JA DIAMOND IN [j 
 
 ■tii-ijj i Ljmjuinmu 
 
 ^^ 
 
 THE ROUGH 
 
 ALICE 0' HANLON 
 


 
 Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 
 L161 — JUl
 
 KCj (■■' 
 
 ,(,¥■ 
 
 fl' ij- 
 
 lo
 
 A DIAMOND IX THE ROUGH, 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. 
 
 LOVE, THE PILGRIM. By May Crommelin, author 
 
 of 'Queenie,' ' Orange Lily,' 'A Jewel of a Girl/ &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE FAVOURITE OF FORTUNE. By Ella Curtis, 
 
 (Shirlky Smith), author of ' All for Herself,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 VENGEANCE IS MINE. By Eliza F. Pollard, author 
 
 of ' Hope Deferred,' 'Lady Superior,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 UNTIL THE DAY BREAKS. By Emily Spender, 
 
 author of 'Restored,' ' A True Marriage,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 A FAIR MAID. By F. W. Robinson, author of 'Grand- 
 mother's Money,' 'No Church,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT ilARLBOROUGH STREET
 
 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH 
 
 BY 
 
 ALICE O'HANLON 
 
 AUTHOE OF 
 
 5? 
 
 THE UNFORESEEN. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13. QREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1886. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/diamondinrough01ohan
 
 
 A DIAMOND K THE ROUGH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SNOWBOUND. 
 
 * I SAY, young man, waken up ! "What a 
 heavy sleeper you are, to be sure ! I 
 knocked twice at your door before coming 
 in. Do rouse yourself!' 
 
 This adhortation was accompanied by a 
 shake of the shoulder. Charlie Nunnerley, 
 the speaker's cousin, turned over and 
 sleepily rubbed his eyes. 
 
 'Hello, Victor — time to get up?' he 
 asked, yawning. 
 
 ' I should think so, rather, at a quarter 
 ""^ to ten !' 
 
 O. VOL. I. B
 
 2 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ' No ! Is that possible ?' Charlie start- 
 ed to a sitting posture. ' I'll be dressed in 
 a trice ; but don't wait breakfast for me, 
 my boy. Really, I'm sorry to be so late,' 
 he added, apologetically ; ' but the fact is I 
 sat up reading that novel, " The Golden 
 Butterfly," till after three. What kind of 
 a morning is it, Victor ?' 
 
 There was a window near the bed. 
 Victor McNicoll approached it and drew 
 up the blind. 
 
 ' You shall see for yourself,' he rejoined, 
 with peculiar emphasis. ' Look ! What 
 do you think of that ?' 
 
 ' Snow ! Surely not ?' An accent of 
 dismay marked the query. 
 
 ' Yes, snow,' repeated the other. ' A 
 foot deep already, and coming down still 
 as fast as it can whirl.' 
 
 ' What an awful nuisance ! That 
 accounts for it being so chilly last night.' 
 
 Charlie was on the floor now, looking 
 through the casement by his friend's side.
 
 SXOAYBOUXD. O 
 
 The view whereon he gazed Avas by no 
 means extensive. It consisted of a small 
 plateau immediately beneath the window, 
 the trees which bordered it, and the garden- 
 benches and tables disposed about it, all 
 thickly covered with snow ; beyond that, 
 a couple of narrow ledges, or terrace-walks; 
 then, apparently, a sheer precipice. Where 
 the ground ended a grey mist began, 
 seething up, as it were, from the abyss 
 below to meet and engulph the dancing, 
 gyrating white crystals that floated down- 
 wards into it with an effect that, after 
 long gazing, made the brain feel dizzy and 
 bewildered. 
 
 ' Uncommonly awkvrard, isn't it ?' resum- 
 ed Xunnerley. ' You'll feel vexed now 
 that you let me persuade you to come up 
 here at all.' 
 
 'Nonsense! You don't suppose I shall 
 blame you for the snow ?' returned his 
 cousin. 
 
 'But what on earth are we to do ?' ao^ain
 
 4 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 questioned Charlie. * There is nothing to 
 be seen here beyond our noses. We had 
 better go on to Interlaken this morning 
 instead of this afternoon, as we intended, 
 hadn't we ? I know you are anxious about 
 your letters.' 
 
 ^ Certainly I am,' assented Victor ; ^ but 
 we are not likely to get down the moun- 
 tain either morning or afternoon to-day.' 
 
 ' How so ? We might not be able to 
 walk, perhaps, in this storm, but there are 
 the mules w^ came up on yesterday. The 
 guide stopped here all night, you know. 
 Why shouldn't we let the beasts carry us 
 down?' 
 
 *For a very simple reason — that they 
 have already carried some other people 
 down, or their luggage.' 
 
 ^ You don't say so ?' 
 
 ^ Yes. We told the driver, you remem- 
 ber, that we should, of course, not want 
 them again ourselves, and it appears the 
 mules were engaged over-night by that
 
 SXOWBOUXD. O 
 
 old gentleman and his son, the doctor, 
 with whom we were talking in the draw- 
 ing-room last evening. They went off at 
 seven o'clock this morning. The landlord 
 tells me, however, that the guide was very- 
 reluctant to venture in the snow, though 
 the downfall was not nearly so heavy at 
 that hour as it is now, and that he asked 
 three times his usual charges for the 
 journey.' 
 
 ' Humph ! And you really think we 
 couldn't walk? The vray up seemed 
 straight and plain enough.' 
 
 ' But the way down, my dear fellow, 
 would scarcely be very plain now, I imag- 
 ine,' answered his companion. ^ In fact, 
 the landlord protests that it would simply 
 be madness for us to attempt the descent. 
 He never remembers, he says, such a fall 
 of snow taking place here before so early 
 in the year.' 
 
 ' Well, I suppose we must resign our- 
 selves to our fate with the best grace we
 
 6 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 can,' said Charlie, moving away from the 
 window as he spoke ; ' but I must say it's 
 very tiresome when we are so pressed for 
 time.' 
 
 To this observation his cousin made no 
 reply. A slight frown, however, contract- 
 ed his brow as he continued to gaze forth 
 at the eddying tornado of dazzling white 
 flakes. 
 
 That Victor McNicoll was of Scottish 
 descent ma}^ be gathered from his name ; 
 but, having been born and lived all his life 
 in a West-of-England county, he could 
 scarcely be considered a Scotchman. 
 
 In figure tall and spare, he possessed a 
 nervous, energetic constitution. His eyes 
 and hair were dark, his skin sallow, his 
 features strongly marked and prominent. 
 A firm, well-moulded mouth and chin 
 completed a face far from handsome, yet 
 to the perceptive eye full of character, and 
 by no means unpleasant to look upon. 
 
 Without his 'vestural tissue' — the clothes-
 
 SNOWBOUND. 7 
 
 wMch, as the erudite philosopher Teufels- 
 drockh maintains, 'make the man' — it 
 might scarcely seem fair to introduce the 
 other young fellow, were it not that, even 
 in a condition so nearly that of the abori- 
 ginal savage, he could well bear comparison 
 with his correctly tailored companion. 
 
 Charles Nunnerley, in sooth, was remark- 
 ably good-looking ; also he was fully aware 
 of the fact, and sufficiently appreciative of 
 its advantages. Of the blond Adonis type, 
 he had a fair, silky moustache, bright blue 
 eyes, and a clear healthy complexion. He 
 possessed, moreover, a finely-developed 
 muscular frame, and a pair of shapely 
 white hands. In age the cousins were not 
 far apart. Victor had just reached his 
 twenty-fifth year ; Charlie was nine months 
 his junior. 
 
 The two young men, it may here be 
 explained, were just completing a walking 
 tour which they had been making together 
 in Switzerland. Within the last fort-
 
 b A niAMOND m THE ROUGH. 
 
 niglit they had penetrated to many out-of- 
 the-way districts, but they had now re- 
 turned to the more beaten tracks of this 
 much be-travelled land. From Grindle- 
 wald, on the previous day, they had walk- 
 ed over the Wengern Alp, and had after- 
 wards ridden up the Miirren, with the 
 design of merely passing one night in their 
 present location. This was a huge hotel on 
 the summit of a mountain, crowded a Aveek 
 ago by over a hundred of people, but now 
 almost deserted. That grey mist rolling 
 below filled the narrow valley of Lauter- 
 brunnen. The falling snow hid the mag- 
 nificent range of the Bernese Alps, which, 
 on a fine day, stretched in an intoxicat- 
 ingly beautiful panorama just across the 
 valley, almost, as it seemed, within a stone's 
 throw. 
 
 ^And since we are to be kept prisoners 
 here,' re-commenced Charlie, who appeared 
 inclined to grumble at the aspect of events, 
 ^ it makes matters worse that there should
 
 SNOWBOUND. y 
 
 Le so little society in the house. Let's 
 see : now that the doctor and his father 
 have gone, there will be only those tvfo 
 old maids, the widow and her little girl, 
 and that crusty German professor — if he is 
 a professor.' 
 
 ' Nay, by-the-by, there are two other 
 persons,' returned Victor :• ' an American 
 and his daughter. They were not in the 
 drawing-room last evening, but that young 
 fellow the doctor was just beginning to 
 speak to me about them when some one 
 came up and interrupted him. I'd for- 
 gotten the circumstance till you reminded 
 me of it ; but he said, I recollect, that they 
 were a most extraordinary and interesting 
 pair.' 
 
 ' Ah ! well, that's a trifle more encour- 
 aging. Now, if you'll make yourself 
 scarce, old fellow, I'll hurry up, and be 
 down directly.' 
 
 * All right ; I'll go and order breakfast, 
 then. Chops, shall we say, and eggs?'
 
 10 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ^That'll do capitally. Shan't be long, I 
 assure you.' 
 
 Charlie was not long. Descending 
 below, he found his cousin pacing back- 
 wards and forwards in the great salle-a- 
 manger^ capable of dining some three hun- 
 dred peoj)le, whilst a couple of waiters 
 were bustling about the corner of a long 
 table, where breakfast was already spread 
 for the two. 
 
 On perceiving him, Victor at once 
 approached. 
 
 ' I've seen the Americans, Charlie,' he 
 began, with quite an air of excitement. 
 ' And, upon my word, the doctor was 
 justified in describing them as wonderful. 
 You may congratulate yourself as an artist 
 on having come up here. If only you 
 could paint that girl's face as it ought 
 to be painted, you'd immortalise your- 
 self 
 
 ' Dear me ! What's the matter with the 
 girl's face? Is it pretty?'
 
 SNOWBOU^'D. 11 
 
 ^ Pretty ?' eclioed the otiier, witli a ges- 
 ture of impatience. ' Pretty is not tlie 
 word. Do you remember, Cliarlie, what 
 you were saying yesterday?' 
 
 'At which particular moment ? I fancy 
 I made several observations during the 
 course of the day.' 
 
 ' You know what I mean — about the 
 beauty of young women in novels. You 
 were saying that one never meets in real 
 life that ideal perfection dealt with in 
 fiction. But you may abandon your con- 
 clusion now. This girl is lovely — inde- 
 scribably lovely ; neither pen nor pencil 
 could do her justice.' 
 
 ' Good gracious ! — there must be some- 
 thing extraordinary about her indeed to 
 arouse a passionless, 7iil admirain fellow 
 like you to such a pitch of enthusiasm.' 
 
 '/ passionless?' — with a shrug of the 
 shoulders. ''What a profound judge of 
 character you are, Charlie ! — so keen and 
 penetrative in your observations ! But
 
 12 A DIAMOND IN THE BOUGH. 
 
 come to the table ; that garqon is waxing 
 impatient.' 
 
 Charlie followed. When, however, the 
 covers were removed, and the servants had 
 retired to a distance, he resumed the 
 conversation. 
 
 • And where did you see her, Victor ?' 
 he asked — ' this Peri, who has " snatched a 
 grace beyond the reach of art" ?' 
 
 'Here. They had just finished break- 
 fast, she and her father, when I came in, 
 and they both bade me good-morning as 
 they left the room. And the father, 
 Charlie, is as wonderful as the daughter — 
 quite as wdhderful, only in a different way. 
 If they are Americans, they are of an 
 entirely new type to me. I have met 
 Americans from north, south, east, and 
 west, I believe ; but I never met any like 
 these before.' 
 
 'Vulgarians?' concisely demanded young 
 Nunnerley. 
 
 * No, no — at least, not the daughter. If
 
 SNOWBOUND. IS- 
 
 I had not heard her call him father, I 
 should not have believed in the relation- 
 ship. It is a perfect mystery,' protested 
 Victor. * She, the girl, moves and looks 
 like a queen : it's no exaggeration to say 
 it. But the man — well, I don't know. 
 He may be a successful gold-digger, or 
 perhaps a backwoodsman, or a farmer from 
 some central wilds ; any way, he is a vara 
 avis, even for a Swiss hotel. But I won't 
 say any more. It is a pit}^ to spoil your 
 first impression by my descriptions. They 
 have gone into the salon ; we can join them 
 there after breakfast.' 
 
 * So be it. You have raised my curiosity 
 
 considerably, I confess,' returned Nunner- 
 
 ley. ' Possibly this unlucky business of the 
 
 snow may turn out less vexatious than we 
 
 'imagined. Another chop, please ?'
 
 14 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 FELLOW-PRISONERS. 
 
 However much it had been excited, Mr. 
 Charles Nunnerley's curiosity did not 
 prove injurious to his appetite. 
 
 ' There !' he interjected presently, setting 
 down his empty breakfast-cup, and stretch- 
 ing himself contentedly. ' Unless they pile 
 up the damage pretty high, they won't 
 make much out of me by that meal !' 
 
 ' Well, no ; you have certainly done 
 tolerable justice to it,' acquiesced his 
 cousin, who had himself eaten sparingly. 
 ' Pray don't hurry, on any account, over 
 the arrangement of your moustache,' he 
 subjoined, pushing back his chair; ^ but
 
 FELLOW-PRISOXERS. 15 
 
 when* you have quite finished with it, 
 ■we'll adjourn to the drawing-room, shall 
 we r 
 
 ' Hem ! — he's as jealous of my moustache 
 as a Barbary pigeon,' remarked Charlie, 
 addressing space, and continuing, after 
 he had laid aside the serviette wherewith 
 he had been wiping it, deliberately to 
 caress the golden appendage referred to. 
 ^ His own, you see, is such a scrubby little 
 object ! Xow, my dear fellow, I am entire- 
 ly at your service.' 
 
 The hotel boasted two public salons, 
 divided by folding doors, one of them only 
 being at present in use for the litnited num- 
 ber of guests. Unclosing the door of the 
 latter, Victor stood aside and allowed his 
 companion to precede him. 
 
 The room, on first entrance, presented a 
 delightful glow of light and comfort. In 
 an open grate blazed and crackled a huge 
 fire of resinous pine-logs. Crimson rugs 
 were spread here and there over the
 
 16 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 polished floor, and the warmth and colour 
 within afforded altogether an agreeable 
 contrast with the wintry aspect of the 
 falling snow without. 
 
 At this moment all the visitors at the 
 hotel — to the number already specified — 
 were in occupation of the apartment. 
 
 Upon a couch by one side of the fire- 
 place sat together two middle-aged maiden 
 ladies. Of these one was a showily dressed 
 individual, with a large nose, red-tipped, 
 and suggestive of obtrusive curiosity — 
 an incessant and exasperating talker. 
 The other was a mild, washed-out little 
 woman, shy and silent, with an air of per- 
 petually apologising for her own existence. 
 The two were not in any way related; 
 neither had they long enjoyed each other's 
 intimacy. They had met only a few weeks 
 ago, before which time each had been 
 travelling separately with a maid, and had 
 then, on the principle of ^ extremes meet,' 
 struck up a cordial friendship. The talking
 
 FELLOW-PKISONERS. 17 
 
 woman, who was supposed to be in delicate 
 health, had been recommended by her 
 physician to remain abroad for the autumn 
 and winter, and to keep as much as possible 
 in the higher latitudes ; and she had per- 
 suaded the shadowy little lady to accom- 
 pany her to the top of the Miirren. Here 
 both proposed to stay until the hotel 
 closed, on the 1st of October. 
 
 Opposite to them, on the other side of 
 the hearth, a little girl sat, nursing a doll. 
 Her mother, a young widow, who took a 
 gQod deal of trouble to look younger than 
 she really was, had drawn her chair to a 
 centre table, by which sat also an obese, 
 ill-tempered-looking man in spectacles. 
 This man — he whom Charlie had dubbed 
 * the professor ' — had collected together all 
 the latest newspapers, and, having secured 
 them for future use by placing them under 
 his elbow, was skimming an article in 
 one of the current monthlies. 
 
 Upon entering the room, young Nunner- 
 
 YOL. I. c
 
 18 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ley had paused likewise by this table, just 
 behind the widow's chair, and, on perceiv- 
 ing him, the professor (he actually was a 
 professor) drew closer his store of literature, 
 and glanced up with a low growl, and a 
 look on his face like that of a dog who 
 fancies another dog wishes to possess him- 
 self of his bone. 
 
 Charlie, however, neither coveted the 
 literature nor did he notice the glance. 
 With an amused smile on his lips, he was 
 looking after McNicoll. For the latter 
 having passed onwards towards the fire, 
 had instantly been seized upon by the lo- 
 quacious lady, who lay in wait like an all- 
 devouring octopus, ready to cast out her 
 tenacious tentacles of speech round any 
 prey that presented itself. Gifted with a 
 loud rasping voice, this vivacious lady had 
 furthermore an agreeable habit of repeating 
 the same sentence over and over asrain, 
 as though she were practising a transposi-
 
 FELLOW-PRISOXERS. 19 
 
 tion lesson, such as is given to scliool- 
 children. 
 
 Taking up a guide-book, Charlie turned 
 over its pages at random, and listened. 
 
 ' Yes, I awoke at six this morning — I 
 usually av\^aken about six. And I could 
 scarcely believe it — when I saw the snow. 
 For yesterday, though it was cold — yes, 
 certainly it luas cold yesterday — one could 
 never have expected snow. I went into 
 my friend's room at once. It was about 
 six o'clock, I know, because it is usually 
 about six when I awaken. I don't sleep 
 very well. And my friend was as much 
 surprised as I was when she saw the 
 snow. It is such a heavy fall, you see — 
 such a very heavy fall ! And although 
 yesterday was cold — yes, certainly cold — yet 
 one doesn't expect snow in September — ' 
 
 ' Ach ! slash me out dat voman's tongue, 
 sombody, or I lose de senses !' muttered 
 the professor, below his breath. 
 
 c2
 
 20 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 * Did you speak, sir ?' inquired Charlie, 
 who, though he had not quite caught the 
 remark, fancied, from the direction of the 
 gentleman's gaze, that he might be the 
 ' sombody/ addressed. 
 
 ^Hein!' 
 
 Beyond this polite expletive, the pro- 
 fessor vouchsafed no immediate response. 
 
 The young widow, however, regarding 
 Charlie with a confidential smile, whis- 
 pered, 
 
 ' This gentleman, Herr Jacob ' (she had 
 ventured yesterday to inquire his name^ 
 and had been gruffly answered, ' Jacob ') 
 ' has christened these two ladies " The 
 Windmill" and "The Victim.'" 
 
 ' Ja, ja ! Yords, vords, vords !' broke in 
 the professor, again looking up from his 
 book, and moving one hand round and 
 round as though turning an organ. 
 ^ Vords ground out like a mill — no sense, 
 all vind ; clack, jabber, babble — gabble ; 
 pah r
 
 FELLO W-PEISONERS. 2 1 
 
 Thereupon, hitcliing forward his chair 
 mth a savage jerk, the amiable man set- 
 tled himself emphatically to his reading, 
 and subsided into silence. 
 
 Meanwhile, disregarding another sotto 
 voce confidence on the young widow's part 
 and an inviting gesture of her hand to- 
 wards a seat by her side, Charlie Nunnerley 
 was now staring hard in the direction of a 
 vv^indow, in the embrasure of which, apart 
 from the rest of the company, sat the two 
 Americans. The 2:irl about whom Victor 
 had waxed so enthusiastic occupied an easy- 
 chair, with its back towards him. Charlie, 
 therefore, was unable to see her face. 
 From where he stood, however, the father 
 was distinctlv visible, and it did not re- 
 quire much study to convince him that his 
 cousin was rio'ht in describins; him as a 
 phenomenal specimen of the American 
 traveller. 
 
 An under-sized man of middle-age, he 
 seemed to have been cast in a rough iron
 
 22 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 mould. His figure was stout, but one 
 received at once tlie impression that he 
 must have been much stouter, for somehow 
 he had a shrunken look. His clothes vfere 
 of fine texture, glossy and new. They did 
 not, however, appear to fit him, and 
 (possibly from the way they were worn) 
 were given to crinkling up in odd and 
 abnormal places. His patent leather boots 
 were unexceptionable, but of a huge size ; 
 and, to complete his toilet, there spark- 
 led on his breast an enormous diamond 
 pin. 
 
 In buckskin breeches and a blue striped 
 shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, 
 the poor man would have looked, Charlie 
 thought, homogeneous and comfortable ; in 
 his present costume he appeared very 
 much the reverse. Like his feet, his 
 hands were unusually large. They were, 
 moreover, horny and labour-hardened. 
 Euddy in colour, his skin hung loosely 
 about the cheeks, and Avas elsewhere much
 
 FELLOW-PRISONERS. 23 
 
 bewrinkled and seamed. His blue-grey 
 eyes liad an absent look in tbem, and the 
 expression of his face was anxious — so 
 anxious, indeed, as to be well-nigh 
 pathetic. Once or twice, however, when 
 addressino; his dauprhter, Charlie noticed 
 that it lighted up with a smile of rare 
 sweetness. 
 
 Having thus taken in the father's 
 appearance, young Xunnerley felt his 
 curiosity more than ever tickled in respect 
 of the daughter. Guide-book in hand, he 
 ventured presently to stroll towards the 
 window, as though to look forth. 
 
 The American, observing his approach, 
 nodded. Then, somewhat nervouslv clear- 
 ing his throat, he added, 
 
 * Good morning, mister.' 
 
 Charlie returned the greeting, and 
 managed to include in his bow the girl, 
 who had turned to see whom her father 
 was addressing. 
 
 Her father ! Was it really possible ?
 
 24 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 The idea of such a relationship struck 
 Charlie as even more incongruous than it 
 had done his cousin. His artist's eye was, 
 at the first glance, fascinated by her face. 
 The delicate oval curves — the clear, rich, 
 brunette complexion — the large dark-blue 
 eyes, so innocent and frank in their ex- 
 pression — made up altogether a beauty 
 which, as Victor had truly said, was inde- 
 scribable. In figure, too, the girl was 
 almost perfect ; and the dress which 
 clung to her well-rounded supple form 
 was, though costly in fabric, quiet and 
 lady-like in tone. 
 
 Becoming aware that he was regarding 
 her rather too intently, Charlie averted his 
 gaze with a slightly heightened colour, and 
 remarked to her father, 
 
 'This sudden fall of snow is a little 
 awkward, is it not ?' 
 
 'That's so, mister,' rejoined the man, 
 with alacrity, evidently pleased to be 
 spoken with. 'Yes, that's so. An' it's
 
 FELLOW-PEISOXERS. 25 
 
 particular awkward for me an' my daugh- 
 ter, because we'd fixed fur to go down the 
 mountain to-day, an' now t'ain't possible 
 nohow. It'll be sorter dull, too, I'm afeard 
 for everybody, through not bein' able to 
 git out of doors/ 
 
 'Oh, I daresay we shall survive a day's 
 imprisonment,' laughed Charlie. ' Have 
 you been here long?' 
 
 In putting this inquiry he glanced 
 ao;ain at the o-irl and she it was who 
 replied. 
 
 ' Five days, and I should be glad to stay 
 longer. I call it j ust lovely up here when 
 the air is clear.' There was a curious 
 accent or drawl in her speech, very slight 
 — the faintest reflex of her parent's. 
 Charlie thought it deliciously piquant. 
 * And until to-day we have had very good 
 w^eather; haven't we, father?' 
 
 ' Yes ; oh, yes, Idalia — the weather's bin 
 fine, I 'low. An' the views is grand.' A 
 slight sigh, nevertheless, accompanied the
 
 26 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 admission. 'But your brother, now,' he 
 went on : ' I don't guess he'd keer much 
 for here, Idalia. He likes it gayer, does 
 Peley. I've a son, mister, as we was ex- 
 pectin' to meet down to Interlaken to-day. 
 He's bin travellin' around a spell by him- 
 self, but we was to meet him to-day down 
 there at the Hotel Yungfraublick.' 
 
 ' Oh ? I see.' 
 
 The last word had been ludicrously 
 mispronounced. But Charlie did not 
 smile ; he Avas thinking — ' Her name, then, 
 is Idalia. It is a beautiful name ; it suits 
 her exactly.' 
 
 ' We've been at that hotel before, me an' 
 Idalia,' resumed the American, communi- 
 cating the information with the frank 
 simplicity of a child. ' We'd fixed to wait 
 there fur Peleus — that's my son ; but some 
 ladies as we got a bit sociable with, they 
 advised us to come up here fur a spell. 
 They said we should be sot up with the
 
 FELLOW-PRISOXEES. 27 
 
 views. An' Idalia, she has been a good- 
 deal pleased, bless her !' 
 
 * But, father ' (Idalia bent forward with 
 a troubled look, and touched his horny 
 hand), ' I thought you had been enjoying 
 yourself too. You said you were.' 
 
 ^Lor, yes! Enjyingmyself? — to be sure 
 I have, honey !' 
 
 The sweet smile which Charlie had before 
 remarked once more illuminated his plain 
 and wrinkled visage. 
 
 His daughter, however, continued to 
 regard him wistfully for some moments 
 longer, stroking the while his large red 
 fingers, with a caress so utterly unaffected 
 that she might have forgotten the stranger's 
 presence. 
 
 Looking on, young Xunnerley thought 
 that he had never seen greater ease or 
 grace of manner. No duchess, he told 
 himself, could show a more perfect self- 
 possession, yet at the same time a finer 
 lack of self-consciousness.
 
 28 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ' Iclalia,' said her fatlier, glancing to- 
 wards the 'vindow and changing the sub- 
 ject, evidently with design, ' I've bin a- 
 wonderin' how 'tis that when you look up 
 inter it when it's a-comin' down the snow 
 'pears sorter dirty an' black, an' all the 
 while it's as white as kin be. It's power- 
 ful currious, thet is. What's the reason of 
 it, Idalia ?' 
 
 'I don't know, indeed, father,' rejoined 
 Idalia, after a moment's consideration ; ' I 
 can't explain it.' 
 
 ' Kin ye not now ?' he asked. ' Well, in 
 a general way she does know most things, 
 does Idalia. She's hed a powerful good 
 edication, you see, mister. But you kiii 
 tell about the snow, I dessay?' 
 
 Charlie reflected. He felt an eager 
 desire — he could scarcely have told why — 
 to be able to elucidate the phenomenon, 
 and yet he could think of no explanation. 
 He was not, it may here be confessed, a 
 very studious or well-read young fellow,
 
 FELLOW-PRISONERS. 29 
 
 and his schoolboy knowledge had long since 
 o'one to the doo^s. 
 
 'Um — no,' he acknowledged at length. 
 'I'm ashamed to say that I really do not 
 know how to account for the fact.' 
 
 His shapely white hand, as he made the 
 reluctant admission, went up to his mous- 
 tache, and he was twisting the corners of 
 it disconcertedly when, his regard once 
 more falling upon her, he caught Idalia 
 looking up at him, with a glimmer of 
 amusement in her face. 
 
 ' ISTever mind,' she said, laughing ; ' you 
 don't aim to be a walking encyclopaedia of 
 knowledge, I suppose ? We can find it 
 out another time. It doesn't signify. You 
 are English, are you not ?' 
 
 ' English ? Oh, yes, I am English, of 
 course,' he answered, stammering slightly. 
 
 The unabashed, straightforward gaze of 
 those laro;e lustrous eves seemed to affect 
 him for the moment with a kind of mental 
 vertiofo.
 
 30 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ^ What part of England do you come 
 from?' slie questioned again, with the 
 same naive directness. 
 
 ^ From London. I am an artist. I have 
 a studio there.' He added these particulars 
 without any accountable reason. 
 
 ' An artist — are ye now railly ?' put in the 
 father, with lively interest. ' Wall, thet's 
 smart. An' ye make picturs?' 
 
 ^Yes, of people mostly. I take 
 portraits.' 
 
 'Do tell! Ye look smart, though — 
 right down smart, ye look. I aimed fur to 
 hev Idalia's pictur' tuk when we was down 
 to Eome,' he subjoined, ' but someways 
 she wouldn't give in to settin' fur it there. 
 She 'lowd she'd hev it tuk in England.' 
 
 ' That artist will be highly fortunate, 
 whoever -he may be,' observed Charlie, 
 gallantly, ' who shall be permitted to take 
 Miss — the young lady's portrait.' 
 
 lie had made a pause after the ' Miss,' 
 but the surname he had hoped for was not
 
 FELLOW-PKISONERS. 31 
 
 supplied. As for the compliment — insin- 
 uated as mucli by the tone as the words 
 of his speech — Idalia took no notice of it 
 whatsoever. Her thoughts appeared to be 
 occupied with another subject. 
 
 ' Is High Radstow far from London, can 
 you tell ?' she asked presently. 
 
 ' High Radstow ?' The young man re- 
 peated the name in accents of extreme 
 surprise. ^ Why, yes, it is a considerable 
 distance. It is a small market-town in one 
 of our western counties. Do you — you 
 don't know anything of it?' 
 
 ' No,' she answered, quietly ; 'but we 
 are going there to live in about a fort- 
 night.' 
 
 'To High Radstow P—to liveT he 
 echoed again. * Excuse my astonishment, 
 please, but I know the place well. My 
 cousin Victor McNicoll — the a'entleman 
 by the chimney-piece there — lives at High 
 Radstow, or at least in the neighourhood 
 of the town.'
 
 32 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ' Is thet so ? Now thet's currious, tliet's 
 powerful currious, ain't it, Idalia ? I won- 
 der now/ lie continued, with an eager, yet 
 diffident, air, ' ef he might happen to be 
 acquainted with a place about thar called 
 Monks wood Hall?' 
 
 ^ Of course, he is — very well acquainted 
 with it ! And so am I,' exclaimed Charlie. 
 ' Why, my cousin has lived at High Rad- 
 stow all his life. Shall I call him ? 
 Victor!' He turned without awaiting 
 assent, and emphasized his summons with 
 a raised finger. ,
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SURPRISING INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 Although by no means a lady's man^ 
 Victor McXicoll was incapable of any- 
 thing approacbing to discourtesy in bis 
 demeanour towards tbe opposite sex. 
 Held mercilessly by the talkative lady's 
 incessant babble, he had all this while been 
 writhing under the infliction like a cock- 
 chafer with a pin through its body. Yet, 
 "without a hrusquerie on which he did not 
 care to venture, he had felt unable to ex- 
 tricate himself His replies, however, had 
 grown monosyllabic, and his distracted 
 gaze wandered constantly towards his 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 cousin at the window. Charlie, he saw, 
 was making acquaintance with the Amer- 
 icans about whom his own interest and 
 curiosity were so largely excited. For the 
 nonce he envied young Nunnerley that 
 free-and-easy confidence of manner which 
 he was wont upon occasions to stigmatise 
 as ' uppishness.' Charlie, he reflected, 
 never lost anything through shyness, and 
 Charlie, he knew, would certainly never 
 have allowed himself to be thus detained 
 against his will through undue politeness 
 to an elderly spinster. Victor had just 
 resolved to take his courage in hand and 
 to effect an escape, when his cousin's call 
 expedited his deliverance. 
 
 Murmuring a relieved 'Excuse me!' he 
 crossed the room. 
 
 'Victor, this gentleman wishes to make 
 some inquiries about High Radstow,' began 
 Charlie. ' He is going there ; and I have 
 just mentioned that you live in the neigh- 
 bourhood.'
 
 SURPRISING INTELLIGENCE. oD 
 
 'Indeed !' The exclamation indicated a 
 surprise equal to that which his cousin had 
 already betrayed. High Radstow was not 
 a place usually favoured by the visits of 
 strangers. ' I shall be happy to give you 
 any information in my power, sir,' he 
 appended, after a second or two. 
 
 ' Thank ye, mister ; thet thar's very 
 kind o' ye, an' civil. But won't ye set?' 
 
 ' Yes, pray do sit down,' put in Idalia, 
 supporting the invitation with the quiet 
 assurance of one who was accustomed to 
 find her word law. 
 
 The young men obeyed with no feigned 
 alacrity. Bringing forward two chairs, 
 they settled themselves vis-a-vis to their 
 new acquaintances. 
 
 ' Well, now, that looks friendly an' 
 clever,' (clever, in this dialect, meant 
 amiable); 'don't it, Idalia?' observed the 
 American, smiling round the little circle 
 in frank gratification. * My name is 
 Bretherton, gentlemen — Abner Bretherton, 
 
 d2
 
 36 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 an' I come from North Carolina. I sup- 
 pose ' — his expression altered here, and he 
 leaned eagerly forward, smoothing out the 
 knees of his trousers : a favourite habit of 
 his — ^ I suppose, now, there ain't no North 
 Carolina folks anywhares around them 
 parts ?' 
 
 * About High Radstow, do you mean ?' 
 asked Victor, who could scarcely forbear a 
 smile at the interrogation. * No, I should 
 think not — in fact, I feel sure not.' 
 
 ' No, 'tain't likely — come to think of it, 
 'tain't at all likely,' assented Mr. Brether- 
 ton, the eager light dying out of his 
 eyes. 
 
 Once more Idalia laid a caressing touch 
 on his hand. 
 
 ' You were going to ask the gentleman 
 about Monkswood Hall, weren't you, 
 father ?' she suggested. 
 
 'Thet's so, honey. He saj^s, mister, 
 that you know the place, an' ef you 
 wouldn't take no exceptions at me troubling
 
 SURPRISING IXTELLIGEXCE. 37 
 
 you, I'd like to put a question or two. I'm 
 afeared now, it's raither a gorgeous house, 
 am t it r^ 
 
 * Monkshood is a fine estate, certainly, 
 but not particularly grand,' answered 
 McXicoU, with raised eyebrows. ' The 
 house is old and picturesque, and the 
 grounds are, or rather we-re, beautifully 
 kept. There is a little wood at the back 
 of the Hall from whence it takes its name. 
 I knew Mrs. Curtis, the widow lady to 
 whom it belonged, pretty well ; but she 
 has been dead now some eighteen months, 
 and the house has been unoccupied ever 
 since. You — you were not thinking of 
 renting it ?' The inquiry was made with 
 hesitancy. 
 
 ' Well, no ; it's our own, you see ; so we 
 don't need fur to rent it. An' ye really 
 know'd Mrs. Curtis, did ye ? Lord ! I feel 
 quite uplifted, mister, to make your ac- 
 quaintance ! Ef you wouldn't mind it, I'd 
 like to shake hands.'
 
 38 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 Abner extended his horny pahn as he 
 spoke ; and when Victor, with increased 
 astonishment, had responded to the advance 
 he continued, 
 
 ' An' so ye know'd Hypatia ? Was she 
 anyways like Idalia ?' 
 
 ^By George! I beg your pardon,' he 
 apologised, hastily. 'But I have been 
 puzzling myself to discover who the young 
 lady reminded me of, and now I understand 
 — it is Mrs. Curtis !' 
 
 'Thar ! I alius 'low'd so !' exclaimed Mr. 
 Bretherton, ' It's nigh upon thirty year 
 since I saw Hypatia, an' then she was 
 only a girl of fourteen or fifteen ; but I've 
 alius allowed that Idaly was her very picter 
 an' image. I've never went back on thet 
 opinion.' 
 
