has. One feels a king. One mounts up 
 from happiness to happiness, and from hope to 
 hope. Joy rests with oneself, and the angels 
 smile upon us, and tell us so. Margaret is my 
 angel." 
 
 VOL I. H
 
 98 LAND ahead! 
 
 But there was a cloud even on his horizon ; 
 but it was so small a one, he laughed at it. 
 Lotta Senden brought it there. Often he did 
 not see it, did not see her anxious looks, her 
 wiles, her caprice, her unmistakable anger ; or, 
 if he saw, he laughed at the twinge of flattery it 
 ministered to his pride. 
 
 One day, under the influence of such flattery, 
 he suddenly left Lotta's side, and came to 
 Margaret. They had all come to see an old 
 ruin here, and were scattered in groups, some 
 admiring the scenery, some investigating the 
 ruins, and all talking. Margaret was at a little 
 distance with Dudley Vane. She was sketching. 
 She looked up at Valentin as he came, and he 
 threw himself down on the grass beside her. 
 
 Dudley was there on the other side of her, look- 
 ing on. 
 
 " Dudley, I want to speak to Fraulein 
 Hoffman ; will you go ? only for a minute." 
 
 Valentin was accustomed to be obeyed. What 
 was the use of wasting time in circumlocution ? 
 what were friends for, save to make life easy ? 
 
 As for Dudley, had not Valentin saved his life, 
 and was he not bound to him by an eternal debt 
 of gratitude ? Therefore he went. 
 
 " What do you think of Lotta, Queen Daisy ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 99 
 
 That was his own very foolish name for her 
 when they were alone ; for did not Marguerite 
 mean daisy, and if so, was not Margaret the 
 queen of daisies ? 
 
 Margaret looked up at him, mildly astonished. 
 Was not Frau Senden his own cousin, and was 
 she not therefore perfect in his eyes ? 
 
 " She — she is very handsome," said she at last. 
 
 " I did not mean so," answered the young 
 man, and turning himself, he looked full into 
 Margaret's face. " You knew that." 
 
 " She — she is very fond of you." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 " I am not so fond of her." 
 
 A quick look into each other's eyes, then a 
 blush, and a quick merry laugh such as people 
 give when they have gained a confidence for 
 which they dared not ask, but which they half 
 suspected before. And suddenly, her heart at 
 rest, and basking in the joy-smile to the full as 
 radiantly as the river below basked in the sun's 
 golden shower of light, Margaret, proud in her un- 
 conscious self-reliance, suddenly became coquette. 
 
 " That is so like a man ; he has no gratitude." 
 
 " Gratitude ! why should one be grateful for 
 what one does not want ? " 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Not having, lie wants ; having, he wearies ; 
 forgotten, he remembers ; remembered, he forgets." 
 
 " Where did you learn that. Queen Daisy ? " 
 
 " I — I think," with an arch smile, " I must 
 have read it in a book somewhere." 
 
 " When did I weary ? when did I forget ? " he 
 asked anxiously. 
 
 '' So like a child," she went on, as though 
 musing to herself, "struggling for the fruit far 
 beyond his reach, and child-like too, throwing it 
 away or trampling it underfoot when plucked, 
 for the sake of another rosy apple perhaps hanging 
 on the bough above it." 
 
 " Are daisies far beyond my reach ? " asked he, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " No," said she hastily ; " far, far below you ; 
 you would trample them underfoot if you saw 
 them clearly enough." 
 
 He laughed aloud for very mirth at her folly. 
 
 " But Lotta jars upon me," said he, presently. 
 
 "Tell me about her," said Margaret; not that 
 she was afraid, or cared, but she thought that 
 Valentin wanted to talk about his cousin. 
 
 So he told her the old story ; how they were 
 children together, how they had grown into lovers, 
 but how, when he was away, Lotta had married 
 old Senden for his money.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 101 ! 
 
 " For I was poor, you know. And tlien she ' 
 
 sent for me to Sonnenfels at last," tie went on. : 
 
 " I came full of curiosity, somewhat flattered \ 
 
 perhaps, and anxious to see the man and the j 
 
 wealth and the property that had all seemed so j 
 
 much fairer to Lotta than my love. I came for 
 a week, and I stayed one day. Old Senden was I 
 
 dreadful. ^^ 
 
 " I know," said Margaret, slowly nodding her 
 head. " He was. We used to see him in the j 
 town." 
 
 " And Lotta was so changed ; she seemed to ' 
 have lost caste ; to be — anyhow she is nothing to 
 me now." ! 
 
 " And she ? " I 
 
 " Yes ; she wants me to marry her." , 
 
 A dreadfully long silence fell upon them ; only 
 Dudley whistling to himself lower down the hill- i 
 
 side broke it, and then Frau Senden's shrill i 
 
 laughter was borne on the breeze. \ 
 
 " That is no reason," said Margaret at last, : 
 with an effort. ' 
 
 " No ; it is no reason at all. I was but a boy I 
 then ; I am but beginning life now." 
 
 " And you must not spoil your life," said she, ; 
 with a sort of maternal solicitude. j 
 
 " It holds so much worth having," said he, j
 
 102 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 covetously. " I am but beginning life, and it is 
 coming to me like a beautiful goddess, with rosy 
 flesh tints, warm and instinct with soul and 
 beauty — warm with spiritual significance ; her 
 wings are the worst part of her, for they might 
 bear her away, and gold-dust falls from them, if one 
 handles them roughly ; her drapery makes shadows 
 here and there as she steps, but the clouds — " 
 
 " Have silver linings all," said Margaret. 
 
 "The hem of her garment is silver," he went 
 on. *' It glistens like faith upon us, and frightens 
 doubt away. I tell you, Queen Daisy, if we will 
 only take it so, life is beauty in a thousand shapes; 
 they come to us laughing, waving their hands to 
 us, blessing us, luring us on, full of hope and 
 confidence ; they fill our lap with sweets, and 
 they show us vistas of intellectual luxury and 
 glory till the cup seems likely to brim over, and 
 the only fear is that existence will not be long 
 enough to taste all." 
 
 " You have so much ambition, — your soldier s 
 career alone — " 
 
 ''Yes; fame, art, and friendship." 
 
 Why did he not dare use the word love^ as he 
 had it on his lips ? 
 
 " Is it any wonder that I have left that faded 
 old tenderness of mine for Lotta behind ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! . 103 
 
 " Berlin is full of your friendships, I dare say, 
 your interests, your pursuits. You have so many 
 resources, so much influence." 
 
 " Is it any wonder, Margaret, that she should 
 turn back to me with imploring affection, after 
 her mistaken life of failure ? " 
 
 *' You are to her a vision of happier days." 
 
 " She wants to retrieve it all, and stand 
 again on the old ground of youth and proud 
 position. She does not see that she threw it all 
 away." 
 
 " You have left her behind." 
 
 " She threw it all away for a coarse, unambitious 
 life ; she threw it all away for gold. Gold does 
 not make life really fair, or true, or great ; self 
 contains all that ; no externals confer them. 
 As for me. Queen Daisy, I mean to find them 
 and win them for myself; I trust life intensely." 
 
 She smiled down into his confident handsome 
 face. 
 
 " You are right ! " whispered she. 
 
 " Ding-a-dong-bell I ding-a-dong! ding-a-dong!" 
 said Dudley Vane, as his heated face suddenly 
 appeared over the brow^ of the hill. " That is the 
 dinner-bell — and it is quite ready. We have laid 
 it out on a grave ; and do come quick, for old 
 Tudor is in one of his most tiresome humours,
 
 104 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 and won't talk a word of sense himself or let any- 
 one else talk it either." 
 
 " What a shame to get it ready without telling 
 us," said Valentin, springing up. 
 
 Margaret quickly put aside her sketching 
 apparatus, and together they walked towards the 
 ruins. There, fronting them, sitting on a mound, 
 was Frau Steingracht ; she was calmly sleeping, 
 doubtless the heat of the day had tired her. Just 
 above and close behind her sat the Professor and 
 Mr. Tudor ; they were unconscious that the lady 
 was asleep, and evidently thought she was listening 
 humbly to the pearls of wisdom that fell from 
 their lips. Valentin's laughter made Mr. Tudor 
 look over the edge of her hat carefully, and then 
 he fell back, as though he was violently dis- 
 appointed at the indifference she displayed. 
 
 " How often have I told you, my dear Pro- 
 fessor, that we should not waste our learning. 
 It is an extravagance to fly more birds than the 
 hawk can kill. Here was I thinking to win 
 Madame Steingracht's unqualified sympathy and 
 admiration by my successful refutation of all 
 your admirable theories, and now see ! she has 
 not even heard me, and you — you, I dare say, are 
 my enemy for life. But come, let us shake hands 
 now over their ashes,"
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 105 
 
 "Ashes ! " interposed Valentin ; " whose ? " 
 
 " The arguments' and theories'." 
 
 "Ah, my friend," said Hans Hoffman, "the 
 wind has scattered them long ago — but let us 
 shake hands all the same." 
 
 " Let us hope the wind will take the seed to 
 good soil," said Tudor, still holding the Professor's 
 hand. "And now let us go to dine on the graves 
 of our forefathers — Phoenix-like, the old fellows 
 sustain posterity with wondrous generosity. 
 Madame Steingracht," he added, standing in 
 front of her, and pulling her dress, " would you 
 allow me ? Le dhier est serviT 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! dear me ! how strange ! I 
 was thinking, I was dreaming, I think." 
 
 " Yes, madame, I know." 
 
 The others laughed disrespectfully. 
 
 " I really was not asleep, Mr. Tudor." 
 
 "Oh no, madame, anything but that. But 
 will you come ? The feast of reason and the flow 
 of soul awaits us." 
 
 In reality the mound on which Lotta Senden 
 and Frau Hoffman and Dudley had laid the feast 
 did look strangely like a grave. It was in a sort 
 of ruined court, with the remains of four walls 
 around it. Other small elevations around looked 
 equally suspicious. For the rest, the place was
 
 106 LAND ahead! 
 
 picturesque enough. Ivy grew luxuriantly over 
 the walls, and some that had outrun the rest 
 peered back into the ruined hall curiously, waving 
 against the blue sky, as though longing to see 
 what was going on in its old nursery, and 
 imploring to be taken back again safe from the 
 storm and heat and stormy life it had found 
 above. Hops, barberries, and clematis clambered 
 about in wild freedom, trees waved without, 
 and through the ruined archway the winding 
 river was plainly seen. 
 
 " You must not complain of the Spartan diet, 
 Professor, or Valentin, or Mr. Tudor ; Margaret I 
 know will not care," said Lotta. " Here are 
 Frau Hoffman's and my contributions, and such 
 is our sympathy, I am afraid we have not been 
 quite so successful as usual. '^ 
 
 " Why two pies ? " asked Dudley. 
 
 *^ And why so many chickens ? " 
 
 ^^ And two cakes ? " 
 
 *' Unfortunately," began Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " Unfortunately," began Frau Senden. 
 
 " My dear ladies," said Mr. Tudor, 
 
 " ' Man wants but little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long.' " 
 
 " Our forefather's grave has suggested that, I 
 am sure," said Margaret.
 
 LAND ahead! 107 
 
 " We have some cold beef," said Frau 
 HojBfman. 
 
 " The roast beef of old England. But oh, my 
 
 countrywoman, how delicious ! the tears rush into I 
 
 my eyes at the thought. Eeal bond fide roast i 
 
 beef — on the joint ? " i 
 
 " I assure you w^e have." I 
 
 " Ah ! now I am happy, quite happy. Better 
 
 is a stalled ox where love is, than a dinner of ; 
 
 herbs and hatred therewith." ; 
 
 " There is no denying that," said Dudley. i 
 
 " In most propositions there is some argument 
 to be found, but that is an exception, I think." 
 
 " Excuse the roughness of our plate and ; 
 
 service," said Lotta, as she handed the salt and : 
 
 pepper around. \ 
 
 " Vivitiir parvo denej^ssiid the Professor, ''cm ] 
 
 paternum splendet in mensd teniii salinum!^ " Oh, i 
 Himmel ! oh ! ouf ! oh, it is too dreadful ! oh, 
 
 but it is pepper — not salt — oh ! " and a series \ 
 
 of sneezings and chokings followed, and the poor ; 
 Professor rose hurriedly from the group, looking 
 as thousfh he must burst a blood-vessel the next 
 
 moment. ; 
 
 " Oh, Professor, I am so sorry," said Lotta. ; 
 
 " Oh, what shall I do ? it is all my fault." . | 
 
 " He should have looked," said Frau Hoffman, i
 
 108 LAND ahead! 
 
 wiping away the tears from her eyes, which ; 
 
 laughter had brought. " Oh, Hans, how could ; 
 
 you be so stupid ? dabbling in Latin when you : 
 should have been thinking about your dinner." 
 
 " Valentin, will you cut me some cold beef ? " ] 
 
 said Lotta, presently. i 
 
 " Madame Senden," said Mr. Tudor, starting up ' 
 
 angrily, and looking as fierce over his roast beef i 
 
 as a dog would over a bone, ''do you think I j 
 
 will let a German touch my cold beef? No, ' 
 
 madame. He would waste it, he would spoil it, ' 
 
 he would — it would be extravagance. Let me, . 
 
 madame." I 
 
 " I did not know you were so economical 
 
 before, Mr. Tudor," said Vane. i 
 
 " Well, generally I do think economy a bad ; 
 
 thing ; penny wise and pound foolish, — you know : 
 
 the old saying, — and I always think of a little I 
 
 verse which makes me hate economy." | 
 
 " What is it ? " asked they. ^ 
 
 *' This. But am not I cutting the beef beauti- 
 
 fully '^ ; 
 
 " ' The frugal crone, whom praying priests attend, j 
 
 Still strives to save the hallow'd taper's end, i 
 
 Collects her breath, as ebbing life retires, \ 
 For one puff more, and in that puff expires.' " 
 
 So the meal progressed merrily. Moreover, _^ ] 
 
 had not Dudley Vane, the rich man of the party, ■
 
 LAND ahead! . 109 
 
 contributed some champagne ? How gay, how 
 proud he was as he drew the corks himself, and 
 then pledged Margaret, as he touched her glass 
 with his. Valentin might well say he liked the 
 Khine wine best ; for himself he liked champagne, 
 and so he thought did the others. 
 
 "Not but what you are generally right, I 
 know. Yon Broderode." 
 
 **You give in to Valentin too much, Mr. 
 Vane," said Martha Steingracht. 
 
 " You worship him," said Lotta. " He is very 
 often wrong." 
 
 "So very often," echoed Valentin, laughing. 
 
 "But I have noticed it," continued Lotta 
 "' you just let him guide you whichever way he 
 likes." 
 
 "I do not think so," said Valentin, more 
 seriously. " We argue by the hour about Eng- 
 land and Germany. I envy him his sport, his 
 life, his home, his everything ; I don't know 
 what he can envy me." 
 
 " Shall I tell you what I envy him, Fraulein ? " 
 asked Dudley of Margaret, in a low voice. 
 
 " No," said she, for his tone frightened her. ' 
 
 " Why do you envy him, Valentin ? " asked 
 Lotta, puzzled. If it were wealth, had she not 
 wealth for him ?
 
 110 LAND ahead! 
 
 " His home must be so beautiful, so luxurious. 
 Then think what a happy life : hunting, shooting, 
 sport ; a rich, kind uncle, who gives him all he 
 wants ; people growing up round him who love 
 him ; a future — a career if he choose — " 
 
 " Froghambury is beautiful," interposed Mr. 
 Tudor, " and Sir Gilbert Vane is rich and kind, 
 and Vane's home must be happy, as you say, 
 Count von Broderode. But his future, his 
 career — what do you mean ? " 
 
 "Why, surely, there is Parliament. All 
 Englishmen can be great, can be famous, if they 
 
 will." 
 
 " Ah ! yes I well ! why will they not ? " 
 
 *' But Dudley will," replied Valentin. 
 
 "Let us drink his health and hope so," said 
 Mr. Tudor, and his glance crossed that of the 
 Professor, and they smiled doubtfully across the 
 table. 
 
 "How the young men trust in each other," 
 said Martha Steingracht, sentimentally. "Mr. 
 Tudor, do you not take some confiture with your 
 chicken ? " 
 
 . " No, thank you, madame. That is another of 
 your detestable German — I beg your pardon — 
 one of your national mistakes. Fancy offering
 
 LAND AHEAD ! Ill | 
 
 me jam with my roast ! lost ! quite lost ! I am j 
 
 a barbarian, maclame, am I not ? ' 
 
 * In vain, tlirough every changeful year i 
 
 Did Nature lead him as before. i 
 A primrose by the river's brim, 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 
 And it was nothing more.' " j 
 
 Just then the Professor, having recovered ! 
 from the effects of the pepper, returned. 
 
 " Fanny, my dear," said he to his wife, w^ith | 
 
 a quaint twinkle in his eye, " there is a man ] 
 
 outside." ] 
 
 " Well," said she, rather indignantly, " what | 
 
 is that to me ? A yellow primrose — nothino- 1 
 
 more. | 
 
 " No ; but, my dear Fanny, he is not a com- \ 
 
 mon man. He is an Englishman." ■] 
 
 She was interested at once. 
 
 " Who ? where from ? does he know me ? i 
 
 who is he ? Oh ! you know nothing, I see. | 
 
 How do you know he is English ? " \ 
 
 *' Infallible proof; he has 'Murray' in his 
 
 hand." ■ 
 
 Just then the stranger entered the ruined j 
 
 hall. " Murray" indeed tva-s in his hand ; and he ■ 
 looked about, starting from its promising page to 
 the disappointing results (for it needs imagination
 
 112 LAND ahead! 
 
 to fill up the vacuum wlien the Eeal faces 
 "Murray's" Ideal), with the stolid, unvarying 
 expression of a British bachelor. He was not 
 young, but he was well preserved ; he was not 
 handsome, but he might have been nearly so 
 some years ago. Successive courses of the waters 
 and whist had given a certain well-known tint to 
 his countenance which no rouge or years will 
 probably efface. He seemed just one of the class 
 who go abroad because other people do, who look 
 at this and that because other people look at it, 
 who know everything because they must, and 
 who talk rarely because they are afraid they 
 might be seen speaking to the wrong person. 
 
 " He brings a breath of the clubs with him," 
 said Frau Hoffman, eyeing him affectionately. 
 
 " He looks like Homburg," said Mr. Tudor. ' 
 
 " What can he be doing here ? " said Mrs. 
 Hoffman. 
 
 " Speak to him, madame." 
 
 " Offer him a flower, Fanny," said the 
 Professor. 
 
 " Let us talk politics," said Lotta. " He 
 must love politics." 
 
 **I am sure he is a bachelor," said Frau 
 Steingracht. " Look at his boots." 
 
 "For my part," said Mr. Tudor, raising his
 
 LAND ahead! 113 
 
 voice, " though I am almost alone against you all, 
 yet I must say I do not believe in Germany." 
 
 The stranger shut up " Murray," turned his 
 head, took out his eye-glass, and stared at the 
 party — a good downright, ill-bred British stare. 
 
 The Professor, thrown off his 2:uard for a 
 moment, flushed angrily. 
 
 " Not believe in Germany ? " 
 
 But Valentin lauo^hed. 
 
 "Then you do not love us, Mr. Tudor. One 
 cannot love those in whom one does not believe." 
 
 " Oh, as for that, I love a quantity of people 
 in whom I do not believe. I admire the 
 Germaus, and respect them extremely ; but I do 
 not believe in them." 
 
 The strano^er had looked and listened. Now 
 he took one more look all round, and then shut 
 up " Murray." Then he grew red in the face, and 
 frowned ; then he spoke to himself. 
 
 " A long, dusty walk for nothing. Blessed is 
 he that expecteth nothing, for he shall not be 
 disappointed." He turned on his heel. 
 
 " Sir — r," said Frau Hoffman, shocked out of 
 all reticence at the rudeness of her countryman. 
 
 He turned round on his heel, and once more 
 was the eye-glass stuck in his eye ; once more 
 did the ill-bred British stare do its duty. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 LAND ahead! 
 
 " "Was that addressed to me, madame ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, it was. But now I beg your 
 pardon ; perhaps it was ourselves in whom you 
 were disappointed, and not the ruins ? " 
 
 " It was the ruins, madame." 
 
 He took his hat off, and stood bare-headed in 
 the sunshine. The act pleased Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " Or, sir, are we ruins ? " 
 
 The gentleman laughed, and stuck his eye- 
 glass more firmly in his eye. 
 
 "Not knowing what were the beginnings, or 
 what the early promise, madame — " 
 
 Frau Hoffman laughed in spite of herself. . 
 
 "A truce to this, sir; and in pledge of my 
 forgiveness, will you let me offer you a glass of 
 Khine wine ; I heard you say you had a dusty 
 walk." 
 
 He came close to them at once, and stood 
 smiling while they pressed different things upon 
 
 him. 
 
 " Will you not sit down and join us, sir ? 
 "We are half English, half Germans." 
 
 " Hybrids," put in Mr. Tudor. 
 
 The eye-glass was slowly turned upon him. 
 
 " I am English," said Frau Hoffman ; and the 
 stranger apparently thought her pleasanter than 
 Mr. Tudor, for the glass was turned again in her
 
 LAND ahead! 115 
 
 direction, and rested there. " And I wished to 
 hear " 
 
 " Yes ; I was rude, I suppose ; but the fact 
 IS 
 
 "Oh, not more so, sir, than nearly all the 
 English are. They abuse nearly everything they 
 see abroad, and yet they have nothing like it at 
 home." 
 
 "As for Murray, I should like to pitch him 
 into the Ehine." 
 
 " Do so, sir, by all means," said the Professor. 
 
 " Are you staying at Sonnenthal ? " asked 
 Frau Senden, to fill up the pause. 
 
 The stranger fumbled in his pockets and 
 brought out his card-case. Frau Hoffman grew 
 crimson, and tried to stop him. 
 
 " We did not mean — we " 
 
 But he was not to be stopped. Holding his 
 card between his finger and thumb, he presented 
 it to Frau Hofiman. 
 
 " We do not care," said she. 
 
 He held it still before her eyes. 
 
 " We do not want you are English ; so 
 
 . 
 
 But there it was. 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer. The Albany." 
 
 She had actually read it aloud. 
 
 2 I
 
 116 LAND ahead! 
 
 "A delicious comfortable place," said she, 
 commenting upon the place, in default of having 
 anything to say about the name. 
 
 " Grlad you think so," said he. 
 
 '' Not that I ever tried it," said she. 
 
 Then he laughed, or rather chuckled, to 
 himself 
 
 " Shall I introduce ourselves now to you ? " 
 said she, rather hastily ; for she was annoyed, 
 she hardly knew why, but every one hates being 
 made a fool of; and this stolid Englishman 
 appeared to be enjoying himself immensely now 
 with his pie and claret, and to be more at his 
 ease than any one else there. 
 
 " Oh, I did not mean " said he, looking 
 
 half-apologetically at his offending card. 
 
 " But you must know who we are," said she. 
 
 " I am staying at ^ The Three Eoses,' " said 
 he, " and I do not want " 
 
 " But, Mr. Mortimer, just think ; and now 
 let me tell you that is Frau Senden, Mr. 
 Mortimer ; and that is " 
 
 " Oh," he said, making a profound bow, *^ I do 
 not care — I could not think — but, meanwhile, 
 madame, who are you ? " 
 
 He turned his face and his eye-glass full on 
 Frau Hoflfman.
 
 LAND ahead! 117 
 
 " I shall not tell you who I am, sir. If you do 
 not mean, and do not care, and cannot think — " 
 
 "So be it, madame. Hard fate — I must 
 remain in outer darkness. But you were talking 
 politics when 1 came ; do not let me interrupt 
 you." 
 
 " I was saying, sir," said Mr. Tudor, too glad 
 to have an opportunity once more of hearing 
 himself speak, "that I do not believe in 
 Germany." 
 
 "That is Mr. Tudor. Mr. Mortimer, Mr. 
 Tudor," said Frau Hoffman, unable to repress 
 her English idea that people could not talk long 
 or comfortably without the w^ords of the familiar 
 form of incantation. 
 
 " A la honheurl^ said Mr. Mortimer, bowing. 
 " Mr. Tudor. No, more do I, sir ; I don't 
 believe in Germany." 
 
 " Mother," said Margaret, leaning over to Mrs. 
 Hoffman, " do you remember the words in the 
 ^ Queen's Journal,' ' Vicky sat on a wasp's nest ' ? 
 Don't you think we are on one now ? " 
 
 *'Do you remember Jean Paul's saying, 
 Mr. Mortimer," said the Professor, " that Pro- 
 vidence has given to France the empire of the 
 land, to the English that of the sea, and to the 
 Germans that of — the air ? "
 
 118 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No, sir. I never read Jean Paul Ricliter in 
 my life ; he was too profound, and now you are 
 too profound for me." 
 
 " It is true," said Valentin ; " and besides the 
 wit and aptness of the saying, might he not have 
 meant empire of the spiritual kingdom, empire of 
 the intellectual kingdom ? " 
 
 " He meant it so, doubtless," said Hoffman, 
 half sadly ; " not only the logical, philosophical, 
 astronomical, and aerial, but that vast, undefined, 
 illimitable, fantastic kingdom which each man 
 acquires and founds for himself." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer looked up from his pie and gazed 
 attentively at the Professor ; but the pie gained 
 the day, and he returned to it enthusiastically. 
 
 "I believe there are chances before it," said 
 Tudor. **I believe Prussia has always had. 
 chances ; but how many has she not thrown 
 away ? What is she now ? what has just been 
 achieved ? Is she on the road to true and lasting 
 greatness, think you ? Is she not a military 
 tyranny ? Might she not have been a centre-stone 
 of liberty — a republic of which honour and religion 
 would have been the chief corner-stones ? Her 
 power seems to me rotten at the core, for it 
 seems built up on lying and bigoted scepticism, 
 dishonesty, and hypocrisy."
 
 LAND ahead! 119 
 
 " Strong, intemperate words, sir ; very strong, 
 very intemperate," said Mr. Mortimer, looking 
 up from his plate, sparing a hand even to hold 
 his eye-glass. ^'Especially just now, when 
 Europe's gaze has been fascinated. Did I say 
 fascinated ? — good word that — very.'' 
 
 *' Begging your pardon, Mr. Mortimer, I don't 
 think fascinated is a good word in this case. 
 Europe is not fascinated ; it may have looked on 
 silently, but I think it has kept its opinions to 
 itself about Hanover and Schleswig-Holstein." 
 
 "I do not know what you call keeping opinions 
 to oneself," said Valentin, rather warmly. 
 
 " And if annexations are unjust, why does not 
 England fight ? " 
 
 *' It is not her quarrel." 
 
 " And perhaps the Crimea has taught her not 
 to meddle with other people's afiairs." 
 
 " And then there is no injustice," said Valentin. 
 *' We make one under one head for mutual 
 defence. Is not unison double strength ? " 
 
 *' Cor unum, via una" said Dudley. " We had 
 that this morning, Mr. Tudor ; do you remember ? 
 and you applied it to this very question of the 
 petty princes, the government, and Bismarck." 
 
 There was a laugh at Mr. Tudor's expense. 
 
 '* Very well," said Vane. *' Cor unmn, via una!'
 
 120 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Vane ! " exclaimed Mr. Mortimer, putting up 
 his eye-glass and looking at Dudley. "You 
 don't happen to be any relation to my friend, Sir 
 Gilbert Vane ? They call him the Gilded Vane, 
 you know." 
 
 *' He is my uncle." 
 
 " You don't say so ! Ever happened to have 
 been at Froghambury ? " 
 
 " I live there." 
 
 " You live there I How is that ? Are you an 
 orphan ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Your mother doesn't live there ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she does." 
 
 "But he hates women, in that sort of way ^ 
 she must be a remarkable woman." 
 
 "It is only for a time." 
 
 " Ah ! I thought so. Two years ago he would 
 not have dreamed of such a thing." 
 
 " We did live at Froghambury Lodge, but it 
 was burnt down, so now we are with him." 
 
 " But the lodge is to be built up again ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Ah ! then I understand. And meanwhile, 
 are you the eldest nephew ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And what are you doing here ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 121 
 
 " I am reading with Mr. Tudor." 
 
 '' What for ? " 
 
 " To learn German." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 " And keep him out of mischief," put in Mr. 
 Tudor. 
 
 But it was time to go ; the evening shadows 
 were growing quite long on the hills, and the 
 river seemed winding away into mysterious gloom. 
 
 The Professor went to fetch Margot, who had 
 returned to her sketch. Valentin was almost 
 jealous of him, as he stood with his arm round 
 her, and her head leaning on his shoulder, as he 
 criticized the drawing. 
 
 " Have you not idealized a little too much, 
 Margot ? " 
 
 " I saw it so," said she, gently. 
 
 " Then it is my fault. My eyes and heart are 
 getting old." 
 
 " Never, father ; they are stronger than mine, 
 with their weak sentiment, that is all." 
 
 What a packing up of plates and dishes and 
 tumblers ! Mr. Mortimer looked on amused, and 
 almost forgot to answer Frau Steingracht's 
 remarks, as she stood by him. 
 
 *' Valentin, I have hardly seen you all day,^ 
 said Lotta to Von Broderode, in a low voice.
 
 122 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Come and look at the view," said he, 
 readily. 
 
 " How beautiful it is," said she, leaning on his 
 arm. 
 
 "Your sunny Ehine-land." 
 
 " You love it, do you not, now, Valentin ? " 
 
 " Yes," said lie, enthusiastically. He was 
 looking at Margot and her father. 
 
 "You do not want to leave us, do you, 
 Valentin ? " 
 
 " Leave you ! oh no," said he, with a shudder. 
 
 " That is right," said she, with a start of 
 pleasure. " Because when you came, you know, 
 you said you could not stay very long." 
 
 " Ah ! that was all different then." 
 
 And he turned away half-displeased, and a 
 shade on his face. Why had Lotta brought the 
 reality so plainly before him ? Was he not happy? 
 did he want to think of going away ? or why was 
 it so different now ? 
 
 But Lotta stood alone, looking out on the 
 river, and at the golden tints on the mountains. 
 
 "So he is happy. He shuddered at the thought 
 of going. So it is all different now. Ah, 
 Valentin, my love ! my love ! So I shall be 
 blessed, and I have not loved and waited in vain. 
 Such happiness is almost too much for me."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! '123 
 
 She heard her name being called, and she 
 turned back to join the busy group. 
 
 " Frau Senden," said Frau Hoffman, " will you 
 take Margaret in your carriage " (it was only a 
 hired fly, with two very thin horses) ? " and Mr. 
 Mortimer would like a lift." 
 
 "I fear I shall intrude upon you, madame," 
 said Mr. Mortimer, raising his hat, but looking at 
 the same time as though his mind were quite 
 made up that he should go with her. 
 
 " Not at all. Pray come ; and, Valentin, you 
 will come." 
 
 Valentin stepped forward with alacrity, but 
 the shadow on his face was still there. Even 
 the beaming smile Lotta orave him did not 
 dissipate it. 
 
 The Hoffmans and Dudley, with Frau Stein- 
 gracht and Mr. Tudor on the box, were in the 
 other carriage, and merrily they all started. 
 
 Alas ! the geh ! geh ! of the coachman made 
 the poor horses go indeed, but their success was 
 not equal to their intentions, for the loose rolling 
 stones on the steep road were a sad trap for their 
 unsteady limbs, and suddenly, without warning, 
 down they all came, and coachman, horses, and 
 inmates of the carriage were all precipitated pell- 
 mell on to the road.
 
 124 LAND ahead! 
 
 Lotta Senden screamed lustily ; Mr. Mortimer 
 gave vent to most unparliamentary language ; the 
 poor coachman swore too in German ; and Valentin 
 and Margaret laughed and looked at each other, 
 when the first anxious moment was over, and 
 Valentin was assured that she was not hurt. 
 
 " Queen Daisy, are you there ? are you well ? 
 speak 1 " 
 
 *' Yes, quite. And you ? " 
 
 " But tell me ; not one petal broken ? not a 
 scratch even ? look at me, and tell me, " 
 
 " Not a scratch. But I fell upon you, I think. 
 Was I heavy ? " 
 
 " I thought it was a feather, till I knew it 
 was a flower." 
 
 So Lotta Senden stopped screaming. Now 
 she knew why he was so happy at Sonnenfels. 
 How blind she had been ! 
 
 " Are you hurt, Lotta ? " asked he. 
 
 " The flowers are pretty at Sonnenthal, are 
 they not, Valentin 1 " 
 
 " At Sonnenfels ? " 
 
 *' No ; in the town." 
 
 He looked troubled. Then he met her gaze. 
 
 " Yes, Lotta, they are." 
 
 But here were the others all helping them : 
 the Professor, alas 1 laughing, Mr. Tudor talking.
 
 LAND ahead! 125 
 
 and tlie rest putting things straight, and looking 
 at the poor astonished horses, who seemed to 
 think it more strange to be standing upright 
 after the catastrophe than to be prostrate. 
 
 Frau Sen den was very cross. She got into the 
 carriage indeed after a great deal of expostulation, 
 but she was very indignant. 
 
 " The coachman did it on purpose, I know," 
 said she. 
 
 " Does his scratched, dusty face look as if he 
 liked \t ? " asked Valentin. 
 
 " I shall never come on an expedition again 
 with you ; never. Mr. Mortimer is quite right. 
 They are nasty, hot dusty things, and dangerous 
 too." 
 
 " We will stay at home, madame, together," 
 said Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 "And I will never employ Heinrich again. 
 You may tell him so, Kutcher," said she. 
 
 " Of course not," said Mr. Tudor. 
 
 "Or as we drive by ' The Three Eoses ' we 
 can stop and tell him so," said Frau Senden. 
 
 " Of course we will," said Mr. Tudor. 
 
 " But the horses, madame ; you must forgive 
 the horses," said the Professor. 
 
 The poor Eosinantes looked almost past for- 
 giveness.
 
 126 LAND ahead! 
 
 "It is their infirmity, not their fault," said 
 Mr. Tudor, " and we must forgive infirmities as 
 we do ugly faces." 
 
 " Drive on, and take me home," said Frau 
 Sen den, as she leaned back in the carriage 
 wearily. 
 
 How silent they were as they drove along in 
 the silent evening ; but Valentin and Margaret 
 did not notice it. They looked into each other's 
 eyes and read happiness there, and were both at 
 peace.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I was foolish to dream it, but no one can tell 
 How often I dream'd it, how long, and how well ; 
 How it lasted the days of my boyhood all through, 
 And tinged every thought with its exquisite hue. 
 
 :{: :f: H< ^ ^ ^ 
 
 When mirth was around me, scarce did I seem 
 To heed its fair presence for dreaming that dream ; 
 And when mirth and her hosts of attendants were gone. 
 To me it was nothing — for still I dream'd on. 
 
 Dreaming, indeed, were two of our friends at 
 Sonnenthal. Joy seemed to have posted herself 
 somewhere overhead, and to be pouring out her 
 vial with reckless generosity on them. All the 
 world seemed to smile on them, and all nature 
 was in sympathy, " therefore," said their hearts, 
 "it is no dream, but it is truth ; only our eyes 
 w^ere shut and we never saw it before." Never 
 before to either had the Ehine seemed so frolic- 
 some and eager and beautiful ; never had 
 Sonnenthal seemed so gay, or so much laughter 
 bubbling up everywhere ; never had sunshine 
 seemed so bright, and never had smiles come so
 
 128 LANt) ahead! 
 
 often, or merry words fallen so thickly or so 
 frequent with tender and sweet meaning. 
 Margaret was a very butterfly ; the chrysalis 
 folds of her self-contained life had unwrapped 
 themselves one by one, and she stood on the 
 threshold of a great dazzling garden, wondering 
 to which bright flower she should fly first. And 
 Valentin was another butterfly ; I had almost 
 said he was a bird, but he loved the butterfly too 
 much for that. Together they flew from rose to 
 rose, together they sipped the golden honey, and 
 together, in happy recklessness, they scorned the 
 humble beauties of the flowers of the vale, and 
 soared, in accordance with the highest aspirations 
 of their hearts, to the rarest treasure-houses they 
 could find, and then, revelling in mutual delight, 
 crushed the tiny petals in their reckless pride. 
 
 And their joy was infectious. Just at first 
 there had been looks askance, a sharp reproof 
 from Frau Hoffman, a mild suggestion from the 
 Professor, a gentle shake of the head from Frau 
 Steingracht, a sarcasm from Mr. Tudor, or some- 
 thing disagreeable from Frau Senden or Dudley 
 Vane ; but now the eternal sunshine had won the 
 day, the clouds were sent away right beyond the 
 horizon, and Valentin and Margaret had by their 
 very faith in their own happiness established it
 
 LAND ahead! 129 
 
 on a secure foundation. Cavillers and sceptics 
 were silenced by the visible fact. It was like 
 two joyous children coming towards a grave 
 group of elders on a merry May morning with 
 garlands of flowers and wreaths in their hands, 
 with streamers flying and coronals of bright 
 blossoms on their heads ; it was as though they 
 threw their garlands round the grave group, as 
 though their very laughter was contagious, as 
 though the elders moved along with them, the 
 more stubborn faces unbending, the more stubborn 
 limbs swiftening, as though the group grew as it 
 went, till the loving hands led tliem at last to 
 the gay towering pinnacle — their type of the 
 golden summer and of happiness. 
 
 Valentin's laughter smothered doubt; Mar- 
 garet's smile was peace. 
 
 Certainly Frau Senden had told Frau Hoffman 
 twice that Valentin was very poor, and certainly 
 the Professor had asked his wife anxiously more 
 than once what she thought of Valentin ; but had 
 she not studied the subject well ? 
 
 " They are not in love, Hans ; not at all. 
 Just look at them. They are so open with each 
 other. See how they laugh and talk. It is a 
 never-ceasing ripple." 
 
 " But in an undertone." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No ; not at all. I hear all they say. And 
 people who are in love sit silent and are silly." 
 
 " Young Mr. Yane seemed to think " 
 
 " Oh, but he is a mere boy, and then he may 
 be a little jealous." 
 
 " Jealous ! " 
 
 The Professor opened his eyes. 
 
 " Not that it matters, for Mr. Tudor tells me 
 his fortune is most precarious, and only depends 
 on the caprice of his old uncle." 
 
 " How could that be ? " 
 
 " It seems Sir Gilbert Vane made his money 
 himself out in Australia, and when unexpectedly 
 he succeeded to the baronetcy, then he bought 
 back Froghambury with his own money, so that 
 he can do as he likes with it. And Mr. Tudor 
 says he does not care for Dudley Vane, and that 
 he hates his brother's widow." 
 
 "Mr. Tudor is a very clever man — Mr. 
 Mortimer has told me so." 
 
 To this Frau Hoffman vouchsafed no answer, 
 beyond a quick, sharp look of inquiry at her 
 husband, and then a frown settled itself on her face. 
 
 Just then Margaret's merry laughter from the 
 top of the house, where she was sitting with 
 Valentin and Mr. Mortimer, reached the ears of 
 her parents.
 
 LAND ahead! 131 
 
 " My little Margot," said the old man, tenderly, 
 " don't let her marry yet. "Would I could shield 
 her from all trouble and sorrow aU her life 
 long." 
 
 He stretched out his arms suddenly, as though 
 he would shelter her from all peril and sorrow. 
 
 "Hans," said his wife, solemnly, "girls must 
 marry. You are not fit for this world." 
 
 Another peal of laughter. It was catching. 
 They smiled at each other, and if there was 
 something triumphant in Frau Hoffman's smile, 
 who can blame her ? 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer is there too," said she. " He 
 seems to delight in Margaret." 
 
 She turned away and went up the stairs and 
 outside to them. Valentin and Margaret were 
 busy sketching the bend of the river between the 
 dark hills ; Mr. Mortimer was looking on ; Fritz, 
 the big dog, was looking on also. 
 
 " Oh, Madame Hoffman," said Mr. Mortimer 
 at once, dropping his eye-glass to look at her, " I 
 am glad you have come. They are so unkind to 
 me ; I want them to come to Homburg for a day, 
 and they will not." 
 
 " Homburg ! " sighed Frau Hoffman eagerly ; 
 " that is to me a breath of England. Do let us 
 go. Why will they not ? " 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LAND ahead! 
 
 " I offered to give the dinner, and every tiling ; 
 but no ! no 1 no ! " 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Von Broderode says he hates people ; and 
 Miss Hoffman says 'No.' A woman's reason 
 because she does say * No ' I know, and therefore 
 it should be enough for me." 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer never said all of us, mother. 
 But of course I should like to go." 
 
 " Let us go to-morrow," said Valentin, without 
 looking up from his sketch. 
 
 "You see they do not want much pressing 
 after all." 
 
 " Now who shall we have ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 "Why, all of us. Every one of us," said 
 Mr. Mortimer, generously. " Everybody whom 
 I met in the ruins that first happy day " 
 
 "Mr. Mortimer, don't make speeches. If you 
 do, we will not go with you. You are as bad 
 as Mr. Tudor. But who shall we have ? " 
 
 " Not — all of us," suggested Valentin, looking 
 cautiously at Margaret. 
 
 " Who shall we not have then ? " asked Mr. 
 Mortimer. 
 
 "We won't have Hans," said Frau Hoffman. 
 " We cannot to-morrow ; he is President of a 
 learned meeting."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 133 
 
 " He hates Homburg," said Margaret. " He says 
 it is infested with English and Americans just now." 
 
 "Let us go alone/' said Valentin, boldly. 
 
 " Eh ! " asked Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " I mean, don't let us have Lotta and Frau 
 Steingracht this time." 
 
 Maro^aret blushed. 
 
 "Do not let us ask Mr. Tudor or Mr. Yane 
 this time." 
 
 "That reduces us to this quartet," said Mr. 
 Mortimer, somewhat pleased. 
 
 " Exactly." 
 
 A very merry little party it was. A very hot 
 day of course ; and Homburg hotter ^han 
 anywhere else ; but then they continually forgot 
 that they were hot. Mr. Mortimer put them 
 into a carriage at the station, and they drove at 
 once to the " Victoria " Hotel : there they had 
 luncheon, and drank iced sparkling Moselle. 
 
 There were bright flowers all round the 
 court-yard, and a fountain playing coquettishly 
 with a gold ball that gleamed like fire in the 
 sunshine. Then the coloured blinds looked light 
 and cool, and the flower-pots set round seemed 
 set there for a gala-feast. 
 
 " I feel like a boy out on a half-holiday," said 
 Mr. Mortimer.
 
 134 LAND ahead! 
 
 He put his eye-glass up and down from his 
 eye to his waistcoat nervously, as though he 
 would like to know how his audience greeted his 
 enthusiasm, and yet he would rather not see. 
 
 "Fancy no one knowing we are here," said 
 Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " What do you mean, Margot ? " asked her 
 mother. 
 
 " I never told any one at Sonnenfels,'^ said 
 Valentin, helping himself to some Moselle as he 
 spoke. " And I met Vane at the Brunnen this 
 morning and I never told him either." 
 
 " They will all go and call, and be very angry 
 that we are out." 
 
 *^hey will lay it all on my shoulders," said 
 Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 " And you will not care, will you ? " asked 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Not if you are happy," said he, gallantly. 
 
 " 1 think 1 never was so happy before," said 
 she simply, dallying her fingers in the cool 
 fountain, and following the rapid movements of 
 the golden ball with laughing eyes. " And it is 
 so nice to steal away to pleasure without telling 
 
 J) 
 
 any one. 
 
 ^' Stolen kisses are so sweet," said Mr. 
 Mortimer, slily.
 
 LAND ahead! 135 
 
 Then they drove about again, and so to the 
 Kursaal. How full it was. What excitement, 
 what repressed rage depicted on every counten- 
 ance. How ominous the croupier's voice sounded. 
 How agonizing the expressions on the anxious 
 faces. Margaret clung to Valentin for a moment 
 in terror ; then began to take a childish delight 
 in it, and clapped her hands when somebody 
 won ; then presently she entered into the spirit 
 of it, and longed for money to stake and win. 
 Valentin read her wish in her eyes. 
 
 " Shall we play ? " asked he. 
 
 " A little," said she, tremulously. 
 
 " You call," said he. 
 
 *' Eouge." 
 
 It was "noir." The silver piece was swept 
 away. 
 
 '' Again." 
 
 *^ Eouge." 
 
 It was " noir." 
 
 Valentin's money swept away once more. 
 
 "We will not play any more." 
 
 " Oh yes ; we must." 
 
 "Yes, go on," said Mr. Mortimer, in her ear. 
 " Go on. I stake too." 
 
 " Eouge," said Margaret. 
 
 It was " rouge," and she had won.
 
 136 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Again," cried Valentin. 
 
 " Noir," cried she. 
 
 He doubled the sum he had staked. 
 
 It was " rouge." 
 
 Margaret stamped her foot impatiently, and 
 tried to move away. 
 
 *' We will not play any more." 
 
 **Yes, Margot; go on." He had not called 
 her so before. 
 
 "No," she said, ''I must not." 
 
 He laughed at her firmness, half incredulous. 
 
 "You must not play any more," said she, 
 laying her hand on his arm. 
 
 The young man coloured. He had a gold 
 piece in his hand to stake. He looked at her 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Valentin, you will not." 
 
 He desisted at once ; but he bit his moustache 
 half angrily, and looked enviously at Mr. Mortimer, 
 who had laid heavily on " noir." 
 
 A moment of breathless suspense, of afi*ected 
 indifference, of ill-restrained eagerness, — for there 
 were large sums on the board, and the excited 
 faces around looked more as if they belonged to 
 the denizens of hell than to human beings, — and 
 it came — " rouge." 
 
 Oaths burst out, furious language, pale faces
 
 1 
 LAND ahead! 137 ; 
 
 staring at each other; one woman fainted; a i 
 
 devilish triumph shone in the countenance of j 
 
 another ; a hateful, eager grasping and clutching 1 
 
 at gold occupied another ; Mr. Mortimer looked 
 a trifle pale. 
 
 But Valentin turned to Maro^aret. 
 
 1 
 " Queen Daisy, you are my good angel." ] 
 
 She smiled gladly. I 
 
 " Will you always be so ? " ' 
 
 " Always," said she. ; 
 
 But this excitement was dreadful. There was i 
 
 a womau pushing her hair back from her temples, i 
 
 and throwing down her necklace ; here was another | 
 
 staking her all — really the very last money she 
 
 had in the world. Here was a man with pale 
 
 face and shaking hand trying to steady his voice, 
 
 as he called out " rouge." Here was an English- , 
 
 man saying with assumed merriment, " I wish | 
 
 some one would take me away ; only I don't | 
 
 advise any one to try, you know ; " and here 
 
 was an old grey-haired man who kept muttering, | 
 
 " I dreamt I should have my turn of luck to- j 
 
 day." _ _ i 
 
 And there was Mr. Mortimer, with more colour I 
 
 and animation in his face than any one at j 
 
 Sonnenthal had ever seen, now winning, now 
 
 losing, and staking more every time.
 
 138 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Will you take him away too, Queen Daisy ? " 
 asked Valentin, rather anxiously. 
 
 Margaret turned to find her mother in the 
 crowd. 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer is losing all his money, 
 mother." 
 
 *' My dear, where is he ? show him to me. It 
 cannot be allowed for a moment. I have brought 
 him to Homburg, and I must take care of him ; 
 I should not have let him stir from my side. But 
 I was so taken up in looking at that Kussian 
 woman there that I forgot. Look at her ! I, for 
 my part, should not have dreamed, if I had not 
 seen it, that such a creature as that could exist 
 and be a woman." 
 
 " Dear mother, do come ; he has lost again." 
 
 *^ I am coming. Look ! she has lost. Isn't it 
 fearful ? She ought to be put in a cage and sent 
 to the Zoological. The tigers are much better 
 behaved, and more graceful. Ah 1 here is Mrs. 
 Brown of — of something or other. I used to 
 know her in London. A vulgar old woman. 
 But she tacked on — ^ of ' something on to Brown 
 to make it respectable, and is rich. I had better 
 shake hands with her. How do you do, dear Mrs. 
 Brown ? " she went on ; " this is an unexpected 
 pleasure. Who could have thought of meeting
 
 LAND ahead! 139 
 
 any one from dear old England in this Pande- 
 monium — you of all people. But you are only 
 looking on, of course. Isn't it fearful ? oh, fear- 
 ful ! Deaf, are you ? oh, the waters will do you 
 good — the Elizabethan, that is the nicest. Fear- 
 ful ! " And Frau Hoffman escaped, shaking her 
 hands half to express dismay and half in adieu. 
 
 " Now, Margot, where is this gambler ? Mr. 
 Mortimer, you must come away." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer just took his eye-glass out of his 
 eye to look at her, then put it back to watch the 
 game. 
 
 *^ Mr. Mortimer, you are losing all your money." 
 
 " What is that to you, ma'am ? " 
 
 His excitement made him uncivil. 
 
 " Mr Mortimer, as your friend — 
 
 '* Go to the — ruins, madame." 
 
 *' So I will, Mr. Mortimer. I will go back to 
 the ruins, where I wish we had never met you, 
 and where I hope you will never come indeed." 
 
 " Mother, Mr. Mortimer has lost his eye-glass." 
 
 Margaret had quietly cut the thread and put 
 the eye-glass in her pocket, and now diverted his 
 attention from the game by showing him his loss. 
 
 " I have it here," said he, in a superior tone. 
 " But no ! my goodness I where is it ? why I had 
 it just now. By George, where is it ? " 
 
 '* 1
 
 140 LAND ahead! 
 
 "There are so many pickpockets and thieves 
 about in these sort of places," said Margaret, 
 gravely. 
 
 He looked at her with contempt. 
 
 " They would not take my eye-glass." 
 
 " I don't know," said she. " But what will 
 you do without it ? " (It was a joke amongst 
 them all that Mr. Mortimer could see much 
 better without it than with it.) " You won't be 
 able to see what is turned up." 
 
 " No, more I shall," said he, scrutinizing her 
 face to see if she was laughing. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " asked she, despairingly. 
 "Let's have a good look for it and then come 
 back. Isn't it in your waistcoat pocket ? or — or 
 — no ! how very odd." 
 
 But now he was separated from the group ; 
 they were slowly leaving the room. Margaret 
 turned to Valentin. 
 
 "How shall I give him back his eye-glass 1" 
 asked she. " Ah ! " she exclaimed the next 
 moment, " look, Mr. Mortimer ! how odd ! here 
 is your eye-glass in my dress ; how lucky I 
 found it." 
 
 He took it suspiciously, he rubbed it carefully, 
 he looked at the cut thread, he adjusted the glass 
 in his eye, he scrutinized Margaret's grave face,
 
 LAND ahead! 141 
 
 he shook his head, and finally he walked on to 
 Frau Hoffman without a word. 
 
 " It was all I could think of," said Margaret, 
 as she and Valentin laughed together. 
 
 After that they went for a drive, winding in 
 and out and up and down among the woods, and 
 by degrees Mr. Mortimer recovered his equanimity. 
 They got out to pick flowers ; they sat and talked. 
 Frau Hoffman forgave as Mr. Mortimer forgot. 
 Later, in the Kursaal Gardens, surrounded by 
 mutual acquaintances, finding old friends not 
 seen since long ago, all traces of vexation passed 
 away, and when at last they all sat down to a 
 rechercJie dinner ordered by Mr. Mortimer, while 
 near them and around friendly faces were gathered, 
 smiles shone on every countenance and content 
 seemed to reign in every heart. 
 
 It was a lovely starlight night as they went 
 home. The moon was reflected in the waters of 
 the Maine as the train ran alongside. Margaret 
 put her head out to look ; Valentin was opposite 
 to her. Frau Hoffman and Mr. Mortimer were 
 talking animatedly about some mutual acquaint- 
 ances in the other corner of the carriage. 
 Valentin sat opposite to Margaret, and when 
 presently she looked at him to read his thoughts 
 or understand his silence, she found his eyes fixed
 
 142 LAND ahead! 
 
 on her face with a sort of painful earnestness in 
 them which she had never seen before. She 
 smiled half nervously, seeking to dissipate his 
 trouble if she might. 
 
 " Tell me something pretty about the moon," 
 said she. 
 
 " Its light is very becoming." 
 
 " I did not mean that," said she, laughing. 
 
 " I wish we were starting for our day instead 
 of ffoing home." 
 
 " So do I. How happy we have been." 
 
 " And are." 
 
 " And are." 
 
 " I wish the journey were ten thous 
 
 *^ Oh, those wretched, wretched gamblers to- 
 day ; their faces haunt me still." She covered 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 "Queen Daisy, don't hide yourself from me." 
 And he pulled her hands away. " You called me 
 Valentin to-day." He held one hand still. 
 
 *' And you called me Margot." 
 
 They laughed into each other's eyes. Was 
 that a crimson blush on her cheek ? The moon'*s 
 pale light would not say.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I loved thee, beautiful and kind, 
 
 And plighted an eternal vow ; 
 So altered are thy face and mind, 
 
 'Twere perjury to love thee now. — Lord Nugent. 
 
 A CARRIAGE stood at the gates of Blumenthal, 
 and in it sat Lotta Senden and Frau Steingracht. 
 Fritz, the great dog, stood on the step wagging 
 his tail and looking up at them ; and beside him, 
 with her stocking in her hand, and knitting as 
 she spoke, was Gretchen, Frau Hoffman's little 
 maid. 
 
 "And they went this morning, you say ? " 
 asked Frau Senden, angrily. 
 
 " Yes ; they went this morning, with the 
 English gentleman, Mr. Mortimer.'' 
 
 " But, Martha, is it not too bad ? Fancy their 
 -doinof such a things ! How could Valentin go 
 without telling us ? " 
 
 "Perhaps it was a sudden thought," answered 
 Frau Steingracht, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, he must have known."
 
 144 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 At that moment Dudley Vane came down the 
 stairs into the court-yard. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Vane, is any one at home ? I 
 thought they had gone to Homburg '? " 
 
 " Yes ; did you know it ? I call it rather a 
 shame. They might have given one a chance of 
 going too. I met Von Broderode this morning, 
 and he never said a word about it." 
 
 Just then the Professor came to the door. 
 
 *' Ah, ladies, will you not come in ? There is 
 no one at home ; but pray come in. Good morn- 
 ing, Mr. Vane." 
 
 "Explain this sudden journey to Homburg, 
 Professor," said Lotta, imperiously. 
 
 Frau Steingracht laughed and nodded her head 
 excitedly. 
 
 " I cannot, gnadigste Frau. It was a sudden 
 freak of fancy. Who can explain the whims of 
 women's minds ? I hate Homburg myself, but 
 my good wife adores it, and so does Mr. 
 Mortimer." 
 
 '' Oh, then it was Mr. Mortimer ? '' 
 
 '' I see it," said Martha Steingracht. " It 
 must have been all Mr. Mortimer." 
 
 " But Von Broderode has gone," said Dudley 
 Vane, in an aggrieved voice. 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Mortimer asked him. He was
 
 LAND ahead! 145 
 
 the only one lie could find, I think. I could 
 not go." 
 
 " Oh, Valentin is always hjere." 
 
 " I hope he is not a trouble to you, Professor ? " 
 
 " Trouble, meine gnadigste ! He is the sun- 
 shine of our house." 
 
 " Well, we must go home. Mr. Vane, what do 
 you and Mr. Tudor do this evening ? Failing 
 anybody else, will you come up to Sonnenfels to 
 drink your coffee ? " 
 
 Her tone was bitter, but it suited well with 
 Dudley's frame of mind. He accepted the . 
 invitation gratefully. As for the Professor, he 
 turned into the house with Fjitz, and betook 
 himself to his books with jealous greed over the 
 quiet hour he had obtained. 
 
 Meanwhile Dudley, left alone, turned into the 
 Kursaal Gardens ; and there, pacing up and 
 down over the well-known spots where he had 
 often sat and talked with Margaret, — for her 
 presence hallowed every place to him now, — he * 
 thought over the occurrence that had annoyed 
 him so much. 
 
 " To steal a march on a fellow like that I 
 Never to say a word about it, and to go off for 
 the day — for a whole day — with — her ! He 
 knows I love her. He must know it. But he 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 LAND ahead! 
 
 laughed. He seemed to think it a joke. When 
 he laughed I felt as if I could have killed him. 
 And this man whom I wanted to kill, whom I 
 hate, he saved my life. If I could tell some 
 
 one, ask some one. If she herself " He 
 
 walked up and down angrily. The stolid 
 Germans, sitting smoking their long pipes and 
 drinking their beer, thought him possessed. 
 " Does saving a man's life entitle you to the 
 slavery and to the utter sacrifice of that life you 
 have saved ? " The band burst out into a solemn 
 chorus of Handel. " In that case," he exclaimed 
 aloud, snapping his fingers, " I don't think the 
 life worth having." 
 
 Two or three hours later he was sitting by 
 Martha Steingracht on the terrace at Sonnenfels ; 
 Lotta was pacing up and down in the moonlight 
 (that same moon whose rays were shining on 
 Margaret's face for Valentin just then) with 
 Mr. Tudor. Now and again she paused in her 
 walk, leaning on the parapet as she listened to 
 him ; but to get him to pause in his talk seemed 
 hopeless. It was like the brook that said, " But 
 I go on for ever." Not that the conversation was 
 wholly uninteresting, but Lotta had promised 
 herself a Ute-a-Ute with Dudley Vane for some 
 particular reasons.
 
 LAND ahead! 147 
 
 Meanwhile Martha Steingracht and Dudley- 
 talked in a low tone. 
 
 " But you are not angry ? " 
 " Angry I " answered he, " why should I be ? 
 Oh no. A day is not much after all, and there 
 are three hundred and sixty-five in the year. 
 Oh no ; I am not angry. But still he might 
 have told me." 
 
 " You see he was probably asked in a hurry, 
 said * Yes ' in a hurry, and so it was all done in a 
 hurry. And then I think, at least I have thought 
 sometimes, that he is in love with her." 
 " That has nothing to do with it." 
 " But it would have everything to do with it." 
 " But I am his friend, Madame Steingracht." 
 " Yes, of course ; so you would not interfere 
 with him, even if you wished, and even if he had 
 not saved your life, which binds you to him for 
 ever, even if you did not like him as much as 
 you do." 
 
 " I suppose it does bind me to him for ever ? " 
 
 " How strangely you say that ; as if you were 
 
 only half glad. But I know your heart. How 
 
 often we have talked and wondered over your 
 
 devotion and romantic admiration for Valentin." 
 
 " I felt so grateful to him. Then, you know — -" 
 
 " Yes, I know ; he is so handsome, so strong, 
 
 L 2
 
 148 LAND ahead! 
 
 so bright. He seems born just to wish and to 
 
 J) 
 win. 
 
 " He is a very clever fellow too." 
 
 " Oh yes ; really clever and accomplished. 
 Do you know that Lotta is in love with him ? " 
 
 " What ! Madame Senden ! '' 
 
 " Yes ; she has determined to marry him." 
 
 A ray of light seemed to come to Dudley. 
 
 " But then," — and a storm gathered on his 
 pale, handsome face, — " what does he mean ? v^hy 
 is he so much at Blumenthal ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't be frightened. He will not marry 
 Lotta. You are very chivalrous for our little 
 Margot, though." 
 
 " Yes," said he, confused. " To see her is to 
 love her." 
 
 The old lady looked at him sharply. 
 
 "Listen, Mr. Vane. I think I understand. 
 But you must not interfere with Valentin. You 
 are his true, loyal, and sincere friend. You are 
 bound to him. He is your angel ; you told me so 
 once. And if he loves Margot he must marry her. 
 Those two must be happy ; they are born for it." 
 
 *' And what am I born for ? " 
 
 She looked at him from head to foot, then she 
 looked down on the flashing lights in the town, 
 and passed her hand across her face.
 
 LAND ahead! 149 
 
 " True," said she, in a gentle voice ; " we are 
 all the same. I have said the same as you ; each 
 one thinks he is born to be happy." 
 
 Dudley turned away in silence. This old 
 woman did not understand him ; she forgot his 
 feelings, forgot how his admiration, his worship 
 for Valentin had dwindled, then changed, and 
 had now grow^n into hatred ; she forgot how he 
 must hate the fetters gratitude seemed to impose 
 upon him ; above all, she forgot his mad, earnest 
 love for Margaret. 
 
 A moment more and Mr. Tudor's voice broke 
 in on the silence. " Would he cede him his place, 
 if Madame Steingracht would accept his poor 
 company, and would Dudley go to their hostess ? " 
 
 " Come, Mr. Vane," said Lotta, as he approached 
 her in a far corner of the terrace, " I asked you 
 to Sonnenfels this evening on purpose to talk to 
 you, and you have been wasting the whole evening 
 with my sister-in-law." 
 
 " You seemed so deep in conversation with my 
 reverend tutor, I did not dare to come before." 
 
 " After all," said she, a moment later, as he sat 
 beside her, " I think we are almost as happy here 
 as our friends at Homburg ? " 
 
 " Quite," said he, warmly. 
 
 (Let us hope the recording angel does not note
 
 150 LAND ahead! 
 
 untruths such as these ; they are so frequent, so 
 universal.) 
 
 " It was a curious freak on their part," said she. 
 
 " Very." 
 
 ^' I thought I saw in your face to-day that 
 you were angry, disappointed. That was why I 
 sent for you." 
 
 " I was angry. I should have liked to have 
 gone too." 
 
 "I think I have discovered more than that. 
 Do not be angry, and tell me if I am wrong. I 
 fancy that Margaret and you are not indifferent 
 to each other." 
 
 The colour rushed into his face. It was a new 
 way to put it. Margaret not indifferent to him. 
 Was it so really ? 
 
 " Your silence tells me I am right. You may 
 rely upon me." 
 
 " But " 
 
 "Yes; well, I know, of course you must not 
 tell me. And then you think dust has been 
 thrown in my eyes by my cousin and your friend 
 Valentin. Oh no ; he is a good friend, for he 
 has told me nothing, but I know better." 
 
 " No ; you mistake, Madame Senden. Valentin 
 is my friend ; how could it be otherwise ? but 
 about Miss Hoffman — no ; he has said nothing
 
 LAND ahead! 151 
 
 for me, done nothing for me. I thought — I 
 think " 
 
 " What ? " asked she, sharply. 
 
 " That he liked her himself." 
 
 Dudley was too candid for Lotta to-day. 
 
 " No, that is not possible ; for — oh, no ! He 
 may indeed be carried away now and then. 
 His manner is so foolish, so — empresse. But it 
 
 is nothing serious — could not be ; for Mr. 
 
 Vane, may I rely upon you ? " 
 
 " Most implicitly." 
 
 " But first let me understand. You have held 
 off — you have held aloof from the Hoffmans for 
 Valentin's sake ? You were so scrupulous ; you 
 thought that as he had saved your life " 
 
 " I must not spoil his." 
 
 " Generous, true-hearted friend ! But how 
 mistaken. And Margaret ! she likes you, does 
 she not ? " 
 
 " Likes me ! oh yes." 
 i see. 
 
 Lotta saw more than Dudley thought, but she 
 did not yet see her way out of the difficulty, and 
 sat in the dark for some moments. At last she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Then are you going to ruin her happiness for 
 Valentin's sake ? "
 
 152 LAND ahead! 
 
 After a pause he answered it by anothet' 
 question. 
 
 "I cannot honourably go against Valentin, 
 can I ? " 
 
 " Has he made you any confidence on the 
 subject ? " 
 
 " He has implied that he likes her, that she is 
 his especial friend here ; and, as far as that goes, 
 I should think Valentin might win any woman's 
 love." 
 
 " Valentin is too poor to marry her. You are 
 rich." 
 
 In the distance they heard the tones of 
 Mr. Tudor's voice. As usual, he was having it 
 all his own way. 
 
 " Money will not win Miss Hoffman." 
 
 Lotta might have sighed in her own heart, 
 *'Nor Valentin." But she started up with 
 unwonted energy. 
 
 " But you yourself, with your wealth and all 
 you have to offer her, will win her. I believe 
 she loves you already. Have I not seen her 
 swift blush when you approached ? " 
 
 " That is because she knows I love her." 
 
 " Have I not often seen her screen you from 
 Valentin's sarcasms, or take your part in argu- 
 ment "
 
 L^ND ahead! 153 
 
 " That is because she is kind, and because she 
 and Valentin love to torment each other." 
 
 " Have I not heard her praise you to all of us, 
 and praise England as if she loved it ? " 
 
 " That is to please her mother, and to get you 
 all to talk to me, to leave herself free with 
 Valentin." 
 
 " Good heavens ! Mr. Vane, hold your tongue. 
 I love Valentin." 
 
 She had said it with all the vehemence of 
 mingled passion and anger, but now it was out she 
 sank back shame-covered and confused, not daring 
 to look at the youth to whom she had confessed. 
 
 He saw it all. Her marriage with Valentin 
 was after all only an idea. She loved him. He 
 felt for her with his whole soul ; it was his own 
 hopeless case with Margaret, his eager desire for 
 happiness, it seeming so near, and Valentin the 
 obstacle. Here too was Lotta, lonely and jealous, 
 eager for happiness ; and Valentin — occupied, 
 smiling, merry — the obstacle. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " said he. " What would 
 you have me do ? " 
 
 His heart ached for her. He forgot his hatred, 
 his anger, his sorrow in hers. 
 
 '' May I tell you ? May I trust you 1 " asked 
 she at last.
 
 154 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 "Yes, always.'' 
 
 "It is soon told. I have loved him always. 
 When I was a child, when I was a girl, when I 
 was a wife, and now when I am a widow. I was 
 poor, and they made me marry Hans Senden. 
 Now I am rich Valentin should " 
 
 " I see," said he. 
 
 " As for your not standing in Valentin's way, 
 that is nonsense. Margaret is, can be, nothing 
 to him. Here is his life, and here is his 
 happiness." 
 
 Dudley half shuddered as his look met hers. 
 
 " Because he picks you out of the river are you 
 his slave ? Why, he would have done it for 
 any one. Anybody who could would do it 
 always. No ! believe me ; marry Margaret and 
 be happy." 
 
 How well the doctrine agreed with his own 
 soul's desire none but Dudley knew. 
 
 Later, much later, he was passing Blumenthal 
 when a carriage drove up. He heard Valentin's 
 voice. Instinctively he stole into the shadow. 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Mortimer, good-night," said 
 Mrs. Hoffman, shaking hands. "Thank you a 
 thousand times for the happy day you have 
 given me and my child. Good -night. Count 
 Valentin."
 
 LAND ahead! 155 
 
 " Has it been a Happy day, Margot ? " asked 
 Valentin, as they stood together under the 
 waving acacia-tree. 
 
 " So happy ! so very happy ! " said she. 
 
 " Do you wish for such another ? " 
 
 He held her hand in his, and stood looking 
 into her eyes. 
 
 " Yes. Eeach me a bit of acacia ; it smells so 
 sweet." 
 
 " Call me Valentin," he whispered. 
 
 "Valentin," she said, tremulously. 
 
 So the flower was hers. But he stood waiting 
 still, looking at her. With both hands she put 
 the flower into his ; then vanished under the 
 great dark archway. 
 
 *' You happy lovers," said Mr. Mortimer, 
 laughing. " But quite right ; youth is short." 
 
 Valentin turned to the wall to strike a light. 
 
 "Hola!" cried he. "Why, Dudley! So! 
 playing the eavesdropper — listening 1 " 
 
 Half an instant's reflection told him he must 
 have heard what was intended for himself alone. 
 
 " How is that. Vane ? " called Mr. Mortimer, 
 sternly, from the carriage. 
 
 Valentin laughed. 
 
 "After all, Mr. Mortimer," said he, "I think I 
 will not drive home with you. I want a walk.
 
 156 LAND ahead! 
 
 Come, Dudley," and lie put his arm withia his 
 own, as he drew him along to walk with him. 
 
 Now any one else but Dudley Vane might 
 have hesitated before he walked thus affection- 
 ately with the man of whom he had said in his 
 heart for the last week or fortnight that he hated 
 him ; the pent-up storm raging within him 
 would have been sufficient to keep them yards 
 asunder ; and if that were not enough, the very 
 thoughts and feelings he had had this day, the 
 very words he had used about him, that which 
 he had heard from Lotta Senden, the very fears 
 he had entertained with regard to Margaret 
 would have held him cold and distant. But 
 Dudley Vane was not as most other young men. 
 He was essentially cowardly. His weak health 
 may have had something to do with it ; having 
 been his *' own mother's boy " something more ; 
 now in this especial case there was mingled awe 
 and admiration for Valentin which made him 
 fear a quarrel and shrink from his scorn. 
 
 In Valentin's mind also there were complex 
 feelings striving for the mastery. He was shocked, 
 disappointed to find Dudley listening in the dark ; 
 but he liked him, and this liking could not be 
 extinguished in a moment. He had saved the 
 boy ; was he not to some extent his own boy ?
 
 LAND ahead! 157 
 
 In those dreary days of watching had he not 
 often stood despairingly by his unconscious form, 
 and then how had he wondered what the tenant 
 of the human frame would be like when it came 
 to full life and being once again I Was it after all 
 but this : something mean, shrinking, cowardly, 
 masked, deceptive ? Was Valentin to like him, 
 to trust him, no longer ? For he had liked him ; 
 he had trusted him. Partly, doubtless, because 
 of the opening romance of their acquaintance, and 
 much more, doubtless, because Dudley had so 
 worshipped, so admired, so trusted him. Oh no ; 
 there must be some mistake ; Valentin must still 
 trust him ; he, Valentin, had never had an enemy 
 yet. But if the boy loved Margaret ! well, he 
 must just be told. They had better understand 
 each other at once. Once told, he would see the 
 truth, and must obey fate. As for a quarrel, 
 Valentin was too happy, to-night of all nights, to 
 quarrel with anybody. Even Satan himself must 
 bow to his decision, and flee from before his own 
 powerful and most righteous little finger. So, 
 thus equally pre- occupied, they walked for some 
 distance in silence. Dudley was waiting for 
 Valentin to speak first ; for himself, silence 
 seemed safer than speech, therefore he preserved 
 it intact.
 
 158 LAND ahead! 
 
 At last they came to a favourite spot of 
 Valentin's — a seat on the river -bank among the 
 trees ; it was at the foot of the Sonnenfels hill. 
 
 " Shall we stop here to talk ? " asked Valentin. 
 
 " If you like/' said Dudley, with an assumption 
 of bravado. 
 
 Valentin loosed his arm at once, and they sat 
 down side by side. 
 
 " You were passing, Vane, I suppose ? Say 
 you were passing. You were not standing there 
 waiting ? " 
 
 There was a pause, only the river murmured at 
 their feet ; then it came. 
 
 " I was passing. I hate being cross-questioned." 
 
 " Thank Heaven for that ! " said Valentin, 
 generously. " But why did you stand there ? 
 why did you not come on ? " 
 
 " I — I did not want to be in the way. I heard 
 you saying good-night, and — and I thought I 
 might be a bore." 
 
 It was a half-truth ; Valentin instinctively knew 
 it to be no more. For a half- second a feeling of 
 intense dislike towards Vane came over him ; but 
 just then he caught a glimpse of his face, and the 
 old generous kindness came surging back into his 
 heart. He put out his hand. 
 
 " Shake hands," said he ; "I was annoved that
 
 LAND ahead! 159 
 
 you heard what we said. I was wrong ; forgive 
 it, my friend." 
 
 How the confident tone, how Valentin's 
 generous apology jarred on Dudley, only those 
 who have had the misfortune or weakness to 
 hate a generous foe can tell. But somehow he 
 managed to shake hands and to smile, and to 
 murmur something about the unfortunate coincid- 
 ence of having been there just then. 
 
 " But, Vane," said Valentin, suddenly turning 
 side-ways on the bench, and looking him full in 
 the face, "had we not better understand each 
 other fully at once ? About Fraulein Hoffman, I 
 mean ; I thought you knew — I thought I told 
 you before ; there must be no misunderstanding 
 between us two ; and I thought you knew that — 
 that my happiness rests with her." 
 
 "AVhat if I did know it?" asked Dudley, 
 almost brutally. 
 
 Valentin looked at him surprised ; this was a 
 new side of the English character to him. 
 
 "I thought if you knew it you would not 
 bring unnecessary troubles on her and on both of 
 us by interference." 
 
 " Because you said so was no reason that her 
 happiness should rest with you. Or was it any 
 reason that I should not try my luck ? Who are
 
 160 LAND ahead! 
 
 you to carry everything before you — to rule men 
 and win women as you like ? " 
 
 " I am nothing. But I have beat you in this race, 
 because I was here first. Fraulein Hoffman and I 
 became friends when you were near death's door." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven you had let me go through 
 the door instead of for ever throwing it in my 
 teeth like this ! " said the young man, passionately. 
 
 " I throw it in your teeth ! When have I ever 
 done so, save to congratulate myself on having 
 made your acquaintance thereby ? But I teU you, 
 with regard to Fraulein Hoffman — you are too 
 late!" 
 
 Yane laughed scornfully. 
 
 " Too late ! let us see. I claim my right to 
 try as well as you." 
 
 '■ I only tell you to save yourself trouble and 
 pain. Be warned in time." 
 
 " Look, Yon Broderode : you have saved my 
 life, you are accomplished, you are brilliant, 
 you have everything in your favour to win where 
 you will ; but meanwhile, I love her." 
 
 Now Dudley Yane's love seemed to Dudley 
 Yane a very great and important thing. Yalentin 
 barely repressed a smile ; the youth's form was 
 so slight, his manner was so unformed, sometimes 
 he seemed such a child.
 
 LAND ahead! 161 
 
 Meanwliile Dudley thought he saw the 
 smile. 
 
 " And my love is better than yours, because T 
 never loved before, and because I shall never love 
 again." 
 
 "And the names of my loves are Legion," said 
 Valentin; "but in this is my love better than 
 yours, for it stands alone, and is my first and 
 my last. Believe in my happiness, and in what 
 I tell you, Vane." 
 
 " But I tell you, Von Broderode," said Vane, 
 with sudden fierceness, whispering in his ear, " I 
 will marry her ; you cannot." 
 
 " Cannot ! who says so ? " exclaimed Valentin, 
 startled. 
 
 " I say so. You are too poor. Your cousin, 
 Madame Senden, says so." 
 
 " So you have been talking to Lotta. Now I 
 see it all. Well, Vane, I thank you for the 
 interest you take in my affairs." 
 
 Vane paled. 
 
 " I will never believe it till I hear it from her 
 own lips." 
 
 " You are not to blame. Vane. Of course you 
 admired her." 
 
 " Have you asked her yet ? " 
 
 Valentin met his gaze full. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 62 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " No. But I am sure she loves me. And site 
 is true ; no one is so true as she." 
 
 The moon was setting now. They could see 
 but a small piece of her disc over the great 
 mountains. 
 
 "Vane, it is no use sitting here all night." 
 
 Valentin rose, and stood leaning on his stick, 
 kicking: a great stone into the river with his boot. 
 What evil spirit was it that prompted Dudley to 
 move a step nearer to him ? what did his out- 
 stretched arm mean ? what ■ was that gleam of 
 fiendish determination on his face '? what was 
 the fearful temptation that assailed him ? 
 
 So easily done ! A moment, and all is over. 
 No more that ringing laugh, that grates so on 
 the jealous ear ; no more the soft tones of that 
 voice at which Margaret smiles so feverishly ; no 
 more hatred or anxiety. All peace and victory. 
 
 But what was the thought that stayed his 
 
 hand ? 
 
 It was the thought of the upturned agonized 
 white face in the water, the thought of the 
 reproachful eyes that had met his in kindness so 
 often, the thought of the last death-struggle of 
 the young strong limbs that had saved him so 
 bravely. 
 
 " I say. Vane," said Valentin, turning suddenly
 
 LAND ahead! 163 
 
 in all Tinconsciousness, and waking up from his 
 moment's reverie, "we will say nothing of our 
 conversation to any one — that is understood ? " 
 
 " Yes ; let that be understood," said the other. 
 He was trembling all over with the awful effort 
 he had just made over himself. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? Not to any one." 
 
 " Not to any one." 
 
 " I say, old fellow," exclaimed Valentin, all 
 kindness once more, and really too happy in his 
 confidence to dream of danger from Dudley's 
 rivalry, " you are ill. It is this night air. You 
 have got a chill. It is so damp here. How 
 thoughtless of me to have brought you here." 
 
 Valentin's care was wormwood to Vane. 
 
 " I am all right." 
 
 " No, you are not. You'll be getting a fever 
 or something. Will yoti go straight home 1 
 Shall I come with you ? " 
 
 " No ; I am all right : good-night. Don't come : 
 good-night." 
 
 " You look as pale as a ghost." 
 
 " Good-night," called Dudley's receding voice. 
 
 Strange ! the more Valentin did for him now 
 the more he hated him. The very tones of his 
 kindly voice were so many thorns in his flesh. 
 Did he fear him so little ? 
 
 M 2
 
 1<34 LAND ahead! 
 
 Valentin climbed the hill slowly, half singing ; 
 
 a little song of Margaret's to himself. ^ 
 
 1 
 
 " Auf wiedersehen ! " « 
 
 ,1 
 
 sang he aloud as he gained the terrace at 
 Sonnenfels. i 
 
 A figure in a white dress started from the i 
 shadow. J 
 
 " Auf wiedersehen indeed, Valentin," said j 
 Lotta's voice. " I thought you were never ' 
 coming." 
 
 "Have you been waiting?" asked he, con- 
 strainedly. 
 
 " I was anxious. I did not know where you 
 
 were." 
 
 J I 
 
 " How can you expect always to know where I 
 am, Lotta ? You must learn to get used to it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Valentin was rough, rude, horrid to-night. 
 
 " There are two English lines of poetry 
 Lotta, something like this. They will apply to i 
 our future. ! 
 
 ' Our lives are set so far apart ' 
 
 We shall not hear each other speak.' ' 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
 Is it not sad ? " ] 
 
 ,1 
 
 Then he turned away and went into the house. •
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tliolosmi. Je me dirais que I'amitie, comme la chevalerie d'autrefois, 
 veut ses garanties et ses preuves ; qu'avant d'armer un homme notre 
 ami, il faut s'assurer qu'il n'abusera pas de rarme sacree qu'on lui j 
 
 confie, et qu'enfin, pour la sentir resonner a son cote, comme une forte j 
 
 epee sur laquelle on compte, c'est bien le moins qu'on Tait trempee 
 dans des larmes communes. 
 
 Marecat. Oui — s'il faut qu'il pleure. 
 
 Vigneux. Ou diable voulez vous qu'on le trouve ? ; 
 
 TJiolosan. Eh ! qui salt, Messiers ? La ou on I'attend le moins 
 peut-etre. Dans le dernier homme auquel on pense . . Dans celui-la 
 meme auquel on refuse le titre d'ami . . et qui, cependant, par I'effet i 
 
 d'une etrange sympathie, sans vous rien dire, epouse vos interets i 
 
 menaces comme s'ils etaient les siens, et s'applique a vous defendre I 
 
 mieux que vous ne vous defendez vous-meme. I 
 
 Nos Intimes. j 
 
 But life must be lighteDed and tlie days must be \ 
 
 filled, and the golden days of summer are few ; : 
 
 the season too is fleeting, and who knows when i 
 
 the merry party at Sonnenthal may be assembled ) 
 
 again ? Moreover, must not Frau Hofiman, i 
 
 Mr. Tudor, and Mr. Mortimer be amused ? What ^ 
 
 do they know of the envy, malice, and hatred i 
 
 raging in the young hearts around them ? what 
 are these tragedies to them ? Is not life a dreary
 
 166 LAND ahead! 
 
 round of water-drinking, bad dinners, and 
 disagreeable duties ? and is not an excursion 
 somewhere much better than sitting prosing at 
 home, listening to the murmur of the Khine, and. 
 the eternal talk of the young men, and the 
 childish laugh of Margaret ? Besides, do not the 
 young people love a little expedition too, although 
 they do pretend to be so happy over their 
 sketching and music, and in those eternal Kursaal 
 Gardens ? Above all, is there not a wonderful 
 restaurant at Frankfort where you may get a 
 marvellously good dinner, and has not Mr, 
 Mortimer been wishing to dine there ever since 
 he left London ? 
 
 So, there, on one of these gloriously bright 
 days, we may see all our Sonnenthal friends. 
 What a fuss they are in ; and how merrily 
 sounds Margaret's laughter as she stands on the 
 steps of the " Westend " Hotel, aud is answering 
 Valentin's and Mr. Mortimer's sallies. Fran 
 Steingracht smiles at the bright girl, and dreams 
 of the bright future in store for her hero. But 
 here come the carriages, and a frown settles on 
 the good lady's brow as she sees Dudley seating 
 himself with Margaret and Mr. Mortimer ; 
 moreover, Lotta just then calls to Valentin, and 
 Mr. Tudor goes with him.
 
 LAND ahead! 167 
 
 " Herr Professor, are you and I to go together?" 
 asks Frau Steingracht, waking Hans Hoffman 
 from the light abstraction with which he was 
 gazing on the arrangements, as though he were 
 acquainted with the interests of the party, but as 
 though he were not of it. 
 
 " That will give me supreme happiness," said 
 he, answerino^ Frau SteinOTacht. 
 
 " But get Mr. Tudor then, or you will have no 
 one to quarrel with, and will be miserable." 
 
 " As if man shared the dog's nature, gnadigste 
 Frau, and in fighting found peace and satis- 
 faction." 
 
 " I do not inquire into the reason why, Herr 
 Professor; I only judge from what I have seen. 
 Fetch then the Herr Pastor. But no ; leave him ; 
 I see he is better so. Lotta and Valentin will 
 like a companion. Pray leave him." 
 
 Frau Steingracht was alarmed to see the 
 Professor's voice had already recalled Mr. Tudor, 
 that he was shutting the carriage-door on 
 Valentin and Lotta, and that now there was no 
 means of preventing their driving in undisturbed 
 companionship. 
 
 "Oh, Herr Professor ! " said Frau Steingracht, 
 drawing a long, rueful face as Hans Hoffman 
 came back to her.
 
 168 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Have I done wrong ? I thought you wanted 
 Mr. Tudor ! " 
 
 " No ; you have done very wrong, very 
 wrong ! But men are so stupid. Where is my 
 carriage ? Come along. Are we to close the 
 procession ? " 
 
 After all, surely it did not so very much 
 matter; for the carriages kept close together, 
 and conversation circulated freely from one to 
 the other. Was it likely that the Professor 
 would let Margaret pass the group of statues 
 representing Gutenberg, Faust, and Schoifer, the 
 immortal inventors of printing, without drawing 
 her attention to it, whatever Dudley Vane might 
 be saying ; and had not Mr. Tudor volumes to 
 say about the shops in the Zeil, about the china 
 there ; and did not Lotta Senden vote them both 
 the greatest bores she had ever met, when they 
 would show her a window where an officer, a 
 friend of theirs, was smoking at the time of the 
 barricades in '48, and the end of his cigar was 
 shot off! What did she care about the cigar or 
 the barricades ? Had not she won a smile from 
 Valentin, and were not his smiles her life ? 
 What to Frau Hoffman was this wonderfully 
 picturesquely-situated house at the end of the 
 street, projecting dangerously therefrom, which
 
 LAND ahead! 169 
 
 they said had been quite riddled with bullets, 
 when she had never seen Dudley Yane before in 
 such high spirits as he was in now, or such a 
 shadow on Mr. Mortimer's brow, or such a shade 
 of utter dejection on her child's mobile face ? 
 The humours of the people in her fly were her 
 riddle, and the bullets were nothing to her. 
 
 Passing a monument, she thought to say some- 
 thing, so she said, " Herrlich ! " And Mr. 
 Mortimer left off gazing at Dudley Vane, and 
 put up his eye-glass to look. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Hoffman, if you call that 
 * Herrlich ' you are easily pleased ; that is all 
 I can say." 
 
 " I meant it was pretty." 
 
 " Pretty ! it is more practical than pretty — 
 more liberal than artistic in design," said he, 
 testily. 
 
 "It is to the memory of the Hessian soldiers 
 killed at the siege in 1792," said the Professor, 
 from the other carriage. 
 
 "Erected by the King of Prussia," added 
 Mr. Tudor, pleased to have something to add. 
 
 " It wants a centre and a summit," said 
 Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 " You are difficult, Mr. Mortimer," said Mar- 
 s^aret. " But now here we come to Bethman's
 
 170 LAND ahead! 
 
 museum, and there will be true art enough here, I 
 hope, even for you/' 
 
 " Have you been before ? " asked Dudley. 
 
 *' No. I go by what my father has said." 
 
 Were they satisfied ? A silence fell on them 
 all at first ; it was as though they feared to 
 tread, as though figuratively they took their shoes 
 from ojff their feet, for the place whereon they stood 
 seemed holy ground. Even Mr. Tudor's frothy 
 speech was hushed. Valentin drew near to 
 Margot, and peace in the presence of the beauty 
 around seemed to fall upon them both. Margaret's 
 eyes wandered from his face to the Greek sculp- 
 ture and the classical art around them, and she 
 felt — how can I tell you in English ? for she 
 whispered it to him in German — elevated, raised, 
 strengthened — as if her strength had swelled out 
 suddenly as it were, and as if the strength and 
 the peace of Heaven had come to her, and she 
 had left earth far behind ; Valentin understood 
 it so with her. Did none of the others feel it 
 too ? Why have only some of us eyes to see and 
 souls to understand ? Mr. Tudor began to find 
 his tongue. Margaret and Valentin turned away ; 
 he jarred upon both. 
 
 They gazed upon the Diane Chasseresse, 
 instinct with life and vivacity and grace, at the
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 171 
 
 Gladiators, at the Apollo Belvidere, and at the 
 Laocoon. 
 
 " It is a perfect cast of the original found at 
 Eome in the thirteenth century, now in the 
 Vatican, Kindlein," said the Professor's voice close 
 to Margot. 
 
 *' Is it ? " said she. 
 
 "It is the impersonation of human pain and 
 agony and human effort," said Valentin, passion- 
 ately. 
 
 " It is a beautiful pain," said she, " if one 
 could say such a thing." 
 
 The Professor turned away. How she looked, 
 how she spoke to Valentin : her heart was in her 
 face. Was his place already so well filled then ? 
 was there no corner left in his child's heart for 
 him there ? If such a gentle spirit as his could 
 feel bitterness, he felt it then as he turned back 
 by himself and gazed, rapt, at the Laocoon. 
 What wild fluttering of his soul for sympathy 
 was that with which the old man hungered 
 then ? why gaze at the highest art of human 
 agony thus heart-searchingly ? Was he thinking 
 that this life must be so, that this world passeth 
 away, that one joy after another leaves us 
 here, and that our hearts .must be set on things 
 above ere we can find peace ? What was the
 
 172 LAND ahead! 
 
 light that chased the shadow from his face at 
 last? 
 
 Just then the curtain was drawn aside, and 
 with the Ariadne all seemed to spring into life 
 and joy and animation at once. Ariadne, in her 
 warm pink light, sitting on her mythical tiger. 
 She lives, she breathes, she is perfect grace, 
 perfect ease, perfect symmetry ; one arm grasping 
 the foot seems to imply strength, the other rest- 
 ing gracefully on the neck of the animal speaks 
 of peace. Mr. Mortimer, dropping his eye-glass, 
 hazarded that the arm was a little too straight, 
 and Mr. Tudor maintained that the back and 
 shoulder-blades are too broad and flat ; and then 
 Mr. Mortimer, putting up his eye-glass once 
 more, settled that one must look and look again 
 before one can decide such questions satisfactorily. 
 
 *' What do you say to it. Queen Daisy ? " 
 whispered Valentin. 
 
 " It is a subject to dream about," said Margot ; 
 *^ it is a thing of beauty that must be a joy for 
 ever.^' 
 
 Just as they left the museum Frau Steingracht 
 tripped, and exclaimed with sudden pain. Mr. 
 Mortimer was by her side in an instant. 
 
 " You will not do at all," said she, vaguely ; 
 *' I must have a stronger arm than yours."
 
 LAND ahead! 173 
 
 Mr. Mortimer adjusted his eye-glass, but she 
 did not care. 
 
 " Mr. Yane, come here.^^ 
 
 Safely fettered with her arm in his, was she 
 not triumphant ? Should she not, however, have 
 forborne that smile of victory in the direction of 
 Valentin and Lotta ? Both saw it, and while the 
 one laughed, the other saw unveiled a chapter of 
 hostile diplomacy. But though Valentin only 
 laughed, he was not slow to take the hint, and 
 seeing Dudley safely pinioned, he quickly found 
 himself by Margot's side, while Mr. Tudor took 
 his seat beside Frau Senden. Was she ever so 
 bored in her life ? 
 
 " Are you glad, Queen Daisy ? " asked Valentin 
 of the girl. 
 
 A flush of pleasure was her answer; while 
 Mr. Mortimer laughed, and said his countryman 
 had been outwitted. 
 
 " I think he meant me to come here," said 
 Valentin. 
 
 How quickly the time flew then ; and was not 
 everything beautiful to them both — even the 
 Jews' quarter ? though, as Mr. Mortimer said — 
 
 '^ Antiquity is not represented here in a tempt- 
 ing form." 
 
 Certainly it is not. Dirt and dilapidation,
 
 174 LAND ahead! 
 
 little broken steps, miserable wooden walls, outer 
 shells of houses, and windows without glass are 
 the principal landmarks. There they saw the 
 house where the mother of the E s lived. 
 
 " And here she always returned with pleasure," 
 said Frau Hoffman, with natural amazement, " till 
 at last she came back to die." 
 
 As they stopped outside the old Cathedral the 
 other carriage drew up by theirs. Dudley's face 
 was overcast, and he looked jealously at Valentin 
 and Margaret. As for them, they were looking 
 at the carvings and sculptured figures, and they 
 were listening to Mr. Mortimer, who was telling 
 them the history of the unfinished tower, and 
 pointing out Moses with the tablets of command- 
 ments, and Aaron in his priest's dress. 
 
 " Mr. Vane, look at Fraulein Margaret. What 
 a change has come over her I Her face is radiant 
 now. What a beautifier happiness is to be sure ! " 
 
 "It is the sunshine on her hair, Frau 
 Steingracht," said he ; " and because she is 
 amused." 
 
 " No, no. How blind some men are." 
 
 In the Eomerberg Mr. Tudor and the Professor 
 were loud in admiration of the wonderful carvings 
 and adornments on the frontages of the houses ; 
 on one dating from the fourteenth century Mr.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 175 
 
 Tudor affirmed there was a whole history to be 
 read. 
 
 '' It would be an interesting study to discover 
 it/' said the Professor. 
 
 " Will not you stay to decipher it ? " asked 
 Mr. Tudor. " To you such lore is meat and 
 drink, and dinner is nothing in comparison. '^ 
 
 The Professor looked at Margot, but she had 
 not heard, and was smiling at Valentin. Ah ! he 
 missed the brip^ht congenial smile : it had never 
 failed him in the old days. Now her heart and 
 eyes seemed to be full of something else. Must 
 age ever be shelved thus ? And then with quick 
 pang of remorse he rebuked himself, and chased 
 the unworthy thought away. Was not Margot's 
 happiness his ? In the old days, when the calm 
 had been almost monotonous, and their com- 
 panioDship almost undisturbed, then had he not 
 sighed for such bright ideal to wake Margot into 
 life ; and now that Valentin had come, how did 
 he feel towards him ? Ah ! but it is hard to 
 give up the one bright star of life, and Prince 
 Charming taking your best as his due makes it 
 no easier. 
 
 Some passing expression of pain on the old 
 man's face Valentin cauo-ht as he sat there in the 
 sunshine. For the moment he was alone with
 
 176 LAND ahead! 
 
 Margaret, Frau Hoffman and Mr. Mortimer 
 having insisted on a nearer inspection of one of 
 the houses than could be had from the carriage. 
 
 " Is your father tired, Queen Daisy ? " 
 
 " Tired ? " answered she, looking up quickly 
 towards the Professor ; and meeting his eye, she 
 gave him a smile to the full as tender as even he 
 could have wished. *' Tired ? No ; he is only 
 thinking. He often goes into dreamland when 
 he thinks he sees me happy.'' 
 
 " Thinks he sees ! Are you not happy then ? " 
 
 " Yes, now," answered she eagerly. " But I 
 mean, that often I have pretended to be happy 
 to please him when I was not so really. Do not 
 laugh at me. But you know he is so good and 
 gentle one could not trouble him, and when one 
 saw him sad one pretended to be merry, to send 
 his sorrow away. It was a make-believe of 
 happiness." 
 
 " But why was he troubled ? " 
 
 " Cannot you understand feeling all sorts of 
 hopes and aspirations which are never satisfied, 
 never fulfilled 1 Cannot you fancy feeling power 
 within you which you cannot express, or realize, 
 or put into practice ? Cannot you fancy feeling 
 below yourself ? " 
 
 *' Perhaps."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 177 
 
 *' It is that that has embittered his life. He is 
 ever striving, straining upwards. But everything 
 is against him. Poverty most ; then position and 
 interest fail him. He is for ever nearing the 
 shore, and then a great wave of adverse criticism 
 comes and carries him right back into the sea of 
 trouble and toil. It is dreadful." 
 
 " And you too know something of this ? " 
 
 " Yes, but differently, for it is for him. I 
 have longed to succeed, to produce, too ; but if 
 he could do it, then I should rest content. There 
 would be such a joy in his triumph, I should be 
 at peace for ever." 
 
 " But why have you pretended to be happy ? 
 Would not your sympathy in his hopes have been 
 greater comfort ? " 
 
 *' Ah ! if there had been a chance of success, 
 yes. But failure is so bitter. AVhen I have seen 
 all his science, all his labour, all his hopes end in 
 nothing, then I have cried out angrily that all 
 hope was false, and I hated it, and I thought 
 there could be no happiness, but a sort of dull 
 despair. So too, knowing how he had suffered, 
 knowing how his dreams, ambitions, yearnings 
 were limitless, were infinite, I never told him I 
 hoped too ; I ignored hope." 
 
 " And that was a make-believe too ? " 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Yes ; for what is life without hope, without 
 aim, ambition, purpose ? Still, have I not longed 
 to stifle it ? have I not wished, almost prayed, for 
 something which should soothe away all aspiration, 
 and root out all desire before it should gain 
 strength enough to bring disappointment ? " 
 
 '' And so '' 
 
 " And so, knowing how I sufl'ered in watching 
 him, I thought he must suffer through me ; that 
 he must never dream but that I was happy and 
 contented; that to watch the Ehine rolling by, 
 and to play to him in the evening hours, and to 
 tend the flowers when the world is waking, is life 
 enough for my modest soul." 
 
 " Dear Margaret " 
 
 "And," she went on, catching sudden know- 
 ledge of his eager sympathy, " I wanted him to 
 feel I knew it all, but I was determined he should 
 never know how I knew it all. He never guessed 
 that because I sufi'ered too — and women do sufi'er 
 so, more than men, for they have not their freedom 
 and are so circumscribed in their social existence — 
 that thus I knew so well how to sympathize with 
 him. I would spend my life," she added with 
 young enthusiasm, "in soothing his unrest and 
 disquietude, but he must never know that my 
 heart has been torn with like pains."
 
 LAND ahead! 179 
 
 "Who would have dreamed, looking at you 
 both, of this conflict of despair and hope ? Frau 
 Hoffman is so difierent." 
 
 " Oh yes ; she beats about her cage in a 
 different way, and her cares are so different ; 
 surface cares, and easily remedied. The price of 
 meat and the cut of clothes are the chief causes 
 of annoyance and difficulty to her. Poor dear 
 Mutterlein." 
 
 But here was the Mutterlein returning to the 
 carriage, followed by Mr. Mortimer, and they 
 went on with their drive. The narrow streets, 
 the 'overhanging houses, the flowers in the 
 windows, the gleams of sunlight peering here 
 and stealing there, dispersing the darkness and 
 smiling down suddenly on the children's heads, 
 the patches of colour on the walls, Avould need a 
 Prout to paint, but may make a poet dream. 
 
 "And meanwhile," said the Professor, suddenly 
 waking from his day-dream, " God over all looks 
 down on the living history." 
 
 Dudley stared at him, and was relieved at 
 finding he was not expected to answer, for Mr. 
 Tudor had just discovered that they were passing 
 the house where Goethe was born, and his excite- 
 ment was intense. The others must certainly 
 stop and look at it. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 LAND ahead! 
 
 1 
 I 
 
 *'That great man, that great master," said 
 
 Mr. Tudor, takino^ off his hat. i 
 
 " Why, you love him as much as Shakspere, 
 
 Tudor," said the Professor. "If I remember ; 
 
 rightly, that is how you greet Shakspere's name." : 
 
 " It is so. It may be so," said Mr. Tudor, ; 
 
 slightly confused. " However, I worship Shak- ! 
 
 spere ; I admire Goethe." i 
 
 " An Englishman's answer," said Valentin. i 
 
 "Goethe was the man of the hour," said the i 
 
 Professor. ^' Scepticism and the mockery of i 
 human nature had been exhausted by Voltaire ; 
 false sentiment by Eousseau ; the mean between 
 
 the two, namely, the cultivation of self, and the i 
 
 refined enjoyment of the world, was Goethe's I 
 
 religion, and his preaching was widely received, j 
 
 As a moral philosopher, he attained to a sur- i 
 prising eminence." 
 
