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 BITTER SWEETS, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 BITTER SWEETS 
 
 A LOVE STORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOSEPH HATTON 
 
 The web of our life is a mingled yam, good and ill together : our virtues would 
 be proud if our faults whipped them not ; and om- crimes would despair, if they 
 were not cherished by oiu- virtues.— Shakespeabe. 
 
 There is a comfort in the strength of love : 
 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else 
 Would overset the brain, or break the heart. 
 
 WOBDoWOKTH. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 1865. 
 
 IThe right of translation is reserved."]
 
 JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
 
 >- 
 
 6:1 3 
 
 rREFACE. 
 
 ^ You remember tlie first grand party to whicli 
 
 00 you were invited. You were to meet eminent 
 ^ men and women, wlio were amazingly clever. 
 ?: They would talk to you, and ask you strange 
 t-H questions. You liad previously met several of 
 *^ them, in a quiet way, it is true ; and once, when 
 ^ the wine had been freely circulated, you had 
 ventured to tell a little story which had been 
 tolerably well received. But this was very dif- 
 ferent to dining with my Lord Goldman, where 
 you would be received beneath a great portico, 
 and ushered into the hall by powdered and 
 J padded flunkeys; where you would have your 
 V name announced in a big voice, which would 
 N^! most probably pronounce it incorrectly, and make 
 >^ you hot and uncomfortable. 
 
 ;^ You cannot forget how you bowed, a little 
 
 (K confusedly, under the flunkey infliction; how 
 
 . -S^ou took your seat nervously, between, perhaps, 
 
 a bishop and a poet, or an artist and a mil- 
 
 lionnaire, or a fashionable authoress and a states- 
 
 ^3
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 man's wife ; how eventually you discovered that 
 the great people were only men and women 
 after all; and how you found that they did not 
 give themselves half the airs of the Smiths, 
 Browns, and Robinsons, who had made their 
 money as "butchers, and bakers, and candle- 
 stick makers," as the nursery books have it. 
 You remember how you gradually felt so much 
 at your ease that you actually dared to detain 
 your plate, and finish that tender pheasant's wing, 
 after the six feet of plush and impertinence had 
 seized upon it. 
 
 These miscellaneous feelings of fear and 
 doubt, and lack of self-confidence which you 
 felt when you put your hand through your hair 
 and followed Jeames to the reception room, 
 afflict us now. We have been invited to a 
 great party, a distinguished party, a critical 
 party; we have dressed, made ready our "im- 
 promptu'' jokes, and thought over our little 
 story; our name has been announced. And 
 now we make our bow timidly, and we hope 
 modestly, as becomes us. We do not expect 
 that the host will come forward and take us by 
 the hand and introduce us as his intimate and 
 worthy friend. We do not expect that eminent 
 ladies and gentlemen, who are favourites in my 
 Lord John Bull's great house, will rise to greet 
 us. On the contrary, we shall be prepared to
 
 PEEPACE. Vll 
 
 hear whispers about our presumption in ventur- 
 ing to take a seat amongst such goodly company. 
 It is upon this point that we are particularly 
 nervous, because we feel our own unworthiness. 
 But we have been invited to be present, and 
 are here accordingly. We have, therefore, no 
 apology to offer; we shall try to make ourselves 
 agreeable; we have made our little jokes, and 
 told our stories at parties of lesser magnitude; 
 and we hope to discover, like the reader whom 
 we have apostrophized, that our first grand party 
 is not such a formidable affair as we had anti- 
 cipated. If we do not behave ourselves pro- 
 perly we shall be snubbed, no doubt; if our 
 jokes and our speeches, and the story that we 
 have prepared, to come on with the port and 
 the filberts, are not up to the ordinary standard 
 we shall be pooh-poohed, and laughed at. With 
 all modest deference, we make our bow, and 
 submit to the critical ordeal, asking for no more 
 consideration than others receive, and claiming 
 no leniency on account of a first appearance. 
 
 To drop metaphor, let us say that we feel 
 a proper diffidence in entering a field of Uter- 
 ature so well occupied; but we have been en- 
 couraged to do so by the flattering reception 
 which sundry unambitious stories and sketches 
 have met with, at the hands of the critic and 
 the public. If the story we have now to tell bo
 
 VIU PREFACE. 
 
 deemed worthy of the favourable recognition of 
 the former, and helps the latter to a few hours of 
 interesting reading, our purpose will be accom- 
 plished, and our ambition satisfied. 
 
 Of the tale itself we desire to say that 
 bigamy is not its leading feature; that murder 
 is not the pastime of the hero or heroine; 
 that we have not written it with a view to 
 its taking rank with any particular class of 
 novels. Our purpose has been to produce a tale 
 of sweets and bitters, healthy in tone and 
 matter, and our highest aim to make the story 
 interesting and in keeping with its title. We 
 hope there is a moral in it ; we hope it may do 
 good, whilst it amuses and entertains; but we 
 leave our readers to find out its lessons, and take 
 to heart whatever they may consider the great 
 moral to be. 
 
 Apologizing for this personal intrusion upon 
 the reader^s time and patience, we beg to say, in 
 conclusion, that our work has been wrought out 
 in the scant leisure hours of an active life of 
 journalism ; if it be successful, novel readers may 
 hear of us again ; if not, we shall endeavour to 
 bear our disappointment with becoming resig- 
 nation. 
 
 The Author.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. MR MOUNTFORD AND HIS PRETTY WARD 1 
 
 II. IN THE SERVANTS^ HALL . . . . 12 
 
 III. THE CAVERNS . . . . . . 23 
 
 IV. HARRY THORNHILL's WOOING . . 38 
 V. A MEMORABLE SUNDAY . . . . 52 
 
 VI. HOW THE STAR WENT OUT . . . . 73 
 
 VII. THE SURVIVORS . . . . , . 8S 
 
 VIII. THE RUNAWAY . . . . . . 96 
 
 IX. LOVERS METAMORPHOSES .. .. 114 
 
 X. WINFORD BARNS RAISES A DEMON . . l32 
 
 XI. HARRY THORNHILL^S LAST DAY AT DENBY 
 
 RISE . . . . . . . . ] 48 
 
 ..170 
 
 XII. MORE SHADOWS
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XIII. THE GREYS . . • . • • 190 
 
 XIV. KEEM's harmonic BOWERS . . . . 203 
 
 XV. "waiting up" .. .. .. 219 
 
 XVI. THE COUNTING-HOUSE AND THE HOSPITAL 241 
 
 XVII. THE MAY QUEEN . . . . . . 262 
 
 XVIII. RICHARD GREY ASTONISHES MAT DUNKUM 285
 
 BITTEE SWEETS: 
 
 A LOVE STOET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR MOUNTPORD AND HIS PRETTY WARD. 
 
 Denby Rise looked out upon the sea, 
 down a well-wooded glen. It was a cosy, 
 pleasant, lonely house, of an imposing ap- 
 pearance. Its style of architecture ap- 
 proached nearer the Gothic than any other 
 order. There were many gables about the 
 house, and numerous windows in out-of- 
 the-way places, with ivy creeping up to 
 the sills from dark corners below. At 
 the highest window you might see the 
 white horses of the Atlantic, chasing each 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 other over ocean fields of green ; from the 
 lowest you could watch a little mountain 
 stream trickle away by roots of trees, over 
 j^ebbles, and round great boulders, into the 
 bay, where it was frequently met by big 
 waves that chased it back far up the 
 glen. 
 
 The coast for several miles, on both 
 sides of this valley, was rocky, picturesque, 
 and dangerous. When the tide was at its 
 height it made a long white wreath of foam 
 at the base of the rocks; when it flowed 
 back again it left all manner of weed- 
 rimmed pools, full of curious things that 
 darted from side to side, as if playing at 
 hide and seek amongst the sea-weed which 
 sheltered them. Half a mile from the val- 
 ley, when the tide was out, it left a firm 
 sandy beach, upon which the visitors at 
 Helswick, a fashionable little watering- 
 place, promenaded in gorgeous attire. 
 
 Denby Rise was the residence of Mark 
 Mountford, Esq., who, starting life with 
 excellent prospects, had retired early upon
 
 BITTER SWEETS. S 
 
 a handsome fortune. At the commence- 
 ment of our story he may be said to 
 have entered the autumnal period of life, 
 and we find him enjoying it to the full ; 
 at least as completely as any bachelor 
 could be expected to enjoy it. A ripe 
 scholar, a warm-hearted, intelligent man, 
 he surrounded himself with things that 
 were beautiful in Nature and Art ; not 
 with the pride of a mere collector, but 
 with the delight and satisfaction of a man 
 of educated taste, refined feelings, and un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 He had a pretty ward, this happy Mark 
 Mountford, who was the sunshine of that 
 gabled house in the valley: a ward with 
 wavy hair and merry eyes, and a joyous 
 laugh; a ward who had been bequeathed 
 to liim, some years prior to this our intro- 
 duction, by her father (Mr Mountford' s 
 half-brother), who had died in India. What 
 a happy fellow, having such a pleasant 
 house rendered complete by a pretty niece 
 whom he could watch over and ^are for !
 
 4 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 And what a providential thing for Anna 
 Lee to have such a guardian ! 
 
 None of your growling, money-grub- 
 bing, jealous uncles, was Mr Mountford. 
 He would listen to Anna for hours, whilst 
 she conjured melodies, merry and sad, from 
 piano or harp ; he would ride with her over 
 the heath above the rocks ; he would throw 
 pebbles, with her, into the sea ; help her to 
 collect ferns ; botanize with her ; concho- 
 logize with her; read with her; and, in 
 fact, they were quite companions. Wis- 
 dom joined hands with Youth and Beauty, 
 and they walked together in pure friend- 
 ship ; Mark's love for Anna having ripened 
 into a deep paternal affection. 
 
 ^^But I am serious, Anna dear," said 
 Mr Mountford one evening, after a pleasant 
 ramble for ferns, and evidently in continu- 
 ation of a conversation which Anna was 
 inclined to treat lightly. 
 
 *^ Nonsense, uncle ; why one would 
 think ypu were what peojole call a match-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. O 
 
 making mamma, to talk in such a fashion,'* 
 said Anna laughing, in spite of Mr Mount- 
 ford's seriousness. 
 
 ^' There ! Now I must turn the tables 
 upon you in earnest: it is your want of 
 motherly advice and guidance, Anna, that 
 I begin to regret deeply ; not that you will 
 perhaps feel that w^ant, never having ex- 
 perienced the blessings of maternal care 
 since you were old enough to know what 
 a mother's love is." 
 
 Anna turned an inquu^ing face towards 
 her uncle, who patted her head lovingly, 
 and continued : 
 
 '^ The time may come, Anna — who 
 knows how soon! — when your uncle will 
 have followed to the grave that mother 
 who died before you could lisp her name." 
 
 '' Dear uncle ! " exclaimed Anna, press- 
 ing the arm upon which she was leaning. 
 
 ^^We must not be afraid to think of 
 these things, Anna. I love you too much 
 to live on entirely in the present, as if our 
 rambles were to last for ever. The time
 
 6 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 will come, my darling, when you will need 
 another guardian; and it is the hope of 
 my declining years, Anna, that your next 
 guardian shall be a husband worthy of 
 your love." 
 
 As if he expected some reply, Mr Mount- 
 ford paused here ; but Anna held down her 
 head, and the two walked on, in silence, 
 until they entered the valley, and com- 
 menced the ascent to Denby Eise. 
 
 " Have you nothing to say, Anna ? " at 
 length Mr Mountford inquired, taking her 
 hand. 
 
 '' Don't let me hurt your feelings, dear 
 uncle,'' said Anna smiling, ^^ but I cannot 
 really be serious about the matter. A hus- 
 band, indeed ! What should I do with a 
 husband, uncle ? and where is he to come 
 from ? You know what the miller of the 
 Dee used to sing. Now, uncle, dear uncle, 
 don't be so gloomy. Come in, and let us 
 classify our ferns, and leave husbands to 
 those who want them." 
 
 Seeing the shadow disappear from Mr
 
 BITTEK SWEETS. 7 
 
 Mountford's countenance, Anna followed 
 up her little victory with a little laugh, 
 and shaking her ferns at her uncle, she said 
 archly : ^' Why, uncle, ?/oic never married, 
 and how can you have the conscience to 
 want to marry me to somebody, when you 
 have lived such a happy single life ? " 
 
 ^^ Ah, that's a very different matter, 
 my fairy; but we will talk of this when 
 you are inclined to be more thoughtful." 
 
 '^ AYell, uncle, I will promise you, that 
 when the good prince comes on his white 
 palfrey, after the manner of poetry and 
 romance, I will consider the state of my 
 feelings." 
 
 Mr Mountford knew whom he would 
 like that good prince to be, but he said no 
 more; and if he had mentioned Harry 
 Thornhill's name, Anna would only have 
 laughed, in downright earnest. 
 
 Perhaps you may think Anna treated 
 too lightly the serious subject broached by 
 her uncle ; but how could a young lady be 
 expected to talk seriously about a husband,
 
 8 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 when slie loved her uncle better than any- 
 body on earth? Had Mr Mountford in- 
 troduced the subject of a future in which 
 he would be no more, without coupling 
 with it Anna married and settled, she might 
 have continued in that serious mood which, 
 for a moment, had mastered her buoyant 
 spirits. Coming from a stupid boarding- 
 school to Denby Rise, a few years pre- 
 viously, she had felt the change a delight- 
 ful relief from Mrs Stiffintheback's estab- 
 lishment, and the bare contemplation of 
 leaving it would have been as painful to 
 her as the idea of a husband seemed 
 absurd. 
 
 With Mr Mountford, however, Anna's 
 future had for some time been a subject of 
 serious consideration. Working hard at 
 college when a young man, and afterwards 
 in a professional career, he had contracted 
 an affection of the heart, which he ima- 
 gined might some day carry him off, 
 with little or no warning. Not that this 
 fancy of his troubled him on his own
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 9 
 
 account; for he never felt any ill effects 
 from what he called his weak part, and 
 if he could have been a chooser in the 
 matter he would have preferred sudden 
 death to any other; but the childless 
 bachelor loved Anna with a fatherly ten- 
 derness, and her future cost him many 
 an anxious thought. The tendrils of his 
 kind good nature had wound themselves 
 about the orphan girl, and it was the 
 chiefest happiness of his declining years 
 to protect and shelter her. 
 
 It had been the wonder of Helswick 
 and the neighbourhood, for many a long 
 year, that such a pleasant, genial gentle- 
 man as Mr Mountford had not married : 
 but somehow or other he had never met a 
 lady who had inspired him with the tender 
 passion. There were sprightly spinsters 
 in Helswick who still did not despair of 
 making a conquest of the gallant grey- 
 headed horseman who occasionally visited 
 that gay locality. One gentle dame, who 
 had dined with him at the Eector's, and
 
 10 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 afterwards leaned on his arm to her own 
 residence, had purcliased a complete set of 
 teeth, and ordered a new false front from 
 London, on the strength of his polite re- 
 quest that she would not pass Denby Rise 
 without calling. But the white teeth and 
 the glossy curls of the animated Helswick 
 spinster were quite lost upon Bachelor 
 Mountford, who never had the slightest 
 suspicion of the expense into which his 
 courtesy liad forced her; yet Mr Mount- 
 ford considered himself wonderfully clever 
 and far-seeing with regard to a match 
 which he thought he was making between 
 Harry Thornhill and his pretty ward. 
 
 And that night after the brief convers- 
 ation we have recorded, he built up his 
 hopes, and looked at them through the 
 rippling, soothing melodies which seemed 
 to flow from Anna's nimble fingers. Every 
 musical phrase, every cadence, every 
 change of key and touching modulation, 
 had its impression on the pictures of the 
 future which Mark Mountford made whilst
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 11 
 
 he sat listening to the charming pianist. 
 He saw a fair bride hand in hand with 
 Hany Thornhill; he heard the bells ring 
 out the joyous message over the sea ; he 
 saw Anna a happy wife and mother. 
 
 A dead leaf floated through the open 
 window, and that yellow waif of the 
 dying year seemed to preach speed in the 
 realization of these treasured hopes, ere 
 the passing bell (which Mark Mountford 
 also heard in imagination) should toll forth, 
 in all its sad and mournful reality.
 
 12 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE servants' HALL. 
 
 Joe .Wittle was Squire Mountford's 
 groom, and by virtue of his having been 
 taken, as a boy, into his master's service 
 about the time that Mr Mountford left 
 the bar and came to Denby Kise, he was 
 allowed to be an authority on all matters 
 pertaining to the house of Mountford: 
 and by virtue of his glib tongue and his 
 merry ways, he was permitted to say 
 many things which would never have 
 been tolerated from any other quarter — 
 even in the servants' hall. He was not 
 a young man, though he was short in 
 stature and juvenile in his movements. 
 He had a seat somewhat taller than the 
 others at the hall table, and from this
 
 BITTER SWEETS. " 13 
 
 throne it was his wont, at meal times, to 
 be oracular. 
 
 '' Tell yer wot it is, Mrs Grrey, tell 
 yer wot it is, that ere gent, young Thorn- 
 hill, has no notion how to put the halter 
 on the young missis.'' 
 
 ^^ Indeed!" said Mrs Grrey, the house- 
 keej),er, a woman whose slightly silvered 
 curls only seemed to make her round 
 matronly face look still more handsome, — 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " It's no good a making yerself cheap 
 wotever yer station in life; it's my ex- 
 perience as you'll get set down at perty 
 near yer own walue in this ere world: 
 not as I means that my missis ain't worth 
 her weight in gold, and a ton of dimings 
 to boot; but that ere young chap puts 
 hisself down at too low a figure — I'm a 
 telling yer ! " 
 
 This latter remark was addressed to a 
 somewhat oblivious "upper," who, whilst 
 he admired Joe's " imperence," as he 
 called it, looked incredulous concerning
 
 14 BITTEK SWEETS. 
 
 his philosophy. When Joe wislicd it to 
 be understood that he was serious and 
 did not mean to brook contradiction, he 
 said ^* I'm telling yer," which was con- 
 sidered a complete settler of all doubts 
 upon all subjects. 
 
 ^^I'm a tellinglyer; I've not studied 
 human natur and horseflesh all my life 
 for nothink; it's the same with a high- 
 spirited lady as it is with a hoss, you 
 must be kind with her, but spirited likp 
 herself, gentle, but not gentle. If I were 
 to sit that 'ere brown cob of master's same 
 as I do Harkaway as won the Ledger, 
 with the bit atween her teeth, I should 
 drive the poor cretur mad; and wicey 
 wersa. I'm a telling yer ; " and Joe 
 shook his head knowingly at a shoulder 
 of mutton, and said: Yes, he'd jest take 
 a slice out of the hoff side. 
 
 Mrs Grey smiled, and despatched the 
 slice to Joe, who saying that meat was 
 meat only according as you cut it, pro- 
 ceeded with his dinner, nobody seeming
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 15 
 
 inclined to enter further upon a subject 
 which none but Joe dared to have intro- 
 duced. For Mrs Grrey, it was known, had 
 her own serious reasons for avoiding dis- 
 cussions on subjects relating to affairs of 
 the heart, seeing that her own sad ex- 
 perience in that respect was a topic she had 
 always shunned. George Grey, her hus- 
 band, had deserted her, in a strange 
 fashion, about three years after their mar- 
 riage, leaving her with two children, both 
 boys. Years had passed away without any 
 tidmgs reaching her of his whereabouts, 
 and she had only a faint suspicion as to 
 the cause of his desertion. 
 
 Prior to her marriage, she had lived 
 for a short time in the service of Mr 
 Mountford, and when her husband had 
 been away for more than a year she ac- 
 cepted the situation as housekeeper at 
 Denby Rise. Her eldest son, Francis 
 Grey, at the time of our story, was just 
 entering upon his seventeenth year, and 
 had obtained a situation, as junior clerk.
 
 16 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 in a mercantile house at Maryport, whither 
 Richard, his brotlier, was 'also to be sent 
 in due time : so that Mrs Grey may be 
 said to have got through her troubles 
 pretty well, so far as mere worldly affairs 
 were concerned; but she had loved, av 
 and still loved, her husband with a deep 
 affection ; and she still cherished the 
 hope of seeing him again and ending her 
 days with him. Her dark hair, it is 
 true, had been touched with the white 
 tinge of time and trouble, since she saw 
 him last. The warmth and fire of youtli 
 had gone; but the woman's heart clung 
 to its old affection, and Mrs Grey was 
 ready, not only to forgive her husband 
 for his desertion, but, if necessary, to find 
 excuses for it. 
 
 When dinner was over, at which the 
 preceding brief conversation took place, and ^ 
 when the whole of the servants had dis- 
 persed, Joe Wittle, sticking his right 
 thumb into the right arm-hole of his 
 long waistcoat, slid down from his high
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 17 
 
 seat, and looked seriously and significantly 
 at Mrs Grey. 
 
 "Well! what is it, Joe?" asked Mrs 
 Grey, in her kind mild fashion. 
 
 " You knows that ere Mat Dunkum ? '' 
 he said, staring at her with his small 
 piercing eyes. 
 
 " Yes, of course I do," said Mrs Grey, 
 dropping her eyes, in some confusion, 
 before Joe's rigid scrutiny. 
 
 "Of course you does! Well, marm, 
 when I knows I've got a mangy screw or 
 a wicious brute in one stable, I removes 
 good horseflesh into the next, instanter; 
 that's wot I does." 
 
 "I do not understand you," said Mrs 
 Grey, looking puzzled and uncomfortable. 
 
 " And I takes espeecial care that on 
 no accounts does a young hoss come a 
 near that ere blighted im, as ain't even 
 fit company for them as 'as cut all their 
 teeth ; that's yer style." 
 
 Joe took his right thumb out of his 
 waistcoat, put both hands into the big
 
 18 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 pockets of that said capacious garment, 
 and looked still more fixedly at Mrs Grey. 
 
 ^^For goodness' sake, Joe, don't go 
 on in that manner; tell me what you 
 mean, and at once." 
 
 ^^Evil communications corrupt good" 
 manners — Mat Dunkum ain't a fit com- 
 panion for Eichard Grey. That's wot I 
 means, marm." 
 
 ^^Nor are they companions that I am 
 aware of," said Mrs Grey, her flushed 
 cheeks showing a sense of fear in her 
 answer. 
 
 '^I'm a telling yer, Mrs Grey: every 
 night I sees 'em about the bay, round the 
 corner where the caverns is. 1 know'd 
 you couldn't be aware of it, Mrs Grey," 
 continued the fellow in a kindlier tone, 
 ^^so made bold to tell yer straight!" 
 with which information Joe put on his 
 little plush cap, which looked like a small 
 limp helmet, and left Mrs Grey to her 
 contemplations. 
 
 ^'Will that man never cease to per-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 19 
 
 secute me/' exclaimed Mrs Grey, sink- 
 ing into a cliair, the kind expression of 
 her open countenance changing to one of 
 fierce sadness. 
 
 *^ Great Heaven! why is my punish- 
 ment so terrible ? In what have I of- 
 fended more than others that I should 
 have this misery ! save my boy ! 
 Save him firom the contamination of that 
 wicked man ! " 
 
 These and similar ejaculations the poor 
 woman uttered, in a passion of grief — 
 deep but whispered protests against the 
 calamity which she feared in the associa- 
 tion of her boy with Mat Dunkum. 
 
 Nevertheless, that evening, when Mat's 
 well-known boat put into Denby cove, 
 at sundown, Richard Grey was sitting in 
 the bows, listening to Mat's specious yarns 
 of adventure, and greedily drinking in 
 the poison of his dark stories. 
 
 They were a remarkable contrast, this 
 old sea shark. Mat Dunkum, and the young 
 hopeful, blue-eyed lad, his companion.
 
 20 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Square-browed, with deep-set yet full 
 black eyes, and a hard firm mouth, Mat's 
 was by no means a prepossessing appear- 
 ance. He was a well-built, well-knit fel- 
 low, tanned by the sun, and hardened by 
 wind and weather. His dress was half 
 pilot, half landsman's attire: he wore a 
 rough fur cap, thick canvas trowsers, and 
 a sort of cloth blouse, the collar of which 
 was turned stiffly up. A knife, such as 
 sailors wear, hung from a leather belt, 
 which also supported a spirit flask. He 
 was neither a young nor an old man, 
 and looking at him intently you would 
 rather be inclined to say that the dis- 
 agreeable and dangerous expression of 
 his face was the result of a hard and 
 perilous life, rather than the sign of innate 
 wickedness. And when you heard him 
 relate some of his adventures, he had such 
 a rough catching sort of eloquence that 
 you would give him the benefit of the 
 doubt, and vote him not so bad as he looked. 
 Eichard Grey was a lad of fourteen,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 21 
 
 with an open candid face, sanguine blue 
 eyes, short curly hair, and the limbs of 
 a young Hercules. He wore a light smock, 
 fastened by a belt, in which was stuck, 
 for the nonce^ an old flint pistol which 
 Mat had given him as a plaything, telling 
 him how, years ago, it had shot a custom- 
 house officer, who had made himself ob- 
 noxious to a smuggler chief under whom 
 Mat had served his apprenticeship. 
 
 ^^Now, Dick, look out ahead," said 
 Mat, putting the boat before the wind, 
 and running her straight for a few yards 
 of shingly beach lying at the mouth of 
 a cavern. 
 
 The waters tapped and gurgled mu- 
 sically about the prow; whilst the boat, 
 like a living thing, leaped forward on her 
 way, and just as Mat lowered the great 
 square sail, bounded on to the beach. It 
 was only the work of a few minutes to 
 haul her up, high and dry, and then man 
 and boy disappeared within the cavern, 
 Richard Grey bearing in a telescope,
 
 22 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 which he carried proudly under his arm, 
 whilst Mat eyed him with a look of 
 evident satisfaction. 
 
 A ruddy gleam from the setting sun 
 came across the sea, touched the boat as 
 she lay on her side, reddened the over- 
 hanging rocks, glimmered on a few shells 
 and pebbles, put golden feathers into a 
 sea-bird's wing, and followed Mat and the 
 boy, like an inquiring glance from heaven.
 
 23 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 THE CAVEENS. 
 
 This cavern, in Denby cove, was one 
 of a series of caverns which perforated 
 the rocks at the extremity of a series of 
 little bays of the most romantic character. 
 
 Shut out from the great world by 
 land and sea, with the voice of the ocean 
 ever present there, and the big waters 
 joining the sky in the hazy distance, bays 
 and caves would have formed a fitting- 
 resort for those bright fair creatures who, 
 according to ancient mythology, left their 
 submarine halls to repose on the shore 
 at certain periods of the day. 
 
 Here one might picture the Sicilian 
 shepherd meeting Galatea ; and when the 
 sun disappeared, the great black rocks
 
 24 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 which rose up to the clouds, tall and 
 jagged, would have done for Cyclopean 
 enemies. 
 
 But whether the Naiades floated in 
 there, or came on their dolphin-horses to 
 dance on the golden beach, or not, we 
 will venture to assert that Mat Dunkum 
 never troubled his head about them. His 
 thoughts were chiefly concerning spirits, 
 it is true, but spirits of a very difl*erent 
 character. They had the power, how- 
 ever, to conjure up strange ghosts and 
 memories in Mat's brain. On one oc- 
 casion he nearly frightened little Dick 
 Grey out of his wits, by swearing that 
 he had seen a dead custom-house officer 
 turn a corner of one of the water-logged 
 caverns which, unapproachable by land, 
 was ever in the possession of the sea. 
 The water rolled into it, with a roar of 
 thunder, and came out again with a sigh 
 of disappointment, as if it had sought 
 for vengeance on some intruder and found 
 nothing upon which to wreak its power.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 25 
 
 But on the evening when we follow 
 Dick Grey and his friend into the Denby 
 cavern Mat had no spirits aboard, in any 
 sense of the term ; for some two years, in 
 fact, he had been unable to land any on 
 the Helswick coast, which at one time was 
 a favourite resort for smugglers. 
 
 Mat had, therefore, turned his attention 
 to illicit manufacture, and had found in 
 that a substitute for the more profitable 
 trade of introducing brandy, duty free, 
 into her Majesty's dominions. How he 
 lived few knew, and few cared to inquire ; 
 indeed, there were not many inhabitants 
 about that part of the coast, which he fre- 
 quented, to take any interest in his pro- 
 ceedings. He had a little cottage in an 
 unfrequented nook not far from the 
 caverns ; but he was seldom to be found at 
 home. He lived mostly in the cave, which 
 was much more snug than anybody was 
 aware of, and which needed no locks and 
 bars, because it was unapproachable except 
 by boat — unless you knew where to find
 
 26 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 a certain secret stair only accessible when 
 the tide was out. 
 
 Sometimes inquisitive visitors from 
 Helswick, seeking zoophytes or marine 
 algae, or hunting for the eggs of the birds 
 which congregated on the shelvings of the 
 rocks, ventured into the little bay and 
 sought out Mat, who was very glad to 
 show them the place and tell them stories 
 of the marvellous depths of the caverns, 
 and of the ships which had been wrecked 
 there. But Mat never took them into the 
 inner recesses of what he called his Marine 
 Palace. In fact he told young Grey that 
 he was ^Hhe only man besides himself" 
 who had ever been into his little parlour ; 
 and you may be sure Mat knew who had 
 been there, for none but he held the clue 
 that led through the outer mazes of the 
 inner recesses. 
 
 Yet this '^ parlour " was not very diffi- 
 cult of access. When you entered the 
 mouth of the cavern you were in the outer 
 hall, which ^had ferns growing about its
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 27 
 
 roof, and little pools of clear water lying 
 amongst the broken rocks upon the floor. 
 As you proceeded, the cavern became nar- 
 rower, and by and by you came to a 
 larger pool left by the tide, which entered 
 it, like a watchman, twice in every four- 
 and-twenty hours. It was a deep pool re- 
 flecting the lowering roof of the cave with 
 its lichens, and strange bits of gray and 
 brown and green colouring. And here 
 the cavern appeared to terminate ; but 
 when Mat and the boy arrived at this 
 spot, Mat went to the side of the cave, 
 mounted a tall rough piece of rock, raised 
 his hand to a concealed rope, and down 
 fell a short plank across the pool, over 
 which the two stepped. When they 
 reached the other side, the plank was 
 raised, and after a slight ascent, and a turn 
 to the right by another plank, Richard 
 entered a rough archway. Mat had to 
 stoop low to follow. And then '^ the par- 
 lour " was reached. It was a small apart- 
 ment, made by nature and fashioned by
 
 28 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 art. The walls had been chipped, and, 
 here and there, little recesses were hewn 
 for shelves. The furniture consisted of a 
 table, two chairs, and a rough couch 
 covered with rugs and coats, and a bear's 
 skin. Above the couch hung a fowling- 
 piece and two old swords, flanked by a 
 shot pouch and belt. In a recess, hard 
 by, were implements for cooking, a horn- 
 tumbler, a bottle, a couple of oars, an old 
 net, and a cask ; a boat-hook lay behind 
 the entrance-door, and a large sea-chest 
 occupied the opposite corner. 
 
 Mat struck a light, closed a rough door 
 over the entrance, drew over this a heavy 
 piece of canvas, and lighted a hanging 
 lamp which threw a yellow glimmer upon 
 the objects just enumerated. 
 
 '^ Now, my lad, sit down and we'll just 
 have one smack of the liquor before you're 
 off to Helswick," said Mat, unbuttoning his 
 coat, throwing back the collar, and taking 
 down the bottle and horn-tumbler from the 
 recess.
 
 BITTER SW^EETS. 29 
 
 ^' I don't think I can stand another,'' 
 said Dick laughing, and laying down his 
 telescope. 
 
 ^^ Stand another ! " exclaimed Mat, 
 throwing back his head and gazing at 
 Eichard with what he intended the boy to 
 think was a look of great admiration — 
 " Stand another ! Why, Dick, you'll have 
 to stand no end afore you're a real rover : 
 toss it off." 
 
 The boy took the opaque vessel and 
 emptied it, in token of which he gave a 
 little cough and shook his head ; for the 
 liquor was strong and pungent. 
 
 '^ What do they learn you at school, 
 Dick ? " said Mat, lighting a short pipe, 
 and sitting astride an old chair. 
 
 ^^ O, I don't know," said Dick care- 
 lessly, pulling the old pistol out of his belt, 
 ^' not much." 
 
 *^ Don't learn you to shoot, I guess, or 
 drink brandy — Eh?" and Mat laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 ^^No," said Dick, enjoying the joke;
 
 30 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 *^ nor to sail a boat. But," added the boy 
 suddenly, '' what will mother say when 
 she knows ? " 
 
 ^^ What will she say when you've made 
 a fortune, Dick ? — Eh, boy ? w^hat'll she 
 say then ? " 
 
 '^ Wlien I'm master of my own ship," 
 continued the boy, entering at once in- 
 to the golden thought Avhich Mat had 
 prompted. 
 
 ''Never you mind what nobody says. 
 Did the Rover chiefs and smuggler cap- 
 tains care ? For the matter of that did 
 Lord Nelson, as was a British General and 
 wopped the French, care what his mother 
 said ? I should think not. And didn't I 
 know your father, and worn't we mates ? 
 But you had better be off now, Dick.'' 
 
 The boy laid the pistol on a shelf, and 
 prepared to leave. 
 
 *' Grood-bye, Dick ; remember the pass 
 word," said Mat, shaking hands with the 
 youth and opening the canvas and wooden 
 doorway.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 31 
 
 ^' Good night, captain/' said Eicliard 
 Grey, looking up at Mat with a smile of 
 admiration, and stepping down the plank 
 which was lowered as the door opened. 
 
 ^^ Remember your oath, Dick ; and we 
 divide our spoils on Monday." 
 
 " All right, sir." 
 
 ^' Go the old way — turn up the cleft 
 and over the top — walk fast and you'll be 
 at Helswick in half an hour." 
 
 '' Yes, sir," said Dick, crossing the 
 second plank. 
 
 " Good night I " 
 
 ^' Good night," said Dick in return, 
 and the cavern walls repeated the parting 
 words to each other, over and over again, 
 until Mat raised the narrow bridge and 
 shut himself once more in his parlour. 
 
 '^ Ah," he said, sitting down again and 
 filling another measm^e of brandy, '^ you'll 
 remember turning me off for that sneak 
 George Grey, my fine girl, yet ! Mat 
 Dunkum's not to be snubbed for nothing." 
 