 'Were they Was Mrs. Curtis a 
 
 relative of yours ?' demanded McMcoll. 
 
 ' She w^as my sister, mister.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' Victor's amazement was 
 more genuine than complimentary. ' Yes ;,
 
 SUEPRISIXG INTELLIGENCE. 39 
 
 I recollect now that she was an American 
 by birth. But no one could have guessed 
 it from her speech or manner. She was a 
 perfect lady. I mean she was quite like an 
 English lady,' he amended, in confusion. 
 ' You have met Mrs. Curtis, have you not, 
 Charlie ?' 
 
 'No, I don't think I ever had that 
 pleasure,' answered his cousin ; ' but I recol- 
 lect you telling me, when I was down in 
 the spring, that the lady had left her house 
 and property to her brother, who lived in 
 the States somewhere.' 
 
 ' North Carolina. Yes, mister ; that's 
 me. I'm her brother,' affirmed Mr. 
 Bretherton, nervously rubbing his knees. 
 ' But I don't wonder that you look kinder 
 dumbfoundered ; I don't Tvonder at that a 
 bit. Patty, now ; I dessay she was a good 
 deal polished, wasn't she? We used,' he 
 explained, ' to call her Patty w^hen a 
 girl.' 
 
 'Certainly; Mrs. Curtis moved in the
 
 40 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH, 
 
 best society in the country,' rejoined 
 Victor ; ' and lier manners, as I said before, 
 were perfect.' 
 
 Mr. Bretberton smiled. 
 
 'You wouldn't liev guessed, tlien, that 
 she'd bin raised in North Carolina, or 
 that she'd a brother like me ?' he asked. 
 'Well, you see, it' was this way, mister: 
 My father, he'd a sister ez kept a store in 
 New York city; an' when Patty was 
 fourteen year old, or thereabouts, she was 
 sent to live with her aunt. Thet was 
 mother's doin's, thet was. She'd a heap of 
 pride, mother bed ; an', you see, she want- 
 ed Hypatia to learn town ways an' get 
 polished. Mother, she'd a powerful ambi- 
 tion, poor thing ! arter edicating an' polish- 
 ing folks, through bein' a superior woman 
 herself. Once — once' (with a profound 
 sigh) ' she even aimed fur to hev me 
 polished too. But, bless you ! it warn'tno 
 manner of use ; I jest couldnt polish, gentle- 
 men, no more'n the sole of an old boot.
 
 SURPKISING INTELLIGENCE. 41 
 
 That's so. I tuk after father, you see, who 
 vras a rouo;hish sort — not arter mother. 
 An' though I'd be 'mazing glad to do it 
 no^Y, fur Peley's sake an' Idalia's, I've jest 
 had to give it up. Even this tour, tho' 
 I've tried hard to learn hong tong^ as they 
 call it, it haven't Leen of no mortal use. 
 I ain't one bit more polished than I was at 
 the beginnin' ; an' we've bin travellin' 
 around now fur nine months or more. 
 ^Tain't in me, ye see ; thar's where it is. 
 Why, no ! you might as well try to polish 
 a mule,' he concluded, in deep humility. 
 
 ' Father, don't ! — please don't!' entreat- 
 ed his daughter, a vivid crimson suffusing 
 her lovely face. ' Who wants you differ- 
 ent from what you are ? / don't,' she 
 repeated, passionately. ' You are polished 
 inside, whatever you may be on the sur- 
 face. But these gentlemen don't know, 
 father — they don't know you ; and they 
 don't know how you are respected by all 
 the folks at home — by everybody who
 
 42 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 knows you. They may tliink, if you talk 
 like that, that you want improving some 
 way ; but you don't — you doiiHF 
 
 The girl's head was held proudly erect ; 
 and wdiilst speaking she had thrown a 
 searchinof, somewhat defiant erlance at the 
 two young men. Both, fortunately, bore 
 the scrutiny Avell. Charlie Nunnerley, 
 though inwardly much diverted, managed 
 to suppress all sign of amusement. Victor 
 McNicoll, for his part (possibly because he 
 possessed a less keen sense of humour than 
 his cousin), had found nothing in the 
 situation to tickle him. The Arcadian 
 simplicity of the father ; his frank yet 
 humble acknowdedgment of want of 
 fashionable cultivation, taken in conjunc- 
 tion with his anxious and troubled air, 
 struck him rather as pathetic than ludi- 
 crous. As for the daughter's little outbreak 
 of distress at her father's self-depreciation, 
 and her loyal refusal to allow of any 
 deficiency in him, this touched Victor in a
 
 SUEPRISIXG IXTELLIGEXCE. 43 
 
 peculiar manner. As Idalia's large violet- 
 blue eyes met his with a gleam of fire in 
 their depths, he seemed to obtain a glimpse 
 into a strong and uncommon character. 
 Intensely interested by this passing revela- 
 tion as to her nature, and thrilled with 
 admiration of the girl's rare beauty^ 
 enhanced by the warm glow on her cheeks, 
 Victor remained silent, his absorbed regard 
 rivetted upon her face ; and the crisis 
 might have become decidedly embarrass- 
 ing but for young Xunnerley's ready savoir- 
 faire. 
 
 'Well, I quite agree, sir, with your 
 daughter — with Miss Bretherton,' he said, 
 gravely afi*ecting to misunderstand the 
 question at issue. ' I don't see Vv'hy 
 European polish, as you call it, should be 
 any better than Xorth Carolina ditto ; and 
 if / came from the Xew World I would not 
 trouble myself in the least about acquiring 
 the usages and conventionalities of the old 
 one. But may I bring you back to your
 
 44 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 subject ?' he went on, with cheerful ease. 
 ' You were going to tell us, I think, how 
 jour sister, Mrs. Curtis, came to marry an 
 Englishman ?' 
 
 ' But Mrs. Cartis, I understood, was 
 married twice,' interposed Victor, now 
 recovering himself. ' General Curtis was 
 not her first husband, was he, sir ?' 
 
 ' Well, no, he warn't. No, Hypatia she 
 was married twice ; that's so,' returned Mr. 
 Bretherton, manifestly flattered by this 
 show of interest. ' Her first husband, he 
 was a young feller by the name of Arthur 
 Coverley. They was grand folks, the 
 Coverleys was, an' rich. The father he 
 owned a big warehouse in London, an' 
 another in New York city. An' young 
 Coverley, you see, he was livin' a spell in 
 New York, a-larnin' the business there. 
 Wall, he used to meet Hypatia every 
 mornin' a-goin' to the school as mother hed 
 bed her sent to. An' by-an-by he struck 
 up an acquaintance with the girl, an' with
 
 SURPRISIXG INTELLIGENCE. 45 
 
 her aunt as kept the store. An' though 
 she was only fifteen, an' him twentv-fonr, 
 he yow'd he'd fell in love with her, an' 
 "wouldn't never marry no one else. Seems 
 sorter romantic, don't it?' he asked^ 
 smiling. 
 
 Both young men assented to this pro- 
 position. And, placidly rubbing his knees, 
 the orood man resumed : 
 
 'Well, bein' grand folks, an' an old 
 fam'ly, as they say, the Coverleys was a 
 good deal riled at first when they hearn 
 tell of it all. An' old 3.1r. Coverley he 
 went over to Xew York city to try an' 
 stop the thing. But it warn't of no use. 
 Young Coverley he wouldn't go back on 
 Hypatia. So when the father hed seen 
 her, an' how powerful good-lookin' she 
 was, he 'lowed to give in ef mother 'd 
 agree to him a-takin' her ])ack vrith him to 
 London, and puttin' her to a first-rate 
 boardin'-school there. So thet's how 'twas, 
 you see ! An' they was married when
 
 46 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 Hypatia was seventeen,' he concluded, 
 smiling again in his simple, ingenuous 
 fashion. 
 
 'And did you never see her again, sir?' 
 Charlie asked. 
 
 The young artist was not very curious 
 on this or any other point of Mrs. Curtis's 
 history, but he wished to prolong the con- 
 versation, and to enjoy further opportunity 
 for the study of Idalia's exquisite face. 
 The latter had by this time recovered her 
 equanimity. There still, however, seemed 
 to linsrer about her a slio^ht air of con- 
 fusion, a passing shyness, engendered of 
 the consciousness of her recent im- 
 petuosity. 
 
 ' No, I never seed her again — never ; 
 an' yet we'd alius aimed, both Patty an' 
 me, fur to meet one another some day. 
 But somehow it never fell out as we could 
 fix things rightly ; an' maybe 'twas better 
 so, arter all. Mother, though, she seed 
 Patty twice when she was Mis' Coverley,
 
 SURPRISING IXTELLIGEXCE. 47 
 
 down to Xew York,' lie went on. • She 
 went over there o' purpose, Patty did, an' 
 they stayed together in a big hotel for a 
 spell. An' Yv'hen mother got back home, 
 you may b'lieve she was pretty full of her 
 visit. 'Seemed like she kinder couldn't 
 talk of nothing else but how fine Hypatia 
 was fixed, an' what a grand lady she'd 
 growed, an' how polished she was. An' 
 arter that, you see, she 'pear'd to put more 
 store by polish than ever, mother did.' 
 He paused for a second or two reflective- 
 ly, and then continued : ' Howsomever, 
 young Coverley he didn't live more'n ten 
 years arter they was married. Hypatia, 
 she was left a mdow at twenty-seven, poor 
 thing I with a for tin of forty thousand 
 pounds, as her husband had willed to 
 her. They'd no children, you under- 
 stand. Hypatia, she never did have no 
 children.' 
 
 'I suppose not. And afterwards, of 
 course, she married General Curtis. He
 
 48 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 was a fine-looking man, but a good deal 
 older, I should say, tlian she ! ' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton nodded. 'Well, yes, I 
 believe that was so.' 
 
 ' I only remember seeing him once or 
 twice,' pursued Victor. ' He v/as a con- 
 firmed invalid when first they came to live 
 at Monks wood, and he died shortly after- 
 wards. The climate of India, I was told, 
 had tried him much in his later years.' 
 
 ' I dessay — yes, I dessay,' acquiesced Mr. 
 Bretherton. 'They both lived in India 
 a longish spell, you see. Well, how 
 curious it seems !' he continued, with 
 childlike expansiveness. ' How curious it 
 do seem that you should have know'd my 
 sister ! You can't think, Idalia,' turning 
 to smile at his daughter, ' how up -lifted I 
 feel. Fur all I hevn't seen her of so long, 
 I've thought a heap of Aunt Patty through 
 your bein' so like her, honey. An' it's 
 kinder comfortin', mister, to meet some 
 one as has know'd one o' your belongings.
 
 SURPKISIXG IXTELLIOEXCE. 49 
 
 It's like a breath of mountain air from 
 home. You see, when a man's a-travellin' 
 around like this, so fur from where he 
 was raised an' has lived all his life, he gets 
 to feel a bit lonesome-like. An' it's a 
 pleasure, this is, havin' a chat mth you two 
 young fellers,' he concluded. 
 
 As a matter of course, the young men 
 protested in a breath that the pleasure was 
 all on their side ; and Victor went on to 
 add that he felt delighted to make the 
 acquaintance of any relative of Mrs. Curtis, 
 a lady whom he had always greatly ad- 
 mired. 
 
 ' But is it true ?' he asked, address- 
 ing Idalia, with a sparkle in his dark 
 eyes and subdued eagerness in his 
 tone. 'Is it true that you are really 
 thinking of going to live at Monks wood?' 
 
 ' "Well, yes — at all events, for a time we 
 are,' she answered. *And, if father can 
 feel happy there, we may settle in England 
 altogether.' 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ' It's this way, mister,' observed Mr. 
 Bretherton, explanatorily. ' Monkswood 
 Hall, it's our'n. General Curtis, he left it 
 to Hypatia; an' Hypatia, havin' no kith 
 nor kin but us, why, naterally, she left it 
 to us — that is, to me — fur my life, an' 
 arterwards to Peleus ; an' the property is 
 to be divided equally betwixt Idalia and 
 him. There's over six thousand pounds a 
 year — take it roughly at thirty-five thous- 
 and dollars — from the property as Hypatia 
 had through her two husbands. That's a 
 pile of money, ain't it ?' 
 
 ^ A consummately delightful pile, I 
 should consider it,' remarked young Nun- 
 nerley. 
 
 ' But, besides that, I'm a rich man my- 
 self — a very rich man,' went on Mr. Bre- 
 therton, mentioning the fact in the most 
 natural and unostentatious manner, ap- 
 parently without the smallest pride in it. 
 ' " Folks in England," mother used to say,
 
 SURPKISIXG INTELLIGENCE. 51 
 
 "think a heap of money." Is that so, 
 now? ' 
 
 Charlie laughed. 
 
 * Well, yes ; I am afraid it is a true 
 bill,' he owned. 'ATe pretend, of course, 
 to set a higher value on birth and educa- 
 tion, and so forth. But "money makes 
 the mare to go." In the end there's noth- 
 ing like a golden key for unlocking the 
 portals of society.' 
 
 ' Now that thar is jest what poor 
 mother alius upheld !' j^^-^i'sned ]\Ir. Bre- 
 therton, heaving a sigh and resuming the 
 friction of his knees. '" Take the children 
 to England, Abner," she kep' on sayin' to 
 me over an' over agin, when she was dyin'. 
 
 "Take them to England, an' " Was 
 
 you wantin' any thin', my lad ?' 
 
 The last words were addressed to a 
 sleek-looking waiter, who had just entered 
 the room and drawn himself up behind 
 Victor McNicoll's chair. 
 
 e2 

 
 52 A DIAMOND IN THE BOUGH. 
 
 ^ I beg your pardon, monsieur,' was the 
 polite rejoinder, 'I've been desired to in- 
 form the gentlemen that a fire has been 
 lighted in the billiard-room, in case they 
 might wish for a game/
 
 53 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ABXER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 
 
 Engrossed in the conversation they had 
 been holding, the little party by the win- 
 dow had almost forgotten the fact that 
 they were in the public room. The inter- 
 ruption, however, that had just occurred 
 having served to recall to their notice the 
 presence of others, it now became apparent 
 that in a furtive way they were being 
 made the centre of observation. The talk- 
 ative lady's tongue, for once, had grown 
 silent, the activity of that member being 
 usurped, pro tempore^ by her eyes and ears. 
 Leanino' well forward in her seat, she
 
 54 A DIAMOND m THE ROUGH. 
 
 seemed to be straining her attention to 
 catch something of the subject which was 
 so obviously interesting the quartet in the 
 embrasure. 
 
 The young widow, moreover, whether 
 with a view to eaves-dropping or not, had 
 changed her place. She had left the cen- 
 tre table to the taciturn professor, and 
 was at present seated upon a couch only a 
 few yards' distant from the window. The 
 contents of a small work-basket which she 
 was re-arranging lay upon her knee, and she 
 was looking somewhat cross. By her side 
 stood also her little girl. The child held 
 in her hand a piece of bright blue satin, 
 and whilst whispering to her mother she 
 was glancing askance at Idalia. 
 
 ' Why, Daisy, I declare I had quite for- 
 gotten !' exclaimed the latter, catching 
 sight of the child at this juncture. ' I 
 promised to cut out Dolly's jacket for 
 you this morning, didn't I ? Come along 
 here, dear,' she went on, speaking with the
 
 ABNER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 55 
 
 faint dravvi which Charlie had found so 
 piquant, and which Victor remarked now 
 for the first time. * You want it doing 
 straight off, I guess, don't you?' 
 
 'Oh, thank you! But not if you are 
 busy?' returned the little girl, approach- 
 ing slowly and shyly. ' I y/as just asking 
 mother if I might remind you; but she said 
 no, you were too busy talking with those 
 gentlemen.' 
 
 As the child blurted out this quotation 
 the mother blushed. But Idaha, in no 
 way discomposed by the observation, 
 serenely rejoined. 
 
 ' Oh, that don't signify ; I can talk to 
 them again by-and-by. Come right along 
 to that little table over there, Daisy, and 
 we'll -^:^ the jacket splendidly. I'll help 
 you sew it too, shall I? Father, you 
 won't mind me leaving you for a while, 
 will you ? It does him good,' she added, 
 significantly addressing a half-command- 
 ing, half-supplicatory glance to the two
 
 56 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 young men as she rose from her seat — ' it 
 does him good sometimes to have a chat 
 with strangers. Father enjoys society.' 
 
 Bowing, as though to promise that her 
 father should still enjoy his society, Charlie 
 Nunnerley rose also and kept his feet 
 Avhilst Idalia crossed the room. And again, 
 as he watched her free step and graceful 
 carriage, he endorsed in his own mind the 
 correctness of Victor's report concerning 
 her. His cousin had declared that she 
 looked and moved like a queen, and un- 
 questionably there was something regal 
 about the girl's air — a curious blending of 
 dignity and simplicity. 
 
 The widow, too, watched Idalia's transit 
 across the apartment, and her countenance 
 cleared. If the truth must be told, she 
 had been secretly looking to these two 
 young gentlemen to lighten for herself the 
 tedium of her enforced detention within 
 doors. She had hoped at least to enjoy 
 some agreeable conversation with them, if
 
 ABNER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 57 
 
 not to get up an incipient flirtation. 
 Flirtation, incipient or otherwise, was tlie 
 widow's favourite pastime. And she had 
 accordingly felt annoyed and disgusted to 
 find the attention of both already monopo- 
 lised, as it appeared to her, by that singu- 
 lar American girl and her utterly plebeian 
 father. 
 
 Now, however, that the girl had volun- 
 tarily withdrawn from their company, she 
 trusted there would be a chance for bring- 
 ing her own charms into operation upon 
 one or other of the young men. 
 
 But, alas, these revived hopes were 
 doomed to speedy disappointment. 
 
 'I say, governor, do you smoke?' inquir- 
 ed Charlie, dropping back into his chair. 
 
 ' Well, yes, I do,' Mr. Bretherton return- 
 ed, beaming amiably under the impression 
 that the term ' governor ' was a title of 
 respect. ' Yes, I take a pipe now an' agin 
 — twice a day, say.' 
 
 ' And perhaps you play billiards ?'
 
 58 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ' Billiards ? Bless you, no. Thet thar 
 ain't a likely divarsion fur a North 
 Carolina farmer — not with hands like 
 these here ' — spreading them out to view. 
 ' Once I did hev a try at it ; but I couldn't 
 hit the balls right no-how. It's a sorter 
 delicate an' ticklish job handlin' them 
 slicks is. But Peley, now, he's fond of the 
 game, Peley is.' 
 
 'Well, come, at any rate, and have a 
 •smoke with us whilst we play,' rejoined 
 young Nunnerley. ' I say, Victor, let's go 
 and have a game ?' 
 
 'All right !' acquiesced his cousin, start- 
 ing slightly, and bringing his gaze back 
 from a fascinating view of Idalia's side 
 face presented to his vision across the 
 room. ' All right, I'm quite agreeable,' he 
 repeated. 
 
 And in another moment, without so 
 much as a glance at the disconcerted 
 Avidow, the three men had quitted the 
 salon.
 
 ABNER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 59 
 
 • 
 
 In the billiard-room they found another 
 glorious pine-fire, as bright and cheerful as 
 that they had left behind. 
 
 Drawing an arm-chair to one side of it, 
 Charlie invited Mr. Bretherton to occupy 
 the comfortable seat. His courtesy, how- 
 ever, was marked by a kind of condescend- 
 ing familiarity of manner. In the 
 daughter's absence, the young artist's 
 demeanour towards the father had under- 
 gone a considerable change. This change 
 Victor noticed with disapproval. In his 
 opinion Charlie's easy air, displayed 
 towards a man so much his senior, savour- 
 ed of disrespect, and was altogether bad 
 form. 
 
 But Mr. Bretherton did not appear to 
 observe anything amiss. On the con- 
 trary, he seemed more pleasantly impressed 
 than ever with the young man's compan- 
 ionableness. 
 
 ' It's real good now of you young fellers 
 to be. so friendly,' he remarked, rubbing
 
 €0 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 his hands over the blaze. ' I haven't met 
 no one so friendly not fur a right smart 
 spell. English folks, you see, they're differ- 
 ent that-a-way from Americans. They 
 ain't neighbourly — not to call neighbourly. 
 In a general way I don't seem to git on 
 with them myself not so well as I could 
 wish. But Idalia, now — it's different mth 
 Idalia, and Peleus, through them being 
 edicated an' polished an' useder to society 
 an' hong tong' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! capital thing that hong tong^ 
 isn't it?' said Charlie, gravely imitating 
 poor Abner's pronunciation, but bestowing 
 nt the same time a surreptitious wink upon 
 Victor — who, however, merely rewarded 
 the grimace with a frown. Then, selecting 
 his cue, Nunnerley commenced, by a 
 judicious leading question, a course of 
 ' pumping,' which, continued throughout 
 ih.Q game, put himself and his cousin in 
 possession of certain facts respecting the 
 antecedents and present position of the
 
 ABNEE IS CONFIDENTIAL. 61 
 
 Bretherton family, whicli facts, without 
 reporting the conversation containing 
 them, may be briefly recapitulated. Xot, 
 however, that in givino- them forth Mr. 
 Bretherton really needed any special 
 * pumping.' The unsophisticated man, 
 having evidently nothing in his life to 
 hide, and no notion of disguise or evasion, 
 answered all queries put to him with the 
 most patent reserve. 
 
 Summed up, then, the information now 
 acquired by the young men was this : — 
 
 At an early age Mr. Bretherton had 
 inherited from his father a farm, situated 
 among the Apal^echian mountains, at that 
 easterly portion termed the Blue Ridge. 
 The farm — a very extensive one — was 
 called (from the circumstance that it over- 
 looked a splendid cataract) Whitefall 
 Prospect, whilst the name of the surround- 
 ing district was Clear- Water Valley. On 
 the beauty, healthfulness, and general 
 delectability of this spot, poor Mr.
 
 62 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 Bretlierton (who was plainly much attach- 
 ed to his home and ' natal land ') dwelt 
 with warm enthusiasm and the occasional 
 wiping away of a furtive tear. 
 
 In his father's time, the farm-lands 
 surrounding the house had, it appeared, 
 been chiefly devoted to the cultivation of 
 Indian corn, whilst a large portion of the 
 estate lying higher up among the moun- 
 tains had been made of comparatively 
 little use. On coming into possession, 
 however, Abner, besides continuing the 
 cultivation of grain, had turned those 
 neglected and less fertile tracts of his 
 demesne to service by breeding upon them 
 an immense number of swine ; and through 
 the sale of these animals to South Carolina 
 pork-exporters he had gradually grown 
 rich. Seeing, moreover, that he had had 
 little opportunity of spending it in that 
 primitive country district, his money had 
 accumulated, so that, in addition to the 
 property recently acquired through his
 
 ABNER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 63 
 
 sister, lie now possessed a handsome 
 fortune invested in various stocks and 
 shares. 
 
 That amono' his neio:hbours and friends 
 in that far-off mountain vale, Abner Bre- 
 therton had been a man of high note was 
 easily to be gathered from his artless 
 admissions. Indeed, as a matter of fact — 
 although, despite his wealth, he had con- 
 tinued to labour with his own hands upon 
 his fa.rm, and had in no way set himself 
 above his associates — he had, by their 
 common consent, been elected a kind of 
 honorary magistrate, and made an umpire 
 and referee in all matters of local dispute 
 or interest. 
 
 Having lost his wife soon after the birth 
 of Idalia, who was now eighteen years 
 of age, his family had consisted, up to 
 fifteen months ago, of his mother, his son, 
 and daughter. It was by their grand- 
 mother that the children had been brought 
 up, by her influence that their ideas
 
 64 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 and characters had been more or less 
 moulded. So far as the young men 
 could judge from Mr. B re ther ton's respect- 
 ful references to her, she had been a 
 woman of some little education and a 
 great deal of ambition. Furthermore, she 
 had been remarkably handsome (a slight 
 admixture of Spanish blood running in 
 her veins), and it was from her that her 
 daughter Hypatia and grand-daughter 
 Idalia had derived their dark beauty. 
 
 Whilst herself in her teens, Mrs Bre- 
 therton had once spent a year in London, 
 whither she had accompanied a family 
 from New York in the temporary capacity 
 of lady's-maid. From that visit she had 
 imbibed a strong taste for high life and 
 fashionable manners. Aiming, in the first 
 place, to elevate her own children by 
 education and culture, and having met 
 with such unexpected success in Hypatia's 
 case, she had afterwards yearned for a 
 similar improvement) in her grand-child-
 
 aU3XEK IS CONFIDENTIAL. 65 
 
 ren's social status, and had determined, if 
 possible, to eiFect it. 
 
 So long, however, as the children were 
 still young, and their father was amassing 
 the fortune requisite to her schemes, she 
 had not desired that he should leave his 
 farm to settle in a more civilised district. 
 But she had always insisted that, in due 
 course, this must be done. Meanwhile, in 
 order to lit them for their higher sphere, 
 both boy and girl had been well educated — 
 more especially so Peleus. This name, by- 
 the-by, as Mr. Bretherton informed his inter- 
 locutor, was a source of much annoyance to 
 its owner. It had been his mother's choice, 
 culled by her from an ancient mythologic- 
 al treatise, and for some time past the lad 
 had been most anxious to change it for 
 Percival. 
 
 'An' we'd orter strive to call him so,' 
 admitted the father, vdih a sigh, and a 
 deepening of those anxious lines about his 
 face. ' Fur, maybe, it was sorter hard on 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 ^Q A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 him to give him such an outlandish name. 
 Anyways, when he hates it so, we'd orter 
 be keerful to say " Percival," an' I'm tryin' 
 to learn. Only, bein' so used to it — Peley, 
 you see, it ivill keep slippin' out now an' 
 agin'.' 
 
 A second sigh concluded this parenthet- 
 ical remark ; and something in Mr. Bre- 
 therton's aspect, as he made it, caused 
 Victor McNicoll to surmise that this son 
 of his was not in every respect a comfort 
 to the worthy man. 
 
 But, to return from this digression, 
 Peleus, or Percival, had, at his grand- 
 mother's instance (the old lady had evi- 
 dently held the reins of government in her 
 son's household) been sent, from the age of 
 six, to school ; first to Raleigh, then to a 
 more advanced academy in Boston, and 
 finally to Havard University. A very 
 small portion only of the youth's life had 
 been spent at home, for, even in the vaca- 
 tions, he had usually been prevented from
 
 ABNER IS CO^'FIDENTIAL. 67 
 
 returning thither. His grandmother, at 
 such times, had been wont to meet him, 
 takino^ with her his sister, and to carrv the 
 two off to some fashionable spa, or other 
 resort where good society was to be had. 
 
 As for Idalia, she, too, had been banished 
 from home by her resolute-minded grand- 
 parent. On three several occasions she 
 had been sent to a distant educational 
 establishment. Each time, however, she 
 had been obliged to return to Clear Water 
 Valley at the end of a few weeks — ill 
 with fretting and home-sickness. ^And 
 each time she had found her father suffer- 
 ing also, mentally and physically, through 
 the separation which neither of them could 
 endure, for between Mr. Bretherton and 
 his daughter there existed a passionate 
 attachment. After that third failure both 
 had obstinately refused to submit to any 
 further experiments in the boarding- 
 school direction. Mrs. Bretherton, there- 
 fore, had been obliged to content her- 
 
 f2
 
 68 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 self with engaging for Idalia's private in- 
 struction at home the most competent 
 governess that money could hire, and 
 with taking her, as often as possible, on 
 those brief travelling and polishing ex- 
 peditions. 
 
 It was now some eighteen months since 
 the old lady — in her seventy-ninth year — 
 had been seized with an illness, which, 
 after twelve or thirteen weeks of painless 
 decay, had resulted in her death. In the 
 meantime there had reached Mr. Brether- 
 ton the news of his sister's demise, and of 
 his own inheritance of her property and 
 estate of Monkswood ; and this news had, 
 of course, been communicated to the sick 
 woman. Now, even before this event, the 
 latter had decided in her own mind that 
 the time had fully come for Abner to quit 
 his quiet valley. Daily, almost hourly, 
 from that time forth, she had, accordingly, 
 importuned her son to give up his farm, to 
 take the young people to travel for a space
 
 ABKER IS CONFIDENTIAL. 69 
 
 in Europe, and afterwards to reside with 
 them upon their English estate. Event- 
 ually, wearied by her solicitations, and 
 satisfied also that it would be to his 
 children's advantage, Abner had given to 
 his mother the promise she required, and 
 had only waited to lay her ashes beneath 
 the shadow of his much-loved mountains 
 before setting oiF on its fulfilment. 
 
 But, though he had left his farm, Mr. 
 Bretherton had not sold it. He had 
 merely committed it and his two or three 
 thousand ho2:s to the care of an ao;ent. 
 That agent was a second cousin of his, an 
 honest man named Jabez Dean, in whose 
 capacity as well as probity he had the 
 utmost confidence. The usual returns, 
 therefore, would, he expected, continue to 
 flow in from this source, and it was easy 
 to see that the almost too ingenuous 
 American was a little oppressed b}^ the 
 burden of his riches. It was also easy to 
 see that his present life was not to his
 
 70 A DIAMO^'D IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 taste ; although he made no oj)en com- 
 plaint, he was suffering from that mel- 
 ancholy disease, nostalgia, or ,as our neigh- 
 bours across the channel term it, maladie- 
 du-pays.
 
 71 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 
 
 To the particulars thiis freely imparted to 
 them, both young men had listened Avith 
 close attention. Even as an utter stranger 
 Mr. Bretherton had awakened their 
 interest. How, indeed, could they avoid 
 feeling interested in the father of so lovely 
 a daughter? Still, as a stranger, or a 
 mere passing acquaintance, they would 
 scarcely have cared to listen to the story 
 of his life. It was the reflection that 
 future intercourse with him would be in 
 one case possible, in the other almost a 
 dead certainty, that had given import to
 
 72 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 the worthy man's account of liis ante- 
 cedents and present position. 
 
 And in Charlie Niinnerley's eyes the 
 fact that this ' elderly bumpldn ;' this 
 ' rustic bourgeois ' (so he would have 
 described him) — actually possessed coffers 
 bursting with gold, did, in truth, appear a 
 very interesting fact. Gradually, as he 
 had come to realise the opulence of the 
 frank American (involving, as it did, the 
 substantial heiress-ship of his beautiful 
 daughter), the young artist's manner had 
 grown a little less affably patronising, and 
 rather more deferential. Already, within 
 himself, Charlie was beginning to plan how 
 the acquaintanceship, so unexpectedly 
 commenced on this Swiss mountain, might 
 be renewed and cultivated in England. 
 
 Upon Victor McNicoll's part there was 
 no need for such planning. Since they 
 were about to become his neighbours in a 
 small country place, the difficulty with 
 him, were such his wish, would be to
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 73 
 
 avoid meeting Mr. and Miss Bretherton 
 asrain ; and such certainly was not his wish. 
 On the contrary, Yictor was conscious of 
 a sino^ular satisfaction in the knowleds^e 
 that Idalia and her father were not to pass 
 like shadows out of his life alono- Avith 
 
 o 
 
 other nomads of humanity encountered 
 upon his travels. 
 
 As for Mr. Bretherton, he was moved by 
 a similar consideration to quite a pleasur- 
 able excitement. 
 
 ' It don't seem one-half so lonesome-like 
 to think of goin' to that thar place as it 
 did, now Tve made your acquaintance, 
 mister/ he presently observed. 'An' might 
 you live anywhares near by?' 
 
 ' Well, not very near. Our house is 
 about twenty minutes' walk from Monks- 
 wood Hall ; but that is nothing,' said 
 Victor. 
 
 ' Why, no — not fur young legs, it ain't 
 nothin'. An' maybe,' he suggested, timid- 
 ly, ' there's a family of ye ?'
 
 74 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Victor explained that he had a father,, 
 mother, and two sisters. 
 
 ' Two sisters ? Hev you now, really ?' 
 repeated Mr. Bretheton, in a tone of much 
 interest. ' An' they'll be young, I guess ?' 
 
 * Oh, yes ; they are both younger than I. 
 Dora is twenty and Jessie eighteen. 
 When Miss Bretherton comes to Monks- 
 wood, I hope she will allow them to call 
 upon her?' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton administered a gratified 
 rub to his knees before replying. 
 
 ' Now, that's cheerful ! Thank you, 
 mister ! Idalia she'll be quite sot up havin* 
 young folks around ; an' so shall I,' he 
 added ; ' I'm powerful fond of young folks. 
 An' your sisters, now ; I dessay they'll be 
 tender-hearted girls an' friendly?' 
 
 Victor smiled. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, ' I believe they are toler- 
 ably amiable. But a man shouldn't crack 
 up his own family, I suppose. By-the-by, 
 I think I ought to tell you, sir, in return
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 75 
 
 for your own candour, what our position in 
 life is. My father is not an independent 
 squire, as you will be, living on your own 
 property at Monkswood. He is a business 
 man.' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton nodded. 
 
 'Keeps a store, does he?' he asked. 
 
 'Well, no; not exactly,' laughed the 
 young man. 'He owns two large cloth 
 mills — at least, he and a gentleman who 
 is his partner do. The firm is styled 
 " Courteney, McNicoU," and the mills — 
 " Upton Brook Mills," they are called — are 
 situated about two miles from Hio-h 
 Radston.' 
 
 ' And capital good paying concerns they 
 are !' put in Charlie Xunnerley. ' His 
 father is awfully rich, governor; and I 
 expect my cousin will be made a partner 
 before long. I wish I had half as good 
 prospects as he has ! . . . Hello ! — will 
 that sonor be for luncheon ? I must have 
 a wash, Victor, before I eat.'
 
 76 A DIAMOND IK THE ROUGH. 
 
 ^ So must I,' returned his cousin. And, 
 waiting only to exchange, at Mr. Brether- 
 ton's request, another hearty hand-shake, 
 the two young men ran upstairs to per- 
 form their ablutions. 
 
 ' I say, did you ever know a queerer 
 thing in your life?' exclaimed Charlie, 
 turning uninvited into his cousin's room, 
 and proceeding to make himself at home at 
 the wash-stand. ' You little imagined, Vic, 
 when you were telling me about them at 
 breakfast this morning, that our wonder- 
 ful Peri and her old oddity of a father 
 were actually on their way to High Rad- 
 ston — of all places in the world ! Upon my 
 word, *' that thar fact is stranger than 
 fiction anyhow," ' he concluded, imitatinor 
 Mr. Bretherton's tone. 
 
 ' It is strange — yes,' assented Victor, 
 curtly. Somehow it grated upon him to 
 hear Idalia described as a ' Peri,' or her 
 father as an ' oddity.' ' I feel sure, Charlie,'
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 77 
 
 he subjoined presently, ' that Mr. Brethcr- 
 ton is a man to be esteemed.' 
 
 'Oh, no doubt of that! I feel the 
 strongest veneration for him already — and 
 for his purse also, and his hog farm, and 
 his stocks and shares. Bless the man ! 
 may his shadow never be less ! I suppose 
 I may use your brush ?' 
 
 ' Certainly ; don't be bashful, pray, 
 about helping yourself to anything you 
 may require.' 
 
 ' Is that meant to be satirical ? No 
 matter! — I can stand it,' said Charlie, 
 laughing. ' Xow be quick, my boy ! — I'm 
 in a hurry to join the fair Idalia.' 
 
 'Are you, indeed? Well, you needn't 
 wait for me,' retorted Victor, who, so far, 
 had been kept from performing his own 
 toilet by his cousin's obtrusion into his 
 room. 
 
 ^ Nonsense ! Of course, I shall wait for 
 you,' protested the other, generously. ' I
 
 78 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 say, Victor, isn't she enough to carry a 
 fellow off his feet at a glance ?' 
 
 ^She! Who?' demanded Victor, affect- 
 ing ignorance. 
 
