L I E. R.ARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N IVE.R_SITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 
 So 59 
 V.I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/sonsofdivesnovel01lond
 
 SONS OF DIVES.
 
 Sons of Dives, 
 
 ^ Bobtl 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 %^ 
 
 LONDON : 
 SAMUEL TINSLEY, 34, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STRAND. 
 
 1872. 
 [All Rights of Translation aiid Reproduction resented.']
 
 8t^ 
 v.a. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I.— Life in the West 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 II.— The Far East 
 
 28 
 
 III.— The Wicked Chestnut 
 
 59 
 
 IV. — Isabel Vernon 
 
 78 
 
 V. — Standish of Standish 
 
 90 
 
 VI. — Love or Friendship 
 
 104 
 
 VII. — James Paget 
 
 ... 130 
 
 VIII.— Only a Trooper 
 
 ... 155 
 
 IX.— Water Lilies 
 
 171 
 
 X. — Rashly Importunate 
 
 ... 188 
 
 XI. — Dr. Martin's Science at Fault ... 
 
 ... 199 
 
 XII. — Her Majesty's 27th 
 
 ... 228 
 
 XIII.— Farewell 
 
 ... 245
 
 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 
 
 Words are like leaves : and where they most abound, 
 Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 " T 7ERY kind and thoughtful indeed of 
 
 ^ dear Lady Standish. Listen to this, 
 Isabel : — 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Vernon, — We were delighted to 
 hear so good a report of you after your late dissipation. 
 As you say, the season may be said to be over, and the 
 weather having set in with such tropical heat, we think 
 you vdW not be sorry to leave town ; so I venture to 
 propose that you and Miss Vernon should join us here as 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 2 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 soon as it suits you, and we hope that you will not make 
 
 any plans that will deprive us of a long visit. We expect 
 
 a large party of mutual friends. Sir Thomas is impatient 
 
 to renew his flirtations with your charming Isabel. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Helen Standish. 
 "Standish Park, Windsor, 
 
 "yu/y 1st, 1854." 
 
 " My dear, this letter came just after you 
 went out riding this morning, but I forgot 
 all about it till now. Really, my nerves have 
 been so shaken — shattered I may say — at 
 seeing you brought home such an object in 
 that dreadful cab, with your habit torn to 
 ribbons and your hair all down your back, 
 that everything of importance went out of 
 my head, and I have felt like somebody 
 else ever since. Now I begin to remember 
 I was to have told Smart to do up my point- 
 .lace head-dress with the Indian butterflies, 
 and to send to Madame Fleurette to say 
 that you have changed your mind and will 
 not have the blue glace silk just now ; but
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 3 
 
 my dear child, after all, how very fortunate 
 it is that it all happened ! I don't mean 
 your habit being spoilt, nor that sad bruise 
 on your shoulder (I do trust it may not turn 
 green and yellow), nor the poor sailor's 
 head being hurt; (didn't they say it was 
 a sailor, or a soldier, or a gentleman who 
 saved you ?) but it is a good thing that I 
 did not send to Madame Fleurette, for now 
 you will want a new dress, and that blue 
 was just the shade for your complexion, my 
 love. You have looked rather pale lately, 
 and now, after this dreadful shock to your 
 nervous system, a gay country house and 
 the bracing air of Windsor will be the very 
 best thing to restore you. As to that pri- 
 mitive notion of yours of ruralizing in some 
 out-of-the-way village, I tell you now that I 
 never could have allowed it, and I really 
 think, Isabel, that with your attractions, and 
 after the advantages I have striven all my
 
 4 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 life to give you, it is only justice to your- 
 self and common gratitude to me not to bury 
 yourself in a thicket during the best years of 
 your life. However, dear Lady Standish's op- 
 portune invitation has settled the question." 
 The foregoing dialogue or more strictly 
 speaking, monologue, for it had been all on 
 one side and had been poured forth without 
 a pause, took place in an elegant London 
 drawing-room, in a fashionable quarter on the 
 Knightsbridge side of the Park, towards the 
 end of the season of 1854. 
 
 It was a scorching, sultry day — a day rare 
 even in July, one of those days which call up 
 visions of sultans and divans and hookahs, 
 and which in the abodes of the rich, with all 
 the luxuries and appurtenances of wealth 
 give an indescribable sense of languid enjoy- 
 ment and peace; but in the crowded, ill- 
 ventilated dwellings of the London poor, 
 must only add restlessness to suffering, and
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 5 
 
 develop the dormant seeds of disease into 
 the raging and wasting fever. 
 
 We have not now to do however with 
 scenes of want or misery, where a stricken 
 husband, tossing on his wretched heap of 
 rags, in the corner of the crowded room, 
 (that forms "home" to himself and his 
 whole family), mutters in feverish uncon- 
 sciousness words long forgotten from disuse, 
 holy words, perhaps, confusedly mingled 
 with joyous shouts of childhood's days, and 
 memories of green fields and cool streams, 
 where he and his little companions were wont 
 to launch their tiny fleet of paper boats, and 
 watch them sail down the current to a favour- 
 ite eddy, and there toss and struggle, and 
 finally be wrecked. Little thought the happy 
 careless boy in those days of innocence that 
 he was playing with the emblems of 
 his own later broken life ! Nor, will 
 we visit the stifling garret, where a wan
 
 6 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 girl lies dying of consumption under the 
 burning slates, obliged a^ last to give up 
 the hard, monotonous, ill-paid occupation of 
 " plain work," or probably a less creditable 
 mode of earning a wretched existence ; her 
 only refreshment the mug of tepid water on 
 the chair by her side, drained dry long before 
 the return at night of her only companion 
 now, a girl who shared her garret and her 
 sufferings, and was likely to resemble her in 
 her death as well as in her life — alone, un- 
 tended, gasping for air on this glorious first 
 July, when even on the London housetops 
 the little birds perched on the unused chim- 
 neys sang their happy songs — the parched 
 lips of the dying woman, so close beneath 
 them, murmured *' Only air! Only air!" 
 Close not this book in disgust, delicate 
 reader. It is not to such scenes of sorrow 
 that we will lead you, but to a well-ap- 
 pointed house, far west, facing the south.
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST, 7 
 
 not far from Albert Gate. The tall win- 
 dows are wide open, the striped outer 
 blinds drawn closely down are ingeniously 
 made to keep out the sun, but to admit 
 the air, laden with the fresh perfume of 
 heliotrope and rose from the well-watered 
 plants that fill the balcony. The interior 
 of this house, especially in the subdued 
 summer light of this particular afternoon, 
 was very inviting. It had at all times that 
 air of perfect refinement which belongs 
 only to rooms lived in by highly-bred and 
 cultivated women. That absence of the 
 gorgeous, the perfect harmony of colours, 
 the mixture of modern elegance and com- 
 fort with the rare old relics of former times ; 
 the exquisite miniatures, the old china, the 
 nameless knicknacks which have not been 
 *' picked up," but came down from grand- 
 mother and great-grandmother to add to the 
 luxury of a modern drawing room.
 
 8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 There were few afternoons that the owners 
 of these pretty rooms were not besieged with 
 callers — for Mrs. Vernon and her daughter 
 Isabel were favourites in the circle in which 
 they lived — but this afternoon, although the 
 door-bell had rung many times, the ladies 
 had denied themselves to general visitors ; 
 making only one exception, — should Captain 
 Erne call he was to be admitted. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon, nee Margaret St. Aubyn, 
 could count a long line of ancestors, in 
 whom belief in the value of their descent 
 was part of their religion ; and from genera- 
 tion to generation, with two or three excep- 
 tions, they had been faithful to their creed. 
 The result was a diminished estate, and a 
 smaller and smaller provision for younger 
 children ; so that, when General Vernon 
 fell in love with the waning but aristocratic 
 beauty of quite thirty, Margaret's family 
 were fain to be content with the moderate
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. ' 9 
 
 pretensions of the brave soldier, who, if he 
 had not inherited as old a name as their 
 own, had made one, of which any woman 
 might be proud ; and to do Alargaret justice 
 so she was, and for the few short years of 
 her married life she made him a good wife. 
 One girl was born to them, whose lively 
 affectionate childhood filled her father's last 
 years with joy, and the old soldier's life, that 
 had been chiefly spent in rough camps and 
 Indian marches, passed gently away, tended 
 by womanly hands and soothed by childish 
 caresses. 
 
 The widow, weak woman though she was 
 in most ways, gave her whole soul, and de- 
 voted her life to bring up her daughter to 
 take a good position in the world as a worthy 
 representative of her revered ancestors. Ma- 
 ternal instinct and a concentration of all her 
 powers to this oae object, seemed to supply 
 a strength of mind as regarded all that
 
 lo SOJVS OF DIVES, 
 
 concerned her child. For her she could be 
 worldly or self-denying, prudent or lavish, 
 all things that appeared expedient for the 
 girl's present happiness or her future ad- 
 vancement. Independently of this object in 
 life, Mrs. Vernon was a well-dressed, lady- 
 like, foolish woman, whose volubility was 
 overlooked by society in consideration of 
 her good nature, or the worldly advantage 
 of her acquaintance, and also for her daugh- 
 ter's sake ; for Isabel Vernon was universally 
 admired and courted — amiable, cultivated, 
 and courteous, her extreme beauty had not 
 called forth the jealousy and criticism it so 
 often excites, and she was a favourite equally 
 with men and women. The world had hither- 
 to dealt very gently with this petted child 
 of fortune. It is said to be easy for a pretty 
 woman to be good-tempered and amiable, 
 and it certainly seemed so to Isabel. Wher- 
 ever she appeared men gathered round her, "
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. n 
 
 as eager for her smiles as their blast natures 
 
 would allow, and her young lady friends 
 were only too happy to find themselves 
 within the influence of her magic circle. 
 
 Sometimes it was rumoured amongst these 
 latter, that some impetuous young fellow 
 newly admitted to their set, a novice in the 
 arts of courtship, and thinking less of him- 
 self than of the divinity he worshipped, had 
 rushed headlong on his fate, without even 
 making an impression on the citadel he so 
 rashly stormed. Probably Isabel was not 
 fully aware of her own power, nor of the pain 
 which she unconsciously and perhaps heed- 
 lessly inflicted. Her mother, proud and 
 confident in her child's attractions, and in 
 her own manoeuvering, had determined to 
 accomplish for her, sooner or later, a high 
 position with rank and fortune. With this 
 aim she took care never to let her daughter 
 out of her sight, and carefully guarded her.
 
 12 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 from what might have proved dangerous at- 
 tentions. The consequence was, that the 
 stream of the girl's life ran calmly on with 
 scarce a ripple to disturb its surface ; for not- 
 withstanding the number of her admirers, 
 she had been so carefully guarded, that they 
 had appeared before her as her polite slaves 
 perhaps, but with the reserve in look and 
 manner that society imposes, and she had 
 never yet seen a man tremblingly waiting 
 his sentence from her lips ; willing for her 
 love, to yield position, friends, honour, life 
 itself She had never felt the violence of a 
 man's unrestrained love, a torrent of passion- 
 ate human feeling, such as many women are 
 not born to excite ; but ivhen they do, surely 
 its strength must break the cold bands of 
 fashion or expediency that bind their con- 
 ventional hearts, and carry them on irresistibly 
 in its force, just as a little stream that meets 
 a mighty river, mingles and loses itself in
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 13 
 
 its rushing waters, unconsciously adding 
 strength and beauty to its conqueror. 
 
 Isabel had never known, had never wit- 
 nessed, any strong natural feeling. The 
 cautious hurried proposal, whispered in a 
 ball-room from a face tutored to hide all emo- 
 tion from the couple standing near, or from 
 the watchful eye of a chaperone ; or else 
 perhaps abruptly jerked out in the ride, where 
 for a few minutes the adorer could contrive 
 to rein his horse by the side of his goddess 
 out of hearing of the rest of the party, (and 
 our Isabel was only allowed to ride with a 
 chosen set of friends with the old coachman 
 in close attendance), had sometimes for the 
 moment captivated her fancy, but had failed 
 hitherto to touch her heart, if she had one ; 
 and when dutifully recounted to her mother, 
 had been dismissed according to order, with 
 a few courteous but formal lines, and the 
 victim was forgotten almost as soon as he
 
 14 SOIVS OF DIVES. 
 
 dropped out of the ranks of admirers, where 
 another was soon ready to fill up the 
 vacancy. 
 
 And so life passed smoothly and pleasantly 
 on, and if it were an aimless, useless life, 
 given up to pleasure and vanity, doing no 
 good to others, few will wonder, and let 
 none blame, who have not been born and 
 nurtured in the same atmosphere of idle 
 luxury and flattery. Another season was 
 drawing to a close, the third season since 
 Isabel had been ** presented " and had taken 
 her place in the fashionable world, and still 
 the object of her mother's desire was not ac- 
 complished. The coveted coronet had not yet 
 been secured for her darling. Coronets are 
 not laid at the feet of even the prettiest girl 
 of the season every day, and though Isabel's 
 beauty had not diminished, but rather in- 
 creased, other pretty faces had appeared upon 
 their little stage with all the additional charm
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 15 
 
 of novelty. So Mrs. Vernon decided that 
 the time had come when she must no longer 
 trifle in the critical game of life, and she 
 looked around her and decided on her 
 course. 
 
 There was one in the list of attendants on 
 Isabel who might and should be allowed to 
 win the prize ; he had not yet the coronet 
 to give a bride, it is true, but Mrs. Vernon 
 felt certain that it would ere long be his to 
 bestow. 
 
 The Honourable Gerald Erne, late Cap- 
 tain in the Blues, but now exchanged into 
 the 27th Hussars, just returned from India, 
 was the second son of the Earl Mount Ida. 
 The said Earl was a very old man — the 
 eldest son. Lord Clare, a confirmed invalid. 
 Certainly he had been a great sufferer all 
 his life ; but had not Dr. Kortall, the family 
 physician, who also prescribed continually 
 for Mrs. Vernon's nervous headaches ; had
 
 i6 • SOA^S OF DIVES. 
 
 he not lately shaken his head mysteriously, 
 and more than hinted that the constitution 
 of the noble invalid was rapidly giving way 
 under the strain of prolonged suffering, 
 which could not now last very long — and 
 that there was every probability that the 
 aged father would outlive the sickly son. 
 The opinion was quite in confidence, of 
 course, must not be mentioned, etc, etc. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon was not likely to talk of this ; 
 weak and voluble as she was, there was more 
 method in her rambling than the world in 
 general gave her credit for, and so she kept 
 her valuable knowledge to herself, and 
 decided on her course ; at last one of her 
 daughter's admirers should receive encour- 
 agement, and such was her faith in Isabel's 
 obedience and fascinations that she never 
 doubted of success. Many were the oppor- 
 tunities now given. On one promenade day 
 at the Horticultural Gardens, when they had
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 17 
 
 given an admission to Captain Erne the 
 usually careful Mrs Vernon had found 
 great difficulty in losijig her daughter, for 
 Isabel was so well trained that she never 
 voluntarily strayed from her mother's side 
 in public places, and was exigeante enough 
 to expect all attentions and pretty speeches 
 to be made in that watchful presence ; but 
 on this occasion Mrs. Vernon met so many 
 friends, had advanced and retreated, and 
 doubled so often, that Isabel and Gerald, 
 tired of following her tortuous course, and 
 really enjoying one another's society, had 
 drifted on with the crowd, little heeding that 
 they were losing sight of their troublesome 
 chaperone. Then, this new move in her tac- 
 tics taken, Mrs. Vernon sat down. She felt 
 anxious, and quite determined not to see any- 
 thing nor anybody, nor allow herself to be 
 asked any questions ; but presently as she sat 
 
 absently playing with her lace parasol and 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 stg-Hng straight before her at the fountain, it 
 became impossible to ignore the approach of 
 a tall, massive, untidily dressed woman, 
 whose faded pink bonnet did not show to 
 the best advantage the large light-coloured 
 face which it framed, a certain Mrs. Mul- 
 lany, wife of Daniel Mullany, M.P. for 
 " Ballycomeon," who, enjoying the London 
 season for the first time, found that her five 
 ill-dressed daughters did not create the sen- 
 sation she had expected — in fact, that it was 
 a difficult matter to get them partners, or 
 attention of any kind in public places. As 
 the portly form drew near with her train of 
 girls presenting every hue and shade of colour 
 in their wonderful toilettes, she called out, 
 
 *' And is it your daughter you are looking 
 for, Mrs. Vernon ? for I remarked her with 
 the gentleman with the yellow moustache 
 half-an-hour ago ; it's quite alone that they 
 were, and I thought may-be that you didn't
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 19 
 
 know it, and that it's I that would tell you, 
 for I sympathise with a mother's feelings, 
 and I shouldn't like to see my daughters 
 going about with me not knowing where 
 they were." 
 
 " O thank you, dear Mrs. Mullany, but I 
 am not in the least anxious, for I can trust 
 vty daughter. Isabel always does what is 
 right, and Captain Erne will take great care 
 of her. I was so very tired that they were 
 so good as to go and see if the carriage was 
 there, and if not, if Lady Standish could 
 take us home." 
 
 *' Then the carriage was in the conser- 
 vatory, I suppose," said the virtuous 
 matron, "• for it was there that I saw them," 
 and she swept on. 
 
 Now if Mrs. Vernon could have stabbed 
 her malicious rival, and hidden the great 
 body among the orange trees, or thrown 
 it into a fountain and felt sure that it would
 
 20 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 not have floated, it is quite certain that she 
 would not have hesitated to do so ; but, not 
 feeling assured on the subject, she replied 
 with her blandest smile, "You are so funny, 
 Mrs. Mullany ; how I envy your Irish wit.'* 
 
 Her ordeal was not yet over, however, for 
 now a pinched little woman of about forty, 
 with thin white lips and a magenta-coloured 
 nose approached, accompanied by an old 
 mother who ought to have been dozing in her 
 arm chair at home. 
 
 *' It is so rare to see you alone, Mrs. 
 Vernon. I hope that Miss Vernon is not 
 ill?" 
 
 The poor lady's blood was up from her 
 
 late encounter, but fortunately she did not 
 
 lose her presence of mind and told the 
 
 truth. 
 
 "It is very good of you to take so much 
 
 interest in her, Miss Pite, she is quite well, 
 
 thank you, and Captain Erne has taken her
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 21 
 
 to see those wonderful Azaleas, while I rest 
 and wait for them here." 
 
 " It was her, then," muttered the virgin, 
 and passed on. Mrs. Vernon would now 
 have been very glad to find the unconscious 
 object of such wordy warfare and to go 
 home, and to her great relief up came little 
 Major Swift. She was quite sure of his good 
 nature, he was " the dearest little man in 
 the world, just like a wire-haired terrier, and 
 as faithful," Isabel used to say. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon at once relaxed as the cheery 
 little man began. 
 
 '* I knew I should find you directly, there 
 is Miss Vernon in a dreadful state, because 
 she lost you for half a second. I have been 
 telling her that she is quite spoilt, and that 
 she really ought to let you enjoy yourself a 
 little sometimes; however if you will take 
 my arm we will join them at the entrance 
 where they are waiting for us."
 
 22 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 There is no more effectual chaperonage 
 against general admirers than the constant 
 attentions of one man. The pair were now 
 so often seen together that it came to be 
 looked upon as a settled thing that Erne had 
 won the game ; and others began to drop 
 off and offer their smiles and their bouquets 
 at other shrines. As for Isabella, no one 
 could guess at the extent of her feeling, 
 perhaps she did not know it herself. Some 
 said that '* no doubt Isabel Vernon was 
 charming, and sweet tempered, and all that 
 sort of thing, diif that she would never feel 
 much about anything nor anybody." In the 
 meantime she seemed to fall so easily into 
 her mother's views, and looked so happy 
 and contented in Captain Erne's society, 
 apparently considering him her rightful 
 property, that Mrs. Vernon was satisfied. 
 The favoured one could not fail to be 
 flattered, and in his easy lazy way seemed
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 23 
 
 tacitly to accept his position, and was now 
 the companion of their frequent engage- 
 ments, or, more dangerous still, was con- 
 tinually dropping in to the afternoon tea so 
 gracefully presided over by the fair Isabel ; 
 in fact he did not seek to disguise his pre- 
 ference for her, and the pleasure he took 
 in her society, but still no word of love had 
 ever passed his lips. Whatever his feeling 
 was, it seemed to stand still, and latterly, if 
 the truth had been told, Isabel would have 
 acknowledged that in her secret heart she 
 had noticed and resented a slight shade of 
 indifference, or preoccupation that she had 
 felt, rather than that he had shown in his 
 manner ; for indeed Gerald Erne was too 
 finished a gentleman to be guilty knowingly 
 of want of courtesy to any woman, least of 
 all to the woman he admired. In person he 
 was very attractive, tall, slight, but not too 
 slight for strength ; it was a lithe active
 
 24 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 figure, but the limbs were well knit, and 
 every muscle though not strongly developed, 
 was under perfect control; with intelligent 
 dark grey eyes, and light hair. The most 
 striking point in his appearance was the 
 perfectly golden colour of the thick silky 
 moustache that curled into long whiskers of 
 the same shade. I am inclined to think that 
 concealed by that much-admired moustache 
 was a mouth that contradicted strangely the 
 rest of what might be deemed a manly, and 
 certainly a handsome face — a mouth de- 
 cidedly irresolute and almost feminine in its 
 want of strength. The key perhaps to many 
 a contradiction in the man's character. 
 Perfect in attire, perfect in the intonation 
 and modulation of his voice, in unaffected 
 self-possession and refinement of mind and 
 manner, it was not surprising that he should 
 have been spoiled by women. He captivated 
 where he least intended, and at thirty this
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 25 
 
 Phoebus was weary of successes. But even 
 a life so seemingfly bright had its dark side. 
 It began to be known in the regiment that 
 the Hon. Gerald Erne had long ago exceeded 
 a younger son's fortune, indeed it was the 
 hope of retrenching as well as the laudable 
 wish to see active service, at a time when 
 the inaction of the household troops seemed 
 a reproach to a real soldier, that had in- 
 duced him to exchange from the Horse 
 Guards into a light cavalry regiment. 
 
 His money difficulties were becoming immi- 
 nent, and those who understood his position 
 wondered that he should seem to think of 
 marriage with such a girl as Isabel Vernon, 
 who, brought up with every luxury and in- 
 dulgence, yet had no money in her own 
 right ; for General Vernon had left his mo- 
 derate fortune to his wife absolutely, with 
 the exception of a small sum that at her 
 death was settled on a sister's children, and
 
 26 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 it required the addition of the pension which 
 Mrs. Vernon received as a general's widow 
 to enable her to keep up the style and com- 
 forts which she deemed so necessary for her 
 daughter's advancement. No wonder that 
 Captain Erne's friends should be surprised 
 at his seeming to contemplate such a mar- 
 riage, nor that they should come to the 
 conclusion that it must have been the young 
 lady's general indifference that had piqued 
 Gerald into paying her those unwonted at- 
 tentions which he either never meant, or 
 never would be able to follow up. 
 
 That the dread of bringing a gently- 
 nurtured girl into poverty, and thereby in- 
 creasing his own cares and difficulties, /lad 
 withheld him from making love in a more 
 decided way, might probably once have been 
 true, but of late there had been another 
 influence which warred with the habit of 
 affection, or friendship, or whatever feeling
 
 LIFE IN THE WEST. 27 
 
 it was, that he entertained for Isabel. Could 
 anyone have watched this courted man of 
 fashion during the last few weeks, they 
 might have seen him frequently jump into a 
 street Hansom, and drive away far from the 
 fashionable haunts of men like himself, pass 
 the Strand and Temple Bar, far East, to 
 where, among offices and warehouses, a 
 small street led down to the river. At the 
 corner of this street he would leave the cab 
 and disappear, and each time the visit was 
 repeated the cab had to wait longer and 
 longer.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FAR EAST. 
 
 You'll in your girls again be courted, 
 And I'll go wooing in my boys. 
 
 Percy's Reliques. 
 
 A MONG Gerald Erne's many acquaint- 
 ^ ^ ances was a man named Morley, in 
 whose company he constantly found himself 
 in spite of an unreasoning dislike which he 
 was conscious of feeling towards him. No 
 one knew who Morley was, nor whence he 
 came, but he visited at the same houses that 
 Erne did, he affected an intimacy with every- 
 one, he was not ungentlemanly, a good talker, 
 a useful man, in fact, who always came when 
 wanted, with whom no one had any particular
 
 THE FAR EAST. 29 
 
 fault to find ; and yet some people felt to- 
 wards him an aversion for which they would 
 have found it difficult to account. Perhaps 
 it was only the suspicion of those who pride 
 themselves on being judges of character, and 
 knowing in the ways of this wicked world ; 
 but yet I am of opinion that as a general 
 rule, no strong feeling of any kind is aroused 
 without a foundation for it. If you like 
 extremely the man whom / dislike, it is 
 probable that you have had an instinct to 
 perceive in him what I have missed ; on the 
 other hand, if you have an aversion for my 
 particular friend, (supposing you always to 
 be free from prejudice or jealousy,) doubt- 
 less he has been wanting in some respect 
 towards you, which authorizes your judg- 
 ment of him. 
 
 Among very young men and young ladies 
 Mr. Morley was popular, as a middle-aged 
 man is sure to be when he devotes himself
 
 30 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 to the fancies and amusements of the young. 
 More than once Gerald had expostulated 
 with Miss Vernon for her graciousness to 
 this man; but as he never could give any 
 good reason for his dislike, the spoilt child 
 only laughed, and taxed him with prejudice 
 and rudeness, and to make up for the officer's 
 injustice, she exerted herself the more to be 
 kind to " poor Mr. Morley." Certainly she 
 had cause for her accusation when the day 
 after an argument on this subject she saw 
 the two men arm-in-arm in the row, appa- 
 rently in such earnest and interesting con- 
 versation that they did not notice her friendly 
 recognition. At that moment Morley was 
 worming from his companion the secret of 
 his difficulties, which pressed heavier day by 
 day. He then gave him the address of a 
 man "who would get him straight again in 
 no time. An eccentric man, certainly, named 
 Blake — Oliver Blake, a merchant, a ship-
 
 THE FAR EAST. 31 
 
 owner, some said that he had been a law}'er 
 once ; but at all events he was a rich man, 
 and would lend him the money he wanted — 
 for a good interest of course — but it was not 
 like going to the Jews ; he strongly advised 
 him never to go to the Jews, but to stick to 
 Oliver." 
 
 So Gerald forthwith found his way to 
 Thames Terrace, to the place we have al- 
 ready mentioned, down that narrow street at 
 the corner of which the cab was left, to a 
 large old house, close on the river. Ah, 
 what a companion, what a joy that river had 
 been to one pent up for a lifetime within 
 those dull walls ! A silent witness of her 
 trials — a sharer of them as it seemed to her 
 fanciful imagination, and yet an emblem of 
 hope. Month after month, year after year, 
 ever flowing on, and on, and on, and she would 
 picture it on further yet, going out from this 
 black city, on into the country with many wind-
 
 32 SOA'S OF DIVES. 
 
 ings before it reached the sea, but sure to get 
 there at last. And so sometimes when she 
 thought she shouldgomad, the woman's weary 
 heart was soothed and strengthened ; and re- 
 mmded that her life must thus go on, and on, as 
 long as God willed ; but with patient trust, and 
 waiting, the time would surely come when it 
 too would leavebehind these imprisoning walls, 
 and all weariness and sorrow, and flow gently 
 on into the boundless ocean of eternity. 
 
 After glancing round him at this new world 
 to his experience, Gerald rang the bell, the 
 door opened by some invisible contrivance 
 from an office within, and he found himself 
 in the hall of an old-fashioned house, with 
 several doors opening from it. While he 
 stood irresolute, doubting which to enter, with 
 his hand on the fastening of the one nearest 
 to him, he started at a sudden burst of music 
 close by. The grand roll of an organ played 
 with no unpractised hand, and then the full
 
 THE FAR EAST. 33 
 
 rich tones of a woman's voice singing with 
 faultless intonation Handel's immortal com- 
 position, ** I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth." There was in the solemn words, 
 and in the voice that sang them, something 
 so startling and so pathetic, that a chord was 
 touched in the heart of the fashionable trifier 
 that had never before been reached ; added 
 to which the strangeness and unexpectedness 
 of the occurrence confused him to such a 
 degree, that when at last an impatient " come 
 in " summoned him into the office, he had 
 almost forgotten the important object of his 
 visit, and it required the piercing and busi- 
 ness-like voice and questions of the quasi 
 money-lender to bring him to the necessary 
 explanation. Having told that his introduc- 
 tion was through Morley, and given a state- 
 ment of his requirements, a certain amount of 
 ready money was promised on his bringing 
 
 satisfactory security. As Gerald Erne came 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 out, the door was open into the room from 
 whence the music had proceeded, and as he 
 paused in curiosity, he caught a glimpse of a 
 delicate invalid lady, (that she was a lady he 
 had no doubt), supported in an easy chair, and 
 a vision of beauty beaming over her arrang- 
 ing the pillows and soothing the sufferer in a 
 low caressing voice: ^'Yes, mother, again 
 to-morrow, I will sing all day when you are 
 better, but now you must rest." 
 