 Hardly had Mat reseated himself when
 
 32 3ITTER SWEETS. 
 
 a faint cry of distress arrested his atten- 
 tion. 
 
 ^' Humph! what the devil's that! one 
 o' my bright fancies, or what ? No, there 
 it is again." 
 
 Extinguishing the light, Mat crept 
 noiselessly to the door and posted himself 
 outside, when he speedily discovered that 
 he had forgotten to draw up the first 
 plank-approach to his parlour. 
 
 ^^ Why, there's somebody in tl^e water 
 hanging on by the plank." 
 
 ^' Hi there ! " presently said a voice in 
 evident alarm ; '^ Hallo ! murder ! fire ! 
 thieves! — ain't there nobody to rescue a 
 fellow screecher from an untimely hend." 
 
 Then the head which Mat had observed 
 at the top of the water became erect, and 
 gradually rose higher ; then by dint of 
 much struggling a human figure scrambled 
 out of the pcol, and once more stood upon 
 the plank. 
 
 ^^Tve a good mind to pitch him in 
 again, the infernal spy," said Mat to him-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 33 
 
 self, as he crept round and swung himself 
 by a rope into a recess, on the other side 
 of the pool. 
 
 ^' What on earth was that ? " said the 
 drenched and shivering individual on the 
 plank ; ' 4f it we'rnt just like a heagle a 
 flying past, my name ain't Joe Wittle, or 
 else a ghost — Joseph, get hout of this while 
 there's life in yer." 
 
 And Joe Wittle accordingly, going 
 down upon his hands and knees, crept 
 back along the plank ; but before he had 
 reached the end, the frail bridge began 
 gradually to rise into the air. 
 
 "Murder! fire! oh. Lord! oh dear! 
 why I'm agoin' up like the hacters in the 
 pantermime ! But I'll not neither,'' added 
 poor Joe, seizing the plank with both 
 hands, and dropping into the water be- 
 neath, with astonishing dexterity. 
 
 " I know'd it wouldn't be a drowning 
 matter so near the hedge," said Joe, 
 quietly walking out of the water, and mak- 
 ing the best of his way through what Mat 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 called his outer hall. '^ It's the devil's 
 cave this, and not being one of his himps, 
 this child aint agoin' to risk his precious 
 neck in it again in a hurry, to look hafter 
 Richard Grey or any other urcliing, sea- 
 urching, or otherwise." 
 
 '' Take care yer don't ! " said Mat be- 
 tween his teeth, and between a pair of 
 ugly rocks which hid him and his rope 
 from Joe Wittle ; whilst the half-drowned 
 groom shook himself sadly, wrung the wet 
 out of his limp helmet, and made a joke 
 at his own expense : 
 
 ''Why I'm hackcherly drippin ; yes, 
 and I oughter be well hasted too for comin' 
 on such a hexpedition as this, aprying 
 into haffairs as don't concern me." 
 
 Leaving Joe Wittle to get home as he 
 can, let us glance, for a few minutes, at 
 Eichard Grey, clambering over rock and 
 ferny brake on his short cut to Helswick, 
 where he had been placed by his mother 
 in charge of an old woman who had
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 35 
 
 educated half the tradesmen in the town, 
 up to the time that they went to have 
 "the finishing touches put in" by a pro- 
 fessor of reading and writing belonging 
 to the other sex. 
 
 Every now and then Dick stops to 
 stare at the sea, and to wonder how far 
 off are those marvellous islands of which 
 Mat has told him ; and to picture to him- 
 self the smuggler king in " the bonny 
 bark " referred to in one of Mat's songs. 
 
 Puffins, razor-bills, and a variety of 
 other tenants of the rocks, start up at 
 his feet, whenever he disturbs the loose 
 stones amongst the ferns, and screech and 
 scream above the waters below, where the 
 sea thunders and roars amongst the caverns. 
 The sun sinks deeper and deeper, and the 
 moon begins to show a white crescent in 
 the clouds. 
 
 At length the spire of Helswick chm-ch 
 rises amongst some old elms, in company 
 with gray walls, and glimmering window^s ; 
 and then Dick, pausing at the curlew's
 
 36 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 painful cry, and wondering where it has 
 built its nest, dashes into a patch of green 
 meadows, skirts a churchyard, and cau- 
 tiously enters a respectable-looking cot- 
 tage. 
 
 '' Oh, Dick ! Granma is so angry with 
 you for staying out longer than you said 
 you would," exclaims a girl of about 
 Dick's own age — a girl with dark hair 
 hanging, in clusters, about her brown 
 healthy face, and setting off the lustre of 
 a pair of hazel eyes. 
 
 ^^ Where is she?'' inquires Richard 
 Grey. 
 
 ^^ Gone into the school-room ; and you 
 had better go to bed before she comes in." 
 
 ^'I shan't, Bess," Dick curtly replies. 
 
 ^'Oh do, there's a dear, because you 
 know Granma is so cross, and Dick, dear, 
 I'll slip up with some bread and milk 
 for you*" 
 
 And the little maid takes Dick affec- 
 tionately by the arm and leads him to the 
 staircase, when up Dick goes without more
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 37 
 
 ado. And just when lie was in bed and 
 thinking of the old flint pistol and the 
 grand secret of Mat's glorious cavern, 
 Bessie Martin stole gently into the room 
 with a bowl of milk with pieces of bread 
 swimming about in it. 
 
 ^^Bess!" exclaimed Dick, ^^when I'm 
 a smuggler chief you shall be my queen, 
 and we'll have a castle on a rock with 
 caverns underneath filled with gold, and 
 silver, aud diamonds." 
 
 Bessie opened her big black eyes, 
 and stared with astonishment at the boy, 
 as he raised himself up in bed, to add 
 emphasis to his declaration. 
 
 ^^Why, you are dreaming, Richard!" 
 said Bessie. 
 
 ^^Am I, though? you'll see if I'm 
 dreaming some day." 
 
 And Bessie Martin had cause to re- 
 member the dreaming of Richard Grrey.
 
 38 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HARRY THORNHILL^S WOOIXG. 
 
 Everybody knows Beckford Square in 
 Maryport, the square which was the scene 
 of riot and bloodshed in an unsettled 
 period of English history; a square with 
 custom-houses in it, and tax offices, and 
 banks, and brokers' establishments ; a 
 square where sailors, and men with big 
 whiskers, and short-coated, keen-eyed 
 fellows jostle well-fed, well-to-do mer- 
 chants and citizens; a square with carts 
 and cabs continually chasing each other 
 on all its four roads; a square which 
 seldom sees the sun, though the wind 
 comes there occasionally with whispers 
 about the big sea at the end of the river. 
 
 The most extensive establishment in
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 39 
 
 this famous business resort was that of 
 Welford & Company, the eminent ship- 
 pers ; and of all the men who went in and 
 out, the best fellow, we should say, was 
 Harry Thornhill, the junior partner. And 
 so thought the junior clerk, Francis Grey, 
 who had been introduced there by Mr 
 Thornhill. 
 
 At ten minutes to four on the Friday 
 following the conversation between Anna 
 Lee and her uncle, Mr Thornhill looked 
 at his watch, laid down his pen, and rang 
 his bell for Francis Grey, to make a weeldy 
 inquiry, which had little A'-ariation. It 
 was this : 
 
 '' Well, Francis, I am going down to 
 Denby Rise, have you any message ? " 
 
 ^^My love to my mother, sir," said 
 Francis, with a pleased and satisfied smile. 
 
 '^ May I say you are still comfortable ? " 
 inquired the junior partner. 
 
 ^^Yes, sir; but I shall be glad when 
 Richard is old enough to come." 
 
 ^^Oh, oh," said Mr Thornhill, pleas-
 
 40 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 antly, '^looking for promotion, Frank; 
 think the firm could do with another 
 junior clerk." 
 
 It was very seldom that Mr Thornhill 
 said anything that was jocular ; he was 
 always in good spirits, - but never bois- 
 terous; seldom given to saying what he 
 did not mean : and this little approach 
 to a joke, at Frank's expense, was im- 
 mediately accepted as a gentle rebuke. 
 
 '^ Oh, no indeed, sir," said Frank 
 blushing, ^^I hope you don't think so 
 meanly of me ! " 
 
 ^^ Meanly," said the junior partner, 
 quietly, '^ I don't see anything mean in 
 seeking promotion, Frank." 
 
 ^' It would be mean, after you have 
 given me a good situation, for me to try 
 and drag my brother in, sir, for the sake 
 of advancing myself," said Frank earn- 
 estly. 
 
 '^ Don't make yourself uneasy, Frank; 
 I did but joke with you ; promotion will 
 follow a careful performance of duty."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 41 
 
 " But it will never come," thought 
 Frank, ^^ if it waits until I ask for it." 
 
 '' Then you've nothing more to say, 
 Frank ? " 
 
 ^ ^ No, sir ; except if I might make so 
 bold as to send my remembrances to Mr 
 Mountford," said Frank, deferentially. 
 
 ^^If you may make so bold! I don't 
 see anything bold in such an act of 
 courtesy, Frank. You are not afraid of 
 Mr Mountford ? " 
 
 '' Not afraid ! no, sir, I'm not afraid of 
 anybody," said Frank, raising his head 
 somewhat proudly. 
 
 ^' Then why say, if you may make so 
 bold?" 
 
 ^^I shouldn't like him to think I was 
 too familiar, sir ; that I was tresjDassing on 
 his kindness." 
 
 ^^Well, perhaps you're right: I will 
 see to it, Frank. Have you read the 
 books I gave you ? " 
 
 ^^Yes," said Frank. 
 
 ^^The poems also?"
 
 42 BITTER S^VEETS. 
 
 " I have, sir." 
 
 " And you like them ? " 
 
 " Very much, sir.'' 
 
 " And you won't let fiction put fact out 
 of your head : you'll remember that to 
 make a good business man you must study 
 the works I gave you, on trade and com- 
 merce and political economy." 
 
 *' Oh yes, sir." 
 
 And as Mr Thornliill rose, Frank 
 backed out, and went to his little desk in 
 the great counting-house below. 
 
 Mr Thornhill was not a handsome 
 young man; but his features bore the 
 stamp of a happy disposition. He was 
 above the medium height, and had a manly 
 look. He was one of those good-natured 
 young fellows, who are sometimes picked up 
 by designing women and turned into miser- 
 able fools ; one of those soft-hearted men, 
 who fall desperately in love with the wrong 
 woman, and only discover their error when 
 it is too late to remedy the mi*stake.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 43 
 
 Harry Thornhill was in love, and in 
 selecting Anna Lee, as the object of liis 
 affections, he had made a mistake — not, 
 however, the common error of many men 
 of his disposition — not the mistake of 
 selecting a woman unworthy of his love ; 
 but the error of choosing a woman who 
 did not love him in return. Anna Lee 
 liked him, it is true, and was very glad to 
 see him on his excm^sions to Denby Rise ; 
 but she did not weave one extra band of 
 hair in his honour, nor take one additional 
 peep at her glass before shaking hands 
 with him in the drawing-room. There 
 was no conscious flush on her cheek, no 
 flutter at her heart, when he came, such 
 as lovers feel; but Harry was satisfied 
 with her frank reception, with her smile of 
 welcome ; and Mr Mountford himself took 
 pleasure in seeing, in all this, tokens of 
 the success of his scheme. For Harry had 
 been in the habit of visiting Mr Mountford 
 even before Anna Lee came to Denby 
 Rise ; and when the young lady arrived
 
 44 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Mr Mountford saw no reason for putting 
 an end to the monthly trip which Harry 
 had usually made to Denby. Indeed, as 
 Mr Mountford grew older and felt his 
 affection for Anna increasing, he entered 
 into a plot for marrying her to the only 
 man whom in all the wide world he thought 
 worthy of her: and so Harry Thornhill 
 became a weekly visitor to Denby Rise. 
 
 It was necessary, however, at the 
 period when our story begins, that the 
 wooing, such as it was, should be brought to 
 a crisis ; at least Mr Mountford thought so. 
 ^^You know, my boy," said the old 
 man, after carefully closing the library 
 door and sitting down exactly opposite to 
 Harry, ^'you know this sort of thing 
 cannot go on for ever." 
 
 '^ I almost wish it could," said Harry 
 in his quiet way. 
 
 ^^But it cannot; and the sooner you 
 settle upon the day, the better for us 
 all." 
 
 '^ Ah, I am afraid I have made less
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 45 
 
 progress than you think, Mr Mountford," 
 said Harry despondingly. 
 
 '' Progress, man ! Do you love the 
 girl, Harry ? Is there anything in the 
 world you could put into competition with 
 the happiness of making her your wife ? " 
 
 ^^ Love her!" exclaimed Harry, with 
 an energ}^ inspired by the subject, and 
 excited by the warmth of his old friend. 
 '^ Love her, sir ! she is in all my thoughts, 
 and if I had not her to love, why, sir, 
 the world would be one huge counting- 
 house filled with maps and bills of lading, 
 and accounts of ships' stores. And to make 
 her my wife, Mr Mountford, would be to 
 me more happiness than all the poets ever 
 dreamed of in their sunniest moments." 
 
 ^^ Bravo! God bless you, Harry! You 
 shall have her?" and the old man rose 
 to shake hands with his guest. 
 
 ^^But, Mr Mountford," said Harry, 
 sadly yet firmly, ^^ I would willingly lose 
 all this happiness could your niece not 
 share it."
 
 46 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^'Not share it! What do you mean, 
 Harry?" 
 
 ^^I mean, sir, that our affection must 
 be mutuah I could never expect her to 
 love me as I love her ; but there could be 
 no marriage without her fall consent, 
 without she cared for me, without — " 
 
 '' Confound it, Harry, don't be so full 
 of buts and withouts and ifs. Talk to 
 Anna as you have talked to me; tell her 
 your feelings with regard to her as you 
 have described them to me, and she is 
 yours." 
 
 But here was the difficulty. Harry 
 could not talk to Anna as he could talk 
 to Mr Mountford. Had he cared less 
 about her he might have said many a com- 
 plimentary trifle, — baits that men throw 
 out to women. Quiet and gravely happy 
 as Harry usually was, many a pretty say- 
 ing had nevertheless fallen from his lips in 
 the best society in Mary port. He had 
 even gone so far, one day, as to send a 
 sugar merchant's daughter into a flutter
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 47 
 
 of admiration at his apt quotations from 
 Moore and Byron ; but Anna Lee occu- 
 pied in his thoughts a pedestal too high 
 to be assailed with glib poetic extracts, 
 and his love was too deep to be mooted, 
 except in solemn words which Anna never 
 gave him an opportunity to utter. 
 
 However, he had determined, after 
 the last conversation with Mr Mountford, 
 to ask Anna Lee an important question, 
 before he went to Maryport on Monday; 
 for he had arranged to make the journey 
 back in ^^The Fairy," a yacht of Paul 
 Massey's, which would be off Helswick 
 on Monday morning. 
 
 '' We went to Eton together, Paul and 
 I," said Harry to Miss Lee and her uncle, 
 as they were walking home on the Satur- 
 day night after a ramble on the beach. 
 ^' He is one of the best fellows in the 
 world; he was the head of the school in 
 everything." 
 
 ^^And what has he been doing all 
 these years since?" inquired Mr Mountford.
 
 48 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 "Oh, he's been all over the world 
 since I saw him; he's been in nearly 
 every sea with this same yacht." 
 
 "And where does he live when he 
 is at home ? " inquired Miss Lee. 
 
 " Somewhere in the North, near the 
 Tees. His father died about two years ago ; 
 he was a ship-builder of great eminence." 
 
 " Will there not be time for us to show 
 him some little hospitality ? " Mr Mount- 
 ford asked. 
 
 " I'm afraid not," said Harry, " though 
 I should very much like you to know 
 him, he's such a merry clever fellow. I 
 have had only a few letters from him ; 
 but they all read just as he talks, crisp 
 and smart, and interesting, and are full 
 of adventures." 
 
 "Was it he who rescued the woman 
 from the fire that you told me of?" in- 
 quired Anna. 
 
 "It was," said Harry; "but he's 
 done many a more gallant thing than 
 that, since then, I'll be bound."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 49 
 
 ^^ He ought to be the hero of a book," 
 said Anna, smiling. 
 
 '^ There's many a book, I can assure 
 you. Miss Lee, with heroes not half so 
 heroic as my old friend Paul." 
 
 Harry Thornhill felt at home in this 
 theme, and had such a thorough regard 
 for his old school companion that he 
 talked of little else during the evening 
 walk. 
 
 Mr Mountford, once or twice, dashed 
 in to create a diversion ; but somehow 
 or other Harry always managed to re- 
 turn to the yacht and its owner, and 
 Anna said it was as good as reading a 
 novel to hear Harry tell stories of Mr 
 Massey's adventures. 
 
 So Harry went on and related inci- 
 dents of school which were certainly en- 
 tertaining; but it was not diplomatic of 
 Harry to set Anna Lee thinking about 
 Paul Massey. For, to tell the truth, 
 there were features in Paul's character, 
 as Harry drew it, which were attractive
 
 50 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 to Miss Lee, and they were the very- 
 features which Harry's character lacked. 
 
 Anna Lee was of a romantic turn of 
 mind ; she had read with Mr Mountford, 
 and her ardent nature had readily caught 
 the touches of the great masters whom 
 they studied. If she had had a mother to 
 turn this reading, this strengthening of the 
 imagination, this developing of the in- 
 tellect, into those channels which — under 
 careful guidance — lead, in woman, to a 
 cultivation of the home affections, and a 
 preparation for the true fulfilment of wo- 
 man's mission, Anna Lee might have re- 
 cognized and loved the sterling and the 
 solid in Harry Thornhill's character. 
 
 Truth to tell, Joe Wittle was not far 
 wrong in his homely illustration of the 
 weak point in Harry Thornhill's wooing. 
 He put himself down at too low an 
 estimate, and Miss Lee was not wise 
 enough to judge of his intrinsic merits. 
 But what has love to do with merit? 
 *^What," as Goethe once said to a friend
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 51 
 
 who, in speaking of a beautiful girl, said 
 he was almost in love with her, though 
 her understanding was by no means 
 brilliant — ^^what has love to do with 
 understanding ? " 
 
 The wisest have been chained in silken 
 cords weaved by the most foolish : and so 
 it will be to the end of the chapter. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSmr OF ILUN0I9
 
 52 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 A MEMORABLE SUNDAY. 
 
 A FANCIFUL old gentleman who, many 
 years before our story, lived near Hels- 
 wick, had presented the churchwardens 
 with a set of silver bells for the Sunday 
 chimes, believing that the pure silver 
 would transmit a clearer and more distinct 
 sound than any other metal, and that he 
 would thus be enabled to hear the chimes 
 at his country mansion, some miles dis- 
 tant. 
 
 It was these silver bells which began 
 their peaceful harmonies on this Sunday 
 morning of our story, and which, to Harry 
 Thornhill, seemed to whisper sweet words 
 of hope and happiness. 
 
 The chimes had not to travel so far, to
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 53 
 
 reach Denbj Rise, as they had to journey 
 when they gladdened the ears of the good 
 old Churchman of years and years ago. 
 Making their way to Denby, they began 
 their drowsy journey at a bend of the 
 coast, travelling over a shining bay, in 
 company with the gentle murmuring hum 
 of the little town. Occasionally, the 
 mournful cry of the sea-gull went with 
 them, and thrilling triplets fell from the 
 lark's loud song, piped high above some 
 distant meadows ; then the chimes mounted 
 the heights, on the opposite side of the 
 little bay, feeling their way about many 
 rocky corners, and whispering to the birds 
 as they sat on the stony ledges; and, 
 finally, creeping slowly through some 
 echoing chasm, and travelling onwards, 
 over meadows and through com-fields, 
 mingling with the croak of the landrail, and 
 the lowing of herds, and the mocking 
 tinkle of sheep-bells ; and, finally, flowing 
 gently into the open windows of Denby 
 Rise, with the hum of the bee, and the
 
 54 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 scent of flowers, and the solemn music of 
 the ocean. 
 
 Harry Thornhill heard the chimes as 
 he lingered over Paul Massey's last letter, 
 thinking of his school days, and wonder- 
 ing if Paul still loved the pretty girl 
 whom he used to rave about, every Sunday 
 after church. Then the thought of the 
 silver bells, which poets associate with 
 marriage, brought with it a thousand 
 fancies about Anna Lee, a thousand hopes 
 with each one of which she was associated. 
 
 Tinkling, murmuring, singing, whisper- 
 ing, the silver chimes touched the secret 
 springs of memory, and set Harry busy 
 with his own history and the object of his 
 ambition. His life had flowed onwards 
 like a smooth river, shadowed now and 
 then by family sorrows, but never flowing 
 out of the sunshine of affluence. No want, 
 within reasonable compass, could disturb 
 his pleasure. He had the wherewithal to 
 purchase every comfort, and was his own 
 master. But for two years he had been
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 55 
 
 living a life of greater happiness and 
 greater misery than he had ever known — 
 the happiness of being in love, and the 
 misery of its doubts and fears. He had 
 scarcely known that he loved Anna Lee 
 until Mr !Mountford spoke to him on the 
 subject, and the mention of the possibility 
 that some day Anna might leave them 
 both, for a husband's roof, made Harry 
 feel how much he loved her. His friend's 
 ward had grown into a woman before 
 Harry was hardly aware of it, and from 
 this time Harry's manner towards Anna 
 changed. Ever quietly attentive to her, 
 he now seemed to anticipate her every 
 want ; he increased his twelve visits in the 
 year to fifty-two ; and had Mr Mountford's 
 consent to win her if he could. So far, he 
 thought he had succeeded in gaining her 
 esteem and regard, though he feared he 
 had not that place in her affections which 
 her uncle believed in. But within twenty- 
 four hours, from the time that the chimes 
 crept through the ivy leaves up into his
 
 56 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 room, lie was to know all ; he was to ask 
 that momentous question which is so often 
 made the subject of mirth, so often spoken 
 of lightly, but which, after all, is the most 
 important question man can ask, or woman 
 answer. 
 
 The Sabbath chimes found Anna Lee 
 sitting against the open window of her 
 dressing-room, with a volume of Cowper ; 
 but Anna's thoughts were out upon the 
 ocean, and as varied as the shadows which 
 passed over it, and as mixed-up as the sea- 
 weed-drift, which rose and fell, in en- 
 tangled clumps, in jagged corners of the 
 jagged rocks, near the Denby caverns. 
 Her uncle, after their walk with Harry 
 on the previous evening, had insisted 
 upon leading her out alone amongst the 
 shrubs at the back of the house, and 
 talking to her seriously about the future, 
 and he had not only again spoken of 
 a coming time ^when she ought to have 
 the protection of a husband, but he had
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 57 
 
 hinted at the claims which Harry Thorn- 
 ]nll had upon her consideration. 
 
 A woman is seldom blind to the admir- 
 ation of one who loves her. She is quick 
 to discover by whom she is liked, and by 
 whom she is disliked. Anna was no ex- 
 ception to the rule. She knew that Harry 
 admired her, but she had never guessed at 
 the strength of Harry's love for her ; be- 
 cause, not loving in return, she had never 
 cared to make herself master of his feel- 
 ings. So that when she told Mr Mount- 
 ford that he had surprised her by his seri- 
 ous ambassadorship in the interest of 
 Harry as a lover, she spoke the whole 
 truth ; and Mr Mountford was not less 
 truthful when he, in return, expressed his 
 surprise at her apparent ignorance of 
 Harry's love. 
 
 Anna, however, confessed that she 
 liked Mr Thornhill very much, and then, 
 by a little exercise of womanly dexterity, 
 succeeded in closing the conversation,
 
 58 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 leaving Mr Mountford hopeful but uncer- 
 tain. 
 
 Anna thought all this over, as the 
 chimes lingered about the open window, 
 and somehow or otlier the silver bells 
 seemed to whisper the name of Paul 
 Massey ; and the sea too had something to 
 say about this hero whom Harry Thorn- 
 hill worshipped. All that poetry, and 
 romance, and history had taught her to 
 admire in man seemed to assume definite 
 shape in Harry's school companion, though 
 she had never seen him. Brave, generous, 
 high-spirited, adventurous, a traveller, and 
 handsome ; Harry had drawn his picture 
 with a glowing pencil, and had put in a 
 dash of the mysterious w^hich could not 
 fail to make Paul attractive to a girl like 
 Anna Lee. 
 
 The cBimes found Mrs Grey in con- 
 versation with Joe Wittle, in the house- 
 keeper's room. 
 
 '' It ain't no use a chimin' in here, old
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 59 
 
 silver bells ; for I'm werry glad to hinform 
 yer that Denby Rise don't go to church of 
 a niornin' ; we leaves hour devotions until 
 arternoon, when we can cut the sermin, 
 which is a cut not exactly wot the parson 
 likes; but he's a werry jolly un, and he 
 cuts and comes again under our mahogany 
 — so we're good churchmen arter all." 
 
 ^^ Don't be so trivial, Joe; you need 
 not talk to the bells," said Mrs Grey. 
 
 '' That's the werry thing my guvner 
 said I'd better not do when we wos young 
 together, and doing the fast in the West- 
 End," said Joe, winking his wickedest 
 wink at Mrs Grey, his wickedest wink 
 being a very harmless distortion of his 
 right cheek. 
 
 ^' If we do not go to church in a morn- 
 ing, Joe Wittle, we may at least remember 
 that it is Sunday — the day which was hal- 
 lowed by Him who made this beautiful 
 world in which we live," replied Mrs Grey, 
 gravely. 
 
 '' Well, marm, if it weren't Sunday, I
 
 60 BETTER SWEETS. 
 
 should say as how the maker of them ere 
 caverns, 'tother side the bay, might just 
 ha' put a few steps on the outside, so as a 
 feller needn't run the risk of dislocating 
 his neck in getting in; and, at the same 
 time, I don't see that it was exactually 
 necessary to put the ocean inside as well 
 as out," said Joe, putting a thumb into 
 each arm-hole of his waistcoat, and fixing 
 his inquiring eyes on a portrait, in black, 
 over the dresser. 
 
 '' Joseph ! " exclaimed Mrs Grey. 
 
 ^^ I'm a telling yer," was Joe's reply ; 
 ^' and, if it weren't Sunday, I should also 
 inform you that the devil may run away 
 with caverns and contents afore Joe Wittle 
 goes a-prying about them again : so there, 
 marm." 
 
 ^^ Well, but, Joe, it was not my fault 
 that you got wet." 
 
 '^ Wet, marm ! Drowned ! Haunted ! 
 Why, I was a-flying about on planks, and 
 a-swimming in wells, and a-breaking my 
 neck over rocks, till I was worry nigh a
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 61 
 
 committin' sooicide to get out of my diffi- 
 culties." 
 
 *^And yet you say you saw Richard, 
 and that— that— ? " 
 
 ^^MatDunkum?" 
 
 '' Yes, that Mat Dunkum go in toge- 
 ther ? " said Mrs Grey, with evident emo- 
 tion. 
 
 '' See 'em ? Yes, I see 'em go in, in a 
 boat; but, Mrs Grrey, let us be serious 
 about this affair : just let me into yom* 
 secret, and then I'll — " 
 
 "Secret!" exclaimed Mrs Grey, "I 
 have no secret, Joe ; what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Well, I'd no meanin' in perticler, 
 only I've heard as Mat was a werry great 
 pal of your husband's, and that — " 
 
 " Nonsense, Joe," said Mrs Grey, 
 pressing her feet hard upon the floor, and 
 biting her lips. 
 
 "Well, you might let me finish afore 
 you says nonsense, 'cause it ain't manners 
 to hinterrupt, and if wot I've heard ain't 
 true, why then, as the judge on the bench
 
 62 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 says, it ain't, and the jury will therefore 
 leave it out of their consideration. But, 
 as I was a say in', this Dunkum was a pal 
 of Mr Grey's, and was werry savage as 
 how he was not the happy man himself. 
 On this point, gentlemen of the jury, 
 hevidence will be called ; " and Joe raised 
 his little head, threw back one side of an 
 imaginary gown, put his right hand into 
 his right-hand waistcoat-pocket, and waited 
 for Mrs Grey's reply. 
 
 Overcome with her own thoughts, and 
 her fears for her boy, Mrs Grey could no 
 longer stop her tears, at sight of which 
 Joe Wittle began to change his manner, 
 and to explain, in a roundabout way, 
 that he did not mean any harm, and tliat 
 he had no doubt it was all lies, and that if 
 he could do anything for Mrs Grey he 
 should only be too glad — if she didn't re- 
 quire him to play at see-saw with the 
 devil over a pool of water, which was a 
 sort of thing he could not stand. 
 
 '^li is partly true," said Mrs Grey,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 63 
 
 after a pause, ^' and if you were to think a 
 moment, Joe, you would now see why 
 that man wishes to ruin my boy, as I am 
 sure he does. Right or wrong, God 
 knows which, I believe he robbed me of 
 my husband ; but, Joe, never speak of 
 this, it is a painful subject, and I have 
 suffered, nobody knows how much.'' 
 
 '^ All right, marm — don't mention it — 
 Joe Wittle may be blunt, Joe Wittle may 
 be rude in speech, but Joe Wittle's a man of 
 honour, Mrs Grrey, and at your command." 
 
 " Then, Joe," said Mrs Grey, seizing 
 the groom by the hand, ^' you shall show 
 me this cavern." 
 
 '^ Lor' bless your heart," exclaimed 
 Joe, ^^ you'd have no chance without a 
 boat ; and then. Lor' bless yer, it might 
 turn into a swinging boat like you sees at 
 fairs, the only difference being as you'd 
 most likely come dov/n topsy-turvy, and 
 have a werry wet welcome at the end of it. 
 But I'll show you the caverns, for all that, 
 marm."
 
 64 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 The bells had rung for the evening 
 service, and the Mountford family had 
 returned from Helswick church, soothed 
 by the solemnly beautiful ritual of the 
 Establishment. 
 
 The sun was going down into the sea, 
 and yet Harry had not said to Anna what 
 he had intended. 
 
 There are many strange notions about 
 what we/may, and what we may not, do 
 on Sunday ; and one of the excuses which 
 occurred to Harry for further postponing- 
 his question to Anna was a rising doubt 
 whether or not tliere might be a religious 
 objection to his asking a lady to marry on 
 a Sunday. 
 
 Poor Harry! he had a presentiment 
 that he would be unsuccessful in his 
 wooing, and all sorts of promptings to 
 put off the knowledge he feared to have, 
 and yet longed to obtain, crept into his 
 mind. 
 
 But the opportunity came, ere the 
 evening was much older, and Harry
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 65 
 
 Thornliill determined to avail himself of it. 
 Why should he fear? He loved Anna 
 with all his heart, was her equal in posi- 
 tion, and there was nothing she could ask 
 of him that he would not grant. 
 
 '^ Miss Lee, I wish to have a few words 
 of serious talk with you," he said, finding 
 Anna sitting alone at the drawing-room 
 window. 
 
 '' Indeed, Harry. Well, that is nothing 
 new," said Anna with a little mocking 
 laugh, ^^you are always talking seriously." 
 
 Anna, with a woman's instinct, guessed 
 Harry's mission this evening, and was 
 bent upon making it too difficult for ac- 
 complishment. 
 
 '^ If I had had no particular regard for 
 you. Miss Lee, I might have said foolish 
 and flippant things to you a thousand 
 times," said Harry, approaching the win- 
 dow. 
 
 ^' Really, Harry, I wish you had, just 
 for a change," said Anna, smiling archly. 
 
 He felt sure that he would be refused.
 
 66 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 There was something in Anna's manner 
 which seemed to be defiance. She was 
 evidently preparing herself to repel an 
 attack. But he would know his fate now. 
 
 ^^Anna, when a man loves, he is too 
 much bent on winning the respect and 
 esteem of her he loves, to lower his man- 
 liness, in her presence, with the flippant 
 badinage which he may bestow elsewhere," 
 said Harry, with honest warmth. 
 
 This was more than Anna had ex- 
 pected, and she looked deep into the petals 
 of a flower on her bosom, and wondered 
 what she should say next. 
 
 Harry paused for a moment, and went 
 on, in a fashion that completely upset 
 Anna's plan of meeting him with irrelevant 
 little nothings — weapons which women use 
 so effectively. 
 
 ^' Anna Lee," said Harry, quietly taking 
 her hand, ^^it is now nearly four years 
 since we first saw each other; to me the 
 last two of these have been my happiest 
 years, except whenever the shadow of a
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 67 
 
 doubt about what the end of our acquaint- 
 ance might be, has clouded the delight of 
 these treasured visits of mine to Denby 
 Rise." 
 
 Anna moved as though she would 
 speak, but remained silent, with her hand 
 passively lying in Harry's tender keep- 
 ing. Then, for the first time, it dawned 
 upon her that she had trifled with an 
 honest warm affection, and she felt hum- 
 bled by this sudden declaration of its 
 presence. 
 
 ^^ These words, Anna, have been on 
 my lips a thousand times, struggling for 
 utterance ; but I have put them off till this 
 moment with the intention of showing you, 
 in other ways, how much, how tenderly I 
 love you." 
 
 ^^ Oh, why did you not tell me this 
 before, Mr Thornhill ? " said Anna, with- 
 drawing her hand and bursting into tears. 
 
 ^' Had I thought it painful to you to 
 hear it now, Anna," said Harry, struggling 
 with emotion, but losing none of his man-
 
 68 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 liness, though the Mister ThornJdll of Anna 
 gave darker colour to his fears, ^^I would 
 have held my peace for ever. May I not 
 hope, Anna ? may I not some day call this 
 hand mine ? " 
 
 Harry regained the hand which had 
 been withdrawn, and looked up into Anna's 
 tearful face. At length, with an effort 
 which evidently cost her great pain, Anna 
 said : 
 
 ^^ I have been much to blame — I feel it 
 deeply; but, indeed, I did not know of 
 this, never dreamt that — " 
 
 Anna never found it so difficult in her 
 life before, to say what she meant ; never 
 felt so serious or so unhappy. 
 
 ^^ Spare me, Harry! Do forgive me! 
 As a brother, Harry, as a dear friend, I 
 shall always love you ; but, but — " 
 
 '^ Don't be afraid, Anna ; let me have 
 the whole truth," said Harry, though he 
 felt as if his heart were breaking; *^can 
 you love me ? — not as I love you, Anna, 
 but could you love me as your husband ? "
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 69 
 
 ^^No/' said Anna, kindly but firmly, 
 *^ think not of it, Harry ; it cannot be." 
 