 " Meine gnadigste," said Mr. Tudor impatiently I 
 
 to Lotta, * shall we go on ? the sun is very hot. j 
 
 The fact is," he continued, when the carriage was | 
 
 again in motion, " I know next to nothing about ^ 
 
 Goethe ; I am a bad German scholar, but I do \ 
 
 not like our dear Professor to have too much his I 
 
 own way." \ 
 
 Lotta laughed ; but the next moment they ! 
 
 were stopped again by the Professor insisting on i
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 181 
 
 their noticing Luther's house in the Dom Platz. 
 His lion-hearted Luther he called him. 
 
 " Cannot you fancy him, Tudor,'' said Hans 
 Hoflfman, enthusiastically, as they all looked up 
 at the quaint, curious corner house, " cannot 
 you fancy him sitting there in that pretty project- 
 ing bow -window, whence he can see so many 
 ways, sitting half-abstracted at his studies and 
 meditations, watching the busy practical world 
 without ? " 
 
 Margaret discovered his bust fixed outside 
 above the door. 
 
 " And there is writing, Engelein," said Hans 
 Hoffman. '' What is it ? " 
 
 But Margaret could not read, so Valentin 
 jumped out and read aloud : "In silentio et spa 
 erit fortitudo vestra." 
 
 " What a curious house that is just opposite,'* 
 said Frau Steingracht. 
 
 " Yes ; the owner thereof could almost have 
 shaken hands with Luther across the street out 
 of the window if they had liked," said Margaret. 
 
 At last all the sight-seeing was over, and they 
 returned to their hotel for dinner. Were they 
 not tired ? were they not glad to be quiet in the 
 garden for awhile to rest ? Margot at least was 
 glad, and sat apart thinking. They were hap'py
 
 182 LAND ahead! 
 
 thoughts, and one smile rippled after another 
 
 across her face. j 
 
 " You are a cruel little coquette, Kindlein, after '. 
 
 all," said Lotta Senden, coming up to her, and ' 
 
 smiling as she spoke. '■ 
 
 Margaret's expression changed to one of anger. I 
 
 " Oh ! now we are proud and haughty as any 
 queen. But forgive me, for I believe you have a 
 
 good heart under it all. Dudley Vane is miser- j 
 
 able, and it is your doing." i 
 
 The colour flamed in Margot's cheeks, and she 
 
 half rose to retain Frau Senden, but Lotta did not ^ 
 
 wish to stay and moved away at once. Just then \ 
 
 Dudley himself came up to her. ^ 
 
 " May I sit by you. Queen Daisy ? " 1 
 
 Margaret looked very grave, and finished ; 
 
 plucking the flower to pieces which she held in I 
 
 her hand. • \ 
 
 " You must not call me that," said she. "It ! 
 is not your name for me." 
 
 There was a long, dreadful silence ; and then 
 
 the youth's very awkwardness overcame her, and ! 
 
 she felt forgiving. ; 
 
 " I wanted to ask you something," said he, in j 
 
 a low trembling voice. | 
 
 "Yes." j 
 
 She turned to him and smiled as she spoke.
 
 LAND ahead! 183 
 
 " I want you to promise me something." 
 
 She felt frightened ; she looked up at him, and 
 his nervousness reassured her. 
 
 " It is not much." 
 
 ''No." . 
 
 " You will not tell any one ? " 
 
 ''No." 
 
 " You go with every one except me, you like 
 every one except me." 
 
 " No," said she. 
 
 (Perhaps she was a coquette after all, or was 
 she only kind-hearted ?) 
 
 " And I want you to come for a drive all alone 
 with me." 
 
 She looked up at him, intensely relieved. Was 
 that all ? 
 
 "If mother will come, I will." 
 
 " I will ask Mrs. Hoffman," said he, rising. 
 
 Margaret laughed outright at her tragic fears, 
 and she smiled at him. 
 
 " I think," said he, standing before her on 
 one leg, and feeling suddenly bolder, "that if 
 I had you all to myself, if I had a chance, that 
 there is no reason why you should not like me as 
 well as any other fellow." 
 
 Margaret was too busy over the flower to 
 answer.
 
 184 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' But I never do have a chance." 
 
 Then he turned to go. 
 
 *' I say," said he, turning back. 
 
 *'Yes," said she, half smiling. 
 
 " You won't say anything to any one ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 But the smile had faded, and there was a frown 
 instead. 
 
 How hard it is that people cannot learn to use 
 their talents aright ! Why could not every one 
 use their eyes in looking at the beauties of 
 Nature, the trees, the flowers, rather than in 
 fixing them on Dudley and Margaret, and in 
 straining their ears to catch the few words 
 they said ? 
 
 " I cannot understand it," said Frau Hoffman. 
 " I cannot make out sometimes which it is." 
 
 "This will never do," said Frau Steingracht. 
 ** Mr. Mortimer, come here," and she pointed with 
 her fan towards them. '' Your Gilded Vane would 
 not hear of it, would he ? besides, Valentin must 
 marry her." 
 
 '' By George ! how odd ! yes, I see. I must 
 speak to Tudor — must indeed. Vane must be 
 told." 
 
 The eye-glass underwent an extra cleaning in 
 consequence.
 
 LAND ahead! 185 
 
 As for Valentin, he was on thorns till he had 
 taken Dudley's place, and then Margaret's quiet 
 smile of happiness so reassured him he forgot the 
 thorns. 
 
 After all, the principal result of all these 
 observations was that after dinner Mr. Tudor 
 and Mr. Mortimer might have been seen pacing 
 up and down under the trees, smoking, and 
 talking earnestly together for more than an hour. 
 It was a strange ending to the day, for hitherto 
 Mr. Mortimer had seen but little of Mr. Tudor, 
 save at some little distance, and mostly through 
 his eye-glass, which, as they all knew, was almost 
 equivalent to not seeing him at all.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 What I can redress, 
 As I shall find the time to friend, I will. 
 
 Macbeth, Act iv. Sc. 3. 
 
 Striving to better, oft we mar what's well. 
 
 King Lear, Act i. Sc. 4. 
 
 There is something pathetic in the sight of an 
 old bachelor struggling with the love-affair of two 
 young people. He might as well dandle a baby, 
 or try to undertake any other equally incongruous 
 occupation. He is thoroughly out of his element ; 
 it disturbs his usual train of thought, his 
 accustomed round of existence ; he is reminded 
 once more that cookery and comfort are not the 
 be-all and end-all of existence ; he has to go off 
 into dreamland from which there is no acknow- 
 ledged waking ; he has to make calculations with 
 unknown quantities, and the most every-day 
 events trouble him with the wildest, and yet, in this 
 new dispensation, extremely possible sequences. 
 Pathetic it is too, because he is forced again to 
 study minutely the feminine mind ; and this
 
 LAND ahead! 187 
 
 study he consigned to oblivion years and years 
 ago, when the romance of his life failed and 
 consigned him to solitude and to play the part 
 of a unit on the human stage for ever after. It 
 is alike pathetic and painful to see him rummaging 
 in the ashes of that old, old story once more. 
 Thus was Mr. Mortimer occupied as he sat at a 
 little round table in the garden of " The Three 
 Eoses " on the day after the expedition to Frank- 
 fort. The waters of the river danced gaily before 
 him, as though coquetting with his indifference, 
 and as though they would dissipate his vexation 
 with their allurinsf wiles, but it was all in vain. 
 Mr. Mortimer saw them not. There was a cloud 
 on his brow, and his head rested wearily on his 
 hand, as though thought were weighing him 
 down. Old memories, hopes, faded indeed, but 
 still with a breath of sweetness about them, were 
 with him ; dreams of long ago, and a great stretch 
 of life lived since, long, barren, hopeless years, 
 filled his brain ; it seemed to him as if he had 
 come across a desert of pain. And after all, was 
 this his Canaan ? He started with a sudden 
 shudder. He had not looked forward enough; 
 he had gone on just from day to day, pushing 
 just this little thorn aside, lightening that burden, 
 doing just what came to him. But he had not
 
 188 LAND ahead! ; 
 
 looked at life broadly in the mass. Was there ; 
 
 ever such an aimless, purposeless existence as his? ; 
 
 was there ever such a narrow philosophy ? Hence- , 
 
 forward he would do more. Others must profit i 
 
 i 
 by his experience. Others, those for whom he ) 
 
 cared, must shape their lives differently ; they ■ 
 
 must avoid that desert of pain, and their road | 
 
 must lead them straighter to a more glorious ; 
 
 Canaan. i 
 
 But then that troublesome fact of love-making : 
 
 recurred to him ; and the whims and incompre- i 
 
 hensible caprices of the feminine mind troubled | 
 
 him once more. Margaret Hoffman was charming, ! 
 
 was the ideal to Mr. Mortimer of all that was | 
 
 desirable, only she was poor. His friend the \ 
 
 Gilded Vane would never allow it. Moreover, i 
 
 Dudley was so young. Moreover, would Mar- I 
 
 garet marry him ? Certainly she seemed to j 
 
 prefer Valentin. But then Valentin was poor, i 
 
 and then Valentin seemed so dilettante, so con- ] 
 
 fident, so merry, so happy, he seemed so content ' 
 
 that Mr. Mortimer felt himself looking on to 
 
 indefinite suspense while Valentin was enjoying • ; 
 
 himself and not putting any one out of their | 
 
 misery. " These young Germans are I believe ■ 
 
 ages proposing, and ages afterwards marrying," | 
 
 thought he to himself; " and meanwhile, who knows
 
 LAND ahead! 189 
 
 what folly young Vane may perpetrate ? " Mr. 
 Mortimer was saved the trouble of answerino-, for 
 just then Mr. Tudor arrived and took a seat 
 beside him. 
 
 Now Mr. Tudor had been sorely perplexed by 
 the active interest which Mr. Mortimer had ex- 
 pressed in the personal affairs of Dudley Vane. 
 Not that Mr. Tudor was ignorant of what was 
 going on, or was at all indifferent, but he had 
 said nothing. Silence seemed to him at once the 
 safest and the least troublesome line of conduct. 
 It was hard on Mr. Tudor that he had been put 
 into the Church. This incumbency of Son nen thai 
 was such a narrow position to adorn ; in diplomacy 
 he would have shone as the sun itself; at least 
 he often said so. 
 
 But in the position he held towards Sir Gilbert 
 Vane and his nephew he had preferred to main- 
 tain silence with reo^ard to Maro^aret Hoffman. 
 It was not for him to quarrel with Dudley ; for 
 did not Dudley bring him in £200 a year? It 
 was not for him to quarrel with Sir Gilbert ; for 
 had not Sir Gilbert the fat living of Froghambury 
 in his gift, and might it not be vacant any day ? 
 Then again, to come nearer home, frustrating 
 Dudley was also frustrating Frau Senden's 
 plans ; and was not Sonnenfels a most charming
 
 190 . LAND ahead! 
 
 house to dine or to spend any odd hours and to 
 refresh the weary brain and mind ? As to the 
 HofFmans, were they not his dear friends ? Was 
 not Mrs. Hoffman his dear countrywoman, in 
 exile like himself from dear old England by the 
 force of circumstances, and did not that very fact 
 enforce his most chivalrous devotion ? Margaret 
 of course was an angel, and it was not for him, a 
 poor grovelling mortal, to say what would be best 
 for her. Therefore, all things considered, Mr. 
 Tudor had studiously ignored Dudley's wild 
 admiration for Margaret, and Valentin's happy 
 love-dream. Valentin and Margaret, he imagined, 
 could take care of themselves, and he, Mr. 
 Tudor, would not endanger his position either at 
 Blumenthal or at Sonnenfels or at Froghambury 
 by meddling. But now here was Mr. Mortimer 
 coming like a great red-hot poker into the gentle 
 little homely fire that flickered out on the party 
 so pleasantly, and wanting to stir it all up and 
 scatter the happy assemblage, and prevent all 
 future comfort. Had not Mr. Tudor already 
 thought it all over ? But still he was alarmed 
 by Mr. Mortimer's representations, and when 
 they had returned from Frankfort, had not he 
 sat up half the night, smoking one cigar after 
 another, thinking what he should do ? Had he
 
 LAND ahead! 191 
 
 not even begun two letters to Sir Gilbert, and 
 had he not afterwards consigned both of them to 
 the flames ? 
 
 Now to-day he had returned to his former 
 policy, and, with the intention of impressing the 
 desirability of it on Mr. Mortimer, he came to him 
 at " The Three Koses." 
 
 To see one old bachelor struggling over a love- 
 story, or dandling a baby, is perhaps pathetic, 
 but when tw^o join in the occupation the step is 
 taken, and pathos and sublimity degenerate into 
 the ridiculous. They are impotent beside their 
 object, and one asks with a gesture of contempt, 
 " What can such as they do in such a case ? " 
 
 " I have been thinking it over, Mr. Mortimer," 
 said Tudor, " and I think the best thing we can 
 do is to let W'cll alone." 
 
 " But I do not think it is w^ell. I for my part 
 cannot let it alone. I am Vane's friend, and to 
 see his heir make a fool of himself, and brinor 
 home a German bride, does not enter into my 
 philosophy at all." 
 
 " But you are running aw^ay with an idea ; the 
 girl likes the Prussian ; I don't beheve she cares 
 a bit for my poor hobble -dy-hoy Dudley." 
 
 " Vane is rich ; the Hoffmans are poor. Von 
 Broderode also is poor. Mrs. Hoffman is no fool.
 
 192 LAND ahead! 
 
 It does not do to be too incredulous ; some 
 things are true, although history does report 
 itself." 
 
 " But Yon Broderode is over head and ears in 
 love with her, and she with him/' 
 
 " But Madame Senden means to have him for 
 herself." 
 
 " Don't you like the girl ? " 
 
 " I think she is charming — as an acquaintance ; 
 I worship her. But, sir. Gilded Vane will never 
 tolerate a homely German bride. One has seen 
 and heard enough of them in English society. 
 He would simply cut Dudley off with a shilling, 
 and both would be miserable. From such a fate 
 I will do my best to save the girl." 
 
 "I agree with you, though Miss Hoffman is 
 not a homely German girl, still the prejudice 
 would remain in Sir Gilbert's mind. But I 
 hardly believe the boy really " 
 
 " He idolizes her, and he is of no quiet, ordinary 
 temper. I don't like him, and I don't trust him. 
 But one can't see him looking at the girl, and 
 following her about, and watching for her with- 
 out understanding him." 
 
 " Well, I always think those things are best 
 left alone. It is an art, I know ; but when these 
 storms of passion are rising, and judgment is
 
 LAND ahead! 193 
 
 nowhere, I always think it is better to wait one's 
 opportunity, and step in when one can steer to 
 some purpose. Eemedies given at the wrong 
 moment often make' patients worse." 
 
 "Very philosophical, I dare say. But while 
 you are waiting with your remedy the patient 
 may slip off the hooks, or, as we are dealing with 
 similes, while you are buying the best padlock 
 for your door the donkey — or, in this case, the 
 youth — is stolen." 
 
 " At least, Mr. Mortimer, what can we do ? " 
 
 " I shall either speak to the youth or tell Sir 
 Gilbert." 
 
 " He is very ill ; you might kill him." 
 
 " Is that true ? " 
 
 " The boy told me he had heard from home, 
 and that his mother said so." 
 
 " That complicates matters. But he ought to 
 know." 
 
 " I don't think it will do any good if you speak 
 to the boy.'^ 
 
 " Perhaps it wouldn't." 
 
 " I might speak to Mrs. Hoffman." 
 
 " And make her more eager than ever ? " 
 
 "No ; tell her the boy will have nothing.'^ 
 
 " She won't believe you." 
 
 Still, as they spoke, Mr. Tudor was making up 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 LAND ahead! 
 
 his mind what he would do, and so was Mr. 
 Mortimer. 
 
 " What does the old woman want ? " asked 
 Mr. Mortimer suddenly. 
 
 " What old woman ? " 
 
 '' Madame Senden's sister-in-law ? '^ 
 
 " I don^t know ; she is either mad or a witch." 
 
 " She is always throwing Yon Broderode and 
 the girl together." 
 
 " And yet she did all she could yesterday to 
 make young Vane jealous. He was nearly wild 
 at last/. 
 
 " She is a fool," said Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 *' We must suffer fools sometimes." 
 
 " But what does she want ? " 
 
 " What puzzles me most is to know what the 
 girl wants. If we knew that we should know 
 wjiat to do. Both these young fellows worship 
 her, and if we only knew for certain that she will 
 only take Valentin — and she can only take one — 
 we should do." 
 
 " I don^t see how she is to take either." 
 
 Mr. Tudor started. 
 
 " She must take Valentin." 
 
 " Think how many you have got against you, 
 Tudor : Madame Senden, Madame Hoffman, 
 Dudley Vane, decided foes, and all dangerous.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 195 
 
 Yalentin, half-hearted and not in^a hurry; 
 Margaret herself, half-hearted and too happy to 
 be in a hurry, on your side perhaps ; and 
 Madame Steingracht a fool, and perhaps on your 
 side. If you and I dont do something it is my 
 private opinion Dudley Vane will win the day." 
 
 " The boy is much too young to marry ; he is 
 barely twenty-one." 
 
 " And she is two years older." 
 
 "Yon Broderode is twenty-seven." 
 
 "Vane ought not to interfere with the man 
 who saved his life. It is brutal of him to hate 
 him as he does hate him." 
 
 " I suspected that. How odd it is Yon 
 Broderode sees nothing." 
 
 "We might open his eyes. I am determined 
 to do my best, though I do not know what that 
 will be yet," and he looked steadily at Mr. Tudor, 
 " and settle the matter between the girl and Yon 
 Broderode. She is too good personally for your 
 young idiot, and would never be happy with 
 him." 
 
 Just then the dinner-bell ranof, and Mr. 
 Mortimer sprang up. 
 
 " Will you dine here ? I asked Yon Brode- 
 rode." 
 
 Mr. Tudor accepted. 
 
 2
 
 196 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Ir twp or three days, Mr. Mortimer, we 
 should decide something. '^ 
 
 "If it is not decided for us before that,'' 
 answered he, impatiently. 
 
 He could not understand Mr. Tudor's dilatory 
 behaviour. 
 
 After dinner, however, Mr. Tudor himself saw 
 the necessity for prompt action, for just as he 
 and Mr. Mortimer and Valentin were standing 
 on the steps of the hotel together a carriage 
 drove by, and in it were seated Dudley Vane, 
 with Frau Hoffman and Margaret.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Du plaisir, nait le malheur. — Menander. 
 
 Edith. Ay, but take back thy ring, 
 
 It burns my band, — a curse to thee and me 
 I dare not wear it. 
 
 TennysorCs ^^ Harold." 
 
 At Biberich on the Ehine there is a little garden 
 close by the river ; indeed its waters wash the 
 garden-wall, and murmur gently as the bank 
 restrains their course. Lime-trees wave overhead, 
 the deserted palace looms behind ; soft laughter 
 is heard now and then from the groups assembled 
 there, officious waiters hurry hither and thither, 
 and on this same August evening of 1867 the 
 moon sheds down her silvery light on the peaceful 
 scene. In this same garden are Frau Hoffman 
 and Margaret, and in close attendance, for he is 
 sitting on the wall, is stationed Dudley Vane. 
 
 Frau Hoffman's talk has been rippling over the 
 souls of the two young people for the last hour in 
 ignorant helplessness ; she has never known
 
 198 LAND ahead! 
 
 Margaret so silent, or Dudley so preoccupied. 
 She feels some one must talk, so she does it. 
 She feels he must think Margaret dreadfully 
 stupid, that he will never wish to marry her ; but 
 she at least does her best, and then knows she 
 cannot help it. At last even she is weary ; her 
 stories have come to an end, sentiment fails her, 
 gossip and scandal meet with no response, and 
 she is at her wits' end. 
 
 " I will just take a turn," says she, after a 
 prolonged silence. " I will just go and sit on 
 the little pier, Margot; the river is so lovely. 
 When you have finished your coffee you can 
 follow me." 
 
 Margaret, with a start of despair, was on the 
 point of rising too ; for some unknown reason 
 she felt she could not be left alone just then with 
 Dudley ; his eyes had been burning into her soul 
 all the evening like drops of fire. Why, oh why 
 had she come to Biberich with him ? What 
 foolish things one does, meaning to be kind. 
 But, as she was half doubting whether to ask 
 Frau Hoffman to stay or whether to go herself, 
 she felt a hand pressing her arm heavily, and 
 here was Dudley, with sudden imperious gesture, 
 commanding h'er to stay. The youth's strength 
 of will governed her, and she made no outward
 
 LAND ahead! 199 
 
 movement ; but in the few moments of awkward 
 silence that followed the receding rustle of her 
 mother's skirts she tried to gather up her whole 
 soul's strength for protestation, and, looking back 
 to the first early days of their acquaintance, she 
 sought for true and forcible expression for the 
 real feelings she had always experienced towards 
 him. Was it not through Dudley that Valentin 
 had seemed to her so brave, so perfect ? Was it 
 not because of Dudley's very danger that she had 
 felt such an interest in him ? Was it not for the 
 tie that bound him to Valentin, and for the act 
 that bound Valentin to him, that her soul had 
 gone out then to them both, and that she had 
 dreamed so romantically of their fast friendship, 
 and of the two lives thus joined together ? 
 
 The lime-trees waved overhead and scented the 
 fragrant air, a thousand insects hovered around, 
 the moon's soft light increased in glory, and the 
 river rippled by at their feet. The mountains 
 became more distant, more misty and weird-like 
 every moment. 
 
 " What a glorious evening it is,'' said he, at 
 last. 
 
 English people always try to cover over 
 awkward silences or awkward beginnings by 
 some remark about the weather.
 
 200 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Himmlisch I " said she, with a touch of 
 mischief in her voice, making a slight effort to 
 escape from the solemnity which the stillness of 
 the evening and Dudley's humour had spread 
 over them. 
 
 "Don't talk German," said he ; "I can't stand 
 it now. I can only talk German when I am in 
 my best senses ; now I am not." 
 
 "Not! Why?" 
 
 " I never was so happy before." 
 
 Margaret smiled vaguely. 
 
 " I have been waiting for this for — -oh, it 
 seems to me centuries. I thought it would never 
 come. I have a hundred things to say to you, to 
 ask you." 
 
 " And yet I have never known you so silent 
 before." 
 
 " Because I love you." 
 
 The river kissed the wall at their feet, and the 
 moon shone on in glorious indifference. Why 
 does Nature go on with hei happy coquettries 
 just the same whether we join with her or 
 whether fate strikes on our hearts with a sharp 
 thud of pain, and renders us dumb and senseless ? 
 
 " Did not you see it ? " asked he, eagerly. " The 
 very first day — the first moment 1 saw you — 
 always, ever since, I have only thought of,
 
 LAND ahead! > 201 
 
 dreamed of, lived for you. You must have seen 
 it, must have known it.'' 
 
 His passionate eagerness made her dumb. 
 Valentin, in all his love-making, had not startled 
 her like this. He had always seemed so con- 
 fident, so happy ; to Margaret he was sunshine ; 
 he was a happy smile. To be brought face to 
 face with a huugry, haggard Want like this was 
 a new pain, a sudden shock to the tender girl. 
 She was mastered for the moment by it, by the 
 strength of his need ; and the sensation of a first 
 mastery has something delicious in it to a 
 woman's soul. The thought of her own sove- 
 reignty comes to her the next moment like a 
 sweet breath from a fragrant flower. She looked 
 up at him with a tender, grave pity in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Hush ! you have not thought — you do not 
 know '' 
 
 ^' Not thought, not known ! " answered he, 
 passionately. " There is no thought but one, no 
 need to know, for you are all " 
 
 Then she rose and stood by him ; her hand 
 swept over his, and then it rested on the wall. 
 The moon's rays played on her calm face. 
 
 " You see, Dudley, you are all wrong. I am 
 sorry I came with you here to-night — I did not
 
 202 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 know. And you are so mistaken. I thought 
 you saw " 
 
 And suddenly she stopped. Now thus ques- 
 tioned, with her fate in her hands, she saw for 
 the first time how absolutely she worshipped, 
 Valentin. It was a revelation to her, and dimly 
 with the knowledge came a vision of pain across 
 the dream. 
 
 " How cold you are," said he. " Will you 
 marry me ? " 
 
 She almost smiled at the suddenness of the 
 inquiry ; only his eager gaze riveted on her face 
 held her motionless. This was love indeed ; but 
 how odd, and how tiresome. Why had not 
 Valentin spoken out ? and did he love her really '? 
 Oh yes, he loved her; and if he did not, she 
 could not help it. His spirit was the only one 
 that gave hers peace. She could not marry 
 Dudley. Why is fate so fond of shoving the 
 wrong gift into our hands ? 
 
 " Are you angry with me ? " 
 
 '' Angry ! " 
 
 An infinite tenderness stole out of her eyes. 
 
 " Why cannot you like me ? . What have I 
 done ? Are you afraid of me ? " 
 
 She smiled. Afraid ! Had she not always 
 half- despised him ? Had it not been for Valentin
 
 LAND ahead! 203 
 
 and for Valentin's act she would wholly have 
 despised him. 
 
 " You do not understand me," said she, at last. 
 
 " Is not loving you enough ? " Then there was 
 a pause. " Is that all — not understanding you ? " 
 
 " N— no." 
 
 *' You care for some one else," said he, 
 impatiently. 
 
 A great flush of crimson overspread her face 
 and neck. 
 
 " I do not mean to marry," she stammered. 
 
 Was Valentin's thoue^htlessness causinof his 
 lady-love to tell an untruth ? 
 
 " Do you think I have not seen it ? do you 
 think I am blind ? don't you hang on every word 
 of his ? is not his smile life ? and are not his 
 words music? Yes; you love him, and I hate 
 him." 
 
 She shrank back. 
 
 " Yes, it is so. Say it is so ; only say so, and 
 I will jump straight from here into the Ehine. 
 "Why should I live ? " 
 
 But now the infinite pity shone on her face 
 again. The boy was mad, evidently so, and she 
 had done it. Moreover, no one could help her. 
 It was no use calling her mother, still airing 
 herself on the bench in the distance, no .use
 
 204. LAND ahead! 
 
 appealing to Valentin or any one. He was mad, 
 and she had done it. 
 
 " You must be mad, Mr. Vane." 
 
 "Mad! Ami?" 
 
 "Listen to me. Now just listen. I am not 
 going to marry any one, and I am not in love 
 with any one, but I will tell you something if 
 you will let me." 
 
 Dudley, with an incredulous smile on his face, 
 prepared to listen. Could he believe her, or could 
 natures so widely differing as these two ever 
 understand each other ? 
 
 " Can you fancy a girl — call her Margaret 
 Hoffman or what you will — having lived all her 
 life in Sonnenthal, having seen very few people, 
 having known hardly any, finding nearly all her 
 pleasure in books, and in nature, and dreaming 
 therefrom, oh, I can't tell you what fair dreams, 
 and building therefrom, oh, I can't tell you how 
 many castles in the air " 
 
 " That is rubbish. That is not life." 
 
 "It is some people's life. It was this girl's. 
 Only there were two natures with her, that pulled 
 her just the contrary ways. One so beautiful, so 
 simple, yet so energetic, so aspiring — that was her 
 father's ; it taught her to aspire ; it clothed the 
 dreams, the castles with hope, with aims ; it
 
 LAND ahead! 205 
 
 brought pleasure, but it taught pain also. His 
 nature suffered, and as she learnt to soothe she 
 suffered also. Then," and now she talked quickly, 
 hurriedly, "the other nature was much lower; 
 it jarred, it was restless, selfish, discontented ; 
 but such a different discontent. They were these 
 two natures, — can you understand ? — a Martha 
 and a Mary." 
 
 '' Dull, I should think." 
 
 " Very well ; just then the girl having learnt 
 that she should like to live, not merely exist, — and 
 having learnt too that she couldn't, — one morning 
 life came to her." 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
 " It was the same morning on which you too 
 were so near death and came back to life." 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 " Did you see it ? Tell me about it." 
 
 " It was a glorious morning. All nature was 
 alive, out, happy. I had been up in the hills, 
 and I was going in to knit my stocking. 
 Suddenly there was your boat — and excitement, 
 horror on every face. Then — it was just like an 
 angel's face, so calm, so glorious, so strong — 
 Valentin von Broderode came. He was not 
 afraid, barely excited, he only looked so 
 happy. And why ? not that he knew you,, not
 
 206 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 that lie loved you, but that lie was risking liis 
 life for yours, and that he was going to do a good 
 action. Since then I have understood life and 
 self-sacrifice, and I have lived too." 
 
 " And you loved him at once ? " 
 
 ** Loved him ! Oh no ; I did not know him 
 then. It was as if a bright meteor had flashed 
 across my path, and had shown me the way; 
 that was all." 
 
 *' And you love him now ? " 
 
 " Love him now ! oh no. Let me see what it 
 is. It is just that he sympathizes with all I feel 
 and need ; that he aspires as I do, only he is ever 
 so much higher ; that he sees beauty where I do, 
 and that his aims are mine, only better and 
 stronger and nearer success than mine, because he 
 is better and stronger too." 
 
 " I see. But how can you say you do not love 
 
 him ? " 
 
 His voice was low — it was almost a sigh ; and 
 his eye was burning still, but the fire in it was 
 difierent now. 
 
 '' Is that love ? Oh no ; it is admiration, 
 sympathy ; nothing more, I think. It became so 
 as I knew him better. But, you know, at first 
 I did nothing but think of you two. Can you 
 fancy it ? don't you see it ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 207 
 
 " Yes : I remember I thouorlit him an angel 
 too. I was unconscious then." 
 
 " And now you think him so more, don't you ? 
 Think of him brilliant, accomplished, beloved, 
 prosperous — risking all for you ! Think of him 
 throwing it all away with his life, just for you ! 
 And think of the modesty of the man, — not 
 stopping to weigh the two lives in the balance 
 for a moment, yours and his, but thinking 
 yours of infinitely more account than his ; this 
 for you, whom he did not know ! It was that I 
 thought about so much ; that was the reason 
 why I wanted to see you who were so favoured ; 
 that was why I wanted to see you together ; 
 that was why I set your friendship up on a 
 pinnacle so high, and hoped to follow its light all 
 my life long. It must be a glorious thing to have 
 a friend like that ! " 
 
 "And yet you think you do not love 
 him ? " 
 
 " How you harp on that ! Can one love the 
 sun in heaven, or the star that is such an 
 infinitude above one ? " 
 
 " He brought me back to life ; and shall I tell 
 you the only reason why I thank him ? " 
 
 " Only one reason 1 It must be a good one. 
 TeUme."
 
 208 ■ LAND ahead! 
 
 " He interested you in me, and gave me you 
 for a friend." 
 
 '^Yes/' 
 
 The water splashed below in its undertone. 
 Frau Hoffman was coming towards them. 
 
 ^' He is to marry his cousin, Lotta Senden." 
 
 Dudley was a brute to say it so. 
 
 "Is he?" 
 
 Was that why he had not spoken ? Was he 
 
 really bound ? 
 
 "Some day," said Dudley, "failing him, or 
 needing sympathy or something, or failing 
 something, you may want a friend. Will you 
 come to me then ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " In token of your promise and mine will you 
 
 keep this ? " 
 
 It was a ring ; a serpent twisted round in a 
 coil, with diamond eyes that sparkled in the 
 moonlight. 
 
 Margaret shuddered. 
 
 " I had rather not." 
 
 " Just for our friendship's sake ; for our happy 
 time at Sonnenthal, and — because we understand 
 each other now. He has nothing to do with this, 
 and — it is not much to grant me. It is only 
 between you and I."
 
 LAND ahead! 209 
 
 He slipped it on her finger. 
 
 " They will ask me " 
 
 " What matter ? It is our friendship. You 
 love him, I know." 
 
 There was no time to answer. If Dudley- 
 would think she cared for Valentin he must 
 think so ; she could not explain any more ; and 
 then too he would not trouble her hitnself any 
 more. So she let it stay. 
 
 " Dudley, is it true he marries Frau Senden ? " 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 But here was Frau Hoffman, and here was the 
 carriage. By the time the lights of Sonnenthal 
 shone in their faces Frau Hoffman had vowed 
 several times she would never go on an expedition 
 again with Dudley and Margaret, for she had 
 never been so bored in her life. 
 
 When they reached home Margaret slipped 
 away by herself, and Frau Hoffman went to the 
 Professor. She found him complaining and ill at 
 ease. He had taken a chill he thought the day 
 before, returning from Frankfort so late. He had 
 been at home all the day, and had been suffering 
 more or less all the time. Now he could not 
 sleep, and there was a strange light in his eyes, 
 which made Frau Hoffman feel anxious. At 
 times he complained of the heat, and then all *at 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 LAND ahead! 
 
 once a shivering fit would come on, when a sort 
 of ague seemed to seize him from head to foot. 
 Frau Hoflfman stayed with him for some time, 
 and then went in search of Margaret, thinking 
 she might perhaps soothe him better than she 
 herself could. Margaret was not in her room ; 
 the door was open, and there was no sign of her 
 having been there, save the hat which she had 
 worn having been thrown carelessly on the bed. 
 Frau Hoffman stopped on the threshold surprised. 
 Presently she heard a sob ; but it was not in the 
 room. A breath of fresh night-air came just then 
 to Frau Hoffman's cheek, and with it a revelation. 
 She lost no time in going straight up the steep 
 stairs, and in a few moments she was on the 
 house-top. There she saw a great black form, 
 looking more black than ever in the moonlight — 
 it was Fritz, the great house-dog ; and there 
 kneeling before him, with her arms round his 
 neck, and her cheek buried in his soft coat, was 
 Margaret. Was ever such silent, such true 
 sympathy ? 
 
 " Kindlein ! " 
 
 Margaret started up. A cold reserve stole 
 over her. She had not meant to be discovered 
 in her trouble ; she was not ready for a con- 
 fidant ; she knew not how to tell her mother.
 
 LAND ahead! 211 
 
 " A lovely night, mother, is it not ? I could 
 not go in." 
 
 Frau Hoffman came near to her, and sat on 
 the bench close by. She put her hand on Fritz's 
 back, but the next moment it rested on Margaret's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " What is it, Margot ? You have been crying, 
 child." 
 
 Still Margaret did not answer. She hardly 
 knew herself w^hat it was ; at least she could not 
 put it into words. 
 
 "If he should be untruthful ; if he should be 
 false ; if he should have uttered falsehoods," 
 had been the w^ords ringing in her head. But 
 they seemed so weak to say. She did not know 
 how to explain ; human falsehood would never 
 seem sad enough to her mother to cause tears. 
 If even she said, which she was not prepared to 
 say, that her own individual ideal had failed, 
 why, had not her mother always told her that 
 no one in their senses ever had an ideal at all ? 
 So Margaret's mind went back to the first shock 
 it had undergone that evening, when Dudley 
 Vane had revealed his love to her. 
 
 " He asked me to marry him, mother." 
 
 " Is that really so, Margot ? And you said 
 
 But is that why you are crying ? " 
 
 P 2
 
 212 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No." 
 
 *^ Do you mean that Valentin asked you ? " 
 
 Frau Hoffman was getting bewildered. Had 
 she not feared Valentin, till their young merry 
 laughter had smothered her fears ? and had she 
 not fondled and hoped over Dudley, till Margaret's 
 indifference and uniform kindness had suffocated 
 her hopes ? Which then was it ? 
 
 " No ; not Valentin." 
 
 " Is that why you cry ? " exclaimed the mother, 
 joyfully. She forgot the poor ailing Professor in 
 the excitement of the moment. 
 
 " No ; but, mother, I have been very wicked to 
 do this thing." 
 
 " What ? to encourage both ? You could not 
 help it." 
 
 Had she really done that ? Put like that it 
 really seemed so. How disgusting ! how revolt- 
 ing ! She had had no idea of it. But it really 
 seemed so. No wonder Valentin had learnt to 
 be false too. 
 
 " And so I told him, and he quite understood." 
 
 ^^Eh?" , 
 
 *^ I mean he knew ; he saw at once I could not 
 marry him." 
 
 **You dont mean to say you have refused
 
 LAND ahead! 213 
 
 him ? ten or twelve tliousand a-year, and such a 
 home in England ! " 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing. Think, mother, the 
 silly boy offered to drown himself, and said — 
 or at least I think he was going mad." 
 
 "Ah, well!" 
 
 " Mad, mother ! " 
 
 " But will you marry Valentin von Broderode ?" 
 
 Frau Hoffman waited nearly breathless. 
 
 " No, mother ; I shall marry neither." 
 
 Frau Hoffman felt inclined, as Dudley had 
 done, to throw herself into the Rhine. Was 
 there ever such an idle, perverse girl ? But she 
 restrained herself. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Valentin is to marry Frau Senden." 
 
 Frau Hoffman started. She hardly believed 
 it, but there was no harm in Margaret thinking 
 so ; she did not want her girl to marry a poor 
 German soldier. An English baronet, with a fine 
 English home, would, on the contrary, be very nice. 
 
 '' Who told you so ? " 
 
 " Dudley Vane.'' 
 
 Frau Hoffman believed it less than ever. 
 
 "He is Valentin von Broderode's friend; he 
 must know."
 
 214 LAND ahead! 
 
 There was a long silence. 
 
 " I think it is a pity you do not like young 
 Vane." 
 
 " He quite understands. And he is stupid and 
 dull. And we are good friends." 
 
 *'Margot, what is that shining in the moon- 
 light on the ground ? " 
 
 '' That ? Oh, that is a ring he gave me 
 to-night in token of our friendship. I could not 
 wear it. I threw it off." 
 
 " What a lovely ring it is. Did you promise 
 him to wear it ? " 
 
 " I think I let him think I would." 
 
 " Then you must." 
 
 " But I hate it." 
 
 "Why, child," said Frau Hoffman, as she 
 slipped it on Margaret's finger, visions of 
 Froghambury Park floating before her as she 
 did so, "it makes your hand look quite lovely. 
 And I think, dear, you should wear it, or he will 
 be more hurt than ever. And he deserves some 
 little reparation surely." 
 
 Margaret drew it on and off slowly. 
 
 " It seems to me as if it would bring me bad 
 luck." 
 
 " What ! a good friend as he is bring you bad 
 luck ? Oh no, Margot ; be nobler. He will be
 
 LAND ahead! 215 
 
 a good friend to us both, I dare say, all our lives. 
 The English are true friends to have." 
 
 " Who is that calling, mother ? I heard a voice." 
 
 They listened. 
 
 "It is your father. He is ill. I came to fetch 
 you." 
 
 Margaret rose at once ; her own troubles were 
 for the moment forgotten ; what was anything in 
 the world to her beside her father ? How selfish 
 she was. She knew he was unwell in the 
 morning, and had half grudged going to 
 Biberich ; then it had been put out of her 
 head ; now it all rushed back on her mind, and 
 she rose with new life, a new purpose in her 
 heart. How remiss she had been all these weeks 
 towards her father. Yet now God was good ; 
 and now here was opportunity to make it right 
 again, and to smooth away all memory of 
 apparent neglect in renewed love and attention. 
 A dim hope of happiness even yet came to her 
 with the thought. So much harm done by 
 thoughtlessness, by idle dreams of ideal beauty ; 
 let her do some real practical human good at last 
 and retrieve the past if it might be. Dudley's 
 earnest face, and Valentin, living out a dreary 
 future with a woman he did not love, haunted 
 her, and she turned away shuddering.
 
 216 LAND ahead! 
 
 " I am coming, father," she cried ; and Fritz 
 pattered down the stairs after her. 
 
 For a moment Frau Hoffman stayed behind. 
 
 "We must go to Biberich again," said she, 
 half aloud. " I really don't so much mind a dull 
 evening when there is an object in it."
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 Doubt thou the stars are fire ; 
 
 Doubt that the sun doth move ; 
 Doubt truth to be a liar ; 
 
 But never doubt I love. — Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2. 
 
 Feau Senden and Frau Steingracht had arranged 
 to have a little party at Sonnenfels on the 
 following evening, and as Frau Steingracht 
 said the Herr Professor's music was absolutely 
 necessary to make the entertainment a success, 
 Valentin offered to go down to Blumenthal to 
 see if the Hoffmans would come. 
 
 " But you need not trouble yourself, Valentin," 
 said Lotta ; ^' I can quite well send Franz." 
 
 " But it is something for him to do," said her 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 " I am going down to Sonnenthal anyhow, so 
 I may as well do that for you, Lotta." 
 
 "Or we could do it this afternoon when we 
 drive." 
 
 " That is leaving it so late," said Frau Stein- 
 gracht.
 
 218 LAND ahead! 
 
 "They would be out, or anywhere. In fact 
 there is no knowing where they go now; they 
 never seem to be quiet. They may have gone to 
 Binofen or to Wiesbaden for all I know." 
 
 " Or to Homburg," said Lotta. 
 
 "Or to Frankfort," said Frau Steingracht. 
 
 A few moments later Valentin started on his 
 errand. He was impatient and out of temper. 
 And small wonder. If Mr. Mortimer and Mr. 
 Tudor had been so surprised and alarmed at 
 seeing Dudley Vane drive by " The Three Koses " 
 so triumphantly with Frau Hoffman and her 
 daughter on the preceding evening, how much 
 more disgusted was Valentin. Here was direct 
 disobedience to his decree issued to Dudley — and 
 he had trusted Dudley. He had told him his 
 wishes in all kindness and friendship to spare 
 the youth pain, and now this was the return he 
 got. Faugh ! human nature was disgusting. 
 Next, how could Margaret sit "and smile and 
 smile " into Dudley's face like that ? Had she not 
 thus smiled into his ? and did not every one 
 know that his smile was true, and his love 
 faithful ? Had not he given her his love ? not in 
 so many words, perhaps, for it is sometimes hard 
 to say, and then a life-long decision is always 
 difficult, and requires solemnity and circum-
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 219 
 
 spection. And Valentin hated circumspection 
 and solemnity. But had not he singled her out 
 for his worship and adoration ? had not he given 
 her his sympathy, and had not he received hers ? 
 had not he shown her an elevated ideal, and had 
 she not said she bowed and worshipped ? at 
 least, had she not implied admiration and 
 worship ? Else, w^hat did her smile, and the 
 swift colour coming and going, and the thought 
 answered almost before it was expressed, and the 
 attention to his wishes and partialities, and the 
 w^hole trust and confidence and unreserve — so 
 winning because, in her case, so rare — what did 
 it all mean ? Did it ^11 mean falsehood after all ? 
 Was — faugh ! the thought was sickening — was 
 feminine human nature after all more disgusting 
 than all ? AVas she only worshipping him 
 outwardly ? had she indeed set up other gods in 
 her heart ? had Dudley's gold and Dudley's 
 poisoned words of an ideal future in extravagant, 
 luxurious England won her over ? did his own 
 simple, Spartan future seem fade, poor, homely, 
 dull in comparison ? The thought struck cold on 
 his heart, and he feared he should be able to say 
 no more words about the future to Margaret. 
 
 He was at Blumenthal by this time, and at the 
 top of the stairs. His heart beat wildly as he
 
 220 LAND ahead! 
 
 stood with his hand on the door and listening to 
 the voices within. 
 
 Dudley and Frau Hoffman ! that was all. He 
 looked round anxiously, but Margaret was not 
 there. 
 
 ^'Meine gnadigste," said he, barely noticing 
 Dudley, '' I come a beggar.'' 
 
 '* And our alms are yours," said she, gaily. 
 
 " We want your society. Lotta has sent me 
 to beg you all to come this evening." 
 
 At the moment the door opened and Margaret 
 entered. She w^as pale, and looked weary ; but 
 when, an instant later, she saw the visitors the 
 colour mantled to her face and she forced a smile 
 to hide something of her confusion. 
 
 Could she be untrue ? thought Valentin ; could 
 those earnest grey eyes, so tender, so pathetic, 
 dream of cruelty, dream of falsehood *? 
 
 And he, could he be different from what he 
 seemed ? thought she. Was all this brilliancy, 
 this beauty, this strength, this nobility of 
 expression but the outer garb of hypocrisy ? 
 Was he thus enabled to enact his falsehoods all 
 the better ? She must take care. She hated 
 untruth with her whole soul. Could he, Valentin, 
 really ^' smile and smile and be a villain" ? 
 
 But she showed nothing of her thought ; she
 
 LAND ahead! 221 
 
 walked to him gently and slowly ; only, as their 
 hands met, English fashion, she did not smile ; 
 neither did he. Each tried earnestly to read the 
 other's soul. It was the first time in their 
 acquaintance they had not smiled when they 
 met. AYas it an ill omen ? Had laughter and 
 happiness left her for ever ? 
 
 Dudley Vane looked on, and saw it all, and 
 wondered. 
 
 And they both felt guilty, but neither 
 whispered the word to the other. 
 
 " So you will answer for yourself, Margot," 
 said her mother. " Frau Senden wants us all to 
 go to Sonnenfels this evenino^." 
 
 " The Professor too," said Valentin. 
 
 " I do not think any of us can come," said Mar- 
 garet, turning to him slowly. " My father is ill." 
 
 "111?" 
 
 " Yes ; a cold, a chill," said Frau Hofiman ; 
 " nothino; more." 
 
 " It need not prevent you ? " asked Valentin, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "No, certainly not. Margot, you and I can 
 go. Frau Senden might take it unkindly." 
 
 Margaret played nervously with the ring on 
 her finger ; it irritated her, and Valentin's eyes 
 fell upon it.
 
 222 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Then we will come," said she, looking up at 
 him. But seeing his eyes upon the ring her 
 words almost died upon her lips, and she blushed 
 hotly. Then she clasped the other hand over it, 
 hiding it. Would he never take his eyes away ? 
 
 "And you will come too. Vane, will you 
 not ? " asked he, constrainedly. 
 
 " With pleasure. Shall we have some whist ? '^ 
 
 " I dare say. Will you tell Tudor ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then I may as well go back." 
 
 He rose and shook hands with Frau Hoffman, 
 but when he came to Margaret there on her hand 
 sparkled the ring. Why did he — certainly his 
 back was turned towards the others — but why did 
 he draw himself up as if her hand were something 
 not to be touched, and why did he look like that ? 
 
 And she looked cold and proud too. 
 
 Only Fritz, the faithful house-dog, heard her 
 say afterwards under the myrtle-tree in the 
 court — 
 
 " Oh, Valentin, why are you so proud ? and 
 why won't you be told ? Oh, Valentin, why are 
 you so cruel ? " 
 
 And then only Fritz heard too five minutes 
 after — 
 
 " But he is quite right, or thinks he is. And I
 
 LAND ahead! 223 
 
 love him for Ms pride. And I shall love him all 
 my life all the same, and help him perhaps when 
 he is very unhappy." 
 
 Margaret had not wished to go to Sonnenfels 
 that evening, she was anxious about her father ; 
 she felt weary and dispirited ; she was troubled by 
 Dudley Yane and by Valentin, and by all the 
 on-lookers ; she felt as though circumstances were 
 becoming too much for her. But Frau Hoffman 
 had set her heart upon going ; she was keenly 
 alive to new hopes, new ambitions, a new excite- 
 ment. At one time she had given up all hopes of 
 Dudlev for a son-in-law, now it seemed to her 
 that if only Margaret could be rightly influenced 
 he would fall in with her views subserviently 
 enoucj-h. This idea was like a sudden drauo^ht of 
 champagne ; it inspired her with new courage, 
 new strength, new hope. It was like a beautiful 
 vision of a far-distant country ; it was, above all, 
 a vision of England by-and-by. Yet she longed 
 to take the thought out into the light of day ; 
 now that success seemed to be playing about it, 
 she longed to see its real probability ; she desired, 
 above all, to see what others might think about 
 it, and who in this little world of Sonnenthal 
 would be on her side and who would be against 
 her.
 
 224 LAND ahead! 
 
 "You see, Margot/^ said she, as they walked 
 slowly up the hill, the moonlight shining down 
 on their faces through the tangled tracery of the 
 trees, " I feel we have not considered Frau Senden 
 quite so much pf late as perhaps we should have 
 done. You know we went to Homburg without 
 her." 
 
 " That was Valentin von Broderode's fault." 
 "And then yesterday we went to Biberich 
 without telling her." 
 
 " And that was Dudley Vane's fault." 
 " Oh, of course it is not our fault at all ; still 
 she is our good friend." 
 
 The party they found assembled at Sonnenfels 
 seemed as comfortable and as incongruous as they 
 could well meet. The large windows were open 
 on to the terrace ; the scent of the flowers came 
 in with rich bursts of fragrance ; below you could 
 see the scattered lights of the town, the river 
 seeming still in the moonlight, and behind, the 
 weird, dusky forms of the mountains. Two 
 Kussians, visitors at Sonnenthal, were standing 
 at the window talking. Their wives were sitting 
 on a sofa, and Frau Steingracht was introducing 
 Dudley Vane to them when Frau Hoffman and 
 her daughter entered. A rubber of whist was 
 going on in a corner, made up by Mr. Mortimer
 
 LAND AHEAD I 225 
 
 and Mr. Tudor with two other English gentlemen, 
 all in their morning coats, and all, save Mr. Tudor, 
 seeming to suffer from the testiness which depart- 
 ing youth and advancing gout seem to administer. 
 Lotta Senden was seated at the piano, and Valentin 
 was singing to her accompaniment. He was thus 
 fettered there. 
 
 Very soon Dudley left the Russians and came 
 to Margaret. Then — they might have been 
 plapng the children's game called Post — Frau 
 Hoffman left Margaret and sat with Frau Stein- 
 gracht and the Russian ladies, so Dudley and 
 Margaret were alone. Valentin was looking at 
 them over the music-book. 
 
 There was no need for Margaret to fear any 
 more declarations of passionate love from Dudley. 
 He had learnt his part for the present, and only 
 wished her to believe in his friendship, and to 
 make her forget his wild language of yesterday. 
 
 " I may come to you, may I not ? " 
 
 '' Surely." 
 
 " I am so glad we had our drive yesterday ; I 
 am so glad we understand each other." 
 
 She looked up at him shyly. 
 
 Then the door opened, and an old Russian 
 Prince hobbled in on his crutches. Dudley started 
 up to give him his arm. Love makes one wish 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LAND ahead! 
 
 to appear well in the eyes of the beloved one. 
 Then he returned to his place beside Margaret 
 with an air of possession. 
 
 "You are singing out of tune, Valentin," said 
 Lotta. 
 
 No wonder ! was not his whole heart out of 
 tune with the scene going on around him ? 
 
 " How good of you to wear my ring. I am so 
 glad to see it there. Will you wear it always ? " 
 
 *' I wish you would take it back ; I feel as if I 
 ought not to wear it. It burns my hand." 
 
 "What! Why do you say that ? It is only 
 our understanding — we are friends, that is all. 
 It only means you will come to me if you want 
 anything. Surely you will not refuse me the 
 delight of working for you ? Leave me the belief 
 in friendship even if nothing else." 
 
 " I was wrong. Forgive me." 
 
 And Margaret's earnest eyes looked penitently 
 into his, and melted into pathos — pathetic just 
 then more from a sense of confusion and of utter 
 helplessness than pathetic for Dudley. 
 
 At that moment two Germans stepped in at 
 the window — they had been walking up and 
 down outside, and just then too the rubber of 
 whist came to an end. 
 
 Frau Steingracht called to Dudley to take a
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 227 
 
 hand, and Mr. Tudor, slipping away from the 
 table, sat down by Frau Hoffman ; Mr. Mortimer, 
 declaring he had lost all his money, came to Frau 
 Steingracht. Valentin seized the opportunity and 
 asked Margaret to play for them. He did it 
 condescendingly, haughtily, as though he knew 
 he was making a concession. She bowed her 
 head, like a queen rebuked, then rose meekly, 
 and sat down to the piano without a word. 
 
 Valentin stood beside her, then leaned on the 
 instrument before her, as though he would read 
 through her face to her soul. 
 
 It was torture to her now ; they did not under- 
 stand each other now, and there was no sympathy 
 in the look. 
 
 "Don't look at me," said she, pettishly, as 
 an angry flush mounted to her brow. 
 
 He looked surprised, then laughed, and in the 
 laugh their eyes met ; suddenly the anger and 
 misunderstanding seemed to evaporate, and 
 happiness seemed there once more. What was 
 it that thrilled and throbbed through the room as 
 Margaret played ? what was she saying to them 
 all ? what was the harmony that stilled them, 
 though rousing them so ? It was like an angel's 
 song, calming and strengthening as it fell. And 
 then it was like a cao;ed human soul, answerinof 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 in pathetic, strenuous need, striving and straining 
 up to its ideal, ever caught, ever fettered by 
 invisible strings, and saying, " Believe in me, and 
 let me go.'' 
 
 The music ceased and all was still. 
 
 A moment after, when the hum of applause 
 had ceased too, Valentin spoke. to her. 
 
 "The moonlight is calm and pure and holy. 
 Will you come for a moment V 
 
 So they stepped outside together. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Tudor was sitting by Fran 
 Hoffman. Had not he made up his mind he 
 must see much of Frau Hoffman just at present ? 
 had not he and Mr. Mortimer decided that no 
 time was to be lost, and that Sir Gilbert Vane's 
 eyes and Frau Hoffman's eyes must incontinently 
 be opened ? Had not Mr. Tudor, therefore, — well 
 aware of his responsible situation towards his 
 pupil, and well aware also of the fat living of 
 Froghambury in Sir Gilbert's gift, — had not he 
 written a long letter to Sir Gilbert directly he 
 had beheld the triumphal departure towards 
 Biberich, in which he dwelt long on the fine 
 character of Dudley Vane, but also on his youth- 
 ful and evident affection for Margaret, and also 
 on the alluring charms and almost irresistible 
 fascinations of the aforesaid Miss Hoffman.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 229 
 
 This surely could not offend anybody, and should 
 bring him, Mr. Tudor, praise. But of this letter 
 he breathed not a word, not even to his friend 
 and ally Mr. Mortimer. He had even begun to 
 consider Mr. Mortimer slightly interfering, and 
 one who might possibly get some lengths before 
 him in seeking Sir Gilbert's good graces. 
 
 " You will call me a match-making, meddling 
 old man, Mrs. Hoffman," said Mr. Tudor, as he 
 installed comfortablv himself beside her, " but I 
 do delight in seeing those two young people 
 together." He was looking at Valentin and 
 Margaret. " They seem made for each other." 
 
 " Yes," said Frau Hoffman, slightly alarmed, 
 but determined nevertheless to keep her own 
 counsel. 
 
 "Happiness is everything. What are titles 
 and position and wealth ? We in England are 
 often absurd on this question, and run our heads 
 against stone walls by insisting on these things. 
 It's all folly, all folly." 
 
 " Yes ; Margaret is a great favourite." 
 
 " She is charming. If I were a younger man I 
 should not dare say it, but I may say it to you — 
 she is a little darlings." 
 
 " But a good height, Mr. Tudor ; don't you 
 think so ? "
 
 230 LAND ahead! 
 
 " oil yes ; I don't mean that. Only she has 
 such pretty ways about her. I call her little 
 more from her charm of manner than from 
 anything else." 
 
 " Mr. Vane admires her too." 
 
 ** Does he ? ah ! does he ? Well, boys will be 
 boys. But, Mrs. Hoffman, you must not allow 
 that. You must crush it ; put your veto upon it ; 
 stamp it out." 
 
 He leaned forward and laid one hand on the 
 other, as though he would squeeze the dawning 
 affection to nothing between his broad palms. 
 
 "Must I?" 
 
 Frau Hoffman was surprised. She had really 
 expected to find a friend in Mr. Tudor. 
 
 " He won't have a penny, I can tell you that." 
 
 He whispered it confidentially as a fact well 
 known to him, but one not to be mentioned. 
 
 Then after all he was Frau Hoffman's friend. 
 He would save her girl from a future of misery. 
 Then doubt flashed across her mind. 
 
 " Still that is nothing, as you said just now. 
 We are apt to think too much of these things 
 now-a-days. Wealth and position are very hollow 
 benefits after all. They fade into thin air beside 
 the happiness of two young hearts." 
 
 " True, true. But there should be a modest
 
 LAND ahead! 231 
 
 competence ; with that I am sure you will agree, 
 Mrs. Hoffman ? " 
 
 " A modest competence ! Well, certainly." 
 
 ** Now Valentin von Broderocle has that. 
 Dudley Vane " 
 
 " Would I suppose be provided for ? " 
 
 '^ You see Sir Gilbert made his money out in 
 Australia ; then bought Froghambury back ; he, 
 in fact, inherited nothing but the baronetcy." 
 
 " But young Vane is his heir ? " 
 
 " To the title, yes. But the rest — all the rest 
 Sir Gilbert can do with according to his own 
 sweet will, or rather his sour will ; for he is 
 short-tempered and very crusty ; has been dis- 
 appointed in Dudley, and has not much regard 
 for his family by all accounts." 
 
 " Poor dear Mr. Vane." 
 
 " Yes ; it is hard to have the probability of 
 being poor, because one is dull-witted, and fame 
 happens to be beyond one's grasp. As if one 
 could make oneself clever just by wishing it. 
 If one could, money would not be at the premium 
 in this world that it is." 
 
 "He is dull-witted?" 
 
 " Very ; stupid I might almost say. I have 
 never been able to teach him anything." 
 
 Was that contempt lurking in Frau Hoffman's
 
 232 LAND ahead! 
 
 eye ? Whatever it was it fired Mr. Tudor to 
 continue. 
 
 '' And I have taught a good many young men 
 a great deal." 
 
 " I do not doubt it." 
 
 " But Vane is unteachahle. He is of a doubt- 
 ful temper too, and I do not much admire his 
 disposition." 
 
 ''And the family?" gasped Frau Hoffman. 
 
 " Oh, bad 1 bad ! hereditarily bad ! " 
 
 " Margaret must not marry him then," said she 
 lightly, as though it had been all a joke. 
 
 " No. Just look at his health besides. Poor 
 puny, pale rascal. Oh no ; Von Broderode is the 
 one for her. He is a man." 
 
 Frau Hoffman smiled anxiously ; in fact she 
 could not tell what line of conduct would be best. 
 
 " I see they have gone out together," remarked 
 Mr. Tudor. 
 
 And so had some one else seen it ; Lotta 
 Senden and Dudley Vane had seen it, and were 
 both at fever-heat. When the whist was over 
 Lotta called the boy to her. 
 
 And Frau Steingracht also saw it. 
 
 " That is what I like," said she to Mr. Mortimer. 
 " I like to see those two together." 
 
 "Ah!" said he, letting his eye-glass fall for
 
 LAND ahead! 233 
 
 very joy, " you agree with me then ; I like to see 
 it too. Look, Madame Sceingracht, I will tell 
 you a secret." 
 
 The sallow face lighted up as though to greet 
 a heavenly visitant. The old lady had not been 
 told a real secret for such a long, long time. Life 
 smiled once more. 
 
 " You will keep it ? " 
 
 " Keep it ! " 
 
 She clasped her hands as though in prayer. 
 He would not surely take it away ! 
 
 " I am off to England to-morrow to see Gilded 
 Vane. That boy's nonsense must be stopped. 
 Vane would never agree to the match, and more- 
 over, the girl cares for Von Broderode, and he for 
 her. Those two must be happy." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; those two must be happy." 
 
 "We understand each other. Those two are 
 made to be happy together. You will help me, 
 and look after them here. I am off to-morrow, 
 and shall not say a word or good-bye to 
 anybody." 
 
 "You will have been like a swallow that 
 brings us summer ; only you will send your 
 blessing to us again afterwards ; the swallow goes 
 and forgets us." 
 
 " A nine days' wonder, if you like. I came, -T
 
 234 LAND ahead! 
 
 saw, I go away to set right all that I found 
 wrong." 
 
 And meanwhile Valentin and Margaret had 
 stepped out into the moonlight. 
 
 The music had thrown a veil of peace over 
 their hearts, and now the still evening hour 
 deepened it, and seemed to catch it nearer to 
 them. Out of the confusion and doubt which 
 had perplexed Margaret so sorely peace seemed 
 to have come. But half-an-hour ago, when 
 Valentin was watching Dudley and Margaret 
 sitting side-by-side on the sofa, she had seemed 
 to be fading slowly from him — like a beautiful 
 dream, evanescent, intangible ; he had then felt, 
 as he felt in the morning, that he could not talk 
 to her of himself, of his life ; for that her interest, 
 her thoughts were fixed elsewhere. She had 
 seemed then to be leaving him ; now here she 
 was bv his side, his once more : and he too was 
 at peace. 
 
 " This is my idea of life," said he, as he walked 
 beside her on the terrace, now in the full light, 
 now in the black shadows of the house. It was 
 so difficult to begin to talk naturally after their 
 little unacknowledged quarrel. " Or this is what 
 I should like life to be — Peace and Beauty." 
 
 "No, you would not," said she. "It is not
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 235 
 
 your idea of life a.t all. Your ideal is made up 
 of heroic deeds, of battles, and war, of great 
 sacrifices, of brilliant triumphs. And you are 
 ri^ht. That is life.'' 
 
 " One likes happiness though." 
 
 " But that is happiness," said she. " I should 
 like it too if I were a man. As I am not, I can 
 only look on and sympathize. After all, they 
 say the world is becoming too civilized to fight ; 
 but if it should ever be that war is abolished, 
 I pity those who will live in those days ; there 
 will be no heroes ; what puny men they will be." 
 
 "There always must be wars," said Valentin, 
 gravely. "And the older the world gets the 
 more frightful they seem to be. The bitterness 
 of creeds and the advancement of military science 
 increase the horrors of war." 
 
 " And our increase of sentiment seems to make 
 the horror greater too." . 
 
 " As if diplomacy could settle everything " 
 
 " Diplomacy is only another word for falsehood, 
 and falsehood should be burnt out from the face 
 of the earth." 
 
 " What a quantity of wants man has, Margaret," 
 said he. " Directly he lives he wants food and 
 clothes, and the more he learns the more he seems 
 to want. I should like to live and not want." -
 
 236 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Ah, that we all do. Like the birds and the 
 wers — 
 
 flo--~ 
 
 " But, wanting, we must fight for it ; must we 
 not ? At least if we intend to have it." 
 
 " Yes, if Ave intend, and if it is just that we 
 should have it." 
 
 " But suppose it is quite just, suppose there is 
 not a question about it, suppose the thing — no 
 matter what — that we wanted quite knew where 
 and whose its existence was, and yet some one 
 else came and claimed it — what then ? " 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " If the thing were really sure, and were really 
 worth having, it would not have to be fought 
 over, it would lean to the side of the right at 
 once, it " 
 
 " In fact, diplomacy might settle it ? " 
 
 " Perhaps diplomacy might." 
 
 They had strayed away from the house ; they 
 were standing among the ruins higher on the hill. 
 He led her to a bench in the shadow. 
 
 *' Queen Daisy," said he, suddenly, with a 
 certain haughtiness in his tone, " who gave you 
 that ring ? " 
 
 " A friend," said she, half coquettish ly. 
 
 '' Who ? " 
 
 " I must not tell."
 
 LAND ahead! 237 
 
 *' May I look ^t it ? " 
 
 What was that cold breath that passed over 
 her, causing her to shudder ? 
 
 " Are you cold ? " asked he, tenderly, his 
 manner changing at once. 
 
 " I thought I saw — nothing. It is the moon- 
 light ; it makes all sorts of pictures of its own. 
 I was foolish." 
 
 " Let me see your ring." 
 
 " Don't take it. I think you must not." 
 
 " I won't hurt it," said he, offended. 
 
 " No ; 1 know. It is not that. But for your 
 own sake don't touch it. I am superstitious 
 perhaps, but I have been miserable ever since I 
 had it ; everything has changed since I wore it ; 
 even you have changed. Don't touch it ; it 
 might bring you misery too. Ah ! look ! there 
 it is again. A ghost ! a real ghost ! " 
 
 Valentin cared nothing for the ghost. 
 
 " Queen Daisy, I am not changed." 
 
 " As for me, I do not know what I shall do 
 with it. I shall melt it, or throw it into the 
 Khine, or lose it somehow." 
 
 " Let me take it," said he, suddenly, supremely 
 happy. 
 
 '' No ; I will not have you — finger it, even. 
 You and I, Valentin, are real friends, whatever
 
 238 LAND ahead! 
 
 happens." She was thinking of Frau Senden 
 then. '' And we must always be friends." 
 
 " Do you ever think of the future ? " said he, 
 
 gaily. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Are you afraid of it ? " 
 
 '^Afraid? No." 
 
 He laughed for very joy. 
 
 " We will overcome it, will we not ? It is ours, 
 our humble slave." 
 
 " Ours ? Yes, perhaps ! Valentin, when you 
 are mar — oh, look ! what is that ? there on the 
 ruins — there overhead " 
 
 *' It is the moonlight," said he, hardly looking. 
 " Margaret, I must tell you something. To- 
 day I doubted you ; can you believe it ? I was 
 miserable, mad; I learnt then how dear you 
 are to me ; and — but now — no ; first give me the 
 nng. 
 
 He took it imperiously from her finger and 
 threw it without one instant's hesitation away, 
 far down into the depths of the Ehine or the 
 trees, far from her for ever. Then he turned to 
 her, half ashamed. 
 
 She laughed a little low laugh, like a child 
 pleased at disobedient bravado. 
 
 " So is lost a most valuable object." 
 
 ^*
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 239 
 
 " Are you angry ? " 
 
 " No ; glad — T mean furious." 
 
 " So perish worldly wealth and riches. But, 
 Margot, I was telling you I doubted you." 
 
 " You must not do that. Only, by the way, I 
 doubted you too." 
 
 " You doubted me ? Queen Margaret, how 
 could you ? don't you know how true I am ? 
 don't you know — My child, what is it ? " 
 
 In answer Margaret pointed to the ruins. 
 There, running along the high balustrade, was a 
 weird, fearful form ; now in the bright moonlight 
 it looked impalpable, unearthly ; now in the dark 
 shadow it was white, ghastly. Was it some 
 troubled soul ? was it a wraith come to wreak 
 vengeance on them both for their happy peace ? 
 was it a form of mist or fog ? Valentin's eager 
 words died away on his lips, and he drew close to 
 Margaret, as he followed the apparition's move- 
 ments with his eyes ; he put his arm round the 
 girl to shield her. But hark ! it laughs, and it 
 comes down the side of the battlements, and here 
 it is close to them — tall, gaunt, fearful, pointing 
 a bony hand down to the Rhine. 
 
 " So you threw the ring away. A curse on 
 you both." 
 
 A coarse, unnatural voice.
 
 240 LAND ahead! 
 
 Valentin staggered, but to his surprise Marga- 
 ret's fear was over ; she stood alone and smiling. 
 
 The ghost passed on its way. 
 
 " Let us come in," she whispered to Valentin. 
 
 " You are not afraid ? What was it ? " 
 
 **I will tell you. It was Dudley Vane. I 
 knew his voice. But do not appear to have 
 recognized him. Let us wait first." 
 
 Valentin was indignant at once ; let him only 
 reach at him; such jokes, such hideous, dishonour- 
 able practical jokes were unbearable. It was the 
 second time he had caught him listening. Valentin 
 was frantic with rage, and Margaret found it 
 almost impossible to soothe him. 
 
 "Dudley in a sheet furnished by Frau Senden. 
 I see it all," said she, laughing. '' For my sake 
 say nothing. Let us have our revenge deliciously 
 in time. Now if we make a fuss every one, 
 everything will be dreadful. He is but a boy." 
 
 " And a dreadful boy." 
 
 "So be it. But for my sake now, Valentin, 
 be a man— or rather," she added, smiling, *' this 
 time don't be a man, but be a woman." 
 
 So they went back to the others, looking 
 innocence itself, and Valentin told a dreadful 
 story about a new planet and a very strange 
 atmospherical phenomena which he had discovered
 
 LAND ahead! 241 
 
 through Lotta's big telescope in the ruins, and 
 Frau Hoffman declared it was time to go home. 
 
 That night Fritz, who was waiting for his 
 mistress at the door of Blumenthal, had another 
 confidence. 
 
 " Fritz, I was all wrong ; he was not angry, 
 and he is not cruel. He is quite true ; as true — 
 as true — as — almost — quite — which is it ? as true 
 as you." 
 
 Fritz wagged his tail ; of course he must seem 
 pleased if Margaret was, but after all it was a 
 doubtful compliment. So he curled himself up 
 and went to sleep ; for dogs are too faithful to 
 be independent ; they have no being of their 
 own, nor have they any eyes to observe with 
 save those of their master. 
 
 VOL. I. It
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Where gold determines between right and wrong. 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 
 Fate seemed to have ranged herself against 
 Mr. Mortimer on the occasion of his mission to 
 Froghambury. Certainly he left Sonnenthal the 
 very next day, eluding successfully the early 
 risers at the Brunnen, and the many questioning 
 ejaculations of " mine host '' of " The Three Roses." 
 But, his departure once achieved, then fate, or 
 some mischievous imp endowed with her powers 
 and accomplishments, seemed to impede his 
 progress at every step. Of course it was a wet 
 day to begin with ; on the deck of a Rhine 
 steamer, crowded as they always are at the end 
 of August, that is a delightful and refreshing 
 experience. Then, at Cologne, amid the rush 
 and confusion of debarkation, he discovered that 
 his valet was a fool, and had lost his portmanteau ; 
 he had never thought him a fool before, but he 
 left him to find it, and took his way to the
 
 LAND ahead! 24:3 
 
 station. Arrived there, he fumed and fretted 
 and had his luncheon, and took his tickets, and 
 got into his train, and was just moving out of 
 the station when the frantic valet appeared on 
 the platform with the lost portmanteau. 
 
 " You fool ! " shouted Mr. Mortimer, rejoicing 
 in this crumb of satisfaction at last. 
 
 " I went to the cathedral, sir." 
 
 " Why then you are a bigger fool than ever." 
 
 " I thought you " 
 
 *' Follow me to London, and don't think!" 
 shouted Mr. Mortimer, as he sank back on his 
 seat. Was ever such a wild, helpless cry from a 
 valetless man ? But he must be excused. He 
 was in a hurry to get on ; and to have to get on 
 and cross the ocean with a Bradshaw and a 
 dressing-bag is no very luxurious mode of 
 progress. 
 
 And he went straie^ht on. The enmne broke 
 down, and they all got out in the rain very much 
 frightened, but beyond the delay no harm was 
 done. Then the boat had gone, of course, when 
 they reached Calais, and Mr. Mortimer had to 
 console himself as best he might by talking to 
 "Eobert" and to "Auoruste," and to vent his 
 spleen on them ; and, moreover, he had to stay 
 
 there till morning. 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Next day the sun shone all bright and gay, 
 and, moreover, the recalcitrant valet turned up 
 on the quay. Mr. Mortimer thought his troubles 
 were at an end. 
 
 " I made sure you would go to the cathedral, 
 sir. You always do." 
 
 " Never make sure of anything in this world, 
 Bonham ; but do your duty." 
 
 Then they went on board. But there was a 
 high breeze, and, once out of harbour, they soon 
 found the sea's bright humour was only a surface 
 smile after all. Mr. Mortimer was very uncom- 
 fortable indeed ; so uncomfortable that when 
 they reached Dover, and Bonham presently 
 informed him that the London train had gone, 
 and that they must wait three-quarters-of-an-hour 
 for another, Mr. Mortimer said he did not care, 
 and that he should wait at Dover all that 
 afternoon and all that night, and go up to town 
 the next day. Discouragement is apt to fall on 
 one if plans are damped at the outset ; more 
 especially so if the plans are Quixotic and not 
 exactly self-interested. Perhaps the companion- 
 ship of the lost portmanteau may have had 
 something to do with it. 
 
 On reaching London he found a host of papers 
 and letters requiring his attention ; and another
 
 LAND ahead! 245 
 
 night and two days were spent tliere ; so that, 
 all things considered, some days had elapsed after 
 all between his leaving Sonnenthal and the 
 evening of his arrival at Froghambury Park, and 
 his thoughts and ideas on the interests of the 
 little world assembled at the little German town, 
 bad undergone some change in the interim. 
 
 It was late in the evening when he reached 
 the station of Sloughford (he had left Bonham 
 ])ehind him in London) ; and as he drove in the 
 star-lio^ht alono^ the broad road, bordered on each 
 side by Sir Gilbert Vane's property ; as his Hy 
 slowly followed the steep road through part of 
 the great deer-park, Mr. Mortimer asked himself 
 more than once w^hether he were right in spoiling 
 Margaret's chance of being the mistress of all 
 this. The stately oaks, the spreading beeches, 
 the long vistas of glade and park, the startled 
 deer had something so peaceful, so prosperous, so 
 beautiful about them, that he began to think 
 Margaret might well reign here happily ; ay I 
 happily even with such an unsympathetic 
 companion as Dudley. But — ah ! when the buts 
 began — it all seemed wrong, incongruous, im- 
 possible. Sir Gilbert's dreams and schemes for 
 this precious nephew had towered aloft ; had not 
 he, Mr. Mortimer, often tried to follow them,
 
 246 LAND ahead! 
 
 till their mythical endings had soared where even 
 his eye-glass could not penetrate ? Did not Sir 
 Gilbert mean Dudley to be a great man, a 
 famous man ; a man who would chronicle his 
 triumphs numbered by the days that dawned 
 on him ; a man whose life should be one brilliant 
 progress, whose great deeds should shower 
 blessings on the name of Vane, and cause it to 
 be a household word in the mouths of generations 
 yet unborn ? Was not Dudley to have his 
 countrymen hanging on the eloquent words 
 which should fall from his lips ? Was not 
 Dudley to marry, if not a princess, she at least 
 who might be marriageable nearest the rank of a 
 princess? Did not Mr. Mortimer know all this; 
 and then how could his thoughts help dwelling 
 with something of alarm and terror on Margaret's 
 tender charms and slightly homely ways ; or 
 Mrs. Hoffman's ambition, and on the old-world 
 dreams of the dear Professor ? More than all, 
 how could he bring Dudley, in his present way 
 of living and thinking, to the level where he 
 wished to place him ? 
 
 By this time he had reached the door of 
 Froghambury, and as the flyman raug the bell 
 the thought struck him that he ought to have 
 written to say he was coming.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 247 
 
 " Yet, after all," thought he to himself, ^' there 
 is no one here but Gilbert Vane, and if he is 
 not up to seeing me I won't let him know till 
 the morning." 
 
 At the sound of the door-bell the voices of 
 dogs were heard on all sides — the deep bay of 
 the bloodhound at the stables, the angry, con- 
 tinuous bark of others, the howl of another, the 
 sharp, piercing, indignant cries of some smaller 
 species, like the voice of a scolding woman, and 
 within the house the yelp of some disturbed and 
 pampered favourite. 
 
 At the window of the room over the hall-door 
 there was a faint light burn in o[. 
 
 At leno;th there was a sound of bolts and bars 
 being withdrawn, and the old butler stood before 
 him, not quite pleased at being disturbed ; two 
 other servants were laughing. 
 
 The sight of the old man's face took Mr. 
 Mortimer back )^ears. 
 
 " Ah, Douglas ! how d'ye do ? " 
 
 He stretched out his hand to him. 
 
 " Why, it's never Mr. Walpole ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is. How is Sir Gilbert ? " 
 
 " I am glad you've come, sir. Sir Gilbert's 
 but poorly, very poorly. Come, make haste 
 there," he added to the footman, as he directed
 
 248 LAND ahead! 
 
 tliem to take Mr. Mortimer's cherished port- 
 manteau. 
 
 "I won't disturb him to-night, Douglas; it 
 is so late," said Mr. Mortimer, as soon as he was 
 inside the hall. "You can give me a room 
 and a cup of coffee, I suppose ? There is no one 
 here, is there ? " 
 
 " Oh, but, sir, he will be so glad to see you, 
 sir. No one else here, sir," and he shook his 
 head, as he looked down on the floor, as though 
 the good old times were fled now, and they were 
 all living under a new and painful dispensation. 
 " He sees no one but the ladies. He will be glad 
 indeed, sir." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer laughed at Douglas' implied 
 contempt. 
 
 "The ladies?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, Mrs. Vane. Ah! but — well! We 
 have only her now. Her sister's left, sir. Sir 
 Gilbert could not stand it ; he was obliged to tell 
 her so. You will judge, sir, if they were his 
 sort ; and the sister was worse than she is." 
 
 Suddenly Douglas' face and limbs became rigid 
 and fixed. Had he been seized with lock-jaw? 
 His manner, too, altered, and his tongue refused 
 its function. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer looked up and beheld a tall lady
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 249 
 
 standing at the end of the hall ; the drawing- 
 room-door was open behind her. Suddenly a 
 tribe of little yelping, snarling dogs ran out of 
 the room like an avalanche, and rushing towards 
 Mr. Mortimer, proceeded to heap abuse and insult 
 upon him as hard as they could. 
 
 "Is that a new doctor, Douglas? Who is 
 that, coming at this hour ? Down, Diamond ; 
 come here. Loo ; be quiet. Spitz ; oh, Fluff, hold 
 your tongue ; Punch, will you be sensible ? " 
 
 "" It's Mr. Mortimer, ma'am. '^ 
 
 Mr. Mortimer advanced towards her. A tall, 
 dark woman, with bright eyes and brilliant 
 comjDlexion. 
 
 " A very fine woman indeed,^' thought Walpole 
 Mortimer to himself. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Mortimer! Sir Gilbert's friend? 
 This is kind. He will be pleased. Come into 
 the drawing-room with me, will you not ? 
 Douo^las, brinor some coffee." 
 
 " I really must apologize," he began. 
 
 " Oh, pray don't ! But tell me why you have 
 come." 
 
 She had seated herself in the low chair in the 
 dark, old-fashioned room, her feet on the fender ; 
 for even in this summer's night Mrs. Vane required 
 a fire. Mr. Mortimer stood beside her and tried
 
 250 LAND ahead! 
 
 to evade her question and the intense inquisitive- 
 ness of her face as best he might. 
 
 " To see Sir Gilbert." 
 
 " Ah ! " she replied, thoughtfully, with her chin 
 in her hand. " So you heard he was ill ? Who 
 told you ? " 
 
 " I heard it abroad. Is he so ill ? " 
 
 " Poor darling, he is — very ill. But who told 
 you ? " 
 
 " I heard it at Sonnenthal. I met your boy 
 there." 
 
 " Dudley ? No — really ! Did you ? But what 
 an idiot the boy is. I told him not to say a 
 word about it." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " I hate being questioned," her face clouding 
 over. 
 
 " So do I." 
 
 Their eyes met. Mr. Mortimer coughed drily, 
 rubbed his eye-glass, changed his position, and 
 ultimately sat down. 
 
 Then Douglas brought the coffee. A smile of 
 grim satisfaction overspread the old man's face on 
 finding that a freezing silence reigned supreme. 
 
 "I think, Douglas, you might- as well tell Sir 
 Gilbert I am here ; and just ask him if he would 
 like to see me. Just ask him, that is all."
 
 LAND ahead! • 251 
 
 " Oh, not to-night, Mr. Mortimer. I insist 
 upon it, not to-night. He is fast asleep, and it 
 mig^ht kill him." 
 
 " If you please, ma'am. Sir Gilbert is very- 
 wakeful to-night ; he heard the carriage come, 
 and asked me what it was. I think the sight of 
 Mr. Walpole would almost cure him." 
 
 " Did you tell him I was here ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and his face lightened so, like old 
 days." 
 
 " Ask if he will see me." 
 
 Douglas shut the door noiselessly, and Mr. 
 Mortimer sipped his coffee. 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer, you are an old friend here ? " 
 
 He put his cup down, and stuck his eye-glass 
 in his eye. 
 
 " Might I ask " 
 
 *' Because," she went on, hurriedly — " but I 
 know you are ; you were here in the old days, 
 when there was nobody but these old servants to 
 look after poor darling Sir Gilbert. Now I am 
 mistress. But it is hard work ; you are his 
 friend — and — you will help me ? " 
 
 " Certainly, madame, certainly." 
 
 "I knew you would. I felt you were a friend, 
 a true, sincere friend, the moment I saw you. 
 Poor dear, he wants some one sadly to speak to
 
 252 LAND ahead! 
 
 him of the things of eternity. No one to tell 
 him anything. And he will not hear a word 
 from me. You will speak to him, will you 
 not ? " 
 
 " If I can be of any service," he stammered, 
 shading his face from the lamp with his hand. 
 " Mr. Mortimer, is that wdiy you came ? " 
 She leaned forward and looked at him eagerly. 
 *' On the whole I cannot say it was." 
 " I hoped — I almost believed it was." 
 Her voice died away into a whisper. Mr. 
 Mortimer almost pitied her disappointment. 
 " Why did you come ? " she asked suddenly. 
 *' Good heavens, Mrs. Vane ! " he answered, 
 sharply irritated, " can't a man come and see his 
 friend without all these cross-questions ? It was 
 high time I should come. I have left Vane a 
 great deal too long, a great deal too long. This 
 is not the old days of Froghambury, when no 
 question was asked, and one was only pressed to 
 stay. A new dispensation indeed." 
 
 The door opened, and Douglas came in. 
 " Sir Gilbert will be happy to see you, sir." 
 Mr. Mortimer rose and followed him without a 
 word. 
 
 The broad staircase, the old passage with its 
 many windings, the curious little ante-room, and
 
 LAND ahead! 253 
 
 at the end the room with its two windows looking 
 out on the park and on the cedar-trees waving 
 their weird okl arms in the night wind. How 
 well he remembered it all ! There too was the 
 old tester-bed, the heir-loom in the family ; how 
 many Vanes had slept and died in it ! 
 Douglas opened the door, and said — 
 
 " Mr. Walpole, sir." 
 
 And Mr. Mortimer was left standing on the 
 threshold alone with Sir Gilbert. 
 
 " Walpole, is that you ? Come here where I 
 can see you. Are you alone ? " 
 
 " Yes, Vane, here I am." 
 
 " This is kind. When the old lion dies the 
 other animals come round and stare at him with 
 impunity." 
 
 " Hush, Vane ! the old lion is not going to 
 die yet ; I have come to bring him to life again." 
 
 " You are right, Walpole. It is not so bad as 
 that. But are you alone ? sure ? " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 *' Isn't she here ? " 
 
 " No one is here but myself, Gilbert." 
 
 " Walpole, that woman is killing me." 
 
 *' Killing you ! " 
 
 "Yes; her jabber and her chatter, and the 
 rustle of her petticoats, and her humbug, and her
 
 254 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Poor Darlings and Poor Dears ; I was obliged to 
 take to my bed." 
 
 " What ! are you not ill at all then 1 " 
 
 ** 111 ! the fellow seems disappointed ! of course 
 I am, very ; but she makes me so." 
 
 " We'll have you up to-morrow." 
 
 " But then you must bar the doors, and take 
 her away somewhere." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer laughed outright. 
 
 " To think of a grand Turk like you being sat 
 upon by a woman ! " 
 
 '' But, Walpole, I think she does want to kill 
 me ; I am afraid to eat — to drink almost." 
 
 As he said it he leaned forward, and Mortimer 
 saw how haggard and ill he was really looking. 
 
 " My dear Yane, why should she ? " 
 
 " She wants to be mistress here." 
 
 4: 
 
 " She seems to have achieved that." 
 " She wants that blessed boy to succeed." 
 " All in good time ; he will do that anyhow." 
 " I am not so sure of that, my friend," and 
 
 the old man closed his teeth viciously. " I am 
 
 not so sure. What has he done ? Why should 
 
 I make him my heir ? " 
 
 " Oh, I thought you had made up your 
 
 mind." 
 
 *' So I had. But, Mortimer, I am glad you
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 255 
 
 have come. I wanted some one. By-tlie-by, 
 why shouldn't 1 make you my heir ? " 
 
 " You are mad." 
 
 *^Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 " For Heaven's sake don't I I hate the country. 
 I should detest Froghambury." 
 
 " You used to like it." 
 
 *^Ah, to come to for a visit. That is so 
 different." 
 
 " Well, well ; we shall see. But you are very 
 odd," said the old man, querulously, turning in 
 his bed. '^ You always were odd. Good-night, 
 Walpole. Come back to me in the morning and 
 see how I am."
 
 CHAPTEH XYl. 
 
 S'io miro il tuo bel viso 
 
 Amor e un paradiso ; 
 
 Ma s'io miro il mio core, 
 
 E un infernal ardore. — II Pastor Jido. 
 
 ^' I AM sure she loves me." 
 
 Those were the words that Valentin had used to 
 Dudley ; bold words, but they were true. The truth 
 of them was present to him always now since he 
 had uttered them, and he sunned himself in their 
 light, and they gave a glory to his life. He 
 never thought of them with regard to the future. 
 The present was everything to him ; " Carpe 
 diem " was his motto, each day had its history ; 
 the dim horizon with its wavering, uncertain 
 lights was never studied. 
 
 " She loves me." 
 
 He had won her. , At first, attracted by her 
 beauty, a sympathy had grown up between them, 
 and then, burning with a restless desire for con- 
 quest, he had set himself to win her love. All
 
 LAND ahead! 257 
 
 his wit, all his knowledge, all his brilliancy, all 
 his fascinations of speech and manner had been 
 displayed before her, all his tenderness, all the 
 eloquence of which he was master ; and so he had 
 succeeded. In fact to Valentin hitherto life held 
 nothing but success ; it meant pleasure, triumph, 
 glory, success. Dark days were to him unknown, 
 hours of despair were myths ; clouds there were 
 sometimes, but not very black or very threaten- 
 ing clouds, and the sun was sure to be shining 
 somew^here behind to disperse them if he would 
 only call for it. Small difficulties, shadows of 
 remorse, periods of doubt there were too, but 
 Valentin knew he would always emerge into a 
 trail of liojht. 
 
 Is not man the lord of creation, and is not 
 everything subservient to him ? 
 
 And now that he had won Margaret — and he 
 knew he had won her by her downcast looks, by 
 her trusting smile — he found the world a very 
 pleasant place, and life seemed to stretch out 
 before him as a long holiday. He had not yet 
 troubled himself to think what he should do with 
 her love ; it seemed like a bright patch of sun- 
 shine for him to bask in. His visit to Sonnenthal 
 seemed to have grown into that ; it was the 
 brightest rest he had known in his life. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 LAND ahead! 
 
 But just now there was a cloud on the horizon ; 
 Dudley Vane had brought it there, and Lotta 
 Senden seemed to be helping in the manufacture. 
 If Valentin could have roused himself from his 
 foolish dream of self-confidence, if he could have 
 made an efibrt, if he could have been unselfish, 
 have thought of Margaret instead of wholly 
 thinking of himself, if a doubt could have crossed 
 his mind whether ''life were always afternoon," 
 he might have dissipated the cloud, and the 
 sunshine would have been bright again. But he 
 did nothing. He sat and smiled. He believed 
 in himself, in his fate, in his happiness too 
 thoroughly to make any effort, to cost himself any 
 sacrifice, to face any responsibility for the future. 
 
 He believed in Margaret too much to fancy 
 anything but a mere passing cloud could ever 
 come between them. Did not she love him ? and 
 did not a nature like hers — yes ; she could not 
 change. Desire it as she might, she must be true 
 and constant to him now, she could not change. 
 But she never would desire it. Did she not know 
 that he loved her ? had not he shown it, said it 
 in a hundred ways ? had not he laid himself out 
 to win her ? and had not life been different to 
 them both since he had succeeded ? Only if other 
 people should interfere — if
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 259 
 
 These " ifs " were just beginning to be trouble- 
 some, when the next evening, as he stood on the 
 steps of " The Three Eoses " talking to Heinrich 
 Flugel, he saw Dudley Vane with Margaret and 
 her mother coming along on their way to the 
 Kursaal gardens. Frau Hoffman had spent a 
 troubled night. Had not her dreams of Dudley's 
 wealth been dispersed as a summer cloud ? had 
 not Mr. Tudor told her he mio^ht have nothinof, 
 that his uncle was displeased with him, that he 
 was in fact a failure ? had not Mr. Mortimer and 
 Frau Stein Q-racht hinted at the same sad truths ? 
 and at the same time had not Valentin von 
 Broderode in some slight, inexpressible way 
 seemed to be cooling ? Truly Frau Hoffman 
 thought that troubles never came alone. But 
 one must put a brave face on these things, and 
 smiles must ripple sweetly over women's faces, 
 though their hearts may be breaking. Just now, 
 therefore, the brightest smile broke through the 
 storm-cloud on her face as she greeted Valentin. 
 
 " Guten Abend, mein herr; we are going to 
 hear the band ; will you not join us ? " 
 
 There was a half- reproachful smile on Margaret's 
 face as he smilingly ranged himself by her mother's 
 side behind herself and Dudley. 
 
 To Margaret what a long walk it seemed I but 
 
 S 2
 
 260 LAND ahead! 
 
 was not Valentin content ? did not her eyes tell 
 him she loved him ? 
 
 And for Dudley — well I he was by her side, 
 and she was all the world to him. 
 
 And afterwards in the gardens, when they met 
 all the rest, Lotta Senden and Frau Steingracht 
 and Mr. Tudor, why did they all make room 
 for Valentin beside Margaret if they did not see 
 as he did — that happiness is the law of the world ? 
 Only Lotta called him away ; but then Lotta was 
 the discord, and of course he did not attend to 
 her. How pleasant it was sitting there in the 
 half-light listening to the music and watching 
 the people, and speaking just now and then. 
 Afterwards, after the fireworks were over, Dudley 
 Vane stepped up to Margaret and spoke to her 
 in a low voice. She looked doubtful, and then 
 half- hesitatingly she looked at Valentin. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked he, smiling. 
 
 *' He wants me to go for a turn with him." 
 
 " Well, go ! " and he waved his hand with a 
 superior gesture, and smiled as though it cost him 
 nothing. 
 
 So Margaret rose quickly and went with 
 Dudley Vane. 
 
 Were those her mother s and Frau Steingracht's 
 voices calling for her ? did they tell her to come
 
 LAND ahead! 261 
 
 back ? What did it matter ? what were they to 
 her now ? what part had they in her life ? 
 Valentin was her life, and he cared nothing at 
 all for her. So she went away quickly, half 
 desperately, with Dudley Vane. 
 
 All round the lake they went, into the dark- 
 ness, under the waving branches, and into the 
 silence whence only Nature spoke to them. 
 
 And above the mystery and the misery of life 
 came Dudley's passionate voice into Margaret's 
 ear ; it was a cry for the love she could not gi v^e 
 him. What an awful need it was ; and how 
 powerless and wicked she seemed to herself. 
 Powerless because now she could not help him ; 
 and wicked because, perhaps, there had been a 
 time when had she been careful or thoughtful 
 she might have saved him from this. How her 
 soul revolted from all he offered her ; what a 
 weary blank seemed the dearest treasure he could 
 give. Why, when he talked of a life's devotion, 
 did she feel she could only long for death rather 
 than bear such a life ? Why, as she watched the 
 flashino^ reflections in the water, did she lono^ for 
 the peace from her own misery which the water 
 might give ? How weird and ghostly the black 
 swans looked as they floated silently by. What a 
 mockery of happiness were the shooting gondolas
 
 262 Land ahead ! 
 
 with the coloured lanterns on their prows ; what 
 a mockery the peace, the calm and serenity of 
 element, of earth and heaven. And there in the 
 distance were the gay crowds ; joy, merriment, 
 pleasure, unrest, light, glare, effort, and the music 
 striving to harmonize all. Above all, there in the 
 light was Valentin. Meanwhile she walked in 
 the dark with Dudley. 
 
 '^Oh, don't!" said she, suddenly, putting her 
 hands up to her ears, feeling with swift, generous 
 impulse she could not help him, she could in fact 
 do nothing, and that she must not therefore hear 
 more. " Oh, don't ! let me go ! " 
 
 " Go ! Why ? is it nothing to you all my suffer- 
 ing, all my longing, all my devotion. Think 
 what you are doing." 
 
 " I do think ; I am thinking." 
 
 " Have pity upon me. Think how you have 
 but to speak the word and my pain is at an end ; 
 and in return you are worshipped for the rest of 
 your life. I am your slave, and you will have 
 tenderness and devotion from me always." 
 
 " I cannot. You do not know. You and I 
 are so different. My life is not that — could not 
 be that. We must be far asunder always, and 
 that life you speak of could never satisfy me. I 
 cannot marry you."
 
 LAND ahead! 263 
 
 *' Ach ! meine Fraulein ; I thought that was 
 your voice, even if Fritz had not found you." 
 
 Maro;aret turned and saw Gretchen standing: 
 on the bridge. Fritz was snuffing at her dress, 
 and pushing his nose into her hand. 
 
 " What is it, Gretchen ? " . 
 
 " Come ; you must come ; you must come now 
 directly. The Herr Professor is very ill ; much 
 worse." 
 
 Maro^aret started. How selfish, how thouofht- 
 less she was ; her mother had persuaded her to 
 come out, but she had meant to go back directly : 
 now in the excitement of the last half-hour she 
 had forgotten. 
 
 " Oh, and I promised to go back at once. 
 Mr. Vane, what shall I do ? I must go back 
 directly. Gretchen, have you told the others ? " 
 
 " No ; I was on my way. I thought you would 
 be there/' and she pointed to the light and the 
 music, and looked half- reproachfully at her young 
 mistress ; " not here." 
 
 *' Go and tell them, Gretchen. They will find 
 me at home." 
 
 And so they did. To Dudley, Margaret and 
 Fritz seemed to fly through the gardens towards 
 the house. The great dog seemed to delight in 
 Margaret's swift movements, and to think it finG
 
 264 LAND ahead! 
 
 fun. He took a piece of her dress gently in his 
 mouth, and trotted along by her side. Dudley 
 was almost jealous of the understanding between 
 the two, for she vouchsafed no further word to 
 him till they came to the door — then she turned. 
 
 " Good-bye, Mr. Yane. I have been wrong, 
 terribly wrong. Will you try and forgive me ? 
 And yet, no ; I don't ask that ; God forgives us, 
 if we try. And if only my father — " her voice 
 became thick with sobs — " if there is time to win 
 his forgiveness for my neglect. As for you, all I 
 can ask is that you should try and forget me." 
 
 Then the great gates swung to and she was 
 gone. Dudley watched the light she carried 
 through the windows as she went up to her 
 father's room. 
 
 Of course Fritz went up too. 
 
 How still the room. was. You could hear 
 nothing but the sound of the river as it went 
 swirling by. The night-breeze moved the curtains 
 at the window, and the candle Margaret had 
 brought flared hideously. 
 
 " Fritz has brought me back, father. '^ 
 
 But there was no sound, no movement. 
 
 '* Father, Margot has come back." 
 
 Fritz licked her hand. She knelt by the bed. 
 
 ** Are you worse, father ? They are all coming
 
 LAND ahead! 265 
 
 directly. What shall I do ? how shall I comfort 
 you ? " 
 
 The Professor opened his eyes ; they rested on 
 her tenderly. 
 
 "That is right, father. You are awake now. 
 You are better ? And Margot will never leave 
 you any more. She has been bad lately ; she 
 has left her post ; but she will not do it any more. 
 And she will find her place in your heart just the 
 same, will she not ? Father, soon — for Fritz and 
 I will nurse you so well now" — his hand rested 
 on her head now — " w^e will go and listen to the 
 river again, and we will tell each other all it says, 
 as in the old, old days. How long ago they seem." 
 
 " Nay, my child, nay ; that is over now." 
 
 " And by and by, when it gets cooler, we will 
 go and pick our flowers again, and we will weave 
 our stories, and we will learn, and — 
 
 " Listen, Margot. That is all over now. I 
 am going to leave you, child." 
 
 ** Oh no, no ! I cannot, cannot bear it ; no, no ! " 
 
 ** Hush, child, do not sob so. But, Margot, 
 you are sorry then ? you have not forgotten ? I 
 thought — nay, dear child, I am happy so. We 
 are one once more even at the end." 
 
 " Father, you must not go. I cannot bear it ; 
 I cannot stand alone." 

 
 266 LAND ahead! 
 
 "You are not alone now, Margot. Have not I 
 watched and seen — did you think I could not 
 see ? Be true to him, Margot ; he is true by nature, 
 
 but — perhaps '■ Nothing, child; only just 
 
 as we go we see clearer. And so — Margot, come 
 nearer, for I cannot speak much — and so I die 
 happy. And I am only going before, to the land 
 where the flowers never fade, they say, and where 
 knowledge comes without struggle and effort, for 
 we are with God, who is all knowledge and all 
 truth." 
 
 " Dear father, take ine with you." 
 
 " In God's good time, my child ; in God's good 
 time." 
 
 When Maro^aret roused herself from that last 
 passionate embrace, when the kiss was spent, and 
 the honoured head was calm on its pillow, the 
 fire had indeed gone out, the last flicker of life 
 was over, and Margaret was indeed in darkness, 
 and alone. 
 
 Yet not alone, for there, pawing impatiently 
 and whining piteously, was Fritz. 
 