 ' Those delicious eyes ! those exquisitely 
 long lashes !' pursued Charlie. * Lor !' 
 (again mimicking Mr. Bretherton's drawl) 
 ' there is a beauty to dream of — to drive a 
 man distracted ! My heart goes pit-a-pat 
 at the very thought of it !' 
 
 'Humph! I'm pretty sure of one thing, 
 my dear fellow,' sneered Victor ; ' and that 
 is, that 3^ou will never be driven distracted 
 by love or admiration of anyone, unless it 
 be of Charlie Nunnerley. I wouldn't 
 warrant you against going mad of self- 
 conceit.' 
 
 ' What a confounded libel ! By George, 
 you are in a sweet temper ! What is the 
 meaning of it?' 
 
 Victor laughed. He could not Avell 
 have explained the reason, but he certain- 
 ly did feel unusually irritated just now,
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 79 
 
 both by Charlie's assurance of manner and 
 style of conversation. 
 
 ' Your rhapsodies sound so uncommonly 
 cheeky,' he observed ; ' and I wonder,' he 
 added, suddenly, ' what Miss Hester 
 Courteney would say to them.' 
 
 Charlie looked startled and a little dis- 
 j)leased. 
 
 ' Miss Hester Courteney?' he repeated. 
 ^And pray why should you suppose that 
 she would have anything to say to them ?' 
 
 ' Xay, you may answer that question for 
 3^ourself,' rejoined Victor, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 'I never puzzle myself to guess riddles,' 
 answered his cousin. • Are you ready 
 now ?' 
 
 At the luncheon-table the young men 
 found themselves placed directly opposite 
 to Mr. and Miss Bretherton. The latter 
 welcomed them both with a frank smile, 
 and the conversation throuo-hout the meal 
 Avas mostly confined to the three. Idalia,
 
 80 A diamo^n'd in the hough. 
 
 it is true, made several efforts to induce a 
 more general sociality, and the young men 
 2)olitely followed her lead ; but the com- 
 pany was not composed of very congenial 
 elements, and did not appear inclined to 
 consort. 
 
 The talkative lady certainly chattered 
 incessantly ; but the ' flow of her soul ^ 
 (her conversation was, assuredly, not a 
 ' feast of reason ') was chiefly directed 
 towards her friend, ' the victim.' The 
 churlish professor only opened his lips to 
 animadvert upon the cookery ; and the 
 Avidow, who was looking decidedly sulky, 
 replied to the remarks addressed to her as 
 nearly as possible in monosyllables. 
 
 On the conclusion of this repast Victor 
 McNicoU retired again for a time to his 
 own chamber. Although there was no 
 prospect of dispatching it to-day, he was 
 anxious to write a letter which might be 
 sent off on the first available opportunity. 
 
 This letter was to his father, and the
 
 COUSINLY COMPLIMENTS. 81 
 
 tone of it was somewhat apologetic. "When 
 at home, Victor filled the post of head- 
 cashier at the mills, and the three weeks' 
 leave of absence from his duties which had 
 been granted him would expire to-morrow. 
 That the prolongation of his holiday by a 
 few days would occasion any serious diffi- 
 culty in business matters, the young man 
 did not for a moment suppose. But he 
 was sufficiently conversant with his father's 
 temper and disposition to feel the advis- 
 ability of acquainting him without delay 
 with the cause of his present detention. 
 Also, he desired that this explanation 
 should precede his own arrival at home. 
 
 His letter finished, Victor repaired to 
 the drawing-room. There the first persons 
 his eye lighted upon were his cousin and 
 Miss Bretherton seated apart at a small 
 table, whereon lay a chess-board. Ap- 
 proaching them he learned that Charlie 
 had proffered to teach the young lady 
 this game ; and it appeared to him that 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A DIAMOiN'D IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Idalia was enjoying lier lesson. Further, 
 it struck him that his- cousin, at all events, 
 considered his presence and superintend- 
 ence of the amusement de trop. With- 
 drawing, therefore, to a distance, he took 
 up a book ; but for some reason or other 
 he found it impossible to read. His gaze 
 kept wandering constantly towards the 
 chess-table, and he found himself furtively 
 watching the progress of the instruction. 
 That instruction — with intervals devoted 
 to what seemed to be very interesting con- 
 versation — lasted throughout the greater 
 part of the afternoon ; and, by the time the 
 table was at length pushed away, Victor 
 had grown so strangely and unaccountably 
 restless that he could with difficulty keep 
 his seat.
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. 
 
 'Anyone here to meet me, Carter?' 
 
 'Yes, sir; there's your coachman outside 
 mth the brougham. He has been waiting 
 a goodish while.' 
 
 ' Oh, has he ? Well, bring my port- 
 manteau along, please.' 
 
 And, gathering up a railway-rug and 
 other stray belongings scattered about a 
 first-class compartment, Victor McXicoU 
 walked off towards the exit from the High 
 Radston station, followed by the porter 
 whom he had addressed by name. 
 
 'This is your last down-train, isn't it, 
 
 g2
 
 84 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 Carter ?' he asked, looking back. ' I had 
 a near shave to catch it in London.' 
 
 * YeSj sir ; yes. It's the last as stops 
 here — the 9.40 is. Thank you, sir ; much 
 obliged.' 
 
 The expression of gratitude bore refer- 
 ence to a small gratuity dropped into the 
 porter's hand as he closed the carriage- 
 door. 
 
 Since Victor's introduction to the reader 
 on the summit of the Miirren, ^ve days 
 had now elapsed. Three of those days 
 had been spent on the mountain ; the last 
 two, with an intervening night, the young 
 man had passed in travelling homewards 
 at express speed, without rest or inter- 
 mission. 
 
 Pale and jaded, he now flung himself 
 back against the cushions of the brougham 
 as he was driven off, and closed his eyes : 
 not, however, to sleep. Victor had enjoy- 
 ed no sleep since he had set out upon this 
 journey. A certain unvaried sequence of
 
 THE MAGNICOLL FAMILY. 85 
 
 thoughts, memories, anticipations, had 
 occupied his mind and driven away all 
 inclination for slumber ; and no sooner 
 did he once more find himself alone, than 
 his weary brain set to Avork anew, going 
 over and over ao;ain the same oTound it 
 had so incessantly traversed during the 
 past thirty-eight or thirty-nine hours. 
 Haunted by these persistent and, it may 
 be added, agitating reflections, the young 
 man's tedious journey had passed like an 
 uneasy dream, and the exhaustion from 
 which he was at present sufi*ering was due 
 as much to the mental as to the physical 
 strain. 
 
 High Radston station was built quite 
 in an outskirt of the small market-town. 
 It was not, however, the same outskirt as 
 that wherein young McNicoll's home was 
 situated, and he had a considerable 
 distance to drive. 
 
 The carriage at first rolled smoothly 
 along a level road, bordered by trees and
 
 86 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 not too well lighted ; but, on reaching the 
 town, the horse fell into a walk, for in the 
 town itself there was scarcely a level yard. 
 Most of the streets sloped either up 
 or down, the majority of them converg- 
 ing towards one point as a focus. This 
 was the ' market-place ' — a huge irregular 
 square, where each Saturday a number of 
 portable stalls were set up for the sale of 
 country produce, in the shape of butter, 
 eggs, fruit, and vegetables, brought thither 
 by the wives and daughters of neighbour- 
 ing farmers. On one side of the square, 
 moreover, was a large covered building, 
 erected also for market purposes, but 
 seldom used, excepting on the occasion 
 of the great annual agricultural show. 
 Behind this, again (the civic authorities 
 were evidently not economical of space), 
 lay a good-sized piece of ground, enclosed 
 by white-painted palings and divided by 
 hurdles. Here it was that the monthly 
 cattle-market was held, and the fat
 
 THE IVIACNICOLL FAMILY. b i 
 
 sheep and cows exposed for view and 
 purchase. 
 
 On his way to the market square 
 Victor had to pass by these cattle-pens, 
 and though it was growing too dark for a 
 stranger to have distinguished any special 
 features of the town, they were marked 
 enough to his recognition by their white 
 railings. 
 
 After crossing the square, the carriage 
 began to crawl up a broad, rather steep, 
 thoroughfare. This was the principal 
 street of the town, where all the best shops 
 were located. Those shops, however, had 
 long since been closed. Ten o'clock in 
 High Radston was considered a very late 
 hour. It was a sleepy little place, and not, 
 as a rule, much given to dissipation, even 
 in the mild form of visiting and tea-drink- 
 ing. The number of lights which glimmer- 
 ed in the upper storeys showed Victor that 
 its inhabitants were already retiring to their 
 nightly rest.
 
 88 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Having lived in the neighbourliood all 
 his life, lie knew most of the dwellers in 
 this chief street, at least by sight, and 
 could, had he so desired, have drawn 
 pretty correct pictures to himself of the 
 various inmates of those blind-shrouded 
 chambers. But, although his gaze wan- 
 dered over the lighted casements, Victor 
 was thinking nothing of what lay be- 
 hind them ; and when presently the shops 
 came to an end, and the town was left 
 behind, he once more subsided into a 
 corner. 
 
 Then followed a long country drive of 
 nearly seven miles, over a dark road, 
 unilluminated by moon or gas. But at 
 length the carriage turned in at an open 
 gateway, and drew up before a handsome 
 portal. 
 
 Roused from the reverie into which he 
 had again fallen, and almost dazzled by the 
 light from a couple of lamps that stood on
 
 THE MACNICOLL FAIMILY. 89 
 
 either side of tlie portico, Victor sprang to 
 the ground. 
 
 Scarcely had he done so before the door 
 was thrown open, and the interior of a 
 square hall disclosed to his familiar vision. 
 
 In the style of its appointments this 
 entrance-hall was both luxurious and ele- 
 gant. A thick Persian carpet, with a 
 predominance of crimson amongst its 
 many-blended tints, covered the floor. 
 There were benches and tables of dark oak, 
 beautifully carved, whilst bronzes, statues, 
 stands of flowers and ferns were arranged 
 about it in appropriate and effective posi- 
 tions. Thus, on its threshold, the house 
 was, as it were, stamped as the abode of 
 wealth. From the fact, however, that 
 everything was modern and fashionable — 
 that nothing time-worn or antiquated met 
 the eye — one might have guessed that the 
 wealth was of comparatively recent ac- 
 quirement, and that the owner of this
 
 90 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 house, though rich, belonged to the com- 
 fortable middle- class, and not to any 
 higher order of society. 
 
 Passing in, Victor surrendered his wraps 
 to a servant, and the next instant was 
 being drawn by two young ladies into a 
 room to the left of the hall, from which 
 they had just burst forth in breathless 
 haste. 
 
 ' My dear girls ! don't smother me, 
 please !' he remonstrated presently, re- 
 leasing himself from their rather too- 
 demonstrative embraces, and turning to- 
 wards a third and older lady, who had 
 stepped forward to meet him. ' And how 
 is the dear little mother ?' 
 
 The tone of the inquiry was tenderly 
 aiFectionate, and so was the caress whereby 
 it was accompanied. 
 
 ' Little, indeed !' 
 
 Mrs. McNicoll drew herself up and 
 laughed, as though she considered the 
 term inappropriate, which in truth it was ;
 
 THE MACNICOLL FAMILY. 91 
 
 for, although beside her son's tall figure 
 she scarcely looked it, Mrs. McMcoll was 
 considerably above the medium height. 
 Her form, too, was slight and thin, and 
 the simple, clinging dress she usually 
 affected added to the impression of her 
 stature. Her face, however, was one that 
 invited endearments. She was a gentle, 
 sweet-tempered woman, and her placid, 
 yet thoughtful expression, bore witness to 
 her disposition. In complexion she was 
 pale; her features were delicate and refin- 
 ed; her dark eyes were just the colour of 
 Victor's own, but they possessed neither 
 the keenness nor depth which character- 
 ised his. Although not yet forty-six, Mrs. 
 McNicoll's hair was silver-grey, and she 
 wore it smoothly arranged beneath a 
 dainty lace cap that became her to 
 perfection. 
 
 As regarded personal appearance, the 
 Misses McNicoU were not, either in their 
 brother's opinion or that of their general
 
 92 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 acquaintances, to be compared with their 
 mother. They were, in fact, rather plain 
 girls, both of them ; and they were much 
 alike. Their features, derived from their 
 father, were large and a little clumsy. 
 They had pale reddish hair (Jessie's being 
 a shade deeper in tint than that of her 
 sister), and eyebrows of the same colour. 
 Their eyes were blue, and their complex- 
 ions, but for an unstinted adornment of 
 freckles, w^ould have been fair. 
 
 Nevertheless, though common-place 
 young women, as this common-place de- 
 scription shows, the sisters were not un- 
 pleasant to look upon. No face behind 
 which beats a heart can ever be absolutely 
 ugly ; and, whatever their faults, both 
 Dora and Jessie McNicoll possessed warm 
 hearts and kindly natures. Souls, fortu- 
 nately, are not always made to match the 
 features, and a fair soul may exist with- 
 out Madonna-like graces of form ; also, 
 thank God ! love discovers beauties every-
 
 THE MACNICOLL FA]\riLY. 93 
 
 where, and always, in the coarse and 
 homely faces belonging to the every-day 
 men and women of whom the world is 
 full. It would be a bad business indeed 
 for the majority of mankind, beauty being 
 so extremely rare, if love had to wait for 
 it, instead of creating it, as it does, out of 
 its own sweetness. 
 
 Looking on whilst their mother and 
 brother embraced, the two girls were 
 struck simultaneously by the same 
 impression. 
 
 ' Oh, Victor, how pale you are !' said 
 Dora. 
 
 ' HoAv ill you look !* exclaimed Jessie, in 
 the same breath. 
 
 ' 111 !' echoed Mrs. McXicoll, drawino- 
 back to scan his face in swift anxiety. 
 'My dearest boy, are you ill?' 
 
 'Xot at all, mother,' rejoined her son, 
 smiHng ; ' but I daresay I do look seedy 
 enough, for I am fearfully tired. I have 
 travelled from Lauterbrunnen, you know,
 
 94 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 without stopping. Of course I need not 
 Ptsk if you got my telegram, since you sent 
 to meet me.' 
 
 ' IMo ; it reached us yesterday. But sit 
 down, dear ; you really do look wretched. 
 And you must be hungry as well as tired.' 
 She bustled forward to draw a chair to the 
 end of a long table spread with the pre- 
 parations for a repast. 'What will you 
 take, Victor ? There are some chops being 
 cooked, and here is a cold partridge, you 
 see. But you must have a cup of hot tea 
 or coffee ; which shall it be ? Please ring 
 the bell, eJessie.' 
 
 'Thanks ; I'll take coffee. But I'm not 
 particularly hungry, mother. Sit down 
 yourself, and don't bother about me, there's 
 a dear.' 
 
 The young man dropped, as he spoke, 
 into the seat she had placed for him by 
 the table, and, when the coffee and chops 
 had been brought in, the three ladies seat- 
 •ed themselves near him.
 
 THE MACNICOLL FAMILY. 95 
 
 The room was a dining-room. It was 
 an apartment, however, meant to sit in as 
 well as to eat in, and it had the comfort- 
 able aspect imparted by habitual occu- 
 pancy. The furniture was substantial and 
 good, the drapery of the three large 
 windows was heavy and handsome, the 
 ornaments were chaste and in good taste, 
 and the walls w^ere hung Avith well-selected 
 oil-paintings (principally landscapes) in 
 massive gilt frames. Over the mantel- 
 piece appeared a likeness of the master of 
 house, but other family portraits were con- 
 spicuous by their absence. 
 
 ' You got the telegram yesterday, you 
 say ?' Victor inquired, taking from Dora's 
 hand the cup she had filled for him ; 'but 
 my letter — I am afraid that has not arriv- 
 ed. I wrote it several days ago, but was 
 not able to post it until a few hours before 
 I set off for home myself. The letter was 
 to my father.' 
 
 'Yes; it came by this evening's post,'
 
 96 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 said Dora. ' We asked father what was in 
 it, but he said there was '' nothing " in it ; 
 so we dared not make any further 
 inquiries.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Well, I am glad it has reached 
 him before my return. I wrote to exjDlain 
 how it was that I had been detained 
 beyond my time. By the way, where is 
 he? — in the library, I suppose. But he 
 must have heard me come in.' 
 
 ^ I hope he didn't — at least, I hope he 
 won't present himself here just yet,' put 
 in Jessie ; ' for I may inform you, my dear, 
 that he is in one of his most cantankerous 
 moods this evening : a bear with a sore 
 head would be mildness personified by 
 comparison.' 
 
 '- Jessie ! Jessie, my child !' 
 
 ' All right, mother ; but it is true, isn't 
 it ? The new book-case came to-day, 
 Victor — the one to fill up that corner, you 
 know — and father insists on arranging the 
 books in it himself I suppose he is busy
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. 97 
 
 about that now — too busy to come and 
 ask how you are ; so let us make hay 
 while the sun shines. You must have 
 oceans of things to tell us ; but I am 
 afraid we shall have to pump you, as usual, 
 to get them out. To begin with, how is 
 Charlie ? And where did you leave him ? 
 — in London, of course.' 
 
 ' No ; I left him in Switzerland,' answer- 
 ed Victor. ' He stayed behind for another 
 day at Interlaken, although he ought to 
 have been at home some time ago to fulfil 
 an eno:ao;ement he had made.' 
 
 ' Victor, you have not referred to poor 
 Sir Jonathan Ledsom,' interposed Dora, 
 changing the subject. ' Were you not 
 awfully shocked to hear about him?' 
 
 ' Sir Jonathan Ledsom ?' repeated her 
 brother. ' Xo ; what is the matter mth 
 him ? I haven't heard anything. I called 
 at the Poste Restante at Interlaken, 
 expecting letters from you there, but they 
 told me there were none.' 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ' Of course not. Why, Victor, you 
 told us to direct to the Hotel des Alpes.' 
 
 * To be sure I did !' he exclaimed. ^ How 
 stupid of me to forget 1 But I passed 
 through the place in such ^ hnrry. Well, 
 Dora, what is amiss with the old gentle- 
 man ?' 
 
 ' He is dead, Victor. He died last Fri- 
 day, and he is to be buried to-morrow,' 
 answered his sister. 
 
 ' Dead !' Victor laid down his knife 
 and fork with a start. ^ Dead !' he in- 
 terjected again. ' Dear me! How did it 
 happen ?' 
 
 'You. should not have told him so 
 abruptly, Dora,' remonstrated Mrs. Mc- 
 Mcoll. 'My dear boy, you really are 
 not well.' 
 
 A slightly impatient gesture escaped the 
 young man. 
 
 ' I assure you, mother, that there is 
 nothing whatever the matter with me but 
 fatigue,' he protested; 'I shall be all
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. 99 
 
 right to-morrow. Go on, Dora. AVhat 
 did he die of? It seems dreadfully 
 sudden.' 
 
 ' It was dreadfully sudden,' affirmed 
 Dora. ' It was apoplexy — a fit, Victor — and 
 he died within half-an-hour. Lady Led- 
 som is in great distress, naturally. She 
 has shut herself up and refused to see any- 
 one. Arthur is here, of course,' she added, 
 with a faint rise of colour — ^ Sir Arthur 
 now, you know.' 
 
 ' Yes, poor fellow ! And he has called 
 here every day since he arrived,' observed 
 Jessie. ' He is so troubled about his aunt. 
 Would you believe it, Victor, she — ha, here 
 is father !' 
 
 Victor rose to his feet and turned towards 
 the door. 
 
 The gentleman who had just entered 
 was indubitably a fine man. He stood six 
 feet in his boots, and was stout in propor- 
 tion. His hair and the long brown beard 
 he wore had a decided tino-e of red in them. 
 
 a 
 
 h2
 
 100 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 His features were pronounced, his eyes^ 
 grey and sharply observant. The expres- 
 sion of his countenance (this no stranger 
 could fail at once to notice) was habitualty 
 surly and ill-tempered. At the present 
 moment his brows were knit into two deep 
 upright furrows, and he looked more ill- 
 tempered than usual. 
 
 ' How do you do, father?' There was a 
 deprecating but not unmanly tone in his 
 son's voice as he advanced, with out- 
 stretched hand, to offer his greeting. 
 
 ^ No, I can't shake hands,' said Mr. Mc- 
 Mcoll, waving him off ; ' my hands are 
 perfectly black.' (They did not look so as 
 he exhibited them.) ' Those books, Helen, 
 are in a filthy condition, full of dust. 
 And yet you profess, forsooth, to be a 
 model house-keeper? But it's the way 
 with women, I know — those of them, at 
 least, who make a pretence of caring for 
 cleanliness at all. They are quite content 
 if the outside of the platter be clean. There
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. 101 
 
 is no thorougliness about them. They 
 haven't a notion of thoroughness.' 
 
 • But those books are so old, William,' 
 expostulated his wife, softly ; ' and on 
 shelves without glass it is impossible to 
 avoid a little dust accumulating. Had 
 you allowed it, I should have told Jane to 
 take them outside and beat them before 
 they were put into a new case.' 
 
 'Yes, no doubt vou would. And let 
 her tear them to tatters, the unhandy 
 bungler !' snapped her husband. ' Oh, 
 yes, IVe no doubt you would. Well, sir, 
 so you have condescended to return at 
 last?' 
 
 * You received my letter, father, this 
 evening, I understand,' said Victor. ' That 
 explains the cause of my delay.' 
 
 'And a very lame explanation, I con- 
 sider it,' rejoined Mr. McNicoll, dropping 
 into the easy-chair which was always re- 
 served for his especial use. ' In the first 
 place, you had no business to go up the
 
 102 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 mountain at all when your time was so 
 nearly run out ; and, in the second, it's 
 ridiculous to tell me that you were kept 
 there three days by a little snow. It 
 wouldn't have kept me, I know. But you 
 young fellows are such milksops — so afraid 
 of wetting your feet or soiling your dainty 
 little boots — bah !' 
 
 A quick, angry flush spread over Victor 
 McNicoll's face. He made no reply, how- 
 ever, until he had mastered his rising in- 
 dignation. Then he said, 
 
 ' It was not by "a little snow," sir, that 
 I was detained : I thought I had made that 
 sufficiently clear in my letter. For two 
 days I could only have attempted the 
 descent — so, at all events, I was assured — 
 at the risk of life or limb. The third day 
 was Sunday, and, knowing that my mother 
 strongly disapproves of travelling upon 
 that day, I put oif commencing my journey 
 until the following morning.' 
 
 ^ Model of virtue ! How convenient it
 
 THE MACNICOLL FAIMILY. 103 
 
 is when duty and inclination run in accord, 
 is it not?' sneered his father. 
 
 That sneer Avas ahnost too much for 
 poor Victor. Weary and out of sorts as 
 he was, he felt less fitted than usual to 
 bear with patience his amiable parent's 
 buffets. Moreover, this scoffing suggestion 
 irritated him more, from the fact that there 
 was an element of truth in it. Still, by a 
 strong effort, he kept back the resentful 
 words that burned on his tono;ue. As 
 regarded his father, this young man had 
 already learned the difficult lesson of self- 
 control. If that Scripture adage be true 
 — ' He that ruleth his spirit is greater than 
 he that taketh a city ' — he had also earned 
 his patent of nobility. At any rate, he 
 had proved himself, often enough, a vic- 
 torious general over forces other than those 
 of war and bloodshed. 
 
 It was once remarked, by an observant 
 visitor at his house, that to live with the 
 elder McNicoU was enou^rh to make either
 
 104 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 a saint or a devil of a man. Of his son, 
 however, it had made neither the one nor 
 the other. For one reason, there were 
 in his case counter-influences at work, 
 whereof the observer in question had taken 
 no account. Association with his father 
 had added no happiness to Victor's life, 
 but it had been the means of invino; moral 
 strength and vigour to his character. The 
 tenderness which was required to modify 
 that vigour, and which was also to be 
 found in the young fellow's nature, had 
 been developed through the influence of 
 his mother. That influence had formed 
 his ballast and mainstay ; for Victor was 
 (Ij^onscious of possessing some taint of his 
 father's hot and cynical temper — which 
 fact made his manful self-government in 
 all relationships with him the more meri- 
 torious. 
 
 As for Mr. McMcoll, his disposition 
 might at times be described as positively 
 vicious. Not only did he take no care to
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. 105 
 
 avoid treading on the mental corns of his 
 family and dependents, but lie was at pains 
 to seek out those corns, in order — so it 
 really appeared — that he might have the 
 satisfaction of stamping on them. Fortu- 
 nately for the members of his home-circle, 
 his habits were solitary, and he s])eTit 
 much of his time alone. AYhen he did 
 inflict his presence upon wife or children, 
 the effect was either that of a cold douche- 
 bath or a pungent blister. And the con- 
 sciousness that he was disagreeable — 
 Mr. McXicoll was fully aware of this 
 truth — the knowledge that his children 
 feared, and his employees at the mill detest- 
 ed him, only re-acted in making him more 
 savage and morose. Year by year, almost 
 month by month, his unchecked ill- 
 humours had grown upon him. Yet Mr. 
 McXicoll was not a bad man, nor, at the 
 bottom of his heart, an unkind one. In 
 all his business dealings he was just and 
 honourable. Further, so far as money-
 
 106 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 giving was concerned, lie was generous. 
 His name stood high on the list of many 
 public charities, and his work-people^ 
 though they did not know it, owed every 
 rise in their wages, and such liberalities as 
 a Christmas dinner and midsummer treat, 
 to him rather than to the partner whom 
 they so much preferred. Thoroughly 
 moral, too, Mr. McMcoll did not drink, 
 gamble, or indulge in any other such pro- 
 pensity. Whilst they did not love him, 
 therefore, his children were not wholly 
 without respect for him. For her part, his 
 wife, notwithstanding the constant rebuffs 
 which her affection had received, still 
 loved him more than she dared venture to 
 show. 
 
 There are many men who, like Mr. 
 McNicoll, sit as incubuses on their own 
 hearthstones, clouding the happiness and 
 marring the lives of all around them. 
 Verily, such men have their reward. 
 
 ^ I suppose, father/ said Victor, ventur-
 
 THE MACXICOLL FAMILY. JOT 
 
 ing at length to speak, ' that Harry 
 Bentham has managed the books 
 satisfactorily ?' 
 
 ' So far as I know, he has,' was the 
 grumbling admission. 
 
 " Then my absence has not really caused 
 any particular inconvenience?' 
 
 ' Xo, nor any general inconvenience 
 either, for that matter,' snarled his father. 
 ' In your place, however, I should not be 
 so ready to admit or to j^^^ove that I could 
 be so easily done without. You are satis- 
 fied, it appears, to be a nonentity in the 
 business, and yet you have the assumption 
 to consider yourself injured because you 
 are not made a partner.' 
 
 Victor pushed away his coffee-cup and 
 rose from the table. 
 
 ' That I am not a nonentity in the busi- 
 ness, sir, you are very well aware,' he 
 remarked, in a low tone of suppressed 
 annoyance. ' Also you are aware that, al- 
 though you and Mr. Courteney have con-
 
 108 A DIAMOND IN THE KOL'GH. 
 
 suited together with reference to giving me 
 a partnership, I myself have never pressed 
 the question.' 
 
 'Too proud, I suppose — eh?' 
 
 Victor did not reply. 
 
 ' Did you hear me, sir ?' angrily queried 
 Mr. McMcoll. ' I ask, were you too proud 
 to seek a favour from your father, as any 
 other son might ?' 
 
 ' It was not pride, father, that kept me 
 from pressing the matter, I think.' 
 
 • But 1 think it was !' retorted the other. 
 * You're just as full of pride as you can 
 hold, though what you have to be proud 
 of it would be difficult to say. Why are 
 you standing there ? Sit down, pray.' 
 
 ' I am going to bed, sir. Good-night, 
 mother.' 
 
 ' Humph ! Very courteous and dutiful 
 to march off to bed directly I come into 
 the room, after an absence of three weeks 
 or more,' observed his father. 
 
 'Victor is very tired, William,' put in
 
 THE :\IACXICOLL FAMILY. 109 
 
 his wife. ^ He has been travellino- you 
 must consider, without stopping, for two 
 days.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! And his organisation is too 
 delicate to stand the strain of so tremend- 
 ous a journey? Well, by all means let 
 him take himself off.' 
 
 ' Oh, Victor ! and you have not told us 
 a single word about your adventures !' 
 exclaimed Jessie, darting a resentful glance 
 at her sire. ' It is too bad ! Please, don't 
 go yet.' 
 
 ^ My adventures will keep till to-morrow, 
 Jessie,' rejoined her brother. ' I am, as 
 mother says, very tired. Moreover, the 
 domestic atmosphere is not very breath- 
 able this evenino:. I can't stand it anv 
 lono^er.' And with this Parthian shaft 
 the young man hurried from the room. 
 
 After his departure, Mr. McXicoll sub- 
 sided into a grim taciturnity, and addressed 
 no further word to any of his family. It 
 was Victor's impression sometimes that his
 
 110 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 father absolutely hated him. How sur- 
 prised he would have been could he have 
 known the truth ! That truth was, that 
 in the secret depths of his haughty and 
 contentious nature Mr. McNicoll almost 
 idolised his son — that he loved him with a 
 passionate fervour of affection and admira- 
 tion, all the more ardent in that he would 
 not allow it expression.
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 REVEALS AN IMPORTANT SECRET. 
 
 For some minutes after he had shut him- 
 self in his own chamber Victor stood lean- 
 ing against the mantel-shelf, pondering 
 with a chafed and troubled air over the 
 injustice and unkindness of his father's 
 reception. 
 
 But his disturbance on this score did 
 not last long. That grievance was too 
 old — the skeleton of the household too 
 famiHar to excite him greatly. He was 
 accustomed to it. One can get used to 
 anything, even to wearing a hair shirt or 
 to the excruciating noises of a machinists' 
 factory.
 
 112 A DIAMOXD IX THE EOUGH. 
 
 Sitting down to pull off his boots,. 
 Victor dismissed the vexed subject, and, 
 with a quick rebound, his mind reverted 
 to those engrossing reflections which had 
 occupied him throughout his homeward 
 journey. As a consequence, his perception 
 of objective realities grew dim, his con- 
 sciousness ceasing to take subjective note 
 of them. Oblivious, to all intents and pur- 
 poses, of w^iere he was, he mechanically 
 prepared for rest, and was soon tossing 
 sleeplessly upon his pillows. 
 
 To confess the truth — a truth w^hich, as 
 yet, the young fellow himself hardly 
 realised — Victor McNicoll had been laid 
 hold upon by that one supreme passion, 
 before which (especially at its first on- 
 slaught) all other human sentiments and 
 affections dwarf and pale. He had fallen 
 in love with Idalia Bretherton — deeply and 
 passionately in love. It is true that he 
 had only known her for three days, but 
 they had been days of almost constant
 
 AX IMPORTxiXT SECRET. 113 
 
 companionsliip, and, sliort thougli the 
 time may appear, it had been long enough 
 for the purpose. 
 
 A sharp line seemed to him now to 
 have divided his life in two. That line cut 
 across at the foot of the Miirren — hence- 
 forth to him a mountain of sacred mystery, 
 as Sinai or Tabor to the Israelites. Before 
 ascending that mountain he had been one 
 man, when he came down it he was another. 
 His life, with all its hopes and interests, 
 had there been transformed by mastic 
 more potent than that of a necromancer's 
 wand. 
 
 That Idalia's beauty — a beauty so 
 singular and exceptional — was the fons et 
 origo of young McXicoll's passion need not 
 be denied. 
 
 Who, indeed, can denv that beautv of 
 person is an enormous power ? And why 
 should it not be so ? One has as much 
 right to delight in the beauty of a lovely 
 face as of a lovely view, or in the harmony 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 of a graceful figure as that of music and 
 rhythm. 
 
 A man can no more help the vibrations 
 of joy he experiences in contemplation of 
 a smooth rounded cheek, of long lashes 
 framing eyes of liquid depth, of delicate 
 lips taking exquisite curves, of dimpled 
 chins, or any of the other numerous notes 
 of beauty whose charms poor words fail to 
 portray, than he can help being touched 
 by the sweet cadence of a song, or the 
 mystic entrancement of a fair landscape 
 seen by moonlight. 
 
 And it is often the noblest nature that 
 is most sensitive to this subtle influence of 
 personal beauty. A sensuous man sensua- 
 lizes what he looks upon. His imagination, 
 piercing through the outer veil of loveli- 
 ness, sees, or fancies it sees, impurity 
 within. With the good man, on the con- 
 trary, beauty seems naturally the correla- 
 tive of goodness. To him it is the expres- 
 sion of something beyond and above
 
 AN BIPORTAXT SECRET. 115 
 
 itself. It is the embodiment of his 
 spiritual yearnings after innocence, truth, 
 tenderness, and all virtue. 
 
 It is for this reason — because of the 
 mystery which underlies it, and which 
 claims kindred with the deeper mysteries 
 of his own soul — that a true and pure man 
 may prove most susceptible to that power 
 which ^ itself doth of itself persuade the 
 eyes of men, without an orator.' 
 
 That Victor McNicoll was by any means a 
 perfect young man is not pretended, but 
 unquestionably he was pure and true, and 
 unquestionably, also, Idalia Bretherton's 
 rare loveliness had found its way to the in- 
 mostwindings ofhisnature, andhadtouched 
 the chords of his deepestfaith andsympathy. 
 But in this case personal attraction, though 
 it was the beo^inninof, was not the end of 
 the matter. 
 
 Victor was fuUy persuaded that here, at 
 all events, the jewel was worthy of the 
 casket. He had talked with Idalia, and 
 
 I 2
 
 116 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 had discovered that she possessed a refined 
 mind. He had watched her, and had seen 
 that she had a noble nature. 
 
 But that, perhaps, which had aroused 
 his admiration most of all was her devo- 
 tion to her father. That devotion was so 
 utterly unaffected and simple, yet so 
 patent, that all who ran might read. It 
 was evident that the girl was not troubled 
 with even the shadow of shame in his re- 
 gard. Her tender love for him covered all 
 defects in his speech and manner, and 
 bridged over the gulf which her superior 
 education, natural refinement, and adapta- 
 bility to circumstances had set between 
 them. That sharp contrast, which was so 
 marked to others as to make them marvel 
 at the relationship, appeared to have no 
 existence in Idalia's own consciousness. 
 
 And what would have been touching in 
 this passionate affection as exhibited by an 
 uninteresting elderly woman, or a plain, 
 freckled girl like Jessie McNicoll, became
 
 AX IMPORTANT SECRET. 117 
 
 infinitely lovely in Idalia. To Victor she 
 seemed a thing apart — a ^vonder of crea- 
 tion in her adorable perfection. 
 
 In her presence he had been content to 
 gaze and sigh, to watch and worship ; or, 
 at least, he would have been so content 
 but for the restless element of jealousy 
 which had already been introduced into 
 his love. Not, howcA^er, that Victor had 
 3'et definitely acknowledged to himself 
 either the love or the jealousy. He only 
 knew that he hated to see Charlie Kunner- 
 ley seated by Miss Bretherton's side, and 
 that he abhorred the livelv ease of his 
 cousin's manner towards her. 
 
 Yet he had been forced to see Charlie a 
 good deal by her side. The lessons in 
 chess, begun on that first afternoon, had 
 been several times repeated. Idalia had 
 seemed really anxious to learn the game, 
 and Charlie had shown himself equally 
 anxious to continue the instructions ; and, 
 naturally, the conversation over the chess-
 
 118 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 board liad not been entirely confined to 
 the movements of castles and pawns. 
 
 Looking on from a distance, and feeding 
 his incipient jealousy with each glance, 
 Victor had seen the two laughing and 
 talking together, sometimes to the neglect 
 for a considerable time of the pieces before 
 them. 
 
