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 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 31 ffialc of tl)c last Ciniturg. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 HON. MRS. ALFEED MONTGOMERY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ASHTON HALL," POEMS, ETC. 
 
 Vengeance is mine ; 1 will repay, saith the Lord." 
 
 Deut. xxxii. 35; Remans xii. 19 ; Hebrews x. 30. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES.— VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, 8, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, 
 
 ^ublisljer m ©rtiinars to l^ct fHajcstg. 
 
 1865. 
 
 [_The right of Translation is reserved.]
 
 LONDON : PKINTED BY WILLtAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFOKD STRKBT 
 AND CHARING CfiOSS.
 
 
 ^ DEDICATION. 
 
 THESE VOLUMES ARE DEDICATED 
 
 To the beloved memory of a near relative, 
 
 . in whose dear society the Author first 
 
 visited the scenes in which this story is 
 
 ^- laid ; and to whom, half in jest, more than 
 twenty years ago, the promise was given 
 
 '-. of writing a romance that should illustrate 
 them. 
 
 Hers was a mind in which the freshness 
 of youth continued undiminished by ad- 
 vancing years, and the purity and delicacy 
 
 ^ : of her superior nature remained untarnished 
 by the world. She possessed a depth of 
 thought, and a versatility of talent, which
 
 IV DEDICATION. 
 
 were only equalled by lier exquisite mo- 
 desty. 
 
 Wise, and yet tender; gentle, yet firm; 
 she was the truest of women, and the 
 
 MOST FAITHFUL OF FRIENDS. 
 
 Her sweet face was the reflex of her soul. 
 The grave has closed over all ; but the 
 remembrance can never perish. " Le passe 
 n'est pas mort ; il n'est qu'absent." 
 
 Jfield Lodge, Crawley, 
 August 8, 1865./^
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PACK 
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE 20 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DOMESTIC 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A day's PLEASURE 67 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME 89 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE fisherman's IIUT 114 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AWAY TO THE SOUTH .. .. 158 
 
 VOL. I. h
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND 166 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM .. .. ^ 191 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE 219 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 257 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE 287
 
 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 
 
 Maxy years ago, near the eastern coast of 
 England, there stood (and there still stand), 
 on the opposite shores of a wood-encircled 
 lake, two wealthy mansions, the property 
 of two brothers. 
 
 Nutley Hall belonged to the representa- 
 tive of the elder branch of the family of 
 Baron Clifford. It stood in a wide park- 
 like domain, raised a little above the low 
 shore of the lake, which reflected its image 
 on its bosom, and surromided and almost 
 embedded in magnificent trees. 
 
 There was somethiLg melancholy about 
 
 VOL. I. ,, B
 
 2 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 the old place, in spite of the well-tended 
 gardens, and the southern sun streaming on 
 the lichen-covered walls. It was a silent 
 spot, buried in wood, glooming over the 
 deep waters of the lake, and enlivened by 
 few sounds beyond the warbling of the 
 forest birds, or the occasional scream of the 
 wild swans. 
 
 The trees had been cleared away near 
 the water, and when the long line of golden 
 light from the setting sun changed into pale 
 yellow, and died off in paler green, there 
 might often be seen the silent heron stand- 
 ing on one leg, by the side of a mossy 
 stone, and gazing with unwearied patience 
 into the still waters, watching motionless 
 for his prey. Or, in the hot noontide, with 
 a shrill cry, the wildfowl would rise from 
 the surface of the lake, and wrinkling its 
 placid face into countless eddies by the 
 sweep of their wings, traverse it for several 
 yards, and then drop silently and simulta- 
 neously upon its bosom. 
 
 There was little to break the monotony 
 of wood and water, but here and there you
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 3 
 
 caught a glimpse of a low range of hills in 
 the distance, and on the other side of the 
 walled-in road, which dammed the waters 
 at the head of the lake, rose a grassy mound, 
 surmounted by the ruins of an old tower, 
 formerly a fortress belonging to the baron's 
 family in wilder times than those of the 
 Lord Clifford of our story. 
 
 In somewhat striking contrast with this 
 wild and sylvan spot, was the scene of in- 
 tense refinement and domestic peace which 
 struck the spectator's eye on the other side 
 of the deep haw-haw that divided the gar- 
 den from the park. Beneath the spreading 
 boughs of a huge cedar was a group that 
 Watteau might have painted, only that 
 there was more of family feeling and less 
 of worldly effect than is usually found in 
 the works of that artist. 
 
 Eeclining on a long low couch was a 
 lady, from whose sweet, earnest face the 
 gradual approaches of a fatal disease had 
 failed to efface the original beauty. The 
 thick masses of raven hair seemed like an 
 ebony frame to the white ivory of her fore-
 
 4 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 head ; and beneath that placid brow lay the 
 deep eyes that had not yet lost their Italian 
 lustre beneath England's grey skies. 
 
 Angela, Lord Clifford's wife, was a rela- 
 tion of the princely house of Orsini, who, 
 having been left an orphan while still 
 very young, had been educated by the late 
 Princess Orsini with her own children. 
 She had married Lord Clifford in Eome, 
 where his great wealth, and the common 
 faith of the two families, had been motives 
 cogent enough to induce Angela's relatives 
 to put aside the objections arising from the 
 immense distance (in those days, when rail- 
 ways and steam-boats were unknown) of the 
 country to which their adopted daughter 
 was to be exiled. 
 
 The present Princess Orsini, seated in an 
 arm-chair opposite Angela, was the wife of 
 the young Duke of Orsini, with whom 
 Angela had been brought up, and had 
 learnt to love almost as an elder brother, 
 although the real relationship was but a 
 distant one. The princess was a woman of 
 about thirty, French by birth, and with
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 5 
 
 much more liveliness of manners, but with 
 less beauty of person, than her Italian friend. 
 She held in her hand a piece of embroidery, 
 and her busy fingers moved deftly, without 
 the occupation interrupting her conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 At a little distance from the two ladies, 
 and seated close to the haw-haw, with their 
 feet hanging over the wall, were a lovely 
 boy and girl. Rose Clifford, in hair and 
 complexion was a true Saxon maiden, but 
 in strange contrast with her fair skin and 
 golden hair she had got her mother's deep 
 Italian eyes. 
 
 Andrea Orsini was the very picture of a 
 Roman boy : brown skin of the finest grain, 
 and yet not brown, but rather golden ; 
 dark locks, that at their tips had caught 
 and imprisoned the rays of the sun ; red, 
 full lips, and teeth made for laughter. 
 Such was the infant heir of the house of 
 Orsini. 
 
 As little Rose Clifford was sHghtly ner- 
 vous at having to share Andrea's favourite 
 position of sitting on the wall of the haw-
 
 b THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 haw, she could only be induced to do &o by 
 Andrea's keeping his arm round her waist 
 as a jDrotection ; and while in this attitude the 
 children were overheard by their parents in 
 earnest conversation. 
 
 " Rosy, darling, I don't understand how 
 it is that in your house, though it is so 
 large and beautiful, you have no statue of 
 Our Lady on the staircase, with a lamp 
 burning before it. Why, Rosy, in the 
 Orsini Palace, at Rome, there is one on 
 every landing. And there is always one 
 in all the houses, particularly in a house 
 like ours." 
 
 ^' Well, Andy, dear, you know the fact 
 is, this country is not Catholic ; and it is 
 not very long ago that we used to be afraid 
 (so papa has told me), even to have a pries 
 in our house, or to have mass. So that is 
 why, Andy, we do not put sacred objects 
 much about the house. But you know in 
 mamma's room and in mine we are not 
 afraid, and there are plenty there." 
 
 " I tell you what it is," said Andrea, 
 looking grave, " I do not like you living in
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 7 
 
 a country where people are afraid to do 
 what they like in our holy religion. You 
 know, Eosy^ you are to come away with 
 me, and be my wife in the Orsini Palace, 
 and I think the sooner we settle about it 
 the better. This England is not the place 
 for us, I shall carry you away with me." 
 
 These last words were said with a toss of 
 the rich dark curls_, and a flash from those 
 beautiful eyes, that made Kosy almost feel 
 as if Andrea were angry. Her little cheeks 
 turned crimson, and she said very gravely, 
 
 " I think, Andrea, we had better not talk 
 about that; and, besides, I love my own 
 country in spite of all you say." 
 
 Andrea drew his arm tighter round 
 Rosy's waist, and turning his face full upon 
 her, said, 
 
 " But you will, Rosy, be my wife : you 
 know you must, Rosy ; it is all settled, and 
 I will not have any wife but you ." 
 
 Rosy's hand began to push away that of 
 the little boy that was clinging closer round 
 her, and with affronted dignity she replied — 
 
 " Please, Andrea, say nothing more
 
 8 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 about it, and let us talk of something 
 else." 
 
 With one bound Andrea had quitted his 
 companion, even at the risk of pushing 
 Eosy off her insecure seat into the haw- 
 haw ; and, scarlet with emotion, and with 
 tears in his eyes, he rushed away to his 
 mother's side. 
 
 " Mamma mia," he exclaimed, " Eosy says 
 she will not be my wife, she will not leave 
 this horrid England, she will not come to 
 the Palazzo Orsini. But she will, will she 
 not ? For you know, mamma mia, I must 
 marry Eosy ; I cannot live without her." 
 
 The last words were said in softer tones, 
 and with a burst of tears the little head was 
 hid in his mother's arms. 
 
 Lady Clifford looked towards Eosy sitting 
 on the edge of the haw-haw, and perceived 
 that she, too, was overcome with emotion ; 
 but in her case it was from terror, and, 
 springing up to her rescue, Lady Clifford 
 lifted the child from the ground, and gently 
 asked what it all meant. 
 
 The Princess Orsini, well used to Andrea's
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 9 
 
 passionate bursts of feeling, was calmly 
 soothing her little son, and kissing away 
 the big tears. 
 
 " Dear Andrea, you must not tease Rosy 
 by asking her to promise you things which 
 cannot happen for many years. You must 
 be gentle and kind to her, and so make her 
 love you ; and it will be quite soon enough 
 to talk about her being your wife in ten 
 years' time, for you know you are now only 
 eleven." 
 
 " But do you think then, mamma mia. 
 Rosy will leave this England, where the sky 
 is never blue, and the sun never hot, and 
 come to our dear Italy with me ?" 
 
 '' I hope so, my darling child," responded 
 the princess, with a smile. " But say no 
 more about it to her just now. You can 
 talk to me about it whenever you please, 
 but you will only frighten poor Rosy if 
 you are so violent." 
 
 Lady Clifford, meanwhile, was reassuring 
 Rosy ; and as the little girl was very fond 
 of her young friend, and had no other objec- 
 tion to these childish notions about becom-
 
 10 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 ing the future Princess Orsini than arose 
 from a shght maidenly reserve, and a feeling 
 that Andrea was rather pushing, she was 
 very ready to be kissed and make it up, and 
 then both the little lovers, hand in hand, 
 were sent on a run down the broad garden- 
 walk, to meet Father Netherby and Padre 
 Tomaso, who were, returning from the 
 village. 
 
 When the ladies had regained their seats, 
 after this brief episode, Lady Clifford looked 
 silently, but with a smile, full into the prin- 
 cess's face. Their eyes met, and both laughed 
 out at the amusing scene of Andrea's vehe- 
 mence about his little sweetheart, who was 
 only ten and a half, and, consequently, as 
 young to be affianced as he was to be think- 
 ing of such matters. 
 
 " Do you really think, Louise," said Lady 
 Clifford to the princess, " that we shall ever 
 succeed in bringing about this alliance, 
 which our children seem to have as much at 
 heart as their mothers ? Are you sure the 
 prince wishes it as much as you do ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Alfonso desires nothing more,"
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 11 
 
 replied the princess. " It was only the 
 other day when he and your husband were 
 coming down to the door, where the car- 
 riage was waiting, in Paris, to take us to 
 tlie coast, that he said to me, ' Do what 
 you can, carissima, to enHst Angela in 
 our cause, and I, meanwhile, will talk 
 to Clifford.'" 
 
 Angela sat silent for a few moments, her 
 eyes fixed on the western sky, where the 
 orange glories of the sunset were becoming 
 streaked with deep red as the sun sank be- 
 hind the trees ; then, without looking at the 
 princess, she said — 
 
 " You may imagine, dear Louise, that, 
 were the case reversed, and that I gave a 
 daughter of mine, born and nurtured in 
 Italy, to be exiled into this cold country, 
 where we, with our faith and our politics, 
 nearly always have to suffer ; and that your 
 son were English, I could not do it. You 
 understand me, dear. My own fate has not 
 been an unhappy one. No woman with 
 such a husband as dear George has been to 
 me can ever have a right to complain. But
 
 12 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 still, look at what England has done for 
 me ! At most I may expect to see two 
 more winters, and then the chill that has 
 passed from these grey mists into my Italian 
 blood, that had been fed by the richest sun- 
 light, will have done its work, and little 
 Rosy will be an orphan." 
 
 " Dear Angela, I cannot bear to hear 
 you say it. My dearest, you are better : I 
 see an improvement even since I came. You 
 will soon regain your strength." 
 
 " You see an improvement, Louise, be- 
 cause we are now enjoying our brief Eng- 
 lish summer. But when this mass of forest 
 land lays down its green and brown vesture 
 on the damp earth, and that great lake 
 sends up its clammy mists and enters the 
 house, and creeps into my window, and 
 catches my breath, like the foretaste of the 
 tomb, then my cough will return, and I 
 shall continue to get weaker and thinner. 
 No, Louise, dear, I must not shut my eyes 
 to the truth — nor yours — because you will 
 help me to meet that death I have long 
 ceased to dread. But I must keep it from
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 13 
 
 George as long as possible, for I think it 
 would break bis beart." 
 
 " Does be suspect, Angela, bow ill you 
 tbink yourself?" 
 
 Lady Clifford paused before replying, 
 and tben said — 
 
 . " I cannot tell, Louise. Sometimes I 
 tbink be does. He talks of taking me to 
 Eome tins winter. I wisb it were possible, 
 Louise. I must tell you wbat I dread," 
 exclaimed Lady Clifford, as sbe bent for- 
 wards, and laying ber band on tbc princess' 
 arm, made ber drop ber work and look up. 
 *' If I die, and dear George follows me 
 before Rose is married, or is of age, I fear 
 — I dread — be will appoint her uncle, Roger 
 Clifford, to be her guardian. Louise," she 
 said, dropping ber voice, and doubling her 
 pressure on ber relative's arm, " / detest 
 
 tJtat man 
 
 " Why is it, Angela, you shrink so from 
 liim ?" replied the princess, with a slight 
 tone in her voice as if Angela's feelings 
 seemed to ber without just ground. " I 
 hope you are not going to tell me he has.
 
 14 THE BUCKLYX SHAia. 
 
 the ' evil eye.' You know I am French, 
 cannot adopt all your Italian superstitions 
 about that/' 
 
 " Whether he has the evil eye or not, I 
 neither know nor care. But I am sure he 
 has a very sinister dark nature, and I 
 fear that in his heart he has renounced the 
 Faith." 
 
 " Oh, Angela, impossible !" 
 
 " Listen, Louise ! I have told you I do 
 not believe I have many years to live ; can 
 you think that, with that thought ever before 
 me, I would dare to speak against Eoger 
 Cliiford, were it not that my convictions on 
 the subject are so strong that I feel I ought, 
 as a duty to my child, to communicate them 
 to you, and through you to Alfonso in my 
 child's interest ?" 
 
 '' If your suppositions be correct, Angela," 
 said the princes^, " how dreadful for these 
 two motherless children of his !" How old 
 are they now ?" 
 
 " Teresa is rather more than thirteen, and 
 a most interesting child. She is at a convent 
 school in Paris. Her father talks of having
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 15 
 
 her home, but I trust she will, for the 
 present, be left where she is. Eobert is 
 much older; he was seventeen his last 
 birthday, and is left also in Paris, with a 
 tutor." 
 
 " Have you spoken to George of this ?" 
 said the princess. 
 
 ''I have tried, but it is impossible. He 
 thinks I am prejudiced. And you know, 
 dear Louise, the very fact of my being a 
 foreigner makes me doubly afraid of shock- 
 ing my dear husband's feelings about any 
 of his family ; or seeming to misunderstand 
 the character of those around me. I would 
 not do so even to you were it not for Rose's 
 sake. I wish you w^ere likely yourself to 
 see enough of Roger Clifford to judge of 
 him. You would feel as I do, and, like me, 
 you would be tempted to believe at least 
 some of the dark stories of his gambling 
 and profligate habits when he is abroad. 
 You are aware that he is scarcely ever at 
 Raymond Castle." 
 
 " Will he be there before I leave ?" 
 
 '' I think it probable. He told George
 
 16 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 that he would find him here on his return 
 from Paris." 
 
 " Angela, docs he know that George and 
 Alfonso have gone to Yienna ? If what 
 you say be true, if, in short, supposing your 
 doubts about the unhappy man's faith to 
 have any foundation, it would be dreadful 
 for him to guess, or in any way to arrive at 
 the fact that your husband and mine are 
 gone on a secret mission from Eome to the 
 Prince. If it be true that Eoger has em- 
 braced the religion of the state, he can only 
 have done so to curry favour with the House 
 of Hanover, and from that moment he 
 becomes a dangerous neighbour to us." 
 
 " I do not think there is any fear of that, 
 for I believe Roger to be now on his way 
 back from Spain ; consequently they will not 
 cross each other's path. And when they 
 all return, there can be no occasion for 
 saying more than that after seeing you and 
 Andrea safe on your way to the coast, our 
 husbands remained for a time in Paris. 
 This journey to Yienna is known only to us 
 two."
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 17 
 
 *' Thank God for tliat !" exclaimed Louise. 
 " But when our husbands are returned, I 
 should rather like, Angela, to meet Roger 
 here. I might be of use in aiding you to 
 some more decided convictions one way or 
 the other. If I judge him differently from 
 you it will be a relief to you to be encouraged 
 in changing your opinion. If I, too, think 
 him bad and false, surely we ought to warn 
 George not to place confidence in one who 
 may betray us. But all this while, dear 
 Angela," continued the princess, trying to 
 brighten up herself, and to cheer her friend, 
 " I do not know why we should suppose that 
 even., dearest — which God forbid ! — you are 
 taken away early to the world of rest and 
 peace, we should think George is not to live 
 to see Rose married, and a mother." 
 
 '* Neither can I say, Louisa, why I should 
 think so. But love sometimes seems to 
 endow us with something of the spirit of 
 prophecy. It foresees what it dreads. It 
 divines what it cannot know. You always 
 told me I was too imaginative. When I 
 was in Italy, in my girlhood, I never knew 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 what apprehension was. Whether it be 
 that this silent land, this dear sad home of 
 my adoption, has imparted some of its 
 seriousness to my nature, I cannot tell ; but 
 certainly of late years I seem to have 
 developed in myself a strange faculty of 
 guessing — almost knowing — what vnll be. 
 Perhaps it is all fancy. Perhaps, Louise, it 
 is the shadow of the future world, falling 
 like light upon the present life, and enabling 
 me to see more clearly. For, dear Louise, 
 the shadows of heaven are brighter than the 
 noonday of this world." 
 
 The princess bent forward to kiss the 
 beautiful face of the speaker, that was 
 lighted up with the enthusiasm of her 
 southern nature. The tears were in her 
 eyes as she said : 
 
 " Angela, I will not gainsay you. I love 
 you too dearly to bear to think of losing 
 you ; I would tie your wings if I could. As 
 it is, I can only pray to God to spare you to 
 us yet, and entreat you to do all you can to 
 preserve your invaluable health, and to 
 consent to live."
 
 EARLY DAYS AND FIRST LOVE. 19 
 
 Angela raised her eyes to the red disc of 
 the evening sun. The great globe seemed 
 to quiver as she gazed upon it through her 
 tears, and she murmured, "God's dear will 
 be done." The sun sank behind the forest, 
 and the blue mists of evening fell like a 
 shroud over the landscape.
 
 20 THE BUCKLTX SHAIG. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 
 
 Eaymond Castle, the property of Eoger 
 Clifford, could be seen from the windows of 
 Nutley Hall when autumn left, the trees 
 bare; and from one part of the park its 
 tower and broad frontage was full in view, 
 so that when Angela had first married and 
 come to England, she had been in the 
 habit of establishing a variety of signals 
 with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Clifford, by 
 means of a flagstaff and coloured flags, with 
 reference to their arrangements for meeting 
 and riding together in the course of each 
 day. 
 
 This, perhaps, had been the happiest
 
 THE HALL AND TUE CASTLE. 21 
 
 portion of Angela's married life, although 
 she was not yet blessed with the little rose- 
 bud now unfolding beneath her care ; for 
 Angela had been married eight years be- 
 fore her only child was born. But at the 
 period of which we speak, she was still in 
 the enjoyment of the health and spirits of 
 youth, and spite of the difficulties of travel- 
 ling in those days, her devoted husband 
 had generally succeeded in taking her to 
 Italy to breathe her native air at least 
 every third winter. On one of these occa- 
 sions Mrs. Clifford had accompanied Angela ; 
 and it was there that her second child, a 
 girl, was prematurely born, and the young 
 mother died in her confinement. 
 
 Roger Clifford had not accompanied his 
 wife. The then dissolute court in Paris, 
 where his high connections and his love of 
 play procured him free access, had greater 
 attractions for Roger than travelling 
 through Italy with a wife in delicate 
 health, and whose tastes were the very 
 opposite to his own. 
 
 Angela had nursed her sister-in-law with
 
 22 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 devoted affection, and as it was in the old 
 feudal castle of Bracciano * that Mrs. Clif- 
 ford had given birth to the little Teresa, it 
 was near the shores of a lake far wilder 
 than that of her married home^ that the 
 young wife and mother lay buried. Her 
 life would have been a very unhappy one, 
 had it not been that the sweetness and 
 brightness of her nature seemed to carry 
 her unscathed through the sharpest sor- 
 rows. She bore her husband's constant 
 neglect with such unalterable calm, that 
 sometimes Angela's hot Italian nature found 
 it difficult not to be angry with the English 
 woman's passive endurance. But when 
 Mildred would perceive the flush of anger 
 glowing through the clear, dead white of 
 Angela's foreign complexion, she would 
 gently slide up to her sister-in-law, and 
 whisper with a smile aud a tear : 
 
 " I should have no cross if I had not 
 
 * The castle of Bracciano was built by the Orsini. 
 They sold it, towards the close of the eighteenth 
 century, to the Odescalchis, in whose possession it 
 was when the author visited it. Since then it has 
 again changed hands.
 
 THE UALL AND THE CASTLE. 23 
 
 this ; and if I liad no cross here, bow could 
 I hope for a hapjDy death ?" 
 
 '* Oh, Mildred !" Angela would exclaim, 
 "you are always talkmg of death. Give 
 me life — life w^th its crown of gold — life 
 with its ringing laugh, and its buoyant 
 step, and its hand full of flow^ers — tran- 
 quil and pure, but joyous and hopeful. 
 No, Mildred, I cannot understand you. I 
 feel I must live before I die — I must taste 
 and know all life is, and gives." 
 
 " Ah, Angela ! it were better to die," 
 Mildred replied, "before the drop of in- 
 tolerable bitterness had fallen into the cup 
 of life : it were better to die than live to 
 exclaim in a moment of temptation, ' I can- 
 not bear more !' This will hardly happen 
 to you, Angela ; it might, you know, to 
 me." And now changing her tone, she 
 said, " Will you put on your hat and come 
 out with me? I am going to the Capu- 
 chin Convent half an hour before the Ave 
 Maria, and that will do both of us more 
 good than all you and I are likely to say 
 about life and death !" ,
 
 24 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 In this way Angela would perceive that 
 her English sister-in-law's heroic patience 
 sprang from a better source than indif- 
 ference ; but while she loved Mildred more, 
 she grew in detestation of Roger Clifford. 
 
 Mildred Clifford's death was the first 
 severe sorrow Angela had ever known, and 
 it told greatly on her character, for while it 
 threw a shade of sadness over her impetu- 
 ous nature, it called forth greater depths 
 of tenderness than she had ever yet 
 evinced. 
 
 Roger Clifford was summoned from Paris 
 by the sad news; but he did not reach 
 Bracciano till long after the remains of his 
 young wife were laid in the family vault, 
 in a chapel built by the Orsinis in the 
 Capuchin Church. 
 
 Roger was quiet, grave, and respectable 
 in his grief ; and when Angela complained 
 to her husband that he seemed to feel less 
 than might have been expected, Lord Clif- 
 ford was always ready with excuses and 
 explanations ; and assured Angela that his 
 brother was one *of those who feel things
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. io 
 
 deeply and long-, though making little out- 
 ward show of grief. 
 
 The little infant had been christened 
 Teresa by the dying mother's special re- 
 quest. " She will need courage in the life 
 that lies before her, and therefore I put her 
 under the special protection of that great 
 saint and courageous woman." 
 
 Little Robert Clifford had been left at 
 Raymond Castle under the care of a distant 
 female relative, who went to take up her 
 abode there during Mr. and Mrs. Clifford's 
 absence. 
 
 Angela devoted herself absorbingly to 
 the care of the little infant, and it was in 
 watching the motherless babe that she first, 
 felt the intensity of desire to become a 
 mother herself. 
 
 As soon as the breath of spring was 
 filled with the perfume of the blue violets 
 that fringed the lake of Bracciano, it was 
 decided that Lord and Lady CHfford should 
 return to England, taking with them the 
 little Teresa. 
 
 Both Angela and her husband acutely
 
 26 - THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 felt the sadness of leaving the tomb of 
 the poor English lady, who lay so far away 
 from her own land and her own people ; 
 and Lord Clifford had even suggested to 
 Roger that the body should be removed to 
 the family vault at Nutley ; but Roger had 
 replied that his nerves would not bear the 
 anxiety of fancying the many accidents that 
 might befall the sacred deposit in so long 
 and perilous a journey. 
 
 Angela was inclined to be doubtful of 
 the sincerity of this reply, but she did not 
 venture to contest it, and she soothed her 
 grief by occupying herself, with Roger's 
 authority, in choosing the designs and 
 superintending the execution of a beautiful 
 monument to the memory of her friend. 
 
 When Lord and Lady Clifford returned 
 to Nutley, they were greatly in hope that 
 Roger would settle quietly at Raymond 
 Castle, and content himself with the society 
 of his family and the care of his children ; 
 but this was not the case. 
 
 Although Raymond Castle was by far 
 the finest house of the two, the estate and
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 27 
 
 property connected with it was less than 
 one-fourth in value to that attached to 
 Nutley Hall, and belonging to the elder 
 brother. 
 
 Roger was an ambitious man, and it was 
 easy enough for any one less attached to 
 him than Lord Clifford to perceive that it 
 was jealousy of his elder brother that kept 
 him so constantly absent from his own 
 estate. During, however, the first few 
 months of his widowhood he seemed to 
 consider it his duty to remain at home, 
 and it was then that Angela first had full 
 opportunity of studying the character of her 
 brother-in-law. There was a mysterious 
 charm in his manner which fascinated most 
 persons, although on Angela it seemed to 
 produce the contrary effect. He was very 
 different from his elder brother, and the 
 difference was increased by his having 
 lived a great deal abroad, and contracted 
 something foreign in his habits and appear- 
 ance. 
 
 Lord Clifford had a frank, fair counte- 
 nance, with a clear blue eye,, and auburn
 
 28 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 hair. His complexion was almost too deli- 
 cate for a man, and there was apt to be a 
 hectic colour in his cheeks. He was ex- 
 tremely graceful, but perhaps he was too 
 delicately formed for the perfection of 
 manly beauty. His health had never been 
 strong, but yet he was a thorough English- 
 man in his love of sport, and was passion- 
 ately attached to his country and his home. 
 Eoger was taller and darker than his 
 brother, and looked older. He had long 
 almond-shaped, deep-set eyes, a dark pen- 
 cilled brow, slightly arched. His lips were 
 delicately cut, but thin and flexible ; and 
 sometimes he wore a fixed smile, not in 
 harmony with the rest of his expression, 
 and with the stern keenness of his eye. 
 Angela would often speak of it as " that 
 cruel smile," and said that it froze her 
 blood. Roger was a musician, and had an 
 exquisite voice. He was an accomplished 
 scholar, and spoke French, Italian, and 
 Spanish equally well. His tastes were ex- 
 pensive, and he would say that unless he 
 could afford to fit up his gloomy old castle
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 29 
 
 after his own fancy, and fill it with guests, 
 he never would long reside there. 
 
 Xo one, however, but its discontented 
 master thought Eaymond Castle gloomy. 
 It stood on high ground, overlooking the 
 forest lands, in the centre of which Nutley 
 Hall lay buried, and commanding the whole 
 range of those blue hills but barely visible 
 between the trees at the latter place. 
 
 The park was large, and beautifully laid 
 out, with a great expanse of green sward 
 in front of the castle, sloping down to 
 several small ponds gleaming in the sun- 
 shine, like islets of silver. Beyond that 
 was woodland and hill, and long lines of 
 purple distance to the west. Near the 
 castle was a group of tall Scotch firs, bend- 
 ing a little out of the perpendicular, and 
 standing like sentinels alone on the place. 
 Further down the slope were magnificent 
 oaks, elms, and chestnuts, silver fir, and 
 birch. Through a hanging wood to the 
 north lay two wide paths, purposely cut 
 through the thicket to admit of the view of 
 the hills beyond.
 
 30 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 The road wound from the house down- 
 hill, past the small fish ponds, and through 
 groups of trees to the lodge gate out into 
 the high-road, which to the north led to 
 the village of Nutley, and to the south to 
 the market town of Blackdean. 
 
 The castle entrance was beneath the great 
 clock-tower, through Norman arches ; and 
 as you stood just outside the tower at the 
 east, the park, and wood and hills, and the 
 Scotch firs standing with red stems against 
 the western sky, formed as lovely a picture, 
 framed by the stonework of the arch, as it 
 was possible to imagine. 
 
 In Nutley Hall there was a chapel at the 
 top of the house, which had been used in 
 the time of the persecution of the Catholics. 
 This chapel was panelled with dark oak 
 rather more than half-way up the walls, 
 and behind the altar was a sliding panel, 
 known only to Lord Clifford and a few of 
 the old domestics, where in former days the 
 priest not unfrequently lay concealed in 
 the rare occasions when he had been able, 
 in disguise and through many perils, to
 
 THE HALL AXD THE CASTLE. 31 
 
 come and administer the sacraments and 
 consolations of the faith to the present 
 baron's not very distant ancestors. 
 
 There once had been a chapel at Ray- 
 mond Castle also, but it had been long 
 disused, and now served only as a lumber- 
 room, or as a studio to an Italian artist, 
 who sometimes accompanied Roger Clifford 
 on his return from the Continent for a few 
 summer months at the castle. Mrs. Clifford 
 had had a small oratory fitted up for her 
 own use ; and Teresa's old nurse, Mrs. 
 Dorothy, had always kept it in good order 
 and well dusted, " for the dear child," she 
 would say, " when she shall be old enough 
 to know the blessings of her mother's faith." 
 The other servants would sometimes remon- 
 strate with Mrs. Dorothy, as she was gene- 
 rally called, that she spoke as if the mother's 
 faith were not the father's also. 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy never made any reply, but 
 a close observer would see that on those 
 occasions she slightly compressed her lips. 
 
 One thing was certain. It was Roger 
 himself who had done away with the chapel,
 
 32 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 and had, as lie said for the greater conve- 
 nience of others, removed the v/hole furni- 
 ture to a room at the top of a small house 
 in the village. You might have passed it 
 a hundred times and never have guessed 
 that behind those very ordinary-looking 
 windows, in that modest-looking white 
 house, not much bigger than a cottage, 
 there crept, Sundays and feast-days, through- 
 out the year, a quiet group of devout fol- 
 lowers of the faith of their forefathers. 
 
 The priest lived in the lower part of the 
 house, and, at the time of our story, was a 
 Jesuit father, the Father Netherby that we 
 have already heard of as coming from the 
 village, with Andrew Orsini's Italian tutor 
 and chaplain to the family, Padre Tomaso. 
 
 Shortly after his wife's death, Eoger 
 decided on breaking up his establishment at 
 Raymond Castle, and sending little Robert, 
 then about eight years old, to school. 
 
 Lord Clifford, as well as Angela, had 
 been much disturbed by this arrangement, 
 and had entreated Roger to let his son be 
 entrusted to their care, as well as Teresa.
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 33 
 
 Roger had been profuse in his expressions 
 of gratitude, but firm in his refusaL He 
 had put it on the pretext that his son being 
 heir to a very much smaller property than 
 that of Nutley Hall, he would not have him 
 brought up iri such magnificence. 
 
 '' Moreover," added he, " Lady Clifford 
 will have sons of her own, and at least my 
 boy shall be the heir in the house where 
 he is educated. I am too thankful for 
 Angela's offer about my poor little girl. I 
 could not leave her in better hands. And 
 it is not of the same importance for her, at 
 least for the next few years, as she never 
 can be a personage of much consideration 
 in either house." 
 
 Roger therefore sent off his son and heir 
 to a distance, and from thence he was trans- 
 mitted to a school in Paris ; and thus, with 
 the exception of a few brief weeks, he was 
 never at Castle Raymond till his education 
 was completed. 
 
 Meanwhile Angela, with the aid of Mrs. 
 Dorothy, who was engaged as nurse as soon 
 as the family returned from Italy after Mrs. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE BTJCKLYjS- shaig. 
 
 Clifford's deatli, devoted herself entirely to 
 the care of the little Teresa. A more en- 
 gaging child could hardly be found. To 
 strangers she was grave and silent, but 
 with Aunt Angela she was all bright intel- 
 ligence. Thoughtful beyond her years, she 
 had shown a tendency to love study and 
 reflection before she was seven years of age. 
 She had inherited her father's eyes and 
 thoughtful brow, but the sweetness of the 
 lower part of the face was her mother's gift. 
 She was only three years and a half when 
 Lord and Lady Clifford were blest by the 
 birth of little Rose. She was born in June, 
 and from the first moment of her life, un- 
 like most babies, had so lovely a com- 
 plexion, that when brought to her mother's 
 bed-side that she might see the little crea- 
 ture of a night old, and say what name she 
 was to receive in baptism that day, Angela 
 had at once decided she should be called Rose. 
 Teresa soon began to patronize her infant 
 cousin, and as they grew together nothing 
 could be prettier than the contrast between 
 these lovely children. They went by the 
 
 K
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 35 
 
 name of " Night and Day " — Teresa with 
 eyes like deep night, and Rose with hair 
 like Aurora, 
 
 Angela undertook for a long time their 
 education. She taught the little maidens to 
 read, and to w^rk, and to talk Italian. But 
 when Rose was five years old and Teresa 
 eight, she engaged a French lady as their 
 governess, and the work of education grew 
 for a short time more serious under the 
 care of Madame de Bray. 
 
 This, however, continued only till Teresa 
 was nine years old. And then one day 
 Angela received a letter from Roger Clif- 
 ford which caused her the greatest anxiety 
 and pain. It w^as dated from Florence, 
 and after describing to her in his clever 
 style the amusements of the carnival, which 
 was just closing, it went on to say : 
 
 " And now, my dear sister-in-law, I have 
 a task to perform, the first part of whicli is 
 simply impossible, and the second painful. 
 I have to express my gratitude for your 
 unwearied care of my little daughter. When 
 you took her you had no child of your own
 
 36 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 to occupy your time and your affections. I 
 thought your kindness immense even then, 
 and I have hved in astonishment ever since 
 the birth of your own daughter at your 
 continuing your hospitahty and your care 
 to my poor child. But whilp I can never 
 thank you enough for what you have done, 
 I should be wrong in asking, nay, even in 
 allowing, you to continue this favour. 
 
 " Your little Rose (is not that her name ?) 
 is born to bloom in richer lands than my 
 poor dark flower, and I should be doing my 
 child an injustice in allowing her, just at the 
 period when impressions are the strongest, 
 to be brought up surrounded by the luxury 
 of Nutley Hall. The same motives which 
 actuated me in the course I thought it right 
 to pursue with regard to Robert, are doubly 
 cogent in the case of Teresa, who can never 
 have but the poor pittance of a younger 
 child's portion, enough, and only enough, 
 to pay her dot in some convent, which no 
 doubt will be the best and safest career for 
 her, if career it can be called. 
 
 *' Since it is for this I destine her (and I
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 37 
 
 believe I am rigorously carrying out by this 
 resolve her poor mother's wishes), it is 
 much better that Teresa should complete 
 her education in a religious house, such as 
 we may easily select for her in Paris. And 
 let us hope that beginning so young to 
 habituate her mind to the gentle routine of 
 convent life she will never have any other 
 (I won't shock you, dear Angela, by say- 
 ing any higher) aspirations ; and that thus 
 she will dispose of herself happily for life, 
 and certainly, also, so far usefully that it 
 will prevent the necessity of my taking 
 from Robert's future fortune more than the 
 modest sum required to secure her admis- 
 sion in some house of the Carmelites (I say 
 Carmelites only because of her name, and 
 from a notion I have that her mother 
 wished it — you know how very devout 
 poor Mildred was). If it is not asking too 
 much of you, Angela, I think I had rather 
 leave the choice of the convent to you. 
 
 *' George writes me, he hopes to take you 
 to Rome this autumn. Carry little Teresa 
 with you as far as Paris, and locate her
 
 38 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 there as you think best. I have written 
 by the same post to my agent, to desire 
 him to enter into any arrangements my 
 brother may acquaint him with respecting 
 the payment of the pension. 
 
 " Excuse all the additional trouble I am 
 giving you, dear Angela. The child has 
 seen nothing of me, and therefore will not 
 feel a separation, which will hardly be 
 increased by this arrangement. She will 
 suffer parting from you, but it will only be 
 a judicious commencement of that life of ne- 
 gation which, as a nun, she will always lead. 
 
 " Once more, a thousand thanks, dear 
 sister. Teresa will, I hope, always be 
 grateful to you and George. 
 