 How long was that hour of passionate rebellion ! 
 how terrible was the grief! The pain seemed 
 more bitter than she could bear; there seemed 
 nothing but a weary waste of impossibility before 
 her. Nothing but sorrow and toil and dreary
 
 LAND ahead! 267 
 
 solitude against her, and on her side a weakness 
 ^hich prevented her making any step or any 
 stand in the right direction. How dreadful 
 seemed the past ! How every pleasure enjoyed, 
 every flippant word, every hour trifled away 
 stood out in bold, staring relief against the dark 
 present ! how she longed for the few last weeks 
 back once more ! 
 
 *' Oh, I cannot, cannot bear it," called she, in 
 her agony. 
 
 And again, as she caught a glimpse of irrevoc- 
 able fate in the fixed, pale face, she called again — 
 
 " Oh, let me die too ! Let me die ; I cannot 
 live." 
 
 But the calm face t^ght its lesson even then. 
 He had borne, he had sufi"ered. Now he was at 
 rest ; now he was content. What had she borne ? 
 what had she sacrificed ? what had she sufiered ? 
 what right had she to be content ? But still she 
 thought she could not live. How was she ever 
 to rise again from this weary weight of woe 
 oppressing her, how ever to take up with life 
 and its duties again ? She shuddered at the 
 prospect, and lay down on the floor, like a tired 
 child, that could struggle no more, and must cry 
 itself to sleep at last. So, when they came in, 
 they found her.
 
 268 ^^^^ ahead! 
 
 The Professor, calm, content, and dead; and 
 the child, wild, almost unconscious from the 
 agony of the blow, lying on the floor, with 
 her head pillowed on the body of the faithful 
 
 dog Fritz. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 Ji lldtel. 
 
 BY 
 
 COURTENEY GRANT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " LITTLE LADY LORRAINE," " OUR NEXT NEIGHBOUR," ETC. 
 
 Human soul 
 Must rise from indiridual to the whole. 
 Self-Love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 
 As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
 The centre moved, a circle strait succeeds, 
 Another still, and still another spreads ; 
 Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; 
 His country next, and next all human race ; 
 Wide and more wide, th' oertlowings of the mind 
 Take every creature in, of ev'ry kind ; 
 Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest. 
 And Heaven beholds its image in his breast.— Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 19.3 PICCADILLY. 
 
 1878. 
 
 \All Rights reserved.]
 
 mwgHg : 
 
 CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.
 
 LAND AHEAD! 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Direct not him whose way himself will choose ; 
 
 'Tis breath thou lack'st, and that breath wilt thou lose. 
 
 Michard II., Act ii. Sc. 1. 
 
 And for this once my will shall stand for law. 
 
 Third Part of Henry VI., Act iv. Sc. 1. 
 
 " So you see, Walpole, you have come just in 
 time." 
 
 Sir Gilbert was propped up in bed, and was 
 looking anxiously at Mr. Mortimer, who was 
 seated at the window, looking now at the old 
 baronet's face, now turning away to the old 
 ceda.rs waving to and fro outside in the light 
 summer breeze and to the stretch of park beyond. 
 
 "But as you have heard from that fellow, I 
 
 VOL. II. B
 
 2 LAND ahead! 
 
 don't know tliat my news is of Yery mucli use 
 after all." 
 
 " Tudor is a very clever fellow." 
 
 " Very. Let me see his letter. He told me 
 lie should not meddle." 
 
 "He tells me he has postponed it till absolutely 
 obliged." 
 
 " It was because he would not meddle that I 
 canie." 
 
 " And so now you will tell me all about it." 
 
 **You see I am not sure he will marry the 
 girl." 
 
 " Dudley marry the girl ! Of course he won't. 
 I should think not. But is he thinking of it ? " 
 
 "Ye — es. I should say on the whole that he 
 is thinking of it." 
 
 A strong expletive from Sir Gilbert and a long 
 silence followed. 
 
 " What is she like, Walpole ? " 
 
 " Lovely girl ; clever too ; but no money." 
 
 " A German wife ! " 
 
 *' Mother's English." 
 
 " The boy's a fool." 
 
 " I am not sure that the girl would have him." 
 
 Sir Gilbert's eyes rested on Mr. Mortimer's 
 face.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 3 
 
 " Good heavens ! then she must be a worse fool 
 than he is." 
 
 " She likes some one else ; but the mother s 
 sharp." 
 
 " But there's Tuclor." 
 
 " Oh yes ; Tudor has told lies enough to reach 
 from here to Christmas to put her off the scent ; 
 but what is Tudor against a woman ? " 
 
 " The boy must be an ass." 
 
 " And he has an ass's obstinacy about this." 
 
 " Look here, Mortimer ; it shall not be," and 
 the old man leaned forward in the bed. "It 
 would kill me. It shall not be. Look ! leave 
 me now; go away now. Go and make friends 
 with that woman, or take a turn in the gardens 
 and report to me. And take Tudor's letter to 
 look at. I shall have made up my mind by 
 and by." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer rose and took the letter, and 
 then, with something of compunction for the 
 suffering of his old friend, stayed a moment by 
 the bed-side. 
 
 " I say, Vane, don't worry yourself, or make 
 yourself worse over this. These things always 
 come right, you know, somehow. You and I 
 always got out of our worst scrapes you know^ 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 And if we didn't, it was, you know, tliat Providence 
 meant we should not." 
 
 " Good heavens, Mortimer ! these are just the 
 scrapes a young man does not get out of. He 
 had better, far better, have a mill-stone tied round 
 his neck." 
 
 " I don't know that, I don't know that. 
 She's a clever woman, and might keep him 
 straight." 
 
 " Keep him straight ! Just make ducks and 
 drakes of the property, and have an incursion of 
 her vile, smoking relatives all over the place ; with 
 their Achs, and their Himmels, and their Jas ; all 
 living here, and dragging down the old family 
 name to I don't know what." 
 
 " Don't excite yourself, Gilbert ; don't ! you'll 
 only make yourself worse." 
 
 " Worse ! why, I am not ill. This has cured 
 me. Fortunate I am still alive ; there is still 
 time to save it. I never felt so well." 
 
 " Think it over quietly, Gilbert." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer moved away. 
 
 " I say, Walpole, do you know what I meant 
 to make of that boy ? " 
 
 He stretched out of bed, pushing back the 
 curtains as he called after him. Mr. Mortimer
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 5 
 
 stopped on the thresliold and gently closed the 
 door again, for he had opened it. 
 
 " Ah ! dreams, my dear Vane, dreams. The 
 young men now-a-days ^^ 
 
 "Are good-for-nothing, idle, degenerate dogs, 
 with no sort of pride or ambition in them. I 
 meant, Walpole — I meant, Walpole," but his 
 voice was choked, and he fell back exhausted. 
 
 " I know, Gilbert, I know." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer was at his bed-side again now. 
 
 " L'homme propose, Vane, et Dieu dispose." 
 
 But Sir Gilbert waved him away. Was he 
 ashamed that his old friend should see the tear 
 that trembled on his eye -lid ? 
 
 As Mr. Mortimer crossed the hall on his way 
 to the gardens he met old Douglas the butler. 
 The old man looked very sorrowful. 
 
 " It won't be for long, Mr. Walpole ; it won't 
 be for long." 
 
 "I suppose not, I suppose not," he answered, 
 trying to steady his voice. In truth it was a 
 shock to him. The ravages of illness he had seen 
 certainly, but still Sir Gilbert seemed so full of 
 vitality, he had not realized it like this. 
 
 "You ought to have come sooner, Mr. 
 Walpole."
 
 6 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Mr. Mortimer crushed Mr. Tudor s letter in his 
 pocket, and looked on the floor. 
 
 " I was abroad, Douglas ; a long way ofi*, 
 Douojlas." 
 
 " Oh, sir. Indeed, sir. Don't let me keep 
 you, sir." He held the hall-door open for him, but 
 there was something reproachful in the old man's 
 manner. " We all wanted a friend, sir, sadly here." 
 
 " I know, Douglas, I know." 
 
 Then he passed out, bare-headed, with his hat 
 in his hand. As he turned it over it brought 
 back to him a thousand memories ; he had bought 
 it at Sonnenthal for shade. Margaret had gone 
 shopping with him for it. Now what a renegade 
 he seemed. Her face seemed to haunt him 
 remorsefully just now. 
 
 " Poor little girl I sweet girl ! " 
 
 A pleasant thought in connection with her 
 seemed to cross his mind as he looked at the 
 grand old house and its gardens and the sweep of 
 park beyond. 
 
 Mr. Tudor's letter fell on the gravel walk, and 
 he, unconscious, turned into a summer-house close 
 at hand. 
 
 • "I am a renegade," said he, and he shut his 
 eyes to think it out better.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 7 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Gilbert Vane alone in his room 
 was also trying to think it out better. Passionate 
 indignation, affection, and disappointment were 
 striving for the mastery in his heart. Had not he 
 loved Dudley ? had not he striven to guide him 
 from his childhood ? had not he educated him, 
 and been ambitious for him, and endeavoured to 
 implant dreams of ambition in him ? When was 
 the seed to bear fruit ? was this all the return he 
 should get ? what now would become of the 
 property, of the family name ? was Dudley 
 really a " ne'er-do-well " ? or was he at best a 
 clod — one who understood merely how to exist? 
 not to live ? A homely German wife, a tender- 
 hearted, miserable woman thinking merely of her 
 domestic hearth and household matters was in 
 fact quite the last wife for him. Sir Gilbert could 
 not bear it. It was ruin to all his dreams, to all 
 his intentions. And yet was the boy so stupid ? 
 had not Sir Gilbert's teachings made any way at 
 all ? would Dudley really run his head against 
 a brick wall like this ? And then Sir Gilbert 
 fondly thought of all their conversations, of all 
 the maxims he had tried to inculcate, of the 
 worldly prudence he had preached, and of the 
 higher aspirations at which he had hinted. Oh
 
 8 LAND ahead! 
 
 no ; surely if he could only be reminded of all 
 this, if it were only put before the boy in a 
 proper light, he must come to his senses, and all 
 might be right yet. Then he tried to raise 
 himself in bed, to look out on the park he loved 
 so well, but the mental excitement had been too 
 great for him ; he was weaker, and he fell back 
 exhausted. It was not till an hour after, that a 
 footstep roused him at last. 
 
 " Gilbert, my poor darling, how is it now ? " 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 "Poor dear, he is weaker." 
 
 The wary footstep came nearer. 
 
 " My poor Gilbert, would you like any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 " Go away." 
 
 " Eh ? not to-day ? What ? " 
 
 " How did you get in ? Is Douglas there ? " 
 
 " No ; did you want him ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Gilbert, I want to speak to you. "Will you 
 hear me ? " 
 
 Only silence. 
 
 *' I hear from Mr. Mortimer that my boy " 
 
 " Bother you and your boy ; leave me alone ; 
 I can't be disturbed."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 9 ■■ 
 
 When, ^ve minutes after, the faithful Douglas i 
 
 came, a lonof stream of blood crimsonino^ the 1 
 
 counterpane told a tale. What horror it was for ^ 
 
 the faithful servant. Having burst a blood-vessel i 
 
 at this stage, would it be possible now ever for | 
 
 Sir Gilbert to return to even a semblance of ^ 
 
 health ? ; 
 
 How much hangs on trifles ! Had not Mr. 
 
 Mortimer closed his eyes so persistently to all 1 
 
 mundane things, that he might more closely | 
 
 consider moral and spiritual affairs, Mrs. Vane ! 
 
 had learned nothing of Dudley's danger, had not ; 
 disturbed Sir Gilbert on the unwelcome topic, 
 
 and he in his turn had not burst his blood-vessel. ! 
 Health and life now hung by a thread ; the flicker 
 
 of the candle became feebler and feebler. j 
 
 Thus had it happened. * ? 
 
 Mr. Mortimer, silent and immovable within j 
 
 the summer-house, heard a step on the gravel, ; 
 
 and looking up, saw Mrs. Vane coming towards 1 
 
 him. He had his reasons therefore more than i 
 
 ever for silence and absence of movement. j 
 
 Suddenly there was a stop in the dreaded i 
 
 advance, and warily opening his eyes, he saw the ' 
 
 lady stoop and pick up a letter. Instinctively < 
 
 Mr. Mortimers hand sought his pocket, and I
 
 10 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 finding there a vacuum, lie knew at once what 
 had happened. 
 
 " She won't read it," thought he. 
 
 But to his horror she read it all. 
 
 He watched her face of astonishment, of dis- 
 gust, and then he closed his eyes again. 
 
 She came up to the summer-house swiftly, 
 talking to herself. She thought she was alone. 
 Suddenly she saw him ; she stopped abruptly, 
 and abject curiosity and a mean spirit of thirsty 
 revenge opened his eyes for him on her con- 
 fusion. 
 
 They contemplated each other for a moment 
 without speaking. He knew he ought to say he 
 had been asleep, but he could not find generosity 
 sufiicient in his heart. 
 
 "So I have been confessing myself to you, 
 have I, Mr. Mortimer ? I had no idea you were 
 here." 
 
 " You were clever enough to find a letter I had 
 lost, Mrs. Vane." 
 
 Excuses are useless sometimes. 
 
 *' You are not verv careful with Gilbert's 
 correspondence. " 
 
 Then she put the letter in his hand. 
 
 " I have not read it myself yet."
 
 LA.ND ahead! 11 
 
 He half turned away from her as he perused it. 
 How vividly it brought the man and the scenes 
 he had lately left before him as he read. For 
 the moment he was at Sonnenthal again. 
 
 "Dear Sir Gilbert, 
 
 " When you see the contents of my letter 
 you will easily believe what a severe conflict I 
 have had, with myself before I allowed myself to 
 pen it ; the most urgent need alone compels me. 
 Affection for my pupil, esteem and respect and 
 the dislike to disturb you, alike hold me back. 
 Duty urges me on. The fact is, my charge, I 
 grieve to say, has become entangled, and is I 
 fear on the eve of contracting a mesalliance with 
 a young German girl. Do not imagine that I 
 have been careless or neglectful. For the last 
 month I have spent sleepless nights and anxious 
 days. But his romantic escape from drowning 
 had much to do with it ; and then, Sir Gilbert, 
 when we are young — ah, sir, when we are 
 young ! I trouble you with no details ; my chief 
 anxiety now is to know your wishes. Would 
 you prefer your nephew t(3 be happy in his own 
 way, or in yours ? He is passionately epris, I 
 warn you ; and to stop this will be very difficult,;
 
 12 LAND ahead! 
 
 his nature lias depths in it of which lately I 
 have seen strange glimpses. But, Sir Gilbert, if 
 this mesalliance should not meet with your appro- 
 bation (she is a charming, most fascinating girl), 
 why ! Tudor to the rescue ; and you may rely on 
 me to do all that mortal man can do in such 
 circumstances. 
 
 " That this letter is private and confidential 
 of course you understand. I think for the pre- 
 sent Mrs. Vane had better not be informed of its 
 subject-matter ; it might disturb her needlessly. 
 Also, till we have your intentions plainly signified, 
 also our young people's intentions clearly dis- 
 cerned, silence were best. It is generally wiser 
 to keep people in doubt and unrest about our 
 purposes ; we have the example of the heavenly 
 powers to illustrate this. 
 
 " I beg a line as speedily as may be con- 
 venient, and 
 
 " Pray believe me, 
 
 " My dear Sir Gilbert Yane, 
 " Very faithfully yours, 
 
 "Owen Tudor." 
 
 " Has he answered it ? " asked Mr. Mortimer, 
 turning absently to Mrs. Vane, who had been
 
 LAND ahead! 13 
 
 sitting on the bench beside him while he was 
 readino^ it. 
 
 " How do I know ? How should I know ? 
 How mean of Gilbert and of you to tell me 
 nothing about it. Am I not the boy's mother, 
 and should I not have been the very first to 
 have been told ? And how wicked of you, Mr. 
 Mortimer, to come here and to go straight to 
 Sir Gilbert about it, and to pass me over entirely. 
 Why should any one tell Sir Gilbert at all, even 
 if Dudley has got into any scrape ? Isn't he my 
 son, not Sir Gilbert's ? And it is destroying his 
 chances for ever." 
 
 " I had not the honour of your acquaintance. 
 How could I " 
 
 In truth Mr. Mortimer was becoming confused. 
 Whichever way he turned he seemed to have 
 done wrong. How he wished he had never seen 
 anything or said anything. 
 
 " As for a mesalliance^ you know, Mrs. Vane," 
 said he, rising, " that is all nonsense ; Miss 
 Margaret is worth sixty thousand of Dudley." 
 
 "What ! a penniless German girl ! Mr. Mortimer, 
 you must be mad." 
 
 " Perhaps I am. I think I am mad. I will go 
 to Sir Gilbert now and see if he has written."
 
 14 LAND ahead! 
 
 " And I shall write at once to Dudley and to 
 Mr. Tudor, and tell them what I think of their 
 conduct." 
 
 "You will only make matters worse, Mrs. 
 Yane ; you had much better leave it alone. Take 
 my advice." 
 
 Then he went back to the house, and Mrs. 
 Vane went to Sir Gilbert, as we have seen, with 
 the result of the burst blood-vessel, as we have 
 also seen. 
 
 It was not till two days after that Sir Gilbert, 
 after much thought and argument and perplexity, 
 accomplished the dictation of the following pithy 
 and laconic note to Mr. Tudor : — 
 
 " A Vane cannot bring home a German bride. 
 Get him away, do what you like, but stop it, 
 and the next presentation of the living of 
 Froghambury is yours. 
 
 "Gilbert Yane." 
 
 " Tudor is a clever man, Walpole. One could 
 not expect him to take trouble without making 
 it worth his while." 
 
 But was the old baronet satisfied with this ? 
 did he really put his whole trust in Mr. Tudor ?
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 1 5 
 
 was he going to let the matter rest there ? Oh, 
 no ; Dudley had orders to come home if he wished 
 to see his uncle alive once more ; plain and 
 distinct commands that he was not to marry 
 Miss Hoffman on any pretence whatever, while 
 Mrs. Vane was asked daily if she had written a 
 lecture to that fool of a boy. 
 
 And even then did he rest ? 
 
 No ; the old lion was not going to lie still 
 while they threw the net over him and sought to 
 catch him in its toils. If death was working 
 with them, he would be before them all and win 
 yet. Even as he got weaker and weaker the 
 battle was going on. What rage he felt against 
 Dudley, what disappointed pride and blighted 
 ambition. Mortimer listened to his wailings and 
 broken exclamations by the hour, and his heart 
 bled for the old man. Was this to be the end 
 of it all — of all his pride, his hopes, his fond 
 dreams ? 
 
 " I loved the boy, Walpole ; I loved him with 
 all his faults, all his idleness. And, Walpole, I 
 have willed everything to him, and now I cannot 
 bear it." 
 
 And suddenly one night the thought came to 
 him —
 
 16 LAND ahead! 
 
 " I will not bear it." 
 
 He touched his bell feebly indeed, but the 
 sound gave him determination. 
 
 "Douglas, I have a message to write; give 
 me a pen and paper." 
 
 Douglas, wondering, did as he was bid. 
 
 "Now go, Douglas. I must think. Why, 
 Walpole, are you there '? " 
 
 " I heard your bell ; I thought I could do some- 
 thing perhaps." 
 
 " Oh no ; it is nothing. But still, as you are 
 there — well, wait a second, I want your promise. 
 I — do you remember, once, years ago, you and 
 Douglas signed my will. This is different, only 
 a promise." 
 
 "All right, Gilbert. Don't excite yourself." 
 
 " Walpole, I loved that boy." 
 
 " I know, I know." 
 
 " Douglas, you know Mr. Dudley." 
 
 "Yes, sir; he will be home soon." 
 
 " Home ? wait- " 
 
 Then with a feeble hand he traced the following 
 words : — 
 
 '' Septemher 15, 1867. 
 
 " I, Gilbert Vane, hereby make my last will 
 and testament. My will is, that if my nephew
 
 LAND ahead! 17 
 
 Dudley Vane should disgrace himself now or at 
 any future time by marrying one Margaret 
 Hoffman, he is thenceforth disinherited, and can 
 succeed to nothing of mine. By such act of his 
 my former will is rendered null and void. In 
 such case, all my property which should have 
 been his shall go to my cousin Arthur Bunbury, 
 now residing at *' The Albany," Piccadilly ; who 
 shall take the name of Vane, and Froghambury and 
 the wealth appertaining thereto shall be enjoyed 
 by him and his heirs for ever after. The legacies 
 I have willed in the former will to remain intact. 
 
 *^ Sipied, 
 
 ''Gilbert Vane." 
 
 " Sign, Walpole," said he, in a low voice, 
 offering him the pen. 
 
 ''Have you thought ? do you mean " 
 
 " It is nothing, Mortimer ; don't be afraid. 
 Only just — nothing terrible." 
 
 And something like a laugh was heard through 
 the sick room. 
 
 So Mortimer sio;ned. 
 
 And then Douglas took the pen, and wrote his 
 name below. But neither knew what they had 
 signed. 
 
 VOL. II. C
 
 18 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Thank you," and lie gave his hand to each. 
 "Now I can die happy. I think I shall sleep 
 now. Come to me early, Walpole. Good-night, 
 Douglas." 
 
 But he did not sleep. Neither did they. 
 What had they signed ? Why had they humoured 
 the old man so ? a sick man's fancy often works a 
 world of ruin. What had they done ? 
 
 As for Gilbert Vane, he held and twisted the 
 paper in his poor feeble fingers and \vondered 
 what he should do with it. Had it come to this ? 
 had he nothing but revenge left for the youth he 
 had cherished and loved and fostered ? Yet how 
 was he to let this child he loved disgrace himself 
 thus ? Had he not had Dudley warned, and 
 must he not now be true to his warning ? Should 
 he after all burn the paper, and when he were 
 really dead he should not in fact care what 
 became of Froghambury or of the name of Vane. 
 
 "And Bunbury is a good man, and a clever 
 man, and a rich man. Think of smoky Germans 
 here, think of German children running all over 
 the place, think of a German Frau, with her harsh 
 gutterals and her homely dress and w^ays. I 
 cannot bear it. Dudley must be saved." 
 
 Presently his eye fell on an antique cabinet
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 1 9 
 
 which stood in one corner of the room ; it was of 
 curious make and artistic design. 
 
 " Ah, the secret drawer," thought he. 
 
 But how was he to Q-et there ? To him it was 
 as good as miles away. Had not he one person 
 he could trust — not one he dared tell ? No ; he 
 dared not tell one human being of this piece of 
 vengeance which he had prepared. 
 
 By slow and painful degrees, therefore, he 
 strove to reach the cabinet. How long: did it 
 take him ! Did the pitying angels look down 
 and see what pains a human being will take to 
 save the dearly-loved possessions after the poor 
 body has long decayed and crumbled away ? 
 What agony he suffered in mind and body. 
 AYhat energy, what tenacity it required. But at 
 last it was done. Just as the spring yielded to 
 his touch he felt a pang of compunction. 
 
 "After all, what is life? I never enjoyed it. 
 Let him enjoy his, and be happy. My seed, his 
 harvest. But no ; why should it be ? If he does 
 it, only ?/he does it — so be it." . 
 
 So the paper was thrust in, and the drawer 
 closed, the spring struck, and the deed was 
 done. 
 
 An hour later, Sir Gilbert had regained his bed, 
 
 C 2
 
 20 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 and then the grey dawn was peering in between 
 the chinks of the shutters. 
 
 About eleven o'clock Mrs. Vane sued for 
 admittance. 
 
 " Tell him I have good news for him, Douglas." 
 
 But Sir Gilbert was much worse to-day. He 
 could not speak ; he could only listen. 
 
 " It is all over, Sir Gilbert ; all stopped. Her 
 father, the Professor, is dead, and they are all 
 leaving Sonnenthal, and we are quite safe." 
 
 " Who stopped it ? " ' 
 
 " Mr. Tudor ; it is all right. He is bringing 
 Dudley back." 
 
 " I promised him the living. You must see to it." 
 
 He was certainly much worse to-day. The 
 doctors shook their heads over him, and looked 
 very grave. 
 
 '' The nurse must certainly 
 
 But he shook his head. 
 
 " Walpole may stay. 
 
 That night there was a change. There had 
 been a stillness as of death for hours ; save for 
 the ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece, and 
 the chimes of the old stable clock outside, the 
 silence had not been broken, when suddenly 
 Mortimer felt the sick man move. 
 
 >> 
 
 ^
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 21 
 
 "It — was — that — killed — me, Walpole. The 
 money." 
 
 " It will be all rio'ht, Gilbert." 
 
 " It has been — my death. I — cared — too — 
 much." 
 
 A long silence followed. 
 
 " Shall I call the others ? Let me fetch the 
 doctor." 
 
 "No; not yet." 
 
 And after awhile he added — 
 
 " Just you and I." 
 
 The old friends of boyhood together once more. 
 
 " Walpole " 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 " That will " 
 
 Mortimer bent his head lower. 
 
 " That you signed last night is " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Is not right." 
 
 " No ; very welL" 
 
 "It is wicked." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " There." He pointed to the window. " Destroy 
 it. Dudley is my boy." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Then he made a sign that he wanted to write,
 
 22 LAND ahead! 
 
 so Mortimer put a pencil between his fingers and 
 held the paper before him. "I do not wish 
 Dudley disinlie — " and then he sank back 
 exhausted. 
 
 He fastened his eyes on Mortimer wistfully. 
 Then presently he put his hand up to write again. 
 
 " Let him succeed to all," he wrote, and pushed 
 the paper to Mortimer. 
 
 " Whatever — happens, he — must — be — happy. 
 He — is — a — good — boy." 
 
 " I will look after him." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Walpole. I have 
 never been happy since we were boys together." 
 
 " God bless you, Gilbert." 
 
 The dying man's hand was in his still. 
 
 " Shall I call the rest now ? " 
 
 " No ; just you and I, and peace, and God. 
 Pray ! " 
 
 So the old friend knelt beside him and prayed. 
 
 The two worldly men came to God thus 
 together at last. As he prayed Mortimer felt 
 the grasp relax and the hand grow colder. 
 When he looked there was a smile on the face, 
 but the spirit had fled.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; 
 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; 
 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, 
 And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 It was long before Margaret could be roused 
 from the stupor of sorrow into which her father's 
 death had thrown her. When indeed she did 
 begin to wake once more to life, the revival of 
 old associations, the recall of old memories 
 brought bitter pangs with them, and it was like 
 one waking to a day of pain and wishing again 
 for the dark hours of night. An exaggerated 
 sense of remorse was ever present with her. She 
 thought she had neglected her father; she 
 thought that if she had not been so busied with 
 her love-affairs, her " imaginary sorrows," as now 
 in her keen grief she called them, if she had been 
 less selfish, that then he would not have died. 
 She thought she had been faithless to the old
 
 24 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 affection and deep sympathy existing between 
 them. She thought that she had been careless 
 of the life-long, unvarying kindness he had 
 shown her ; she knew she had been his all, and 
 then suddenly she had taken herself away from 
 him, and had left him comfortless ; for the sake of 
 younger faces, and for foolish jokes, for bright 
 smiles, and for tender speeches she had done this ; 
 just for such false, fleeting gifts she had done 
 it ; and now their falsehood had come home to 
 her, and she was reaping as she had sown. 
 When had her father's love, her father's true and 
 loyal sympathy ever failed her ? and how had 
 she repaid him for it ? for what had she 
 disregarded it ? 
 
 For Valentin's love ! And now was the 
 treasure she had so ardently coveted hers ? Her 
 dying father had thought so. But she doubted 
 sorely. And even now, in this hour of bitter 
 need, she almost turned away from that love. 
 It seemed to her as though through it her loss 
 had come upon her. It seem^ed to her that if 
 Valentin had never come to her she and her 
 father might have been happy together still. 
 Her father had died thinking his place was filled 
 and that Margaret would be happy, but in truth
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 25 
 
 her spirit turned from all sympathy ; she could 
 not yet be comforted ; she suffered too acutely 
 to see even Valentin. 
 
 The dreary days passed by, and Dudley came, 
 and Valentin came, and Frau Senden came, and 
 Mr. Tudor too, but Frau Hoffman must always 
 give the same answer : " Margaret could see no 
 one. 
 
 Two people were very happy at this, and two 
 others w^ere very miserable. Dudley was miser- 
 able, Valentin also ; but Frau Senden rejoiced, 
 and Mr. Tudor 's face expanded daily under a 
 brighter smile as his prospect of the living of 
 Froghambury became surer and surer, and as 
 Dudley's hopes of winning Margaret became 
 fainter. 
 
 Had not he written home letter upon letter to 
 poor Sir Gilbert, had not post after post brought 
 tidings of his most successful diplomacy, had not 
 he imposed alike upon Mrs. Vane and even upon 
 Mr. Mortimer, had not he withheld all account of 
 the Professor's demise, till the sudden news of 
 Sir Gilbert's very serious illness had come with a 
 crash of reality upon him, and much alarmed at 
 the chance of losing the living after all, he had 
 told of the death of the Professor, and the small
 
 26 LAND ahead! 
 
 likelihood there was of Margaret ever listening 
 to Dudley's protestations of attachment, owing to 
 his careful representation ? 
 
 Sir Gilbert's state, too, did seem to stop all 
 probability of the match, for it immediately 
 became imperatively necessary for the boy to go 
 home ; and as Margaret was inexorable, and 
 would receive no adieux or permit him to see 
 her, he left " all hope behind " at Sonnenthal, and 
 started off from the Valley of the Sun with a 
 very heavy heart indeed. 
 
 "But, Margot, kindlein, do see him, just for a 
 minute ; he is your friend, your tender, devoted, 
 kind friend," urged Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 " No, mother ; I have done him quite harm 
 enough. He must never see me again. He 
 must forget me. He will forget me." 
 
 " And you, my child ? " 
 
 " I, mother ! Oh, I want to die, that is 
 
 all." 
 
 But there was Valentin. Daily he came to 
 Blumenthal asking after her. Sometimes he 
 brought her flowers, sometimes he saw Frau 
 Hoffman ; and the mother marked the tears in 
 his eyes, and wished that Margot would see him. 
 But by and by he grew angry ; his heart changed.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 27 
 
 Margaret was cruel, faithless, negligent, selfish in 
 her grief. 
 
 " He must wait, mother," she had said. " By 
 and by I wall see him. If he loves me he will 
 wait. I am not strong enough to see him yet." 
 
 She feared to face him yet. 
 
 At last, one evening, as she sat at the window 
 looking out on the river, and shielded from view 
 by the flowers, Valentin passed beneath. 
 
 He did not see her ; he did not even look up ; 
 he had no idea she w^as so near to him. There 
 was something weary, listless, dejected in his 
 step ; his head was held low, he was looking on 
 the ground. How difl'erent from the bright, 
 triumphant Valentin she had known. Her heart 
 smote her. What w^as she doing ? Was she 
 right to indulge her grief in this way ? She 
 looked after him as long as she could, and 
 when her mother came in she was surprised 
 at the change of expression on her daughter's 
 face. 
 
 " Why, have you heard, child ? " 
 
 " What, mother ? " 
 
 " Oh, I thought you had. There seems more 
 interest, more life in your face than I have seen 
 there for a long time."
 
 28 LAND ahead! 
 
 A half-conscious blush overspread the sad 
 countenance. 
 
 " What could I hear, mother ? " 
 
 " Only my plan. I thought some one might 
 have told you. Do like it, Margot. Do fall in 
 with it. It is this : I want to go and live in 
 England." 
 
 Frau Hoffman was startled with the cry of joy 
 the girl gave. 
 
 " Do let us, mother. That would be a fresh, 
 free life. Anything to get away." 
 
 " Can you leave it all so easily ? " 
 
 '^ I cannot bear it. Every corner, every picture, 
 every flower reminds me of him. Take me away, 
 mother." 
 
 "But the others, Margot — Count von Brode- 
 rode, eh ? " 
 
 " He will come too, perhaps. Or he will marry 
 Frau Sen den, perhaps. At all events then we 
 shall know." 
 
 " But, Margot, I think he loves you. He 
 comes so often ; he wants to see you so much." 
 
 " Does he, mother ? " 
 
 The tones were so soft Frau Hoffman did 
 not answer, and presently she left Margaret 
 alone.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 29 
 
 "If he would come now — just now," sighed 
 Frau Hoffman to herself. 
 
 But he did not. There at Sonuenfels he was 
 singing a song with Lotta. If he had only 
 
 known But if there were no ifs life would 
 
 not be the cheat it is, and un happiness would not 
 be so universal. It was Valentin's last night 
 at Sonnenfels, and Margaret would not say 
 good-bye. 
 
 * That night Margaret went out on the house-top, 
 and Fritz lay down by her side. The dog seemed 
 all the comfort left to her now. For the first 
 time since her father's death the lights of 
 Sonnenfels tempted her, and shone out as from 
 a castle of enchantment. Was Valentin really- 
 thinking of her now ? was he sad ? was he 
 suffering ? was he, above all, true ? As she 
 looked at the gathering stars, shining so stead- 
 fastly over her head, she longed inexpressibly to 
 know that — ^just that, Was he true ? 
 
 A moment later, she went down-stairs to the 
 court-yard, where Gretchen was knitting her 
 stocking at the gate. It was the first time she 
 had been there since her father died. Every step 
 was an arrow in her heart, every step brought her 
 loneliness home to her more forcibly.
 
 30 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Gretchen, will you do something for me ? " 
 
 " Surely, Fraulein, surely." 
 
 The girl looked at her, surprised. Why had 
 she come down thus ? 
 
 " Will you take a letter for me to Sonnenfels ? " 
 
 "Yes, that I will." 
 
 And Gretchen smiled with pleasure. Her 
 youno^ mistress was comino; back to life. 
 
 Jo o 
 
 " You had better take Fritz with you ; it is late." 
 The letter was soon written. It was to Valentin^, 
 and it was simple enough. 
 
 " Will you come and see me ? I have been 
 very selfish. Are you my friend still ? 
 
 "Always your 
 
 " Maegaret.". 
 
 "Just leave it, Gretchen, that is all." 
 
 Lotta's voice rose clear and pure through the 
 room at Sonnenfels ; Valentin standing beside her, 
 joining in the song, thought he had never known 
 her so fascinating, so handsome. 
 
 " How brilliant, how devoted, how true she is," 
 thought he. 
 
 The door opened, and the servant entered with 
 a note.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 3 1 
 
 " For me ? " asked Frau Senclen, putting out 
 her hand. 
 
 Just then, a black form stopped for a second 
 outside tlie window. " 
 
 " I thought I saw Fritz ; is it Fritz ? " exclaimed 
 Valentin. 
 
 And out he dashed, considerinor if it mio;ht be 
 Margaret's dog ; strangely excited. 
 
 The note was Margaret's note for Valentin. 
 Lotta knew the handwriting. She was alone. 
 The temptation was irresistible. She opened it, 
 and read it. Then without a moment's hesitation, 
 she lit the corner of the letter from the candle beside 
 her, and when Valentin returned, he found her 
 carelessly sweeping away some light ashes of 
 burnt paper. 
 
 " Was it Fritz ? " asked she. 
 
 "No. I could not see him. There was 
 nothing." 
 
 " Sing to me, Valentin ; it is your turn 
 now." 
 
 How her fingers trembled ; and why was she 
 so pale and so pre-occupied ? 
 
 But she said it was the music. 
 
 "That song of yours always excites me 
 so."
 
 32 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 And Valentin, reassured, sang on— sang to 
 forget Margaret, afterwards slept hoping to forget 
 her ; and next day, when he passed Blumenthal, 
 he swore in his heart he would sing all his life 
 long, and forget her soon successfully.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat ; 
 
 Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit ; 
 
 Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay, 
 
 To-morrow's falser than the former day ; 
 
 Lies worse, and while it says we shall be blest 
 
 With some new joys, cuts off what we possessed. — Dryden, 
 
 And meanwhile the weary night wore away with 
 Margaret, and after that the heavy blank days 
 dragged by, and hope deferred made her heart 
 sick, and she lived on, heavily and wondering. 
 
 At last she learned that Valentin had gone. 
 
 Gone ! 
 
 She repeated the word wearily to herself, at 
 first without understanding it, at last with some 
 dawning consciousness, and then she felt stunned 
 with the sense of it. 
 
 So he was not true. He had not cared. He 
 had been playing with her ; amusing himself, 
 shamming sympathy all the time. He was not 
 her friend after all. He certainly never love.d 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 34 LAND ahead! 
 
 her, though his looks had sworn it a hundred 
 times, and his tongue had softly told it. It was 
 all false. His very thoughts and looks and smiles 
 were false ; and if he were false, then for Margaret 
 the whole world was false too. 
 
 He had been her world. She knew it now. 
 And he too had known it ! He must have seen 
 her worship, her trust, her faith in his strength, 
 in his goodness, in his greatness. And after all, 
 nothing of it existed. 
 
 The idol must crumble, must perish. And she, 
 without faith, without trust, without ideal, without 
 — yes, almost without God, for in this He too 
 seemed to have failed her, to have misled her, to 
 have tempted her, she must henceforth be ship- 
 wrecked and alone. 
 
 Gone I 
 
 There is something hopeless, despairing, 
 abandoned in the very cadence of the word. The 
 last part of the word, the dying sound of it is 
 painful, heai't-rending. 
 
 How weary, footsore, forlorn, and heart-broken 
 she seemed to be now. How blajik the path of 
 her future life. And her father had trusted as 
 she had. If now the dead father knew, as she 
 now knew. Did he know ? could he see ?
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 35 
 
 Surely if so, he forgave her now ; surely now 
 her suffering entitled her to be forgiven for her 
 temporary negligence, and her temporary faith- 
 lessness. 
 
 If only Valentin had not said he was good, if 
 he had not made her believe in him, had not 
 made her trust him — had not walled himself 
 round with brilliant theories, and if he had not 
 now pulled them all down with him, and left her 
 nothing, then the suffering had been less ; if only 
 he had not painted of himself a portrait of strength 
 and intelligence and effort, which portrait had 
 won her highest admiration and her heart, then 
 she had not suffered so much. 
 
 But now all had been taken away from her, 
 and she was alone. No friendship, no love, no 
 sympathy more. Then carefully she sought back 
 in her memory for how she could have offended 
 him, how she could have wounded him, but his 
 conduct was inexplicable. Had he thought she 
 had encouraged Dudley Vane ? Was it wrong to 
 have taken that last walk with Dudley ? But 
 Valentin knew she did not care for Dudley. She 
 had only gone because he did not care, and 
 because he had told her to go. 
 
 And then thinking it all over, regrets for the 
 
 D 2
 
 86 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 briglit thoughtless past seemed to surge over her 
 in a vain irrepressible crowd. She even began to 
 pity Dudley, and to wonder if he had suffered 
 half as much as she herself suffered now. And 
 later, slowly, it came to her, that now at all 
 events she was alone. She must live alone, be 
 alone, stand alone, bear her life by herself. 
 
 *^ One can make one's life for oneself," said she 
 doubtfully to herself. " I will carve out mine 
 by myself," and at last she said with sudden 
 strength, " I will make my life as beautiful as I 
 can. 
 
 Frau Hoffman could understand nothing of 
 her efforts, of her gropings in the dark ; she was 
 miserable about her. 
 
 " No, my dear," she said to Frau Steingracht, 
 " she does nothing ; she seems quite prostrate. 
 I had no idea she cared for her father so much. 
 She cries herself to sleep, and then she wakes to 
 cry again. I don't think she does much else. I 
 must get her away as soon as I can." 
 
 So she hurried on the departure for England 
 as fast as she could, and herself felt a sort of 
 buoyancy at leaving Sonnenthal. Margaret had 
 fits of helpfulness, she did all she could, and even 
 Frau Hoffman's eyes filled with tears more than
 
 LAND ahead! 37 
 
 once as she saw the girl's pathetic efforts over 
 herself and her attempts at usefulness. 
 
 ^' I don't know how we shall live, Kindlein, we 
 shall be very poor, but there will be more satis- 
 faction in making the two ends meet in London 
 than here at Sonnenthal. Bertram has taken a 
 little house for us in Hans Place. I never 
 heard of such a locality. But we must not be 
 particular." 
 
 " How I shall like to see London, mother." 
 
 In truth she longed for change, for new life, 
 for something to give her new ideas, a fresh 
 impetus, another start. 
 
 When at last the day of departure came, and 
 she stood with her mother and Gretchen and. 
 Fritz on the steamer, waving adieus to Frau 
 Senden, who had just covered her with kisses as 
 she wept over her, and to Frau Steingracht, who 
 was there with many of the townspeople and 
 many friendly faces — as she saw Blumenthal for 
 the last time, and Sonnenfels smiled down on 
 her also its final adieu, she felt almost glad. 
 An oppression, a weight seemed lifted off her. A 
 new life seemed possible. 
 
 Certainly the pleasures of the new life seemed 
 doubtful and uncertain when soon after, on a
 
 38 LAND ahead! 
 
 dreary October evening, they drove up to the 
 little house in Hans Place. But Margaret was 
 young, and she resolutely pushed her doubts and 
 fears aside, and determined to seek only for 
 possible silver linings behind the clouds. 
 
 Strange fitful gleams of light they were 
 breaking through the monotony of that quiet 
 life ; nothing but gloom and solitude at first 
 seemed prepared for the two women. Former 
 friends were dispersed or dead, acquaintances 
 looked doubtfully and hesitatingly at Mrs. 
 Hoffman, as though her resurrection were too 
 confusing for their weak but busy minds, and 
 the golden dreams of companionship and con- 
 genial society in which both the mother and 
 daughter had indulged seemed fated for extinction. 
 
 But still exceptions to this stranded forlorn 
 life there were. Now and again an old friend 
 found them out ; now an artist invited them to 
 his studio, or it was one of that literary clique 
 which Mrs. Hoffman had looked upon in her 
 younger days as holding the gates of paradise, 
 who recognized her, and grateful for former 
 kindnesses, oblivious to all distinctions of position, 
 now gave her his friendship once again, and 
 delighted both Margaret and herself with his
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 39 
 
 sallies of genius and his tales of tlie years which 
 she had s|)ent far away. Such a one was Bertram 
 Powys, no longer young save in heart. 
 
 Or now it was some " theatrical," who had 
 begun years ago by " amateuring/' and thereby 
 victimising all his friends, amongst them Mrs. 
 Hoffman. Later, he had recognized the grandeur 
 of his art, and its worthiness of self-sacrifice and 
 devotion, and he had embraced it now as his 
 profession. Many were the boxes and stalls which, 
 through Orford Ellis, lightened the long nights 
 of that dreary winter for our " returning exiles." 
 
 Beyond it all Margaret's spirit sighed for some- 
 thing more. Art truly is a great consoler, but 
 at times the human spirit desires real human 
 sympathy ; it desires absolute truth and absolute 
 sincerity. When we are still young and indulge 
 in boundless hopes, and in faith of our right to 
 happiness. Art withholds this individual sym- 
 pathy. We work it out later for ourselves. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman, though disappointed at the 
 stern realities of London, was not so dejected 
 as Margaret. She had foreseen something of the 
 dull commencement of their life, and she had 
 resolved to put her shoulder to the wheel and 
 work steadily against it.
 
 40 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Margaret herself, poor child," thought the 
 mother, " cannot understand it all yet ; not more 
 than Fritz ; but she will in time." 
 
 Certainly Fritz did not understand it. Life, 
 shut up in the little house in Hans Place, was a 
 very dull affair indeed compared to his free 
 existence by the dancing Ehine. Here the very 
 people seemed dull and busy, they had no time 
 for play, and there was no river at all. He looked 
 up piteously in the faces of all the members of 
 the household, and his only real enjoyment was 
 in the morning when Margaret took him to the 
 Serpentine for a swim. At first she would throw 
 in his stick mechanically, but presently his excite- 
 ment and his earnestness would make her laugh, 
 and rouse her to a sense of pleasure in movement. 
 
 And through it all where were her thoughts ? 
 Where should they be but with Valentin. 
 
 How strange it was for her now in this cloudy 
 land to look back on that bright dream in the 
 valley of sunshine. How almost impossible it 
 was for her to believe that this dull girl, walking 
 along the London pavements, full of aspiration 
 indeed and of effort, and catching rare glimpses 
 of possible happiness in a world of art and imag- 
 ination, was the same girl who had sunned herself
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 41 
 
 in the vivid sunshine of the hour ; had asked for 
 nothing more, but believing in it had been content. 
 Was it really to her that Valentin had uttered this 
 tender saying, had smiled thus ? Had he really let 
 her apparently rule him ? Was it really because of 
 some innocent raillery of hers, uttered in the 
 innocent joy of her heart, that his handsome face 
 had clouded so suddenly, and ill-restrained passion 
 had shown itself with so much strength ? Had 
 she really had that power ? Oh no, it was all 
 false ! a hideous imposture ! He had not cared. 
 It was nothing. He had slipped out of her life 
 now, and had gone od his way light-hea.rted as 
 ever. Only the other day she had read his name 
 in a German paper as figuring in some military 
 review ; she had seen him once so, and then he 
 had been the onlv man on the ground for her ; 
 he had passed brilliant and splendid in all the 
 paraphernalia of his Prussian uniform, and with 
 his charger as proud as himself, and he had saluted 
 her. Now — he might pass. He would still be 
 the only man on the ground for her amid the 
 thousands there, but for her he would be silent, 
 statuesque, nothing. Later there came a paper 
 with an account of all the gay doings at Berlin, 
 and of a fancy ball, and of Valentin's dress. She
 
 42 LAND ahead! 
 
 thoiiglit of him dancing, smiling in girls eyes, 
 making love — faugh ! she felt sick at heart, and 
 went out with Fritz to the Serpentine. 
 
 How she began to hate beauty now ; to hate 
 smiles, to loathe tenderness. How she longed 
 for truth ; and she sought for it in ugly guises, 
 because she thought it more likely to be there. 
 The most blunt manners, the most ungainly 
 figures, the most uncompromising faces, the 
 severest tongues, the faintest smiles, these caught 
 her eye now. Once and again she felt herself 
 musing over Dudley Vane, and his out-spoken 
 passion. That was true ? surely that was true. 
 But she would not let herself dwell on that ; 
 always her thoughts came back with an intensity 
 past description to Valentin. Could he really let 
 her go like this ? and not care • what became of 
 her, or what she did with her life ? Had he only 
 cared while it amused him and cost him nothing, 
 and now as soon as some effort and determination 
 and some self-sacrifice were needed, did he care 
 no longer ? Was she really quite alone ? After 
 having been so much, everything to each other 
 had it ended in this — a blank nothing ? Were 
 all his theories of friendship, of constancy and of 
 self-denial false after all, thrown out to captivate
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 43 
 
 her, and now that she was caught to be left lying 
 loose and empty as a noose no longer needed ? 
 Was she left to make her way alone in this new 
 life without one crumb of the sympathy she so 
 dearly prized ? 
 
 But there came a sudden rousing from these 
 sad thoughts at last. Margaret was not wholly 
 deserted ; her life was not to be wasted thus. 
 Stern necessity woke both herself and her mother 
 from all apathy, from idle self-reproach, and from 
 vain repinings. A gaunt figure tracked them 
 through the streets, met them at home, even 
 scared gentle Margaret in her solitary musings. 
 Action was imperative, for poverty stared them 
 in the face. 
 
 Action imperative. But what were these two 
 to do ? By slow degrees it had come home to 
 Mrs. Hoffman that living in London, even so 
 quietly as she was doing, was a very different 
 affair from living at Sonnenthal. Their little 
 amusements must be curtailed, their little com- 
 forts done without ; and it was curious how as 
 gloom settled more imperiously on Mrs. Hoffman, 
 and pinings and revilings against her distant and 
 negligent connections, against society, and against 
 even her poor departed husband were heard more
 
 44 LAND ahead! 
 
 and more, Margaret's spirit seemed to rise to the 
 occasion, and she seemed to take a fierce delight 
 in the tumult of adversity against which she had 
 to contend. But she was young and believed in 
 life yet ; Mrs. Hoffman was reaching even-tide, 
 was tired and sick of work and of aspiration, save 
 other peoples', and those she deemed her lawful 
 amusement. She had no thirst for success as 
 had Margaret ; no longing to give that inner 
 tumult expression. 
 
 " At all events, Margaret, you and I can do 
 nothing ; we can but sit at home and save. We 
 cannot make money." 
 
 " It sounds dull, mother. If we have not got 
 it to spend, we might at least amuse ourselves by 
 trying to make it. Let us do something." 
 
 " Woman's work, child, never makes money. 
 It only spends itself." 
 
 But let her mother laugh as she might, 
 Margaret resolved to try. 
 
 Had they not all sorts of people around them 
 who lived entirely by their brains ? surely, surely 
 she could do something. 
 
 Margaret cultivated Intellect and Art more 
 assiduously than ever, reverenced the Drama 
 with a more constant worship even than before.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 45 
 
 and hung on the pearls of wisdom that dropped 
 from the lips of all the strange-looking, bad com- 
 plexioned young men who frequented their house, 
 with a devotion that would have been amusing 
 if it had not been so pathetic. 
 
 The interest thus kindled in her soul did her 
 good. She saw afc least an opening for effort, a 
 glimpse of a life beyond this dull present. Ah ! 
 how strangely our views of work and of life alter. 
 At first, work sounds but a sad, uninteresting 
 word, heavy, hard ; afterwards we dread life with- 
 out it ; later, we despise life without it. Its 
 necessity is perhaps saddening, but then viewed 
 truly in the noblest light, is it not elevating ? 
 When faith in all else has left us, does not our 
 work remain with us, even after us, and do we 
 not turn to it as we would to a trusted friend, if 
 any friend were so trustworthy, and even there 
 find our happiness ?
 
 CHAPTER IV. , 
 
 But lately, one rough day, this flower I past, 
 
 And recognized it, though an alter'd form, ! 
 
 Now standing forth an offering to the blast, j 
 
 And buffeted at will by rain and storm. i 
 
 Wordsrvorth. \ 
 
 Fritz swimming in the Serpentine, and Mrs. 
 Hoffman and Margaret in their waterproof cloaks 
 sittinof on a bench lookino; on. 
 
 " I am almost tempted to give up, Margaret. 
 This is hopeless work." 
 
 " I am full of hope, mother." 
 
 " Because those scatter-brained fellows have 
 been filling your head with nonsense. Well, we 
 must all buy our experience, I suppose ; but, 
 Margot, you ought to believe me and take what 
 I have bought. There is not time for you. We 
 shall both be dead before the purchase is 
 completed." 
 
 " AA^hat would you do, mother ? " 
 
 " We might go back to Sonnenthal ; we have
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 47 
 
 friends there. We might teach English. We 
 might even keep a school." 
 
 Margaret shuddered. 
 
 *' Oh, the drudgery ! And not at Sonnenthal, 
 mother, not there." 
 
 " Of course, I know your music and your 
 acting and your drawing are all very pleasant, 
 but they will not make money. They require 
 drudgery too." 
 
 " I know, mother — but I am writing a book.'* 
 Mrs. Hoffman laughed a bitter, sarcastic, irritated 
 laugh. 
 
 *' You are groping in the dark, child." 
 
 *'That artistic or literary life is so pleasant, 
 mother. One seems to progress to something 
 higher daily." 
 
 " Sentimentally, perhaps. But in fact, Margot, 
 there is but one way for ladies to earn money." 
 
 *' How, mother ? " 
 
 " To marry some rich man." 
 
 Margaret was silent. 
 
 "Not that I see any rich man at hand just 
 now." 
 
 " You need not look, mother. I should never 
 do it." 
 
 " Why not ? "
 
 48 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " I could never deceive any one like that." 
 
 " Are we not deceived every day ? " 
 
 " Yes, we are." Both mother and daughter were 
 thinking of Valentin. " But that is no reason, 
 mutterlein, why we should deceive others. Let 
 us show them what sincerity is, on the contrary." 
 
 " Ah ! bah ! you are too good for this world. 
 Hans put these ridiculous notions in your head. 
 There need be no deception about it either. 
 You would make a rich man a very good wife 
 I am sure, and would be leading a good, useful 
 life too. Besides, if little birds do not feather 
 their nests for themselves, Margot, no one else 
 will do it for them. You ought to have married 
 Dudley Vane." 
 
 '' Oh, mother! " 
 
 " Fine place, lots of money ; did I not read the 
 will in the ' Illustrated London News ' the other 
 day ? Everything left to him absolutely, except 
 one or two legacies. By the way, Mr. Mortimer 
 had a good large legacy." 
 
 ''Had he?" 
 
 "And think what you might have made of 
 that boy ! " 
 
 " It would not have been an interesting 
 occupation, mother."
 
 LAND AHEAD I 49 
 
 "Any how it would have been better than 
 this, watchinor Fritz shakino^ the w^ater out of 
 his coat, and our only excitement having a troop 
 of scatter-brained geniuses and penniless authors 
 to supper by and by." 
 
 " Why are clever people so often poor I 
 wonder ? " 
 
 " I suppose necessity sharpens their wits, or 
 they might never find they had any. After all, 
 I had rather have no wits than no income. 
 Poverty sticks in my throat, it is nauseous." 
 
 " I am not sure, mother. Really I do not 
 think I mind it much." 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman gave a sudden start ; a flush 
 of crimson overspread her countenance, her eyes 
 brightened, her manner became youthful, her 
 very bonnet looked smarter, and the folds of her 
 gown seemed to have somethinof more allurincy 
 and less dowdy about them. 
 
 " Margaret, look ! " 
 
 A young man, carelessly swinging his stick, 
 was approaching them. 
 
 But if the heightened colour mantled on Mrs. 
 Hoffman's matronly cheek, all life seemed to fade 
 from Margaret. The very essence of despair was 
 pictured in her look. Pale, hopeless, like an, 
 
 VOL. IL E
 
 50 LAND ahead! 
 
 animal at bay, she sat shrinking on the bench, 
 almost cowering behind her mother's now upright 
 and hopeful figure. 
 
 " Oh, mother !" 
 
 " A friend in need, I declare ! Dear Dudley 
 Vane ; how well he is looking ! " 
 
 " Do not speak to him ; let him pass us, 
 mother. Do not attract his attention ! " 
 
 " Well," said her mother, looking down at her 
 contemptuously, and sniffing the air, as a war- 
 horse preparing for action, " you are a constant 
 friend, I am sure ! See how pleased Fritz is 1 " 
 
 She said this as she rose, and Fritz was close 
 at her side. 
 
 '' Mr. Vane ! Mr. Vane ! " 
 
 Her two hands were outstretched, on her face 
 was the sweetest smile she could achieve, her 
 attitude one of charmed expectation. 
 
 " Mr. Vane, how delightful ! " 
 
 Margaret sat looking on. Fritz looked too. 
 
 Dudley Vane pulled up short. At first the 
 colour fled from the youth's face, then suddenly 
 in great tumultuous waves it came rushing back ; 
 Margaret need not doubt his constancy. 
 
 " Is it you ? " asked he, losing all his presence 
 of mind, wrenching his hand away from Mrs.
 
 LAND ahead! 51 
 
 HofFman, and tuniinor to Marofaret as if he were 
 groping in the dark. 
 
 And Margaret pitied him. He must be helped 
 back to himself. This was dreadful. 
 
 So she lauorhed. 
 
 " Yes ; it is — 
 
 * Two more unfortunates 
 Scanty of breath, 
 Eashly importunate, 
 Catching their death.' " 
 
 But he could not laugh. He was too full of 
 
 glad surprise as he sat down on the bench beside 
 
 them. 
 
 " I thought you were still in Germany ?" 
 
 " One would think we had been dead and were 
 
 risen again to look at you," said Mrs. HofFman, 
 
 lauorhino^. 
 
 " And Fritz too," murmured he, stooping to 
 pat the wet dog. 
 
 " Look at his garments 
 Clinging like cerements ; 
 Whilst the wave constantly 
 Drips from his clothing ; 
 Take him up instantly 
 Loving, not loathing ! " 
 
 " Loathing, indeed ! I should think not," said 
 Dudley. 
 
 " Touch him not scornfully ; 
 Think of him mournfuUy." 
 
 E 2
 
 52 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Be quiet, child. Do let us talk sensibly," 
 said Mrs. HofFman. 
 
 " And what are you doing in England ? " 
 asked Dudley, turning to Margaret awkwardly, 
 blushinor still. 
 
 o 
 
 " Make no deep scrutiny 
 Into her mutiny 
 
 Eash and uudutiful." 
 
 " I shall go home directly, child, if you go on 
 with that nonsense." 
 
 " Fancy calling ' The Bridge of Sighs ' non- 
 sense. But, mother, perhaps we had better go 
 home. Seriously, Mr. Vane, we are not fit or 
 becoming friends for you now ; we are very poor, 
 mother and I ; you can have no notion how poor 
 we are. We think we must go away again." 
 " We have no occupation, and are vagrants — " 
 
 " What ! no home ? no house ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " and Margaret laughed merrily, " not 
 so bad as that. But we really are too poor to 
 ' get on ' in society, as my mother calls it, and we 
 have nothing to do, unless — mother — we might 
 teach German. Shall we teach you German ? " 
 
 " Are not people kind to you. Queen Daisy ? 
 Don't they ask you to their parties ? The 
 brutes ! "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 53 
 
 ''They have not seen her yet," said Mrs. 
 Hoffman, meekly. 
 
 " Alas ! for the rarity 
 Of Christian charity, 
 
 Under the sun ; 
 Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
 Near a whole hasket full 
 
 Cards she had none," 
 
 '' You'll send him away, Kindlein, you really 
 will send him away," said Mrs. Hoffman in 
 German. 
 
 *'And so it is dull?" asked he, innocently, 
 wishing she would not chaff any longer. 
 
 " Where the lamps quiver 
 So far in the river, 
 With many a light 
 From window and casement. 
 From garret to basement, 
 She stood with amazement, 
 Ball-less by night." 
 
 *' You expected more fun ? like Sonnenthal ? " 
 
 *' In we plunged boldly, 
 No matter how coldly 
 
 The London stream ran ; 
 Over the brink of it, 
 Picture it — think of it, 
 
 Wealthy young man." 
 
 " But you will stay ? Where do you live ? " 
 *^16, Hans Place," said Mrs. Hoffman with 
 alacrity.
 
 54 LAND ahead! 
 
 "You'll find Fritz always," said Margaret. 
 ^ ' Poor ignorant Germany-bred Fritz ; innocent 
 dog." 
 
 •'* See his eyes, close them, 
 Staring so blindly ! 
 Dreadfully staring 
 Through muddy impurity. 
 As when with the daring 
 Last look of despairing 
 Fix'd on futurity." 
 
 Dudley Vane walked home with them, and as 
 they went, Mrs. Hoffman, too much irritated 
 with Margaret to speak to her, carefully extracted 
 from the youth as much news as she could. 
 
 *'And you are a rich man now, Sir Dudley 
 Vane ; a great man ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; not that. Everything was left to 
 me ; we always expected it would be." 
 
 " It will give you a great deal to do." 
 
 " I don t care about it much." 
 
 **And ce cher Monsieur Tudor?" asked Mrs. 
 Hoffman. 
 
 " Oh, he is very happy. My uncle promised 
 him the family living when it should be vacant. 
 He has gone abroad again." 
 
 "He told us you would be very poor," said 
 Mrs. Hoffman, almost querulously. 
 
 " Did he ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 55 
 
 "And can you tell us any news of Sonnen- 
 thal " 
 
 " No ; I know none." 
 
 " Or of Mr. Mortimer ? " 
 
 " He is somewhere in London." 
 
 " Or of Count von Broderode ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " No : I know nothins; of him." 
 
 Margaret looked pained, and there was a silence. 
 
 " Will you come in this evening ? " asked Mrs. 
 Hoffman, when he offered to leave them, " we 
 shall have a few friends ; they may amuse you — 
 pray come." 
 
 He promised, only too delighted, and perhaps 
 had never gone but for that chance of speedy 
 return. 
 
 " Mother, what are you doing ? I don't want 
 him. I will not have him encouraged. It is not 
 lair. 
 
 " Margaret, how could you ask after Valentin ? 
 Anything so stupid I never heard." 
 
 " They were such friends." 
 
 **At first, but at the end you know Frau 
 Steingracht told me they never spoke. How 
 could you do it ? " 
 
 " I did it on purpose. Do you think it cost 
 me nothing ? "
 
 56 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Would this mother and daughter ever under- 
 stand each other ? Would they ever really 
 be perfect friends, or help each other to 
 happiness ? 
 
 Margaret sat at her little window, looking out 
 on the square, with Fritz's great head pillowed 
 on her knee. 
 
 " Oh ! Fritz," said she, with a miserable fore- 
 boding of coming undefined evil pressing at her 
 heart, " what is going to happen to us ? Look 
 at the trees, Fritz. Don't they look as if little 
 invisible spirits were playing on the branches — ■ 
 moving: them at will ? How I wish they would 
 come and help us away somewhere, Fritz. I feel 
 free here no longer." 
 
 ^* Are you in London for long? " she asked of 
 Dudley that evening, as he hung over the piano 
 while she played. 
 
 " I am up on business," said he ; '' there are 
 things to sign." 
 
 " Oh ! that won't take long." 
 
 " I can make it as long as I like." 
 
 " Oh I you can, can you ? " 
 
 Groups were scattered, busily engaged in 
 conversation, through the two tiny rooms ; and 
 Dudley came nearer to Margaret, but just then
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 57 
 
 a tall, impassioned-looking man stepped up, and 
 Margaret smiled provokingly. 
 
 " What a rest it is to come here and listen to 
 you," said the man with the musical face, as he 
 threw himself carelessly into a low chair close 
 at her side. 
 
 " Music is a rest," said she, softly, " to those 
 who play as well as to those who hear." 
 
 " And we hear differently," said Bertram Powys, 
 joining in the conversation, '' according to what 
 we need and want to hear. It is like Nature. 
 It has beauties most for those who seek them, 
 and soothing power for those who believe in it." 
 
 " I think," said Margaret, *' music is very 
 indefinable. And yet I would sooner go to it for 
 comfort than to any other of the arts. It always 
 gives us what we want. Often I cannot say 
 what it is that an air or a tone tells me, and yet 
 it has told me just what I needed for comfort or 
 for streng;th." 
 
 " Yes," said Orford Ellis, '' and though it may 
 say one thing to you, another thing to me, yet it 
 will have left the same broad impression on both 
 of us." 
 
 " No," said Bertram, " the same pleasure 
 perhaps, but not the same impression."
 
 58 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Not the same impression ! " echoed Dudley. 
 
 « We receive it differently according to our 
 humour or state. The delight at the melody 
 may be the same, the gratitude to the musician 
 the same, but the note that to you may speak 
 rest or peace, to me may be one of warning or 
 of encouragement ; to you it may be comfort, 
 to me it may bring a tide of vain regrets, of 
 faded memories, or of solemn doom." 
 
 '^ Is not that too sentimental ? " said Mrs. 
 Hoffman. 
 
 "Are you not putting too much of yourself 
 and your own spirit into the music when you 
 think of it thus ? " asked Margaret. " Perhaps 
 Italian music may be turned as you say, but our 
 German music is almost too full of deep feeling 
 to allow of its being twisted to your thoughts 
 thus." 
 
 "I do not know. But it has always seemed 
 to me," answered Bertram, " that just when 
 words fail, music steps in to our aid." 
 
 " Yes," said Ellis, " and the meaning shown to 
 others, it goes farther still, and helps us to 
 realize our own selves. It is the language of the 
 soul, the delicate vibrations of which the tongue 
 cannot utter."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 59 
 
 A silence fell upon them ; and presently 
 Margaret, to dissipate the transitory gloom, let 
 her fingers run over the notes, and almost 
 insensibly became absorbed in an air of Chopin. 
 Dudley watched the faces around him brighten- 
 mcr, as the well-known notes trilled out 1 How 
 curious it seemed to him to be standing here, 
 in this room full of strangers ; only Mrs. Hoffman 
 and Margaret well-known to him ; and to be 
 watching her, apparently so esteemed and 
 admired by all those men ; so calm, so self- 
 possessed, so different seemingly from the 
 Margaret of Sonnenthal ! How she seemed to 
 delight in their knowledge and cleverness, but 
 how few and how transient were the smiles 
 playing on her face now. As for him, he had 
 not had one real smile yet ! Why ? Soon the 
 strife of tongues began again, and when Margaret 
 rose from the piano, Dudley found himself 
 followino^ her almost unconsciously. But she 
 seemed weary of him ; she turned sharply, and 
 introduced him to a lady sitting there. The 
 lady was stout and stupid. 
 
 "Mrs. Ellis, Sir Dudley Yane. Mrs. Ellis 
 sings so charmingly ; you will sing to us, will 
 you not ? "
 
 60 LAND ahead! 
 
 So Mrs. Ellis rose and went to the piano, and 
 Dudley found himself back again there. His 
 ears, however, only heard the conversation around 
 Margaret, and they only dwelt on the words she 
 said. 
 
 '' You are cruel ! " said one of the men to 
 Margaret. 
 
 " Impossible," replied she. 
 
 " Unfeeling coquette ! " 
 
 "You are unjust," she said. 
 
 "A coquette," said another, "is that savage 
 beast of civilization who tortures people of 
 intellect, but they sometimes get their revenge 
 by means of an imbecile." 
 
 Margaret blushed hotly. 
 
 " You are all like ships at sea," said she, " who 
 cannot make the harbour for want of a light- 
 house to show you where it is.'^ 
 
 " We are blind, ignorant people, who know 
 nothing." 
 
 " I thought Mr. Wemyss had promised us his 
 new play to-night," said Margaret lightly. 
 
 " Ah ! " said a sallow -looking man, drawing a 
 deep sigh, " it was wanted, the manager would 
 not wait. It was unfinished and bad, all unfit — 
 but, alas !
 
 LAND ahead! 61 
 
 * The unhappy man who once has trail'd a pen, * 
 
 Lives not to please himself, but other men.'" 
 
 " Ah, well ; let it be. We are born unfinished. 
 Let it grow to perfection.'' 
 
 ** But, my friend, we should try to perfect our- 
 selves, not to let our friends perfect us." 
 
 '*Miss Margaret," said an enthusiastic man 
 leaning across the table to her, as he suddenly 
 seemed to issue from the gloom of meditation and 
 self-contemplation, " we are all idolators ; some 
 of one thing, some of another. What do you 
 worship ? " 
 
 For a moment Dudley's eyes met hers, but 
 she lowered them instantly and coldly, to raise 
 
 them the next moment steadily to those of her 
 questioner. 
 
 " Truth," said she. 
 
 There was a pause. 
 
 " Can you find it 1 " asked he in a softer tone. 
 
 "No," said she bitterly. "If I could, perhaps 
 I should not worship it." 
 
 "You will find it some of these days," said 
 Bertram Powys, in a slow hesitating voice, " not 
 as you expect it or as you want it ; but you will 
 work it out for yourself somehow/'' 
 
 " And shall I be content with it ? "
 
 62 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Yes ; at least you would not willingly part 
 with it/' 
 
 "As for me, I worship Fame/' said a young 
 man standing by, who had been trying to snuff 
 the candle. 
 
 " AVhich neither can you find/' 
 
 There was a laugh at his expense. ' 
 
 " And I Honour," said another. 
 
 " And T Wealth," said another. 
 
 There was a groan of horror. 
 
 '' I do. If I were rich what poetry I would 
 write ; how I would trim it and clip it and 
 polish it ; for there would be no hurry, and my 
 life would be spent in a dream of beauty — 
 intellectual and artistic ; now time is money, and 
 I can afford no dreams at "all. But I have 
 always to be shaking myself roughly, to be clip- 
 ping everything everywhere, and to be calculating 
 always the shortest cut to any point. Doesn't 
 Charles Lamb say, ' how I wish I were a rich 
 man, even though I were squeezed camel-fashion 
 at getting through that needle's eye that is spoken 
 of in the Written Word ?^ If I were only rich I 
 would publish beautiful editions of my own beauti- 
 ful works, and never be beholden to, or be at the 
 mercy of, any publisher at alh"
 
 LAND ahead! 63 
 
 " You might perhaps be carried away by your 
 imagination, and cultivate some weeds of your 
 production amidst the flowers/' 
 
 " At least I should not be dependent on the 
 bad taste and popular opinion of the day ; fame 
 depends on gaining the ear of the crowd." 
 
 "And the crowd is fickle, as in the days of 
 Caesar and Brutus and Antony." 
 
 "At all events/' said another, "the crowd is 
 never grave for long. I am sure comedy is always 
 more successful than tragedy/' 
 
 " Yes," said Orford Ellis. " Humour is a 
 wonderfully precious gift, it is like giving away 
 handfuls of happiness. Voltaire says, you know — 
 
 " Tous les gens sais ont le don precieux 
 De mettre en bon train tous les gens serieux." 
 
 " Humour is but mimicry," said the aspirant 
 after wealth. " Is that ever poetry ? " 
 
 "I do not know," said Bertram, " but I know 
 it has always paid to make people laugh ; 
 publishers tell you so every day, and what great 
 comedian cannot command his own terms ? " 
 
 '^ Ah ! " said Margaret, " I must look about for 
 jokes ; my book must be funny." 
 
 " What sort of book is it to be ? " asked they, 
 lauo^hinor.
 
 64 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " A novel, of course/' 
 
 "Is it to be a novel with no sort of harm in 
 it — for young girls ? or one for old maids ? they 
 like stories of every -day life, quite calm and 
 unsensational, with some terrible piece of mascu- 
 line wickedness to be unveiled at the end, and 
 injured innocence triumphant. Stories of martyred 
 women like themselves, who sit day by day 
 over their knitting, counting one, two, slip one, 
 knit three ; while their hearts beat irregularly, 
 and a volcano smoulders in their souls. Such 
 stories of lives knitted away, and a crown of 
 glory (for the knitting) at the end." 
 
 " Or will you write a sportsman's novel ; sport 
 and scandal and a good spice of immorality ? " 
 
 "Or an old gentleman's novel, in which, 
 careless of period or of too studied a language, 
 they can unravel some knotty point of the 
 law, or laugh again at seeing themselves or 
 their contemporaries in some former political 
 scrape ? " 
 
 " Or give us a love story for the young 
 people ? " 
 
 " Or a social story for the chaperons F'^ 
 
 " Or for the more thoughtful, a story with a 
 purpose ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 65 
 
 "You will frighten her from attempting a 
 story at all," said Mrs. HoflPman. 
 
 " A purpose ! Yes ! you shall have a purpose ; 
 but it will be so veiled," said Margaret, " that 
 only half of you will find it out. But T have 
 been sadly puzzled in thinking about the novels 
 of the present day. Try one's best, fulfil one's 
 best aspirations, put one's best work into it, and 
 then see — is it likely to take ? " 
 
 " No," said several of the young men. 
 
 *'Art pulls one this way, and the publishers, 
 press, and public opinion pull one that. Who 
 cares for ideals ? Who cares for art ? " 
 
 " You must gild the pill, Miss Hoffman," said 
 Bertram. " The public is but a baby after all, 
 it likes bright colours, and as for strong meat, 
 you know it is taught to feed only by degrees." 
 
 " If one dwells on events," said one of the 
 youngest of the guests, " that have the highest 
 spiritual significance, so as to show more vividly 
 the spiritual meaning and work of a life, — who 
 cares for spiritual significance or result ? " 
 
 "No," said he who had advised humour. 
 " Are not amusing incidents rather preferred ? " 
 
 "And rightly so," said Orford Ellis. "We 
 have sculptures, pictures, poetry, to show us 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 66 LAND AHEAD I 
 
 beauty and trutli, and essentially art. Who 
 wants metaphysics and morals in a novel ? Is 
 not a novel a thing taken up after a day of 
 labour, or in a moment of tooth-ache, or in an 
 hour of suffering or ennui — when any effort or 
 mental strain, or any great admiration would 
 weary us intolerably ? No ! make a moral, if 
 you please, to satisfy yourself for toiling over 
 so many miles of foolscap, but let it be a good 
 flaring moral, something that shall strike us at 
 once, that will require no search. We are but 
 superficial readers, and prefer books without a 
 purpose to one that requires thought. For that 
 we can go to our learned men, the prophets and 
 martyrs of science." 
 
 " No," said Bertram, " save coarse amusement, 
 the novel-reading world wants nothing. It 
 cannot rise to art's devotion, or to art's joy. It 
 is in love with itself, and will make art sub- 
 servient to its wants if it can. It will never 
 trouble itself to rise to art's level. It laughs at 
 art singing over its head, it laughs at those who 
 find peace in listening to its songs, it says, ' Come 
 down, that we may hear you.' "' 
 
 " That is like trying to make an angel human," 
 said Margaret.
 
 LAND ahead! 67 
 
 " But there are a few of us," said Bertram, 
 proudly, " who worship our angel undisturbed." 
 
 There was a laugh of sympathy. 
 
 "Always it has been so, I believe," said a 
 bright-faced youth ; " always true artists have 
 rebelled against the trammels of society, and 
 against its miserable pettifogging convention- 
 alities." 
 
 " They have been compelled," said one of the 
 former speakers, " to close the door of their 
 work-shop against the turmoil and unreasonable 
 unrest of the world, and have opened it gladly to 
 the sympathy and congeniality which their 
 fellow- workers have brought them." 
 
 " Ah ! what should we do without each 
 other ? " exclaimed Ellis. " The encouragement, 
 the strength companionship gives us ; the— 
 shall I say it ? The valuable ideas one gets 
 from each other ; the — saving clauses — we 
 bestow — ^" 
 
 The sarcasms which save us from hideous 
 
 
 rum. 
 
 "The imagination our witty conversations 
 kindle." 
 
 "The How late it is! Mrs. Hoffman, 
 
 we must go ! '^ 
 
 F 2
 
 68 LAND ahead! 
 
 " I should like to know your histories — your 
 literary histories, I mean," said Margaret. 
 
 Laughter and quaint smiles broke out. 
 
 " That was a saving clause certainly," said one. 
 
 " Our odd Bohemian lives are much more 
 interesting than those of other mortals," said 
 another. 
 
 " I am sure of it,'' said Margaret. ^' But don't 
 wish to be rich, Mr. Montague. This is much 
 better. I like what you do. You all do some- 
 thing ; you all teach something. Eich people 
 mostly teach us how to exist, how to stagnate, 
 how to bear fate ; you teach how to over- 
 come it." 
 
 It was late indeed. Departure was the order 
 of the .hour. Dudley stood by Margaret. 
 
 '' I shall not forget this evening in a hurry.'' 
 
 " Have you liked it ? " 
 
 " I remember what you said." 
 
 *'WhatdidIsay?" 
 
 *' You said you cared most for truth." 
 
 ^•' Did I ? " 
 
 " Do you remember our evening at Biberich ? " 
 
 ^' Yes." 
 
 " All I said then was true, is true now, and 
 always will be. I am true."
 
 LAND ahead! 69 
 
 Margaret did not look up or answer. 
 
 " Do you believe me ? " 
 
 '*I cannot hear you, I will not, must not 
 believe you." 
 
 Just then her mother bustled up. 
 
 "Dear Sir Dudley, a dull evening for you, I 
 am afraid. I was obliged to talk to Mrs. Ellis." 
 
 " May I come again ? " 
 
 " Will you 1 That will be kind. As often as 
 ever you like. We have not much to offer, but 
 w^hile you are in town pray make this your home 
 or head-cjuarters, or whatever you like to call it." 
 
 " You must have so many friends in London," 
 stammered Margaret. 
 
 " But I would rather come here than any- 
 where," said he. 
 
 " You will find us very dull and busy," said 
 she, with a sudden effort. " As for me, I shall 
 be always at my novel. I am going to overcome 
 fate so." 
 
 Her mother laughed. 
 
 " And I will blot the pages for you," said 
 Dudley. 
 
 " Will you ? " said the girl, angrily. " No one 
 shall touch one of my pages till I choose. 
 Good-night, Sir Dudley."
 
 70 LAND ahead! 
 
 She was gone. 
 
 "Do not mind her/' said Mrs. Hoffman. " Our 
 poverty makes her querulous, I think. Come 
 to-morrow and let us have a talk.'' 
 
 So he went away literally happy after all. 
 Was not Mrs. Hoffman on his side ? 
 
 " Fancy our having a talk," laughed Mrs. 
 Hoffman to herself, as she lit her candle. " Who 
 ever heard Dudley talk, except Mar got ? What 
 a long solo I shall have to play if the child is not 
 civH."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 But I am constant as the northern star, 
 Of whose true, fix'd, and resting quality, 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 
 Julius CcBsaVy Act iii. Sc. 2. 
 
 Cela est parfaitement beau, mais cela est bien ennuyeux. 
 
 Mme. de Longueville. 
 
 Hitherto Dudley Vane had hated London. It 
 was dull, gloomy, it was horrible. But now " a 
 change came o'er the spirit of his dream," and 
 there was, he thought, no place like London. It 
 was curious how many things he had to see, how 
 much business he had to finish before he could 
 think of going back to Froghambury. For the 
 present, certainly, the idea of returning to the 
 country was quite out of the question. London, he 
 began to think, was pleasanter than Sonnenthal- 
 Here there was no Valentin, here there was no 
 Mr. Tudor, here Mrs. Hoffman was more friendly 
 than ever she had been before, and here com- 
 paratively he had Margaret more to himself. He
 
 72 LAND ahead! 
 
 could find no one to excite his jealousy among the 
 literary visitors who assembled in the little house 
 in Hans Place, and Mrs. Hoffman made him 
 welcome at all hours. 
 
 Margaret certainly was not tender ; she was 
 hardly friendly, and even in jest she managed 
 somehow to keep him at a distance. But still he 
 hoped, and was but waiting for his opportunity. 
 He thought if he could but catch her in the right 
 humour some day when she was alone, and tell 
 her the story of his love over again, and show her 
 how constant he was, then she must be won. 
 She must at least be grateful, and from her 
 gratitude he hoped much. Then from her 
 poverty he hoped more ; from that beginning he 
 would in time win her love. 
 
 But the days passed away, and Dudley and 
 Margaret came no nearer. He was always 
 watching her, always waiting, and she was 
 always kind, always civil, but there was no 
 individual smile for him in particular, no word or 
 sign that he could construe into meaning any 
 more for him than it meant for the artists and 
 authors and actors who were laughing there, if, 
 indeed, it meant so much. For soon, Dudley 
 Vane began to think that the veriest newspaper
 
 LAND ahead! 73 
 
 writer or the most miserable scene-painter or 
 play-wright had an infinitely greater share in 
 Margaret's mind than he could boast. At once 
 he hated them all, and consigned them to a huge 
 vat, labelled Jealousy. They fermented in his 
 brain in unconscious indifference. How too he 
 hated every sharp word they spoke, or every bit 
 of work they ever did ; how, failing brains himself 
 in his impotence, he hated every bit of brains any 
 other man ever had. How particularly he loathed 
 the smile that lighted Margaret's eyes when she 
 heard a witty word or a sharp speech. Why had 
 he no thoughts, not one idea in the world ? Would 
 he never, never be able to win her smile of 
 approval like that ? 
 
 But in truth Margaret was beginning to smile 
 oftener now. She was feeling more secure. It 
 seemed so easy to keep Dudley at a distance ; 
 he seemed always so far away, always so far 
 behind, it seemed an impossibility that he should 
 ever ask now to come nearer. He must see now 
 how different they were, how little sympathy 
 there was between them, how antagonistic they 
 must always be. He must, so Margaret thought, 
 have learnt at last to be content with a real 
 friendship. So she smiled content. The flowers
 
 74 LAND ahead! 
 
 he sent were a pretty attention ; they made the 
 rooms so sweet. They reminded her of Sonnen- 
 thal. They made her think she was rich. The 
 plays they went to were so amusing ; of course 
 he could not go alone, and he always told her to 
 ask some one else, so certainly he could not be in 
 love with her now, or he would have been more 
 jealous. The dinners he gave them were so nice. 
 The little parties were so amusing ; oh, certainly, 
 he could not care, or he would not tell her to ask 
 who she liked. Certainly, he threw out hints 
 often about the stupidity of her friends. He had 
 called her pet painter's picture a " daub,'' and he 
 had said Wemyss play was " indecent,'' and that 
 Montague's statue was ^* all wrong," and had often 
 called Bertram Powys and Orford Ellis "stupid 
 asses," but then that only showed his ignorance, 
 and told her what a really silly boy he was, so 
 that did not affect her in any way. It only 
 showed how right and discriminating she had 
 been in her judgment, and showed her too that 
 if he thought thus of her friends, he must be 
 beginning to dislike her too, and to class her also 
 as a " stupid ass," or as something in the same 
 category. Or evidently now, if she wanted to 
 make the most of it, he at last understood friend-
 
 LAND ahead! 75 
 
 ship. They were to be good friends and that was 
 all. In that there was security. Sometimes, 
 certainly, he presumed on their friendship ; was, if 
 possible, too constant and became a bore ; but is 
 not a wonian always being bored ? It is an ill 
 impossible to escape from entirely ; it is one of 
 the especial evils female flesh is heir to. 
 
 In Margaret's meditations about friendship she 
 forgot the elasticity of the term, the chameleon 
 nature of the feeling. It may mean love, indiffer- 
 ence, warm interest, or acquaintance. Margaret 
 thought, save for that matter of being a continual 
 bore, that Dudley Vane's love had cooled to an 
 interested acquaintance. Then suddenly it struck 
 her, why, if that were all, and if Dudley needed 
 no more pity, no more condolence, if he had 
 thrown her over as he seemed to have thrown 
 over Valentin, why should she bear this boredom ? 
 She began to beat against the bars of the cage, to 
 flutter against this fettering friendship, and to 
 make a stand for more complete independence. 
 Then she was surprised to find astonished looks 
 resting on her, as though the idea of her possible 
 rebellion were strange and disquieting. 
 
 " Mother, why do you always ask Dudley Vane 
 to walk to church with us ? As if he could not
 
 76 LAND ahead! 
 
 walk by himself, or as if we could not go by 
 ourselves." 
 
 " My dear, I am sure we could, but I do not 
 know that he would go, if left to himself. I feel 
 quite like a mother towards that young man ; I 
 am sure Mrs. Vane would thank me if she knew." 
 
 " I am sure she would," said Orford Ellis, who 
 happened to be sitting there. 
 
 And then Margaret began to be suspicious. 
 She noticed Dudley was always placed by her, as 
 though it was his right ; at supper or luncheon 
 his chair was supposed to be by hers ; listening 
 to music in their little drawing-room, always the 
 place on the sofa or by the piano seemed to be 
 reserved for Dudley, and how deaf and stupid and 
 blind every one else seemed suddenly to become ! 
 
 A dim perception of the plot came to her, and 
 in a flash of uncontrollable anger one evening, 
 she burst out, just as Dudley was going to sit 
 beside her — 
 
 ^' You bore me to death ; go away." 
 
 How the others laughed. They had a merrier 
 evening afterwards than they had spent for a 
 long time. 
 
 All this time there was a smothered feeling of 
 resentment towards her mother in Margaret's
 
 LAND ahead! 77 
 
 heart, but no word on tlie subject was spoken 
 between them. 
 
 Maro^aret noticed soon that if anv one was 
 sitting with her in the afternoon, and if Dudley 
 came, then at once her visitor or visitors rose, 
 and she was left alone. Sometimes they only 
 went into the other room, sometimes they played 
 the piano, or became immersed in manuscripts ; 
 still, signal or converse as Margaret might, no 
 sooner did even a comma or colon occur in con- 
 versation, than the visitor was sure to hail it as a 
 possible opportunity for departure. 
 
 The conversation with Dudley was sure to flag ; 
 and its slow length was all the more irritating to 
 Margaret, as she was conscious how much the 
 rest must imagine she enjoyed it. It flagged, 
 because Dudley was only interested in one subject, 
 and that was Margaret, and on that subject Mar- 
 garet was determined Dudley should not converse. 
 
 One day, Bertram Powys was sitting with her. 
 He was talking Avith animation, happily, when 
 the door opened, and Dudley came in. 
 
 '' Here is my spectre," said Margaret, in a low 
 voice. '' Don't go." 
 
 But Bertram seemed turned to stone. All 
 animation had left him.
 
 78 LAND ahead! 
 
 Dudley took a cliair, and Margaret tried to 
 piece together the broken conversation. 
 
 " And so ? '^ — said she. 
 
 " Eeally, I must go," exclaimed he wildly, 
 seizing his hat. " I had no idea it was so late." 
 
 " Oh, but finish your story." 
 
 " Story ? story ? Ah ! I have forgotten the 
 story ; have indeed. Good-bye, good-bye. Vane." 
 
 So he was gone, and silence reigned supreme. 
 
 **You send them all away," said Margaret, 
 angrily. 
 
 ''They do not like me," answered Dudley, 
 complacently. 
 
 "And I do not wonder. You never say 
 anything." 
 
 " I only just tolerate them for your sake." 
 
 " I wish you wouldn't." 
 
 " I will try to like them better to please you." 
 
 " It is very cold to-day." 
 
 " Very." 
 
 Then he looked at his boot. 
 
 " What have you been doing to-day ? ' 
 
 " Nothing. Walking about till it v/as time to 
 come here." 
 
 " A glorious existence." 
 
 " I don't care to do anything but come here."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 79 
 
 *' Don't you find it very difi'erent from Sonnen- 
 tha] ? " 
 
 " Very. I like it better." 
 
 " You were not so dull there." 
 
 "Dull? who, is dull? I did hot see so much 
 of you there." 
 
 " No, fortunately ! You do not care for your 
 friends really though, after all ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Only that you talked to me a great deal of 
 friendship, but there is no interest really in your 
 mind for them." 
 
 " Who do you mean ? " 
 
 " A man saves your life, is your * ami intime,' 
 your ideal — now you know nothing about 
 him." 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 *'No, nothing! But he never saved my life ; 
 only spoilt it. Now I have begun again. I am 
 a different person, with different aims, different 
 hopes, different interests. ^ But still " 
 
 " Still what ? " 
 
 " You should not have given up your friendship. 
 That was mean." 
 
 " This is not fair ; you are unjust." 
 
 " Then we will talk of somethinof else."
 
 80 LAND ahead! 
 
 " What are you going to do ? Will you marry 
 either of these men ? " 
 
 He spoke with the assumed air of an old 
 
 friend. 
 
 "I? No, I shall never marry at all. How 
 very cold it is. AVould you mind putting some 
 coals on the fire ? " 
 
 When the execrable din consequent on this 
 duty was over, Margaret went on. 
 
 " Don't they want you at Froghambury ? " 
 
 " Yes, very much." 
 
 " When are you going ? " 
 
 ^^Soom" 
 
 *'The country must be much pleasanter than 
 
 this." 
 
 " I wish you would come and see Froghambury." 
 
 " I ? Oh no I That would be dreadful." 
 
 Dudley stirred the fire. 
 
 " Sir Dudley, I wish you would do something 
 for me." 
 
 *' Of course I will. What is it ? " 
 
 " Why, the fact is, Fritz wants a walk so much, 
 and I have had no time to give him one to-day ; 
 I wish you would take him Avith you." 
 
 Dudley had not meant to go for the next hour, 
 but now there seemed no help for it.
 
 LAND ahead! 81 
 
 "Thank you so much. Fritz will be so 
 grateful." 
 
 Fritz grateful indeed I Was that all the 
 gratitude he was to get ? Dudley vowed he 
 would not go far, as he shut the street-door on 
 himself and the dog. 
 
 Orford Ellis was coming up at the moment. 
 He saw him absolutely laughing. 
 
 *' Another of them," thought Dudley to himself. 
 " What can be the attraction to her ? " 
 
 Ellis was bound on no pleasant mission as it 
 happened. 
 
 Margaret was still alone. 
 
 " Shall we be undisturbed ? " asked he. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I have bad news." 
 
 Then he produced a great roll of paper. 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said she, sharply, " not that I I 
 cannot bear it." 
 
 He turned away to give her time. 
 
 " You mean," said she, in a lighter tone, 
 recovering herself, " my work, my story has come 
 back to me." 
 
 " It is that." 
 
 " I cannot write ? " 
 
 " I did not say that." 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 82 LAND ahead! 
 
 " What is it T" 
 
 "These publishers will not take the risk. 
 And, in fact, I have looked it over myself " 
 
 " I know. I have been too self-confident. I 
 always am. I believe in everything, in every- 
 body too readily, and in myself too implicitly." 
 
 "You have not worked enough yet. You 
 cannot take fame by storm like that. You must 
 learn to work and to wait, that is. all." 
 
 " I can work, but to wait is impossible." 
 
 " It is very hard." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Ellis, for all your kindness." 
 
 How long did he go prosing on ? Margaret 
 never knew. He talked of work, he called it 
 drudgery ; he talked of rising early, and sitting 
 late ; always it was work ; he talked of novelists, 
 he talked of plots; she sat still and listened 
 dutifully ; always when she heard it was of the 
 same dreary round, — work, work, work. 
 
 At last the door opened, and Margaret thought 
 she would be free to cry, or to faint, or to do 
 what she liked. 
 
 But it was Dudley Vane and Fritz. 
 
 " Oh, you have come back, have you ? " said 
 she, drearily. 
 
 Then Orford Ellis got up and went. And
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 83 
 
 Margaret and her tormentor faced eacli other in 
 dull silence once again. 
 
 It was too much. She had thoug^ht to work 
 out her deliverance, to make herself free of 
 Dudley, of fate, of her mother. And now the 
 deliverance had failed her, her hopes were all 
 false, and here was Dudley facing her. 
 
 She turned away from him, she hid her face in 
 the sofa-cushions, and she burst into tears. 
 
 Dudley started up. 
 
 " The brute ! What has he been doing ? AVhat 
 has he been saying ? " 
 
 Fritz nestled up to her and laid his head on 
 her arm. 
 
 " Nothing," said she, caressing the dog. " Do 
 go away. You don't understand." 
 
 " Can t I do anything ? " 
 
 JMargaret tried to stop crying. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " 
 
 '* My book has come back from the publishers." 
 
 '' Thank Heaven ! Is that all ? " 
 
 Margaret took her handkerchief away from her 
 face and stared at him, red eyes and all. 
 
 " How stupid you are ! " 
 
 " I know I am. But what is it ? " 
 
 " The story has come back, so I can't earn any 
 
 G 2
 
 84 LAND ahead! 
 
 money, and we are so poor, and I can do 
 nothing." 
 
 " I am so glad." 
 
 *' Look here ! I forgive you all you say. You 
 do not understand. You do not know. I have 
 been all wrong, I know, but you might feel for 
 me a little." 
 
 " You will send all those fellows away now ? " 
 
 - Why ? " 
 
 " Because they are no use." 
 
 *^ But they are my life 1 " 
 
 " Your life ? You are mad." 
 
 " Don't you see I must do something ? " 
 
 "No. Let me try. Here I am; just the same 
 as ever. Come and share Froghambury with 
 me ; don't you know I love you ? always have ? 
 You might let me be happy at last. Have I not 
 waited patiently ? The novel has had its turn, 
 surely now " 
 
 Margaret opened her eyes full upon him. 
 
 " Didn't I give you your answer at Biberich 1 
 Have you not always known that I must say 
 No?" 
 
 " Could not you change ? " 
 
 ** No ; I never change." 
 
 " Will not you try ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 85 
 
 ** Wrong again ! Am I always to be wrong ? 
 Have I deceived you as well as myself? I 
 thought you did understand friendship at 
 last—" 
 
 " I thought you liked me better, perhaps, now." 
 
 " It is not fair. I told you. I gave you your 
 answer. Then you asked me for friendship ; and 
 now, when I am most sad, most heart-broken, 
 you come back with the old story again. I seem 
 fated to make every one unhappy." 
 
 " If you would only let me try to make you 
 happy " 
 
 " Look ! shall I tell you all about it ? " said 
 she, with sudden inspiration. " If I told you, 
 then you could not care, then you would see how 
 useless it all is, how different my life is. You 
 see, I lost my father, and then I saw it all. I 
 saw how useless and careless and selfish I had 
 been ; I saw how thoughtless I had been about 
 you — how, perhaps, I had encouraged you 
 without meaning, and how foolish the dream 
 of friendship was then. I saw how negligent I 
 had been of my father. I learnt it all then. I 
 had just gone with the hour. I believed what 
 every one told me, and 1 listened to all that was 
 pleasant ; and I was so self-confident, I thought
 
 86 LAND ahead! 
 
 I had but to shape out my life as I liked, and 
 that everything would come as I wanted it. 
 Things don t, do they ? " 
 
 ^' It seems not/^ 
 
 " Oh no ! Any sorrow teaches one that. In 
 the long dark hours at Blumenthal, when he was 
 dead, I thought it all out." 
 
 " Well ! " ^ 
 
 " Well ! then there was Valentin, you know." 
 • "Yesr^ 
 
 " I believed in him, you know, as much as I 
 believed in myself and in life. But that was 
 wrong too. He never cared." 
 
 Just for a moment Dudley felt a pang of pity. 
 Should he tell her ? should he save her ? No ! 
 he would hear to the end. What were Valentin's 
 affairs to him ? 
 
 " Didn't he ? " 
 
 " Oh no ! When he didn't see me he forgot 
 me. So then I learnt by degrees what truth 
 was, and that it hardly ever exists in anybody ; 
 not because they do not want to have it, but 
 because they are not good enough or strong 
 enouo[h to have it. And that one does not 
 depend on any one ; but that one must make 
 one's life independent of every one."
 
 LAND ahead! . §7 
 
 '' Well ? " 
 
 " Well ! so then I made up my mind that my 
 life must consist of work and of self-sacrifice." 
 
 " Eather dull, won't it be ? " 
 
 " Dull ? I don't so much mind that. But — 
 if it shouldn't succeed ? " 
 
 ^' Ah ! well then, here am I.'' 
 
 ''You see," she went on, not attending to him, 
 " I was living on my work. If now I cannot 
 work " 
 
 " Well ! I say, Queen Daisy, never mind the 
 work. Leave it all. You were not made to 
 work. Trust me, now — You and I — " 
 
 " How selfish you are ! Here I am shipwrecked, 
 not seeing the harbour at all " 
 
 " And I would pilot you in." 
 
 " Once for all, you know your life would not 
 suit me. You know we are so different. You 
 know — why, oh why, do you tempt me so ? Is 
 it fair ? I want to be your best friend, that is 
 all I can be." 
 
 '■ It seems to me so simple." 
 
 " Yes ; because you cannot see. I should be 
 deceiving you " 
 
 " Dear me, no ! You have spoken plainly 
 enough."
 
 88 ^ LAND ahead! 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 "Just to-day of all days, wlien all my plans | 
 
 and hopes seem overthrown, and I cannot " j 
 
 Then he rose. . i 
 
 " I will come again to-morrow." ' 
 
 " Of course you will." j 
 
 But they shook hands, and Margaret and Fritz \ 
 were left together. !
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Oui, la vie paisible est courte. Cinquante ans passent comme un 
 jour dans le sommeil de Tame ; mais la vie d'emotions et d'evenements 
 resume eu un jour des siecles de malaise et de fatigue. 
 
 George Sand. 
 
 Neither the next day or the next did Dudley 
 Vane return to see Margaret. He had been 
 rebuffed, rudely pushed away, his tenderness 
 scorned, and his passion regarded as ''selfish." 
 It was not much wonder that he felt hurt, and 
 that he should delay before he again subjected 
 himself to a similar reception. Yet, he never, 
 even in his wildest moment of anger, dreamed of 
 giving up. Obstinate determination was one of 
 his chief characteristics, and having made up his 
 mind that life at Froghambury or anywhere else 
 would be impossible without Margaret, he saw no 
 other solution of the enigma but that Margaret 
 must share his life with him. That she would in 
 time come round to his plans he never doubted.
 
 90 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 After all, lie thouglit, it was but waiting. It 
 was like watching the flutterings of a bird in a 
 cage, or the beatings of a moth against a window ; 
 in time it sees its impotence, and sheer exhaustion 
 makes it yield. In time too, Margaret, seeing 
 how her mother and all her friends were on his 
 side, seeing too how constant he was, and how 
 true was his affection, finding too that Valentin 
 was worthless and fickle, and that no one was so 
 steadfast as himself, then surely she would love 
 him at last. 
 
 Dudley forgot how impulsive had been his own 
 passion, that there was something ungenerous, 
 relentless in this determined subjugation ; forgot 
 too how impossible King Cupid is to restrain or 
 to command, or how apt he is to choose his 
 kingdom for himself. In the abject obedience 
 Dudley himself paid to him, he forgot or did not 
 see the dire rebellion to which he tried to incite 
 Margaret. 
 
 Sitting in his lodgings, walking in the streets, 
 thinking it all over, always he forgot Margaret's 
 individual life, her dreams, her wants, her 
 ambitions, her needs ; always he thought he 
 loved her ; but it was himself whom he loved 
 in her.
 
 LAND ahead! 91 
 
 In keeping away from her now for a few days, 
 it was not that his love had cooled, or that her 
 rebuffs were likely really to send him away ; it 
 was rather that she had said, when he had 
 exclaimed that he would come again to-morrow, 
 "Of course you will," so that, like all weak 
 people, he wished to show her that " Of course 
 he would not." 
 