 Hearing a step the speaker looked up, and 
 their eyes met. Such deep-blue, wistful, lov- 
 ing eyes he thought he had never beheld. 
 It was but a momentary glance, for good 
 manners forbade him to linger ; but to one 
 experienced in feminine charms, it had re- 
 vealed an ideal of beauty that he had never 
 before seen realized. The small classic head, 
 the slender high-bred throat, the tall, grace- 
 ful, well-developed form, whose every line 
 was beauty — masses of soft dark hair drawn
 
 THE FAR EAST. 35 
 
 simply back from a pure womanly face, 
 which you felt to be beautiful before you had 
 time to scan the features. The large dark 
 lustrous eyes, the pure complexion with a 
 carnation flush, that came and went in the 
 rounded youthful cheek with every varied 
 emotion, the exquisitely sensitive mouth, 
 larger than a sculptor would dare to give a 
 Venus or a Diana, with full well-formed lips ; 
 a mouth that, inexperienced as yet in the 
 world's cautious ways, betrayed every feeling 
 of the soul within. It was a face that a 
 painter would dream of, and that all men 
 would love. 
 
 Such was the vision that met Gerald's 
 sight in that dull city room — that followed 
 him, haunted him, as he made his way up 
 that narrow street, and back through the 
 noise and bustle of the city, back to his 
 rooms in Kensington Barracks. What 
 change had come over him since he had left
 
 36 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 them that morning — only that same morning, 
 a couple of hours ago ! Was it all a dream ? 
 If so he would willingly thus dream again — 
 words haunted him that he had often heard, 
 but never heeded before. It must have been 
 Aer voice then that had sung them ? Who 
 was she ? How came she there ? 
 
 Pooh ! what was he doing, troubling his 
 head about a pretty face he had chanced to 
 light upon. It was a pretty face certainly, 
 prettier far than most he met, dii^ a money- 
 lender's daughter, forsooth ! Ife, Gerald 
 Erne, who was courted by the beauties of 
 every room he entered ! It must have been 
 simply the surprise of the scene, and unex- 
 pectedness of the music that had caused him 
 to exaggerate everything ! Away with such 
 
 nonsense." 
 
 Nevertheless it was precisely on that even- 
 ing that Isabel, sitting next to her favourite 
 at a dinner party, first noticed a slight change
 
 THE FAR EAST. yj 
 
 in his manner, which made her decide in her 
 own mind that " Captain Erne must have a 
 headache, or be very tired." 
 
 The next morning, however, found him 
 busy looking up the securities he had to give, 
 and he thought it necessary to take them at 
 once to Oliver Blake. Arriving more quickly 
 at the right street-door this time, he had 
 scarcely rung the bell, when the door was 
 opened by the object of his thoughts. She 
 looked startled and disappointed, then quickly 
 added : 
 
 *' I beg your pardon, I thought it was the 
 doctor ; but I fear my messenger cannot have 
 found him. My mother is ill, and my father 
 is not at home." 
 
 She W2S his daughter then. 
 
 ** Can I give him any message ?" 
 
 *' No ; she could not give him any message," 
 Captain Erne said, ** But could he not be of 
 any service. Should he go for the doctor?"
 
 38 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 And after a little parleying and apolo- 
 gising, which Gerald would gladly have 
 prolonged but for the evident distress of 
 the young lady, she gave him an address, 
 and followed by a profusion of thanks he 
 rushed off and brought back the desired 
 M.D. in an incredibly short space of time, 
 considering how he had had to hunt him 
 down from house to house. 
 
 While the man of skill entered the sick 
 room, Gerald slipped into one near the door, 
 and waited till he heard him coming down 
 the wide old oaken staircase saying : 
 
 ** Perfect quiet, my dear young lady, quiet 
 and cheerfulness ; your mamma is much 
 better again, and you must mot give way to 
 anxiety. I depend upon you to keep her mind 
 cheerful and amused." 
 
 And so he got himself outside the house 
 as quickly as possible, and Gerald slipped 
 out and hurried after him.
 
 THE FAR EAST. 39 
 
 ** Stay Doctor ! do you really think your 
 patient better ? I hope it is not a serious 
 case !" 
 
 The Docter eyed his companion somewhat 
 scrutinisingly. 
 
 *' A friend of the family, I suppose ? " 
 
 ''I wish to be considered such," replied 
 Gerald. 
 
 *' Then, sir, I am sorry to tell you that 
 Mrs. Blake is a dying woman. Yes, sir, a 
 dying woman. She will get over this at- 
 tack — she has got over it — but she probably 
 will not last many weeks ; and then God help 
 that poor child. She is an angel, sir," said 
 the eccentric, but warm-hearted old doctor, 
 raising his voice with anger at the prospect 
 of trouble coming on his pet. " An angel 
 of purity and goodness ; brought up with, 
 and associating only with that high-minded 
 and cultivated, though broken-hearted, 
 mother ; she is as innocent as a baby, and
 
 40 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 as accomplished as the Muses. But what is 
 to become of the poor lamb when left alone 
 with that wolf, her father? Humph! good 
 morning, sir." 
 
 And the kind-hearted doctor went off 
 abruptly to hide the feeling which sixty years 
 of wear and tear, amidst sickness and sorrow, 
 had not hardened. 
 
 Erne turned back again westwards more 
 and more possessed with one thought, and 
 with the memory of one face. He had not 
 yet transacted his business with Mr. Blake, 
 so he must pay him another visit, and then 
 what more natural than that he should ask 
 the servant girl after the invalid, and so it 
 happened that, as he came out of the office 
 looking wistfully for an open door, or some 
 glimpse of her who filled his thoughts far 
 more than the bank notes he had just re- 
 ceived, and which till so lately had been the 
 most important object of his life, an old
 
 THE FAR EAST. 41 
 
 servant came up and ushered him Into the 
 room of which he had caught a glimpse on 
 the day of his first visit. It was a large, 
 old-fashioned, curiously-furnished room look- 
 ing on the river, with panelled walls, and 
 ornamented ceiling and deep window seats. 
 There was an organ and a piano. There 
 were books, richly-carved furniture, and here 
 and there in Eastern-looking table covers or 
 curtains were dashes of colour that would 
 have delighted an artist ; but it was evidently 
 used as a general sitting room. The mother 
 was propped in an easy chair, and the 
 daughter standing over her just as he had 
 seen them before ; but as he paused in the 
 doorway the girl came up, and frankly 
 putting out her hand said : 
 
 ** Pray come in ! Mother, this is the gen- 
 tleman who was so kind to me yesterday,'' 
 and then Mrs. Blake bade him sit down, and 
 she uttered her thanks so graciously and win-
 
 42 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 ningly that he soon found himself chatting 
 with his new and strangely-found acquaint- 
 ances as if he had known them long, and on 
 equal terms with his own set in Belgravia. 
 
 On referring to the surprise and pleasure 
 that the sound of music had caused him, the 
 invalid said " Sybil, my love, play something 
 to " hesitating. 
 
 ** My name is Erne,'' said the visitor, at 
 the same time taking out his pocket-book 
 and putting his card down on the table. 
 
 What was there in the name that should 
 make the invalid flush crimson and then 
 turn paler than before ? She knew then the 
 instinct that had attracted her to such ease 
 and unreserve with this stranger. She now 
 recognised in him the son of one who in 
 her early girlish days of prosperity she had 
 loved as some natures can only love once, 
 one who had been separated from her by 
 evil tongues, urged on by jealousy, and re-
 
 THE FAR EAST. 43 
 
 pented of too late; not till the proud girl, 
 piqued by disappointed love, had given her 
 hand without her heart to the first man who 
 sought it, even to Oliver Blake, the city 
 man, who, slighted and looked down upon 
 by his wife's connections, had bitterly re- 
 sented their '' d d pride," as he called 
 
 it, by the cruel revenge of immuring his 
 bride in his place of business in the city, and 
 forbidding her all communication with her 
 family. 
 
 From that time he hated the aristocracy 
 with a deadly hatred, and made it his Satanic 
 pleasure to lower and ruin them in every 
 instance that came in his way. Through 
 his secret agents the heads of noble houses 
 should be tempted and lured on to debt and 
 ruin ; he was rich, but he would work and 
 save, accumulate his wealth, and then some 
 day when his countless victims were at his 
 feet he would blaze forth before the world
 
 44 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 with all the power of a millionaire, and dare 
 society to scorn him, and with this end in 
 view he toiled, and speculated, and saved, 
 till making and hoarding treasure had become 
 second nature, and the object of his life 
 became lost in habit, so that the triumph so 
 long delayed seemed as far off as ever. 
 
 Poor Mrs. Blake soon found out the mad- 
 ness of the step she had hastily taken ; that 
 the man to whom she had tied herself for 
 life was utterly uncongenial to her nature, 
 that the marriage bond was to her but a 
 yoke ; and that separated from all with whom 
 she was accustomed to associate, she was far 
 more lonely in spirit than she could ever 
 have been in single life. She knew not of 
 the wealth her husband was amassing — what 
 difference did it make to her ? she knew but 
 little of his affairs, but only felt relieved that 
 they absorbed so much of his time. In his 
 evil brutal moods he would taunt her with
 
 THE FAR EAST. 45 
 
 the neglect of her ** fine connections,'* from 
 whom he himself had torn her, and had it 
 not been for the children with which God 
 had blessed her — a boy born soon after their 
 marriage, and a girl some years later — she 
 would inevitably have faded away for lack 
 of human love and hope. She had contrived 
 to educate her son up to a certain age 
 according to her wishes, for Oliver Blake did 
 not waste his time and trouble on domestic 
 affairs. She had even persuaded her hus- 
 band to let him go to Eton, where he had 
 distinguished himself as much in Latin and 
 Greek, as in boating and cricket, and when 
 the time came for his leaving he was a fine 
 noble boy with frank blue eyes and winning 
 manner, the friend and pride of the upper 
 forms, and the champion of the lower. 
 
 Then the proud mother, dreading the effect 
 of the father's evil doings on her son's 
 honest nature, tried hard, but in vain, to
 
 46 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 send him to the University to prepare him 
 for a good profession. Oliver Blake insisted 
 on placing him in a subordinate position in 
 his own business. For a time the boy strove 
 hard, for his mother's sake, to bear all 
 things ; but as his eyes gradually became 
 opened to the underhand and dishonest 
 ways that were practised, he became more 
 and more disgusted, and one day when he 
 was about twenty, and things had gone 
 worse than usual between him and his father, 
 the high-spirited lad rushed home, and pas- 
 sionately clasping his mother in his arms, 
 and covering his little sister with kisses, had 
 gone off and enlisted in a cavalry regiment 
 just sailing for India. Oliver Blake, furious 
 at being thus thwarted in his designs, and 
 laying this insubordinate independence of 
 his son's nature to the mother's aristocratic 
 blood that ran in his veins, vowed that he 
 would never forgive him, nor see him again.
 
 THE FAR EAST. 47 
 
 His unnatural resolve was never put to the 
 test, for soon after landing in India, the 
 regiment having made a long march through 
 a cholera district, the name '' D. Blake" ap- 
 peared in one of the early lists of deaths. 
 
 There was no doubt that the father did 
 feel the blow ; but his grief or remorse was 
 only shown by a more gloomy and bitter 
 exterior, and by devoting himself more than 
 ever to the main object of his life, that of 
 making money and hoarding it. 
 
 From the day that fatal list appeared, Mrs. 
 Blake was a dying woman ; slowly and 
 wearily she dragged her life on from year to 
 year, longing intensely to put off her mortal 
 burden to join her much-loved boy, but still 
 striving to live for the sake of her devoted 
 daughter, who had grown up more good 
 and lovely than any parent could have con- 
 templated ; and now, on the day that Gerald 
 Erne paid his first visit to them, as the
 
 48 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 anxious mother noted the gaze of admiration 
 on the face of this man who so strangely had 
 been thrown in their path, the thought came 
 into her mind, ** What if the old love that 
 had been so cruelly severed between the 
 parents could be renewed again in these 
 two ! If she could see her child removed 
 into the shelter of a home, for which she 
 knew her to be well fitted, as the wife of 
 such a man as this seemed to be, with what 
 content would she lie down and die !" 
 
 As these new thoughts passed through the 
 mother's mind Sibyl had sat down at the 
 organ, and after her hands had wandered 
 dreamily over the keys for a few bars, she 
 became rapt in the beauty of the music, and 
 piece after piece of our great masters rolled 
 forth. Presently, feeling from the perfect 
 stillness of her listeners that they shared her 
 enjoyment, she joined her voice to the 
 instrument in a plaintive chanting melody,
 
 THE FAR EAST. 49 
 
 till warming with excitement her voice burst 
 out like the lark on a joyous spring morning. 
 
 Never had she thrown such fire, such 
 tremulous tenderness in her tones. Even 
 Mrs. Blake's pale-face flushed with astonish- 
 ment and pleasure; as to Gerald, he sat 
 enthralled. As each note fell upon his ear 
 it woke a responsive echo in his heart, 
 while loftier aspirations were kindled within 
 him than he had ever dreamt of before. 
 
 ** Sibyl," her mother called her — a fitting 
 name it seemed for one who cast such a 
 spell over him. When the sound ceased 
 and the gifted girl rose up, with glowing 
 cheeks, and eyes like deep blue seas, her 
 sensitive mouth trembling with the emotions 
 that she herself had aroused, he could have 
 fallen at her feet and worshipped her ; but, 
 instead of doing so, he thanked her for her 
 "charming music " in the stereotyped poHte 
 phrase used by fashionable gentlemen to 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 fashionable young ladies, and the sound of 
 his voice brought them all back to an every- 
 day world. The invalid seeming tired he 
 was obliged to take his leave, asking per- 
 mission to call and enquire again, which was 
 readily granted by Mrs. Blake. And so he 
 did, not once only, but many times. Fre- 
 quently now, flowers, sent as offerings to the 
 sick lady, enlivened the old room looking on 
 the river. Sometimes an afternoon would be 
 spent in playing and singing, at others, 
 taking up their position in the deep window- 
 seat Gerald would read aloud modern 
 poetry and light works, flowers of literature, 
 which would otherwise not have found their 
 way into the garden of this young girl's 
 knowledge; and while Sibyl's eager ears 
 drank in the tones of his voice, and her 
 dreamy eyes watched the ripple of the river, 
 her heart beat in sympathy with the loves 
 and sorrows of the heroine of the tale.
 
 THE FAR EAST. 51 
 
 And these, I think, were almost the happiest 
 days to these two friends ; for in the retire- 
 ment of their window-seat, at a distance from 
 the invalid's easy chair, they felt as if they 
 were alone; and when the reading ceased, 
 Sibyl would comment on the characters and 
 stories of the hour with a zeal and unreserve 
 that unconsciously laid her pure mind open 
 as a book, to her more experienced com- 
 panion. 
 
 They formed a striking but pleasing con- 
 trast, these two. The man's light colouring 
 and easy, finished lazy elegance; the girl's 
 statuesque pose, with the sunlight streaming 
 on her hair, gilding its dark threads, and 
 deepening all the rich tints of her face and 
 dress. 
 
 There was one day when the reading had 
 ceased, and the harmony of thought was too 
 perfect for speech, they sat and gazed in 
 silent happiness, till Gerald idly turning over
 
 52 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 a book by his side saw Morley's name written 
 in it. It was an unpleasant break to the 
 dreamy current of his thoughts, and asking 
 rather sharply : 
 
 *'What do you know of this man Mor- 
 ley?" 
 
 Sibyl, startled, answered: "Oh, he is an 
 old friend of ours." 
 
 Then Mrs. Blake roused herself and said, 
 ** What are you saying there about Mr. 
 Morley ; not exactly a friend, Sibyl, but an 
 old acquaintance." 
 
 ** Ah ! we fight over that subject, don't we, 
 dear mother ? I think it unjust to poor Mr. 
 Morley ; I always find him a most kind and 
 agreeable friend." 
 
 Gerald remembered anotherdrawing-room, 
 and other lips that had spoken almost the 
 same words about this same man whom he so 
 disliked. It was strange he thought that the 
 only two women whom he admired should so
 
 THE FAR EAST. S3 
 
 Oppose themselves to his instinct on this 
 point. Yes, the two women ! That brought 
 Isabel to his thoughts. He generally banished 
 her altogether from his mind when he was 
 with Sibyl, and gave himself up to the en- 
 joyment of the moment. Did he admire 
 Isabel at all ? He supposed he did, for cer- 
 tainly he used to think her the prettiest and 
 nicest girl of his acquaintance ; but latterly 
 she had seemed rather too conventional and 
 uninteresting. It was a pity she was not 
 more like this unsophisticated beauty; but 
 then the men would simply go mad about 
 her, and she would soon be spoilt. 
 
 The spell was broken for that day. Mrs. 
 Blake was suffering and he took leave. 
 
 Thus day by day the intimacy grew. Soon 
 Mrs. Blake became so weak that music had 
 to be given up ; but she ever welcomed Cap- 
 tain Erne with a kind smile, and he was ad- 
 mitted on all occasions. He never saw Oliver
 
 54 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Blake, excepting when business called him 
 into the office, nor did he know whether the 
 master of the house was aware of his ac- 
 quaintance with the ladies of his family, for 
 by them he was never mentioned. The 
 mother watched with gladness Gerald's grow- 
 ing tenderness of manner, and the deeper 
 glow that came to Sibyl's cheek and lighted 
 up her eyes ; but still, no words of love had 
 been spoken between them. 
 
 It may be doubted if Mrs. Blake was right 
 in encouraging so unequal and secret an in- 
 timacy — if she was wise, even in her child's 
 interest. But her case was desperate, she 
 felt her time was short, — her maternal love 
 overcame all other considerations. She 
 knew no one else of whom she could think 
 without a shudder as a husband for her 
 daughter. She could not bear to die and 
 leave her with no other protector than the 
 father she had given her; and, if agam she
 
 THE FAR EAST. 55 
 
 failed in judgment on that most momentous 
 point in a woman's life, it was not from want 
 of consideration, still less from a common 
 worldly ambition, she thought she was right, 
 she acted for the best. And so it came to 
 pass that, Sibyl, a guileless child in experi- 
 ence, — a woman in truth and intensity of feel- 
 ing, — of nature far stronger than the man 
 who was influencing her future life, was day 
 by day drinking in fatal draughts of love, 
 never doubting, never hesitating, never strug- 
 gling against the intoxication, for good or 
 for evil, for joy or for sorrow, her heart wer^t 
 out from her for ever. And Gerald ? Did 
 he love her as he ought to have loved to 
 justify his seeking her out, day after day, 
 and week after week, and weaving the web 
 of his experienced attraction so inextricably 
 around her ? Yes, inextricably, for could he 
 mistake in that honest nature the bright 
 smile and dancing eye that welcomed his
 
 56 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 coming, or the sad vibration in the voice that 
 bade him farewell. The fascination was too 
 great to be resisted. He did love her ! 
 Loved as he had never thought to have 
 loved, for hitherto, the Hon. Gerald Erne, 
 Captain in Her Majesty's 27th Hussars, had 
 suffered from that complaint in a mild form 
 only. ** Why, then," my lady readers will 
 exclaim, *'Why then not tell her so, and 
 marry her.'* But ladies (who are of course 
 unworldly themselves, and never marry from 
 any motive but true love !) ladies I say are 
 rather hard upon such men. They think 
 they must be altogether heroic, or altogether 
 immoral and selfish. The last quality I fear 
 does apply to them, more nearly than I could 
 wish ; with few exceptions they are not alto- 
 gether bad, at all events, Gerald Erne was 
 not. The power of conventionality, respect 
 for their own birth and position, the opinion 
 of their family act strongly upon them, and
 
 THE FAR EAST. 57 
 
 well it is for society as a general rule, that it 
 is so. 
 
 Ye mother or sister, whose son or brother 
 has made your heart ache with his reckless 
 extravagance, and perhaps still more by 
 casting himself into the merciless clutches of 
 a professional money-lender, say, would it 
 lessen your trouble that he should take to 
 himself the usurer's daughter as a wife, and 
 expect you to welcome her to your hearth ? 
 At all events, I am obliged to record that 
 although there were moments when Gerald 
 was alviost tempted to defy the world and 
 clasp Sibyl in his arms with a tale of love 
 and passion that might have startled even 
 her strong heart, he had not as yet any 
 settled intention of seeking to make her his 
 wife ; of taking a money-lender's daughter 
 to the ancient halls of his ancestors, and of 
 introducing her to the lordly old earl, his 
 father, as the wife of his choice.
 
 58 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Mrs. Blake had never told him of her own 
 good birth, of her early history, nor of her 
 love-passages with his father. She intended 
 doing so, but the time never came, and the 
 only result of his attachment was to make 
 Gerald a happy man for the short hours passed 
 in Sibyl's society, but restless, undecided, and 
 miserable at other times, distant and almost 
 rudely indifferent now to the gushing young 
 ladies of his acquaintance, and their ambitious 
 mammas; pre-occcupied even in the presence 
 of Isabel. 
 
 %^
 
 '^.^S 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE AVICKED CHESTNUT. 
 
 Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 
 
 K. Henry VI. 
 
 T T TE are now brought to the day on 
 ^ ^ which this history opens, — to the 
 afternoon of that hot summer day when Mrs. 
 and Miss Vernon were awaiting in their 
 pretty drawing-room the only visitor who 
 was to be admitted. 
 
 Isabel had that morning escaped from 
 what might have been a serious accident, 
 but for the ready courage and presence of 
 mind of a stranger. She had arranged 
 with some of her friends, of whom Gerald 
 was one, to ride in the early morning,
 
 6o SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 before the sun became too scorching. The 
 
 cheerful, gossiping party had already been 
 
 twice round the Park, and had just turned 
 
 for a last canter up the Row, Isabel a little 
 
 in advance of the rest, when a dog suddenly 
 
 ran across the path, bounding and yelping 
 
 round the already excited chestnut on which 
 
 she was mounted. The animal dashed off 
 
 at full gallop, with the brute of a dog 
 
 after him. Gerald called out to the others 
 
 not to follow, and all thought and hoped 
 
 that it was only a little burst of play and 
 
 excitement, and that Miss Vernon had her 
 
 horse under control ; but she tried too soon 
 
 to pull him in, jerking nervously at the 
 
 reins, which only excited the animal more 
 
 and more; and, getting the bit between 
 
 his teeth, with his nose in the air, the brute 
 
 tore madly along, sending the soft earth 
 
 flying at every stride. Away they flew 
 
 like the wind. The poor girl clung on
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 6i 
 
 as best she could, but the terror in her 
 white scared face showed that she had 
 lost all presence of mind. 
 
 The few passers-by did not attempt to 
 do anything but stand stupidly looking on, 
 expecting each moment to see horse and rider 
 dashed to pieces. 
 
 Away they w^ent — on, past the Row — on, 
 till the railings of Kensington Gardens w^ere 
 just before them. Ah ! was there no one 
 to save them ? By this time the horse 
 seemed mad. He swerv^ed for a moment, 
 then rose at this tremendous check to his 
 wild career, and — cleared it. With a faint 
 scream as they alighted on the other side, 
 poor Isabel fell, but not free, for, her foot 
 having slipped through the stirrup, she was 
 dragged along, head downwards, and must 
 inevitably have been dashed to pieces, but 
 that, at that instant a man who had been 
 lounging against the railings started forward
 
 62 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 at the imminent risk of his own life, placed 
 himself full in the chestnut's path, and caught 
 hold of the bridle. Over and over he rolled 
 from the force of the pace, but holding on by 
 the reins he soon recovered his feet, and the 
 animal by this check having been brought to 
 a stand, the man lifted the girl's body from 
 the ground, extricated her foot from the 
 stirrup, and then, staggering with the shock 
 he had received and the weight of his burthen 
 he looked round for help, — but no one was in 
 sight. The nursery-maids and children had 
 gone home, the gardens seemed deserted. 
 So carrying his unconscious charge out of 
 the more public path, he gently laid her down 
 on the turf under the thick shade of an old 
 elm tree. Then, for the first time he saw 
 who it was he had saved. Ah ! she was 
 not altogether unknown to him. He had 
 watched her often as she rode by with 
 her merry party, or reclined midst her soft
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 63 
 
 muslins and laces by her mother's side in 
 the carriage. He had even enquired and 
 discovered her name. From the crowd of fair 
 women passing constantly before him, his 
 fancy had singled out her gentle face for 
 his melancholy thoughts to dwell upon, and 
 to build romantic castles of what might have 
 been, while he cursed the fate that had 
 removed him far from such beings — far from 
 refinement, and all that w^as worth living for. 
 Now^ as he reverently gathered together the 
 long golden hair that soiled and tarnished in 
 the dust was tangled around the insensible 
 Isabel, and anxiously gazed in her face, he 
 thought that she was dead. Raising her head 
 and supporting her in the most easy position 
 he could upon his shoulder, he drew off her 
 gloves, chafed the little cold hands, and in 
 the excitement and agony of his fear that 
 after all he had been too late, he pressed the 
 cold inanimate form closely in his arms
 
 64 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 hoping that the warmth from his throbbing 
 heart might revive her. At last, it seemed 
 an age of anxiety though probably it was 
 but a few minutes, as he gazed yearningly 
 in the white upturned face, his efforts were 
 rewarded : — with a slight shiver, her eyes 
 opened, and looked long and dreamily into his. 
 
 "Thank God!" he exclaimed, as if his 
 whole life depended on that awakening. 
 After a long, long look, the weary brown 
 eyes closed again with a gentle sigh, and 
 she lay quite still, unconscious of where she 
 was — unconscious of everything ; she had 
 fainted from terror, and, stunned by the 
 blow on her head, it was some time before 
 the suddenly-arrested life could struggle 
 back to its frail tenement, or the mind 
 re-assert its rights ; but he now felt the pulses 
 beat, a faint colour returned to her lips, and 
 he knew that she was safe. 
 
 At that moment hearing horses approach,
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 65 
 
 he gently laid her down, and then turning 
 and seeing the party of her friends who had 
 dismounted and drew near, he went up to 
 Captain Erne, saluted him, said simply : 
 *' The young lady fainted, but I do not think 
 she is seriously hurt," and disappeared. 
 
 In the excitement of the moment no one 
 thought of him. 
 
 " Oh, Isabel ! " " My dear Miss Vernon ! " 
 " My poor dear !" exclaimed several voices. 
 
 There w^as of course great concern and 
 sympathy from the whole part}^, every one 
 asking all sorts of questions at once. 
 
 Isabel soon rallied, but could give them 
 
 only a very confused and incoherent account 
 
 of what had happened. She remembered 
 
 clinging in terror to her saddle as the horse 
 
 approached the railings, but nothing more. 
 
 She had no idea who it was that came to 
 
 her rescue, nor how it was she found herself 
 
 lying on the soft turf in the shade. The 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 SOA^S OF DIVES. 
 
 first idea that came to her bewildered mind 
 was that it must have been Captain Erne, 
 as he was the first person she saw when she 
 became conscious, but that idea, welcome 
 though it may have been, was soon dis- 
 pelled. There was no one near excepting a 
 nursemaid and two children. On being 
 called the woman was delighted to give her 
 account of the whole event. 
 
 *' I was walking along with the dear chil- 
 dren promiscuous like, and had noticed a 
 soldier standing against the rails very still 
 and melancholy, and staring straight before 
 him, and yet he did not seem to see me nor 
 the children, though we passed backwards 
 and forwards close afore him a many times. 
 Presently up comes the horse and the lady a 
 tearing along like mad, and the soldier he 
 started up all alive now I'll warrant him. 
 Then over comes the horse quite awful. I 
 dragged the blessed children behind a tree
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 67 
 
 and shut my eyes, but still I couldn't help 
 looking round, and there was the young lady 
 a dragging on the ground and the soldier 
 standing right in front of the wild horse. 
 He must have been mad hisself to do such a 
 foolish thing. He was knocked down, of 
 course, but somehow or other he catched up 
 the young lady and carried her to where she 
 is now. For my part I thought she was 
 dead, and I was so frightened that I held the 
 children close and kept hid behind a tree, 
 for I thought what would their mamma say if 
 they told her that I showed them wild horses 
 and dead corpses, and Miss ZTemmily so 
 delicate too, and a trembling all over; as 
 to Master Arthur he was as brave as a lion, 
 and wanted to ''go and help the poor lady," 
 he said, but of course I didn't let him do no 
 such thing." 
 
 While this long harangue was going on 
 Isabel had risen from the ground, and all
 
 68 SOA'S OF DIVES. 
 
 now begun to be interested in the man who 
 had so unhesitatingly risked his life. "• Was 
 he an officer?" The woman did not know; 
 she "thought he looked like a gentleman, 
 but then," she naively added, '' for my part I 
 think all them big soldiering fellows look like 
 gentlemen when they are' dressed up in their 
 regimentals." 
 