 Moreover, he had frequently surprised 
 Charlie gazing with furtive, but unmis- 
 takable admiration at the lovely features 
 opposite to him, pulling the while at his 
 fair moustache ; and, forgetful of the 
 fact that he had himself suggested that 
 the young artist should make a study of 
 those features, to his professional ad- 
 vantage, Victor, inconsistently enough, had 
 been moved by the sight to indignant 
 annoyance. 
 
 Knowing something that he did about 
 Charlie in relation to another young lady, 
 and guessing more than he knew, it had 
 struck him as the height of impertinence
 
 AN I]HPORTANT SECRET. 119 
 
 that he should direct his admiration to, or 
 force his attentions upon, Idalia. 
 
 Then, to crown what in Victor's eyes 
 was, even if nothing worse, an audacity of 
 assurance in his conduct, Charlie had 
 remained behind on the Miirren for another 
 day after he had himself been forced to 
 leave. He had remained behind with 
 the express object of accomj^anying the 
 Brethertons to Interlaken on the following 
 morning, when they purposed to make the 
 journey there. 
 
 Furthermore, both the father and daugh- 
 ter had frankly avowed their pleasure in 
 this arrangement, and separately they had 
 confided to Victor their mutual opinion 
 that his cousin was an ' exceedingly nice 
 young fellow.' 
 
 AVith that ' nice young fellow ' A'ictor 
 had not parted on particularly cordial 
 terms. Xot having much in common, the 
 two had never been strongly attached (al- 
 though till now their intercourse had
 
 120 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 always proved amicable), and, on Char- 
 lie's side as well as his, a coohiess had 
 sprung up during their stay upon the 
 mountain. 
 
 So far, therefore, as the loss of his 
 company was concerned, Victor might 
 not have objected very strongly to this 
 unfriendlv desertion of himself; but all 
 the way home — through that dream-like 
 journey which had followed their separa- 
 tion — he had been tortured with visions of 
 Charlie and Idalia seated together over 
 their chess-board, or travelling in each 
 other's company. 
 
 With these unpleasant impressions, how- 
 ever (he had not sought to analyse fully 
 ivhy they were so unpleasant), there had 
 mingled more agreeable, but scarcely less 
 exciting, thoughts. 
 
 Over and over again he had lived 
 through the history of those three days. 
 Every word that Idalia had spoken in his 
 hearing seemed to be stamped upon his
 
 AN IMPORTANT SECRET. 121 
 
 brain ; each attitude and movement of her 
 ofraceful fio'ure he remembered ; everv 
 particular in her dress (he had never 
 before been used to notice ladies' dresses) 
 had fixed itself upon his mind. 
 
 Without difficulty his active memory 
 recalled all the turns of the quiet httle 
 talks he had held with her. Sweet 
 reminiscences thrilled him of smiles which 
 she had sdven him, of moments when her 
 lovely eyes had looked with frank kindli- 
 ness into his own, of rapturous accidents 
 whereby her dress or her hand had chanced 
 to touch him. 
 
 Poor Victor ! He had never, it is true, 
 been in love before, yet one might have 
 thought that the signs of his present con- 
 dition were too plain to have escaped his 
 own recognition. 
 
 Even now, ' thoughts, dreams, and sighs, 
 wishes and tears, poor fancy's followers,' 
 kept him long from the slumber he so 
 much needed. k.t length, however, utter-
 
 122 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 ly worn out, he dropped off into uncon- 
 sciousness, and slept soundly until what 
 was for him a late hour of the morning.
 
 123 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 
 
 Despite his spare frame and sallow com- 
 plexion, Victor McNicoU possessed a 
 capital constitution. A good night's rest 
 sufficed to restore him to his usual health, 
 and in much better spirits than on the pre- 
 vious evening he descended to the break- 
 fast-room. 
 
 At Upton Lodge — so Mr. McNicoll's 
 house was named — the customary hour for 
 the morning meal was 8.30. As yet it 
 was not much past nine, but already, 
 Victor found, his father had left the house. 
 The rest of the family, however, still 
 lingered around the table ; and, after
 
 1 24 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 returning their aifectionate salutations, 
 Victor took his place, apologising as he 
 did so for the lateness of his appearance. 
 
 ^ You know, mother, I have had to make 
 up my arrears of sleep,' he added. 
 
 'To be sure you have!' answered his 
 mother. ' You did right to take a good 
 rest. I was just going to send up to 
 inquire whether you would breakfast in 
 bed.' 
 
 'And so earn the appellation of " milk- 
 sop " which my father applied to me last 
 night? No, thank you, mother.' 
 
 ' We were obliged to begin our own 
 breakfast very punctually this morning,' 
 resumed Mrs. McNicoll, deprecating by 
 a glance his reference to that remark. 
 ' Your father has a good deal of business 
 to look after at the mill before twelve. 
 The funeral is to be at that hour, and Mr. 
 Courteney and he have both been invited 
 to attend it. You will be at the grave, too, 
 mil you not ?'
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 125 
 
 ' Of course I shall !' returned tlie young 
 man. ' But, dear me ! I have hardlv had 
 time to realise that awful business yet. 
 So poor Sir Jonathan is actually dead ? 
 Though he has been an invalid so long, 
 one never looked for him to die. But let 
 me hear the particulars now, please. We 
 were interruj)ted last evening when you 
 were speaking of it, Dora.' 
 
 ' I should think we were interrupted !' 
 broke in Miss Jessie. ' Did you ever know 
 our three-tailed bashaw more abominably 
 fractious? I was rejoiced when he took 
 himself off so early this morning. Xow 
 we can have a good talk, Victor, and you 
 can tell us all your news.' 
 
 Victor took a drink of tea. Then, with 
 a rising colour and a quickened beating of 
 heart, he observed, 
 
 ^ Well, yes ; I have a small piece of news 
 which I expect will interest you all. But 
 first, about Sir Jonathan. Didn't you say,. 
 Dora, that it was a stroke of some kind?'
 
 126 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ' Yes, an apoplectic fit,' replied his sister. 
 ^ Poor man, he had gone into the stable- 
 yard, immediately after luncheon, to say 
 something to one of the grooms, and, whilst 
 he was in the act of speaking, he fell down 
 on the pavement. The seizure did not last 
 a quarter-of-an-hour, and he was carried 
 back to the house dead !' 
 
 ' What a terrible shock for his wife !' 
 
 ' Indeed yes ! she has not left her room 
 since,' said Dora. ' But really, Victor, she 
 is such a dreadful woman ! One can't feel 
 so much sympathy with her as one ought.' 
 
 •Dreadful?' echoed her brother. 'Why, 
 what has she done that is dreadful ?' 
 
 ' Oh, Victor ! you know how she hates 
 poor Arthur,' said Dora. 
 
 ' And it is such unreasonable, such un- 
 natural malice !' added Jessie. ' Is it his 
 fault that he is heir to the estate, or that 
 he is so like her dead son ?' 
 
 ' Or that he was born in the same year, 
 and bears the same name,' supplemented
 
 A DOIMESTIC CHAT. 127 
 
 Victor. ' Xo, it is not liis fault ; and he is 
 the finest young fellow I know. Still, 
 one can make some allowance for Lady 
 Ledsom's feelino^s. Arthur's death was a 
 dreadful blow to her ; and, the two boys 
 havino^ been too'ether when he was drown- 
 ed, she naturally ' 
 
 ' Forgets that his cousin risked his own 
 life to save him,' broke in impetuous Jessie ; 
 Uhat Arthur would have been drowned 
 too, if it had not been for that boatman. 
 How can you make excuses for her, 
 Victor? Is there any justice in her dislike 
 of Arthur ?' 
 
 ^ Certainly not, my dear. But then, 
 women, you know, are not always just. 
 They sometimes allow their feelings to o-et 
 the better of their judgments.' 
 
 'And don't men? Fie, Victor! That 
 is just like one of father's remarks. Don't 
 emulate his style of complimenting our 
 sex, or you will get sat upon, I can tell 
 you !' laughed Jessie. ' But about Lady
 
 128 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Ledsom ; even mother admits that she is 
 treating her nephew shamefully ; don't you, 
 mother ?' 
 
 ' Poor woman !' sighed Mrs. McMcolL 
 ' Yes, it is to her own loss that she closes 
 her heart against him. If she would only 
 let him, Arthur Avould be a true son to 
 her.' 
 
 ' But she has actually refused to see 
 him !' said Dora. ' He was sent for on the 
 day of his uncle's death, and he has been 
 at Feldhurst Court now nearly a week 
 without having once been admitted to her 
 presence. It has made him so unhappy, 
 Victor. I really don't know what he would 
 have done without mother.' 
 
 'And Dora^' subjoined Jessie, signifi- 
 cantly. ' He has been here every day to 
 pour out his sorrows in their sympathetic 
 cars.' 
 
 'I suppose,' said Victor, without any 
 thought of satire in the suggestion, ' I 
 suppose he will come in for almost every-
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 129 
 
 thing? The estate is principally in land, 
 and strictlv entailed.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is the worst of it,' returned 
 Mrs. McNicoll. ' Lady Ledsom, poor thing, 
 will only have eight hundred pounds a 
 year now — her jointure money — and that 
 j^retty little cottage ornee^ " Frenchfield," 
 which her husband made her a present of 
 by deed of gift. She is going to leave the 
 Court and live there.' 
 
 ^ Humph ! there ought to be no necessity 
 for that so long as Arthur is unmarried,* 
 commented Victor. ' ^^^hy should she 
 leave the Court?' 
 
 ' It is entirely her own doing,' protested 
 Dora. ' Sir Arthur — I think we ought to 
 give him his title ' 
 
 ' But you know he won't let you, Dora,' 
 interposed her sister. ' He says it is ridi- 
 culous and unkind, when we have known 
 him all his life, to begin making a stranger 
 of him now. And — ahem ! I don't Avish to 
 call up your blushes, my dear — but I 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 observed him emphasising the remon- 
 strance in your case by a tender squeeze 
 of the hand.' 
 
 ' Jessie, how absurd you are !' expostu- 
 lated Dora, the deprecated blushes spread- 
 ing hotly over her face. ' Of course he 
 looks on us both almost as sisters.' 
 
 ' Does he ? Ah, well ! I can't say that he 
 is strictly impartial in his brotherly atten- 
 tions. But proceed, please, with what you 
 were about to remark. I am anxious to 
 hear Victor's news.' 
 
 'And T also,' returned Dora. \1 was 
 only going to tell him about that letter. 
 As she would not see him, Victor, Arthur 
 wrote to his aunt, begging her to remain 
 at the Court, and to look upon it still as 
 her own property. He told her that 
 rather than she should go away he would 
 himself live elsewhere. He said that for a 
 young fellow like him to occupy a great 
 house like that alone would be wretched ;
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 131 
 
 and he ended by entreating lier to alloAv 
 him to live with her, and to try to be a 
 ofood son to her, in remembrance of the 
 time when she was a good mother to him, 
 when she had taken him as an orphan boy 
 to live in her house. Of course, his going 
 to live at Feldhurst Court was Sir Jona- 
 than's doing,' pursued Dora, ' whereas his 
 banishment after her son's death was hers ; 
 but that was how he put it. It was a 
 noble letter, wasn't it, Victor? and just 
 like him. But how do you think Lady 
 Ledsom answered it?' 
 
 ' Can't tell, I'm sure. How ?' 
 
 ^ Actually in the third person ! And 
 such a curt, cruel note. Mother, can you 
 remember the words ?' 
 
 ' It is a pity that anyone should remember 
 them, my dear,' said gentle Mrs. McXicoll; 
 ^and I am ashamed to think that a woman 
 of Lady Ledsom's education and position 
 could be so hard. But perhaps, poor thing, 
 
 k2
 
 132 Ik diamond IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 when the first brunt of her affliction is 
 over, she may begin to view matters in a 
 happier and more reasonable light.' 
 
 ' I don't think it is in her to be either 
 reasonable or happy,' observed Jessie. 
 'Her disposition is not altogether unlike 
 that of the three-tailed ' 
 
 ' Jessie ! Jessie !' reproved her mother, 
 with a shake of the head ; * you are speak- 
 ing of your father, recollect.' 
 
 The good lady was wont to enter an 
 occasional protest against her daughter's 
 irreverence. 
 
 ' Of course I am, mother,' laughed the 
 girl. ' It is a great relief to the mortal 
 dread I suffer in his presence to be able to 
 get a little fun out of him behind his back. 
 Don't, for pity's sake, try to dam up that 
 escape-pipe for my emotions. But now 
 let us dismiss the Ledsom topic. Arthur 
 will tell you everything himself, Vic, I'm 
 sure ; and I am on thorns to know what 
 this news is that you say will interest us.
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 133 
 
 Has it anything to do vrith Cousin 
 CharUe ?' 
 
 ' No,' returned Victor, drawing forth 
 his watch as he sj^oke, and comparing it 
 with a handsome gilt timepiece on the 
 mantel-shelf. ' Xo, it has nothing to do 
 Avith Charlie. But I must be off in a few 
 minutes, so there won't be much time to 
 dwell on the news, Jessie. This is it : — 
 Last week I met and made acquaintance 
 with the people who are coming to live at 
 Monkswood.' 
 
 'Dear me! Do you mean Mrs. Curtis' 
 brother ?' demanded Mrs. McXicoll. 
 
 ' Yes. His name is Bretherton. I met 
 him and his daughter. There is a son, 
 too ; but I did not see the son.' 
 
 ' How very curious ! How did you get 
 to know them, Vic ? And where did you 
 meet them?' asked Dora. 
 
 ' What are they like ? Do tell us,' said 
 Jessie. ' Is the girl nice ? Are they com- 
 ing soon ? And why upon earth have they
 
 134 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 been so long in taking possession of the 
 place ?' 
 
 ' Any more questions ?' laughed Victor ; 
 ' or will these do to be going on with ? 
 Thanks. Then I'll endeavour to answer 
 them seriatim. I met Mr. and Miss Bre- 
 therton at the hotel on the Murren, and^ 
 through being kept there by the snow, I 
 had the pleasure of seeing a good deal of 
 them. For the last nine months or a year 
 — I forget which — they have been travel- 
 ling about the Continent prior to settling 
 down in England. At present they are, I 
 expect, in Belgium ; but early next week — 
 on Tuesday, I think — they hope to arrive 
 at Monks wood.' 
 
 ' Next Tuesday ? Really, this is inter- 
 esting ! To have new neighbours in a 
 quiet country place like this is an affair of 
 moment, with a capital M. But you 
 didn't answer the questions seriatim^ sir ; 
 and you missed the most important of 
 them all : what are they like ? Brether-
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 135 
 
 ton sounds rather a grand name ; are they 
 grand people ?' 
 
 Victor smiled. 
 
 'They are yevy rich people,' he replied, 
 'but certainly not '"grand." The epithet 
 sounds rather absurd as applied to Mr. 
 Bretherton.' 
 
 ' Whv, what kind of a man is he ?' 
 
 ' The most ingenuous man I ever met in 
 my life,' asserted her brother. ' After all, 
 there is a kind of grandeur about him — the 
 grandeur of extreme simplicity.' 
 
 ' Really ? He seems to have impressed 
 you favourably, at any rate. But about 
 his appearance : is he at all like Mrs. 
 
 Curtis ?; 
 
 ' Xo, Jessie ; he is about as unhke her 
 as he can well be. I'm afraid youll be 
 prejudiced against him when I tell you 
 that he looks like a common, rough farm- 
 labourer, and that, in point of fact, he has 
 been a farmer all his life.' 
 
 'You don't say so? And Mrs. Curtis'
 
 136 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 brother ? But surely he is an educated 
 man ?' questioned Dora. 
 
 ' No, my dear, he is not educated,' re- 
 joined Victor; 'nor, in the ordinary sense 
 of the term, is he even a gentleman. Still, 
 I hope you won't consider it infra dig. to 
 associate with him, because, if you do, I 
 think you will make a great mistake.' 
 
 ' But, Victor, you astonish me,' said his 
 mother. ' Mrs. Curtis was one of the most 
 lady -like Avomen I ever knew.' 
 
 ' True ; but, at the same time, she was 
 not horn a lady, mother. Did she ever tell 
 you anything of her early life?' 
 
 Mrs. McNicoll reflected for a moment. 
 
 'Nothing about her childhood that I 
 remember,' she answered. 'But of course 
 I knew a great deal respecting her first 
 husband ; she often spoke of him.' 
 
 'Well, her mother was a lady's-maid, 
 and her father a farmer, living in an 
 out-of-the-way corner of North Carolina. 
 But I'll just tell you in a few words
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 137 
 
 all that I liave learned concerning the 
 family.' 
 
 And thereupon he j)roceeded to repeat, 
 in a condensed form, the particulars which 
 Mr. Bretherton had so frankly communi- 
 cated to Charlie Xunnerley and himself in 
 the hotel billiard-room on that first morn- 
 ing of their acquaintance. 
 
 The ladies listened with deep atten- 
 tion. 
 
 'Then the son and daughter are edu- 
 cated, at any rate, if the father is not,' 
 remarked Dora, when he had concluded. 
 
 'Decidedly they are,' Victor protested. 
 *Miss Bretherton is remarkably like her 
 aunt, Mrs. Curtis, as you will see, and 
 every bit as sweet and ladylike. You will 
 call on her, will you not ? Of course you 
 must. In fact,' he continued, a little 
 nervously, ' 1 have already promised that 
 you should ; and I expect that you will 
 become great friends.' 
 
 ' Query,' rejoined Jessie. ' But, as a
 
 138 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 matter of course, we shall call. How old 
 is she, Victor?' 
 
 ' Just your own age — eighteen. But I 
 think she looks older rather than you do, 
 Jessie.' Victor rose whilst making this 
 observation. Somehow, though it was so 
 sweet to think of Idalia, he felt strangely 
 shy about speaking of her. ' I must go 
 now.' 
 
 ^ Oh, wait a minute !' begged Jessie. ' I 
 want to know a host more things. Is Miss 
 Bretherton as o-ood-lookino; as I am ?' 
 Jessie's plainness was, secretly, a very sore 
 point with her, and she greatly exagger- 
 ated to herself its extent. Nevertheless, 
 she was given to being jocular upon the 
 subject. ' I can't do with any rival to my 
 claims as belle of Upton and High Radston, 
 you know. Don't tell me she is pretty.' 
 
 Victor laughed. 
 
 ' I won't,' he answered ; 'I'll say nothing 
 about her appearance at all. I will leave
 
 A DOMESTIC CHAT. 139 
 
 you to judge of it for yourselves when you 
 see her.' 
 
 ' But you forget. You have said some- 
 thing about it abeady,' put in Dora. ' You 
 said she was remarkably like Mrs. Curtis, 
 and Mrs. Curtis was a remarkably hand- 
 some woman.' 
 
 ' Ah, well I Wait till vou see her niece ! 
 Wait till vou see Miss Idalia Bretherton ! 
 But now I really must run off to the mill, 
 or I shall be getting into trouble.' 
 
 ' Stay, Victor — whisper a moment,' said 
 his mother, following him to the door and 
 onvino: him a loving: huo-. ' Your father's 
 bark is always worse than his bite. He 
 let out a secret to me last night. Perhaps 
 I ought not to tell it you. But the deeds 
 of partnership are actually drawn out, 
 Victor ! Before the end of the week the 
 firm will be '• Courteney, McXicoll, and 
 Sony I knew you would be pleased. God 
 bless you, dear I'
 
 140 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UPTON BROOK MILLS. 
 
 Victor McNicoll was indeed pleased by 
 his motlier's confidential tidings — more 
 pleased than he could well have expressed. 
 
 At twenty-five, a man, especially one of 
 any strength of character, begins to long 
 for an assured position in life — a position 
 of independence and standing. 
 
 For six years now Victor had gone 
 regularly to the mill, and had worked 
 there industriously, giving his time and 
 his best energies in return for a salary 
 barely sufficient to cover his personal 
 expenditure. As his father's only son, he 
 had felt this treatment to be illiberal, if
 
 UPTOX BROOK MILLS. 141 
 
 not actually unjust. But lie had not 
 thought proper to make any strong protest 
 ao^ainst it. He had been willing' to wait, 
 in the hope that right would eventually be 
 done him. ^\''ith Mr. Courteney, his 
 father's partner, he was, he was aware, a 
 prime favourite ; and Mr. Courteney, he 
 knew, had been urging his father, on and 
 off, for the last three years to give him 
 some share in the concern. To this pro- 
 position — generously disinterested on Mr. 
 Courteney 's part — Mr. McXicoll had never 
 exactly refused to listen, but he had kept 
 putting off the step, from motives that 
 Victor o'uessed — viz., that it would elevate 
 his son from a position of subserviency, and 
 render him in some measure independent 
 of himself and his capricious ill-humours 
 and small tyrannies. 
 
 Yet now, it seemed, he had actually 
 brought himself to do, in his absence, far 
 more than Victor had ever anticipated he 
 would do, and far more than he felt he
 
 142 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Iiad any riglit to expect. The utmost he 
 had looked for — at all events, for some 
 time to come — had been a small interest 
 in the business. He had not dreamt of 
 anything like a full partnership, or such a 
 partnership as would entitle him to have 
 his name added to that of the firm. From 
 what his mother had said, however, this 
 was to be done — it was to be a hona-jide 
 partnership ; and to be a partner in such a 
 lucrative and flourishing business as this 
 had proved for long years past would, 
 Victor reflected, give him at once a certain 
 standing in local society. He was glad of 
 it— doubly glad, somehow, to be able to 
 take that standing before Idalia Brether- 
 ton's arrival in the neighbourhood. 
 
 As he left the house, Victor's heart 
 warmed towards his father. Always duti- 
 ful in his regard, both in thought and 
 conduct, he was conscious this morning of 
 the birth within him of grateful feeling 
 that was almost akin to affection.
 
 UPTON BROOK MILLS. 143 
 
 His way to the mill took tlie young man, 
 first, clown a narrow lane, whicli ran off 
 from the road close by the side of the 
 house. It was a very quiet and shady 
 little lane, with tall hedges on either side, 
 shutting out the view beyond — ^just the 
 kind of place where one naturally lingers 
 to ponder over the joys or sorrows of 
 life. Alctor walked alono- it verv slowlv, 
 swinging a cane in his hand, and scarcely 
 noticing how fresh and sweet was the air 
 on this bright September morning. For 
 the time being, his thoughts were entirely 
 taken up with the anticipated change in 
 his own prospects. The human mind 
 (fortunately, at times, for us all) is so 
 limited in its operations that it cannot 
 occupy itself with more than one idea at 
 the same moment. 
 
 On coming to the end of the lane, how- 
 ever — and, as it was only a very short one, 
 he did soon come to the end — Victor's re- 
 flections were turned into a difi'erent
 
 144 A DI/vMOXD IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 channel. He had mounted a stile, v.hichy 
 together with a five-barred gate, termin- 
 ated the lane and led into some fields 
 beyond, when his eye chanced to fall upon 
 a fine old mansion conspicuously situated 
 on a hill-side at only a short distance. 
 Pausing upon the top of the stile, Victor 
 stood for a while gazing at this mansion. 
 From his present j)oint of view it was 
 plainly visible, rising above a sloping 
 stretch of green park-land, and flanked on 
 either side by woods which seemed to 
 promise some ' boundless contiguity of 
 shade,' and which, on a glaring, sultry day, 
 were refreshing even to look upon. 
 
 The house was built of grey stone, and 
 belonged to one of the simpler orders of 
 that mixed, irregular style of architecture 
 known as Elizabethan. The windows were 
 exceedingly numerous and closely put 
 together, and were divided by mullions 
 and transomes into many compartments, 
 the monotony of the plan-line being broken
 
 UPTOX BEOOK MILLS. 145 
 
 by semi-circular projections, thrown out 
 as smaller bays from the larger ones — after 
 the manner of ' the Duke's House,' in 
 Bradford, Wiltshire. An air of pictur- 
 esque magnificence was imparted by em- 
 bellished parapets above the windows and 
 at the top of the house, and by balustraded 
 terraces running along the lower part of 
 the building. 
 
 With the interior of Feldhurst Court, 
 Victor was nearly as well acquainted as 
 with its exterior, and his face assumed a 
 grave aspect as he now stood regarding it. 
 The white blinds shrouding those many 
 windows had reminded him again, with a 
 renewed shock, that its late owner lay 
 dead within. It is true that, for the last 
 year or so, the young man had seen but 
 little of Sir Jonathan Ledsom from the fact 
 that the baronet's invalid condition had 
 prevented him from wandering much 
 beyond his o^m grounds. 
 
 But, unlike most representatives of a 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 lineage so ancient and honourable as his 
 own, Sir Jonathan had possessed little 
 pride of caste. He had married a lady 
 from the middle ranks of life, and he had 
 never disdained to associate on terms of 
 equality with his well-to-do neighbours, 
 whose gold he knew to be contaminated 
 by trade. 
 
 In his boyhood Victor McNicoll had 
 been a close and chosen friend of young 
 Arthur — Sir Jonathan's only son — and 
 also (when he was taken to live with them 
 at the Court) of Arthur's cousin and name- 
 sake — the orphan child of Sir Jonathan's 
 younger brother. 
 
 As may have been gathered from the 
 conversation reported in the last chapter, 
 the son and heir — a bright, fair-haired 
 youth, just eighteen at the time — had lost 
 his life through a boating accident. That 
 accident had taken place at the Scotch 
 lakes, whither the cousins had been per- 
 mitted to go alone — independent, for the
 
 UPTON BROOK MILLS. 147 
 
 first time, of parents or tutors. In com- 
 pany with a couple of boatmen, the two 
 boys had been fishing on Loch Katrine, 
 w^hen the elder xlrthur, stooping over the 
 boat's side in some manipulation of his 
 line, had suddenly lost his balance and 
 fallen overboard. How it happened, whe- 
 ther from cramp or some other cause, 
 could never be clearlv ascertained, but the 
 poor boy had not risen again to the sur- 
 face. His cousin, frantic with alarm and 
 distress, had plunged into the water after 
 him. 
 
 Being unable, however, to swim more 
 than a few strokes, his gallant eff'orts to- 
 wards a rescue would infalliblv have re- 
 suited in his own death, had it not been 
 for one of the boatmen, who, in his turn, 
 had gone in after the second boy. 
 
 As it was, his half-drowning, together 
 with the shock of his cousin's loss, had 
 brought on a severe illness, from which 
 Arthur had been long in recovering. 
 
 L 2
 
 148 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 When eventually he did recover, and was 
 able to return to Feldhurst Court — of which 
 he was now the legal heir — the poor lad 
 had found his home miserably changed. His 
 aunt, Lady Ledsom, by whom hitherto he 
 had been treated with every kindness and 
 consideration, appeared, to his surprise, to 
 have conceived a distressing aversion to 
 him. And that aversion, instead of dimin- 
 ishing with time, had seemed only to in- 
 crease as the months went by. In fact, 
 before the end of a year after the fatal 
 event, the unhappy lady had become almost 
 unable to endure the sight of him wdio re- 
 minded her so strikingly of her own son, 
 and who, she never ceased bitterly to re- 
 flect, had gained so much through that 
 son's death. 
 
 At length, out of regard to his wife's 
 feelings (though he condemned them, at 
 the same time, as both wicked and unjust). 
 Sir Jonathan had sent his nephew off to 
 Cambridge.
 
 UPTOX BROOK MILLS. 149 
 
 There at the university — albeit that 
 he was by no means very studiously 
 inclined — Arthur had remained ever since, 
 paying only short visits in each vacation 
 to his uncle's house and his own future 
 inheritance. 
 
 During those vacation visits the young 
 fellow had always been a frequent and 
 welcome guest at Mrs. McNicoU's hospit- 
 able board, and he had taken pains to keep 
 up his old friendship with Victor, as well 
 as to cultivate that of Victor's family. 
 
 So matters had stood until now. But 
 now Arthur would go away no more. He 
 had come into his inheritance and his title. 
 
 Feldhurst Court was his, together vvdth 
 an unencumbered estate and an income 
 of twelve thousand a year. For a mo- 
 ment Victor experienced a twinge of 
 envy of this fortunate young man, who 
 was yet only twenty-three years of age — 
 two years his own junior. 
 
 The unworthy sentiment, however, was
 
 150 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH . 
 
 swiftly banished, and, heaving a tributary 
 sigh in remembrance of the dead baronet, 
 Victor descended the stile. Losing sight of 
 the Court, which now lay behind him to 
 the left, he faced the Upton Brook Mill, or 
 Mills. The singular or plural term was 
 used indiscriminately, because, although but 
 one concern, there were in reality two 
 distinct mills — each a large square build- 
 ing, four storeys in height. Between the 
 two, and uniting them by an interior com- 
 munication, appeared a range of counting- 
 houses. The whole mass of buildings was 
 of red brick, with facings of stone ; but, 
 from the colour of the bricks, it was evi- 
 dent that one of the mills, as well as the 
 range of offices, was of a later date than 
 the other. 
 
 Notwithstanding the name 'Upton Brook,' 
 which might seem to indicate an elevated 
 situation, the mills, as regarded the adja- 
 cent country, stood low. Approaching 
 them now, Victor had to descend by a
 
 UPTON BKOOK MILLS. 151 
 
 sloping iield-path through a couple of 
 meadows. In one of these, a number of 
 short-horned cows were grazing on the soft 
 long grass ; in the other, sheaves of yellow 
 corn stood ready to be carted away. This 
 little walk to the mill was one of which 
 Victor never tired. The young man 
 delighted in the country sights and sounds. 
 The glory of fruit-blossom, the deli- 
 cious scent of hay-making, the cooing of 
 wood-pigeons, the reposeful aspect of long 
 shadows lying athwart the tender green 
 herbage — these and a hundred other 
 things were a constant joy to him, yet one 
 to which he rarely gave expression in 
 words. As already hinted, he was not of a 
 demonstrative nature, and many of his 
 feelings were manifested only by the kind- 
 ling of his dark eyes, or the softening or 
 hardening of the lines about his firm 
 mouth. 
 
 The only manufactory of any sort 
 within a radius often miles, these woollen
 
 152 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH, 
 
 cloth mills, standinsf as tliev did in a 
 
 'to 
 
 ey 
 
 hollow, offered little or no detriment to 
 the beauty of the undulating and well- 
 wooded landscape. 
 
 The site for them had been chosen, no 
 doubt, on account of a river which ran 
 past on the other side, and which supplied 
 the necessary water for working purposes. 
 In that river there were fish — fat perch 
 and speckled trout — and Victor had passed 
 many happy hours of his rare holidays in 
 angling for them in company with Arthur 
 Ledsom. 
 
 Hurrying a little as he drew nearer, the 
 young man crossed a narrow cart-road, 
 separating the fields from the mill, and 
 passed in at an open door in the centre of 
 the range of offices. 
 
 A second open door at the end of the 
 entrance-passage gave view upon a large 
 paved yard which filled up the square 
 space between the two mills.
 
 UPTON BROOK MILLS. 153 
 
 Victor walked to the end of this passage 
 and looked forth. 
 
 His father Tvas often to be found in the 
 yard, whence he could take a sort of ex- 
 terior supervision of the whole premises, 
 and throw a glance over the long rows of 
 Avindows from which issued the busv sound 
 of whirring and clanging machinery. The 
 private office, too, which he and Jlr. 
 Courteney shared, opened from the yard, 
 and adjoined the huge "packing-room,' 
 where the finished cloth was made up into 
 bales ready for carting away. 
 
 Mr. McNicoll, however, was not at 
 present visible, either crossing the yard, 
 or superintending the loading of a waggon 
 that Avas going forward in front of the 
 packing-room door. Victor hesitated a 
 moment, undecided as to whether he would 
 go in search of him. Then, turning back, 
 he entered a room to the right of the 
 passage, bestowed a curt but friendly
 
 1 54 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 greeting upon four or five clerks who were 
 seated around it before their desks, and 
 passed on to an inner apartment. This 
 was his own private office — ^by virtue of 
 his occupying the post of head cashier — to 
 which he had been promoted some eighteen 
 months previously. 
 
 It was tenanted at present by only one 
 person — a man some twenty-six or tAventy- 
 seven years of age — who was stooping in- 
 dustriously over a ledger. 
 
 'Well, Harry, my boy, how are you?' 
 asked Victor, touching his shoulder. 
 
 The other started. He had the mis- 
 fortune to be somewhat deaf, and had not 
 heard Victor come in. 
 
 ' Oh ! how do you do ? I'm tremendous- 
 ly glad to see you back !' he exclaimed, 
 raising a pleasant, intelligent face, flushed 
 with the eagerness of his welcome, and 
 grasping Victor's proffered hand in a hearty 
 shake. 
 
 Although not the sort of man to be a
 
 UPTON BROOK MILLS. 155 
 
 universal favourite (it is seldom the high- 
 est type of men that are), Victor McNicoll 
 was capable of inspiring very warm attach- 
 ments, both amongst his equals and in- 
 feriors. All the clerks and every work- 
 man about the place, respected him, and 
 there were many among them that loved 
 him. 
 
 Harry Bentham, his present companion, 
 certainly did so, and, notwithstanding the 
 fact that they seldom met out of business 
 hours, a real friendship subsisted between 
 the two young men. 
 
 The son of a deceased clergyman, once 
 vicar of High Radston, Bentham still lived 
 in that town with his widowed mother, of 
 whom he was now almost the sole support. 
 For several years he had been in the 
 employment of Messrs. Courteney and 
 McXicoll, and for a considerable time he 
 had acted as Victor's special assistant, in 
 the capacity of sub-cashier. 
 
 'You can't imagine how dismal the
 
 156 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 office lias seemed without yon/ he sub- 
 joined. 
 
 ' But you have managed sj)lendidly, I 
 hear. I believe, Harry, you could now 
 take my place altogether.' 
 
 'Well, I suppose I am to have the 
 opportunity of trying. You know, don't 
 you, that I have been offered the post?' 
 
 'What — of cashier ?' Victor demanded, 
 in surprise. 
 
 ' Yes, with a salary, to begin with, of 
 two hundred and fifty pounds a year, and 
 promises of advance. Ah ! I can't tell you 
 how thankful I am, for my mother's sake. 
 But Mr. McNicoll says you will continue 
 to take a general supervision of the finan- 
 cial department. And now let me con- 
 gratulate you with all my heart on ' 
 
 ' No, Harry ; you had better not, please,' 
 interposed Victor. 'My father has not 
 spoken to me yet about any projected 
 changes. I fancy he wishes to surprise 
 me. I'd rather you didn't say anything
 
 UPTOX BROOK MILLS. 157 
 
 more at present. Come, let's have a look 
 at the books.' 
 
 And, mounting upon a stool, Victor 
 settled to work in silence. 
 
 The silence, however, was presently in- 
 terrupted by the entrance into the office 
 of a gentleman. That gentleman was Mr. 
 Courteney. 
 
 He was a tall, robust man, Avith light, 
 tow-coloured hair, a broad, flat-nosed, clean- 
 shaven face, and a genial smile. 
 
 ' Hello ! young man — here you are ! 
 Back from your racketing and dissipation. 
 Well, you've had a jolly time of it, haven't 
 you ? My girl Hester has kept me posted 
 np about your wanderings. Heard of 
 them from your sisters, 1 suppose — unless 
 you have been sending her the news 
 direct ! If so, the sly puss has kept the 
 secret.' 
 
 Victor blushed — not with pleasure, but 
 with annoyance at the insinuation ; and 
 Mr. Courteney, with a graver air, resumed :
 
 158 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 'But this is a sad thing that has happen- 
 ed in your absence — isn't it ? — about Sir 
 Jonathan. Your father and I are just 
 going off to the funeral in a few moments. 
 You know, of course, that we have been 
 specially invited by Lady Ledsom to attend 
 it, though I should have gone to the church 
 in any case. Poor man ! he was always a 
 friendly neighbour, and one is glad to show 
 respect to his memory.' 
 
