511, N£\ Xi2^^ ^'^^^^^'^ i 
 
 ? > ' VJ^ E U M "^ " 
 
 oon: 
 
LI B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 WSSv 
 

 > o - A 
 
YERNER'S PEIDE. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "east LYNNK," " MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES," ETC., ETC. 
 
 " Searching the window for a flint, I found 
 This paper, thus sealed up : and I am sure 
 It did not lie there when I went to bed." 
 
 Shakespean 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BRADBURY & EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET. 
 
 1863. 
 
 [The right of Translation is reserved.^ 
 
LCXDON : 
 BRADBURY AND KVANS, PRINTERS, WHITKFRIARa. 
 

 l/j f5"/ 
 
 • f 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. — RACHEL FROST ... 
 
 II. — THE WILLOW POND 
 III. — THE NEY/S BROUGHT HOME - 
 
 IV. — THE CROWD IN THE MOONLIGHT . 
 
 V. — THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE 
 
 VI.— DINAH ROY\s "ghost" 
 VII. —THE REVELATION AT THE INQUESI . 
 
 VIII. — robin's vow .... 
 
 IX. — MR. VERNER's ESTRANGEMENT . 
 X. — LADY VERNER .... 
 
 XI. — LUCY TEMPEST 
 
 XII. — DR. west's HOME .... 
 XIII, — A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE 
 XIV. — THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING 
 XV. — A TROUBLED MIND . . . • 
 
 XVI. — AN ALTERED WILL 
 
 XVII. — DISAPPEARED 
 
 XVIII. — PERPLEXITY . . . . • 
 
 k' 
 
 ^ 
 
 .& 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 21 
 33 
 43 
 
 49 
 
 66 
 
 80 
 
 89 
 
 100 
 
 108 
 
 116 
 
 131 
 
 14 
 
 160 
 
 164 
 
 177 
 
 185 
 
 196 
 
 ^^ 
 
IV CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTEE PAGE 
 
 XIX. — THE EE^TILATIOX TO LADY VEHXER , . . . 203 
 
 XX. — DRY AVORK 214 
 
 XXI. — A WHISPERED SFSPICION 219 
 
 XXII.— PECK aby's shop 229 
 
 XXIII. — DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN 248 
 
 XXIY. — DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP 260 
 
 XXV. — HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL 268 
 
 XXYI. — THE PACKET IN THE SHIRT DRAWER . . . 279 
 
 xxYii. — DR. west's sanctum 290 
 
 XXVIII.' — MISS Deborah's astonishment .... 306 
 
 XXIX. — AN intercepted JOURNEY 313 
 
 XXX. — NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA 320 
 
 XXXI.— ROY EATING HUMBLE PIE 335 
 
 XXXII. — "it's appleplexy" 345 
 
 XXXIII. — JAN'S remedy FOR A COLD 350 
 
 XXXIV. — IMPROVEMENTS 362 
 
VEENER S PRIDE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RACHEL FROST. 
 
 The slaDting rays of the afternoon sun, drawing 
 towards the horizon, fell on a fair scene of country 
 life ; — flickering through the young foliage of the 
 oak and lime-trees, touching the budding hedges, 
 resting on the growing grass, all so lovely in their 
 early green, and lighting up with flashes of yellow 
 fire the windows of the fine mansion, that, rising on 
 a gentle eminence, looked down on that fair scene 
 as if it were its master, and could boast the owner- 
 ship of those broad lands, of those gleaming trees. 
 
 Not that the house possessed much attraction 
 for those whose taste savoured of the antique. Ko 
 time-worn turrets were there, or angular gables, or 
 crooked eaves, or mullioned Gothic casements, so 
 chary of glass that modern eyes can scarcely see in 
 or out : neither was the edifice constructed of grey 
 stone, or of bricks gone black and green with age. 
 It was a handsome, well-built white mansion, 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 VERXER S PRIDE. 
 
 giving the promise of desirable rooms inside, 
 whose chimneys did not smoke or their windows 
 rattle, and where there was sufficient space to 
 turn in. The lower windows opened on a gravelled 
 terrace, which ran along the front of the house, a 
 flight of steps descending from it in its midst. 
 Gently sloping lawns extended from the terrace, 
 on either side the steps and the broad vralk which 
 branched from them ; on v/hich lawns shone gay 
 parterres of flowers already scenting the air, and 
 giving promise of the advancing summer. Bej^ond, 
 were covered walks, affording a shelter from the 
 suKry noontide sun ; shrubberies and labyrinths of 
 many turnings and windings, so suggestive of secret 
 meetings, were secret meetings desirable ; groves of 
 scented shrubs exhaling their perfume ; cascades 
 and rippling fomitains ; mossy dells, concealing the 
 sweet primrose, the sweeter violet; and verdant, 
 sunny spots open to the country round, to the 
 charming distant scenery. These open spots had 
 their benches, where you might sit and feast the 
 eyes through the livelong summer day. 
 
 It was not summer yet-p-scarcely spring — and the 
 sun, I say, was dra^\ing to its setting, lighting up 
 the large clear panes of the ^midows as with bur- 
 nished gold. The house, the ornamental grounds, 
 the estate around, all belonged to Mr. Verner. It 
 had come to him by bequest, not by entailed in- 
 heritance. Busy-bodies were fond of saying that it 
 never ought to have been his ; that if the strict law 
 of right and justice had been observed, it would 
 
RACHEL FROST. 3 
 
 have gone to liis elder brother ; or, rather, to 
 that elder brother's son. Old Mr. Verner, the 
 father of these two brothers, had been a modest 
 country gentleman, until one morning when he 
 awoke to the news that valuable mines had been 
 discovered on his land. The mines brought him 
 in gold, and in his later years he purchased this 
 estate, pulled down the house that was upon it — a 
 high, narrow, old thing, looking like a crazy tower 
 or a capacious belfry — and had erected this one, 
 calHng it " Verner's Pride." 
 
 An appropriate name. For if ever poor human 
 man was proud of a house he has builded, old 
 Mr. Verner was proud of that — proud to folly. He 
 laid out money on it in plenty ; he made the 
 grounds belonging to it beautiful and seductive as 
 a fabled scene from fairy -land ; and h6 wound up 
 by leaving it to the younger of his two sons. 
 
 These two sons constituted all his family. The 
 elder of them had gone into the army early, and left 
 for India ; the younger had remained alwaj'^s with 
 his father, the helper of his money-making, the 
 sharer of the planning out and building of Verner' s 
 Pride, the joint resident there after it was built. 
 The elder son — Captain Verner then — paid one 
 visit only to England, during which visit he married, 
 and took his wife out with him when he went 
 back. These long-continued separations, however 
 much we may feel inclined to gloss over the fact, do 
 play strange havoc with home affections, wearing 
 
 them away inch by inch. 
 
 b2 
 
4 VEENEK S PRIDE. 
 
 The 3^ears went on and on. Captain Yeriier 
 became Colonel Sir Lionel Vemer, and a boy of 
 his had been sent home in due course, and was at 
 Eton. Old Mr. Yerner gi'ew near to death. News 
 went out to India that his days were numbered, 
 and Sir Ijionel Verner was bade get leave of ab- 
 sence, if possible, and start for home without a 
 day's loss, if he would see his father alive. " If 
 possible/' you observe, tliej put to the request; for 
 the Sikhs were at that time giving trouble in our 
 Indian possessions, and Colonel Verner was one of 
 the experienced officers least likely to be spared. 
 
 But there is a mandate that must be obeyed 
 whenever it comes — grim, imperative death. At 
 the very hour when Mr. Verner was summoning 
 his sou to his death-bed, at the precise time that 
 military authority in India would have said, if 
 asked, that Colonel Sir Lionel Verner could not be 
 spared, death had marked out that brave officer 
 for his ov. n especial prey. He fell in one of the 
 skirmishes that took place near Moultan, and the 
 two letters — one going to Europe with tidings of 
 his death, the other going to India with news of hi s 
 father's illness — crossed each other on the route. 
 
 " Steevy," said old jMr. Verner to his younger 
 son, after giving a passing lament to Sir Lionel, " I 
 shall leave Verner's Pride to 3'ou." 
 
 " Ought it not to go to the lad at Eton, father ?" 
 was the reply of Stephen Verner. 
 
 "What's the lad at Eton to me ?" cried the old 
 man. "I'd not liave left it away from Lionel, as he 
 
EACHEL FROST. ^ 
 
 stood first, but it has always seemed to me that 
 you had the most right to it ; that to leave it avv-ay 
 from you savoured of injustice. You were at its 
 building, Steevy ; it has been your home as much 
 as it has been mine ; and I'll never turn y(ni from 
 it for a stranger, let him be whose child he m.ay. 
 No, no ! Verner's Pride shall be yours. But, look 
 you, Stephen ! you have no children ; bring up 
 young Lionel as j^our heir, and let it descend to 
 him after you." 
 
 And that is how Stephen Verner had inherited 
 Verner's Pride. Neighbouring gossipers, ever 
 fonder of laymg down the law for other people's 
 business than of minding their own, protested 
 against it among themselves as a piece of injustice. 
 Had they cause? Many very just-minded persons 
 would consider that Stephen Verner possessed 
 more fair claim to it than the boy at Eton. 
 
 I will tell you of one who did not consider so. 
 And that was the widow of Sir Lionel Verner. 
 "When she arrived from India with her other two 
 children, a son and Vlaughter, she found old Mr. 
 Verner dead, and Stephen the inheritor. Deeply 
 annoyed and disappointed, Lady Verner deemed 
 that a crying wrong had 'been perpetrated upon her 
 and hers. But she had no power to undo it. 
 
 Stephen Verner had strictly fulfilled his father's 
 injunctions touching young Lionel. He brought 
 up the boy as his heir. During his educational 
 days at Eton and at college^ Verner's Pride was his 
 holiday home, and he subsequently took up his 
 
6 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 permanent residence at it. Stephen Yerner, though 
 long married, had no children. One daughter had 
 been born to him years ago, but had died at three 
 or four years old. His wife had died a very short 
 while subsequent to the death of his father. He 
 afterwards married again, a widow lady of the name 
 of Massingbird, who had two nearly grown-up sons. 
 She had brought her sons home with her to 
 Yerner' s Pride, and they had made it their home 
 since. 
 
 Mr. Yerner kept it no secret that his nephew 
 Lionel was to be his heir ; and, as such, Lionel 
 was universally regarded on the estate. "Always 
 provided that you merit it," Mr. Yerner would say 
 to Lionel in private ; and so he had said to him 
 from the very first. " Be what you ought to be — 
 what I fondly believe my brother Lionel was : a man 
 of goodness, of honour, of Christian integrity; a 
 gentleman in the highest acceptation of the term — 
 and Yerner's Pride shall undoubtedly^ be yours. 
 But if I find you forget your fair conduct, and forfeit 
 the esteem of good men, so surely will I leave it 
 away from you." 
 
 And that is the introduction. And now we must 
 go back to the golden light of that spring evening. 
 
 Ascending the broad flight of steps and crossing 
 the terrace, the house door is entered. A spacious 
 hall, paved with delicately-grained marble, its 
 windows mellowed by the soft tints of stained 
 glass, whose pervading hues- are of rose and violet, 
 gives entrance to reception rooms on either side. 
 
 t: 
 
RACHEL FROST. 7 
 
 Those on the right-hand are mostly reserved for 
 state occasions ; those on the left are dedicated to 
 common use. All these rooms are just now empty 
 of living occupants, save one. That one is a small 
 room on the right, behind the two grand drawing- 
 rooms, and it looks out on the side of the house 
 towards the south. It is called " Mr. Verner's 
 study." And there sits Mr. Verner himself in it, 
 leaning hack in his chair and reading. A large 
 fire burns in the grate, and he is close to it : he is 
 always chilly. 
 
 Ay, always chilly. For Mr. Verner's last illness — 
 at least, what will in all probability prove his last ; 
 his ending — has already laid hold of him. One gene- 
 ration passes away after another. It seems but the 
 other day that a last illness seized upon his father, 
 and now it is his turn : but several years have 
 elapsed since tliBn. Mr. Verner is not sixty, and he 
 thinks that age is young for the disorder that has 
 fastened on him. It is no hurried disorder ; he may 
 live for years yet ; but the end, when it does come, 
 will be tolerably sudden : and that he knows. It is 
 water on the chest. He is a little man with light 
 eyes ; very much like what his father was before 
 him : but not in the least like his late brother Sir . 
 Lionel, who was a very fine and handsome man. He 
 has a mild, pleasing countenance : but there arises 
 a slight scowl to his brow as he turns hastily round 
 at a noisy interruption. 
 
 Some one had burst into the room — forgetting, 
 probably, that it was the quiet room of an invalid. 
 
8 Werner's pride. 
 
 A tall, dark young man, "with broad shoulders and 
 a somewhat peculiar stoop in them. His hair was 
 black, his complexion sallovv^ ; but his features were 
 good. He might have been called a handsome man, 
 but for a strange, ugly mark upon his cheek. A 
 very strange -looking mark indeed, quite as large as 
 a pigeon's egg, with what looked like radii shooting 
 from it on all sides. Some of the villagers, talking 
 familiarly among themselves, would call it a hedge- 
 hog, some would call it a " porkj^pine ; '^ but it re- 
 sembled a star as much as anything. That is, if 
 you can imagine a black star. The mark was black 
 as jet ; and his pale cheek, and the fact of his pos- 
 sessing no whiskers, made it all the more con- 
 spicuous. He was born with the mark ; and his 
 mother used to sa}^ — but that is of no consequence 
 to us. It was Frederick Massingbird, the present 
 Mrs. Verner's youngest son. 
 
 " Koy has come up, sir," said he, addressing 
 Mr. Verner. " He says the Dawsons have turned 
 obstinate and won't go out. They have barricaded 
 the door, and protest that they'll stay, in spite of 
 him. He wishes to know if he shall use force." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Verner. ''I don't like harsh 
 measures resorted to, and I will not have such 
 attempted. Roy knows that." 
 
 "■' Well, sir, he waits j^our orders. He says 
 there's half the village collected round Dawson's 
 door. The place is in a regular commotion." 
 
 Mr. Verner looked vexed. Of late j^ears he had 
 declined active management on his estate ; and. 
 
RACHEL FROST. 9 
 
 since he grew ill, he particularly disliked being 
 disturbed with details. " AVhere's Lionel ? " he 
 asked in a peevish tone. 
 
 '■ I saw Lionel ride out an hour ago. I don't 
 know where he is gone." 
 
 " Tell Eoy to let the affair rest until to-morrow, 
 when Lionel will see about it. And, Frederick, I 
 wish you would remember that a little noise shakes 
 me : try to come in more quietly. You burst in as 
 if mj nerves vvere as strong as j^our own." 
 
 Mr. Verner turned to his fire again with an air 
 of relief, glad to have got rid of the trouble in some 
 way, and Frederick Massingbird proceeded to what 
 was called the steward's room, where Roy v/aited. 
 This Roy, a hard-looking man with a face very much 
 seamed with the small -pox, was working bailiff to 
 Mr. Verner. Until within a few years he had been 
 but a labourer on the estate. He was not liked 
 among the poor tenants, and was generally honoured 
 with the appellation '' Old Grips," or " Grip Roy." 
 
 " Roy," said Frederick Massingbird, " Mr. Verner 
 says it is to be left until to-morrow morning. Mr. 
 Lionel will see about it then. He is out at pre- 
 sent." 
 
 " And let the mob have it all their own ^Yay for 
 to-night ? " returned Roy angrily. " They be in a 
 state of mutiny, they be ; a saying everything as they 
 can lay their tongues to." 
 
 " Let them say it," responded Frederick Massing- 
 bird. " Leave them alone, and they'll disperse 
 quietly enough. I shall not go in to Mr. Verner 
 
10 verner's pride. 
 
 again, Roy. I caught it now for disturbing liim. 
 You must let it rest until you can see Mr. Lionel." 
 
 The bailiff went off, growling. He would have 
 liked to receive carte hlanche for dealing with the mob 
 — as he was pleased to term them — between whom 
 and himself there was no love lost. As he was 
 crossing a paved yard at the back of the house, 
 some one came hastily out of the laundry in the 
 detached premises to the side, and crossed his 
 path. 
 
 A very beautiful girl. Her features were delicate, 
 her complexion was fair as alabaster, and a bright 
 colour mantled in her cheeks. But for the modest 
 cap upon her head, a stranger might have been 
 puzsled to guess at her condition in life. She looked 
 gentle and refined as any lady, and her manners 
 and speech would not have destroyed the illusion. 
 She may be called a protegee of the house, as "will 
 be explained presently; but she acted as maid to 
 Mrs. Verner. The bright colour deepened to a 
 glowing one when she saw the bailiff. 
 
 He put out his hand and stoj)ped her. "Well, 
 Rachel, how are you ? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you," she answered, endea- 
 vouring to pass on. But he would not suffer it. 
 
 "I say, I want to come to the bottom of this 
 business between j^ou and Luke," he said, lowering 
 his voice, " What's the rit^hts of it ? " 
 
 " Between me and Luke ? " she repeated, tui'ning 
 upon the bailiff an eye that had some scorn in it, 
 and stopping now of her own accord. " There is 
 
RACHEL FROST. H 
 
 no business whatever between me and Luke. There 
 never has been. What do jou mean ? " 
 
 " Chut ! " cried the baiHff. " Don't I know that 
 he has followed your steps everywhere like a 
 shadder ; that he has been ready to kiss the very 
 ground joii trod on? And right mad I have been 
 with him for it. Yon can't deny that he has been 
 after you, wanting you to be his wife." 
 
 " I do not wish to deny it," she replied. " You 
 and the whole world are quite welcome to know all 
 that has passed between me and Luke. He asked 
 to be allowed to come here to see me ; to ' court ' 
 me, he phrased it; which I distinctly declined. 
 Then he took to follow me about. He did not 
 molest me, he was not rude — I do not wish to 
 make it out worse than it was — but it is not 
 pleasant, Mr. Roy, to be followed whenever you 
 may take a walk. Especially by one you dislike." 
 
 " What is there to dislike in Luke ? " demanded 
 the bailiff. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to have said by one you do not 
 like," she resumed. " To like Luke, in the way he 
 wished, was impossible for me, and I told him so 
 from the first. When I found that he dodged my 
 steps, I spoke to him again, and threatened that I 
 should acquaint Mr. Verner. I told him, once for 
 all, that I could not like him, that I never would 
 have him ; and since then he has kept his distance. 
 That is all that has ever passed between me and 
 Luke." 
 
 " Well, your hard-heartedness has done for him, 
 
12 verner's pride. 
 
 Piachel Frost. It lias drove liim away from bis 
 native home, and sent liim, a exile, to rough it in 
 foreign lands. You may fix upon one as won't do 
 for you and be your slave as Luke would. He could 
 have kept you well." 
 
 " I heard he had gone to London," she remarked. 
 
 " London ! " returned the bailiff, slightingly. 
 " That's only the first halt on the journey. And 
 you have drove him to it ! " 
 
 " I can't help it," she replied, turning to the 
 house. " I had no natural liking for him, and I • 
 could not force it. I don't believe he has gone 
 aw^ay for that trifling reason, Mr. Tiov. If he has, 
 he must be very foolish." 
 
 " Yes, he is foolish," muttered the bailiff to him- 
 self as he strode awa}^ " He's a idiot, that's what 
 he is ! and so be all men that loses their wits a 
 sighing after a girl. Vain, deceitful, fickle creatures, 
 the girls be when they're young ; but once let them 
 get a hold on you, jouv ring on their finger, and 
 they turn into vixenish, snarling women ! Luke's 
 a sight best off without her." 
 
 Rachel Frost proceeded in- doors. The door of 
 the steward's room stood open, and she turned into 
 it, fancjdng it was empt3\ Down on a chair sat 
 she, a marked change coming over her air and man- 
 ner. Her bright colour had faded, her hands hung 
 down listless ; and there was an expression on her 
 face, of care, of perplexitj^ Suddenly she lifted her 
 hands and struck her temples, with a gesture that 
 looked very like despair. 
 
PwACHEL FROST. 18 
 
 ^' What ails you, Eachel?" 
 
 The question came from Frederick Massingbird, 
 who had been standing at the window behind the 
 high desk, unobserved b}' Eachel. Yiolentl}' 
 startled, she sprang up from her seat, her face a 
 glowing crimson, muttering some disjointed words, 
 to the efi'ect that she did not know anj^body was 
 there. 
 
 '* What were you and Roy discussing so eagerly in 
 the yard ? " continued Frederick Massingbird. But 
 •the words had scarcel}'^ escaped his lips, when the 
 housekeeper, Mrs. Tynn, entered the room. She 
 had a mottled face and mottled arms, her sleeves 
 just now being turned up to the elbow. 
 
 " It was nothing particular, Mr. Frederick," re- 
 plied Rachel. 
 
 " Roy is gone, is he not ? " he continued to 
 Rachel. 
 
 les, sir. 
 
 " Rachel," interposed the housekeeper," are those 
 things' not readj^ yet, in the laundry ?" 
 
 " Not quite. In a quarter of an hour, they say." 
 
 The housekeeper, with a w^ord of impatience at 
 the laundrj^'s delay, went out and crossed the yard 
 towards it. Frederick Massingbird turned again to 
 Rachel. 
 
 " Roy seemed to be grumbling at you." 
 
 " He accused me of being the cause of his son's 
 going away. He thinks I ought to have noticed 
 him." 
 
 Frederick Massingbird made no reply. He raised 
 
14 verner's pride. 
 
 his finger and gently rubbed it round and round 
 the mark upon his cheek : a habit he had acquired 
 when a child, and they could not entirely break him 
 of it. He was seven- and- twenty years of age now, 
 but he was sure to begin rubbing that mark uncon- 
 sciously, if in deep thought. Rachel resumed, her 
 tone a covert one, as if the subject on which she was 
 about to speak might not be breathed, even to the 
 walls. 
 
 " Roy hinted that his son was going to foreign 
 lands. I did not choose to let him see that I knew 
 anything, so remarked that I had heard he was gone 
 to London. ' London ! ' he answered : * that was 
 only the first halting-place on the journey ! ' " 
 
 " Did he give any hint about John ? " 
 
 " Not a word," replied Rachel. *' He would not 
 be likely to do that." 
 
 " No. Roy can keep counsel, whatever other 
 virtues he may run short of. Suppose you had 
 joined jowc fortunes to sighing Luke's, Rachel, and 
 gone out with him to grow rich together ? " added 
 Frederick Massingbird, in a tone which could be 
 taken for either jest or earnest. 
 
 She evidently took it as the latter, and it ap- 
 peared to call up an angry spirit. She was vexed 
 almost to tears. Frederick Massingbird detected 
 it. 
 
 " Silly Rachel ! " he said with a smile. " Do you 
 suppose I should reall}^ counsel your throwing your- 
 self away upon Luke Ro}^? — Rachel," he continued, 
 as the housekeeper again made her appearance. 
 
RACHEL FROST. 15 
 
 "you must bring up the tilings as soon as tliey are 
 ready. My brother is waiting for them. " 
 
 ''I'll bring them up, sir," replied Eachel. 
 
 Frederick Massingbird passed through the pas- 
 sages to the hall, and then proceeded up-stairs to 
 the bed-room occupied by his brother. A suffici- 
 ently spacious room for any ordinary purpose, but 
 it did not look half large enough now for the litter 
 that was in it. Wardrobes and drawers were stand- 
 ing open, their contents half out, half in ; chairs, 
 tables, bed, were strewed ; and boxes and portman- 
 teaus were gaping open on the floor. John Mas- 
 singbird, the elder brother, was stowing away some 
 of this litter into the boxes ; not all sixes and sevens, 
 like it looked as it lay, but compactly and artistic- 
 ally. John Massingbird possessed a ready hand at 
 packing and arranging; and, therefore he preferred 
 doing it himself, to deputing it to others. He was 
 one year older than his brother, and there was a 
 great likeness between them in figure and in feature. 
 Not in expression : in that, the}^ were widely different. 
 They were about the same height, and there was the 
 same stoop observable in the shoulders ; the features 
 also v/ere similar in cast, and sallow m hue ; the 
 same the black eyes and hair. John had large 
 whiskers, otherwise the likeness would have been 
 more striking ; and his face was not disfigured by 
 the strange black mark. He was the best looking 
 of the two : his face wore an easy, good-natured, free 
 expression ; while Frederick's was cold and reserved. 
 Many people called John Massingbird a handsome 
 
IG verner's pride. 
 
 man. In character they were quite opposite. John 
 was a harem-scarem chap, up to ever}- scrape ; I'recl 
 was cautious and steady as Old Time. 
 
 Seated in the only free chair in the room — free 
 from litter — was a tall, stout lady. But that she had 
 so much crimson about her, she would have borne a 
 remarkable resemblance to those two young men, 
 her sons. She wore a silk dress, gold in one light, 
 green in another, with broad crimson stripes running 
 across it : her cap was of white lace garnished with 
 crimson ribbons, and her clieeks and nose were 
 crimson to match. As if this were not enough, she 
 wore crimson streamers at her wrists, and a crimson 
 bow to the front of her gown. Had you been out- 
 side, you might have seen that the burnished gold 
 on the window-p>anes had turned to crimson, for the 
 setting sun had changed its hue : but the panes 
 could not look more brightlj', deeply crimson, than 
 did Mrs. Verner. It seemed that you might light a 
 match at her face. In that particular, there was a 
 contrast between her, and the perfectly pale, sallow 
 faces of her sons : otherwise the resemblance was 
 great. 
 
 " Fred," said Mrs. A'erner, " I wish you would see 
 what they are at with the sliirts and things. I sent 
 Rachel after them, but slie does not come back, and 
 then I sent IMar^- Tynn. and she does not come. 
 Here's John as impatient as he can be." 
 
 She spoke in a slow, somewhat indifferent tone, 
 as if she did not care to put herself out of the way 
 about it. Indeed it was not Mrs. Yerner's custom 
 
RACHEL FROST. 17 
 
 to put herself out of the vray for anything. She liked 
 to eat, drink, and sleep in undisturbed peace : and 
 she generally did so, 
 
 " John's impatient because he wants to get it 
 over," spoke up that gentleman himself in a merry 
 voice. " Fifty thousand things I have to do, 
 between now and to-morrow night. If the}^ don't 
 bring the clothes soon, I shall close the boxes 
 without them, and leave them a legacy for Fred." 
 
 "You have only yourself to thank, John," said 
 his mother. *' You never gave the things out until 
 after breakfast this morning, and then required 
 them to be done by the afternoon. Such nonsense, 
 to say they had grown j^ellow in the drawers ! 
 They'll be yellower by the time you get there. It 
 is just like you ! driving off everything till the last 
 moment. You have known of going some days 
 past." 
 
 John was stamping upon a box to get down the 
 lid, and did not attend to the reproach. " See if it 
 will lock, Fred, will you ? " said he. 
 
 Frederick Massingbird stooped and essayed to 
 turn the key. And just then Mrs. Tynn entered 
 with a tray of clean linen, which she set dovvii. 
 Rachel followed ; a contrivance in her hand, made 
 of silk, for the holding of needles, threads, and 
 pins, all in one. 
 
 She looked positively beautiful as she held it 
 out before Mrs. Verner. The evening rays fell upon 
 her exquisite face, with its soft dark eyes and its 
 changing colour ; they fell upon her silk dress, a 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 vehner's pride. 
 
 relic of Mrs. Verner's — but it had no crimson 
 stripes across it; upon Ler lace collar, upon the 
 little edge of lace at her wrists. Nature had cer- 
 tainly intended Eachel for a lady, with her graceful 
 form, her charming manners, and her delicate hands. 
 " Will this do, ma'am ? " she inquired. " Is it the 
 sort of thing you meant ? " 
 
 " Ay, that will do, Rachel," replied Mrs. Verner. 
 "John, here's a huswife for you ! " 
 
 "A wdiat ? " asked John Massinghird, arresting 
 his stamping. 
 
 "A needle-book to hold your needles and thread. 
 Rachel has made it nicely. Shan't you want a 
 thimble ? " 
 
 " Goodness knows," replied John. " That's it, 
 Fred ! that's it ! Give it a turn." 
 
 Frederick Massingbird locked the box, and then 
 left the room. His mother followed him, teUing 
 John she had a large steel thimble somewhere, and 
 would try and find it for him. Rachel began filling 
 the huswife with needles, and John went on with his 
 packing. 
 
 *' Halloa! "he presently exclaimed. And Rachel 
 looked up. 
 
 " What's the matter, sir ? " 
 
 *' I have pulled one of the strings off this green 
 case. You must sew it on again, Rachel."^ 
 
 He brought a piece of green baize to her and a 
 broken string. It looked something like the cover 
 of a pocket-book or of a small case of instru- 
 ments. 
 
EACHEL FROST. 19 
 
 Rachel's nimble fingers soon repaired the damage. 
 John stood before her, looking on. 
 
 Looking not only at the progress of the work, but 
 at her. Mr. John Massingbird was one who had an 
 e^^e for beauty : he had not seen much in his life 
 that could match with that before him. As Rachel 
 held the case up to him, the damage repaired, he 
 suddenly bent his head to steal a kiss. 
 
 But Rachel was too quick for him. She flung his 
 face away with her hand; she flushed vividly j she 
 was gTievously indignant. That she considered it 
 in the light of an insult, was only too apparent : her 
 voice was pained — her words were severe. 
 
 " Be quiet, stupid ! I was not going to eat you," 
 lauo'hed John Massingbird. " I won't tell Luke." 
 
 "Insult upon insult!" she exclaimed, strangely 
 excited. " You know that Luke Roy is nothing to 
 me, Mr. Massingbird ; you know that I have never 
 in my hfe vouchsafed to give him an encouraging 
 word. But, much as I despise him — much as he is 
 beneath me — I would rather submit to have my face 
 touched b}'- him than by you." 
 
 What more she would have said was interrupted 
 by the re-appearance of Mrs. Verner. That lady's 
 ears had caught the sound of the contest ; of the 
 harsh words ; and she felt inexpressibly surprised. 
 
 " What has happened ? " she asked. " What is it, 
 Rachel ? " 
 
 " She pricked herself with one of the needles," 
 
 said John, taking the explanation upon himself; 
 
 " and then said I did it." 
 
 c2 
 
20 verner's pride. 
 
 Mrs. Verner looked from one to the other. 
 Rachel had turned quite pale. John laughed : he 
 knew his mother did not believe him. 
 
 " The truth is, mother, I began teasing Rachel 
 about her admirer, Luke. It made her angry." 
 
 "What absurdity!" exclaimed Mrs. Verner, 
 testily, to Rachel." My opinion is, you would have 
 done well to encourage Luke. He was steady and 
 respectable ; and old Roy must have saved plenty of 
 money." 
 
 Rachel burst into tears. 
 
 " What now ! " cried Mrs. Verner. " Not a word 
 can anybody say to you lately, Rachel, but you must 
 begin to cry as if you were heart-broken. What has 
 come to you, child ? Is anything the matter with 
 you ? " 
 
 The tears deepened into long sobs of agony, as 
 though her heart were indeed broken. She held her 
 handkerchief up to her face, and went sobbing from 
 the room. 
 
 Mrs. Verner gazed after her in very astonishment. 
 
 "What has taken her? What can it possibly 
 be ? ^' she uttered. " John, you must know." 
 
 " I, mother ! I declare to you that I know no 
 more about it than Adam. Rachel must be going a 
 little crazed." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WILLOW POND. 
 
 Before the sun had well set, the family at 
 Verner's Pride v/ere assembling for dinner. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Verner, and John Massingbird : neither Lionel 
 Verner nor Frederick Massingbird was present. 
 The usual custom appeared somewhat reversed on 
 this evening : while roving John would be just as 
 likely to absent himself from dinner as not, his 
 brother and Lionel Verner nearly always appeared 
 at it. Mr. Yerner looked surprised. 
 
 " "Where are they ? " he cried, as he waited to say 
 Grace. 
 
 "Mr. Lionel has not come in, sir," replied the 
 butler, Tynn, who was husband to the house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " xA.nd Fred has gone out to keep some engage- 
 ment with Sibylla West," spoke up Mrs. Verner. 
 " She is going to spend the evening at the Bitter- 
 worths', and Fred promised, I believe, to see her 
 safely thither. He will take his dinner when he 
 comes in." 
 
 Mr. Verner bent his head, said the Grace, and the 
 dinner began. 
 
 Later, — but not much later, for it was scarcely 
 
22 verxer's pride. 
 
 dark yet, — Rachel Frost was leaving the house to 
 pay a visit in the adjoining village, Deerham. Her 
 position may be at once explained. It was men- 
 tioned in the last chapter that Mr. Verner had had 
 one daughter, who died young. The mother of 
 Eachel Frost had been this child's nurse, Rachel 
 "being an infant at the same time, so that the child, 
 Eachel Verner, and Rachel Frost — named after her 
 — ^had been what is called foster sisters. It had 
 caused Mr. Verner, and his wife also wliile she lived, 
 to take an interest in Rachel Frost ; it is very 
 probable that their own child's death only made this 
 interest greater. They were sufficiently wise not to 
 lift the girl palpably out of her proper sphere ; but 
 they paid for a decent education for her at a day- 
 school, and were personally kind to her. Rachel — 
 I was going to say fortunately, but it may be as just 
 to say ?t7ifortunately — was one of those who seem to 
 make the best of every trifling advantage : she had 
 grown, without much effort of her own, into what 
 might be termed a lady, in appearance, in manners, 
 and in speech. The second Mrs. Verner also took 
 an interest in her ; and nearly a year before this 
 period, on Rachel's eighteenth birthday, she took 
 her to Verner's Pride as her own attendant. 
 
 A fascinating, loveable child had Rachel Frost 
 ever been : she was a fascinating, loveable girl. 
 Modest, affectionate, generous, ever3'bod3^ liked 
 Rachel : she had not an enemy, so far as was known, 
 in all Deerham. Her father was nothing but a 
 labourer on the Verner estate ; but in mind and 
 
THE WILLOW POND. 23 
 
 conduct he was superior to liis station ; an upright, 
 conscientious, and, in some degree, a proud man : 
 her mother had been dead several years. Eachel 
 was proud too, in her way ; proud and sensitive. 
 
 Eachel, dressed in her bonnet and shawl, passed 
 out of the house by the front entrance. Slie would 
 not have presumed to do so by daylight ; but it was 
 dusk now, the family not about, and it cut off a few 
 yards of the road to the village. The terrace — 
 which you have heard of as running along the front 
 of the house — sloped gradually down at either end 
 to the level ground, so as to admit the approach of 
 carriages. 
 
 Eiding up swiftly to the door, as Eachel appeared 
 at it, was a gentleman of some five or six-and-twenty 
 years. Horse and man both looked thorough-bred. 
 Tall, strong, and slender, with a keen, dark-blue 
 eye, and regular features of a clear, healthy paleness, 
 he — the man — would draw a second glance to him- 
 self wherever he might be met. His face was not 
 inordinately handsome ; nothing of the sort ; but it 
 wore an air of candour, of noble truth. A somewhat 
 impassive face in repose, somewhat cold ; but, in 
 speaking, it grew expressive to animation, and the 
 frank smile that would light it up made its greatest 
 charm. The smile stole over it now, as he checked 
 his horse and bent towards Eachel. 
 
 " Have they thought me lost ? I suppose dinner 
 is begun ? " 
 
 "Dinner has been in this half-hour, sir." 
 
 "All right. I feared they might wait. What's 
 
S-i verner's pride. 
 
 the matter, Rachel ? You have been making your 
 eyes red." 
 
 " The matter ! There's nothing the matter with 
 me, Mr. Lionel," was Eachers reply, her tone 
 betraying a touch of annoyance. And she tui-ned 
 and w^alked swiftly along the terrace, beyond reach 
 of the glare of the gas -lamp. 
 
 Up stole a man at this moment, who must have 
 been hidden amid the pillars of the portico, watch- 
 ing the transient meeting, watching for an oppor- 
 tunity to speak. It was R03-, the bailiff: and he 
 accosted the gentleman with the same complaint, 
 touching the ill-doings of the Dawsons and the 
 village in general, that had previously been carried 
 to Mr. Verner by Frederick Massingbird. 
 
 " I was told to wait and take my orders from you, 
 sir," he w^ound up with. " The master don't like to 
 be troubled, and he wouldn't give none." 
 
 "Neither shall I give any," was the answer, 
 '' until I know more about it." 
 
 " They ought to be got out to-night, Mr. Lionel ! " 
 exclaimed the man, striking his hand fiercely against 
 the air. " They sow all manner of incendiarisms 
 in the place, with their bad example." 
 
 "Ilo3%" said Lionel Verner, in a quiet tone, "I 
 have not, as j^ou know, interfered actively in the 
 management of things. I have not opposed my 
 opinion against my uncle's, or much against j^ours ; 
 I have not come between you and him. When I 
 I have given orders, they have been his orders, not 
 mine. But many things go on that I disapprove 
 
THE WILLOW POND. 25 
 
 of: and I tell joii very candidly, that were I to 
 become master to-morrow, my first act would be to 
 displace you, unless j'ou could undertake to give up 
 these nasty acts of petty oppression." 
 
 " Unless some of 'em was oppressed and kept 
 under, they'd be for riding roughshod over the whole 
 of us," retorted Roy. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Lionel. " Nothing breeds 
 rebellion like oppression. You are too fond of 
 oppression, Roy, and Mr. Verner knows it." 
 
 " They be a idle, poaching, good-for-nothing lot, 
 them Dawsons," pursued Roy. ''And now that 
 they be behind-hand with their rent, it is a glorious 
 opportunity to get rid of 'em. I'd turn 'em into 
 the road, without a bed to lie on, this very 
 night! " 
 
 " How would you like to be turned into the road, 
 without a bed to lie on ? " demanded Lionel. 
 
 "Me!" returned Roy, in deep dudgeon. "Do 
 you compare me to that Dawson lot ? When I 
 give cause to be turned out, then I hope I may be 
 turned out, sir, that's all. Mr. Lionel," he added, 
 in a more conciliating tone, " I know better about 
 out-door things than you, and I say it's necessary 
 to be shut of the Dawsons. Give me power to act 
 in this." 
 
 " I will not," said Lionel. " I forbid you to act in 
 it at all, until the circumstances shall have been 
 inquired into." 
 
 He sprung from his horse, flung the bridle to 
 the groom, who was at that moment coming for- 
 
36 verner's pride. 
 
 ward, and strode into the house vrith the air of a 
 young chieftain. Certainly Lionel Verner appeared 
 fitted by nature to be the heir of Vemer's Pride. 
 
 Kachel Frost, meanwhile, gained the road, and 
 took the path to the left hand ; which w^ould lead her 
 to the village. Her thoughts were bent on many 
 sources, not altogether pleasant, one of which was 
 the annoyance she had experienced at finding her 
 name coupled with that of the bailiff's son, Luke 
 Roy. There w^as no foundation for it. She had dis- 
 liked Luke, rather than liked him, her repugnance 
 to him no doubt arising from the ver}^ favour he felt 
 disposed to show to her: and her account of past 
 matters to the bailiff was in accordance with the 
 facts. As she walked along, pondering, she became 
 aware that two people were advancing towards her in 
 the dark twilight. She knew them instantly, almost 
 by intuition, but they were too much occupied 
 with each other yet to have noticed her. One was 
 Frederick Massingbird ; and the young lady on his 
 arm was his cousin, Sibylla West, a girl y^oung and 
 fascinating as was Eachel. Mr. Frederick Massing- 
 bird had been susi)ected of a liking, more than ordi- 
 nary, for this young lady ; but he had protested in 
 Rachel's hearing, as in that of others, that liis was 
 only cousin's love. Some impulse prompted Rachel 
 to glide in at a field-gate which she was then 
 passing, and stand behind the hedge until they 
 should have gone by. Possibly she did not care to 
 be seen. 
 
 It was a still night, and their voices were borne 
 
THE WILLOW POND. 27 
 
 distinctly to Eacliel as they slowly advanced. Tlie 
 first words to reacli lier came from the young 
 lad3^ 
 
 "You will be going out after him, Frederick, 
 That will he the next thing I expect." 
 
 '' Sibylla," was the answer, and his accents bore 
 that earnest, tender, confidential tone, which of itself 
 alone betraj^s love, " be you very sure of one thing : 
 that I go neither there nor elsewhere without taking 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, Frederick, is not John enough to go ? " 
 
 " If I saw a better prospect there than here, I 
 should follow him. He will write and report after 
 he shall arrive, and be settled. My darling; I am 
 ever thinking of the future for your sake." 
 • '* But is it not a dreadful country ? There are 
 wolves and bears in it that eat people up." 
 
 Frederick Massingbird slightly laughed at the 
 remark. 
 
 "Do you think I vv^ould take my wife into the 
 claws of wolves and bears ? " he asked, in a tone of 
 the deepest tenderness. " She will be too j)recious 
 to me for that, Sibylla." 
 
 The voices and the footsteps died away in the 
 distance, and Eachel came out of her hiding-place, 
 and went quickly on towards the village. Her 
 father's cottage was soon gained. He did not 
 live alone. His only son, Eobert, — who had a 
 wife and family, — lived with him. Bobert was the 
 son of his youth ; Bachel the daughter of his age : 
 the children of two wives. Matthew Frost's wife 
 
28 VERNER's PIUDE. 
 
 had died in giving birth to Kobert, and twenty years 
 elapsed ere he married a second. He was seventy 
 years of age now, but still upright as a dart, with 
 a fine fresh complexion, a clear bright eye, and 
 snow-white hair that fell in curls behind, on the 
 collar of his white smock-frock. 
 
 He was sitting at a small table apart when Eachel 
 entered, a candle and a large open Bible on it. A 
 flock of grandchildren crowded round him, two of 
 them on his knees. He was showing them the pic- 
 tures. To gaze w^onderingly on those pictures, and 
 never tire of asldng explanations of their mysteries, 
 was the chief business of the little Frosts' lives. 
 Robert's wife — but he was hardlj/ ever called any- 
 thing but Eobin — was preparing something over 
 the fire for the evening meal. Rachel went up 
 and kissed her father. He scattered the children 
 from him to make room for her. He loved her 
 dearly. Robin loved her dearl3\ When Robin was 
 a grown-up young' man the pretty baby had come to 
 be his plaything. Rohm seemed to love her still, 
 better than he loved his own children. 
 
 " Thee'st been cr3ing, child ! " cried old Matthew 
 Frost. '' What has ailed thee ? " 
 
 Had Rachel known that the signs of her past 
 tears were so palpable as to call forth remark from 
 everybody she met, as it appeared they were doing, 
 she might have remained at home. Putting on a 
 gay face, she laughed off the matter. INIatthew 
 pressed it. 
 
 " Something went wrong at home, and I got a 
 
THE WILLOW POND. 29 
 
 scording," said Eachel at length. " It was not 
 worth crying over, though." 
 
 Mrs. Frost turned round from her saucepan. 
 
 " A scolding from the missis, Rachel ? " 
 
 " There's nohody else at Verner's Pride should 
 scold me," responded Rachel, with a charming little 
 air of self-consequence. " Mrs. Yerner said a cross 
 word or two, and I was so stupid as to burst out 
 crying. I have had a headache all day, and that's 
 sure to put me out of sorts." 
 
 " There's always things to worry one in service, 
 let it be ever so good on the whole," philosophicall}- 
 observed Mrs. Frost, bestowing her attention again 
 upon the saucepan. " Better be one's own missis on 
 a crust, say I, than at the beck and call of others." 
 
 "Rachel," interrupted old ]\Iatthew, ""when I 
 let you go to Verner's Pride, I thought it was for 
 your good. But I'd not keep you there a day, child, 
 if you be unhappy." 
 
 " Dear father, don't take up that notion," she 
 quicklj^ rejoined. "I am happier at Verner's Pride 
 than I should be anywhere else. I would not leave 
 it. Where is Robin this evening ? " 
 
 "Robin—" 
 
 The answer was interrupted by the entrance of 
 Robin himself. A short man with a red face, some- 
 what obstinate-looking. His eye lighted up when 
 he saw Rachel; and Mrs. Frost poured out the 
 contents of her saucepan, which appeared to be a 
 compound of Scotch oatmeal and treacle. Rachel 
 was invited to take some, but declined. She lifted 
 
30 verner's pride. 
 
 one of the children on her knee — a pretty little girl 
 named after herself. The child did not seem well, 
 and Rachel hushed it to her, bringing down her own 
 sweet face caressingly upon the little one's. 
 
 " So I hear as Mr. John Massingbird's a-going 
 to London on a visit ? " cried Robin to his sister, 
 holding out his basin for a second supply of the 
 porridge. 
 
 The question had to be repeated three times, and 
 then Rachel seemed to awake to it with a start. 
 She had been gazing at vacancy, as if buried in a 
 dream. 
 
 " Mr. John ? A visit to London ? Oh, yes, yes : 
 he is going to London." 
 
 " Do he make much of a stay ? " 
 
 " I can't tell," said Rachel, slightingly. A certain 
 confidence had been reposed in her at Verner's 
 Pride ; but it was not her business to make it knov/n, 
 even in her father's home. Rachel was not a good 
 hand at deception, and she changed the subject. 
 " Has there not been some disturbance with the 
 Dawsons to-day ? Old Roy was at Verner's Pride 
 this afternoon, and the servants have been saying 
 he came up about the Dawsons." 
 
 " He wanted to turn 'em out," replied Robin. 
 
 " He's Grip Roy all over," said Mrs. Frost. 
 
 Old Matthew Frost shook his head. " There has 
 been ill-feeling smouldering between Roy and old 
 Dawson this long while," said he. " Now that it's 
 come to open war, I mis-doubt me but there'll be 
 violence." 
 
THE WILLOW POND. 31 
 
 *' There's ill-feeling between Eoj and a many 
 more, father, besides the Dawsons," observed 
 Eobin. 
 
 "Ay! Kachel, child," — turning his head to the 
 hearth, where his daughter sat apart-^'' folks have 
 said that young I uke wants to make up to you. 
 But I'd not like it. Luke's a good-meaning, kind- 
 hearted lad himself, but I'd not like you to be 
 daughter-in-law to old Roy." 
 
 " Be easy, father dear. I'd not have Luke Eoy 
 if he were made of gold. I never yet had anything 
 to say to him, and I never will have. We can't help 
 our likes and dislikes." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Robin with pardonable pride. 
 " Pretty Rachel is not for a daft chap like Luke 
 Roy, that's a head and ears shorter nor other men. 
 Be you, my dear one ? " 
 
 Rachel laughed. Her conscience told her that 
 she enjoyed a joke at Luke's undersize. She took 
 a shower of kisses from the little girl, put her down, 
 and rose. 
 
 "I must go," she said. "Mrs. Verner may be 
 calling for me." 
 
 "Don't she know you be come out? " asked old 
 Matthew. . 
 
 " No. But do not fear that I came clandestinely 
 — or, as our servants would say, on the sly," added 
 Rachel, with a smile. " Mrs. Yerner has told me to 
 run down to see you whenever I like, after she has 
 gone in to dinner. Good-night, dear father." 
 
 The old man pressed her to his heart : " Don't 
 
32 verner's pride. 
 
 thee get fretting again, m}- blessing. I don't care to 
 see thee with red e3^es." 
 
 For answer, Eachel burst into tears then — a 
 sudden, violent burst. She dashed them away 
 again with a defiant, reckless sort of air, broke 
 into a laugh, and laid the blame on her headache. 
 Bobin said he would walk home with her. 
 
 " No, Robin, I would rather you did not to-night,"' 
 she replied, " I have two or three things to get at 
 Mother Duff's, and I shall stop there a bit, gossip - 
 ping. After that, I shall be home in a trice. It^s 
 not dark : and, if it were, who'd harm me ? " 
 
 They laughed. To imagine harm of any sort 
 arriving, through walking a mile or so alone at 
 night, would never enter the head of honest country 
 people. Rachel departed : and Robin, who was a 
 domesticated man upon the whole, helped his wife 
 to put the children to bed. 
 
 Scarcely an hour later, a strange commotion arose 
 in the village. People ran about wildly, whispering 
 dread words to one another. A woman had just 
 been drowned in the Willows-pond. 
 
 The whole place flocked down to the Willow-pond. 
 On its banks, the centre of an awe -struck crowd, 
 which had been quickly gathering, lay a body, 
 recently taken out of the water. It was all that 
 remained of poor Rachel Frost — cold, and white, 
 and DEAD ! 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 
 
 Seated in the dining-room at Verner's Pride 
 comfortably asleep in an arm-chair, her face turned 
 to the fire and her feet on a footstool, was Mrs. 
 Verner. The dessert remained on the table, but 
 nobody was there to partake of it. Mr. Verner had 
 retired to his study upon the withdrawal of the 
 cloth, according to his usual custom. Always a 
 man of spare habits, shunning the pleasm^es of the 
 table, he had scarcely taken sufficient to support 
 nature since his health failed. Mrs. Verner would 
 remonstrate : but his medical attendant, Dr. West, 
 said it was better for him that it should be so. 
 Lionel Verner (who had come in for the tail of the 
 dinner) and John Massingbird had likewise left the 
 room and the house, but not together. Mrs. Verner 
 sat on alone. She liked to take her share of 
 dessert, if the others did not, and she generally 
 remained in the dining-room for the evening, rarely 
 caring to move. Truth to say, Mrs. Verner was 
 rather addicted to dropping asleep with her last 
 glass of wine and waking up with the tea-tray. As 
 she did on this eveninsf. 
 
 Of course work goes on downstairs (or is 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 verner's pride. 
 
 supposed to go on), whether the mistress of a 
 house be asleep or awake. It really was going on 
 that evening in the laundry at Verner's Pride, 
 whatever it may have been doing in the other 
 various branches and departments. The laundi-y- 
 maids had had heavy labour on their hands that 
 day, and they were hard at work still, while Mrs. 
 Verner slept. 
 
 "Here's Mother Duff's Dan a-coming in!'' 
 exclaimed one of the women, glancing over her 
 ironing-board to the yard. "What do he want, I 
 wonder ? " 
 
 " Who ? " cried Nancy, the under-housemaid, a 
 tart sort of girl, whose busiaess it was to assist in 
 the laundry on busy days. 
 
 "Dan Duff. Just see what he wants, Nancy. 
 He's got a parcel." 
 
 The gentleman familiarly called Dan Duff, was 
 an urchin of ten years old. He was the son of 
 Mrs. Duff, linendraper-in-ordinar}^ to Deerham — a 
 lady popularly spoken of as "Mother Duff," both 
 behind her back and before her face. Nancy darted 
 out at the laundry-door and waylaid the intruder 
 in the yard. 
 
 "Now, Dan Duff!'" cried she, "what do you 
 want ? " 
 
 " Please, here's this," was Dan Duff's reply, hand- 
 ing over the parcel. "And, please, I want to see 
 Eachel Frost." 
 
 "Who's it for? What's inside it?" sharply 
 asked Nancy, regarding the parcel on all sides. 
 
THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 35 
 
 "It's things as Eachel Frost have been a-buy- 
 ing," he replied. " Please, I want to see her." 
 
 '* Then want must be your master," retorted 
 Nancy. " Rachel Frost's not at home." 
 
 ^' Ain't she ? " returned Dan Duff, with surprised 
 emphasis. '*Why, she left our shop a long sight 
 afore I did ! Mother says, please, would she mind 
 having some o' the dark lavender print instead o' 
 the light, 'cause Susan Peckaby's come in, and she 
 wants the whole o' the light lavender for a gownd, 
 and there's only just enough of it. And, please, 
 I be to take word back." 
 
 "How are you to take word back if she^s not 
 in ? " asked Nancy, whose temper never was im- 
 proved by extra work. " Get along, Dan Duff ! 
 You must come again to-morrow if you want 
 her." 
 
 Dan Duff turned to depart, in meek obedience, 
 and Nancy carried the parcel into the laundry and 
 flung it down on the ironing-board. 
 
 "It's fine to be Eachel Frost;" she sarcastically 
 cried. " Going shopping like any Isidj, and having 
 her things sent home for her ! And messages about 
 her gownds coming up — which will she have, if 
 you please, and which won't she have ! I'll horror 
 one of the horses to-morrow, and go shopping 
 myself on a side-saddle ! " 
 
 "Has Eachel gone shoppmg to-night?" cried one 
 of the women, pausing in her ironing. " I did not 
 know she was out." 
 
 " She has been out all the evening," was Nancy' 
 
 d2 
 
86 verner's pride. 
 
 answer. "I met her coming dovrn the stairs, 
 dressed. And she coukl tell a story over it, too, 
 for she said she was going to see her old father." 
 
 But Master Dan Duff is not done with yet. If 
 that gentleman stood in awe of one earthly thing 
 more than another, it was of the anger of his revered 
 mother. Mrs. Duff, in her maternal capacity, wag 
 rather free both with hands and tonofue, Beino- sole 
 
 o o 
 
 head of her flock, for she was a widow, she deemed 
 it best to rule with firmness, not to say severity ; 
 and her son Dan, awed by his own timid nature, 
 tried hard to steer his course so as to avoid shoals 
 and quicksands. He crossed the yard, after the 
 rebuff administered by Nancy, and passed out at the 
 gate, w^here he stood still to revolve affairs. His 
 mother had imperatively ordered him to bring hack 
 the answer touching the intricate question of the 
 light and the dark lavender prints ; and Susan 
 Peckaby — one of the greatest idlers in all Deerham 
 — said she would wait in the shop until he came 
 with it. He stood softly wdiistling, his hands in his 
 pockets, and balancing himself on his heels. 
 
 "I'll get a basting, for sure," soliloquised he. 
 ^' Mother '11 lose the sale of the gownd, and tlien 
 she'll say it's my fault, and baste me for it. 
 What's gone of her ? AVhy couldn't she ha" come 
 home, as she said ? " 
 
 He set his wits to work to divine what could 
 have "gone of her" — alluding of course to Rachel. 
 And a bright thought occurred to him — reall}* not 
 an unnatural one — that she had probably taken the 
 
THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 37 
 
 other road home. It was a longer round, through 
 the fields, and there were stiles to climb, and gates 
 to mount : which might account for the delay. He 
 arrived at the conclusion, though somewhat slow of 
 drawing conclusions in general, that if he returned 
 home that way, he should meet Rachel ; and could 
 then ask the question. 
 
 Had he turned to his left hand — standing as he 
 did at the gate with his back to the back of the 
 house — he would have regained the high road, 
 whence he came. Did he turn to the right, he 
 would plunge into fields and lanes, and covered 
 ways; and emerge at length, by a round, in the 
 midst of the village, almost close to his own house. 
 It was a lonely way at night, and longer than the 
 other, but Master Dan Duff regarded those as 
 pleasant evils, in comparison with a " basting." Ho 
 took his hands out of his pockets, brought down 
 his feet to a level, and turned to it, whistling still. 
 
 It was a tolerably light night. The moon was up, 
 though not very high, and a few stars might be 
 seen here and there in the blue canopy above. Mr. 
 Dan Duff proceeded on his way, not xery quickly. 
 Some dim idea was penetrating his brain that the 
 slower he walked, the better chance there might be 
 of his meeting Rachel. 
 
 " She's just a cat, is that Susan Peckaby ! " 
 decided he with acrimonj', in the intervals of his 
 whistling. "It was her as put mother up to the 
 thought o' sendino- me to-nio-ht : Rachel Frost said 
 the things 'ud do in the morning. ' Let Dan carry 
 
38 verner's pride. 
 
 'em up now,' says Dame Peckab}^ ' and ask her 
 about the print, and then I'll take it home along 
 o' me.' And if I go in without the answer, she'll be 
 the first to help mother to baste me ! Hi ! ho ! 
 hur ! hur-r-r-r ! " 
 
 This concluding divertisement was caused by his 
 catching sight of some small animal scuddmg along. 
 He was at that moment traversing a narrow, wind- 
 ing lane ; and, in the field to the right, as he 
 looked in at the open gate, he saw the movement. 
 It might be a cat, it might be a hare, it might be a 
 rabbit, it might' be some other animal : it was all 
 one to Mr. Dan Duff: and he had not been boy 
 had he resisted the propensity to pursue it. Catch- 
 ing up a handful of earth from the lane, he sliied it 
 in the proper direction, and tore in at the gate 
 after it. 
 
 Nothing came of the pursuit. The trespasser 
 had earthed itself, and Mr. Dan came slowly back 
 again. He had nearly approached the gate, when 
 somebody passed it, walking up the lane with a 
 very quick step, from the direction on which he, 
 Dan, was bound. Dan saw enough to know that it 
 was not Eachel, for it was the figm^e of a man, but 
 Dan set off to run, and emerged from the gate just 
 in time to catch another glimpse of the i)erson, 
 as he disappeared beyond the windings of the 
 lane. 
 
 " 'Twarn't Rachel, at all events," was his com- 
 ment. And he turned and pursued his way again. 
 
 It was somewhere about this time that Tjnii 
 
THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 39 
 
 made his appearance in tlie dining-room at Verner's 
 Pride, to put away the dessert, and set tlie tea. 
 The stir woke up Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " Send Eachel to me," said she, winking and 
 blinking at the tea-cups. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," replied Tynn. 
 
 He left the room when he had placed the cups 
 and thmgs to his satisfaction. He called for Rachel 
 high and low, up and down. All to no purpose. 
 The servants did not appear to know anything of 
 her. One of them went to the door and shouted 
 out to the laundry to know whether Rachel v/as 
 there, and the answering shout " No " came back. 
 The footman at length remembered that he had 
 seen her go out at the hall-door ivliile the dinner 
 was in. Tynn carried this item of information to 
 Mrs. Verner. It did not please her. 
 
 " Of course! " she grumbled. " Let me want any 
 one of you particularly, and you are sure to be 
 away ! If she did go out, she ought not to stay 
 so long as this. Who's this coming in ? " 
 
 It was Frederick Massingbird. He entered, 
 singing a scrap of a song : which was cut suddenly 
 short when his eye fell on the servant. 
 
 *' Tynn," said he, " you must bring me something 
 to eat. I have had no dinner." 
 
 " You cannot be verj^ hungry, or you'd have come 
 in before," remarked Mrs. Verner to him. "It is 
 tea-time now." 
 
 "Ill take tea and dinner together," was his 
 answer. 
 
40 verner's pride. 
 
 *'But you ought to have been m before," she 
 persisted ; for, though an easy mistress and mother, 
 Mrs. Verner did not like the order of meals to 
 be displaced. " Where have you stayed, Fred ? 
 You have not been all this while taking Sibylla 
 West to Bitterworth's." 
 
 "You must talk to Sibylla West about that," 
 answered Fred. "When young ladies keep you a 
 good hour w^aiting, while they make themselves 
 ready to start, you can't get back precisely to 
 your own time." 
 
 "What did she keep you waiting for?" ques- 
 tioned Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " Some myster}^ of the toilette, I conclude. 
 When I got there, Amillj^ said Sibjdla was dress- 
 ing : and a pretty prolonged dressing it appeared to 
 be ! Since I left her at Bitterworth's, I have been 
 to Poynton's about my mare. She was as lame as 
 ever to-day." 
 
 "And there's Eachel out now, just as I am 
 wanting her ! " went on Mrs. Verner, who, when 
 she did lapse into a grumbling mood, was fond of 
 calling up a catalogue of grievances. 
 
 "At any rate, that's not my fault, mother," ob- 
 served Frederick. " I dare say she will soon be in. 
 Eachel is not given to stay out, I fancy, if there's 
 a chance of her being w^anted." 
 
 T3''nn came in with his tra^^ and Frederick 
 Massingbird sat down to it. Tynn then waited 
 for Mr. Verner's tea, which he carried into the 
 study. He carried a cup in every evening, but 
 
THE NEWS BROUGHT HOME. 41 
 
 Mr. Verner scarcely ever tonclied it. Then Tynn 
 returned to the room where the upper servants took 
 their meals and otherwise congregated, and sat down 
 to read a newspaper. He was a little man, very 
 stout, his plain clothes always scrupulously neat. 
 
 A few minutes, and Nancy came in, the parcel 
 left by Dan Duff in her hand. The housekeeper 
 asked her what it was. She explained in her 
 crusty way, and said something to the same effect 
 that she had said in the laundry — that it was fine 
 to be Rachel Frost. " She's long enough making 
 her way up here ! " Nancy wound up with. "Dan 
 Duff says she left their shop to come home before 
 he did. If Luke Roy was in Deerham one would 
 know what to think ! " 
 
 "Bah!" cried the housekeeper. " Rachel Frost 
 has nothing to say to Luke Roy." 
 
 Tynn laid down his paper, and rose. "I'll just 
 tell the mistress that Rachel's on her way home," 
 said he. " She's j)ut up like anything at her being 
 out — wants her for something particular, she says." 
 
 Barely had he departed on his errand, when a 
 loud commotion was heard in the passage. Mr. Dan 
 Duff had burst in at the back door, uttering sounds 
 of distress — of fright — his eyes starting, his hair 
 standing on end, his words nearly unintelligible. 
 
 " Rachel Frost is in the "Willow-pond — 
 drownded ! " 
 
 The women shrieked when the}^ gathered in the 
 sense. It was enough to make them shriek. Dan 
 Duff* howled in concert. The passages took up the 
 
42 verner's pride. 
 
 sounds and echoed them ; and Mrs. Verner, Fred- 
 erick Massingbird, and Tynn came hastening forth. 
 Mr. Verner followed, feeble, and leaning on his 
 stick. Frederick Massingbird seized upon the hoy, 
 questioning sharply. 
 
 " Eachel Frost's a-drowned in the Willow-pond," 
 he reiterated. " I see'd her." 
 
 A moment of pause — of startled suspense, and 
 then they flew off, men and women, as with one 
 accord, Frederick Massingbird leading the van. 
 Social obligations were forgotten in the overwhelm- 
 ing excitement, and Mr. and Mrs. Verner were left 
 to keep house for themselves. Tynn, indeed, recol- 
 lected himself, and turned back. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Verner. " Go with the rest, Tynn, 
 and see what it is, and whether anything can be 
 done." 
 
 He might have crept thither himself in his feeble 
 strength, but he had not stirred out of the house for 
 two years. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CROWD IN THE MOONLIGHT. 
 
 The Willow-pond, so called from its being sur- 
 rounded with weeping willows, was situated at the 
 corner of a field, in a retired part of the road, about 
 midway between Verner's Pride and Deerham. 
 There was a great deal of timber about that part ; 
 it was altogether as lonely as could be desired. 
 When the runners from Verner's Pride reached it, 
 assistance had already arrived, and Rachel, rescued 
 from the pond, was being laid upon the grass. All 
 signs of life were gone. 
 
 Who had done it ? — what had caused it ? — was it 
 an accident ? — was it a self-committed act ? — or 
 was it a deed of violence ? What brought her there 
 at all ? No young girl would be likely to take that 
 way home (with all due deference to the opinion of 
 Master Dan Duff) alone at night. 
 
 What was to be done ? The crowd propounded 
 these various questions in so many marvels of 
 wonder, and hustled each other, and talked inces- 
 santly ; but to be of use, to direct, nobody appeared 
 capable. Frederick Massingbird stepped forward 
 with authority. 
 
 *' Carry her at once to Verner's Pride — with all 
 
44 VERNEPt's PRIDE. 
 
 speed. And some of you " — turning to the servants 
 of the house — " hasten on,, and get water heated and 
 blankets hot. Get hot bricks — get anything and 
 everything likely to be required. How did she get 
 in?" 
 
 He appeared to speak the words more in the light 
 of a wailing regret, than as a question. It was a 
 question that none present appeared able to answer. 
 The crowd was increasing rapidly. One of them 
 suggested that Broom the gamekeeper's cottage 
 was nearer than Verner's Pride. 
 
 "But there will be neither hot water nor 
 blankets there," returned Frederick Massingbird. 
 
 " The house is the best. JNIake haste ! don't let 
 grass grow under your feet." 
 
 "A moment," interposed a gentleman who now 
 came hastily up, as they were raising the body. 
 " Lay her down again." 
 