 Miss now remembered that ** she had 
 
 noticed a man standing near Isabel when they 
 came up, he was without a hat, and blood 
 was trickling from his head on to his sleeve ; 
 he wore a regimental jacket, very much torn 
 and covered with dust, he was very pale but 
 handsome too ; — but of course she was only 
 thinking of poor dear Isabel — she did not 
 look at him much, and could not say whether 
 he was a gentleman ; she had never seen a 
 gentleman in such a condition, and so she 
 could not judge ; but still, she did not think 
 he looked quite like a common soldier. How
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 69 
 
 delightfully romantic it would be if he turned 
 out to be an officer ! And his going off like 
 that, without even waiting to be thanked, nor 
 giving them his card, that Mrs. Vernon 
 might invite him. He must be a gentleman, 
 a thorough gentleman," decided the enthusi- 
 astic young lady. 
 
 By this time the chestnut, who had been 
 trotting round and round, nearer and nearer 
 to his mistress, whinneying nerv'Ously, had 
 been caught and was being led away in dis- 
 grace by one of the grooms. A cab had 
 been fetched, and poor Isabel gathering up 
 the rags of her habit was sufficiently re- 
 covered to walk to it without assistance; 
 gloveless, hatless, and her pretty hair dis- 
 hevelled and bemired. 
 
 Miss and Captain Erne accompanied 
 
 her, and soon she was given over to her 
 mother's care. The wise matron immediately 
 put her to bed, having first hurriedly heard
 
 70 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 the story of the accident from Gerald, and 
 begged him to be sure to find out who 
 was her daughter's " preserver," and to call 
 and tell her everything later in the day. 
 
 Now it happened that though Captain Erne 
 had said nothing to the rest of the party he 
 had seen at a glance that the man who had 
 so opportunely been by at the time of Miss 
 Vernon's accident was a trooper ; his face 
 was familiar to him, and though in his 
 dilapidated condition the distinguishing 
 marks of his uniform were almost unre- 
 cognisable, he had scarcely any doubt that 
 he was actually a man of his own regiment. 
 
 So, after escorting Miss to her front 
 
 door, he went straight to barracks, and there, 
 as he expected, he found the hero of the 
 morning, faint and haggard, his head badly 
 cut. After commending him for his conduct 
 as slightly as one man does another (be he 
 inferior or equal) for a service done to a lady,
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 71 
 
 and ordering the surgeon to attend to his 
 hurt, he considered he had done all that he 
 could, and dismissing the subject from his 
 mind, he looked at his watch, and seeing that 
 it was still early in the day, and that he was 
 not to return to Mrs. Vernon before the after- 
 noon, he read his letters and transacted a 
 little military business, needful from fresh 
 orders having come for changing their 
 quarters from Kensington to Hounslow on 
 the morrow. Then jumping into a Hansom, 
 drove off along the now familiar streets to 
 Thames Terrace. 
 
 The. regiment was going farther away. 
 What were his real intentions towards this 
 bright creature, whom day after day he 
 sought out in her retired home ? Conscience 
 whispered that he should decide on some 
 course, and act upon it. How could he act 
 on it ? Ask her to marry him ? No, he 
 could not. What would his family say ? It
 
 72 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 would 970^ do. Give her up and never see 
 her again ? That seemed equally impossible. 
 He had never been used to thwart his own 
 inclinations and do what was disagreeable, 
 so he hastily decided that he would not 
 think about it — at all events not to-day — he 
 would banish such painful reflections from the 
 pleasure of seeing her to-day, and afterwards 
 he would think seriously on the subject. 
 
 '•' Think seriously on the subject ! " Aye, 
 men think seriously on such subjects when 
 it is too late — when there is no course left 
 without wronging some one. They will move 
 heaven and earth, hesitate at nothing; de- 
 vote themselves, their time, their all, to win 
 the love of a woman, whom either they can- 
 not claim before the world, or whom, for 
 some worldly reason, they thiiik they cannot 
 acknowledge openly ; they teach her to des- 
 pise her old life, to live only in theirs ; they 
 light a fire in her heart that will burn and
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. 73 
 
 consume the hopes and prospects of a whole 
 life ; and then, forsooth, they begin to think 
 seriously on the subject ! 
 
 As Erne glanced up at the darkened win- 
 dows where dwelt the object of his unwelcome 
 reflections, he knew that the dreaded day had 
 come. He rang softly and timidly, as one 
 does ring at a door where Death is, as if 
 that dread sleep could even yet be disturbed 
 by the sounds of earth. The servant-girl 
 told him that '*' Mrs. Blake had died that 
 morning, that ' master ' had shut himself up 
 in the sitting-room, and was not to be dis- 
 turbed on no account, and that Miss Sibyl 
 would not leave her mother's room, and took 
 on awful. He could, perhaps, see Mrs. 
 Carr, the old maid and nurse ; but she, too, 
 was very much put about." Then Gerald 
 hesitating, half dreading the scene of sorrow 
 he might see in that house of mourning, 
 half dreading himself, wrote on his card
 
 74 S02VS OF DIVES. 
 
 "• Let me know if I can be of any use ; " left 
 it *' for Miss Blake," and giving the girl 
 half-a-sovereign, turned away with an aching 
 heart to make his way back to the West, and 
 keep his promise to Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 Oh, blind Fate, cruel goddess ! that takes 
 us by the hand and leads us away from our 
 happiness ! 
 
 Within those dingy walls from which Cap- 
 tain Erne turned away, in a room suffocating 
 with the summer's heat, and the faint odour 
 inseparable from sickness, on an old-fashioned 
 four-post bedstead, with dark moreen hang- 
 ings, lay what had so lately been his kind 
 and gentle friend. The worn delicate face 
 looked young again now that the vexing 
 ** spirit was not there." 
 
 " Before Decay's effacing fingers 
 Have swept the lines where Beauty lingers 
 ***** 
 
 So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd 
 
 The first, last look by Death reveal'd."
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT, 75 
 
 The common household sounds were all 
 hushed on this "first day of death." The 
 awful stillness was broken only by the wild 
 sobs, now sinking to pitiful moaning, of the 
 poor child kneeling by the bedside, and for 
 the first time in her life calling upon her 
 mother's love in vain : " Oh ! mother, mo- 
 ther, speak to me ! Do not leave me so 
 lonely, mother ! " 
 
 So lonely, indeed. No one came to lead 
 her away, nor soothe the intensity of her 
 youthful grief. The parent who should have 
 watched over her in that desolate hour was 
 selfishly absorbed in the contemplation of 
 his own loss. 
 
 Could Gerald have seen this picture of 
 sorrow, would he have turned away ? Could 
 he have known the strength of that young 
 loving heart, the intense womanliness of 
 nature, added to all that was intellectual and 
 ennobling, which made her outward loveliness
 
 76 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 but a shadowing forth of inward beauty — 
 could he have known the wealth of love that 
 might then have been his, would he not have 
 been content to give up friends and family, 
 if need be, to cast away the conventionalities 
 of life for evermore, and have deemed him- 
 self rich in his possession ? 
 
 Ah ! if men could bid know when earth's 
 best blessing is within their reach ! It is not 
 for many. The pure virgin gold is rare. 
 There is so much counterfeit, so much alloy, 
 what wonder that they mistake what they 
 see, and think they have found it when 
 they have not. Alas ! for the man who has 
 held the treasure in his hand, and has not 
 grasped it ! It is poured out on the ground 
 and wasted. It can never be to another what 
 it would have been to him ; for I hold that 
 however fine and pure a single nature is, it is 
 incomplete without its proper mate. When 
 two kindred spirits find each other, then they
 
 THE WICKED CHESTNUT. jj 
 
 taste a happiness that is scarcely of this 
 lower world, they expand and develop a 
 perfect unity, and God's purpose is fulfilled. 
 But, how rare is this affinity ! How often 
 are two lives spoilt by want of instinctive 
 sympathy between them. It matters not 
 that each has a noble nature ; if they do not 
 suit each other, it is all in vain. Each re- 
 mains blind and dull to the other's merit, 
 and each spirit wanders on alone to the end, 
 secretly yearning for its soul's mate.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 
 
 I had a dream which was not all a dream. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 WHILE death was busy in Thames 
 Terrace, and poor Gerald was re- 
 tracing his steps after his fruitless expedition 
 eastwards, battling with his conflicting feel- 
 ings, sometimes thinking he would yield to 
 the promptings of his heart, and then con- 
 gratulating himself that the regiment was 
 ordered away from town and that he would 
 be further removed from temptation ; one 
 minute thinking of Sibyl's loving eyes look- 
 ing so trustingly in his, and the next re- 
 minding himself that after all he had never
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 79 
 
 really spoken of his love to her ; — Miss 
 Vernon lay passively in her pretty French 
 bed with the white lace curtains trimmed 
 with blue ribbons, while her mother gave 
 strict orders for silence in the house that her 
 darling might rest and recover from " the 
 shock that her nervous system had sus- 
 tained." 
 
 At first the wide-open brown eyes were 
 very wakeful, but after a little while they 
 closed, and Isabel slept. For a time she 
 tossed restlessly and muttered, evidently the 
 consequence of the excitement she had 
 suffered. She afterwards described that she 
 dreamt that she was Mazeppa tied on the 
 wild horse and galloping through deserts, 
 and across streams pursued by wild dogs ; 
 but whoever had strapped her on had done 
 it so badly that her great fear was that she 
 would fall off and become the prey of her 
 pursuers, — be torn to pieces by the dogs.
 
 8o SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 But on she galloped for hundreds of miles 
 through strange countries, till at last the 
 horse, reeling with exhaustion, jumped down 
 a precipice ; they fell crushed up together, 
 and she, Mazeppa, thought that she was 
 dead, and that there they laid many hours, 
 till at last she was sensible of the air being 
 filled w4th busy fairy hands, that untied her 
 and bore her along to a beautiful garden, 
 and laid her down on a mossy couch, and 
 fanned her gently and lovingly till she came 
 to herself again ; but still could see nothing. 
 Then she heard Gerald Erne close beside her 
 say '* Thank God," in a voice far more 
 earnest than she had ever heard before, and 
 she put out her hand and opened her eyes to 
 see him, and . . . there she was, in her 
 own comfortable, fresh-looking bed. She 
 could not understand it all, and was too 
 tired to try, and so she closed her eyes again, 
 and this time fell into a calm, restoring sleep
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 8i 
 
 for some hours, never waking till, towards 
 
 afternoon ; the sun streaming through the 
 
 window disturbed her, and exclaiming that 
 
 she was quite rested, " Quite well, mamma," 
 
 she insisted on getting up, "for I want to 
 
 see Captain Erne when he calls, to ask him 
 
 all about my accident," she added. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon yielded to so satisfactory 
 
 an argument, and mentally decided that the 
 
 pair should to-day be left to themselves, and 
 
 that there could be little doubt but that 
 
 after the exciting occurrence of the morning 
 
 Gerald Erne would no longer be able to 
 
 repress his pent-up feelings, and that the 
 
 day of her child's merciful escape would also 
 
 prove that of her happy engagement. And 
 
 so Isabel was dressed with even more than 
 
 usual care, and very pretty she looked, in a 
 
 cloud of hazy blue muslin, her golden hair 
 
 once more arranged according to the last 
 
 fashion, her small perfect features somewhat 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 SONS OF DIVES, 
 
 paler than usual to-day (though she never 
 had more than the faintest tinge of colour 
 in her cheeks) and the soft brown eyes 
 gazing out of window (the view must have 
 been a mental one as the blinds were drawn 
 down we remember), with a far-off expres- 
 sion, and a feeling which was quite new to 
 that fashionable face. 
 
 A background of large plants in great 
 china pots, an orange tree in fruit and 
 flower, myrtles in full blossom, and a pro- 
 fusion of damask roses framed a picture, 
 which would have enchanted a Hunt or a 
 Millais, and which was very pleasant to a 
 less artistic eye. 
 
 "• Surely Gerald Erne must be fascinated 
 to-day," thought Mrs. Vernon as she looked 
 up at her daughter after the long harangue 
 at the beginning of this book; to which 
 Isabel, in the easiest of lounging chairs, with 
 a book upside down on her lap, appeared to
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 83 
 
 be dutifully listening, though in reality she 
 did not hear a word. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon before Captain 
 Erne was, announced. He looked worn and 
 out of spirits, but after some strong tea 
 poured out for him and Isabel (by Mrs. 
 Vernon to-day) into cups of lovely '' rose 
 Du Barry," he recovered himself a little, 
 and soon yielding to the soothing influence 
 of this genial atmosphere he began to un- 
 fold his tale in answer to Mrs. Vernon's 
 fifty questions respecting *' Isabel's pre- 
 server," as she insisted on calling him. 
 *' Yes, he had traced him without difficulty. 
 His name is '' Duncan Meredith." 
 
 ** A charming name," broke in the volu- 
 ble lady, '* Duncan is so noble, and Mere- 
 dith, Meredith ? . . what do I remember of 
 the Merediths ? Ah yes when I was a little 
 child Captain Erne, quite a little child, there 
 were some Merediths who used to visit at
 
 84 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 our house. A good old family, too, I be- 
 lieve. They used to come in a yellow 
 chariot with four grays, and there was a 
 little girl of my own age, and one day in 
 particular I remember we quarrelled over our 
 dolls. I liked one that was new and pretty, 
 and I wanted a doll's party, while she would 
 insist upon having the battered one, because 
 she said it must be unhappy, and must be 
 petted and nursed ; and so we could not play 
 together." 
 
 *'That is a very interesting fact," drawled 
 Gerald wearily, *' but you must bring down 
 your ideas, I fear, Mrs. Vernon, for there can 
 be no connection between your Merediths 
 and this man, Duncan Meredith, who turns 
 out to be neither more nor less than a 
 trooper of my own regiment." 
 
 (There is no doubt that Isabel's nerves had 
 not recovered from the shock of the morn- 
 ing's accident, for here she blushed violently).
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 85 
 
 " The man's face was familiar to me," con- 
 tinued Gerald, " and though I know but little 
 of him personally I have heard a good deal 
 about him from my friend Bob Hetherington, 
 in whose troop he is. He has often told me 
 what an extraordinary fellow this Meredith 
 is — the prodigies of valour he performed in 
 India — and that while executing all his 
 duties with scrupulous care he will associate 
 as little as possible with his comrades, and 
 when off duty he is a silent reserved man. 
 Hetherington is quite soft about the fellow, 
 and our Major (Swift, you know,) is nearly 
 as bad. They would talk by the hour if 
 any one would listen to them, of how, after 
 a hot day's march in India they have seen 
 him sit up all night nursing sick women and 
 children, how he was always to be found at 
 death beds, prescribing like a doctor and 
 talking like a parson ; but, as I said, Bob and 
 Swift are foolish on the subject. I believe
 
 86 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 they consider the man to be a hero, or a 
 prince in disguise, instead of a trooper in 
 Her Majesty's Royal 27th Hussars. 
 
 Something in the tone of Gerald's words 
 grated upon Isabel. However uncalled-for 
 and inopportune it may have been, a ques- 
 tion presented itself to her that had troubled 
 her more than once, *' Was it love or friend- 
 ship that she felt for Captain Erne?" We 
 do not know that she was able to answer it 
 any better to-day than before, but she asked 
 him, ** Was this poor trooper hurt ? She 
 should never forget the courage and presence 
 of mind that had saved her life, and she 
 should like to thank him." 
 
 **Well, he did seem shaken a good deal, 
 and had rather an ugly cut on his head, 
 but it was done in a good cause, and no 
 doubt he will be all right again directly. 
 As to * courage,' you ladies always seem so 
 surprised if a man shows ordinary pluck.
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 87 
 
 All men are courageous if they have the 
 opportunity." 
 
 ** I must have passed a good many men 
 I fancy before I fortunately met this one," 
 said Isabel. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon, feeling that the tone of the 
 conversation was not becoming propitious 
 to her views, tried to change the subject, 
 and was rather fussily preparing to leave the 
 room, when Captain Erne called out : 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Vernon, pray stay, for I must go 
 directly (was he going to propose to her for 
 Isabel !) and I came to tell you that we are 
 ordered to Hounslow to-morrow, and to say 
 good-bye. I suppose you will be going out 
 of town somewhere, and I don't know where 
 we may meet again, for in these warlike 
 times it is impossible to say what may 
 happen." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Vernon. Was this to be the 
 end of all ?
 
 88 SONS OF DIVES, 
 
 Isabel coloured violently as she exclaimed, 
 " Oh, Captain Erne ! " 
 
 . ** This is very sudden," said her mother ; 
 **but we shall surely see you again, happen 
 what may. We are going down to Stan- 
 dish Park, and that is not so very far from 
 Hounslow." 
 
 '^ I am delighted to hear that," said Erne. 
 " I thought it might be so. Lady Standish 
 has also invited me. I am not sure whether 
 I can get leave to stay there altogether, but 
 I shall be over as much as possible. When 
 do you go ? " 
 
 ** I think we can be ready in a week or ten 
 days, Isabel ? " 
 
 '* Certainly, we are ready now," said 
 Isabel ; ** let us get out of this baking, 
 dusty city, as soon as possible. I am long- 
 ing for the shade of Lady Standish' s garden, 
 and the rest of her presence which always 
 does me good."
 
 ISABEL VERNON. 89 
 
 "But, my dear, there is Airs. Alonckton's 
 dinner on Friday, and Lady Bantam's ball 
 on Monday week, and " 
 
 "• Oh, mamma, pray stop. The dinner I 
 suppose we must go to, but as to the ball I 
 positively decline to dance again in London 
 this season." 
 
 So it was settled that they should leave 
 town that day week. 
 
 Captain Erne said that soon after they 
 might expect him to appear at Standish 
 Park, '' and about your hero. Miss Vernon, 
 you cannot very well see him now, but I will 
 send Duncan Meredith out to Standish one 
 day with a note to be delivered into your 
 hands only, and then he can receive his 
 reward in your thanks. I confess I should 
 not like to offer the man any other kind of 
 compensation, though he is only a trooper. 
 Au rivoiry
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 
 
 "Though her mien carries much more invitation than 
 command, to behold her is an immediate check to loose 
 behaviour : to love her was a liberal education." 
 
 The Tatler. 
 
 T T was about a fortnight after the events 
 -*• of the foregoing chapter, in the middle 
 of July, 1854, that Standish Park, the ancient 
 house of the Standishes, (who boasted of a 
 descent through the female line from William 
 le Scrope, who suffered attainder in the reign 
 of Richard II., in 1399,) was looking its 
 best. 
 
 The house was a curious and venerable 
 building, without great architectural beauties, 
 but so very respectable in its well-preserved
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 91 
 
 old age, and made so very comfortable by Sir 
 Thomas Standish,its present owner, that ithad 
 earned the reputation of being " a charming 
 place," and so it was. First of all, it stood 
 in a grand position, commanding views of 
 Windsor Castle, a peep of Virginia Water in 
 the distance, and last not least, its own undu- 
 lating English park ; with its fine old timber, 
 and grassy slopes, and far-stretching table- 
 lands. It was on this table-land side of the 
 house that stood in the distance, a picturesque 
 farm, and rich pastures yellow with butter- 
 cups, where grazed and ruminated oxen and 
 cows of the purest Herefordshire ** short- 
 horn," giving evidence of the bucolic 
 tastes of the owner, and each one a picture 
 that might have gained a prize. On the other 
 side, and this was the undulating ground, 
 the garden front of the house looked over the 
 deer park, enclosed in a high but very light 
 iron fence, with clumps of trees in the fore-
 
 92 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 ground, under which might be seen groups 
 of graceful animals, lazily browsing in the 
 shade, or, mischievously pulling down the 
 overhanging boughs ; here and there two 
 heads wrestling and tangling their antlers to- 
 gether, like idle children half in anger half in 
 play ; then at the sound of horse's hoof or 
 barking dog, the whole herd would tear 
 down the slope with a startled rush, only to 
 be compared to a charge of cavalry. 
 
 Between this part of the park and the 
 house was the flower garden. Such a garden ! 
 Ah, that was the crowning glory of all. Not 
 one of your stiff modern mathematical pro- 
 blems, with hieroglyphics for flower beds, 
 and paths of coloured gravels, too narrow for 
 grown-up people to walk on, all fitting toge- 
 ther like a puzzle, — the whole thing resem- 
 bling a toy, without an inch of shade ; at 
 best only fit to be looked down upon from a 
 window or terrace, certainly not a place to
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 93 
 
 linger In and to enjoy. No, here was a real 
 garden, a garden where Adam might have 
 delighted to loiter with his Eve, and crown 
 her beauty with garlands, and thick shrub- 
 beries where they might have hid themselves. 
 Flower beds in profusion, masses of bril- 
 liant colour. Borders full of sweet-scented 
 things that you might gather till you were 
 tired, without seeming to lessen the supply. 
 Fences covered with roses, flowering shrubs, 
 huge pots of aloes, and foreign plants with 
 impossible names. A jessamine-covered 
 wall, and a lover's walk, with a honeysuckle 
 bower. Nature and art seemed to have com- 
 bined in an ecstasy of bright colours and 
 flowering perfumes. Then there was a high, 
 stiff impenetrable yew hedge, behind which, 
 through slanting unexpected openings was 
 a surprise. Another garden ! more formal 
 than the other. A mixture of flower and 
 kitchen garden. Very charming also in its
 
 94 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 way, with a mulberry tree, a square grass 
 centre, and a sun-dial in the middle. A 
 border of many-coloured hollyhocks grew by 
 the side of the yew hedge. Quince trees and 
 medlars, cherries and apples. Huge tufts of 
 lavender and marjory, and sweet-scented 
 balm growing together with raspberry bushes 
 and other fruits. 
 
 Then besides the flower-gardens there were 
 smooth velvetty lawns, which would be nick- 
 named '' croquet" lawns now-a-days, stretch- 
 ing away to shrubberies and woods. 
 
 It certainly was very charming. Yes, 
 ** charming" may be a hackneyed, and is 
 often an ill-used term, but it is the right 
 expression here — for this was a scene that 
 charmed the senses ; especially those of the 
 worn London guests who so often left their 
 pleasure or their work to recruit their over- 
 taxed minds and bodies. Lady Standish's 
 acquaintances rarely declined her invitations ;
 
 STANDISH OF STAND I SH. 95 
 
 the scene was pleasant to the eye, the still 
 repose was grateful to the wearied ear, the 
 sweet fresh perfume was refreshing after the 
 gas, and noise, and crowded atmosphere 
 of town ; and it was an understood thing 
 among a certain circle, that when knocked 
 up, or worried, or '* out of sorts," a visit to 
 Standish Park was the surest and pleasant- 
 est remedy, — ''better than all the doctors." 
 Whether the benefit was to be attributed to 
 the enjoyment of country life, or the good 
 wines of the host, or the ready sympathies 
 of the hostess, or a combination of all, I am 
 not prepared to say ; but my private opinion 
 is that a large share of the credit was due to 
 the hostess : to her kind forethought, her 
 ready perceptions, her good sense, and, 
 above all, to her keen sympathies. Every- 
 one confided in Lady Standish. She knew 
 the difficulties or the love affairs of almost 
 every man and woman who came under her
 
 96 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 roof. The confiding ones were made hap- 
 pier, and generally went away not only 
 strengthened by her sympathy and counsel, 
 but half in love with herself; for she felt, or 
 seemed to feel, with them all. A fascinating 
 but dangerous gift : but Helen Standish was 
 no flirt, and it was generally supposed that 
 her good sense and strength of mind had 
 guided her safely through shoals and quick- 
 sands, where, but for such high principle 
 and clear judgment at the helm, her little 
 vessel might have been wrecked. Young 
 ladies used to wonder, especially when fresh 
 from the schoolroom, how it was that Lady 
 Standish was so much admired, for ; as they 
 truly said, she '*was not pretty and no 
 longer young." 
 
 She had reached that age, which young 
 girls consider '' passe,' ^ and which has cer- 
 tainly lost the bloom of eighteen; but there 
 are cases, and this was one of them, in which
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 97 
 
 a something- else is gained which gives a 
 woman consciousness of power, and an ex- 
 perience in using it, that leaves her younger 
 sister far behind in the game of life. Al- 
 though Lady Standish was not young, she 
 was a great many years younger than 
 her husband. At this time Sir Thomas 
 Standish was nearer seventy than sixty. An 
 ordinary, good hearted country gentleman, 
 devoted to open air exercise, fond of his 
 place and of his magisterial duties, fond of a 
 good dinner, and of his wife, but wrapped 
 up in his occupation of farming and his 
 hobby for draining, which seemed as impor- 
 tant to him as the work of a prime minister. 
 He was always very glad that Lady Standish 
 should amuse herself just as she liked, and 
 have around her as many friends as she 
 chose. So, although she certainly did not 
 seem to care much for society on her own 
 account, she availed herself of her privileges. 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 She used during the winter to devote much 
 of her time to the poor, ministering through 
 others to their wants and sufferings ; but in 
 the season she would occasionly go to town, 
 mixing in the usual gaieties there ; while at 
 other times, she would fill her house at 
 Windsor, with many a little scheme for 
 bringing together those whom she found only 
 wanted opportunity to make them happy. 
 
 No wonder that Lady Standish was a 
 favourite; no wonder that people liked to 
 go to Standish Park, where the hostess was 
 the promoter of every kind and pleasant plan 
 that could be devised for their enjoyment. 
 
 I have said that she was not young, nor 
 pretty, but there was an expression in her 
 face which made you forget to criticise her 
 features, and she was a grand and graceful 
 woman, of thoroughly good style, always 
 dressed in perfect taste, and in the evening 
 her beautiful white shoulders might have
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 99 
 
 been the envy of many who might more 
 strictly have been termed "pretty" women. 
 She and her husband were invariably kind 
 and gentle to one another, and it was the 
 custom among their acquaintances to ex- 
 claim at her enviable lot, and to say how 
 admirably Sir Thomas and Lady Standish 
 were suited ; at which she would gently smile 
 and say "of course we are," though there 
 was one thing wanting to prevent her cup of 
 bliss from running over that even the world 
 could see. She had no children. Perhaps 
 it was that natural but unsatisfied longing 
 that brought a sad wistful look into her 
 eyes at times, a look which prevented some 
 close observers from joining in the chorus 
 of the unusually happy lot of Lady Standish. 
 However that might be, if some blessings 
 had been denied her others had been given. 
 No one had ever heard of the husband and 
 wife having had a quarrel ; she was patient
 
 loo SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 to all his hobbies, and if she did not feel a 
 very deep interest in the principles of drain- 
 ing level land she listened as if she did. 
 
 It had been on the memorable day when 
 Captain Erne and Miss Vernon were lost for 
 a quarter of an hour at the Horticultural 
 Gardens that Lady Standish determined in 
 her own mind to invite them on a visit at 
 the same time, and to give them every 
 chance of becoming more to one another. 
 Mrs. and Miss Vernon had accepted the 
 invitation as we know. Captain Erne could 
 not get a long leave at this time, but pro- 
 mised to go over to Standish from. Hounslow 
 as often as possible, and his room was to be 
 kept always ready, and a vacant seat at table 
 so that he might drop into his place when- 
 ever he found himself able to do so. Thus 
 at the end of a fortnight from the time they 
 parted in town we find them enjoying the 
 pleasures of Standish Park, together with
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. lor 
 
 several other guests who were accustomed 
 to meet more or less intimately. There was 
 General Talbot, who held a good post at the 
 Horse Guards, Mr. Morley, James Paget, 
 of Lincoln's Inn, Mrs. Domville, widow of 
 an old friend of Lady Standish, of whom it 
 was supposed there had been a romance in 
 their youth, for it was well known that 
 Henr}^ Domville had proposed to the vapid 
 girl whom he scarcely knew, in a fit of 
 pique — had carried her with him to India, 
 where he soon died, being yet very young 
 in the civil service, and leaving his widow 
 with two young children, whom she was 
 totally unfit to bring up. Lady Standish 
 had always been very kind to the children, 
 who in return had a passionate admiration 
 for her. She had tried to be interested in 
 the widow — a constant invalid, who thought 
 herself even more delicate than she was — 
 and who now fancied the party at Standish
 
 I02 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 too lively for her, and rarely made her 
 appearance, although the visit was a sort of 
 c/ediil for both her children. Harry, a fair- 
 haired, beardless boy, who through Lady 
 Standish's interest had just got his cornet's 
 commission in the 27th Hussars, and was to 
 join his regiment at the end of this visit, and 
 his still younger sister Hetty, a black-eyed, 
 rosy-cheeked, merry, thoughtless creature, 
 who was always getting into scrapes and 
 incurring the censure of ^* Miss Standish," 
 a niece of the host, who looked scornfully 
 on Hetty's frivolities, and set up for being a 
 superior order of being, devoted to politics, 
 and what she called rational and elevating 
 subjects. Major Swift (Isabel's dear little 
 man) whom we met at the Horticultural, 
 like Captain Erne, could not be altogether 
 at Standish, but had his room there, and 
 both these officers contrived to spend a con- 
 siderable portion of their time with their
 
 STANDISH OF STANDISH. 103 
 
 friends. The party was varied by a few of 
 the neighbouring gentry, clergy, and officers 
 from the Windsor barracks, being invited to 
 dinner daily. The days were passed in driv- 
 ing, walking, archery, luncheon parties, etc., 
 much in the same quiet easy way that most 
 people like to spend their time in the height 
 of summer just after the excitement and 
 fatigues of the London season. 
 