 " By the by, I bring you, on my return, 
 the most exquisite rosary of highly- wrought 
 gold beads, with a cross set in rubies at the 
 end, that I ever beheld. They say it ori- 
 ginally belonged to her late majesty, Mary 
 of Modena — an additional reason for its find- 
 ing favour in your eyes, my loyal sister. 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Roger Clifford."
 
 THE UALL AND THE CASTLE. 39 
 
 No words could express Angela's feelings 
 on reading this letter. She thought it 
 utterly heartless towards the child, and 
 ungrateful towards her and her husband. 
 She would have rejoiced if later on, when 
 old enough to think for herself, the little 
 Teresa had elected to enter religion. And, 
 indeed, with Angela's opinion of her father's 
 character, it seemed to her the best and 
 happiest lot for the poor girl ; but Eoger's 
 scheming about it shocked her inexpressibly. 
 
 Lord Clifford was one of those amiable, 
 easy men who take no strong views on any 
 subject (devotion to the house of Stuart and 
 to the Catholic faith apart), and therefore he 
 tried to argue with his wife that, on the whole, 
 Roger's conduct was right and natural. 
 
 " You mow, Angela," he would say, 
 '* Roger his very deep feelings beneath all 
 that affecied indifference. Unhappily, his 
 susceptibil'ty has rendered him jealous, and 
 though I lelieve firmly in his affection for 
 me, yet I have always felt it was a mis- 
 fortune tlat the two estates should be so 
 close togelher. It causes him always to be
 
 40 THE BUCKLTN SHATG. 
 
 reverting in a painful way to his lesser 
 fortune. And certainly nature made a mis- 
 take. Eoger is ambitious, and ought to 
 have been the elder brother. 1 am a plain 
 man, and am content to pass my days in 
 seclusion with my Angel and my Eosebud. 
 But though I cannot feel with Roger, and 
 am almost inclined to be angry with him 
 for robbing us of little Teresa, yet I honour 
 the firmness of his purpose and ths decision 
 of his character. Possibly this may arise 
 from my being myself of so mach more 
 malleable material. But then you know, dear 
 Angela, I have you to enact all tlie fire and 
 the force, and so save me the trouble." 
 
 Thus, half in jest and half in earnest, 
 Lord Clifford strove to console Ks wife for 
 her disappointment, and to protect Roger 
 from her severe judgment. He did not 
 succeed ; but Angela kept her thoughts to 
 herself. And the end of it was, ; that little 
 Teresa accompanied them to Paiis on their 
 way to Italy, and was left there at a con- 
 vent of Ursuline nuns. Rose and Madame 
 de Bray went with them to Some, and
 
 THE HALL AND THE CASTLE. 41 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy went as Angela's maid. They 
 passed the winter there, and there it was that 
 Angela began to feel that the English cli- 
 mate had been making secret^ and till then 
 unsuspected, ravages on her constitution. 
 
 They did not return to Nutley Hall for 
 nearly two years, and it was the end of 
 June that the opening scene of our story 
 took place, the family having arrived in 
 April. Eoger was coming home. It was 
 whispered that heavy losses at play made it 
 necessary that he should keep very quiet 
 for a time, and he talked of bringing back 
 Teresa from Paris with him. Angela 
 feared her father's household would hardly 
 be conducted in a way to make it a desir- 
 able residence for a young girl. Lord 
 Clifford had not heard the rumours about 
 the motives for his brother's return, and if 
 he had would not have believed them. He 
 was rejoiced to think that he should again 
 enjoy his companionship, and he thought 
 nothing more right and natural than that, 
 intending to remain at home, he should 
 bring back Teresa with him.
 
 42 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Lord Clifford, on his arrival in England, 
 had found business of the greatest import- 
 ance to the Koyalist cause awaiting his 
 decision and advice. Nothing could be 
 done without an interview with the Pre- 
 tender, then at Yienna. As soon, therefore, 
 as he had seen Angela and Eose safely 
 settled at home, he had returned to Paris 
 to meet the Orsini-s, who had promised to 
 follow them very shortly from Rome, and 
 spend the summer in England. When he 
 did so, it was thought better, for many 
 reasons, that the princess and Andrea 
 should continue their journey with the 
 domestic chaplain and their rather large 
 retinue of servants, alone, and that the 
 prince, who was a personal friend of the 
 Pretender, should accompany Lord Clif- 
 ford to Yienna. 
 
 Their return was now hourly expected^ 
 and as Roger had written word that he, too, 
 was coming home, the hall and the castle 
 were likely soon to be enlivened by the 
 presence of the two families.
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DOMESTIC. 
 
 About a week had passed since the scene 
 in the garden between Rose and Andrea, 
 when Lady CHfford and the princess were 
 sitting, late in the day, by the 023en window. 
 The air was sultry and oppressive^ as if it 
 foreboded a storm. Angela had been talk- 
 ing with her friend of their mutual rela- 
 tions and acquaintances in France and Italy. 
 The children were playing in the next 
 room, with the door open into that where the 
 ladies were sitting, when they all heard the 
 sound of a horse galloping up to the front 
 door, and the bell ring violently. Angela 
 blushed and then turned pale. Every hour 
 she and the princess expected to hear of
 
 44 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 their husbands' return, and Angela hoped 
 this might be a messenger from them. The 
 princess, knowing how easily Lady Clifford 
 was agitated in her then delicate health, 
 tried to make her continue the conversation 
 till they could know what the ring at the 
 bell meant. Presently a servant entered, 
 and said : 
 
 " My lady, there is a messenger come 
 from Mr. Clifford in London. He has 
 brought this letter, and says his master is 
 on his way." 
 
 Angela broke the seal, and read aloud : 
 
 " My dear Sister-in-law, 
 
 " I arrived from Paris three days ago, 
 bringing Teresa with me. I had written, 
 as perhaps you have heard, to the castle, 
 to have everything in readiness for our 
 arrival; but Teresa seems so unwell that I 
 am anxious to see her at once safe at the 
 end of her journey. I hope, this being the 
 case, you will not think me intruding if I 
 bring her to you until her own home is 
 ready.
 
 DOMESTIC. 45 
 
 " I am a bad hand at having the care of 
 children, and I do not quite know what 
 to think of the two big black eyes and 
 unnaturally sad, pale face that I see now in 
 the arm-chair before me. 
 
 " I send a man on horseback at once. 
 We cannot arrive till late in the evening. 
 
 " Yours, with many apologies, 
 
 " Roger Clifford." 
 
 *' Louise," said Angela, looking up with 
 a bright smile, "" this is a most happy pro- 
 vidence. I shall have that dear child here, 
 and once I have got her, I will keep her." 
 
 In a few moments the whole house was 
 in motion preparing for the reception of 
 the welcome guests, and the door of the 
 great hall was opened while the carriage 
 was still climbing the slope. 
 
 First, was lifted out by the old butler, a 
 little pale girl, in a dark blue frock and a 
 black bonnet, who said instantly, but very 
 quietly, in a decided voice : 
 
 '' Put me down, if you please."
 
 46 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Angela caught her in her arms, and Rose 
 flung hers round her. The little creature 
 seem pleased, but half frightened ; but she 
 returned Rose's embrace eagerly. Eoger, 
 looking more of a foreigner than ever, 
 stepped forward with a number of cold and 
 graceful apologies for their arriving so sud- 
 denly, and hoped his doing so would not in- 
 convenience Angela. 
 
 '^ Why, Roger, we are delighted to have 
 you, of course," she exclaimed, warmly, for- 
 getting, in her natural hospitality, the 
 aversion she had to him, or, perhaps, not 
 feeling it in the presence of little Teresa, 
 who was as her own adopted child. *' We 
 cannot let you go to the castle to-night. 
 Nothing there is ready for you; besides, 
 you must remain at least a few days till we 
 see how Teresa gets on. You would be 
 anxious about her up there all by your- 
 self." 
 
 He acquiesced so courteously, that the 
 princess, already much struck by his appear- 
 ance, began to think all Angela had said 
 about him was the effect of imagination.
 
 DOMESTIC. 47 
 
 It was settled he should stop at Nutley 
 Hall. 
 
 Nothing could be happier and more 
 peaceful than the family circle, completed 
 and assembled at Nutley Hall a few days 
 after the arrival of Roger. 
 
 Teresa soon recovered her looks and her 
 strength under the careful nursing she re- 
 ceived. Lord Clifford and the Prince 
 Orsini joined them very shortly, and though 
 they both were at first slightly depressed by 
 the ill success of their expedition ; and of 
 their losses in the Jacobite cause, still the 
 repose of home, and the presence around 
 them of all they held most dear, rendered it 
 impossible for all parties not to feel that 
 the "lines had fallen to them in goodly 
 places." 
 
 Angela's health was considerably im- 
 proved. She could join in the walks they 
 took of an afternoon ; she could accompany 
 Roger and the prince in their singing in 
 the evening. She was an admirable musi- 
 cian, and had a rich contralto voice. The 
 prince also was considered, even in Italy, as
 
 48 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 being an excellent performer, and his voice 
 was magnificent. The princess appreciated, 
 though she could not contribute, and so 
 while the above-named trio were performing, 
 she and Madame de Bray used to whisper 
 French together, and talk of their beloved 
 country and gay Paris, while Lord Clifford 
 sat enjoying the music, and never missing a 
 single note, like a silent Englishman as he 
 was. 
 
 Madame de Bray was born of a noble 
 family, though compelled by misfortune to 
 employ her talents in education. She and 
 the princess were intimate with many 
 persons of the same circle of society, and 
 Madame de Bray, in happier times, had 
 been at the French Court. 
 
 The strong feeling that Angela had ex- 
 pressed with regard to Roger, seemed to 
 soften down under the influence of his 
 polished manners and the charm of his 
 conversation. He seldom spoke of politics, 
 still less of religion ; and it seemed impos- 
 sible not to feel the trust in him that an 
 honest man and a gentleman inspires ; or at
 
 DOMESTIC. 49 
 
 least one whom we believe to be such, 
 because he looks and speaks like one. 
 
 The princess did not hesitate to take 
 Madame de Bray into her confidence with 
 regard to Andrea and Rose. She would 
 say to her : 
 
 " You know, my dear madame, Lady 
 Clifibrd's health is so dehcate, that I cannot 
 conceal from myself the too great probability 
 of her not living to see dear Rose married. 
 Lord Clifford is a most amiable and excellent 
 man, I have the greatest affection for him ; but 
 I doubt his being a man of much indepen- 
 dence of character. And n o w really, between 
 ourselves, I think I had better candidly tell 
 you what I am afraid of. I tremble lest he 
 should think it wise to marry Rose with her 
 cousin Robert, and so unite the two proper- 
 ties ; for though of course it would involve 
 all the difficulties of endeavouring to obtain 
 the necessary dispensation for admitting of 
 a marriage between cousins, yet considering 
 how much may be said to hang upon it, and 
 the great importance in this country of 
 keeping up the good old Catholic families, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 I cannot but think the permission would be 
 obtained from the Holy See." 
 
 Madame de Bray looked a little grave, 
 and replied : 
 
 *' I should consider that a very undesirable 
 alliance, my dear princess. At the same 
 time, I quite foresee the possibility of the 
 danger. Lord Clifford is extremely attached 
 to his brother." 
 
 " Do tell me, madame, what sort of a boy 
 is Eobert ?" 
 
 " We have seen very little of him. I am 
 told that he shows considerable talent. But 
 he has been brought up entirely abroad, and 
 is now at a German university." 
 
 " What ! a Protestant university. Impos- 
 sible !" 
 
 " He is at Bonn ; and, as you are aware, 
 he can there declare himself either Protes- 
 tant or Catholic, or neither." 
 
 " And which has he done ?" asked the 
 princess. 
 
 " I believe he has followed the third course, 
 and adopted no religion at all. And I am 
 afraid that is exactly what his father wished.
 
 DOMESTIC. 51 
 
 You know Mr. Clifford is a very ambitious 
 man. Our faith is an impediment, absolute 
 and entire, to his ever rising in this 
 country. The House of Commons, and the 
 court, and the bar, even had he ever thought 
 of that, are absolutely closed to him. He 
 cannot hold a commission in the army, or 
 even exercise any influence in his own 
 county as a magistrate. This is extremely 
 galling to a man of his temper, and though 
 he himself will, probably — whether from 
 family pride, or, let us hope, from still 
 having the faith though he does not live up 
 to it — never openly renounce the Catholic 
 Church, yet I am afraid he would not be 
 sorry that his son, later on, by open apostacy, 
 should become an eligible candidate for 
 some of the honours and places the Court 
 and the Government may have to bestow." 
 
 ''But, dear madame, do you imagine 
 Lord Clifford has any idea of the state of 
 the case with regard to his brother's feel- 
 mgs ? 
 
 " I do not believe he has. Nor would it 
 be easy to enlighten him on the subject. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 iJNJVERSfTY OF rUfWOIS
 
 52 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 He is devoted to his younger brother, and 
 what with Mr. CHfford's being almost 
 always absent abroad, and with ourselves 
 going so often to Italy, added to Mr. Clif- 
 ford's careful conduct when in his brother's 
 house, I am not much surprised that he 
 does not suspect the truth." 
 
 " I perceive, indeed," said the princess, 
 " that Mr. Clifford seems to be bitten with 
 some of the Grerman philosophical views 
 of the day, and to admire the lawless spirit 
 which is unhappily gaining ground in our 
 own France. But I own that in a man 
 of the world, like Mr. Clifford, I had not 
 attached much importance to this." 
 
 "There can be no doubt," rejoined Ma- 
 dame de Bray, "that Mr. Clifford has a 
 great charm about him — a something that 
 excites one's interest and curiosity. But if 
 his son inherits his father's opinions, it 
 would break my heart that he should be- 
 come the husband of my darling Eose." 
 
 " But surely, madame, Angela might ob- 
 tain a promise from her husband that Rose 
 shall be affianced to Andrea. There can
 
 DOMESTIC. 53 
 
 be no reason why tlie question should not 
 be settled at once, if only Rose's parents can 
 be brought to desire it as much as the 
 prince and myself." 
 
 " Unfortunately, Lady Clifford is not 
 likely to have any influence with my lord 
 on that subject ; I mean on the subject of 
 her feelings for his brother. He has 
 always shown a slight jealousy of Lady 
 Clifford's interference about any member of 
 his own family, and has seemed to be appre- 
 hensive that, not being an Englishwoman, 
 she will misunderstand his relatives, and 
 perhaps depreciate his country and customs. 
 It would, of course, be a noble and wealthy 
 alliance for Rose to become the wife of the 
 heir of the Orsinis. But then it obliterates 
 the heiress of the elder branch of the 
 Cliffords under the shadow of a great 
 Italian house. We must hope, dear prin- 
 cess, that the prayers of the martyred 
 priest, who was great uncle to the present 
 Lord Clifford, may prevail to bring about 
 what we desire." 
 
 " Then it is true, is it, that some of the
 
 54 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 blood of the Cliffords has been shed for the 
 faith ?" 
 
 " Quite true. He was the priest here, 
 in this very place. You know in Queen 
 Elizabeth's fatal reign, it was hanging 
 matter to celebrate mass. Father Francis 
 was just concluding the august sacrifice 
 when he was seized in his vestments at the 
 altar. There is preserved in the Chapel 
 House at Nutley the letter he wrote the 
 eve of his martyrdom. It is partly in 
 cypher, but can easily be made out enough 
 to perceive the sense. I happen to have 
 a copy of the interesting document at this 
 moment in my work-bag, for being desirous 
 of sending it to my brother in France I 
 asked Father Netherby to let me see it. 
 Here it is : 
 
 " Eight Eeverend, 
 
 " I received your commands with all 
 humility, and promptitude in execution, for 
 I had taken possession of B. Paul's XX 
 place about twenty hours before it came 
 to me. Now I earnestly beg your prayers
 
 DOMESTIC. 55 
 
 that I may constantly follow on to pursue 
 tlie end of perseverance. 
 
 " Mr. Hood, I hope, will be able to make 
 seme little relation of what hath passed 
 hitherto. 
 
 " All that I ask of any is that (which) 
 Sdnt Andrew begged of the people, ' ne 
 iiwedient passionem^' Grod's holy will be 
 doae in ceternum, 
 
 " Your poor 
 
 "Brother Francis.* 
 "Nov, 12." 
 
 " How proud Lord Clifford must be 
 of having such noble examples in his 
 family ?" 
 
 "Yes, he is indeed, and proud too, of 
 he ' Acts of Attainder/ which you may 
 ilmost say form the principal family papers 
 )f this great house. Formerly half this 
 
 * The above, which was copied from the original 
 IS., is authentic. The surname in the original is 
 ^>ell. A few cyphers, not essential to the meaning, 
 re omitted.
 
 56 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. , 
 
 county, and nearly the whole of the nexli 
 belonged to the house of Clifford, besides 
 the property in the north of England. Biit 
 one rich farm after another went, for e very- 
 child that was known to have been baptized 
 in the Catholic Church, or for the celebia- 
 tion of mass (when it was found out), Dr 
 for having harboured a priest, or for tke 
 priest having been called to administer tke 
 last sacraments to 'the dying. You miy 
 say that the archives of this family are so 
 many claims to the palm of martyrdom, so 
 many title-deeds to a higher place in the 
 many mansions of our Father's kingdom 
 They count their riches, not by what they 
 have gained, not by the rent-roll of their 
 estates, but by their losses and their for- 
 feitures in the cause of the faith !" 
 
 " But surely the suiferings of Catholics 
 in this country are not what they were ? 
 They follow their faith without any actua 
 danger now." 
 
 " That is true," replied madame ; " never 
 theless, what they call the ' Disability 
 Bills ' are still in full force. Doubtless, th
 
 DOMESTIC. 57 
 
 day will come when even tliey will be 
 repealed ; but it will unquestionably not 
 really put tlie Catholics beyond the reach 
 of suffering'. There is another persecution, 
 the result of bigotry and prejudice : a per- 
 secution in home life of the affections and 
 feelings. It sheds no blood ; it wears no 
 halo of martyrdom : but I can imagine it 
 will be very nearly as difficult to bear, 
 though certainly not so apparently glorious 
 as that endured by, for example, the an- 
 cestors of this family." 
 
 " That is possible," rej)lied the princess, 
 " but even that must drop by degrees ; 
 and, besides, it is less likely to embrace so 
 large a number of sufferers. Prejudice is 
 like the miasma in some parts of Italy : 
 it covers one acre of land, and the spot 
 adjoining it is free from it ; and then it 
 shifts from place to place, creeping over 
 the ground like the foul unwholesome thing 
 it is. But a change of wind will blow it 
 away, and restore fresh air and healthful- 
 ness." 
 
 It was not many days after the above
 
 58 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 conversation that a plan was arranged for 
 the ladies and children, and the three 
 gentlemen, to go to Eaymond Castle, and 
 spend the day there. The princess wished 
 to see the castle, and Roger seemed pleased 
 at having the opportunity of showing 
 civility to his sister - in - law's relations. 
 Teresa was still living at Nutley Hall, and 
 so was her father. 
 
 Roger announced his intention of shortly 
 taking up his abode at Raymond Castle, but 
 at the same time he doubted the possibility 
 of enduring his solitary life in a place so 
 uncongenial to his tastes. 
 
 Lord Clifford talked again of taking his 
 wife to Italy. In which case Roger said 
 he should insist on his little Teresa being 
 again consigned to the nuns. Teresa had 
 not seen her own home for two years, 
 and as before going to school she had 
 always lived at Nutley Hall, she had no 
 very distinct recollections of the castle. 
 She was full of eager excitement about it_, 
 and asked endless questions of Rose and 
 Mrs. Dorothy the evening before the day
 
 DOMESTIC. 59 
 
 fixed for their visit there. Teresa was 
 never so happy as when she could shp 
 away to the room where Mrs. Dorothy sat 
 generally surrounded with house-linen to 
 mend, or Miss Rose's frocks to cut out and 
 make ; and taking a stool she would draw 
 it near the window where Mrs. Dorothy 
 worked, and commence her long list of 
 inquiries. 
 
 It often happened that Rose and Andrea 
 would join them, and then it was a very 
 merry party, with a great clatter of small 
 voices, and a curious mixture of English, 
 French, and Italian conversation. Teresa 
 knew but little of Italian, having nearly 
 forgotten what she had learnt two years 
 previous, when living with her aunt An- 
 gela ; but Rose and Andrea were perfectly 
 fluent in all three languages, and of the 
 two, French came more naturally to Teresa 
 than English. 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy having been a great tra- 
 veller, in consequence of the vagrant habits 
 of the family in which she lived, could 
 understand what the children said to each
 
 60 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 other in either tongue, though she gene- 
 rally confined her own observations to 
 English, because Miss Rose was apt to 
 criticise her pronunciation of French, and 
 Andrea to go into fits of laughter over her 
 Italian. 
 
 On this occasion all the three children 
 were grouped round Mrs. Dorothy. Teresa 
 had relinquished her little stool to Rose, as 
 being the youngest, and was herself sitting 
 in a chair, looking nearly as joi^i^^i and 
 quite as sweet and nunlike as she did on 
 the night of her arrival, though the ugly 
 livery had given place to brighter attire. 
 
 Andrea opened the conversation by re- 
 minding Rose that she had promised to beg 
 Dorothy to tell them the exact truth about 
 some wonderful and supernatural appear- 
 ance connected with Raymond Castle. But 
 Dorothy shook her head, and replied, 
 
 " I cannot talk to little children about 
 such things. I shall have Miss Rose 
 crying in the night, and Miss Teresa will 
 be afraid to go and live in her father's 
 house."
 
 DOMESTIC. 61 
 
 " Ob, but, Dorotby, I do know all about 
 it, only I want to bear it again. Tbe coacb- 
 man told Andy tbe otber day wben Andy 
 was riding, and wben be came borne be told 
 me. I am not frigbtened, and I want to 
 know more. You are not frigbtened, are 
 you, dear Teresa ?" 
 
 " No," said Teresa, " I am not afraid ot 
 tbese tilings, and I am quite sure it will not 
 make me afraid to live witb papa. Poor 
 papa ! be always looks so grave, I sbould 
 like to live witb bim, and make bim laugb." 
 
 " I bardly tbink you would do tbat, Miss 
 Teresa," said Dorotby, ''for you are tbe 
 gravest little lady I ever saw myself. I 
 sbould like to see you laugb a little 
 more." 
 
 "Well tben, Mrs. Dorotby, tell me 
 about Bucklyn and Sbaig, and tben I will 
 laugb." 
 
 " Now, tben," said Rose, clapping ber 
 bands, " begin like a good Dolly." 
 
 " Tbere is not mucb to tell, my dear 
 cbildren," said Dorotby, looking, nevertbe- 
 less, grave and important. "It is only an
 
 62 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 idle story, I dare say, of the common people 
 about here. 
 
 " You know, Miss Rose, the bend in the 
 road as you go up to the castle from the 
 Blackdean Road. When you have passed 
 the park lodge a little way you come to 
 some groups of trees, rather close together. 
 It is not an avenue now, but it looks as if it 
 had been some time or other, only several 
 of the trees are missing, and there is a pond 
 close to the side of the road, with a round 
 island in it. 
 
 '' Well, the story goes that long ago there 
 was a very wicked Lord Clifford, who lived 
 at Raymond Castle, for in those days the 
 castle and the hall both belonged to the 
 same person. 
 
 " This wicked Lord Clifford had murdered 
 his wife, and buried her somewhere in the 
 castle. He led a bad life, and drank hard, 
 and oppressed the poor. One day a holy 
 Franciscan came to Lord Clifford to ask an 
 alms. The baron was going out hunting. 
 He wore a broad hunting-belt, with a great 
 gold buckle, and he had very fierce dogs.
 
 DOMESTIC. 63 
 
 for he was going to hunt the wolf in the 
 great forest under the hill. The friar 
 asked for alms for his house, and for the 
 poor of the neighhouring hamlet, and he 
 uphraided Lord Clifford for his cruelty to 
 the widow and the orphan. He was a bold 
 man that barefooted friar, but he said what 
 he said for love of God and Our Lady. The 
 wicked baron got very angry, and swore at 
 the friar, and, as the friar would not be 
 silent, he struck him with his great hunt- 
 ing-whip on the mouth, and the blood 
 flowed. Then he called to his savage dogs, 
 and they flew at the friar. They grew mad 
 at the sight of blood, and they tore the friar 
 down on the ground, and there he lay half 
 dead. But as Lord Clifford was riding off 
 the friar called out, 'Lord Clifford, Lord 
 Clifford, I forgive thee ; but the Evil One 
 will ride with thee to-night, and hold by 
 the buckle of thy belt.' 
 
 " Lord Clifford called off his hounds, and 
 they followed the hunt through all the day ; 
 but when evening came Lord Clifford was 
 missing. The huntsmen and the guests
 
 64 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 heard screams far off in the forest, but he 
 never came back. Only all through the 
 night they heard the sound of a horse gal- 
 loping, as if backwards and forwards, just 
 along that piece of the road opposite the 
 small pond with the island. The horse 
 never reached the castle, but went up and 
 down the same distance along the road, as 
 if the rider never could find his way home. 
 And they do say that sometimes the 
 labourers, returning home at night, have 
 seen a horse at full gallop : there sits on 
 him a man pale and horrid, and holding on 
 behind, with his arms round his waist, is 
 the devil, for all the world like a very 
 shaggy wolf, and the peasants call it the 
 Bucklyn Shaig ; and I have been told that 
 occasionally when some persons who per- 
 haps had not a very clear conscience (for I 
 cannot beheve it would happen to a good 
 man), have been riding down that part of 
 the road, Bucklyn Shaig who seems always 
 to haunt the place, will jump up behind the 
 unhappy man and throw his arms round hi 
 waist, as he is seen to do round the phantom
 
 DOMESTIC. 65 
 
 Lord Clifford, and so will ride with him, 
 whether he will or no, till he passes out of 
 the shade of the trees again into the open 
 road and over the brook ; and then the 
 devil leaps down and jumps over the fence 
 in the shape of a black cat.* And the 
 story goes, that when Bucklyn Shaig is seen 
 it is always a sign that some great crime 
 has been committed up at the castle, or that 
 a great misfortune is about to happen to the 
 house of Clifford." 
 
 There was a pause of hushed terror when 
 Dorothy came to the end of her story. It 
 was too near home not to take double 
 effedt on the little listeners. Teresa's 
 white cheek was curdled with horror, and 
 Rosa's eyes were open to their widest 
 stretch. Andrea was the first person to 
 speak. He put his arm round Rosa's neck, 
 and said : 
 
 " Never mind, Rosy, dear ; if ever you 
 and I, and Teresa see him, we will say the 
 
 * The same legend, under the same name, exists 
 also in the county of Surrey, near Reigate. But in 
 that case the devil disappears in the form of a shaggy 
 dog, after crossing the brook with the rider. 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Litany, and that is sure to send the devil 
 away.'* 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy, seeing that her story had 
 even more telHng effect than she had anti- 
 cipated, said cheerfully : 
 
 " There now, you silly children, you all 
 look as scared as if you had seen it your- 
 selves. Let us think of something else. 
 Suppose we sing the Litany, all four of us 
 together, to that pretty tune I was teaching 
 you last week. I wonder if you have for- 
 gotten it." 
 
 Teresa's voice was remarkably sweet. 
 She sang with much feeling, and Mrs. 
 Dorothy, as she looked at the pure oval of 
 her face, and the full, thickly-fringed lids, 
 half-closing over the dark eyes, remembered 
 some of the pictures of St. Cecilia that she 
 had seen in her travels. She could not take 
 her eyes off the earnest, lovely face, and 
 when the singing was over, and cheerful- 
 ness restored, she said to herself, " That 
 child looks as if she would die a saint one 
 of these days."
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A day's pleasure. 
 
 The weather proving favourable for the 
 expedition — not a very long one — to Ray- 
 mond Castle, the children were packed in a 
 char-a-banc, Madame de Bray and Mrs. 
 Dorothy being in attendance. The ladies 
 and gentlemen proceeded in an open car- 
 riage. 
 
 When they approached that part of the 
 park near Raymond Castle which answered 
 to Mrs. Dorothy's description of the haunt 
 of the Bucklyn Shaig, Andrea drew nearer 
 to Rose and whispered to her : 
 
 '' This is the place, Rose ; but he will 
 not come now, because it is daylight. I 
 hope we shall return after dark, and so see 
 him."
 
 68 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 " No," said Eose, very gravely, " it is 
 not riglit to wish to see such things. I 
 cannot think how any one can wish to see 
 the devil ; and, besides, it always means, 
 when it is seen, that some misfortune is to 
 happen to the Cliffords ; and you know, 
 Andy, it might mean that I was to die, and 
 you would not like that." 
 
 Eose spoke with all the confidence of a 
 person well aware of her own importance, 
 and particularly of the importance she must 
 necessarily have in the eyes of Andrea. 
 Eose remarked the little circular pond, and 
 the island planted with willows and osiers, 
 making, probably, a cover for the nests of 
 some of the wildfowl that frequented the 
 waters of Eaymond Park. She noticed it 
 then, and ever after ; and many years later, 
 when that tiny island became a most im- 
 portant spot to her on a dark night, the 
 events of which we shall have to relate, 
 Eose, in spite of her terror then, and her 
 danger, remembered that bright summer's 
 morning, and the drive in the char-a-banc, 
 and little Andrea sitting by her side.
 
 A day's pleasure. 69 
 
 Tliey drove past the great Scotch firs, 
 leaving them to the left. Angela re- 
 mai'ked that they faintly reminded her of 
 the stone pines of her own land, and were 
 at all events not a bad substitute ; and pre- 
 sently they alighted under the open, arched 
 porch of the great clock-tower. 
 
 Teresa kept very much to the society of 
 Mrs. Dorothy. She had found that the 
 nurse had known her mother before her 
 own birth, which had cost that mother's 
 life. Dorothy was a native of the place, 
 and had been in the family from her 
 earliest girlhood. Teresa would ask many 
 questions about her mother, and, above all, 
 had begged Dorothy to be sure and get 
 the key of her mother's oratory, that she 
 might visit again the spot consecrated by 
 her mother's prayers. 
 
 The entrance of Raymond Castle led into 
 a long gallery, which ran from one end of 
 the castle to the other, and was hung on 
 either side with family portraits. From 
 the centre of this gallery rose the great oak 
 staircase, dividing halfway up into two
 
 70 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 flights of steps, and with a large window of 
 painted glass at the top of the first flight. 
 At the extreme end of the gallery, to the 
 right, was the banqueting-hall, with richly- 
 carved roof, and beautiful faces looking 
 down from the ends of the beams. Opposite 
 the door of the banqueting-hall was a small 
 reception-room with a deep oriel window, 
 and beyond that a tiny boudoir ; then came 
 Mr. Clifford's study. The larger reception- 
 rooms were the opposite side of the gallery. 
 The whole had been modernized from the 
 time when the wicked lord lived there, and 
 when the Bucklyn and Shaig was a well- 
 recognised inhabitant of the neighbour- 
 hood. There were, moreover, no bare- 
 footed friars to come to the door and beg 
 for the poor of Christ. 
 
 The old castle had been modernized in 
 every way, and, doubtless, was less uncom- 
 fortable than in the ages of faith, when it 
 was also more picturesque. It retained, 
 however, enough of its old character for 
 Rose some years hence, as we shall find, 
 still to call it gloomy.
 
 A day's pleasure. 71 
 
 Wyverns and grlfSns, and creatures 
 that were neither dog nor cat, were carved 
 outside on the posterns of the doors arid 
 mulHons of the windows ; the great tower, 
 esjoecially on the outside, was a perfect 
 menagerie of stone monsters, who seemed 
 ready to pounce upon you as you passed in 
 or out of the porch through the open 
 arches. 
 
 The children ran about in all directions, 
 and were pleased and amused with every- 
 thing. The deer came up to the very 
 windows of the castle, and the peacocks — 
 of which there were many, because the late 
 Mrs. Clifford had liked to see them ma- 
 jestically walking backwards and forwards 
 on the lawn — perched in the large trees 
 near the castle, like turkeys in a farmyard. 
 
 When Teresa had accompanied the two 
 other children for some time in their 
 wanderings, she slipped quietly away to 
 look for Mrs. Dorothy, and ask for the 
 key to her mother's oratory. Mrs. Doro- 
 thy was soon found, and they went to- 
 gether. As we have said before, it had
 
 72 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 always been Mrs. Dorothy's care to keep 
 it as it had been left by Mrs. Clifford. 
 And as Mrs. Dorothy seemed to belong 
 equally to both branches of the family, 
 residing with Miss Rose when Miss Teresa 
 was in the convent, and following the 
 latter to the castle when her father took 
 her there, she had no difficulty in getting 
 access to the oratory whenever her pious 
 self-imposed duties called her there. 
 
 Teresa passed into the little room with a 
 feeling of awe. It was connected in her 
 mind with a love she had never known, 
 that of a mother, and with all that was 
 most sacred in religion. The two were 
 blended in her young mind in a beauti- 
 ful and mysterious way — the past, in the 
 thought of her saintly mother ; the present, 
 in the thought of her own orphaned con- 
 dition ; and the future, in the dear hope of 
 joining that mother in a world the reality 
 and the nearness of which were the strong- 
 est feelings in her innocent mind. 
 
 In contrast with all the rest of the castle, 
 the oratory, its altar, and all the decora-
 
 A day's pleasure. 73 
 
 tions, were purely Roman. Over the altar 
 hung a beautiful Ecce Homo, by Guer- 
 cino. The mournful dark eyes in that 
 palhd Face seemed to look down upon you 
 pleadingly. The hair, streaked with the 
 dews of agony, fell in disorder across the 
 brow; the flesh tints showed the livid 
 tinge that suffering gives when it stagnates 
 the blood. The meek Hands, so often 
 raised to heal and to bless, were knotted 
 together with a coarse cord, and the cruel 
 pressure had left the fingers numb and 
 reddened. A dark crimson drapery fell 
 from the shoulders as low as the waist, and 
 threw up in greater relief the pallor of the 
 figure. The coldest could not have looked 
 on that picture without feeling its beauty. 
 And the effect was heightened by the 
 oratory being dimly lighted by two win- 
 dows high up, and shaded by blinds of a 
 deep gold-colour. There stood on the 
 super-altar an ivory crucifix, said to have 
 been carved by Benvenuto Cellini, and 
 four massive silver candlesticks. There 
 were no flowers. The altar itself was of
 
 74 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 white marble, inlaid with Alexandrian 
 mosaic. Above was a baldacchino of 
 crimson velvet edged and fringed with 
 gold. The walls were painted with ara- 
 besques like those of the loggie in the 
 Vatican, and three feet from the ground 
 ran a border of deep Etruscan red. The 
 floor was inlaid with different coloured 
 woods. It .might have been a cardinal's 
 private oratory caught up from Rome, and 
 dropped in the midst of a gothic English 
 castle. 
 
 There was something very striking in the 
 contrast to the }■ oung imagination of Teresa. 
 Her mother had died in Italy — lay buried 
 in Italy. Her brief life had known, as 
 was evident by the decorations she had 
 chosen for her oratory, a strange sympathy 
 with the art and artistic feeling of that 
 land ; and it was there she had gone to die, 
 as if it were the her land of predilection, 
 and that she would better rest in its bosom. 
 
 In after years Teresa spent many hours 
 in this little oratory, and the thought of a 
 mother's love, never really known on earth
 
 A day's pleasure. 75 
 
 to her, grew into her mind with her 
 mother's rehgion, and helped her to pene- 
 trate some of its deepest mysteries. As 
 Teresa knelt on the altar steps, she prayed 
 for that father, her only living parent, who 
 never knelt there himself, and cared so 
 little for the spot that should have been 
 rendered doubly sacred by the memory 
 of his young and devoted wife. 
 
 They suffer who dwell on the memory of 
 the dead. But those are more to be pitied 
 who have not heart enough to cherish the 
 thoughts of the once beloved ones who are 
 gone before. 
 
 While Teresa was still kneeling there, 
 Angela and the princess came in. They, 
 too, knelt. Presently Teresa rose to leave 
 the oratory; Angela looked up and saw 
 that the dear child's cheeks were wet with 
 tears. She caught her in her arms, and 
 pressed her passionately to her bosom. 
 
 " My child, my darling child ! you have 
 a Mother in heaven." 
 
 " Oh, that She may pray for my poor 
 father on earth !" was the unexpected
 
 76 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 and solemn answer of that premature 
 heart. 
 
 Already Teresa had entered upon her 
 vocation — to live for others, and not for 
 herself, to see the wants of others more 
 than her own, and if it might be, even to 
 die for others. 
 
 When Teresa left the oratory, she joined 
 the other children, and was at once a child 
 again. When her father came in she ran 
 up to him and slipped her little hand in 
 his, and seemed to watch him and keep 
 close to him all through the remainder of 
 the day. He turned his dark eyes upon 
 her from time to time with a look of 
 anxiety, if not of tenderness. He seemed 
 puzzled at the little creature's ways, and 
 did not know how to meet them. 
 
 Angela, with a woman's instinct, was un- 
 derstanding it all, and quickly perceiving 
 how at that moment she might possibly 
 achieve her own benevolent ends, vshe 
 quietly made up to Roger, and laying her 
 hand gently on his arm, said : 
 
 " You will let me keep her, will you
 
 A day's pleasure. 77 
 
 not, Roger? The poor child is mother- 
 less !'' 
 
 Roger for a moment looked troubled, a 
 flush passed over his pallid cheeks, but he 
 replied : 
 
 " Thank jou, my dear kind sister-in-law. 
 When you next go to Italy, I should be 
 glad she went with you as far as Paris. If 
 you go this winter let it be then. Mean- 
 while, as you are so good as to wish it, I 
 will leave her with you, at least for another 
 month or two." 
 