 Harry stared blankly at Anna, who 
 taking his hand said, tenderly and sorrow- 
 fully, ^^ Good night, dear brother," and 
 left him. 
 
 No ! Terrible word, blasting as a light- 
 ning shock. Little word, yet so great; 
 said wdth a breath, yet vibrating through 
 a life-time. No ! To Harry Thornhill it 
 seemed to obliterate the sun, and bring 
 night to all the world. The hot Capulet, 
 had he been chidden from the Montague's 
 balcony by Juliet herself, could scarcely 
 have received a deeper stab than that little 
 word ^^No" sent through Harry's heart of 
 hearts. It is true that from the outset he 
 feared the failure of his hopes ; but it was 
 the pleasing doubt which all lovers feel, 
 lessening not one jot the pang of losing her 
 to win whose love was the chiefest aim in 
 life, to be worthy of it the highest aspiration. 
 
 Whilst Harry Thornhill stood gazing
 
 70 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 out into the autumn evening, now rapidly 
 darkening, Anna Lee suddenly returned. 
 
 " Harry, Mr Tliornhill," she said, 
 '^ you have made me so unhappy." 
 
 "I am deeply sorry to hear you say 
 so," Harry replied. 
 
 ^' I feel that I am so much to blame, 
 that I ought to have acted differently, that 
 —that—" 
 
 '' Do not reproach yourself. Miss Lee ; 
 it is I who have been in the wrong ; it is I 
 who should have known my own unworthi- 
 ness," said Harry; ^^and yet even now I 
 could fain believe that such love as mine 
 would be even worthy of Anna Lee." 
 
 ^^You do well to rebuke me, Mr 
 Thornhill — brother, if you will let me say 
 so ; for what a heart must mine be that is 
 not awakened into love by your noble, 
 pure, and generous nature ! but we do not 
 govern ourselves in these things, Harry. 
 Can you forgive me ? " 
 
 ^' Ay, with all my heart, Anna. But 
 let me ask one favour ? "
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 71 
 
 ^^ Name it." 
 
 '^Will you consent to think again, to 
 ponder well our conversation of this even- 
 ing, and, at least for a little time, to with- 
 draw the answer you have given me ? " 
 
 This was the very question which Anna 
 wished to be asked; for she feared the 
 sudden breaking of her refusal of Harry 
 to her uncle; and she wished for time to 
 prepare Mr Mountford, for what she now 
 felt was, to him, bad news. So she con- 
 sented to Harry's proposition, and at the 
 same time requested him not to acquaint 
 Mr Mountford with the nature of the first 
 part of their conversation. 
 
 Then once more a gleam of hope stole 
 into Harry's soul, and as he parted from 
 Anna a star seemed to rise out of the sea 
 for a good omen. It was the light of a 
 distant vessel evidently making for Hels- 
 wick Bay, and Harry sat watching it until 
 night made a dark background for the light 
 to shine upon. 
 
 By and by, the wind rose and the sea
 
 72 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 became boisterous, and, at times, seemed to 
 put out the star; but it shone on, never- 
 theless, and Harry went to bed and 
 dreamed that its continuous glimmer, in 
 calm and storm, was Hope's cheering 
 promise of the eventual return of his love 
 for Anna Lee.
 
 73 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 HOW THE STAR WENT OUT. 
 
 Whilst Harry Thornhill was dreaming, 
 tlie wind rose higher and higher. The 
 storm-tossed vessel's light appeared less 
 frequently, and then went out altogether. 
 
 As morning dawned Denby Eise awoke 
 with an uncomfortable sensation. The 
 best bed-rooms, as well as the servants' 
 apartments, felt that the wind was very 
 furious about the chimneys, and that the 
 sea was in a terrible rage with the rocks 
 down the glen. 
 
 Joe Wittle could not rest in his bed ; 
 fearful pictures of the cavern presented 
 themselves to the mind of Mrs Grey ; 
 Anna Lee wondered where Paul Massey's 
 yacht was, in such a storm ; and Harry
 
 74 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Thornhill thought he would get up and see 
 what had become of the star that had shone 
 so cheerily in his dreams. 
 
 Morning was dawning, grey and an- 
 grily, with streaks of clouds in the east, 
 like dragons with bristling manes and 
 demons with fiery tails. A vessel was 
 swaying to ai^d fro on the sandbank in 
 Helswick Bay, making signals of distress. 
 
 Harry alarmed the household with the 
 intelligence, and he and Joe Wittle be- 
 strode horses and rode off to the little 
 watering-place, where they found people 
 astir and gazing at the imperilled ship. .A 
 boat had tried to put off to her assistance, 
 but in such a sea no boat could live for five 
 minutes. 
 
 The waters were white with foam, 
 and every moment threatened utter de- 
 struction to the stranded vessel. The 
 crew were seen hurrying about in dismay 
 and dread, easing the ship of everything 
 moveable. Sea-chests, chairs, tables, bar- 
 rels, mirrors, sofas, benches, hammocks,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 75 
 
 were pitched overboard in strange con- 
 fusion. The vessel appeared to be so near 
 the shore that Harry wondered the crew 
 did not jump overboard and swim for their 
 lives; but a moment's consideration con- 
 vinced him that such a venture must lead 
 to certain death. 
 
 At length a boat was lowered, and a 
 venturesome fellow in it with a rope to 
 carry to land. A thrill of joy went 
 through the little group on shore, when 
 the tiny thing made headway, for a few 
 moments, against the heaving waters ; but 
 soon an exclamation of horror told the fate 
 of man and boat : one towering wave 
 carried them away, and they were seen 
 no more. 
 
 The vessel rolled fearfully. Her tim- 
 bers creaked, and groaned, and cracked. 
 Oh, for a life-boat at this critical juncture ! 
 But unhappily this wreck — no imaginary 
 one, we can assure our readers — occurred 
 in the early days of the National Institution 
 which has done so much since in the cause
 
 76 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 of humanity, and about, which we should 
 all have a thought, and for which we should 
 always have a guinea when, in summer, we 
 wander about dangerous coasts that autumn 
 strews with shipwreck. 
 
 Had there been a life-boat at Helswick 
 at the period of which we write, several 
 lives might have been saved, as lives have 
 since been saved by the boat and its gallant 
 crew now stationed conveniently near that 
 dangerous bay. 
 
 A terrible lurch of the vessel was fatal 
 to another seaman, and death seemed im- 
 minent to the remainder; and yet the 
 Helswick people could render no assist- 
 ance. They crowded on the beach, pale 
 and wan and scarcely able to stand against 
 the wind, which blew a hurricane. 
 
 Harry Thornhill, and one of the little 
 town's officials, had gone off in the hope 
 of procuring a Manby's mortar and tackle, 
 which somebody said was lying, in a de- 
 fective state, in the cellar of the Town 
 Hall.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 77 
 
 Meanwhile the survivors, on board the 
 creaking ship, sought refuge in the rigging. 
 Their only hope seemed to be in assistance 
 from the shore; and the only hope ashore 
 was that the tide might ebb and leave the 
 sandbank comparatively dry. 
 
 As the storm increased in ftiry, the 
 chances of escape for the four poor fellows, 
 huddled together in the rigging, seemed 
 to decrease momentarily. It was noticed 
 that one of the men (the captain it was 
 thought) was bleeding. Suddenly there 
 was a loud crash; the main-mast had 
 fallen; and now it was felt that all was 
 over. People held their breath, and 
 looked horror-stricken at each other. 
 
 A couple of fops who had stared at 
 the sea through eye-glasses, on the previous 
 day, and lisped pretty things, on the 
 beach, to pretty girls, in pretty hats, 
 came gaping to the scene, limp, collar- 
 less, and unshaven, as though they had 
 been forcibly driven into the storm; se- 
 veral women, huddled up in cloaks, ran to
 
 78 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 and fro, sobbing and wailing ; a few old 
 sailors, who had several times attempted 
 to put to sea against the most desjDorate 
 odds, shuffled about with downcast looks; 
 and the wind blew upon the group, until, 
 at a short distance, men and women 
 looked like a heap of shreds and patches, 
 out of which peered blanched and fearful 
 faces. 
 
 The four men were still safe; a mo- 
 ment before the mast fell they had slipped 
 away down separate ropes and reached 
 the deck. The mast went over, and the 
 vessel began to break up; but the four 
 men continued to battle successfully with 
 the storm. The forepart of the vessel still 
 hung together, and the survivors clung to 
 the bowsprit. It was not until this critical 
 juncture that Captain Manby's mortar was 
 brought to the scene of action, and it was 
 with difficulty that it was worked by 
 Harry Tliornhill and an old coast-guards- 
 man. The men on the wreck were evi- 
 dently at their last gasp; every other
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 79 
 
 wave washed over them. At length the 
 mortar was dischargedj and a rope v\^ent 
 flying into the sea, but fell short of the 
 wreck. A second and a third shot proved 
 equally futile ; and the spectators groaned 
 at the sight of only three poor wretches 
 clinging to the frail thing which jutted 
 up, black and puny, in the foaming 
 waters. 
 
 A faint cheer announced the success of 
 the fourth report, and eyes began to light 
 up with a gleam of hope when one of the 
 three, fastening the rope about him, 
 plunged into the sea, and in another 
 minute was being rapidly drawn towards 
 the shore. The next minute it was evi- 
 dent that something had gone wrong. 
 His progress shoreward stopped: he was 
 suspended between the vessel and the 
 rocks. The other end of the rope had 
 become entangled in the wreck. It was 
 a terrible moment and a short one. The 
 rope broke nearest the shore; the poor 
 fellow threw up his arms as if in suppli-
 
 80 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 cation to heaven, rolled back into the sea, 
 and all was over. In this brave and help- 
 less one, a young wife and two children 
 had lost their bread-winner and protector, 
 and yet they lay sleeping in their cottage 
 on Tynebank, unconscious of danger, 
 whilst the dead man was tossing about 
 amongst the seaweed. 
 
 Two yet remained : the wounded man, 
 and another. Again the mortar sent its 
 missive whirling through the storm; the 
 rope fell nearest the one whom the people 
 called Captain, but his companion seized 
 it, and was rapidly drawn through the 
 boiling waters, and up the rocks. , A cheer 
 for his escape died away on the lips of 
 the spectators in deference to the peril of 
 the one left weak and bleeding behind. 
 Happily the next rope fell near him, and 
 he had strength to fasten the loop about 
 his waist; but it seemed as though this 
 were his last act, and that the hauling in 
 of the rope was but the rescuing of a dead
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 81 
 
 man from one grave to deposit him in 
 another. 
 
 Harry Thornhill had had a quick eye 
 for the danger of the captain ; and before 
 any one except Joe Wittle and the coast- 
 guardsman, who had assisted to lash him 
 to a rope fastened to a ring in the rocks 
 (which had been let in there by nest- 
 finders), knew of his desperate intention, 
 Harry Thornhill was swinging down the 
 rocks. By a reckless effort of courage, he 
 met the half-drowned man at the foot of 
 the cliffs, and fastening his right arm 
 about the drooping form, the two were 
 drawn up together, amidst a cheer that 
 was heard even loudly above the noise, 
 and din, and hissing, and howling of the 
 tempest. 
 
 Just then Squire Mountford and his 
 ward came hurrying to the scene ; and soon 
 afterwards, at Harry ThornhilFs request, 
 and with the consent of the leading medi- 
 cal man in Helswick, the two survivors 
 
 \0L. I. 6
 
 82 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 were conveyed, in Mr Mountford's carri- 
 age, to Denby Rise ; whilst the remainder 
 of the Wreck broke up, creaking and 
 groaning, and throwing up gaunt arms 
 of timber, like a living thing, struggling 
 in the last pains of dissolution.
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE SUEVIVORS. 
 
 The yacht, we might almost say the 
 brigj which was lost, as described in the 
 previous chapter, was The Fairy ; the sur- 
 vivors were Paul Massey and an old friend, 
 Winford Barns, a gentleman some years 
 older than Mr Massey, and famous in the 
 North for being clever at anything. He 
 was a powerfully-built man, with a pro- 
 fusion of dark brown hair, and a head well 
 set upon his shoulders. He had a slight 
 limp in his gait, occasioned by an ugly fall 
 in a wrestling match with his groom, when 
 he kept his pack of hounds at Nettlebury 
 Hall on the "Wear. Strange stories were 
 told about his early life in the North ; how 
 he could drink more brandy than the
 
 84 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 staunchest toi)er on Wearside; how lie 
 could fell a bullock with his fist; how 
 his father died after a drinking match, in 
 which the son put a dozen topers under 
 the table ; and how he was cleverer at law 
 than all the big wigs who travelled the 
 Northern circuit. The people believed 
 any desperate thing told of young Squire 
 Barns. 
 
 It was said that upon one occasion 
 when hunting he fell from his horse, and 
 was found lying beside the animal near a 
 ditch. 
 
 ^^ Good heavens, master," said the 
 countryman who found him in this plight, 
 " why, your legs must be broken." 
 
 '^ I believe they are," said Winford. 
 
 '^ Wait till I fetch a surgeon," said the 
 man. 
 
 ^' No, no," said Winford, ^' just lift me 
 up, and put me astride the horse." 
 
 The countryman did so, and, despite 
 his broken legs, away the young squire 
 rode to be in at the death.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 85 
 
 Nothing, it was believed, could kill 
 Mr Barns, and nobody could ^^get the 
 better of him," and nobody could lie so 
 much like truth ; but as he grew older 
 Winford became quieter, and it was at 
 this steadier stage of his career that he 
 made the acquaintance of Paul Massey, 
 whose adventures in The Fairy he had 
 since shared. 
 
 Rumom", on Wearside, said that Mr 
 Barns had ^^ got through his money,'- and 
 that it was convenient for him to travel ; 
 but any one who had heard Winford boast 
 of his estates and his " pile in the funds," 
 would have set such rumours down to the 
 ever open account of envy, hatred, and 
 malice. 
 
 Paul Massey was a contrast to his 
 friend. More graceful of figure, more 
 gentlemanly in appearance. A lithe, tall 
 young fellow of about thirty, Paul was 
 every inch the Paul for a romance. He 
 was masculinely handsome, had dark, 
 bronzed features, black, crisp, curly hair,
 
 86 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 and expressive brown eyes, and there was 
 that dasli of mystery about liis life and 
 habits which could not fail to make him 
 attractive to women. His manners were 
 much more gentle than those of his com- 
 panion ; but there was that in his flashing 
 eye, and in his full but compressed lips, 
 which told of temper that, roused into 
 fury, could rage and storm and do desper- 
 ate things. But his disposition was evi- 
 dently generous, manly, and brave, or he 
 could never have made such a lasting 
 impression on Harry Thornhiirs pure and 
 noble heart. 
 
 It was several days after the wreck. 
 Harry Thornhill had gone to business in 
 Beckford Square ; and Paul Massey was 
 sufficiently recovered to be enabled to sit 
 up in an arm-chair, in which Anna Lee had 
 placed a cushion worked with her own 
 fairy fingers. His wounds were not danger- 
 ous, and in a fortnight, at the furthest, the 
 doctors said he would be able to travel.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 87 
 
 Winford Barns, who had turned out 
 the very morning after the wreck, in good 
 health and spirits, sat smoking by the 
 side of Paul and joking him about Anna 
 Lee. 
 
 " I tell you, Paul, I saw her face flush 
 when you spoke to her. I've seen enough 
 women in my time to be a judge in these 
 affairs." • 
 
 ^'Nonsense; no girl like her could 
 bestow a thought of love on a harum- 
 skarum devil such as I am," said Paul. 
 
 ^^ Bah! I made some inquiries yester- 
 day, and find she has a heap of money in 
 her own right, and will come in for all old 
 Mountford's tin ; and he's as rich as a 
 Jew." 
 
 Paul made no reply, but ^^ Pshaw I 
 what care I for money." 
 
 ^^No, but ril tell you what— I do, 
 and as we've nothing else on hand you 
 might just as well make love, and marry 
 an heiress for the benefit of us both." 
 
 ^^ You're an infernally ungrateful fellow,
 
 88 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Winford, to talk so diabolically of people 
 who have treated us so princely ; and to 
 tell you the truth I have already too much 
 respect for Miss Lee, though I have only 
 seen her three times, to hear her spoken of 
 lightly." 
 
 '^ By the Lord! I speak lightly of no 
 woman when I think of her as a fair and 
 honourable match for Paul Massey, Esquire, 
 of Brignall Court," said Winford, assum- 
 ing a frankness which did not well be- 
 come him; ^^ and I believe, if the truth 
 were known, there is a sneaking kind- 
 ness in your own romantic heart for Miss 
 Lee.'' 
 
 Paul laughed, and Mrs Grey entered to 
 dress his right arm, which, hanging in a 
 sling, even added to the picturesqueness of 
 Paul's attire, and made him, as Mr Mount- 
 ford had remarked to Anna Lee, look quite 
 Corsairish. 
 
 Winford Barns stroked his cleanly 
 shaven chin, and twinkled his little eyes 
 at his own thoughts, as he smoked his
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 89 
 
 strong cavendish, lounging back in his 
 chair. 
 
 ^^It's a snug crib this, Paul; you 
 might do worse than spend a month every 
 year, in sight of such a bit of coast as 
 twists itself round those infernal rocks 
 yonder; and if everything else failed, a 
 fellow might turn wrecker here, and be- 
 come rich, as lord of the manor," said 
 Winford, when Mrs Grey had left the 
 room. 
 
 '^You have queer thoughts aboard this 
 morning, Winford. Government hasn't 
 collapsed and repudiated its debts — eh ? 
 old boy." 
 
 " No ; but hang it, Paul, I'd a pile of 
 stuff in my chest that went overboard off 
 Helswick." 
 
 '' I^never heard of it before," said Paul, 
 smiling incredulously. 
 
 ^^Fact, by Jove; but never mind, 
 we're in a snug port now." 
 
 '^I'm glad you like it, said Mr Mount- 
 ford, who had knocked twice without
 
 90 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 being heard, before he entered; ^^and 
 I hope you will not fail to use it tho- 
 roughly.'' 
 
 '^ Good morning," said both gentlemen 
 together, and Winford Barns rose and 
 shook Mr Mountford so heartily by the 
 hand that Paul was astonished at such a 
 display of friendship. 
 
 ^'I trust you are still better, Mr 
 Massey," said Mr Mountford, addressing 
 his invalided guest, '' and that we may all 
 dine too-ether to-dav." 
 
 '^ Sir, I shall be delighted," said 
 Paul, a momentary thought of sitting 
 near Anna Lee crossing his mind as he 
 said so. 
 
 When dinner was announced, and 
 Anna Lee was not one of the company, 
 Paul could not help feeling disappointed. 
 Complaining of pain, he left the table 
 early, and retired to the rooms set apart 
 for himself and his friend in another wing 
 of the building. Crossing one of the 
 corridors, he met Miss Lee, and stopped
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 91 
 
 her to say that he hoped indisposition 
 had not compelled her absence from the 
 dining-room. 
 
 '' Oh, no," said Anna, conquering a 
 little confusion, ^'I shall come in with 
 the coffee, Mr Massey. Are you better ?" 
 
 ^^Not so well this evening," said Paul 
 languidly, '^ and very much disappointed 
 at vour absence from table, Miss Lee." 
 
 Anna could not help blushing, and she 
 almost hated herself at that moment for 
 her weakness. Paul could see her con- 
 fusion, and with true gentlemanly feeling 
 passed on, merely expressing a hope that 
 he should have the pleasure of seeing 
 Miss Lee again before dark. 
 
 It was twilight then, and the autumn 
 wind was moaning plaintively without. 
 Anna went to her room and wept bitterly^ 
 she knew not why : it seemed as if dark 
 clouds were gathering about her, as 
 though some dread mishap awaited her. 
 Perhaps it was the spirit of the dying 
 year that had its influence upon her;
 
 92 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 for she liad seen the dead leaves chasing: 
 each other down the glen all the after- 
 noon, and had heard the plaintive cries 
 of sea-birds, and the sighing and sobbing 
 of the wind that wandered about the 
 house with a strange hollow sound. 
 
 The last rose in her flower-stand out- 
 side the window, had shed its last leaves 
 that day, and the swallows had congre- 
 gated together, and departed for other 
 lands. She could see their forsaken homes, 
 under the eaves, from her window, and 
 she thought of her own home, and won- 
 dered if ever she would have to leave it 
 behind her, a solitary place amongst the 
 trees; and then she knelt down and 
 prayed God to have her in his keeping, 
 and poured out all the gratitude of her 
 heart for His great goodness to her. 
 
 *^ Make me more worthy, Lord, of 
 Thy many mercies, more worthy of the 
 guardian Thou hast given me in this 
 world; find, oh, gracious Father! give 
 comfort to the heart I have wronged.'*
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 93 
 
 Much more did Anna Lee say in her 
 prayer. She felt comforted afterwards, 
 but even prayer did not altogether dis- 
 perse the cloud that seemed to hang 
 about her heart. 
 
 It was by her uncle's request that 
 she had not presented herself at dinner; 
 but he was pleased to see her when tea 
 was announced, and he sat down beside 
 her and kissed her fair forehead; but the 
 tears almost started into her eyes at his 
 greeting. She was glad after tea to re- 
 spond to her uncle's request for a little 
 music ; it was a relief to her almost mor- 
 bid fancy. To get within the shade of 
 the lamp seemed to her an escape from 
 herself; and never was heard such plain- 
 tive, ravishing, wild music as that which 
 Anna conjm^ed from her favourite instru- 
 ment that evening. It might have been 
 said of her as it has been said of a great 
 composer : that her thoughts and feelings 
 and impressions had taken with them a 
 melodic form. The moaning of the
 
 ^4 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 autumn wind, the falling of the leaves, 
 tender thoughts of home, fear and dread, 
 and love and devotion, all were described 
 in those sweeping, trickling, modulated 
 chords, and cadenzas, and monotones that 
 came from Anna's harp. 
 
 On Mendelssohn's return from Scot- 
 land, his sisters, it is said, were very de- 
 sirous that he should tell them all about 
 the Hebrides. ^^ That cannot be told," 
 was his reply, ^'it can only be played." 
 Anna Lee had caught a gleam of this 
 sort of musical narratory power, though 
 she exercised it unconsciously. And Paul 
 Massey thought he could interpret some 
 of the harp's sweet language; but sym- 
 pathetically as his heart tlnrobbed to the 
 melodious harmonies, he could not un- 
 ravel the tangled tale which Anna's heart 
 was repeating through her fingers. 
 
 Winford Barns did not trouble him- 
 self about the music, but went off to 
 sleep; whilst Mr Mountford was spirited 
 away into thoughts of the past which, as
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 95 
 
 usual, led up to speculations on the future 
 of his charming ward. If he could have 
 raised the mysterious veil which shuts 
 out, in mercy, the things that are to be, 
 what a vista of blasted hopes would have 
 opened up to bid him close his eyes, and 
 pray that tlie curtain might fall for ever ! \
 
 96 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE EUNAWAY. 
 
 • If you had seen Joe Wittle sitting on 
 a reversed stable bucket, and looking up 
 into the hay-rack, from which Harkaway 
 was ever and anon cropping a savoury 
 mouthful, you might have credited him 
 with some momentous calculation with 
 regard to the quantity and quality of the 
 said hay, some abstruse philosophizing 
 with regard to its component parts, or 
 some mental speculations as to the num- 
 ber of mouthfuls which Harkaway would 
 make of it. And had you seen how un- 
 easily he shifted his short thin legs about, 
 and how, ever and anon, he took his 
 thumbs from his vest arm-holes to put 
 his hands into his big waistcoat pockets,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 97 
 
 and vice versdj you might easily have 
 guessed that his investigations were, by 
 no means, satisfactory. 
 
 The time was evening — the evening 
 which closes our previous chapter — and 
 Joe was sitting in the uncertain light of 
 a candle. His thoughts were puzzling and 
 disagreeable, it is true; and they neither 
 referred to hay-rack nor Harkaway. 
 
 ^'I'm blowed if it ain't a rum go, 
 and that's the long and the short of it," 
 he said, after a good many uneasy move- 
 ments, ^'and I only wish «Toseph Wittle, 
 sir, you had a blessed wife of your 
 boosum to confide in." 
 
 Harkaway set back her ears and 
 stamped her right fore leg, as though she 
 regarded this confession of Joe's as a 
 breach of the confidence which had here- 
 tofore subsisted between her and Mr 
 Mountford's chief groom. 
 
 ^^ Ah ! my lassie," said Joe, rising, and 
 aflfectionately patting the favourite mare's 
 sleek graceful neck :
 
 98 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^^I knows yer intelligence and saga- 
 city more than anybody, and hacknow- 
 ledges it, my beauty; but it ain't a case 
 in which you can be of any service." 
 
 Harkaway rubbed her nose against 
 Joe's fur helmet, and Joe duly acknow- 
 ledged the salute, returning, however, 
 to the stable bucket, and examining the 
 manger as before. 
 
 '^ The boy's run away from school 
 these three days, and taken up his quar- 
 ters with Mat Dunkum ; and she means 
 to go and fetch him away, and to have 
 my assistance in the adventure, this worry 
 night. Joseph, Joseph, mind wot yer 
 arter ! Don't let that ere soft heart of 
 yourn go gettin' you into a scrape. Why 
 don't she tell the guvner? why should 
 there be all this ere mystery agoin' on ? " 
 
 No answer came from the hay -rick nor 
 from the rafters above; and Joe, giving 
 himself a shake, as if he were waking from 
 a dull sleep, ajfpeared determined to put 
 no more interrogations in the same quarter.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 99 
 
 ^^ No matter, Joseph, you've made a 
 promise, that promise is to a petticoat, 
 and you must keep it : I'm telling yer." 
 
 Having made which declaration, he 
 pulled his helmet further over his eyes, 
 buttoned a short monkey-jacket over his 
 long big-pocketed vest, carefully ex- 
 amined the proportions of a short crab 
 stick, which he thrust under his arm, 
 whistled, very pianissimo, two bars of 
 ^' Rule Britannia," cast a parting glance 
 at Harkaway, extinguished the light, and 
 left the stable. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards, having taken 
 a roundabout cut from the yard of Denby 
 E-ise, in order that the sound of wheels 
 might not be heard in the house, Joe 
 led out a gray cob, harnessed to a light 
 cart, and conducted it to a bend in the 
 high road. Here he found Mrs Grey 
 awaiting him. Without exchanging a 
 single word he assisted her into the trap, 
 and then drove off. 
 
 The autumn wind howled after them
 
 100 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 as they dashed along the road. It blew 
 gustily over the stubble fields, and 
 through the red-berried hedges; it drove 
 the clouds over the moon in successive 
 detachments, like moving battalions ; it 
 rustled through the ivy that hung about 
 the old towers and ruined halls by the 
 road-side; and its moaning, and its de- 
 fiant blasts, seemed to find an echo in 
 the heart of Joe Wittle's companion; for 
 Mrs Grey loved her youngest born with 
 a love that only a mother can under- 
 stand; a love which would have given 
 her courage enough to brave ten thou- 
 sand Mat Dunkums. But it was not the 
 true maternal love, as will be seen in the 
 end, not the pure deep-rooted love which 
 blends with high maternal duty. It was 
 the love which would sacrifice everything 
 to its idol, which would bare its own 
 heart to the knife, if the idol would there- 
 by be benefited; which would suffer 
 inwardly, and be racked with torments, 
 rather than give the idol one touch of
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 101 
 
 pain ; but which had not sufficient strength 
 and nobleness to burn out the festering 
 spots that disfigured the idol and threat- 
 ened its future happiness. Had Richard 
 Grrey committed a great wrong, Mrs Grey 
 could not have borne the idea of his 
 bearing the pain of punishment; indeed, 
 she would have failed to discover wrong 
 in anything he did. Even now, that 
 Richard had run away from school, to 
 prowl about with Mat Dunkum, she did 
 not, for one moment, blame the boy; 
 all her thoughts of wrong in the affair 
 centred in Richard's arch -tempter. Mat 
 Dunkum. 
 
 Turning a sharp bend in the road, 
 leading to a narrow by-way, which had 
 its termination near Mat's cottage, the 
 horse ran upon a figure that was hurry- 
 ing in the opposite direction. 
 
 There was a little scream, and tlie 
 moon showed to Joe Wittle a girl, muflSed 
 up in a dark shawl. The groom leaped 
 down, and had the little maid in his arms
 
 102 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 in a moment. Mrs Grey instantly re- 
 cognized Bessie Martin. 
 
 ^^Dear, dear! — why the child has 
 fainted," said Mrs Grrey, taking her from 
 Joe, and laying her against the opposite 
 bank. 
 
 ^^I don't think she's much hurt," said 
 Mr Mountford's groom; ^^it was only 
 jest a touch and go." 
 
 Bessie's sweet face, in its setting of 
 ebony curls, looked singularly beautiful 
 in the fitful moonlight. An application 
 of Mrs Grey's smelling salts soon brought 
 life into the closed eyes, which opened 
 with a wild, bewildered gaze. 
 
 ^^ Richard! Eichard ! " was her first 
 exclamation. 
 
 ^^ Dear child," said Mrs Grey, pushing 
 the black curls back from the darkly pale 
 forehead. 
 
 ^^ Your mother knows you have run 
 away, do come back, dear Richard," and, 
 sobbing convulsively, Bessy seemed to 
 regain her senses. ^
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 103 
 
 " Is she hurt, Mrs Grey ? " said Joe, 
 " ask her that.'' 
 
 ^*How selfish, to be sure!" said Mrs 
 Grey to herself, having been thinking all 
 the time only about the object of her 
 journey ; '' are you hui*t, love ? " 
 
 ^^No, no," said Bessie, shaking the 
 dust from her frock. 
 
 " Are you sure, love ? stand up ; there, 
 dear, do you feel any pain ? " 
 
 ^^No," said Bessie," staring at Joe 
 and the conveyance. 
 
 ^^Yes," said Mrs Grey, answering the 
 inquiring glance — ^^ yes, we have come 
 to fetch him." 
 
 ^' Oh, I am so glad, so glad," said the 
 child, with touching fervency ; ^^ Grandma 
 is so ill. Will you bring him back to 
 Grandma's." 
 
 ^^ Dear, dear Bessie ! " exclaimed Mrs 
 Grey, folding her to her breast, and sob- 
 bing over her. 
 
 ^^Come now, Mrs Grey, if the child 
 ain't hurt we'll go on, and we can take 
 her with us."
 
 104 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Bessie made some objection to this 
 proposition, but it was overruled, and 
 they lifted her into the spring-cart. She 
 told them how she came to be so far 
 from home at that late hour of the even- 
 ing. She had put Grandma to bed, and 
 everything was so quiet and still, and 
 something told her that she ouglit to go 
 and induce Richard to return. She 
 thought he might come with her, and it 
 was lonely without him, and Grandma 
 was ill with thinking about him, and she 
 knew how hurt his mother would be. 
 So when Grandma was fast asleep, she 
 had put a shawl over her head, crept out 
 at the back door, and set out to Mat 
 Dunkum's cottage. She knew where it 
 was, because Richard had told her about 
 it. She had run nearly all the way there, 
 and had been to the cottage, but there 
 was nobody in ; and after calling Richard 
 by name, until she was frightened at the 
 echoes, she had started back again, and 
 was hurrying home when they met her 
 at the turning.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 105 
 
 By the time that Bessie had finished her 
 story they were in sight of Mat's cottage ; 
 and it gave Joe Wittle a throb of satisfac- 
 tion to see a light gleam from the two 
 usually dark and gloomy windows. 
 
 So seldom was Mat to be found there, 
 that Joe had scarcely dared to hope they 
 would meet with him anywhere but in 
 the caverns ; and he had pictured to him- 
 self the perils of rowing Mrs Grey along 
 the two or three hundred yards of coast, 
 which he had arranged to navigate in a 
 boat, provided beforehand by a Denby 
 fisherman. The memory of his former 
 exploit in that locality had returned upon 
 him so forcibly that, until he saw the 
 cottage -light, Joe was in such a state of 
 perturbation, that for two pins, as he con- 
 fessed afterwards to Harkaway, he would 
 have shown the blessed ocean a clean pair 
 of heels. 
 
 Mat's quick ear detected the sound of 
 wheels, and when Joe pulled up within a 
 few yards of the cottage, amongst heaps of
 
 106 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 dangerous pieces of rock, Mat came forth 
 with a lantern. 
 
 ''Hollo! what's uj^ now?" he said, 
 holding the light so that it cast an un- 
 certain gleam upon the visitors. 
 
 Richard Grrey followed Mat, and cocked 
 his unloaded pistol. 
 
 ''What's up, I say ?" repeated Mat. 
 
 " Yes ! What's up ? " said Richard. 
 
 Joe Wittle, not quite understanding 
 what he ought to do under the circum- 
 stances, but willing to be of service to Mrs 
 Grey, secretly clutched his crab-stick, and 
 informed Mat that Mrs Grey wanted 
 her son. 
 
 " Oh, oh," said Mat, " and she's come 
 in her own carriage to fetch him, has she ? 
 Oh, oh^ we didn't always ride in our car- 
 riage, Mrs Grey." 
 
 " Richard ! Richard ! " said Mrs Grey, 
 deigning no reply to Mat Dunkum, " come 
 to me." 
 
 "What for?" said Richard, pushing 
 his pistol into his belt, and trying in vain
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 107 
 
 to catch a glimpse of Mat Dunkum's face. 
 
 '' Come with me, Richard, dear Eich- 
 ard." 
 
 '^ I shan't," replied Master Grey; upon 
 which Mat shrugged his shoulders and 
 guffawed his satisfaction. 
 
 ^^ Perhaps you'd like to walk in, Mrs 
 Grey," said Mat, after a pause, '^ and hear 
 what Dick has got to say. You'll find him 
 no chicken-hearted fool, I can tell you; 
 he's no Miss Nancy, nor ain't agoin' to be. 
 Come along, Dick, come along, lieutenant, 
 and we'll entertain the visitors on board. 
 Ah ! ah ! " and Mat, taking Richard by 
 the arm, led him back towards the cottage. 
 
 In another moment Mrs Grey laid her 
 hand upon the shoulder of her son; but 
 Mat's pupil resisted both entreaties and 
 commands. 
 
 ^' What's the good of being a fool, 
 mother," said Dick, ^^ I've my living to 
 get some day, and I'm going to get it." 
 