 They obej^ed him eagerly, and fell a little back 
 that he might have space to bend over her. It was 
 the doctor of the neighbourhood, resident at Deer- 
 ham. He was a fine man in figure, dark and florid 
 in face, but a more impassive countenance could not 
 well be seen, and he had the peculiarity of rarely 
 looking a person in the face. If a patient's eyes 
 were fixed on Dr. West's, Dr. West's were invariably 
 fixed upon something else. A clever man in his 
 profession, holding an Edinburgh degree, and prac- 
 tising as a general practitioner. He vras brother to 
 the present Mrs. Verner : consequently, uncle to the 
 tv^ro young Massingbirds. 
 
THE CROWD IX THE MOONLIGHT. 45 
 
 " Has anj'body got a match ? " lie asked. 
 
 One of the Verner's Pride servants had a whole 
 boxful, and two or three were lighted at a time, and 
 held so that the doctor could see the drowned face 
 better than he could in the uncertain moonlight. 
 It was a strange scene. The lonely, weird-like 
 character of the place ; the dark trees scattered 
 about ; the dull pond with its bending willows ; the 
 swaying murmuring crowd collected round the doctor 
 and what he was bending over ; the bright flickering 
 flame of the match-light ; with the pale moon over- 
 head, getting higher and higher as the night went 
 on, and struggling her way through passing clouds. 
 
 " How did it happen ? " asked Dr. West. 
 
 Before any answer could be given, a man came 
 tearing up at the top of his speed ; several men, 
 indeed, it may be said. The first was Koy, the bailiff. 
 Upon Eoy's leaving Verner's Pride, after the rebuke 
 bestowed upon him by its heir, he had gone straight 
 down to the George and Dragon, a roadside inn, 
 situated on the outskirts of the village, on thB road 
 from Verner's Pride. Here he had remained, con- 
 sorting Avith droppers-in from Deerham, and soothing 
 his mortification with a pipe and sundry cans of ale. 
 YVhen the news was brought in that Eachel Frost 
 was drowned in the Willow-pond, Roy, the landlord, 
 and the company collective^, started off to see. 
 
 "Why, it is her!" uttered Roy, taldng a hasty 
 view of poor Rachel. " I said it wasn't possible. I 
 saw her and talked to her up at the house but two 
 or three hours ago. How did she get in ? " 
 
46 vernee's pride. 
 
 The same question always ; from all alike : how 
 did she get in ? Dr. West rose. 
 
 " You can move her," he said. 
 
 " Is she dead, sir ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Frederick Massinghird — who had been the one to 
 hold the matches — caught the doctor's arm. 
 
 " Not dead ! " he uttered. " Not dead beyond 
 hope of restoration ? " 
 
 *' She will never be restored in this world," was 
 the reply of Dr. West. " She is quite dead." 
 
 " Measures should be tried, at any rate," said 
 Frederick Massinghird, warmly. 
 
 " By all means," acquiesced Dr. West. " It v\ill 
 afford satisfaction, though it should do nothing 
 else." 
 
 They raised her once more, her clothes drip- 
 ping, and turned with quiet, measured steps towards 
 Verner's Pride. Of course the whole assemblage 
 attended. They were eagerly curious, boiling over 
 with excitement ; but, to give them their due, they 
 were earnestly anxious to afford any aid in their 
 power, and contended who should take turn at bear- 
 ing that wet burthen. Not one but felt sorely 
 grieved for Rachel. Even Nancy was subdued to 
 meekness, as she sped on to be one of the busiest in 
 preparing remedies ; and old Ro}^ though somewhat 
 inclined to regard it in the light of a judgment upon 
 proud Rachel for slighting his son, felt some twinges 
 of pitying regret. 
 
 " I have knowed cases where people, dead from 
 
THE CROWD IN THE MOONLIGHT. 4.7 
 
 tirownding, have been restored to life," said Boy, as 
 they walked along. 
 
 " That you never have," replied Dr. West. " The 
 apparently dead have been restored : the dead, 
 never." 
 
 Panting, breathless, there came up one as they 
 reached Verner's Pride. He parted the crowd, and 
 threw himself almost upon Rachel with a wild cry. 
 He caught up her cold, wet face, and passing his 
 hands over it, bent down his warm cheek upon it. 
 
 " Who has done it ? " he sobbed. " What has 
 done it ? She couldn't have fell in alone." 
 
 It was Eobin Frost. Frederick Massingbird drew 
 him away by the arm. "Don't hinder, Robin. 
 Every minute may be worth a life." 
 
 And Robin, struck with the argument, obeyed 
 docilely like a little child. 
 
 Mr. Verner, leaning on his stick, trembling with 
 weakness and emotion, stood just without the door 
 of the laundry, which had been hastily prepared, 
 as the bearers tramped in. 
 
 " It is an awful tragedy ! " he murmured. " Is it 
 true " — addressing Dr. West — "that you think there 
 is no hope ? " 
 
 " I am sure there is none," was the answer. " But 
 every means shall be tried." 
 
 The laundr}^ was cleared of the crowd, and their 
 work began. One of the next to come uj) was old 
 Matthev/ Frost. Mr. Verner took his hand. 
 
 " Come in to my own room, Matthew," he said. 
 " I feel for you deeply." 
 
48 verxer's pride. 
 
 " Nay, sir ; I must look upon her." 
 
 Mr. Verner pointed with his stick in the direction 
 of the laundry. 
 
 " They are shut in there ; the doctor and those 
 whom he requires round him," he said. " Let them 
 be undisturbed : it is the only chance." 
 
 All things likely to be wanted had been conveyed 
 to the laundry : and they were shut in there, as 
 Mr. Verner expressed it, with their fires and their 
 heat. On, dragged the time. Anxious watchers 
 were in the house, in the yard, gathered round the 
 back gate. The news had spread, and gentlepeople, 
 friends of the Verners, came hasting from their 
 homes, and pressed into Verner's Pride, and asked 
 question upon question of Mr. and Mrs. Yerner, of 
 everybody likely to afford an answer. Old Matthew 
 Frost stood outwardly calm and collected, full of in- 
 ward trust, as a good man should be. He had learnt 
 where to look for support in the darkest trial. Mr. 
 Verner in that night of sorrow seemed to treat hmi 
 as a brother. 
 
 One hour ! Two hours ! and still they plied their 
 remedies, under the able direction of Dr. West. All 
 was of no avail, as the experienced physician had 
 told them. Life was extinct. Poor Rachel Frost 
 was really dead ! 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 
 
 Apaet from the horror of the affair, it was alto- 
 gether attended with so much mystery that that of 
 itself would have kept the excitement alive. What 
 could have taken Rachel Frost near the pond at all ? 
 Allowing that she had chosen that lonely road for 
 her way home — which appeared unlikely in the ex- 
 treme — she must still have gone out of it to ap- 
 proach the pond, must have walked partly across a 
 field to gain it. Had her path led close hy it, it 
 would have been a different matter : it might have 
 been supposed (unlikely still, though) that she had 
 missed her footing and fallen in. But unpleasant 
 rumours were begining to circulate in the crowd. 
 It was whispered that sounds of a contest, the 
 voices being those of a man and a woman, had been 
 heard in that direction at the time of the accident, or 
 about the time : and these rumours reached the ear 
 of Mr. Verner. 
 
 For the family to think of bed, in the present 
 state of affairs, or the crowd to think of disi)ersing, 
 w^ould have been in the highest degree improbable. 
 Mr. Verner set himself to endeavour to get some 
 sort of solution first. One told one tale ; one, 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 verner's pride. 
 
 another : one asserted something else ; another, the 
 precise opposite. Mr. Verner — and in sajdng Mr. 
 Verner, we must include all — was fairly puzzled. A 
 notion had sprung up that Dinah Roy, the hailiffs 
 wife, could tell something ahout it if she would. 
 Certain it was, that she had stood amid the crowd, 
 cowering and trembling, shrinking from observation 
 as much as possible, and recoiling visibly if ad- 
 dressed. 
 
 A word of this suspicion got whispered in her 
 husband's ear. It angered him. He was accus- 
 tomed to keep his wife in due submission. She 
 was a little body, with a pinched face and a shai-p 
 red nose, given to weeping upon every possible 
 occasion, and as indulgently fond of her son Luke 
 as she was afraid of her husband. Since Luke's 
 departure she had passed the better part of her time 
 in tears. 
 
 *•' Now," said Roy, going up to her with authority, 
 and drawing her apart, " what's this as is up with 
 you ? " 
 
 She looked round her, and shuddered. 
 
 " Oh, law !" cried she, with a moan. " Don't you 
 begin to ask, Giles, or I shall be fit to die." 
 
 "Do you know anything about this matter, or 
 don't you? " cried he, savagely. " Did you see any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 *' What should I be likely to see of it ? " quaked 
 Mrs. Roy. 
 
 " Did you see Rachel fall into the pond ? Or 
 see her a-nigh the pond ? " 
 
• THE TALL GENTLEMAN IX THE LANE. 51 
 
 " No, I didn't," moaned Mrs. B.oj. " I never set 
 eyes on Eacliel tins blessed night at all. I'd take 
 a text o' scripture to it." 
 
 " Then what is the matter with you ? " he 
 demanded, giving her a slight shake. 
 
 " Hush, Giles ! " responded she, in a tone of un- 
 mistakeable terror. " I saw a ghost ! " 
 
 " Saw a — what ?" thundered Giles Boy. 
 
 "A ghost!" she repeated. "And it have made 
 me shiver ever since." 
 
 Giles Koy knew that his wife was rather prone to 
 flights of fancy. He was in the habit of adminis- 
 tering one sovereign remedy, which he believed to 
 l^e an infallible panacea for wives' ailments whenever 
 it was applied — a hearty good shaking. He gave 
 her a slight instalment as he turned away. 
 
 "Wait till I get ye home," said he, significantly. 
 ^' I'll drive the ghosts out of ye ! " 
 
 Mr. Verner had seated himself in his study, with 
 a view to investigating systematically the circum- 
 stances attending the affair, so far as they were 
 known. At present all seemed involved in a Babel 
 of confusion, even the open details. 
 
 " Those able to tell anything of it shall come 
 before me, one by one," he observed ; " we may get 
 at something then." 
 
 The only stranger present was Mr. Bitterworth, 
 an old and intimate friend of Mr. Verner. He was 
 a man of good property, and resided a little beyond 
 Verner's Pride. Others — plenty of them — ^had been 
 eager to assist in what they called the investigation, 
 
 e2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSlTt OF 
 
52 verner's pride. 
 
 but Mr. Verner had declined. The public inves- 
 tigation would come soon enough, he obsen^ed, and 
 that must satisfy them. Mrs. Verner saw no reason 
 why she should be absent, and she took her seat. 
 Her sons were there. The news had reached John 
 out-of-doors, and he had hastened home full of 
 consternation. Dr. West also remained by request, 
 and the Frosts, father and son, had pressed in. Mr. 
 Verner could not deny them. 
 
 " To begin at the beginning," observed Mr. 
 Verner, " it appears that Eachel left this house 
 between six and seven. Did she mention to any- 
 body where she was going ? " 
 
 " I believe she did to Nancy, sir," replied Mrs. 
 Tynn, who had been allowed to remain. 
 
 " Then call Nancy in," said Mr. Verner. 
 
 Nancy came, but she could not say much: only 
 that in going up the front stairs to carry some 
 linen into Mrs. Verner's room, she had met Rachel, 
 dressed to go out. Rachel had said, in passing her, 
 that she was about to visit her father. 
 
 " And she came ? " observed Mr. Verner, turning 
 to Matthew Frost, as Nancy was dismissed. 
 
 " She came, sir," replied the old man, who was 
 having an incessant battle with himself for calm- 
 ness ; for it was not there, in the presence of others, 
 that he would willinglj'- indulge his grief. " I saw 
 that she had been fretting. Her eyes were as red as 
 ferrets' ; and I taxed her with it. She was for turn- 
 ing it off at first, but I pressed for the cause, and she 
 then said she had been scolded by her mistress." 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 53 
 
 '^ By me ! " exclaimed Mrs. Verner, lifting her head 
 in surprise. " I had not scolded her." 
 
 But as she spoke she caught the eye of her son 
 John, and she remembered the little scene of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 " I recollect now," she resumed. " I spoke a 
 word of reproof to Eachel, and she burst into a 
 violent flood of tears, and ran away from me. It 
 surprised me much. What I said was not sufficient 
 to call forth one tear, let alone a passionate burst of 
 them." 
 
 " AVhat was it about ? " asked Mr. Verner. 
 
 " I expect John can give a better explanation of it 
 than I," replied Mrs. Verner, after a pause. "I went 
 out of the room for a minute or two, and when I 
 returned, Bach el was talking angrily at John, as it 
 seemed. I could not make out distinctly at what. 
 John had begun to tease her about Luke Boy, I 
 believe, and she did not like it." 
 
 Mr. John Massingbird's conscience called up the 
 little episode of the coveted kiss. But it might not 
 be altogether prudent to confess to it in full conclave. 
 
 "It is true that I did joke Bachel about Luke," 
 he said. " It seemed to anger her very much, and 
 she paid me out with some hard words. My mother 
 returned at the same moment. She asked what was 
 the matter : I said I had joked Bachel about Luke, 
 and that Bachel did not like it." 
 
 " Yes, that was it," acquiesced Mrs. Verner. " I 
 then told Bachel that in my opinion she would 
 have done well to encourage Luke, who was a steady 
 
54 verner's pribe. 
 
 « 
 
 young man, and would no doubt have a little money. 
 Upon which she began weeping. I felt rather 
 vexed : not a word have I been able to say to her 
 lately, but tears have been the answer ; and I asked 
 what had come to her that she should cry for every 
 trifle as if she were heartbroken. With that, she 
 fell into a burst of sobs, terrifying to see, and ran 
 from the room. I was thunderstruck. I asked John 
 what could be the matter with her, and he said he 
 could only think she was going crazed." 
 
 John Massingbird nodded his head, as if in con- 
 firmation. Old Matthew Frost spoke up, his voice 
 trembling with the emotion that he was striving 
 to keep under : 
 
 " Did she say what it was that had come to her, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 " She did not make any reply at all," rejoined 
 Mrs. Verner. "But it is quite nonsense to suppose 
 she could have fallen into that wild burst of grief, 
 simply at being joked about Luke. 1 could not 
 make her out." 
 
 "And she has fallen into fretting, you say, 
 ma'am, lately ? " pursued Matthew Frost, leaning his 
 venerable white head forward. 
 
 " Often and often," replied Mrs. Verner. " Sh6 
 has seemed quite an altered girl in the last few 
 weeks ! " 
 
 "My son's wife has said the same," cried old 
 Matthew. " She has said that Rachel was changed. 
 But I took it to mean in her looks — that she had 
 got thinner. You mind the wife saying it, Robin ? " 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 55 
 
 *' Yes, I mind it," shortly replied Eobin, who had 
 propped himself against the wall, his arms folded 
 and his head bent. "I'm a minding all." 
 
 " She wouldn't take a bit o' supper," went on old 
 Matthew. "But that was nothing," he added: "she 
 used to say she had plenty of food here, without 
 eating ours. She sat apart by the fire with one o' 
 the little uns in her lap. She didn't stay over 
 long ; she said the missus might be wanting her, 
 and she left ; and when she was kissing my poor old 
 face, she began sobbing. Robin offered to see her 
 home " 
 
 "And she wouldn't have it," interrupted Robin, 
 looking up for the first time with a wild expression 
 of despair. " She said she had things to get at 
 Mother Duff's, and should stop a bit there, a gos- 
 siping. It'll be on my mind by day and by night, 
 that if I'd went with her, harm couldn't have come." 
 
 " And that was how she left you," pm^sued Mr. 
 Verner. " You did not see her after that ? Y^ou 
 know nothing further of her movements ? " 
 
 "Nothing further," assented Robin. "I watched 
 her down the lane as far as the turning, and that was 
 the last." 
 
 " Did she go to Mrs. Duff's, I wonder ? " asked 
 Mr. Verner. 
 
 Oh, yes ; several of those present could answer 
 that. There w^as the parcel brought up by Dan 
 Duff, as testimony: and, if more had been needed, 
 Mrs. Duff herself had afforded it, for she made one 
 of the crowd outside. 
 
56 verner's pride. 
 
 "We must have Mrs. Duff in," said Mr. Verner. 
 
 Accordingly, Mrs. Duff was brought in. A voluble 
 lady with red hair. Mr. Verner politely asked her 
 to be seated, but she replied that she'd prefer to 
 stand, if 'twas all the same. She was used to 
 standing in her shop, and she couldn't never sit for 
 a minute together when she was upset. 
 
 "Did Eachel Frost pui'chase things of you this 
 evening, Mrs. Duff?" 
 
 " Well, she did, and she didn't," responded Mrs. 
 Duff. "I never calls it purchasing of things, sir, 
 when a customer comes in and says, ' Just cut me 
 off so and so, and send it up.' They be sold of 
 course, if you look at it in that light : but I'm best 
 pleased when buyers examines the goods, and 
 chats a bit over their merits. Susan Peckaby, now, 
 she " 
 
 " What did Eachel Frost buy ? " interrupted Mr. 
 Verner, who knew what Mrs. Duff's tongue was, 
 when it was once set going. 
 
 " She looked in at the shop, sir, while I was a 
 serving little Green with some bone buttons, that 
 her mother had sent her for. ' I want some Irish 
 for aprons, Mrs. Duff,' says she. ' Cut off the 
 proper quantity for a couple, and send it me up 
 some time to-morrow. I'd not give the trouble,' 
 says she, ' but I can't wait to take it now, for I'm 
 in a hurry to get home, and I shall be wanting 
 the aprons.' ' What qualit}- — pretty good ?' said I. 
 ' Oh, you know,' saj^s she : ' about the same that I 
 bought last time. And put in the tape for strings, 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 57 
 
 and a reel of white cotton, No. 30. And I don't 
 mind if you put in a piece of that German ribbon, 
 middling width,' she Avent on. 'It's nicer than tape 
 for nightcaps, and them sort o' things.' And with 
 that, sir, she was turning out again, when her eyes 
 was caught by some lavender prints, as was a hang- 
 ing just in the doorway. Two shades of it, there 
 was, dark and light. ' That's pretty,' says she. ' It's 
 beautiful,' said I : ' they be the sweetest things I 
 have had in, this many a day : and they be the wide 
 width. Won't you take some of it for a gownd ? ' 
 ' No,' says she, ' I'm set up for cotton gownds.' 
 ' Why not buy a bit of it for a apron or two ? ' I said. 
 'Nothing's cleaner than them lavender prints for 
 morning aprons, and they saves the white.' So she 
 looked at it for a minute, and then she said I might 
 cut her off a couple o' yards of the light, and send 
 it up with the other things. Well, sir, Sally Green 
 went away with her buttons, and I took down the 
 light print, thinking I'd cut off the two yards at 
 once. Just then, Susan Peckaby comes in for some 
 grey worsted, and she falls right in love with the 
 print. ' I'll have a gownd of that,' says she, ' and 
 I'll take it now,' In course, sir, I was only too 
 glad to sell it to her, for, like Kachel, she^s good 
 pay ; but when I come to measure it, there was 
 barely nine yards left, which is what Susan Peckaby 
 takes for a gownd, being as tall as a maypole. So I 
 was in a mess : for I couldn't take and sell it all, 
 over EacheFs head, having offered it to her. • 
 ' Perhaps she wouldn't mind having her aprons off 
 
58 verner's pride. 
 
 the dark,' saj^s Susan Peckaby : * it don't matter 
 what colour aprons is of; they're not like gownds.' 
 And then we agreed that 1 should send Dan up here 
 at once to ask her, and Susan Peckaby — who seemed 
 mighty eager to have the print — said she'd wait till 
 he come back. And I cut off the white Irish, and 
 wrapped it up with the tape and things, and sent 
 him." 
 
 " Rachel Frost had left your shop then ? " 
 
 *' She left it, sir, when she told me she'd have 
 some of the lavender print. She didn't stay another 
 minute." 
 
 Eobin Frost lifted his head again. " She said she 
 was going to stop at your place for a bit of a gossip. 
 Mother Duff." 
 
 *' Then she didn't stop," responded that lady. 
 " She never spoke a single word o' gossip, or looked 
 inclined to speak it. She just spoke out short, as if 
 she was in a hurry, and she turned clean out o' the 
 shop afore the words about the lavender print had 
 well left her. Ask Sally Green, if you don't believe 
 me." 
 
 "You did not see which way she took?" observed 
 Mr. Verner. 
 
 "No, sir, I didn't; I was behind my counter. 
 But, for the matter o' that, there was two or three 
 as saw her go out of my shop and take the turning 
 by the pound — which is a good proof she meant to 
 come home here by the field way, for that tiu'ning, 
 as you know, sir, leads to nowhere else." 
 
 Mr. Verner did know it. He also knew — for 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 59 
 
 witnesses had been speaking of it outside — that 
 Eachel had been seen to take that turning after she 
 left Mrs. Duff's shop, and that she was walking with 
 a quick step. 
 
 The next person called in was Master Dan Duff 
 — in a state of extreme consternation at being called 
 in at all. He was planted down in front of Mr. 
 Verner, his legs restless. An idea crossed his brain 
 that they might be going to accuse him of putting 
 Eachel into the pond, and he began to cry. With a 
 good deal of trouble on Mr. Verner' s part, owing to 
 the young gentleman's timidity, and some circum- 
 locution on his own, the facts, so far as Dan was 
 cognisant of them, were drawn forth. It appeared 
 that after he had emerged from the field when he 
 made that slight diversion in pursuit of the running 
 animal, he continued his road, and had gained the 
 lonely part near where the pond was situated, when 
 young Broom, the son of Mr. Verner's gamekeeper, 
 ran up and asked him what was the matter, and 
 whether anybody was in the pond. Broom did not 
 wait for an answer, but went on to the pond, and 
 Dan Duff followed him. Sure enough, Rachel 
 Frost was in it. They knew her by her clothes, as 
 she rose to the surface. Dan Duff, in his terror, 
 went back shrieking to Verner's Pride, and young 
 Broom, more sensibly, ran for heli^ to get her 
 out, 
 
 " How did yomig Broom know, or suspect, there 
 was anybody in the pond ? " questioned Mr. Verner. 
 
 " I dun know, please, sir," sobbed Dan Duff, 
 
60 verner's pride. 
 
 " That was what he said as he runned off to it. He 
 asked me if I had seen any folks about, and I said 
 I'd only seen that 'un in the lane." 
 
 " Whom did jon see in the lane ? " 
 
 *' I dun know who it was, please sir," returned 
 Dan, sniffing greatly. "I wasn't a-nigh him." 
 
 " But you must have been nigh him, if you met 
 him in the lane." 
 
 " Please, sir, I wasn't in the lane then. I had 
 runned into the field after a cat." 
 
 '' After a cat ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, 'twere a cat, I think. But it got 
 away and I didn't find it. I saw somebody 
 a-passing of the gate up the lane, but I warn't 
 quick enough to see who." 
 
 " Going which way ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, up towards here. If I hadn't turned 
 into the field, I should ha' met him face to face. 
 I dun know who it was." 
 
 "Did you hear any noise near the pond, or see any 
 movement in its direction, before you were accosted 
 by Broom ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, no." 
 
 It appeared to be of little use to detain Mr. Duff*. 
 In his stead young Broom was called in. A fine- 
 grown young fellow of nineteen, whose tempera- 
 ment may be indicated b}^ two words — cool and lazy. 
 He was desired to give his own explanation. 
 
 " I was going home for the night, sir," he began, 
 in answer, "when I heard the sound of voices in 
 dispute. They seemed to come from the direction 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 61 
 
 of the grove of trees near the Willow-poncl, and I 
 stayed to listen. I thought perhaps some of the 
 Dawsons and Roy had come to an encounter out 
 there ; but I soon found that one of the voices was 
 that of a woman. Quite a young voice it sounded, 
 and it was broke by sobs and tears. The other 
 voice was a man's." 
 
 " Only two ! Did you recognise them ? " 
 
 " No, sir, I did not recognise them ? I was too far 
 off, maybe. I only made out that it was two — a 
 man's and a woman's. 1 stopped a few minutes, 
 listening, and they seemed to quiet down, and then, 
 as I was going on again, I came up to Mrs. Eoy, 
 She was kneeling down, and " 
 
 " Kneeling down ? " interrupted Mr. Verner. 
 
 " She was kneeling down, sir, with her hands 
 clasped round the trunk of a tree, like one in 
 mortal fright. She laid hold of me then, and I 
 asked what was the matter with her^ and she 
 answered that she had been a'most frightened to 
 death. I asked whether it was at the quarrel, but 
 she only said, ' Hush ! listen ! ' and at last she set 
 on to cry. Just then we heard an awful shriek, and 
 a plunge into the water. ' There goes something 
 into the Willow-pond,' said I, and I was turning to 
 run to it, when Mrs. Roy shrieked out louder than 
 the other shriek had been, and fell flat down on 
 the earth. I never hardly see such a face afore 
 for ghastliness. The moon was shining out full 
 then, and it daunted me to look at her. I thought 
 she was dead — that the fright had killed her. There 
 
62 veener's peide. 
 
 wasn't a bit o' breath in her body, and I raised her 
 head up, not knowing what to do with her. Pre- 
 sently she heaved a sort of sigh, and opened her 
 eyes ; and with that she seemed to recollect herself, 
 and asked what was in the pond. I left her and 
 went off to it, meeting Dan Duff — and we found it 
 was Eachel Frost. Dan, he set on to howl, and 
 wouldn't stay, and I went for the nearest help, 
 and got her out. That's all, sir." 
 
 " Was she already dead ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, wdien you first get a person out of 
 the water it's hard to say whether they be dead or 
 not. She seemed dead, but perhaps if there had 
 been means right at hand, she might have been 
 brought- to again." 
 
 A moan of pain from old Matthew. Mr. Verner 
 continued as it died out : 
 
 " Rachel Frost's voice must have been one of 
 those you heard in dispute ? " 
 
 " Not a doubt of that, sir," replied young Broom. 
 "Any more than that there must have been foul 
 play at work to get her into the pond, or that the 
 other disputing voice must have belonged to the 
 man who did it." 
 
 "Softly, softly," said Mr. Verner. "Did you 
 see any man about ? " 
 
 " I saw nobody at all, sir, saving Dan Duff and 
 Mrs. Eoj^ ; and Rachel's quarrel could not have been 
 with either of them. Whoever the other was, he 
 had made himself scarce." 
 
 Robin Frost took a step forward respectfully. 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. 63 
 
 " Did you mind, sir, that Mother Duff's Dan 
 spoke to seeing some person in the lane ? " 
 
 "I do," replied Mr. Verner. "I should like to 
 ask the boy another question or two upon that 
 point. Call him in, one of you." 
 
 John Massingbird went out and brought back 
 the boy. 
 
 " Mind you have your wits sharp about you 
 this time, Mr. Duff," he remarked. Which piece of 
 advice had the effect of scaring Mr. Duff's wits 
 more completely away than they had been scared 
 before. 
 
 " You tell us that you saw a man pass up the lane 
 w^hen you were in the field after the cat," began 
 Mr. Verner. " Was the man walking fast ? " 
 
 " Please sir, yes. Afore I could get out o' the 
 gate he was near out o' sight. He went a'most as 
 fast as the cat did." 
 
 " How long was it, after you saw him, before you 
 met young Broom, and heard that somebody w^as in 
 the pond ? " 
 
 '^ Please sir, 'twas a'most directly. I was run- 
 ning then, I was." 
 
 As the boy's answer fell upon the room a con- 
 viction stole over most of those collected in it 
 that this man must have been the one who had 
 been heard in dispute with Kachel Frost. 
 
 " Were there no signs about him by which you 
 could recognise him ? " pursued Mr. Verner. "What 
 did he look like ? Was he tall or short ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, he were very tall." 
 
G4 VERNEPv'S PRIDE. 
 
 " Could you see his dress ? Was it like a gen- 
 tleman's or a labourer's ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, I think it looked like a gentleman's 
 — like one o' the gentlemen's at Verner's Pride." 
 
 " Whose ? Like which of the gentlemen's ? " 
 rung out Mr. Verner's voice, sharply and sternly, 
 after a moment's pause of surprise, for he evidently 
 had not expected the answer. 
 
 " Please, sir, I dun know which. The clotlies 
 looked dark, and the man were as tall as the 
 gentlemen, or as Calves." 
 
 " Calves ? " echoed Mr. Yerner, puzzled. 
 
 John Massingbird broke into an involuntary 
 smile. He knew that their tall footman, Bennet, 
 was universally styled " Calves " in the village. 
 Dan Duff probably believed it to be his registered 
 name. 
 
 But Frederick Massingbird was looking dark and 
 threatening. The suspicion hinted at — if you can 
 call it a suspicion — angered him. The villagers 
 were wont to say that Mr. Frederick had ten times 
 more pride than Mr. John. They were not far wrong 
 — Mr. John had none at all. 
 
 " Boy ! " Frederick sternly said, " what grounds 
 have you for saying it was like one of the gen- 
 tlemen ? " 
 
 Dan Duff began to sob. " I dun know who it 
 were," he said ; " indeed I don't. But he were tall, 
 and his clothes looked dark. Please, sir, if you 
 basted me, I couldn't tell no more." 
 
 It was believed that he could not. Mr. Verner 
 
THE TALL GENTLEMAN IN THE LANE. G5 
 
 dismissed liim, and John Massingbird, according to 
 order, went to bring in Mrs. Koy. 
 
 He was some little time before he found her. 
 She was discovered at last in a corner of the 
 steward's room, seated on a low stool, her head bent 
 down on her knees. 
 
 " Now, ma'am," said John, with unwonted polite- 
 ness, "you are being waited for." 
 
 She looked up, startled. She rose from her low^ 
 seat, and began to tremble, her lips moving, her 
 teeth chattering. But no sound came forth. 
 
 " You are not going to your hanging, Dinah 
 Koy," said John Massingbird, by way of consolation, 
 "Mr. Verner is gathering the evidence about this 
 unfortunate business, and it is your turn to go in 
 and state what you know, or saw." 
 
 She staggered back a step or two, and fell against 
 the wall, her face changing to one of livid terror. 
 
 " I — I — saw nothing ! " she gasped. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you did ! Come along ! " 
 
 She put up her hands in a supplicating attitude ; 
 she was on the point of sinking on her knees in her 
 abject fear, when at that moment the stern face of 
 her husband was pushed in at the door. She 
 sprung up as if electrified, and meekly followed 
 John Massingbird. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 DINAH ROY^S " GHOST/' 
 
 The moon, liigh in the heavens, shone down 
 brightl}^ lighting up the fair domain of Yerner's 
 Pride, lighting up the broad terrace, and one T\:ho 
 was hasting along it; all looking as peaceful as 
 if a deed of dark mystery had not that night been 
 committed. 
 
 He, skimming the terrace with a fleet foot, was 
 that domain's recognised heir, Lionel Verner. Tynn 
 and others were standing in the hall, talking in 
 groups, as is the custom with dependents when some- 
 thing unusual and exciting is going on. Lionel ap- 
 peared full of emotion when he burst in upon them, 
 
 "Is it true?" he demanded, speaking impul- 
 sively. " Is Rachel really dead ? " 
 
 " She is dead, sir." 
 
 "Drowned?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, drowned." 
 
 He stood like one confounded. He had heard 
 the news in the village, but this decided confirma- 
 tion of it was as startling as if he now heard it 
 for the first time. A hasty word of feeling, and 
 then he looked again at Tynn. 
 
 " Was it the result of accident ? 
 
DINAH ROy's " GHOST." 67 
 
 Tynn shook his head. 
 
 "It's to be feared it was not, sir. There was 
 a dreadful quarrel heard, it seems, near to the 
 pond, just before it happened. My master is in- 
 quiring into it now, sir, in his stud}^ Mr. Bitter- 
 worth and some more are there." 
 
 Giving his hat to the butler, Lionel Verner 
 opened the study door, and entered. It was at 
 that precise moment when John Massingbird had 
 gone out for Mrs. Hoy; so that, as may be said, 
 there was a lull in the proceedings. 
 
 Mr. Verner looked glad when Lionel appeared. 
 The ageing man, enfeebled with sickness, had 
 grown to lean on the strong young intellect. As 
 much as it was in Mr. Verner's nature to love any- 
 thing, he loved Lionel. He beckoned him to a 
 chair beside himself. . 
 
 "Yes, sir, in an instant," nodded Lionel. 
 *' Matthew," he whispered, laying his hand kindly 
 on the old man's shoulder as he passed, and 
 bending down to him with his sympathising eyes, 
 his pleasant voice, " I am grieved for this as if it 
 had been my own sister. Believe me." 
 
 " I know it ; I know you, Mr. Lionel," was the 
 faint answer. " Don't unman me, sir, afore 'em 
 here ; leave me to myself." 
 
 With a pressure of his hand on the shoulder ere 
 he quitted it, Lionel turned to Frederick Massing- 
 bird, asking of him particulars in an undertone. 
 
 " I don't know them myself," replied Frederick, 
 his accent a haughty one. " There seems to be 
 
 f2 
 
G8 VERNEP/S PEIDE. 
 
 nothing but uncertainty and mysteiy. Mr. Yerner 
 ought not to have inquired into it in this semi- 
 pubhc way. Very disagreeable things have been 
 said, I assure you : there was not the least necessity 
 for allowing such absurdities to go forth, as sus- 
 picions, to the public. You have not been running 
 from the Willow-pond at a strapping pace, I suppose, 
 to-night ? " 
 
 " That I certainty have not," replied Lionel. 
 
 " Neither has John, I am sure," returned 
 Frederick, resentfully. " It is not likely. And 
 yet that boy of Mother Duff's " 
 
 The words were interrupted. The door had 
 opened, and John Massingbird appeared, marshal- 
 ling in Dinah Koy. Dinah looked fit to die, with 
 her ashy face and her trembling frame. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Yerner. 
 
 The woman burst into tears. 
 
 *' Oh, sir, I don't know nothmg of it ; I protest 
 I don't," she uttered. " I declare that I never set 
 eyes on Kachel Frost this blessed night." 
 
 " But 3'ou were near the spot at the time ? " 
 
 " Oh, bad luck to me, I was ! " she answered, 
 wringing her hands. "But I know no more how 
 she got into the water nor a child unborn." 
 
 " Where's the necessity for being put out about 
 it, my good woman ? " spoke up Mr. Bitterworth. 
 " If you know nothing, you can't tell it. But you 
 must state what you do know — why yen were there, 
 what startled you, and such like. Perhaps — if she 
 
DINAH ROY'S " GHOST." 69 
 
 were to have a chair ? " he suggested to Mr. 
 Yerner in a whisper. " She looks too shaky to 
 stand." 
 
 " A}'," acquiesced Mr. Verner. " Somebod}' bring 
 forward a chair. Sit down, Mrs. Ro}-." 
 
 jMrs. Roy obeyed. One of those harmless, well- 
 meaning, timid women, who seem not to possess 
 ten ideas of their own, and are content to submit to 
 others, she had often been seen in a shaky state 
 from very trifling causes. But she had never been 
 seen like this. The perspiration was pouring off 
 her pinched face, and her blue check apron was 
 incessantly raised to wipe it. 
 
 " AVhat errand had you near the Willow-pond this 
 evening ? " asked Mr. Verner. 
 
 "I didn't see anj-thing," she gasped, "I don't 
 know anything. As true as I sit here, sir, I never 
 saw Eachel Frost this blessed evening." 
 
 " I am not asking j^ou about Rachel Frost. Were 
 you near the spot ? " 
 
 " Yes. But " 
 
 "Then you can say what errand you had there; 
 what business took you to it," continued Mr. 
 Yerner. 
 
 " It was no harm took me, sir. I went to get a 
 dish o' tea with Martha Broom. Many's the time 
 she have asked me since Christmas; and my 
 husband, he was out with the Dawsons and all 
 that bother; and Luke, he's gone, and there was 
 nothing to keep me at home. I changed my gownd 
 and I went." 
 
70 verner's pride. 
 
 " What time was that ? '' 
 
 " Twas the middle o' the afternoon, sir. The 
 clock had gone three." 
 
 " Did you stay tea there ? " 
 
 " In course, sir, I did. Broom, he was out, and 
 she was at home by herself a rinsing out some 
 things. But she soon put 'em away, and we sat 
 down and had our teas together. We was a talking 
 about " 
 
 "Never mind that," said Mr. Verner. "It was 
 in coming home, I conclude, that you were met by 
 young Broom." 
 
 Mrs. Roy raised her apron again, and passed it 
 over her face : but not a word spoke she in answer. 
 
 "What time did you leave Broom's cottage to 
 return home ? " 
 
 " I can't be sure, sir, what time it was. Broom's 
 haven't got no clock : they tells the time by the 
 sun." 
 
 " Was it dark ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it was dark, sir : except for the moon. 
 That had been up a good bit, for I hadn't hurried 
 myself." 
 
 "And what did you see or hear, when you got 
 near the Willow-pond ? " 
 
 The question sent Mrs. Roy into fresh tears ; into 
 fresh tremor. 
 
 " I never saw nothing," she reiterated. " The 
 last time I set eyes on Rachel Frost was at chui'ch 
 on Sunday." 
 
 " What is the matter with you ? " cried Mr. Verner 
 
DINAH ROY's " GHOST." 7l 
 
 with asperity. " Do you mean to deny that any- 
 thing had occurred to put you in a state of 
 agitation, when you were met by young Broom ? " 
 
 Mrs. Roy only moaned. 
 
 " Did you hear people quarrelling ? " he persisted. 
 
 " I heard people quarrelling," she sobbed. " I 
 did. But I never saw, no more than the dead, who 
 it was." 
 
 " Whose voices were they ? " 
 
 "How can I tell, sir? I wasn't near enough. 
 There were two voices, a man's and a woman^s ; 
 but I couldn't catch a single word, and it did not 
 last long. I declare, if it were the last word I had 
 to. speak, that I heard no more of the quarrel 
 than that, and I wasn't no nearer to it." 
 
 She really did seem to speak the truth, in spite of 
 her shrinking fear, which was evident to all. Mr. 
 Verner inquired, with incredulity equally evident, 
 whether that was sufficient to put her into the state 
 of tremor spoken of by young Broom. 
 
 Mrs. Boy hung her head. 
 
 " I'm timid at quarrels, 'specially if it's at night,' 
 she faintly answered. 
 
 " And was it just the hearing of that quarrel that 
 made you sink down on your knees, and clasp hold 
 of a tree ? " continued Mr. Verner. Upon which 
 Mrs. Roy let fall her head on her hands, and sobbed 
 piteously. 
 
 Robin Frost interrupted, sarcasm in his tone — 
 " There's a tale going on, outside, that you saw a 
 ghost, and it was " that as frighted you," he said 
 
72 verxer's pride. 
 
 to her. " Perhaps, sir," — turning to Mr. Verner 
 — " you'll ask her whose ghost it was." 
 
 This appeared to put the finishing touch to Mrs. 
 Eoy's discomfiture. Nothing could be made of her 
 for a few minutes. Presentl}^ her agitation some- 
 what subsided ; she lifted her head, and spoke as 
 with a desperate effort. 
 
 " It's true," she said. " I'll make a clean breast 
 of it. I did see a ghost, and it was that as upset 
 me so. It wasn't the quarrelling frighted me : I 
 thought nothing of that." 
 
 " What do you mean by sajdng you saw a ghost ? " 
 sharply reproved Mr. Verner. 
 
 "It was a ghost, sir," she answered, apparently 
 picking up a little courage, now the subject was 
 fairly entered upon. 
 
 A pause ensued. Mr. Verner may have been at 
 a loss what to say next. When deliberately assured 
 by any timorous spirit that they have "seen a ghost," 
 it is waste of time to enter an opposing argument. 
 
 " Wliere did you see the ghost ? " he asked. 
 
 " I had stopped still, listening to the quarrelling, 
 sir. But that soon came to an end, for I heard 
 no more, and I went on a few steps, and then I 
 stopped to listen again. Just as I turned my head 
 towards the grove, where the quarrelling had seemed 
 to be, I saw something a few paces from me that 
 made my flesh creep. A tall, white thing it looked, 
 whiter than the moonlight. I knew it could be 
 nothing but a ghost, and my knees sunk down from 
 under me, and I laid hold o' the trunk o' the tree." 
 
DINAH Roy's "ghost." 73 
 
 ''Perhaps it was a death's head and bones?" cried 
 John Massingbird. 
 
 "Maybe, sir," she answered. "That, or some- 
 thing worse. It glided through the trees with its 
 great eyes staring at me ; and I felt ready to die." 
 
 "Was it a man's or a woman's ghost?" asked 
 Mr. Bitterworth, a broad smile upon his face. 
 
 " Couldn't have been a woman's, sir ; 'twas too 
 tall," was the sobbing answer. " A great tall thing 
 it looked, like a white shadder. I wonder I be 
 alive ! " 
 
 " So do I," irascibly cried Mr. Verner. " Which 
 way was it going ? Towards the village, or in this 
 direction ? " 
 
 " Not in either of 'em, sir. It glided right off at 
 a angle amid the trees." 
 
 " And it was that — that folly, that put you into 
 the state of tremor in which Broom found you ? " 
 said Mr. Verner. " It was nothing else ? " 
 
 " I declare, before Heaven, that it was what I 
 saw as put me into the fright young Broom found 
 me in," she repeated, earnest^. 
 
 " But if you were so silly as to be alarmed for the 
 moment, why do you continue to show alarm still ? " 
 
 " Because my husband says he'll shake me," 
 she whimpered, after a long pause. " He never has 
 no patience with ghosts." 
 
 " Serve you right," was the half-audible comment 
 of Mr. Verner. " Is this all you know of the affair ? " 
 he continued, after a pause. 
 
 " It's all, sir," she sobbed. " And enough too 
 
74 verner's pride. 
 
 There's only one thing as I shall be for ever 
 thankful for." 
 
 " What's that ? " asked Mr. Verner. 
 
 " That my poor Lul^e was away afore this hap- 
 ]3ened. He was fond of hankering after Rachel, 
 and folks might have been for laying it on his 
 shoulders ; though, goodness knows, he'd not have 
 hurt a hair of her head." 
 
 "At any rate, he is out of it," observed John 
 Massingbird. 
 
 " Ay," she replied, in a sort of self-soliloquy, as 
 she turned to leave the room, for Mr. Verner told 
 her she was dismissed, " it'll be a corn o' comfort 
 amid my peck o' troubles. I have fretted myself 
 incessant since Luke left, a thinking as I could 
 never know comfort again ; but perhaps it's all for 
 the best now, as he should ha' went." 
 
 She curtseyed, and the door was closed upon her. 
 Her evidence left an unsatisfactory feeling beliind it. 
 
 An impression had gone forth that Mrs. Roy could 
 throw some light upon the obscurity ; and, as it 
 turned out, she had thrown none. The greater part 
 of those present gave credence to what she said. 
 All believed the " ghost " to have been pui'e imagi- 
 nation ; knowing the woman's proneness to the 
 marvellous, and her timid temperament. But, upon 
 one or two there remained a strong conviction that 
 Mrs. Roy had not told the whole truth; that she 
 could have said a great deal more about the night's 
 work, had she chosen to do so. 
 
 No other testimony was forthcoming. The cries 
 
DINAH ROY S " GHOST. / O 
 
 and shouts of young Broom, when he saw the body 
 in the water, had succeeded in arousing some men 
 who slept at the distant brick-kihis ; and the tidings 
 soon spread, and crowds flocked up. These crowds 
 were eager to pour into Mr. Verner's room now, 
 and state all they knew, which was precisely the 
 evidence not required ; but, of further testimony to 
 the facts, there was none. 
 
 " More may come out prior to the inquest ; there's 
 no knowing," observed Mr. Bitterworth, as the gen- 
 tlemen stood in a group, before separating. " It is a 
 very dreadful thing ; demanding the most searching 
 investigation. It is not lil^ely she would throw 
 herself in." 
 
 " A well-conducted girl like Kachel Frost throw^ 
 herself wilfully into a pond for the purpose of 
 drowning!" indignantly repeated Mr. Verner. "She 
 would be one of the last to do it." 
 
 " And equally one of the last to be thrown in," 
 said Dr. West. " Young women do not get thrown 
 into ponds without some cause ; and I should think 
 few ever gave less cause for maltreatment of any 
 kind than she. It appears most strange to me with 
 whom she could have been quarrelling — if indeed it 
 was Rachel that was quarrelling." 
 
 "It is all strange together," cried Lionel Verner. 
 " What took Rachel that way at all, by night 
 time ? " 
 
 " What indeed ! " echoed Mr. Bitterworth. 
 "Unless " 
 
 '' Unless what ? " asked Mr. Verner ; for Mr. 
 
76 verner's pride. 
 
 Bitterworth had bronglit his words to a sudden 
 standstill. 
 
 " AVell, I was going to saj^ unless she had an 
 appointment there. But that does not appear 
 probable for Ptachel Frost." 
 
 "It is barely possible, let alone probable," was 
 the retort of Mr. Verner. 
 
 " But still, in a case like this, every circumstance 
 must be looked at, ever}^ trifle weighed," resumed 
 Mr. Bitterworth. " Does Eachel's own conduct 
 appear to you to have been perfect^ open ? She 
 has been indulging, it would seem, in some secret 
 grief latterly ; has been, ' strange,' as one or two 
 have expressed it. " Then, again, she stated to her 
 brother that she was going to stay at Duffs for a 
 gossip, whereas the woman says she had evidently 
 no intention of gossiping, and barely gave herself 
 time to order the articles sj^oken of. Other wit- 
 nesses observed her leave Duffs, and walk with a 
 hasty step direct to the field road, and turn down 
 it. All this does not sound quite cle^ir to me." 
 
 " There was one thmg sounded not clear to me," 
 broke in Lionel, abrupth^ " and that was Dinah 
 Roy's evidence. The woman's half a fool; other- 
 wise I should think she was purposely deceiving 
 us." 
 
 " A i)ity but she could see a real ghost ! " cried 
 John Massingbird, lookmg inclined to laugh. "It 
 might cure her for fancy ones. She's right in one 
 thing, however : that poor Luke might have got this 
 clapped on to his shoulders had he been here." 
 
DINAH EOY'S "ghost." 77 
 
 " Scarcely," dissented Dr. West. ''Luke Eoy is 
 too inoffensive to harm any one, least of all a woman, 
 and Kacliel ; and that the whole parish knows." 
 
 " There's no need to discuss Luke's name in the 
 business," said Mr. Verner: "he is far enough awa}-. 
 Whoever the man may have been, it was not Luke," 
 he ei:uphatically added. " Luke would have been 
 the one to succour Rachel, not to hurt her." 
 
 Not a soul present but felt that Mr. Verner spoke 
 in strict accordance with the facts, known and pre- 
 sumptive. They must look in another quarter than 
 Luke for Rachel's assailant. 
 
 Mr. Verner glanced at Mr. Bitterworth and Dr. 
 West, then at the three young men before him. 
 
 " We are amongst friends," he observed, address- 
 ing the latter. " I would ask you, individually, 
 whether it was one of you that the boy, Duff, spoke 
 of as being in the lane ? " 
 
 They positively disclaimed it, each one for him- 
 self. Each one mentioned that he had been else- 
 where at the time ; and where he had been. 
 
 " You see," said Mr. Verner, " the lane leads only 
 to Verner's Pride." 
 
 " But by leaping a fence anywhere, or a gate, or 
 brealdng through a hedge, it may lead all over the 
 country," observed Frederick Massingbird. " You 
 forget that, sir." 
 
 " No, Frederick, I do not forget it. But unless 
 a man had busmess at Verner's Pride, what should 
 he go into the lane for ? On emerging from the 
 field on this side the Willow-pond, any one, not bound 
 
78 verner's I'Ride. 
 
 for Verner's Pride, would take the common path to 
 the right hand, oi:)en to all ; only in case of wanting 
 to come here would he take the lane. You cannot 
 suppose for a moment that I suspect any one of you 
 has had a hand in this unhappy event ; but it was 
 right that I should be assured, from your own lips, 
 that you were not the person spoken of by young 
 Duff." 
 
 " It may have been a stranger to the neighbour- 
 hood, sii'. In that case he would not know that the 
 lane led only to Verner's Pride." 
 
 " True — so far. But what stranger would be 
 likely to quarrel with Bachel ? " 
 
 " Egad, if you come to that, sir, a stranger's more 
 likely to pick a quarrel with her than one of us," 
 rejoined John Massingbird. 
 
 " It was no stranger," said Mr. Verner, shakuig 
 his head. " We do not quarrel with strangers. 
 Had any stranger accosted Rachel at night, in that 
 lonely spot, with rude words, she would natm^illy 
 have called out for help : which it is certain she did 
 not do, or young Broom and Mrs. Pvoy must have 
 heard her. Bely upon it, that man in the lane is 
 the one we must look for." 
 
 " But where to look ? " debated Frederick Mas- 
 singbird. 
 
 " There it is ! The inference would be that he 
 was coming to Verner's Pride ; being on its direct 
 way and nearly close upon it. But, the only tall 
 men (as the hoj describes) at Verner's Pride, are 
 you three and Bennet. Bennet was at home, there- 
 
DINAH ROY S " GHOST.' 79 
 
 fore he is exempt ; and you were scattered in diffe- 
 rent directions — Lionel at Mr. Bitterworth's, John 
 at the Royal Oak — I wonder you like to make your- 
 self familiar with those tap -rooms, John ! — and 
 Frederick coming in from Poynton's to his dinner." 
 
 " I don't think I had been in ten minutes when 
 the alarm came," remarked Frederick. 
 
 " Well, it is involved in mystery at present," cried 
 Mr. Bitterworth, shaking hands with them. " Let 
 us hope that to-morrow will open more light upon 
 it ? Are you on the wing, too, doctor ? Then we^ll 
 go out together." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 , THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST. 
 
 To say that Deerliam was rudely disturbed from 
 its equanimity ; that petty animosities, whether 
 concerning Mr. Eoy and the Dawsons or other con- 
 tending spirits, were lost sight of, hushed to rest in 
 the absorbing calamity which had overtaken Rachel; 
 to say that occupations were partial!}^ suspended, 
 that there ensued a glorious interim of idleness, for 
 the female portion of it, — of conferences in gutters 
 and collectings in houses ; to say that Rachel was 
 sincerely mourned, old Frost sympathised with, and 
 the supposed assailant vigorously sought after, 
 would be sufficient to indicate that public cmiosity 
 was excited to a high pitch : but all this was as 
 nothing, compared to the excitement which was to 
 ensue, upon the evidence given at the coroner's 
 inquest. 
 
 In the absence of any certain data to go upon, 
 Deerham had been content to take uncertain data, 
 and to come to its own conclusions. Deerham 
 assumed that Rachel, from some reasons which 
 they could not fathom, had taken the lonely road 
 home that night, had met with somebody or other 
 with whom had ensued a quarrel and scuffle, and 
 
THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST. 81 
 
 that, accidentally or by intent, she had been pushed 
 into the pond, the coward decamping. 
 
 " Villany enough ! even if 'twas but an accident ! " 
 cried Avrathful Deerham. 
 
 Villany enough, beyond all doubt, had this been 
 the extent. But, Deerham had to learn that the 
 villany had had a beginning previous to that. 
 
 The inquest had been summoned in due course. 
 It sat two days after the accident. No evidence, 
 tending to further elucidate the matter, was given, 
 than had been elicited that first night before Mr. 
 Verner; except the medical evidence. Dr. West 
 and a surgeon from a neighbouring town, who had 
 jointly made the post mortem examination, testified 
 that there was a cause for Rachel Frost's uneven- 
 ness of spirits, spoken to by her father and by 
 Mrs. Verner. She might possibly, they now 
 thought, have thrown herself into the pool; in- 
 duced to it by self-condemnation. 
 
 It electrified Deerham. It electrified Mr. 
 Verner. It worse than electrified Matthew Frost 
 and Robin. In the first impulse of the news, 
 Mrs. Verner declared that it could not he. But the 
 medical men, with their impassive faces, calmly said 
 that it ivas. 
 
 But, so far as the inquiry went, it only left the 
 point where it found it. For, if it tended to 
 induce a suspicion that Rachel might have found 
 life a burthen, and so wished to end it, it only 
 rendered stronger the suspicion against another. 
 This supplied the very motive for that other's 
 
 VOL. I, O 
 
B2 verner's pride. 
 
 conduct, whicli had been wanting, supposing that 
 he had indeed got rid of her by violence. It gave 
 the clue to much which had before been dark. 
 People could understand now why Ilachel should 
 hasten to keep a stealthy appointment; why 
 quarrelling should be heard at it ; in short, why 
 poor Kachel should have been found in the pond. 
 The jury returned an open verdict — " Found 
 drowned; but how she got into the water, there 
 is no precise evidence to show." 
 
 Kobin Frost struggled out of the room as the 
 crowd was dispersing. His eye was blazing, his 
 cheek burning. Could Kobin ha^ laid his hand 
 at that moment upon the right man, there would 
 speedily have ensued another coroner's inquest. 
 The earth was not wide enough for the two to live 
 on it. Fortunately, Kobin could not fix on any one, 
 and say, Thou art the man ! The knowledge was 
 hidden from him. And yet, the very man may 
 have been at the inquest, side by side with himself. 
 Nay, he probably zvas. 
 
 Kobin Frost cleared himself fi'om the crowd. 
 He gave vent to a groan of despair; he lifted his 
 strong arms in impotency. Then he turned and 
 sought Mr. Verner. 
 
 Mr. Verner was ill; could not be seen. Lionel 
 came forward. 
 
 " Kobin, I am truly sorry ; — truly grieved. 
 We all are. But I know ^''ou will not ^are to-day 
 to hear me say it." 
 
 " Sii', I wanted to see Mr. Verner," replied Kobin. 
 
THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST. 83 
 
 " I want to know if that inquest can be squashed." 
 Don't laugh at him now, poor fellow. He meant 
 quashed. 
 
 " The inquest quashed ! " repeated Lionel. " Of 
 course it cannot be. I don't know what you mean, 
 Eobin. It has been held, and it cannot be unheld." 
 
 "I should ha' said the verdict," explained Robin. 
 " I'm beside mj^self to-day, Mr. Lionel. Can't Mr. 
 Verner get it squashed ? He knows the crowner." 
 
 " Neither Mr. Verner nor anybody else could 
 do it, Robin. Why should you wish it done ? " 
 
 ^'Because it as good as sets forth a lie," vehe- 
 mently answered Robin Frost. " She never put 
 herself into the water. Bad as things had turned 
 out with her, poor dear, she never did that. 
 Mr. Lionel, I ask you, sir, was she likely to 
 do it ? " 
 
 " I should have deemed it very unlikely," re- 
 plied Lionel. " Until to-da}^," he added to his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 '' No, she never did ! Was it the work of one to 
 go and buy herself aprons, and tape, and cotton 
 for sewing, who was on her way to fling herself 
 into a pond, I'd ask the crowner?" he continued, 
 his voice rising almost to a shriek in his emotion. 
 " Them aprons be a proof that she didn't take her 
 own life. Why didn't they bring it in Wilful 
 Murder, and have the place scoured out to find 
 him ? " • 
 
 " The verdict will make no difference to the 
 
 finding him, Robin," returned Lionel Verner. 
 
 g2 
 
84 verner's pride. 
 
 " I dun know that, sii\ When a charge of wilful 
 murder's out in a place, again some one of the 
 folks in it, the rest be all on the edge to find him : 
 but * Found drownded ' is another thing. Have 
 you any suspicion again anybody, sir ? " 
 
 He put the question sharply and abruptly', and 
 Lionel Verner looked full in his face as he 
 answered. " No, Robin." 
 '' Well, good afternoon, sir." 
 
 He turned away without another word. Lionel 
 gazed after him with true sympathy. " He will 
 never recover this bloTv," was Lionel Verner' s 
 mental comment. ^ 
 
 But for this unfortunate occmTence, John Mas- 
 singbird would have already departed from Verner's 
 Pride. The great bane of the two Massing- 
 birds was, that they had been brought up to be idle 
 men. A sum of money had become theirs when 
 Frederick came of age — which sum you will call 
 large or small, as it may please you. It would be 
 as a drop of water to the millionaire ; it would 
 be as a countless fortune to one in the depths of 
 povert}^ : we estimate things by comparison. The 
 sum was five thousand pounds each — Mrs. Massing- 
 bird, by her second marriage with Mr. Verner, 
 having forfeited all right in it. With this sum 
 the young Massingbiixls appeared to think that they 
 could live as gentlemen, and need not seek to add 
 to it. 
 
 Thrown into the luxurious home of Verner's 
 Pride — again we must speak by comparison : 
 
THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST. 85 
 
 Yerner's Pride was luxurious compared to the 
 moderate home they had been reared in — John and 
 Frederick Massingbird suffered that worst complaint 
 of all complaints, indolence, to overtake them and 
 become their master. John, careless, free, unsteady 
 in many ways, set on to spend his portion as fast as 
 he could ; Frederick, more cold, more cautious, did 
 not squander as his brother did, but he had 
 managed to get rid of a considerable amount of his 
 0A\ai share in unfortunate speculations. While 
 losses do not affect our personal convenience they 
 are scarcely felt. And so it was with the Massing- 
 birds. Mr. Verner was an easy man in regard to 
 money matters; he was also a man who was 
 j)articularly sensitive to the feelings of other people, 
 and he had never breathed a word to his wife about 
 the inexpediency^ of her keeping her sons at home 
 in idleness. He feared his motives might be mis- 
 construed — that it might be thought he grudged the 
 keeping them. He had spoken once or twice of the 
 desirability of their pursuing some calling in life, 
 and intimated that he should be ready to further 
 their view^s by pecuniary help ; but the advice was 
 not taken. He offered to purchase a commission 
 for one or both of them ; he hinted that the bar 
 afforded a stepping-stone to fame. No ; John and 
 Frederick Massingbird were conveniently deaf ; they 
 had grown addicted to field-sports, to a life of leisure, 
 and they did not feel inclined to quit it for one of 
 obligation or of labour. So they had stayed on at 
 Verner's Pride in the enjoyment of their comfortable 
 
8G vePwNer's pride. 
 
 quarters, of the well-spread table, of tlieii' horses, 
 their dogs. All these sources of expense were 
 provided without any cost or concern of theirs, their 
 own private expenditure alone coming out of their 
 private purses. How it was with their clothes, they 
 and Mrs. Verner best knew — Mr. Verner did not. 
 Whether these were furnished at their own cost, or 
 whether their mother allowed them to draw for such 
 on her — or, indeed, whether they were scoring up 
 long bills on account — Mr. Verner made it no 
 concern of his. 
 
 John — who was naturally of a roving nature, and 
 but for the desirable home he was allowed to call 
 his, would probably have been all over the world 
 before he was his present age, working in his shii't- 
 sleeves for bread one d^j, exalted to some transient 
 luck the next — had latterl}^ taken a fancy in his 
 head to emigrate to Australia. Certain friends of 
 his had gone out there a year or two i:)reviously, 
 and were sending home flaming accounts of their 
 success at the gold-fields. It excited in John 
 Massingbu'd a strong wish to join them. Possibly 
 other circumstances urged him to the step ; for, 
 that his finances were not in so desirable a state as 
 they might be, was certain. With John ]\Iassing- 
 bird, to wish a thing was to do it ; and almost before 
 the plan was spoken of, even in his own family, he 
 was ready to start. Frederick was in his confidence, 
 Lionel partly so, and a hint to his mother was 
 sufficient to induce her to preserve reticence on the 
 subject, John Massingbird had his reasons for 
 
THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST. 87 
 
 this. It was announced in the household that Mr. 
 Massingbird was departing on a visit to town, the 
 only one who was told the truth being Eachel Frost. 
 Rachel was looked upon almost as one of them- 
 selves. Frederick Massingbird had also confided it 
 to Sibylla West — but Frederick and Sibylla were on 
 more confidential terms than was suspected b}^ the 
 world. John had made a confidant on his own 
 score, and that was of Luke Roy. Luke, despised 
 by Rachel, whom he truly loved, clearly seeing there 
 was no hope whatever that she would ever favour 
 him, was eager to get away from Deerham — any- 
 where, so that he might forget her. John Massing- 
 bird knew this* he liked Luke, and he thought 
 Luke might prove useful to him in the land to which 
 he was emigrating, so he proposed to him to join in 
 the scheme. Luke warmly embraced it. Old Roy, 
 whom they were obliged to take into confidence, was 
 won over to it ; he furnished Luke with the needful 
 funds, believing he should be repaid four -fold, for 
 John Massingbird had contrived to imbue him with 
 the firm conviction that gold was to be j^icked up 
 for the stooping. 
 
 Only three days before the tragic event occurred 
 to Rachel, Luke had been despatched to London by 
 John Massingbird to put things in a train of 
 preparation for the voyage. Luke said nothing 
 abroad of his going, and the village onl}^ knew he 
 was away by missing him. 
 
 "What's gone of Luke?" many asked of his 
 father. 
 
88 verner's pride. 
 
 '' Oh, he's off to London on some spree ; he can 
 tell ye about it when he gets back," was Roy's 
 answer. 
 
 When he got back ! John's departure was 
 intended for the day following that one when you 
 saw him packing his clothes, but the untimely end 
 of Rachel had induced him to postpone it. Or. 
 rather, the command of Llr. Vemer, — a command 
 which John could not conveniently disobey, had he 
 wished. He had won over J\Ir. Verner to promise 
 him a substantial sum, to " set him up," as he 
 phrased it, in Australia ; and that sum was not yet 
 handed to him. 
 
CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 robin's vow. 
 
 The revelation at the inquest had affected Mr. 
 Verner in no measured degree, greatly increasing, 
 for the time, his bodily ailments. He gave orders 
 to be denied to all callers ; he could not bear the 
 comments that wo'uld be made. An angry, feverish 
 desire, to find out who had played the traitor, grew 
 strong within him. Innocent, pretty, child-like 
 Rachel ! who was it that had set himself, in his 
 wickedness, deliberately to destroy her ? Mr. 
 Verner now deemed it more than likely that she had 
 been the author of her own death. It was of course 
 impossible to tell : but he dwelt on that part of the 
 tragedy less than on the other. The one injury was 
 uncertain ; the other was a fact. 
 
 What rendered it all the more obscure, was the 
 absence of any previous grounds of suspicion. 
 Rachel had never been observed to be on terms of 
 intimacy with any one. Luke Roy had been 
 anxious to court her, as Verner' s Pride knew ; but 
 Rachel had utterly repudiated the wish. Luke it 
 was not. And, who else was there ? 
 
 The suspicions of Mr. Verner veered, almost 
 against his will, towards those of his own household. 
 
90 verner's pride. 
 
 Not to Lionel ; he honestly believed Lionel to be 
 too highly principled : but towards his step-sons. 
 Pie had no particular cause to suspect either of 
 them : unless the testimony of Mrs. Duff's son 
 about the tall gentleman could furnish it : and it 
 may be said that his suspicion strayed to them only 
 from the total absence of any other quarter to fix it 
 upon. Of the two, he could rather fix upon John, 
 than Frederick. No scandal, touching Frederick, 
 had ever reached his ears : plenty of it touching 
 John. In fact, Mr. Yerner was rather glad to help 
 in shipping John off to some far-away place, for he 
 considered him no credit to Verner's Pride, or benefit 
 to the neighbourhood. Venial sins sat lightly on the 
 conscience of John Massingbird. 
 
 But this was no venial sin, no case of passing 
 scandal: and Mr. Verner declared to that gentle- 
 man that if he found him guilty, he would discard 
 him from Verner's Pride without a shilling of help. 
 John Massingbird protested, in the strongest terms, 
 that he was innocent as Mr. Verner himself. 
 
 A trifling addition was destined to be brought 
 to the suspicion abeady directed by Mr. Verner 
 towards Verner's Pride. On the night of the 
 inquest Mr. Verner had his dinner served m his 
 study — the wing of a fowl, of which he ate about a 
 fourth part. Mrs. Tynn attended on him : he hked 
 her to do so when he was worse than usual. He 
 was used to her, and he would talk to her when he 
 would not to others. He spoke about what had 
 happened, saying that he felt as if it would shorten 
 
robin's vow. 01 
 
 his life. He would give anything, he added, half in 
 self- soliloquy, to have the point cleared up of who it 
 was young Duff had seen in the lane. Mrs. Tynn 
 answered this, lowering her voice. 
 
 " It was one of our young gentlemen, sir ; there's 
 no douht of it. Dolly saw one of them come in." 
 
 "Dolly did ! " echoed Mr. Verner. 
 