 Angela expressed her thanks warmly, 
 small as the concession amounted to, and 
 would have done so still more had she not 
 perceived that it seemed painful to Roger 
 to dwell on the subject. The old jealousy 
 of the elder brother, and the greater house, 
 was still gnawing at his heart, and he was 
 too proud to give it up even at Angela's 
 entreaties, or for any love that he might 
 bear to Teresa. Angela tried to put in a 
 word for Robert, now eighteen years of 
 age, and always away from his family and 
 his father's house. But she saw that it
 
 78 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 was worse than useless to do so, and there- 
 fore gave up the attemjot, thankful at least 
 to have carried the day so far as Teresa 
 was concerned. And in triumph she 
 hastened to acquaint the princess with her 
 success. 
 
 The gentlemen had been walking all 
 through the grounds and over the castle. 
 Lord Clifford had been warmly praising the 
 improvements made by his brother. And 
 the prince had been comparing the older 
 parts of the castle with his own feudal 
 castle of Bracciano, where there is still to be 
 seen an awful keep, down which prisoners 
 were thrown in the good old times. It was 
 quite in the body of the castle, and bears 
 some resemblance to an enormous well. The 
 prince asked Roger if he remembered it. 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Roger, '' and I too have 
 something of the kind, somewhere or other 
 in my castle, only it is of a much more 
 harmless nature. It is in fact an old well 
 which happens to be built over, but which 
 does lie underneath the flooring of some one 
 of the rooms."
 
 A day's pleasure. 79 
 
 When the prince and Roger were both 
 in the decline of hfe, the former heard 
 something which recalled to his recollection 
 this trifling remark about the well. But 
 we must not anticipate events. 
 
 The sun had set, and the moon was 
 shining bright when they left the castle. 
 They returned home by another way — not 
 going through the lodge at the end of the 
 road, said to be frequented by the Bucklyn 
 Shaig, but passing out of the park into the 
 fields of the home-farm, and thus regaining 
 the road at the head of the lake. This was 
 done in consequence of a hint given to Lady 
 Clifford by Mrs. Dorothy, who was not 
 without fear that the children, already in an 
 excited state, anight allow their imagina- 
 tion to master their judgment on the ques- 
 tion of spectres and goblins, if they returned 
 home through the fatal avenue. They were 
 pleased with the change of road, and failed 
 to discover the reason, and were moreover 
 too merry, and too full of wild spirits for 
 the recollection of the Bucklyn Shaig to 
 have any iufluence
 
 80 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 Several weeks had passed in this quiet 
 way, the members of the one family satisfied 
 with each other's society, but still from time 
 time showing due hospitality to their neigh- 
 bours. No one talked of going yet, and 
 even Roger seemed contented. It is true, 
 slight causes of disapprobation were occa- 
 sionally detected by the prince and princess, 
 and still more so by Angela, with regard 
 to a certain tone in Roger's conversation. 
 But Lord Clifford could perceive nothing 
 but the brilliancy of a clever man of the 
 world. He referred to his brother in every- 
 thing, took his advice in all matters of busi- 
 ness, and seemed to desire nothing so much 
 as to make him feel that he associated him 
 in every interest of his life. He talked a 
 great deal about Robert, and the deep 
 interest he felt in the lad, now eis-hteen 
 years of age. But at the same time he said 
 nothing sufficient to make the Orsinis per- 
 ceive more in his affection than what was 
 natural from an uncle to an only nephew, 
 especially as having no son of his own, 
 although he might still hope for one, the
 
 A day's pleasure. 81 
 
 probability was that the title would ulti- 
 mately devolve upon Eobert. The property 
 he had entirely in his own power, and of 
 course would leave it all to Rose, on whom 
 he perfectly doted. 
 
 At length, however, this unbroken calm 
 was destined to be slightly disturbed ; and, 
 as generally happens, the disturbance came 
 from the less prominent actors in the 
 domestic scene. 
 
 One morning early, while Angela was 
 sitting writing letters in her boudoir, Mrs. 
 Dorothy knocked at the door, and begged 
 to speak to her ladyship. Upon obtaining 
 admission she closed the door carefully 
 behind her, and began in rather a low 
 voice, as though still afraid she might be 
 overheard : 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lady, for coming 
 to trouble you. Your ladyship knows I 
 never like to bring tales of the other ser- 
 vants, or to repeat unnecessarily anything 
 that goes on amongst them ; and I should 
 be the more anxious not to do so in the 
 present case, because I seem to belong, as 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 it were, to Mr. Clifford as well as to you 
 and my lord, seeing that I am nurse to 
 Miss Teresa, as well as to Miss Rose, when- 
 ever the former is in England. But I 
 think, my lady, in the present case I should 
 be doing wrong if I did not speak out re- 
 specting the way things are going on down- 
 stairs, and which, but for me, your ladyship 
 might perhaps never hear of till something 
 dreadful happened." 
 
 '• Yes, Dorothy, what is it ?" 
 
 '' Why, my lady, Mr. Vincenzo, with his 
 foreign ways, has brought about quite a 
 change in this peaceful and christian house, 
 as any way it used to be before he set his 
 foot within the doors and darkened them. 
 I do not mean to say that the servants 
 would not sometimes of an evening, when 
 work was done, have a quiet game of cards, 
 like Patience, or Beggar-my-neighbour, and 
 such like, and may be they would have 
 penny or halfpenny stakes. But that was 
 the very utmost of the gambling I ever saw 
 in this house till Mr. Yincenzo came. But 
 now, my lady, it is shilling points every
 
 A day's pleasure. 83 
 
 night, and even half-crowns sometimes. 
 And this has been going on some time, till 
 last night they got to playing with dice 
 into the bargain, Yincenzo and his lord- 
 ship's valet, James. It seems that James 
 was fool enough to be telling all the world 
 that his aunt as died last vear had left him 
 a very pretty sum of money, and ever since 
 that fellow, Yincenzo, has been enticing the 
 poor fellow to play with him. And James 
 has played every night this week. And he 
 had the bad luck to win, my lady. For I 
 call it bad luck, since it was that made the 
 poor fool go on with it. Well, my lady, last 
 night they both sat down to it again, as if 
 they were in right good earnest. My opinion 
 \s^ that James was not quite what he should 
 have been. It was after supper, you know, 
 my lady, and I think as how James had 
 had a drop more than was good for him. 
 And Mr. Yincenzo, he saw that, and if he 
 had been an honest man he would not have 
 played witli a poor fellow who was just a 
 little muddled. Well, my lady, they nat up 
 till three o'clock in the morning, and that
 
 84 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 poor silly James lie lost all, or nearly all. 
 And lie was like to go mad. And somehow 
 he got spirits in, and when he found how 
 he had lost and lost, he began drinking. 
 The other servants, when they got up at 
 six o'clock this morning, they found him 
 lying on the floor of the servants' hall, mad 
 drunk, and tearing his hair, and saying as 
 Mr. Yincenzo had ruined him. Well, my 
 lady, they persuaded him to go quietly to 
 bed at last, and there he is now, and my 
 lord was told, when Richard carried up his 
 hot water, that James was not very well. 
 They say he does go on so, and he says he 
 is ruined, and shall blow his brains out. I 
 thought it but right your ladyship should 
 know how matters are going on. And 
 neither the housekeeper nor the butler like 
 to speak for fear of bringing poor James 
 into more trouble, and he is so troubled 
 already. But, for my part, I lay the blame 
 on Mr. Yincenzo. He is a regular sharper, 
 my lady, that's what he is ; and the sooner 
 he is gone the better for all the servants 
 in this house. There is not one of them
 
 A day's pleasure. 85 
 
 but believes the cards had been tampered 
 with." 
 
 Lady CHfford listened horror-struck. This 
 was the man Roger kept about him, and 
 had done so for years. Could he be igno- 
 rant of what a scoundrel he was ? At any 
 rate she was determined such things should 
 not continue in her house, and resolved to 
 speak to Lord Clifford, and beg him to get 
 his brother to prohibit his servant tempting 
 the others to gamble while stopping at 
 Nutley Hall ; while he, on his part, would 
 give out that the next time he heard of 
 anything of the kind taking place, all the 
 parties concerned should be dismissed. 
 
 Lord Clifford looked very grave about it, 
 for he had very conscientious views with 
 regard to his duty towards his dependants. 
 Both he and Angela agreed that it would 
 be cruel to punish James any further by 
 dismissal, as he had already suffered so 
 much. But Lord Clifford took the first 
 opportunity of speaking to his brother 
 about it. Roger seemed very greatly an- 
 noyed, and assured him nothing of the
 
 86 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 kind should happen again. To Lord Clif- 
 ford his manner remained as before this 
 incident, and he was always charming in 
 his conduct to him. Of course it was the 
 same with regard to the prince and princess, 
 who could have nothing to do with this 
 domestic disturbance. But he became more 
 reserved to Angela. If possible he was 
 even more attentive than before, but there 
 was an absence of all affection in his man- 
 ner. He was scrupulously pohte, and posi- 
 tively waited on her wants ; but he seldom 
 talked to her, and when he did it was some- 
 what coldly, and as if he were only per- 
 forming a necessary act of courtesy to 
 the lady of the house and his brother's 
 wife. 
 
 Angela felt it acutely, and complained of 
 it to the princess. The latter perceived it, 
 but made light of it, being anxious that her 
 friend's sensitive nature should not dwell 
 upon it. 
 
 Shortly after this event, which had slightly 
 troubled the whole party with the exception 
 of Lord Clifford — who, the thing once over,
 
 A day's pleasure. 87 
 
 did not seem to perceive the results — Eoger 
 left Xiitley Hall. He remained at the 
 castle for about a week, and then suddenly 
 reappeared one morning early, to say he 
 was come to wish them farewell, as he was 
 going that night to London, and to Paris in 
 a few days. He took leave of Teresa with 
 more show of feeling than he had yet 
 evinced to his little daughter, and he finally 
 arranged that she should remain with Lord 
 and Lady Clifford until they went to Italy, 
 whenever that might be ; and that when 
 they went they should leave her at the 
 convent in Paris on their way. 
 
 Angela had greatly recovered her health 
 in the course of the summer, and when the 
 Orsinis left England in the beginning of 
 October, she was hoping to be able to 
 remain at Nutley through the winter ; for, 
 as she said, it enabled her to keep Teresa 
 with her for some time longer, and also it 
 was better for Rose, at her tender age, to 
 remain quietly at home. Rose spent a 
 whole day in tears when Andrea departed ; 
 and he, with protestations of inviolable
 
 88 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 fidelity, assured her when next he came to 
 England it would be to make her his wife, 
 and take her away with him. But before 
 that period could arrive, Rose herself was 
 to visit Italy.
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 
 
 The time was come when the Orsinis were 
 to return to Italy, and Angela, whose 
 restored health had induced her to relin- 
 quish the intention of leaving home that 
 winter, was looking forward with dread to 
 the hour of parting. It was settled they 
 should all go together to London, and that 
 the Orsinis should take leave of the Cliffords 
 there. 
 
 A long day's journey, in two heavy 
 family coaches, lay before them ; but to 
 them it appeared neither tedious nor un- 
 interesting. The princess, on the contrary, 
 was in admiration at the rapidity with 
 which the English coachman and horses
 
 90 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 conducted them. They stopped at a pretty 
 way-side inn to dine and sleep, and the 
 shades of evening, on the following day, 
 had closed in before they reached Wimble- 
 don Common ; and climbing up the steep 
 hill that led to it from Kingston-on-Thames, 
 arrived at the most precarious part of their 
 journey, that locality being specially in- 
 fested with highwaymen. 
 
 The whole party had from time to time left 
 the carriage, and refreshed their cramped 
 limbs by walking up some of the hills ; but 
 on reaching the too notorious common in 
 question, it was considered too dark to do 
 otherwise than get over the ground quickly, 
 and hasten towards the safety of the sub- 
 burbs. 
 
 Andrea had been inquiring if there were 
 likely to be any banditti on the road, and 
 was not altogether displeased to find that 
 even Englishmen, who seemed to him to 
 be for ever boasting of their superiority, 
 lived (in those days) in a wholesome fear of 
 highwaymen. Only when he ascertained 
 that there were no mountains, into the
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 91 
 
 recesses of which the victims were carried, 
 and from thence were either ransomed by 
 their friends or, faihng that, hung on the 
 nearest tree, he looked upon Dick Turpin 
 and his class as very inferior to the more 
 desperate and more thoroughly organised 
 bands that sometimes descend upon poor 
 travellers from the heights above Terracina, 
 and despoil them of all. 
 
 A wood lay to their left, with wooden 
 palings and with handsome park gates, 
 surmounted by griffins ; on the other hand, 
 a. yellow sand-bank, covered with golden 
 furze-bushes ; and here the road was so 
 steep that the horses had to walk ; but not 
 even the coachman alighted. Urging on 
 his tired steeds, he was anxious to be safe 
 beyond the wild heath that lay before him. 
 
 Soon they were in the broad, dimly- 
 lighted main street of Fulham, innocent of 
 gas ; and now crossing Putney Bridge, over 
 the silver Thames, flowing silently in the 
 moonlight, and with the square tower of the 
 old church reflected in a broken image on 
 the eddies rippling in the night- wind.
 
 92 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 And now tliey reach the great metropoKs, 
 and, passing through the turnpike at Hyde 
 Park Corner, alighted weary and hungry 
 at the mansion of the Chfford's in Picca- 
 dilly. 
 
 Those were the days when Foote and 
 Garrick acted, when Oliver Goldsmith 
 dressed in a canary -coloured coat, and the 
 ponderous Johnson perversely Latinized the 
 English language, and so bequeathed it to 
 us. But we have nothing to do with all 
 that. Ours is a story of life as it might 
 have been in almost any modern time, and 
 we are anxious not to alienate our readers 
 from sympathy with the characters in our 
 book, by proving to them that our heroes 
 and heroines lived differently and spoke 
 differently from what we do ourselves in 
 our own times. Trifling as these things 
 may seem, our habits of thought are too 
 much mixed up with them for us not to be 
 strongly influenced by them. We find a 
 deeper interest, perhaps, in the great and 
 heroic deeds of those whose names have 
 been consecrated by time and history. But
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 93 
 
 stories of domestic life must be cast in our 
 own mould for us to care about them. We 
 therefore leave our friends to visit the 
 sights and attend the theatres of a very 
 diflerent London from ours ; and the Orsinis 
 having quitted its fogs for their own bright 
 Florence, we follow Lord and Lady Clifford 
 back to the deep shades of Nutley Hall. 
 
 The winter set in early, and the quiet 
 routine of her home life presented few 
 stirring events to kindle the warm imagi- 
 nation of Angela's Italian nature. But she 
 possessed to the fullest measure the quiet 
 intensity that belongs to the Roman cha- 
 racter. Not excitable, like the Neapoli- 
 tans ; not treacherous, like the Piedmontese ; 
 calm, grand, and patient, unless violently 
 roused — then for one moment will the 
 passive depths of those Roman souls boil up 
 in an overwhelming outburst. The deep 
 passion that lurks in those black eyes, and 
 hovers round those chiselled lips, takes 
 their owner by storm. Deeds, that an 
 instant before they could not contemplate, 
 are in a moment executed, almost as much
 
 94 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 to the surprise of tlie actor as of the spec- 
 tators. Ah ! the lazy strength that lies in 
 those arched brows and moulds the brain of 
 those classic heads. Gentle as a woman, 
 proud as a lion, sleeping in the dreamy 
 sunshine of a whole Italian life, but from 
 time to time suddenly roused, and then 
 betraying intensity and power, intellect and 
 emotion, unknown to our northern lands. 
 Beware of the quiet patience that seems so 
 all-enduring ; beware of a submission that 
 is akin to indolence and indifference. One 
 word may change the modern Eoman so 
 suddenly and so completely that if you ever, 
 under his stolid idleness, doubted that the 
 blood of the old heroes was still mingling 
 in his veins, you would be surprised and 
 startled at the contrast between the lion 
 sleeping and the lion roused. And yet the 
 noble instincts of the past have died out of 
 them, if the hotter passions have not. Dis- 
 trustful in their friendships (we doubt if a 
 Roman trusts even his own shadow), yet 
 yielding a ready credulity to any charlatan 
 who will flatter their indolence and their
 
 TEE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 95 
 
 vanity ; arrogant and proud, yet mean, and 
 •even sordid in private life ; a people com- 
 manding tlie greatest variety of qualities 
 and character under a singularly uniform 
 exterior ; the deepest of politicians and the 
 most inane of idlers; capacity and genius 
 almost beyond limit, or a narrow groove of 
 uneducated stupidity ; a people difficult to 
 love (unless love can exist without trust), 
 and yet impossible to hate ! 
 
 Angela was too happy in her domestic 
 life to pine for excitement. Wrapped up 
 in her husband, and devoting to him the 
 concentrated love of her nature, undivided 
 by the affection that, had she married in 
 her own land, she would have shared with 
 other family ties, and constantly occupied 
 in the care of Rose and Teresa, the time 
 never hung heavy. Her musical trdents 
 were a greater resource to her than read- 
 ing, for Italian women read but little. It 
 could not, however, be said by any one who 
 knew her well that her mind was unedu- 
 cated. She had received that education 
 which is derived less from books than
 
 96 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 gathered by a naturally inquiring mind 
 from all the objects about her. She had a 
 retentive memory, and nothing said before 
 her escaped her notice. In addition to 
 these qualities, she had a deep fund of 
 poetic feeling, which threw a charm to 
 herself over all she saw, and to others over 
 all she said or did. Angela had never 
 written a line of poetry in her life, but she 
 had a rhythm in her thoughts which gave 
 harmony to her words and her actions. 
 
 It is very rare to find any but our own 
 countrywomen who have a true feeling for 
 nature. You seldom see a Frenchwoman 
 who can tell you the names of the wild 
 flowers, if you take a walk with her through 
 the fields, or who knows the notes of the 
 birds in the hedges, and can give you an 
 idea of their habits. They have not that 
 passionate love of nature that is far from 
 uncommon in any well-bred young English 
 girl, and which imparts a freshness to her 
 mind and gives a charm to her quiet country 
 life that no Paris-bred, convent-educated 
 French girl ever possesses. Of course there
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 97 
 
 are exceptions, but they are rare ; and in 
 good proof of it you will find that tlie 
 French rarely succeed in landscape paint- 
 ing, and are only now beginning to appre- 
 ciate the beautiful English school of water- 
 colours. 
 
 Not all the reading that ever young lady 
 was subjected to, not even all the variety of 
 languages she may have studied (and few 
 things impart more pliability to the fancy 
 and more vitality to the power of the intel- 
 lect in a woman, than a free practical know- 
 ledge of several languages), will give the 
 charm to a woman's character in home life 
 that she possesses by having acquired an 
 early and a loving appreciation of external 
 nature. The text book of Creation is a 
 volume that spreads its own freshness and 
 sunlight over those who study it. Perhaps 
 it is a prejudice, but we never could feel 
 ourselves likely to be greatly taken by 
 any woman who had not on the whole a 
 preference for the country. It is true, 
 even to being trite : '' God made the country 
 and man made the town." 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Angela formed one of the rare exceptions 
 to the general rule of foreign women. She 
 loved the country and she understood it. 
 She did not limit her ideas of going into 
 the country to three or four days, possibly 
 weeks, of the hottest weather spent in an 
 impossible dwelhng called a villa, and 
 destitute of everything that can make life 
 practicable for any period beyond the dog- 
 days ; a house in which you start as a first 
 principle on the fact that there never can 
 be any serious occupation carried on within 
 its walls, and that when the severity of the 
 sun has a little subsided you hasten to quit 
 and return to the capital ; resuming the 
 existence of useful mortals after a brief 
 interval of being simply nymphs. Angela 
 had in all this respect learnt to be a 
 thorough English lady. She had her gar- 
 den, and her conservatories, and her trim 
 lawns. But she loved, too, the wild-brier in 
 the hedge, and the eglantine. She knew 
 the spots where the Stella hostilia bespangled 
 the ground with its pure white blossoms, 
 and could tell you the haunts where the
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 99 
 
 violets grew, blue and white. The tall fox- 
 glove, the scarlet poppy, and the fern had 
 a place in the china vases of her boudoir, in 
 company with the stephanotis and the 
 rarest roses. And it was in these things 
 that the purity of her nature betrayed itself 
 furtively, while it reigned and governed in 
 the large-hearted charity of her relations 
 with the poor ; and in the broad, warm, un- 
 prejudiced sympathy she could feel with 
 all classes, and even with all persons, where 
 vice and vulgarity did not utterly obscure 
 the original divine work. And even where 
 it did, pity and not contempt covered her 
 words and actions. 
 
 It need hardly be said that with such a 
 companion Lord Clifford's married life was 
 a very happy one. He was proud of his 
 beautiful and gifted Italian wife. She 
 bloomed like an exotic flower in the low 
 woodlands of Nutley Hall. The neighbours 
 looked upon her as such, and might have 
 been envious had not her warm demonstra- 
 tive cordiality taken the cjuiet country 
 people by storm, and turned emulation into
 
 100 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 worship. She spoke English perfectly, 
 with just enough foreign accent to account 
 for the ring in the rich tones of her Italian 
 voice. Her words seemed to soar above 
 jou in the air, and then fall full and vibrat- 
 ing on your ear like the notes of an organ. 
 And all the while the eyes played and 
 glanced in their liquid depths, letting down 
 the long fringed curtains of the lids, and 
 raising them so suddenly as to produce a 
 perpetual effect of light and shade in that 
 glorious warm-tinted face. In all the 
 events of common life she was calm and 
 genial. The nervous fretful excitability so 
 common amongst us Northerners was un- 
 known and quite incomprehensible to the 
 calm and rather slow appreciations of 
 Angela's more stately organization. The 
 mistake of a servant, the accidental failure 
 of a domestic arrangement, no more ruffled 
 her temper than the summer breath im- 
 presses the waters of the Albano Lake, 
 lying in its fathomless depth in the heart 
 of an extinct volcano. But when her feel- 
 ings were roused, they were roused like a
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 101 
 
 very storm, making her whole being quiver 
 to its centre, and threatening to shatter her 
 reason. But the storm passed soon, and 
 rehgion had so tempered its violence that 
 though life seemed still to quail beneath the 
 blast, her faith stood firm and spoke of sub- 
 mission. 
 
 Like most characters of this class, there 
 was a wonderful tenacity in her sorrow. 
 It seemed to pass off, and even beneath its 
 influence her life with her husband was no 
 less genial and full of charm. But one who 
 knew her well would find from time to time 
 that the point of the dagger had broke in the 
 wound and rankled there, sapping her life, 
 but making no outward sign. Mrs. Clif- 
 ford's death had been one of these sorrows, 
 and her health had failed from that hour. 
 
 The long visit of the princess had done a 
 great deal to cheer her, and consequently 
 to benefit her health ; and now the having 
 again possession of Teresa was a constant 
 balm to her heart. She had a passion for 
 children, and never saw a beggar's child, 
 with the grand look of innocence and the
 
 102 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 bold, dignified confidence the baby blends 
 with his utter helplessness, without feeling 
 that she longed to have it for her own, and 
 be to it a mother. 
 
 Angela's health seemed so nearly restored 
 that no question was mooted about leaving 
 home again. The winter passed pleasantly, 
 receiving their neighbours, returning their 
 visits, and superintending the education of 
 the two children. 
 
 It was during this winter that Robert 
 with his father's consent, came for a short 
 time as a guest to Nutley Hall. Lord and 
 Lady Clifford had not seen him except very 
 briefly on their return from Italy through 
 Paris, for some years, and both were anxious 
 to judge for themselves of what he was in 
 character and appearance. They could not 
 conceal from themselves that there was 
 much in Robert to give them uneasiness. 
 He had the polished manners of a French 
 gentleman of that day, but in spite of that 
 there was a taste for the society of his 
 inferiors which occasioned Lord Clifford 
 considerable annoyance. With his own
 
 THE mODIGAL AT HOME. 103 
 
 family he was polished, but false. With 
 inferiors he was loud and coarse. He was 
 not sparkling in conversation, but he was 
 nevertheless a good scholar, and had much 
 of his father s versatility, but less brilliancy. 
 He spent great part of his time up at the 
 castle. He had brought Yincenzo with him, 
 but the latter had orders to remain at the 
 castle until Robert returned to Paris. Mr. 
 Clifford said that he had some business 
 which he wished Yincenzo to execute at the 
 castle. Probably he did not choose that 
 the man should stop at Nut ley after the 
 disturbance he had occasioned the preceding 
 summer. Robert had full permission to 
 ride his father s hunters. And Lord Clif- 
 ford used to be rather annoyed by Robert 
 from time to time declining to return to 
 Nutley Hall, and saying he found it more 
 convenient to sleep at the castle. He 
 began by remonstrating with Robert on 
 what sounded likely to be a very dull and 
 solitary way of spending the evening, and 
 thinking that Robert might not have 
 ordered his groom to come and fetch back
 
 104 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 his hunter from the hall, he assured him 
 that made no difference, and that the horse 
 could be put up in his stables. But Eobert 
 persisted, and Lord Clifford soon found out 
 that the evenings were not spent alone, but 
 that Robert was joined by one or two of the 
 least respectable of the squireens of the 
 neighbourhood, and Lord Clifford had reason 
 to fear that drinking formed the principal 
 amusement up to a late hour of the night. 
 
 It was very difficult for Lord Clifford to 
 interfere. It was the first time he had ever 
 been allowed to have Eobert with him, and 
 he shrank from anything that would make 
 the young man dislike his first visit to his 
 family, which he feared any remonstrance, 
 however kindly given, certainly would do. 
 It was still more difficult to communicate 
 with Mr. Clifford on the subject. It would 
 almost have seemed like saying to him, " It 
 has turned out as I warned you it would do, 
 from the strange education you have given 
 Robert." 
 
 Lord Clifford determined, therefore, to 
 watch his opportunity, and trust to accident
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 105 
 
 making an opening for him to speak quietly 
 and calmly to Eobert about his associates. 
 
 A few days after Lord Clifford had come 
 to this determination, the hounds were to 
 meet in Eaymond Park. Eobert had slept 
 at the castle the previous night, upon some 
 excuse or other, and Lord Clifford, there- 
 fore, did not see him till they were at the 
 cover side. It was one of those beauti- 
 ful days, in the month of February, that 
 come to us occasionally towards the close 
 of winter — days full of the promise of 
 spring. There had been a protracted frost, 
 and a heavy snow storm a few days pre- 
 vious. A rapid thaw had divested the 
 earth of her white shroud^ and now the sun 
 had regained his power, the raw dampness 
 of the thaw had passed, and a genial moist 
 wind fanned the cheeks of the eager 
 hunters. 
 
 The lark had begun to make mid-heaven 
 musical. The wildfowl on the lake were 
 sudden and clamorous in tlieir call to each 
 other across the water. The primroses and 
 violets had not yet appeared ; but you were
 
 106 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 tempted to look for them, and found your- 
 self, in an unreasoning way, peering at the 
 few tufts of green leaves in the hedges, as 
 if you thought they, perhaps, might have 
 mistaken the time, and decided on coming 
 in flower a month too soon. 
 
 Who has not felt themselves, after the 
 experience of years, still childish enough to 
 forget, from time to time, " that one swallow 
 does not make a summer ?" 
 
 There was a large field that bright Feb- 
 ruary morning. Angela had driven to the 
 meet in an open carriage, and both the 
 girls were on their ponies. Most of the 
 gentlemen were already at the cover-side 
 before Eobert made his appearance. Lord 
 Clifford had once or twice asked Teresa if 
 she had seen her brother, and she perceived 
 he was getting anxious at his not arriving, 
 and was on the point of asking whether she 
 should ride to the castle, which was close 
 by, and find out if he were not going to 
 hunt that day. But before she could exe- 
 cute her intention Robert appeared, and 
 two companions with him, mounted on his
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 107 
 
 father's horses, and certainly not having 
 much the appearance of gentlemen. They 
 did not seem to be at all accustomed to the 
 seat they now occupied, and they held their 
 bridles very much as if they were squaring 
 aims to pull at the oar. Lord Clifford pitied 
 his brother's hunters whose mouths were 
 subjected to such steering of the curb and 
 snaffle. The men had each a short pipe in 
 their mouths. One displayed a deep red 
 muffler, and the other a bright blue one. 
 In short, they were unmistakably more 
 used to '' riding the main " than bestrid- 
 ing a horse. These were Robert's com- 
 panions. He himself came cantering up 
 with them, looking so thoroughly at ease 
 on his horse, so well, and yet not too well 
 dressed for sport — so calm and gentleman- 
 like^ that it seemed wonderful he should 
 find any pleasure in the society of such 
 men. He rode to another part of the field 
 away from his uncle, and took no other 
 notice of Lady Clifford, and his sister and 
 cousin^ than just to lift his hat as he 
 cantered past. Lord Clifford kept watch-
 
 108 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 ing his nephew with more anxiety than he 
 watched the hounds, and certainly his day's 
 sport seemed likely to be spoiled by all he 
 thought and felt about what he saw. In 
 the course of the day, several gentlemen 
 asked him who those strange-looking men 
 were who had ridden to cover with Robert ? 
 Lord Clifford tried, in reply, to ascertain 
 whether his interlocutors could give him 
 any information. 
 
 " Indeed, I do not know who they are," 
 said his lordship^ " nor where Eobert picked 
 them up. One of them hardly looks like 
 an Englishman." 
 
 "I am sure he is not," said the gentle- 
 man in reply, " I heard him swear in too 
 good French, on the other side of that last 
 fence you took and which he evidently did 
 not like, to be a native anywhere this side 
 of the Channel. But the other, I think, is 
 English. My own impression is they are 
 
 smugglers. My bailiff had to go to B 
 
 the other day about a team of horses I 
 knew were for sale at a farm close to the 
 coast, and as he was going into a public-
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 109 
 
 house in the town, he saw that ItaHan valet 
 of Mr. CHfford's coming out of the house, 
 and to his surprise, your nejDhew was close 
 behind him. My man Harris knew Mr. 
 Robert, and the valet knew Harris ; and 
 the Italian Yincenzo — is not that his name ? 
 — whispered something to Mr. Eobert^ who 
 looked vexed, and the two walked off. 
 Harris stepped back into the public-house 
 and called for another glass, because he 
 rather wanted to find out what young Mr. 
 lifford could be doing there." 
 
 " And did he learn anything ?" asked 
 Lord Clifford. 
 
 " Well, really, I hardly like to say what 
 he did hear, because I feel it may be making 
 mischief; and I know what I have to say 
 must be very disagreeable to you." 
 
 '' Still I should be obliged to you to tell 
 me all/' said Lord Clifford ; *' I am respon- 
 sible to my brother for the lad's welfare, 
 and I have for some time been apprehensive 
 all was not right. He is much more at the 
 castle than at the hall. Of course, he is at 
 liberty to stay in his own house instead of
 
 110 THE buckly:n' shaig. 
 
 mine, if he pleases, and since his father has 
 given him permission. But at the same 
 time, when he is there I have no control 
 over his actions, nor am I even sure that he 
 always is at the castle when he is not at 
 the hall. He may be out for a day or a 
 night, and I know nothing of it, and I have 
 no opinion of that Italian valet of my 
 brother's/' 
 
 " Well, then. Lord Clifford, I am afraid 
 he was out for a day and a night at the 
 very least, when my bailiff saw him. He 
 got the landlord into conversation, and 
 asked him if he knew the parties that had 
 just left ? He replied, he knew Mr. Yincent 
 very well, and that he suspected the other 
 was young Mr. Clifford ; but that he did 
 not want to say anything. It was nothing 
 to him who came to his house, so long as 
 they behaved well while they were there. 
 By degrees, Harris found out just this much. 
 — that that fellow Yincenzo is more than sus- 
 pected of having dealings with the smugglers 
 along that coast. He was often backwards 
 and forwards there, even when Mr. Clifford
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. Ill 
 
 was at home. And it seems that he has 
 been down once or twice within the last 
 month, and Mr. Robert with him. Before 
 he left the place, he ascertained that it was 
 said the way the smugglers had been 
 carrying on their business lately had got 
 to such a pass that the coast-guard was 
 about to be strengthened. And one of 
 these days, there will be a regular fight 
 between the smugglers and the coast-guard, 
 and I only hope your young nephew is not 
 rash enough ever to take part in these 
 excursions for the sake of the adventure, 
 and, perhaps, get into the fray and be 
 wounded, or taken up." 
 
 " I am very glad you have told me," said 
 Lord Clifibrd ; *' I must see about it, and 
 speak to the foolish lad before more harm 
 comes of it. I wish my brother would part 
 with that Genoese servant of his. I am 
 afraid the man is a sad rascal." 
 
 At this moment the huntsman rang out 
 a view-halloo, the hounds had scented a 
 second fox, and setting spurs to their horses. 
 Lord Clifford and his informant were dash-
 
 112 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 ing across the plain, flying over the fence ; 
 and out of sight and out of mind were 
 Eobert and the smugglers, and all dangers, 
 however imminent, save always the danger 
 of losing the hounds. Everything was 
 forgotten for the next forty minutes. A 
 capital run — ^the best of the season. They 
 knew the fox well, he had given them the 
 slip three weeks before ; but this time they 
 were sure of him. A fresh westerly wind 
 blowing in your face as you galloped over 
 the smooth turf of those undulating hills, 
 a good horse under you who is enjoying 
 the sport as much as yourself, and whom 
 you know you can perfectly trust over that 
 rather awkward fence with a ditch the 
 other side that you and he are both equally 
 eager to leap, the melodious notes of the 
 hounds in full cry, just in front of you^ tails 
 straight, noses well to the ground — on they 
 go ! — in at that gap — take care of the 
 stragglers ! — over the hedge after them, 
 and in at the death ! Not the most devoted 
 of uncles could be expected to be thinking 
 of a scapegrace of a nephew during such a
 
 THE PRODIGAL AT HOME. 113 
 
 time as that ! Neither did Lord Clifford. 
 And when, slowly riding home, he recol- 
 lected all he had heard, Eobert was nowhere 
 to be seen. They sat down to dinner an 
 hour and a half after time that evening. 
 Eobert was not there. Of course, he had 
 gone back to the castle. In the morning, 
 Lord Clifford would see him, and with this 
 resolve dismissed the anxious subject from 
 his thoughts. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 114 THE BUCKLYX SHAia. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 
 
 The low coast opposite the straggling village 
 
 of B (since then become a little town 
 
 of some importance) was a well-know^n 
 resort of smugglers. The country was 
 perfectly flat for some distance inland, 
 which deprived the coast-guard of the 
 advantage of any eminence from whence 
 to watch the slippery little crafts that 
 managed to sail in and out of those deep, 
 tide-fretted creeks so often, under shelter of 
 a dark night. 
 
 Moreover, in those days, unhappily for 
 the coast-guard, the sympathies of the 
 population were far more generally enlisted 
 in favour of French cognac, French lace.
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 115 
 
 and Lyons silks, than of His Majesty's 
 revenue. Malicious tongues would even go 
 so far as to wonder liow it was that the 
 parson, not a very rich man, was able to 
 afford a few bottles of real champagne, not 
 made from his own gooseberry bushes, at 
 the dinner he gave somewhen at Christmas 
 tide. No one wore such beautiful gloves as 
 his rather pretty little wife, and somehow her 
 friends had reason to complain that slie 
 never would tell where she bought them, 
 nor acknowledge what she paid for them. 
 One thing is certain, namely, that in the 
 
 obscure village of B and in its near 
 
 neighbourhood, you could, if you only 
 knew how to set about it, procure occasion- 
 ally and cheaply a variety of small luxuries 
 not always to be 'got in the great metropolis, 
 unless you were able to pay a very high 
 price. You could not always depend upon 
 getting things exactly at the season you most 
 required them. It was all a chance, as it 
 were. For instance, you were far more 
 likely to be able to obtain a pretty light 
 summer silk, somewhere in the gloomy days
 
 116 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 of November, than during the bright days 
 and short nights of May and June. In 
 short, like all other bargains, the occasional 
 wares of that sea-side place were bought 
 when you could get them a great deal 
 more than when you wanted them. 
 
 The morning after the good run we have 
 described in the last chapter, the westerly 
 wind had brought on a fine drizzling rain, 
 and it seemed thoroughly set in for a wet 
 day. The murky clouds hung low, the 
 breeze sighed in the barren branches, every 
 twig hanging out a diamond drop; and 
 under foot the decaying brown leaves were 
 saturated with moisture, and when you 
 stepped on them emitted a sound like tread- 
 ing on sponges. 
 
 Lord Clifford was still loitering over his 
 paper and the breakfast-table, when Teresa 
 came in and said : 
 
 " Uncle George, I have had a message 
 from Eobert to say he is gone up to London 
 for a day or two ; that he meant to have 
 come to see you and Aunt Angela before 
 doing so, but the morning being so wet he
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 117 
 
 thought he had better go straight to Black- 
 dean to catch the coach." 
 
 Lord CKfford's brow clouded, and he 
 looked a little puzzled at this message. 
 After a moment's reflection, he replied : 
 
 " Why, the coach does not start for 
 London till one o'clock. What has made 
 him go so early ? Who brought the 
 message, Teresa ?" 
 
 " William, the groom, uncle ; he asked to 
 see me." 
 
 Lord Clifford rang the bell, and desired 
 the servant to send William to the door. 
 When he appeared. Lord Clifford said : 
 
 " At what hour did Mr. Eobert leave, 
 William ?" 
 
 " At eight o'clock, my lord." 
 
 " And where do you say he is gone ?" 
 
 " I was to tell Miss Teresa, my lord, he 
 was gone to London." 
 
 " Who did he take with him, and what 
 arrangements did he make for the gig and 
 horse coming back from Blackdean ?" 
 
 " He has taken Mr. Yincenzo ; and the 
 two gentlemen who were stopping there,
 
 118 THE BUCKLY^^- SHATG. 
 
 my lord, they have gone in their own trap 
 that they came in, but whether or no they 
 have gone to London, I can't say ; but Mr. 
 Robert did not give any orders abont the 
 gig. I asked Mr. Eobert if I were to meet 
 it, but he told me the horse would be safe 
 enough. I was to mind my own business, 
 he said, and give that message to Miss 
 Teresa, and nothing more. That's all I 
 know about it, my lord." 
 