 Moreover, he had an idea of trying new 
 tactics. Perhaps she had had too much of him 
 lately, had never realized what her life would be 
 without him, had learnt to take too much as a 
 matter of course the attentions and kindnesses 
 with which he invariably surrounded her. She 
 should just miss him, therefore, just see that he 
 was not to be trifled with, that he was neither a 
 slave or a dog, to be ordered about, or to be 
 dispensed with according to her humour. 
 
 "After all, perhaps," thought he, "she does 
 love that dog more than anything else in the 
 world. I have often thought so. I hate it." 
 
 After that he lit his cigar, and proceeded once 
 more to think it all over. As if he had not often 
 thouo^ht it all over before, and as if he did not 
 always come to the same conclusion. But there 
 was something refreshing in reminding himself
 
 92 LAND ahead! 
 
 still of his power, that he still possessed his 
 independence, and that if he chose he could still 
 go away and cut the cords altogether. 
 
 " Was it wise," thought he, " to bind himself 
 for life to a woman who almost said she did not 
 like him ? Was it wise to depend on her good- 
 ness of heart, and on her ideas of duty ? Would 
 her illusions really go ? Would she see the 
 fallacy of them ? Would he really be able to 
 dissipate all her foolish dreams about a life of 
 work and of self-sacrifice, all her silly ambitions, 
 all her aspirations and eagerness for art, and for 
 art's triumphs, and art's consolations ? What 
 did she mean by it all ? Would she really be 
 able to learn from him quite easily what a quiet, 
 comfortable, easy-going thing life really is ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes,'' answered he to himself, ^' I have 
 but to take her home with me ; I can easily alter 
 all that. The horses and the dogs, and the house, 
 and the park, and the free country life, will 
 soon put her all right. How I shall like to show 
 it to her, and to get her out of this. And," 
 added he, crossing one leg conceitedly over the 
 other, "besides all that, think of winning over 
 the head of that conceited German fellow. There 
 they thought me dull, there they always made
 
 LAND ahead! 93 
 
 way for him, and I was puslied anywhere ; now ! 
 I don't understand it, he seemed so sanguine, so 
 
 sincere If, really, he gave it all up for 
 
 nothing, there never was such brutal behaviour 
 to a woman before." 
 
 That afternoon, walking up Bond Street, where, 
 in fact, he was looking for a present to take 
 Mars^aret, he ran across Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 «' Why, Vane, this is a surprise. I knew you 
 were in London ; but why have you not been to 
 see me ? 
 
 Dudley looked rather foolish. 
 
 " I am just off to America. Start to-morrow." 
 
 " To America ? " 
 
 "Yes; I have some property there must be 
 looked after, and I shall be glad to see the 
 country. I shan't be away long. How is your 
 mother ? " 
 
 " Very well, I believe. But I have not been 
 home just lately." 
 
 " So I hear. She wrote to me, sadly anxious 
 about you, and asking me to look you up. But 
 
 1 have been so pressed for time What are 
 
 you doing in London ? " 
 
 " The lawyers have not done with me 
 yet." .
 
 94 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 By this time they were walking together up 
 the street. 
 
 ''It's all right, I suppose, about the succes- 
 sion i 
 
 Mr. Mortimer looked at him sharply. 
 
 *' Eight ? Oh, yes ; all right ! " 
 
 " No difficulties ? eh ? " 
 
 *' Lots of things to sign." 
 
 " No later will found, or anything, eh *? dis- 
 agreeable ? " 
 
 ''No. You know all about it. This is the 
 last will, you know. You and old Douglas 
 witnessed it." 
 
 " Yes, exactly." 
 
 " Years ago. 
 
 7> 
 
 " And so you are a man of property, Dudley. 
 Stick to it, old fellow. It's a noble place, and 
 worth looking after." 
 
 "Yes, it is a noble property. My mother 
 says so." 
 
 " When I come back from America I will come 
 and see how you are getting on. Think of 
 Gilbert in all you do, and don't improve too 
 much. That is all." 
 
 " I shall only act as if he were there." 
 
 "That is right. He loved the place, and,
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 95 
 
 Dudley, he loved you. Don't forget that. Will 
 your mother live there ? " 
 
 " For the present, I suppose. And Uncle Ted." 
 
 " Her brother ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " How old are you ? " 
 
 " I came of ag-e last autumn." 
 
 ''You are not thinking of marrying yet 
 awhile ? " 
 
 "Oh no!" 
 
 "By-the-by, have you seen any more of our 
 friends at Sonnenthal ? " 
 
 "Mr. Tudor has gone abroad again." 
 
 " And that charming German, Von Broderode?" 
 
 " Oh no ; I know nothing of him." 
 
 "Although, if it hadn't been for him, you 
 would not have been here ? eh ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I suppose he will come to England 
 some time." 
 
 "Oh, doubtless. If only to find Miss Hoffman. 
 By the way, of course you know where she is ? " 
 
 Dudley changed colour, and then, swinging 
 his stick, he answered. 
 
 " I ? Why should I ? * I know nothing about her." 
 
 The assumption of frankness and nonchalance 
 deceived Mr. Mortimer, and he believed him.
 
 96 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 "I breathe again. I need not say we were 
 anxious. That is why your mother is so anxious. 
 She thinks that is why you will stay in London." 
 
 Dudley laughed. 
 
 " I thought so too ; for T heard that when the 
 Professor died, they came to London." 
 
 '* Did they?'' 
 
 " Oh, I am not going to tell you anything if 
 you don't know. Don't let me be the one to put 
 you on their track. Miss Margaret is very 
 dangerous, very dangerous. But anyhow you 
 must not marry yet, not for years — not for ever 
 so long. Good-bye, Dudley, and give your mind 
 to the farm and estate, and look after the foxes 
 too." 
 
 Then Dudley wished him a pleasant journey 
 and a safe return, and when they had shaken 
 hands, and Dudley found himself alone again, he 
 was chiefly conscious of angry resentment against 
 his mother and all his friends, Mr. Mortimer 
 included, for their interference in his affairs, 
 and more determined to marry Margaret than ever. 
 
 It was late that evening when he reached Hans 
 Place, and the unwonted illumination seen from 
 without made him expect a larger assembly than 
 usual of those " choice spirits " whom he disliked
 
 LAND ahead! 97 
 
 so much. He was half inclined to turn away. 
 But the wish to see Margaret again held him to 
 it, and he went in. The first sound he heard 
 was loud applause, clappings of hands, shouts of 
 " Bravo, bravo, bra — bra — " 
 
 He did not like it, but he went upstairs. Yes ; 
 the room was full of people, and it was very light, 
 and there was something going on in the inner 
 room, at which they were all looking. He liked 
 it less, he felt inclined to slip away. But Mrs. 
 Hoffman had seen him. No escape now. After 
 all, how hearty and warm her welcome was. It 
 brought balm to his wounded spirit. He found 
 himself sitting in a chair at the back beside his 
 hostess. The truth was, that if Dudley's absence 
 had cost him an effort, much real suffering and 
 perturbation had it cost Mrs. Hoffman. She had 
 wondered and puzzled over it, till she had destroyed 
 alike her sleep and her appetite ; she had wanted 
 to write to him, to call him back, only that she 
 felt so much in the dark about his absence that 
 she feared she might be guilty of some indiscretion. 
 Her dearest hopes seemed to be fading away ; her 
 fairest dreams but empty visions. She sighed 
 to herself, and grew pale and dispirited, and if 
 she had known it to say she would have said, — 
 
 VOL. II. H
 
 98. LAND ahead! 
 
 " The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of." 
 
 But now Dudley had come back to them, and 
 smiles rippled once again over her well-preserved 
 
 countenance. 
 
 The occasion of this entertainment was that 
 Mr. Wemyss had written another play, and his 
 friends were determined to see how it would run. 
 Much laughing had they had over it, many 
 alterations had they made, and half of the points 
 Dudley did not understand. Something he did 
 know, however, and that was that Margaret was 
 acting on the mimic stage, and that he had never 
 seen her look so beautiful in his life before. It 
 was a costume-piece, and the old-fashioned dress 
 and the powder suited her admirably. There was 
 a fire, an inspiration, and withal a nobility on her 
 face, which hitherto had been a sealed book to 
 Dudley Vane. 
 
 Margaret, of course, was the prima donna of the 
 piece, and Orford Ellis was her lover. Her part 
 was to feign disbelief in his attachment, though 
 herself madly in love with him. Every word she 
 says is a test, though masking her own feeling ; 
 every look speaks coquetry and disdain, though 
 her heart is breaking. Then he leaves her, and
 
 LAND ahead! 99 
 
 her heart does seem to break. She brinors out a 
 letter, which tells of his faithlessness to her, of 
 his attachnient to another, and • she soliloquizes 
 pathetically, amid sobs and tears and angry 
 resentment, how she had doubted the letter, how 
 she had put it away from her, and how she had 
 wished to believe in him through all ; but now 
 the bitter truth has come. Then follows a bitter 
 speech, in which she seems to gather strength, as 
 she talks of women's love and their broken hojoes ; 
 of false flattery, and of the unreality of all save 
 art and effort and self-forgetfulness ; and then, 
 her mind made up, she is going forth on a life 
 of solitude and of self-denial, when the lover 
 reappears, and passionately claims her love. 
 
 How gravely and sorrowfully she puts him 
 away ; how nobly she does it ; how pathetically 
 the hard words come out, as if her very soul was 
 wrung by them, but as if her intense love of truth 
 made her say them ! 
 
 " He would never give up a woman like that," 
 said Mrs. Ellis, who was sitting near Dudley. 
 
 " Just her very earnestness in refusing would 
 make one return to the charge, till she gave in," 
 said Bertram Powys. 
 
 And so at last the heroine gave in. But how 
 
 H 2 '
 
 100 LAND ahead! 
 
 slowly, how tenderly. How liard she found it to 
 believe, seemingly. How she put it away from 
 her, two or three times, this thing that her soul 
 thirsted for so passionately. How she yielded at 
 last to her own feeling and her own want under 
 protest as it were, because he told her she might. 
 And then at last how she portrayed the joy she felt. 
 
 " Then there is such a thing as human happi- 
 ness after all," said Bertram, when Margaret had 
 left the stage, and was receiving ovations and 
 praise from all around her. 
 
 As for Dudley, he was pale with emotion, and 
 never offered to speak to her, only held her hand 
 for a moment in his. Perhaps he could not well 
 speak, not such words as he wanted to say, for 
 Mr. Wemyss was there, and Mr. Wemyss was 
 frantic between divided admiration for Margaret 
 and for himself. Who commanded success — was 
 it Margaret's acting or his own authorship ? 
 
 " If you would only take it on the stage for 
 me," sighed he. 
 
 " I should be lost on the stage," said she, 
 prophetically. 
 
 At supper, which speedily followed, being 
 speedily needed, with the relaxation and recrea- 
 tion it brings in its train, Dudley sat far away
 
 LAND ahead! 101 
 
 from Margaret. No one knew why. He only 
 seemed to care to look at her and to listen to 
 what she might say. If he had asked himself, he 
 would have said that to-night he was afraid of her. 
 
 The conversation went far away from him. 
 Dudley was forgotten. 
 
 ''What good soup this is, Mrs. Hoffman," said 
 Ellis 
 
 " May I have some more ? " asked Montague. 
 
 ''Now," said Wemyss, "here is your health, 
 and yes ! This wine is excellent. Now I am 
 quite happy." 
 
 " Is not this dreadful ? quite dreadful ? " 
 exclaimed Bertram, as he helped Margaret ; " they 
 think of nothing but their creature comforts after 
 
 all. It absolutely ends in nothing. '' 
 
 • 
 
 *'Is it not monstrous that this player here, 
 But in a fiction, in a dream of passion," 
 
 began Orford Ellis, with his mouth full, but he 
 was hissed down. 
 
 *' Could force his soul so to his own conceit, 
 That from her working, all his visage warm'd ; 
 Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
 A broken voice, and his whole function suiting 
 With forms to his conceit," 
 
 quoted Margaret. 
 
 " And all for nothing," concluded Bertram, as
 
 102 LAND ahead! 
 
 he plunged a knife and fork into a pie, in front 
 of liim. 
 
 " But it is not all for nothing, after all," said 
 Montague. 
 
 *' No," said AVemyss, ^' we excite the sympathies 
 by dramatic representation. We do not exactly 
 preach morality, like a tract does, we do not even 
 make a tag of our moral ; I do not know that 
 we even always inculcate anything immediately 
 practical; but we strive to awaken noble sym- 
 pathies, and to sound the chords of elevated 
 feeling and of generous emotions, and so we stir 
 into life the best part of the character." 
 
 "It is like music. It awakens sympathy, and 
 leaves it for the life and circumstance of each 
 in4ividual to develope it into work." 
 
 " But I have another thought about it besides 
 that," said Ellis. " I think the first aim of 
 dramatic art is to illustrate the development of 
 the human soul, to make us better acquainted 
 with ourselves and each other ; to warn us of our 
 temptations, to teach us to judge others leniently." 
 
 " Yes," said Wemyss, " certainly it should be 
 so. And the one thought and end does not 
 preclude the other. Our plays should depend on 
 the persons in them ; they themselves should
 
 LAND ahead! 103 
 
 work out the conclusions. For this we must 
 have individuals, not classes. Not a pattern or 
 a set ; not the inevitable ^ heavy father,' whose 
 will every one knows ; not the marriageable girl, 
 whose destiny every one also knows ; not the 
 ' eligible ' or the ' ineligible ' as the case may be, 
 but characters with wills, not mere parts of their 
 own " 
 
 " Yes, characters, who shall seem to bow to or 
 to triumph over their fate according to their 
 dispositions ; characters who shall develope them- 
 selves and their strength before our eyes, so that 
 as we follow them we shall be able to foresee their 
 conduct, and their rise or their fall." 
 
 " You are talking almost too wisely for me,'' 
 said Margaret. 
 
 " We are getting very dull, I believe." 
 
 " For my part I have always looked upon ' the 
 play' as an amusement, and I am not going to 
 give up my idea lightly." 
 
 "Nor need you. That must be a very bad 
 *play' indeed from which one can get no 
 amusement." 
 
 " Who sees a play by Shakespeare, or Gold- 
 smith, or Sheridan, without being amused ? " 
 asked Mrs. Hoffman.
 
 104 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 ** And instructed as well." 
 
 " Oh, of course ; indirectly we learn great 
 lessons. We see the human heart bared before 
 us. I read that somewhere this morning." 
 
 " How fortunate it is for young England that 
 the prejudices against the play-houses are being 
 so universally overcome." 
 
 " Yes ; as the prejudices against novels are 
 forgotten too." 
 
 ** I am not sure that they are." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; the oldest lady with the falsest 
 front and the bluest of spectacles sees now that 
 the most important lessons of life may be taught 
 best when gilded by the fascinating garb of 
 fiction. Imagination is everything when we are 
 young." 
 
 " Art impresses its lessons pleasantly. Parents 
 must see that." 
 
 ^'Do not let us begin upon Art now," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 *' No ; that cream would be so much better," 
 said Wemyss. " We all know all about Art," he 
 added, apologetically, looking round. "It is the 
 perfect expression of human feeling, and it not 
 only expresses, but it creates feeling, u. s. w, 
 the sphere of the artist is eternal."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 105 
 
 There was a laugh at his '' hackneyed phrase." 
 
 " Did you say eternal or external ? " 
 
 " It is both ; eternal and limitless ; external in 
 that it is expression ; and it is eternal, for it is 
 the influence of his soul on other souls." 
 
 " Meanwhile, let us drink Wemyss' health and 
 the success of his play. Who knows ? the next 
 generation may call him the * immortal bard.' " 
 
 " Oh ! ghost of great Shakespeare, forgive us ! " 
 
 " Don't let us desire impossibilities," said 
 "Wemyss, as he lifted his glass to his lips — " It 
 is a sickness of the soul." 
 
 " Look at him drinking^ his own health." 
 
 " On the contrary, I am drinking my play's 
 health. On its future I can have as little influence 
 now as you." 
 
 " It will wino; its flio-ht hig:h, I am sure," said 
 Bertram. 
 
 " Till necessity brings it down," said Wemyss. 
 
 " Never mind," said Ellis, " necessity is the 
 making of us. It is in reality the parent and 
 founder of all men ever do : so says Eabelais." 
 
 " WeU," said Wemyss, " I am going off to 
 Paris for a holiday. When I come back I shall 
 find, I dare say, much achieved, .much done." 
 
 " Don't be long."
 
 106 LAND ahead! 
 
 "You are always going off somewhere, Mr. 
 Wemyss," said Margaret. 
 
 " Yes ; I go, I think, I hunt, I enjoy myself, 
 I work, I dream, I write — I succeed — ^then I 
 come back again to my home — to London, I 
 mean. They are all here just the same ; young 
 men and the young women ; the worshipped 
 beauties, the prostrate worshippers, the workers, 
 the idle, doing just as before, in the same places, 
 with the same thoughts, same ambitions, same 
 faults, same chances of rising, same probabilities 
 of falling. It is I who have flown ; they are 
 there at home. Poor creatures ! do I not pity 
 them ? but after all it is our home." 
 
 " You should not go away, Mr. Wemyss. You 
 should stay here and give us your help and 
 influence to make the home better." 
 
 " I ? what am I ? a mere atom in this sea of 
 humanity." 
 
 '' And drops make the ocean, as man makes up 
 humanity." 
 
 '* Ah ! " answered he, smiling to her, '^ how true 
 it is that a great thought springs from the heart, 
 but that wit has to go and fetch it." 
 
 One by one they all went away ; at last only 
 Bertram and Dudley Vane were left. Then
 
 LAND ahead! 107 
 
 Bertram would have gone alone, but Margaret's 
 eyes said as plainly as possible, " take him away," 
 so Bertram said he was going his way, and they 
 went together. Mrs. Hoffman and her daughter 
 were left alone. 
 
 " Margaret, how beautifully you did it. I 
 almost think," she added, with a little nervous 
 laugh, " if this should go on you had better take 
 to the stage." 
 
 " If what goes on ? ". 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " I don't like to tell you to-night, when you 
 have been so happy." 
 
 " I had rather you told me, mother." 
 
 Then Mrs. Hoffman came round to her, for 
 before they had been facing each other ; she 
 came round the supper-table and laid her arm 
 on her shoulder. 
 
 "Margaret, we cannot go on so. We are too" 
 poor. The end must come, has come. Debts 
 and difficulties meet me at every turn, and I do 
 not know^ where to look." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me sooner, mother ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman did not say she had indulged in 
 extra magnificence lately, hoping to catch 
 Dudley Yane's eye more securely ; she had
 
 108 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 some latent generosity perhaps, and just now 
 she refrained from using Dudley's name. 
 
 " I did not want to make you unhappy or to 
 spoil your play to-night. I thought perhaps 
 thinofs would mend — 
 
 " Poor little mother," said the girl, putting her 
 arm round her. " What shall we do ? " 
 
 " We must go and live elsewhere, I think ; 
 and let the house, and sell the furni — Who is 
 that ? " 
 
 It was Dudley, who had shaken off Bertram 
 Powys, and now returned, meaning to offer 
 Margaret the bracelet he had bought for her ; he 
 had had no opportunity when the rest were all 
 there. 
 
 " I thought I would just," — said he. Then he 
 saw something was the matter. How odd the 
 sad faces of the two women looked, sitting amid 
 the lights, and at the table where lately so gay a 
 scene had taken place. The supper was still 
 there : nothing had been cleared away. 
 
 "Will you excuse me for a moment, Mrs. 
 Hoffman ? " said he. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly. Sir Dudley.*' 
 
 And then he broke out impulsively : 
 
 '' What is the matter ? ''
 
 LAND ahead! 109 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman turned pale, but Margaret looked 
 up at him, smiling. 
 
 " Let me tell him, Mutterlein. It is too serious 
 for you to speak about." 
 
 So Mrs. Hoffman sat there, looking on. Dudley 
 stood looking down in both faces. 
 
 "You see. Sir Dudley, if you had not come 
 back, you would never have come back. You 
 would only have found our place empty, and 
 ourselves lost. But as you are here, listen. It 
 seems we have been extravagant, — have nothing, — 
 must go. Stop ! listen ! Must let the house, seU I 
 
 the furniture, go — go anywhere out of the world : 
 
 — I wonder, mother, would Eussell Square, or [ 
 
 Islington — I think Islington might do ? It 
 sounds cheap." ' 
 
 " What is it really, Mrs. Hoffman ? " asked 
 Dudley, looking from one to the other. ■ 
 
 " I wish you would run away, Margot ; then I , 
 
 could explain. You never wiU talk seriously ^ 
 
 about money." j 
 
 Margaret rose, but unwillingly. \ 
 
 " Before you go. Queen Daisy, will you let ' 
 
 me give you this ? I came back to give it 1 
 
 " ! 
 
 you. ! 
 
 A most brilliant bracelet it was. Margaret's j
 
 110 LA.ND ahead! 
 
 eyes glistened as she held it in her hand for a 
 moment. Then she put it down softly. 
 
 " My friend, I cannot take it." 
 
 *'Why not?" he exclaimed, wounded to the 
 
 quick. 
 
 "Not now. We are so unequal. Not ever. 
 Thank you for the thought of giving me pleasure 
 all the same. Good-night." 
 
 She held out her hand to him and went away. 
 
 It mierht have been an hour after, when her 
 mother came upstairs to her and found her sitting 
 still undressed, looking over some manuscripts in 
 her room. 
 
 "Margot, I want you." 
 
 Mare^aret rose at once. 
 
 "Why, mother, how pale you look. What 
 
 is it?" 
 
 "Let me take breath, let me think." Then a 
 moment after, she said, " He is still here." 
 
 " He is still here," repeated Margaret, mechanic- 
 ally. " What does he want ? " 
 
 Her mother looked her in the face. 
 ■ " You." 
 
 "Well, mother," said Margaret innocently, 
 " what of that ? " 
 
 " If you would just promise," — the words came
 
 LAND ahead! Ill 
 
 out painfully laboured, — Mrs. Hoffman too for tlie 
 moment was afraid of Margaret, ^* to be his wife, 
 be would pay our debts, and get me out of all 
 my difficulties, and our name would not be 
 disgraced." 
 
 " Disgrace ? " murmured Margaret. 
 
 ''And we could — I could, stop in England," 
 slie went on speaking quickly, "and life would 
 be smooth and happy again." 
 
 '' Oh, mother," said the girl. 
 
 Her lip curled as she looked at her. Then she 
 turned away and covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " He is waiting, child." 
 
 ''Just go down and tell him to go away, 
 mother. You neither of you thought, I know. 
 We will say no more. Of course, I forgive 
 it." 
 
 " Just think, child ! Think of it. I could 
 sleep again, I could hold up my head again, I 
 could feel respectable once more. I could pay 
 my way. He offered me the money, down now, 
 to-morrow — was there ever such generosity ? if 
 you would truly be his wife. And of course I 
 said you would." 
 
 "You said I would ? " 
 
 "Yes. He is waiting. He thinks you love
 
 112 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 him ; lie thinks you are going to him now 
 happily " 
 
 ** Will you send him away ? " 
 
 "May I tell him to come to-morrow instead? 
 I will tell him — it is too late, we had such a long 
 talk." 
 
 " Sooner than that, I will go myself, mother." 
 
 "Stop, child. Foolish girl! what are you 
 doing ? Stop, let me go." 
 
 But it was too late. Margaret had flown 
 down-stairs. Mrs. Hoffman had better leave them 
 alone. 
 
 He rose as she entered, a smile on his face such 
 as Margaret had never seen before. There was a 
 light playing in his eyes, the light of expectant 
 love and of triumph. 
 
 She shut the door behind her, and made him a 
 sign to stand where he was. In an instant his 
 face clouded. There was no smile, no light ; 
 nothing but gloom. 
 
 " It was unworthy of you, of me, of our friend- 
 ship," said she. 
 
 " Why ? The money is nothing between us. 
 Love makes us equal." 
 
 " I came down to say good-bye, to ask you to 
 go away."
 
 LAND ahead! 113 
 
 "It is all settled differently, Margaret; there 
 is no clioice for you now. You must marry me 
 now. Your mother promised for you. She took 
 my note of hand signed ; I have her written 
 promise." 
 
 Margaret could not believe her ears. 
 
 Then he tried to tell her more gently, but his 
 tone was triumphant still, and every movement 
 spoke of victory. 
 
 " And then, my girl, I am not an ogre ? why 
 should you not marry me ? " 
 
 " My girl," repeated Margaret, more to herself 
 than to him. 
 
 They both actually smiled. 
 
 Then she tried to teach him. 
 
 " I cannot marry you, because I do not love 
 you. I cannot tell a story. More than all, I 
 cannot live a lie. The money is nothing, you 
 must give me back that signature of my mother's 
 she must give you back your note. You must 
 go away — and — and — we " 
 
 " Where will you go '? " asked he, mockingly. 
 
 "We will go into the workhouse," said she, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Margaret, is my love nothing ? do you think 
 yours would not come ? I do not understand life 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 114 LAND ahead! 
 
 without you. Is my happiness nothing at all ? my 
 whole life is yours, and we might be so happy." 
 
 " I cannot." . 
 
 " You could make me what you like." ] 
 
 *' I cannot." i 
 
 " Who talked of self-sacrifice ? " J 
 
 '^But this is false, wicked. I will not do it. ; 
 
 Go — go, Dudley. You must go." < 
 
 Her force excited him. Her very fear of him i 
 
 seemed to excite him more ; he threw his arm I 
 
 round her and kissed her. The kiss seemed to ! 
 
 change her nature. She seemed turned into \ 
 
 stone ; as white, as rigid as marble. It was his \ 
 turn again to be frightened. 
 
 ^' I will go now," said he. : 
 
 She did not answer, or speak to him. 
 
 " Will you not say good-night ? " j 
 
 ** I will let you out,^' said she gravely. ; 
 
 On the stairs, he tried to put on some bravado, i 
 
 " He would come next day," he said. '' Very early ; 
 
 he would come. Would she be ready for him ? " j 
 
 She opened the street door, and stood silently . ] 
 
 there, as silently shut it; stood a moment j 
 
 thinking, and perhaps listening to his receding 
 
 footstep, and then slowly, like a woman in a 
 
 dream, went up to her room, and locked herself in.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 Jacqnes. Life is arid, and terrible ; repose is a dream, prudence is 
 useless ; mere reason alone serves simply to dry up the heart ; there 
 is but one vh^tue, the eternal sacrifice of oneself. 
 
 George Sand. 
 
 " Why shouldn't you marry him ? " 
 
 Margaret was sitting in the corner by the fire, 
 huddled up in a shawl, for she had complained of 
 the cold, and her mother had brought a little low 
 chair, and was sitting close beside her. It was 
 about eleven o'clock in the morning; Dudley 
 might be here soon. Mrs. Hoffman held one of 
 Margaret's hands in hers, and was playing with 
 her fingers as she said this, "Why should not 
 you marry him ? " 
 
 "Put it the other way, mother; and why 
 should I ? " 
 
 " To save me from disgrace, from the imput- 
 ation of having told an untruth, of having made 
 a promise that I could not perform." 
 
 I 2 '
 
 116 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Margaret shuddered. 
 
 '* You should not have done it." 
 
 ** To get us out of our present difficulties, and 
 enable us to hold up oar heads honourably. 
 Besides, to ensure comfort and happiness to 
 yourself for the rest of your life, and to do 
 something useful with your existence." 
 
 "Money does not make one happy, nor will a 
 fine place and trees and a great house make one 
 happy either." 
 
 " You might think of him a little." 
 
 " I cannot make him happy." 
 
 " Indeed you can, and you can make just what 
 you like of him. His future entirely rests with 
 you. For my part, I should think that some- 
 thing worth living for ; to mould a man's life 
 and character, and to improve it with my 
 influence. Think of the position you will have 
 in the county too, and the good you will be able 
 to do with your money and your talent." 
 
 " I cannot do it, mother." 
 
 " You are so fond of yourself, Margaret. You 
 always have been. I should have thought that 
 when you saw your mother, your lover, and your 
 own happiness all tending the same way, and 
 waiting for one little word, that word would not
 
 LAND ahead! 117 
 
 be very difficult to say, if only from a feeling of 
 duty." 
 
 ^^ Fond of myself! '* 
 
 Margaret was stung to the quick. She did 
 not know that was one of her faults. She only 
 wanted to do what was right. This did not seem 
 right. After all, was she wrong ? Ought she 
 really to sacrifice herself and her inclination ? 
 
 " There is no real reason, you know, but some 
 fanciful prejudice," continued Mrs. Hofi'man. 
 " You do not care for any one else ? " 
 
 " No," half sobbed the girl. 
 
 The vision of Valentin that crossed her mind 
 then, was nothing, must be nothing, she knew. 
 
 " Then you should do as you are told." 
 
 "It is for you, mother, only for you." 
 
 '* Only for me. But it must turn out well for 
 you, Margot ; do say Yes to him. I told him 
 you would ; I said you loved him really, but that 
 you held back because you were frightened. I 
 said, I knew " 
 
 " Oh, mother — don't." 
 
 She put her hands up to shut out the dreadfully 
 false words. 
 
 For a while Mrs. Hoffman was silenced. 
 
 " I am sure I shall never make him happy."
 
 118 LAND ahead! 
 
 " That is his affair." ! 
 
 " I am sure his relations will hate it." ; 
 
 *' That is their aflair." , \ 
 
 " Perhaps, mother, he will not come back. I : 
 
 sent him away last night." i 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman started, but she soon recovered < 
 
 herself. i 
 
 " He is sure to come back — either to claim my \ 
 
 promise or his money." ^ 
 
 Margaret cowered nearer the fire, and wrapped \ 
 the shawl closer round her. 
 
 '^ Cold, child ?" . ■ ] 
 
 "Yes." I 
 
 ,1 
 
 " Tired ? You look ill. I dare say you did 1 
 not sleep ? " 
 
 " I never went to bed." j 
 
 " Try to sleep now a little, so as to get a little ; 
 
 colour. If he should come Well I but you \ 
 
 have promised, Margot ? " , 
 
 " I have promised," said the girl. ' 
 
 She thought she had. Then her mother kissed ; 
 
 her, and Margaret turned her face away as if she " 
 
 was going to try to sleep. I 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman got up and glided out of the \ 
 
 room. i 
 
 Sleep ! Was her mother mad ? How could I
 
 LAND ahead! • .119 I 
 
 one sleep, when one was sitting there like a i 
 
 condemned criminal, av/aiting one's doom ? i 
 
 Sleep 1 Death would be pleasant, but what I 
 
 would be the good of sleep, to wake up again ! 
 and have a great wave of trouble coming over 
 one ao;ain like a rush of the ocean ? 
 
 Margaret got up from her chair, and walked i 
 
 up and down the room, trying to arrange her ; 
 
 thoughts, trying to see clear. Honour ! dis- \ 
 
 honour ! Truth ! untruth ! How confused it all ; 
 
 was ! For the sake of the promise her mother ! 
 
 had made, for the sake of her mother, in fact, : 
 
 because too of their difficulties and his generosity ! 
 
 she was to give herself to him. Was that j 
 honour ? Her mother said so. She was told 
 that was her duty. Then, looking into the fire, 
 she told herself that she had long known there 
 was nothing but duty left to her in life ; she had, 
 alas ! conjured up a vision for herself of late, she • i 
 
 knew, of life — which should be lived in a free, ; 
 
 independent, courageous, dutiful, hard-working, i 
 
 truthful fashion — containing duty and self- ■ 
 
 sacrifice, by the help of art and charity, and all | 
 
 the goodness and greatness of which she was i 
 capable. This sort of lying self-sacrifice and of 
 
 fettering, bought duty had never occurred to her. i
 
 120 LAND ahead! 
 
 How distasteful it was ! But, perhaps, its very 
 nauseousness made it more necessary. Perhaps, 
 after all, she had allowed her usual self-confidence 
 to run away with her again. She wanted to 
 follow out the road she had made for herself, 
 instead of doing as she was told. Perhaps, 
 thorough, entire self-sacrifice was the noblest, 
 the truest thing she could do. Perhaps this was 
 real. Perhaps the other was no sacrifice at all. 
 
 "How shall I do it ? How shall I tell him ? " 
 thought she, half aloud, coming to a stand-still 
 on the hearfch-rug. 
 
 The fire had burnt itself into great red-hot 
 cavernous hollows ; the black coals in front 
 looked like overhanging, frowning rocks and 
 fathomless pits. 
 
 " It looks like hell," said she. " I feel as if I 
 were walking straight into hell too." 
 
 Fritz, half asleep on the rug, yawned and 
 stretched himself. Then composed himself to 
 sleep again. 
 
 All at once a great terror came over Maro^aret. 
 "Where was she going ? What would become of 
 her ? 
 
 ** Is this life ? " cried she, in an agony. 
 
 It was a cry after her young, happy life, over
 
 LAND ahead! 121 
 
 whicli she had dreamed so much and so bravely, 
 vanishing now so suddenly into the gloom of 
 despair. It seemed to her as if all the light and 
 glory of youth and hope, all the pride of life, all 
 the strength and nobility of immortality had 
 suddenly gone out, and there was nothing but 
 the bare, dull reality of the terrible every-day 
 present left. 
 
 Just then, too, like a sweet breath passing over 
 her head, or like a bird's song heard in the fa^ 
 distance, when all around is still and sad, there 
 came the memory of Valentin. A sense of his 
 tenderness, of his smile, — a sense of the shelter 
 his strength had been, a gleam of light from that 
 far-off brightness. 
 
 " All false I " she said, the next moment. '' It 
 was not really fair, because it was not true. There 
 is nothing true but self-sacrifice." 
 
 After that she sat still and rigid ; not seeing 
 anything, hardly thinking ; waiting for her doom. 
 
 At last it came. 
 
 The door opened, and Dudley walked in. 
 
 How real it all seemed then. How strong and 
 relentless fate is. 
 
 As for Dudley, he hardly knew then how it 
 would be. Mrs. Hoffman had met him on the
 
 122 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 stairs, and had told him Margaret was ready for 
 him, but he doubted even then. He thought 
 that Margaret had too much individuality not to 
 rebel. He hoped passionately, but he hardly 
 expected the consummation of his hopes. He 
 did not know how Mars^aret would reason with 
 herself, and did not think she would deem any 
 sacrifice necessary, if it went against her incli- 
 nation, just for the sake of her mother's name. 
 He judged her by himself. If she accepted him, 
 it would be, he thought, therefore, because she 
 liked him, and was grateful for what he had 
 done, not from any mistaken sense of honour. 
 
 If Margaret had known escape was yet possible, 
 would she have met him like this ? 
 
 She rose and walked across the room to him, 
 and put her hands in his. 
 
 But quite gravely, only looking into his eyes, 
 not smiling there. 
 
 "Is it so ? " asked he, quickly. " Is it all 
 right ? " 
 
 She bent her head, she took her eyes away 
 from his. 
 
 " It is all right." 
 
 Then he kissed her forehead, and she looked 
 up at him shyly.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 123 
 
 Something like the ghost of a smile flittered 
 over her face. It was like the shadow of com- 
 passion on a mntrj day. Was it pity for himself 
 or for her ? 
 
 ^' Shall we come to the fire ? " asked she. 
 
 So they moved towards it together, and Dudley 
 sat down by her, holding her hand in his. 
 
 " Shall we come to the fire ? " 
 
 This is the every-day common-place talk with 
 which we help ourselves through our life- 
 tragedies : and we smile as our lips frame the 
 familiar words. 
 
 But as she sat there Margaret saw the fiery 
 caverns and fathomless depths still blazing before 
 her, and she whispered to herself : 
 
 " I feel as if I were walking straight into hell."
 
 CHAPTER YIII. j 
 
 How will he scorn ! How will he spend his wit ! ■ 
 
 How will he triumph, leap, and laugh at it 1 I 
 
 For all the wealth that ever I did see, ; 
 
 I would not have him know so much by me ! • 
 
 Lovers Labour'' s Lost, Act iv. Sc. iii. i 
 
 The god of laughter seemed to have taken i 
 possession of the house in Hans Place. At all \ 
 hours — on the stairs, at the evening gatherings, 
 wherever these intimates met — Margaret could 
 find nothing but eternal smiles, eternal con- 
 gratulations, eternal never-ending laughter. Was 
 it real joy, real unfeigned gladness ? Margaret 
 wondered to herself. Or was it like Victor 
 Hugo's " L'homme qui rit," ever-present, because 
 they knew not what else to do or to say. If so, 
 it was terrible. Anyhow, to Margaret it was 
 terrible. She would meet the rest and laugh 
 and smile because they did, and then she would 
 go and shut herself up, and feel gloomy and sad, 
 and feel inclined to cry. Amidst all that bright-
 
 LAND ahead! 125 
 
 ness she was the only bit of gloom. It was the 
 dread of the future that weighed on her so 
 oppressively. 
 
 And she could tell no one, that was the hardest 
 part of it. A hundred times a day she would 
 have asked if she could was she doins^ rio^ht ? 
 was the sacrifice a fair one ? But no one seemed 
 to think there was any sacrifice ; no one did any- 
 thing but praise and smile and laugh and flatter, 
 no one seemed occupied with any more serious 
 thought than what his present should be, and no 
 one would have answered Margaret fairly if she 
 had asked. 
 
 If she could only have made a friend of 
 Dudley, could only have explained somethiug 
 of her mingled feelings to him, if she could only 
 have made him uuderstand — have asked him 
 about the nice points of truth and honour, and 
 then, if he had been satisfied to take her so, have 
 settled to walk hand in hand down the plain ot 
 
 life But these were day-dreams ; Dudley 
 
 never understood anything. 
 
 As for her mother, she did nothing but kiss 
 her, and thank her in a thousand nameless ways, 
 and whisper foolish words about her future hap- 
 piness. Every day made escape more impossible.
 
 126 LAND ahead! 
 
 Margaret was miserable. But such was the 
 state of morbid feeling into which she had worked 
 herself, the more miserable she was the more she 
 thought she must be doing right. To give up 
 one's own will utterly, to preclude to oneself all 
 chance of happiness, to take up one's cross with 
 such intense reality, must win one some reward 
 at the end ; so she reasoned. Yet, too, she really 
 did try to find the bright side. She thought of 
 what she was doing for her mother ; she thought 
 how she had yielded to Dudle}^ and she set 
 herself to learn his character and to ensure his 
 happiness. She dreamed how she would raise 
 that character, what noble interests she would 
 infuse into it ; she iniaged to herself through 
 what paths of glory she would lead his life. 
 What useful ambitions she thought of, what 
 philanthropic ideals presented themselves to her 
 fancy, what high work for humanity crossed her 
 imagination in the picture of the future. These 
 ideal aims almost made her happy. ^' All good 
 people must be on her side," she thought. Her 
 martyrdom seemed to have a ray from heaven 
 . resting on it then. Her life seemed transfigured 
 in the life to come. This short human work- 
 a-day life seemed nothing but a steep road soon
 
 LAND ahead! 127 
 
 to be overcome, leading to tlie other. That 
 seemed the reality, and this the dream. 
 
 After such thoughts work seemed easy, progress 
 certain, the life bearable ; and then she would rise 
 strengthened, and join in the laughter of the rest. 
 
 Only their laughter was hideous, she thought ; 
 it was unreal, false, fleeting ; depended on human 
 enjoyments and costly creature luxuries. Her 
 laughter had caught a strain from heavenly 
 harmonies ; in heaven such laughter could be 
 echoed again. 
 
 It was odd, as Margaret seemed to gain strength 
 and courage, Dudley seemed to shrink back. 
 Whether it was some feeling like that which a 
 hot-tempered obstinate child has, when it has 
 been given some toy for which it stormed and 
 cried, that after all it does not care so much 
 about it ; or whether it was that Margaret's 
 superiority weighed sometimes upon him ; or 
 whether it was merely that the storm of anger 
 which his engagement had excited among his 
 relations frightened him, no one quite knew. 
 But certainly he was subject now t.o fits of gloom 
 and depression to which before he had seemed a 
 stranger. 
 
 It could not be want of consideration. For
 
 128 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 never had the literary stars and artistic geniuses 
 
 who thronged Mrs. Hoffman's drawing-room paid i 
 
 him such deference before. He was even allowed \ 
 
 to speak, and once or twice his extremely stupid i 
 
 remarks had provoked smiles. Who knew but • 
 sooQ perhaps one of them might be honoured with 
 
 an answer ? \ 
 
 How often Margaret wondered what they must j 
 
 think of her — these clever men, who had risen so | 
 
 high by their talents, whose dearest treasure was I 
 
 their independence, and who would sooner bear i 
 
 any poverty and any privation than part with ; 
 
 their freedom of spirit. Must they not scorn ; 
 
 and despise her ? ] 
 
 But they did nothing but congratulate. What- ! 
 ever they thought, they had one and all been 
 
 too well tutored by Mrs. Hoffman to dream of | 
 
 exposing any shadow of scorn to Margaret. i 
 
 And soon Margaret found the best way to ' 
 
 avoid their contempt was to make them believe j 
 
 in her admiration for Dudley. They would con- ; 
 done bad taste ; they would forgive an irrepressible 
 
 passion even if the object of it were "bad form," | 
 
 or hopelessly stupid — (is not feminine caprice | 
 
 proverbial ? and is not every one supposed to j 
 
 prefer one's contrast ?) — but they would never feel ]
 
 LAND AHEAD : 129 
 
 aught but scorn for a miserable barter or bargain ; 
 for the sacrifice of truth and liappiness for miser- 
 able money, which after all is but a luxury, can 
 so easily be clone without, and is only wanted 
 every now and then for a trip abroad, or for some 
 exceptional case, or for some urgent case of 
 charity. To make the whole of life subservient to 
 gold would indeed win their severest reprobation. 
 
 So Margaret's smiles to Dudley were more 
 frequent, and her laughter was softer, and in 
 consequence, happiness and peace seemed at 
 length possibilities to all. 
 
 Duty seemed arrayed in a garb of glory to 
 Margaret at last, and her straining eyes and 
 yearning hands seemed ready to be content with 
 the moderate prizes she might give. 
 
 '' My dear, you are happy," said Mrs. Hoffman 
 suddenly in a lit of enthusiastic delight one 
 evening ; " say you are happy now ; that you are 
 going to be happy ? " 
 
 *' I think I shall, mother." 
 
 And she smiled quietly to herself over the 
 happiness she was going to mould to her will. 
 
 Already Dudley was improving, she thought. 
 He showed interest in all sorts of things which 
 he had never noticed before. He had more life, 
 
 VOL. II. K
 
 13Q LAND ahead! 
 
 more energy. "Life," lie said, "was quite 
 different from what he had thought it was." 
 
 He drove Margaret about to do her shopping, 
 to see sights ; they went to plays, to music 
 together. Her horizon also expanded. She too 
 began to think life need not be dull, even if it 
 were not what one expected. Dudley was not 
 much. You could not possibly make a hero of 
 him, or was he an ideal of any sort, but then, 
 who was ? Heroic ideals always turned out false. 
 And then Valentin would flash across her brain, 
 and she would turn to Dudley with a sort of 
 relief, and be thankful that you saw the worst of 
 him at once, and that there was no best to take 
 you in. 
 
 Perhaps, too, the difficulties and perplexities 
 they had, brought them closer together. Dudley 
 was for ever doing kindnesses to Mrs. Hoffman, 
 and in the midst of it all he was always pulled 
 the other way by his own relations. Mrs. Vane 
 called the Hoffmans a couple of adventuresses ; 
 opposition in every way was made to the match ; 
 even Mr. Tudor was sent for from abroad, and 
 asked to reason with Dudley, to go to Mrs. 
 Hoffman and explain how distasteful the marriage 
 would be to the Yanes ; even Mrs. Vane called
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 131 
 
 upon Mrs. Hoffman, and was openly and decidedly 
 rude to that lady in her own house, but Dudley 
 was a model of faithful constancy. Margaret 
 could not choose but feel grateful. 
 
 Nothing in fact could be done. Dudley was 
 of age, Froghambury was his ; he had the game 
 in his own hands ; if he had chosen to marry his 
 cook or a crossing-sweeper, no one could have 
 prevented him. He was disappointed that his 
 mother had not fallen in love at first sight with 
 Margaret, and he said so to Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 " I never knew any mother do that with a 
 daughter-in-law, unless she had a great deal of 
 money," answered that astute lady. 
 
 " But, Margaret ? '' exclaimed he. 
 
 " The fact is, she does not want you to marry 
 at all ; not even an angel from heaven. She 
 does not want to be turned out of Froghambury." 
 
 This seemed a new idea to Dudley. 
 
 The next day he came to Margaret, when she 
 was working by the fire. 
 
 " I say, Queen Daisy, I have something to ask 
 you." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She put down her work and looked into his 
 face. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 *' Of course, say No if you don't like it. It 
 doesn't matter. I only thought I'd ask " 
 
 " Yes, Dudley. What is it ? " 
 
 " Would you much mind my mother living at 
 Froghambury with us ? " 
 
 Margaret paused for a moment. Dudley was 
 facing her, and looking very awkward. ** After 
 all," thought she, quickly, " Dudley is not much 
 of a companion. It might be nice to have some 
 woman to talk to." 
 
 " Would you like it, Dudley 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I should. If you thought you two could 
 get on ? " 
 
 " I can always get on with women." 
 
 " I think she might not oppose our marriage so 
 much, if she thought we should not turn her out 
 of Froghambury." 
 
 " Then ask her to stay, by all means." 
 
 " You are a brick, Queen Daisy. By-the-by," 
 he added, turning back again, "would you like to 
 think itoverfirst — to ask your mother her opinion '?" 
 
 A shade crossed Margaret's face, as she thought 
 that her mother would be sure to tell her to say 
 no ; " and Dudley must be my life now," she 
 continued to herself, " and his happiness, not 
 mine or my mother's."
 
 LAND ahead! 133 
 
 "No, I think," she said aloud, taking up her 
 work again, " we need not mention it to my 
 mother at all ; it is our affair, not hers/' 
 
 Dudley went away immensely relieved, and 
 wondered how any one could ever say a word 
 against Maroraret. Was there ever such a sweet 
 disposition allied with so much beauty ? How 
 was it that the fates had been so individually 
 kind to him in taking him to Sonnenthal and 
 enabling him to find her ? ** 
 
 Mrs. Vane was staying at an hotel in London, 
 so as to be on the spot, and to be enabled to 
 frustrate more successfuUv the schemes of the 
 Hofimans. To her, now, Dudley went. Mr. 
 Tudor was sitting with her. Evidently a council 
 of war was going on. 
 
 " Well, mother," said Dudley, throwing himself 
 into an arm-chair (Mr. Tudor had the other one, 
 and Mrs. Vane was sitting bolt upright at a 
 writing-table), " have you been out to-day ? " 
 
 " Out ? No, I have not. I have no time or 
 spirit for anything." 
 
 " You look full of spirit, my dear madame." 
 
 " And much use it is. Dudley, my boy, have 
 you thought this over ? " 
 
 Dudley rose.
 
 134 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 ** Look liere, mother, I may as well say Good- 
 bye at once if you are going on that tack. 
 Thought it over, of course I have ; and nothing 
 you can say, and not all the parsons in the world 
 can alter it.'' 
 
 " I was afraid so," said Mr. Tudor. 
 
 " You, at least, Mr. Tudor, know her well, and 
 cannot say a word against her," said Dudley, 
 sitting down again. 
 
 " She is charming^; personally — charming,'* 
 said he warily ; thinking that, probably, one day 
 Margaret might be his chief Lady Bountiful in 
 his parish, and that it therefore behoved him to 
 be careful. But still, had not the present lady 
 her eagle eye upon him. " But- " added he. 
 
 " You see, mother, you could do anything with 
 Margaret. She is so good-tempered. And she is 
 so clever, and does such a lot of things. I am 
 sure you would delight in her." 
 
 Mrs. Vane sighed, shook her head, and buried 
 her face in her handkerchief. 
 
 " You could do anything in the world with 
 her," said Mr. Tudor, softly. " As you will see 
 when she comes to live at Froghambury." 
 
 A corner of the handkerchief was lifted, and a 
 sob was arrested half way.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 135 
 
 " I am sure you two miglit be first-rate 
 companions for each other. It will he nice for 
 you to have some one, I should think. You 
 often say Froghambury is dull.'' 
 
 "Very." 
 
 " And she will play to vou, and sing to you, 
 and drive with you." 
 
 Mrs. Vane shuddered, but the handkerchief 
 was taken away, and a light smile played about 
 her mouth. 
 
 " After all, I could do what I liked with her ? " 
 
 " Of course you could," said Mr. Tudor. 
 
 " A child. A mere chit. A I mean," 
 
 catching Dudley's eye, " a charming daughter." 
 
 After all, it was not a very gracious way to 
 take the offer. There was no gratitude, no 
 motherly kiss for the concession ; but on the 
 whole Dudley thought he had done right, and 
 that his mother looked happier. 
 
 That afternoon, when he was driving Margaret, 
 he told her about it. 
 
 " But don't let us worry ourselves," added he. 
 *' Things are sure to fit in somehow." 
 
 " I am sure they will," said she, hopefully. 
 
 They were driving in the park at the time. 
 Who was that walking along in front ? Margaret
 
 136 LAND ahead! 
 
 had never seen a figure or a walk so like Valentin's 
 before. How slow the horses were in catching 
 the young man up ; and when they did she 
 probably would not see his face, for he was 
 looking down. 
 
 " What a cold afternoon it is/' said Dudley, 
 looking round at her. '' Are you wrapped up 
 enough ? This driving rain is not pleasant. 
 Had not I better turn round and go home ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; go on. I like it so much." 
 
 Dudley laughed. 
 
 '* We do not care. We are happy and warm 
 enough." 
 
 ''Yes; warm enough," repeated she. 
 
 Now they were on a level wdth him, now — he 
 was putting up his umbrella ; Margaret could not 
 see ; she turned round and looked. 
 
 Out of the gloom of that February afternoon 
 there faced her the one man she had loved — 
 Valentin von Broderode. 
 
 The horses tore on ; her heart stood still. By 
 slow degrees her presence of mind came back to 
 her ; and she stooped to re-adjust the fur rug. 
 
 Dudley looked down laughing into her face. 
 
 " Warm enough," you said. " Are you happy 
 enough too ? '^
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 137 
 
 "Yes," said she, smiling brightly — brighter 
 than ever before ; "so happy." 
 
 She stamped her foot at the falsehood. 
 '*' What an actress I am," said she to herself. 
 " I did not know it before." 
 
 As they flew through the wind and rain she 
 tried to think it all over. Had he seen her ? 
 Oh, yes, he had ; their eyes had met. How 
 reproachful they looked. But there had been no 
 sign of recognition. How proud he must have 
 thought her, prancing by in her furs — sitting by 
 Dudley. He must have seen, must know it all 
 now. 
 
 And what must he think of her ? 
 
 Were they not quits ? 
 
 If he had been false, was she not false too ? 
 
 Was this rio;ht ? Need she have fallen 
 because he had ? Should she not have been 
 true always ? 
 
 What must he think of her ? 
 
 Should she never see him again ? 
 
 She looked at every one she saw, seeking that 
 grave, handsome face again. 
 
 By and by they came back by the same road 
 where she had seen him. 
 
 There, on the very same spot, as though he
 
 138 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 had not moved, as though he felt neither wind or 
 rain, there stood Valentin. 
 
 She saw him from a long, long way off. 
 
 How she hated the horses, the carriage, the 
 bright harness — everything. How she hated to 
 be driving by him, Valentin, like this, and to 
 have to feel him standins: there. How she 
 longed to be able to get out, and to crawl up to 
 him, and say " Forgive me." 
 
 And then, all at once, the thought came to her 
 rescue — 
 
 " He is false, he always was false." 
 
 So, though her cheek paled, her eye was firm. 
 Ay ! firm enough she met his gaze, and never 
 flinched or smiled. A long, long look. To 
 each it seemed a life-time, to each it told a 
 history. 
 
 He stood looking after her, and the horses 
 bore her away. 
 
 Dudley was talking to them ; he said they 
 were pulling like the 
 
 " So she is false," said Valentin to himself, as 
 he turned on his heel at last. 
 
 " If — if — I wonder — if only he had been true," 
 she was saying to herself; " but I could not bear 
 it now."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 But, oh ! how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
 another man's eyes. 
 
 As you like it, Act v. So. 2. 
 
 Valentin von Broderode had left Sonnentlial 
 vowing lie would forget Margaret. He was one 
 of those who believed so firmly in himself that 
 he thought that he had but to issue the decree, 
 and strength to do whatsoever might be desirable 
 would come. His life had hitherto been passed 
 in sunshine ; if ever clouds had seemed to fleck 
 the sky, he had but to frown and to manifest his 
 displeasure, and fate had incontinently waved 
 them away. Then, Margaret had first fixed his 
 wandering fancy. Now, he thought, there will 
 be no more change, no more caprice, no more 
 weariness. Lotta had been a youthful dream, 
 an illusion, nothing more. But Margaret was 
 worthy of the best, the purest devotion ; eternal 
 faith, a joy for ever. He believed in her
 
 140 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 thoroughly, he worshipped her with the whole 
 passion of his heart. 
 
 But then, at last, when she made no word or 
 sign, when she refused to see him, and when she 
 did not even (so he thought, for Lotta prevented 
 his getting her letter) wish to bid him good-bye ; 
 when, therefore, that dream too must fade, then 
 his soul turned in anger against her, and he 
 vowed he would foro^et her. 
 
 He railed to himself against her and her 
 falsehood, he magnified her offence, he lost all 
 faith in womanhood, all faith in life. Every- 
 thing that had been sweet he turned to bitter ; 
 everything he had thought to love he taught 
 himself to hate. 
 
 But this was not forgetting. 
 
 It was simply poisoning the happy hours that 
 were fled, simply defacing the image of the soft 
 memory of the past ; and through it all his soul 
 longed with a longing past description for that 
 faded past once more. 
 
 How the thousand words and tones haunted 
 him ; how the idle hours they had spent together 
 were for ever present with him. And how he 
 cursed his foolish self-confidence that he had 
 trusted so blindly to the future, and had never
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 141 
 
 bound Margaret to him with a promise or solemn 
 word. 
 
 What were smiles and blushes and happy- 
 looks ? What to live on ? Faith writ in water, 
 which eddies away with the changing surface. 
 He mig^ht have known that no woman understood 
 honour, or steadfastness, or could understand at 
 all what lasting affection meant. 
 
 So he thought bitterly to himself; but this was 
 not forgetting Margaret. 
 
 Why had he gone on in that foolish dalliance, 
 just playing with life and fate ? why had happiness 
 and Margaret's eyes seemed to him so sure, so 
 true ? why had he enjoyed his blind trust ? why 
 had he laughed in his heart at the uncertainty 
 and perplexity he saw he inspired ? and why, just 
 for very pride's sake, had he gone laughing on ? 
 Because fortune had smiled upon him hitherto, 
 would she always smile upon him ? Why had 
 he believed in her so implicitly ? 
 
 So by degrees he learnt his lesson ; and by 
 deo^rees too he became a chano^ed man. 
 
 No longer the spoiled darling of fortune's 
 favour, he saw himself a disappointed labourer in 
 the world's husbandry. No longer the centre of 
 the cares and hopes of ministering spirits, he saw
 
 142 LAND ahead! 
 
 himself, like other men, bound to work and to 
 strive for any desired object. But he did not 
 take the lesson kindly. It had come upon him 
 too suddenly, with too much harshness for that ; 
 the awakening was too bitter for him not to greet 
 it with angry resentment. He did not see that 
 other men had learnt the lesson long ago, and 
 that only his own idle wilfulness had kept him 
 blind. He did not see that nearly all other men 
 around him were working against fate, or rather 
 against the consequences of their own folly or 
 their own mistakes ; and that no one of them 
 believed as he chose to believe, that fate worked 
 with them, connived at their idleness, and 
 contrived that, whatever their follies, still they 
 would always turn up trumps, and always win. 
 He beofan now to learn too much bitterness. He 
 thought that against him alone fate now vowed 
 vengeance. He thought that other men prospered 
 where he alone was defeated. He thought there 
 were no pleasant paths for him in life, — no warm 
 hearts, no friendships, no successes, because fate 
 was unjust, and that he must strive with all his 
 might to cheat fate. Certainly he learnt the 
 lesson, though so late that if he wished to have 
 plums in his mouth he must open it ; but it
 
 LAXD ahead! 143 
 
 struck him that it was necessary that he should 
 open his raouth wider than any other person, 
 because fate was unkind to him, and would 
 prevent him from getting his plums if she 
 possibly could. Certainly he learnt that we 
 must test our friends and the objects of our love, 
 and not take too much on trust, or believe too 
 fondly that because we worship, our devotion, as 
 a natural sequence, will be met by equal affection. 
 Certainly he learnt that ; and he vowed he would 
 take no woman's love on trust ao:ain : but then, 
 he thought, at the same time, that never had 
 woman's eyes seemed so true as Margaret's, and 
 proved so false ; never had any man been so 
 foully, so shamefully deceived as he had. And 
 so learninor he fell to brooclinor over it all ao-ain, 
 and wondering why Margaret had proved false, 
 and wishing passionately that only she might 
 have been true. 
 
 And this was not forgetting Margaret. 
 
 But he would never trust again. 
 
 **A burnt child fears the fire," and that 
 winter in Berlin might have seen him flickering 
 round many fires, kindling many a flame, but 
 screening himself all too surely from any too 
 bright a blaze.
 
 1 44 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 He became prudence and diplomacy and 
 worldliness personified ; hard-hearted too, save 
 for his woes. And over these he brooded when 
 he came back from the balls and from the 
 assemblies of the gay society he frequented, as 
 though no one but himself had known sorrow 
 before. 
 
 Over Lotta's letters, too, he pondered ; very 
 tender they were, as though the writer were 
 conscious he bore some mark of trouble on his 
 soul ; and pondering, sometimes he w^ondered if 
 she were true. " Ah, no ! " he would conclude, 
 with his newly -found wisdom, '^such an one 
 cannot care. She only wants to mend her 
 broken life, and retrieve a lost position." 
 
 He had even written to Margaret about 
 Christmas-time ; but what was the good ? Could 
 he send it anywhere but to Blumenthal ; and had 
 not Lotta kindly undertaken the office of sending 
 on any letters there might be ? Having burnt 
 Margaret's note to Valentin, was it unlikely that 
 she would burn his to Margaret ? 
 
 So misunderstandings built up barriers of pride 
 and of unhappiness, and a strange corroding 
 bitterness took possession of Valentin's mind. 
 His relations and friends became anxious about
 
 LAND ahead! 145 
 
 him ; all his high spirits, his merry, ringing 
 laugh seemed to have left him ; sharp sarcasms 
 were heard in their place. Gaiety and amuse- 
 ment seemed to please him no longer, society 
 seemed to weary ; society seemed, in fact, but a 
 butt for gibes and scorn. 
 
 Then some one suggested change, travel ; and 
 with the suggestion Valentin seemed to start into 
 life. 
 
 " He would go to England," he thought ; " he 
 would find Margaret, face her, throw her false- 
 hood in her teeth, and prove it. Then he could 
 breathe more freely." 
 
 It was February before he managed to get his 
 leave, and, then sending a hurried note of adieu to 
 the disappointed Lotta, who had begun to think that 
 he had learnt at last to love her, with hasty fare- 
 wells to his intimates in Berlin, he left for London. 
 
 He took up his residence in an hotel in Soho 
 Square ; it had been recommended to him by a 
 countryman. And then he began to wander 
 about in search of Margaret. 
 
 But London seemed to him enormous ; and he 
 knew not where to go. 
 
 It was an errand of hatred on which he was 
 bound, and he used to say to himself that 
 
 VOL. II. L
 
 146 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 revenge should lend wings to liis steps. He 
 might as well have acknowledged bravely that it 
 was feverish love that had brought him, and that 
 now led him about. 
 
 In the morning he used to set forth hope- 
 fully, cheerfully ; but the whirl and roar of the 
 seemingly-limitless world of London wearied 
 him, and how despairing and dispiritless was the 
 mood in which he returned I 
 
 Directories and guide-books he studied by the 
 dozens, but none of the Hoffmans therein in- 
 scribed were his Hoffmans. People who hire 
 houses do not figure as the inmates of their 
 landlords' houses. That also with other things 
 Valentin had yet to learn. 
 
 How cold and dreary and oppressively gloomy 
 this London seemed. Valentin could hardly 
 fancy his bright, though false, Margaret could 
 be a denizen of it. . Its gloom and its size 
 weighed upon him drearily. Three or four times 
 he found himself philosophizing on death and 
 suicide : he thought he understood now how 
 people were so tempted to it. 
 
 Then, at last, that afternoon in the park, out 
 of the dark and the gloom and the driving rain, 
 had started Mars^aret.
 
 LAND ahead! 147 
 
 Seated there in her furs and wraps, being 
 drawn by two prancing bays, and — driven by 
 Dudley, this false woman had passed him. 
 
 What a revelation it was. 
 
 It was like a ghost from a land of happiness. 
 
 It was the spectre of reality, when the dream 
 of beauty was dispelled. 
 
 So she was really, truly false. 
 
 Perhaps he had never thoroughly believed it 
 till now. 
 
 Now there was no doubt. 
 
 And she had seen him. 
 
 What a grave, sad, inquiring look it was. 
 
 It haunted him. 
 
 It troubled him so that he stood there like a 
 man in a dream, rooted to the spot, hardly 
 conscious, hardly thinking. It was as if he had 
 been struck. 
 
 The same face he had loved so madly, the same 
 eyes that had smiled into his so fondly — was she 
 false ? was she really false ? 
 
 How he lonored to find her true. 
 
 She looked so noble, so calm, so self-possessed, 
 so beautiful — she must be true. 
 
 Yet, there it was, proof positive. What was 
 the sfood of thinkino- about it ? 
 
 o o 
 
 L 2
 
 148 LAND ahead! 
 
 She was being driven by Dudley. 
 
 The thought was madness in his brain. 
 
 He stood combating it. 
 
 At that moment he really hated her. 
 
 Had he gone away then straight back to 
 Germany, he had been cured. Embittered he 
 might have been, but he would have loved 
 Margaret no more. 
 
 But he stood there with the thought. 
 
 And then the pained look in her eyes came 
 back to him, and he pitied her. 
 
 Yes; out of the intensity of his grief, this 
 great-hearted man found pity for her who had 
 pained him so. 
 
 The pity saved him : who knows, perhaps, has 
 saved his soul in eternity ? 
 
 He stood there compassionate, sorrowful, 
 stricken. 
 
 And then we know how she came by him 
 again. 
 
 But this time she looked proud, haughty, 
 hard. 
 
 It was, after all her yearnings, her longing for 
 his truth, her thirst for his voice and for his for- 
 giveness — it was the thought, '' He is false," that 
 made her look so.
 
 LAXD AHEAD ! 149 
 
 And liis heart was hardened against her. 
 
 But the pity thrilled there too. 
 
 As he stood there looking after the carriage, 
 wondering — ^just daring to wonder — whether she 
 would not look back, the thought came to him — 
 as it might of some wilful child who would do 
 wrong : 
 
 " If she knew, if only she knew " 
 
 This sort of compassion was new to the 
 impulsive Valentin ; it had come to him with 
 the sorrow he had gone through. 
 
 When we have felt anguish very sharply our- 
 selves, we would stop others from dealing wounds 
 around if we could. 
 
 " Married to Dudley Vane ! Wife to Dudley 
 Vane/' 
 
 The thoucfht went whirlins^ on in his brain. 
 
 " So this is what he had come from Germany 
 to see." 
 
 It must be so, for her to be driving about 
 thus. 
 
 She had married the boy she had despised, the 
 boy at whom they had often laughed together, 
 the boy whom she had just tolerated. 
 
 Just because he was rich 
 
 The ideal had fallen indeed. So, on near
 
 150 LAND ahead! 
 
 inspection, this was what his deity really 
 innately was. 
 
 It was sickening. 
 
 No wonder her eyes looked grave ; no w^onder 
 there was a haunting pain in them. 
 
 Had he not better go back to Germany ? Had 
 he not seen enough ? This was what all her fine 
 phrases, all her pure sentiment had come to. 
 This was the meaning of her bright smiles and 
 her joyous laughter : she had but been playing 
 him off against Dudley. She had meant to 
 marry Dudley all along. 
 
 How could he have believed in her ever ? 
 
 If only he had not saved Dudley's life, then 
 how had it been ? Then failing any one else, she 
 might have been true to him. His impulsive act 
 had been wrong. A generous impulse is always 
 wrong, weak, foolish. 
 
 So he decided ; and then thought that that 
 sort of truth, failing any one else, was not worth 
 much. Better Dudley should have it than he. 
 
 Should he not go back to Germany now to-day, 
 having seen the truth, and drop out of their lives, 
 and tear them out of his, and never set eyes on 
 her false face again ? 
 
 He was half decided.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 151 
 
 Then the insane impulse to meet her once, to 
 accuse her boldly, to throw her falsehood in her 
 teeth, took hold of him once again. He would 
 do it once. Chance fate would favour him just 
 once. 
 
 For days he wandered about ; seeiug pictures 
 here, dining there, seeing what he could now of 
 military affairs, now of artistic collections ; 
 frequenting the theatres now and again, but 
 always haunting the park at the hour and the 
 spot where Margaret had passed him. 
 
 In vain ; she never came. 
 
 At last, one day, he was wandering purpose- 
 lessly in the South Kensington Museum, when a 
 voice attracted his attention. ♦ 
 
 Looking up, opposite him, seen through the 
 double-glass of the case he had been inspecting, 
 was Margaret's face. 
 
 Their eyes met. 
 
 She did not seem to falter, or blush, or tremble, 
 or even to look away, as he expected her guilty 
 soul would force her to do. 
 
 She turned deadly pale. 
 
 And he stood looking there ; pale too, but 
 firm, and terrible, and cruel, and hard. A very 
 Nemesis.
 
 152 LAND ahead! 
 
 It was more like two deadly foes meeting, tlian 
 the meeting of two who had cared so madly for 
 each other. 
 
 Then she smiled ; and with the smile, the 
 colour came back to her face. 
 
 He stood immovable there. 
 
 She was going to speak to him. He was not 
 sure how he should be able to bear it. 
 
 But she turned to Dudley first. 
 
 " Ah ! had they been alone/' thought Valentin. 
 " This shadow at her side was terrible." 
 
 '^ Dudley," said she, bringing him to the spot 
 where she was standing, " look 1 I have found an 
 old friend." Laughing, she pointed through the 
 glass as she spoke. " I think now I must go and 
 thank him for your life more than ever. I should 
 not have had you now, if he had not saved you 
 from the cruel Ehine, should I ? " 
 
 They were the best, the safest words she could 
 have chosen. They dealt a stab to each of the 
 young men. They left her mistress of the 
 situation. 
 
 Dudley coloured, and hurried round to Valentin. 
 
 Valentin was forced to smile, and to raise his 
 hat. 
 
 But Dudley and Valentin shook hands first.
 
 LAND ahead! 153 
 
 and Margaret came slowly, and smiling — and so, 
 met him last after all. 
 
 " We must thank these snuff-boxes for having 
 kept us and helped us to find each other." 
 
 " Yes," ' said Valentin. '* I was surprised 
 indeed." 
 
 " Fancy your being in England," said Dudley. 
 
 " Have you been here long ? " 
 
 " No, not long. I saw you the other da — " 
 
 *' You see me now in my mother- country," said 
 she, " and I am getting very English. Soon," 
 looking nervously at Dudley, " I shall be quite 
 English." 
 
 ^' Yes," said he. "Sol " 
 
 Then he stopped. 
 
 Were they married ? or were they not ? 
 
 Before, he had thought so. Now he did not 
 feel quite sure. 
 
 Margaret did not look at him ; she did not 
 seem as if she would look at him full in the face. 
 
 Then Dudley asked after every one at Sonnen- 
 thaL 
 
 But Valentin said he knew nothing. 
 
 Then he found Margaret's eyes fixed on him. 
 
 Presently, she was standing slightly apart 
 looking at some miniatures ; he came to her side.
 
 154 LAND ahead! 
 
 " You would ask something ? " asked ke. 
 
 " No ; at least yes ; how is Frau Senden ? " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 Tkeir eyes met, and Margaret's fell. 
 
 As for him, he laughed. 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " I am going to marry Dudley Vane." 
 
 Her eyes were never raised to his ; her face did 
 not change, or express anything. 
 
 A moment later and Dudley stood between 
 them. 
 
 How long was it that half-hour, during which 
 they wandered to and fro there ? 
 
 Not another word or look could Valentin get 
 from Margaret ; all her smiles, all her jests and 
 playful rejoinders were for Dudley. And how 
 ignorant he was. What stupid things he said. 
 How absolutely ignorant he was of painting, and 
 of china, and of all the objects of civilization. 
 
 What "pearls before swine" were these that 
 Margaret threw. 
 
 Valentin thought it was too painful, that he 
 could not bear it. Certainly she was false ; she 
 had evidently herself made the bargain, and had 
 been contented with the sale of herself. Certainly 
 he himself could never again love her, or anything
 
 LAND ahead! 155 
 
 1 
 
 so false as she was. But still the desjradation 
 
 was dreadful. This match of Beauty and the ! 
 
 Beast was terrible. It ought not to be allowed. ] 
 
 Some one ought to tell her. ! 
 
 The bare fact of Dudley Vane winning such ; 
 
 beauty, such happiness, was an anachronism. ' 
 
 Valentin knew it should have been his. He 
 
 could have appreciated her, could have loved her. ; 
 
 Ah I why had she not been true ! This was i 
 
 bitterness past all speaking to see her lost thus. I 
 
 Was it too late ? Was there not yet time ? \
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Unchanged within to see all changed without 
 
 Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt. — Coleridge. 
 
 Valentin was not slow in taking advantage of 
 the somewhat careless invitation which Margaret 
 had given him, that he should come to Hans 
 Place to see her mother and herself. 
 
 The very next day after the meeting at the 
 South Kensington Museum, Mrs. Hoffman was 
 alone in her little drawing-room, when Gretchen 
 announced Valentin. 
 
 She was in fact contemplating a very handsome 
 bracelet which Dudley had given to Margaret, 
 and a soft smile lay on her face as she looked it 
 over, and then put it on her lap to enjoy its 
 sparkling beauty. Just then Valentin walked in, 
 and a startled expression crossed the triumph 
 which had been written on her face. But she 
 was too clever to let it stay long enough to catch
 
 LAND ahead! 157 
 
 his eye. She rose at once, the bracelet in her 
 hand, and greeted him with the softest smile and 
 the most flattering of welcomes. 
 
 " This is good of you ; it is kind and true 
 indeed. You have come to us at once, first, 
 straight ? " 
 
 "At once?" echoed Valentin, questioningly, 
 and trying to wriggle his hand out of hers. " I 
 hardly know " 
 
 "It was but yesterday Margot met you. I 
 was so glad to hear you were in London. This 
 is friendship indeed to have come to us so soon ; 
 and you must have so many calls upon your time, 
 so much to do, and to see. Where will you sit ? " 
 
 Then she wheeled a chair for him near to hers, 
 letting go of his hand at last. 
 
 " And you have come to congratulate me, I am 
 sure ? To wish us joy ? You are a true friend, 
 indeed." 
 
 " Yes, Frau Hofiman. It is so, is it not ? Of 
 course I wish you joy. You are, I do not doubt, 
 very happy ? " 
 
 " Well, I can hardly say that, you know. I 
 know your kindness, and I am sure you will 
 sympathize. .1 am the victim of such mingled 
 feelings."
 
 158 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Yes ; certainly, you and I have had many a 
 laugh at Vane." 
 
 " Oh, not that ! " she put up her hand depre- 
 catingly, "I do not mean that. All that is 
 altered now ; he is so much improved — happiness 
 improves him, I suppose." 
 
 " Or money, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Well, as you say, it might be money perhaps. 
 That does improve people too." 
 
 "Oh, certainly." 
 
 " But when I spoke of my mingled feelings, I 
 meant for myself and for her, dear child. You 
 can fancy, or rather you can't fancy, what 
 the separation will cost me. Oh, it will be 
 dreadful." 
 
 Then, for a moment, and careful not to dis- 
 arrange her well-arranged face, she covered it 
 with her handkerchief. 
 
 " You will not live with them ? " 
 
 " I ? no. That never does. And then, too, his 
 mother is to be with them at Froghambury. Of 
 course, both Mrs. Vane and myself would be too 
 much." 
 
 " Ah, yes. And do you know Mrs. Vane ; is 
 she nice ? " 
 
 He said it for something to say, failing arrival
 
 LAND ahead! 159 
 
 at the point lie desired to reacli. In truth, he 
 cared not what Mrs. Vane was like at all. 
 
 "Know her? Oh yes; I know her. And I 
 do not mind telling you, but she is a monster. 
 A hard, cold-blooded, selfish woman of the world." 
 
 " Your poor daughter." 
 
 " Yes ! Oh, but Margaret seems to get on very 
 well with her. She manages her somehow ; I 
 cannot. And then she is very fond of Margaret." 
 
 "And so your daughter is very happy ? " 
 
 He said it constrainedly, with his eyes fixed on 
 the ground, and twirling his hat in his hand as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Happy ? Oh, she is a different being. Happy 
 is not the word for it. Did not you see it on her 
 face ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "No? well, men don't notice these things. 
 But she is so joyous and glad and trustful, that I 
 too must be happy. For her sake, I too must be 
 glad ; and I must manage to forget my poor self 
 somehow altogether." 
 
 Again the handkerchief was in requisition. 
 
 " When are they to be married ? " 
 
 "Next month, early in the month." 
 
 " And they have been long engaged ? "
 
 160 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Oil no ! not long ; some weeks." 
 
 *' You met him ? " 
 
 " Oh no I he found us, he followed us. It was 
 all his own unaided doing. Of course, in my 
 position, I could do nothing. All the advances 
 must come from him. I wonder at it now when 
 I think it over." 
 
 *'You rather gave him to understand, in 
 
 fact " 
 
 '' Oh yes ; what could I do ? a poor widow 
 here. I was forced to hold back, and in our 
 small circumstances, I could not think it advisable 
 for him, — I wonder now how his relations have 
 agreed ? but would you believe it, Valentin, they 
 have received her with open arms." 
 
 " Have they ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he was determined, determined. One 
 cannot help admiring him for it." 
 
 Then there fell a silence between them. Valentin 
 began to understand how foolishly he had lost 
 her. Why had he not been more determined? 
 why had he flirted so foolishly ? why had he 
 dallied so wantonly with his happiness, instead 
 of grasping it firmly when it was within his 
 reach ? 
 
 " You saw it of course, all the time ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 161 
 
 She took a long covert look at him, before she 
 asked this. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Why, Dudley and Margaret ! I mean at 
 Sonnentha], in the old days, the first days of our 
 acquaintance ? " 
 
 " No," 
 
 "Oh, I did. I saw it all along. We all saw- 
 it. I thought you saw it too. You played into 
 their hands so beautifully." 
 
 " I played into their hands ? " 
 
 " Yes ; so kindly. With your open, unpretend- 
 ing friendship that meant nothing at all ; diverting 
 suspicion so nicely, making Dudley so causelessly 
 jealous, and just fanning the flame, you know, so 
 judiciously. No match-making mamma could 
 have done it better," 
 
 " Yes," said he. 
 
 She could not see his eyes, or his expression. 
 But she saw the swift colour mount to his face, 
 and she feared she had gone too far. 
 
 " They will be very happy together," said she. 
 
 " Will they ? " • 
 
 " You must come and see them together, and 
 judge for yourself. You must come often." 
 
 Then he rose to go. He was in truth too 
 
 VOL. II. M
 
 162 LAND ahead! 
 
 angry, too bewildered to sit there facing liis 
 tormentor any longer. 
 
 "You will like to see how happy we all 
 are." 
 
 It was in reality almost a prayer to him not to 
 destroy that happiness, not to stain her hard-won 
 triumph. 
 
 " For," she added, falteringly, " you are one of 
 us, and you will share our happiness too." 
 
 " I shall come again very soon. Meanwhile, I 
 wish you happiness from the bottom of my heart, 
 and I congratulate you sincerely." 
 
 Then he turned, and went, and Mrs. Hoffman 
 was left alone. 
 
 " How unfortunate," said she to herself, walking 
 to the fire and then back again to the window. 
 "How extremely unfortunate, that he should 
 have come just now. Oh, if he should dash all 
 my plans to the ground, and destroy my success- 
 ful schemes. If — Margaret — oh, she must not 
 see him — must never know that he cares for her. 
 He does care for her. I see it in his face. I 
 wonder how it all fell out, and why he did not 
 speak before. If I had known — but no, it would 
 never have done. He is nothing, absolutely 
 nothing, compared with Dudley, in a worldly
 
 LAND ahead! 163 
 
 way. Oil no ! It was better that I did not know : 
 I have done quite right." 
 
 She poked the fire, and took np the bracelet 
 again, and sat herself down comfortably, yet with 
 a more anxious expression on her face than it had 
 worn before Valentin's entrance. 
 
 About half-an-hour .afterwards she heard a 
 light step on the stairs, and Margaret entered 
 hastily. 
 
 " Oh, mother, we have had such a long 
 rehearsal, Bertram Powys and I. He gets more 
 absurd every day. But we have been working 
 so hard, we must succeed." 
 
 " * As you like it,' is such an ambitious choice. 
 Whatever made you choose it ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't know. They thought our 
 farewell entertainment ous^ht to be somethino: 
 special. And then you know we only choose a 
 few scenes out of it." 
 
 " I hope Dudley will approve ? " 
 
 " I hope he will, I am sure, as he is so magni- 
 ficent and generous about it." 
 
 " Mind that we introduce him to everybody." 
 . '' Oh, certainly. As the giver of the feast, and 
 as mon fittiir r 
 
 "As much your 'fictiir^ as you like, but I 
 
 M 2 .
 
 1 64 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 think you need not say he is the giver of the 
 feast." 
 
 *' Why ? everybody will know we could not 
 give it. 
 
 " But still we need not say so. It might put 
 him in a false position, and might make people 
 think his money was an object in the marriage." 
 
 Margaret laughed, as she looked straight at her 
 mother. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman could not prevent a slight tinge 
 of colour over-spreading her face. 
 
 " That would be a pity, mother." 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 *' Dudley seems to like the whole thing so 
 much. I never thought he would take so much 
 interest in any play- acting." 
 
 ''He is so proud of your talent. And now 
 that he feels you are his, he is not jealous any 
 
 more." 
 
 " I wonder what he will think of my dress as 
 Eosalind ? " 
 
 " Well, dear, I really think we have managed 
 it quite admirably. It is graceful as well 
 
 as " 
 
 " Decent ! say the word, Mutterlein. Well, I 
 hope it is. I can only say I hope it is,"
 
 LAND ahead! 165 
 
 " Mrs. Ellis said it was. And Miss Powvs 
 was charmed with it.'^ 
 
 "Oh yes; 'Celia' (that is her name in the 
 play, you know) likes it, and says I make a 
 charming Ganymede. Touchstone said he lost his 
 heart to my ancles, and found himself wishing I 
 was a girl, and Bertram Powys said he had never 
 realized the difficulties of Orlando's supposed 
 ignorance before." 
 
 " You seem to have found a little time to 
 laugh, notwithstanding your very hard work." 
 
 " And what have you been doing, mother ? " 
 
 " I ? Oh ! I have had a visitor." 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 Margaret had been looking at herself carelessly 
 in the glass as she spoke. Now she turned and 
 faced her mother, for Mrs. Hoffman did not 
 answer at once. 
 
 " Valentin von Broderode has been here." 
 
 The girl changed colour as she looked afc her 
 mother s impenetrable face. 
 
 " So soon ! Did he really come ? It was only 
 yesterday " 
 
 " I know," said Mrs. Hoffman, curtly. In fact 
 Margaret's earnestness frightened her. She wished 
 she could push the man and the whole subject
 
 166 LAND ahead! 
 
 away from her. "It was only a call of ceremony. 
 He happened to be passing." 
 
 But meanwhile a mad thought shot through 
 Margaret's mind. 
 
 *' Perhaps after all he was not false, perhaps 
 after all he cared ; he might have come to 
 England, as she used to think he would, to see 
 her." 
 
 " It is too late now," said she aloud. 
 
 She said it really to herself, in a soft, sad, 
 questioning tone. She had not meant it for her 
 mother. It was but a regret for her freedom. If 
 only she had a chance, if only she could fairly 
 discover his motives — that was what she meant. 
 And if only, after all, her worship could turn out 
 to be true, her ideal to be true — if only Valentin 
 should not have been false after alL Then truth 
 and happiness and goodness might exist on the 
 earth again after all. 
 
 She was standing at the window looking out 
 into the square as she said it : 
 
 " It is too late now." 
 
 Her mother started up and stood beside her^ 
 laying her hand on her arm. 
 
 " What do you say ? '^ 
 
 Margaret turned her eyes to her face like one
 
 LAND ahead! 167 
 
 in a dream, then slowly, as if fully awake, she 
 sighed, and said in a low voice : 
 
 *^ Nothing, mother." 
 
 But she withdrew herself from Mrs. Hoffman s 
 touch, and walking away threw herself into a 
 chair, the picture of desolate misery. 
 
 For some minutes nothinoj was heard in the 
 room but the ticking of the clock, and once the 
 fire, as though impatient of its limits or of the 
 stillness, fell in with a crash. 
 
 The feelinp- Maro^aret showed was a revelation 
 to Mrs. Hoffman. Hitherto, since the night 
 when the sacrifice had first been demanded of 
 her, Margaret had uttered no word of regret or 
 repining. Chance looks there might have been ; 
 a stray glance, an effort too visible ; but of late 
 even these had been controlled. In her determin- 
 ation, that if she made up her mind to marry 
 Dudley, she would also make up her mind to 
 love him too, and if she failed in that, to make at 
 least every one think so, — and she had sought no 
 confidence, — she had so far succeeded that not 
 only did their acquaintances and friends think 
 she was perfectly happy, but Dudley also thought 
 so, and Mrs. Hoffman was certain of it. There 
 had been no word of recrimination, not one word
 
 168 LAND ahead! 
 
 of regret ; slie was accomplishing the sacrifice 
 cheerfully. 
 
 "For," said she to herself, "I do it for my 
 mother. How can I do it if she sees me crying 
 every day, or if she knows that poverty would be 
 no pain at all in comparison. But she wrote her 
 promise, she made her compact, and I must fulfil 
 it for her sake as honourably as I may." 
 
 But now when Mrs. Hoffman saw Margaret 
 sitting utterly dejected and miserable in a chair, 
 all the past rose before her with terrible reality, 
 and she asked herself if in truth the cost was too 
 much for the girl ? But now it was too late. 
 Cost what it might the bargain must be con- 
 cluded. 
 
 " I thought all that nonsense was over," said 
 she at last. 
 
 " I said it was nothing. I am tired. I was 
 thinking." 
 
 Then there was another silence. 
 
 " Do not think." 
 
 Margaret rose with an action of despair. 
 "Was this woman for whose honour she was 
 sacrificing her life worth it ? " That was the 
 thought then boiling in her brain. 
 
 "No; you are right. I must not think. I
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 169 
 
 cannot think. If I do, I shall throw it all to the 
 winds. I must go straight on, do what I am 
 told, and never know whether it is wrong or 
 right. After all, where is right ? What is 
 honour ? If I save yours I risk mine ; if I save 
 yours I endanger Dudley's ? How many lies 
 have you and I told during the last weeks for 
 the sake of one you told one night ? Love him ! 
 good heavens, I hated him then, and you 
 knew it." 
 
 *'But not now, child; not now," said Mrs. 
 Hoflfman softly. 
 
 The hypocritical look and expression recalled 
 Marsraret to herself. She became calm at once. 
 Once more she put on her mask ; once more she 
 reached out for her old deception. 
 
 " Not now, as you say, not now." 
 
 " So it has ended well." 
 
 "All's well that ends well," and Margaret 
 bowed her head. 
 
 " I will leave you alone, child, now." 
 
 And she walked towards the door. 
 
 ** What did he say, mother ? what did he 
 say? 
 
 She was walking after her mother. Her 
 earnestness was piteous.
 
 170 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Nothing much. He just came and sat there 
 and twirled his hat, and went away." 
 
 " Was that all ? " 
 
 '' He came to congratulate, and to say he was 
 , sure you would be happy." 
 
 " Was that all ? " 
 
 " And I told him how happy you were, and 
 how long it had been going on.'* 
 
 "You said that?" 
 
 ''And I told him the beginning of it at 
 Biberich, at Sonnenthal 1 mean, and I said how 
 we all used to watch it, and I asked him if he 
 did not see it." 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 "No. He swore he had not seen it. And I 
 thanked him — I am afraid that was mischievous 
 of me " 
 
 " Thanked him ? " 
 
 " Yes. For his match-making qualities ; told 
 him how useful he had been, always there, yet 
 never in the way ; just making Dudley jealous, 
 and, of course, at the end, just bringing him to 
 the point. No mother could have done it like 
 that." 
 
 " You told him that ? " 
 
 "Yes. Failing his having come forward
 
 LAND ahead! 171 
 
 himself, I thouo^lit lie mio^lit as well know that 
 he had done us a good turn nevertheless. Why, 
 Margaret, why do you look like that ? " 
 
 "And what did he say ? " 
 
 " Say ! Nothing. He went away. But he 
 looked angry, or, at least, much as you do now." 
 
 *^ So I am angry. I am disgusted." 
 
 Mother and daughter understood each other 
 now. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman held the handle of the door in 
 her hand. 
 
 *^ I did it for your sake. He must never know 
 you cared for him. It is too late now." 
 
 Then she went away. 
 
 Was it not hard ? 
 
 1/ he cared. Did he care ? How passionately 
 Marcraret lono^ed to know ; but that she never 
 could know now. And so too he must think, for 
 her sake, for Dudley's, that she never cared. 
 Past falsehood must be proved for present truth. 
 What a puzzle it was ! 
 
 But pride came to her rescue. Probably he 
 did not care, in which case it would be easy for 
 her to be, to make-believe she had always been, 
 indifferent. 
 
 But how hard it was ! How tired she was of
 
 172 LAND ahead! 
 
 all this '^ make-believe." Of late, indeed, it had 
 been easier. She had learnt to smile when she 
 had rather have cried ; she had learnt to jest 
 when she would rather have been silent ; she had 
 learnt to look gay when she would have liked to 
 die ; but, in truth, it was weary work. 
 
 And now it would be harder. She must make- 
 believe before Valentin — Valentin, who knew 
 every change of her face, every turn of her mind 
 — Valentin, whom she had never deceived yet ; 
 oh ! she thought she could not go through 
 with it. 
 
 Still, however, he must not know she had ever 
 cared. 
 
 For two or three days this frame of mind 
 lasted ; and, meanwhile, Dudley was always 
 there, and the acting, or rather rehearsing, went 
 on ; and, meanwhile, Valentin came again to call. 
 
 Then, too, Dudley asked him to dinner. 
 
 It was not much to do for a man who had 
 saved his life, and whose prospective life- 
 companion he had stolen. 
 
 However, appearances seemed smooth enough. 
 Valentin and Margaret seemed to converse easily 
 enough. But then appearances are deceitful, and 
 none were aware, not even either of these two,
 
 LAND ahead! 173 
 
 of the volcano, so ready to burst, smouldering 
 below. 
 
 Not yet had Valentin seen Margaret alone. 
 They had had conversations at dinner, in the 
 drawing-room, in society, but that is not talking, 
 and Valentin knew as little of her state of mind 
 towards him as he did on the day when she gave 
 him that hauntingly cold look in the park. Just 
 now she was afraid to be alone with him. She 
 had, moreover, a most irritating habit of saying 
 " Where is Dudley ? " whenever Valentin ap- 
 proached. 
 
 Probably she did it unconsciously, for when at 
 last he said bitterly — 
 
 *' Dudley ! It is always Dudley. I used to be 
 wanted, but now he is in my place." 
 
 Then she turned away with a light laugh, but 
 she never asked anxiously for Dudley again.
 
 CHAPTEH XI. 
 
 Countess. I thought as much. This comes, you see, 
 Of sentiment, and Arcady, 
 Where vows are hung on every tree — 
 
 The Baron (offering his arm, with a low how). 
 And no one dreams — of Perfidy. 
 
 The Ballad a la Mode. 
 
 The preparations for Mrs. Hoffman's dramatic 
 entertainment progressed rapidly. Eehearsals 
 seemed to be going on all day, and at every 
 available corner. All was liurry, bustle, con- 
 fusion, and intense excitement. The " company " 
 were now in the highest spirits at their approach- 
 ing success, now at the lowest ebb of despair and 
 declaring that failure was inevitably stamped 
 upon their enterprise. 
 
 The guests were bidden, and more had 
 accepted than the rooms would hold, yet still 
 Mrs. Hoffman was persecuted with other people's 
 friends wanting invitations. It is always so in 
 London. Then, too, in the winter people will go
 
 LAND ahead! 175 
 
 to anything, and even if it had not been so 
 theatricals are always amusing. 
 
 Moreover, Mrs. Hoffman had indeed succeeded 
 in gathering a circle round her. Her frequent 
 " Evenings at home," the careless freedom of her 
 parties, the amusement always to be found there, 
 added to the cleverness and brilliancy of some of 
 her intimates, had made her house popular, and 
 had o;iven a sort of reflected lio;ht to her name, 
 known to those who cultivated literary and 
 artistic people. Her gatherings had become 
 celebrated. 
 
 Added to this, Margaret's engagement had 
 made some noise. The wealth of the Vanes had 
 been a frequent topic of conversation since Sir 
 Gilbert's death ; people had not known till then 
 how rich the old man was. Now they were 
 anxious to see the girl picked up somewhere on 
 the Ehine, with w^hom the boy was so madly in 
 love, and whom his mother disliked so much. 
 
 Mrs. Vane had been invited to the party ; 
 whether she would come was still T\T:apped in the 
 clouds of futurity. She herself thought that she 
 would not go. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman said she should have another 
 chair to give aw^ay if Mrs. Vane did not come ;
 
 176 . LAND ahead! 
 
 and the more Dudley saw Margaret rehearse her 
 " Eosalind " the more he hoped she would come, 
 as she must then be won over to her side, he was 
 sure. 
 
 It was two days before that fixed for the party ; 
 the stage was put up, and Mrs. Hoffman and 
 Margaret were standing on it discussing decora- 
 tions, lights, and such preparations, when Orford 
 Ellis burst in. 
 
 *' What do you think has happened ? We are 
 done for." 
 
 " AVhat do you say ? " asked Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Margaret, setting 
 down a chandelier she had in her hand. 
 
 " Orlando is thrown." 
 
 " Don't make jokes, Mr. Ellis," said Margaret. 
 "You know perfectly well he throws Charles." 
 
 " I don't mean that. I mean Powys is really 
 thrown from his horse." 
 
 " Seriously ? " 
 
 ''Most seriously. Collar-bone broken, they 
 
 say. 
 
 " How stupid he is," said Margaret. " I have 
 always told him not to ride that horse. I knew 
 he would come down." 
 
 " He said he could not afford a better."
 
 LAND ahead! 177 
 
 " That is nonsense. He will have to afford a 
 doctor now. I am sorry for him indeed." 
 
 " What are we to do for Orlando ? " asked 
 JMrs. Hoffman. 
 
 Blank dismay was written on all their faces. 
 
 *' Could I do it ? " suggested Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 The others laughed. 
 
 "The wrestling scene is cut out," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " I know the words from hearing^ them so 
 often, and I am sure every one would like it" 
 
 " My dear mother, you must be mad." 
 
 Then Dudley sauntered in. 
 
 *' I'll do it, Queen Daisy. I am sure I could 
 do it with you to teach me." 
 
 Ellis held his breath in an agony. Did 
 Margaret know how stupid this lover of hers 
 was ? Would she, blind as she was, let him act, 
 and spoil the entire harmony of their '^ As you 
 like it " ? But he need not have been alarmed, 
 Margaret laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 '' You, my dear boy ! No, thank you. It is 
 not your line. I might as well try to play at 
 cricket as you to act." 
 
 *'Just let me try. I might do it. It looks 
 easy enough." 
 
 VOL. II. N ,
 
 178. LAND ahead! 
 
 " Ask a fish to run, dear ; it is nonsense. And 
 you have always hated acting so." 
 
 "I had better try to get some one from 
 the theatre." 
 
 ** What ! a professional ! " exclaimed Margaret, 
 delighted. 
 
 " A real theatrical I '^ cried Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 ** I really think I had.'' 
 
 What a dreadful day it was ! One by one all 
 of the '' company " dropped in, and the dismay 
 and despair were dreadful. Then came a scribbled 
 note from Bertram Powys, confirming the news 
 and precluding all hope of his being able to act. 
 And Mr. Ellis never came back. Besides all this, 
 there were a hundred other things to be thought 
 of : flowers, scenery, stage-fittings, and through it 
 all Dudley kept saying — 
 
 " I don't much see the use of going to all this 
 expense till you have got your man. If you 
 don't get your man you can't have your play. 
 I think you had much better send things round 
 and put everybody ofi*; or send a notice to 
 the paper — that won't cost much." 
 
 To these suggestions no one vouchsafed any 
 answer at all, but at last, as they continued, and 
 as a falling drop at last will cave a stone, Mrs.
 
 LAND ahead! 179 
 
 Hoffman came to Margaret, who was sitting in 
 the little green-room beyond, surrounded by an 
 indescribable chaotic mass of " properties " and 
 of stage paraphernalia, and she said — 
 
 " What a bore he is about the expense ! " 
 
 "Let us pay for it, mother," said Margaret, 
 grandly. 
 
 '' Can't, dear ; have not the money. Oh, 
 well ! I suppose rich people are always like 
 this." 
 
 "I am afraid it will cost a good deal," said 
 Margaret, thoughtfully. 
 
 "Don't teaze yourself. You may at least 
 comfort yourself with the thought that you need 
 never worry yourself about money again as long 
 as you live. I wish I could say as much." 
 
 " I don't know, mother. I am rather sorry. 
 I would rather be going on the stage, I think, 
 and be earning money honestly. There is some- 
 thing grand in a woman earning her livelihood 
 by art." 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! you don't know what you 
 are talking about." 
 
 Just then there was a burst of applause in the 
 other room, with much laughter, and Margaret 
 sprang up to discover the cause. 
 
 N 2
 
 180. LAND ahead! 
 
 '^ Here is your man," said Orford Ellis, latigliing. 
 *'We have just had a rehearsal, and he will 
 certainly bring the house down." 
 
 There was no one standing on the stage but 
 Valentin von Broderode. 
 
 *' Where ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 ** He says I am to do it," said Valentin. 
 
 '' You 1 " 
 
 She burst out laughing. Then she looked at 
 him apologetically, and from him to Orford Ellis, 
 
 '' He must be mad," said she to Valentin. 
 
 " He is mad," said Dudley, from behind. 
 
 " On the contrary," said Ellis, '^ Von Broderode 
 can do it very well. His English is first-rate, 
 and he has done the part before." 
 
 " Have you ? " questioned Margaret, 
 
 " Yes ; at Heidelberg, some years ago." 
 
 Margaret turned away. She was annoyed. 
 How was she to sustain that tender fire of soft 
 words from Valentin ? how was she herself 
 to disguise all feeling in playing Rosalind ? was 
 it not dangerous ? She looked helplessly to 
 Orford Ellis, but there was no help there. 
 
 " I went everywhere. No man to be got who 
 had a free evening. They simply laughed at me, 
 and consigned me and my Orlando to the limbo of
 
 LAND ahead! 181 
 
 outer darkness and impotent suffering. On the 
 stairs here I met this man. He is perfect. 
 Try him. Come, fair Eosalind, give us a 
 rehearsal, and show us what you can do." 
 
 How distasteful it was to her ; she had a 
 thousand reasons against it. 
 
 " Rosalind will not act with me, I think," 
 said Valentin, watching her narrowly. 
 
 They all looked surprised. Was there any- 
 thing, any old friendship or any old animosity, 
 between ]\Iargaret and the handsome German ? 
 Margaret saw the thought written on their faces. 
 She started up at once. 
 
 " Of course I will act, if you are all serious, 
 and if A'^alentin really means it." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " 
 
 " Now we shall have some fun." 
 
 '^ Where is the prompter ? " 
 
 "' Touchstone, where are you ? " said Margaret. 
 
 Mr. Wemyss was Touchstone. 
 , '' I come at your bidding, like another Ariel," 
 said he. 
 
 " And where is Celia, Miss Powys ? " 
 
 " She is sewing curtains together, like another 
 Penelope, as they are to be undone again directly. 
 She is in the dining-room. Tell her, Dudley."
 