 Dangerous days for the unwary. Many a 
 one who can fearlessly brave the perils of a 
 ball room or a fete, cannot resist the idleness 
 and opportunities of a country house, and 
 succumbs without a struggle to the fascina- 
 tions of some fair creature seen day after day 
 in her simple muslin or brown holland gown, 
 and in the unstudied ways of domestic life. 
 And where could there be a more favourable 
 spot for flirtations or true love-making, than 
 Standish Park, in the month of July, 1854, 
 presided over by Lady Standish !
 
 "^^M^^^mm 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 There's nothing half so sweet in hfe 
 As love's young dream. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 1\ /r R. MORLEY was of Jewish extrac- 
 ^^ ^ tion. Yes, conceal it as he might, 
 in spite of his green -grey eyes, of his clean 
 shaven face, of his plain attire, of his good 
 English accent, in spite of all that a strong 
 will and long training could do to conceal 
 the fact, Morley was a Jew. Not one of that 
 class, who in modern times, by the honour- 
 able, upright consistency of their lives, their 
 generous acts, their well-earned position in 
 society, gain the respect of all classes, Jews
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 105 
 
 and Christians alike; but a Jew in blood, 
 without the faith and code of honour and 
 charity of a Jew; having given up one belief 
 without adopting another, striving to appear 
 what he was not, the first to fling a stone at 
 his own people, and to claim brotherhood 
 with other men — and why ? That he might 
 lure Christians on to their ruin, and fill his 
 own pockets. He had never known his 
 father, w^ho under an assumed name had 
 wooed, and won, and then cast off, the girl 
 who trusted him too easily ; considering that 
 he had made her sufficient compensation for 
 her ruin by settling a moderate sum on her 
 and her child, while he turned back from his 
 brief passion to the respectable world and 
 easy paths from which he had momentarily 
 swerved, scarcely heeding, and soon al- 
 together forgetting, the poor broken flower 
 that he had destroyed and trampled on in 
 his course. The woman, who, under happier
 
 io6 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 influences, might have developed into a 
 gentle, loving wife, ignored by her betrayer, 
 and cast off by her own family, fled to a 
 distant village on the coast of Yorkshire, 
 where, hardening her heart against the 
 world that had been so cruel to her, she 
 nursed and brooded over her sorrows with 
 increasing bitterness, as year after year she 
 found herself avoided and alone. For hav- 
 ing resented all attempts at acquaintance 
 and kindliness from her neighbours, they 
 came at last to look upon the strange, sullen, 
 and half-witted woman as dangerous, and 
 left her to herself. So but one channel was 
 left for a vent to the wronged affections of 
 the poor creature, and with all the undisci- 
 plined violence of her nature she loved her 
 son. Not with a sanctifying, guiding, 
 motherly love — she petted, flattered, spoilt 
 him; but she left his selfish nature as narrow 
 as it showed itself at her breast, she taught
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 107 
 
 him no faith in man, nor woman, nor God. 
 So Louis Morley, as he called himself (his 
 real name was Levi) grew up worthy of such 
 training. Self, in some form or other, was 
 the motive of his life. Gifted with a good 
 address, a plausible tongue, and great tact 
 and quickness, he had succeeded in obtain- 
 ing one post after another that might have 
 contented a better man ; but nothing suc- 
 ceeded with him until he made the acquaint- 
 ance of Oliver Blake. They were kindred 
 spirits, and it finally became a sort of 
 partnership between them, though in very 
 unequal proportions, as ]\lorley depended 
 from day to day on what Oliver chose to 
 give him, a per-centage, as it were, on the 
 sums that his villany brought to the money- 
 lender's pocket; for he was the decoy-duck, 
 who put on the appearance of simplicity and 
 want of business knowledge, and went into 
 society to help young men to get into diffi-
 
 io8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 culties, and then sent them to Oliver Blake 
 to borrow money at usurious interest. 
 He was, of course, frequently in Thames 
 Terrace, but he contrived that his visits 
 should be at hours when he was not likely 
 to meet his victims. Thus it was, that ad- 
 mitted by Blake to the society of his family, 
 he had known them for some years, he had 
 watched Sibyl from childhood ; perverted 
 though his taste was, he could not fail in 
 a certain, patronizing, matter-of-course sort of 
 way, to be fond of the bright creature, and 
 from the day that the news came of the 
 death of young Blake in India, he had made 
 up his mind that when he tired of his present 
 life he would marry his partner's only child; 
 for knowing the seclusion of Sibyl's life, and 
 judging of her feelings towards him by the 
 pleasure she seemed to feel in his society, it 
 never entered his self-satisfied imagination 
 that s//e could have any objection to such a
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 109 
 
 flattering proposal as becoming in due time 
 Mrs. Morley. 
 
 Thus with his future safe, and clearly 
 planned in his own mind — for although he 
 did not know the extent of Oliver Blake's 
 hoarded treasures, he was sure that he was 
 a rich and saving man with only Sibyl to in- 
 herit his fortune — ]\Iorley courted fashionable 
 society, as a necessary part of his vile pro- 
 fession certainly, but also for amusement. 
 Not being troubled with a conscience, there 
 was no check to his pleasures, however dis- 
 creditable they might be, and he often laughed 
 in his sleeve as he thought how little these 
 aristocrats knew voho it was whom they ad- 
 mitted so freely to their houses. He boasted 
 to himself that no twinge of remorse ever 
 held him back from indulgence, no quicken- 
 ing of the pulse ever betrayed a weakness of 
 his heart, he drained pleasure to the dregs 
 wherever it was to be found, regardless of all
 
 no SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 save that which would betray him to be what 
 he really was. He must have been a finished 
 actor, though I suppose none are so well 
 trained as to be never off their guard, for I 
 once heard a very silent man, one of the 
 watchers of society, mutter to himself, " The 
 cold-blooded villain ! ' ' and following the 
 direction of his eyes, I saw that they were 
 fixed on the thin colourless lips ; the dead 
 grey-olive complexion, and the still, lustreless 
 eye of the carefully shaven face of Louis 
 Morley. 
 
 However, during this last season in town, 
 although the outward man was unchanged (it 
 was curious how Morley always looked exactly 
 the same), there was a stir in the inner man 
 which puzzled himself. What was it that 
 made his heart jump when Isabel Vernon 
 called him to her side and spoke in her kind 
 and gentle tones ? He laughed at the bare 
 notion that he had a heart, excepting the
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. in 
 
 particular part of his curiously-constructed 
 body, so called by anatomists. He decided 
 that he would meet this girl frequently ; he 
 would thus prove to himself that it had been 
 either an absurd mistake, or, perhaps a fit of 
 indigestion. And so they did meet again 
 and again. 
 
 The result was that there was an up- 
 heaving and breaking in the man's nature, as 
 where the boiling lava breaks through the 
 snow-clad tops, which shook him in every 
 fibre. He was furious with himself that a 
 pale, cold, courteous girl could have such 
 power to move him. " Courteous ? " Yes he 
 could not deceive himself; it was courtesy, 
 and nothing more that she showed him. He 
 became frantically jealous of Gerald Erne, 
 then it was that in an easy, seemingly unpre- 
 meditated way, he continually sought the 
 officer's company — that he watched him — that 
 he wormed from him the secret of his difficul-
 
 112 SONS OF DIVES. ' 
 
 ties, that he sent him to Oliver Blake, judging 
 according to the usual rule^ that the enjoy- 
 ment of a little ready money would urge him 
 on to fresh extravagances and plunge him 
 more irrevocably into debt and difficulty, and 
 then should he ask Isabel Vernon to be his 
 wife, he would have him completely in his 
 power. 
 
 In the meantime, although Morley con- 
 stantly watched Isabel, and nothing that she 
 did escaped him, he carefully suppressed all 
 expression of interest, he felt that Erne was 
 preferred by her, and instinct warned him 
 that an incautious word might banish him for 
 ever from her presence. He heard of the 
 visit she was going to pay at Standish Park, 
 and although no favourite with Lady 
 Standish, he had contrived to get himself in- 
 vited by Sir Thomas, who met him on the 
 day that the old baronet went up to town to 
 the horse show. And now, during the time he
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 113 
 
 had Spent with Isabel in the countr}^, he had 
 made greater advances than he had ever ven- 
 tured on before, especially on those days 
 when Captain Erne was absent at Hounslow, 
 but as yet it had never crossed Isabel's 
 mind that there was any meaning in his 
 attentions. 
 
 He was a most good-natured, obliging 
 man in her estimation, and it was pleasant 
 to have him always on the watch to do any- 
 thing for her, and to feel sure of her proper 
 meed of attention when he was present ; but 
 no one ever looked on him as a marr3dng 
 man, and she never w^ould have dreamt of 
 him as a candidate for her hand ; inde- 
 pendently of which it must be confessed, 
 that Isabel was at this time somewhat pre- 
 occupied in mind. She had never been 
 quite so ''nonshalante'''' and indifferent since 
 her accident as she used to be. By some 
 want of reasoning power she could not help 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 associating Captain Erne with her escape 
 as the hero of that day. She knew certainly 
 that some other man had been the instru- 
 ment of saving her life, but she had never 
 seen him. Gerald Erne had been with 
 her before and after, his was the first voice 
 she recognized, and his the first face she 
 distinctly saw after her fright and uncon- 
 sciousness. There was a little trouble in 
 her heart that something was wrong, but 
 she did not analyze it. Mrs Vernon, and 
 indeed Lady Standish also, seemed to take it 
 as a matter of course that they should be 
 constantly thrown together, and she found 
 herself always with either Captain Erne or 
 Mr. Morley at her side. Morley was flat- 
 tered and began to have hopes and to pre- 
 sume upon them, Gerald was puzzled and 
 jealous. If he had not cared so violently for 
 her himself, still, thought he, what right had 
 that fellow Morley to dare to come near her ?
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP, 115 
 
 Thus the excitement of rivalry urged him 
 further than he had intended, perhaps, and 
 the circumstances were becoming too strong 
 for things to remain much longer in this 
 state. 
 
 Poor Isabel at this time was unlike herself. 
 She became actually nervous. Such a stran- 
 ger was she to the real feeling of love in 
 spite of all her seeming experience, that she 
 did not know whether she loved or not. She 
 felt, however, that a crisis was at hand, and 
 she betook herself to consider the subject 
 calmly. She believed that Captain Erne was 
 going to propose to her. Well, and what 
 then ? *' Was it a new idea ? Her mother 
 wished it, she knew. Dear Lady Standish 
 would think it a good thing, she was sure, 
 and he loved her she supposed, or why 
 should he behave as he had done lately ? It 
 would be a good match in a worldly way, 
 no doubt. Yes, of course, as to rank, the son
 
 ii6 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 of an earl, but she — did she love him ? " She 
 blushed now as she had never done before 
 as she asked herself the question, but 
 answered it quickly, *' Oh yes, of course, she 
 did, for there was no one else she cared for 
 better," and then she burst out crying and 
 sobbed as if her heart would break. 
 
 Fortunately, this was at night in her own 
 room, and there was time for her eyes to 
 get all right again before morning. And 
 then she fell asleep, and dreamt of armies 
 and battles, and Gerald in the midst, and 
 she was always there but never hurt. Again 
 and again in the midst of the din she was 
 saved from danger by his uplifted hand, for 
 she felt sure it was Gerald, but she could 
 never see his face. The sun was high ; he 
 fought on against innumerable foes, but she 
 saw not his face. Daylight faded, and faint 
 and weary her hero turned and stretched 
 out his arms towards her ; and, lo ! it was
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 117 
 
 not Gerald's face, nor any other, but only 
 mist. And she awoke. 
 
 The sun was shining on the landscape and 
 in at one of her windows, lighting up every- 
 thing with joy and beauty, and Isabel, fresh 
 and pretty as the morning, changed in mood 
 from the night before, went down to break- 
 fast quite like her old self. Gerald and 
 Morley both being late, she made young 
 Harry Domville sit next to her on one side, 
 and Hetty on the other ; and she chatted and 
 laughed and cajoled till Harry did not know 
 whether he was waking or still dreaming; and 
 was so flattered and fluttered that he put 
 mustard in his coffee, and cream to his 
 broiled chicken, and it ended in his having 
 a very unsatisfactory breakfast ; while Hetty 
 laughed and chaffed till the tears ran down 
 her rosy cheeks, and Lady Standish had to 
 say, '' My dear Hetty ! Really, Major Swift, 
 I thought you would have kept Miss
 
 ri8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Domville in better order ; but I believe that 
 you and Mr. Paget are worse than she is. 
 If you do not all learn to behave better 
 I shall be obliged to separate you, and to have 
 little round tables like a restaurant, where 
 you would only sit two together at each 
 table. 
 
 *' Delightful," cried all the gentlemen, 
 ** provided of course that we may choose 
 our partners, and I request the honour of 
 your company at my table. Lady Standish, 
 or else I won't play," said one. 
 
 *'But / think," said Hetty, ^'that the 
 ladies ought to invite the gentlemen, and 
 change them as soon as they are tired. I'll 
 have you to begin with Major Swift ; but I 
 dare say I shall soon exchange you." 
 
 *' I am perfectly content with the terms. 
 Miss Domville, for if after I have sugared 
 your tea, and salted your egg, and mustarded 
 your ham, and cut up the rest of the party,
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 119 
 
 you remain blind to my perfections, I shall 
 be glad to escape from so unnatural a being. 
 I am only afraid that you won't be able to 
 tear yourself away from me again for the 
 term of your natural life." 
 
 This time Hetty roared with delight. 
 Lady Stan dish and the rest of the party had 
 caught the infection of the fun, excepting 
 Miss Standish, who looked upon the w^hole 
 proceeding as "very childish," and was 
 " quite surprised at Lady Standish' s en- 
 couraging such folly." " For her part," as 
 she confided afterwards to Mr. Morley, 
 " she was quite out of patience with that 
 forward little flirt, Hetty Domville." 
 
 When Erne and jMorley came dow^n into 
 this lively scene they felt themselves out of 
 the game as it were, and silently proceeded 
 to eat their breakfast, roused now and then 
 to reply to a sally of the irrepressible Hett}', 
 or to listen to Sir Thomas' voice from be-
 
 I20 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 hind the Times, detailing scraps of news 
 from the seat of war. 
 
 Before leaving the breakfast room Hetty 
 had engaged Isabel and Major Swift and her 
 brother Harry to meet her in an hour in the 
 jessamine walk. Lady Standish and Mrs. 
 Vernon declared it much too hot for going 
 out so early, the latter enjoining her 
 daughter to put on a shady hat, '' and be 
 sure to keep up a large sunshade all the 
 time, Isabel." 
 
 Miss Standish addressing herself spe- 
 cially to Mr. Morley, said, she *' must shut 
 herself up quite alone to finish a deeply in- 
 teresting subject in the Quarterly, on the 
 relative component parts of ozone and 
 oxygen." 
 
 Captain Erne vaguely pleaded ** some- 
 thing to do," and Morley followed suit. 
 The fact was that Gerald wanted to be alone 
 to think over his position. He felt that the
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 121 
 
 time was come when he must rouse himself 
 and decide like a man on his future course, 
 and not dreamingly drift on like a school- 
 boy. He must propose to Isabel — or — he 
 had better not stay here. So, when he had 
 seen Sir Thomas start off to the farm, and 
 the ladies had retired to the morning room, 
 Swift and Harry to the stables, (the bronzed 
 weather-beaten major seemed to have taken a 
 great fancy to the foolish, good-hearted boy,) 
 and Paget to the library ; (Hetty, who pro- 
 fessed a dislike to this latter gentleman, 
 always declared that his writing was a sham, 
 that "so satirical" a man could not have 
 gained friends enough to make a correspon- 
 dence,) — then, Erne lighted a cigar and 
 strolled off alone toward Virginia Water. 
 
 Alone, but not unwatched. Morley, sur- 
 prised at Gerald's not joining Isabel's party, 
 determined to follow him at a distance and 
 see what it meant.
 
 122 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 « # # « 
 
 I am afraid that our gallant hussar will be 
 thought by some to be a very weak and un- 
 decided character, such as he was I am 
 bound to describe, but I beg you not to 
 be too hard upon him. Believe me, dear 
 reader, in spite of all appearances to the con- 
 trary, he had not forgotten Sibyl Blake in the 
 short space of three weeks. It was partly 
 to think about her that he had now wandered 
 forth alone, to ponder what he should 
 do, what he could do. He had been up to 
 town once since the regiment left Kensing- 
 ton on purpose to see her, longing to know 
 how she had borne her great sorrow; but he 
 had found the house in Thames Terrace 
 deserted — shut up — left in the charge of an 
 old woman, a stranger she said she was, who 
 only knew that the family had gone — gone for 
 a long time she believed — gone abroad she 
 heard. He then thought that there was an
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 123 
 
 end to the romance of his life. He felt un- 
 reasonably angry with Sibyl for not sending 
 him word that she was going. He forgot 
 that the poor child scarcely knew where he 
 w^as to be found, that he had changed his 
 quarters, that even had she known, what 
 plea had she for writing to him? — what 
 authority had he ever given her for applying 
 to him ? His heart yearned towards her at 
 all times, but what availed that ? He strove 
 to harden it, to take this silence and disap- 
 pearance as an interposition to save him 
 from a folly, from his father's anger, from a 
 misalliance, in fact, and possibly from a 
 future of disappointment ; for how mortifying 
 would have been so close a connection with 
 a disreputable money-lender ! 
 
 It was after failing in this last attempt to 
 see Sibyl that Gerald allowed himself to 
 think more of Isabel, and urged on by 
 jealousy of Morley, to make love to her more
 
 124 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 decidedly than ever before, which had led 
 on to a crisis that must now be settled one 
 way or the other. 
 
 With regard to Miss Vernon, his father 
 could make no objection, unless on the score 
 of fortune ; and if he himself could make up 
 his mind to be satisfied, he thought that 
 might be got over. He felt tolerably sure 
 that Mrs. Vernon wished for the alliance; 
 and as to Isabel's feeling for him — well, 
 he smiled to himself as he thought he 
 should have a good chance. 7/ she 
 refused him, why he should get over it ; but 
 he would not think of that, he would do it 
 at once, and then — never think of Sibyl 
 again. 
 
 At that moment as he stood still at a 
 point in the road which gave a most lovely 
 view of Virginia Water, repeating aloud 
 *' never see her again," (he had uncon- 
 sciously changed the words,) he heard wheels,
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 125 
 
 and looking round, there, like a ghost, 
 called up to reproach him, was the face that 
 he was vowing never to see — never to think 
 of again. She was leaning back in a little 
 open carriage, by the side of a comfortable 
 
 elderly lady, driven by Dr. Martin, of 
 
 Street, City. All this Gerald scarcely saw at 
 the time, but remembered it afterwards. 
 The pure oval face, framed in the deep 
 mourning bonnet, was very pale — very sad — 
 changed, but more beautiful than ever in its 
 womanly expression. When she saw Gerald, 
 a sudden light blazed in the sweet dreamy 
 eyes, and, with an eager exclamation, she 
 half rose up and then sank back again. The 
 good doctor had also recognized Captain 
 Erne, and hearing her little cry, pulled up ; 
 but looking round and seeing her deadly 
 pallor, he drove on quickly, and a bend in 
 the road soon hid them from sight. 
 
 And Gerald ? Gerald, who had just been
 
 126 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 casting her out of his heart — out of his 
 memory, what did he do ? He was so com- 
 pletely taken by surprise, that, he did nothing. 
 It was all over in a moment. He stared 
 after the carriage in silence for some minutes 
 after it was out of sight, till there was no 
 sound of wheels, nor of the pony's feet pat- 
 tering on the hard road, and then crying out 
 ** Sibyl, Sibyl, my darling, the o?ie woman in 
 the world to me, I will love none other," he 
 flung himself down on the bank, and burying 
 his head on his arms, he thought long and 
 deeply. How long he remained thus he did 
 not know, and let us not intrude on the pri- 
 vacy of such moments. When he rose up 
 his face was calm and determined as the face 
 of a brave man going into battle. He had 
 wrestled with worldliness, and expediency, 
 and self-interest, and idle indulgence, and 
 conquered ; his better feelings had gained 
 the mastery ; he was ready to enter on the
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 127 
 
 real battle of life. He might not marry 
 Sibyl — God only knew ; he might never see 
 her dear face again ; but he knew now that 
 he loved her — loved her as he never could 
 love another woman, and he would not 
 deceive any other ; he would not so wrong 
 Isabel, nor cheat himself, by offering the 
 mockery of marriage without love. 
 
 He started up and walked back at a pace 
 that on a hot summer's day would have half- 
 killed any one who was not labouring under 
 similar excitement. 
 
 Morley had follow^ed him at a little distance, 
 had seen the meeting, had dodged behind a 
 tree to avoid being recognized by Sibyl, had 
 heard Gerald call her name but no more ; 
 but it was enough to add intensity to 
 the hate with which he hated Gerald. Sup- 
 planted by him a second time ! He had no 
 love for Sibyl, the slight feeling that he once 
 had for her had withered in the fierce pas-
 
 128 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 sion that had taken possession of him ; but 
 she belonged to him, if he was indifferent she 
 was to love him, she was his property he con- 
 sidered. Ah ! how dearly he had bought that 
 inheritance, as he considered her, only his 
 own guilty conscience knew; and she 7nust 
 be his, in spite of the deep dye of his life of 
 guilt, in spite of his mad love, he looked 
 upon Sibyl as on a pure calm lake — a foun- 
 tain of healing for him where, some day, 
 before the end of all came, he would leave 
 behind his old life, and wash and be clean 
 in the waters of her innocence. Yes, in his 
 best moments, when any gleam momentarily 
 dawned in on his dark life, it was always 
 thus — Sibyl was to save them, him and that 
 lone grey-haired mother, pacing up and 
 down the northern beach, summer and win- 
 ter, up and down, up and down, year after 
 year, ever brooding, ever pacing on mono- 
 tonously toward the unknown country. Some
 
 LOVE OR FRIENDSHIP. 129 
 
 day, when the world had lost its charms, he 
 was to take Sibyl to her as an angel of light 
 to show them the way, and she would be 
 their salvation. Thus when he saw the 
 meeting by the water, when he looked on the 
 girl's face, and heard the cry that burst from 
 Gerald, he knew what had happened to him, 
 and grinding his heel into the ground he 
 cursed the man who twice had supplanted 
 him, and who had shut out the only glimpse 
 of light that ever shone upon his dark soul. 
 
 VOL I.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JAMES PAGET. 
 
 He brought an eye for all he saw ; 
 
 He mixt in all our simple sports ; 
 
 They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts 
 
 And dusty purlieus of the law. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 A S Gerald, heated and flushed from his 
 -^ ^ rapid walk, was making his way up 
 to his room, he met Morley coming down to 
 the summons of the luncheon bell, cool, 
 collected, the same as ever, but for a danger- 
 ous glitter in his eye, while he exclaimed, 
 **Why where on earth have you been. 
 Captain Erne, and what have you been 
 doing to put yourself in such a heat? I
 
 JAMES PAGET. 131 
 
 congratulate myself on having chosen this 
 hot morning for my correspondence." 
 
 Gerald slammed to his door with some 
 not very polite answer, but soon after joined 
 the rest of the party at luncheon. This time 
 there was a place left for him by Isabel, who 
 smiled kindly on him with some gentle 
 rallying on his preferring a solitary walk to 
 their company; but her observations fell 
 flat, and looking up again she was struck 
 with the expression of his face, which re- 
 called to her mind the afternoon when he 
 called to take leave of them in London, and 
 somewhat disconcerted, she became suddenly 
 silent. Morley, however, was in unusually 
 high spirits and would not let the subject drop, 
 chafflng and plying Gerald with questions 
 so unmercifully that it is hard to say how 
 things might not have ended had not Mr. 
 Paget' s quick perception discovered that 
 something was wrong between them, and
 
 132 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 come to the rescue — turning the tables on 
 Morley. 
 
 "Now here is just a case in point," said 
 Paget, *' of how little reliance can be placed 
 on verbal testimony, be it ocular delusion or 
 what it will. People say that you should 
 believe ' nothing that you hear, and only 
 half what you see.' Now I say ' believe 
 nothing that you see, and reverse what you 
 hear' — for I should have sworn in a witness- 
 box that I had seen Morley go out very soon 
 after Erne, take the same direction, and re- 
 turn not very long before him, and yet you 
 hear that he has been all the morning in his 
 room quietly writing. So of course I am alto- 
 gether wrong, and I should have committed 
 perjury with complete unconsciousness." 
 
 Gerald looked up full and steadily into 
 Morley' s face — their eyes met — and from 
 that moment the two men knew that they 
 were enemies.
 
 JAMES PAGET. 133 
 
 In that moment also Isabel glancing from 
 one to the other saw Morley in a new light. 
 She noted the momentary gleam of hatred 
 in the glance that met Captain Erne's — for 
 the first time she felt the sinister expression 
 of Morley' s face, and she shrank from him. 
 Day by day woman's instinct was awakening 
 in the girl who had hitherto moved through 
 the world as a graceful lay figure, and Isabel 
 was learning something of the passions and 
 motives of human life. 
 
 Harry Domville never joined in general 
 conversation, for the good reason that he 
 seldom understood what it was about. I 
 doubt if he knew whether Whigs, Conser- 
 vatives, or Radicals were in office, or to 
 which party belonged Palmerston, Derby, 
 or Aberdeen — whether Sir Robert Peel had 
 been contemporary with Sir Walter Raleigh, 
 nor whether those celebrated characters had 
 flourished in the reign of Queen Elizabeth
 
 134 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 or Queen Victoria. He had a hazy notion 
 that Sir Robert Peel was a jolly good fellow 
 to have brought tobacco or potatoes to 
 England, whichever it was, he could never 
 remember which — if potatoes, he supposed 
 they must have come from Ireland — ^* the 
 pratees " ye know — which would prove Sir 
 Robert to have been an Irishman ; but, if it 
 was tobacco, he couldn't conceive where 
 the clever chap could have found it. I 
 think he felt some sort of interest in the 
 War, for he was eager to join and be 
 ordered on active service, and he actually 
 read the Crimean news in the Times ; but I 
 am not sure that he had clear notions with 
 regard to the enemy — whether it was Russia 
 or France — but it made no difference to him, 
 the boy would bravely espouse England's 
 cause, wherever it might be. What he 
 would have called his "mind" had been 
 hitherto devoted to dogs and smoking. He
 
 JAMES PAGET. 135 
 
 was a first-rate authority on the subject of 
 true breeds ; he had already spent the best 
 part of his quarter's pay in advance in buy- 
 ing a prize bloodhound pup, that had yet to 
 struggle through all its infantine disorders. 
 Within the last fortnight, under the influ- 
 ence of Miss Vernon's attractions, poor 
 Harry had begun to develop a taste for 
 ladies' society, which might increase with 
 opportunity; but it was a silent adoration, 
 and however eager he might be for a real 
 fight, he was not yet prepared to try a lance 
 in a war of words, and on the occasion in 
 question he ignored what was going on 
 around him, and made up for his bad break- 
 fast by devoting himself to a oala7itine de 
 veau and salad. Not so his sister Hetty. 
 Always ready for mischief, and though sure 
 to get the worst of it, ever delighted to 
 oppose Mr. Paget (I believe the secret of 
 her dislike to him was that he had once
 
 136 S02VS OF DIVES. 
 
 called her '' P enfant terrible'''), she was 
 preparing to range herself on Morley's side, 
 when Lady Standish proposed to Captain 
 Erne to go with her into the garden and 
 choose a site for the tents at her coming 
 fete; and the party dispersed to amuse 
 themselves as they pleased for the afternoon. 
 Carriages were ordered, and an expedition 
 made to the barracks to see the new riding 
 school, while others went to make a call on 
 the head master of Eton, and to show the 
 ladies the scenes of their boyhood. 
 
