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 I E) R.AFLY 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLR.SITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 
 YSTruL 
 v.l
 
 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 K0B30N AND SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 
 PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 % mob«i. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDMUND YATES, 
 
 AUTHOR OP " BROKEN TO HARNESS. 
 
 FORTITER — FIDELITER — PELICITER. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, LS CATHERINE STREET, 
 
 STRAND, 
 
 isor,. 
 
 [All rights reserveil.]
 
 85.5 
 
 v.l 
 
 TO 
 
 NICHOLAS HERBERT HARRINGTON, 
 
 OLD COMRADE AND TRIED FRIEND.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/runninggauntletn01yate
 
 CONTENTS OF A^OL. I. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. News 1 
 
 II. More News 19 
 
 III. At the Parthenium .... 40 
 lY. In the Smoking-Room . . .68 
 
 V. Georgie 87 
 
 VI. The Grays 112 
 
 VII. AYhat had detained Sir Charles . 140 
 
 VIII. Kismet 158 
 
 IX. Mr. Effingham's Proceedings . .189 
 
 X. SOUVENT Fem3ie varie . . . 200 
 
 XI. Down at Redmoor .... 229 
 
 XII. Drawing Cover . . . . . 248 
 
 XIII. Sir Charles's Visit .... 270
 
 EUMING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NEWS. 
 
 Throughout tlie length and breadth of this Lon- 
 don of ours there were few legal firms, no matter 
 of how old standing, doing a better, larger, ready- 
 money business than that of Moss and Moss of 
 Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane. Looked down 
 upon? Well, one could hardly say that. Old 
 Mr. Trivett, of the firm of Trivett, Coverdale, and 
 Trivett of Bedford Row, who had the secrets of 
 half the first families in England locked up in his 
 dusty japanned boxes ; yomig Mr. Markham, who, 
 besides being nominally a solicitor, was a high- 
 bailiff" somewhere, and had chambers in the Al- 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 RUNKING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 bany, and rode a very maney and taily liglit cliest- 
 nut cob ill the Kow; and a few others, — might 
 shrug their shoulders when the names of Moss and 
 Moss were mentioned; but that did no harm to 
 Moss and Moss, who, on the whole, were very 
 well respected throughout the profession. At Mrs. 
 Edward Moss's Smiday-evening parties in the Re- 
 gent's Park were to be met many people wliose 
 names were pleasantly familiar to the public. 
 Mr. Smee, Q.C., known as "Alibi Smee" from 
 his great success in pro^'ing that his clients never 
 liad been within fifty miles of the spot where tlie 
 crime with which they were charged was com- 
 mitted; Mr. Sergeant Orson; Mr. Tocsin, who 
 bullied a Avitness admirably, but who gave more 
 trouble to Edward Moss than any other man at 
 the bar, wanting perpetual cramming and sug- 
 gestions, and having the face of brass and the 
 lungs of steel and the head of wool; Mr. Re- 
 plevin, the most rising junior at the O.B. ; and 
 others, amongst them Gilks, the marine painter, 
 some of wliose choicest bits adorned Mrs. Moss's 
 walls; Kreese, the editor of the great sporting,
 
 NEWS. 6 
 
 literary, and theatrical Sunday print, The Scourge; 
 O'Meara of the Stock Exchange ; and actors, 
 actresses, and singers too numerous to mention. 
 These last were invited through Mr. Marshall 
 Moss, Edward's brother and junior partner, who 
 was a bachelor, and who, though he gave occasional 
 excellent Greenwich and Richmond dinners, yet 
 had no liouse of his own to entertain in. Marshall 
 Moss attended to the more convivial portion of the 
 clients : the actors who had differed from their man- 
 agers; the ladies who wanted certain settlements 
 arranged; the sporting publicans Avho wanted ''the 
 screw put upon certain parties ;" the fast yomig 
 gents requiring defence from civil process, — were 
 shown up to Marshall's room on the first-floor, a 
 comfortable room with several arm-chairs, and a 
 cupboard never without sherry and soda-water ; 
 a room where some of the best stories in London 
 were from time to time told, and which was 
 fenced off with thick double doors, to prevent the 
 laughter caused by them penetrating to Edward's 
 sanctum downstairs. 
 
 For Edward attended to the real clients of the
 
 4 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 house — those for wliom it was originally estah- 
 lished — those by whom its fame had been made. 
 And these were — thieves. Yes, there is no blink- 
 ing the word. If a burglar were '^ in trouble," 
 if a forger had been apprehended, if some very 
 hea\y tm'f-robbery had come to light, Edward 
 Moss's busy brain was at work, and Edward 
 Moss's hom's of sleep were rutlilessly curtailed. 
 He did not care about the heaviest kind of busi- 
 ness, though two or three murderers miques- 
 tionably owed their necks to his skill and fore- 
 thought ; and he refused all petty cases of mags- 
 men, skittle-sharps, and card-swindlers. They 
 would have lono-ed to have him ; but thev knew 
 it was impossible. He did not like their style of 
 business, and, above all things fatal to a chance 
 of their engaging him, he never did any thing 
 on spec. When a man was " in trouble" he 
 knew that it was no use sending for ]\Ii\ Moss 
 without being able to tell him that at such-and- 
 such a tavern or lodging-house, he woidd find a 
 landlord willing and ready to advance the fee 
 for the prisoner's defence. Tlien Mr. Moss woidd
 
 NEWS. D 
 
 step into the first hansom outside the station, and 
 hie away to St. Luke's, Cripplegate, Drury Lane, 
 or any other locality indicated, and returning 
 with the money in his pocket would hear all that 
 the prisoner had to say, and straightway deter- 
 mine on the line of defence. A wonderful little 
 man, Edward Moss! wonderful to look at I with- 
 out the smallest sign of colour in his sln-unken, 
 baggy, parchmenty face, witli small gray eyes 
 under overhanging bristly brows, with a short 
 stubbly liead of gray hair, a restless twitching 
 mouth, thin wiry figui'e, and dirty hands with 
 close-bitten dubby nails. Li these respects a 
 very different man from his brother Marshall, who 
 was a by-no-means bad-looking Hebrew, with a 
 handsome beard and moustache, fidl scarlet lips, 
 prominent brown eyes, and in face and figiu'e 
 showing a general liking for the flesh-pots and 
 other good things of tliis hfe. Where Edward 
 Moss wore dirt, Marshall Moss sported jewelry, 
 and each brother was sufficiently vain of his 
 display. Each knew his business perfectly, and 
 neither interfered with the other. Marshall's
 
 b RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 clients drove up in broughams or rattled in han- 
 soms to the front-door, went up the broad stair- 
 case to the first-floor, and either passed straight 
 into the presence, or beguiled the necessary in- 
 terval in the perusal of the daily papers handed 
 to them by obsequious clerks. Edward's clients 
 sneaked in through a narrow door up a side-court ; 
 had their names and business wrung from them 
 by the most precocious and most truculent of Jew 
 boys ; were left to rub their greasy shoulders up 
 and down the white-washed walls of a o-hastlv 
 waiting-room until " Mithter Edward" chose to 
 listen to the recital of their distress and wishes. 
 
 Occasionally, hoAvever, visitors to Mr. Ed- 
 ward Moss came in at the large front-door, and 
 afterA^'ards made the best of their way to his 
 sanctum. They were generally people who would 
 not have been regarded with much favour by the 
 greasy-shouldered clients in the com't. This was 
 one of them who entered Cursitor Street on a 
 warm June afternoon, and made straight for the 
 front-door blazing with the door-plate of " Moss 
 and Moss." A middle-sized ftittish man, ill-
 
 NEWS. 7 
 
 dressed in an ill-fitting blue frock-coat and gray 
 trousersj and a very innocent-looking small hat 
 with a black mourning-band; a sodden-faced 
 sleepy -looking man vrith mild l»lne eyes and an 
 undecided mouth ; a man like a not very pro- 
 sperous publican ; a man who, with a fresher 
 complexion, and at another time of year, might 
 have been taken for a visitor to the Cattle Show ; 
 who looked, in fact, any thing but what he was 
 — chief officer of the City detectives and the 
 terror of all the evil-doers of the East-end. He 
 walked through the hall, and, leaving the staircase 
 leading to Mr. Marshall Moss's rooms on his 
 right, passed to the end of the passage and tapped 
 at a door on which was inscribed the word 
 '^ Private" in large letters. It must have been 
 a peculiar knock which he gave, for the door was 
 immediately opened merely wide enough to ad- 
 mit him, and closed as he passed thi'ough. 
 
 " All, ah I" said a little man in an enormous 
 pair of spectacles ; " ah, ah I itli you, inthpector ! 
 The governor'th been athkin' after you to-day. 
 Let'th have a look," he continued, lifting a corner
 
 8 RUNmNG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of a green-baize curtain ; ^^ all ! he'tli jutlit 
 sliakin' off that tronblethome perjury. Now I'll 
 give him vour name." 
 
 This was Mr. Amedroz, Edward Moss's right- 
 hand man, who knew all his master's secrets, and 
 who was so reticent that he never opened liis 
 mouth where he could convey as much by writing. 
 So Mr. Amedi'oz inscribed " Stellfox" in large 
 round-text on a slip of paper, laid it before 
 his principal, and, receiving an affirmative nod, 
 ushered the inspector into the presence. 
 
 " Morning, Stellfox," said Mr. Edward, glanc- 
 ing up from a mass of papers in front of him : 
 <^ report?" 
 
 Inspector SteUfox, mibuttoning his blue frock- 
 coat, produced from his breast-pocket a thick 
 note-book, and commenced : 
 
 ^^ Sorry to say, nothing new about Captain 
 Congreve, sir. We've tried — " 
 
 " Now look here, Stellfox," interrupted Mr. 
 Moss; '' you've had that business in hand a fort- 
 night. If you don't report by Wednesday, I'll 
 give that to Scotland Yard. Yom* men are
 
 NEWS. 9 
 
 getting lazy, and I'll try what Sir Richard 
 Mayne's people can do. What next ?" 
 
 Crestfallen, Inspector SteUfox continued, — 
 '' Slimy William, sir." 
 
 ''Well," said Mr. Moss keenly, "what of 
 him?" 
 
 '' I think that's all right, sir. We've found 
 out where his mother lives, — Shad's Eow, Wap- 
 ping, No. 3 ; bill up in the window, ' a room to 
 let.' If you've no objection, one of my men shall 
 take that room, sir, and try and Avork it that 
 way." 
 
 " Xo," said Mr. Moss ; " must put a woman 
 in there. Don't you know a woman up to that 
 sort of thing ?" 
 
 " There's Hodder's wife, sir, as helped us in 
 Charlton's case ; she'd do." 
 
 '' I recollect ; she'll do well. Furnished or 
 unfurnished ?" 
 
 " Unfurnished room, sir." 
 
 " All right ; hire some furnitm'e of the broker. 
 Tell IMrs. Hodder to get in at once. Widow ; or 
 husband emuloyed on railway in the comitry.
 
 10 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Must keep a gin-bottle always open, and be gen- 
 erous with it. Old lady will tallv over her drink ; 
 and Mrs. Hodder must find out where Slimy 
 William is, what name he's going under, and 
 must notice what letters old lady receives. Tell 
 her to take a child with her. Has she got a 
 child?" 
 
 " Xot of her own, sir." 
 
 ^^ Xever mind ; must get one of some one 
 else's. Must see you, or one of your men, every 
 morning. Child will want air — excuse for her 
 taking him out. If Slimy William is coming 
 home on the sudden, child must be taken ill in 
 the middle of the night; she can take it to the 
 doctor, and come down to you." 
 
 '^ Right, sir. Now about Coping Crossman." 
 
 ^^Well?" 
 
 " Markham will have him to-night, sir. That 
 girl 'Liza Burden blew his gaff for him last night. 
 He's a comic singer, he is. Goes by the name 
 of Munmorency, and sings at the Cambridge 
 Music-hall." 
 
 " Good ! What of Mitford ?"
 
 XEWS. 11 
 
 " Well, nothing yet, sir. You're hard upon me, 
 Mr. Moss; and that you are. We"ve only had 
 that case three days, and you're expecting infor- 
 mation ah'eady." 
 
 " Stellfox," said Mr. Moss, rising, and taking 
 a sonorous pinch of snuff, "you detectives are 
 mere shams. You've been spoilt ])y the penny 
 press, and the sliilhng books, and aU that. You 
 think you're wonderful fellows, and you know 
 nothino; — literallv nothino-. If I didn't do vour 
 v.'ork as well as my own, where should we be ? 
 Don't ansvv^er ; listen ! Mitford has been three 
 times within the last week to the Crown coffee- 
 house in Doctors' Commons. There's very httle 
 doubt that he'll go there again ; for it's a quiet 
 house, and he seems to like it. You've got his 
 description ; be off at once." 
 
 Inspector SteUfox had transacted too much 
 business with Mr. Edward Moss to expect any 
 fmther converse, so he took up the cliild's hat and 
 quietly bowed and departed. 
 
 To say that of all the intensely-quiet and re-
 
 12 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 spectable houses in that strange portion of the 
 City of London known as Doctors' Commons the 
 Crown coffee-house is the most quiet and re- 
 spectable, is making a strong assertion, but one 
 which could yet be borne out by focts. It is a 
 sleepy, dreamy neighbourhood still, although its 
 original intense duhiess has been somewhat en- 
 livened by the pedestrians who make Paul's Chain 
 a passage to the steamboats caUing at Paul's 
 Wliarf ; and the hansom cabs which find a short- 
 cut down Great St. Andrew's Hill to the South- 
 western Railway. But it is still the resort of 
 abnormal individuals, — ticket-porters, to wit ; 2^1e- 
 thoric indi\4duals in half-dirty white aj^rons and 
 big badges like gigantic opera-checks, men whose 
 only use seems to be to warn approaching veliicles 
 of the blocking-up of the narrow streets ; and 
 sable-clad mottled-faced proctors and their clerks. 
 There are real green trees in Doctors' Commons ; 
 and flies and butterflies — by no means bad imi- 
 tations of the real country insect — are seen 
 there on the wing in the sultry summer days, 
 buzzing I'omid the heads of the ticket-porters,
 
 NEWS. 13 
 
 and of the strong men who load the Bottle Com- 
 pany's hea\y carts, and who are always flinging 
 huge fragments of rusty iron into the capacious 
 hold of the Mary Anne of Goole, stuck high and 
 dry in the mud off Paul's Wharf before men- 
 tioned. Life is rampant in the immediate vi- 
 cinity, — in enormous Manchester warehouses, 
 perpetually inhaling the contents of enormous 
 Pickford's vans ; in huge blocks of offices where 
 the representatives of vast provincial firms take 
 orders and transact business ; in corn-stores and 
 iron-companies ; in mansions filled from basement 
 to roof with Dresden china and Bohemian glass ; 
 in insurance-offices and banks ; and in the office 
 of the great journal, where the engines, for six 
 days out of the seven, are unceasingly tlu'obbing. 
 But in the Commons life gives way to mere ex- 
 istence and vegetation. The organ-man plays 
 unmolested on Addle Hill, and the chikfren's 
 shuttlecocks flutter in Wardrobe Place ; no Pick- 
 fords' vans disturb the calm serenity of Great 
 Knio-htrider Street ; and instead of warehouses 
 and offices, there are quaint old dumpy congrega-
 
 14 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 tionless cliurches, big rambling old halls of City- 
 Companies, the forgotten old Heralds' College 
 with its piu'poseless traditions, a few apparently 
 nothing-doing shops, a number of proctors' offices 
 into which man is never seen to enter, and two 
 or three refreshment-rooms. Of these the Crown 
 is the oldest and the dirtiest. It was established 
 — if YOU may trust the half-effaced legend over its 
 door — in 1790, and it has ever since been doing 
 the same quiet sleepy trade. It cannot under- 
 stand what Kammerer's means by it. Kam- 
 merer's is the refreshment-house at the corner, 
 which has long since escaped from the chrysalis 
 state of coffee-shop, and now, resplendent w^ith 
 plate-glass and mahogany bar, cooks joints, and 
 draws the celebrated " Crm Grw" Llangollen ale, 
 and is filled with a perpetual stream of clattering 
 junior clerks from the adjacent warehouses. Tlie 
 Ci'own — according to its proprietor, in whose 
 family its lease has been vested since its establish- 
 ment — don't do nothin' of this sort, and don't 
 want to. It still regards chops and steaks as the 
 most delicious of human food, and tea and coffee
 
 NEWS. 15 
 
 as the only beverages by which their consumption 
 should be accompanied. Across its window still 
 stretches an illuminated blind representing an 
 Italian gentleman putting ofFm a boat with ap- 
 parently nothing more serviceable for navigation 
 purposes than a blue banjo ; and it still makes a 
 gorgeous display of two large coffee cups and 
 saucers, with one egg in a blue egg-cup between 
 tliem. Its interior is still cut up into brown boxes 
 with hard narrow seats, on wliich you must either 
 sit bolt upright, or fall off at once ; its narroAv old 
 tables are scarred and notched and worm-eaten ; 
 and it holds yet by its sawdusted floor. 
 
 About seven o'clock in the evening of the same 
 day on which Inspector Stellfox had consulted ]\Ir. 
 Moss, the green-baize door of the Crown was gently 
 swung open, and a man slinking in dived into the 
 nearest box then vacant. Ho was a vouno: fellow 
 of not more than three-and-twenty, with well-cut 
 regular features, and who would have been hand- 
 some had not his complexion been so sallow and 
 his cheeks so pinched. His gaunt attenuated frame, 
 tliin hands, and eyes of unnatural brightness and
 
 16 RUNNING THE GAXJNTLET. 
 
 restlessness, all told of recent illness ; and though 
 it was summer time his threadbare coat was tightly 
 buttoned round liis tln'oat, and he shivered as he 
 seated himself, and looked hungrily at the cook- 
 in£:-fire burnino; in the kitchen at the other end 
 of the shop. After fui-tively glancing romid him 
 he beckoned the proprietor, gave him an order for 
 some small refreshment, and then taking down an 
 old volume of the Gentleman'' s Magazine from a 
 neighbouring shelf, began to turn over its pages 
 in a listless pm'poseless manner. "While he was 
 thus engaged, the green-baize door swmig open 
 again, admitting a portly man with a child's hat 
 perched on the top of his round head, wdio, walk- 
 ing into the middle of the shop, ordered from that 
 post of vantage " a large of coffee and a rasher," 
 then looked round the different boxes, and finally 
 settled himself with his back to the light in that 
 box where the last arrival was seated. The j^ortly 
 man made the other visitor a very polite bow, 
 which was scarcely returned, and the iirst-comer 
 bent more earnestly over his book and shrouded 
 his face with his hand. But the portly man, who
 
 KEWS. 17 
 
 was no other than Inspector Stellfox, had been 
 too long in his profession not to know his busi- 
 ness thoroughly, and so he hung up the child's 
 hat on a peg immediately over his friend's head, 
 and he took hold of a newspaper which lay 
 directly under his friend's elbow ; and taking 
 advantage of each opportunity to look his friend 
 over and over, saw that he was on the right 
 track, and thoroughly made up his mind what 
 to do when the chance arrived. The chance 
 arrived simultaneously with the refreshment or- 
 dered by the haggard man : he had to put 
 down his hand to reach the tray, and in 
 so doing his eyes met those of the inspector, 
 who at once winked and laid his fino^er on his 
 
 lip. 
 
 '' Mr. Mitford ?" said he in a fat voice ; " ah ! 
 I thought so. No, you don't, sir," he continued, 
 pushing back the man, who had attempted to start 
 up; "it's all right; that little matter at Canter- 
 bury's been squared up long since. I wanted to 
 see you about something else. Look here, sir ;" 
 and the inspector took from his pocket-book a 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 printed slip of paper, and handed it across the 
 table to his companion^ who read as follows : 
 
 " Fatal and Appalling Accident. 
 We (^Bridgeiuatei' Mercury) deeply regret to 
 hear that a telegram has been received from 
 Malta stating that Sir Percy Mitford of Redmoor 
 near this town, and his two sons ao:ed twelve and 
 nine, were drowned by the upsetting of a little 
 boat in which they were proceeding to Sir Percy's 
 weU-kno^\ii yacht Enchantress, then anchored off 
 A^aletta. By this dreadful accident the title and 
 estates pass into another branch of the family ; the 
 heir being Sir Percy's nephew, Mr. Charles Went- 
 worth Mitford, now studpng abroad." 
 
 " There, sir ! there's news for you !" said In- 
 spector Stellfox; "we know what studying abroad 
 means, don't we? We knows — " but Inspector 
 Stellfox stopped suddenly ; for his companion, after 
 glaring at him vacantly for an instant with the 
 paper outstretched in his rigid hand, fell forward 
 in a fit.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 MORE NEWS. 
 
 Twenty years ago tlie Maecenas Club, which is 
 now so immensely popular, and admission to 
 whicli is so difficult, was a very quiet unpre- 
 tending little place, rather looked down upon and 
 despised l^y the denizens of the marble palaces in 
 Pall Mall and the old foo;ies in St. James's Street. 
 The o;reat o;aunt stuccoed mansion, with the l^ust of 
 Maecenas in the big hall, then was not ; the Ckd) 
 was held at a modest little house only differing 
 from a private residence in the size of its fan- 
 lio-ht, in the fact of its haviufr a double flio-ht of 
 steps (delicious steeple-chase ground for the youth 
 of the neighbourhood), and from its liall-door 
 being always open, typical of the hospitality and 
 good-fellowship which reigned witliin. Ah, a glo- 
 rious place in those days, the Maecenas ! whicli, as
 
 20 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 it stated in its prospectus, was established " for 
 the patronage of literature and the cbama, and 
 the bringino^ too^ether of 2:entlemen eminent in 
 their respective circles;" but which wisely left 
 literature, the drama, and the eminent gentlemen 
 to take care of themselves, and simply brought 
 together the best and most clubbable fellows it 
 could 2^et hold of. There was something: in 
 the little M., as the members fondly abbreviated 
 its name, which was indescribably comfortable 
 and unlike any other club. The Avaiters were 
 small men, which perhaps had something to 
 do with it; there Avas no billiard-room, with 
 noisy raffish frequenters ; no card-room, with 
 solemn one-idea'd fogies ; no drawing-room for 
 great hulking men to lounge about, and put up 
 their dirty boots on yellow-satin sofas. There 
 was a capital coffee-room, strangers' -room, writ- 
 ing-room, reading-room, and the best smoking- 
 room in London ; a smoking-room whence came 
 three-fourths of the best stories which ]:)ermeated 
 society, and whither was brought every bit of news 
 and scandal so soon as it was hatched. Tliere
 
 MORE NEWS. 21 
 
 was a capital clief^ who was too true an artist 
 to confine liimself to made-disliesj but who looked 
 after the joints and the toothsome steaks, for which 
 the M. had such a reputation ; and there was a 
 capital cellar. Fui'thermore, the members believed 
 in all this, and believed intensely in one another. 
 
 That a dislike to clubs is strongly rooted in 
 the female breast is not a mere aphorism of 
 the comic writer, but is a serious fact. This 
 feeHng Avould be much mitigated, if not entirely 
 eradicated, one would think, if women could only 
 know the real arcana of those much-loathed esta- 
 blishments. Life wants somethino; more than 
 good entrees and wine, easy-chairs, big waiters, 
 and a place to smoke in : it wants companion- 
 ship and geniality — two qualities which are very 
 rare in the club-world. You scowl at the man 
 at the next table, and he scowls at you in retui'n ; 
 the man who wants the magazine retained by your 
 elbow growls out something, and you, raising your 
 arm, growl in reply. Li the smoking-room there 
 is indeed an attempt at conversation, which is 
 confined to maligning human natm*e in general,
 
 22 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 and the acquaintance of the talkers in particular ; 
 and as each man leaves the room his character 
 is wrested from him at the door, and torn to shreds 
 by those who remain. 
 
 It was its very difference from all these that 
 made the Maecenas so pleasant. Every body 
 liked every body else, and nobody objected to 
 any body. It was not too pleasant to hear little 
 Mr. Tocsin, Q.C., shrieking some legal question 
 across the coffee-room to a brother barrister; to 
 have yom- mackerel breathed over by Tom O'Bla- 
 ther, as he narrated to you a Foreign-Office scan- 
 dal, in which you had not the smallest interest ; 
 to have to listen to Dr. M^GoUop's French jokes 
 told in a broad-Scotch accent, or to Tim Dwyer's 
 hmiting-exploits with his ^^ slash'n meer;" but 
 one bore these things at the M., and bore them 
 patiently. How proud they were of their dis- 
 tinguished members in those days ; not swells, 
 but men who had distinguished themselves by 
 something more than length of whisker and 
 shortness of head — the very " gentlemen eminent 
 in tlieir respective circles*' of the prospectus !
 
 MOEE XEWS. 23 
 
 Thev were proud, and justly proud, of J\Ir. Jus- 
 tice Ion, whose kindly beaming face, bright eye, 
 and short-cropped gray hair would often be seen 
 amongst them ; of Smielding and Follett, the t^vo 
 great novelists of the day, each of whom had his 
 band of sworn retainers and worshippers ; of Tat- 
 terer, the great tragedian, who would leave King 
 Lear's robes and be the delight of the Maecenas 
 smoke-room; of Gilks the marine -painter, of 
 Clobber, who was so great in cathedral interiors, 
 and Markham, afterwards the great social cari- 
 caturist, then just commencing his career as a 
 wood-draughtsman. The very reciprocity of re- 
 gard was charming for the few swells who at 
 that time cared for membership ; they were im- 
 mensely popular; and amongst them none so 
 popular as Colonel Laurence Alsager, late of 
 the Coldstream Guards. 
 
 By the time that Laui'ence Alsao;er was o;a- 
 zetted as ca^otain and lieutenant-colonel, he had 
 had quite enough of regimental duty, quite enough 
 of transition from Portman Barracks to Welling- 
 ton Barracks, from Winchester to Windsor ; quite
 
 24 EUNNIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 enough of trooping the guard at St. James's, 
 and watching over the treasui'es hidden away 
 in the Bank - cellars ; of leaning out of the 
 little window in the old Guards Club in St. 
 James's Street ; quite enough of Derby drags and 
 hallet balls, and Ryde pier and Cowes regatta, and 
 Scotch moor and Norway fishery, and Leamington 
 steeplechase and Limmer's, and all those things 
 which make up the life of a properly-regulated 
 guardsman. The younger men in the House- 
 hold Brio^ade could not understand this '' ha vino; 
 had quite enough." They thought him tlie most 
 enviable fellow in the world. They dressed at 
 him, they walked like him, they grew their 
 whiskers as nearly like his as they could (mutton- 
 chop whiskers were then the fashion, and beards 
 and moustaches were only worn by foreign fid- 
 dlers and cavahy regiments), they bragged of liim 
 in every possible way, and one of them having 
 heard him spoken of, fi'om the variet}- of his ac- 
 complishments, as the Admirable Crichton, de- 
 clared that he was infinitely better than Crichton, 
 or anv other admiral that had ever been in the
 
 MORE NEWS. 25 
 
 sister service. The deux-temps valse had just been 
 imported in those days, and Alsager danced it 
 with a long quick swinging step which no one 
 else could accomphsh; he played the cornet al- 
 most as well as Koenig ; while at Windsor he 
 went into training and beat the Hammersmith 
 Flyer, a professional brought down by the envious 
 on purpose to degrade him, in a half-mile race 
 with twelve flights of hurdles ; he was a splendid 
 amateur actor ; and had covered the rough walls 
 of the barrack-room at Windsor with capital cari- 
 catm-es of all his brother officers. He knew all 
 the mysteries of " battalion drill" too, and had 
 been adjutant of the regiment. When, therefore, 
 he threw up his commission and sold out, every 
 body was utterly astonished, and all sorts of ru- 
 mom's were at once put into circulation. He had 
 had a quarrel with his governor, old Sir Egre- 
 mont Alsager, some said, and left the army to 
 spite him. He was bitten with a theatrical mania, 
 and going to turn actor (" Was he, by G — ?" said 
 Ledger, the light comedian, hitherto his warmest 
 admirer ; '' w^e want none of your imitation mock-
 
 26 EUKKING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 turtle on the boards !") ; he had got a rehgioiis 
 craze, and was gomg to become a Trappist monk ; 
 he had taken to drinking; he had lost his head, 
 and was witli a keeper in a villa in St. John's 
 Wood. All these things were said about him by 
 his Idnd friends ; but it is probable that none of 
 them were so near the mark as honest Jock 
 McLaren of the Scots Fusiliers, a great gaunt 
 Scotchman, but the very best ferret in the world 
 in certain matters : who said, " Ye may depeend 
 upon it there's a wummun in it. Awlsager's a 
 deevil among the sax ; and there's a wummun in 
 it, I'll bet a croon." Tliis was a liea^y stake for 
 Jock, and showed that he was in earnest. 
 
 Be tliis as it may, how that Laurence Alsager 
 sold out from her Majestv^'s regiment of Cold- 
 stream Guards, and that he was succeeded by 
 Peregrine Wilks (whose grandfather, par faren- 
 these, kept a ham-and-beef shop in St. Martin's 
 Com't), is it not written in the clu'onicles of the 
 London Gazette? Immediately after the business 
 had been settled. Colonel Alsager left England for 
 the Continent. He was heard of at Munich, at
 
 MORE NEWS. 27 
 
 Berlin, at Vienna (^\'liere he remained for some 
 considerable time), and at Trieste, wliere all 
 absolute trace of liim was lost, though it was 
 believed he had gone off in an Austrian Lloyds' 
 steamer to the Piraeus, and that he intended 
 travelling through Greece, the Holy Land, and 
 Eg}"pt, before he retm-ned home. These were ru- 
 mours in which only a very few people interested 
 themselves ; society has too much to do to take 
 account of the proceedings of its absent mem- 
 bers ; and after two years had elapsed Laurence 
 Alsager's name was almost forgotten, when, on 
 a dull January morning, two letters from him 
 arrived in London, — one addressed to the steward 
 of the Ma3cenas orderinor a (j-ood dinner for two 
 for the next Satm'day night at six ; the other to 
 the Honom'able George Bertram of the Foreign 
 Office, requesting that distinguished public ser- 
 vant to meet his old friend L. A. at the Maecenas, 
 dine with him, and go with him afterwards to the 
 Parthenium Theatre, wliere a ncAV piece was an 
 nounced. 
 
 Honest Mr. Turquand, the club-steward, by
 
 28 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 natiu'e a reticent man, and one immersed in per- 
 j)etual calculation as to ways and means, gave his 
 orders to the cook, but said never a word to any 
 one else as to the contents of his letter. George 
 Bertram, known among his colleagues at the For- 
 eign Office as " Blab Bertram," from the fact that 
 he never spoke to any body unless spoken to, and 
 even then seldom answered, was equally silent ; so 
 that Colonel Alsager's arrival at the Maecenas was 
 thoroughly unexpected by the members. The 
 trimly-shaved old gentlemen at the various tables 
 stared with wonder, not unmixed with horror, at the 
 long black beard wdiich Alsao-er had ptowu durino; 
 his absence. They thought he was some stranger 
 who had entered the sacred precincts by mistake ; 
 some even had a horrible suspicion that it might 
 be a newly-elected man, whose beard had never 
 been mentioned to the committee ; and it was not 
 until they heard Laurence's clear ringing voice, 
 and saw liis eye light up with the old fire, that 
 they recognised their long-absent friend. Tlien 
 they crowded round him, and wanted to hear aU 
 liis two-years' adventm^es and wanderings told in 
 
 «
 
 3I0RE NEWS. 29 
 
 a breath ; but be laughingly shook them off, pro- 
 mising full particulars at a later period ; and went 
 over to a small corner-table which he had been 
 accustomed to select before he went away, and 
 which Mr. Turquand had retained for him, where 
 he was shortly joined by George Bertram. 
 
 It is probable that no man on earth had a 
 greater love for another than had George Bertram 
 for Laurence Alsager. When he saw his old 
 friend seated at the table, his heart leapt Avithin 
 him, and a great knot rose in his tlu'oat ; but he 
 w^as a thorouo'h Eno;lishman, so he mastered his 
 feelings, and, as he gripped Laurence's out- 
 stretched hand, merely said, ^' How do?" 
 
 '' My dear old George," said Laurence heart- 
 ily, " what an age since we met ! How splen- 
 didly well you seem to be ! A little stouter, per- 
 haps, but not aged a day. Well, I've a thousand 
 questions to ask, and a thousand things to tell you. 
 What the deuce are you staring at?" 
 
 " Beard I" said Mr. Bertram, who had never 
 taken his eyes oif Laurence's chin since he sat 
 down opposite to him.
 
 30 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes !" said Laurence. " That's a 
 relic of savage life, which I shall get rid of in a 
 few days ; but I didn't like to ha^'e him oflF sud- 
 denly, on account of the change of climate. I 
 suppose it shocks the old gentlemen here ; but I 
 can't help it. Well, now you'ye got oceans of 
 news to tell me. It's ftdl a twelvemonth since 
 I had letters from England; not a line since I 
 left Jerusalem ; and — ah, by Jove ! I've never told 
 you how I happened to come home in such a 
 hurry. It's horribly absurd and ridiculous, you 
 know; I hadn't the least idea of returning for 
 at least another year. But one sultry evening, 
 far up the Nile, as I was lying back in my 
 kandjia, — boat, you know, — being towed up by 
 tln-ee naked chaps, pulling away like grim death, 
 we met another kandjia coming down. In it 
 were two unmistakable Englishmen; fellows in 
 all-round collars and stiff wide-awakes, w^ith pug- 
 gerees put on all the TVTong way. Tliey were 
 chattering to each other; and I thought, mider 
 that burning sky and solemn stilhiess, and sur- 
 rounded by all the memorials of the past, they
 
 MORE NEWS. 31 
 
 would probably be quoting Herodotus, or Gard- 
 ner Wilkinson, or, better than all, Eothen ; but, 
 just as they passed me, what do you think I 
 heard one of them say to the other ? ' No, no, 
 Jack,' said he ; ' you're ^^Tong there : it was 
 Buckstone that played Box !' He did, by Jove ! 
 Under the shadow of the Pyramids, and close by 
 the Sphinx, and the vocal Memnon, and Cheops 
 and Cephi'enes, and all the rest of it, to hear of 
 Buckstone and Box and Cox! You can't tell 
 the singular eifect it had on me. I began to 
 feel an awful longing for home ; what the Ger- 
 mans call Heimweli came upon me at once. I 
 longed to get back once more, and see the clubs 
 and the theatres, and all the old life, which I had 
 fled from so willino;ly ; and I ordered the Ai-abs 
 to turn the boat round, and get me back to Cairo 
 as quickly as possible. When we got to Cairo, I 
 went to Shepherd's, and found the house fidl of 
 a lot of cadets and fellows going out ; and one of 
 them had a Times, and in it I saw the announce- 
 ment of the new piece at the Parthenium ; and, 
 I don't know why, — I fixed upon that as a sort
 
 32 EUKNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of date-mark, and I said, ' I'll be back in Eng- 
 land to see that first niglit;' and the next day 
 I started for Alexandi'ia. And on board the P.- 
 and-0. boat I made the acquaintance of the post- 
 office courier in charge of the Indian mail, a very 
 good feUow, who, when he found my anxiety to 
 get on, took me with him in hmfourgon; brought 
 me throucrh from Marseilles to Calais without 
 an instant's delay; let me come on board the 
 special boat waiting for him; and landed me at 
 London Bridge last night, having got through 
 my journey Avonderfully. And I'm in time for 
 the first night at the Parthenium ; and — and now 
 tell me aU your news." 
 
 " Blab" Bertram had been di'eading tlie com- 
 mand, which he knew involved his talking more 
 in twenty minutes than he was in the habit of 
 doincr in a month. He had been delifrhted to 
 hear Laurence rattling on about his own adven- 
 tures, and fondly hoped that he should avoid 
 any revelations for that night at least. But the 
 dread edict had been issued, and George knew 
 his friend too well not to obey. So he said with
 
 MOKE NEWS. 33 
 
 a sigh, di-awing out a small note-book, " Yes, I 
 knew you'd be naturally anxious to hear about 
 people, and what had happened since you've been 
 away ; and so, as I'm not much good at telling 
 things, I got Alick Geddes of our office — you 
 know him; Lord M'MulFs brother — to put down 
 some notes, and I'll read them to you." 
 
 " That'll do, George," said Lam-ence laugh- 
 ing ; " hke the police, ^ from information you have 
 received,' eh? Xever mind, so long as I hear it. 
 — Mr. Turquand, they've not finished that bin of 
 Thomson and Crofts' '20 dm'ing my absence ? Xo. 
 Then bring us a bottle, please. — And now, George, 
 fire away !" 
 
 For the purposes of this story it would be 
 needless to recount all the bits of scandal and 
 chit-chat, interesting and amusing to those ac- 
 quainted with the various actors in the di-ama, but 
 utterly vapid to every one else, which the com- 
 bined memories of Messrs. Alexander Geddes and 
 George Bertram, clerks in the Foreign Office, 
 and gentlemen gomg a great deal into all kinds of 
 society, had furbished up and put together for the 
 
 YOL. I. D
 
 34 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 delectation of Colonel Alsager. It was the old, 
 old story of London life, Ivno^vn to eveiy one, and, 
 mutatis nominihus, narrated of so many people. 
 Tom's marriage, Dick's divorce, and Harry's 
 going to the bad. Jack Considine left the ser- 
 vice, and become sheep -farmer in Australia. 
 Little Tim Stratum of the Treasury, son of old 
 Dr. Stratum the geologist, marrying that big 
 Indian widow -woman, and becoming a heavy 
 swell, with a house in Grosvenor Square. Ned 
 Walters dead, — fit of heart-disease, or some in- 
 fernal thing, — dead, by Jo^'e ! and that pretty 
 wife of his, and all those nice little children, 
 gone — God knows where ! Lady Cecilia mar- 
 ried? oh, yes; and she and Townshend get on 
 very well, they say; but that Italian chap, Di 
 Varese, with the black beard and the tenor voice, 
 always hanging about the house. Gertrude Ne- 
 therby rapidly becoming an old woman, thin as 
 a whipping-post, by George ! and general notion 
 of nose - and - cliinniness. Florence Sackville, as 
 lovely and as jolly as ever, was asldng after you 
 only last night. Tliese, and a hundred other little
 
 MORE NE^ys. 35 
 
 bits of gossip about men in liis old regiment, 
 and women reputable and disreputable, formerly 
 of his acquaintance, of tiu'f-matters and club-scan- 
 dals, interspersed witli such anecdotes, seasoned 
 with gros sel, as circulate when the ladies have 
 left the dinner-table, did Laurence Alsager listen 
 to; and when George Beiiram stopped speaking 
 and shut up his note-book, ' he found himself 
 warmlj complimented on his capital budget of 
 news by his recently- arrived friend. 
 
 "You've done admirably, old fellow," said 
 Laurence. " 'Pon my oatli I don't think there's 
 any body we know that you haven't had some- 
 thing pleasantly unpleasant to say about. Xow," 
 taking out his watch, '' we must be off to the 
 theatre, and we've just time to smoke a cigarette 
 as we walk down there. You took the two 
 stalls?" 
 
 " Well — no," replied George Bertram, hesi- 
 tating rather suspiciously ; " I only took one for 
 you; I — I'm going — that is — I've got a seat in 
 a box." 
 
 " George, you old vagabond, you don't mean
 
 36 
 
 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 to say you're going to desert me the first niglit I 
 come back?" 
 
 " Well. I couldn't help it. You see I was 
 engaged to go with these people before you \^Tote ; 
 and—" 
 
 " All right ; what people are they ?" 
 
 " The Mitfords." 
 
 " Mitfords ? Coniiais j^asr 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you know them fast enough ; oh, 
 I forgot — all since you left ; only just happened." 
 