 Mrs. Tynn proceeded to explain. Dolly, the 
 dairymaid at Verner's Pride, was ill- conducted 
 enough (as Mrs. Tynn would tell her, for the fact 
 did not give that ruling matron pleasure) to have a 
 sweetheart. Worse still, Dolly was in the habit of 
 stealing out to meet him when he left work, which 
 was at eight o'clock. On the evening of the acci- 
 dent, Dolly, abandoning her dairy, and braving the 
 wrath of Mrs. Tynn, should she be discovered, stole 
 out to a sheltered spot in the rear of the house, the 
 usual meeting-place. Scarcely was she ensconced 
 here when the swain arrived ; who, it ma}^ be 
 remarked, en loassant, filled the important post of 
 waggoner to Mr. Bitterworth. The spot was close 
 to the small green gate which led to the lane 
 already spoken of ; it led to that only ; and, while 
 he and Dolly were talking and making love, after 
 their own rustic fashion, they saw Dan Duff come 
 from the direction of the house, and pass through 
 the gate, whistling. A short while subsequently 
 the gate was heard to open again. Dolly looked out, 
 and saw what she took to be one of the gentlemen 
 come in, from the lane, walking very fast. Dolly 
 looked but casually, the moonlight was obscured 
 
92 verner's pride. 
 
 there, and she did not particularly notice ivhich of 
 them it was ; whether Mr. Lionel, or either of Mrs. 
 Verner's sons. But the impression received into her 
 mind was, that it was one of the three ; and Dolh* 
 could not be persuaded out of that to this very day. 
 
 "Hush — sh — sh!" cried she to her sweetheart, 
 "it's one o' the young masters." 
 
 The quick steps j)^ssed on : but whether they 
 turned into the yard, or took the side path which 
 would conduct round to the front entrance, or bore 
 right across, and so went out into the public road, 
 Dolly did not notice. Very shortly after this — time 
 passes swiftty when people are courting, of which 
 fact the Italians have a proverb — Dan Duff came 
 bursting back again, calling, and crying, and telling 
 the tidings of Rachel Frost. This was the substance 
 of what Mrs. Tynn told Mr. Verner. 
 
 " Dolly said nothing of this before ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Not she, sir. She didn't dare confess that she'd 
 been off all that while from her dair}^ She let drop 
 a word, and I have got it out of her piecemeal. I 
 have threatened her, sir, that if ever she mentions 
 it again, I'll get her turned off." 
 
 *' Why did you threaten her ? " he hastily asked. 
 
 Mrs. Tynn dropped her voice. "I thought it 
 might not be pleasant to have it talked of, sir. She 
 thinks I'm only afraid of the neglect of work getting 
 to the ears of Mrs. Verner." 
 
 This was the trifling addition. Not very much 
 in itself, but it served to bear out the doubts Mr. 
 Verner already entertained. Was it John or was it 
 
robin's vow. i)3 
 
 Frederick wlio had come in ? Or was it — Lionel ? 
 There appeared to be no more certainty that it 
 was one than another. Mr. Verner had minutely 
 inquired into the proceedings of John and Frederick 
 Massingbird that night, and he had come to the 
 conclusion that both could have been in the lane 
 at that particular hour. Frederick, previously to 
 entering the house for his dinner, after he had left 
 the veterinary surgeon's, Poynton ; John, before he 
 paid his visit to the Koyal Oak. John appeared to 
 have called in at several places, and his account 
 was not particularly clear. Lionel, Mr. Yerner had 
 not thought it necessary to question. He sent for 
 him as soon as his dinner-tray was cleared away : 
 it was as well to be indisputably sure of him before 
 fastening the charge on either of the others. 
 
 " Sit down, Lionel," said Mr. Yerner. " I want 
 to talk to you. Had you finished your dinner ? " 
 
 " Quite, thank you. You look very ill to-night," 
 Lionel added, as he drew a chair to the fire ; and 
 his tone insensibly became gentle, as he gazed on 
 his uncle's pale face. 
 
 " How can I look otherwise ? This trouble is 
 worrying me to death. Lionel, I have discovered, 
 beyond doubt, that it was one of you young men 
 who was in the lane that night." 
 
 Lionel, who was then leaning over the fire, turned 
 his head with a quick surprised gesture towards Mr. 
 Yerner. The latter proceeded to tell Lionel the 
 substance of the communication made to him by 
 Mrs. Tynn. Lionel sat, bending forward, his elbow 
 
94 verner's pride. 
 
 on his knee, and his fingers unconsciously running 
 amidst the curls of his dark cjiestnut hair, as he 
 listened to it. He did not interrupt the narrative, 
 or speak at its conclusion. 
 
 " You see, Lionel, it appears certain to have been 
 some one belonging to this house." 
 
 " Yes, sir. Unless Dolly was mistaken." 
 
 '* Mistaken as to what?" shari)ly asked Mr. 
 Verner, who, when he made up his own mind that 
 a thing was so-and-so, could not bear to be opposed. 
 " Mistaken that some one came in at the gate ? " 
 
 " I do not see how she could be mistaken in 
 that," replied Lionel. " I meant mistaken as to its 
 being any one belonging to the house." 
 
 ^^ Is it likely that any one would come in at that 
 gate at night, unless they belonged to the house, or 
 were coming to the house ? " retorted Mr. Verner. 
 " Would a stranger drop from the clouds to come in 
 at it ? Or Y/as it Di Koy's ' ghost,' think you ? " he 
 sarcastically added. 
 
 Lionel did not answer. He vacantly ran his 
 fingers through his hair, apparently in deep thought. 
 
 "I have abstained from asking j'ou the explicit 
 details of your movements on that evening," con- 
 tinued Mr. Verner, "but I must demand them of 
 you now." * 
 
 Lionel started up, his cheek on fire. " Sir," he 
 uttered, with emotion, " jon cannot suspect me of 
 having had act or part in it ! I declare, before 
 Heaven, that Eachel was as sacred for me — " 
 
 "Softly, Lionel," interrupted Mr. Verner, "there's 
 
eobin's vow. 95 
 
 no cause for you to break your head against a wheel. 
 It is not you whom I suspect — thank God ! But I 
 wish to be sure of your movements — to be able to 
 speak of them as sure, you understand — before I 
 accuse another." 
 
 " I will willingly tell you every movement of mine 
 that evening, so far as I remember, "said Lionel, re- 
 suming his calmness. " I came home when dinner 
 was half over. I had been detained — but you know 
 all that," he broke off. " AVhen you left the dining- 
 room, I went on to the terrace, and sat there 
 smoking a cigar. I should think I stayed there an 
 hour, or more ; and then I went up- stairs, changed 
 my coat, and proceeded to Mr. Bitterworth's." 
 
 " What took you to Mr. Bitterworth's that 
 evening, Lionel ? " 
 
 Lionel hesitated. He did not choose to say, 
 " Because I knew Sibylla West was to be there : " 
 but that would have been the true answer. "I had 
 nothing particular to do with my evening, so I went 
 up," he said aloud. "Mr. Bitterworth was out. Mrs. 
 Bitterworth thought he had gone into Deerham." 
 
 "Yes. He was at Deerham when the alarm was 
 given, and hastened on here. Sibylla West was 
 there, was she not ? " 
 
 " She was there," said Lionel. " She had pro- 
 mised to be home early; and, as no one came for 
 her, I saw her home. It was after I left her that 
 I heard what had occurred." 
 
 " x\bout what time did you get there — I mean 
 to Bitterworth's ? " questioned Mv- Verner, who 
 
9G VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 appeared to have his thoughts filled with other 
 things at that moment than with Sibylla West. 
 
 " I cannot be sure," replied Lionel. " I think it 
 must have been nine o'clock. I went into Deerham 
 to the post-office first, and then came back to 
 Bitterworth's." 
 
 Mr. Verner mused. 
 
 "Lionel," he observed, "it is a curious thing, 
 but there's not one of you but might have been the 
 party to the quarrel that night ; so far as that your 
 time cannot be positively accounted for by minutes 
 and by hours. I mean, were the accusation brought 
 publicly against you, you would, none of you, be 
 able to prove a distinct alibi, as it seems to me. 
 For instance, who is to prove that you did not, 
 when you were sitting on the terrace, steal across to 
 a rendezvous at the Willow-pond, or cut across to 
 it when you were at the post-office at Deerham ? " 
 
 " I certainly did not,'' said Lionel, quietly, taking 
 the remarks only as they w^ere meant — for an illus- 
 tration. " It might, sir, as you observe, be difficult 
 to i)rove a decided alihi. But " — he rose and bent 
 to Mr. Verner with a bright smile, a clear, truthful 
 eye — " I do not think you need one to believe me." 
 " No, Lionel, I do not. Is John Massingbird in 
 the dining-room ? " 
 
 " He was when I left it." 
 " Then go and send him in to me." 
 John Massingbird was found and despatched to 
 Mr. Verner, without any reluctance on his own part. 
 He had been bestowing hard words upon Lionel for 
 
robin's vow. 97 
 
 ^' taking up the time of the old man " just on the 
 evening when he wanted to take it up himself. The 
 truth was, John Massingbird was intending to 
 depart the following morning, the Fates and Mr. 
 Verner permitting him. 
 
 Their interview was a long one. Two hours, 
 full, had they been closeted together when Eobin 
 Frost made his ai)pearance again at Verner's Pride, 
 and craved once more an interview with Mr. Verner. 
 "If it was only for a minute — only for a minute ! " 
 he implored. 
 
 Under the circumstances, the overwhelming 
 sorrow which had fallen on the man, Lionel did not 
 like again to deny him without first asking Mr. 
 Yerner. He went himself to the study. 
 
 " Come in," called out Mr. Verner, in answer to 
 the knock. 
 
 He was sitting in his chair as usual ; John Mas- 
 singbird was standing up, his elbow on the mantel- 
 piece. That their conversation must have been of 
 an exciting nature was evident, and Lionel could 
 not help noticing the signs. John Massingbird had 
 a scarlet streak on his sallow cheek, never seen 
 there above once or twice in his life, and then 
 caused by deep emotion. Mr. Verner, on his part, 
 looked livid as clay. Robin Frost might come in. 
 
 Lionel called him, and he came in with Frederick 
 Massingbird, 
 
 The man could hardly speak for agitation. He 
 believed the verdict could not be set aside, he said : 
 others had told him so besides Mr. Lionel. He 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 VERNEPv'S PRIDE. 
 
 had come to ask if Mr. Verner would oifer a 
 reward. 
 
 '' A reward ! " repeated Mr. Verner, mechanically, 
 with the air of a man whose mind is far away. 
 
 " If you'd please to offer it, sir, I'd work the flesh 
 off my bones to pay it back again," he urged. ' " I'U 
 live upon a crust myself, and I'll keep my home 
 upon a crust, but what 111 get it up. If there's a 
 reward pasted up, sir, we might come upon the 
 villain." 
 
 Mr. Verner appeared, then, to awake to the 
 question before him, and to awake to it in terrible 
 excitement. 
 
 " He'll never be found, Eobin, — the villain will 
 never be found, so long as you and I and the world 
 shall last ! " 
 
 They looked at him in consternation ; Lionel, 
 Frederick Massingbird, and Robin Frost. jNIr. Verner 
 recollected himself, and calmed his spiiit down. 
 
 " I mean, Robin," he more quietly said, " that a 
 reward will be useless. The villain has been too 
 cunning, rely upon it, to — to — leave his traces 
 behind him." 
 
 "It might be tried, sir," respectfully urged Robin. 
 " I'd work— " 
 
 " You can come up to-morrow, Robin, and 111 
 talk with you," interrupted Mr. Verner. " I am too 
 ill — "too much upset to-night. Come at any hour 
 you please, after twelve, and I will see j^ou." 
 
 " I'll come, sir. I've registered a vow afore my 
 old father," went on Robin, lifting his right arm, 
 
sobin's vow. 99 
 
 "and I register it again afore you, sir, — afore our 
 future master, Mr. Lionel, — that I'll never leave a 
 stone unturned by night nor by day, — that I'll make 
 it my first and foremost business in life to find that 
 man. And when I've found him — let him be who 
 he will — either him or me shall die. So help 
 me — " 
 
 " Be still, Robin ! " passionately interposed Mr. 
 Verner, in a voice that startled the man. " Vows 
 are bad things. I have found them so." 
 
 "It was registered afore, sir," significantly 
 answered Robin, as he turned awa}^ " I'll be up 
 here to-morrow." 
 
 The morrow brought forth two departures from 
 Verner's Pride. John Massingbird started for 
 London in pursuit of his journey, Mr. Verner 
 having behaved to him liberally. And Lionel 
 Verner was summoned in hot haste to Paris, where 
 his brother had just met with an accident, and was 
 supposed to be lying between life and death. 
 
 h2 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. VERNER'S estrangement. 
 
 The former chapters may be looked upon some- 
 what in the light of an introduction to what is to 
 follow. It was necessary to relate the events 
 recorded in them, but we must take a leap of not 
 far short of two years from the date of their 
 occurrence. 
 
 John Massingbird and his attendant, Luke Roy, 
 had arrived safely at Melbourne in due course. 
 Luke had written home one letter to his mother, 
 and there his correspondence ended : but John 
 Massingbird wrote frequently, both to Mrs. Yerner 
 and to his brother Frederick. John, according 
 to his own account, appeared to be getting on 
 all one way : the money he took out had served 
 him well : he had made good use of it, and was 
 accumulating a fortune rapidly. Such was his state- 
 ment : but whether implicit reliance might be placed 
 upon it was a question. Gay John was apt to 
 deceive himself; was given to look on the bright 
 side, and imbue things with a tinge of couleiir de 
 rose; when, for less sanguine e3^es, the tinge would 
 have shone out decidedly yellow. The time went 
 on, and his last account told of a " glorious nugget " 
 
MR. verner's estrangement. 101 
 
 lie had picked up at the diggings. " Almost as big 
 as his head : " a " fortune in itself," ran some of the 
 phrases in his letters : and his intention was to go 
 down himself to Melbourne and " reahse the thou- 
 sands " for it. His letter to Frederick was especially 
 full of this; and he strongly recommended his 
 brother to go out and pick up nuggets on his own 
 score. Frederick Massingbird appeared very much 
 inclined to take the hint. 
 
 " Were I only sure it was all gospel, I'd go to- 
 morrow," observed Frederick Massingbird to Lionel 
 Verner, one day that the discussion of the contents 
 of John's letter had been renewed, a month or two 
 subsequent to its arrival. "A year's luck, such as 
 this, and a man might come home a millionnaire. I 
 wish I knew whether to put entire faith in it." 
 
 "Why should John deceive you? " asked Lionel. 
 
 "He'd not deceive me wilfully. He has no cause 
 to deceive 7ne. The question is, is he deceived 
 himself ? Remember what grand schemes he would 
 now and then become wild upon here, saying and 
 thinking he had found the philosopher's stone. And 
 how would they turn out ? This may be one of the 
 same calibre. I wonder we did not hear again by 
 the last month's mail." 
 
 " There's a mail due now." 
 
 " I know there is," said Frederick. " Should it 
 bring news to confirm this, I shall go out to him.'" 
 
 " The worst is, those diggings appear to be all a 
 lottery," remarked Lionel. "AVhere one gets his 
 pockets lined, another starves. Nay, ten — fifty — 
 
102 verner's pride. 
 
 more, for all we know, starve for the one lucky one. 
 I should not, myself, feel inclined to risk the journey 
 to them." 
 
 " You ! It's not likely you would," was the reply 
 of Frederick Massingbird. " Everybody was not 
 bom heir to Verner's Pride." 
 
 Lionel laughed pleasantly. They were pacing 
 the terrace in the sunshine of a winter's afternoon : 
 a crisp, cold, bright day in January. At that 
 moment Tynn came out of the house and ap- 
 proached them. 
 
 " My master is up, sir, and would like the paper 
 read to him,'^ said he, addressing Frederick 
 Massingbird. 
 
 " Oh, bother, I can^t stop now," broke from that 
 gentleman, involuntarily. " Tynn, you need not 
 say that you found me here. I have an appoint- 
 ment, and I must hasten to keep it." 
 
 Lionel Verner looked at his watch. 
 
 " I can spare half an hour," he observed to him- 
 self : and he proceeded to Mr. Verner's room. 
 
 The old study that you have seen before. And 
 there sat Mr. Verner in the same arm-chair, 
 cushioned and padded more than it had used to 
 be. What a change there was in him ! Shnmken, 
 wasted, drawn : surely there would be no place very 
 long in this world for Mr. Verner. 
 
 He was leaning- forward in his chair, his back 
 bowed, his hands resting on his stick, which was 
 stretched out before him. He lifted his head when 
 Lionel entered, and an expression, partly of dis- 
 
MR. verner's estrangement. 103 
 
 pleasure, partly of pain, passed over his coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 " Where's Frederick ? " he sharply asked. 
 
 " Frederick has an appointment out, sir. I will 
 read to you.^' 
 
 "I thought you were going down to your 
 mother's," rejoined Mr. Verner, his accent not 
 softening in the least. 
 
 " I need not go for this half hour yet," replied 
 Lionel, taking up the " Times," which lay on a table 
 near Mr. Verner. " Have you looked at the head- 
 ings of the news, sir; or shall I go over them for 
 you, and then you can tell me w^hat you wish read ? " 
 
 "I don't want anything read by you," said Mr. 
 Yerner. " Put the paper down." 
 
 Lionel did not immediately obey. A shade of 
 mortification had crossed his face. 
 
 *' Do you hear me, Lionel ? Put the paper down. 
 You know how it fidgets me to hear those papers 
 ruffled, w^hen I am not in a mood for reading." 
 
 Lionel rose, and stood before Mr. Yerner. 
 *' Uncle, I tvish you would let me do something 
 for you. Better send me out of the house alto- 
 gether, than treat me with this estrangement. "Will 
 it be of any use my asking you, for the hundredth 
 time, what I did to displease you ? " 
 
 " I tell you I don't want the paper read," said 
 Mr. Yerner. " And if you'd leave me alone I 
 should be glad. Perhaps I shall get a wink of 
 sleep. All night, all night, and my eyes were never 
 closed ! It's time I was gone." 
 
104 VfeRNER's PRIDE. 
 
 The concluding sentences were spoken as in 
 soliloqu}^ ; not to Lionel. Lionel, who knew his 
 uncle's every mood, quitted the room. As he closed 
 the door, a heavy groan, born of displeasure mingled 
 with pain, like the greeting look had been, was sent 
 after him by IMr. Verner. Very emphatically did it 
 express his state of feeling with regard to Lionel ; 
 and Lionel felt it keenly. 
 
 Lionel Yerner had remained in Paris six months^ 
 when summoned thither by the accident to his 
 brother. The accident need not have detained him 
 half that period of time ; but the seductions of the 
 gay French capital had charms for Lionel. From 
 the very hour that he set foot in Verner' s Pride on 
 his return, he found that Mr. Verner^s behaviour 
 had altered to him. He showed bitter, angry 
 estrangement, and Lionel could only conceive one 
 cause for it — his long sojourn abroad. Fifteen or 
 sixteen mpnths had now elapsed since his return, 
 and the estrangement had not lessened. In vain 
 Lionel sought an explanation. Mr. Verner would 
 not enter upon it. In fact, so far as direct words 
 went, Mr. Verner had not expressed much of his 
 displeasure : he left it to his manner. That said 
 enough. He had never dropped the slightest 
 allusion as to its cause. When Lionel asked an 
 explanation, he neither accorded nor denied it, but 
 would put him off evasively; as he might have put 
 off a child who asked a troublesome question. You 
 have now seen him do so once again. 
 
 After the rebuff, Lionel was crossing the hnll. 
 
MR. verner's estran(#:ment. 105 
 
 when he suddenly halted, as if a thought struck 
 him, and he turned back to the study. If ever a 
 man's attitude bespoke utter grief and prostration, 
 Mr. Verner's did, as Lionel opened the door. His 
 head and hands had fallen, and his stick had 
 dropped upon the carpet. He started out of his 
 reverie at the appearance of Lionel, and made an 
 effort to recover his stick. Lionel hastened to pick 
 it up for him. 
 
 " I have been thinking, sir, that it might be well 
 for Decima to go in the carriage to the station, to 
 receive Miss Tempest. Shall I order it ? " 
 
 " Order anything you like ; order all Verner's 
 Pride — what does it matter? Better for some of 
 us, perhaps, that it had never existed." 
 
 Hastily, abruptly, carelessly was the answer 
 given : there was no mistaking that Mr. Verner was 
 nearly beside himself with mental pain. 
 
 Lionel went round to the stables, to give the 
 order he had suggested. One great feature in the 
 character of Lionel Verner was, its complete 
 absence of assumption. Courteously refined in 
 mind and feelings, he could not have presumed : 
 others, in his position, might have deemed they 
 were but exercising a right. Though the presump- 
 tive heir to Verner's Pride, living in it, brought up 
 as such, he would not, you see, even send out its 
 master's unused carriage, without that master's 
 sanction. In little things as in great, Lionel 
 Verner could but be a thorough gentleman : to be 
 otherwise he must have changed his nature. 
 
106 verner's peide. 
 
 " Wigliam, will you take the close carriage to 
 Deerham Court. It is wanted for Miss Verner." 
 
 " Very well, sir." But Wigham — wlio had been 
 coachman in the family nearly as many years as 
 Lionel had been in the world — wondered much, for 
 all his prompt reply. He scarcely ever remembered 
 a Verner^s Pride carriage to have been ordered for 
 Miss Verner. 
 
 Lionel passed into the high road from Yerner's 
 Pride, and, turning to the left, commenced his walk 
 to Deerham. There were no roadside houses for a 
 little v/ay, but they soon began, by ones, by twos, 
 until at last they grew into a consecutive street. 
 These houses were mostly very poor ; small shops, 
 beer-houses, laboui'ers' cottages ; but a turning to 
 the right in the midst of the ^dllage led to a part 
 where the houses were of a superior character, 
 several gentlemen living there. It was a new road, 
 called Belvedere Road ; the first house in it being 
 inhabited by Dr. West. 
 
 Lionel cast a glance across at that house as he 
 passed down the long street. At least, as much as 
 he could see of it, looking obliquely. His glance 
 was not rewarded. Very frequently pretty Sibylla 
 would be at the windows, or her vain sister Amilly. 
 Though, if vanity is to be brought in, I don't know 
 where it would be found in an equal degree, as it 
 was in Sibylla West. The windows appeared to be 
 untenanted : and Lionel withdrew his ej^es and 
 passed straightly on his way. On his left hand was 
 situated the shop of Mrs. Duff : its prints, its silk 
 
MR. VERNEH'S ESTRANGEMENT. ■ 107 
 
 neckerchiefs, and its ribbons displayed in three 
 parts of its bow-window. The fourth part was 
 devoted to more ignominious articles, huddled in- 
 discriminately into a corner. Children's Dutch dolls 
 and black-lead; penny tale-books and square pink 
 packets of cocoa ; bottles of ink and India rubber 
 balls ; side combs and papers of stationery ; scented 
 soap and Circassian cream (home made) ; tape, 
 needles, pins, starch, bandoline, lavender water, 
 baking powder, iron skewers, and a host of other 
 articles too numerous to notice. Nothing came 
 amiss to Mrs. Duff: she patronised everything she 
 thought she could turn a penny by. 
 
 *' Your servant, sir,'^ said she, dropping a curtsey 
 as Lionel came up : for Mrs. Duff was standing at 
 the door. 
 
 He merely nodded to her, and went on. Whether 
 it was the sight of the woman or of some lavender 
 prints hanging in her window, certain it was, that 
 the image of poor Rachel Frost came vividly into the 
 mind of Lionel. Nothing had been heard, nothing 
 found, to clear up the mystery of that past night. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 LADY VERNEE. 
 
 At the extremity of the village, lying a little back 
 from it, was a moderate- sized, red brick house, 
 standing in the midst of lands, and called Deerham 
 Court. It had once been an extensive farm ; but 
 the present tenint, Lionel's mother, rented the 
 house only, very little of the land. The land was 
 let to a neighbouring farmer. Nearly a mile be3"ond 
 — you could see its towers and its chimneys from 
 this — rose the stately old mansion, called Deerham 
 Hall. Deerham Hall, Deerham Court, and a great 
 deal of the land and property on that side of the 
 village, belonged to Sir Rufus Hautley, a proud, 
 unsociable man. He lived at the Hall: and his 
 only son, between whom and himself it was con- 
 jectured there existed some estrangement, had 
 purchased into an Indian regiment, where he was 
 now serving. 
 
 Lionel Verner passed the village, branched off 
 to the right, and entered the great iron gates which 
 enclosed the court-3"ard of Deerham Com't. A verj^ 
 unpretending entrance admitted him into a spacious 
 hall, the hall being the largest and best part of the 
 house. Those great iron gates and the hall would 
 
LADY VERNER. 109 
 
 have done honour to a large mansion ; and they 
 gave an appearance of pretension to Deerham Court 
 which it did not deserve. 
 
 Lionel opened a door on the left, and entered a 
 small ante-room. This led him into the only really 
 good room the house contained. It was elegantly 
 furnished and fitted up, and its two large windows 
 looked towards the open country, and to Deerham 
 Hall. Seated by the fire, in a rich violet dress, a 
 costty white lace cap shading her delicate face, that 
 must once have been so beautiful — indeed, that was 
 beautiful still — was a lady of middle age. Her seat 
 was low : one of those chairs that f»e are pleased to 
 call, commonly and irreverently, a prie-dieu. Its 
 back was carved in arabesque foliage, and its seat 
 was of rich violet velvet. On a small, inlaid table, 
 whose carvings were as beautiful, and its top inlaid 
 with mosaic -work, lay a dainty handkerchief of lace, 
 a bottle of smelling-salts, and a book turned with its 
 face downwards, all close at the lady's elbow. She 
 was sitting in idleness just then : she always did sit 
 in idleness : her face bent on the fire, her small 
 hands, cased in white gloves, lying motionless on 
 her lap — ay, a beautiful face once, though it had 
 grown habitually peevish and discontented now. She 
 turned her head when the door opened, and a flush 
 of bloom rose to her cheeks when she saw Lionel. 
 
 He went up and kissed her. He loved her much. 
 She loved him, too, better than she loved anj^thing 
 in life ; and she drew a chair close to her, and he 
 sat down, bending towards her. There was not 
 
110 verner's pride. 
 
 much likeness between them, the mother and the 
 son : both were very good-looking, but not alike. 
 
 " You see, mother mine, I am not late, as you 
 prophesied I should be," said he, with one of his 
 sweetest smiles. 
 
 " You would have been, Lionel, but for my warn- 
 ing. I'm sure I Avish — I ivish she was not coming ! 
 She must remember the old days in India, and wiU 
 contrast the difference." 
 
 " She will scarcely remember India, when you 
 were there. She is only a child yet, is she ? " 
 
 " You know nothing about it, Lionel," was the 
 querulous answer. " Whether she remembers or 
 not, will she expect to see one in such a house, such 
 a position as this? It is at these seasons, when 
 people are coming here, wdio know what I have been 
 and ought to be, that I feel all the humiliation of my 
 poverty. Lucy Tempest is nineteen." 
 
 Lionel Verner knew that it was of no use to argue 
 with his mother, when she begah upon that most 
 unsatisfactor}'" topic, her position ; w^hich included 
 what she called her " poverty " and her " wTongs." 
 Though, in truth, not a day passed but she broke 
 out upon it. 
 
 " Lionel," she suddenly said. 
 
 He had been glancing over the pages of the book 
 —a new work on India. He laid it down as he had 
 found it, and turned to her. 
 
 '' What shall 3^ou allow me when joii come into 
 Verner's Pride ? " 
 
 "Whatever j^ou shall wish, mother. You shall 
 
LADY VERNE]^w. Ill 
 
 name the sum, not I. And if you name too modest 
 a one," lie added laughing, " I shall double it. But 
 Verner's Pride must be your home then, as well as 
 mine." 
 
 " Never!" was the emphatic answer. "What ! to 
 be turned out of it again by the advent of a young 
 wife ? No, never, Lionel." 
 
 Lionel laughed : constrainedly this time. 
 
 " I may not be bringing home a young wife for 
 this many and many a year to come." 
 
 " If 3^ou never brought one, I would not make m.j 
 home at Verner's Pride," she resumed, in the same 
 impulsive voice. "Live in the house by favour, that 
 ought to have been mine by right ? You would not 
 be my true son, to ask me, Lionel. Catherine, is 
 that you?" she called out, as the movements of some 
 one were heard in the ante-room. 
 
 A woman-servant put in her head. 
 
 " My lady ? " 
 
 " Tell Miss Verner that Mr. Lionel is here." 
 
 "Miss Verner knows it, my lady," was the 
 woman's reply. " She bade me ask you, sir,'"' ad- 
 dressing Lionel, " if you'd please to step out to her." 
 
 " Is she getting ready, Catherine ? " asked Lady 
 Verner. 
 
 " I think not, my lady." 
 
 " Go to her, Lionel, and ask her if she knows the 
 time. A pretty thing if you arrive at the station 
 after the train is in ! " 
 
 Lionel quitted the room. Outside in the hall 
 stood Catherine, waiting for him. 
 
11*2 VERXEP/S PRIDE. 
 
 " !Miss Vemer has met with a little accident and 
 hurt her foot, sir," she whispered. '•' She can't 
 walk." 
 
 '' Not walk ! " exclaimed Lionel. " Where is 
 she ? " 
 
 '' She is in the store-room, sir ; where it hap- 
 pened." 
 
 Lionel went to the store-room, a small boarded 
 room at the back of the hall. A young lady sat 
 there ; a very pretty white foot in a wash-hand basin 
 of warm water, and a shoe and stocking lying near, 
 as if hastily thrown off. 
 
 " Why, Decima ! what is this ? " 
 
 She lifted her face. A face whose features were 
 of the highest order of beauty, regular as if cliiselled 
 from marble, and little less colourless. But for the 
 large, earnest, dark-blue eyes, so fuU of expression, 
 it might have been accused of coldness. In sleep, 
 or in perfect repose, when the eyelids were bent, it 
 looked strangely cold and pure. Her dark hair was 
 braided ; and she wore a dress something the same 
 in colour as Lady Yerner's. 
 
 " Lionel, what shall I do ? And to-day of all 
 days ! I shall be obhged to teU mamma : I cannot 
 walk a step." 
 
 " What is the injmw ? How did you meet with 
 it?'' 
 
 " I got on a chair. I was looking for some old 
 Indian ornaments that I know are in that high cup- 
 board, wishing to put them in Miss Tempest's room, 
 and somehow the chau' tilted with me. and I fell 
 
LADY YEEXEE. 113 
 
 upon my foot. It is only a sprain : but I cannot 
 walk." 
 
 *' How do you know it is only a sprain, Decima ? 
 I shall send West to you." 
 
 " Thank you all the same, Lionel, but if you 
 please I don't like Dr. West well enough to have 
 him," was Miss Verner's answer. " See ! I don't 
 think I can walk." 
 
 She took her foot out of the basin, and attempted 
 to try. But for Lionel she would have fallen : and 
 her naturally -psle face became paler from the 
 pain. 
 
 "And you say you will not have Dr. West ! " he 
 cried, gently putting her into the chair again. "You 
 must allow me to judge for you, Decima." 
 
 " Then, Lionel, I'll have Jan — If I must have any 
 one. I have more faith in him," she added, lifting 
 her large blue eyes, "than in Dr. West." 
 
 " Let it be Jan, then, Decima. Send one of the 
 servants for him at once. What is to be done about 
 Miss Tempest ? " 
 
 "You must go alone. Unless you can persuade 
 mamma out. Lionel, you will tell mamma about 
 this. She must be told." 
 
 As Lionel crossed the hall on his return, the door 
 was being opened : the Verner's Pride carriage had 
 just driven up. Lady Verner had seen it from the 
 window of the ante- room, and her eyes spoke her 
 displeasure. 
 
 " Lionel, what brings that here ? " 
 
 " I told them to bring it for Decima. I thought 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 yekner's pride. 
 
 you would prefer that Miss Tempest should be met 
 with that, than with a hired one." 
 
 " Miss Tempest will know soon enough that I am 
 too poor to keep a carriage," said Lady Verner. 
 " Decima may use it if she pleases. I would not/' 
 
 "My dear mother, Decima will not be able to use 
 it. She cannot go to the station. She has hurt 
 her foot." 
 
 "How did she do that?" 
 
 " She was on a chair in the store-room, looking in 
 the cupboard. She — " 
 
 *' Of course ! that's just like Decima ! " crossly 
 responded Lady Verner. " She is at something or 
 other everlasting!}^: doing half the work of a sen'ant 
 about the house." 
 
 Lionel made no reply. He knew that, but for 
 Decima, the house would be less comfortable than it 
 was for Lady Verner : and that, w^hat Decima did, 
 she did in love. 
 
 " Will you go to the station ? " he inquired. 
 
 " I ! In this cold wind ! Htw can you ask me, 
 Lionel? I should get my face chapped irretrievably. 
 If Decima cannot go, you must go alone." 
 
 " But how shall I know Miss Tempest ? " 
 
 " You must find her out," said Lady Verner. 
 " Her mother'^^^as tall as a giantess : perhaj)s she 
 is the same. Is Decima much hm-t ? " 
 
 " She thinks it is only a sprain. We have sent 
 for Jan. 
 
 " For Jan ! Much good he will do ! " returned 
 Lady Verner, in so contemptuous a tone as to prove 
 
LADY VERNER. 115 
 
 she had no very exalted opinion of Mr. " Jan's " 
 abilities. 
 
 Lionel went out to the carriage, and stepped in. 
 The footman did not shut the door. " And Miss 
 Verner, sir ? " 
 
 "Miss Verner is not coming. The railway 
 station. Tell Wigham to drive fast, or I shall be 
 late." 
 
 " My lady wouldn't let Miss Decima come out in 
 it," thought Wigham to himself, as he drove on. 
 
 i2 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 LUCY TEMPEST. 
 
 The words of my lady, " as tall as a giantess," 
 unconsciously influenced the imagination of Lionel 
 Verner, The train was steaming into the station at 
 one end as liis carriage stopped at the other. Lionel 
 leaped from it, and mixed amidst the bustle of the 
 platform. 
 
 Not very much bustle, either. And it would have 
 been less, but that Deerham Station was the nearest 
 approach, as yet, by rail, to Heartburg, a town of 
 some note about four miles distant. Not a single 
 tall lady got out of the train. Not a lady at all that 
 Lionel could see. There w^ere two fat women, 
 tearing about after their luggage, both habited in 
 men's drab great coats, or what looked like them ; 
 and there was one very young lady, who stood back in 
 apparent perplexity, gazing at the scene of confusion, 
 around her. 
 
 " She cannot be Miss Tempest," dehberated 
 Lionel. " If she is, my mother must have mistaken 
 her age : she looks but a child. No harm in asking 
 her, at any rate." 
 
 He went up to the young lady. A very pleasant- 
 looking girl, fair, with a peach bloom upon her 
 cheeks, dark brown hair and eyes soft and brown 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. 11''' 
 
 and luminous. Those eyes were wandering to all 
 parts of the platform, some anxiety in their 
 expression. 
 
 Lionel raised his hat. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Have I the honour of 
 addressing Miss Tempest ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is my name," she answered, looking 
 up at him, the peach bloom deepening to a glow 
 of satisfaction and the soft eyes lighting with a glad 
 smile. " Have joii come to meet me ? " 
 
 " I have. I come from my mother. Lady Verner." 
 
 " I am so glad," she rejoined, with a frank 
 sincerity of manner perfectly refreshing in these 
 modern days of artificial young ladyism. " I was 
 beginning to think nobody had come : and then 
 what could I have done ? " 
 
 " My sister would have come with me to receive 
 3^ou, but for an accident which occurred to her just 
 before it was time to start. Have you any luggage ? " 
 
 " There's the great box I brought from India, 
 and a hair-trunk, and my school-box. It is all in 
 the van." 
 
 " Allow me to take you out of this crowd, and it 
 shall be seen to," said Lionel, bending to offer his 
 arm. 
 
 She took it, and turned with him. But stopped 
 ere more than a step or two had been taken. 
 
 " We are going wrong. The luggage is up that 
 way." 
 
 "I am taking you to the carriage. The luggage 
 will be all ridit." 
 
118 verner's pride. 
 
 He was placing her in it when she suddenly drew 
 back, and surveyed it. 
 
 " What a pretty carriage ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 Many said the same of the Verner's Pride equi- 
 pages. The colour of the panels was of that rich 
 shade of blue called ultra-marine, with white linings 
 and hammer-cloths, while a good deal of silver 
 shone on the harness of the horses. The servants' 
 livery was white and silver, their small-clothes blue. 
 
 Lionel handed her in. 
 
 " Have we far to go ? " she asked. 
 
 " Not five minutes' drive." 
 
 He closed the door, gave the footman dii^ections 
 about the luggage, took his own seat by the coach- 
 man, and the carriage started. Lady Verner came 
 to the door of the Court to receive Miss Tempest. 
 
 Li the old Lidian days of Lady Verner, she and 
 Sir Lionel had been close and intimate friends of 
 iOolonel and Mrs. Tempest. Subsequently Mrs. 
 Tempest had died, and their only daughter had been 
 sent to a clergyman's family in England for her 
 education — a very superior place, where six pupils 
 only were taken. But she w^as of an age to leave it 
 now, and Colonel Tempest, who contemplated soon 
 being home, had craved of Lady Verner to receive 
 her in the interim. 
 
 "Lionel," said his mother to him, "you must 
 stop here for the rest of the d?tj, and help to enter- 
 tain her." 
 
 " Why, what can I do towards it ? " responded 
 Lionel. 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. 119 
 
 " You can do something. You can talk. They 
 have got Decima into her room, and I must he up 
 and down with her. I don't like leaving Lucy alone 
 the first day she is in the house — she will take a 
 prejudice against it. One hlessed thing, she seems 
 quite simple ; not exacting." 
 
 "Anj^thing hut exacting, I should say," replied 
 Lionel. " I will stay for an hour or two, if you like, 
 mother, hut I must he home to dinner." 
 
 Lady Verner need not have troubled herself about 
 "entertaining" Lucy Tempest. She was accus- 
 tomed to entertain herself : and as to any ceremony 
 or homage being paid to her, she would not have 
 understood it, and might have felt embarrassed had 
 it been tendered. She had not been used to any- 
 thing of the sort. Could Lady Verner have seen 
 her then, at the very moment she was talking to 
 Lionel, her fears might have been relieved. Lucy 
 Tempest had found her way to Decima's room, and 
 had taken up her position in a very undignified 
 fashion at that young lady's feet, her soft, candid 
 brown eyes fixed upwards on Decimals face, and her 
 tongue busy with its reminiscences of India. After 
 some time spent in this manner, she was scared 
 away by the entrance of a gentleman whom Decima 
 called "Jan." Upon which she proceeded to the 
 chamber she had been shown to as hers, to dress ; 
 a process which did not appear to be very elaborate 
 by the time it took, and then she went down -stairs 
 to find Lady Verner. 
 
 Lady Verner had not quitted Lionel. She had 
 
120 verner's pride. 
 
 been grumbling and complaining all that time : it 
 was half the pastime of Lady Verner's life to gi'umble 
 in the ears of Lionel and Decima. Bitterly morti- 
 fied had Lady Verner been when she found, upon 
 her arrival from India, that Stephen Verner, her 
 late husband's younger brother, had succeeded to 
 Verner's Pride, to the exclusion of herself and of 
 Lionel ; and bitterly mortified she remained. 
 Whether it had been by some strange oversight on 
 the part of old Mr. Verner, or whether it had been 
 intentional, no provision whatever had been left by 
 him to Lady Verner and to her children. Stephen 
 Verner would have remedied this. On the arrival 
 of Lady Verner, he had proposed to pay over to her 
 yearly a certain sum out of the estate : but Lady 
 Verner, smarting under disappointment, under the 
 sense of injustice, had flung his proposal back to 
 him. Never, so long as he lived, she told Stephen 
 Verner, passionately, would she be obliged to him 
 for the worth of a sixpence in money or in kind. 
 And she had kept her word. 
 
 Her income was sadly limited. It was very Httle 
 besides her pay as a colonel's widow : and to Lady 
 Verner it seemed less than it really was, for her 
 habits were somewhat expensive. She took this 
 house, Deerham Court, then to be let without the 
 land : had it embellished inside and out — which 
 cost her more than she could afford — and had 
 since resided in it. She would not have rented 
 under Mr. Verner had he paid her to do it. She 
 declined oil intercourse with Verner's Pride ; had 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. ]21 
 
 never put her foot over its threshold : Decima went 
 once in a way ; but she, never. If she and Stephen 
 Verner met abroad, she was coldly civil to him : she 
 was indifferently haughty to Mrs. Verner, whom she 
 despised in her heart for not being a lad}-. With all 
 her deficiencies, Lady Verner was essentially a 
 gentlewoman : not to be one, amounted in her eyes 
 to little less than a sin. No wonder that she, with 
 her delicate beauty of person, her quiet refinements 
 of dress, shrank within herself as she swept past 
 poor Mrs. Verner, with her great person, her 
 crimson face, and her flaunting colours ! No 
 wonder that Lady Verner, smarting under her 
 wrongs, passed half her time giving utterance to 
 them; or that her smooth face was acquiring 
 premature wrinkles of discontent. Lionel had a 
 somewhat difficult course to steer, between Verner's 
 Pride and Deerham Court, so as to keep friends 
 wdth both. 
 
 Lucy Tempest appeared at the door. She stood 
 there hesitating, after the manner of a timxid school- 
 girl. They turned round and saw her. 
 
 " If you please, may I come in ? " 
 
 Lady Verner could have sighed over the deficiency 
 of " stjde," or confidence : whichever you may like 
 to term it. Lionel laughed, as he crossed the room 
 to throw the door wider by way of welcome. 
 
 She wore a light shot pink dress of peculiar 
 material, a sort of cashmere, very fine and soft. 
 Looking at it one way it was pink; the other, 
 mauve : the general shade of it vras beautiful. Ladv 
 
122 verner's pride. 
 
 Verner could have sighed agam : if the wearer was 
 deficient in style, certainly the dress was. A low 
 body and short sleeves, perfectly simple, a narrow 
 bit of white lace alone edging them : nothing on her 
 neck, nothing on her arms, no gloves. A child of 
 seven might have been so dressed. Lady Vemer 
 looked at her, her brow knit, and various thoughts 
 running thro-ugh her brain : she began to fear that 
 Miss Tempest would require so much training as to 
 give her trouble. 
 
 Lucy saw the look, and deemed that her attu'e 
 was wrong. " Ought I to have put on my best 
 things — my new silk ? " she asked. 
 
 My new silk ! Mj best things ! Lady Yemer 
 was almost at a loss for an answer. " You have not 
 an extensive wardrobe, possibly, my dear ? " 
 
 " Not very," replied Lucy. " This was my best 
 dress, until I had my new silk. Mrs. Gust told me 
 to put this one on for dinner to-da}^, and she said if 
 Lady — ^if you and Miss Yerner dressed very much, 
 I could change it for the silk to-morrow. It is a 
 heautifid dress," Lucy added, looking ingenuously 
 at Lady Yerner, " a pearl grey. Then I have my 
 morning dresses, and my white for dancing. Mrs. 
 Cust said that anj^thmg you found deficient in my 
 wardrobe it would be better for you to supply, than 
 for her, as you would be the best judge of what I 
 should require." 
 
 " Mrs. Cust does not pay much attention to dress, 
 probably," observed Lady Yerner, coldly. " She is 
 a clergyman's wife. It is sad taste when people 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. 123 
 
 neglect themselves, whatever may be the duties of 
 their station." 
 
 " But Mrs. Oust does not neglect herself," spoke 
 up Lucy, a surprised look upon her face. " She is 
 always dressed nicely : not fine, you know. Mrs. 
 Cust says that the lower classes have become so 
 fine now-a-days, that nearly the only way you may 
 know a lady, until she speaks, is by her quiet 
 simplicity." 
 
 " My dear, Mrs. Cust should say elegant sim- 
 plicity," corrected Lady Verner. *' She ought to 
 know. She is of good family." 
 
 Lucy humbly acquiesced. She feared she herself 
 must be too " quiet " to satisfy Lady Verner. " Will 
 you be so kind, then, as to get me what you please? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " My daughter will see to all these things, Lucy," 
 replied Lady Verner. " She is not young, like you, 
 and she is remarkably steadj^, and experienced.''' 
 
 " She does not look old," said Lucy, in her open 
 candour. " She is very pretty." 
 
 " She is turned five -and- twenty. Have joii seen 
 her ? " 
 
 *' I have been with her ever so long. We were 
 talking about Lidia. She remembers my dear 
 mamma; and, do you know" — her bright expression 
 fading to sadness — " I can scarcely remember her ! 
 I should have stayed with Decima — May I call her 
 Decima ? " broke off Lucy, with a faltering tongue, 
 as if she had done wrong. 
 
 " Certainly you may." 
 
124 verner's pride. 
 
 " I should have stayed with Decnna until now, 
 talking about mamma, but a gentleman came in." 
 
 *' A gentleman ? " echoed Lady Verner. 
 
 " Yes. Some one tall and veiy thm. Decima 
 called him Jan. After that, I went to my room 
 again. I could not find it at first," she added, with 
 a pleasant little laugh. " I looked into two ; but 
 neither was mine, for I could not see the boxes. 
 Then I changed my dress, and came down." 
 
 " I hope you had m}- maid to assist you," quickly 
 remarked Lady Verner. 
 
 " Some one assisted me, When I had my dress 
 on, ready to be fastened, I looked out to see if I 
 could find any one to do it, and I did. A servant 
 was at the end of the corridor, by the window." 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Tempest, you should have 
 rung," exclaimed Lady Verner, half petrified at the 
 young lady's unformed manners, and privately spe- 
 culating upon the sins Mrs. Cust must have to 
 answer for. '' AVas it Therese ? " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Lucy. " She was rather 
 ©Id, and had a broom in her hand." 
 
 " Old Catherine, I declare! Sweeping and dusting 
 as usual ! She might have soiled your dress." 
 
 " She wiped her hands on her apron," said Lucy, 
 simply. " She had a nice face : I liked it." 
 
 " I beg, my dear, that in future you will ring for 
 Therese," emphaticalty returned Lady Verner, in 
 her discomposure. " She understands that she is to 
 wait upon j^ou. Therese is my maid, and her time 
 is not half occupied. Decima exacts very little of 
 
LLCY TEMPEST. 125 
 
 her. But take care that you do not allow her to 
 lapse into English when with you. It is what she 
 is apt to do unless checked. You speak French of 
 course ? " added Lady Verner, the thought crossing 
 her that Mrs. Cust's educational training might 
 have heen as deficient on that point, as she deemed 
 it had been on that of " style." 
 
 " I speak it quite well," replied Lucy : " as well, 
 or nearly as well, as a French girl. But I do not 
 require anybody to wait on me," she continued. 
 " There is never anything to do for me, but just to 
 fasten these evening dresses that close behind. I 
 am much obliged to you, all the same, for thinking 
 of it. Lady Verner." 
 
 Lady Verner tm-ned from the subject : it seemed 
 to grow more and more unprofitable. " I shall go 
 and hear what Jan says, if he is there," she remarked 
 to Lionel. 
 
 " I wonder we did not see or hear him come in,'* 
 was Lionel's answer. 
 
 "As if Jan could come into the house like a 
 gentleman ! " returned Lady Verner, with intense 
 acrimony. " The back way is a step or two nearer, 
 and therefore he patronises it." 
 
 She quitted the room as she spoke, and Lionel 
 turned to Miss Tempest. He had been exceedingly 
 amused and edified at the conversation between her 
 and his mother ; but while Lady Verner had been 
 inclined to groan over it, he had rejoiced. That 
 Luc/ Tempest was thoroughly and genuinely unso- 
 phisticated ; that she w'as of a nature too sincere 
 
12G verner's pride. 
 
 and honest for lier manners to be otherwise than 
 of truthful simplicity, he was certain. A delightful 
 child, he thought ; one he could have taken to his 
 heart and loved as a sister. Not with any other 
 love : that was already given elsewhere by Lionel 
 Yerner. 
 
 The winter evening was drawing on, and little 
 light was in the room, save that cast by the blaze of 
 the fire. It flickered upon Lucy's face, as she stood 
 near it. Lionel drew a chair towards her. " Will 
 you not sit down, Miss Tempest ? " 
 
 A formidable-looking chair, large and stately, as 
 Lucy turned to look at it. Her eyes fell upon the 
 low one which, earlier in the afternoon, had been 
 occupied by Lady Verner. " May I sit in this one 
 instead ? I like it best." 
 
 "You 'may' sit in any chair that the room con- 
 tains, or on an ottoman, or anywhere that you hke," 
 answered Lionel, considerably amused. " Perhaps 
 you would prefer this ? " 
 
 " This " was a very low seat indeed — in point of 
 fact. Lady Verner's footstool. He had spoken in 
 jest, but she waited for no second permission, drew 
 it close to the fire, and sat down upon it. Lionel 
 looked at her, his lips and eyes dancing. 
 
 *' Possibly you would have preferred the rug ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should," answered she, frankl}^ " It is 
 what we did at the rectory. Between the lights, on 
 a winter's evening, we were allowed to do what we 
 pleased for twenty minutes, and we used to sit down 
 on the rug before the fire, and talk." 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. 127 
 
 " Mrs. Cust, also ? " asked Lionel. 
 
 *' Not Mrs. Cust : jou. are laughing at me. If she 
 came in, and saw us, she would say we were too old 
 to sit there, and should be better on chairs. But we 
 liked the rug best." 
 
 " What had you used to talk of ? " 
 
 " Of everything, I think. About the poor ; Mr. 
 Gust's poor, you know; and the village, and our 
 studies, and — But I don't think I must tell you 
 that," broke off Lucy, laughing merrily at her own 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Yes, you may," said Lionel. 
 
 " It was about that poor old German teacher of 
 ours. We used to play her such tricks, and it was 
 round the fire that we planned them. But she is 
 very good," added Lucy, becoming serious, and 
 lifting her eyes to Lionel, as if to bespeak his sym- 
 pathy for the German teacher. 
 
 " Is she ? " 
 
 " She was always patient and kind. The first 
 time Lady Verner lets me go to a shop, I mean to 
 buy her a warm winter cloak. Hers is so thin. Do 
 you think I could get her one for two pounds ? " 
 
 " I don't know at all," smiled Lionel. " A great 
 coat for me w^ould cost more than two pounds." 
 
 " I have two sovereigns left of my pocket-money, 
 besides some silver. I hope it will buy a cloak, ' It 
 is Lady Verner who will have the management of 
 my money, is it not, now that I have left Mrs. 
 Gust's ? " 
 
 " I believe so." 
 
128 verner's pride. 
 
 " I wonder how much she will allow me for 
 myself ? " continued Lucy, gazing up at Lionel with 
 a serious expression of inquiry, as if the question 
 were a momentous one. 
 
 "I think cloaks for old teachers ought to be 
 apart," cried Lionel. " They should not come out of 
 your pocket-money." 
 
 " Oh, but I like them to do so. I wish I had a 
 home of my own! — as I shall have when papa 
 returns to Europe. I should invite her to me for 
 the holidays, and give her nice dinners always, and 
 buy her some nice clothes, and send her back with 
 her poor old heart happy." 
 
 " Invite whom ? " 
 
 " Fraulein Muller. Her fatlier w^as a gentleman 
 of good position, and he somehow lost his inheri- 
 tance. When he died she found it out — there was 
 not a shilling for her, instead of a fortune, as she 
 had always thought. She w^as over forty then, and 
 she had to come to England and begin teaching for 
 a living. She is fifty now, and nearly all she gets 
 she sends to Heidelberg to her poor sick sister. I 
 wonder how much good warm cloaks do cost ? " 
 
 Lucy Tempest spoke the last sentence dreamity. 
 She was evidently debating the question in her own 
 mind. Her small white hands rested inertl)^ upon 
 her pink dress, her clear face with its delicate bloom 
 was still, her eyes were bent on the fire. But that 
 Lionel's heart was elsewhere, it might have gone 
 out, there and then, to that young girl and her 
 attractive simplicity. 
 
LUCY TEMPEST. 129 
 
 " "What a pretty child you are ! " involuntarily 
 broke from him. 
 
 Up came those eyes to him, soft and luminous, 
 their only expression being surprise, not a shade of 
 vanity. 
 
 " I am not a child : why do you call me one ? 
 But Mrs. Cust said you would all be taking me for a 
 child, until you knew me." 
 
 " How old are you ? " asked Lionel. 
 
 " I was eighteen last September." 
 
 " Eighteen ! " involuntarily repeated Lionel. 
 
 *' Yes : eighteen. We had a party on my birth- 
 day. Mr. Cust gave me a most beautifully bound 
 copy of Thomas a Kempis : he had had it bound on 
 purpose. I will show it to you when my books are 
 unpacked. You would like Mr. Cust if you knew 
 him. He is an old man now, and he has white hair. 
 He is twenty years older than Mrs. Cust : but he is 
 so good ! " 
 
 " How is it," almost vehemently broke forth 
 Lionel, "that you are so different from others ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Am I different ? " 
 
 " So different — so different — that — that — " 
 
 " What is the matter with me ? " she asked, 
 timidly, almost humbl}^, the delicate colour in her 
 cheeks deepening to crimson. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter with you," he 
 answered, smiling; "a good thing if there were as 
 little the matter with everybody else. Do you know 
 that I never saw any one w^hom I liked so much at 
 first sight as I like you, although you appear to me 
 
 VOL, I, K 
 
130 verner's pride. 
 
 only as a child ? If I call here often I shall gi-ow 
 to love you almost as much as I love my sister 
 Decima.'^ 
 
 " Is not this your home ? " 
 
 *' No. My home is at Verner's Pride." 
 
CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 DE. west's home. 
 
 The house of Dr. West was already lighted up. 
 Gas at its front door, gas at its surgery door, gas 
 inside its windows : no habitation in the place 
 was ever so extensively lighted as Dr. West's. The 
 house was enclosed with iron railings, and on its 
 side — detached — was the surgery. A very low 
 place, this surgery : you had to go down a step or 
 two, and then plunge into a low door. In the time 
 of the last tenant it had been used as a garden tool- 
 house. It was a tolerably large room, and had a 
 tolerably small window, which was in front, the door 
 being on the side, opposite the side entrance of 
 the house. . A counter ran along the room at the 
 back, and a table, covered with miscellaneous 
 articles, stood on the right. Shelves were ranged 
 completely round the room aloft, and a pair of steps, 
 used for getting down the jars and bottles, rested in 
 a corner. There was another room behind it, used 
 exclusively by Dr. West. 
 
 Seated on the counter, pounding desperately away 
 at something in a mortar, as if his life depended on 
 it, was a peculiar-looking gentleman in shirt- sleeves. 
 Very tall, very thin, with legs and arms that bore 
 
 k2 
 
132 verner's pride. 
 
 the api)earance of being too long even for his tall 
 body, great hands and feet, a thin face dark and 
 red, a thin aquiline nose, black hair, and black 
 prominent eyes that seemed to be always on the 
 stare, — there sat he, his legs dangling and his 
 fingers working. A straightforward, honest, simple 
 fellow looked lie, all utility and practicalness — if 
 there is such a w^ord. One, plain in all w^ays. 
 
 It was Janus Verner : never, in the memory of 
 anybody, called anything but " Jan :" second and 
 3^oungest son of Lady Yerner, brother to LioneL 
 He brother to courtly Lionel, to statel}" Decima, 
 son to refined Lady Yerner ? He certainly was : 
 though Lady Yerner in her cross moods would 
 declare that Jan must have been changed at nurse — 
 an assertion without foundation, since he had been 
 nursed at home under her 0"s\ti eye. Never in his 
 life had he been called anything but Jan : address 
 him as Janus, or as Mr. Yerner, and it may be 
 questioned if Jan would have answered to it. 
 People called him " droll," and, if to be of plain^ 
 unvarnished manners and speech was droll, Jan 
 decidedly was so. Some said Jan was a fool, some 
 said he was a bear. Lad}^ Yerner did not accord 
 him any great amount of favour herself. She had 
 tried to make Jan wiiat she called a gentleman, to 
 beat into him suavity, gracefulness, tact, gloss of 
 speech and bearing; something between a Lord 
 Chesterfield and a Sir Eoger de Coverley, and she 
 had been obliged to give it up as a hopeless job. 
 Jan was utterly irreclaimable : Nature had made 
 
DR. west's home. 133 
 
 liim plain and straiglitforward, and so he remained. 
 But there was many a one that the workl woukl 
 bow down to as a model, whose intrinsic worth 
 was poor, compared to unoffending Jan's. Lady 
 Verner would tell Jan he was undutiful. Jan tried 
 to be as dutiful to her as ever he could; but he 
 could not change his [ungainly person, his awk- 
 ward manner. As well try to wash a negro 
 white. 
 
 Lady Verner had proposed that Jan should go 
 into the army. Jan (plain spoken as a boy, as he 
 was still) had responded that he'd rather not go out 
 to be shot at. What was she to do with him ? Lady 
 Verner peevishly asked. She had no money, she 
 lamented, and she would take care Jan was not 
 helped from Mr. Verner. To make him a barrister, 
 or a clergyman, or a member of parliament (it was 
 what Lady Verner said), would cost vast sums of 
 money : a commission could be obtained for him 
 gratis, in consideration of his father's services. 
 
 " Make me an apothecary," said Jan. 
 
 '' An apothecary ! " echoed Lady Verner, aghast. 
 '•' That's not a gentleman's calling." 
 
 Jan opened his great eyes. Had he taken a 
 liking for carpentermg, he would have deemed it 
 gentlemanly enough for him. 
 
 " What has put an apothecary's business into your 
 head ? " cried Lady Verner. 
 
 " I should like the pounding," replied Jan. 
 
 " The poundmg ! " reiterated Lady Verner, in 
 astonishment. 
 
134 verner's pride. 
 
 " I should like it altogether," concluded Jan. 
 *' I wish you'd let me go apprentice to Dr. ^^est." 
 
 Jan held to his liking. In due course of time he 
 was apprenticed to Dr. West, and pounded a^^'ay to 
 his heart's content. Thence he went to London to 
 walk the hospitals, afterwards completing his studies 
 in Paris. It was at the latter period that the acci- 
 dent happened to Jan which called Lionel to Paris. 
 Jan w^as knocked down hy a carriage in the 
 street, his leg broken, and he was otherwise injured. 
 Time and skill cured him. Time and perseverance 
 completed his studies, and Jan became a licensed 
 surgeon of no mean skill. He returned to Deer- 
 ham, and was engaged as assistant to Dr. AYest. 
 No very ambitious position, but " it's good enough 
 for Jan," slightingly said Lady Verner. Jan pro- 
 bably thought the same, or he vrould have sought 
 a better. He was four-and-twenty now. Dr. West 
 was a general practitioner, holding an Edinburgh 
 degree only. There was plenty to do in Deerham 
 and its neighbourhood, what with the rich and what 
 with the poor. Dr. West chiefly attended the rich 
 himself, and left Jan to take care of the poor. It 
 was all one to Jan. 
 
 Jan sat on the counter in the surgery, pounding 
 and pounding. He had just come in from his visit 
 to Deerham Court, summoned thither by the slight 
 accident to his sister Decima. Leaning his two 
 elbows on the counter, and his pale puffy cheeks on 
 his hands, intently w^atching Jan with his light eyes, 
 was a young gentleman rising fifteen, with an apron 
 
DE. west's home. 135 
 
 tied round his waist. This was Master Cheese ; an 
 apprentice, as Jan once had been. In point of fact, 
 the pounding now was Master Cheese's proper work, 
 but he was fat and lazy, and so sure as Jan came 
 into the surgery, so sure would young Cheese begin 
 to grunt and groan, and vow that his arms were 
 "knocked off" with the work. Jan, in his indolent 
 manner, — and in motion and manner Jan appeared 
 intensely indolent, as if there was no huiuy in him ; 
 he would bring his words, too, out indolently, — 
 would lift the pounding machine aloft, sit himself 
 down on the counter, and complete the work. 
 
 "I say," said young Cheese, watching the 
 progress of the pestle with satisfaction, " Dame 
 Dawson has been here." 
 
 "What did she want ? " asked Jan. 
 
 " Bad in her inside, she says. I gave her three 
 good doses of jalap." 
 
 "Jalap ! " echoed Jan. " Well, it won't do her much 
 harm. She won't take 'em ; she'll throw 'em away.'" 
 
 "Law, Jan!" For, in the private familiarity of 
 the surgery, young Cheese was thus accustomed 
 unceremoniously to address his master — as Jan was. 
 And Jan allowed it with composure. 
 
 " She'll throw 'em away," repeated Jan. " There's 
 not a worse lot for physic in all the parish than 
 Dame Dawson. I know her of old. She thought 
 she'd get peppermint and cordials ordered for her : 
 an excuse for running up a score at the public - 
 house. Where's the doctor ? " 
 
 " He^s off somewhere. I saw one of the Bitter- 
 
136 verner's prede. 
 
 worth grooms come to the house this afternoon, so 
 perhai^s something's wrong there. I say, Jan, 
 there'll be a stunning pie for supper ! " 
 
 " Have you seen it ? " 
 
 " Haven't I ! I went into the kitchen when she 
 was making it. It has got a hare inside it, and 
 forcemeat balls." 
 
 "Who ? " asked Jan — alluding to the maker. 
 
 "Miss Deb," replied j^oung Cheese. "It's sure 
 to be something extra good, for her to go and make 
 it. If she doesn't help me to a rare good serving, 
 shan't I look black at her ! " 
 
 " It mayn't be for supper,^' debated Jan. 
 
 " Cook said it was. I asked her. She thought 
 somebody was coming. I say, Jan, if you miss any 
 of the castor oil, don't go and say I drank it.^' 
 
 Jan lifted his eyes to a shelf opposite, where 
 various glass bottles stood. Among them was the 
 one containing the castor oil. " Who has been at 
 it ? " he asked. 
 
 "Miss Amilly. She came and filled that great 
 fat glass pot of hers, with her own hands ; and she 
 made me drop in some essence of cloves to scent it. 
 Won't her hair smell of it to-night ! " 
 
 " They'll make castor oil scarce, if they go at it 
 like that," said Jan, indifferently. 
 
 " They use about a quart a month ; I know they 
 do; the three of 'em together," exclaimed young 
 Cheese, as vehemently as if the loss of the castor 
 oil was personal. " How their nightcaps must be 
 greased ! " 
 
DR. west's home. 137 
 
 *' Sibylla doesn't use it," said Jan. 
 
 " Doesn't she, though ! ''' retorted young Cheese 
 with acrimony. " She uses many things on the sly 
 that she pretends not to use. She's as vain as a 
 peacock. Did you hear about — " 
 
 Master Cheese cut his question short. Coming 
 in at the surgery door was Lionel Verner. 
 
 " Well, Jan ! What about Decima ? After wait- 
 ing ages at the Court for you to come down stairs 
 and report, I found you were gone." 
 
 " It's a twist," said Jan. " It will be all right in 
 a few days. How's Uncle Stephen to-day ? " 
 
 " Just the same. Are the young ladies in ? " 
 
 " Go and see," said Jan. "I know nothing about 
 'em." 
 
 " Yes, they are in, sir," interrupted Master 
 Cheese. " They have not been out all the after- 
 noon,'for a wonder." , 
 
 Lionel left the surgery, stepped round to the 
 front door, and entered the house. 
 
 In a square, moderate-sized drawing-room, with 
 tasty things scattered about it to catch the eye, 
 stood a young lady, figuring off before the chimney- 
 glass. Had you looked critically into the sub- 
 stantial furniture you might have found it old and 
 poor : of a different class from the valuable furniture 
 at Vemer's Pride, widely different from the light, 
 elegant furniture at Lady Verner's. But, what with 
 white anti-macassars, many coloured mats on which 
 reposed pretty ornaments, glasses and vases of 
 flowers, and other trifles, the room looked well 
 
136 verner's pride. 
 
 worth grooms come to the house this afternoon, so 
 perhaps something's wrong there. I say, Jan, 
 there'll be a stunning pie for supper ! " 
 
 " Have you seen it ? " 
 
 " Haven't I ! I went into the kitchen when she 
 was making it. It has got a hare inside it, and 
 forcemeat balls." 
 