 '' You shall have everything you want, 
 Richard — don't listen to this bad man — do
 
 108 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 come with your mother who loves you so 
 dearly," said Mrs Grey, in a passion of 
 tears. 
 
 ^^ Bad man ! Come, I like that. Yom* 
 husband's only pal. Why, Dick, lad, I 
 knew your father afore your mother did, 
 and we was companions, and he'd sooner 
 trust you with me than with her any day." 
 
 ^* I shan't come, mother," said Dick, 
 sulkily, '' so it's no good rowing about it." 
 
 ^' Will you come for poor Bessie ?" said 
 a sweet little voice which had hitherto 
 been silent. 
 
 '' Hollo ! is that vou, Bess ? " exclaimed 
 Dick, releasing himself from both Mat and 
 his mother, and helping the girl to alight. 
 ^'Yes it's me," said Bessie, ^'and I've 
 been nearly as far as this looking for you 
 myself." 
 
 ^^ What, without anybody along with 
 you ? " said Dick in a very different tone 
 to that in which he had addressed his 
 mother. 
 
 ^^ Ah! ah," half growled, half laughed
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 109 
 
 Mat, ^' she wants you to go home to Grand- 
 mother, I should think. A pretty rover 
 you'll make, if grandmothers and such like 
 break up your prenticeship." 
 
 Dick said nothing in reply, but Bessie's 
 arm glided gently through his, and her 
 voice repeated: ^^ Do come, Dick, come 
 with me, come with poor little Bessie." 
 
 Mat laughed again a mocking laugh, 
 but he began to be afraid of Bessie's in- 
 fluence. 
 
 '^No, Bess, I can't come, you see; I'm 
 all right here; Captain Dunkum was 
 father's mate, and mother's not acted 
 right, you know." 
 
 '^ Oh, Eichard, don't say that ; it is 
 wrong, very wrong ; but come with us to- 
 night," said Bessie, drawing the boy gently 
 towards the carriage. 
 
 " Here, come, drop this dam nonsense," 
 exclaimed Mat, rushing to Dick and seiz- 
 ing him by the arm, '' Dick Grey's not 
 coming." 
 
 ^' Mat Dunkum ! Have some pity, have
 
 110 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 some mercy ! " exclaimed Mrs Grey, again 
 taking her son by the arm ; '^ why will you 
 persecute me ? give me my son ! " 
 
 ^^ Oh, I've touched you then, have I ? " 
 and he chuckled over his triumph. ^^ But 
 I've not done with you yet, Sarah. Not 
 yet, Mrs Grey." 
 
 Eichard Grey noticed this brow-beat- 
 ing of his mother, and something like a 
 gleam of filial duty touched him. '' Come 
 drop that," he said to Mat, ^^Fm not 
 agoin' to have that; I'm no spoony, but 
 she's my mother. Mat." 
 
 '^ Dear Richard ! " exclaimed Mrs Grey, 
 throwing her arms round his neck. 
 
 '^Dear stuff! get off," said the boy, 
 pushing his mother aside. 
 
 ^' Dick," said a sweet wee voice again, 
 — ^^ Dick, come home, come with me." 
 
 Mat stood puzzled and silent ; Dick was 
 evidently wavering. 
 
 ^^ I ain't agoin' to stand here all night," 
 said Joe Wittle, from the carriage. 
 
 '*If you open your mouth again I'll
 
 BITTER SWEETS. Ill 
 
 shut it for you, you infernal spy," said 
 Mat, turning angrily upon Joe. 
 
 Joe clutched his club nervously, but 
 thinking that discretion was the better part 
 of valour, he remained silent. 
 
 "Look here. Captain," said Dick at 
 length, "I'll go with them to-night — just 
 for to-night, you know — and I'll be back 
 in the morning." 
 
 " Dam nonsense, Dick," said Mat, in a 
 conciliatory but dissatisfied tone; "don't 
 be tied to your mother's apron strings ; 
 you'll be a fool all your life if you do." 
 
 "Dear Eichard ! " whispered Bessie, 
 still drawing him towards the carriage. 
 
 " But you know — " began the boy 
 with his foot partly upon the step of the 
 conveyance. 
 
 " Well, if it's only for to-night," said 
 Mat, thinking it discreet to appear con- 
 ciliatory and not over- anxious, " of course 
 do as you like. You know your own mind 
 best, and you know your promises, and all 
 that. Well, good night, lieutenant."
 
 112 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 *' Good night, Captain," said Dick, 
 cheerily, ^Ho-morrow, you know, I'll be 
 with you early." 
 
 ^^ All right, lad; be a man, and stick to 
 your word." 
 
 '' I will," said Dick. 
 
 "• Good night. Mistress Grey," said 
 Mat, as Mr Mountford's housekeeper pro- 
 ceeded to get into the conveyance, '' allow 
 ine to assist you ; " and Mrs Grey shud- 
 dered to feel his hand upon her arm, and 
 her fear was increased when he thrust his 
 face near hers, and said, " I'll be even with 
 you, Sarah." 
 
 Joe Wittle speedily turned his horse 
 round, and when he felt himself at a toler- 
 ably safe distance from Mat, who stood 
 watching, lantern in hand, Joe asked Mat 
 for a lock of his hair — a piece of bravado 
 for which the whole party had nearly paid 
 very dearly ; for Mat made a dash towards 
 Joe, which resulted in such a tug at the 
 reins that the horse started off at a gallop
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 113 
 
 and narrowly escaped coming to grief over 
 a stone heap. 
 
 A hasty bitter oath would have fol- 
 lowed them ; but the wind carried Mat 
 Dunkum's withering words amongst the 
 thorns, and brambles, and broken rocks, 
 which surrounded the land-shark's dwell- 
 ing. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 114 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 LOVERS METAMOEPHOSES. 
 
 We claim, in this place, the privilege 
 of the dramatist, to let the curtain fall, for 
 a short time, upon the actors in our story : 
 not that we require the time for a mere 
 change of dresses and a shifting of scenes ; 
 not that our actors want rest or refresh- 
 ment ; but that we may not weary the 
 reader with details which are not neces- 
 sary in the development of this history. 
 
 So imagine, dear madam, and you, kind 
 sir, that the prompter's whistle has 
 brought down the drop-scene upon the 
 first part of our story, and that many 
 months have passed away since Bessie 
 Martin induced Richard Grey to leave his 
 bad tutor. Mat Dunkum ; since Anna Lee
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 115 
 
 began to feel that change in her thoughts 
 and feelings which commenced with her 
 introduction to Paul Massey. Imagine 
 the winter winds that have swept over 
 Denby Rise, and the snows that have 
 whitened the rocks ; imagine the gradual 
 progress to convalescence of Paul Massey, 
 and the cold journeys of Harry Thornhill 
 from Maryport to the scene of his unful- 
 filled hopes ; imagine the bitters and the 
 sweets which have mingled in the cup of 
 Anna Lee ; and the secret sorrows of Mrs 
 Grey. Take our previous chapters as a 
 basis for your thoughts, and, after a brief 
 exercise of your fancy, contemplate the 
 new set of scenes upon which we now beg 
 to raise the curtain. 
 
 Those of our fair readers who have ex- 
 perienced that great change induced by 
 the first consciousness of being deeply in 
 love — fondly, passionately in love — need 
 no description of the sensations of Anna 
 Lee. Those who have not felt these first
 
 116 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 tender humanizing influences we must 
 leave to imagine them. 
 
 Anna Lee, who tried to analyze her new 
 feelings, could only liken them to those of 
 Undine when the fairy felt that she had ob- 
 tained an immortal soul. She confessed 
 herself to herself, and trembled, with a 
 strange sensation of hope and fear and 
 doubt, when she really knew that the love, 
 which all Harry Thornhill's solicitude and 
 attention had failed to excite, had been 
 called forth by a stranger. It subdued and 
 made her thoughtful : it induced a more re- 
 gular and careful attention to home duties : 
 it toned down and beautified her love for 
 Uncle Mountford : it tinged her conduct 
 towards Harry Thornhill, with a sisterly 
 affection : it made her both happy and 
 miserable : it sent her to her room, hun- 
 dreds of times, to contemplate her secret, 
 to revel over it, to nurse it, and to wonder 
 at it. 
 
 Paul Massey, too, had felt a singular 
 change come over his dreaming. Hand-
 
 BITTEE SWEETS. 117 
 
 some, dashing, chivalrous, he had long 
 been accustomed to the admiration of the 
 opposite sex ; but, until now, he had never 
 felt a real respect for any woman ; until 
 now he had never felt desirous to win a 
 woman's true esteem ; until now he had 
 felt himself worthy of the admiration he 
 had universally obtained ; until now he 
 had never wished to be respected for high 
 qualities of mind, for noble thoughts, for 
 intellectual attainments. 
 
 The change, thus wrought by the great 
 enchanter, speedily won, not only upon 
 Anna Lee, but upon her uncle ; whilst it 
 afforded Barns considerable amusement and 
 satisfaction. 
 
 Paul had suddenly discovered a new at- 
 traction in the stories of his early youth, 
 and would find his way into Mr Mountford's 
 library, at all hours, to discuss all sorts of 
 delightful questions in literature and art. 
 He unearthed Plutarch, and had friendly 
 battles with the Squire, in comparisons of 
 Alcibiades and Coriolanus, Aristides and
 
 118 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Cato, Cimon and Lucullus. He astonished 
 and delighted the old scholar with snatches 
 from the classic poets, with reminiscences 
 of school-life, with incidents of travel, and 
 found access to the old man's heart in a 
 thousand other ways. 
 
 One morning, when talking of Fenelon, 
 he awakened suspicions which sent Mr 
 Mountford on a long thinking troubled 
 gallop with Harkaway, and gave him a 
 sleepless night. 
 
 ^' I think," said Paul, ^^ that one of the 
 most beautiful passages in Fenelon is his 
 description of Antiope ; where he speaks, 
 you know, of the glowing modesty of her 
 countenance ; of her contempt of great 
 finery in dress ; of her total forgetfulness 
 of her own charms. When Idomeneus, 
 you know, leads the dance with the 
 beauties of Crete, she might have been 
 taken for Venus ; when she goes out with 
 him to hunt, he discovers such dignity of 
 manner that might distinguish Diana : she 
 alone being ignorant of all this superiority.
 
 BITTEE SWEETS. 119 
 
 I have often thought of Antiope 
 
 since I have been in your hospitable man- 
 sion, Mr Mountford, and traced a likeness 
 to her in your charming niece." 
 
 This was enough. Mr Mountford's 
 eyes were opened ; and half an hour after- 
 wards he was galloping, with his thoughts, 
 over Helswick heath. 
 
 Never since that favourite mare had run 
 away with her jockey and the Leger, had 
 Harkaway been tempted into such a pace ; 
 but fast as she went she could not overtake 
 the set of new thoughts which troubled 
 her master, thoughts which were of the 
 sweet and the bitter. 
 
 It was hardly wise for a man, the ac- 
 tion of whose heart was, according to Dr 
 Fell's opinion, weaker than was desirable, 
 to gallop at such a rate. But Mr Mount- 
 ford, when roused, was a man of strong 
 feelings, and he seemed to be trying to 
 gallop out of himself, to leave himself be- 
 hind, to out-strip the hundred fancies that 
 crowded upon him.
 
 120 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 When Harry Thornhill left Denby 
 Rise, a week previously, Mr Mountford had 
 reason to believe that Harry's proposition 
 to Anna had not been received according 
 to his hopes. Within the past few days 
 he had noticed a marked change in Anna. 
 He could not mistake the manner of Paul 
 Massey's reference to Antiope. He liked 
 Paul Massey, he loved Harry Thornhill, 
 and the happiness of Anna Lee was the 
 hope of his declining years. 
 
 It was a perplexing, unhappy situation 
 for the old man, and it required a struggle 
 to contemplate it calmly and philosophi- 
 cally. But Mark Mountford was a wise 
 man, a scholar, and a gentleman. Some 
 guardians, some uncles, on making such a 
 discovery as that which dawned, with the 
 spring, upon Mr Mountford, would have 
 upbraided their niece, ordered Paul Massey 
 to quit their roof, and sent for a priest to 
 marry his ward to Harry Thornhill on the 
 spot. Mr Mountford had noticed the 
 change in his niece; he* had received,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 121 
 
 more than once, very pointed hints of the 
 failure of Harry ThornhilPs wooing ; and, 
 above all, he had had, upon the very day 
 when we drew up our curtain for the second 
 time, intimation that Harry Thornhill was 
 going abroad for two or three years. 
 
 So he sent for Paul Massey into the 
 well-known library, and talked very seri- 
 ously to that gentleman for a very long 
 time. He told him all about his hopes 
 and wishes ; he told him about the inter- 
 views which that room had seen between 
 himself and Harry Thornhill. 
 
 Paul Massey confessed his love for 
 Anna Lee, but denied that he had ever so 
 far forgotten what was due to his hospit- 
 able host as to tell Miss Lee of his passion. 
 No, nor had he gone so far as to make a 
 planned attack upon her affections. He 
 hoped Mr Mountford would not think him 
 capable of dishonourable conduct. Miss 
 Lee had been exceedingly kind to him, and 
 he had been proud enough to believe that 
 she was not averse to his society. He
 
 122 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 could not help his feelings, he could not 
 control his likes and dislikes; he only 
 knew this, that he had never loved until 
 now. But his gratitude to his friend 
 Harry, and he might say his affection for 
 him, would of course, after Mr Mountford's 
 explanation, make him quit the field in 
 his friend's favour. He was aware that 
 his health was now quite restored, and that 
 he might have left Denby Rise some 
 weeks ago: had he known that Harry 
 Thornhill was engaged to Miss Lee he 
 should have done so; but he had seen 
 nothing in the conduct of Harry to make 
 him think that he had hopes of such a 
 character as those described by Mr Mount- 
 ford. Did he mean to say that Harry did 
 not love his niece ? Certainly not ; he 
 could not imagine any man not loving her. 
 But he was sorry that Mr Mountford 
 should be angry; and was ready to quit 
 Denby Eise that very day, and to go 
 about the world with the memory of its 
 happy days ever in his mind. ,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 123 
 
 And now it was Anna's turn. Her in- 
 terview with her uncle was however only 
 a brief one; she was always wont to be 
 frank with her uncle, and she did not on 
 this occasion evade any of his questions. 
 
 At the close of their interview she 
 placed in Mr Mountford's hands a letter 
 received that morning from Harry. Even 
 in a story we refrain from printing all the 
 tender things which Harry said in this let- 
 ter, all the noble words of self-sacrifice 
 which he had penned, with a feverish 
 trembling hand, on those closely written 
 pages, which Anna had almost bathed in 
 her tears. The writer said he had long 
 feared that Anna could never love him 
 sufficiently to warrant the fulfilment of Mr 
 Mountford's wish, and his dear hopes; 
 that indeed she had told him as much, and 
 that he had not been blind to the interest 
 which she had shown in his friend Paul 
 Massey. Perhaps love was naturally jeal- 
 ous ; his must be so, for he fancied that 
 Anna loved Paul Massey, and he was sure
 
 124 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 that Paul loved her. If this was not the 
 case, patient thought convinced him — con- 
 vinced him against his will — that Anna 
 had at any rate only to go into the world, 
 to meet with one whom she could love bet- 
 ter than himself, and one more worthy of 
 her. The business of the house needed 
 some attention in America and the Cana- 
 das, and also in Rotterdam ; and the firm 
 having determined to open new agencies 
 in these and other foreign stations, he had 
 solicited and obtained the post of foreign 
 inspector and agent for three years. He 
 hoped that change of scene would soften 
 what he must confess was a severe blow to 
 his hopes — hopes which he knew he had 
 had no right to indulge — and his absence 
 would leave Miss Lee free to choose one 
 who would make her such a husband as 
 she deserved. 
 
 Altogether Denby Rise had experienced 
 few such unhappy days as this, on which 
 Harry intimated his intention of quitting
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 125 
 
 England. Mr Mountford had felt, for the 
 first time, how truly Dr Fell had spoken 
 when he assured Mr Mountford that any 
 great anxiety or excitement would be seri- 
 ously dangerous to his health. He went 
 to bed that night almost prostrated, and 
 though he acknowledged, to himself, the 
 wrong he had done in attempting to force 
 the affections of two young people, he 
 could not help thinking that the turn 
 which affairs had taken would neither 
 bring happiness nor comfort to Anna. 
 
 Paul Massey was in no frame of mind 
 to listen to the chaff of Winford Barns, 
 who had that day returned from a week's 
 visit to Maryport. 
 
 Anna Lee spent a sleepless night, though 
 she felt that it was a comfort to have made 
 her uncle acquainted with her secret. 
 
 Mrs Grey had somewhat diverted 
 Anna's thoughts from the channel in which 
 they had been running, b}^ an account 
 of the troubles and blessings of having 
 two sons. Indeed it was midnight be-
 
 126 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 fore Mrs Grey had finished a true and 
 particular history of the rescue of her son 
 Richard from Mat Dunkum, the devotion 
 to him of little Bessie Martin, and the pro- 
 gress which Frank was making under that 
 dear, kind, generous gentleman, Mr Thorn- 
 hill, who two months ago, as no doubt 
 Miss Lee was aware, had taken her 
 youngest son into his office. 
 
 It was seldom that Mrs Grey was com- 
 municative about herself, but this night 
 she was particularly so, chiefly through 
 Miss Lee's encouragement, but also on 
 account of her desire to make an ally of 
 Miss Lee in a scheme of her ovm. 
 
 The boys, she said, lodged together, and 
 she feared they did not agree so well as 
 they might. Richard w^as naturally of an 
 exciteable nature and proud, and perhaps 
 he did not like to be so much below his 
 brother, though of course he should re- 
 member how hard Frank had worked, and 
 how Mr Thornhill always thought so high- 
 ly of Frank. Then Richard, having been
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 127 
 
 led away and taught strange habits, by 
 the person who lived at the caverns, had 
 no doubt influenced his character and 
 made him a little wilful ; and of course 
 Frank should remember that, and give 
 way to him. Besides he was younger 
 than Francis, and had not had the op- 
 portunities of improvement which he had 
 had ; Frank had been in Maryport so 
 long, and had had time to resist its tempt- 
 ations and all that, which ought to be 
 considered. She was quite sure that some 
 day Richard would do well, for he was 
 always clever. Miss Lee should hear poor 
 Bessie Martin talk about him. He had 
 written two letters to Bessie, and had 
 promised to marry her. It was quite 
 amusing to hear the boy talk ; and as for 
 Bessie, dear little thing, she would cer- 
 tainly grow up into a very pretty woman, 
 she had no doubt, though what was to 
 become of her when her grandmother, the 
 schoolmistress, died she did not know, and 
 the old woman could not live long. Miss
 
 128 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Lee must think it strange of her talking 
 about these matters, which she was kind 
 enough to say interested her, but of course 
 poor people had their own feelings, and 
 she could not help thinking that she ought 
 to go and live in Maryport for the purpose 
 of taking care of her sons. No, that was 
 not exactly what she had wanted to tell 
 Miss Lee ; but she thought that some day 
 she might really be obliged to do so, and 
 if Miss Lee could bring it round, when 
 she was talking to Mr Mountford, so that 
 if she should have to leave Denby Rise it 
 would not come upon him sudden-like, she 
 should certainly take it kindly. She had 
 saved a little money, and Eichard ought 
 to have a mother's eye upon him; but 
 she would rather lay down her life than 
 Mr Mountford should think her ungrate- 
 ful. Ah ! it was a painful subject that 
 which Miss Lee was kind enough to men- 
 tion about her husband leaving her; but 
 God knew that she had given him no 
 cause for his desertion; and she believed
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 129 
 
 that her prayers would be answered, for 
 she never went to sleep without asking 
 that, alive or dead, George Grey should 
 be undeceived if he thought she had. She 
 should have died, with shame and sorrow, 
 had it not been for knowing that there 
 w^as One above who saw all things and to 
 whom all hearts were open. 
 
 Thus, the flood-tide of change set in 
 upon Denby Rise. Like many another 
 household which had slumbered on, in a 
 happy monotony of peace, Denby Eise 
 was about to experience a series of rapid 
 events which would make it Denby Eise 
 no longer; which would wipe out the 
 Denby Rise of joyous springs, and happy 
 summers, and peaceful autumns, and con- 
 tented winters. 
 
 Some one has said there is no deeper 
 law of nature than that of change. For 
 a time the law may seem to be in abey- 
 ance, as it had for some years at Denby 
 Rise. Years, happy, peaceful years, had 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 passed over that gabled house in the 
 valley, leaving little traces of the flight 
 of time. Extra mosses, it is true, had 
 grown about the trees, and the ivy had 
 climbed nearer the window sills. A few 
 additional grey hairs had appeared in 
 Mr Mountford's whiskers, and Anna had 
 approached nearer unto womanhood. But 
 no change had come upon the peace and 
 happiness of Anna's life, though Mr 
 Mountford's anxiety, concerning her future, 
 had increased with every year. 
 
 Youth traces nought of change. Anna 
 Lee had seen the swallows come and go, 
 until Paul Massey's appearance, without 
 wondering whether she should some day 
 journey from the dear nest with which 
 Providence had provided her near the sea. 
 And now the time had come for the moral 
 law of change to be put into full action. 
 .... Let Anna gather the rose-leaves and 
 cover them up — their undying perfume 
 shall be grateful to her in the days that 
 are coming.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 131 
 
 Who hath not his rose-leaves? Have 
 you not gathered them, dear readers, from 
 the garden of memory ? And do you not 
 hang over them and feel the fragrance of 
 summer which still lingers in the faded, 
 curled-up blossoms ? The perfume which 
 came from them, before the great scene- 
 shifter appeared in your home circle and 
 changed it wholly — do you not inhale it 
 from those gathered leaves ? May we 
 venture a hope now, that Anna Lee will 
 carry the fragrant leaves into the future, 
 and that they will be pleasant to her soul, 
 mingling, with their odours, music of 
 happy days, whispers of the sweets which 
 may come again after the bitters.
 
 132 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WINFORD BARNS RAISES A DEMON. 
 
 The first great step of change had been 
 accomplished. Anna Lee was betrothed 
 to Paul Massey. Letters, earnest and 
 fervent, had passed between Anna and 
 Harry, full on one side of promises of 
 sisterly affection, full on the other of 
 generous forgiveness and manly hopes for 
 Anna's future happiness. Mr Mountford 
 had been to Mary port, and had seen 
 Harry, and Paul and Harry had almost 
 sobbed in each other's arms. 
 
 Harry felt his j)osition keenly, not- 
 withstanding, and it must be confessed 
 that his pride was wounded as well as his 
 heart. Where is the man, however lowly 
 an opinion he may have of his own merits,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 133 
 
 who does not experience some pang of 
 humiliation on being refused by a woman 
 whose love he has striven to win ? 
 
 " Better to have loved and lost. 
 Than never to have loved at all," 
 
 is a beautiful sentiment, and describes a 
 real charm but a melancholy one ; though 
 we may come to bear and delight in the 
 fragrance of gathered rose-leaves, even 
 such as these. Harry Thornhill did feel 
 the blow most acutely; but he could not 
 help confessing that it was not a sudden 
 one ; for he had always feared that fate had 
 not destined him for Anna Lee. We know 
 how deeply the failure of his proposition, 
 on a certain memorable Sunday, had af- 
 fected him, and how eagerly he seized 
 upon the faint gleam of ho|)e which after- 
 wards broke through the clouds. That 
 star rising out of the sea, — how it had 
 deceived him ! 
 
 Harry had underrated his power to 
 suffer. He was not the man to fall under 
 his misfortune. But he was not the man
 
 134 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 to stay in England and let the wound liea^ 
 up. He might see Anna again, and en- 
 dure, ay, and be happy in, her society; 
 but the hopes that he had built up were 
 English hopes, were associated with home 
 joys and social pleasures, and he did not 
 choose to remain amongst their ruins. 
 
 Perhaps it was unwise for Mr Mount- 
 ford to press an invitation that Harry 
 should spend his last day in England at 
 Denby Rise. Perhaps it was not well 
 that Anna should have given her consent 
 to this. Perhaps it was Fate which 
 prompted Paul Massey to discover that 
 The Beacon steamship would sail from 
 Maryport in the night, and that it would 
 be more comfortable for Harry to be put 
 aboard from Denby Rise. Winford Barns 
 was bringing round Paul's new yacht, and 
 if his old friend Harry had forgiven him so 
 fully as he said he had, and would let him 
 put him on board, he would esteem it an 
 everlasting pleasure to have spent with 
 Harry the last few moments of his stay in
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 135 
 
 England. Besides, this might tend to 
 soothe the sorrow of Anna Lee, who was 
 sorely hurt that she should be the cause of 
 Harry leaving the country. It would do 
 more, Mr Mountford thought — it would 
 close the gossip's mouth, prevent rumour's 
 tongue from wagging of the reason of 
 Harry's departure from England. Spend- 
 ing the last day at Denby Rise, and going 
 to the steamer, on board Paul's yacht, 
 would close against rumour all reasons for 
 trumpeting forth the true speculation con- 
 cerning Harry's departure. This was a 
 sop to Harry's pride; and, moreover, he 
 felt that he would like to say good-bye to 
 Anna, that her renewed and personal as- 
 surances of sisterly love would be some 
 comfort to him. And who could say that 
 he had been rejected of Anna Lee, if he 
 spent his last day at Denby Rise, if he 
 took leave of her and her betrothed at his 
 old friend's dear old mansion ? It should 
 be so ; and Paul Massey would meet him 
 there.
 
 136 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^^I should say you're a fool for your 
 pains," said Winford Barns, when Paul 
 called upon him, at his lodgings in Mary- 
 port, after seeing Mr Mountford off for 
 Helswick. 
 
 ^'Why, Winford, why?" Paul in- 
 quired, throwing himself upon a couch. 
 
 '' Why ? why ? Is it fair, is it reason- 
 able, is it sensible to tempt a woman in 
 this way ? " 
 
 ^' Tempt her! What nonsense you 
 talk — what do you mean ? " 
 
 ^^I mean," said Barns, putting his legs 
 upon the mantel-piece and blowing a 
 cloud of tobacco-smoke up the chimney ; 
 " I mean that you deserve to lose her for 
 consenting to it. What will be the result ? 
 She will sympathize with the fellow. She 
 w^ill think of the happy days they spent 
 together before she knew you. She will 
 think how bravely he risked his life to save 
 yours. She will think how she is driving 
 him away to foreign lands, how he will be 
 languishing for her in exile, and ho,w you
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 137 
 
 are the cause of all this ; and if she doesn't 
 hate you, in the end, my name's not Win- 
 ford Barns." 
 
 Paul rose from the couch, and walked 
 about uneasily, as his friend drew this 
 most disagreeable pictm^e. He had been 
 accustomed to ask Winford's advice, and 
 had many times, particularly in money 
 matters, found himself in the wrong by not 
 acting upon it. 
 
 ^^You are so cynical, so mistrustful, 
 Winford," he said, after Barns had finished 
 his sketch ; " besides, you have never loved 
 a woman to know how love begets trust 
 and confidence." 
 
 ^' Confidence, be hanged ! I never trust 
 anybody ; I used to do, but it didn't pay. 
 I tell you sympathy begets what you 
 tender-hearted chaps call love, and that if 
 Harry Thornhill's forlorn state, on that 
 last day, doesn't result in Miss Lee's loving 
 him, and hating 3^ou, I'm no philosopher ; 
 and you know I pique myself on knowing 
 a thing: or two."
 
 138 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Jealousy is so soon aroused and with so 
 little cause, that Paul Massey already felt 
 its insidious approach. He should have 
 shaken off its contaminating touch at once. 
 
 ^^Mind, whatever you say will not in- 
 fluence me, Winford, will make no im- 
 pression; because a man that has never 
 been in love cannot judge of its pleasures, 
 its duties, and its confidences; but as I 
 have nothing else to do, one might just as 
 well talk about love as anything else. 
 Don't you really think Anna Lee loves me 
 too much to be influenced by any visit of 
 poor Harry Thornhill's ? " 
 
 ^'No, I do not! She likes you no 
 doubt. She had seen nobody else but that 
 solemn chap, who didn't know how to woo 
 her. You were a novelty, something new, 
 and you've got a way of making women 
 like you." 
 
 ^' Go on, AVinford; say what you like, 
 I shall not be offended." 
 
 ^^Well, you needn't; for you know 
 how desirous I am that you should have
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 139 
 
 her; because I have been unfortunate, am 
 over-drawn at my banker's, and expect 
 you to come down handsomely when you 
 get the new estates and the big balance left 
 by Miss Lee's Indian parent. Ah, ah ! you 
 see how devilish selfish I am in the affair ; 
 so you may take in good part whatever I 
 say about it — I consider your interest mine, 
 to a great extent. Don't be offended if I 
 treat the subject in a worldly way, because 
 I am a man of the world." 
 
 Paul smiled a smile of pity, and 
 Winford, with his legs still on the mantel- 
 shelf, continued: 
 
 '' A woman is naturally a fickle, incon- 
 stant thing, and as a rule soft-hearted. I 
 grant it's something in her favour, that if a 
 fellow's down on his luck, she does the 
 ministering angel business, and all that 
 sort of thing : and that's what I am afraid 
 of in your case. Miss Lee will never 
 stand Harry Thornhill's leave-taking with- 
 out loving liim, as you call it — loving him 
 for what she will call his sufferings: so
 
 140 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 have a care; put off this good-bye busi- 
 ness — that's my advice." 
 
 *'lt is impossible," said Paul, who, so 
 great was his friend's influence upon him, 
 began to feel that he wished it were not 
 impossible. 
 
 ^'Bah! ImjDOssible. Why, you have 
 only to see your affianced — that's the term, 
 I think ? eh ? — you have only to see her, 
 or write to her, to prevent the thing. Of 
 course she will be anxious to fulfil your 
 every wish." 
 
 '^ No, no ; it would never do. Besides, 
 Harry goes, at her uncle's invitation." 
 
 ^' Why, you are mistrusting your own 
 powers already ! Now, mark me, if you 
 let that friend of yours go spooneying 
 about there, with his broken heart and his 
 coming exile, and his years of love, et 
 cetera, et cetera, et cetera, the chances 
 are that Miss Lee, who is no doubt a 
 ^nerous, soft-hearted creature, will find 
 that after all there is a corner of her heart 
 unoccupied, and once Harry gets admission
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 141 
 
 into that corner he'll push you out neck 
 and shoulders." 
 
 Paul said a hasty word, indicative of 
 his contempt for Winford's selfish philoso- 
 phizing; but continued to walk from one 
 end of the room to the other, in an un- 
 settled state of mind. Truth to tell, Barns 
 had dropped a grain of poison into his soul 
 that was already tainting his love for Anna 
 Lee. 
 
 We can scarcely say he was jealous; 
 but his love for Anna had made him, as 
 we have already shown, a different man, 
 and he had lost his old confidence in his 
 own powers over woman. What if she 
 should love Harry this little that Barns 
 spoke of? What if this little should fruc- 
 tify under the influence of sympathy and 
 pity ? What if his own hold upon Anna's 
 heart only arose out of mere novelty and 
 romance ? She had scarcely seen anybody 
 but Harry and himself. For a long time 
 there was some reason to think she loved 
 Harry. Now that he was going away, she
 
 142 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 might discover that her sisterly love, which 
 she talked about, might grow into something 
 stronger at the last moment : and then ! 
 
 The thoughts which followed were tor- 
 turing, and Paul would have quarrelled 
 with Barns as the cause of his unreason- 
 able discomfort. But Winford knew Paul's 
 passionate nature, and wisely avoided fur- 
 ther irritation, conscious, for many reasons, 
 that it would be impolitic to quarrel with 
 Paul Massey. 
 
 Meanwhile Harry Thornhill prepared 
 for his exile. The local newspapers an- 
 nounced that the able and highly esteemed 
 junior partner of the eminent firm of Wel- 
 ford and Co. was about to quit England to 
 take the management of their extensive 
 trade in the Colonies and Russia. People 
 in Beckford Square shook hands with him, 
 and said how sorry they were. Sundry 
 old men and women, to whom he had been 
 kind at various times, came and blubbered 
 their woes in the porter's room. Wliere
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 143 
 
 would they find the like of Mister Thorn- 
 hill ? A number of merchants, and brokers, 
 and shippers, sent a deputation to the 
 junior partner to invite him to a compli- 
 mentary dinner, at which it was intended 
 to present him with a token of their regard. 
 Keen-eyed men, and bushy-whiskered men, 
 and stout fellows with big watch-chains, 
 and men of money, and indeed all sorts of 
 men, had called at the office to make in- 
 quiries. Was it true that Thornhill was 
 going abroad for two or three years ? 
 Yes ! Very sorry indeed, — great loss to 
 Beckford Square, — great loss to Maryport, 
 — most rising young man, — pity he was 
 going, — but couldn't be helped, — quite sur- 
 prised on hearing of it. 
 
 And much more was said; but Harry 
 kept out of the way as much as possible, 
 and felt like a mere looker-on, one who is 
 not personally interested. It was observed 
 that the prospect of his departure had 
 changed him greatly. He avoided all con- 
 versation about his going, and talked ab-
 
 144 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 stractedly upon matters which concerned 
 him but little. Occasionally he put on a 
 light-hearted air, joked and appeared 
 merry, but it was a solemn kind of merri- 
 ment which was easily seen through, and 
 set down to an effort to cloak the sorrow 
 which he felt at leaving Maryport and his 
 old friends. 
 
 The sugar merchant's daughter, whom 
 we have incidentally mentioned in a pre- 
 vious chapter, heard of Harry's departure 
 with a sigh, . and thought of the evening 
 
 when he had danced with her Happy 
 
 sugar merchant's daughter, who hath not 
 told her liking, and will speedily be con- 
 soled, with ^the first beau who offers his 
 hand for thine and the dowry Vv^hich thy 
 rich father will put into it ! . . . . 
 