 James Paget was a very old friend of the 
 family at Standish. Lady Standish always 
 liked to have him there if possible, when she 
 assembled a party in her house, for he was 
 good-natured, as well as clever, and could 
 always rise to the occasion. Of moderate 
 height, and moderate figure, his only peculi-
 
 JAMES PAGET. i37 
 
 arity being a squareness and strength about 
 the shoulders, of moderately good looks, and 
 very plain in dress (although the cut of 
 his clothes could not be mistaken), there 
 was nothing about James Paget to attract the 
 attention or admiration of a very young lady, 
 nor of any other superficial observer. The 
 steady, bright, and rather deep set eye, the 
 composed and more than self-possessed man- 
 ner, with a certain comical and impudent 
 expression lurking about the corners of a 
 rather full mouth, frightened some timid 
 young people, and offended the self-conceit 
 of some others. They fancied he was read- 
 ing them through, before he had opened his 
 lips, and when he did address them in some 
 more original speech perhaps than they were 
 accustomed to from strangers, they suspected 
 a hidden irony ; and being at a loss for an 
 answer that they considered sharp enough 
 for the occasion, they were angry with him
 
 38 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 for putting them at a disadvantage; and 
 certainly those who, like Hetty Domville, 
 were so simple as to believe that all the 
 sarcasm, and hard hits, and want of faith in 
 innocence and human nature, that bubbled 
 up in his talk were the man's true sentiments, 
 had some excuse for their opinions ; but these 
 were only the few, who either met him for the 
 first time, or who were too shallow themselves 
 to fathom the depths of such a heart and 
 intellect. 
 
 To know James Paget was to like him. 
 When once you had heard him talk he was 
 no longer an ordinary man. He was almost 
 always a favourite with men, and could 
 always be depended on. He had more 
 brains and more information than all the men 
 coming and going at Standish, but it excited 
 no jealousy amongst them, and he was the 
 friend of all, excepting Morley, and the 
 special friend of Erne. Those military men
 
 JAMES PAGET. 139 
 
 in whom there is generally a curious mixture 
 of simplicity and worldliness, used to find 
 his society a refreshing change, and often 
 gained from him very useful advice. There 
 was only one weakness I ever noticed in him, 
 and that was a want of appreciation, not of 
 other men exactly, but of other professions 
 and walks in life. He could not always give 
 quite the full value to other kinds of learning 
 than his own. He sometimes mistook sim- 
 plicity for stupidity, and his practical legal 
 mind was too apt to look upon a divergence 
 from a certain groove in life as a sign of 
 weakness, instead of giving credit where it 
 was due to an exalted and self-sacrificing 
 aim ; and this was the more hard because he 
 was himself so much beloved and looked 
 up to by the very men who were unlike 
 himself. 
 
 However, this error, if it may be called 
 one, was generally kept out of sight, and
 
 I40 SOJ^S OF DIVES. 
 
 was more than compensated for by an un- 
 selfish warm heart, a keen understanding, a 
 cultivated mind, and a ready wit. 
 
 At the time of our story, Paget was about 
 thirty-five, getting on well at the bar, with a 
 comfortable little private fortune, but he was 
 still unmarried ; he always said he was look- 
 ing out for a wife, but he never persistently 
 made love to any girl ; if he seemed to have 
 taken a fancy one day, the impression wore 
 off, or was apparently replaced by another 
 the next, and whether under the cheerfulness 
 of his exterior, he was suffering from a dis- 
 appointment in early life, or whether Paget 
 was really hard to please, the world might 
 form many opinions but it never really 
 knew. 
 
 On the evening of the day we have been 
 describing, Paget had scarcely taken his seat 
 at the dinner table before he discovered that 
 there was a chance of everything going
 
 JAMES PAGET. 141 
 
 wrong again as at luncheon, and he deter- 
 mined to prevent it if possible, and his spirits 
 rose at the prospect of difficulty. Who 
 could be so agreeable as he when he exerted 
 himself? Two or three guests from the 
 neighbourhood had been added to their party. 
 Captain Erne was still out of spirits, and 
 not at all appreciating his privileges in sitting 
 next to Miss Bullion, with ^4,000 a-year in 
 the 3 per cents. The cloud seemed likely 
 even to include Lady Standish in its shadow. 
 Morley was more than usually demonstrative 
 to Miss Vernon,* but she was silent and dis- 
 tant with him. So Paget exerted himself to 
 monopolize her attention, to draw Gerald 
 and Miss Bullion into the conversation across 
 the table, and to cut Morley out of it, all 
 with perfect good humour and complete 
 success. Very soon the usual din of voices 
 was heard, and all was going on, or rather 
 "off," as could be wished from one end of
 
 142 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 the table to the other. Towards the end of 
 dinner, Lady Standish said : — 
 
 ** I want to consult you, Captain Erne, 
 about the arrangements for my fete on Thurs- 
 day, I shall need your help very much, and 
 especially your advice about the decorations 
 of the tents. I want the dinner tent and the 
 dancing tent to be quite different, of course. 
 What do you say to my idea of a turfed 
 centre in the ball-room, with a stone basin 
 filled with real water and water lilies, and a 
 fountain ? I have set my heart on the water 
 lilies. Then I have been planning a rich 
 drawing-room tent, opening from one side 
 of the ball room, for the chaperones, to be 
 richly carpeted and festooned with draperies 
 of blue and red to give colour. I must have 
 plenty of colour. You know at this season 
 most of the young ladies will dress in white, 
 and they will look so much better relieved 
 with a background of warm colours, and I
 
 JAMES PAGET. 143 
 
 think that with plenty of draperies on the 
 walls, my eastern drawing-room, and the 
 green turf centre to the ball-room, I shall 
 accomplish my object." 
 
 Lady Standish's rooms were peculiar for 
 their rich colouring, but in her own toilette she 
 carefully avoided it, generally dressing in 
 black silk, or some one plain quiet colour, 
 and she therefore stood out in the memory 
 always as a distinct and separate figure in 
 every group. 
 
 '* My dear Lady Standish, you evidently 
 need no advice, it will be fairy-land. I should 
 be only too glad to think I could be of use 
 to you in any humble way however, but I 
 doubt whether I shall be able to come over 
 again between this and Thursday. I meant 
 to have returned to Hounslow early to- 
 morrow morning with Swift, but as the 
 nights are so much cooler than the morn- 
 ings, and as there is a moon, I shall wait till
 
 144 '^ONS OF DIVES. 
 
 you all go to bed and then ride across, and 
 be quite fresh for my morning's work. The 
 very few things I care to take with me I can 
 fasten on my saddle, or I will send for them 
 to-morrow." 
 
 This announcement caused great conster- 
 nation ; Lady Standish was really very sorry. 
 Paget vowed it was too bad to desert just 
 when there was hard work to be done ; that 
 he had a great mind to *' strike " also, unless 
 Erne promised to return at least once to give 
 his opinion on the preparations. 
 
 Isabel tried a little banter, but looked as if 
 it might end in a cry, Morley smiled an evil 
 smile, and poor Mrs. Vernon gave loud vent 
 to her lamentations: ''Oh, really, Captain 
 Erne, this is very naughty of you; I don't 
 know what we shall do without you, there 
 are so many pleasant engagements coming 
 on ; and then there is that expedition we 
 were speaking of You said you had seen
 
 JAMES PAGET. 145 
 
 such beautiful lilies in Virginia Water, and 
 no one else knows the spot, and it would 
 have been so nice all to have sfone together, 
 and to have taken baskets and tools and 
 things, and have been quite rural, and the 
 girls could put on their brown holland dresses 
 and help you while we looked on. Isabel 
 would have been quite in her element, (" A 
 water nymph," whispered Alorley in the girl's 
 ear;) and you, too, Aliss Domville, wouldn't 
 you like it? — wouldn't it be nice?" 
 
 "Yes, Erne," said Paget, "only picture 
 it ! Miss Domville in a brown-holland blouse, 
 standing up to her knees in the mud holding 
 on to a tough water-lily, dragging with all 
 her might and main, and refusing all assist- 
 ance from me because I am ' so satirical ; ' 
 a basket slung on her back, and your ' wide- 
 awake ' on her head to make the yokels take 
 her for a boy. Picture it, think of it, and 
 leave if you can." 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 ** Pray don't go on in this way all of you," 
 said Erne ; *' it is heart-rending ; think what 
 my feelings must be and spare me. It is a 
 stern necessity, as Lady Standish knows. 
 You will all get on only too well without me, 
 I know, and I shall think of you among 
 the water-lilies," mischievously glancing at 
 Hetty; but Hetty's cherry lips had pursed 
 themselves up into as scornful a look as she 
 could assume, and for once she was silent, 
 till Major Swift, next whom she sat, began 
 with mock gravity, to make complaint. 
 
 **Well, I do think that this is the most 
 wantonly cruel insult that could have been 
 put upon a man. Here am / also going 
 away a few hours after Erne (and during 
 those hours I shall be lost to society in a 
 secluded spot vulgarly called a bed), but no 
 one mourns and laments over me. Mrs. 
 Vernon, I appeal to you as a ' man and a 
 brother' — a — I beg pardon, a British mother,
 
 JAMES PAGET. i^y 
 
 I would say ; yes, as a British mother — can 
 I help it if my moustache won' t grow long 
 and yellow like a laburnum blossom ? Is it 
 my fault if my nurse put gin in my pap, and 
 prevented my manly form from sprouting up 
 to six feet eleven inches like a head of aspa- 
 ragus ? ' ' Everybody looked at the dumpy 
 little figure and the stubby grizzled mous- 
 tache, and laughed heartily, excepting Hetty, 
 who, hurt by the observations on herself, and 
 conscious that her childish volatile manner 
 laid her open to such attacks, was more in- 
 clined to cr}^ She turned gravely to her 
 neighbour, saying, " / shall be very sorry, 
 indeed, to lose you. Major Swift, and you 
 know I meant to have behaved badly again 
 at breakfast to-morrow, and then we should 
 have had the little tables, and I should have 
 invited you to mine." 
 
 *' Oh, well, I suppose it cannot be helped," 
 said Lady Standish, "but now tell me both
 
 148 SOA^S OF DIVES. 
 
 of you, at what time I may count upon you 
 both on Thursday, if you do not appear be- 
 fore, and how many dancing and ornamental 
 men will you promise me ?" 
 
 *'/will promise you ^;2^ ornamental man," 
 said the Major, " the rest I leave to Erne." 
 
 *'Let me see," said Erne, *' there's 
 Temple, and James Hetherington, Fitzhugh, 
 Conway, Crofts, and Hope. I think you 
 said you had asked Lady Hope too, and 
 Hanbury, the Colonel and Mrs. Boyd are 
 coming. You will have half the regiment. 
 Lady Standish. Then there is your humble 
 servant, and, if you will allow me, I will 
 bring my little brother, who will be down 
 there. Reginald is nineteen now, and 
 rather a man for his age." 
 
 Then, Lady Standish being satisfied, the 
 ladies rose to leave the room. 
 
 The dinner that had begun unpromisingly 
 had gone off well. Gerald Erne had re-
 
 JAMES PAGET. 149 
 
 covered himself in a great measure, and 
 had been needfully civil to Miss Bullion ; 
 Isabel had roused and seemed contented 
 — all owing to Paget' s efforts. Lady Stan- 
 dish gave an approving smile as she rose 
 to make the signal for retiring. Paget, who 
 felt that in his attempts for others he had 
 gone too far, and really annoyed Miss 
 Domville, rushed to open the door, mean- 
 ing to say something kind as she passed ; 
 but Hetty's beflounced and befurbelowed 
 little presence rustled by in unusual dignity, 
 without deigning a glance in his direction. 
 Later in the evening he went and sat beside 
 her, and, without any chaff or joking, he 
 made such an honest, simple apology for 
 having annoyed her by " letting his idle 
 tongue run on," that Hetty looked up won- 
 deringly and became quite shy. She eagerly 
 forgave him, feeling more than ever ashamed 
 of herself for having put a man like Mr.
 
 I50 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Paget in such a position to a young girl 
 like herself; but, henceforth she knew him 
 better. 
 
 In the meantime Captain Erne had gone 
 to the piano, where Miss Vernon was play- 
 ing ; he asked for one or two songs that 
 were old favourites — favourites when sung 
 by another voice than her's. 
 
 Ah, how unconscious often is the per- 
 former when, after being pressed for such 
 and such pieces, her gratified vanity notes 
 the softened, pensive expression steal over 
 the listener's face, and she throws more 
 feeling into her tones, more tenderness 
 into her glance ; how utterly unconscious 
 is the poor dupe, that at that moment she 
 is absolutely forgotten, that, though his 
 eyes may seem to rest upon her, and his 
 ears drink in her notes, it is another and 
 a dearer face that awakened memory has 
 called up before him, and the echo of
 
 JAMES PAGET, 151 
 
 another voice that stirs his heart ; and that 
 it is only when the sound ceases, and custom 
 rouses him to praise the performance and 
 
 thank the performer, that Miss lives 
 
 again in the consciousness of i\Ir. . 
 
 Gerald asked for such and such songs, 
 and Isabel sang them ; and then they fell 
 into a talk — a memorable talk as regarded 
 their future. It was not that anything very 
 important was said, but there was a change 
 in Gerald. His manner was quite as kind 
 as usual — kinder, if possible, and more con- 
 fidential, but there was no sentiment, no 
 love ; he told her that his regiment was 
 the next on the list for active service, that 
 it might receive orders any day or hour; 
 but in all he said there was but the grave, 
 calm confidence of friendship, not the anxiety 
 nor excitement of love. And Isabel was 
 becoming daily more acute to these changes, 
 and understood. The lookers-on, including
 
 152 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Morley, who watched with jealousy from the 
 other end of the room this long- tete-a-tete, 
 decided that this was the crowning hour of 
 the many days of opportunity that had gone 
 before ; whereas, Isabel knew as every word 
 was spoken, that they would never be more 
 to one another than they were then, and 
 she did not resent the change. If her pulse 
 beat quicker than its wont that evening, she 
 never knew whether it was pain or relief 
 that she felt. As she laid her golden head 
 on the pillow that night, she settled with 
 herself the long-vexed question : *' It was 
 friendship and not love between us then.'' 
 But this admission was not made without a 
 tear, and the highly polished and tutored 
 young lady of the world began to think that 
 something had been forgotten in her edu- 
 cation. How was she to know "love" when 
 she found it? If this was *' friendship," 
 what could love be like ? Possibly but a
 
 JAMES PAGET. 153 
 
 fable invented for the use of novelists. 
 Ere the poor assertion was half formed, it 
 was contradicted by dawning instinct. 
 
 Before they separated and joined the rest 
 of the company, who had retired to the inner 
 drawing-room, Gerald had arranged with 
 Isabel that, if on arriving at barracks he 
 found Duncan Meredith quite recovered 
 from his injuries, he would send him over 
 next morning, on the pretence of delivering 
 a note into her own hands, so that he might 
 receive her long delayed thanks for the 
 service he had rendered her; "for," he 
 added, ''if it is put off much longer, I 
 really think he would probably never get 
 that reward. 
 
 Then carriages were announced, and Miss 
 Bullion, and the Rev. Ignatius Cope and 
 other friends having agreed to join in the 
 contemplated expedition for water lilies, they 
 separated. Gerald lighted the ladies' bed-
 
 154 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 candles, and waited to watch the pretty 
 effect of their graceful floating draperies 
 slowly ascending the old broad oak staircase, 
 while more than one fair head turned for a 
 last smile and a cheerful adieu, and then 
 nodding a good night to the men and saying 
 '' We shall see you early at barracks to-mor- 
 row, I suppose, Swift," he mounted his 
 horse, and leisurely rode out through Stan- 
 dish Park, through the town of Windsor, out 
 into the summer night towards Hounslow.
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 
 
 The still small voice of gratitude. 
 
 Gray. 
 
 '^ I "HE few days which succeeded the one 
 -*■ I have attempted to describe, as a 
 sample of the life at Standish at this time 
 passed very quietly. The officers were much 
 missed. Morley had been up in town. The 
 General had been backwards and forwards at 
 the Horse Guards. It is true that Mrs. 
 Domville took advantage of the occasion to 
 emerge from her room, but the languid and 
 affected face of the invalid did not add much
 
 156 SOA'S OF DIVES. 
 
 to the liveliness of the diminished party; on 
 the contrary, it somewhat subdued the 
 vivacity and wild spirits of her daughter 
 Hetty. When it happened that Paget and 
 Harry were the only gentlemen guests, the 
 former would yield to the request of the 
 hostess that he would read aloud to them, 
 and a pretty group might be seen under the 
 shade of one of the old lime trees. The 
 ladies on various picturesque but uncomfort- 
 able chairs, or else seated on the ground 
 working, or pretending to do so, and Paget 
 in the midst. He read well — he had a 
 peculiarly musical and persuasive voice — 
 and often as he warmed with the subject and 
 the practised tones did justice to a cultivated 
 m'ind, he brought home to Hetty's under- 
 standing some poem or play that she had 
 never before appreciated, and the work 
 would remain idly in her lap while her round 
 eyes rested wonderingly on Paget's non-
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 157 
 
 observant unconscious face. Harry found 
 these dull and weary times. At first he 
 would sit apart at some little distance (where 
 he certainly could not have heard the read- 
 ing, but he could see Isabel) playing with his 
 dog and smoking his cigar. But even these 
 varied attractions did not often suffice to 
 enable him *'to sit out the lesson," as he 
 called it. The cigar finished and the dog 
 sleepy, though every now and then opening 
 his eyes and fixing them on Isabel, giving a 
 lazy flop of his tail, Harry would wander off 
 in search of some more congenial amuse- 
 ment, followed by Rover, who would depart 
 with a pleasant-but- wrong expression. 
 
 The morning after Captain Erne had re- 
 turned to Hounslow, Isabel remembering 
 that he had said he would send over the man 
 Duncan Meredith to receive her long de- 
 layed thanks for the service he had rendered 
 her, and feeling rather shy and nervous as
 
 158 SONS Oh DIVES. 
 
 to how she ought to treat this soldier, and 
 what she should say to him, she bethought 
 herself that it would be much easier to speak 
 a few words to him out of doors than that he 
 should be ushered into her presence in the 
 house, where she would have more formally 
 to make her little speech to him. 
 
 So as soon as she had seen the other 
 ladies disperse to their several morning 
 occupations, she put on her garden hat, and 
 choosing the first book that came in her 
 way, she sallied out and took up her posi- 
 tion in a shady nook which commanded a 
 view of the carriage drive, and which must 
 be passed by any one approaching either 
 to the house or to the stables. 
 
 It seemed a long morning to her, as it 
 always does to one who waits, whether the 
 expectation be trifling or otherwise, and 
 though her eyes traced the letters of the 
 open page before her they conveyed no
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 159 
 
 impression to her mind, her thoughts wan- 
 dered away to the confusion of that terrible 
 day that had so shaken her : the fresh early 
 morning, the sudden terror, the shock, the 
 calm, the shade of the old elm tree in Ken- 
 sington Gardens. Twenty times she looked 
 up at the fancied sound of horses' feet. 
 Again and again she went over to herself what 
 she would say, it always seemed too formal 
 or too familiar, and when at last she thought 
 she had hit upon a happy and suitable ex- 
 pression it vanished again from her memory ; 
 then getting angry with herself when she re- 
 membered that it really did not matter what 
 she said, nor how she said it to a common 
 uneducated soldier, she forced her mind to 
 attend to the book before her, and soon be- 
 coming interested in its story, she forgot 
 why she was sitting out in that particular 
 spot, forgot the very existence of such a 
 being as Duncan Meredith.
 
 i6o SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 While Miss Vernon remained in her shady 
 nook absorbed in the loves and fates of some 
 imaginary heroes and heroines, the man 
 whom she awaited was drawing nearer and 
 nearer at as rapid a pace as the hard state of 
 the roads would allow. 
 
 On receiving his Captain's orders to ride 
 to Windsor with a note that he was to de- 
 liver into the hands of Miss Vernon only, 
 Duncan Meredith had at the first moment 
 felt the wildest joy at the prospect of once 
 more seeing the being whom he secretly 
 worshipped ; albeit as a beggar might wor- 
 ship the Queen upon the throne, so far re- 
 moved did he feel her to be from him. But 
 this momentary joy was soon succeeded by a 
 bitter jealousy. This letter of which he was 
 the bearer was no doubt one of love. Had 
 not Captain Erne been the frequent com- 
 panion of this lady ? He was the one out of 
 all the riding party who had taken charge of
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. i6i 
 
 her after the accident. He had been staying 
 in the same house with her, and could a man 
 do that and not love her ? It all seemed plain 
 to him ; doubtless they were engaged and 
 he was the messenger between them. Then 
 a bitter smile crossed his face at his own 
 ludicrous folly. Jealous ! he, a common 
 trooper, jealous of a nobleman's son. 
 Striking his spurs into his horse the animal 
 started forward at a hand gallop across 
 country, then every now and then coming 
 into the high road he enquired the way 
 to Windsor, and started on again at a 
 steady pace till they reached the town, 
 when suddenly remembering his heated 
 and dusty condition, and deeming himself 
 unfit for the presence of a lady, above all 
 the one lady of his heart and fancy, he 
 selected a modest-looking inn, and there 
 dismounting called for a pail of water, and 
 having washed out his horse's mouth, he 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 groomed him and polished up his harness 
 as carefully as for a review day by the com- 
 mander-in-chief; then leaving the good horse 
 to a feed of corn, he asked for a private 
 room, and performed a similar operation on 
 his own person, — washing and brushing the 
 dust from his thick auburn moustache, 
 and scrupulously divesting himself of every 
 sign of travel; for he was going into her pre- 
 sence, and he remembered the soiled and 
 tattered condition he had been in when she 
 saw him last, if indeed she had seen him at 
 all, a fact of which he justly doubted. Then 
 drawing himself up to his full height with no 
 lack of dignity, he replaced his military cap, 
 remounted the black charger, and slowly 
 rode on towards Standish, past the lodge 
 gates, through the park, towards the house. 
 It so happened that Miss Vernon having 
 finished the most exciting and interesting 
 part of her book, raised her eyes just as
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 163 
 
 the horseman came in sight, and it is impos- 
 sible that any person acquainted with art, 
 and able to appreciate beauty wherever it 
 may be found, could fail to derive pleasure 
 from watching that approach. In the undress 
 uniform of a cavalry soldier, with that per- 
 fectly upright military seat, so graceful in a 
 well-made man, his classic head, well poised 
 above the broad square shoulders, springing 
 from the small but well-knit hip, Duncan 
 Meredith looked the perfection of manly 
 form. More manly than an Apollo, more 
 refined than a Hercules, a very Antinous of 
 beauty. 
 
 The sun gleamed on sword-hilt and chin- 
 strap, and every salient point of horse and 
 rider, as the animal slowly and proudly 
 advanced, seemingly conscious of the eyes 
 that watched him. This a common soldier ! 
 He was more like a knight entering the lists 
 at a tournament, or victorious after combat
 
 1 64 SOA'S OF DIVES. 
 
 advancing with lowered lance to do homage 
 to the queen of beauty. His keen eye had 
 quickly discovered the lady whom he sought, 
 and as he came near to the rustic seat, which 
 in his eyes was a throne, instead of making 
 the military salute that might have been 
 expected, he completely took off his cap and 
 rode up holding it in his hand. Then when 
 within a few paces, he dismounted, and pass- 
 ing the bridle over his arm, came close to 
 her, and bending low presented the letter in 
 silence. Although a striking figure as he 
 rode up on his charger, he was still more so 
 as he stood uncovered beside Isabel, for then 
 you saw the noble-looking head with its 
 waving brown hair cut rather short, the large 
 dark blue eyes that would have been keen 
 but for a wistful look that came into them 
 sometimes (and which had more than once 
 puzzled and haunted Captain Erne, recalling 
 some face that he had seen, he knew not
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 165 
 
 where) ; no hair about the face, save the 
 thick but soft auburn moustache that shaded 
 a well-formed mouth, where all feeling seemed 
 to have been kept under control by strong 
 determination. The accomplished and self- 
 possessed lady of the world could scarcely 
 have failed to feel some surprise at sight of 
 the man who stood before her ; but she did 
 not evince any, and as the thought passed 
 through her mind " What wonders drill does 
 for the rustic," she took the note and mur- 
 mured some such words as, "Glad to have the 
 opportunity of thanking you for, for . . . ." 
 She had forgotten what she meant to say, but 
 luckily at that moment Lady Standish came 
 upon the scene. Isabel had told her of the 
 visitor she expected, and having been on the 
 look-out for him she now came to her young 
 friend's support. Isabel turned at once to 
 her saying, '' Lady Standish, this is the man 
 of whom I told you, whose presence of mind
 
 1 66 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 and courage saved my life, I believe." The 
 gracious lady frankly put out her hand and 
 answered, '* I am glad to be able to thank 
 you on my own account, for I, and all Miss 
 Vernon's friends, owe you a debt of gratitude; 
 but this is not the first deed of yours that I 
 have heard of, Mr. Meredith." Then in a 
 hurry changing the subject, for the soldier 
 was blushing like a schoolgirl, she added, 
 *' you have had a long ride, pray come into 
 the house ; nay, I will take no refusal." Then 
 at the front door desiring a servant to take 
 Mr. Meredith's horse round to the stable, 
 she led the way into the morning room, 
 where, having introduced her new acquaint- 
 ance to Mrs. Vernon, who renewed his blushes 
 by her voluble and demonstrative gratitude, 
 and minute inquiries respecting his health 
 and his hurt, the hostess insisted on his 
 sitting down ; and so dexterously led and kept 
 up the conversation, that the trooper was
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 167 
 
 soon quite at his ease in the grand lady's 
 drawing-room. Speaking of the unusually 
 warm season naturally led to India — (Lady 
 Standish knew that he had been in India, and 
 had heard much of his deeds there from 
 Major Swift) — an inexhaustible theme. Then 
 they talked of the neighbourhood of Windsor, 
 and he asked after many families by name, 
 much to the astonishment of Lady Standish 
 who observed, *' You seem familiar with this 
 part of the world, although you have been 
 abroad so long?" *'Yes, I knew it well 
 when I was a boy," he replied, and then 
 abruptly changed the subject. 
 
 Isabel joined Lady Standish in her endea- 
 vours to keep him in conversation with signal 
 success. They spoke of the war in the 
 Crimea, and even asked him many questions 
 with regard to the allies approaching Sebas- 
 topol, etc., on all of which he had clearly 
 defined opinions, and expressed them with
 
 i68 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 modesty, but with the freedom and finish of 
 an educated man. 
 
 When he rose to take leave Lady Standish 
 pressed him to stay to lunch, saying "• If you 
 do not care to rest, have some pity on your 
 horse, Mr. Meredith ; " but the man colouring 
 to the temples, firmly though gratefully 
 declined the proffered hospitality, saying he 
 must return to barracks at once, and with her 
 leave would go and look after his horse. 
 Lady Standish here rang the bell and ordered 
 ** Wine and sandwiches to be ready in the 
 hall for Mr. Meredith," and the gong soon 
 after sounding for luncheon, the soldier 
 turned to Isabel saying, ** Have I to take back 
 any answer to the letter. Miss Vernon?" 
 Isabel had forgotten to open it, but she did 
 so now, and glancing at it for a moment 
 said, *' Oh, no, thank you, there is no answer 
 needed," whereupon he bowed very low be- 
 fore her, and then thanking Lady Standish for
 
 ONLY A TROOPER. 169 
 
 her kind reception "of a man from the ranks," 
 as he called himself, he took his leave. 
 
 Oh ! could that yearning heart but have 
 known the wording of the letter it had caused 
 such pangs to deliver, it would not have 
 throbbed with such jealous force under the 
 strong coarse cloth of the trooper's uniform ; 
 but he did not know, he believed it to be a 
 letter of love that she would brood and 
 ponder over in secret. 
 
 Still, though he rode away a sad man, he 
 thanked God that he had seen her, spoken 
 to her, and had not been spurned by her ; 
 that she was all, and more, ah, far more, than 
 he could have believed her to be — her image 
 would be ever with him, in scenes of vice 
 and temptation it would keep him pure and 
 safe ; she would never know it : but though 
 she might never think of him again, love for 
 her would be as a screen between him and 
 the fire, and would keep him strong, and
 
 I70 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 brave and patient. And as he once more 
 bared his head and gazed up into the blue 
 sky, his lips moving in silence as he regis- 
 tered that vow in the face of heaven, a mist 
 dimmed the eyes of as true and loyal a 
 knight as ever sat at the table of *' the 
 blameless king." 
 
 Oh ! ye women of influence, did ye but 
 know how men's natures are often as wax, to 
 be moulded for good or evil in your hands, 
 how it is in your power to rouse them to 
 noble and exalted aims, or to poison life's 
 purest draught by your scorn or your frivolity, 
 would ye not often strive to attain to that 
 high standard for which ye were created — 
 to be man's help-mate for time and eternity? 
 
 The letter that it had cost the trooper 
 
 such pain to deliver to Miss Vernon ran 
 thus : — 
 
 " The bearer of this is Duncan Meredith." G. E. 
 ******
 
 
 o-^i^^^M^mmM^^^^^:^:^ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WATER LILIES. 
 
 Down her weedy trophies and herself 
 Fell in the weeping brook, 
 Her clothes spread wide and mermaid like 
 Awhile they bore her up. 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 T IMMEDIATELY after luncheon, carriages 
 ■^ and riding horses were ordered to con- 
 vey the whole party to Virginia AVater, where 
 they were to spend the afternoon ; and some 
 callers happening to come early, they were 
 pressed into the service of going to hunt for 
 water-lilies ; so a procession of carriages and 
 horsemen started from the door, laden with 
 shawls and rugs and books. The carriages
 
 172 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 were to take them to the farthest point, and 
 then to meet the party at the nearer end of 
 the water some two hours later, where had 
 been planned a little surprise of tea at one of 
 the lodges. 
 