 ' I intend also to be at the grave,' said 
 Victor. 
 
 'Yes, do, my lad. And, by the way, I 
 want you to dine Avith me this evening, if 
 you will. Your father is coming also, and 
 Mr. Trent.' (Mr. Trent was the principal 
 solicitor in High Radston.) 'There is a 
 little business that we shall want your 
 assistance about settling. Dinner at seven 
 prompt. You'll come, I suppose ?' 
 
 ' Certainly I will, Mr. Courteney. Thank 
 you.'
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IX THE CnURCH-YARD. 
 
 The slow strokes of a tolling-bell vibrated 
 through the clear atmosphere as Victor 
 McNicoU approached the ancient little 
 church of Upton j)arish. He had walked 
 thither across the meadows by a foot-path, 
 into which he had struck from the road 
 that ran past the mill. This short cut, as 
 he was well aware, had brought him out 
 close by Monkswood Hall, and the bare 
 thought of being so near the place that 
 was to be Idalia Bretherton's future home 
 was quickening his pulses with a strange 
 excitement. AVithout turning a bend of
 
 160 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 the highway into Avhich he had emerged — 
 in that direction which led away from the 
 church — Victor could not see the house ; 
 but he determined to pay it a visit when 
 the funeral was over. During the life of 
 its late owner he had, it is true, been inside 
 the Hall several times, whilst the outside 
 (seeing that he had ridden or walked past 
 it oftener than he could count) was toler- 
 ably familiar to him. But Victor, possess- 
 ed now by a new kind of interest in it, 
 wanted to <2:o and look at it ao:ain witb a 
 new kind of observation. He wanted to 
 try to realise Idalia's presence in con- 
 nection with it. It was so difficult to 
 believe that she was really coming there 
 — and coming so soon ! The young man 
 longed for some visible sign of the delight- 
 ful and wonderful fact ; and it was possible, 
 he thought, that he might at least detect 
 some evidence of preparation for the ex- 
 pected arrival of the ncAv proprietors. 
 In the meantime, however, he directed
 
 IX THE CHURCH-YARD. 161 
 
 Ms steps towards the church. The funeral 
 cortege, as he expected, had not yet 
 arrived; but scattered about the grave- 
 yard appeared a goodly number of people. 
 These were standing in groups — most 
 of them with expectant faces turned to- 
 wards that point of the road whence the 
 hearse and mourning procession might 
 first be caught sight of. As their bucolic 
 appearance indicated, the majority of the 
 company were farmers or agricultural 
 labourers, and nearly all of them were 
 tenants of the great man to whose re- 
 mains they had come to do honour. As a 
 matter of course, Sir Jonathan's sudden 
 demise had created considerable excite- 
 ment in the quiet district, where events of 
 any kind were rare. There was a sense of 
 holiday -making mingling with the sympa- 
 thy felt by those who had put on their 
 best clothes to render this last tribute of 
 respect to the dead baronet by their pre- 
 sence at his funeral.. Also few of them had 
 
 VOL. I. 2il
 
 162 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 objected to add a spice of horror to their 
 emotions by prying into the dread myster- 
 ies of the tomb. In parties of threes or 
 fours, they had nearly all descended by 
 turns into the open vault of the Ledsom 
 family, and had stood bare-headed and open- 
 mouthed in the three long chambers which 
 composed it, spelling out the inscriptions on 
 the brass plates that marked each bricked-up 
 niche where the sacred dead reposed in tiers. 
 The sexton, however, had now forbidden 
 that anyone else should go down, and that 
 important functionary was guarding the 
 head of the portable ladder when Victor 
 McNicoU approached. 
 
 Several men, young and old, were 
 gathered around the grave, and, with one 
 exception, they all touched their hats in 
 respectful recognition. The personage who 
 omitted that mark of deference — customar- 
 ily paid to the gentry of the locality — was 
 a short, sturdy-looking fellow, with a
 
 IN THE CHURCH- YARD. 163 
 
 florid complexion, shiny bald pate, and a 
 placid physiognomy. And that he had a 
 perfect right to keep both hands in his 
 pockets, and merely to nod good-humour- 
 edly at young McNicoll, would have been 
 admitted by all his neighbours ; for 
 Farmer Basset could base that right on 
 the fact of his possessing the only freehold 
 property in the neighbourhood, ^^ith the 
 exception of his farm, 'Redfold,' or, as 
 it was usually called, 'The Fold Farm,' 
 all the land for miles around belonged 
 either to the proprietors of Feldhurst 
 Court or Monkshood Hall. His family, 
 moreover, was as old, and, in its way, as re- 
 spectable as that of the Ledsoms. So long 
 as there had been a Baronet Ledsom of 
 Feldhurst Court (and even, it was thought, 
 longer), there had been a Basset of Red- 
 fold Farm. With money in High Radstow 
 bank, and well-stocked barns and shippens, 
 the present owner of the Fold Farm was in 
 
 M 2
 
 164 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 the habit of holding his head pretty high^ 
 and was quite sensible of the dignity 
 derived from that long line of yeoman 
 ancestry. 
 
 ^ Mornin', sir,' he observed, about a minute 
 after he had executed his nod. (Though 
 a great talker when fairly started, the 
 farmer was habitually slow in opening a 
 conversation.) ' I hannot zeed ee down 
 our way, Mester Victor, not ov a long 
 toime.' 
 
 'No,' rejoined the young man. 'I have 
 been from home, Mr. Basset, for several 
 weeks — taking a holiday. I only returned 
 last evening, and I had not heard before 
 then of Sir Jonathan's death.' 
 
 ' Dear-a-me ! Hadn' ee ? Well, well, 'tis 
 a waarld o' change and trouble, this be. 
 Aw never zeed like to un !' Mr. Basset 
 shook his head, as if making a disparaging 
 contrast with other worlds of which he had 
 had experience. 
 
 ' Ay, ay ; " a mon's born to trouble as
 
 IX THE CHURCH- YAED. 165 
 
 the sparks fly upwards,'" quoted tlie sex- 
 ton. * There's Scriptur for it — so 'tis like 
 to be.' 
 
 ' And, as I was saying a while since, he 
 weren't but a few years older nor me, poor 
 chap !' resumed the worthy farmer. ' It 
 do seem out o' natur' as he should ha' bin 
 took so soon. Look ee now at my vather 
 — a man ov eighty-nine — and as spry on 
 his pins as arra young fellow. Lauk-a- 
 massy ! what he that drattled fool o' mine 
 a-thinkin' ov ?' 
 
 This question was asked apropos of a 
 voice which had risen close by from some 
 invisible singer. 
 
 The voice was a high-pitched tenor, and 
 it was trolling forth a verse of a decidedly 
 vulorar local sonof : 
 
 ' Zays I — '• My stars and garters ! 
 This here's a pretty go, 
 Vor a vine young mayd as never vos 
 To sar all mankind zo." ' 
 
 ' Luke ! Luke !' shouted the farmer,
 
 166 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 wrathfully. But the voice, regardless of 
 this expostulation, continued : 
 
 ' But t' other young mayden looked sly at me, 
 
 And vrom her zeat she risn, 
 Zays she — " Let thee and I go our waay, 
 And we'll let she go she's n." ' 
 
 'Well, vather, what do ee want?' 
 Round now from the back of the Led- 
 som monument, which represented two 
 weeping angels with arms entwined around 
 a broken pillar, there appeared a counte- 
 nance shaped like an obtuse angle, whereof 
 the nose was the vertex. The receding 
 chin and forehead, the half-open mouth, 
 the vacant expression in the wandering 
 grey eyes told their own tale. 
 
 ' Want ? What do I want ?' exclaimed 
 his father. ' I want ee to keep that fool's 
 tongue o' thine quiet, and not be cra'kin' 
 volks' ears wi' that rubbish in a grave- 
 yeard. Eh, soavIs ! but 'tis a hard matter 
 that I should have a son like he, beant it? 
 They foolish words be the only thing he
 
 IN THE CHURCH- YARD. 167 
 
 ever could get into 's memorandum, and 
 he's at it for everlastin', tryin' to sing 'em.' 
 
 'Ees, 'tis hard on ee, sure/ assented one 
 of the b)^standers ; ' but 't might be waarse. 
 A's an innocent, an' main short o' sense, 
 but no-waays dangerous.' 
 
 * No, he be no-waays dangerous, 'tis 
 true,' rejoined Mr. Basset, looking with 
 knit brows after the object of the conver- 
 sation, who had sauntered off, with a 
 slouching gait, towards another part of the 
 yard ; ' but he's a sore cross to me. There 
 never was an idiot in the Basset family 
 afore — never ; and 'tis a darned shame as 
 I should have he for a son !' he concluded, 
 thrusting his hands deeper into his breech- 
 es' pockets ; ' and no other son.' 
 
 ' But you have a daughter, Mr. Basset, 
 and a very good and pretty one,' put in 
 Victor, consolingly ; 'and Luke is useful 
 to you sometimes, is he not ? I saw him 
 dio:orino; once, I remember, when I called at 
 the farm.'
 
 168 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ' Oh, ay ; lie can delve, and delve, and 
 delve a' day lung, and make no account o' 
 it neither. He be strong as a hoss wi' his 
 hands and his legs ; but you couldn't set 
 un to a bit o' waark, sir, as wanted a head- 
 piece, no mor'n ee could set a cat to 't.' 
 
 ' Well, well, Varmer Basset, ,a man 
 didn't ought to grumble against the Al- 
 mighty's will, ee know,' remarked the 
 sexton, didactically ; ' and, poor chap, 
 'twarn't his own fault as he wur bornd so.' 
 
 ' Who said 'twas ?' snapped Mr. Basset. 
 * No, friends ; ye all know how his mother 
 was frighted by an idiot man, with just 
 such another face as his'n, afore he was 
 born, and how her brooded and brooded 
 
 and brooded over his looks till Lor ! 
 
 there they be coming at last. Us had 
 better form into lines for they to pass be- 
 twixt to the church. Look ee — there be 
 parson comin' out in his white gown.' 
 
 Leading the way, Mr. Basset, followed 
 by his companions, walked off to where
 
 IX THE CHURCH- YAKD. 169 
 
 the rest of the watchers in the orrave-yard 
 were already ranging themselves on either 
 side of the orravelled walk conductins^ to 
 the church porch. 
 
 Makino- his wav towards the latter, 
 Victor took his stand there ; and, when the 
 funeral procession had passed into the 
 church, he followed closely behind. Again, 
 at the conclusion of a short service, he 
 joined the mourners on their way to the 
 grave, and presently found himself standing 
 opposite to Sir Arthur Ledsom, with the 
 open vault between. 
 
 As yet the young baronet had not 
 noticed him, and Victor looked across at 
 him with that frank admiration which his 
 friend's appearance always inspired within 
 him. 
 
 A broad-shouldered, clear-complexioned 
 young Englishman, Arthur Ledsom looked 
 as though he could floor an adversary with 
 one well-dehvered blow from his muscular 
 right arm; as if, even well handicapped,
 
 170 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 there would be a good chance of his win- 
 ning in a race. Nevertheless, his hands 
 were white, with shapely filbert nails, care- 
 fully pared, and his features were high-bred 
 and refined. He was the type, in short, of 
 a thoroughly gentlemanly, as well as man- 
 ly, young fellow — the sort of young fellow 
 whom, meeting abroad, one would be proud 
 to point out as a fair representative of the 
 nation's best blood. 
 
 His expression just now was grave and 
 sad — not because such an expression befit- 
 ted the occasion, but because it truly 
 corresponded with his feelings. 
 
 Absorbed in attention to the solemn 
 ceremonial, he stood with his head bowed 
 and his fair locks uncovered ; and it was 
 only when the rites Avere at an end 
 that,' lifting his hazel eyes, glistening 
 with unshed tears, he perceived Victor 
 McNicoll. 
 
 The next instant the friends were grasp- 
 ing hands, and respectively giving and
 
 IN THE CHURCH- YARD. 171 
 
 receiving appropriate condolences in refer- 
 ence to Sir Jonathan's sudden demise. 
 
 ' No, don't, Victor ! Don't speak of 
 that,' begged Sir Arthur, when by-and-by 
 the other had ventured upon some allusion 
 to the consequent change in his own 
 position. ' I assure you I would A^dllingly 
 give five years of my life to have poor 
 uncle back at the Court, or to be able to 
 make some arrangement by which my 
 aunt might be induced to remain there. 
 Do you know, Victor, she is actually 
 leaving to-morrow — the day after the 
 funeral.' 
 
 'But, my dear fellow, it is her own 
 choice to do so. You cannot blame your- 
 self for the way in which Lady Ledsom 
 chooses to behave.' 
 
 ' No ; but think how hard it is for her 
 to turn out of such a place as the Court — 
 which has been her home for thirty years 
 — and to go to a small cottage-house like 
 Frenchfield ; to come down also to an
 
 172 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 income of eight hundred pounds, after 
 having had command of twelve thousand. 
 However, as you say, it is not my fault. 
 I have even offered to give the place up to 
 her altogether.' 
 
 ' Rather a Quixotic piece of generosity,' 
 commented Victor, smiling. ' The property 
 is legitimately yours.' 
 
 ' All the same, I feel like a robber and 
 an interloper,' protested Arthur ; ' and I'd 
 sacrifice anything rather than that the 
 poor old lady should suffer. She was very 
 kind to me once, although she detests me 
 so heartily now.' 
 
 ' I don't know how anybody can de- 
 test you, Arthur,' declared Victor, with 
 warmth ; ' and you are a right good fellow 
 to take it so well, and to show yourself so 
 forgiving.' 
 
 '• Ah well ! I hope things may work 
 themselves right in time,' said Arthur, 
 more cheerfully. ' At any rate, it takes 
 two to quarrel, and I shan't be one of the
 
 IX THE CHUKCH-YARD. 173 
 
 two in this case. Good-bye, old fellow — 
 they are waiting for me, you see. I'll be 
 down at your place to-morrow some time. 
 By the way,' he added, turning back when 
 he had taken a step or two after the dozen 
 or so of gentlemen who were slowly walk- 
 ing off towards the carriages, ^ you under- 
 stand why I don't ask you to go back with 
 us to luncheon : the invitations are all 
 Lady Ledsom's, and I should not like to 
 presume in any way on my position as 
 master there to-day.' 
 
 Glad that his friend's delicacy had pre- 
 vented his pressing the invitation in 
 question, which he would have been loth to 
 accept, Victor was soon posting along the 
 road in a direction contrary to that taken 
 by the retiring carriages. 
 
 Five minutes' quick walking brought 
 him to the gates of Monkswood Hall. A 
 semi-circular carriage-drive, bordered by 
 fine elm and chestnut-trees, led to the 
 house ; but, striking into a foot-path close
 
 174 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 by the untenanted lodge, Victor gained 
 tlie front of it by a shorter way. 
 
 As we have said, the young man had 
 hoped to see some signs of preparation 
 for the home-coming of the new proprietors, 
 and in this hope he was not disappointed. 
 
 Those signs, indeed, proved more numer- 
 ous than he had anticipated. Nearly 
 every window of the mansion stood open, 
 and it was plain that a great bustle of 
 cleaning and re-arrangement was in pro- 
 gress. From one casement in the upper 
 storey depended some crimson bed-drap- 
 ery; in a second a heap of pillows appeared, 
 airing themselves in the sun ; a workman 
 in a paper cap was mending the sash of a 
 third, and gossiping at the same time with 
 a maid whose head was projected from a 
 fourth. 
 
 On the lawn, a couple of other maids 
 were stretching some curtains upon a 
 wooden drying-frame.
 
 IN THE CHURCH-YARD. 175 
 
 These servants were all strangers to 
 Victor, and were evidently an importation 
 from London. He recognised the stamp 
 as differing considerably from that of the 
 west country domestic, and he concluded 
 rightly that they must have been engaged, 
 under instruction, by the respectable 
 middle-aged housekeeper in Avhose charge 
 the Hall had been left since the death of 
 Mrs. Curtis. Drawing further back behind 
 some tall rhododendron bushes, which, 
 planted in a symmetrical curve, closed in 
 the lawn, Victor, himself unseen, stood for 
 a lono; time o^azino; at the house. The 
 date of its erection was but little later 
 than that of Feldhurst Court. Unlike the 
 latter estate, however, Monkswood had not 
 remained as the family seat of its original 
 founder. It had passed several times into 
 new hands, and had finally been purchased 
 by an elder brother of the late General 
 Curtis. It occurred to Victor to wonder,
 
 176 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 with a smile, ,what either of the latter 
 gentlemen would have thought of Abner 
 Bretherton, could they have seen him as 
 their successor. Of Idalia Bretherton 
 there could be no question what anyone 
 would think ! She was fit to succeed to a 
 crown and to inhabit a palace. 
 
 As compared with ' The Court,' Monks- 
 wood was only a small building ; but it 
 was, if not so impressive, even more 
 picturesque. 
 
 The characteristic gables of the Eliza- 
 bethan style, absent from the architecture 
 of the former, were well represented here. 
 The house, in fact, was one gloriously con- 
 fused mass of angles and gables of various 
 shapes and sizes. Small domed turrets, 
 curiously assorted chimney-shafts, orna- 
 mental balconies of fretted stone-work, 
 further added to the general effect of the 
 outline. The materials of the building- 
 were brick and stone, and the pleasing con- 
 trast of colour seemed natural to the style
 
 IX THE CHURCH-YARD. 177 
 
 of the erection, and well adapted for 
 showing off its different parts more dis- 
 tinctly. 
 
 Behind the house, but allowing space 
 l)etween, as Victor was aware, for a rano-e 
 of outbuildings and two large kitchen- 
 gardens, rose a gentle acclivity, covered 
 with the wood from which the Hall 
 derived its name. It had been Victor's 
 intention to walk round the house, and 
 to g<^\ into the wood by a way he 
 knew of. Seeing so many people about, 
 however — for he had now descried a 
 couple of gardeners at work in different 
 parts of the somewhat neglected grounds 
 — the young man relinquished this design. 
 
 Some day, he thought — yes, perhaps, 
 some day — he might be allowed to wander 
 in that wood, not dreaming of her, as now, 
 but in Idalia's actual company ! This 
 idea, as it flashed through his brain, com- 
 municated such a delicious thrill of delight 
 to every nerve and fibre of his frame, that 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Victor could not longer shut his eyes to 
 the truth. All at once that secret, which 
 he had half-consciously been hiding in his 
 heart, sprang forth to confront him in no 
 doubtful guise. The absorbing interest 
 which he felt in the beautiful American 
 was not, as he tried to fancy, mere admira- 
 tion or friendship. It was love — true un- 
 dying love ! 
 
 Victor staggered backwards, faint for a 
 moment with the emotion entailed by this 
 discovery. 
 
 ^ Oh, Idalia !' he murmured; 'y#es, I do 
 love you — I do indeed love you ! How 
 blind I have been not to have understood 
 myself before !'
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 
 
 Ldtgerixg for some minutes longer, Victor 
 strove to regain his composure. Then, cast- 
 ing a last comprehensive glance around, he 
 turned away, and, quitting the Monkswood 
 grounds, set oiF to walk homewards. 
 
 Swift on the heels of that self-acknow- 
 ledo^ment, other thouo^hts had come crowd- 
 ing tumultuously into the young man's 
 mind. Was there any chance, any possi- 
 bility, that his passion might find a re- 
 turn ? Could Idalia ever learn to love 
 him ? Eagerly once more he reviewed her 
 behaviour towards him during those days of 
 their brief intercourse, searching for evi- 
 dence of favourable feelins;. Yes, trulv, she 
 
 N 2
 
 180 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 had been very friendly — with a naive, unre- 
 served kind of friendliness, to which, as an 
 Englishman, he was not much accustomed 
 in his intercourse with the other sex. He 
 had met, certainly, many American women 
 before — having enjoyed several trips abroad 
 — but he had not felt much drawn to them. 
 His insular prejudice had caused him to 
 set down their manners as a little too free- 
 and-easy. In Idalia's case, however, there 
 had been nothing to shock his taste. Her 
 frankness had seemed to him like the 
 divine simplicity of a cliild, her unabashed 
 straightforwardness, as not the outcome 
 of boldness, but the expression of dignified 
 self-reliance. In her glorious dark eyes 
 every emotion of her innocent girlish heart 
 had mirrored itself without disguise. And 
 in this fact, the delightful mobility and 
 vivaciousness of her expression rather than 
 even in her great beauty, lay the secret, as 
 Victor only yet dimly recognised, of her 
 wonderful fascination.
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 181 
 
 Yes, Miss Bretherton liad certainly 
 been very friendly Tvith him. But tlien — 
 Victor felt it with a sickenino; assurance — 
 she had been still more friendly with 
 Charlie Xunnerley. And, after he had left 
 them toofether, inio;ht not that friendliness 
 have even increased ? Stronger than ever 
 now that he understood his own sentiments, 
 waxed his uneasiness on his score. Yet 
 it w^as not to be wondered at, he told him- 
 self, that she should, on first acquaintance, 
 prefer Charlie. His appearance was so 
 much more attractive, his manner so 
 much more pleasing, than his own. For 
 the first time in his life, Victor coveted the 
 possession of a handsome person, and 
 envied Charlie his good looks. Still, on 
 reflection, he would not, if he could, have 
 changed places with him ; for Charlie 
 would not, like himself, have the privilege 
 of living in Idalia's neighbourhood, and 
 Charlie, he believed, was not honourably 
 free to seek her affections. It has already
 
 182 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 been insinuated that there had been some- 
 thing in the way of love-making on young 
 Nunnerley's part in a different direction, 
 of which Victor was cognisant. The cir- 
 cumstances were these. 
 
 Early in May of the present year the 
 young artist had been invited to Upton 
 Lodge for a week's visit. That term, how- 
 ever, he had out-stayed to the extent of 
 nearly two months. From his uncle, Mr. 
 McNicoll, several pretty broad hints had 
 rewarded this trespass upon his hospi- 
 tality. These, howbeit, had always been 
 blushingly covered by some other member 
 of the family ; and the young man, who 
 was not troubled with a hyper-sensitive 
 disposition, had stayed on until it suited 
 his convenience to depart. The excuse he 
 had offered for this lengthened encroach- 
 ment had been that he wished to take 
 certain sketches in the neighbourhood. 
 But, although he had unquestionably spent 
 much of his time out-of-doors, Charlie had
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 183 
 
 had very few sketches to show as a result, 
 and Victor — not without reason — had pre- 
 sently come to the conclusion that there 
 was more of pretext than reality about his 
 work. 
 
 As a matter of fact, he, Victor, had on 
 three several occasions, during those pleas- 
 ant summer weeks, surprised his cousin 
 walking alone in the company of Miss 
 Hester Courteney, the only child and 
 presumable heiress of his father's partner. 
 Each of these times he had come upon 
 the two in a different, but always a retired, 
 locality, and each time he had become 
 more convinced that they had met each 
 other there not by accident, but by ap- 
 pointment. The third and last of these 
 unintentional surprises had settled this 
 question in his mind beyond a doubt, and 
 had also convinced him that Charlie was 
 making unequivocal love to the girl. The 
 attitude in which he had caught them, at 
 all events, was unequivocal enough — for
 
 184 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Charlie had had his arm round Hester's 
 waist and his lips pressed against her 
 cheek. 
 
 Glad on this occasion to have been able 
 to slip away without attracting the obser- 
 vation of either, Victor had afterwards told 
 his cousin what he had seen, and had taxed 
 him severely in reference to his conduct. 
 Why, Victor wanted to know, was he thus 
 carrying on a surreptitious courtship in 
 holes and corners, instead of doing it bold- 
 ly under the eye of Hester's father ? That 
 Mr. Courteney was not very partial to 
 Charlie, Victor (although he did not know 
 the cause of his disfavour) was, he acknow- 
 ledged, aware. But, on the other hand, 
 that gentleman was passionately attached 
 to his daughter ; and, if Charlie had gained 
 her love, it would be his best wisdom, 
 Victor urged, as well as his duty, to con- 
 fess the fact openly and honestly. 
 
 This remonstrance, however, had been 
 met by young Nunnerley with an angry
 
 HESTER COURTEXEY. 185 
 
 denial of the assumption on whicli it was 
 based. No eno^ao^ement or understandino: 
 of any sort, tie liad protested, existed be- 
 tween himself and Miss Courtenev, and 
 there had been nothing on his part that 
 could be properly called love-making. As 
 a matter of course, Victor, after this de- 
 claration, could make no further allusion 
 to what he had seen, out of respect to Miss 
 Courteney. But he had been by no means 
 convinced by his cousin's asseveration. 
 Charlie had denied too much, and had 
 denied it too vehemently. Besides, had 
 he not had the testimony of his own eyes 
 in respect to the love-making? Victor did 
 not believe, from what he knew of her, 
 that Miss Courteney was the kind of girl 
 to let herself be kissed unless by an avowed 
 and accepted lover. Moreover, on Charlie's 
 part there existed every inducement that 
 interested motives could afford towards 
 marriage with the young lady. She was 
 pretty and accomplished, and she was the
 
 186 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 only child of a man whose wealth was a 
 matter beyond question. As for Charlie, 
 his sole income, in addition to what he 
 could make by his profession, was two 
 hundred pounds a year, inherited from his 
 parents, both of whom had been dead some 
 years. 
 
 Putting one thing with another, there- 
 fore, Victor had arrived at the conclusion 
 in his own mind that, notwithstanding his 
 cousin s positive assertion to the contrary, 
 the two had become secretly engaged, but 
 that, for reasons of their own, they desired 
 to defer acknowledging the fact to Mr. 
 Courteney. Now, such a course was one 
 naturally repulsive to Victor McMcoH's 
 mind. In Charlie's place, he knew that he 
 would himself have risked even the pro- 
 bability of refusal by her father rather than 
 have involved any girl he cared for in a 
 clandestine love-affair with all its attendant 
 deceits. 
 
 Still, in face of Charlie's stubborn denial
 
 HESTER COUKTEXEY. 187 
 
 of any serious intention, and because he 
 had discovered it by accident, Victor had 
 not felt at liberty to let the secret out of 
 his own keeping. Indeed, until he had 
 observed his cousin's admiring glances and 
 marked attentions to Miss Bretherton, he 
 had not thought -^t even to allude to the 
 subject again in Charlie's private hearing. 
 
 During the last ten days, however, his 
 reflections had been much exercised in the 
 matter; and this mornino- as he walked 
 homewards from Monkswood Hall, Victor 
 felt as though he would give anything 
 almost to ' ofet to the bottom of that affair' 
 — to find out ' exactly how things stood 
 between those two.' 
 
 In these very words he had just for- 
 mulated his desire (for, as w^e all know, it 
 is impossible to think without putting our 
 thoughts into language), when, with a 
 slight start of surprise, he recognised one 
 of the two in question at a distance of not 
 very many yards in front of him.
 
 188 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 This was, of course, Miss Hester 
 Courteney. Turning sni angle of the 
 road, Victor perceived her emerging from 
 a little country shop, which formed the 
 only habitation for nearly a mile along 
 the highway. 
 
 This shop was also a post-office, and it 
 was kept by a young woman who had 
 formerly been a servant in Mr. Courteney 's 
 house, but who was now married to one of 
 the employees at the mill. 
 
 A suspicion, which amounted almost to 
 a conviction, suddenly took possession of 
 Victor's mind as he saw the young lady 
 draw a letter from her pocket and proceed 
 to open it. 
 
 Impelled by an irresistible curiosity, he 
 hastened his steps, and, unheard by Hester 
 (by reason of the fact that a cart contain- 
 ing some agricultural implements, which 
 rattled noisily against one another, was 
 .apj)roaching from the opposite direction),
 
 HESTER COURTEXEY. 189 
 
 he drew near enough to peep for a moment 
 over her shoukler. 
 
 That moment snfficed for the informa- 
 tion he wanted, and, until he was thus in 
 possession of it, Victor had no time to con- 
 sider that he had scarcely gained it in a 
 strictly honourable fashion. 
 
 The letter he had seen was from hi>> 
 cousin ! Hester had come in search of it 
 to this country post-office, not waiting for, 
 or not allowing, it to be delivered at her 
 home. 
 
 The data was enough, in the young 
 man's idea, to establish the presumption of 
 a surreptitious correspondence, and so to 
 confirm his suspicion. Yet, as he had 
 noticed, the letter was very short — a mere 
 note, in fact, of a few lines. A^ictor had 
 taken that in at a glance. Further, he had 
 caught the way in which the letter com- 
 menced : he had read ' Dear Hetty,' in hi& 
 cousin's clear, bold hand — a sufficiently
 
 190 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 familiar, if not a particularly lover-like, 
 style of address. 
 
 Falling back a little way, Victor called 
 out her name ; and, hastily concealing the 
 letter. Miss Courteney turned. As yet he 
 had not seen her face, but he was shocked 
 now to observe that she looked unusually 
 pale, and was evidently in distress. Before 
 she had shaken hands with him, however, 
 Hester had mastered her emotion, what- 
 ever its nature or cause, and her counte- 
 nance had resumed its customary impassi- 
 bility. For, as a rule, Hester's countenance 
 was impassive, not given, like Idalia 
 Bretherton's, to express every mood and 
 tense of her mind. Victor had often won- 
 dered within himself whether or not the 
 girl was capable of any strong feeling or 
 passion; and a better judge of physiogno- 
 my than he might well have had doubts 
 on the point. 
 
 A fair, statuesque young woman, with a 
 Juno-like kind of beauty, Hester was now
 
 ♦ 
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 191 
 
 in her twentieth year. She had a well- 
 formed fiorure, which she made the most of 
 through the adventitious assistance of 
 dress. (Miss Hester's clothes must have 
 cost her father, annually, a small fortune.) 
 In colour her hair was golden, and she 
 wore it in a soft, wavy fringe about her 
 low forehead. 
 
 Her large, almond-shaped, blue eyes were 
 somewhat sleepy-looking ; yet a close 
 observer mio^ht have noticed them wakinir 
 up now and then into a keen watchfulness. 
 Her mouth, which was Hester's least 
 mobile and least attractive feature, was 
 small and thin-lipped, and she had a habit 
 of pursing it, when silent, in a demure, 
 determined-looking style, as though she 
 were buttoning up her thoughts. 
 
 Greeting young McNicoll now with a 
 smile (very manifestly forced), she observed : 
 
 'How do you do, Mr. Victor? I am 
 very glad to see you back. Papa told us 
 you were expected yesterday.'
 
 192 A DIAMOND IN THE BOUGH. 
 
 ' Thank you. Yes, I reached home late 
 last night,' he returned. 
 
 'And we are to have the pleasure of 
 your company for dinner this evening, I 
 suppose?' resumed Hester. 'Papa says, 
 however, that you are coming chiefly for 
 business reasons.' 
 
 Victor bowed a little stiffly. 
 
 ' Yes, I believe so,' he answered. ' Your 
 aunt, Mrs. Perriam, is well, I hope ?' 
 
 'Perfectly, thanks. Did you enjoy your 
 holiday ?' 
 
 'Very much indeed. Charlie Nunnerley 
 was with me, you know.' 
 
 Victor emphasised the name slightly, 
 glancing at his companion as he uttered it. 
 But Miss Courteney betrayed no confusion. 
 
 ' So I understood,' she said ; ' and I have 
 heard a good deal about your travels from 
 Dora and Jessie. You have done a con- 
 siderable amount of climbing, have you 
 not ? They told me you had been up the 
 Bel Alp, and the Aletschorn, and the Eg-
 
 HESTER COURTEXEY. 193 
 
 gischorn, and I don't know how many 
 other " horns." ' 
 
 ' AYell, on the whole, I think we did 
 exert ourselves pretty fairly,' he admitted. 
 * Charlie proved more ambitious than I 
 expected him to do, I must confess. From 
 the lazy way in which he dawdled about 
 here in the early summer, I hadn't looked 
 for so much energy.' 
 
 ' He is fond of Switzerland. I fancv,' 
 remarked Hester, with an unmoved coun- 
 tenance. 'Did you return together ?' 
 
 Victor hesitated for an instant, find 
 looked hard at the girl, ^^ith that letter 
 from Charlie in her pocket, could she 
 possibly be asking this question in ignor- 
 
 No, Miss Courteney ; I left him behind/ 
 he answered. 
 
 ' Oh ! Perhaps he remained to do some 
 sketching?' 
 
 She put the inquiry as though feeling 
 little interest in the reply. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ance :
 
 194 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 'I believe not. On the contrary, he 
 had, I know, an engagement in London to 
 take a gentleman's portrait, which he 
 ought to have commenced a week ago. 
 However, I expect he will be in England 
 by this time — unless — ' He paused for a 
 second ; then, with an involuntary contrac- 
 tion of the brow, added — ' unless he finds 
 it too hard to tear himself away from Miss 
 — from the Brethertons.' 
 
 ^The Brethertons?' repeated Hester. 
 (Her tone was no longer without anima- 
 tion.) ' Who are the Brethertons, may I 
 ask?' 
 
 ' You have not heard ? Mr. Bretherton 
 is the brother of Mrs. Curtis — the brother 
 to whom she left Monkswood, you know, 
 and the rest of her property. He will be 
 here next Tuesday, I expect, to take pos- 
 session of the place. Charlie and I met 
 them on the Miirren — Miss Bretherton and 
 her father.' 
 
 ' Ha !' The pupils of Hester's eyes sud-
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 195 
 
 denly enlarged, like those of a cat in the 
 dark. * That is ^vhere you were kept by 
 the snow-storm ?' 
 
 'Yes. It is where I left my cousin 
 also.' 
 
 'And are they agreeable people? Is 
 Miss Bretherton attractive?' 
 
 ' If every grace and charm that could 
 possibly be united in a woman can render 
 her attractive, she is so.' 
 
 ' Oh ! she is pretty then ?' 
 
 ' She is beautiful as a dream !' responded 
 Victor, with intentional enthusiasm. 
 
 A bright flush spread suddenly over 
 Hester's colourless face, and her lips 
 quivered. 
 
 'Ah!' she exclaimed. ' That accounts, 
 then, for — I mean — Really, I don't quite 
 know what I was going to say.' She 
 laughed confusedly for an instant ; then, 
 buttoning up her mouth, collected herself 
 with marvellous celerity, and changed the 
 subject. 
 
 o2
 
 196 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 'What lovely weather we are havings 
 are ^ve not ? But those changing tints^ 
 alas ! show that autumn is upon us. How 
 I wish it could be always summer ! Don't 
 you V' 
 
 Victor bowed, and gave vent to some 
 inarticulate murmur. He had been watch- 
 ing his companion's face closely, and none of 
 those singular and unaccustomed indica- 
 tions of disturbance on her part had escap- 
 ed his notice. Her nature, he began to 
 think, was not quite so cold and insensible 
 as he had sometimes imagined. She could 
 feel a prick, though she might be stoical 
 enough to hide the pain it gave her. 
 Strange to say, however, although self- 
 command was a quality which he strenu- 
 ously cultivated in himself, and always 
 admired in others, the present exhibi- 
 tion of it in Miss Courteney's case moved 
 him to irritation and dislike rather than 
 approval. He had never, in point of fact, 
 liked Hester Courteney ; and the senti-
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 197 
 
 ment was mutual, for Hester did not like 
 him. Their dispositions "were instinctively 
 antipathetical — albeit that neither of them 
 could have explained clearly on what pre- 
 cise grounds that antipathy was founded. 
 Her remark on the weather having 
 fallen so flat, Hester now introduced ano- 
 ther topic — Sir Jonathan Ledsom's funeral ; 
 and, talkins: for talkino-'s sake, the two 
 walked on, discussing the baronet's sud- 
 den death, Sir Arthur's accession to the 
 estate, and other relative matters. It was 
 only when they were drawing near to 
 Upton Lodge (Mr. Courteney's house 
 stood on the same road, scarcely a hundred 
 yards beyond, so that the young people's 
 way had been the same) that Hester re- 
 curred carelessly to the subject of their 
 new neighbours, and asked Victor a few 
 seemingly indifferent, but decidedly perti- 
 nent, questions concerning them. To 
 Charlie Xunnerley, however, no further 
 allusion was made, either in this or any
 
 198 .A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 other connection. Nevertheless, on what 
 he had found out this morning about that 
 letter, and what he had seen of Miss 
 Courteney's subdued excitement, Victor 
 had formed his own hypothesis. That 
 hypothesis by no means altogether dis- 
 pleased him. 
 