 Francis Grey took a walk by the docks 
 (when he heard that Mr Thornhill was to go 
 away so speedily) and looked up amongst 
 the rigging of the vessels, and down again 
 upon the decks, and up again into the rig- 
 ging, seeing neither the one nor the other.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 145 
 
 Ouce or twice, Harry had rummaged 
 over his papers and books, with the pre- 
 tence of deciding what he would take 
 with him. There was one little packet 
 over which he had often lingered. This 
 last time he wept over it. Yes, wept over 
 it. There was nobody to see him. A 
 fool was he, sir ? a booby ? Well, that 
 may be. You are at liberty to enjoy your 
 opinion. Sentimental nonsense, to cry! 
 Very well, have it so. He cried, never- 
 theless ; and the packet only contained a 
 faded ribbon, a glove, a withered rose, 
 two or three little pink notes, and some 
 sea-shells. There was nobody there, we 
 say, when Harry laid these out before 
 him, and sobbed over them, and said: 
 ^^Dear, dear, dear Anna: good-bye! good- 
 bye, Anna." .... The rose leaves again 
 chers amis^ — withered, but fragrant still. 
 
 Harry recalled all his happy days by 
 the sea, filling his heart and soul with 
 them, for this last once, ere he should 
 strive to wipe them out for ever. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Wlien the fire began to smoulder on 
 the hearth, and all was silent in the street 
 outside, Harry dropped his little treasures, 
 one by one, amongst the embers — the 
 faded ribbon, the glove, the withered rose, 
 the pink notes, the sea-shells. By and 
 by, the fire burnt up and seized upon 
 them and made them its prey, crackling 
 and hissing with them, until Harry felt as 
 if his heart was burning. When there 
 were only embers in the grate again, he 
 chose to make himself believe that his 
 heart was crushed, that it was utterly 
 gone, and all his love for Anna with it. 
 
 Now he could look calmly upon the 
 ring, which he had once exchanged with 
 her in sport, and the book of poems which 
 she had given him because he admired 
 them. These he would return to her : it 
 was only proper, he thought, that he 
 should do so. He could do it with the 
 greatest calmness, and make a little speech 
 to her, upon the occasion, about her future 
 happiness. Oh! yes, he could do it; he
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 147 
 
 was master of himself now: it was all 
 over. And when he had put the sea be- 
 tween himself and Denby Rise he would 
 be quite content. He would be alone in 
 the wilderness — alone with his memories, 
 and Solitude should be his mistress.
 
 us 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HARRY THORNHILL^S LAST DAY AT DENBY RISE. 
 
 It was a bright spring morning when 
 Harrv Thornhill arrived at Helswick, on 
 that last journey to Denby Rise. He had 
 reached the place before he was expected, 
 in order that he might walk to Denby 
 along the sands, for which purpose he left 
 his luggage at the Rock Hotel. 
 
 How changed everything appeared to 
 be ! The tide was out, and Harry felt as 
 if old associations had gone with it. The 
 rocks were not the rocks he had known. 
 They looked hard and bleak, and frown- 
 ing. The sands were not so golden as of 
 yore. The mist which hung about the 
 point, where he had rescued Paul Massey, 
 instead of heightening the picturesqueness
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 149 
 
 of the bent coast, looked like mere vulgar 
 fog. The seaweed which fringed the pools 
 that he passed, had lost its many hues. 
 The spring sunshine, the songs of birds, 
 and the fresh perfumed breeze had lost 
 their charms. They excited no new 
 hopes; they only carried the mind back 
 to days, the sweets of which Time had 
 dipped in gall. 
 
 Denby Rise looked gloomy too. The 
 gables made dark shadows, in which the 
 ivy whispered of dead hopes and past 
 joys. The green buds, upon the tall 
 trees, and the snowdrops, which bloomed 
 beneath Anna Lee's window, typified the 
 new life of Paul Massey and his love. 
 For them the spring sunshine must be full 
 of gladdening beams. For them the 
 brook, which made such sad music in 
 Harry's ear, must be joyous indeed. But 
 to-day they would put off their happiness. 
 To-day they would lay by their rosy 
 hopes, and bring forth sad-cheerfulness 
 to comfort Harry Thornhill. To-day no
 
 150 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 glimpse of tlieir new-born bliss should, 
 if possible, touch the heart of the solitary 
 one. On the morrow the sea would have 
 carried him far away on its bosom, and 
 then might Anna Lee lay her head upon 
 Paul Massey's shoulder, and confess her 
 love again. 
 
 Mr Mountford had seen Harry from 
 the library window, and came forth to 
 meet him, with a smile of welcome. He 
 was truly a noble-looking fellow this Mark 
 Mountford. The sun shone upon his white 
 hair and lit up his handsome features as if 
 it delighted to do him honour. But he 
 looked much older than when Harry had 
 seen him, only a few weeks previously. 
 They went in together, and talked of 
 many things; but they never mentioned 
 the one thing that had stabbed them 
 through and through. It was astonish- 
 ing how they covered up the great sorrow, 
 how they avoided it. . 
 
 By and by the master rung the bell 
 to have Harry's arrival announced, and to
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 151 
 
 prevent Joe from bringing out the car- 
 riage in which Paul Massey and Winford 
 Barns were to have met Harry at Hels- 
 wick. 
 
 Paul came into the library, and shook 
 hands, heartily, with Harry, and said how 
 glad he was that the weather was so fine. 
 Barns had brought round the new yacht, 
 and they had christened it Harry, the 
 Preserver J in remembrance of Harry's gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 An old proverb flashed through Mr 
 Mountford's brain — ^^Save a man from 
 drowning, and he marries your mistress." 
 But he dimissed the book-whis]3er in- 
 stantly, and said Paul's new vessel was 
 an excellent sailer. 
 
 Harry said he hoped she would always 
 have smooth seas and fair weather. 
 
 Paul thought he would like to say, 
 ^^ You must think me an ungrateful villain, 
 Harry ; try to forgive me, try not to hate 
 me, I could die for you," and some other 
 extravagant things; but he dared not un-
 
 152 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 cover wliat Harry and Mr Mountford had 
 covered up. 
 
 When Paul went out, as he said, to see 
 after some little matters connected with 
 the yacht, Barns entered to greet Harry; 
 but there was no cordiality between these 
 two. Harry could not forget that Barns 
 had seized the rope, intended for his 
 wounded friend, during the storm; be- 
 sides which Barns's manner and convers- 
 ation did not please him. He could not 
 have told you of any particular thing that 
 Barns had done, — beyond thrusting aside 
 Paul and saving himself, — that displeased 
 him ; and he could not have told you any 
 particular words which had been offensive. 
 But he did not like Barns, and Barns had 
 no great liking for Harry, whom he re- 
 garded as a bit of a fool and a good deal 
 of a spooney. 
 
 When Mr Mountford went out and 
 came back with liis niece. Barns took 
 careful note of the meeting of Harry and 
 Anna ; and soon afterwards went specially
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 153 
 
 to Paul, with what he called the danger 
 signal. Anna had been unable to restrain 
 her tears, and Mountford, the old humbug 
 — he was sure Mountford was trying it 
 on — motioned to Barns to leave the room 
 with him. Did he do so? Of course he 
 did. Miss Lee and Harry were together 
 for nearly half an hour. Well ? Barns 
 had made some excuse to get rid of 
 Mountford, and had seen the two through 
 the window. Spying, sneaking, peeping! 
 No, he hadn't; and if Paul got into such 
 confounded rages with him he would hook 
 it altogether. 
 
 Had Paul possessed as much true 
 nobleness of nature as Harry Thornhill, 
 he would have stopped Barns, at this 
 juncture of his report, with scorn. Paul 
 had flared up, it is true, had called Barns 
 a sneak, and had vowed he would hear no 
 more. But when Barns said, ^^ Very well, 
 very well," and was walking away, Paul 
 begged him to finish what he had to tell. 
 
 Well, then, in passing the window,
 
 154 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 lie saw Anna sitting with her hand in 
 Harry's. Harry was talking very earn- 
 estly, begging her, no doubt, to recon- 
 sider, telling her it was not too late, and 
 all that sort of thing. Well, he would 
 make no ex parte statement. He made an 
 excuse to glide quietly into the room for a 
 book. Anna and Harry were too much 
 occupied to notice him, so he passed be- 
 hind them into the adjoining room ; as he 
 did so Harry put a ring upon Anna's 
 finger, and he could distinctly hear him 
 say ^^ J knew you would^ Annay He be- 
 lieved it was the ring which Harry usually 
 wore; but Paul would see for himself at 
 dinner. 
 
 Upon this sandy foundation Paul Mas- 
 sey soon built up the structure which 
 Winford Barns had designed. It grew up 
 so rapidly that its proportions seemed to 
 reach the sky and fill the universe. / Jcnew 
 you would, Anna. Would what? Why, 
 love him, at last ! Knew she would never 
 consent to his leaving England on her
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 155 
 
 account. Knew she would think of their 
 early days, of his constant love ; knew 
 she would pity him, knew she would heal 
 his broken heart. Barns threw in his 
 poisoned hints, and Paul took them eager- 
 ly, and raged and stormed and clenched 
 his fists. 
 
 Winford was a calm spectator, and 
 anxious that Paul should not lose Anna Lee. 
 
 Paul said Barns, no doubt, was right. 
 Love was blind of course. But no, he 
 could not believe it, he would not, he 
 would see for himself. He would ask 
 Anna; no, that would be unjust. If he 
 thought she did relent, he would — No! 
 let Harry have her; he deserved her, 
 he had saved his life. 
 
 Thus were Paul's thoughts tossed like 
 a shuttlecock, with passion and jealousy 
 for the battledores. 
 
 It was by no means a happy dinner. 
 Mr Mountford said little, and Anna said 
 less. Barns talked a good deal, and 
 Harry and Paul partook freely of wine.
 
 156 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 The ring was upon Anna's finger, — the 
 ring which Harry liad been in the habit of 
 wearing. What fools the green-eyed mon- 
 ster makes of its victims ! What trifles 
 delude and deceive them. Anna's calm- 
 ness seemed '' confirmation strong " of the 
 truth of Paul's wild imaginings. Her sad- 
 ness, and her sisterly attentions to Harry, 
 seemed to him the earliest approaches to a 
 confession of altered affection. 
 
 Fool! selfish fool! How little he knew 
 Anna Lee's nature. How little he under- 
 stood woman's love. 
 
 Paul's jealousy burnt fiercer because he 
 knew that Harry was his superior, because 
 he knew that Harry deserved to have his 
 love returned: and Barns fed the flames, 
 because he disliked Harry, and feared that 
 what seemed to be right would triumph, 
 and because he could not imagine any- 
 body giving up a woman so tamely as he 
 thought Harry was giving up Anna. 
 
 There was something beneath Paul's 
 calmness Barns thought ; but Barns, with
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 157 
 
 V 
 
 all his worldly wisdom, was wrong, and 
 Paul Massey, with all his hot romantic 
 love, was most unjust to his mistress. 
 True, he was in the hands of a cruel 
 monster ; for jealousy, saith the preacher, 
 is '^ cruel as the grave ; the coals thereof 
 are coals of fire, which hath a most vehe- 
 ment flame." 
 
 Night came at last. Harry had brave- 
 ly fulfilled his part. He had said to Anna 
 all he had intended to say. In the morn- 
 ing he had made his little speech without 
 breaking down. Anna had received back 
 again the ring, which Harry, months ago, 
 had removed, in sport, from her finger. 
 She had vowed to wear it now for his 
 sake, and to cherish for him a sister's 
 love. Harry knew she would, he said, — 
 he was sure she would ; but we must 
 leave something to the imagination of our 
 readers, so we pass over all this rapidly. 
 Fill up the shading of our sketch yourself, 
 dear friends. You may easily imagine
 
 158 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 how all the servants came out to wish Mr 
 Thomhill good-bye, and how Anna Lee 
 afterwards sobbed in her uncle's arms, and 
 prayed for Harry's safety. 
 
 The stars shone down upon Harry, 
 and Paul, and Barns, as they were 
 whirled along from Denby Rise to the 
 cracking of Joe Wittle's whip. . Harry 
 fixed his eye upon one which he thought 
 was the brightest, above Denby Rise, and 
 watched it, with a strange sense of loneli- 
 ness that needed all his strength to combat 
 and overcome. But other stars came into 
 view as he gazed, thousands, millions of 
 them, until his one bright star was lost 
 amongst the sparkling worlds. He took 
 its disappearance as a token : it was better 
 now that he should forget Anna ; it was 
 better that there should be no particular 
 star to point out where Denby Rise peered 
 forth amongst the trees. 
 
 The carriage wheels rumbled over the 
 stones, and the lamps made illuminated
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 159 
 
 ghosts on the highway, through which 
 passed stray wayfarers who said good- 
 night to the driver. 
 
 Paul Massey had made up his mind to 
 question Harry, when they were on board 
 the yacht, and to satisfy himself, if possi- 
 ble, without having to probe Anna's heart, 
 for the love which jealousy persuaded him 
 was lurking there for Harry Thornhill. 
 
 Arrived at Helswick a boat soon 
 carried them to Paul's yacht, which was 
 lying out peacefully, beneath the stars, 
 at no great distance from the caverns in 
 Denby Cove. About a mile beyond, the 
 steamer would pass down channel at mid- 
 night, and would signal and wait for the 
 passenger whom the captain considered 
 it an honour and a pleasure to serve. 
 Extra grog was allowed to the small 
 crew, and Harry preferred that lie and 
 his two friends should smoke their cigars 
 on deck, the night being particularly 
 mild. 
 
 In a short time, Paul, with a bar-
 
 160 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 barous selfishness, turned the conversation 
 into the channel which had been formed 
 by his jealous fears. His blindness made 
 the answers appear unsatisfactory. 
 
 When Harry began to divine the ob- 
 ject of his friend's interrogations, his 
 heart revolted at Paul's unworthy sus- 
 picions. And when Paul asked him what 
 he meant by saying to Anna Lee / hneiv 
 you wouldj when he placed his ring upon 
 her finger, Harry remembered that some 
 person had passed through the room 
 during his conversation with Anna; and 
 the thought that Paul had either been 
 watching, or had set a spy upon him, 
 raised the sleeping lion within him. He 
 replied to Paul, with scorn, and said he 
 was unworthy of Anna Lee. 
 
 Paul, whose hot-headed rashness had 
 been stimulated by wine, added threats 
 to his demands. 
 
 Winford Barns said prevarication was 
 a sign of guilt. 
 
 Harry's sense of the wrong and in-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 161 
 
 justice which had been done to Anna Lee 
 could brook this ingratitude no longer; 
 and he taunted Paul, in terms of wither- 
 ing contempt, with meanness. 
 
 Hot words followed each other in 
 rapid succession, half-drowned by the loud 
 choruses which the crew were singing 
 
 below, over their cups At length 
 
 Paul said he would drag the secret from 
 
 Harry, if it choked him Suddenly 
 
 the two sprang upon each other 
 
 There was a brief scufEe, and in another 
 instant Harry Thornhill disappeared 
 
 '^ Ahoy ! ahoy ! a boat, a boat ! Mr 
 Thornhill overboard," exclaimed Winford 
 Barns. 
 
 ^^To the rescue!" shouted Paul, 
 rising to his feet and rushing to the side, 
 but prevented from leaping after his 
 victim by the strong arm of Winford 
 Barns. 
 
 '' Loose your hold, or 'by Heaven you 
 shall repent it," gasped Paul between his 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 teeth; but Winford only smiled, and 
 gripped his companion the tighter. 
 
 ^^ Quick! quick, lads, lower the boat, 
 ere this passionate fellow drowns himself 
 to save his friend." 
 
 This sudden demand upon their ener- 
 gies seemed to sober tlie yacht's crew, 
 and a boat with the four men in it 
 speedily dropped upon the sullen tide. 
 
 ^^ Don't be a fool, Paul, for God's 
 sake ! " said Winford, when the men were 
 shouting and rowing and searching the 
 water. 
 
 ^' Talk not of God — we should speak 
 in hell's name," said Paul, glaring over 
 the vessel's side. 
 
 ^^ If you tvill compromise yourself, do," 
 said Winford with a curse ; ^ ^ if you tvill 
 proclaim yourself a murderer, lose your 
 fair bride, and die on a scaffold, do it 
 and be ." 
 
 '^ Forbid it. Heaven I " exclaimed Paul, 
 in agony at the thought of such a doom. 
 
 ^'Forbid it, Paul Massey; forbid it,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 163 
 
 Winford Barns," said his companion; ^^for 
 they only have the power." 
 
 '^Oh, God! that I had been the 
 weaker. Why did you suffer this ? Why, 
 when you saw my hot blood was up — 
 why did you not step between us ? " 
 
 " They who in quarrels interpose, 
 Will often wipe a bloody nose," 
 
 said Winford coolly; ^^ mayhap I might 
 have gone overboard." 
 
 '^ Heaven forgive me ! " groaned Paul, 
 " they are unsuccessful." 
 
 The moon looked out from behind a 
 cloud and made a long track across the 
 water, and in its fitful radiance the boat 
 glided behind the stern of the yacht. It 
 was quite clear that the mission of mercy 
 was a fruitless one. 
 
 Paul hailed the boat, with a sinking 
 heart, and received the sad reply that 
 ^^the poor gentleman must ha' sunk like 
 lead." Paul heard the motion of their 
 oars and the water rippling against the
 
 164 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 vessel; he saw the gleam of pale gold 
 disappear from the sea ; he saw the moon 
 hide her face; he heard the voices of his 
 crew ; he felt the hand of Winford Barns 
 upon his shoulder; but, above* all, he 
 thought he heard and saw himself pro- 
 nounced a murderer. The future seemed 
 blotted out, and so did the past — all time 
 was swallowed up with one fearful event : 
 Paul Massey had killed his friend, his 
 companion. 
 
 ^^ Come, come," whispered Winford, 
 ^^'you are safe; besides, even were it not 
 so, you did not mean to kill him." 
 
 ^' I did, I did — in that moment I could 
 have killed him twenty times, and you 
 knew it," said Paul, furiously seizing Win- 
 ford with a desperate grasp. 
 
 '^ There, there, don't be a fool — re- 
 member I am your friend ; I alone know 
 what has occurred — remember that there 
 is Anna Lee to live for." 
 
 A cold sickly chill ran through Paul's 
 every vein and crowded into his heart.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 165 
 
 ^^ Come, come," said Winford once 
 more, ^^be a man." 
 
 ^^Be a man! Never again — never 
 again." 
 
 ^^ Stuff. The idea of saying you meant 
 to kill him." 
 
 '^ I don't know what I say." 
 
 Paul leaned against the mast, with his 
 head in his hands, and rocked himself to 
 and fro. 
 
 ^^Now, then, don't give way like that," 
 said Barns, taking him by the arm, and 
 thinking exultingly to himself '^ he's in 
 my power now I have need of him." 
 
 '' Oh, Winford, I shall go mad!" Paul 
 exclaimed, tearing himself from his grasp, 
 and rushing to the side of the vessel. 
 
 Barns was upon him in a moment, and 
 he held him Avith a grip of iron. 
 
 ^^ Fool !" he exclaimed. ^^ Coward ! 
 Have you no thought for Anna Lee ? 
 where' s all the love you talk of?" 
 
 Barns knew how to play upon Paul 
 Massey. He could govern every stop,
 
 166 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 sound him from the lowest note to the top 
 of his compass. 
 
 ^^ Yes," he said, '' I did not intend to 
 kill him. No, no, I would have saved 
 him." 
 
 '^ Come, rouse up, you are like a fellow 
 that's drunk — come ; " and Winford shook 
 Paul, who staggered, and would have fallen 
 but for Winford' s assistance. 
 
 ^^Eemember," he said, ^'remember — 
 you might be arrested for murder''^ (the last 
 word, hissed into Paul's ear^ did more to 
 rouse him than anything else); '' but I am 
 your friend, Paul; cheer up, — PU never 
 desert you." 
 
 Paul felt that there was a change in 
 Winford's manner towards him, almost a 
 threat in the tone of his voice. 
 
 ^^ You'll not betray me, "Winford," he 
 said faintly, the thought of conviction, in 
 the sight of Anna Lee, completing the 
 load of fear and dread and horror which 
 pressed upon him. 
 
 '^ Never! Come, come; a lurch of
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 1G7 
 
 the vessel — fell overboard by accident — 
 a little too much wine — struck his head 
 against the boat as he fell — the crew saw 
 me hold you when you wished bravely 
 to risk your own life. Come, come, Paul, 
 cheer up, man ! There is only one fellow 
 less in the world, and you can do without 
 him, for he was your rival. Come, come/' 
 and Winford led Paul to the side where 
 the men were clambering aboard. 
 
 And now grey streaks in the east 
 gave token of the advent of another day. 
 To Paul Massey light seemed to come 
 with marvellous rapidity, and to glare 
 upon him, to taunt him with his crime, 
 to light up the scene of his wickedness 
 for a vengeful purpose. Morning was 
 breaking, though Harry Thornhill was 
 no more; the morning had come, ay 
 and the steamer too, both asking for the 
 friend whom Paul Massey should have 
 given up to them, safe and living as he 
 was in the flesh when he stepped on board 
 Paul's ill-starred ship.
 
 168 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 A long black streak, like a mourning 
 plume, hung from the funnel of the dis- 
 tant steamer, growing bigger and bigger 
 as it neared the point of rendezvous. 
 
 The steamer's boat was lowered; the 
 yacht's boat met it half-way with the 
 sad message; then the two boats parted, 
 and the steamer continued its long 
 journey. 
 
 The sun shone out brightly, glimmer- 
 ing on the white sails of ships making 
 their way up and down the channel. 
 Helswick, with its one tall spire pointing 
 heaven-ward, presented its varied pro- 
 jections to the morning beam, and the 
 breakers could be seen, white and spark- 
 ling, on the black rocks near Denby Rise. 
 It was a bright and cheery picture, but 
 sad and wearisome and torturing to Paul 
 Massey, who could only think about a 
 pale ghostly form, going down, down, 
 into the depths of the sea, with the mark 
 of his murderous fingers upon it. He 
 could see it drifting, drifting, helplessly,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 169 
 
 with its eyes glaring upwards, appeal- 
 ingly, tenderly, rebukingly. No sunshine 
 could gild that cold dead face ; no breeze 
 of morn or evening lift that dank hair, 
 which clung about the pale damp brow; 
 no haven give rest to that wandering 
 corpse, tossed about by varying currents, 
 or starting up to frighten poor fishermen, 
 until the waters gave up their ghastly 
 burden, and wondering landsmen, on some 
 distant coast perchance, buried the un- 
 known, unrecognized human waif of the 
 mysterious sea. 
 
 Paul Massey's imagination thus pic- 
 tured the poor corpse through all its 
 possible chances; whilst its glazed eyes 
 seemed to be always fixed upon him and 
 their rebuke was: ^^ When you were in 
 peril, on this same sea, I risked life and 
 all its brightest hopes to save you — ijoii^ 
 Paul Massey ! "
 
 170 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 MORE SHADOWS. 
 
 The message of death sped rapidly 
 along the coast, and sent groups of peo- 
 ple down upon the beach, looking wist- 
 fully at the sea, and wondering whether 
 the waters would give up the lonely body. 
 In expectation of reward sundry boat- 
 men launched their tiny vessels, and kept 
 a sharp look-out when the tide came 
 rolling in. 
 
 From morning till night, Anna Lee 
 sat with swollen eyes, looking out upon 
 the sea. 
 
 Mr Mountford, who had been unwell 
 during several days, went to his bed that 
 night, never to leave it. 
 
 Winford Barns wrinkled his brows,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 171 
 
 smoked the strongest cavendisli, and 
 drank brandy, in the cabin of the yacht. 
 
 Paul Massey, pale as a ghost, wan- 
 dered about the great house, struggling 
 with this horrible secret, and wishing that 
 he were at the bottom of ocean's deepest 
 depths. It was in vain that he made 
 an effort to soothe and comfort Anna 
 Lee. Her very presence was a reproach 
 to him, and his touch was pollution. 
 
 Anna looked iip into his face, through 
 her tears, and leaned upon his shoulder, 
 and pitied her dear Paul. He must not 
 give way ! How pale he looked ! It 
 seemed very hard ; but it was God's will, 
 and they must bend before it ! 
 
 Mr Mountford came to the grief- 
 stricken pair, and joined his consoling 
 words to Anna's. Now and then, how- 
 ever, he could not keep back bitter re- 
 flections in his sorrow. Why did not 
 Paul leap after his friend and save him ? 
 Happiness, he said, had fled from Denby 
 Eise ever since Paul Massey had entered
 
 172 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 its portals. But Mr Mountford followed 
 up his hasty words with ample apologies. 
 His sorrow had overcome him : he was 
 not well, and they must forgive him. 
 
 Mr Mountford did not know that his 
 reproaches were some little relief to the 
 conscience-troubled Paul. Anna Lee's 
 tender words cut him to the quick. If 
 she had cursed him, if her uncle had de- 
 nounced him as a murderer, he felt that 
 it would be happiness compared with his 
 present guilty misery. 
 
 Once in his frenzy he glared upon 
 his host, and had nearly exclaimed : "I 
 killed your friend, sir; I, Paul Massey, 
 am a murderer." But the soft tearful 
 eyes of Anna Lee would not let him ; 
 and burying his pale face in his hands, 
 he prayed to die. 
 
 The spring sunshine went peering 
 about the place, trying to penetrate the 
 gloom which the drawn blinds made in 
 the gabled house. It flashed across the 
 bay, and brooded upon the heaving
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 173 
 
 waters, as if to question them. But the 
 sea ebbed and flowed, was white and 
 green, toyed with the shells, tapped the 
 fishing boats, played with the weeds, 
 went in and out the caverns, as it had 
 done a thousand times before: it put on 
 no mourning for Harry ThornhiU. The 
 steamers went up and down the channel ; 
 white sails glimmered in the sunshine; 
 the sea-gulls dipped their breasts in the 
 waters ; the clouds made shadows upon 
 the great mirror, and the waves made 
 music with the pebbles, just as they had 
 done on the previous day. Anna Lee 
 might imagine the music an oceanic re- 
 quiem, and pictm-e the waves rocking 
 Harry Thornhill in everlasting repose ; 
 but there was no change in the sea — the 
 unchangeable, unimpressible, mysterious 
 ocean, big with mighty secrets, rich with 
 the spoils of centuries, treacherous as 
 hell, smiling as it kills, singing whilst 
 its victims cry in vain for help, play- 
 ing with shells on a sandy beach, and
 
 174 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 smotliering strong men and helpless women 
 in its cold bosom. To Paul Massey the 
 waves seemed to be uttering a continual 
 taunt; but what cared the ocean for 
 Harry Thornhill, when its coral caves 
 and weed-bedecked halls contained mil- 
 lions of pale guests as deeply mourned 
 as he ? 
 
 Stray sounds of the Helswick passing 
 bell wandered to Denby Eise, in the track 
 of the chimes which went in at the win- 
 dows on a certain memorable Sunday : and 
 Mark Mountford put his hand on his heart 
 and felt satisfied that ere long the rope 
 would be pulled again. Oh, it was a sad, 
 sad day for Denby Rise ! And the news 
 of Harry's death cast a gloom over Mary- 
 port too. 
 
 Beckford Square pulled down its blinds, 
 its many-hued blinds, its brown and gray 
 and white and green and yellow blinds. 
 The bell of the old church close by, sob- 
 bed all day long, and flags drooped half- 
 mast high from the shipping that peered
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 175 
 
 over the house-tops and looked into the 
 Square. Francis Grrey felt the pangs of his 
 first great grief. 
 
 It has been said, and supported by 
 much evidence, that ^^ the first symptom of 
 approaching death, with some, is the strong 
 presentiment that they are about to die." 
 It is recorded of Fletcher that he ordered 
 his tomb to be prepared, and that the 
 grave was not dug a day too early. 
 Mozart composed his Requiem under the 
 belief, which was soon verified, that ^' it 
 was for himself he was composing the 
 death chant." The morning before lie 
 died, Wolsey asked Cavendish the hour, 
 and when the reply, ^'Past eight," was 
 given, he said : ' ^ Eight of the clock ! that 
 cannot be — eight of the clock, nay, nay, it 
 cannot be, for by eight of the clock you 
 shall lose your master." The prediction 
 was correct so far as the hour was con- 
 cerned: Wolsey died at eight o'clock the 
 next morning. John Hunter, who fore-
 
 17G BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 told his own death, explained the mys- 
 tery: ''We sometimes feel within our- 
 selves that we shall not live ; for the living 
 powers become weak, and the nerves com- 
 municate the intelHgence to the brain." 
 
 It was something in the spirit of these 
 men of the past that Mr Mountford felt 
 called upon to make known to his house- 
 hold that his days were drawing to a close. 
 Sorrow having once entered the house, was 
 in no hurry to leave it. Her shadow was 
 upon Denby Eise, and the spring sunshine 
 could not drive it away. The blinds were 
 drawn up again. But nothing would dis- 
 miss the sombre visitor who sat upon the 
 hearth and filled the house with gloom. 
 
 Mark Mountford, with his head lying 
 back upon the pillows, and his eyes fixed 
 upon Anna Lee, reminded her of his con- 
 versations, long ago, in which he had fore- 
 shadowed the day when he would have 
 passed away. He spoke cheerfully of the 
 approach of the time that was coming, and 
 said he should die happily, because he
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 177 
 
 would leave her with a protector. That 
 protector was not to be Harry Thornhill, 
 but Paul Massey. Harry's removal was a 
 just punishment for his own attempted 
 interference with the decrees of God. He 
 accepted it, with all humility, and was con- 
 tent to leave Anna with one who loved her 
 with equal fondness. But before the day, 
 which was not far distant, came, he would 
 wish the marriage to be solemnized. 
 
 To Paul Massey the old man spoke in 
 a similar strain, and Paul bowed his head, 
 as though he stood before the Judge who 
 would weigh him in the balance. If the 
 devotion of a lifetime to Anna Lee, if 
 prayer and penance, if years of penitence, 
 could wash away his crime, Paul felt that 
 he could wipe it out. Though he had 
 roused the slumbering lion in Harry's na- 
 ture, Harry was the aggressor in the 
 struggle on board the yacht. Oh, that he 
 had borne the blow calmly ! He had de- 
 served a hundred blows. To doubt Anna, 
 and to embitter the last parting of Harry, 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 with jealous taunts, were worthy of the 
 severest chastisement. But to feel that 
 the brand of Cain was upon him, was to 
 suffer a burning sense of misery and 
 shame and degradation that almost 
 weighed him down. He feared to remain 
 with Mr Mountford alone. It seemed as 
 if an unseen eye was upon him, and the 
 nearer the invalid drew towards the 
 solution of that great mystery of the 
 future which we shall all one day under- 
 stand, the closer did Paul feel himself to 
 the accusing gaze of the unseen witness. 
 
 Days, miserable days, passed away, 
 and Mr Mountford grew weaker. One 
 evening after interviews with Paul and his 
 niece, preparations were made for a mar- 
 riage ceremony. He could not die hap- 
 pily without leaving Anna Lee a sworn 
 Protector. It might be wrong for him to 
 seem to interfere again with the decrees of 
 Providence, but he could not help feeling 
 that he should be only fulfilling his duty,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 179 
 
 and at the same time he should be enjoy- 
 ing a last great pleasure in witnessing a 
 union that now appeared to be fraught with 
 happiness to his dear Anna. To give her 
 away to the man whom she had chosen, 
 seemed to be all that remained for him to 
 accomplish. 
 
 Paul Massey had heard all this, and 
 had permitted the arrangements for the 
 marriage to go on, but with a secret fear 
 that they could never be carried out. It 
 would be impossible, he thought, for him 
 to allow such a diabolical business to pro- 
 ceed. Marry Anna Lee to a murderer! 
 Better exposure, better death ! He would 
 tell all and give himself up to justice, or 
 bury himself beneath the waters that had 
 swallowed up his friend. 
 
 Winford Barns found Paul in this state 
 of mind a short time before the day fixed 
 for the marriage. It did not suit Win- 
 ford's plans that Paul should continue in 
 it. To say nothing of the absurdity of 
 standing on a gallows to be gazed at by a
 
 180 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 sweating crowd of the scum of creation, 
 Paul's idea of confession was, he said, a 
 cruel one — cruel to Anna Lee, cruel to her 
 uncle — and would bring disgrace upon the 
 name of Massey that nothing could wipe 
 out. Mark Mountford was on his death- 
 bed. Would Paul leave Anna Lee alone 
 in the world, to be intrigued for by hosts 
 of adventurers ? Would he leave her to 
 fight the battle of life alone ? Would he 
 leave her to break her heart over the loss 
 of the man she loved? Oh, it was mon- 
 strous ! Por his own part he did not set 
 up as a saint, or a hero, but he would 
 endure a few torments before he would act 
 such a coward's part, were he in Paul's 
 position. 
 
 The case was well put, and the deci- 
 sion was in favour of Winford's arguments. 
 In the end Paul registered a vow that the 
 remainder of his life should, so far as he 
 had power to act, be one of devotion to 
 Anna Lee. The ddarest wish of Harry 
 Thornhill's heart was her happiness ; and
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 181 
 
 though he could not hope to erase the 
 great blot which had sullied his whole 
 career, he would protect and love Anna 
 Lee, and so regulate his life that no other 
 crime should be added to the one which 
 had shut heaven against him. It might or 
 it might not be true that he had intended 
 to kill his friend ; it was true that but for 
 Winford Barns he would have risked his 
 own life to save him. But no extenuating 
 circumstance could blot out what was re- 
 corded. 
 
 Barns laughed at the higher principles 
 involved in Paul's great resolve ; but said 
 it was the right thing to do to stick to 
 Anna Lee. As for Paul's wishing that he 
 had leaped into the sea after his friend, 
 that would have been sheer madness, and 
 could only have ended in Anna losing two 
 lovers instead of one ; the current was too 
 strong for any swimmer, to say nothing of 
 a heavy ground swell. If he had per- 
 mitted Paul to leap over, he should have 
 considered himself accessory to his death.
 
 182 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Anna Lee had placed her hand in her 
 uncle's and acquiesced in all he wished. 
 Tlie evening shadows had fallen upon 
 them through an oriel window, as they sat 
 looking out upon the valley and listening 
 to the music of the brook as it went on to 
 join the sea. Mr Mountford had rallied 
 considerably, and there seemed reason to 
 hope that his own gloomy predictions 
 might not be fulfilled. It made Anna 
 more cheerful to think that, at least, part 
 of the double blow which threatened them 
 might be warded off. Her uncle had 
 chatted with her about the future, and he 
 bad made her heart glad with praises of 
 Paul Massey. The old man had stroked 
 her fair hair, with his white hand, and 
 been garrulous about their pleasant ram- 
 bles. During his talk many a golden pre- 
 cept and beautiful thought had fallen from 
 his lips, and many a studied word on the 
 duty of resignation to the will of God ; 
 for Mark Mountford had laid to heart the 
 lesson of the brook, and knew how close
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 183 
 
 at hand was the great sea of eternity, to- 
 wards which he was journeying. 
 