 " Look here, George : I've had quite enough 
 of the Sphinx during the last six months, and I 
 don't want any of the enigma business. What 
 has only just happened ?" 
 
 ^' Mitford — and all that. You'll give me no 
 peace till I tell you. You recollect Mitford ? 
 with us at Oxford — Brasenose man, not Clu'ist 
 Church." 
 
 "Mitford, Mitford I Oh, I recollect ; big, fair 
 man, goodish - looking. His father failed and 
 smashed up ; didn't he ? and our man went into 
 a line regiment. Oh, by Jove, yes ! and came to 
 grief about mistaking somebody else's name for
 
 MOKE NEWS. 37 
 
 Ms o^\'n, and backing a bill with it ; didn't he ? 
 at Canterbuiy, or somewhere where he was quar- 
 tered ?" 
 
 " Same man. Had to leave service, and came 
 to awful grief. Ran away, and nothing heard of 
 him. His uncle, Sir Percy, and two little boys 
 drowned off Malta, and title came to om' man. 
 Couldn't find him any where; at last some Jew 
 lawyer was employed, put detectives on, and 
 hunted up Mitford, nearly starved, in some public 
 in Wapping, or somewhere in the East-end. When 
 he heard what a swell he'd become, he had a fit, 
 and they thought he'd die. But he's been all square 
 ever since ; acted like a gentleman ; went down to 
 the place in Devonshire Avhere Ms people lived 
 before the smash ; married the clergyman's daugh- 
 ter to whom he had been engaged in the old days ; 
 and they've just come up to town for the winter." 
 
 " Married the clergyman's daughter to whom 
 he had been engaged in the old days, eh? George 
 Bertram, I saw a blush mantle on your ingenuous 
 cheek, sir, when you alluded to the lady. What 
 is she like ?"
 
 38 EUlsNrN'G THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Stuff, Laurence ! you did notliing of the 
 kind. Lady Mitford is a xery delightful wo- 
 man." 
 
 " Carambaj Master George ! If I were Sir 
 Mitford, and heard you speak of my lady in that 
 eai-nest manner, I should keep a sharp eye upon 
 you. So you've not improved in that respect." 
 
 George Bei'tram, whose amourettes were of the 
 most innocent description, but to accuse whom of 
 the wildest profligacy was a favom'ite joke with 
 his friends, bluslied deeper than ever, and only 
 nttered an indignant ^' Too bad, too bad I" 
 
 ^' Come along, sir," said Laurence; "I'll sit 
 in the silent solitude of the stalls while you are 
 basking in beauty in a box." 
 
 ^' Eut you'll come up and be introduced, Lau- 
 rence ?" 
 
 "Not I, thank you; I'll leave tlie field cleai' 
 for you." 
 
 " But Sir Charles Mtford would be so glad 
 to renew his old acquaintance with you." 
 
 " Would he ? Then Sir Charles Mitford must 
 reserve that dehght for another occasion. I shall
 
 MORE XEWS. 
 
 39 
 
 be here after the play, and we can liave a further 
 talk if YOU can descend to mundane matters after 
 your felicity. Now come along." And they 
 
 strolled out together.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUM. 
 
 The Partlienium Theatre at the time I write of 
 was a thino[ by itself. Since then there have been 
 a score of imitations of it, none of them coming np 
 to the o-reat oriOTnal, but sufficiently like to have 
 dimmed the halo surrounding the first attempt, 
 and to have left the British public undecided as 
 to whom belono^ed the laurels due to those who 
 first attempted to transform a wretched, dirty, hot 
 building into an elegant, well-ventilated, comfort- 
 able salon. It was at the Parthenium that stalls 
 w^ere first introduced. Up to that time they had 
 been only kno^vn at the Opera ; and it was the 
 triumph of the true British playgoer, — the man 
 who had seen Jack Bannister, sir, and Mimden 
 and Dowton, and all those true performers who 
 have never had any successors, sir, — that he al-
 
 AT THE PARTHENKJM. 41 
 
 ways sat in the fi'ont row of the pit, the only place 
 in the house whence the performance could be pro- 
 perly seen. "When Mr. Frank Likely undertook 
 the lesseeship of the Parthenium, he thought he saw 
 his way to a yery excellent improyement founded 
 on this basis. He hated the true British playgoer 
 with all his heart. In the style of entertainment 
 about to be produced at the Parthenium, he had not 
 the smallest intention of pandering to, or eyen pro- 
 pitiating, that great historic character ; but he had 
 perfect readiness to see that the space imme- 
 diately behind the orchestra was the most yaluable 
 in the theatre ; and so he set carpenters at once 
 to work, and uprooted the hard black deal pit- 
 benches, and erected in their stead rows of de- 
 licious fauteidh in crimson yelyet, broad soft 
 padded-backed lounges with seats which turned 
 upon hinges, and left a space underneath for your 
 hat and coat ; charming nests where you could loll 
 at your ease, and see and hear to perfection. The 
 true British playgoer was thus relegated to a dark 
 and dismal space underneath the dress-circle, 
 where he coidd see little saye the parting of the
 
 42 KTINNIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 back-liair of the swells in the stalls, and the leofs, 
 from the knee downward, and feet of the people 
 on the stao-e ; Avhere the ceilino^ seemed momen- 
 tarily descendincr on him, as on the prisoner in 
 the story of the "Iron Sln-ond ;" and where the 
 knees of the orange-sellers dug him in the back, 
 while their baskets banged him in front. It is 
 needless to say that on the Saturday after the 
 opening of the Parthenium under the new regime, 
 the columns of the Curtain, the Thesinan Wag- 
 goner, and the Scourge were found brimming over 
 with stinging letters from the true British play- 
 goer, all complaining of his treatment, and all 
 commencing, " By what right, sir, I should like 
 to know." But Mr. Frank Likely cared little 
 enough for this, or for any thing else indeed, so 
 long as he could keep up liis villa at Roehampton, 
 have his Sunday parties, let his wife di'ess like a 
 duchess, have two or three carriages, and never 
 be compelled to pay any body any thing. Not to 
 pay was a perfect mania with him. Not that he 
 had not the money. Mr. Humphreys, the treasurer, 
 used to come round about half-past ten with bags
 
 AT THE PARTHEXIOI. 43 
 
 of gold and silver, wliicli were duly deposited in 
 Mr. Likely's dressing-room, and thence transferred 
 to liis carriage by his di*esser, a man whose pound- 
 a-week wao-es had been due for a month; but if ever 
 he were to ask for a settlement Mr. Likely would 
 look at him with a comic surprise, give a short 
 laugh, say, " He, he I you don't mean it, Evans ; 
 I haven't a fourpenny-piece ;" and step into the 
 brougham to be bowled away through the summer 
 night to lamb-cutlets and peas and Sillery Mous- 
 seux at the Roehampton ^^lla, with a prime cigar 
 on the lawn or under the conservatory afterwards. 
 He took the money, though he never paid any one, 
 and no one knew what became of it ; but when he 
 went tlu-ough the Court the Commissioner com- 
 plimented him pubhcly, as he gave him his cer- 
 tificate, and told him in his private room that he, 
 the Commissioner, had experienced such pleasure 
 from Mr. and Mrs. Likely's charming talent, that 
 he, the Commissioner, was really glad it lay in 
 his power to make him, Mr. Likely, some little 
 retm-n. 
 
 It is, however, only in his position as lessee of
 
 44 RUNKIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 tlie Parthenium Theatre that we have to do \vith 
 Mr. Frank Likely, and therein he certainly was 
 admirable. A man of common-sense and educa- 
 tion, he saw plainly enough that if he wished to 
 amuse the joublic, he must show them something 
 with which they were perfectly familiar. They 
 yawned over the rage of Lear, and slept through 
 Belvidera's recital of her woes ; the mere fact of 
 Captain Absolute's wearing powder and breeches 
 precluded their taking any interest in liis love- 
 affairs; but as soon as they were shown people 
 such as they were accustomed to see, doing things 
 which they themselves were accustomed to do, 
 ordinarily dressed, and moving amongst ordinary 
 surroundings, they were delighted, and flocked in 
 crowds to the Parthenium. Mr. Likelv p-ave such 
 an entertainment as suited the taste of his special 
 visitors. The performances commenced at eight 
 with some trifle, during the acting of which 
 the box-doors were perpetually banging, and 
 early visitors to the stalls were carefully stamped 
 upon and ground against by the club -diners stead- 
 ily pushing their way to their seats. Tlie piece
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUjM. 45 
 
 of the evenlno; commenced about nine and lasted 
 till half-past ten ; and then there came forty min- 
 utes of a brilliant bm-lesque, with crowds of pretty 
 coryphees, volleys of rattling pmis and parodies, 
 crackling allusions to popular topics, and resplen- 
 dent scenery by Mr. Coverflats, the great scenic 
 artist of the day. When it is recollected that though 
 only two or three of the actors were really first- 
 rate, yet that all were far above the average, 
 being dressed mider Mr. Likely's eye, and taught 
 every atom of their ^^ business;" that the theatre 
 was thoroughly elegant, and unlike any other 
 London house in its lio-ht-blue-and-gold decora- 
 tions and airy muslin curtains, and that ii?> foyer 
 and lobbies were happy meeting-gromids for wits 
 and men of fashion, — no Avonder that "first- 
 nights" at the Parthenium were looked forward to 
 with special dehght. 
 
 On the occasion on which Colonel Alsager 
 and Mr. Bertram were about to be j^resent, a 
 more than ordinary amount of cm'iosity pre- 
 vailed. For some wrecks it had been vaguely 
 rumoured that the new comedy Tned in the
 
 46 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Furnace^ about to be produced, was written 
 by SpofForth, that marvellous fellow who com- 
 bined the author with the man of fashion, who 
 was seen every where, at the Premieress's recep- 
 tions, at the fast clubs, always associating with 
 the best people, and who flavoured his novels and 
 his plays in the most piquante manner with re- 
 productions of characters and stories well known 
 in the London world. It was rmnom^ed that 
 in Tried in the Furnace the plot strongly re- 
 sembled the details of a great scandal in high 
 life, which had formed the ijlat cle resistance of 
 the gossips of the pre\'ious season ; and it was 
 also said that the hero, an officer in the Guards, 
 would be played by Dacre Pontifex, who at that 
 time had turned all women's heads, who went 
 regularly into society, and who, to a handsome 
 face and figure and a thorouglily gentlemanly 
 bearing, seemed to add great natural histrionic 
 genius. 
 
 All these reports, duly set afloat in the various 
 theatrical journals, and amongst the particular 
 people who think and talk of nothing else but
 
 AT THE PAKTHENIUM. 47 
 
 the drama and its professors, — a set permeating 
 everj class of society, — had whetted the pubhc 
 appetite to an miparalleled amomit of keenness ; 
 and long before its representation, all the retain- 
 able stalls, boxes, and seats generally, for the first 
 night of Tried in the Furnace had been secured. 
 The gallerv^-people were certain to come in, because 
 Mugger, the low comedian, had an exceedingly 
 humorous part, and the gallery worshipped 
 Mugger; and the diminished area of the j^it 
 would probably be thronged, as it had been 
 whispered in the columns of the Scourge that 
 the new play was reported to contain several 
 hits at the aristocracy, invariably a sure " draw" 
 with the pittites. It was only of the upper boxes 
 that the manager felt doubtful; and for this re- 
 gion he accordingly sent out several sheaves of 
 orders, which were duly presented on the night 
 by wild weird-looking women, with singular head- 
 dresses of scraps of lace and shells, dresses neither 
 high nor low, grimy gloves too long in the fin- 
 gers, and bonnets to be left with the custodian. 
 It was a great night ; there could be no doubt
 
 48 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of that ; Humj^hreys had said so, and Avhen Hum- 
 plu'eys so far committed himself, he was gene- 
 rally right. Humphreys was Mr. Likely's trea- 
 surer, confidential man, factotum. He stood at 
 the front of the theatre to receive the important 
 people, — notably the press, — to settle discord, to 
 hint what was the real strength of the forth- 
 coming piece, to beg a little indulgence for Miss 
 Satterthwaite's hoarseness, or for the last scene of 
 the second act, which poor Coverflats, worn off 
 his legs, had scarcely had time to finish. He 
 knew exactly to whom to bow, with whom to 
 shake hands. He knew exactly where to plant 
 the different representatives of the press, keeping 
 up a proper graduation, yet never permitting any 
 critic to think that he was not sufficiently hon- 
 oured. He knew when to start the applause, 
 when to hush the house into silence. Better than 
 all, he knew where to take Mr. Likely's accept- 
 ances to get them discomited; kept an accomit 
 of the dates, and paid the renewal fees out of 
 the previous night's receipts. An invaluable man 
 Humphreys ; a really wonderful fellow !
 
 AT THE PARTHEXIU3I. 49 
 
 When Laurence Alsager flung away the end 
 of his cigarette under the Pai-thenium portico, 
 and strolled leisurely into the house, he found 
 Humphreys standing in exactly the same position 
 in which he had last seen him two years since ; and 
 he almost quailed as, delivering up his ticket, he 
 returned the treasurer's bow, and thanked him for 
 his welcome. '^ Glad to see you back. Colonel. 
 Something worth showing to you to-night I" and 
 then Laurence lauo;hed outrio;ht. He had been 
 away for two years ; he had seen the Sphinx and 
 the Pyramids, and all the wonders of the East, 
 to say nothing of the European continent ; and 
 here was a man congratulating himself that in 
 a three -act tinpot play they had something 
 worthy of his observation. So he nodded and 
 laughed, and passed on into the theatre. AYell, 
 if there were no change in Humplu'eys, there was 
 little enough in any one else. Tliere they were, 
 all the old set: half-a-dozen newspaper critics 
 dotted over the front rows of the stalls ; two or 
 three attached to the more important journals 
 in private boxes; celebrated author surrounded 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 EUXNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 bj his family in private box; other celebrated 
 author scowhng by himself in orchestra-stall ; two 
 celebrated artists who always came to first-nights 
 amusing themselves by talking about art before 
 the curtain goes up ; fat man with vulgar wife, 
 with wreath of roses in her head, — alderman, 
 wholesale stationer, said to be Mr. Frank Likely' s 
 backer, in best stage - box ; opposite stage - box 
 being reserved by Jewish old party, landlord of 
 the theatre, and now occupied by the same, asleep 
 and choking. Lady Ospringe of com'se, with 
 (equally of com'se) the latest lion of the day by 
 her side — on this occasion a very little man, with 
 long fair hair, who, as Laurence afterwards 
 learned, had written a poem all about blood and 
 slaughter. The Duke and Duchess of Tantallan, 
 who are mad about private theatricals, who have 
 turned the old noiihern feudal castle into an 
 uncomfortable theatre, and whose most constant 
 guests are little Hyams (the costumier) and Jubber 
 (^ heavy old man') of the Cracksideum Theatre, 
 who ' gets up' the duke's plays. Sir Gerald Spoon- 
 bill and Lord Otho Faulconbridge, jolly old boys,
 
 AT THE PARTHEXinr. 51 
 
 flushed with hastilj-eaten dinner at Foodie's, but 
 delighting in the drama; the latter especially ha^dng 
 inherited taste for it, his mother having been — 
 well, you know all about that. That white w^aist- 
 coat which o-listens in the stalls coidd belono; to 
 no one but Mr. Marshall Moss, next to whom sit 
 on either side Mr. Gompertz, the stock-jobber, 
 and Mr. Sergeant Orson, the last-named having 
 entertained the other gentlemen at a very snug 
 little dinner at the Haresfoot Club. Nor was 
 pipe-clay wanting. The story of the plot, the 
 intended character to be assumed by Mr. Ponti- 
 fex, had been talked over at Woolwich, at Bromp- 
 ton, — where the sucking Indian heroes, men 
 whose names long afterwards w^ere household 
 words during the Mutiny campaigns, were learn- 
 ing soldiering, — at the Senior and the Junior, 
 and at the Eag, the members of which, awaiting 
 the completion of their present palatial resid- 
 ence, then occupied a modest tenement in St. 
 James's Square. There was a boxful of Plun- 
 gers, big, solemn, heavy men, with huge cm-ling 
 moustaches, conspicuous among whom were Algy 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF
 
 52 EUKNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Forrester and Cis Hetheriiigton of the Blues ; 
 Markliam Bowers of the Life Guards, who shot 
 the militia-sur2:eon behind the windmill at Wim- 
 bledon; and Dick Edie of the 4th Dragoon 
 Guards — Dick Edie, the solicitor's son, who after- 
 wards ran away with Lady Florence 'Ormolu, 
 third daughter of the house of Porphyry ; and 
 on beino^ reconciled and introduced to whom on 
 a future occasion, the Dowager Countess of Por- 
 phyry was good enough to make the remark that 
 she " had no idea the lower orders were so clean." 
 Where are ye now, lustrous counts, envied 
 dandies of that bygone time? Algy Forrester, 
 thirty-four inches round the girth, has a son at 
 Oxford, breeds fat sheep, and is only seen in Lon- 
 don at cattle-show time. Cis Hetherington, duly 
 heralded at every outlawry proclamation, lies 
 'perdu in some one of the barren islands forming 
 the Hebrides cluster. Markham Bowers fell in 
 the Balaklava charge, joierced through and through 
 by Cossack spearmen; and Major-general Richard 
 Edie, M.P., is the chief adviser and the trusted 
 agent of his mother-in-law, the Dowager Countess
 
 AT THE PARTHEXIUM. DO 
 
 of Porphyry. In the next box, hiding behind the 
 muslin curtains, and endeavoiu'ing to hide her 
 convulsions of laughter behind her fan, sat little 
 Pauline Desiree, pi^emitre danseuse at the Opera 
 Comique, with Harry Lindon of the Coldstreams, 
 and Prothero of the Foreign Office, and Tom 
 Hodgson the comic writer; none of them one atom 
 changed, all of them wonder-struck at the man in 
 the big beard, all of them delighted at suddenly 
 recognising in him an old friend, not much 
 thought of perhaps dm-ing his absence, as is the 
 Avay of tlie world, but certainly to be welcomed 
 now that he was once more among them. 
 
 Xot one atom changed ; all of them just tlie 
 same. What were his two years of absence, his 
 wanderino;s in burnino; solitudes, or amono-st 
 nomadic tribes? His sudden rushing away had 
 been undertaken with a purpose ; and whether that 
 purpose had been fulfilled was known to him- 
 self alone. He rather thought it had, as, without 
 an extra heart-beat, he looked into a box on the 
 pit-tier, and his grave face flashed into a sar- 
 donic grin as his eyes lit on the bald foreliead
 
 54 Rm?NING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 and plaited shirt-frill of an elderly gentleman, in- 
 stead of the light-chestnut bands and brilliant bust 
 which once reigned dominant there on every "first 
 night." But all the others were just the same; 
 even the people he did not know were exactly like 
 those whom he had left, and precisely answered 
 to those whom he should have expected to find 
 there. Xo, not all. The door of a box on the 
 grand tier next the dress-circle opened with a 
 clang, and a lady whom he had never seen before, 
 coming to the front, settled herself in the corner 
 opposite the stage. Tlie noise of the door at- 
 tracted the attention of the house ; and Ventus, 
 then plaj'ing his celebrated cornet-solo in the 
 overtm^e, cursed the interruption ; a whisper ran 
 romid the stalls ; the ari'ival was telegraphed to 
 the Guards' box : this must be some star that had 
 risen on the horizon since Lam^nce's absence. 
 All, there is Blab Bertram at the back of the box ! 
 This, then, must be Lady Mitford ! 
 
 She was apparently about twenty, and, so far as 
 could be judged from her sitting position, tall and 
 shght. Her complexion was red and white, beauti-
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUM. 55 
 
 fully clear, — tlie white transparent, the red scarlet, 
 — and her features regular ; small forehead, straight 
 Grecian nose, very short upper-lip, and mouth 
 small, with lips rather thin than pouting. Her 
 dark-brown hair (fortunately at that time it was 
 not considered necessary for beauty to have a 
 red head), taken off beliind the ears in two tight 
 bands, showed the exquisite shape of her head, 
 wliich was very small, and admirably fitted on 
 the neck, the only fault of which was its excess 
 in length. She was dressed entirely in white, 
 Avith a green necklace, and a tiny wreath of green 
 i\y -leaves was mtertwined among the braids into 
 which her hair was fastened at the back of her 
 head. She took her seat gracefully, but looked 
 round, as Laui-ence noticed, with a certain air 
 of strangeness, as though miaccustomed to such 
 scenes ; then immediately turned her eyes, not on 
 the other occupants of the theatre, not on the stage, 
 nor on George Bertram, w^ho, after some apparent 
 demur, took the front seat opposite to her, but to- 
 wards a tall man, who relieved her of her cloak, 
 and handed her a fan, and in whom Alsager recog-
 
 56 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 nised the Charles Mitford of his Oxford days. A 
 good reahsation of Tennyson's Sir "Walter Vivian, — 
 
 " Ko little lily-handed baronet he ; 
 A stout broad-shouldered genial Englishman," — 
 
 was Sir Charles Mitford, with strongly-marked 
 well-cut features, bright blue eyes, curling red- 
 dish-broAvn hair, large light breezy whiskers, and 
 a large mouth gleaming with sound white teeth. 
 The sort of man ^^ho, you could tell at a glance, 
 would have a ^ery loud hearty laugh, would grip 
 yom* hand until your fingers ached, would be 
 rather awkward in a room, but who would never 
 flinch across comitry, and never grow tired among 
 the turnips or over the stubble. An mimistakable 
 gentleman, but one to whom a shooting-coat and 
 gaiters would be more becoming than the even- 
 ing-dress he then wore, and who evidently felt 
 the moral and physical restraint of his white 
 choker, from the way in which he occasionally 
 tugged at that evidence of civihsation. Shortly 
 after they had settled themselves, the curtain went 
 up, and all eyes were turned to the stage ; but 
 Laurence noticed that Lady Mitford was seated
 
 AT THE PAETHEXIUM. 57 
 
 SO as to partly lean against her husband, wliile 
 his left handj resting on her chair-back, occasion- 
 allj' touched the braids of her hair. George Ber- 
 tram seemed to be entirely overlooked by his com- 
 panions, and was able to enjoy his negative plea- 
 sure of holding his tongue to the fullest extent. 
 
 They were right who had said that Spoiforth 
 had put forth all his power in the new piece, and 
 had been even more than usually personal. The 
 characters rej^resented were, an old peer, wigged, 
 rouged, and snuff-box bearing, one of tho§e won- 
 derful creations which have never been seen on 
 the English stage since Farren left it; his young 
 wife, a dashing comitess, more frequently in a 
 riding-habit than any thing else, with a light 
 jewel-handled whip, with which she cut her male 
 friends over the shoulders or poked them in the 
 ribs, — as is, we know, the way of countesses in 
 real life; a dashing young cavahy-officer very 
 much smitten with the countess, excellently played 
 by Dacre Pontifex, who admirably contrived to do 
 two things at the same time — to satisfy the swells 
 by his representation of one of their class, —
 
 58 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 '' Doosid good tiling ; not like usual dam cawick- 
 acliaw," they said, — and simultaneously to use cer- 
 tain -words, plirases, and tones, to fall into certain 
 attitudes and use certain gestures, all of wliich 
 were considered by the pittites as a mockery of 
 the aristocracy, and were delighted in accord- 
 ingly. It being an established fact that no play at 
 the Parthenium could go down without Mugger 
 the low comedian, and there being in the '^ scan- 
 dal in high life," which Spofforth had taken for his 
 plot, no possible character which Mugger could have 
 portrayed, j)eople were wondering what would 
 be done for him. The distribution of the other 
 characters had been apparent to all ever since it 
 was known that Spofforth had the story in hand : 
 of com'se Farren would be the marquis, and Miss 
 Amabel the marchioness (Spofforth had lowered 
 liis characters one step in rank, and removed the 
 captain from the Guards to the cavalry — a great 
 stroke of genius), and Pontifex the mihtary lover. 
 But what could be done for Mugger? Tlie only 
 other character in the real story, the man by 
 whom the intrigue was found out, and all the
 
 AT THE PARTHEXIUM. 59 
 
 mischief accidentally caused, was a simple old 
 clergyman, vicar of the parish close by my lord's 
 comitry estate, and of course they could not have 
 introduced a clergyman on to the stage, even if 
 Mugger could have played the part. This was a 
 poser. At first Mugger proposed that the clergy- 
 man should be turned into a Quaker^, when he 
 could appear in broad-brim and drab, call every 
 body " thee," and snuffle through his nose ; but 
 this was overruled. At last Spofforth hit upon 
 a happy idea : the simple old clergyman should be 
 tru-ned into a garrulous mischief-making physi- 
 cian ; and when Mugger appeared at the back of 
 the stage, wonderfidly " made-up" in a fluffy 
 white hat, and a large shirt-frill protruding from 
 his waistcoat, exactly like a celebrated London 
 doctor of the day, whose appearance was familiar 
 to all, the shouts of delight rose from every part 
 of the house. This, with one exception, was the 
 hit of the evening ; the exception was when the 
 captain, in a letter to his beloved, writes, '' Fly, 
 fly with me ! These arms once locked round you, 
 no blacksmith shall break them asmider." Now
 
 60 RUisXING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 this was an expression wliicli had actually been 
 used by the lover in the '' scandal in high life/' 
 and had been made immense fun of by the comi- 
 sel in the trial which ensued, and by the Sunday 
 newspapers in commenting on that trial. "When, 
 therefore, the phrase was spoken by Pontifex in 
 his most telling manner, it created first a thrill 
 of astonishment at the author's daring, then a tit- 
 ter, tlien a tremendous roar of laughter and ap- 
 plause. Mr. Frank Likely, who was standing at 
 the wino* when he heard this, nodded comfortably 
 at Spofforth, who was in the opposite stage-box 
 anxiously watching the eifect of every line ; and 
 the latter shut up his glass, like the Duke of 
 Wellington at Waterloo, and felt that the battle 
 was won. "It was touch-and-go, my boy," 
 Likely said to the author afterwards ; " one single 
 liitch in that speech, and the whole thing would 
 have been 2;oosed off the stao-e." 
 
 Tliere were, however, a few j^eople in the 
 theatre who were not so intensely delighted with 
 Mr. Spofforth's ingenuitv' and boldness. Lau- 
 rence Alsager, whose absence from England had
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUM. 61 
 
 prevented liis hearing the original story, tliouglit 
 tlie whole play dreary enough, though he appre- 
 ciated the art of Pontifex and the buffoonery of 
 Mucrrrer ; but the j^i'eat roar of delio-ht cauMit him 
 in the middle of a yawn, and he looked romid 
 with astonishment to see how a very silly phrase 
 coidd occasion such an amomit of laughter. Glanc- 
 ing round the house, his eyes fell upon Lady Mit- 
 ford, and he saw that her cheeks were flushed, her 
 looks downcast, and her lips compressed. She had 
 been in the greatest wonderment, poor child, dur- 
 ing the whole of the piece: the manners of the peo- 
 ple represented were to her as strange as those of 
 the Ashantees; she heard her own language and 
 did not understand it; she saw men and women, 
 apparently intended to be of her own nation and 
 station, conducting themselves towards each other 
 in a manner she had never heard of, much less 
 seen ; she fancied there had been a laxity of speech 
 and morals pervading the play, but she only knew 
 it when the roar of welcome to Mr. Pontifex's 
 hint about the blacksmith fell upon her ear. She 
 had never heard the origin of the phrase, but her
 
 62 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 natural instinct told lier it was coarse and gross ; 
 slie laiew it from the manner in Avliicli lier hus- 
 band, miable to restrain a loud guffaw, ended with 
 " Too bad, too bad, by Jove !" She knew it by 
 the manner in which Mr. Bertram studiously 
 turned his face away from her to the stage ; from 
 the manner in which the ladies all romid endea- 
 vom'ed to hide their laughter behind their fans, 
 oblivious of the betrayal afforded by their shaking 
 shoulders ; she knew it from the look of intense 
 disgust in the face of that curious-looking bearded 
 man in the stalls, whose glances her eyes hap- 
 pened to meet as she looked down. 
 
 Yes, Laurence Alsager was as thoroughly 
 disgusted as he looked, and that was saying 
 much ; for he had the power of tin-owing great 
 savageness of expression into his bright eyes and 
 thin lips. Here had a sudden home-sickness, an 
 indescribable longing, come upon him, and he had 
 hurried back after two-years' absence ; and now 
 within half-a-dozen hours of his arrival he had 
 sickened at the change. He hated the theatre, 
 and the grinning fools who laughed at tlie im-
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUM, 63 
 
 modest rubbish, and the grinning fools who ut- 
 tered it; he hated the conventionahty of dress 
 and liAdng; he could not stand going in with a 
 regular ruck of people again, and having to con- 
 form to all their ways. He would cut it at once ; 
 go down to Knockholt to-morrow, and stay a 
 couple of days with Sir Peregrine just to see the 
 old governor, and then be off again to South 
 America, to do prairies and bisons and that sort 
 of thing. 
 
 As he made this resolution, the cm'tain fell 
 amidst a storm of applause, and rose again to 
 show the actors in a row, bowing delightedly 
 with their hands on their waistcoats ; Spofforth 
 '^ bowed his acknowledgments from a private 
 box," and kissed his hand to Alsager, who re- 
 turned the salute with a very curt nod, then rose 
 and left the theatre. In the lobby he met the 
 Mitford party, and was quietly slipping by when 
 Sir Charles, after whispering to Bertram, touched 
 his shoulder, saying, " Colonel Alsager, let me 
 renew our old acquaintance." There was no 
 escape from this big man's cheery manner and
 
 64 EmWING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 outstretched hand; so Laurence, after an in- 
 stant's adimrablj-feigned forgetfiilness, returned 
 the grasp, saymg, '^ Ah, Mitford I thmk? of 
 Brasenose in the old days ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes, to be sure ! All sorts of things 
 happened since then, you know." 
 
 " Oh yes, of course ; though I've only been 
 in Encrland six hours I've heard of vour luck 
 and the baronetcy. George Bertram here is 
 such a terrific talker, he couldn't rest until he 
 had told me aU the news." 
 
 This set Sir Charles Mitford off into one of 
 his great roars again, at the finish of which he 
 said, "Let me introduce you to my wife; she's 
 just here with Bertram. — Here, Greorgie darling, 
 this is Colonel Alsager, an old acquaintance of 
 mine." 
 
 Of any one else Mitford would have said " an 
 old friend;" but as he spoke he glanced at Lau- 
 rence's stem grave expression, and changed the 
 word. Perhaps the same feeling influenced Lady 
 Mitford, as her bow was constrained; and her 
 spirits, already depressed by the performance,
 
 AT THE PARTHENIUM. 65 
 
 were by no means raised by the introduction to 
 tliis sombre stranger. 
 
 Sir Charles tried to rally. " Hope we shall 
 see something of you, Alsager, now you're back. 
 You'll find us in Eaton Place, and — " 
 
 ^'You're very good; but I shall leave town 
 to-morrow, and probably England next week." 
 
 Probably no man had ever been more aston- 
 ished than was George Bertram as he stood by 
 and heard this ; but, true to his creed, he said 
 never a word. 
 
 " Leave England !" said Sir Charles. " Why, 
 you've only just come back. You're only just — 
 All right; we're coming!" This last in answer 
 to roars of " Lady Mitford's carriage !" surging 
 up the stairs. " Thank you if you'll give my 
 wife your arm." 
 
 Lady Mitford accepted this courtesy very fri- 
 gidly, just touching Laurence's arm with the 
 tips of her fingers. After she had entered the 
 brougham, Alsager stood back for Sir Charles 
 to follow; but the latter shut the door, saying, 
 " Good-night, Georgie dear; I sha'n't be late." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6Q RLTS^^NG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Oil, Charley, are you not coming with me?" 
 she said. 
 
 " No, clear, not just yet. Don't put on such 
 a frightened face, Georgie, or Colonel Alsager 
 will think I'm a perfect Bluebeard. I'm going 
 to sup with Bligh and Winton ; to be introduced 
 to that fellow who acted so well, — Pontifex, you 
 know. Sha'n't be late, dear. — Home, Daniells." 
 
 And as the carriage drove off, Sh' Charles 
 Mitford, forgetting to finish his civil speeches to 
 Laurence, shook hands with him and Bertram, 
 and wishing them good-night, walked off with 
 his companions. 
 
 " Chaff or earnest," said Mr. Bertram when 
 they were left alone, " going away again ?" 
 
 " I don't know yet ; I can't tell ; I've half a 
 mind to — How horribly disappointed that little 
 woman looked when that lout said he was go- 
 ing out to supper! He is a lout, your friend, 
 George." 
 
 ^^ Cubbish; don't know tilings yet; wants 
 training," jerked out Mr. Bertram. 
 
 " Wants training, does he? He'll get it soon
 
 AT THE PARTHEXIOI. 67 
 
 enowh if he consorts much with Bho;h and Win- 
 ton, and that set. They'll sharpen him." 
 
 " Like Lady Mitford ?" said Bertram inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 "J think not; I don't know. She seems a 
 httle rustic and missish at present. Let's come 
 to the Club ; I want a smoke." 
 
 But as they walked along, Laurence '^Tung 
 some further particulars about Lady Mitford from 
 his friend; and as they ascended the club-steps, 
 he said, " I don't think if I had a pretty wife 
 like that, I should leave her for the sake of pass- 
 ing my evening with Winton and Bligh, or even 
 of being introduced to Mr. Pontifex. Would you, 
 George ?" 
 
 " Can't say. Never had one," was Mr. Ber- 
 tram's succinct reply.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IN THE SMOKIXG-ROOM. 
 
 Among tlie advantages upon wliicli I have not suf- 
 ficiently clilateci, the Maecenas Club had a smok- 
 ing-room, of which the members were justly proud. 
 Great improvements have been lately made ; but 
 in those days the smoking-room was a novel in- 
 gredient in club-comfort, and its necessity was 
 not sufficiently recognised. Old gentlemen, gene- 
 rally predominant in clubs, were violently opposed 
 to tobacco, save in the shape of the club-snufF; 
 regarded smoking as a sure sign of dissipa- 
 tion, if not of entirely perverted morality, and 
 combined together in committee and out of com- 
 mittee to worry, harass, and annoy the devotees 
 of the cigar. Consequently these last were in most 
 clubs relegated to a big gaunt room at the top 
 of the house, which had palpably been formed by
 
 IX THE S3I0KIXG-E00M. 69 
 
 the removal of the partition between two servants' - 
 attics, a room with bare walls, an oil-cloth-covered 
 floor like a hair-dresser's cutting-room, a few imi- 
 tation-marble-topped tables, some windsor chairs, 
 and a slippery black-leather ottoman stuck against 
 the wall. Thither, to that tremendous height, the 
 waiter, humorously supposed to be devoted to tlie 
 room, seldom penetrated ; and you sat and smoked 
 your cigar, and sipped yom- gin-and-seltzer when 
 you were lucky enough to get it, and watched 
 yom' neighbour looming tln-ough a fog of his 
 own manufactm'e in solemn silence. It required 
 a bold man to penetrate to such howling wilder- 
 nesses as the smoking-rooms of the Retrench- 
 ment, the True Blue, and the Xo Sm-render in 
 those days ; nor were they much better off at the 
 Rag, save in the smnmer, when they rigged up a 
 tent in the back-yard, and held their tahagie under 
 canvas. At the Minerva, they had no smoking-room 
 at all ; the bishops, and other old women in power 
 there, distinctly refusing to sanction a place for 
 any such orgies. But at the Maecenas the smok- 
 ing-room was the room in the house. Xone of
 
 70 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 your attics or cocldofts, none of your stair-climb- 
 ing to get into a bare garret at the end of your 
 toil. At the Maecenas you went straight through 
 the hall, past all the busts of the eminent gentle- 
 men, tlu'ough a well-Ht stone passage, where, if 
 you were lucky, you might see, in a httle room 
 on the right, honest Mr. Turquand the steward 
 brewing a jorum of that gin-pmich for which the 
 Club was so renowned; past the housekeeper's- 
 room, where ]\Irs. Norris always sat breast-high 
 in clean table-linen, and surrounded by garlands 
 of lemons and groves of spices ; past the big re- 
 frigerator, into which Tom Custance tlu'eatened 
 to dip little Captain Eodney one night when that 
 peppery light-weight had had too much of the 
 club-claret ; and then, built over what should have 
 been the garden, you fomid the pride of the little 
 M. A big square room, lit by a skylight in sum- 
 mer, or sun-bm'ner in winter, with so much wall- 
 paper as could be seen of a light-green colour, 
 but with the walls nearly covered with sketches 
 of all kinds in oil, crayon, and water-colour, con- 
 tributed by members of the Club. From mantel-
 
 IN THE SMOKIXG-ROOil. 71 
 
 shelf to ceiling liad been covered by Gilks, in 
 distemper, with " Against Wind and Tide" — a 
 lovely bit of seascape, to look at which kept you 
 cool on the hottest night ; opposite, hung Sandy 
 Clobbier's hot staring "Sphinx and Pyramids;" 
 Jack Long's crayon caricatm^e of " King Jamie 
 inditing the Counterblast" faced a charming 
 sketch of a charming actress by Acton, R. A. ; and 
 there were a score of other gems of art. Such 
 cosy chairs and luxurious lounges ; such ventila- 
 tion, watched over specially by Fairfax, the oldest 
 and perhaps the joUiest member of the Club ; such 
 prime cigars and glorious drinks, and pmigent 
 anecdote and cheerftd conversation, were to be 
 had nowhere else. 
 
 The room was full when Laurence and Ber- 
 tram entered, and the former was immediately 
 received with what dramatic critics call " an ova- 
 tion ;" that is, the men generally shook hands with 
 him, and expressed themselves glad to see liim 
 back. 
 
 " And I see by your dress that you've no 
 sooner arrived than you've plunged into the vor-
 
 (Ji EUKN'IKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 tex of society, Colonel," said old Fairfax from 
 his post of lionoiu' in the chimney-corner. 
 
 " Not I, Mr. Fairfax," replied Laurence, 
 laughing ; '^ I've only been to the play." 
 
 " What ! not to Spofforth's,— not to the Par- 
 thenium ?" 
 
 '' Why not ? is there any harm ? is it a riddle ? 
 what is it ? Let me know at once, because what- 
 ever it is, I've been there." 
 
 " No, no ; only there's been a difference of 
 opinion about the new piece. Billy Gomon thinks 
 it capital, and gave us a flaming account of it ; 
 but since then Captain Hetherington has come 
 in and spoken very strongly against it. Now, 
 Colonel, you can act as umpire between these 
 two referees." 
 
 '^ Not at all, not at all," said Mr. Gomon, a 
 mild bald-headed little gentleman who did Bos- 
 well to Spoffoi-th, and was rewarded for perpe- 
 tually blowing his idol's trumpet by opera-ivories 
 and first-night private-boxes, and occasional din- 
 ners with pleasant theatrical people. '' I merely 
 said that there was — ah, an originality, — a — cle-
 
 IX THE S3I0KIXG-R00M. 73 
 
 vemess, — and — a — above all a gentlemanly tone 
 in tlie piece sucli as you never find in any one's 
 writings but SpofFortli's." 
 
 Most of the men sitting round lauglied heartily 
 as Billy Gomon uttered liis sentiments in the 
 mildest, most deprecatory manner, and "svith tlie 
 pleasantest smile. 
 
 '^ "Well, that's not bad to l^egin vritli ; and 
 now, Cis, Avhat have you got to say ?" 
 