 And that was evidently all anybody 
 knew about it. It seemed more than im- 
 probable that Eobert was gone to Black- 
 dean, or to London ; where then was he 
 gone ? He had Yincenzo with him, who 
 was old enough to know what he was 
 about ; but with Lord Clifford's opinion of 
 the man, this gave him but small assurance 
 that his nephew was not likely to get into 
 some scrape of a serious nature. Lord 
 Clifford sent a groom on horseback to the 
 inn at Blackdean to inquire. The gig had 
 not been left there, neither were Mr. Ro- 
 bert's and Yincenzo's names booked at the 
 coach-office as passengers to London by the
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 119 
 
 ** Telegraph," starting that afternoon at one 
 o clock from the "Half Moon" inn. 
 
 It was a mystery and an anxious one. 
 But Lord Clifford could do nothing but wait 
 and hope for the best. 
 
 The weather was quite as gloomy, though 
 not quite so wet, down by the sea-coast of 
 
 B as it was at Nutley Hall on the morn- 
 
 inofwe have described. The wind rose more 
 fitfully, and moaned more sadly over those 
 low sands and wide shingly beach than 
 even among the trees of Raymond Park. 
 Black masses of cloud scurried across the 
 sky and hung low on the horizon, and 
 towards evening there ran a long line of 
 pale yellow light, just where sea and sky 
 seemed to mingle in one, which spoke 
 ominously of coming storm. 
 
 In spite of the apparent flat surface of 
 the coast, when you came to walk along it 
 you found that there was a succession of 
 sand-drifts formed into banks, many of 
 which were twenty feet high at least. In 
 stormy weather, when the tide was high, the 
 sea ran far up into these narrow creeks, but
 
 120 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 the action of the wind had carried on the 
 sand beyond any point the water reached, 
 even in the roughest weather. On the land 
 side of these sand-banks there was a salt- 
 marshy broken here and there by dry patches 
 of land, and nowhere very deep. The 
 marshy ground was treacherous, for you 
 fancied yourself about to walk on the 
 greenest and most beautiful moss, when 
 suddenly it gave way beneath your tread, 
 and you found your footing anything but 
 secure. Prickly sea-plants and yellow sea- 
 thistles grew on the top of these sand-banks, 
 not in any great profusion, but sufficient to 
 repeat on land the pale glaucous green of 
 the summer sea. 
 
 Leaning against one of the deepest of 
 these sand-banks, you might have found a 
 low, thatched cottage. As you clambered 
 up to the top of the bank a curl of blue 
 smoke surprised you ; for you might almost 
 have stepped down upon the thatched 
 roof of the humble habitation beneath you 
 before you became aware of its presence. 
 It stood sheltered and concealed between
 
 TDE fisherman's HUT. 121 
 
 two sand-drifts. The building consisted of 
 the ground floor, and a few low bedrooms in 
 the roof. It was a curious, rambling habi- 
 tation. There seemed to be several out- 
 houses, a stable for two or three horses, 
 and a shed for a cart ; but all so crowded 
 together, and so small in each compartment, 
 that it looked much like the fragment of an 
 Irish village. 
 
 At about twelve o'clock on the same day 
 the two nautical gentlemen, whom we have 
 already seen so much out of their element in 
 Lord Clifford's happy hunting-fields, were 
 to be met coasting along the marshy ground 
 to the inland side of the sand-ridge we have 
 just described. They were smoking as usual. 
 But they had left their trap at a friend's 
 house in the village, and had come about a 
 mile on foot. The elder of the two gave a 
 low and peculiar whistle, as he stood by the 
 closed door of the house. The windows 
 were rather high up in the wall, and the two 
 that were visible in front were not much 
 larger than a good-sized pocket-handker- 
 chief. There was no reply to the low
 
 122 THE BUCKLYX SHATG. 
 
 whistle, no sound of life from inside the 
 cottage door. The elder man turned to the 
 younger, who was standing behind him, 
 and was looking up at the window as if he 
 expected to see some token that the house 
 was not empty. 
 
 " I say, Jacques," said the elder man, " I 
 guess Annette will understand your whistle 
 better than mine. You try." 
 
 Jacques blushed as deep a red as his own 
 voluminous neck- tie, and uttered another 
 whistle in quite another key. The effect 
 was instantaneous. They heard the taking 
 down of a bar and the drawing of bolts, and 
 presently in the open doorway, stood as 
 bright and beautiful a maiden as ever 
 gladdened cottage or palace. 
 
 Annette Barrow, the smuggler's daughter, 
 was about seventeen. Ned Barrow was an 
 honest (so he thought himself) English 
 fisherman. But as the fish that came most 
 readily to his net swarmed nearer the 
 French than the English coast, Ned Bar- 
 row had fallen in love, some twenty years 
 ago^ with a dark-browed, rough-voiced
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 123 
 
 Frenchwoman ; so that Annette might be 
 said to belong to either nation, and cer- 
 tainly had gleaned her own fair portion 
 from the merits of each. She wore a full, 
 short, red petticoat, ^her dark blue skirt was 
 looped up over it by the skirt being pulled 
 through the pocket-holes. The bodice was 
 tight fitting to the neatest figure and the 
 trimmest waist that ever were seen. The 
 sleeves of the bodice were short, ending in 
 a lappet a little below the shoulders ; but 
 there were tight red sleeves matching the 
 petticoat, below the lappets. The sleeves 
 were neatly buttoned round the wrist of a 
 little white dimpled hand with rosy-tipped 
 fingers, that gleamed and flitted before you, 
 and seemed now close to you, and now 
 snatched away from you as Annette laid 
 the table and prepared the dinner or sat at 
 her work, in a way that was perfectly be- 
 wildering, and which, whether you would 
 or no, you could not help observing. A 
 small head, crowned with rather wavy 
 black hair, which grew low and thick upon 
 her white brow; and thicker still, and
 
 124 THE BUCKLYN- SHAIG. 
 
 without a single straggling hair, round 
 the nape of her ivory neck ; two laughing 
 eyes with very long under lashes; full, 
 round red lips, and teeth so small and even 
 that they resembled the dazzling pearls in 
 an infant's mouth ; a warm smooth com- 
 plexion, and a ringing voice, with a slight 
 foreign accent; all combined to make 
 Annette one of the most fascinating of 
 maidens, and certainly entitled her to the 
 place she held in the affections of the 
 bronzed, bearded^ and handsome young man 
 who answered to the name of Jacques, and 
 who was a French ally of the English 
 smugglers. 
 
 Ned Barrow chucked her under the chin 
 as he entered the cottage, and Jacques, 
 under cover of his intended father-in-law's 
 broad shoulders, caught the little hand that 
 lifted the latch, and kissed it. 
 
 " Annette, child, where is madame ?" said 
 Ned, looking round the small room. 
 
 " She is gone father, on the rocks now 
 the tide is out, to pick up some small crabs 
 for supper."
 
 TDE riSlI£llMA:N S Hi:'!'. 125 
 
 *^ Gone out for crabs ! You do not mean 
 it ? What does she know of where to find 
 them?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Annette, laughing, *' I mean 
 real crabs this time, father." 
 
 "I see, I see," said Ned. "Well, 
 Annette, there are two gentlemen coming 
 down here this evening, and you must get 
 them a better supper than usual. I will 
 provide the wine if you and madame will 
 take care the fish is well dressed, and 
 madame will have some of her nice little 
 French dishes that I never can remember 
 the names of, though I am very fond of 
 eating them. They will be here before 
 dusk. We expect some of our men in 
 to-night with a good cargo, and these 
 gentlemen are friends of ours." 
 
 Our readers will need to be told what is 
 the difference between catching real crabs 
 and only catching crabs allegorically. 
 
 It often happened that the smugglers re- 
 turned from their excursion with only a few 
 kegs of brandy or hollands, under cover of 
 night when the tide was low. It was not
 
 126 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 always advisable or necessary to take the 
 booty inland, as the risk thereby was 
 increased^ and if incurred, the means of 
 executing it in safety must have been pre- 
 viously arranged and secured with those 
 who were to receive it. Under these cir- 
 cumstances it was usual to excavate the 
 sand round the base of some of the low 
 rocks, slippery with green sea-weed, w^iich 
 covered the sands for at least a quarter of a 
 mile out to sea. Of course the rocks that 
 offered the best facility for this were known 
 to the smugglers. Such as stood beetling 
 over the sand afforded a slight temporary 
 shelter ; or in some cases several low small 
 rocks would enclose a little space of sand, 
 where a hole could easily be dug, and a 
 keg of spirits rapidly and safely buried. 
 
 Annette knew the rocks, and understood 
 the signs of a recent deposit, and it was her 
 duty to carry a large basket and a small 
 spade^ and after dusk_, or very early in the 
 day, to go what was technically called, 
 crab-catching. 
 
 It must be borne in mind, that all these
 
 THE fisherman's iiut. 127 
 
 smugglers were ostensibly fishermen, and 
 there was nothing calculated to attract atten- 
 tion in the fisherman's daughter being fre- 
 quently down by the sea-side, nor in her 
 carrying a large basket to help bring home 
 some of her father's fish. Nor was it alto- 
 gether without just reason, that we have 
 mentioned the fact that Annette wore a 
 very full red petticoat ; for, independent of 
 its being the custom amongst the fisher- 
 men's wives to have garments of this 
 description, it not unfrequently happened 
 that Annette's under clothing was partially 
 composed of rolls of very valuable lace, 
 and therefore it was convenient that her 
 robes should be ample and well adapted to 
 convey any slight additional bulk that 
 might be introduced beneath the folds 
 of her skirt. 
 
 It was not long before madame returned 
 from her excursion, a sufficiently successful 
 one for Annette to declare she should fur- 
 nish the guests with crab soup for that 
 night's supper. 
 
 There was a peculiar fascination in the life
 
 128 THE BUCKLYN" SHAIG. 
 
 the fishermen and smugglers led. Apart from 
 the grave fact that they lived on the viola- 
 tion of their country's laws, they were not, 
 on the whole, such bad men as might have 
 been expected from this one great moral 
 delinquency. . 
 
 As fishermen they were a peaceful, brave- 
 hearted race, characterized by the frankness 
 and simplicity peculiar to those who live on 
 the wide trackless fields of ocean, and draw 
 their first and strongest impressions from 
 the simple majesty and stern grandeur of 
 the deep waters. They would (as a class) 
 have shrunk from highway robbery, or from 
 the mildest form of picking pockets. But to 
 cheat the revenue was not, in their estima- 
 tion, like robbing a man. The revenue 
 was an impersonal power with which they 
 had no sympathy ; an abstract principle of 
 a tyrannical nature from which they were 
 free to escape whenever they could. 
 
 It is true that Annette, though brought 
 up in the midst of it, had at times serious 
 misgivings as to its being a right mode of 
 life, arising chiefly from the fact that to
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 129 
 
 carry on that part of her father's business 
 required so much caution and deception, a 
 thing from which her innocent nature re- 
 coiled. Annette had been, when quite a 
 child, educated in France, for at the com- 
 mencement of his married life, Ned Barrow 
 had carried on his trade of fisherman, and 
 his practice of smuggler, the other side of the 
 channel, in the little seaport village where 
 he had become acquainted with the bold, 
 dark-browed Frenchwoman, now univer- 
 sally called madame. There Annette had 
 gone to school, and learnt her catechism 
 under the care of the good old cure, and had 
 never omitted going to church on Sundays 
 and holidays, her father not having objected 
 to his daughter being brought up in her 
 mother's faith. She used to lament that in 
 England they were so far from any Catholic 
 chapel — there was none nearer than Nutley 
 — and sometimes would speak of it to her 
 mother. When she did so she perceived 
 something in madame's manner that be- 
 tokened an impression that there was that 
 in their present mode of life which was 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 incompatible with a strict performance of 
 their rehgious duties. Annette would look 
 puzzled and anxious^ but madame would 
 soon turn the conversation, ending by an 
 affectionate caress, and a prophecy that her 
 pretty Annette should some day marry, 
 and leave the fisherman's hut, and live 
 like a lady, and go to church when she 
 pleased. 
 
 But Annette loved Jacques, and Jacques 
 too was a fisherman and a smuggler, and so 
 there seemed to the poor girl no end to the 
 painful mystery of right and wrong, and no 
 chance of any light breaking in upon her 
 conscientious doubts. But Annette had not 
 forgotten the prayers she had learned at the 
 end of her catechism, and she said them 
 faithfully every night, with a certain hope 
 that some day she should know more and 
 be better guided. Meanwhile, she obeyed 
 her father, respected her mother, and, above 
 all, loved Jacques. 
 
 And now the fisherman's cottage became 
 a busy scene of preparation. Madame and 
 Annette consulted on what they should lay
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 131 
 
 before their expected guests, and the men 
 shortly after left the house and went on 
 their separate business. Ned Barrow was 
 going carefully to reconnoitre the various 
 hiding-places known to the fishermen, and 
 to form conjectures as to the exact spot 
 where the party of fishermen returning home 
 that night were most likely to land. 
 
 Jacques went into the village and visited 
 certain houses where he was well known, 
 and communicated the intelligence of the 
 expected return of the fishing-boats, and of 
 the necessity for some of their people being 
 at hand to convey the cargo on shore and 
 carry it safely and secretly away to their 
 various domiciles. He was then at a given 
 hour to meet Robert Clifford and Yincenzo 
 in a spot already decided upon by the latter, 
 to whom this place was well known, and so 
 bring them both unobserved to the fisher- 
 man's cottage ; they having left the horse 
 and gig at a wayside inn. 
 
 At about eight o'clock that evening the 
 white cloth covered the large table in 
 Madame Barrow's front kitchen, the crab
 
 132 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 soup simmered in the bain-marie (one of the 
 many French treasures that madame had 
 embarked with her when she came over to 
 England, a three days' stormy voyage in her 
 husband's fishing-smack), and the whole 
 house was redolent with the odour of fried 
 fish. The fisherman's lad who lived in the 
 house with them and went errands, and 
 mended the nets through the long summer 
 evenings, had been sent by Annette to the 
 village to procure some fresh bread and 
 other articles, and had just returned, and 
 Madame Barrow was asking what sort of a 
 night it was, and whether he had heard any 
 news up in the village. 
 
 Frank — for that was his name — had come 
 in with an expression that seemed to denote 
 he had important news to communicate, if 
 only any one would be so good as to think 
 it worth while to inquire of him. 
 
 " It is a dark, bad night, madame. There 
 is a drizzling rain now; but the wind is 
 getting up. We shall have a regular sou'- 
 wester before midnight. I hope our fellows 
 will be able to land before it gets too bad to
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 133 
 
 attempt it. But that is not the worst, 
 madame, that I have got to say. I stepped 
 in for a few minutes at the * Three Fisher- 
 men/ and I heard some men, sitting drink- 
 ing in the bar-room, who were talking about 
 some new fellows as have been sent down 
 to join the coast-guard. Some say there are 
 two more men, and some say four. Any- 
 how, one thing is certain, the force is 
 stronger than it was, and we must keep a 
 double sharp look-out to-night. They only 
 came this morning ; it is a pity as we had 
 not known it sooner." 
 
 Madame's brow darkened. Annette turned 
 pale. 
 
 " Did you see anything of the gentlemen 
 your master is expecting here to-night, 
 Frank," said madame. 
 
 '' Well, I saw their horse and gig, for 
 they have put it up at the ' Three Fisher- 
 men." 
 
 '* I wonder what they are coming for," 
 said madame. " We shall have quite work 
 enough on our hands, if there is any scuffle 
 between our men and the coast-guard, with-
 
 134 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 out having strangers, and landsmen too, 
 who know nothing about it, to look after. 
 I don't mind Mr. Yincenzo of course, be- 
 cause he is an old customer ; but I don't 
 trust young gentlemen who come out of 
 their way to spend an evening in a poor 
 fisherman's hut. It can be no good they 
 come after, and I'll tell you what it is, 
 Annette," said madame, looking anxiously 
 at her daughter, and lowering her voice as 
 Frank left the kitchen, " I won't have these 
 land-sharks coming after my pretty daughter, 
 and making love to her, recollect that." 
 
 " I am sure, mother, I do not want them," 
 said Annette, turning very red and looking 
 offended ; " and you know that very well, 
 mother. I do not know why you should 
 suddenly suppose they are coming on my 
 account. I have never seen the young 
 gentleman, and as for Mr. Yincenzo who 
 comes so often, you know I cannot endure 
 him, and always get out of his way when I 
 can." 
 
 " Well, well, child, I did not mean to 
 hurt you, only you know I am suspicious of
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 135 
 
 any one wlio comes here, unless it be all in 
 the way of business ; and if you find the 
 young gentleman is in the way you can go 
 to bed early ; I'll engage your father shall 
 not object." 
 
 It was not long before Ned Barrow re- 
 turned, and madame communicated to him 
 the tidings brought by Frank. The lad 
 w^as sent for and made to repeat his story. 
 It might be true, but it was too vague and 
 imcertain to be relied upon. Nevertheless, 
 it was better to be on the safe side, and 
 Frank was sent off again, this time on 
 horseback (for as we have already told our 
 readers, there was stabling connected with 
 the cottage, and Frank, though a fisher- 
 man's boy, could ride, at least as well as 
 Ned and Jacques, whom we saw not long 
 ago out hunting), and under cover of night, 
 to give notice to their friends in the 
 neighbourhood, that they might muster in 
 good force at a certain point, and be pre- 
 pared to overpower the coast-guard by 
 numbers, if there were a surprise, and they 
 were driven to defend themselves.
 
 136 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 Ned Barrow was at the head of the 
 smugglers on this part of the coast ; and, as 
 our readers have no doubt perceived, not a 
 man in indigent circumstances. He was the 
 chief of a clan of fishermen ; he owned 
 nearly all the skiffs employed in fishing on 
 that coast ; for in those days, when fishing 
 and smuggling were so often combined, it 
 had become an organized business ; one re- 
 quiring discretion and prudence in the 
 leaders^ and necessitating some command of 
 men and boats. 
 
 Frank had not returned from his mission, 
 when Jacques' low whistle was heard at the 
 door_, and on madame cautiously opening 
 it, he came in, with Eobert Clifford and 
 Yincenzo. 
 
 Annette was placing on the table some 
 glasses reserved for the guests, the mem- 
 bers of the family drinking out of horn 
 mugs. She turned her head as the men 
 entered^ and Eobert thought he had seldom 
 seen a brighter looking being. He took 
 off his hat, and bowed to her, as he 
 would have done to a lady in her own
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 137 
 
 drawing-room. Annette bowed slightly, 
 but took no notice of Yincenzo. The time 
 had been when the sly Italian had tried to 
 snatch a kiss. Annette had deeply resented 
 it, and partly the remembrance of this, and 
 partly the presence of his young master, 
 made Yincenzo quietly keep in the back- 
 ground. 
 
 Robert was awed by Annette's great 
 beauty and natural dignity. He talked to 
 the fisherman's daughter as he would have 
 done to one of his own rank ; and though 
 he scarcely took his eyes off her sweet face, 
 there was nothing over bold in his manner. 
 He soon perceived also how matters stood 
 between her and Jacques, and in spite of 
 his growing love for low company and low 
 adventure, he was still too much of a 
 gentleman not to behave with discretion 
 and delicacy towards his host's daughter 
 and his fellow-guests. He was only twenty 
 years of age, and might still have been 
 reclaimed from his evil courses, had any 
 kind friend been at hand to influence 
 him.
 
 138 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 The night was fast closing in. Frank 
 had returned from the village. The fisher- 
 men and smugglers were by degrees mus- 
 tering in the neighbourhood of Ned Bar- 
 row's cottage. A low whistle, a pass -word, 
 a mysterious rap at the door, and one after 
 the other of the roughly-clad, and well- 
 muffled clan stood in the glare of the fisher- 
 man's wood-fire and couple of oil-lamps that 
 filled the kitchen with a red light. 
 
 There was evidently a strong impression 
 of fear amongst the smugglers that their 
 friends expected to land that night, and 
 supposed to bring some valuable booty with 
 them besides fish, would be surprised by the 
 coast-guard. There was a vague suspicion 
 that something was about to happen. 
 Every one had heard that the number 
 of the coast-guard had been increased, yet 
 no one could tell from whence the rumour 
 came. 
 
 According to the state of the tide, they 
 expected the boats in about midnight. Till 
 then, Ned Barrow's cottage was a perpetual 
 shifting scene of men coming and going,
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 139 
 
 orders given to scouts sent to watch from 
 different points, and those returning from 
 time to time to state that all was quiet. 
 
 Meanwhile, the dark pall of night had 
 fallen on the blackened waters. The wind 
 had risen wild and blustering. The rain 
 pattered on the windows, and the blast tore 
 round the house with a deep groan, end- 
 ing in a shrill scream, and sobbing fitfully 
 between the gusts. The stars were hidden 
 by the dark masses of rolling cloud, and 
 nothing could be seen on the great expanse 
 of heaving waters, save the white-crested 
 heads of the great breakers, riding on with 
 tossed foam, like white-maned horses ; then 
 bursting on the beach with the booming 
 sound of cannon, and drawing back again 
 their shattered waters with a harsh hissing 
 on the pebbly beach. 
 
 It was an awful night. Little children 
 lay awake in their cots with wide open 
 eyes, wondering if the wind were the voice 
 of the lost souls. The fishermen's wives sat 
 up feeding the fire and listening for foot- 
 steps ; the pious and the good prayed for
 
 140 THE BUCKLTX SHAIG. 
 
 the poor mariners ; and the happy thanked 
 God for safety and shelter through that wild 
 storm. 
 
 But in Ned Barrow's cottage there was 
 riot and noise, singing and drinking, throw- 
 ing dice, and eager disputes. The red 
 glare flashed on bronzed faces and swarthy 
 brows. There were French among the 
 guests as well as English, and there were 
 landsmen from the village, who were in 
 close league with the smugglers, and carried 
 on the contraband trade in the country. 
 
 It was a new page in rough life to 
 Robert. Dashing and daring himself, 
 vitiated by an evil education, but full of 
 energy and youthful curiosity, he was 
 delighted at, for once, realizing one of 
 those wild nights in the smuggler's cottage, 
 that Yincenzo had so often described to 
 him. He came for a mere freak, but once 
 there, he threw himself into the rough 
 amusement of the house with all the energy 
 of intemperate youth. Yincenzo was at 
 home there, and through the riotous mirth 
 had little odds and ends of business of his
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 141 
 
 own to transact, and was wily enough to 
 keep cool and sober to the last. 
 
 In the midst of the uproar, Ned Barrow 
 never for a moment lost sight of the real 
 cause of this gathering of his men. While 
 doing the honours of his house to his 
 guests, and superintending and directing all, 
 the watchers returned from time to time 
 from their stations on the coast, and he 
 gave his orders calmly and distinctly. In 
 anticipation of a possible attack, the men 
 were to be armed, and their pistols were 
 examined and their cutlasses sharpened, 
 amid tales of daring adventure, loud 
 choruses of hearty sea-songs, and toasts 
 drunk in real good cognac. 
 
 Long before the guests had become 
 thoroughly riotous, the two women had 
 retired to their chambers. Madame was 
 not, however, intending to go .to rest. She 
 came backwards and forwards as her hus- 
 band called her, or as she perceived any- 
 thing was wanted in the kitchen where the 
 smugglers sat. She took no part in the 
 revel, but she watched the orgies like a
 
 142 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 grim priestess, and ministered to tlie wants 
 of the motley crew gathered beneath her 
 low roof. 
 
 Annette was supposed to be in bed and 
 asleep. But there was no thought of sleep 
 in Annette's large, anxious eyes. A pre- 
 sentiment of evil crept over her heart, and 
 made her restless and wakeful. She did 
 not undress, but moved about her small 
 room, opening and shutting drawers, 
 arranging trifles that did not need it, and 
 then, suddenly standing still in the middle 
 of the room^ would listen to the loud winds, 
 or bend her ear to the noise below, and 
 fancy she could catch the sounds of Jacques' 
 voice, and would wish him away from such 
 scenes, and herself too ; and as the night 
 grew on Annette became more nervous and 
 more restless. 
 
 By degrees the sounds of riot below grew 
 fainter, she heard the door open and shut, 
 as one by one the smugglers went forth to 
 meet again at various points along the 
 coast. She opened the door again and 
 listened. She heard the door open at the
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 143 
 
 foot of the stairs, that led into the kitchen ; 
 there was a dim light in the passage. It 
 was Jacques standing at the foot of the 
 stairs. What did he want ? She came 
 out upon the landing. He whispered her 
 name, and in a moment Annette was by his 
 side. 
 
 " I wanted to wish you good -night, 
 Annette. I am going now. It is a rough 
 night, and something tells me our fellows 
 will not land in safety." 
 
 There was a tone of sadness in his voice. 
 
 " Why do you go, Jacques ?" she said, 
 slipping her small hand into his brawny 
 palm. 
 
 « Why do I go, my little one ? What a 
 question ! I go to bring you a silk dress, 
 or something else you will like as well." 
 He said this lightly, then, drawing her 
 nearer, added softly, " One kiss, Annette, 
 before we part. Think of me. We shall 
 meet again soon." 
 
 Annette granted the one kiss, and a 
 vague dread pierced her heart as Jacques 
 spoke. Quick as thought, she took a small
 
 144 THE BUCKLYN SITAIG, 
 
 black cord that she wore round her neck, 
 with a crucifix attached to it, and holding 
 it to his Hps to kiss, passed the cord over 
 his head, and said : 
 
 " Keep that, and think of It and me." 
 
 He hid the sacred image in his breast, 
 and the tears started to his eyes. 
 
 " One day, Annette, you and I will leave 
 all this," flinging his hand contemptuously 
 towards the room where the loud voices of 
 the revellers were heard, " and live as we 
 thought to have done when M. le Cure 
 taught us our catechism together. Pray 
 for that, Annette." 
 
 Before she had time to answer he had 
 turned suddenly away, and with oue quick 
 parting look of affection, not unmixed with 
 anxiety, he closed the door behind him, and 
 was gone. 
 
 Annette paused. He had hardly re-en- 
 tered the room when one of the others made 
 some jesting remark, to which Jacques 
 replied with a ringing laugh. In another 
 moment she heard him say he was ready to 
 go. One or two others declared their inten-
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 145 
 
 tion of accompanying liim, and Annette 
 listened to the retreating footsteps. 
 
 Sadly and slowly slie crept back to her 
 little room. Why did it look so empty, so 
 desolate ? The ceiling seemed to press down 
 upon her brow, the four walls to close in 
 upon her. The trim little nest where 
 Annette had slept away so many peaceful 
 nights seemed like a prison to her now. 
 Her heart beat loud and fast with anxiety 
 and vague dread. What was the heavy 
 weight at her heart ? And yet she was 
 glad Jacques had spoken those words. He 
 too, she thought, was weary of this rough 
 life : he, like herself, was more than doubt- 
 ful of its being right. He had reminded 
 her of the days when he used to call at 
 their cottage in France, to take her with 
 him on Sunday afternoons to the catechiz- 
 ing in the church. They were neighbours, 
 and as he was the eldest he was trusted to 
 see the little Annette safe through the 
 streets to the old parish church, and bacji 
 again. Their courtship had begun in those 
 early days, and now poor Jacques, like 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 Annette, was pining for the lost innocence 
 and peacefulness of tliat long past, but un- 
 forgotten time. Annette knelt down by 
 the side of her little bed. Against the wall 
 hung the Image of the Crucified, and with 
 many tears she prayed that redeeming 
 mercy might take compassion on her and 
 on him she loved, and that they might ere 
 long make their peace with God and man, 
 and live within the laws of both. 
 
 The night wore on, but the storm con- 
 tinued with unabated violence, and neither 
 madame nor Annette went to bed, though 
 the former looked in once or twice and 
 remonstrated with the latter for sitting up. 
 At length both women, feeling the need of 
 each other's company, though neither openly 
 avowed it, relinquished all idea of sleep, 
 until the party should return home ; and 
 they gave themselves deliberately up to 
 watching the storm. Wildly it whistled 
 round and round the house, with a spite- 
 ful capriciousness that seemed like the 
 working of an evil spirit. The wind rose 
 with a shrill scream, and then seemed to lie
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 147 
 
 down and moan like a creature in pain. 
 Sometimes madame opened the door a few- 
 inches and peered out into the dark night, 
 but, seeing nothing save blackness, she 
 would climb to one of the upper windows 
 and try to discover a light in the distance, 
 or to hear any sound beyond the surging 
 of the waves and the roaring of the wind. 
 
 They kept the fire alight, and sat hover- 
 ing over it. At length madame, leaning 
 back in the gaunt, wooden arm-chair, that 
 had been made tolerably comfortable by a 
 collection of cushions covered with patch- 
 work tucked into all parts of the back, arms, 
 and seat, fell into a doze, starting from time 
 to time in her uneasy sleep, and relapsing 
 again against her will. 
 
 Not so Annette. With every nerve be- 
 come doubly keen from anxiety, she sat and 
 watched, and listened. Presently she began 
 to perceive that the wind had sunk, and that 
 the sobbing of the blast came more seldom 
 and less loud. She ventured to open the 
 door, and with straining eyes looked towards 
 the sea. It was not long before she saw
 
 148 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 dark figures, that seemed to detacla them- 
 selves gradually and indistinctly from the 
 black air and approach towards the cottage. 
 She flew back, and catching her mother's 
 arm, awoke her with a scream. Madame 
 went to the door, and soon perceived two 
 men were carrying a third, and that behind 
 followed two more, one of whom seemed to 
 walk with dijBficulty. 
 
 Annette was the first to recognise the 
 form of the wounded man, who was carried 
 by Frank and one of the fishermen. She 
 gave a stifled cry, and madame, at the same 
 moment catching sight of Jacques' death- 
 like face, said to her : 
 
 " Gro in, Annette — go in, my child." 
 
 Annette stood behind her mother, rooted 
 to the spot ; nothing but force would have 
 made her go in at that moment. In another 
 second the five men had entered the house, 
 and the wounded man was laid on the 
 ground. He had fainted ; the blood was 
 flowing from a sabre cut in his breast. 
 
 In a moment madame and Annette fetched 
 a mattress, which was laid on a large
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 149 
 
 chest, and a temporary bed made for the 
 sufferer. 
 
 A few words told the whole story. They 
 had been watched when and where they 
 least apprehended it. There was a suppo- 
 sition that one of their own men had be- 
 trayed them. While aiding the landing of 
 the fishermen, whom they had that night 
 expected, the coast-guard had suddenly come 
 down upon them. Such of the boats as had 
 not landed their men put back to sea. The 
 men had drawn their cutlasses. One of the 
 coast-guard was killed. Jacques had re- 
 ceived a mortal wound in attempting to 
 rescue Ned Barrow, who was taken prisoner 
 by two of the coast-guard. Eobert Clifford 
 had received a cut on the leg, in the midst 
 of the fray, and had been hurried away by 
 Vincenzo, without whose aid he was unable 
 to walk. 
 
 Several of the fishermen and smugglers 
 that escaped came to the cottage, each with 
 his own account of that night's disaster. 
 
 The scene that a few hours before had 
 been one of loud revelry was now one of
 
 150 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 anguish and horror. In the midst of her 
 unutterable anxiety and despair about her 
 husband, madame had to attend to the two 
 wounded men. 
 
 Eobert Clifford was impatient to depart. 
 His wound was not serious, but the lame- 
 ness it caused rendered it impossible he 
 should return to Eaymond Castle or Nutley 
 Hall, without being exposed to inconvenient 
 questioning and consequent discovery. 
 After a brief council with Yincenzo, it was 
 decided that, as the term of his intended 
 stay in England was nearly at a close, they 
 should go up to London with their own gig 
 and horse, and that, when sufficiently reco- 
 vered_, Robert should return to Paris. He 
 could account, by any plausible untruth, for 
 having met with a slight accident, and 
 would take care to be off before there could 
 be any question of Lord Clifford's going up 
 to see him. The coach did not go every 
 day from Blackdean to London ; and though 
 Lord Clifford, with what was universally 
 considered his eccentric and extraordinary 
 habit of taking his foreign wife frequently
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 151 
 
 abroad, was a most unusual exception, yet 
 he was incapable of ''^ running up to town" 
 in the easy way of more modern times, even 
 those nearer our own day, but before the 
 invention of railroads. It was settled that 
 Frank should ride over to Raymond, and 
 take a note to William, the contents of 
 which he was to communicate to no one, 
 appointing him to meet them in London on 
 a certain day, and bring back the gig and 
 horse. 
 
 They had stanched the blood that flowed 
 from Jacques' more serious wound; and 
 madame, with streaming eyes and gestures 
 of despair, was binding up the slight cut 
 from which Robert Clifford was suffering ; 
 while Yincenzo had gone to the " Three 
 Fishermen " to fetch the gig. 
 
 " Ah, sir," she said, in the midst of her 
 sobs, " why did you ever come to the like 
 of us ? It is not for young gentlemen like 
 you to be frequenting poor fishermen's 
 homes, and be getting within the grasp of 
 those horrid men that your cruel English 
 laws send down here for our torment.
 
 152 THE BUCKLYN SHATG. 
 
 What will become of me, now that I have 
 lost my brave man ? What will they do to 
 him? Where will they take him? My 
 good Ned, my poor husband !" As it was 
 not much that could be said to her of a 
 comforting nature, for there was little 
 doubt of what poor Ned Barrow's fate 
 would be, taken, as he was, red-handed, in 
 open conflict with the representatives of 
 those outraged rights of the revenue, her 
 questions only led to fresh bursts of grief, 
 and to passionate entreaties to Robert 
 that he, being a great gentleman, would 
 use his influence to save her husband from 
 hanging. 
 
 Robert could make but very little reply 
 to these entreaties, for, in point of fact, 
 appearances were as much against him as 
 they were against Ned Barrow, and only 
 that he had had the good luck to escape he 
 might have been in terror for his own 
 neck. More than half ashamed of himself, 
 and angry at finding himself in such a 
 position, he betrayed no little irritation at 
 the unhappy woman's prayers.
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 153 
 
 Yincenzo perceived the difficulty in 
 which his master was placed, and having 
 returned with the gig, was only extremely 
 anxious to get him, with himself, safe out 
 of the house. 
 
 " Now, madame," he said, pushing her 
 away, and at the same time thrusting a 
 piece of gold into her hand, "leave the 
 young gentleman alone. He can do 
 nothing for you, nor for your husband 
 either. You are well paid with this for 
 your night's entertainment. It is no fault 
 of my master's, nor of mine, that Ned 
 Barrow has got into trouble ; so hold your 
 tongue, and let us be off." 
 
 So saying, he helped the limping Robert 
 into the gig, and prepared to follow him. 
 He had not, however, done so before the 
 French virago, in the heat of her rage, and 
 the depths of her despair, had flung the 
 golden guinea on the ground, and dealt a 
 blow with her clenched fist at Yincenzo's 
 face. 
 
 "Take that, you pale-faced Italian vil- 
 lain !'* she exclaimed, with glaring eyes red
 
 154 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 with tears, and streaming weird locks 
 hanging dishevelled over her shoulders. 
 
 " Who is it but you brings the young 
 gentleman here to make him as bad as 
 yourself? Don't I know your wicked 
 practices this many a long day ? Would I 
 not be glad to see your head on top of a 
 pike ; aye, and help to put it there if I 
 could? Beware of him, beware of him," 
 she continued, addressing Robert, "young 
 gentleman. You that come with a miserable 
 valet to smoke and drink with poor fisher- 
 men. He will be the curse of your family, 
 and the ruin of you all, if you do not heed 
 the words of Clotilde Barrow, the fisher- 
 man's wife." 
 
 Wild with her impassioned rage, she 
 tossed her brawny arms in the air as she 
 spoke. Her snake-like locks, her broad 
 bosom, her tall figure, shook and trembled 
 as she stood, like an inspired Pythoness, on 
 the steps of her own door, with the red 
 glare of the fire-light behind her ; while 
 Robert and Yincenzo hurried away as the 
 grey morn was breaking in the eastern sky.
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 155 
 
 A sweet, sad picture of a gentler sorrow 
 than her own met the frenzied woman's 
 eyes as she turned to enter the cottage. 
 Annette was kneehng by the couch on 
 which lay the ghastly form of poor Jacques. 
 She stood still a moment, as if struck dumb 
 with the vastness and variety of her sorrow, 
 and gazed upon the group before her. 
 
 "You will see him, Jacques?" said 
 Annette in a low, pleading voice. "You 
 will let him come and help you make your 
 peace with God? Oh, Jacques, we have 
 deserved this, and we are punished as we 
 deserve." 
 
 " Not you, my innocent child," he said. 
 " You only did what you were taught, and 
 I, who loved you, Annette, knew how pure 
 you were, and ought to have warned you 
 against myself, and against all around you. 
 But what could I do, Annette? They 
 were your own parents, and I was as bad 
 as any. But it is all over, Annette, and 
 the lessons of my boyhood come back upon 
 me now, and the faith I hope to die in. 
 So make haste, Annette, and let the priest
 
 156 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 be sent for. I have not many hours to 
 live." 
 
 As these words fell from his lips upon 
 the ear of Clotilde Barrow, she bent her 
 head upon her hands, and sobbed like a 
 child. 
 
 The priest was sent for. Frank was to 
 call at the chapel-house on his way to 
 Eaymond Castle, and tell Father Netherby 
 of the dying man who needed his presence, 
 and implore him to come quickly. 
 
 At noon that day a far different scene 
 from that midnight revel and its ghastly 
 ending presented itself in the fisherman's 
 cottage. The Prince of Peace Himself had 
 been there, and the messenger of peace had 
 spoken the last words of absolution. Still 
 bending over the now placid face of the 
 dying smuggler. Father Netherby was 
 repeating to him the sweet sacred names 
 that the Catholic tries to articulate with his 
 last breath. Annette has ceased to weep 
 as she kneels by the couch, gently holding 
 the poor fingers that else had wandered 
 clutchingly over the blood-stained sheet.
 