 Why need we dwell longer upon this 
 part of our story ? why make several 
 chapters of what may be told in one ? 
 Did not the marriage of Paul Massey and 
 Anna Lee, followed the next day by the 
 death of Mark Mountford, Esq., form the 
 subject of conversation along the coast for 
 many months ? Do not the people there- 
 abouts point out to strangers the house in 
 the valley ? Has not many a tourist said 
 to fellow-travellers: '^If that story were 
 put into a book one would be apt to say it 
 was unnatural ? " You knew nothing 
 about it, you may say. Perhaps you 
 think we have invented the whole affair ? 
 Perhaps you think there is no house in 
 the valley ? Perhaps you think we have 
 sat by the sea and imagined all we have 
 narrated ? 
 
 Ah, you should have stood, with us, 
 a spectator of that marriage in the fine old 
 drawing-room ! You should have seen the
 
 184 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 sun-light flooding in upon Mark Mountford 
 in his high-backed chair ; upon Anna Lee, 
 with her soft grey eyes full of tears ; upon 
 Paul Massey, pale and careworn, but 
 handsome still ; upon Mrs Grey, buxom 
 and rosy despite her troubles ; upon Joe 
 Wittle, with his hands in his big waistcoat- 
 pockets; upon the well-dressed group of 
 servants, with an imperious fellow, in 
 plush, towering above the rest and looking 
 down with a smile of pity upon Joe 
 Wittle; upon the parson in his white 
 gown ; upon Winford Barns standing 
 aloof, as though he pulled the strings of 
 the whole affair. 
 
 You should have stood by Mark 
 Mountford's bed, four-and-twenty hours 
 after the marriage ceremony, as he lay 
 with his hand in Mrs Massey's. You 
 should have seen how gentle death will 
 sometimes be with a good man ! You 
 should have heard the true-hearted old 
 man say : '' Paul, you will be kind to her, 
 and protect her ? " You should have seen
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 185 
 
 Paul bow down his head, and have heard 
 him, whilst choking with emotion, say 
 ^^ Always, always." You should have 
 seen those silent tearful groups of domes- 
 tics outside the room. You should have 
 seen that form which, at length, lay 
 silently on the white bed, with Anna 
 praying by its side. You should have 
 heard the faint whispers of the solemn peal 
 which the silver bells sent to condole with 
 the mourners at Denby Eise. You should 
 have wandered through the great house, 
 and noted the soft tread of its inmates, as 
 though they feared to wake one that slept. 
 You should have walked into the library, 
 and noted the vacant chair where the 
 master had sat with his books. You 
 should have seen how solemn and sad the 
 familiar volumes looked, on their tall 
 shelves, waiting the touch of the hand that 
 would turn their leaves no more. You 
 should have seen Joe Wittle sitting on that 
 old bucket in the stable with his head in 
 his hands, bemoaning his master to Hark-
 
 186 BITTER SWEETS, n 
 
 away, and you should have noted how the 
 horse, as if it understood that eToe was in 
 trouble, rubbed its nose on the familiar 
 fur helmet. 
 
 Then you would not have doubted our 
 story. Then you would not have said we 
 fancied it, or that the sea whispered it to 
 us, or that Denby Ei^e was not in the 
 valley near Helswick. 
 
 You can hear the silver bells any Sun- 
 day morning. When you do hear them, 
 rising above the murmur of the sea, think 
 what changes they have rung upon the 
 ears of Anna Lee, and Paul Massey, and 
 Mrs Grey, and Joe Wittle. Commune 
 with the chimes, thoughtfully, and they 
 will tell you the story all over again. 
 Tune your fancy to their sweet tones, and 
 they will become merry and sad as you 
 list. They* will travel drowsily, yet hap- 
 pily, across yon bend of the coast, climb 
 the rocks and whisper in at the windows 
 of Denby Eise, as they did on a certain
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 187 
 
 memorable Sunday. They will mingle 
 their voices with that of the sea, and tell 
 you about a fair girl sitting at her cham- 
 ber window. They will tell you of the 
 wreck that followed ; whilst the sea washes 
 at your feet, and smiles at you as if it 
 hugged itself on its greater knowledge 
 than the chimes. The bells will not heed 
 the egotism of the waters, but will go on 
 chattering to you, singing, or whispering 
 as you will; until at length they become 
 sad and plaintive and piteous, jangling out 
 of tune, and wailing and touching your 
 heart-strings with their dolorous music, 
 and carrying your thoughts to the church- 
 yard, where a marble slab rests amongst 
 the grass, over the mortal remains of Mark 
 Mountford. 
 
 Fickle bells! Tender bells, babbling 
 bells ! Are you really the same that clash 
 forth merry notes on the wedding morn, 
 and make painful peals, when graves are 
 opened beneath the shadow of your mys-
 
 188 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 terious home in the church tower ? If so, 
 are ye governed by spirits as various as 
 your varying notes ? Are ye inhabited by 
 genii that control your changing voices? 
 Do angelic throngs people your brazen 
 domes, when Sunday comes, to make your 
 tones prayerful and religious, to tune your 
 voices to the organ's pealing and the 
 choral chant ? Do merry sprites whirl and 
 twirl and gambol through your big stone 
 room, and forge those tinkling, ringing, 
 sparkling, trilling, clanging notes that 
 greet the bride as she steps out from the 
 grey old porch upon roses flung by village 
 children? Do the mystic messengers of 
 mighty magicians give meaning to your 
 voices, when boys hear you say strange 
 things such as Dick Whittington heard? 
 Do tricksy sprites govern ye when ye tell 
 a man whatever he wishes you should say, 
 when you repeat his own thoughts and 
 make him take your words for omens? 
 Do spiteful, vengeful, demonaic fays in- 
 fluence you when you tempt men to direful
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 189 
 
 deeds, with tales of blood at midnight? 
 Do the good angels come back to you 
 when you mourn for the dead, when you 
 preach with such solemn beauty the great 
 sermon of mortality ?
 
 190 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE GEEYS. 
 
 We take up the thread of our story- 
 after an interval of four years. 
 
 On the death of Mr Mountford, Mrs 
 Grey, to whom the good old gentleman had 
 bequeathed £1000, went to Maryport to 
 live with her two sons, Hichard having 
 been taken into the counting-house of 
 Welford and Co., as a junior clerk. 
 
 Francis Grey had received rapid pro- 
 motion. Indeed, he filled up the vacancy, 
 left by the junior partner, so successfully 
 that the three partners had talked together 
 about holding out to him the prospect of a 
 share in the business, at some future day. 
 
 Frank was therefore enabled, with his 
 mother's assistance, to provide a very com-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 191 
 
 fortable home for the family. After making 
 himself acquainted with the interiors of 
 nearly every house in the western suburb 
 of Maryport where '' To Let" appeared in 
 the windows, he had decided upon Tris- 
 tram Lodge, Purdown. The Maryport 
 people take special delight in giving their 
 houses high-sounding titles. They discard 
 numbers altogether. Long rows of resi- 
 dences, which a stranger would expect to 
 find numbered, have distinct names and 
 titles. It was in a row that Frank had 
 picked out the lodge aforesaid. First there 
 was Hampton House ; next came Florence 
 Court ; followed by Gordon Villa, which 
 was cheek by jowl with Dot Cottage, and 
 contiguous to Tristram Lodge. 
 
 It was a pleasant row enough. Each 
 house, or cottage, or lodge, or villa, had a 
 pretty little patch of garden, walled in and 
 separated from the neighbouring gardens, 
 on either hand. At the bottom of each 
 garden was a high wall, in the centre of 
 which was a door, and in the centre of the
 
 192 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 door a wicket, through which curious 
 people could peep and sec the centre door 
 of the house. 
 
 Purdown was on the side of a sloping 
 hill, overlooking the city, and liigh enough 
 to be tolerably free from the smoke which 
 hung, in a cloud, over the house-tops and 
 chimneys and churches, that appeared on 
 all hands as far as you could see, unless you 
 were very long-sighted, and could catch a 
 glimpse of the fields, upon which the clouds 
 rested, in the far-off distance. 
 
 A vine climbed up the front of the 
 house and hung about the ledge of the 
 little drawing-room window, on the second 
 storey. For Frank tvould have a drawing- 
 room. Mrs Grey had resisted it, and 
 Richard had ridiculed the idea of occupy- 
 ing any room but the kitchen. It was a 
 pretty little kitchen certainly, looking out 
 upon a portion of the garden ; but Francis 
 Grey pitied Richard's bad taste, and furn- 
 ished not only what he called a drawing- 
 room, but a dining-room also.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 193 
 
 It is true the furniture was not very 
 costly, but it was good, and the cabinet- 
 maker bad readily consented to receive his 
 bill by quarterly instalments. In the 
 dining-room there was a mahogany side- 
 board (a little too light in colour), a table 
 with removable leaf, a couch, and six chairs 
 to match. These, arrayed upon one of the 
 best Kidderminster carpets, were partially 
 reflected in a very tall chimney glass, in 
 front of which stood a dying gladiator, in 
 bronze, and two china vases. The draw- 
 ing-room was an attempt at a miniature 
 representation of the grand drawing-room 
 of Samuel Welford, Esq., who had once 
 had Frank up to his house, on some m-gent 
 business, and had shown him his portfolios. 
 Frank's imitation, however, was only on a 
 very small scale, though the room was 
 certainly a pretty little apartment of its 
 kind, filled with ^^ a superior suite of 
 walnut drawing-room furniture in blue 
 damask " (as it was described in Frank's 
 bill of particulars), several ottomans, sun- 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 dry rugs, various pictures, two mirrors, a 
 few statuettes, and a large amount of 
 drapery. 
 
 This luxurious apartment was only used 
 on Sunday evenings. On other nights in 
 the week it was Frank's delight to stretch 
 his legs across the dining-room hearth-rug, 
 whilst reading his favourite books, or talk- 
 ing to his mother. For Eichard Grey 
 seldom went home until late, and he felt 
 little or no sympathy in the conversations 
 or studies of his brother. Both Frank's 
 books and his talk, Richard said, were too 
 slow and too stiff. For his own part he 
 thought ^^ Robin Hood," and ^^ Hans of 
 Iceland," and the " Mysteries of London," 
 altogether superior to ^'Waverley," and 
 the ^' Man of Feeling," and the ^^ Vicar of 
 Wakefield." But of course Frank had his 
 own opinion, and he was quite welcome 
 to it. 
 
 Mrs Grey secretly admired what she 
 thought was a high spirit on the part of 
 Richard. She could not help acknow-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 195 
 
 ledging to herself that Frank was rather 
 dull company, and that his aims were too 
 much above his position. Eichard would 
 come home full of life and spirits, telling 
 his mother all sorts of funny anecdotes, 
 which he had picked up in the city, and 
 shaking his brown curly locks with laugh- 
 ter. Frank would come home in capital 
 humour, but in a much quieter mood, and 
 would take the earliest opportunity of 
 burying himself in a book. Eichard had 
 grown as tall as Frank, and looked quite a 
 man, with his broad shoulders and his 
 stalwart frame. Frank was darker, and 
 what the world would call more gentle- 
 manly in appearance, being a marked con- 
 trast, in this latter respect, to his brother. 
 You might have taken Frank for the 
 private secretary of some law Lord ; whilst 
 you would have put Eichard down as a 
 farmer's son with sporting predilections. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, mother," said 
 Eichard one evening, '' I shall not stop
 
 196 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 in that humbugging counting-house any 
 longer." 
 
 ^^ Oh, nonsense, Eichard," replied Mrs 
 Grrey, looking up from her sewing. Frank 
 had not come home for the evening. Mrs 
 Grey seldom sewed when Frank was at 
 home. ^^ Nonsense, Richard." 
 
 ^'It is not nonsense, mother, it's fact. 
 What's the good of a fellow wasting his 
 life in filling up forms about ships, and 
 posting letters. I shall drop it. It's all 
 very well for Frank, who can be a large 
 card, and do the swell business up in his 
 own room, and be invited now and then to 
 Welford's place at the Elms." 
 
 '^ Richard, you forget that Frank has 
 been in the establishment much longer 
 than you have, and that poor Mr Thornhill 
 was very friendly and kind to him." 
 
 '^ No I don't — I don't forget, and that 
 is one of the reasons why I shan't stojD. I 
 shall never have the chance of getting on 
 at Welford's as he has ; and I mean to look
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 197 
 
 out for another berth. I should like to go 
 for a sailor or a soldier." 
 
 Richard threw himself down all his 
 length on the sofa, and looked a most 
 tempting subject for the recruiting officer. 
 
 ^' My dear boy, you frighten me with 
 such talk : do promise me you will not 
 think of enlisting, or going to sea; do 
 promise me," and Mrs Grey went to her 
 son, kneeled down by his side, and patted 
 his cheek. ^' Promise me that." 
 
 '^ I shan't," said Richard, pushing his 
 mother's hand away. ^^ Don't be silly, 
 mother; you are always asking me to 
 promise something or the other. Promise 
 you'll be in at ten, Richard; or promise 
 you will not make a friend of that Peter 
 Foster ; or promise not to stay away from 
 dinner again; or promise something or 
 other, always." 
 
 '' Well, but Richard, you know — " 
 
 ^^No, T don't know, mother, and I ain't 
 going to know; I've been made fool
 
 198 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 enough of, what with Frank and you ; and 
 I shall drop it, I tell you." 
 
 '' I know Frank is proud, Richard, and 
 has his whims and oddities ; but then, ^'^ou 
 know, he is very kind and considerate, 
 and has been a good son." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that's all right as far as it 
 goes, mother; but if you were me — ^look 
 at my big arms ! — if you were me, would 
 you like to be stuck in a counting-house all 
 your life figuring about with a pen ? " 
 
 ^' Well, my dear Richard, I daresay it 
 is irksome, and we will see if something 
 cannot be done. Your spirits are too 
 great for it ; but don't be rash." 
 
 ^' See if something cannot be done ! I 
 ain't going to have Frank and you worry- 
 ing yourself about it at all. Frank's not 
 to be bothering about me. I'll get some- 
 thing for myself, and I won't be hum- 
 bugged." 
 
 '' Why, what a strange mood you have 
 come home in, Richard ; you who are so 
 merry and so full of fun."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 199 
 
 ^' I can't help it. I don't mean any 
 harm to you, mother/' and Eichard put his 
 arm, in a rough kind of affectionate way, 
 upon his mother's shoulder; ^^but I tell 
 you I shall stand this no longer. And 
 what have you to say against Peter 
 Foster?" 
 
 " Well, your brother does not like 
 him." 
 
 ^' Oh, hang my brother ! Frank's not 
 my keeper, I suppose, is he ? " 
 
 " Frank does not think Peter Foster a 
 suitable acquaintance for you. You should 
 give way a little to Frank ; he is older than 
 you are, and has had more experience." 
 
 ^'Why, Peter Foster is as good as 
 Frank any day. His father's a chemist 
 and druggist, and keeps three or four as- 
 sistants, and a horse, which Peter says I 
 can ride when I like." 
 
 '^ But he is too old for you, Eichard — 
 you always seem to like to be with persons 
 so much in advance of your years ; but I 
 suppose that is because you are so tall ; "
 
 200 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 and the fond mother looked with admira- 
 tion upon her wilful son. 
 
 ^'So much older! Why, he's only 
 twenty-three, and I'm nineteen next birth- 
 day. Hark ! By Jove, that's his voice." 
 
 '' You are not going out again, to-night, 
 Eichard ? " said Mrs Grey, aj)pealingly. 
 
 ^'Why not? It's only nine o'clock, 
 and Frank's out? I wish you wouldn't 
 bother me in that way, mother. Why 
 can't I go out again if I like ? " 
 
 Mrs Grey looked at the clock on the 
 mantel-piece, and the time was later than 
 Richard had said. 
 
 '' Sarah, Sarah," shouted Mrs Grey's 
 youngest son, going to the door, '' tell Mr 
 Foster to come in." 
 
 '' I was just doing so," said a young 
 man, not so tall as Richard, but looking at 
 least ten years older. '' How do you do, 
 Mrs Grey? — pretty well this evening? — 
 that's right — just going past to take a quiet 
 stroll, and one cigar — thought I'd look in 
 and see if Dick had come home."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 201 
 
 "All right, my boy," said Richard, 
 before his mother had time to speak, '^ all 
 right, I'm. your man." 
 
 No wonder Frank Grey had not a high 
 opinion of Peter Foster. He was a dissi- 
 pated-looking fellow, not, however, with- 
 out a dash of the gentleman about him. 
 He was well-dressed, wore a blue-and- 
 white spotted neck-tie and a large pin, 
 carried a cane under his arm, and assumed 
 a medical-student air. For truth to tell, 
 he was a medical student, and. not likely 
 to be anything more. Had it not been for 
 the influence of his father, who was much 
 respected in Maryport, he would have been 
 expelled from the Maryport college, which 
 was in the height of its prosperity at the 
 period of our story. 
 
 Peter Foster had small blue eyes deeply 
 sunk in his head, and circled by a little 
 blue rim. His cheeks were red, but not 
 the red of health, and he wore a short 
 beard, carefully trimmed. When he sjDoke 
 you felt that he was a hollow, selfish, reck-
 
 202 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 less fellow ; that he might be a very jolly 
 companion with one who could in any way 
 administer to his pleasures, that he would 
 consider his own feelings above any other's, 
 and that he drank and smoked to the 
 serious detriment of his health.
 
 203 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ^' Where shall we go, Dick?" said 
 Peter Foster, when they were out in the 
 Maryport streets. 
 
 ^^ Oh, I don't care," said Eichard, 
 taking long pulls at a very strong cigar. 
 
 ^' To the ' Bowers of Harmony ? ' " 
 
 '' If you like." 
 
 Peter Foster did like, and away they 
 went, swaggering along arm in arm, turn- 
 ing down back streets and coming out 
 again into broad ones, until at last they 
 stood before a mysterious-looking house 
 with half-closed windows on each side of 
 an open door- way, dimly lighted. 
 
 Several women, gaudily dressed, were 
 talking, in a high key, under the winking
 
 204 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 lamp above the door. Peter Foster tapped 
 one of the women very familiarly on the 
 shoulder, with his cane, and passed into 
 the '^ Bowers of Harmony," commonly 
 called '^ Keem's Chop-House." 
 
 Eight and left, on entering, were 
 counters at which females highly-painted 
 and decorated served other females and 
 sundry gentlemen with glasses of spirits. 
 
 Further on was a rather extensive hall, 
 in which there were a number of re- 
 spectably dressed persons of both sexes, 
 listening to a stout, fluffy personage, in 
 a white neck-tie, singing a very senti- 
 mental tenor song. This was followed 
 by a nigger dance, which was loudly ap- 
 plauded and encored. 
 
 Peter Foster and Richard Grey paused, 
 for a few minutes, at the counter and par- 
 took of something, which Peter said was 
 best taken neat; and then they walked 
 forward to the singing saloon. 
 
 The chairman, who was smoking a 
 long pipe, and sitting in a tall seat near
 
 BITTER SWiiJETS. 205 
 
 the orchestra, bowed most graciously to 
 Peter and his friend as they pushed their 
 way into proximity with The Chair. 
 
 Mr Foster shook hands with '' The 
 Chair," and seats were quickly at the 
 disposal of the two new comers, who were 
 apparently well-known by other persons 
 in authority besides the chairman. 
 
 ^^ Anything new to-night. Crib," said 
 Peter Foster, after a pause. 
 
 '^Well, no, nuffin' as I knows on; 
 the baritone is a coming out with his 
 ^ Death's Head ' and ' Jolly Bones ; ' but 
 you 'eard the ballad in rehearsal." 
 
 '^ Ah — not a bad song — Sam wants 
 more of a chest voice for it — but not bad 
 by no means — no — who's that girl in the 
 pink bonnet. Crib ? " 
 
 '^ Don't know her," says The Chair, 
 taking the pipe out of his mouth and 
 looking round. '^You're a wicked 'un, 
 Peter, you are ; but here's Jeffs ; " and 
 then the chairman rose and announced, 
 as was his wont, the title of the next
 
 206 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 song — ^^ ^ Keem's Harmonic Bowers,' ladies 
 and gentlemen, by Mr Jeffs." 
 
 ^^Hear, hear," shouted several voices, 
 amidst clapping of hands and thumping 
 of tables. 
 
 Mr Jeffs was a little round-faced man, 
 who did the serio-comic business of the 
 *^ Bowers," and the song which he sang 
 had been specially composed by himself, 
 and had been printed for sale '^ by all 
 music-dealers," w^ith his own portrait as 
 the frontispiece. It was a song very much 
 in favour at the Bowers, each second 
 verse being repeated as a chorus ; the 
 company knocking each other's glasses 
 together in a famous concluding stanza. 
 The ballad is too long to be printed in 
 this history ; but we may be pardoned 
 for giving the closing verses as an indi- 
 cation of the class of song most accept- 
 able to the company of which Peter Foster 
 was a distinguished member. 
 
 Let's be merry while we can, 
 Every jovial fellow,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 207 
 
 Ne'er a lad will be a man 
 
 Unless lie's sometimes mellow. 
 Fill your cups up to the brim, 
 Drain your flowing glasses, 
 Down with him, who, sink or swim, 
 Will not pledge the lasses. 
 
 {Repeat as Chorus.) 
 
 Life becomes a merry game, 
 
 When Bacchus joins Apollo ; 
 What is wealth, or what is fame, 
 To those who boldly follow 
 
 In the tracks the gods have made, 
 
 Strewn with grapes and flowers ? 
 Cheer up, my lads ! For who's afraid ? 
 In Keem's Harmonic Bowers. 
 
 {Repeat as Chorus.) 
 
 The last lines were repeated three 
 times by the audience, who cheered their 
 defiant reference to a futile attempt of 
 some city magistrates to close the estab- 
 lishment. 
 
 As time wore on, the room became 
 crowded, and the atmosphere vitiated 
 with gas and tobacco smoke. Eichard 
 Grey, who had been there several times 
 previously ^^ for an hour or so," with 
 Peter Foster, who had been an Jiahitue 
 of the Bowers for years, began to feel
 
 208 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 the effects of the smoke and the brandy 
 and water. 
 
 Peter Foster had been deputed "by 
 the chairman to rise and announce the 
 next song, and did so with a flushed 
 face and in a husky voice; whereupon a 
 1)las(^ looking woman, in a low dress, 
 came forward and screamed out some 
 half-dozen verses of a prurient ditty, with 
 the words of which we shall not sully 
 these pages. 
 
 Meanwhile, considerable laughing and 
 shouting, in the neighbourhood of the 
 counters at the entrance of the saloon, had 
 tended much to the disturbance of the 
 singing, and had elicited sundry requests 
 for '^ order " by the chairman. 
 
 Richard Grrey, whose head was muddled 
 with wine and smoke, angrily shouted 
 '^ Order — order." Counter- cries of '' The 
 Duke," ^^It's only the Duke," arose from 
 the lower part of the saloon, where a 
 thick well-built man was pushing his way, 
 in company with what a novice would
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 209 
 
 have said, were two ladies of the highest 
 fashion. 
 
 ^^Hang the Duke; who cares for the 
 Duke," said Richard Grey, flourishing his 
 right arm above his head; ^'let the Duke 
 shut up, and not disturb other people.'' 
 
 ^^ Hear, hear," shouted several shabby- 
 genteel gentlemen, who, even in this den 
 of infamy, envied the popularity of the 
 individual in question. 
 
 *' Chair, chair," cried the chairman, 
 and the performances were brought to a 
 stand-still. 
 
 By the aid of sundry waiters "the 
 Duke " forced his way to a sort of private 
 box, overlooking the stage, where the two 
 ladies took their seats and looked at 
 Richard through opera-glasses. 
 
 Dick, though he had resumed his seat, 
 still persisted in saying, "Hang the 
 Duke," "Blow the Duke," "Who cares 
 for the Duke ? " until it was he who had 
 now to be called to order. 
 
 " Who is this fine fellow who wishes 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 the Duke such a disagreeable end ? " said 
 Winford Barns, coming forward to the 
 chair ; for Winford Barns had for some 
 time been known as ^^ the Duke " at the 
 Bowers, having gained this title througli 
 his lavish expenditure of money, and his 
 general extravagance. ^' Who is my friend 
 with the curly hair ? " said Winford. 
 
 ^' No friend of yours," said Richard, 
 looking up and seeing several Dukes at 
 once ; " no friend of yours, blow you." 
 
 '' Oh ! but we will be friends," said 
 Winford quietly, '' what will you have ? " 
 
 " Nothing at your expense," said Peter 
 Foster, who was jealous of the Duke. 
 
 Richard was not jealous of any one; 
 he was intoxicated. 
 
 '^ Go on — go away," said Richard, 
 ^*go away, Duke. Ah! ah! a pretty 
 Duke, upon my life, much more like a 
 prig." 
 
 This sally raised a great laugh, in the 
 vicinity of the chair, against Winford, 
 although the Baritone was singing his
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 211 
 
 famous ^^ Jolly Bones," and rattling two 
 wooden imitations of human bones in a 
 very grotesque dance. 
 
 ^^Come, fair words, fair words," said 
 Winford, who had not long left the plea- 
 sures of the dinner table, ^^fair words, 
 or foul blows may follow," and Winford's 
 eye sparkled angrily. 
 
 ^^ Gentlemen, gentlemen," said the 
 chairman, as Richard Grey rose and met 
 Winford's threat, with a defiant look. 
 
 '^ Don't interfere. Jack Crib — the affair 
 will be over in a minute," said Winford. 
 '' You have used words unbecoming a gen- 
 tleman, sir ; I must request your card." 
 
 ^^ Card, be hanged!" said Eichard, 
 ^^ I've no card." 
 
 ^^ There's mine," said Peter Foster; 
 '^ that will do all the same." 
 
 Winford Barns took Foster's card and 
 threw it from him, contemptuously. 
 
 Foster was about to pick it up, but 
 was prevented by Richard Grey. 
 
 ^^Pick that card up," said Richard to
 
 212 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Winford, leaping over the seat and con- 
 fronting the Duke, '^ pick it up." 
 
 Here several persons rose and crowded 
 about the disputants, and the confusion 
 extended to the furthest end of the room. 
 
 Above all the din could be heard 
 Eichard Grey vociferating, '^ Pick up that 
 card." 
 
 ^^ Order, order ! " shouted The Chair. 
 
 ^^ Turn him out ! " cried twenty voices. 
 
 ^'Who is he? what is it?" demanded 
 twenty more. 
 
 '' Pick up that card ; pick up that 
 card ! " roared Eichard Grey. 
 
 '' Yes, pick it up," said Peter Foster, in 
 a very small voice, and at a very respectful 
 distance from '' the Duke." 
 
 " Go it, go it," urged several men, who 
 had drunk too much to say any more. 
 
 Still the loudest voice of all shouted 
 '' Pick up that card." 
 
 In a sudden moment of passion, aroused 
 by the defiant and contemptuous opposi- 
 tion of this ^^ big boy," as he had sneer-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 213 
 
 ingly called Richard, Winford Barns seized 
 him by the collar, to eject him from the 
 room. 
 
 Richard, like a young Hercules, wrest- 
 ed himself from Winford's grasp (leaving 
 part of his coat-collar in his adver- 
 sary's hand), and in a moment sent Win- 
 ford sprawling over a table, amongst 
 glasses of brandy, and bottles of beer, and 
 broken pipes, and cigar ashes. 
 
 A round of applause greeted '' the big 
 boy's " performance ; but it had scarcely 
 commenced when the two ladies from the 
 private box rushed upon him, with dire 
 intent. At the same moment a strong 
 hand seized Richard by the shoulder, and 
 bursting through the orchestra door, 
 dragged him beneath the stage, along a 
 dark passage, past some stairs — at the top 
 of which there was a great noise of men 
 and women talking, — and out into the 
 open air. 
 
 ^^I thought / could manage you," 
 said a voice, which Richard immediately
 
 214 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 recognized. ^' You may thank your stars, 
 my lad, that I followed Master Barns to- 
 night." 
 
 ^^Why, it's Mat," said Eichard, who 
 was sobered by the sudden fight and a 
 cry of police. '' How came you there ? " 
 
 ^^ Never mind that just now, come 
 along here," and Mat drew Richard into 
 an archway where they could command 
 a view of the entrance to the " Bowers of 
 Harmony " without being seen. There 
 was a crowd round the door, and by and 
 by a stretcher was brought, and Win- 
 ford Barns was laid upon it. 
 
 '' They are taking him to the hos- 
 pital," said Mat, '^ it was a stunning 
 whack you gave him." 
 
 Eichard felt a deadly sickness of fear 
 come over him, when Mat added: " Per- 
 haps you've done for him." 
 
 Three policemen came out after the 
 stretcher, with Peter Foster and the chair- 
 man in custody. 
 
 '' There, we've seen enough," said Mat,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 215 
 
 taking Ricliard by the arm, and lead- 
 ing him to the adjoining quay. '' It 
 was lucky I was there, very; you'd ha' 
 been in the hands of the beaks if I 
 hadn't." 
 
 Mat Dunkum, — who was dressed in a 
 different costume to that which he wore 
 when first we introduced him to our read- 
 ers, but who still looked half-landsman, 
 half-sailor, — conducted Richard to the quay 
 amongst the shipping. Richard went 
 along, in a sort of stupor, with one hand 
 in his pocket. 
 
 They made their way through sheds 
 full of packages and hampers, over baulks 
 of timber, past cranes, and over chains 
 and anchors, until they were almost out of 
 the lam]^light ; until the sky looked clearer 
 above them, and the masts of the vessels 
 appeared to grow taller. 
 
 At length Mat put his foot upon a 
 plank, and motioned Richard to follow, 
 cautioning him as he did so to^be careful 
 of his footing. Over the plank, across a
 
 216 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 steamer, over a Dutch brig and an American 
 cutter. 
 
 ^' All right — master of the Harry ^'^ said 
 Mat to several dock watchmen who had 
 intercepted their way; and now ho cried 
 ^^Halt" to Eichard. 
 
 ^'Here we are," said Mat, ^^you must 
 sleep here to-night — they'll never think of 
 looking for you on board Winford Barns's 
 yacht. I'll go and see how things look." 
 
 Richard Grey threw himself down 
 upon a couch, and wondered what would 
 be the end of the night's disturbance. 
 
 ^' Supposing the fellow's killed or half 
 killed," he thought, ^^ serve him right — 
 the infernal ass. But what if I should be 
 taken ? That wouldn't be so pleasant. 
 There's one thing in it — they couldn't 
 hang me ; it would be manslaughter, and 
 I should get three months, perhaps. Well, 
 who cares ? In for a penny, in for a pound. 
 I wanted a change of some sort. I hate 
 work — I ha,te everything, somehow. There's 
 that brother of mine, with his cant and
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 217 
 
 his humbug; he'll make a pretty row, I 
 guess. Well, let him. I'll make a bolt of 
 it. I'm blowed if I wouldn't just as soon be 
 a prig as humbugging in that counting- 
 house of Welford's. Wonder what they'll 
 do with Foster. Dash it, I'm sorry they 
 grabbed him. Old Crib ! Upon my soul, 
 I can hardly help laughing at old Crib. 
 What a funk he was in, to be sure. 
 
 ^^I don't much like stopping here by 
 myself Wonder if there's any grog 
 aboard. It's deuced dark; what's the 
 good of a lamp like that ? It ain't half 
 such a bad cabin this, either. Wonder if 
 old Mat does anything in the smuggling 
 line now; — that's the sort of thing. I 
 shouldn't mind going into that, — or a bit 
 of pirating ; but I suppose that's no go in 
 these days." 
 
 Such were the character of Dick's 
 thoughts and reflections as he gradually 
 went off into a sound sleep. 
 
 If, on awakening, he could have been 
 draughted either into the army or the
 
 218 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 navy, no matter which, and sent straight 
 away on active service, he might have 
 done a rash, brave deed, and risen into 
 a hero. That would have very materially 
 altered this story, as our readers will 
 presently see.
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Mrs GrREY was nursing her foot and 
 her thoughts when Frank Grey returned. 
 
 ^^ Well, mother," said Frank, taking 
 her face between his hands and kissing it, 
 ^^ how much for your thoughts ? " 
 
 ^^ They would not be profitable to buy, 
 Frank — not by any means a good invest- 
 ment, as you would say." 
 
 ^' Come, come, mother, no sad thoughts 
 — cheer up, cheer up ! Where's Dick ? " 
 
 '' He went out for a little walk, a few 
 minutes since." 
 
 '' Alone ?" 
 
 '' Don't be too inquisitive, Frank." 
 
 ^^ Well, I will not, mother ; but I very 
 much fear Dick is giving you, as well as
 
 220 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 myself, serious cause for uneasiness. He 
 left business to-day an hour before the 
 time for closing." 
 
 Mrs Grey went on nursing her knee, 
 and sighed. ^' Ah, Frank," she said, " I 
 fear we are a divided house." 
 
 ^^ Nonsense, mother, you are sad to- 
 night, and see things through shadows." 
 
 Mrs Grey was annoyed at herself for 
 not having made a strenuous effort to pre- 
 vent Richard from going out with Peter 
 Foster ; more particularly as she feared 
 that Richard had left the house in no mood 
 for an early return to it. But her blind 
 love for her youngest son would not let 
 her be just, either to herself or to Frank. 
 Moreover, she felt that she ought to tell 
 Frank that Peter Foster had taken Dick 
 out; because Frank on many occasions 
 had cautioned her against Foster, and had 
 strongly urged upon her to do her best in 
 aiding him to sever the connection which 
 Richard had formed. 
 
 '' You see, Frank, your ways are so
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 221 
 
 different to ours," said Mrs Grey, looking 
 into the fire. 
 
 ^^ Our ways, mother ; what do you 
 mean ?" 
 
 " Well, Eichard and I don't seem to 
 please you?" 
 
 "Really, I don't understand you," 
 said Frank, "have I ever done an unkind 
 thing towards you, mother?" 
 
 " No ; it isn't that," Mrs Grey replied, 
 "but Eichard and you don't agree." 
 
 "Don't agree! we never quarrel," said 
 Frank, more and more puzzled at his 
 mother's words, though he was not ignor- 
 ant of her being more attached to Eichard 
 than to himself. 
 