 182 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 After all it was not so bad. There was so 
 much laughing about it, such jokes, such silly 
 repartees, Rosalind and Orlando had no time for 
 foolish sentiment at all. Afterwards, when 
 together they set to work at their parts gravely, 
 they were not alone, for the prompter was 
 always there. Margaret forgot herself in her 
 part, and Valentin, in his excessive desire to 
 please her, forgot himself too. On the whole, 
 Margaret thought she liked acting with him ; 
 it seemed like a renewal of their old friendship, 
 and yet it was so perfectly safe. Some of the 
 words they had to speak did indeed bring them 
 near to a renewal of old thoughts, but there was 
 no time to follow out the thread, for the next 
 moment they were far away on other wings. To 
 Margaret it was a triumph ; in the part she 
 showed her strength. As Rosalind, as Ganymede, 
 she laughed, she coquetted, she was a stronger, 
 brighter, and withal a far more tender being than 
 now she could ever have dared to be as Margaret 
 
 Would Shakspere's play heal the sores after all ? 
 Would past unkindness be forgot ? Would truth, 
 in some moment of excitement, discover herself 
 to the anxious, longing eyes of both ? Mrs. 
 Hoffman looked on and trembled.
 
 LAND ahead! 183 
 
 And Dudley Vane looked on too. How the 
 old words he had heard from both in the villao^e 
 on the Rhine rang in his ears now. 
 
 " He is my angel, my ideal," had said Margaret. 
 
 "With her rests my happiness," had said 
 Valentin. 
 
 Yet now Margaret had given her word to 
 Dudley, and her efforts now were only bent, not 
 for the old tender words Valentin had given her, 
 not for any of the old affection which had proved 
 so false, but to dissipate if she might that bitter- 
 ness that seemed to be hanging over him, to see 
 again the old playful familiarity that had endeared 
 him so to them all. 
 
 As for him, he wanted to find out if she had 
 ever loved him., or if, as Mrs. Hoffman had said, 
 he had only been a tool in their hands. 
 
 The great evening had come. The guests were 
 in their places ; the " company " were having the 
 last touches of rouge and powder administered, 
 the last glass of champagne had circulated, and 
 the manager's bell rang out. 
 
 Up went the curtain, and Rosalind and Celia 
 were discovered on the lawn. What a pretty 
 scene it was. There was a burst of applause. 
 And then the girls began the play.
 
 184 LAND ahead! 
 
 How well it went. What pathos in Eosalind, 
 till she changes her tune to merriment for Celia's 
 sake. Then Touchstone brought a sharper edge 
 to their talk, and then after the wrestling, 
 which demanded more space than Mrs. Hoffman's 
 drawing-room could provide, Orlando comes. 
 
 Has she not rehearsed with him ? has she not 
 played and jested with him ? Why, now, does 
 her heart- quail, and suddenly she fears him so 
 terribly ? And then she tries to get away from 
 her fear, to push the thought away from her. If 
 he should see, if now he should understand — but, 
 surely, he cannot ; for he does not care ; he never 
 cared. So she reasons with herself, and so she 
 awaits him ; so, seemingly proud and cold and 
 self-possessed as ever, she meets him, and so with a 
 tenderness, alas ! only too true, she plays her part. 
 
 " I should have given tears unto entreaties, 
 M'e he sJiould thus have ventur''d^'' 
 
 said she. 
 
 So, also — letting her soul shine through her 
 eyes, and making Valentin wonder, '' Can a 
 woman feign so and be nothing but feigning ? '" 
 — she gives him her chain. 
 
 " Gentleman, 
 Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune, 
 That could give more, hut that her ha7id lacks memisj*
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 185 
 
 VThj, when, seemingly of her own inclination, 
 Eosalind returns, asking, 
 
 *' Bid you call, sir ?" 
 
 — why did Valentin's eyes meet hers, and did they 
 seem to say to each other, " We would call and 
 we would come, if we dared " ? 
 
 Valentin made his exit with the rest, but after- 
 wards all througjh the next scene, from one of the 
 wings, he watched her with a feverish fascination, 
 wishing for one word, just one word of explanation. 
 
 The next Act took them to the sun-lit glades 
 of the forest of Arden. This was a master-piece 
 of talent and ingenuity ; which of the company 
 had not had a hand in this wondrous scenery ? 
 It took the audience away into dreamland ; away 
 into far-off days of golden summer, soft greys and 
 blues, and silvery light beaming over all. It was 
 a true miniature of happy woodland life, and then 
 on this picture of happiness comes man with his 
 lot of adversity and sorrows, but through his 
 sorrows, as the sunshine through the leaves, 
 comes also the sunshine of his hopeful, noble spirit, 
 which chases away the suffering and dissipates 
 the clouds of adversity. If the scenery did not 
 entirely illustrate the moral of the play, surely
 
 186 LAND ahead! 
 
 the cheerful, manly bearing of Duke Senior did 
 so. The audience became frantic in their applause, 
 and confused in their gratitude, for they hardly 
 knew whether they should pay it to the actors 
 who were interpreting the great master so rever- 
 ently and tenderly for them, or whether the poet 
 himself should win all their thanks. 
 
 Margaret was alone in the green-room, she was 
 waiting to go on ; in truth she was weary ; the 
 constant effort, the constant strain, this fear of 
 Valentin was too much. She leant her head on 
 her hand, and bowed herself down in utter 
 despair ; a moment more, and in the reaction of 
 excitement she would have sobbed. 
 
 " As proud, as hard, as cold as marble," said a 
 voice. 
 
 It was Valentin. He was standing in front of 
 her, looking at her fixedly. 
 
 Margaret started to her feet. 
 
 Valentin smiled, and tried to take her hand. 
 
 " Do I see clear at last ? We are both behind 
 the curtain, are we not ? " 
 
 '^You see nothing. I am tired; that is 
 all." 
 
 " Dudley is not here." 
 
 "Dudley is — before the curtain."
 
 LAND ahead! 187 
 
 " A truce to this," said he, impatiently ; '' shall 
 we not speak plainly to each other ? " 
 
 But the Act was over. The actors, emancipated 
 from wings, side-scenes, and right and left exits, 
 came trooping back in wild glee into the green- 
 room. Orford Ellis had won his honours as 
 Melancholy Jaques, and in another moment 
 Margaret was on the stage reading the verses 
 Orlando had written her. 
 
 Why, a few moments later, when she and Celia 
 were in hiding behind the tree, and Jaques says — 
 
 " We two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our 
 misery " 
 
 — why did Orlando look so pointedly at Mar- 
 garet as he answered — 
 
 ^^ I will chide no Ireather in the world hut myself, against whom 
 I k?io7V most faults " .'' 
 
 Why did Margaret start at his look ? and how 
 was it that she forgot herself so far as to smile 
 when Jaques says — , 
 
 " The worst fault you have is to be in love " ? 
 
 No ! Maro^aret should not have smiled. Orlando's 
 answer was well-known to her — 
 
 " 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best viiiue."
 
 188 LAND ahead! 
 
 '' Why, Margaret ! how you tremble," said Miss 
 Powys to her. 
 
 " Let us see, what is my cue ? Oh, Master 
 Melancholy, and ' I will speak to him as a saucy 
 lackey.' Come, Celia." 
 
 What a scene it was. 
 
 Dudley and Mrs. Hoffman looked on with 
 ever-increasing interest. Mrs. Hoffman knew 
 that it was tragedy under the name of comedy 
 that was being acted before her ; but even she 
 was not alive to the full meaning of the scene. 
 How quick was the repartee ; and what weight 
 had each word in the ears of the speakers. At 
 rehearsal it had been different. Then there had 
 been laughing and talking around them ; but now 
 everything was hushed, every eye was fixed on 
 them, and every one seemed to share in the 
 excitement of the moment, and more or less to 
 comprehend the bitter import of the words. 
 
 The light words in Kosalind's mouth flew like 
 poisoned shafts to Valentin's heart ; his answers, 
 couched so solemnly, came to her as though they 
 cried out on her falsehood, and oppressed her 
 cruelly with their sternness. Neither had ever 
 acted so earnestly before, but neither had played 
 their life's play in public before. The light veil
 
 LAND ahead! 189 
 
 thrown before the eyes of the audience made the 
 danger keener. It was pathetic ; it was cruel. 
 
 " Orl. Can you rememher any of the principal evils that he laid 
 to the charge of women ? " 
 
 And he looked as though they both shared a 
 secret in the subject. And when Eosalind. said — 
 
 " He taught me how to know a man in love ; . . . 1 am sure 
 you are not a prisoner " 
 
 she looked scorn itself. Was there ever such 
 falsehood as Valentin's ? 
 
 ^^ Fair youth''* says Orlando, ''^ I would I could make thee believe 
 I lover 
 
 " Me believe it ! you may as soon make her that you love believe 
 itr 
 
 And then she says, with a ring of true contempt 
 in her voice — for Margaret thinks she has learnt 
 to despise it, — 
 
 " Love is merely a madness^ 
 
 And so he offers to cure it. 
 
 " I would not be cured, youth.'" 
 
 Had he not tried it all the winter in Berlin ; 
 and had he not found the cure impossible, and 
 the attempt unpleasant '? 
 
 And then comes the tender end to their wordy 
 war, when she tells him to woo her that she may
 
 190 LAND ahead! 
 
 cure him, and to call her Eosalind ; and Margaret 
 goes away into the darkness beyond the green- 
 room, and sobs her heart out, for she thinks she 
 has found that he loves her. 
 There, sobbing, he found her. 
 
 *' It is time ; I came to tell you. What -" 
 
 He stopped, confused, a wild joy throbbing at 
 
 his heart. 
 
 " Let me come," said she, wearily. 
 
 She glided past him. 
 
 So through the next scene. A miserable feel- 
 ing of guilt weighing down her heart, and lurking 
 throuo-h her eyes ; a wild sense of truth discovered 
 at last exciting him and threatening to drive 
 *' Orlando " out of his head. Angry with herself, 
 bitter, dejected, — frightened, as she found how 
 little reliance she could place in herself, — she 
 carried the bitterness of defeat into the play. 
 
 " You a lover I " 
 
 and her lip curled as she said it. 
 
 " My fair Rosalind, I come witliin an hour of my promise.''' 
 
 But she swears he is heart-whole ; and then, 
 such was the fiendish contrivance of fate, she had 
 to be tender once more — tender, when he had
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 191 
 
 seen her tears, had heard her sobs ; oh ! was it 
 not hard ? Moreover, it was not true, she said to 
 herself ; she loved Dudley now, because she had 
 sworn to. 
 
 All through the playful, tender words they 
 went. 
 
 " Come^ woo me, woo me." 
 
 And he — 
 
 " I7ien love me, Rosalind." 
 
 And then she in her fit of childish humour — 
 
 " Come, sister, yo^i shall he the priest, and marry vs." 
 
 Could they really go through with the travesty ? 
 Yes ; was not Dudley looking on ? 
 
 So, to the last, where Eosalind has to summon 
 all her coquetr}^, all her tenderness, all her inge- 
 nuity in one, and make fate subservient to every- 
 one's desires ; where, promising every one happi- 
 ness, Valentin savs with a bitterness that needed 
 no acting — 
 
 " But flh, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through 
 another man's eyes.'''' 
 
 Margaret turned away guiltily, right up to the 
 marriage at the end, where, as Valentin said, 
 every one was made happy but himself.
 
 192 LAND ahead! 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " Why, they may all marry in sober earnest if 
 they like, for all I know. But my Rosalind is 
 enofao-ed to be another man's wife." 
 
 ''Yes," said she, with her eyes cast down. 
 
 They were alone then, standing in a dark 
 corner of the stage, behind the screens. 
 
 " Is it so ? Must all my wooing go for nothing 
 then V 
 
 "It was in the play. We were only acting, 
 you know." 
 
 Valentin thouo^ht her voice trembled. 
 
 '' Only acting ! " 
 
 '* Valentin, you are dreaming ; you have gone 
 back to the old days at Sonnenthal. You must 
 not talk to me any more like this now." 
 
 She raised her head with sudden dignity. 
 
 " Only acting ! only dreaming ! Was that 
 only a dream at Sonnenthal ? " 
 
 " Yes ; only a dream." 
 
 She passed him as she said it, and he, left 
 alone, prepared to follow the others who were on 
 their way down-stairs.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 The tender grace of a day that is dead 
 Shall never come back to me. 
 
 Mrs. Yane had come to the theatricals, and 
 with her had also come a stiff and starched sister 
 of hers, a Miss ^Yygram, and a brother, whom we 
 have heard casually mentioned as " Uncle Ted." 
 
 These three persons had arrived rather early, 
 and disregarding Mrs. Hoffman's pressing invita- 
 tion that they should occupy seats in the front 
 row, had installed themselves with mock humility 
 in the fourth. 
 
 " May gentlemen have seats ? " had asked 
 *a'ncle Teddy." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," answered ]\Irs, Hoffman. '' I 
 hope so." 
 
 Thereupon they all sat down, and Uncle Teddy 
 ha^^ng brought in his stick, leaned forward on it, 
 and proceeded to the deliberate contemplation of 
 
 VOL. 11. , 
 
 *!
 
 194 LAND ahead! 
 
 his new boots, looking up only now and again 
 with an air of severe protestation against the 
 proceedings. 
 
 Dudley had meant Mrs. Vane to come in order 
 that she might be vanquished by Margaret's 
 beauty and talent. Mrs, Vane had come in 
 order that she might find unanswerable charges 
 for future use against Margaret to Dudley. 
 
 On Margaret's first appearance on the stage, 
 Mrs. Vane, and Miss Wygram, and Uncle Teddy 
 had exchanged glances. Uncle Teddy had, in 
 fact, only looked to his female leaders for his cue, 
 but seeing indignant astonishment expressed by 
 them, he endeavoured to express it also, till 
 Rosalind won him fairly, and admiration reigned 
 on his countenance, notwithstanding all his efforts. 
 
 Later, however, when Margaret was transformed 
 into Ganymede, the scandalized virtue of the two 
 spectators knew no bounds ; it was a wonder they 
 kept their seats. They shook their heads, they 
 blushed, they whispered, they buried their faces 
 in their handkerchiefs, and were angry with 
 Uncle Ted for his stolid immovability. 
 
 " Shocking ! isn t it, Ted ? " said Mrs, Vane, 
 leaning over across Miss Wygram. 
 ■ " Very pretty," said he.
 
 LAND ahead! 195 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 *'Pr — r — retty ! " ejaculated botn voices at ; 
 
 once. J 
 
 '* Very well done, I tliink/' said he. I 
 
 " The acting ; yes. But the dress " '■ 
 
 *' I meant the dress." ; 
 
 "What? you " | 
 
 "Cloak quite long, and as for that skirt, or ] 
 what do you call it, how could you have : 
 more ? " 
 
 ''To think of that woman being Dudley's 
 wife." ■ 
 
 " Good foot ; and look at her hand ; Ganymede | 
 never had such a hand as that, I'll be bound." \ 
 
 Afterwards, when the supper was going on, 
 and Mrs. Vane was bent on speedy departure, for, : 
 as she said to Miss Wygram, she '' could keep her ] 
 feelings to herself no longer," Mr. Tudor came up | 
 to her. He w^as in fact beaming with animation, j 
 and knowino; little of Mrs. Vane, was under the ! 
 impression that she must have been vanquished | 
 by what she had seen. But woman's hate requires I 
 a more potent spell to dissipate it. i 
 
 '' Beautiful ! wasn't it ? I never saw such a ' 
 
 i 
 
 success." j 
 
 "I came prepared for a good deal, but hardly ' 
 
 for such " i 
 
 2 j
 
 196 TAND ahead! 
 
 " Exactly ; quite unprecedented. I cannot 
 think where she gets it from. If she were only 
 on the stage, why all London would rave about 
 her." 
 
 " I wish she would go." 
 
 " Eh ? hardly that, I suppose. Or at least 
 Dudley would not like it. You are carried away 
 by your feelings, Mrs. Vane." 
 
 " Feelings ! yes, indeed. To think I should 
 have lived to see this — Dudley's future bride in 
 man s clothes on the stage." 
 
 Mr. Tudor's lower jaw dropped. 
 
 " Ah ! yes — well — but you know the play 
 hinges on that ; the text must be adhered to. 
 Though I quite agree with you " 
 
 "It is too dreadful" 
 
 " Though it was gracefully managed ; didn't 
 you think so, Mr. Wygram ? " 
 
 " Most gracefully." 
 
 " And really — well, really I did not think of 
 it very much. But still, of course " 
 
 " And then how forward she is. Who was the 
 man she made love to ? " 
 
 " A German. But you know that is the play, 
 not Miss Hoffman." 
 
 "Not Miss Hoffman! AVell, I think it w^as
 
 LAND ahead! 197 
 
 Miss Hoffman, and I think she had better marry 
 him — much better, and I shall tell Dudley so. 
 They can go the round of the theatres quite 
 comfortably together, and may make, I dare say, 
 a great deal of money by their engagements." 
 
 Mr. Tudor smiled, but. he did not answer. 
 
 ** History repeats itself," thought he to himself. 
 
 Next day at the hotel, when Dudley came to 
 see his mother, it was no better. 
 
 '* I am sorry I went, Duddy, very sorry." 
 
 " Why V 
 
 " For your sake I am sorry. I had made up 
 my mind to like her, to do my very best, but 
 
 now^ " 
 
 " Do you mean to say you did not like the 
 play ? " 
 
 " Like it ? " she looked at her son, sorrowfully 
 amazed. " How could I like it ? " 
 
 " They all say there never was such a success ; 
 that Margaret never played like that before, and 
 that if she chose now — you should just see the 
 cards and notes and compliments they have had 
 to-day." 
 
 **That is false London, I suppose," and she 
 sighed. " No lady could really like it. It was 
 shocking, it was dreadful "
 
 198 LAND ahead! 
 
 " What was shocking, I should like to know ? '* 
 
 " The dress, Duddy ; her dress." 
 
 " The dress ! why, that is a trifle, and if it 
 were not, they say it was beautifully managed." 
 
 " Ah I the blind boy ; the little blind boy. 
 And then they, Duddy ; who are they V 
 
 " All the people there, and the men especially. 
 And lots of them are great at that, write plays, 
 and go in for that sort of thing, and know all 
 about it." 
 
 " I thought them a very odd set altogether. 
 Once or twice when I spoke to Mary Wygram, 
 and when I really was shocked, they burst out 
 laughing. Two young men who were standing 
 near us were particularly rude.'' 
 
 *' Yes ; but then, my dear mother, you made a 
 fool of yourself. Those sort of people never will 
 stand that." 
 
 " I shall always say what I think, wherever I 
 may be ; you may be quite sure of that. But 
 the long and short of it is, that Shakspere is not 
 meant for the family or the drawing-room. He 
 is too coarse, and for my part I feel insulted by 
 havino[ been invited to see such an exhibition." 
 
 " They all swear by Shakspere ; you should 
 just hear them. I don't know much about him
 
 LAND ahead! 199 
 
 myself, but I really must read him up. Margaret 
 says when we are married she will read me a play 
 sometimes in the evening." 
 
 '' If Margaret, my dear Dudley, were to marry 
 that graceful hero who acted with her, and who 
 evidently does understand Shakspere so well, she 
 would I am sure be much better suited than if 
 she undertook the task of explaining the poetry 
 ^ to you." 
 
 Dudley rose from his chair terribly excited, 
 and thrusting his hands into his pockets, faced 
 his mother. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 " Why did you say it ? Did you notice any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 His mother stopped to think. Might it be 
 worth her while to hint at all sorts of dreadful 
 things ? 
 
 " Did you ? " he asked again, turning angrily 
 to Mary Wygram, who was sitting trembling too 
 much to go on with her work. 
 
 " Oh no, nothing at all ; nothing, I assure you. 
 There was nothing." 
 
 He looked scornfully at his mother. 
 
 *' They seemed interested in each other."
 
 200 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Psha ! they are old friends. Slie knew Mm 
 before she knew me. That is the man, mother, 
 who saved my life. You had better say nothing 
 against him ; that is why Margaret likes him." 
 
 A half-truth and a half-falsehood. He had 
 said it excitedly. Then he stopped to think. 
 Thinking afterwards, he found it must be true. 
 
 Meanwhile, if he could have transported him- 
 self suddenly to Hans Place, if he could have 
 rendered himself invisible, would he have been so 
 sure of the truth of it ? 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman was out, she had "gone shop- 
 ping," and Margaret was sitting alone on the 
 stage, which had not yet been taken away. 
 
 It was about twelve o'clock, when suddenly 
 there came a ring at the bell, and Gretchen 
 announced Count von Broderode. 
 
 He laughed when he saw her sitting up there. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " asked he. " No ; 
 don't come down."" 
 
 He came up and sat down beside her. 
 
 " Shall I tell you ? " 
 
 ** You are thinking over your triumphs of last 
 night." 
 
 "On the contrary, I am thirsting for more 
 triumphs, for I am waiting for the dressmaker.'*
 
 LAND ahead! 201 
 
 '* Ah ! I suppose so. The trousseau." 
 
 "Exactly." 
 
 " I am so glad to find you alone." 
 
 Then she got up. 
 
 " Will you wait a moment ? I wish to speak 
 to you." 
 
 She sat down and waited, watching him. 
 
 He got up restlessly and walked up and down 
 the stage in front of her. 
 
 " Do you want the prompter ? " asked she, 
 playfully. 
 
 He came close to her. 
 
 " I want you to explain to me ; will you *? " 
 
 " There is nothing to explain." 
 
 " Why did you change so suddenly ? Why — 
 why " 
 
 His manner told her all. There had been 
 some mistake. He cared after all. The revulsion 
 of feeling was intense ; it was a pang of joy 
 almost too sharp to withstand. 
 
 ** I thought you and I were " 
 
 " Hush ! I must not hear this. You forget — 
 now it is too late." 
 
 " Surely not ; not if you are true, as you used 
 to let me think you were ; not if you ever 
 cared "
 
 202 LAND ahead! 
 
 How she longed to tell liim all. How she 
 longed to throw herself at his feet, and tell him 
 she always cared. But there was a spectre rising 
 before her ; Dudley's face haunted her. No, 
 she had done enough evil, she thought. She 
 must keep her word now. She had given it ; it 
 was irrevocable. What were these pleading eyes, 
 these tender words, this well-known voice to her 
 now ? 
 
 "It is no good explaining," she stammered. 
 " It is too late. You were false. Dudley was 
 true. I took Dudley. '^ 
 
 In her haste she stumbled upon the injustice. 
 
 " I — false ? I ? What are you saying ? Do 
 you remember those days, those dreams we had 
 together ? Do you remember how you first 
 showed me the pride and joy of life, how you 
 first taught me the worth of love and all the 
 bliss its truth gives ? Did you find me a slow 
 pupil ? And did we not learn together ? Did 
 not the world open its treasures for us both at 
 once, and did not Nature smile upon us first 
 together ? Did we not catch gleams of happiness 
 when standing side by side, which we had never 
 seen before ? And did not long vistas of joy 
 come to me when your eyes looked into mine,
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 203 
 
 and told me sweet truths undreamed of before ? 
 Was it not you who showed me ambition, and 
 who gave me earnest aims in life ? Was it not 
 the hope of your sympathy, your spirit which 
 gave me strength to attempt to pursue them ? 
 Nay, Margaret, my dreams, my hopes, my aims, 
 my ambition, were they not centred in you ? 
 Did I not love you ? And I — I thought you 
 loved me too." 
 
 " Why did you throw it all away ? " 
 " I throw it away ? You would not see me ; 
 you refused me ; you would not even say 
 ' Good-bye.' " 
 
 *' On the contrary, Valentin ; now you are 
 false. Ah ! stop your fine language and your 
 tender reproofs. They are all false. I have been 
 teaching myself to disbelieve all hope, all 
 happiness, all kind words ever since. It was 
 too hard. You should not have made me believe 
 
 What am I saying? At least — I mean, 
 
 Valentin, we dreamed too well ; we amused 
 ourselves with our dream too much. That was 
 false. That was not, could not be, life. Life is so 
 different, so dull, so practical, so real, so different 
 from that. However, Count von Broderode, I 
 wrote to you, and asked you to come to see me."
 
 204 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 She smiled triumphantly, as though now she 
 had proved his falsehood. 
 
 ^' You wrote ? I never got the letter." 
 
 *'0h, mon ami! Gretchen took it." 
 
 " Where to ? " 
 
 '*To Sonnenfels." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 '* It was your last evening, I think. You were 
 there. I saw the lights from the castle at 
 Blumenthal. She and Fritz took it together. 
 She said you and Frau Senden were singing." 
 
 " I tell you, Queen Daisy, I never got the 
 letter. Ah ! now I remember." 
 
 He strode across the stage excitedly. 
 
 "Margaret, now I see. I saw Fritz, I ran 
 out, I hoped, I knew not what, that you might 
 be there, that you might be near. I came back ; 
 Lotta had burnt something ; it was your note." 
 
 " Oh, Valentin ! " 
 
 A world of sorrow in the words. 
 
 Her head was bent down ; and he, too, he felt 
 as though he could not face her. 
 
 ''And I doubted you, Margaret — I doubted 
 you." ^ - 
 
 What a silence it was. 
 
 Meanwhile, they learnt the past.
 
 LAND ahead! 205 
 
 " "Was that destiny ? Margaret, they often 
 say that destiny is cruel, implacable. Say, was 
 that destiny 1 " 
 
 " I do not know." 
 
 She rose from her seat, and went towards a 
 little cabinet that stood against the wall. There, 
 leaning her arms on it, she buried her face away 
 from him. 
 
 '^ And I was so angry with you," he went on. 
 " I went away to Berlin, vowing I would forget 
 you, and all through the weary autumn I tried. 
 But I could not. So then I came to England to 
 find you ; and now — say, Margaret, now I have 
 found you ? " 
 
 She did not move or speak. 
 
 " And you doubted me too ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " But now, Margaret ; now — it is not too late 
 surely " 
 
 " It is too late." 
 
 She turned round and faced him sternly as she 
 said it. 
 
 " You do not love him ? " 
 
 Not facing him ; she could not say it so. 
 
 " Yes ; I love him." 
 
 " And you do not care for me ? "
 
 206 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No ; I do not care for you." 
 
 "Turn round and say it. I don't believe it so." 
 
 " One would think we were acting," said she, 
 lightly. Her voice shook as she said it. 
 
 " Say it again," said he, passionately. 
 
 " I love him, and I do not care for you." 
 
 *' There is falsehood somewhere in that," said 
 he. " Heaven forgive you." 
 
 They looked at each other for a moment in 
 silence, a terrible silence, when no smile, no 
 shadow of relenting was visible on either face. 
 
 A tear rolled down her cheek. 
 
 "Margaret, dear Margaret," said he, vehemently, 
 " think well what you are doing. Think of the 
 misery you consign me to, think of yourself, and 
 think of Dudley too." 
 
 " I will tell you the truth, Valentin," said she. 
 "You will never breathe it again to any one? 
 You will never use it against my will — not even 
 for my good ? " 
 
 " Trust me completely." 
 
 Then she moved a few paces back from him. 
 
 " Valentin, I did care for you ; it is nonsense 
 to say I did not." 
 
 He came nearer. She put up her hand. 
 
 " But that is over now."
 
 LAND ahead! 207 
 
 He fell back again. 
 
 "When you did not come, or write, or make 
 any sign all through the long weeks, then I 
 vowed I would forget you. Just then Dudley 
 came. He was so kind, so true, so open ; there 
 was nothing false about him. He was so honest. 
 Then — then — then we were very poor ; mother 
 had been extravagant ; we were in great want of 
 money ; there were pressing difficulties ; Dudley 
 found it out ; and then he offered her to pay it 
 off if I would marry him. She accepted the 
 money, and left me to accept him " 
 
 " And so you tell me you love him ? " 
 
 " And so, out of gratitude, I love him." 
 
 " You are — sold, in fact ? " 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 '* And you are content with your purchaser ? " 
 
 She looked at him piteously. 
 
 " How long will you love him, do you think ? 
 And will you honour him, and will you obey 
 him ? Is it right, do you think ? It is all false, 
 you know. You did not really love him when 
 you accepted him ? " 
 
 " He is content." 
 
 *' And that is woman ! " 
 
 Valentin looked disgusted.
 
 208 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " We used to think him stupid, you and I ; 
 do you think him stupid now ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he is stupid. But I like stupid people 
 better than clever ones." 
 
 " He had a bad expression, we used to say, 
 you and I." 
 
 " That will improve." 
 
 *' He cannot act, or play, or sing ; he can just 
 read. He will be a desirable companion." 
 
 " He will not want much of me." 
 
 ''He is rich." 
 
 " That covers a multitude of sins." 
 
 " And you are charitable ? " 
 
 *' More than you are." 
 
 " You are deterniined ? " 
 
 ''lam." 
 
 " You think you are right ? " 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 '' You do not see that you are false, and 
 hypocritical, and mercenary, and that in fact 
 you marry an idiot for his money." 
 
 " I marry to save my mother from disgrace." 
 
 " And what becomes of Dudley in this ? " 
 
 " He is content." 
 
 *' And what becomes of me V^ 
 
 She looked at him, as if well I but she
 
 LAND ahead! 209 
 
 would have given worlds if she might have 
 comforted, have soothed him. He should not 
 have tempted her so. A moment after she held 
 out to him the mask which she had learnt to 
 use so cleverly herself. 
 
 '' You do not care." 
 
 " By Heaven, I will tell no such" lies as you 
 delight in. I do care. You shall never say you 
 did it with your eyes shut, or that you did not 
 know I cared." 
 
 " I had better not know it." 
 
 " You cannot help yourself." 
 
 Then she turned to him, like a poor animal 
 at bay. 
 
 ''Valentin, you are not kind. You do not 
 even pity me." 
 
 He looked at her puzzled. 
 
 " How am I to pity you, when it is your own 
 doing '? " 
 
 "It is not, or, at least, it was not. Now I 
 have been driven too far to retract. I must go 
 on. You see I must. You ought to help me to 
 be firm." 
 
 '' Help you I to do wrong ? " 
 
 " Oh, it isn't wrong. Don't you see it isn't ? 
 Don't you see that I must do it ? It is my fate. 
 
 VOL. IL P
 
 210 LAND ahead! 
 
 One has heard before of girls marrying to save 
 their families from disgrace, and they have lived, 
 and have learnt to love their husbands and to be 
 happy, and so shall I. Good-bye, Valentin." 
 
 She put out her hand to him. Was he never 
 going to take it ? 
 
 " No ; I cannot take it, Margaret. You are 
 too false. You will see it some day, and will 
 acknowledge I am right." 
 
 He did not even look at her again ; he took up 
 his hat and he went away.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore ? 
 No — she never loved me truly : love is love for evermore. 
 
 Lochsley Hall. 
 
 The wedding-day drew near, and presents and 
 dresses seemed to fill the minds of most of those 
 concerned. Mrs. Hoffman said she did not know 
 what it was to sit quiet for a moment, while, on 
 the contrary, the calm seemed to deepen in 
 Margaret's character, and she looked on with 
 an amused smile at all that was going on around 
 her. 
 
 After the conversation recorded in the last 
 chapter, Valentin and Margaret had tacitly 
 avoided each other ; not that he did not come 
 to Hans Place, for he was there daily (it seemed 
 as if he came ao^ainst his will, and as thoug;h he 
 could not keep away), but they avoided being 
 alone together. Margaret could have no wish 
 to see him now, and he felt too bitter towards 
 
 P 2
 
 212 LAND ahead! 
 
 her to trust himself with her when no one couhl ! 
 
 overhear his taunts. He was beginning to learn j 
 
 that her mind was made up unchangeably, and \ 
 
 that recrimination was useless ; but it was difficult j 
 
 for him to take the lesson quietly. He was but ! 
 learning now what she had learnt in the early 
 
 winter; the same dull, painful ideas were drilling : 
 
 themselves into his head which had throbbed \ 
 
 through her in the first long days of her arrival j 
 
 in England. She watched him with pain, for | 
 
 she read his thoughts and knew she was to blame ; \ 
 
 she knew it all beforehand. Thus and thus did ] 
 
 he think : Women were false ; there was not j 
 
 one true on the earth, none worth trusting, or , 
 
 worthy of any sacrifice. A selfish life was all a | 
 
 sensible man could live ; any faith in others j 
 
 must lead to disappointment. * 
 
 How she pitied him ! How she longed for i 
 
 nobler hopes, nobler faith to come to him. How i 
 
 she hated herself for having been the one to j 
 
 destroy his enthusiasm, his confidence, and his i 
 
 aspirations. His very nature seemed changed ; ■ 
 
 now she hardly knew him for the bright ideal ' 
 
 she ha,d worshipped the autumn before at i 
 Sonnenthal ; yet again, suddenly a gleam of the 
 
 old spirit would flash out, and dimly, like a ghost '•■
 
 LAND AHEAD I 213 
 
 of her old friend, she would feel ValeDtin was 
 near. 
 
 Yet she could not help him ; she could but 
 stand at a distance and watch. Her kindness 
 would have been rejected with scorn ; her kind- 
 ness might have been considered dishonourable. 
 Her hands were tied, and she could but look 
 on, take his bitterness in all meekness, and 
 wait. 
 
 And meanwhile this separation between these 
 two friends filled the other on - lookers with 
 delight. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman marked her sense of approval 
 thus — 
 
 " Margaret, my dear, I am glad you do not 
 talk too much to Valentin ; I was afraid that 
 after acting together " 
 
 " Why, mother ! What are you afraid of ? 
 We are old friends, nothins^ more." 
 
 Something in her daughter s manner precluded 
 her asking questions. 
 
 " Nothing more ! But still, being so intimate, 
 I was afraid that Dudley might get a little 
 jealous." 
 
 *' You need never be afraid of anything of that 
 sort."
 
 214 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman, knowing what she knew, 
 thought it a little unfair, and she felt angry. 
 
 "Oh, you are going to be Caesar's wife, of 
 course ! But what coloured bonnet do you have 
 to go away in ? " 
 
 " Grey, and a crimson flower, mother." 
 
 After that no further word was spoken about 
 Valentin, but Mrs. Hoffman kept her eyes open ; 
 then came to the conclusion that he was very 
 sharp, sarcastic, and disagreeable, that he never 
 could have cared for Margaret, but that he had 
 notwithstanding first-rate taste in jewellery, also 
 in furniture, and as she was rather in want of a 
 man to go about with her, Dudley and Margaret 
 being so taken up with each other, she took him 
 with her everywhere, partly for her own use, and 
 partly that he might be out of Margaret's way. 
 Dudley had told Margaret that she was to have 
 the furnishing of her boudoir left entirely to her 
 own taste, and Mrs. Hoffman having made an 
 expedition to Froghambury during Mrs. Vane's 
 absence, from which she returned radiant, was 
 now full of all sorts of artistic notions on the 
 subject, in which Valentin amused himself by 
 helping. What journeys they had to Wardour 
 Street and to all kinds of places ; what discus-
 
 LAND ahead! 215 
 
 sions and arguments tliere were, and always Mrs. 
 Hoffman was beaten, and Valentin had his way ; 
 "for," as she said continually, "his taste and 
 imagination, and his knowledge, my dear, surpass 
 anything I ever came across in so young a man. 
 He knows the period of everything, and the style 
 of every period." 
 
 So it ended by Margaret's boudoir being fur- 
 nished by Valentin. And while all this fuss and 
 excitement were going on about the wedding, 
 while dresses and costumes seemed to occupy the 
 female part of the society, Dudley, who found 
 Margaret too busy sometimes to be always with 
 him, was drawn again unconsciously to Valentin. 
 It seemed as if it must have been a bad dream 
 that he had ever cared for her ; it must all have 
 been a mistake ; why, now they never so much 
 as spoke to each other. Was it perhaps that the 
 power of his love had drawn Margaret so closely 
 to him ? Just because he cared so much, had she 
 forgotten Valentin ? or would it have been so 
 always, if he only had been able to make her 
 understand 1 Would she always have preferred 
 him, if she only had known him best ? Thinking 
 so, he beamed with happiness, and his joy, running 
 over, made him love Margaret more, and all
 
 216 LAND ahead! 
 
 the world also. Valentin again found himself 
 gradually regaining his old place in Dudley's 
 heart ; once more he was the trusted friend ; once 
 more he was the confidant of his jests and his 
 hopes and his difficulties ; once more he found 
 himself being esteemed and honoured as he had 
 been before jealousy had poisoned Dudley's mind 
 against him. 
 
 '^You must come and stay with us at Erog- 
 hambury, old fellow ; you must let England be 
 your second home." 
 
 Margaret looked on amazed. 
 
 " She looks astonished. Look at her. Well, 
 he saved my life. Should I not devote it all to 
 him in return ? " 
 
 ** No, certainly not," said she, laughing. " You 
 are going to devote it to me." 
 
 " Will you not spare me a little of it ? " asked 
 Valentin, watching her narrowly. 
 
 " No, certainly not. No more at least than 
 some tiny little bit Dudley may perhaps find 
 over, against my will." 
 
 So seemingly life was settling into smooth 
 waters, and the sunlight smiled on the dancing 
 wavelets. Who knew of the swelling current 
 beneath in Valentin's heart, who but Margaret,
 
 LAND ahead! 217 
 
 and was slie not now wholly occupied -with 
 Dudley ? If slie thouglit of him, as sometimes 
 a bitter word made her think, had she not good 
 hope that the storm would be stilled in time ? 
 
 Valentin must learn his lesson, must know 
 that he had let his chance slip by, must forget 
 the past, or remember it only, as she did, as a 
 pedestal on which to rear future strength, future 
 self-abnegation, a life of self-denial. 
 
 Surely in the intimate friendship and the 
 thorough confidence to which he was now admitted, 
 in all his talk about Buhl cabinets and carved 
 panels with Mrs. Hoffman, in his quick apprecia- 
 tion of humour, in the accounts Dudley gave 
 him of his difficulties, there could not be much 
 room left for disappointed passion ! Certainly 
 Dudley had difficulties. 
 
 Mrs. Vane made opposition to the marriage, to 
 the settlements, to the day, to the church, to 
 the bridesmaids, to the clergyman, to the break- 
 fast, to the best man — to everything. 
 
 Lilly Vane, his sister, — a tall, gawky girl, who 
 had never had a proposal in her life, — said all 
 sorts of bitter, unanswerable things — even insulted 
 Mrs. Hoffman and Margaret to their faces one 
 day during a morning call ; while " Uncle Ted "
 
 218 LAND ahead! 
 
 confined himself to shaking his head and looking ! 
 unutterable things. i 
 
 Mr. Tudor temporized, agreeing with Mrs. Vane i 
 
 in Brook Street or at Froghambury, with Mrs. i 
 
 Hoffman in Hans Place, and with Dudley wherever 
 he met him. He was therefore no use at all \ 
 to anybody, but made much mischief, and 'i 
 thought he was successfully feathering his own \ 
 nest. . i 
 
 When it came to Mrs. Vane at last, that she ■ 
 
 must accept the inevitable, and that nothing i 
 could prevent the marriage, she took some old ' 
 
 lace off an old gown and sent it to Margaret. j 
 
 No other Vane sent any present at all. 
 
 " What does it matter ? " said Margaret. " Who 
 would care for presents given one by people who 
 do not love one ? A present is only a sign of 
 affection ; if it isn't that it is nothing.'' 
 
 Valentin gave his present to Dudley. Between 
 himself and Margaret there was no " sign of affec- 
 tion " at all. 
 
 Margaret liked it best so. 
 
 " When feeling is dead," she said to herself, 
 ''it is painful to assume it. After all, I only 
 want Dudley and he to be friends ; that is all I 
 can want ; that was my first idea when I first
 
 LAND ahead! 219 
 
 saw them togetlier. How oddly things have 
 turned out ! " 
 
 " What will you do with your evenings at 
 Froghambury ? " said Valentin to her a day or 
 two before the wedding. - 
 
 *' I do not know. I am not there yet. We 
 are going to Scotland for a month." 
 
 " Will you have music ? Oh, but Dudley does 
 not care for it." 
 
 " I shall see what the others do." 
 
 "There will be no acting then — no dancing." 
 
 " I can always read." 
 
 " But if one has no one to talk over one's 
 books with, even that " 
 
 "I do not know, Valentin, what I shall do ; 
 but Dudley will tell you afterwards what I 
 do." 
 
 " Are you afraid of it 1 " 
 
 This he said with a lowered voice, and his eyes 
 fixed fast upon her face. 
 
 " I have an idea," said she. " No ; I am not 
 afraid ; for though a country life is the life I 
 always dreaded, though I shall have but little 
 sympathy and few friends to help me, yet I am 
 not afraid. I see plenty to do before me ; and — 
 1 am going to make Dudley a great man — it will
 
 220 LAND ahead! 
 
 be glorious moulding him to my highest and best 
 ideas. He loves me, so I shall do it." 
 
 " Certainly ; you will have your hands full." 
 
 "And if I succeed, Valentin, by and by, will 
 you not — will you not say I have done well ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 He was touched by her confident energy. 
 
 " To make a good, useful man out of him who 
 has wasted all his opportunities hitherto — I will 
 do it ; and teaching, I shall learn." 
 
 " Be careful, Margaret. Do not be too con- 
 fident. Do not mistake his nature ; think well 
 what it is. Do you know how he will hold 
 you — how when the first fever of his love is 
 
 over " 
 
 " No, no ; then he shall find something better 
 in its place." 
 
 " Men are not moulded so easily ; and to do 
 good work, we should be true workmen to begin 
 it with." 
 
 But Margaret had her idea, and she hugged it 
 to her heart. 
 
 Valentin must be left behind ; all idle obstacles, 
 all selfishness must be foregone ; for the sake of 
 the love she had sworn to Dudley she would 
 sacrifice herself utterly, wholly ; for the sake of
 
 LAND ahead! 221 
 
 making this man true, and great, and worthy of 
 his responsibilities she woul d sink herself entirely. 
 She had got a dim perception that if she could 
 only divest herself of all selfishness, of all jDride, 
 of all caprice, forget herself wholly, forgive faults, 
 live truth and sow it, that then it might be done. 
 
 " You cannot do it," said Valentin, tauntingly ; 
 "you do not know him as I know him. And 
 you are so weak. Your pride will come in 
 against you everywhere." 
 
 " Yet I feel as if I ought to do it, as if the 
 work had been put into my hand to do, as if the 
 power and the influence had been given me. 
 Every one seems to say something bearing upon 
 it ; heedless words burn into my soul, and 
 sometimes I seem to stand here — choosing. 
 Why cannot I do it, Valentin ? " 
 
 " You are too good for him," said he, wonder- 
 in s^ly. 
 
 " Is not life self-sacrifice ? Whose am I ? 
 mine or God's ? Whose work am I to do ? If 
 I could only forget myself better — if I only had 
 more strength. To-day he said to me, ' You may 
 make me what you like.' Surely I shall succeed. 
 You will see some day." 
 
 How could he be bitter to her after that ?
 
 222 LAND ahead! 
 
 But he was all the more so, perhaps, that he saw 
 the worth of the woman he had lost. 
 
 The wedding-day came at last. A bright, 
 blustering day in March. It was all to be as 
 quiet as possible, for the Vanes were not coming. 
 
 Dudley had had many refusals. He had asked 
 Valentin to be best man. 
 
 " I could not possibly ; I could not possibly 
 think of such a thing." 
 
 So he found another young friend of his, who 
 had not long been out of his teens. 
 
 Then he had asked Mr. Tudor to marry them, 
 and Mr. Tudor had drawn a long face of 
 disquietude. 
 
 *' You see, your mother, my dear Dudley " 
 
 " Enough ! I would not * inconvenience you 
 for worlds." 
 
 So the parish priest had to perform the 
 ceremony. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these vexations, things 
 went smoothly enough. 
 
 Margaret had never looked so beautiful. 
 
 *' She goes as a dumb animal to the sacrifice," 
 thought Valehtin. 
 
 The fo.ur bridesmaids were bright and cheery 
 as spring itself The church was full of smartly-
 
 LAND ahead! 223 
 
 dressed people ; moreover, had not Lilly Vane 
 come with a friend ? did she not look despair 
 itself? Was not that Mrs. Vane hidinf? behind 
 a distant pillar ? and was not thin Mary 
 Wygram craning over the gallery ? Was not 
 this triumph itself? ]\irs. HoJBfman's new silk 
 dress seemed to gain stiffness at the discovery. 
 
 And after the church, was there ever such a 
 merry breakfast ? 
 
 How kind and bright and beaming they all 
 were. Orford EUis, and poor Bertram Powys, 
 and Mr. Wemyss, they were all there, and many 
 more of the old sparkling set besides ; and what 
 jokes they made ; through them the feast was a 
 picture indeed of fat Laughter holding both his 
 sides. 
 
 "By Jove, what jolly fellows they are," said 
 Dudley, as repartee answering repartee shot 
 around him. 
 
 Speeches were not allowed, they said, but they 
 did nothing but make speeches, only not one 
 was satisfactorily concluded. 
 
 Dudley and Margaret cut the cake, and then 
 Dudley tried to make a speech. He did invite 
 them all to Froghambury ; but after that the 
 Muse forsook him ; and then, actually, Margaret,
 
 224 LAND ahead! 
 
 blushing and with all her honours upon her, 
 jumped up and thanked them for all their 
 kind.ness, their presence, and their presents, and 
 for their favours past and to come ; " for," she 
 added, "you see I am insatiable; you have not 
 half done with me, and I shall require your 
 friendship always in the future to make me 
 happy — even though Dudley will always be here 
 at my right hand too. Am I not insatiable ? 
 Why, you have let me finish my speech ! " 
 
 They all declared it was an abrupt and not a 
 proper ending ; but they cheered her till the 
 applause was deafening ; and then the eager 
 strife of tongues began again. 
 
 There was only one Knight Doleful there. 
 
 Valentin sat playing with his knife and fork, 
 looking nervously now at Dudley, now at 
 Margaret. 
 
 She was astonished at his want of control, 
 and she twitted him upon his sad face. 
 
 "It is because I must leave you all. I go 
 back to Berlin to-night. My leave is up." 
 
 But no sad sentiment could have place there 
 to-day ; it was but an excuse for more drinking 
 of healths, for more compliments, for more 
 unfinished speeches.
 
 LAND ahead! 225 
 
 Even Valentin was obliged to laugh. 
 
 At the end, when Margaret sat in the carriage 
 with Dudley, and she looked out on the group 
 gathered on the steps, amid the showers of rice 
 and old shoes with which they were being pelted, 
 the triumphant demeanour of Mrs. Hoffman, the 
 jocund affability of Mr. Tudor, and the downcast, 
 haunting look of Valentin, struck her forcibly, 
 and were impressed on her mind in their vivid 
 contrasts for many a long day. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 Q
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Our life is turned 
 Out of her course, whenever man is made 
 An offering or a sacrifice, a tool 
 Or implement, a passive thing employed 
 As a brute mean, without acknowledgment 
 Of common right or interest in the end ; 
 Used or abused, as selfishness may prompt. 
 
 3Irs. Hemans. 
 
 Feoghambury House is built at the top of a 
 bill ; the road to it goes winding up througb the 
 park, under noble old trees, and you catch 
 glimpses of distant vistas, and of the deer 
 standing in the bracken or grazing in the glades, 
 making you dream of all sorts of rural delights. 
 But as for the hill itself, Margaret thought they 
 would never reach the top. 
 
 The honeymoon was over — that month of 
 doubtful bliss, and this was the return home. 
 
 The horses were going as fast as they could, 
 the post-boy had cracked his whip till he was 
 tired ; shouting children and applauding villagers 
 were accompanying the carriage, and triumphal
 
 LAND ahead! 227 
 
 arches were erected at every possible place, 
 saying, if the tongues of the populace should 
 not say it clearly enough, " Welcome home," 
 *'Long life and happiness to you both," and 
 other devices equally well-meaning and equally 
 trite. 
 
 " Ah, but she's a bonnie lady," said one of the 
 villagers to his comrade, as they came so close 
 to the carriao^e that Mars^aret heard them. 
 
 She blushed, and she could not repress a smile 
 as she met their honest gaze. 
 
 "Yes, yes ; no nonsense about her." 
 " This will be the beginning of a happy time 
 for us, I know." 
 
 " And for her too, I hope." 
 Another turn in the road. 
 " Oh, Dudley, what a loLg hill ! " 
 *'It is rather. What do you think of the 
 park ? " 
 
 " Beautiful ! " said she, as she looked over it 
 with strange, unaccustomed eyes. 
 
 In Germany houses arid parks are not to be 
 found like that ; and when Mrs. Hoffman had 
 come (lovm on that journey of exploration, 
 Marcraret had not come. '' She had rather wait," 
 she said, " till she came to stay." Was she afraid 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LAND ahead! 
 
 that she might wish to run away from it ? Did 
 she dread the inevitable ? 
 
 " How bright it all is," said she, softly. 
 
 The children's bright faces, as they ran along- 
 side, the laughter, the merry words she heard, 
 pleased her impressionable temperament. She 
 leaned back in the carriage and began to enjoy 
 her home-coming. 
 
 " Home ! " she muttered in a whisper. " How 
 much there is in the word ! " 
 
 Just then the great house loomed in sight. 
 
 *'What will it hold for us both, I wonder, 
 Dudley ? " 
 
 She glided her hand into her husband's as she 
 spoke. 
 
 '' I wish those confounded children would hold 
 their tongues, and would go back," said he, 
 roughly. 
 
 She looked pained. He was dispelling the 
 illusion. Yet it was nothing new. In this short 
 month many of Margaret's illusions had been 
 dispelled. The truth she had most surely learnt 
 was, that the limit to Dudley's capabilities, and 
 to his temper, was an exceedingly narrow one. 
 She had used to think that man's nature was 
 infinite ; now she did not think it was.
 
 LAND ahead! 229 
 
 " Let them stay," said she. " We do not come 
 home every day." 
 
 And now a few moments more, and they are 
 at home. 
 
 There stands the great house, proud and 
 solitary in its grandeur, save for the grand old 
 cedars that seem to stretch out their arm.s 
 protectingly towards it, save too for the noble 
 undulating park and " the cattle on a thousand 
 hills," over wiiich it seems to reign. 
 
 Margaret stayed a moment to look and admire, 
 turned a last friendly glance on the group of 
 enthusiastic country-people and servants standing- 
 there, and then giving her hand to Dudley, 
 alighted from the carriage, and walking up the 
 broad stone steps, went into her home. 
 
 There, inside the great hall, with its armour 
 and heads of deer and its great, stiff, old-fashioned 
 furniture, stood the family waiting to receive 
 her. 
 
 Marofaret's heart sank. 
 
 In the excitement and happiness of the 
 moment she had forsjotten them. At one time 
 she had half hoped that they would not be here 
 just at first, but she had made no request, and 
 now here they were, and it was like entering
 
 230 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 into a vault and having a row of ghosts to 
 receive her. There seemed to be no flesh and 
 blood there. 
 
 First there was Mrs. Vane, stifi" and straight ; 
 she advanced a step or two with one outstretched" 
 
 hand. 
 
 "How do you do, Lady Vane? I am afraid 
 you are tired after your journey ? Your rooms 
 are quite ready." 
 
 " Oh no, I am not tired ; but I am very glad 
 to be here. Ah ! there is Lilly." 
 
 " How do you do, my new sister ? " 
 
 Lilly came forward awkwardly as she said it, 
 and kissed Margaret coldly on the forehead. 
 Lilly was too much afraid of Dudley not to be 
 civil. 
 
 After that the ine\dtable Uncle Ted seemed 
 to stumble upon her, as if he were very much 
 surprised at the adventure. 
 
 " Mary is in her room, I think. We did not 
 expect you quite so soon ; that must be her 
 apology." 
 
 " And who is Mary ? '^ asked Margaret. 
 
 " My sister," said Mrs. Vane, with acerbity. 
 
 " Ah ! is she here ? " 
 
 Meanwhile Dudley was on thorns. Was his
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 231 
 
 j 
 
 Wife to have no warmer reception than this ? and ; 
 
 if not, how would she bear it ? j 
 
 " Would you like to see your rooms. Lady | 
 
 Vane ? " ! 
 
 Margaret laughed aloud. i 
 
 " Really, Mrs. Vane, I can't help laughing ; | 
 
 but you must not call me that.'' ! 
 
 " Not what ? " \ 
 Mrs. Vane seemed to tower over her in her 
 
 i 
 
 indignant surprise. i 
 
 " Lady Vane ; it is too formidable. Couldn't I : 
 
 be Margaret at once, I wonder ? " . | 
 
 Then she met Lilly's eye, and she looked 
 
 on to Uncle Ted's face. 
 
 " You might both call me Margaret, couldn't \ 
 
 you ? " I 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 " Yes ; I should think so." j 
 
 " Very well, Margaret," said Mrs. Vane. ! 
 
 But the name sounded horrible in Mrs. Vane's I 
 
 lips. . 1 
 
 " Will you like to see your rooms, Margaret ? " ' 
 
 " If you please. But, ah ! am I to run the ' 
 
 gauntlet between all those people ? " she asked ; 
 
 good-huraouredly, for she suddenly saw that the ^ 
 
 inner hall was lined with servants.
 
 232 LAND ahead! 
 
 " They will not bite," said Mrs. Vane, witli a 
 tinge of sarcasm in her voice. 
 
 " Then will you lead the way ? " 
 
 Somehow Margaret always seemed to get the 
 best of it. 
 
 There was a rustle of expectation among the 
 servants as she approached, and then a stout, 
 beaming old woman stepped forward. 
 
 "And are you Master Dudley's wife? Good 
 luck to you and happiness I am sure. I have 
 known him ever since he was a baby in arms." 
 
 *' And you are the housekeeper, I am sure ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and there is his nurse ; and here is 
 Mr. Douglas, who was with Sir Gilbert, I don't 
 know how long.'* 
 
 " I hope you will all approve of me, I am 
 sure," said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " No fear of that." 
 
 " A bright lady, and no mistake." 
 
 And then she ran upstairs after Mrs. Yane. 
 
 It was like being in contact with an icicle to 
 be alone with that lady. 
 
 " This is your sitting-room ; your mother 
 furnished it." 
 
 This then was Yalentin's work. How lovely 
 it was. Every detail had been perfectly and
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 233 
 
 consistently carried out. How it flattered the 
 eye after the bareness and cold stiffness in the 
 rest of the house. A haven of refuge indeed. 
 But Margaret was too clever to show her satis- 
 faction very vividly. 
 
 " AVhat a glorious view ! " said she, walking to 
 the window. 
 
 "It is pretty, especially on a spring evening 
 like this." 
 
 Then there was the bed-room after that, and the 
 dressing-rooms beyond, bare and cold and heavily 
 furnished. 
 
 Mrs. Yane glided away. 
 
 Marcraret came back and threw herself into a 
 low chair by the window. 
 
 So this was coming home. And the only 
 person who seemed glad to see her was the old 
 housekeeper, and the only room where she felt 
 at home or would ever feel at peace had been 
 prepared for her by the man whom she had 
 thought false and whom she had sworn to forget. 
 
 The door opened and Dudley came in. He 
 brouo^ht a chair close to hers. 
 
 " Do you like it. Queen Daisy ? " 
 
 " This room ? I think it is perfect — delicious." 
 
 A shadow crossed his face.
 
 234 LAND ahead! 
 
 " I did not mean this room. But I am glad 
 you like it." 
 
 " Oh, you meant Froghambury ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "They do not like me, Dudley. They will 
 never like me." 
 
 "You mistake. They are shy — nervous-— 
 awkward." 
 
 " No ; they are cross, and they mean to be 
 so. But, Dudley, I do not care ; I have you." 
 
 He bent over and kissed her. 
 
 " Do you regret ? " 
 
 " Eegret ! no. A thousand times, no." 
 
 "You are generous, Margot. And I feared 
 you might think I had been mean when you saw 
 what reception they gave you." 
 
 " No ; that is not your fault. But, Dudley, 
 we will not let them be cross. You and I are 
 two " 
 
 " One you mean." 
 
 " Well, one ; but we have the strength of, two, 
 and we will win them over. Then, too, we 
 always have this room to come away to, and 
 where we can be happy." 
 
 Valentin again. Why was he always crossing 
 her brain this evening ? The dressing-bell rang.
 
 LAND ahead! 235 
 
 and Margaret put on a simple white dress and 
 went down. 
 
 ** Edward, give Margaret your arm." 
 
 ** And where will you sit, Margaret ? Here by 
 Lilly '? you can see out over the park so. Will 
 that do?" 
 
 " That wdll do nicely," laughed Margaret, as 
 she seated herself by Lilly. But she understood 
 now she w^as to be nothing in the house. 
 
 After Margaret's little answer silence reigned 
 supreme. 
 
 She looked up surprised, but she found they 
 were all busy with their soup. Margaret began 
 to w^onder if she had said anything wrong, or if 
 she had laid the wrong stress or accent on 
 " nicely." Just then she caught the glimmer of a 
 smile on Miss Wygram's face. Probably she had 
 seen other victims going through this same pro- 
 bation at the family dinner ; or probably it only 
 was that Mrs. Yane w^as cross with her for havinsr 
 married Dudley. 
 
 Well, she would show at any rate that she did 
 not bear malice. 
 
 " What a curious old house it is," said she, 
 and they all looked up, surprised. If a volcano 
 had burst there could not have been more dismay.
 
 S36 LAND ahead! 
 
 But Margaret did not care. *' There are some 
 beautiful bits of old carving all about." 
 
 " Yes," said Dudley, but under protest, as it 
 were. 
 
 " I went on a little exploring expedition, Mrs. 
 Vane, on my way down." 
 
 "Eh?" 
 
 " And such beautiful pictures in the hall. 
 Some of them must be very valuable. Are they 
 not, Edward ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I dare say they may be." 
 
 ''I must find out all about them. Dudley, 
 you must tell me." 
 
 " I really don't know." 
 
 '' Not know ! Ah ! you have not lived in this 
 house very much perhaps. But not know ! Does 
 no one know ? Perhaps that explains the uncared- 
 for state I found some of them in." 
 
 " Will you have some beef, Margaret ? " 
 
 '' No, thank you. I think nothing is so sad 
 as a fine old picture going to decay. Don't you. 
 Miss Wygram ? " 
 
 " Oh, I do ; I do indeed." 
 
 "It can't speak or murmur ; it touches us by 
 its faded beauty, but it is quite dumb and help- 
 less ; and then, as it gets more faded and more
 
 LAND ahead! 237 
 
 degraded, living envy comes and lauglis over it, 
 while the spirit of the dead painter seems to sigh 
 over it in vain." 
 
 "You are very artistic in your tastes, 
 Margaret," said Mrs. Yane, with an air of 
 resignation. 
 
 " Life would not be much without art, would 
 it ? " said she. 
 
 But they were busy over their beef, and her 
 words fell on heedless ears. 
 
 " Dudley, you are very silent to-night," said 
 Margaret, with annoyance in her voice. 
 
 " Am I ? Oh, well ! we had to make an early 
 start of it. I am rather done." 
 
 " Scotland was so beautiful, Lilly." 
 
 " Ah ! I suppose so." 
 
 Another silence, longer, worse than any of the 
 former. 
 
 " Your house was burnt down, wasn't it, Mrs. 
 Yane ? " asked Margaret at last, in despair. 
 
 " The lodge ? Oh yes ; it was." 
 
 " How dreadful." 
 
 Just then the servants left the room. 
 
 " Margaret," said Mrs. Yane, a little severely, 
 "we never talk before the servants." 
 
 " Why not ? " she laughed, in utter innocence.
 
 238 LAND ahead! 
 
 " We find it best." 
 
 ** But how bad for them." 
 • "Why?" 
 
 " They must think you so stupid, or so cross. 
 They must indeed think you have not an idea 
 between you." 
 
 "I cannot help that." 
 
 " And then it must be so dull, and sets them 
 such a bad example." 
 
 Then the servants came back. 
 
 " But tell me about the fire." 
 
 Mrs. Yane was too angry to speak. 
 
 " We were all away," said Dudley ; " only an 
 old man and his wife in it, who took very good 
 care of themselves. But they did not stop the fire." 
 
 " So then " 
 
 " So then it was burnt to the ground, and then 
 my mother came to live here, till it could be 
 built up again." 
 
 " And why wasn't it built up again ? " 
 
 Dudley coloured. 
 
 "Well, you see, she got all the plans and 
 estimates, but then Uncle Gilbert fell ill " 
 
 "The long and short of it was, I preferred 
 this," said Mrs. Yane, looking rather triumphantly 
 across the room at old Douglas.
 
 LAND ahead! 239 
 
 " And now when will it be built up again ? " 
 asked Margaret. 
 
 " I suppose I shall have to do it," said 
 Dudley. 
 
 "You and I might go and live there," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 Dudley stared at her, and so did they all. 
 She understood she had said something dreadful, 
 and she was delighted, for she was getting cross 
 too. 
 
 The meal progressed, and the silence grew, for 
 Margaret was too weary to make any more efforts. 
 The candles made a cheerful light through the 
 room, and the dessert looked pretty and luxurious 
 on the table. But it was only a mockery of 
 comfort. In no heart was there any comfort 
 at all. 
 
 Afterwards, when they were in the drawing- 
 room, Lilly took up her work, and Miss Wygram 
 followed suit. Mrs. Vane became absorbed in*a 
 book, and, after offering another to Margaret, 
 thought she had done her duty. So Margaret 
 was left to observe them all, undisturbed. 
 
 " Do you work all the evening, Lilly ?" asked 
 she, at last. 
 
 " Yes. But it will soon be time to go to bed."
 
 240 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Oh yes. You sleep immensely here, I 
 dare say ? '* 
 
 *' Yes ; I think we do." 
 
 " Mrs. Vane is asleep now, I think." 
 
 " Oh yes ; she always sleeps in the evening." 
 
 " Don't you play or anything ? " 
 
 *' No ; it would wake her." 
 
 ** Or not at any game ? " 
 
 " No ; it would disturb the others." 
 
 Later, Dudley did ask Margaret to try the 
 piano ; but no one else evinced any interest 
 about the experiment, or thanked her when she 
 had finished playing, so she understood it had 
 been solely proposed for her own amusement. 
 This was flat. 
 
 Then having looked around, and having seen 
 different members of the family in different stages 
 of dulness, stupidity, and somnambulism ; having 
 discovered carefully also that there were no 
 family prayers, and that she would not be 
 hurting any one's feelings, she said she would 
 like to go upstairs, and she said a general good- 
 night. 
 
 The answers were mostly indistinct, so she 
 glided away, and Dudley followed her to light 
 her candle.
 
 LAND ahead! 241 
 
 " Dudley, take me away. I cannot bear it." 
 
 He looked at her amazed. 
 
 ** ^yhat is it ? what can't you bear ? This is 
 temper, isn't it ? or what do you mean ? " 
 
 He really thought it had not been disagreeable ; 
 quiet, of course, but in the country must it not 
 be so ? 
 
 " I can live anywhere alone. I can live 
 anywhere with you. But I cannot, cannot bear 
 this." 
 
 He took her upstairs, he tried to listen, he 
 tried to understand. There, standinor at the 
 open window, looking out on the silvery moon- 
 light that lay on hill, tree-top, and quiet valley, 
 he tried to calm her. 
 
 " Believe me, wait a little, and you will soon 
 like it all right." 
 
 " Like it ! Oh, I shall die of it. I am quite 
 different already." 
 
 And again — 
 
 " I feel as if I ought to be dead, or half dead, 
 and then I might bear it." 
 
 " Do you give up so soon ? I thought you 
 and I were to win them over ? " 
 
 Then she burst into tears, and compunction 
 unnerved her. 
 
 VOL. II. R
 
 242 LAND ahead! 
 
 " Perhaps it was my fault. Perhaps I did not 
 understand them. Perhaps they did mean to 
 be kind. Dudley, I will try to manage better 
 to-morrow."
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 Believe not those that lands possess, 
 And shining heaps of useless ore, 
 The only lords of happiness. 
 
 The next day Dudley took Margaret all over 
 the house. Her admiration for the pictures and 
 the old china and for the different artistic objects 
 that met her everywhere knew no bounds, but 
 her enthusiasm was sadly damped at seeing how 
 little all these things were cared for, how dust 
 had gathered on them, how the pictures needed 
 care, and how oddly the china was pushed away 
 in strange impossible corners. She herself dis- 
 covered two or three valuable pieces in a curious 
 old cabinet. 
 
 " There is work before me indeed, Dudley," 
 said she, warming to her occupation. 
 
 " Yes," said he. 
 
 But it was in a very doubtful tone, for would 
 
 R 2
 
 24:4: , LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Mrs. Yane let Margaret touch these things. Yet, 
 in fact, they were Margaret's. 
 
 " I shall make the house look quite a different 
 place." 
 
 " Yes/' said he, again ; this time with a yawn, 
 for this rubbishy old china was nothing to him, 
 and as for the pictures, they might be valuable, 
 but they were not amusing. 
 
 " You must come and see my pictures,'' said he. 
 
 **Yes," said she enthusiastically ; "that I will. 
 Where are they ? " 
 
 " In the servants' hall. They are put there 
 till I come to hang them up." 
 
 " Let us come now." 
 
 He was pleased at her readiness, and smiled as 
 she came close to him and put down the duster 
 with which she had been dusting the china. 
 
 They were standing in the gallery that ran all 
 round the hall ; great arches tapered up to the 
 ceiling ; through them you could look down into 
 the great hall beneath. 
 
 Dudley was leaning lazily on the balustrade 
 watching Margaret. Now, as she came close to 
 him, he threw his arm round her. 
 ^ '- " Queen Daisy, I hope you will be happy 
 here."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 245 
 
 She was touched, and smiling, answered 
 bravely — 
 
 " I am sure I shall/' 
 
 She did not say she had been awake all night, 
 trembling at the bitter revelations that had come 
 to her, absolutely afraid of the dreary outlook 
 the future presented to her. 
 
 *' Don't you see it all, Queen Daisy ? Don't 
 you understand now how it was that — you 
 hooked me so easily ? " 
 
 *' No ; unless it is that we are so different." 
 
 "Not quite ; except that I had never seen any 
 one like you before. This life was so dull, and i 
 
 you seemed like an angel ; so bright, so merry, ; 
 
 as if you must make fun wherever you went." ; 
 
 " And now that you have caged the bird, and 
 brought me here, Dudley, you must be kind to j 
 
 me." - . ; 
 
 There was a little shake in her voice as she ! 
 
 said it, and Dudley kissed her for answer. ■ 
 
 Just then the rustle of a dress was heard, and \ 
 
 Sit the end of the corridor they saw the receding . 
 
 figure of Mrs. Vane. j 
 
 Margaret flushed indignantly. 
 
 " "Would she listen ? would she do such a ; 
 
 thing ? "
 
 246 LAND ahead! 
 
 Dudley too coloured. 
 
 " I do not know. I don t 
 
 }} 
 
 " Stay ! " said Margaret. " There she is." 
 For Mrs. Vane had entered the hall below. 
 Lilly was reading in a great arm-chair by the 
 
 fire. 
 
 " Quite sickening, I declare ! '' said Mrs. Vane, 
 loud enough for them to hear. " That German 
 girl is kissing your brother, and he has his arm 
 round her, and it is like the servants, really they 
 should not do it in public.'' 
 
 '' So,'' said Margaret aloud, from above, " we 
 are to have no love-making in this model estab- 
 lishment. Come, Dudley, let us go to the 
 servants' hall." 
 
 Dudley was quite ready ; they went together. 
 
 "Oh, Dudley," she exclaimed, going down 
 the broad oak stairs looking at the pictures as 
 she went, "I do wish poor Sir Gilbert were 
 alive." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because I am sure he would have told me 
 all about these things ; none of you seem to know. 
 But he must have cared about them, and it would 
 have been so nice to have had somebody." 
 
 " Come and see my pictures."
 
 LAND ahead! 247 
 
 There on the way were Mrs. Simeon and Douglas, 
 the butler, who came out from respective doors to 
 greet Margaret. She wished them both good 
 morning, and said she had come to see Mr. 
 Dudley's pictures. 
 
 '' How will it all end, I wonder ? " asked Mrs. 
 Simeon of Douglas, lifting up her hands towards 
 him when they had passed. 
 
 *' I don't know. AYe ought to manage to turn 
 out the old lady somehow now, I think. But 
 she's a very tough one to manage." 
 
 *' Oh, so those are the pictures, are they ? " 
 
 This was Margaret's exclamation at the sight 
 of Dudley's favourite works of art. 
 
 Horses, and dogs, and sporting characters in 
 different stages of excitement and of physical 
 development were the subjects of the collection. 
 
 Dudley grew eloquent as he explained. 
 
 " Look here ! Look how magnificently he 
 takes this gate. And look at the hounds : heads 
 down, sterns up. Did you ever see such paint- 
 ing ? I am going to have them all hung up in 
 the study." 
 
 " In the study ? " 
 
 They went through them all. 
 
 " Going to Cover," " Unkennelling the Fox-
 
 248 LAND ahead! 
 
 hounds," *' Breaking Cover," and tlien "The 
 Chase" itself. 
 
 " Did you ever see anything so noble, so inspir- 
 ing ? " asked Dudley, catching some of Margaret's 
 words for his purpose. 
 
 "No," said Margaret, supposing she was very 
 stupid. 
 
 Then there was " Making a Cast at a Fault." 
 This took Dudley a long time to explain. Marga- 
 ret was obliged to sit down while she listened. 
 Then came " Digging for the Fox," and then at 
 last the end of the Tragic History, " The Death 
 of the Fox." 
 
 " Poor thing ! Why do they let them kill it ? 
 Those foremost hounds are brutes." 
 
 How Dudley laughed at her. 
 
 Margaret was glad when it was all over, and 
 then Dudley proposed that she should come and 
 explore the park. 
 
 " Oh yes ; she would like that," and she ran 
 off to get her hat like a child. 
 
 " You must take me out hunting," said she, as 
 she settled herself in the pony carriage by Dudley's 
 side. 
 
 "We must have some rides first," said 
 he.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 249 
 
 "Except Schock, my father's pony, I have 
 never ridden anything." 
 
 Then he took her all over the park. How 
 glorious it was. The young shoots were just 
 bursting ; the tender light of spring seemed to 
 be on everything ; the bracken was just uncurl- 
 ing, the old trees were unbending in their stern 
 majesty, and were coming out in their new garb 
 for the summer. 
 
 How peaceful everything seemed, and how 
 glad in the universal peace. The sunlight lying 
 on grassy slope and on the barks of the trees 
 seemed to Margaret like God\s smile resting on 
 his works. Why could not Dudley understand 
 her thoughts ? why did a hidden and terrible sense 
 of loneliness oppress her all at once ? 
 
 If Dudley were not one with it all, how could 
 she love him properly ? or failing him, how could 
 she love it all without him ? To be independent 
 of human sympathy seemed an impossibility to 
 Margaret. 
 
 " How proud you must be of all this," said 
 she, presently. "It is a nice old place, isn't it ? 
 Sir Gilbert must have loved it." 
 
 " He did. I almost wonder he left it to me." 
 
 " Why ? "
 
 250 LAND ahead! 
 
 " He thought me a failure." 
 
 Margaret would not let the thought that Sir 
 Gilbert was right have its way. 
 
 " You will not be that, Dudley, now ? " 
 
 " A failure ! no. But — look at the deer ; " he 
 pointed with his whip to the startled herd as he 
 spoke. " He was absurd. What am I to do ? I 
 will live here and keep the place together, and 
 enjoy myself." 
 
 " Is that all 1 " 
 
 " Of course he had to work, to buy the place 
 back, and to leave money to keep it in the family. 
 But now that it is here, what am I to do ? " 
 
 ^' He would have liked you to go into Parlia- 
 ment, and to be something. After all, Dudley, 
 what is the good of being some one if you are 
 not something ? " 
 
 " I don't know. But I know I had rather a 
 precious sight be some one than something." 
 
 " Have you any neighbours here ? any one 
 to speak to ? " 
 
 ''Neighbours! Why should we want neigh- 
 bours ? No ; there is the clergyman. But he's 
 dying, they say, and then we shall have old 
 Tudor, though that seems a robbery." 
 
 "Why?"
 
 LAND ahead! 251 
 
 " I heard it afterwards, throuo^li Mr. Mortimer. 
 ]\Iy Uncle Gilbert promised him the living if he 
 would stop our marrying. He thought he had 
 stopped it when he took me away and you would 
 not see me ; so the next presentation of it was 
 made over to him." 
 
 " And was that all ? " 
 
 "AUwhat?" 
 
 " Was there no other threat, no other punish- 
 ment, if you married me ? " 
 
 " No. Was not that enough ? " 
 
 After that Margaret was silent for a long time. 
 She was trying to make it all out. What should 
 she do with herself here always ? What could 
 she make of Dudley ? What would Dudley make 
 of her ? Often in the honeymoon it had seemed 
 dull and dreadful ; now too they had come to the 
 end of their conversation. 
 
 " I must learn all about ferrets and rats," said 
 she half to herself. 
 
 " Oh yes ; rare sport that," chimed in Dudley. 
 " And then there are the terriers. You must 
 come and see them." 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 They were going down a steep hill in the park 
 then ; dark pine trees grew on either side of the
 
 252 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 path, and at the bottom gleamed the water of the 
 lake. 
 
 " How still, how strange," said she. 
 
 "Yes. It wants cleaning out." 
 
 " It looks infinite. It is like eternity." 
 
 She shuddered involuntarily. Would eternity 
 be as dark, as comfortless, as mysterious as that 'i 
 
 " Cold, my gal ? " 
 
 " So, Dudley, you have no neighbours ? " 
 
 *' Neighbours ! let me see. There is Mrs. 
 Kingsford. You might go and see her some day. 
 And there is Miss Warburton, a great friend of 
 my mother's. I think the Chesters are our 
 nearest neighbours." 
 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 " Lord and Lady Chester ; great swells. Too 
 grand to take any notice of us. She was Lady 
 Lorraine something or other." 
 
 This was not encouraging. 
 
 *' But there is a neighbourhood, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh yes : one sees it at the Hunt Ball, or if 
 any one comes of age " 
 
 " Why didn't you come of age ? " 
 I did ; last year. I was twenty-five last 
 
 
 vear. 
 
 " And when else does one see it ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 253 
 
 " Sometimes some one gives a dance in the 
 summer. Dances are horrid things." 
 
 Maroraret's heart sank within her. What was 
 she to do ? Would not poverty, the direst, the 
 most abject, be ever so much better than this dull 
 state ? 
 
 " You will have a nice easy time of it here," 
 said Dudley. 
 
 " Shall I ? " 
 
 ** Yes ; my mother does all the housekeeping, 
 and orders everything, and sees to the poor, and 
 all that, so you wiU have nothing to do but enjoy 
 yourself." 
 
 Enjoy herself. How was she to do that? 
 She, the most energetic, the most universally 
 active mind that one could well find, she with 
 her delicate artistic sensitive nature suddenly to 
 be caged up in a Castle of Indolence, with no one 
 but sons of the soil. Truly the contrast was 
 painful ; truly the conflict between the will and 
 the power was terrible. 
 
 That afternoon she set herself in all meekness 
 to understand the characters of the people with 
 whom she had to live. 
 
 They were soon summed up, and later she 
 found no reason to alter her opinions.
 
 254 LAND ahead! 
 
 Mrs. Yane, a selfish, jealous woman, who had 
 made up her mind to hate her. 
 
 Lilly, an awkward, raw girl, who had evidently- 
 been always so thrown back upon herself that 
 now there was hardly anything to draw out. 
 
 Uncle Ted, a cypher, who seemed hopelessly 
 indolent, for he seldom spoke, and if he did it 
 was too indistinctly to be understood. Yet 
 Margaret was convinced it was indolence, for if 
 he happened to be thirsty, or to require anything, 
 he could speak plainly enough. 
 
 Mary Wygram, the casual visitor, soured, but 
 anxious to conciliate those in authority. 
 
 Dudley therefore only remained. He must 
 furnish sympathy, interest, energy, life ; Dudley 
 must be her centre, her anchor. Well, was he 
 not her husband ? 
 
 After she had arrived at all these conclusions, 
 after her attempts at conversation and at concilia- 
 tion had all turned out to be in vain, she went 
 out to the hall-door to breathe the fresh air. 
 Bitter disappointment oppressed her heart ; a 
 sense of failure weighed her down. She looked 
 out on the wide scene of undulating ground, on 
 the shadows of the trees, on the glorious prospect 
 of noble hill and quiet vale, and — hated it all.
 
 LAND ahead! 255 
 
 Then, as she stood there, she saw something 
 winding slowly up the hill ; whether it were cart 
 or carriage she could not see, but it was something 
 of exterior life. She waited, watching to see 
 what it would turn out. It was only a cart ; 
 nothing more. She was turning away disappointed, 
 thinking she would find a book and take it to her 
 room, when she saw the cart stop, and a great 
 animal jumped out. 
 
 "Why," exclaimed she, — and absolutely her 
 own heart stood still, — " it is Fritz 1 " 
 
 She called him aloud. The faithful dog stopped 
 — he was trembling all over with excitement — he 
 wanted to make sure it was Mars^aret — he stood 
 there with ears erect, and tail down — looking. 
 Then she went forward to meet him, and in a 
 moment more he was with her, covering her with 
 caresses, almost threatening to knock her down 
 in the intensity of his joy. 
 
 " And so they sent you, did they, my poor old 
 fellow — they sent you to me ? " 
 
 She kissed him as she talked to him, and with 
 his coming the landscape seemed to have changed 
 for her. 
 
 " What walks we will have, old fellow. You'll 
 like it better than Hans Place."
 
 256 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 And then inspiration seized her, and at once 
 she threw off the chains that had been galling 
 her. 
 
 " That was not life," said she to herself. "Fritz 
 and I will go and enjoy ourselves. We can't be 
 unhappy any more." 
 
 So Fritz had some dinner, and then he and his 
 young mistress went away for a tearing walk 
 together, neither knew where nor did either care. 
 
 All among the bracken and down the hills they 
 ran, in among the tall grass, and pushing through 
 the thick underwood. The rabbits started up at 
 their comins:, and the startled deer scoured the 
 plain in terror. Fritz and Margaret only laughed. 
 Down to the silent pool they went, and Fritz 
 tried its dark depths and drew back in alarm ; 
 then he too looked on wondering] y, looked at a 
 lazy heron that winged its lazy flight away, and 
 seemed to wonder with Margaret if it were 
 infinitude. 
 
 No wonder she sat down on the bank and put 
 her arm round his great neck ; no wonder she 
 said, as through his faithful devotion, her love for 
 Nature began to come back to her : 
 
 "We are all right now, Fritz. Nothing can 
 matter very much as long as I have you. Nothing
 
 LAND ahead! 257 
 
 can really make me unhappy any more. There is 
 poetry and sympathy and laughter too in your 
 dear old brown eyes. What jokes we will have, 
 when no one else can manas^e a lauorh at all." 
 
 No wonder she was late for dinner ; no wonder 
 they were cross ; ay, even Dudley too. But what 
 did it matter ? 
 
 " Is man to be a slave to his food ? " said 
 Margaret. 
 
 And though she started the four subjects of 
 conversation which she had carefully prepared, — 
 viz., the weather, the newspaper, the neighbour- 
 hood, and the garden, — and though they one and 
 all failed, she did not care so much, for had she 
 not her old friend Fritz at hand ? Some one 
 loved her at Froghambury besides her husband 
 after all. That evening the entry in her diary 
 was not about the place, the house, her new 
 relations, or her new hopes and schemes ; but 
 only, " Fritz came." 
 
 VOL. II. S
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 Tlie trees are cloth'd with leaves, the fields with grass, 
 
 The blossoms blow, the birds on bushes sing, 
 
 And Nature has accomplish'd all the spring. — Dryden. 
 
 Certainly Mrs. Vane was not the most desirable 
 person to live witli. She had no idea of making 
 herself pleasant. If it pleased her to say a thing, 
 she would say it, but she would not go to the 
 expense of saying it for other people's amusement 
 She was wholly wrapped up in herself. If therb 
 were but one window to a room, and she were 
 one of many in that room, yet she would take it 
 all up as though it were her prerogative and leave 
 every one else in darkness. Her portly frame made 
 an excellent screen. Or if it were cold, and there 
 were but one fire in the gallery, straightway she 
 would seat herself right in front of that fire, pre- 
 cluding the approach of any other person, and 
 leave everv one else to shiver in the distance. 
 She always seemed to forget that any one else
 
 LAND ahead! 259 
 
 existed for this world's comforts except herself. 
 Other people there were, but they were mostly 
 slaves, and if they were not slaves then she had 
 nothinor to do with them. 
 
 Nor did she seem to have any sympathy with 
 any one. Her daughter was consigned to a 
 distant limbo of indifference, where she had to 
 take care of herself as best she might ; Uncle 
 Teddy was only addressed to be snubbed; 
 Miss AYygram perhaps received most of her 
 favours, but they were but crumbs. Dudley, 
 in old days, was the favourite ; chiefly because 
 he was the eldest, and also because he had 
 always been so delicate and weak ; but now 
 he had grievously sinned in marrying Margaret. 
 He too was relegated to a distance. To bring 
 another woman into the family was a grievous 
 crime. Women Mrs. Yane had always hated. 
 
 The discovery was not long being raade 
 apparent to Margaret. At first she tried 
 diligently to win the friendship of the members 
 of the family ; for Dudley's sake she tried to 
 amuse and please them ; failing that, she tried 
 to give them wider interests than any they 
 seemed to have ; utterly failing here, and finding 
 too that her company was neither desired or 
 
 S2
 
 260 LAND ahead! 
 
 missed, she besran to look about for interests for 
 herself outside of them. 
 
 It was very hard ; it was a bitter lesson that 
 the warm-hearted girl had to learn, but she had 
 Dudley and she had Fritz, and through them she 
 studied and learned to love the wonderful and 
 ever-stirring world of Nature about her. 
 
 The household were surprised at her long 
 absences, they wondered what she did with her- 
 self ; Mrs. Vane was hardly pleased that Margaret 
 should be so magnificently indifferent to her 
 opinion or her society. She had thought the 
 ''German girl" would have been her slave; but 
 no ; there she was as proud, as smiling, as ready 
 for a laugh, a story, or a sarcasm as on the very 
 first day she had entered the house. Her spirit 
 was not the least subdued. 
 
 . So thought Mrs. Vane ; but she was wrong. 
 The dull, sad, solitary life was working a change 
 surely enough in the gir] ; for she was solitary. 
 Dudley could not understand her ; he might try 
 to sympathize, and though Margaret would take 
 the will for the deed in all gratitude, yet the 
 more they were together the more apparent was 
 the difference between them. His attempts at 
 sympathy often jarred rather than consoled, and
 
 LAND ahead! 261 
 
 Margaret learnt daily more and more that she 
 was alone. 
 
 But there was Nature still, and that and Fritz 
 saved her. What long walks they had together. 
 In the early morning, brushing the fresh dew 
 from the grass, watching the deepening sunlight, 
 listening to the busy twittering of the birds in 
 their nests, watching the speckled trout, making 
 pictures in the clouds, or watching the swift, 
 darting flights of the swallow, many happy hours 
 glided away. Or would she teud the flowers in 
 the garden, and bestow here a pruning hand, or 
 there a sheltering prop, still Fritz walked gravely 
 beside her, and seemed to understand it all. 
 
 But best he loved it when, snug at Margaret's 
 feet among the cushions, he could lay in the boat 
 on the lake, and watch and dream ; then she 
 too, pretending to read, or at least often holding 
 a book before her, to secure her freedom from 
 interruption, she too would watch the changing 
 sky and waving trees, and she too would 
 dream. But her dreams were tinged with sad- 
 ness now ; they were best pushed away. They 
 only told her the same old story : the gradual 
 dispersion of noble ambitions, the gradual fading 
 of roseate hopes. Life was limited, prosaic,
 
 2G2 LAND ahead! 
 
 and uninteresting. At times she would tliink 
 she could not bear to live in this narrow field, 
 this barren soil any longer. Daily she would say 
 to herself, even as she strove to smother the 
 rebellion in her heart, '' I was not meant for it. 
 This is not life." 
 
 One day, idly rocking herself in the boat, she 
 perceived a child coming towards her through 
 the trees. The wild hyacinths made a blue 
 carpet beneath her feet; she seemed to walk 
 wrapped in a sunbeam. The sight of a living 
 human thing, that might laugh, or that might^ — 
 might in time love her, was a glad thought. The 
 child came slowly ; it was picking up sticks. It 
 did not see Margaret. Such a pretty child ! 
 with dark hair and blue eyes. It sang a little 
 sonof to itself as it worked. 
 
 Fritz pricked up his ears as he watched, then 
 he waofcred his tail when Marsjaret told him to 
 be quiet, as if he quite understood the joke. 
 The silence and the beauty of the scene seemed 
 to affect the child too. It put away its sticks, 
 and it sat down on the grass ; then began to 
 pick a nosegay. 
 
 " Blue-bells, and enemies ; and what else shall 
 I have ? Come here, ma'am, on your tall stalk I
 
 LAND ahead! 263 
 
 what do they call you, I wonder ? And here is a 
 daisy, and here is a tall yellow Miss. Come 
 along too ; we shall all go home to granny. And 
 oh, my ! there's a lady in the boat, and " 
 
 Margaret laughed. 
 
 " Won't you give me your nosegay, little girl ? 
 Ah ! who am I ? do you know ? " 
 
 " Oh, ma'am, please don't tell of me, please 
 don't tell Mrs. Vane. AVe are not allowed to 
 come here." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " She says we might break the trees or steal 
 something. But granny and I are very poor, 
 and she did want a little wood so, and we were 
 quite out." 
 
 ^' And what's your name 1 " 
 
 " Polly." 
 ; ''What else?" 
 
 '' Polly Pringle." 
 
 " And where does your granny live ? " 
 
 "*' There, ma'am, just below the park ; you might 
 see the smoke if there was any fire, but there 
 won't be till I come home." 
 
 " Suppose you take me there ? " said Margaret, 
 springing up. The name of granny sounded 
 nice and human.
 
 264 LAND ahead! 
 
 '' I musn't take the sticks, musn't I ? " 
 
 *' Yes. Shall I carry some too ? " 
 
 The child thought the lady must be mad. 
 
 " Maybe, ma'am, are you the new lady at the 
 great house ! " 
 
 " Yes, Polly, I am ; and you may come and 
 pick sticks as often as you like. There, I have 
 given you leave. No ; Fritz won't hurt you." 
 
 So the three walked aw^ay to see granny, 
 a dear old woman with white cap, and red 
 handkerchief pinned over her cotton gown, and 
 Margaret found, as she talked, that life held 
 duties for her yet, and that there were friends 
 still whom she could befriend, and sorrows which 
 even she could heal. 
 
 "And may I have the nosegay now?" asked 
 she of the child, as she turned away at last to go 
 home. 
 
 The child blushed so prettily as she gave it 
 that Margaret stooped to kiss her. 
 
 " Thank you, childie, thank you for the 
 flowers." 
 
 At luncheon that day Margaret did not fail 
 to recount her adventure. 
 
 "My dear Margaret," said Mrs. Vane, when 
 she had heard her to the end, " of course if you
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 265 I 
 
 I 
 
 have told the child to come, she must come ; but 
 the old woman is a beggar, and a very bad old ' 
 
 woman. At least the son was bad. And they : 
 
 are not proper people at all to go and see. Mrs. ^ 
 
 Simeon has a list, if you want to go district- 
 visitiDor." I 
 
 " No ; I don't. I want to go to my friends, ; 
 and to go where I am most wanted. After all, 
 
 I had better perhaps go to all those who are not \ 
 
 on Mrs. Simeon's list, for they will want looking I 
 
 after sadly." i 
 
 Afterwards Dudley said — i 
 
 " Margaret, don't always argue with my \ 
 
 mother ; do think alike sometimes." i 
 
 '* I wish we could." ' ■ j 
 
 " She likes to reign, so let her." ; 
 
 " She shall ; but I cannot be debarred from ' 
 
 all occupation. I must do right, when it comes ; 
 
 to me." i 
 
 *' The parish has been neglected, I know. But ; 
 
 now I suppose we shall see great things, for the ' 
 
 poor old man is dead." ; 
 
 " The clergyman ? " ! 
 
 " Yes ; died last night. And I suppose ]\Ir. i 
 
 Tudor will be here at once." ; 
 
 *^ I am glad." ' i
 
 266 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 *' Why ? I thought you did not like him ? " 
 
 " No ; no more I do. He always has his eye so 
 fixed on the main chance ; but, Dudley, he has 
 conversation." 
 
 Afterwards, alone in her artistically furnished 
 little room, how she wished to alter everything 
 about Froghambury, to make it even as her own 
 little nest was. 
 
 *' It might be so beautiful ; the grounds, the 
 park, the house are all beautiful ; it is just the 
 stupid people that spoil all. Man mars Nature 
 here certainly." 
 
 Yet from that day she struggled bravely with 
 her life. It was as though the child with the 
 flowers had roused her to a sense of what she 
 could do for others; she often went to the old 
 woman, and thence by degrees the circle widened, 
 and soon there was not a cottao^e in the villao^e 
 where she was not a welcome and honoured 
 visitor. Perhaps this did not entirely satisfy 
 her, but it was something. She went into the 
 subject of the improvement of the poor with en- 
 thusiasm. Compulsory education, school-boards, 
 their wilful ignorance, emigration as a means of 
 helping the agricultural classes, no theme came 
 amiss to her.
 
 LAND ahead! ^ 267 
 
 Then too she looked for T\"icler sympathy. 
 Dudley had directed her to go and call on Miss 
 AVarburton, and she had gone. But a stiff and 
 starched lady had looked at her through a pair 
 of spectacles, as she sat on the edge of her chair, 
 and talked of the weather, so after a visit of fiv^e 
 minutes Margaret withdrew and never repeated 
 the experiment. Miss Warburton was Mrs. 
 Vane's friend. 
 
 Then, being bent on discovery, she had gone 
 on to Mrs. Kingsford, an old lady confined to 
 two rooms, of which one was a conservatory, 
 which Margaret admired at once. 
 
 " They keep me alive," said the old lady, 
 laughing, as she pointed to her flowers, " and I 
 keep them alive ; so it is a Mutual Help Society." 
 
 She stayed long talking to the cheerful old 
 dame, and then, when she rose, Mrs. Kingsford 
 pressed flowers upon her. 
 
 " Just touch the bell, would you, my dear ? 
 Ah, that's it ! Thank you. Look, Preston," — 
 this to the neat little maid who answered the 
 summons, — " get Lady Vane a Lamarque, and, 
 let me see, a Gloire de Eosamine ; and do you 
 know the Emperor of Morocco ? have one or two, 
 do ; and there's Forsyth's Banksia ; I want you
 
 ^^^ LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 to know that. Oh, then my Ficus. I must 
 introduce you; the best and quickest growing 
 little creeper I know ; rather capricious, though ; 
 you must have some cuttings. Preston, how 
 awkward you are ! Yes — now — there." 
 
 At last Margaret said good-bye. 
 
 " But you must go and see Matta, my woman 
 at the farm; oh, indeed you must. She will 
 amuse you." 
 
 Indeed she did. Matta had the largest heart 
 of any woman alive for all created things. Up 
 at day-break, and sleeping only when nothing 
 was wanted, she had more animate beinors 
 dependent on her than could have been imagined 
 possible for any one who was not a keeper at the 
 Zoological Gardens. 
 
 Dogs, cats, horses, turkeys, ducks, geese, 
 pigeons, fowls innumerable, a snake, a hedgehog, 
 pigs, a squirrel. What else besides? The list 
 swelled daily. 
 
 " Why, you have a regular Noah's ark here ! " 
 said Margaret, as she drove up. 
 
 " Worse, ma'am ! much worse ! But come and 
 see them, do." 
 
 Margaret found as she went home that her 
 horizon was certainly widening.
 
 LAND ahead! 2C9 
 
 The spring was deepening into summer now, 
 and with the beauty of all around Margaret too 
 let peace pass into her heart by degrees. She 
 tried to stifle hopes and aspirations, wants and 
 needs ; she tried to live, as she had said first she 
 would do, forgetting herself, thinking only of 
 Dudley. 
 
 Only, alas ! always just when she was at her 
 best Dudley was left behind. He understood 
 nothing of how she had to stoop to get to his 
 level ; he had begun to think, thanks to Mrs. 
 Vane, that Margaret's cleverness and Margaret's 
 love of art was all affectation. At such times 
 she would have recourse to her out-of-door life 
 a^ain : and soon it became a sure sig;n that 
 Maroraret was " offended " because she was 
 missing. Any other word but " offended " would 
 have been truer, but that suited them best. 
 
 There had been one or two rides with Dudley, 
 but it was almost too hot ; there was not much 
 to do. 
 
 On the hottest evenings Margaret sat out in 
 the arcade with a lamp. Who liked might come 
 to her. The drawing-room she abjured. When 
 it was cold or damp she went up to her sitting- 
 room.
 
 270 LAND ahead! 
 
 One afternoon she was sitting there, poring 
 over a book, — often, if it had not been that Frit: 
 wanted a walk, she would have stayed in all 
 day, — when Dudley burst in, in extreme excite- 
 ment. 
 
 "I say, Margaret, the Chesters have called." 
 '' Well, what of that ? I don't know them." 
 "No. But do come down. Nobody knows 
 what to say to them." 
 
 " Is Lady Lorraine there ? " 
 " Yes ; she is Lady Chester." ^ 
 
 "I like her name. Were you like that — 
 towzled hair and dirty boots, ehV > 
 "Yes." 
 
 Margaret laughed. 
 
 " You hadn't a ferret handy, had you ? " 
 " No." 
 
 " We might take Snap to show her." 
 "So we might. I'll go and fetch him." 
 He really went, and Margaret could not 
 forbear a lauo;h. 
 
 "Ah ! this is Lady Vane, I am sure," said a 
 pleasant voice ; and almost before she was aware 
 Margaret found her hand taken, and a bright 
 young face, with kind e3^es, was looking into 
 hers. "My husband, Lady Vane. We heard
 
 LAND ahead! 271 
 
 you had come home, so Chester drove me over ; 
 I thought you might like to see a neighbour." 
 
 " Are you Lady Lorraine ? " asked Margaret, 
 looking at her, and still keeping her hand. 
 
 " Yes," said the other, laughing. 
 
 *' I have heard of you before." 
 
 Both Lord Chester and his wife laughed. 
 
 For the moment all Margaret's pain and 
 loneliness seemed to be over. Then she became 
 aware of the Vane family sitting in a circle 
 looking on. 
 
 " How good of you to come. Lady Chester." 
 
 " Not at all. I wanted to see you. I have 
 heard of your acting, and of all sorts of things." 
 
 And had not Margaret heard of Lady Lorraine 
 — from the old people in the village, from 
 Mrs. Kingsford ? Who had not told her of Lady 
 Lorraine ? 
 
 *'Your park is looking lovely, Lady Vane," 
 said Lord Chester. 
 
 " Yes ; the trees are beautiful. I am never 
 tired of looking at them. Is your park like 
 this ? " 
 
 ^' No ; Carlingsford is You must come 
 
 and see it. But it is not like this." 
 
 Then Dudley appeared at the window.
 
 272 LAND ahead! 
 
 '' Margaret, I have brought Snap." 
 
 " Ah, so you have," said she, good-humouredly. 
 
 " Lady Lorraine — I beg your pardon. Lady 
 Chester " 
 
 *' No ; call me my name if you like." 
 
 " I was going to say, would you like to step 
 outside and look at the view ? " 
 
 *' Willingly," said the other. 
 
 Then Dudley was despatched to order tea in 
 the arcade ; frown as Mrs. Vane would, who 
 considered tea an innovation. And then Lord 
 Chester went to look at the fish with Dudley, 
 and Margaret and her visitor were alone. 
 
 " I have heard of you from Mr. Mortimer," 
 said Lady Chester. " He came home loud in 
 your praises." 
 
 " Yes. He was with us a great deal. He has 
 gone to America, 1 believe." 
 
 " Yes. But not for long. And you — do you 
 like your home ? " 
 
 '' I ! Oh, it is beautiful. But — no ; I cannot 
 tell stories, and yet I feel as if I must tell you if 
 you ask me ; and yet I ought not to tell you, 
 knowing you so little. But 1 have never lived 
 in the country before." 
 
 ''You are so diflferent from the rest. I keep
 
 LAND ahead! 273 
 
 longing to ask how do you come to be here ? 
 Of course it is dull. I have gone through it all 
 myself/' 
 
 " You have ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Lady Lorraine flicked a wasp away with her 
 parasol as she spoke. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Le mo7ide est le livre des femmes, I believe, 
 and, faihng that, book-life is dull. It is dreadful 
 at first for a woman to be thrown back upon 
 herself. One's husband may be charming, but 
 often he is not there, or even he sometimes does not 
 understand everything, or there is no congenial 
 society within reach, or — oh. Lady Vane, I cannot 
 explain, but there are a hundred things " 
 
 " I know." 
 
 *' But you. Lady Vane, are, I dare say, full of 
 resources " 
 
 "Yes; but one wants some one sometimes to 
 take an interest. Lady Lorraine, will you come 
 and see my sitting-room ? " 
 
 Lady Chester followed her, laughing. Here 
 was her ideal woman ; an impressionable, artistic 
 soul ; a very angel, only still " not too good for 
 human nature's daily food." 
 
 VOL. II. T
 
 274 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' What a grand old house it is/' said she aloud. 
 
 " Yes ; is it not ? But you must like my little 
 nest." 
 
 Like it ! Lorraine went into wild expressions 
 of delight. 
 