 At the appointed hour in the evening 
 Mr. McMcoll and his son presented them- 
 selves at Mr. Courteney's house. The 
 latter was neither quite so large nor quite 
 so luxuriously furnished an establishment 
 as that of Victor's father. Mr. McNicoU 
 had built his present habitation some 
 fifteen years ago, Avhilst Mr. Courteney, 
 about the same time, had been content to 
 alter and improve one which already stood 
 conveniently near the mill. Before that 
 date both partners had lived in very much 
 smaller houses, situated on the other side 
 of the river. But, though his residence 
 might not be so elegant or commodious, 
 Mr. Courteney was generally known to be
 
 HESTER COURTENEY. 199 
 
 the warmer man of the two — since, in 
 addition to possessing an equal share in 
 that flourishing business, he had, about 
 -Q.ye years since, come into a large private 
 fortune. Why he did not now retire from 
 commercial labours was a mystery to most of 
 his acquaintances. But, after thirty years 
 of active business life (he was just fifty), 
 Mr. Courteneyfelt that he could not enjoy 
 an idle existence. Moreover, he loved money, 
 and wanted to make more ; and he loved 
 his daughter, and wanted to make it for her. 
 
 In assenting, or rather, urging upon his 
 father that Victor should be taken into 
 partnership, Mr. Courteney did not intend 
 to lose anything. 
 
 It had been arranged that Mr. McNicoll 
 Avas to pay a fair sum into the concern, 
 and that a new branch of business — the 
 manufacture of sail-cloth — was to be com- 
 menced on certain premises which had 
 already been secured in another outskir t of 
 High Radston.
 
 200 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ^ We'll die millionaries yet, McNicoll/ 
 observed Mr. Courteney this evening, 
 when the deeds which had turned the 
 firm into ^ Courteney, McNicoll and Son,' 
 had been duly signed and sealed, and the 
 junior partner had left the room to show 
 out the lawyer who had been entrusted 
 with the execution of that business. ' And 
 I'll tell you what : if we could make a 
 match of it between your boy and my girl, 
 I should be thoroughly well pleased. I've 
 always liked Victor, and if Hetty marries 
 him she shall have every penny of my 
 fortune. I could not wish her a better 
 husband, and I've set my heart on her 
 having him.' 
 
 ' Then, by George ! she shall have him, if 
 I've any say in the matter !' exclaimed 
 Mr. McMcoll. ' The scheme has my full 
 approbation, and I'll give him a hint to that 
 effect as we go home.'
 
 201 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BRETIIERTOX. 
 
 The moment had come; at last : lie was o'o- 
 inof to see her as^ain ! 
 
 Like a school-boy impatient for the 
 holidays, Victor had been countino- the 
 days and the hours up to this time. The 
 family, he knew, had arrived, as expected, 
 on Tuesday evening. Victor had forced 
 himself to vrait over Wednesday — giving 
 them opportunity to rest and ^et settled 
 in their new abode ; and now, on the 
 Thursday afternoon, he stood once more 
 before the gates of Monkswood Hall. 
 
 The day was bright and fine, but the 
 wind a little chilly. Victor, however, did
 
 202 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 not feel cold. On a close calculation, it 
 took twenty minutes' quick walking to 
 cover the ground between here and Upton 
 Lodge ; to-day he had done it in fifteen. 
 
 Taking off his hat, he wiped the perspira- 
 tion from his brow, and proceeded at a 
 slow, almost laggard pace up the avenue. 
 
 Curiously enough (at least, it might 
 appear curious to one unacquainted with 
 the workings of that strange, contradictory- 
 seeming passion which swayed him), the 
 young fellovk^, now that he was so near the 
 house, found the eagerness that had driven 
 him here at railway speed overtaken by a 
 singular shyness. 
 
 ' How,' he wondered, ' would she receive 
 him ? Would she ' 
 
 All at once his heart stood still, then 
 went pit-a-pat with violence. The tones 
 of her well-remembered voice had struck 
 upon his ear. 
 
 Turning hastily in the direction whence 
 they had sounded, Victor peered through
 
 MK. PERCIV^VL BEETHERTOX. 203 
 
 the low-growing, interlaced branches of the 
 trees. Yes, she — Idalia — was there upon 
 the lawn. Her tall, supple figure was 
 wrapped about by a white shawl, soft and 
 downy-looking, but she wore no covering 
 upon her head. 
 
 Her face was turned away from him, 
 and towards the back of a young man who 
 was looking in an opposite direction. The 
 form reminded him of Charlie Xunnerley's. 
 For an instant Victor believed that it was 
 his cousin, but the ne!s:t moment undeceiv- 
 ed him. 
 
 The young man, wheeled round, and, to 
 his intense relief, disclosed the features of 
 a strano'er. 
 
 ' It is her brother — the fellow vrith the 
 queer name,' said Victor to himself. ' And 
 how alike they are !' 
 
 Until he had. thus seen them too;ether, 
 he had scarcely given a thought to the fact 
 that Idalia had a brother. 
 
 But now, should he make his way
 
 204 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 straight to tliem, or should lie go round in 
 a more formal fashion by the house ? 
 
 After a brief hesitation, Victor settled 
 the question by stooping under the trees, 
 squeezing himself betAveen some azalea 
 bushes, and appearing before Miss Bre- 
 therton with outstretched hand and a 
 glowing cheek. 
 
 ' You, Mr. McMcoll? Why, how glad I 
 am to see you !' she exclaimed, with that 
 slight, American twang in her voice which 
 he had learned to love, as he loved all else 
 about her. ' Do you know, I was just 
 thinking of you. I have been hoping you 
 might call to-day.' 
 
 ' Have you really ? Oh, thank you !' he 
 managed to stammer in delight, pressing 
 the hand she had given him. * Then you 
 had not forgotten me ?' 
 
 ' Well, no ; I haven't quite such a short 
 memory as that,' she laughed. 'This is 
 my brother Pele — Percival, I mean.' 
 
 Idalia had not blushed on her meeting
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BKETHERTON. 205 
 
 with Victor, though that gentleman had 
 done so himself, but she coloured a little 
 now. 
 
 ' 'My. McXicoll is Mr. Xunnerley's cousin, 
 YOU know, Percival,' she subjoined to her 
 brother. 
 
 ' Ah, yes ! I recollect. How do you do ? 
 Very pleased to make your acquaintance.' 
 
 Mr. Percival Bretherton executed, as he 
 spoke, a faultless bow, and Victor observed 
 that his utterance was entirely free from 
 accent. Xo one could have told whether 
 he had been brought up in Xew York or 
 in London. 
 
 The exchano'e of a few commonplaces 
 ensued, and it was some moments before 
 Victor bethought himself to inquire after 
 Mr. Bretherton. 
 
 ' He is well, I hope, and recovered from 
 the effects of his journey ?' 
 
 * Father ? Oh, yes. He is in the house ; 
 let us go to him. He"ll be real pleased to 
 meet you again.'
 
 206 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 She began to move forward as she spoke ; 
 but, laying a detaining hand on her arm, 
 her brother interposed. 
 
 'He is asleep just now, I believe, my 
 dear. There's no particular hurry, is there?' 
 
 Idalia stopped obediently. 
 
 'No,' she assented; 'if he is resting, we 
 won't disturb him. It is delightful out 
 here, is it not?' Turning to Victor: 'I 
 call this garden just delicious.' 
 
 Victor felt disposed to call it delicious 
 too — the most delicious spot on the face of 
 the earth. But he contented himself with 
 simply acquiescing, t 
 
 ' It is indeed — charming !' 
 
 'And the house, too, is charming,' re- 
 sumed Idalia. 'I consider it the loveli- 
 est old house imaginable. Yet you said it 
 was not grand.' 
 
 ' Did I say so ?' he rejoined. ' I don't re- 
 member. I must have meant, I suppose, that 
 it was not very large — not so large, for in- 
 .stance, as Feldhurst Court.' The young man
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BRETHERTON. 207 
 
 was conscious that this observation was 
 somewhat stupid. But Idalia had been look- 
 ing straight at him, with her be^\itching face 
 ■upturned, her magnificent eyes aglow with 
 animation, and the effect was decidedly- 
 discomposing. He felt so shy and so 
 happy that he hardly knew Avhat he was 
 saying. 'I am delighted,' he finished, with 
 fervour, ' that you like your new home.' . 
 
 ' Indeed, yes ; who could help liking it ?' 
 she answered. ' If only poor father can 
 feel happy here — ' 
 
 She paused, and the light began to fade 
 a little from her features. 
 
 ^ Is Feldhurst Court that big place on 
 the hill?' put in Mr. Percival. 
 
 ^ Yes,' returned Victor. 
 
 ' And who lives there ? What is the 
 owner's name ?' 
 
 Victor gave the desired information, and 
 as he did so he bestowed a more careful 
 notice upon Mr. Percival Bretherton's 
 appearance.
 
 208 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 On the whole, Peleus was rather a strik- 
 ing-looking person, and unquestionably 
 handsome. Victor's first impression, as we 
 have seen, had been that he was remark- 
 ably like his sister. Upon further inspec- 
 tion, however, this impression vanished, and 
 he now began to perceive that there were 
 more points of contrast than of resemblance. 
 The eyes of both were dark, but they were 
 not the same colour — Idalia's being of 
 that deep soft blue Avhich it has become 
 fashionable to describe as violet, whilst 
 those of her brother were brown, and 
 much smaller in size. In complexion, 
 Peleus was pale, with just a suspicion of 
 blotchiness about his face. Idalia's skin^ 
 on the contrary, was smooth as satin, and 
 of a clear dark cream-colour, showing 
 through the transparent cheeks the warm 
 glow of a healthful crimson ■ — like the 
 bloom of a peach, rich, yet at the same 
 delicate in its soft beauty. Again, whilst 
 the cut of their features was somewhat
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BEETHERTOX. 209 
 
 similar, the expression was totally unlike. 
 For a vouno' fellow of twenty, Victor 
 thoup^ht that there was something singu- 
 larly hard and cold about the eyes of his 
 new acquaintance. The mouth, on the 
 other hand, struck him as somewhat coarse 
 and sensual. 
 
 'They are a good family, then, these 
 Ledsoms ?' he remarked, when his inter- 
 locutor paused. 'Xot that we Americans 
 profess to think much of aristocratic birth, 
 though, you know,' he added, laughing. 
 
 ' I fancy I have heard, however, that as 
 a nation you don't undervalue titles,' re- 
 joined Victor, with a smile. 
 
 ' Well, perhaps not, as a nation^' admit- 
 ted Peleus ; ' but, for myself, I wouldn't 
 toady to a man if he had fifty handles to 
 his name. ^ly notion is that with plenty 
 of money and a good education, any fellow 
 may be as much a gentleman as the son of 
 an earl.' 
 
 'Certainly: I agree with you that a 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 title does not make the gentleman/ return- 
 ed Victor. ' But neither, I am sure, does 
 money.'' 
 
 'No, no — not in itself, of course. But 
 it goes a good way towards it, you'll 
 admit? And blue blood is not worth 
 much, in my opinion, without a little gild- 
 ing. Bother these gnats !' 
 
 Percival paused, and made a snatch 
 among the little crowd of insects buzzing 
 overhead, but without entrapping any. 
 
 ' I should like,' he resumed, ' to be in- 
 troduced to this Sir Arthur Ledsom. It 
 will be pretty dull here if one can't get 
 into some society. Do you happen to know 
 him?' 
 
 ' I know him extremely well, and shall 
 be happy to bring him to call upon you,' 
 said Victor. 
 
 'Oh, will you? Thanks; that's good. 
 How old did you say he was?' 
 
 ' He is twenty-three.' 
 
 ' Only twenty-three ? And he has that
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BRETHERTOX. 211 
 
 splendid place all to himself, Avitli a lara-e 
 income, no doubt, and no one to dictate to 
 or interfere, with him in any way? By 
 Jove ! what a fortunate young fellow ! I 
 only wish I stood in his shoes !' 
 
 Victor began to think that, notwith- 
 standing the fact that he spoke correct 
 English; and had been educated at Havard 
 University, Mr. Percival Bretherton was a 
 somewhat vulo;ar-minded voun::: man. 
 
 'My friend's o'reat re^Tet.' he returned, 
 coldly, 'is that he Uas the place all to 
 himself He feels his uncle's death much, 
 and selfish, lonelv o'randeur is not at all 
 the kind of thing he cares for.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I did not mean exactly that he 
 was to be envied for living alone,' explain- 
 ed the other, hastily, 'but for his independ- 
 ence, and all that. By-the-by,' he went 
 on, changing the subject, ' your cousin 
 Xunnerley has kindly offered to show me 
 about London a bit. I am going up in a 
 week or so to stay with him for a few 
 
 p 2
 
 212 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 days, and, afterwards, lie is coming back 
 with me here/ 
 
 ' Coming here ?' echoed Victor. ' Do 
 you mean to Monkswood?' 
 
 ' Yes ; it is arranged that he shoukl 
 take my sister's portrait. That will he 
 partly the object of his visit.' 
 
 ' Father, you see, is quite bent upon 
 having my likeness,' put in Idalia, looking 
 at the visitor with a frank smile, and fail- 
 ing to perceive (for the sun was in her 
 eyes) that he had grown very pale. ' I 
 feel glad now that I did not consent to be 
 taken in Italy. It will be so much pleas- 
 anter sitting to a friend : and, really, Mr. 
 Nunnerley does seem almost an old friend 
 now. Travelling together, I think, helps 
 one to get intimate sooner than anything 
 else.' 
 
 Victor replied only by an inaudible 
 murmur. 
 
 'Ah, yes! he is a jolly kind of fellow, 
 Nunnerley is, and easy to get on with,'
 
 MK. PERCIVAL BRETHERTOX. 213 
 
 nffirmed the brother, flicking now at the 
 gnats with a scented cambric handkerchief. 
 (Mr. Peleus Bretherton affected scents and 
 kindred effeminacies.) ' Having him with 
 us at Brussels certainly made it much 
 pleasanter.' 
 
 'Was my cousin with you in Brussels?' 
 demanded Victor. His voice, as he asked 
 the question, sounded to himself unnatu- 
 rally constrained. ' I did not know that 
 he had thought of going there.' 
 
 ' I don't suppose he had thought of it 
 wdien you left,' Idalia returned. ' He onlv 
 make up his mind, I believe, when we 
 were at Interlaken that he would take that 
 route home, through Belsrium.' 
 
 'Oh? And — then, when did you part 
 with him ?' 
 
 ' Only on Tuesday morning. AYe had 
 his company, you see, all the way to 
 London.' 
 
 Idalia spoke as though it had all been 
 the most natural thing in the world. Xo
 
 214 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 consciousness in her manner appeared to 
 indicate that she looked upon the young 
 artist's change of plan as bearing any 
 special significance in her own regard. To 
 Victor, however, who knew that his cousin 
 had had a pressing engagement at home^ 
 the fact that he had lingered for a full 
 week longer than he had hitherto supposed 
 in Miss Bretherton's company did seem 
 very significant. He turned sick and cold 
 with the shock which this information had 
 given him. The day seemed all at once 
 to have lost its brightness. The bliss of 
 this happy re-union w^as for the time being 
 effectually clouded. He felt sure now — 
 surer than ever — that Charlie was his rival. 
 And that he should have succumbed to 
 attractions such as no man could see un- 
 moved was not, Victor would have been 
 ready to admit, surprising. It was only 
 the circumstances of the case, he thought, 
 which rendered him so indignant and so 
 disturbed. For, although not, as a rule^
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BRETHERTOX. 21o 
 
 given to jumping to conclusions, Victor 
 had arrived at very definite conclusions in 
 respect to Ms cousin and Hester Courteney. 
 He could, it is true, have brought forward 
 no decisive proof in support of these con- 
 clusions ; but no proofs could have enhanc- 
 ed the implicit certainty of his belief in 
 them. By-and-by, however, he began to 
 take comfort. However great his love or 
 admiration of Idalia, Charlie, it was plain, 
 had made as vet no verbal acknowledg;- 
 ment of his sentiments; otherwise, Idalia's 
 lack of embarrassment in referring to him 
 could scarcely have been so complete. 
 But would he, Victor wondered, have the 
 o^race to refrain altoo-ether ? Would he 
 have the manliness to continue faithful, at 
 least in word and deed, to the girl whose 
 affections he had secretly entangled? 
 Victor hoped he might. At any rate, he 
 resolved he would give him the benefit of 
 the doubt. He would not condemn him 
 before he had proved himself guilty.
 
 216 A DIAMOND IiV THE ROUGH. 
 
 Shaking himself free of these disquieting 
 reflections, Victor turned again to Idalia. 
 
 ' Did you not stay in London at all, 
 Miss Bretherton ? or visit any of the 
 lions ?' he asked. ' It seems to me that 
 you must have come straight through 
 without stopping.' 
 
 ' So we did. We crossed from Ostend 
 to Dover on Monday : slept there that 
 night, and came direct here on Tuesday. 
 It was my doing. I thought father was 
 tired of travelling and sight-seeing, and 
 that it would be better to put ofl' seeing 
 anything of England, and especially of 
 London, until he had had a little rest.' 
 
 ' It was a wise plan,' commented Victor ; 
 * and for yourself, I think, as well. You 
 will be all the more likely to do our 
 country justice after an interval of quiet 
 life ; and I hope that you mai/ do it justice 
 — or, at least, that you may come to like it 
 so much that you will never wish to leave 
 it.'
 
 MR. PERCIVAL BRETHEKTOX. 217 
 
 ' Well, I am pretty well satisfied' with it 
 already,' she returned. ' If this lovely 
 country place is to be taken as a 
 
 sample But, look ! there is father at 
 
 the window. He sees you, Mr. McNicoU. 
 Do come right on in and speak to him, 
 won't you r'
 
 21S 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTENTIONS. 
 
 Victor, of course, followed. What man — 
 especially what young man — would have 
 refused to follow, at her lightest word, 
 wdieresoever she chose to bid him ? Such 
 a question Idalia had certainly never put 
 into form, even in her own mind. Had it 
 occurred to her, however, she would have 
 felt quite satisfied as to the answer. From 
 her earliest girlhood she had been accustom- 
 ed to find herself a centre of attraction to 
 the other sex. Her experience in those 
 American hotels and boarding-houses 
 whither her grandmother had carried her 
 in search of society and ^ polish ' had long
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTENTIONS. 219 
 
 ago taught her the truth ^vhich her 
 subsequent travels had only served to 
 confirm. 
 
 Idalia, in short, knew that she was 
 irresistible. She could not help knowing 
 it ; and the knowledge was one of the 
 things that made her so charming. 
 
 Her easy grace of manner and quiet self- 
 possession arose in a great measure from 
 this assured consciousness of her power to 
 please; yet for anyone to have remained 
 more utterly unspoiled b}' the flattering 
 homage everywhere rendered to her would 
 have been impossible. The fact of her own 
 attractiveness she seemed to take as a 
 matter of course, T\dthout dwelling on it, 
 and her simple naturalness was untarnished 
 by even the shadow of conceit. Neither 
 seeking nor repulsing them, she had hith- 
 erto accepted the attentions of admirers 
 wdth a philosophic calmness which showed 
 her own heart to be untroubled by senti- 
 ment, and which had happily prevented
 
 220 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 several young men from confessing a pas- 
 sion which would have proved hopeless of 
 return. 
 
 • In his untutored native politeness, Mr. 
 Bretherton had left the windov/ and come 
 to meet his visitor at the hall-door. 
 
 • Now, this is friendly of you, an' it's 
 neighbourly, a-droppin' in like this so 
 soon !' he exclaimed, extending his horny 
 palm, whilst a smile of hearty welcome 
 beamed all over his lined and wrinkled 
 countenance. ' I take it real kind. But 
 come in an' set ye down, do.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Mr. Bretherton,' affirmed Victor, 
 laughing, ' I am only afraid that my in- 
 clination may lead me perhaps to drop in 
 oftener than you may wish.' 
 
 ^ Now, thet's foolishness. You can't 
 come oftener 'n we'd like. Thet's just 
 foolishness !' protested Abner, standing aside 
 to let the young man precede him into the 
 apartment he had before been occupying. 
 It was one which Victor recognised as
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTEXTIOXS. 221 
 
 having been used by Mrs. Curtis as a 
 morning-room. He made a remark to 
 that effect. 
 
 ' I dessay — yes, I dessay.' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton looked around him re- 
 flectively, and, as it seemed to Victor, 
 rather sadly. 
 
 ' You see, it ain't such a gorgis room, 
 this ain't, as the others,' he added present- 
 ly, ' an' someways I feel more comfortable 
 a-settin' in it.' 
 
 * But you are not disappointed, I hope, 
 in Monks^vood? Miss Bretherton, I am 
 glad to say, appears delighted T^^ith the 
 house.' 
 
 The father s face suddenly brightened. 
 
 ' That's so. Yes, Idaly, she is po'sverful 
 pleased ^vith it,' he returned ; ' an' so's 
 Peleus — Percival, I'd orter said.' 
 
 He turned an apologetic glance towards 
 his son, who, having leisurely followed the 
 others in, at this moment entered the 
 room.
 
 222 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ' But yourself?' persisted Victor. ^ I 
 hope you too are pleased ?' 
 
 ' Yes. "Lor, yes ! to be sure I am !' 
 
 The admission was a relief to young 
 McMcoll. 
 
 ' That's right !' he interjected. ' I trust, 
 then, that you will be likely to make this 
 your permanent home?' 
 
 ' We shall not go back to North Carolina 
 at all events,' broke in Mr. Percival. 
 ' We shall never go back there. So it 
 would be just as well to learn to be con- 
 tented elsewhere.' 
 
 The last sentences were spoken in a lower 
 key, and were evidently addressed by the 
 young man to his father's private ear. 
 
 Victor observed poor Mr. Bretherton 
 wince, as though from a physical blow. 
 Leaning forward, however, the next instant 
 to rub his knees, he answered, meekly, 
 
 ' Yes, Percival, thet's true. It's Avell to 
 be contented. Thet thar's true.' 
 
 'Father,' said Idalia, advancing from
 
 IfEIGHBOUELY ATTEXTIOXS. 223 
 
 the further end of the room, where she had 
 stopped to throw oif her white shawl and 
 to caress a tiny spaniel, which she now 
 carried in her arms — 'Father, have you 
 asked Mr. McNicoll to stay and take dinner 
 with us ?' 
 
 ' Not yet, I haven't. But you may be 
 sure I will, honey ! Do^ mister, ef you 
 please ' — with eager warmth — ' Do, if it 
 ain't onconvenient. We dine at six ; 
 though I'm useder myself to eatin' in the 
 middle of the day,' he subjoined. ' At 
 Prospect Farm, now, we mealed at twelve. 
 But things is altered all ways. The folks 
 to home, they wouldn't believe how 
 aristocratic we've grown : would they, 
 Idalia?' 
 
 Mr. Percival's face had reddened with 
 manifest shame and anger. 
 
 ' The immediate point, sir, is,' he inter- 
 posed, hastily, ' whether your friend will 
 give us his company for dinner. Your in- 
 teresting reminiscences '
 
 224 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 He stopped sliort, glanced at his sister,, 
 who had suddenly lifted her eyes to his, 
 and walked away towards the Avindow. 
 
 ' Thank you most heartily, Mr. Brether- 
 ton,' rejoined Victor, with marked emjjresse- 
 ment. ' Unfortunately, I am engaged for 
 this evening, or I should have been delight- 
 ed to remain.' (There was not much 
 doubt of that.) ' I have promised, how- 
 ever, to dine with my friend. Sir Arthur 
 Ledsom. By-the-by, I was almost forget- 
 ting, Miss Bretherton : my mother and 
 sisters wished me to say that they would 
 do themselves the pleasure of calling upon 
 you very soon. They would have ac- 
 companied me to-day^ indeed, if they 
 had felt sure that it was not too soon to 
 intrude.' 
 
 Id alia was in the act of making some 
 appropriate reply, to which Victor was 
 listening all eyes and ears, when Percival 
 observed from the window, 
 
 ' There's a carriage coming up the drive
 
 ]ST:iGHBOrRLY ATTEXTIOXS. 225 
 
 now, Tvdtli two ladies in it. Can they be 
 your mother and sister ?' 
 
 Victor sprang to his feet and looked 
 forth. 
 
 ' Oh no !' he ejaculated, recognising with 
 surprise the occupants of the elegant 
 landau that was approaching. ' Xo ; that 
 is Miss Courteney : Mrs. Perriam and Miss 
 Gourteney.' 
 
 ^Oh?' rejoined Percival, drawing back 
 from observation. ' And v/ho may they be, 
 if you please ? The girl looks uncommonly 
 pretty.' 
 
 Victor hastened to supply the intelli- 
 gence required ; and he had scarcely finish- 
 ed speaking before the new visitors were 
 ushered into the room. Perceiving him 
 immediately upon her entrance, the elder 
 lady claimed his good offices in introducing 
 herself and her niece. 
 
 ' Though, of course, Miss Bretherton,' 
 she continued, nervously, addressing that 
 young lady, ' we came with the intention 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 of introducing ourselves. Our call, I fear, 
 is unceremoniously early, but Hester was 
 so anxious to make your acquaintance 
 that I could not persuade her to defer it.' 
 
 ' Well, now, I call that right friendly of 
 the young lady !' exclaimed Mr. Brether- 
 ton, stepping forward, and beginning 
 cordially to shake Mrs. Perriam's hand up 
 and down in the pump-handle fashion. 
 ' I'm oblio:ed to her, ma'am, an' I'm obliged 
 to you. You see, havin' come so far from 
 wdiere she was reared, it would be sorter 
 lonesome fur Idalia ef ' 
 
 He paused suddenly, becoming conscious 
 that his visitor was tugging violently to 
 release her hand. Then, after a moment's 
 surprised scrutiny of her face, he motioned 
 the lady to a chair, and sat down himself 
 with a crestfallen countenance, over which 
 a brick-red flush was slowly stealing. 
 
 The fact was that Mrs. Perriam — un- 
 prepared to find in a brother of Mrs. Cur- 
 tis a man who spoke and looked like poor
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTENTIOXS. 227 
 
 Abner — had betrayed by her expression 
 that she was unutterably shocked by this 
 first view of him. Unlike her niece, the 
 worthy lady possessed no power of dissem- 
 bling her sentiments. On the contrary, 
 she was a weak little woman, singularly 
 deficient in self-control. Like most weak 
 people, also, she was narrow in her ideas 
 and prejudiced in her opinions. Mr. Bre- 
 therton, of course, did not accord with her 
 notions of a gentleman. His appearance 
 shocked her taste ; his speech bewildered 
 her ; the heartiness of his welcome fright- 
 ened her. Sinking into the chair he had 
 indicated, she sat for several seconds lost 
 in her own sensations, and regarded the 
 new owner of Monkswood as though he 
 were some curious wild animal of a species 
 she had never before seen. 
 
 Standing near, Victor had observed this 
 little contretemps ; but he was glad to hope 
 that no one else had, since, at the moment, 
 both Idalia and her brother were enirai^ed
 
 228 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 in exchanging greetings with Miss Hester 
 Courteney. 
 
 Blaming himself for not having prepared 
 Mrs. Perriam hy some previous description 
 of simple, kindly Mr. Bretherton, and so 
 prevented her from wounding his. honest 
 feelings by her stupidly undisguised amaze- 
 ment, he proceeded to administer a mental 
 shake to the lady by addressing her in a 
 trenchant and significant tone. Then, 
 turning to Mr. Bretherton, he strove to 
 efface, by redoubled politeness on his own 
 part, the painful impression which this in- 
 voluntary rudeness had so evidently left 
 upon him. 
 
 As for Mrs. Perriam, she remained silent, 
 covered presently with confused blushes, 
 but unable, apparently, to rally from her 
 condition of mental obfuscation. 
 
 A clerffvman's widow, and Mr. Court- 
 eney's only sister, Mrs. Perriam was a per- 
 manent resident in that gentleman's house. 
 She was a spare, weak-eyed, loose-mouth-
 
 NEIGHBOUELY ATTEXTIOXS. 229 
 
 ed, timid little woman of fifty. On the 
 death of his wife (which had occurred when 
 Hester was a baby), Mr. Courteney had 
 invited her to take the head of his estab- 
 lishment and the care of his child. There 
 she had remained ever since, manacrino; 
 household matters, in which Miss Hester 
 took little interest, but certainly not man- 
 a^ncr Miss Hester herself. 
 
 Very soon, indeed, by virtue of her 
 stronger ^^'ill, the little girl had learned to 
 control her aunt instead of being control- 
 led by her. And, now that she was no 
 lono^er a little crirl Mrs. Perriam would as 
 soon have dreamt of exerting authority 
 over her niece as of offerins; herself as a 
 candidate for a seat in Parliament. 
 
 On the present occasion — in reference 
 to this call at Monks wood, which she her- 
 self had not desired to make so hurriedly 
 — she had, as usual, yielded to her niece's 
 quiet, but peremptory, mandate. 
 
 After the check that had been given to his
 
 230 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 iiri sophisticated friendliness, poor Mr. Bre- 
 therton, greatly to his son's satisfaction, 
 sat in silence, rubbing his knees with a 
 perturbed air. 
 
 Between the rest of the party the con- 
 versation dragged. Mr. Percival, it i& 
 true, made valiant efforts to keep up the 
 ball between himself and Miss Courteney. 
 Highly susceptible to the influence of good 
 looks, he was somewhat struck by the 
 young lady's fair, pale prettiness, and pro- 
 bably the effect of her cold attractions was 
 heightened for him by the fact that she 
 appeared rather bored than otherwise by 
 his attempts to entertain her. 
 
 So far as Victor McMcoll — who was tak- 
 ing attentive stock cf her demeanour — 
 could judge, Hester had come here this 
 afternoon with the sole object of studying 
 Miss Bretherton's appearance. At any 
 rate, her gaze seldom wandered from that 
 young lady's person.
 
 KEIGHBOUKLY ATTEXTIOXS. 231 
 
 Her own mouth buttoned up with an 
 aspect of even more determined self-re- 
 pression than usual, and only unclosed to 
 emit an occasional observation, she looked 
 Idalia over from head to foot, taking in 
 every minutios of her attire, as well as every 
 perfection of her face and figure. A slight 
 embarrassment in her mien testified, at 
 length, that Idalia was becoming conscious 
 of this too flattering attention. Stooping 
 to lift to her lap the silky-haired little dog 
 which lay curled up at her feet, she began 
 to play with it, and to call Miss Courteney's 
 attention to its Ions; ears and other canine 
 beauties. 
 
 Hester rendered the meed of admiration 
 invited from her. 
 
 ' I suppose you brought him with you 
 from America ?' she then inquired, in an 
 indifferent tone. 
 
 ' Oh, no ! I have only had him a very 
 short time,' Idalia answered. ' But we
 
 232 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 have grown tremendously fond of each 
 other already : haven't we, Pippin ?' 
 
 The dog responded to the question by a 
 leisurely wag of his tail and an affection- 
 ate lick from his smooth little tongue. 
 
 ' His proper name is Pepin,' resumed his 
 mistress. 'He is a French doggy, and 
 only understands that language. But we 
 have Anglicized his name, and I am trying 
 to teach him English.' 
 
 'He is a Blenheim, is he not?' asked 
 Victor, whose knowledge on the subject of 
 dogs was not very discriminative, ventur- 
 ing to put out his hand to caress the 
 spaniel as he lay on Idalia's knee. 
 
 ' No : he is a King Charlie, I believe,' 
 she returned. ' Your cousin, Mr. Nunner- 
 ley, gave him to me. Why, did he snap at 
 you?' 
 
 Victor had drawn his iino;ers back 
 suddenly, as though he had been bitten. 
 
 ' Oh, no !' he stammered, colouring. 
 ' No, certainly not. He did not touch me.
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTEXTIOXS. 233 
 
 And so Charlie o-ave him to vou ?' he 
 appended, airily. 
 
 ' Yes ; he bought him in Brussels from a 
 man we met in the street, because I happen- 
 ed to admire him. It was very kind, 
 wasn't it? Do you know Mr. Xunnerley, 
 Miss Courteney ?' 
 
 Hester smoothed out an imaginary 
 crease in her dress before replying. 
 
 ' Yes — oh, yes ! I know him pretty well. 
 You are fond of dogs, I suppose?' 
 
 ' I am fond of large dogs — very — of Xew- 
 foundlands and retrievers especially. But 
 I don't believe I ever cared for a lap-dog 
 before. I do Hke Pippin, though, immense- 
 ly. He is such a spry, knowing little 
 fellow. He can sit up, too, and beg. 
 Come, Pippin ; sit up, sir !' 
 
 Hester looked on for a few moments in 
 silence whilst the dog- exhibited his accom- 
 plishments. Then, when Idalia had releas- 
 ed him, she casually inquired, 
 
 'Did you see much of Mr. Xunnerley
 
 234 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 abroad? Mr. Victor McNicoll meDtioned 
 to me that you had met him there.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, ^ve had a very good time 
 together ; hadn't we, father ?' she appealed^ 
 in happy unconsciousness of her inter- 
 locutor's deep interest in the topic. ' He 
 travelled around with us all the time after 
 we made his acquaintance until we parted 
 in London.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' was the only immediate 
 comment which Miss Courteney offered 
 upon this intelligence ; and, breaking in at 
 this juncture with some irrelevant remark,, 
 Mr. Percival ao;ain strove to ens^ross her 
 attention. 
 
 By-and-by, however, just before rising to 
 take her leave, Hester again contrived to 
 introduce Charlie Nunnerley's name ; and 
 in a roundabout fashion, by dint of 
 suggestions rather than direct queries, she 
 seemed to be trying to arrive at the exact 
 extent of Miss Bretherton's intimacy with 
 the young man.
 
 NEIGHBOURLY ATTEXTIOXS. 235 
 
 To all her hints, so far as she under- 
 stood them, Idalia replied with the most 
 straightforward simplicity ; and, looking 
 on in silent apprehension of the one- 
 sided game, Victor drew mental compari- 
 sons between these two girls. Yet his 
 father had proposed that he should think 
 of Hester Courteney as a wife ! — had not 
 only proposed, but insisted upon it with 
 arguments, persuasions, and threats ! 
 Victor was perfectly satisfied that if he 
 were to make any advances to Hester his 
 suit would not be acceptable : but he felt 
 that in any case he would sooner die than 
 make them. 
 
 The call did not last long — not longer, 
 certainly, than fifteen minutes. For the 
 last ten of those minutes, however, Mrs. 
 Perriam (who had been sitting throughout 
 the whole interview on thorns of discom- 
 fort) had been impatiently watching for 
 her niece to make the initiatory move 
 towards departure. When Hester did at
 
 236 A DIAMOND m THE ROUGH. 
 
 length rise, she followed her example with 
 alacrity ; and Victor, feeling it incumbent 
 upon him to take his leave at the same 
 time, accompanied the ladies to their 
 carriage — in which, however, he courteous- 
 ly declined to take a seat. 
 
 ' I say, don't forget, you know, that you 
 have promised to bring young Ledsom to 
 call here,' were Mr. Percival Bretherton's 
 last words to him as they shook hands.
 