 "' Eichard is not happy, I'm sure," Mrs 
 Grey went on, "he as good as told me so 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " What can I do to make him happy?" 
 Frank inquired, taking a chair beside his 
 mother. 
 
 "I don't know, Frank. But couldn't 
 you associate a little more with him, and
 
 222 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 be more indulgent, and not want him to 
 be so grand, and so pmictual at the office. 
 Pm sure I wonder the boy has put up with 
 that office as long as he has." And Mrs 
 Grey nursed her foot and looked into the 
 fire more intently than ever. 
 
 ^^ Mother, mother! don't be unkind. 
 You know how I have striven ; you know 
 how constantly I have used my little in- 
 fluence in his behalf; you know how I 
 have talked to Richard." 
 
 ^^ Talked! yes, that's ^Y; you talk too 
 much to him: you talk of things he 
 doesn't care about, Frank ; you read books 
 in which he has no sympathy; and, and 
 I — I — I — really don't know what we shall 
 do-o-o-o." For want of something else 
 to say, or because her heart was too full, 
 Mrs Grey fell a crying. 
 
 Frank soothed her, and said many com- 
 forting things, for the purpose of driving 
 away her sadness. He promised to try a 
 fresh way with Dick; he vowed that, in 
 future, she should lay down rules for his
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 223 
 
 guidance in the manner of treating Dick. 
 He would have an explanation with him, 
 would learn what his wishes were, and 
 do his utmost to carry them out. But all 
 this did not bring Mrs Grey out of her 
 tears. 
 
 By and by, Frank went to bed, and 
 bade his mother good-night, without say- 
 ing any more concerning Richard's ab- 
 sence. 
 
 Mrs Grey wished he had said some- 
 thing ; for she had almost felt inclined to 
 confess that Richard was in Foster's com- 
 pany, and to ask Frank to find him and 
 bring him home. 
 
 '' You may goto bed, Sarah," said Mrs 
 Grey, ^^ I will ' wait up ' for Richard." 
 
 The domestic left candles, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Mrs Grey did '' wait up," and a weary 
 waiting up it was. Hour after hour she 
 sat counting the minutes. It reminded 
 her of that first night after her husband 
 had left her, years ago, when Dick was a
 
 224 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 little boy. Every step was Dick's until 
 they went by the door. 
 
 The clocks, in the city, went on chim- 
 ing the quarters, one after the other, and 
 striking the hours, until at length the fire 
 went out, and Mrs Grey fancied she saw 
 indications of daylight in the sky. 
 
 Once or twice she had peeped through 
 the blind, and once or twice she thought 
 she saw a figure steal away from beneath 
 the outer wall. 
 
 At length she became so nervous and 
 frightened, that she went up to Frank's 
 door. She stood there for some moments, 
 before she could make up her mind to 
 knock. 
 
 ^^ Who's there?" at length Frank in- 
 quired. 
 
 '^ Only me, dear," said Mrs Grey, 
 walking in, pale and agitated, with a 
 candle in her hand. 
 
 '^What is the matter, mother?" in- 
 quired Frank, starting up. 
 
 ^^ Oh, I'm so frightened, so miserable,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 225 
 
 Frank," said Mrs Grey, sinking into a 
 chair. 
 
 ^^ You have not been to bed," said 
 Frank in alarm ; '' what is the matter ? " 
 
 ^^ Oh, Frank, Frank ! Richard has not 
 come home yet, and he went out with 
 Peter Foster ; and — oh, dear — oh, dear — I 
 really think somebody is watching the 
 house." 
 
 " Don't be frightened ; don't be fright- 
 ened, mother ; I will get up. What is the 
 thne ? " 
 
 '' Nearly four, Frank — I don't think 
 it safe for you to go out, though — it's not 
 daylight." 
 
 " All right, mother," said Frank, 
 hastily putting on his clothes. 
 
 When he was dressed he conducted his 
 mother to her own room ; and sallied forth 
 in search of his brother. 
 
 A few hours afterwards, the Harry was 
 gliding down the Maryport river, in com- 
 pany with tug-boats, and high-masted 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ships, and barges, and pilot smacks, and 
 timber rafts ; past wharves and ware- 
 houses ; past river-side inns, with balconies 
 and tea-gardens; underneath bridges, and 
 jDast country highways ; round great slop- 
 ing curves, and past green meadow-lands ; 
 beneath shelving banks, and under the 
 shadows of fir trees and tall larches. And 
 Richard Grey was fast asleep in Winford 
 Barns' s own berth, fast asleep with Win- 
 ford's warm tiger-rug over him. 
 
 It was not until the Harry was rolling 
 out into the wide reaches of the river, 
 where it meets the sea, that Richard Grey 
 opened his eyes in a bewildered wonder at 
 his situation. Though he could not help 
 thinking that he must be dreaming, he 
 soon found that his headache was a split- 
 ting, throbbing reality. He could scarcely 
 raise himself in bed. It seemed as if he 
 were going to be sea-sick. The berth 
 went round and round with him. The 
 handsomely-chased chest of drawers chased 
 the no less beautiful couch round the cabin.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 227 
 
 An arm-chair, and a couple of mirrors, and 
 several pictures, though they were all 
 screwed into the well-polished panels and 
 floors, joined in the general dance ; so that 
 when Dick threw aside the rug and 
 jumped out of bed, in despair, he fell, and 
 went round and round with the rest. He 
 lay in this state for quite half-an-hour, 
 whilst the waves dashed against the win- 
 dow, and the fresh smell of the sea came 
 through the key-hole of the cabin door, 
 A little revived, at length, he got up, to 
 be startled at his pale, haggard face in the 
 mirror, — his matted curls, his torn coat, 
 and his general wretched and dissipated 
 appearance. With this came the remem- 
 brance of the preceding night's brawl, and 
 a vague, foggy, headachy fear, that he had 
 done some terrible deed. 
 
 Mat Dunkum entered the cabin as 
 Richard was about to leave it. 
 
 '' Well, lieutenant," said Mat, putting 
 his hands into his pockets and looking at 
 Dick smilingly, '^ you're in a nice pickle."
 
 228 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^^ Yes," said Dick, discovering for the 
 first time that his right hand was covered 
 with blood, from a w^ound on one of his 
 knuckles. 
 
 '' It was plucky, but not exactly dis- 
 creet, my lad; leastwise it wasn't cau- 
 tious." 
 
 <-' Tell me all about it. Mat," said Dick, 
 staggering to the wash-stand and opening it. 
 
 Mat told Dick something '' about it ; " 
 and in doing so did not forget to extol 
 Dick's prowess and his own skill and 
 courage in getting Dick into the yacht. 
 
 ^' You see, Dick, I didn't desert you, 
 though you cut me that night rather shab- 
 bily- Eh?" , 
 
 '^What, when I promised to come 
 back again. Ah, you must forgive that, 
 Mat — a petticoat, you know;" and Dick 
 began to chat freely. 
 
 '' Well, perhaps it was better for you ; 
 and, lad as you was, I didn't wonder at 
 that black-eyed little tempter getting you 
 away."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 229 
 
 ^' Bessie Martin ! Ah, she's a ipvettj 
 lass, isn't she ? " 
 
 ^' How long is it since you've seen her?" 
 
 ^' Oh, more than four years." 
 
 ^' You'll hardly know her now : oh, my 
 eye, such a gal I " 
 
 ^^Is she. Mat? I'm so glad I've met 
 you. Mat ! Tell us about Bessie ? Does 
 she wear her hair in ringlets yet ? Is it 
 as black as ever ? Come, captain, tell us, 
 tell us." 
 
 '^ Didn't you used to write to her ? " 
 
 ^^ Sometimes." 
 
 ^^How long since?" 
 
 '^ Oh, two years ago or more now." 
 
 ^' Then you've heard nothing of her 
 lately?" 
 
 '' Never since her last letter — it's quite 
 two years ago." 
 
 ^' Then maybe you don't know as her 
 grandmother is dead ? " 
 
 ^^No." 
 
 ^^Nor that she's in Beachstone's shop, 
 at Helswick?"
 
 230 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^^ Her grandmother ? " asked Dick. 
 
 ^^ Grandmother, no ; the girl, Bessie 
 Martin. She's Beachstone's assistant. 
 Didn't you know that ? " 
 
 '^ No ! you astonish me." 
 
 ^' Ah, I could astonish more nor you if 
 I liked. You don't ask me how this craft 
 comes to belong to Mr Barns, and how I 
 come to be the captain of her." 
 
 ^' I've had no time to do so," said 
 Dick, ^'and I've such lots of things to 
 ask." 
 
 '* Well, look here ! Ahoy there ! 
 Ahoy — BroAvn ! " 
 
 Mr Barns's steward entered. 
 
 ^' Look here, Brown. Just put some 
 soda and brandy in the cabin aft, and 
 bring a bottle here at once for this gentle- 
 man." 
 
 The soda-water refreshed Dick con- 
 siderably, and when, by Mat's directions, 
 he had washed himself, Mat produced a 
 portmanteau of Dick's own clothes, with 
 clean shirts and collars, and a note con-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 231 
 
 taming a few smudged and tear-blotted 
 lines of maternal affection, made to read 
 as much like rebuke as a fond love-blinded 
 mother could make them. 
 
 ^^ There, come into my cabin when you 
 feel better, and I'll spin you the whole 
 yarn out," said Mat. 
 
 Richard Grey felt relieved when he 
 found that his mother knew where he was, 
 and the sight of his clothes was particu- 
 larly comforting. He was so glad to have 
 been spared a scene at home, and to be 
 out of the clutches of the police, and to be 
 under no necessity of going to the office, 
 that his present position gradually became 
 anything but irksome or uncomfortable. 
 He would write a letter to his mother, 
 and put her all right, and have a look at 
 Bessie Martin; and then enlist. That's 
 what he would do. He was free now ; he 
 daren't go back to Maryport; he would 
 clerk it no longer, anywhere. 
 
 The vessel tossed joyfully, and the 
 waves played a merry tune against her
 
 232 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 sides. Under the influence of a wash, a 
 change of linen, and a bottle of soda- 
 water, Dick's headache began to leave 
 him ; and he went on deck, and then into 
 Mat's cabin, ^' as fresh as a lark." But it 
 occurred to him, immediately on entering, 
 to ask, '^ Isn't it rather a mistake for your 
 fellows to see me ; do they know any- 
 thing ? " 
 
 ^' Leave that to me," said Mat ; ^^ you 
 are all right. Barns will get better in 
 about a week, and I'll take care he doesn't 
 go against you, although the police have a 
 warrant out." 
 
 " Well now, captain, tell me the rest of 
 your story." 
 
 '^ I'll give you the heads of it, Dick. 
 In the first place, you see this ere craft, 
 which was Mr Massey's, is now Mr Barns's. 
 Mr M. owed him some money, and he took 
 part on it out in this yacht, which is as neat 
 a sailer as ever skimmed the water. Well, I 
 knows something about the debt in ques- 
 tion which it wouldn't ha' been pleasant
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 233 
 
 for Mr Bams to hear me talk about; so 
 he makes me captain of the Harry ^ and 
 gives me enough pay to shut my mouth. 
 I look after him a bit now and then, and 
 as we'd been lying at Mary port for a fort- 
 night, when we was only to have stayed 
 two days, just afore going on a cruise to 
 the coast of France, I thought I'd just see 
 what sort of petticoats it was as kept him ; 
 I looked about, and sees my friend a sail- 
 ing along with a couple of fast-rigged 
 spanking craft, so I claps on a bit more 
 canvas and keeps 'em in sight. They 
 hove to at the Harmonic Bowers, and 
 there we all anchored. Well, when I seed 
 there were going to be a row atween you 
 and he, I gets quietly up towards the 
 scene of action. I knowed there was a 
 back way under the stage, because I've 
 heard Barns talk of it when he was drunk, 
 as he had free pass behind. When I'd got 
 you aboard the yacht, which I concluded 
 was the safest place, I goes and sees the 
 admiral at the hospital ; but, Lord ! he
 
 234 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 was raving and a swearing like a maniac ; 
 and they was cutting his hair, and plas- 
 tering him up like a mummy. I gets into 
 a bit of confab with the doctor afterwards, 
 tells him as how I'd like to get the yacht 
 down Denby way for a day or two on 
 business, if he thought it would be that time 
 before the Commodore would be well again. 
 So says he, ^ You may go, captain — it 
 will be a fortnight before he's better, and 
 there's no danger ; but it's rather a bad 
 cut, and the broken glass makes it worse.' 
 I saw the police at the same time, and 
 says he's my master. I'd changed my 
 clothes different to what they was when I 
 rescued you, and I'll swear nobody would 
 a known me again if I hadn't." 
 
 '' I don't think they would, captain ; 
 you were awfully quick about your 
 work." 
 
 ^^"Well, I finds out as the police are 
 agoing to watch your house ; so I says to 
 one on 'em, as I know'd you I'd go along ; 
 ' particularly,' says I, ' as I would like to
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 235 
 
 see the blackguard, as hurt my owner, in 
 custody afore I takes the yacht down to 
 Denby.' " 
 
 ^' If they had searched the yacht, Mat, 
 whilst you were away ?" 
 
 ^^ I locked you up, my boy; besides 
 they'd never a thought of searching the 
 guvner's yacht. However, I goes with the 
 police, and we waits, and waits, and waits ; 
 but, of course, no Dick turns up. There was 
 lights burning, and at last your brother 
 comes out: it was four in the morning, then. 
 The police dodged out of sight, and says 
 I, I'll go and watch that young gent, and 
 so I does. When he gets free of Purdown, 
 and was just going into that dark alley as 
 leads to the river at the bottom, I stops 
 him, gets him in a corner by the timber 
 there, and hurriedly tells -him all. ' And 
 then,' says I, ^if you wish to serve your 
 brother, and save further disgrace, just 
 you go home after a bit, tell the missus 
 (your mother hasn't served me well, Dick, 
 — but pass over that), and pack up Dick's
 
 .236 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 clothes in a portmanteau. At nine o'clock 
 order a cab — say you are going out of 
 town, if the police interfere, which of 
 course they won't, your respectability 
 being known — go to the railway station, 
 where I'll meet you in another cab, and 
 get the portmanteau smuggled into mine 
 — I've some purchases to make at several 
 stores, and then I can go on to the docks 
 with my packages, and the tide serves at 
 eleven.' Your brother was a good deal 
 bothered, but, however, he did what I 
 wanted ; and here you are, with your duds, 
 safe and sound." 
 
 '' Thanks, Mat ! Thanks ! I owe you 
 much for your kindness," said Dick, taking 
 Mat heartily by the hand. 
 
 '' thanks; I want no thanks, Dick ; 
 
 here's your health, lad, and may you al- 
 ways find a port in a storm." 
 
 ^'The same to you, captain," and 
 Eichard tossed off the brandy in a very 
 different style to his brandy drinking in
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 237 
 
 Denby cavern some years previously. 
 " And now what do you propose to do ? " 
 
 '^ Oh, just keep you clear of the police, 
 until the admiral is well enough to order 
 them to withdraw the warrant against 
 you." 
 
 ^' I suppose I may go ashore?" 
 
 '' No you mayn't — leastwise not for a 
 day or two." 
 
 ^' Can't you drop me for an hour at 
 Helswick to-night. Mat?" 
 
 '^ No, not for a minute ; but you shall 
 see Miss Martin before the week's out, if 
 you like. After two or three days' cruis- 
 ing, I shall drop you at the cavern until I 
 run to Maryport and make things straight 
 with the owner. 
 
 The yacht rose and fell upon the 
 water, rose on the tall waves, and went 
 down into the watery valleys. 
 
 Bessie Martin saw it as she walked on 
 the beach; had she known that he was
 
 238 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 on board, how delighted she would have 
 been. For she was thinking of Richard 
 whilst the yacht was dancing before her 
 eyes. She was thinking what a noble, 
 handsome fellow he must be now ; and 
 how unkind it was of him not to write 
 to her. 
 
 "Never mind, I am as good as he is 
 after all," she thought, " and I am sure 
 I shall not fret myself about him. He 
 has forgotten me, I suppose, forgotten 
 all about the time when we were quite 
 children together; forgotten how I went 
 to the caverns for him, and we rode home 
 side by side. 
 
 " Well, let him forget if he likes, I'm 
 sure I don't care ; I could have plenty of 
 sweethearts if I wanted them; but if 
 Master Eichard could only see me to- 
 morrow. Oh, I think I would give a 
 thousand pounds, if I had it, if he could 
 but see me to-morrow." 
 
 Strange that Richard should have been
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 239 
 
 talking about her at the same moment, 
 and trying to urge Mat to put him ashore ; 
 strange that Richard was within half a 
 mile of her, hoping that he might see her 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Would to heaven the widest oceans 
 had rolled between them ! 
 
 Paul Massey and his wife saw the white 
 sail flashing over the green water; and 
 Paul speedily made her out. She hove 
 in sight very near the spot where she had 
 anchored on a certain night, for the pur- 
 pose of putting a certain person on board 
 a certain steamer. 
 
 '' Check," he said. 
 
 '' Is that the yacht, love ?" Mrs Massey 
 asked, looking up from the board where 
 a little mitred figure was supposed to be 
 holding in check an ivory monarch. 
 
 '' I don't know, my dear — don't open 
 the window, love — the air is quite chill to- 
 night — king to move, Anna." 
 
 Yes, you may say check, and you may
 
 240 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 explain that clever move to Anna; but 
 those big white pearls dancing at the prow 
 of yonder vessel are just over the spot 
 now, Paul Massey ; and you cannot check- 
 mate memory.
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE COCXTIXG-HOUSE AND THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 Mrs Grey blamed the whole of Richard 
 G-rey's disgrace to Peter Foster. Her boy- 
 was too generous, too confiding, so easily 
 led astray. It was the same with his poor 
 father ; and no wonder, for he was the 
 very image of her husband. No woman 
 had such troubles and trials as she had. 
 Why was it ? She had never done any- 
 body any harm. ^^ Oh, cruel, cruel! it 
 was cruel, George, for you to leave me," 
 she went on apostrophizing her absent 
 lord; ^^ but you were deceived, George, 
 you were deceived, and you'll live to see 
 it." 
 
 It was no use Frank attempting to 
 prevent his mother from talking. She 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 rocked herself to and fro, and wailed forth 
 her complaints. 
 
 "And that man who has taken him 
 away again, that man who has ruined my 
 poor boy, perhaps he has a hand in the 
 whole affair ; it may be only a plot. I 
 know I am foolish, Frank, I know I am : 
 but consider my troubles, ' consider my 
 troubles, think how I love my children. 
 How was Richard to know that it was an 
 improper place? How could he have 
 known, Frank ? Oh, I wish I had told 
 you about that Foster; he is the one that's 
 to blame, and yet the police have dis- 
 charged him, have actually let him go, 
 and are looking for my boy. Oh, Frank, 
 you must save him, and if he cannot come 
 back again let me go and live with him, 
 and take care of him for your poor father's 
 sake, whom you will yet see, I pray will^ 
 yet return." 
 
 " See him, mother ! I have no wish to 
 see my father — I hate him for his treat- 
 ment of you," said Frank, stamping across
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 243 
 
 the floor. He had striven hard to sit 
 quietly and not interrupt his mother's 
 complaints, but it cut him to the quick 
 that her love and all her thoughts should 
 cling about those who had wronged her so 
 much, to the exclusion of himself. From 
 childhood upwards, he had been a thought- 
 ful, affectionate son ; Richard had been 
 wilfal, disobedient, and a tyrant; their 
 father had deserted them and their mother, 
 at a time when most they needed his pro- 
 tecting aid; and yet all her love was for 
 E-ichard and the father. 
 
 ^'It maddens me, mother, to hear you 
 talk thus ; to see you grovel at the feet of 
 a son who spurns you, and wail after a 
 man who basely deserted you." 
 
 Frank's storm of passion stopped his 
 mother's moaning, for a few minutes ; she 
 looked up at him in astonishment. 
 
 ^' Yes, I suppose that is how it will 
 be — everybody against me — even you, 
 Frank, even you. Well, the Lord's will 
 be done. No matter who's feet I grovel
 
 244 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 at, no matter whom I love; what I love 
 always turns against me — ^husband and 
 sons." 
 
 Frank was touched at the poetic truth 
 of this disappointment of her love, and, 
 his passion over, he stooped to kiss his 
 mother's forehead, and to urge her to look 
 at affairs a little more calmly. 
 
 Until this morning Frank had never 
 entered the office in Beckford Square later 
 than ten o'clock. By the time that he had 
 been to the station and returned — ^the 
 police having ceased to watch the house — 
 it was twelve o'clock. For the first time, 
 too, he went along Maryport streets, with 
 his eyes cast down. 
 
 He thought it necessary, immediately 
 on entering the counting-house, to inquire 
 if Mr Welford, the senior partner, had 
 called that morning. The reply being in 
 the negative, Frank Grey wrote a short 
 note, and despatched it straight to Mr 
 Welford's residence. Then he went up
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 245 
 
 into his own room — the room which had 
 been Mr Thornhill's room — and sat down, 
 feeling that this was the saddest morning 
 he had known since the arrival of the news 
 that the junior partner was drowned. But 
 Frank was not the fellow to let even 
 sorrow interfere unduly with his business 
 duties; he was soon actively occupied in 
 the examination of bills of lading, in- 
 ventories of ships' stores, prices of freights, 
 telegrams of arrivals, and other documents 
 which belonged to his department in the 
 great shipping house of Welford and Co. 
 
 Ere long, after a short knock, a tall 
 gentlemanly man entered ; Frank rose and 
 received him with great deference. 
 
 The gentleman was Samuel Welford, 
 Esquire — a man past middle age, with 
 gray curly hair and whiskers, a fresh 
 florid complexion, and a benevolent smile. 
 His mouth indicated firmness, tempered 
 witli benevolence; and there was a store 
 of good nature in his eyes. He was at 
 least six feet, and he stooped slightly. His
 
 246 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 dress was a black morning suit; a gold 
 eye-glass peeped out from his waistcoat 
 pocket, and he carried a gold-headed cane. 
 This was Samuel Welford. Everybody 
 knew him in Maryport; he was courted 
 and flattered by all classes. He had twice 
 declined the honour of representing Mary- 
 port in Parliament. Once he had been 
 induced to fill the civic chair, during a 
 famous year when the city had the honour 
 of entertaining royal guests. 
 
 ^^Well, Mr Grey," said the senior 
 partner, coming forward and sitting down 
 near Frank, ^^you wished to see me; I 
 was just leaving my house when I re- 
 ceived your note, and I make my first call, 
 in the city this morning, upon you ; for I 
 am rather late in town to-day." 
 
 ^^ I was late too, sir, I am sorry to 
 say, in consequence of a very disagreeable 
 occurrence," said Frank, stammering a 
 little and becoming hot. 
 
 Frank had determined that the firm 
 should first learn, from him, of the dis-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 247 
 
 grace which had fallen upon him : for 
 Maryport was all alive with the news that 
 Frank Grrey's brother had murdered a 
 gentleman, in the worst den of infamy in 
 Maryport. There was no knowing how 
 the affair might affect his position in the 
 house, and it was best that he should ac- 
 quaint Mr Welford with the whole of the 
 circumstances, and place his resignation in 
 the hands of the firm. 
 
 ^^It is a serious business," said Mr 
 Welford, after Frank had told the story, in 
 which he extenuated his brother's conduct 
 to the utmost; ^^a very serious business, 
 and you have done right to tell me of it at 
 once. We have always been successful in 
 our confidential people here. Grey, and we 
 should not like the reputation of our staff 
 to be tarnished in the slightest degree." 
 
 ^^ That is what I felt, sir," said 
 Frank. 
 
 ^^ There could be no damage to the 
 house in any way, even if our best man 
 was really to commit a murder, Grey : but
 
 248 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 it would be very unpleasant to see the 
 name of the firm coupled with his offence. 
 We pride ourselves upon our managers 
 and clerks, ay, and upon our captains too ; 
 and it is well you have mentioned this. 
 Yes ; did this fellow, this Barns, assault 
 your brother first ? " 
 
 '' He did, sir," said Frank, ^^ or I am 
 sure my brother would never have raised a 
 hand against him." 
 
 '^ I know the fellow, I know him — a 
 sad scoundrel. Ah ! it was a brave thing, 
 after all, for the boy to encounter him. 
 Yes, a brave thing ; but not calculated to 
 do good : no. However, he's only a boy 
 — it will blow over, it will blow over," and 
 Samuel Welford tapped his stick on the 
 floor as an accompaniment to his words. 
 
 Frank, who had remained standing, 
 looked anxiously at the head of the house, 
 and in full expectation of his resignation 
 being accepted, in a kind speech, coupled 
 perhaps with an offer of some little appoint- 
 ment abroad.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 249 
 
 ^^ As to your resignation, Frank Grey, 
 that will not be received." 
 
 Frank drew a long breath of satisfac- 
 tion. 
 
 '^ No," continued the head of the firm, 
 ^^ I do not see that any reflection rests 
 upon you ; nor indeed upon your brother, 
 for half killing a scoundrel, who had as- 
 saulted him — the reflection upon your 
 brother is that he was in such bad company. 
 Boy or man, sir, he who resents an insult 
 or an injury, manfully, is to be applauded ; 
 but your brother's manliness is sullied by 
 brandy and tobacco and infamous com- 
 panions. He is young, let us hope he will 
 reform. Meanwhile your prospects in this 
 house will not be influenced by this occur- 
 rence; and you may go home and make 
 your mother happy, by the information 
 that, if I can do anything for your brother, 
 out of Maryport, I may, within reasonable 
 bounds, be commanded. Good morning, 
 Frank ! " and Mr Welford left the room 
 more firmly than ever convinced that there
 
 250 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 was the making of a thoroughly honest, 
 straight-forward man of business in Frank 
 Grey. 
 
 He might have been deceived in 
 Frank, nevertheless; for, after all, Frank 
 had only done just what a scheming 
 scoundrel might have done. Villany, or 
 Sycophancy, would, in all probability, 
 have thought it a good stroke of policy to 
 do what Frank did — to be the first to pro- 
 claim their undeserved disgrace ; either 
 one or the other might have counted it a 
 safe stroke of stratagem to have drawn up 
 a notice of resignation : so closely do 
 villains, and intriguers, imitate the virtu- 
 ous and the honest. 
 
 But Mr Welford was not deceived in 
 Frank Grey, who was an upright manly 
 fellow ; too proud — though he was but the 
 son of a runaway carpenter — to hold any 
 position under false pretences ; too high- 
 minded to do an injustice to his employers; 
 too sensitive to pass over any incident 
 which affected his position or character,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 251 
 
 without inquiry and explanation. He had 
 started in life determined to get on, and 
 with a fixed resolve to make an hon- 
 ourable name, whatever business or profes- 
 sion he undertook. 
 
 Don't imagine from this little picture 
 of Frank, that he belonged to the stiff 
 ^'good boy" school. You would neither 
 find him whining at prayer-meetings, nor 
 prating consequential nonsense at temper- 
 ance elocution clubs. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was a religious young 
 man. Though in his passion he had said 
 he hated his father, it was only through 
 love of his mother that he said so, and 
 because he had never known his father 
 except through the mother's great wrong. 
 Though he had, in this same passion, 
 spoken bitterly of Richard, he had done 
 so because he felt that Richard was not 
 worthy of his mother's deep love, and 
 because his heart rebelled, for a moment, 
 against his mother's injustice. 
 
 He went to church nearly every Sun-
 
 252 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 day; he was absent sometimes; and yet 
 we say he was religious. He kept the 
 beautiful commandment, '^ Love thy neigh- 
 bour as thyself," as much as any young 
 man, or any old man, could possibly keep 
 it. He went to the theatre now and then, 
 and entered into the spirit of the perform- 
 ances enthusiastically, and had confessed 
 to shedding tears over a celebrated actress's 
 '' Constance" in King John. Once he had 
 fallen desperately in love with a lady 
 who played Ophelia ; and had received a 
 slight wound in the heart, on hearing that 
 Ophelia was the wife of a red-headed 
 fellow who played second fiddle in the 
 orchestra. But Frank was a good moral 
 young fellow, notwithstanding. Amongst 
 the books which he had carefully read 
 might have been found the prose works of 
 Voltaire and Tom Paine^ and the marvellous 
 poems of Shelley ; and yet Frank had a 
 full belief and hope in God, and said his 
 prayers regularly and fervently. He liked 
 to read both sides of all questions, and, in
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 253 
 
 liis thoughtful way, defied such writers 
 as Voltaire or Paine, rather than ignored 
 them. He read them only that he should 
 not tacitly condemn what he had not read; 
 for, indeed, Frank was not fond of theo- 
 logical reading, and when revelling in 
 ^^ Queen Mab" he saw and sorrowed over 
 the blots upon that marvellous work 5 but 
 he felt, to the full, the magic of the poetry; 
 Frank Grey was in truth every inch a 
 gentleman ; as all boys may become, what- 
 ever their origin, if they make up their 
 minds to be so. 
 
 The Maryport hospital was not in- 
 tended for such patients as Mr Barns. 
 But the j)olice having taken him there, 
 not knowing where he lodged, he re- 
 mained, to shock both nurses and doctors 
 with his blasphemous ravings. 
 
 When Mat Dunkum called to see him, 
 a few days after the accident, Mr Barns 
 was progressing favourably. But he was 
 liable to a relapse at any moment ; for the
 
 254 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 return of consciousness, with the memory 
 of being beaten by a boy, would throw 
 him into violent fits of passion, no less 
 dreadful to contemplate than his delirious 
 shouts of vengeance, and his maniacal 
 laughter at '^ that fool Massey." In truth, 
 the stupidity and presumption of Paul 
 Massey was a theme upon which he had 
 latterly said many wild things. 
 
 ^' I'll ruin him yet," he shouted, when 
 Mat Dunkum and he were alone, ^' I'll ruin 
 him, him." 
 
 ^^ No, no, let him alone. Squire," said 
 Mat, sitting down in the single chair, and 
 looking calmly at the sufferer. 
 
 " Let him alone ! Who do you mean ? 
 who do you mean? Let Paul Massey 
 
 alone, him. I'll teach him who he's 
 
 got to deal with ! " 
 
 '^ He knows that pretty well, I guess," 
 said Mat, straightening the disarranged 
 bed-clothes. 
 
 ^' Knows it. Thirty thousand pounds
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 255 
 
 in four years, and grumbles, liim. I'll 
 
 have every penny, every penny." 
 
 The wretched man rose up in bed, and 
 beat the air with his hands. 
 
 ^^ There, there. Squire," said Mat, 
 " that'll do ; you'll only be worse." 
 
 *' Dunkum, kill that young devil I met 
 at Keem's — kill him. Mat — I'll give you a 
 thousand pounds to finish him, the infernal 
 rascal. Oh, my head ! oh, my head ! — the 
 
 scoundrel — kill him. Mat ; " and then 
 
 the half delirious man sank back exhausted. 
 
 By and by he beckoned Mat to ap- 
 proach closer, and said in a more rational 
 tone, 
 
 ^' You know that small ebony box of 
 mine ? " 
 
 '' With the patent lock ? " asked Mat. 
 
 '' Yes, — it ; don't ask questions, answer 
 them." 
 
 '^ Well, I know it, then — it's in the 
 cabin," said Mat angrily. 
 
 ''Let me have it; when I'm well
 
 25 G BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 enough I shall make my will, and you'll 
 find it there." 
 
 ^' All right, Commodore," said Mat, 
 smiling. 
 
 ^' Oh yes, you think I'm mad again, 
 you think I'm raving ; you're mistaken this 
 time ; I've an heiress. Mat, somewhere, and 
 her mother's been to me just now in a 
 dream. I can see her now —take her away 
 — tell her I'll do it — I'll do it to-morrow." 
 
 And then the wretch raved again, star- 
 ing wildly about the room. 
 
 '^ I left five pounds for her, myself — 
 I did — go away, go away." 
 
 Was this mere delirium ? Or did 
 memory torture Winford Barns w^ith a 
 vision of the past ? There were wild 
 stories told of him, as you know, in the 
 north. He had lived a desperate life 
 before he knew Paul Massey — a desperate 
 life of riot. Want of ways and means 
 had, however, pulled him up short, just 
 about the time that he made the acquaint- 
 ance of the rich shipowner's son ', and he
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 257 
 
 was compelled to raise money by various 
 schemes that were by no means creditable. 
 Paul, however, knew nothing of his dis- 
 honoured bills, and his mortgages, and his 
 creditors, Paul only knew that he had 
 been extravagant, that he was clever, and 
 that he entered heart and soul into Paul's 
 plans of travel and adventure. If at the 
 time when lago had turned round upon 
 his passionate Othello, and had him in his 
 grip, ■ the love-mad Paul had been clever 
 enough to hunt up the discreditable paper 
 which bore Winford's signature ; if he had 
 been shrewd enough to have worked out a 
 counter-plot against Barns, he might have 
 found some bills that purported to bear 
 his own signature. More than one banker 
 had wondered why Mr Massey gave Win- 
 ford Barns so many bills ; but they were 
 always paid on being presented, so the 
 deception was never discovered. Winford 
 took care the bills were duly met ; and he 
 dragged the money to meet them out of 
 Paul Massey' s coffers. 
 
 * VOL. I. 17
 
 258 BITTEK SWEETS. 
 
 But we are straying somewhat from the 
 point. Was the patient's reference to a 
 woman mere madness, or a little of that 
 tortm^e which conscience will inflict some- 
 times upon men who have defied her 
 power for years ? Perhaps we shall learn 
 as the story progresses. 
 
 Again delirium carried him back to 
 the scene of his injury, and he shrieked 
 for vengeance on Richard Grey, until his 
 strength failed him once more, and he lay 
 panting on the pillow. 
 
 ^^ Humph!" said a voice, peeping into 
 the ward, '^ you're a worry pretty speci- 
 men of 'umanity, you are." 
 
 '' What the devil brought you here ? " 
 said Mat. 
 
 '' I should think you were a sufferin' 
 from a hoverflow ov the milk ov 'uman 
 kindness on the brain," continued the 
 voice, taking no heed of Mat Dunkum's 
 fierce interrogation. 
 
 ^^Do you hear me?" said Mat, be-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 259 
 
 tween his teeth, '^ you spying son of a 
 witch." 
 