 A big man, half-sitting, half-loUing on an otto- 
 man the other side of the room, Avholly occupied in 
 smoking a very large cigar, staring at the ceiling 
 and pulling his long tawny moustaches, looked up 
 at the mention of his name, and said : 
 
 " Well, look here, Alsager : I'm not clever, 
 and all that sort of thing, you know ; I'm not 
 particularly sweet on my own opinion ; of course, 
 being a Plunger I can't speU or write, or j)ro- 
 nounce my t^'s, 'cordin' to Punch and the other 
 ftmny dogs, and so I've no doubt BiUy Gomon's 
 right; and it's doosid clever of Mr. Spofforth, a 
 gentleman whose acquaintance I've not the plea- 
 sure of possessing — and don't want, by Jove,
 
 74 EUXIs'DsG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 that's more ! — doosicl clever of Mr. Si^ofForth to 
 rake up a climgliill story out of the newspapers 
 when it had been forgotten, and to put the un- 
 fortunate devils who were concerned in it on to 
 the stage, and bring back all the old scandal. 
 I've no doubt it's doosid clever ; and I'm sm'e it's 
 a very gentlemanly thing of Mr. Spofforth to do ; 
 so gentlemanly that, if any of my people had been 
 mixed up in it, I'd have tried the strength of my 
 hunting-loop over ]VIi\ Spofforth' s shoulders !" 
 And havino; concluded, Cis Hetherinirton leant 
 back lazily, and resumed his contemplation of the 
 ceiling. 
 
 There was a pause for a moment, and then 
 Bertram said : 
 
 " Quite right, Hetherington ; hon-ible piece, 
 di'eary and dirty. D — d unpleasant to think that 
 one can't go to the theatre with a modest woman 
 without ha\^ng innuendoes and doubles entendres 
 thrown at you." 
 
 " By Jove, a second edition of the miraculous 
 gift of tongues !" said a man seated on Lam-ence's 
 right. " I never heard the Blab so chai'mingly
 
 IN THE SMOKIKG-PvOOM. 75 
 
 eloquent. You Avere witli liiin at tlie theatre, 
 Alsager ; who was the lady whom he so deliciously 
 described as a ^ modest woman' that he escorted ?" 
 The speaker was Lord DollamorCj a man of good 
 abihties and position, but a confirmed Sybarite 
 and a renoAvned roue. 
 
 " Bertram escorted no one ; he merely had 
 a seat in a box with Lady Mitford and her hus- 
 band," said Laurence coldly. He hated Lord 
 Dollamore. As he himself said, he " didn't go in 
 to be straight-laced; but Dollamore was a cold- 
 blooded ruffian about women, and, worse still, a 
 boaster." 
 
 " Ah, with Lady Mitford !" said Lord Doha- 
 more, slowly expelling a mouthful of smoke ; " I 
 have the pleasure of her acquaintance. She's 
 very nice, Alsager I" 
 
 There was a succulence in the tone in wliich 
 these last words were spoken that sounded unplea- 
 santly on Laurence's ear ; so he said shortly, " I 
 saw Lady Mitford for the first time to-night." 
 
 " Oh, she's very nice ; a little too classical and 
 statuesque and Clitc-like for my taste, which leans
 
 76 KUK^'DsG THE GAUXTLET. 
 
 more to the heaute-du-diaUe order ; but still Lady 
 Mitford's charming. Poor little Avoman I she's 
 like the yomig bears, with all her troubles before 
 her." 
 
 " Her troubles won't be many, one w^ould 
 think," said Laurence, who was growing irri- 
 tated under his companion's half-patronising, 
 half-famihar tone in speaking of Ladj Mitford. 
 
 "" Won't they?" said Lord Dollamore, with an- 
 other slow expulsion of smoke ; this time in the 
 shape of rings which lie dextrously shot one 
 through the other. 
 
 " I can't see how they should. She has 
 beauty, wealth, and position; a young husband 
 who doats on her, — oh, you needn't grin ; I saw 
 him with her in the box." 
 
 " Yes, and I saw him without her, but with 
 Bligh and Winton, the two Clarks, who are 
 coryphees at Drury Lane, and Mdlle. Carambola 
 from the cu'que at Leicester Square, tm-ning in 
 to supper at Dubourg's. Kow, then, what do you 
 say to that?" 
 
 ^^ Nothing. Mitford told his wife he was
 
 IN THE SMOKnsG-ROOM. 77 
 
 going to supper Vvath Bligli and Winton. I heard 
 him." 
 
 ^^ Yery hkely ; but you didn't hear him men- 
 tion the female element. No, of course not." 
 
 " Sir Charles Mitford being, I presume, a 
 gentleman, that suggestion is simply absurd." 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Colonel Alsager, I 
 never make any suggestion that can be called 
 ^simply absmxl.' The fact is, Alsager, that 
 though I'm only, I suppose, five or six years 
 older than you, I've seen a deal more of life." 
 
 ^^Ofwhichsideofit?" 
 
 " Well, the most interesting, — the worst, of 
 course. While you've been momiting guard and 
 saluting colours, and teaching buUet-headed re- 
 cruits to form square, and all that kind of thing, 
 I've been studying human nature." 
 
 " How delio;htful for human nature !" 
 
 " Tliat may or may not be," said Lord Dolla- 
 more calmly, and without the smallest sign of 
 irritation ; " but this I know, that all boy-and- 
 girl marriages iuA'ariably come to grief. A man 
 must have his fling some time or other ; if he does
 
 78 EUXNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 not have it before liis marriage, lie will after. 
 And between ourselves, Alsager, this Mitford is 
 a devihsh bad egg. Vxe known of him all his 
 life. He had a fast turn when he was a mere 
 boy, and didn't stick at trifles to raise money, as 
 you may have heard." 
 
 '' I know all about that ; but — " 
 
 "And do you think that, now that he has 
 plenty of money and health and position, he won't 
 go in for that style of pleasure which he formerly 
 risked every thing to obtain? Nonsense, my 
 dear Alsager ; cela va sans dire. Lady Mitford 
 will have to rmi the gauntlet of society, as do 
 most married women with loose husbands ; and 
 will certainly be more successfid than most of her 
 competitors." 
 
 Laurence put down his cigar, and, looking 
 steadily at his companion, said, " I don't envy the 
 man who could be blackguard enough to attempt 
 to throw a shadow on such a woman's life." 
 
 "Don't you?" said Lord Dollamore, as 
 steadily retm^iiing the glance; "of course not." 
 Then, in a somewhat lighter tone, he added,
 
 IN THE SMOKIXG-ROOM. 79 
 
 '' By the way, have you seen the Hammonds 
 lately ?" 
 
 A flush, noticeable even through the red 
 bronze, rose on Laurence's cheeks ; but before he 
 could speak, a man who was sitting on the other 
 side of Lord Dollamore cut into the conversation 
 by saying, " Oh, by the way, there was a brother 
 of Percy Hammond's dining here last week ; 
 Prothero asked me to meet him. He's a sporting 
 parson, and a tremendous character^ He told us 
 he always knew when woodcock came in by the 
 lesson for the day." 
 
 ^' I know him," said Cis Hetherington, who 
 had lomiged up and joined the party ; " Tom 
 Hammond, a thundering big fellow. His vicar- 
 age or rectory, or whatever it is, is close by 
 Dursley ; and at the last election Tom seconded 
 my brother — Westonhanger, you know — for the 
 county. The Rads brought over a lot of roughs, 
 navvies, and fellows working at the railway close 
 by ; and whenever Tom spoke, these fellows kept 
 yelling out all sorts of blackguard language. 
 Tom roared to them to stop it ; and when they
 
 80 EUXNIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 wouldn't, lie quietly let liimself drop over the front 
 of the hustings, right into the middle of 'em. 
 He's a splendid bruiser, you know; and he let 
 out — one two, one two — right and left, and sent 
 half-a-dozen of 'em flying like skittles. Tlien he 
 asked if any more was wanted, carefully settled 
 his clerical white-choker, and went back to the 
 hustings again." 
 
 " He owed your brother a good turn after the 
 way in which he astonished your governor a year 
 or two ago, Cis," said Lord Dollamore. 
 
 '' What was that ? Did he pull the Duke up 
 for coming late to chm'ch, or for not hunt- 
 ing the county? Tlie last most likely, I should 
 think." 
 
 '^ Not at all. You all know what a tremen- 
 dous swell Cis's brother the Duke is, — you know 
 it, Cis, as well as any body, — wants all the 
 pavement to himself in St. James's Street, and 
 finds the arch on Constitution Hill not quite liigh 
 enough for his head. Well, a year or two ago 
 Tom Hammond had a splendid roan horse which 
 he used to di'ive in a light Whitechapel to cover.
 
 IN THE SMOKIXG-ROOM. 81 
 
 Tlie Duke sray this animal, and tliouglit it would 
 make a splendid match for a roan of his ; so he 
 sent his coachman over to Tom's little place to ask 
 if he'd sell. Tom saw the coachman, heard what 
 he had to say, and then told him he never spoke 
 to grooms, except to give them orders ; if the 
 Duke wanted the horse, he must come himself. I 
 can't think what messao^e the man can ha\'e i^^iven 
 to his master; but two days afler, the Duke's phae- 
 ton pulled up at the parsonage-door, and the Duke 
 himself bowed to Tom, who ran to the window 
 with his mouth full of lunch. Tom's account of 
 the interview was delicious. He imitates the 
 Duke's haw-haw manner to perfection, — you don't 
 mind, Cis ? He asked him in, and told him that 
 the Stilton was in prime cut ; but the Duke de- 
 clined, and said, ' I understand you wish to sell 
 your roan, Mr. Hammond.' ^ Then your grace 
 understands a good deal more than I gave you 
 credit for,' said Tom. ' Then you don't want to 
 sell the horse ? I want him particularly for a 
 match-horse.' ^ Xo,' said Tom ; ' I won't sell 
 him. I'm a poor parson, and I wouldn't take 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 three limiclrecl for him ; but I'll tell yon what I'll 
 do, your grace. I'm always open to a bit of 
 sporting ; and Fll toss your grace for the ixiir ; 
 or, if that's not exciting enough, I'll get my 
 cm'ate to come in — he's only next door — and we'll 
 go the odd man, the best of three. Tliat's Avhat 
 I'n do.' Tom says he thought the Duke would 
 have had a fit. He never spoke a word, but 
 drove straight away, and has never looked at 
 Tom since." 
 
 After the laugh which this story raised had 
 ceased. Lord DoUamore said, " Did Tom say any 
 thing about his brother Percy the day he dined 
 here?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said the man who had first 
 spoken; "they're coming back at once. Mrs. 
 Hammond finds Florence disagrees with her." 
 
 " Perhaps she'd find Lam-ence agree with her 
 better," said Dollamore sotto voce; then aloud, 
 " Ah ! and so of course poor Percy is to be 
 trotted back again. By Jove, how that woman 
 rules him ! She has only to whistle, and he 
 comes to her at once. I should like to see a
 
 IX THE SMOKIXG-EOOM. 83 
 
 woman try that on me, — a woman that I was 
 married to, I mean. — By the way, you haven't 
 seen Mrs. Hammond since her marriage, have 
 you, Alsager?" 
 
 " No ; I left England just previously." 
 
 '^ All ! she's as pretty as ever, and infinitely 
 more wicked — I beg your pardon, though ; I 
 forgot we had tm-ned purist since om' Oriental 
 experience." 
 
 ^^ At all events we have learned one thing in 
 our Oriental experience, Lord Dollamore." 
 
 "And that is — ?" 
 
 " To keep our temjoer and — ^hold our tongue. 
 Good-night." 
 
 As he said these words, Laurence Alsager rose 
 from liis seat and left the room ; Bei^ram had 
 pre\aously taken his departm'e ; so that Lam-ence 
 walked off" alone to his hotel, pondering on all he 
 had seen and heard. 
 
 " So she's coming back," he said to himself as 
 he strolled along ; " coming back to brmg back to 
 me, whenever I may happen to meet her, all the 
 sickening recollection of the old times, the heart-
 
 84 RTINl!TrNG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 burnings, tlie lieart-breaking, to escape from wlilcli 
 I rushed away two years ago. Slie won the day 
 then, and she'll be as insolent as she can be on the 
 strength of her victory now, though she knows 
 well enough that I did not shoot my best bolt then, 
 but keep it in my quiver yet. It's impossible to 
 fight with a woman ; they can descend to so many 
 dodges and meannesses where no man worthy of 
 the name could follow them. No ; I'll seek safety 
 in flight. I'll be off again as soon as I've seen 
 the governor ; and then — And yet what a strange 
 interest I seem to take in that girl I saw to-night ! 
 Poor little child ! I wonder if DoUamore's right 
 about her husband. Well, I'll wait a few days, 
 and see what turns up." 
 
 While these thoughts were passing through 
 Lam-ence Alsager's mind. Sir Charles Mitford was 
 leaning against the jambs of the door leading fi'oni 
 his dressing-room into liis Avife's bedi'oom. He 
 had one boot off, and was vainly endeavouring to 
 discover the hole in the bootjack in which to in- 
 sert the other foot. The noise which he made in
 
 IX THE SMOKING-KOOM. 85 
 
 this operation awoke Lady Mitford, wlio called 
 out, " Oh, Charley, is that yoii?" 
 
 " Course, my dear," said Sir Charles in a 
 thick voice; "who should it be this time o' night? 
 not that it's late, though," he said, correcting him- 
 self after a moment's reflection ; then looking 
 vacantly at her, added in a high-falsetto key, 
 " quite early." 
 
 " You are not ill, Charley ?" she asked, look- 
 ing anxiously at him. 
 
 " iSTot I, my darling ; never berrer. — Off at 
 last, are you?" this last observation addressed 
 to the conquered boot. " But you, what's mar- 
 rer with you ? Look all flushed and frightened 
 like." 
 
 " I've had a horrid confused dream about the 
 theatre, and people we saw there, and snakes, oh ! 
 so dreadftd ; and that grave man. Colonel Some- 
 body, that you introduced me to, was just going 
 to rescue me. Oh, Charley, I feel so low and de- 
 pressed, and as though something were going to 
 happen. I'm sm'c we sha'n't be happy in London, 
 Let's go away again."
 
 S6 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 "Nonsense, Georgie; — nonsense, my love! 
 Very jolly place for — good supper, — Colonel 
 Snakes ;" and with these intelligible murmurings 
 Sir Charles Mitford slipped into the land of 
 dreams.
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 GEORGIE. 
 
 If, twelve months before the production of Mr. 
 SpofForth's play (which necessarily forms a kind 
 of Hegira in this story), you had told Georgia 
 Stanfield that she was destined to be the wife 
 of a baronet, the mistress of a house in one of 
 the best parts of London, the possessor of horses 
 and carriages, and all the happiness which a very 
 large yearly income can command, your asser- 
 tions would have been met, not with ridicule, 
 for Georgie was too gentle and too well-bred for 
 that, but with utter disbelief. Her whole life 
 had been passed in the little Devonshire village 
 of which her father was vicar, and it seemed to 
 her impossible that she coidd ever live any where 
 else. To potter about in the garden during the 
 summer in a large flapping sti'aw hat and a cot-
 
 88 KUNNTNG THE GALTs'TLET. 
 
 ton go^^^l, to tie up cli'ooping flowers and snip off 
 dead leaves ; to stand on tlie little terrace di'eamily 
 gazing oA^er the outs]3read sea, Avatcliing the red 
 sails of the fishing-smacks skimming away to the 
 horizon, or the trim yachts lying off the little port — 
 the yachts whose fine lady-passengers and gallant 
 swells, all blue broad-cloth and club-button, seen 
 at a distance, — were Georgie's sole links with the 
 fashionable Avorld ; to visit and read to the bed- 
 ridden old women and the snufflino^, cou^hincr old 
 men ; to superintend the preparation of charitably- 
 dispensed gruel and soup ; to traverse Mavor's 
 Spelling-book up and down, up and down, over 
 and over again, in the company of the stupid 
 girls of the village-school ; to read the Cidlompton 
 Chronicle to her father on Thursdays, and to copy 
 out Ms sermon on the Satm'day evenings, — these 
 had been the occupations of Georgie Stanfield's 
 mieventful life. 
 
 She had not had even the excitement of flirta- 
 tions, a few of which fall to the lot of nearlj^ every 
 girl, Ije she pretty or plain, rich or poor, iovm- 
 or countiy-bred. The military depots are now
 
 GEORGIE. 89 
 
 SO numerous tliat it is hard, indeed^ if at least a 
 couple of subalterns cannot be found to come over 
 any distance in tlie rumbling dog-cart liired from 
 the inn in the provincial tov>m Avhere they are 
 quartered; and though in Georgie's days there 
 was no croquet, — that best of excuses for social 
 gathering and mild flirtation, — yet there were 
 archery-meetings, horticultui-al shows, and pic- 
 nics. Faihng the absence of the military, even 
 the most -out -of- the -way country village can 
 j)roduce a curate ; and an intending flirt has 
 merely to tone-down certain notions and expand 
 others, to modify her scarlets and work-up her 
 grays, and she will have, if not a very exciting, 
 at all events a ^'ery interesting, time in playing 
 her fish. But there were no barracks within 
 miles of Fishbom-ne, nor any temptations there 
 to have attracted officers from them, if there had 
 been. There were no resident gentry in the place, 
 and the nearest house of any importance — Weston 
 Tower, the seat of old Lady Majoribanks — was 
 twenty miles oif, and old Lady Majoribanks kept 
 no company. As for the curates, there was one,
 
 90 KUKN^ING THE GAUXTLET. 
 
 certainly ; but Mr. Lucas had '^ assisted" Georgie's 
 father for the last eio:hteen years, was fifU" years 
 old, and had a little wife as slow and as gray 
 as the old pony which he used to ride to outlying 
 parts of the parish. 
 
 Besides, if there had been eligible men in 
 scores, what had they to do with Georgie Stan- 
 field, or she with them ? Was she not engaged to 
 Charles Mitford ? — at least, had she not been so 
 affianced until that dreadful business about some- 
 thing A\Tong that brought poor Charley into dis- 
 grace ? and was that sufficient to permit her to 
 break her plighted word ? Mr. Mitford, Charles's 
 father, had been a banker and brewer at Cullomp- 
 ton, and had had a comitry cottage at Fishbourne, 
 a charming little place for his family to come to in 
 the summer; and Mr. Stanfield had been Char- 
 ley's tutor; and when the family were away at 
 Cullompton in the winter, Charley had remained 
 at the yicarage ; and what so likely as that Charley 
 should fall in loye with Georgie, then a tall slip 
 of a girl in short petticoats and frilled trousers 
 and yery thin legs, with her hair in a net ; or
 
 GEORGTE. 91 
 
 that Georgie sliould liave reciprocated tlie attach- 
 ment ? Both the fathers were delighted at the ar- 
 rangement ; and there was no mother on either side 
 to talk of extreme youth, the chance of change, 
 or to interpose other womanly objections. There 
 came a time when Charley, then a tall handsome 
 fellow, was to go up to Oxford ; and then Georgie, 
 to whom the outu^ard and visible frill period was 
 long past, and who was a lovely budding girl of 
 sweet seventeen, laid her head on his breast on the 
 night before he went away, and promised never 
 to forget him, but to be his and his alone. 
 
 All, those promises never to forget, those 
 whispered words of love, breathed by lips trem- 
 bling under the thick cigar-scented moustache 
 into delicate little ears trellised by braids fresh 
 from the fingers of the lady's-maid ! Tliey are 
 not much to the Corydons of St. James's Street, 
 or the Phyllises of Belgravia. By how many dif- 
 ferent lips, and into how many different ears, are 
 the words whispered and the vows breathed in 
 the com'se of one London season ! I declare I 
 never pass through any of the great squares and
 
 92 EUms^IKG THE GAUXTLET. 
 
 streets, and see the men enclosing the balconies 
 with striped calico, that I do not wonder to myself 
 whether, amongst all the nonsense that has been 
 talked beneath that well-worn a^^ming-stufF, there 
 has been any that has laid the foundation for, or 
 given the crowning touch to, an honest simple love- 
 match, a marriage undertaken by two people out 
 of sheer regard for each other, and permitted by 
 re"!atives and friends, without a sino;le thouo;ht of 
 money or position to be gained on either side. If 
 there be any, they must be very few in nmnber ; 
 and this, be it observed, not on accomit of that 
 supposed favourite pastime of parents — the dispo- 
 sal of their daughters' hands and happiness to the 
 highest bidder, the outcry against which has been 
 so general, and is really, I believe, so undeserved. 
 The circumstance is, I take it, entirely ascribable 
 to the lax morality of the age, under which a girl 
 engages herself to a man without the slightest 
 forethought, often without the least intention of 
 holding to her word, not unfrequently from the 
 increased opportmiities such a state of things af- 
 fords her for flirting with some other man, and
 
 GEORGIE. 93 
 
 under wliicli slie can break lier engagement and 
 jilt lier lover witliout compromising herself in tlie 
 least in the eyes of society. Besides, in tlie course 
 of a London life these vows and pledges are ten- 
 dered so often as to be worn almost tlrreadbare 
 from the number of times they have been pledged ; 
 and as excess of familiarity always breeds con- 
 tempt, the repetition of solemn phrases gradually 
 takes from us the due appreciation of their mean- 
 ing, and we repeat them parrot-wise, without the 
 smallest care for what we are saying. 
 
 But that promise of love and truth and re- 
 membrance uttered by Georgie Stanfield on the 
 sands at Fishl^ourne, under the yellow harvest- 
 moon, with her head pillowed on Charles Mit- 
 ford's breast and her arms clasjied round his 
 neck, came from a young heart which had known 
 no guile, and was kept as religiously as was Sir 
 Galahad's vow of chastity. Within a year after 
 Charley's departm^e for Oxford, his father's affairs, 
 which, as it afterwards appeared, had long been in 
 hopeless confusion, became irretrievably involvec 
 The bank stopped payment, and the old i>
 
 94 EUKNIXG THE GAm^TLET. 
 
 unable to face the storm of ignominy by which 
 he imagined he shonld be assailed, committed 
 suicide. Tlie smash was complete ; Charles had 
 to leave the University, and became entirely 
 dependent on his uncle, Sir Percy Mitford, 
 who declined to see him, but offered to pm^- 
 chase for liini a commission in a marching 
 regiment, and to allow him fifty pomids a year. 
 The yomig man accepted the oflPer ; and by the 
 same post ^\Tote to Georgie, telling her all, 
 and giving her the option of freeing herself 
 from the engagement. It was a gentlemanly 
 act ; but a cheap bit of generosity, after all. He 
 might have staked the fifty pounds a year his 
 uncle had promised him, on the fidelity of such a 
 girl as Georgie Stanfield, more especially in the 
 time of trouble. Her father too, with his old 
 disregard of the future, entirely approved of his 
 daughter's standing by her lover mider the cir- 
 cumstances of his altered fortune ; and two let- 
 ters — one breatliing a renewal of love and trust, 
 the other full of encouragement and hope — went 
 away fi^om Fishbourne parsonage, and brought
 
 GEORGIE. 95 
 
 tears into the eyes of their recipient, as he sat on 
 the edge of a truckle-bed in a whitewashed room 
 in Canterbury Barracks. 
 
 The vow of constancy and its renewal were 
 two little epochs in Georgie's quiet hfe. Then, 
 not very long after the occurrence of the last, — 
 some six months, — there came a third, destined ne- 
 ver to be forgotten. Tliere had been no letter from 
 Charley for some days, and Georgie had been in 
 the habit of walking across the lawn to meet the 
 postman and question him over the garden-wall. 
 
 One hea\"^^ dun Auo-ust morning^, when the 
 clouds were solemnly gathering up together, the air 
 dead and still, the trees hushed and motionless, 
 Georgie had seen the old mail with a letter in his 
 hand, and had hastened, even more eagerly than 
 usual, across the lawn, to be proportionately 
 disappointed when the postman shook his head, 
 and pointing to the letter, said, " For the master, 
 miss." The next minute she heard the sharp 
 clang of the gate-bell, and saw her father take the 
 letter from the postman's hand at his little study- 
 window. Some inward prompting — she knew
 
 96 EUKNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 not wliat — kept Georgie's eyes on lier father. She 
 saw liim take out liis spectacles, wipe tliem, and 
 carefully adjust tliem ; then take the letter, and 
 holding it at nearly arm's length, examine its 
 address ; then comfortably settling himself in his 
 arm-chair at the window, prepare to read it. 
 Then Georgie saw the old man fall backward in 
 his chair, his hand dropping powerless by his side, 
 and the letter fluttering from it to the ground. 
 Without uttering a cry, Georgie ran quickly to 
 the house ; but when she reached the study, Mr. 
 Stanfield was sitting upright in his chair, and had 
 picked the letter from the floor. 
 
 ^' Papa dearest," said Georgie, ^' you gave 
 me such a fi'ight. I was watching you from the 
 garden, and I thought I saw you faint. Oh, 
 papa, you are ill ! How white and scared you 
 look ! What is it, papa darling? — tell me." 
 
 But to all this Mr. Stanfield only mui'mured, 
 gazing up into his daughter's face, — " My poor 
 child ! my poor darling child I" 
 
 '' What is it, papa ? Oh, I know — it's about 
 Charley! He's not — " and then she blanched
 
 GEORGIE. 97 
 
 dead- white, and said in a scarcely audible voice : 
 " He's not dead, papa?" 
 
 ^^ Xo, Georgie, no. It might be better if lie 
 were, — be better if he were." 
 
 ^^He's very ill, then?" 
 
 '^ 'No, darling, — at least — there ! perhaps you'd 
 better read it for yourself ; here, read it for your- 
 self;" and the old man, after giving her the letter, 
 covered his face with his hands and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Then Georgie read in Sir Percy Mitford's 
 roundest hand and stiffest style, how his nephew 
 Charles, utterly ungrateful for the kindnesses wliich 
 he. Sir Percy, had showered upon him, and re- 
 gardless of the fact that he had no resources of 
 his own, nor expectations of any, had plunged into 
 " every kind of vice and debauchery, notably 
 gambling" — (Sir Percy was chairman of Quarter- 
 Sessions, and you might trace the effect of act- 
 of-parli anient reading in his style) — how he had 
 lost large sums at cards ; and how, with the 
 double object of paying his debts and retriev- 
 ing his losses, he had at length forged Sir Percy's 
 signature to a bill for 200^. ; and when the docu- 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 98 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 ment became due, had absconded, no one knew 
 where. Sir Percy need scarcely say that all com- 
 munication between him and this unworthy mem- 
 ber of — he grieved to say — his family was at an 
 end for ever ; and he took that opportunity, while 
 informing Mr. Stanfield of the circumstance, of 
 congratulating him on having been lucky enough 
 to escape any matrimonial connection with such 
 a roo^ue and a vao^abond. 
 
 Mr. Stanfield watched his daughter's perusal 
 of the letter, and when she finished it and re- 
 turned it to him calmly, he said : 
 
 " Well, my dear ! it's a severe blow, is it 
 not?" 
 
 '^ Yes, papa, it is indeed a severe blow. Poor 
 Charley, poor Charley !" 
 
 " Poor Charley, my dear! l^ou surely don't 
 feel the least compassion for Charles Mitford ; a 
 man who has — who has outraged the laws of his 
 country !" 
 
 ^' Not feel compassion for him, papa? Who 
 could help it? Poor Charley, what a bitter de- 
 gradation for him !"
 
 GEORGIE. 99 
 
 " For liim ! degradation for him ! Bless my 
 soul, I can't understand; for us, Georgina, — de- 
 gradation for us, you mean I However, there's 
 an end of it. We've washed our hands of him 
 from this time forth, and never — " 
 
 " Papa, do you know what you're saying ? 
 Washed our hands of Charles Mitford ! "Do 
 you recollect that I have promised to be his 
 wife?" 
 
 '^ Promised to be his wife ! Why, the girl's 
 going mad ! Promised to be his wife ! Do you 
 know the man has committed forgery ?" 
 
 '' Well, papa." 
 
 " Well, papa ! Good God ! I shall go mad 
 myself I You know he's committed forgery, and 
 you still hold to your engagement to him ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably. Is it for me, his betrothed 
 wife, to desert him now that he is in misery and 
 disgrace? Is it for you, a Christian clergyman, 
 to tm*n yom* back on an old friend who has fallen, 
 and who needs your sympathy and counsel now 
 really for the first time in his life ? Would you 
 wish me to give up this engagement, which, pre-
 
 100 RUXXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 liajDs, may be the very means of bringing Charles 
 back to the right?" 
 
 '^ Yes, my dear, yes ; that's all yerj well," 
 said the old gentleman, — ^' all yery well from a 
 woman's point of yiew. But you see, for our- 
 selyes — " 
 
 ■" Well, papa, what then ?" 
 
 " Well, mj dear, of course we ought not to 
 think so much for om'selyes ; but still, as your 
 father, I'ye a right to say that I should not wish 
 to see you married to a — a felon." 
 
 "And as a clergyman, papa? — what haye you 
 a right to say as a clergyman?" 
 
 " I — I decline to pursue the subject, Geor- 
 gina ; so I'll only say this — that you're my daugh- 
 ter, and you're not of age yet ; and I command 
 you to break off this engagement with this — this 
 criminal! That's all" 
 
 Georgie simply said, " You know my deter- 
 mination, papa." And there the matter ended. 
 
 This was the first quarrel that there had eyer 
 been between father and daughter, and both felt 
 it yery much indeed. Mr. Stanfield, who had
 
 GEORGIE. 101 
 
 about as mncli acquaintance with human nature, 
 and as much power of reading character, as if he 
 had been bhnd and deaf, thought Georgie Avould 
 certainly give way, and laid all sorts of palpable 
 traps, and gave all sorts of available opportmiities 
 for her to tlu'ow herself into his arms, confess hoAV 
 wrong she had been, and promise never to think 
 of Charles Mitford ao;ain. But Georo;ie fell in 
 with none of these ways ; she kissed her father's 
 forehead on coming down in the morning, and 
 repeated the process on retiring at night ; but she 
 never spoke to him at meal-times, and kept away 
 from home as ^much as possible during the day, 
 roaming over the country on her chestnut mare 
 PoUy, a tremendous favourite, which had been 
 bought and broken for her by Charley in the old 
 days. 
 
 Durino; the whole of this time Mr. Stanfield 
 was eminently uncomfortable. He had acted 
 upon the ridiculous principle \Tdgarly rendered by 
 the phrase, cutting off' his nose to revenge his face. 
 He had deprived himself of a great many personal 
 comforts without doino; one bit of o-ood. For a
 
 102 ELTNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 fortnight the Cullompton Chronicle had remained 
 imcut and unread, though he knew there was an 
 account of a bishop's visitation to the neighbour- 
 ing diocese which would have interested him 
 higlily. For two consecutive Smidays the parish- 
 ioners of Fishbourne had been regaled with old 
 sermons in consequence of there being no one to 
 transcribe the vicar's notes, which, save to Geor- 
 gie, were unintelligible to the world in general 
 and to their writer in particular. He missed 
 Georgie's graceful form in the garden as he was 
 accustomed to see it when looking up from his 
 books or his writing ; he missed her sweet voice 
 carolling birdlike through the house, and always 
 reminding him of that dead wife whose memory he 
 so tenderly loved ; and notwithstanding the constant 
 horse-exercise, he thought, from sly glances which 
 he had stolen across the table at her during 
 dinner, that she was looking pale and careworn. 
 Worst of all, he was not at all sure that the posi- 
 tion he had taken m]) was entirely defensible on 
 moral grounds. He was differently placed fi'om 
 that celebrated character in the Critic^ who ^^ as a
 
 GEOEGIE. 103 
 
 father softened, but as a governor was fixed." 
 As a father he might object to the continuance of 
 an engagement between his child and a man who 
 had j^roved himself a sinner, not merely against 
 religious ordinances, but agamst the laws of his 
 country ; but he was very doubtful whether, as a 
 Christian and a clergyman, he was not bound to 
 stretch out the hand of forgiveness, and endea- 
 vour to reclaim the penitent. If Mr. Stanfield had 
 lived in these days, and been sufficiently before the 
 world, he woidd probably have had " ten thou- 
 sand college councils" to " thunder anathema" at 
 him for daring to promulgate the doctrine that 
 " God is love ;" but in the little retired parish 
 where he lived, he taught it because he believed it; 
 and he felt that he had rather fallen away from 
 his standard in endeavouring to coerce his daugh- 
 ter into giving up Charles Mitford. 
 
 So one morning, when Georgie came do^\ai 
 to breakfast looking flushed and worried, and very 
 little refreshed by her night's sleep, instead of 
 calmly receiving the frontal kiss, as had been 
 his wont during the preceding fortnight, the old
 
 104 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 man's arms were Avomid aromid her, his lips were 
 pressed to hers, while he murmm-ed, ^' Oh, 
 Georgie ! ah, my darling ! ah, my child !" and 
 there was a display oi grandes ecmx on both sides, 
 and the reconciliation was complete. At a later 
 period of that day Mr. Stanfield entered fully 
 upon the subject of Charles Mitford, told Georgie 
 that if the scapegrace could be found, he should 
 be willingly received at the parsonage ; and then 
 the old gentleman concocted a mysterious adver- 
 tisement, to the effect that if C. M., formerly of 
 Fishbourne, Devon, would call on Mr. Stevens 
 of Furnival's Inn, Holborn, London, he would 
 hear something to his advantage, and be received 
 with hearty welcome by friends who had forgiven, 
 but not forgotten, him. 
 
 This advertisement, duly inserted through the 
 medium of Mr. Stevens, the lawyer therein named, 
 in the mystic second column of the Times Supple- 
 ment, appeared regularly every other day dm'ing 
 the space of a month ; and good old Mr. Stanfield 
 wrote twice a week to Mr. Stevens, inquiring 
 whether " nothing had come of it ;" and Mr. Ste-
 
 GEORGIE. 105 
 
 Yens diily replied (at three shillings and sixpence 
 a letter) that nothing had. It must have been 
 two months after the concoction of the advertise- 
 ment, and one after its last appearance in the 
 columns of the Times, that there came a letter 
 for Georgie, written in the well-kno^\Ti hand, and 
 signed with the well-kno^A^i initials. It was very 
 short, merely saying that for the second time the 
 writer felt it due to her to leave her unfettered 
 ]3y any past engagement existing betAveen them ; 
 that he knew how he had disgraced and placed 
 himself beyond the pale of society ; but that he 
 would always cherish her memory, and think 
 of her as some pure and bright star which he 
 might look up to, but to the possession of which 
 he could never aspire. 
 
 Poor little Georgie was dreadfully touched by 
 this epistle, and so was Mr. Stanfield, regarding 
 it as a work of art ; but as a practical man he 
 thou£:ht he saw a chance for ao^ain workino; the 
 disruption of the engagement-question — this time 
 as suggested by Charles himself; and there was 
 little doubt that he would have enunciated these
 
 106 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 sentiments at length, had he not been abniptly 
 stopped by Georgie on his first giving a hint about 
 it. Despairing of this mode of attack, the old 
 gentleman became chplomatic and macchiavellian ; 
 and I am inclined to think that it was owing to 
 some secret conspiracy on his part, that yomig 
 Frank Majoribanks, staying on a desperately- 
 dreary tln-ee-weeks' visit Avith his amit and pa- 
 troness Lady Majoribanks, took occasion to drive 
 one of the old lady's old carriage-horses over to 
 Fishbourne in a ramshackle springless cart be- 
 longing to the gardener, and to accept the vicar's 
 offer of Imicheon. He had not been five minutes 
 in the house before Georgie found he had been 
 at Oxford with Charley Mitford; and as he had 
 nothing but laudatory remarks to make of his old 
 chum (he had heard notliing of him since he left 
 college), Georgie was very polite to him. But 
 when, after liis second or third visit, he completely 
 threw aside Charley as his stalking-horse, and 
 began to make ruiuiing on his own accomit, 
 Georgie saw tln^ough the whole thing in an in- 
 stant, and treated liim with such marked coldness
 
 GEORGIE. 
 
 107 
 
 that, being a man of tlie world, lie took the hint 
 readily, and never came near the place again. 
 And Mr. Stanfield saw with dismay that his 
 diplomacy succeeded no better than his threats, 
 and that his daughter was as much devoted to 
 Charles Mitford as ever. 
 
 So the two dwellers in the parsonage fell back 
 into their ordinary course of life, and time went 
 on, and Mr. Stanfield's hair grew gradually more 
 gray, and his shoulders gradually more rounded, 
 and the sweet girl of seventeen became the bud- 
 ding woman of twenty. Then one Tliursday even- 
 ing, in the discharge of her weekly task of read- 
 ing to her father the Cullom]?ton CliroJiiclej Geor- 
 gie suddenly stopped, and, although not in the 
 least given to fainting or ^'nerves," was obliged 
 to put her hand to her side and wait for breath. 
 Then when a little recovered she read out to the 
 wondering old gentleman the paragraph announc- 
 ing the fatal accident to Sir Percy Mitford and 
 his sons, and the accession of Charles to the title 
 and estates. Like Paolo and Francesca, — though 
 from a very different reason, — " that night they
 
 108 RUNXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 read no more," the newspaper was laid by, and 
 each sat immersed in thought. Tlie old man's 
 simple foith led him to believe that at length the 
 long-wished-for result had arrived, and that all 
 his daughter's patience, long-suffering, and cour- 
 age would be rewarded. But Georgie, though she 
 smiled at her father's babble, knew that through- 
 out her acquaintance with Charley he had gone 
 through no such trial as that to which the acquisi- 
 tion of wealth and position would now subject him ; 
 and she prayed earnestly with all her soul and 
 strength that in this time of temptation her lover 
 might not fall away. 
 
 A fortnight passed, and Mr. Stanfield, finding 
 not merely that he had not heard from the new 
 baronet, but that no intelligence of him had been 
 received at Redmoor, at the town-house, or by 
 the family law;y^ers, determined upon renewing 
 his advertisement in the Times. By its side pre- 
 sently appeared another far less reticent, boldly 
 calling on " Charles Mitford, formerly of Cul- 
 lompton, Devon ; then of Brasenose College, Ox- 
 ford; then of the 26th regiment of the line;'' to
 
 GEORGIE. 109 
 
 communicate ^Yith Messrs. Moss and Moss, Soli- 
 citors, Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane, and hear 
 something to his advantage. To this advertise- 
 ment a hne was added, which sent a thrill 
 through the little household at the parsonage : 
 ^' As the said Charles Mitford has not been heard 
 of for some months, any one capable of legally 
 proving his death should communicate with Messrs. 
 M. and M. above named." Capable of legally prov- 
 ing his death ! Could that be the end of all poor 
 Georgie's life-dream ? Could he have died with- 
 out ever learning all her love for him, her truth 
 to him ? No ! it was not so bad as that ; though, 
 but for the shrewdness of Edward Moss and the 
 promptitude of Inspector Stellfox, it might have 
 been. A very few hours more would have done 
 it. As it was, little Dr. Prater, who happened to 
 be dining with Marshall Moss at the Hummums 
 when Mitford was brought there by the inspector, 
 and Avho immediately undertook the case, scarcely 
 thought he should pull his patient through. When 
 the fierce stage of the disorder was past, tliere 
 remained a horrible weakness and lano-uor, which
 
 110 ruinxing the gauntlet. 
 
 the clever little physician attacked in vain. " Na- 
 tui'e, my clear sir, — nattu'e and your native air 
 they must do the rest for you ; the virtues of the 
 pharmacopoeia are exhausted." 
 
 So one autumn evening, as Mr. Stanfield sat 
 poring over his book, and Georgie, her hope day 
 by day dying away within her, was looking out 
 over the darkening landscape, the noise of wheels 
 was heard at the gate ; a grave man in black 
 descended from the box of a postchaise, a worn, 
 thin, haggard face peered out of the window; 
 and the next instant, before Mr. Stanfield at all 
 comprehended what had happened, the carriage- 
 door was thrown open, and Georgie was hanging 
 romid the neck of the carriage-occupant; and 
 kiss, kiss, and bless, bless ! and thank God ! and 
 safe once more ! was all the explanation audible. 
 