 As is always the case the party had not 
 long alighted before they found themselves 
 separated, and divided into twos and threes, 
 all making out their own amusement for 
 themselves. Hetty, in wild spirits, here, 
 there, and everywhere, becoming a very 
 mountain of wild flowers and trailing ten- 
 drils that she gathered in her way, and 
 every now and then dropping half her spoils 
 as she darted forward at the fancied sight of 
 water lilies ahead, so determined was she 
 to be the first to discover the prize. 
 
 Isabel politely devoted herself to one or 
 two of the strangers in turn, and was quite 
 willing to allow Harry Domville to be ever 
 at her side, so as to avoid the chance of a
 
 WATER LILIES. 173 
 
 tete-d-tete with Morley — for his admiration 
 was getting unmistakable, and she was 
 becoming afraid of him. Lady Standish 
 generally looked after Mrs. Vernon and the 
 feeble Mrs. Domville ; but finding herself at 
 one time alone with James Paget she began 
 at once on the subject of Duncan Meredith. 
 "I do want to talk to you about our 
 visitor of this morning," she said; "do 
 not laugh at me and think I am like those 
 foolish matrons, Airs. Vernon and Mrs. Dom- 
 ville, who made you gentlemen so cross at 
 luncheon to-day by their unwise admiration 
 of the ' common soldier,* as they call him. 
 I did not choose to join in their chorus, but 
 I confess I am puzzled, and I believe there 
 is a mystery about the man. It is not 
 because he is, as they say, undoubtedly 
 handsome, but he is a gentleman, and a 
 polished and educated gentleman, too," and 
 then she told how strangely familiar he
 
 174 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 seemed to be with every nook and corner of 
 that neighbourhood, and the names of the 
 resident families, and how suddenly he 
 changed the conversation when she remarked 
 it to him. 
 
 *' Well," replied Paget, '* it is quite pos- 
 sible, though not very probable, that the 
 man may be a gentleman's son — a wild 
 fellow, who, having spent all he could lay 
 his hands on, ruined mother and sister, and 
 got into some bad scrape, enlisted. You 
 must remember that it is only the good-for- 
 nothing * gentleman,' the thorough scape- 
 grace, who ever enlists, and your ' preux 
 chevalier'' may be either a drunken spend- 
 thrift, if not even worse, enlisted under a 
 false name, or else some self-educated prig, 
 a superior "man of the people," as they 
 call themselves." 
 
 *'Ah, do not say so. Remember this is 
 the same man of whom Major Swift has such
 
 WATER LILIES. 175 
 
 a high opinion, and of whose deeds in India 
 he tells such wonderful stories. I do wish 
 that you had seen him, for I could have 
 trusted your judgment, at least," she added 
 archly, ''I should if it confirmed my own; 
 for I could not easily give up my opinion in 
 this case — instinct tells me that I am right, 
 that there is a mystery about the man's his- 
 tory, but that there can be no evil in such a 
 fearless, honest face." 
 
 Before Paget could reply, just at the 
 moment when they were at the very edge of 
 the water, Hetty, in full chase, rushed past 
 them — there was a scream — a splash — and 
 there right before them the poor child was 
 struggling in deep water ; her clothes upheld 
 her for a minute ; the hands released their 
 hold of her gathered treasures, then with a 
 gurgling stifled cry for help the poor little 
 thing sank, the water closed over her, and 
 only the wild flowers and wreaths remained
 
 176 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 on the surface, like emblems on a tomb, 
 marking the spot where she had gone down. 
 Lady Standish screamed *' Harry! Mr. 
 Morley! help! help! quick! '' but in an instant 
 Paget had thrown off his coat, and dashed 
 into the water. It was an awful moment of 
 anxiety for the lookers on. Hearing the cries 
 most of the party had collected on the bank. 
 Paget was striking out and lifting his head to 
 look in all directions. Hetty was nowhere 
 to be seen, the wild flowers floated on deceiv- 
 ing him as to the spot to be tried ; but Lady 
 Standish with eyes starting, and white rigid 
 face of agony, kept pointing decidedly in one 
 direction, urging and encouraging him re- 
 peatedly. Paget dived, and disappeared. 
 Oh ! moments of horror, that seemed an age 
 of despair ! The eddy where he had gone 
 down passed away, and the relentless waters 
 became calm. The suspense was almost 
 more than the senses of those on the shore
 
 WATER LILIES. 177 
 
 could bear, — when — ^joy ! — joy ! a shout of 
 relief broke from them — a few yards beyond 
 where their straining eyes were gazing, the 
 waters parted again and Paget came up, 
 holding Hetty by the clothes and endeavour- 
 ing to keep her head well up. Mrs. Dom- 
 ville had gone off into hysterics, and was 
 laughing wildly; but no one heeded her. 
 The danger was not over yet. The half- 
 drowned pair were farther than ever from land. 
 The exertion to a man of Paget' s life was 
 severe ; he was evidently distressed, and 
 with the burden on his arm could scarcely 
 make any way. The water just at that 
 spot was deep, but he saw the bed of lilies 
 that had been poor Hetty's snare, and 
 rapidly judging that it would be shallower 
 there, with a desperate effort he made for the 
 bank near them. Lady Standish rapidly 
 tore off her shawl, and others following her 
 
 example, Morley and the other gentlemen 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 knotted them together, and just as Paget, 
 very exhausted, came within reach, Harry 
 dexterously threw one end on to his very 
 hand; he caught it, and then gently and 
 cautiously they were drawn to land. 
 
 It was a pitiful sight; the rosy cheeked, 
 merry little Hetty in such a sorry plight, and 
 Paget panting, and ghastly white. A few 
 minutes more and it must have been too 
 late ; but thank God they were safe. Hetty 
 was soon wrapped in all the dry shawls they 
 could muster, and Harry and another of the 
 gentlemen undertook to carry her to the 
 lodge, which fortunately was not far off, and 
 where there would be hot tea and the car- 
 riages waiting. Paget declared he could 
 walk, but with his wet clothes hanging on 
 him, and exhausted as he was, he made a 
 slow march of it, poor fellow. 
 
 It was a sad little gathering round the 
 tea-table, compared to what had been in-
 
 WATER LILIES. 179 
 
 tended; but all were now determined to be 
 as cheerful as possible, to encourage and 
 rally the sufferers, whose nerves were terribly 
 shaken. Lady Standish whispered to Harry 
 to ride on and order fires to be lighted and 
 rooms ready for them. The lodge-keeper's 
 wife bustled about, pouring gin, the only 
 spirit forthcoming from her stores, into 
 their tea, which was given them by many 
 eager hands, and then Lady Standish, easily 
 persuading Mrs. Domville to confide her 
 child to her by saying, ** You know the 
 damp from their clothes would be sure to 
 give you neuralgia," took both the dripping 
 sufferers with her in the close carriage that 
 had brought the elder ladies, gave the order 
 to "drive fast," and off they went. Then 
 with both windows up, contentedly bearing 
 the stifling heat in her joy and thankfulness 
 at having both her friends alive and in her 
 care, with tears now running down her
 
 i8o SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 cheeks, the true woman ministered to her 
 two friends, continually heaping up wraps 
 on Paget, who, huddled in one corner of the 
 carriage, shivered ominously, and from time 
 to time laying her healing hand on his to 
 still its aguish trembling, while she sat 
 opposite, holding Hetty close to her to keep 
 her warm, and the only sound that broke 
 the silence between the three was a low 
 gentle murmur of love and encouragement 
 that came from the usually stately Lady 
 Standish, like the cooing of a parent dove. 
 
 When they reached Standish, Sir Thomas 
 and Harry were standing on the steps, with 
 a crowd of servants behind them. Hetty 
 was quickly lifted out and carried up the 
 long staircase. Lady Standish, turning to 
 her husband, said, '' Thank God it is no 
 worse ; I will attend to Hetty while you and 
 Harry look after James. Put him in a hot 
 bath at once, and then between the blankets
 
 WATER LILIES. i8i 
 
 in a warm bed, and I will send him some- 
 thing to take." A ghastly smile and a 
 poor attempt at a joke, which for once was 
 a wretched failure, was the only response 
 from her patient, as he was hurried off by 
 his friends. 
 
 It was not very long before Harry came 
 for the '' dose " for ^^ that fine fellow Paget," 
 reporting that he was comfortable in bed, 
 and seemed better. 
 
 '* Do you know, Lady Standish, I never 
 liked a clever man before ; but Paget is a 
 regular trump." 
 
 The "dose" was a glass of very hot 
 brandy and water (and a biscuit), with some- 
 thing in it to induce sleep and prevent fever ; 
 the orders, perfect stillness and repose. 
 
 *' And so, Harry, you had better leave him, 
 and say from me that he is on no account to 
 get up, but to ring when he wants anything." 
 
 Hetty's treatment was very similar. The
 
 1 82 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 house was ordered to be kept very quiet ; no 
 gong was sounded for dinner, which was 
 on this occasion a very subdued meal. In 
 the course of the evening Lady Standish 
 and Harry met frequently as they went to 
 listen at the doors of the invalids. Hetty 
 slept soundly for several hours; but Paget 
 was restless and feverish, and, when he dosed 
 at all, woke up wildly, with a start and a cry 
 that gave cause for some anxiety, and when 
 at about half-past eleven the anxious friend 
 and hostess made her last rounds, Harry 
 said his friend seemed so restless and queer 
 that he meant to sleep on the sofa in his 
 room. The boy's heart had been touched, 
 and his senses quickened by the prompt 
 unselfish courage that had saved his sister, 
 in one whom hitherto he had not appre- 
 ciated. So Lady Standish smiled approv- 
 ingly on him, and having given instructions 
 for the treatment of his patient, and enquired
 
 WATER LILIES. 183 
 
 if he had lights, and all that might be 
 required, with a whispered " God bless you, 
 dear Harr}^ ; remember sound sleep is the 
 cure, but be sure to come and knock at my 
 door if you want anything in the night," 
 she turned away from the door of one patient 
 to visit the other. At the end of another 
 long passage she noiselessly opened the door 
 of a room which was then nearly dark, for 
 the fire was almost out, and saw that Hetty 
 was sitting up in bed awake, leaning her 
 head on her hand; she was thinking — Hetty 
 thinking ! When she hearid the slight sound, 
 and saw who it was, she said, *' Oh, please 
 come in, I am awake and quite well. I am 
 so sorr}^ dear Lady Standish — so sorry and 
 unhappy. Will you forgive me for giving 
 you all so much trouble and spoiling all 
 your pleasure, to say nothing of your pretty 
 dress and everything. Oh, I do hate my- 
 self so for all I have done lately."
 
 1 84 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Whereupon this lady so addressed, going 
 close up to the bed, put her arm round the 
 white limp-robed girl, who began to sob at 
 this touch of kindness, and said: *' Hush, 
 Hetty dear, hush, you must not talk so ; you 
 have been rather wild, child, but that is all 
 over ; you have had a lesson, and mean to be 
 quite a staid, grown-up young lady in future, 
 I know. There, do not cry so, dear, or you 
 wi/l make me sad, and give me trouble, for I 
 shall think you are ill ; there is nothing to cry 
 for now. Tell me, do you feel quite well ? ' ' 
 
 *' Oh yes," said Hetty, cheering up, 
 ''quite well! I could have gone down, only 
 you told me not ; but, dear Lady Standish, I 
 want to ask you something : How is Mr. 
 Paget ? I shall never dare to look him in the 
 face again. I have always been so rude to 
 him — and to think that Ae should be so noble 
 as to jump into the water, and nearly get 
 drowned himself to save me ! "
 
 WATER LILIES. 185 
 
 It was a pretty picture in the dim light : 
 the simple, maidenly-looking room, the little 
 chintz bed, the young girl in her white night- 
 dress, with her little round black head nestled 
 on the shoulder of her friend. The fire just 
 then flickered up and showed them both 
 quite plainly. Lady Standish's grand figure. 
 She had taken off her evening dress when 
 she dismissed her maid, and wrapped round 
 her a light blue silk quilted dressing gown. 
 She had not waited to unfasten her jewels — 
 diamonds gleamed here and there, and a 
 massive band of gold encircled her grand 
 and shapely arm. Her hair was pushed care- 
 lessly back from the temples. In the free 
 and unrestrained attitude of that hour she 
 might have stood for a Semiramis or a 
 Cleopatra. 
 
 As the flame blazed up it showed Hetty 
 conscious and blushing, as she made her 
 little speech about Paget, and it showed a
 
 i86 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Startled expression mixed with a grave intelli- 
 gence and pity on the face of the elder lady. 
 
 Ah ! had the time come when this child, 
 too, would enter into the great battle of life ! 
 Was there escape for none ? The flame died 
 out as she said, " Child, do you suppose that 
 any true man would wait to think how a 
 woman had behaved to him when her life 
 was in danger — there, there, go to sleep," 
 and with another kiss she tucked her up and 
 returned to her own room. 
 
 In this woman, motherly instinct, unfulfilled, 
 was so strong, that its tendrils, missing their 
 natural support, embraced and clung round 
 all living things that needed love and help. 
 It was a dangerous nature and position for a 
 woman; but, as I said when first describing 
 her character, there was strong sense and 
 principle to help it, and if in fighting through 
 the temptations and struggles of life, she 
 had received a wound, it bled inwardly. The
 
 WATER LILIES. 187 
 
 world never guessed that this seemingly 
 prosperous woman might suffer, or that her 
 heart inight be unsatisfied ; and perhaps the 
 world was right, for she made no sign. 
 
 It was not surprising, after the exciting 
 event of the day, that Lady Standish should 
 not sleep at once ; for two or three hours 
 she lay awake, thinking anxiously — mind and 
 heart were full. 
 
 Sir Thomas was sleeping soundly. She 
 carefully and noiselessly got up, and, gliding 
 out into the passage, listened once more at 
 the doors of her patients. A regular and 
 heavy breathing came from the little chintz 
 bed. She passed on to the other door and 
 listened long — perfect stillness — then all 
 was well ; she once more betook herself to her 
 bed, and as the angel of night spread his 
 wings over her , he must have noticed the 
 gentle loving expression that overspread the 
 sleeping lady's face.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE. 
 
 The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, 
 Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. 
 
 . Moore. 
 
 'THHE next morning Hetty came down to 
 ^ breakfast as well and blooming as 
 usual. Paget did not appear till luncheon 
 time, when he reported himself as all "right," 
 though certainly he could not have been 
 complimented on the vigour of his appear- 
 ance. Hetty was decidedly shy and subdued 
 in his presence ; but he did not seem to per- 
 ceive it, and after hoping that she was none 
 the worse for her *' ducking," the subject 
 was dropped by common consent.
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE, 189 
 
 This was the eve of the much talked of 
 fete, and • it was agreed that it should be 
 spent very quietly, and that nothing should 
 be done beyond a drive to Datchet to see the 
 new schools, and home by Windsor, where 
 Lady Standish had some shopping to do, 
 and last orders to give, for the morrow. 
 Everyone agreed to go excepting Isabel, who 
 preferred staying at home; but when the 
 carriages were at the door Morley was no- 
 where to be found, and so the rest of the 
 party had to start without him. 
 
 Isabel was writing letters in her room, but 
 after hearing the carriages drive away, she 
 took her parasol and a book and sallied forth 
 to enjoy a little solitude in her favourite 
 walk — that broad gravel path, that formed one 
 of the features of the garden at Standish, run- 
 ning between the old yew hedge on one side, 
 and on the other a border of flowers with a 
 background of evergreens ; a summer-house
 
 igo SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 was at one end, and there were seats here 
 and there at intervals. It had a still, peace- 
 ful aspect, and was altogether a tempting 
 retreat for the idler or the student. 
 
 Isabel had not been long in the enjoyment 
 of this favourite haunt, — after sitting for a 
 short time she had risen and taken one turn 
 to the entrance of the walk, and had almost 
 reached the summer-house at the other end, 
 when she was overtaken and joined by 
 Morley. She was rather startled, for she had 
 supposed him to have gone with the rest, 
 and the discovery annoyed her, as she had 
 congratulated herself on a quiet time alone, 
 as she supposed. Also at the first glance she 
 detected that there was something unusual 
 with him, — a suppressed excitement. He 
 was pale, and his customary self-possession 
 seemed to have failed him, and with that 
 wonderfully quick instinct that a woman has 
 with regard to men, Isabel was at once on
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE. 191 
 
 the defensive. With an indifferent and 
 somewhat haughty stare she replied to his 
 greeting that he ** thought he should find her 
 there," *'I don't know w^y you should ex- 
 pect to find me here, Mr. Morley ; / thought 
 that you had accompanied the rest of the 
 party to Datchet." 
 
 **Then you did think of me, Miss Vernon? 
 I stayed behind because you did. If you had 
 gone, I should have gone too ; but I am 
 glad you did not ; I never get a chance of 
 being alone with you, I was determined at last 
 to see you, and speak to you. Isabel, I love 
 you ! " seizing her hand. The offended girl, 
 releasing her hand from his grasp, as quickly 
 as she could, drew herself up to her full 
 height, and in the coldest tones here broke in 
 with : " Stop, Mr. Morley, I am sorry to hurt 
 your feelings, but I cannot listen to such 
 words, pray forget that you have spoken 
 them, as I shall ;" — but, with a rising tone as
 
 192 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 he again got possession of her hand and 
 held it firmly — '' what right have you to 
 address me in this way against my will?" 
 
 ** What right ? " he hissed out between his 
 teeth ; as much right as that coxcomb who 
 has been my rival. You would have loved 
 me if it had not been for Gerald Erne — 
 Curse him!'" They were both too agitated 
 to hear a little piteous cry close to them, and 
 he went on: — '' Ha, ha ! you think that he 
 loves you ! I tell you he is trifling and 
 amusing himself with you. Here, here, 
 where you are, he has assignations with 
 other women. I have seen a meeting with 
 my own eyes." 
 
 ** Stop ; how dare you speak to me in this 
 way? Leave me this moment, sir," striving 
 to release her hand, but in vain. '' Captain 
 Erne is a gentleman of honour, who would 
 scorn to slander a man behind his back ! " 
 
 ** He is a spendthrift, over head and ears
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE. 193 
 
 in debt — Curse him, a hundred curses on 
 him!" 
 
 A figure had stepped forward through one 
 of the openings of the yew hedge, and stood 
 there like a ghost — a girl in black, her face 
 ashy pale, her hands clenched tight, her 
 eyes flashing with anger, her lips moved as 
 if she were speaking, but no sound came. 
 Neither Isabel nor Morley looked towards 
 her, and he went on excitedly : — ** Dare to 
 speak to you ? I love you, Isabel, and, by 
 God, you shall listen to me ! I dare any- 
 thing now." And he caught her in his arms 
 and kissed her again and again. 
 
 The poor girl struggled in his brutal 
 
 grasp and screamed for help, and in a 
 
 moment, as if by magic, at her call there 
 
 came crashing through the shrubs and over 
 
 the flower-border, a powerful man in undress 
 
 uniform ; and it was but the work of a 
 
 moment for Duncan Meredith to snatch 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 'SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Isabel from her persecutor, and to send him 
 spinning for yards, stumbling, and stagger- 
 ing, till he fell in a heap against the yew 
 hedge, close to where Sibyl was standing; 
 but he did not see her even then, and, 
 with a look of withering contempt, the girl 
 vanished through the hedge in the same 
 ghostly way that she had appeared, as it 
 would seem to those who did not know of 
 the slanting openings into the garden be- 
 hind. 
 
 Poor Isabel clung in terror to the arm 
 of her rescuer, crimson with shame and 
 indignation, trembling from head to foot ; 
 she still kept appealing to him for help, 
 and it was some moments before his words 
 could reach her senses and soothe her 
 alarm. 
 
 '' Do not be frightened. Miss Vernon ; 
 you are quite safe. I will not leave you 
 till you are safe ; that cowardly ruffian
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE. 195 
 
 will not dare to annoy you any more." 
 Then, seeing the colour die out of her 
 face, which became very white, and feeling 
 her become heavier on his arm, he said 
 very gently : ''I think you had better go 
 back to the house ; I am going there too, 
 and I will see you safe." 
 
 There was a pause ; then, with a conquest 
 over self, the brave man added, " Captain 
 Erne sent me over from Hounslow to fetch 
 something he wanted. I had left my horse 
 at the stable, and I was going towards the 
 house when I heard you cry out ; that is 
 how I so fortunately came to be on the 
 spot, Miss Vernon." 
 
 This little speech, simple as it seems, 
 brought Isabel to her senses quicker than 
 anything else that had been said. For the 
 first time she looked up, and remembered 
 him; the mention of Erne's name and 
 Duncan's honest declaration of himself made
 
 196 SOA^S OF DIVES. 
 
 her realize her position. With an effort 
 over herself, she roused from the faintness 
 creeping- over her, and said, '' Thank you — 
 thank you very much for your assistance — 
 yes — I will go into the house at once ; and," 
 with a slight accession of dignity, ** I can 
 walk very well now, thank you. I am very 
 grateful to you, Mr. Meredith." 
 
 She bowed to him and hurried away. He 
 followed at a little distance, watched her 
 reach the front door unmolested, and dis- 
 appear. Then he turned away, went round 
 to the back of the house, waited while the 
 parcel was found for which he had been sent, 
 and rode back to Hounslow. 
 
 Poor Duncan ! The sun had shone upon 
 him for the brief space of a few minutes, his 
 short day was over, and he was left in the 
 cold twilight of duty and routine. 
 
 When Lady Standish and her friends re- 
 turned from their drive the servant announced
 
 RASHLY IMPORTUNATE. 197 
 
 that Mr. Morley was gone, but had left a 
 note for her ladyship. Lady Standish glanced 
 over it, and then read aloud that "he had 
 been obliged to go up to town suddenly on 
 business which he thought might detain him, 
 and prevent his being present at her /He 
 the next day, and, indeed, not allow him to 
 return at all to Standish at present, which he 
 much regretted. He had known of this ne- 
 cessity in the morning, but had said nothing 
 about it, preferring this way of parting, which 
 had spared him the pain of taking leave o^ 
 so many kind friends. His best thanks to 
 her and to Sir Thomas for their hospitality, 
 and for the very agreeable visit he had spent, 
 etc. etc." 
 
 When this letter was read everyone looked 
 at the other in surprise ; but there were not 
 many regrets, unless it may have been from 
 Miss Standish, who fancied she had found 
 an *' intelligent" disciple in Mr. Morley.
 
 igS SOJVS OF DIVES. 
 
 Hetty the faithless, began some imperti- 
 nence about *' somebody's room, etc. — " 
 Paget put on a quizzical expression, espe- 
 cially when it was discovered that Miss 
 Vernon " had retired to her room with a bad 
 headache."
 
 i '''^^^^^:^^r:^^^^^MM^ 
 
 - M% 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DR. martin's science AT FAULT. 
 
 The primal duties shine aloft, like stars ; 
 
 The charities, that soothe, and heal, and bless, 
 
 Are scattered at the feet of man like flowers. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 T T is now time to return to those friends 
 ■^ whom we seem to have left too long, 
 and to give the reader an account of how it 
 fared with the family in Thames Terrace, 
 whom we left in sorrow and mourning, and 
 how it was that Sibyl Blake mysteriously 
 appeared at such a critical moment in the 
 long walk at Standish Park. 
 
 Death is a mighty healer and sanctifier. 
 
 When Oliver Blake realized that the long-
 
 20O SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 suffering wife, whom he had torn from her 
 connections and the congenial life so neces- 
 sary to her, to remain for years in obscurity, 
 neglected and unconsidered, even by himself, 
 was actually dead, lost to him for ever, gone 
 from him without a word of love, a remorse 
 and revulsion of feeling took place within 
 him as strong as the man's narrow nature 
 rendered possible. A vision rose before him 
 of his young wife as he first saw her in her 
 pride and beauty : his mind went back to 
 the early days of his married life — to the 
 time when he might yet have won her love, 
 and all might have been so different, but for 
 the demon of revenge and greed that took 
 possession of his soul and stifled the better 
 feelings of his nature. Too late now to 
 atone to the dead. He confessed to his own 
 heart the sin and misery of his past life; but 
 what availed that to /ler? The undying 
 despair of that **too late" rang in his ears.
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 201 
 
 as he sat buried in aching thought in the 
 darkened chamber of mourning. 
 
 In the dusk of the evening a timid knock 
 came at the door, and receiving no answer, 
 Sibyl entered worn and weary, carr}dng a 
 plate of food and a glass of wine, which she 
 put down by him on the table, saying, *' Papa, 
 you have taken nothing all day, old Anne 
 says, and she made me bring you this ; do 
 try and eat it." 
 
 Oliver had always loved Sibyl. Who could 
 help doing so ? He was really fond of music, 
 and had encouraged her talent by every 
 means in his power ; he liked to hear the 
 sweet sounds through the house even in his 
 business hours, and almost the only happy 
 time that the husband and wife enjoyed 
 together might be said to be, when they 
 listened together to their child's music. Yes, 
 in his own strange uncouth fashion he loved 
 his daughter more than any one suspected.
 
 202 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 His usually morose and gloomy temper was 
 less morose, and in some degree less gloomy 
 to her ; but she had always been afraid of 
 him, and her just and loving nature could not 
 overlook his treatment of her mother. So even 
 now, with her heart bleeding and yearning for 
 sympathy, she came timidly towards him. 
 
 Wrapped in the selfish habit of years, he 
 had remained all day absorbed in his own 
 trouble, and had forgotten her, but when he 
 heard the sad quavering of her voice, and 
 saw the poor tear-stained tired face, his heart 
 was touched, and a new thought entered his 
 mind. It was not yet too late for everything. 
 He could yet atone to the child for the sin to 
 the mother, and without noticing the untasted 
 food, he said abruptly, *' Child, I have sinned, 
 and my sins have found me out.'' There 
 was a pause. What child can resist the 
 humbling of a parent before her, however 
 low that parent may have fallen ? And when
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 203 
 
 Oliver stretched out his arms towards her, 
 saying, *' Can you love me, Sibyl?" the 
 girl fell into them sobbing and murmuring, 
 *' Oh, papa, papa, she was so good, she could 
 have loved you so much better." There she 
 lay sobbing as if her heart would break ; but 
 her head was on a father's shoulder, and her 
 arms round his neck, and no heart breaks 
 with such comfort left as that. 
 
 About an hour later, when the door opened 
 again and old Anne Carr came in with 
 candles and a cup of tea for her darling, she 
 found her sitting close by her father, holding 
 his hand and feeding him as if he had been 
 a child ; and though the old woman had that 
 day closed the eyes of her mistress, whom she 
 had followed from her girlish home and 
 remained with, first as maid, and then as 
 nurse, and then maid again, through all her 
 sorrows, she felt happier than she had done 
 for many a year.
 
 204 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 As for Sibyl, she had found a father — he 
 loved her — he needed her, and deep and 
 sacred as her grief was for her beloved 
 mother, a womanly nature like hers could not 
 be utterly desolate while there was one being 
 left to whom she could minister. 
 
 The next day found her utterly prostrated 
 in strength, and Dr. Martin, coming early to 
 look after his " lamb," gave strict orders to 
 old Anne that her young mistress was to 
 remain in bed, at all events till the evening ; 
 but as soon as he was gone Sibyl said, " You 
 must mind and take great care of papa then, 
 Anne, and tell him, that if he does not come 
 to see me, I shall get up directly." And so, 
 much as the old nurse's eyes wondered at the 
 sight, Oliver Blake sat by the bed-side of his 
 daughter. 
 
 By slow degrees the dreary, dreadful 
 week passed away. Passed away, as all 
 things pass, good or bad. Slowly, it may
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 205 
 
 seem, to our impatient sense, but surely, 
 swiftly, as we shall know, at our first tread 
 upon the other shore. No step ever to be 
 retraced — the fondest hour never to be lived 
 again. The things that seem most real, 
 fleeting soonest. How vain our struggles to 
 catch the shadows as they pass. Our sepa- 
 rate lives at best are but as flickering 
 specks, that flood the heavens on a starry 
 night. Your fancy singles one, yet, even 
 while you gaze, it melts in blue ether, and 
 its place is lost. Yes, all things pass — and 
 we must pass away ; only one earth-born 
 sense shall live for ever. Love is deathless ! 
 Warm human love, that often errs and leads 
 us on to direst, as to noblest deeds, is still a 
 heavenly seed, in mercy given to widen 
 and to grow into a higher love (just as the 
 flowers are sent to use our sight for heaven) ; 
 for those whose hearts can even love the 
 lowest, shall they not surely love the highest
 
 2o6 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 when they know it ? Speak gently then of 
 
 love — and pityingly of those who love not 
 
 wisely here. It may be that the yearning, 
 
 wandering heart, seeking through years for 
 
 that which satisfies it not, may find at last 
 
 its natural home with Christ — a bruised 
 
 germ from earth, blooming in love divine. 
 ****** 
 
 Oliver Blake shrank from the pain of look- 
 ing through any writings that his wife had 
 left behind her. It was Sibyl who examined 
 her mother's private papers. There were 
 not many : a diary, a few packets of letters, 
 one carefully tied round with ribbon and 
 labelled " records of my boy," containing a 
 small lock of fair hair ''cut from baby's 
 head," a tiny kid shoe, Eton letters, all 
 numbered and dated, a very few letters with 
 the Indian post-mark, a lock of darker hair 
 sent to his mother before embarking for 
 India, with a very imperfect Daguereotype
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT 207 
 
 likeness. Another packet was addressed 
 " for Sibyl," in which, after pages of love 
 and advice and encouragement, the mother 
 gave a history of her life — her girlhood, the 
 love of Robert Erne, then Viscount Clare, 
 but now the Earl IMount Ida, her disappoint- 
 ment, her hasty marriage, the breaking 
 down of her hopes and resolutions to be 
 contented. The daughter's tears flowed fast 
 as each line laid more bare her mother's 
 aching, broken-hearted life. 
 