 ^^ I hears yer, Master Dunkum ; I 
 hears yer ; bless your handsome face, 
 you're woice is not one of them ere soft 
 and low woices as Shakespeare says is — " 
 
 ^^ I'll Shakspur you," says Mat, seizing 
 the diminutive groom by the collar, and 
 dragging him into the ward. 
 
 '^ Hollo! hollo!" says an attendant, com- 
 ing up at the moment, '^ this will not do." 
 
 ^' All right, guvner," said Mat, " I was 
 only stopping this fellow from waking the 
 Squire." 
 
 ^^Yes, it's all right," Joe Wittle re- 
 plied; ^^I was speaking a little too loud 
 for the patient ; I will not do so again ; 
 I've come from one of his most hintimate 
 friends to see him, and have got this ere 
 note of permission," said Joe ; upon which 
 the attendant passed on, though the nurse 
 came in immediately afterwards. 
 
 '^ Ah, I'm werry glad to hear that he'll
 
 260 BITTER SV/EETS. 
 
 get over it, werry glad," said Joe, on re- 
 ceiving the nurse's report, though he could 
 hardly be said to have looked what he 
 said. ^^ He's such a werry kind gentleman, 
 and so relegious ; thousands of blessed 
 widders and orphings will be glad to hear 
 it, when I tells 'em as Mr Barns is get- 
 ting better. My master wouldn't wait a 
 moment, when he heard of the melancholy 
 affair, until I had started off to see how 
 the dear genleman was." 
 
 ^^ Take him out ! Take him out ! " ex- 
 claimed the invalid, attempting to rise, 
 but laying his head back when he felt 
 the strong hand of the nurse upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 ^^ I'se obliged to be savage with him," 
 said the woman, answering the inquiring 
 gaze of Mat Dunkum and the groom. 
 
 Winford glared at her for a moment ; 
 but shut his eyes and was silent when the 
 woman leaned over him and said : '' Now 
 look here. Squire, I'll not have any non- 
 sense — off goes the bandage and on goes
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 261 
 
 another dressing, if you shows anv more 
 hobstrepering." 
 
 ^' Gentle as a lamb ; he alers was, 
 bless yer," said Joe, putting his thumbs 
 in the armholes of his waistcoat, and prop- 
 ping himself against the wall. 
 
 '' I think it's time you were oif," said 
 Mat Dunkum, scowling at the groom. 
 
 " Do you ? " said Joe. ^' Worry likely ; 
 you see your thoughts ain't alers the 
 coreck card, Mister Dunkum. I'm going 
 to stay here till the doctor comes." 
 
 ^' Then stay and be hanged," said Mat, 
 seizing his cap and hurrying out. 
 
 ^^Arter you, sir," said Joe, thrusting 
 his hands into his waistcoat pockets and 
 winking at the ugly old nurse; '^ arter 
 you, sir."
 
 262 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE MAY QUEEN. 
 
 Richard GrREYhad arrived at the caverns, 
 contemporaneously with the razor-bills, and 
 alca tordas, which, as is their migratory 
 custom, had left them since the autumn. 
 The dottrel had also just arrived on the 
 heath above, and the landrail had returned 
 to some meadows over the fell. He knew 
 nothing of these arrivals, however, and 
 cared nothing, when he crept beneath the 
 rugs and blankets in the inner chamber 
 of the caverns. 
 
 Mat had lighted the fire ; but there was 
 a damp earthly smell in the place, which 
 only seemed to exude all the more as the 
 fire burnt up. Dick had drunk freely of 
 the spirits which Mat had left for him, and,.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 263 
 
 with only his head uncovered, he felt 
 thoroughly comfortable. 
 
 The fire flickered and crackled, and 
 the light played all sorts of antics on the 
 walls, now showing up a fowling-piece, 
 now hovering mysteriously about a pair of 
 oars, now throwing a dash of light upon 
 an old sou-wester, now darting off into 
 dark corners and shady recesses. The 
 elfish flickers sent Dick off into fitful dozes, 
 out of which he would start, grasping an 
 old broadsword that lay beside him ; not 
 that he was afraid, but that he was valiant 
 — for verily, if occasion had required it, 
 Dick would have made terrible use of that 
 antique weapon. 
 
 Mat had given the boy particular in- 
 structions not to stir from the caverns until 
 he returned with news fi:om Maryport ; 
 but an awakened interest in Bessie Martin 
 was now so strengthened by his loneliness, 
 that he could not help feeling a strong de- 
 termination to go forth, on the morrow, 
 and find Bessie out.
 
 264 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Old memories began to crop up, and 
 mingle themselves, in fancies, with the fire- 
 light. The school-house and the caverns, 
 when his mother lived at Denby, and the 
 incidents of his boy-life, gathered about 
 memory's store-house, and flitted to and 
 fro ghostily, like the fire-flickers, until he 
 no longer grasped the old sword, and his 
 head lay back upon the canvas pillow. 
 
 Then he dreamed of his stolen visits to 
 the caverns, and <>f all his wild plans of 
 piratical glory. He was out upon the sea, 
 '^ with the black flag waving," and '^ his 
 Bessie by his side." He ran his '' gallant 
 ship " into the harbour ; the feast was 
 spread; the pirate-villagers gathered round; 
 there was the dance and the song on the 
 sunny beach, and Bessie, the pirate bride, 
 leaned gracefully upon the pirate's arm. 
 
 In another moment he was in Mary- 
 port; the gas-lamps were lighted, the streets 
 were black and slippery ; but Keem's 
 Harmonic Bowers were radiant. He sat 
 beside the chairman ; jovial, noisy songs
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 265 
 
 were sung, and he applauded immensely. 
 The serio-comic-grotesque vocalist, and au- 
 thor of the '^ original, screaming, quaint, 
 quizzical, and grotesque medley, ' Jolly 
 Bones,' " had just finished the third verse 
 of that favourite ditty : — 
 
 It's always in pictures 
 
 Death's a glass in Ms hand, 
 And it's only the fools 
 
 Who think it is sand ; 
 Tor Death's a sly fellow,— 
 
 Between you and me. 
 He often gets mellow — 
 And goes on the spree. 
 Tolol de ri day, 
 Tol de ri day, 
 TolderoUiddle, 
 Toll lol de ri day. 
 
 Dick had clanked his glass with his 
 neighbour's and joined in the chorus, when 
 there was an interruption at the lower end 
 of the room. He turned round and saw 
 Winford Barns conducting Bessie Martin 
 to a seat. Bessie Martin ! yes, it was she, 
 Dick leaped from his chair and sprang to-
 
 266 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 wards them ; but only to staud shivering 
 in the middle of the room. 
 
 Morning soon came, after this ; but 
 Morning would have nothing to do with 
 Mat Dunkum's dark cavern. She opened 
 her golden gates, and stood a-tip-toe on the 
 high hills. She touched the sky, with her 
 orient wand, and bright streaks shone 
 upon it, which the sea copied and sped 
 away with to the shore. She breathed 
 upon the primroses, and they opened wide 
 their eyes; she chased away the tears 
 which the violets had shed in the night; 
 and the blue-bells nodded their heads to 
 the brown russet leaves in the forest^ and 
 told them that the sun was shining, upon 
 which a few blind leaves shambled about 
 to feel the beams as they had felt them in 
 their green youth; but tlie winds that waited 
 upon the Morning blew them aside, and, lo 
 and behold, green leaves and primrose-buds 
 peeped up where the brown leaves had 
 lain. Morning stood upon the high hills, 
 and touched the birds with her orient
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 267 
 
 wand, and they shook their heads, stupidly 
 at first, and then twittered and told each 
 other it was day-break. She sent bands of 
 special messengers, fleet rosy messengers, 
 to peep into cottage windows, and awaken 
 pretty maidens ; and then hundreds start- 
 ed up and said: ^^It's May-day, it's May- 
 day." 
 
 It was May-day ! and a delightful rem- 
 nant of the Pagan festival was still ob- 
 served at Denby and Helswick, and all 
 along the coast, and far away into the in- 
 terior of the country. 
 
 May-day ! Bessie Martin had no mother 
 to call her early ; but the goddess on the 
 high hills did not forget her. Eight over 
 the roofs of Helswick, past the tall terrace 
 where the visitors lodged, round by the 
 church and into the little market-place, 
 one of the rosy messengers sent a flood of 
 sunlight through the diamond panes of a 
 little garret window, and up started Bessie 
 Martin. 
 
 And '^ I'm to be Queen,'' said Bessie,
 
 268 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 pattering across the floor, with her little 
 naked feet, and looking out over the sea ; 
 for Mr Beachstone's shop, in which she was 
 assistant, had such an out-look from its 
 back premises. 
 
 '^What a beautiful morning, I do de- 
 clare, and I've a holiday all day," said 
 Bessie, looking smilingly into the glass 
 that hung by the wall. '^ And there's 
 Cissy, and Mary, and Jane, and William 
 under the window, already." 
 
 She gently opened two panes, put her 
 lips out as far as she could, and whispered, 
 '^ I'll be down directly." 
 
 Richard Grey groped through the 
 matted old doorway of the cavern, and 
 over the plank, and round corners, and 
 over pools of water, until he was fairly in 
 presence of the Morning. 
 
 The sun was shining hotly upon the 
 water, in which the sea-birds were flapping 
 their wings, and washing themselves, and 
 fishing for their morning meal.
 
 BITTEE SWEETS. 269 
 
 " That will be the best thing I can do," 
 said Richard, at the sea ; and then he threw 
 off the clothes in which he had slept, and 
 dashed into the water. 
 
 One big sigh was ail the cold waves 
 wrung from Dick, after his plunge. The 
 birds screamed and flew back to the rocks, 
 the razor-bills, which had arrived the day 
 before, expressing considerable disgust at 
 this interruption of their first morning's 
 diversions. But Richard bellowed at the 
 birds in return, and buffeted the waves, 
 and swam out so far that the birds came 
 back again, to be dispersed anew by the in- 
 truder. • 
 
 Dick had only a cold breakfast after his 
 bath, but he attacked the bread and meat, 
 which Mat had left him, with a hearty 
 relish, and washed it down with brandy 
 and water. And then this wild, reckless, 
 careless fellow, in spite of Mat's warnings, 
 climbed up the secret way and stood on the 
 top of the cliffs. 
 
 ''I've a great mind to go and find her,"
 
 270 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 he said to himself as he looked towards 
 Helswick. ^^ No, no, better not now; to- 
 night when it's dark," and he strode away- 
 over the fell. 
 
 ^' However, nobody will know me now 
 — I've not been here for four years, and 
 I'm as big again as I was ; so I shall just 
 go for a stroll, whatever you may say, 
 Mat ; " and away he went, over broken 
 rocks, lying amongst purple and brown 
 and yellow heath. 
 
 Then he came to meadows of mowing 
 grass from which rose the voice of the land- 
 rail ; and he skirted hedges, white with 
 hawthorn, in ^hich the chaffinches were 
 building their nests. He had often to go 
 out of his way, to pass groups of happy 
 children, who were gathering the May 
 flowers. He paused sometimes to listen to 
 their merry laughter, and then he could 
 not help feeling like a guilty thing amongst 
 innocence ; for he soon knew that it must 
 be May-morning, and he remembered how 
 he and Bessie had plucked the primroses,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 271 
 
 in years gone by, on merry May-morn- 
 ings. 
 
 The groups of children grew more 
 numerous as he proceeded. They ran from 
 flower to flower, \vith gleeful shouts, filling 
 their pinafores with buds and blossoms. 
 
 The kind old rector of Helswick had a 
 May-pole set up annually in the meadow 
 by his house ; but he insisted that the 
 flowers that decked it should be fresh 
 gathered on the May morning. To enable 
 this to be accomplished the shaft was not 
 erected until the afternoon, when the Queen 
 took her seat on her hawthorn throne, and 
 the fete began as the sun went down. So 
 off in the morning early went out the Queen, 
 as well as her subjects, to cull the floral 
 gems ; whilst hundreds of little May-queens 
 were made radiant, by poor mothers and 
 sisters, to call at every house and to stop 
 every person with, '^ Please to remember 
 the May." Little toddling things, stagger- 
 ing under loads of flowers, went about Hels-
 
 272 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 wick, from morning mitil night ; but this 
 was a degeneration of the old custom, and 
 must have been introduced by a Barnum- 
 mendicant. Nevertheless, it was a memento 
 of good old days, and we shall give our 
 coppers, whenever we visit Helswick, to 
 poor little begging queens, though we do 
 go and pay our respects to the real one. 
 
 You have learnt that Bessie Martin had 
 been selected for the royal position on this 
 May-day of our story. The choice had 
 fallen upon her by ballot of her companions, 
 as was the custom at the rectory festivals ; 
 and Bessie was not a little vain of the dis- 
 tinction. It was done at the Christmas tea- 
 meeting (when the jolly old rector always 
 chose to set the minds of the young people 
 of his parish thinking about the spring), 
 and, ever since, Bessie Martin had been in 
 a little flutter of preparation. Several 
 times, in that old-fashioned stationer's shop 
 at Helswick, where she assisted the master 
 and the mistress to wait upon the cus-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 273 
 
 tomers, she had handed to customers note- 
 paper instead of envelopes, and sealing-wax 
 instead of wafers, because she was thinking 
 about the dress she should wear on May-day. 
 She had sat behind the counter, at night, in 
 the dim uncertain light of two candles, and 
 pictured herself in white muslin with pink 
 ribbons ; and she had said to herself : ^^ Oh, 
 that Eichard Grrey could see me then — oh, 
 that the proud, fine gentleman, Richard, 
 could see me then ! " For Bessie had con- 
 cluded that Richard had grown '^ a fine 
 gentleman," and that this was the reason 
 he had ceased writing to her. 
 
 Bessie had changed since we saw her 
 last on that memorable night at the caverns. 
 She had, in fact, become almost a woman. 
 Indeed some of the customers had said she 
 was too much of a woman to be a May- 
 queen, but Bessie had shaken her black 
 curls, and answered: ^^ Please, Pm only 
 just past eighteen." The rector's son from 
 Oxford had told her (when old Beachstone's 
 back was turned) that she would be the 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 prettiest May-queen he had ever beheld. 
 Bessie had taken the first opportunity, wlien 
 he was gone, to run up-stairs and look at 
 herself in the square piece of glass that 
 hung by her bed, and the scrutiny was 
 quite satisfactory. Her dark cheeks glow- 
 ed with health, and her eyes sparkled a 
 great deal more than the mock-diamonds in 
 old Mrs Beachstone's brooch. '' Oh, if she 
 had only a brooch lil^e that ! " 
 
 As Richard rambled along through the 
 May-decked fields, he heard a voice w^hich 
 arrested his attention. He thought it 
 sounded like Bessie Martin's voice. He 
 peeped through the hedge, and there sure 
 enough was Bessie, in the midst of a group 
 of boys and girls, some about her own age, 
 and others much younger. There she 
 stood, with a hat in her hand, and her hair 
 falling, from a crown of hawthorn, down 
 her back. She might have sat for a gipsy 
 queen, she had such white teeth, such red 
 and brown cheeks, such black eyes.
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 275 
 
 Dick almost shouted with joy ; he 
 had been so lonely before, and now he 
 felt he would have somebody to talk to. 
 But how was this to be managed? how 
 should he attract Bessie's attention, and get 
 her away from her companions ? He feared 
 she would not know him again, he had 
 grown so tall. 
 
 ^' She's not tall," said Dick to himself; 
 '^ but how much older she looks, and how 
 pretty ! — and I not to have written to 
 her ! " 
 
 Shortly, all the young people sat down 
 to arrange their flowers, when suddenly 
 Bessie bethought her that she wanted one 
 more spray of hawthorn, and before any 
 one else could rise she darted off to the 
 hedge behind which Richard was hiding. 
 A fussy young gentleman, whom Dick had 
 once or twice thought he would like to 
 strangle on the spot, ran after her. Bessie 
 reached the hawthorn first, and then Dick 
 stooped down and said, '^ Bessie, it's Richard 
 Grey."
 
 276 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! " exclaimed Bessie, starting back. 
 
 ^^What have you done?" asked the 
 fussy young gentleman, as Dick threw him- 
 self down to avoid observation. 
 
 " Only pricked my finger,'' said Bessie ; 
 but she was so agitated that the fussy 
 young gentleman looked exceedingly puz- 
 zled — ^^just go back and get my hat, 
 William," 
 
 '' It's full of flowers," said William. 
 
 ^' Never mind, turn them out," and the 
 boy ran to fulfil her commands. 
 
 '^ Bessie," again whispered Dick. 
 
 '^Are you sure it's Eichard," asked 
 Bessie, pretending to gather hawthorn, 
 that her friends might not discover her real 
 occupation. 
 
 '' Yes, it's Richard from Mary port — 
 Richard, you know, who ran away from 
 school." 
 
 " Dear, dear, how you frightened 
 me," said Bessie, her heart beating with 
 
 joy. 
 
 '^ Get away from those girls and boys,
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 277 
 
 SO that I can talk to you. I daren't let 
 them see me, because, because — " and Dick 
 hesitated a moment for a reason — '^ because 
 I have run away to see you." 
 
 Bessie started off as he finished, before 
 William could return with her hat ; and 
 Richard Grrey rose and watched her. 
 
 By and by the group was again scatter- 
 ed over the field, in search of a particular 
 flower which Bessie had discovered, almost 
 at the last moment, to be wanting. A 
 group in which she was conspicuous made 
 its way to a patch of wood, on the side 
 nearest Eichard, who at once crept back 
 and entered the plantation, with its bud- 
 ding branches waving above the blue bells 
 and the dead leaves. 
 
 Ere long Bessie separated herself from 
 the rest, and Richard, darting out, close by 
 her, kissed her before she could speak. 
 
 '^ Come along, come along," he said, 
 taking her arm and putting it under his 
 own, and they were soon out of hearing of 
 the flower hunters.
 
 278 ' BITTEE SWEETS. 
 
 ^^ How tall you have grown, Richard, 
 since we saw each other last," said Bessie, 
 when they stopped. 
 
 ^^ And how pretty you have grown, 
 Bessie," said Eichard; ^^ sit down, Bess, 
 and let's have a chat." 
 
 '^ I must only stay a few minutes, 
 Richard. Besides, you cannot care much 
 for talking to me ; you have never answer- 
 ed my last letter, two years ago." 
 
 '' How could I, Bess, I've had so much 
 to do, and I've always been planning to 
 meet you suddenly, you know ; and, and — 
 oh, I'm so glad to see you, Bessie." 
 
 '' So glad, and yet you couldn't write 
 one little letter." 
 
 ^^ Never mind the letter-writing, Bessie 
 — my Bessie." 
 
 *^ Mi/ Bessie, indeed," said the girl, 
 removing his arm from her waist, with 
 feigned anger. 
 
 '' Yes, my Bessie — you ain't any other's 
 Bessie, — eh ? " 
 
 ^^ I don't know that — I might be."
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 279 
 
 ^^ Might — yes; those eyes would make 
 their way through a deal board." 
 
 '' Would they, Master Flatterer ? " said 
 Bessie, smiling archly. 
 
 '' Yes, they would," said Richard, 
 taking a flower from her bouquet, and 
 putting it into his button-hole. 
 
 What a pity that Eichard Grey was a 
 scoundrel ! He really looked worthy of 
 that pretty little gipsy. The wind was 
 blowing through his fair hair (his cap lay 
 upon the ground), and his blue eyes were 
 sparkling, — ay, almost as brilliantly as 
 Bessie's own black ones, that expressed her 
 admiration for the companion of her child- 
 hood. 
 
 '^ But they are soon forgotten when the 
 deal board goes away," said Bessie, per- 
 mitting Dick's arm to encircle her once 
 more. 
 
 ''Don't say that, Bess; you don't 
 know how I've been thinking about you, 
 and counting upon this meeting," said 
 Dick.
 
 280 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 He was quite right. She did not know, 
 seeing that he had not counted upon it at 
 all, until Mat Dunkum had given him that 
 glowing description of Mrs Beachstone's 
 assistant, on board the yacht, and until he 
 found himself lonely, and in want of a 
 companion. 
 
 '' But you ought to have written to 
 me," said Bessie, conscious of what was 
 due not only to her beauty, but to her love; 
 for poor, vain, kind-hearted, generous little 
 Bessie Martin always had loved Eichard 
 Grey. 
 
 ^'Well, then, I ought," said Dick, 
 drawing her close to his side. ^' I ought, 
 and I ask you to forgive me, you know. 
 Will you, eh?" 
 
 '' Yes," said Bessie, " I will." 
 
 ^^ You know I always thought you the 
 dearest, prettiest girl in all the world." 
 
 Bessie shook her head, and pretended 
 not to believe this, which induced Richard 
 to vow and protest all manner of things, 
 declaring his everlasting devotion to her;
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 281 
 
 and, alas ! for Bessie, she believed him. 
 
 At length Bessie said she really must go. 
 
 " And you ought not to kiss me, 
 Richard ; remember I am not a little girl 
 now." 
 
 She drew her lithe supple figure to its 
 full height, and she certainly was not a 
 little girl, but a sweet, pretty, blushing 
 maiden. Better for her, perhaps, had 
 there been no mirrors. 
 
 ^^ But I am going to leave England, 
 Bessie," said Richard Grey. 
 
 '^ To leave England?" she repeated, and 
 all the happy triumphant smile was gone. 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 ^^ When, when, Richard?" 
 
 '^ In a few days." 
 
 Then Bessie looked sad, and the con- 
 versation became earnest and interesting. 
 She told Richard her story, and Richard 
 told her portions of his own. 
 
 He was not so pleased as she thought 
 he might have been, when she told him 
 that she was to be May-queen.
 
 282 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 This, he told her, was only because 
 he could not be there to see her. She 
 wondered why he could not be there, and 
 he soon satisfied her that he must not. 
 He would wait for her when it was over, at 
 all risks, and take her home. But some- 
 body else, she said, would be sure to take 
 her home — perhaps the rector's son. 
 
 When he heard this Richard almost 
 vowed he would be there ; but he checked 
 liimself, and made Bessie promise that she 
 would go home alone, if possible. And 
 then they parted ; for voices, which they 
 had heard in the distance, came nearer and 
 nearer, until Richard was compelled to 
 leave Bessie to the fussy young gentleman, 
 and half-a-dozen girls, who had searched 
 for her everywhere. 
 
 Never was such a bewildered, excited 
 May-queen as Bessie Martin. The jolly old 
 rector said to his wife that he was afraid 
 distinction had turned poor Bessie's head. 
 The rector's son from Oxford was delighted 
 to have her for a partner, nevertheless, in
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 283 
 
 the country dance which closed the day's 
 festivities ; and the fussy young gentleman 
 gnashed his teeth, with inward rage and 
 chagrin, at the snubbing Bessie had quietly 
 given him, when he ventured to squeeze her 
 hand in one of the early games. 
 
 It was nearly dark when the May-day 
 festival was over ; and the fussy young 
 gentleman, in his rage, had been bold 
 enough to cut out the rector's son, by being 
 first to offer himself as Bessie's escort home. 
 But Bessie knew that a much handsomer 
 fellow than either of them, and one she 
 preferred to a hundred such, was waiting 
 outside, and she soon found means to slip 
 away alone. 
 
 Richard discovered a roundabout way 
 to Bessie's home, and they lingered here 
 and there on the way, always walking 
 slowly. 
 
 There were no gas lamps within twenty 
 miles of Helswick, and the night being 
 dark, the young lovers were not interrupt- 
 ed by prying eyes. But when Bessie en-
 
 284 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 tered old Beachstone's house, Mrs Beach- 
 stone was in the kitchen to receive her and 
 to rebuke her for being out so late. 
 
 The next night, and the following 
 night, Bessie was also talked to bed, in 
 angry terms, by the same tongue. '^ What 
 could the girl be thinking of, staying out 
 until ten o'clock at night, and without 
 being able to give any satisfactory ex- 
 planation of where she had been ? "
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 EICHAED GEEY ASTONISHES MAT DUNK[JM. 
 
 At tlie end of the week, when Mat 
 Dunkum returned to the caverns, he found 
 Richard Grey comfortably ensconced in 
 the cottage. Richard said the house was 
 warmer, and more civilized. The cavern 
 parlour had given him the blues. No, 
 he had not been reading much : the 
 books which Mat noticed were from Beach- 
 stone's. 
 
 ^^ And is this from Beachstone's ? " 
 asked Mat, stooping to pick up a pink 
 ribbon, fastened to a little jet brooch, that 
 lay upon the floor. 
 
 Richard Grey snatched at the trinket, 
 without responding to Mat's laughter.
 
 286 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 *' Softly, softly," said Mat, holding the 
 ribbon above Richard's head. 
 
 Eichard looked sullenly upwards, and 
 eventually Mat dropped the waif upon 
 the table, and Richard put it into his 
 pocket. 
 
 '^ Well, I'll not be inquisitive," said 
 Mat, sitting down astride a chair, and 
 looking at his protege, 
 
 '^ You needn't," said Richard, upon 
 whose cheeks there was a little extra 
 colour. 
 
 ^' Very well, then, I won't ; but it ain't 
 the thing, you know, to be having visitors 
 when the master of the house is away — ah, 
 ah, ah," and Mat laughed at Richard. 
 
 After a momentary consideration, 
 whether he should laugh or be angry, 
 Richard joined in Mat's rough guffaw. 
 
 ^^ Now, then, tell us your news, and 
 never mind my visitor," said Richard. 
 
 '' Well, then, what would you like it to 
 be?" 
 
 " I don't care a button," said Dick,
 
 • BITTER SWEETS. 287 
 
 putting his hands into his pockets, and 
 singing a stanza of the song which was 
 held in such high favour at Keem's Har- 
 monic Bowers. 
 
 '^ You don't care ?" 
 
 ^^Not a stiver, not a farthing." 
 
 " Very well, then, Tve put everything 
 all straight for you at Maryport ; and I've 
 made arrangements for the future. Your 
 brother Frank has got you a place as a 
 kind of inspector in America for Welford 
 and Co., and — " 
 
 ^^ Blow my brother Frank — hang 
 Welford and Co.," exclaimed Richard 
 Grey, with a contemptuous toss of the 
 head. 
 
 ^^ You may blow and hang who you 
 like," said Mat; ^' I've done my best for 
 you." 
 
 ■"^ And bad's the best, if that's it," said 
 Richard. 
 
 '^ I thought you didn't care a button 
 just now how it was to be ? " 
 
 '' No more I don't."
 
 288 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 ''And yet you arn't satisfied." 
 
 "No — I am satisfied with you, you 
 know, Mat — much obliged to you, and all 
 that ; but blow my brother Frank and that 
 humbug, Welford." 
 
 ''All right; then you won't have the 
 situation ?" 
 
 " 0, I'll have it," said Richard, as 
 though he were conferring a great favour 
 upon his brother and the Messrs Wel- 
 ford and Co., and upon Mat too. " I'll 
 have it. They'll pay my fare out, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 "They'll pay your fare, and do what 
 is handsome in every way." 
 
 " What salary will they give me ? " 
 
 "They didn't say how much; but I 
 understood from your brother that Mr 
 Welford had said he would see to that 
 himself." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! " 
 
 "Yes; and your brother seemed to 
 think that Mr Welford was showing a very
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 289 
 
 great interest in you to have troubled him- 
 self so far in the matter." 
 
 '' I dare say ; I never thought so much 
 of Welford as Frank does. And when am 
 I to go ? " 
 
 ^^You can bid your mother good-bye 
 in two days from now, and I'm to put you 
 aboard ship at Liverpool." 
 
 '' Oh ! " ejaculated Richard. 
 
 '^You're a cool hand as ever I came 
 across," said Mat, looking at Dick with 
 what would have been an admiring smile, 
 had not Mat felt a little annoyed. 
 
 ^^Aml?" 
 
 ^^ Yes ; you don't ask me how I've 
 managed to get you out of the Commo- 
 dore's clutches." 
 
 ^^ Oh, that beggar Barns j you mean — who 
 cares for him ? " 
 
 ^' Cares! well, nobody as I know of," 
 said Mat ; ^^but there was a warrant out 
 against you, Dick." 
 
 " Ah, I forgot that — is it out now ? — 
 is it coming here ? — will it be at home on 
 Sunday if I should call ?" 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 '^ You certainly are a stunner ; but I 
 think I'd rather you weren't quite such a 
 stunner," said Mat, looking at Richard 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 Dick snapped his fingers, and roared 
 out, at the top of his voice — 
 
 Let's be merry while we can, 
 
 Every jovial fellow, 
 Ne'er a lad will be a man 
 
 Unless he's sometimes mellow. 
 Fill your cups up to the brim. 
 Drain your flowing glasses, 
 Down with him, who, sink or swim. 
 Will not pledge the lasses. 
 
 Mat sat staring at his prot^g^ in amaze- 
 ment^ until he was called upon to join in 
 the chorus. 
 
 *^ No, no — ^look here, Dick ; what the 
 blazes is the good of this nonsense ?" 
 
 *^ Why you're getting savage. Captain," 
 said Richard. 
 
 '^No, I'm not; but when a fellow's 
 been doing his best to get you out of a 
 scrape, you might listen to what he's got 
 to say." 
 
 '^ Right you are : well, and what about 
 the warrant, Captain ?"
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 291 
 
 ^^ Why, Barns has given up the prose- 
 cution, and you are free." 
 
 ^^ Hooray!'' exclaimed Dick, with mock 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Mat said no more ; but commenced to 
 light his pipe. We shall leave him to 
 smoke it. 
 
 Richard Grey, you see, received Mat's 
 news with utter indifference. 
 
 On the next evening he took leave of 
 Bessie Martin. 
 
 *^You will write to me very, very 
 often," she said, trembling on his arm, 
 whilst the sea was moaning under the 
 starlight. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course," Dick replied, 
 ^' ril write, you know." 
 
 " How often, Richard ? " she asked, in 
 her soft little trusting voice. 
 
 " WeU, how often would you like me 
 to write, Bess ? " 
 
 ^ "I dare not say how often," was the 
 reply.
 
 292 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 '^ Once a month?" asked Richard, care- 
 lessly. 
 
 Bessie had thought of saying once a 
 week ; she was glad she had not said so. 
 
 " Once a month, sweetheart ? " Richard 
 asked again. 
 
 ^^ Yes," said Bessie. " And how long 
 will you be away, Richard ? " 
 
 *^ I don't know, Bess — perhaps a year." 
 
 '' Oh, it seems such a long time, such 
 a very long time," said Bessie. 
 
 '^ Perhaps I shan't be away more than 
 six or nine months." 
 
 '' And we are to be married when you 
 come back, and never, never to be parted 
 any more ? " 
 
 ^^ That's it," said Richard, ^^ I'll get 
 some money, you know, and then I'll 
 come back, and we'll have the bells rung, 
 and " 
 
 The sea was so boisterous that its roar 
 drowned the remainder of the sentence. 
 But it did not drown the voice of Mrs 
 Beachstone that night, when Bessie re-
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 293 
 
 turned. If slie did not alter, Bessie Martin 
 should stay in that house no longer; she 
 would not permit her to be out after dark ; 
 such a beautiful night, indeed. Well, only- 
 let her commands be disobeyed once more, 
 and then Bessie should see whether it was 
 a beautiful night. 
 
 The little assistant did not disobey 
 Mrs Beachstone again for months, but the 
 time did come when visitors at Helswick 
 saw those black eyes, and those glossy 
 curls no longer behind Mr Beachstone' s 
 counter. We shall have to tell indeed 
 how poor Bessie ran away, as many an- 
 other girl had done before her ; how she 
 had not sufficient strength of character to 
 bear the trouble that fell upon her ; and 
 how it overset the little brain, as many 
 another brain had been overset. 
 
 The intelligent reader will almost be 
 prepared to learn that Richard Grey broke 
 his promise to Bessie Martin the first 
 month. When he reached his journey's 
 end, he would write to her immediately,
 
 294 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 Bessie thought — write a fond, tender letter 
 that she would carry about in her bosom. 
 
 Eichard Grey did nothing of the sort ; 
 it was quite a month after his arrival be- 
 fore he wrote, and when the letter was 
 put into those eager, trembling hands that 
 were stretched over Mr Beachst one's coun- 
 ter to receive it, what was it ? 
 
 Only a few hurried lines, badly writ- 
 ten, and nothing like a love-letter. He 
 had had a good deal of bother, Richard 
 told her; it was a queer racketty place, 
 this New York, and he thought he had 
 better have gone for a soldier. However 
 he had given up his situation under Wel- 
 ford and Co. — he didn't like it — he never 
 had liked anybody connected with Wel- 
 ford. He should have been worked to 
 death, one way and another, if he hadn't 
 given it up. 
 
 He had thought of going back to Eng- 
 land once or twice already ; he didn't 
 think he could do much good in New 
 York, everybody was in such a deuce of a
 
 BITTER SWEETS. 295 
 
 hurry to make money tliere, that he didn't 
 think there was much chance for him. 
 
 Perhaps Bessie would expect this to be 
 a love-letter of the old sort, which he 
 wrote when he was a boy, and had just 
 left Helswick. But he really hadn't time 
 to write about love, and all that — though 
 of course he did love her — and she must 
 excuse him. Didn't know what Bessie 
 would find to write about, but if she liked 
 she might tell him all about the people at 
 Denby Rise, as she was so close to the 
 house where his mother lived. 
 
 We have not patience to report what 
 more there was in this vulgar, lazy letter. 
 
 We know that the same post carried a 
 wretched scrawl from the same quarter to 
 Mrs Grey, asking for money, which was 
 despatched to New York that same day. 
 We also know that Mrs Grey cried over 
 the letter she had received, and that it 
 kept her awake all night. Welford and 
 Co. did not like her son Richard, she was 
 sure, working him so very hard. She al-
 
 296 BITTER SWEETS. 
 
 most wished now that he had sought a 
 situation for himself, and had nothing 
 more to do with Welford. It was no use 
 talking to Frank about the matter, Frank 
 did not understand the boy's nature. And 
 the mother's heart yearned to her youngest 
 son, yearned to comfort him in the distant 
 land. 
 
 Bessie Martin could scarcely compre- 
 hend Richard's letter ; but there were one 
 or two loving words in it, and if there 
 were no more, was he not sorely troubled ? 
 had he not been overworked ? and was he 
 not already thinking of coming back to 
 his Bessie? 
 
 So, at night, the vulgar, ill-written, 
 ungrammatical letter was placed under 
 Bessie's pillow, and in the day time it 
 rested next her poor little fluttering heart. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.