 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 THE FOLD FAR:\r. 
 
 ' You p.re quite sure, father, that you won't 
 feel lonely?' 
 
 Idalia stood T^dth her riding-skirts gath- 
 ered up in one hand, and the other passed 
 through her father's arm, whilst she put 
 this question with tender anxiety. 
 
 It was the mornino; followino; Victor 
 McMcoll's call ; her brother and she were 
 about to set off for a ride, and Mr. Bre- 
 therton had accompanied them to the 
 door to see them mount. A pair of fine 
 saddle-horses were somewhat restively 
 pawing the gravel in front of the porch^
 
 238 A DIAMOND IX THE ROUGH. 
 
 and Peleus was occupied about the girths 
 of one of them. 
 
 Presently, turning round, he called his 
 sister to come, that he might put her up. 
 Their love of horses and horse exercise 
 formed one strong point of common inter- 
 est between the brother and sister, and it 
 would have been hard to say which was 
 the more accomplished or graceful rider. 
 
 ' Well, good-bye, father,' repeated Idalia, 
 kissing him ; ' we shall not be away long. 
 And this afternoon, remember, you and I 
 are to have a nice drive together in the 
 pony-carriage.' 
 
 ' Bless you, honey ! So we will. But 
 enjoy your ride, child, and don't you hurry 
 back for me on no account. I ain't a-goin' 
 to feel lonesome. Dear, no ! Why should 
 I?' 
 
 This assurance was emphasised by his 
 sweetest smile. 
 
 Nevertheless, scarcely had the sounds
 
 THE FOLD FAPvM. 239 
 
 of the horses' hoofs died from his ear 
 before Abner did begin to feel lonely — 
 very lonely indeed. 
 
 Accustomed all his life to active labour 
 and an outdoor existence, confinement to 
 the house Avas naturally irksome to him. 
 To sit alone in an unfamiliar room proved 
 doubly irksome ; and, after enduring the 
 experience for nearly half-an-hour, he took 
 his hat and left the house. 
 
 For some time he wandered about the 
 grounds ; then, passing round to the back 
 of the Hall, he entered the stable-yard. 
 Two grooms were at work there, l)usily 
 engaged in polishing some silver-plated 
 harness which had become tarnished with 
 neglect. Mr. Bretherton stopped to speak 
 with them ; but his manner was constrain- 
 ed and unnatural, and his words came out 
 with hesitation. 
 
 The fact was, that this morning, whilst 
 his sister had been donnino; her ridins;-
 
 240 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 habit, Mr. Percival Bretherton had seized 
 the opportunity of repeating to his father 
 certain instructions respecting his conduct 
 towards the servants, to which he had 
 more than once before given utterance. 
 The burden of these reiterated instructions 
 was that poor Abner w^as carefully to avoid 
 undue familiarity with any of his domestic 
 staff. And, in order to ensure such avoid- 
 ance, his amiable son wished him to make 
 it a rule never to address man or maid 
 excepting upon necessary business, and 
 then with as much brevity as possible. 
 Now, feeling that in penalty for having 
 brought him up in so superior a fashion to 
 himself, he owed consideration in all such 
 m.atters as this to his son's ideas, Mr. 
 Bretherton had half given the promise 
 Peleus sought to extract from him. The 
 consequence was that, under a sense of 
 being curbed and restrained from all spon- 
 taneity, the worthy man lost now the 
 remnants of a certain simple dignity which,
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 241 
 
 under happier circumstances, had always 
 characterised him in his intercourse with 
 his employes. 
 
 The cockney grooms, who spoke in a 
 finiky, word-chopping style, which Mr. 
 Bretherton found it difficult to compre- 
 hend, fancied that their new master was 
 afraid of them — that he felt uneasy be- 
 neath their critical inspection, from the 
 very proper conviction that he was not ^t 
 to occupy such a relationship towards 
 them. Ha^dno; both, as thev could boast, 
 served the ' haristocracy ' in their time, 
 they had strictly correct notions as to 
 what a gentleman ought to be. x\s a 
 matter of course, poor Abner did not 
 coincide with these notions, and they 
 had set him down in their own minds as 
 entirely without claim to that title. The 
 exchange of a surreptitious wink presently 
 conveyed from one to the other an 
 appropriate expression of this their mutual 
 opinion. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Mr. Bretherton did not catch the wink, 
 but he felt that the men were quizzing 
 him in a not very friendly or respectful 
 fashion, and with a hasty parting remark 
 he walked away. Before, however, he had 
 quitted the yard, or at all events before he 
 had got well out of earshot, a rude laugh 
 reached him, and instinctively he guessed 
 that his hired lackeys were amusing their 
 small wits at his expense. 
 
 A flush of anger mounted to his brow. 
 For an instant he halted and half turned. 
 But the brief resentment quickly passed, 
 giving place to pain — a secret aching pain 
 — from which he was rarely free, though 
 he strove with patient unselflshness to hide 
 its existence from his children. More sad 
 and ' lonesome ' now than before, he 
 wandered back to the front of the house. 
 Ah ! how his heart yearned for his old 
 home, for his old associates, his old occu- 
 pations ! In that far-off land, in those
 
 THE FOLD FAEM. 243 
 
 dear bygone clays, no one had ever laughed 
 at or ridiculed him, and he had been 
 happily unconscious of anything in him- 
 self calculated to excite such ridicule. 
 There, in ' Clear Water Valley,' he had 
 been a man of consequence, a man looked 
 up to and honoured. He had gone about 
 accordingly vdth that sense of dignity and 
 self-respect always enjoyed by one who 
 feels himself to be in good repute with his 
 fellows. His life had been a useful and a 
 happy one. But now, alas ! all was 
 changed. 
 
 Entirely out of his element, Abner began 
 to feel as though he were scarcely the 
 same man that he had been ; and in a 
 measure this was true. He had been 
 transplanted to a foreign soil — an unsuit- 
 able habitat — and the bleeding roots, torn 
 from his native earth, seemed to be drain- 
 ing him of life-blood and energy. He felt 
 as though all that was most of worth and 
 
 K 2
 
 244 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 use in him was dying o slow death through 
 the inaction of his present strange, uncon- 
 genial existence. 
 
 Absorbed in these sorrowful thoughts, 
 which he only permitted himself to in- 
 dulge in when alone, Mr. Bretherton 
 grew heedless of whither his steps carried 
 him. Hardly conscious of the fact, he 
 passed out of his own grounds, and strolled 
 for a short distance along the highway. 
 By-and-by he found himself standing in 
 front of a white gate. The gate opened 
 upon a cart road, or lane, which led up 
 to an ancient-looking, stragglingly-built 
 house. This house at once arrested 
 Abner's attention, and lifted him out of 
 his unpleasant reflections. It was evi- 
 dently a farm ; and though there was not 
 much resemblance between the buildings 
 — excepting that both covered a good deal 
 of ground, and were two-storied, rambling- 
 looking places — it reminded him somehow 
 of White-falls Prospect.
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 245 
 
 A singular desire took possession of 
 poor Abner. He felt as though he should 
 like very much to go and call at this 
 house. Its owner being a farmer, like 
 himself, might perhaps feel inclined to be 
 neighbourly. Yet he hesitated to carry 
 out this impulse, and remained for a long 
 time leaning over the gate, wistfully gaz- 
 ing around him. A year ago, in his own 
 country, he would have marched boldly 
 forward, without crivino- a second thou^iit 
 to the question. Ceremony in the matter 
 of making acquaintances was not fashion- 
 able among the Apalachian mountains ; 
 but now Abner had to contend against 
 a new diffidence, born of his late 
 experiences. 
 
 At length, how^ever, he opened the gate, 
 and, takino^ his coura^'e in hand, beo:an to 
 walk slowly up the lane. It led past a 
 front entrance round to a vard at the back 
 of the house. A second gate closed in the 
 farm-yard. Just through it, to the left?
 
 24G A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 stretched a small pond of muddy watery 
 wherein a family of yellow-billed ducks 
 were disporting themselves. Cocks and 
 hens were pecking about among the straw 
 Avhich littered the premises, and a fat 
 gander, standing on the top of a manure 
 heap, was contemplating his small world 
 with an imbecile eye. Abner hesitated 
 again for some minutes ; then, lifting the 
 bar of this second gate, he attempted to 
 open it. A noisy creaking sound was the 
 result, and springing from a kennel, which 
 he had not before noticed, a large bull- 
 dog set up a loud barking, accompanied by 
 a vicious straining at his chain. The 
 barking was taken up in chorus by two 
 other dogs, invisible from where he stood,, 
 and, repelled by the inhospitable clamour, 
 Mr. Bretherton once more paused. 
 
 A moment later, there appeared round 
 a corner of the house a man with a 
 pipe in his mouth and his hands in his 
 pockets.
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 247 
 
 ' How d'ye do, mister ?' asked Abner, 
 smiling and nodding aiFably. 
 
 ' Mornin' to ee,' returned the other, re- 
 moving his pipe, and surveying the visitor 
 curiously. 
 
 ' I was passin', ' resumed Mr. Bretherton, 
 explanatorily and a little nervously — ' I 
 was jest a-jDassin', an' I thought I'd step 
 in an' see ye. You're the owner, I reckon^ 
 of this yere farm, ain't ye ?' 
 
 ' Ess, I be. I be a Yarmer Basset — John 
 Basset, by your leave.' Then, after a 
 pause, devoted to puffing hard at his pipe, 
 he subjoined — ' Stranger i' these pairts, 
 beant ee?' 
 
 ' Thet's so. Yes, mister, I'm a stranger 
 in a strange land, so to speak. I was 
 raised in North Carolina.' 
 
 * North Carolina ? And where med 
 that be ? Toward Scotland, or that waay 
 somewheres, I s'pose ? 
 
 Mr. Bretherton was too polite to smile 
 at this sad display of ignorance.
 
 248 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 'Well, no; it's in the States. North 
 Carolina is — America, you know,' he added; 
 suggestively. 
 
 Mr. Basset lifted his hat and scratched 
 the bald pate. 
 
 ' Oh, a}^, I see now, sure !' he exclaimed 
 in a relieved tone. ' You be one o' the 
 nev/ squoire's men. 'A 's from America, 
 they tell I. And, to be sure, anyone 
 could have telld from your speech that 
 you was a foreigner.' 
 
 ' Well, I dessay — they could,' admitted 
 Mr. Bretherton. Then, in order to correct 
 the mistake under which his companion 
 was evidently labouring, he continued, 
 ' Monkswood Hall, you see, it's mine now. 
 My sister, Mrs. Curtis, she left it to me. 
 Maybe ye know'd her?' 
 
 The puzzled expression which it had 
 before worn returned in full force to Mr. 
 Basset's florid countenance. 
 
 ' Lor' !' he ejaculated. ' Be you Squoire 
 Bretherton himself?'
 
 THE FOLD FAEM. 249 
 
 ^Thet's my name, Mister — Abiier Breth- 
 ertoii is.' 
 
 Mr. Basset stood for a full minute with 
 his mouth open, as though unable to 
 swallow this intelligence. Then, looking 
 Mr. Bretherton straight in the face, he 
 broke into a little laugh, which sounded 
 neither unpleasant nor impertinent, and 
 said, 
 
 ^ Why doant ee step forrud, squoire ? 
 Come into the house and take a drop of 
 cider.' 
 
 ^Well, now, thet's friendly, that is; an' 
 I will,' rejoined Abner, ^^'itIl heartiness. 
 * But ef you wouldn't mind it, I'd like first 
 to look around a bit. You see, I'm a farmer 
 myself, an' it's sorter home-like being in the 
 yard here is.' 
 
 'A varmer? Do ee tell, now?' exclaim- 
 ed Mr. Basset, much interested. ^And — 
 make so bold — what med you varm, cattle 
 or grain ?' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton proceeded to explain that
 
 250 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 lie had been botli an agricultural and a 
 cattle farmer, but that the principal and 
 most lucrative part of his business had 
 been the breeding of hogs on the moun- 
 tains at some distance from his home- 
 stead. 
 
 Mr. Basset listened attentively, beating 
 into his hand the ashes of his pij)e, Avhich 
 had now gone out. Both men were con- 
 scious that a friendly freemasonry of feel- 
 ing had even already been established 
 between them. This, however, did not 
 arise altogether from the discovery that 
 they possessed a common interest through 
 this community of occupation, although 
 it was undoubtedly heightened by that 
 circumstance. 
 
 ' I liked the look o' un, some ways, fro' 
 the moment I first seed un,' remarked 
 Farmer Basset afterwards to a confidential 
 friend. ' 'A looks you straight i' the faace 
 like a true man, and 'a 's a kindly soul, a& 
 you can see in 's eye.'
 
 THE FOLD FAEM. 251 
 
 For someAvhat similar reasons, and also 
 because the affectionate warmth of his 
 guileless nature inclined him to like and 
 think well of everyone with whom he 
 came in contact, Mr. Bretherton felt 
 likewise much drawn to the honest 
 farmer. 
 
 ' And so you breeded pegs ?' remarked 
 the latter, when his companion paused. 
 ' AYell, well, step this waay, friend, and I'll 
 show ee as vine a sow as ever ee seen !' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton followed with happy 
 alacrity towards a row of well-built, 
 cleanly-looking styes at the further end of 
 the yard. 
 
 ' Xow then, look ee there ! Her 's four- 
 teen stun, if her 's a pound !' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton duly admired the moun- 
 tain of shapeless flesh pointed out to him. 
 Then, putting over his stick, he gave the 
 somnolent swine a gentle scratch on the 
 head. A loud and contented irruntino^ 
 immediately ensued, and thereupon, from.
 
 252 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 under cover, there came pelting out a dozen 
 small pigs, tumbling helter-skelter over one 
 another. 
 
 ' Ha, ha ! 'Tis her last brood, they 'n,' 
 remarked the farmer ; ' and I'll tell ee a 
 joke. My girl, Susan — her 's a good mayd, 
 and pretty, Susan is, and I'd like you to 
 see her, squoire ' — he glanced round to- 
 wards the house, as though to look whether 
 his daughter vfere visible ; but, seeing 
 nothing of her, he turned back, and resum- 
 ed — ' There's just twelve o' they young 
 pegs, you see, and Susan, her 's christened 
 'em by the names o' the twelve Apostles ; 
 and that little black un wi' the curly tail 
 ('a 's the only black un i' the batch) that's 
 Judas.' 
 
 The farmer stopped to laugh, and Abner 
 joined him. 
 
 ' And would ee believe it ? 'A 's turned 
 out the dangdest, quarrelsomest beast in 
 the yeard. 'A '11 ketch his little brothers 
 and sisters by the legs, and 'a '11 tipple 'em
 
 THE FOLD fak:\[. 253- 
 
 over, and 'a '11 tliieve from them turnips and 
 what not, and altoo-ether 'a 's a reo-'lar bad 
 un !' 
 
 ' Maybe it was sorter rough on him a- 
 givin' him that thar name,' suggested Mr. 
 Bretherton, with a beaming countenance. 
 
 Never, since he had turned his back on 
 ' Clear ^Yater Yalley,' had he felt so 
 thoroughly at home in anyone's society 
 as he now began to feel in that of the 
 worthy owner of Redfold Farm. And to 
 come across so congenial an associate in 
 the midst of that crushino- sense of desola- 
 tion from which he had suffered this morn- 
 ino; made it all the more delio^htful. 
 
 After some further inspection of the 
 styes and their occupants, Mr. Basset con- 
 ducted his visitor round to his barns, 
 shippons, and other out-houses. Then in- 
 viting him to climb a hillock, just out- 
 side the yard, he pointed out the extent of 
 his property, proudly explaining at the 
 same time that this exact amount of land
 
 "254 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 liad belonged to his father, his grand-father, 
 his o-reat-o-randfather, and that the Bassets 
 had lived here from generation to genera- 
 tion — as far back, he believed, as the 
 Flood, or well-nigh it. 
 
 ' But now, do ee come into the house, 
 squoire, and see our folks.' 
 
 Althouoii with a sli^-ht sentiment of 
 drollery in according it, Mr. Basset had 
 continued to address his new acquaintance 
 by this title of squire. 
 
 'I've a vather turned eighty-nine — a 
 wonderful man I call un — as nimble nigh on 
 his legs as arra young fellow : in a general 
 waay 'tis, I mean, for to-day he beant well. 
 'A 's all out o' sorts, wi' rheumatiz in's jints, 
 and what not. I had ought to ha' been 
 down now in the sixteen-acres, where they 
 be reapin' barley, only I stayed to chat wi' 
 un a bit. Then there's the missus and 
 Susan.' 
 
 ' Ye ain't a large family, then, an' on'y 
 one child,' commented Mr. Bretherton.
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 255 
 
 The farmer walked on for some moments 
 in silence, thrusting both hands into his 
 pockets. Then, plainly with effort, he 
 rejoined, 
 
 ' Xay, her's not the only child. I've a 
 son besides, but 'a 's a sore cross to me. 'A 's 
 an idiot ; and there never wur an idiot in 
 the Basset family afore, never ! I often 
 wish he'd never been born, that I do !' 
 
 Feeling that this was indeed a distressing 
 affliction, and one which it required some 
 delicacy to handle, Mr. Bretherton offered 
 his condolences in very few words, and the 
 two men exchanged no further remarks 
 until the farmer had ushered his guest 
 into a huge kitchen. This was the princi- 
 pal living-room of the family, cooking and 
 other such business being carried on else- 
 where. 
 
 And a brighter or pleasanter apartment 
 no one need have wished to sit in. The 
 floor was spotless, and everything that 
 could take a polish — from the mahogany
 
 256 A DIAMOND m THE EOUGH. 
 
 clock-case to the smallest article in brass or 
 pewter that hung on the walls, or stood on 
 the high mantel-shelf — glittered and shone 
 so that you might have seen your face in 
 them. Under a long low window, with 
 diamond-cut panes, stood a deal dresser,, 
 scoured to a marvellous whiteness, and just 
 opposite, beneath a plate-rack covered with 
 an ancient dinner-service in wedgewood, that 
 would have fetched a large sum from the 
 china fanciers, appeared a second dresser. 
 Close by this, on a low rocking-chair, sat 
 a woman scra23ing carrots. She was an 
 elderly woman, rather past sixty, with 
 a comely face and a gentle, apathetic 
 expression. Her attire consisted of a 
 brown merino dress, a blue checked apron 
 of ample dimensions, and a snowy lawn 
 cap. 
 
 This individual was Mrs. Basset, and her 
 husband — who both was and looked several 
 years younger than herself — proceeded to 
 introduce her to his visitor. Setting down
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 257 
 
 her dish of carrots, Mrs. Basset carefully 
 wiped her fingers upon her apron before 
 accepting the hand Mr. Bretherton offered 
 her. Then, with that unflattering air of 
 surprise to which he was becoming accus- 
 tomed whenever the fact was mentioned, 
 she asked, 
 
 ' What ! are ee the master o' Monks- 
 wood ? I thouo;ht it wur an own brother 
 of Mrs. Curtis was to get un.' 
 
 Abner mildly deposed to the fact that 
 he was Mrs. Curtis's own brother. 
 
 'Well, you doant favour her, sir, no 
 waays at all,' affirmed Mrs. Basset, with 
 candour. ' She was an elegant sort of 
 body to look at ; but main good, too, and 
 friendly like. We seed a deal of her when 
 she was alive, poor lady : what with bein' 
 neighbours, and what with my brother's 
 widow a-livin' so long with her as house- 
 keeper.' 
 
 ^ Lor', I'd forgotten that !' interposed 
 Mr. Basset. ' Did ee know, squoire, as 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 Mrs. Briscoe was my wife's sister-in-law ? 
 — lier as has had charge of the Hall ever 
 since the mistress died ?' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton disclaimed any previous 
 knowledge of the relationship in question, 
 but showed himself courteously interested 
 in learning of it now. 
 
 ' Why, Susan, she's just gone down there 
 now to see her aunt, and to take her some 
 eggs,' observed Mrs. Basset. ' We've allays 
 been used to let the Hall have butter and 
 eggs from our farm.' 
 
 ^ Well, now, I be vexed the little mayd's 
 not in !' said her husband. 'The squoire, 
 he's got a daughter too, and 'a says she's 
 partic'ler beautiful ; but I'd like he to see 
 our Susan !' 
 
 It was very evident that the proud 
 father believed any comparison would be 
 to the advantage of his own child. 
 
 ' How long has she been gone ? I never 
 seed her go.' 
 . ^ Not above half-an-hour. She slipt out
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 259 
 
 the front waay, so's Luke shouldn't see, for 
 she didn't want him a-following this 
 morning; but I'm afeard he's gone after 
 her, for all that. The poor lad — ' 
 
 ' Bother the poor lad !' 
 
 Mr. Basset turned away with an 
 impatient grunt and a frown, which 
 instantly cleared from his brow, hovv'ever, 
 as his eyes lighted on an old man sitting 
 in an easy-chair by the chimney-corner. 
 
 'See, 'tis my vather, squoire,' he remark- 
 ed, with an air of proud satisfaction. 
 'Why, vather, old chap, you've letten your 
 pillow drop again !' 
 
 He stooped to lift a cushion from the 
 ground, and, whilst arranging it comfort- 
 ably at the back of the chair, continued, 
 
 ' Bless us all ! he's such a hearty, active 
 man as no one, go where 'a would, could 
 beat ! Even so bad as 'a is, he'll scarce 
 consent to lie back in his seat and twiddle 
 his thumbs.' 
 
 ' Ha ! ha ! I'm a gate as has held long 
 
 s2
 
 260 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 on its hinges, 'tis true, Jolm, but 'tis full 
 time I began creakin' a bit now ;' and the 
 old man, who seemed to regard this remark 
 as a good joke, indulged in a series of 
 chuckles. His son patted him on the 
 shoulder, and chuckled in concert. 
 
 ' Look ee, vather,' he then said : * this- 
 gentleman he be Squoire Bretherton, as 
 ee have heard tell wur come to live at the 
 Hall.' 
 
 ' Ay, sure, sure.' 
 
 There was no surprise manifested here. 
 The old man regarded Abner with a genial 
 smile, and a feeble, senile curiosity. His 
 physical strength might, as his admiring 
 son boasted, be extraordinary, but to a 
 stranger, at least, it was evident that the 
 old gentleman had attained his second 
 childhood. 
 
 Such a cheerful, happy old child, how- 
 ever, did he seem, and such an air of un- 
 troubled contentment did his withered 
 countenance present, that to look at him
 
 THE FOLD FARM. 261 
 
 was almost enouo'li to make one in love 
 with old ao'e. With him the tmnnoil 
 and bustle of life were over, and the sun 
 of his existence was evidently setting in a 
 peaceful sky. 
 
 And well he deserved that it should, 
 for old John Basset had ever been one of 
 those loveable, joyous-natured souls, who 
 see good in everything and everybody, 
 and who bless the world by the mere 
 fact of their cheery existence. To his 
 son he had always appeared the per- 
 fection of a father and a man, and since, 
 some ten years ago, he had made over to 
 him his farm and lands, John had treated 
 him ^^dth even more consideration and 
 affection, if possible, than before. 
 
 Leavino' his ffuest now to chat with the 
 old man, Mr. Basset hastened to draw with 
 his own hands a jug of cider. Further, he 
 instructed a brawny servant-maid to bring 
 a pair of wine-decanters from an old ebony 
 cabinet which stood in a corner of a
 
 262 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 parlour adjacent to the living-room. A 
 very interesting room that parlour was, 
 with its antique, high -backed chairs, its 
 carved oak chimney-piece, tapestry pictures, 
 curious old settees, and antiquated orna- 
 ments. The Bassets hardly knew the 
 value of the many ancient possessions 
 which had accumulated about their house; 
 but, had they done so, they would certain- 
 ly not have parted with them for gold. 
 
 Mr. Bretherton found the cider very 
 pleasant, but the company of his new 
 acquaintances still pleasanter, and it was 
 a considerable time before he rose to take 
 his leave. 
 
 ' Now, squoire, do ee come again, please, 
 and afore long,' pressed Mr. Basset, accom- 
 panying him to the door. 
 
 'Thet I will!' responded Abner, warmly, 
 and with a lighter feeling at his heart than 
 he had known for months. ' I'll drop in 
 often, and hev a word with you, an' a 
 look around the farm. Why, ef it ain't
 
 THE FOLD FAKM. 263 
 
 raining! It's come on suddent, haven't 
 it ? No, no ; I don't never carry an 
 umbrella. Thank you kindly, and good- 
 bye.'
 
 264 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 
 
 The rain had not come on quite so sudden- 
 ly as Mr. Bretherton supposed. His son 
 and daughter, at all events, had noted signs 
 of its approach, and, galloping home, had 
 managed to avoid it. The first drops 
 only were beginning to fall as Peleus, hav- 
 ing dismounted his sister at the hall door, 
 was leadino^ the horses round towards the 
 stables. Having reached home a little 
 earlier than was anticipated, he had found 
 no groom in attendance. Unreasonably 
 displeased by this fact (Mr. Percival Bre- 
 therton was one of those people who
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 265 
 
 expect of the world that it should be ever 
 in waiting on their convenience), he was 
 mentally engaged in framing a stinging re- 
 primand for his servant, when, on turning 
 an angle of the house, he came suddenly 
 upon an object which served to distract 
 his ideas. 
 
 This object was a very prett}^, kittenish- 
 looking young damsel, v»ath round pink 
 cheeks and remarkably blue eyes. Over 
 her arm the damsel carried a basket, and, 
 as she passed him, she coloured and drop- 
 ped a half-curtsey. When she had gone by, 
 Peleus turned to look after her, and found 
 that she also had turned to look after him. 
 Moreover, that backward glance discover- 
 ed to him another charm, in the shape of 
 a cluster of brio^ht orolden curls tied behind 
 her head, and floating down to the girl's 
 waist. 
 
 Peleus never could resist beauty. Half 
 an invitation where it was concerned was 
 enough, and that glance of simple curiosity
 
 266 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 seemed to him a kind of invitation. 
 Hurrying forward, he gave the horses into 
 charge of the first servant he met, a stable- 
 boy, and, deferring his scolding to the 
 groom, sprang after the girl. As he had 
 already reflected, he possessed a good ex- 
 cuse, were such excuse needed, for address- 
 ing her. But having, at first view, decided 
 that she was not a lady, he did not really 
 conceive that any excuse was needed. 
 I^evertheless, on coming up to her, the 
 young fellow raised his hat apologetically. 
 
 * Pardon me,' he began; 'I see you have 
 no umbrella, and it is beginning to rain. 
 Will you not return to the house and 
 shelter ?' 
 
 A start, followed by a deep blush, 
 rewarded his interference. Then lifting 
 her eyes shyly, but without any evidence 
 of displeasure, the girl answered, 
 
 ' No, thank you, sir, I don't care for the 
 rain, and I must make haste home. It — it 
 be nigh our dinner-time.' She stammered
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 267 
 
 a little in her bashfulness, and blushed 
 again. 
 
 Peleus found her prettier than he had 
 imagined. 
 
 ' Oh, it is dinner-time, is it? And you 
 are hungry ?' he said, smiling. ' Well, at 
 any rate you must have an umbrella. 
 Come back, and let me get you one.' 
 
 But, again shaking her head, the girl 
 declined his courtesy. 
 
 * JSTo, thank you,' she repeated, at the 
 same time quickening her steps slightly. 
 
 'But you will get wet,' he persisted, 
 keeping by her side. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't mind — I shall run home 
 now.' She paused timidly, giving him the 
 opportunity to leave her. 
 
 Peleus, however, did not take the hint. 
 
 ' Have you far to go ?' he questioned, 
 walking on slowly. 
 
 * Not very. No, only a short way,' she 
 faltered. 
 
 Peleus studied the long lashes of her
 
 268 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 downcast eyes for a few moments ; tben 
 lowering his voice to a soft and pleading 
 tone, he once more pressed his request. 
 
 ^ Do, please, have an umbrella. I don't 
 like you to get wet.' 
 
 The girl was very young and very 
 innocent. She had all the confidence of a 
 petted child in the intentions of her fellow- 
 ■creatures, and the bashfulness which she 
 had so far felt, and which she might have 
 exhibited to any stranger, had been wholly 
 unmixed with alarm. JSfow, however, the 
 insistance of her companion began to affect 
 her curiously. The low tones of his voice, 
 as he had last spoken, thrilled through her, 
 stirring something in the depths of her 
 nature that had never been stirred before. 
 Why was he so very kind to her? (In his 
 behaviour her unsophisticated mind saw 
 nothing but friendly considerateness.) 
 And what a handsome young gentleman 
 he was ! What nice clothes he wore ! 
 And what a pretty sparkling ring he had
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 26^ 
 
 on bis little finger! She stole another 
 glance at him. Then, with a smile dim- 
 pling her cheeks and a little toss of her 
 head, in which was the first birth of 
 coquetry, she submitted to his request. 
 
 ' Well, if you be so set upon it, I can 
 borrow one from Maofo^ie Blaire at the 
 lodge/ 
 
 * That's right. But perhaps Maggie 
 Blaire at the lodge may not have one — I 
 must go with you there to see.' 
 
 This suggestion was received in silence, 
 but not a silence of the sort that be- 
 tokened objection. Peleus drew a little 
 nearer. 
 
 * Is your basket heavy ?' he asked, touch- 
 ing it. 
 
 * Oh, no ; 'tis empty now.' 
 
 'Empty? so it is!' He had playfully 
 lifted the lid to look inside. * Nav, I see 
 some money!' he added. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! that be the pay for the eggs^ 
 I brought t^vo dozen to-day/
 
 270 A DIAMOND m THE EOUGH. 
 
 ' Ah, I see, you've been selling eggs ? 
 You are a little market-woman, eh ?' 
 
 * Indeed, no !' a quick flush of indignation 
 •sufEnsed the girl's face ; * I never go to 
 market, and I never sell eggs ; at least, I 
 only bring them here to aunt. Rebecca 
 and Molly, our servants, they do go to 
 market with the butter and fruit and 
 things.' 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure ! I'm 
 afraid I've put my foot in it ! . Suppose 
 you tell me who you are, and then I shall 
 not make any more mistakes. I'm awfully 
 sorry if I have offended you ; I really am !' 
 
 * You haven't — not particularly,' she re- 
 joined, pouting slightly, however ; ' I'm 
 Susan Basset !' 
 
 ' What a pretty name !' 
 
 Susan dimpled, mollified by the com- 
 pliment. 
 
 'And where does Miss Susan Basset 
 live ?' 
 
 *We live at the Fold Farm. Father
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 271 
 
 owns it ; and it do have belonged to the 
 Bassets always, for hundreds and thou- 
 sands of years.' Susan inherited the 
 family pride, and had this tradition re- 
 specting her ancient lineage duly instilled 
 into her. 
 
 ' Dear me ! Thousands of years ! 
 That's a longish time,' laughed Peleus. 
 * I wonder how many of them you have 
 lived ?' 
 
 ' Do you mean how old be I ?' 
 
 ' If it wouldn't be rude to ask ?' 
 
 ' I be nearly seventeen. My birthday, 
 'tis next month/ 
 
 ^ Is it ? What a charming age ! And 
 how pretty you are !' 
 
 ' Am I ?' she asked, with childish 
 naivete, blushing again as she spoke. 
 
 ' Adorably pretty ! Did no one ever 
 tell you so before ?' 
 
 ' I don't know. Yes, I think father has 
 sometimes.' 
 . 'And no one else?' The young man
 
 272 A DIAMOND m THE ROUGH. 
 
 bent over her as be put tbis question, and 
 there was something in bis tone which 
 now awakened a vague uneasiness in the 
 child's mind. 
 
 * I don't know/ she repeated, drawing 
 away from him. ' I think I'd rather not 
 talk about myself.' 
 
 Peleus recognised and accepted the 
 warning. He did not wish to startle the 
 girl. 
 
 'Well, we won't talk about anything 
 you don't like,' he protested, keeping at 
 a distance. ' But why don't you ask me 
 some questions now ? Don't you want to 
 know who I am ?' 
 
 'I know without asking,' she replied, 
 lifting her blue eyes in returning confi- 
 dence ; *I can guess.' 
 
 ' You clever little girl ! Well ?' 
 
 ' You be Squire Bretherton's son.' 
 
 * Oh ! people call him squire, do they ?' 
 murmured Peleus to himself. ^ Hallo ! 
 What do you mean, fellow, by hiding
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 273 
 
 about in these grounds ?' This inquiry was 
 addressed to the owner of a face which had 
 just been protruded from behind a tree, 
 a face with no chin and very little fore- 
 head. 
 
 * Tis Luke/ explained Susan. ' Come 
 out, Luke, you tiresome thing !' 
 
 'Thought I should find ee !' remarked 
 the idiot, with a broad and cunninor o^rin. 
 * I always finds ee, Sue, doan't I ?' 
 
 * "Who the — who on earth is he ?' de- 
 manded Peleus, looking from one to the 
 other, from the pretty, blooming girl to 
 the prematurely old and hideous young 
 man. 
 
 * Tis my brother ' (Susan confessed the 
 fact with shame-faced reluctance). * He 
 be a softy ; not right in his head.' 
 
 * Indeed ? What a pity !' rejoined 
 Peleus, making an effort not to betray the 
 disgust wherewith he felt himself inspired 
 towards the unfortunate fellow. * Now, 
 here we are at the lodge ! I suppose 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Maggie (isn't that her name?) will be 
 inside T 
 
 The personage in question, a girl of 
 fourteen (daughter of the head gardener, 
 to whom the lodge had been assigned as a 
 residence), did prove to be inside, and a 
 huge cotton umbrella was speedily borrow- 
 ed from her. 
 
 * But now,' said Peleus, when they came 
 out with it, * I shall be obliged to walk 
 home with you. You could never carry 
 this great umbrella yourself. It would 
 make your poor little arms ache.' 
 
 * Oh, no, it wouldn't. I can carry it 
 quite easily,' protested Susan, stretching 
 out her hand to take it. ' Or I could 
 make Luke hold it. Come along, Luke.' 
 
 The idiot, however, paid no attention to 
 her call. He had slunk away to some 
 distance, and was now eyeing her compan- 
 ion with an expression of furtive dislike 
 and suspicion. 
 
 ' Why,' resumed Peleus, * this is very
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 275 
 
 "unkind. Do you really object to me walk- 
 ing with you a little further ? Is my com- 
 pany so very disagreeable ?' Once more 
 the young fellow softened his voice to a 
 tone of insinuating entreaty ; and once 
 more the simple-minded girl gave way. 
 
 Allowing him to carry the umbrella over 
 her head, she stepped forward by his side, 
 her young heart in a flutter of strange 
 excitement. The moment seemed, some- 
 how, like the opening of a new era in her 
 existence. Never before had she walked 
 so with a gentleman. How, indeed, should 
 she ? And where was there such another 
 gentleman to be found in the world ? 
 One who was so kind and handsome, so 
 tall and elegant, and who talked so 
 prettily ? 
 
 For Peleus w^as doing all the talking 
 now, letting his speech flow on in soft 
 nothings, quite content with receiving a 
 good many shy glances and an occasional 
 monosyllable in return. 
 
 t2
 
 276 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 The raio, what there was of it (the 
 downfall was not really heavy) beat 
 towards their faces. With a great parade 
 of sheltering his companion, the young 
 fellow was holding the umbrella low in 
 front of her, and it was only upon hearing 
 himself accosted by name that he presently 
 became aware that they had met some one 
 on the narrow parapet. Lifting the 
 umbrella, he found himself face to face 
 with his father. 
 
 * I thought so !' exclaimed the latter. 
 ' I thought it was you, Percival. I 'low 1 
 know'd the pattern o' them — them gar- 
 mints,' delicately. ' An' where are you 
 a goin', my boy ? An' who might this pretty 
 young woman be ?' 
 