 " A nest indeed for an artist soul. You paint 
 here, I am sure ! You do everything here. I 
 should. Who furnished this ? not the Vanes ? " 
 
 " My mother." 
 
 An awkward blush rose to her brow as she 
 said it, for she knew it was Valentin. 
 
 " Is there anything against her mother ? " 
 thought Lorraine, as she saw it. *^I do not 
 care. She is a clever woman anyhow." 
 
 Afterwards they had tea under the arcade, and 
 even Dudley became at his" ease under the genial 
 influence and bright smiles of I^ady Lorraine. 
 
 " You will come to see us at Carlingsford, will 
 you not ? " said she, as they bade good-bye at 
 length. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Indeed we will." 
 
 "Mind, you have promised. Vane," said 
 Chester, as he took the reins in his hand. 
 
 " You and I must be great friends," said Lady 
 Lorraine, as she shook hands with Margaret on 
 the steps.
 
 LAND ahead! 275 
 
 " You are my good angel already," said Mar- 
 garet, enthusiastically. 
 
 " Good-bye ; and to you too, Fritz," said Lord 
 Chester. 
 
 She stayed watching the receding carriage as 
 long as it was in sight. 
 
 ''Dudley, you said they were grand. And 
 you never told me she was so pretty." 
 
 " I didn't know," said he. 
 
 " I am so glad to have seen her," said Lady 
 Lorraine to Lord Chester. " And how beautiful 
 she is ! " 
 
 "After all, women think a lot more of looks 
 than men do," said her husband. "You don't 
 hear me rave like that." 
 
 " Because you are afraid I shall be jealous, that 
 is all. But, Chester, you must help me to be 
 kind to her. It must be an awful life for her 
 there." 
 
 " I wonder why she married him ? " 
 
 END OF VOL. II.
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 VOL. III.
 
 LAND AHEAD 
 
 a f *i. 
 
 BY 
 
 COURTENEY GRANT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "little LADY LORRAINE," " OUR NEXT NEIGHBOUR," ETC. 
 
 Human soul 
 Must rise from individual to the whole. 
 Self-Love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, " 
 As the small pebble stu-s the peaceful lake ; 
 The centre moved, a circle strait succeeds. 
 Another still, and still another spreads ; 
 Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; 
 His country next, and next all human race ; 
 Wide and more wide, th' o'ertiowings of the mind 
 Take every creature in, of ev'ry kind ; 
 Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest. 
 And Heaven beholds its image in his breast. —Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. III. 
 
 LO]N^DON: 
 
 chap]ma:n' and hall, 193 Piccadilly. 
 
 1878. 
 
 \_Ali Rights reserved.]
 
 gxmgag : 
 
 CLA.Y AND TAYLOR, PRIXTEKS.
 
 LAND AHEAD! 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A trusty villain, sir, that very oft, 
 
 When I am dull with care and melancholy, 
 
 Lightens my humour with his merry jests. 
 
 Comedy of Errors, Act i. Sc, 2. 
 
 Froghambury village had certainly come in for 
 an undue share of excitement. Not only had 
 there been Margaret's arrival, and then her face, 
 manner, and conduct to criticize, but now the old 
 clergyman, who had seemed a fixture throughout 
 eternity, or at least a specimen of humanity who 
 had made up his mind to outlive every one else, 
 had died ; that event alone seemed inconceivable ; 
 but after that there had been the funeral, the 
 relatives, the will ; more exciting than all, the 
 sale of his furniture and effects, amongst which a 
 
 VOL. III. B
 
 2 LAND ahead! 
 
 curious copy of " BoycIelFs Shakspere " had been the 
 most valuable article ; and then, speedily following 
 on all this, had been the arrival of Mr. Tudor. 
 
 He came radiant as the rising sun. The purest 
 benevolence shone from his eye, the tenderest 
 human sympathy was inscribed on his face. He 
 was '* hail-fellow-well-met '' to every one; every- 
 body was his ^' dear parishioner." The astuteness 
 and worldly jocularity which had distinguished 
 him before seemed gone ; his outer man also had 
 changed. A wide-brimmed straw hat, with a 
 pretty yellow ribbon, a brown hoUand suit, made 
 up his attire in his garden. For these articles he 
 always apologized ; they were not clerical he 
 knew ; he must seem a renegade to his cloth he 
 knew ; but the heat was extreme, and the garden 
 needed looking after ; and then, he would add, 
 with a look of his old slyness, he found the farmers 
 rather liked his get-up, and the cottagers too ; 
 and it was a great thing to win their favour. The 
 result was that their former trim friend was now 
 transformed into a simple countryman, who looked 
 as if he had had no ambition, or knowledge, or 
 interest beyond Froghambury village all his life. 
 Never had such a model country parson been 
 seen before ; the cloth and the black hat were 
 always within reach should visitors arrive. Mar-
 
 LAND ahead! 3 
 
 garet insisted on asking him to Froghambury at 
 once, and paid no heed at all to the resistance 
 she encountered. 
 
 "Let us see what he is like first," had said 
 ]\Irs. Vane. 
 
 " Oh, we all know quite well what he is like ; 
 and he is our old friend. Moreover, Dudley, 
 your tutor ! of course you must ask him ; he 
 must have the run of the house." 
 
 "You are very hospitable, certainly," said Mrs. 
 Vane. 
 
 " No," said Margaret, " I am not that ; but I 
 am so dull." 
 
 Then Mrs. Vane looked triumphantly at 
 Dudley, and Margaret perceived she had made a 
 mistake. 
 
 However, Mr. Tudor was invited, and when he 
 was made to understand that he would be wel- 
 come whenever he liked, he was profuse in his 
 acknowledgments. One or two family dinners, 
 however, slightly cooled his gratitude, and soon 
 he delicately hinted to Margaret that he would 
 prefer being invited when he was wanted. 
 
 "You find our family fare a little " she 
 
 paused for a word. She was standing on the 
 steps, patting Fritz as she spoke to him. 
 
 " Oh no, no, not at all. But the fact is, I am 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 never quite sure of being quite welcome. I might 
 be de trop. Then — dinner is a solemnity." 
 
 " It is here; but a solemnity without ceremony." 
 
 " And yet I like ceremony about it." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " I like my j&sh, and my entrees, and my petits 
 plats, and my little nameless luxuries." 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " TJn diner sans facon est une perjidie, you know, 
 Lady Vane." 
 
 *' I quite agree with you ; I like a pretty table, 
 and everything as cheerful and as well arranged 
 as possible." 
 
 " Then why do you not do it ? " 
 
 " I am not mistress here." 
 
 " Whew ! I thought Mrs. Vane was only staying 
 here." 
 
 Maro:aret shook her head. 
 
 "Then, Queen Daisy, your reign is limited 
 here ? " ' 
 
 "Very." 
 
 The old man was sorry for her. Certainly he 
 had worked against her, and she had won ; but 
 his antagonism had won him his living, notwith- 
 standing, and now that his victory was complete, 
 when he discovered a flaw in hers he could afford 
 to be generous and compassionate.
 
 T 
 
 LAND AHEAD! 
 
 "And you are dull sometimes ? " 
 
 '' Sometimes." 
 
 "It is too uniform a life ; there is nothing 
 to break it. No thin or is more dreadful than 
 monotony." 
 
 " Will you find it so ? " 
 
 " T ! oh no ; I shall have my work. You might 
 help me with the choir, perhaps ? We might 
 make it the poetry of music." 
 
 " So we mio^ht." 
 
 " It is a great thing to understand the disposi- 
 tions of those with whom we have to live. The 
 eves are the windows of the soul, and the face is 
 its tablet. He who never laughs is a knavC:, and 
 he who always laughs is a fool." 
 
 " We never laugh," said Margaret ; " but not- 
 withstanding that, I think we are rather dull 
 fools than knaves.'' 
 
 '' Very likely. Dullness " 
 
 " You are very rude, Mr. Tudor." 
 
 "Ah, dear me ! I beg your pardon ; I only 
 meant that of course you were not knaves. " 
 
 " People generally are fools ; at least nearly 
 all those who seem to be so are, and most of those 
 who do not look it are." 
 
 " Still we must suffer them." 
 
 " Oh, gladlv."
 
 6 LAND ahead! 
 
 Soon after this there dawned a happier day for 
 Margaret, for the time came for the long-promised 
 visit to Carlingsford, and she and Dudley started 
 for their three days' stay in great spirits. 
 
 Not that Dudley was in such glee ; he was 
 nervous and uncomfortable. He expected to 
 meet the neighbourhood, and he did not know 
 the neighbourhood. To have '' to come out " in 
 the neighbourhood would be "no end of a bore." 
 Then he had an instinctive feeling that Margaret 
 would be liked and admired at once, that he 
 would have to follow by the next train, and would 
 in fact be tolerated for . Margaret's sake. He 
 could not talk as Margaret did ; he did not know 
 about things as Margaret did. This was a bore. 
 Then what should he do there ? It was a bore to 
 leave home. 
 
 "But what do you do at home, Dudley ? " 
 asked she, as they drove along. 
 
 " I ! oh, don't you see me busy all day ? I can 
 only just get through it. Stables, you know, and 
 the dogs, and then the paper comes — - — " 
 
 " Well, but you only make it the excuse for a 
 cigar under the tree ; you never read it." 
 
 " Don't I, though ? " 
 
 " At least you never know anything about 
 it."
 
 LAND ahead! . 7 
 
 " Oh yes, I do. And tlien there's luncheon ; 
 then afterwards you generally want something, 
 or there's sure to be something to go and look at 
 somewhere ; or if not, a fellow is not bored, and 
 he can do as he likes ; needn't dress or anything. 
 Now here at this place I shall have to be on my 
 p's and q's all day long." 
 
 AVhat a difference it was from Froghambury ! 
 Lovely gardens, and a beautifully arranged house, 
 smiling, willing servants, a host who seemed to 
 think of nothing but the comfort of his guests, 
 and a hostess who was a good and beautiful 
 fairy — nothing more. 
 
 " AVhere is your wand. Lady Lorraine," asked 
 Margaret of her, " w^herewith you make us all so 
 happy ? " 
 
 " I think, if I succeed at all, it is because I am 
 happy myself. So after all, if there be a wand, 
 it must be Chester's, I fancy. Shall we come 
 and ask him if he keeps it in his pocket ? " 
 
 " How pretty it is to see them together," said 
 she to Dudley afterwards. 
 
 " And isn't it as pretty to see us together ? " 
 asked he, drawing her to him. 
 
 (They were more like Beauty and the Beast, 
 alas !) 
 
 " No, certainly not ; for I am not as pretty as
 
 S LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 she is, nor are you aDything like as handsome as 
 Lord Chester." 
 
 What happy days they were. Music in the 
 evenings, boating on the lake, and driving in the 
 afternoons. Long talks with Lorraine in the 
 mornings. A gay party in the house, and the 
 neiojhbourhood in fras^ments to dinner. 
 
 One day there was a cricket-match. Dudley 
 had talked much about cricket. 
 
 " He can play," said Margaret, confidently. 
 
 " Can he ? " asked Lord Chester. 
 
 " Oh yes," said she. 
 
 That afternoon fate went against them. 
 
 " Dudley will save it," said Margaret. 
 
 Alas ! a round o was all he got ; next innings 
 another round o was added to his score. 
 
 " What can you do, I wonder ? " asked Mar- 
 garet fretfully of him when he returned to the 
 spectators. 
 
 But Lorraine's eyes were on her face, and she 
 did not repeat her question. The next moment 
 she heard Lorraine telling him of the difficulties 
 of the light and the ground, and doing her best 
 to comfort him. 
 
 After all it did not matter. Lord Chester 
 saved the game ; he made a hundred runs. How 
 his wife clapped her hands as the score mounted up.
 
 LAND ahead! 9 
 
 The next day tliey returned to Frogliambury. 
 How dreadful it seemed to Margaret ; how flat, 
 how uninteresting. It was late when they 
 reached home, for Lorraine had kept them to 
 dinner on that last evening, and when they went 
 into the drawing-room at Froghambury the 
 members of the family were in different stages of 
 somnambulism as usual. 
 
 At first it seemed impossible for them to wake 
 up. 
 
 Then Dudley sang out — 
 
 " Hulloa, mother ! hulloa ! " 
 
 "Here!" 
 
 " So you have come back," said Lilly, drearily. 
 
 " Good evening," said Uncle Ted, waking up. 
 
 " Have you seen the paper ? " asked Miss 
 Wygram, holding it up to hide a yawn. 
 
 Mrs. Vane had quite gone oif again. 
 
 How terribly uninteresting this seemed after 
 the light, and laughter, and the music they had 
 left behind them. Did not Dudley remark it 
 too ? No ; Dudley had thrown himself in an 
 arm-chair, and was stretching out his legs to 
 their fullest extent, as though now he might 
 ao-ain experience real indulgence and real 
 comfort. 
 
 Margaret turned away disgusted ; but on the
 
 lO LAND ahead! 
 
 stairs she met Fritz, and she sat down there in 
 the dark with her faithful friend beside her, and 
 cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 Presently afterwards she thought she would go 
 to bed. 
 
 " In fact," said she to herself, when she reached 
 her room, '* I might go to bed now, and stay there 
 for ever so long. That would fill up the hours 
 with quite an unprecedented success. But then 
 what a bad example for the servants. Besides, 
 how shall I live ? I cannot have trays coming 
 up all day. I could live on soup, I dare say, if 
 I take no exercise and do nothing ; or, on the 
 days Dudley shoots or hunts in the winter, I 
 might stay in bed till dinner-time, and then go 
 down. No one would be any the wiser or any 
 the worse." ' 
 
 But the next day Mr. Tudor came, and fancy- 
 ing there was something wrong, he stayed a long 
 time, amusing her with parish news, and with an 
 account of his proposed reforms. Then, little by 
 little, when her grievances oozed out, and she 
 boldly contrasted Froghambury with Carlingsford, 
 he let her talk, and he let drop some of his wise 
 saws for her edification. 
 
 " It is no flowery road that leads to glory," 
 said he.
 
 LAND ahead! 11 
 
 "There is no glory for me," said she, de- 
 spondingly. 
 
 " Oh come, my young friend, what was that 
 you said to Valentin von Broderode — of how you 
 were going to reform and rouse Dudley, of the 
 great man you were going to make of him." 
 
 " Ah 1 " 
 
 In truth she had half forgotten that fond dream. 
 It seemed among the impossibilities now. 
 
 " I do not know that you are not to be envied 
 after all. The rest of the family may be cold and 
 careless, but in your hands lies all the future. 
 Don't you know the old French proverb : ' Ceux 
 qui n'aiment pas, ont rarement de grandes joies ; 
 ceux qui aiment, ont sou vent de grandes tristesses.' 
 Where are their joys ? and your sorrows, are they 
 so very bitter ? We are going to ride rough-shod 
 over them, and trample them to dust for the 
 wind to blow away." 
 
 " You are very kind," said she. 
 
 After all this old man was not the least 
 worldly. In that straw hat he was simplicity 
 itself. 
 
 " I hate worldly wisdom," said she, a propos of 
 nothing except her own thought, and looking at 
 him, wondering at the change in him from the 
 old days at Sonnenthal. Yet even as she spoke
 
 12 LAND ahead! 
 
 a sarcastic smile overspread his countenance, and 
 she began to find her former friend again. " Not 
 that I do not acknowledge its utility, or even the 
 necessity of having it if one would keep one's 
 friends, and even if it would do them good. But 
 calculation of any sort is hateful ; the arithmetic 
 of daily life is the last sum I would do. Impulse 
 generally produces the noblest results." 
 
 "And by impulse the greatest follies are 
 committed." 
 
 There was Mr. Tudor of Sonnenthal again, 
 straw hat notwithstanding; but after all, "can 
 the leopard change his spots ? " 
 
 The weeks wore away. The Chesters had gone 
 to London ; afterwards they went to pay visits, 
 and Margaret missed them sadly. Yet Lady 
 Lorraine bad left her a legacy : the neighbour- 
 hood came to call. 
 
 And not content with that only, the neighbour- 
 hood was more magnanimous still. It overcame its 
 prejudices against the Vanes, who were proud and 
 unsociable ; against Margaret, who was a foreigner, 
 and a German Frau, but very free and easy ; it 
 overcame all this, and was kind to her. At first 
 for Lorraine's sake, and then for Margaret's own 
 sake, for it learnt to like her. 
 
 So that though the Chesters were away, yet
 
 LAND ahead! 13 
 
 Margaret was not alone. She accepted every 
 invitation slie got, she made every friend she 
 could, and she took Dudley wherever she went. 
 But how she was to return the neighbourhood's 
 civilities perplexed her sadly. 
 
 Then the autumn came. A glorious September 
 and the partridges. Even Uncle Teddy woke up. 
 Margaret went out walking with them. But 
 Dudley was always tired ; he always wanted to 
 come in first. 
 
 " How unfortunate you are with your birds," 
 said Mr. Tudor to him one day. 
 
 " You never kill one," said Margaret. 
 
 '' I am always unfortunate with everythiDg," 
 said he. 
 
 " A dead failure, instead of a dead shot," said 
 
 LUly. 
 
 " I must go in to my painting," said Margaret. 
 
 " Dudley, will you come to the house with me ? " 
 
 It was like taking care of some helpless child. 
 
 Then there was the cub-hunting. 
 
 Dudley got up two or three mornings, but he 
 was so sleepy afterwards Margaret advised him to 
 go to bed. 
 
 She herself, however, acquired a taste for it ; 
 she began to jump ; she grew fond of the horses. 
 The early morning was delicious.
 
 14 LAND ahead! I 
 
 " Some one must ride the horses, you know/* i 
 
 said she. ) 
 
 The honour of the family seemed to rest with j 
 
 her. The neighbourhood said she was the only j 
 
 Vane who had been seen in the hunting-field for i 
 
 ages. And she was not a Vane. ! 
 
 *' But some one must show the family is ! 
 
 awake," said she. | 
 
 So she rode poor Sir Gilbert's horses, and soon j 
 
 was as keen as any. So as the season wore on, ^^ 
 
 she began to ride her weariness of Froghambury ■ 
 away. 
 
 One day she came in late, it was dark, and the 
 moon was rising behind the trees. 
 
 " Who is that on the stairs ? " cried she, for she 
 
 had heard a voice she thought she knew. '] 
 
 " Who but your own dear mother, my love ? " | 
 
 Another moment, and she was clasped in her j 
 mother s warm embraces.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 In se magna ruunt. — Lucan. 
 
 In melle sunt sitse linguae vestrae atque orationes, 
 Corda felle sunt lita atque aceto. — Plautiits. 
 
 " My dear mother, why did you come ? '^ 
 
 Margaret stood with her arm on her mother's 
 shoulder as she asked the question. 
 
 " I have let the house in Hans Place. Such a 
 good offer I could not refuse. Not, dear, not 
 that that is why I came, but that having let it, 
 I thousrht I miojht as well come." 
 
 *asee." 
 
 But Margaret did not feel altogether pleased. 
 She ought to have been warned of this arrival. 
 She would have liked to have made proper prepar- 
 ations ; moreover, she was not certain how her 
 mother would get on with the household at 
 Froghambury. The disappointment of existence 
 there she had carefully concealed. 
 
 " And then, Margaret, I thought the surprise
 
 16 LAND ahead! 
 
 would be nice. It is great fun, isn't it ? You 
 didn't expect your dear mother, did you ? '* 
 
 " No. Have you seen the others ? " 
 ■ " Oh yes ; all of them. Charming, are they 
 not ? '' 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 *' I cannot stay long, dear. I have only brought 
 a few clothes, and then, too, when one has so 
 much to do as I have " 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Hoffman, I hope you will give us 
 as much of your company as possible. It will 
 be so nice for Margaret." 
 
 It was Dudley's mother who spoke. 
 
 Margaret was amazed at her civility. Perhaps 
 after all her mother had been right to cause them 
 all a surprise. Certainly, left to herself, she would 
 never have ventured to invite her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Hoffman was running over 
 with enthusiasm, with affection, with meek 
 courtesy, with admiration for all she saw. 
 
 During dinner a gradual change came over 
 her. She looked from one to the other, making 
 odd and sudden efforts to extract conversation 
 from each in turn. 
 
 Margaret laughed to herself as she remem- 
 bered her own first experience of this meal at. 
 Froghambur}^
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 17 
 
 " Do you drink coffee after dinner, Mrs. Hoff- 
 man, or tea ? " asked Mrs. Vane. 
 
 " Oh, coffee, if you please, ]\Irs. Vane. How 
 do you make your coffee now ? I have quite a 
 wonderful little machine." 
 
 '' Have you ? " 
 
 " Yes. Isn't my coffee good, Margaret ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother, it is." 
 
 " No, I never knew anything make coffee like 
 my machine. It is quite a distillation." 
 
 " Here's a fly," said Uncle Ted. " I have a 
 great objection to flies." 
 
 " Did you see the story in the paper of the fly 
 that bit a man to death ? " asked Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 " No," said Uncle Ted, visibly roused even 
 more than by the fly. 
 
 " It was an officer : he was with some ladies in 
 the Jardin des Plantes, and a fly settled on his 
 lips, and he brushed it off as you did, but it 
 swelled, and swelled, and he died." (Uncle Ted 
 was feeling his cheek by this time.) " They think 
 the fly was poisoned by the meat used for the 
 animals." 
 
 " There is a fly in China," said Dudley, " its 
 bite kills people." 
 
 '' Have you heard of the Persian bug ? It only 
 bites Europeans, and always kills." 
 
 VOL. III. C
 
 18 LAND ahead! 
 
 " No flies in India," said Uncle Ted. 
 
 "But snakes and scorpions ; two or three sorts 
 of them," said Mrs. Vane. 
 
 "The deaths in Scinde from snake bites are 
 something enormous," said Uncle Ted. 
 
 " Why don t they give rewards ? " asked Mrs. 
 Hoffman. 
 
 " They do ; the same as for tigers." 
 
 " What nice cages they have at the Zoological 
 now," said Miss Wygram. 
 
 " Yes ; I like the Zoo. very much," said Dudley. 
 
 " So do I. I am very fond of it," said Lilly. 
 
 This feverish brilliancy was not likely to last, 
 and soon, save for a remark trickled here, or a 
 word dropped there, silence again reigned supreme. 
 
 After dinner, Mrs. Hoffman seated herself close 
 to Mrs. Vane. 
 
 Margaret, on her way to the piano, wondered 
 how long they would converse amicably. 
 
 "How well my child looks," said Mrs. Hoff- 
 man. 
 
 " Yes, I think she is happy now," said Mrs. 
 Vane, laying a stress on the now^ as though she 
 were the martyr of all their machinations. 
 
 " Oh, not a doubt of it," said the other, ignor- 
 ing the suggestion ; " and then I suppose it is not 
 always like this, dear Mrs. Vane ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 19 
 
 ' '' Like this ! " 
 
 " I mean, you have people to dinner, or com- 
 pany in the house sometimes." 
 
 " Oh yes ; for instance, dear Mrs. Hoffman, we 
 have you now." 
 
 "Yes," she answered, feeling solitary for a 
 moment and wondering involuntarily when the 
 next guest would arrive. " And then, I suppose, 
 Dudley talks more." 
 
 '' Oh yes ; when Mr. Tudor dines here he talks 
 a great deal to him." 
 
 "Can he? can any one talk much when Mr. 
 Tudor is with them. Dudley must be very 
 clever." 
 
 " Oh, he is." 
 
 " When he used to come to us in Hans Place 
 he talked more than this." 
 
 " Ah, then he was in love." 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman laughed softly. 
 
 " And now, I suppose, you will be having more 
 people ? " 
 
 " People ! " 
 
 " I am thinkinor of Maro;aret : she likes havingr 
 people round her." 
 
 " Yes ; perhaps one or two of my relations are 
 coming." 
 
 " Oh, that will be very nice. And then, of 
 
 C 2
 
 20 LAND ahead! 
 
 course, sucli perfect confidence exists between you 
 all by this time, that your friends are hers, and 
 her friends are yours.'' 
 
 " Exactly, dear Mrs. Hoffman. We are a most 
 united family." 
 
 ** Margaret has been so used to society of late." 
 
 *' Oh yes ; and the sad eflfect of seeing much 
 of society is that it does not exactly give happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " No, perhaps not. But it prevents our being 
 quite happy afterwards in solitude." 
 
 " But here, dear Mrs. Hofiman, she could never 
 be solitary ; our large family and happy arrange- 
 ments preclude that." 
 
 " Yes ; but still I could fancy, dear Mrs. Vane, 
 that my Margaret might not be quite satisfied 
 here. She is so clever, and that gives a sort of 
 hunger to which you and I, dear friend, are 
 strangers. ^La /aim chasse le hup du hois^ you 
 know. 
 
 " Is she so clever ? Dear Mrs. Hoffman, I am 
 going to say something very coarse, but you will 
 forgive me, I know. *.The swan of one house is 
 a goose in another.' Ah, there is coffee." 
 
 " Did you mean Dudley ? " 
 " No. Coffee. Now is it good ? Quite as you 
 like it ? Have you enough sugar ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 21 
 
 To Margaret Mrs. Hoffman showed nothing at 
 all of her fears for her amusement. She went all 
 over the place and house admiring everything, 
 finding or imagining new beauties till she tired 
 herself and every one else. She admired the 
 china, the pictures, the old armour, especially she 
 admired the Cupids to be seen on the cornices 
 and on every available corner of Froghambury, 
 and looked slily at Margaret as she noticed them. 
 
 Maroraret took all her admiration without com- 
 ment or complaint ; showed her the horses, and 
 drove her out ; introduced her to Mrs. Simeon, 
 and did all she could to amuse her. 
 
 The more she did, the more she talked and 
 smiled for her mother, the more Mrs. Vane 
 frowned. 
 
 At last one day Margaret found the carriage 
 forbidden, and going to Mrs. Vane, they had a 
 passage of arms on the subject. 
 
 Margaret was defeated, and, bursting into her 
 room, gave way to angry tears. 
 
 Mrs. Hoffman was sitting there. 
 
 " Why, Margaret, what is the matter ? " 
 
 So now the volcano had burst. 
 
 " I am very dull here, mother." 
 
 " Of course you are. But you are so foolis-h. 
 I have been watching you. You just let them
 
 22 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 make a peg in the wall of you, on wliicli they hang 
 their cloaks and their insults." 
 
 Margaret stared. 
 
 "Dudley is dull too, and does not help me." 
 
 " Of course not. Whoever expected him to ? 
 You must wait ever so long for him. ' II faut 
 attendre le boiteucc.'^* 
 
 " I am sure I do nothing but wait, mother," 
 said Margaret, passionately. " Am I not alone ? 
 In my painting, my music, my books, who have 
 I to take any interest now? Am I not alone? 
 and am I not always looking behind, waiting for 
 him ? '' 
 
 " It is hard," said Mrs. Hoffman, softly. 
 
 But she settled herself more comfortably in her 
 chair, and looked out over the park as she spoke. 
 
 " I have succeeded in a way," went on Margaret. 
 "At first I had only Fritz," — Mrs. Hofiman laughed, 
 but Margaret's face was quite grave, — " but now I 
 hunt and I drive, and I have made acquaintances, 
 and have reminded people of the existence of the 
 Vanes in quite an unprecedented way. No one 
 knew them before/' 
 
 " It was just about that I wanted to speak," 
 said Mrs. Hoffman, gently. "You must be 
 careful, dear. People are so ill-nalured; they 
 will say that you are fast, reckless, that you do not
 
 LAND ahead! 23 
 
 care for appearances, that you are making ducks 
 and drakes of the property." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 Some breaths of this sort had reached her, but 
 she had laughed at them as ridiculous. 
 
 " They will say you are unwomanly." 
 
 " Because my husband does nothing, am I to do 
 nothing too ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But that is just why I do it." 
 
 " Mrs. Vane will have powerful handles to use 
 against you, if you are not careful. I am glad I 
 came — if only to be of use to you in this. I shall 
 stay a little longer now, even if I put myself to 
 considerable inconvenience to do it." 
 
 Margaret sighed ; there would be no peace in 
 the house as long as her mother was there. Even 
 Dudley, she thought, was becoming a little 
 estranged from her, and was going over to the 
 other side. At last he came to her one day. 
 
 " I say, Margaret, how long is your mother 
 going to stay ? " 
 
 '* You had better ask her," retorted she. 
 
 She did not want to prolong the visit either, 
 but it irritated her to be asked about it in that 
 way. 
 
 " Because my mother is in a fury, and says she
 
 24 LAND ahead! 
 
 is no longer mistress here; that you and Mrs. 
 Hoffman are turning her out." 
 
 " Really ! " asked Margaret, interested. 
 
 "And that won't do, you know." 
 
 " How could we do it ? " asked she. 
 
 " It is very odd how people like Froghambury," 
 he went on conceitedly ; " when they once come 
 they never will go." 
 
 " Very odd. But I am quite ready for a move, 
 Dudley.'' 
 
 " Oh, you ! you would never be still if you 
 could help it." 
 
 After a time, when Mrs. Hoffman's position at 
 Froghambury became more assured, and she 
 seemed in fact to have taken root there, then 
 she made less scruple about showing her 
 feelings. 
 
 " I declare, Margaret," she said one day, ''it is 
 too bad. The clocks are all wrong, and nobody 
 cares. The paper doesn't come, and nobody cares* 
 I feel ready to cry." 
 
 " I think Castle Don't Care would be a good 
 name for Froghambury; don't you, mother?" 
 answered Margaret. 
 
 " And such waste in the grounds, and such 
 negligence. Do you just see how the place is 
 overgrown ? it is terrible. It will all be nothing
 
 LAND ahead! 25 
 
 but cover for foxes soon, I am sure. The garden 
 is dreadful." 
 
 " Mrs. Vane will not spend on it, mother." 
 
 " And so she has nothinof out of it. What 
 waste of good soil and labour. If that is not penny- 
 wise and pound foolish, I should like to know 
 what is 1" 
 
 " Your energy is dreadful, mother. Don't you 
 know that this is a land where it is always after- 
 noon ? " 
 
 Christmas was over lonor as^o with its dull 
 festivities, consistino: more in the doling^ out of 
 beef and mutton and in stuffinor the school-children 
 than in anything else ; the winter was giving way 
 now, the hunting was coming to an end, and 
 Maro-aret was dreadinoj the same terrible round of 
 spring, summer, and autumn once more. 
 
 Of the Chesters she had seen much, and the 
 more she saw of them the more she liked them ; 
 but there was many a weary mile between 
 Froghambury and Carlingsford, and the visits she 
 and Lorraine could pay to each other were few 
 and far between. 
 
 At last Maroraret fell ill. 
 
 " Sheer weariness, poor dear ; I know it is," 
 said her mother. " I am glad I am with her." . 
 
 In trath, weariness had a great deal to do with
 
 2Q LAND ahead! 
 
 it. Life seemed terrible in its monotony. One 
 day, to avoid it, she kept her bed ; the next, she 
 felt unable to get up. She was so pale and thin, 
 they were really alarmed for her. 
 
 " It is atrophy," said Mrs. Hoffman. 
 
 The doctors prescribed change. 
 
 A week after she was well enough to be moved, 
 and London was the first stage. They went to 
 Hans Place ; the lease had expired, and it was 
 Mrs. Hoffman's once more. 
 
 "Do you remember, mother, our first arrival 
 here from Germany ? " asked Margaret, as they 
 drove up. *^ Then I did not like it ; now I come 
 to it, oh ! so gratefully." 
 
 Dudley looked at her sharply. 
 
 Was his marriage a failure ? had that too got 
 defeat stamped upon it so soon?
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Industry is the natural state of man, and the perfection of his 
 nature is dependent on it; the progression which distinguishes him 
 from everything else in the material world is maintained by it alone. 
 — Faraday. 
 
 Is it not a well-known fact, urged by all the 
 faculty, that London is quite the worst place for 
 health ? Is not there a scarcity of air ? and what 
 air there is, is it not of a very bad kind ? Does 
 not the smoke come back to us, and do not our 
 poor lungs have a very hard struggle indeed for 
 existence ? If there is anything at all the matter 
 with us, are we not advised by the faculty to get 
 out of London as fast as we can ? There can be 
 no hope of cure, it says, as long as we are in that 
 tainted atmosphere. But no ; the faculty is but 
 human after all, and even the faculty therefore is 
 sometimes wrong. In Margaret's case, certainly, 
 it was very wrong. Mrs. Hoffman had been told 
 only to allow her daughter to stay there just long 
 enough to rest, and then to hurry her off to the
 
 28 LAND ahead! 
 
 sea as soon as possible. She wanted bracing, she 
 wanted all sorts of things, but the last thing she 
 did want was London. 
 
 The faculty was grievously wrong. London 
 was just what Margaret Vane did want. She 
 was dying of ennui. We will not call it a broken 
 heart, or of disappointment, it was simply bore- 
 dom. Disappointments there had been. 
 
 Froghambury was no paradise, but that she 
 had never expected ; her new relations were no 
 angels, but that she had known. But the prose 
 into which her life had settled she had not 
 expected ; the dull monotony of Dudley's character 
 she had not expected ; more than all, the enforced 
 idleness she had not expected. 
 
 She had dreamed of improving him, of raising 
 him, but there had met her a hopeless defeat ; he 
 would not be raised. Moreover, she could find 
 no lever to do it with ; and he was so heavy, it 
 was impossible to do it without a lever. 
 
 The flat, uninteresting desolation of her life 
 appalled her. But now in London it was difi'er- 
 ent. Interests met her on every side. Energy 
 brightened her life again. Hope animated it. 
 A future seemed possible. Her step grew light 
 again, her cheeks had colour, her eyes shone as
 
 LAND ahead! 29 
 
 of old, laughter rippled forth continually, and the 
 faculty looked on amazed. 
 
 Is not the human heart mysterious? Which 
 of them, wipe his spectacles as he would, could 
 say exactly in what ratio the mind acts on the 
 health of the body ? 
 
 " Oh no, Dudley, we will not go ; we must 
 stay here awhile. We have old friends to see, 
 quantities of things to do, then we will go to the 
 sea if you like." 
 
 But was he in a hurry, seeing her happy again ? 
 
 No ; for once more he had found the girl he 
 had so loved. The limp, uninteresting, dull 
 woman, whose face never changed, and whose 
 eye never brightened, had vanished. Here was 
 " Queen Daisy " again. 
 
 Plays to see, old friends to talk to ; this one's 
 picture to look at, that career to ask about ; some 
 histories to ask for, and some triumphs to hear ; 
 some applause to give, some sympathy and help 
 to bestow ; music to hear, old friendships to 
 renew — in short, how many broken threads of 
 life were there not to take up ? 
 
 And Dudley too was interested. He began to 
 think, " There must be something in it." 
 
 Margaret watched his growing interest.
 
 30 LAND ahead! 
 
 " He is awake at last," thought she. 
 
 He grew kinder, softer, more sympathetic as 
 he learnt. His waking was gradual, but it was 
 sincere. 
 
 He began to understand the advantage of 
 progress over standing still. He had thought 
 Froghambury was at the top of the hill, and 
 that he could not go higher. Margaret taught 
 him there were higher hills than Froghambury, to 
 which that even was but a hillock. 
 
 "And even, Dudley, if you stand there idle 
 so long, you will find yourself rolling down. 
 There is nothing to keep you up." 
 
 About that time Dudley noticed Mrs. Hoffman 
 and Margaret had long, grave conversations. 
 Dudley wondered what they were about. He 
 noticed too that Mrs. Hoffman seemed always to 
 be urging Margaret to take some step, which 
 apparently she disliked. Margaret too generally 
 after these talks wore a grave, anxious look. 
 
 " Are you tired of London, Dudley ? " asked 
 his wife, at last. 
 
 " No. Are you ? Shall we go to the 
 sea?" 
 
 Dudley was afraid to mention Froghambury 
 now. 
 
 " You would not like a trip to Paris ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 31 
 
 *' Yes. Anywhere in the world. I should like 
 that though, if you'll do the talking." 
 
 " Sure, Dudley ? " 
 
 She was touched by his ready acquiescence. 
 Afterwards he did not regret it. 
 
 It was another honeymoon, a happier, better 
 honeymoon. They knew each other better now ; 
 it was surer, more secure happiness. It was just 
 Easter time ; everything was coming out. Sweet 
 blossoms waved overhead, fragrant odours filled 
 the air. Everything was gay, radiant, joyous. 
 Existence seemed a holiday. Smiles seemed to 
 meet them everywhere, and laughter seemed to 
 be at every turn. 
 
 Dudley was amazed ^^that life abroad could be 
 so jolly." 
 
 At the little dinners at restaurants, at the play, 
 driving in the Bois, going to Versailles, walking 
 in the forest of Fontainebleau, with Margaret by 
 his side, full of laughter, full of play, Dudley 
 thought this could not be true, that it was too 
 good to be true, and that he should wake up 
 roughly some day. 
 
 So he did. Thus : — 
 
 Driving in the Bois, watching the gay crowd, 
 and mino-lino^ with it, the contrast between this-life 
 and that at Froghambury struck him suddenly.
 
 32 LAND ahead! 
 
 "Margaret, how shall we like Froghambury 
 after this ? When shall we go horae ? " 
 
 The grave, anxious look which Dudley had 
 noticed came into Margaret's eyes. 
 
 " Never, Dudley." 
 
 So that was it; that was the meaning of 
 the long talks between mother and daughter. 
 Margaret would not go back. 
 
 It was no use. Urge, plead, persuade, argue as 
 he might, Margaret would never share a divided 
 reign at Froghambury with Mrs. Vane again. 
 
 " I will sweep a crossing rather. I will take 
 to the stage rather. I will live anywhere — do 
 anything rather. But I must be free ; I must 
 have something, however small, to call my own.' 
 
 For a week Dudley held out. 
 
 There was no word on the subject, and 
 Margaret never tried to break the silence. Only 
 she was more gentle, if possible, more meek, more 
 piteous ; and she was waiting. 
 
 Did Dudley know how firm she could be ? 
 
 At last, one evening, quite late, — for in their 
 delightful Bohemian existence hours were not 
 regarded, — they were crossing the bridge behind 
 the Tuileries over the Seine, when Margaret laid 
 her hand on his arm, and stopped to look down 
 into the river.
 
 LAND ahead! 33 
 
 " How peaceful the water is," said she. 
 
 The moon was shining overhead. It shone on 
 her face and eyes ; it made long ripples of light 
 in the river below. 
 
 "I would rather throw myself down there 
 now, straight into it, and be at rest for ever, — 
 away from you, away from life, though we are 
 so happy now, — than take up with life again as 
 we left it at Froghambury." 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because I do nothing but fail there. I get 
 bad myself there, and I make you bad too." 
 
 There was a silecce of some minutes. 
 
 Margaret knew he was thinking. Which way 
 would it end ? 
 
 In the silence the Tuileries clock struck out — 
 eleven strokes. Would they never end ? Margaret 
 knew he would not speak till the clock had done. 
 
 " All right, old gal," said he, at last ; " you 
 ^hall have your way. We must write to my 
 mother." 
 
 " Thank you, Dudley." 
 
 "But you must write the letter, you know. 
 I'll just copy it." 
 
 The next day, in their little sitting-room at 
 the hotel " Meurice," the joint production was 
 penned. 
 
 VOL. III. D
 
 34 LAND ahead! 
 
 Margaret was sitting at the table, lier pen in 
 her hand, and with writing materials spread out 
 before her. Dudley, with his hands in his 
 pockets, was walking- up and down the room. 
 
 " Let me see," said she. " ' My dear mother,' 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes. My dear mother," echoed Dudley. 
 
 Then they looked at each other. 
 
 " I say, Margaret," said he, presently, stopping 
 in his walk, and standing still in front of her, 
 with his hands in his pockets, " don't let us 
 make it too serious ; let's write in a jokey sort of 
 way." 
 
 " Ah, well ! I don't quite know, Dudley." 
 
 Then she laid down her pen. 
 
 " ' Here we are in Paris,' " suggested he. 
 
 " She knows that." 
 
 "Yes; but it's a beginning; *and enjoying 
 ourselves immensely.' " 
 
 " I almost think it would be better to go to 
 the point at once." 
 
 " Let's hear." 
 
 " 'My dear mother, we have been talking over 
 things lately, and have come to the decision 
 that 
 
 "Good heavens! that is taking the bull by 
 the horns. But what have we decided ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 35 
 
 Margaret was silent. 
 
 " You see, old gal," said he, presently, " if you 
 are going at it like that I had rather you took it 
 upon your shoulders." 
 
 *' Well, let us hear your jokey way." 
 
 " ' My dear mother, here we are in Paris ' " 
 
 " She knows it." 
 
 " 'Enjoying ourselves immensely. Plays, din- 
 ners, driving ' " 
 
 " She will say w^e are ruining ourselves." 
 
 '' Oh, well ! leave out the dinners then." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " ' And we have come to the conclusion that 
 Froghambury is very dull' — and — what then, 
 Margaret ? " 
 
 "No, that won't do at all, Dudley. Look 
 here ! ' Maro-aret and I have been talkino; over 
 things lately, and I find that to be happy at 
 Froghambury we really must have a change 
 there.'" 
 
 " WeU ! go on." 
 
 " I shall wTite that. And then, listen, ' I v\'ish 
 to take my position there, and to be master ' " 
 
 " By George ! isn't that " 
 
 " Listen, to me. ' Margaret too must have some 
 interests and some responsibilities ; she wishes to 
 do her duty by the place as much as I do.' " 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LAND ahead! 
 
 Then she paused, thinking. Dudley watched 
 her anxiously. 
 
 " ' My Uncle Gilbert,' " she continued, " ' I am 
 sure, wished it. I do not think, my dear mother, 
 it was ever his wish that you should reside at 
 Froghambury, and you know one must respect 
 a dead man's wishes.' " 
 
 *' I wish you would write this in your name." 
 
 " So I will. No ; I won't. It will be of no 
 use from me. Of course I can say flatly I will 
 not return as long as your mother is mistress 
 there, as that is true, but I do not see the good 
 of saying it." 
 
 " No ; more do I." 
 
 '* You see, Dudley," said she, presently, laying 
 down her pen, and looking into his face, "how 
 unfair it is on both of us if your mother should 
 live there. If she took an interest in us, and 
 gave us interests, instead of cutting off all 
 possibility of any supply of them, then it would 
 be a different thing. But she cuts off from me 
 all work, all duties ; she would deny me all 
 amusement if she could; she does her best to 
 prevent me from having friends as it is. It is 
 like being put in a gilded cage, without food, or 
 water, or sunshine, and being told to enjoy 
 oneself. It is not fair on human life."
 
 LAND ahead! 37 
 
 " You know I am very well content. I don't 
 care for work." 
 
 " And you have no ambition ? " 
 
 '' Not much." 
 
 " Not even for freedom ? " 
 
 " Of course it w^ould be pleasanter without any 
 of them there." 
 
 "It is a most unrighteous act, I think, her 
 putting herself there. She has her money, 
 and so has Lilly ; why are they to live upon 
 you ? " 
 
 " She says she leaves us perfectly free ; you 
 particularly." 
 
 ''Yes; but that is mockery. Free, when 
 there is nothing to choose from. Kings without 
 territory. It narrows existence too frightfully." 
 
 " What would you have ? " 
 
 " I only want to be allowed to live my life. 
 I don't want to be tied down to little tiresome 
 rules of monotonous regularity of Mrs. Yane's 
 making, for no better reason than it is her 
 pleasure to be tyrant. I cannot show her all my 
 letters — they are about my friends' affairs more 
 than mine ; nor do I always care to show her 
 yours ; but still I had rather do that than have 
 her prying here and there, and treating me as a 
 conspirator. I do not care for a carriage and
 
 38 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 horses as a rule, but still sometimes I do want to 
 get over to Lady Chester ; and then jealous looks 
 are hard to bear, and to be told one is encroaching 
 on Mrs. Vane's position is harder still. I don't 
 want to be sent to Coventry for a week for being 
 late for luncheon, when perhaps I was sitting 
 with some sick woman, or else putting finishing 
 touches to a drawing. Ideas do not so often 
 strike me that I can afford to throw them away 
 recklessly. Oh, Dudley, those little annoyances 
 make up the sum of life." 
 
 " Poor old girl ! I don't understand you. I 
 know I am always ready enough for my food 
 when it comes ; the day w^ould be precious long 
 and dull without it. But you, I suppose, are 
 different." 
 
 " Oh, Dudley, one must do something. One 
 cannot live day after day in the country like 
 that, and feel at night you are no farther on 
 than you were in the morning. One must help 
 somebody. It is the only charm of existence. 
 Indeed, when one sees a duty before one, one 
 must do it. You don't see it, so you can't do 
 it." 
 
 *^ Good luck to it." 
 
 " Dudley, just you and I at Froghambury, we 
 should be so happy."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 39 
 
 *' Eeally now ! is that true ? Well I then let us 
 go on with the letter." 
 
 " Let me see. Where had I got to 1 Oh ! 
 * dead man's wishes.' " 
 
 " After all, Margaret, I can't copy all that ; 
 not, at least, if you are going on long. I do so 
 hate writing. Here, — it is no good beating about 
 the bush, — give it me ; besides, I have done my 
 pipe, and it would be so much jollier outside." 
 
 He took the letter from her. 
 
 His large hand-writing looked coarse and 
 untidy by the side of Margaret's. 
 
 "The long and short of it is, my dear Mrs. 
 Vane, I must ask you all, with my respectful 
 compliments, to turn out. I am sorry for it, old 
 lady, very. But Margaret will never come back 
 as long as you live there ; she tells me so, flat. 
 Of course you must come and stay with us, but 
 that will be quite a different thing. You see, as 
 Froghambury was left to me, and not to you, I 
 wish to live there ; and as she is my wife, I 
 must have her with me." 
 
 " Shall I send your love, old gal ? " taking his 
 pipe out of his mouth to speak. 
 
 " After that I am afraid it will not look very 
 sincere," said she, looking over his shoulder. - 
 
 "Oh, it will look better."
 
 40 LAND ahead! 
 
 " She sends her best love, and I remain your 
 affectionate son, 
 
 "Dudley Vane." 
 
 "Now don't let me hear any more about it. I 
 wonder how long she will take to go, and when 
 Froghambury will be ready for us." 
 
 Margaret could not help laughing, and she 
 began to think her husband was the strangest 
 mixture she had ever met. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, Dudley was looking 
 over his letters at breakfast, when he uttered an 
 exclamation of astonishment. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Margaret, with a sudden 
 pang at her heart. She thought of course that it 
 was Mrs. Vane's answer. She had hardly slept 
 since they wrote ; she was continually imagining 
 all sorts of horrors. Now they had come. Was 
 it likely that a shrewd, ambitious woman like 
 Mrs. Vane would give up in a moment the 
 scheme of years ? would she leave a comfortable 
 home where she had attained a certain position, 
 and where she lived on her son, instead of spend- 
 ing her own jointure ? 
 
 " A foreign letter," said Dudley. 
 
 '' Eh ! of course, since you are in Paris. Who 
 is it from ? " 
 
 "Just look at the postmarks. It has come
 
 LAND ahead! 41 
 
 from Berlin to Frogliambury, and from Frogham- 
 bury to London, and from London to " 
 
 *' Let me look." 
 
 He gave it to her. 
 
 Margaret did not waste time over the post- 
 marks ; she looked at the writing. 
 
 " It is from Valentin von Broderode," said she 
 quietly, giving it back to her husband. 
 
 '* Is it ? how sharp you are." 
 
 Then he proceeded to read it. 
 
 " I say, Margaret, here's a joke ! He is coming 
 to England, and proposes to come and see us at 
 Froghambury. What shall we do if we are not 
 there ? " 
 
 " But, Dudley, we shall be there some time, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose so." 
 
 *' When is he coming ? " 
 
 " Next month ; there's his letter. He says it's 
 a year and two months since he saw us. How 
 time flies." 
 
 " It seems to me like a hundred years. But 
 we must put him off, Dudley." 
 
 "Oh no ; write and say we are going home." 
 
 *'Yes; write and say we are here, but that 
 
 when we do go home We need not say 
 
 anything about Mrs. Vane."
 
 
 42 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 '•' You write, Margaret." 
 
 " How lazy you are, Dudley," said slie, with 
 vexation in her tone. 
 
 " You write a letter in half the time I do." 
 
 " But he is your friend.' 
 
 " He used to be yours.' 
 
 " He was yours first I am sure." 
 
 " How do you make tha;t out ? " 
 
 '' He saved your life." 
 
 " Margaret," said he, turning to her suddenly, 
 " we ought to be very civil to him." 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 " I don't think we have been very civil to 
 him." 
 
 " I think you had better write to him, 
 Dudley." 
 
 '' So I will" 
 
 The old dream began to come back to her that 
 she had once dreamed so well, how those two 
 were to be the nearest, the dearest friends to 
 each other as Ions; as life should last. Valentin 
 could improve Dudley so much ; Dudley might 
 worship again as he did at first. 
 
 She finished cracking her egg as she thought so. 
 
 '' Oh ! " said Dudley, suddenly ; " and here is 
 a letter from my mother." 
 
 Margaret sat speechless.
 
 LAXD AHEAD ! 43 
 
 " You don't say anything." 
 
 " What does she say, Dudley ? " 
 
 " My goodness ! we have done it." 
 
 " Dudley, — My heart would be broken, did I 
 not know that it is not your doing, but hers. 
 How false she is ! 'Fancy sending me her love, 
 as she fells me to the ground. Some day, my 
 poor foolish boy, you will find out how false she 
 is. We are packing and going. Froghambury 
 is yours ; inhuman couple. * Ingratitude ! thou 
 marble-hearted fiend ; more hideous when thou 
 show'st thee in a child than the sea-monster.' 
 
 "Hexrietta Vane." 
 
 "Well, those are the first words of poetry I 
 ever heard your mother say ! " 
 
 " Are they poetry ? deuced uncomfortable ones. 
 What shall we do, Margaret ? " 
 
 "We might write and tell her not to hurry. 
 Oh, here is a P.S. from Lilly over the leaf. 
 'Mother says I'm to say we're packing and 
 going — abroad ; and that she feels how " sharper 
 than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless 
 child." ' " 
 
 " Is that poetry too, Margaret ? " 
 
 " Yes ; mad King Lear says them."
 
 44 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Does lie ? oh, tlieii he was mad, Margaret ? " 
 
 " He became so. I think he must have been 
 decidedly * foolish ' to begin with. Oh, but here 
 is another P.S. * It's awful fun our going away, 
 Dudley. So glad you made a row. It is dull at 
 Froghambury. You know I can't sleep as mother 
 does.' " 
 
 " It may turn out for the best after all, 
 Margaret," said he, as visions of a possible 
 husband for Lilly crossed his fraternal brain. 
 
 " Yes ; it may. I think I would write though, 
 Dudley, and tell them not to hurry." 
 
 ^' It doesn^t much matter. She won't hurry. 
 And she'll spread awful reports about you." 
 
 " Will she ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; she'll say it's all your doing ; and 
 she'll make out you are ruining the family, and 
 that you are not fit to live with, and so on." 
 
 " After all, Dudley, I do not care for that. So 
 long as I can do something with my life worth 
 doing, I do not care what people say about it." 
 
 " But I'll tell her not to hurry."
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of care ; 
 
 Tlie panting herds repose ; 
 Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! — Gray. 
 
 It was a holiday at Froghambury. The great 
 gates of the park had been thrown open, and 
 from far and near rich and poor had gathered 
 on the scene. 
 
 Dudley and Margaret had returned. She thus 
 began her reign. 
 
 Another guest too was there whom Margaret 
 did not expect. Valentin von Broderode, just 
 arrived in England, had hastened at once to 
 Froghambury. 
 
 When he saw the merry crowds, the games, 
 the dance, he threw himself impatiently from his 
 slowly advancing carriage, which seemed to him 
 as though it would never top the hill, and, 
 mingling with the groups, he looked on the
 
 46 LAND ahead! 
 
 scene with wondering curiosity. To him it was 
 incredible, marvellous. 
 
 " This Froghambury is a paradise. Is all this 
 power hers ? No wonder she had married 
 Dudley. Beside this, no wonder his love had 
 paled, had seemed tame, insipid, worthless." 
 
 Standing there, leaning on the stone balustrade, 
 with richly-dressed ladies, fair girls, and gay 
 young men around her, Margaret gazed, well 
 content, on the pageant below. At her side stood 
 the candidate for the pending county election ; 
 just beyond was his brother. Lord Brockton of 
 Lees. To them the scene was full of interest. 
 They watched anxiously the human tide, noting 
 well the labours of their supporters and of their 
 foes. The ebb and flow was seen easily by a 
 practised eye. Just below, on the broad gravelled 
 walk, the crowd of idlers lounged up and dqwn* 
 looking with pardonable curiosity up to the group 
 above them, and scanning their faces as thouojh 
 they were looking on superior beings. Here 
 some one moving swiftly by, roughly roused 
 them from their admiration ; there some word of 
 political meaning drew their attention from their 
 idle scrutiny. 
 
 On the wide green terrace below, the steps 
 were becoming faster and faster ; the musicians
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 47 
 
 were catching tlie infection, and all were hurrying 
 with more frolic than with just measure and 
 dignity through the mazes of the dance. The 
 l)right colours of the girls' dresses glinted gaily 
 in the evening sunshine, while the lights and 
 shades seemed to play coquettishly with their 
 smiling faces and swift movements. 
 
 Away, beyond all these, beyond the gay 
 dresses and the moving crowd, below the wide 
 terrace, and far from the white tents and flaunt- 
 ing flags, lay the river ; this evening it seemed to 
 sleep in its quiet vale. The sunlight did not 
 touch it ; it was hidden away, sheltered and as 
 though soothed to sleep by the great overhanging 
 bouorhs. The murmur of the waterfall is silenced 
 too ; just there you catch the white foam through 
 the waving leaves, like passion tumbling away 
 into the limbo of space. 
 
 And the opposite hill is in shade — quiet, dark, 
 peaceful, long-lying green shade ; the trees on 
 the top seem sentinels on the w^atch to guard 
 the vale from harm. The evening breeze scarce 
 stirs their tops ; to the terrace it comes lightly 
 whispering, just enough to lift a feather here, 
 or a curl there, or to raise the passing colour on 
 some beauty's check. Out in the distance, how- 
 ever, in the far-stretching valley beyond, lies the
 
 48 LAND ahead! 
 
 glorious sunlight ; like an emerald shines the 
 grass, and the willows nodding by the blue 
 water's edge seem to bask in it resplendent. 
 Pure, shining, glorious ; a picture of brilliant 
 gladness, of joyful rest; light after darkness, 
 rest after toil, heaven after the murmurs, unrest, 
 efibrt, and unsatisfying joy of earth. 
 
 Something of this passed through Margaret's 
 mind ere she brought back her gaze to the 
 moving crowd below. 
 
 " Margaret, an old friend has come whom you 
 will be glad to see." 
 
 It was her husband's voice. She turned 
 quickly, and the little group around her made 
 room for the new-comer. It was Valentin. 
 
 " You ! " said she gladly, putting out both 
 hands. " I am glad indeed." 
 
 Her unembarrassed greeting hurt him more 
 than the triumph which he had been picturing 
 to himself. 
 
 " Who is he ? " whispered the group to each 
 other. 
 
 His handsome face, his foreign manner excited 
 attention. 
 
 " Who is he 1 " asked Lorraine in Margaret's 
 ear. 
 
 " An old friend of mine and of Dudley's. He
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 49 
 
 was with us abroad. He saved my liusband's 
 life. Let me introduce him." 
 
 So Lady Chester talked to Valentin in 
 German. 
 
 Looking at him there, he seemed to bring a 
 wave from the ocean of the past to Margaret. 
 Had she dared she would have told him he had 
 started into her sight like a spirit of the 
 past. 
 
 ''lam glad you have come to-day," said she 
 presently to him, leaning over the balustrade 
 with him by her side. 
 
 '' Why ? to see your triumph ? " 
 
 '' To see the dawn of my new life. Is it not a 
 bright one ? " 
 
 They were looking on the gay crowds together. 
 
 He hardly understood her. He had thought 
 her life at Froghambury had been always this. 
 For him, the spectres of a disenthroned mother- 
 in-law, and a now far-distant Uncle Teddy, did 
 not exist. 
 
 "You told me it would be this. I knew — I 
 expected — and is it happiness ? " 
 
 " Happiness I oh yes ; and there is the good 
 hope of making others happy too." 
 
 He was silent. Meanwhile the human wave 
 ebbed and flowed below. 
 
 VOL. III. E
 
 50 LAND ahead! 
 
 '* And this election ? Your husband will be 
 chosen, as you said ? '' 
 
 Marfjaret blushed. 
 
 *'No; not this time, Valentin. You are in 
 too great a hurry ; Eome was not built in a day. 
 "We have been abroad. I am but now beginning. 
 Dudley did not stand — did not wish " 
 
 " I see," said he. 
 
 But he did not. 
 
 What was it like when the last strains of music 
 had died out, when everybody had gone away, 
 and those three were alone ? 
 
 The great rooms, the many servants, the 
 beautiful house, the many pictures and lovely 
 things scattered about, the shaded lights, and 
 Margaret beautiful as ever, even more beautiful, 
 as more self-possessed, and as the moving spirit 
 of it all, made it fairyland for Valentin. 
 
 But what was it for him as the days went 
 on ? Bitter, terrible disappointment. Why, what 
 had he expected ? Was not Dudley kind, ever 
 present, solicitous for his amusement ? Was 
 not Margaret gay, light-hearted, clever, kind 
 as ever ? Was not Mr. Tudor at hand ? Were 
 there not neighbourly meetings too, to amuse 
 him ; parties both in the day-time and in the 
 evening, where Lady Lorraine and Margaret
 
 LAND ahead! 51 
 
 were the reigning queens, and where both had 
 smiles for him ? Av, smiles ! But was that all ? 
 Had Marsjaret's interest, had Maro:aret's feeling: 
 died down to that — a smile, a laugh, a merry 
 jest ? Were they all ? Had she really thus ful- 
 filled her ideal ? had she really learned to love this 
 man ? Always her eyes, her hopes, her thoughts 
 seemed fixed on him and his happiness. Was 
 she really content ? 
 
 And she was not worthy of him. Had she 
 really fallen to his level ? Were house and 
 dinners, and horses and dogs, and poultry and 
 cricket all she could care for ? Was never the 
 sound of music heard ? Were all the arts for- 
 ojotten ? Save for that OTeat do2f, who seemed to 
 be her familiar spirit, she seemed to have no 
 eyes, no heart but for Dudley. 
 
 " Can one desrrade oneself so ? " thouo;ht he. 
 
 In truth he was impatient of her apparent 
 success. Above all, his self-love was wounded 
 that he should be forgotten. 
 
 One day, weary and ill at ease, and finding him- 
 self alone m the gallery, he sat down to the piano, 
 and sang one song that Margaret used to like. 
 
 She was crossing the hall at the time, but 
 hearing it, she stopped suddenly. It brought a 
 flood of tender recollections to her. 
 
 E 2
 
 52 JAND ahead! 
 
 She opened the door into the gallery wider, and 
 stood there listening. 
 
 A great mirror hung on the wall. Valentin 
 saw her standing there, but he sang on. 
 
 What was it that the song brought to her ? 
 Why did the tears gather in her eyes ? What 
 was in the mist before her ? What did she see as 
 she stood there ? What tenderness came over her 
 and unmanned her so suddenly ? 
 
 It was the tender dream of her youth that 
 came back to her ; it was the whisper of the 
 glory with which she had once crowned life ; it 
 was the hopes she had found false, the love she 
 had abjured ; it was her own youthful faith for 
 which the tears gathered so fast ; it was com- 
 passion for herself, regret for the vanished dream 
 that held her spell-bound there. 
 
 If she had known then what reality was, what 
 life was Alas ! songs are poetry, life is prose ! 
 
 A step behind her made her start. It was 
 Dudley. 
 
 *' AYhat are you doing here ? " asked he. 
 
 " Listen, Dudley," said she, putting up her 
 hand. " That is one of the old songs. Do you. 
 remember it ? " 
 
 " Can't say I do. But then I have no ear ; no 
 more than Fritz."
 
 LAND ahead! 53 
 
 " I am not sure that Fritz has not an ear." 
 
 Dudley went into the gallery, and Margaret 
 slipped away. But Valentin had seen her tears ; 
 he was half content. 
 
 " Where is your wife ? " asked he, carelessly. 
 
 " She has gone to her boudoir." 
 
 " Where is that ? " 
 
 ''Like to see it?" 
 
 "Yes ; as I helped to furnish it, I should." 
 
 *' She said that was one of the old songs you 
 used to sing." 
 
 " Did she ? I dare say it is ; I have not learnt 
 many new ones." 
 
 Margaret meanwhile had slipped away. The 
 sonor had made her dream. 
 
 " Oh, Fritz," said she, as she came into her 
 room, and stood looking at the great dog who lay 
 on the rug, and flapped his tail lazily at her 
 cominof, lookins: at her with dumb devotion, " if 
 you could only sing, it would be so nice ; or if 
 Dudley would sing, or just if somebody would do 
 somethin2 ; it is dreadful to be alone." 
 
 Fritz got up and came to her. 
 
 "No; I am not alone, I know; I am ungrate- 
 ful to say so. But, Fritz, you cannot sing ; you 
 know you can't. How does my picture look 
 to-day 1 "
 
 54 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 She went to the easel, and turned the picture 
 facing her. 
 
 A simple subject : two children sitting under a 
 chestnut tree, making daisy chains. The flicker- 
 iDg light played on them ; some old people sitting 
 on a bench looked on and laughed. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and Dudley brought 
 in Valentin. • 
 
 " He said I might come," said Valentin, looking 
 at her narrowly. 
 
 *' Surely, you have every right. To you I am 
 indebted for half the pretty things here." 
 
 " Did you like them ? How well I remember 
 going to buy that with your mother. And that 
 table, did you like it ? " 
 
 He scrutinized everything. It brought back to 
 his memory a time full of doubt and pain. 
 
 " But this cabinet ? ^' asked he, suddenly. ** We 
 did not buy that." 
 
 " No ; it was in the house. Dudley put it in 
 my room." 
 
 *' Ah ! I thought not. It is too valuable. 
 Fond as I am of antiquities, I should never have 
 dared. Have you any more like it ? " 
 
 " There is one in Sir Gilbert's room, I believe," 
 said Dudley. '* I have a faint recollection of it. 
 But the room has never been opened since his
 
 LAND ahead! 55 
 
 death. If you are not afraid of gliosts we might 
 go and see." 
 
 " I am not afraid of ghosts," said Valentin. 
 
 " I have never been inside the room," said 
 Margaret ; *' I have always thought it was a sort 
 of Bluebeard's chamber." 
 
 " Will you both come with me if I go and get 
 the key ? " asked Dudley. 
 . " Certainly," said Valentin. 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret. 
 
 Dudley went away, and Valentin, with his face 
 turned from Margaret, "still scrutinized the pic- 
 tures, the china, the furniture. 
 
 He was thinking of her tears ; he was sure now 
 she only wore a mask. 
 
 '^ And so you liked the room ? " 
 
 " Yes. I have often thanked you for this 
 pretty nest. It was like coming home, when I 
 could not arrange the rest of the house as I 
 wished." 
 
 Her tone was totally free, quite unembarrassed. 
 
 Then he came to the picture. 
 
 " And so you paint still ? " asked he, astonished. 
 
 ^^^Vhynot?" 
 
 " I thought — I did not know you cared for 
 anything except your country life. I thought 
 that all t/mt was forgotten."
 
 56 LAND ahead! 
 
 " It could never be really forgotten witli me/' 
 said she. Then she added in a lower voice, " It 
 is my life." 
 
 " And poetry and music ? " asked he ; " are 
 those your life still ? " 
 
 " Yes ; as much as ever. But that part of my 
 life is solitary, and I find it must be so. I used 
 to think that all art required sympathy, con- 
 geniality ; but now I have learnt differently. 
 Art herself gives the sympathy which I used to 
 think was necessary for her worship." 
 
 " Are you speaking the truth ? " 
 
 " Yes ; " but she turned away from him as she 
 spoke. " But I find I am two women. The 
 working-woman, who is busy about art, truth, 
 beauty, energy, work, success — life in fact with 
 all its seriousness and earnestness ; and the other 
 woman busy about her husband and her friends, 
 about folly and frivolity, whose foolishness 
 amuses them. With this last woman you have 
 to do." 
 
 "But if I prefer the other? That other, you 
 know, is my old friend." 
 
 Margaret looked at him questioningly. 
 
 " It might be better for you to forget," stam- 
 mered she. 
 
 " But if I cannot forget, no more than you
 
 LAND ahead! 57 
 
 can ? Margaret, throw away that hideous mask 
 you have worn before me of late. Do you think 
 I did not see your tears just now ? " 
 
 ^' Tears ! " repeated she, astonished. 
 
 " Yes ; when I sang that old song of 
 ours " 
 
 "Ah!" 
 
 Then they were both silent for a moment. 
 
 "Valentin," said she at last, gravely, ^^you 
 mistook." 
 
 " I am mistaken ? " 
 
 He started away angrily. 
 
 " My dear friend," said she, smiling sadly, " the 
 tears came, I know not w^hy; they came, I 
 thinlc " 
 
 " Now be true, Margaret, to your own self at 
 least." 
 
 "They came I think for that poor own self. 
 The words and the tones brought back to me the 
 folly of years ago " 
 
 "Folly!" 
 
 " The foolish dreams, the more foolish faith, 
 the proud self-confidence, the idle self-love. They 
 came too for the pain the waking cost. Have you 
 not learnt all that yet, Valentin ? But perhaps 
 you were not so foolish as I — 
 
 
 " I do not understand what you mean
 
 5S LAND ahead! 
 
 " That confounded key ! " said Dudley, bursting 
 in ; "I have been all this time finding it. Did 
 you think I was never coming ? " 
 
 "No. All right, Dudley. May Fritz come 
 too ? " 
 
 ^' Hell have his own way, I suppose." 
 
 " Then of course he will come." 
 
 All along the corridor, then down the steps, 
 through the winding passage, and when they 
 came to the door they lowered their voices, none 
 knew why. What a cold, damp feeling there 
 was in the room ! What a dim mysterious light 
 came through the chinks of the shutters ! What 
 weird shadows seemed to shrink fearfully away as 
 Dudley undid the bars and let in the honest light 
 of day! 
 
 There stood the old tester bed, with its faded 
 hangings, there was the inlaid work on it, and 
 the canopy, with the crest and the armorial bear- 
 ings, getting faint and dim. 
 
 There, close by the great fire-place, was the old 
 arm-chair. 
 
 " Oh, I wish he were alive still," said Margaret. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Dudley. 
 
 " Because I am sure he was kind and just, and 
 I should have liked to have known him." 
 
 " You are not worldly," said Valentin.
 
 LAND ahead! 59 
 
 There was the old oak chest, which had been 
 for years untold in that same place. There was the 
 old cupboard, there the tall glass, with its gilded 
 frame, and there in the corner was the cabinet 
 which they had come to see. 
 
 " There it is,'' said Dudley, carelessly. 
 
 " Ah, it is indeed," said Valentin, enthusiasti- 
 cally. '' What a gem it is ! May I open it ? " 
 
 " Oh, open as much as you like." 
 
 The drawers were all empty ; he might open 
 them all safely. 
 
 How beautifully it was inlaid ; how rare the 
 workmanship. 
 
 " It beats the one in your room. Why do you 
 not have it instead, or as well ? " 
 
 " May I, Dudley ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Look ; he is like a child 
 with a new toy. What madness it is. It is like 
 Margaret over her old pots and pans. The uglier 
 and older the china is, the more she likes it. I 
 tell you what, old fellow, I had much rather do 
 with it, instead of putting it in Margaret's room, 
 where there is not a corner for anything more." 
 
 " What ? " asked Valentin, looking up at him 
 and putting out his arm as though to shield it 
 from some proposed sacrilege of the Goths and 
 of Dudley.
 
 60 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 '* Why ! give it to you ! " 
 
 '* Give it to me ? " 
 
 "Yes ; you seem to like it." 
 
 " Like it ! But this is an heir-loom." 
 
 " Heir-loom, indeed ! They are all over the 
 house, and fusty things they are. That grate is 
 an heir-loom, I suppose, and so is the chair." 
 
 " What does your wife say ? " 
 
 " Do have it, Valentin." 
 
 " Yes ; do take it, old fellow. It may grace 
 your castle near Berlin, and will be a souvenir of 
 your English friends. Do take it. It may be a 
 curiosity too over there. Here we have lots of 
 them." 
 
 ''But you don't know what you are giving 
 me ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I do. We will have it packed care- 
 fully and sent over." 
 
 Valentin was profuse with his gratitude. 
 
 " It will grace my collection of odjets cTart 
 indeed. It will be the most valued of all my 
 valuables." 
 
 " I am so glad it will be appreciated," said 
 Dudley. " It is a curious thing." 
 
 " It is a beautiful thing," said Valentin, " and 
 a thing of beauty is a joy for ever." 
 
 "I say, old gal," said Dudley later to his
 
 LAND ahead! 61 
 
 wife, "you did not mind my giving it to 
 him ? " 
 
 '' Mind, no ; I am delighted. He seemed so 
 pleased. And he really seems to value the gift 
 so much." 
 
 *' What a fuss he will make about packing it 
 properly." 
 
 " Yes ; we must get some one down from 
 London to do it all right, and send it for him." 
 
 "Yes; I will see to it." 
 
 So the golden days sped on. May glided 
 away, and June came in all the blazing glory of 
 his majesty. 
 
 Valentin, sitting there in the great hall amid 
 the old books, or lost in dreams about the old 
 pictures as the loving light of heaven poured on 
 them, would see Margaret pass to and fro before 
 him. 
 
 Or now it was her voice he listened to, giving 
 some order, or speaking some kindly word. Or 
 she sang to the great organ in the gallery, deem- 
 ing herself alone. It thrilled through Valentin, 
 as he would sit thinking there. 
 
 Or now he watched her from the terrace, 
 tending her flowers ; moving amidst them, she 
 seemed the fairest flower herself, to whom iill 
 turned as to their sun. And not the flowers
 
 62 LAND ahead! 
 
 only, but the poor people, the dumb animals, all 
 nature seemed to turn to Margaret and there 
 find solace and comfort. She seemed to breathe 
 happiness around, and on her brow was content- 
 ment written. 
 
 And with the rest Dudley turned to her too. 
 
 Valentin alone seemed left out. 
 
 He noticed how she was for ever throwing him 
 with Dudley, how in the evening when they were 
 sitting on the terrace under the stars, how she 
 would glide away, and would go and sing to 
 herself. 
 
 i\.t length one day, finding her sitting alone by 
 the fountain in the shade, with Fritz by her side 
 and a book on her knee, he said to her — 
 
 " You like to be alone, Queen Daisy ? " 
 
 *' I am a great deal alone, Valentin ; neces- 
 sarily so." 
 
 " But why ? " 
 
 '* Dudley does not care very much about the 
 things I care for. I cannot help it. But he is 
 very kind. And I am very happy. Only of 
 course I am a great deal alone. He is out so 
 much. He knows the farmers about, and they 
 amuse him." 
 
 ** But I care for the things you care for." 
 
 *' Ah yes ; I know."
 
 LAND ahead! 63 
 
 " Margaret, I do not think you are quite right 
 yet about this life of yours. You say you are 
 contented, and indeed you seem so." 
 
 " I am content. I am progressing. Is not that 
 content ? " 
 
 " You set yourself a task. But to me there 
 is too much of task- work about it, not enough 
 heart-service. You do things because they are 
 right, not because you love them. You keep half 
 your life a closed book from Dudley, because you 
 think it would not interest him, and you set 
 yourself up on a pedestal. Take care that you 
 do not climb so hicrh that he miorht not care to 
 follow you, but might seek his amusements with 
 his farmers and such associates he can find at 
 hand." 
 
 " What would you have me do ? " 
 
 " Let us all see that closed book. I would not 
 have you put it away on a shelf, and give up art 
 and all the enjoyment it gives you, lest you too 
 might fall to a lower level, — a level where Dudley 
 is content, — but admit others to your sanctuary." 
 
 Margaret was silent. 
 
 The advice was subtle. 
 
 But her mind was busied with one sentence in 
 it. Had she in fact set herself too high ? might 
 Dudley some day not care to follow ? In truth,
 
 64 LAND ahead! 
 
 he did frequent the farmers' company much more 
 than at first, and Mr. Tudor had thrown out hints 
 which she had not noticed at the time, but which 
 now recurred to her mind with strange force. 
 What, after all, if she should not be succeeding 
 as she thought ? 
 
 The fountain splashed on, and threw out its 
 darts of flame in the sunshine. 
 
 Valentin watched her face. 
 
 " Are you coming, oh serpent," said she with 
 sudden gaiety, "to dash the happiness of my 
 Eden from my hand ? " 
 
 *'You often push away a disagreeable subject 
 like that," said he, sullenly. " It is rather mean, 
 I think." 
 
 " Well, you shall come to my sanctuary, then 
 — and Dudley too. But I forewarn you — it is 
 very dull." 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and he walked with her 
 to the house. 
 
 Outside the little garden door he stopped her, 
 standing facino: her. 
 
 " One word, Margaret. Answer me truly. Are 
 you happy ? " 
 
 Behind her the flowers blazed, the trees nodded, 
 the birds darted swiftly about. Behind that, 
 again, the park rolled away into the blue distance.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 65 
 
 She seemed to him a priestess holding a scroll. 
 From the word she should speak his life would 
 be coloured. 
 
 For a moment her hand rested on Fritz's head, 
 for a moment her eye met his unshrinkingly. 
 
 " Perfectly, thoroughly happy. Valentin, how 
 can you ask ? " 
 
 He turned away . His heart felt bitter, scorched, 
 wounded. 
 
 " Perfectly, thoroughly happy ! " 
 
 But he did not believe it. 
 
 VOL. HI. F
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 We may not make this world a Paradise 
 By walking it together with clasped hands, 
 And eyes that meeting feed a double strength. 
 
 Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Sometimes hath the brightest day a cloud ; 
 And after summer evermore succeeds 
 Barren winter, with his wrathful, nipping cold ; 
 So cares and joys abound, as seasons fleet. 
 
 Second Part of Henry VI., Act ii. Sc. 4. 
 
 An earthly Paradise indeed ! 
 
 Margaret shut herself up no longer in her 
 "sanctuary," as Valentin had jestingly called it; 
 she saw no longer need to be solitary ; it had been 
 a mistaken idea. 
 
 " One should never leave people at their own 
 level ; one should raise them higher, if it may be 
 possible." 
 
 She left the chrysalis state ; she shone in all 
 the glorious splendour of the butterfly. 
 
 Songs, painting, poetry gave the hours wings; 
 they vanished, and suddenly waking to their flight,
 
 LAND ahead! 67 
 
 Margaret and Valentin would ask whitlier had 
 they gone. 
 
 Dreams — dreamed as Valentin rowed her on the 
 lake, or as the boat crept along almost silently, 
 — and gorgeous fancies swept across their sky; 
 visions of earthly glory, half divine, to be wrought 
 by art ; images wherein Valentin's thoughts, 
 peopled with half the myths and the presences of 
 old poetic classic lore, painted pictures for her, 
 only too entrancing, only too beautiful. 
 
 In those early summer days the air was heavy 
 with fragrance, all nature seemed to breathe love. 
 Margaret and Valentin looked on and listened. 
 
 Was there no poison in it ? Were the darting 
 swift, or the changing reflections in the lake, or 
 the magnificent sweep of the beautiful trees, or 
 the myriad life filling the air around them, or 
 the splendour of sky or flower, all that Valentin 
 marked ? 
 
 As he poured forth his brilliant fancies in 
 Margaret's ear, as he noted her brightening eye 
 and flushing cheek, as he heard her eager answers, 
 were those all he thought of ? Did not his memory 
 go back, with sudden fierce, impotent longing, to 
 the days at Sonnenthal so sweetly spent ? Why 
 had their beauty faded thus ? 
 
 And yet Margaret was more wonderful to him 
 
 F 2 
 
 \
 
 68 LAND ahead! 
 
 now than she was then. Now it came to him 
 often suddenly that she did not care for him. 
 Then she had cared ; he had taught her, as it were ; 
 he had opened her eyes, and she had seen all as he 
 saw it, and loved all because he did. Now she 
 saw with her own eyes ; and those eyes were 
 always fixed on the blue distance, or on the blue 
 sky, or on some picture, not on his face, as of old ; 
 and her ear was strained to catch some harmony, 
 not the tones of his voice, as of old. 
 
 "Is it possible ? " he would say to himself 
 bitterly. 
 
 Suddenly Margaret roused herself from this 
 dreamland. Inaction was abhorrent to her 
 nature. If she had no work immediately on hand, 
 she must have amusement. Dudley, she thought, 
 wanted stirring. The neighbourhood wanted to be 
 amused. And she and Valentin, she fancied, 
 mig;ht as well have somethino^ to do. 
 
 " Dudley says I may," said she, playfully, one 
 morning at breakfast. 
 . "AVhat?" asked Valentin. 
 
 '' Live again ; I mean act." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 So did Dudley ; and the latter touched his fore- 
 head significantly, as though he would say Margaret 
 was a little gone in that quarter.
 
 LAXD ahead! G9 
 
 '' We have got our play all ready," said she. 
 
 Dudley started. 
 
 " Have you ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. Scenes — casket scenes from the 
 ' Merchant of Venice ; ' easy as possible : an old 
 dream of mine. And the Powyses always pro- 
 mised to play them. Then Mr. Wemyss is sure to 
 have a new play he wants to see on the stage, 
 and Orford Ellis will only be too glad to help him. 
 I shall vvrite to-day. I wonder if Lady Lorraine 
 would act. We mio;ht have it the beoinnino: of 
 Julv, I should think ? " 
 
 " What shall I do ? " asked Dudley. 
 
 '•' Oh, you must receive the people. Somebody 
 must do that." 
 
 " And I ? " 
 
 " I don't see why you should not play Bassanio. 
 You are the best looking," and she examined his 
 features critically, as though he were a picture or 
 a statue. 
 
 " I am not sure whether my leave may not be 
 up by that time," said he, getting up angrily from 
 the table. 
 
 But Margaret was as good as her word. Pre- 
 parations began in earnest. Lady Lorraine said 
 she would like to feel young again, and to -act 
 once more. She would get some lessons in
 
 70 LAND ahead! 
 
 London, and would work up " Nerissa " with all 
 her might. Miss Powys would play Jessica. 
 Valentin too would play Bassanio. As for the 
 rest, "Margaret's professionals," as she called them, 
 were they not always willing to try their hands at 
 anything ? and of course Mr. Wemyss and Orford 
 Ellis had a little something which they would be 
 delighted to play, with a little help from the 
 honourable lady, the lessee of the theatre. 
 
 The country-side was in a ferment at the news. 
 No "theatricals" .had ever been seen in the 
 neighbourhood before. Was Lady Vane really 
 clever enough to act ; and Shakspere too ! But then 
 
 perhaps her antecedents were By the by, 
 
 what were her antecedents ? 
 
 There was something forward, unfeminine in 
 a lady's acting ; Shakspere too I were they not 
 right ? 
 
 Then came the news that Lady Chester was 
 going to act too. Oh dear I was it true ? was it 
 really true ? 
 
 And would every one be asked ? Would the 
 invitations be managed properly, according to 
 people's proper rank and position, and according 
 to the time they had been in the county ? 
 
 Lady Vane, a new-comer, and half a foreigner^ 
 might forget that.
 
 LAND ahead! 71 
 
 So they talked and fretted, and hoped and 
 feared amonor themselves. 
 
 As for Valentin, he paced up and down the 
 terrace at Froghambury with a pocket Shakspere, 
 and quoted his "Bassanio'* till nearly every 
 servant in the house knew the part as well as he 
 did. 
 
 " Did ever any one hit on anything so engross- 
 ing to occupy a stray guest before ? " asked Mar- 
 garet of Fritz, as she watched the young man 
 pacing up and down with his book from her 
 window. 
 
 " Margaret," said Dudley, opening the door 
 suddenly, ''here is a wretched man come from 
 London calling himself a stage-carpenter.'' 
 
 " Oh ! " said she, springing up, " you don't mean 
 to say so ? a stage-carpenter ! then now I really do 
 feel as if we were going to do something. I am 
 quite happy." 
 
 Dudley stood laughing at her. 
 
 '' Come here," said she. And she brought him 
 to the window, then pointed at Valentin conning 
 his book in the garden below. 
 
 They stood together, smiling at him. 
 
 "He is very constant to you. Queen Daisy/* 
 said Dudley, turning to her gravely at length.. 
 
 " You think so ? " answered she as gravely.
 
 72 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 a n 
 
 rhen I am very faithless to him. You must 
 make it up to him for me. He is our good friend, 
 Dudley. Be one to him.'' 
 
 Her husband's arm was round her. A mist 
 seemed to gather over his eyes. For answer his 
 
 lips rested lightly on her head. Just then Valen- 
 tin looked up ; he saw the action. 
 
 Margaret knew he saw it ; and she was glad. 
 She did not know the bitterness that shot to 
 his heart at the sight. Is anything so bitter as 
 wounded pride, as hurt self-love 1 
 
 " I will come to the carpenter at once, Dudley,'' 
 said she. 
 
 But she stayed a moment behind her husband, 
 and kneeling, looked into the depths of Fritz's 
 faithful brown eyes. 
 
 " What was the story of Actea ? " murmured 
 she. " She loved a beast, and her love was to her 
 a god. Is it always so ? How it purifies us and 
 the loved one when it is so. There is nothing: 
 that is possible, or that has any beauty in it, 
 without faith. Can love raise a beast to a god 
 thus?" 
 
 Was she thinking of poor patient Fritz, or Nero, 
 or of Dudley ? 
 
 " If I might raise him so, if I could make him 
 see and love only what is true and beautiful, if by
 
 ' LAND AHEAD ! 73 
 
 my love I could bring him to the truth ■ 
 
 Come, Fritz." 
 
 Then she went to the stage-carpenter. 
 
 That month of June, 1870, will long be remem- 
 bered in the precincts of Froghambury. What a 
 fuss it was ! What hammering, what fitting ! 
 What confusion, dear to the development of 
 histrionic talent, but hateful to everything else ! 
 What sudden hurry and indispensable necessity 
 for indispensable things which had never been 
 heard of before I What endless wants, what 
 infinite and impotent needs ! 
 
 Moreover, what rehearsals ! What jumbling 
 together of the tragic and the comic, of the 
 humorous and the pathetic ! What strange touches 
 of human nature strangely allied with divine 
 inspiration and human inspiration ! What enthu- 
 siasm, and what crude ignorance ! What efi*ort 
 and what impotence ! Again, what journeyings 
 to and fro between Froghambury and London ! 
 What nocturnal arrivals ! What sudden depar- 
 tures ! How many telegrams ! And how many 
 answers and porterage prepaid ! What ridiculous 
 questions ! What hopelessly indefinite answers 1 
 What an " Inferno " for every one except to those 
 
 to whom it was '' Paradiso I " 
 
 Dudley was supposed to be the sufferer. But
 
 74 LAND ahead! ^ 
 
 i 
 
 Dudley was out all day. As Margaret sapiently ; 
 remarked — I 
 
 " Has he not the terriers to talk to '? And i 
 then there are the ferrets, not counting the i 
 horses and the farm ; and then there is a certain I 
 Bill Ealing, an authority with one eye and an | 
 evil red face, with whom Dudley consorts much, ■ 
 and who I fancy must be very fascinating, though 
 I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance 
 myself" I 
 
 The golden days sped on. People came and \ 
 went. Rehearsals began and never ended. Life, ' 
 they said, was full of work. But the summer , 
 days were glorious. The actors lounged about \ 
 and basked in the sunshine, and Lady Lorraine, j 
 with Portia and Jessica, looked on and laughed. 1 
 
 " Oh, Valentin," said Margaret one day with 
 sudden enthusiasm, '' I wish you lived here. 
 Throw up your German army and come. We 
 will build a theatre and play Shakspere always, 
 and we will have an opera, and a studio ; and 
 what great things we will do, and how many 
 people we will encourage, and how we will love 
 art, and how many we will make happy." 
 
 " Is that all why you wish me to come ? " asked 
 he, smiling at her doubtfully. 
 
 " Is not that enough ? " asked she, smiling
 
 LAND ahead! 75 
 
 back, and opening her great round eyes upon 
 him. 
 
 At last the great night came. 
 
 Froghambury was full of guests. 
 
 Had not Mrs. Vane been prevailed upon to 
 come, and to bring Lilly, even though she dis- 
 liked acting, and had been heard to call Mar- 
 garet " a daughter of Heth," and a Midianitish 
 woman? Had not Mrs. Hoffman also come ? and 
 were not some old friends also there, who had 
 been kind to Margaret in London, admiring her 
 face, and liking her talent ? 
 
 Then there were many guests from Carlingsford ; 
 and as for the neighbourhood, why it scrambled 
 in confusedly, eagerly, hotly. It had made up 
 its mind to come. It came, it said, under pro- 
 test. But the protest was faint, the arrival 
 evident enough. 
 
 Outside, the carriages streamed wearily up the 
 hill. The moon peeped at them through the 
 trees ; her gentle gleam seemed mild mockery on 
 their feverish excitment. 
 
 Outside the great hall the coloured lights flared 
 and shone ; blue and green and red were there — 
 a parterre of jewels set in the silver grass. 
 
 Within, great lamps threw down their light en 
 the armour, and on the deer's heads, and on the
 
 76 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 glistening swords ; shone too on the old carving, 
 and seemed to nestle with gentle smile in the 
 cornices where the Cupids laughed. 
 
 There too in the corners bright flowers waved ; 
 their large leaves hung to the ground. Was it 
 all a joke? weve they too laughing? or was 
 there no feigning in the love they breathed, 
 and the soft welcome they gave to the flocking 
 guests ? 
 
 Old Douglas was supreme. It was years since 
 he had assisted at such an entertainment ; it was 
 years, he said, since he had seen Froghambury 
 look itself. For two days before he had tried his 
 voice in the housekeeper's room for Mrs. Simeon's 
 edification, to see if he could announce the people 
 properly. He too, poor Douglas, must go 
 through his rehearsals ! Surely that was a new 
 waistcoat he had on, Never had he looked so 
 portly, so blooming before. 
 
 '' Why, Douglas ! " said Margaret as " Portia," 
 meeting him on the stairs, " why, Douglas ! you 
 look quite young again." 
 
 *' And, ma'am, I feel so." 
 
 Then he stood dazzled by her beauty and con- 
 descension. 
 
 At last the guests were seated, at last the 
 supreme moment arrived, at last the manager's
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 77 
 
 silvery bell was heard, and the curtain went up. 
 There was a burst of applause. 
 
 The lights, the flowers, the well-chosen colouring 
 — how pretty the effect ! how charming the result ! 
 
 " Who taught her to play Portia like that ? " 
 asked one. 
 
 " Was there ever such by-play, such charm of 
 manner, such talent, such fascination ? " 
 
 " I would I were Bassanio," said another. 
 
 *' He is a professional, I suppose ? " 
 
 " But she must be a professional too," said an 
 old lady, crustily. " I dare say she has been on 
 the stage." 
 
 "Depend upon it that was why Mrs. Vane 
 objected to the marriage so." 
 
 " That must have been it." 
 
 *' But is she not charming ? How arch, how 
 tender, how beautiful." 
 
 " Oh, if Shakspere could rise and see he might 
 sleep for ever after, content that his conception 
 was understood at last." 
 
 " But look at Nerissa. I had no idea Lady 
 Chester was such an actress." 
 
 " Look at her husband watching her over there. 
 Is he not pleased ? " 
 
 " We shall all turn actresses now. It will 'be 
 dreadful Oh, these days — these days."
 
 78 LAND ahead! 
 
 And Jessica too was in no way behind ; the 
 applause was as hearty for her. 
 
 For the men there was sharper criticism. 
 
 Bertram Powys' " Shy lock " had something of 
 original, though strangely powerful, in it ; and 
 Lorenzo and Gratiano provoked many an approving 
 smile. 
 
 " After all, am I not right to act Shakspere ? " 
 asked Margaret behind the scenes, as she listened 
 to the storm of applause she had provoked. 
 
 " They will go home and read up their 
 * Merchant of Venice ' now." 
 
 "They all say they do not wonder at your 
 choosing Bassanio," said Lady Lorraine ; "he is 
 so handsome." 
 
 " Who told you they said so ? " 
 
 " Chester. He has just been round." 
 
 " They are very stupid, ignorant people. I 
 
 dare say half of them think I like him because he 
 is handsome, not because Shakspere settled it so." 
 
 " Yes ; like people who read novels, say the 
 author thinks all his characters say, never mind 
 what sort of people they are." 
 
 At last — too soon for the actors — it was over. 
 
 The judge had come on, the judgment had 
 been given, Shylock had said he was '* not well," 
 Portia and Nerissa were happy once more, they
 
 LAND ahead! 79 
 
 « 
 
 had tantalized their respective play-husbands 
 sufficiently, and all was over. 
 
 The curtain had dropped, and the actors were 
 listening smiling to the excitement among the 
 audience. 
 
 Then cries of " Portia " resounded, and she was 
 led forward. 
 
 Strange ! amid all the friendly faces gathered 
 there on one alone did her eye dwell. It was to 
 Dudley she looked, it was to Dudley she smiled, 
 and when he smiled back proudly on her, her 
 heart swelled with sudden triumph, and she felt 
 glad as she had never felt before. 
 
 In turn they were all called, and so, amid 
 applause and shouts and wondering admiration, 
 the Venetian Merchant left the little Frogham- 
 bury stage. 
 
 *' There is somethino^ odd about it thoug-h," 
 said an old lady ; *' something mysterious." 
 
 "She is too good an actress to be a 
 lady." 
 
 "And yet she is so lady-like." 
 
 *' One cannot help being a little shocked." 
 
 " Such cleverness frightens me." 
 
 But there was not much time to talk. 
 
 Mr. Wemyss' new piece followed : a little comic 
 piece, called "My Morning Visitors," through
 
 80 LAND ahead! 
 
 whicli he and Orford Ellis and Margaret kept the 
 audience in screams of laughter. 
 
 Afterwards at supper in the great oak dining- 
 room, with every one sitting down at little round 
 tables, and the champagne corks flying about, 
 with actors and actresses mingling their gay 
 costumes with the more sober dresses of the 
 guests, was it not gay ? Had Froghambury ever 
 seen such a merry scene ? \ 
 
 Mrs. Vane might try to wedge in innuendoes, ; 
 or Lilly might look astonished, and ask " who all | 
 these people were," what did it matter ? was not 
 every tongue unloosed ? and did not every face \ 
 wear perforce some sort of smile ? j 
 
 " How did you come to do Portia so well ? " \ 
 asked an old lady of Margaret. ; 
 
 *' I don't know. I have always loved Portia. j 
 It has been my dream to act the part ever since I 
 I can remember." j 
 
 'I 
 
 Now is that right ? should not a young wife I 
 
 think of her household, her husband, his dinner ? \ 
 
 What has Portia to do with daily life ? ! 
 
 " Ah, dear old lady ! " Margaret might have j 
 
 said, " there are more things in heaven and earth : 
 
 than are dreamt of in your philosophy." i 
 
 Just then Valentin stepped up to her. He j
 
 LAND ahead! 81 
 
 was pale, but lie was smiling. There was a 
 strange light in his eye. 
 
 "Well, Bassanio," said she, half smiling and 
 half afraid, she did not know why. 
 
 He stooped towards her. 
 
 "It is all over. I must go." 
 
 "Go!" 
 
 " Yes," he repeated. " I must go." 
 
 She had risen. She could not understand him. 
 They stood facing each other. 
 
 " Explain." 
 
 " War is declared." 
 
 " War," she stammered. 
 
 " Against France. I must go." 
 
 Her heart stood still. Her face turned white. 
 
 A wild joy gleamed in his eyes. 
 
 " You — are — oroino; — to — fight ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, brutally. 
 
 In truth he was glad that she cared, that she 
 could sufi'er for him. It was not Germany's 
 sorrow that made him glad; though, for the 
 matter of that, who would not be glad to fight a 
 good fight for his country's sake ? 
 
 " You ? " she repeated, half stupid. 
 
 She looked at him from head to foot. 
 
 This handsome youth to go and be shot 
 down, to be mauled and wounded and torn like 
 
 VOL. III. Gr
 
 82 LAND ahead! 
 
 any savage, and all for nothing lie liad done, for 
 no quarrel or fault of his ; to fight like any wild 
 beast, or, worse still, to stand like any martyr 
 and not fight, and yet die thus ! Oh, it was 
 sickening. 
 
 And for Valentin to have to do this ! He so 
 bright, so clever, so intellectual ; he who knew 
 so much, he who could enjoy so much, he who 
 could love so well, — he to die in a senseless, 
 brutal fight ! Was this justice ? Was this the 
 law of nations ? Who had the right to take a 
 human life and waste it thus ? 
 
 " Do not you hear ? do not you understand ? " 
 asked he softly. 
 
 "No, I do not understand." 
 
 Her face was whiter than ever ; her teeth were • 
 firm clenched. Then it got noised about the 
 room that Bassanio was ordered ofi* to Germany, 
 that war was declared, that the Government was 
 making up the complement of the regiments, that 
 all the officers were ordered to the front, that — in 
 fact, Bassanio must go. 
 
 Margaret roused herself, and smiled. 
 
 How they gathered round him. Men and 
 women, old and young ; friends well known to 
 him, or those who had only seen him as Bassanio 
 to-nio^ht. He was the hero of the hour. There
 
 j 
 
 LAND ahead! 83 
 
 were tears in some of the women's eyes. He was 
 too handsome to go and fight. 
 
 " Is he not too handsome, Lady Vane ? " asked 
 some one of her. 
 
 " Handsome is as handsome does," said Mar- 
 garet, smiling : but she watched him, seeking to 
 know what to do. 
 
 As for him, he laughed and joked, he carried it 
 off well. He was, they thought, all eagerness to ] 
 
 fight. Perhaps in his heart he was ; and yet he ! 
 
 was modest. No idle swaggerer of couraore ; no, he 
 might be dead in a week. Yet still he turned i 
 
 with friendly jest to Antonio his play-friend, ' 
 
 and asked him if he would not see him throuo^h 
 this trouble too. 1 
 
 Looking at Margaret, he feared her. He i 
 
 watched her narrowly. She was not near him ; ■ 
 
 she looked at him throug;h the crowd, and their 
 eyes talked a dull, pained, bewildered, unintel- 
 liojible languaoje to each other. 
 
 She was like a woman dreaming an evil 
 dream. 
 
 He was awake and was waiting for her. 
 
 " Good-bye, Queen Daisy." .^ 
 
 He stood before her, and the world — her world 
 — was lookincr on. - 
 
 " Must I say it now ? " she stammered. Then 
 
 G 2
 
 84 LAND AHEAD ! | 
 
 Dudley was there too. She added indifFerently, j 
 
 " You go now ? " \ 
 " Yes, now ; good-bye, Queen Daisy." 
 
 *' You mean you go early in the morning ? " \ 
 
 " No, to-night. My things are packed. The ; 
 
 carriage is waiting." \ 
 
 *' Good-bye, Valentin." ' 
 
 There was an infinite longing in her face to say , 
 
 more. i 
 " Is that all ? " muttered he. 
 
 '' Heaven bless you," said she. ; 
 
 There was no harm in that. I 
 
 For a moment their hands were clasped together. ; 
 *' Good-bye, Bassanio," she said, aloud. "Go 
 
 with him, Dudley ; you, Valentin " she added. \ 
 
 But no ; he was gone. i 
 
 " She did not care for her play-lover," said the ' 
 guests. " She is hard, and beautiful, and cold." 
 
 " She did not care for me ever," said Valentin 
 
 bitterly to himself, as he drove away in the star- ! 
 lig;ht night. " She is beautiful as marble, and as 
 
 cold." j 
 
 Would the guests never go ? would they 
 never cease their thanks, their compliments, their 
 flattery ? would she never be alone ? Yes, at 
 
 last, after weary waiting, after weary acting, after ] 
 
 dull jests, and duller phrases, at last alone, |
 
 LAND ahead! 85 
 
 The blue silent vault of heaven above her ; and. 
 on the earth, and in her heart, a great cry of 
 pain that seemed so bitter, so heavy that it must 
 ivill her. 
 
 Her Germany ! her fatherland ! her friend ! 
 
 Her heart's one friend whom she had loved 
 and worshipped, and betrayed till she had taught 
 herself to love another in his place ; her heart's 
 home, where her soul was always sighing to be, 
 on the blue Ehine with the dear old father. Her 
 heart's home, her heart's friend, and she alone and 
 idle here. 
 
 Would the moon never hide her smiling face ? 
 Would the stars never cease their vain watch ? 
 
 Must she always do nothing ? 
 
 Must he fight for Germany, perhaps die for 
 Germany, and she stand idle here ? 
 
 And this was Margaret Vane. 
 
 They said she was cold and hard.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 War, war is still the cry : war even to the knife. 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto I. 
 
 Was it the same nation? Were they the same 
 people? Who said they were quiet or phleg- 
 matic? ■ . 
 