 THE fisherman's HUT. 157 
 
 Madame Barrow, subdued and silent, stands 
 with clasped bands at tbe feet of tbe dying 
 man. Sbe is tbe first to see tbat all is 
 over, and bending ber powerful arm round 
 Annette's waist, sbe raises ber gently, but 
 firmly, from tbe ground, and draws ber away 
 witb tbe same silly words of tender endear- 
 ment witb wbicb sbe bad striven in tbe 
 years tbat were gone to sootbe ber darling 
 in any of tbe sorrows of cbildbood. And 
 Fatber Netberby drew tbe sbeet over tbe 
 dead face of tbe repentant sinner. 
 
 Tbe sbattered bark of bis young life bad 
 been drawn into port, wrecked and broken ; 
 but its precious freigbt of a living soul was 
 landed on tbe sbores of eternity, amidst tbe 
 tears of repentance and tbe beacon ligbt of 
 Faitb.
 
 158 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 away to the south. 
 
 The Lady Clifford to the Prixcess 
 Orsini. 
 
 "Nutley Hall, September 18th. 
 " My dearest Louise, 
 
 " You will be grieved to bear that my 
 fears about my own poor bealtb, expressed 
 in my former letter, were but too justly 
 founded. I caught a fresh cold the begin- 
 ning of this month, and the old cough and 
 all the former symptoms have returned. 
 And, alas ! with the old malady has come 
 back the longing to breathe again my 
 native air — the pining for home ; not the 
 home of my affection, which, God knows,
 
 AWAY TO THE SOUTH. 159 
 
 is here, in the land of my adoption, but the 
 home of my girlhood, the land of my birth, 
 I love England, with its wayward, uncer- 
 tain charms and journaliere beauty, the 
 sweet surprises of its rare and unexpected 
 warm days, and the fitful glory of its 
 varied skies ; but the moment that cold, 
 clammy hand seizes me, that raw, damp 
 feeling of approaching winter, back to my 
 heart rushes all my Italian blood, and I 
 feel, yes, dear Louise, I really feel as if I 
 should die if I remained away from my 
 own clear skies and transparent atmo- 
 sphere. I grieve that it should be so, for 
 I am ashamed to have married an English- 
 man and to be for ever dragging him away 
 from his noble house and his home duties. 
 I am ashamed to expose him, as it does do, 
 to the astonishment of all his acquaintance 
 at these wild, erratic habits, and to the 
 weary long journey, with its perils, its 
 risks, and enormous expense. 
 
 " The only thing that comforts me is, 
 that George really does not dislike the long 
 days that we sit in the family coach, behind
 
 160 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 the rough horses and the hugely-booted 
 postilions, up hill, down dale, through 
 tedious France. 
 
 " Even the sea passage, so dreaded by me, 
 and so terrible in its uncertainties, has 
 charms for him. The blood of the old sea 
 kings runs in his veins, and has tinged his 
 hair as it has that of my own fair Rose. I 
 wonder we have courage to take so young 
 a child such a fearful journey ; but it 
 would require more to leave her behind. 
 
 " I long fought against going away, and 
 fully meant this time to have resisted 
 George's persuasions, even at the cost of 
 my life ; but while I was doing so, and 
 thinking I should gain my point, the more 
 alarming symptoms were renewed. I broke 
 a blood-vessel again, on the 10th of last 
 month, and after that George would listen 
 to no more arguments. My doom was 
 sealed. Can I say I regretted it? My 
 heart bounded with hope as, kept to 
 my bed, silent, and fed only on ice and 
 milk for ten days, I left all the labour of 
 preparation to my poor husband and my
 
 AWAY TO THE SOUTH. 161 
 
 friends, and lay dreaming of Rome and 
 Italy. 
 
 " I am glad to say that Roger, who is 
 again at the castle, intends remaining all 
 the time of our absence. This will be of 
 use to George, who, as you know, places 
 unbounded confidence in his brother, and 
 will leave much of the business of the 
 estate in his hands. I wish Roger had 
 allowed us to take Teresa with us to Italy. 
 But as he will not do so, the next best 
 thing is that she should return to the 
 Ursuline Convent in Paris. I dread part- 
 ing with the darling child more than I can 
 express ; but (you know my feelings on 
 this point, Louise) anything is better than 
 her having to live alone with her father at 
 Raymond Castle. I do not think he is to 
 be trusted with the care of a delicate and 
 sensitive girl ; and I do not believe the fact 
 that Robert is to return next year would 
 make it better for Teresa. Considering all 
 the anxiety that boy has caused us, and his 
 mysterious conduct in leaving home, and 
 taking leave of no one, I do not imagine 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE BUCKLTN SHATG. 
 
 he would be a good companion for Teresa. 
 When Eoger returned a month ago he did 
 not seem much affected by what George 
 told him about Eobert ; and that wretched 
 Yincenzo is still in his service. It is a 
 hopeless case." 
 
 " Paris, Sept. 30. 
 
 " Ah ! Louise, I write with a heavy heart. 
 I have parted with my sweet Teresa, that 
 dear child of my adoption whom I love as 
 my very own, and for whose welfare I feel 
 almost more responsible. It is doubly hard 
 to lose sight of the beloved child at an age 
 when her companionship had become so pre- 
 cious to me, and when every day I trace mote 
 of her mother's mind and character, and see 
 in her the image of my early friend unfold- 
 ing before me, and claiming a double portion 
 of the affection I gave to her whom I lost. 
 
 " This morning I took her to the convent 
 of the Ursuline nuns in the Rue d'Enfer. 
 You know they are strictly cloistered in that 
 convent, though not so in many other houses 
 of the same order.
 
 AWAY TO THE SOUTH. i6o 
 
 " The carriage did not enter at the porte 
 cocker^ that privilege being allowed to 
 royalty alone. We slipped through the 
 little door cut in the huge gates, and Eose, 
 Madame de Bray, myself, Teresa, and poor 
 weeping Dorothy, stood inside a covered 
 court, the portress's lodge on the right, a 
 little parlour, with glass doors, on the left, 
 and in front another pair of huge gates, 
 barred, bolted, and chained. Beyond that is 
 the cloistered garden. We were shown into 
 the little glass parlour, and there waited 
 while the portress went to announce our 
 arrival. 
 
 " Teresa is greatly beloved in the convent, 
 and all the community had requested to 
 come down into the garden to receive her, 
 as also a few of the scholars who were the 
 child's favourite companions. Teresa had a 
 consolation under the pain of parting that 
 was wanting to us : she is much attached 
 to the nuns, and felt, she said, that she was 
 returning to a second home. 
 
 " Presently we were summoned by the 
 portress and two externe sisters, and we
 
 164 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 stood in front of the great gates while they 
 unbarred them, so as to throw open one half. 
 We heard the voices of the sisters on the 
 other side calling Teresa's name gently and 
 softly, though by no means in whispers ; 
 and when the gate opened there stood the 
 greater number of the good nuns waiting 
 to welcome again their dear child. They 
 stretched out their hands to receive her, and 
 help her across the wooden bar, which did 
 not open with the gate but kept us still 
 separate from them. Teresa flung her arms 
 round my neck, and Rose clung to her. 
 Then in a moment, breaking from us, she 
 skipped lightly over the bar. The reverend 
 mother caught her in her arms, the others 
 gathered round. The dear child looked 
 back ; she was pale, and the tears stood in 
 her eyes ; but she gave us a sweet smile, 
 and kissed her hand to us. The great gate 
 swung to, and I heard the clanking chain 
 and the rusty bolt shutting me out from my 
 darling, and as I turned away and wept, I 
 felt as if it were for ever in this life. 
 
 " It was however, decided we were to
 
 AAV AY TO THE SOUTH. 165 
 
 take leave of her from behind the grille in 
 the parlour iip-stairs, and accordingly we 
 entered a long narrow room, divided by the 
 iron grating and the black curtain down its 
 entire length. The curtain opened, and 
 there was again the sweet face of Teresa, 
 with the tears all gone, and looking placid 
 and at home. But we had had our last 
 embrace, as no more than the tips of her 
 little fingers could find their way through 
 the bars, to satisfy poor little Rose's affec- 
 tion. I cannot get that touching picture 
 out of my mind. Teresa clinging to the 
 venerable mother, in her dark serge dress 
 and black veil, and looking back upon us^ 
 her long beautiful hair having escaped from 
 the blue ribbon that bound it, and hanging 
 in rippling, gold-tipped ringlets round her 
 delicate throat and her white dress. It was 
 the image of Innocence in the arms of 
 Religion ; and it haunts me still, sadly yet 
 sweetly."
 
 166 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 We must leave Lord and Lady Clifford to 
 the happy effects of their sojourn in Eome, 
 and Teresa to her studies in the convent,- 
 and look back upon Roger and Raymond 
 Castle. 
 
 Judging from the immediate change in 
 his mode of life, it appeared as if the 
 absence of the family from Nutley Hall 
 were a great relief to Roger. A vast deal 
 of his moodiness seemed to pass away, the 
 neighbours were invited to the castle ; there 
 were sounds of life and merriment going on 
 in the usually silent halls and corridors. 
 
 Every morning Roger might be seen 
 going out shooting with his friends. Lord
 
 AN OLD FRIEXD. 167 
 
 Clifford had begged that he would shoot the 
 Nutley covers during his absence, and this 
 of course gave Roger an opportunity of 
 showing more sport to his neighbours than 
 his own small estate could afford. And 
 even this slight increase of dignity and im- 
 portance was acceptable to his vanity and 
 ambition. 
 
 Of an evening he would sit down to cards 
 with his friends ; but partly because they 
 would have proved unwilling, and partly 
 from a fear of scandalizing the neighbour- 
 hood and driving his companions from his 
 society, Roger was compelled to play mo- 
 derately, and for much lower stakes than 
 was his usual habit. 
 
 It was the second autumn since the Clif- 
 fords had gone to Italy, and there was yet 
 no talk of their return. Roger seemed to 
 have taken to country sports, the manage- 
 ment of his own estate, and the supervision 
 of his brother's. It is true, from time to 
 time a feverish restlessness would seize him 
 and drive him to the capital for a short 
 time to look up his old friends, visit his old
 
 168 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 haunts, and sometimes return with a party 
 of quite a different caste from the country 
 sporting gentlemen in the neighbourhood 
 of Eaymond Castle. 
 
 Once he went over to Paris for two 
 months, and on his return showed, by the 
 purchase of a couple of fine hunters, and 
 by some improvements in the furniture of 
 the old castle, that his visit had been a 
 lucky one. On his return he seemed gayer 
 than usual, and his house was still full of 
 guests, when one bright morning in the 
 middle of September he received the fol- 
 lowing letter from an old friend and fre- 
 quent companion of his, already once al- 
 luded to in these pages, Mr. Henry Bethune. 
 They had been acquainted as children, then 
 had lost sight of each other, but had kept 
 U2:> unbroken intercourse for the last five 
 years. 
 
 Henry Bethune, like Roger, had lived a 
 great deal abroad, but chiefly in Germany ; 
 whereas Roger's haunts had been Paris and 
 Florence. Nevertheless it was at Paris 
 that they met again, in one of those salons
 
 AX OLD FRIEND. 169 
 
 not unfrequently found at tlie time of our 
 story, wliere under the auspices of an agree- 
 able and fascinating mistress, every luxury 
 and the charm of agreeable society were 
 combined with unlimited gambling. It was 
 in one of those salons, of less than the demi- 
 vionde, that the two friends renewed their 
 friendship. By that time both were known 
 for desperate players. But Henry Bethune 
 was the superior of Eoger. He had a 
 cooler head, and if possible a less scrupulous 
 heart. It was his profession, and he ex- 
 celled in it. 
 
 The blood rushed to Roger's brow as he 
 read his friend's letter, and rapidly thought 
 that the moment approached when once 
 again, in such congenial companionship, he 
 should give loose to his favourite, nay, his 
 only passion. 
 
 The letter ran thus : 
 
 '' Dear Roger, 
 
 " Business has called me to London for a 
 few days, and I cannot cross that horrid 
 channel without giving myself the pleasure
 
 170 THE BUCKLTN SHAia. 
 
 of seeing you in your own castle. Will you 
 receive me on Tuesday next for four nights ? 
 We will shoot every morning (for I am told 
 you are devoted to sport, and are the best 
 shot in the county), and amuse ourselves on 
 the tapis vert every night; and you shall 
 give me my revenge of the money you got 
 out of me the last time we met at the 
 charming Madame Charles's. Write by re- 
 turn, and I will set off that day." 
 
 Roger wrote and accepted his friend's 
 proposal. He felt that in doing so it was 
 no light accidental question of seeing an old 
 friend again. They met to gamble and to 
 play deep. It might bring Roger all he 
 wanted, for he knew Henry Bethune was 
 enormously rich, or the scale might turn 
 against him and it would be his ruin. 
 
 The guests then in the house were all to 
 leave the next day in the afternoon. He 
 would have a clear day before him, as 
 Bethune could not arrive till Tuesday 
 night. 
 
 That evening, when Roger w^as preparing 
 for sleep, and Yincenzo was busy attending
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 17] 
 
 upon his master, Roger told the man that 
 Mr. Henry Bethune was expected the fol- 
 lowing day, and that a room must be got 
 in readiness. 
 
 " Which room will your eccellenza pre- 
 fer for Mr. Bethune ?" said Yincenzo. 
 
 " Oh, it little matters which room you 
 give him. They have all lately been in- 
 habited; so damp as this old house is, it 
 cannot make much difference." 
 
 There was something in Yincenzo's 
 countenance which seemed to imply he 
 was not altogether of his master's opinion. 
 He hesitated a moment, and then said : 
 
 " I think, if it pleases your eccellenza, 
 he had better sleep in the white wains- 
 coted room." 
 
 " To be sure — to be sure. I don't care." 
 
 " Nice room that," said Yincenzo, as if 
 aside to himself; "convenient room — just 
 the place for Mr. Bethune. I will see it is 
 prepared." 
 
 Roger was too well used to his Italian 
 servant's somewhat amusing familiarity to 
 take any notice of it in this instance.
 
 172 TEE BUCKLYN" SHAIG. 
 
 Vincenzo passed for being eccentric as well 
 as foreign. It rather amused Roger than 
 otherwise, and seemed some relief to him 
 from his own taciturn ways. Yincenzo was 
 very useful and very devoted. Eoger used 
 sometimes jokingly to say he was his dme 
 damnee, and that he believed there was 
 nothing the man would not do to serve his 
 master. 
 
 The next night Bethune arrived, and 
 the two friends sat talking over past 
 events, and inquiring about mutual friends. 
 
 " The charming Madame Charles had come 
 to grief. Her proceedings in her gilded 
 salons were too outrageous. Two degenerate 
 gamblers had drawn knives, or daggers, or 
 pistols, or some such thing at each other. 
 There had been bloodshed. The police had 
 interfered. Poor Madame Charles had re- 
 tired to the provinces after a brief residence 
 at Clichy, from whence her devoted ad- 
 mirers had redeemed her. But it was not 
 thought she was likely to appear in Paris 
 again, or at least not for some time. She 
 was a great loss, however, to her own circle ;
 
 AX OLD FRIEND. 173 
 
 she had managed things so cleverly till 
 this terrible esclandre took place. Perhaps^ 
 added Betliune, " she may change her name 
 down in the provinces, and re-appear with 
 all the past blotted out, and start afresh." 
 
 " But I thought," said Eoger, " there was 
 a Mons. Charles. Was not that respectable 
 gentleman who used to ring for more 
 champagne, and seemed always to know 
 how the play stood with everybody, her 
 husband ?" 
 
 " My dear Roger, no ! that was only 
 * mon oncle ;' no impediment whatever to 
 Madame Charles disposing of her fair hand 
 elsewhere. They said there was a tendresse 
 between her and the poor fool who was 
 murdered in her drawing-room. But I 
 dare say this was only a little bit of Parisian 
 melodrama got up to heighten the occasion. 
 There was a great talk about it at the time. 
 I wonder you did not hear of it." 
 
 After more conversation in the same 
 strain, fully betraying the tastes and habits 
 of the two friends, they parted for the night. 
 It was late in the following day before they
 
 174 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 met again, near noon. Roger took Bethune 
 round his place. In the afternoon they 
 lazily killed a few pheasants. In the even- 
 ing they played. Roger won, and won 
 much. 
 
 That night when he came to bed he was 
 in excited spirits. Yincenzo cast one search- 
 ing glance on his master's face as he entered 
 his dressing-room, and seemed satisfied. 
 He talked to his master about various small 
 household affairs, and inquired what orders 
 there were for the gamekeeper the following 
 morning. 
 
 ** Would his eccellenza go out shooting 
 at all?" 
 
 *' Oh yes, Yincenzo ; for though there is 
 better game to be had at home, yet a good 
 walk in the open air keeps the head cool 
 and the hand steady." 
 
 " Eccellenza has had good luck to-night ?" 
 asked the man. 
 
 "Not bad, Yincenzo, not bad. Not to 
 be compared to that night in Florence, 
 when I came home half drunk with wine 
 and good fortune, and flung you mille francs
 
 AX OLD FEIEND. 175 
 
 as I entered the house. By Jove ! I must 
 have been drunk indeed. But I would do 
 it again, Yincenzo, if I ever had such 
 another run of luck as that." 
 
 " Eccellenza is very good," said the oily 
 man. "And Mr. Bethune, how are his 
 sj)irits, sir?" 
 
 " Oh, he does not mind — not much, at 
 least. You know he is rolling in money, 
 and by this time he has learnt to take the 
 fickle goddess just as she is — now smiling, 
 now frowning. His life is spent in nothing 
 else." 
 
 " Then Mr. Bethune may sleep sound to- 
 night," said Yincenzo, dropping his voice 
 as if speaking to himself, "in the white 
 wainscoted chamber." 
 
 " Why, Yincenzo ?" said Eoger gaily, 
 ''you seem to me to have wonderfully 
 picked up your English. When you first 
 came you could hardly make yourself under- 
 stood. Now you can talk as fast as I can. 
 I do believe you have been taking lessons 
 of that pretty . housemaid I caught you 
 philandering with in the backyard the other
 
 176 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 day. Recollect, you rascal, I will not have 
 anything of that sort going on in my model 
 house." 
 
 '' Eccellenza need not fear. I have got 
 my English by reading. I have found your 
 English Bible,* and have been reading that. 
 Wonderful stories, to be sure !" (Yincenzo, 
 as a Catholic and an Italian, had hitherto 
 been more versed in the New than the Old 
 Testament.) ''I dare say people learn a 
 great deal by reading them, if they can 
 only understand them." 
 
 " Well, Vincenzo, and what did you find 
 there ?" 
 
 " Oh, eccellenza ! I found a story about 
 Jael, ' mother in Israel.' " She brought 
 him butter in a lordly dish." Clever woman 
 that, — only a chisel would be better than a 
 nail. Very clever woman that." 
 
 Roger laughed out. " What is the man 
 talking about ? So that is where you get 
 your English, is it ? Well, it is a relief to 
 know you have gone to no other source. 
 I should have thought pretty Nancy would 
 * English version.
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 177 
 
 have been a more eloquent teacher than a 
 " mother in Israel." But you have made a 
 wise choice, Yincenzo. Go on and prosper. 
 And now put out the lights, and let me 
 sleep." 
 
 Yincenzo did as he was told, and closed 
 the door. As he did so a sinister smile 
 curled his thin lips as he muttered, " Per 
 Bacco che bestia !" (By Bacchus, what a 
 fool.) 
 
 The next day the same course of events 
 was followed. Sj)ort in the morning, play 
 at night, and again Eoger was successful. 
 "When the two friends parted there was not 
 a shade of displeasure on Bethune's face. 
 Calm, serious and passionless, he had watched 
 thousands flow away from his possession 
 into that of his friend, and he had written 
 I U's without a frown on his brow. 
 But the next morning he came down with 
 a more fixed expression of countenance, 
 and when Roger proposed they should take 
 their guns, he objected. 
 
 " You must give me my revenge to-day, 
 Roger ; and as you know I have to be off 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 before daybreak, I shall not sit up so late as 
 you made me do last nigbt. And so if you 
 will have the table set, we will begin our 
 play earlier to-day. By the by, bave you 
 been so good as to give orders about my 
 going r 
 
 " Yes ; it is all settled. You say you 
 know of a sbip that sails for the coast of 
 France to-morrow, and that you bave taken 
 a bertb. How did you manage it ? Did 
 you see tbe captain, or write to bim ?" 
 
 ^' I did neitber. I sent my servant, wbo, 
 as I told you, I bad to dismiss for mis- 
 conduct tbe very day before I came bere, 
 wbicb is tbe reason I bave to trouble your 
 factotum Yincenzo, witb a letter and full 
 instructions. Tbe skipper will not sail 
 until I come, if, tbat is, I arrive at all 
 witbin tbe mark. You tell me tbat part of 
 tbe Sussex coast where I know the sbip 
 
 sails from, close to S is not more than 
 
 twenty miles from here. Yincenzo is to 
 drive me there, and see me on board- Was 
 not that what you were so good as to say?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! it is all settled ; and as you
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 179 
 
 go at sucli an unearthly hour, I have 
 desired Yincenzo to see to getting the trap 
 ready himself, and not call up the stable 
 men. What hour will you be called ?" 
 
 " Punctually at four, and I shall be off at 
 half-past. And now, Eoger, let us settle 
 a few of the scores between you and me. 
 It is too bad your having all the luck on 
 your side." 
 
 The two friends sat down to their game 
 at an earlier hour that day, and each played 
 as if for the dear life. At first Eoger's 
 luck continued, but, after a while, whether 
 he got over-flushed with success, or whether 
 it was only the turn of chance, the cards 
 were against him. Silent and unbroken 
 the fatal game went on. Yincenzo alone 
 was allowed to enter the room. He crept 
 in and out noiselessly to see if anything 
 were wanted, and each time he did so, he 
 stole a glance at his master's face. What 
 he saw there was explanation sufficient as 
 to how matters were going. 
 
 It had been arranged that they should 
 dine at an hour earlier than usual that
 
 180 THE BUCKLYX SHAia. 
 
 evening. And a good two hours before 
 the time, Eoger, with troubled brow, de- 
 clared he would play no longer then. 
 
 He was pacing with hurried strides be- 
 neath the great north wall of the castle, 
 when Yincenzo, who had seen him from 
 one of the windows of his master's room, 
 came to tell him that it was later than he 
 thought, and not far from the dinner hour. 
 Eoger returned to the house and entered his 
 own room. To his surprise, Yincenzo, who 
 had gone up the backstairs, came in at the 
 same moment, and shutting the door behind 
 him, stood silently looking at his master. 
 
 " What is the matter^ Yincenzo ? What 
 do you want ?" 
 
 " Eccellenza," replied Yincenzo. 
 
 " Well, what is it ?" 
 
 " Something must be done, Eccellenza, 
 Mr. Bethune must not ruin my signer. 
 This ought to be stopped." 
 
 " How can I stop it, you fool ? I tell 
 you I am ruined. We shall have to leave 
 England as soon as this rascal is out of the 
 house, unless I get back my luck this very
 
 AX OLD FRIEND. 181 
 
 night, and filch him of all he has robbed 
 me of." 
 
 " And your excellence," said the servant, 
 in his eagerness translating literally his 
 Italian term of respect, " will let Mr. 
 Bethmie leave this house with all those 
 little bits of paper safe in his waistcoat- 
 pocket ?" 
 
 ** Why, what can I do ? I cannot rob 
 the man, still less can I murder him." 
 
 " Of course not, your excellence ; your 
 high-born hands must not smell of blood. 
 Not that there need be much blood either. 
 That Jael was a clever woman." 
 
 Roger started to his feet, white as ashes, 
 the perspiration standing in beads upon his 
 forehead and upper lip. 
 
 " What do you mean, man ? Speak 
 out." 
 
 " Yincenzo slipped quickly to his master's 
 side, and whispered in his ear: 
 
 " He sleeps in the white - wainscoted 
 room." 
 
 " Are you mad, Yincenzo ?" roared out 
 Roger. " What has the man's sleeping
 
 182 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 in that room to do witli my losing my 
 money ?" 
 
 " Pazienza, signor, pazienza ! and listen to 
 your faithful servant. Do you forget there 
 is a closet in that white wainscot, so well 
 disguised that I doubt if any one in the 
 house knows of it, but yourself and I ; and 
 I have the key." 
 
 Eoger paused and reflected awhile. He 
 remembered, in fact, that the room was 
 wainscoted in carved panelling cut off at 
 each corner of the room from wall to wall. 
 It was not easy to know whether the 
 masonry behind was in like manner 
 squared at the corners and so lay flat with 
 the wainscot. Probably this was not quite 
 the case with any of them, for the wood 
 gave a hollow sound if you rapped it. But 
 a quick ear would have detected that one 
 sounded more hollow than the others, and 
 close observation would have discovered 
 that there the panelling was not quite so 
 closely and neatly joined. Moreover, in 
 one of the folds of the carving, so aptly 
 called the linen pattern because it re-
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 183 
 
 sembles drapery, there was a small circular 
 hole, which might possibly be the keyhole 
 of some peculiarly-shaped lock. 
 
 Roger saw it all now. There was a 
 closet in that angle of the room. Some one 
 might be concealed there while Bethune 
 slept. And then ! 
 
 It was some moments before Roger could 
 speak. He looked as if he were about to 
 faint. Yincenzo, calm and noiseless as a 
 cat, walked up to his master's dressing- 
 table, and pouring from a silver-mounted 
 flask on the table some powerful liquor, filled 
 up a large wineglass. Roger snatched the 
 glass_, drained it, and catching his breath 
 twice before he could speak, said in a hoarse 
 whisper — 
 
 " But, have you thought of all, Yin- 
 cenzo — the body — how shall we hide it ? 
 Good God ! what am I talking about ?" 
 
 " Be calm, sir, and leave it all to me. I 
 have thought of all. Remember, you may 
 get back your luck to-night. When you 
 see which way the game is going, and are 
 about to separate for the night, you will
 
 184 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 ring the bell for supper. If, when I bring 
 in the tray, I see you have accidentally 
 dropped your handkerchief close to the bell- 
 pull, as you get up to ring, I shall know 
 that Mr. Bethune's pocket is stuffed with 
 those bits of paper that he must be made to 
 give up. You will delay him long enough 
 over the supper to give me time to conceal 
 myself in the closet. Your excellence will 
 wait here and leave all to me. When it is 
 over, I will bring you Mr. Bethune's pocket^ 
 book. He will not want it again." And 
 as he said those words, a horrid smile 
 crossed Yincenzo's dark sallow face. 
 
 Eoger listened with an expression of un^ 
 utterable horror and agony, and then, in a 
 tone of almost irritation, hoarsely whis- 
 pered — 
 
 '^ But the body, Yincenzo ; you forget 
 the body ! We shall be discovered through 
 that." 
 
 '' Tut, tut ! Yincenzo has thought of all. 
 Does your eccellenza remember long ago 
 my once asking you, whether it were true 
 that this part of the house is newer than
 
 AX OLD FRIEND. 185 
 
 the rest of the castle, and that in your 
 study down-stairs, where lately you have 
 always dined with Mr. Bethune, there is 
 under the flooring the mouth of an old 
 well?" 
 
 " Yes, it is quite true. I remember see- 
 ing it myself some six years ago, when 
 finding the dry-rot was in the boarding, 
 I had a new floor put down." 
 
 ^* We must take up the floor wherever 
 you tell me the well is, and now you see 
 how we can dispose of the hodyT 
 
 " The taking up of a few of the boards 
 will not require much time ; but there are 
 the joists, how will you get through them, 
 so as to step in yourself and lift a cumbrous 
 weight down to the mouth of the well ?" 
 
 . " Your excellence has ordered dinner 
 earlier, and it was to get to speak with you 
 in private that I pretended it was later 
 than it is. You must dine to-night in 
 the room in which you and Mr. Bethune 
 play, and though it is not likely he would 
 think much about that, yet, lest it should 
 lead to remarks after, I will light a fire now
 
 186 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 in your study, and leaving tlie bag of straw 
 in the chimney,* fill the room with smoke. 
 You can allege the smoke as reason for not 
 dining there. The servants will smell the 
 smoke, and so believe you. You, mean- 
 while, will say you have locked both the 
 outer cloth doors, so that no one may go 
 accidentally into the room, and let the 
 smoke over the house. I have got all my 
 tools ready, and shall shut myself in there, 
 for of course it is I and not you who really 
 lock the doors. I begin my work as soon 
 as you and Mr. Bethune are at dinner ; the 
 double doors will keep out the noise of my 
 sawing through the joists and wrenching 
 up the boards quite as well as they will 
 the smoke. But first of all^ eccellenza^ 
 you must please to go down with me, and 
 show me exactly where the well is." 
 
 When Yincenzo had ceased speaking, 
 Roger sat as if almost stupefied. He 
 seemed, indeed, to have heard all, but hardly 
 
 * There were no register grates in those days, and 
 the old fashion prevailed of stopping up the chimney 
 as described above.
 
 AX OLD FRIEXD. 187 
 
 to be able to grasp the tlionglit of cold- 
 blooded murder, that had been so clearly 
 and calmly laid before hhn. Suddenly his 
 brow contracted, and, starting from the 
 chair into which he had sunk, he staggered 
 to the door. 
 
 Yincenzo followed, and in another mo- 
 ment they were both in Eoger's study. 
 Not far from the wall, opposite the window, 
 and which, like the other walls of the room, 
 was covered with well-filled book-shelves, 
 there stood a very massive writing-desk. It 
 had drawers on either side at the front, and 
 a space behind for large folios, such as maps 
 or engravings. 
 
 '' There, Yincenzo ; the well is just be- 
 neath that desk. We shall find it not easy 
 to move." 
 
 In a moment, Yincenzo had taken out 
 the heavy books behind, which added 
 greatly to its weight, and disposing of them 
 without leaving any trace of disorder, 
 moved the desk, and lifted up the thick 
 turkey carpet which covered the floor. 
 Roger remembered the exact spot, because
 
 188 THE BUCKLYX SHAia. 
 
 at the time he had already alluded to, he 
 had cut with a penknife a small cross in 
 the floor above the centre of the well. He 
 had done this with no definite purpose, but 
 simply as a reminder of where the old well 
 had been, and had never from that day till 
 now recollected it. The sight of that 
 scratch seemed suddenly to bring before 
 him some scene of the past. He remem- 
 bered that Angela had come into the room 
 at the time, and that she held Teresa by 
 the hand. Teresa had asked what Eoger 
 was doing, and in jest he had replied, 
 " making a black hole to put Teresa in 
 when she is naughty." He remembered 
 kissing the child at the same moment, 
 to prevent the threat being an alarming 
 one. Angela had laughed and told him he 
 should not say such things, even in jest, to 
 a child. 
 
 It all came before him, like a forgotten 
 dream. Roger had always been ambitious, 
 fond of money and irreligious ; but now^ he 
 was worse than this — a murderer in inten- 
 tion, and soon to be one in deed.
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 189 
 
 A mist of tears^ the last honest ones he 
 will shed for a long time^ came over his 
 eyes. But at that moment the dressing 
 bell rang out, and Yincenzo reminded him 
 that no time must be lost. 
 
 After a few more recommendations, Yin- 
 cenzo lighted a match, and set fire to the 
 fuel already laid in the stove. In a mo- 
 ment, the smoke was pouring out. Roger 
 locked the outer doors, one from inside, the 
 other outside, and gave Yincenzo the key. 
 Enough smoke had escaped for them to be 
 corroborated in their statement : and hav- 
 ing so far proceeded in their horrid scheme, 
 Roger returned to his room to prepare for 
 dinner, talking the while in whispers with 
 the subtle Italian. 
 
 When Bethune came down to dinner he 
 naturally went straight to the study door. 
 Roger came out upon the landing before 
 his room at the same moment ; and hearing 
 Bethune making for the study, called out 
 to him : 
 
 "Not that room, Henry. Thinking it 
 was a little chilly this evening, I ordered
 
 190 THE BUCKLYIs" SHAIG. 
 
 them to light the fire, and it smokes so 
 confoundedly, I have been obliged to lock 
 it up, and desire dinner to be laid where we 
 were playing this morning, in the circular 
 room. 
 
 At the same instant Yincenzo was ap- 
 proaching the other door of the study from 
 the side near the servants' offices. He 
 appeared to be carrying down a basket of 
 old newspapers, which his master was in 
 the habit of having filed. At the bottom 
 of that basket lay his carpenter's tools, 
 concealed by the papers. So that while 
 Bethune was trying one door Yincenzo 
 was entering the other, carrying the in- 
 struments for preparing the wretched man's 
 grave, while the blood was yet coursing 
 lightly in his veins, and he thinking only 
 of life and success.
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 
 
 During the whole of dinner Bethune talked 
 on in high spirits. His manner to Eoger 
 Clififord was easy and intimate, and some- 
 how brought vaguely back to Roger's mind 
 the recollection of their early days, when 
 the two young men had really been at- 
 tached to each other before the world and 
 their love of play had darkened their 
 hearts. Henry Bethune had been very 
 handsome in early youth, and was so still, 
 in spite of the rather flashy appearance 
 which had increased of late years. Roger 
 looked at him as he sat after dinner with 
 his elbow on the table^ and his white hand 
 glittering with rings Hghtly passed through
 
 192 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 his brown hair. There were the same clear 
 grey eyes, that would seem almost to emit 
 sparks of fire when their owner was ex- 
 cited, but that were deep and tender as a 
 woman's when no strong passions stirred 
 his soul. And there was (and it was this 
 which specially struck Eoger at that mo- 
 ment), the alabaster white of the brow 
 and temple, just where generally the brown 
 hair fell over them, but which was now 
 pushed aside by his hand. Roger's eyes 
 fixed upon the white spot. Bethune looked 
 so young ! there was the delicate grain of 
 white china in that temple. And as he 
 looked, the words came to his mind, " but 
 a chisel would be better than a nail." He 
 fell back in his chair and gasped, and his 
 hand shook as he poured himself out an- 
 other glass of Madeira. The grey eyes 
 darkened for a moment as the thought 
 crossed Bethune, " this man is unnerved, 
 and is drinking too much to keep a steady 
 hand at cards to night." He got up from 
 the table, and flinging down the napkin 
 exclaimed. 
 
 5 
 
 f
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 193 
 
 ** Come, Eoger ; you are getting low 
 and nervous. Take your revenge of me 
 like a man, and if fortune does not smile 
 on you this time, follow me to Paris, and 
 you shall have it out of me there. Fair 
 play is fair play, you know, my lad ; but I 
 do not want to ruin you." 
 
 Was it all fair play Bethune meant to 
 try that night ? Eoger flushed up to the 
 brow at his friend's words, and rang for 
 the table to be cleared. In another hour 
 the expression of both men was changed 
 and fixed. Roger's dark eyes were haggard 
 and sunk, Henry's grey eyes were cold, 
 keen, and hard as steel. Roger was losing. 
 Presently he rose from the gaming-table to 
 write another of those fatal papers which 
 were transferring Roger's and Robert's and 
 Teresa's fortune into the hands of Henry 
 Bethune. 
 
 As Roger rose to ring the bell, Bethune 
 asked, '' At what hour, Roger, does your 
 post go out ?" 
 
 " Not till half-past nine. The boy rides 
 over with the bag to Blackdean, and sleeps 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 there that night, returning the following 
 morning with the letters." 
 
 "I must write a letter to Paris," said 
 Bethune ; " do not let the bag go till I have 
 done so." 
 
 " Bring coffee," said Eoger, aloud, '' and 
 do not let the boy go with the bag till Mr. 
 Bethune's letter is ready. You must come 
 in again, when I ring, to fetch the letter." 
 
 While Bethune was still writing, the 
 coffee came in, and Yincenzo put it down 
 on the table opposite to Boger. Bethune 
 sat at another table with his back to 
 Roger. Presently he sprang up, just as 
 Roger, who had asked him if he would 
 take coffee, and been replied to in the 
 afSrmative was putting in the sugar and 
 cream. Bethune's brow darkened. Roger 
 was very pale, and his hand shook. Be- 
 thune mistook his action ; he took the cup 
 of coffee, and returned to the table where 
 he had left his letter. He continued writ- 
 ing, folded the letter, sealed it with his 
 signet-ring, and meanwhile said to Roger : 
 
 " Who locks your letter-bag ?"
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 195 
 
 *^ Either I or Yincenzo. Why do you 
 
 ask r 
 
 " Because I am very particular about my 
 letters. This one is of importance. If you 
 do not mind, I should like to see it safe 
 in the bag myself, and the bag locked by 
 yon in my presence. I suppose you have 
 not two keys, have you, and that Yincenzo 
 carries the other ?" 
 
 ** Here is the only key of my letter-bag, 
 Henry," said Eoger, showing one that 
 hung to his watch-chain, " I keep it my- 
 self, though I sometimes give it to Yin- 
 cenzo to use. What are you afraid of?" 
 
 He then pulled the bell violently. Yin- 
 cenzo appeared so quickly that he could not 
 have been far from the door. 
 
 " Send the boy here with the letter-bag,'' 
 said Eoger, in an irritable tone, and Yin- 
 cenzo disappeared. 
 
 Presently the boy came in, much asto- 
 nished at being sent for. Roger took the 
 key, and holding open the bag for Bethunc, 
 the latter slipped in his letter. The bag 
 was locked, and the boy went off with it.
 
 196 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 " How particular you are," said Eoger, 
 with a sneer. 
 
 " My good fellow, there's no harm in 
 being cautious about one's letters. None 
 of my friends know where I am, and it is 
 just as well they should, in case I don't get 
 safe across that cursed channel." 
 
 " There is not a breath of wind, any- 
 how," said Eoger, with some hesitation, for 
 he did not half like Bethune's remark. 
 " Have you told them the name of the 
 ship you sail in, and the port she sails 
 for ?" 
 
 '' By heavens ! No. 1 forgot that. 
 However, it is as well as it is. I doubt 
 her being a very respectable craft. Indeed 
 I happen to know she is not so. And there 
 would be no use in my name getting per- 
 haps mixed up with some smuggling tran- 
 sactions on a large scale." 
 
 It was a relief to Roger to know Bethune 
 had not given this clue to his movements ; 
 and if he could have recalled the bag and 
 stopped that letter, he would have done so. 
 But it was too late.
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 197 
 
 Roger noticed that Bethune did not 
 drink his cup of coffee, and remarked it to 
 him. 
 