 Dr. Prater was quite right; nature and the 
 patient's native air efPected a complete cure. By 
 the end of a month — such a happy month for 
 Georgie ! — Sir Charles was able to drive to Eed- 
 moor to see the men of business from London ; 
 by the end of two months he stood at the altar
 
 GEORGIE. Ill 
 
 of the little Fishbourne cliurcli, and received liis 
 darling from the hands of her father; the cere- 
 mony being performed by the old curate, who had 
 learned to love Geors^ie as his own child, and who 
 wept plentifudly as he bestowed on her his blessing.
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 THE GRAYS. 
 
 When Laurence Alsager awoke the next morn- 
 ing, lie did not regard life with such weari- 
 ness, nor London with such detestation, as when 
 he went to hed. He had slept splendidly, as 
 would naturally fall to the lot of a man who for 
 two years had been deprived of that greatest of 
 earthly comforts — an English bed. Laurence 
 had bounded on French spring-mattresses ; had 
 sweltered beneath German feather-lined coverlets ; 
 had cramped himself up in berths ; had swung 
 restlessly in hammocks ; had stifled behind mos- 
 quito-ciu'tains ; and had passed many nights with 
 his cloak for his bed, and his saddle-bags for his 
 pillow, with the half-naked forms of dirty Arabs 
 dimly visible in the flickering firelight, and the 
 howls of distant jackals ringing in his ears. He
 
 THE GRAYS. 113 
 
 had undergone every description of bed-discom- 
 fort ; and it is not to be wondered at that be lin- 
 gered long in that glorious nest of cleanliness 
 and rest provided for him at liis hotel. As he lay 
 there at his ease, thoroughly awake, but utterly 
 averse to getting up, he began to think over all 
 that had happened during the previous evening ; 
 and first he thought what a charming -looking 
 woman Lady Mitford was. 
 
 Tlie Scotch gentleman who had remarked that 
 Colonel Alsager was ^' a deevil among the sax" 
 had some foundation for his observation ; for it 
 was a fact that, from the days "v^'hen Laurence 
 left Eton and was gazetted to the Coldstreams, 
 until he sold his commission and left England 
 in disgust, his name had always been coupled 
 by the gossips with that of some lady well known 
 either in or out of society. He was a mere 
 boy, slim and Avhiskerless, when the intense ad- 
 miration which he excited in the breast of Mdlle. 
 Valentine, combined with Avhat she afterwards 
 termed the " coldly insidar" manner in which he 
 treated her, gave that charming danseuse such 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 KUXXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 a migQ^aine as rendered her unable to appear in 
 public for a week, and very nearly caused Mr. 
 Lumlej to be favoiu'ed with a row equal to the 
 celebrated Tamburini riot in the days of M. 
 Laporte. He was not more than twenty when 
 '' Punter" Blair told him that his o;oino;s-on with 
 Lady Mary Blair, the Punter's sister-in-law, 
 were the talk of the iovm. ; and that if her hus- 
 band, the Admiral, was blind, he, the Punter, 
 wasn't, as he'd let Alsager pretty soon know. 
 Laurence rephed that the Pmiter had better mind 
 his own business, — which was " legging" young 
 boys at ecarte and blind-hookey, — and leave his 
 brother's wife alone; upon which Punter Blair 
 sent O'Dwyer of the 18th witli a message ; and 
 there must inevitably have been a meeting, had 
 not Blair's Colonel got a hint of it, and caused 
 it to be intimated to Mr. Blair that unless this 
 matter with Mr. Alsager were arranged, he, the 
 colonel, should have to take such notice of '^ other 
 matters" aflPecting Mr. Blair as woidd compel 
 that gentleman to send in his papers. 
 
 So in a score of cases differing very shghtly
 
 THE GRAYS. 115 
 
 from each other. It was the old story Avhich 
 was Ip'icallj rendered by Dr. Watts, of Satan 
 being always ready to provide congenial occu- 
 pation for gentlemen with nothing to do. There 
 is notj I believe, very much martial ardom' in 
 the Household Brigade just now. That born of 
 the Crimean war has died out and faded away, 
 and the officers lia^e taken to drive off eimiii, 
 some by becoming district- visitors, and others by 
 enjoying the honest beer and improving conver- 
 sation of the firemen in AYatling Street. But 
 even now there is infinitely more enthusiasm, 
 more belief in the profession as a profession, more 
 study of strategy as a thing vrhich a military man 
 should know something of, than there was before 
 the Crimean expedition. The metropolitan in- 
 habitants had little care for their gaUant defenders 
 in those days. Their acquaintance w^ith them 
 was limited to the knowledge that large red men 
 were perpetually discovered in the kitchens, and 
 on discovery were presented as relatives of the 
 servants ; or that serious, and in some cases fatal, 
 brawls occurred in the streets, when the pleasant
 
 116 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 fellows laid about them with their belts, or ran 
 a -muck amongst a crowd with their bayonets. 
 An occasional review took place in the Park, 
 or a field - day at Woolwich ; but no cordial 
 relations existed between the majority" of the 
 Londoners and the household troops until the 
 news came of the battle of the Alma. Tlien the 
 public learned that the Guards officers were to 
 be heard of in other places than balh'ooms and 
 divorce-courts, and that guardsmen could fight 
 with as much untiring energy as they had ah'eady 
 displayed in feeding on householders and flirting 
 with cooks. 
 
 Not much worse, certainly not much better, 
 than his compeers was Laurence Alsager in those 
 days, always having " something on" in the w^ay 
 of feminine worship, until the great " something" 
 happened which, according to Jock M'Laren 
 and one or two others, had occasioned the great 
 change in his life, and caused his prolonged ab- 
 sence from England. But in all his experience 
 he had only kno\^-n women of a certain kind ; 
 women of the world, ready to give and take ;
 
 THE GRAYS. 117 
 
 womeiij ill liis relations with whom there had 
 been no spice of romance save that spm'ious 
 romance of the French-novel school, so attractive 
 at first, so hoUow, and bad, and disgusting, when 
 proceeded with. It is not too much to say that, 
 varied as his '" affaires" had been, he had not 
 known one quiet, pm-e-minded, virtuous woman ; 
 and that during his long foreign sojourn he had 
 thought over this, and often wondered whether 
 he should ever have a wife of his own, or, fail- 
 ing this, whether he should ever have a female 
 friend wdiom at the same time he could love and 
 respect. 
 
 Yes, that was the sort of woman, he thought 
 to himself as he lay calmly reflecting. What a 
 good face she had! so quiet and calm and self- 
 possessed. Naturally self-possessed ; not that firm 
 disgusting impei-turbability which your hardened 
 London coquette has, he thought ; like that hor- 
 rible Mrs. M^Alister, who puts her double-eyeglass 
 up to her eyes and coolly surveys women and 
 men alike, as though they were slaves in the 
 Constantinople market, and she the buyer for the
 
 118 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Sultan. Tliere certainly was a AvonderftJ charm 
 about Lady Mitford, and, good heavens ! think 
 of a man having such a wife as that, and going 
 off to sup with Bligh and Winton, who were 
 simply two empty-headed roue jackasses, and 
 Pontifex, who — Well, it was very lucky that peo- 
 ple didn't think alike. Yes, that man Mitford 
 was a lout, a great overgi'own-schoolboy sort 
 of fellow, who might be led into any sort of 
 scrapes by — By Jove ! that's what Dollamore 
 had said, Avith that horribly-cynical grin. And 
 Lady Mitford would have to rmi the gauntlet of 
 society, as did most women whose husbands w^ent 
 to the bad. 
 
 Laurence Alsager was a very different man 
 from the Laurence Alsager of two years ago. He 
 wanted something to fill up his leism'e time, and 
 he thouo^ht he saw his wav to it. Dollamore never 
 spoke at random. From his quietly succulent 
 manner Alsager knew that his lordship meant 
 mischief, probably in his o^vn person, at all events 
 hinted plainly enough that — Ah ! he would stop 
 all that. He would pit himself against Dollamore,
 
 THE GRAYS. 119 
 
 or any of them, and it would 1)8 at least a novelty 
 to have a virtuous, instead of a vicious, end in 
 view. Mitford might be a fool, his wife weak 
 and silly; but there should be no disastrous con- 
 sequences. DoUamore's prophecy should be un- 
 fulfilled, and he, Lam'ence Alsager, should be the 
 active agent in the matter. 
 
 Simultaneously with this determination he 
 decided upon deferring his visit to liis father, 
 and settling himself in London for a time. He 
 would be on the spot ; he would cultivate the ac- 
 quaintance which Mitford so readily held out to 
 him ; he woidd have the garrison well under sur- 
 veillance in order carefully to observe the enemy's 
 approach; and — The shower-bath cut short liis 
 reflections at this point. 
 
 He dressed and breakfasted; despatched liis 
 servant to see if his old rooms in Jermjm Street 
 were vacant; lit a cigar, and strolled out. He 
 had at first determined to brave pubhc opinion 
 in every shape and form, to retain his beard, 
 to wear the cm-ious hght coats and elaborately 
 puckered trousers which a Vienna Schneider
 
 120 ruistn^ing the gauntlet. 
 
 had a year before turned out as prime specimens 
 of tlie sartorial art. But even to this determi- 
 nation the night's reflection brought a change; 
 and he found himself turning into Poole's, and 
 suifering himself to be suited to the very latest 
 cut and colour. Tlien he must get a hack 
 or two from Saunderson in Piccadilly; and as 
 the nearest way from Poole's in Saville Kow 
 to Saunderson's in Piccadilly is, as every one 
 knows, down Grosvenor Place and through Eaton 
 Place, that was the way that Laurence Alsager 
 walked. 
 
 Eaton Place is not a very cheerfril thorough- 
 fare at the best of times. Even in the season, when 
 all the houses are full of the domesticity of par- 
 liament-members, furnished at the hebdomad at 
 twenty guineas, there is a stuccoy and leading- 
 to-not-much-thoroughfare depression about it ; but 
 on a January morn, as Laurence saw it, it was 
 specially dull. Sir Charles Mitford had men- 
 tioned no number, so that Laurence took a cri- 
 tical survey of each house as he passed, consider- 
 ing whether the lady in whom he had suddenly
 
 THE GRAYS. 121 
 
 taken so paternal an interest resided there. He 
 had, however, j^assed a very few doors when at 
 the other end of tlie street he saw a low pony- 
 carriage with a pair of iron-gray ponies stand- 
 ing at a door ; and just as he noted them, a 
 slight figui'e, which he recognised in an instant, 
 came down the steps and took up its position in 
 the phaeton. It was Lady Mitford, dressed in 
 velvet edged with sable, with a very little black- 
 velvet bonnet just covering the back of her head 
 (it was before the days of hats), and pretty dog- 
 skin drivino:-crloves. She cast a timid glance at 
 the ponies before she got in (she had always had 
 horsy tastes down at Fishbourne, though without 
 much opportunity of gratifying them), and was 
 so occupied in gathering up the reins and speak- 
 ing to the groom at the ponies' heads, as scarcely 
 to notice Laurence's bow. Tlien with a view to 
 retrieve her rudeness, she put out her hand, and 
 said cordially : 
 
 ^' How do vou do, Colonel Alsao;er? I be^; 
 your pardon ; I was taking such interest in the 
 ponies that I never saw you coming up. Tliey're
 
 122 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 a new toy, a present from my husband ; and that 
 must be my excuse." 
 
 " Tliere is no excuse needed, Lady Mitford. 
 Tlie ponies are charming. Ai'e you going to 
 drive them ?" 
 
 " Oh yes ; why not ? Saunderson's people say 
 they're perfectly quiet ; and, indeed, we are going 
 to take them out to the farm at Acton, just to show 
 Mr. Grieve the stud-groom how nicely they look 
 in oiu' new phaeton." 
 
 "You're sm-e of your own powers? They 
 look a little fresh." 
 
 " Oh, I have not the least fear. Besides, my 
 husband will be with me; I'm only waiting for 
 him to come down, and he drives splendidly, you 
 know." 
 
 " I've a recollection of his prowess as a tan- 
 dem-whip at Oxford, when the Dean once sent 
 to him with a request that he'd ' take the leader 
 off.' "Well, auplaisir, Lady Mitford. I wish you 
 and the two ponies aU possible enjoyment." And 
 he took off his hat and went on his way. Oh, 
 he was perfectly right ; she Avas charming. He
 
 THE GRAYS. 123 
 
 wasn't sure whether she liadii't looked better 
 even this morning than last night, so fresh and 
 wholesome. And her manner , without the slight- 
 est suspicion of an arriere pensee, free, fr'ank, and 
 ingenuous; how nicely she spoke about her hus- 
 band and his drivino: ! Tliere could be no mis- 
 take about a woman like that. No warping or 
 twisting could torture her conduct into any thing 
 assailable. He'd been slightly Quixotic when he 
 thought to give himself work by watching over 
 and defending her ; he — ^' Good-morning, Mr. 
 Spm^rier. Eecollect me? Mr. Saunderson in?" 
 Eevolving all these things in his mind, he had 
 walked so quickly that he fomid himself in Pic- 
 cadilly, and in Mr. Samiderson's yard, before he 
 knew where he was. 
 
 ^^ Delighted to see you back, Colonel. Tliought 
 I caught a glimpse of you at the theatre last night, 
 but was doubtftil, because of your beard. No ; 
 Mr. Saunderson's gone up to the farm to meet 
 a lady on business ; but any thing I can do I shall 
 be dehghted." Mr. Spurrier was Mr. Samider- 
 son's partner, a very handsome, fi-esh-coloured,
 
 124 RUis^nNG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 cheery man, ayIio liad been in a liglit-cavaliy 
 regiment, and coming into money on the death 
 of a relation, had tm^ned his bequest and his 
 horsy talents to account. There were few such 
 judges of horseflesh ; no better rider across coun- 
 try than he. " Thought you'd be giving us a 
 call, Colonel, unless you'd imported a few Ai'abs ; 
 and gave you credit for better judgment than 
 that. Your Ai'ab's a weedy beast, and utterly 
 imfit for hacking." 
 
 " No, Spurrier, I didn't carry my orientalism 
 to that extent. I might have brought back a 
 clever camel or two, or a dromedary, ^ well suited 
 for an elderly or nervous rider,' as they say in 
 the advertisements ; but I didn't. I suppose you 
 can suit me with a hack." 
 
 Mr. Spurrier duly laughed at the first part 
 of this speech, and replied in the affirmative, of 
 course, to the second. " You haven't lost much 
 flesh in the East, Colonel," said he, running 
 him over with his eye, — " I should say you pull 
 off* twelve stone still." Tlien Mr. SpmTier, as 
 was his wont, made a great show of tln'owing
 
 THE GRAYS. 125 
 
 himself into a fit of abstraction, dm-ing the oc- 
 currence of which he was supposed by customers 
 to be mentally going through the resources of 
 his establishment ; and roused himself by calling 
 the head-groom, and bidding him tell them to 
 bring out the Baby. 
 
 The Baby was a bright Ijay with black points, 
 small clean head, short well-cut ears, and a bright 
 eye, arching neck, and, as she showed when trotted 
 up the yard with the groom at her head, splendid 
 action. When she was pulled up and stood in the 
 usual position after the " show" had been given, 
 Laiu'ence stepped up, eyed her critically all over, 
 and passed his hand down her legs. SpmTier laughed. 
 
 " All right there. Colonel. Fine as silk ; not 
 a sign of a puff, I'll guarantee, and strong as 
 steel. Perfect animal, I call her, for a park- 
 hack." A horse was never a "horse," but always 
 an " animal" with Mr. Spurrier, as with the rest 
 of his fraternity. " Will you get on her. Colonel? 
 Just give her a turn in tlie Park. — Here, take 
 this mare in, and put a saddle and bridle on 
 her for Colonel Alsager."
 
 126 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 It was a bright smmy winter's day, and the 
 few people who were in town were taking their 
 constitutional in the Eow. As Alsager rode 
 round by the Achilles statue he heard ringing 
 laughter and saw fluttering habits, which, as- 
 sociated with the place in his mind with his last 
 London experiences, brought up some apparently 
 unpleasant recollection as he touched the mare 
 with his heel, and she, after two or tlu'ee ca- 
 pricious bomids, settled down into that long 
 swinging gallop which is such perfect luxmy. 
 He brought her back as quietly as she would 
 come, though a little excited and restless at the 
 imaccustomed exercise, and growled a good deal 
 to himself as he rode. ^^Just the same; a little 
 more sun, and some leaves on the trees then, and 
 a few more people about ; that's all. Grad ! I 
 can see her now, sitting square, as she always 
 used, and as easy on that chestnut brute that 
 pulled so infernally, as though she were in an 
 arm-chair. Ah ! enough has happened since I 
 was last in this place." And then he rode the 
 Baby into the yard, asked Mr. Spurrier her price,
 
 THE GRAYS. 127 
 
 agreed to take her, told Spurrier lie wanted a 
 groom and a groom's horse, and was saunter- 
 ing away, when Mr. Spurrier said, ^' You'll want 
 something to carrv you to hounds. Colonel ?" 
 
 " I think not ; at all events not this season." 
 
 " Sorry for that, as I've got something up at 
 the farm that would suit you exactly." 
 
 " ^NTo, thank you ; — where did you say?" 
 
 ^^ At our farm at Acton. You've been there, 
 you know." 
 
 The farm at Acton ! — that was where Lady 
 Mitford said she was o-oino- to drive. She must 
 be the lady whom ]\Ir. Saunderson had gone to 
 meet. Spurrier saw the irresolution in his cus- 
 tomer's face and acted promptly. 
 
 " Let me take you out there ; we sha'n't be 
 twenty minutes going; and this is really some- 
 thing you ought not to miss. He's so good, that 
 I give you my word I wouldn't sell him to any 
 but a workman. You will ? All right I — Put the 
 horses to." 
 
 Within tlu'ee minutes Laurence Alsaaer was 
 seated by Mr. Spurrier's side in a mail-phae-
 
 128 KUXNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 ton, spinning along to Mr. Saunderson's farm and 
 his o^^Tii fate. 
 
 Tliere were few wliips in London who drove 
 so well or so fast as Mr. Spurrier, and there ^yeve 
 none w^ho had better horses, as may be imagined ; 
 but Laurence did not find the pace a whit too 
 fast. He had asked ]\Ii\ Spurrier on the road, 
 and ascertained from him that it was Lady Mit- 
 ford who was expected. " And a charming lady 
 too, sir; so gentle and kind with every one. 
 Speaks to the men here as polite as possible, and 
 they're not over-used to that ; for, you see, in 
 business one's obliged to speak sharp, or you'd 
 never ^et attended to. Don't think she knows 
 much of our line, though she's dreadfully anxious 
 to learn all about it ; for Sir Charles is partial to 
 horseflesh, and is a good judge of an animal. 
 He's been a good customer to us, and will be 
 better, I expect, though he hasn't hunted this sea- 
 son, being just married, you see. Tliat's the regular 
 thing, I find. ^ You'll give up hunting, dear. I 
 should be so terrified when you were out.' ^ Yery
 
 THE GRAYS. 129 
 
 well, clear ; any thing for you ;' and away go the 
 animals to Tattersall's ; and within six months 
 my gentleman will come to me and say, ' Got 
 any thing that will carry me next season. Spur- 
 rier?' and at it he goes again as hard as ever." 
 
 '^ I saw the ponies at the door this morning," 
 said Laurence for the sake of something to say ; 
 "they're a handsome pair." 
 
 " Ye-es," replied Mr. Spurrier; " I don't 
 know very much of them ; they're Mr. Sami- 
 derson's buying. I ch'ove 'em once, and thought 
 they wanted making ; but Sir Charles is a good 
 whip, and he'll do that. — Ga-a-te !" And at this 
 prolonged shout the lodge-gates flew open, and 
 they di'ove into the stable-yard. 
 
 Mr. Samiderson was there, but ]io Lady 
 Mitford. Mr. Samiderson had his watch in his 
 hand, and even the look of gratification which he 
 tlirew into his face when he greeted Colonel 
 Alsager on his return was very fleeting. There 
 was scarcely a man in London whose time was 
 more valuable, and he shook his head as he said, 
 " I'll give her five minutes more, and then I'm 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 off. — What are joii going to show the Colonel, 
 Spurrier ?" 
 
 " I told them to bring out Launcelot first." 
 
 Mr. Saunderson shook his head : '^ Too bad, 
 Spurrier, too bad! I told you how the Duke 
 fancied that animal, and how I'd given his Grace 
 the refiisal of him." 
 
 ^^ Well, we can't keep our business at a stand- 
 still for dukes, or any one else. Besides, we've 
 kno^vn the Colonel much longer than the Dul^e." 
 
 " That's true," said Mr. Saunderson with a 
 com^teous bow to Laurence ; " well, if Colonel 
 Alsager fancies the animal, I must get out of it 
 with his Grace in the best way I can." 
 
 It was a curious thing, but no one ever 
 bought a horse of Mr. Saunderson that had not 
 been immensely admired by, and generally pro- 
 mised to, some anonymous member of the peerage. 
 
 " Easy with him, Martin, easy ! Bring him 
 over here. — So, Lamicelot; so, boy." 
 
 Launcelot was a big chestnut horse, over six- 
 teen hands high, high crest, long lean head, 
 enormous quarters, powerful legs, and large
 
 THE GRAYS. 131 
 
 broad feet. He looked every incli a weight- 
 carrying himter, and a scar or two here and 
 there about him by no means detracted from his 
 beauty in the eyes of the knoA\ang ones. Martin 
 was the rough rider to the estabhshment, bul- 
 let-headed, high-cheek-boned, sunken-eyed, with 
 limbs of steel, and pluck which would have made 
 him ram a horse at the Victoria Tower if he had 
 had instructions. As Mr. Spurrier patted the 
 horse's neck, Martin leant over and whispered, 
 '^ I've told one o' them to come out on Black 
 Jack, sir. This is a 'oss that wants a lead, this 
 'oss does. Give 'im a lead, and he'U face any 
 think." 
 
 ^^ All right," said Spurrier, as another man and 
 horse came out ; '' here they are. Go do"wn to 
 the gate in the tan-gallop, will you? put up the 
 hurdles first. — Now, Colonel, this way, please : the 
 grass is rather wet, even now." 
 
 They walked across a large meadow, along one 
 side of which from end to end a tan-gallop had 
 been made. Midway across this some hurdles 
 with frirze on the top had been stuck up between
 
 132 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 two gate-posts, and at these the boy on Black Jack 
 rode his horse. A steady-goer, Black Jack; up to 
 his work, and knowing exactly w^hat was expected 
 of him ; comes easily up to the hurdles, rises, and is 
 over like a bird. Not so Launcelot, who frets at 
 starting ; but moves under Martin's knees and 
 Martin's spurs, gives two or tlu-ee bounds, throws 
 up his head, and is off like a flash of lightning. 
 Martin steadies him a bit as they approach the 
 leap, and Jack's rider brings his horse romid, 
 meets Martin half-way, and at it they go together. 
 Jack jumps again, exactly in his old easy way, 
 but Launcelot tears away with a snort and a 
 rush, and jumps, as Mr. Spurrier says, " as 
 though he would jump into the next comity." 
 
 " Now the gate !" says Mr. Spurrier ; and the 
 hm-dles were removed, and a massive five-bari'ed 
 gate put up between the posts. 
 
 " You go first, boy," said Spurrier ; and Black 
 Jack's rider, who was but a boy, looked very white 
 in the gills, and very tight in the mouth, and gal- 
 lopped off. But Jack was not meant for a coun- 
 trv which grew such gates as that, and when he
 
 THE GRAYS. 133 
 
 reached it, turned short round, palpably refusing. 
 Knowing he should get slanged by his master, the 
 boy was bringing him up again, when he heard a 
 warning shout, and looking romid, cleared out of 
 the way to let Launcelot pass. Launcelot's mettle 
 was up ; he wanted no lead this time. Martin, with 
 his face impassibly set, brought his whip down 
 heavily on him as he lifted him ; but Lamicelot 
 did not need the blow : he sprang tlu"ee or four 
 inches clear of the leap in splendid style. 
 
 " By George, that's a fine creature !" said 
 Laurence, who had all a sportsman's admiration 
 for the feat. ^^ I think I must have him. Spur- 
 rier, if his figure's not very awful. But I should 
 first like to take him over that gate myself." 
 
 " All right. Colonel ; I thought he'd take your 
 fancy. — Get down, Martin, and let down those 
 stirrups a couple of holes for the Colonel, will you? 
 — And you, boy, tumble off there. I'll see whe- 
 ther that old vagabond will refuse with me. — Ah, 
 you're a sly old scoundrel. Jack ; but I think we'll 
 clear the gate, old boy !" 
 
 Alsager was already in the saddle, and Spur-
 
 134 EUXXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 rier was tightening the girths, when the former 
 heard a long low rumbling sound gradually grow- 
 ing more distinct. 
 
 " What's that?'' he asked his companion. 
 
 "What?" asked Spurrier, with his head still 
 under the saddle-flap ; but when he stood upright 
 and listened, he said, " Tliat's a mnaway ! I know 
 the somid too well ; and — and a pair ! By tlie Lord, 
 the grays !'* 
 
 They were standing close by the hedge which 
 separated the meadow from the road. It was a 
 high quickset-hedge, Avith thick post-and-rail fence 
 running through it, and it grew on the top of 
 a high bank with a six-foot drop into the road. 
 Standing in his stirrups and craning over the 
 hedge, Lam-ence saw a sight which made his 
 blood rmi cold. Just ha\dng breasted the railway- 
 bridge, and tearing doA^Ti the inchne at their 
 maddest pace, came the grays, and in the phaeton, 
 which SAAomg fr^ightfully from side to side, sat 
 Lady Mitford — alone ! A dust-stained form ga- 
 thering itself up out of the road in the distance 
 looked hke a groom; but Sir Charles was not
 
 THE GRAYS. 135 
 
 to be seen. Lady Mitforcl still lield tlie reins, and 
 appeared to be endeavouring to regain command 
 over the ponies; but lier efforts were evidently 
 utterly useless. 
 
 Mr. Spurrier, wlio had momited, comprehended 
 the whole scene in a second, and roared out, " Run, 
 Martin ! run, you boy ! get out into the lane, and 
 stop these devils ! Hoi !" this to the grooms in the 
 distance, to whom he telegraphed with his whip. 
 " They don't miderstand, the brutes ! and she'll be 
 killed. Here, Colonel, to the right-about! Five 
 hundred yards off there's a gate, and we can get 
 through and head them. What are you at ? you're 
 never going at the hedge. By G — , you'll break 
 your neck, man I" 
 
 All too late to have any effect were his last 
 words ; before they were uttered, Laurence had 
 turned Sir Launcelot's head, taken a short sharp 
 circling gallop to get him into pace, and then 
 crammed him straight at the hedge. Spurrier says 
 that to his dying day he shall never forget that 
 jump ; and he often talks about it now when he is 
 giving a gentleman a glass of sherry, after a "show"
 
 136 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 just previous to the hunting-season. Pale as death, 
 with his hat over his brows, and his hands down 
 on the horse's withers, sat Laurence ; and just as 
 Sir Launcelot rose at the leap, he dealt him a cut 
 with the heavy whip which he had snatched out of 
 Spurrier's hand. The gallant animal rose splen- 
 didly, cleared posts and rails, crashed through the 
 quickset, and came thundering into the lane 
 below. Neither rider nor horse were prepared for 
 the deep drop ; the latter on grounding bungled 
 awkwardly on to his knees ; but Laurence had 
 him up in an instant, and left him blown and 
 panting, when at the moment the gravs came in 
 sight. Lady Mitford was still in the carriage, but 
 had apparently fainted, for she lay back motion- 
 less, while the reins were dragging in the road. 
 
 Lam'ence thought there was yet a chance of 
 stopping the ponies, upon whom the pace was 
 evidently beginning to tell severely, but, as they 
 neared a gate leading to a portion of the outbuild- 
 ings, where on their first purchase by Mr. Sami- 
 derson they had been stabled, the grays, recollecting 
 the landmarks, wheeled suddenly to the left and
 
 THE GRAYS. 137 
 
 made for tlie gate. Tlie carriage ran up an em- 
 bankment and instantly overtm'ned ; one of the 
 ponies fell and commenced lashing out in all di- 
 rections; the other, pulled across the pole, was 
 plmiging and struggling in wild attempts to free 
 itself Tlie men who had been signalled to by 
 Spurrier were by this time issuing from the lodge- 
 gates, and making towards the spot ; but long 
 before they reached it, a tall man with a flowing 
 black beard had sprung in among the cUhris^ re- 
 gardless of hoofs flying in all directions, and had 
 dragged therefrom the senseless form of Lady Mit- 
 ford. 
 
 " "What is the matter ? Where am I ?" 
 ^' You're at my farm. Lady Mitford," said 
 Mr. Samiderson, advancing with that old-fashioned 
 courtesy which he always assumed when dealing 
 with ladies ; " and there's nothing the matter, 
 thank God ! though you've had a bad accident 
 with the ponies, which seem to have rmi away ; 
 and I may say you owe your life to Colonel Al- 
 sager, who rescued you at the peril of his own."
 
 138 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 She looked round with a faint smile at Lau- 
 rence, who was standing at the foot of the sofa 
 on which she lay, and was about to speak, when 
 Laui'ence lifted his hand deprecatingly : 
 
 "Isot a word, please, Lady Mitford; not a 
 single word. What I did was simply nothing, 
 and our friend Mr. Saunderson exao^o;erates hor- 
 ribly. Yes, one word — wdiat of Sir Charles ?" 
 
 '^ He has not heard of it? He must not be 
 told." 
 
 " 1^0 J of com'se not. What we want to 
 know is whether he started for the drive with 
 you." 
 
 '^ Oh no ; he could not come, — he was pre- 
 vented, thank God ! And the groom?" 
 
 " Oh, he's all right; a Httle shaken, that's all." 
 
 Lam-ence did not say that the groom had been 
 not a little shaken by Mr. Spurrier, who caught 
 the Avretched lad by the collar, and holding his 
 wliip over him told him mildly that he had a 
 great mind to " cut liis life out" for his cow- 
 ardice in tin-owing himself out of the trap, and 
 leaving his mistress to her fate.
 
 THE GRAYS. 139 
 
 Tlien it was arranged tliat Mr. Samiclerson 
 sliould take Lady Mitford home, and explain all 
 that had happened to Sir Charles. She took 
 Laurence's arm to the carriage, and when she 
 was seated, gave him her hand, saying frankly 
 and earnestly, " I shall never forget that, mider 
 Providence, I owe my life to you. Colonel Alsa- 
 ger." 
 
 As they drove back to town together, Mr. 
 Spurrier said to his companion: "I shall have 
 to book Sir Launcelot to you, Colonel. I've looked 
 at his knees, and though they're all right, only the 
 slightest skin-w^ound, still — " 
 
 " Don't say another word. Spurrier," inter- 
 rupted Laurence ; "I wouldn't let any one else 
 have him, after to-day's work, for all the money 
 in the world." 
 
 Laurence spoke innocently enough; but he 
 noticed that during the rest of the drive back 
 to town, Mr. SpuiTier was eyeing him with great 
 curiosity.
 
 CHAPTER VIl. 
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 
 
 The arrangement for tlie trial of the ponies had. 
 been one of some standing between Sir Charles 
 and his wife, and one to which he fully intended 
 to adhere. .It is true that on waking after the 
 supper with Messrs. Bligh, Winton, Pontifex, and 
 tlieir companions, he did not feel quite so fresh 
 as he might have wished, and would very much 
 have liked a couple of homes' additional sleep ; yet 
 so soon as he remembered the appointment, he 
 determined that Georgie should not be disap- 
 pointed; and by not having the '^ chill" taken oif 
 his shower-bath as usual, he was soon braced 
 up to his ordinary good condition. Neverthe- 
 less, witli all his good intentions, he was nearly 
 an hour later than usual ; and Georgie had 
 gone up to dress for the drive when Sir Charles
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 141 
 
 descended to the breakfast-room to discuss the 
 second relay of broiled bone and devilled kid- 
 ney which had been serv^ed up to tempt his 
 sluggish appetite. He was making a not very 
 successful attempt to eat, and between each 
 mouthfid was reading in the newspaper Mr. 
 Kose's laudatory notice of Mr. Spofforth's play, 
 when his servant, entering, told him that a "per- 
 son" wanted to speak to him. There is no 
 sharper appreciator of worldly position than your 
 well-trained London servant, and Banks was a 
 treasure. 
 
 "What is it, Banks?" asked Sir Charles, 
 looking up. 
 
 " A person wishing to see you. Sir Charles," 
 replied Banks. 
 
 " A person I Is it a man or a woman ?" 
 
 " Tlie party," said Banks, varying his word, 
 but not altering the generic appellation, — "the 
 party is a man, sir." 
 
 "Do I know him?" 
 
 " I should say certainly not. Sir Charles," 
 replied Banks in a tone vrhich intimated that if
 
 142 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 his master did know the stranger, he ought to be 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 " Did he give no name ?" 
 
 " I ast him for his name, Sir Charles, and 
 he only says, ' Tell your master,' he says, ' that 
 a gentleman,' he says, Svants to see him.' " 
 
 " Oh, tell him that he must call some other 
 time and send in his business. I can't see him 
 now ; I'm just going out for a drive with Lady 
 Mitford. Tell him to call again." 
 
 " Tliere was a time, and not verv lono; ao;o 
 either," said Sir Charles, taking up the paper as 
 Banks retired, " that if I'd been told that a man 
 who wouldn't give his name wanted to speak to 
 me, I should have slipped out the back-way and 
 run for my life. But, thank God, that's aU over 
 now. — WeU, Banks, what now ?" 
 
 " Tlie party is very arbitrary. Sir Charles ; 
 he won't take ' no' for an answer ; and when I 
 told him you must know his business, he bust out 
 larfin' and told me to say he was an old mess- 
 mate of yours, and had sailed with you on board 
 the Albatross."
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 143 
 
 A red spot bunied on Sir Charles Mitford's 
 cheek as he laid the newspaper aside and said, 
 " Show this person into the library, and deny me 
 to every one while he remains. Let yom- mis- 
 tress be told I am prevented by business from 
 driving with her to-day. Look sharp T' 
 
 Mr. Banks was not accustomed to be told to 
 '' look sharp !" and during his three-months' ex- 
 perience of his master he had never heard him 
 speak in so petulant a tone. " I'd no idea he'd 
 been a seafarin' gent," he said downstairs, '^ or 
 I'd a never midertook the place. Tlie tempers of 
 those ship-captains is awfid." 
 
 When Banks had left the room Sir Charles 
 walked to the sideboard, and leant heavily against 
 it while he poured out and di-ank a liqueur-glass 
 of brandy. 
 
 " The Albatross !" he muttered with white 
 lips; "which of them can it be? I thought I 
 had heard the last of that cursed name. Banks 
 said a man ; it's not the worst of them, then. 
 That's lucky." 
 
 He went into the library and seated himself
 
 144 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 in an arm-chair facing the door. He had scarcely 
 done so when Banks gloomily ushered in the 
 stranger. 
 
 He was a middle-sized dark man, dressed in 
 what seemed to be a seedy caricatui'e of the then 
 prevailing fashion. His coat had once been a 
 bright-claret colour, but was now dull, tln-ead- 
 bare, and frayed round the edges of the breast- 
 pocket, out of which peeped the end of a flashy 
 silk handkerchief. He had no shirt-collar appa- 
 rent ; but wore round his neck a dirty blue-satin 
 scarf with two pins, one large and one small, fas- 
 tened together by a little chain. His trousers were 
 of a staring green shawl-pattern, cut so as to hide 
 nearly all the boot and tightly strapped down, 
 as was the fashion of those days; and the little 
 of his boots visible was broken and shabby. 
 Sir Charles looked at him hard and steadily, then 
 2:ave a sio-h of relief He had never seen the 
 man before. He pointed to a chair, into which 
 his visitor dropped with an easy swagger; then 
 crossed his legs, and looking at Sir Charles said 
 familiarly, " And how are you V
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 145 
 
 ^' You have the advantage of me," said Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 ''1 think I have," said the man, grinning; 
 " and what's more, I mean to keep it too. Lord, 
 what a precious dance you have led me, to be 
 sure !" 
 
 " Look here, sir," said Mitford : " be good 
 enough to tell me your business, and go. I'm 
 engaged." 
 
 " Go ! Oh, you're on the high jefF, are you? 
 And engaged too I Groing to di'ive your missis 
 out in that pretty little trap I saw at the door ? 
 Well, I'm sorry to stop you ; but you must." 
 
 " Must !" 
 
 ^^ Yes, must. 'Tain't a nice word ; but it's the 
 one I want. Must ; and I'll tell you why. You 
 recollect Tony Butler?" 
 
 Sir Charles Mitford's colour, which had re- 
 turned when he saw that his visitor was a stranger 
 to him, and which had even increased under the 
 insolence of the man's manner, fled at the men- 
 tion of this name. His face and lips were quite 
 white as he said, ^^ I do indeed." 
 
 YOL. I. L
 
 146 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Yes, I knew you would. Well, he's dead, 
 Tony is." 
 
 "Thank God!" said Sir Charles; "he was 
 a horrible villain." 
 
 " Yes," said the man pleasantly ; "I think 
 I'm with you in both those remarks. It's a good 
 job he's dead ; and he was a bad 'un, was Tony, 
 though he was my brother." 
 
 " Yom- brother !" 
 
 " Ah ! that's just it. We never met before, 
 because I was in America when you and Tony 
 were so thick together. You see I'm not such 
 a sweU as Tony was ; and they — him and father, 
 I mean — were glad to get me out of the country 
 for fear I should spoil any of their little games. 
 When I came back, you had given Tony a licking, 
 so far as I could make out, though he'd never 
 teU exactly, and yom- friendship was all bust 
 up, and he was dreadluUy mad with you. And 
 that's how we never came to meet before." 
 
 "And wdiy have we met now, pray?" said 
 Sir Charles. " What is yom- business with me ?" 
 
 " I'm coming to that in good time. Tony's
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 147 
 
 last words to me were, ^ If you want to do a good 
 tiling for yourself, Dick,' lie says, ' find out a 
 fellow named Charles Mitford. He's safe to turn 
 up trumps some day,' says Tony, ' he's so un- 
 commonly sharp ; and whenever you get to speak 
 to him, before you say who you are, tell him you 
 sailed in the Albatross.' Lord bless you ! I knew 
 the lot of 'em — Crockett, and Dunks, and Lizzie 
 Ponsford ; they said you and she used to be very 
 sweet on each other, and — " 
 
 The door opened suddenly, and Lady Mitford 
 hurried into the room ; but seeing a stranger, she 
 drew back. Sir Charles went to the door. 
 
 "What do you want, Georgie?" said he 
 sharply. 
 
 " I had no idea you had any one here, 
 Charles, or I wouldn't have disturbed you. Oh, 
 Charley, send that horrid man away, and come 
 and drive me out." 
 
 She looked so pretty and spoke so winiiingly 
 that he patted her cheek with his hand, and said 
 in a much softer voice, " I can't come now, child. 
 This man is here on special business, and I must
 
 148 RUNNrN'G THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 go tliroiigli it with him. So good-bye, pet, and 
 enjoy youi'self." 
 
 She made a little moue of entreaty, and put 
 her hands before his face in a comic appeal ; but 
 he shook his head, kissed her cheek, and shut the 
 door. 
 
 " Pretty creechur, that !" said his companion ; 
 '' looks as well in her bonnet as out of it ; and 
 there's few of 'em does, I think." 
 
 '' When did you ever see Lady Mitford before, 
 sir ?" asked Sir Charles haughtily. 
 
 ^^Ali! that's just it," replied Mr. Butler with 
 a sniggering laugh. " I told you you'd led me 
 a precious dance to find you, and so you had. 
 Tony told me that you had regularly come to grief 
 since you parted with him, and I had a regular 
 hmit after you in all sorts of lodging-houses and 
 places. Tliere are lots of my pals on the look-out 
 for you now." 
 
 " Upon my soul, you're devilish kind to take 
 all this trouble about me, Mr. — Butler. What 
 your motive was, 1 can't imagine." 
 