 "Poor mamma, oh poor mamma," she 
 sobbed, *'and poor papa too, for oh! she 
 never loved you ; oh, if only she had loved 
 you;" but her tears dried and her cheeks 
 burned as she read in the later entries of her 
 mother's journal mention of Gerald Erne as 
 the son of her old love, and the fond hope 
 that union would at last be brought about 
 between them in the persons of their chil- 
 dren. Colouring violently Sibyl closed the
 
 2o8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 tell-tale pages, and separating these two 
 packets from everything else, to be kept 
 always by her as the sacred relics of her be- 
 loved mother and brother, she proceeded with 
 her painful business till the task was complete. 
 Among Oliver Blake's new-born resolu- 
 tions was the determination to break off all 
 partnership with Morley, as a first proof 
 forced on himself of amendment. He had 
 had an interview with him in the office, 
 which, even with death so close to them, had 
 been a stormy one, for his accomplice was 
 not to be easily shaken off; he sneered at 
 this tardy morality, complained of being 
 cheated and deceived, and they parted in 
 anger. Nevertheless Oliver at present re- 
 mained fixed in his purpose to retire from 
 the lucrative money-lending part of hi^ 
 business. Whether his good resolutions 
 would be lasting had yet to be proved ; but 
 he took the most likely course to make them
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 209 
 
 SO. He determined on making a complete 
 change of habits ; he had mercantile rela- 
 tions with Turkey ; they were somewhat 
 endangered by the war ; his presence there 
 for a time would greatly tend to secure and 
 advance them. He would shut up this city 
 house, where he had spent such long grind- 
 ing years ; it would be a saving of expense 
 (the ruling spirit was not to be laid all at 
 once), and in those curiously-contrived cellars 
 the hoarded riches of his life would be safe ; 
 he had no fear ; how few knew anything of 
 their existence, and what pains had he 
 spared on their spring-bolted locks. There 
 lay hidden valuable securities, mortgages, 
 pure gold in unworked bars and dust, 
 money itself even lying dead, that he might 
 revel in the sight of it, curiously wrought 
 golden cups and jewels, paintings, collec- 
 tions of gems of rare value, all waiting and 
 accumulating for the day so long deferred 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 that was to see him burst suddenly into the 
 ranks of those who had slighted him ; and 
 now it seemed that he had waited too long ; 
 the one who was to have triumphed with 
 him had passed away, and the desire was 
 buried with her. The habit of life was strong 
 upon him ; he could not alone face the gay 
 throng and compete in the fashionable show, 
 and the resolve was wise that decided on 
 breaking away from the old life for a time to 
 meditate at leisure on a future. So every- 
 thing was planned for a journey to Turkey. 
 Sibyl should go too. The change would be 
 good for her, and the father would not have 
 liked to part for long with her society, which 
 now seemed a necessity to him, but he 
 decided on starting first, as soon as his 
 affairs could be arranged, and Sibyl and old 
 Anne Carr were to follow a month later, by 
 which time he would be settled and prepared 
 to receive them at Constantinople.
 
 DR, MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 211 
 
 Old Dr. Martin was very urgent that 
 Sibyl should pay him and his wife a visit. 
 They were going down to Windsor for a few 
 weeks. The change of scene and country 
 life w^ould be the very best thing to revive 
 her strength and spirits. The old couple so 
 kindly offered to see after everything that 
 would be necessary for her start, and to see 
 her on board up to the last moment, that 
 Mr. Blake was only too glad to leave his 
 child in such good hands. And thus it 
 came to pass that the old house in Thames 
 Terrace was shut up ; that we read of 
 Sibyl's driving with Dr. and Mrs. Martin 
 by Virginia Water on the day that they 
 passed Gerald Erne, and of her appearance 
 a few days later by the yew hedge at 
 Standish, and being a witness of the painful 
 scene between Miss Vernon and Mr. Morley. 
 
 Mrs. IMartin had heard much of the gar- 
 dens of Standish, and her husband had ob-
 
 212 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 tained leave to see them, through the interest 
 of Sir Thomas Standish's family doctor at 
 Windsor. It was by the merest chance that 
 they had made use of their permission on 
 the very afternoon that we have described, 
 and that while the interested old couple 
 were listening reverently to the head gar- 
 dener's disquisition on the two new gera- 
 niums that had come out, and were asking 
 advice about growing them in the window 
 of a dingy, smoky house in the heart of 
 the city, Sibyl wandered off by herself, 
 revelling in the soft perfumed air, and the 
 brilliant colours massed together in such 
 exquisite taste around her, and while amused 
 with the curious plan of the old hedge 
 and enjoying the pretty floral sight from 
 one of its openings, she was suddenly ar- 
 rested by the sound of voices, and one of 
 them, Morley's, so close to her. She did not 
 mean to listen, but stopped suddenly, not
 
 DR. MAR TIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 213 
 
 liking to intrude further into the paradise 
 that tempted her. While she hesitated, came 
 Gerald Erne's name, the wicked accusa- 
 tion against him, and that cruel curse ; oh 
 God ! what did it all mean ? Gerald Erne ? 
 Gerald Erne was hers. It is true that she 
 had already felt surprised and disappointed 
 that he had taken no notice of her since her 
 mother's death, beyond the card on which 
 he had scribbled the offer of help, but she 
 had not needed the kind of help he prof- 
 fered. Even had she done so, how could 
 she have applied to him ? She knew the 
 name of his regiment well enough, but 
 she was unconscious of his changed quarters. 
 She unreasonably forgot, or else was un- 
 aware that the house in Thames Terrace 
 was left wholly to the charge of an old 
 woman, a stranger, and that no message or 
 visitors' cards would be likely to follow her 
 to her friend's abode, so that she knew
 
 214 S'OJVS OF DIVES. 
 
 nothing of Gerald's last attempt to see her, 
 and she had suffered secretly from his 
 silence and sorely missed his dear society, 
 but she taught herself to believe it could be 
 easily explained, no doubt ; perhaps he had 
 been busy or absent, perhaps he delicately 
 would not intrude upon her early grief; the 
 time was not really as long as it felt to her, 
 and in the purity and faith of her own heart 
 she never doubted his love. Though he had 
 never actually told her in words that she was 
 dear to him, he had looked it, inferred it, in 
 a thousand ways, and she felt it and knew it, 
 and never doubted him. But now ! how 
 changed in a moment did life appear. She 
 heeded not the base insinuations of the 
 wretched Morley. She would not have be- 
 lieved them on his oath ; in a moment his 
 contemptible nature had become plain to 
 her ; his accusations were false as his friend- 
 ship, — too low to think of in connection with
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 215 
 
 Gerald Erne ; but — that beautiful girl ! She, 
 too, loved him, then ! and oh, agony ! had 
 he sought her love ? She had not denied it ! 
 These thoughts rushed like fire through her 
 brain. She stood there before those who 
 could have told her all, but they heeded her 
 not, and she had no power to speak. She 
 stood paralysed with the blow, and was only 
 roused when Morley's prostrate form fell 
 almost at her feet, and then, with a withering 
 look of hatred and contempt, she turned 
 away, and with slow uncertain steps rejoined 
 her friends. She felt very faint and ill. 
 Poor child, she thought, " if only she might 
 die and go to her mother, who had never 
 failed her ! " The gardens had lost their 
 beauty; the colours had faded from the 
 flowers : their perfume had become a sickly 
 vapour; the warmth had gone from the sun, 
 for poor Sibyl ; and as she walked silently 
 and droopingly by the side of her chatty.
 
 2i6 SONS OF DIVES, 
 
 chirping old friends (who were too much 
 absorbed in their own delight and in the at- 
 tentions of the head gardener to notice her 
 condition any more than they had done her 
 straying from them), the grey and barren 
 moor could not have seemed more black to 
 her chilled senses. 
 
 When they reached the gate, and the good 
 doctor was handing in the two ladies, his 
 quick professional eye at once detected that 
 something was wrong. 
 
 ^* Why, Susan, we have been very incon- 
 siderate ; we have knocked up the * pet 
 lamb.' My dear, why did you not say that 
 you were tired, and we would have gone 
 home sooner ? " 
 
 She gave him a faint smile, but no answer; 
 her tongue was parched and refused to 
 speak. The old man, puzzled and anxious, 
 drove quickly back to the inn, where he 
 laid his charge down on the horsehair sofa
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 217 
 
 in a sitting-room, half dining-room, and halt 
 drawing-room, covered her up with a shawl — 
 for on this summer day she shivered every 
 now and then — felt her pulse, and told her 
 she was to sleep. So Sibyl lay with closed 
 eyes for hours ; but sleep is a prescription 
 that cannot always be administered, and as 
 from the further end of the room the doctor 
 looked from time to time in the direction of 
 the sofa he was pained by the sad quivering 
 of the expressive mouth, and the general 
 broken-hearted look in the young face. As 
 evening drev; on, and seemed to have brought 
 no change to his pet, he moved his chair 
 close beside her, and holding one little hand 
 within his own great fist, he tried all that 
 cheering, caressing words w^ould do ; he was 
 sorely puzzled, and began to fear that the 
 shock of her mother's death had left some 
 hidden mischief which he had not fathomed. 
 She had been delicate, variable in spirits, as
 
 2i8 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 was natural to the newness of her grief; but 
 she had rallied and responded to their kind- 
 ness, and to the sweet air and sounds of 
 country life, as a hare-bell opens to the sun. 
 Since the first week of bereavement she had 
 never been overwhelmed in this way, and the 
 change was so sudden that it was mysterious. 
 What memory or allusion could have caused 
 it ? She had not been out of his sight (so 
 the good doctor imagined) ! The only result 
 of his well-meant attempt at consolation was, 
 that large crystal tears flowed from under 
 the closed eyelids, clung for a moment to 
 the heavy fringe of lashes, and then rolled 
 slowly and unheeded down her cheeks. 
 Baffled in this course, he presently tried 
 another. Without changing his position, or 
 releasing the hand he held, he took up the 
 evening paper just brought in and began to 
 read aloud scraps of news to his wife : "The 
 Movements of the Court." " The State of
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 219 
 
 the Thermometer at different places. " * ' The 
 violence of a Thunderstorm in the North." 
 *' Sudden Death from Sun-stroke." "News 
 from the Seat of War." '' Army and Navy 
 Intelligence." '' Her Majesty's Royal 27th 
 Hussars under orders for immediate embar- 
 cation to the Crimea." Ha! — with what a 
 sudden twitch the little hand was with- 
 drawn — the large eyes opened wide, and 
 Sibyl suddenly sat up. 
 
 "That's right, my dear, you are feeling 
 better now, I see. Susan, it is time for 
 tea, and do order cutlets and some poached 
 eggs, for I don't know what you may be, 
 but we are hungr}^, we two, are we not 
 Sibyl?" 
 
 Ah ! my dear Dr. Martin, I fear you are 
 really an old man. Tea and cutlets, and even 
 poached eggs, are not to be despised, but they 
 will not do much towards curing a love-sick 
 girl in the first stage of the complaint.
 
 220 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 To please her friend, Sibyl, docile and 
 patient, tried hard to swallow a few mouth- 
 fuls, and then was given over to old Anne 
 and put to bed. 
 
 ''I can't make it out, Susan," said the 
 doctor, as soon as the door was closed, 
 ** I can't make it out. She has looked so 
 much better, and been so much more cheer- 
 ful these last days. She has never been like 
 this. She startled me rather that day that 
 we drove to Virginia Water, but she was 
 never like this. Do you remember she 
 saw some one, or fancied it was some one, 
 who had known her mother ; but she has 
 really been better ever since, and so ready 
 and anxious always to walk or drive in the 
 neighbourhood. How interested she seemed 
 in the barracks the other day — enquired what 
 regiments were stationed there, and was 
 quite lively and interested in everything. 
 I can't make it out. The poor lamb must
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 221 
 
 have suffered a great shock to her nerv^ous 
 system — has a very delicate organization. 
 We did wrong, Susan, to stay so long in 
 those forcing houses ; I found them deeply 
 interesting ; it is delightful to see what can 
 be done by art and science now, and how 
 education is brought within the reach of all 
 classes. That Scotch gardener was a clever 
 example, had a truly scientific mind, and 
 a genuine love for his work. That was the 
 finest plant I have ever seen, — but we were 
 wrong, Susan, — that moist heat is too ener- 
 vating for a young girl's constitution." 
 
 ** Well, my dear, it may be so ; but I really 
 think you expect too much from that poor 
 girl ; her sorrow is new to her, and hers is a 
 solitary position — no sisters nor brother, nor 
 any relations — it seems to me; and her father 
 only lately became a father to her ; it is early 
 days yet with her, Joseph. Don't you re- 
 member when I lost my poor dear mother
 
 222 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 how nearly I faded away altogether ? I be- 
 came a mere thread paper, as you may say 
 (this was difficult to realise seeing what a 
 buxom figure Mrs. Martin presented now). 
 *' If it hadn't been for you, Joseph, for your 
 goodness, I mean, dear, and for that wonder- 
 ful receipt of suet and milk that Julia Arm- 
 strong insisted on my taking, I don't believe I 
 should have been here now — I don't indeed." 
 
 It sounds a curious and rich compound, 
 but decidedly Mrs. Martin did look as if she 
 had been fed plentifully with suet and milk. 
 
 The doctor threw his silk pocket-handker- 
 chief over his bald head and settled himself 
 in the arm-chair for his evening nap ; but 
 obliviousness did not answer at the usual 
 summons ; his kind heart was not at rest. It 
 might be natural that Sibyl should not be 
 quite strong yet, but there was a lurking 
 suspicion that he was at fault, and that some- 
 thing was really wrong with her ; what could
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 223 
 
 it be ? Presently he sat forward, wide awake, 
 but with the bandanna still over his head, and 
 said : 
 
 ** Susan, I don't like the idea of the poor 
 lamb going out to a heathenish land after 
 that father, and with no better protector than 
 an old woman. I have no faith in him, 
 Susan — no faith ; the change is too sudden 
 to last. I can't bear to let her go, and so 
 soon, too, before she is strong. I shall tell 
 her to-morrow that she had better wait until 
 she hears from him, at all events. It is so 
 strange that he never came again to say, 
 * good-bye,' so strange that he never sent a 
 line, if he was prevented coming. Susan," 
 the old man began again, more timidly, 
 hesitating, and glancing secretly at his wife, 
 ** I wish Oliver Blake would leave Sibyl alto- 
 gether with us ; we have no child, she would 
 brighten our hearth, and be to us as a 
 daughter."
 
 224 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 Mrs. Martin had a kind, warm heart, and 
 she was fond of Sibyl, and tender to her in 
 her trouble, but she had not received her at 
 her birth, nor watched her infancy, and 
 tended her in all her juvenile ailments, nor 
 watched with pride her spring from childhood 
 into beautiful womanhood, as the good doctor 
 had. Moreover, she was gifted with a larger 
 share of worldly wisdom than her husband, 
 and the reply came rather sharply and crush- 
 ingly : 
 
 *' Now really, Joseph, you surprise me by 
 such a speech as that. Don't you know that 
 Solomon teaches us that fathers are to look 
 after their own children, and children are to 
 love and follow their own fathers, whether to 
 Turkey or elsewhere ; and people are not to 
 go choosing fathers and children for them- 
 selves just as they like. Besides, what should 
 we do with a pretty young creature like that 
 on our hands ? Why, do you know how very
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 225 
 
 beautiful she is, Joseph ? I see the pleasure 
 with which the people look at her as we go 
 about — men and women too. Why, she would 
 no sooner be settled down comfortably with 
 us than she would be wanting to marry, or 
 somebody insisting on marrying her, and no 
 end of trouble and grief ! I really am sur- 
 prised at you, Joseph ! though you mean it 
 kindly, I know, my dear," said the buxom 
 lady softening, now that she had had her say 
 uninterruptedly. 
 
 '* I will try again to-morrow to persuade 
 her to try the suet and milk," she murmured 
 to herself. 
 
 Kind, foolish old doctor ! It had never 
 
 entered his imagination that the *' child " 
 
 Sibyl would ever marr}% or anyone want to 
 
 marry her ! Who could she marry ? It was 
 
 a new and appalling idea for his pet lamb, 
 
 who was to have been for ever a child in his 
 
 eyes. He saw the superior wisdom of his 
 VOL I. 15
 
 226 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 partner, and feeling rather humbled, pursued 
 the subject no farther, only remarking, 
 '* Well, well, Susan, I dare say you are 
 right, but I shall talk to her to-morrow, and 
 point out that rather than start without hear- 
 ing from her father she had better forfeit her 
 passage in the ** Nancy Bell." 
 
 Accordingly the next morning a strong 
 appeal was made to Sibyl, but her resolution 
 was fixed. Oliver Blake had paid them one 
 visit at Windsor, and had then explained 
 that he had made every arrangement for her 
 joining him by the vessel *' Nancy Bell.'* 
 He gave her full instructions as to the course 
 that she was to pursue, the time and place of 
 the ship's sailing, the name of the captain 
 to whom he had spoken, and who would be 
 sure to be kind to her, the address to go to 
 immediately on arriving at Constantinople, 
 if he were not awaiting her on the landing 
 place, a blank cheque to fill up at last for
 
 DR. MARTIN'S SCIENCE AT FAULT. 227 
 
 whatever sum she might require. Nothing 
 remained to be told, but he promised to run 
 down again the last thing to bid them good- 
 bye. The time for that had long passed, and 
 his ship had some time sailed, and they had 
 had no letter, nor heard aught of him. 
 
 Sibyl naturally felt some disappointment, 
 but she concluded that business had occu- 
 pied him to the last moment, and interfered 
 with his intentions. She was not yet used 
 to consideration from him. She had no evil 
 to fear, and was not anxious. And, there- 
 fore, no arguments were of any avail in 
 shaking her determination to carry out her 
 father's instructions to the letter.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HER majesty's 27TH. 
 
 /^N the 19th July, 1854, there was an 
 ^^ unusual stir in Hounslow Barracks, 
 at that time occupied by Her Majesty's dis- 
 tinguished regiment, the Royal 27th Hus- 
 sars. Men and officers of all ranks were 
 going in and out, looking pre-occupied and 
 important with weighty consciousness. The 
 men, with nothing on but their shirts and 
 trousers, whistled more vigorously, and 
 rubbed down more energetically than usual 
 at morning stables. The cornets motsly had 
 an eager, elated look, like young war horses 
 sniffing the conflict from afar, while the more
 
 HER MAJESTY'S i^jth. 229 
 
 experienced officers wore a not less deter- 
 mined but a calmer and more business-like 
 expression. All were busy, or fancied them- 
 selves so. Many were the letters written to 
 mothers and sisters, aye, and even to more 
 tender correspondents, on that day. 
 
 The cause of all this unusual stir was this. 
 The long expected orders had arrived from the 
 Horseguards for the 27th Hussars to embark 
 for the seat of war in the Crimea within the 
 week. Already one day had elapsed since 
 the order had been issued, before the regi- 
 ment knew it, for the Colonel had been 
 absent and the official letter followed him 
 unheeded by the Major on duty, through 
 some mistake of his servant, who sent it with 
 his private letters. How many engagements 
 of various natures had to be fulfilled in the 
 short time that remained ! How many leave- 
 takings to be gone through in the few days 
 that began to be counted by hours ! How
 
 230 SONS OF DIVES, 
 
 many orders to be given ; what purchases to 
 be made for comfort on the voyage and in 
 camp ; what horses to be examined, and sold, 
 and bargained for, — none can tell but those 
 who, like the gallant 27th Hussars, have 
 suddenly had to quit a life of luxury and 
 gaiety, to confront a formidable enemy on 
 foreign soil. 
 
 It is said that in all partings it is more sad 
 for those who remain behind than for those 
 who go away, but surely that is doubtful. 
 Those who are left have at least the en- 
 gagements, the duties, the routine of home 
 that apportions to every hour its regular 
 work, and leaves but little time for looking 
 back. 
 
 Even if able to indulge in that greatest of 
 all luxuries, contemplation, they have much 
 to soothe the sad retrospect. ''In that 
 chair he sat while he gave, or received, the 
 counsel of a friend. There is the walk where
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 2'jth. 231 
 
 many a time and oft we held sweet converse ; 
 such and such trifles are hallowed by his 
 touch. In that spot we looked our last 
 
 farewell, and parted " But the one 
 
 who goes away loses all, but memory, with- 
 out a landmark on which to hang its melan- 
 choly. 
 
 It was no doubt well for the gallant, ill- 
 fated 27th, brave as was every officer and 
 man in its ranks, that it had no time to give 
 to the sole contemplation of leaving all so 
 dear to them at home, nor to dwell on the 
 possible future that awaited them abroad. It 
 is well for all who are going away that they 
 have the practical bustle of preparation to 
 deaden the sense of loss for the time, for, 
 when all is finished, when the excitement of 
 the start is over, the missing packages found, 
 and everything stowed away in its proper 
 place, when the last clasp of the last friend 
 who followed to see the end has loosened its
 
 232 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 clinging hold, when the anchor has weighed, 
 and all that remains of the familiar past is a 
 misty outline of England's cliffs, surely 
 the boldest heart may learn the sense of 
 desolation for a space, as it starts alone to 
 fight with fortune. 
 
 The first few hours after the order came 
 were spent in desultory talk and excitement 
 at Hounslow, but then each man settled 
 down to the consideration of his own private 
 affairs — to write letters, give orders, consult 
 engagements, and see what must be given up, 
 what might be kept — so that by the time they 
 all met at mess, much had been decided on, 
 the past was already waning from their 
 minds, and the future becoming a tangible 
 reality. Leave-takings were as much as 
 possible to be avoided. The families of 
 some lived too far off, the short intervening 
 time would be taken up in the journeys — of 
 some, the friends had started on continental
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 2jth. 233 
 
 trips, or were scattered, paying visits ; the 
 few whose families were still in town, of course 
 would see them and go through the painful 
 pleasure of personal adieux. 
 
 On comparing notes, it was curious what a 
 universal determination had been arrived at 
 by those who had been invited to Lady 
 Standish's fete, to fulfil their engagements 
 at all costs, if possible. It was so near, they 
 •argued, that it would not take up much time, 
 and they should meet there so many whom 
 they knew. It was sure to be a pleasant 
 gathering, and would leave cheerful remem- 
 brance of many friends. 
 
 They had sat down to mess, each one more 
 pre-occupied than usual ; but a good dinner 
 and good company had had its effect, and 
 now as they lounged about in the smoking- 
 room they were in full talk. 
 
 Against the chimney-piece leaned a man 
 with a profusion of black hair, scented and
 
 234 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 arranged like a hair-dresser's, a black mous- 
 tache and whiskers, a smooth white receding 
 forehead, and receding chin, his eyes half shut, 
 and an inane smile pervading his whole 
 countenance ; one leg, with the foot and knee 
 turned out, was stuck in advance of the 
 other, his evening coat thrown wide open, and 
 the thumb of one hand hooked into the arm- 
 hole of his waistcoat, while the fingers of the 
 other, every now and then removed a cigar 
 from his mouth, as he looked down and sur- 
 veyed his own proportions with bland and 
 perfect satisfaction. 
 
 Phill Crofts was the butt and amusement 
 of the regiment, but, wise in his own conceit, 
 he did not know it. At the moment when 
 we have drawn attention to him, he was 
 holding forth, and the meandering stream 
 of words was flowing on in his usual vague, 
 slow, but continuous fashion, without comma, 
 or point, or variation of tone.
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 2jih. 235 
 
 ** Oh yes you fellahs we'll go to Lady 
 Standish's fete — Lady Standish's a fine 
 woman and always has a lot of fine gals 
 about her — 'pon my soul I shouldn't like to 
 miss that day — the old boy gives good 
 ch'mpagne too. Lots of ch'mpagne and 
 fine gals — that's my motto boys — I 
 don't see because a fellah's going to be 
 stowed up in a filthy steamer and p'raps be 
 shot after, he shouldn't enjoy his ch'mpagne 
 and look at the fine gals while he can — 
 'pon my soul I don't — bat its of no use 
 having any new clothes now eh — I was 
 just going to order a new wescot — ah a 
 — this is not quite the right sort of wescot 
 for a fellah — a — its a very good wescot — a 
 — a — but — a — a fellah ought to have a 
 fashionable wescot when he goes among — a 
 — the fair sex eh — I say you fellahs — a — 
 what d'you think of this wescot — d'you 
 think it's the right sort of wescot — eh — I
 
 236 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 say Erne you've been staying at Standish — 
 a — Park — any fine gals — eh — doocid lot of 
 fine gals Lady Standish knows — Miss Ver- 
 non there — 'pon my soul she's a de — vlish 
 pretty gal — steps out — a — like a thorough 
 bred — beautiful skin, and — a — a — all that 
 sort of thing you know — between you and 
 me she's rather sweet upon a — a fellah not 
 far from this — a — smoking room." 
 
 Erne glanced up quickly and angrily, but 
 after looking in Phill's face, he only laughed 
 gently to himself. 
 
 ** / know," said Major Swift, with a comical 
 wink at Erne. '' She asked so kindly after 
 you the other day. Crofts;" then, in an 
 undertone, which was audible to all around 
 them, '' W/iy you don't propose to Miss 
 Vernon I can^ conceive. You know you 
 believe her to be head over ears in love with 
 you, now don't you old fellow ?" 
 
 Here, two or three young officers, seeing
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 2'jtJi. 237 
 
 the fun that might be had, gathered round, 
 and with mock gravity began, " Now, look 
 here Phill, I speak as a friend, don't you 
 leave the country without booking Miss 
 Vernon, if you think she'll have you; and 
 a fine handsome fellow like you, why, who 
 could resist you? not she, depend upon 
 it — to say nothing of being clever, though, 
 to tell you the truth, T don't believe Miss 
 Vernon cares so much for your sort of talent 
 as for your appearance; mind you make 
 her feel what a lucky woman she is to 
 get you, Phill, take my advice about 
 that," and then these sincere friends, who 
 themselves would almost as soon have dared 
 to propose to a royal princess as to Isabel, 
 with difficulty refrained from a roar of 
 laughter. 
 
 ** Upon my soul its doocid flattering to a 
 fellah," said the misguided Crofts ; ** By Jove 
 I've a great mind — a — to take your — a —
 
 238 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 advice, if I felt quite sure — a — but I b'lieve 
 you are right you fellahs — a — (looking down 
 once more with a self-conscious, satisfied 
 smile, and taking a longer survey than usual 
 at his legs) — ** a good-looking fellah — a — 
 a devilish fine gal — a — I hope you fellahs 
 are not making game of a fellah — I'm going 
 to Lady Standish's fite — a — by Jove I'll do 
 it — it won't do to tell the guv' nor before- 
 hand — I'll say after — * I say guv' nor I'm a 
 lucky fellah — a — and you're a lucky fellah — 
 a — to have a fellah for a son — 'pon my soul 
 you're a devilish lucky fellah guv' nor,' says I 
 — ' Phil,' says he, ' had you got that suit on 
 when she accepted you ? ' * Yes, guv' nor ' says 
 I, all right, aint they? — a — except the 
 wescot — ' what's the matter with the wescot,' 
 says he, * very good wescot ' — the guv' nor 
 always says every wescot' s a good wescot — 
 a — but I say old fellahs — a — I shall have to 
 drink lots of ch'mpagne to screw myself up
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 27th. 239 
 
 to the mark, eh — a — " And so with ba-a- 
 ing sound, becoming fainter in the dis- 
 tance, with his eyes half shut, almost blush- 
 ing, and with an expression suffusing his 
 face, half sheepish, and half jovial, but per- 
 fectly complacent, he sauntered out. 
 
 The door was scarcely closed before there 
 was a burst of laughter from the whole 
 room. The young ones held their sides and 
 roared, '* He'll do it, he'll do it, he's ass 
 enough for anything ; by Jove, we must hear 
 it; what a set down the donkey will get! 
 his beautiful hair will be out of curl before 
 he smells the briny." 
 