 " No," he replied, '' I am afraid of it's 
 keeping me awake, and as I have a long, cold, 
 morning's drive before me, I am anxious to 
 get an hour or so of sleep. Now, Roger, 
 one more try. It is impossible that I 
 should break off now ; you must get back 
 some of what you have lost. The chances 
 are all in your favour. Another throw, 
 man !" 
 
 Roger sat down doggedly, and the play 
 was resumed ; but Roger was far too ner- 
 vous to be a match for his cool and wily 
 adversary. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Bethune," he said, 
 starting to his feet, with an oath, " I will 
 stand no more of this ; I am a ruined man 
 already, and, by Jove ! there is not another 
 squeeze to be got out of me." 
 
 Bethune felt that one word on his side 
 would lead to a regular quarrel. Roger 
 was livid, and shook from head to foot. 
 Bethune coolly got up and said,
 
 198 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 "' As you will, my good fellow. You 
 know where to find me in Paris, whenever 
 you feel inclined to set yourself right again 
 by another try at your luck." 
 
 He quietly gathered up the papers that 
 the wretched man had signed, and clasped 
 them in his pocket-book, which he then 
 transferred to his waistcoat-pocket. Eoger 
 watched him, and drawing out his hand- 
 kerchief, passed it across his brow : he got 
 up to ring the bell, and in doing so, 
 dropped h'fs handkerchief close to the bell- 
 pull. 
 
 Yincenzo appeared. His eyes glanced 
 at the handkerchief on the floor, he stooped 
 forward to pick it up, and laid it on the 
 table near his master. Their eyes met. 
 Yincenzo pushed the handkerchief towards 
 him in such a way as to make him feel, as 
 his hand lay close to it on the table, that 
 he had slipped a key within its folds. It was 
 the key of Eoger' s study-door. All there- 
 fore was ready in that direction. Eoger 
 turned very pale, but Yincenzo saw that 
 his purpose was the same, and left the
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 109 
 
 room to fetch supper. When he returned 
 with the tray Eoger began pouring out 
 some brandy and water, and urged Bethune 
 to have some also. 
 
 "Thank you, my good fellow," said 
 Bethune, rather coldly. " I do not feel 
 inclined just now ; but if Yincenzo will be 
 so good as to put a couple of fresh eggs in 
 my room and a bottle of champagne, I shall 
 be glad enough of them, I dare say, before 
 I start to-morrow." 
 
 " What a strange breakfast, Henry. No, 
 no ; Yincenzo will see you have some hot 
 coffee." 
 
 " Nothing but the eggs and champagne, 
 Roger. You know I have my fancies about 
 food, and this is one of them." 
 
 Roger gave a glance to Yincenzo, as 
 much as to say " See it done." Yincenzo 
 understood Bethune's motive, if Roger failed 
 to divine it, and as it did not in any way 
 interfere with his plans, he was willing 
 enough to supply the champagne and 
 
 About a quarter of an hour from this
 
 200 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 time, tlie two friends had shaken hands in 
 apparent good feeling, and with promises 
 of soon meeting again. Bethune repaired 
 to his bedroom, and the wretched Roger 
 sought his study door. The whole house- 
 hold had retired to rest long ago, but, 
 nevertheless, the sound of the key turning 
 in the lock made Eoger start. He held a 
 candle in his hand, but as he opened the 
 door a blast of cold air caught the flame 
 and blew it out. Happily the fire was still 
 ahght, and the smoke dispersed, being now 
 allowed to follow its natural course up the 
 chimney, and by the flickering flame Roger 
 beheld, yawning at his feet, a great black 
 hole, from which had sprung the blast of 
 wind. The carpet was turned up, and the 
 boards and pieces of the joists, and the 
 tools, lay piled up on the side of the hole. 
 Down below, all was dark. Roger relighted 
 his candle, and then found that Yincenzo 
 had put his arm-chair close to the fire, and 
 a small table by the side, with two wax, 
 candles and a tray on which stood bottles 
 of wine and brandy. He was to sit at
 
 WHAT TEEY DID WITH HIM. 201 
 
 his ease in luxury and warmth while 
 his friend was being murdered above. 
 Horrible thought ! and, oh ! horrible, dia- 
 bolical wickedness of the cold-blooded, 
 clever wretch who had so elaborately and 
 so accurately planned it. 
 
 The clock struck one. The pendulum 
 ticked loud. The gas in the coals seemed 
 to roar. A piece of wax curled off and 
 dropped from the candle. Every sound 
 was agony. Roger sat, with his elbows on 
 his knees and his chin leaning on his hands, 
 and listened — listened. 
 
 When Henry Bethune reached his room, 
 he found the two eggs and bottle of cham- 
 pagne ready for him. Having lighted the 
 candles and taken a knife from his dressing- 
 case, he examined the cork of the narrow, 
 long-necked flask before him. 
 
 " Yes," he said, aloud to himself, " that 
 cork has been pressed in by strong ma- 
 chinery ; it has not been tampered with 
 since, so I may safely cut the wire and 
 drink it. And those eggs are as the good
 
 202 THE BCCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 fowl laid them. She may have put a little 
 chalk in, but no arsenic. It is a comfort 
 there is some food prepared by nature 
 which even one's dearest friends cannot 
 turn into poison. I mistrust me I should 
 not feel as well as I do had I drank Roger's 
 coffee down-stairs." 
 
 He broke and swallowed the yolk of the 
 two eggs, and drank off a tumbler of cham- 
 pagne, and he carefully locked the door 
 and examined the windows. The height 
 from the ground was considerable, but the 
 shutters had not been shut. He closed 
 them, and drew the iron bars across. He 
 proceeded to load a brace of pocket-pistols, 
 and put them on half-cock. He laid them 
 on a chair by the side of the sofa, and then 
 threw on his large travelling-cloak ; he 
 packed up his valise and dressing-case, 
 felt that the precious pocket-book was 
 safe in the inner pocket of his waistcoat, 
 changed his dress-coat and boots, and laid a 
 large neckerchief ready to tie on when 
 called in the morning. He wound up his 
 watch, calculated that he had rather more
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 203 
 
 than two hours to sleep, tossed off the 
 remainder of the champagne, blew out the 
 light, and then, without a prayer or a 
 thought, the wretched man flung himself 
 on the sofa and was soon in deep sleep. 
 
 Little did he suspect that through one 
 tiny hole, no bigger than a pea, every move- 
 ment, so far as the range of vision through 
 that small aperture permitted, was watched 
 by the eye of his intended murderer. He 
 had locked and barred himself in with the 
 man who was waiting for his life, and now 
 he slept in utter security. 
 
 A gleam of bright moonlight found its 
 way through the shutters and fell across 
 the figure and the crown of the head of the 
 sleeping man. And there was the alabaster 
 temple, that had arrested the gaze of Roger, 
 again uncovered by the treacherous brown 
 locks that fell aside from it. 
 
 The white panel of the wainscot opened, 
 and with unshod feet the noiseless Yincenzo 
 stepped into the moonbeams. He held in 
 his hand a hammer and a chisel. The 
 latter was unusually fine and sharp. " A
 
 204 THE BUGKLYN SHAIO. 
 
 chisel would be better than a nail," had 
 been his running commentary on the his- 
 tory of Jael and Sisera. The hammer 
 seemed out of proportion large as compared 
 with the thin, delicate chisel ; but it was 
 not so for Yincenzo's purpose. 
 
 He crept up to the side of the sleeping 
 man. No more light was needed than that 
 which the cold unconscious moon bestowed. 
 He raised the hammer suddenly, and with 
 enormous force brought it down on the 
 fore part of the sleeper's head, full amid the 
 clustering brown hair. There was a groan, 
 no more ; but Yincenzo knew that his 
 victim, though stunned, was not dead. 
 There was a slight indenture in the centre 
 of that white temple. A blue vein marked 
 it like the brow of an innocent child. He 
 held the chisel against the fair skin, just a 
 little aslant, and avoiding the exact spot of 
 the blue vein (for had he not said there 
 need not be much blood?), he drove the 
 fatal edge just into that part of the skull 
 where the join is marked by a jagged line, 
 and in infancy is not yet closed. It was a
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 205 
 
 skilful hand tliat drove in the fatal wedge. 
 There was not another groan. A few drops 
 of blood crept down the ghastly cheek, but 
 hardly tinged the travelling-cloak, which 
 Bethune had flung over the pillow and 
 gathered round his recumbent form. 
 
 Yincenzo stood and watched. His breath 
 came hissing with excitement. For a mo- 
 ment it deceived him ; he did not know it 
 was only his own ; but collecting himself 
 still more, he thrust his hand into the 
 wretched man's bosom. It was warm, nay, 
 hot with life ; but there was no pulse. He 
 dragged forth the gold-clasped pocket-book, 
 and then he lighted a candle, took a look- 
 ing-glass, held it to his victim's face, to be 
 sure the surface remained unclouded, felt 
 his pulse, was sure, beyond all question 
 sure, and, blowing out the candle, groped 
 his way to the door. He unlocked it, 
 and locked it again from the outside. He 
 had first carefully locked the fatal closet 
 in the wainscot, and now, with shoeless 
 feet, he crept to the door of his master's 
 study.
 
 206 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Roger started up, and the two men, the 
 murderer in will and the murderer in deed, 
 stood face to face. But neither spoke. 
 Yincenzo held out the gold-clasped pocket- 
 book — the hand that held it was bloody. 
 Roger recoiled, and Yincenzo, quietly plac- 
 ing it on the table, gave a slight bow, and 
 said : 
 
 " E fatto, eccellenza " (It is done, your 
 excellence). 
 
 Roger seized the book, now that, like a 
 child, he was no longer scared by the sight 
 of blood. He tore out the fatal leaves that 
 had signed his ruin, and flung them into 
 the greedy flames. Then both men drank 
 the wine before them ere either seemed 
 ready to speak or act. 
 
 " And now, Yincenzo, my friend," stam- 
 mered at last the wretched Roger, ^' the 
 corpse. We must dispose of it quickly. 
 You will have to be off soon. Drive for 
 your life to the spot on the coast that — that 
 he told you of, and explain to the captain 
 that his passenger has relinquished his 
 intention of crossing, and has gone back to
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 207 
 
 London ; but not wishing to disappoint 
 them, as they had promised to wait for 
 him, he sends them the fare agreed upon." 
 
 *' And something over, eccellenza, to 
 make more sure of their not grumbling, 
 you know," added Yincenzo. 
 
 " Yes, and something over. We must 
 get rid of all the — his effects — ^that in the 
 morning nothing may appear beyond the 
 fiict that he is gone, as he intended^ and 
 that you are gone with him, as arranged, 
 and are to return as soon as the mare is 
 sufficiently rested, and that the ship has 
 sailed ; and now let us go up-stairs and 
 bring — this thing down " 
 
 The servants all slept at quite another 
 part of the castle, down a long passage, cut 
 off from this end of the building by a door. 
 Yincenzo, to make doubly sure of no sleep- 
 walker accidentally coming that way, had 
 taken the additional precaution of locking 
 that door. He had always been in the 
 habit of sleeping in a room adjoining his 
 master's, and therefore it might be said, 
 that, with the exception of the room where
 
 208 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 lay the murdered man, they had the whole 
 house to themselves. 
 
 Yincenzo lighted a candle and led the 
 way. He unlocked the door, and the two 
 stepped in. Roger gave one look, and 
 turned away sick. 
 
 " Cover up the head, Yincenzo ; it is too 
 horrible !" 
 
 And yet it was not horrible — awful, but 
 not horrible. The marble features had in 
 death resumed the beauty they had lost 
 under the impressions of a bad and dissolute 
 life. The lids were closed over those once 
 deep-grey eyes, and the long lashes, so 
 much darker than the brown hair, lay on 
 the colourless cheek. The clustering curls 
 were slightly disordered, and one red, 
 narrow line, streaked down the side of the 
 face, alone betrayed it was death, and not 
 sleep. 
 
 " It were better first to remove his 
 luggage, and leave the body to the last 
 thing," said Yincenzo. " If you will carry 
 these into your study," pointing to the 
 valise and dressing-case, " I will wrap up
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 209 
 
 the corpse that your excellency does not 
 like to look at, and then, between us, we 
 can get that down afterwards." 
 
 Eoger took up the candle, and passively 
 obeyed the order of the fiend who com- 
 manded him ; Yincenzo, meanwhile, drew 
 the cloak round the corpse, congratulating 
 himself all the time that, owing to the 
 wretched man's having entirely covered the 
 pillow with it, not one drop of blood had 
 fallen on any part of the furniture. 
 
 " How lucky," said he to himself, '* that 
 he did not get into bed, and lie in the white 
 sheets !" 
 
 It was hardly done before Roger returned. 
 Yincenzo pointed to the feet of the dark, 
 inanimate form that lay between them, for 
 Roger to take up, and himself lifted the 
 shoulders. He had confined the cloak 
 round the body with the wretched man's 
 own shirt-pin, so that the arms should not 
 hang down. They could not carry a light, 
 but Yincenzo remarked that the moon gave 
 enough for all they wanted. Safely, though 
 slowly, they arrived at the head of the 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 great staircase, but by some accident, be- 
 fore they had gone down two steps, the pin 
 got loose, one hand fell out, and, as they 
 descended, it went flap, flap with a dead 
 thud upon the uncarpeted oak stairs. They 
 tried to hitch up the corpse to prevent this 
 annoyance, but the fact of their descending 
 position rendered this impossible. 
 
 '' Yincenzo, if you don't catch up that 
 cursed hand, I shall" (growled Eoger, 
 with a deep oath) '' be obliged to drop the 
 whole thing." 
 
 " Pazienza, eccellenza," said the impassible 
 valet, " and don't swear. We have got the 
 devil quite near enough to us already with- 
 out bringing him any closer." 
 
 Yincenzo rested the head and shoulders 
 of the dead body against his knees, and 
 managing to confine the limp and drooping 
 limb, they continued their course. 
 
 Ah, Eoger Clifford ! wretched man, pass- 
 ing now with your hateful burden beneath 
 the large stained-glass window of the great 
 oak staircase. Blazoned in crimson and 
 azure are the arms of your great ancestors.
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 211 
 
 and in the centre are grouped the patron 
 saints of your noble family, while in the 
 midst shines the image of Him who died 
 upon the cross ; murdered and forgiving 
 His murderers. Unheeding the faint stains 
 of colour that the moonbeams threw upon 
 them, on they pass ; and as they pass the 
 Image of the white Christ, and the red, five 
 sacred wounds, falls on each of the three, 
 one after the other. Unheeded token ! 
 
 They entered the study, and there the 
 glare of the candles for a moment almost 
 blinded them. 
 
 " Take it at once to the mouth of the 
 well, Yincenzo. Let me have done with 
 it," whispered Eoger. 
 
 Yincenzo did so, but said : 
 
 " Eccellenza had better search his pockets 
 first. They may contain something of im- 
 portance." 
 
 '* Do it," said Eoger. 
 
 A bitter smile crossed Yincenzo's face, 
 but he obeyed without a word. There 
 was nothing of consequence in the pockets 
 except the name of the vessel in which
 
 212 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Bethune was to have sailed, and of her 
 captain. 
 
 " Keep that yourself," said Eoger. ** It 
 will serve you as credentials to prove you 
 come from him." 
 
 Yincenzo leaped down through the hole 
 he had cut in the floor, and stooped down 
 in a half-sitting posture at the brink of the 
 well, from the round opening of which he 
 had previously raised an iron plate with a 
 ring in the centre, which had covered the 
 mouth of the well. 
 
 "Now, sir, push the body down, the 
 head first ; I will guide it, and it will soon 
 be over." 
 
 Eoger did so, and the dark object in 
 another minute disappeared. They listened : 
 four times — six times — it struck against the 
 side of the well, and then there was a faint 
 splash, and all was silent. Quickly Yincenzo 
 sjDrang back into the room. The clock 
 struck half-past three. 
 
 " Now^ sir, examine quickly his luggage, 
 that you may see what it will be safe to 
 send after him."
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 213 
 
 '* First," said Eoger, " there is this pocket- 
 book. It is not safe to keep it, for his name 
 is engraved in full on the gold clasp." 
 
 "Fling it in then." 
 
 They quickly looked over the rest of his 
 things. Yincenzo was sure he could safely 
 dispose of most of them. 
 
 He had ways and means, he said, of getting 
 rid of them. The pistols he would be glad 
 of for his own journey. 
 
 The rest was thrown into the well, and 
 then, gradually, Yincenzo began pushing 
 the iron lid into the socket in the masonry 
 at the brim of the well. It slipped in with 
 a heavy, loud bang, which seemed repeated 
 and re-echoed from the depths below. A 
 second time Yincenzo came up out of the 
 hole, and then looking round on the boards 
 that had been wrenched and sawn asunder, 
 he said to Eoger : 
 
 " There is ,now no time to lose, I ought 
 to be off, or soon the stablemen will be 
 stirring." 
 
 " Yes," said Roger ; " you go and harness 
 the mare. I will do the best I can with the
 
 214 THE BUCKLTN SHAIG. 
 
 carpentering work, and cover it all up. 
 And at some future period, when you and 
 I are alone together, we must see to mak- 
 ing it all safe." 
 
 Vincenzo went to the stables, and pre- 
 sently Roger Clifford heard the sound of 
 the carriage driven to the front door. He 
 ran out and held the mare, while Yincenzo 
 re-entered the study to fetch what he was 
 to take of the dead man's luggage. He 
 flung it into the trap. The wretched 
 Eoger caught his servant's hand : 
 
 " Yincenzo, I can never forget this. You 
 have saved me !" 
 
 " Say nothing about it, eccellenza ; keep 
 yourself well and calm, I shall be back 
 soon." 
 
 Another moment and Roger was listen- 
 ing to the fast-retreating steps of the horse, 
 and closing the front door, he returned to 
 his study alone. 
 
 Alone with his crime and his remorse; 
 alone with that still gaping hole that bore 
 witness of that night's dark deed ! With rapid 
 and trembling hands, the wretched man nailed
 
 WHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 215 
 
 down the boards sufficiently for present 
 safety ; he drew back the carpet, replaced 
 the desk, and put back the large folios that 
 had made it so heavy. For safety's sake, 
 and to render its being accidentally moved 
 from the spot in the floor he was so anxious 
 it should cover, more difficult, he piled 
 other books upon the shelves. All this 
 required time, and the eastern sky was 
 streaked with light before he had satisfac- 
 torily accomplished his task. He then 
 resolved to retire to his room ; and to rest 
 if not to sleep — when would he sleep again ? 
 — till the household were stirring. He 
 reflected, however, that first, it would be 
 wise to look into the murdered man's room, 
 to make sure that in their haste they had 
 left nothing that could excite suspicion. 
 He opened the shutters and let in the morn- 
 ing light. He shuddered as he approached 
 the sofa where his victim had lain. No ! 
 there was no blood, nothing but the impres- 
 sion on the cushion made by the sleeping 
 man's head. He would not shake up the 
 cushion. He would leave it just as it was,
 
 216 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 that Nancy might, when she came in to do 
 the room, find all the natural traces of 
 Bethune's occupation^ and of his early 
 departure. For the same reason he left 
 untouched the bottle and the broken egg- 
 shells. How ghastly it all looked in that 
 pale yellow light ! — that light without 
 warmth of a cold September morning — 
 how his eyelids ached and smarted ; how 
 his wearied muscles wanted rest, and his 
 strained nerves longed for sleep ! 
 
 Two things had been forgotten — the 
 evening boots, and the handkerchief Be- 
 thune was to have put on before leaving. 
 He took them both away with him. He 
 threw the handkerchief and boots both on 
 the fire. It took a long time to consume 
 these last, and he began to regret he had 
 not hidden them ; for the smoking curling 
 leather made a bad smell, and he had to 
 open the window to let it out. At length 
 these miserable details were disposed of, 
 and Eoger crept, cold and miserable, to his 
 own room. 
 
 Vincenzo had driven briskly down the
 
 AVHAT THEY DID WITH HIM. 217 
 
 road. As he neared the lodge gate, the 
 gate-keeper, roused from his dreams, said to 
 his respected partner at his side : 
 
 " I say, dame, the devil rides to-night. 
 I am sm-e I hear Bucklyn Shaig a-coming 
 down the road." 
 
 Mrs. Sadler sat up in bed and listened. 
 
 *^ Why you be a silly one, mon. Don't 
 ye hear the sound of wheels? That aire 
 chap that I don' like to name, he rides a 
 hossback and not in a trap. I'm a thinking 
 as you will have to get up and open the 
 gate for the genlemon." 
 
 " Lor' a mercy on us, Betsy, I hope not. 
 I'll just look out a winder and see what's 
 a-coming." 
 
 He accompanied the action to the word, 
 and peeped behind the thin window- 
 curtains. 
 
 *' Sure now, and I be blowed if it baint 
 master's own gig, and there's that civil 
 spoken Italian valet of his, a holding black 
 Susey's head, and a opening the gate his 
 self ; thank goodness for that." 
 
 " Oh, I knows now how that be," said
 
 218 THE BUCKLYN SHAIO. 
 
 Betsy, in reply ; " for when I was up at 
 the house, to help in the laundry yesterday, 
 they told me as how that genelman as was 
 a stopping there, had to be off before day- 
 break. They say as he had a letter as said 
 as he was wanted very particular, by the 
 king of the French, as had sent a ship on 
 purpose to fetch him ; that's it." 
 
 " Lor', now to think as I should ha' taken 
 a great man as the king of the French wants 
 to speak to, for that hobgoblin, Bucklyn 
 Shaig. Ha, ha !" 
 
 And thus satisfied, Mr. and Mrs. Sadler 
 returned to their innocent slumbers.
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 
 
 The benign influence of her native air, and 
 the happiness of being again surrounded by 
 her relations and the friends of her girl- 
 hood, had had a beneficial effect on Lady 
 Clifford's health. A winter in Rome and a 
 summer in Albano had renewed in her the 
 elasticity and power of enjoyment which 
 were so natural to her, but which always 
 seemed gradually to forsake her the longer 
 she remained in England, and which gave 
 place to a deep lassitude whenever she found 
 herself under the pressure of any actual 
 sorrow. 
 
 There are some impressionable natures 
 that do not require strange and unusual
 
 220 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 griefs to work a lasting effect of sadness ; 
 and to leave traces deeper than the event 
 seems to justify. We cannot always measure 
 grief or joy by the exact nature of the cir- 
 cumstances that cause them, for the fountains 
 of each lie in ourselves, and rise in propor- 
 tion to the depths of our own heart from 
 whence they spring. 
 
 The death of Mildred had left a deep shade 
 on Angela's memory, and it was all the more 
 fixed there from the fact of her having re- 
 turned to the scenes where she had spent so 
 many happy years with her sister-in-law, im- 
 mediately after they had interred her beloved 
 remains in the convent church of Bracciano. 
 Devotedly attached to Lord Clifford, she 
 yet found there was wanting in him that 
 keenness of sympathy and power of appre- 
 ciation which she required. Affectionate, 
 kind, and attentive, there were whole fields 
 of thought and feeling in his wife's mind 
 which he never had explored, and to which 
 he never even guessed the clue. The result 
 of this was a great deal of mental solitude 
 to the calm, deep soul of the Italian woman.
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 221 
 
 He had the frankness and chivahy of a high- 
 born EngKshman, but he lacked the fertihty 
 of liis wife's southern imagination, and 
 the deep-concealed power of affection that 
 education and religion had subdued and 
 directed, but that nothing could destroy, 
 not even disappointment; and in many ways, 
 though none for which Lord Clifford was 
 personally to blame, her married life had 
 brought disappointment. Upon the death 
 of ^her sister-in-law, with whom she had 
 shared every thought and feeling, and to 
 whom she owed much of that training in 
 early married days that had enabled her to 
 remain contented and happy in a home that 
 always retained somewhat the character 
 of exile, and with a husband who was well 
 as a companion, but not deep enough for 
 a friend ; she clung with the tenacity of 
 devotion to the orphan child of her lost 
 Mildred. 
 
 Lord Clifford had more than once shown 
 a slight jealousy at her affection for her 
 little niece; but this was forgotten when, 
 about three years after, she had a child of
 
 222 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 her own. Still, though of course there was 
 the mother's instinct for her own offspring, 
 yet on the whole, Teresa was more the 
 child of her heart than her own little Eose ; 
 and that although her dislike of the father 
 had (if not habitually, yet from time to time) 
 almost equalled her love for the dead 
 mother. 
 
 Twice had Eoger inflicted on Angela the 
 severest wound it was possible for him to 
 give her affections, by removing Teresa from 
 her care ; and the second time she had felt 
 it more than the first. This was partly be- 
 cause Teresa being older, and very advanced 
 for her age, had become more of a com- 
 panion. Partly also because it had been 
 done in spite of her most earnest entreaties ; 
 and last, but not least, because she felt she 
 had not been seconded in her desire to 
 retain the child with her, as much as she 
 might have been by her rather careless, 
 easy-going husband. It is doubtful whether 
 Lord Clifford reasoned upon the fact himself, 
 but possibly there still lurked in his mind 
 some jealousy of Angela's love for the little
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 223 
 
 orphan, and some displeasure that there was 
 any object to share that love with himself 
 and Rose. 
 
 In her friendship with the Princess 
 Orsini she endeavoured to replace a portion 
 of what she had lost. But in this case she 
 gave more than she received. The character 
 of the Frenchwoman had less reality and 
 depth than that of her lost sister-in-law ; 
 and less intensity and warmth than her 
 own. But still there was so much ready 
 sympathy and quickness of response in the 
 princess, that Angela sought her society 
 more than that of any one : and besides this, 
 there was the ever present hope that she 
 would one day become a second mother to 
 Rose. 
 
 It took some months of Italian life and 
 home associations to efface from Angela's 
 mind the profound impression occasioned 
 in an indefinite way partly by the renewed 
 loss of Teresa^ and partly by her own delicate 
 health : and the echo of which we have 
 traced in her letters to the princess. Her 
 spirits, and, as a consequence, her health
 
 224 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 began to flag again towards the close of the 
 year after they had left England. The 
 Orsinis had returned to their palace in 
 Florence, and Eome from henceforth wore 
 a deserted look to Angela. Her husband's 
 renewed anxiety, and the advice of the 
 physicians, led to the resolution of spending 
 the winter at Naples, in the hope that the 
 exhilarating air of that lovely city might 
 have a rousing effect on Angela's languid 
 and desponding state. It was just about 
 the time that the terrible events we have 
 described in the preceding chapter were 
 taking place at Raymond Castle, that this 
 change of residence was resolved on, and 
 with renewed separation Lady Clifford's 
 correspondence with the princess was re- 
 sumed. 
 
 " Naples, October 30th. 
 
 ''At length, dearest Louise, the horrors 
 of our voyage are over. We were roused 
 at an early hour this morning from our 
 miserable sleeping accommodation on board 
 \hQ Zephyr, to catch our first sight of the Bay
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAL GATE. 225 
 
 of Naples ; and somewhere in some of the 
 numerous white houses upon which the 
 rising sun was then shining, we were to find 
 a home for a few months. Line after line, 
 point after point was revealing itself beneath 
 the growing light of morning ; every second 
 fresh beauty burst upon our view, and the 
 warmth and life of day were spreading over 
 all. A thin column of white smoke was 
 issuing from Mount Vesuvius, that irascible 
 old hero among mountains who had formed 
 one of the gorgeous dreams of my child- 
 hood, a mixture of terror and wonder^ and 
 whom now, at last, I saw actually before me. 
 My old nurse had been a native of Torre di 
 Grecco, and as I sat at her knee she used to 
 tell me strange weird stories of Mount 
 Vesuvius (which by the peasants was be- 
 lieved to be one of the mouths of hell), and 
 of the fears of the villagers whenever the 
 red flames reached a certain height, and the 
 streams of hot lava encroached on a certain 
 spot. From the city of Naples itself to the 
 very base of the fearful mountain, town 
 after town of white dwellings, like strings 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE EUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 of pearls, glittered in the sunshine along 
 the level shore and the vast plains, while on 
 the left the high grounds, as far as Baiae, 
 are equally covered with villages and with 
 graceful villas, some of which are almost 
 washed by the sea at their base, while 
 others seem perched inaccessible on the top 
 of terraced and vine-covered cliffs." 
 
 *' November 7th. 
 " We have found a home, my beloved 
 Louise, a home after my own heart. Would 
 you were here to share it with me ! for you 
 too would call it a paradise, and would fully 
 appreciate the beauty I can find no words to 
 describe. My good kind husband has gra- 
 tified my inclinations at the sacrifice of his 
 own pleasures and convenience, and instead 
 of being actually in the town, we have a 
 villa on the Strada Nuova. 
 
 "The blue waves lap the walls of my 
 
 terrace garden. We are so close to the sea 
 
 that as I lie in bed I see no land, but seem 
 
 to be in a floating home, gazing on the 
 
 * white cliffs of Sorrento, or the rocky steeps
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 227 
 
 of Ischia. I hear the scream of the wliite 
 seagulls swooping past my windows, when 
 occasionally the tideless Mediterranean, 
 trembling from the depths of its blue 
 bosom, hangs out wreaths of white foam 
 along its arching waves, and rushes on with 
 a voice of thunder over the low rocks and 
 up the granite side of the sea-walk, some- 
 times flinging a jet of spray so high that it 
 startles me with a thrill of pleasurable fear 
 while I sit safe in the shelter of my pretty 
 villa. Oranges and catalpas, myrtles and 
 pomegranates, fill my garden. A bank of 
 prickly pears, and huge aloes, with the bend 
 of their green leaves like the folds of a 
 serpent, shut us out entirely from the road. 
 It is a fortification of nature's own making, 
 and my snake-like aloes guard me better 
 than the dragon of the garden of the 
 Hesperides. I defy man or beast to pass 
 over that barrier. Even now I have roses 
 in bloom, and violets without number. A 
 trailing vine drops long disorderly tendrils 
 from the veranda, and a group of thorny 
 acacia have shed their blossoms, like gold
 
 228 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 feathers from the canary's wing, on the 
 gravel path. 
 
 " Ah, Louise ; a home Hke this, in a land 
 like this, almost makes one cling to life 
 again. The touch of life thrills me as I lie 
 on my sofa in the window in the warm sun- 
 heam, and see George enter with a few fresh 
 flowers for my morning bouquet, while little 
 Rose in her white frock comes skipping in. 
 And, by the way, she bravely bears the heat ; 
 grandly betraying her half Italian origin, 
 in spite of her fair hair and blue eyes. You 
 cannot think, dear Louise, how that child is 
 worshipped wherever she goes. The Eng- 
 lish colouring and cast of her features have 
 a strange charm for the people here. The 
 lazzaroni have given her her poor mother's 
 name, which heaven knows she better de- 
 serves, and she is greeted as the angel 
 wherever she goes. 
 
 " But, ah, Louise ! how sadly I miss my 
 darling Teresa, my faithful little companion. 
 It has been a cruel separation. I feel I 
 hardly deserved it at Roger's hands, for I 
 have ever loved his child : and when he
 
 HOME BY THE LATER AN GATE. 229 
 
 insisted on it, surely lie must have known 
 what it cost me — almost my life. But I 
 submit. It is well to diminish some of the 
 ties that bind me to a life which in this 
 brighter land, and with better health, I 
 still feel has perhaps too strong a hold on 
 my earthly affections. This life out of 
 doors, which we, in common with all 
 Naples, are now leading, suits me marvel- 
 lously. I enjoy, dear Louise, the degree of 
 familiarity it gives me with the habits of 
 the lower orders ; and I like to watch them 
 basking in the privileges of their glorious 
 climate, and requiring no other roof than 
 that of the blue sky, with sometimes a cur- 
 tain of matting or canvas, to save them 
 from the scorching down-pouring sunbeams. 
 My poor neighbours are a light-hearted 
 race, fond of gambling, and greatly addicted 
 to theatres ; but nevertheless working hard 
 when they do work. From morning till dark 
 I can watch the men sawing and hammering, 
 the women stitching or knitting in the street 
 in front of their own doors. They gossip 
 enormously, for they are always in public.
 
 230 THE BUCKLYN- SHATG. 
 
 The half-naked infants fall to the care of the 
 very old men and women who are past harder 
 work, and who, men and women equally, 
 mend their own clothes ; while the beggars 
 sit together and stitch up each other's rags, 
 for it would not be wise to take them off for 
 the operation, lest they should fall entirely 
 to pieces; neither, seeing how few and 
 scant they are, would it be altogether 
 decorous. The popular places of meeting 
 are generally the steps of some church. 
 They are seats by day-time, and beds by 
 day and night, for the lazzaroni. I pass 
 an assembly of this nature every day when 
 I go to the Yilla Eeale. There is a small 
 piazza before the church, and I am besieged 
 daily by a crowd of bronze-limbed ragged 
 urchins, from three to ten years of age, who 
 become clamorous for alms the instant they 
 see me ; and I own I give it in consideration 
 of the impudent laughter of their bright 
 eyes, and dazzling teeth, far more than from 
 any notion of well-merited charity. Every- 
 body begs; even the stately maiden with 
 her well-poised pitcher on her head, and
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 231 
 
 with a brow like Juno, and a round naked 
 ankle like Diana, does not disdain to extend 
 a supplicating palm, and, awed by her ma- 
 jestic mien, I dare not refuse. 
 
 " I have paused to rest in my writing, 
 and going to the window have seen pass- 
 ing the funeral procession of a young child. 
 The white pale face is turned towards the 
 heaven which the innocent soul has just 
 entered ; for the gay and gilded coffin is 
 uncovered. And along the sides of the 
 car sit his former infant companions dressed 
 in white to represent angels, and carrying 
 flowers to sprinkle over his early grave. 
 All life here is translated into poetry, how 
 much more truly than that early death 
 which is the sure birthday into life. 
 
 " Such is life in the streets of Naples, 
 Louise. A life of many aspects and of 
 many sounds ; while the tall palaces, with 
 their giant porticoes, look down in melan- 
 choly desolation on the scene below. The 
 grandeur of many of these great old houses 
 has passed away. The lofty halls are 
 divided into the pretty tenements of a poor
 
 232 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 and crowded population, which streams, 
 and pours, and hurries through the narrow 
 streets ; horses and foot-passengers treading 
 the same broad-stoned, slippery pavements, 
 while the gutter is nowhere and every- 
 where. Fountains splash in the hot sun- 
 light over their green and reeking basins 
 at the crossing of the streets, or in the open 
 piazzas. The ragged urchin clambers up 
 to drink, while the dark-haired matron 
 washes her garments in the same water 
 beside him. Mules and asses, laden with 
 hay, and corn, and wood, trail their sweep- 
 ing burdens through the unresisting crowd. 
 Every avocation of daily life is performed 
 in the light of an Italian sky, in the 
 thoroughfares of a great city, while from 
 the silent crumbling windows of those once 
 crowded palaces hang the many-coloured 
 raiments of a ragged population. The 
 casements from whence the noble ladies of 
 olden times looked out on no less crowded 
 streets, have become the ostentatious dry- 
 ing-grounds of a people to whom ablutions 
 are little known. The jabbering sounds of
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 233 
 
 the Neapolitan dialect rise high above all 
 other discordances. Words deriving their 
 origin from French, Greek, Arabic, and 
 Italian, suit well a people whose habits, 
 aspect, and even character bear the trace 
 of all three." 
 
 " Dearest Louise, 
 
 "In my last letter I gave you the par- 
 ticulars of our life at Naples. I must now 
 relate to you some of the excursions we 
 have made in the neighbourhood. It was 
 a beautiful sunny day when we went to 
 CaStel-a-Mare. The inn at which we 
 stayed was close to the sea, and all night 
 long I heard the plaintive, monotonous 
 wail by which the fishermen give notice of 
 their presence to the other boats in their 
 neighbourhood. The moon shone brightly 
 on the waters ; the tideless wave rippled 
 on the shingles, and nothing broke the long 
 silence of the glorious Italian night but 
 that rippling sound and that wailing cry. 
 We remember most places by what we saw
 
 234 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 there, or the friends with whom we con- 
 versed, but Castle-a-Mare comes before me 
 chiefly as associated with those two simple 
 sounds. The moonhght and the murmur- 
 ing sea, the purple skies studded with stars, 
 seemed, as it were, condensed into an un- 
 forgotten strain of music, and I wondered 
 for how many ages, from father to son, that 
 wail had been caught by the fishermen of 
 that coast, and how many wanderers like 
 me had listened to it through a quiet but 
 sleepless night, and then passed on with 
 the lingering cadence still sounding through 
 long months and years of memory. The 
 power of association seems always to reside 
 most in the least tangible causes. A strain 
 of music will call up a long line of unfor- 
 gotten ghosts of the past, and a fleeting per- 
 fume will do so even more vividly. These 
 interior senses speak to the soul with greater 
 power than outward objects, and sink deeper 
 into the hidden recesses of our being. 
 
 "From Castel-a-Mare we went on to 
 Sorrento. The road along the coast is cer- 
 tainly beautiful, but it is a beauty which
 
 HOME BY THE IvATERAN GATE. 235 
 
 would weary me. There is nothing grand 
 and imposing ; there is no awe mingled 
 with the admiration it excites. Every- 
 thing looks small and crowded, and too 
 many objects are forced upon the sight at 
 once. Some one remarked it was like 
 ballet scenery, or as if nature had spilt all 
 the colours of her pallette on Naples and its 
 environs. The sea is like a lake, for the 
 opposite shore appears, from the clearness 
 of the atmosphere, to be within a stone's 
 throw. The hills and cliffs are crushed 
 together. It is pretty, but not grand. 
 Nature has been at play here, and this is 
 the painted toy she has made for herself. 
 I love better the vast undulating Campagna 
 of Rome, with its melting shades and sud- 
 den lights. It seems to me as if the attend- 
 ant angels of creation had levelled it, and 
 drawn its lines, seamed it with the golden 
 threads of the Tiber, and set it in snow-capped 
 hills, that the Eternal City might spring out 
 of its bosom, like a natural growth of those 
 wide boundless plains, alone in her serene 
 and solemn grandeur.
 