 "Who ? " asked Jan — alluding to the maker. 
 
 "Miss Deb," replied young Cheese. "It's sui-e 
 to be something extra good, for her to go and make 
 it. If she doesn't help me to a rare good serving, 
 shan't I look black at her ! " 
 
 " It mayn't be for supper,^' debated Jan. 
 
 " Cook said it was. I asked her. She thought 
 somebody was coming. I say, Jan, if you miss any 
 of the castor oil, don't go and say I drank it.^' 
 
 Jan lifted his eyes to a shelf opposite, where 
 various glass bottles stood. Among them was the 
 one containing the castor oil. " Who has been at 
 it?" he asked. 
 
 "Miss Amilly. She came and filled that great 
 fat glass pot of hers, with her own hands ; and she 
 made me drop in some essence of cloves to scent it. 
 Won't her hair smell of it to-night ! " 
 
 " They'll make castor oil scarce, if they go at it 
 like that," said Jan, indifferently. 
 
 " They use about a quart a month ; I know thej' 
 do; the three of 'em together," exclaimed yoimg 
 Cheese, as vehemently as if the loss of the castor 
 oil was personal. " How their nightcaps must be 
 greased ! " 
 
DR. west's home. 137 
 
 *' Sibylla doesn't use it," said Jan. 
 
 " Doesn't she, though ! " retorted young Cheese 
 with acrimony. *' She uses many things on the sly 
 that she pretends not to use. She's as vain as a 
 j)eacock. Did jow hear about — " 
 
 Master Cheese cut his question short. Coming 
 in at the surgery door was Lionel Verner. 
 
 " Well, Jan ! What about Decima ? After wait- 
 ing ages at the Court for you to come down stairs 
 and report, I foimd you were gone." 
 
 " It's a twist," said Jan. " It wiU be all right in 
 a few days. How's Uncle Stephen to-day ? " 
 
 '■ Just the same. Are the young ladies in ? " 
 
 " Go and see," said Jan. "I know nothing about 
 em. 
 
 " Yes, they are in, sir," interrupted Master 
 Cheese. " They have not been out all the after- 
 nooUj^for a wonder." . 
 
 Lionel left the surger}^, stepped round to the 
 front door, and entered the house. 
 
 In a square, moderate-sized drawing-room, with 
 tasty things scattered about it to catch the eye, 
 stood a young lady, figuring off before the chimney- 
 glass. Had you looked critically into the sub- 
 stantial furniture you might have found it old and 
 poor : of a different class from the valuable furniture 
 at Vemer's Pride, widely different from the light, 
 elegant furniture at Lady Yerner's. But, what with 
 white anti-macassars, many coloured mats on which 
 reposed pretty ornaments, glasses and vases of 
 flowers, and other trifles, the room looked well 
 
140 verner's pride. 
 
 Lionel had never spoken of his love. He knew 
 that his marriage with Sibj^la West would be so 
 utterly distasteful to Mr. Yerner, that he was 
 content to wait. He knew that Sib^dla could not 
 mistake him — could not mistake what his feelings 
 were ; and he believed that she also was content to 
 wait until he should be his own master and at 
 liberty to ask for her. When that time should 
 come, what did she intend to do with Frederick 
 Massingbird, who made no secret to her that he 
 loved her and expected to make her his wife ? 
 Sibylla did not know ; she did not much care ; she 
 vv^as of a careless nature, and allowed the futui'e to 
 take its chance. 
 
 The only person who had penetrated to the 
 secret of her love for Frederick Massingbird was 
 her father. Dr. West. 
 
 " Don't be a simpleton, child, and bind j'om'self 
 with your eyes bandaged," he abruptly and lacon- 
 ically said to her one day. " AVhen Yerner "s Pride 
 falls in, then marry whoever is its master." 
 
 " Lionel will be its master for certain, will he 
 not ? " she answered, startled out of the words. 
 
 " We don't know who will be its master," was Dr. 
 West's rejoinder. " Don't play the simpleton, I 
 say, Sib3'lla, by entangling yourself with your 
 cousin Fred." 
 
 Dr. West was one who possessed an eye to the 
 main chance ; and, had Lionel Yerner been, beyond 
 contingency, " certain " of Yerner's Pride, there is 
 little doubt but he would have brought him to book 
 
 o 
 
DR. WEST^S HOME. 1-11 
 
 at once, bj^ demanding his intentions with regard to 
 SibyUa. There were very few persons in Deerham, 
 but deemed Lionel as indisputably certain of 
 Verner's Pride as though he were already in 
 possession of it. Dr. West was probably an 
 unusually cautious man. 
 
 " It is singular," observed Lionel, looking at the 
 moth. " The day has been sunshin}^, but far too cokl 
 to call these moths into life. At least, according to 
 my belief ; but I am not learned in entomology." 
 
 " Ento , what a hard word ! " cried Sibylla^ 
 
 in her prettily affected manner. " I should never 
 find out how to spell it." 
 
 Lionel smiled. His deep love was shining out of 
 his eyes as he looked down upon her. He loved 
 her powerfully, deepl}^, passionately; to him she 
 was as a very angel, and he believed her to be pure- 
 souled, honest-hearted, single-minded as one. 
 
 " Where did my aunt go to-day ? " inquii'ed 
 Sibylla, alluding to Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " She did not go anywhere that I am aware of," 
 he answered. 
 
 " I saw the carriage out this afternoon." 
 
 " It was going to the station for Miss Tempest." 
 
 " Oh ! she's come, then ? Have you seen her ? 
 What sort of a demoiselle does she seem ? " 
 
 " The sweetest child ! — she looks little more than 
 a child ! " cried Lionel, impulsively. 
 
 " A child, is she ? I had an idea she was grown 
 up. Have any of you at Verner's Pride heard 
 from John ? " 
 
142 verner's pride. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " But the mail's in, is it not ? How strange that 
 he does not write ! " 
 
 " He may be coming home with his gold," said 
 Lionel. 
 
 They were interrupted. First of all came in the 
 tea-things — for at Dr. West's the dinner-hour was 
 early-^and, next, two young ladies, hearing a great 
 resemblance to each other. It would give them 
 dire offence not to call them young. They were 
 really not very much past thirty, but they were 
 of that class of women who age rapidlj^; their 
 hair was sadly thin, some of their teeth had gone, 
 and they had thin flushed faces and large twisted 
 noses ; but their blue eyes had a good-natured 
 look in them. Little in person, rather bending 
 forward as they walked, and dressing youthfuU}-, 
 they yet looked older than they really were. 
 Their light brown hair was worn in short stragg- 
 ling ringlets in front, and twisted up with a comb 
 behind. Once upon a time that hair was long and 
 tolerably thick, but it had gradually and spite- 
 fully worn down to what it was now. The Miss 
 Wests were proud of it still, however; as may be 
 inferred by the disappearance of the castor oil. A 
 short while back, somebody had recommended to 
 them castor oil as tlie best specific for bringing 
 on departed hair. They were inoffensive in mind 
 and manners, rather simple, somewhat affected 
 and very vain, quarrelling with no person under 
 the sun, except Sib3dla. Sibylla was the plague 
 
DR. west's home. 143 
 
 of their lives. So many jeavs yoimger than the}^ 
 they had petted her and indulged her as a child, 
 until at length the child became their mistress. 
 Sibylla was rude and ungrateful, would cast scorn- 
 ful words at them and call them " old maids," with 
 other reproachful terms. There was open warfare 
 between them : but in their hearts they loved 
 Sibylla still. They had been named respectively 
 Deborah and Amilly. The latter name had been 
 intended Amelie; but by some mistake of the 
 parents or of the clergyman, none of them French 
 scholars, Amilly, the child was christened and regis- 
 tered. It remained a joke against Amilly to this 
 day. 
 
 " Sibylla ! " exclaimed Deborah, somewhat in 
 surprise, as she shook hands with Lionel, " I 
 thought you had gone to Verner's Pride." 
 
 " Nobody came for me. It got dusk, and I did 
 not care to go alone," replied Sibjdla. 
 
 " Did you think of going to Verner's Pride this 
 evening, Sibylla ? " asked Lionel. " Let me take 
 you now. We shall be just in time for dinner. I'll 
 bring you back this evening." 
 
 "I don't know," hesitated Sibylla. The truth 
 was, she had expected Frederick Massingbird to 
 come for her. " I — think — I'll — go," she slowly 
 said, apparently balancing some point in her 
 mind. 
 
 " If you do go, you should make haste and put 
 your things on," suggested Miss Amilly. And 
 Sibylla acquiesced, and left the room. 
 
144: verner's pride. 
 
 " Has Mr. Jan been told that the tea's ready, I 
 wonder ? " cried Miss Deborah. 
 
 Mr. Jan apparently had been told, for he entered 
 as she was speakmg; and Master Cheese — his apron 
 off and his hair brushed — with him. Master Cheese 
 cast an inquisitive look at the tea-table, hoping he 
 should see something tempting upon it; eating 
 good things, forming the pleasantest portion of that 
 young gentleman's life. 
 
 " Take this seat, Mr. Jan," said jMiss Amilly, 
 drawing a chair forward next her own. " Master 
 Cheese, have the kindness to move a little round : 
 Mr. Jan can't see the fire if you sit there." 
 
 " I don't want to see it," said literal Jan. " I'm 
 not cold." And Master Cheese took the oppor- 
 tunity which the words gave, to remain where he 
 was. He liked to sit in the warmth with his back 
 to the fire. 
 
 " I cannot think where papa is," said Miss 
 Deborah. " Mr. Lionel, is it of any use asking you 
 to take a cup of tea ? " 
 
 " Thank you, I am going home to dinner," 
 replied Lionel. "Dr. West is coming in now," he 
 added, perceiving that gentleman's approach from 
 the window. 
 
 " Miss Amilly," asked Jan, " have you been at the 
 castor oil ? " 
 
 Poor Miss Amilly turned all the colours of the 
 rainbow : if she had one weakness, it was upon the 
 subject of her diminishing locks. While Cheese, 
 going red also, administered to Jan sundry kicks 
 
DE. west's home. 145 
 
 under tlie table, as an intimation that lie should 
 have kept counsel. " I — took — just a little drop, 
 Mr. Jan," said she. "What's the dose, if you 
 please ? Is it one teaspoonful or two ? " 
 
 " It depends upon the age," said Jan, " if you 
 mean taken inwardly. For jou it would be — I say, 
 Cheese, what are you kicking at ? " 
 
 Cheese began to stammer something about the 
 leg of the table ; but the subject was interrupted by 
 the entrance of Sibjdla. Lionel wished them good 
 evening, and went out with her. Outside the room 
 door they encountered Dr. West. 
 
 " Where are you going, Sibj^lla ? " he asked, 
 almost sharply, as his glance fell upon his daughter 
 and Lionel. 
 
 "To Verner's Pride." 
 
 " Go and take your things off. You cannot go 
 to Verner's Pride this evening." 
 
 " But, papa, why ? " inquired Sibylla, feeling that 
 she should like to turn restive. 
 
 ^' I have my reasons for it. You will know them 
 later. Now go and take your things off without 
 another word." 
 
 Sibylla dared not openly dispute the will of her 
 father, neither would she essay to do it before 
 Lionel Verner. She turned somewhat unwillingly 
 towards the staircase, and Dr. West opened the 
 drawing-room door, signing to Lionel to wait. 
 
 " Deborah, I am going out. Don't keep the tea. 
 Mr. Jan, should I be summoned anywhere, you'll 
 attend for me. I don't know when I shall be home." 
 
 VOL, I. L 
 
146 verner's pride. 
 
 " All right," called out Jan. And Dr. West went 
 out with Lionel Verner. 
 
 " I am going to Yerner's Pride," he said, taking 
 Lionel's arm as soon as they were in the street. 
 " There's news come from Australia. John Mas- 
 sin gbird's dead." 
 
 The announcement was made so abruptly, with 
 so little circumlocution or preparation, that Lionel 
 Verner failed at the first moment to take in the 
 full meaning of the words— "John Massingbiixl 
 dead ? " he mechanically asked. 
 
 " He is dead. It's a sad tale. He had the gold 
 about him, a great quantity of it, bringing it down 
 to Melbourne, and he was killed on the road ; 
 murdered for the sake of the gold." 
 
 " How have you heard it ? " demanded Lionel. 
 
 " I met Roy just now," replied Dr. West. " He 
 stopped me, saying he had heard from his son by 
 this afternoon's post; that there was bad news in 
 the letter, and he supposed he must go to Verner's 
 Pride, and break it to them. He gave me the letter, 
 and I undertook to carry the tidings to Mrs. Verner.' 
 
 "It is awfully sudden," said Lionel. "By the 
 mail, two months ago, he wrote himself to us, in 
 the highest spirits. And now — dead ! " 
 
 "Life, over there, is not worth a month's pur- 
 chase just now," remarked Dr. West; and Lionel 
 could but note that had he been discussing the death 
 of a total stranger, instead of a nephew, he could 
 only have spoken in the same indifferent, matter-of- 
 fact tone. " By all accounts, society is in a strange 
 
■ DK. west's HOiME. 147 
 
 state there/' lie continued ; " ruffians lying in wait 
 ever for prey. The men have been taken, and the 
 gold found upon them, Luke writes." 
 
 " That's good, so far," said Lionel. 
 
 When they reached Yerner's Pride, they found 
 that a letter was waiting for Frederick Massingbird, 
 who had not been home since he left the house early 
 in the afternoon. The superscription was in the 
 same handwriting as the letter Dr. West had brought 
 — Luke Eoy's. There could be no doubt that it 
 was only a confirmation of the tidings. 
 
 Mrs. Verner was in the drawing-room alone, 
 Tynn said, ready to go in to dinner, and rather 
 cross that Mr. Lionel should keep her waiting 
 for it. 
 
 "Who will break it to her — you or I?" asked 
 Dr. AVest, of Lionel. 
 
 " I think it should be 3^ou. You are her brother." 
 
 Broken to her it was, in the best mode they were 
 able. It proved a severe shock. Mrs. Yerner had 
 loved John, her eldest born, above every earthly 
 thing. He was wild, random, improvident, had 
 given her incessant trouble as a child and as a man ; 
 and so, mother fashion, she loved him best. 
 
 L2 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 
 
 Frederick Massingbird sat perched on the gate 
 of a ploughed field, softty •whisthng. His brain was 
 busy, and he was holding counsel with himself, 
 under the grey February skies. Three weeks had 
 gone by since the tidings arrived of the death of his 
 brother, and Frederick was deliberating whether he 
 should, or should not, go out. His own letter from 
 Luke Boy had been in substance the same as that 
 which Luke had written to his father. It was 
 neither more explanatory, nor less so. Luke Eoy 
 was not a first-hand at epistolary correspondence. 
 John had been attacked and killed for the sake of 
 his gold, and the attackers and the gold had been 
 taken hold of by the law; so far it said, and no 
 farther. That the notion should occur to Frederick 
 to go out to Melbourne, and lay claim to the gold 
 and any other property left by John, was only 
 natural. He had been making up his mind to do so 
 for the last three weeks ; and perhaps the vision of 
 essaying a little business in the gold-fields on his 
 own account, urged him on. But he had not fully 
 made up his mind jei. The journey was a long and 
 hazardous one; and — he did not care to leave Sibylla. 
 
A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 149 
 
 " To be, or not to be ? " soliloquised he, from his 
 seat on the gate, as he plucked thin branches off 
 from the bare winter hedge, and scattered them. 
 " Old step-father's wir}^ 3'et, he may last an age, 
 and this is getting a horrid humdrum life. I wonder 
 what he'll leave me, when he does goes off ? Mother 
 said one day she thought it wouldn't be more than five 
 hundred pounds. She doesn't know: he does not 
 tell her about his private affairs— never has told her. 
 Five hundred pounds ! If he left me a paltry sum 
 such as that, I'd fling it in the heir's face — Master 
 Lionel's." 
 
 He iDut a piece of the thorn into his mouth, bit it 
 up, spit it out again, and went on with his soliloquy.. 
 
 "I had better go. Wlw — if nothing, to speak of, 
 does come to me from old Verner, this money of 
 John's would be a perfect windfall. I must not lose 
 the chance of it — and lose it I should, unless I go 
 out and see after it. No, it would never do. I'll 
 go. It's hard to say how much he has left, poor, 
 fellow. Thousands — if one may judge by his letters 
 — besides this great nugget that they killed him for, 
 the villains ! Yes, I'll go — that's settled. And now, 
 to tr}^ and get Sibylla. She'll accompany me fast 
 enough. At least, I fancy she would. But there's 
 that old West ! I may have a battle over it with 
 him." , 
 
 He flung away what remained in his hand of the 
 sticks, leaped off the gate, and bent his steps hastily 
 in the direction of Deerham. Could he be going, 
 there and then, to Dr. West's, to try his fate with 
 
150 veenee's peide. 
 
 Sibylla? Veiy probably. Frederick Massingbird 
 liked to deliberate well when making up his mind to 
 a step ; but, that once done, he was wont to lose no 
 time in carrying it out. 
 
 On this same afternoon, and just about the same 
 hour, Lionel Verner was strolling through Deerham 
 on his way to pay a "sisit to his mother. Close at 
 the door he encountered Decima — well now — and 
 Miss Tempest, who were going out. None would 
 have believed Lionel and Decima to be brother and 
 sister, judging by their attire — he wore deep mourn- 
 ing, she had not a shred of mourning about her. 
 Lady Verner, in her prejudice against Yerner's 
 Pride, had neither put on mom^ning herself for John 
 Massingbird, nor allowed Decima to put it on. 
 Lionel was turning with them ; but Lady Yemer, 
 who had seen him from the window, sent a servant 
 to desire him to come to her. 
 
 " Is it anything particular, mother ? " he hastily 
 inquired. '' I am going with Decima and Lucy." 
 
 "It is so far particular, Lionel, that I wish you 
 to stay with me, instead of going with them," 
 answered Lady Yerner. "I fancy you are getting 
 rather fond of being with Lucy, and — and — in 
 short, it won^t do." 
 
 Lionel, in his excessive astonishment, could only 
 stare at his mother. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. " Lucy 
 Tempest ! What won't do ? " 
 
 " You are beginning to jiay Lucj- Tempest par- 
 ticular attention," said Lady Yerner, unscrewing the 
 
A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 151 
 
 silver stopper of lier essence-bottle, and applying 
 some to her forehead. " I will not permit it, 
 Lionel." 
 
 Lionel could not avoid laughing. 
 
 *' What can have put such a thing in your head, 
 mother, I am at a loss to conceive. Certainly 
 nothing in my conduct has induced it. I have 
 talked to Lucy as a child, more than as anything 
 else ; I have scarcely thought of her but as one — " 
 
 " Lucy is not a child,'-' interrupted Lady Verner. 
 
 " In years I find she is not. When I first saw 
 her at the railway-station, I thought she was a child, 
 and the impression somehow remains upon my 
 mind. Too often I talk to her as one. As to any- 
 thing else — were I to marry to-morrow, it is not 
 Lucy Tempest I should make my wife." 
 
 The first glad look that Lionel had seen on Lady 
 Yerner's face for many a day came over it then. In 
 her own mind she had been weaving a pretty little 
 romance for Lionel : and it was her dread, lest that 
 romance should be interfered with, which had called 
 up her fears, touching Lucy Tempest. 
 
 " My darling Lionel, you know wiiere you might 
 go and choose a wife," she said. " I have long 
 wished that you would do it. Beauty, rank, wealth, 
 — you may win them for the asking.'^ 
 
 A slightly self-conscious smile crossed the lips of 
 Lionel. 
 
 " You are surely not going to introduce again that 
 nonsense about Mary Elmsley ! " he exclaimed. " I 
 should never like her, never marry her, therefore — " 
 
153 verner's pride. 
 
 " Did you not allude to her when you spoke but 
 now — tliat it was not Lucy Tempest you should 
 make your wife ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " To whom, then ? Lionel, I must know it." 
 
 Lionel's cheek flushed scarlet. " I am not going 
 to marry yet — I have no intention of it. Why 
 should this conversation have arisen ? " 
 
 The words seemed to arouse a sudden dread on 
 the part of Lady Verner. " Lionel," she gasped in 
 a low tone, " there is a dreadful fear coming over 
 me. Not Lady Mary ! Some one else ! I remem- 
 ber Decima said one day that you appeared to care 
 more for Sibylla West than for her, your sister. 
 I have never thought of it from that hour to this : 
 I paid no more attention to it than though she had 
 said 3^ou cared for my maid Therese. You cannot 
 .care for Sibylla West ! " 
 
 Lionel had high notions of duty as well as of 
 honour, and he would not equivocate to his mother. 
 "I do care very much for Sibylla West," he said, 
 in a low tone ; " and, please God, I hope she will 
 sometime be my wife. But, mother, this confidence 
 is entirely between ourselves. I beg you not to 
 speak of it : it must not be suffered to get abroad." 
 
 The one short sentence of avowal over, Lionel 
 might as well have talked to the moon. Lad}^ 
 Verner heard him not. She was horrified; The 
 Wests in her eyes were utterly despicable. Dr. 
 West was tolerated as her doctor ; but as nothing 
 else. Her brave Lionel — standino- there before her 
 
A CONTEMrLATED VOYAGE. 15S 
 
 in all tlie pride of his strength and his beauty — he 
 sacrifice himself to Sibylla West! Of the two, 
 Therese might have been the less dreadful to the 
 mind of Lady Yerner. 
 
 A quarrel ensued. Stay — that is a wrong word. 
 It was not a quarrel, for Lady Yerner had all the 
 talking, and Lionel would not respond angrily; he 
 kept his lips pressed together lest he should. Never 
 had Lady Yerner been moved to make a like scene : 
 she reproached, she sobbed, she entreated. And, 
 in the midst of it, in walked Decima and Lucy 
 Tempest. 
 
 Lady Yerner for once forgot herself. She forgot 
 that Lucy was a stranger ; she forgot the request of 
 Lionel for silence ; and, upon Decima's asking what 
 was amiss, she told all — that Lionel loved Sibylla 
 West, and meant to marry her. 
 
 Decima was too shocked to speak. Lucy turned 
 and looked at Lionel, a pleasant smile shining in 
 her eyes. " She is very pretty ; very, very prett}^ ; 
 I never saw any one prettier." 
 
 " Thank you, Lucy," he cordially said : and it 
 was the first time he had called her Lucy. 
 
 Decima went up to her brother. " Lionel, must 
 it be ? I do not like her." 
 
 " Decima, I fear that 3'ou and my mother are 
 both prejudiced," he somewhat haughtily answered. 
 And there he stopped. Li turning his eyes towards 
 his mother as he spoke of her, he savv^ that she had 
 fainted away. 
 
 Jan was sent for, in all haste. Dr. West was 
 
154 verner's pride. 
 
 Lady Verner's medical adviser ; but a feeling in 
 Decima's lieart at tlie moment prevented her sum- 
 moning him. Jan arrived, on the run : the servant 
 had told him she was not sure but her lady was 
 dying. 
 
 Lady Yerner had revived then ; was better ; and 
 was re-entering upon the grievance which had so 
 affected her. " What could it have been ? " won- 
 dered Jan, who knew his mother was not subject to 
 fainting fits. 
 
 " Ask your brother, there, what it was," resentfully 
 spoke Lad}^ Verner. *' He told me he was going to 
 marry Sibylla West." 
 
 " Law ! " uttered Jan, 
 
 Lionel stood ; haughty, impassive ; his lips curl- 
 ing, his figure drawn to its full height. He would 
 not reproach his mother by so much as a word, but 
 the course she was taking, in thus proclaiming his 
 affairs to the world, hurt him in no measured 
 degree. 
 
 " I don't like her," said Jan. '' Deborah and 
 Amilly are not much, but I'd rather have the two, 
 than Sibylla." 
 
 " Jan," said Lionel, su]3pressiug his temper, " your 
 opinion was not asked." 
 
 Jan sat down on the arm of the sofa, his great legs 
 dangling. " Sibylla can't marry two," said he. 
 
 " Will you be quiet, Jan ? " said Lionel. " You 
 have no right to interfere. You shall not inter- 
 fere." 
 
 *' Gracious, Lionel, I don't want to interfere," 
 
A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 155 
 
 returned Jan, simpty. " Sibylla's going to marry 
 Fred Massingbird." 
 
 " Will you be quiet ? " reiterated Lionel, his brow 
 flusliing scarlet. 
 
 " I'll be quiet," said Jan, with composure. " You 
 can go and ask her for yourself. It has all been 
 settled this afternoon ; not ten minutes ago. Fred's 
 •going out to Australia, and Sibylla's going with him, 
 and Deborah and Amilly are crying their eyes out, 
 at the thought of parting with her." 
 
 Lady Verner looked up at Jan, an expression of 
 eager hope on her face. She could have kissed him 
 a thousand times. Lionel — Lionel took his hat and 
 walked out. 
 
 Believing it ? No. The temptation to chastise 
 Jan was growing great, and he deemed it well to 
 remove himself out of it. Jan was right, however. 
 
 Much to the surprise of Frederick Massingbird, 
 very much to the surprise of Sibjdla, Dr. West not 
 only gave his consent to the marriage as soon as 
 asked, but urged it on. If Fred must depart in a 
 week, why they could be married in a week, he said. 
 Sibylla was thunderstruck : Miss Deborah and Miss 
 Amilly gave vent to a few hysterical shrieks, and 
 hinted about the wedding clothes and the outfit. 
 That could be got together in a day, was the reply 
 of Dr. West, and they were too much astonished to 
 venture to sa}^ it could not. 
 
 " You told me to wait for Lionel Verner," whis- 
 pered Sibylla, when she and her father were alone, 
 as she stood before him, trembling. In her mind's 
 
156 verner's pride. 
 
 eye she saw Verner's Pride slipping from lier : and 
 it gave her chagrin, in spite of her love for Fred 
 Massingbird. 
 
 Dr. West leaned forward and whispered a few 
 words in her ear. She started violently, she coloured 
 crimson. "Papa!" 
 
 "It is true," nodded the doctor. 
 
 As Lionel passed the house on his wa}^ from 
 Deerham Court to Verner's Pride, he turned into 
 it, led by a powerful impulse. He did not believe 
 Jan, but the words had made him feel twitchings of 
 uneasiness. Fred Massingbird had gone then, and 
 the doctor was out. Lionel looked into the drawing- 
 room, and there found the two elder Miss Wests, 
 each dissolved in a copious shower of tears. So far, 
 Jan's words were born out. A sharp spasm shot 
 across his heart. 
 
 "You are in grief," he said, advancing to them. 
 "What is the cause?" 
 
 " The most dreadful voyage for her ! " ejaculated 
 Miss Deborah. " The ship may go to the bottom 
 before it gets there." 
 
 " And not so much as time to think of proper 
 things for her, let alone the getting them ! " sobbed 
 Miss Amilly. "It's all a confused mass in my mind 
 together : bonnets, and gowns, and veils, and 
 wreaths, and trunks, and petticoats, and calico 
 things for the voyage ! " 
 
 Lionel felt his lips grow pale. They were too 
 much engrossed to notice him; nevertheless, he 
 covered his face with his hand as he stood by the 
 
A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 157 
 
 anaiitel-piece. " Where is slie going ? " he quietly 
 asked. 
 
 " To Melbourne, with Fred," said Miss Deborah. 
 " Fred's going out to see about the money and gold 
 that John left, and to realise it. They are not to 
 stay : it will onij^ be the voyage out and home. But 
 if she should be taken ill out there, and die ! Her 
 sisters died, Mr. Lionel. Fred is her cousin, too. 
 Better have married one not of kin." 
 
 They talked on. Lionel heard them not. After 
 the revelation, that she was about to marry, all else 
 seemed a chaos. But he was one who could control 
 his feelings. 
 
 " I must be going," said he quietly, moving from 
 his standing-place with calmness. " Good day to 
 you." 
 
 He shook hands with them both, amidst a great 
 accession of sobs, and quitted the room. Kunning 
 down the stairs at that moment, singing gaily a scrap 
 of a merry song, came Sibylla, unconscious of his 
 vicinity ; indeed, of his presence in the house. She 
 started when she saw him, and stopped in hesitation. 
 
 Lionel threw open the door of the empty dining- 
 room, caught her arm and drew her into it : his 
 bearing haughty, his gestures imperative. There 
 they stood before each other, neither speaking for 
 some moments. Lionel's very lips were livid ; and 
 her rich wax-work colour went and came, and her 
 clear blue eyes fell under the stern gaze of his. 
 
 "Is this true, which I have been obliged to hear?" 
 was his first question. 
 
158 verner's pride. 
 
 She knew that she had acted ill. She knew that 
 Lionel Verner deserved to have a better part played 
 by liim. She had always looked up to him — all the 
 Wests had — as one superior in birth, rank, and 
 station to herself. Altogether, the moment brought 
 to her a great amount of shame and confusion. 
 
 " Answer me one question : I demand it of you," 
 reiterated Lionel. " Have joii ever mistaken my 
 sentiments towards you in the least degree ? " 
 
 " Have — I — I don't know," she faltered. 
 
 "No equivocation," burst forth Lionel. "Have 
 you not knoivn that I loved you ? That I was only 
 waiting my uncle's death to . make you my wife ? — 
 Heaven forgive me that I should thus speak as 
 though I had built upon it ! " 
 
 Sibylla let fall some tears. 
 
 " Which have you loved ? — all this while ! Me ? 
 — or him ? " 
 
 "Oh! don't speak to me like that/' sobbed Sibylla. 
 " He asked me to marry him, and — and — papa said 
 yes." 
 
 " I ask you," said Lionel in a low voice, "which 
 is it that you love ? " 
 
 She did not answer. She stood before him the 
 prettiest picture of distress imaginable : her hands 
 clasped, her large blue eyes filled with tears, her 
 shower of golden hair shading her burning cheeks. 
 
 " If you have been surprised or terrified into this 
 engagement, loving him not, will you give him up 
 for me ? " tenderly whispered Lionel. " Not — you 
 understand — if your love be his. In that case, I 
 
A CONTEMPLATED VOYAGE. 159 
 
 would not ask it. But, without reference to mj^self 
 at all, I doubt — and I have my reasons for it — if 
 Frederick Massingbird be worthy of you." 
 
 Was she wavering in her own mind? She stole a 
 glance upward — at his tall fine form, his attractive 
 face, its lineaments showing out in that moment, all 
 the pride of the Verners. A pride that mingled 
 with love. 
 
 Lionel bent to her : 
 
 " Sibylla, if you love him I have no more to say ; 
 if you love me, avow it, as I will then avow my love, 
 my intentions, in the face of day. Reflect before 
 you speak. It is a solemn moment, — a moment 
 which holds alike my destiny and yours in its 
 hands." 
 
 A rush of blood to her heart ; a rush of moisture 
 to her forehead, for Sib3^11a West was not wholly 
 without feeling, and she knew, as Lionel said, that 
 it was a decision fraught with grave destiny. But 
 Frederick Massingbird was more to her than he 
 was. 
 
 " I have given my promise. I cannot go from 
 it," was her scarcely breathed answer. 
 
 " May your falsity never come home to you ! " 
 broke from Lionel, in the bitterness of his anguish. 
 And he strode from the room -v^ithout another word 
 or look, and quitted the house. 
 
CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 THE KIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING. 
 
 Deerham could not believe the news. Verner's 
 Pride could not believe it. Nobody believed it, save 
 Lady Verner, and slie was onl}^ too thankful to 
 believe it and hug it. There was nothing sui'prising 
 in Sibylla's marrying her Cousin Fred, for many 
 had shrewdly suspected that the favour between 
 them was not altogether cousinly favour ; but the 
 surprise was given to the hasty marriage. Dr. 
 West vouchsafed an explanation. Two of his 
 daughters, aged respectively one year and two j-ears 
 younger than Amilly, had each died of consumption, 
 as all Deerham knew. On attaining her twenty- 
 fifth year, each one had shown rapid symptoms of 
 the disease, and had lingered but a few weeks. 
 Sib3^11a was only one-and-twenty yet; but Dr. West 
 fancied he saw, or said he savr, grounds for fear. 
 It was knov/n of what value a sea-voyage was in 
 these constitutions ; hence his consent to the de- 
 parture of Sibylla. Such vras the explanation of 
 Dr. West. 
 
 " I wonder whether the stated ' fear of con- 
 sumption ' has been called up by himself for the 
 occasion ? " was the thought that crossed the mind 
 
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE WEDDING. IGl 
 
 of Decima Verner. Decima did not believe in Dr. 
 West. 
 
 Verner's Pride, like the rest, had been taken 
 by surprise. Mrs. Yerner received the news with 
 eqiianimit}^ She had never given Fred a tithe of 
 the love that John had had, and she did not seem 
 much to care whether he married Sibylla, or 
 whether he did not, — whether he Avent out to 
 Australia, or whether he stayed at home. Frederick 
 told her of it in a very off-hand manner : but he 
 took pains to bespeak the approbation of Mr. 
 Verner. 
 
 " I hope my choice is pleasant to you, sii'. That 
 you will cordially sanction it." 
 
 " Whether it is pleasant to me or not, I have no 
 right to ^ay it shall not be," was the reply of Mr. 
 Verner. " I have never interfered with you, or with 
 your brother, since you became inmates of my 
 house." 
 
 ''Do you not like Sibj^lla, sir ? " 
 
 " She is a pretty girl. I know nothing against 
 her. I think you might have chosen worse." 
 
 Coldly, very coldly were the words delivered; and 
 there was a strangely keen expression of anguish on 
 Mr. Verner's face : but that was nothing unusual 
 now. Frederick Massingbii'd was content to accept 
 the words as a sanction of approval. 
 
 A few words — I don't mean angry ones — passed 
 between him and Lionel on the night before the 
 wedding. Lionel had not condescended to speak to 
 Frederick Massiugbird upon the subject at all : 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
102 verner's pride. 
 
 Sibylla had refused him, for the other, of her own 
 free will ; and there he let it rest. But the evening 
 previous to the marriage -day, Lionel appeared 
 strangely troubled ; indecisive, anxious, as if he were 
 debating some question with himself. Suddenly 
 he went straight up to Frederick'^ Massingbii'd's 
 chamber, who was deep in the business of packing, 
 like his unfortunate brother John had been, not two 
 short years before. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you," he began. " I have 
 thought of doing so these several days past, but 
 have hesitated, forj you may deem that it is no 
 business of mine. However, I cannot get it off my 
 mind that it may be my duty ; and I have come to 
 do it." 
 
 Frederick Massingbird was half buried amid piles 
 of things, but he turned round at this strange 
 address and looked at Lionel. 
 
 " Is there nothing on your conscience that should 
 prevent your marrying that girl ? " gravely asked 
 Lionel. 
 
 " Do you want her left for yourself ? " was Fred's 
 answer, after a prolonged stare. 
 
 Lionel flushed to his very temples. He controlled 
 the hasty retort that rose to his tongue. " I came 
 here not to speak in any one's interest but hers. 
 "Were she free as air this moment-^were she to 
 come to my feet and say, ' Let me be jouv wife,' I 
 should tell her that the whole world was before her 
 to choose from, save myself. She can never again 
 be anything to me. No. I speak for her alone. 
 
THE NIGHT BEFOEE THE WEDDING. 163 
 
 She is maiTjdng you in all confidence. Are you 
 worthy of her ? " 
 
 " What on earth do you mean ? " cried Frederick 
 Massinghird. 
 
 "If there be any sin upon your conscience that 
 ought to preveht your taking her, ox any confiding 
 girl, to your heart, as wife, reflect whether you 
 should ignore it. The consequences may come 
 home later ; and then what would be her position ? " 
 
 " I have no sin upon my conscience. Poor John, 
 perhaps, had plenty of it. I do not understand 
 you, Lionel Verner."" 
 
 " On 3"our sacred word ? " 
 
 " On my word, and honour, too." 
 
 ''Then forgive me," was the ready reply of 
 Lionel. And he held out his hand with frankness 
 to Frederick Massinghird. 
 
 M 2 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A TROUBLED MIND. 
 
 Just one fortnight from tlie very day that 
 witnessed the sailing of Frederick Massingbird and 
 his wife, Mr. Verner was taken alarmingly ill. 
 Fred, in his soliloquy that afternoon, when you 
 saw him upon the gate of the ploughed field — " Old 
 step-father's wiry yet, and may last an age," — had 
 certainly not been assisted with the gift of prevision, 
 for there was no doubt that Mr. Verner' s time to 
 die had now come. 
 
 Lionel had thrown his sorrow bravely from him : 
 in outward appearance at any rate. What it might be 
 doing for him inwardly, he alone could tell. These 
 apparentlj^ calm, undemonstrative natures, that show 
 a quiet exterior to the world, may have a fire con- 
 suming their heartstrings. He did not go near 
 the wedding ; but neither did he shut himself up 
 indoors, as one indulging lamentation and grief. 
 He pursued his occupations just as usual. He 
 read to Mr. Verner, who allowed him to do so that 
 day; he rode out; he saw people, friends and 
 others whom it was necessary to see. He had the 
 magnanimity to shake hands with the bride, and 
 wish her joy. 
 
A TROUBLED MIND. 105 
 
 It occurred in tliis way. Mrs. Verner declined to 
 attend the ceremony. Since the news of John's 
 death she had been ailing both in body and mind. 
 But she desired Frederick to take Verner's Pride in 
 his road when driving away with his bride, that she 
 might say her last farewell to him and Sibylla, 
 neither of whom she might ever see again. Oh, 
 she'd see them again fast enough, was Fred's re- 
 sponse ; they should not be away more than a year. 
 But he complied with her request, and brought 
 Sibylla. About three o^clock in the afternoon, the 
 ceremony and the breakfast over, the carriage, with 
 its four horses, clattered on to the terrace, and Fred 
 handed Sibylla out of it. Lionel was crossing the 
 hall at the moment of their entrance ; his horse had 
 just been brought round for him. To say he was 
 surprised at seeing them there would not be saying 
 enough ; he had known nothing of the intended call. 
 They met face to face. Sibylla wore a sweeping, 
 dress of silk ; a fine Indian shawl, the gift of Mrs. 
 Yerner, was folded round her, and her golden hair 
 fell beneath her bonnet. Her eyes fell, also, before 
 the gaze of Lionel. 
 
 Never had she looked more beautiful, more 
 attractive ; and Lionel felt it. But, had she been 
 one for whom he had never cared, he could not 
 have shown more courtly indifference. A moment 
 given to the choking down his throat's emotion, to 
 the stilling of his beating pulses, and he stood 
 before her calmly self-possessed ; holding out his 
 hand ; speaking in a low, clear tone. 
 
16G verner's pride. 
 
 " Allow me to offer yon my good wishes for your 
 welfare, Mrs. Massingbird." 
 
 " Thank you ; thank you very much," replied 
 Sibjdla, dropping his hand, avoiding his eye, and 
 going on to find Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " Good-bye, Lionel," said Frederick Massingbird. 
 " You are going out, I see." 
 
 Lionel shook his hand cordially. Rival though 
 he had proved to him, he did not blame Frederick 
 Massingbird; he was too just to cast blame where it 
 was not due. 
 
 " Fare you well, Frederick. I sincerely hope you 
 will have a prosperous voyage ; that you will come 
 safely home again." 
 
 All this was over, and they had sailed. Dr. West 
 having exacted a solemn promise from his son-in-law 
 that they should leave for home again the veiy 
 instant that John's property had been realised. And 
 now, a fortnight after it, Mr. Verner was taken — as 
 was believed — for death. He himself believed so. 
 He knew what his own disorder was ; he knew that 
 the moment the water began to mount, ' and had 
 attained a certain height, his life would be gone. 
 
 " How man}^ hours have I to live ? " he inquired 
 of Dr. West. 
 
 " Probably for some days," was the answer. 
 
 What could it have been that was troubling the 
 mind of j\Ir. Verner ? That it was worldly trouble 
 was certain. That other trouble, which has been 
 known to distract the minds of the dying, to fill 
 them with agonj^ was absent from his. On that 
 
A TROUBLED MIND. 1 G7 
 
 score lie was in perfect peace. But that some very- 
 great anxiety was racking him might he seen hy the 
 most casual observer. It had been racking him for 
 a long time past, and it was growing Vv^orse now. 
 And it appeared to he what he could not, or would 
 not, speak of. 
 
 The news of the dangerous change in the master 
 of Vomer's Pride circulated through the vicinity, 
 and it brought forth, amidst other of his friends, 
 Mr. Bitterworth. This was on the second day of the 
 change. Tynn received Mr. Bitterworth in the hall. 
 
 " There's no hope, sir, I'm afraid," was Tj^nn's 
 answer to his inquiries. " He's not in much pain of 
 body, but he is dreadfully anxious and uneas}^" 
 
 "What about?" asked Mr. Bitterworth: who was 
 a little man with a pimpled face. 
 
 " Nobody knows, sir : he doesn't say. For 
 myself, I can only think it must be about something 
 connected with the estate. What else can it be ? " 
 
 " I suppose I can see him, Tynn ? " 
 
 " I'll ask, sir. He refuses visitors in his room, 
 but I dare say he'll admit you." 
 
 Lionel came to Mr. Bitterworth in the drawing- 
 room. "My uncle will see you," he said, after 
 greetings had passed. 
 
 " Tynn informs me that he appears to be uneasy 
 in his mind," observed Mr. Bitterworth. 
 
 " A man so changed, as he has been in the last 
 two years, I have never seen," repHed Lionel. 
 ^' None can have failed to remark it. From entire 
 calmness of mind, he has exhibited anxious rest- 
 
168 verner's pride. 
 
 lessness: I may say irrita'bilit3\ Mrs. Vemer is ill," 
 Lionel added, as they were ascending the stairs. 
 *' She has not been out of bed for two days." 
 
 Not in his study now; he had done with the lower 
 part of the house for ever ; but in his bed-chamber, 
 never to come out of it alive, was Mr. Yerner. They 
 had got him up, and he sat in an easj^-chair by the 
 bed-side, partially dressed, and wrapped in his 
 dressing-gown. On his pale, worn face there were 
 the unmistakeable signs of death. He and ]Mr. 
 Bitterworth were left alone. 
 
 " So you have come to see the last of me. Bitter- 
 worth ! " was the remark of Mr. Yerner. 
 
 " Not the last yet, I hope," heartily responded 
 Mr. Bitterworth, who was an older man than Mr. 
 Yerner, but hale and active. "You may rally from 
 this attack and get about again. Remember how 
 many serious attacks you have had." 
 
 " None hke this. The end must come ; and it 
 has come now. Hush, Bitterworth ! To speak of 
 recovery to me is worse than child's play. I know 
 my time has come. And I am glad to meet it^ for 
 it releases me from a world of care." 
 
 "Were there any in this world who might be 
 supposed to be exempt from care, it is you," said 
 Mr. Bitterworth, leaning towards the invalid, his 
 hale old face expressing the concern he felt. " I 
 should have judged 5^ou to be perfecth' free from 
 earthly care. You have no children : what can be 
 troubling you ? " 
 
 "Would to Heaven I had children!" exclaimed 
 
A TROUBLED MIND. 109 
 
 Mr. Verner: and the remark appeared to break from 
 him involuntarily, in the bitterness of his heart. 
 
 " You have your brother's son, your heir, Lionel." 
 
 ''He is no heir of mine," returned Mr. Verner, 
 with, if possible, double bitterness. 
 
 " No heir of yours ! " repeated Mr. Bitterworth, 
 gazing at his friend, and wondering whether he had 
 lost his senses. 
 
 Mr. Verner, on his part, gazed on vacancy : his 
 thoughts evidently cast inwards. He sat in his old 
 favourite attitude : his hands clasped on the head of 
 his stick, and his face bent down upon it. " Bitter- 
 worth," said he, presently, "when I made my will 
 years ago, after my father's death, I appointed you 
 one of the executors." 
 
 " I know it," replied Mr. Bitterworth. " I was 
 associated — as you gave me to understand — with Sir 
 Bufus Hautley." 
 
 "Ay. After the boy came of age," — and Mr, 
 Bitterworth knew that he alluded to Lionel — "I 
 added his name to that of yours and Sir Bufus. 
 Legacies apart, the estate was all left to him." 
 
 " Of course it was," assented Mr. Bitterworth. 
 
 " Since then, I have seen fit to make an altera- 
 tion," continued Mr. Verner. "I mention it to you, 
 Bitterworth, that you may not be surprised when 
 you hear the will read. Also I would tell you that 
 I made the change of my own free act and judgment, 
 unbiassed by anyone, and that I did not make it 
 without ample cause. The estate is not left to 
 Lionel Verner, but to Frederick Massingbird." 
 
170 verner's pride. 
 
 Mr. Bitterworth had small round eyes, but they 
 opened now to their utmost width. " What did you 
 say ? " he repeated, after a pause ; like a man out of 
 breath. 
 
 " Strictly speaking, the estate is not bequeathed 
 to Frederick Massins^bird : he will inherit it in con- 
 sequence of John's death," quietly went on Mr. 
 Yerner. "It is left to John Massingbird, and to 
 Frederick after him, should he be the survivor. 
 Failing them both — " 
 
 '• And I am still executor ? " interrupted Mr. 
 Bitterworth, in a tone raised rather above the 
 orthodox key for a sick-room. 
 
 " You and Sir Rufus. That, so far, is not 
 altered." 
 
 " Then I will not act. No, Stephen Yerner, long 
 and close as our friendship has been, I will not 
 countenance an act of injustice. I will not be your 
 executor: unless Yerner's Pride goes, as it ought, to 
 Lionel Yerner." 
 
 " Lionel has forfeited it." 
 
 " Forfeited it ! — how can he have forfeited it? Is 
 this " — Mr. Bitterworth was given to speak in plain 
 terms when excited — "is this the underhand work 
 of Mrs. Yerner ? " 
 
 " Peace, Bitterworth ! Mrs. Yerner knows no- 
 thing of the change. Her surviving son knows 
 nothmg of it; John knew nothing of it. They have 
 310 idea but that Lionel is still the heir. You 
 should not jump to unjust conclusions. Not one of 
 them has ever asked me how my propertj^ was left ; 
 
A TROUBLED MIND. 171 
 
 or has attempted, b}^ the smallest word, to influence 
 me in its disposal." 
 
 " Then, what has influenced you ? Why have 
 you done it ? " demanded Mr. Bitter worth, his 
 voice becoming more subdued. 
 
 To this question Mr. Verner did not immediately 
 reply. He appeared not to have done with the 
 defence of his wife and her sons. 
 
 " Mrs. Verner is not of a covetous nature ; she is 
 not unjust, and I believe that she would wish the 
 estate willed to Lionel, rather than to her sons. 
 She knows no good reason why it should not be 
 willed to him. And for those sons — do you suppose 
 either of them would have gone out to Australia, 
 had he been cognisant that he was heir to Verner's 
 Pride ? " 
 
 " Why have you willed it away from Lionel ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you," replied Mr. Verner, in a tone 
 of sharp pain. It betrayed to Mr. Bitterworth what 
 sharper pain the step itself must have cost. 
 
 " Is it this which has been on your mind, Verner, 
 — disturbing your closing years ? " 
 
 " Ay, it is that; nothing else," wailed Mr. Verner, 
 " nothing else ! nothing else ! Has it not been 
 enough to disturb me ? " he added, putting the 
 question in a loud, quick accent. " Setting aside 
 my love for Lionel, which was great, — setting aside 
 my finding him unworthy, it has been a bitter trial 
 to me to leave Verner's Pride to a Massingbird. 
 I have never loved the Massingbirds," he continued, 
 dropping his voice to a whisper. 
 
172 verner's pride. 
 
 "If Lionel were unworth}"," — with a stress upon 
 the 'were,' — "you might have left it to Jan," 
 siDoke Mr. Bitterworth. 
 
 "Lady Verner has thrown too much estrange- 
 ment between Jan and me. No. I would rather 
 even a Massingbird had it than Jan." 
 
 " If Lionel were unworthy, I said," resumed Mr. 
 Bitterworth. " I cannot believe he is. How has 
 he proved himself so ? What has he done? " 
 
 Mr. Verner put up his hands as if to ward off 
 some imaginary phantom, and his pale face turned 
 of a leaden hue. 
 
 " Never ask me," he w^hispered. " I cannot tell 
 you. I have had to bear it about with me," he 
 continued, with an irrepressible burst of anguish; 
 " to bear it here, within me, in silence ; never 
 breathing a w^ord of my knowledge to him, or to any 
 one." 
 
 " Some folly must have come to your cogni- 
 sance," observed Mr. Bitterworth : " though I had 
 deemed Lionel Verner to be more free from the sins 
 of hot-blooded youth than are most men. I have 
 believed him to be a true gentleman in the best 
 sense of the wDrd — a good and honourable man." 
 
 " A silent stream runs deep," remarked Mr. 
 Verner. 
 
 Mr. Bitterworth drew his chair nearer to his friend^ 
 and, bending towards him, resumed solemnh'. 
 
 " Verner's Pride of right (speaking in accordance 
 with our national notions) belonged to jonv brother, 
 Sir Lionel. It would have been his, as you know, 
 
A TKOUBLED I^IIND. 173 
 
 liad lie lived but a month or two longer ; your 
 father would not have willed it away from him. 
 After him it would have been Lionel's. Sir Lionel 
 died too soon, and it was left to you ; but what 
 injunction from your father w^as it that accom- 
 panied it ? Forgive my asking you the question, 
 Stephen." 
 
 "Do you think I have forgotten it ? " wailed Mr. 
 Verner. " It has cost me my peace — my happiness, 
 to will it away from Lionel. To see Verner's 
 Pride in possession of any but a Verner will trouble 
 me so — if, indeed, we are permitted in the next 
 world still to mark what goes on in this — that I 
 shall scarcely rest quiet in my grave." 
 
 " You have no more — I must speak plainly, 
 Stephen — I believe that you have no more right in 
 equity to will away the estate from Lionel, than you 
 would have were he the heir-at-law. Many have 
 said — I am sure you must be aware that they have 
 — that you have kept him out of it ; that you have 
 enjoyed what ought to have been his, ever since his 
 grandfather's death." 
 
 " Have you said it ? " angiily asked Mr. Verner. 
 
 " I have neither said it nor thought it. When 
 your father informed me that he had willed the 
 estate to you, Sir Lionel being dead, I answered 
 him that I thought he had done well and wisely ; 
 that you had far more right to it, for your life, than 
 the boy Lionel. But, Stephen, I should never 
 sanction your leaving it away from him after you. 
 Had you possessed children of your own, they 
 
174 verner's pride. 
 
 slioulcl never have been allowed to shut out Lionel. 
 He is your elder brother's son, remember." 
 
 Mr. Verner sat like one in dire perplexity. It 
 would appear that there was a struggle going on in 
 his own mind. 
 
 " I know, I know," he presently said, in answer. 
 " The worry, the uncertainty, as to what I ought to 
 do, has destroyed the peace of my later days. I 
 altered my will when smarting under the discovery 
 of his unworthiness : but, even then a doubt as to 
 whether I was doing right caused me to name him 
 as inheritor, should the Massingbirds die." 
 
 " Why, that must have been a paradox ! " ex- 
 claimed Mr. Bitterworth. " Lionel Verner should 
 inherit before all, or not inherit at all. What your 
 ground of complaint against him is, I know not ; 
 but whatever it may be, it can be no excuse for 
 your willing away from him Verner's Pride. Some 
 yuthful foll}^ of his came to your knowledge, I 
 conclude." 
 
 " Not folly. Call it sin : call it crime," vehe- 
 mently replied Mr. Verner. 
 
 " As you please ; j^ou know its proper term better 
 than I. For one solitary instance of — what you 
 please to name it — you should not blight his whole 
 prospects for life. LioneFs general conduct is so 
 irreproachable (unless he be the craftiest hypocrite 
 under the sun) that you may well pardon one defal- 
 cation. Are you sure you were not mistaken ? " 
 
 '• I am sure. I hold proof positive." 
 
 " Well, I leave that. I say that you might for- 
 
A TROUBLED MIND. 175 
 
 give him, whatever it may be, remembering bow few 
 bis offences are. He would make a faithful master 
 of Verner's Pride. Compare him to Fred Massing- 
 bird ! Pshaw ! " 
 
 Mr. Verner did not answer. His face had an 
 aching look upon it, as it leaned out from the top of 
 his stick. Mr. Bitterworth laid his hand upon his 
 friend's knee persuasively. 
 
 "Do not go out of the world committing an act of 
 injustice ; an act, too, that is irreparable, and of 
 which the injustice must last for ever. Stephen, I 
 will not leave you until you consent to repair what 
 you have done." 
 
 " It has been upon my mind to do it since I was 
 taken worse yesterday," murmured Stephen Verner. 
 " Our Saviour taught us to forgive. Had it been 
 against me only that he sinned, I would have 
 forgiven him long ago." 
 
 " You will forgive him now ? " 
 
 " Forgiveness does not lie with me. It was not 
 against me, I say, that he sinned. Let him ask 
 forgiveness of God and of his own conscience. But 
 he shall have Verner's Pride." 
 
 " Better that you should see it in its proper light 
 at the eleventh hour, than not at all, Stephen," said 
 Mr. Bitterworth. " By every law of right and jus- 
 tice, Verner's Pride, after you, belongs to Lionel." 
 
 *' You speak well, Bitterworth, when jon call it 
 the eleventh hour," observed Mr. Verner. " If I 
 am to make this change, you must get Matiss here 
 without an instant's delay. See him yourself, and 
 
176 verner's pride. 
 
 bring him back. Tell him what the necessity is. 
 He will make more haste for you than he might for 
 one of my servants." 
 
 " Does he know of the bequest to the Massing- 
 birds ? " 
 
 " Of course he knows of it. He made the will. I 
 have never employed anj^body but Matiss since I 
 came into the estate." 
 
 Mr. Bitterworth, feeling there was little time to 
 be lost, quitted the room without more delay. He 
 was anxious that Lionel should have his own. Not 
 so much because he liked and esteemed Lionel, as 
 that he possessed a strong sense of justice within 
 himself. Lionel heard him leaving the sick-room, and 
 came to him, but Mr. Bitterworth would not stop. 
 
 " I cannot wait," he said. " I am bound on an 
 errand for your uncle." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AN ALTERED WILL. 
 
 Mr. Bitterworth was bound to the house of the 
 lawyer, Mr. Matiss, who lived and had his office in 
 the new part of Deerham, down by Dr. West's. 
 People wondered that he managed to make a living 
 in so small a place : but he evidently did make one. 
 Most of the gentry in the vicinity employed him 
 for trifling things, and he held one or two good 
 agencies. He kept no clerk. He was at home 
 when Mr. Bitterworth entered, writing at a desk in 
 his small office, which had maps hung round it. A 
 quick-speaking man, with dark hair and a good- 
 natured face. 
 
 " Are 3^ou busy, Matiss ?" began Mr. Bitterworth, 
 when he entered, and the lawyer looked at him 
 through the railings of his desk. 
 
 "Not particularly, Mr. Bitterworth. Do you 
 want me ? " 
 
 " Mr. Verner wants you. He has sent me to 
 bring you to him without dela3^ You have heard 
 that there's a chano-e in him? '' 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have heard it," replied the lawyer. 
 " I am at his service, Mr. Bitterworth." 
 
 "He wants his last will altered. Remedied, I 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 should say," continued Mr. Bittenvorth, looking the 
 lawyer full in the face, and nodding confidentially. 
 
 "Altered to what it was before?" eagerly cried 
 the law^^er. 
 
 Mr. Bittervvorth nodded again. " I called in upon 
 him this morning, and in the course of conversation 
 it came out what he had done about Verner's Pride. 
 And now he wants it undone." 
 
 " I am glad of it ; I am glad of it, Mr. Bitter- 
 worth. Between ourselves — though I mean no dis- 
 respect to them — the young Massingbirds were not 
 fit heirs for Verner's Pride. Mr. Lionel Verner is." 
 
 " He is the rightful heir as well as the fit one, 
 Matiss, ' added Mr. Bitterworth, leaning over the 
 desk's railings, while the lawj^er was hastily putting 
 his papers in order, preparatory to leaving them, 
 placing some aside on the desk, and locking up 
 others. " What was the cause of his willing it away 
 from Lionel Verner ? " 
 
 ''It's more than I can tell. He gave no clue 
 whatever to his motive. ^Nlany jjid many a time 
 have I thought it over since, but I never came near 
 fathoming it. I told Mr. Verner that it was not a 
 just thing, when I took his instructions for the fresh 
 will. That is, I intimated as much ; it was not my 
 place, of course, to speak out my mind offensively 
 to Mr. Verner. Dr. West said a great deal more 
 to him than I did ; but he could make no im- 
 pression." 
 • " Was Dr. W^est consulted, then, by Mr. Verner ? " 
 
 "Not at all. When I called at Verner's Pride 
 
AN ALTERED AYILL. 179 
 
 with tlie fresh will for Mr. Verner to execute, it 
 happened that T3^nn was out. He and one of the 
 other servants were to have witnessed the signature. 
 Dr. West came in at the time, and Mr. Verner said 
 he would do for a witness in Tynn's place. Dr. 
 West remonstrated most strongly when he found 
 what it was, for Mr. Verner told him in confidence 
 what had been done. He, the doctor, at first 
 refused to put his hand to anything so unjust. He 
 j)rotested that the public would cry shame, would 
 say John jMassingbird had no human right to 
 Verner's Pride, would suspect he had obtained it by 
 fraud, or by some sort of underhand work. Mr. 
 Verner replied that I — Matiss — could contradict 
 that. At last the doctor signed." 
 
 " When was this ? " 
 
 " It was the very week after John started for 
 Australia, I wondered why Mr. Verner should 
 have allowed him to go, if he meant to make him 
 his heir. Dr. West wondered also, and said so to 
 Mr. Verner, but'^Mr. Verner made no reply." 
 
 "Mr. Verner has just told me that neither the 
 Massingbirds nor Mrs. Verner knev/ anything of the 
 fresh will. I understood him to imply that no 
 person whatever was cognisant of it but himself 
 and you." 
 
 " And Dr. West. Nobody else." 
 
 " And he gave no reason for the alteration — either 
 to you or to Dr. West ? " 
 
 " None at all. Beyond the assertion that Lionel 
 had displeased him. Dr. West would have pressed* 
 
 n2 
 
180 VERNEP/S PRIDE. 
 
 him upon the point, bnt Mr. Verner repulsed him 
 with coldness. He insisted upon our secresy as to 
 the new will; which we promised, and I dare say- 
 have never violated. I know I can answer for 
 myself." 
 
 They hastened back to Verner's Pride. And the 
 lawyer, in the presence of Mr. Bitterworth, received 
 instructions for a codicil, revoking the bequest of 
 the estate to the Massingbirds, and bestowing it 
 absolutely upon Lionel Verner. The bequests to 
 others, legacies, instructions in the former will,, 
 were all to stand. It was a somewhat elaborate will ; 
 hence Mr. Verner suggested that that will, so far, 
 could still stand, and the necessary alteration be 
 made by a codicil. 
 
 *' You can have it ready by this evening ? " Mr. 
 Verner remarked to the lawyer. 
 
 '* Before then, if yon like, sir. It won't take me 
 long to draw that up. One's pen goes glibly when 
 one's heart is in the work. I am glad you are 
 willing it back to Mr. Lionel." 
 
 ''Draw it up then, and bring it here as soon as 
 it's ready. You won't find me gone out," Mr. Verner 
 added, with a faint attempt at jocularity. 
 
 The lawyer did as he was bid, and retmTied to 
 Verner's Pride about five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 He found Dr. West there. It was somewhat 
 singular that the doctor should again be present, 
 as he had been at the previous signing. And yet 
 not singular, for he was now in frequent attendance 
 on the patient. 
 
AN ALTERED WILL. 181 
 
 "How do you feel yourself this afternoon, sir?" 
 asked Mr. Matiss when he entered, his great-coat 
 buttoned up, his hat in his hand, his gloves on; 
 showing no signs that he had any professional 
 document about him, or that he had called in for 
 any earthly reason, save to inquire in politeness 
 after the state of the chief of Verner's Pride. 
 
 " Pretty well, Matiss. Are you ready ? " 
 
 '' Yes, sii\" 
 
 *' We'll do it at once, then. Dr. West," Mr. 
 Yerner added, turning to the doctor, " I have been 
 making an alteration in my will. You were one of 
 the former witnesses ; will you be so again ? " 
 
 " With pleasure. An alteration consequent upon 
 the death of John Massingbird, I presume ? " 
 
 " No. I should have made it, had he been still 
 alive. Yerner's Pride must go to Lionel. I cannot 
 die easy unless it does." 
 
 " But — I thought you said Lionel had done — had 
 done something to forfeit it ? " interrupted Dr. West, 
 whom the words appeared to have taken by sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " To forfeit my esteem and good opinion. Those 
 he can never enjoy again. But I doubt whether I 
 have a right to deprive him of Yerner's Pride. I 
 begin to think I have not. I believe that the world 
 generally wiU think I have not. It may be, that a 
 Higher Power, to whom alone I am responsible, 
 will judge I have not. There's no denjdng that he 
 will make a more fitting master of it than would 
 Frederick Massingbird ; and for myself I shall die 
 
182 verner's pride. 
 
 the easier knowing that a Verner will succeed me. 
 Mr. Matiss, be so kind as read over the deed." 
 
 The lawyer produced a parchment from one of 
 his ample pockets, unfolded, and proceeded to read 
 it aloud. It was the codicil, drawn up with all due 
 form, bequeathing Verner's Pride to Lionel Verner. 
 It was short, and he read it in a clear, distinct voice. 
 
 " Will you like to sign it, sir ? " he asked, as he 
 laid it down. 
 
 "When I have read it for myself," replied Mr. 
 Verner. 
 
 The lawyer smiled as he handed it to him. All 
 his clients were not so cautious. Some might have 
 said, " so mistrustful." 
 
 Mr. Verner found the codicil all right, and the 
 bell w^as rung for Tjmn. Mrs. Tj-nn happened to 
 come in at the same moment. She was retreating 
 when she saw business a-gate, but her master spoke 
 to her. 
 
 "You need not go, Mrs. Tj^nn. Bring a pen and 
 ink here." 
 
 So the housekeeper remained present while the 
 deed was executed. Mr. Verner signed it, proclaun- 
 ing it his last will and testament, and Dr. West and 
 Tynn afl&xed their signatures. The law^^er and 
 Mrs. Tynn stood looking on. 
 
 Mr. Verner folded it up with his own hands, and 
 sealed it. 
 
 " Bring me my desk," he said, looking at Mrs. 
 Tynn. 
 
 The desk was kept in a closet in the room, and 
 
AN ALTERED WILL. 188 
 
 slie brought it forth. Mr. Verner locked the parch- 
 ment withm it. 
 
 " You Avill remember where it is," he said, touch- 
 ing the desk, and looking at the lawyer. " The will 
 is also here." 
 
 Mrs. Tynn carried the desk back again ; and Dr. 
 West and the lawyer left the house together." 
 
 Later, when Mr. Yerner was in bed, he spoke to 
 Lionel who was sitting with him. 
 
 ''' You will give heed to carry out my directions, 
 Lionel, so far as I have left directions, after you 
 come into power ? " 
 
 "I will, sir," replied Lionel, never having had the 
 famtest suspicion that he had been near losing the 
 inheritance. 
 
 " And be more active abroad than I have been. 
 I have left too much to Roy and others. You are 
 young and strong; don't you leave it to them. 
 Look into things with jowy own eyes." 
 
 " Indeed I will. My dear uncle," he added, 
 bending over the bed, and speaking in an earnest 
 tone, " I wall endeavour to act in all things as though 
 in your sight, accountable to God and my own con- 
 science. Yerner's Pride shall have no unworthy 
 master." 
 
 '' Try and live so as to redeem the past." 
 
 " Yes," said Lionel. He did not see what pre- 
 cise part of it he had to redeem, but he was earnestly 
 anxious to defer to the words of a dying man. 
 *' Uncle, may I dare to say that I hope you will 
 live yet ? " he gently said. 
 
184 verner's pride. 
 
 " It is of no use, Lionel. Tiie world is closing 
 for me." 
 
 It was closing for him even tlien, as he spoke, 
 closing rapidly. Before another afternoon had come 
 round, the master of Verner's Pride had quitted 
 that, and all other pride, for ever. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 DISAPPEARED. 
 