 " You'll know all in good time ; I'm coming
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHAELES. 149 
 
 to that ; and not ' Butler/ please : Mr. Effingham 
 is my name just now ; I'll tell you why, by and 
 by. Well, I couldn't get hold of you any how, 
 and I thought jou'd gone dead or somethmg, 
 when last night, as I was standing waiting to come 
 out of the Parthenium, I heard the linkmen out- 
 side hollaring 'Lady Mitford's carriage!' like mad. 
 The name strikes on my ears, and I thought I'd 
 wait and see her ladyship. Presently down came 
 the lady we've just seen, leaning on the arm of 
 a cove in a big black beard like a foreigner. ' No 
 go,' says I ; ' that's not my man ;' and I says to 
 a flunkey who was standing next to me, ' He's a 
 rum 'mi to look at, is her husband.' ' That's 
 not her husband,' he says ; ' this is Sir Charles 
 coming now.' The name Charles and the figure 
 being like struck me at once ; so I took the 
 flunkey into the public next door, and we had a 
 glass, and he told me all about the old gent and 
 his kids being dro^^^led, and your coming in for 
 the title. ' Tliat's my man,' says I to myself; 
 and I found out where you lived, and came 
 straight on here this morning."
 
 150 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " And now tliat your prying and sneaking lias 
 been successful and you have found me, Avliat do 
 you want ?" 
 
 " All ! I tliouglit you'd lose your temper ; 
 Tony always said you was hotheaded. What do 
 I w^ant ! AYellj to be very short and come to the 
 point at once — money." 
 
 " I guessed as much." 
 
 "Yes, there's no denying it; I'm regularly 
 stumped. I suppose you were surprised now to 
 hear I wasn't flush, after seeing me so well got- 
 up ? But it's a deal of it dummy. Tliese pins 
 now, — Lowther Ai'cade ! No ticker at the end 
 of this o-uard ; nothino; but a key — look!" And 
 he twitched a key out of his waistcoat - pocket. 
 " My boots too are infernaUy leaky ; and my hat 
 has become quite limp from being perpetually 
 damped and ironed. Yes, I want money badly." 
 
 " Look here, Mr. " 
 
 " Effingham." 
 
 " Mr. Effingham, you have taken, as you 
 yourself admit, an immense deal of trouble to 
 hmit me up, and having fomid me you ask me
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHAELES. 151 
 
 for money, on tlie ground of your being the bro- 
 ther of an infernal scomicbel whom I had once 
 the ill-hick to be associated with — don't interrupt 
 me, please. It wasn't Tony Butler's fault that I 
 didn't die on a dmighill, or that I am not 
 now—" 
 
 '• In Korfolk Island," said Mr. Effingham, 
 getting in his words this time. 
 
 Sir Charles glared fiercely at him for an in- 
 stant, and then continued : " Xow I expected I 
 should have to encounter this soii; of thing from 
 the people who pillaged me when I was poor, and 
 would make that an excuse for farther extortion, 
 and I determined not to accede to any application. 
 But as you're the first who has applied, and as 
 you've neither bullied nor whined, I'll tell you 
 what I'll do. I'll give you, on condition I never 
 see or hear of you again, this five-pomid note." 
 
 Mr. Effingham laughed, a real hearty laugh, 
 as he shook his head, and said : " Won't do ; no- 
 thing Hke enough." 
 
 Sir Charles lost his temper, and said : " Stop 
 this infernal tomfoolery, sir ! Not enough ! Why,
 
 152 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 d — n it, one would think jou had a claim upon 
 me !" 
 
 '^ And supjoose I have, Sir Charles Mitford, 
 what then?" said Mr. Effingham, leaning for- 
 ward in his chair and confronting his companion. 
 
 "^Aliat then? Why — pooh, stuff! this is 
 a poor attempt at extortion. You don't think to 
 get any money out of me by threatening to tell 
 of my connection with the Albatross crew ? You 
 don't think I should mind the people to whom 
 you could tell it knowing it, do you?" 
 
 " I don't know ; perhaps not ; and yet I think 
 I shall be able before I've done to prove to you 
 I've a claim on you." 
 
 ^^ What is it?" 
 
 " All tiled here, ch? Nobody within earshot? 
 Tliat sleek cove in black that wouldn't let me see 
 you, not listening at the door, is he ?" 
 
 " There is no one to hear," said Sir Charles, 
 who was getting more and more uncomfortable 
 at all this mystery. 
 
 '^ All right, then. Sorry to rake up disagree- 
 ables ; but I must. You recollect making a slight
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 153 
 
 mistake about your Christian name once, fancy- 
 ing it was Percy instead of Charles ; writing it as 
 Percy across a stamped bit of paper good for 
 two hmidred quid, and putting Hedmoor as your 
 address after it?" 
 
 '' Well, what if I do ?" His lips were so 
 parched he could hardly frame the words. 
 
 ^' It would be awkward to have any thing of 
 that sort brought up just now, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 Sir Charles hesitated for an instant, then gave 
 a p;reat sio;h of relief as he said : " You infernal 
 scoundrel ! you think to frighten me with that, 
 do you? To make that the ground for your 
 extortion? Why, you miserable ^\Tetch, I 
 myself burnt that — that — document In Moss's 
 office !" 
 
 " How you do run on. Sir Charles ! I just 
 mentioned something about a little bill, and you're 
 down upon me in a moment. I guessed that was 
 destroyed; at all events I knew It was all safe; and 
 Sir Percy's dead, so it don't much matter. But, 
 Lord! with your memory you must surely re- 
 collect another little dockyment, — quite a little
 
 154 RUNNING THE GAI-TNTLET. 
 
 one, only five-ancl-twenty pound, — where you mis- 
 took botli your names tliat time, and accepted it 
 as Walter Burgess : — recollect?" 
 
 Tlie pallor liad spread over Mitford's face 
 again, and his lips quivered as he said : ^^ Tliat 
 was destroyed — destroyed by Tony Butler long 
 since — before the other one was done." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know this was the first, — a little 
 one just to get 3^our hand in. But it ain't de- 
 stroyed. It's all right, bless you ! I can see 
 it now with a big black ' forged' stamped across 
 it by the bank-j^eople." 
 
 ^' Where is it?" 
 
 " Oh, it's in very safe keeping with a friend 
 of mine who scarcely knows its value. Because, 
 though he knows it's a forgery, he don't know who 
 done it. Now, you see, through my brother Tony 
 I do know who done it ; and I do know that Wal- 
 ter Bui'gess is alive, and is a large hop-factor doT\'n 
 Maidstone way, and owing you a grudge for that 
 thrashing you gave him in the billiard-rooms at 
 Canterbur}^, which he's never forgotten, would 
 come forward and prosecute at once."
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SIR CHARLES. 155 
 
 '' You — you might prove the forgery ; but 
 how could you connect me with it?" 
 
 " Not badj that. But I'm ready for you. 
 People at the bank will prove you had the money ; 
 and taken in connection with the other little busi- 
 ness, which is well known, and which there are 
 lots of people to prove, a jury would convict at 
 once." 
 
 Sir Charles Mitford shuddered, and bm-Ied his 
 face in his hands. Then, looking up, said : " How 
 much do you want for that bill ?" 
 
 " Well, you see, that's scarcely the question. 
 It's in the hands of a man who don't know its 
 value, and if he did he'd open his mouth pretty 
 wide, and stick it on pretty stiff, I can tell you. 
 So we can let him bide a bit. Meantime / know 
 about it, and, as Tony told me, I intend to make 
 it serve me. Now you want to get rid of me, and 
 don't want to see me for some little time? I 
 thought so. I'm not an extravagant cove ; give 
 me fifty pounds." 
 
 ^' Until that bill is destroyed, you will wring 
 money from me when you choose."
 
 156 EUNNING THE GAUKTLET. 
 
 " If jou refused me money and I cut up rough, 
 the bill should be produced, and you'd be m quod 
 and Queer Street in a jiffy ! Better do as I say — 
 give me the fifty, and you sha'n't see me for a 
 blue moon !" 
 
 Whether Sir Charles was stimulated by the 
 period named or not, it is certain he sat down at 
 his desk, and producing his cheque-book began to 
 write. Mr. Effingham looked over his shoulder. 
 
 " Make it payable to some number — 295, or 
 any thing — not a name, please. And you needn't 
 cross it. Lord ! you didn't take much trouble to 
 disguise your fist when you put Walter Bur — , 
 beg pardon ! quite forgot what I was saying. 
 Thank you, Sir Charles. I'U keep my word all 
 right, you shall see. I'm not an idle beggar ; 
 I'm always at something ; so that I sha'n't depend 
 entirely on this bit of gray paper ; but it'll ease 
 my springs and grease my wheels a bit. Good- 
 day to you. Sir Charles. Never mind ringing for 
 that solemn cove to let me out ; I ain't proud. 
 Good-day." 
 
 Mr. Effingham gave a very elaborate bow, and
 
 WHAT HAD DETAINED SHI CHARLES. 157 
 
 departed. As the door shut upon him. Sir Charles 
 Mitford pulled his chair to the fire, and fell into 
 a deep reverie, out of which he did not rouse liim- 
 self mitil liis wife's return.
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 KISMET. 
 
 It was not because Laurence Alsager had been for 
 a twelvemonth in the East that he believed in the 
 Mohammedan doctrine of fatalism. That had been 
 an unacknowledged part of his creed long before 
 the disappointment which sent him flying from 
 the ordinary routine of life had fallen upon him. 
 Even mider that disappointment he allowed the 
 power of the wondrous ^' to be," and, bowing to 
 its influence, accepted his exile with far greater 
 equanimity than many others would have done 
 under similar circumstances. He had suffered 
 his plans — midecided when he left England 
 — to be entirely guided by chance ; had fol- 
 lowed suggestions for his route made by hotel- 
 landlords or conveyance - advertisements ; had 
 dallied over one part of his journey and hm'ried
 
 KISMET. 159 
 
 over another, simply in obedience to tlie prompt- 
 ings of the feehng of the moment; and had 
 finally decided on returning to be j)resent at the 
 first night of Spofibrth's play at the Parthenium 
 in the haphazard spirit which had prompted all 
 his movements. 
 
 His behef in Kismet had been enormously 
 strengthened since his return. It was "ar- 
 ranged" that Lady Mitford should l^e present on 
 the occasion in question ; that he should be pre- 
 sented to her after trying to avoid her and her 
 party ; that Lord Dollamore should be at the 
 Club, and should give utterance to those senti- 
 ments which had aroused so deep a disgust in 
 Laurence's breast. As to the events of the next 
 day, — the visit to Saunderson's, the drive to 
 Acton, the trial of Sir Launcelot and its con- 
 sequences, — therein was the most marvellous il- 
 lustration of the doctrine of Kismet that ever he 
 had yet seen. 
 
 He thought of all this as he woke the next 
 morning ; and clearly saw in an instant that it 
 would be rmming directly contrary to his fate
 
 160 KmfNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 to go down to see his father just then. He felt 
 impelled to remain in London, and in London he 
 should stay. He felt — Ah, how beautiful she 
 looked as he dragged her out from amidst the 
 dehis of the carriage and the plmiging hoofs of 
 the ponies, though her face was as pale as 
 marble, and the light of her eyes was quenched 
 beneath the drooping lids! It was Kismet that 
 had kept that handsome oaf, her husband, at 
 home, and prevented his interfering with the 
 little romance. Not that Sir Charles Mitford 
 was by any means an oaf ; he was a man of less 
 worldly experience, of less polish, of social standing, 
 higher in rank, but decidedly lower in reputation, 
 than Laurence ; and so Laurence regarded him 
 as an oaf, and, since the pony-carriage adventure, 
 began to find a little hatred mingling with the 
 contempt with which he had previously regarded 
 the latest addition to the baronetage. 
 
 Tliis last feeling may have been in accordance 
 with the rules of Kismet, but it certainly was 
 not in accordance with the practice of the world. 
 There were many men in his old regiment, and
 
 KISMET. 161 
 
 generally tbrougliont the brigade of Guards, — men 
 who, as professedly coureurs des dames, held that, 
 for the correct carrying out of a flirtation with 
 a man^ied woman, an intimacy of a certain kind 
 with the lady's hnsband was almost indispensable. 
 And, though not good at argument, had they 
 been put to it, they could have indorsed their 
 dicta with plenty of examples. They could have 
 told of picnics improvised solely for the pleasure 
 of madame's society, when monsieur was of the 
 greatest assistance, the life and soul of the party, 
 opening champagne, finding salt, cracking jokes ; 
 the only man who could induce the gathered leaves 
 to bm'st into a fire for kettle-boiling purposes ; the 
 first to volunteer to sit in the rumble with the cap- 
 tain's valet on the jom^ney homewards. They could 
 have told of visits paid in opera-boxes at a time 
 when it was certain that monsieur was just 
 smacking his lips over something peculiar in 
 claret at a dinner at the Junior, specially given 
 by the captain's brother-officer, the major. They 
 could have told of capital fishing and excellent 
 shooting obtained by them for monsieur with a 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 tendency in that direction ; stream or lake, moor 
 or stubble always happening to be at a very 
 remote distance from monsieur's family abode. 
 There were even some of them who for the time 
 being would thorouglily interest themselves in 
 monsieur and his aiFairs, would bear with his chil- 
 dren, would listen to his stories, would, on rare 
 occasions, be seen about with him, and would, 
 when very hard hit, invite him to the Windsor 
 mess, or give him a seat in the Derby drag. 
 
 But that sort of thing did not do for Lam-ence 
 Alsager. Such a line of conduct might have 
 suited ]iim once ; but it would have been years 
 ago, and with a very different style of wife and 
 husband from Lady Mitford and Sir Charles. He 
 could not think of her with any feeling that w^as 
 not deeply tinged with respect, and that in itself 
 was sufficient to remove this new passion from 
 the category of his past loves. His new pas- 
 sion ? Yes ; he could not deny it to himself; 
 he felt a singular interest in this woman ; there 
 was an attraction in her such as he had never 
 experienced in any one else. He smiled as he
 
 KISMET. 163 
 
 recollected how, in the bygone timeSj he would 
 have called her '^ cold" and '^ statuesque ;" how 
 he would have despised her slight figure, and 
 thought her manners rustic, if not gauche. How 
 he had sneered at love, as distinguished from 
 intrigue, when he was a , mere boy ; and now, at 
 thirty, after thirteen years of hard life of all 
 kinds — ^traces of which might be seen in a few 
 lines round the eyes and on the forehead — he was 
 lapsing into the calf-love which boys at school 
 feel for the master's daughter. He laughed ; but 
 he knew it was all true, nevertheless. 
 
 He must see her that day, of coui'se ; at least, 
 he must caU — mere politeness required so much 
 after the events of the previous day. Meanwhile he 
 would go down to the club, to read the papers, 
 and get some luncheon, and kill time. 
 
 There were several men in the mornino^-room 
 at the club, some of whom he had seen on the 
 first night of his arrival, others whom he met now 
 for the first time since his return. Lord DoUamore 
 was there, his legs up on a sofa, reading a news- 
 paper, with a very peculiar grin upon his face.
 
 164 KUNNIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 '^ Here he is !" lie said, looking towards the 
 door as Lam-ence entered the room ; " here's the 
 man himself! Why don't we have a band to 
 play ' See the conquering' ? " 
 
 " So we ought J by Jove I" said Cis Hether- 
 ington. " Hallo, Laui'ence, old boy ! no sling or 
 any thing?" 
 
 '^ Looks well after it, don't he ?" said another; 
 while several old gentlemen looked up from their 
 newspapers, partly in admiration, partly in awe. 
 
 " Fire away, gentlemen !" said Laurence. 
 ^^ Be as funny as you please ; it's all lost upon 
 me. What the deuce do you mean by ' sling,' 
 Cis?" 
 
 " He's been so long away, that he's forgotten 
 the English language," sneered Dollamore. 
 
 " Oh no, he hasn't. Lord Dollamore, as he'd 
 quickly show you, were there the least occasion," 
 said Laurence. " But," added he more quietly, 
 ^^what is the joke? I give you my honour I 
 don't laiow what you're taUs:ing about." 
 
 "A lovely lady and a gallant knight ! Bring- 
 forth the steed ! Tlie accident ; the leap ; the
 
 KISMET. 165 
 
 rescue ! Ha, ha ! she's saved ! Slow music and 
 curtain ! Stunnin' draymer it would make. I 
 can introduce you to several enterprising mana- 
 gers if you'd like to torn* in tlie provinces," said 
 jolly Mr. Wisconsin, who spent nearly all his 
 time and two-thirds of his income amongst thea- 
 trical people. 
 
 " Why, how on earth did that story get 
 here ?" asked Lam'ence, on whom the truth was 
 beginning slowly to dawn. 
 
 " Here ! why, it's all over to^^'n — all over 
 England by this time. It's in the papers." 
 
 " In the papers ! Ah, you're selling me." 
 
 '^ Take it, and read for yourself," said Wis- 
 consin. " Open the paper, and knock it back 
 with your hand — that's the legitimate busi- 
 ness." 
 
 ^^ Doosid well Alsager pretends to be aston- 
 ished, don't he, considering he put that in the 
 paper himself?" 
 
 " No, he didn't do it himself; he got Cis He- 
 therington to do it." 
 
 '' Cis couldn't have spelt it," said Lord Dolla-
 
 166 EUXNrS^G THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 more. " There are some devilisli long words, over 
 whicli Cis would liave come a cropper," 
 
 While his friends were thus pleasantly dis- 
 cussing him, Laui'ence was reading a remarkably 
 full-flavoured and eloquent description of a " Se- 
 rious Accident and Gallant Conduct," as the para- 
 graph was headed, in which Lady Mitford's name 
 and his own figm-ed amongst the longest adjec- 
 tives and most difficult adverbs. How the wildly- 
 excited steeds dashed away at a terrific pace ; 
 how the grasp of the lovely charioteer gradually 
 relaxed, and how her control over the fiery ani- 
 mals was finally lost; how the attendant groom 
 did every thing that strength and science in 
 equine matters could suggest, mitil he was flmig, 
 stunned and breatliless, into the mire ; and how, 
 finally, the gallant son of Mars, mounted on a 
 matchless barb, came bounding over the hedge, 
 and exti'icated the prostrate and palpitating form 
 of the lovely member of the aristocracy from 
 utter demolition at the hoofs of the infririated 
 animals. All this was to be fomid in tlie news- 
 paper paragraph which Laurence was reading.
 
 KISMET. 167 
 
 This paragraph originated in a short story told 
 bj the groom in the bar of a pubKc-house close 
 to the mews, whither he had gone to solace him- 
 self with beer after the indignities he had suf- 
 fered at Mr. Spurrier's hands, and where he 
 had the satisfaction of repeating it to a broken- 
 down seedy man, who '^ stood" a pint, and who 
 took short notes of the groom's conversation in 
 a very greasy pocket-book. 
 
 Laurence was horribly disgusted, as could be 
 seen by the expression of his face, and the ner- 
 vous manner in which he kept twisting the ends 
 of his moustache. Tlie amusement of the other 
 men was rather increased than diminished at his 
 annoyance, and was at its height when Cis He- 
 therington asked : 
 
 " What the doose is a ^ matchless barb,' Al- 
 sager ? I've seen all sorts of hacks in my time, 
 but never met with one of that kind." 
 
 " What do you mean by hacks ?" said an- 
 other. " A barb is a fellow that writes plays, ain't 
 it? They call Shakespeare the immortal barb." 
 
 " Ah, but they call him a Swan, and all kinds
 
 168 EUXKING THE GAUKTLET. 
 
 of tliino's. There's no maldno; out what a thiiioj 
 is by Avhat they call him." 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Dollamore had risen from 
 the couch, and strolled over to the rug in front 
 of the fire, where Laurence was standing. 
 
 " You've begun your duties quickly, my dear 
 Alsager. There are few fellows who get the 
 chance of falling into their position so rapidly." 
 
 " What position ?" 
 
 " That of champion of beauty in distress." 
 
 " Position ! I declare I don't follow you, my 
 lord." 
 
 " My dear Alsager, surely the East has not 
 had the effect of rendering obtuse one of the 
 keenest of men. Don't you recollect our talk 
 the other night?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 '^ When I then expressed my opinion that 
 Lady Mitford would have to go through the usual 
 amount of danger, of course I meant moral, not 
 actual, peril. However, the actual seems to have 
 come first." 
 
 '' Ye-es. A smashed carriage and plunging
 
 KISMET. 169 
 
 horses may, I suppose, be looked upon as actual 
 danger." 
 
 " All, slie'll have worse things than those to 
 contend against and encounter. You were lucky 
 enough to save her from a fractured skull ; I sup- 
 pose we shall see you doing the ' sweet-httle- 
 cherub' business, and watching over her gene- 
 rally, henceforth." 
 
 " You seem to forget that Lady Mitford has 
 a husband. Lord DoUamore." 
 
 '^Not for an instant, my good fellow. But 
 so has — well, ]\Ii\s. Hammond — and so have lots 
 of women ; but then the husbands are generally 
 engaged in taking care of somebody else. Well, 
 well, to think that you should become a sheep- 
 dog, — you whose whole early life was spent in 
 worrying the lambs I" 
 
 '^ Whose whole early life — that's it ! Quand 
 le diahle est vieiuv il se fait ermiteP'' 
 
 " Y''e-es ; but if I were the husband of a ver}- 
 pretty yomig wife, I doubt whether I should 
 particularly like you being her father con- 
 fessor.''
 
 170 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 "You need not alarm yourself, my lord; I'm 
 not going in for the position." 
 
 " Qui a hu^ hoira, my dear Alsager. I dis- 
 trust sudden conversions, and liave no great re- 
 liance on slieep-dogs whose fangs are scarcely 
 cleared of wool." 
 
 Laurence might have replied somewhat sharply 
 to this, had he heard it ; but he was off on his way 
 to the coffee-room to his luncheon, which had 
 been announced by the waiter ; that finished, 
 he started off for Eaton Place. 
 
 He had sufficient matter for reflection on his 
 walk. Tliis preposterous story which had crept 
 into the papers woidd of course form a splendid 
 subject of gossip for all those who had nothing 
 better to do than to talk about such things. Tliere 
 was already a certain amount of interest attaching 
 to the Mitfords from the fact of Sir Charles having 
 inherited the baronetcy in a singular and milook- 
 ed-for manner, and from his wife's having had 
 the audacity — although sprmig from an unknown 
 family — to have a beautiful face and agreeable 
 manners. For tliis presumption Alsager felt that
 
 KISMET. 171 
 
 a temble retribution was in store for lier, poor 
 child, wlien the regular season came on, and the 
 dowagers brought up their saleable daughters 
 to the market. Then the notion that a common 
 countiy parson's daughter had been beforehand 
 with them, and had carried off an miexceptionable 
 jparti before he had been regularly advertised as 
 ready for stalldng, would drive these old ladies 
 to a pitch of rankling and venomous despair which 
 would find vent in such tamits, hints, insinua- 
 tions, and open lies as are only learnt in the 
 great finishing-school of London society. Lady 
 Mitford's beauty, style, and position were in them- 
 selves quite sufficient to render her an object of 
 dislike to nine-tenths of the other Avomen in so- 
 ciety', who would eagerly search for something 
 against her, however slight it might be. Had 
 not that unfortunate accident and its result given 
 them this " something" ? Laurence had been 
 too long amongst the ranks of nous cadres not to 
 recognise the meaning of the grins and winks 
 which went round the assembled circle of club- 
 men when the newspaper paragraph was read,
 
 172 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 not fully to understand every sneering inflexion 
 of Lord Dollamore's voice. Thus was the sin of 
 his youth visited on him in later life, with a 
 vengeance. Hundreds of other men might 
 have done exactly as he had — an act simply of 
 manly impulse — without any thing having been 
 said about it save praise ; but with him, that 
 infernal reputation for gallantry, of which he 
 was once so proud, and which he now so intensely 
 loathed, would set shoulders shrugging and eye- 
 brows lifting at once. Tlie old story ! Laurence 
 Alsager again! What else could be expected? 
 For an instant, as all these thoughts came rushing 
 tln-ough his mind, he stopped short, wondering 
 whether it would not be better to retrace his steps 
 to the hotel, and to fulfil his first-formed resolu- 
 tion of paying a hurried visit to his father, and 
 then quitting England at once. Yes; it would 
 be much better ; it would save any chance of 
 scandal or talk, and — And yet he did not Hke 
 to miss the chance of being thanked by those 
 sweet eyes and that soft voice. He had thought 
 so much of how she would look, not as he had
 
 KISMET. 173 
 
 hitherto seen her in full evening-dress, or in her 
 bonnet, but in that simple morning - costume 
 in which all charming wom.en look most charm- 
 ing. Besides, it was his duty as a gentleman 
 to call, after the events of the previous day, and 
 see whether she was suffering from any result 
 of her accident, or from any fright which might 
 have arisen from it. Yes ; he would first call 
 and see her, and then go away; — at least, he 
 was not quite certain whether he would go away 
 or not. He was not sure that it would not be 
 far more advisable that he should stay in Eng- 
 land, and be on the spot to put a stop at once 
 to any preposterous talk that might arise ; and 
 especially to watch over her in case of any at- 
 tempts which might be made by men of the Dolla- 
 more class. Lord DoUamore was a most dan- 
 gerous fellow, a man who would stick at nothing 
 to gain his ends ; and what those ends were, it 
 was, to a man of Alsager's experience, by no 
 means difficult to imagine. Besides, he was 
 merely the t^-pe of a class; and if all he had 
 stated about Sir Charles Mitford were really true,
 
 174 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 if the baronet were a man of dissolute tastes and 
 habits, and utterly unable to withstand the tempta- 
 tion which his wealth and position would at once 
 open up to him, it was absolutely necessary that 
 some one should be there to prevent his wife's 
 falling a prey to the numerous libertines who 
 would immediately attempt to take advantage 
 of her husband's escapades^ and ingratiate them- 
 selves into her favour. 
 
 When the wish is father not merely to the 
 thought, but to the subsequent argument, it is 
 by no means difficult to beat down and utterly 
 vanquish the subtlest and most logical self-reason- 
 ing. Tlu'ee minutes' reflection and balancing 
 served to show Laurence how wrong he had been 
 in thinking of absenting himself at such a critical 
 time ; and though for a moment the " still small 
 voice" ventured to insinuate a doubt of the 
 soundness of his argmnent, yet he felt that — leav- 
 ing futm'e events to take such course as they 
 might ultimately fall into — it Avas at least liis 
 bomiden duty to go then and inquire after Lady 
 Mitford ; and onwards he proceeded.
 
 KISMET. 175 
 
 Lady Mitford was at home. In a charming 
 drawing-room, — every thing in it bearing evi- 
 dence of exquisite womanly taste, — he found her, 
 dressed, as he expected, in the most lovely 
 of morning - costumes — a high violet -silk dress 
 with a simple linen collar and cuffs; her hair 
 perfectly plain, showing the small classic head in 
 all its beauty : she looked to liim the lovehest 
 creature he had ever seen. She rose at the an- 
 nouncement of his name, and came forward with 
 a pleasant smile on her face and with out- 
 stretched hand. Laurence noticed — not, per- 
 haps, without a little disappointment — that there 
 was not the smallest sign of a blush on her cheek, 
 not the slightest tremor in her voice. 
 
 " I'm so glad to see you. Colonel Alsager," 
 she said frankly; "I'm sm^e I've thought a 
 hundred times since we parted of my gaiiclierie 
 in not thanking you sufficiently for the real ser- 
 vice you did me yesterday." 
 
 " Pray don't say another word about it, Lady 
 Mitford; it was a simple duty which merits no 
 further mention."
 
 176 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Indeed, I don't think so. It was a very 
 gallant act in itself, and one which, so far as I 
 am concerned, renders me jour debtor for life." 
 
 '' The acknowledgment cancels the obligation. 
 I only trust yon are none the worse for the mis- 
 hap." 
 
 " Thank yon, not in the least. I was a little 
 shaken and unstrmig by the fall, and rather 
 stupid yesterday evening, I'm inclined to think; 
 but the night's rest has set me perfectly right. 
 You know I'm country-bred, and therefore what 
 my husband would call in good condition ; and 
 I've had so many tumbles off ponies, and been 
 upset so many times in our Devonshire lanes by 
 papa, — w^ho, I'm afi'aid, is not a very good whip, 
 bless him ! — that I'm not entirely unused to such 
 accidents." 
 
 " That accounts for yom' pluck, then. I never 
 saw any one go tln'ough what — now it's over — 
 I may say was a very ugly rmiaway with more 
 perfect calmness." 
 
 ^^Ah, that's what I wanted to ask you. I 
 lost my head just as we started down that de-
 
 KISMET. 177 
 
 scent, and knew nothing afterwards. I do so 
 hope I didn't scream." 
 
 "You may make youi'self thoroughly easy on 
 that score. You were perfectly mute." 
 
 " I am delighted at that !" she laughed out 
 with childish glee. " Charley asked me the very 
 first thing whether I hadn't ' yelled out,' as he 
 called it ; and I told him I thought not. It was 
 very weak of me to faint, and I fought against 
 it as long as I could; but I felt it must come, 
 and it did." 
 
 " You would have been more than woman 
 if you could have deprived yourself of that 
 treat," said Laurence smiling. " How is Sir 
 Charles?" 
 
 " Well, not very well. I fancy that this ac- 
 cident has upset him very much, poor fellow. I 
 think he blames himself for having allowed me 
 to go without him ; and yet he couldn't come, as 
 he had some horrid man here on business. But 
 he's been very dull and preoccupied ever since. 
 He'll be annoyed at having missed you, as he 
 went out specially to call and thank you for 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 your great kindness. We did not know your 
 address, and he went down to ]\Ir. Bertram's 
 office to get it from liim." 
 
 "Oil, Bertram is a very okl friend of mine. 
 It was from liim I first heard of you." 
 
 " Yes, he knew Charley at Oxford. He is 
 a kind gentle creature, I should think ; a man 
 that it must be impossible for any one to dislike. 
 And really his silence is sometimes any thing 
 but disagreeable — at a theatre, you know, and 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " Silence ! I can assm-e you. Lady Mitford, 
 that when you are the theme of his discom'se, 
 he is a perfect Demosthenes. ' The common 
 mouth, so gross to express delight, in praise 
 of her grew oratory,' as Tennyson says. He 
 is one of yom' stan chest admirers." 
 
 Lady Mitford looked uncomfortable and a 
 little vexed, as she said, " Lideed !" then smiled 
 again as she added, "You also have the effect 
 of loosening the dumb man's tongue. Li Mr. 
 Bertram you have the loudest of trumpeters. 
 In fact, ever since he heard from you of your
 
 KISSIET. 179 
 
 intended return, we have gro-^vn almost tired of 
 hearing of your good quahties." 
 
 ''■ I hope you won't banish nie, as the Athe- 
 nians did Ai'istides for the same reason. Old 
 George is one of the best fellows living. Do you 
 know many people now in to^^^l, Lady Mitford?" 
 
 " No, indeed. Om' Devonshire neighbours 
 have not come up yet, and will not, I suppose, 
 until Parliament meets. And then Sir Charles 
 ha^dng been — been away for some time, and I 
 not having lived in society, we scarcely know 
 any body yet ; at least, I mean — I — some of 
 Charley's old friends have found us out. Mr. 
 Bertram, Captain Bligh and Major Winton, and 
 Lord Dollamore." 
 
 ^^Ah, Lord Dollamore! yes, to be sure. And 
 what, if it's a fair question, do you think of 
 Lord Dollamore ?" 
 
 Georgie laughed. " It certainly is not a fair 
 question, and if Charley were here, I should not 
 be allowed to answer it ; but I don't mind telling 
 you. Colonel Alsager, that I have a great horror 
 of Lord Dollamore."
 
 180 RUt^^ING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Laurence smiled grimly, but with the greatest 
 inward satisfaction, as he said, " Poor DoUamore ! 
 And will YOU tell me why you have a horror 
 of him. Lady Mitford?" 
 
 '' I can scarcely say. I'm sm'e I ought not 
 to have it, as he is always studiously polite to 
 me : but there is somethino; stranoje to me in his 
 manner and in his conversation, sometliing such 
 as I have never met with before, and which, 
 though I don't comprehend it, rouses my anti- 
 pathy and makes me shudder. I never know 
 what to say to liini either, and he always seems 
 to be watcliing every word that you speak. Now 
 you're laughing at me. Colonel Alsager ; and I 
 can't explain what I mean." 
 
 Her cheeks flushed as she said this, and 
 the heightened coloiu- added to her beauty. 
 Lam'ence found himself staring mutely at her, 
 in sheer wonderment at her loveliness ; then 
 roused himself and said, '' Lideed, I was not 
 laughing, and I can fully comprehend you. 
 Now tell me ; the ponies are none the worse 
 for their race ?"
 
 KISMET. 181 
 
 "Not much. One lias a cut fetlock, and 
 both have had a good deal of hair rubbed off ; 
 but nothing to signify. I was round in the 
 stables the first thing this morning, and came 
 in great glee to tell Charley how little harm 
 had been done to them. But he's dreadfidly 
 angry about it, and declares they shall both be 
 sent away. And all because I was too weak 
 to hold them !" 
 
 " Well, I should like to be on your side ; 
 but I don't think your husband is very far wrong 
 in the present instance. They are plainly mifit 
 for any lady's driving, miless she is what no 
 lady would like to be, — mideniably horsey, and 
 masculine, so far at least as her wrists are 
 concerned." 
 
 " Ah, and your horse ! that splendid fellow 
 that took the tremendous leap, — ]\Ir. Samiderson 
 told me this ; I laiew nothing of it at the time, 
 —what of him?" 
 
 '' Oh, he's wonderfully well. He landed splen- 
 didly ; but just heeled over for a second and 
 touched his knees, — the merest graze, and that
 
 182 EUKXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 all tlirougli my clumsiness ; but I was too much 
 excited at tlie time to attend to liim. But it's 
 a mere liair-scratcli, and he'll be as right as ever 
 in a week or two." 
 
 " Well, the whole thing seems to me like 
 a dream ; but a dream from which I should 
 never have woke, had it not been for your 
 promptitude and presence of mind. Those I 
 have said I shaU never forget; and — Now here 
 comes Chai'ley to indorse my gratitude." 
 
 As she spoke, a hea^y tread was heard on 
 the staircase ; the door opened, and Sir Charles 
 Mitford entered, full of hfe and radiant with 
 happiness. Any preoccupation or anxiety, for 
 which his wife had prepared her visitor, seemed 
 entirely to have disappeared. He advanced with 
 open hand, and in his cheeriest manner said, 
 " My dear Alsager, dehghted to see you ! A 
 thousand thanks, my dear fellow, — much more 
 than I can express, — for your conduct yesterday ! 
 I've heard all about it, and know how much 
 I owe to you. Tremendous pluck! Oh yes, I 
 know; you needn't pretend to be modest about
 
 KISMET. 183 
 
 it. I've been round to Saunderson's, and seen 
 Spurrier ; and he tells me that it was just one 
 of the pluckiest things ever done. You staked 
 the horse, or did something damaging to him, 
 didn't you ? so of course I told Spm-rier to 
 enter him in my account." 
 
 ^' You're very good ; but you're a little late, 
 Sir Charles. I bought him on the spot, and 
 would not part with him for treble his price." 
 
 Laurence could not resist stealing a glance 
 at Lady Mitford as he said tliis. Her eyes were 
 downcast ; but a bright - red spot burned on her 
 cheeks, and her brows were contracted. 
 
 '' Well, you've the right of refusal ; and you 
 know a good fencer when you see one, Alsager, 
 I know. I only wished to have the horse as a 
 memento of the day." 
 
 Laurence muttered something inaudible. 
 
 " I went down to call upon you, to thank 
 you for all yoiu' kindness to my wife," con- 
 tinued Sir Charles ; ^^ and then finding I didn't 
 know your address, I looked up Bertram at the 
 Foreign Office ; and after being handed about
 
 184 BUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 from one room to another , I found liim, and 
 lie took me to vour liotel. Don't seem to have 
 mucli to do, those fellows at the Foreign Office. 
 Bertram had only just arrived ; but he left im- 
 mediately when I told him I Avanted him to 
 come with me." 
 
 " I'm very sorry I was not at home." 
 " WeU, so was I partly, and partly not. 
 Of com-se I should have wished to have given 
 you my thanks for your kindness the very 
 first thing ; but then of course you miderstand 
 that I meant all that. When a man rescues 
 another man's wife from tremendous danger, 
 of course he understands that her husband is 
 tremendously thankful to him, miless it's in a 
 book or play, or that kind of thing, where hus- 
 bands wish their wives were dead. And then 
 ao^ain, if vou had been in, I shoidd have missed 
 being introduced to sucli a charming woman." 
 
 " To such a what, Charley ?" asked Lady 
 Mitford. 
 
 ^^ Oh, don't you be frightened, dear ; it's all 
 square and above-board. She asked me if she
 
 KISMET. 185 
 
 might call upon you ; and she'll be here to- 
 morrow or the next day ; so mind you're at 
 home to receive her." 
 
 "Her? who?" 
 
 "Oh yes, I forgot. I'll tell you all about it. 
 When we found Alsager was not at his hotel, 
 Bertram evidently didn't Avant to go back to his 
 office, so he 2:>roposed a stretch romid the Park. 
 I said I was quite agreeable ; and off we started ; 
 right round the Oxford-Street side, back by the 
 Powder-magazine, and so into the Drive. When 
 we got there, there was not a single trap to be 
 seen — not one, I give you my honour ; but as we 
 stumped along, and Bertram — most delightfid 
 companion ! — never opened his mouth, I saw a 
 pair of bright chestnuts in black harness come 
 whirling a low pony-phaeton along; and as it 
 passed, Bertram took off his hat to the lady driv- 
 ing. She pulled up, and we Avent to the trap, 
 and Bertram introduced me. She was a very 
 pretty little woman, and had a sable cloak ; — you 
 must have a sable cloak, Georgie ; I'll find out 
 where she got hers; — and there was another
 
 186 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 woman whom I could not see — kept her veil down, 
 and looked like companion, or something of that 
 sort — sitting by her. She certainly drove splen- 
 didly. I couldn't help thinking if she'd had those 
 grays of yom-s yesterday, Georgie, she'd have 
 mastered them." 
 
 ^' I sincerely wish she had," said Lady Mit- 
 ford with a little petulance ; " I can't say I en- 
 tirely relished the adventure, even though it 
 called forth Colonel Alsager's assistance." [" Tliat's 
 a thorough woman's blow," thought Lam^ence, 
 listening.] " But you haven't told us the name 
 of this charming Amazon." 
 
 " I don't know any thing about Amazon or 
 not," said Sir Charles, avIio began to be a little 
 nettled ; " the lady's name is Hammond — IMrs. 
 Hammond, wife of a man who was something 
 in the government service. Ah, you know her, 
 Alsager. Yes, by the way, I recollect her ask- 
 ing Bertram whether you had come back." 
 
 Tlie mention of Mrs. Hammond's name seemed 
 to throw rather a damp upon the conversation. 
 Lady Mitford did not appear m the least to share
 
 KISMET. 187 
 
 her husband's rhapsodies, — as how should she, 
 being ignorant of theii' object ? — and Colonel Al- 
 sager's expression was moody and liis voice silent. 
 But when he rose to take his leave the expressions 
 of gi-atitude were renewed both by husband and 
 wife, each in their peculiar manner — Sir Charles 
 was boisterously hearty-; Lady Mitford quietly 
 impressive. 
 
 " We shall see a good deal of you now, I hope, 
 Alsager ; you won't stand on any ridiculous cere- 
 mony, or any thing of that sort, but come in and 
 out just as you like. Tliere's no one who will be 
 more welcome here, and no one who's earned the 
 right so much, for the matter of that. It rests 
 with you now entirely how far you pursue the 
 acquaintance." 
 