 All joined in the laugh, it was impossible 
 to help it. 
 
 " By the way," said Major Swift, '* have 
 you young fellows ever heard of a trick we 
 played upon Phill when we were quartered 
 at Dublin? He came sauntering into the 
 mess-room one day, saying in his usual slip-
 
 240 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 shod way, * I say you fellahs — saw a devilish 
 fine gal yesterday in Phoenix Park — Miss — 
 heiress — lots of money — looked sweet at me 
 — 'pon my soul — think I shall make up to her,' 
 and then sloped out again. The same after- 
 noon we concocted a note that required no 
 answer, purporting to come from the lady's 
 mother, inviting Phill to dine in a friendly 
 way with them the next day. One or two of 
 us knew that we were going to meet this 
 family out at dinner that very day, so we 
 fixed an early hour in the note that we 
 might see the fun before we started, and 
 there sure enough at about six o'clock out 
 came Phill, in full regimentals, glowing with 
 pomade and redolent with scent, called a 
 car, and went off. Half an hour later he 
 came back in a towering rage, threw our 
 note upon the table, exclaiming, * fernal 
 shame — you fellahs — sell a fellah like 
 that — servant laughed, — a — said ladies
 
 HER MAJESTY'S ^^th. 241 
 
 just going out to dinner — some mistake — 
 'pon my soul — too bad — make a fellah look 
 quite widiculous — and such a devilish fine 
 gal — lots of money — just the thing for the 
 guv' nor,' and he bounced out again," 
 
 *' Bravo — what fun," exclaimed the Cor- 
 net. 
 
 ''Yes, but wait," said the little Major, 
 ''you have not heard the best part of the 
 story. Of course when we met the young 
 lady half an hour later we were still full of 
 our joke, so we confessed to her the trick 
 we had played. She, woman-like, took the 
 part of the persecuted, and though she 
 laughed till I thought she would have to 
 leave the dinner-table, she pretended to be 
 indignant on Phill's account, and declared 
 that her mother should ask him to dinner as 
 soon as possible. So a couple of days later 
 in came Phill again, looking wonderfully 
 wise, and threw a real note of invitation on 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 the table, saying, *' Ah you fellahs — Fm not^ 
 
 to be done so a second time — and make a fine- 
 
 gar think me quite widiculous — too sharp forf 
 
 you this time," and he stoutly refused tn> 
 
 answer it even. In vain we tried to per,_ 
 
 suade him that it was genuine this time ; wd 
 
 showed him the seal, the stamp on th^ 
 
 paper ; no, he was obstinate, declaring he^ 
 
 was too sharp for us, and never would take| 
 
 the slightest notice of the invitation. Tq 
 
 this day I believe he chuckles over thei 
 
 notion that he outwitted us all that time.*' i 
 
 In such talk the evening wore away. The 
 
 next day was devoted to preparations o^ 
 
 various kinds. Most of the officers had leave 
 
 given them for a few hours together for thei^- 
 
 private affairs ; and also some of the men. 
 
 amongst whom was Duncan Meredith. li 
 
 was known that he went to town, but how h^ 
 
 spent those few hours it is not necessary no\v 
 
 to enquire. He returned before the time^
 
 HER MAJESTY'S 2jth. 243 
 
 granted had expired, offering to do the work 
 of others who might require leave. Judging 
 from the expression of his face, which was 
 more gravely sad and determined than usual, 
 his occupation had not been a happy one. 
 
 The day after that was the one fixed for 
 Lady Standish'sy?/^, to which all those who 
 could get away were to go, and to return to- 
 gether in a drag, and they settled among 
 themselves that, excepting to Lady Standish, 
 no word should be said, until towards the end 
 of the evening, of the regiment being under 
 immediate orders. But Erne, as being more 
 intimate at the house than any of the rest, 
 was deputed to write beforehand to the 
 hostess, and beg for her consent to a plan on 
 which they had set their hearts, which was, 
 that as they could not stay very late, they 
 might all sit together with her, and those 
 whom she would know to be their particular 
 friends, at one of her many supper tables, so
 
 244 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 that they might for the last time see friendly 
 faces around them, and carry away the 
 pleasant remembrance of kind words, and a 
 last " Godspeed you," given by a farewell 
 clasp of fair hands, and looked from bright 
 eyes to cheer them on their way.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by night, 
 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 
 Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; 
 
 A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 
 Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, 
 
 And all went merry as a marriage-bell. 
 
 Childe Harold. 
 
 ^ I ^HE morning dawned gloriously ; a 
 
 -*- thunderstorm had taken place in the 
 
 night, but instead of breaking up the fine 
 
 weather, as is so often the case, it had only 
 
 refreshed the air, and all the green things 
 
 that were thirsting from the long drought. 
 
 By the afternoon no trace of damp was left 
 
 even on the longest herbage, and the heat
 
 246 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 was almost as great, though less overpower- 
 ing than before. It was a perfect atmosphere 
 for an evening out of door /ete; such as 
 could scarcely have been looked for, and but 
 very rarely occurs in England. No co7itre- 
 temps happened, therefore, to mar the success 
 of Lady Standish's plan for the amusement of 
 her guests. This was to be a fete apart from 
 all ordinary occasions of the kind, a white day 
 in the calendar of even the most blast habituis. 
 None of the usual arrangements of the house 
 had been disturbed, and all the afternoon 
 carriages and railway flys were arriving at 
 the door, bringing those guests from a dis- 
 tance who were all to dress and many to 
 sleep under the baronet's hospitable roof. 
 
 From an early hour in the morning many 
 men had been at work, as indeed they had 
 been the day before, and even through the 
 night. The tents were erected as near to 
 the house as could be managed. They
 
 FAREWELL. 247 
 
 were on a magnificent scale, consisting of 
 three very large rooms, besides cloak rooms, 
 refreshment tents, etc. The withdrawing- 
 room for chaperones, formed a wing to the 
 ball-room, half of one side of which was 
 open to it, and the supper tent w^as at the 
 end of the ball-room, divided from it only by 
 draperies and curtains. Lady Standish's 
 ideas of decoration had been strictly carried 
 out ; there were the rich carpets and drape- 
 ries, and warm colours in her eastern with- 
 drawing-room, forming a pleasing contrast 
 with the airy lightness of the dancing-tent, 
 with its turfed centres and fountains. There 
 were the water lilies, too, and a profusion of 
 plants tastefully arranged wherever they pro- 
 duced the best effect, and hanging in ornamen- 
 tal baskets from the roof, alternately with 
 chandeliers. The supper tent was in a 
 totally different style from either of the others, 
 as befitted the object for which it was in-
 
 248 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 tended. Here numerous tables of various 
 capabilities were decorated with plate and 
 trophies, and laden with every delicacy. At 
 midnight a great gong was to sound, which 
 was to be the signal for the numerous cur- 
 tains dividing this tent from the ball-room 
 to be simultaneously raised, and for the band 
 to play, while the guests, without any form of 
 etiquette, took their places wherever it 
 pleased them to have their supper. 
 
 The dryness of the season enabled the 
 garden immediately round the tents to be 
 swept as clean as any floor ; the paths and 
 approaches to the tents were illuminated with 
 thousands of coloured lamps, and seats were 
 placed here and there for the convenience of 
 those who might wander out to enjoy the 
 fresh air, or a moonlight talk. 
 
 It must, indeed, have seemed a perfect fairy 
 land, or a scene from the Arabian Nights — 
 the moon-lit paths ; the coloured lamps hang-
 
 FAREWELL. 249 
 
 ing like rich fruits upon the trees ; the air 
 laden with the heavy evening perfume of the 
 flowers ; and then the blaze of light and colour 
 within the tents ; graceful women moving to 
 the sound of music; the flash of jewels and of 
 beauty, and the cool splash of the fountains. 
 Between eleven and twelve the evening 
 was at its height. The gracious hostess had 
 received all her guests at the entrance of the 
 tents. She had seen the dancers suited with 
 partners again and again, till none were left 
 who stood in need of her friendly offices. She 
 had devoted herself to the matrons and 
 fathers of the assembly, till they were all 
 chatting pleasantly in the eastern tent, as she 
 moved a queen among them, dressed in 
 the richest white satin, indescribably en- 
 twined about with lace, and wreathing Pas- 
 sion flowers, and diamonds ; her beautiful 
 white arms and shoulders sparkling with 
 jewels, but partially veiled with long black
 
 2 so SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 lace, which, fastened by diamonds and a 
 crimson Passion flower in her hair, fell from 
 the top of her head more than half way down 
 her back, or wrapped her round at pleasure 
 like a Spanish mantilla. 
 
 Having done all she could, and with per- 
 fect success, to set everyone at their ease, so 
 that they might seek enjoyment in their own 
 way, she felt free to study her own pleasure, 
 when she heard Gerald Erne saying: 
 
 *'Now, Lady Standish, at last I claim my 
 share of your attention. I have been a pat- 
 tern of patience ; do come with me for a little 
 fresh air;" and wrapping the profusion of 
 black lace well around her, he led her out in 
 the moonlight. 
 
 The officers from Hounslow had unavoid- 
 ably arrived late, but they were, in a way, the 
 heroes of the evening, for it had become 
 pretty generally known that they were to em- 
 bark within a few hours for the seat of war.
 
 FAREWELL. 251 
 
 The papers were teeming with news and 
 anxious anticipations, and they were looked 
 upon with the interest that was natural for 
 men who would soon be in the thick of the 
 fight. To dance with them, young ladies 
 played sad tricks with their engagement cards 
 that had been filled up too early in the evening, 
 and those who were thus robbed of their rights 
 good-naturedly behaved like men of peace, 
 only claiming that they were to be rewarded 
 by a double share of favours at a future op- 
 portunity. 
 
 Gerald Erne led his friend out into the 
 garden, and after the first few words of con- 
 gratulation on the success and beauty of her 
 arrangements, there was a silence of some 
 minutes between them ; at last he broke it by 
 saying : 
 
 '' Dear Lady Standish, I wanted the plea- 
 sure of one more talk with you. I wanted 
 to thank you for all your kindness, and —
 
 252 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 your good intentions towards me. I fear you 
 will think me ungrateful, but promise you 
 will not be angry with me ? " 
 
 ** No, certainly not angry; but, have you 
 nothing to tell me ? " 
 
 "" Yes ; if your patience will be troubled 
 with my troubles, for I have troubles. I 
 deserve great praise from you to-night," he 
 said, trying to speak lightly and cheerfully ; 
 *' I have danced more than I have done for 
 years, and behaved like a schoolboy ; but it 
 was only from a sense of my duty to you, that 
 there might not be a speck in your heavens, 
 for my heart felt heavy as lead all the time." 
 
 " What ! Has Isabel refused you ? " 
 
 " No, there it is. I was afraid you would 
 think that I ought to have asked her ; but I 
 shall never ask Isabel Vernon to be my wife, 
 and she would probably refuse me if I did. 
 We understand one another now. We have 
 danced together to night, we are very good
 
 FAREWELL. 253 
 
 friends, but that is all. I am sure she knows 
 that I do not love her as a man should love 
 the woman he would marry. I have long 
 admired her, I thought her the nicest girl 
 I knew, and I thought I cared for her; 
 but I find that it Is not love, that there is 
 another woman whom I love — shall always 
 love, whether I ever see her again or not ; 
 I had lost her for a time, but I have seen her 
 again here lately, and I know now that I 
 love her, and shall love her to the end." 
 
 ** Seen her here ! but who can she be — not 
 — I hope — surely — I trust it is no unworthy 
 infatuation ? " 
 
 Lady Standish felt it to be a blow. She 
 was interested in this man ; she was inter- 
 ested in Isabel ; she had made up her mind 
 that the two interests would become one, 
 and that this night would mark the event. 
 
 " Unworthy ! Sibyl ; unworthy ! good hea- 
 vens ! I wish that you could see her, she is
 
 254 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 the purest, sweetest woman that ever lived. 
 Oh, if only you could know her, if she could 
 be with you sometimes, and have you for a 
 friend, I think I should be content. Lady 
 Standish, I believe you capable of anything 
 that kindness and sympathy can accomplish — 
 if you would but find her, and comfort her, 
 for she is almost alone in the world ! 
 
 *'But my dear Gerald," said Lady Stan- 
 dish, perfectly astounded at the impassioned 
 vehemence of this usually calm, easy-going 
 man of the world, " I don't understand any- 
 thing of all this ; you must tell me calmly 
 all about it, and what you expect me to 
 do." 
 
 They had walked quite away from the 
 illuminated paths, away from all the noise 
 and glare, to an open part of the garden, 
 where all was still, save for the distant sound 
 of the music ; they passed by a low stone 
 parapet, and there, in the soft pale light
 
 FAREWELL. 255 
 
 of the moon, which shone full upon them, 
 Gerald Erne told his tale of love. 
 
 It was a strange romance for the fashion- 
 able man of the world to be pouring into 
 the ears of a fashionable lady of the nine- 
 teenth century, and perhaps if any curious 
 gaze followed them it misconstrued the whole 
 scene ; but in the solemnity of that still hour 
 all conventional disguises of the simple man 
 and woman fell away ; for once worldly care 
 for appearances was set at nought. Helen 
 Standish, leaning against the balustrade and 
 gazing up at the glorious moon, listened to 
 this outpouring of honest manly love with a 
 true woman's sympathy. When he ceased 
 they neither of them spoke for some time ; 
 the hour, the scene, the circumstances of its 
 being their parting interview, the hopeless- 
 ness, as it seemed, of this ill-fated and unsuit- 
 able attachment, were all calculated to work 
 upon the feelings. At last she put out her
 
 256 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 hand to him, saying, ** I will do what I can ; 
 I may not be successful, but if I find her, 
 and," with a sad smile, *'if she is what you 
 think, I will be her friend." 
 
 ** God bless'you, dear friend," and he raised 
 her hand to his lips. '* I shall be a braver and 
 a better man now, for I shall have something 
 to hope for, something to live for." Then 
 drawing her arm within his own, they slowly 
 retraced their steps. 
 
 Servants were flitting about near the tent 
 with ices and refreshments ; couples parad- 
 ing up and down, now and then talking in 
 subdued tones, and unconscious of whom 
 they passed ; from others snatches of merry 
 conversation reached them as they moved 
 on — -one noisy group of men were laughing 
 immoderately. They proved to be the young 
 officers of the 27th; while as Phill Crofts 
 walked away sounds died in the distance of — 
 ** 'pon my soul — devilish bore — fine gal — but
 
 FAREWELL. 257 
 
 shocking bad taste not to know when she finds 
 . a good-looking fellah — confoundedly polite 
 — no feeling 'pon my soul — half a mind to try 
 another though — now Fm used to it — a — " 
 The joke, if it were one, had been success- 
 ful. Poor Phill had been encouraged to 
 propose to Miss Vernon, while the merry 
 plotters laid in ambush to enjoy the fun, and 
 then when they could no longer control their 
 laughter, and at the critical moment when 
 Isabel, perfectly astounded and yet half 
 amused at Captain Croft's audacity, had 
 given a very formal but decided answer, one 
 of them came forward to " claim the honour 
 of my dance. Miss Vernon," and thus extri- 
 cated her from an unpleasant position. 
 
 " I wonder how Hetty has been getting 
 on," said Lady Standish ; "oh, there she 
 is." It was Hetty's first ball, but she had 
 danced the whole night ; for she had been 
 introduced as a guest staying in the house, 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 and so she had no lack of partners ; the most 
 constant one, however, was Major Swift : 
 and though one of the very young country 
 gentlemen quizzically asked her who that 
 *' venerable waltzer" was, and though Hetty 
 scarcely knew whether to think it funny or 
 not, she was in her heart rather proud of 
 attentions paid her by a man of his age, who 
 was also the best dancer in the room (which 
 she herself was far from being), and she felt 
 quite at home with him ; besides, Paget had 
 not been near her, but had devoted himself 
 the whole evening to strangers who knew 
 neither the house guests nor the heroes of 
 the night, apparently, and Hetty felt hurt 
 and wrathful, and determined to flirt wher- 
 ever it suited her. 
 
 The foolish child did not understand the 
 good nature of Paget, who left the course 
 clear for the officers to enjoy this short, last 
 night with their friends. In the novelty of
 
 FAREWELL. 259 
 
 her position, and the pleasure of being 
 sought as a partner, she soon forgot her 
 little grievance ; besides, the Major had been 
 especially kind and watchful that she should 
 thoroughly enjoy herself; he introduced a 
 number of men to her whom he called 
 ** Harry's brother officers." *' Remember, 
 if anyone asks you to dance whom you 
 don't like, say you are engaged — to me, I 
 mean, Miss Domville." '' But suppose you 
 are not there, I can't go and hunt you up, 
 exactly," said Hetty, laughing. 
 
 "• Trust me to be there," was the gallant 
 reply. ~ 
 
 They had tried their usual banter, but it 
 had not been as brilliant and sharp as usual. 
 Even pert, provoking Hetty, remembered 
 that he had always been her champion when 
 she needed one, and that he was going 
 away. The little Major did not quite suc- 
 ceed in hiding the fact that he remembered
 
 26o SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 it too. Indeed, at the moment that Gerald 
 and his companion caught sight of them I 
 am afraid he was not trying to hide it at 
 all. It was nearly twelve o'clock, the hour 
 when the gong was to sound, and imme- 
 diately after supper the officers were to slip 
 away unperceived by any but those friends 
 who had agreed to assemble on the steps in 
 the front of the house where the drag was to 
 be in waiting. 
 
 ** You will give me something to keep in re- 
 membrance of you, Miss Domville : a glove 
 to bear on the point of my lance, or a scarf to 
 bind round my arm, like the knights of old.'' 
 ** Indeed, I am not going to spoil my first 
 ball gloves by breaking the pair ; what 
 would mamma say to me ? besides, I mean 
 to keep them myself as relics of all the 
 pleasure I have had to-night. And I don't 
 believe you have a lance, for you are a 
 hussar, and Harry told me they don't use
 
 FAREWELL. 261 
 
 lances. Oh, Major Swift, how funny you 
 would look with a lance, and with my red 
 sash on — round your waist, mind, bow and 
 all, not round your arm;" and the girl's 
 merry laugh rang again at the picture that 
 she had conjured up. She was getting into 
 one of her wild moods in her unreserve with 
 her indulgent friend. 
 
 *' There," she added, "You may have a 
 flower out of my bouquet if you like ; which 
 will you have ? It is all I have to give, but 
 it will fade, and get tired of you, almost as 
 soon as I should have done if Lady Standish 
 had carried out her threat of the little break- 
 fast tables for two, you know." 
 
 The light was dim and pale. She did not 
 see how w^hite the man's face was, nor the 
 expression of pain that passed over it. In 
 her youth and inexperience she did not hear 
 the ring of pathos in his voice as he strove 
 to answer her lightly:
 
 262 SOA'S OF DIVES. 
 
 *' Oh, never mind that, it will last as long 
 as your recollection of me, I dare say, and 
 when it is faded, why, you know, I can amuse 
 myself by watching it float on the top of a 
 wave," then, suddenly lowering his voice 
 almost to a whisper, "- Give me that sprig of 
 myrtle from the front of your gown. Be kind 
 to me to-night and give it to me yourself." 
 
 At that moment the gong began to sound ; 
 the girl looked up suddenly at her com- 
 panion, searchingly for a moment. She 
 said not a word more, but detached the 
 myrtle and gave it as she was asked. She 
 probably did not notice that she had 
 loosened a little red bow from the trim- 
 ming of her dress, and that it disappeared 
 also. Lady Standish and Captain Erne 
 joined them, and they all went on together. 
 
 In a few minutes the whole scene was 
 changed. The supper tent was filled, and 
 the buzz of conversation drowned the
 
 FAREWELL. 263 
 
 sounds of the band long before they had 
 played their last bar. 
 
 At one distant table our set of friends, 
 with some of the nicest and prettiest 
 women of the evening, had successfully 
 accomplished their plan of sitting all to- 
 gether, and if any of them had grave 
 thoughts that were not in harmony with the 
 gaiety of the hour, these well-trained citizens 
 of the world took care that their table should 
 not be the least cheerful one in that lively 
 scene, and that no want of hilarity should 
 mar the merriment of the gathering ; still, a 
 close observer might have noticed that now 
 and then, as two friends might raise the 
 glasses to their lips, their eyes would meet 
 one another's, and an almost imperceptible 
 but meaning glance convey the good wishes 
 from heart to heart. 
 
 One hour later, and the same select party 
 stood on the broad flight of stone steps at
 
 264 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 the entrance of the house, before which the 
 drag, with its four greys, was drawn up, and 
 the servants mutely stood by, holding great 
 coats and wrappers. Not many words were 
 spoken then ; there were a few feeble attempts 
 at sprightliness, but for the most part all 
 merriment had died out with the lights they 
 had quitted. It was felt to be a parting — 
 aye, it might be for ever, some remembered. 
 Though there were amongst them those who 
 were mere acquaintances, or but the part- 
 ners of the evening, there were others who 
 claimed the bond of friendship, and all more 
 or less felt the solemnity of the hour. 
 
 It must have been a picture that would 
 not readily be effaced from the minds ot 
 those who were leaving. There, standing 
 at the portal of his own mansion, the cour- 
 teous old Baronet, the hospitable host, and 
 the grand but ever kind and sympathizing 
 Lady Standish, surrounded by many who
 
 FAREWELL. 265 
 
 have figured in this history, and by fair 
 women wrapped lightly with their white 
 draperies over their evening toilettes. Isabel, 
 more lovely than ever in the moonlight, a 
 perfect haze of tulle and marabouts, with her 
 clear brown eyes shining like stars out of a 
 cloud ; the fluttering Hetty, in her red rib- 
 bons, silent and subdued now. Harry, by 
 his own desire, was going with them to- 
 night to join his regiment for the first time, 
 though he would be left behind at the depot 
 for a time. He stood shyly by Isabel's side, 
 without uttering a word. Heartily, but 
 mostly in silence, were exchanged the lin- 
 gering grasps of hands that night — hands 
 that might never clasp one another again ; a 
 few moments — the servants came forward, 
 the wrappers were taken from them — all 
 were in their places. Some one, no one 
 ever knew who, said *' drive on;-" all hats 
 were off ; the ladies waved their lace hand-
 
 266 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 kerchiefs, their jewels sparkled in the moon- 
 light. As Paget ran a few yards by the 
 side of the carriage for a last word, a last 
 grasp of Gerald's hand, he fancied he saw 
 the Major gravely put something to his lips ; 
 a moment more — all hats were held aloft — a 
 bend in the drive — they were gone ! How 
 many ever returned ? Alas, alas, was there 
 not one of those left standing there whose 
 instinct could forecast the time, not even 
 distant, when once more the calm pitying 
 face of a moon would look down upon the 
 gallant 27th, and see it, not as now, but lying 
 
 stiff and stark in a distant valley of Death ? 
 ^ ^ « # « « 
 
 The dance went on. When was private sor- 
 row or anxiety ever allowed to interfere with 
 the conventional customs or pleasures of so- 
 ciety? Not in the 19th century, at all events. 
 
 For the i;emainder of the night Paget de- 
 voted himself assiduously to those particular
 
 FAREWELL. 267 
 
 friends whom he thought might have felt a 
 sense of loss. He had glanced anxiously 
 at Isabel, wondering how she would be 
 affected — wondering what had passed be- 
 tween her and Gerald : whether she would 
 quietly retire to her room now ; but no, 
 there she remained, looking just as she had 
 done all the evening, a shade paler perhaps; 
 but so were many there (for the night was 
 wearing on) — apparently nothing had hap- 
 pened to disturb the calm, gracious, measured 
 manner that seemed one of her character- 
 istics. He fancied that in Lady Standish's 
 face, despite her efforts to be lively, there was 
 a shade of feeling that had grown deeper 
 since they had returned to the ball-room. 
 
 All things must come to an end, and "^^o 
 did this eventful night, with many exclama- 
 tions at the great success of the best ar- 
 ranged and most brilliantyeV^ of the season ! 
 
 The next morning found a large party at
 
 258 SOA^S OF DIVES. 
 
 Standish, but many were the departures 
 during the day — only a few guests lingered 
 on a day or so longer to suit their conve- 
 nience. Every morning the hall was filled 
 with departing luggage, and by the end of the 
 week, Isabel Vernon was the only guest left, 
 for it was settled that she was to remain with 
 Lady Standish, on a long quiet visit, while her 
 mother spent a few weeks with some old 
 relations. 
 
 Lady Standish had received a hurried note 
 from Captain Erne, written in pencil on 
 board the troop ship, to report all well — ^his 
 thanks, and trust in her, his dear kind friend. 
 And then in fulfilment of her promise, on 
 the very first morning that she had at her 
 disposal. Lady Standish ordered her pony- 
 carriage, telling Isabel that she was going 
 out on business, and, taking with her a mere 
 boy groom, she drove into Windsor and 
 made enquiries at the different hotels for
 
 FAREWELL, 269 
 
 a Miss Blake. She was beginning to despair 
 of success, when she bethought herself of 
 the post-office. The same unsatisfactory 
 answer ; poor Sibyl had no correspondent. 
 She had driven on a few paces slowly, pon- 
 dering what she could do next. She was as 
 far off as ever, when she suddenly remem- 
 bered that it was the old doctor whom she 
 should enquire for — but, his name ! She 
 had not the smallest recollection of it ; she 
 was not even aware whether Gerald Erne 
 had mentioned it ; there would now be no 
 means of communicating with him for many 
 weeks. Disappointed and discouraged, she 
 turned the pony's head homewards ; she 
 must pause and consider what to do next. 
 
 The following day was Sunday. She had 
 agreed with Isabel to go to service at St. 
 George's Chapel. In the middle of the 
 chanting, Isabel touched her and whispered, 
 ** Look down the church and close by the door,
 
 270 SONS OF DIVES. 
 
 there is the most lovely face I ever saw — a 
 girl in deep mourning, next to an old gentle- 
 man." Lady Standish looked, and found it 
 difficult to withdraw her eyes. Again and 
 again as the sermon proceeded, both she and 
 Isabel found themselves watching this un- 
 known beauty, and they soon perceived that 
 they were not singular in their admiration ; 
 but the object of it seemed quite unconscious 
 that she was being gazed at ; if she had been 
 alone she could not have been more at her 
 ease. It was a wonderfully beautiful face. 
 Lady Standish thought ; but oh, so sad now, 
 in its pensiveness, so young, so noble, so 
 resigned, and yet so full of feeling ; and 
 lovely and winning as was the face, it was 
 not that only, but the grace and high bearing 
 of this unknown beauty that satisfied the 
 critical taste of the woman who watched her. 
 Suddenly, as her eyes wandered to the deep 
 mourning, to the old gentleman so like an
 
 FAREWELL. 271 
 
 old doctor, the thought flashed across her, 
 "Can it be her! if so, no wonder, poor 
 Gerald." 
 
 It was then near the close of the sermon ; 
 there was no further impression to be made 
 by the preacher as far as Lady Standish was 
 concerned, I fear. She felt eager to get by 
 this girl, so near to her, and yet so completely 
 separated as long as the service continued. 
 It happened that just as the congregation 
 rose, before the blessing was given, Sibyl 
 looked in their direction ; as her eyes fell 
 upon Isabel, a look of pain, almost alarm, 
 came into her face, and then she flushed 
 crimson. Lady Standish saw it, but under- 
 stood it not. The congregation knelt, the 
 organ pealed forth, and presently the stream 
 of people set towards the door to leave the 
 church ; but it was very crowded, and it took 
 a long time. Lady Standish was hemmed 
 in by those before her, and strove in vain to
 
 272 SOATS OF DIVES. 
 
 make a speedy exit. When she came out 
 from the porch she looked anxiously and in 
 every direction for the figure in deep mourn- 
 ing and the old gentleman ; they were no- 
 where to be seen ! 
 
 It was provoking, but she had received 
 encouragement. She never doubted to her- 
 self whether she was right in her discovery. 
 She could scarcely rest that day. At night 
 she laid awake racking her mind to devise 
 some way of prosecuting her enquiries, and 
 when she fell asleep it was to dream over 
 again the scene with Gerald Erne in the 
 garden by moonlight ; from the beginning she 
 heard the impassioned story again, and the 
 self-reproaches that he had not had courage 
 to make known his love; and there in the 
 dream, quite naturally. Dr. Martin's name 
 seemed to be uttered, and when she awoke 
 in the morning she wondered within herself 
 that she had not known it before.
 
 Again the pony-chaise came round, and 
 the excited and hopeful lady started on 
 her journey of discover}^ 
 
 At the first and largest hotel in the town 
 no such name as Dr. Martin's had been heard 
 of. At the next the prompt answer was : 
 
 *' Yes, my lady ; certainly, my lady; Dr. 
 and j\Irs. Martin, and a young lady in black, 
 with her maid, also in mourning, have been 
 staying here for nearly a month, but they 
 have left this morning." 
 
 EXD OF VOL. I.
 
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