 Sweeping down from Verner's Pride towards the 
 church at Deerham, came the long funeral train. 
 Mutes with their plumes and batons, relaj^s of 
 bearers, the bier. It had been Mr. Verner's express 
 desire that he should be carried to the grave, that 
 no hearse or coaches should be used. 
 
 " Bury me quietly ; bury me without show," had 
 been his charge. And yet a show it was, that 
 procession, if only from its length. Close to the 
 coftin walked the heir, Lionel; Jan and Dr. West 
 came next ; Mr. Bitterworth and Sir Rufus Hautley. 
 Other gentlemen were there, followers or ]oall- 
 bearers; the tenants followed; the servants came 
 last. A long, long line, slow and black ; and spec- 
 tators gathered on the side of the road, underneath 
 the hedges, and in the upper windows at Deerham, 
 to see it pass. The under windows were closed. 
 
 A brave heir, a brave master of Verner's Pride ! 
 was the universal thought, as eyes were turned on 
 Lionel, on his tall, noble form, his pale face stilled 
 to calmness, his dark hair. He chose to walk bare- 
 headed, his hat, with its sweeping streamers, borne 
 in his hand. When handed to Imn in the hall he 
 
180 VERNEH'S PRIDE. 
 
 had not put it on, but went out as lie was, carrj^ing 
 it. The rest, those behind him, did not follow his 
 example ; they assumed their hats ; but Lionel was 
 probably unconscious of it, probably he never gave 
 it a thought. 
 
 At the churchyard entrance they were met by the 
 Vicar of Deerham, the Eeverend James Bourne. 
 All hats came off then, as his voice rose, com- 
 mencing the service. Nearl}^ one of the last walked 
 old Matthew Frost. He had not gone to Verner's 
 Pride, the walk so far w^as beyond him now, but fell 
 in at the churchyard gate. The fine, uj)right, hale 
 man whom you saw at the commencement of this 
 history had changed into a bowed, broken mourner. 
 Rachel's fate had done that. On the right as they 
 moved up the churchyard, was the mound which 
 covered the remains of Rachel. Old Matthew did 
 not look towards it ; as he passed it he only bent 
 his head the lower. But many others turned their 
 heads ; they remembered her that day. 
 
 In the middle of the church, oj)en now, dark and 
 staring, was the vault of the Yerners. There la}^ 
 already within it Stephen Verner's father, his first 
 wife, and the little child Rachel, Rachel Frost's 
 foster-sister. A grand grave tliis, compai'ed to that 
 lowly mound outside ; there was a grand descriptive 
 tablet on the walls to the Verners, while the moimd 
 was nameless. B}^ the side of the large tablet was 
 a smaller one, placed there to the memory of the 
 brave Sir Lionel Verner, who had fallen near 
 Moultan. Lionel involuntarily glanced up at it, as 
 
DISAPPEARED. 187 
 
 lie stood now over the vault, and a wish came across 
 him that his father's remains were here, amidst 
 them, instead of in that far-off grave. 
 
 The service was soon over, and Stephen Verner 
 was left in his resting-place. Then the procession, 
 shorn of its chief and prominent feature, went back 
 to Verner's Pride. Lionel wore his hat this time. 
 
 In the large drawing-room of state, in her mourn- 
 ing robes and widow's cap, sat Mrs. Verner. She 
 had not been out of her chamber, until within the 
 last ten minutes, since before Mr. Verner's death ; 
 scarcely out of her bed. As they passed into the 
 room — the lawyer. Dr. "West, Jan, Mr. Bitterworth,, 
 and Sir Kufus Hautley — they thought how Mrs. 
 Verner had changed, and Iioav ill she looked : not 
 that her florid complexion was any paler. She had, 
 indeed, changed since the news of John Massing- 
 bird"s death ; and some of them believed that she 
 would not be very long after Mr. Verner. 
 
 They had assembled there for the purpose of 
 hearing the will read. The desk of Mr, Verner was 
 brought forward and laid upon the table. Lionel^ 
 taking his late uncle's keys from his pockety 
 unlocked it, and delivered a parchment which it 
 contained to Mr. Matiss. The lawyer saw at a 
 glance that it was the old A\ill, not the codicil, and 
 he waited for Lionel to hand him also the latter. 
 
 " Be so kind as read it, Mr. Matiss," said Lionel, 
 pointing to the will. 
 
 It had to be read : and it was of no consequence 
 whether the codicil was taken from the desk before 
 
188 verner's pride. 
 
 reading the original will, or afterwards, so Mr. Matiss 
 nnfolded it, and began. 
 
 It was a somewhat elaborate will — which has been 
 previously hinted. Verner's Pride, with its rich 
 lands, its fine income, w^as left to John Massingbird ; 
 in the event of John's death, childless, it went to 
 Frederick ; in the event of Frederick's death, child- 
 less, it passed to Lionel Verner. There the con- 
 ditions ended : so that, if it did lapse to Lionel, it 
 lapsed to him absolutely. But it would appear that 
 the contingency of both the Massingbirds dying had 
 been only barely glanced at by Mr. Yerner. Five 
 hundred pounds were left to Lionel; five hundred 
 to Jan ; five hundred to Decima ; nothing to Lady 
 Verner. Mrs. Verner w-as suitably provided for, 
 and there were bequests to servants. Twenty-five 
 pomids for "a mourning ring" w^ere bequeathed to 
 each of the two executors, Sir Eufus Hautley, and 
 Mr. Bitterworth ; and old Matthew^ Frost had forty 
 X)Ounds a year for his life. Such w^ere the chief 
 features of the will ; and the utter astonishment it 
 produced on the minds and countenances of some of 
 the listeners, w^as a sight to witness. Lionel, Mrs. 
 Verner, Jan, and Sir Rufus Hautley were petrified. 
 
 Sir Bufus rose. He was a thin stately man, 
 always dressed in hessian boots and the old- 
 fashioned shirt-frill. A proud, impassive counte- 
 nance was his, but it darkened now. "I va\l not 
 act," he began. " I beg to state my opinion that 
 the will is an unfair one — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Sir Eufus," interrupted the 
 
DISAPPEARED. 189 
 
 lawyer. " Allow me a word. This is not the final 
 wdll of Mr. Yerner : much of it has been revoked by a 
 recent codicil. Verner's Pride comes to Mr. Lionel. 
 You will find the codicil in the desk, sir," he added, 
 to Lionel. 
 
 Lionel, his pale face haughty and quite as im- 
 passive as that of Sir Eufus, for anything like 
 injustice angered him, opened the desk again. " I 
 was not aw^are," he observed. " My uncle told me 
 on the day of his death that the will would be found 
 in his desk : I supposed that to be it." 
 
 " It is the will," said Mr. Matiss. " But he 
 caused me to draw^ up a later codicil, which revoked 
 the bequest of Yerner's Pride. It is left to you 
 absolutely." 
 
 Lionel was searching in the desk. The few 
 papers in it appeared to be arranged with the most 
 methodical neatness : but they w^ere small, chiefly 
 old letters. *' I don't see anything like a codicil," 
 he observed. " You had better look yourself, Mr. 
 Matiss : you will probably recognise it." 
 
 Mr. Matiss advanced to the desk and looked in it. 
 " It is not here ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 Not there ! They gazed at him, at the desk, at 
 Lionel, half puzzled. The lawyer with rapid fingers 
 began taking out the papers one by one. 
 
 *' No, it is not here, in either compartment. I 
 saw it was not, the moment I looked in ; but it was 
 weU to be sure. Where has it been put ? " 
 
 " I really do not know anything about it," 
 answered Lionel, to whom he looked as he spoke. 
 
190 vernee's pride. 
 
 " My uncle told me the will would be found in his 
 desk. And the desk has not been opened since his 
 death." 
 
 " Could Mr. Yerner himself have changed its 
 place to somewhere else ? " asked the lawyer, speak- 
 ing with more than usual quickness, and turning 
 over the papers with great rapidity. 
 
 " Not after he told me where the will was. He 
 did not touch the desk after that. It was but just 
 before his death. So far as I know, he had not had 
 his desk brought out of the closet for days." 
 
 "Yes, he had," said the lawj^er. "After he had 
 executed the codicil on the evening previous to his 
 death, he called for his desk, and put the parchment 
 into it. It lay on the top of the will — this one. I 
 .saw that much." 
 
 " I can testify that the codicil was locked in the 
 deskj and the desk was then returned to the closet, 
 for I happened to be present," spoke up Dr. AYest. 
 " I was one of the witnesses to the codicil, as I 
 had been to the will. Mr. Yerner must have moved 
 it himself to some safer place." 
 
 " What place could be safer than the desk in his 
 own bedroom ? " cried the lawyer. " And why move 
 the codicil and not the will ? " 
 
 "True," assented Dr. West. "But— I don't see 
 — it could not go out of the desk without being 
 moved out. And who would presume to meddle 
 with it but himself ? AYho took possession of his 
 keys when he died ? " added the doctor, looking 
 round at Mrs. Yerner. 
 
DISAPPEARED. 191 
 
 " I did," said Lionel. " And they have not been 
 out of my possession since. Nothing whatever has 
 been touched : desk, drawers, every place belonging 
 to him are as they were left w^hen he died." 
 
 Of course the onl}'- thing to do was to look for the 
 codicil. Great interest was excited ; and it ap- 
 peared to be altogether so mysterious an affair that 
 one and all flocked upstairs to the room ; the room 
 where he had died ! where the coffin had but just 
 been borne from. Mrs. Tynn was summoned ; and 
 when she found what was amiss, she grew excited ; 
 fearing possibly that the blame might in some way 
 fall upon her. Saving Lionel himself, she was the 
 only one who had been alone with Mr. Verner : of 
 course, the only one who could have had an oppor- 
 tunity of tampering with the desk. And that, only 
 w^hen the patient slept. 
 
 " I protest that the desk was never touched, after 
 I returned it to the closet by my master's desire, 
 when the parchment was put into it ! " she cried. 
 " My master never asked for his desk again, and I 
 never so much as opened the closet. It w^as only 
 the afternoon before he died, gentlemen, that the 
 deed was signed." 
 
 " Where did he keep his keys ? " asked Mr. Bit- 
 terworth. 
 
 "In the little table-drawer at his elbow, sir. The 
 first day he took to his bed, he wanted his keys, and 
 I got them out of his dressing-gown pocket for him, 
 ' You needn't put them back,' he says to me, ' let 
 them stop inside this little drawer.' And there they 
 
192 verner's pride. 
 
 stayed till he died, ^Yhen I gave them up to Mr. 
 Lionel." 
 
 " Yon must have allowed somebody to get into 
 the room, Mrs. Tynn," said Dr. West. 
 
 " I never was away from the room above two 
 minutes at a time, sir," was the woman's reply. 
 " And then either Mr. Lionel or Tynn would be 
 with him. But, if any of 'em did come in, it's not 
 possible they'd get picking at the master's desk to 
 take out a paper. What good would the paper do 
 any of the servants ? " 
 
 Mrs. Tynn's question was a pertinent one. The 
 servants were neither the better nor the w^orse for 
 the codicil : whether it were forthcoming, or not, it 
 made no difference to them. Sir Rufus Hautley in- 
 quired upon this point, and the lawyer satisfied him. 
 
 " The codicil was to this effect alone ; " he ex- 
 plained. " It changed the positions of Mr. Lionel 
 and Mr. John Massingbird, the one for the other, as 
 they had stood in the will. Mr. Lionel came into 
 the inheritance, and Mr. Frederick Massingbird to 
 five hundred pounds only. JMr. John was gone — as 
 everybody knows." 
 
 " They two, Mr. Lionel and Frederick Massing- 
 bird, were the only parties interested in the codicil, 
 then ? " 
 
 " The only two. John INIassingbird's name was 
 mentioned, but only to revoke all former bequests 
 to him." 
 
 " Then — were John Massingbird alive, he could 
 not now succeed to the estate ! ' cried Sir Rufus. 
 
DISAPPEARED. 
 
 193 
 
 " He could not, Sir Kufus," replied the lawyer. 
 *'He would be debarred from all benefit under Mr. 
 Verner s will. That is, provided we can come across 
 the codicil. Failing that, he would succeed, were 
 he in life, to Verner's Pride." 
 
 " The codicil must be fomid," cried Mr. Bitter- 
 worth, getting heated. " Don't say, ' if we can come 
 across^ it,' Matiss." 
 
 '' Very good, Mr. Bitterworth. I'm sure I should 
 be glad to see it found. Where else are we to 
 look?" 
 
 Where else, indeed ! That Mr. Verner could not 
 oet out of the room, to hide the codicil was an in- 
 disputable fact; and nobody else seemed to know 
 anything whatever about it. The only one person- 
 ally interested in the suppression of the codicil was 
 Frederick Massingbird : and he, hundreds of miles 
 away, could neither have secured it nor sent his 
 ghost to secure it. In a less degree, Mrs. Verner 
 and Dr. West were interested : the one in her son ; 
 the other in that son's wife. But the doctor was 
 not an inmate of Verner's Pride ; and Mrs. Tynn 
 could have testified that she had been present in 
 the room and never left it during each of the 
 doctor's professional visits, subsequent to the 
 drawing out of the codicil. As for Mrs. Verner, 
 she had not been out of her bed. Mr. Verner, at 
 the last, had gone off suddenly, without pain, and 
 there had been no time to call his wife. Mrs. Tynn 
 excused the negligence by saying she did not think 
 her master had been quite so near his end : and it 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
194 verner's pride. 
 
 was a true excuse. But no one dreamt of attaching 
 suspicion to Mrs. Verner, or to Dr. West. " I'd 
 rather it had been Lionel to succeed, than Frede- 
 rick," spoke the former, honestly, some faint idea 
 that people might think she was pleased, suggesting 
 the avoAval to her. " Lionel has more right than 
 Fred to Verner's Pride." 
 
 "More right!" ejaculated Dr. "West, warmly. 
 " Frederick Massingbird has no right, by the side of 
 Lionel Verner. Why Mr. Verner ever willed it 
 away from Lionel we could not understand." 
 
 " Fred needn't take it — even if the codicil can't 
 be found — he can give it back to Lionel by deed of 
 gift," said practical Jan. " I should.'* 
 
 ''That my master meant Mr. Lionel to succeed, 
 is certain," interposed Tj-nn, the butler. " Nearly 
 the last word he said to me, before the breath went 
 out of his body, was an injunction to serve jNIr. 
 Lionel faithfully at Verner's Pride, as I had served 
 him. There can be no difficulty in Mr. Lionel's 
 succeeding, when m}^ master's intentions were made 
 so plain." 
 
 " Be quiet, Tynn," said Lionel. " I succeed by 
 means of legal right to Verner's Pride, or I will not 
 succeed at all." 
 
 " That's true," acquiesced the lawyer. " A ^ill 
 is a will, and must be acted upon. How on earth 
 has that codicil got spirited awaj^ ? " 
 
 How indeed ! But for the plain fact, so positive 
 and palpable before them, of the codicil's absence, 
 thev would have declared the loss to be an impossi- 
 
DISAPPEARED. 195 
 
 bility. Up stairs and down, the house was vainly 
 searched for it ; and the conclusion was at length 
 unwillingly come to, that Mr. Verner had repented 
 of his bequest, had taken the codicil out of the desk, 
 and burnt it. The suggestion came from Mr. 
 Bitterworth : and Mrs. Tynn acknowledged that it 
 was just possible Mr. Verner's strength would allow 
 him to accomplish so much, while her back was 
 turned. Aiid yet, how reconcile this with his dying 
 charges to Lionel, touching the management of the 
 estate ? 
 
 The broad fact that there was the will, and that 
 alone to act upon, untempered by a codicil, shone 
 out all too clearly. Lionel Verner was displaced, 
 and Frederick Massingbird was the heir. 
 
 Oh, if some impossible electric telegraph could 
 but have carried the news over the v>^aves of the sea, 
 to the ship, ploughing along the mid-path of the 
 ocean ; if the two fugitives in her could but have 
 been spirited back again, as the codicil seemed to 
 have been spirited away, how triumphantly would 
 they have entered upon their sway at Verner's Pride 1 
 
 o2 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 PERPLEXITY. 
 
 It was a terrible blow; there was no doubt of 
 that : very terrible to Lionel Verner, so proud and 
 sensitive. Do not take the word proud in its wrong 
 meaning. He did not set himself up for being 
 better than others, or jthink __eyerybodj else ^dirt 
 beneath his feet : but he w^as proud of his inde- 
 j)endence, of his unstained name — he was proud to 
 own that fine j)lace, Verner's Pride. And now 
 Verner's Pride was dashed from him, and his inde- 
 pendence seemed to have gone out with the blow, 
 and a slight seemed to have fallen upon him, if not 
 upon his name. 
 
 He had surely counted upon Verner's Pride. He 
 had believed himself as indisputably its heir, as 
 though he had been Stephen Verner's eldest son, 
 and the estate entailed. Never for a moment had a 
 doubt that he would succeed entered his own mind, 
 or been imparted to it from any quarter. In the 
 week that intervened between ]Mr. Verner's death 
 and burial, he had acted as entire master. It was 
 he who issued orders — from himself now, not from 
 any other — it was he who was appealed to. People, 
 of their own accord, bes^an to call him Mr. Verner. 
 
PERPLEXITY. 107 
 
 Yeiy peremptory indeed had been a certain inter- 
 view of his with Eoy the baiUff. Not, as formerly, 
 had he said, " Eoy, my micle desires me to say so 
 and so ; " or, " Roy, you must not act in that way, 
 it wouhl displease Mr. Verner ; " but he issued his 
 own clear and unmistakeable orders, as the sole 
 master of Yerner's Pride. He and Roy all but 
 came to loggerheads that day ; and they would have 
 come quite to it, but that Roy remembered in time 
 that he, before whom he stood, was his head and 
 master — his master to keep him on, or to discharge 
 him at pleasure, and who would brook no more 
 insubordination to his Avill. So Roy bowed, and 
 eat humble pie, and hated Lionel all the while. 
 Lionel had seen this; he had seen how the man 
 longed to rebel, had he dared : and a flush of pain 
 rose to his brow as he remembered that in that 
 interview he had not been the master ; that he was 
 less master now than he had ever been. Ro}^ would 
 likewise remember it. 
 
 Mr. Bitterworth took Lionel aside. Sir Rufus 
 Hautley had gone out after the blow had fallen, 
 when the codicil had been searched for in vain — 
 had gone out in anger, shaking the dust from his 
 feet, declining to act as executor, to accept the 
 mourning-ring, to have to do with anytliing so 
 palpably unjust. The rest lingered yet : it seemed 
 that they could not talk enough of it, could not 
 tire of bringing forth new conjectures, could not 
 give vent to all the phases of their astonish- 
 ment. 
 
108 verxeb's PEiDi:. 
 
 " What could have been your offence, that j'our 
 uncle should alter his will, two years ago, and leave 
 the estate from you ? " Mr. Bitterworth inquired of 
 Lionel, drawing him aside. 
 
 " I am unable to conjecture," replied Lionel. " I 
 find by the date of this will that it was made the 
 week subsequentl}' to my departure for Paris, when 
 Jan met with the accident. He was not displeased 
 with me then, so far as I knew^ — " 
 
 *' Did you go to Paris in opposition to his Avish? " 
 interrupted Mr. Bitterworth. 
 
 " On the contrar}^ he hurried me off. When the 
 news of Jan's accident arrived, and I went to my uncle 
 with the message, he said to me, — I remember his 
 very words, — ' Go off at once ; don't lose an instant,' 
 and he handed me money for the journey and for 
 my stay ; for Jan, also, should au}^ great expense be 
 needed for him ; and in an hour I was away on my 
 route. I stayed six months in Paris, as you may 
 remember — the latter portion of the time for my 
 own pleasure. When I did return home, I was 
 perfectly thunderstruck at the change in my uncle's 
 appearance, and at the change in his manners to 
 me. He was a bowed, broken man, with — as it 
 seemed to me — some care upon his mind : and, that 
 I had offended him in some ver}^ unfortunate Avay, 
 and to a great extent, was palpable. I never could 
 get any solution to it, though I asked him re- 
 peatedly. I do not know, to this hour, what I had 
 done. Sometimes I would think he was angiy at 
 my remaining so long away : but, if so, he might 
 
PERPLEXITY. • 199 
 
 have given me a hint to return, or have suffered 
 some one else to give it, for he never wrote to 
 me. 
 
 *' Never wrote to you ? " repeated Mr. Bitter- 
 wortli. 
 
 "Not once, the whole of the time I was away. 
 I wrote to him often ; hut if he had occasion to 
 send me a message, Mrs. Verner or Fred Massing- 
 bird would write it. Of course, this will, dis- 
 inheriting me, proves that my staying away could 
 not have been the cause of displeasure — it is dated 
 onl}" the week after I went." 
 
 "Whatever may have been the cause, it is a 
 grievous wrong inflicted on you. He was my dear 
 friend, and we have but now returned from laying 
 him in his grave, but still I must speak out my 
 sentiments — that he had qio right to deprive you of 
 Yerner's Pride." 
 
 Lionel knit his brow. That he thought the 
 same; that he was feeUng the injustice as a crying 
 and unmerited wrong, was but too evident. Mr. 
 Bitterworth had bent his head in a reverie, stealing 
 a glance at Lionel now and then. 
 
 " Is there nothing that you can charge your 
 conscience with ; no sin, which may have come to 
 the knowledge of your uncle, and been deemed by 
 him a just cause for disinheritance ? " questioned 
 Mr. Bitterworth, in a meaning tone. 
 
 " There is nothing, so help me Heaven ! " replied 
 Lionel, with emotion. " No sin, no shame ; nothing 
 that could be a cause, or the shade of a cause — I 
 
500 yernek's pride. 
 
 will not say for depriving me of Yerner's Pride, but 
 even for my uncle's displeasure/' 
 
 " It struck me — you will not be offended with me, 
 Lionel, if I mention something that struck me a 
 week back," resumed Mr. Bitter worth. " I am a 
 foolish old man, given to ponder much over cause 
 and effect — to put two and two together, as we call 
 it ; and the day I first heard from your uncle that 
 he had had good cause — it was what he said — for 
 depriving you of Verner's Pride, I went home, and 
 set myself to think. The will had been made just 
 after John Massingbird's departure for Australia. 
 I brought before me all the events which had 
 occurred about that same time, and there rose up 
 naturally, towering above every other reminiscence, 
 the unhappy business touching Rachel Frost. 
 Lionel " — laying his hand on the j^oung man's 
 shoulder, and dropping his voice to a Vv^hisper — 
 " did you lead the gu4 astray ? " 
 
 Lionel drew himself up to his full height, his lij) 
 curling with displeasure. 
 
 " Mr. Bitterworth ! " 
 
 " To suspect you, never would have occurred to 
 me. I do not suspect you now. Were you to tell 
 me that j^ou were guilt}^ of it, I should have 
 difficulty in believing yo\x. But it did occur to me 
 that possibly your uncle may have cast that blame 
 on you. I saw no other solution of the riddle. It 
 could have been no light cause to induce Mr. 
 Verner to deprive jou of Yerner's Pride. He was 
 not a capricious man." 
 
PERPLEXITY. 201 
 
 " It is impossible that my uncle could have cast a 
 shade of suspicion on me, in regard to that affair," 
 said Lionel. " He knew me better. At the moment 
 of its occurrence, when nobody could tell whom to 
 suspect, I remember a word or two were dropped 
 which caused me to assure him I was not the guilty 
 party, and he stopped me. He would not allow me 
 even to speak of defence ; he said he cast no 
 suspicion on me." 
 
 "Well, it is a gi-eat mystery," said Mr. Bitter- 
 worth. " You must excuse me, Lionel. I thought 
 Mr. Verner might in some way have taken up the 
 notion. Evil tales, which have no human foun- 
 dation, are sometimes palmed upon credulous ears 
 for fact, and do their work." 
 
 " Were it as you suggest, my uncle would have 
 spoken to me, had it been only to reproach," said 
 Lionel. "It is a mystery, certainlj^, as you observe; 
 but that is nothing to this mystery of the dis- 
 appearance of the codicil — " 
 
 "I am going, Lionel," interrupted Jan, putting 
 his head round the room- door. 
 
 " I must go, too," said Lionel, starting from the 
 sideboard against which he had been leaning. 
 " My mother must hear of this business from no 
 one but me." 
 
 Verner's Pride emptied itself of its mourners, who 
 betook themselves their respective ways. Lionel, 
 taking the long crape from his hat, and leaving on 
 its deep mourning band alone, walked with a quick 
 step through the village. He would not have chosen 
 
202 vePwNer's pride. 
 
 to be abroad tbat da}^ walking the very route where 
 he had just figured chief in the procession, but to 
 go without delay to Lady Verner was a duty. And 
 a duty was never willingly omitted by Lionel 
 Verner. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE REVELATION TO LADY VERNER. 
 
 In the drawing-room at Deerliam Court, in their 
 new black dresses, sat Lady Verner and Decima: 
 Lucy Tempest with them. Lady Verner held out 
 her hand to Lionel when he entered, and lifted her 
 face, a strange eagerness visible in its refinement. 
 
 " I thought you would come to me, Lionel ! " she 
 uttered. "I want to know a hundred things. — 
 Decima, have the goodness to direct your reproachful 
 looks elsewhere ; not to me. Why should I be a 
 hypocrite, and feign a sorrow for Stephen Verner 
 which I do not feel ? I know it is his burial-day as 
 well as you know it ; but I will not make that a 
 reason for abstaining from questions on family 
 topics, although they do relate to money and means 
 that w^ere once his. I saj it w^ould be hypocritical 
 affectation to do so. Lionel," she deliberately con- 
 tinued, " has Jan an interest in Verner's Pride after 
 you, or is it left to you unconditionally ? And what 
 residence is appointed for Mrs. Verner ? " 
 
 Lionel leaned over the table, apparently to reach 
 something that w^as lying on it, contriving to bring 
 his lips close to Decima. " Go out of the room, 
 and take Lucy," he whispered. 
 
204 verner's pride. 
 
 Decima received the hint promptly. She rose as 
 of her own accord. " Lucy, let us leave mamma 
 and Lionel alone. We will come back when your 
 secrets are over," she added, turning round with a 
 smile as she left the room, drawing Lucy with her. 
 
 "You don't speak, Lionel," impatiently cried 
 Lady Yerner. In truth he did not ; he did not 
 know how to begin. He rose, and approached her. 
 
 " Mother, can j^ou bear disappointment ? " he 
 asked, taking her hand, and speaking gently, in 
 spite of his agitation. 
 
 '' Hush ! " interrupted Lady Yerner. " If you 
 speak of ' disappointment ' to me, you are no true 
 son of mine. You are going to tell me that Stephen 
 Yerner has left nothing to me : let me tell jon, 
 Lionel, that I would not have accepted it — and this 
 I made known to him. Accept money from him ! 
 No. But I will accept it from my dear son " — 
 looking at him with a smile — -" now that he enjoys 
 the revenues of Yerner's Pride." 
 
 " It was not of money left, or not left, to you, that 
 I was connecting disappointment," answered Lionel. 
 *' There is a worse disappointment in store for us 
 than that, mother." 
 
 " A worse disappointment ! " repeated Lady 
 Yerner, looking puzzled. '' You are never to be 
 saddled with the presence of Mrs. Yerner at Yerner's 
 Pride, until her death ! " she hastily added. A 
 great disappointment, that would have been ; a 
 grievous wrong, in the estimation of Lady Yerner. 
 
 " Mother, dear, Yerner's Pride is not mine." 
 
THE REVELATION TO LADY VERNER. 205 
 
 " Not yours ! " she slowly said. " He surely has 
 not done as his father did before him ? — left it to 
 the younger brother, over the head of the elder? 
 He has never left it to Jan ! " 
 
 " Neither to Jan nor to me. It is left to Frederick 
 Massinobird. John would have had it, had he been 
 alive." 
 
 Lady Verner's delicate features became crimson : 
 before slie could speak, they had assumed a leaden 
 colour. " Don't play with me, Lionel," she gasped, 
 an awful fear thumping at her heart that he was oiot 
 playing with her. " It cannot be left to the 
 Massingbirds ! " 
 
 He sat down by her side, and gave her the history 
 of the matter in detail. Lady Verner caught at the 
 codicil, hke a drowning man catches at a straw. 
 
 " How could you terrify me ? " she asked. 
 "Yerner's Pride is yours, Lionel. The codicil must 
 be found." 
 
 " The conviction upon my mind is, that it never 
 will be found," he resolutely answered. "Whoever 
 took that codicil from the desk where it was placed, 
 could have had but one motive in doing it — the 
 depriving me of Verner 's Pride. Rely upon it, it is 
 effectually removed ere this, by burning, or other- 
 wise. No. I already look upon the codicil as a 
 thing that never existed. Verner' s Pride is gone 
 from us." 
 
 " But, Lionel, whom do you suspect ? Who can 
 have taken it ? It is pretty nearly a hanging matter 
 to steal a will ! " 
 
200 verner's pride. 
 
 " I do not suspect anyone,"' he emphatically 
 answered. '' Mrs. Tynn protests that no one could 
 have approached the desk unseen bj^ her. It is verj' 
 unlikely that anyone would attempt it. They must 
 first of all, have chosen a moment when my uncle 
 was asleep; they must have got Mrs. Tynn from the 
 room ; they must have searched for and found the 
 keys ; they must have unlocked the desk, taken the 
 codicil, relocked the desk, and replaced the keys. 
 All this could not be done without time, and 
 familiarity with facts. Not a servant in the house 
 — save the Tynns — knew the codicil was there, 
 and they did not know its jj^rport. But the Tynns 
 are thoroughly trustworth3^" 
 
 " It must have been Mrs. Verner " 
 
 " Hush, mother ! I cannot listen to that, even 
 from you. Mrs. Verner was in her bed — never out 
 of it: she knew nothing whatever of the codicil. 
 And, if she had, you will, I hope, do her the justice 
 to believe that she would be incapable of meddling 
 with it." 
 
 " She benefits by its loss, at any rate," bitterly 
 rejoined Lady Verner. 
 
 " Her son does. But, that he does, was entii'ely 
 unknown to her. She never knew that Mr. Verner 
 had willed the estate away from me ; she never 
 dreamt but that I, and no other, would be his 
 successor. The accession of Frederick Massingbird 
 is unwelcome to her, rather than the contrary : lie 
 has no right to it, and she feels that he has not. In 
 the impulse of the surprise, slie said aloud that she 
 
THE REVELATION TO LADY VEP.NER. 207 
 
 wished it had been left to me ; and I am sure they 
 were her true sentiments." 
 
 Lady Verner sat in silence, her white hands 
 crossed on her black dress, her head bent down. 
 Presently she lifted it : 
 
 "I do not fully understand you, Lionel. You 
 appear to imply that — according to your belief — no 
 one has touched the codicil. How, then, can it have 
 sfot out of the desk ? " 
 
 " There is only one solution. It was suggested 
 by Mr. Bitterworth ; and, though I refused credence 
 to it when he spoke, it has since been gaining upon 
 mv mind. He thinks my uncle must have repented 
 of the codicil after it w^as made, and himself 
 destroyed it. I should give full belief to this, were 
 it not that at the ver}^ last he spoke to me as the 
 successor to Verner's Pride." 
 
 " AVhy did he will it from you at all?" asked 
 Lady Verner. 
 
 " I know not. I have told you how estranged his 
 manner has been to me for the last year or two; but 
 wherefore, or what I had done to displease him, I 
 cannot think or imagine." 
 
 "He had no right to wdll away the estate from 
 you," vehemently rejoined Lady Verner. " Was it 
 not enough that he usurped your father's birth-right, 
 as Jacob usurped Esau's, keeping you out of it for 
 years and years, but he must now deprive jon of it 
 for ever ? Had you been dead — had there been any 
 urgent reason why you should not succeed — Jan 
 should have come in. Jan is the lawful heir, failing; 
 
208 verner's pride. 
 
 you. Mark me, Lionel, it will bring no good to 
 Frederick Massingbird. Eights, violently diverted 
 out of their course, can bring onl}^ wrong and 
 confusion." 
 
 " It would be scarcely fair were it to bring him 
 ill," spoke Lionel in his strict justice. " Frederick 
 has had nothing to do with bequeathing it to 
 himself." 
 
 " Nonsense, Lionel ! you cannot make me believe 
 that no cajolery has been at work from some quarter 
 or other," peevishly answered Lady Vemer. " Tell 
 the facts to an impartial person — a stranger. They 
 were always about him — his wife and those Massing- 
 birds — and at the last moment it is discovered that 
 he has left all to them and disinherited you." 
 
 " Mother, you are mistaken. What my uncle has 
 done, he has done of his ovm will alone, unbiassed 
 by others ; nay, unkno^vn to others. He distinctly 
 stated this to Matiss, when the change was made. 
 No, although I am a sufferer, and they benefit, I 
 cannot throw a shade of the Avrong upon Mrs. 
 Verner and the Massingbirds." 
 
 " I will tell you what I cannot do — and that is, 
 accept your view of the disappearance of the codicil,^' 
 said Lady Verner. " It does not stand to reason 
 that your imcle would cause a codicil to be made, 
 with all the haste and parade you speak of, only to 
 destroy it afterwards. Depend upon it j'ou are 
 wTong. He never took it." 
 
 " It does appear unlikely," acquiesced Lionel, 
 after some moments of deliberation " It was not 
 
THE REVELATION TO LADY VERNER. 200 
 
 likely, either, that he would destroy it in secret ; he 
 would have done it openly. And, still less likely, 
 that he would have addressed me as his successor 
 in dying, and given me charges as to the manage- 
 ment of the estate, had he left it away from me." 
 
 " No, no ; no, no ! " emphatically returned Lady 
 Yerner. " That codicil has heen stolen, Lionel." 
 
 " But, by whom ? " he debated. " There's not a 
 servant in the house would do it ; and there was no 
 other inmate of it, save myself. This is my chief 
 difficulty. Were it not for the total absence of all 
 other suspicion, I should not for a moment entertain 
 the thought that it could have been my uncle. Let 
 us leave the subject, mother. It seems to be an 
 unprofitable one, and my head is weary." 
 
 " Are you going to give the codicil tamely up for 
 a bad job, without further search ? " asked Lady 
 Verner. "That I should live — that I should live to 
 see Sibylla West's children inherit Yerner's Pride!" 
 she passionately added. 
 
 Sibylla W^est's children! Lionel had enough pain 
 at his heart, just then, without that shaft. A 
 piercing shaft truly, and it djed his brow fiery red. 
 
 "We have searched already in every likely or- 
 possible place that we can think of; to-morrow 
 morning, places unlikely and impossible will be- 
 searched," he said, in answer to his mother^s ques- 
 tion. " I shall be aided hj the police : our searching 
 is nothing, compared with what they can do. They 
 go about it artistically, perfected by practice." 
 
 " And — if the result should be a failure ? " 
 
 VOL. T. P 
 
210 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 " It will be a failure," spoke Lionel, in his firm 
 conviction. " In which case I bid adieu to Yerner's 
 Pride." 
 
 " And come home here ; will you not, Lionel ? " 
 
 " For the present. And now, mother, that I have 
 told you the ill news, and spoiled your rest, I must 
 go back again." 
 
 Spoiled her rest ! Ay, for many a day and night 
 to come. Lionel disinherited ! Verner's Pride 
 sfone from them for ever ! A crv Avent forth from 
 Lady Verner's heart. It had been the moment of 
 hope which she had looked forward to for years ; 
 and, now that it was come, what had it brought ? 
 
 " My own troubles make me selfish," said Lionel, 
 turning back when he was half out at the door. " I 
 forgot to tell you that Jan and Decima inherit five 
 hundred pounds each." 
 
 " Five hundred pounds ! " slightingly returned 
 Lady Verner. " It is but of a piece with the rest." 
 
 He did not add that he had five hundred also, 
 failing the estate. It would have seemed worse 
 mockery still. 
 
 Looking out at the door, opposite to the ante- 
 room, on the other side of the hall, was Decima. 
 She had heard his step, and came to beckon him in. 
 It was the dining-parlour, but a pretty room still ; 
 for Lady Yerner would have nothing about her 
 inelegant or ugly, if she could help it. Lucy 
 Tempest, in her favourite school attitude, was half- 
 kneeling, half-sitting on the rug before the fire : but 
 she rose when Lionel came in. 
 
THE REVELATION TO LADY VERNER. 211 
 
 Decima entwined her arm within his, and led him 
 np to the fire-place. " Did j-ou hring mamma bad 
 news ? " she asked. " I thought I read it in jonr 
 countenance.'' 
 
 " Very bad, Decima. Or I should not have sent 
 you away while I told it." 
 
 " I suppose there's nothing left for mamma, or for 
 Jan ? " 
 
 " Mamma did not expect anything left for her, 
 Decima. Don't go away, Lucy," he added, arresting 
 Lucy Temjiest, who, with good taste, was leaving 
 them alone. " Stay and hear how poor I am : all 
 Deerham knows it by this time"' 
 
 Lucy remained. Decima, her beautiful features 
 a shade paler than usual, turned her serene eyes on 
 Lionel. She little thought w^hat was coming. 
 
 " Verner's Pride is left awaj^ from me, Decima." 
 
 " Left away from you ! From you ? " 
 
 "Frederick Massingbird inherits. I am passed 
 over." 
 
 " Oh, Lionel ! " The words w^ere not uttered 
 angrily, passionately, as Lady Verner's had been ; 
 but in a low, quiet voice, wrung from her, seemingly, 
 by intense inward pain. 
 
 " And so there wdll be some additional trouble for 
 you in the housekeeping line," went on Lionel, 
 speaking gaily, and ignoring all the pain at his 
 heart. " Turned out of Verner's Pride, I must 
 come to you here — at least, for a time. What shall 
 you say to that. Miss Lucy ? " 
 
 Lucy was looking up at him gravely, not smiling 
 
 r2 
 
212 verner's pride. 
 
 in the least. " Is it true that you have lost Verner's 
 Pride ? "' she asked. 
 
 " Quite true." 
 
 *' But I thought it was yours — after Mr. Yerner." 
 
 " I thought so too, until to-day/' replied Lionel. 
 *' It ought to have been mine." 
 
 '* What shall you do without it ? " 
 
 " What, indeed ! " he answered. " From being a 
 landed country gentleman — as people have imagined 
 me — I go down to a poor fellow who must work for 
 his bread and cheese before he eats it. Your eyes 
 are laughing. Miss Lucy, but it is true."" 
 
 " Bread and cheese costs nothing,"' said she. 
 
 " No ? And the plate you put it on, and the 
 knife you eat it with, and the glass of beer to help it 
 go down, and the coat you wear during the repast, 
 and the room it's served in ? — they cost something, 
 Miss Lucy." 
 
 Lucy laughed. " I think you will always have 
 enough bread and cheese,"' said she. " You look as 
 though you would." 
 
 Decima turned to them : she had stood buried in 
 a reverie, until the light tone of Lionel aroused her 
 from it. " WJdch is real, Lionel? This joking, or 
 that you have lost Yerner's Pride ? "' 
 
 " Both," he answered. " I am disinherited from 
 Yerner's Pride : better perhaps that I should joke 
 over it, than cry." 
 
 " What will mamma do ? AYhat will mamma do ? "" 
 breathed Decima. *' She has so counted upon it. 
 And what will you do, Lionel ? "' 
 
THE REVELATION TO LtVDY VERNER. 213 
 
 " Decima ! " came forth at this moment from the 
 opposite room, in the imperative voice of Lady 
 Verner. 
 
 Decima turned in obedience to it, her step less 
 light than usual. Lucy addressed Lionel : 
 
 " One day at the rectory there came a gipsy 
 woman, wanting to tell our fortunes : she accosted 
 us in the garden. Mr. Cust sent her away, and she 
 was angry, and told him his star was not in the 
 ascendant. I think it must be the case at present 
 with your star, Mr. Verner." 
 
 Lionel smiled. " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " It is not only one thing that 3'ou are losing ; it 
 is more. First, that pretty girl whom you loved; 
 then, Mr. Verner ; and now, Verner's Pride. I wish 
 I knew how to comfort you." 
 
 Lucy Tempest spoke Avith the most open simpli- 
 city, exactly as a sister might have done. But the 
 one allusion grated on Lionel's heart. 
 
 " You are ver}'- kind, Lucy. Good-bj^e. Tell 
 Decima I shall see her sometime to-morrow." 
 
 Lucy Tempest looked after him from the window 
 as he paced the enclosed courtyard. " I cannot 
 think how people can be unjust ! " was her thought. 
 " If Verner's Pride was rightly his, v/hy have they 
 taken it from him ? " 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 DRY WORK. 
 
 Certainly Lionel Verner's star was not in the 
 ascendant — though Lucy Tempest had used the 
 words in jest. His love gone from liim ; his fortune 
 and position ^\Tested from him ; all become the ad- 
 juncts of one man, Frederick Massingbird. Sereneh^, 
 to outward appearance, as Lionel had met the one 
 blow% so did he now^ meet the other : and none, 
 looking on his calm bearing, could suspect what the 
 loss was to him. But it is the silent sorrow that 
 eats into the heart; the loud giief does not tell 
 upon it. 
 
 An official search had been made ; but no trace 
 could be found of the missing codicil. Lionel had 
 not expected that it would be found. He regarded 
 it as a deed which had never liad existence, and 
 took up his abode Avith his mother. The village 
 could not believe it ; the neighbourhood resented it. 
 People stood in groups to talk it over. It did cer- 
 tainly appear to be a most singular and almost 
 incredible thing : that, in the enlightened days of 
 the latter half of the nineteenth centm^y, an official 
 deed should disappear out of a gentleman's desk, 
 in his own well-guarded residence, in his habited 
 
DRY WORK. 215 
 
 chamber. Conjectures and thoughts were freel}' 
 bandied about ; while Dr. West and Jan grew nearty 
 tired of the particuhirs demanded of them in their 
 23rofessional visits, for their patients would talk of 
 nothing else. 
 
 The first visible effect that the disappointment 
 had, was to stretch Lady Verner on a sick-bed. She 
 fell into a low, nervous state of prostration, and her 
 irritability — it must be confessed — was great. But 
 for this illness, Lionel would have been away. 
 Thi'own now upon his own resources, he looked 
 steadily mto the future, and strove to chalk out a 
 career for himself ; one by which — as he had said to 
 Lucy Tempest — he might earn bread and cheese. 
 Of course, at Lionel Verner's age, and reared to no 
 profession, unfamiliar with habits of business, that 
 was easier thought of than done. He had no par- 
 ticular talent for literature ; he believed that, if he 
 tried his hand at that, the bread might come, but 
 the cheese would be doubtful — although he saw men 
 with even less aptitude for it than he, turning to it 
 and embracing it with all the confidence in the 
 world, as if it were an ever-open resource for all, 
 when other trades failed. There were the three 
 professions : but were they available ? Lionel felt 
 no inclination to become a working drudge hke 
 poor Jan ; and the Church, for which he had not any 
 liking, he was by far too conscientious to embrace 
 only as a means of living. There remained the Bar; 
 and to that he turned his attention, and resolved to 
 qualify himself for it. That there would be grind- 
 
216 VEPtNER^S PRIDE. 
 
 ing, and clrudgeiy, and hard work, and no pay for 
 years, he knew ; hut, so there might be, go to what 
 he would. The Bar did hold out a chance of suc- 
 cess, and there Avas nothing in it derogatory to the 
 notions in which he had been reared — those of a 
 gentleman. 
 
 Jan came to him one day about the time of the 
 decision, and Lionel told him that he should soon 
 be away ; that he intended to enter himself at the 
 Middle Temple, and take chambers. 
 
 " Law ! " said Jan. " Why, you'll be forty, may 
 be, before you ever get a brief. You should have 
 entered earlier." 
 
 " Yes. But how was I to know that things would 
 turn out like this ? " 
 
 " Look here," said Jan, tilting himself in a very 
 uncomfortable fashion on the high back of an arm- 
 chair, "there's that five hundred pounds. Y"ou can 
 have that." 
 
 " What five hundred pounds ? " asked Lionel. 
 
 " The five hundred that uncle Stephen left me. I 
 don''t want it. Old West gives me as much as keeps 
 me in clothes and that, which is all I care about. 
 You take the mone}^ and use it." 
 
 " No, Jan. Thank j^ou warmly, old boy, all the 
 same ; but I'd not take your poor little bit of money 
 if I were starving." 
 
 " What's the good of it to me ? " persisted Jan, 
 swaying his legs about. " I can't use it : I have got 
 nothing to use it in. I have put it in the bank at 
 Heartburg, but the bank may go smash, you know, 
 
DRY WORK. 217 
 
 and then wlio'd be the better for the money ? You 
 take it and make sm^e of it, Lionel." 
 
 Lionel smiled at him. Jan was as simple and 
 single-hearted in his way as Lucy Tempest was in 
 hers. But Lionel must want money very grievously 
 indeed, before he would have consented to take 
 honest Jan's. 
 
 " I have five hundred of my own, you know, Jan,' 
 he said. " More than I can use yet awhile." 
 
 So he fixed upon the Bar, and would have has- 
 tened to London but for Lady Yerner's illness. In 
 the weak, low state to which disappointment and 
 irritabiHty had reduced her, she could not bear to 
 lose sight of Lionel, or permit him to depart. " It 
 will be time enough when I am dead; and that won't 
 be long first," was the constant burden of her song 
 to him. 
 
 He believed his mother to be little more likely 
 to die than he was, but he was too dutiful a son to 
 cross her in her present state. He gathered certain 
 ponderous tomes about him, and began studjing law 
 on his own account, shutting himself up in his room 
 all day to do it. Awfully dry work he found it ; not 
 in the least congenial ; and many a time did he long 
 to pitch the whole lot into the pleasant rippling 
 stream, running through the grounds of Sir Eufus 
 Hautley, which danced and glittered in the sun in 
 view of Lionel's window. 
 
 He could not remain at his daily study without 
 interruptions. They were pretty frequent. People, 
 — tenants, workmen, and others, — would persist in 
 
218 verner's pride. 
 
 coming for orders to Mr. Lionel. In vain Lionel 
 told them that he could not give orders, could not 
 interfere ; that he had no longer anything to do with 
 A^erner's Pride. They could not be brought to 
 understand why he was not their master as usual — 
 at any rate, wdiy he could not act as one, and inter- 
 pose between them and the tj^ant, Roy. In point 
 of fact, Mr. Roy was head and master of the estate 
 just now, and a nice head and ma^^ter he made ! 
 Mrs. Verner, shut up in Verner's Pride with her iU 
 health, had no conception what games were being 
 played. " Let be, let be," the people would say. 
 "When Mr. Fred Massingbird comes home, Roy '11 
 get called to account, and receive his deserts:" a 
 fond belief in which all did not join. Many enter- 
 tained a shrewd suspicion that Mr. Fred Massingbird 
 w-as too much inchned to be a tyrant on his own 
 account, to disapprove the acts of Roy. Lionel's 
 blood often boiled at what he saw and heard, and 
 he wished he could put miles betvreen himself and 
 Deerham. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A WHISPERED SUSPICION. 
 
 Dr. West was crossing the court3^ard one day, 
 after paying his morning visit to Lady Verner, when 
 he was waylaid by Lionel. 
 
 " How long will my mother remain in this weak 
 state ? " he inquired. 
 
 Dr. West lifted his arched eyebrows. " It is im- 
 130ssible to say, Mr. Lionel. These cases of low 
 nervous fever are sometimes very much protracted." 
 
 *' Lady Verner's is not nervous fever," dissented 
 Lionel. 
 
 " It approaches near to it." 
 
 " The fact is, I want to be avv^ay," said Lionel. 
 
 " There is no reason why you should not be away, 
 if you wish it," rejoined the physician. " Lady 
 Verner is not in any danger ; she is sure to recovei' 
 eventually. ' 
 
 " I know that. At least, I hope it is sure," re- 
 turned Lionel. " But in the state she is I cannot 
 reason with her, or talk to her of the necessity of 
 my being away. Any approach to the topic irritates 
 her." 
 
 " I should go, and say nothing to her beforehand," 
 observed Dr. West. "When she found you were 
 
220 verner's pride. 
 
 really off, and that there was no remed}' for it, she 
 must perforce reconcile herself to it." 
 
 Every fond feeling within Lionel revolted at the 
 suggestion. " We are speaking of my mother, 
 doctor," was his courteously-uttered rebuke. 
 
 *' Well, if 3'ou would not like to do that, there's 
 nothing for it but patience," the doctor rejoined, 
 as he drew open one of the iron gates. " Lady 
 Verner may be no better than she is now for weeks 
 to come. Good day, Mr. Lionel." 
 
 Lionel paced into the house with a slow step, and 
 went up to his mother's chamber. She was lying 
 on a couch by the fire, her e3'es closed, her pale 
 features contracted as if with pain. Her maid 
 Therese appeared to be busy with her, and Lionel 
 called out Decima. 
 
 " There's no improvement, I hear, Decima." 
 
 "No. But, on the other hand, there is no danger. 
 There's nothing even very serious, if Dr. West may 
 be beheved. Do j^ou know, Lionel, what I fancy he 
 thinks ? " 
 
 " What ?" asked Lionel. 
 • " That if mamma were obliged to exert and rouse 
 herself — were like an}- poor person, for instance, who 
 cannot lie by and be nursed — she would be well 
 directly. And — unkind, unlike a daughter as it 
 may seem in me to acknowledge it — I do very much 
 incline to the same opinion." 
 
 Lionel made no reply. 
 
 " Only Dr. West has not the candour to srj so," 
 went on Decima. " So long as he can keep her 
 
A WHISPERED SUSPICION. 231 
 
 lying here, lie will do it ; she is a good patient for 
 him. Poor mamma gives way, and he helps her to 
 do it. I wish she would discard him, and trust to 
 Jan." 
 
 " You don't like Dr. West, Decima ? " 
 
 "I never did," said Decima. "And I believe 
 that, in skill, Jan is quite equal to him. There's 
 this much to be said of Jan, that he is sincere and 
 open as if he were made of glass. Jan will never 
 keep a patient in bed unnecessarily, or give the 
 smallest dose more than is absolutely requisite. 
 Did you hear of Sir Rufus Hautley sending for 
 Jan ? " ' 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He is ill, it seems. And when he sent to Dr. 
 "West's, he expressly desired that it might be Mr. 
 Jan Verner to answer the summons. Dr. West will 
 not forgive that in a hurr}^" 
 
 " That comes of prejudice," said Lionel : " pre- 
 judice not really deserved by Dr. West. Since the 
 reading of the will, Sir Rufus has been bitter 
 against the Massingbirds ; and Dr. West, as con- 
 nected with them, comes in for his share of the 
 feeling." 
 
 " I hope he may not deserve it in any worse way 
 than as connected with them," returned Decima, 
 with more acrimony than she, in her calm gentle- 
 ness, was accustomed to speak. 
 
 The significant tone struck Lionel. " What do 
 you mean, Decima ? " 
 
 Decima glanced round. They were standing at 
 
222 veiixer"s niiDE. 
 
 the far end of the corridor, at the window which 
 overlooked the domains of Sir Rufus Halltle5^ The 
 doors of the several rooms were closed, and no one 
 was about. Decima spoke in a whisper. 
 
 " Lionel, I cannot divest myself of the opinion 
 that — that — " 
 
 " That what ? " he asked, looking at her in wonder, 
 for she was hesitating strangely, her manner shrink- 
 ing, her voice awestruck. 
 
 " That it w^as Dr. West who took the codicil." 
 
 Lionel's face flushed. Partialh^ with pain : he 
 did not like to hear it said, even by Decima. 
 
 " You have never suspected so much j^ourself ? " 
 she asked. ^ 
 
 " Never, never. I hope I never shall suspect it. 
 Decima, you perhaps cannot help the thought, but 
 you can help speaking of it." 
 
 " I did not mean to vex you. Somehow, Lionel, 
 it is for your sake that I seem to have taken a 
 dislike to the Wests — " 
 
 " To take a dislike to people is no just cause for 
 accusing thenj of crime," he interrupted. " Decima, 
 you are not like j-^ourself to-daj-. ' 
 
 " Do you suppose that it is my dislike which 
 caused me to suspect him ? No, Lionel. I seem to 
 see people and their motives very clearly : and I do 
 honestly believe " — she dropped her voice still lower 
 — "that Dr. West is a man capable of almost any- 
 thing. At the time when the codicil was being 
 searched for, I used to think and think it over, how 
 Icould be — how it could have disappeared. All its 
 
A WHISPERED SUSPICION. S23 
 
 points, all its bearings, I deliberated upon again and 
 again. One certain thing was, the codicil could not 
 have disappeared from the desk without its having 
 been taken out : another point, almost equall}^ 
 certain to my mind, was, that my uncle Stephen did 
 not take it out, but died in the belief that it was in, 
 and that it would give you your inheritance. A 
 third point was, that whoever took it, must have had 
 some strong motive for the act. Who (with possible 
 access to the desk) could have had this motive, 
 even in a remote degree ? There were but two : 
 Dr. West and Mrs. Verner. Mrs. Verner I judge 
 to be incapable of anything so wrong ; Dr. West I 
 believe to be capable of even Avorse than that. 
 Hence I drew my deductions." 
 
 "Deductions which I shall never accept, and 
 which I would advise you to get rid of, Decima, ' 
 was his answer. " My dear, never let such an 
 accusation cross your lips again." 
 
 " I never shall. I have told you ; and that is 
 enough. I have longed to tell you for some time 
 past. I did not think you would believe me." 
 
 " Believe it, you should say, Decima. Dr. West 
 take the codicil ! Were I to bring myself to that 
 belief, I think all my faith in man would go out. 
 You are sadl}- prejudiced against the Wests." 
 
 "And you in their favour," she could not help 
 saying. " But I shall ever be thankful for one 
 thing — that you have escaped Sibylla." 
 
 Was he thankful for it ? Scarcely. While that 
 pained heart of his, those coursing pulses, could 
 
224 VERNER^S PRIDE. 
 
 beat on in this tumultuous manner at the bare 
 sound of lier name. 
 
 In the silence that ensued — for neither felt in- 
 clined to break it — they heard a voice in the hall 
 below, inquiring whether Mr. Yerner was within. 
 Lionel recognised it as Tynn's. 
 
 " For all I know he is," answered old Catherine. 
 " I saw him a few minutes agone in the court out 
 there, a-talking to the doctor." 
 
 " Will you please ask if I can speak to him." 
 
 Lionel did not wait further, but descended to 
 the hall. The butler, in his deep mourning, bad 
 taken his seat on the bench. He rose as Lionel 
 approached. 
 
 " Well, Tynn, how are you ? What is it ? " 
 
 " ]My mistress has sent me to ask if 3^ou'd be 
 so kind as come to Verner's Pride, sir ? " said 
 Tynn, standing with his hat in his hand. " She 
 bade me say that she did not feel well enough, or 
 she'd have written you a note with the request, but 
 she wishes particularly to see you." 
 
 " Does she wish to see me to-da}^ ? " 
 
 " As soon as ever you could get there, sir, I 
 fanc3\ I am sure she meant to-da3^" 
 
 " Very well, Tynn. I'll come over. How is jour 
 mistress ? " 
 
 " She's very well, sir, now ; but she gets worried 
 on all sides about things out-of-doors." 
 
 " Who worries her witli those tales ? " asked 
 Lionel. 
 
 " Everybody unlmost does, sir, as comes a-nigh 
 
A WHISPERED SUSPICION. S25 
 
 lier. First it's one complaint that's brought to the 
 house, of things going wrong, and then it's another 
 complaint — and the women servants, they have not 
 the sense to keep it from her. My wife can't keep 
 her tongue still upon it, and can't see that the rest 
 do. Might I ask how her ladyship is to-daj^ 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Not any better, Tynn. Tell iMrs. Verner I 
 will be with her almost immediately." 
 
 Lionel lost little time in going to Yerner's Pride. 
 Turned from it as he had been, smarting under 
 the injustice and the pain, many a one would have 
 haughtily refused to re-enter it, whatever may have 
 been the emergency. Not so, Lionel. He had 
 chosen to quit Verner's Pride as his residence, but 
 he had remained entirely good friends with Mrs. 
 Verner, calling on her at times. Not upon her 
 would Lionel visit his displeasure. 
 
 It was somewhat curious that she had taken to 
 sit in the old study of Stephen Verner ; a room 
 which she had rarely entered during his lifetime. 
 Perhaps some vague impression that she was now 
 a woman of business, or ought to be one, that she 
 herself was in sole charge for the absent heir, had 
 induced her to take up her daily sitting amidst the 
 drawers, bureaux, and other places which had 
 contained Mr. Verner's papers — which contained 
 them still. She had, however, never j^et looked at 
 one. If anything came up to the house, leases, 
 deeds, other papers, she would say : " Tynn, see to 
 it," or " Tynn, take it over to Mr. Lionel Verner, 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 VERNER^S PRIDE. 
 
 and ask what's to be done." Lionel never refused 
 to say. 
 
 She was sitting back in Mr. Verner's old chair, 
 now, filling it a great deal better than he used to do. 
 Lionel took her hand cordially. Every time he 
 saw her he thought her looking bigger and bigger. 
 However much she may have grieved at the time 
 for her son John's death, it had not taken away 
 either her flesh or her high colour. Nothing would 
 have troubled Mrs. Vemer permanently, unless it 
 had been the depriving her of her meals. Now 
 John was gone, she cared for notliing else in life. 
 
 " It's kind of you to come, Lionel," said she. "' 1 
 want to talli to you. What will you have ? — some 
 wme i 
 
 " Not anything," replied Lionel. *' Tynn said 
 you wished to see me for something particular." 
 
 " And so I do. You must take the management 
 of the estate until Fred's at home. ' 
 
 The words grated on his ear, and his brow knit 
 itself into lines. But he answered calmly. 
 
 " I cannot do that, Mrs. Verner." 
 
 " Then what can I do ? " she asked. " Here's all 
 this great estate, nobody to see after it, nobody to 
 take it in charge ! I'm sure I have no more right 
 to be teased over it than you have, Lionel.'* 
 
 " It is your son's." 
 
 " I asked you not to leave Verner's Pride. I 
 asked you to take the management of out- door 
 things ! You did so, between your uncle's death 
 and his burial." 
 
A WHISPERED SUSPICION. 227 
 
 " Believing that I was taking the management of 
 what was mine," replied Lionel. 
 
 " Why do you visit upon me the blame of all that 
 has happened ? " pursued Mrs. Verner. '' I declare 
 that I knew nothing of what was done ; I could not 
 believe my own ears when I heard Matiss read out 
 the will. You should not blame me." 
 
 " I never have blamed you for it, Mrs. Verner. 
 I believe yon to be as innocent of blame in the 
 matter as I am." 
 
 " Then you ought not to turn haught}^ and cold, 
 and refuse to help me. They are going to have me 
 up before the justice courts at Hearth urg ! " 
 
 *' Have you up before the justice courts at Heart- 
 burg ! " repeated Lionel, in great astonishment. 
 
 " It's all through Eoy ; I know it is. There's 
 some stupid dispute about a lease, and I am to be 
 had up in evidence. Did you hear of the threat ? " 
 
 " What threat ? " asked he. 
 
 " Some of the men are saying they'll burn down 
 Verner's Pride. Roy turned them off the brick- 
 yard, and they threaten they'll do it out of revenge. 
 If you would just look to things and keep Roy 
 quiet, nothing of this would happen." 
 
 Lionel knew that. 
 
 " Mrs. Verner," he said, " were 5^ou the owner of 
 Verner's Pride, I would spare no pains to help you. 
 But I cannot act for Frederick Massingbird. ' 
 
 " What has Fred done to you ? " she asked 
 quickly. 
 
 ** That is not the question — he has done no- 
 
 q2 
 
228 verner's pride. 
 
 thing," answered Lionel, speaking more rapidly 
 still. " My management would — if I know any- 
 thing of him — he essentially different from your 
 son's; different from what he would approve. 
 Neither would I take authority upon myself only 
 to have it displaced upon his return. Have Eoy 
 before you, Mrs. Verner, and caution him." 
 
 " It does no good. I have already had him. He 
 smoothes things over to me, so that black looks 
 white. Lionel, I must sa}^ that you are unkind and 
 obstinate." 
 
 " I do not think I am naturally either one or the 
 other," he answered, smiling. ''Perhaps it might 
 answer your purpose to put things into the hands 
 of ]\Iatiss, until your son's return." 
 
 " He won't take it," she ansAvered. " I sent for 
 him — what with this court business and the threat 
 of incendiarism, I am like one upon thorns — and he 
 said he would not undertake it. He seemed to fear 
 contact mth Boy." 
 
 " Were I to take the management, Mrs. Yerner, 
 my first act would be to discharge Roy." 
 
 Mrs. Verner tried again to shake his resolution. 
 But he^was quite firm. And, wishing her good day, 
 he left Verner's Pride, and bent his steps towards 
 the village. 
 
CHAPTER XXIT. 
 
 peckaby's shop. 
 
 On passing through Deerham from Verner's 
 Pride, a little below the shop of Mrs. Duff, you 
 come upon an opening on the left hand, which led to 
 quite a swarm of cottages. Many of the labourers 
 congregated here. If you took this turning, which 
 was called Clay Lane, and continued your way past 
 the cottages in a straight line over the fields, you 
 would arrive at the residence of the gamekeeper, 
 Broom, leaving some brick-fields to the right, and 
 the Willow Pool, which had been the end of poor 
 Rachel Frost, on the left. But, unless you climbed 
 hedges, you could not get to the pool from this 
 quarter without going round, near the gamekeeper's. 
 The path which led to Verner's Pride past the 
 pool, and Avhich Rachel had taken that unfortunate 
 night, had its commencement higher up in the 
 village, above Mrs. Duff's. A few cottages were 
 scattered again bej^ond the gamekeeper's, and one or 
 two on this side it : but we have nothing to do with 
 them at present, 
 
 A great part of the ill-feeling rife on the estate 
 was connected with these brick-fields. It had been 
 a great mistake on Mr. Verner's part ever to put 
 
230 verner's pride. 
 
 Roy into power : had Mr. Verner been in the habit 
 of going out of doors himself, he would have seen 
 this, and not kept the man on a week. The former 
 bailiff had died suddenly : he, the bailiff, had given 
 some little p6wer to Eoy during his lifetime ; had 
 taken him on as a sort of inferior helper ; and Mr. 
 Verner, put to shifts by the bailiff's death, had 
 allowed Roy so to continue. Bit by bit, step by 
 step, gradually, covertly, the man made good his 
 footing : no other was put over his head, and in 
 time he came to be called Roy the bailiff, without 
 having ever been formally appointed as bailiff. He 
 drew his two pounds per week — his accorded wages 
 — and he made, it is hard to say what, besides. 
 Avarice and tjTanny were the predominant passions 
 of Roy's mind; bad qualities, and likely to bring 
 forth bad fruits when' joined to petty power. 
 
 About three years previous to Mr. Verner's death, 
 a stranger had appeared in Clay Lane, and set up a 
 shop there. Nearly everj^ conceivable thing in the 
 shape of eatables was sold in it ; that is, such 
 eatables as are in request amidst the poor. Bread, 
 flour, meat, potatoes, butter, tea, sugar, red herrings, 
 and the like. Soap and candles were also sold ; and 
 afterwards the man added green vegetables and 
 coals, the latter doled out by the measure, so much 
 a " kipe." The man's name was Peckaby : he and 
 his mfe were without famih^, and they managed the 
 shop between them. A tall, strong, brawny man 
 was he ; his wife was a remarkably tall woman, fond 
 of gossip and of smart caps. She would go gadding 
 
peckaby's shop. ^31 
 
 out for hours at a stretch, leavmg him to get 
 through all the work at home, the preparing meals, 
 the serving customers. 
 
 Folks fly to new things ; to do so is a propensity 
 inherent in human nature; and Mr. Peckaby's shop 
 flourished. Not that he was much honoured with 
 the complimentary " Mr." ; his customers brought 
 it out short — " Peckaby's shop." Much intimacy had 
 appeared to exist from the first between him and 
 Roy, so that it was surmised they had been pre- 
 viously acquainted. The prices were low, the shop 
 was close at hand, and Clay Lane flocked to it. 
 