 '' Good-bye, Colonel Alsager," said Lady Mit- 
 ford with a sweet smile ; " and I'll promise, when 
 you do come to see us, not to give you so much 
 trouble as I did yesterday." 
 
 Laurence was equally averse to commonplaces 
 and to committing himself, so he bowed and 
 smiled, and went away.
 
 188 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 '' Kismet," he muttered to himself as he 
 strode down the street, — " Kismet in full force. 
 Lam*a Hammond back in England, and an ac- 
 quaintance formed between her and Mitford al- 
 ready. Taken with her, he seemed too. She's 
 just the woman that would fetch such a man as 
 he. Well, let Kismet do its worst ; I shall stand 
 by and see the play."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ME. effixgham's proceedings. 
 
 Whex Mr. Effingham found himself with fifty 
 pomicis in his pocket outside the bank where 
 he had changed Sir Charles Mitford's cheque, he 
 could scarcely contain his exidtation. His dealings 
 with bankers had been few, and not always satis- 
 factory. He had had cheques in his possession 
 which he had been too bashftd to present in his 
 own proper person, but had employed a little boy 
 to take to the counter while he Avaited round the 
 corner of an adjacent street ; he had had cheques 
 which he had presented himself, but the proceeds 
 of which, when asked "how he would have," he 
 had always taken in gold, as a more convenient 
 and untraceable medium. On the present oc- 
 casion, however, he had walked boldly in ; had 
 rapped on the counter, to the horror and dismay
 
 190 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of the old gentlemen behind it ; had handed over 
 his cheque with a swagger, and taken half the 
 change in clean crisp notes of the Bank of Eng- 
 land. All right now; all straight and above- 
 board. Old Mr. Coverdale, solicitor to the bank- 
 ing-firm, passing tln'ongh the public office on 
 his way to the private parlour, peered at IMr. 
 Effingham under his bushy gray eyebrows curi- 
 ously; but Mr. Effingham did not mind that. 
 The porter sitting on a veiy hard stool just inside 
 the swing-doors rubbed his nose and winked 
 significantly at the policeman in plain clothes 
 stationed just outside the swing-doors, whose 
 duty was to help rich old-lady customers in and 
 out of their carriages. Both porter and policeman 
 stared very hard at Mr. Effingham, and Mr. 
 Effingham returned the stare with all the eye- 
 power at his command. What did he care ? 
 They might call him back and inspect the cheque 
 if they liked, and then they would see what they 
 would get for attempting to molest a gentleman. 
 
 In his character of gentleman, Mr. Effingham 
 felt that his costume w^as scarcely so correct as it
 
 ME. Effingham's proceedings. 191 
 
 might have been ; in fact, that in the mere quality 
 of being weather-tight it was lamentably deficient. 
 So his first proceeding was to \asit an outfitter's, 
 and then and there to procure what he termed 
 ^^ a rig-out" of the peculiar kind most in accord- 
 ance with his resonant taste. Tlie trousers were 
 of such an enormous-check pattern that, as the 
 Jew tailor hmnorously remarked, " it would take 
 two men to show it ;" the hat shone like a bad 
 looking-glass ; the coat, though somewhat baggy 
 in the back, was glossy, and had a cotton-velvet 
 collar ; and the Lowther- Arcade jewelry glistened 
 in the midst of a bird's-eye scarf of portentous 
 height and stifiiiess. 
 
 His outer man satisfied, Mr. Effingham 
 thought it time to attend to his inner ; and ac- 
 cordingly turned into a City chop-house of re- 
 nown, where his elegant appearance made an 
 immense impression on the yomig stockbroking 
 gents and the junior clerks from the banks and 
 Mincing-Lane houses, who commented, in no 
 measm^ed tones, and with a great deal of biting 
 sarcasm, on the various portions of his costume.
 
 192 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Either not liearing or not heeding this banter, 
 Mr. Effingham ordered a point steak and potatoes 
 and a pint of stont ; all of which he devoured with 
 an appearance of intense relish. An old gentle- 
 man sitting in the same box opposite to him had 
 a steaming glass of fragrant pmich, the aroma 
 of which ascended gratefully into Mr. Effing- 
 ham's nostrils and almost impelled him to order 
 a similar jorum ; but prudence stepped in, and 
 he paid his bill and departed. Not that he did 
 not intend to indulo^e in that after-dinner gros^, 
 which was customary with him whenever he had 
 the money to pay for it himself, or the luck to get 
 any body to pay for it for him ; but he wished 
 to combine business w^ith pleasm'e ; and so started 
 off for another tavern nearer the West End, 
 where he knew the combination could be accom- 
 plished. 
 
 The chosen place of Mr. Effingham's resort, 
 though properly designated the Brown Bear, was 
 known to all its frequenters as " Johnson's," from 
 its proprietor's name. It was a commonplace 
 public-house enough, in a street leading out of
 
 193 
 
 the Strand, and sufficiently near the large theatres 
 and newspaper-offices for its parlour to be the re- 
 sort of actors and press-men of an inferior grade. 
 The more eminent in both professions " used" the 
 Rougepot in Salad Yard, a famous old place that 
 had been a house of call for actors, wits, and men- 
 of-letters for generations, and where strangers 
 seldom penetrated. Tlie Jiahitu/s of " Johnson's" 
 were mostly young men just affiliated to their 
 professions, and not particularly careful as to 
 their associates ; so that you frequently fomid in 
 Jolmson's parlour a sprinkhng of questionable 
 characters, men who hung on to the selvage of 
 theatrical life, betting-book keepers, and card- 
 shai'pers. The regular frequenters did not actually 
 favour these men, but they tacitly allowed their 
 presence, and occasionally would join in and listen 
 to their conversation, from which they gleaned 
 new notions of life. 
 
 When Mr. Effingham pushed open the parlour- 
 door and looked into the room, on the afternoon 
 in which he had conducted his banking-operation 
 with such signal success, the place was almost 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 EUKNIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 deserted. The large corner -boxes by the fire, 
 where the ^professional gentlemen usually congre- 
 gated, were empty ; but at a table in the far end 
 of the room were seated tsvo men, at sight of 
 whom Mr. Effingham's face brightened. They 
 were flasliily-dressed, raffish-looking men, smok- 
 ing rank cigars, and busily engaged in comparing 
 betting-books. 
 
 " Hollo !" said one of them, looking up at 
 the noise made by the opening of the door; '^ I'm 
 blessed if here am't D'Ossay Butler ! And the re- 
 gular D'Ossay cut too — sprucer than ever ; might 
 pass for the Count himself, blowed if you mightn't, 
 D'Ossay !" 
 
 '^ What's happened to the little cove now, I 
 wonder?" said the other, a thin man with a 
 shaved face and a tall hat, wliich he had great 
 difficulty in keeping on his head; "what's hap- 
 pened to him now ? Has he stood-in on a steeple- 
 chase, or robbed a bank ? Look at liis togs ! What 
 a slap-up swell he is !" 
 
 Mr. Effingham received these compliments 
 with great equanimity, sat do^^'::! b}- his friends,
 
 MR. EFFIXGHAm'S PROCEEDINGS. 195 
 
 and seeing their glasses empty, said : " Any lap ? 
 I'm game to stand any thing you like to put a name 
 to ;" rang the bell for the waiter, and ordered three 
 nines of brandy hot. 
 
 "What an out-and-out little cove it is!" 
 repeated the first man with great admiration. 
 " Well, tell us, D'Ossay, all about it. How did 
 it come off? What was it?" 
 
 " Come off!" said Mr. Effingham; "what do 
 you mean? Nothing's come off that I know of; at 
 least nothing particular. You know that gentle- 
 man in the City that I told you of, Griffiths?" 
 he asked, with a private wink at the man in the 
 high hat. 
 
 " I know him fast enough," replied that 
 worthy w^ith a nod, partly confirmatory, partly 
 to keep the tall hat on his head. " Did he pull 
 thi'ough in that matter ?" 
 
 "Pull through!" said Mr. Effingham; "he 
 won a lot of money ; and as I'd given him the 
 office, and put him on a good thing, he said he'd 
 behave handsome ; and he didn't do amiss, con- 
 siderin'."
 
 196 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 , " What did he part with ?" asked the first 
 
 man. 
 
 "A tenner." 
 
 Tlie first man's ejes glistened, and he in- 
 stantly made up his mind to bori'ow half-a-sover- 
 eign if he could get it — five shillings if he could 
 not — of Effingham before they parted. 
 
 "Ah, and so you went and rigged yom'self 
 out in these swell togs, D'Ossay, did you, at 
 once ? You always had the notions of a gentle- 
 man, and the sperrit of a gentleman, that's more. 
 I wish you'd put me on to something of that 
 kind ; but, there, it wants the way to carry it out ; 
 and I haven't got that, I know well enough." 
 
 While this speech was in progress, Mr. Effing- 
 ham had caught the eye of the tall man, and wink- 
 ing towards their friend, pointed over his shoulder 
 at the door. Tlie tail man repeated the nod tliat 
 did the double duty, and after looking up at the 
 clock, said, " You'd better be oft*, Jim ; you'll 
 be just in time to catch that party down at Peter 
 Crawley's, if you look sharp." 
 
 Jim, thus admonished, finished his grog and
 
 MR. Effingham's proceedings. 197 
 
 took liis leave, asking Mr. Effingliam if lie could 
 have " lialf a word" with him outside ; which 
 half-word resulted in the extraction of a half- 
 sovereign, as Jim had predetermined. 
 
 "Now for it," said Griffiths, as soon as Effing- 
 ham returned, " I'm death to hear all that's hap- 
 pened, only that fool wouldn't go. Wanted 
 something, of course, outside, eh? Ah, thought 
 so. What did you square him for ?" 
 
 "Half-a-couter." 
 
 " You appear to be making the shiners spin. 
 Master D'Ossay ; that swell at the West End 
 must have bled pretty handsome. Tell us all 
 about it. What did he stand?" 
 
 " Well, I won't try and gammon you. He 
 stood fi%." 
 
 "What, on the mere gab? Avithout your 
 showing liim the stiff, and only telling him you 
 knew about it ? Fifty quid I that's a cow that'll 
 give milk for many a long year. Master D'Ossay, 
 if only properly handled. Come, hand us over 
 what you promised for putting you on. By 
 George!" he added, as Effingham drew a bundle
 
 198 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of notes from liis pocket, ^^low nice and crisp 
 tliey sound !" 
 
 "There's your tenner," said Effingliam, se- 
 lecting a note from the roll and handing it to his 
 fi'iend ; " I'm always as good as my word. That 
 squares us up so far." 
 
 " No fakement about it, is there ?" said Mr. 
 Griffiths, first holding the note up to the light, 
 then spreading it flat on the table, and going care- 
 fully over it, back and fi'ont. " I've been dropped 
 in the hole too often by flimsies not to be precious 
 carefril about 'em. No. Matthew Marshall — aU 
 them coily things in the water-mark and that ; all 
 right. I think you ought to make it a little more ; 
 I do indeed." 
 
 "Make if a little more! I like that. Why, 
 what the devil could you have done without me? 
 It's true you first heard of the coppered stiff" from 
 Tony ; but you didn't trouble a bit about it. 
 Who set all the boys to hunt up this cove ? who 
 found liim at last ? and who walked in as bold as 
 brass this morning, and cheeked him out of fifty 
 quid without a stitch of evidence? Why, you
 
 daredii't have gone to liis crib, to start with ; and 
 if you had, he'd never have seen you ; the flunkey 
 would have kicked you out for an area-sneak or 
 a gonoph. Why, even /had some bother to get 
 in ; so what would have become of you ?" 
 
 Mr. Effingham was only a little man, but he 
 swelled so with self-importance as, in the eyes 
 of liis companion, to look very big indeed. He 
 bounced and swaggered and spoke so loud as to 
 quite queU the unfortunate Griffiths, who began, 
 with due submission, to apologise for his oa\ti 
 shortcomings and deprecate liis friend's wrath. 
 
 '' Well, I know all that fast enough, and I 
 only just liinted ; but you're do^^Ti upon a cove so. 
 However, it's a fine thing for us l^oth, ain't it ? 
 He'll be as good as a bank to us for years to 
 come, wiU this swell." 
 
 "I'm not so sure of that," said Mr. Effing- 
 ham thoughtfully. 
 
 "How do you mean, not so sure of that?" 
 asked Griffiths. 
 
 " Well, you see, he's a long way off being 
 a fool ; he's not half so soft as Tony led us to
 
 200 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 believe. He doAvned on to me once or twice 
 as quick as lightning; and I tliink it was only 
 my way of putting it, and liis being taken 
 sudden on the hop, that made him shell out." 
 
 " You think that after he's thought the matter 
 over, he'll fancy he's been a flat ?" 
 
 " Well, not exactly that. You see the higher 
 a fellow climbs, the worse it is when he falls. 
 Tliis Mitford wouldn't have cared a cuss for 
 this thing in the old daj's ; he'd have stood the 
 racket of it easy. But it's different now; he's 
 a big swell ; it's ' Sir Charles' and ' my Lady,' 
 pony-phe-aton and 'orses and grooms, nice wife, 
 and all that. He'd come an awftd smasher if 
 any thing was to trip him up just now, and 
 he knows it. Tliat's om- hold upon liim." 
 
 "And that's what wiU make it easy for us 
 to squeeze him." 
 
 "No, not entirely. That very fear of being 
 blown upon, of having to bolt or stand a trial 
 — my eye ! how blue he turned w^hen I mentioned 
 Norfolk Island to him ! — that very fear will make 
 him most anxious to get rid of every chance of
 
 MR. effixgham's proceedings. 201 
 
 coming to grief, to prevent any one being able 
 to lay hold of him." 
 
 " There's only one way for him to do that, 
 and that's to burn the bill." 
 
 "Yes; but he must get it first, and that's 
 what he'll want, you may take your oath. The 
 next time I go to him, it'll be, ^ Where is it? 
 let me see it ! name your outside price, and let 
 me have it I' That's what he'll say." 
 
 " Likely enough ; and what'll you say then ?" 
 
 " Cussed if I know !" said Mr. Effingham 
 ruefully. " If I say I haven't got it, he'll stop 
 the suppKes imtil I bring it; if I say I can't 
 get it, not another mag from him." 
 
 " You must fall back on the bounce, like 
 you did to-day, and tell him you know of there 
 bein' such a thing, and that you won't keep 
 yom* mouth shut unless you're paid for it." 
 
 " Oh, you're a leery cove, Griffiths, you 
 are !" said Mr. Effino-ham with irreat diso;ust. 
 " You never heard of attemptin' to extort money, 
 did you? You don't think he'd ring the bell 
 and send for a bobby, do you?"
 
 202 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " No, I don't. He wouldn't liave the 
 pluck." 
 
 ^^ Oh, but I do though; and as you see it's 
 me that the bobby would lay hold of, I'm rather 
 partiekler about it. Besides, it's not such a 
 pleasant thing finding yourself at Bow Street; 
 for even if one could square tliis Mitford and 
 get him not to prosecute, there'd be heaps of 
 bobbies there to prove previous convictions. 
 Clark of the G's getting up ; ' Known as D'Ossay 
 Butler, your worship. I had him for passing 
 base coin in '43 ;' and all that kind of game. 
 No, no, Griffiths I bounce won't do, my boy; 
 won't do a bit." 
 
 " What will do, then ? what shall we try ? 
 Shall we shy up the sponge and think om-selves 
 lucky to have got this fifty, and never try liim 
 any more? That seems hard lines with such a 
 chance." 
 
 ^'It would be ; and we won't do it. No ; there's 
 only one thing to be done — we must go the whole 
 hog; we must have the bill." 
 
 " All ! and we must 'ave lamb and screen-
 
 MR. Effingham's peoceedixgs. 203 
 
 peas in Febooaiy; and a patent shofle cab to 
 ride in, so as not to tire ourselves ; and pockets 
 full of 'alf-bulls to toss with ! We must ; but you 
 see we 'aven't, D'Ossay, my boy ! And as for 
 gettin' that bill, we're done at the very first 
 step : we don't know who's got it." 
 
 " You fool ! if we did know who'd got it, 
 we'd have it, fast enough. There ain't many of 
 'em that could keep it away from me !" 
 
 " You are a plucked 'mi !" said Griffiths, re- 
 garding him with admiration; "I can't help say- 
 in' so, thougli you do lose yoiu' temper and call 
 your friends ugly names. No ; I don't think there 
 is many as could keep you off it, if you knew 
 where it was. But how we're ever to find that, I 
 can't tell." 
 
 " Let's go over the lousiness all again," said 
 Effingham. " It was Tony that always had a 
 fancy for that bit of stiff. He stuck to it when it 
 wasn't worth more than the stamp and the paper 
 it was "vvrote on ; but he always thought some- 
 thing would come of this Mitford, and then it 
 would be a first-class screw to put on him, and
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOUVENT FEJIME VARIE. 
 
 No; Laui'ence Alsager was certainly not best 
 pleased at all lie heard about Mrs. Hammond. 
 Mrs. Hammond, a pretty little woman, coming 
 to call upon you — great Heaven! Is that the 
 way that that oaf Mitford talked of her who two 
 years ago was Laura Molyneux, the mere men- 
 tion of whose name caused Alsager to tlmll to 
 his finger-tips; and whose low trainante voice, 
 long steady passionate glances, and rippling shoul- 
 ders could have led him to destruction? Drove 
 her chestnuts well, eh ? Yes, by Jove ! there 
 were few women could touch her either in riding 
 or driving, and — Laurence laughed grimly to 
 himself as he strode along. Wliat was it Dolla- 
 more had said about Mitford's readiness to 2:0 to 
 the bad, to shake a loose leg, to enjoy those ad-
 
 SOUVENT FElilME VAEIE. 207 
 
 vantages of health, wealth, and position which 
 had before been denied to him ? Why, here was 
 the very woman to ensnare him, to act as his 
 evil genius, the veiy counter-charm of Lady Mit- 
 ford's quietude and girlish grace ; a woman of 
 the world, bright, sharp, active, and alert ; with 
 plenty of savoir /aire, an enormous talent for flir- 
 tation, and not the smallest scrap of heart to 
 throw into the balance against any of her whims. 
 No, by George, not a scrap. Lam'ence l^e- 
 thoup-ht him of a certain December morning: in 
 Kensington Gardens, and the whole scene rose 
 vividly before him. The trees all stripped and 
 bare, and stridently clanging in the bitter wind ; 
 the thick dun clouds hanging over the horizon ; 
 the greatcoated park-keeper stamping vigorously 
 over the gravel, and banging himself with his 
 arms with vague notions of generating caloric; 
 and he himself pacing up and do^vn by Laura 
 Molyneux's side. The argmnents he had used, 
 the very phrases which he had employed to in- 
 duce her to reconsider the determination then 
 aimounced to him, were ringing in his ears. Ho
 
 208 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 recollected how he had humbled himself, how 
 he had implored her to reconsider her decision, 
 how even he had begged for time, and how he 
 had been met with one stern pitiless refusal ; and 
 how he had gone away to weep bitter tears of 
 mortified pride, and rejected love, and savage 
 disappointment; and how she had stepped into 
 the neat httle brouo^ham waitino- for her at the 
 gate, and been whirled off to accept the hand 
 and heart of Mr. Percy Hammond, a retired civil- 
 servant from India, a widower with one daughter, 
 who had shaken the pagoda-tree to some purpose, 
 and returned to England with a colossal fortune. 
 
 That was the then finale of the intimacy 
 between Laura Molyneux and Laurence Alsager. 
 Li the course of the next week he started on 
 his tour ; in the course of the next month St. 
 George's, Hanover Square, was the scene of her 
 marriage, — a bishop welding the chains. And 
 now two years had elapsed, and he was back in 
 London, pretty much the same as if he had never 
 lefl it ; and she was asking whether he had re- 
 turned, and he had begmi to feel a gi-eat interest
 
 SOUVENT FEMME VARIE. 209 
 
 in Lady Mitford ; and Sir Charles Mitford evi- 
 dently thought Mrs. Hammond a most delightful 
 person, and every thing was a tort et a traversy 
 as it has been, is, and always shall be, in the great 
 world of London. 
 
 iWZ admirari is the motto on which your 
 precocious youth j)iques himself; but which is 
 adopted in all due seriousness and sobriety by 
 the calm student of life. Who wonders at any 
 thing ? — at the peevishness of your wife ; at the 
 ingratitude of the child for whom you have 
 pinched and slaved ; at the treachery of the one 
 familiar friend; at the enormous legacy left you 
 by the uncle whose last words to you were that 
 you were a jackanapes, and, so far as he was 
 concerned, should be a beggar ? The man of 
 the world is surprised at nothing ; he is not 
 Vhomme blase of the caricaturist ; he is not an 
 atom astonished at finding nothing in any thing ; 
 on the contrary, he finds plenty of novelty in 
 every variety of life ; but nothing which may 
 happen to him excites the smallest wonderment 
 on his part. So that when Colonel Alsager 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 walked into the Guards Club to dinner, and 
 received from the hall-porter a small note, with 
 an addi'ess in a handwriting perfectly familiar 
 to him, he was not in the least surprised. 
 
 But he looked at the note, and twisted it 
 between his fingers, and even put it into his 
 waistcoat-pocket, as he walked up to the table 
 whereon stood tlie framed menu, and left it 
 there while he walked round and spoke to two 
 or three men who were already at dinner; and 
 it was not mitil he was comfortably seated at 
 his little table, and had eaten a few mouthfiils 
 of soup, that he took it from Ms pocket, lei- 
 surely opened it, and bringing the candle within 
 range, began to read it. Even then he paused 
 for a moment, recollecting with what heart- 
 throbs of anxiety and sensations of acute delight 
 he used to read the previous epistles fr'om the 
 same source ; then, as with an effort, he set 
 himself to its perusal. 
 
 It was very short. 
 
 ^^I shall be at home to-morrow at three,
 
 SOUVEXT FEMME VARIE. 211 
 
 and hope to see you. I hear all sorts of rumours, 
 which you alone can solve. Clii non sa niente 
 non duhita di niente ! It will be for you to read 
 the riddle. L." 
 
 He smiled outright as, after reading it and 
 restoring it to his pocket, he said to himself, 
 '^ The old story ; she always made a mystery 
 when there was no other excitement ; but I'll 
 go, for all that." 
 
 During his wildest times, Laurence had 
 always been a pmietual man : and even the 
 irre2:ular manner of his life dui'incr the two 
 last years had not altered him in this respect. 
 On the next afternoon, as the clock was strikino; 
 three, he presented himself at Mrs. Hammond's 
 door, and was immediately admitted and shoA^ai 
 into her presence. 
 
 He was apparently a little too punctual ; for 
 a tall young woman, looking half lady, half 
 nursery - governess, was standing by her and 
 listening respectfully. Mrs. Hammond rose at 
 the amiouncement of the Colonel's name, and
 
 212 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 coming forward, pressed his cold motionless 
 hand with a tight grasp. 
 
 " Pray excuse me for one instant, Colonel 
 Alsager," said she ; " the doctors have said 
 that w^e were all wTong in leaving Florence ; 
 that it's impossible Mr. Hammond can remain 
 in London dm-ing this awful weather, and that 
 he must go at once to Torquay. So I'm send- 
 ing Miss Gillespie down there to get a house 
 for us, and arrange matters before we go down. 
 Now, Ruth," turning to her, " I don't think 
 there's any more to say. Not facing the sea, 
 recollect, and a six-staU stable and double coach- 
 house. You know all about the rest, — bedrooms, 
 and those sort of things, — and so good-bye." 
 Miss Gillespie touched lightly the outstretched 
 tips of Mrs. Hammond's fingers, bowed grace- 
 fully to Lam'ence, and departed. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond watched the door close again, 
 and, obviously ill at ease, turned to Laiu'ence, 
 and said : " Miss Gillespie is the most invaluable 
 person. She came at first as governess to Miss 
 Hammond ; but she has reaUy made herself so
 
 SOLl^NT FEMME VARIE. 213 
 
 useful to me, that I don't know what I should do 
 without her. Housekeepers and all regular ser- 
 vants are so stupid ; and I hate trouble so." 
 
 She stopped, and there was a dead silence. 
 Mrs. JBammond coloured, and said: "Have you 
 nothing to say. Colonel Alsager ?" 
 
 ^^ On the subject of Miss Gillespie, nothing. 
 If you sent for me to expatiate to me on Miss 
 Gillespie's virtues, I am sorry ; for my time could 
 have been better employed." 
 
 " Tlian in coming: to see me ? You did not 
 think so once." 
 
 " Then we didn't talk about Miss Gillespie. 
 Your note said that you had heard rumours, or 
 riddles, which you wanted me to explain. What 
 have you heard?" 
 
 '^ In a word, nothing. I wrote the first thing 
 that came into my mind because I wanted to see 
 you, Laurence Alsager. Because I have lum- 
 bered to see vou for two vears; to hear vour 
 voice, to — You were at Vienna? at Isclil? and 
 at Trieste?" 
 
 " I was at all three — some little time at each."
 
 212 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 coming forward, pressed his cold motionless 
 hand with a tight grasp. 
 
 " Pray excuse me for one instant, Colonel 
 Alsager," said she ; " the doctors have said 
 that we were all wTong in leaving Florence ; 
 that it's impossible Mr. Hammond can remain 
 in London dm-ing this awful weather, and that 
 he must go at once to Torquay. So I'm send- 
 ing Miss Gillespie down there to get a house 
 for us, and arrange matters before we go doT^^l. 
 Now, Euth," turning to her, ^^ I don't think 
 there's any more to say. Not facing the sea, 
 recollect, and a six-stall stable and double coach- 
 house. You know all about the rest, — bedrooms, 
 and those sort of things, — and so good-bye." 
 Miss Gillespie touched lightly the outstretched 
 tips of Mrs. Hammond's fingers, bowed grace- 
 fully to Laurence, and departed. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond watched the door close again, 
 and, obviously ill at ease, tiu'ned to Lam-ence, 
 and said : " Miss Gillespie is the most invaluable 
 person. She came at first as governess to Miss 
 Hammond ; but she has really made herself so
 
 SOUVENT FEMME VARIE. 213 
 
 useful to me, that I don't know what I should do 
 without her. Housekeepers and all regular ser- 
 vants are so stupid ; and I hate trouble so." 
 
 She stopped, and there was a dead silence. 
 Mrs. Hammond coloured, and said : " Have you 
 nothing to say. Colonel Alsager ?" 
 
 " On the subject of Miss Gillespie, nothing. 
 If you sent for me to expatiate to me on Miss 
 Gillespie's virtues, I am sorry ; for my time could 
 have been better employed." 
 
 " Than in coming to see me ? You did not 
 think so once." 
 
 " Then we didn't talk about Miss Gillespie. 
 Your note said that you had heard rumours, or 
 riddles, wliicli you wanted me to explain. What 
 have you heard?" 
 
 ^^ In a word, notliing. I wrote the first thing 
 that came into my mind because I wanted to see 
 you, Lam-ence Alsager. Because I have limi- 
 gered to see you for two years ; to hear your 
 voice, to — You were at Vienna? at Isclil? and 
 at Trieste?" 
 
 " I was at all three — some little time at each."
 
 214 EUKNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " You saw tlie Times occasionally on your 
 travels?" 
 
 " While I remained in Eui'ope, frequently. 
 Oh yes, Laura, I received all yoiu' letters at the 
 places you mention ; and I saw the advertisement 
 in the Times, under the signature and with the 
 ciphers by which Ave used to correspond in the 
 old days." 
 
 " And why did you take no notice ?" 
 
 " Because my Ioa'c for you was gone and 
 dead ; because I was tired of being dragged about 
 and shown-ofF, and made to display the abject 
 state of docility to which you had reduced me. I 
 told you all tliis that January morning in Ken- 
 sington Gardens ; I said to you, ^ Let us finish 
 this schemino: and hidino; ; let our eno^ao-ement be 
 announced, and let us be married in the spring.' 
 And you apparently assented, and went home and 
 wrote me that letter wliicli I have now, and shall 
 keep to my dying day, declaring that you had been 
 compelled to accept an offer from Mr. Hammond." 
 
 " You knew, Laurence, that my mother in- 
 sisted on it."
 
 SOUVEXT FEMME YARIE. 215 
 
 '^ I kiievf you said so, Mrs. Hammond. — 
 When I was acquainted with Mrs. Molyneux she 
 was not much accustomed to having any influence 
 with her daughter. Tlien I went away; but at 
 first not out of the reach of that London jargon 
 which permeates wherever EngHshmen congre- 
 gate. I heard of your marriage, of your first 
 season, of the Richmond fete given for you by 
 the Russian prince, Tchernigow. I heard of you 
 that autumn as being the reigning belle of Baden, 
 where Tchernigow must have been at the same 
 time, as I recollect reading in Galignani of his 
 breaking the bank. Before I Avent to the East I 
 heard of you in a score of other places ; your name 
 always connected with somel^ody else's name — 
 always ' la belle Hammond ^ et puis — ' I never 
 •choose to be one in a regiment; besides — " 
 
 "Besides what?" 
 
 " Well, my time for that soi*t of thing was 
 past and gone ; I was too old for it ; I had gone 
 through the phase of existence which Tchernigow 
 and the others were then enjoying. I had offered 
 you a steadfast honest love, and you hud rejected
 
 216 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 it. When I heard of the Tchernigow alhance, 
 -and the various other passe-temps, I must say I 
 dfelt enormously grateful for the mipleasantness 
 you had spared me." 
 
 ^' I cannot say your torn' has improved you, 
 Colonel Alsager," said Mrs. Hammond cahnly, 
 though with a red spot biu'ning on either cheek. 
 ^' In the old days you were considered the pink 
 of chivahy, and would have had your tongue cut 
 ,out before you woidd have hinted a sneer at a 
 - woman. You refuse to believe my story of com- 
 pulsion in my marriage ; but it is true — as true as 
 is the fact that I rebelled then and there, and, 
 having sold myself, determined to have as much en- 
 joyment of life as was compatible with the sale." 
 
 ^^ I never denied it, Mi's. Hammond ; I sim- 
 ply told you what I had heard." 
 
 ^^ Tlien tell me something more, Laurence 
 Alsager," said Mrs. Hammond, flushing bril- 
 liantly, and looking him, for the fii'st time dming 
 their inter\-iew, straight in the face; "is it to 
 be war between us two, or what?" 
 
 She looked splendidly beautiful just at that
 
 sou VENT FEMME VARIE. 217 
 
 moment. She was a bright-looking Uttle woman, 
 with deep-gray eyes and long dark lashes, shining 
 phestnut hair, a retrousse nose, a wanton mouth, 
 and a perfect, trim, tight, romided small figm-e. 
 As she threw out this verbal challenge, her eyes 
 flashed, she sat erect, and every fibre within her 
 seemed quivering with emotion. 
 
 Laurence marked her expression, and for an 
 instant softened, as the recollection of the old days, 
 when he had seen her thus wilfully petulant only 
 to make more marked the subsidence into pla- 
 cidity and devotion, rose before him ; but it faded 
 rapidly away, had utterly vanished before, no less 
 in reply to her peering gaze than to her words, 
 he said, "No, not war; neighbours who have been 
 so nearly allied should never quarrel. Let us take 
 another strategic phrase, and say that we will 
 preserve an armed neutrality." 
 
 " And that means— ?" 
 
 " Well, in our case that means that neitlier 
 shall interfere with the other's plans, of whatever 
 kind, without due warning. That once given 
 and disregarded, there will be war to the laiife ;
 
 218 RUNXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 for I think under present circumstances neither 
 will be inclined to spare the other." 
 
 *^Your anticipations are of a singularly sombre 
 character, Colonel Alsager. I think that — ah !" 
 she exclaimed, suddenly clapping her hands, "I 
 see it all ! my eyes are opened, and the whole map 
 lies patent before me." 
 
 "What has caused this happy restoration of 
 sight?" 
 
 " Eemembering a story which was told me 
 a day or two ago by a little bird. The story of 
 a preiLv chevalier and a lady in distress ; of a 
 romantic adventure and a terrific leap ; of plung- 
 ing hoofs and fainting-fits, and all the necessary 
 ingredients of such a scene. Je voiis en feiiciU^ 
 Monsieur le ColoneV 
 
 Laurence's brow grew very dark as he said, 
 "You are too clever a woman to give a leg-up 
 to a manifestly limping story, however much it 
 might temporarily serve your pm-pose. Of that 
 story as it stands, turned, twisted, perverted as 
 it may be, nothing can be made. The scandal- 
 mongers don't know what they have taken in
 
 souat:xt femme yarie. 219 
 
 hand. They might as well try to shake the Rock 
 of Gibraltar as that lady's good name." 
 
 Mrs. Hammond laughed a short bitter laugh 
 and said, " You have even lost that grand virtue 
 which you possessed — the power of concealing your 
 emotions. With the gravity, you have attained 
 the simplicity of the Oriental; and you now — " 
 
 She was interrupted by the servant's tin-owing 
 open the door and announcing, " Sir Charles 
 Mitford." 
 
 Tliat gentleman entered immediately on the 
 announcement of his name, with a certain air of 
 empressement which vanished so soon as he saw 
 Colonel Alsager's broad back. Laura Hammond 
 prided herself on never ha\dng been taken una- 
 wares. When spealdng to Alsager her face had been 
 curling with sneers, her voice harsh and strident ; 
 hut before Sir Charles Mitford had crossed the 
 threshold, she had Avreathed her mouth in smiles, 
 and as she shook hands with him, though aloud 
 she only uttered the ordinary commonplaces, in a 
 lower tone she said, " I thought you would come 
 to-day."
 
 220 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Alsager heard her say it. Tliat was a smgular 
 property of his — ^that gift of hearing any thing 
 that might be said, no matter in how large a party, 
 or how earnestly he might be supposed to be talk- 
 ing. It had saved his life once ; and he had as- 
 siduously cultivated it ever since. Mitford heard 
 it too, but thickly. He had not had as much 
 experience in the cadences of the demi-voiv as 
 Laui'ence. 
 
 " How are you, Alsager? We seem to be al- 
 ways tumbling over each other noAV, don't we? 
 and the oftener the better, I say. — How d'ye 
 do, IVIrs. Hammond? I say, what's all this that 
 you've been saying to my wife ?" 
 
 Laurence started, and then reverted to the 
 album which lay on his knees. ' Mrs. Hammond 
 saw the start, and the means adopted for hiding 
 it, and smiled quietly. 
 
 "" I don't know wdiat I said in particular to 
 Lady Mitford; notliing to frighten her, I hope," 
 said Mrs. Hammond; *^ I was congratulating 
 myself that she and I had got on so very well 
 together."
 
 SOUVENT FEMME VARIE. 221 
 
 " Oh, yes, so you did, of course," said Sir 
 Charles, — " sisters, and all that kind of thing. 
 But I mean what you said to her about lea\dng 
 toT\'n." 
 
 '^ Oh, that's perfectly correct. Mr. Hammond 
 has seen Sir Charles Dumfunk and Dr. Wadd, 
 and they both concur in saying that he ought 
 not to have left Florence until the spring ; and 
 that he must leave London forthwith." 
 
 " And they have recommended Torquay as the 
 best j^lace for him ; at least so my wife tells me." 
 
 " Quite right ; and in obedience to their com- 
 mands I have sent Miss Gillespie off this very 
 day to take a house, and make all necessary ar- 
 rangements." 
 
 "Who's Miss GiUespie?" 
 
 " My — well, I don't know what. I beHeve 
 factotum is the Latin word for it. She's Miss 
 Hammond's governess (my step-daughter, you 
 know), and my general adviser and manager. 
 I don't know Avhat I should do without her, 
 as I told Colonel Alsager, who, by the way, 
 did not pay much attention."
 
 222 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Laui'ence grinned a polite grin, but said never 
 a word. 
 
 " She was with me in the pony - carriage 
 the first day Mr. Bertram introduced you to 
 me, Sir Charles. Ah, but she had her veil 
 do^\ai, I recollect ; and she asked all about you 
 afterwards." 
 
 ''' Very civil of her to take an}^ interest 
 in me," said Sir Charles. " I recollect a veiled 
 person in the pony -carriage ; but not a bit 
 of interest did I take in her. All that concen- 
 trated elsewhere, and that sort of thing ;" and 
 he smiled at Mrs. Hammond in a manner that 
 made Lam-ence's stern face grow sterner than 
 ever. 
 
 "Well, but about Torquay," continued Sir 
 Charles. " I thought at first it was a tremen- 
 dous nuisance your having to go out of town; 
 but now I've got an idea which does not seem 
 so bad. Town's horribly slow, you know, ut- 
 terly empty; one does not know what to do 
 with oneself; and so I've been suggesting to 
 Georgie v>diy not go down to Redmoor — our
 
 SOUVENT FEMME VAKIE. 223 
 
 country 2:>lace in Devon, you know — close to 
 Torquay, — and one could fill the house with 
 pleasant ipeojAe, and you could come over from 
 Torquay, and it would be very jolly indeed." 
 
 He said it in an ofF-hand manner, but he 
 nevertheless looked earnestly up into Mrs. Ham- 
 mond's face, and Laurence Alsager's expression 
 grew sterner than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond returned Sir Charles's glance, 
 and said, " Tliat would be thorouglily delightful ! 
 I was looking forward with horror, I confess, 
 to a sojourn at Torquay. Those dreadful people 
 in respirators always creeping about, and the 
 stupid dinner-parties, where the talk is always 
 about the doctor, and the quarter in which the 
 wind is. But with you and Lady Mitford in the 
 neighbom'hood it would be quite another thing." 
 
 '' Oh yes, and we'd get some jolly people^ 
 doA\ni there. — ^Alsager, you'd come?" 
 
 " I don't think I'd come, and I'm any thing 
 but a jolly person. I must go to my father's. 
 at once." 
 
 ^' Gad, Alsager, you seem to keep your
 
 224 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 father always ready to bring forward whenever 
 you want to be misantlrropical. You were to 
 liave gone to him a week ago." 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases," said Mrs. Ham- 
 mond with a short laugh ; " and Colonel Alsager 
 finds London more tolerable than he expected. 
 Is it not so, Colonel?" 
 
 " ' Very tolerable, and not to be endured,' 
 as Dogberry says, since I am about to leave 
 it," said Laurence. (" She would Hke to draw 
 me into a semi-confidence on that subject ; but 
 she sha'n't," thought he.) 
 
 ^^ No; but really, Alsager, do try and come, 
 there's a good fellow ; you can hold over your 
 father mitil you want an excuse for not going 
 to some place where you'll be bored. Now we 
 won't bore you ; we'll take do^^al a rattling good 
 team : Tom Charteris and his wife — she plays 
 and sings, and all tliat kind of thing, capitally; 
 and Mrs. Masters, w^ho's quiet to ride or 
 drive — I don't mean that exactly, but she's 
 available in two ways, — as a widow she can 
 chaperon, and she's quite young and pretty
 
 SOUA^EXT FEMME VARIE. 225 
 
 enough to flirt on lier own hook ; and the 
 Tyrrells — nice girls those ; and Bligh and 
 Winton, — oh, and Dollamore ! I'll ask Dol- 
 lamore ; he'd be just the man for such a 
 party." 
 
 '' Oh yes, you must have Lord Dollamore," 
 said Mrs. Hammond ; "he has such a delightfully 
 dry way of saying unpleasant things about every 
 body ; and as he never shoots or hunts, he is a 
 perfect treasure in a country house, and devotes 
 himself to the ladies." She shot one hasty 
 glance at Laurence as she said this, which he 
 duly perceived. 
 
 "Oh yes," said Sir Charles, " DoUamore's 
 sure to come. And you, Alsager, — come, you've 
 changed your mind?" 
 
 " Upon my w^ord, the temptation you offer 
 me is so great, that I'm unable to resist it. Yes, 
 I'll come." 
 
 " I thought you would," said Sir Charles 
 carelessly. 
 