 236 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 " The windows of our rooms in tlie hotel 
 at Sorrento looked upon the sea. I could 
 fling a pebble straight down among the 
 rocks in the clear water a hundred feet 
 below. The view extends to Naples and all 
 the coast line. It seemed as if a bird might 
 have flown across in a few moments only. 
 I used to sit and watch the light upon the 
 motionless sea, and trace the slow progress, 
 half the day through, of some white lateen 
 sail almost becalmed in the still, hot air. 
 My bedroom opened out into an orange 
 garden, golden suns in a heaven of green, 
 for the trees were laden with fruit, and 
 sprinkled with their heavily - perfumed 
 flowers. 
 
 " I was ill and languid, and the dreamy 
 beauty of the place woke in my mind an 
 impression as of something I had dimly 
 seen before, like a recollection of some 
 former state which lay half-forgotten in 
 my soul. The impressions of beauty are 
 natural to us, but they are dimmed and 
 disfigured by the dust of life's toilsome 
 journey. Yet sometimes when sickness
 
 HOME BY THE LATER AN GATE. 237 
 
 lays us aside to sit silent and listen to our 
 own hearts, we find them blurred and 
 blotted indeed, but not effaced, and then 
 solitude and meditation awake and renew 
 them all again." 
 
 " Sorrento, December 20th. 
 " We are about to leave this lovely place^ 
 dear Louise, to return to Naples. While 
 the carriage is packings I devote the few 
 last moments of my stay to you. I have 
 been less well lately, and I begin to think 
 that my old malady is creeping on slowly 
 but surely, and that no human hand can 
 arrest its progress. I am, perhaps, wrong 
 in giving you pain by saying this. But I 
 feel the need of saying it to some one who 
 knows me and cares for me, and I cannot 
 even allude to my apprehensions to my dear 
 husband. The only effect upon him would 
 be to throw him into a perfect agony, which 
 would break down my own courage, and 
 teach me a bitterness of regret which I 
 desire to avoid, that, to the last, if so be 
 God's will, I may look death in the face
 
 238 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 and bid him welcome. And how could I 
 do this if I dwelt on George's despair, and 
 sweet Eosy's loss ! At the same time I 
 should not like them to imagine that my 
 silence arose from my having been ignorant 
 of my actual danger. Therefore, to you 
 alone, dear Louise, I confide my fear and 
 my hope. And when I am gone, tell those 
 who loved me, that long before the sum- 
 mons came, I had been listening for the 
 footsteps of heaven's messenger. 
 
 ^'Yesterday I took my last and only 
 walk at Sorrento. George had driven out 
 towards Salerno wdth Eose, leaving me, as 
 they thought, quietly tucked up on the sofa 
 with a book until their return. They had 
 not been gone long before a feeling of rest- 
 lessness seized me, and a longing desire to 
 be out in the open air, alone and free. I 
 was afraid of being stopped, for it is some 
 time siuce I have been thought strong 
 enough to go out, except driving, or on 
 donkey -back. So I slipped out like a guilty 
 thing, and only told the porter, as I left the 
 house, that if I were inquired for, he was
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAL GATE. 239 
 
 to say I had goue out a short distance. I 
 found myself in a labyrinth of high walls 
 running along the mountain's side, and 
 interrupting the wide view I was panting 
 to behold. At length I came to a little 
 wooden bridge which spanned a narrow 
 ravine, and led me up a mountain-path to 
 a small terrace where stood a deserted 
 Capuchin convent. The rusty iron gate 
 was locked; a few flowers still grew in the 
 neglected garden. The now silent bell 
 hung in the Ojoen belfry with no cord 
 attached to it. The shutters were closed, 
 and the whole place was falling into a ruin. 
 " I sat down on the bank opposite, where 
 stood the large wooden cross that the sons 
 of St. Francis always plant before the 
 entrance to their houses. These crosses, 
 as you know, have not the image of the 
 Crucified, and the cross like the house, 
 seemed deserted. The voices of the pea- 
 sants, calling to each other in the mountain- 
 paths just above me, floated down in the 
 quiet soft air. I gathered bright fern- 
 leaves from the tangled roots of an old
 
 240 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 olive-tree, and creeping up a dry narrow 
 ditcli between the mountain-side and a 
 garden-bank, I plucked the roses that fell 
 over. Behind me was the mountain, be- 
 fore me the blue sea. Some little peasant 
 children^ with pale faces, and eyes like jet, 
 came and played near me. There was life 
 in the soft air. Life in the ringing laugh 
 of the peasants near me — life in the round 
 limbs and sweet faces of the little children, 
 life in the fresh flowers in my lap ; but the 
 silent bell, and the closed, tenantless house, 
 filled me with thoughts of death, and I 
 prayed that the Great Deliverer, when He 
 came, might find me as then, sitting at the 
 foot of the cross. 
 
 *"' When I reached home, I found George 
 and Rose had returned before me, and were 
 both in the greatest anxiety, and both on 
 the point of setting off in pursuit. Alas ! 
 for so much tenderness, so much love 
 lavished on one who is about to leave 
 them. And, alas ! for my own weak heart 
 that, foreseeing their sorrow, beats again 
 with the fond love of life ! And so, Louise,
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 241 
 
 you will hardly wonder when I tell yon, 
 that after treasuring my roses and fern- 
 leaves, as mementos of that day's walk and 
 its thoughts of death, and meaning to bear 
 them away with me, I have just now, 
 with the waywardness of a sick woman's 
 fancies, dropped them down from my window 
 into the sea below, among the rocks where 
 T had watched the fishermen catching the 
 silvery-scaled sardines in the early morn- 
 ing. I would not take them with me, 
 because they would fade. Neither would I 
 have them to be thrown aside by others, 
 because my own thoughts when I gathered 
 them had made them sacred. Ah ! how 
 difficult it is to be ever of ' one mind,' not 
 with others alone, but with one's own better 
 self. 
 
 *' Farewell, dearest Louise. 
 
 ^' Yours affectionately in life and death, 
 
 " Angela Clifford." 
 
 Not many days after writing this letter, 
 the last she ever wrote to her beloved 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 friend^ it became apparent that the climate 
 of Naples was getting too exciting for 
 Lady Clifford's gradually declining strength. 
 The feverish attacks that she alludes to in 
 her correspondence, proved more serious 
 than she or any of her family had appre- 
 hended. It was_, in fact, the blazing-up of 
 that consuming fire that was burning with 
 such unnatural brightness in her large deep 
 eyes, and lighting up, from time to time, 
 so rich a spot of colour in her usually pallid 
 cheeks. 
 
 The approach of spring that brought 
 new life to all nature, and to which Lord 
 Clifford had been looking forward with 
 fond hope, far from renovating her ex- 
 hausted health, seemed, to sap her very life, 
 and by calling forth^ from time to time, a 
 fictitious strength, drained the strength it 
 was expected to nourish. 
 
 Her restlessness increased from day to 
 day, and her medical man so far acquiesced 
 in her desire for change, that he said the 
 soft air of Rome would, in a measure, allay 
 the feverish irritation which was mastering
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 243 
 
 lier energies, and hastening her end. Her 
 own desire to return to Rome, where she 
 had spent so much of her girlhood^ in- 
 creased daily. The journey was accom- 
 phshed slowly, and with difficulty ; and as 
 the carriage entered Rome by the Later an 
 Gate, and passed within the shadow of that 
 grandest of churches — the " Mother and 
 Head " of all other churches — Angela 
 laid her hand on her husband's arm, and 
 turning on him a face full of inspiration, 
 murmured : 
 
 " As the shadow of a great rock in a 
 weary land, so peacefully and sweetly falls 
 the shadow of Rome on my burning heart. 
 And within that shadow you will let me 
 rest^ dear George, till beneath that shadow 
 I die ?" 
 
 From Nancy at the Castle to Mrs. 
 Dorothy in Rome. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Dorothy, 
 
 '' Hoping you are well, I write to say 
 we are all in a sad way at hearing nothing
 
 244 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 of her sweet ladyship, and she so ill, as 
 master's last letter told us. That's now 
 nigh a month ago, and it do seem strange, 
 that there is no post come from Italy, un- 
 less it be the letters are lost in the sea. 
 
 " Master do take on now, to be sure. 
 But, lor ! for the matter of that, he has not 
 been the same man since last Michaelmas- 
 tide. He goes mooning about, not a bit 
 like his old self, and he has grown ten 
 years older in hardly so many weeks. 
 
 " There comes no company to the house 
 now. It's quite altered like, and the castle 
 seems like one great dungeon. 
 
 " It is not for such a poor servant as me 
 to repeat all I hears ; but I don't mind to 
 you, dear Mrs. Dorothy, because you have 
 always been so kind to me, and you won't 
 tell on me again. But it's just as if some- 
 thing had gone wrong in the house ; for 
 people seems to shun us, like. When 
 master had his house full, and larking and 
 drinking a going on^ oft-times till daylight, 
 folks seemed glad enough to come. But 
 now we are grown steady, no one seems to
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 245 
 
 like so mncli as to look at us. Master goes 
 hunting very little, and when he do, 
 William says he keeps pretty much to his- 
 self, and some of his old friends hardly 
 speak to him. 
 
 " I can't tell you as I knows what the 
 secret of it all is ; and besides, I don't trust 
 them foreign posts, where, maybe, they'll be 
 opening my letters. In course, I don't 
 know nothing at all about it. But people 
 do talk so. They say as that gentleman 
 that comed here about Michaelmas, afore 
 or after, and as I knoived, because I heard 
 them, I lying awake at the time, drove 
 away with Mr. Yincenzo, at four o'clock in 
 the morning, never got back to France- 
 There have been people come over to 
 inquire about him. I suppose that's what 
 ails master. Nothing ails Mr. Yincenzo, 
 that's sure. I asked him one day, what 
 had become of the gentleman — such a 
 gentleman as he was too ! such eyes and 
 such hair, not one of your black creatures, 
 like that Yincenzo ; but fair and clean-look- 
 ing, and a noble way with him — and Mr.
 
 246 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Yincenzo says to me, as how the gentleman 
 must be drowned. 
 
 " Well, but what became of the ship he 
 sailed in^ was that lost ? says I. ' How 
 should I know?' says he. ' My orders were 
 to take him to the coast^ and I took him. I 
 know no more than the child unborn, what 
 ship he sailed in, and that's all about it.' 
 
 " Well, they do say as murder will out, 
 and so I suppose will drowning ; but that 
 won't be till the day of judgment, when the 
 sea gives up its dead, and I supj)ose by 
 that time no one will care what became of 
 the gentleman, though he was so noble 
 looking. 
 
 " All I know is, it's sad times we are come 
 to, and I do wish you were all back again. 
 They say when the rats run away from a 
 house, it is a sure sign it is going to tumble 
 down, or be burnt down. I don't know 
 what it may be when the peacocks go. But 
 it is as true as can be, that last Michaelmas, 
 all those beautiful birds that our Mrs. Clif- 
 ford used to be so fond of, and fed with her 
 own hands out on the terrace, as I have
 
 HOME BY THE LaTERAN GATE. 247 
 
 heard the old servants say and as you have 
 told me yourself, many a time, have all 
 gone away. They must have gone in the 
 night, for they were seen in the afternoon 
 as usual here, and the next morning if they 
 were not found all roosting in the cedars of 
 Nutley Hall ! and nothing has ever been 
 able to tempt them back again. 
 
 " blaster seemed much put out about it. 
 William do say, that he never saw Mr. 
 Clifford so vexed about a thing of the kind. 
 I suppose it made him think of his dead 
 wife. 
 
 " Father Netherby has been away for 
 more than six weeks, and is only lately 
 come back. He told me last Sunday he 
 wanted to see Mr. Clifford ; but you know 
 master dont care much for the reverend 
 father's company, though he is always very 
 civil when they do meet. 
 
 " There is no news to tell you of the 
 neighbours, that I knows of, except that 
 young Mr. Cecil Redcliffe came of age last 
 month, and they had grand doings up at 
 the Manor Grange. But master did not go.
 
 248 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 "Do write when you can, dear Mrs. 
 Dorothy, and tell me you are coming home. 
 It would be quite another place if you were 
 here, and Miss Teresa had left her convent, . 
 and were at the head of her father's house, 
 as she ought to be. 
 
 " Your affectionate friend, 
 " Nancy." 
 
 From the Rev. Father Netherby at 
 NuTLEY to Lord Clifford in Rome. 
 
 " Your lordship will appreciate better 
 than I can express, the profound grief with 
 which I received the intelligence given in 
 your last letter, of your sweet lady's declin- 
 ing health. The sorrow, which it appears 
 but too manifest is about to fall on you, is 
 one far beyond the reach of human conso- 
 lation ; but it is not, my lord, beyond the 
 reach of divine faith and holy hope. The 
 distance that separates us is too great for 
 me to say more, for I know not in the 
 midst of what scenes of anxiety my letter
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 249 
 
 may fall. Your name is ever in my 
 prayers, and that of her whom I have 
 loved as my own sjDiritual child, while 
 I have ever admired in her the model of 
 all Christian virtues. 
 
 " May the peace of God descend on you 
 both, and on the darling child heaven has 
 given you. I am greatly in need at the 
 present time of your lordship's advice and 
 opinion on a matter nearly relating to the 
 welfare of your illustrious family ; and the 
 urgency of which makes me tenfold regret 
 your inoj^portune absence. 
 
 " Evil-minded and evil-designing persons 
 have set on foot some strange stories re- 
 specting your lordship's honoured brother, 
 Mr. Roger. And the foul calumnies that 
 circulate, like the infection of disease in the 
 very air around us, are the more difficult to 
 put down, from the fact that they are so 
 vague and indefinite, that the cunningest 
 mind can hardly decipher their purport. 
 
 " Your lordship will perhaps question 
 my own wisdom in alluding to such idle 
 gossip, when I am not able to give any 
 
 W^
 
 250 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 good explanation of my meaning. And, 
 indeed, I have mused for many weeks 
 on the question before I resolved to come 
 before you with such uncertain tidings, 
 which might reasonably lead you to doubt 
 the saneness of my judgment. But the 
 name of Clifford is too dear to me for me 
 any longer to hold my peace, and I have 
 at length brought myself to the point of 
 writing to you on this painful subject. 
 
 '' In brief then, my lord, you must know 
 that so foolish and unheard-of a prejudice 
 has got abroad respecting Mr. Eoger, that 
 many of the noblemen and gentry of the 
 neighbourhood endeavour to avoid his pre- 
 sence. You will naturally, my lord, in- 
 quire what can be the cause of this strange 
 state of things, and since I am not able to 
 enlighten you on that question, my laying 
 the subject before you may almost seem an 
 impertinence. But your lordship knows 
 too well my sincere attachment to your 
 noble and pious family, to believe I am 
 influenced by any motives but those of 
 zeal for your honour. I might, it is true,
 
 HOME BY THE LATER AN GATE. 251 
 
 wish that all members of your family were 
 more like yourself, and the ways and the 
 customs of the castle took more after those 
 of the hall. But whatever my feelings on 
 that matter may be as a priest, and as a 
 friend of the family, I cannot hear the 
 tongue of slander let loose upon the name 
 of Clifford without indignation and aston- 
 ishment. That your brother may allow 
 himself an undesirable liberty in the matter 
 of card-playing and dice, may be perfectly 
 true ; but that the mere fact of a gentle- 
 man having come from France and spent a 
 few days at the castle, and having, as the 
 domestics assure me, left at an early hour 
 to return to the coast and from thence 
 regain his home in Paris, should by some 
 strange mischance not have reached his 
 destination — that this fact, I say, in which 
 there may be more of the providence of 
 God than of the malice of men, should lend 
 any colour to injurious aspersions on the 
 character of Mr. Roger Clifford, appears to 
 me little less than monstrous. 
 
 " And now, my lord, you know the
 
 252 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 subject matter of my letter, and you will 
 understand my object when I say, return, 
 my lord, to your own country, to your 
 own home, and your family ; that again 
 sheltered by your honourable presence, the 
 foul birds of slander may be scared away, 
 and that our enemies, whom your lordship 
 knows to be many and powerful, may cease 
 to flout the venerable name of Clifford, and 
 the sacred cause to which it has ever been 
 allied. 
 
 " Praying that the blessing of God may 
 ever descend on you and all belonging to 
 your house, 
 
 " I remain, my lord, 
 " Your faithful servant in Christ, 
 
 " F. Netherby, S. J." 
 
 Lord Clifford to Mr. Roger Clifford 
 AT Raymond Castle. 
 
 ^' Yilla Negroni, Rome. 
 " My dear Roger, 
 
 " The scene of anxiety and affliction 
 from the midst of which I am writing to
 
 HOME BY THE LATERAN GATE. 253 
 
 yoii, will at once account for my writing 
 but seldom, and for my present letter not 
 half expressing to you all I might say. 
 
 " I can no longer shut my eyes to the 
 fact, so terrible in itself, and so agonizing in 
 its life-long consequences, that my beloved 
 wife is rapidly sinking under the effects of 
 that insidious malady which has already so 
 often threatened her precious life, and com- 
 pelled me to bring her back to Italy. It 
 is not to you, Roger, that I need dwell on 
 my own feelings in this case, even were it 
 in my power to express them. I ought 
 long ago to have known that I was to lose 
 my dearest earthly treasure, and that it is 
 a marvel of heaven s mercy that I have 
 been allowed to detain her so long. But 
 even now that I see the pale shadow of 
 death hovering over her, and that I know 
 his step is on my door, I cannot realise that 
 I am to lose her, and less still what I am to 
 do without her. 
 
 " I should hardly have summoned cou- 
 rage to write to you now, Roger, were it 
 not that (without entering into needless
 
 254 THE BUCKLTN- SHAIG. 
 
 explanations, for you will understand my 
 meaning if my words are to tlie point) 
 there comes a time in most men's lives 
 when they specially need the helping hand 
 of a friend, and the support of a loyal affec- 
 tion . The best and noblest may be assailed 
 by the vilest calumny, and it is just they 
 who will feel it the most. The low under- 
 wood feels not the blast that breaks the tops 
 of the forest trees. Keep a brave heart, 
 Eoger^ and scorn the insults of tlie crowd. 
 It will not be long, alas ! ere the dear 
 ties that keep me here are torn and broken, 
 and then I shall drag what is left of my 
 blighted life back to my own home. 
 
 " You never can have doubted, Eoger, 
 my brotherly affection, and my more than 
 brotherly trust in you. The difference in 
 our characters has increased rather than 
 diminished my affectionate regard. I know 
 I am not your equal in acquirements, or in 
 natural talents. But fortune has made me 
 your elder brother, and so far as that fact 
 gives me the power of standing by you 
 through thick and thin, and going througli
 
 nOME BY THE LATER AN GATE. 255 
 
 the leii2:tli and breadth of the world with 
 your hand in mine, you may count on 
 all that one man, and that man a brother^ 
 can do for another. 
 
 " I shall need your sympathy when I 
 come back to my desolate home, and I shall 
 need your constant society, and I hope 
 then you will find that two are better than 
 one. You may wonder what I have heard, 
 and I cannot speak plainer. Indeed, all I 
 have heard is simply so vague a rumour 
 that you may be exposed to annoyance 
 from evil tongues, that it is impossible for 
 me to form any definite notion myself of 
 what has past, or is passing. Therefore, 
 all I can say may be summed up in a hasty 
 assurance of my faith in you, and unde- 
 viating affection. Command me in any 
 way you please that may benefit you. And 
 when we meet again we may defy the 
 world ! 
 
 " One word more : if you will take my 
 advice you will fetch Teresa home ; she is 
 old enough to be a companion, and to give 
 the charm and guarantee of a daughter's
 
 256 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 presence to your home. Lose no time 
 about this. Angela calls me, therefore I 
 conclude in haste. 
 
 " Your ever affectionate brother, 
 
 " Clifford."
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 
 
 Roger lost no time in taking his brother s 
 advice with regard to Teresa. It seemed 
 as if he had been waiting for some impulse 
 from without to rouse him, partially at 
 least, from the state of despondency into 
 which he had fallen immediately after the 
 dreadful act described in our former chap- 
 ter, and in which he had been so active an 
 accomplice. It is more than probable that 
 had he been hardened enough in wicked- 
 ness to carry things with a high hand, and 
 brave the vague reports and dark rumours 
 that spread through the neighbourhood, 
 he would have at once triumphed over 
 them. 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE BUCKLYN" SHAIG. 
 
 Roger Clifford, with his noble name, his 
 great accomplishments, and the polished 
 charm of his manners, possessed too of a 
 property which, though not large, enabled 
 him to entertain his friends and prove an 
 agreeable and useful neighbour, was not 
 one of those on whose neck the world is in 
 haste to lay an indignant foot. That great 
 potentate, the world, is cautious against 
 whom she points the finger of scorn, and 
 she waits to hear it well confirmed that the 
 wretch " has no friends," before she raises 
 the cry of " hit him hard." 
 
 But Eoger, in spite of his dark passions 
 and reckless ambition, was not altogether 
 bad ; and consequently, was wanting in the 
 desperate courage that utter depravity 
 sometimes imparts. He could help to bury 
 the man he had not dared to murder ; and 
 now he sat down in his gloomy castle, alone 
 with his terrible secret, and wanting in the 
 audacity requisite for carrying out his own 
 game. He shrank away from those whose 
 gaze, had he been a worse man, he ought to 
 have braved ; and growing more and more
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 259 
 
 moody and abstracted, he shut himself up 
 with his foreign books, and even seemed to 
 think in no language but that of Italian, 
 which was almost more familiar to him 
 than his own. When he left the house, it 
 was generally for a long, and apparently 
 objectless ride, alone, over the wide, sweep- 
 ing downs that lie between Nutley and the 
 coast ; or in the deep back- woods that clothe 
 their base. 
 
 His moody habits, however, did not lead 
 to his neglecting the superintendence of his 
 own or his brother's property. He looked 
 minutely into all these questions for him- 
 self, and though not naturally so fond of 
 country pursuits as his brother he was a far 
 more able man of business, and, as the bailiif 
 remarked, was " 'cuter far nor his lordship, 
 and would see through a stone wall where 
 the other would not peep over a hedge." He 
 was a much better man of business than one 
 whose tastes are chiefly literary is generally 
 expected to be. He was minute and accu- 
 rate in his investigations, and severe in his 
 exactions, but never unjust, and thus he
 
 260 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 made himself respected by the farmers and 
 his own dependants, but not beloved. It 
 was exactly the reverse with Lord Clifford, 
 who was too indulgent a landlord to press 
 eagerly and strenuously his own interests 
 in any case where the opposite party might 
 have, not unjustly, to suffer ; and in any 
 question of opposing rights his lordship's 
 claims were sure to be withdrawn in favour 
 of his weaker opponent. In many instances 
 this system had been carried too far, and 
 had led to abuses which had diminished the 
 value of the Clifford property. The power 
 of supervision could not have beeu thrown 
 into better hands than those of Eoger. 
 Fond as he had been of play he had never 
 cheated at cards, like the wretched man 
 who had been his unhappy victim ; in short, 
 he had remained a man of honour^ as re- 
 garded money transactions, although he 
 had been a murderer in will, and an accom- 
 plice before and after the fearful act. 
 
 Under his care the property of his brother, 
 as well as his own, was rapidly improving, 
 but the improvements had not been made
 
 THE SKELETON I.V THE CUPBOARD. 261 
 
 without exciting a certain degree of vindic- 
 tiveness in many an idle farmer or dis- 
 honest tradesman, who suddenly found him- 
 self, in one instance served with a notice 
 to quit, and in the other called to account 
 for adulterated goods or inaccurate ac- 
 counts. 
 
 It is impossible to rectify abuses without 
 making enemies, and this was Eoger's case. 
 Of course it had been well known that high 
 play was permitted and encouraged at the 
 castle. Many of the gentry in the neigh- 
 bourhood had learned this to their cost, and 
 as the servants had been perfectly aware of 
 how Roger and Henry Bethune spent their 
 time when they were not innocently killing 
 partridges, the rumour that the latter had 
 never reached Paris, the gossip of the ser- 
 vants and the discontent of the dependants 
 on the estate had given a handle to vague 
 and unpleasant surmises, to which, pro- 
 bably, those who first uttered them attached 
 but small importance at the time, but which 
 grew gradually but surely into indefinite and 
 very injurious suspicions respecting Roger.
 
 262 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 On the morning of the day when Eoger 
 was expecting his little daughter, the bailiff 
 from Nutley Hall called to ask whether Mr. 
 Clifford would come and see some fences 
 dividing the two estates, and which had 
 been repaired by his order. Roger had sat 
 long that morning over his solitary break- 
 fast, and had wandered into all the rooms 
 on the ground floor in a restless, uncertain 
 way, as if he were examining whether every- 
 thing was in order, and as if he were expect- 
 ing the arrival of a far more important per- 
 sonage than his own daughter. Yincenzo 
 had looked half over the house before he 
 could find his master, and when he did so 
 he did not fail to observe the pre-occupation 
 of Roger's manner. 
 
 Yincenzo delivered the message from the 
 bailiff, and asked what were Mr. Clifford's 
 orders. 
 
 " Tell him," replied Roger, " that I am 
 not going out this morning. I will walk 
 over and see the fences to-morrow, and 
 
 then . Yincenzo!" he called, as the 
 
 servant half-closed the door, under the im-
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 263 
 
 pression his master had finished giving his 
 orders. Yincenzo re-appeared in the room, 
 and Roger, abruptly turning his back as he 
 spoke, continued, " When you have dis- 
 charged the man, meet me in the study, and 
 bring a large tray on which I can pile up 
 some books. I want them moved into this 
 room, and I intend to lock up the study. 
 You will find me there when you have dis- 
 missed the bailiff." 
 
 Yincenzo, of course, made no reply be- 
 yond a simple acquiescence, but he grew a 
 shade paler as his master spoke, for he per- 
 ceived by his voice and manner that there 
 was something in his mind beyond the 
 simple question of removing a few books. 
 
 When Yincenzo returned he found Eoger 
 selecting books from the shelves in the 
 study, taking manuscripts and papers from 
 the drawers, and altogether arranging the 
 room as if he were gathering together 
 everything in it he would be likely to want, 
 and so did not intend to occupy it again. 
 The books and papers were conveyed into 
 the small drawing-room at the end of the
 
 264 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 long gallery, and book-cases were fetched 
 from other parts of the house to receive 
 them, so that at the end of less than an 
 hour the drawing-room was metamorphosed 
 into the study of a learned man, for with 
 Eoger a study really meant a room in which 
 he prosecuted his varied and serious pur- 
 suits, and not a receptacle for old accounts, 
 game books, odd numbers of magazines, 
 cedar boxes full of cigars, parliamentary 
 papers, and such-like more or less important 
 articles which generally form the parapher- 
 nalia of the comfortable dens dignified, no- 
 body knows why, with the appellation of 
 " the study." 
 
 Silently and rapidly the two men, master 
 and servant, did their work. Roger was 
 paler than usual ; his brow was knit and his 
 thin Hps compressed. He stood upon the 
 library steps handing down from the top 
 shelves the numerous volumes of a duode- 
 cimo edition of the Italian classics. They 
 were books that had travelled with him far 
 and wide, hid away in his pockets, familiar 
 friends, well worn, but well kept, and the
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 265 
 
 very sight of which, and the perfume of 
 their Russian leather binding, carried him 
 in imagination to very different scenes, when 
 he was young — when he was, at least, less 
 guilty ; when, in shorty he had not a con- 
 science branded by a great and dark crime. 
 Yincenzo, too, knew well the little volumes, 
 and, safe in the familiarity to which his 
 master had become accustomed by so fre- 
 quently having foreign servants, he broke 
 the long silence at the moment his master 
 handed him a well-worn copy of Boccaccio 
 that had divided the days with Dante 
 through a long spring and summer in beau- 
 tiful Florence, some ten years previous. 
 Vincenzo twisted the well-remembered book 
 in his fingers, and said : 
 
 " Your excellenza should go back to 
 where we were when I had orders always 
 to put this book out on the dressing-table. 
 Florence is better than England. I wish 
 we were there." 
 
 Now, for a long time past Roger had 
 been feeling that the presence of Yincenzo 
 was a constant annoyance. He hated to see
 
 266 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 the man, the very sight of whom reminded 
 him of his dreadful crime ; and yet he dared 
 not quarrel with him, or even suggest that 
 he should leave. Again and again had he 
 made him presents upon some excuse or 
 other, and Eoger was perfectly aware that 
 Yincenzo found means to pay himself by 
 peculation in every branch of responsibility 
 which came within his scope in the house- 
 hold arrangements ; but it was all taken by 
 the rapacious thief as hush-money. Roger 
 was powerless to resist. By degrees the 
 man had contrived to take upon himself a 
 variety of offices which had no sort of 
 natural connection with his duties as valet, 
 nor indeed with those of butler, a post from 
 which he had managed to oust the former 
 old servant who had lived at the castle, 
 and which he had persuaded his master to 
 let him fill, with of course, an increase of 
 salary. In short, it had ended in Yincenzo 
 being the master spirit of the house. No- 
 thing was ordered for household consump- 
 tion save through him, with the exception 
 of a few things which he had found it im-
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 267 
 
 possible, on any pretence whatever, to take 
 out of the housekeeper's hands. No one 
 knew so well as Yincenzo from whence 
 came the cognac and the French wines that 
 were consumed at his master's table, for he 
 managed, under one disguise or another, to 
 be himself Mr. CHfiford's wine-merchant in 
 that particular branch ; and our readers do 
 not need to be told how readily Yincenzo 
 could obtain these articles at a low price 
 and sell them to Mr. Clifford for nearly as 
 much again. There was thus every induce- 
 ment to make A^incenzo anxious to remain, 
 while the distinct knowledge that an end- 
 less and most intricate system of peculation 
 was being carried on in his own house by 
 the astute rascal whom he dared not accuse 
 of it, was about as galling a punishment as 
 could possibly have been found for the 
 proud nature and exact, accurate habits of 
 super\4sion, for which Roger was remark- 
 able. It was, moreover, a punishment that 
 allowed of no respite, and forbade all 
 attempt at investigation. 
 
 Again and again, when Roger had had
 
 268 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 brought before his notice some nefarious 
 act of dishonesty on the part of the man 
 he was compelled to trust, and who was 
 constantly in attendance upon himself, his 
 spirit had writhed at the hated bondage 
 which kept him silent. The words that 
 would have led to an open rupture between 
 the two men literally burnt upon his 
 tongue, and he would bite his lips until the 
 blood started, in the agony of being unable 
 to speak his mind. He would have given 
 ten years of his life and half his fortune to 
 have been able for once, only once, in safety 
 to have had it out with him. He would 
 picture to himself what he should say if by 
 any accident he could find himself alone 
 with the man that dogged his path, and 
 was like the shadow of his own evil con- 
 science^ alone in a forest in the New World, 
 alone in the desert, anywhere out of the 
 reach of social laws and conventionalities, 
 anywhere that he could have met him, not 
 as master to servant, but as man to man, 
 and then and there have told him how he 
 loathed him ; have cursed him as his tempter
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 269 
 
 and his accomplice, have made him under- 
 stand that his villany had never for a 
 moment been unknown to him, that he had 
 seen and knew, intimately knew, every 
 lying, thieving transaction with which he 
 had thought to cheat his master, and that 
 now and for ever he hated him, abhorred 
 him, renounced liim ! And then, if they 
 could only wrestle it out, hand to hand, 
 foot to foot. If only once his clenched fist 
 might fall on that villain's face, if only once 
 he could put his foot on him, he would not 
 care if the end of the struggle had left him 
 vanquished, so long as once, once only, he 
 might speak his mind aloud and strike out 
 like a man. 
 
 It was dreadful to walk about his own 
 house, feeling that master as he was of all 
 around him, there was one miserable wretch 
 who might steal and pilfer, and act uni- 
 formly in a dishonest and scandalous way, 
 and that he could not complain, no, nor 
 even glance, a look of displeasure. And 
 yet there was that about the man which 
 sometimes made Eoger almost doubt whether
 
 270 THE BUCKLY^ SHAia. 
 
 he were himself fully aware of the advan- 
 tage he had over his master. Submissive, 
 subservient, attentive, and oily, no word 
 ever escaped him that even bordered upon 
 impertinence. Sometimes, when the deep, 
 silent hate which Eoger carried in his 
 bosom would, in spite of himself, bubble up 
 into a few angry words, generally called 
 forth not at all by really one of the bad 
 deeds of his servant (for then he was on his 
 guard, and was reminded by the greatness 
 of the fault of his own inability to com- 
 plain), but by some accidental and uninten- 
 tional neglect or mistake, he would suddenly 
 stop, and be again silent and patient by 
 thinking he saw the sallow face grow a 
 shade more sallow, and the deep-sunk, dark 
 eye twinkle with a slight glitter of malig- 
 nity. But, on the whole, the Italian was so 
 uniformly and obsequiously attentive, so all- 
 devoted to his master's wishes, so observant 
 of his wants, and so mindful of his tastes 
 and ways, that it was as impossible to blame 
 him for little things as it would have been 
 dangerous to take notice of actual dishonesty.
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 271 
 
 All that the unhappy Roger could do, 
 hamj)ered as he was by his own guilty con- 
 science, was to resolve that if ever Yincenzo 
 gave him the slightest loophole for hoping 
 he might be induced to quit his service, he 
 Avould instantly close with it. He would 
 make it worth his while to go, if only any- 
 thing he could give would induce him to 
 leave the house and the country. But 
 hitherto Yincenzo had uttered no word 
 that could possibly be construed into a 
 wish for change ; and Roger could only 
 conclude that his present position was far 
 too profitable a one to be lightly relin- 
 quished. 
 
 When, however, Roger's eager ear caught 
 those words, " Florence is better than Eng- 
 land; I wish we were there," he felt his 
 heart stop w^ith the vehement hope that 
 possibly the familiar fiend might be induced 
 to leave him. For a second he dared not 
 speak lest his voice should betray him. 
 Still turning his face to the book-shelves, 
 to conceal the red flush which had covered 
 his brow, as the blood that had for a mo-
 
 272 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 ment been held fast in Lis heart burst 
 through his veins and set his pulses rapidly 
 beating, he said, in a quiet tone, " If you 
 prefer Florence to England, Yincenzo, you 
 can go there when you please. You have 
 served me a long time in this, to you 
 foreign, land, and I would never hinder 
 your return, but rather forward it, when- 
 ever you wish it." 
 
 There was a pause, and Roger's heart 
 again ceased to beat. At length, as Roger 
 descended the steps, and stood face to face 
 with his servant, the latter replied : 
 
 " Florence is not my home, sir. I should 
 be a stranger there as I am here, and there- 
 fore may as well stop where I am." 
 
 " I know," replied Roger, " that Genoa is 
 your native place, but it comes to the same 
 thing. If you wish to return there, I should 
 be very sorry to detain you here, and in- 
 deed " 
 
 But Roger was stopped by Yincenzo 
 saying, slowly and with emphasis : 
 
 " Your eccellenza is very good. When 
 you have done with my services, you have
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 273 
 
 only to say so ; till then I have no wish to 
 leave this country." 
 
 As he said these words, he stepped back- 
 wards, still looking at Koger, and as he 
 passed towards the door, he laid one hand 
 on the large desk that stood over the fatal 
 spot so well known to both, and without 
 once moving his eyes from his master's face 
 said : 
 
 ** Does your eccellenza require any of 
 these books to be removed ?" 
 
 He could not have said more or done 
 more to make his meaning plain. Eoger 
 turned ghastly pale, and staggered. He 
 replied that he wanted no more books, that 
 he had removed all he required, and the 
 stealthy Italian, bowing respectfully, glided 
 noiselessly from the room, closing the door 
 after him, and leaving his wretched master 
 alone to his reflections. And terrible in- 
 deed they were. With clenched hands and 
 brow damp with agony, Roger paced the 
 room, grinding his teeth, and inwardly 
 cursing his own destiny and the fiend who 
 governed it. 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 That morning, the first for many a long 
 day, gentler feelings had stolen into his 
 heart. The thought of Teresa's return, a 
 vague hope that the presence of his lovely 
 and innocent child might bring some balm 
 to his troubled soul ; a dreamy, tender, 
 remorseful regret about the young mother 
 of his child, whom he had not rendered 
 happy, and whom he had laid in an early 
 grave, little mourned at the time, but now 
 looming in the twilight of his sad memories, 
 together with other lost joys, lost hopes, 
 and wasted opportunities. All this had 
 come before him that bright spring morn- 
 ing, with more of tender emotion and less 
 of bitterness than he was used to ; and 
 Teresa's arrival seemed like a ray of sun- 
 shine lighting up the gloom of his heart 
 and opening the possibility of a calmer and 
 better future. While thus musing, he had 
 remembered, with the same sudden pang 
 that was always new though it was always 
 there, the horror that was connected with 
 the room called his study. He fancied his 
 child skipping across that tainted floor^
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 275 
 
 perhaps some day playfully endeavouring 
 to push aside the heavy reading-desk, per- 
 haps recalling to him some vague recollec- 
 tion of having heard in her childhood that 
 there was an old well beneath the flooring. 
 And as these ghastly images crowded on 
 his brain and excited his imagination, he 
 formed the resolution which we have 
 watched him carrying out, of moving the 
 volumes he was most likely to read into 
 another room, and keeping the study locked 
 up. 
 
 There is a freemasonry of thought among 
 the wicked, as there is the communion of 
 saints among the good, and no doubt Yin- 
 cenzo had fully read and fully understood 
 his master's meaning. It was an oppor- 
 tunity not to be lost, and he seized it to 
 rivet the chain afresh, and to show his 
 victim that the bonds of sin are not so soon 
 to be shaken off, and that let him struggle as 
 he would, and grope after a better future 
 as he might, the past still remained, and, 
 owing to that past, neither could get rid 
 of the other^ except by a mutual understand-
 
 276 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 ing. There was no remorse in Yincenzo's 
 nature. The time with him was passed for 
 that. The devil rewards his best votaries 
 so far in this Hfe as sometimes to blind them 
 completely, and to leave such callous insen- 
 sibility in their souls that vice loses all its 
 bitterness, and conscience all its sting ; and 
 in their place there is the drowsiness of a 
 brutalised nature, the chuckle of guilty 
 success, and the eagerness of triumphant 
 sin. 
 