 New things, however, like new faces, are apt to 
 turn out no better than the old : sometimes not as 
 good. And thus it proved mth Peckaby's shop. 
 From rather underselling the shops of the village, 
 Peckaby's shop grew to increase its charges until 
 they were higher than those of anybody else : the 
 wares also deteriorated in value. Clay Lane awoke 
 to this by degrees, and would have taken its custom 
 away. But that was more easily contemplated than 
 done : a good many of its families had been allowed 
 to get on Peckaby's books, and they also found that 
 Roy set his face against their leaving the shop. 
 For Roy to set his face against a measure, was a 
 formidable affair, not readil}^ contended with : the 
 labourers did not dare to fly in his face, lest he 
 should make an excuse to take their work from 
 them. He had already discharged several. So 
 Clay Lane, for the most part, found itself tied to 
 Peckaby's shop, and to paying some thirty per cent. 
 
232 veener's pride. 
 
 beyond what tliey would have paid at the old shops ; 
 added to which was the grievance of being com- 
 joelled to put up with very inferior articles. Dis- 
 satisfaction at this state of things had long been 
 smouldering. It grew and grew, threatening to 
 break out into open rebellion, perhaps to bloodshed. 
 The neighbourhood cried shame upon Roy, and felt 
 inclined to echo the cry upon J\Irs. Yerner ; while 
 Clay Lane openly avowed their belief that Peckaby's 
 shop was Roy's shop, and that the Peckabys were 
 only ]3ut in to manage it. 
 
 One fearfully hot Monday morning, in the begin- 
 ning of July, Lionel Yerner was passing down Clay 
 Lane. In another week he would be away from 
 Deerham. Lady Yerner's illness had commenced 
 the latter end of April, and it was gro^wing towards 
 the end of June before she began to get better, 
 or would give Lionel leave to depart. Jan, plain- 
 speaking, truth-telling Jan, had at length quietly 
 told his mother that there was nothing the matter 
 Avith her but " vexing and temper/' Lady Yerner 
 went into hj^sterics at Jan's unfilial conduct; but,, 
 certain it was, from that very time she began to 
 amend. July came in, and Lionel was i)ermitted to 
 fix the day for his departure. 
 
 Lionel was walking down Cla}?" Lane. It was a 
 short cut to Lord Elmsley's house over the hills, a 
 mile or two distant. Not a verj^ suitable day for a 
 walk. Had Lionel been training for a light jockey^ 
 without any superfluous weight, he might have dis- 
 pensed with extra covering in his exercise, and done 
 
peckaby's shop. 233 
 
 as effectually without it. A hotter day never was 
 known in our climate ; a more intensely burning 
 sun never rode in the heavens. It blazed down 
 with a force that was almost unbearable, scorching 
 and withering all within its radius. Lionel looked 
 up at it ; it seemed to blister his face and dazzle his 
 eyes ; and his resolution wavered as he thought of 
 the walk before him. " I have a great mind not to 
 go," said he, mentally. " They can set up their 
 targets without me. I shall be half dead by the 
 time I get there." Nevertheless, in the indecision, 
 he still walked on. He thought he'd see how^ affairs 
 looked when he came to the green fields. Green I 
 brow^n, rather. 
 
 But Lionel found other affairs to look at before 
 he reached the fields. On turning a sharp angle of 
 Clay Lane, he was surprised to see a crowd col- 
 lected, stretching from one side of it to the other. 
 Not a peacable crowd evidently, although it was 
 composed for the most part of the gentler sex ; but 
 a crowed of threatening arms and inflamed faces, and 
 swaying white caps and noisy tongues. The female 
 population of Clay Lane had collected there. 
 
 Smash! went the breaking of glass in Lionel's 
 ears as he came in view" ; smash ! went another 
 crash. Were Peckaby's shop w^indows suffering ? 
 A misgiving that it must be so, crossed the mind 
 of Lionel, and he made few steps to the scene of 
 w^arfare. 
 
 Sure enough it was nothing less. Three great 
 holes were staring in so man}- panes, the splinters 
 
234 verner's pride. 
 
 » 
 
 of glass lying inside the shop-mndow, amidst 
 butter and flour, and other appropriate receptacle 
 compartments. The flour looked brown, and the 
 butter was running away in an oily stream ; but 
 that was no reason why a shower of broken glass 
 should be added to improve their excellences. Mr. 
 Peckaby, with white gills and hair raised up on end, 
 stood the picture of tremor, gazing at the damage, 
 but too much afraid to start out and prevent it. 
 Those big men are sometimes physical cowards. 
 Another i^ane smashed ! the weapon used being a 
 hard piece of flint coal, which just escaped short of 
 Mr. Peckaby's head, and Lionel thouglit it time to 
 interfere. He pushed into the midst of them. 
 
 They drew aside when they saw Avho it was. In 
 theii* hot passions — hot and angry then — perhaps 
 no one, friend or enemy, w^ould have stood a chance 
 of being deferred to but Lionel Yerner. They had 
 so long looked upon him as the future lord of 
 Yerner's Pride that they forgot to look upon him 
 as anything less now. And thej^ all liked Lionel. 
 His appearance was as oil poured upon troubled 
 w^aters. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this ? What is the 
 matter? " demanded Lionel. 
 
 " Oh, sir, Avhy don't j^ou interfere to protect us, 
 now things is come to this pass ? You be a Yer- 
 ner ! " was the prayer of remonstrance that met his 
 Avords from all sides. 
 
 " Give me an explanation," reiterated Lionel. 
 " What is the grievance ? " 
 
peckaby's shop. 235 
 
 The particular grievance of this morning, how- 
 ever easy to explain, was somewhat difficult to 
 comprehend, when twenty tongues were speaking at 
 once ; and those, shrill and excited ones. In vain 
 Lionel assured them that if one would tell it, 
 instead of all, he should understand it sooner ; that 
 if their tone were subdued, instead of loud enough to 
 be heard yonder at the brick-fields, it might be more 
 desirable. Excited women, suffering under what 
 they deem a wrong, cannot be made quiet : 3'ou msiy 
 as well try to put down a rising flood. Lionel 
 resigned himself to his fate, and listened : and at 
 this stage of the afl'air a new feature of it struck his 
 eye and surprised him. Scarcely one of the women 
 but bore in her hand some uncooked meat. Such 
 meat! Lionel drew himself -and his coat from too 
 close proximity to it. It was of varied hues, and 
 walking away alive. Upon plates, whole or broken, 
 upon half saucers, upon dust-pans, upon fire- 
 shovels, held at the end of tongs, hooked on to a 
 fork, spread out in a coal-box; anyhow so as to 
 avoid contact with fingers, these dainty pieces were 
 exhibited for inspection. 
 
 By what Lionel codd gather, it appeared that 
 this meat had been purchased on Saturday night at 
 Peckaby's shop. The women had said then, one 
 and all, that it was not good ; and Mr. Peckaby had 
 been regaled with various open conjectures, more 
 plain than polite, as to the state of the animal 
 which had supplied it. Independent of the quality 
 of the meat, it was none the better, even then, for 
 
J? 3 6 verner's pride. 
 
 having been kept. The women scented this; but 
 Peckaby, and Peckaby's wife, who was always in the 
 shop with her husbond on a Saturday night, pro- 
 tested and vowed that their customers' noses were 
 mistaken ; that the meat would be perfectly good 
 and fresh on the Sunday, and on the Monday too, if 
 they liked to keep it so long. The women, some- 
 what doubtfully giving ear to the assurance, 
 knowing that the alternative was that or none, 
 bought the meat and took it home. On Sunday 
 morning, they found the meat was — anything you 
 may imagine. It w^as neither cookable nor eatable; 
 and their anger against Peckaby was not diminished 
 by a certain fact which oozed out to them ; namely, 
 that Peckaby himself did not cut liis Sunday's 
 dinner off the meat in his shop, but sent to buy 
 it of one of the Deerham butchers. The general 
 indignation was great ; the men, deprived of their 
 Sunday's meat, joined in it; but nothing could be 
 done until Monday morning. Peckaby's shop was 
 alwaj^s hermetically sealed on a Sunday. Mr. 
 Yerner had been stringent in allowing no Sunday 
 traffic on the estate. 
 
 Monday came. The men went to their work as 
 usual, leaving their wives to deal with the matter. 
 Behold them assembled Avith their meat, ke23t for 
 the occasion in spite of its state, before the shop of 
 Peckaby. But of redress they could get none ; 
 Peckaby was deaf; and Lionel arrived to find 
 hostilities commenced. Such was the summary of 
 the story. 
 
peckaby's shop. 237 
 
 ** You are acting very wrong," were Lionel's first 
 words to them in answer. " You should blame the 
 meat, not Peckaby. Is this weather for keeping 
 meat ? " 
 
 " The weather didn't get to this heat till yester- 
 day in the afternoon," said the}- — and Lionel could 
 not deny the fact. IMrs. Dawson took up the 
 word. 
 
 " Our meat warn't bought at Peckaby's ; our meat 
 were got at Clark's, and it were sweet as a nut. 
 'Twere veal, too, and that's the worst meat for 
 keeping. Eoy ud' kill us if he could; but he 
 can't force us on to Peckaby's rubbish. Yv^e defy 
 him to't." 
 
 In point of defying Roy, the Dawsons had done 
 that long ago. There was open warfare between 
 them, and skirmishes took place occasional^. The 
 iirst act of Roy, after it was known that Lionel was 
 disinherited, had been to discharge old Dawson and 
 his sons from work. How they had managed to 
 live since was a mystery : funds did not seem to 
 run low with them : tales of their night-poaching 
 went about, and the sons got an odd job at 
 legitimate work now and then. 
 
 "It's an awful shame," cried a civil, quiet woman, 
 Sarah Grind, one of a very numerous family, com- 
 monly called " Grind's lot," " that we should be 
 beat down to have our victuals and other things at 
 such a place as Peckaby's ! Sometimes, sir, I'm 
 almost inclined to ask, is it Christians as rules 
 over us ? " 
 
238 verner's pride. 
 
 Lionel felt the shaft levelled at his family, though 
 not personally at himself. 
 
 " You are not beaten down to it,"' he said. 
 " Why do you deal at Peckaby's ? Sta}- a bit ! I 
 know Avhat you would urge : that by going elsewhere 
 you w^ould displease Boy. It seems to me that if 
 you would all go elsewhere, Roy could not prevent 
 it. Should one of you attempt to go, he might ; 
 but he could not prevent it if you all go with one 
 accord. If Peckaby's things are bad — as I believe 
 they are — why do you buy them ? *" 
 
 " There ain't a single thing as is good in his 
 place," spoke up a woman, half-crying. " Sir, it's 
 truth. His flour is half bone-dust, and his 'taturs 
 is w^atery. His sugar is sand, and his tea is leaves 
 dried over again, while liis eggs is rotten, and his 
 coals is flint." 
 
 " Allowing that it is so, it is no good reason for 
 your smashing his windows," said Lionel. " It is 
 utterly impossible that that can be tolerated," 
 
 " Why do he palm his bad things off upon us, 
 then ? " retorted the crowd. " He makes us pay 
 half as much again as we do in the other shoj^s : 
 and when we gets them home, we can't eat "em. 
 Sir, you be Mr. Verner now ; you ought to see as 
 we be protected." 
 
 "I am Mr. Yerner; but I have no power. My 
 power has been taken from me, as you know. ^Irs. 
 Yerner is — " 
 
 " A murrain light upon lier ! " scowled a man 
 from the outskirts of the crowd. " AVhy do she call 
 
peckaby's shop. 239 
 
 herself Mrs. Verner, and stick herself up for missis 
 at Verner's Pride, if she is to take no notice on us ? 
 Why do she leave us in the hands of Ko^y, to be — ' 
 
 Lionel had turned upon the man like lightning. 
 
 " Davies, how dare you presume so to speak of 
 Mrs. Verner in my presence ? Mrs. Verner is not 
 the source of your ills ; you must look nearer to 
 you, for that. Mrs. Verner is aged and ailing ; she 
 cannot get out of doors to see into your grievances." 
 
 At the moment of Lionel's turning to the man, 
 he, Davies, had commenced to push his way towards 
 Lionel. This caused the crowd to swa}^ and 
 Lionel's hat, which he held carelessly in his hand, 
 having taken it off to wipe his heated brow, got 
 knocked down. Before he could stoop for its 
 rescue, it was trampled out of shape ; not intention- 
 ally — they would have protected Lionel and his 
 things with their lives — but inadvertentl3\ A 
 woman picked it up with a comical look of despair. 
 To put on that again, was impossible. 
 
 " Never mind," said Lionel, good-naturedly. " It 
 was my own fault ; I should have held it better." 
 
 "Put your handkercher over jom: head, sir," v\-as 
 the woman's advice. " It'll keep the sun off." 
 
 Lionel smiled, but did not take it. Davies was 
 claiming his attention : while some of the women 
 seemed inclined to go in for a fight, vvhich should 
 secure the hat. 
 
 " Could Mr. Vemer get out o' doors and look 
 into our grievances, the last yeai's of his life, any 
 more, sir, nor she can ? " he was asking, in con- 
 
240 verner's pride. 
 
 tinuation of the subject. " No, sir ; he couldn't, 
 and he didn't; but things wasn't then brought to 
 the pitch as thej^ be now." 
 
 " No," acquiesced Lionel, " I was at hand then, 
 to interpose between Hoj and Mr. Verner." 
 
 " And don't yon think, sir, as you might be able 
 to do the same thing still ? " 
 
 " No, Davies. I have been displaced from 
 Verner's Pride, and from all power connected with 
 it. I have no more right to interfere with the 
 workincf of the estate than you have. You must 
 make the best of things until Mr. Massingbird's 
 return." 
 
 " There'll be some dark deed done, then, afore 
 man}^ weeks is gone over ; that's what there'll be ! " 
 was Davies's slillen reply. " It ain't to be stood, 
 sir, as a man and his family is to clam, 'cause 
 Peckaby — " 
 
 " Dalies, I will hear no more on that score," 
 interrupted Lionel. " You men should be men, 
 and make common cause in that one point for 
 yourselves, against Roy. You have your wages in 
 your hand on a Saturday night, and can deal at any 
 shop you please." 
 
 The man — he wore a battered old straw hat on 
 his head, which looked as dirty as his face — raised 
 his eyes with an air of surprise at Lionel. 
 
 '' What wages, sir ? We don't get ours." 
 
 " Not get 3^our wages ? " repeated Lionel. 
 
 "No, sir; not on a Saturday night. That's just 
 it — it's where the new shoe's a -pinching. Roy 
 
peckaby's shop. 241 
 
 don't pay now on a Saturday night. He gives us 
 all a sort o' note, good for six shilling, and we has, 
 us or our wives, to take that to Peckaby's, and get 
 what we can for it. On the Monday, at twelve 
 o'clock, which is his new time for paying the wages, 
 he docks us of six shilling. That's his plan now : 
 and no wonder as some of us has kicked at it, and 
 then he have turned us off. I be one." 
 
 Lionel's brow burnt ; not with the blazing sun, 
 but with indignation. That this should happen on 
 the lands of the Verners ! Hot words rose to his 
 lips — to the effect that Roy, as he believed, was 
 acting against the law — but he swallowed them 
 down ere spoken. It might not be expedient to 
 proclaim so much to the men. 
 
 " Since when has Roy done this ? " he asked. 
 *' I am surjy:ised not to have heard of it." 
 
 " This six weeks he have done it, sir, and longer 
 nor that. It's get our things from Peckaby's, or 
 it's not get any at all. Folks won't trust the likes 
 of us, without us goes with the money in our hands. 
 We might have knowed there was some evil in the 
 wind when Peckaby's took to give us trust. Mr. 
 Yerner wasn't the best of masters to us, after he let 
 Roy get on our backs, — saving your presence for 
 saying it, sir; but you must know as it's truth, — 
 but there's things a-going on now as 'ud make him, 
 if he knowed 'em, rise up out of his grave. Let 
 Roy take care of hisself, that he don't get burned 
 up some night in his bed ! " significantly added the 
 man. 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 verner's pride. 
 
 '' Be silent, Davies ! You- 
 
 Lionel was interrupted by a commotion. Upon 
 turning to ascertain its cause, lie found an excited 
 crowd hastening towards the sj^ot from the brick- 
 fields. The news of the affray had been carried 
 thither, and Roy, with much intemperate language 
 and loud wrath, had set off at full speed to quell it. 
 The labourers set off after him, probably to protect 
 their wives. Shouting, hooting, swearing — at which 
 pastime Roy was the loudest — on they came, in a 
 state of fury. 
 
 But for the presence of Lionel Vemer, things 
 might have come to a crisis — if a fight could have 
 brought a crisis on. He interposed his authority, 
 which even Roy did not yet dispute to his face, and 
 he succeeded in restoring peace for the time. He 
 became responsible — I don't know whether it was 
 quite wise of him to do so — for the cost of the 
 broken T\indows, and the women were allowed to go 
 home unmolested. The men returned to their 
 work, and Mr. Peckaby's face regained its colour. 
 Ro}^ was turning away, muttering to liimself, when 
 Lionel beckoned him aside with an authoritative 
 hand. 
 
 " Roy, this must not go on. Do you imderstand 
 me ? It must not go on." 
 
 " ^Vliat's not to go on, sir?"' retorted Roy, 
 sullenly. 
 
 " You know v/hat I mean. This disgraceful 
 system of affairs altogether. I believe that you 
 would be amenable to the law in thus paying the 
 
peckaby's shop. 243 
 
 men, or in part paying them, with an order for 
 goods ; instead of in open, honest coin. Unless I 
 am mistaken, it borders very closely upon the truck 
 vSystem." 
 
 " I can take care of myself and of the law, too, 
 sir," was the answer of Roy. 
 
 " Very good. I shall take care that this sort of 
 oppression is lifted oif the shoulders of the men. 
 Had I known it was being pursued, I should have 
 stopped it before." 
 
 " You have no right to interfere between me and 
 anything now, sir." 
 
 "Roy," said Lionel, calmly, ''you are perfect^ 
 well aware that the right, not only to interfere 
 between you and the estate, but to invest me with 
 full power over it and you, was sought to be given 
 me by Mrs. Yerner at my uncle's death. For 
 reasons of my own I chose to decline it, and have 
 continued to decline it. Do you remember what I 
 once told you, — that one ' of my first acts of power 
 would be to displace you ? After what I have seen 
 and heard to-day, I shall deliberate whether it be 
 not my duty to reconsider my determination, and 
 assume this, arid all other power." 
 
 Roy's face turned green. He answered defiantly, 
 not in tone, but in spirit : 
 
 " It wouldn't be for long, at any rate, sir ; and 
 Mr. Massingbird, I know, '11 put me into my place 
 again on his return." 
 
 Lionel did not reply immediately. The sun was 
 coming down upon his uncovered head like a burning 
 
 r2 
 
244 verner's pride. 
 
 furnace, and he was casting a glance round to see 
 if any friendly shade might be at hand. In his 
 absorption over the moment's business he had not 
 observed that he had halted with Roy right under- 
 neath its beams. No, there was no shade just in 
 that spot. A public pump stood behind him, but 
 the sun was nearly vertical, and the pump got as 
 much of it as he did. A thought glanced through 
 Lionel's mind of resorting to the advice of the 
 women, to double his handkerchief cornerwise over 
 his head. But he did not purpose staying above 
 another minute with Roy, to whom he again turned. 
 
 " Don't deceive yourself, Roy. Mr. Massingbird 
 is not likely to countenance such doings as these. 
 That Mrs. Verner will not, I know ; and, I tell you 
 plainly, I will not. You shall pay the men's wages 
 at the proper and usual time ; you shall pay them 
 in full, to the last halfpenny that they earn. Do 
 you hear ? I order you now to do so. We will 
 have no underhanded truck system introduced on 
 the Verner estate." 
 
 " You'd like to ruin poor Peckaby, I suppose, 
 sir ! " 
 
 " I have nothing to do with Peckaby. If public 
 rumour is to be credited, the business is not 
 Peckaby's, but yours — " 
 
 " Them that says it is a pack of liars ! " burst 
 forth Roy. 
 
 " Possibly. I say I have nothing to do with that. 
 
 Peckaby — " 
 
 Lionel's voice faltered. An a^N^ful pain — a pain, 
 
peckaby's shop. 245 
 
 tlie like of which for acute violence he had never 
 felt — had struck him in the head. He put his hand 
 up to it, and fell against the pump. 
 
 *' Are you ill, sir ? " asked Roy. 
 
 "What can it be ? " murmured Lionel. " A 
 sudden pain has attacked me here, Roy," touching 
 liis head : " an awful pain. I'll get into Frost's, and 
 sit down." 
 
 Frost's cottage was hut a minute's walk, but 
 Lionel staggered as he went to it. Roy attended 
 him. The man humbly asked if Mr. Lionel would 
 be pleased to lean upon him, but Lionel waved him 
 off. Matthew Frost was sitting indoors alone : his 
 grandchildren were at school, his son's wife was 
 busy elsewhere. Matthew no longer went out to 
 labour. He had been almost incapable of it before 
 Mr. Verner's annuity dropped to him. Robin was 
 away at work : but Robin was a sadly altered man 
 since the death of Rachel. His very nature appeared 
 to have changed. 
 
 " My head ! my head ! " broke from Lionel, as he 
 entered, in the intensity of his pain. " Matthew, I 
 think I must have got a sun-stroke." 
 
 Old Matthew pulled off his straw hat, and lifted 
 himself slowly out of his chair : all his movements 
 were slow now. Lionel had sat himself down on 
 the settle, his head clasped by both hands, and his 
 pale face turned to fiery red : as deep a crimson as 
 Mrs. Verner's was habitually. 
 
 " A sun-stroke ? " echoed old Matthev/, leaning 
 on his stick, as he stood before him, attentively 
 
246 verner's pride. 
 
 regarding Lionel. " Ay, sir, for sure it looks like 
 it. Have you been standing still in the sun, this 
 blazing day ? " 
 
 " I have been standing in it without my hat," 
 replied Lionel. " Not for long, however." 
 
 " It don't take a minute, sir, to do the mischief. 
 I had one myself, years before you were bom, Mr. 
 Lionel. On a day as hot as this, I was out in my 
 garden, here, at the back of this cottage. I had 
 gone out without my hat, and was standing over my 
 pig, watching him eat his wash, when I felt some- 
 thing take my head — such a pain, sir, that I had 
 never felt before, and never wish to feel again. I 
 went indoors, and Eobin, who might be a boy of five, 
 or so, looked frightened at me, my face was so red. 
 I couldn't hold my head up, sir; and when the 
 doctor came, he said it was a sun-stroke. I think 
 there must be particular moments and daj^s when 
 the sun has this power to harm us, though we don't 
 know which they are nor how to avoid them," added 
 old Matthew, as much in self-soliloquy as to Lionel. 
 " I had often been out before, without my hat, in as 
 great heat ; for longer, too ; and it had never harmed 
 me. Since then, sir, I have put a white handker- 
 chief inside the crown of my hat in hot weather : the 
 doctor told me to do so." 
 
 " How long did the pain last ? " asked Lionel, 
 feeling his pain growing worse with every moment. 
 " Many hours ? " 
 
 " Hours ? " repeated old Matthew, with a strong 
 emphasis on the word. " Mr. Lionel, it lasted for 
 
peckaby's shop. 247 
 
 days and weeks. Before the next morning came, 
 sir, I was in a raging fever ; for three weeks, good, 
 I was in my bed, above here, and never out of it ; 
 hardly the clothes smoothed atop of me. Sun- 
 strokes are not frequent in this climate, sir, but when 
 they do come, they can't be trifled with." 
 
 Perhaps Lionel felt the same conviction. Perhaps 
 he felt that with this pain, increasing as it was in 
 intensity, he must make the best of his way home, 
 if he would get home at all. " Good day, Matthew," 
 he said, rising from the bench. " I'll go home at 
 once ! " 
 
 " And send for Dr. West, sir, or for Mr. Jan, if 
 you are no better when you get there," was the 
 parting salutation of the old man. 
 
 He stood at the door, leaning on his stick, and 
 watched Lionel down Clay Lane. "A sun-stroke, 
 for sure," repeated he, slowly turning in, as the angle 
 of the lane hid Lionel from his view. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN. 
 
 In his darkened chamber at Deerham Court, lay 
 Lionel Verner. Whether it was a sun-stroke, or 
 whether it was but the commencement of a fever, 
 which had suddenly struck him down that day, 
 certain it was, that a violent sickness attacked him, 
 and he lay for many, many days — days and weeks as 
 old Frost had called it — between life and death. 
 Fever and delirium struggled with life, which should 
 get the mastery. 
 
 Verj^ little doubt was there, that his state of mind 
 increased the danger of his state of body. Hov/ 
 bravely Lionel had struggled to do battle with his 
 great anguish, he might scarcely have known him- 
 self, in all its full intensitj^ save for this illness. He 
 had loved Sibylla with the pure fervour of feelings 
 yoimg and fresh. He could have lo^ed her to the 
 end of life ; he could have died for her. No leaven 
 vras mixed with his love ; no base dross : it was 
 refined as the purest silver. It is only these exalted, 
 ideal passions, which partake more of heaven's 
 nature than of earth's, that tell upon the heart when 
 their end comes. Terribly had it told upon Lionel 
 Verner's. In one hour he had learnt that Sibvlla 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF TAIN. 249 
 
 was false to him, was about to become the wife of 
 another. In his sensitive reticence, in his shrinking 
 pride, he had put a smiling face upon it before the 
 world. He had watched her marry Frederick Mas- 
 singbird, and had " made no sign." Deep, deep in 
 his lieart, fifty fathom deep had he pressed down his 
 misery, passing his days in what may be called a 
 false atmosphere — showing a false side to his friends. 
 It seemed false to Lionel, the appearing what he 
 was not. He was his true self at night onl}^, when 
 he could turn, and toss, and groan out his trouble 
 at will. But, when illness attacked him, and he had 
 no strength of body to throw off his pain of mind, 
 then he found how completely the blow had shattered 
 him. It seemed to Lionel, in his sane moments, in 
 the intervals of his delirium, that it would be far 
 happier to die, than to wake up again to renewed 
 life, to bear about within him that ever-present 
 sorrow. Whether the fever — it was not brain fever, 
 though bordering closely upon it — was the result 
 of tliis state of mind, more than of the sun-stroke, 
 might be a question. Nobody knew anything of 
 that inward state, and the sun-stroke got all the 
 blame — save, perhaps, from Lionel himself. He 
 may have doubted. 
 
 One day Jan called in to see him. It was in 
 August. Several weeks had elapsed since the com- 
 mencement of his illness, and he was so far re- 
 covered as to be removed by day to a sitting-room 
 on a level with his chamber. A wondrously pretty 
 sitting-room over Lady Verner's drawing-room, but 
 
250 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 not SO large as that, and called " Miss Decima's 
 room." The walls were panelled m medallions, 
 white and delicate blue, the curtains were of blue 
 satin and lace, the furniture blue. In each medal- 
 lion hung an exquisite painting in water colours, 
 framed — Decima's doing. Lady Verner was one 
 who liked at times to be alone, and then Decima 
 would sit in this room, and feel more at home than 
 in any room in the house. When Lionel began to 
 recover, the room was given over to him. Here he 
 lay on the sofa; or lounged in an easy -chair; or 
 stood at the window, his hands clasping hold of some 
 support, and his legs as tottering as were poor old 
 Matthew Frost's. Sometimes Lady Verner would 
 be his companion, sometimes he would be consigned 
 to Decima and Lucy Tempest. Lucy was pleased 
 to take her share of helping the time to pass ; would 
 read to him, or talk to him ; or sit down on her low 
 stool on the hearthrug and only look at him, waiting 
 until he should w^ant something done. Dangerous 
 moments. Miss Lucy ! Unless your heart shall be 
 cased in adamant, you can scarcely be with that 
 attractive man — ten times more attractive now, in 
 his sickness — and not get your wings singed. 
 
 Jan came in one day when Lionel was sitting on 
 the sofa, having propped the cushion up at the back 
 of his head. Decima was winding some silk, and 
 Lucy was holding the skein for her. Luc}^ wore a 
 summer dress of white muslin, a blue sprig raised 
 upon it in tambour-stitch, with blue and white 
 ribbons at its waist and neck. Very prettj^ very 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN. 251 
 
 simple it looked, but wonderfully according Y^^itIl 
 Lucy Tempest. Jan looked round, saw a tolerablj" 
 strong table, and took up his seat upon it. 
 
 " How d'ye get on, Lionel ? " asked he. 
 
 It was Dr. West who attended Lionel, and Jan 
 was tenacious of interfering with the doctor's proper 
 patients — or, rather, the doctor was tenacious of 
 his doing it — therefore Jan's visits were entii'ely 
 unprofessional. 
 
 " I don't get on at all — as it seems to me," replied 
 Lionel. " I'm sure I am weaker than I was a week 
 ago." 
 
 " I daresay," said Jan. 
 
 " You daresay ! " echoed Lionel. " When a man 
 has turned the point of an illness, he expects to get 
 stronger, instead of weaker." 
 
 " That depends," said Jan. " I beg your pardon, 
 Miss Lucy ; that's my foot caught in your dress, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 Lucy turned to disentangle her dress from Jan's 
 great feet. " You should not sway your feet about 
 so, Jan," said she, pleasantly. 
 
 " It hasn't hurt it, has it ? " asked Jan. 
 
 " Oh no. Is there another skein to hold, 
 Decima ? " 
 
 Decima replied in the negative. She rose, put 
 the paper of silk upon the table, and then turned to 
 Jan. 
 
 " I and mamma had quite a contention yester- 
 day," she said to him. " I say that Lionel is not 
 being treated properly." , 
 
252 verner's pride. 
 
 " That's just ni}^ opinion," laconically replied 
 Jan. " Only West flares up so, if his treatment is 
 called in question. I'd get him well in half the 
 time." 
 
 Lionel wearily changed his position on the sofa. 
 The getting well, or the keeping ill, did not appear 
 to interest him greatly. 
 
 " Let's look at his medicine, Decima," continued 
 Jan. " I have not seen what has come round 
 lately." 
 
 Decima left the room and brought back a bottle 
 with some medicine in it. 
 
 " There's only one dose left," she remarked to 
 Jan. 
 
 Jan took the cork out and smelt it; then he 
 tasted it, apparently with great gusto, like anybody 
 else might taste port wine ; while Lucy watched him, 
 <lrawing her lips away from her pretty teeth in 
 distaste at the proceeding. 
 
 " Psha ! " cried Jan. 
 
 *'Is it not proper medicine for him?" asked 
 Decima. 
 
 " It's as innocent as water," said Jan. " It'll do 
 him neither good nor harm." 
 
 And finally Jan poured the lot down his own 
 throat. 
 
 Lucy shuddered. 
 
 *' Oh, Jan, how could you take it ? " 
 
 *' It won't hurt me," said literal Jan. 
 
 " But it must be so nasty ! I never could have 
 believed any one would willingly drink medicine. 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN. 25 S 
 
 It is bad enough to do it when compelled by sick- 
 ness." 
 
 "Law!" returned Jan. "If you call this nasty. 
 Miss Lucy, you should taste some of our physic. 
 The smell would about knock you down." 
 
 " I think nothing is worse than the smell of 
 drugs," resumed Ltucj. " The other day, when Lady 
 Verner called in at your surgery to speak to you, 
 and took me with her, I was glad to get into the 
 open air again." 
 
 " Don't you ever marry a doctor, then. Miss 
 Lucy." 
 
 " 1 am not going to marry one," returned Lucy. 
 
 " Well, you need not look so fierce," cried Jan. 
 " I didn't ask you!'^ 
 
 Lucy laughed. " Did I look fierce, Jan ? I sup- 
 pose I was thinking of the drugs. I'd never never 
 be a surgeon, of all things in the world." 
 
 " If everybod}' was of jour mind, Miss Lucy, how 
 would people get doctored ? " 
 
 " Very true," answered Lucy. " But I don't envy 
 them." 
 
 *' The doctors or the people ? " asked Jan. 
 
 " I meant the doctors. But I envy the patients 
 less," glancing involuntarily towards Lionel as she 
 spoke. 
 
 Jan glanced at him too. "Lionel, I'll briug you 
 round some better stuff than this," said he. " What 
 are you eating ? " 
 
 ''Nothing," put in Decima. "Dr. W^est keeps 
 him upon arrow-root and beef-tea, and such things." 
 
264 verner's pride. 
 
 *' Slops," said Jan, contemptuoiisl}'. *' Have a fowl 
 cooked every da)% Lionel, and eat it all if you like, 
 bones and all : or a mutton-chop or two ; or some 
 good eels. And have the windov,- open and sit at it ; 
 don't lounge on that sofa, fancying j^ou can't leave 
 it; and to-morrow or the next day, borrow Mrs. 
 Yerner's carriage — '" 
 
 '' No, thank jon/' interposed Lionel. 
 
 " Have a %, then,'" composedly w^ent on Jan. 
 *' Rouse yourself, and eat and drink, and go into 
 the air, and you'll soon be as well as I am. It's the 
 stewing and fretting in-doors, fancying themselves 
 ill, that keeps folks back." 
 
 Something like a sickly smile crossed Lionel's 
 wan lips. "Do jou remember how you offended 
 your mother, Jan, by telling her she only wanted to 
 rouse herself? " 
 
 "AYell," said Jan, "it was the truth. West keeps 
 his patients dilly-dallying on, when he might have 
 them well in no time. If he says anything about 
 them to me, I alw-ays tell him so ; otherwise I don't 
 interfere ; it's no business of mine. But you are 
 my brother, you know." 
 
 "Don't quarrel with West on my account, Jan. 
 Onty settle it amicably between j^ou, what I am to 
 do, and what I am to take. I don't care." 
 
 " Quarrel ! " said Jan. " You never knew me to 
 quarrel in your life. West can come and see you as 
 usual, and charge you, if you please ; and you can 
 just pour his physic down the smk. I'll send you 
 some bark : but it's not of much consequence 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN. 255 
 
 whether j^ou take it or not ; it's good kitchen physic 
 you want now. Is there anything on your mind 
 that's keeping you hack? " added plain Jan. 
 
 A streak of scarlet rose to Lionel's white cheek. 
 
 " Anything on my mind, Jan ! I do not under- 
 stand you." 
 
 "Look here," said Jan. "If there is nothing, 
 you ought to he better than this by now, in spite of 
 old West. What you have got to do is to rouse 
 yourself, and believe you are well, instead of lying 
 b}', here. My mother was angry with me for telling 
 her that, but didn't she get well all one way after it ? 
 And look at the poor ! They have their illnesses 
 that bring 'em down to skeletons ; but when did you 
 ever find them lie hy, after they got better ? Thej^ 
 can't; they are obliged to go out and turn-to at 
 work again ; and the consequence is they are well 
 in no time. You have your fowl to-day," continued 
 Jan, taking himself off the table to depart ; " or a 
 duck, if you fanc}" it's more savoury; and if West 
 comes in while you are eating it, tell him I ordered 
 it. He can't grumble at me for doctoring you.'' 
 
 Decima left the room with Jan. Lucy Tempest 
 went to the window, threw it open, drew an easy- 
 chair with its cushions near to it, and then returned 
 to the sofa. 
 
 " Will you come to the window ? " said she to 
 Lionel. "Jan said you were to sit there, and I 
 have put your chair ready." 
 
 Lionel unclosed his eyelids. "' I am better here, 
 child, thank you." 
 
256 verner's pride. 
 
 " But you heard what Jan said — that you were 
 not going the right way to get well." 
 
 " It does not much matter, Lucy, whether I get 
 well, or whether I don't," he answered, wearily. 
 
 Lucy sat down ; not on her favourite stool, but 
 on a low chair, and fixed her eyes upon him 
 gravely. 
 
 "Do 3^ou know what Mr. Cust would say to 
 that?" she asked. "He would tell j^ou that you 
 were ungrateful to God. You are already half-way 
 towards getting well." 
 
 "I know I am, Lucy. But I am nearly tired of 
 life." 
 
 " It is only the very old who say that, or ought 
 to say it. I am not sure that they ought — even if 
 they were a hundred. But you are young. Stay ! I 
 will find it for 3'ou." 
 
 He was searching about for his handkerchief. 
 Luc}^ found it, fallen on the floor at the back of the 
 sofa. She brought it round to him, and he gently 
 laid hold of her hand as he took it. 
 
 "My little friend, you have yet to learn that 
 thiiigs, not years, tire us of life." 
 
 Lucy shook her head. 
 
 " No ; I have not to learn it. I know it must be 
 so. Will 3^ou please to come to the window ? " 
 
 Lionel, joartly because his tormentor — (may the 
 word be used ? he was sick, bodily and mentally, 
 and would have lain still for ever) — was a young 
 lady, partly to avoid the trouble of persisting in 
 " No," rose, and took his seat in the arm-chair. 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF TAIN. 257 
 
 "What an obstinate nurse you Vv'ould make, 
 Lucy ! Is there anythmg else, pray, that you wish 
 me to do ? " 
 
 She did not smile in response to his smile ; she 
 looked very grave and serious. 
 
 " I would do all that Jan says, were I 3'ou," was 
 her answer. "I believe in Jan. He will get you 
 well sooner than Dr. West." 
 
 " Believe in Jan ? " repeated Lionel, willing to be 
 gay if he could. " Do you mean than Jan is Jan ? " 
 
 " I mean that I have faith in Jan. I have none 
 in Dr. West."' 
 
 " Li his medical skill ? Let me tell you, Lucy, 
 he is a ver}^ clever man, in spite of wdiat Jan may 
 say." 
 
 " I can't tell anything about his skill. Until Jan 
 spoke now I did not know but he w^as treating you 
 rightl3^ But I have no faith in himself. I think a 
 good, true, faithful-nature d man should be dej)ended 
 on for cure, more certainly than one who is false- 
 nature d." 
 
 " False -n atm'ed ! " echoed Lionel. "Lucy, you 
 should not so speak of Dr. West. You know 
 nothing wrong of Dr. West. He is much esteemed 
 among us at Deerham." 
 
 " Of course I know nothing wrong of him," 
 returned Lucy with some slight surprise. "But 
 when I look at people I always seem to know what 
 they are. I am sorry to have said so much. I — I 
 think I forgot it was to you I spoke." 
 
 "■ Forgot ! " exclaimed Lionel. " Forgot what ? " 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
268 verner's pride. 
 
 She hesitated at the last sentence, and she now 
 blushed ^dvidly. 
 
 "I forgot for the moment that he was Sibylla's 
 father," she simply said. 
 
 Again the scarlet rose in the face of Lionel. 
 Lucy leaned against the window-frame but a few 
 2)aces from him, her large soft eyes, in their earnest 
 sympathy, lifted to his. He positively shrunk from 
 them. 
 
 "What's Sibylla to me?" he asked. "She is 
 Mrs. Frederick Massingbird." 
 
 Lucy stood in penitence. " Do not be angry with 
 me," she timidly cried. " I ought not to have said it 
 to you, perhaps. I see it always."' 
 
 " See what, Lucy ?" he continued, speaking 
 gently, not in anger. 
 
 " I see how much you think of her, and how ill it 
 makes you. When Jan asked just now if you had 
 anything on your mind to keep you back, I knew 
 what it was." 
 
 Lionel grew hot and cold with a sudden fear. 
 " Did I say anything in my delmum ? " 
 
 "Nothing at all — that I heard of. I was not 
 with you. I do not think anybody suspects that 
 you are ill because — because of her.'' 
 
 " 111 because of her ! " he sharply repeated ; the 
 words breakmg from him in his agon}^, in his shrink- 
 ing dread at finding so much suspected. " I am ill 
 from fever. What else should I be ill from ? " 
 
 Lucy went close to his chair and stood before him 
 meekly. 
 
DAYS AND NIGHTS OF PAIN. 259 
 
 " I am so sorry." she whispered. " I cannot help 
 seeing things, but I did not mean to make you 
 angry." 
 
 He rose, steadying himself by the table, and laid 
 his hand upon her head, with the same fond motion 
 that a father might have used. 
 
 "Lucy, I am not angry. Only vexed at being 
 watched so closel}^," he concluded, his lips parting 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 In her earnest, truthful, serious face of concern, 
 as it was turned up to him, he read how futile it 
 would be to persist in his denial. 
 
 '' I did not watch you for the purpose of watching. 
 I saw how it was, without being able to help myself." 
 
 Lionel bent his head. 
 
 " Let the secret remain between us, Lucy. Never 
 suifer a hint of it to escape your lips." 
 
 Nothing answered him save the glad expression 
 that beamed out from her countenance, telling him 
 how implicitly he might trust to her. 
 
 s2 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP. 
 
 Lionel Verner grew better. His naturally good 
 constitution triumphed over the disease, and his 
 sick soreness of mind lost somewhat of its sharp- 
 ness. So long as he brooded in silence over his 
 pain and his wrongs, there was little chance of the 
 sting becoming much lighter ; it was like the vulture 
 preying upon its own vitals : but that season of 
 silence was fpast. When once a deep grief can be 
 spoken of, its great agonj^ is gone. I think there is 
 an old saying, or a proverb — " Griefs lose them- 
 selves in telling," and a greater truism was never 
 uttered. The ice once broken, touching his feelings 
 with regard to Sib^dla, Lionel found comfort in 
 making it his theme of conversation, of complaint, 
 although his hearer and confidant was only Lucy 
 Tempest. A strange comfort, but yet a na'tural 
 one ; as those who have suffered as Lionel did may 
 be able to testify. At the time of the blow, when 
 Sibylla deserted him with coolness so great, Lionel 
 could have died rather than give utterance to a 
 syllable betraying his own pain ; but several months 
 had elapsed since, and the turning-point was come. 
 He did not, unfortunately, love Sibylla one shade 
 
DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP. 261 
 
 less; love such as his, cannot be overcome so 
 lightly ; but the keenness of the disappointment, 
 the blow to his self-esteem — to his vanity, it ma}^ be 
 said — was growing less intense. In a case like this, 
 of faithlessness, let it happen to man or to woman, 
 the wounding of the self-esteem is not the least evil 
 that must be borne. Lucy Tempest was, in Lionel's 
 estimation, little more than a child, yet it was 
 singular how he grew to love to talk with her. Not 
 for love of her — do not fancy that — but for the 
 opportunity it gave him of talking of Sibylla. You 
 may deem this an anomaly ; I know that it was 
 natural ; and, like oil poured upon a wound, so did 
 it bring bahn to Lionel's troubled spirit. 
 
 He never spoke of her save at the dilsk hour. 
 During the broad, garish light of day, his lips were 
 sealed. In the soft twilight of the evening, if it 
 happened that Lucy was alone with him, then he 
 would pour out his heart, would tell of his past 
 tribulation. As jpast he spoke of it; had he not 
 regarded it as past, he never would have spoken. 
 Lucy listened, mostly in silence, returning him her 
 earnest sympathy. Had Lucy Tempest been a 
 little older in ideas, or had she been by nature 
 and rearing less entirely single-minded, she might 
 not have sat unrestrainedly with him, going into 
 the room at any moment, and stopping there, as she 
 would had he been her brother. Lucy was getting 
 to covet the companionship of Lionel very much — 
 too much, taking all things into consideration. It 
 never occurred to her that, for that very reason, she 
 
262 verner's pride. 
 
 miglit do well to keep away from it. She was not 
 sufficiently experienced to define her own sensa- 
 tions ; and she did not surmise that there w^as any- 
 thing inexpedient or not perfect}^ orthodox in her 
 being so much with Lionel. She liked to be with 
 him, and she freely indulged the lildng upon any 
 occasion that offered. 
 
 "Oh, Lucy, I loved her! I did love her! "he 
 would say, having repeated the same words j)erhaps 
 fifty times before in other interviews ; and he would 
 lean back in his easy- chair, and cover his eyes with 
 his hand, as if willing to shut out all sight save 
 that of the past. " Heaven knows what she was to 
 me ! Heaven only knows what her faithlessness 
 has cost*!" 
 
 "Did you dream of her last night, Lionel?" 
 answered Luc}'^, from her low seat where she 
 generally sat, near to Lionel, but with her face 
 mostly turned from him. 
 
 And it may as well be mentioned that Miss Luc}' 
 never thought of such a thing as discouraging 
 Lionel's love and remembrance of Sibj'Ua. Her 
 whole business in the matter seemed to be to listen 
 to him, and help him to remember her. 
 
 " Ay," said Lionel, in answer to the question. 
 " Do 3''0u suppose I should dream of anything 
 else?" 
 
 Whatever Lucy may or may not have supposed, 
 it was a positive fact, known well to Lionel — known 
 to him, and remembered b}^ him to this hour — 
 that he constantly dreamt of Sibylla. Night after 
 
DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP. 263 
 
 night, since the unhappy time when he learnt that 
 she had left him for Frederick Massingbird, had 
 she formed the prominent subject of his dreams. It 
 is the strict truth : and it will prove to jou how 
 powerful a hold she must have possessed over his 
 imagination. This he had not failed to make an 
 item in his revelations to Lucy. 
 
 "What was your dream last night, Lionel?" 
 
 " It was only a confused one : or seemed to be 
 when I awoke. It was full of trouble. Sibylla 
 appeared to have done something wrong, and I was 
 defending her, and she was angry with me for it. 
 Unusually confused it was. Generally my dreams 
 are too clear and vivid." 
 
 " I wonder how long you will dream of her, 
 Lionel ? For a year, do you think ? " 
 
 " I hope not," heartily responded Lionel. " Lucy, 
 I wish I could forget her ?" 
 
 " I wish you could — if you do wish to do it," 
 simply replied Lucy. 
 
 " Wish ! I wish I could have swallowed a draught 
 of old Lethe's stream last February, and never 
 recalled her again !" 
 
 He spoke vehemently : and yet there was a little 
 under-current of suppressed consciousness down 
 deep in his heart, whispering that his greatest solace 
 was to remember her, and to talk of her as he was 
 doing now. To talk of her as he would to his own 
 soul : and, that, lie had now learnt to do with Lucy 
 Tempest. Not to any one else in the whole world 
 could Lionel have breathed the name of Sibylla. 
 
S64 VERNEll's PRIDE. 
 
 *' Do you suppose she will soon be coming 
 home?" asked Lucy, after a silence. 
 
 " Of course she will. The news of his inheritance 
 went out shortly after they started, and must have 
 got to Melbourne nearly as soon as they did. 
 There's little doubt they are on their road home 
 now. Massingbird would not care to stop to look 
 after what was left by John, when he knows himself 
 to be the owner of Yerner's Pride." 
 
 " I wish Yerner's Pride had not been left to 
 Frederick Massingbird ! " exclaimed Luc3\ 
 
 " Frankly speaking, so do I," confessed Lionel. 
 ''It ought to be mine by all good right. And, 
 putting myself entirel}^ out of consideration, I judge 
 Frederick Massingbird unworthy to be its master. 
 That's between ourselves, mind Lucy." 
 
 " It is all between ourselves," returned Lucy. 
 
 " Ay. What should I have done without you, my 
 dear little friend ? " 
 
 " I am glad j^ou have not had to do without me." 
 simply answered Lucy. " I hope 3'ou will let me be 
 your friend always ! " 
 
 " That I will. Now Sibylla's gone, there's 
 nobody in the whole world I care for, but you.' 
 
 He spoke it without any double meaning : he 
 might have used the same words, been actuated by 
 precisely the same feelings, to his mother or his 
 sister. His all-absorbing love for Sibylla barred 
 even the idea of any other love to his mind, yet 
 awhile. 
 
 " Lionel ! " cried Lucy, turning her fiice full upon 
 
DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP. 265 
 
 him in lier earnestness, " hoiv could she choose 
 Frederick Massinghird, when she might have chosen 
 you ? 
 
 /'Tastes differ," said Lionel, speaking lightly, a 
 thing he rarely did when with Lucy. " There's no 
 accounting for them. Some time or other, Lucy, 
 you may he marrying an ugly fellow with a wooden 
 leg and red beard ; and people will say, ' How could 
 Lucy Tempest have chosen him ? " 
 
 Lucy coloured. " I do not like you to speak in 
 that joking way, if you please," she gravely said. 
 
 "Heigh ho, Lucy!" sighed he. "Sometimes 
 I fancy a joke may cheat me out of a minute's care. 
 I wish I Avas well, and away from this place. In 
 London I shall have my hands full, and can rub off 
 the rust of old grievances with hard work." 
 
 "You will not like London better than Deerham." 
 
 " I shall like it ten thousand times better," 
 impulsively ansAvered Lionel. " I have no longer a 
 place in Deerham, Lucy. That is gone." 
 
 " You allude to Verner's Pride ? " 
 
 "Everything's gone that I valued in Deerham," 
 cried Lionel, with the same impulse — "Verner's 
 Pride amongst the rest. I would never stop here to 
 see the rule of Fred Massinghird. Better that John 
 had lived to take it, than that it had come to him." 
 
 " Was John better than his brother ? " 
 
 " He would have made a better master. He was, 
 I believe, a better man. Not but that John had his 
 faults. As we all have." 
 
 " All ! " echoed Lucy. " What are your faults ? " 
 
266 verner's pride. 
 
 Lionel could not help laughing. She asked the 
 question, as she did all her questions, in the most 
 genuine, earnest manner : really seeking the infor- 
 mation. " I think for some time back, Lucy, my 
 chief fault has been grumbling. I am sure you 
 must find it so. Better days may be in store for us 
 both." 
 
 Lucy rose. " I think it must be time for me to 
 go and make Lady Verner's tea. Decima vrill not 
 be home for it." 
 
 " Where is Decima this evening ? " 
 " She is gone her round to the cottages. She 
 does not find time for it in the day, since you were 
 ill. Is there anything I can do for you before I go 
 down ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered, taking her hand. " You can 
 let me thank you for your patience and kindness. 
 You have borne with me bravety, Lucy. God bless 
 you, my dear child." 
 
 She neither went away, nor drew her hand away. 
 She stood there — as he had phrased it — patiently, 
 until he should release it. He soon did so, with a 
 weary movement : all he did was wearisome to him 
 then, save the thinking and talking of the theme 
 which ought to have been a barred one — Sibylla. 
 
 "Will you please to come down to tea this 
 evening ? " asked Lucy. 
 
 " I don't care for tea ; Td rather be alone." 
 " Then T will bring j^ou some up." 
 " No, no ; you shall not be at the trouble. I'll 
 come down, then, presently.'' 
 
DANGEROUS COMPANIONSHIP. 267 
 
 Lucy Tempest disappeared. Lionel leaned 
 against the window, looking out on the night land- 
 scape, and lost himself in thoughts of his faithless 
 love. He aroused himself from them Tvdth a stamp 
 of impatience. 
 
 " I must shake it off," he cried to himself; ^'livill 
 shake it off. None, save myself or a fool, hut w^ould 
 have done it months ago. And yet, Heaven alone 
 knows how I have tried and battled, and how vain 
 the battle has been ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 
 
 The cottages down Clay Lane were ill- drained. 
 It might be nearer the truth to say, they were not 
 drained at all. As is the case with many another 
 fine estate besides Verner's Pride, while the agricul- 
 tural land was well drained, no expense spared upon 
 it, the poor dwellings had been neglected. Not only 
 in the matter of draining, but in other respects, 
 were these habitations deficient : but that strong 
 terms are apt to grate unpleasingiy upon the ear, 
 one might say shamefully deficient. The conse- 
 quence was, that no autumn ever went over, scarcely 
 any spring, but somebody would be down with ague, 
 with low fever; and it was reckoned a fortunate 
 season if a good many were not prostrate. 
 
 The first time that Lionel Yerner took a walk 
 down Clay Lane after his illness, was a fine day in 
 October. He had been out before in other direc- 
 tions, but not in that of Clay Lane. He had not 
 yet recovered his full strength; he looked ill and 
 emaciated. Had he been strong, as he used to be, 
 he would not have found himself nearly losing his 
 equilibrium at being run violently against by a 
 woman, w^ho turned swiftl}" out of her own door. 
 
HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 369 
 
 " Take care, Mrs. Grind ! Is your house on 
 fire ? " 
 
 " It's begging a thousand pardons, sir ! I hadn't 
 no idea you was there," returned Mrs. Grind, in 
 lamentable confusion, when she saw whom she had 
 all but knocked down. " Grind, he catches sight o' 
 one o' the brick men going by, and he tells me to 
 run and fetch him in ; but I had got my hands in 
 the soap-suds, and couldn't take 'em convenient out 
 of it at the minute, and I was hasting lest he'd gone 
 too far to be caught up. He have now." 
 
 "Is Grind better?" 
 
 "He ain't no worse, sir. There he is," she added, 
 flinging the door open. 
 
 On the side of the kitchen, opposite to the door, 
 was a pallet-bed stretched against the wall, and on 
 it lay the woman's husband. Grind, di-essed. It 
 w'as a small room, and it appeared literally full of 
 children, of encumbrances of all sorts. A string 
 extended from one side of the fire-place to the other, 
 and on this hung some wet coloured pinafores, the 
 steam ascending from them in clouds, drawn out by 
 the heat of the fire. The children were in various 
 stages of ^m-dress, these coloured pinafores doubt- 
 lessly constituting their sole outer garment. But 
 that Grind's eye had caught his, Lionel might have 
 hesitated to enter so uncomfortable a place. His 
 natural kindness of heart — nay, his innate regard 
 for the feelings of others, let them be ever so in- 
 ferior in station — prevented his turning back when 
 the man had seen him. 
 
270 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 "Grind, don't move, don't get off the bed," Lionel 
 said hastily. But Grind was already up. The 
 ague fit was upon him then, and he shook the bed 
 as he sat down upon it. His face wore that blue, 
 pallid appearance, which you may have seen in 
 agueish patients. 
 
 " You don't seem much better. Grind." 
 
 " Thank ye, sir, I be baddish just now again, but 
 I ain't worse on the whole," was the man's reply. 
 A civil, quiet, hardworking man as any on the 
 estate ; nothing against him but his large flock of 
 children, and his difficulty of getting along any way. 
 The mouths to feed were many — ravenous young 
 mouths, too ; and the wife, though anxious and well- 
 meaning, was not the most thrifty in the world. 
 She liked gossiping better than thrift; but gossip 
 was the most j)revalent complaint of Clay Lane, so 
 far as its female population was concerned. 
 
 " How long is it that you have been ill ? " asked 
 Lionel, leaning his elbow on the mantel-piece, and 
 looking down on Grind, Mrs. Grind having whisked 
 away the pinafores. 
 
 " It's going along of four weeks, sir, now. It's a 
 illness, sir, I takes it, as must have its course." 
 
 "All iUnesses must have that, as I believe," said 
 Lionel. " Mine has taken its own time prettj^ well, 
 has it not ? " 
 
 Grind shook his head. 
 
 " You don't look none the better for your bout, 
 sir. And it's a long time you must have been a 
 getting strong. Mr. Jan, he said, just a month ago. 
 
HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 271 
 
 when lie first come to see me, as you was well, so to 
 say, then. Ah ! it's only them as have tried it, 
 knows what the pulling through up to strength again 
 is, when the illness itself seems gone." 
 
 Lionel's conscience was rather suggestive at that 
 moment. He might have heen stronger than he 
 was, by this time, had he " pulled through " with a 
 better will, and given way less. " I am sorry not to 
 see you better. Grind," he kindly said. 
 
 " You see me at the worst, sir, to-day," said the 
 man, in a tone of apology, as if seeking to excuse 
 his own sickness. " I be getting better, and that's a 
 thing to be thankful for. I only gets the fever once 
 in three da^^s now. Yesterday, sir, I got down to 
 the field, and earned what'U come to eighteenpence. 
 I did indeed, sir, though you'd not think it, looking 
 at me to-day." 
 
 " I should not," said Lionel. " Do 3'Ou mean to 
 say you went to work in your present state ? " 
 
 '* I didn't seem a bit ill j^esterday, sir, excejDt for 
 the weakness. The fever, it keeps me down all one 
 day, as may be to-day ; then the morrow I be quite 
 prostrate with the weakness it leaves ; and the third 
 • day I be, so to speak, well. But I can't do a full 
 day's work, su-; no, nor hardly half of a one, and by 
 evening I be so done over I can scarce crawl to my 
 place here. It ain't much, sir, part of a day's work 
 in three ; but I be thankful for that improvement. 
 A week ago, I couldn't do as much as that." 
 
 More suggestive thoughts for Lionel. 
 
 *' He'd a get better quicker, sir, if he could do his 
 
272 vekner's pride. 
 
 work regular," put in the woman. " What's one 
 clay's work out o' three — even if 'twas a full day's — 
 to find us all victuals ? In course he can't fare 
 better nor we ; and Peckaby's, they don't give much 
 trust to us. He gets a i:)ot o' gruel; or a saucer o' 
 porridge, or a hunch o' bread with a mite o' cheese." 
 
 Lionel looked at the man. " You cannot eat 
 plain bread now, can you, Grind ? " 
 
 " All this day, sir, I shan't eat nothing ; I 
 couldn't swallow it," he answered. " After the 
 fever and the shaking's gone, then I could eat, but 
 not bread ; it seems too dry for the throat, and it 
 sticks in it. I get a dish o' tea, or something in 
 that way. The next day — my Avell day, as I calls it 
 — I can eat all afore me." 
 
 " You ought to have more strengthening food." 
 
 " It's not for us to say, sir, as we ought to have 
 this here food, or that there food, unless we earns 
 it," replied Grind, in a meek spirit of contented 
 resignation that many a rich man might have taken 
 a pattern from. " Mr. Jan, he says, ' Grind,' says 
 he, ' you should have some meat to eat, and some 
 good beef-tea, and a drop o' wine wouldn't do you 
 no harm,' says he. And it makes me smile, su% to 
 think where the like o' poor folks is to get such 
 things. Lucky to be able to get a bit o' bread and 
 a drain o' tea without sugar, them as is off their 
 work, just to rub on and keep theirselves out o' the 
 workhouse. I know I'm thankful to do it. Jim, he 
 have got a place, sir," 
 
 "Jim, which is Jim ? " asked Lionel, turning his 
 
HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 273 
 
 e3^es on the group of children, supposing one must 
 be meant. 
 
 " He ain't here, sir," cried the woman. " It's the 
 one with the black hair, and he was six year old 
 yesterday. He's gone to Farmer Johnson's to take 
 care o' the pigs in the field. He's to get a shilling 
 a week.' 
 
 Lionel moved from his position. " Grind," he 
 said, "don't you think it would be better if you gave 
 5''ourself complete rest, not attempting to go out to 
 work until you are stronger ? " 
 
 *' I couldn't afford it, sir. And as to it's being 
 better for me, I don't see that. If I can work, sir, 
 I'm better at work. I know it tires me, but I 
 believe I get stronger the sooner for it. Mr. Jan, 
 he says to me, says he, ' Don't lie by never, Grind, 
 unless you be obliged to it : it only rusts the limbs.' 
 And he ain't far out, sir. Folks gets more harm 
 from idleness nor they do from work." 
 
 " Well, good day. Grind," said Lionel, " and I 
 heartily hope you'll soon be on your legs again. 
 Lady Yerner shall send jon something more 
 nourishing than bread, while you are still suffering." 
 
 "Thank ye kindly, sir," replied Grind. "My 
 humble duty to my lady." 
 
 Lionel went out. "What a lesson for me!" he 
 involuntarily exclaimed. " This poor half-starved 
 man struggling patiently onward through his sick- 
 ness ; while I, who had every luxury about me, 
 spent my time in repining. What a lesson ! 
 Heaven help me to take it to my heart ! " 
 
 AOL, I. T 
 
274 VERNER^S PRIDE. 
 
 He lifted his liat as he si^oke, his feeling at the 
 moment full of reverence ; and went on to Frost's. 
 " Where's Eobin ? " he asked of the wife. 
 
 " He's in the back room, sir," was the answer. 
 " He's getting better fast. Ihe old father, he have 
 gone out a bit, a warming of himself in the sun." 
 
 She opened the door of a small back room as she 
 spoke. But it proved to be empt}'. Piobin was 
 discerned in the garden, sitting on a bench : possibly 
 to give liimseU a warming in the sun — as Mrs. 
 Frost expressed it. He sat in a still attitude : his 
 arms folded, his head bowed. Since the miserable 
 occurrence touching Eachel, Eobin Frost was a 
 fearfully changed man : never, from the hour that 
 the coroner's inquest was held and certain evidence 
 had come out, had he been seen to smile. He had 
 now been ill with ague, in the same way as Grind. 
 Hearing the approach of footsteps, he turned his 
 head, and rose when he saw it was Lionel. 
 
 " Well, Eobin, how fares it ? You are better, I 
 hear. Sit yourself down : jou. are not strong 
 enough to stand. What an enemy this low fever is ! 
 I wish we could root it out ! " 
 
 " Many might be all the healthier for it, sir, if it 
 could be done," was Eobin's answer, spoken in- 
 differently — as he nearly alwaj^s spoke now. "As 
 for me, Fm not far off being well again." 
 
 " They said in the village you were going to die, 
 Eobin, did they not ? " continued Lionel. " You 
 have cheated them, you see." 
 
 " They said it, some of 'em, sir, and thought it. 
 
HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 275 
 
 too. Old father thought it. I'm not sure but Mr. 
 Jan thought it. I didn't, bad as I was," continued 
 Robin, in a significant tone. " I had my oath to 
 keep." 
 
 " Robin ! " 
 
 " Sir, I have sworn — and you know I have sworn 
 it — to have my revenge upon him that worked ill to 
 Rachel. I can't die till that oath has been kept." 
 
 *' There's a certain sentence, Robin, given us for 
 our guide, amid many other such sentences, which 
 runs somewhat after this fashion : ' Vengeance is 
 mine,' " quietly spoke Lionel. " Have you forgotten 
 who it is says that ? " 
 
 "Why did he — the villain — forget them sentences ? 
 Why did he forget 'em and harm her ? " retorted 
 Robin. " Sir, it's of no good for you to look at me 
 in that way. I'll never be baulked in this matter. 
 Old father, now and again, hell talk about forgive- 
 ness : and when I say ' weren't you her father ? ' 
 'Ay,' he'll answer, 'but I've got one foot in the 
 grave, Robin, and anger will not bring her back to 
 life.' No it won't," doggedly went on Robin. " It 
 won't undo what was done, neither; but I'll keep 
 my oath — so far as it is in my power to keep it. 
 Dead though he is, he shall be exposed to the 
 world." 
 
 The words " dead though he is " aroused the 
 attention of Lionel. " To whom do you allude, 
 Robin ? " he asked. " Have you obtained any fresh 
 clue?" 
 
 " Not much of a fresh one," answered the man, 
 
 t2 
 
27 G VERNEPw's PRIDE. 
 
 with a stress upon the word " fresh." " I have had 
 it this six or seven months. When they heard he 
 was dead, then they coukl speak out and tell me 
 their suspicions of him." 
 
 " Who could ? What mystery are you talking ? " 
 reiterated Lionel. 
 
 " Never mind who, sir. It was one that kept the 
 mouth shut, as long as there was any good in 
 opening it. ' Not to make ill-blood,' was the excuse 
 save to me after. If I had but knowed at the 
 time ! " added the man, clenching his fist, " Id have 
 went out and killed him, if he had been double as 
 far off ! " 
 
 " Robin, what have you heard ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, I'll tell you. But I have not opened 
 my lips to a living soul, not even to old father. 
 The villain that did the harm to Rachel was John 
 Massingbird ! " 
 
 Lionel remained silent from surprise. 
 
 " I don't believe it," he presently said, speaking 
 'emphatically. "Who has accused him ? " 
 
 " Sir, I have said that I can't tell you. I passed 
 my word not to do it. It was one that had cause to 
 suspect him at the time. And it was never told me 
 — never told me — until John Massingbii'd was 
 dead ! " 
 
 Robin's voice rose to a sound of wailing pain, and 
 he raised his hands with a gesture of despair. 
 
 " Did your informant kno2V that it was John 
 Massingbird ? " Lionel gravely asked. 
 
 " They had not got what is called positive proof, 
 
HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL. 277 
 
 such as might avail in a court of justice; but they 
 was morally certain," replied Bobin. " And so am 
 I. I am only waiting for one thing, sir, to tell it 
 out to all the world." 
 