 " I knew you would," said Mrs. Hammond 
 in an undertone ; then aloud, " What going, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Colonel Alsager ? Good-bye ; I'm so pleased to 
 have seen you; and looking so well too, after 
 the climate, and all the things you've gone 
 through." 
 
 Laurence shook hands with Mitford and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Yes, there was not much doubt about it : Sir 
 Charles was tolerably w^ell " on" in that quarter. 
 An old poacher makes the best gamekeeper be- 
 cause he knows the tricks and dodges of his old 
 profession; and there was net one single move 
 of Sir Charles Mitford's during the entire con- 
 versation, which Laurence Alsager did not re- 
 cognise as ha\ang been used by himself in bygone 
 days. He knew the value of every look, knew 
 the meaning of each mflexion of the voice; and 
 appreciated to its full the motive-power which 
 had induced the baronet suddenly to long for 
 the comitry house at Kedmoor, and to become 
 disgusted w^ith the dreariness of London. De- 
 termined to sit Mm out too, wasn't he? Lord! 
 how often he, Laurence, had determinedly sat 
 out bores for the sake of getting ten w^ords, one
 
 SOUVENT FEMME YARIE. 227 
 
 hand-clasp from Laura after they were gone! 
 Yes, Mitford was getting on, certainly; making 
 the running more quickly even than DoUamore 
 had prophesied. Dollamore ! ah, that reminded 
 him : DoUamore was to be asked down to Red- 
 moor. That, and the manner in which Mrs. 
 Hammond had spoken of him and his visit, had 
 decided Laurence in accepting Mitford's invita- 
 tion. There could not be any thing between 
 them which — no ; Dollamore could never have 
 made a confidante of Laura and imparted to her 
 — oh, no ! Laura had not too much conscience 
 in any case where her ovni passion or even her 
 own whim was concerned ; but she would shi'ink 
 from meddling in an affair of that kind. And 
 as for Lord Dollamore, he was essentially a 
 man of petits soins, the exercise of which 
 always laid those who practised them open 
 to mismiderstanding. He had a habit of hint- 
 ing and insinuating also, which was unplea- 
 sant, but not very noxious. As people said, 
 his bark was probably worse than his bite, 
 and —
 
 228 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 AiicI at all events Laurence was very glad 
 tliat lie had accepted the invitation, and that he 
 would be there to watch in person over any thing 
 that might happen.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 DOWN AT KEDMOOR. 
 
 Just on tlie liighest ridge of tlie gi'eat waste of 
 Eedmoor, whicli is interspersed with dangerou-s 
 peat-bogs and morasses, and extends about ten 
 miles every way, with scarcely a fence or a tree, 
 stands Redmoor House, from time immemorial — 
 whicli means from the reign of Edward III. — 
 the home of the Mitford family. Stands high 
 and dry, and lookino; warm and snuo; and com- 
 fortable, with its red-brick face and its quaint 
 gables and queer little muUioned windows. It is 
 a house the sight of which would put spirit 
 into a man chilled and numbed with looking over 
 the great morass, and would give some vestige 
 of credibility to the fact, that the sluggish little 
 stream bom in the middle of the moor, and wind- 
 ing romid through the gardens of the house,
 
 230 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 from its desolate birthplace flows down — as can 
 be traced from the windows — tlurough a land of 
 plenty, of park and meadow, of orchard and corn- 
 field, by the old cathedral-city, to the southern 
 shore. 
 
 A grand old house, with a big dining-hall like 
 St. George's Chapel at Windsor on a small scale, 
 without the stalls, but with the knightly banners, 
 and the old oak, and the stained glass, and the 
 solemn air of antiquity; with a picture-gallery 
 full of ancestors, begimiing with Sir Gerard, 
 temp. Henry VIII., painted by Holbein, a jolly 
 red-bearded swashbuckler, not unlike his royal 
 master, and ending with the late lamented Sir 
 Percy, painted by Lawrence, with a curly head 
 of hair, a fiir-collar to his coat, a smile of sur- 
 prising sweetness, and altogether not unlike his 
 royal master. There were drawing-rooms in blue 
 and amber; a charming bow- windowed room 
 hung with tapestry, and commanding a splendid 
 view over the cultivated landscape, which, in the 
 housekeeper's tradition, had been a boudoir for 
 Sir Percy's lady, who died within thi-ee years of
 
 DOWN AT EED3I00R. 231 
 
 her marriage ; a grand old library, tlie bookcases 
 in black oak, and nearly all the books in russia 
 leather, save those bought under the auspices of 
 the late baronet, — Hansard's Debates, and a legal 
 and magisterial set of volumes all bound in calf 
 and red-lettered at the back. There is a grand 
 terrace in front of the house, and all kinds of 
 gardens stretch round it : Dutch gardens, formal, 
 quaint, and solemn, with a touch of old-world 
 stiffness like the Mynheers ; Italian gardens, 
 bright and sunny and gaudy, very glittering 
 and eifective, but not very satisfactory after all, 
 like the Signori ; English gardens, with ample 
 space of glorious close-shaved la^vn, and such 
 wealth of roses as to keep the whole air hea^7' 
 with their fragrance. Great prolific kitchen-gar- 
 dens at the back, and stables and coach-houses 
 wliich might be better ; but the late baronet 
 cared for nothing but his quarter-sessions and his 
 yacht; and so long as he had a pair of horses 
 to jolt with liim to join the judge's procession at 
 assize-times, troubled himself not one jot how the 
 internal economy of the stables was ordered.
 
 232 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Tliis is all to be altered now. It was not 
 very briglit in Sir Percy's time, and it has been 
 deadly-lively indeed since liis deatli ; but the 
 Sleeping Beauty herself was never more aston- 
 ished by the arrival of the prince than was 
 Mrs. Austin, the old housekeeper at Kedmoor, by 
 the advent of a tall hook-nosed gentleman, who 
 announced himself as Captain Bligh, and who 
 brought a letter from Sir Charles Mitford, duly 
 signed and sealed with the family arms, which 
 Mrs. Austin knew so well, ordering implicit 
 obedience to whatever orders the bearer might 
 choose to give. "With him came a sleek-looking 
 man with close-cut hair and a white cravat, whom 
 Mrs. Austin at first took for a clergjnnan, mitil 
 she discovered he was the stud-groom. This 
 person inspected the stables, and the remnant 
 of the late Sir Percy's stud, and reported to 
 Captain Bligh that the stables was pigsties, and 
 as for the hanimals, he should think they must 
 be the 'osses as Noah put into the hark. 
 
 A fresh regime and fresh work to be done 
 by every body under it. No more chance for
 
 DOWN AT REDMOOR. 233 
 
 Tummus coachman and Willum helper to just 
 ride harses to ex'cise and dryaive 'em out in 
 trap Avhenever wanted to go crass to races or 
 market, or give missus and young 'uns a Httle 
 change. ISTo more chance for Dawniel Todd the 
 vScotch gardener to make his market of all the 
 fruits, flowers, and vegetables, selling them to 
 Mrs. Dean or Miss Archdeacon, or to the ofiicers 
 up in barracks. ]tvrot much chance for the head- 
 keeper and his two mider-trappers, who really 
 had all their work to do to keep the game 
 down after Sir Percy's death, so strictly had 
 that terror of poachers preserv^ed ; though they 
 thought they saw their way to l^alancing any 
 loss which they might sustain from being un- 
 able any longer to supply the poulterers of the 
 county toTvm, in a house full of ardent sports- 
 men, with innumerable hea\y tips after battue- 
 days, and an occasional dog to break or to 
 sell. Tlie old lodge -gates had begmi to grow 
 rusty from disuse ; but they are constantly on 
 the stretch now, for carts with ladders and 
 scaffolding-poles, and men in light linen blouses
 
 234 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 daubed with paint, were streaming in and out 
 from morning till night. Tliere is a new roof 
 being put on the stables, and the outhouses are 
 being painted and whitewashed throughout ; and 
 the mastiff, who has been bred up on the true 
 Enghsh principle of " keeping himself to him- 
 self," has been driven quite mad at the influx 
 of new faces, and has showai such a convincing 
 set of teeth to the painter's men, that they have 
 decHned proceeding with their work until he 
 has been removed. So Tummus coachman and 
 "Willum helper have removed his big kennel to 
 the back of the stables ; and here Tui'k lies, with 
 nothino; but his black nose visible in the clean 
 straw, until he catches sight of a painter or a 
 tiler pursuing his occupation high up in mid-air, 
 and then with one balefiil spring Turk bounds 
 out of his kennel, and unmistakably expresses 
 his fervent wish to have that skilled labourer's 
 life's-blood. 
 
 Captain Bligh too sits heavy on the lodge- 
 keeper's soul. For the Captain, after a cursory 
 inspection of the vehicles at Redmoor House, has
 
 DOWN AT REDMOOR. 235 
 
 sent do^^ra to Exeter for a dog-cart, and has duly 
 received thence the nearest approach which the 
 Exeterian coachbuilder had on hand. It is not 
 a bad tax-cart, of the kind known as '' Wliite- 
 chapel," has a very big pair of wheels, and be- 
 hind a long chestnut mare — wliich the Captain 
 found in a loose box in the corner of the yard, 
 and which it seemed Tummus coachman used 
 to reserve for his special driving — rmis remark- 
 ably light and well. In this tax-cart Captain 
 Bligh drives to and from the station, where he 
 is occupied watcliing the disembarkation of fm-- 
 niture coming direct from Gillow's, — ottomans 
 for the smoking-rooms, and looking-glasses for 
 my lady's boudoir ; to and from the market- 
 tow^i, where the painters and other workpeople 
 are to be hunted up ; to and fr'om the barracks, 
 where he has found that hospitaHtv' and good- 
 fellowship which are invariable characteristics 
 of the service. From the barracks the Captain 
 is not unfrequently very late in returning, yelling 
 out, " Ga — a — ate !" in the early hours of the 
 morning, and frightening the lodge-keeper from
 
 236 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 peaceful dreams ; and as the painter's men arrive 
 at six, and the railway -van did not leave till 
 eleven, the lodge -keeper begins to feel, on the 
 -whole, that life is not all beer and skittles, and 
 rather wishes that the late baronet had never 
 been dro^wnded. , 
 
 Now things begin to look a little straighter, 
 and rumours are rife that it won't be long be- 
 fore the new baronet brings his wife down, and 
 regularly takes possession. Tlie old stables have 
 been re-tiled and touched up, four new loose 
 boxes, " wi' sla-ate mangers and brass foxes' 
 heads a-holdin' the pillar-reins," have been erected, 
 the coach-houses have been cleaned and enlarged. 
 Tlie stud-sroom, mider whose directions all these 
 alterations have been made, has watched their 
 completion, and has then started for London, 
 returning with a whole string of splendid crea- 
 tm-es, all in the most perfect-fitting hoods and 
 cloths embroidered w^ith Sir C. M.'s initials and 
 bloody hand, railed down to the nearest station, 
 and brought over thence in charge of three un- 
 derlings, also sleek-headed, tight-trousered, and
 
 DOWN AT EEDMOOR. 237 
 
 wliite-cravatted. Kot in incomej but in status 
 do Tummus coaclnnan and Willuin helper feel 
 the change. Tliey are to be retained on the 
 establishment with the same rate of wages ; but 
 they are simply to make themselves generally 
 useful in the stables, and to have no particular 
 duties whatsoever. 
 
 Very busy indeed has been Captain Bligh ; 
 but his labours are drawing to an end now, 
 and he begins to tliink that he has been very 
 successfLil. He has been good in generalisation, 
 he thinks ; there's nothing that any one could find 
 particular fault with, looking at the materials 
 he had to work upon, and the time he had to 
 do it in. But there are two things about which 
 he knows in managing for other peojjle you 
 should be particular. Take care that both the 
 men and the women have a stumiing good room 
 of their otn^i. You know the library is generally 
 considered the men's room ; but Charley am't 
 much of a bookworm ; the Times of a day, and 
 Bell of a Sunday, and that kind of thing ; and 
 the library's an infernal big room, with all sorts
 
 238 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 of plaster-casts of philosophic classic parties, 
 grinning at you off the tops of the shelves. 
 Charley won't like that ; so Bligh has fitted him 
 up this little crib, next to his dressing-room, 
 cosey and comfortable, good drawing stove, little 
 let-down flap for his grog, whip-rack, pipe-rack, 
 and all snug — don't you think so? Bollindar 
 and Smyth, of the 26th Cameronians, to whom 
 the question is put, think so — rather ! and look 
 all round the room and nod their heads saga- 
 ciously, and clap Bligh on the back and tell him 
 what a knowing hand he is, and then go ofi* to 
 try the new biUiard-table which Thurston has just 
 sent from London. That Lady Mitford's special 
 room should also be something to be proud of, 
 is also a desideratum with the Captain ; but 
 there he mistrusts his own taste. The late Mrs. 
 Bligh had been a barrack-master's daughter, and 
 havino- lived in barracks both before and after 
 her marriage, had been accustomed, as her hus- 
 band recollected, to think highly of any place 
 where the doors would shut and the windows 
 would not rattle. But the old campaigner re-
 
 DOWN AT KEDMOOR. 239 
 
 collected that Mrs. Ban-ington the widow, daugh- 
 ter of the Dean and Deaness, and then living at 
 home with her parents in the Close, had, during 
 the two happy years of her marriage to George 
 Barrington, private secretary to Lord Muffington 
 when keeper of the Gold Fish to her Majesty, 
 lived in very decent society in London; and it 
 was after Mrs. Barrington's idea that the bow- 
 windowed boudou' had its bow-window filled 
 with plate-glass, and a light chintz paper and 
 maple furniture. Sipping a glass of '20 port 
 with her lunch-biscuit (the cellars at Eedmoor 
 were splendidly stocked, and wanted no renova- 
 tion), Mrs. Dean declared that the room Avas 
 perfect ; and poor pale peaky little Mrs. Bar- 
 rington, looking romid at the elegance and com- 
 fort, was reminded of the days when she was 
 something more than a dependent on her parents' 
 bounty, and when she had a husband whose 
 chiefest delight was the fidfilment of her every 
 wish. 
 
 So the Captain wrote up to his principal, and 
 reported all in readiness; and the day for Sir
 
 240 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Charles and Lady Mitford to come down was 
 agreed upon. There was some talk of having 
 a public reception; but the Captain did not 
 think Sir Charles v/ould care particularly about 
 that, and so the scheme was given up. However, 
 when the carriage Avliich fetched them from the 
 station dashed tln'ough the lodge-gates, the ten- 
 antry, some mounted on their rough little E,ed- 
 moor jionies, some on foot, but all in their best 
 clothes, were drawn up on either side of the 
 avenue, and greeted their new landlord wdtli 
 reiterated cheers. They are an impressible peo- 
 ple, these Devonians ; and they were much gra- 
 tified by the frank, hearty, sporting appearance 
 of Sir Charles, ^^ so different fi'om Sir Percy, 
 as were all di'ied-up like ;" they liked the jolly 
 way in which he stood up and waved his hat to 
 them ; while as for Lady Mitford, the impression 
 she created was something extraordinary. Tlie 
 men raved about her, and the w^omen seemed 
 to feel the greatest gratification in repeating that 
 she was " a pm^e Devon lass, as any one could 
 tell by her skin."
 
 DOWN AT REDMOOR. 241 
 
 Sir Charles had wished to bring all their 
 friends down to Redmoor at the same time as 
 they themselves came ; but Georgie, who, ever 
 since the visit to the ancestral home had been 
 determined upon, had found her mistress-of-the- 
 house position weighing on her mind, begged that 
 they might be there for at least a day or two 
 by themselves, that she might settle with Mrs. 
 Austin the disposal of the various rooms, and 
 the general arrangement of the household. To 
 this Sir Charles agreed, and they came alone. 
 
 The " day or t^vo" spent by themselves were 
 very happily passed by Georgie. The whole 
 of the first day was consumed in going from 
 room to room with Mrs. Austin, listening to 
 the family history, and thoroughly examining 
 all the pictures, tapestry, and curios. The old 
 lady was enchanted with her new mistress, who 
 took so much interest in every thing, and who, 
 above all, was such an excellent listener. Then 
 Georgie, whose housekeeping tastes had not had 
 much opportunity for display in the parsonage 
 at Fishbourne, under Mrs. Austin's guidance 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 RUKNTING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 went " thi'ougli tlie things," absolutely revelling 
 in snowy linen and spotless damask, in glorious 
 old china and quaint antique glass, in great stores 
 of jams and preserves, and all Mrs. Austin's 
 household treasures. She did not take so much 
 interest in the display of plate, though it was 
 really veiy handsome and very valuable ; not the 
 least effective among the trophies being several 
 splendid regatta-prizes won by the late baronet's 
 celebrated yacht. With the boudoir Georgie 
 was deHghted ; and when she heard from Captain 
 Bhgh that, feeling his utter ignorance in the 
 matter, he had consulted Mrs. Barrington, after 
 whose taste the room had been prepared, Georgie 
 declared that Mrs. Barrington must be a very 
 nice woman to have such excellent taste, would 
 probably prove a delightful neighbom-, and cer- 
 tainly should be called upon as soon as possible. 
 
 You see, if Georgie " gushed" a little at tliis 
 period of her life, it was not mmatural, and was 
 certainly excusable. She had been brought up 
 very quietly, and had had, as we have seen, her 
 little trouble and had borne it with great pldck
 
 DOWN AT REDMOOR. 243 
 
 and determination ; and now, as she imagined, 
 she was thoroughly happy. Husband's love, 
 kind friends, wealth and position, were all hers ; 
 and as she was young and impulsive, and tho- 
 roughly appreciative of all these blessings, she 
 could not help showing her appreciation. In 
 those days, even more than in the present, it 
 was considered in the worst taste to be in the 
 smallest degree natural ; a dull uncaring accept- 
 ance of events as they occurred, without betraying 
 the least astonishment or concern, was considered 
 the acme of good breeding ; so that unless Georgie 
 altered a great deal before the London season, 
 she would be voted very bad ton by Lady Clan- 
 ronald and the Marchioness of Tappington, those 
 sovereigns of society. But there is some little 
 time yet before the commencement of the season, 
 and Georgie may then have become as unapprecia- 
 tive and as undemonstrative as the other women 
 in her position. Just now she is thoroughly 
 happy with Mrs. Austin and the contents of the 
 linen- and china-rooms. 
 
 Whether, as the woman is the lesser man,
 
 244 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 the feminine mind is much more easily amused than 
 the masculine, or whether there was much more 
 absolute novelty to Lady Mitford in her position 
 than to Sir Charles in his (he had seen something 
 of the external life of fashionable people, and, 
 like most military men, had acquired a veneer 
 of swelldom while in the army), it is difficult to 
 determine ; but it is certain that the " day or 
 two" to be spent before the arrival of their 
 friends, seemed like a day or twenty-two to 
 Sir Charles Mitford. He had gone over every 
 room of the house, thoroughly examined the 
 new stables and loose boxes, had out all the 
 horses and critically examined them, had tried 
 two new pairs and spent an horn' or two in break- 
 ing them, had pulled the old mastiff's ears mitil 
 the dog growled, had tlien kicked him for growl- 
 ing, had put all his whips and all liis pipes into 
 their respective racks, had smoked more than 
 was good for him, had whistled every time he 
 could remember, and was utterly and horribly 
 bored. 
 
 He was like the little boy in the child's story-
 
 DOAVN AT REDMOOR. 245 
 
 book : he wanted somebody to come and play with 
 him. Captain Bhgh had been obhged to leave 
 for London directly his friends arrived, and was 
 coming do^vn again with the first batch of visitors. 
 And Sir Charles hated being alone; he wanted 
 somebody to smoke with him, and to play bil- 
 liards with him. He used to put a cigar in his 
 mouth and go and knock the balls about, trying 
 various new hazards ; but it did not amuse liim. 
 He could not ask the officers of the neighbouring 
 garrison to come over, as his plea to liis friends 
 had been the necessity for preparation in the 
 house. He grew very cross towards the close of 
 the second day ; and after dinner, as he was 
 going off to smoke a sulky pipe in his own room, 
 Georgie came up to him, and put her arm tln'ough 
 his, and looked at and spoke to him so affection- 
 ately, that liis conscience gave him a little twinge 
 as he thought how lately he had let his fancy 
 run on eyes and hair of a different colour from 
 his wife's. 
 
 "What is it, Charley? You're all wrong, I 
 see; not ill, are you, dai'ling?"
 
 246 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 ^^ No, Georgie, not ill; only confoundedly 
 bored." 
 
 "Bored?" 
 
 " Yes, bored ! Oli, I know it's all very well 
 for you, who have your house to look after and 
 Mrs. Austin to attend to, and all that kind of thing 
 — that passes the time. But I've had nothing to 
 do, and nobody to speak to, and I'm regularly sick 
 of it. If this is the kind of thing one's to expect 
 in country life, I shall go back to town to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, you won't feel it when your friends 
 come down, Charley ; they'll be here the day after 
 to-morrow. It's only because you're alone with 
 me, — and I'm not much of a companion for you, 
 I know, — that you're moped. Now let us see, 
 what can you do to-morrow ? Oh, I have it, — 
 why not drive over and see your friends the 
 Hammonds at Torquay ?" 
 
 He had thought of that several times, but had 
 not mentioned it because — well, he did not know 
 why. But now his wife had started the subject; 
 so of com'se it was all right. Still he hesitated. 
 
 " Well, I don't know—"
 
 DOWN AT REDMOOR. 247 
 
 " Now I tliink it a capital idea. You can 
 drive over tliere, and they'll most probably ask 
 jou to stop to dinner, and you'll have a fine 
 moonlight drive back. And then the next day 
 all the rest of the people will come down." 
 
 After this Sir Charles did not attempt, how- 
 ever faintly, to interpose an objection, and was 
 in a very good temper for the remainder of the 
 evening.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 DRAWING COVER. 
 
 It was part of the crafty policy of the tall-hatted 
 Mr. Griffiths to keep his employer Mi'. Effingham 
 in good-humour, and to show that he was worth 
 feeing occasionally; and it was with this end in 
 view tliat Mr. Griffiths had spoken so confidently 
 of Mr. Lyons's undoubted knowledge of the where- 
 abouts of the forged bill and of his (Griffiths's) 
 intention of seeking an immediate interview with 
 Lyons. But, in sober truth, Mr. Griffiths merely 
 had a faint notion that Lyons, from liis previous 
 connection with Tony Butler and his general ac- 
 quaintance with the shady transactions of the de- 
 ceased, might possibly give a guess as to the 
 hands in which the bill then was, wliile he had 
 not the remotest idea where to find the redoubt-
 
 DRAWING COVER. 249 
 
 able Mr. Lyons himself, with a view to obtain 
 from him the necessary information. 
 
 For Mr. Lyons, as is the case with many 
 gentlemen of his persuasion, did not confine his 
 energies to the exercise of one calling, but dabbled 
 in a great many. To some men he was known 
 as a jeweller and diamond-merchant ; to others 
 as an importer of French clocks, whistlmg bull- 
 finches, and German mustard; to some he was 
 known in connection with the discounting of 
 stamped paper; to others as a picture-dealer, a 
 cigar-merchant, a vendor of ohjets d'art of a very 
 peculiar kind. He had no residence — that is to 
 say, he had a great many, but none particularly 
 tangible or satisfactory. He would write to you 
 dating from a nmnber in Clement's Lm ; and 
 when you called there, you would find the name 
 of Mr. Glubb over the door, with a painted 
 square of tin by the letter-slit annomicing that 
 Mr. Glubb had removed to Great Decorum 
 Street, and that letters for liim were to be lefii 
 with the porter; and lower still you would find 
 a dirty scrap of paper, with " M. Lyons" faintly
 
 250 EIHOING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 traced upon it; and on the door being opened, 
 you would find M. Lyons in a room with one 
 chair, one table, a blotting-pad, pen and ink, and 
 a cheque-book. He was in the habit of mak- 
 ing appointments at coiFee-houses and taverns; 
 and when he sent the clocks or the bullfinches, 
 the cigars or the ohjets d^art^ to their purchasers, 
 they arrived at night, being left at the door by 
 mysterious boys, to w^hom they had been given, 
 with the address and twopence, by a man whom 
 they had never seen before, but who was just 
 round the corner. There was, it was said, one 
 permanent address which Mr. Lyons had kept up 
 for a great number of years ; but this was known 
 only to those with whom in their relation with 
 Mr. Lyons a melting-pot was associated, and these 
 were very few in number. 
 
 Mr. Griffiths was getting desperate, for the 
 last half-crown out of the ten pounds lay in his 
 pocket, and his principal Mr. Effingham had al- 
 ready spoken to him rather sharply on the matter. 
 He had been to all Mr. Lyons's known haunts; 
 he had spoken to a dozen people who were known
 
 DRAWING COVER. 251 
 
 to be of liis intimates; but he could obtain no 
 tidings of him. Some thought he might be at 
 Amsterdam, where the diamond-sale was going 
 on; others had heard him mention liis intention 
 of visiting Frankfort about that period; some 
 laughed, and wondered whether old Malachi had 
 heard of the plate -robbery, " thalvers ath big 
 romid ath a cart-veel, and thpoonth, all new, 
 not a bit rubbed !" which had lately taken 
 place. But no one could give any precise 
 information. And time was going on, and 
 Mr. Effingham's patience and Mr. Griffiths's 
 stock of ready-money were rapidly becoming ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 One night, going into " Johnson's" as usual, 
 Mr. Griffiths saw his principal seated at one of 
 the tables, aixl not caring to confront him just 
 then, was about quietly withdrawing as much of 
 his tall hat as he had already protruded through 
 the swing-door, when he was espied and called 
 to by Mr. Effingham. 
 
 *•' Come in there ; don't think I didn't see you, 
 because I did. What a slimy cove you are,
 
 252 EUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Griffitlis !— that's what I complain of; notliing 
 fair and aboveboard in you." 
 
 "Who's to be fair and aboveboard," growled 
 Mr. Griffiths, "if they're to be everlastingly 
 growled at and badgered? What I come here 
 for is to be quiet and 'ave a little peace, not 
 to be worritted and downed upon. D'rectly I 
 see you sittin' here, I knowed it'd be, ^ Well, 
 and wot's up ?' and ' Ain't you got no news ?' 
 and ^Wot a feller you are, not to 'ave learned 
 sometliink!' so, as I didn't seem to care about 
 that, I was goin' away agen." 
 
 " Poor feller," said Mr. Effingham with great 
 contempt, " don't hke being worried or having 
 to work for yom- livin', don't you ? I wonder 
 you didn't get yourself a government berth, where 
 pokin' the fire and whisthn' tunes is what they 
 do when they're there, which is only the tln-ee 
 winter months of the year. So you've brought 
 no news?" 
 
 " Not a stiver, not a ha'porth, not a blessed 
 word. Tliere, you may as well take it all at 
 once !" said Griffiths in desperation.
 
 DRAWING COVER. 253 
 
 "And you've been every where likely?" 
 
 " Every where, — in every gaff and crib where 
 there was the least chance of hearin' of the old 
 boy ; but not a word." 
 
 "E^ow you see what a thing luck is," said 
 Mr. Effingham sententiously ; "I believe that 
 old City cove who said he couldn't afford to know 
 an unlucky man was right after all ; and I'm 
 not at aU sure I'm right. Master Griffiths, in 
 not dropping your acquaintance, for certingly 
 you're an unlucky buffer, if ever there was 
 one." 
 
 " WeU, p'raps I am, D'Ossay," said Griffiths, 
 who began to see how the land lay; "perhaps 
 I am in some things ; but it ain't only luck, — I'm 
 as lucky as most of 'em ; but it's the talent as does 
 it — the talent ; and there's none of us has got 
 that like you, D'Ossay, my boy." 
 
 " WeU, luck or talent, or whatever it is," said 
 Effingham, pulling the bell, " it helps me on. — 
 Bring some brandy and hot water here. — I come 
 in here to have a mouthful o' bread and cheese 
 and a glass o' ale about two this afternoon, and
 
 254 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Pollock was in here; Jack Pollock they call 
 him, — the feller that writes the plays, you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Griffiths, over his first gulp of brandy- 
 and- water, nodded his head in acquiescence. 
 
 '-^ Things is going on rather bad at the Gar- 
 den," continued Mr. Effingham; "I don't know 
 whether you've heard. Tlieir pantomime's been 
 a reg'lar failure this year, and Wuff's paper's 
 beginning to fly again. I suppose old Lyons is 
 in that swim, for Pollock says to me, ' Didn't 
 I hear you askin' after Mr. Lyons?' he says. 
 ^ I did,' I says. ' I thought so,' he says ; ' and 
 I told him so when I saw him just now in WuiFs 
 room at the Garden. And he says, " I've just 
 come back fi^om abroad, and I don't reckleckt 
 Mr. Effingham's name," he says ; " but if he's 
 one of the right sort, he'll find me among the 
 lemons on Sunday morning." ' So I thanked 
 Pollock, and winked my eye, and nodded my 
 head, and made believe as though I knew all 
 about it ; but I don't." 
 
 ^^ You don't?"
 
 DRAWIXG COYER. 255 
 
 " Xot a bit of it ; I'm as far off as ever, save 
 for knowing that the old man's in England." 
 
 " You ain't fly to what's meant by ' among 
 the lemons,' eh?" 
 
 "Not a bit of it, I tell you. What are you 
 grimiing and chuckling away at there, Griffiths ? 
 That's one of your disgustin' ways, — crowin' 
 over me because you know something which I 
 don't." 
 
 " Don't be riled, D'Ossay ; don't be riled, 
 old feller. It's so seldom that I get a chance 
 of findin' any thing that you don't know, yomig 
 though you are, that I make the most it, I 
 confess." 
 
 " Well, there, all right. !N'ow do you know 
 what he meant by ^ among the lemons' ?" 
 
 "Ofcourseldo." 
 
 " And what does it mean ?" 
 
 " ' Among the lemons' is magsman's patter for 
 ' Homidsditch.' There's a reg'lar gatherin' of 
 sheenies there every Sunday mornin', where they 
 have a kind of fair, and sellin' all sorts of things, 
 — clothes, and books, and pictures, and so on."
 
 256 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 ^^ Well, but old Lyons is a cut above all that 
 sort of tiling." 
 
 " I should think he was." 
 
 '' He AYouldn't be found there." 
 
 " Well, not sellin' any thing ; but he might 
 be on the look-out for some magsmen as work 
 for him, and who may have had the office to be 
 about there. But if he's not there, Pd know 
 where to lay hands on liim, I'd take my oath." 
 
 "Where's that?" 
 
 " At the Net of Lemons, a public where shee- 
 nies of all kinds — diamond-merchants, fences, all 
 sorts — meet on the Sunday." 
 
 " Do you know the place ?" 
 
 " Know it ! I should tliink so, and Mr. Eha- 
 son as keeps it; as respectable an old gent as 
 walks." 
 
 " They'd let you in ?" 
 
 " All, and you too, if I squared it for you." 
 
 " Yery well, then ; we'll hunt up old Lyons 
 on Sunday morning." 
 
 Mr. Effingham was so pleased with liis chance 
 of success, that Mr. Griffiths thought he might
 
 DRAWING COVER. 257 
 
 borrow half-a-sovereign ; and wliat is more, lie 
 got it. 
 
 On the folloy>'ing Sunday morning Mr. Ef- 
 fingham found himself by appointment opposite 
 Bishopsgate Church as the clock struck ten, and 
 Mr. Griffiths there waiting for him. As he ap- 
 proached, Mr. Effingham took stock of his friend's 
 personal appearance, and mentally congratulated 
 himself that it was at the East and not at the West 
 end of London that they w^ere to be seen in com- 
 pany together ; for those mysterious means by 
 which Mr. Griffiths went through '' the fever 
 called living" had not been very productive of 
 late, and his wardrobe was decidedly seedy. The 
 tall hat shone so as to give one the idea that its 
 owner had forgotten to remove it when he ap- 
 plied the morning macassar to his hair, and the 
 suit of once-black clothes looked as if they had 
 been bees-waxed. Mr. Effingham must have al- 
 lowed his thoughts to be mirrored in his expres- 
 sive countenance, for Mr. Griffiths said as he 
 joined him : 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 "Looking at my togs, D'Ossay? Well, they 
 ain't as nobby as yours ; but you see, I don't go 
 in to be a 'ea\y swell. They'll do well enough 
 for the caper we're on to-day, though ; better 
 perhaps than your gridironed kickseys." 
 
 At another time Mr. Effingham might have 
 shown annoyance at thus having his check trou- 
 sers sneeringly spoken of; but something which 
 Griffiths had said had rather dashed him, and 
 it was with a little hesitation that he asked : 
 
 " Tliey — they ain't a very rough lot that we're 
 going amongst, are they ?" 
 
 " Well, there's more rough nor smooth hair 
 among 'em ; but they won't do you no harm ; I'll 
 look after you, D'Ossay. Shovin' you won't 
 mind, nor elbers in every part of your liody at 
 once. Oh, and I say, don't leave any think in 
 your 'ind-pockets, and put your fogle in your 
 'at. Like this, look. I carry most things in my 
 'at." 
 
 And Mr. Griffiths whipped off the tall hat, and 
 showed in it a handkerchief, a greasy parcel sus- 
 piciously like a ham-sandwich, a pocket-comb,
 
 DRAWING COVER. 259 
 
 and a paper book with the title " Tlie Oho of 
 Oddities, or the "VVarbhiig Wagoner's WaUet of 
 Wit and Wisdom." 
 
 Mr. Effingham took his friend's ad^dce, and 
 transferred all his portable property from the tail- 
 pockets of his coat to other less patent recesses, 
 and then the pair started on their excursion. 
 
 Crossing Bishopsgate, and turning short romid 
 to the right up a street called Sandy's Row, 
 past a huge black block of buildings belongmg 
 to the East India Company, and used as a store- 
 house for costly silks, round which seethed and 
 bubbled a dirty, pushing, striving, fighting, hig- 
 gling, chaffering, vociferating, laughing mob, 
 filling up the narrow street, the small strips of 
 pavement on cither side, and what ought to have 
 been the carriage-way between them. It was 
 Sunday, and may have been obsen^ed '^ as such" 
 elsewhere, but certainly not in Sandy's Row or 
 Cutler's Row. Tliere were shops of all kinds, 
 and all at work : tool-shops, — files, saws, adzes, 
 knives, chisels, hammers, and tool-baskets dis- 
 played in the open windows, whence the sashes
 
 260 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 liad been removed for the better furtlierance of 
 trade ; batters', hosiers', tailors', bootmakers' shops, 
 the proprietors of which had left the calm asylum 
 of their comiters and stood at the doors, impor- 
 tmiing the passers-by with familiar blandishments : 
 for in the carriage-way through which Effingham 
 and Griffiths slowly forced a passage were peripa- 
 tetic vendors of hats, hosiery, clothes, and boots, 
 — ^hook-nosed oleaginous gentry with ten pairs of 
 trousers over one arm, and five coats over the 
 other, with enormous boots, a few hats, and a 
 number of cloth caps. Mr. Effingham soon 
 learned the value of his friend's advice, for there 
 were thieves of all kinds in the motley crowd; 
 big bm'ly roughs with sunlven eyes and massive 
 jaws sulkily elbowing their way through the mass, 
 and ^' gonophs" or pickpockets of fourteen or 
 fifteen, with their collarless tightly-tied necker- 
 chiefs, their greasy caps, and " aggerawater" 
 curls. Delicate attention Avas paid to Mr. Effing- 
 ham before he had been five minutes amongst 
 them. The hind-pockets of his coat were tm-ned 
 inside out, and he was " somided" all over by a
 
 DRAWING COYER. 261 
 
 pair of lightlj-touching liancls. Whether Mr. 
 GriiSths was known, or whether his personal ap- 
 pearance was unattractive and promised no hope 
 of adequate reward, is uncertain ; but no attempt 
 was made on him. 
 
 Wliile Mr. Effingham was vaguely gaping 
 about him, staring at every thing and thoroughly 
 impressed with the novelty of his situation, Grif- 
 fiths had been taking stock of the crowd, and 
 keeping a strict look-out for i\Ii\ Lyons. Jews 
 were there in shoals, and of all kinds : the grand 
 old Jewish type, dignified and bearded, than 
 which, when good, there is nothing better ; hand- 
 some sensual-looking men, with bright eyes, and 
 hook-noses, and scarlet lips ; red frizzy-headed 
 Jews, with red eyelids, and shambling gait, and 
 nasal intonation ; big flat-headed, stupid-looking 
 men, with thick lips, and tongues too large for their 
 mouths, and visibly protruding therefrom ; — all 
 kinds of Jews, but Mr. Lyons not among them. 
 
 So they pushed on, uncaring for the chaff 
 of the mob, wliich was very facetious on the sub- 
 ject of Mr. Effingham's attire, saluting him as a
 
 2C)2 rvUXNING THE GAU^'TLET. 
 
 ^' collared bloke," in delicate compliment to his 
 wearing a clean shirt; asking whether he was a 
 " Rooshan ;" whether he were not " Prince Hal- 
 but's brother/' and other delicate compliments, — 
 l^ushed on until they arrived at the Clothes-Ex- 
 change, a roofed building filled round every side 
 and in the centre with old-clothes stalls. Here, 
 piled up in wondrous confusion, lay hats, coats, 
 boots, hob-nailed shoes, satin ball-shoes, driving- 
 coats, satin dresses, hoops, brocaded go^^ms, flan- 
 nel jackets, fans, shirts, stockings with clocks, 
 stockings with torn and darned feet, feathers, 
 parasols, black-silk mantles, blue-kid boots, bel- 
 cher neckerchiefs, and lace ruffles. More Jews 
 here ; salesmen shrieking out laudations of their 
 wares, and frantically imploring passers-by to 
 come in and be fitted. " Here'th a coat ! plue 
 Vitney ; trai this plue Yitney, ma tear." " Here'th 
 a vetlikit for you, thirl" shouted one man to 
 Effingham ; " thuch a vethkit ! a thplendid vethkit, 
 covered all over with blue-and-thilver thprigth." 
 Mr. Effingham cast a longing eye at this gorgeous 
 garment, but passed on.
 
 DRAWING COVER. 263 
 
 No Lyons here, either among sharp-eyed 
 vendors or leering buyers. Mr. Griffiths was 
 getting nonplussed, and Mr. Effingham growing 
 anxious. " We must find him, Griffiths," he 
 said; " we must not tlu'ow away this chance 
 that he's given us ; he may be off to the Con- 
 tinent, Lord knows where, to - morrow. Why 
 the devil don't you find him ?" 
 
 Mr. Griffiths intimated that so far as e}'e- 
 straining could be gone through, he had done 
 his best ; and suggested that if the man they 
 sought were not there, all the energy in the 
 world would not discover him. " But there's 
 the Net of Lemons yet," he said; "that's, after 
 all, the safest draw, and we're more likely to hit 
 upon him there than any where else." 
 
 So they pushed their way through the steam- 
 ing, seething, struggling crowd, and fomid them- 
 selves in a quiet dull little square. Across this, 
 and merely glancing at several groups of men 
 dotted here and there in its midst, loudly talking 
 and gesticulating with energy which smacked 
 more of the Hambom-g Borsenhalle or the Frank-
 
 264 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 fort Zeil than the stolid reticence of England, 
 Mr. Griffiths led his companion until they stopped 
 before the closed door of a public-house, aloft 
 from which swung the sign of " The Net of 
 Lemons." At the door Mr. Griffiths gave tln-ee 
 mystic raps, at the third of which the door 
 opened for about a couple of inches, and a thick 
 voice said, " Who is it?" 
 
 " All right, Mr. Eliason. Griffiths, whom you 
 know. Take a squint, and judge for yoiu'self." 
 
 Mr. EHason probably followed this advice, 
 and finding the inspection satisfactory, opened 
 the door to its extent, and admitted the pair ; 
 but raising his bushy brows in doubt as to Mr. 
 Effingham, Griffiths said, "A friend of mine — 
 come on partickler business, and by appointment 
 with Mr. Lyons. Is he here ?" 
 