 What is this joy, this enthusiasm, this breaking 
 out of a long pent-up want ? Each face beams 
 with sudden content, each man steps as though 
 he walked to a long-wished-for goal ; triumphant 
 gladness seems. already to be each one's possession. 
 Courage and honour revel abroad ; self-constraint 
 is at an end ; smouldering anger is over ; now the 
 Fatherland's day has come ; they may fight, they 
 may conquer, and they may die. 
 
 The memorable day, the 15th of July, 1870, 
 had dawned, and war was declared. 
 
 Valentin, hurrying back, journeyed like a man 
 in a dream. He too shared the joy, the proud 
 burst of martial spirit ; the love of country made
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 87 
 
 his heart beat fiercely, while the crowd of 
 soldiers he met everywhere, and the reservists 
 flocking to join their regiments added to his 
 excitement. The solitary sparks coming from all 
 sides to join their standard met in the lurid flame. 
 What hurry, confusion, and excitement every- 
 where. They came, these eager defenders of their 
 country, mostly before they had been called, and 
 their numbers were so great there was no place 
 for them, but they had to bivouack in the streets, 
 or find shelter where they could 
 
 Nor did they ask, these willing victims, what it 
 all meant. Their King's honour was at stake : so 
 was not theirs? The Fatherland needed them, — the 
 boundary, the glorious Rhine needed them and 
 their defence against their next neighbour. 
 
 And France must be ready. She had invited 
 them to war ; she had provoked the combat ; she 
 must be ready. Probably her columns were 
 ah'eady moving towards the Ehine, and they 
 would come before Prussia was prepared. 
 
 Hence the hurry. Yet no one was afraid. No 
 one doubted the greatness of France or the 
 bravery of her soldiers, but if only the Prussian 
 army could once gain its position, no one feared 
 the result. 
 
 Who could be afraid in the midst of such
 
 88 LAND ahead! 
 
 joy ? Who could have time for any regret, or doubt, 
 or any sad thought of the past when new life was 
 sprino-ing in every heart, and new hopes beamed 
 on every face ; when glory seemed to light with 
 new promises on every sword, and when courage 
 throbbed high in every breast. 
 
 Was it for Valentin even to dream in the long 
 lonely night — too long, for all inaction was hateful 
 then — of blighted hopes and love betrayed ? Was 
 that the time for regret over vain hopes and idle 
 dreams, of faded friendship, or of idols crumbled 
 away ? Was there place even then for bitterness ? 
 Did he dream even then of a wasted past, of idle 
 faith, of misplaced confidence, and of fruit for- 
 bidden? Did his wounded self-love poison his 
 heart even now ? Was there a thought that the 
 battle-field might give him an honourable peace 
 at last ? Was he even now so bitter ? Did he 
 welcome death, and wounds, and sufi'ering, and 
 eternal silence because all other revenge was 
 denied him ? Now because she was lost to him 
 had Margaret become so dear ? Before, if he had 
 been less cruel, less selfish, if he had not flirted 
 thus with happiness, he might have had it for the 
 asking. 
 
 But there had been no thought, no pity in him; 
 only selfish pride, only love of power, and of idle
 
 LAND ahead! 89 
 
 dalliance. He had had no pity; and now he 
 suffered. 
 
 Life held no more beauty for him. Margaret 
 had forgotten, Margaret was false (he said), at any 
 rate she was cold, and he courted death. Dead, 
 agonized, killed, she would pity him, would love 
 him once more. A poor revenge to say the best 
 of it. 
 
 But impotence catches at any straw. He who 
 had believed wholly in the necessity of earthly 
 happiness, he who had always thought fortune 
 must smile upon him, had come to this. 
 
 Then Lotta came to him, when he was there at 
 his own solitary home near Berlin, and while he 
 was making his few hurried preparations before 
 going to fight. Lotta Senden came to him, with 
 her old love, as tender as of yore, spurned though it 
 had been, and forgotten by him as his had been by 
 another. Lotta came and stood beside bim, with 
 renewed passion in her soul, and trembling for 
 him when the battle should begin. Lotta came 
 and looked into his eyes and sought for the 
 tenderness she could not find. 
 
 Alas for her ! His soul turned sick within him, 
 and bitterness took hold of him with tenfold 
 streno^th as he thoucrht of the smiles of another 
 so sternly withheld.
 
 90 LAND ahead! 
 
 He flung himself away roughly, lie shut 
 himself up in his rooms that were so full of 
 artistic and beautiful objects, he felt a sort of 
 delirium as he thought how powerless they all 
 were to give him happiness ; they were not life ; 
 they were mere dressed-out dust ; he longed for 
 death. 
 
 Presently his eye fell on a great packing-case 
 standing in a corner. He went to it with a sort 
 of dull, instinctive curiosity. It had come from 
 England. It was directed to him, Valentin. The 
 writing on the card was Dudley Vane's. 
 
 Valentin rang the bell. 
 
 '' When did this come ? " asked he of the 
 servant. 
 
 "Some days ago. It is from England, mein 
 herr." 
 
 " Have it opened," said Valentin, listlessly. 
 
 He stepped out into the garden, lit a cigar, 
 and paced up and down while it should be 
 opened. 
 
 A remembrance from Froghambury, a breath 
 from Margaret's home ; the last evidence he 
 would have of her before he died. Just now he 
 hugged the idea to his heart that he would die. 
 He longed for rest ; he longed to end this 
 existence that had no happiness in it at all.
 
 LAND ahead! 91 
 
 The night was far adA^anced when he came in 
 
 again. 
 
 There facing hini stood the old cabinet that 
 he had admired so much. Dudley had been true 
 to his promise and had sent it. How pathetically 
 it struck Valentin, uprooted thus from its old 
 home, standing here in the beauty of its work- 
 manship a monument of the faded past. 
 
 It broucrht a flood of recollections back to him. 
 The bright garden at Froghambury and the 
 sleeping lake below ; the day when he had sung 
 to Margaret, his introduction to her boudoir, and 
 the picture of the two happy children ; above all, 
 Margaret standing there with the great dog 
 beside her. It was an idyll in itself. 
 
 Then the visit to the death- chamber, and the 
 weird shadows flittino: to and fro. The memorv 
 of the old man, the faded arm-chair, the tester- 
 bed, and the curious, beautiful cabinet. It seems 
 now to be talking to him, to be telling Valentin 
 the story. 
 
 Once more he pictures them again to himself — 
 Margaret and Dudley ; their home -life, their 
 wealth, the happiness of possession, her aspir- 
 ations, her ideals, her efforts after continual 
 progress ; then the play-night, her beauty, her 
 success ; then again, going back a few days, the
 
 92 LAND ahead! 
 
 kiss Dudley liad given tier as they stood at the 
 window. 
 
 It was all true. It was no dream. Here was 
 the old cabinet in proof of it. 
 
 And yet once she had let him think she loved 
 him. 
 
 Mechanically he began to study the old 
 cabinet ; a little bit of workmanship here, an 
 inlaid piece of ivory there ; here a coloured 
 marble, and there a grotesque carving. 
 
 Mechanically he pulled out the drawers, 
 lingeringly his hand rested on the little nooks 
 and crevices. Margaret had the fellow to it. Did 
 she too open the many little hiding-places often ? 
 did she too put her little treasures within ? and 
 did she ever inspect it curiously, and imagine the 
 workman's story as she studied ? 
 
 Had she ever woven the web of fancy as now 
 he was fain to do ? Had she time in her happy 
 life? 
 
 Suddenly, unconsciously, without warning or 
 thought, he touched a spring, and out flew a 
 hidden drawer. He started back astonished, 
 then half smiled at the workman's whim. A 
 curious little secret drawer enough. At the 
 bottom lay a crumpled paper. 
 
 He took it, wondering.
 
 LAND ahead! 93 
 
 ^' Had it been any one else, it might be money. 
 But Sir Gilbert was no miser by all accounts." 
 
 No ; it was not money. 
 
 But it was something that sent the blood up 
 into Valentin's cheek, and then left it blanched 
 and white. 
 
 It was Sir Gilbert's last will. 
 
 " If Dudley marry Margaret he is disinherited." 
 
 And there below were the signatures — Walpole 
 Mortimer and John Douglas. 
 
 "Why had they not spoken ? Why had the 
 power of speech come to him, Valentin ? 
 
 He read it over and over. He could not believe 
 it ; he could not understand it. 
 
 And then it all flashed upon him. They were 
 in his power. 
 
 A moment ago he had sighed for revenge. 
 Here it was ; perfect, complete. Destruction of 
 this envied happiness, as swift, as certain as he 
 could wish. If Margaret had married Dudley 
 for his wealth — well, if she had loved him for 
 his wealth, now Valentin would strip him of it. 
 
 A moment ago he had longed for death. 
 ;^Q^ — oh no ; now how dearly he prized his 
 life, that he might keep it, that only he might 
 live till he could go and confront them and r 
 
 Ko ; the thought was given no form, no shape.
 
 94 LAND ahead! 
 
 He did not know what lie would do ; only " he 
 knew he had them in his power, and he must 
 keep his life to use that power. 
 
 Suppose he were to die before he could get 
 back to England ; suppose they should not 
 know ; suppose he could not face her with his 
 triumph. No writing would do ; he must see, 
 must enjoy 
 
 The love of life beat high in his heart once more. 
 
 Still dreaming of his triumph when the pale 
 dawn stole in, chafing against his fetters that 
 bound him to Germany for the moment, longing 
 to fight and to conquer, but longing for that 
 other sweeter revenge too ; thus influenced, he 
 set forth for the war. 
 
 Close to his heart was the old man's will, sewn 
 in safe. If he died, it might die too, be lost, 
 blood-stained, or pierced with a bullet or a sword- 
 thrust; he cared not. But if he lived, it also 
 should come to life. It was his own personal 
 triumph that he wanted. 
 
 Margaret should sue to him for mercy. 
 
 What a merry departure it was ; rather like 
 a wedding march than going forth to die ; bands 
 playing, flags flying, drums beating, bright 
 uniforms gleaming in the sun, and crowds 
 cheering the soldiers as they passed.
 
 LAND ahead! 95 
 
 What enthusiasm greeted them everywhere 
 throughout Germany. From the far east to the 
 Rhine itself was one gtiy festival. No window 
 but had a glad farewell, no door but showed a 
 smiling face, no house-top hardly but had a 
 handkerchief wavinsr from it. The heart of the 
 people w'as bursting w^ith the war. Who could 
 but admire and feel proud of the strength put 
 forth so eagerly at last ? 
 
 Valentin's regiment formed part of the Crown 
 Prince's army ; they met near Landau. On the 
 2nd of August the first shot of the war was fired, 
 and the fierce love of fighting sprang mightily to 
 life in the hearts of the soldiers as they stood 
 face to face once more with death. 
 
 Is it for us to follow the ghastly tragedy ? Can 
 we lightly call to mind the gay insouciance of 
 the French people, the glorious uprising of the 
 Germans ? Is it for us to mark the gory path of 
 war ? Have not our feelings but too lately been 
 harrowed passionately by the frightful accounts 
 of other fights ? has not Europe had its notice 
 turned too loathsomely on human quarrels ? have 
 not we heard too much of human sufi'ering ? has 
 not the fierce passion of humanity and its bestial 
 cruelty made us hate the tale too deeply ? We 
 would be spared.
 
 96 LAND ahead! 
 
 Let us mark for a moment the gay crowds 
 in the Boulevards of Paris, and the mad 
 enthusiasts who called so ignorantly, " A has la 
 Prusse/' ''A has Bismarck," ^^ Yive la guerre," 
 and " A Berlin," " A Berlin ; " nay, let us turn 
 for a second to the other side and call to mind 
 this same Berlin in festival. The crowds cheering 
 and sinsino* the national anthem. "Unter den 
 Linden " illuminated, and the flags flying broadly 
 overhead ; the King coming forward to the 
 windows of the palace and repeatedly saluting 
 and thanking the heaving crowd. 
 
 For a moment let us call to mind that gay 
 prologue, but for the rest let us draw a veil. Is 
 it in the pages of a novel that we dare to play 
 with such ghastly suffering? Are such mighty 
 sins and such mighty sorrows to be used for 
 childish amusement ? 
 
 We know the result in these later days, we 
 know on whom victory smiled. Let us spare 
 the details, let us not count the cost. 
 
 Meanwhile what happened to Valentin von 
 Broderode ? He has disappeared in the gleaming 
 ranks of his countrymen. Let us keep him in 
 sight if we can. If he too shared the glory, he 
 shared also the pain. The bitter, agonizing 
 pangs were his, and his too the fierce joy.
 
 LAND ahead! 97 
 
 On that 3rd of August when the Crown Prince 
 marched to the frontier with his 120,000 men, 
 Valentin's heart throbbed with mingled emotions. 
 He had seen a young comrade, deeming himself 
 unnoticed, kiss a woman's likeness as he buckled 
 on his uniform, and then he put it near his 
 heart. Valentin envied him. No tender love, 
 no soft memories strengthened his soul ; a bitter, 
 blind rage smouldered in his breast. The instru- 
 ment of destruction aofainst her he had loved was 
 resting on his heart. He was something of a 
 fatalist. If he lived, it was that he should be the 
 instrument of the Vanes' ruin ; if he died, well, 
 it was nothing to him. 
 
 He was one of the 40,000 men who appeared 
 suddenly on the heights above Schweigen, when 
 the French were eating their breakfast. They 
 might rush to arms, they might fight like lions, but 
 what was that against the steady determination 
 of the Germans ? The cannon thundered on, and 
 Weissenburg was doomed. The houses burst 
 out in flames, and the French lay dead and 
 wounded in numbers. France and Europe woke 
 up astonished, and men talked of German 
 decision, of French vacillation. 
 
 Valentin stumbled across a dead face he knew 
 when the fighting was over : it was the young 
 
 VOL. III. H
 
 98 LAND ahead! 
 
 officer he had envied in the morning. He was 
 smiling even in death, and his cold stiff hand 
 grasped the miniature of the woman he had 
 loved. 
 
 Valentin turned away in haste. Even then he 
 envied him again. He had been loved, and he 
 was at rest. 
 
 The greatest joy for which Valentin dared to 
 hope was revenge. 
 
 The contrast was bitter. 
 
 Was there any one he loved to pray for him ? 
 Was there any to long for his safety ? Surely if 
 Margaret could but know his thought, his medi- 
 tated revenge, she must, on the contrary, wish for 
 his death. Bitter hatred seemed to actuate him 
 which ever way he turned . Slaughter and destruc- 
 tion and ruin and misery seemed the only work 
 he had to do. Destruction and ruin against 
 Dudley, whose life he had once saved so gladly ; 
 misery to Margaret for spurning his love ; death 
 to the innocent thousands who had come so gaily 
 and so ignorantly to the fight. How grim the out- 
 look beside the bright picture of life which had 
 pleased his boyish fancy ; how thickly the shadows 
 had fallen, obscuring the visions he had believed 
 so implicitly. Life had seemed to him as a 
 merry dance, danced now to one air, now to
 
 LAND AHEAD ! / 99 
 
 another, as the fancy willed ; stepping from one 
 pleasure to another, with Margaret by his side ; 
 and now death and sorrow and suffering glared 
 upon him which ever way he turned. 
 
 But what time was there for these thouo-hts ? . 
 
 o 
 
 The Trench were burning to revenge Weissen- 
 burg, and MacMahon had hurried on to arrest the 
 advance of the enemy. There on the heights the 
 Crown Prince found him, and next day at seven 
 in the morninor the battle beo^an. 
 
 Nestling in a beautiful valley, that is sheltered 
 on both sides by high ridges of ground, lies Worth. 
 Since that August morning the name of that 
 quiet little town bears with it a tale of terrible 
 significance. Its smiling pasture-lands seem in 
 vain to try to veil past horrors. 
 
 Thick woods clothe the sides of the hills ; behind 
 the French army a strip of forest seems to offer 
 cover against the enemy. Below, winding on, till it 
 runs rio^ht throuo;h the centre of the villao;e, flows 
 the little river Bruder — a silver thread, smiling 
 unconcernedly in the sunshine, while hatred rages 
 on either side. Down the hill-side winds towards 
 it the white high road, and here, stretching far 
 to right and left, have the Germans taken up 
 their position. Here were the spiked helmets 
 dazzlingly bright in the sun, and here the needle- 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LAND ahead! 
 
 guns were collected in cart-loads under the trees. 
 Helpless Worth looked from one side to the other, 
 and throuo^h it and around it and over it the 
 battle raged. 
 
 Who of those who witnessed the fierce struggle 
 that began when MacMahon threw himself on 
 the 5 th Prussian corps can ever forget it ? They 
 fought, those two armies, for two hours as if the 
 fate of the world depended on their prowess that 
 day. Then came the since-famous 11th Prussian 
 corps, and the French fell back on the defensive 
 once more. Still their resistance was, as the 
 Crown Prince said, most " obstinate and intense." 
 By three o'clock the French line was broken, and 
 the army was in disorder. Then came, as a 
 forlorn hope, as a last straw to which the French 
 clung, the splendid but mad charge of the gallant 
 cuirassiers, borrowed from Marshal Canrobert's 
 troop. A grand, a glorious advance it was ; a 
 blaze of splendour and glory. Grand they were 
 in their beauty, grand too in their destruction. 
 One moment, men looked and saw the pride and 
 exultation of life ; the next, horses and men were 
 rolling together by hundreds in the dust, and the 
 awful horror of death blanched the spectators' 
 faces. It was a stupendous act of self-destruction 
 which held thought and speech alike spell-bound.
 
 LAND ahead! 101 
 
 Our Balaclava charge had taught nothing, and 
 this was even more harmless. The magnitude of 
 the folly shows the magnitude of the defeat and 
 the sore need that urged it. 
 
 And so another glorious day ended for Germany. 
 But it was no miracle ; indeed its chief glory con- 
 sisted in that it was a triumph of long and patient 
 preparation, as well as a triumph of brilliant 
 courage and hard fighting. They had beaten a 
 great army of brave soldiers, they had out-fought 
 the bravest fip^htinor, but above all the Crown 
 Prince had out-generalled the ablest French 
 generals. What had patriotism, — albeit deep and 
 earnest and devoted as was that of the German 
 troops, — but what had even their patriotism been 
 without a perfect knowledge of military tactics 
 and a deadly handling of the means at the 
 general's disposal ? The despairing and reckless 
 courage of the French was as nothing against the 
 intelligence, dauntless spirit, and discipline of 
 their enemy. Not that the Germans were not 
 slaughtered too. Valentin expected every moment 
 to be his last, as his comrades were mown down 
 on all sides of him, and the bullets whizzed round 
 his head. But his soul was on fire ; his only 
 instinct was to advance, his only impulse was to 
 fight. Life was forgotten ; death was nothing.
 
 102 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Afterwards, when it was all over, both were 
 present enough ; the realities of both were amply 
 vivid. The black Turcos and the. wide-trousered 
 Zouaves lay thickly on the ground ; the dead 
 cuirassiers lay strew^n in ghastly profusion. And 
 on, westward through the wood, went the fearful 
 traces of the fight; men lying as though asleep 
 in the shade, stretched there stiff in the grim 
 arms of death ; pools of blood where the wounded 
 had fallen ; and dead horses innumerable. The 
 knapsacks, the baggage scattered here and there 
 in the terrible haste, the rifles thrown away; 
 what a tale was told that day ! Well might the 
 Germans be proud, well might the wounded lift 
 their pale faces and strive to let the Crown Prince 
 hear their weak voices cheering him as he passed ; 
 w^ell might Valentin's heart burst with pride for 
 his countrymen ar^ cry that the Fatherland was 
 safe. Well might he glory in what he had done, 
 in the valour he had shown and shared ; well 
 misfht he wonder at the charmed life which seemed 
 to bear him safely still ; and well might he wonder 
 what Eno^lish friends and English hearts would 
 think of the great victory won that day. 
 
 And so the terrible war went on. 
 
 The great armies spread over the land. 
 
 But how unlike this other fearful war of which
 
 LAND ahead! 103 
 
 we have read so lately ; how our blood runs cold as 
 the pictures of misery and useless human cruelty 
 are pourtrayed before us. In this war of '70-' 71 
 it was, between the fighting, more like the march 
 of a huge triumphal procession than anything 
 else. The girls stood smiling at the cottage 
 doors as they watched the soldiers pass, the 
 wives hastened to bring provisions for which 
 they were duly paid, and the men looked wonder- 
 ingly at the vast legions still coming, and ever 
 coming still. Their memories flew back to former 
 battles, to former wars, and they wondered as 
 they felt the power and the calm confidence of 
 these quiet Germans. 
 
 And so, once more, the war went on. For- 
 bach, Metz ; why dwell on the bloody landmarks ? 
 
 Valentin soon gained distinction and won the 
 Prince's favour. His courage, his quickness were 
 of no ordinary type. He had a smile, a ready 
 hand to help all who came. His comrades and 
 the men under his command soon learned to love 
 and trust him. The Prince put him on his Staff. 
 How brilliant a company it was. Many Ger- 
 man princes were there. The Duke of Saxe- 
 Coburg Gotha, the Prince of Mecklenburg, the 
 Hohenzollern, and many others of high position 
 rode forth with the brave Eed Prince. Here, if
 
 104 LAND ahead! 
 
 possible, Valentin found the activity more in- 
 cessant than ever. England became dim in his 
 mind, Froghambury a mere speck. Only Mar- 
 garet's face haunted him. Above the din of 
 battle he seemed to hear her voice sometimes, 
 and her tender, reproachful eyes seemed to be 
 follovdng him. Then he would feel for the will ; 
 and, tormented with doubt and indecision, now 
 demoralized by the scenes he had to pass through, 
 he would vow to use it against these former 
 friends ; now softened by some sight of individual 
 suffering, he would' doom it to destruction and 
 swear to hold his peace. But still he never did 
 destroy it ; he kept it, treasuring it passionately. 
 Terrible days followed. Am I to write of 
 Courcelles, of Vionville ? Am I to tell of that 
 famous light cavalry charge of the Prussians on 
 the 16th, alike superior to ours at Balaclava and 
 to that of the French at Worth, in that it was 
 made with a chance of success ? Am I to dwell 
 on heroic feats which make our hearts throb 
 wildly and mantle our cheeks with pride ? The 
 Prussians were resolved to conquer or to die. It 
 was no love of excitement, no passing thirst for 
 fleeting glory ; it was the stern determination of 
 a long-smouldering pent-up passion which nerved 
 their souls to the fidit.
 
 LAND ahead! 105 
 
 Meanwhile the Goddess of War smiled on 
 Valentin. He was to be one of the conquering 
 host. No dull inaction was to let his sword rust ; 
 his eye was not to weary with the absence of the 
 foe. He was to be led forth amonof those of 
 whom men said later, " They came to make the 
 victory complete ! " 
 
 It was the 17th. That nig-ht wild music rang; 
 out. Trumpet answered to trumpet for miles 
 around, and the drums spoke in their deep, 
 rumblino^ bass. It was the sio^nal for the Borodino 
 of the campaign. Gravelotte was beginning. 
 
 There, on a height, watching, stood the great 
 representative men of Prussia. The soldier-king, 
 with his steady gaze, but somewhat plaintive 
 face, as though he hated seeing his children 
 slaughtered ; General von Moltke, restless as ever ; 
 Prince Adalbert, Prince Frederick Charles, Prince 
 Charles, and, towering above the rest. Count 
 Bismarck. 
 
 A grander battle-field could not be seen. The 
 roar of the cannon was awful in its endless, 
 ceaseless, deadly boom. The fighting of the French 
 was desperate but unavailing ; they were out- 
 numbered. The Prussians came ever steadily 
 marching onward, even up that terrible ravine, 
 ever onward they came. The French stood and
 
 106 LAND ahead! 
 
 died. The Prussians moved on and died too. 
 They were mowed down as they advanced, but 
 they advanced steadily all the same. For hours, 
 nay, for ages, the ghastly advance continued ; 
 it left a black line behind it ; that black line was 
 the dead who were left at rest for evermore. 
 
 So the battle waxed and waned. 
 
 Then, late in the afternoon, when the foes were 
 slackening fire, and when the strongest arm 
 required rest, then another vast army came. 
 
 It was from the Crown Prince's host. 
 
 It was like some legend of mythical warfare. 
 It was like the Homeric tales where the gods 
 helped men and fought their battles for them. 
 It came from some mysterious region, brought by 
 some mysterious foreknowledge and power. It 
 seemed a vast legion, — -implacable, irresistible ; 
 victorious merely by its awful presence. It 
 conquered as it came. Its coming was the final 
 blow. The hearts of the French sank ; the 
 foe was hydra-headed ; the fight was unequal, 
 impossible. 
 
 Valentin was there. He was one of that con- 
 quering company ; he was one of that victorious 
 band. He advanced merrily, gaily, as a boy 
 might, rejoicing in his strength, in his leader; 
 glorying in the chance of battle. He advanced
 
 LAND AHK\d! 107 
 
 burning with fierce passion as he joined the fight; 
 his blood boiled as he rode proudly on. He 
 thanked Fate for sending him there, and then — 
 whizz ! — what was this ? was this death ? — he felt 
 a sharp, terrible pain at his side, he saw the sun- 
 light overhead, mad cries of agony resounded in 
 his ears, sobs of pain struck on his soul, and he 
 knew no more. 
 
 But the day was won. 
 
 What mattered a hero more or less? The 
 stars shone do\vTL on the white, upturned faces, 
 and on the shrinking, agonized limbs. What 
 mattered the wailing voices, the broken hearts ? 
 What mattered it that the flower of the Prussian 
 nobility was spent that day ? The battle was 
 won.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Make deeds ill done, — King John, Act iv. Sc. 2. 
 
 Let men take heed of their company. 
 
 Second Part of Henry IV., Act v, Sc. 1. 
 
 Meanwhile these same six weeks that had been 
 pregnant with such deep meaning, and with such 
 startling events for Valentin and for the world, 
 had worn away their weary length for Margaret 
 at Froghambury Park. 
 
 Six weeks ! say rather six centuries, six ages ! 
 
 To live there in dull inaction, helpless, still, 
 stagnant ; to wait for news in miserable suspense, 
 to get the news and still do nothing, to know 
 the Fatherland was suffering, was in danger, to 
 know help was needed, to know too that Valentin 
 was in peril, and still to stand by and do nothing 
 — it was terrible. Was that life ? was that duty ? 
 was that what human submissiveness and wifely 
 obedience meant ? 
 
 Daily, hourly she pictured Valentin to herself,
 
 LAND ahead! 109 
 
 in the smoke, amid the cannon and the shells, 
 amidst the gleaming swords, and among the 
 dying and the dead ; daily, hourly she thought 
 of her countrymen whom she had known, or of 
 whom she had heard her father speak ; daily she 
 dreamed of the smiling pasture-lands, the peace- 
 ful valleys she had known, deluged with human 
 blood, devastated by the cruel hand of war. 
 
 Was it wonderful that her spirit chafed within 
 her, and that the calm of Froghambury Park 
 seemed but a treacherous peace, and its pleasure 
 but hollow mockery ? 
 
 Dudley's want of interest made it worse. The 
 news from the battle-fields scarce interfered with 
 his breakfast, and that his pipe should draw 
 easily was matter of far more moment to him 
 than whether Germans or French were victorious. 
 
 He even laughed at Margaret for caring so much, 
 and wondered that she cared not for croquet or 
 for any of such things while any more news was 
 still to be had. He said she was changing, that 
 she was getting dull and stupid, that she only 
 cared to have Fritz at her feet and a paper in her 
 hand ; and then suddenly it flashed upon him 
 why it all was. 
 
 *' You are thinking; of that fellow 1 " 
 
 " What fellow ? " asked she, contemptuously..
 
 110 LAND ahead! 
 
 "Valentin." 
 
 She laughed ; she knew it was not so. • 
 
 **It is the whole war that is so dreadful, 
 Dudley. Why cannot you see it too ? Valentin 
 is but one in the whole country's cause. Yet — 
 you too must think of him ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; of course I do. But a soldier must 
 fight." 
 
 After that he was always talking of Valentin. 
 Every day he asked if there were any tidings of 
 him. 
 
 And she began — it was natural enough— again 
 in her own mind to contrast the two. It was 
 the old, old fatal line of thought once more. 
 Here was Dudley, safe and likely to live for 
 ever — and there was Valentin, clever, brilliant, 
 accomplished, tender, perhaps already a mass of 
 mutilated flesh. Valentin, with understanding 
 quick to comprehend and enjoy everything, far 
 away — suffering perhaps, uncared for certainly ; 
 and Dudley, dull, heavy, awake to no interests 
 except continued discontent at home, and the 
 fascinating company of the terriers and of Bill 
 Ealing out of doors. 
 
 Fritz understood it. Fritz sav/ it all, or he 
 seemed to ; and made up by love for lack of
 
 LAND ahead! Ill 
 
 intelligence, whicli Dudley did not do. Fritz 
 seemed to be the dearest possession Margaret had 
 just then. 
 
 Those days were terrible. 
 
 Lorraine was away ; Margaret had no friend, 
 no sympathy. Froghambury began to seem to 
 be a prison. Not that she was not free enough, 
 for Dudley was seldom in need of her company, 
 but the silence, the lack of life were sadly 
 oppressive. It was impossible for her to banish 
 the silence with music, it was impossible even to 
 absorb herself in her painting, her heart was too 
 full of Germany and its woes. 
 
 If she said she wanted company, Dudley 
 proposed his mother or his sister. And then it 
 was hardly company that she did want. She 
 wanted sympathy or else work. Therefore her 
 neighbours too were useless to her. 
 
 It was a miserable time of terrible suspense 
 that almost drove her mad ; and she would sit 
 for hours silently thinking, with no companion at 
 aU but her faithful dog Fritz. 
 
 Dudley said he hated the great, useless fool. 
 In truth Dudley Vane was getting strangely 
 irritable. Amusements and sport he never had 
 understood, nor, owing to his physical weakness,
 
 112 LAND ahead! 
 
 had lie ever been able to share in them with any 
 amount of credit, but now daily he became more 
 idle, more fidgetty, more unreasonable. 
 
 He disliked strangers. He even began to say 
 the Chesters were unbearable. 
 
 Maro^aret wondered if it was the heat that 
 made him so irritable. She learnt to answer him 
 gently ; but life's lesson was becoming a very 
 difficult one to her. 
 
 The grandeur and beauty of Froghambury 
 seemed to her in these days an insult ; it all 
 seemed a mockery of happiness ; the old pictures 
 seemed to laugh at her, the Cupids in the 
 cornices blowing kisses from the ceilings all 
 seemed to enjoy the joke, the stately old servants 
 seemed to be spies, and the fancied enjoyment 
 of possession seemed but to be part of the grand 
 delusion. 
 
 For appearances she had sold her soul. 
 
 How bitter the conflict, how wearisome the 
 daily, hourly contest. 
 
 Every way that she turned she thought she 
 saw failure stamped on her work ; everything 
 that confronted her seemed to be saying "You 
 will fail " before she touched it. 
 
 And she had thought she must succeed ; she 
 had thought progress was certain ; she had
 
 LA.ND ahead! 113 
 
 tliouglit life must be so easy, if you only went 
 straio^ht on, and did what was rigrht. 
 
 She had not counted on possible checks ; she 
 had not dreamed of all these difficulties. The 
 real work was so different from the ideal life. 
 
 She had thought it would have been so easy to 
 bring Dudley into her life, to make him love the 
 things she did, and rouse his soul to ardour for 
 the things that made life beautiful. 
 
 But no, he was out in the cold still ; out, 
 vanishing away into the dim distance farther 
 every day ; only her faithful dog seemed to have 
 followed her inside the gate. Was the love of 
 that dumb beast all she would ever really have to 
 triumph in ? 
 
 While these two beings were journeying away 
 from each other, another charming personage had 
 learnt to engross the ear of the heir of all the 
 Vanes. 
 
 Bill Ealing, a red-faced, red-nosed, one-eyed 
 individual of doubtful origin, and following the 
 profession of a farmer, was playing the ** Damon " 
 to Dudley s " Pythias." 
 
 The friendship began with lengthy conversa- 
 tions over the merits of the terriers ; it continued 
 through many days of exciting and glorious rat- 
 hunts ; it deepened over the purchase of a horse, 
 
 VOL. III. I
 
 114 LAND ahead! 
 
 in which transaction Dudley was the victim ; it 
 became eternal during evening talks in Bill's 
 parlour over Bill's ale. 
 
 Margaret gave but little thought to it, for it 
 was beyond her comprehension. She fancied 
 that Dudley was always giving him orders ; that 
 Dudley could ever converse with him, or could 
 ever feel the slightest pleasure in Bill's coarse 
 flattery never entered within her philosophy. 
 
 And yet Bill Ealing was a man ; a man in so 
 
 far that he owned a man's cunning, and a mean 
 
 personal pride, which made him resent as a 
 
 personal insult the calm indifference with which 
 
 Margaret treated him, or the cold stare of absolute 
 
 ignorance with which she passed him in the road 
 
 or in the village street. How little she knew of 
 
 the volcano smouldering in that little heart ; how 
 
 far she was from realizing the vengeance vowed 
 
 aorainst her in that narrow mind. Bill Ealin or 
 
 loved money, he loved beer ; but he loved also to 
 
 be honoured by Dudley's companionship for the 
 
 sake of the reflected glory it gave him in the 
 
 eyes of those below or around him ; it flattered 
 
 his spirit to find that his company was agreeable 
 
 to young Vane ; he discovered that his wit must 
 
 be sharp indeed, and his jokes of the choicest, since 
 
 they gave Dudley such undisguised pleasure, and 
 i
 
 LAND ahead! 115 
 
 that lie laughed at them so heartily. But there 
 was always the thorn that vexed him ; handsome 
 Lady Vane would not notice him. The manners 
 that seemed so pleasing to her husband could not 
 win a look or a smile from her. His heart seethed 
 and bubbled within him as he thought over the 
 studied insults she inflicted. 
 
 Dudley's civilities, even Dudley's money, thrown 
 into his hand too trustfully and too carelessly for 
 worthless animals on his false representations, even 
 this did not compensate for the wrong Lady Vane 
 did him. Was he not her husband's honoured friend 
 and trusted companion ? but yet what good did it 
 do him when, in answer to his salutation in the 
 village street, she took no notice at all, and Bill 
 Ealing would turn to see the ill-repressed titter of 
 the women standing by, or the pleased smile of 
 the labourers, who hated him for his low wages, 
 his tyrannous, grinding oppression, and his mean 
 cupidity ? 
 
 Was it not bitter 1 was it not humiliating ? 
 
 Once even he had spoken to Dudley about it, 
 asking him how he had ofi'ended " his lady," as 
 he called Margaret ; but Dudley had only laughed, 
 he could not understand Bill's feelings, and he 
 had made his anger worse by saying she probably 
 did not see him. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LAND ahead! 
 
 *'Not see liim! not know of liis existence! 
 Was any mortal man to stand such pride ? " 
 
 One day Margaret drove her pony carriage 
 through Froghambury village with Fritz following 
 her, when Bill Ealing was sitting drinking, as 
 was his wont, at the window of " The Blue Boar " 
 Inn. His ill-conditioned, pugnacious bull- terrier 
 was sitting on the window-sill, enjoying the 
 scenery of the village street, with his master. 
 
 Margaret was bound on a visit to a cottage 
 opposite, and giving the reins to the groom, she 
 got out of the carriage, leaving Fritz standing at 
 the cottage door, looking up wistfully into her 
 face as she signed to him to stay outside. 
 
 Fritz was used to go everywhere with her. He 
 looked reproachful and hurt. 
 
 ''No, my dear old fellow; your feet are too 
 dirty. You must wait outside." 
 
 She stooped to pat him as she spoke. 
 
 Bill Ealino; heard the words, for the window was 
 open. He looked on, the very picture of envy, 
 hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness. 
 
 Out ran a child, — colour, smiles, happiness, 
 human love. 
 
 " Fitz I Fitz ! " said the chubby angel, and 
 straightway put its fat arms round the great 
 dog's neck.
 
 LAND ahead! 117 
 
 Fritz suffered the embra,ce with smiling dignity, 
 and looked down on his admirer with gentle long- 
 sufferinor. 
 
 " You dear old dog ! " said Lady Vane ; and 
 she kissed him as she gently led the child 
 away. 
 
 The door shut in his face, there was nothing 
 left for Fritz but to make the best of it, and seek 
 his own interests and amusement. 
 
 Wandering to and fro after the carriage up and 
 down the village street, he soon found a bone, 
 and sat down to enjoy it to his heart's content. 
 His undisguised comfort was too glaring a con- 
 trast to Bill Ealing's frame of mind, and, scarcely 
 thinking of what he did, he pointed out this 
 Dives to his own plebeian Lazarus. 
 
 With one bound the dog sprang from the 
 window and confronted Fritz — tail erect, eyes 
 glaring. Poor peaceable Fritz arose. His bone 
 was wanted ; this vulgar specimen of a canine 
 bully dared to enter the lists against him. Fritz 
 despised him from his heart, but his honour must 
 be kept stainless. Fritz must fight. 
 
 It was soon done. A little snarling, a deep 
 growl, a roll in the dust, Fritz standing over his 
 tormentor, a gesture of ineffable disdain, and the 
 cur getting up, with a torn side and bleeding
 
 118 LAND ahead! 
 
 throat, then running away, howling and discom- 
 fited, to his no less discomfited master. 
 
 Fritz finished his bone, cleared up the pieces, 
 then looked about for his mistress ; but neither 
 carriage or mistress were to be seen, so, taking 
 one more look down the street, he made up his 
 mind she must have gone home, and he set off as 
 quickly as he could to follow her. 
 
 Meanwhile what words will explain the varied 
 feelings to which Bill Ealing now fell a victim ! 
 Inflamed by drink and by rage, mad at the 
 treatment to which his dog had been subjected, 
 thouofh at his own instis^ation, he arose, feelino[ 
 the world too small to contain him and his wrath. 
 Mighty, though apparently conquered, burning 
 for revenge, not only for this outrage, but for all 
 Margaret's past insults, now magnified in his 
 excited mind ten thousand times, he strode into 
 the street, pointing at his bleeding dog, and 
 struggling in vain for words. 
 
 Luck favoured him. Dudley Vane turned the 
 corner, strolling lazily along, and looking for Bill 
 Ealing or for any excitement that might present 
 itself His presence only added fuel to the flame. 
 
 Pathetically pointing to his injured cur. Bill 
 poured forth a torrent of strong language, plenti-
 
 LAND ahead! 119 
 
 fully seasoned witli oaths, into Dudley's astonished 
 ear. 
 
 A crowd gathered, and Dudley began to be 
 frightened. Visions of the County Court, of a 
 heavy fine, of all sorts of mysterious punishments 
 began to float before his bewildered brain. 
 
 " The dog is dangerous, the dog is mad. My 
 own dog is going mad, you see, from having been 
 bitten. My dog will die ; my poor harmless dog, 
 that never hurt a living thing. I won't stand it, 
 
 sir ; 1 tell you I won't ! do you think 
 
 any man will What do you take me for, 
 
 sir ? A great mad brute like that ! it will bite us 
 all. It is not safe. Every one in the parish is 
 afraid of it." 
 
 His blasphemy was frightful. 
 
 Dudley drew him into *'The Blue Boar," and 
 " stood " him a glass of spirits, while they thought 
 it over. 
 
 Then he called for a glass for himself. 
 
 And all the while Bill went on, getting hotter 
 and redder, and his eyes glaring more fiercely 
 every moment. 
 
 ''The great brute is mad; we are not safe a 
 moment. I shall have you up, sir, if, you don't 
 kill him. You must kill him."
 
 120 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' Kill him ! " murmured Dudley. 
 
 After all he was but a dog, just like a rat or 
 a rabbit, or anything else, meant to be killed if 
 it so pleased him. 
 
 '* Kill him ! you think he's mad ? " 
 
 " Sure of it, sir," said Bill with alacrity, half 
 sobered as he saw how quickly his words were 
 taking effect. 
 
 "After all," thought Dudley, "that would be 
 the easiest way out of the difficulty. It would 
 never do to offend Bill. He was so useful to 
 him. He really amused him, too, and here at 
 Froghambury he was the only friend he had 
 within easy reach. Moreover, the dog was a 
 bore. Margaret was always talking to him, and 
 he was for ever following her wherever she 
 went. Besides, it was very hot ; probably the 
 dog was mad. He must be killed." 
 
 " Come along then," said he. 
 
 Bill achieved something more like a smile than 
 he had done for years. 
 
 They emptied their glasses and walked up to 
 Froghambury, Bill not forgetting to dwell on 
 the injury that had been done him by the 
 way. 
 
 It was hot and sultry. The sun blazed away 
 pitilessly.
 
 LAND ahead! 121 
 
 " Hold your row," said Dudley, as they reached 
 the house, " or I shall go mad myself." 
 
 Fritz came out of his kennel as they passed 
 through the yard, stretching himself, and he 
 was^ored his tail as he OTeeted his master. 
 
 "Don't touch him, whatever you do," cried 
 Bill, loudly. " He's dangerous." 
 
 Dudley stood for half a moment looking from 
 the dos: to Bill Ealingr. After all, he could not 
 think the doof was mad. But he w^ould like to 
 do something vicious, cruel ; he was bored. He 
 was tired of the doo:, and then Maroraret was 
 such a fool about him. 
 
 " You wait here," said he to Ealing. 
 
 The door and the man stood lookino^ at each 
 other. The dog yawned. 
 
 Ealing was not interesting. 
 
 Eritz walked to the shade, stretched himself 
 out, and went to sleep. 
 
 Presently Dudley came back. He had a gun 
 in his hand. 
 
 '' Fritz ! Fritz ! " said he. 
 
 Fritz started to his feet and bounded towards 
 him. 
 
 Dudley put up his hand when the dog was 
 about ten yards off and stopped him. Fritz looked 
 at him wistfully. What did his master mean ?
 
 122 LAND ahead! 
 
 This : whizz through the air. Bang ! It was 
 Death that he meant. 
 
 The faithful eyes shone no more, the faithful 
 limbs that had striven so often and so gallantly 
 in his service quivered for awhile, till they 
 stiffened themselves after the death agony, and 
 then the noble, true heart was still. 
 
 Has not man dominion over every living thing 
 on the earth ? How nobly he uses the God-given 
 privilege ! 
 
 Vane and Ealing looked at each other. Then 
 Dudley laughed brutally. 
 
 " I did not know I was such a good shot," 
 said he. 
 
 " It was big game," said Ealiug. 
 
 '' Good-day," said Dudley, as he turned on his 
 heel. 
 
 ^' Good-day, sir," said the other. 
 
 Ealing stopped a moment looking at the 
 remains of the dog, 
 
 " It was a waste. But it serves her right."
 
 CHAPTEH VIII. 
 
 And nought forbids tiiy looking up at last 
 
 For some stray comfort in his cautious brow. ^ 
 
 When lo ! I learn that, spite of all, there lurks 
 
 Some innate and inexplicable germ 
 
 Of failure in my scheme. — Paracelsus. 
 
 It was late when Margaret came back from her 
 visits to tlie cottages, and when slie did so she 
 came fully expecting to be welcomed by Fritz in 
 the yard. When he was tired of waiting he 
 often went home before her. 
 
 But there was no sign or sound that spoke 
 of him ; no glad bark of welcome, no rough 
 manifestation of the usual burst of wild joy. The 
 great kennel stood there empty, and the silence 
 had something strange and unaccustomed about 
 it. 
 
 There was a pool of blood in the middle of the 
 yard. Margaret shuddered involuntarily, then 
 turned half-smiling to the grooms who were 
 standing at the stable-door, and asked —
 
 124 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Where is my dog ? " 
 
 Their faces, so strangely grave, suggested 
 something was wrong ; and her voice sounded 
 unnecessarily sharp as she put the question. 
 
 That Fritz had fought another dog she knew, 
 and that the other dog belonged to Bill Ealing, 
 and that he had defeated him, that also she knew. 
 Had not her groom told her the fact with glee, 
 and had not she herself regretted that the 
 vanquished dog should belong to such an 
 obnoxious member of society as Mr. Ealing as 
 much as the lad had rejoiced that the petty 
 tyrant and hard master should have been made 
 to suffer by such an irresponsible member of 
 society as Fritz ? 
 
 *' Where is my dog ? " asked she again, looking 
 from one to the other of the silent grooms stand- 
 ing there, and letting her eye fall again on to the 
 pool of blood by the carriage. 
 
 Then the coachman, who had been there since 
 Sir Gilbert's boyhood, and who had grown grey 
 in the service of these hot-tempered Vanes, came 
 out to her. 
 
 " He is not here, my lady." 
 
 " Where is he ? " 
 
 '' Oh, he is put out of the way." 
 
 " Put out of the way ? Shut up ! Where ? "
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 125 
 
 Her face expressed her indignation. 
 
 " He is killed," said the man, driven into a 
 corner at last. 
 
 She looked from his face to the others, and 
 read the confirmation of the news but too truly. 
 Then the red pool caught her glance once 
 more. 
 
 They were all looking at her face. 
 
 *' Who did it ? " asked she, at last. 
 
 " Sir Dudley." 
 
 " I understand," said she. But she did not. 
 
 She got out of the carriage slowiy, and walked 
 away towards the house, looking on the ground, 
 with a certain languor in her steps as though she 
 could not direct them. 
 
 In the hall she heard a man's step, and as 
 she came in sight it stopped. Instinctively she 
 knew it was her husband's, and that the sense of 
 the wrong he had done her made him afraid of 
 facing her. His cowardliness made her despise 
 him more. 
 
 She was mad at the moment with pain and 
 disappointment. She tried not to face him 
 either. She stood for a moment irresolute, with 
 her eyes to the ground. Then she stepped aside 
 to let him pass. She felt that she could not see 
 him. But he came nearer.
 
 126 LAND ahead! i 
 
 1 
 
 " Oh, so you have found it out, have you, old ; 
 
 gal ? Who told you ? " ; 
 
 " I hate you with my whole soul," said she, in ; 
 
 a low, concentrated voice. " Let me pass." ; 
 
 He stood looking after her. He had never I 
 seen her like that before. He had not known 
 
 that Margaret could be, could feel, could look | 
 
 like that. \ 
 
 What had he done ? He regretted it deeply \ 
 
 enough now. ; 
 
 No ; indeed he did not know what he had ' 
 
 done ; he had never really understood Maro^aret. i 
 
 Dudley had become her duty in life, and she had | 
 
 carried out that duty as far and as inviolably as ' 
 
 it was possible for her conscientious nature to do. | 
 
 Nay, believing she should be grateful, she had i 
 
 tauo^ht herself to love him. But love taught is. ! 
 
 never the same as love involuntary. Dudley, '' 
 
 however, had never discovered the difference. He ; 
 
 was not penetrating. Now, perhaps, he would ! 
 
 learn it. He had never understood what i 
 
 • 
 
 Margaret's life had been, how really solitary, and \ 
 
 how she had existed without real congenial | 
 
 companionship, and how she had taught herself ; 
 
 to live without sympathy and the energy which \ 
 sympathy gives, for the sake of duty. For duty 
 
 put Dudley, and the sacrifice is complete. i
 
 LAND ahead! 127 
 
 But Dudley had not understood it. Probably 
 he never would understand it. 
 
 Margaret had married Dudley in obedience to 
 her mother. In sacrificing herself, in marrying 
 him, she thought she had wronged him. To 
 make up for this wrong, to prevent him from 
 discovering it, had been her one aim, to give him 
 happiness had been her dearest hope. To teach 
 herself to love him, to keep his love, had been 
 her effort, her hope, her dream. 
 
 Now suddenly, on this September day, it was 
 all dissipated, it was all over. His cruelty 
 opened her eyes. He did not love her, and she 
 hated him. Duty was an impossibility, all effort 
 was vain. Truth is eternal. And to struggle 
 against it is only to show the futility of human 
 endeavour. We are but birds beating against 
 the bars of our cage. All at once we strike 
 ourselves harder than before, we fall exhausted, 
 and struggle no more. 
 
 " It was no use,^' she thought; "she would give 
 up. At all events there was one comfort in it — 
 Dudley knew now that she hated him ; there was no 
 need now to consider appearances any more. What 
 a margin and what breathing-room it gave her." 
 
 But for awhile she was really mad. Nobody 
 understood it, or is the conflict of mingled
 
 128 LAND ahead! 
 
 feelings to be at all easily explained. She was 
 really mad. So disappointed, so hurt, so shocked 
 by the sudden awakening to Dudley's real 
 nature and to her own impotence over it, to her 
 little influence over him and his happiness, so 
 lost and so bewildered without Fritz that she 
 really did not know what she did. All the rest 
 of that day she shut herself up in her room, and 
 no one was suffered to approach her. They 
 heard her sobbing sometimes, and then would 
 come a long silence, and then she would walk up 
 and down ; and the maid and the old housekeeper, 
 waiting outside, began to cry too from sheer 
 sympathy. 
 
 About the middle of the night she felt cold, and 
 she lit the fire, then she sat herself down in front 
 of it. But she could not really be still. Her 
 brain was in a whirl. She could not be still. 
 She would walk up and down, and then come 
 back again and stare into the fire. 
 
 Suddenly she thought she heard Fritz bark in 
 the yard, and she flew to the door and opened it. 
 The maids scurried away, frightened at being 
 discovered. 
 
 " Was not that Fritz's voice? " 
 
 They shook their heads. It had only been her 
 imagination.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 129 
 
 She turned away and shut the door again. 
 
 And the next day was just the same. She did 
 not stir from her rooms, hardly from the fire. She 
 sat crouched there. She might have been mad. 
 They brought her tea and everything they could 
 think of ; and they told her she would be ill. But 
 she only- said — 
 
 "What matter? " 
 
 And then they said she would die. 
 
 But she only answered — 
 
 " What does it matter ? It would have been 
 better to die." 
 
 They could not understand. They only had 
 seen a great big brown dog, with great true 
 faithful eyes, who had loved her and had gone 
 everywhere with her, and now he was dead. But 
 he was but a dog ; and they could not understand. 
 
 And then Dudley sent to know if she would see 
 him. 
 
 She did not look up from the fire, and presently 
 she said — 
 
 " No ; I hate him so, I had better not." 
 
 He sent back to say he was going away ; he 
 thought that she was only angry, out of temper ; 
 he thought it would touch her. 
 
 "Yes," said she, catching at it. " And tell 
 him to stay away. It will be better so." 
 
 VOD. III. K
 
 130 LAND ahead! 
 
 And then he went. And the weary days went 
 on. But she did not come down, or go out, or 
 move away from the fire. She said that was the 
 only place where she did not expect to see Fritz, 
 and yet that even there she did see hira some- 
 times. 
 
 So they told her she would go mad if she went 
 on so ; if she did not go out and see the flowers, 
 and the sunlight, and the clouds, and the people, 
 and the horses. 
 
 " You don't mean to say the sun shines, do you ? 
 It would not dare, would it ? " and then she 
 turned away sorrowfully. " Ah well ! it does shine, 
 I suppose. But all different ; it cannot be, nothing 
 can be the same:" 
 
 As for the horses, the park, and the people, the 
 very mention of them made her shudder. They 
 were all so mixed up with Fritz, she could not bear 
 the thought of them. 
 
 " I will never ride again, or go out again, or see 
 anything alive again," said she. '' There is no 
 life, no beauty, no joy ; Dudley has destroyed all." 
 
 In truth she was shipwrecked. She felt as if 
 all hope, all aim had left her ; as if aU effort had 
 henceforth left her, because all had proved useless. 
 Fritz had been the one friend, the one expression 
 of laughter and of innocent joy, of poetry, of
 
 LAND ahead! 131 
 
 imagination ; Fritz had been ready alike for a 
 
 joke or for grave consideration, for calm endurance, 
 
 for tender sympathy ; Fritz had helped her in all 
 
 her difficulties ; Fritz had been the one idol she 
 
 had allowed herself. Fritz was taken away, and 
 
 in the taking all the hope of success in all her 
 
 efforts, all the kernel of all her endeavours, seemed 
 
 to have failed too. 
 
 Life was a riddle to which there was no 
 
 answer. 
 
 Fritz had seemed a harmless sympathizer ; she 
 had thought that v/ith him she w^as even triuinph- 
 insr. Now she saw it was all a mistake. There 
 was no such thing as triumph for her at all. 
 
 Her thought of compassing Dudley's happiness 
 and Dudley's love was all false. Everything was 
 failure. It was hard that she should have learnt 
 the lesson by the loss of Fritz, hard that that blow 
 was needed to show that he hated her. But she 
 learnt it well anyhow^ ; it had that merit. Hence- 
 forward there would be no more mistakes. She 
 would have liked to have had Fritz to comfort her 
 just now, and to help her to bear the learning of 
 the lesson. But it was not to be. She was to 
 bear the ruin of her hopes and the shipwreck 
 of her life all alone. It was almost the first 
 trouble that she had borne without Fritz. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Sometimes slie could not believe he was dead. 
 She would start up in the night, fancying he was 
 there ; she would dream of him, or fancy she 
 heard his voice ; then it would all flash upon 
 her, and she would burst into wild tears. 
 
 " I wish I or Dudley had died sooner." 
 
 One day — it might have been a week after — 
 she was sitting as usual with her hands clasped 
 before her, idle and hopeless before the fire, and the 
 twilight was deepening in the room, when wheels 
 suddenly sounded on the gravel outside. 
 
 She made a gesture of impatience, and half 
 rose, with the intention of locking the door. 
 
 Dudley had come back evidently. She was to 
 be disturbed then again so soon. 
 
 '^ Why could he not have stayed longer ? " asked 
 she aloud; "but he will not dare to come." 
 
 So she did not move. For the present she 
 was safe. 
 
 A moment more and she heard a man's step 
 up the stairs. 
 
 " It must be Dudley, and here he was coming 
 in. How da,re he do such a thing ? " 
 
 She started up, suddenly roused, beautiful in 
 her indignation. 
 
 The door opened, and on the threshold stood 
 Valentin von Broderode.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 133 
 
 So intense was the revulsion of feeling that 
 for a moment she stood speechless. 
 
 Confused imac^es of the war and all the horrors 
 she had pictured to herself rose before her. 
 
 Her own little sorrow grew dim. She tried, 
 with a sudden generous impulse, to throw it off, 
 to cret rid of it. 
 
 She went forward, almost gladly, though with 
 a certain constraint in her manner, as though she 
 had been guilty of some forgetfulness, of some 
 selfishness, towards him. 
 
 *' They told me you were up here, that you 
 were alone in the house, and I thought I might 
 come up." 
 
 " I am so crlad," said she. 
 
 She had some one on her side then at last. 
 Her old friend of days gone by had come back. 
 
 " Are you alone 1 " asked he, questioning her 
 face. 
 
 " Yes ; quite." 
 
 " AVhere is Dudley ? " 
 
 "Away. I don't know where he is." 
 
 The question was awkward. It brought back 
 to her the trouble that she was trying to put 
 away. 
 
 " Won't you come to the fire ? " she asked. 
 "And yoU; Valentin, you are safe? Tell me
 
 134 LAND ahead! 
 
 about the war, this dreadful war ! How did 
 you come ? How did you get away ? " 
 
 The distraction from the home-trouble that she 
 could not tell, was a God-send. Public sorrows 
 claim universal sympathy ; private troubles often 
 cannot be told, and must claim no pity. There 
 was a certain constraint in her manner which he 
 noted at once, and yet there was a difference. 
 It was no longer the guarded stand-off manner 
 which had excited his anger so bitterly, it was a 
 growing trust, a piteous gladness, an unspoken 
 entreaty for a sympathy which she had not 
 claimed for years. He had come to her with his 
 heart full of bitterness, of cruelty ; full of revenge 
 towards Dudley for having cheated him of her ; 
 full of anger towards Margaret for having been 
 false to his love. Now he began to doubt once 
 more whether he would use his instrument of 
 vengeance ; he began to consider, as he felt her 
 standing beside him, whether he would not forgive 
 the injuries that had been done him, and consign 
 the will to the fire into which they were both 
 staring, while so many conflicting thoughts 
 coursed through their brains. 
 
 She too wondered at his abstraction as she 
 listened to him talking. She knew him well 
 enough to know his heart was not in his words.
 
 LAND AHEAD 1 135 
 
 and slie wondered what was coming. She too 
 was pre-occupied in thinking how she should 
 tell him of her home-trouble, or how she could 
 keep it away from him. But as she listened the 
 dijfficulty faded ; confidence grew. 
 
 He was telling her about the war, and the 
 fighting ; about the wounds he had received, and 
 how after he had been in the hospital, and after- 
 wards had been nursed at home by Lotta's help, — 
 what memories the name awakened in Margaret's 
 mind ! — how he had applied for leave, and how 
 the doctors had smiled significantly as they gave 
 the required certificate, and how he knew they 
 had hinted he mio:ht as well have what leave he 
 wanted, for he would not be able to fight again. 
 They thought him useless, and henceforth rather 
 a burden to the Fatherland than any good. 
 
 *' So I came," he added, simply. 
 
 Marcraret's heart bounded towards him. This 
 was constancy ; this was friendship and truth. 
 This was beautiful. Through all he had remem- 
 bered her ; and now, as soon as he could, he had 
 come back. Then for the first time she saw he 
 was haggard, ill, white, perhaps suffering. Why 
 was his arm in a sling, and what was that scar on 
 his face ? Then too she saw he moved with diffi- 
 culty. She felt alone no longer. Valentin too
 
 136 LAND ahead! 
 
 suffered ; Valentin had gone through pain. They 
 must both be different ; and they could both be 
 friends. Once more her trouble faded. She 
 seemed to rise above it, to lose self and selfish 
 sorrow, and to be one of a suffering mass of 
 humanity, but yet with the elements of helpful- 
 ness and of triumph within her. 
 
 ^' And you, Margaret ? " he asked presently. 
 
 She questioned his face. 
 
 " Something is wrong," said he. "I saw it 
 directly. What is it ? Is it any trouble ? " 
 
 " Nothing is wrong," said she. " I have no 
 troubles.'' 
 
 There was a silence between them. 
 
 " You are not true," said he at last. " I was 
 wrong to trust you. I might have known it." 
 
 " Shall I tell you then ? It will sound so 
 small, so insignificant after all you have seen and 
 suffered. Shall I tell you ? " 
 
 '' You must." 
 
 Then he sat down, for he was weak, to listen. 
 She stood, leaning on the mantelpiece, looking 
 now into the fire, now into his face. 
 
 *' It is nothing — nothing at least that any one 
 else could think anything. It was Fritz ; he 
 killed him. My poor old Tritz ; and I could not 
 bear it. That is all."
 
 LAND ahead! 137 
 
 She was crying. 
 
 Valentin looked on amazed. He remembered 
 Fritz well enough ; he too had loved the dog. 
 But after all he had seen of death just lately — 
 well, I only mean that it seemed strange that 
 she should suffer so much. But then he had 
 never understood Margaret's life atFroghambury, 
 or did he know what Fritz had been in it. He 
 had thought too that she was perfectly happy, so 
 well had she worn the mask. He had thought 
 she worshipped Dudley ; it was for that faithless- 
 ness of hers that he had brought the will, that he 
 might be revenged. Yet the wanton piece of 
 cruelty roused him even now, and he wondered 
 who could have played her this evil turn. 
 
 " Who killed Fritz ? " asked he at last, wonder- 
 ing how he could but sympathize with her. 
 
 " He did. I hate him. Don't speak his name ; 
 I cannot bear it." 
 
 " Not Dudley ? you don't mean him ? " 
 
 A smile broke over his face as he put the 
 question. 
 
 " Yes. Don't speak of him ; I cannot bear it. 
 I have told no one but you. I have seen no one. 
 I do not know yet how to speak of it. No one 
 can understand. It is such a blank, it is all so 
 miserable. I am all alone now. Before, Fritz
 
 138 LAND ahead! 
 
 was always there, and lie understood every- 
 thing." 
 
 "All alone now," he stammered. 
 
 " Yes," she went on, passionately ; *' I always 
 have been alone. You did not know it. Dudley 
 was nothing. He never could be anything. I 
 thought at one time — but it was just a dream, 
 that was all — I thought at one time I might 
 make him something, or that I might be some- 
 thing to him, but it was never true, and this has 
 shown me the falsehood of it." 
 
 " You have been living a falsehood ; do yoa 
 mean that ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I did not mean it. I thought I was 
 doing a grand thing ; I thought I was making a 
 grand sacrifice, — it was for my mother, you know, 
 when we were so poor, and Dudley gave her 
 money, — and I thought somehow that if one gave 
 up everything that one wanted, just because it 
 was a giving up, it must be right. But some 
 sacrifices even are all false, and if there is any 
 deception in them they must fail." 
 . -So— so " 
 
 " Yes. Oh, the life was dreadful. I did not 
 succeed. -Every day I seemed farther away, and 
 failure seemed ever present. The life seemed 
 dreadful, so cold, so solitary. But hoping for
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 139 
 
 better things was very bad, and keeping up 
 appearances was worse ; that was the worst of 
 all. Now that is all over/' She straightened her- 
 self proudly. " There are no more appearances to 
 keep up. There will be no more deception now. 
 He knows I hate him." 
 
 " And Fritz ?" asked Valentin, rather frightened, 
 and wishing to be told more than he dared 
 ask. 
 
 " Yes, that showed me what he was ; how 
 false and idle it had all been." 
 
 They stood quite silent there, lookiDg at the 
 smoulderinof ashes in the grate. 
 
 " Would you like to be revenged upon him ? " 
 asked be suddenly, starting up. 
 
 " I cannot," said she, shaking her head sadly. 
 ^' He has nothino' that he loves ; nothinf^ that he 
 loves half so much as I do Fritz." 
 
 ** He has Froghambury," murmured he in a low 
 voice. 
 
 "And then Fritz never does any harm. He 
 barks, and he looks bad because he is so big-; 
 but — ah ! " — she caught the change in his face — 
 " yes ; I know what I am saying. He is dead, 
 they say. Am I going mad, I wonder '? But you 
 do not know what Fritz is — was to me. He was 
 all I had here. And he taught me everything.
 
 140 LAND ahead! 
 
 He taught me liow to live at Froghambury. He 
 took me out, and he showed me beauty and fun 
 and joyousness everywhere. But for him I should 
 not have gone out, or should I have understood 
 country life or Nature's messages and Nature's 
 gladness at all. I thought I might always love 
 him. Valentin, what shall I do now ? " 
 
 He was standing beside her. Ill-repressed 
 excitement almost mastered him. He was look- 
 ing into her pleading, helpless, trusting eyes. 
 Just so years ago he had looked into them, but 
 with thoughts how widely different, with con- 
 fidence how far from this. Then they had both 
 trusted the future ; now, alas ! they had learnt to 
 fear it. 
 
 " You are punished, Margot," said he, at last. 
 
 She was astonished. Did he see it so ? Had 
 she really ever caused him pain ? had he ever 
 felt anything, any disappointment in any human 
 being as she had felt ? had he too felt ship- 
 wreck ? had he too felt alone ? Unconsciously, 
 in her impotent regret, she drew nearer to him. 
 
 " And now you hate him ? " asked he. 
 
 She nodded her head slowly. 
 
 " And he hates me." 
 
 " Shall I help you to vengeance ? " 
 , She stared. What did he mean ?
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 141 
 
 "You don't care about Frogliaml^ury, or for 
 money, or for position do you ? " 
 
 He stood looking down into her puzzled 
 face. 
 
 " I hate Froghambury/^ 
 
 " Would you like to be poor, so long as 
 you had sympathy and happiness and kindness 
 instead " 
 
 " Sympathy and happiness and kindness," 
 stammered she, catching at the words. 
 
 "Nay, Margaret, I will tell you," said he, 
 suddenly changing his tone. " You are quite 
 poor; you have nothing. Froghambury is not 
 yours. Nothing is yours. It is all wrong. Look 
 at this." 
 
 He took the will — crumpled and creased, even 
 blood-stained now — from his pocket, and put it 
 into her hand. Then he studied her face. He 
 expected her to cry, to be angry, to doubt it — 
 he expected her to turn upon him. It was well 
 to talk of sympathy and happiness, it was well to 
 talk of hating Froghambury in the abstract, but 
 a good rent-roll is a source of undeniable comfort, 
 and one does not leave an assured home without 
 a struggle. 
 
 '* So — it is not ours ? " said she at last. 
 
 There was a smile even on her face ; the
 
 142 LAND ahead! 
 
 necessity for action was a relief to her ; it came 
 as a diversion from her misery. 
 
 " It — may be yours still," said he slowly, 
 watching her. 
 
 She did not understand his meaning. 
 
 " If — you — like, that is." 
 
 " How curious it was never found before. How 
 did you get it ? where " 
 
 Then he told her how he had found it in the 
 old cabinet ; he told her too how he had kept it 
 with him, always with him, how he had dreamed 
 over it, how he had built castles in the air over 
 it ; and how, — suddenly coming nearer to her and 
 speaking quickly, — how he had seemed to have 
 new life on finding she was at last in his power. 
 
 " In your power !" she repeated. 
 
 She looked at him as she listened to his rapid 
 utterance. He was burning with some vivid, 
 masterful thought. It was not the Valentin 
 whom she had known. This was some wild, fierce 
 man who had been in scenes of mad passion, who 
 had become used to and demoralized by horrible 
 days of bloodshed and nights of human suffering 
 and misery. This man standing by her, pouring 
 out words of passionate violence, was one who 
 had strayed far from the youthful promise, from 
 the ideal she had known ; this was one whose
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 143 
 
 soul had been poisoned by human brutality ; this 
 then was the work of war on a human soul. 
 
 ^' In your power ! " she had said, with something 
 of astonished contempt in her voice. *' Valentin, 
 you forget," she added, and in the tone there was 
 pity. 
 
 " Forget what ? " he asked. 
 
 "Forget yourself, and what you were, or what 
 at least I thought you ; forget too what I am." 
 
 *' Forget what you are ! never. False, miser- 
 ably false, that is what you are. False to him 
 and me alike. False to him in that you never 
 loved him ; false to me in that you did love me, 
 and — but you could not be true ; it is not in your 
 nature. But see now if it could be so. Can you 
 let me hear the truth once, can you so far be 
 generous, and I will burn this paper. Not a word 
 will I breathe of it. Then Froghambury is still 
 yours ; wealth is still yours, and more than that, 
 the promises we made each other in brighter days 
 mio'ht still have somethinor of truth in them." 
 
 She started from him and stood like a hunted 
 animal at bay. 
 
 " Not one friend — not you even? "she murmured. 
 " And I trusted in you. But you know you must 
 show that paper ; you know you cannot hide 
 it."
 
 144 LAND ahead! 
 
 "No one knows of its existence. No one 
 dreams of its having been in my possession. You 
 have but to say the word, my darling ; it all 
 rests with you. Dudley's future, my happiness, 
 all depends on one word ; is it so difficult ? " 
 
 The paper was in his hand again now. He 
 held it over the flames. 
 
 " Valentin," she exclaimed, passionately, " can 
 this be you who are talking to me thus? Is it 
 you, my ideal, my idol if you will, who talk and 
 tempt me thus ? How has it come, my friend ? 
 how have you fallen thus ? Trouble brought me 
 very low ; but you, you are a man. You should 
 be stronger than I." 
 
 He put the paper in his pocket again. He 
 stood looking at her angrily. 
 
 '' So we are poor ; we are nothing ; we must 
 work. What will " — she hesitated ; she could 
 not call him Dudley — ' 'he do ? He is so help- 
 less." 
 
 '' It rests with you," said Valentin. 
 
 "No ; it does not rest with me,'' said she, 
 quickly. " It is all coming right. I married 
 him for money, and it is all taken away. I am 
 punished. It is better so." 
 
 ''What will you do ? " He was laughing. 
 
 " Do ! " She looked at him'hopelessly. " After
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 145 
 
 all, I am alone. You are my enemy ; that too 
 was false a minute ago, that I had a friend. All 
 human help is false I begin to think, except what 
 I can give to others." 
 
 " You !" exclaimed he, contemptuously; *' you ! 
 AYhat can you give ? You start aside to the first 
 pleasant haven. To you there is no anchorage." 
 
 Just then the door of the adjoining chamber 
 opened and shut again. But there was no foot- 
 step, nor did any one come. They forgot it. 
 
 " To you words are air, like the morning 
 breeze, that comes over the hills and passes away 
 to other ears, and to you promises are like the 
 white clouds that fleck the morning sky of hope — 
 something to deck an idle hour, and that is all." 
 
 *' And to you ? " asked she. 
 
 " To me they are life," said he, solemnly. " Do 
 you think, when we talked together in the old false 
 days at Sonnenthal, when we dreamed of heaven, 
 and made a possible heaven here on earth ; when 
 we trusted life, and made our castles in the air of 
 careers and triumphs, do you think it was not real 
 for me ? I believed in it all, and I lived on it all. 
 You did not. The next words of love you heard 
 you thought as good, and smiled as brightly and 
 as falsely in another's face as you had done in 
 
 mine." 
 
 VOL. III.
 
 146 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 "It was not false/' 
 
 " What, Margot ! did you care then in those 
 old days ? was it true, the smile I lived on then ? 
 You know I loved you ; you know I love you 
 now. You know what a hell you made of my 
 heaven. Say, did you suffer too ? '' 
 
 " Valentin, it is useless, all this. It is too late 
 now. You are mistaken. You think you cared, 
 but you were so proud, so trustful, so confident^ 
 and, alas ! so thoughtless too." 
 
 " Certainly, if you had told me, even you your- 
 self, with your great truthful eyes, in those days 
 that I should go and fight, and be wounded or 
 killed, and you would care more for a poor dead 
 dog, I should not have believed it then. Now — 
 I see." 
 
 " It is not true, Valentin ; it is not true." 
 
 " Look here, Margot. Be true to yourself, to 
 us both, now, though so late. I — look, I know, 
 — nay, I dare not say it. But, Margot, listen. 
 I do not believe you, whatever you say. Take 
 the veil away ; tear away the thin disguise. 
 Child, trust me, and be mine, as I am yours." 
 
 He was on his knees now ; he knew not what 
 he did. As for Margaret, she turned away, hiding 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 " I remember it all," said he, following her.
 
 LAND ahead! 147 
 
 "I see it all now. Your life, your sacrifice, your 
 silent suffering, the brave way you have worn 
 the mask before me ; I see it all. Let us have 
 done with it, Margaret." 
 
 His arm was round her now, his face was close 
 to hers. With an effort she freed herself. 
 
 " You are mad, Valentin," said she, disgusted. 
 " I believe I did love you once, years ago, just 
 for ever so little time ; but I see now how 
 unworthy you were. You deserved nothing but 
 what you got. I did quite right." 
 
 " You believe that ? Do you know, if I am 
 bad now, if I have fallen as you say now, do you 
 know whose work it is ? " 
 
 " It was all a dream that you could be good or 
 great. You are not fit to be any one's ideal. It 
 was all false — all your fine talk ; your promises 
 too meant nothing, and your love was selfish 
 pride. Go, Valentin, go ; do your worst. I 
 have no friend once more. I will see you no 
 more. I will live alone, and work alone." 
 
 Was he sobered ? did he repent ? 
 
 " At least you know I love you." 
 
 " Love me ! Is that love ? I call that hate 
 rather. Do you, you, Valentin, who used to talk 
 so finely, and so wisely too, do you call dishonour 
 love ? Are you a fool, then, as well as a knave ? " 
 
 L2
 
 148 LAND ahead! 
 
 " At least forgive me, Queen Daisy." 
 She passed her hand over her eyes. The name 
 sounded such a mockery. The old bright, girlish 
 days seemed so far, so far off. She could not 
 bear it. Was there nothing, not one straw of 
 comfort, or of hope, or of sympathy left ? Was 
 this carefully-reared edifice of friendship also to 
 fail her ? Was this dream of mutual help and 
 sympathy between herself and her husband and 
 Valentin also — only a dream ? 
 
 She could not help it ; she burst into tears. 
 
 Standing there, looking on, Valentin came 
 gradually to the waking sense of misery which 
 an evil deed brings to a conscience not yet quite 
 dulled to a sense of right. 
 
 " Will you forgive me. Queen Daisy ? " 
 
 " Yes ; oh yes ; I suppose so. But don't call 
 me that ; you have no right now." 
 
 To her he seemed down in ever so deep a chaos 
 of despair. 
 
 " There is nothing left in life now," said 
 he. 
 
 The shades deepened in the room, and she 
 sobbed on uninterruptedly. 
 
 " I had better go away," said he, getting up at 
 last. " At least I had better go down." 
 
 ^'How terribly you have failed," said she.
 
 LAND ahead! 149 
 
 taking her hands away from her face and 
 meeting his eyes. 
 
 He went away, shutting the door after him. 
 As it closed upon him the other door that led 
 into Margaret's room was gently pushed open, 
 and Dudley Vane stood before her. 
 
 " I heard all," said he. 
 
 " I am glad of it." 
 
 But he had not heard half. 
 
 '' We are quits now," said he. 
 
 " Yes ; we are quits," said she. 
 
 She was thinking of the will, and she pitied 
 him in her heart.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Of him, myself, and thee, I am forsaken ; 
 
 A torment twice threefold to be thus cross'd. — Sonnets. 
 
 As for Dudley, he was beside himself with rage. 
 Whether he had acted honourably by listening to 
 the conversation between Valentin and his wife 
 or not he never stopped to think, but he jumped 
 at once to the worst of conclusions, and felt 
 himself an injured, betrayed man. He gave her 
 no loop-hole for escape. In his eyes she was 
 false and guilty. That she had uttered some 
 grand, unintelligible words he knew vaguely, but 
 his own sharp sense told him they were but a 
 thin disguise for her guilty passion. She had, 
 perhaps, heard him come into her room, she must 
 have heard his footstep ; he had entered hastily, 
 carelessly. He had come, anxious to see if she 
 had got over her bad temper about the dog ; 
 there had been no thought of concealment in his 
 mind. She had probably heard him, and she
 
 LAND ahead! 151 i 
 
 1 
 
 had attempted to mislead liim by lier words. ; 
 But he had heard enough. He knew all now. 
 Not only did she hate him irreparably for having 
 
 killed Fritz, but she always had hated him ; she j 
 
 had married him for his money, and she loved \ 
 
 Valentin. There it was in a nutshell, so simple, i 
 so complete, a life plot and a life tragedy. 
 What a fool he had been. He was angry with 
 himself, and with her, and with all the world 
 
 beside. As for Valentin, he felt mad when he j 
 
 thought of him. j 
 
 Valentin loved her, and he had dared tell her j 
 
 so. She too, so Valentin had said, had always j 
 
 loved him. Dudley believed it implicitly. That i 
 
 was the worst of it. The long weeks and months j 
 
 all came back to his mind ; the sad procession j 
 
 seemed to choke him as he watched : her solitude, i 
 
 her self-restraint, her efforts after better things, I 
 
 her thouo^htless contrast of himself against \ 
 
 Valentin, her pleasure in music and painting, i 
 
 her sympathy with Valentin in the old days at I 
 
 Sonnenthal, her refusal of himself in London, i 
 the first days at Froghambury ; later, her wild 
 
 excitement about the war ; now her hatred of j 
 
 himself, which had burst out so uncontrollably i 
 
 when he killed 'her dog ; her sending for Valentin, I 
 
 his finding them together there, and she acknow- j
 
 152 LA.ND ahead! 
 
 ledging lie had been her ideal ; his passionate 
 words, her wild sobs. Ah ! could he kill him, 
 and so end it ? Could he kill him ? Where 
 was he ? 
 
 Stung to madness by these jealous thoughts 
 he went in search of Von Broderode. Not in 
 the hall, not in the drawing-rooms, not in the 
 gallery. 
 
 '*The coward has fled," said he, aloud, as he 
 came into his own room at last. 
 
 No ; there by the window, sitting with his 
 face buried in his hands, and a paper spread on 
 the table before him, sat Valentin. 
 
 *' At last I find you, coward," said Dudley. 
 
 Von Broderode started up. Was Vane mad ? 
 What did he know ? Why did he speak thus ? 
 While he had been alone there he had been 
 thinking whether he would not after all destroy 
 the will, and leave the woman he loved just so 
 much happiness ; of course she would never 
 forgive him this day's work ; but if he were to 
 do just this it might be some slight reparation. 
 Whether it would be honourable — well ! but he 
 loved her, and her interests were his ; and then, 
 perhaps, if she saw him burn it before her eyes, 
 and if she just shared the secret with him, was 
 there not sweetness in the thought ? Then, he
 
 LAND ahead! 153 
 
 wondered, surely she could not love this cruel, 
 intemperate, coarse-minded Vane ; surely the old 
 dream might one day 
 
 " At last I find you, coward." 
 
 Valentin started up. A wearied expression of 
 beings tormented crossed his face. Here were new 
 complications. 
 
 *' Coward ! " he repeated, haughtily. 
 
 " Yes ; I repeat it. Double-dyed coward. I 
 have heard all. I know all." 
 
 It flashed upon Valentin that Margaret had 
 told him about the will. . 
 
 " I have been a fool," said he. 
 
 They stood looking at each other, these former 
 friends. A woman's step made them turn. Mar- 
 garet, fearing mischief, had come down. Hatred 
 was written on both their faces. Valentin looked 
 like the shadow of his former self; Dudley, with 
 his pale face, looked more ill, more wretched, 
 more the victim of drink and dissipation than 
 ever before. These five or six days' recklessness 
 had made their niark. 
 
 Dudley stamped his foot at the sight of her, 
 and motioned her away. 
 
 " I will not go," said she, with calm determin- 
 ation. 
 
 ** You have no place here any more," said he,
 
 154 LAND ahead! 
 
 wildly. " But if you will, stay ; you like the 
 sight perhaps." 
 
 He crossed the room and took up a pistol-case. 
 Then he went to Valentin, offering it. 
 
 " Here," said he. "I heard— I know all. You 
 are a beast and a coward. You must fight." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Valentin, a certain sense of 
 humour breaking upon him as he took the 
 pistol. 
 
 " You will not fight ! " said Margaret, looking 
 at him for the first time. 
 
 " Your husband is mad, and I must humour 
 him." 
 
 " I am not mad ; but I am going to shoot you." 
 
 " Dudley shoots dogs, nothing higher," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 " He wants this paper," said Valentin, laying 
 down his pistol ; " that is why." 
 
 Dudley looked from one to the other. Then 
 he raised his pistol and — but Margaret stepped 
 between. 
 
 " Shoot me, if you like," said she. " You and 
 he have something else to settle first." 
 
 Vane swore aloud as he dropped his pistol. 
 
 What ! then she cared for him still ? She risked 
 herself before that madman thus. 
 
 Surely, such was his mad thought, she would
 
 LAND ahead! 155 
 
 let her wifely duties go to tlie winds now ; : 
 
 surely, though so late, she would accept his love. | 
 
 He knew she loved him from that gesture of \ 
 
 hers.. ! 
 
 " He is mad," said Valentin. *' Choose between I 
 us, Margaret." 
 
 He held the will up that she might see it. i 
 
 " Say but the word, and I destroy this. Choose j 
 
 between us even now and trust me." '\ 
 
 "Give me your pistol," said she, smiling 
 
 suddenly, and holding out her hand towards j 
 
 him. : 
 
 He obeyed her and gave it. \ 
 
 " I have chosen," said she, walking back to her ; 
 
 husband, and putting her hand lightly on his i 
 
 arm. \ 
 
 He shook it off as though it had been a viper. ', 
 
 " I have chosen," said she, again looking out ; 
 
 clearly on Valentin. "He is my husband; and^ i 
 
 he is mad. You cannot fight. As for you, did i 
 
 not I say I forgive you ? but I will never see \ 
 
 you any more, or speak to you again." i 
 
 Then she turned away from the room slowly, ' 
 taking the pistol with her. 
 
 " So you won't, fight ? " said Dudley, bullying 
 
 him. i 
 
 " No, I won't. 
 
 ] 
 
 i
 
 156 LAND ahead! 
 
 *' I thouglit you wouldn't dare." 
 
 *' Look here, Vane, fighting is no great matter 
 to me now-a-days, nor is my life worth much 
 even to myself. You might have it for the 
 asking. But you are her husband, and she 
 chooses to hold to you still. Psha ! what am I 
 saying ? Here is a paper you must see. I am 
 sorry for you, and sorry that I should have been 
 
 the one to No, I am not ; no lies. I am 
 
 sorry for your wife, that is all." 
 
 Vane took the paper, and he staggered as he 
 read. To this man money was very dear. Frog- 
 hambury, its broad acres and grand old house, the 
 good rent-roll it brought him, and the position it 
 gave, all had become his second life ; he could 
 not fancy himself or his existence going on 
 without Froghambury. 
 
 " This is not true, not authentic. You have 
 made this up." 
 
 " It was in the old cabinet you gave me. You 
 know it had stood in Sir Gilbert's room. I sup- 
 pose he put it there at the last." 
 
 " If he marry Margaret Hoffman," repeated 
 Dudley to himself. 
 
 Meanwhile Valentin sat down at the table and 
 simply copied the few words of the will. 
 
 *' That is for you," said he, looking into Vane's
 
 LAND ahead! 157 
 
 white face as lie gave him the copy, and despising 
 him in his heart. " I keep the will. I am not 
 sure that I should have produced it ; I am not sure 
 that I should not have burned it ; but she has 
 made me tell it. Here," he added, putting a card 
 in his hand, " is my address in London ; we must 
 meet again." 
 
 " I suppose so ; in this world or the next." 
 
 " I am going back to the war ; but not im- 
 mediately. I shall be in London." 
 
 Dudley's eyes were still bent on the copy of 
 the will. 
 
 " Fight ! " he murmured ; " he won't fight unless 
 he has some one behind him to make him go on." 
 
 But A^alentin had gone. 
 
 As he crossed the hall he heard the rustle of a 
 dress, and looking up he saw Margaret slowly 
 turning to go up-stairs. Just in that instant he 
 caught sight of her face — cold, wretched, white, 
 miserable. 
 
 " Have I done that ? " thought he to himself, 
 and his heart seemed to stand still as he hoped 
 wildly she might turn and see him. 
 
 She did turn ; their eyes did meet. What a 
 wild look of sorrow and reproach and pain it 
 was. There was no sound, no speech between 
 them ; only that sense of eternal reproach.
 
 158 LAND ahead! 
 
 He started off as if he had been shot. Nay, 
 a moment more, and was he not shot ? 
 
 There was the report of a pistol, there was 
 Vane at the window, there was the bullet 
 whizzing by Valentin's ear, and there he was 
 — walking alone ; safe, but for henceforth for ever 
 alone. 
 
 Had she seen ? had she known ] 
 
 He did not know. Only this he knew, that 
 from henceforth he must be for ever alone. 
 
 Yes ; Margaret had seen, she had heard. She 
 turned slowly on the stairs and went down 
 again. 
 
 Dudley was there, white, shaking in every 
 limb. 
 
 The copy of the will was open on the table. 
 
 " God forgive you," said she, solemnly. 
 
 He turned sharply. 
 
 " You there ? you are always there ; get 
 away." 
 
 "You tried to murder him. It was not your 
 fault that you missed." 
 
 " Get away. You lie." 
 
 " You could not kill a man, only a poor harm- 
 less dog." 
 
 " That coward would not fight." 
 
 " You ! no, I should think not."
 
 LAND ahead! 159 
 
 The contempt in tier voice stung him to the 
 quick. 
 
 She turned to go away. 
 
 "I have something to show you," said he, 
 brutally ; '^ something very pleasant. Wait a 
 minute." 
 
 He scrutinized her face. 
 
 Did she know of this will ? He had not heard 
 it mentioned in that conversation between them. 
 If only, — and a wild, feverish hope sprang up in 
 his heart, — if his suspicion had been too easily 
 excited, if there were not that perfect confidence 
 existing between Valentin and his wife that he 
 had supposed, if he had not told her, then he 
 micrht after aU be wrong : she mio^ht after all 
 be noble and pure and single-hearted towards 
 him, as he had had faint glimpses sometimes that 
 a good woman might be. If — here was the test — 
 if she did not know, then some time they might 
 stiU be friends ; if, on the contrary, Valentin had 
 told her, and both were watching for his ruin, 
 and he had in fact stopped her desertion of him 
 just on the threshold of poverty, then it must be 
 aU too late and there would be no hope for either 
 of them more. 
 
 " You thought you married me for my money," 
 said he, in his true bullying tone ; " but
 
 160 LAND ahead! 
 
 you will be disappointed. Prepare for a sur- 
 prise." 
 
 She stood calmly waiting. 
 
 He never thought she would tell him ; he 
 thought to himself he would judge by her face. 
 He pushed the copy of the will into her hands. 
 
 " Are you not surprised ? " 
 
 She looked at it, but without reading it. She 
 knew all about it, but she was wondering why 
 that one had been in a cramped, neat hand- 
 writing, and why this was in Valentin's writing. 
 
 '' Where did you get this from ? " 
 
 And then she saw by his sudden change of 
 manner how much depended on her pre-know- 
 ledge ; she saw that he actually hoped from it, 
 that if she could only say that she knew nothing, 
 that she was isfnorant of this disaster, that she 
 had in fact been powerless in it — that to some 
 great, incomprehensible extent her innocence was 
 established, and that happiness in some small 
 degree might be possible. 
 
 '' Don't you know ? Didn't he tell you ? " 
 
 For a moment she lifted her eyes to his face ; 
 they met his fearlessly. 
 
 "Yes ; he told me all about it." 
 
 His hands fell down at his side, a frown 
 settled on his face, he avoided her glance ; at
 
 LAND ahead! 161 ! 
 
 I 
 
 last, mechanically, he put out his hand for the ! 
 
 paper. ,| 
 
 " I did try to shoot him." 
 
 " God forgive you. Just for the sake of a i 
 
 little money. God help you." i 
 
 *' We must act upon this at once, I suppose," j 
 
 said he at length. | 
 
 " Yes," said she, with more energy in her voice | 
 
 than it had had for days, " at once ; this minute. 
 Douglas will know; let us ring and ask him, I 
 
 since it has his signature." i 
 
 She moved towards the bell. ' 
 
 " Are you not sorry ? do you not mind ? " : 
 
 He shrank from letting even the old butler 
 know that he was a poor man. 
 
 " Yes," saidshe, turning, with herhandon the bell; 
 ^' for you I am sorry. For myself, I do not care." 
 
 *' That is a lie," said he. " Don't let us have 
 more of them, at least." 
 
 " I only meant that I do not see what you are 
 to do," said she, moving off, and ringing at once 
 with decision, while her heart turned to stone, 
 and all the pity towards him died out at once. 
 " For myself, I do not care." 
 
 '* You will go off to the man who won't fight, 
 I suppose, now that I am poor." 
 
 " Perhaps I may," said she. 
 
 VOL. III. M
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Qui a cesse de jouir de la superiorite de son ami a cesse de I'aimer. — 
 Madame Swetchine. 
 
 When trouble comes very lieavily upon one, and 
 there seems no outlook from the black clouds but 
 suffering and shipwreck* and sorrow; when the 
 night is so dark that one can scarce see one's 
 hand before one, then, amid the consolations 
 with which a human soul is provided, one of the 
 healthiest and the safest is, perhaps, good, honest, 
 hard work. If that work can tend to the happi- 
 ness or comfort of others so much the better, so 
 much the nobler, so much the fuller is our own 
 comfort, and so much the more are we perfected 
 in our suffering ; but, if that cannot be, yet let 
 some healthy work be done and peace is slowly 
 shed upon us. 
 
 To Margaret, who after much conflict and 
 self-abasement had learnt to forgive Dudley her 
 sorrow in her very pity for him in his misfortune,
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 1 63 
 
 this chance of work gave life and hope and new 
 energy. Dudley's happiness could not yet be 
 thought of ; he wauld not suffer her to approach 
 him ; he would barely speak. Sympathy with 
 him was impossible. But she might consider 
 his comfort from the distance, afar off as it were, 
 and to that in a thousand little nameless ways 
 she devoted herself. He did not believe in her, 
 she knew ; he hated accepting any service from 
 her ; if he had any comfort in his poverty, it was 
 that she. was thereby poor too ; but she seemed 
 not to notice his cruelty and mistrust, and went 
 on her way hugging her sackcloth and ashes to 
 her poor empty heart, and heaping coals of fire 
 on his head. 
 
 Yet she was very miserable. Poverty was 
 nothing, but their lives were wrecked. And was 
 it not through her ? Was it not all her fault ? 
 That was the question that tormented her. 
 
 She should not have married him if she could 
 not be happy with him. Then she should have 
 kept no one comfort for herself in which he had 
 no share, she should not have left his life out in 
 the cold. True ! he would not, could not share 
 hers, but still — no ; it had been wrong, and she 
 had not seen how to put it right. She had 
 thought she loved him, and instead of that -she 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 ' LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 had loved Fritz. Now slie should not have 
 made of Fritz what she did. Was she not 
 stern to her poor little self? Was it not 
 pathetic ? And then she should never have 
 hated him, madly, violently as she had ; surely 
 now she repented in dust and ashes ; but still 
 had not the battle been hard ? She to have 
 brought all this trouble upon him, and now 
 because, too, he had married her he must lose his 
 home, his house, his money I All through her ! 
 The very pity of it made her repent of her own 
 sorrow and anger and hatred, and in her pity 
 she almost felt she could love him now, though 
 so late, if she might. 
 
 But she mio^ht not. He was miles off now. 
 And there were miles and miles of sorrow and 
 of self-control and of suffering to be traversed 
 before they could meet as friends again. Why 
 had failure come to them thus ? Why was the 
 reality of life so different from the idea of it ? 
 Why had the possible future looked so fair, and 
 why now was there nothing but blank despair 
 staring her in the face ? If only she could begin 
 again, if only she might have the blank unwritten 
 page before her once more, if only the ideal 
 mio^ht be attainable once more. 
 
 Yet surely it was ! (Thus she would talk to
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 165 
 
 herself in those dull, dark days.) No good once 
 seen is lost or is vanished for ever. Once present 
 with us, we may strive after it, though late, and 
 in the end gain our hold on it once more. 
 Slowly on her struggling sense came the thirst 
 for moral beauty, came the wish for living close 
 to duty, and for having her life so firmly held, so 
 purely clothed by it that the possibility of 
 strapng from it might be lost. In such a circle 
 of work happiness seemed again real and lasting. 
 If only she might grope near to it by degrees so. 
 Would she be let to do that ? 
 
 She had never seen the beauty of life or the 
 misery of thoughtless sin so clearly before. 
 
 Would she be strong enough to foUow the path 
 all by herself — all alone ? It was sombre, 
 sometimes it looked hopeless. And at such 
 times her heart was very heavy. 
 
 Her husbaud's nature, his want of affection for 
 her, his cruel, vindictive temper revealed before 
 her ; Fritz wantonly killed, and her friend — the 
 friend of her girlish days, the man whom her soul 
 had delighted to honour, the man whom she had 
 loved and about whom she had woven such 
 dreams of friendship for herself and her husband ; 
 the man whose life she would have guarded from 
 all stain and sorrow — now far from her, necessarily
 
 166 LAND ahead! 
 
 sent away, living his stained life where he might, 
 and she prevented from all further interest 
 therein. 
 
 Sometimes she could not realize it. 
 Could a human soul, she would ask herself, 
 fall away thus from its own standard and from 
 its own knowledge of right ? It was not as if 
 Valentin had been ignorant, or even weak, as so 
 many are ; he knew better, and such had been 
 his knowledge, it had, or should have given him 
 streno^th. It was not as if he had not known 
 her or her character. How could he have 
 entertained his thouo^ht for a moment ? Had 
 not he always despised sin as weakness ? had not 
 he often laughed when he had heard of others 
 yielding to temptation ? Had not, in fact, his 
 soul been captivated by beauty — ^the beauty, that 
 is, that has no falsehood in it, and that is as fair 
 within and throughout as any passing semblance 
 may seem ? Just for that loyalty of his to truth 
 and goodness, just for his dreams of ambition, 
 just for his confidence in his strength, and for his 
 faith in his success — had he not won her love ? 
 And now how was the trust shattered ; now how 
 had the .proud life come to shipwreck ! Where 
 was the early promise that the bright morning 
 had offered to them both 1
 
 LAND ahead! 167 
 
 To her now no rising for him seemed possible. 
 He had failed miserably, hopelessly. His life- 
 star had sunk ; there could be no more beauty or 
 brilliancy about it. What visions had she had 
 of the three — Dudley, Valentin, and herself — all 
 walking placidly on the road of life, turning 
 aside to help each other, blessing each other's 
 lives with the mutual help of sympathy, and 
 using their several strengths for each other's 
 benefit ; making, as it were, a great, sudden light 
 of sunshine for all who should cross their way, 
 and helping others by the way-side, as they were 
 themselves helped. 
 
 As it was now, alas ! they all three needed 
 help. Which would rise first ? 
 
 And of the three, the highest, the bravest, the 
 strongest, the one in whom the elements of help- 
 fulness had seemed the best, the Valentin in whom 
 she had trusted, had fallen the lowest. The 
 hardest part of it was that she could not help 
 him ; that she must not even try. He must stay 
 out there ever so far away, and she must know 
 nothin or must ask no thin of. 
 
 They were severed for ever. Fallen and lost 
 and miserable and alone. Once he had called her 
 his guardian angel. What a sarcasm ! 
 
 Through her he had failed thus miserably.
 
 168 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Throuofli lier he had lost the brisfht vision of 
 truth. Through her these two men, of whom she 
 had first dreamed such beautiful dreams of eternal 
 help-giving friendship, had both stained their 
 lives, and now she was helpless to remove the 
 blot she had made. 
 
 And in her helplessness she would grow angry. 
 To think she had ever had any ideal, she would 
 say; but she had had it. And then he had 
 seemed so worthy, so bright, so strong, like a very 
 angel of light, dealing only in smiles and confidence 
 and mercy, trusting in goodness and in the strength 
 such trust gives, — but now fallen. 
 
 What was the good of knowledge, of cleverness 
 — what was the good of knowing better things, 
 and of having once loved them — if, all at once, so 
 soon, so suddenly the false step can be taken? 
 There was nothing human worth caring for or 
 worthy of belief any more. 
 
 There was only one thing. Effort. To that she 
 would devote herself She would hope nothing, 
 she would fear nothing, she would only strive. 
 Hitherto she had not striven enough. Alone and 
 friendless and weak and miserable, but yet faithful 
 to the light she had seen but well-nigh lost, she 
 would strive yet, and see where the struggle would 
 land her at last.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 1 69 
 
 Life must be lived. One may be wrecked, but 
 if death has not come one must breathe till he 
 does come. And it is well to do it as comfortably, 
 as truthfully to one's wants as one can. One must 
 be faithful to oneself at least. The wants of our 
 comrades do not enter into every one's articles of 
 faith, but to the best of us they do, and when they 
 do they must be obeyed, or we only breathe half 
 our life. 
 
 Dudley was left to her still ; afar off, out in the 
 dim distance, cold, impassive, but still there. In 
 time she might creep near to him and share his 
 life still, and bring it near to hers again. 
 
 For that other all kindness, all hope, all 
 sympathy was impossible. The thought of him 
 was an eternal reproach; it was blank misery, it was 
 endless despair. For ever severed; for ever alone ; 
 for ever each living a life scarred, spoiled; both 
 maimed for eternity. 
 
 All through those miserable days Margaret 
 seemed to be moving as if in a dream. There was 
 the will, and its evident uncontrovertible authen- 
 ticity; there was old Douglas' asseverations ; he 
 remembered it all, and by degrees he understood 
 it all, and explained it all as it slowly dawned 
 on his understanding. Then there were lawyers' 
 letters and lawyers' meetings ; there was Mr.
 
 170 LAND ahead! 
 
 Tudor hovering about, now condoling, now ex- 
 plaining, now telling them to hope, now telling 
 them there was no hope for them at all; there 
 were consolatory letters from friends, there were 
 irritating letters from the mothers-in-law, there 
 were mysterious communications from the distant 
 relation who was becoming the owner of Frogham- 
 bury ; there were vague surmises about ^'what they 
 should do now," where they should live, and how 
 they should live there ; and above and beyond all, 
 there was the pale, unhappy face of Dudley, who 
 began to look as if his next place of residence 
 would not require much thought in this world. 
 
 In vain Margaret bore all uncomplainingly, even 
 cheerfully, in vain she showed how little the loss 
 of money and of Froghambury troubled her, in 
 vain she faced the future bravely and confidently ; 
 Dudley was inconsolable. Certainly there was 
 much to bear. 
 
 At last the adieux of friends, the questions of 
 relations, the uncertainty of the future were 
 comparatively over; Froghambury was aban- 
 doned, and Dudley and Margaret found themselves 
 in a small home in London. 
 
 To Dudley this was misery. To Margaret it 
 was life. 
 
 That first evening her dear mother came to see
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 171 
 
 her, and after some common-place condolences 
 fell carelessly into vituperation. It was all 
 Margaret's fault, she was sure. In the first place, 
 she should never have married Dudley ; he was a 
 poor miserable creature, and if only Margaret had 
 not jumped to conclusions about his being rich, 
 she, Mrs. Hofi'man, would never have been 
 talked over by her daughter. 
 
 Valentin was worth a hundred of him. Had not 
 she heard how bravely he had fought in the war ? 
 There was a brave, good young man, if she liked. 
 
 And then how silly Margaret had been. She 
 had not managed him well. Eumour had not 
 been idle, and of course every one knew that he 
 had been in love with her, and if she had only 
 been ordinarily clever she should have got that 
 will from him. Of course it had been folly to 
 give away the cabinet ; they deserved much for 
 having made such an expensive gift ; but still, 
 havino; made it, Mars^aret should have made him 
 burn that will. What else was the use of his 
 being in love with her ? 
 
 " And, Margaret," she added, at last rising to 
 put on her bonnet, " was it true that he would 
 not fight ? Eh ? I dare say it was all talk ; but 
 it looked bad for you. Perhaps there was no duel, 
 or no talk of it. Was there ? "
 
 172 LAND ahead! 
 
 " There was no duel ; duels are things of the 
 past. And a duel indeed ! What stories people do 
 invent. No. Mother, I am so tired, I must go to 
 bed. We had such a journey to-day." 
 
 " Oh, so there was no duel. But then I suppose 
 it was because he would not fight. Dudley said 
 lie wouldn't ; and I didn't know what to say. It 
 has been an awkward business, but you must 
 just live it down. People often do have to live 
 things down ; but it is a long business, and a 
 bore. And I'm sure you might have managed 
 better.'^ 
 
 Poverty might be very well to laugh at when 
 it was yet a long way off, it might even be 
 pleasant to dream about, and it is a fine subject 
 in plays or novels for romantic situations. But 
 when it began to come home to the Vanes daily, 
 almost hourly, as in their London life it neces- 
 sarily did, the romance of it began to ooze away 
 very uncomfortably. 
 
 The one fact that stared Margaret in the face 
 was that she had brought Dudley to this. Certainly 
 it had been done in all ignorance, but still the 
 fact was there. How to repair it was the enigma 
 of her life just then. The bare mention of her 
 working, of her doing anything to gain money, 
 was treated by everybody with ridicule.
 
 LAND ahead! 173 
 
 Yet Dudley could do nothing. He did not 
 know how to do anything, and he seemed to get 
 more ill and more unhinged and more hopeless 
 every day. Margaret wondered if he was really 
 going to be ill. 
 
 Somebody must do something. She must. 
 So she went to see her old friends, her authors 
 and her actors and her artists, and amid glad 
 laughter at seeing them again and tears at her 
 sad circumstances she asked them to help her. 
 What a helpless flood of sympathy she got. 
 
 And then Lorraine came to see her, pretty 
 Lorraine, who cried as she held her hand, and 
 who wanted her and Dudley to come and live at 
 Carlingsford till they saw their way better; and 
 then Lord Chester came and said the same thing, 
 till Margaret fairly broke down, and said she 
 could not be happy like that. 
 
 They smiled admiringly, but looked very much 
 puzzled, and went away ; and then they came 
 again and said it again. 
 
 But then Margaret got up, and half crying, 
 she took Lorraine's hand, and then she laughed a 
 little, and looked up shyly at Lord Chester's face. 
 
 " I have something to tell you," said she. 
 
 " What ? " said he. 
 
 " But it is very shocking," said she.
 
 174 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 And tlien she laughed again. 
 
 " Margaret is certainly mad/' said Lorraine. 
 ** Yes, I. am mad. But it is all settled now." 
 " What ? That you are mad ? " 
 " It has been very tiresome. I had no idea it 
 would be so difficult. But it is all settled at last. 
 Orford Ellis came, and Bertram Powys has been 
 so kind, and I had to go, oh, once, twice, and 
 twice more, and read there at the theatre before 
 a whole lot of horrid people and fusty men, and 
 then there was talking, and arguing, and bothering, 
 and bargaining, and days with no news at all, and 
 then more reading, more frightful ordeals, horrid 
 visits here from all sorts of extraordinary people, 
 but now — (I believe they told all sorts of stories 
 about me, and made me out much better than I 
 am) now it is all settled. Congratulate me ; I am 
 going on the stage." 
 
 Lord Chester coloured and started. 
 
 Lady Lorraine laughed aloud. 
 
 " I half envy you. How happy you will be." 
 
 *' Lorraine 1 " said Lord Chester, sternly. 
 
 " Well, I do. In pur miserable society life we 
 can do nothing. We do nothing by wholes at 
 least ; we are hindered and stopped everywhere. 
 And we do nothing worth doing, except little bits 
 of kindness, just crumbs of bread perhaps, which
 
 LAND ahead! 175 
 
 could not sustain life unless we were very easily 
 satisfied — which we are ; we almost do live on 
 material comforts ; our souls struggle on as best 
 they may. You now will live truly." 
 
 " Won't you give me a little bit of applause 
 some day, Lord Chester ? " 
 
 " Of course I will,'' said he. 
 
 But he was troubled. He did not see why she 
 should be so happy.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Much might be said in tributary praise, 
 Could just encomiums dwell in poet's lays ; 
 But no, a higher laurel far she wears, 
 And gains the great reward of tributary tears. 
 ' Lines written to Mme. Celeste, 
 
 Not only was Lord Chester s mind disturbed by 
 the news Lady Vane had given him of the 
 plunge she intended to take, but the minds of 
 her husband, her mother, her mother-in-law, her 
 friends, her country neighbours, and the circle, 
 widening as the rumour spread, of the London 
 world itself, or that small section of it called the 
 world, all participated in the disturbance. 
 
 What puttings-up of hands there were, what 
 shakings of heads, what displays of pocket- 
 handkerchiefs and rollings of eyes. How many 
 *' I thought so's," and "I told you so's," or "L 
 guessed it would end strangely," and " These ill- 
 assorted marriaojes never do," or "We knew there 
 was something odd about her." Yet it was
 
 LAND ahead! 177 
 
 almost a triumph for Mrs. Yane. Her step was 
 more elastic, her eye shone brighter, for had not 
 she been proved a true prophetess ? Had she 
 not always said Margaret was unlike other 
 people ? 
 
 And for Mrs. Hoffman it was almost a defeat. 
 (I am speaking as the world saw it, in a worldly, 
 social way, not counting the poverty or the 
 straits the Vanes were put to, and not counting 
 either the pride of either husband or wife ; 
 especially not counting the dumb, silent, haughty 
 spirit of the one to the other. Both could suffer, 
 but neither could complain. Only Margaret 
 looked before her and tried to rise above the 
 suffering.) 
 
 But to Mrs. Hoffman this plan of Margaret's 
 to work for her daily bread was a social defeat. 
 Had she not married her daughter to Dudley 
 Vane for position, for connection ? had not her 
 dream been to see her daughter a great lady, 
 giving entertainments, being universally liked 
 and respected ? indeed had there not been a 
 vague dream that in time her daughter, Lady 
 Vane, should lead society ? With Margaret's 
 talent and beauty, with Dudley's former wealth, 
 there had seemed nothing preposterous or absurd 
 in this. Society is so easily led ! And dreaming 
 
 VOL. III. N
 
 178 LAND ahead! 
 
 of this leadership, depending on this social status, 
 Mrs. Hoffman had already looked up many of 
 her old connections, had renewed many of her 
 old acquaintances ; leaning as it were on her 
 daughter's arm, she had formed anew many 
 broken ties ; but now, what was she ? where 
 was she ? Margaret was absolutely flying in the 
 face of the life she had made for her, and was 
 marring the destiny that Providence and her 
 mother had offered to her. What society now — 
 even the weakest — would ever be led by a young 
 woman on the stage ; one who associated with 
 the oddest of people, and who worked for her 
 daily bread? There was the sin — the stain for 
 which nothing could atone. 
 
 " Work ! oh, Margaret, how can you ? " said she 
 one morning after one of her daily tirades against 
 Margaret's avocations. 
 
 " But, mother, we are so poor." 
 
 " Mrs. Yane would help you." 
 
 *' No, indeed ; she says we are to help our- 
 selves." 
 
 " That is because you can help yourselves." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 ^' Do nothing ; she will help you better." 
 
 *' I could not bear that." 
 
 '^ Dudley should do something."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 179 
 
 " What could he do ? " 
 
 " Does he like this madness of yours ? '* 
 
 "I do not know; he says he does not mind 
 what I do." 
 
 In fact he did not seem to mind. He used to 
 sit there for hours watching Margaret studying 
 her part, till his company became torture ; he 
 seemed to have no spirit for anything. He 
 watched her, watched her narrowly, and that was 
 all ; and if he was discovered in his watching he 
 averted his eyes, and generally closed them. 
 
 Just the hope of success kept Margaret alive, 
 for all through this dreary time of work and 
 solitary effort she felt that Dudley did not trust 
 her. Valentin had gone back to the war, the 
 country had thrilled with the news of Sedan and 
 Metz, and of defeat after defeat of the French 
 arms, of victory after victory for the Prussians, 
 but Margaret purposely avoided the papers ; she 
 would not annoy Dudley by showing any interest. 
 And as far as individual interest went she was 
 playing no part. Her heart seemed turned to 
 stone towards Valentin. Her sole aim in life 
 seemed atonement to Dudley by every thought and 
 kindly evidence of care that she could, and by her 
 work and self-denial, for the wrong she had done 
 him in marrying him. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 LAND ahead! 
 
 This was tlie hardest time of all. She had 
 every one against her. 
 
 Dudley said or suspected that she liked the 
 stage for the freedom it gave her, and for the 
 opportunities she would have to see Valentin 
 frequently; the neighbours said it was her real 
 nature coming out which had been repressed too 
 long at Froghambury ; the world waited, laugh- 
 ing, for the fiasco it would witness ; and Mrs. 
 Hoffman and Mrs. Vane, meeting one day 
 accidentally in Margaret's little drawing-room, 
 shook hands over their antipathy and flatly said 
 they disowned her. 
 
 No one for her but Orford Ellis and Bertram 
 Powys and such friends, and these the world said 
 were mad. 
 
 The manager of the theatre, however, was for 
 her, and no one said he was mad. 
 
 He had had the fact of her appearance posted 
 up everywhere ; often the words caught Margaret's 
 eyes as she walked through the streets. 
 
 But no one counted the cost to her. Not 
 the fear of failure, or the acute terror of 
 ridicule, or the abject feeling of despair and of 
 humiliation in Dudley's eyes if all went not well. 
 No ; none counted the cost, save one little 
 friend.
 
 LAND ahead! 181 
 
 Lorraine used to come and hold her hand 
 and look into her eyes and ask how she was 
 getting on. 
 
 " Oh, well ; better. I have more courage now." 
 
 " And are you happy ? " 
 
 " Almost. No ; I shall be when it is over." 
 
 " And is Dudley kinder ? " 
 
 " No ; he is never kind now." 
 
 " Does he mind this plan of yours ? " 
 
 " No ; he doesn't mind what I do." 
 
 "That is dreadful." 
 
 '^ Yes ; it is dreadful." 
 
 Then Lord Chester came and advised her to 
 give it up. " Every one was talking so." 
 
 '' Whj won't people leave one alone I " said she. 
 *' If they only would it would be so much easier 
 to go straight on and do right." 
 
 " But do give it up." 
 
 " You don't know how much money they have 
 offered me." 
 
 "But you don't care for money." 
 
 " But Dudley must live. He wants all sorts 
 of things." 
 
 "Let him work." 
 
 "He cannot. He is too ill now. He seems 
 to have no strength for anything. Oh, Lord 
 Chester," said she, suddenly breaking down, " do
 
 182 LAND ahead! 
 
 you think distrust, suspicion could ever make a 
 man so unhappy that he might fall ill ? " 
 
 *' Suspicion, eh ? I don't know. Eh 1 what do 
 you mean ? " 
 
 " Do you think it might kill a woman ? It is so 
 hard, distrust — I mean so hard to bear ; I think 
 it might. But what am I saying ? Don't tell 
 Lorraine what I said." 
 
 ^' And you really must go on the stage ?" 
 
 " Yes. I could not run away now, you know. 
 And I must/' 
 
 *' Of course, if a woman says she must, she 
 must." 
 
 And so at last, after weary days of working, 
 after solitary hours of self-restraint, after a dreary 
 Christmas that was not like Christmas at all to 
 Margaret or to Dudley, one night at the end of 
 January the curtain went up in a London theatre, 
 and Lady Vane stood before the public. 
 
 Had they not all disowned her? had not 
 mother and husband and mother-in-law and 
 friends and neighbours and even society itself 
 frowned upon her? was there one friendly face 
 looking at hers ? was there one kind smile to 
 meet her nervous, anxious, hurried look ? were the 
 manager's prophecies of a full house at all likely 
 to be verified ?
 
 LAND ahead! 183 
 
 Yes ; they were all there. For torture, for 
 friendship, for sympathy, for love, for applause, 
 for amusement, whatever the motive, they were 
 all there. 
 
 Margaret felt her heart bursting within her as 
 face after face peered into hers out of the gloom 
 beyond the footlights ; she felt her spirit lightened 
 i^dthin her, and she knew she must succeed. 
 
 There in the front row, cold, pale, impassible, 
 sat Dudley. The audi-ence laughed satirically, 
 when again and again she turned to him as she 
 played, determined to win him more than all the 
 rest in the hour of her triumph. 
 
 And there, close by, sat Lorraine. Ah, she 
 had done it all. It was she who had brouofht 
 this bevy of friends and this galaxy of bright eyes 
 to look at Margaret play. She it was who had 
 asked, commanded, threatened ; she it was who 
 had talked, entreated, slaved for Margaret. 
 
 And there too was Mrs. Hoffman in a box far 
 away. Though "disowned, she could see Mar- 
 garet she su23posed," so she said, " as well as any 
 one else." 
 
 And there were Mrs. Vane and Lilly. 
 
 " They came," they said, " to see Dudley's wife 
 disgrace herself." 
 
 And there, kinder than the rest, kinder even
 
 184 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 than the society people who cared not which way 
 it was, so long as they were amused, kinder than 
 all, were Orford Ellis and Bertram Powys with 
 his sister and other friends, who had no other 
 help to give but love and kindliest sympathy. 
 These they gave ; and Lorraine and Margaret 
 blessed them as she took and appreciated the gift. 
 
 How was it then ? Was it failure ? Ah, no ; 
 she triumphed. 
 
 The dazzling footlights, the beaming faces 
 swam before her as the thunders of applause rang 
 in her ears, the bouquets fell at her feet, and the 
 house rang again with her honoured name — 
 honoured surely and rightly so. If ever woman 
 had laboured unaided, without hope in all despair 
 self-abnegatingly, she had ; she deserved every 
 atom of honour she won. Tears filled her eyes 
 afe she listened. 
 
 " How good they are to me," said she. 
 
 The actors who were with her crowded round 
 her praising, charmed alike by her modesty and 
 talent. 
 
 " It is your due," said they. 
 
 They were proud of her. When any one has 
 played for a stake, and when the stake depends 
 on your strength, and you have won, then people 
 are proud of you.
 
 LAND ahead! 185 
 
 Lord Chester came round to see her. Mr. 
 Tudor, of all people in the world, was with him. 
 
 " What do they say ? " asked she. 
 
 " Say 1 " exclaimed Mr. Tudor ; " I do not know 
 what they say. But I know my dream has come 
 true. I always knew of your genius in the old 
 days at Sonnenthal. I always wanted to see you 
 on the stage. If I — well, if I could I would 
 come too ; just to do as you hate done to-night." 
 
 But Lord Chester took her hand quietly. 
 
 " We had a disagreement, dear Lady Vane, 
 you and I. Well, you have won." 
 
 She smiled. 
 
 " You are generous. Lord Chester. But what 
 does Dudley say ? " 
 
 " Say ! " answered Mr. Tudor ; " why he 
 says nothing, of course. He always does say 
 nothing." 
 
 " Shall I send him to you ? " asked Lord 
 Chester. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 There was only Chester standing by when he 
 came, and this is how he told his wife afterwards. 
 
 "Lorraine, it was the prettiest sight in the 
 world. I heard and saw it all ; how could I help 
 it ? Mind, this goes no farther. But you know 
 he came when I fetched him, and — and — well, it
 
 186 LAND ahead! 
 
 reminded me somehow of a scene you and I 
 played years ago — I mean when we had had a 
 misunderstanding and when we made friends 
 again." 
 
 " But Margaret was never to blame, dear." 
 
 " No, I don't mean she was ; but then — well, 
 Lorraine, give me a kiss then, and I will tell 
 you." 
 
 So she held his hand while he told her, and 
 so they managed to understand the story per- 
 fectly. 
 
 " You see he came when I fetched him, and 
 there he stood — dull, cold, awkward ; I believe, 
 half afraid of her. And she was trembling all 
 over, and her colour went and came like a young 
 girl looking at her first love ; you would never 
 have believed it was the same woman who had 
 kept us all hanging on her words a few minutes 
 before. And, Lorraine, what a great, hulking 
 brute he is to have such a pretty wife ! " 
 
 *' And, pray, why did not you come away ? " 
 
 " Well, of course ; but I could not get away. 
 And then he was in front of the door. And 
 then, somehow, I think she really rather wanted 
 me to stay ; she seemed so afraid of him." 
 
 *' The wretch ! " 
 
 " Well, so she turned to him, smiling and
 
 LAND ahead! 187 
 
 looking, and colouring and getting white, as I 
 said, just imploring a kind word without exactly 
 asking for it. I could have knocked him down. 
 Then by degrees she got nearer and nearer to 
 him, slowly, and looking up to his face, half 
 afraid, the whole time. ' What is this ? ' said he, 
 huskily ; * more acting, Margaret ? ' " 
 
 ** The brute ! " said Lorraine. 
 
 ''And then she started up stiff and straight 
 and proud, as you might be, Lorraine, and she 
 w^as afraid no longer. ' No, Dudley ; we have 
 done with acting for to-night.' They stood 
 looking at each other silently, and I, well, you 
 can understand — I was afraid to move." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " Then she came quite close to him and put 
 her hand on his shoulder. ' Won't you give me 
 one smile or one kind word, Dudley ? You have 
 not really smiled to me — not really — for so many 
 long days.' And he hung his head, as if he were 
 ashamed of himself. ' And you know you are all 
 the whole world to me,' said she again. He 
 started as if he had been shot ; I shall never 
 forget it. ' Is that true ? ' he said. But she 
 went on talking, as if she had not heard. ' It is 
 only for you I am here, it is only for you I work. 
 I want to make you happy ; I want to give you
 
 188 LAND ahead! 
 
 back something of all you lost, if I can, by- 
 marrying me. I do not care what the world says 
 — they may all make me out as bad as they like ; 
 it is only for you I care. Dudley, smile ; Dudley, 
 you are my life ; let me live for you. Work is 
 so hard when there is nothing but despair in 
 front of you. Else I do not care, not for poverty, 
 not for anything, if only you will be well and 
 happy.' And then the boy sobbed. Will you 
 believe it, Lorraine ? And he put his hand on 
 his wife's head and kissed her ; and then he said, 
 * Heaven forgive me, Margaret, for doubting you.' 
 They smiled then, both of them. Certainly the 
 sun shone out from behind the clouds." 
 And you, what did you do ? " 
 I ! I said aloud, ' Well done, true heart.' I 
 meant Lady Vane, but it sounded as if I meant 
 Vane. I suppose both took it. As for him, I 
 think he's a brute. You said once you thought 
 all men were brutes." 
 
 " I don't think so now, Charley," said Lady 
 Lorraine, very gravely. 
 
 '' Well, that is a good thing." 
 
 " And Margaret ? " 
 
 " Oh, there is no more to be said. She seems 
 started on her road. We must help her as much 
 as possible. As for the rest, when I said some- 
 
 (i
 
 LAND ahead! 189 
 
 thing about the fine result of her work, she said, 
 ' Oh yes ; what is three or four months, or even 
 six months, out of a man's life if he has gained a 
 step in them ? '" 
 
 ** She is a very clever woman, Charley/'
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Who steals my purse steals trash ; 
 
 'Tvvas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands ; 
 
 But he that filches from me my good name 
 
 Kobs me of that which not enriches him 
 
 And makes me poor indeed, — Othello, Act iii. So. 3. 
 
 0, this boy 
 Lends metal to us all ! — Henry IV., Act v. So. 4. 
 
 Men had looked coldly on Valentin when he 
 returned to the war. Strange rumours had been 
 afloat, listened to even in such busy times, and 
 his reg-iment had felt their honour was at stake. 
 A man who refuses to fight when he is challenged 
 should be allowed no place near them ; their 
 interest cannot be his, their hopes must be strange 
 to him. But it was war time. And then too it 
 was unaccountable. He had seemed, nay, was so 
 brave ; he loved honour ; he had fought before 
 that wound of his, and before that visit to 
 England, as if life were nothing to him, so only 
 that he did his duty. He had shamed them all 
 with his rash courage ; greybeards had smiled
 
 LAND ahead! 191 
 
 half sadly at his enthusiasm, and the young 
 soldiers had looked on amazed, endeavouring to 
 emulate him in vain. He had been the favourite, 
 the darling of the corps, with his bright smile 
 and ready wit. 
 
 Now these tales that had come across the sea 
 from England were unaccountable. Men felt their 
 pride and their perception alike damaged in the 
 relation of them. Then they thought they 
 would wait till he came, and he would set it 
 straight. 
 
 So in the autumn, when his wound was healed, 
 and Valentin returned, a mysterious reception 
 met him. There were distant looks and the cold 
 shoulder everywhere, averted faces, and strange 
 questions. 
 
 His pride came to his rescue, and he stumbled 
 on blindly doing his duty, and asking for no 
 friendship, since it seemed likely to be denied. 
 
 Then at last, when the silence and the mystery 
 were becoming oppressive, an old friend spoke to 
 him one day. 
 
 " Your wound was bad in England ? " 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " You could not fight ? " 
 
 Valentin stared. 
 
 *' No ; I could Dot."
 
 192 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Or you would not ? " 
 
 '* No ; I would not." 
 
 " Then you should not have come back, per- 
 haps." 
 
 So then it all flashed upon Valentin, and he 
 knew the thought that was uppermost in their 
 minds. But he would not break the silence. 
 They might send him away if they liked, but 
 not a whisper of the truth should they ever 
 
 hear. 
 
 Steadily he worked, and fought when occasion 
 offered, wondering sometimes when the clouds 
 would lift, or whether death would relieve him 
 from requiring them to lift at all. 
 
 He was awake now afc last, though so late, to 
 life and to its responsibilities. Dreaming was 
 done with. It had been a rough waking ; but the 
 vision that had seemed so fair now held nothing 
 but bitterness in retrospect. He had begun life 
 by believing he must be happy ; this had turned 
 out false, and in trying to mend the shattered 
 creed he had marred it hopelessly. Now perhaps 
 he went too far in the reverse direction, and 
 thought all happiness impossible. He had made 
 a succession of mistakes, and brooded over the 
 past with a sombre satisfaction. There seemed 
 nothing worth an aim in front now, and he
 
 LAND ahead! 193 
 
 plodded on, as it were, in the dark, walking up 
 just to his hand and no more. 
 
 It was curious in that dreary autumn time 
 how the lives of Margaret and Von Broderode 
 — the two enthusiasts — were running parallel. 
 They were learning the lesson of life. Tears, 
 and trouble, and solitary work, and aspiration 
 and effort for the one, conflict too against evil 
 report and unkind tongues ; and scenes of blood- 
 shed and misery, and death and trouble, amid 
 suspicions, mistrust, and ill report for the other. 
 And neither could stretch out a hand to the other ; 
 or did either know of the trouble of the other, or 
 of the good fight that other was making. Just in 
 the stand they made, just in the fight they fought 
 against the fate they had brought upon them- 
 selves, were the elements of hope contained ; but 
 they knew it not as yet. The light had not 
 broken on either. 
 
 And, Valentin fought bravely, stolidly, as a 
 Prussian can. Men said he bore a charmed life. 
 They said that English tale could not be true. It 
 faded as he fought. They opened their hearts to 
 him again. They even forgave him his reticence. 
 The old generals smiled again, and the Crown 
 Prince shook his hand. The clouds began to 
 break. 
 
 TOL. III.
 
 194 LAND ahead! 
 
 Later, he was wounded again, but he said it 
 was nothing. They gave him the Iron Cross. 
 With the supreme indifference of bitterness, he 
 said that was nothing too. 
 
 '*A man does his duty, my friend, nothing 
 more," said he, proudly, when they wondered at 
 him. 
 
 In fact duty was the be-all and end- all of exist- 
 ence to him then ; in time it would be clad with 
 brightest robes of beauty, and he would worship 
 her with an adoration tenderer far than the 
 sullen submission he yielded her now. 
 
 But what was praise, what were decorations 
 to him ? It might sound in his ear, or they 
 might glitter on his breast, but after all it was all 
 glamour ; they came too late ; they might please 
 boys or mere children, but he felt as if he were an 
 old man now, and far beyond any such gratification. 
 The sights he had seen, the troubles he had gone 
 through had taken the buoyancy out of his heart, 
 and in his bitterness he thouo^ht that only ex- 
 treme youth could have pleasure in such trifles. 
 
 And meanwhile this terrible war went on. 
 Crash after crash fell on tottering France ; each 
 name of town or fort was but the sign and mark 
 of fresh desolation. Soissons, Verdun, Schelestadt 
 and Neu Breisach, Toul, Strasburg, Metz : what
 
 LAND ahead! 195 
 
 a list it was ! And now, reinforced continually, 
 had the Crown Prince sat dow^n wdth his army 
 before Paris. What a curious life it w^as. Long 
 days of waiting, excited watching, sudden repulses 
 of sorties, furious fighting, shells bursting con- 
 tinually around, and men struck dead as they sat 
 by the fireside, or played their game of cards. 
 
 Christmas came, and they w^ere still there, 
 making the best of the shell-fire, and of the biting 
 cold : dying, sufi'ering, but more hopeful than 
 ever, and stolidly bearing their sorrows as Ger- 
 mans do. 
 
 Germany gathered still, backing up these 
 obstinate besiegers ; Germany saluted the King 
 as Emperor, and Germany hid her tears and 
 smiled. Spartan-like, at the pain she endured. 
 
 Sleighing, skating, Christmas-trees amused the 
 soldiers at Versailles. On the 21st more serious 
 work kept them warm, and when the fighting was 
 over, alas, many a gap w^as found in the merry 
 companies, many a voice hushed for evermore that 
 had been loud in jest and laughter. 
 
 But Trochu was beaten — the sortie w^as a 
 failure, and Germany roused herself to greater 
 activity than ever against the besieged. The 
 Landwehr poured into France again. Mont 
 Avron — that hitherto irrepressible enemy — wa's 
 
 2
 
 196 LAND ahead! 
 
 silenced ; on tlie 27 th tlie bombardment of the 
 forts on the north-east of the town began ; on the 
 5th the besiegers directed themselves against 
 Issy and Montrouge. 
 
 And then at last the supreme moment comes. 
 The last sortie is made. Mont Valerien belches 
 forth smoke and fire and men, and the fiercest 
 doofs of war are let loose once more. 
 
 Amidst it all Valentin stands firm, watching 
 the thin blue line of smoke, watching the crack- 
 line fire, till his turn comes, and then he 
 advances, happy once more, happier than he has 
 been for months. Now the line breaks, now it 
 is driven back, now the man close beside him 
 falls dead, now a chassepot bullet grazes his 
 tunic. 
 
 How steady they are ! How glorious it is ! 
 Take each individual heart and effort in that 
 stately mass, and is not the result of love and duty 
 glorious ? 
 
 But now, for a moment, they are driven back, 
 and Valentin's spirit chafes within him. Again 
 he urges his men on. What is this French corps 
 coming suddenly into view ? must it not be swept 
 off from the earth ? They answer to his summons ; 
 again they triumph, and the Prussian guns open 
 fire with deadly aim.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 197 
 
 The French are driven back ; flash follows 
 flash ; the French give ground ; yards back have 
 they gone. The front line (Valentin's) keeps its 
 assailants back. Messengers fly from the Crown 
 Prince's stafl", and still the answer conies that the 
 advanced line is steady still. 
 
 Victors ag:ain ! Montretout taken ! It seems 
 that the death-agonies of the captive city are 
 in vain indeed. Trochu's bravery and French 
 despair all useless ; the death-writhings are of 
 no avail. 
 
 The night came, and Valentin was back once 
 more. The fighting done, the excitement over, 
 his spirit flagged again. To-day he had almost 
 hoped for death ; why was he singled out to live 
 when so many better men fell around him ? But 
 when they came to him, and when he saw the 
 unmistakable looks of admiration in his comrade's 
 eyes, when hand-graspings and kindly greetings 
 welcomed him, he began once more to think there 
 was somethinoj to live for. He beo^an to build an 
 ideal structure of life where duty held the fore- 
 most place. 
 
 One evening, as he sat talking over the fire 
 with a comrade, one of the correspondents of the 
 English newspapers came in ; he had a paper in 
 his hand.
 
 198 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 " Let me see/' said Valentin. '* Let us see 
 what they say of us in London." 
 
 Suddenly, as he ran his eye down the columns, 
 his attention was caught by the name of Vane. It 
 was an account of Margaret's opening night at the 
 theatre, probably put in by one of her friends. 
 Short and simple language, praising her talent 
 and explaining briefly the reason of her public 
 appearance. Perhaps its brevity made it the more . 
 pathetic. 
 
 It was a revelation to Valentin : a film rose 
 over his eyes. In an instant he saw it all : her 
 poverty (his doing — though perhaps that was no 
 fault of his), her self-abnegation, her effort. He 
 pictured her hard life to himself, and he thought 
 that her life too had been lately through the 
 deep waters. 
 
 They noticed his abstraction ; they twitted 
 him upon it. But he put them off, and throwing 
 down the paper, feeling as if he must suffocate, he 
 went out in the cold night air to walk off his 
 agitation. 
 
 ''Curious fellow, that Von Broderode. The 
 war has driven him mad. What is there in the 
 paper f 
 
 But they could find nothing — nothing, at least, 
 to excite anybody. England was talking as much
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 199 
 
 as usual, and was going to send out additional 
 money and clothes. 
 
 But the idea of Margaret working for her bread 
 drove Valentin distracted. He walked about for 
 days like a man in a dream, haunted by an im- 
 perious idea that overruled his life and thoughts. 
 
 Then the armistice was arranged. Valentin 
 wondered if he could not be free. He applied for 
 leave. When it was granted he thought he 
 should go mad for joy. 
 
 When he reached London he began to think 
 he must have been dreaming, and that Margaret 
 had never really acted at any theatre at all. How 
 he wished that he had kept that newspaper. But 
 no ; as he ate his dinner at his hotel he found 
 it was quite true. He took it into his head that 
 he would have a front stall, confront her there, and 
 see her as closely as might be. As for the rest, 
 there was an impassable gulf between them ; he 
 did not suppose he should ever speak to her 
 ao'ain, but he should like to see her. 
 
 There was no stall to be had. The house was 
 full. 
 
 " It always is full, sir, for Lady Vane," said 
 the man. " You must try some days before." 
 
 '' Hallo, Von Broderode ! " said a voice behind 
 him, " is that you ? "
 
 200 LAND ahead! 
 
 '' Yes," said Valentin, and turned to see who 
 
 it was. 
 
 It was Mr. Mortimer, of all people in the world. 
 Sonnenthal and the picnics flashed through the 
 minds of both as they looked into each other's 
 faces. Then Mr. Mortimer thought of the war, 
 and Valentin thought of the Vanes. 
 
 *' Times are changed," said Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 " Yes, they are," said Valentin. 
 
 *' Coming in ? " asked Mr. Mortimer, moving on. 
 
 " Can t," said Valentin. " Can't get a stall." 
 
 " Can't you ? I'm very glad. Come with me. 
 I've got a little box." 
 
 A little box it was ; but there Valentin sat, 
 hungering, constrained, wondering, and too much 
 amazed to know whether he was pleased or not. 
 Sitting there, he saw Dudley below, also waiting 
 for Margaret. 
 
 " Does he always come ? " asked he laconically 
 of Mortimer. 
 
 " Yes, poor fellow, he does. But I don't think 
 he'll come long." 
 
 " Why ? '* 
 
 *^ I don't think he's long for this world." 
 
 Valentin's interest deepened. 
 
 " The doctors say he should go south, and the 
 Vanes say they have no means for that."
 
 LAND ahead! 201 
 
 Was ever a tragedy played out like this ? The 
 dying husband watching the wife playing comedy 
 for him to live. 
 
 "Do you see that man opposite, in the box 
 opj^osite ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Valentin, hardly taking his 
 eyes oflF Dudley. 
 
 " That is Bunbury. He won't live at Frogham- 
 bury ; he says he may go down for a Sunday in 
 the summer. He won't do anything but come 
 here and see Lady Vane play.'' 
 
 "And she?" 
 
 " Oh, she won't speak to him." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " When he heard that he was to have Frosfham- 
 bury, he said he did not want it, that he liked 
 his own name of Bunbury better than Vane, and 
 that he would rather pay to be called Bunbury ; 
 then he would not see Margaret or Dudley, or 
 any of the Vanes, because he said he had never 
 liked them or the race, and that he had never 
 seen them, and that he would not see them now 
 just because he was to have their money. Well, 
 he came one night to the play and fell in love 
 with Margaret without knowing who she was. 
 Then he heard of Margaret having gone on the 
 stage, and he wrote her a very strong letter, and
 
 202 LAND ahead! 
 
 when that had no effect he put some disagreeable 
 paragraphs in the paper, which offended her 
 ladyship mightily. Well, he comes again to the 
 play to see his prima donna, and this time armed 
 with a bouquet. Lo ! and behold, the play-bill 
 informs him of the truth ; he sits there riveted ; 
 at first vows she shan't have the bouquet, and 
 finally is vanquished, and throws it to her." 
 
 " And Lady Vane ? '^ 
 
 ''Oh, she left it there. The servants had to 
 carry it away. Afterwards he wrote to apologize, 
 but all to no effect. He always comes with his 
 bouquet, and she always leaves it there. Dudley 
 and the people who understand applaud ; the rest 
 think it very odd." 
 
 The curtain drew up, and there was Margaret. 
 
 What did it matter — the play, the people, the 
 
 * 
 
 words she said ? It was Margaret walking about 
 there before them all, speaking to him, working 
 out her life's mistakes. 
 
 Valentin buried his face in his hands and 
 listened to the tones of her voice. 
 
 "I must see that Bunbury to-morrow," said 
 Mortimer. 
 
 She was laughing, absolutely laughing. How 
 could she laugh ? And the house was laughing 
 with her ; all except Bunbury.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 203 
 
 '' I don't know him, and I dare say he will 
 think me a fool. But I think he's a gentleman." 
 
 And now she is coquetting with her play-lover 
 there. How has she the heart, when — well ! 
 Dudlev is smilino^ now. 
 
 " Will you come with me and see Bunbury ? 
 I don't quite like going alone. And you could 
 speak for her. Good heavens ! the fellow's asleep ! 
 these Prussians are so heavy." 
 
 Do you see, as she makes her speech, her eye 
 is fascinated ? She sees Valentin in the box. 
 The speech goes on, the house laughs, so mechan- 
 ical is the business, but she and Valentin are 
 questioning each other. 
 
 And then she smiles — a smile half proud, 
 half sad ; a smile of regret for the past long 
 dead, left far behind. And then she laughs ; 
 and she looks at him as she laughs. It is a 
 laugh at past folly, past weakness ; it is a laugh 
 of joy at present strength. It is present triumph. 
 
 And so the question and answer are given, 
 and silence reigns between them once more. 
 
 The play went on, and applause rang out, 
 Mr. Bunbury's bouquet fell unheeded, Margaret 
 appeared before the curtain, and then Valentin 
 awoke. 
 
 ** You have had a good nap, my friend," said
 
 204 LAND ahead! • 
 
 Mr. Mortimer, sharply. ''Will you come with: 
 
 me to Bunbury to-morrow V ! 
 
 ''Yes; certainly." 
 
 "I will explain to-morrow. You are tooi 
 
 sleepy now." \
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 We 
 
 Are enforced from our most quiet there 
 
 By the rough torrent of occasion. — Henry IV. 
 
 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart. — King John. 
 
 It was a true story that Mr. Mortimer had told 
 Valentin of Mr. Bunbury. He had admired the 
 unknown actress, he had been disgusted by his 
 relative's profession, and when he found that the 
 actress and the relative were one and the same 
 person he had fallen down and worshipped. 
 The contempt with which Margaret treated his 
 riches and himself only added fuel to the flame. 
 He was the embodiment of wealth, power, and 
 sincere devotion ; he was in fact omnipotence ; 
 and yet Margaret despised him. 
 
 Mr. Mortimer had mentioned the bouquets, 
 throwing a light vein of ridicule over the man's 
 feelinofs ; as to the rest, he had not known it. 
 He had not known how the quiet days of a
 
 206 LAND ahead! 
 
 blissful bachelor existence in the Albany had 
 ceased for Mr. Bunbury ; he had not known of 
 the feverish state of feeling from which Fortune's 
 victim suffered. 
 
 Indolent ease, prosperity, independence, success 
 had been Mr. Bunbury's all his life ; born to 
 fortune, he had asked for no favours from the 
 world, nor had he ever gone much out of his way 
 to show it any. He had taken his life as it came, 
 and he had rather enjoyed it than otherwise. 
 Troubles he had had, but he was apt to speak of 
 them as *^ mistakes " he had made. 
 
 " One must be deceived in people very often," 
 he had been used to say, " and one must buy 
 one's experience." 
 
 Perhaps he had been rather too fond of his 
 comfortable independence, perhaps former decep- 
 tions had made him too indifferent to form any 
 close ties, and perhaps now the prosperity of his 
 position hardly made up for the solitude of it. 
 
 Some of us would rather bear a little pain than 
 never know joy ; some would rather put up with 
 small deceptions than never be trusted ; and many 
 of us, thank Heaven, would rather spend much of 
 ourselves with some little hope of return than 
 only lay up for a selfish future. 
 
 Perhaps something of this Mr. Bunbury felt.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 207 
 
 For now it was getting late, and friends and 
 interests do not accumulate about our middle age 
 as they do about our youth. 
 
 Folly, however, does ; and another feeling, Mr. 
 Bunbury was astonished to find, does not diminish. 
 
 It had been annoyance, perplexity, trouble. 
 
 " Am I Vane ? am I Bunbury ? " he would 
 say when he got up in the morning. " Bunbury ; 
 no, I mean Vane. And there is that place Frog- 
 hambury. I will have no bother with it. I won't 
 go near it. I won't look after it. Why did the 
 old fellow leave it to me '? I never liked him or 
 it. I'll sell it for building. And just because I 
 have it all, that girl posts my name — her name — 
 all over London, and sets herself on a platform, 
 where all the world goes and sees her, and pities 
 her, because I am an ogre who has swallowed up 
 her livelihood. Then — ^well, why won't she speak 
 to me ? I couldn't help offending her. I did not 
 know her when I wrote to the papers. How 
 unf orofivin o' women are." 
 
 It was quite true ; Margaret would not speak 
 to him ; he might shower bouquets upon her, they 
 were left unheeded ; he might send her notes, 
 they were returned unanswered ; he might come 
 and call, she was always ^' Not at home ; " he 
 might send presents, they were always scorned ;
 
 208 LAND ahead! 
 
 he miglit try to see her behind the scenes, he was 
 always refused. 
 
 Once, as she was coming out of the theatre on 
 Dudley's arm, her cloak brushed his sleeve ; he 
 went home saying to himself he had never loved 
 before. Another time there had been some mis- 
 take about the carriage, and Margaret was left 
 for an instant standing by herself ; he was close 
 by, his foot was on her dress in fact, and he began 
 to speak to her. But her frown and look of 
 unmistakable anger silenced him, and the words 
 died away upon his lips. 
 
 Then he tried to help them substantially. 
 
 He scraped an acquaintance with Dudley, he 
 made extravagant overtures, and offered Frogham- 
 bury as a loan, pushing all idea of a rent away 
 with horror. He asked Dudley to present him to 
 his wife, and stood outside the door of their house 
 in the street while he waited, but Dudley returned 
 with a blank face and said his wife was engaged. 
 
 "And about Froghambury ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; she advised me to say ^ no ' emphatic- 
 ally. She says that sort of loan always turns 
 out a fetter, and perhaps she's '' 
 
 *' Good-day, Mr. Vane, good-day ; " and Mr. 
 Bunbury began to walk away in high dudgeon. 
 Then, remembering the trouble he had taken to
 
 LAND ahead! 209 
 
 make friends with Dudley, lie turned again. " If 
 you should change your minds, or think better of 
 it, remember to tell me. Here is my address ; " 
 and he felt a sort of quiet satisfaction in dropping 
 another of his obnoxious cards at Margaret's hall- 
 door. 
 
 " She is no Becky Sharp, at all events," said he 
 to himself as he walked away. 
 
 He wrote to the papers again ; this time in an 
 altered strain. There was no praise good enough 
 for Lady Vane, no terms high enough ; he even 
 went into the family vicissitudes lightly, and 
 extolled her conduct to the skies. 
 
 But Margaret did not see it, or if she did she 
 did not notice it. Praise glides by impotently ; 
 it is blame that remains and injures the life. 
 
 Once he was absolutely introduced to her. 
 Margaret was unconscious of his identity till it 
 was done. He trod or rather stood upon air 
 meanwhile. It was at a party, and a circle had 
 gathered round her. It was broken for this 
 UD welcome visitant. 
 
 He, bomng low, opened his mouth, which was 
 overflowing with flatteries and compliments. 
 Again Margaret gave him that marvellous look 
 of well-bred indignation, and he drew back, 
 
 VOL. III. P
 
 210 LAND ahead! 
 
 confused. The laugli tlie little incident excited 
 rang in his ear for many a day afterwards. 
 
 At last once she smiled upon him. It was half 
 forfifetfulness, for she had become so accustomed 
 to his presence that she was indifferent to it. 
 
 She was standing near the door in the passage, 
 and Lord Chester was talking to her. The 
 applause that night had been louder than ever, 
 her success more assured. 
 
 " You look very happy to-night, Lady Vane," 
 said Lord Chester. 
 
 Mr. Bunbury was standing close by. 
 
 She smiled back at Lord Chester, and Mr. 
 Bunbury came in for the end of the smile. 
 
 *' This is better than Troghambury, isn't it ? " 
 
 Then they went away laughing together, she 
 leaning on his arm, to be put into her carriage. 
 
 It was a revelation to Mr. Bunbury. 
 
 Then she cared not for Froghariibury either, no 
 more than he did ; it bored her as it did him. 
 But what a sympathy there was between them ; 
 
 what would life have been, shared he suddenly 
 
 broke off in his thought. But then she neither 
 cared for him, nor for anything he could give 
 her. She despised his offers, his money, his 
 presents ; she preferred her independence. Again,
 
 la.mj ahead! 211 
 
 how like himself, who never would be tied to any 
 one or under any obligation to any one. What a 
 very strange sympathy there was. He should 
 like to talk to her about that. But in another 
 point they were very unlike ; she liked work, he 
 didn't ; she liked money, if she made it ; he did 
 not know how to make it, individually. 
 
 Was it true that successful individual effort 
 could make a woman happy ? It seemed so. 
 How very strange. If so, he felt he loved her all 
 the more, and he was more miserable than ever 
 he had been in his life before. 
 
 Why was she so beautiful, and so clever, and 
 so cruel ? Why with all her poverty was she so 
 powerful ? If he might be some sort of grand- 
 father to her, and give her all she wanted, as one 
 gives a child toys, to be broken or thrown away 
 the next moment, then he would be happier. 
 
 P 2
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Love for thy love, and hand for hand I give. 
 
 First Part of King Henry VI., Act iii. Sc, 1. 
 
 How is it possible to know when one is not an 
 actor how much a person on a stage at night can 
 see of the interior of the house ? This question 
 troubled Valentin von Broderode very much, so 
 much so that for two nights he did not again 
 re -appear at the theatre, and when he did it was 
 neither in a box or as a happy possessor of a 
 stall, but farther back and higher up. He would 
 not trouble Margaret with his presence ; he 
 tacitly agreed with her to bury the past, to 
 triumph over it, and, if it might be, to mount on 
 it to a brighter, a better future. He would not 
 seem to be following her, to be dodging her 
 footsteps. He would make a future of his 
 own. 
 
 Up there where he sat there was no fear;
 
 LAND ahead! 213 
 
 Margaret could not see him ; he could observe 
 her through his glasses as much as he wished. 
 
 But one evening, from his lofty place he noted 
 Dudley's absence ; his stall was empty. There 
 was no sign of him anywhere. This pained and 
 surprised him. 
 
 Mr. Bunbury's box was also empty. This 
 neither pained or surprised him, for the very first 
 morning after his arrival Valentin had accom- 
 panied Mr. Mortimer to " The Albany " to see 
 Mr. Bunbury, and they had there learnt that that 
 gentleman was out of town. 
 
 As they went Mr. Mortimer had shown 
 Valentin a crumpled scrap of paper, and had told 
 him a strange story. 
 
 On the paper was traced faintly, " I do not 
 wish- Dudley to be disinhe — " ; and lower down, 
 " Gilbert Vane. Let him succeed to all." 
 
 " These are the last words he wrote before he 
 died," said Mr. Mortimer. '^ I will swear to it. 
 I was there alone with him." 
 
 "And you have had this all this timeV 
 exclaimed Valentin, hotly. "Why did you not 
 speak before ? " 
 
 *' I have only just come back from America. 
 When I last heard they were living happily in
 
 214 LAND ahead! 
 
 possession of Froghambury. There was no need 
 to speak. In fact I rather doubted the existence 
 of any other will. I half thought it was the 
 hallucination of a sick man." 
 
 " Will Bunbury give up, do you think ? " 
 
 *' There is nothing to make him. This will is 
 not legal, has no signatures. The one you found 
 was signed by myself and Douglas, though in all 
 ignorance." 
 
 " What harm a sick man's fancy can work." 
 
 "Or a young man's folly. Bunbury is a 
 gentleman, I think." 
 
 " And a man of feeling." 
 
 *^ But Lady Vane has considered his feelings so 
 little, he may not feel inclined to consider hers." 
 
 And then they found that Mr. Bunbury was 
 out of town. And then when Valentin went to 
 the play, and missed Dudley in his accustomed 
 place, and when Mr. Mortimer went to inquire, 
 he found Margaret with pale face and tearful 
 eyes, but as proud as ever. 
 
 " He will die. Lady Vane," said Mr. Mortimer, 
 drily, " if you keep him here." 
 
 " Die ! " exclaimed she, as if she had been shot. 
 " He could not die, he is so young, and he and I 
 are only just beginning to enjoy life."
 
 LAND ahead! 215 
 
 " That has nothing to do with it." 
 
 " I would give up everything — acting, success, 
 
 all— if I thouo'ht " 
 
 " Would you ? " asked he, staring at her. 
 " Give up the result of all your work, all the 
 praise and popularity you have won, just for 
 him, if " 
 
 " If it would give him one moment's ease. 
 But we should be so poor " 
 
 Mr. Mortimer blew his nose loudly, cleaned his 
 eye-glass, and turned away. 
 
 " I shall come and see you again," said he. 
 
 " Perhaps I have been too proud," said she, 
 half calling after him. "But you know they 
 were all so unkind at first." 
 
 At last Mr. Bunbury came back to town. It 
 was the last day of Valentin's leave, and he 
 entered Mr. Bunbury's sacred rooms with Mr- 
 Mortimer full of curiosity. 
 
 " I am pleased to have the honour of your 
 acquaintances, sirs," said Mr. Bunbury, rising 
 from his arm-chair and laying aside his news- 
 paper, bowing as he spoke with an old-world 
 politeness. 
 
 " You have been out of town, sir, for a 
 week," said Mr. Mortimer, hastily, as if Mr.
 
 216 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 Bunbury had been guilty of some crime by such. 
 
 absence. 
 
 ''And may I not, sir, go out of town for a 
 week ? " setting chairs for his visitors as he spoke. 
 " I used to be an independent man, sir, coming 
 and going just as I liked, but since I have had a 
 dreadful place called Froghambury, willed to me 
 by an eccentric relation, my time is not my own. 
 I do not seem, sir, to be my own master, and I 
 seem to be everybody's slave. I should not 
 wonder, sir, if you have not something to say 
 about Froghambury. I hear you have been to 
 my door every day for the last week, and that is 
 the sort of thing those Froghambury people do." 
 
 " I have something to say about Froghambury, 
 Mr. Bunbury." 
 
 Valentin saw Mr. Mortimer twisting the little 
 piece of paper nervously between his fingers as 
 he spoke. 
 
 *' Knew it, sir ; was sure of it, by your very 
 serious look. Everything about Froghambury is 
 serious. It is a place in the back-woods. 
 Enough to give an intelligent person the blues 
 in half a day. I am a London sparrow, sir, and 
 prefer being black. But to be serious — ^what 
 have you to say ? "
 
 LAND ahead! 217 
 
 '^ You do not seem to care much about Frog- 
 hambury ? " 
 
 " Hate it, sir ; and I hate being called Vane. 
 Some impertinent people do it nevertheless." 
 
 " What do you purpose doing about Frog- 
 hambury ? " 
 
 " Let it, I think. I suppose I can't sell it. I 
 must see." 
 
 " Suppose, Mr. Bunbury, I were to tell you 
 that Froghambury is not really yours ? " 
 
 It was comical to see the alteration in his face. 
 A London sparrow suddenly cheated of a precious 
 morsel might look like that. Mr. Bunbury's 
 smile died away. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " 
 
 " Sir Gilbert repented of that last unjust will. 
 I was with him when he died. He could not 
 speak, but he explained " 
 
 ''How?" 
 
 " He wrote. Here it is." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer placed the little piece of paper 
 on the table, resting his finger firmly on it. 
 
 '' What do you think of this, sir ? " asked 
 Mr. Bunbury, turning to Valentin. 
 
 " I knew them all, sir. Of course I see that 
 justice and their happiness rests with you."
 
 218 LAND ahead! 
 
 " It is a question of honour, sir. I don't suppose 
 we can make you legally give up anything, or 
 even allow anything to the young Vanes. They 
 are very poor." 
 
 "But deuceclly proud." 
 " He is dying by inches, they say." 
 " Eh ! sir ? What is that you say ? " 
 He had heard, so they did not speak again. 
 " Lady Vane has not been very civil to 
 me." 
 
 " No one has been very civil to Lady Vane." 
 " I have ; I would have done anything." 
 Then, as he walked up and down excitedly, 
 Mr. Mortimer told him the whole story. Dudley's 
 boyhood, Sir Gilbert's ambition, the foolish love- 
 story, the failure of the love-dream, the hard life ; 
 lately, the fierce battle Margaret had fought ; and 
 then, going back to Sir Gilbert's boyhood, when 
 they had been youths together, he told him of 
 the still death-bed scene, and of the understand- 
 ing between them. Now, he said, with a quiver 
 in his voice, he was doiug his best for this old 
 friend's memory. 
 
 Then Valentin told of his early friendship with 
 Dudley, touched lightly on Margaret's nobleness, 
 and told the story of the old cabinet, described
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 219 
 
 too how friends had looked coldly on, and she 
 had been left to fight her battle alone. 
 
 The three men were startled by the entrance of 
 the servant. 
 
 " But she is so deuced proud," said Mr. 
 Mortimer, taking the card the man offered. 
 *' Why, good heavens ! this is Lady Vane. Where 
 is she ? " 
 
 *' She wants to know if she may come in, sir." 
 
 " By all means ; by all means." 
 
 Valentin felt the hot blood rush to his temples. 
 He could not meet her, could not see her. But 
 on the stairs he should meet her face to face ; 
 here, perhaps in that dark corner of the room, in 
 the excitement of the moment, he might escape 
 recognition. 
 
 Mr. Bunbury had thought Lady Vane proud, 
 had he ? 
 
 AVas this woman djressed in black, with pale 
 face, heightened just now perhaps with the wave 
 of colour passing over it, was this woman with 
 the bright excited eyes so proud ? 
 
 ^' Lady Vane, I am very delighted to meet you 
 at last." 
 
 Her eyes seemed to laugh as they met his. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Mortimer, this is pleasant."
 
 220 LAND ahead! 
 
 She shook hands with him, and then Mr. 
 Mortimer took the precaution to put the little 
 crumpled scrap of paper in his pocket out of the 
 way. She saw dimly the figure of a man bowing 
 to her in the dark corner, and she bowed gravely 
 in return. 
 
 Then she turned to the business in hand. 
 
 " Shall bygones be bygones, Mr. Vane ? " said 
 she, pleasantly. " Shall old scores be forgot ? " 
 
 He bowed nervously. He did not like being 
 called Mr. Vane, and he did not want his 
 bouquets to be spoken of before these two 
 strangers. 
 
 " Mr. Vane, people tell me I have been very 
 proud ; that I have gone on my own wicked, 
 wilful way, and that I have asked for no help. 
 Moreover, they say if one does not ask one 
 cannot expect to get it. Now that you are the — 
 head of the family, I have come to you to -put my 
 case before you. Will you listen to me for a 
 moment ? " 
 
 Mr. Bunbury bowed again, made a sign of 
 silence to Mr. Mortimer, and again put forward a 
 chair for Margaret. She did not notice it, but 
 she half turned away from them all, looking into 
 the fire.
 
 LAND ahead! 221 
 
 ^* After all, none of yon can say I have failed ? " 
 
 " No ; you have succeeded." 
 
 ** I have not dragged the name of Vane into 
 the mire as you prophesied ? " 
 
 " No ; you have covered it with glory. And it 
 is the brightest glory a woman can win, for the 
 result has been won by the work of her tender, 
 loving heart." 
 
 Margaret put out her hand impulsively. 
 
 ^' I have misjudged you, Mr. Vane ; you are 
 good. But — why did you misjudge me so pain- 
 fully at first ? why did you say it was restless 
 craving after excitement, selfish thirst for admir- 
 ation, flying in the face of my bread and butter, 
 disofrace to the name of Vane " 
 
 
 I did not know you then." 
 "No, you did not know me then. Mr. 
 Mortimer, he did not know ; but you know. 
 Tell him for me it was all I could do. Tell him 
 I was proud ; 1 know it now. It hurt me when 
 they ail turned against me, mother, mother-in- 
 law, neighbours, — all except Lady Chester, — ^just 
 because I was poor ; and Dudley hated being 
 poor. Then it was all through me that he was 
 poor ; he hated me more every day, he doubted 
 me more ; every day he thought more and more
 
 222 LAND ahead! 
 
 was I wortli this death in life ; every day — there 
 had been a misunderstanding between us. Look ! 
 I am telling you all now, Mr. Vane, as if you 
 were my dearest friend. His suspicions grew, his 
 disgust grew ; not that there was any cause, but 
 that he was ill and miserable and poor and 
 idle and bitterly disappointed. And could I — 
 his wife — stand by idle and do nothing ? It was 
 like the tomb closing over one ; it was standing 
 in a dock, innocent, and hearing the sentence 
 of death given out, and making no protest, 
 uttering no word. Could I bear it ? Say, Mr. 
 Bunbury, if it had been you — you with all your 
 comforts and your social position, or you, Mr. 
 Mortimer, and acting was all you could dq — 
 would not you too have gone on the stage ? '' 
 
 "No, madame," said he, smiling, "I should 
 not have gone on the stage/' 
 
 Valentin had unconsciously come out of the 
 gloom ; he stood there visibly enough. 
 Ah ! " exclaimed she, starting. 
 No more should I; Lady Vane," said Mr. 
 Mortimer ; *' I should not have gone on the stage, 
 for I should have felt as my good friend Vane, 
 that I very likely should have had no success 
 there ; but, if I had been a woman, with a 
 
 (C
 
 LAND ahead! 223 
 
 woman's sensitive feelings, I most probably, failing 
 anything else, should have taken a crossing." 
 
 " You have come back to us ? " said Margaret 
 to Valentin. 
 
 '* Yes ; I am here as your friend, to help you if 
 I can." 
 
 " Well, think of it, Mr. Vane," said she, turning 
 back again ; " there we were, my husband and I. 
 He proud and angry and suspicious and poor and 
 idle ; for what could he do, with his miserable 
 health 1 and I, proud too, if you like — but just 
 too proud to be idle. Everything urged me on ; 
 not ambition perhaps, but the stage was the open 
 door out of these troubles. I knew myself and 
 my promptings well enough to know I should 
 succeed ; then they all told me so, certain friends 
 I had. I knew it would cost me something " 
 
 " Apprenticeship, work, drilling, I know," 
 said Mr. Bunbury. 
 
 " And the associations," said Mr. Mortimer. 
 
 '^ And the risks," said Valentin. 
 
 " And the unkind speeches and letters, and 
 the ' former kindnesses all forgot,' and the cold 
 shoulder turned to me so often " 
 
 "To a lady in your position " said Mr, 
 
 Bunbury. ' .
 
 224 > LAND ahead! 
 
 " But anyhow," said slie, quickly, " all that was 
 nothing, absolutely nothing ; Dudley believed in 
 me again, and we were happy." 
 
 They were all silent. 
 
 " He always took me every night ; he always 
 sat through it all ; he was always at hand ; then, 
 you know, he caught a chill one evening, and 
 since then " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 " I was earning, I am earning ; in time we 
 should be better off; in time — but I mean, oh ! 
 Mr. Yane, the doctors say there is not time, and 
 that it is a race between Death and me." 
 
 Then she fairly broke down and sobbed, bury- 
 ing her face in her hands as she leaned on the 
 table. It was dreadful 
 
 Valentin started forward, questioning the two 
 downcast faces of the older men. How silent 
 they were. How helpless they all three seemed. 
 
 " What do you want, Lady Yane ? " said 
 Mr. Bunbury at last. "What can I do for 
 you ? " 
 
 ''What do I want?" exclaimed she, starting 
 up. ''It is money that I want ; money to bring 
 him back ease and hope and health ; money to 
 give him back the life that I have sjDoilt."
 
 LAND ahead! 225 
 
 They stood questioning lier excited young face, 
 not knowing what words to choose. 
 
 " You shall have it all back," she added, 
 quickly, misapprehending their silence. " I do 
 not love money, you know. It is only for him. 
 Is it not so, Valentin ? you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know." 
 
 " You are young ; you believe as I do. You 
 are not worldly ; you " 
 
 " You are misjudging me again. Lady Vane," 
 said Mr. Bunbury, drily. 
 
 " I only mean that you shall have it all back 
 again ; it is only a loan. Only let me get him 
 well, let me take him south, let me have him 
 again strong and hopeful once more, — he is more 
 hopeful now even than he used to be, — and then 
 I will work and work, oh, so hard, and pay you 
 back." 
 
 Mr. Bunbury made a movement, as in strenuous 
 dissent. 
 
 " No ; really I am not talking idly. I know 
 what I am saying. I have succeeded. In time, 
 if only I have time, I shall be rich. But I have 
 not time now ; only God can give us that. Give 
 me the money now, to cheat in the race — to 
 cheat Death." 
 
 VOL. III. Q
 
 226 LAND ahead! 
 
 " My poor child, my good little girl, none of 
 lis can do that ; but, you know — Tell her, Mr. 
 Mortimer." 
 
 Mr. Mortimer hesitated and looked from one 
 to the other. Then he fumbled in his pocket, 
 and brought out a crumpled piece of paper. 
 
 " Yes, that is it," said Mr. Bunbury, gladly. 
 " You must know I am not Vane at all ; I am 
 Bunbury.'* 
 
 " I heard you did not like the name of 
 Vane." 
 
 '* Not at all. And I never was intended to be 
 Vane. I am Bunbury. And Froghambury is 
 yours, and always has been. I do not think I 
 have altered much, or done anything of which 
 you will disapprove. After all. Lady Vane, I 
 hope we may end by being good friends. It has 
 all been a mistake. I do hope you will forgive 
 me your long winter season in London." 
 
 As for Margaret, she stood like a woman in a 
 dream, turning the little piece of paper over in 
 her fingers. After all, this was a fairy tale ; it 
 could not be sober reality. 
 
 *' Do not take me in," said she piteously at last. 
 *^ I have been so miserable." 
 
 *' Only read it," said they.
 
 LAND ahead! 227 
 
 ^''1 do not wisli Dudley to be disinhe 
 
 Gilbert Vane. Let the former will stand.' " 
 
 " Froghambury is yours," said Mr. Bunbury. 
 
 " You are ricli," said Valentin. 
 
 .'' Does this little piece of paper do that ? " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Mortimer ; " but a noble- 
 hearted gentleman does it." 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Margaret, "how small- 
 natured we little women are ; and how generous 
 a man can be. This, after my conduct to you." 
 
 " You had provocation." 
 
 " No, I hadn't. My head was turned by my 
 success. If I could make any reparation, 
 anv " 
 
 She turned away, unable to speak. 
 
 " You have a great deal of good feeling, Lady 
 Vane. There is something you might do." 
 
 " What ? " asked she, quickly, looking up. 
 
 " I am not a Vane ; the name is not much to 
 me ; but during the last half-hour my interest 
 in you has mlich deepened. I have learnt to 
 respect you as one of the noblest women I have 
 ever met, who has made many sacrifices for the 
 sake of others. Could you make one sacrifice 
 more ? " 
 
 " Yes," said she at once. 
 
 Q 2
 
 223 LAND ahead! 
 
 In fact, wliat was a sacrifice more or less to 
 her then who had made so many ? They could 
 not ask her to give up Dudley. That seemed 
 the only thing she could fear then. 
 
 ^' Will you give up the stage ? " 
 
 Had a thunderbolt fallen on her she could not 
 have been more astonished. The colour rushed 
 into her face, the little piece of paper in her 
 hands seemed threatened with instant destruction. 
 
 '' Give up the stage ! " repeated she. 
 
 *' I know I am asking a great deal. I am 
 asking you to give up the good opinion of all 
 those who have helped you lately." 
 
 "Who have stood by me when others turned 
 away." 
 
 " To bear their gibes and scorn instead." 
 
 " And of all the world besides." 
 
 *' I am asking you to surrender the height you 
 have lately reached, all the dearly-bought steps 
 that you have won." 
 
 " All the work, and the sacrifices, and the 
 aspirations, and the triumphs, all the way I have 
 made all by myself, to sink back into nothing, to 
 be nothing, to live still, but to stagnate, to 
 suffocate in a dull sort of lower existence. Mr. 
 Bunbury, you do not know what you ask."
 
 LA5sD ahead! 229 
 
 " No, I do not." 
 
 *^ Think of all the toil and all the hope and 
 the triumj^h. Think of the career, above the 
 heads of half the world.'^ 
 
 '' I know." 
 
 "Is it the stage against Froghambury ? " 
 
 He had not the heart to speak. 
 
 She held the little paper ready to be torn in 
 two. 
 
 " Because if it is, I think Dudley would rather 
 I lived and w^orked " 
 
 "It is not the stage against Froghambury. It 
 is Dudley's life and Froghambury against yours 
 and the stage." 
 
 " I see what you mean," and she bowed her 
 head. 
 
 "It is very hard," said she presently. 
 
 Then the moment after, light came to her. 
 
 " I see. How stupid I was. I do not care for 
 my life at all ; it is Dudley's." 
 
 It was very difficult for two testy old bachelors 
 who had disbelieved in women all their lives to 
 know what to say. They did not say much, but 
 they looked a great deal, and in a sort of silent 
 way they tried to testify their gratitude and 
 homage.
 
 230 LAND ahead! 
 
 " You see it must be so," said she, simply, as if 
 excusing herself. 
 
 And then they explained it all to her, the will 
 in the cabinet, and the sentence scribbled later in 
 Mr. Mortimer s sight. 
 
 *' And I am glad it is so," said Mr. Bunbury. 
 
 " Froghambury Dudley's again ! " said Mar- 
 gtiret ; "I can hardly believe it. The very news 
 will make him well, he loves it so." 
 
 " Well, cJiacmi a son goutl^ said Mr. Bunbury. 
 *' For my part such a possession at my time of 
 life puts me out horribly. Now I shall be much 
 happier. We shall be friends, shall we not ? I 
 shall have children in my old age ; I shall come 
 near human interest." 
 
 If, when the story was told and Margaret 
 satisfied, they did drop a hint or two about the 
 duties of her position and why she should leave 
 the public stage, —if there was something sprinkled 
 in about her social duty, and her debts to her 
 neighbours, rich as well as poor ; if Mr. Mortimer 
 did whisper something about every one working in 
 their own sphere, and if Valentin ventured to say 
 something about the path of duty being marked for 
 other people as well as for soldiers, — was it to be 
 wondered at, and was Margaret likely to complain ?
 
 LAND ahead! 231 
 
 " And you," said slie at last, turning to Valentin, 
 as to a friend long lost, who had returned, " you 
 are quite safe ? have been quite well ? '' 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 *' I heard how you fought ; I heard how brave 
 you were ; I read in the paper about the decora- 
 tions you got, — about the Iron Cross, — and I was 
 so glad." 
 
 Then they parted. The clouds seemed rolling 
 away for both.
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 And is thine own, and so she says ; 
 And cares for thee ten thousand ways. 
 On thee she speaks, on thee she thinks, 
 "With thee she eats, with thee she drinks, 
 With thee she talks, with thee she moans, 
 With thee she sighs, with thee she groans, 
 With thee she says, " Farewell, mine own ! " 
 When thou, God knows, full far art gone. 
 
 Henry y Earl of Surrey. 
 
 Two people sitting face to face. They seemed 
 to be waiting for a third presence. dreaded 
 presence ! summons for which we are never 
 quite ready, come when it may ! 
 
 It was in the dead of night ; the house was 
 buried in slumber save for the two occupants of 
 the little drawing-room ; no sound was there to 
 disturb the tete-a-tete, save when now and again 
 wheels rattled noisily down the street. 
 
 At length Margaret rose from her chair to tend 
 the fire. 
 
 "Dudley, it is so late. Had you not better
 
 LAND ahead! 233 
 
 go to bed now? Will you not let me call the 
 nurse ? " 
 
 " I am so mucti better to-nio;lit. I am tired of 
 my bed. I want to talk." 
 
 She came and sat at his feet. 
 
 "Are you so wakeful then? what would the 
 doctors say to me ? I am sure this is wrong." 
 
 " Never fear. I shall soon be beyond doctors' 
 laws." 
 
 " Oh yes, I hope so, but still " 
 
 He scanned her face. She had not caught his 
 
 meanmg. 
 
 I shall not want any more doctors." 
 
 She glanced up at him, for she had shifted 
 her position to a stool at his feet. 
 
 '' I thought you were so much better? " 
 
 " Yes, so much better." 
 
 She looked but half satisfied, and he rested his 
 hand on her head. 
 
 " Your mother came to-day, Dudley, did she 
 not ? " 
 
 "Yes. She asked very kindly after you, 
 especially when I said it was through you we 
 had Froghambury again." 
 
 " I wonder when we shall be able to move you 
 there, Dudley ? "
 
 234 LAND ahead! I 
 
 *' Never." \ 
 
 She gazed up at him, terror-stricken, and her \ 
 eyes filled with tears. i 
 
 " It is true, Margaret. It is too late now. I 
 asked the doctor to-day. I shall never see 
 Froghambury again." 
 
 Her sobs were the only response she made. 
 
 " You must have expected this, Margaret ? " 
 
 ''I thought you would be better now." 
 
 *' No ; I shall never be better. It has come to 
 good-bye at last. I thought I might say it 
 to-night ; but I do not know now that I shall 
 have strength. There is so much to say, and I 
 am so weak." 
 
 " Do not say it now, Dudley," said she, putting 
 her hand in his ; " I know all you would say, and 
 let us wait till another time, when you- are 
 stronger. Will you not go to bed now ? " 
 
 "I want to say good-bye now, Margaret. 
 Help me, can't you ? And I can t move till I 
 have said it all ; it is such a weight. Can't you 
 understand ? " 
 
 "What do you want to tell me? Let me 
 imagine it all. But, Dudley, Dudley, you must 
 not, cannot die. I cannot let you go. Let me 
 die instead."
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 235 
 
 He stroked her hair fondly, seeking to gather 
 strength and words. 
 
 " It has not been long, our life together, after 
 all, has it, child ? We — I might have made more 
 of it. Can you forgive me, Margaret ? " 
 
 " Forgive you ! " 
 
 " How passionately T longed for it, in those 
 early days at Sonnenthal. How clearly it comes 
 back to one. How clearly one does see, Margot, 
 just when one is going away, and it is too late." 
 
 " Hush, Dudley ! you are not going." 
 
 " How wicked the passionate wish made me, 
 and then when I got it how I spoilt it. I ought 
 never to have had it ; I have never been worthy. 
 You did the best you could, you tried to save 
 me from myself. But can you forgive me all, 
 Margaret '? Say it once before I die.'' 
 
 "Whatever there be, I forgive all. But, 
 Dudley, there is nothing." 
 
 **Ah, it is nonsense asking your forgiveness 
 when you do not know what you have to forgive. 
 I must tell you, Margaret." 
 
 "Never mind it now, Dudley." 
 
 Then he half raised himself in the chair, 
 looking at her anxious, tear-stained face as he 
 did so.
 
 236 LAND ahead! 
 
 " You are so good," said he. " I should have 
 liked to live a little longer if I might, to catch 
 some of your nobleness, and to understand good- 
 ness clearer, and to be better. Now I do not 
 know what God will say to me.'' 
 
 '' He will forgive." 
 
 " It is only lately I have begun to see." 
 
 Then he stared into the fire, and she tried in 
 vain to restrain her tears and to govern her voice. 
 
 " So now forgive me, Margaret. I will confess 
 — and then — but promise me absolution first — or 
 no ; that isn't fair, only I mean, I cannot die and 
 you unforgiving. Well, child, I'll trust your 
 love through it all. It was after all because I 
 loved you so that I sinned so deeply.'^ 
 
 " It is forgiven, Dudley, before you speak." 
 
 " I tried to kill him, Margaret." 
 
 " I know." 
 
 " Ah, not then — not out of the study window, 
 
 though I did then, and meant it too for a mad 
 
 half- second. Good heavens ! how glad I was 
 
 , when I saw him safe, and knew I had missed my 
 
 aim. No, not then, but years ago at Sonnenthal." 
 
 Margaret started. 
 
 ** That was when I really would have murdered 
 him. I thought you loved him, and I loved you.
 
 LAND ahead! 2S7 
 
 I would not be baulked. And lie — ob, he drove 
 me mad witb bis calm air of superiority, and tbe 
 quiet way be took possession of you. Then, too, 
 he bad saved my life, and it bound me, and I 
 hated him for it." 
 
 He whispered the words, and as he watched 
 her face be looked like a criminal awaiting his 
 sentence. 
 
 " What did you do, Dudley ? " 
 
 " Nothing, for be turned and spoke. He was 
 standing on the river edge. Another moment, 
 and he would have been pushed headlong, and 
 eternity would have begun for him." 
 
 No sound in tbe room save the ticking of tbe 
 clock on the mantel-piece. 
 
 " And afterwards you were sorry ? " 
 
 *' No, I wasn't. I do not know that I was 
 sorry till lately, when you have put all jealous 
 suspicions and all mean thoughts to shame by 
 your noble self-denial and hard work." 
 
 " You have never doubted my love lately ? " 
 
 " Never, child, never. But what can you say 
 to me now ? " 
 
 " I think when one loves a person very much 
 one forgives everything ; one loves even their 
 faults. You are changed since those early days,
 
 238 LAND ahead! 
 
 and so am I. That past must all be forgiven. 
 Poor Dudley/' 
 
 Then she kissed him. 
 
 " How different life has turned out from what 
 we expected," said he. 
 
 "Not so happy?" she asked. 
 
 *' Happier far, only such a different sort of 
 happiness from what one thought of — truer, 
 better." 
 
 How pale he was ; and his words came in 
 low, short jerks. 
 
 *^And now, Dudley, in these dark days lately, 
 when I have been workino^ and actinoj there on 
 the stage, what have you thought ? " 
 
 " You ? Tell me first your thoughts ? " 
 
 *^Mine, Dudley! Why, you know them. I 
 only thought of you. What was my jest that I 
 made, or what to me my fictitious tears ? I only 
 looked to you to see how you took them. Or 
 what to me was the surging, applauding house if 
 you were silent ? what to me was my own heart- 
 ache or my own sorrow if you were smiling ? " 
 
 " And is it all over ? " asked he. 
 
 *^Yes; I promised. It is all given up." 
 
 " I am glad." 
 
 Half-an-hour later he moved in his chair.
 
 LAND ahead! 239 
 
 " Margaret, it is good-bye now. I am going." 
 
 She clung to him. 
 
 " Let me send for the rest ; they will save you, 
 they will keep you with me," 
 
 "No, no, wife." 
 
 "Yes; let me " 
 
 But he silenced her with a sio^n. 
 
 "You will live at Froghambury/' he said 
 at last. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You will say good-bye to them all for me." 
 
 " Y^es." 
 
 And then at last — 
 
 " Margaret, you are so young ; you will marry 
 again." 
 
 " No, Dudley, never. I swear it." 
 
 His eyes seemed to question her hungrily, as 
 if he wanted a reason. 
 
 "I can seek for and hope for no individual 
 happiness again, all that is past and done with. 
 In time, if God will it so, I may be fit to join 
 you in heaven, with a soul shriven by self-denial 
 and by faith in Him. Dudley, when all the 
 brightness has gone out of one's own life, one 
 does not care about it any more ; one throws it 
 away like an empty bottle. And one only thinks
 
 240 LAND ahead! 
 
 about making tlie days of others bright when one 
 has spoilt one's own." 
 
 " God bless you, Margot, and give you bright 
 days yet." 
 
 By and by an expression of peace settled on 
 his face, and he closed his eyes gently. 
 
 By degrees the hand that Margaret held in 
 hers seemed to grow cold. 
 
 With a shriek she roused herself from the 
 stupor of sorrow in which she had been lost. 
 
 " Husband, you cannot leave me thus." 
 
 He opened his eyes, and they seemed to smile 
 on her. 
 
 But others had heard her scream, and they 
 came running to help. 
 
 Too late I too late ! 
 
 Doctors and nurses and restoratives and loving 
 hands and hearts might be there — it was too late. 
 The Angel of Death had come ; the summons 
 had gone forth ; the spirit had already winged its 
 way on its unknown flight ; no love or entreaties 
 could call it back again ; no despairing cry could 
 win a word and break the silence now.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The heights by great men reached and kept 
 
 Were not attained by sudden flight, 
 But they, while their companions slept^ 
 
 "Were toiling upward in the night. 
 
 Nor deem the irrevocable past 
 
 As wholly wasted, wholly vain, 
 If, rising on its wrecks, at last 
 
 To something nobler we attain. 
 
 Ladder of St. Augustine. 
 
 Triumph after conflict, joy after suffering. 
 
 Dawn peers out jealously, as if trembling at 
 tlie sight she will unfold, and AYednesday, the 
 1st of March, is here. Out of the very jaws and 
 fangs of death they come ; out of suffering and 
 bitterness and furious despair ; from bloody 
 battle-fields and days and nights of weary, 
 anxious watching they come ; and the rest, de- 
 feated, grind their teeth and look on. 
 
 Valentin is there. After the agony now he is 
 tasting victory. And is it not glorious ? 
 
 What do the German hearts feel, what do 
 
 VOL. III. R
 
 242 LAND ahead! 
 
 those 30,000 men feel as they defile through the 
 Arc de Triomphe, and what does the Fatherland, 
 with all the hearts in it beating with one throb, 
 feel ? That the glory is worth the cost, that the 
 struggle has been worth the pent-up strength, 
 that the reward has been worth the waiting, that 
 the crown is worth the cross. 
 
 They come, and still they come. Eank and 
 file they tramp aloDg. 
 
 And a brilliant company march with the con- 
 quering army. The Duke of Coburg, the Grand 
 Duke of Mecklenburg, Prince Albrecht, Prince 
 Adalbert, Prince Leopold were there, and the 
 30,000 men. 
 
 And Prance looked on, and smiled bitterly. 
 The remembrance of that bitter smile will last 
 for many a day. 
 
 Next morning the foes, so long face to face, 
 parted, and the homeward march of the con- 
 querors began. 
 
 So Valentin too was victor. Valentin too 
 marched home. 
 
 Orations, welcomes, tears of joy, warmest 
 greetings smiled on him. He was a hero. 
 
 Life might begin again for him now. 
 
 He seemed as if he had crossed the valley of
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 243 
 
 the shadow of death, and the sun that rose for 
 him now was strange and new. 
 
 Could he make friends with life once more ? 
 
 Ah, yes ; and better, more sincerely now. 
 
 They stood on a truer footing now towards 
 each other ; there would be no chance of mis- 
 understanding. 
 
 Praise he had had, glory he had tasted ; had 
 they intoxicated him ? 
 
 Nay; he was full of ambition still. He 
 longed for work, for employment, for advance- 
 ment, and for progress. 
 
 Interests grew around him which ever way he 
 turned ; Berlin seemed too small for his ambition ; 
 his profession did not satisfy him. How multi- 
 farious were his dreams and needs ; how insatiable 
 his wants and hopes ; but how realistic too. 
 
 The romance of war had taught him the reality 
 of life. Through his sufferings and the misery 
 he had seen around him he had become perfected 
 in his knowledge and love of human life. 
 
 Before he had been a soldier of fortune. Now 
 he was a warrior to combat injustice and wrong. 
 
 One day, walking in Berlin, his notice was 
 attracted by the figure of a woman in deep 
 mourning walking some little way in front ,of 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LAND AHEAD ! j 
 
 him. It was not the mourning, for nearly every 
 one now wore some sign of recent loss, but the ; 
 walk, the step seemed familiar to him ; the figure, \ 
 notwithstanding its heavy disguise, looked like j 
 Maro-aret Vane's. 
 
 But he quickly lost it in the throng of i 
 foot-passengers ; he had watched it half absently, 
 now he went on his way with his head full of 
 other things, half vexed with himself for his 
 thought, and then he added to himself, laughing — 
 
 "If it was Lady Vane she must have gone 
 into the hospital." 
 
 The very wildness of the notion, when he 
 knew she was in England with her husband, for 
 he had not heard of Dudley's death, made him 
 smile. 
 
 About a week after he had himself occasion to 
 go to the hospital, to ask for some favour for a 
 soldier who had fought under him. He was at 
 once shown into the committee-room, where were 
 several people talking. 
 
 Whose was that pale face ? whose that 
 voice ? 
 
 He started as if he had been shot. He would 
 have known the voice among a hundred. 
 
 It was Margaret ; there, seated at a table, on
 
 LAND ahead! 245 
 
 which were strewed many papers, she sat, seeming 
 intent on the business of the hospital. 
 
 Valentin sat clown, as if to wait his turn, but 
 in reality to hide his confusion. 
 
 As for Margaret, as if by accident, her veil fell 
 over her face, and she did not raise her hand to 
 lift it again. 
 
 Valentin sat listening to the hum of voices like 
 a man in a dream. 
 
 Margaret living in Berlin ! Margaret working 
 in an hospital I How different this from the stage, 
 the footlights, the excitement, and the applause 
 of w^hich he had seen her the centre in London. 
 
 Valentin's uniform and medals soon gained 
 him notice ; very soon an official stood there 
 awaiting his wishes, and inviting him to come to 
 the table. 
 
 Oh no, Valentin would not go to the table ; he 
 could say there quite well what he had to say ; 
 his business was very simple. He found he 
 could not face Margaret thus before these 
 strangers, and, his case stated, he speedily with- 
 drew, though with his kindly heart he did not at 
 once leave the building, but he went into some 
 of the wards to see some of his poor wounded 
 comrades.
 
 24:6 LAND ahead! 
 
 He was sitting by the bed-side of one of them, 
 going over again some of the hard fighting they 
 had seen together, when Margaret hastily entered. 
 It was quite wonderful to see the change that 
 came over the sad place at her presence ; it was 
 like a ray of light stealing in ; smiles lit up the 
 sufferers' faces, and all those that could, rose from 
 their recumbent posture to greet her. As for 
 Valentin, he sat riveted to the spot watching 
 her. 
 
 How simply it was done. A few kind words, 
 a smile here, a small present there, an anxious 
 inquiry next, and a long talk with the nurses, 
 which showed all how deeply their interests lay 
 at her heart, and she was gone. 
 
 Valentin thought he had not been seen. 
 
 That night, at a party, he asked one or two 
 friends if they knew Lady Vane. 
 
 " Know her ! yes, indeed. She is a guardian 
 anofel to our wounded soldiers, she is a Florence 
 Nightingale ; she works for them night and day, 
 she spares no trouble, no care. She is half 
 German, but married a rich Englishman, and 
 now spends her money on the wounded Father- 
 land. You should see her, and see how they all 
 love her.''
 
 LAND ahead! 247 
 
 " Does she live in Berlin ? " 
 
 *' No ; I think not. But here is Frau Stein- 
 gracht ; you know her ? '^ 
 
 Valentin nearly rushed into the old lady's arms. 
 
 When greetings and congratulations were over, 
 she said — 
 
 '' Ah, Valentin ! Well ; now are you going to 
 marry Lotta ? I couldn't live with her, I was 
 obliged to give it up and come back to Berlin. 
 But you ? " 
 
 " No, no," said Valentin ; *' I shall not ever 
 marry. I liave too much to do. It is only rich 
 men who can marry." 
 
 " Ah I " and Frau Steingracht drew a long 
 breath. "You are wrong. Every one should 
 marry. But I know your dream. It was little 
 Margot. Well, she is in Berlin — and a widow ; 
 marry her." 
 
 Valentin coloured to the roots of his hair. 
 
 " Is she in Berlin ? Tell me." 
 
 "Oh yes; I met her, and then I went to see 
 her. She is only here for a time. Working 
 herself to death, doing good everywhere, and 
 spending all her money on the Fatherland. I do 
 not think she will live, Valentin ; there is a sort 
 of unearthly look about her, like an angel might
 
 248 LAND ahead! 
 
 have ; and yet she says she is so happy ; and, 
 moreover, she is so soft, so subdued. No fire in 
 her eyes, as there used to be in the old days, 
 except sometimes when she is talking to the poor 
 wounded." 
 
 Then she told him all about Dudley's death ; 
 how Margaret's home was now once more at Frog- 
 hambury ; and Valentin walked home that night 
 in the starlight feeling very sad and thoughtful. 
 
 He did not go to the hospital again ; for weeks 
 he neither heard or saw anything of Margaret. 
 He had his work to do, and his life seemed very 
 full of projects and interest. Yet he longed to 
 see her ; he should like to see into her life, and 
 know for himself if she were happy. If only he 
 felt fitter to confront her — that was the doubt. 
 
 At last, one afternoon, he was going to his 
 barracks across some public gardens, and in one 
 of the side-walks he saw Margaret by herself. 
 He stopped irresolute ; should he speak to her ? 
 She did not see him ; she was slowly pacing 
 along, looking now at the flowers, now at the 
 water, by the side of which the walk ran. There 
 was a smile on her face. She stepped on to the 
 little bridge ; then, like a child, picked up a 
 pebble and dropped it into the water.
 
 LAND AHEAD ! 2l9 
 
 " That is like an idle person ; as you fall, so 
 you stay/' said she, aloud ; *' but what am I 
 like ? " 
 
 She looked about for a simile. 
 
 *' I am nothing ; that is most like me. I 
 belong entirely to other people now, for their 
 use ; and I am happiest so." 
 
 In truth she looked happy enough. 
 
 Valentin went on his way without disturbing 
 her. She had preached self-sacrifice unconsciously. 
 If he could have learnt it years ago his life would 
 have been happier too before this. 
 
 But even now happiness seemed to be coquet- 
 ting with him, fanning his cheek with the 
 evening breeze, as he walked swiftly on to his 
 work. He used, long ago, to think happiness his 
 right ; then he lost all sight of it, and thought it 
 a phantom ; now dimly it seemed as if it were 
 in truth hoverino: about him, and mio;ht some 
 day, if not sought for itself, be his. 
 
 In those busy days it almost seemed to begin 
 to come true at once. 
 
 In the autumn he went to Sonnenthal. There, 
 walkino; in the evenino; twilight, he tried to 
 dream the old dream once more. 
 
 How hazily, how vaguely it aU came to him.
 
 250 LAND ahead! 
 
 How changed he was since then. What a foolish 
 boy's part he had played then. How he had 
 misunderstood life. How he had tempted fate. 
 Lotta Senden told him so, smiling at him 
 coquettishly as ever. 
 
 He half laughed in his heart, for he knew she 
 meant that fate was offering him good things 
 again, and that he was tempting her still. He 
 half felt inclined to close with the offer. 
 
 " And you are not married yet, Lotta ? I am 
 surprised." 
 
 " You ask me such a question as that ! " 
 
 " Oh, well. I mean — " and he looked down 
 on the ground and drew a pattern with his stick, 
 and then he looked up to the frowning old castle, 
 that could not smile, though the sun was doing 
 his best to make it look pleasant, and he wondered 
 what he should say next. 
 
 " And you, Valentin ; will you not be thinking 
 of marrying now ? " 
 
 The question jarred on him. 
 
 " I think of marrying ! No, certainly not. I 
 shall never marry as long as I live. I have not 
 time." 
 
 " You haven't time ! Oh, I did not know you 
 were so busy."
 
 LAND ahead! 251 
 
 "Yes, I am. Life is short enough, in all 
 conscience. I have not half time to do all I 
 want. Have you ever thought, Lotta, what a lot 
 there is to do ? How many people to help, how 
 many things to put right, how many sorrows to 
 heal, how many men to teach, how much to 
 discover, how much to do " 
 
 " No ; I never found it out." 
 
 *' I suppose not." 
 
 " And so that is really your reason. You have 
 not time to marry ! " 
 
 He took a turn on the terrace and came back 
 to her. 
 
 *' Look, Lotta, you have been very good to me. 
 I will tell you something if you like." 
 
 His voice was strangely soft as he spoke. 
 
 She turned her head to listen. 
 
 *' Have you ever had an ideal before you, who 
 showed you all that was good and pure and noble 
 and worth loving, and " 
 
 " Yes, Valentin." 
 
 She had risen now, and her hand was within 
 his arm. 
 
 "I had such an ideal. It made earth, heaven." 
 
 " It was false, then." 
 
 " No ; I was false to it."
 
 252 LAND ahead! 
 
 They walked together in silence. 
 
 " Perhaps I did not understand it. At all 
 events, I played with it ; so cruelly, that I lost 
 it. Afterwards, when I found it again, I marred 
 it. Lotta, in looking at it, so foolishly, so 
 passionately, so humanly, I fell " 
 
 They had reached the little bench by the river's 
 brim, where Dudley Vane and Valentin had once 
 stood together. 
 
 " You too had an ideal, Lotta ? " 
 
 ^' Yes." 
 
 " Who — what was your ideal like ? " 
 
 *' You are my ideal." 
 
 It was a still summer evening. The trees 
 whispered lovingly overhead ; the river kissed 
 the green bank at their feet. But there was 
 discord in Valentin's heart. 
 
 "You mistake, Lotta. You think you see 
 peace, but there is no peace for me yet. I am 
 but beginning life now." 
 
 "You told me that years ago," said she, 
 angrily. 
 
 ''But that was a mistake. I began all wrong. 
 I have to begin again." 
 
 "You jest." 
 
 " I was never farther from it. I used to think
 
 LAND ahead! 253 
 
 one must win by wishing. Now I see one only 
 wins by fighting." 
 
 " You say you fell from your ideal ? " she 
 asked, presently. 
 
 " Yes ; shall I ever rise again, think you ? " 
 asked he, pathetically. "Will hard work, and 
 sufiering, and real honest, hard fighting ever 
 shrive me clean from that ofi'ence against the 
 purest " 
 
 " I think so," said a woman's voice close by. 
 " How strange it is to hear these tones and such 
 w^ords." 
 
 " Why, Lady Yane, is it you ? " 
 
 ''Will you speak to me too, Frau Senden ? 
 How strange to find you here. And yet I might 
 have expected it." 
 
 What questions there were ; what surprise and 
 astonishment. 
 
 " I only came this evening from Berlin. I am 
 on my way to England. I came to see the old 
 haunts. I " 
 
 And then this very human heroine began to 
 cry. It was the memory of the happy days, of 
 the dreams they had all dreamed so w^ell. 
 
 She had to tell her story. Her heavy mourn- 
 ing might have told them, but nearly every one
 
 254 LAND AHEAD ! 
 
 in Germany was in mourning for the war. It 
 told them nothing. 
 
 So she told her tale : Dudley's death, her life 
 at Froghambury, her great solitude. 
 
 " And so you are a rich widow ? " asked Frau 
 Senden. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And you will marry again ? " 
 
 '* I ! No ; I shall never marry again. I took 
 my youth into my own hands for myself ; my life 
 now is for others." 
 
 " Why," said Frau Senden, laughing, " that is 
 what Valentin says." 
 
 '* My friend, when one has been very sad, very 
 sorrowful, that sort of personal happiness does not 
 seem possible at all. It does not please one. 
 Now I only care for other people's happiness, and 
 it is the truest. Lately I have come to Germany 
 to see what I can do to help it to recovery, to 
 comfort the sick and wounded, and to aid the 
 bereaved and afflicted as much as I may. Life 
 almost smiles again so. Moreover, dear friends, 
 I have my duties at home. Will you both come 
 and see me there ? Promise." 
 
 They promised gladly, and presently Margaret 
 talked calmly enough. 
 
 " Who lives at Blumenthal now ? " asked she.
 
 LAND ahead! 255 
 
 "No one; people come and look at it, but no 
 one seems to care for it." 
 
 "Ah! it was a dream-house, only fitted for 
 dreamy people as I and father were then. And 
 * The Three Eoses ' ? is it still the same, and 
 evervthino; else ? " 
 
 " Everything is just the same, only the people 
 are changed, and we miss you, Margaret." 
 
 The old Ehine rushed by. There seemed 
 something of tenderness in the music of the 
 passionate waters to-day. 
 
 " I am going to say something very silly,'' said 
 Margaret at last. 
 
 They both waited. 
 
 " AVhy do not you two cousins marry ? " 
 
 There was an awful silence. 
 
 " That is not life, Lady Vane," said Valentin at 
 last, " that is only book-life, the story one sees in a 
 novel, when everybody couples off to make every- 
 thing look smooth and finished. That is romance ; 
 that is not life. The reality is, that generally the 
 wrong people pair off, and the rest have to dance 
 alone for ever. As for me, I must live yet ; I have 
 not yet worked to deserve happiness. One must 
 put one's shoulder to the wheel before one can 
 reach the top of the hill. I shall get there some 
 day."
 
 256 LAND ahead! 
 
 " My old friend, we seem both to have learnt 
 our lesson," said Margaret, smiling sadly. 
 
 " And you both seem very anxious to put it into 
 practice," said Lotta, laughing. 
 
 ''As for Lotta, I heard of a gallant soldier 
 when I was in Berlin — a hero of course — who is 
 very anxious to share his victor's wreath with 
 her, and to give her the glory of his name. If I 
 were Lotta, I almost think I should welcome him 
 to Sonnenfels." 
 
 ''I almost think I shall. What do you say, 
 Margaret ? " 
 
 " Certainly I should. One does not have the 
 chance of a hero for a husband every day." 
 
 Frau Senden laughed and signed assent. 
 
 As for the other two, they sat silent in the 
 deepening evening shades. 
 
 The moon rose over the hill. 
 
 " I must go," said Margaret. 
 
 And yet she was unwilling. The soft undertone 
 of the waters was so soothing to the straining ear. 
 It was like a cradle -song to a weary child. 
 
 " It seems to tell of peace and rest," said she, 
 pointing to the now sparkling water. 
 
 *' And happiness," murmured Valentin.
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 -with a touch of nobleness, despite 
 
 Their error, upward tending all though weak, 
 
 Like plants in mines which never saw the sun, 
 
 But dream of him and guess where he may be. 
 
 And do their best to climb and get to him. — Paracelsus. 
 
 Two years have passed since Valentin and Frau 
 Senden promised to go and see Margaret at 
 home ; a promise that Frau Senden seems un- 
 likely to fulfil. For she and Sonnenfels have 
 found their master, and Lotta is more German 
 than ever, and has very few holidays from home. 
 
 Sometimes Lotta thinks that the swagger of 
 her Berlin hero is something very like tyranny. 
 
 But Valentin has no such fetters ; and he has 
 a holiday. And welcome indeed it is. His busy 
 life, gain him what happiness and consideration 
 it may, does not give him much rest, and there is 
 a worn look sometimes on his handsome face. 
 
 He makes use of his holiday to go to England. 
 
 VOL. III. S
 
 258 LAND ahead! 
 
 Prom London he writes a note to Lady Vane 
 and begs for a summer day at Froghambury. 
 
 *'Come at once," is the answer. "You will 
 find some old friends here.'' 
 
 Valentin and Margaret seemed to have emerged 
 out of the " Sturm and Drang " period into a 
 calm haven of rest at last. 
 
 Again he got out of his carriage at the bottom 
 of the hill, again he walked up alone. 
 
 As he went he thought of his former arrival, 
 when Dudley was alive, and gaiety was the 
 order of the day. Now what should he find ? 
 
 He let himself in quietly at the garden-gate 
 and threw himself on the grass to rest amid the 
 well-remembered scenes. 
 
 " You silly boy," said a voice, " when there is 
 no wind, how can the kite fly ? " 
 
 '' And yesterday you said there was too much." 
 
 Valentin looked up. 
 
 There was Margaret, in a white dress, and a 
 garden hat hanging on her arm. 
 
 *' Come, Maurice, come to me." 
 
 A strikingly handsome boy ran up to her. 
 
 ^'Keep me always, Auntie Margot ; don't 
 ever send me away. You and I have such 
 fun."
 
 LAND ahead! 259 
 
 " All right, my boy. But we must go to tea 
 now, or they will think we are lost." 
 
 The couple disappeared hand in hand down the 
 glade. 
 
 Valentin got up at last and walked towards 
 the house. He saw a group of people gathered 
 under the trees below the terrace. 
 
 "Eun, Maurice, and fetch that gentleman," 
 Valentin heard Margaret say. 
 
 " And who are you, Maurice ? " asked Valentin, 
 as he took the child's hand. 
 
 " I am Auntie Margot's son." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 *'Not son, godson I mean; and — and — more 
 than that." 
 
 " You mysterious being," said Valentin. 
 
 After all, it was a pretty picture, when a 
 moment after, warm welcome given, they all sat 
 down again as old friends. 
 
 I must explain, as a showman might. 
 
 First there was Margaret, who in a sort of 
 subdued contentment seemed to strive to provoke 
 smiles on the faces of all around ; there were 
 Lorraine and Lord Chester, and more prosper- 
 ous, more radiant than ever was our old friend 
 Mr. Tudor ; close to him sat Mr. Mortimer, who 
 
 S 2
 
 260 LAND ahead! 
 
 had on a new buflf waistcoat, and on it the never- 
 failing eye-glass reposed ; as for the other gen- 
 tleman, it was Mr. Bunbury. 
 
 " I expect you will not remember me, sir," 
 said he to Valentin. *' I call myself grandpapa." 
 
 Maurice laughed. 
 
 " And I must introduce my child," said Lady 
 Chester. 
 
 '' Yes ; only he is mine," said Lady Vane, 
 " mine by adoption, and as he is your number 
 three, I know you will spare him to me some 
 day ; won't she, Maurice ? " 
 
 " I will have two mammas always ; and by 
 and by. Mamma Margot, when I am a man, I will 
 help you to do all you have to do." 
 
 '*You will be my god Laughter always, my 
 boy, and keep me from getting a cross old 
 
 woman." 
 
 The boy put his arms round her neck. 
 
 " You are goddess Laughter to us all now, Lady 
 Vane," said Lord Chester. 
 
 " Oh no ; I am Folly," said Margaret. " What 
 do you say, Mr. Bunbury ? " 
 
 The water of the cascade, the hum of the 
 insects, the evening breeze all made a musical 
 undertone.
 
 LAND ahead! 261 
 
 Mr. Bunbury was so long answering, they 
 thought it was never coming. 
 
 '^I never was poetical," said he at last (Mr. 
 Mortimer took up his eye-glass to see better), 
 " but, watching you here at home in your 
 ' Earthly Paradise,' with your thousand little 
 avocations and daily duties, and all your efforts 
 for other people, you seem to me to be like Peace 
 after a storm." 
 
 " If that is not poetry, I should like to know 
 what is," said Lord Chester. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Lorraine. '' All life nobly 
 lived is poetry, rightly understood." 
 
 "And I," said Valentin, "having dropped into 
 this Eden, feel as in the trough the waves make : 
 rough sea behind, white wave in front. I rest 
 in my cradle awhile ; but shall I ever climb 
 to the top ? " 
 
 THE END.
 
 CLAY A.ND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.
 
 Icbirateb 
 
 TO 
 
 THE LADY CHARLOTTE BLOUNT
 
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 i l iM ^ Si ^^ ^^ ii
 
 
 Mmmmms, 
 
 "NiypRSITY OF ILUNOIS-URiANA 
 
 3 0112 046410509 
 
 
 
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