 " And what's that ? " 
 
 '* The returning home of Luke Eo3^ There's not 
 much doubt that he knows all about it ; I have my 
 reasons for saying so, and I'd like to be quite sure 
 before I tell out the tale. Old Roy says Luke 
 may be expected home by any ship as comes : he 
 don't think he'll stop there, now John Massingbird's 
 dead." 
 
 " Then, Robin, listen to me," returned Lionel. 
 " I have no positive proof, any more than it appears 
 your informant has ; but I am perfectly convinced 
 in my own mind that the guilty man was not John 
 Massingbird, but another. Understand me," he 
 emphatically continued, " I have good and sufficient 
 reason for saying this. Rely upon it, whoever it 
 may have been, John Massingbird it was not." 
 
 Robin lifted his eyes to the face of Lionel. 
 
 " You say you don't know this, sir ? " 
 
 " Not of actual proof. But so sure am I that it 
 was not he, that I could stake all I possess upon 
 
 it. 
 
 " Then, sir, you'd lose it," doggedly answered 
 Robin. "When the time comes that I choose to 
 speak out " 
 
 '' What are you doing there ? " burst forth Lionel, 
 in a severely haughty tone. 
 
 It caused Robin to start from his seat. 
 
278 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 In a gap of the hedge behind them, Lionel had 
 caught sight of a human face, its stealthy ears 
 complacently taking in every word. It was that of 
 Eoy the bailiff. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE PACKET IN THE SHIRT-DRAWER. 
 
 Mrs. Tynn, the liousekeeper at Verner's Pride, 
 was holding one of those i^eriodical visitations that 
 she was pleased to call, when in familiar colloquy 
 with her female assistants, a "rout out." It 
 appeared to consist of turning a room and its con- 
 tents topsy-turvy, and then putting them straight 
 again. The chamber, this time subjected to the 
 ordeal, was that of her late master, Mr. Yerner. 
 His drawers, closets, and other places consecrated 
 to clothes, had not been meddled with since his 
 death. Mrs. Verner, in some moment unusually 
 (for her) given to sentiment, had told Tynn she 
 should like to " go over his dear clothes " herself. 
 Therefore Tynn left them alone for that purpose. 
 Mrs. Verner, however, who loved her personal ease 
 better than any earthly thing, and was more given 
 to dropping off to sleep in her chair than ever, not 
 only after dinner but all day long, never yet had 
 ventured upon the task. Tynn suggested that she 
 had better do it herself, after all ; and Mrs. Verner 
 replied, perhaps she had. So Tynn set about it. 
 
 Look at Mrs. Tynn over that deep, open drawer 
 full of shirts. She calls it " Master's shirt- drawer." 
 
280 verner's pride. 
 
 Have the shirts scared away her senses ? She has 
 sat herself down on the floor — almost fallen back as 
 it seems — in some shock of alarm, and her mottled 
 face has turned as white as her master's was, when 
 she last saw him lying on that bed at her elbow. 
 
 "Go down -stairs, Nancy, and stop there till I 
 call you up again," she suddenly cried out to her 
 helpmate. 
 
 And the girl left the room, grumbling to herself : 
 for Nancy at Verner's Pride did not improve in 
 temper. 
 
 Between two of tlie shirts, in the very middle of 
 the stack, Mrs. Tynn had come upon a parcel, or 
 letter. Not a small letter — if it was a letter — but 
 one of very large size, thick, looking not unlike a 
 government despatch. It was sealed with Mr. 
 Verner's own seal, and addressed in his own hand- 
 writing — " For my nephew, Lionel Verner. To be 
 opened after my death." 
 
 Mrs. Tynn entertained not the slightest doubt 
 that she had come upon the lost codicil. That it — 
 the parcel — must have been lying quietly in the 
 drawer since her master's death, was certain. The 
 key of the drawer had remained in her own 
 possession. When the search after the codicil took 
 place, this drawer was opened — as a matter of form 
 more than anything else — and Mrs. Tynn herself 
 had lifted out the stack of shirts. There was no 
 need to do it, she had assured those who were 
 searching, for the drawer had been locked up at the 
 time the codicil was made, and the deed could not 
 
THE PACKET IN THE SHIHT-D RAWER. 281 
 
 have been put into it. They accepted her assurance, 
 and did not look between the shirts. It puzzled 
 Mrs. Tynn, now, to think how it could have got in. 
 
 "I'll not tell Tynn," she soliloquised — she and 
 Tynn being somewhat inclined to take opposite 
 sides of a question, in social intercourse — " and I'll 
 not say a w^ord to my mistress. I'll go straight off 
 now and give it into the hands of Mr. Lionel. 
 What a blessed thing ! — If he should be come into 
 his own ! " 
 
 The enclosed paved court before Lady Verner s 
 residence had a broad flower-bed round it. It w^as 
 private from the outer world, save for the iron gates, 
 and here Decima and Lucy Tempest w^ere fond of 
 lingering on a fine day. On this afternoon of Mary 
 Tynn's discovery, they w^ere there with Lionel. 
 Decima went in-doors for some string to tie up a 
 fuchsia plant, just as she, T3ain, appeared at the 
 iron gates. She stopped on seeing Lionel. 
 
 " I was going round to the other entrance, sir, tc- 
 ask to speak to you," she said. " Something very 
 strange has happened." 
 
 " Come in," answered Lionel. " Will you speak 
 here, or go in-doors ? What is it ? " 
 
 Too excitedly eager to wait to go in-doors, or to 
 care for the presence of Lucy Tempest, Mrs. Tynn 
 told her tale, and handed the paper to Lionel. 
 *' It's the missing codicil, as sure as that we are 
 here, sir." 
 
 He saw the official-looking nature of the docu- 
 ment, its great seal, and the superscription in his. 
 
282 verner's pride. 
 
 uncle's handwriting. Lionel did not doubt that it 
 was the codicil, and a streak of scarlet emotion 
 arose to his pale cheek. 
 
 " You don't open it, sir ! " said the woman, as 
 feverishly impatient as if the good-fortune were her 
 own. 
 
 No. Lionel did not open it. In his high honour, 
 he deemed that, before opening, it should be laid 
 before Mrs. Verner. It had been found in her 
 house ; it concerned her son. " I think it wiU be 
 better that Mrs. Verner should open this, Tjoin," he 
 quietly said. 
 
 " You won't get me into a mess, sir, for bringing 
 it out to 3^ou first ? " 
 
 Lionel turned his honest eyes upon her, smiling 
 then. " Can't you trust me better than that ? 
 You have known me long enough. ' 
 
 "So I have, Mr. Lionel. The mystery is, how 
 it could ever have got into that shirt- drawer ! " she 
 continued. "I can declare that for a good week 
 before my master died, up to the very day that the 
 codicil was looked for, the shirt-drawelf was never 
 unlocked, nor the key of it out cf my pocket." 
 
 She turned to go back to Yerner's Pride, Lionel 
 intending to follow her at once. He was going out 
 at the gate when he caught the pleased eyes of Lucy 
 Tempest fixed on him. 
 
 " I am so glad," she simply said. " Do j^ou 
 remember my telling you that you did not look like 
 one who would have to starve on bread-and- 
 cheese ? " 
 
THE PACKET IN THE SHIRT-DRAWER. 283 
 
 Lionel laughed in tlie joy of his heart. " I am 
 glad also, Luc}-. The place is mine by right, and it 
 is just that I should have it." 
 
 " I have thought it very unfair, all along, that 
 Verner's Pride should belong to her husband, and 
 not to you, after — after what she did to you," 
 continued Lucy, dropping her voice to a whisper. 
 
 " Things don't go by fairness, Lucy, in this 
 world," said he, as he w^ent through the gate. 
 *' Stay," he said, turning back from it, a thought 
 crossing his mind. " Lucy, oblige me by not 
 mentioning this to my mother or Decima. It may 
 be as well to be sure that we are right, before 
 exciting their hopes." 
 
 Lucy's countenance fell. " I will not speak of it. 
 But, is it not sure to be the codicil ? " 
 
 " I hope it is," cordially answered Lionel. 
 
 Mrs. Tynn had got back before him. She came 
 forward and encountered him in the hall, her bonnet 
 still on. 
 
 " I have told my mistress, sir, that I had found 
 what I believed to be the codicil, and had took it 
 off straight to you. She was not a bit angry : she 
 says she hopes it is it." 
 
 Lionel entered. Mrs. Verner, who was in a 
 semi-sleepy state, having been roused up by Mary 
 Tynn from a long nap after a plentiful luncheon, 
 received Lionel graciously. First of all asking him 
 what he would take — it w^as generally her chief 
 question — and then inquiring what the codicil said. 
 
 " I have not opened it," replied Lionel. 
 
284 verner's pride. 
 
 " No ! " said she, in suqnise. " Why did you 
 wait ? " 
 
 He laid it on the table beside her. " Have I 
 your cordial approval to open it, Mrs. Verner ? " 
 
 " You are ceremonious, Lionel. Open it at once. 
 Verner's Pride belongs to you, more than to Fred ; 
 and you know I have always said so." 
 
 Lionel took up the deed. His finger was upon 
 the seal when a thought crossed him : ought he to 
 open it without further witnesses ? He spoke his 
 doubt aloud to Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " Eing the bell and have in Tynn," said she. 
 " His wife also : she found it." 
 
 Lionel rang. Tynn and his wife both came in. 
 in obedience to the request. Tynn looked at it 
 curiouslj^ : and began rehearsing mentally a private 
 lecture for his wife, for acting upon her own 
 responsibility. 
 
 The seal was broken. The stiff writing-paper of 
 the outer cover revealed a seco'nd cover of stiff 
 Avriting paper precisely similar to the first; but on 
 this last there was no superscription. It was tied 
 round with fine white twine. Lionel cut it, Tynn 
 and Mrs. Tynn waited with the utmost eagerness ; 
 even Mrs. Verner's eyes were open wider than usual. 
 
 Alas for the hopes of Lionel ! The parcel con- 
 tained nothing but a glove, and a small piece of 
 writing paper, folded once. Lionel unfolded it, and 
 read the following lines : 
 
 " This glove has come into my possession. When 
 I tell you that I know where it w^as found and how 
 
THE PACKET IN THE SHIRT-DRAWER. 285 
 
 you lost it, 3'0ii will not wonder at the shock the 
 discovery has been to me. I hush it up, Lionel, for 
 your late father's sake, as much as for that of the 
 name of Verner. I am about to seal it up that it 
 may be given to you after my death : and you will 
 then know why I disinherit you. S. V." 
 
 Lionel gazed on the lines like one in a dream. 
 They were in the handwriting of his uncle. Under- 
 stand them, he could not. He took up the glove, a 
 thick, fawn-coloured riding-glove, and remembered 
 it for one of his own. When he had lost it, or 
 where he had lost it, he knew no more than did the 
 table he was standing by. He had worn dozens of 
 these gloves in the years gone by : up to the period 
 when he had gone in mourning for John Massing- 
 bird, and, subsequently, for his uncle. 
 
 "What is it, Lionel?" 
 
 Lionel put the lines in his pocket, and pushed the 
 glove toward Mrs. Verner. " I do not understand 
 it in the least," he said. " My uncle appears to 
 have found the glove somewhere, and he writes to 
 say that he returns it to me. The chief matter that 
 concerns us is " — turning his eyes on the servants — 
 '' that it is not the codicil ! " 
 
 Mrs. Tynn lifted her hands. " How one may be 
 deceived!" she uttered. "Mr. Lionel, I'd freely 
 have laid my life upon it." 
 
 " It was not exactly my place to speak, sir ; to 
 give my opinion beforehand,'' interposed Tynn, 
 " but I was sure that was not the lost codicil, by the 
 very look of it. The codicil might have been about 
 
28G verner's pride. 
 
 that size, and 'it had a big seal like that; but it was 
 different in appearance." 
 
 " All that puzzled me was, how it could have got 
 into the shirt-drawer," cried Mrs. Tynn. "As it 
 has turned out not to be the codicil, of course there's 
 no mystery about that. It may have been lying 
 there weeks and weeks before the master died." 
 
 Lionel signed to them to leave the room : there 
 was nothing to call for their remaining in it. Mrs. 
 Verner asked him what the glove meant. 
 
 "I assure you I do not know," was his reply. 
 And he took it up, and examined it w^ell again. 
 One of his riding gloves, scarcely w^orn, with a tear 
 near the thumb : but there was nothing upon it, not 
 so much as a trace, a spot, to afford any information. 
 He rolled it up mechanically in the two papers, and 
 placed them in his pocket, lost in thought. 
 
 " Do you know that I have heard from Aus- 
 tralia?" asked Mrs. Verner. 
 
 The words aroused him thoroughly. " Have 
 you ? I did not know it." 
 
 " I wonder Mary Tynn did not tell jou. The 
 letters came this morning. If you look about" — 
 turning her eyes on the tables and places — "you 
 will find them somewhere." 
 
 Lionel knew that Mary Tynn had been too much 
 absorbed in his busines, to find room in her thoughts 
 for letters from Australia. " Are these the letters ?" 
 he asked, taking up two from a side table. 
 
 " You'll know them by the post-marks. Do sit 
 down and read them to me, Lionel. My sight is 
 
THE PACKET IN THE SHIRT-DRAWER. 287 
 
 not good for letters now, and 1 couldn't read half 
 that was in them. The ink's as pale as water. If 
 it was the ink Fred took out, the sea must have 
 washed into it. Yes,'yes, you must read both to me, 
 and I shall not let you go away before dinner." 
 
 He did not like, in his good-nature, to refuse her. 
 And he sat there and read the long letters. Eead 
 Sibjdla's. Before the last one was fully accom- 
 plished, Lionel's cheeks wore their scarlet hectic. 
 
 They had made a very quick and excellent 
 passage. But Sibjdla found Melbourne hatefuL 
 And Fred was ill; ill with fever. A fever was 
 raging in a part of the crowded town, and he had 
 caught it. She did not think it was a catching 
 fever, either, she added ; people said it arose from 
 the over-population. They could not as yet hear of 
 John, or his money, or anything about him ; but 
 Fred would see into it when he got better. They 
 were at a part of Melbourne called Canvas Town, 
 and she, Sibylla, was sick of it, and Fred drank 
 heaps of brandy. If it were all land between her 
 and home, she should set off at once on foot, and 
 toil her way back again. She loished she had never 
 come ! Everything she cared for, except Fred, 
 seemed to be left behind in England. 
 
 Such was her letter. Fred's was gloomy also, in 
 a different way. He said nothing about any fever ; 
 he mentioned, casually as it appeared, that he was 
 not well, but that was all. He had not learnt 
 tidings of John, but had not had time yet to make 
 inquiries. The worst piece of news he mentioned 
 
288 vePvNEr's pride. 
 
 was the loss of his desk ; which had contained the 
 chief portion of his money. It had disappeared in 
 a mysterious manner injmediately after being taken 
 off the ship — he concluded by the light-fingers of 
 some crimp, or thief, shoals of whom crowded on the 
 quay. He was in hopes yet to find it, and had not 
 told Sibylla. That was all he had to say at present, 
 but would write again by the next packet. 
 
 " It is not very cheering news on the whole, is 
 it ? " said Mrs. Yerner, as Lionel folded the letters. 
 
 "No. They had evidently not received the 
 tidings of my uncle's death, or we should have 
 heard that they were already coming back again." 
 
 " I don't know that," replied Mrs. Verner. 
 " Fred worships money, and he would not suffer 
 what was left by poor John to slip through his 
 fingers. He will stay till he has realised it. I 
 hope they will think to bring me back some memento 
 of my lost boy ! If it was only the handkerchief he 
 used last, I should value it." 
 
 The tears filled her eyes. Lionel respected her 
 grief, and remained silent. Presently she resumed, 
 in a musing tone : 
 
 " I knew Sibylla would only prove an encum- 
 brance to Fred, out there; and I told him so. If 
 Fred thought he was taking out a wife who would 
 make shift, and put up pleasantly with annoj^ances, 
 he was mistaken. Sibylla in Canvas Town ! Poor 
 girl ! I wonder she married him. Don't you ? " 
 
 " Eather so," answered Lionel, his scarlet blush 
 deepening. 
 
THE TACKET IN THE SHIRT -DRAWER. 289 
 
 " I do : especially to go to that place. Sibjila's 
 a pretty flower, made to sport in the sunshine ; but 
 she never was constituted for a rough life, or to get 
 pricked b}^ thorns." 
 
 Lionel's heart beat. It echoed to every Avord. 
 Would that she could have been sheltered from 
 the thorns, the rough usages of life, as he would 
 have sheltered her. 
 
 Lionel dined with Mrs. Verner, but quitted her 
 soon afterwards. When he got back to Deerham 
 Court, the stars were peeping out in the clear 
 summer sky. Lucy Tempest was lingering in the 
 court-yard, no doubt waiting for him, and she ran to 
 meet him as soon as he appeared at the gate. 
 
 " How long you have been!" was her greeting, 
 her glad eyes shining forth hopefully. " And is 
 it all yours ? " 
 
 Lionel drew her arm within his own in silence, 
 and walked with her in silence until they reached 
 the pillared entrance of the house. Then he spoke : 
 
 " You have not mentioned it, Lucy ? " 
 
 " Of course I have not." 
 
 " Thank you. Let us both forget it. It was not 
 the codicil. And Verner's Pride is not mine." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 DR. west's sanctum. 
 
 For some little time past, certain rumours had 
 arisen in Deerliam somewhat to the j)rejudice of 
 Dr. West. Rumours of the same nature had circu- 
 lated once or twice before during the progress of the 
 last half dozen years ; but they had died away again, 
 or been hushed up, never coming to anything 
 tangible. For one thing, their reputed scene had 
 not lain at the immediate spot, but at Heartburg : 
 and distance is a great discouragement to ill-natured 
 tattle. This fresh scandal, however, was nearer : it 
 touched the very heart of Deerham, and people 
 made themselves remarkably busy over it. None 
 the less bus}^ because its accusations were vague. 
 Tales never lose anything in carrying, and the most 
 outrageous things were whispered of Dr. West. 
 
 A year or t^vo previous to this, a widow lady 
 named Baynton with two daughters, no longer very 
 young, had come to live at a pretty cottage in 
 Deerham. Nothing was knowai of who the}' were, 
 or where they came from. Thej appeared to be 
 very reserved, and made no acquaintance whatever. 
 Under these circumstances, of course their histoiy 
 was supplied for them. If you or I went and 
 
DR. west's sanctum. 291 
 
 established ourselves in a fresh i)lace to-morrow, 
 saying nothing of who we were, or what we were, it 
 would only be the signal for some busy-body in that 
 I)lace to coin a story for us, and all the rest of the 
 busy-bodies would immediately circulate it. It was 
 said of Mrs. Baj^nton that she had been left in 
 reduced means ; had fallen from some high pedestal 
 of wealth, through the death of her husband ; that 
 she lived in a perpetual state of mortification in con- 
 sequence of her present poverty, and would not 
 admit a single inhabitant of Deerham within her 
 doors to witness it. It may have had as much truth 
 in it as the greatest canard that ever flew: but 
 Deerham promulgated it, Deerham believed in it, 
 and the Bayntons never contradicted it. The best 
 of all reasons, for this, may have been, that they 
 never heard of it. They lived quietly on alone, 
 interfering with nobody, and going out rarely. In 
 appearance and manners they were gentlewomen, 
 and rather haughty gentlewomen, too; but they 
 kept no servant. How their work was done, Deer- 
 ham could not conceive : it was next to impossible 
 to fancy one of those ladies scrubbing a floor or 
 making a bed. The butcher called for orders, and 
 took in the meat, which was nearly always mutton- 
 chops ; the baker left his bread at the door, and the 
 laundress was admitted inside the passage once a 
 week. 
 
 The only other person admitted inside, was Dr. 
 West. He had been called in, on their first arrival, 
 to the invalid daughter — a delicate-looking lady, 
 
 u2 
 
293 verner's pride. 
 
 who, when she did walk out, leaned on her sister's 
 arm. Dr. West's visits grew frequent; they had 
 continued frequent up to within a short period of 
 the present time. Once or twice a week he called 
 in, professionally ; he would also occasionally drop 
 in for an hour in the evening. Some passers-by 
 Chalk Cottage (it was what it was named) had 
 contrived to stretch their necks over the high privet 
 hedge which hid the lower part of the dwelling from 
 the road, and were immensely gratified by the fact 
 of seeing Dr. West in the parlour, seated at tea 
 with the family. How the doctor was questioned, 
 especially in the earlier period of their residence, 
 he alone could tell. Who were they ? Were they 
 well connected, or ill connected, or not connected 
 at all ? Were they known to fashion ? How 
 much was really their income ? What was the 
 matter with the one whom he attended, the sickly 
 daughter, and what was her name ? The questions 
 would have gone on until now, but that the doctor 
 stopped them. He had not made impertinent 
 inquiries himself, he said, and had. nothing at all 
 to tell. The younger lady's complaint arose from 
 disordered liver; he had no objection to tell them 
 that : she had been so long a sufferer from it that 
 the malady had become chronic : and her name 
 was Kitt3% 
 
 Now, it was touching this very family that the 
 scandal had arisen. Hoiv it arose, was the puzzle : 
 since the ladies themselves never spoke to anybody, 
 and Dr. West would not be likely to invent or to 
 
DE. WEST S SANCTUM. 293 
 
 spread stories affecting himself. Its precise nature 
 was buried in uncertainty^ also its precise object: 
 some said one thing, some another. The scandal, 
 on the whole, tended to the point that Dr. West had 
 misbehaved himself. In what way ? What had he 
 done ? Had he personally ill-treated them — sworn 
 at them — done anything else unbecoming a gentle- 
 man ? And which had been the sufferer ? The old 
 lady in her widow's cap ? or the sickly daughter ? 
 or the other one ? Could he have carelessly 
 supplied wrong medicine ; sent to them some 
 arsenic instead of Epsom Salts, and so thrown 
 them into fright, and danger, and anger ? Had he 
 scaled the privet hedge in the night, and robbed the 
 garden of its cabbages ? What, in short, was it that 
 he had done ? Deerham spoke out pretty broadly, 
 as to the main facts, although the rumoured details 
 were varied and obscure. It declared that some of 
 Dr. West's doings at Chalk Cottage had not been 
 orthodox, and that discovery had supervened. 
 
 There are two classes of professional men upon 
 whom not a taint should rest ; who ought, in familiar 
 phrase, to keep their hands clean : the parson of the 
 parish, and the family doctor. Other people may 
 dye themselves in Warren's jet, if they like ; but, let 
 as much as a spot get on him who stands in the 
 pulpit to preach to us, or on him who is admitted 
 to familiar intercourse with our wives and children, 
 and the spot grows into a dark thunder cloud. 
 What's the old saying ? " One man may walk in 
 at the gate, while another must not look over the 
 
294 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 hedge." It runs something after that fashion. 
 Had Dr. West not been a family doctor, the scandal 
 might have been allowed to die out : as it was, 
 Deerham kept up the ball, and rolled it. One 
 chief motive in this, may have influenced Deerham 
 above all other motives, — unsatisfied curiosity. 
 Could Deerham have gratified this to the full, it 
 had been content to subside into quietness. 
 
 Whether it was true, or whether it was false, 
 there was no denying that it had happened at an 
 unfortunate moment for Dr. West. A man always 
 in debt — and what he did with his money Deerham 
 could not make out, for his practice was a lucrative 
 one — he had latterl}^ become actually embarrassed. 
 Deerham was good-natured enough to say that a 
 handsome sum had found its wa}^ to Chalk Cottage, 
 in the shape of silence money, or something of the 
 sort; but Deerham did not know. Dr. West was 
 at his wits' end where to turn to for a shilling — had 
 been so, for some weeks past ; so that he had no 
 particular need of anj^thing worse coming down 
 upon him. Perhaps, what gave a greater colour to 
 the scandal than anything else, was the fact, that, 
 simultaneously with its rise, Dr. West's visits to 
 Chalk Cottage had suddenly ceased. 
 
 Only one had been bold enough to speak upon 
 the subject personally to Dr. West. And that was 
 the proud old baronet, Sir Kufus Hautley. He 
 rode down to the doctor's house one day; and, 
 leaving his horse with his gi'oom, had a private 
 interview with the doctor. That Dr. West must 
 
DR. west's sanctum. 295 
 
 have contrived to satisfy him in some way, was 
 undoubted. Rigidly severe and honourable, Sir 
 Bufus would no more have countenanced wrong- 
 doing, than he would have admitted Dr. West 
 again to his house, whether as doctor or any- 
 thing else, had he been guilty of it. But when 
 Sir Bufus went away. Dr. West attended him to 
 the door, and they parted cordially, Sir Bufus 
 saying something to the effect that he was glad 
 his visit had dispelled the doubt arising from these 
 unpleasing rumours, and he would recommend Dr. 
 West to inquire into their source, with a view of 
 bringing their authors to punishment. Dr. West 
 repUed that he should make it his business to do so. 
 Dr. West, however, did nothing of the sort : or if he 
 did do it, it was in strict privacy. 
 
 Jan sat one day astride on the counter in his 
 frequent abiding-place, the surgery. Jan had got 
 a brass vessel before him, and was mixing certain 
 powders in it, preparatory to some experiment in 
 chemistrj^. Master Cheese performing the part of 
 looker-on, his elbows, as usual, on the counter. 
 
 " I say, we had such a start here this morning," 
 began young Cheese, as if the recollection had 
 suddenly occurred to him. " It was while you had 
 gone your round." 
 
 "What start was that ? " 
 
 " Some fellow came here, and — I say, Jan," broke 
 off young Cheese, "did you ever know that room 
 had got a second entrance to it ? " 
 
 He pointed to the door of the back room : a room 
 
206 VERNEIiS PRIDE. 
 
 which was used exclusively by Dr. West. He had 
 been known to see patients there on rare occasions, 
 but neither Jan nor young Cheese was ever admitted 
 into it. It opened with a latchkey only. 
 
 " There is another door leading into it from the 
 garden," replied Jan. " It's never opened. It has 
 got all those lean-to boards piled against it." 
 
 " Is it never opened, then ? "' retorted Master 
 Cheese. "You just hear. A fellow came poking 
 his nose into the premises this morning, staring up 
 at the house, staring round about him, and at last 
 he walks in here. A queer-looking fellow he was, 
 with a beard, and appeared as if he had come a 
 thousand miles or two, on foot. ' Is Dr. West at 
 home ? ' he asked. I told him the doctor was not 
 at home : for, you see, Jan, it wasn't ten minutes 
 since the doctor had gone out. So he said he'd 
 wait. And he went peering about and handling the 
 bottles, and once he took the scales up, as if he'd 
 like to test their weight. I kept m}^ eye on him : 
 I thought a queer fellow, like that, might be going 
 to walk off with some physic, like Miss Amilly 
 walks off the castor oil. Presentl}" he comes to 
 that door. ' Where does this lead to ? ' said he. 
 'A private room,' said I, 'and please to keep j^our 
 hands off it.' Not he. He lays hold of the false 
 knob, and shakes it, and turns it, and pushes the 
 door, trying to open it. It was fast. Old West 
 had come out of there before going out ; and catch 
 him ever leaving that door open ! I say, Jan, one 
 would think he kept skeletons there." 
 
DR. west's sanctum. 297 
 
 " Is that all ? " asked Jan, alluding to the story. 
 
 " Wait a bit. The fellow put his big fist upon 
 the latchkey-hole — I think he must have been a 
 feller of trees, I do — and his knee to the door, and 
 he burst it open. Burst it open Jan ! you never 
 saw such strength." 
 
 "I could burst any door open that I had a mind 
 to," was the response of Jan. 
 
 " He burst it open," continued young Cheese, 
 " and burst it against old West. You should have 
 seen 'em stare ! They both stared. I stared. I 
 think the chap did not mean to do it ; that he was 
 only trj'ing his strength for pastime. But now, 
 Jan, the odd part of the business is, how did 
 AVest get in ? If there's not another door, he 
 must have got down, the chimney." 
 
 Jan went on with his compounding, and made no 
 response. 
 
 " And if there is a door, he must have been 
 mortal sly over it," resumed the young gentleman. 
 " He must have gone right out from here, and in at 
 the side gate of the garden, and got in that way. I 
 wonder what he did it for ? " 
 
 " It isn't any business of ours," said Jan. 
 
 " Then I think it is," retorted Master Cheese. 
 " I'd like to knoAv how many times he has been in 
 there, listening to us, when we thought him a mile 
 oif. It's a shame ! " 
 
 *' It's nothing to me who listens," said Jan, 
 equably. " 1 don't say things behind people's 
 backs, that I'd not say before their faces." 
 
298 verxer's pride. 
 
 *'I do," acknowledged young Cheese. "Wasn't 
 there a row ! Didn't he and the man go on at each 
 other ! They shut themselves u]) in that room, 
 and had it out." 
 
 " What did the man want ?" asked Jan. 
 
 " I'd like to know. He and old West had it out 
 together, I say, but they didn't admit me to the 
 conference. Goodness knows where he had come 
 from. West seemed to know him. Jan, I heard 
 something about him and the Chalk Cottage folks 
 yesterday." 
 
 " You had better take yourself to a safe distance," 
 advised Jan. " If this goes off with a bang, your 
 face will come in for the benefit." 
 
 " I saj^ though, it's you that must take care and 
 not let it go off," returned Master Cheese, edging 
 nevertheless a little away. " But about that room ? 
 If old West " 
 
 The w^ords were interrupted. The door of the 
 room in question was pushed open, and Dr. West 
 came out of it. Had Master Cheese witnessed the 
 arrival of an inhabitant from the other world, 
 introduced by the most privileged medium extant, 
 he could not have experienced more intense 
 astonishment. He had truly believed, as he had 
 just expressed it, that Dr. West was at that moment 
 a good mile awa}''. 
 
 " Put your hat on, Cheese," said Dr. West. 
 
 Cheese put it on, going into a perspiration at the 
 same time. He thought nothing less than that he 
 was about to be dismissed. 
 
DR. ayest's sanctum. 299 
 
 " Take this note up to Sir Rufiis Hautley's." 
 
 It was a great relief, and Master Cheese re- 
 ceived the note in his hand, and went off 
 whistling. 
 
 " Step in here, Mr. Jan," said the doctor. 
 
 Jan took one of his long legs over the counter, 
 jumped off, and stepped in; into the doctor's 
 sanctum. Had Jan been given to speculation, he 
 might have wondered what was coming : but it was 
 Jan's method to take things cool and easy, as they 
 came, and not anticipate them. 
 
 " My health has been bad of late," began the 
 doctor. 
 
 " Law ! " cried Jan. " What has been the 
 matter ? " 
 
 "A general disarrangement of the system alto- 
 gether, 1 fancy," returned Dr. West. " I believe 
 that the best thing to restore me will be change of 
 scene — travelling ; and an opportunity to embrace 
 it has presented itself. I am solicited by an old 
 friend of mine, in practice in London, to take 
 charge of a nobleman's son for some months : to 
 go abroad with him." 
 
 " Is he ill ? " asked literal Jan, to whom it never 
 occurred to ask whether Dr. West had first of all 
 applied to his old friend to seek after such a post 
 for him. 
 
 " His health is delicate, both mentally and 
 bodily," replied Dr. West. "I should like to 
 undertake it : the chief difficulty is, the leaving you 
 here alone." 
 
300 VEP.XER S PRIDE. 
 
 ** I dare say I can do it all," said Jan. " My legs 
 get over the ground quick. I can take to your 
 liorse." 
 
 " If you find you cannot do it, you might engage 
 an assistant," suggested Dr. West. 
 
 " So I might," said Jan. 
 
 " I should see no difficulty at all in the matter 
 if you were my partner. It would be the same as 
 leaving myself, and the patients could not grumble. 
 But, it is not altogether the thing to leave only an 
 assistant, as you are, Mr. Jan." 
 
 " Make me your partner, if you like," said cool 
 Jan. " I don't mind. Whatll it cost? " 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Jan, it will cost more than you possess. 
 At least, it ought to cost it." 
 
 *' I have got five hundred pounds," said Jan. "I 
 wanted Lionel to have it, but he won't. Is that 
 of any use ? " 
 
 Dr. West coughed. " Well, under the circum- 
 stances — But it is very little ! I am sure you must 
 know that it is. Perhaps, Mr. Jan, we can come to 
 some arrangement by which I take the larger share 
 for the present. Say that, for this year, 3'ou 
 forward me " 
 
 " Why, how long do you mean to be away ? " 
 interrupted Jan. 
 
 " I can't say. One year, two years, three j^ears, 
 — it may be even more than that. I expect this 
 will be a long and a lucrative engagement. 
 Suppose, I say, that for the first year jom transmit 
 to me the one -half of the net profits, and, beyond 
 
DR. west's sanctum. 301 
 
 that, hand over to Deborah a certain sum, as shall 
 he agreed upon, towards housekeeping." 
 
 "I don't mind how it is," said easy Jan. 
 " They'll stop here, then ? " 
 
 " Of course they will. My dear Mr. Jan, every- 
 thing, I hope, will go on just as it goes on now, 
 save that I shall be absent. You and Cheese — 
 whom I hope you'll keep in order — and the errand 
 boy : it will all be just as it has been. As to the 
 assistant, that will be a future consideration." 
 
 " I'd rather be without one, if I can do it," cried 
 Jan, " and Cheese wdll be coming on. Am I to 
 live with 'em? " 
 
 "With Deb and Amilly ? Why not? Poor 
 unprotected old things, what would they do without 
 you ? And now, Mr. Jan, as that is settled so far, 
 we will sit down, and go further into details. I 
 know I can depend upon your not mentionino- 
 this abroad." 
 
 " If 3"0u don't want me to mention it, you can. 
 But where's the harm ? " 
 
 "It is always well to keep these little arrange- 
 ments private," said the doctor. "Matiss will 
 draw up the deed, and I will take you round and 
 introduce you as my partner. But there need not 
 be anything said beforehand. Neither need there 
 be anything said at all about my going awaj, until 
 I actually go. You will oblige me in this, Mr. 
 Jan." 
 
 "It's all the same to me," said accommodatincr 
 Jan. " Whose will be this room, then ? " 
 
302 verner's pride. 
 
 " Yours to do as you please with, of course, so 
 long as I am away." 
 
 " I'll have a turn-up bedstead put in it and sleep 
 here, then," quoth Jan. " When folks come in the 
 night, and ring me up, I shall be handy. It'll be 
 better than disturbing the house, as is the case 
 now." 
 
 The doctor appeared struck with the proposition. 
 
 " I think it would be a very good plan, indeed," 
 he said. " I don't fancy the room's damp." 
 
 " Not it," said Jan. "If it were damp, it 
 wouldn't hurt me. I have no time to be ill, I 
 haven't. Damp Who's that ? " 
 
 It was a visitor to the sui'gery — a patient of Dr. 
 West's. And, for the time, the conference was 
 broken up. 
 
 Not to be renewed until evening. Dr. West and 
 Jan were both fuU}^ occupied all the afternoon. 
 When business was over — as much so as a doctor's 
 business ever can be over — Jan knocked at the door 
 of this room, w^here Dr. West again was. 
 
 It was opened about an inch, and the face of the 
 doctor appeared in the aperture, peering out to 
 ascertain who it might be disturbing him. The 
 same aperture which enabled him to see out, 
 enabled Jan to see in. 
 
 " Why ! what's up ? " cried unceremonious Jan. 
 
 Jan might w^eU ask it. The room contained a 
 table, a desk or two, some sets of drawers, and 
 other receptacles for the custody of papers. All 
 these were turned out, desks and drawers ahke 
 
DR. WEST S SANCTUM. 303 
 
 stood open, and their contents, a mass of papers, 
 were scattered everywhere. 
 
 The doctor could not, in good manners, shut the 
 door right in his proposed new partner's face. He 
 opened it an inch or two more. His own face was 
 purple : it wore a startled, perplexed look, and 
 the drops of moisture had gathered on his forehead. 
 That he was not in the most easy frame of mind, 
 was evident. Jan put one foot into the room : he 
 could not put two, unless he had stepped upon 
 the papers. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Jan, perceiving the 
 signs of perturbation on the doctor's countenance. 
 
 " I have had a loss," said the doctor. " It's the 
 most extraordinary thing, but a — a paper, which 
 was here this morning, I cannot find anywhere. I 
 must find it !" he added, in ill-suppressed agitation. 
 " I'd rather lose everything I possess, than lose 
 that." 
 
 " Where did you put it ? When did you have 
 it ? " cried Jan, casting his eyes around. 
 
 " I kept it in a certain drawer," replied Dr. West, 
 too much disturbed to be anvthing but straiafht- 
 forward. "I have not had it in my hand for — oh I 
 cannot tell how long — months and months, until 
 this morning. I wanted to refer to it then, and got 
 it out. I was looking it over when a rough, ill-bred 
 fellow burst the door open " 
 
 "I heard of that," interrupted Jan. " Cheese 
 told me."' 
 
 " He burst the door open, and I put the paper 
 
304 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 back in its place before I spoke to him," con- 
 tinued Dr. West. " Half an hour ago I went to 
 take it out again, and I found it had disappeared." 
 
 "The fellow must have walked it off," cried Jan. 
 Not an unnatural conclusion. 
 
 " He could not," said Dr. West ; " it is quite an 
 impossibility. I went back there,"' — pointing to a 
 bureau of drawers behind him — " and put the paper 
 hastily in, and locked it in, returning the keys to 
 my pocket. The man had not stepped over the 
 threshold of the door then ; he was a little taken to, 
 I fancy, at his having burst the door, and he stood 
 there staring." 
 
 " Could he have got at it afterwards ? " asked Jan. 
 
 " It is, I say, an impossibility. He never was 
 within a yard or two of the bureau ; and, if he had 
 been, the place was firmly locked. That man it 
 certainly was not. Nobody has been in the room 
 since, save myself, and you for a few minutes to-day 
 when I called you in. And yet the paper is gone ! " 
 
 " Could anj^body have come into the room by the 
 other door ? " asked Jan. 
 
 "No. It opens with a latchkey only, as this 
 does. And the key was safe in my pocket." 
 
 " Well, this beats everjiihing," cried Jan. " It's 
 like the codicil at Verner's Pride." 
 
 " The very thing it put me in mind of," said Dr. 
 West. "I'd rather — I'd rather have lost that 
 codicil, had it been mine, than lose this, Mr. Jan." 
 
 Jan opened his eyes. Jan had a knack of open- 
 ing his eyes when anything surprised him : 
 
DR. WEST S SANCTUM. 305 
 
 tolerably wide, too. " AVhat paper was it, then ? " 
 lie cried. 
 
 " It was a prescription, Mr. Jan." 
 
 " A prescription ! " returned Jan, the answer not 
 lessening his wonder. " That's not much. Isn't 
 it in the book ? " 
 
 " No, it is not in the book," said Dr. West. '' It 
 was too valuable to be in the book. You may look, 
 Mr. Jan, but I mean what I say. This was a 
 private prescription of inestimable value, a secret 
 prescription, I may say. I would not have lost it 
 for the whole world.", 
 
 The doctor wiped the dew from his perplexed 
 forehead : the doctor strove, unsuccessfully, to 
 control his agitated voice to calmness. Jan could 
 only stare. All this fuss about a prescription ! 
 
 " Did it contain the secret for compounding 
 Life's Elixir ? " asked he. 
 
 " It contained what was more to me than that," 
 said Dr. West. " But you can't help me, Mr. Jan. 
 I would rather be left to the search alone." 
 
 " I hope you'll find it yet," returned Jan, taking 
 the hint and retreating to the sui'gery. " You 
 must have overlooked it amongst some of these 
 papers." 
 
 " I hope I shaU," replied the doctor. 
 
 And he shut himsef up to the search, and turned 
 over the papers. But he never found what he 
 had lost, although he was still turning and turning 
 them at morning light. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 MISS Deborah's astonishment. 
 
 One dark morning, the beginning of November: 
 in fact, it was the first morning of that gloomy 
 month: Jan was busy in the sm'gery. Jan was 
 arranging things there according to his own plea- 
 sure; for Dr. "West had departed that morning 
 early, and Jan was master of the field. 
 
 Jan had risen betimes. Never a sluggard, he 
 had been up now for some hours, and had effected 
 so great a metamorphosis in the surgery that the 
 doctor himself would hardly have known it again : 
 things in it previously never having been arranged 
 to Jan's satisfaction. And now he was looking at 
 his watch to see whether breakfast time was coming 
 on, Jan's hunger reminding him that it might be 
 acceptable. He had not yet been into the house ; 
 his bedroom now being the room you have heard of, 
 the scene of Dr. West's lost prescription. The 
 doctor had gone by the six-o'clock train, after a 
 cordial farewell to Jan ; he had gone — as it was 
 soon to turii out — without ha\dng previously 
 informed his daughters. But of this Jan knew 
 nothing. 
 
 *' Twenty minutes past eight," quoth Jan, con- 
 
MISS deboeah's astonishment. 307 
 
 suiting his watch, a silver one, the size of a turnip. 
 Jan had bought it when he was poor : had given 
 about two pounds for it, second-hand. It never 
 occurred to Jan to buy a better one while that 
 legacy of his was lying idle. Why should he ? 
 Jan's turnip kept time to a moment, and Jan did 
 not understand buying things for show. " Ten 
 minutes yet ! I shall eat a double share of bacon 
 this morning. — Good morning. Miss Deb." 
 
 Miss Deb was stealing into the surgery with a 
 scared look and a white face. Miss Deb wore her 
 usual winter morning costume, a huge brown cape. 
 She was of a shivery nature at the best of times, but 
 she shivered palpably now. 
 
 " Mr. Jan, have you got a drop of ether ? " 
 asked she, her poor teeth chattering together. Jan 
 was too good-natured to tell Deerham those teeth 
 were false, though Dr. West had betrayed the secret 
 to Jan. 
 
 " Who's it for ? " asked Jan. " For you? Aren't 
 you well. Miss Deb ? Eat some breakfast : that's 
 the best thing." 
 
 " I have had a dreadful shock, Mr. Jan. I have 
 had bad news. That is — what has been done to the 
 surgery ? " she broke off, casting her eyes around it 
 in wonder. 
 
 " Not much," said Jan. " I have been making 
 some odds and ends of alteration. Is the news 
 from Australia?" he continued, the open letter in 
 her hand helping him to the suggestion. " A mail's 
 due." 
 
 x2 
 
308 VERNEPw's PRIDE. 
 
 Miss Deborah shook her head. " It is from my 
 father, Mr. Jan. The first thing I saw, upon going 
 into the breakfast parlour, was this note for me, 
 propped against the vase on the mantel-piece. Mr. 
 Jan," — dropping her voice to confidence — *'it says 
 he is gone ! That he is gone away for an indefinite 
 period." 
 
 " You don't mean to say he never told you of it 
 before ! " exclaimed Jan. 
 
 " I never heard a syllable from him," cried poor 
 Deborah. " He says you'll explain to us as much 
 as is necessary. You can read the note. Mr. Jan, 
 where's he gone ? " 
 
 Jan ran his eyes over the note : feeling himself 
 probably in somewhat of a dilemma, as to how 
 much or how little it might be expedient to 
 explain. 
 
 " He thought some travelling might be beneficial 
 to his health," said Jan. " He has got a rare good 
 post as travelHng doctor to some young chap of 
 quality." 
 
 Miss Deborah was looking very hard at Jan. 
 Something seemed to be on her mind ; some great 
 fear. " He says he may not be back for ever so long 
 to come, Mr. Jan." 
 
 " So he told me," said Jan. 
 
 ** And is that the reason he took you into partner- 
 ship, Mr. Jan ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jan. *' CouldnH leave an assistant 
 for an indefinite period." 
 
 " You will never be able to do it all yourself. I 
 
MISS DEBORAHS ASTONISHMENT. 309 
 
 little thought, when all this bustle and changing of 
 bed-rooms was going on, what was up. You might 
 have told me, Mr. Jan," she added, in a reproachful 
 tone. 
 
 " It wasn't my place to tell you," returned Jan. 
 " It was the doctor's." 
 
 Miss Deborah looked timidly round, and then 
 sunk her voice to a lower whisper. Mr. Jan, ivhy 
 has he gone away ? " 
 
 " For his health," persisted Jan. 
 
 *' They are saying — they are saying — Mr. Jan, 
 ivliat is it that they are saying, about papa and those 
 ladies at Chalk Cottage ? " 
 
 Jan laid hold of the pestle and mortar, popped in 
 a big lump of some hard-looking white substance, 
 and began pounding away at it. " How should I 
 know anything about the ladies at Chalk Cottage ? " 
 asked he. " I never was inside their door ; I never 
 spoke to any one of 'em." 
 
 " But you know that things are being said," urged 
 Miss Deborah, with almost feverish eagerness. 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 " Who told you anything was being said ? " asked 
 Jan. 
 
 " It was Master Cheese. Mr. Jan, folks have 
 seemed queer lately. The servants have whispered 
 together, and then have glanced at me and at 
 Amilly, and I knew there was something wrong, 
 but I could not get at it. This morning, when I 
 picked up this note — it's not five minutes ago, Mr. 
 Jan — in my fright and perplexity I shrieked out ; 
 
310 VERNEPv's PRIDE. 
 
 and IMaster Cheese, lie said sometliing about Chalk 
 Cottage." 
 
 " What did he say ? " asked Jan. 
 
 Miss Deborah's pale face turned to crimson. " I 
 can't tell," she said. " I did not hear the words 
 rightly. Master Cheese caught them up again. 
 Mr. Jan, I have come to you to tell me.'' 
 
 Jan answered nothing. He was pounding very 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Mr. Jan, I ought to know it," she went on. " I 
 am not a child. If you please I must request you 
 to tell me." 
 
 " What are you shivering for ? " asked Jan. 
 
 *' I can't help it. Is — is it anything that — that 
 he can be taken up for ? " 
 
 " Taken up ! " replied Jan, ceasing from his 
 pounding, and fixing his wide-open eyes on Miss 
 Deborah. "Can I be taken up for doing this?" 
 — and he brought down the pestle with such force 
 as to threaten the destruction of the mortar. 
 
 " You'll tell me please," she shivered. 
 
 " Well," said Jan, " if you must know it, the 
 doctor had a misfortune." 
 
 " A misfortune ! He ! What misfortune ! A 
 misfortune at Chalk Cottage ? " 
 
 Jan gravely nodded. " And they were in an 
 awful rage with him, and said he should pay ex- 
 penses, and all that. And he wouldn't pay expenses : 
 the chimney-glass alone was twelve pound fifteen ; 
 and there was a regular quarrel, and they tui-ned 
 him out." 
 
MISS Deborah's astonishment. oil 
 
 "But what was the nature of the misfortune ? " 
 
 " He set the parlour chimney on fire." 
 
 Miss Deborah's lips parted with amazement ; 
 she appeared to find some difficulty in closing them 
 again. 
 
 " Set the parlour chimney on fire, Mr. Jan ! " 
 
 " Very careless of him," continued Jan, with com- 
 posure. " He had no business to carry gunpowder 
 about with him. Of course they won't believe but 
 he flung it in purposely." 
 
 Miss Deborah could not gather her senses, " Who 
 won't ? — the ladies at Chalk Cottage ? " 
 
 " The ladies at Chalk Cottage," assented Jan. 
 "If I saw all these bottles go to smithereens, through 
 Cheese stowing gunpowder in his trousers' pockets, 
 I might go into a passion too. Miss Deb." 
 
 " But, Mr. Jan — this is not what's being said in 
 Deerham ? " 
 
 " Law, if you go by all that's said in Deerham, 
 you'll have enough to do," cried Jan. " One says 
 one thing and one says another. No two are ever 
 in the same tale. When that codicil was lost at 
 Verner's Pride, ten different people were accused by 
 Deerham of stealing it." 
 
 " Were the}^ ? " responded Miss Deborah, ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " Did you never hear it ? You just ask Deerham 
 about the row between the doctor and Chalk Cottage, 
 and you'll hear ten versions, all different. AVhat 
 else could be expected ? As if he'd take the trouble 
 to explain the rights of it to them ! Not that I 
 
812 verner's pride. 
 
 should advise j^ou to ask," concluded Jan, pointedly. 
 " Miss Deborah, do you know the time ? " 
 
 " It must be half-past eight," she repeated me- 
 chanically, her thoughts buried in a reverie. 
 
 " And turned," said Jan. " I'd be glad of break- 
 fast. I shall have the gratis patients here." 
 
 " It shall be ready in two minutes," said Miss 
 Deborah, meekly. And she went out of the surgery. 
 
 Presently young Cheese came leaping into it. 
 " The breakfast's ready," cried he. 
 
 Jan stretched out his long arm, and pinned Master 
 Cheese. 
 
 " What have you been saying to Miss Deb ? " he 
 asked. " Look here : who is your master now ? " 
 
 "You are, I suppose," said the young gentleman. 
 
 "Very well. You just bear that in mind; and 
 don't go carrying tales indoors of what Deerham 
 says. Attend to your own business and leave Dr. 
 West's alone." 
 
 Master Cheese was considerably astonished. He 
 had never heard such a speech from easy Jan. 
 
 " I say, though, are you going to turn out a 
 bashaw with three tails ? " asked he. 
 
 " Yes," replied Jan. " I have promised Dr. West 
 to keep you in order, and I shall do it." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 AN INTERCEPTED JOURNEY. 
 
 Dr. West's was not the only departure from 
 Deerham that was projected for that day. The 
 other was that of Lionel Verner. Fully recovered, 
 he had deemed it well to waste no more time. Lady 
 Verner suggested that he should remain in Deerham 
 until the completion of the year: Lionel replied 
 that he had remained in it rather too long already ; 
 that he must be up and doing. He was eager to be 
 " up and doing/' and his first step towards it was 
 the proceeding to London and engaging chambers. 
 He fixed upon the first day of November for his 
 departure, unconscious that that day had also been 
 fixed upon by Dr. West for his. However, the 
 doctor was off long before Lionel was out of bed. 
 
 Lionel rose all excitement, all impulse, to begin 
 his journey, to be away from Deerham. Somebodj^ 
 else rose with feelings less pleasurable : and that 
 was Lucy Tempest. Now that the real time of 
 separation had come, Lucy awoke to the state of her 
 own feelings ; to the fact, that the whole world 
 contained but one beloved face for her — that of 
 Lionel Verner. 
 
 She awoke with no start, she saw nothing wrong 
 
314 verner's pride. 
 
 in it, she did not ask herself how it was to end, what 
 the future was to be ; any vision of marrying Lionel, 
 which might have flashed across the active brain of 
 a more sophisticated young lady, never occurred to 
 Tiucy. All she knew was, that she had somehow 
 glided into a state of existence different from anj-- 
 thing she had ever experienced before; that her days 
 were all brightness, the world an Eden, and that it 
 was the presence of Lionel that made the sunshine. 
 
 She stood before the glass, twisting her soft 
 brown hair, her cheeks crimson with excitement, 
 her eyes bright. The morrow morning would be 
 listless enough; but this, the last on which she 
 would see him, w^as gay with rose hues of love. 
 Stay ! not gay. That is a wrong expression : it 
 would have been gay but for that under current of 
 feeling which was whispering that, a short hour or 
 two, and all would change to the darkest shade. 
 
 " He says it may be a tw^elvemonth before he 
 shall come home again," she said to herself, her 
 white fingers trembling as she fastened her pretty 
 morning dress. "How lonely it will be! What 
 shall we do all that w^hile without him ? Oh, dear, 
 what's the matter with me this morning ? " 
 
 In her perturbed haste, she had fastened her dress 
 all awry, and had to undo it again. The thought 
 that she might be keeping them waiting breakfast — 
 which was to be taken that morning a quarter of an 
 hour earlier than usual — did not tend to expedite 
 her. Lucy thought of the old proverb : " The more 
 haste, the less speed." 
 
AN INTERCEPTED JOURNEY. 315 
 
 "How I wish I dare ask him to come sooner, 
 than that, to see us ! But he might think it strange. 
 I wonder he should not come ! there's Christmas, 
 there's Easter, and he must have holiday then. A 
 whole year, perhaps more ; and not to see him ! " 
 
 She passed out of the room and descended, her 
 soft skii'ts of pink-shaded cashmere sweeping the 
 staircase. You saw her in it the evening she first 
 came to Lady Verner's. It had lain by almost ever 
 since, and was now converted into a morning dress. 
 The breakfast-room was empty. Instead of being 
 behind her time, Lucy found she was before it. 
 Lady Verner had not risen : she rarely did rise to 
 breakfast : and Decima was in Lionel's room, busy 
 over some of his things. 
 
 Lionel himself was the next to enter. His features 
 broke into a glad smile when he saw Lucy. A 
 fairer picture, she, Mr. Lionel Verner, than even 
 that other vision of loveliness which your mind has 
 been pleased to make its ideal — Sibylla ! 
 
 " Down first, Lucy ! " he cried, shaking hands with 
 her. " You wish me somewhere, I dare say, getting 
 you up before your time." 
 
 " By how much — a few minutes ? " she answered, 
 laughing. " It wants twenty minutes to nine. 
 What would they have said to me at the rector}-, 
 had I come down so late as that ? " 
 
 *' Ah, well, you won't have me here to torment 
 you to-morrow. I have been a trouble to you, 
 Lucy, take it altogether. You will be glad to see 
 my back tui'ned." 
 
316 verner's pride. 
 
 Lucy shook her head. She looked shyly up at him 
 in her timidity ; but she answered truthfully stiU : 
 
 " I shall be sony ; not glad." 
 
 " Sorry ! Why should you be sorry, Lucy? " and 
 his voice insensibly assumed a tone of gentleness. 
 "You cannot have cared for me; for the companion- 
 ship of a half-dead fellow, like myself! " 
 
 Lucy rallied her courage. " Perhaps it was 
 because you were half dead that I cared for you," 
 she answered. 
 
 "I suppose it was," mused Lionel, aloud, his 
 thoughts cast back to the past. " I will bid you 
 good-bye now, Lucy, while we are alone. Believe me 
 that I part from you with regret; that I do heartily 
 thank you for all you have been to me." 
 
 Lucy looked up at him, a yearning, regretful sort 
 of look, and her eyelashes grew wet. Lionel had 
 her hand in his, and was looking down at her. 
 
 " Lucy, I do think you are sorry to part with 
 me ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Just a little," she answered. 
 
 If you, good, grave sir, had been stoical enough 
 to resist the up-turned face, Lionel was not. He 
 bent his lips and left a kiss upon it. 
 
 " Keep it until we meet again," he whispered. 
 
 Jan came in while they were at breakfast. 
 
 " I can't stop a minute," were his words when 
 Decima asked him w^hy he did not sit down. " I 
 thought I'd run up and say good-bj^e to Lionel, but 
 I am wanted in all directions. Mrs. Yerner has sent 
 for me, and there are the regular patients." 
 
AN INTERCEPTED JOURNEY. 317 
 
 *' Dr. West attends Mrs. Yerner, Jan," said 
 Decima. 
 
 *' He did," replied Jan. " It is to be myself, now. 
 West is gone." 
 
 " Gone ! " was the universal echo. And Jan gave 
 an explanation. 
 
 It was received in silence. The rumours affecting 
 Dr. West had reached Deerham Court. 
 
 " What is the matter with Mrs. Verner ? " asked 
 Lionel. " She appeared as well as usual when I 
 quitted her last night." 
 
 " I don't know that there's anything more the 
 matter with her than usual," returned Jan, sitting 
 down on a side-table. "She has been going in some 
 time for apoplexy." 
 
 " Oh, Jan ! " uttered Lucy. 
 
 " So she has, Miss Lucy, — as Dr. West has said. 
 I have not attended her." 
 
 " Has she been told it, Jan ? " 
 
 " Where's the good of telling her ? " asked Jan. 
 " She knows it fast enough. She'd not forego a 
 meal, if she saw the fit coming on before night. 
 Tynn came round to me, just now, and said his 
 mistress felt poorly. The Australian mail is in," 
 continued Jan, passing to another subject. 
 
 " Is it ? " cried Decima. 
 
 Jan nodded. 
 
 " I met the postman as I was coming out, and 
 he told me. I suppose there'll be news from Fred 
 and Sibylla." 
 
 After this little item of information, which called 
 
318 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 the colour into Lucy's cheek — she hest knew why — 
 hut which Lionel appeared to listen to impassively, 
 Jan got off the table : 
 
 " Good-bye, Lionel," said he, holding out his hand. 
 
 "What's your hurry, Jan ? " asked Lionel. 
 
 *' Ask my patients," responded Jan. " I am off 
 the first thing to Mrs. Verner, and then shall take 
 my round. I wish you luck, Lionel." 
 
 " Thank you, Jan," said Lionel. " Nothing less 
 than the woolsack, of course." 
 
 "My gracious ! " said literal Jan. "I say, Lionel, 
 I'd not count upon that. If only one in a thousand 
 gets to the woolsack, and all the lot expect it, what 
 an amount of heart-burning must be wasted." 
 
 " Eight, Jan. Only let me lead my circuit and I 
 shall deem myself lucky." 
 
 *' How long will it take you before you can 
 accomplish that ? " asked Jan. " Twenty years ? " 
 
 A shade crossed Lionel's countenance. That he 
 was beginning late in life, none knew better than he. 
 Jan bade him farewell, and departed for Verner's 
 Pride. 
 
 Lady Verner was down before Lionel went. He 
 intended to take the quarter past ten o'clock train. 
 
 "When are we to meet again?" she asked, holding 
 her hand in his. 
 
 " I will com,e home to see you soon, mother." 
 
 " Soon ! I don't like the vague word," returned 
 Lady Verner. " W^hy cannot you come for Christ- 
 mas .'' 
 
 " Christmas ! I shall scarcely have gone." 
 
AN INTEECEPTED JOURNEY. 319 
 
 *' You will come, Lionel ? " 
 
 " Very well, mother. As you wisli it, I will." 
 
 A crimson flush — a flush of joy — rose to Lucy's 
 countenance. Lionel ha^Dpened to have glanced at 
 her. I wonder what he thought of it ! 
 
 His luggage had gone on, and he walked with a 
 hasty step to the station. The train came in two 
 minutes after he reached it. Lionel took his ticket 
 and stepped into a first-class carriage. 
 
 All was ready. The whistle sounded, and the 
 guard had one foot on his van- step, when a shouting 
 and commotion were heard. "Stop! Stop!" Lionel 
 like others, looked out, and heheld the long legs of 
 his brother Jan come flying along the platform. 
 Before Lionel had well known what was the matter, 
 or had gathered in the hasty news, Jan had pulled 
 him out of the carriage, and the train went shrieking 
 on without him. 
 
 " There goes my luggage, and here am I and my 
 ticket ! " cried Lionel. " You have done a pretty 
 thing, Jan. What do you say ? " 
 
 " It's all true, Lionel. She was crying over the 
 letters when I got there. And pretty well I have 
 raced back to stop your journey. Of course you 
 will not go away now. He's dead." 
 
 " I don't understand, yet," gasped Lionel, feeling, 
 however, that he did understand. 
 
 "Not understand," repeated Jan. "It's easy 
 enough. Fred Massingbird's dead, poor fellow ; he 
 died of fever three weeks after the}^ landed : and you 
 are master of Verner's Pride." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 
 
 Lionel Verner could scarcely believe in his own 
 identity. The train, which was to have contained 
 him, was whirling towards London; he, a poor 
 aspirant for future fortune, ought to have been in it; 
 he had counted most certainly to be in it ; but here 
 was he, while the steam of that train yet snorted in 
 his ears, walking out of the station, a wealthy man, 
 come into a proud inheritance, the inheritance of his 
 fathers. In the first moment of tumultuous thought, 
 Lionel almost felt as if some fairy must have been 
 at work with a magic wand. 
 
 It was all true. He linked his arm within Jan's, 
 and listened to the recital in detail. Jan had found 
 Mrs. Verner, on his arrival at Verner's Pride, 
 weeping over letters from Australia : one from a 
 Captain Cannonby, one from Sibylla. They con- 
 tained the tidings that Frederick Massingbird had 
 died of fever, and that Sibylla was anxious to come 
 home again. 
 
 '' Who is Captain Cannonby ? " asked Lionel of 
 Jan. 
 
 '' Have you forgotten the name ? " returned Jan. 
 ** That friend of Fred Massiiigbird's, who sold out, 
 
NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. o2l 
 
 and was knocking about London : Fred went up 
 once or twice to see him. He went to the diggings 
 last autumn, and it seems Fred and Sibylla lighted 
 on him at Melbourne. He had laid poor Fred in 
 the grave the day before he wrote, he says." 
 
 " I can scarcely believe it all now, Jan," said 
 Lionel. " What a change ! " 
 
 " Ay. You won't believe it for a day or two. I 
 say, Lionel, Uncle Stephen need not have left 
 Verner's Pride to the Massingbirds : they have not 
 lived to enjoy it. Neither need there have been all 
 that bother about the codicil. I know what." 
 
 " What ? " asked Lionel, looking at him : for Jan 
 spoke significantly. 
 
 " That Madam Sibylla would give her two ears 
 now, to have married you, instead of Fred Massing- 
 bird." 
 
 Lionel's face flushed, and he replied coldly, 
 hauteur in his tone. " Nonsense, Jan ! you are 
 speaking most unwarrantably. When Sibylla chose 
 Fred Massingbird, I was the heir to Verner's 
 Pride." 
 
 "J know," said Jan. "Verner's Pride would be 
 a great temptation to Sibylla ; and I can but think 
 she knew it was left to Fred when she married him." 
 
 Lionel did not condescend to retort. He would 
 as soon believe himself capable of bowing down 
 before the god of gold, in a mean spirit, as believe 
 Sibylla capable of it. Indeed, though he was wont 
 to charm himself with the flattering notion that his 
 love for Sib3dla had died out, or near upon it, he 
 
 VOL. T. Y 
 
822 verner's pride. 
 
 was very far off the point when he could think any 
 ill of Sibylla. 
 
 "My i:)atients will be foaming," remarked Jan, 
 w^ho continued his way to Yerner's Pride with 
 Lionel. " They will conclude I have gone off with 
 Dr. West : and I have his list on my hands now, as 
 well as mj^ own. I sslj, Lionel, when I told j^ou the 
 letters from Australia were in, how little we guessed 
 they would contain this news." 
 
 "Little, indeed! " said Lionel. 
 
 "I suppose 3^ou won't go to London now ?" 
 
 " I suppose not," was the reply of Lionel. And a 
 rush of gladness illumined his heart as he spoke it. 
 No more toil over those dry old law books ! The 
 study had never been to his taste. 
 
 The servants were gathered in the hall when 
 Lionel and Jan entered it. Decorously sorry, of 
 course, for the tidings which had arrived, but unable 
 to conceal the inward satisfaction which peeped 
 out : not satisfaction at the death of Fred, but at the 
 accession of Lionel. It is cm'ious to observe how^ 
 jealous the old retainers of a family are, upon all 
 points which touch the honour or the well-being of 
 the house. Fred IMassingbird was an alien ; Lionel 
 was a Verner; and now, as Lionel entered, they 
 formed into a double line that he might pass 
 between them, their master from henceforth. 
 
 Mrs. Verner was in the old place, the study. 
 Jan had seen her in bed that morning ; but, since 
 then, she had risen. Early as the hour yet was, 
 recent as the sad news had been, Mrs. Verner had 
 
' NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 323 
 
 dropped asleep. She sat nodding in her chair, 
 snoring heavily, breathing painfully, her neck and 
 face all one colour — carmine red. That she looked 
 — as Jan had observed — a very apoplectic subject, 
 struck Lionel most particularly on this morning. 
 
 " Why don't j^ou bleed her, Jan ?" he whispered. 
 
 " She won't be bled," responded Jan. " She 
 won't take physic ; she won't do anything that she 
 ought to do. You .may as well talk to a post. 
 She'll do nothing but eat and drink, and fall asleep 
 afterwards ; and then wake up to eat and drink, and 
 fall asleep again. Mrs. Verner " — exalting his voice 
 — " here's Lionel." 
 
 Mrs. Verner partially woke up. Her eyes opened 
 sufficiently to observe Jan ; and her mind apparently 
 grew awake to a confused remembrance of facts. 
 '^He's gone to London," said she to Jan. "You 
 won't catch him : " and then she nodded again. 
 
 " I did catch him," shouted Jan. " Lionel's here." 
 
 Lionel sat down by her, and she woke up pretty 
 fully. 
 
 " I am grieved at this news for your sake, Mrs. 
 Verner," he said in a kind tone, as he took her 
 hand. " I am sorry for Frederick." 
 