 The reference w^as apj)arently satisfactory, for 
 Mr. Eliason, a fat good-looking big man in a 
 soft wide-awake hat, said, ^^ You'll find him in- 
 side ;" and shut the door behind them. 
 
 Mr. Effingham walking through, and follow- 
 ing his conductor, found himself in a low-roofed
 
 DRAWING COYER. 265 
 
 square-built comfortable room, romid tliree sides 
 of which were ranged tables, and on these tables 
 were placed large open travs of jewelry. There 
 they lay in clusters, thick gold chains curled 
 round and round like snakes ; long limp silver 
 chains such as are worn by respectable mechanics 
 over black-satin waistcoats on Sundays ; great 
 carbuncle pins glowing out of green-velvet cases ; 
 diamond rings and pins and brooches and neck- 
 laces. The best emeralds in quaint old-fashioned 
 gold settings nestled by the side of lovely pale 
 opals ; big finger-rings made up after the an- 
 tique with cut cornelian centre-pieces ; long old- 
 fashioned earrings ; little heaps of rubies, emeralds, 
 and tm^quoises set aside in the corners of the 
 trays ; big gold and silver cups and goblets and 
 trays and tazzas ; here and there a clumsy old 
 epergne ; finger-rings by the bushel, pins by the 
 gross ; watches of all kinds, from delicate gold 
 Genevas to the thick turnipy silver " ticker" of 
 the schoolboy ; and shoals of watchworks with- 
 out cases. On this Tom Tiddler's PTOund Avere 
 crowds of customers, smoking strong cigars,
 
 266 EUisNIKG THE GAUKTLET. 
 
 walking about without let or hindrance, and 
 examining — ay, and handling — the jewels with- 
 out creating the least consternation in the- breasts 
 of then' vendors. 
 
 There was a slight movement among the 
 company at the entrance of the new - comers ; 
 but Griffiths seemed to be known to a few, with 
 whom he exchanged salutations, and the appear- 
 ance of Mr. Eliason with them settled any wan- 
 derino; doubts which might have arisen in the 
 minds of the others. As for Mr. Effingham, he 
 began to think he was in the cave into which 
 Aladdin descended to get the lamp at the bidding 
 of the magician ; and he went moving round, 
 gazing first on one side, then on the other, 
 lost in wonder. But Mr. Griffiths, to whom the 
 scene was tolerably familiar, went at once to 
 business, scrutinising with keen glance the buyers 
 and sellers, poking his nose into the groups of 
 domino -players in the corners, hunting about 
 with admirable patience and forbearance, but 
 for a long time with no result. 
 
 At last he stopped before a group of three.
 
 DRAWING COVER. 267 
 
 One of these was an old Jewish gentleman, with 
 strongly-marked featui'es, overhanging bushy eye- 
 brows, hooked nose, and long white beard. He 
 held in his hand a blue paper, such as generally 
 contains seidlitz -powders, but its contents were 
 diamonds. These were being carefully inspected 
 by the other two men, each of whom had a bright 
 steel pair of pincers, with which he selected 
 a specimen from the glittering heap, breathed 
 upon it, watched it carefully, and in most in- 
 stances finally laid it on one side for purchase. 
 When this transaction had been gone through 
 and was at an end, the old gentleman folded up 
 his paper with such diamonds as remained in 
 it, placed it in his waistcoat - pocket, and was 
 calmly walking away, when Griffiths touched 
 him on the arm, saying interrogatively, " Mr. 
 Lyons?" 
 
 The old man tm'ned in an instant, and threw 
 a sharp look of inquiry over his interlocutor, as 
 he said : " Yes, ma tear sir, that's mai name ; not 
 ashamed to own it any veres. Yot might you 
 vant vith me ?" As he spoke he had covered his
 
 2G8 HUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 waistcoat-pocket with liis hand, and stood prim 
 and spry. 
 
 " This gentleman — Mr. Effingham — has been 
 looking for you some little time. You told a 
 friend of his — Mr. Pollock — that you would be 
 here to-day, and we've come on purpose to meet 
 you." 
 
 "Effingham! Pollock!" said the old man, 
 musing. " Oh yes. Pollock, who writes those 
 funny burlesques for my friend WufF; oh yes — 
 Effingham," he said. " How do you do, ma tear? 
 Now vot is it? A leetle adwance, or something 
 you've got that you don't know how to get rid 
 of, and think I might fancy it, eh ?" 
 
 "Well, it ain't either, Mr. Lyons," said 
 Effingham. " It's a little information you're in 
 possession of that you might be inclined to give 
 us, and — " 
 
 " You're not traps ?" asked Mr. Lyons, trnm- 
 ing pale. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, Mr. Lyons," said Griffiths, 
 striking into the conversation. " Quite different 
 from that. You and I have done business before.
 
 DEAWIXG COYER. 269 
 
 I was with — " and here he wliisperecl into Lyons's 
 ear. 
 
 " Ah, I reckleckt," said the old gentleman. 
 '' That vos a very good plant, and bothers them 
 all in Scotland Yard to this dav. Ha, ha ! I reck- 
 leekt. Now vot did your friend say? Lifor- 
 mation? Yell, you know, I never give infor- 
 mation." 
 
 " No, no, of course not," said Griffiths, wink- 
 in o; at Effincrham. 
 
 '' Oh no, sir," said that worthy. ^' I'm pre- 
 pared to pay, of course, any thing reasonable 
 for what I require." 
 
 '' Yell, veil, ma tear, let's know vot it is." 
 
 " You were great pals with my brother, I 
 beheve ?" 
 
 " No. Effingham ? Xo ; — never heard the 
 name." 
 
 " No, no ; not Effingham. Tliat's merely — 
 you understand ?" 
 
 '^ Oh, ah I Oh yes I I qvite understand ; but 
 vot is the name ?" 
 
 '' Butler ! You knew Tonv Butler well ?"
 
 270 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Knew him veil ; I should rather think I 
 did. A good fellow ; a clever fellow ; oh, a very 
 clever fellow, ma tear." 
 
 '' Yes ; well, I'm his brother." 
 
 " Not like him," said Mr. Lyons. " More 
 dressy, and not so business-like. A rare fellow 
 for business, Tony." 
 
 " That may or may not be," said Effingham, 
 slightly offended. ^' Now, when he died, you 
 cleared off his traps." 
 
 " Only a few sticks ; very poor sticks. Ah, 
 ma tear, vot I lost by that transaction ! Yy, there 
 vosn't enough to clear me in a sixth part of vot 
 I'd advanced to Tony." 
 
 " Well, I'm not here to enter into that — that 
 was your look-out. But amongst what you took 
 away there was a desk." 
 
 " Vos there ? 'Pon my soul I can't reckleckt ; 
 not that I'm goin' to gainsay you. Vos there a 
 desk, noAv?" 
 
 " And in it," continued Effingham, not seem- 
 in o; to heed him, ^' there was an overdue bill for 
 twenty-five pounds accepted by Walter Burgess."
 
 DRAWING COVER. 271 
 
 " Lord now ! Vos there indeed?" 
 
 " Look here, Mr. Lyons. If you don't know 
 any thing, all right. We won't waste our time 
 or our money, but we'll go to those who can 
 help us." 
 
 " Yot a headstrong boy it is I Who said I 
 couldn't help you ? Go on now, — a bill accepted 
 by Walter Burgess ?" 
 
 " Exactly. Now that bill's no use to any one, 
 and we want you to give it to us." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! clever boys, clever boys ! Yot 
 large-hearted fellows too, to vant to buy a bill 
 that ain't of any use to any vmi ! Oh, vot gene- 
 rous boys !" 
 
 " It's no use, Griffiths," said Effingham an- 
 grily ; ^Mie either don't know or won't say any 
 thing about it." 
 
 " Steady," said Griffiths. " Come, Mr. Lyons, 
 say you've got the stiff, and name your price." 
 
 "Accepted by Walter Burgess, eh?" said the 
 old gentleman ; " yes, I reckleckt that bill; oh yes, 
 I reckleckt him." 
 
 " Well now, bring your recklecktion into
 
 272 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 something practical, and I'll give you this for that 
 bill," said Mr. Effingham, producing a five-pound 
 note. 
 
 Tlie old Jew's eyes glistened at the sight of 
 the money ; and then his face fell, and he looked 
 horribly disappointed. 
 
 '^ You should have it for that," said he ; ^'you 
 should have it for that, and velcome ; only there's 
 vun little reason vy I can't make it over to 
 you." 
 
 ^^ What's that?" cried Effingham. 
 
 " Veil, it's a strong reason, as you'll allow 
 Yen I tell it to you. I can't let you have the bill 
 because — because I haven't got it myself." 
 
 Mr. Effingham swore a sharp oath, and even 
 Mr. Griffiths looked disconcerted. 
 
 ^^ Come along," said the former, — "we've 
 wasted time enough with the pottering old fool, 
 who's only selling us, and — " 
 
 " Yait a minute," said Mr. Lyons, laying his 
 hand on the other's arm, — " A'ait a minute, ma tear. 
 Though I haven't got the leetle bill myself, perhaps 
 I know who has."
 
 DRAWING COYER. 273 
 
 " That's Hkely enough," said Griffiths ; " well, 
 who has ?" 
 
 ^' Ah, that's tellings, ma tear. I shall van't — 
 just a leetle something to sav." 
 
 " I'll give this," said Effingham, producing a 
 sovereign. 
 
 " Yell, it ain't enough ; but you're such head- 
 strong fellows. Tliere I" said Mr. Lyons, slipping 
 it into his pocket; ^^ now do either of you know 
 a gal who 'v^'as under Tony Butler's thumb at one 
 time, but who hated him mortal, and vos very 
 sveet on ^o^m of Tony's friends ?" 
 
 " I do !" cried Griffiths ; " Lizzie Ponsford." 
 
 " That's the same ; a fine gal too, a reg'lar fine 
 gal. Yell, I'd no sooner got Tony's traps over at 
 my place than that girl comes to me, and she says, 
 ' You've got a desk that b'longed to Tony Butler,' 
 she says. And ven I says ' yes,' she offered me 
 a pound for it. It vosn't "VTith five shillings ; so I 
 knew there vos something in it she vanted, though 
 I'd hunted it through and found nothin' but old 
 diaries and memorandums and such -like. ^I 
 von't sell it,' I says. ' May I look at it ?' she 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 EUNXI^'G THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 says. ^ You mar,' I says ; and yith that I fetched 
 it down ; and yen she see it, she touched a spring, 
 and out flew a secret drawer vith this bill in it. 
 ^ Hands off,' I says, for she yos going to clutch it 
 at ^Tince. ' Let me haye it,' she says ; ' I'll pay 
 for it.' So I looked at it, and saw it had been 
 overdue eighteen months, and reckleckted hearin' 
 it was all wrong; so I says, ' Yot'll you giye?' 
 ^ A soyereimi,' she says. ' Make it two, and it's 
 yours,' I says. So, after a little, she give me two 
 skiys, and she took the bill andvalked avay yith it" 
 
 Mr. Effingham looked at Griffiths, and the 
 latter returned the glance. 
 
 " It would be almost worth another crown 
 to know if these are lies you are telling us, old 
 gentleman," said the former ; " but it sounds 
 something like truth. Now one question more. 
 Where is Lizzie Ponsford ?" 
 
 "Ah, that beats me. A reg'lar cleyer gal; 
 nice-looking and reg'lar clever. I'd have given 
 something to find out myself; but it vos aU of 
 no use. She vent avay from all the old haunts, 
 and hasn't been heard of for a long time. I've all
 
 DRAWING COYER. 275 
 
 sorts of people about, and they'd tell me, bless 
 you, if slie'd ever showed up. But she's gone, 
 and no one can find her." 
 
 " Very good," said Effingham ; " now you 
 take this commission from me. If you hear of 
 her^thin the next month, and can let me know 
 where she is, find out Griffiths at Johnson's, and 
 it'll be a fiver in your pocket. You understand?" 
 
 Mr. Lyons made no verbal reply, but struck 
 his forefinger against his nose and looked preter- 
 naturally sagacious. 
 
 '' All right ! now good-bye ;" they shook 
 hands and parted. 
 
 When they got into the street again Mr. Ef- 
 fingham said, " So Lizzie Ponsford has the bill. 
 "What the deuce made her want it ? unless some 
 day to revenge herself on Mitford. But she's 
 not likely to have heard of his having turned up 
 such trumps. Now, Mr. Griffiths, our pursuit 
 beo-ins aojain. Lizzie Ponsford has that bill. 
 Your business and mine is to find out Lizzie 
 Ponsford, and by some means or other — no mat- 
 ter what — get that bill from her."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Sir Charles Mitford was up betimes the next 
 morningj for he had a twenty-miles' drive be- 
 fore him. Tlie weather was bright, clear, and 
 frosty; Sir Charles's spirits were high; he was 
 radiant and buoyant, and thoroughly in good 
 temper with himself and every body else. He 
 was specially kind and affectionate to Georgie, 
 and after breakfast insisted upon seeing her com- 
 mence her day of work before he started on his 
 day of pleasm-e ; and he complimented Mrs. Aus- 
 tin on the progress her pupil had made under her 
 directions, and on the care, cleanliness, and order 
 observable throughout the house, and by his few 
 words made a complete conquest of the old lady, 
 who afterwards told Georgie that though Sir 
 Percy had been an upright man and a good
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 277 
 
 master, it was all in a straitlaced kind of way, 
 and no one had ever heard him say a kind 
 word to herself, let alone any of the servants. 
 And then when the chestnuts had been brought 
 romid in the mail-phaeton, and were impatiently 
 pawing at the gravel in front of the hall-door, 
 and champing at their bits, and flecking with foam 
 their plated harness and their sleek sides. Sir 
 Charles gave his wife an affectionate kiss and 
 drove away in great glee. 
 
 Mrs. Austin's instruction of her mistress was 
 shortened by full five minutes that morning — 
 five minutes dm-ing which Lady Mitford was 
 occupied in leaning out of the window and watch- 
 ino' her husband down the di'ive. How hand- 
 some he looked ! in his bio^ heavv brown drivinof- 
 coat with its huge horn buttons, his well-fitting 
 dogskin gloves, and his natty hat — wide-awakes 
 had not then been invented, but di'iving-men 
 used to wear a hat low in the crown and broad 
 in the brim, which, though a trifle slangy, was 
 in some cases very becoming. Tlie sun shone 
 on his bright complexion, his breezy golden
 
 278 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 whiskers, and his briUiant teeth, as he smiled 
 his adieu ; and as he brought the chestnuts up 
 to their bearings after their first mad phmges, 
 and standing up got them well in hand and 
 settled them down to their work, Georgie was 
 lost in admiration of his strong muscular figure, 
 liis pluck and grace. It was a subject on which 
 she would have been natm'ally particularly reti- 
 cent, even had there been any one to " gush" to ; 
 but I think the tears of j)leasure welled into her 
 eyes, and she had a very happ}- " cry" before she 
 rejoined Mrs. Austin in the still-room. 
 
 And Sir Charles, what were his thoughts 
 dm'ino^ his drive ? Amono; all the wonderful 
 revelations which the publication of the Divorce- 
 Court trials has made public, the sad heart-rend- 
 ing misery, the brutal rufiianism, the heartless 
 villany, the existence of which could scarcely 
 have been dreamed of, there is one phase of 
 life which, so far as I have seen, — and I have 
 looked for it attentively, — has never yet been 
 chronicled. The man who leaves his wife and 
 family to get on as they best can, while he revels
 
 SIR CHAELES'S VISIT. 279 
 
 in riot and. debauchery ; the man who is the 
 Wind slave of his own brute passions, and who 
 goes headlong to destruction without any ap- 
 parent thought save for his own gratification; 
 the man who would seem in the iteration of liis 
 share of the marriage-service to have substituted 
 "hate" for "love," and who either detests his 
 wife with savage rancom-, or loathes her with 
 deep disgust, for better for w^orse, for richer for 
 poorer, in sickness and in health, until the Judge- 
 Ordinary does them part ; the respectable man, 
 so pmictual in the discharge of his domestic 
 duties, so imswerving in the matter of family- 
 prayers, Avhose conjugal comfort is one day 
 wrecked by the arrival of a clamorous and not 
 too sober lady w4th heightened colour and black- 
 ened eyelids : — with all these types w^e are fami- 
 liar enough tlu-ough the newspaper columns ; 
 but there is another character, by no means so 
 numerously represented, nor so likely to be 
 brought publicly under notice, who yet exists, 
 and with specimens of which some of us must 
 be famihar. I mean the man who, with great af-
 
 280 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 fection for his wife, and strong desire to do right, 
 is yet so feeble in moral purpose, so impotent 
 to struggle against inchnation, such a facile prey- 
 to temptation, as to be perpetually doing wrong. 
 He never grows hardened in his vice, he never 
 withdraws his love from its proper object — for 
 in that case it would quicldy be supplanted by 
 the opposite feeling ; he never even grows indif- 
 ferent : after every slip he inwardly upbraids him- 
 self bitterly and vows repentance ; in his hour 
 of remorse he institutes comparisons between his 
 proper and inij^roper attractions, in which the 
 virtues of the former are always very bright 
 and the vices of the latter always very black; 
 and then on the very next occasion his virtuous 
 resolutions melt away like snow, and he goes 
 wrong again as pleasantly as possible. 
 
 Sir Charles Mitford was of tliis class. He 
 would have been horrified if any one had sug- 
 gested that he had any intention of wronging 
 his wife ; would have said that such an idea had 
 never crossed his mind — and truthfully, as when- 
 ever it rose he immediately smothered it ; would
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 281 
 
 have declared, as lie believed, that Georgie vas 
 the prettiest, the best, and the dearest girl in the 
 world.' But he was a man of strong passions, 
 and most susceptible to flattery ; and ever since 
 ]\Ii's. Hammond had seemed to select him for 
 special notice, more especiallj since she had as- 
 sumed the habit of occasionally looking pensively 
 at him, with a kind of di'eamy languor in her 
 large eyes, he had thought more of her, in both 
 senses of the phrase, than was right. He was 
 thinking of her even then, as he sat square and 
 erect in liis phaeton, before he passed out of 
 Georgie's gaze ; thinking of her large eyes and 
 then' long glances, her fidl rounded figoire, a 
 peculiar hand-clasp which she gave, a tlnill with- 
 out a grip, a scarcely perceptiljle miforgettable 
 pressure. Then his horsey instincts rose within 
 him, and he began to take coachman's notice 
 of the chestnuts ; saw the merits and demerits 
 of each, and almost unconsciously set about the 
 work of educating the former, and checking the 
 latter; and thus he employed himself until the 
 white houses of Torquay came within sight, and
 
 282 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 glancing at his watch he found he should have 
 done his twenty miles in an houi' and forty- 
 minutes. 
 
 Mrs. Hammond had told him that he would 
 be sm-e of finding their addi'ess at the Eoyal 
 Hotel; so to the Royal Hotel he cbove. The 
 chestnuts went bomiding through the town, at- 
 tracting attention from all the valetudinarians 
 then creeping about on their shopping or ante- 
 prandial walks. These poor fellows in respirators 
 and high shawls, bending feebly on sticks or 
 tottering on each other's arms, resented the sight 
 of this great strong Phoebus dashing along with 
 his spinning chariot-wheels. When he pulled 
 up at the door of the Eoyal, a little crowd of 
 invalids crept out of smmy nooks and sheltered 
 corners, where they had been resting, to look at 
 him. Tlie waiter, a fat greasy man, who used 
 to let the winter-boarders tear many times at 
 the bell before he dreamt of answering it, heard 
 the tramp of the horses, and the violent pidl 
 given to the door-bell by Sir Charles's groom, and 
 in a kind of hazy di'eam thought that it must
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 283 
 
 be summer asain, and that it must be some of 
 the gents from the yachts, as was always so noisy 
 and obstreperous. Before he could rouse liim- 
 self sufficiently to get to the door, he had been 
 anticipated by the landlord, who had scarcely 
 madediis bow, before Dr. Bronk, who had noticed 
 the phaeton dashing romid the corner, and fancied 
 it might be a son or nephew on the look-out 
 for quarters — and medical attendance — for some 
 invalid relative, came into the portico, and be- 
 stowed the oreatest care in rubbino; his shoes on 
 the hall-mat. 
 
 Mr. Hammond? No, the landlord had never 
 heard the name. Constant change of faces renders 
 landlords preternaturally stupid on this point, they 
 can never fit names to faces or faces to names. 
 Hammond ? no, he thought not. John ! did John 
 know the name of Hammond ? But before John 
 could sufficiently focus his wits to know whether 
 he did or not, Dr. Bronk had heard all, had 
 stepped up to the side of the phaeton, had made 
 a half-friendly, half-deferential bow, and was in 
 full swing.
 
 284 
 
 EUNNIKG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Mr. Hammond? a middle-aged gentleman, — 
 •well, who perhaps might be described as rather 
 elderly, jes. Bald, — yes. With a young daughter 
 and a very charming wife? Yes, oh yes; certainly 
 he knew them ; he had the honom' of beino- their 
 medical attendant, — Dr. Bronk of the Paragon. 
 Lately had come down to Torquay, recommended 
 to him by his — he was proud to say — old friend 
 and former fellow-pupil Sir Charles Dumfunk, 
 now President of the College of Physicians. Where 
 were they ? well, they had been really unfortunate. 
 Torquay, my dear sir, qxqyj year rising in im- 
 portance, every year more sought after, — for which 
 perhaps some little credit was due to a little me- 
 dical brochure of his, Torquay and its Climate, — 
 Torquay was so full that when Mrs. Hammond 
 sent down that admirable person Miss Gillespie, 
 — whom of course the gentleman knew, — ^there 
 was only one house vacant. So the family had 
 been forced to content themselves with a mansion 
 — No. 2 Cleveland Gardens, — very nice, sheltered, 
 and yet with a charming sea-view. Where was it ? 
 Did the gentleman see the bow-windowed shop at
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 285 
 
 the corner? Second turning to tlie right, just 
 beyond that — " Se-cond tm-n-ing to the right !" 
 This shouted after Sir Charles, who, with a feel- 
 ing that the chestnuts were too rapidly coohng 
 after their sharp drive, had started them off the 
 minute he had obtained the information. 
 
 The second tmiiino; to the rio;ht was dulv 
 taken, and Xo. 2 Cleveland Gardens was duly 
 reached. It was the usual style of seaside-house, 
 with stuccoed front, and green veranda, and the 
 never-failing creeper which the Devonians always 
 grow to show the mildness of their climate. Tlie 
 groom's thundering knock produced a smart wait- 
 ing-maid, who acknowledged that Mrs. Hammond 
 lived there ; and the sending in of Sir Charles 
 Mitford's card produced a London flmikey, on 
 whom the countrv air had had a demoralisintr 
 influence, so far as his outAvard appearance was 
 concerned. But he acknowledged Sir Charles's 
 arrival with a deferential bow, and begging him 
 to walk in, assm-ed him that his mistress would 
 come down directly. So the groom was sent 
 round to put-up his horses at the stables of the
 
 286 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Eojal, and Sir Charles followed the footman into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 It was not an apartment to be left alone in 
 for long. 'No doubt the family of the owner, a 
 jounger brother of an Irish peer, found it plea- 
 sant and airy when they were do^vn there in the 
 summer, and the owner himself found the rent 
 of it for the spring, autumn, and winter a very 
 hopeful soiu'ce of income ; but it bore '^ lodging- 
 house" on every scrap of funiiture throughout it. 
 Sir Charles stared round at the bad engravings, 
 at the bad old-fashioned artists on the walls ; looked 
 with concentrated interest on a plaster-model of 
 the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and wondered whether 
 the mortar shrinking had w^arped it; peeped into 
 two or tln'ee books on the table ; looked out of 
 the window at the promenading invalids and the 
 green twinlding sea; and was relieved beyond 
 measure when he heard a woman's step on the 
 staircase outside. 
 
 The door opened, and a woman entered — but 
 not. Mrs. Hammond. A tall woman, Avith sallow 
 cheeks and great eyes, and a tliicldsh nose and
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 287 
 
 large fall lips, with a low forelieadj over which 
 tumbled waves of crisp brown hair, with a mar- 
 vellous Hthe figure and a peculiar swimming walk. 
 Shifty in her glance, stealthy in her walk, cat- 
 like in her motions, her face deadly pale, — a vol- 
 cano crumbled into ashes, with no trace of its 
 former fire save in her eyes, — a woman at once 
 uncomfortable, uncanny, noticeable, and fearsome, 
 — Miss Gillespie. 
 
 Tlie family of the younger brother of the 
 • L'ish peer owning the house prided themselves 
 immensely on certain pink - silk blinds to the 
 windows, which happened at that moment to be 
 down. Tliere must have been some very peculiar 
 effect in the tint thrown by those blinds to have 
 caused Sir Charles Mitford to stare so hard at 
 tlie new-comer, or to lose all trace of his ordinary 
 coloiu' as he gazed at her. 
 
 She spoke first. Her full lips parted over a 
 brilliant set of teeth as with a slight inclination 
 she said, " I have the pleasm'e of addressing Sir 
 Charles Mitford? Mrs. Hammond begrs me to 
 say that she is at present in attendance upon
 
 2S8 RrXN^ING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Mr. Hammond, who is forbidden to-day to leave 
 liis room ; but slie hopes to be with you in a 
 very few minutes." 
 
 A pohte but sufficiently ordinary speech ; cer- 
 tainly not in itself calculated to call forth Mit- 
 ford's rejoinder — " In God's name, how did you 
 come here ?" 
 
 '^ You still keep up that horrid habit of swear- 
 ing ! Auti^e temjys, autres mceurs, as I teach my 
 young lady from the French proverb-book. "What 
 was it you asked?" 
 
 '^ How did you come here ? what are you 
 doing here ?" 
 
 '' I came here through the medium of the 
 Ladies' Association for Instructors, to whom I 
 paid a registration-fee of five shillings. What am 
 I doing here? Educating youth, and making 
 myself generally useful. I am Miss Grillespie, 
 of whom I know you have heard." 
 
 ^^ You have seen me before this, since — since 
 the old days?" 
 
 " I don't know what is meant by ^ old days.' 
 I was born two years ago, just before Mrs.
 
 289 
 
 Hammond married, and Avas clmstened Eutli 
 Gillespie. My mother was the Ladies' Association 
 for Instructors, and she at once placed me where 
 I am. Except this I have no past." 
 
 '^ And your future ?" 
 
 ^^ Can take care of itself : sufficient for the 
 day, &c. ; and the present days are very pleasant. 
 There is no past for you either, is there ? so far as 
 I am concerned, I mean. I first saw Sir Charles 
 Mitford when I was sitting in Mrs. Hammond's 
 phaeton in the Park with my Shetland veil down, 
 I recollect ; and as I had heard the story of the 
 romantic manner in which he had succeeded to 
 the title and estates, I asked full particulars about 
 him from — well — my mistress. I learned that 
 he had married, and that his wife was reported 
 to be very lovely — oh, very lovely indeed I" she 
 almost pm-red as she said this, and undulated 
 as though about to spring. 
 
 " Be good enough to leave my wife's name 
 alone. You say there is no past for either of 
 us. Let om' present be as wide asunder as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " Tliat all rests with you." 
 
 " I wonder," said Sir Charles, almost below 
 his breath, " what infernal chance has sent you 
 here !" 
 
 ^^ If ^ infernal' were a word to be used by 
 a lady — I doubt whether it should be used in 
 a lady's presence; but that is a matter of taste 
 — I should reiterate your sentiment; because, if 
 you remark, you are the interloper and intruder. 
 I am going on perfectly quietly, earning my 
 living, giving every satisfaction to my employers, 
 — living, in fact, like the virtuous peasant on 
 the stage or in the penny romances, — ^when chance 
 brings you into my line of life, and you at once 
 grumble at me for being there." 
 
 "You can miderstand fast enough, I sup- 
 pose," said Sir Charles sulkily, " that my as- 
 sociations with my former life are not such as 
 I take great pleasure in recalhng." 
 
 " If a lady might say such a word, I should 
 say, upon my soul I can't understand any such 
 thing. Tliough I go quietly enough in harness, 
 and take my share of the collar-work too, they
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 291 
 
 little think how I long sometimes to kick over 
 the traces, to substitute Alfred de Musset for 
 Fenelon in my pupil's reading, or to let my 
 fingers and voice stray off from Adeste Fideles 
 into Eh, ioup, ioupj ioup, trcdala, lata ! How 
 it would astonish them ! wouldn't it ? — the 
 files, I mean; not Mrs. Hammond, who knows 
 every thing, and I've no doubt would follow on 
 with Mon pere est a Paris as naturally as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 Sir Charles was by no means soothed by 
 this rattle, but frowningly asked, '^ How long 
 do you mean to remain here ?" 
 
 ^' How long ? Well, my movements are of 
 course controlled by Mrs. Hammond. It is 
 betraying no confidence to say that I know she 
 is expecting an invitation to Redmoor (you see 
 I know the name of your place) ; and as this 
 house is not particularly comfortable, and yoiu* 
 hospitality is bomidless, I conclude when once 
 we get there, we shall not leave much before 
 we retiu*n to town for the season." 
 
 " We !" exclaimed Sir Charles ; " w^hv, do
 
 292 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 you mean to say that you are coming to stay 
 at my house?" 
 
 " Of course I am. Mrs. Hammond told me 
 that she gave you distinctly to understand that 
 she must bring Miss Gillespie with her ^Yhen 
 she came to stop at Eedmoor." 
 
 " True ; but then—" 
 
 ^' Tlien you did not know Miss Gillespie. 
 "Well, you'll find she's not a bad fellow, after 
 all." 
 
 '' Look here," said Mitford with knitted brows 
 and set teeth: ^^ there's a point to which you 
 may go, but which you sha'n't pass. If you 
 dare to come into my house as my guest, look 
 to yom'self; for, by the Lord, it shall be the 
 worse for you !" 
 
 ^' The privileges of the salt, monseigneur !" 
 cried Miss Gillespie, with a crisp laugh ; " the 
 salt, 'that sacred pledge, which once partaken 
 blunts the sabre's edge.' You would never abiLse 
 the glorious rights of hospitality ?" 
 
 " You were always fond of d — d stage-jargon ; 
 but you ought to have known me long enough
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 293 
 
 to know that it would have no effect on me. 
 Take the wai'ning I've given you in good part, 
 and stay away." 
 
 " And take the warning I give you in good 
 part and in good earnest, Charles Mitford," said 
 Miss Gillespie, with a sudden change of voice 
 and maimer; '^I've been tolerant to you hitherto 
 for the sake of the old times Avliich I love and 
 you loathe ; but don't you presume upon that. 
 I could crush you hke a snail: now tliis is 
 no stage-jargon, but simple honest fact. You'll 
 recollect that though perhaps a little given to 
 rodomontade, in matters of business I was truth- 
 ful. I can crush you like a snail; and if you 
 cross me in my desh'es, — which are of the hum- 
 blest ; merely to be allowed to continue my 
 present mode of life in peace, — so help me Hea- 
 ven, I'll do it !" 
 
 AU claws out here. 
 
 " You mean war, then ? I'll — " 
 
 " Hush ! not a word ; here's Mrs. Hammond 
 eoming do^^^l. I do mean war, under circum- 
 stances; but you won't drive me to that. Yes,
 
 294 KUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 as you say, Sir Charles, it is the very place for 
 an invalid." 
 
 As she spoke Mrs. Hammond entered the 
 room, looking very fresh and pretty; her dark- 
 blue merino dress with its close-fitting body 
 displaying her romid figure, and its sweeping 
 skirts, and its tight sleeves, with natty hnen 
 cuffs. She advanced with outstretched hand 
 and with a j^leasant smile, showing all her fresh 
 wholesome teeth. 
 
 " So you've come at last," she said ; '' it's 
 no great compHment to say that ^^^e have anx- 
 iously expected you — for any thing like the hor- 
 ror of this place you camiot imagine. Every 
 body you meet looks as if that day were their 
 last, and that they had just crawled out to take 
 farewell of the sun. And there's not a soul we 
 know here, except the doctor who's attending 
 Mr. Hammond, and he's an odious little chatter- 
 box. And how is dear Lady Mitford ? and how 
 did you find the house ? and did Captain Bligh 
 make the arrangements as nicely as we thought he 
 would?. Come, sit down and tell me aU about it."
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 295 
 
 It was at tliis period, and before they seated 
 themselves, that Miss Gillespie said she thought 
 she would go and see what Ahce was doing. 
 And Mrs. Hammond asked her to tell Newman 
 that Sir Charles Mitford would dine with them ; 
 and that as he had a long drive home, thej had 
 better say six-o'clock dinner. And charged with 
 these messages, IMiss Gillespie retired. 
 
 Then IVIrs. Hammond sunk do^Aii into a plea- 
 sant ottoman fitted into a recess close by the 
 glomng fire, and Sir Charles Mitford, looking 
 round for a seat, obeyed the silent in^-itation 
 con^'eyed to him in her eyes and in the move- 
 ment of her ch'ess, and seated himself by her side. 
 
 " Well, you must have a gi'eat deal to tell 
 me," she commenced. " I saw in the Post that 
 you had left to^\Ti, and therefore imagined that 
 Captam Bhgh's arrangements were concluded. 
 And how do you like Redmoor?" 
 
 " It's a glorious place, really a glorious place, 
 though I've been rather bored there for the last 
 two or three days — wanted people there, you 
 know, and that sort of tiling. But the place
 
 29Q RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 itself is first-rate. I've chosen your rooms. I 
 did that the first day." 
 
 " Did you ?" said she, her eyes sparkling 
 with delight ; " and where are they ?" 
 
 "They are in the south wing, lookmg over 
 the civihsed side of the country, and are to my 
 thinking the very best rooms in the house." 
 
 , " And you chose them for us, and thought 
 of us directly you aiTived ! How very, very- 
 kind of you ! But suppose we should be unable 
 to come ?" 
 
 " What ! unable to come ! Mrs. Hammond, 
 you're chaffing me, eh ?" 
 
 "iJ^o, indeed. Mr. Hammond's health is in 
 that wretched state, that I doubt whether Dr. 
 Bronk would sanction his being moved, even to 
 the soft air and all the luxuries of Redmoor." 
 
 " Oh, do him good, I'm sure ; could do him 
 no possible harm. He should have every thing 
 he wanted, you know ; and the doctor could come 
 spinning over there every day, for the matter of 
 that. But at any rate you won't disaj^point 
 us?"
 
 SIR Charles's visit. 297 
 
 '' I don't think my not coming would be 
 keenly felt by many." 
 
 " It would by me," said Mitford in a low 
 voice. 
 
 Slie looked him fiill in tbe face for an instant. 
 ^' I believe it would," said she ; " frankly I believe 
 it would ;" and she stretched out her hand al- 
 most involuntarily. Sir Charles took it, pressed 
 it, and would have retained it, but she witlidrew 
 it gently. " Ko, that would never do. Mrs. 
 Grundy would have a great deal to say on the 
 subject; and besides, my place is at his side." 
 If ^' his side" were her husband's, Mrs. Hammond 
 was far more frequently out of place than in it 
 ^' My place is by his side," she repeated. "Ah, 
 Sir Charles, you've no idea what a life I lead !" 
 
 He was looking at her hand as she spoke, 
 was admiring its plumpness and whiteness, and 
 was idly following with his eye the track of the 
 violet veins. Tliere is a something legible in the 
 back of a hand, something which chiromancy 
 wots not of, and Sir Cliarles Bell has left unex- 
 plained. Mitford was wondering whether he read
 
 298 EUNXIXG THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 tliis problem ariglit when tlie last words fell on 
 liis ear ; and feeling it was necessary that he 
 should reply, said, '' It must be dull, eh?" 
 
 " Dull I you've no conception how dull. And 
 I often tliink I was meant for something dif- 
 ferent, — something better than a sick -man's 
 nurse, to bear liis wdiims, and be patient mi- 
 der his irritability\ I often think — But what 
 nonsense I'm talking! — what are my thoughts 
 to you?" 
 
 ^^ A great deal more than you know of Go 
 on, please." 
 
 " I often tliink that if I had been married to 
 a man who could understand me, who could ap- 
 preciate me, I should have been a very happy 
 and a good woman. Good and happy I God 
 knows very difierent from what I am now." 
 
 With her right hand she touched her eyes with 
 a delicate little handkercliief. In her left hand she 
 had held a small feather fan, with vdiich she had 
 screened herself from the fire ; but the fan had 
 fallen to the floor and lay there imnoticed, while 
 the hand hung listlessly by her side close by Sir
 
 SIR CHARLES'S VISIT. 299 
 
 Charles. Gradually their hands touched, and this 
 time she made no effort to withdraw hers fi-om 
 his clasp. 
 
 There was silence for a few moments, broken 
 by her saying, " There, there is an end of that ! 
 It is but seldom that I break down, and show 
 myself in my true colours ; but there is some- 
 thing in you which — inexphcably to myself — 
 won my confidence, and now I've bored you 
 with my troubles. There, let me go now, and 
 I'll promise never to be so siUy again." She 
 struggled to free her hand, but he held it 
 firmly. 
 
 "Leave it there," said he; "you have not 
 misplaced your confidence, as you know very 
 well. Oh, you needn't shake yom- head ; you 
 know that I would do any thing to serve you." 
 
 He spoke in a low earnest voice ; and as she 
 looked up at liim with one of her long deep 
 dreamy looks, she saw a sudden thrill run 
 tlu-ough him, and felt his hand which held her.s 
 ti'emble. 
 
 "1 do know it," she said ; " and we will be
 
 300 RUNNING THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 the best, tlie very best of friends. Now, let us 
 talk of something else." 
 
 He was with her the whole of that day in 
 a state of dreamful happiness, drinking in the 
 music of her voice, watching her graceful mo- 
 tions, dehghted witli a certain bold recklessness, 
 a contempt for the conventional rules of society, 
 a horror of obedience to prescribed ordinances, 
 which now and then her conversation betrayed. 
 Tliey saw nothing more of Miss Gillespie, save 
 at dinner, when Mitford noticed tliat Mrs. Ham- 
 mond made no alteration in her manner towards 
 him, miless indeed it was a little more prononce 
 than when they had been alone. Miss Gillespie 
 did not appear to remark it, but sat and purred 
 from time to time in a very amiable and pleasant 
 manner. She retired after dinner, and then Sir 
 Charles's phaeton was brought romid, and it was 
 time to say adieu. 
 
 He said it in the little hbrary, where the 
 brother of the Irish peer kept his boots and his 
 di'iving-whips, as he was lighting a cigar for
 
 301 
 
 which Mrs. Hammond held a cedar-match. As 
 he bent over her, he felt her breath upon his face, 
 and felt liis whiskers touch her scented hair. 
 He had not been inattentive to some Burgmidy, 
 which the invalid upstairs had specially com- 
 mended to him in a message, and his blood 
 coursed like fire tlu'ough his veins. At that 
 moment Miss Gillespie appeared at the open door 
 with a glove which she had found in the hall, 
 and with her dark -green eyes gleaming with 
 rage. So Sir Charles only took Mrs. Hammond's 
 hand, whispering '^ Friends ?" receiving a long 
 pressure and '^ Always !" for answer ; and pass- 
 ing with a bow Miss Gillespie, whose eyes still 
 gleamed ferociously, sprang into his phaeton and 
 drove off. 
 
 That last pressure of Mrs. Hammond's hand 
 was on his hand, that last word of hers rung in 
 Iiis ear all the way home. All the way home 
 liis fevered fancy brought her image alluringly 
 before him — more frequently, more alluringly than 
 it had been in his morning's drive. But there 
 was another figure which he had not thought of
 
 in the momiug, and which now rose up ; — the 
 figure of a woman, green-eyed, pale-faced, cat- 
 hke in her motions. And w^hen Sir Charles 
 Mitford thought of her, he stamped his foot 
 savagely and swore. 
 
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