 As Vincenzo closed the door on Eoger, 
 the two men presented a strange contrast. 
 Agony, remorse, horror depicted on the 
 countenance of the one, and a cold, [self- 
 congratulatory smile on that of the other. 
 **I have him fast," said he to himself. 
 " Does he think I have got all my reward 
 out of him yet ? No, no, eccellenza ; a good 
 murder that saved .you from ruin deserves 
 more than that. I am not going home to 
 my old jeweller's shop in Genoa till I have 
 lined my pockets with a great many more 
 of your good English guineas. It is true 
 you have raised my wages, made me pre-
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 277 
 
 sents, and the dead man's effects sold for a 
 pretty sum, but I value the risking my 
 neck at a higher figure than I have yet 
 touched; and your sneaking remorse and 
 miserable fears must make you bleed a little 
 more before you can send your faithful ser- 
 vant across the Mediterranean, and so com- 
 fortably be rid of him. 
 
 The smirk grew to a laugh as Vincenzo 
 entered the servant's hall ; and he startled 
 Nancy, who had come to fetch something, 
 by chucking her under the chin in a familiar 
 manner which she deeply resented, and that 
 only made him laugh the more. 
 
 Meanwhile the unhappy Roger was pacing 
 the room in an excited manner, maddened 
 by the feeling that, do what he would, he 
 could not be rid of the witness and partner 
 of his crime. If Vincenzo could have been 
 dismissed, there seemed some hope that the 
 pangs of remorse would soften with time ; 
 at least his memory of the past might 
 mellow with revolving years. Or, perhaps 
 — w?iO can say ? — perhaps he might one day 
 change the despair of remorse into the soft
 
 278 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 feelings of contrition, and die at last peni- 
 tent, and pardoned by God though never by- 
 man. With this half-shadowy thought came 
 back the lost image of his gentle wife, and 
 the paternal hopes linked with the existence 
 of Teresa. Neglected in her lifetime, and 
 hardly valued, save as a pretty appendage 
 to himself and as adorning his house, the 
 memory of Mildred, buried far-off in a 
 distant land, came back to him full of 
 regret, full of pensive sadness. He thought 
 how, in those younger days, he had turned 
 from all the real happiness that lay at his 
 very feet, and rushed after excitement, 
 change, and adventure. He had worn out 
 the love of the sweet companion who would 
 have been his good angel, until she had 
 learnt to long for the grave into which she 
 had descended so early ; and now what 
 would he not have given for one year, nay 
 one month, of her dear presence again ? 
 
 The dissipation of Eoger's past life had 
 not been simply the wild careless pleasure- 
 hunting of hot youth. It had been deeper, 
 more concentrated, more intellectual, and.
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 279 
 
 therefore, perhaps more guilty. There had 
 been as much contrast between the evil 
 doings of Eoger Clifford and Henry Bethune 
 as there had been between the external ap- 
 pearance and manners of the two men. 
 Roger had coldly and calmly succeeded in 
 breaking the heart of the lovely girl he had 
 made his wife, by systematic neglect far 
 more than by giving her any real cause for 
 jealousy. Had she been jealous, it would 
 have been more of his abstracted studies, 
 his unflinching ambition, and his constant 
 and unremitting hunt after gold, than of 
 any attraction exercised over him by others 
 of her own sex. 
 
 Henry Bethune had been gay, lively, 
 false, and a swindler. Roger was cold, 
 serious, grasping, but honourable ; and pos- 
 sibly he would at any time have found it 
 easier to consent to the murder of his enemy 
 and help to bury him, as we have seen him 
 do, than to cheat and swindle him with a 
 smiling face and a bland smile like Henry 
 Bethune. 
 
 As Roger, subsiding from the violent
 
 280 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 emotion lie had suffered, sat gloomily mus- 
 ing in the arm-chair of his study that he 
 was so soon to lock up and leave as a con- 
 demned room in the house, he dwelt with 
 increasing horror upon the thought that 
 Teresa would be dwelling with the man 
 he hated. His blood curdled at the idea 
 that his innocent child would be waited 
 upon by the servant who knew of her father's 
 guilt, who had instigated it and assisted in 
 it. Had it been possible it would have been 
 an alleviation at least to have given Yincenzo 
 some position that would have taken him 
 out of the house, such as that of bailiff ; but 
 his being a foreigner put this quite out of 
 the question, and he felt more keenly than 
 ever that nothing but Yincenzo's own wish 
 could ever rid him of his presence. 
 
 He did not, of course, even in his most 
 nervously-excited state, apprehend by any 
 chance that Teresa could receive so much as 
 a hint of the state of the case. She at least 
 would be protected against that. But he 
 had not the same security with regard to 
 his son. Kobert had been at home for some
 
 THE SKELETON IX THE CUPBOARD. 281 
 
 time during the summer after the departure 
 of Lord CHfford, and consequently some 
 months before the murder. Roger had had 
 plenty of opportunity of noticing the fatal 
 effects of the education he had given his 
 son. He had perceived that Yincenzo paid 
 great court to the young heir, and Eobert, 
 who, in his earlier days had, as we have 
 seen, been too often placed almost under 
 Yincenzo's care, seemed to have an affection 
 for the servant which for every reason was 
 most undesirable. 
 
 There, then, was another anxiety. Robert 
 would soon be coming home, and this time it 
 was to remain. Having no profession, his 
 father knew the only thing to do with him 
 was to let him live at the Castle, and begin 
 to take some active interest in the estate ; 
 though how far he was adapted for that 
 kind of life, and how far his father's close 
 and jealous temper would admit of his 
 being anything more than an idler about 
 the place, was still a very doubtful question. 
 Roger had been simply and entirely glad 
 when Robert, weary of the dull country
 
 282 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 and of snch society as was to be found at 
 the castle, had asked leave to resume for 
 another year his wandering life. There 
 was but little love lost between father and 
 son ; for having very much the same faults, 
 they were sure to clash perpetually ; and to 
 the same faults Eobert added much more 
 recklessness than had ever, even in liis 
 youngest days, marked his father's cha- 
 racter. In short he was at once more of a 
 villain and less of a gentleman. And yet 
 if only Robert could be induced to live at 
 home, and in no marked way outrage de- 
 corum and morality, Roger felt that his 
 son's presence, as well as that of Teresa, 
 would be a guarantee to himself ; and that, 
 with his two children by his side, he might 
 get up his spirits and his courage sufficiently 
 to try and shake off the appearance of 
 gloom and the habits of solitude which, far 
 more than any rumours connected with 
 Henry Bethune's disappearance, had done 
 him harm in the opinions of his neighbours. 
 When Roger had received Lord CHfford's 
 letter urging the speedy return of Teresa,
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 283 
 
 be had answered it in a way to elude all 
 direct reference to the cause of his unpopu- 
 larity. He had thanked his brother for bis 
 kind zeal and interest, and bad owned that 
 in bis and Angela's absence from the ball, 
 be certainly did find his life rather solitary, 
 adding : 
 
 *' As I never think of marrying again, 
 and no home goes on well or cheerily with- 
 out the presence of a woman, I believe 
 you are right in saying I ought to have 
 Teresa home. The great objection to doing 
 so is that unfortunately she is still so 
 young that it hardly seems right to 
 have her here without some lady older 
 than herself; and my submitting to the 
 presence of a governess or a companion is 
 so utterly out of the question, that I cannot 
 entertain the thought for a moment. How- 
 ever, as I did not mould my own destiny, I 
 must just take it as I find it, and so must 
 Teresa. I believe in the course of a few 
 months some old friends of mine, the Count 
 
 and Countess de C will be coming over 
 
 to England; and I have written to the
 
 284 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 countess to beg she will take Teresa from 
 the Ursuline Convent, and bring her over 
 with them. I cannot deny that I am looking 
 forward with more of paternal feelings than 
 I believed I possessed to seeing the poor 
 child again. And so thus ends most probably 
 my intention of making a nun of her. I can 
 only hope that she may some day find a good 
 husband, who will be content with a pretty 
 wife and a very small fortune. But the 
 difficulty will be to find one. There is only 
 one eligible Catholic match in the whole 
 neighbourhood : of course you know I 
 allude to the heir of the Kedcliffs. And I 
 fear that in giving her a convent education, 
 I have destroyed my best chance of getting 
 her to consent to a mixed marriage, even 
 were a Protestant young gentleman to pre- 
 sent himself." 
 
 The rest of the letter gave a detailed ac- 
 count of some of the important reforms that 
 Eoger had effected on his brother s estate, 
 and of how in doing so he had necessarily 
 made many enemies amongst the lower 
 classes, and that they would give a great
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 285 
 
 deal to be able to show their spite j thereby 
 adroitly insinuating that anything disagree- 
 able that might have reached Lord Clifford's 
 ears took its rise solely from the zealous 
 efforts he had made in his brother's interest. 
 If not the whole truth, it was at least part 
 of the truth, and it would bind his brother 
 to him more than ever, a result for which 
 Roger was especially solicitous. 
 
 The day wore on, and still Roger sat in 
 the fatal room, that was henceforth only to 
 exist as forbidden ground in the castle, 
 haunted with ghastly memories. It was 
 indeed on a large scale, that cupboard with 
 the inevitable skeleton that lies somewhere 
 hidden in every house, and whose grim 
 occupant stalks forth at night and rattles 
 his bones within hearing of the individuals 
 who know but too well what it is. Some- 
 times it is a traditional skeleton, and the 
 members of the family will occasionally 
 huddle together with closed dors, and con- 
 cert with each other what can be done to 
 keep that fatal cupboard locked, and pre- 
 vent the skeleton from slipping off his nail
 
 286 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 and shocking everybody out of their pro- 
 priety by walking into the banqueting-hall. 
 Sometimes it is a private skeleton, known 
 only to one sad inmate in that large house, 
 and who bears his burden alone, and wrestles 
 with his enemy in the dead of the night. 
 But surely there are few roofs that harbour 
 such a skeleton as that at Eaymond Castle ! 
 At length Roger roused himself to go. 
 Sometime previous he had had a special 
 lock put upon the two doors of this room, 
 that he might always feel secure that no 
 one could enter it without his permission, 
 should he see fit to keep it locked. And so 
 he passed out of it, and turned the key, 
 and went back to the room he had been 
 preparing for Teresa, and where but a few 
 hours before he had himself been arranging 
 some pictures and ornaments to make it 
 more like a lady's boudoir, with almost a 
 feeling as if there might be even for him 
 some future possible happiness. The inter- 
 view with Vincenzo had dissipated the 
 illusion.
 
 287 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 
 
 The housekeeper had been sent to London 
 to meet Teresa, and to receive her from the 
 
 hands of the Countess de C . She had 
 
 left her convent some weeks previous, and 
 had been stopping with her father's friends 
 in Paris, in order to allow time for her to 
 exchange the dark blue dress — a fac-simile 
 of which she had appeared in on her arrival 
 four years previous at Nutley Hall, and the 
 recollection of which had so haunted her 
 father's fastidious taste that he had written 
 to beg she might be furnished with a com- 
 plete trousseau of more worldly habiliments 
 — before she quitted Paris. The result 
 had been altogether satisfactory, for the
 
 288 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 Countess de C understood the matter 
 
 thoroughly, and had been greatly pleased 
 with having the charge of her old friend's 
 lovely daughter ; nor had she confined her 
 duties to buying clothes, for when she saw 
 the effect they produced in enhancing 
 Teresa's beauty, she had been unable to 
 resist the temptation to carry her young 
 protegee a little into the gay world of Paris, 
 and she had done so with the greatest suc- 
 cess. And so at length when the post- 
 chaise drove up to the door, and Eoger was 
 standing at a little distance in the long 
 gallery, and feeling a little strange but 
 decidedly pleased, he was almost startled to 
 see before him a very lovely girl ; not like 
 a school-child, not like a nun, but beaming 
 with youth and bright beauty, exquisitely 
 dressed, graceful in every movement, and 
 with two large, glorious dark eyes looking 
 out of a face of the most perfect oval, with 
 a complexion of clear, dead white, lips of 
 the deepest crimson, and teeth of faultless 
 regularity. There was no shyness, no con- 
 straint in her manner. Father and daugh-
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 289 
 
 ter had not met for four years, and yet this 
 beautiful creature sprang forward with open 
 arms ; the two little hands in a second were 
 lightly placed on his shoulders, and with 
 one little clear ringing cry of " My dear 
 father !" he found himself kissed on both 
 cheeks before he had had presence of mind 
 to move a step. He took her hands in his, 
 and held her off a pace, not speaking, but 
 scanning that sweet, bright face with a 
 pleased smile. At last he said : 
 
 " Why, Teresa, I thought you were a 
 child !" 
 
 " A child, papa ? Don't you remember 
 I am eighteen, and quite a woman now ? 
 It is so long ago since you saw me I hardly 
 wonder you have forgotten all about me. 
 But now, dear papa, I am coming to live 
 with you, and keep your house, and try to 
 make you love me, though you do know so 
 little about me. Ah, papa, I am so glad to 
 come home !" 
 
 The large eyes glistened for a moment 
 brighter still from the tears of joy that 
 filled them; and it was, perhaps, not 
 
 VOL. T u
 
 290 THE BUCKLYN SHAia. 
 
 strange that the eyes that looked into them 
 were moistened also, unused as they were 
 to any tears, save those of bitterness. 
 
 He took her to her room, and waited 
 upon her in a thousand little ways to make 
 quite sure she had all she required. She 
 had brought a French maid with her not 
 many years older than herself, and prepared 
 to die of ennui in the gloomy castle pe- 
 rennially surrounded by fog — a view of the 
 subject to which she had made up her 
 mind as a matter of course. 
 
 It was a strange sensation to Eoger to 
 find himself sitting after dinner tete-a-tete 
 with his new-found daughter. He began 
 to wonder why he had left himself without 
 her society so long, till he recollected that 
 his intention had been that she should enter 
 the religious life. That thought seemed to 
 him now so uncalled-for as to be quite pre- 
 posterous. He could not recollect why he 
 had ever wished it ; and as he contemplated 
 the graceful figure before him, and watched 
 the little fingers busily working, the bend 
 of her small head, with its wealth of brown
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 291 
 
 hair, the little ear peeping out from beneath 
 the wavy curls like a small white shell ; as 
 he watched the long* lashes fall on a cheek 
 that had caught the tint of the roseleaf, he 
 could not conceive what had ever put it 
 into his head to deprive himself for life of 
 such a treasure-store of youth and charm, 
 when he had it in his power to grace his 
 own home with it — at least for a time. 
 And then her voice was so melodious, it 
 had such variety of tones, and rose and fell 
 in such harmonious cadence that he kept 
 asking her questions about the convent and 
 about what she had seen and done in Paris, 
 far more to listen to the sound than to get 
 information. She was like her mother, but 
 she was more truly beautiful, and he thought 
 he perceived that she had that elasticity of 
 mind, the want of which he had always felt 
 in his poor wife, though the probability is 
 that he himself had broken the spring, and 
 then complained it did not act. 
 
 In short, it was altogether so new, so 
 strange, and so full of promise, that Eoger 
 already began to fancy himself a better and
 
 292 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 a happier man, and for that evening even 
 the presence of Yincenzo, and all the recol- 
 lections which that inspired, were nearly lost 
 sight of. 
 
 Before a week was over, Teresa was 
 thoroughly installed in the castle as its 
 mistress and good angel. She had created 
 her position by from the first taking it for 
 granted it was to be hers. She laid claim 
 to her father's affections as mihesitatingly 
 as if she had always enjoyed them. With- 
 out shyness, and yet with perfect delicacy, 
 she had taken it for granted she was to be 
 his companion under all circumstances 
 where such was possible. The frankness 
 with which she talked to him necessarily in 
 great measure broke through his own re- 
 serve ; and though he would sit with her 
 for an hour together, seldom saying more 
 than just enough to keep her talking, yet 
 she felt his eyes were upon her, and that 
 he was giving her a pleased and kindly 
 attention. 
 
 She quickly found out that he was a 
 great Italian scholar, and thereupon insisted
 
 THE AX GEL OF THE HOUSE. 293 
 
 upon learning the language herself, and 
 taking him for her preceptor. At first he 
 thought it would prove a mere caprice ; 
 but when he found long exercises brought 
 him to correct, day after day, he saw that 
 she was thoroughly in earnest about that as 
 she was about everything she undertook. 
 He soon learnt that whenever Teresa began 
 a thing she meant to go on with it, and 
 that, in truth, she generally managed to 
 secure success by a mixture of perseverance 
 and of sweetness, which no one could long 
 resist. 
 
 There were, however, two subjects upon 
 which she never touched with her father, 
 and these were the two nearest her own 
 heart — her religion and her mother's me- 
 mory. Her perceptions were as true as 
 they were delicate — and indeed they can 
 never be the one without being the other 
 also — and she had from the first instant 
 perceived not only that she should meet 
 with but little sympathy from her father on 
 these matters, but that also there was a 
 sternness in his manner which made her
 
 294 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 apprehensive of displeasing him by allusion 
 to them. With regard to her mother she 
 was too loving and innocent herself to 
 attribute her father's silence to anything 
 but the depth and intensity of his feelings, 
 which rendered all reference to his lost wife 
 only too painful. But upon the subject of 
 religion she was seriously anxious, and felt 
 that, so far as was consistent with her 
 obedience and submission as a daughter, 
 she was bound not to let the subject go by 
 default. She had reached the castle on a 
 Tuesday, and all that week had passed with- 
 out any reference to the subject upon which 
 all her thoughts were bent. When Sunday 
 came, and she was dressed to walk the short 
 distance across the park to the little chapel, 
 she had taken it for granted she should find 
 her father ready in the hall to accompany 
 her. He was not there, but Yincenzo was 
 laying out his master's hat and gloves as if 
 he were exjoecting him to go out soon. 
 She paused a moment, and then asked the 
 servant if her father were nearly ready for 
 mass. The man continued his occupation
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 295 
 
 without raising his head, and did not reply 
 till she repeated the question. Probably 
 by that time he had made up his mind it 
 would be better to tell her the whole truth 
 at once. So he replied : 
 
 " No, signorina, my master is not ready, 
 nor will he be. Mr. Clifford never goes to 
 mass here." 
 
 Teresa changed colour, but immediately 
 felt it was not a subject on which it would 
 be possible for her to make any reply to the 
 servant. So, recovering herself quickly, 
 she said : 
 
 " Will you be so good as to tell my father 
 I am gone ?" 
 
 She left the house with a heavy heart. 
 Sunday after Sunday her father missed his 
 mass of obligation, and that entailed missing 
 all his other religious obligations. It was 
 awful to think of, and she must make up 
 her mind whether she was not bound to 
 pluck up enough courage to ask him to 
 accompany her the following week. When 
 she returned home, nothing was said by 
 Mr. Clifford on the subject. He seemed to
 
 296 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 look upon it quite as a matter of course 
 that she was to go and he was to stop 
 away. 
 
 Teresa was resolved to do nothing in 
 haste, lest she should spoil her sacred task 
 by precipitation ; but she was quite resolved 
 that nothing should interfere with her own 
 pious practices so far as she was free to 
 continue them. And as her father did not 
 breakfast till after nine, she had ample time, 
 those bright summer mornings, to go to 
 eight o'clock mass, and be back again before 
 she could even be missed. She had many 
 hours in the day when she was entirely left 
 to herself, for her father was out a great 
 deal ; and even when he was in the house 
 his habits of study were too ancient and 
 rooted for him to break through them en- 
 tirely, though certainly his books did not 
 engross as much of his attention as before 
 his daughter's arrival. 
 
 Teresa decided on endeavouring to obtain 
 some more information about her father's 
 religious, or rather anti-religious, sentiments 
 before she uttered a word to him ; and con-
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 297 
 
 sequently a day or two after the first shock 
 of finding he did not even go to mass, Mrs. 
 Brown the housekeeper, who had lived in 
 the family for years, having come to the 
 drawing-room to speak with Teresa on 
 domestic affairs, she thought it was better at 
 once to ask what she wanted to know. So 
 when dinner was ordered, and business dis- 
 missed, just as Mrs. Brown was on the point 
 of leaving the room, she stopped her, and 
 said, with a slight tremor in her voice : 
 
 " Mrs. Brown, I am not afraid of asking 
 you a question which I could not put to 
 any one in the house except yourself. You 
 have known me since I was a child, and 
 you knew " (and here her voice faltered, and 
 tears came into her eyes) " my poor mother. 
 I want you to tell me, is it true that my 
 father never goes to mass? He did not 
 come with me last Sunday, although there 
 was nothing that I knew of to prevent him ; 
 and when I happened, in the hall while 
 waiting for him, to ask Yincenzo if he were 
 coming, he replied that he never went." 
 
 Before Mrs. Brown had opened her lips,
 
 298 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Teresa, saw by her countenance, that her 
 avowal was not going to be a satisfactory 
 one. Mrs. Brown shook her head sadly, 
 and said : 
 
 " Indeed, miss, I grieve to say, it is too 
 true. Mr. Clifford never goes to mass here. 
 When his lordship is at Nutley, and my 
 master is stopping there, he does go some- 
 times with the rest of the family. I sup- 
 pose he feels he could hardly help himself 
 there, for his lordship is very particular, 
 and my lady still more so ; and Mr. Clifford 
 is such a gentleman he would not like to 
 annoy anybody. But you know, miss, it is 
 not exactly being a gentleman that will 
 make him a good Christian, and, certainly, 
 when he is in his own house, though per- 
 haps I ought not to say it to his daughter, 
 he might be an infidel for all he seems to 
 think of his religion. But there, miss, I 
 don't want to pain you," she added, as she 
 saw two large tears brimming over in 
 Teresa's eyes, " only as you, miss, know 
 what is right, and have been brought up in 
 a Catholic country, a convent and all, we
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 299 
 
 do liope, we all hope, miss, and Father 
 Netberby says the same, that in time, you 
 may bring master round, and that will be a 
 happiness for all of us." 
 
 *' And how was it, Mrs. Brown, in my 
 poor mother's time ?" 
 
 " Oh well, miss, it wasn't as it should 
 have been, nohow. Your mamma, miss, 
 was an angel, and I suppose that is why she 
 died. She was too good for this world, and 
 too good for the fate that befell her; not 
 but what, miss^ we are all attached to Mr. 
 Clifford in a way. He is a just master, 
 though he is a gentleman to be afraid of. 
 But, as I always say, if he had other people 
 about him besides those that be about him, 
 he would be a different gentleman alto- 
 gether. It is not only ' like master like 
 man,' Miss Teresa, it's sometimes like man 
 like master. There is no one can abide Mr, 
 Yincenzo ; and he, you know, has master's 
 right ear; and when anything is done as 
 should not be done, lor bless you, miss, it's 
 ten to ten thousand, that that foreigneering 
 rascal is at the bottom of it. I beg your
 
 300 THE BUCKLYN" SHAIG. 
 
 pardon, miss, I am afraid I am saying more 
 than I ought to do. But I would not have 
 you think, miss, that the fault is all with 
 your dear papa. And we are all so pleased 
 to see how fond he grows of you. And who 
 knows, miss, hut what you are come on 
 purpose to change the face of things ? and 
 you'll get your papa round to your way of 
 thinking, aye, and perhaps Master Eobert, 
 too, in time ; for that's a worse case still." 
 
 " Tell me, Mrs. Brown," said Teresa, in 
 a low voice, husky with her choking tears, 
 " Was my mother not happy with my 
 father ?" 
 
 Mrs. Brown made no verbal reply; but 
 she looked hard at Teresa, pressed her lips 
 very tight, shook her head very slowly, 
 gave a great sigh, and turning to leave the 
 room laid her hand on the door. 
 
 " Stop one moment, Mrs. Brown," said 
 Teresa. " Can you give me — may I have 
 the key of my dear mother's oratory ? I 
 remember it always used to be kept locked, 
 I suppose it is so still." 
 
 Mrs. Brown replied that she would fetch
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 301 
 
 it, and left the room. When she returned, 
 she found Teresa with traces of tears on her 
 pale cheeks. 
 
 *' Now, my dear young lady/' said the 
 motherly old woman, " you must not let 
 what I have said make you unhappy. It is 
 as well, perhaps^ that you should know just 
 what is before you^ and what kind of a 
 house you have come back to. And thinks 
 I to myself, it is better the dear young 
 heart should learn all about it from an old 
 woman like me, as knew all the family be- 
 fore she was born, than go on finding it all 
 out by degrees, and perhaps not knowing 
 what to do, or which way to turn. With 
 God's help, miss, you'll make all different, 
 and that's what Father Netherby says : 
 and he knew your blessed mother, aye, 
 and our sweet Lady Clifford, too, who is 
 so ill that nothing but a miracle can save 
 her." 
 
 By this time, Teresa's tears were flowing 
 fast, and Mrs. Brown was beginning to re- 
 pent of the whole conversation. She 
 soothed her with kind words ; she flattered
 
 302 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 her, to try and raise her courage, and she 
 did not leave her until she heard Teresa say 
 quite calmly that Mrs. Brown had done 
 quite right in telling her the whole ; and 
 that she hoped she would pray for her, that 
 she might have the strength and the 
 prudence necessary for the difficult posi- 
 tion in which she was placed. 
 
 It often happens to us, that beneath the 
 surface of our daily avocations and the 
 routine of our life, we have a vague sense 
 there is lying some new duty not yet real- 
 ised that is waiting only for a special occa- 
 sion to put it plainly before us, and make us 
 hear that trumpet-call of conscience '^ Arise 
 and walk!" Suddenly, the voice of God 
 wakes us from our slumbers, and summons 
 us to our new task. Shuddering at our 
 weakness, thrilled through with the sense 
 of a new responsibility^ and yet braced with 
 the hope of fulfilling a duty, and giving 
 glory to God, we resolve and prepare ; and, 
 from that hour a change has passed over 
 the soul. It takes but a moment ; but that 
 moment is decisive. The heart is older by
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 303 
 
 years. The boy has become a man, and the 
 dreaming girl wakes up full of purpose into 
 the calm, serious woman. It is a shower of 
 grace on the soul, like the showers in the 
 natural world between a radiant morn and 
 a hot noontide, when the warm well nur- 
 tured rosebud expands at once, and all the 
 enclosed beauties of its crimson heart are 
 laid open to the sun. 
 
 Teresa's feelings on returning home from 
 her convent education, had been such as 
 were natural to her age, tempered by the 
 seriousness and piety of her own character. 
 But she had not been long there before the 
 vague sense of some grave new duty was 
 dimly stirring in her heart. And now it 
 all burst upon her. Eaymond Castle had 
 had no mistress for eighteen long years, 
 and its last mistress, her own lost mother, 
 had spent there a few years only, and those 
 unhappy. Meanwhile, a godless man had 
 come and gone, as his views or his pleasures 
 had impelled him, and that man was her 
 father; and the only other figure in the 
 dark picture was her brother, and that, as
 
 304 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 Mrs. Brown had said, '' was a worse case 
 still." This was her home, these were her 
 prospects, and alone and unaided she would 
 have to steer her course ; and what was 
 harder, to try and guide others. For a 
 space, it seemed to her as if the very ground 
 were sinking beneath her. As she stood at 
 the window, looking over the sweeping park 
 to the long line of downs fringed with wood 
 that bordered the horizon, it seemed to her 
 as if a change had passed even over the 
 external world, and a grey mist fallen upon 
 nature. For a moment the light had gone 
 out in her heart, and that is the light in 
 which we see the world outside us. But 
 by degrees, her inner sense caught the 
 clarion sound of conscience and of duty. 
 Like a spirit it came, breathing music ; 
 dappling with footsteps of light the green 
 undulations of the swelling hills ; thrilling 
 over the forest leaves that turned trembling 
 their paler surface to the sky ; breaking 
 the stagnant pools into sudden smiles, and 
 with a rush of glory flashing up the sloping 
 park, where the dappled deer were for a
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 305 
 
 moment swatlied in light, and straightway 
 falHng on the grey castle walls with a flood 
 of golden sunshine. 
 
 Utter abnegation of herself — absolute 
 devotion to a fixed purpose, that was what 
 Teresa saw before her, and what with 
 intense earnestness, she adopted and em- 
 braced. She must win her father, and lead 
 him to God : and to accomplish that, every- 
 thing if needs be, must make way ; no 
 mere joy of youth lay before her ; no day 
 dreams of a future for herself. The pre- 
 sent absorbed all, and must continue to do 
 so each hour, as it came and ceased to be 
 the past and was not yet the future. The 
 present ! — the present ! All duty lies in 
 that, all grace, all eternity. No schemes 
 for future development, no dreams of vast 
 improvement to come ! The great now is 
 the only reality for us, for all else hangs on 
 it. foolish man ! crush into the present 
 moment all thy being. Let this instant 
 beat of thy heart be the one most vehement 
 in love to God, most abject in penitence, 
 most ardent in faith. This is your oppor- 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 tunitj. This, and no other, is yours, and 
 at the end of it hangs Eternity ! 
 
 Teresa pondered much and long on the 
 work she saw before her, and with a 
 maturity of thought beyond her years and 
 experience, decided that it would be impos- 
 sible to attempt anything abrupt or marked 
 towards accomplishing the task of getting 
 deeper into her father's confidence, and so 
 of endeavouring to obtain a permanent and 
 beneficial influence over him. She felt it 
 could only be done by making him love her, 
 and being herself full of affection towards 
 him she did not apprehend much difficulty 
 in that. On the contrary, she felt that she 
 had already made as much way as she could 
 expect, and even more. 
 
 But as the question of what was to be 
 done in the complicated incidents of home 
 life were sure to be, from time to time, 
 difficult and embarrassing ; she resolved on 
 taking Father Netherby — that old friend of 
 the family, into her confidence, and de- 
 termined to be guided, not only by his 
 advice as a priest, but by his knowledge of
 
 THE AXGEL OF THE HOUSE. 307 
 
 Ler father, and the experience he must have 
 acquired in his intimate relations with the 
 whole family. 
 
 She found Father Netherby all kindness 
 and sympathy ; but at first, she was a little 
 chilled by his apparent want of hopeful- 
 ness, and she was struck by his betraying 
 far more anxiety about herself, and giving 
 her more paternal advice with respect to 
 her own private conduct, than by any lively 
 interest he seemed to take in the efforts she 
 was so anxious to make with regard to her 
 father. He rather seemed to shrink from 
 the idea of coming to the castle to see her ; 
 except, perhaps, at very rare intervals, and 
 did not at all share her innocent convic- 
 tions that if only he would accept the in- 
 vitations she felt so hopeful of inducing her 
 father to send, a little more intercourse 
 between Mr. Clifford and the priest must 
 result in effecting all else she desired. 
 
 "You know my daughter," said Father 
 Netherby, calmly and sadly, " it is not that 
 Mr. Clifford is ignorant upon any point 
 connected with the faith. Your father is.
 
 308 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 perhaps, as well read in doctrinal theology 
 as I am, who have made it my study all 
 my life. It is not his reason or intellect 
 that has to be attacked, it is his heart. 
 And that I believe and trust you may be 
 able to touch, by constantly letting him 
 find in you a dutiful and most affectionate 
 daughter, showing yourself subservient to 
 his wishes in all questions that do not affect 
 your conscience ; but firm as a rock when- 
 ever your duty happens (which God grant 
 may never be the case) to clash with his 
 wishes." 
 
 Teresa soon found that in her conversa- 
 tions with Father Netherby, she obtained 
 always a great deal of valuable advice, 
 while at the same time, she gathered very 
 little information respecting facts. Father 
 Netherby seldom made any remark which 
 served to throw any light upon her father's 
 character.. And though he talked to her a 
 great deal about her mother, and had a 
 whole store of anecdotes of her kindness to 
 the poor, her sweetness, and her piety, yet 
 the discourse never elicited any account of
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 309 
 
 why, or in what way, Mrs. Chfford's mar- 
 riage had not been a happy one. Every- 
 thing was taken for granted, but nothing 
 was explained. At first, this a httle sur- 
 prised and disappointed Teresa. But as 
 time went on she felt how wise and right it 
 was. 
 
 Teresa had heard from Father Netherby, 
 and also from Mrs. Brown^ of Lady Clifford's 
 precarious state of health. She had asked 
 her father about it, and he had confirmed 
 the statement that her aunt was very ill. 
 But as he had not dwelt upon the subject, 
 Teresa had failed to perceive that it was not 
 merely a question of being out of healthy 
 but one of life and death, which any mo- 
 ment might decide unfavourably. Teresa's 
 afi'ection for her aunt, who had indeed been 
 a second mother to her, was unbounded. 
 And though she had now not seen her for 
 a very long time, long at least in so young 
 a life, yet every association of affection and 
 happiness was connected with Lady Clifford 
 in Teresa's memory. One of the first rides 
 she took with her father^ she entreated to
 
 310 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 be taken to Nutley Hall, and when there 
 had dismounted, and leaving her father in 
 the library, had run all over the house, 
 visiting the nursery and Lady Clifford's 
 own dressing-room, and the now disused 
 chapel; uttering aloud exclamations of 
 tenderness to the very walls, and smiling 
 and weeping by turns_, as countless inci- 
 dents of her early childhood were recalled 
 to her mind by the objects in the house. 
 
 She had begun her course in the highest 
 spirits, but by the time she had revisited 
 each nook, scanned the titles of old well- 
 remembered story-books in their school- 
 room, stumbled in the dark passage over 
 Rose's rocking-horse, and found the empty 
 cage where her pet canary had lived, she 
 was more than subdued ; and when she 
 returned to her father she looked pale, and 
 had evidently been weeping. She found 
 him absorbed in an old edition of Froissart, 
 that he had wanted to consult, and she 
 stood full five minutes looking through her 
 tears out of the window upon the garden, 
 and the shady cedars, and the haw-haw,
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 311 
 
 before he even noticed her presence. When 
 he declared himself ready to mount, she fol- 
 lowed in silence, and through the rest of 
 that day's ride but little was said by either 
 party. Once or twice Eoger looked fur- 
 tively at the little pale face, whose delicate 
 outline stood clear against the blue sky, as 
 they rode alor^g the uplands to the north of 
 the castle. He wondered what was passing 
 in her mind, and, evidently, the question 
 fretted him. Her love for the home of her 
 childhood, which was not his home, roused 
 some of that jealousy that we have already 
 remarked as one of the strongest of Koger's 
 characteristics. 
 
 Her loving recollection of her uncle and 
 aunt was a tacit reproach of his own neglect. 
 And now that he had at last chosen to bring 
 his daughter home, and condescended to 
 care for her and really to love her it was 
 only consistent with his nature that he 
 should at once lay claim to all her affections, 
 that he should ignore the past, and expect 
 as much from Teresa in return for his 
 tardily-bestowed affection, as if he had
 
 312 THE BUCKLYX SHAIG. 
 
 always taught her to bask in its warmth ; 
 but his moodiness was lost upon Teresa : she 
 rode silently by his side, ruminating the 
 past, calling to mind Lady Clifford's intense 
 Italian endearments, her uncle's indulgent 
 ways, her bright little cousin, and the sweet 
 harmony of domestic peace, demonstrative 
 affection^ and unaffected piety that had per- 
 vaded the whole house. 
 
 The contrast between that and her own 
 house struck her forcibly. Certainly it was 
 very melancholy — a young, solitary girl, 
 and a moody father absorbed in his books, 
 or in his gloomy thoughts — fond of her, it 
 is true, but betraying selfishness even in his 
 love. Already it seemed to her a long time 
 since she had been living the monotonous 
 life of Raymond Castle, and no break had 
 come, no new sympathies, no fresh hopes ; 
 at least, so it seemed to her. If we could 
 have heard Mrs. Brown's account of the 
 matter we should have found that others 
 were conscious of an improvement which 
 escaped the observation of her who had 
 caused it. Mr. Clifford's domestics found
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE HOUSE. 313 
 
 liim less severe, less exacting. The neigh- 
 bouring poor were astonished to find that 
 " up at the castle " there were certain days 
 when their wants were supplied, and some 
 of tlie good things in the larder and kitchen 
 found their way to the cottages, much as 
 was the case " down at the hall " when " my 
 lady " was at home. 
 
 Mr. Yincenzo was perhaps about the only 
 person who did not appreciate the differ- 
 ence. He found his master had become 
 more independent of him. One of the foot- 
 men had been specially deputed to wait on 
 Miss Teresa, and answer her sitting-room 
 bell; and, somehow or other, it happened 
 that when Mr. Clifford wanted anything he 
 generally contrived to go to his daughter's 
 room, and there ring for the servant, and 
 thus avoided having so much of the presence 
 of Vincenzo. Also, he would have his 
 daughter to sit with him when he was 
 dressing for dinner, and her presence was a 
 good excuse for sending the valet out of the 
 room to wait in the passage till he was 
 wanted. All this was not at all to Mr. Vin- 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 314 THE BUCKLYN SHAIG. 
 
 cenzo's mind. He sulked about it a good 
 deal to himself, while his manner was more 
 oily than ever to his master. Meanwhile, 
 he endeavoured to indemnify himself for 
 what he chose to consider Mr. Clifford's 
 ingratitude by organizing a few more little 
 peculations, and managing to insert his 
 finger in numerous domestic pies that were 
 not originally cooked for his benefit, and 
 had nothing to do with his natural depart- 
 ment. 
 
 When Teresa and her father entered from 
 their drive^ Teresa walked straight through 
 the hall up-stairs without a word. As she 
 passed along she heard Yincenzo, who had 
 met them at the door, say to her father : 
 
 " Eccellenza, the post has come in, and 
 there are letters from Italy." She heard 
 the sound of the words, but they awoke no 
 reflection, and, absorbed in thought, she 
 went to her room to change her habit, and 
 read till dinner-time. 
 
 LONDON : PRIKTED BV WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET 
 AND CHABING CROSS.