 " Both my boys gone before me, Lionel ! " she 
 cried, melting into tears. "John first; Fred next. 
 Why did they go out there to die ? " 
 
 " It is indeed sad for you," replied Lionel. " Jan 
 says Fred died of fever." 
 
 " He has died of fever. Don't you remember 
 when Sibylla wrote, she said he was ill with fever ? 
 
 t2 
 
324 verner's pride. 
 
 He never got well. He never got well ! I take it 
 that it must have been a sort of intermittent fever 
 — ^pretty well one da}-, down ill the next — for he 
 had started for the place where John died — I forget 
 its name, but you'll find it written there. Only 
 a few hours after quitting Melbourne, he grew 
 worse and died." 
 
 " Was he alone ? " asked Lionel. 
 
 " Captain Cannonby was with him. They were 
 going together up to — I forget, I sa}^ the name 
 of the place — where John died, you know. It was 
 nine or ten days' distance from Melboui'ne, and they 
 had travelled but a day of it. And I suppose,'' 
 added Mrs. Verner, with tears in her eyes, " that 
 he'd be put into the ground like a dog ! " 
 
 Lionel, on this score, could give no consolation. 
 He knew not whether the fact might be so, or not. 
 Jan hoisted himself on to the top of a high bureau, 
 and sat in comfort. 
 
 " He'd be buried like a dog," repeated Mrs. 
 Verner. " What do they know about parsons and 
 consecrated ground out there ? Cannonb}' buried 
 him, he says, and then he went back to Melbom-ne 
 to carry the tidings to Sibj'lla." 
 
 " Sibylla ? was Sibylla not with him when he 
 died ? " exclaimed Lionel. 
 
 "It seems not. It's sure not, in fact, by the 
 letters. You can read them, Lionel. There's one 
 from her and one from Captain Cannonby .j 
 
 " It's not likely theyM drag Sibylla up to the 
 diggings," interposed Jan. 
 
NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 325 
 
 " And yet — almost as unlikely that her hushand 
 would leave her alone m such a place as Melbourne 
 appears to be," dissented Lionel. 
 
 " She was not left alone," said Mrs. Verner. 
 " If 3'ou'd read the letters, Lionel, you would see. 
 She stayed in Melbourne with a family ; friends, I 
 think she says, of Captain Cannonby's. She has 
 written for money to be sent out to her by the first 
 ship, that she may pay her passage home again." 
 
 This item of intelligence astonished Lionel more 
 than any other. 
 
 "Written for money to be sent out for her 
 passage home ! " he reiterated. " Has she no 
 money .'' 
 
 Mrs. Verner looked at him. " They accuse me 
 of forgetting things in my sleep, Lionel; but I 
 think you must be growing worse than I am. 
 Poor Fred told us in his last letter that he had 
 been robbed of his desk, and that it had got his 
 money in it." 
 
 " But I did not suppose it contained all — that 
 they were reduced so low as for his wife to have no 
 mone}^ left for a passage. What will she do there, 
 until some can be got out ? " 
 
 " If she is with comfortable folks, they'd not turn 
 her out," cried Jan. 
 
 Lionel took up the letters, and ran his eyes over 
 them. They told him little else of the facts; 
 though more of the details. 'It appeared to have 
 taken place pretty much as Mrs. Verner said. The 
 closing part of Sibylla's letter ran as follows : 
 
326 verner's pride. 
 
 " After we wrote to you, Fr^d met Captain 
 Cannonby. You must remember, dear aunt, how 
 often Fred would speak of him. Captain Cannonby 
 has relatives out here, people in very good position 
 — ^if people can be said to be in a position at all in 
 such a horrid place. We knew Captain Cannonby 
 had come over, but thought he was at the Bendigo 
 diggings. However, Fred met him ; and he was 
 very civil and obliging. He got us apartments in 
 the best hotel — one of the very places that had 
 refused us, saying they were crowded. Fred 
 seemed to grow a trifle better, and it was decided 
 that they should go to the j^lace where John died, 
 and try and get particulars about his money, &c., 
 which in Melbourne we could hear nothing of. 
 Indeed, nobody seemed to know even John's name. 
 Captain Cannonby (who has really made money 
 here in some way ; trading, he says ; and expects to 
 make a good deal more) agTeed to go with Fred. 
 Then Fred told me of the loss of his desk and 
 money, his bills of credit, and that; whatever the 
 term may be. It was stolen from the quay, the day 
 we arrived, and he had never been able to hear of 
 it ; but, while there seemed a chance of finding 
 it, he would not let me know the ill news. Of 
 course, ^Yith this loss upon us, there was all the 
 more necessity for our getting John's money as 
 speedily as might be. Captain Cannonby intro- 
 duced me to his relatives, the Eyres, told them my 
 husband wanted to go up the country for a short 
 while, and they invited me to stay with them. And 
 
NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 327 
 
 here I am, and very kind they are to me m this 
 drefidful trouble. 
 
 " Aunt Verner, I thought I should have died when, 
 a day or two after they started, I saw Captain 
 Cannonby come back alone, with a long sorrowful 
 face. I seemed to know in a moment what had 
 happened : I had thought at the time they started, 
 that Fred was too ill to go. I said to him, ' My 
 husband is dead! ' and he confessed that it was so. 
 He had been taken ill at the end of the first day, 
 and did not live many hours. 
 
 ''I can't tell you an}" more, dear Aunt Verner; I 
 am too sick and ill. And if I filled ten sheets with 
 the particulars, it would not alter the dreadful facts. 
 I want to come home to you; I know you will 
 receive me, and let me live with you always. I 
 have not any money. Please send me out sufficient 
 to bring me home by the first ship that sails. I 
 don't care for any of the things we brought out ; 
 they may stop here or be lost in the sea, for all the 
 difference it will make to me : I only want to come 
 home. Captain Cannonby says he will take upon 
 himself now to look after John's money, and 
 transmit it to us, if he can get it. 
 
 " Mrs. Eyre has just come in. She desires me to 
 say that they are taking every care of me, and are 
 all happy to have me with them : she says I am to 
 tell you that her own daughters are about my age. 
 It is all true, dear aunt, and they are exceedingly 
 kind to me. They seem to have plenty of money, 
 are intimate with the governor's family, and with 
 
328 verner's pride. 
 
 what they call the good society of the colony. When 
 I think what my position would have been now, had 
 I not met with them, I grow quite frightened. 
 
 " I have to write to papa, and must close this. I 
 have requested Captain Cannonby to write to you 
 himself, and give ^''ou particulars about the last 
 moments of Frederick. Send me the money 
 without delay, dear aunt. The place is hateful to 
 me now he is gone, and I'd rather be dead than, 
 stop in it. 
 
 " Your affectionate and afflicted niece, 
 
 " Sibylla Massingbird." 
 
 Lionel folded the letter musingly. "It would 
 almost appear that they had not heard of your son's 
 accession to Verner's Pride," he remarked to Mrs. 
 Verner. " It is not alluded to, in any way." 
 
 " I think it is sure they had not heard of it," she 
 answered. " I remarked so to Mary Tynn. The 
 letters must have been delayed in their passage. 
 Lionel, you will see to the sending out of the 
 money for me." 
 
 *' Immediately," replied Lionel. 
 
 " And when do you come home ?" 
 
 " Do you mean — do you mean when do I come 
 here ? " returned Lionel. 
 
 " To be sure I mean it. It is your home. 
 Verner's Pride is your home, Lionel, now ; not 
 mine. It has been yours this three or four months 
 past, only we did not know it. You must come 
 home to it at once, Lionel." 
 
NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 329 
 
 "1 sui^pose it will be right that I should do so," 
 he answered. 
 
 "And I shall be thankful," said Mrs. Verner. 
 " There will be a master once more, and no need to 
 bother me. I have been bothered, Lionel. Mr. 
 Jan" — turning to the bureau — " it's that which has 
 made me feel ill. One comes to me with some 
 worry or other, and another comes to me : they loill 
 come to me. The complaints and tales of that Roy 
 fidget my life c^t." 
 
 " I shall discharge Roy at once, Mrs. Verner." 
 
 Mrs. Verner made a deprecator}^ movement of 
 the hands, as much as to say that it was no business 
 of hers. " Lionel, I have only one request to make 
 of you : never speak of the estate to me again, or of 
 anything connected with its management. You are 
 its sole master, and can do as you please. Shall 
 you turn me out?" 
 
 Lionel's face flushed. " No, Mrs. Verner,"" he 
 almost passionately answered. " You could not 
 think so." 
 
 " You have the right. Had Fred come home, he 
 would have had the right. But I'd hardly reconcile 
 m3'self to any other house now." 
 
 " It is a right which I should never exercise," 
 said Lionel. 
 
 " I shall mostly keep my room," resumed Mrs. 
 Verner. " Perhaps wholly keep it : and Mary Tynn 
 will wait upon me. The servants will be yours, 
 Lionel. In fact, they are yours : not mine. What 
 a blessing ! to know that I may be at peace from 
 
330 vekner's pride. 
 
 henceforth : that the care will be upon another's 
 shoulders ! My poor Fred ! My dear sons ! I 
 little thought I was taking leave of them both for 
 the last time ! " 
 
 Jan jumped off his bureau. Now that the brunt 
 of the surprise was over, and plans began to be 
 discussed, Jan bethought himself of his impatient 
 sick list, who were doubtlessly wondering at the 
 non-appearance of their doctor. Lionel rose to 
 depart with him. 
 
 "But, you should not go," said Mrs. Verner. 
 " In five minutes I vacate this stud}- ; resign it to 
 you. This change will give you plenty to do, 
 Lionel." 
 
 " I know it will, dear j\Irs. Verner. I shall be 
 back soon ; but I must hasten to acquaint my 
 mother." 
 
 " You will promise not to go away again, Lionel. 
 It is your lawful home, remember." 
 
 " I shall not go away again," was Lionel's answer. 
 And Mrs. Verner breathed freely. To be eman- 
 cipated from what she had regarded as the great 
 worry of life, was felt to be a relief. Now she could 
 eat and sleep all day, and never need be asked a 
 single question, or hear whether the outside world 
 had stopped, or was going on still. 
 
 " You will just pen a few words for me to Sibylla, 
 Lionel," she called out. '' I am past much writing 
 now." 
 
 " If it be necessar}^ that I should," he coldly 
 replied. 
 
NEWS FEOM AUSTRALIA. 331 
 
 "And send them with the remittance," concluded 
 Mrs. Verner. " You will know how much to send. 
 Tell Sibylla that Verner' s Pride is no longer mine, 
 and I cannot invite her to it. It would hardly be 
 the — the thing for a young girl, and she's little 
 better, to be living here with you all day long, and 
 I always shut up in my room. AVould it ? " 
 
 Lionel somewhat haughtily shrugged his shoulders. 
 " Scarcely," he answered. 
 
 " She must go to her sisters, of course. Poor 
 girl ! what a thing it seems, to have to return to her 
 old house again ! " 
 
 Jan put in his head. " I thought you said you 
 were coming, Lionel ? " 
 
 " So I am ; this instant." And they departed 
 together : encountering Mr. Bitterworth in the 
 road. 
 
 He grasped hold of Lionel in much excitement. 
 
 " Is it true — what people are saying ? That you 
 have come into Verner' s Pride ? " 
 
 " Quite true," replied Lionel. And he gave Mr. 
 Bitterworth a summary of the facts. 
 
 *' Now look there ! " cried Mr. Bitterworth, who 
 was evidently deeply impressed ; " it's of no use to 
 try to go against honest right : sooner or later it 
 will triumph. In your case, it has come wonder- 
 fully soon. I told my old friend that the Massing- 
 birds had no claim to Veriier's Pride ; that if they 
 were exalted to it, over your head, it would not 
 prosper them. Not, poor fellows, that I thought 
 of their death. May you remain in undisturbed 
 
332 verner's pride. 
 
 possession of it, Lionel ! May your children 
 succeed to it after you ! " 
 
 Lionel and Jan continued their road. But the}" 
 soon parted compan}^ for Jan turned off to his 
 patients. Lionel made the best of his way to 
 Deerham Court. In the room he entered, steadily 
 practising, was Lucy Tempest, alone. She turned 
 her head to see who it was, and at the sight of 
 Lionel started up in alarm. 
 
 "What is it? Why are you back?" she 
 exclaimed. " Has the train broken down ? " 
 
 Lionel smiled at her vehemence ; at her crim- 
 soned countenance ; at her unbounded astonishment 
 altogether. 
 
 " The train has not broken down, I trust, Lucy. 
 I did not go with it. Do jon know where my 
 mother is ? " 
 
 " She is gone out with Decima.'' 
 
 He felt a temporary disappointment: the news, 
 he was aware, would be so deeply welcome to Lady 
 Verner. Lucy stood regarding him, waiting the 
 solution of the mystery. 
 
 " What should you say, Lucy, if I tell you 
 Deerham is not going to get rid of me at all ? " 
 
 " I do not understand 3'ou," replied Lucy, 
 colouring with surprise and emotion. "Do you 
 mean that you are going to remain here ? " 
 
 " Not here — in this ' house. That would be a 
 calamity for you." 
 
 Lucy looked as if it would be anything but a 
 calamity. 
 
NEWS FROM AUSTRALIA. 333 
 
 " You are as bad as our French mistress at the 
 rectory," she said. " She would never tell us 
 anything : she used to make us guess." 
 
 Her words were interrupted by the breaking out 
 of the church bells; a loud peal, teUing of joy. A 
 misgiving crossed Lionel that the news had got 
 wind, and that some officious person had been 
 setting on the bells to ring for him, in honour of 
 his succession. The exceeding bad taste of the 
 proceeding — should it prove so — called a flush of 
 anger to his brow. His inheritance had cost Mrs. 
 Verner her son. 
 
 The suspicion was confirmed. One of the 
 servants, who had been to the village, came running 
 in at this juncture with open mouth, calling out 
 that Mr. Lionel had come into his own, and that 
 the bells were ringing for it. Lucy Tempest heard 
 the words, and turned to Lionel. 
 
 " It is so, Lucy," he said, answering the look. 
 " Verner's Pride is at last mine. But " 
 
 She grew strangely excited. Lionel could see 
 her heart beat, — could see the tears of emotion 
 gather in her eyes. 
 
 " I am so glad ! " she said, in a low, heartfelt 
 tone. " I thought it would be so, sometime. Have 
 you found the codicil ? " 
 
 " Hush, Lucy ! Before you express your glad- 
 ness, you must learn that sad cu'cumstances are 
 mixed with it. The codicil has not been found : 
 but Frederick Massingbird has died." 
 
 Lucy shook her head. " He had no right to 
 
334 VERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 Verner's Pride, and I did not like liim. I am 
 sorry, though, for himself, that he is dead. And — 
 Lionel — jou will never go away now ? " 
 
 " I suppose not : to live." 
 
 *' I am so glad ! I may tell you that I am glad, 
 may I not ? '' 
 
 She half timidly held out her hand as she spoke. 
 Lionel took it between both of his, toying with it as 
 tenderly as he had ever toyed with Sibylla's. And 
 his low voice took a tone wliich was certainly not 
 that of hatred, as he bent towards her. 
 
 "I am glad also, Lucy. The least pleasant 
 part of my recent projected departure was the con- 
 stantly remembered fact that I was about to put a 
 distance of many miles between myself and you. It 
 grew all too palpable towards the last." 
 
 Lucy laughed and drew away her hand, her 
 radiant countenance falling before the gaze of 
 Lionel. 
 
 " So you will be troubled with me yet, you see. 
 Miss Lucy," he added in a lighter tone, as he left 
 her and strode off with a step that might have 
 matched Jan's, on his w^ay to ask the bells whether 
 they were not ashamed of themselves. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 ROY EATING HUMBLE PIE. 
 
 And so the laws of right and justice had even- 
 tually triumphed, and Lionel Verner took possession 
 of his own. Mrs. Verner took possession of her 
 own — her chamber ; all she was ever again likely to 
 take possession of at Verner^s Pride. She had no 
 particular ailment, unless heaviness could be called 
 an ailment, and steadily refused any suggestion of 
 Jan's. 
 
 " You'll go off in a fit," said plain Jan to her. 
 
 " Then I must go," replied Mrs. Verner. " I 
 can't submit to be made wretched with your medical 
 and surgical remedies, Mr. Jan. Old people should 
 be let alone, to doze away their days in peace." 
 
 "As good give some old people poison outright, 
 as let them always doze," remonstrated Jan. 
 
 " You'd like me to live sparingly — to starve my- 
 self, in short — and you'd like me to take exercise ! " 
 returned Mrs. Verner. " Wouldn't you, now ? " 
 
 " It would add ten years to your life," said Jan. 
 
 " I daresay ! It's of no use your coming- 
 preaching to me, Mr. Jan. Go and try your 
 eloquence upon others. I always have had enough 
 to eat, and I hope I always shall. And as to my 
 
836 verner's pride. 
 
 getting about, or walking, I can't. When folks 
 come to be my size, it's cruel to want them to do it." 
 
 Mrs. Verner was nodding before she had well 
 spoken the last words, and Jan said no more. You 
 may have met with some such case in your own 
 experience. 
 
 When the news of Lionel Yemer's succession fell 
 upon Roy the baihff, he could have gnashed his 
 teeth in very vexation. Had he foreseen wdiat was 
 to happen he would have played his cards so 
 differently. It had not entered into the head-piece 
 of Roy, to reflect that Frederick Massingbird might 
 die. Scarcely, had it, that he could die. A man, 
 young and strong, what was likely to take him off ? 
 John had died, it was true ; but John's death had 
 been a violent one. Had Roy argued the point at 
 all — which he did not, for it had never occurred to 
 his mind — he might have assumed that because 
 John had died, Fred was the more likely to live. 
 It is a somewhat rare case for two brothers to be 
 cut down in their youth and prime, one closely 
 following upon the other. 
 
 Roy lived in a cottage standing by itself, a little 
 beyond Clay Lane, but not so far off as the game- 
 keeper's. On the morning when the bells had 
 rung out — to the surprise and vexation of Lionel — 
 Roy happened to be at home. Roy never grudged 
 himself holiday when it could be devoted to the 
 benefit of his wife. A negative benefit she may 
 have thought it, since it invariably consisted in 
 what Roy called a " blowing of her up." 
 
EOY EATING HUMBLE PIE. 33'> 
 
 Mrs. Eoy had heard that the Australian mail was 
 in. But the postman had not heen to their door, 
 therefore no letter could have arrived for them from 
 Luke. A great many mails, as it appeared to Mrs. 
 Roy, had come in with the like result. That Luke 
 had been murdered, as his master John Massing- 
 bird had been before him, was the least she feared. 
 Her fears and troubles touching Luke, were great ; 
 they were never at rest ; and her tears fell fre- 
 quently. All of which excited the ire of Roy. 
 
 She sat in a rocking-chair in the kitchen — a chair 
 which had been new when the absent Luke was a 
 baby, and which was sure to be the seat chosen by 
 Mrs. Roy when she was in a mood to indulge any 
 passing tribulation. The kitchen opened to the 
 road, as the kitchens of many of the dwellings did 
 open to it ; a parlour was on the right, which was 
 used only on the grand occasion of receiving 
 visitors; and the stairs, leading to two rooms 
 above, ascended from the kitchen. Here she sat, 
 silently wiping away her dropping tears -with a red 
 cotton pocket-handkerchief. Roy was not in the 
 sweetest possible temper himself that morning, so 
 of course he turned it upon her. 
 
 " There you be, a-snivelhng as usual ! I'd have 
 a bucket always at my feet, if I was you. It might 
 save the trouble of catching rain-water." 
 
 " If the letter-man had got anything for us, he'd 
 have been round here an hour ago," responded Mrs. 
 Roy, bursting into unrestrained sobs. 
 
 Now, tliis happened to be the very grievance that 
 
 VOL. I. z 
 
338 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 was affecting the gentleman's temper — the postman's 
 not having gone there. They had heard that the 
 Australian mail was in. Not that he was actuated 
 by any strong paternal feelings — such sentiments 
 did not prey upon Mr. Eoy. The hearing or the 
 not hearing from his son would not thus have 
 disturbed his equanimity. He took it for granted 
 that Luke was alive somewhere — probably getting 
 on — and was content to wait until himself or a 
 letter should turn up. The one whom he had been 
 expecting to hear from, was his new master, Mr. 
 Massingbird. He had fondly indulged the hope 
 that credential letters would arrive for him, con- 
 firming him in his place of manager ; he believed 
 that this mail would inevitably bring them, as the 
 last mails had not. Hence he had stayed at home 
 to receive the postman. But the postman had not 
 come, and it gave Eoy a pain in his temper. 
 
 " They be a-coming back, that's what it is," was 
 the conclusion he arrived at, when his disappoint- 
 ment had a little subsided. " Perhaps they might 
 have come by this very ship ! I wonder if it brings 
 folks as well as letters ? " 
 
 " I know he must be dead ! " sobbed Mrs. Eoy. 
 
 " He's dead as much as you be," retorted Eoy. 
 *' He's a-making his fortune, and he'll come home 
 after it — that's what Luke's a-doing. For all you 
 know he may be come, too." 
 
 The words appeared to startle Mrs. Eoy ; she 
 looked up, and he saw that her face had gone white 
 with terror. 
 
ROY EATING HUMBLE PIE. 839 
 
 " Wliy ! what does ail you ? " cried he, in wonder. 
 *' Be you took crazy ? " 
 
 " I don't want him to come home," she replied in 
 an awe-struck whisper. " Roy, I don't want him to." 
 
 "You don't want to be anything but a idiot," 
 returned Eoy with supreme contempt. 
 
 " But I'd like to hear from him," she wailed, 
 swaying herself to and fro. "Tm always a-dreaming 
 of it." 
 
 " You'll just dream a bit about getting the dinner 
 ready," commanded Roy, morosely ; " that's what 
 you'll dream about now. I said I'd have biled pork 
 and turnips, and nicely you be a-getting on with it. 
 Hark ye ! Pm a-going now, but I shall be in at 
 twelve, and if it ain't ready, mind your skin ! " 
 
 He swung open the kitchen door just in time to 
 hear the church bells burst out with a loud and 
 joj^ous peal. It surprised Roy. In quiet Deerham, 
 such sounds were not very frequent. 
 
 " What's up now ? " cried Roy, savagely. Not 
 that the abstract fact of the bells ringing was of any 
 moment to him, but he was in a mood to be angry 
 with everything. " Here, you ! " continued he, 
 seizing hold of a boy who was running by, " what be 
 them bells a-clattering for ? " 
 
 Thus brought-to summarily, the boy had no 
 resource but to stop. It was a young gentleman 
 whom you have had the pleasure of meeting before 
 — Master Dan Duff. So fast had he been flying, 
 that a moment or two elapsed ere he could get 
 breath to speak. 
 
 z2 
 
340 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 The delay did not tend to soothe his capturer ; and 
 he administered a slight shake. *' Can't you speak, 
 Dan Duff? Don't you see who it is that's a-asking 
 of you ? What be them bells a-working for ?" 
 
 " Please, sir, it's for Mr. Lionel Verner." 
 
 The answer took Roy somewhat aback. He knew 
 — as everybody else knew — that Mr. Lionel Verner's 
 departure from Deerham was fixed for that day; but 
 to believe that the bells would ring out a peal of joy 
 on that account was a staggerer even to Roy's ears. 
 Dan Duff found himself treated to another shake^ 
 together with a sharp reprimand. 
 
 " So they be, a-ringing for him ! " panted he. 
 " There ain't no call to shake my inside out of me 
 for saying so. Mr. Lionel have got Verner's Pride 
 at last, and he ain't a-going away at all, and the 
 bells be a-ringing for it. Mother have sent me to 
 tell the gamekeeper. She said he'd sure to give me 
 a penny, if I was the first to tell him." 
 
 Roy let go the boy. His arms and his mouth 
 alike dropped. " Is that — that there codicil found ? " 
 gasped he. 
 
 Dan Duff shook his head. " I dun know nothink 
 about codinals," said he. " Mr. Fred Massingbird's 
 dead. He can't keep Mr. Lionel out of his own any 
 longer, and the bells is a-ringing for it." 
 
 Unrestrained now, he sped awaj^ Roy was not 
 altogether in a state to stop him. He had turned of 
 a glowing heat, and was asking himself whether the 
 news could be true. Mrs. Roy stepped forward, her 
 tears arrested. 
 
ROY EATING HUMBLE PIE. 341 
 
 " Law, Koy, whatever shall yon do ? " spoke she, 
 deprecatingly. " I said as you should have kept in 
 with Mr. Lionel. You'll have to eat humble pie, for 
 certain." 
 
 The humble pie would taste none the more 
 palatable for his being reminded of it by his wife, 
 and Roy drove her back with a shower of harsh 
 w^ords. He shut the door with a bang, and went 
 out, a forlorn hope lighting him that the news might 
 be false. 
 
 But the news, he found, w^as too true. Frederick 
 Massingbird was really dead, and the true heir had 
 come into his own. 
 
 'Roy stood in much inward perturbation. The 
 eating of humble pie — as Mrs. Roy had been kind 
 enough to suggest — would not cost much to a man 
 of his cringing nature ; but he entertained a shrewd 
 suspicion that no amount of humble pie would avail 
 him with Mr. Verner ; that, in short, he should be 
 discarded entirely. While thus standing, the centre 
 of a knot of gossipers, for the news had caused 
 Deerham to collect in groups, the bells ceased as 
 suddenly as they had begun, and Lionel Verner 
 himself was observed coming from the direction of 
 the church. Roy stood out from the rest, and, as a 
 preliminary slice of the humble pie, took off his hat, 
 and stood bareheaded while Lionel passed by. 
 
 It did not avail him. On the following day Roy 
 found himself summoned to Verner s Pride. He 
 went up, and was shown to the old business room — 
 the study. 
 
342 VERNEIi's PRIDE. 
 
 All ! tilings were changed now ; changed from 
 what they had been ; and Koy was feeling it to his 
 heart's core. It was no longer the feeble invalid, 
 Stephen Verner, who sat there ; to whom all 
 business was unwelcome, and who shunned as much 
 of it as he could shun, leaving it to Roy : it was no 
 longer the ignorant and easy Mrs. Verner, to whom 
 (as she herself had once expressed it) Roy could 
 represent white as black, and black as white : but he 
 who reigned now was essentially master — master of 
 himself and of all who were dependent on him. 
 
 Roy felt it the moment he entered : felt it keenly. 
 Lionel stood before a table covered with papers. 
 He appeared to have risen from his chair and to be 
 searching for something. He lifted his head when 
 Roy appeared, quitted the table and stood looking 
 at the man, his figure drawn to its full height. The 
 exceeding nobility of the face and form struck 
 even Ro}'-. 
 
 But Lionel greeted him in a quiet, courteous tone : 
 to meet anyone, the poorest person on his estate 
 otherwise than courteous^, was next to an impossi- 
 bility for Lionel Verner. " Sit down, Roy," he said, 
 *' You are at no loss, I imagine, to guess what my 
 business is with you." 
 
 Roy did not accept the offered seat. He stood in 
 discomfiture, saying something to the effect that 
 he'd change his mode of dealing with the men, 
 would do all he could to give satisfaction to his 
 master, ]\Ir. Verner, if the latter would consent to 
 continue him on. 
 
HOY EATING HUMBLE PIE. 343 
 
 " You must know, yourself, that I am not likely 
 to do it," returned Lionel, briefly. " But I do not 
 wish to be harsh, Eoy, — I trust I never shall be 
 harsh with anyone — and if you choose to accept of 
 work on the estate, you can do so." 
 
 " You'll not continue me in my post over the 
 brickyard, sir— over the men generally ? " 
 
 " No," replied Lionel. " Perhaps the less w^e go 
 into those past matters the better. I have no 
 objection to speak of them, Eoy; but, if I do, you 
 will hear some home truths that may not be 
 palatable. You can have work if you wish for it; 
 and good pay." 
 
 *' As one of the men, sir ? " asked Roy, a shade of 
 grumbling in his tone. 
 
 " As one of the superior men ! " 
 
 Eoy hesitated. The blow had fallen ; but it was 
 only w^hat he feared. " Might I ask as you'd give 
 me a day to consider it over, sii' ? " he presently 
 said. 
 
 " A dozen days if you choose. The work is 
 always to be had : it will not run away: if you prefer 
 to spend time deliberating upon the point, it is your 
 affair, not mine." 
 
 " Thank ye, su\ Then I'll think it over. It'll be 
 hard lines, coming down to be a workman, where 
 I've been, as may be said, a sort of master." 
 
 " Eoy." 
 
 Eoy turned back. He had been moving away. 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I shall expect you to pay rent for your cottage 
 
344 verner's pride. 
 
 now, if 3'ou remain in it. ]\Ir. Verner, I believe, 
 threw it into your post ; made it part of your 
 perquisites. Mrs. Verner has, no doubt, done the 
 same. But that is at an end. I can show no more 
 favour to you than I do to others." 
 
 " I'll think it over, sir," concluded Eoy, his tone 
 as sullen a one as he dared let appear. And he 
 departed. 
 
 Before the w^eek was out, he came again to 
 Verner's Pride, and said he would accept the work, 
 and pay rent for the cottage : but he hoped Mr. 
 Verner would name a fair rent. 
 
 " I should not name an unfair one, Eoy," was the 
 reply of Lionel. " You will pay the same that 
 others pay, whose dwellings are the same size as 
 yours. Mr. Verner's scale of rents is not high, but 
 low ; as you know : I shall not alter it." 
 
 And so Roy continued on the estate. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 "it's appleplexy." 
 
 A SHORT period elapsed. One night Jan Verner, 
 upon getting into bed, found lie need not have taken 
 the trouble, for the night-bell rang, and Jan had to 
 get up again. He opened his window and called out 
 to know who was there. A boy came round from 
 the surgery door into view, and Jan recognised him 
 for the youngest son of his brother's gamekeeper, a 
 youth of twelve. He said his mother w^as ill. 
 " What's the matter with her ? " asked Jan. 
 "Please, sir, she's took bad in the stomach. 
 She's a-groaning awful. Father thinks she'll die." 
 
 Jan dressed himself and started off, carrying with 
 him a dose of tincture of opium. When he arrived, 
 however, he found the woman so violently sick and 
 ill, that he suspected it did not arise simply from 
 natm-al causes. " What has she been eating ? " 
 inquired Jan. 
 
 " Some late mushrooms out of the fields." 
 "Ah, that's just it," said Jan. And he knew the 
 woman had been poisoned. He took a leaf from 
 his pocket-book, wrote a rapid w^ord on it, and 
 ordered the boy to carry it to the house, and give it 
 to Mr Cheese. 
 
346 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 " Now, look j^ou, Jack," said he. " If you want 
 your mother to get well, you'll go there and back as 
 fast as yom' legs can carry you. I can do little till 
 you bring me what I have sent for. Go past the 
 willow pool, and straight across to my house." 
 
 The boy looked aghast at the injunction. " Past 
 the willow pool ! " echoed he. *' I'd not go past 
 there, sir, at night, for all the world." 
 
 " "Why not ? " questioned Jan. 
 
 " I'd see Rachel Frost's ghost, may be," returned 
 Jack, his round eyes open with perplexity. 
 
 The conceit of seeing a ghost amused Jan beyond 
 everything. He sat down on a high press that was 
 in the kitchen, and grinned at the boy. " What 
 would the ghost do to you ? " cried he. 
 
 Jack Broom could not say. All he knew was, 
 that neither he, nor a good many more, had gone 
 near that pond at night since the report had arisen 
 (which of course it had, simultaneously with the 
 death) that Rachel's ghost was to be seen there. 
 
 " Wouldn't you go to save your mother ? " 
 cried Jan. 
 
 " I'd — I'd not go to be made winner of the leg of 
 mutton atop of a greased pole," responded the boy, 
 in a mortal fright, lest Jan should send him. 
 
 " You are a nice son, Mr. Jack ! A brave young 
 man, truly ! " 
 
 " Jim Hook, he was a-going by the XDond one 
 night, and he see'd it," cried the boy, earnestly. 
 "It don't take two minutes longer to cut down Clay 
 Lane, please, sir." 
 
''it's appleplexy." 347 
 
 " Be off, then," said Jan, " and see how quick you 
 can be. What has put such a thing in his head ? " 
 he presently asked of the gamekeeper, who was hard 
 at work, preparing hot water. 
 
 " Little fools ! " ejaculated the man: '' I think 
 the report first took its rise, sir, through Eobin 
 Frost's going to the pond of a moonhght night, and 
 walking about on its brink." 
 
 " Eobert Frost did ! " cried Jan. " What did he 
 do that for ? " 
 
 " What indeed, sir ! It did no good, as I told 
 him more than once, when I came upon him there. 
 He has not been lately, I think; Folks get up a 
 talk that Robin went there to meet his sister's spirit, 
 and it put the youngsters into a fright." 
 
 Back came Mr. Jack in an incredibly short time. 
 He could not have come much quicker, had he 
 dashed right through the pool. Jan set himself to 
 his work, and did not leave the woman until she 
 was better. That was the best of Jan Verner. He 
 paid every atom as much attention to the poor as 
 he did to the rich. Jan never considered who or 
 what his patients were : all his object was, to get 
 them well. 
 
 His nearest w^ay home lay past the ^pool, and he 
 took it : he did not fear poor Rachel's ghost. It 
 was a sharpish night, bright, somewhat of a frost. 
 As Jan neared the pool, he turned his head towards 
 it and half stopped, gazing on its still waters. He 
 had been away when the catastrophe happened; 
 but the circumstances had been detailed to him. 
 
348 verner's pride. 
 
 " How it would startle Jack and a few of those 
 timid ones," said he, aloud, " if some night — " 
 
 " Is that you, sir ? " 
 
 Some persons, with nerves less serene than Jan's, 
 might have started at the sudden interruption there 
 and then. Not so Jan. He turned round with 
 composure, and saw Bennet, the footman from 
 Verner's Pride. The man had come up hastily 
 from hehind the hedge. 
 
 " I have been to your house, sir, and they told me 
 you were at the gamekeeper's, so I was hastening 
 there. My mistress is taken ill, sir." 
 
 "Is it a fit?" cried Jan, remembering his fears 
 and prognostications, with regard to Mrs. Verner. 
 
 " It's worse than that, sir ; it's appleplexy. 
 Leastways, sir, my master and Mrs. Tynn's afraid 
 that it is. She looks like dead, sir, and there's 
 froth on her mouth." 
 
 Jan waited for no more. He turned short round, 
 and flew by the nearest path to Verner's Pride. 
 
 The evil had come. Apoplexy it indeed was, and 
 Jan feared that all his efforts to remedy it would be 
 of no avail. 
 
 " It was by the merest chance that I found it out, 
 sir," Mrs. Tynn said to him. " I happened to wake 
 up, and I thought how quiet my mistress was lying; 
 mostly she might be heard ever so far off when she 
 was asleep. I got up, sir, and took the rushlight 
 out of the shade, and looked at her. And then I 
 saw what had happened, and went and called Mr. 
 Lionel." 
 
4» 
 
 " IT S APPLEPLEXY. 349 
 
 *' Can you restore her, Jan ?" whispered Lionel. 
 
 Jan made no reply. He had his own private 
 opinion : but, whatever that may have been, he set 
 himself to the task in right earnest. 
 
 She never rallied. She lived only until the dawn 
 of morning. Scarcely had the clock told eight, 
 when the death-bell went booming over the village : 
 the bell of that very church which had recently been 
 so merry for the succession of Lionel. And when 
 people came running from far and near to inquire 
 for whom the passing-bell was ringing out, they 
 hushed their voices and their footsteps when 
 informed that it was for Mrs. Verner. 
 
 Verily, within the last year, Death had made 
 himself at home at Verner' s Pride ! 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 jan's remedy for a cold. 
 
 A COLD bright day in mid-winter. Luncheon 
 was just over at Deerham Court, and Lady Verner, 
 Decima, and Lucy Tempest had gathered round the 
 fire in the dining-room. Lucy had a cold. She 
 laughed at it; said she was used to colds ; but Lady 
 Verner had insisted upon her wrapping herself in a 
 shawl, and not stirring out of the dining-room for 
 the day — which was the warmest room in the house. 
 So there reclined Lucy in state, in an arm-chair 
 with cushions ; half laughing at being made into an 
 invalid, half rebelling at it. 
 
 Lady Verner sat opposite to her. She wore a 
 rich black silk dress — the mourning for Mrs. 
 Verner — and a white lace cap of the finest guipure. 
 The white gloves on her hands were without a 
 wrinkle, and her curiously fine handkerchief lay on 
 her lap. Lady Verner could indulge her taste for 
 snowy gloves and for delicate handkerchiefs now, 
 untroubled by the thought of the money they cost. 
 The addition to her income, which she had spurned 
 from Stephen Verner, she accepted largely from 
 Lionel. Lionel was liberal as a man and as a son. 
 He would have given the half of his fortune to his 
 
jan's remedy for a cold. 351 
 
 mother, and not said " It is a gift." Deerham 
 Court had its carriage and horses now, and 
 Deerham Court had its additional servants. Lady 
 Verner visited and received compan}^, and the look 
 of care had gone from her face, and the querulous- 
 ness from her tone. 
 
 But it was in Lady Verner's nature to make a 
 trouble of things ; and if she could not do it in a 
 large way, she must do it in a small, To-daj^, 
 occurred this cold of Lucy's, and that afforded 
 scope for Lady Yerner. She sent for Jan as soon 
 as breakfast was over, in defiance of the laughing 
 protestations of Lucy. But Jan had not made his 
 appearance yet, and Lady Verner waxed wroth. 
 
 He was coming in now, — now, as the servant 
 was carrying out the luncheon-tray, entering by 
 his usual mode — the back-door — and nearly knock- 
 ing over the servant and tray in his haste, as his 
 long legs strode to the dining-room. Lady Verner 
 had left off reproaching Jan with using the servants' 
 entrance, finding it waste of breath : Jan would have 
 come down the chimney with the sweeps, had it 
 saved him a minute's time. "Who's ill?" asked 
 he. 
 
 Lady Verner answered the question by a sharp 
 reprimand, touching Jan's tardiness. 
 
 "I can't be in two places at once," good 
 humouredly replied Jan. "I have been with one 
 patient since four o'clock this morning, until five 
 minutes ago. Who is it that's ill ? " 
 
 Lucy explained her ailments, giving Jan her own 
 
352 A-ERNER S PRIDE. 
 
 view of them : that there was nothing the matter 
 with her but a bit of a cold. 
 
 "Law!" contemptuously returned Jan. "If I 
 didn't think somebody must be dying ! Cheese said 
 they'd been after me about six times ! " 
 
 " If you don't like to attend Miss Tempest, you 
 can let it alone," said Lady Verner. " I can send 
 elsewhere." . 
 
 "I'll attend anybody that I'm wanted to attend," 
 said Jan. " Where d'ye feel the symptoms of the 
 cold ? " asked he of Lucy. " In the head or chest ? " 
 
 "I am beginning to feel them a little here,' 
 replied Luc}^, touching her chest. 
 
 " Only beginning to feel them, Miss Lucy ? " 
 
 " Only beginning, Jan." 
 
 "Well then, you just wring out a long strip of 
 rag in cold water, and put it round your neck, 
 letting the ends rest on the chest," said Jan. " A 
 double piece, from two to three inches broad. It 
 must be covered outside with thin water-proof 
 skin to keep the wet in : you know what I mean : 
 Decima's got some : oil-skin's too thick. And get a 
 lot of toast and water, or lemonade ; any liquid you 
 like; and sip a drop of it every minute, letting it go 
 down your throat slowly. You'U soon get rid of 
 your sore chest if you do this : and you'll have no 
 cough." 
 
 Lady Verner listened to these directions of Jan^s 
 in unqualified amazement. She had been accus- 
 tomed to the very professional remedies of Dr. 
 West. Decima laughed. "Jan," said she, "I 
 
JANS REMEDY F'dR A COLD. 853 
 
 could fancy an old woman prescribing this, but 
 not a doctor.'' 
 
 " It'll cure," returned Jan. " It will prevent the 
 cough coming on : and prevention's better than 
 cure. You try it at once, Miss Lucy ; and you'll 
 soon see. You will know then what to do if you 
 catch cold in future." 
 
 "Jan," interposed Lady Verner, " I consider the 
 very mention of such remedies beneath the dignity 
 of a medical man." 
 
 Jan opened his eyes. " But if thej^ are the best 
 remedies, mother ?" 
 
 " At any rate, Jan, if this is your fashion of pre- 
 scribing, you will not fill your pockets," said Decima. 
 
 " I don't want to fill my pockets by robbing 
 X^eople," returned plain Jan. " If I know a remedy 
 that costs nothing, why shoulchi't I let my patients 
 have the benefit of it, instead of charging them for 
 drugs that won't do half the good ? " 
 
 "Jan," said Luc}^ " if it cost gold I should try it. 
 I have great faith in what you say." 
 
 " All right," replied Jan. " But it must be done 
 at once, mind. If you let the cold get ahead first, 
 it will not be so efficacious. And now good day to 
 you all, for I must be off to my patients. Good- 
 bye, mother." 
 
 Away went Jan. And, amidst much laughter 
 from Lucy, the wet "rag," Jan's elegant phrase for 
 it, was put round her neck, and covered up. Lionel 
 came in, and they amused him b}^ reciting Jan's 
 prescription. 
 
 VOL. I. A A 
 
354 verner's pride. 
 
 " It is tliis house which has given her the cold," 
 gi'umbled Lady Verner, who invariably laid faults 
 and misfortunes upon something or somebody. 
 *' The servants are for ever opening that side door, 
 and then there comes a current of air throughout 
 the passage. Lionel, I am not sure but I shall 
 leave Deerham Court." 
 
 Lionel leaned against the mantel-piece, a smile 
 upon his face. He had completely recovered his 
 good looks, scared away though they had been for a 
 time hj his illness. He was in deep mourning for 
 Mrs. Verner. Decima looked up, surprised at Lady 
 Verner's last sentence. 
 
 *' Leave Deerham Court, mamma ! "When vou 
 are so much attached to it ! " 
 
 " I don't dishke it," acknowledged Lady Verner. 
 " But it suited me better when we were livincf 
 quietly, than it does now. If I could find a larger 
 house with the same conveniences, and in an agree- 
 able situation, I might leave this." 
 
 Decima did not repl}-. She felt sure that her 
 mother was attached to the house, and would never 
 quit it. Her eyes said as much as they encountered 
 Lionel's. 
 
 "I wish my mother would leave Deerham Court! " 
 he said aloud. 
 
 Lady Verner turned to him, '* Why should you 
 wish it, Lionel ? " 
 
 "I wish you would leave it to come to me, mother. 
 Verner's Pride wants a mistress." 
 
 " It will not find one in me," said Lady Verner. 
 
JAN S REMEDY FOR A COLD. 855 
 
 " Were you an old man, Lionel, I might then come. 
 Not as it is." 
 
 " What difference can my age make ? " asked 
 he. 
 
 "Every difference," said Lady Verner. "Were 
 you an old man, you might not he thinking of 
 gettmg married : as it is, you will he. Your wife 
 will reign at Verner's Pride, Lionel." 
 
 Lionel made no answer. 
 
 " You tvill he marrying sometime, I suj)pose ? " 
 reiterated Lady Verner with emphasis. 
 
 "I suppose I shall be," replied Lionel ; and his 
 eyes, as he spoke, involuntarily strayed to Lucj-. 
 She cau^i^ht the look, and blushed vividlv. 
 
 " How much of that do you intend to drink*, Miss 
 Lucy ? " asked Lionel, as she sipped the tumbler of 
 lemonade, at her elbow. 
 
 " Ever so many tumblers of it," she answered. 
 " Jan said I was to keep sipping it all day long. 
 The water, going down slowly, heals the chest." 
 
 " I believe if Jan told you to drink boiling water, 
 you'd do it, Lucy," cried Lady Verner. " You seem 
 to fall in with all he says." 
 
 " Because I like him. Lady Verner. Because I 
 have faith in him : and if Jan prescribes a thing, I 
 know that he has faith in it." 
 
 " It is not displaying a refined taste to like Jan," 
 observed Lady Verner, intending the words as a 
 covert reprimand to Luc3\ 
 
 But Lucy stood up for Jan. Even at the dread 
 of openly disagreeing with Lady Verner, Lucy would 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 r^t be unjust to one whom slie deemed of sterling 
 worth. 
 
 " I like Jan very much," said she, resolutelj', in 
 her championship. " There's nobody I like so well 
 as Jan, Lady Verner." 
 
 Lady Yerner made a slight movement with her 
 shoulders. It was almost as much as to say that 
 Lucy was growing as hopelessly incorrigible as Jan. 
 Lionel turned to Lucy. 
 
 ''Nobody you like so well as Jan, did you 
 say ? " 
 
 Poor Lucy ! If the look of Lionel, just before, 
 had brought the hot blush to her cheek, that blush 
 was nothing compared to the glowing crimson 
 which mantled there now. She had not been 
 thinking of one sort of liking when she so spoke of 
 Jan : the words had come forth in the honest sim- 
 plicity of her heart. 
 
 Did Lionel read the signs aright, as her eyes fell 
 before his ? Very probably. A smile stole over 
 his lips. 
 
 *' I do like Jan ver}- much," stammered Luc}', 
 essaying to mend the matter. " I may like him, I 
 suppose ? There's no harm in it." 
 
 " Oh ! no harm, certainh%" spoke Lady Yerner, 
 with a spice of irony. ''I never thought Jan could 
 be a favourite before. Not being fastidiously 
 polished j^ourself, Lucy — forgive my saying it — you 
 entertain, I conclude, a fellow feeling for Jan." 
 
 Lucy — for Jan's sake — would not be beaten. 
 
 " Don't you think it is better to be like Jan, 
 
JAN S REMEDY FOB A COLD. 357 
 
 Lady Verner, than — than — like Dr. West, for 
 instance ? " 
 
 " In what way ? " returned I^ady Verner. 
 
 "Jan is so true," debated Luc}^ ignoring the 
 question. 
 
 " And Dr. West was not, I suppose," retorted 
 Lady Verner. " He wrote false prescriptions, per- 
 haps ? Gave false advice ? " 
 
 Lucy looked a little foolish. " I will tell you the 
 difference, as it seems to me, between Jan and other 
 people," she said. " Jan is like a rough diamond — 
 real within, unpolished without — but a genuine 
 diamond withal. Many others are but the imitation 
 stone — glittering outside, false within." 
 
 Lionel was amused. 
 
 " Am I one of the false ones. Miss Lucy ? " 
 
 She took the question literally. 
 
 " No ; you are true," she answered, shaking her 
 head, and speaking with grave earnestness. 
 
 " Lucy, my dear, I would not espouse Jan's cause 
 so warmly, were I you," advised Lady Verner. " It 
 might be misconstrued." 
 
 " How so ? " simply asked Lucy. 
 
 " It might be thought that you — pray excuse the 
 common vulgarity of the suggestion — were in love 
 with Jan." 
 
 " In love with Jan ! " Lucy paused for a moment 
 after the words, and then burst into a merry fit of 
 laughter. " Oh, Lady Verner ! I cannot fancy any- 
 body falling in love with Jan. I don't think he 
 would know what to do." 
 
358 verner's pPwIde. 
 
 " I don't think he would," quietly replied Lady 
 Verner. 
 
 A peal at the courtyard bell, and the letting down 
 the steps of a carriage. Visitors for Lady Verner. 
 They were shown to the dra^ving-room, and the 
 servant came in. 
 
 " The Countess of Elmsley and Lady Mary, my 
 lady." 
 
 Lady Verner rose ^\ith alacrity. They were 
 favourite friends of hers — nearly the only close 
 friends she had made in her retirement. 
 
 " Lucy, you must not venture into the drawing- 
 room," she stayed to say. " The room is colder 
 than this. Come." 
 
 The last " come " was addressed conjointly to 
 her son and daughter. Decima responded to it, 
 and followed ; Lionel remained where he was. 
 
 " The cold room would not hurt me, but I am 
 glad not to go," began Luc}'-, subsiding into a 
 more easy tone, a more social manner, than she 
 ventured on in the presence of Lady Verner. "I 
 think morning visiting the greatest waste of time ! 
 I wonder who invented it ? " 
 
 " Somebody who wanted to kill time," answered 
 Lionel. 
 
 " It is not as though friends, who really cared for 
 each other, met and talked. The calls are made 
 just for form's sake, and for nothing else, /will 
 never fall into it when I am my own mistress." 
 
 " When is that to be ? " asked Lionel, smiling. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know," she answered, looking up 
 
JAN S REMEDY EOR A COLD. 359 
 
 at him in all confiding simplicit3\ " When papa 
 comes home, I suppose." 
 
 Lionel crossed over to where she was sitting. 
 
 " Lucy, I thank you for your partisanship of 
 Jan," he said, in a low, earnest tone. " I do not 
 believe anybody living knows his worth." 
 
 " Yes ; for I do," she replied, her eyes sparkling. 
 
 " Only, don't you get to like him too much — as 
 Lady Verner hinted," continued Lionel, his eyes 
 dancing with merriment at his own words. 
 
 Lucy's ej^elashes fell on her hot cheek. " Please 
 not to be so foolish," she answered, in a pleading 
 tone. 
 
 "Or a certain place — that has been mentioned 
 this morning — might have to go without a mistress 
 for good," he whispered. 
 
 What made him say it ? It is true he spoke 
 in a light, joking tone; but the words were not 
 justifiable, unless he meant to follow them up 
 seriously in future. He did mean to do so when 
 he spoke them. 
 
 Decima came in, sent by Lady Verner to demand 
 Lionel's attendance. 
 
 " I am coming directly," replied Lionel. And 
 Decima went back again. 
 
 " You ought to take Jan to live at Verner *s 
 Pride," said Lucy to him, the words unconsciously 
 proving that she had understood Lionel's allusion 
 to it. " If he were my brother, I would not let 
 him be always slaving himself at his profession." 
 
 "If he were your brother, Lucy, you would find 
 
800 verner's pride. 
 
 that Jan would slave just as lie does now, in spite 
 of you. Were Jan to come into Verner's Pride 
 to-morrow, through my death, I really believe he 
 Avould let it, and live on where he does, and doctor 
 the parish to the end of time." 
 
 " Will Verner's Pride go to Jan after you ? " 
 
 " That depends. It would, were I to die as I am 
 now, a single man. But I may have a wife and 
 children some time, Lucy," 
 
 '' So you ma}^," said Luc}^ filling up her tumbler 
 from the" jug of lemonade. " Please to go into the 
 drawing-room now, or Lady Verner will be angry. 
 Mary Elmsle3^'s there, you know." 
 
 She gave him a saucy glance from her soft bright 
 eyes. Lionel laughed. 
 
 " Who made you so wise about Mary Elmsley, 
 young lady ? " 
 
 " Lad}^ Verner," was Lucy's answer, her voice 
 subsiding into a confidential tone. " She tells us 
 all about it, me and Decima, when we are sitting 
 by the fire of an evening. She is to be the mistress 
 of Verner's Pride." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Lionel. " She is, is she ! 
 Shall I tell you something, Lucy ? " 
 
 '' Well ? " 
 
 " If that mistress-ship — is there such a word ? — 
 ever comes to pass, I shall not be the master of it." 
 
 Lucy looked pleased. " That is just what 
 Decima says. She says it to Lad}- Verner. I wish 
 3^ou would go to them." 
 
 " So I will. Good-bye. I shall not come in 
 
JAN S REMEDY FOR A COLD. 3G1 
 
 again. I have a liundrecl and one things to do 
 this afternoon." 
 
 He took her hand and held it. She, ever 
 courteous of manner, simple though she was, rose 
 and stood before him to say her adieu, her e3^es 
 raised to his, her pretty face upturned. 
 
 Lionel gazed do\\ii upon it. And, as he had 
 forgotten himself once before, so he now forgot 
 himself again. He clasped it to him with a sudden 
 movement of affection, and left on it some fervent 
 kisses, whispering tenderly : 
 
 " Take care of yourself, my darling Lucy ! " 
 
 Leaving her to make the best of the business, 
 Mr. Lionel proceeded to the drawing-room. A 
 few minutes' stay in it, and then he pleaded an 
 engagement, and departed. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IMPROVEMENTS. 
 
 Things were changed now out of doors. There 
 was no dissatisfaction, no complaining. Roy was 
 deposed from his petty authority, and all men were 
 at peace. With the exception, possibl}^, of Mr. 
 Peckaby. Mr. Peckaby did not find his shop 
 flourish. Indeed, far from flourishing, so com- 
 pletely was it deserted, that he was fain to give up 
 the trade, and accept work at Chuff the black- 
 smith's forge, to which employment, it appeared, 
 he had been brought up, A few stale articles 
 remained in the shop, and the counters remained ; 
 chiefly for show. Mrs. Peckaby made a pretence 
 of attending to customers ; but she did not get 
 two in a week. And if those two entered, they 
 could not be served, for she was i^retty sure to 
 be out, gossiping. 
 
 This state of things did not please Mrs. Peckaby. 
 In one point of view the failing of the trade pleased 
 her, because it left her less work to do; but 
 she did not like the failing of their income. 
 Whether the shop had been actually theirs, or 
 whether it had been Roy's, there was no doubt 
 that they had drawn sufficient from it to live com- 
 
IMPROVEMENTS. 3G3 
 
 fortabl}' and to find Mrs. Peckaby in smart caps. 
 This source was gone, and all they had now was 
 an ignominious fourteen shillings a week, which 
 Peckaby earned. The prevalent opinion in Clay 
 Lane was, that this was quite as much as Peckaby 
 deserved; and that it was a special piece of un- 
 deserved good fortune which had taken off the 
 blacksmith's brother and assistant in the nick of 
 time, Joe Chuff, to make room for him. Mrs. 
 Peckaby, however, was in a state of semi-rebellion ; 
 the worse, that she did not know upon whom to 
 visit it, or see any remedy. She took to passing 
 her time in groaning and tears, somewhat after the 
 fashion of Dinah Eoj^, venting her complaints upon 
 anybody that would listen to her. 
 
 Lionel had not said to the men, " You shall leave 
 Peckaby's shop." He had not even hinted to them 
 that it might be desirable to leave it. In short, he 
 had not interfered. But, the restraint of Koy being 
 removed from the men, they quitted it of their own 
 accord. " No more Eoy ; no more Peckaby ; no 
 more grinding down — hurrah ! " shouted they, and 
 went back to the old shops in the village. 
 
 All sorts of improvements had Lionel begun. 
 That is, he had planned them : begun 3^et, they 
 were not. Building better tenements for the 
 labourers, repairing and draining the old ones, 
 adding whatever might be wanted to make the 
 dwellings healthy : draining, ditching, hedging. " It 
 shall not be said that while I live in a palace, my 
 poor live in pigsties," said Lionel to Mr. Bitter- 
 
3G4 VERNEPw's PRIPE. 
 
 ■worth one day. " I'll do what I can to drive that 
 periodical ague from the place." 
 
 "Have you counted the cost?" Avas Mr. Bitter- 
 worth's rejoinder. 
 
 " No," said Lionel. " I don't intend to count it. 
 Whatever the changes may cost, I shall carry them 
 out." 
 
 And Lionel, like other new schemers, was red-hot 
 upon them. He drew out plans in his head and 
 with his pencil ; he consulted architects, he spent 
 half his da3^s with builders. Lionel v;as astonished 
 at the mean, petty acts of past tjTanny which came 
 to light, exercised by Eoy : far more than he had 
 had any idea of. He blushed for himself and for 
 his uncle, that such a state of things had been 
 allowed to go on : he wondered that it could have 
 gone on : that he had been blind to so much of it, 
 or that the men had not exercised Lynch law upon 
 Eoy. 
 
 Eoy had taken his place in the brickyard, as 
 workman ; but Lionel, in the anger of the moment, 
 when these things came out, felt inclined to spurn 
 him from the land. He would have done it but for 
 his promise to the man himself; and for the pale 
 sad face of Mrs. Roy. In the hour when his anger 
 was at its height, the woman came up to Yerner's 
 Pride, stealthil}^ as it seemed, and craved him to 
 write to Australia, "now he was a grand gentleman," 
 and ask the " folks over there " if they could send 
 back news of her son. " It's going on of a twelve- 
 month since he writed to us, sir, and we don't know 
 
IMPROVEMENTS. " 365 
 
 where to write to liim, and I'm a'most fretted into 
 my grave," 
 
 " My opinion is, that he is coming home," said 
 Lionel. 
 
 " Heaven sink the ship first ! " she involuntarily 
 muttered, and then she burst into a violent flood of 
 tears. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed Lionel. 
 ** Don't you want him to come home ? " 
 
 "No, sir. No." 
 
 *' But why ? Are you fearing " — he jumped to 
 the most probable solution of her words that he 
 could suggest — " are jon fearing that he and Roy 
 would not agree ? " — that there would be unpleasant 
 scenes between them, as there used to be ? " 
 
 The Avomah had her face buried in her hands, 
 and she never lifted it as she answered, in a stifled 
 voice, " It's what I'm a-fearing, sir." 
 
 Lionel could not quite understand her. He 
 thought her more weak and silly than usual. 
 
 " But he is not coming home,'' she resumed. 
 " No, sir, I don't believe that England will ever see 
 him again : and it's best as it is, for there's nothing 
 but care and sorrow here, in the old country. But 
 I'd like to know what's become of him ; wdiether he 
 is alive or dead, whether he is starving or in 
 comfort. Oh, sir!" she added, with a burst of 
 wailing anguish, " write for me, and ask news of 
 liim ! They'd answer you. IMy heart is aching 
 for it." 
 
 He did not explain to her then, how ver}^ 
 
366 VEENERS PRIDE. 
 
 uncertain was the fate of emigrants to that 
 country; how next to impossible it might be to 
 obtain intelligence of an obscure young man like 
 Luke : he contented himself with giving her what 
 he thought would be better comfort. 
 
 *' Mrs. Frederick Massingbu'd will be returning 
 in the course of a few months, and I think she may 
 bring news of him. Should she not, I will see what 
 inquiries can be made." 
 
 " Will she be coming soon, sir ? " 
 
 " In two or three months, I should suppose. 
 The Miss Wests may be able to tell you more 
 definitely, if they have heard from her." 
 
 " Thank ye, sir ; then 111 wait till she's home. 
 You'U not tell Roy that I have been up here, sir ? " 
 
 " Not I," said Lionel. " I was debating, when 
 you came in, whether I should not turn Ro}^ off the 
 estate altogether. His past conduct to the men has 
 been disgraceful." 
 
 *' Ay, it have, sir ! But it was my fate to many 
 him, and I have had to look on in quiet, and see 
 things done, not daring to say as my soul's my own. 
 It's not my fault, sir." 
 
 Lionel knew that it was not. He pitied her, 
 rather than blamed. 
 
 " Will you go into the servants' hall and eat 
 something after your walk ? " he Idndly asked. 
 
 ** No, sir, many thanks. I don't want to see the 
 servants. They might get telling that I have been 
 here." 
 
 She stole out from his presence, her pale sad face. 
 
. IMPROVEMENTS. 367 
 
 her evidently deep sorrow, whatever might be its 
 source, making a vivid impression upon Lionel. 
 But for that sad face, he might have dealt more 
 harshly with her husband. And so Eo}^ was 
 tolerated still. 
 
 It was upon these various past topics that 
 Lionel's mind was running as he walked away from 
 Deerham Court after that afternoon's interview with 
 Lucy, which he had made so significant. He had 
 pleaded an engagement, as an excuse for quitting 
 his mother's drawing-room and her guests. It must 
 have been at home, we must suppose, for he took 
 his way straight towards Verner's Pride, sauntering 
 through the village as if he had leisure to look 
 about him, his thoughts deep in his projected 
 improvements. 
 
 Here, a piece of stagnant water was to be filled 
 in ; there, w^as the site of his new tenements ; 
 yonder, was the spot for a library and reading- 
 room ; on, he w^alked, throwing liis glances every- 
 where. As he neared the shop of Mrs. Duff, a man 
 came suddenly in view, facing him : a little man, in 
 a suit of rusty black, and a white neckcloth, with a 
 pale face and red whiskers, whom Lionel remem- 
 bered to have seen once before, a day or two 
 previously. As soon as he caught sight of Lionel 
 he turned short off, crossed the street, and darted 
 out of sight down the Belvidere Eoad. 
 
 " That looks as though he wanted to avoid me," 
 thought Lionel. " I wonder who he may be ? Do 
 you know who that man is, Mrs. Duff? " asked he 
 
368 VERNERS PRIDE. 
 
 aloud. For that lady was taking the air at her 
 shop -door, and had watched the movement. 
 
 " I don't know much ahout him, sir. He have 
 been stopping in the place this day or two. What 
 did I hear his name was, again ? " added Mrs. Dufi', 
 putting her fingers to her temples in a considering 
 fit. " Jarrum, I think. Yes, that was it. Brother 
 Jarrum, sir." 
 
 "Brother Jarrum?" repeated Lionel, uncertain 
 whether the " Brother " might he spoken in a social 
 point of view, or was a name bestowed upon the 
 gentleman in baptism. 
 
 " He's a missionary from abroad, or something of 
 that sort, sir. He is come to see what he can do 
 towards converting us." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Lionel, his lip curling with a 
 smile. The man's face had not taken his fancy. 
 " Honest missionaries do not need run away to 
 avoid meeting people, Mrs. Dufi"." 
 
 " He have got cross eyes," responded Mrs. Duff. 
 "Perhaps that's a reason he mayn't like to look 
 gentlefolks in the face, sir." 
 "Where does he come from? " 
 "Well, now, sir, I did hear," replied Mrs. Duff, 
 putting on her considering cap again. " It were 
 some religious place, sir, that's talked of a good deal 
 in the Bible. Jericho, were it ? No. It began 
 with a J, though. Oh, I have got it, sir ! It were 
 Jerusalem. He comes all the way from Jerusalem.'' 
 " Where is he lodging ? " continued Lionel. 
 "He have been lodging at the George and 
 
IMPROVEMENTS. 369 
 
 Dragon, sir. But to-day he have gone and took 
 that spare bedroom as the Peckabys have wanted to 
 let, since their custom fell off." 
 
 " He means to make a stay, then ? " 
 
 " It looks like it, sir. Susan Peckaby, she were 
 in here half-an-hour ago, a-buying new ribbons for 
 a cap, all agog with it. He's a-going to hold forth 
 in their shop, she says, and see how many of the 
 parish he can turn into saints. I says it won't be 
 a bad ' turn,' sir, if it keeps the men from the beer- 
 houses." 
 
 Lionel laughed as he went on. He supposed it 
 was a new movement that would have its brief day 
 and then be over, leaving results neither good nor 
 bad behind it ; and he dismissed the man from his 
 memory. 
 
 He walked on, in the elasticity of his youth and 
 health. All nature seemed to be smiling around 
 him. Outward things take their hue very much 
 from the inward feelhigs, and Lionel felt happier 
 than he had done for months and months. Had 
 the image of Lucy Tempest anything to do with 
 this ? No — nothing. He had not yet grown to 
 love Lucy in that idolising manner, as to bring her 
 ever present to him. He was thinking of the 
 change in his own fortunes ; he cast his eyes 
 around to the right and the left, and they rested 
 on his own domains — domains which had for a 
 time been wrested from him ; and as his quick steps 
 rung on the frost}^ road, his heart went up in thank- 
 fulness to the Giver of all good. 
 
 VOL. I. BB 
 
370 VEHNERS PRIDE. 
 
 Just before he reached Vemer's Pride, he over- 
 took Mr. Bitterworth, who was leaning agamst a 
 road-side gate. He had been attacked b}^ sudden 
 giddiness, he said, and asked Lionel to give him an 
 arm home. Lionel proposed that he should come 
 in and remain for a short while at Yerner's Pride ; 
 but Mr. Bitterworth preferred to go home. 
 
 " It is one of my bilious attacks coming on," he 
 remarked, as he went along. " I have not had a 
 bad one for this four months." 
 
 Lionel took him safe home, and remained with 
 him for some time, talking ; the chief theme being 
 his own contemplated improvements, and how to go 
 to work upon them : a topic Vv'hich seemed to 
 bring no satiet}' to Lionel Yerner. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BBADBVKV AND EVAN?, PHIMEKS, VriTEFRIAKS.