 Mr. Bretherton regarded Susan, as he 
 made the inquiry, with an interested and 
 kindly air. The sight of a young face 
 always moved the worthy man to a father- 
 ly affectionateness of feeling, and there 
 were few young people who failed to
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 277 
 
 respond, in some measure, to bis genial 
 good-will. 
 
 Susan, at all events, returned very 
 readily the smile lie had bestowed upon 
 her. But, conceiving that the question as 
 to whom she was had been directed to 
 young Bretherton, she waited for him to 
 reply. 
 
 Finding, however, that Peleus remained 
 silent, she glanced round at him, and was 
 surprised, in fact, startled, by the change 
 which had taken place in his expression. 
 All the brightness and amiability seemed 
 suddenly to have vanished from his coun- 
 tenance, and he was gazing at the new- 
 comer with a dark scowl on his brow and 
 a forbidding look in his eyes. 
 
 Sensible of having sustained a shock, 
 Susan turned back to Mr. Bretherton, and 
 began hastily to introduce herself. 
 
 * My name is Susan Basset,' she said. 
 ' That is our house, behind you, sir, close 
 by. 'Tis called the Fold Farm.'
 
 278 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 'Do tell! Why, I've iust come from 
 there, my dear ! I've bin heving a long 
 talk with your father. You're his little 
 girl, then, are you ? He told me a heap 
 about you. He 'pears mighty set on ye, 
 an' no wonder !' 
 
 Susan opened her eyes at this unfamiliar 
 dialect, and looked wonderingly at the 
 speaker. Notwithstanding that he had 
 spoken to her escort by name, she did not 
 yet guess at the relationship which existed 
 between the two. 
 
 The next words, however, revealed it. 
 
 * An' so you've made acquaintance with 
 my son, hev you? Well, that's right! 
 Young folks, they'd oughter be friendly 
 with young folks. Are you in the notion 
 of goin' any further, Percival ?' 
 
 ' Can't say. Probably I may,' replied 
 Peleus, sharply. ' But we need not detain 
 yoii any longer.' 
 
 The accent was something more than 
 ung^racious. Poor Mr. Bretherton cast a
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 279 
 
 reproachful glance at his son, and a mo- 
 mentary spasm, as of pain, crossed his be- 
 Tvrinkled visage. Almost before it could 
 be noticed, however, it was gone. 
 
 'No/ he returned, cheerfully. 'No, I 
 ain't a-goin' to be in the way, Percival. 
 Young folks, they'd raither be by their- 
 selves. That's nat'ral enuff, that is I 
 Well, my dear, good-day, an' I'll be glad 
 to see you agin. You'll be steppin' in 
 often, I dessay, to see Tdalia an' Percival. 
 An' you'll be alius welcome.' 
 
 The old man threw the last words over 
 his shoulder, as he was walking off. 
 Then the kindly smile it had worn faded 
 sadly from his face, and setting it the 
 other way, he for the first time perceived 
 the idiot youth, who had been following a 
 few yards behind the pair. Poor Luke ! 
 he adored his pretty sister with the un- 
 reasoning, uncritical passion of a dumb 
 animal. She was his divinity, and it was 
 his deli2:ht to follow her whithersoever
 
 280 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 she went, like a dog or a shadow. As 
 for SusaD, she treated him sometimes as 
 the one, and sometimes as the other, as a 
 shadow, a nonentity, or a dog to fetch 
 and carry at her biding. 
 
 Now and then she threw him a bone in 
 the shape of a little notice or a few kind 
 words. 
 
 Guessing without difficulty that this 
 was the imbecile son of whom Mr. Basset 
 had told him, Abner gave him a pitiful 
 glance and a friendly nod in passing. 
 Little dreaming, however, that his life, or 
 the lives of those connected with him, 
 could ever be affected in any special 
 manner by either the childish little sister 
 or the witless, irresponsible brother, he 
 had very soon dismissed the thouglit of 
 both from his mind. 
 
 Meanwhile, carrying the umbrella now 
 in silence, Peleus had moved on with his 
 companion. For several reasons, the 
 young man had felt greatly annoyed by
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 281 
 
 this encounter with his father. To amuse 
 himself with a pretty farmer-girl was one 
 thing, but to have Mr. Bretherton surprise 
 him in her company was another. As he 
 had quickly reflected, the circumstance 
 would afford a bad example and a bad 
 precedent. 
 
 It was Mr. Percival Bretherton's inten- 
 tion that none of the family, at all events, 
 neither his sister nor himself, should culti- 
 vate any but the first people in the neigh- 
 bourhood. Yet, on meeting him with 
 this little Susan, his father, with his 
 levelling plebeian tendencies, had at once 
 put them on an equality. Further, he had 
 irritated him by suggesting that she might 
 be suffered to associate with Idalia. 
 Peleus felt that he would, if necessary, 
 have to correct the mistake by giving the 
 child a lesson against presumption. 
 
 Still, he did not wish to offend her; 
 quite the reverse. And she did not look 
 presumptuous. (He had bent to study
 
 282 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 again her half-averted face.) She looked 
 troubled and uneasy ; and what a soft, 
 charming little kitten she was ! Percival's 
 ill-humour melted away. 
 
 ' You are keeping quite dry, aren't you^ 
 Susan ?' he asked. * I may call you Susan, 
 may I not ?' 
 
 There was no response for some 
 moments. Then, suddenly turning to 
 him, the girl asked a question in her turn. 
 
 ' Is he your father ?' 
 
 ' The gentleman who has just passed ? 
 Well, I have been given to understand 
 so.' 
 
 ^ But you don't love him ?' 
 
 ' Don't I ? What makes you say 
 that?' 
 
 ' I saw you look at him as if you didn't. 
 You looked at him just like father does 
 at poor Luke sometimes.' 
 
 ' How is that ?' 
 
 Susan coloured violently ; but after an 
 instant's hesitation she answered,
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 283 
 
 * Well, you see, father he be ashamed of 
 Luke, and he hates him.' 
 
 * And you think I looked as though I 
 was ashamed of my father, and as though 
 I hated him ?' asked Peleus. 
 
 Susan nodded, still blushiog. 
 ' And you are not inclined to be so 
 friendly with me in consequence, eh ?' 
 
 * I don't know.' A faint smile, never- 
 theless, crossed her face, breaking, like a 
 gleam of sunshine, through the clouds that 
 had overcast it. * He did look so nice and 
 kind,' she continued. * And you did look 
 so cross, it almost scared me.' 
 
 ' You fanciful little thing ! But that is 
 all nonsense. It is all a mistake.* 
 
 * Be it ?' she asked, evidently ready to 
 be convinced against the evidence of her 
 senses. 
 
 ' Of course it is ! My father and I have 
 seen very little of each other since I was 
 a boy, and we are not much alike ; 
 but '
 
 284 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 * No, you don't favour him a bit !' inter- 
 posed Susan, as the young fellow paused, 
 stealing an admiring glance at him. 
 
 ' Thank the gods, no !' ejaculated Peleus, 
 piously. * But is this your gate ? Well, 
 Susan, I suppose I must say good-bye to 
 you here ?' 
 
 ^ If you like. I don't want the umbrella 
 ^ny longer.' 
 
 * Oh, but you must take it with you up 
 the lane. And, mind, don't you bring it 
 back to the lodge, Susan, on any account ! 
 / shall call for it at your house. I shall 
 want to see you again, tremendously, and 
 it will serve as an excuse, don't you see ? 
 You won't be sorry to see me again, will 
 you ?' 
 
 Susan made no reply in words, but her 
 blue eyes gleamed at him for a moment 
 beneath their long lashes, and Peleus was 
 satisfied. During the interview now draw- 
 ing to an end, the girl had been by turns 
 startled, flattered, offended, elated, shock-
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 285 
 
 ed ; but, with it all, excited in a way such 
 as she had never been in her life before. 
 Still she felt that she would like to be so 
 excited again. After this new experience 
 of hers, things could never, she vaguely 
 recognised, be exactly as they w^ere before. 
 Not to see Mr. Percival Bretherton again 
 
 would somehow, the very idea seemed 
 
 to create a sort of blank disquietude in her 
 mind. No, certainly she would not be 
 sorry to see him again. 
 
 * Where is that your brother ? Ah, 
 
 there he is behind. By the way, Miss 
 Susan, talking of feeling ashamed of one's 
 kindred, don't you think you ought to 
 plead guilty to the sin yourself? If so, 
 you know, you can't throw stones at me.' 
 
 ' Oh, but that be quite different !' pro- 
 tested Susan. ' Poor Luke, he's a softy. 
 And if, by times, I do feel a bit ashamed 
 of him, I don't dislike him. I hadn't 
 ought to neither, for he be main fond of 
 me. If anyone hurted me. I do believe
 
 286 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 he'd kill them. Why, 'tis only a month 
 ago that he strangled a dog because it 
 tried to bite me. 'Twas a great big dog ; 
 but Luke, he's so strong, and he just 
 took ib by the throat and strangled it 
 dead.' 
 
 * Dear me ! what a powerful champion ! 
 And you keep him about you always as a 
 body-guard?' said Peleus, glancing rather 
 uneasily at the idiot, who had now 
 shambled up to them, and who, the young 
 fellow perceived, was regarding his own 
 handsome physiognomy with apparent dis- 
 favour. ' I trust he is not dangerous to 
 your friends, as well as to ill-behaved 
 dogs? Because, in that case, I should 
 suggest that he ought to be placed under 
 restraint.' 
 
 ' Indeed, no !' exclaimed Susan. ' He 
 bean't dangerous at all. 'Twas the first 
 time he ever harmed living thing, was that 
 dog.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't wonder at him for being
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 287 
 
 devoted to you, little Susan ; who could 
 help it? But now, good-bye, again.' 
 And with a lingering pressure of the hand, 
 he turned away. 
 
 But, though he set off in that direction 
 at a great speed, Mr. Percival Bretherton 
 did not appear very anxious to arrive at 
 home ; for, on reaching the entrance-gate, 
 he passed on and continued his walk to 
 some distance beyond it. 
 
 The fact was, that the young fellow had 
 felt somewhat startled by that childishly 
 frank accusation which Susan Basset had 
 just brought against him, and that he 
 w^ished to think over the ideas it suggest- 
 ed. Had he really looked at his father as 
 thougjh he 'hated' him? And was it true 
 that he actually did so ? 
 
 That he should feel ' ashamed ' of him, 
 went of course, Peleus considerd, without 
 saying. How could he help feeling 
 ashamed of him ; and, naturally, feeling 
 ashamed of him, he could not very well
 
 288 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 love him. But was there anything worse 
 than this ? Peering now into the depths 
 of his inner consciousness, Peleus was 
 somewhat dismayed by what he there dis- 
 covered. Up to the time of old Mrs. 
 Bretherton's death, he had, it will be 
 remembered, seen but lifctle of his father. 
 After the lapse of many years, the latter 
 and he had met, a few months back, 
 almost as strangers. And strangers, to 
 all intents and purposes, they still con- 
 tinued. Diverse, to begin with, in natural 
 character, the nnlikeness between them 
 had been increased to the highest point, 
 through the influence of contrasted 
 education and surroundings; and not a 
 single aim, idea, or sentiment did they 
 now seem to possess in common. Peleus' 
 taste, such as it was, revolted continually 
 at his father's dress and appearance, at his 
 broad dialect and arcadian manners. Mr. 
 Bretherton might be a ' diamond,' but in 
 his son's opinion he was a remarkably
 
 SUSAN BASSET. 289 
 
 ' rough ' one ; and, had the option been 
 allowed liim, it is to be feared that the 
 young man would infinitely have preferred 
 a polished sham to the most precious 
 jewel in such a state of barbaric un- 
 couthness. 
 
 Yes, unquestionably he was ashamed, 
 wretchedly ashamed of his father ! 
 
 The yoke of their relationship, he knew, 
 had been growing, month by month, more 
 galling to him. Further, the thought, he 
 was aware, had, of late, very often sug- 
 gested itself to him, that, hut for their father, 
 his sister and he (Peleus was inversely as 
 fond of Idalia as he was ashamed of his 
 father) might take a very different stand- 
 ing in this new country to which they had 
 come. But for their father, no one need 
 know of their humble origin, or suspect 
 them of having occupied a lower position 
 than that they now held. Handsome, rich, 
 and educated, they might, but for him, 
 find admission into any society. To 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 Peleus, in short, his father was a ' wet- 
 blanket' on his happiness; a spoke in the 
 wheels of his prosperity ; a mill-stone round 
 the neck of his ambition ! 
 
 But did he really go so far as to ' hate ' 
 him ? Did he really wish the old man 
 was — gone? Peleus shrank a little from 
 pressing upon himself this unnatural ques- 
 tion. Before he re-entered Monkswood 
 Hall, however, he had faced and answer- 
 ed it. But the conclusion to which he 
 had come was one that, he resolved, 
 must be kept carefully concealed in his 
 bosom ; above all, one that must be guard- 
 ed as a strict secret from Idalia's sus- 
 picion.
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AN INTEEEUPTED LOVE SCENE. 
 
 ■'* The ladies are dressing for dinner, Sir 
 Arthur. I will tell them you are here.' 
 
 'No, no, don't mind telling them. I 
 am not expected this evening, Eliza. I'll 
 announce myself when they come down.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well, sir !' And, smiling to 
 herself as she withdrew, Mrs. McNicoll's 
 trim housemaid left Sir Arthur Ledsora 
 alone in the drawing-room of Upton 
 Lodge. 
 
 A very bright and pretty room it was ; 
 
 and just now it looked especially pleasant, 
 
 for the evenings were growing a little 
 
 chilly, and a clear fire blazed in the grate. 
 
 u2
 
 292 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 A couple of moderator-lamps had also 
 been already lighted. Their flames, 
 however, were turned low, for twilight 
 still lingered and the blinds had not 
 been drawn to exclude it. Coming in 
 from the autumnal air, the young baronet 
 was conscious of a luxurious sense of 
 warmth and comfort stealing over him. 
 Stationing himself with his back to the fire, 
 he stood there for some minutes glancing 
 around with an aspect of serene content- 
 ment. Then, beginning softly to hum 
 an air from a well-known opera, he ap- 
 proached a window and drew aside a 
 curtain of rich yellowish lace. This 
 window, the centre one of three, all sit- 
 uated on the same side of the room, form- 
 ed also a door, leading out by a couple of 
 steps into the garden. Of his garden Mr. 
 McNicoll was very proud. And not with- 
 out reason, for it was both well laid-out and 
 well tended. 
 
 Looking forth now, Sir Arthur observed
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 293 
 
 that in distant corners everything was 
 beginning to melt into vague shadow. 
 Nearer at hand, however, stretches of 
 green lawn, elegant fountains, palm-like 
 shrubs, and even the shapes of the flower- 
 beds could be plainly distinguished. More- 
 over, a bright half-moon, hanging low in 
 the horizon, was mingling its silver}^ rays 
 with the fading daylight, and imparting a 
 mystic, fairy-like beauty to the scene. 
 Still humming to himself the soft strains 
 of his air, Arthur had stood there but a 
 few seconds, when he perceived a figure 
 flitting from the direction of the house 
 down one of the garden paths. The figure 
 was that of a girl, and Arthur at once re- 
 cognised Dora McNicoll. 
 
 Stopping suddenly in the midst of a bar, 
 he bent forward to watch her. Dora had 
 approached a flower-bed which she claimed 
 as her own special property. At the cor- 
 ner of that bed grew a fine damask-rose 
 tree. It was one that he had himself graft-
 
 294 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 ed, some two or three years ago, from a 
 cutting which he had begged from the 
 head-gardener at the Court. 
 
 Pausing before this standard, Dora 
 seemed to be searching about it for a few 
 moments. Then Arthur saw her turn 
 away and come towards the drawing-room, 
 carrying a flower in her hand. As she 
 drew nearer, he saw her raise the flower 
 and press it to her lips. 
 
 That action set the young man's heart 
 beating fast. Hardly conscious of what 
 he was doing, he drew back, as though 
 to conceal himself behind the curtains. 
 Dora entered without perceiving him ; and, 
 advancing to the hearth, she was pro- 
 ceeding to pin the rose into her bosom, 
 when he stepped forward and softly 
 uttered her name. 
 
 Startled by the unexpected address, the 
 girl gave a little cry and dropped her 
 flower. 
 
 * Arthur !' she exclaimed. * It is reallv
 
 AN INTEEEUPTED LOVE SCENE. 295 
 
 you ? Why, when did you get back from 
 Scotland ?' 
 
 Sir Arthur stooped to pick up the rose 
 before replying. 
 
 * Only this afternoon,' he then said. 
 
 * This afternoon ?' she repeated, blushing 
 with pleasure. ' And you have actually 
 come to see us so soon ? This is very good 
 of you.' 
 
 ' Oh, very good !' he rejoined, laughing. 
 
 * Should you consider it virtuous of a 
 man to eat when he is hungry, Dora ?' 
 
 ' What do you mean ?' she demanded. 
 
 * I don't see the point of that . . .' All 
 at once she stopped, stammering and 
 confused. 
 
 ' Don't you know that I would rather be 
 here than anywhere else in the world?* 
 The words were spoken in a low key, and, 
 taking her hand, the young man held it 
 with a warm pressure, as if disinclined to 
 release it. 
 
 What he had seen this evening had
 
 296 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 served to confirm, into almost absolute 
 certainty, a belief which he had already 
 entertained for some little time past. And 
 that confirmation had sent a wave of 
 tenderness welling from his heart into 
 every part of his being. 
 
 No coxcomb to fancy such a thing with- 
 out foundation, Arther Ledsom felt assur- 
 ed — fully assured now — that Dora McNicoll 
 loved him. And, whatever his grounds for 
 this assurance, the fact was so. Dora did 
 love him — with a depth and intensity of 
 passion whereof few of her friends would 
 have believed so quiet and undemonstrative 
 a girl capable. 
 
 As for himself, Arthur believed that he, 
 too, loved her. He had loved her, he told 
 himself, ever since they had been children 
 together. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was true, that until 
 within the last few weeks he had never 
 once thought of her in the light of a future 
 wife. The idea had dawned on him only
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 297 
 
 since his uncle's death — when, beino^ con- 
 tinually at her home, he had found Dora's 
 sympathy with all his sentiments and in all 
 his affairs very sweet. Since it had oc- 
 curred to him, however, Arthur had encour- 
 aged the idea as a good and happy one. 
 
 ' Is human love,' it has been asked, ' the 
 growth of human will?' Yes, sometimes 
 it is, or seems to be so ; and there is little 
 doubt but that the will to love may nearly 
 always be successful in creating a certain 
 amount of affection. During the last ten 
 days — whilst absent in Scotland (whither 
 he had gone on some business relative to a 
 small estate and shooting-box he possessed 
 there) — Arthur had been thinking con- 
 stantly of Dora. He had dwelt upon all 
 her good qualities : upon her sweetness of 
 disposition; her honourable, high-minded 
 principles ; her gentleness and dutif ulness 
 to her parents, even to the ill-natured 
 father, of whom she never, like her sister, 
 made game or spoke disrespectfully.
 
 298 A DIAMOND IN THE EOUGH. 
 
 And last^ but not least, he had reflected 
 much over that truth which he believed 
 himself to have discovered — Le.^ that she 
 loved Mm. 
 
 As far as possible from being conceited, 
 this reflection had not served merely to 
 tickle his vanity — as might have been the 
 case with many young men. Eather, it 
 had awakened his humility and excited his 
 gratitude. And for love — that best of all 
 human gifts — all worthy and noble natures 
 must ever feel grateful. So, during those 
 days of absence, Arthur had made up his 
 mind that some day he would ask Dora to 
 become his wife. 
 
 What he felt towards her must, he was 
 sure, be love. True, it was not a very 
 vehement or romantic passion ; but for 
 that reason, he had argued with himself, it 
 was all the more likely to be real and last- 
 ing. It was founded on common-sense, on 
 a knowledge of the girl's character, on 
 admiration of her goodness. He loved her
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 299 
 
 because she was lovable, not for such 
 adventitious charms as beauty, accomplish- 
 ments, wealth, or fashion. 
 
 Even now some such thoughts were 
 repeating themselves in the young mans 
 mind, as he stood gazing down upon her, 
 with her hand in his. And just at this 
 moment Dora was looking her very best. 
 The dark silk dress she wore fitted well 
 her neat little figure, and was relieved 
 about the neck and wrists by soft lace 
 ruffles. In the firelight her reddish hair 
 caught a gleam of gold, and the numerous 
 freckles about her face seemed to have 
 faded away. Arthur — in the new access of 
 tenderness which now possessed him in 
 her regard — thought she looked absolutely 
 pretty. Yes, with her for a companion 
 through life, how happy he would be ! As 
 he came to this conclusion, the young 
 baronet gave vent to a faint sigh, and 
 Dora becoming conscious at the same 
 instant that he had held her hand quite
 
 BOO A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 suflScientlj long, withdrew it with a 
 heightened colour. 
 
 * Thank you for picking up my rose,' 
 she renaarked, offering to take it. 
 
 Sir Arthur, however, made no movement 
 towards restoring the flower. 
 
 ' Please give it to me?' she pressed. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' No, I want it for myself.' 
 
 ' Do you really ? Then, you can't have 
 it!' she retorted, laughing. 
 
 ' Can't I ?' he held it out of her reach. 
 * Why, it is off my own tree !' 
 
 Dora made no coquettish effort to possess 
 herself of the rose. Neither did she deny 
 her knowledge of the fact he alluded to. 
 
 ' Yes,' she admitted, ' it is from the tree 
 you planted. But that is the last flower, 
 Arthur — the last rose of summer.' 
 
 ' Humph ! That makes me seem very 
 selfish, no doubt. But still I want it — 
 this particular rose. Dora, won't you give 
 at me ?'
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCEXE. 301 
 
 Dora glanced up at him. Had he . : . 
 Could he have seen her in the garden ? 
 Did he guess . . . ? 
 
 * Ah, well,' she stammered, in con- 
 fused assent. ' If you are so conceited 
 that you want adorning, by all means keep 
 
 it; 
 
 * Thank you — dear !' He added the last 
 word under his breath. Then, deliberately 
 kissing the flower in his turn, he placed it 
 in his button-hole. 
 
 Dora, trembling and blushing, hastened 
 to change the subject. 
 
 * Did you do any shooting when you 
 were in Scotland, Arthur?' she asked. 
 
 ' A little. Yes ; there is a hamper 
 of game coming down from the Court this 
 evening, if Mrs. McNicoll will accept 
 it.' 
 
 ' How very kind ! Mamma will be 
 delighted, I'm sure,' Dora responded, a 
 nervous quiver still in her voice. ' Were 
 the servants expecting you, Arthur ? We
 
 302 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 did not think you were to be back for 
 several days yet.' 
 
 ' No, I took them by surprise, as well as 
 you,' replied the young man. ^But I got 
 through my business rather sooner than 
 I expected. And, somehow, Dora, I was 
 wonderfully anxious to get home.' 
 
 Dora, afraid lest he might notice how 
 she was trembling, here moved away, and 
 seated herself in an easy-chair. 
 
 ' I don't wonder,' she said, ' that you 
 should love so beautiful a home as the 
 Court !' 
 
 ' Do you love it, Dora ?' Arthur had 
 followed and was standing close by her 
 chair. He put the question on the impulse 
 of the moment. 
 
 ' If it was my home ... I mean, if all 
 my family lived there, I should consider it 
 a perfect paradise.' 
 
 ' And if your family lived there, /, too, 
 should consider it a paradise. If only a 
 imit of your family . . . Dora !'
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 303 
 
 Bending suddenly over her chair, the 
 joung man put out his hand towards hers. 
 Before, however, their fingers had met, he 
 started upright, and drew hurriedly back- 
 wards. 
 
 Choosing this inopportune juncture, Miss 
 Jessie had just burst into the room, in 
 that energetic fashion which characterised 
 most of her movements, and scarcely had 
 she exhausted her expressions of astonish- 
 ment at finding Sir Arthur here, when 
 she had supposed him to be in Scotland, 
 before her mamma, also, made her appear- 
 ance. A few moments later, Mr. McNicoll 
 and Victor came in from the mill — where 
 they had remained this evening consider- 
 ably beyond their usual time — and almost 
 immediately afterwards dinner was an- 
 nounced. 
 
 Poor Dora had barely time to recover 
 some measure oE outward composure before 
 she found herself seated at table directly 
 opposite to Sir Arthur Ledsom. And
 
 304 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 certainly so abrupt a transition from that 
 dimly-lighted drawing-room and the sweets 
 of a love-scene — or what seemed very like 
 one — to the commonplace atmosphere of a 
 dining-room, smelling of soup and brilli- 
 antly illuminated by gas, was a little try- 
 ing. For some time, Dora sat motionless 
 and silent, not daring even to raise her 
 eyes from her plate, Her mind was in a 
 whirl of agitation. She kept thinking, 
 yet trying at the same time, not to think, 
 about that interrupted interview — feeling 
 that the interruption had both, vexed and 
 relieved her. ' What had Arthur been 
 going to say ?' Could it — could it be what 
 she suspected? Oh, if Jessie had but 
 stayed away a moment longer ! And yet, 
 even from that great happiness, on the 
 verge of which she imagined herself to 
 have stood, Dora shrank trembling and 
 half alarmed. That joy was so intense, so 
 overwhelming, that, for the moment, it 
 almost oppressed her. She wanted to
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 305 
 
 know the whole truth — to have a perfect 
 assurance of her beatitude. Still she 
 was scarcely sorry to put off, for just a 
 little while, receiving that assurance. Too 
 much rapture is akin to pain. The en- 
 trancing prospect which had opened out 
 before her this evening dazzled her mental 
 vision. It was as well, perhaps, that for 
 a brief space that faint shadow of doubt 
 should hang above and obscure its 
 brilliancy. 
 
 Even as matters stood, the girl felt 
 too excited, too tremulously happy to 
 eat. She made a great pretence, how- 
 ever, of swallowing a few raouthfuls, and 
 was thankful to find that her want of 
 appetite escaped observation and comment. 
 
 Sir Arthur, for his part, made an excel- 
 lent dinner. He had taken but little 
 luncheon, and was, he declared, hungry 
 after his travelling. Moreover, whilst Dora 
 scarcely opened her lips throughout the 
 meal, he talked a great deal more than was 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 his wont — showing no signs of special ex- 
 citement. Nevertheless, the young baronet 
 was inwardly a good deal moved out of his 
 ordinary serenity. 
 
 Carried away by a sudden impulse, he 
 had, in truth (as she most naturally con- 
 jectured), been in the very act, when Jessie 
 had broken in upon their solitude, of beg- 
 ging Dora to be his wife. 
 
 Far, however, from feeling annoyed by 
 that interruption of his proposal. Sir 
 Arthur was already conscious of a distinct 
 sense of thankfulness in that it had taken 
 place. Of course, that he should renew 
 the proposal at no very distant date was 
 a thing that * understood itself ' — that 
 admitted not of an instant's doubt. The 
 only question in the matter was a question 
 of time. But, as he was now telling him- 
 self, to have spoken to-night would have 
 been a mistake — something worse, almost, 
 than a mistake. He was glad that he had 
 been saved from making it. His uncle —
 
 AN INTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 307 
 
 the uncle who had adopted, and stood to 
 him in the place of a father, had, as yet, 
 lain in his grave but a few short weeks. 
 And, whilst to love in the midst of such 
 bereavement did not seem to the youno^ 
 man wrong or unnatural, to talk of 
 marriage certainly did. An engagement, 
 at all events, publicly announced at so 
 early a moment would, he reflected, 
 savour, in the world's judgment, of bad 
 taste, and, in his own, of selfishness and in- 
 gratitude. Tes, it was well that he had 
 been prevented from saying anything 
 further this evening. And he must be 
 more guarded, in future, against acting — 
 as he feared he was rather too apt to act — 
 upon sudden impulses. When the right 
 time arrived — and, of course, it would not 
 be very long before the right time did 
 arrive — for putting his question, he felt 
 satisfied as to what Dora's answer would 
 be. In the meantime, this state of half- 
 confessed love, of secret understanding, 
 
 x2
 
 308 A DIAMOND IN THE KOUGH. 
 
 would be very sweet — almost sweeter, ha 
 thought, than an openly acknowledged 
 betrothal. 
 
 "With this undercurrent of reflection 
 running in his mind, Arthur was, neverthe- 
 less, able both to eat well and to talk well. 
 During the earlier part of the dinner, how- 
 ever, the conversation was mostly carried 
 on between the three gentlemen. 
 
 Towards his guest, Mr. McNicoll show- 
 ed himself peculiarly gracious this evening. 
 He had always entertained a secret liking 
 for Arthur Ledsom, and he had begun of 
 late to suspect something of his inclina- 
 tions towards Dora. And, not being with- 
 out parental feeling for any of his children 
 (though the affection he bore his daughters 
 was as nothing compared with that he felt 
 for his son), he was glad that Dora should 
 have the prospect of making so unexcep- 
 tionable a match. Further, although Mr. 
 McNicoll would have been too proud to 
 Jiave owned such a thing, even under the
 
 AX IXTERRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 309 
 
 persuasion of rack or thumbscrew, be was 
 decidedly gratified by the notion of having 
 a baronet for a son-in-law. 
 
 ' By-the-way, Helen,' he observed to his 
 wife, when the meal was nearly at an end, 
 ^ you have asked Ledsom, I suppose, to 
 give us the pleasure of his company to- 
 morrow evening T 
 
 'No,' rejoined Mrs. McNicoll ;'but I 
 have only been waiting for a suitable 
 pause in the conversation in order that I 
 might do so. We are having a few friends 
 to dinner to-morrow, Arthur, to meet our 
 new neighbours from Monkswood. Victor 
 and the girls wished us to invite them, and 
 of course we were glad to do so. I hope 
 you will come also. Had you been at 
 home, I would have mentioned it sooner.' 
 
 ' Thank you very much. I should be 
 delighted,' hesitated the young man ; ' but 
 you know, Mrs. McNicoll, I can scarcely 
 ^o to dinner-parties at present.' 
 
 ' But this is not a party/ protested Mrs.
 
 310 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 McNicoll. ' There will only be the rector 
 and his wife, and the Courteneys, and Dr. 
 and Mrs. Brownlow— all your own intimate 
 friends. You can hardly call that a 
 party.' 
 
 'Well, of course, if you consider it 
 quite the thing,' answered Sir Arthur, 
 * I will come with the greatest of plea- 
 sure. I am rather curious too, I must 
 confess, to see these new neighbours. I 
 have not seen any of the family yet, you 
 know.' 
 
 'And they also seem curious to see.you,' 
 remarked Victor, ' at least, the son, Mr, 
 Percival Bretherton, does. I promised, 
 you remember, to take you to call there ; 
 and he reminded me of the promise several 
 times before you left for Scotland. 
 At present, however, he is from homo 
 himself.' 
 
 *But, do you know, Victor, he may 
 possibly be back to-morrow,' put in Jessie. 
 ' Dora and 1 met Miss Bretherton this
 
 AN INTEERUPTED LOVE SCENE. 311 
 
 afternoon when we were taking a walk, 
 and she told us that she had had a letter 
 from her brother, and that he had almost 
 decided upon returning to-morrow.' 
 
 'What, alone?' inquired Victor, eagerly 
 — * without Charlie ?' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; Charlie is to come with 
 him, I suppose. Did you know, Arthur, 
 that young Mr. Bretherton was stay- 
 ing with Charlie Nunnerley in London? 
 You heard how they got to know each 
 other r 
 
 * Yes, Victor told me about it,' said 
 Arthur. ' Have you seen much of the 
 family yet, Mi:s. McNicoll ?' 
 
 * Not personally. No, I have only called 
 once myself on Miss Bretherton and her 
 father. And, unfortunately, I was out 
 when they returned the call. But the girls 
 have been several times to Monkswood 
 whilst you were away.' 
 
 ' And like children with a new 
 plaything,' remarked Mr. McNicoll, sneer-
 
 312 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 ingly, ' they are fall of enthusiastic ad- 
 miration of this marvellous American 
 young woman — charmed out of their five 
 senses !' 
 
 ' Indeed, I wonder who could help being 
 charmed with her/ said Dora. ' You will 
 be charmed yourself, father, when you meet 
 her to-morrow/ 
 
 ' I shan't give myself much opportunity 
 of being charmed !' asserted her father. 
 * You are not to expect me, remember, to 
 put myself out of the way to entertain your 
 company/ 
 
 Jessie looked for a moment as though 
 she would like to make a suitable retort to 
 this observation, but the words that were 
 trembling on her lips dared not find 
 utterance. 
 
 *But is Miss Bretherton really as 
 beautiful as Victor represents ? Do you 
 consider her pretty, Dora?' questioned her 
 lover.
 
 AX INTERRUPTED LOVE SCEXE. 313 
 
 ' She is more lovely than aDjone can 
 represent,' answered Dora, with all the 
 enthusiasm of which her father accused 
 her ; * and so deliciouslj fresh and frank 
 in her manner. Jessie and I have grown 
 quite good friends with her already. I 
 like her father, too — old Mr. Bretherton — 
 very much.' 
 
 * Though he is scarcely the style of per- 
 son we have been accustomed to associate 
 with,' broke in Jessie. ' His diction will 
 amuse you, Arthur, and his mode of 
 shaking hands, and his elegant habit 
 of rubbing his knees — in fact, the whole 
 man.' 
 
 'If Arthur is not able, Jessie, to look 
 below such mere outside defects, and to 
 recognise Mr. Bretherton as one of Nature's 
 true noblemeu,' observed Victor, a little 
 grandiloquently, 'he is not what I take him 
 for.' 
 
 * Dear me !' laughed his friend ; ' I must
 
 314 A DIAMOND IN THE BOUGH. 
 
 be careful not to disappoint your opinion 
 as to my penetration. Are you goinp^, Mrs. 
 
 McNicoii r 
 
 The ladies had risen ; and Sir Arthur 
 (who drank little or no wine), excusing 
 himself to his host, left the table along 
 with them. Victor also followed to the 
 drawing-room directly afterwards, whilst 
 Mr. McNicoll, in accordance with his usual 
 custom, retired to pass a solitary evening 
 in his library. 
 
 A little music and a good deal of con- 
 versation filled up the remainder of Sir 
 Arthur's stay. No further opportunity 
 presented itself, or was sought by him, for 
 private intercourse with Dora. When, 
 however, he pressed her hand in farewell, 
 and looked with tender meaning into her 
 eyes, he felt satisfied that she must under- 
 stand him. And Dora did understand him 
 — so far, at least, as to believe that he 
 meant to assure her of his affection.
 
 AN INTEKRUPTED LOVE SCENE. 315 
 
 Thrilled anew wifch rapture by bis glance, 
 she escaped, directly he was gone, to her 
 own room, in order that she might think 
 over her happiness. 
 
 How wonderful it seemed that he should 
 love her ! He who, she told herself, had 
 everything to give — position, wealth, title, 
 good looks — everything ; whilst she had 
 nothing to offer in exchange — nothing but 
 love ! Of that, however, she could give 
 him plenty ; and, after all, what better was 
 there to give? In her secret heart, Dora 
 did not believe herself unworthy of a good 
 man's love. What honest, true-hearted 
 girl does ? Still, that lie should love her, 
 should belong to her, should choose her 
 for his wife — he, the noblest, the best, the 
 handsomest young man in the whole world 
 — yes, it was wonderful ! And, oh ! how 
 happy she felt ! Too happy, almost, she 
 thought. Could she feel happier, even, 
 when he had finished what he had been
 
 316 A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. 
 
 about to say ? And how soon would he 
 finish it ? To-morroiv ? 
 
 Yes, most likely, Dora thought, it would 
 be to-morrow ! 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY DDNCAN A£ACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSK.