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 V. I 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 31 fio\)zl 
 
 BY 
 THE AUTHOR OF ' THE FIRST VIOLIN.' 
 
 * Life let us cherish !' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 Pttblislurs in (Driinars to ^tx Jttaj^stg iht (^uztn. 
 
 1879. 
 
 [A /I Rights Reserved. "l 
 

 
 ■^ 
 
 -^j^> — -:- 
 
 PROBATION. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 PRIDE AND PLENTY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OF AN ABSENTEE EMPLOYER. 
 The perfection of mechanism, hnman and metallic' 
 
 ^^^?^0U, at any rate, Lancashire reader, 
 G^sSl 1^^ know this place ; the large, some- 
 what low room ; the long lines of 
 looms.; the wheels, straps, and beams; the 
 rows of standing workpeople, men, women, 
 and children ; the dimness of the dust-laden 
 atmosphere. You know, too, the roar of 
 noise — how deafening, stunning, and over- 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 whelming it is to the stranger who may 
 happen casually to encounter it, yet how 
 easily those in the habit of working in it can 
 make themselves intelligible to one another. 
 You know all this, and your accustomed 
 eye recognises at once one division of the 
 ' weaving shed ' of a large cotton factory ; 
 which forms, wdth its perfect mechanism, the 
 ' metallic and the human :' a most Avonderful 
 sight to any eyes but the too careless or the 
 too accustomed. 
 
 There is an air of calm, leisurely ease 
 about the process which might be apt to lead 
 the uninitiated astray, and make him suppose 
 that not so much accuracy of eye, delicacy of 
 manipulation, sensitiveness of touch, was 
 required as is really the case. Which are the 
 most alive — the girls in the cotton dresses, 
 and the men in their fustian clothes, who 
 move lightly to and fro, adjusting their work,, 
 keeping watch and ward over the flying 
 shuttle ; or that flying shuttle itself, which 
 seems instinct with vitality, darting with 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 vivid, almost oppressive, regularity of ac- 
 tivity backwards and forwards — indulging 
 sometimes in a malicious vagary, worthy of 
 a human being, such as flying suddenly out 
 from its groove, and perhaps striking its 
 human fellow- worker a sharp blow on the 
 forehead, or in the eye ? It w^ould be diffi- 
 cult to say — the definition at the head of the 
 chapter forms also the best description of 
 the whole — ^ the perfection of mechanism, 
 human and metallic' 
 
 It was durino' the afternoon hours of 
 work ; the day's labour was drawing to a 
 close ; the great ceaseless roar and buzz and 
 rush seemed to grow rhythmic, harmonious 
 in its monotonous continuity — through the 
 thick-ribbed panes •of glass, distorted yellow 
 sunbeams came streaming, golden, hazy, 
 smoky, dusty, striking here and there upon 
 the face of some laughing or languid girl ; 
 here into the eyes of some lad — an imp of 
 mischief — or a 3^outh of thoughtful and 
 
 serious aspect. 
 
 1—2 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 That was the head overlooker who came 
 in, looked round, stopped the loom of one of 
 the said lauoiiinof crirls, fing^ered the cloth, 
 remarked warningly, * Now, Sarah Alice ! this 
 won't do ! You must look out, or there'll 
 be some mischief;' then passed on his round, 
 stopping more looms ; examining more cloth, 
 and then Avent out of the room altoo-ether. 
 
 A steady progression, for a time, of the 
 rhythmic toil, till the same door was again 
 opened, and a young man, who also appeared 
 to be a person of some authority, stepped in, 
 and paused, note-book and pencil in liand. 
 This was the second over-looker, a person 
 who of necessity must possess considerable 
 intelligence, being generally, as in this case, 
 a working man, born and bred, some discrimi- 
 nation and tact also, since he fulfilled the 
 duties, in some measure, both of a workman 
 and a superior. In addition to his position 
 as over-looker, he also performed the func- 
 tions of what is known in factory parlance 
 as ' head cut-looker ;' and a cut-looker is a 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 man who examines each piece or ' cut ' of 
 cloth after it leaves the loom ; notes the flaws, 
 and deducts from the wages of the weaver 
 in compensation for the same. Perhaps this 
 ' cut-looking ' and over-looking may be like 
 criticising — they may have a tendency to 
 23roduce a turn of mind sceptical as to the 
 merits of the work with which the cut-looker, 
 or the critic, has to do. Incessant flaws, 
 ^ scamped ' work, broken threads, ill-joined 
 ends, an uneven weft, a rough warp — the 
 parallel is certainly a striking one ; and a 
 long career of cut-looking, to say nothing of 
 criticising, may tend to make the temjDer 
 quick, and the tone just a little imperious. 
 
 The individual whose occupation was 
 something like criticism, was a tall young 
 man, dressed in grey clothes, which looked 
 in some way cleaner, or better, or diflerent 
 from the clothes of the others, and a white 
 linen jacket, which gave a cool and airy look 
 to the whole costume, and was far from un- 
 becoming to the spare, yet very strong, well- 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 built figure, and to the dark, handsome, 
 sharply-cut face belonn^ing to it. 
 
 A rio'ht workmanlike fioaire. There was 
 power and capacity — skilled power and ca- 
 pacity, too, in the supple, lissome figure, in 
 the brown hands, long and slim, yet strong 
 and muscular, which looked as if they were 
 well-accustomed to do fine work, and to do it 
 well. The loose linen jacket was by no 
 means new, though clean ; it bore here and 
 there traces of having been mended, and sat 
 in the easy creases and folds of a much- worn 
 old friend, from whose shape no washing and 
 starching can quite banish the accustomed 
 outline, given by the wearer's form. Above 
 the collar of this jacket was a narrow line of 
 grey waistcoat; then a white collar, and a 
 narrow black tie. The whole costume was 
 as pleasant and as becoming to look at, 
 as it was practical, fit, and workmanlike. 
 
 The face was rather thin and rather 
 square ; the complexion pale. The eyes 
 were very dark and very steady — at the 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 moment very quiet, though with a touch of 
 defiance in them which was habitual ; the 
 forehead broad and thoughtful — the level eye- 
 brows had a trick of contracting sharply, 
 which took away from the calmness which 
 might have seemed at first the dominant 
 characteristic of the ample brow. The nose 
 was rather long and sharp — the mouth firm, 
 and a little cross : the lips looked as if they 
 would more readily tighten in irritation at 
 the stupidity of others, than part in wonder 
 or amaze at their cleverness — and their ex- 
 pression did not belie the truth. The whole 
 face was more clearly cut, more decided in 
 feature, more distinct in expression than the 
 faces of many — nay, of most of his class in 
 the same place. Perhaps it answered to a 
 clearer mental outline — was the distinct ob- 
 jective side of a well-defined subjectivity. 
 Be that as it may, the figure was a manly 
 and a good one — the face no less so. 
 
 This young man, holding his pencil sus- 
 pended over his note-book, looked reflectively 
 
8 PROBATION. 
 
 around the room, standing erect, though the 
 wall was just behind him to lean upon. 
 Walls to lean upon, moral or material, are 
 irresistible to some people. His eyes fell 
 upon the different workers as they moved 
 hither and thither, adjusting their work, or 
 stepping from one loom to another. Those 
 eyes presently fell upon a young woman who 
 was standing at the far- end of the room, and 
 whose face happened to be turned towards 
 him. Her glance met his : they nodded and 
 smiled to one another, and his smile flashed 
 across his dark face with an effect which the 
 smiles of fair faces and light eyes can never 
 have. 
 
 This young man's name was Myles Hey- 
 wood, and the scene of his labours was the 
 factory of Sebastian Mallory, the largest mill 
 and property owner but one in the town of 
 Thanshope, in Lancashire. He was, then, 
 clever, honest, proud to excess, and self- 
 opinionated, though few i^eople could help 
 liking him, even when his opinions and pre- 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 judices, with both of which articles he was 
 well-provided, might rub against theirs. One 
 thinof deserves recordinsf of him, which alone 
 would have shown him to be somewhat aloof 
 from his fellow-workmen — he had no nick- 
 name ; and in that district, where often a 
 man's real name was quite hidden under a 
 cloud of by-names and nicknames, this was 
 at least peculiar. 
 
 Myles Heywood, after spending a few mo- 
 ments lookinof down the shed, throug^h the 
 mist of cotton fluff which made the air dim 
 and the luno^s irritable, turned and went 
 into a neighbouring room, where they were 
 twisting — a monotonous task — the rapid 
 twisting together of the ends of cotton of two 
 warps, paid for at the rate of threepence per 
 thousand ends — a 'fact which had caused our 
 critic in the linen jacket much thought at 
 different times. 
 
 Out of this twistino'-room into a laro^e 
 square yard or court, with the engine-house 
 and its neighbouring boilers on one side ; 
 
10 PROBATION. 
 
 offices on another, and the great wall of the 
 mill on the third. On the fourth, a blank wall 
 and huge gates, at present standing open, 
 and affording a glimpse into the dingy street. 
 
 The engineer, this warm August afternoon, 
 was standing in the full glow of the furnace : 
 his face was black, and shone as if recently 
 it had been anointed with oil. His arms 
 were bare and sinewy, and they were black 
 too. His shirt, whatever its original hue, 
 was black now, and his other garments, 
 reduced to as scanty a quantity as was com- 
 patible with decency, were black also with 
 oil, and grease, and coal-dust. He paused to 
 mop away a swarthy perspiration with a 
 dingy-looking handkerchief, as Myles went 
 by, looking clean and cool, and aggravatingly 
 comfortable. 
 
 ' Hey, Myles, lad, what time dost make 
 it ? I'm too hot to get my watch.' 
 
 ^ Ten to six,' said Myles, looking at his 
 watch. 
 
 ' The Lord be praised !' responded the en- 
 
PROBATION, 11 
 
 giiieer piously, ^ and send us a speedy de- 
 liverance. It's as hot as hell here of a 
 summer afternoon, and no jokin'. Hast had 
 thi' baggin '?"'' 
 
 ' I don't take baggin/ said Myles, a little 
 contemptuously, as he took his way to the 
 office, where he found a man and a boy 
 behind a desk, on which was a heap of gold, 
 silver, and copper coins, and a number of 
 books and papers. It was Friday afternoon 
 —pay-day. 
 
 '■ Oh, you're there, Myles,' said the man. 
 ■'You may take your wages now, if you like.' 
 
 ' All right !' said Myles, picking up two 
 sovereigns from the heap of gold, and slipping 
 them into his pocket. Then he twisted him- 
 self over the counter and seated himself on a 
 high stool beside the desk, 
 
 ' By your leave, I'll just wait here till my 
 lass comes, and then we'll go home together.' 
 
 Wilson, the head-overlooker and cashier, 
 
 * ' Baggin ' is not only lunch, but any accidental meal 
 coming between two regular ones. 
 
12 PROBATION. 
 
 assented. Myles folded his arms before him 
 and began to whistle a tune to himself It 
 was the tune of the song, ' Life let us 
 cherish !' and when Myles had nothing else 
 to do, he generally did whistle it — -unthink- 
 ingly, almost unconsciously. While he 
 whistled he looked through the dingy panes 
 of a small window upon a prospect as dingy 
 as the panes. 
 
 There was nothing but a short patch of 
 grey-looking street, and over the way the 
 multitudinous windows of a great foundry, 
 from the back premises of which came loud, 
 sonorous clano^s, as of metal strikinsf asfainst 
 metal — a maddeninsf and a deafeningf sound 
 to ears unused to it, but w^hich, from long 
 habit, failed to disturb the workers in ' Mal- 
 lory's Factory.' It had become, not exactly 
 inaudible to them, but part of the day's 
 features — as clouds, or wind, or rain. They 
 would, to use a Hibernicism, only have 
 noticed it if it had left off. 
 
 It still wanted some eight or nine minutes 
 
PROBATION. 13 
 
 to th^ time when the bell would rins: for 
 ^ knocking off ' work, and that interval was 
 used by those present to discuss with their 
 tongues that with which their heads hapj)ened 
 to be concerned, for the truth is, that out of 
 the emptiness of the head, much oftener than 
 out of the fulness of the hearty does the mouth 
 speak. 
 
 'Hast heerd news, Myles V inquired the lad. 
 
 The whistle ceased for a moment. 
 
 ' What news V 
 
 ' We have heard say,' said the other man, 
 ^ as how he's cominof home.' 
 
 ' Who r 
 
 Wilson pointed northwards, over his shoul- 
 der, with his thumb. 
 
 ' Oh, him !' said Myles, with again the 
 touch of contempt which came a little too 
 often to his voice. And he shrugged his 
 shoulders — another gesture betraying his un- 
 likeness in temper and temperament to those 
 with whom he was surrounded. 
 
 ' Ay, him !' 
 
U PROBATION. 
 
 ' Is it true ?' inquired Hey wood. 
 
 ' Don't know. IVe only heard say so.' 
 
 ' Who said so ?' 
 
 ' Why, I beheve it were one of the men 
 from the stables at Mrs. Mallory's.' 
 
 * Servants' gossip !' said Myles trenchantly, 
 unsuccessfully trying to turn up his nose. 
 * Never believe wdiat they say. Flunkeys 
 by trade, and liars by nature, the whole lot 
 of 'em, or they wouldn't be w^Lere they are.' 
 
 ^ I'm none so keen about believing every- 
 thinsc that any one says to me,' said Wilson, 
 with a slightly oifended air, ' but this seems 
 to me so uncommonly probable, w^ith things 
 in the state that they are. Why shouldn't 
 he come back ?' 
 
 ' Ay, why shouldn't he '?' echoed Ben, the 
 office boy, feehng a dawning sense of coming* 
 pleasure In the idea of having given Myles a 
 poser. 
 
 ' Why shouldn't he ? began Myles. 
 
 ^ That makes three times as it's been said,' 
 observed Ben, with an intelligent smile. 
 
 ' Well r 
 
PROBATION. 15 
 
 ^ Young one, keep your fingers out of the 
 pie !' said Myles, ' and answer me this — why 
 should he '?' 
 
 Crestfallen silence on the part of Wilson 
 and Ben, till the former began, rather feebly : 
 
 ' Well, he's been abroad for years and 
 years, and when he's a fine property like 
 this, a- waiting for him to step into, as it 
 were, and a fine house, and a fine 
 mother ' 
 
 * Ha, ha !' said Myles, and his laugh was 
 by no means one of unsophisticated enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 ' And with things in the state that they 
 are,' Wilson again repeated, as if much im- 
 pressed with that state. ' With these Yankees- 
 and Southerners at it like cat and dog, and 
 cotton going up, and no prospect of any end 
 to it yet. Mr. Sutcliffe said to me, he says^ 
 '' Wilson, we don't know Avhat's before us 
 yet. If I'm not much mistaken," he says,. 
 " there'll be a famine in the land before this 
 time next year." And I say, if a master 
 
16 PROBATION. 
 
 shouldn't come home under those circum- 
 stances, when should he f 
 
 ' Should ! Ought !' repeated Heywood, in 
 sarcastic tones ; his scornful smile lighting 
 his face, and gleaming in his eyes. ^ What's 
 that to do with it ? I'll tell you why he 
 couldn't, and shouldn't, and won't come.' 
 
 The others settled themselves more atten- 
 tively in their positions to hear the riddle 
 answered. 
 
 ^ Because he's proud and lazy, and likes 
 •amusing himself better than working,' said 
 Myles, with a strong flavour of contempt and 
 dislike in his voice. ' Because the money's 
 "there, and let who may have made it, choose 
 liow they've sweated for it, it's got into his 
 hands, whether he deserves it or not, and it's 
 his to do as he likes with — so he does what 
 "he likes with it. He's got such a manager 
 as there isn't another like him in Lancashire. 
 Mr. Sutcliffe can do anything ; it's he that 
 lias slaved and made this business what it is 
 — ^the biggest in Thanshope, next to Spence- 
 
PROBATION. 17 
 
 ley's. He's got this manager, and if he 
 chooses to think that he hasn't got a duty in 
 this mortal world, except to muddle his head 
 with foreign politics, as I hear he does, and 
 amuse himself by dancing attendance on a 
 lot of fine ladies, and stroll about foreign 
 countries, and stare himself blind up at pic- 
 tures as big as the side of a house, and as 
 black as my hat, and figures of men and 
 women without any clothes on ' 
 
 ^ Lord !' said Ben, awestruck and shocked. 
 
 ^ And go rambling about, admiring scenery, 
 and wondering what to do with himself next 
 — well, w^hat is it to us '?' 
 
 As Wilson and Ben really did not see 
 what it was to them, but had an uncomfort- 
 able sensation that their hitherto revered and 
 honoured Mr. Sutcliffe was in some way a 
 wronged and slighted individual, and that 
 they ought to feel it all to be a great deal to 
 them, and a subject of soreness and oflfence, 
 they w^aited humbly for the keynote, nodding 
 their heads, and trying to look wise. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
18 PROBATION. 
 
 ' It's true/ went on Myles, more warmly — - 
 'it's true, he's got this big business here, 
 which makes his money, and hundreds of 
 hands who work for him, and who are, so to 
 speak, under his care ; and it's true that 
 some people — old-fashioned idiots, of course 
 — might think that a big property has its 
 duties as well as its pleasures, and that a 
 capitalist has, or ought to have, something 
 else to do than take and spend his money^ 
 and never inquire how he got it, nor what 
 state the machine is in that made it for him ; 
 but what is that to us ? If we're going to 
 have a famine in the land, it would be un- 
 pleasant for a person not accustomed to this 
 kind of thing — all the more reason for liim to 
 keep away. My lord likes the company of 
 lords and ladies, and he thinks Thanshope is 
 only fit for tradespeople.' 
 
 * I bet he's ne'er seen nowt finer nor the 
 new town-hall, choose where he may have 
 been 1' said Ben aggressively. 
 
 ' And,' went on Myles, whose mouth had 
 
PROBATION. 19 
 
 grown very cross indeed, and whose eyebrows 
 met in a strais^ht line across his frowninof 
 brow, ' he's a Tory — a Tory ; if I'd said that 
 at first, I shouldn't have needed to say all 
 the rest. A Tory, in these times, and in 
 Thanshope !' 
 
 Wilson and Ben laughed, but not quite a 
 whole-hearted laugh. A Tory — every species 
 of Conservative — was a poor thing, was the 
 general Thanshope opinion, but they had 
 always thought of Tories more as harmless 
 old women, or vulgar * risen ' men, like Mr. 
 Spenceley, than as anything so actively mis- 
 chievous and to be eschewed as their absentee 
 employer, Sebastian Mallory. 
 
 ^ He's ashamed of the place, and the 
 people, and the business that has made him 
 what he is. And that's w^hy he won't come 
 back.' 
 
 ' I say, Myles, who told you all this V in- 
 quired Wilson deferentially. 
 
 * That I'm not at liberty to say ; but not 
 one of the men from the stables, old lad,' said 
 
 2—2 
 
20 PROBATION. 
 
 Myles. ' But my authority is a good one, 
 and it's what I've suspected for years. I've 
 heard of his doings. He goes about with 
 parsons. He's trying all he can to shake 
 himself free of trade. He'll try to do it by 
 marrying a lord's daughter — that's Avhat 
 these shoddy Conservatives always do — she'll 
 spend his money for him, and if he says any- 
 thing, she'll tell him it smells of cotton, and 
 she wants to get rid of it.' 
 
 ' Nay, nay, now !' interrupted Ben, with 
 feeling. 
 
 'But she will,' said Myles, looking as 
 angry as if the fair and contemptuous aristo- 
 crat stood in person before them. * I know. 
 Don't we all know Avhat ha]3pened to Jack 
 Brierley's lad, and how ' 
 
 Clang, clang, clang ! went the great bell in 
 the courtyard. It was two minutes past six. 
 Wilson raised himself rapidly from his recum- 
 bent attitude, and began to turn over liis 
 papers, calling Ben to his side to help him. 
 The discussion as to the merits or demerits 
 
PROBATION. 21 
 
 of Sebastian Malloiy, who certainly formed a 
 striking instance of the theory that les absents 
 ont toiijours tort, was over ; soon the office 
 was filled with a pushing, elbowing crowd, 
 waiting more or less impatiently to receive 
 the hire of their week's labour. 
 
 Myles sat upon his high stool in the back- 
 ground, and watched, while Wilson and his 
 assistant paid out the wages. It was rather 
 a dingy-looking crowd that he saw, and was 
 apparent to nose, as well as to eye, by the 
 unmistakable odour of oil and fluff which 
 emanated from it. Bare-armed girls with 
 long, greasy pinafores, loud voices, and un- 
 gainly gestures, elbowing their way through 
 the lads, and exchanging with them chaff 
 of the roughest description. Small, pale, 
 stunted-looking men ; sometimes downright 
 hideously ugly and mean-looking, or again, 
 only sallow, pale, and subdued by a sedentary 
 occupation, with here and there a tremendous, 
 massive brow ; here and there a pair of eyes 
 so deep and glowing as to cause a shock and 
 
22 PROBATION. 
 
 thrill to one who encountered them ; here a 
 mouth of poetical delicacy and sensitiveness ; 
 there a jaw so strong and heavy that^ com-' 
 paring it with the eyes, brows, and mouths 
 before spoken of, one no longer felt cause for 
 surprise in hearing such aphorisms as ' Man- 
 chester rules Eno^land/ ^ What Lancashire 
 thinks to-day, England thinks to-morrow.' 
 It was, taken all in all, an ugly crowd, but in 
 its way a commanding one. It might have 
 moved the soul of a ^ Corn-Law Rhymer,' a 
 Gerald Massey, a ' Lancashire Lad ;' it would 
 probably have been repulsive to more refined 
 bards and writers, and the poet of the brush 
 and canvas would have found absolutely 
 nothing here with which to gladden his 
 eye. 
 
 Myles, a striking exception to almost every 
 one of the men in point of good looks and 
 fine physical development, if not in point of 
 intelligent expression, sat upon his stool ; and 
 his monotonous whistle continued, as he 
 scanned the faces, and returned a nod here 
 
PROBATION. 23 
 
 and there. Many a girl looked at him, and 
 smiled her brightest as she caught his grave 
 eyes. 
 
 He was not quite like the other work- 
 men, in more things than beauty, and a 
 somewhat higher position, and none knew 
 that better than the workwomen. The 
 smiles and amiable looks provoked little 
 answer. Myles Avas not rude to girls ; he 
 never chaffed them in the rough manner of 
 some of his fellow- workmen ; but, on the 
 other hand, he very seldom took any notice 
 of them at all, having very little to say to 
 any young woman out of his own family. 
 
 They passed before him in varied array; 
 ugly, and pretty, and mediocre ; fair girls and 
 dark girls, stout girls and thin ones, tall and 
 short, stupid and intelligent-looking. Here 
 and there a pale, pensive face, with a head of 
 flaxen hair, and long, delicate. Madonna-like 
 features ; now a brunette, with high com- 
 plexion, and flashing black eyes, that showed 
 the brighter under the thick white powdering 
 of cotton fluff* with which her head was 
 
24 PROBATION. 
 
 covered ; piquante and placid, merry and 
 melancholy ; but not for one in all the crowd 
 did his cheek flush in the least, not once did 
 the calm indifference in his eyes change, nor 
 did his low, careless whistle cease for an 
 instant. He stared over or between their 
 heads, or — which was the most irritatino- of 
 all — rio^ht at them, without once noticino^ 
 them, until a girl, somewhat taller than the 
 majority of her companions, came in, and 
 stood waiting with a group of others near the 
 door, until her turn should come to go up for 
 her wages. 
 
 Then Myles stopped whistling, and got 
 off his stool, remarking, half to himself, 
 ' There's Mary, at last !' and applied to 
 Wilson for the sum of eiofhteen shillinofs, 
 that beino' the amount of his sister's wao-es. 
 He received the money, and made his way 
 through the crowd towards the door. 
 
 ' Eh, Myles, art there ?* said the young 
 Avoman. * Wait of me a minute, while I get 
 my wages.' 
 
PROBATION. 25 
 
 ' They're here/ said he, putting the money 
 into her hand. ' So come along, lass ! Let's 
 get out of this shop.' 
 
 They passed out at the door, and walked 
 together down the sloping street — a tall and 
 well -looking pair. It was very seldom, in- 
 deed, that Myles Heywood and his sister* 
 Mary failed to walk home from their work 
 toscether. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' And I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much 
 goods laid up for many years ; take thine ease, eat, drink, 
 and be merry.' 
 
 S^^^j^^T was August of the year 1861 — 
 the year succeeding that which 
 might ahiiost be called the apo- 
 theosis of the cotton trade. The goods of 
 Lancashire were piled in every port ; her 
 merchants were a byword for riches and 
 prosperity. ' Cotton lords ' — the aristocracy 
 of the land — that grimy, smutty, dingy, 
 golden land, whose sceptre was swayed by 
 King Cotton. 
 
 Day after day the goodly ships had borne 
 
PROBATION. 27 
 
 their load across the Atlantic, from New Or- 
 leans and the other cotton ports ; day after 
 day those Liverpool cotton lords had received 
 that load upon their docks, and those Man- 
 chester cotton lords had bartered with them 
 and bought it ; and it had been borne slowly 
 along, piled up on great lurries, or it had been 
 whirled along the iron road, and unloaded, 
 and carried to a thousand factories in Man- 
 chester, and Bolton, and Oldham — the giant 
 consumers ; in Kochdale, and Bury, and 
 Burnley ; Blackburn, and Wigan, and 
 Ashton, and Stockport ; to the great, 
 young, growing towns ; to strange moorland 
 villages, younger sisters of the towns ; and 
 there, thickset spikes had whirled it about, 
 and combs had smoothed it out ; revolving 
 spindles had spun it into the thickest or the 
 most fairy threads ; rows and rows of shining 
 looms had received it, and woven it into every 
 conceivable variety of texture and colour, and 
 breadth and length, and pattern. Skilled 
 workmen and workwomen, deft-handed, lis- 
 
28 PROBATION. 
 
 some, soft-fingered craftsmen and crafts- 
 women had stood by their wooden and 
 metal fellow- workers, and fed their untiring 
 jaws ; then it had gone to the white -looking 
 warehouses, to be piled in great masses, like 
 little mountains for height and solidity, and 
 from thence removed to ships again, and borne 
 over the seas to India, and China, and Ame- 
 rica, and to every town in Europe where 
 men and women needed clothing and had 
 money to buy it. 
 
 The glory of King Cotton at this period 
 of his reign, and the splendour of him, can- 
 not be better summed up than in the graphic 
 words of one who has thought and written 
 on that great subject : 
 
 ' The dreary totals which Mr. Gladstone's 
 eloquence illuminates, and the rolling nume- 
 rals of the National Debt, become almost 
 insignificant beside the figures which this 
 statement (the statistics of the cotton 
 trade) involves. Arithmetic itself grows 
 dizzy as it approaches the returns of the 
 
PROBATION, 29 
 
 cotton trade for 1860. One hundred years 
 back, and the cotton manufactures of Eng- 
 land had been vahied at £200,000 a year. 
 Had not French, American and Kussian 
 wars — had not railways and telegraphs, had 
 their part and lot in this century, surely it 
 would be known as the Cotton Age. This 
 year, 1860, was the annus mirahilis of King 
 Cotbon. In this year his dependents were most 
 numerous, and his throne most wide. There 
 was no Daniel at hand to interpret to him 
 the handwriting on the w^all, which within 
 twelve months should be read by all who 
 ran, in letters of blood. What cared he ? 
 An argosy of ships bore him across every sea 
 and into every port. He listened to the 
 humming of his spindles and to the rattle 
 of his looms ; he drank of the fulness of his 
 power and was satisfied, for he was great — 
 yes, very great. . . . The total value of 
 their (the manufacturers') exports for the 
 year, amounted to £52,012,380. If figures 
 can ever be magnificent — if naked totals 
 
30 PROBATION. 
 
 ever reach to the sublime — surely the British 
 cotton trade for the yoar 1860 claims our 
 admiration. Its production for this single 
 year equalled in value £76,012,380, or nearly 
 six millions more than the gross revenue of 
 the kingdom for the same period.' 
 
 Surely the land which was the chief home 
 of this monster trade deserved the title of 
 ^ The Land of Plenty/ and such it was — * a 
 goodly land,' in fact, if not in outward show, 
 * a land flowing with milk and honey,' or at 
 least their modern English equivalents — a 
 land where wealth was profuse — where mas- 
 ters and men vied with each other in pride of 
 bearing and dogged independence of spirit. 
 Such was that rough, dark land at the end of 
 
 1860 ; such it was still at the end of August, 
 
 1861 ; what it was in August, 1862, only 
 those know who dwelt in it, and saw its 
 thousands of perishing children, and noted 
 their stoic endurance of their sufferings. 
 
 Even now, even in this month of August, 
 1861, rumours were gaining ground that the 
 
PROBATION. 31 
 
 war in America would not soon be over. The 
 price of cotton was beginning to go up ; the 
 days were hastening towards that month of 
 October when prices sprang up, mounting 
 daily higher and higher^ and factories began 
 to close — not in ones and twos as heretofore, 
 not to run short time, or half time, or even 
 quarter time, but to close bodily, in dozens 
 and scores, with no prospect of their opening 
 again for an indefinite period of want and 
 woe. It was a vast, dark, pitiless cloud, that 
 which was even now rolling up from the 
 West, bearing in its huge womb lamentation, 
 and mourning, and woe. 
 
 But still Lancashire was the land of plenty 
 and of hospitality ; still her generous fires 
 burnt merrily upon her ample hearths, 
 making the stranger forget her murky skies, 
 and the smoke-dimmed countenance of her 
 landscapes. Her workpeople still got the 
 largest wages, her masters still made the 
 greatest fortunes of any masters and work- 
 people, taken collectively, in England ; and 
 
32 PROBATION. 
 
 nothing was said about the over-production 
 of the last plethoric year, nor of the 
 piled-up goods in the overstocked ware- 
 houses. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 RIFTS WITHIN THE LUTE. 
 
 HE brother and sister walked to- 
 gether down the sloping street 
 already mentioned, and which 
 was, as usual at that time, full of workpeople, 
 streaminof out of the numberless factories 
 which formed the staple of Thanshope build- 
 in o^s. Arms w^ere swino^ingf, and closes were 
 clattering ; tongues were wagging furiously 
 in the reaction of the release from work, and 
 the inhalation of the air, which though close 
 and thunderous, was yet fresher than that in 
 the great hot factories. 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 PROBATION. 
 
 Thanshope was built on a situation with 
 considerable claims to natural beauty, and 
 there were days, even now, when it looked 
 beautiful. Its streets all climbed ud and 
 down steep hills. Whenever the day or the 
 smoke was clear enough, hills might be seen 
 surrounding it on all sides in the distance, 
 except to the south, where Manchester lay. 
 
 There was a river — the river Thanse — 
 running through the town, which unfortunate 
 stream formed a fertile source of bickering 
 and heart-burning amongst the members of 
 the town council, the medical men, and the 
 people who write to the newspapers : one 
 party of them contended that there was 
 nothino" the matter with the river Thanse, it 
 was a good and wholesome stream, which 
 purified the town ; vviiile the other party said 
 that it and its unspeakable uncleanness were 
 at the root of all the ills that Thanshope 
 flesh suffered from. 
 
 Altogether, the verdict of a stranger would 
 most likely have been that Thanshope was a 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 dim, unlovely, smoky place, in which no one 
 would choose to live whose business did not 
 oblige him to do so — a place where sub- 
 stantial dirt was the co-operator of substantial 
 prosperity, where grime and plenty went 
 hand in hand. 
 
 Yet there were people who loved this dirty 
 town, and who lived contented lives in it : 
 people not belonging to the great swarm of 
 workers who were obliged to live there, and 
 who, perhaps, thought more about the rate 
 •of washes than about the aesthetic condition of 
 their surroundinofs. 
 
 Myles and Mary Heywood, having come 
 to the end of the sloping street, turned a 
 corner to the left, and soon found themselves 
 in another street, quieter, wider, with terraces 
 of small houses on either side, whose mono- 
 tony was diversified by various chapels, meet- 
 ing-houses, and schools. Uphill for a short 
 distance, till the street grew wider and the 
 houses better, and Myles and Mary, turning 
 down a side street to the right, emerged upon 
 
 3—2 
 
36 PROBATION. 
 
 one side of a wi&j-QjDen, square space, called 
 Townfield, or the Townfield, and elevated so 
 high that the rest of the town lay below them 
 as in a basin. All alonof that side of the 
 Townfield w^here they stood, was a row of 
 neat, small houses, each exactly like all the 
 others ; the only room for the individuality 
 of the owners making itself apparent, being 
 in the arrangement of the little strip of 
 garden spreading before each. 
 
 Half the Townfield had been cut oif, a 
 couple of years ago, to furnish a small park 
 or pleasure-ground ; but looking across the 
 open space to the north-west, they could see 
 the old part of the town in its hollow ; the 
 old church of the parish on ground almost as 
 high as the Townfield itself; the gilded spire 
 of the town-hall rising ambitiously from the 
 hollow (it chimed a quarter after six with 
 mellow tone as they stood there), and all the 
 other churches and chapels, and public build- 
 ings strewn here and there about the town. 
 A great cloud of smoke came up and dimmed 
 
PROBATION. 37 
 
 the air ; on every side was a fringe of long 
 chimneys ; different big factories were famihar 
 features in the landscape, and formed land- 
 marks to Mary and her brother — had formed 
 landmarks to them from infancy. 
 
 Away to the north-west were undulating 
 hnes of blue, lofty moors. They were part 
 of Blackrigg — that mighty joint of England's 
 irregular spine. It was not exactly an en- 
 livening prospect, but it had certain beauties of 
 its own ; and at least this town, full of rough, 
 busy toilers, had a fitting and harmonious 
 frame in that semicircle of bleak and treeless 
 moors. 
 
 Mary and Myles went up one of the strips 
 of garden about the middle of the terrace, 
 and opened the door of the house. 
 
 ' Pah ! how hot and close it feels !' said 
 
 Myles, as they closed themselves in. ' Now 
 
 I wonder how that lad is !' 
 
 They went along a little passage, to the 
 
 left of which was the ' parlour/ arranged in 
 
38 PROBATION, 
 
 the approved style of such parlours, with a 
 brilhant, large-patterned carpet in red, yellow, 
 and blue ; bright green merino curtains, a 
 ^ drawing-room suite' in rosewood and crimson 
 rej), a pink cloth upon the centre-table, upon 
 which were negligently arranged albums, 
 Sunday books, paper mats, and a glass shade, 
 under which reposed waxen apples and grapes 
 of a corpulent description. On the mantel- 
 piece, two green glass vases, and a china 
 greyhound of an unknown variety, more 
 frilled paper mats, and little piles of spar and 
 crystal. On the walls, photographs and a 
 rich collection of framed funeral cards, to- 
 gether with the clief-d'ceuvre of the whole 
 establishment — a work of art which Mary 
 reofarded with feelinsrs little short of venera- 
 tion — * Joseph sold by his Brethren/ executed 
 in Berlin wools, the merchants all squinting 
 frightfully, and Joseph with a salmon- 
 coloured back and a de.cidedly ruddy counte- 
 nance, though one not of such remarkable 
 
probation: 39 
 
 beauty as quite to account for his subsequent 
 adventures. 
 
 Past the door leading into this epitome of 
 art and beauty went these young people, 
 into the kitchen, which was of course the 
 general living-room of the family. Upon a 
 couch beneath the window, with the crink- 
 ling of the cinders and the ticking of the 
 clock for his only companions, lay the failure 
 of his family — a cripple lad of eighteen. 
 
 'Well, Ned, lad, how dost find thyself?' 
 asked Myles, going in. 
 
 'I find myself as usual — wishing I was 
 dead,' was the encouraging reply, as the lad 
 turned a pale and sallow face, not without 
 considerable beauty of feature, but stamped 
 with a look of ill-health, pain, and something 
 deeper and more sorrowful than either, to- 
 wards the strong, handsome brother who 
 stooped over him. 
 
 * Nay, come ! Not quite so bad as that/ 
 said Myles, smoothing Edmund's hair from 
 his hot forehead, and seating himself beside 
 
40 PROBATION, 
 
 the couch. He looked into his cripple 
 brother's eyes with a glance so full of life, 
 and hope, and strong, protecting kindness, 
 and withal so contagious a smile, that an 
 answering, if a reluctant one, was w^rung 
 from the lad's dull eyes and down-drawn 
 mouth. 
 
 ' I'm that thirsty !' he said. ' Molly, do 
 get the tea ready.' 
 
 ' I'm shappin' (shaping) to't now, lad,' she 
 returned, hanging up her cotton kerchief 
 and poking the fire to settle the kettle 
 upon it. 
 
 * And you read a bit, Myles, wilta ?' pur- 
 sued Edmund. ^ Mother won't be home for 
 half an hour, and I could like to know how 
 yon Lady Angiolina got on at the castle.' 
 
 Myles took up a book from a table and 
 beo'an to read aloud : 
 
 ' '^ As the groom of the chambers an- 
 nounced the Lady Angiolina Fitzmaurice, 
 every eye turned towards her. She ad- 
 vanced with the step of a queen. Her 
 
PROBATION, 41 
 
 trailirio- robe of black velvet set off her 
 «aperb baaiity to the utmost advantage," 
 a.nd so forth. 
 
 Edmund listened Avith face intent and a 
 pleased half smile upon his lijDS. Mary 
 moved noiselessly about, getting the tea-cups 
 out of the cupboard and setting them on the 
 tray with gingerly hand, so as not to disturb 
 the literary party in the window. 
 
 The readinof was continued only for the 
 .space of some quarter of an hour. The story 
 was a novel of ^hig^h life.' No ao^ent in it 
 was of lower rank than a baronet ; no menial 
 less distinguished than a groom of the 
 chambers or a major-domo was permitted to 
 a,ppear in its truly select and exclusive 
 pages : the action took place in Mayfair, in 
 Belgravia, and in the ancestral halls of dukes 
 -and earls. Manchester was alluded to by 
 the refined author much as if it had been of 
 about equal importance with Timbuctoo ; the 
 whole a very tawdry tinsel, pasted together 
 in a very poor, second-rate manner. 
 
12 PROBATION, 
 
 Myles read on and Edmund listened. 
 Perhaps he was aware that the story was- 
 rubbish, but it took him into a world which 
 by contrast with his own was beautiful : it 
 spoke of something else than the Townfield 
 as a pleasure-ground, grey factories, smoke- 
 and chimneys by way of a prospect. It 
 pointed out another sort of existence than 
 that led by him and his. 
 
 Edmund had an intensely poetic tempera- 
 ment. Poetry of some sort, in real life, or 
 in books, he must have or die. It was not 
 forthcoming in real life : Myles never read 
 novels for his own pleasure, therefore Ed- 
 mund had no beneficent hand to point out to 
 him the shining treasures of real poetry with 
 which our English literature abounds, so he 
 had to rely on the titles in the catalogue of 
 the Thanshope Free Library, and often re- 
 ceived a stone instead of bread, in the shape 
 of such jingling nonsense as he was greedily 
 listening to just now. 
 
 Myles was a great reader of politics and 
 
PROBATION. 4.3 
 
 science. The romantic and poetic side of his 
 nature had been left to itself; the soil, 
 whether sterile or fruitful, had never received 
 the least touch of cultivation — yet. He had 
 some strong convictions on the subject of 
 ethics, which will be best left undescribed, to 
 display their results in his actions as circum- 
 stances put his theories to the test. 
 
 There was something striking and un- 
 common in the appearance of all three of 
 this groujD of brothers and sister. Mary 
 was comely — a tall, well-formed, well- grown 
 young woman, with the pale but clear and 
 healthy complexion, dark eyes and hair of 
 her elder brother — a calm, sensible face, not 
 destitute of a certain still, regular beauty, 
 but lacking the impetuousness and intensity 
 of Myles's expression. She sat knitting a 
 long grey woollen stocking, and looked with 
 a large steady gaze now at Myles, now at 
 Edmund, whose face was equally sharp cut 
 as his brother's, but worn and drawn witli 
 pain and ill-health. 
 
44 PROBATION. 
 
 Edmund was nineteen; Mary two and 
 twenty ; Myles six and twenty ; another, 
 born between tliem, had died an infant. 
 
 At this juncture the back door was heard 
 to open. Some one entered, and in the 
 pause made by Myles in his reading there 
 was distinctly audible a heavy sigh — almost 
 a groan. Glances were exchanged between 
 Myles and Mary; both looked as if they 
 braced themselves to meet some ordeal. Ed- 
 mund's face darkened visibly. 
 
 ' Is that you, mother ?' called out Mary 
 cheerfully. 
 
 ^ Ay, it's me !' replied a rather grating 
 voice — a voice high, though not loud, and 
 complaining in the midst of an ostentatious 
 resignation. 
 
 ' Go on, Myles !' said Edmund, in an 
 undertone. 
 
 ' Can't, my lad. You know mother can't 
 abide it.' 
 
 ' Why am 1 never to have a bit o' plea- 
 sure ? It's precious little as I get,' grumbled 
 
PROBATION, 45 
 
 the lad, as he turned away, and lay with his 
 face concealed. 
 
 ' See, lad ! Tak' the book, and read for 
 thysel'/ said Myles, who indulged in a toler- 
 ably broad dialect when in the bosom of his 
 family. 
 
 Edmund shrugged his shoulders irritably 
 and made a gesture of aversion. Myles 
 closed the book, rising from the side of the 
 couch and going to the table, as a woman 
 came in from the back kitchen — a small, 
 sharp-featured woman, comely yet, with a 
 bright cheek and a dark eye. She was the 
 mother of all those tall children, though she 
 was only five and forty, having been mar- 
 ried, as too many of her class do marry, at 
 eighteen. The great wonder was that she had 
 remained a widow so long, for in addition to 
 good looks, clever fingers, and a stirring 
 disposition, she possessed property to the 
 extent of thirty pounds per annum, left by a 
 rich relation to her years ago. 
 
46 PROBATION, 
 
 An ignorant observer, looking at the 
 family party just now, Avould have said what 
 a good-looking, prosperous, well-to-do party 
 they were. But Mrs. HeyAvood had scarcely 
 spoken yet. 
 
 ' Evenin', mother/ said her eldest son 
 civilly, but, it must be owned, hardly cor- 
 dially. 
 
 * Good- evenin',' she returned, in her high- 
 pitched, dubious voice. ^ What ! you've 
 managed to get th' tea ready, lass ? But I 
 know what that means. Just twice as much 
 tea in the pot as we've any need for, or as I 
 should a' put in mysel'. Waste, waste, on 
 every side !' 
 
 As this was Mrs. Heywood's invariable 
 remark when she came in from her occasional 
 day's sewing at one of the large houses of 
 the neighbourhood and found the tea pre- 
 pared, it excited neither comment nor indig- 
 nation, and the excellent woman, seating her- 
 self, cast a sharp, discontented look around, 
 ■as if wishing that some one would give her 
 
PROBATION. 47 
 
 an opportunity of saying something dis- 
 agreeable. 
 
 * Eh, bi' the mass ! It is some and hot I 
 If some folks had to wpJk as far as me, may- 
 hap they'd understand what I feel at this 
 
 moment.' 
 
 Again no answer. Myles was buttering 
 a piece of bread. His eyebrows were con- 
 tracted again. The serpent in that Eden 
 was the contentious woman. Myles never 
 answered her complaints, on principle, for 
 fear of saying something outrageous and un- 
 becoming, but it was often with a sore 
 struggle that he abstained : he did not want 
 to become a household bully, or he knew — 
 he had found it out by accident one day — 
 that a certain look and tone of his could 
 quell Mrs. Heywood's temper in one minute. 
 He was very much afraid of using it too 
 frequently, though often sorely provoked. 
 * Such people as Sebastian Mallory,' he re- 
 flected (whose mother was said to live for 
 him and his happiness), ' were not obliged to 
 
48 PROBATION, 
 
 stay in one room, listening to maddening' 
 complaints, like the continual dropjoing of a 
 rainy day, with no alternative hut solitude, 
 silence, or the taproom.' 
 
 Edmund's shoulders were drawn up to his 
 ears, and his back expressed distinctly that 
 he felt himself jarred and grated in every 
 fibre of his being. 
 
 * Now, then, Edmund/ said his mother, in 
 her thin, penetrating voice ; ' art comin' to 
 the table, or mun thou have thv tea car- 
 ried to thee, to drink on th' sofa, like a 
 lady, eh ? 
 
 Answering to this appeal, he raised him- 
 self, his face darkened, his lips quivering with 
 anofer. 
 
 ' That's right !' said he bitterly. ' Do 
 insult me a little more ! It's so nice to be 
 ill, and so pleasant to spend your days by 
 yourself upon a sofa in a kitchen. I'm likely 
 to keep it up as long as ever I can. So 
 would you if once you knew" how agreeable 
 it was.' 
 
PROBATION. 49 
 
 He had supported himself by means of a 
 stick to the table ; and as he limped along 
 to the chair which Mary had placed for him, 
 one could see how much deformed he was, 
 and how clumsily he moved. No look of pity 
 w^armed the woman's face as she saw him. 
 He was not, like many a weakly or deformed 
 child, the object of the mother's divinest love 
 and tenderest care. He had been born three 
 months after his father's sudden death. Mrs. 
 Heywood had never been noted for enthu- 
 siastic devotion to any of her children, or to 
 her husband, or, indeed, to any one but her- 
 self and her own interest. Myles could 
 influence her; but she seemed to have a 
 positive aversion to Edmund, who used to 
 say that his real mother was Mary. 
 
 When the meal was over, there was a little 
 movement. Edmund looked wistfully to- 
 wards Myles and the book ; but Myles did 
 not offer to resume it. He had begun to 
 think over that conversation in the office 
 before pay-time, and was wondering whether 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 PROBATION. 
 
 it could be really true that Sebastian Mal- 
 lory meant to return. 
 
 Sebastian Mallory was, and had been for 
 years, his hete noire. He had seen him 
 once, ten years ago, a handsome, fair-faced, 
 ' yellow-haired laddie ' of sixteen, who had 
 come to look round his own works, with a 
 somewhat listless gaze. Myles's vigorous 
 soul had been filled with contempt for him at 
 that moment, and he had never seen fit to 
 alter that feelingf. AH he heard of Sebastian 
 Mallory was exactly contrary to his ideas of 
 what a 'man — unless the man were some 
 irresponsible person, with neither business 
 nor estate in the background — ought to be 
 and do. He had a very strong sense of duty 
 himself, and never, so far as he knew, left a 
 duty unperformed. He struggled hard, ac- 
 cording to his light, to do what was right ; 
 consequently he felt himself in a position to 
 be somewhat censorious upon those who, he 
 considered, obviously did not fulfil their 
 duties — duties to their property, their de- 
 
PROBATION, 51 
 
 pendents, their privileges, to him — Sebastian 
 Mallory. Therefore he smiled somewhat 
 grimly to himself as he imagined that lily- 
 handed, yellow-haired, delicate-looking, young 
 man coming to take his place at the head of 
 affairs at such a crisis as Avas striding towards 
 Lancashire — a storm which it would take 
 the keenest heads, the strongest hands, the 
 most practised eyes of the wariest business 
 men who should succeed in weatherins: it. 
 Probably Mr. Sebastian Mallory, if he did 
 come, would cut a sorry spectacle, and would 
 soon be glad to retire again to more congenial 
 scenes abroad. 
 
 He did not feel it his duty to excite Mrs. 
 Heywood's disagreeable remarks by reading 
 aloud what he justly considered 'balderdash' 
 to Edmund; he therefore suggested that they 
 should ofo and take a turn on the Townfield. 
 
 Edmund, who for some reason was in a 
 more unhappy temper than usual, shrugged his 
 shoulders, and said he did not feel inclined to 
 
 go out. LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 4—2 
 
52 PROBATION. 
 
 ' No % Then I must go by myself, I sup- 
 pose/ said Myles. 
 
 But he made no immediate effort to leave 
 the house. He seated himself at the table 
 with a book, and might possibly have re- 
 mained in the house, but for his mother, who, 
 having ascertained that his book was entitled 
 ' The History of Rationalism,' announced that 
 the bitterest grief of her declining years con- 
 sisted in having to see a son of hers growing 
 up an infidel, or worse. She hunted under 
 the Family Bible, and produced a tract,, 
 which she offered him in lieu of the work he 
 was reading. It bore the alluring title,. 
 ^ Thou also, Worm 1' And on his refusing 
 this tit-bit of religious badinage, she put it 
 aside with a bitter smile, and an audibly- 
 expressed hope that it might not in the 
 future go too hardly with those who had 
 spurned the means of grace proffered by a 
 mother's hand. 
 
 Myles endured these, and a succession of 
 similar remarks, for some little time, while he 
 
PROBATION, 53 
 
 appeared to go on with his book without heed- 
 ing them ; but, as none knew better than she 
 who made them, the contracted eyebrows 
 and the impatient twisting of his moustache 
 covered considerable inward irritation. He 
 at last abruptly rose, and took his cap from 
 the nail on which it hung. 
 
 ' Out again 1' said Mrs. Heywood, in the 
 same maddening voice ; ^ and if a mother 
 may ask, what pot-house are you going to 
 now '?' 
 
 ^ No thanks to you, mother, that I've not 
 taken to the pot-house long ago,' replied the 
 young man curtly, slapping his hat upon his 
 head, and leaving the room. 
 
 * If he doesn't break that door off its 
 hinges some fine day, in one of his tempers, 
 my name's not Sarah Ann Heywood/ re- 
 marked his mother. * It's a grievous thing 
 to have an ungovernable temper. His Bible, 
 if he ever read it, would tell him that the 
 tongue is a little member, but a consuming 
 fire.' 
 
54 PROBATION. 
 
 ' The Bible never said a truer word/ re- 
 torted Edmund witheringly ; and Mrs. Hey- 
 wood, returning to her knitting, with the 
 pleasant sense of having driven out the 
 strongest, sank into silence. 
 
CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 ADRIENNE. 
 
 ^ I love my lady ; she is very fair ; 
 Her brow is wan, and bound by simple hair : 
 Her spirit sits aloof, and high, 
 But glances from her tender eye. 
 In sweetness droopingly/ 
 
 ' YLES left the house, and travers- 
 ing some sideways, found him- 
 self presently in a steep, hilly 
 street, which he descended, arriving at last, 
 at a sort of square, through the middle of 
 which ran the river Thanse, and on both 
 sides of which were rows of shops. Then, 
 walking on a hundred yards or so, he 
 emerged in another still larger open space. 
 
56 PROBATION. 
 
 opposite a large and beautiful building, 
 ■which, in its delicate and multiform Gothic 
 tracery, and noble dimensions, with the 
 springing gilded spire leaping aloft at last, 
 offered a startling contrast to its sordid sur- 
 roundings — the shabby, low houses, narrow 
 streets, and grimy factories which crowded 
 round, as near as they dared. The river here 
 made a bend, and passed the front of the 
 town-hall. A kind of boulevard had been 
 made, planted with trees, and immediately 
 across the river, fronting the town-hall, was 
 a house standing in a garden, divided by the 
 river from the road. It was a fine old house 
 of red brick, wiiich had no doubt originally 
 been ^ in the country.' There was a look of 
 stateliness and substance about it — the brick 
 was relieved by handsome stone mullions, 
 copings, and chimney-stacks. 
 
 The trees had been stunted by smoke, but 
 they lived yet. Much ivy — strong and te- 
 nacious from advanced aoje, cluno- about it. 
 The grounds were thoroughly well kept. 
 
PROBATION, 57 
 
 The parterres were blazing with the passion- 
 ate, glowing colours of late summer flowers ; 
 the windows were glazed with sheets of plate- 
 glass. Here and there a bow had been thrown 
 out. Behind were extensive stables and out- 
 houses. It was, though dingy^ and miscel- 
 laneous in architecture, a fine, imposing old 
 mansion ; it instantly caught the stranger's 
 eye, and was known from infancy to every 
 inhabitant of Thanshope as well as the old 
 church on the hill behind the town-hall, or 
 as the great co-operative stores on another 
 hill at the other side of the town. 
 
 To-night Myles looked more earnestly than 
 usual at this old house. It was called ' The 
 Oakenrod,' and was the property of Sebastian 
 Mallory, tenanted during his absence by that 
 stately dame, his mother. 
 
 ' There it is !' said Myles within himself. 
 ' Cumbering the ground — kept like a palace 
 for a fellow who doesn't care two straws for 
 it!' 
 
 Again he shrugged his shoulders, and 
 
58 PROBATION. 
 
 turned somewhat abruptly to the left, making 
 for one of the side doors of the town-hall. 
 He went in, and ran up a great many flights 
 of stone steps, past corridors and branching 
 passa^ges, till he could go no higher, for the 
 excellent reason that he was at the top of the 
 building. Pushing open the glass door which 
 swung to behind him, Myles found himself in 
 the holy of holies — the library. A door to 
 the riofht led into the readino^-room, and 
 thither he directed his steps. It was a large, 
 lofty, handsome room, with many tables and 
 chairs, and plenty of pens, ink, newspapers, 
 and periodicals scattered about. When Myles 
 entered the room was almost empty. One 
 or two men were reading newspapers, and at 
 one table in a window sat a girl, who had a 
 great book open before her, but whose eyes 
 were at the moment intently fixed upon the 
 old house, the Oakenrod, which lay directly 
 beneath. 
 
 Myles, searching about, found a number of 
 the Westminster Review, and took it to his 
 
PROBATION. 59 
 
 accustomed place, at the table next to that 
 where the girl sat. He noticed no one to 
 right or to left of him — not even she who 
 was almost the only lady visitor who ever 
 entered the reading-room. 
 
 She was already a familiar figure to his 
 eyes. For some months past he had seen 
 her nearly every evening, sitting at the same 
 table, even at the same side of that table, 
 with a book — generally some large and 
 weighty volume, open before her — and a 
 small, thick note-book, in which she wrote 
 extracts or abstracts of what she read. 
 
 Myles knew quite well the tall, slim figure, 
 the two dresses which she alternately wore — 
 one a soft, flowing black one — another, soft 
 and flowinof too, of a blue so dark as to be 
 nearly black. He knew that the lines of 
 her dresses flowed gracefully, and were 
 agreeable to the eye. He knew, too, the 
 little black fichu which she usually wore — 
 a sort of apology for a mantle, which she 
 never discarded on the hottest days ; the 
 
60 PROBATION. 
 
 modestly-sliaped white straAv hat, with its 
 carefully preserved black lace scarf, and 
 bunch of daisies at one side, which hat she 
 always ended in taking off after she had 
 sat there ten minutes or so. She had a 
 pale, clear, fair complexion, bright, warm 
 chestnut hair, and a face which, not con- 
 ventionally beautiful in outline, was full to 
 overflowing of the subtler, more bewitching 
 charm of a beautiful spirit. It — her face — 
 had a youthful softness of outline — not full, 
 but not thin, with a charming, rounded chin, 
 melting into the full white throat ; a mouth 
 whose lines attracted irresistibly, so good, so 
 spiritual were their curves ; an insignificant 
 but well-cut nose ; a pair of large, luminous, 
 expressive eyes, which in some favourable 
 lights might appear grey, but which an im- 
 partial observer must inevitably have con- 
 fessed, had a shade of green in them. 
 
 Myles and this young lady had sat at 
 neighbouring tables in the public reading- 
 room almost every evening throughout the 
 
PROBATION. 61 
 
 spring and summer months of that year. 
 Whenever Myles came into the room he had 
 found the young lady there ; he could not, of 
 course, tell whether she came when he was 
 not there. 
 
 Conversation in the reading - room was 
 against the rules ; but ' conversation ' is an 
 abstract noun of considerable indefiniteness, 
 and one to which different minds may attach 
 different meanings. A few words exchanged, 
 of greeting or courtesy, could scarcely have 
 come under the head of ^ conversation,' or if 
 it did, the rules were infringed every day. 
 A little remark, as one passed the paper to 
 the other — fifty little things might have been 
 said (and were said by some frequenters of 
 the room) without in the least disturbing the 
 peace of the studious. 
 
 But between Myles and his neighbour 
 those words had never been spoken. They 
 had never exchanged a syllable — Myles be- 
 cause of a certain British-workman-like shy- 
 ness, and a general sense that she belonged, 
 
62 PROBATION. . 
 
 despite tlie simplicity of her appearance, 
 manner, and attire, to the class of ' fine 
 ladies' whom he disliked and distrusted — 
 the class which was typified for him in the 
 person of Mrs. Mallory of the Oakenrod — 
 and of whom he had the idea that they were 
 silly, pretty, useless, expensive things, good 
 for nothing but to spend a man's money, and 
 make him miserable with their tricks and 
 antics — and break his heart if he were fool 
 enough to give it into their keeping — in- 
 capable of taking any part in the serious 
 thino^s of life. 
 
 That was his opinion of ' ladies.' For the 
 women of his own class he had a hearty re- 
 spect and admiration : they could earn wages ; 
 they could work ; they did not meddle with 
 things out of their sphere: they had a distinct 
 use and purpose : he never uttered an ill-word 
 to or of any one of them. 
 
 He had never spoken to his neighbour be- 
 cause he was shy, and did not know how to 
 begin a conversation; but he would have 
 
PROBATION. 63 
 
 scorned to own it : he would have 
 said : 
 
 ' Speak to her ? Why should I speak to 
 her \ I've nothing that I want to say to 
 her.' 
 
 Which would have been untrue : for there 
 was such intelligence, such sympathy in her 
 face that he many a time caught himself, on 
 reading any striking passage, wondering 
 what she would think of it if she had 
 read it. 
 
 She had never spoken to him, because — 
 why — because — well, what did it matter 1 
 possibly because she was a little more sen- 
 sible than most girls, and felt no wish to 
 speak unless she had something to say. 
 
 They met without sign of recognition. 
 He would take his place — she hers : she 
 always had some book under her arm, for 
 which she had stopped to ask the librarian 
 on her way in, and they would often pass a 
 couple of hours thus almost side by side, with- 
 out a word or a look. She read earnestly and 
 
64 PROBATION. 
 
 hard — not as if she read for pleasure, but for 
 work — with a purpose. Privately, Myles 
 was mightily puzzled to know what she could 
 be reading, or rather, with what object she 
 read what she did. Once he had been quite 
 excited (silently) to see her poring over a 
 musical score ; reading it as if it were a 
 book. One of the specialities of the Thans- 
 hope Free Library was its musical depart- 
 ment, which was richly stocked both in 
 scores and in treatises on music and 
 musicians. 
 
 During the summer, the room was gene- 
 rally nearly empty. The people were other- 
 wise employed, so that often not more than 
 half a dozen readers were to be found in all 
 the large, airy room — sometimes Myles and 
 the studious, unknown ' reading girl ' were 
 all alone there. 
 
 Myles opened his Keview, and his eye fell 
 upon an article on the governing classes 
 which instantly caught his attention. In the 
 hope of finding some follies and weaknesses 
 
PROBATION. 65 
 
 of the governing classes sharply castigated, 
 he settled himself with pleased expectation 
 to his book. 
 
 Half an hour passed. One by one the 
 other occupants of the room walked away. 
 The workman and the young lady were left 
 alone together. She looked every now and 
 then out of the window. Her note-taking 
 did not seem to flow so smoothly as usual. 
 Spread open on the table before her, she had 
 a fine edition of the ' Fugues ' of Domenico 
 Scarlatti, which she studied a little now and 
 then, but oftener looked out through the 
 window. Now, from that window she had 
 a tolerably wide prospect ; and immediately 
 beneath her eyes was the handsome old red- 
 brick house, with its flower-beds, and its 
 lawns, smooth, and green, and well-watered 
 — a rural fastness in the midst of the dusty 
 town. 
 
 There was silence that was almost solemn 
 in the big room, which was growing dusk : it 
 was so high and airy, and so isolated ; raised 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
GQ PROBATION. 
 
 far above the town and its troubles ; the 
 din hushed ; the rolHng vehicles and the 
 passing throng dwarfed ; books on every side, 
 and silence like a garment, over all. 
 
 As chimes broke that silence, and eight 
 o'clock struck, the girl, with a sigh, turned 
 resolutely away from the outside prospect, 
 and applied herself again to her score. 
 
 Myles, half-roused by the chiming, half- 
 pleased with a particularly hard hit at the 
 governing classes, which especially took his 
 fancy, raised his head at this moment, and 
 his eyes, w^ithout any thought of his neigh- 
 bour. It is a gesture which ever}^ one 
 makes sometimes in readino\ Smilinsf 
 with satisfaction at what struck him as a 
 masterly argument, Myles let his eyes fall 
 upon her. 
 
 She too was looking up — not at him, but 
 past him. Her eyes were turned towards 
 the door, and quick as thought there passed 
 a subtle, inexplicable flash of dislike tem- 
 pered with alarm, across her face. She 
 
PROBATTON. 67 
 
 made a movement as if to rise — as if to 
 escape ; then sat down again, with a flush, 
 more of annoyance than confusion, manthng 
 in her cheeks. Then, bending to her book, 
 she seemed to make some effort to keep her 
 -eyes firmly fixed upon it. 
 
 This little bit of by-play roused Myles's 
 attention. He turned his head towards the 
 door, which was behind him, and he saw 
 how it was opened, and a man came into the 
 room. A gentleman ? he speculated, as he 
 first saw the figure in the obscure back- 
 gTound. 
 
 The visitor gradually approached, and 
 Myles, staring unceremoniously at him, ex- 
 perienced a feeling of surprise, disgust, and 
 sudden enlightenment as to the cause of the 
 young lady's disturbance. 
 
 The new-comer was a young man with a 
 somewhat high colour, dark hair and eyes, a 
 full beardless face, and a coarse, animal mouth. 
 He was well, even foppishly dressed, and bore 
 the outward stamp of a person to whom 
 
 5—2 
 
68 PROBATION. 
 
 money is not a subject of painful study or 
 consideration. But, as Myles knew, he was 
 not sterling coin. His manner, even of en- 
 tering that room, was less than second-rate ; 
 confidence became a swagger ; indej)endence 
 was metamorphosed into self- consciousness. 
 The expression of his face was bold and 
 vulgar. Perhaps no greater or more telling' 
 contrast could have been found, than that 
 between the workman in his Avork-a-day 
 dress, and the would-be dandy in his gloved, 
 perfumed, over-dressed vulgarity. 
 
 This person came forward ; his eyes fell 
 upon Myles ; he removed them. A work- 
 man — a person not demanding his attention, 
 one of the ' fellahs ' Avho came to the reading- 
 room. 
 
 Nevertheless, he seated himself at Myles's 
 table and drew a Daily News towards him, 
 without speaking and without removing liis 
 hat. 
 
 Myles glanced at the young lady with- 
 out letting her see that he did so ; her eyes 
 
PROBATION. 69 
 
 were fastened upon the page before her, but 
 he had studied her expressions, and knew that 
 she was not reading. 
 
 ^ Now, 1 should Uke to know,' speculated 
 Myles inwardly, ^ what you may want here, 
 Mr. Frederick Spenceley '?' 
 
 He had recosfnised the man — the son of a 
 rich manufacturer of Thanshope, who had 
 earned his fortune as a Radical, and was 
 living in state now as a Conservative and a 
 supporter of the aristocracy, Church, State, 
 and landed gentry interest. His son, as 
 Myles was well aware, had assuredly not 
 visited the reading-room for purposes of 
 mental instruction. 
 
 Myles apparently applied himself again to 
 his book, but the argument had lost its charm 
 for him. He had not known until now how 
 lively was the interest he had taken in his 
 graceful young neighbour. Placing his book 
 so as to shield his face, but yet so that he 
 could observe what was going on, he said to 
 himself : 
 
70 PROBATION, 
 
 ' I'm glad I didn't go away ten minutes 
 ago.' 
 
 After bestowing a very short and scant 
 meed of attention upon the Daily Neivs, Mr, 
 Spenceley cast his eyes around him. Myles 
 watched him, and saw the leisurely impu- 
 dence of the stare with which he favoured 
 the young lady, and his ears began to tingle. 
 He — my poor Myles — was of a fiery tempera- 
 ment, could not endure to see even a ' fine 
 lady' insulted without cause, and was danger- 
 ously ready to take up the cudgels for the 
 unprotected or ill-used. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' said Mr. Frederick 
 Spenceley, leaning towards the girl. ^ Do 
 you want that paper ?' 
 
 He stretched his hand towards a newspaper 
 which lay upon the table at which she sat, 
 but he was looking at her with a stare, j)er- 
 haps intended for one of gallant admiration, 
 but which, from the unfortunate 'nature of 
 the beast,' succeeded only in being imperti- 
 nent. 
 
PROBATION-. 71 
 
 Without looking at him, she raised her 
 elbow from the paper on which it had rested, 
 and continued, or seemed to continue, her 
 readinof. 
 
 ^ You don't want it V he said, with what 
 may have been meant for a winning smile. 
 
 'No,' came like a little icicle from her 
 lips. 
 
 Myles with diiSculty sat still ; but, making 
 an effort, continued quiet, though watching 
 the game with a deeper interest than be- 
 fore. 
 
 The twilight had grown almost into dark- 
 ness by this time. The attendant, perhaps 
 not knowing that any one was in the room, 
 had not yet lighted the gas. 
 
 Mr. Spenceley took the paper, but without 
 even pretending to look at it^ said, in a tone 
 of under-bred badinage : 
 
 ' Isn't it rather dark to be reading. Miss 
 —a ' 
 
 She raised her eyes this time, and caught 
 those of the speaker fixed full upon her. Her 
 
72 PROBATION, 
 
 own were iDstantly averted, with an expres- 
 sion of cold contempt and disgust^ and she 
 made no reply. 
 
 ^ T assure you it's very bad for the eyes 
 to read by this half light — very trying. 
 Hadn't I better tell the fellah to light the 
 gas ? I am sure you will spoil your eyes, 
 and that would be a pity/ with a winning 
 simper, which made Myles's fist clench with 
 an intense desire to do him some horrible 
 violence. ^ Don't you really think I had 
 better?' he pursued, evidently bent upon 
 making her speak. At last he succeeded. 
 
 * Be good enough to mind your own busi- 
 ness, without addressing me,' said she, in a 
 voice which, thought Myles, was sufficient to 
 have rebuffed the veriest cur that ever called 
 itself by the name of man. 
 
 With that she quietly, by slightly altering 
 the position of her chair, turned her back 
 upon Mr. Spenceley, while her profile, with 
 frowning brow and indignantly compressed 
 lips, was plainly visible to Myles. 
 
PROBATION. 73 
 
 Mr. Spenceley laughed, not so musically 
 as a lady-killer should be able to laugh, and 
 remarked : 
 
 ^ I feel it my business to prevent a young 
 lady from spoiling her eyes, and ' 
 
 Steadying his voice with some difficulty 
 into something like indifference, Myles turned 
 to him, and said : 
 
 ^ Don't you know that talking is forbidden 
 here ?' 
 
 The look which he received in answer 
 made him smile, despite his inner indigna- 
 tion. Mr. Spenceley contemplated him with 
 a stare, which was unfortunately not so regal 
 as it might have been ; then, raising a single 
 eyeglass, he stuck it into one eye, and sur- 
 veyed the audacious speaker anew, as if his 
 wonder at what had occurred could never be 
 sufficiently satisfied. 
 
 'Will yah mind yah own business, and 
 leave gentlemen to mind they-aws V he at 
 last drawled out, with magnificent dis- 
 dain. 
 
74 PROBATION, 
 
 * When I see the gentleman I shall be quite 
 ready to leave him to mind his own busi- 
 ness/ was the placid retort. ^ In the mean- 
 time, as the 3^oung lady wishes to read, and I 
 wish to read, and you disturb us with your 
 chatter, perhaps you will kindly hold your 
 tongue. ' 
 
 Here Mr. Spenceley resolved upon a 
 master-stroke. Turning his broad-cloth clad 
 back, he tilted his chair back so as to see the 
 young lady better, and inquired : 
 
 ' Do you know the fellah, Miss — a ?' 
 
 Before she could reply (supposing that she 
 had any intention of replying), Myles had 
 leaned a little forward and tapped Mr. Spence- 
 ley on the shoulder. With a great start, 
 quite disproportionate to the circumstances, 
 the latter brought his chair to its normal 
 position again. Myles saw the start, and 
 stifled a smile. 
 
 * Excuse me, my good sir, I don't remem- 
 ber ever to have seen you here before, so 
 perhaps you won't mind showing me your 
 
PROBATION. 75 
 
 ticket — I mean your member's ticket — other- 
 wise ' 
 
 * Will yah hold yah tongue V retorted the 
 other, in a tone of scornful exasperation. 
 
 ^ No,' replied Myles. ' If you've any right 
 to be here, show me your ticket, and hold 
 your tongue, according to rules ; if you 
 haven't that right, walk out at once.' 
 
 ^ I can tell yah, yah don't seem to know 
 who yah speaking to,' observed Mr. Spence- 
 ley, apparently lost in astonishment. ^ Are 
 yah one of the authorities here ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! I know you,' said Myles, who 
 saw that the young lady was now Avatch- 
 ing the dispute with undisguised interest. 
 * And I'm that much of an authority that I 
 can prevent you from disturbing and annoy- 
 ing people. Once for all, will you show me 
 your card of admission ?' 
 
 'No, I won't.' 
 
 * Then you'll excuse my going to the 
 librarian, and telling him you are here with- 
 out right — unless you prefer to save that 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 trouble to me, and ten shillings to yourself, by 
 walking yourself off now, this moment,' said 
 Myles, who began to find a delicious piquancy 
 in the sensation of dealing thus summarily 
 with a person of the consideration of Frede- 
 rick Spenceley. It was an ignoble feeling, and 
 we all have ignoble feelings sometimes, or 
 what is the meaning of the constant injunc- 
 tions to bear and forbear which we receive 
 from different sources ? 
 
 ' Haw ! Wha— at 1' 
 
 ^ The fine for usinof this room without 
 belonging to it is ten shillings. There's 
 another fine for talking and disturbing people, 
 too,' said Myles, who had never lost his look 
 of perfect ease and calmness, and who did 
 not for a moment remove his eyes from the 
 other's face. 
 
 Mr. Spenceley did not appear to like the 
 mention of fines. His face fell ; his hand 
 involuntarily sought his pocket. 
 
 * Tender in that direction, poor fellow T 
 thought Myles to himself. 
 
PROBATION. rr 
 
 ' Confounded radical place, this T observed 
 Mr. Spenceley. ^ Not fit for gentlemen to 
 live in/ 
 
 ^ Not when they have only been gentle- 
 men since the last general election/ said 
 Myles politely. * I quite agree with you.' 
 
 * Well, I shall go and see what the libra- 
 rian says to all this,' said Mr. Spenceley, by 
 way of covering his retreat ; and then, after 
 a prolonged stare at the girl in the window, 
 he retired, not so jauntily as he had en- 
 tered. 
 
 Myles picked up his book again. The girl 
 watched her tormentor until the noiseless 
 door had swung to behind him, and she had 
 seen his shadow pass towards the stairs. 
 Myles feigned to read, but he could not help 
 seeing hoAV she trembled as she sat there. 
 
 He did not speak to her. Something — he 
 knew not what — held him back. But he 
 suddenly felt a light touch upon his arm, 
 and, looking up, saw the young lady stand- 
 ing beside him. 
 
PROBATION, 
 
 * Do you think he is really gone ?' she 
 asked, scarcely above her breath. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! That sort of cur slinks off when 
 you stoop for a stone, with his tail between 
 his legs. It's only when he has his kennel 
 well behind hiai that he turns upon you and 
 snaps,' replied Myles, with homely if ex- 
 pressive metaphor. 
 
 She drew a long breath, raised her head 
 again, and said, with a mixture of dignity 
 and gentleness which appealed intensely to 
 his strongest feelings of admiration : 
 
 * I cannot tell you how much I am obliged 
 to you !' 
 
 ^ Don't mention it, miss,' said he ; and it 
 was odd that, while Mr. Spenceley's ' miss ' 
 made every right-minded person pant to 
 knock him down and pound him well, 
 Myles's ' miss ' was not in the faintest degree 
 offensive. 
 
 ' You spoke as if you knew who he is ; do 
 you ?' she added. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! He's well enough known ; he's 
 
PROBATION, 79 
 
 the only son of that Spenceley who has the 
 big factories down at Lower Place — ^' Bar- 
 gaining Jack " they call him.' 
 
 * Oh ! I know w^ho you mean. Poor 
 man! How I pity him for having such a 
 son !' 
 
 ' Had you ever seen him before X asked 
 Myles, confirmed in his impression that she 
 was not a native of Thanshope, and finding 
 conversation easier than he had expected. 
 
 * I have seen him several times lately. I 
 seem always to be meeting him. Once I 
 thought he had followed me, and then I 
 thought how absurd to imagine such a thing; 
 but he must have done it, all the same,' 
 
 Myles had had inexplicable sensations 
 while she spoke. He had known her so long 
 without a voice, that now, when he heard it, 
 she seemed to become a stranger again ; and 
 yet not a stranger. She had a sweet, low 
 voice, clear and penetrating, and she spoke 
 with an accent that had something not quite 
 English in it. 
 
80 PROBATION. 
 
 It would have been difficult — to Myles, in 
 his ignorance, impossible — to say in Avhat the 
 foreign element lay ; but it was assuredly 
 there. When she spoke, she looked at him 
 with -fleeting glances which had nothing in- 
 sincere in them, and her face lighted up and 
 became lovely — and more than that, distin- 
 guished, spiritual ; the slender figure Avas 
 balanced with such a graceful poise ; the deli- 
 cate hands were free from all nervous restless- 
 ness. Her chestnut hair was abundant, and 
 its dressing so simple and beautiful as alone 
 to make her remarkable. Myles realised 
 that she was most distinctly a '• lady,' but he 
 could not make himself feel her to be either 
 trivial or stupid. There had been -nothing 
 trivial in her behaviour. Her treatment of 
 him flattered his discrimination when he re- 
 membered her late treatment of Mr. Spence- 
 ley. At that time of his life he had very 
 wrong ideas on the subject of gentlemen, 
 having mistaken notions as to their power 
 and character ; but the best part of his 
 
PROBATION. 81 
 
 nature was soothed and pleased whea so 
 perfect a piece of refinement as tliis young 
 lady treated him entirely as a gentleman. 
 
 ^ And I thank you again, very much,' she 
 added, smiling, and holding out her hand. 
 
 Myles forgot to be confused as he accepted 
 the hand so frankly extended, and felt en- 
 couraged to do what he had thought would 
 be right from the moment she had sjooken to 
 him. 
 
 * I am very glad to have been of service. 
 May I ask how far you are going f 
 
 'To Blake Street, if you know it.' 
 
 ^ I know it well. It is too far for you to 
 go alone, if you will excuse my saying so. 
 It is quite possible that fellow may be hang- 
 ing about yet. I'll go with you, if you will 
 allow me 1' 
 
 ' Oh ! you are very kind,' said she, with 
 visible relief. ' I cannot refuse, though I am 
 sorry to take you away.' 
 
 ^ Not at all. I can't fasten to it again,' 
 said Myles sincerely. 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 PROBATION, 
 
 ' Then, if you would be so good, I should 
 be very grateful,' said she ; and she looked 
 so relieved, and so pleased, that Myles felt 
 himself rewarded an hundredfold for the act 
 which had occurred to him as one of simple 
 civility — nay, of almost obvious necessity. 
 
 They left the town-hall when she had 
 returned her book to the librarian, and 
 passed out into the street, turning to the 
 right. 
 
 *This is the shortest way, miss,' said 
 Myles, distracted as to what he should call 
 her, feeling ' miss ' disagreeable, he hardly 
 knew why, but, despite the wealth of the 
 English language, having no other alter- 
 native than a bald ' you.' 
 
 She relieved his mind as if she had under- 
 stood his thoughts. 
 
 ' My name is Adrienne Blisset,' said she. 
 * I should like to know yours, if you will tell 
 it me ?' 
 
 * Myles Heywood.' 
 
 ^ I like it — it is so English, so Lancashire.' 
 
PROBATION. 83 
 
 ' It's not like yours, then,' said he. ' It 
 sounds foreign.' 
 
 ' Adrienne ? Yes ; that is French for 
 Adriana ; but I pronounce it in the German 
 way — Adrien-ne. Don't you see ?' 
 
 ' I never heard such a name — for an Eng- 
 lish young lady,' said Myles simply. 
 
 ^ I am not altogether an Englishwoman. 
 I am half German. I was never in England 
 till eighteen months ago.' 
 
 * Never in England !' echoed Myles incre- 
 dulously. 'Then you speak English amaz- 
 ingly well.' 
 
 Adrienne laughed, and Myles asked : 
 
 ' How do you like England now that you 
 are in it ? 
 
 ' I do not know England. I only know 
 Thanshope, and I — cannot say — that I do 
 like it much — if you will excuse me.' 
 
 ^ Oh, we don't expect every one to like our 
 town,' said Myles magnanimously. ' It is a 
 rough sort of a place, I fancy. And I 
 should not think you would like it, either. 
 
 6—2 
 
84 PROBATION. 
 
 You are not like most of the ladies 
 here.' 
 
 ^ No r 
 
 ' There isn't another lady in the place 
 who would come to the reading-room as you 
 do.' 
 
 ' Indeed. Why ?' 
 
 * They are too fine, I suppose/ said he con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 ' Too fine ?' 
 
 ^ Ay. We have a lot of fine ladies here. 
 There's Mrs. Spenceley, mother of that fellow 
 who was annoying you this evening; but 
 she's not so fine, certainly, poor thing ! But 
 there's her daughter !' Myles shrugged his 
 shoulders and turned his eyes to heaven. 
 
 ^ Is she very fine X 
 
 ' Whenever I see her she is as fine as fine 
 can be ; but perhaps she has some excuse for 
 it, for she is very handsome, and she has a 
 kind face too ; one would wonder how she 
 could be that fellow's sister. Then there's 
 Mrs. Shuttle worthy that has the grand yellow^ 
 
PROBATION. 85 
 
 carriage, but she is better than some of them ; 
 and she looks ill, poor thing ! so perhaps her 
 finery only gives her very little comfort.' 
 
 ^ It seems to me that you have an excuse 
 for them all/ said Miss Blisset. 
 
 ' Perhaps I have — for all but one — the 
 proudest and the finest of the v^hole lot. I'd 
 rather have any of them than her — and that's 
 Mrs. Mallory of the Oakenrod.' 
 
 'Mrs. Mai ' began Adrienne quickly, 
 
 and then stopped abruptly. ' Do you know 
 her '?' she added. 
 
 * I know this much of her, that I work in 
 their factory, and she comes looking round 
 now and then, behaving as if she thought that 
 I, and the factories, and the town, and the 
 world in general were made for her pleasure 
 and service. Oh, she's a proud, insolent 
 woman, Mrs. Mallory ; all the Mallorys are 
 proud and insolent. It would do them good 
 to be humbled, and I hope they will be.' 
 
 * Oh ! how can you be so bitter against 
 them 1' said she, as if shocked. 
 
86 PROBATION. 
 
 ' No, I'm not bitter ; but I don't like to 
 see people like that giving themselves airs^ 
 looking as if the world's prosperity depended 
 upon their continuing to favour it by living 
 in it, when any one knows that if they ' had 
 their bread to earn they couldn't do it. I 
 like justice.' 
 
 ^ Justice, and a little generosity with it/ 
 said she gently, smiling in what appeared to 
 Myles a very attractive manner. 
 
 ' We are here in Blake Street/ said he ; 
 ' which way do we turn f 
 
 ^ To the right, please. My uncle's house 
 is at the very end of the street.' 
 
 ' The end — it must be lonely,' observed 
 Myles. 
 
 ' Yes, it is, rather. He lives at Stone- 
 gate.' 
 
 ' Stonegate !' echoed Myles. ' I've often 
 wondered who lived there, and never knew. 
 Why, it is part of the Mallorys' property/ 
 he said suddenly. 
 
 ^ Yes ; I believe it is,' she replied com- 
 
PROBATION, 87 
 
 posedly. * My uncle has lived there for ten 
 years now.' 
 
 There was a little pause, and then Myles 
 said : 
 
 ' You will excuse me, but I don't really 
 think it is fit for you to walk all that long 
 way of an evening, especially now that it 
 gets dark so soon, and after what has hap- 
 pened to-night.' 
 
 ' I suppose I shall have to give it up. 
 Luckily I am nearly at the end of my task. 
 So I shall try to finish it.' 
 
 ' Your reading X he said inquiringly. 
 ' Yes. Keferences for my uncle's book. 
 He is writing a book about Art and the 
 Development of Civilisation : he is too infirm 
 to go to the library himself, and I like going 
 there. I have been reading up music for 
 him all summer.' 
 
 ^ Oh, that's it !' said Myles, in a tone 
 which betrayed ingenuously enough that he 
 had thought often and deeply upon the 
 subject. 
 
88 PROBATION. 
 
 ' Yes, that is it. I must really try to go a 
 few times more, because those books may 
 not be removed from the library ; and then I 
 shall not need to go any more.' 
 
 * But you have not been here long, you 
 said f said Myles. 
 
 ' No. Only eighteen months, since my 
 father died abroad, and my ancle asked me 
 to come and live here with him, else I should 
 have had no home.' 
 
 She spoke with a quietness amounting to 
 sadness, and Myles felt sure that there was 
 sadness in her life, though she spoke so 
 
 cheerfully. 
 
 ^ Were you sorry or glad to come to Eng- 
 land V he ventured to ask. 
 
 ' Oh, sorry. Every association I had with 
 it was unpleasant ; wdiereas I had had many 
 pleasures at different times abroad ; and it is 
 so cold, and dull, and triste here.' 
 
 * For any one that has no friends ' he 
 
 began. 
 
 * Like me,' she said. 
 
PROBATION, 89 
 
 ' It must be rather dull. Here is your 
 place, 1 think/ 
 
 'Yes/ said Adrienne, pausing with her 
 hand on the latch of the gate. ' I would 
 ask you to come in, only it would disturb my 
 uncle so much. But I shall see you again, 
 and another evening I hope you will come 
 in — will you ?' 
 
 ^ You are very kind/ said Myles, secretly 
 feeling immensely flattered at the invitation. 
 
 ^ If it wouldn't be intruding ' 
 
 ' Not at all. I should like to know what 
 you think about one or two things. I know 
 you think, by the books I have seen you 
 reading, and I have a burning curiosity to 
 know what you think.' 
 
 Myles suggested that his subjects — work, 
 wages, politics — might not be very interest- 
 ing to a young lady. 
 
 ' It depends so much upon the kind of 
 young lady, I think,' said she, smiling. ' Well, 
 good-night ; I am obliged for your kind- 
 ness.' 
 
90 PROBATION. 
 
 With a gracious inclination of her head 
 she was gone — had j)assed swiftly up the 
 walk, opened the door, and entered the house. 
 
 Myles stood for some time on the spot 
 Avhere she had left him, staring at the house. 
 He looked at it well. ' Stonegate, Blake 
 Street.' The whole of Blake Street was^ 
 jDart of the Mallorys' property — Sebastian 
 Mallory's property, to gain which he had 
 toiled not, neither had he spun ; but it had 
 come to him, and was his to do as he would 
 with. 
 
 Blake Street was a long street, composed, 
 for about half its length, of smallish houses,, 
 in which lived quiet, steady, proper people. 
 Several of the door-plates bore the indica- 
 tions of dressmakers ; there were two den- 
 tists, a veterinary surgeon, and an under- 
 taker. The rest were quiet, dull, dingy- 
 looking private residences. 
 
 Beyond a certain point all this changed. 
 Blake Street became a mere confusion of 
 ]3asteboard terraces, half- finished houses,. 
 
PROBATION. 91 
 
 single strips of houses, and general disorder 
 and chaos — a brick and plaster abomination 
 of desolation. And then came a lonely 
 stretch of street, quite without houses, with 
 an unfinished footpath on either side, skirt- 
 ing a waste of what really had been heath, 
 and was now little else. Some tufts of 
 heather might be found growing there in 
 their season, and the air that blew over it 
 was sharp and keen. 
 
 Across this common one might see the 
 lights of the town ; dim outlines of factories 
 and churches, and masses of buildings — the 
 tortuous lines of light creeping up steep 
 streets and lanes, and the indistinct outlines 
 of the long range of the Blackrigg moors. 
 On the left side of the road stood one soli- 
 tary house, in a moderately-sized garden — 
 the Stonegate where Adrienne lived with her 
 uncle. It was an old house of dark grey 
 stone ; square, solidly built, and of mode- 
 rately large proportions. It was contem- 
 porary with the Oakenrod, and had been 
 
^2 . PROBATION. 
 
 built by some far-back, dead and gone 
 Mallory (they were lords of the manor of 
 Thanshope) as a dower-house. In the garden 
 the trees were shrivelled up, the flower-beds 
 were adorned with nothing but a few ever- 
 green bushes, and the grass was not kept as 
 was the grass in the Oakenrod garden. 
 
 Behind the house was the lonely-looking 
 waste of heath or common, which was out of 
 Sebastian Mallory's jurisdiction; and in front 
 2i low wall with a wicket-gate in it, bounded 
 the garden. From the wicket to the door 
 was a flagged walk, raised a little above the 
 grass border on either side of it. On each 
 side the door two windows ; on the second 
 «tory five windows. The shutters of the 
 lower windows were closed — the whole face 
 of the house presented a blank, staring void, 
 till at last Myles, looking intently upwards, 
 saw a light appear in one of the upper win- 
 dows and a shadow pass the blind. That 
 must be Adrienne's room. Then he glanced 
 at the surroundings of the house. 
 
PROBATION, 93 
 
 ' A lonely place enough !' he decided within 
 himself. ''I'm glad I came home with her. 
 If that blackguard had been at the trouble to 
 follow her ! I hope he doesn't know where 
 she lives : it hardly looks as if he did, or he 
 wouldn't have chosen the public library to 
 molest her in. I don't believe that if she 
 called out, in this street, any one would hear 
 her; and if they did, they're a poor lot — 
 tailors, and women, and 'pothecaries : they 
 wouldn't know a woman's screaming from a 
 cat's miauling.' 
 
 ^ It is a nasty place I' he muttered again ta 
 himself, lingering unaccountably, reluctant to 
 go. ' It looks as if there were a blight, or a 
 curse, or something, upon it.' 
 
 At last he tore himself away, and took his 
 homeward way. 
 
¥^^^^.9f{fJiW^^I^^^ 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY AND FASCINATION. 
 
 ' A tenderness shows through her face, 
 And, like the morning's glow, 
 Hints a full day below.' 
 
 *YLES Avalked home, not in the 
 ^ kind of dream' proper for a hero 
 under the circumstances, but 
 thinking very hicidly and very connectedly 
 during his pretty long walk, from the end of 
 Blake Street to his house on the Townfield, 
 chiefly of what had happened that evening. 
 He thought of Adrienne — of all those summer 
 months of silence, and then of the sudden, 
 quick acquaintance. 
 
 ' She's certainly different from other 
 
PROBATION, 95 
 
 people/ he said to himself; and in that 
 matter he was right, if he meant that she 
 was not like the ordinary Thanshope lady. 
 But the ordinary Thanshope lady had not 
 been brought up as Adrienne Blisset had 
 been, and Myles did not know then, what 
 patient struggles with sorrow and poverty 
 and adverse circumstances had made her 
 what she was. At one and twenty she had 
 lived in many lands, and her mind had come 
 in contact with many other minds, often 
 minds of a far from common order. Very 
 few English girls in her class have had that 
 experience at that age — nor would those who 
 wish a girl to be innocent and happy desire 
 such experience for her, if it had to be paid 
 for with such a heavy guerdon of sorrow and 
 suffering as Adrienne had paid for hers. 
 
 Myles knew nothing of that, he only saw 
 the difference. He felt a curiosity about her, 
 blended with some admiration. He admired 
 her grace, her spirit, her sweet voice, her 
 quick intelligence ; and he thought a great 
 
96 PROBATION. 
 
 deal about her as he walked home, and won- 
 dered if he should see her aofain to-morrow — 
 if she would be as gracious as she had been 
 to-night ; he thought of Frederick Spenceley, 
 and classed him in his mind with ^ Mallory 
 and that lot,' and was glad, quite revenge- 
 fully glad, that he had been able to treat him 
 as he had done, and that was all. 
 
 Perfectly unexpectant, unconscious, un- 
 aware of the web which circumstances, past, 
 present, and to come, were weaving about his 
 head, he paced the well-known streets — a son 
 of toil, the descendant of generations of sons of 
 toil, but with a whole world dormant in him, 
 or rather nascent — a whole realm of suffer- 
 ing : love, hope, grandeur, baseness, which 
 this night had first stirred into a premonitory 
 natal activity. 
 
 Saturday morning came, and work, and the 
 business of life ; Saturday afternoon, and 
 holiday. Myles and Mary walked liome to- 
 gether about two o'clock ; and his sister 
 looked at him more than once, as his head 
 
PROBATION. 97 
 
 and his eyes turned quickly from one side to 
 the other, so often that at last she said : 
 
 ' Why, Myles, dost expect to see some one 
 thou knows 1' 
 
 ' Me — no !' said he hastily, and with a 
 forced lausfh. He had been half uncon- 
 sciously looking for Adrienne, but in vain. 
 
 In the evening he repaired to the reading- 
 room as usual. He went straight to his seat 
 in the window ; but she was not there, so he 
 picked up the Westminster , which no one liad 
 disturbed since last night, and resumed the 
 article on the governing classes. 
 
 But he could not^ to use his own expres- 
 sion, ^ fasten' to it, until he heard the soft 
 opening and closing of the swing-door in the 
 background, and the faint sound, almost im- 
 perceptible, of a girl's light footfall and un- 
 dulating dress, came nearer and nearer. 
 Then, when he looked up, she was there, 
 looking just the same as usual — which was 
 surprising, after all his dreamy thoughts 
 about her. 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
98 PROBATION. 
 
 She bowed to him, with the smile which 
 lent such a charm to her fair face. For she 
 was fair, Myles decided, as he saw that look 
 of recomition : and he was riocht. She was 
 one of those women who are not anything, 
 neither ugly nor beautiful, until one knows 
 them, and then they are lovely for ever. 
 
 With the ^ Good-eveninof' and the smile 
 they exchanged, he felt at rest, and could 
 turn to his book again, and read, and under- 
 stand. For not y^er did he know that he had 
 met his fate — good or evil as the case might 
 be ; there was a sweet, momentary pause 
 before there came that fever of unrest which 
 love must be to such men as he. 
 
 Miss Blisset made her notes, and studied 
 her music with diligence, until nine o'clock 
 came chiming from the steeple above their 
 heads, and there rang out after the chimes, 
 the music of the tune, ' Life let us Cherish !' 
 
 Adrienne put her books together, and 
 rose. 
 
 'Mr. Hey wood, I told my uncle about 
 
PROBATION. 99 
 
 what happened last night, and he told me to 
 ask you to come and see him this evening. 
 Will you r 
 
 * I shall be very glad to do so,' said Myles, 
 looking up, pleased and somewhat surprised. 
 He had thought Miss Blisset's gratitude to 
 him natural, under the circumstances, and 
 had quite supposed that she would treat him 
 with friendliness afterwards ; but he had 
 smiled at the idea of the uncle of w^hom she 
 spoke troubling himself about him. If he 
 let the girl take that disagreeable walk to the 
 town-hall every evening, he was not likely 
 to care much whether she were annoyed or 
 not, so that his work was done. That was 
 the conclusion Myles had come to; and it 
 was a conclusion quite in harmony with his 
 character. 
 
 They left the hall together : it was Satur- 
 day night, and the streets were thronged 
 with a rough-spoken, roughly-mannered Lan- 
 cashire crowd, pushing and talking, and, too 
 many of them, reeling about, with the absence 
 
 7—2 
 
100 PROBATION, 
 
 of ceremony peculiar to them. They soon 
 left the thoroughfare, and found themselves 
 first in'^the narrow cross-lane, and then in 
 Blake Street. 
 
 ' Only one more evening,' said Adrienne, 
 ' and then my work will be done ; and I 
 shall not need to come any more.' 
 
 ^ I'm glad to hear it/ said Myles ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 ' You like reading,' said Adrienne. ' Have 
 you read much ?' 
 
 ^ I don't think I have,' he owned frankly. 
 
 'The Thanshope library is not a bad one 
 in its way,' she remarked. ^ Kather behind 
 the time though, in the matter of science and 
 philosophy.' 
 
 ' Well, you see, it's like the gentlemen 
 who have the managing of it, I suppose,' said 
 Myles apologetically. ^ They are a little 
 behind the time, too.' 
 
 ' Fortunately they have been allowed to 
 exercise no control over my department, the 
 music, since it was all bequeathed by a good 
 
PROBATION. 101 
 
 and enlightened maa to the town ; and all 
 those worthy committee people had to do, 
 was to accept it gratefully, and find a room 
 to put it in. And then, too, I don't think 
 they would know anything about the ortho- 
 dox and heterodox in such matters.' 
 
 * Is there orthodox and heterodox in 
 music f asked Myles. 
 
 ^ I should think so ! The adherents of the 
 different musical creeds are given to a ^^ bear 
 and forbearance " equal to that of adherents 
 of different religious creeds.' 
 
 Myles laughed a little at this, and 
 said : 
 
 ' Then I'm sure ignorance is bliss in that 
 case. We're somewhat overrun with parsons 
 in these parts. The women make so much 
 of them that they seem quite to lose their 
 understanding — what they have of it. But 
 the vicar — Canon Ponsonby — he is quite 
 different ; and he keeps a pretty tight 
 hand over his parsons. I've heard that 
 he shows them their place sometimes as if 
 
102 PROBATION, 
 
 they were schoolboys. He ought to have 
 been a prime minister, ought Canon Pon- 
 sonby.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know him/ said Adrienne. * He 
 and my uncle are great friends. He is a 
 grand old gentleman.' 
 
 Here they turned in at the wicket of 
 Stonegate ; Adrienne opened the door, and 
 Myles for the first time — not for the last by 
 any means — stood within that sad-looking, 
 lonesome old house. 
 
 It was a square, matted hall in which they 
 stood ; dimly lighted by a Japanese lantern, 
 also square, hanging from the roof On a 
 great oaken table in the centre, stood a large, 
 beautiful vase of grey-green Vallouris ware. 
 Over the carved mantelpiece hung an oil- 
 painting — a fine copy of that beautiful like- 
 ness of Goethe — the one with the dark rings 
 of curling hair, and the magnificent face ; 
 that likeness which always reminds one of 
 the herrlichen Jilngling described by Bettina 
 as the hero of a certain skating scene, when 
 
PROBATION. 103 
 
 he stole his mother's cloak — der Kdlte wegen. 
 Opposite to this picture stood, on a pedestal, 
 a bust of Orfila. These were the only orna- 
 ments in the place : every other available 
 corner was filled with book-shelves loaded 
 with books. A dome-light gave light by day 
 to this hall. 
 
 ^ This way,' said Adrienne, opening a door 
 to the left, and Myles followed her into the 
 room. This room too was lighted with 
 lamps and candles. There was a table in 
 the centre — a writing-table in one of the 
 windows, piled with books, and papers, and 
 MSS. In an easy-chair, beside this writing- 
 table, reading, was a man — presumably the 
 ' uncle ' of whom Adrienne had so often 
 spoken. 
 
 ^ Uncle,' said she, going up to him, and 
 touching his arm, ' here is Mr. Heywood, 
 of whom I spoke to you.' 
 
 He looked up, and Myles beheld a strange, 
 long, pale face, with hollow eyes, and a large 
 and, as it seemed to him, an expressionless 
 
104 PROBATION, 
 
 mouth. It was a deathlike face ; its expres- 
 sion neutral to impassiveness. 
 
 * Mr. Heywood — oh, I am glad to see you. 
 Take a seat.' 
 
 Somewhat chilled by this unenthusiastic 
 greeting, Myles complied without a word, 
 feeling remarkably small and insignificant, 
 while AdricDne produced her papers, sat 
 down at the desk, and began to arrange 
 them. Mr. Blisset turned towards her, but 
 did not move his chair. He merely observed 
 to Myles : 
 
 ^ You will excuse us a moment, Mr. Hey- 
 wood,' and then gave his attention to the 
 remarks which his niece, in a low tone, made 
 to him. It was with a kind of shock that 
 Myles soon perceived the man's lower limbs 
 must be paralysed. That was what Adrienne 
 meant when she spoke of his being unable 
 to come to the library. That was why he 
 was so shy and reserved that he must be 
 prepared for the visit of a stranger. Myles 
 understood it all now, and, from his ex- 
 
PROBATION. 105 
 
 perience of Edmund, knew what it meant, 
 only that this was far worse, far more of a 
 living death than that in which Edmund 
 lived. 
 
 The writing and reporting over, Adrienne 
 left the room. Myles and the strange-look- 
 ing, corpse-like man were left alone ; and 
 now Mr. Blisset turned to him and said, still 
 in the same cold, measured voice : 
 
 * You rendered a very kind service to my 
 niece last night, and I am much obliged to 
 you.' 
 
 ^ Pray don't mention it. No one could 
 have sat still and seen a young lady annoyed 
 by a fellow like Frederick Spenceley.' 
 
 'Spenceley — surely I have heard the 
 name !' 
 
 * Very likely. His father is the richest 
 man in Thanshope.' 
 
 ' Oh — ah ! Naturally I have heard of him 
 then. So that was the name of the individual 
 who insulted her ?' 
 
 ' That is his name,' said Myles concisely, 
 
106 PROBATION. 
 
 ^ and it's another name for a cad and a black- 
 guard/ 
 
 ' Oh, is it % You know something about 
 him V 
 
 ' There are few people in Thanshope who 
 don't. He is a born ruffian — Spenceley. 
 Some day the ruffianism will come out 
 through the veneering, and once out, it will 
 never be polished over again.' 
 
 Mr. Blisset assented half-inquiringly, sur- 
 veying Myles all the time from his impassive 
 eyeSj and then he said : 
 
 ' I am sorry my niece should have to go 
 to the reading-room. She tells me that one 
 evening more will finish what she has to do, 
 otherwise I should not permit it. But I 
 should think you have frightened the fellow 
 away for a time ?' 
 
 ^ Oh, yes ! He won't trouble her again,' 
 said Myles, with contemptuous indifference, 
 forgetting that beaten-off insects, with or 
 without stings, have a habit of returning 
 with blundering persistency to the attack. 
 
PROBATION. 107 
 
 ' But couldn't she go in the daytime "?' he 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 Mr. Blisset shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * There is so much work to be done in the 
 daytime,' said he — ' correspondence, and read- 
 ing, and manuscript to copy. But I spare 
 her as much as I can. I never ask or wish 
 her to work after she returns in the evening. 
 The rest of her time is her own.' 
 
 ' I should hope so ! — from nine o'clock !' 
 thought Myles, a little surprised. ' She 
 must be ready to go to bed at ten, after 
 such a day as that. I wonder at what 
 time it begins. Why, I am better off than 
 that.' 
 
 * The rest of her time is her own,' repeated 
 Mr. Blisset, as if he clung to that concession 
 with fondness and pride, feeling that it made 
 up for all other privations which her day's 
 work might entail — which indeed was the 
 case. His infirmity — his long confinement 
 to one house and one spot — the absorbed 
 concentration of his faculties upon one work 
 
108 PROBATION. 
 
 — a work which he was determined should 
 burst upon the world, and make him illus- 
 trious — all this, and above all, Adrienne's 
 own devotion to him and his pursuits, 
 since she had come to live with him, had 
 fostered his natural egotism ; till now he 
 verily believed that his yoke was easy and his 
 burden light to the young creature who bore 
 it, and that that hour ' after she came in ' 
 was an elastic period, in which any amount 
 of private work and reading could be done, 
 and pleasure enjoyed. 
 
 Yet he was not a hard-hearted man, 
 and if Adrienne had been by any cause 
 removed from him, it would have been her 
 gentle presence, and the charm of her com- 
 pany that he would have lamented — not the 
 loss of her services in reading, writing, and 
 research. 
 
 His intense and almost forbidding coldness 
 of manner was soon understood by Myles, 
 who discovered before long that it arose 
 chiefly from physical weakness and languor — 
 
PROBATION. 109 
 
 not from any want of interest in the ques- 
 tions of the day, or in the men and things 
 about him. 
 
 * You are writing a great book, sir ?' 
 inquired Myles, by way of something to 
 say. 
 
 ' A book,' corrected Mr. Bhsset — a sHght 
 but ineffable smile playing upon the marble 
 of his face. ^ Let no men and no generation 
 call any of their own achievements — whether 
 in literature or legislation — great. That is 
 for posterity to decide.' 
 
 ('Humph !' thought Myles. ' That im- 
 plies that posterity will take some notice of 
 it, in which case — ' but the reflections 
 opened up were too large to be fully followed 
 out then.) 
 
 ' One branch of knowledge, and one alone, 
 can produce works which at the very time 
 of their appearance may be safely pro- 
 nounced great — and that is science, of 
 course,' resumed Mr. Blisset, half-closing 
 his eyes. 
 
no PROBATION, 
 
 ^ Then yours is not a scientific work,' said 
 Myles politely. 
 
 ' It is chiefly historical and speculative, but 
 based, I trust, on the truest and most pro- 
 foundly scientific principles. It is an inquiry 
 into the question whether highly advanced 
 civilization and an art-spirit living, original, 
 and capable of producing new and great 
 works, can exist toa^ether — whether thev are 
 ever likely to go hand in hand.' 
 
 ' And what do you conclude V asked 
 Myles. 
 
 ' I began in hope,' said Mr. Blisset. ' But 
 the hope has died away. Music still remains 
 — a wide, only partially- trodden field, but for 
 
 the rest ' he shook his head. ^ Of course 
 
 it is a gigantic undertaking,' he went on, 
 ' and I have been engaged upon it for twenty 
 years. But I think, when my work is com- 
 plete, that I shall have pretty well exhausted 
 the subject.' 
 
 * And your readers too, perhaps,' thought 
 Myles, unwillingly forced to wonder whether 
 
PROBATION. Ill 
 
 there were much use in Mr. Blisset's gigantic 
 undertakinof. 
 
 At this juncture Adrienne came into the 
 room again ; and Myles, beholding her for 
 the first time in indoor dress, was sensible of 
 a warmer, deeper feeling of admiration than 
 he had hitherto experienced. There was a 
 nameless foreign charm about her, which 
 worked like a spell upon him. She held 
 some trifling work in her hand^ and coming 
 quietly in, seated herself, and lent her atten- 
 tion to her unc]e as he went on discoursing 
 in a monotone which by degrees fascinated 
 Myles, so that he listened intently, and nolens 
 volens. 
 
 It was only afterwards, in thinking it all 
 over, that he remembered what a sad, dreary 
 life it must be for the young girl, alone with 
 this stupendous egotist, listening while he 
 discoursed of — himself; helping him in his 
 great work ; writing letters relating to his. 
 vast undertaking ; studying hard in order to 
 supply him with facts. That was all true ;, 
 
112 PROBATION, 
 
 but at the moment Myles did not think of it, 
 for Mr. Bhsset spoke upon subjects that the 
 young man had thought about himself- — sub- 
 jects that made his heart burn — of govern- 
 ments and peoples, and the lessons which 
 history may teach us. 
 
 And when Myles heard the treasures of 
 learning and research which Mr. Blisset had 
 undoubtedly accumulated, brought to bear 
 upon his own view of the question, and 
 found that the speaker too was one of those 
 whose watchword is — 
 
 * The people, Lord ! the people ! 
 Not crowns and thrones, but men P 
 
 his admiration speedily grew to enthusiasm, 
 and he sat listening, his handsome face all 
 flushed with eagerness, and was disposed, 
 before the evening was over, to rank Mr. 
 Blisset as a demigod. 
 
 Mr. Blisset was pleased, like other philo- 
 isophers, with the admiration he excited, and 
 surveyed the young man with a favouring 
 €ye. 
 
PROBATION. 113 
 
 ' You must come and see me again,' said 
 he. ^ It is always a j)leasure to me to know 
 one who has thought and felt upon these 
 subjects. But I have talked till I feel 
 almost exhausted. Adrienne, my love, sup- 
 pose you give us some music' 
 
 ' Yes, uncle/ said she ; ^ I like you to talk 
 in that way,' she added, touching his forehead 
 with her lips. ^ Then you do yourself justice.' 
 
 There was a piano in the room, and 
 Adrienne's playing for her uncle when the 
 day's work w^as qu.ite over — a sort of requiem 
 upon the toil they had passed through — was 
 as regular a thing as the falling of night upon 
 the earth. There, in the world of harmony, 
 was her kingdom — there she ruled; from 
 thence she could sway the hearts of men. 
 
 The harmonies she made for them that 
 evening w^ere calm and grave — a pathetic 
 Tema of Haydn's ; a solemn Ciaconna of 
 Bach's ; a slow movement, the ^ singing to- 
 gether of the morning stars,' of Beethoven's. 
 
 Mr. Blisset shaded his long pale face with 
 
 VOL. I. * 8 
 
lU PROBATION. 
 
 his long pale hand, and sat, with closed eyes, 
 listening. MyJes was listening too, but ear, 
 with him, was subservient to eye, and to 
 thourfit. His craze never left Adrienne, and 
 the longer he looked, the deeper became the 
 charm. There had slumbered in his mind, 
 throughout these years of toil and striving, 
 a latent, dormant ideal of loveliness, purity, 
 and fitness for worship, and it was as though, 
 when Adrienne's fingers touched the keys, 
 that the door of heaven was opened, and a 
 ray, falling upon her fair head, proclaimed 
 her his soul's dearest wish. 
 
 With a sigh, promptly repressed, he rose 
 from his dream as she finished, and took his 
 departure, after Mr. Blisset had made him 
 promise to come again. 
 
 It was Saturday night, and Myles found 
 the din of the town not yet hushed. He saw 
 sights which Avere familiar enough to his eyes, 
 heard sounds to which his ears were accus- 
 tomed — drunken men reeling out of the pubHc- 
 houses which must be closed, brawling 
 
PROBATION, 115 
 
 songs shouted hoarsely up and down — all the 
 ugliness of rude, coarse natures taking 
 their pleasure. He had never in his life 
 found pleasure himself in such things ; but 
 equally, he had grown accustomed to the fact 
 that others — men with whom he was on good 
 terms — did take pleasure in them. He 
 thought of the scene he had just left, and 
 there shot a sudden sense of chill doubt and 
 discomfiture through his frame of musing, 
 high-strung happiness, a desperate feeling 
 that those whom he saw about him in the 
 streets now, were his class, his companions ; 
 that, ever since he had begun to hope and 
 think, he had hoped for their advancement, 
 their good, and he must not be untrue to 
 them. 
 
 ^ Pah !' said he to himself, ' as if she could 
 ask a man to be false to what he ought to be 
 true to. She's like truth itself 
 
 8—2 
 

 
 CHAPTEE YL 
 
 FINE LADIES AND FOLLY, 
 
 ONDAY morning, with the business 
 of this work-a-day world in full 
 swing, or rather in preparation for 
 the Aveek's swing of labour. In the freshness 
 and rawness of a six o'clock morninof air, 
 Myles walked with his sister to his work. 
 He and Mary were accustomed to do all 
 their private conversation during these walks. 
 They sometimes discussed their mother and 
 her doings, and the discussion took away 
 from the bitterness which silence would have 
 left to rankle there. 
 
PROBATION. 117 
 
 To-day, Myles was exceedingly silent, but 
 Mary, who knew him and loved him better 
 than any other soul, felt that the silence was 
 no sign of dejection. 
 
 The brother and sister separated, on 
 arriving at the factory. Mary went to the 
 weaving shed, and Myles to the warehouse. 
 After breakfast the same arrangement took 
 place ; but the day was not destined 
 to be one of pleasant memories for 
 Myles. 
 
 In the course of the forenoon he was in 
 the outer office, with Wilson the overlooker^ 
 when the latter, glancing through the win- 
 dow, remarked : 
 
 * There's Mrs. Mallory coming. I see her 
 
 carriage. 
 
 Myles made no answer, for the information 
 did not seem to him of any particular impor- 
 tance ; but Wilson went on, in a voice which 
 had grown, by anticipation, smooth and re- 
 spectful. 
 
 ' I expect she wants to see Mr. Sutcliffe, 
 
118 PROBATION. 
 
 and he's out. So she'll have to put up with 
 me/ 
 
 With that he stepped up to a square of 
 looking-glass, which he retained despite all 
 My les's gibes and jeers, over the mantelpiece, 
 and smoothed his hair. 
 
 ' And, Myles, lad, as Mrs. Mallory's coming, 
 and may have business to speak about, per- 
 haps you'd better ' 
 
 ' Go ? said Myles tranquilly, though the 
 suggestion was highly irritating to him. 
 * That I'm not going to do, old chap. I've 
 got these figures to write down ; and here I 
 stay and write them, if fifty Mrs. Mallorys 
 were coming.' 
 
 Wilson made no answer. Myles's position 
 was too near his own for him to be able to 
 order him out of the office ; but, not quite 
 satisfied, he waited, snatching up bundles of 
 papers and sample cops, shoving an empty 
 skip aside, and endeavouring to make the 
 rough office look a little tidier. 
 
 ^ What a pity,' remarked Myles sarcas- 
 
PROBATION. 119 
 
 tically, Hhat you haven't got a few ever- 
 greens and some paper roses. I'd invest in 
 a few if I were you, and keep them in the 
 cupboard, ready for such an occasion as 
 this.' 
 
 With which he seated himself at the desk 
 in the window, which connnanded a view of 
 the street, and began to write. 
 
 Wilson walked up and down, watching the 
 carriage as it drew nearer, and Myles felt 
 contemjDtuous and superior. 
 
 ^ She's got Miss Spenceley in the carriage 
 with her,' observed Wilson, reconnoitring 
 over Myles's head. 'They go a deal to- 
 gether, those two.' 
 
 Myles looked up sharply as he heard this. 
 The carriage had stopped; Wilson had rushed 
 to open the door. Myles saw the open 
 carriage standing at the gates, and hoAv one 
 lady sat waiting while the other got out. 
 The face of the waiting lady was turned to- 
 wards the office. 
 
 ' Miss Spenceley ' — the sister of the man 
 
120 PROBATION, 
 
 who had displayed his contemptible character 
 to Adrienne Blisset the other night. It was 
 not likely that Myles should glance at her 
 with very amiable or respectful feelings. He 
 saw a graceful figure leaning nonchalantly 
 back in the carriage ; he had a general im- 
 pression of a brilliantly beautiful brunette 
 face, large dark eyes, an extremely elegant 
 costume, a hat, or bonnet, with a waving 
 plume, a parasol covered with lace — and that 
 was all. But he had long sight ; he saw 
 none of her brother's expression on the girl's 
 countenance, which was frank and open, as 
 well as beautiful. 
 
 ' I'd bet something they don't get on well 
 together,' he thought ; and then he heard a 
 silk dress rustle over the threshold, and a 
 woman's voice answering indifferently Wil- 
 son's profuse salutations. Myles could not 
 help looking up, though he tried not to do 
 so. He had often seen Mrs. Mallory before ; 
 but she had never seen him. Now she was 
 looking full at him. 
 
PROBATION. 121 
 
 She was a handsome woman, of some 
 forty-six years of age, but looking younger 
 when one did not notice certain Hues about 
 her eyes and mouth — hnes of meanness as 
 well as of pride. She was very richly 
 dressed in black ; there was silk, and lace, 
 and perfume about her. She was tall, fair, 
 jDale, and inclined towards emhonpoint. She 
 looked Myles over from head to foot ; then, 
 turning to Wilson, said : 
 
 ' Is Mr. Sutcliffe in V 
 
 ' I'm very sorry, 'm ; he isn't. He has 
 had to go to Bolton, and won't be back till 
 afternoon.' 
 
 ' Oh r said she, pausing as if in thought ; 
 and then added, * Give me the papers Mr. 
 Sutcliffe was speaking about the other day ; 
 they are sure to have been left ready. I 
 will take them home with me, and look 
 them over.' 
 
 Myles had turned again to his work, and 
 Avas bending over a page of figures, wroth 
 with himself that, instead of being able un- 
 
122 PROBATION. 
 
 disturbedly to add up the figures he had put 
 down, he could not help listening to Mrs. 
 Mallory's voice. 
 
 ' Yes, 'm ; I'll find the papers. They'll be 
 in Mr. Sutcliffe's room. But won't you sit 
 down 'm, while I look for them '?' 
 
 ^ No ; make haste, please/ was all she said, 
 a little impatiently ; for Mr. Wilson's man- 
 ner was, to put it mildly, fussy ; and 
 Myles, feeling the influence of that tone, 
 despite all his efforts, began to count half 
 aloud : 
 
 ' Three and five, nine — eight, T mean ; and 
 seven fifteen, and ' 
 
 ^ Here they are, 'm. Allow me to make 
 them into a parcel, 'm ; it will be more con- 
 venient.' 
 
 ^ No ; you can take them to the carriage, 
 and I Avill look them over when I have 
 time.' 
 
 ' Myles, lad, suppose you w^ere to take the 
 papers to the carriage,' said Wilson, wishing 
 to appear superior. 
 
PROBATION. 12a 
 
 Myles looked up, surprised ; he could read 
 the simple, fussy character of the faithful 
 old cashier to its very depths, and knew his 
 motives exactly. He had no wish to dis- 
 oblige him, and, with an amused half-smile, 
 took the papers and walked to Mrs. Mallory's 
 carriaofe. 
 
 The young lady. Miss Spenceley, was 
 looking somewhat impatiently towards the 
 office. 
 
 * Oh !' said she, when she saw Myles, * is 
 Mrs. Mallory in there % Has she nearly 
 finished her business, do you think *?' 
 
 Myles had seen the girl many a time 
 before ; she was the beauty and the heiress, 
 par excellence, of Thanshope ; the only 
 daughter, as her brother was the only son, 
 of her parents. The young man, looking at 
 her more attentively than ever before, could 
 find no trace of likeness, or his scorn of her 
 relative might have displayed itself in his 
 voice. 
 
 ^ I really don't know,' said he, in answer 
 
124 PROBATION. 
 
 to her question. * She is talking to the 
 cashier.' 
 
 ' Oh, thanks !' said she, turniDg abruptly 
 away, and looking impatiently up the street. 
 
 Myles returned to the office, and as he 
 re entered it Mrs. Mallory was saying to 
 Wilson : 
 
 ' Because I expect my son — your master — 
 will be at home again shortly, and of course 
 he will wish to inquire into everything that 
 is going on.' 
 
 There was something in the tone in which 
 this w^as said which rasped upon Myles's 
 feelings — a calm superiority which he felt 
 to be extremely needless. 
 
 ^ Then w^e may expect Mr. Mallory to 
 come and take possession sometime soon V 
 Wilson hailed the news as if it were a per- 
 sonal favour. 
 
 ' I expect so. I do not know the exact 
 time ; but of course everything will be ready 
 for him ?' 
 
 ' Will lie be ready for everything V 
 
PROBATION. 125 
 
 thought Myles, with strong contempt ; his 
 old spite — it deserves no nobler name — 
 against the absent, unknown Sebastian Mal- 
 lory rose angrily to the surface again. ' Our 
 master, indeed !' he reflected angrily. ^ I 
 wonder if he's ever prvoed himself his own 
 master yet V 
 
 Wilson, by an unlucky combination of cir- 
 cumstances, was at this moment inspired ta 
 turn pointedly to Myles and remark : 
 
 ' Now, Myles, do you hear what Madam 
 Mallory says ? I told you the master was 
 coming, and you wouldn't believe me.' 
 
 ' It remains to be seen whether ^' master " 
 is the right word to use,' said Myles, with 
 deliberation. ^ In this case I have my doubts- 
 about it.' 
 
 He bent to his book once more, but not 
 before he had seen the stony stare in the 
 light blue eyes of Mrs. Mallory, and the gaze 
 of haughty astonishment upon her pale, high- 
 featured face — a stare which seemed to say^ 
 * I have seen human nature in many ob- 
 
126 PROBATION, 
 
 trusive and ill-bred aspects, but never in one 
 which so much required putting into its 
 proper place as this/ 
 
 Myles smiled rather grimly to himself; 
 he hated to exchange such civilities with any 
 one, most of all with a woman, but his spirit 
 could ill brook the unquestionably haughty 
 and supercilious manner of Mrs. Mallory, and 
 the profuse mouthing of the word ' master ' 
 by Wilson's complaisant lips. Myles had, 
 up to now, utterly refused to call any man 
 master, and he was not going to begin it in 
 the case of a man whom he had never seen ; 
 and to whom local report gave anything but 
 a decided or master-like character. 
 
 'There's no call for you to be so rude/ 
 said the cashier, shocked and reproachful. 
 
 Myles turned to him. 
 
 'Will you understand,' said he, with lips 
 that had grown tight, ' that a man can't both 
 •do arithmetic and talk *?' 
 
 ' Who is the young man ?' inquired Mrs. 
 Mallory of the discomfited Wilson. 
 
PROBATION. 127 
 
 ^ You must excuse him, 'm. He's one of 
 the foremen : he knows no better.' 
 
 Myles made no sort of comment upon this 
 apology, content that they should say what 
 they liked about him, so long as they did not 
 require him to acknowledge an unknown 
 * master.' 
 
 Mrs. Mallory, after another and a pro- 
 longed stare of the said haughty astonish- 
 ment, which stare wasted itself upon the 
 back of the delinquent, swept away, leaving 
 Myles with his lips twisted into a fine sneer — 
 an expression to which they were wont too 
 readily to bend. 
 
 Myles's temper had assuredly not been 
 improved by the occurrences of the morning. 
 It was destined to be yet more severely 
 tried before his return to work in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 On leaving the factory he parted from 
 Mary, as he had an errand in the town, and 
 told her he would be home in half an hour 
 
128 PROBATION. 
 
 for dinner. He did his errand, and took his 
 ■\vay home. And as he arrived at his own 
 p-ate there came out from it a man whom 
 Myles recognised as a ^^ei'^on to whom he 
 bore no friendly feehngs. He was named 
 James Hoyle, and was by trade a small 
 shopkeeper, in the stationery and evangeli- 
 cal-religious-book line : occasionally he acted 
 as a preacher of a denunciatory and inflam- 
 matory description ; . always he was a mis- 
 sionary — so, at least, he said. 
 
 To him and to his style of preaching and 
 piety Myles had a most thorough dislike ; he 
 believed him to be a hypocrite, and in this 
 case his dislike was well grounded enough, 
 and founded on facts. 
 
 ' Good-morningj M3des. The Lord bless 
 you !' observed Mr. Hoyle, holding out a 
 dingy, fat hand. No low^est scum of the 
 Levites, of whatever section, whatever per- 
 suasion, could have looked, thought Myles, 
 sleeker, or more as if his sleekness were an 
 ill-gotten gain. 
 
PROBATION, 129 
 
 Out of tune as Myles was with all the 
 world, this apparition and his tone of fami- 
 liarity, was not of a kind likely to restore 
 harmony to the jarring notes of his life's 
 music. Drawing up his proud figure to its 
 utmost height, and looking with his con- 
 temptuous eyes down upon the pudgy indi- 
 vidual who addressed him, he said : 
 
 ^ Good-morning. I'll thank you not to 
 make so free with my name. Who gave 
 you leave to call me '^ Myles " ?' 
 
 He ignored the outstretched hand, having 
 an objection to touching what he considered 
 to be both literally and metaphorically dirty 
 fingers. 
 
 Hoyle looked up at him, and his eyes 
 twinkled. 
 
 ' I've been taking spiritual counsel with 
 your mother, my dear young friend. A 
 sweet, precious soul ! It is a privilege to 
 converse with her; she teaches one so 
 much.' 
 
 ' Does she ? It's a pity but she could 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 PROBATION. 
 
 teach you to be sober and honest/ said Myles, 
 with distinct enunciation and scornful mien, 
 holding himself somewhat aloof from Mr, 
 Hoyle. * Anyhow/ he continued, 'until you've 
 managed it — the soberness and honesty, I 
 mean (you needn't look as if you didn't know, 
 I saw where you came out of at eleven 
 o'clock on Saturday night) — till then you'll 
 please give this house a clear berth, and my 
 mother may take her spiritual counsel — if 
 she Avants it — with a different sort of person 
 from you/ 
 
 He was about to turn in at the gate, 
 but, with his hand on the latch, was 
 arrested by an expression on the face of the 
 other. 
 
 * The day will come, young man, when you 
 will wish you had treated me — me, of all 
 people — with more respect,' said he with a 
 smile, for he had a flexible face, which ap- 
 peared to lend itself even more easily to 
 smiles than to other expressions. Yet the 
 smile was an evil one. 
 
PROBATION, 131 
 
 He turned and walked away, and Myles, 
 in some annoyance, went into the house. 
 Usually Mrs. Heywood had the field to her- 
 self in the exercise of her tongue. Edmund 
 occasionally indulged in a burst of temper, 
 but always to his own disadvantage. Mary 
 never answered at all. Myles alone, as has 
 been before said, could, with a certain look 
 and tone, show himself master of the fretful, 
 repining embodiment of scolding and selfish- 
 ness whom they had the misfortune to call 
 mother. To-day he was in no mood to 
 * stand nonsense,' and as he went into the 
 kitchen he said, hanging up his cap, and 
 taking Edmund's hand, as he seated himself 
 beside him : 
 
 * What does yon James Hoyle want always 
 hanging about here % The chap is never out 
 of the place, and I can't abide him. If he 
 doesn't give us a little more of his room and 
 less of his company I must speak to him. 
 Mary, lass, I hope thou'rt not got agate of 
 meeting-going.' 
 
 9—2 
 
132 PROBATION. 
 
 He spoke with perfect good-nature and 
 good-temper, not suspecting anything but 
 that all the rest of the company were equally 
 averse with himself to Mr. Hoyle's visits, 
 and he smiled a little as he looked at 
 Mary. 
 
 ^ Me !' said his sister, laughing. ^ Nay, 
 I'm not come to that. As long as I live 
 I'st go to th' parish church every Sunday, 
 and sit in th' old place ' 
 
 ^ Alongside o' Harry Ashworth,' put in 
 Edmund gravely, at which Mary's cheeks 
 flushed, and she went on somewhat more 
 rapidly : 
 
 ' For I make nowt at o' out o' the meeting- 
 house.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you'll end by leaving th' owd 
 place for an older, and going clean over to 
 Rome,' said Mrs. Heywood, who had been 
 bending over the fire, looking at a pan of 
 potatoes, and who now raised rather a flushed 
 face from that occupation ; ^ choose how, 
 there'st nowt be said here against James 
 
PROBATION, 133 
 
 Hoyle, tHe godly man ! and it's more than 
 likely that you'll see more of him than you 
 have done yet.' 
 
 ^ How do you mean '?' asked her eldest son, 
 turning towards her ; ^ you mean that Jimmy 
 Hoyle would come here a second time after 
 I'd forbidden him the house V 
 
 He lauofhed, as if he thouo^ht it rather a 
 good joke. 
 
 ' You'd turn him out of the house ? That's 
 like you !' said Mrs. Heywood, emptying the 
 potatoes into a tureen. 
 
 ^ I really don't know what you're talking 
 about/ said Myles, in some surprise at her 
 whole demeanour. 
 
 ^Well, you'll get to know, then,' she re- 
 torted, without meeting his eye. ' A good 
 man is like the salt of the earth. He can 
 make even a sinful house holy, and bring a 
 blessing on it. James Hoyle and me is going 
 to be married. We'st be wed this day three 
 week, and then I'd like to know how you'll 
 forbid him the house.' 
 
134 PROBATION. 
 
 There was a momentary silence, during 
 whicli Myles, who had risen, stared at his 
 mother in an incredulous manner. Mary, 
 after a moment, turned pale, and sat down 
 upon a chair in the background. Edmund's 
 lips were curled into a sneer. 
 
 ' Mother !' said Myles, confronting her, and 
 somehow forcing her eyes to meet his. ^ Is 
 this a joke that you're playing upon us % Be- 
 cause, if so, it's a very poor one.' 
 
 * Joke !' she retorted, her voice rising to 
 shrillness. 'What should it be a joke for, 
 I'd like to know ? Have I such comfort in 
 my children that I shouldn't be glad of the 
 help of a godly man — oh, and he is a godly 
 man — like that 1' 
 
 ^ That's a poor answer, mother,' said Myles, 
 who had thrust his hand into his breast, as if 
 to repress some anger or emotion. 'Your 
 children have never done anything to cause 
 you uneasiness.' 
 
 * Do go on blowing your own trumpet !' 
 Mrs. Hey wood exhorted him. 
 
PROBATION, 135 
 
 ^ Nay, I've no more to say about it. But 
 I want a better answer than that your chil- 
 dren's conduct drove you to marry that great, 
 idle, greasy, sanctimonious, all-praying, no- 
 doing brute — he isn't a man. I can under- 
 stand him wanting to marry you — you've 
 thirty pounds a year of your own ; but that 
 you should look at him !' He made an ex- 
 pressive gesture of contempt. 
 
 ' So it's my money he's marrying me for,' 
 said Mrs. Heywood ; and no girl of eighteen 
 could have spoken with more anger at the 
 suggestion. ^ That's it, is it ? Ay, ay ! 
 "Honour thy father and thy mother," — 
 dor 
 
 * Are you giving us an example of honour- 
 ing our father ? he inquired, growing quieter 
 in tone as his anger and disgust grew more 
 intense, and her determination (he saw) more 
 fixed. ' Or is your present plan likely to lead 
 us to honour you ? No, mother ; I can't see 
 what a woman like you wants with marrying 
 again ; though, if it had been a decent man, let 
 
136 PROBATION. 
 
 him be never so rough, I'd have put up with 
 him, but that— -why I saw him on Saturday 
 night coming out of the lowest pubhc-house 
 in Thanshope — half-drunk — as plain as I see 
 you. But here's the long and short of it. 
 That man certainly never enters this house 
 again. I'll let him know that. And if 
 you do marry him, he'll please to find a 
 home for you ; for neither he nor you will 
 share ours. Mark my words — if you go to 
 him vou leave us for ever.' 
 
 ^ Mother, thou'll ne'er be so wicked,' said 
 Mary, from her corner, in tears. 
 
 ' Hold thy tongue, thou hussy I calling 
 thy mother wicked/ said Mrs. Heywood 
 sharply. 
 
 ' 111 not have Molly called by that name/ 
 said Myles composedly. * Kemember, it's 
 I that am master here, when all's said and 
 done. I'll have no such nonsense carried on. 
 So let us hear — do you intend to be a wise 
 woman or a fool V 
 
 The words were not at all rudely spoken, 
 
PROBATION, 137 
 
 but they were unfortunately chosen. They 
 incensed Mrs. Hey wood, and she replied 
 sharply : 
 
 ^ I intend to marry James Hoyle.' 
 ' Then,' said he slowly, as if giving her an 
 opportunity to recant, ' it's settled that I in- 
 tend to have no more to do with you.' 
 
 * Oh, Myles, don't be so hard on her !' im- 
 plored Mary, coming forward and laying her 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 * My good lass,' said he, ^ dry thy eyes, 
 and be glad thou'rt not called upon to be 
 hard, as thou calls it.' 
 
 Mary did not expostulate. Under the 
 gentleness of the words she read a decision 
 which she did not attempt to combat. 
 
 ^Mary's our good angel,' remarked Ed- 
 mund from the couch; and his eyes, too, 
 fell upon her with affection. 
 
 ^ A nice angel you'll find her when I'm 
 gone,' grumbled Mrs. Heywood. 
 
 * Once more,' broke in Myles's voice, ' I tell 
 you, mother, I have spoken to you for the 
 
138 PROBATION, 
 
 last time, unless I hear that this abominable 
 thing is given up — for the last time.' 
 
 * Myles !' implored his sister. But she 
 might as well have tried to move one of the 
 great boulders on Blackrigg, as make him 
 soften or yield one jot. 
 
 * Come^ lass !' he observed to her. ' Those 
 that must work must eat. The time's gone 
 by in this precious palaver, and we've only 
 twenty minutes left.' 
 
 He sat down and helped himself, and tried 
 to look as if nothing had happened ; soon, 
 however, he laid down his knife and fork, and 
 told Mary, who had not even pretended to 
 eat, that it was time to go. 
 
 She put her shawl over her head, and say- 
 ing good-afternoon to Edmund, they went 
 out. 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 SANS FA9ON. 
 
 IX o'clock was the time at which 
 the work-people * knocked off/ 
 Myles and Mary had not spoken 
 as they went to their work, and of course not 
 during the afternoon ; and it was only as 
 they were coming home again that they first 
 named the subject which at the moment lay 
 nearest their hearts. Mary was all for mild- 
 ness and temperate measures. 
 
 ' I think, Myles, that if we was to be kind 
 to her, and talk to her, hoo'd likely give it 
 up/ said the girl, in her soft; broad Lan- 
 cashire dialect. 
 
140 PROBATION. 
 
 ' Not she, Molly. She's no intention of 
 giving it up.' 
 
 * I never could abide yon Hoyle/ went on 
 Mary. ' A false, sneakin fellow, he always 
 seemed to me. I reckon he's after mother s 
 bit o' brass ; but how hoo can gi' so mich as 
 a thought to him — nay, it fair passes me !' 
 
 ' Ay ! you may well blush ! I don't 
 wonder !' said Myles grimly. ^ It looks as if 
 some people's minds were fair crooked, or 
 set up on edge, or upside down, or some- 
 thin o\' 
 
 They went into the house, and found 
 Edmund alone. 
 
 ^ She's not coming back,' said he, by way 
 of salutation. * She's gone to some of his 
 relations. She says she's lived through a 
 deal o' trouble, and has found out at last 
 what it was to be turned out of doors by her 
 own children.' 
 
 Neither Mary nor Myles made any answer 
 to this announcement. Mary got tea ready, 
 and they sat down. It was a silent, painful 
 
PROBATION. 141 
 
 meal. Myles rose from it with a sense of 
 relief, and, taking Edmund's book to change, 
 said he was going down to the reading- 
 room. 
 
 * Would thou mind calling at th' saddler's 
 in Bold Street for yon strap o' mine ?' said 
 Mary. 
 
 ' Which strap, Molly X 
 
 * It's a girder as I took to have a new un 
 made like it. He'll give you both th' old 
 and th' new un. I could like to have it to 
 take wi' me to-morn. I've been using Sally 
 Rogers' ; but hoo's comin' back again to-morn, 
 and hoo'll want it hoo'rsel'.' 
 
 ' Ay, I'll get it,' said Myles, putting on his 
 cap and going out. 
 
 He made a little detour from his usual 
 route, in order to go to the saddler's on his 
 errand for Mary. Bold Street was one of 
 the principal streets of Thanshope, and close 
 to the very shop to which Myles was going 
 was a place known to the vulgar as ' th' 
 Club.' This was a billiard and whist club, 
 
142 PROBATION, 
 
 frequented by the golden youth of the pro- 
 mising town of Thanshope. 
 
 It was a spot not exactly loved of the 
 mammas of the said town, and much dis- 
 cussed by the young ladies of the same. 
 Much iniquity was vaguely supposed to be 
 perpetrated there : some of the piously dis- 
 posed spoke of it as a ' den ;' others, who 
 knew nothing, and wished to appear as if 
 they knew a great deal, said it was ^ as bad 
 as the worst of London clubs/ which remark 
 may serve as a specimen of the mighty self- 
 consciousness of little provincial towns — and 
 * den' is a word which has about it a fine 
 abstract flavour of awfulness. 
 
 It is probable that, as a matter of fact, 
 much bad whist was played there ; billiard 
 balls were knocked up and down, and bets 
 made ; too much spirits were probably con- 
 sumed ; as many duU, coarse, or vulgar tales 
 were told, as much aimless scandal was 
 talked, as many praiseworthy efforts were 
 made to ape the manners and tone of metro- 
 
PROBATION, 143 
 
 politan clubs, as in most provincial institu- 
 tions of a similar kind. 
 
 Myles went to the saddler's, which was 
 next door to this temple of hilarity, fashion, 
 and fastness ; got the straps which Mary had 
 spoken of, and then came out to take his way 
 to the town-hall. As he passed the portico 
 of the club, he saw just within it a back 
 which he remembered, clothed in broadcloth. 
 Beside this figure was another, that of a 
 mere lad, with a babyish face and no chin to 
 speak of, who would have been better in the 
 cricket-field, or even grinding at his Latin 
 grammar. On his small-featured, insignifi- 
 cant face was stamped an expression of 
 foolish glee and admiration. 
 
 The first individual was speaking ; Myles, 
 strolling leisurely past, heard the words, in 
 the loud, strident voice : 
 
 * Such a chase, my boy 1 but I succeeded. 
 I found out where she lives, and waylaid 
 her; gave her my protection whether she 
 liked it or not. Unless I'm much mistake q, 
 
144 PROBATION. 
 
 we shall soon be very good friends. She's a 
 deep one — those demure things always are. 
 Ha, ha !' 
 
 ^ I say, Spenceley ' 
 
 * Doosid pretty, though. D d good 
 
 eyes she has, and knows how to use them. 
 Look here ! do you want your revenge for 
 Saturday night f 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! Come alono^ I' 
 
 They walked forward to the interior of the 
 hall, and were lost to view. 
 
 Never before had Myles felt the singular 
 sensation which just then clutched him — a 
 kind of tingling, half of rage, half of shame, 
 from head to foot — a tempest of his whole 
 mental being. He was in a white heat of 
 fury, and only two ideas were distinct in his 
 mind : to find Adrienne, and to punish her 
 insulter. 
 
 Almost unknowing how, he hurried to 
 the town-hall, up the stairs, through the 
 library, into the reading-room. Would she 
 be there ? Yes, she was there, in her usual 
 
PROBATION, 145 
 
 place. He strode towards her. She was 
 not even pretending to read or write. She 
 sat pale as ashes, and trembling, as he saw 
 in his approach. 
 
 ' Miss Blisset !' he almost whispered, as 
 he went up to her, and bent over her, his 
 face dark with suppressed indignation, his 
 eyes aflame. If she too had not been moved 
 out of all conventional calm, she must have 
 started at the expression which flashed from 
 his face upon hers. 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Heywood, will you be so very 
 good as to go home with me now, at once ? 
 I have been so frightened and — insulted !' 
 
 Her voice broke, though her eyes flashed. 
 How proud a front soever she might have 
 showed to her insulter, the reaction had set 
 in : the remembrance was not to be borne 
 unmoved. 
 
 ' I know you have,' said he, in a low, em- 
 phatic voice ; and a tremor shook him too as 
 he looked at her, and saw how beautiful she 
 was. He had admired her as she sat in re- 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
UG PROBATION, 
 
 pose, but now every fibre of his nature bowed 
 to her, and he felt a passionate desire to do 
 something, anything, which should set him 
 apart in her eyes from others. Yet, after 
 his first swift glance, he scarcely looked at 
 her_, and said very little. Words appeared 
 weak and trivial — he could not express in 
 them his detestation of the conduct of that 
 other man^ or how profoundly he reverenced 
 her. 
 
 ^ How was it ?' he asked, speaking com- 
 posedly, but clenching his hands, and crushing 
 together what he held in them. 
 
 ^ It was that man,' said she, in a low, 
 breathless voice, * that hideous man. I don't 
 know where he saw me. I think he must 
 have followed me, but when I got to that 
 little lane, he suddenly overtook me, and 
 spoke to me. I could not turn back. It 
 would have been much farther — and so 
 lonely. I did not answer him ; I went on 
 very fast, but he detained me so long in that 
 lane — he would not let me pass. I thought 
 
PROBATION. 147 
 
 I should — bah. ! I thought, when we got 
 into the town, that he would have left me, 
 but he did not. He came to the very door 
 of this place, and I dare not go out for fear 
 he should be there yet. Oh, I am so glad 
 to see you ! I thought you were never 
 
 commg. 
 
 She had leaned her head upon her hand, 
 or she must have seen the light that flashed 
 suddenly into his eyes — not the light that 
 had been there at first. He drew a long- 
 breath, but succeeded in not betraying for a 
 second his emotion, as she turned, pale and 
 quivering with excitement, and put her two 
 little slender hands upon his, saying earn- 
 estly : 
 
 ^ You have been very kind to me. What 
 should I have done if you had not helped 
 me '?' 
 
 ' It has been a pleasure to serve you,' he 
 said constrainedly. ^ Do you feel fit to walk 
 home now f 
 
 * Oh, quite !' she answered, picking up 
 
 10—2 
 
148 PROBATION, 
 
 her note-book, and they went away to- 
 gether. 
 
 Myles walked with her to the gate of her 
 uncle's house, and said, as they paused 
 there : 
 
 ' Of course you will never come again, Miss 
 Blisset r 
 
 ^ Never. Of course not.' 
 
 * Then — then- — ' he faltered, unable to say 
 what he wished. 
 
 'But I shall see you again, of course,' said 
 Adrienne quickly. *You will come again. 
 My uncle wishes you to come again. And 
 you will — yes *?' 
 
 ^ You are sure it wouldn't be an intrusion f 
 said Myles doubtfully. 
 
 ' Very far from an intrusion/ she answered. 
 * You will be welcome — and you will be ex- 
 pected until you come.' 
 
 With which, and with a warm hand-shake^ 
 she disappeared. 
 
 Myles did not pause to-night, to contem- 
 plate the street, or to look out for the light 
 
PROBATION. 149 
 
 in the window. He took the shortest and 
 straightest course into the town again, went 
 direct to Bold Street, and stopped before the 
 club. 
 
 There was a light in the vestibule of that 
 building, and a waiter stood at the door sur- 
 veying the passers-by, and feeling no doubt 
 that he looked negatively fascinating. 
 
 ^ Is Mr. Frederick Spenceley here X in- 
 quired Myles, quietly and politely. 
 
 * Mr. Frederick Spenceley V repeated the 
 waiter, while an expression of ill-humour 
 crossed his face. ' I rather think he is, and 
 in a deuce of a temper too. If Mr. Frederick 
 Spenceley keeps on coming here, I shan't 
 stay. Well, do you want to see him ?' 
 
 ' I should like just to speak to him,' said 
 Myles, ever calmly and politely ; his one 
 object being to penetrate to Mr. Spenceley 's 
 presence, content to pocket his burning 
 fury until he was face to face with 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Spenceley evidently enjoyed little 
 
150 PROBATION. 
 
 favour in the eyes of the waiter, or the 
 latter would hardly have allowed a work- 
 ing-man to penetrate into that sanctUTn 
 sanctorum, the billiard-room. As it was, he 
 said : 
 
 ^Well, if you go straight ahead upstairs, 
 you'll find him in the billiard-room, I expect. 
 But perhaps you want to see him down 
 here V 
 
 ^ Oh, no ! I can go to him. Upstairs, you 
 say V 
 
 The waiter nodded ; and Myles, obeying 
 his direction, found himself on the first 
 landing, opposite a door inscribed ' Bil- 
 liards.' 
 
 He knocked, but no reply was given, which 
 was accounted for by the loud and overpower- 
 ing voice of Frederick Spenceley, whose ac- 
 cents drowned all other sounds. 
 
 Myles opened the door, and walked into 
 the room, which was like most other billiard- 
 rooms ; four green-shaded lights above the 
 table ; the marker standing in his place, look- 
 
PROBATION. 151 
 
 ing sulky — he too having received his share 
 of the comphments of Mr. Spenceley that 
 evenino\ 
 
 (It was a significant fact, that not one of 
 Frederick Spenceley's inferiors would have 
 felt anything but pleasure in his degradation 
 or humiliation.) 
 
 There was Charlie Saunders, the insignifi- 
 cant-looking boy, whose pretty pink-and- 
 white face was now a good deal flushed, and 
 who laughed foolishly now and then in his 
 high-pitched voice. Opposite, with his burly 
 back towards the door, was Frederick Spence- 
 ley, shouting very loudly, and freely expres- 
 sing his opinion that the cloth was a con- 
 founded bad one, and that the table was not 
 level. 
 
 ' It's your eye that's not level, Freddy, my 
 boy,' said his youthful opponent ; ^ and 
 your cue too. Look out what you're 
 doing.' 
 
 ' D — n it ! it isn't. Where's the cha-alk ? 
 It's my beastly luck,' roared Spenceley, 
 
152 PROBATION, 
 
 against whom the balls had broken most 
 unfavourably the whole evening. 
 
 Had the fellow been in the least intoxicated, 
 Myles would have retired ; but he was merely 
 noisy and ill-tempered, and accordingly the 
 workman chose that moment to step forward 
 and touch Mr. Spenceley on the shoulder. 
 
 With a violent start, which contrasted 
 somewhat curiously with his previous bluster, 
 he turned ; and when he saw Myles, his face 
 assumed a deep hue of anger, and perhaps 
 of some less noble feelinof. 
 
 ' I want a word with you,' said Myles 
 curtly ; and young Saunders paused to stare 
 at the new-comer, while the marker turned 
 and looked on too. 
 
 Be it observed that neither of these men 
 loved Frederick Spenceley. A billiard-mar- 
 ker, however, is not always in a position to 
 resent affronts, and Charlie Saunders was a 
 person of less importance than Spenceley, 
 whatever might be his private opinion of him. 
 Moreover, the whole proceeding took them 
 
FJROBATIOJ^. 153 
 
 by surprise, or — perhaps they might have 
 interfered. 
 
 * If you like to come to another room, 
 where we can be alone,' pursued Myles com- 
 posedly, ' lead the way. I don't care where 
 it is.' 
 
 ' What the do you want, you V 
 
 growled Spenceley, recovering his pluck, or 
 what he was pleased to consider his pluck. 
 
 ^ I think you remember me. I don't need 
 to introduce myself,' said Myles. ^ Now look 
 here ! You've been behaving like a black- 
 guard again — perhaps you can't help that — 
 but, in any case, you'll be pleased to take 
 your attentions to some other quarter than 
 that one. You know what I mean.' 
 
 * I'll be — ' (a volley of the dash dialect) ' if 
 I do, you fool! Be off, and don't annoy gen- 
 tlemen. Clear out, I say, or I'll call the 
 waiter, and have you kicked out,' 
 
 There was that in Myles's face, so far 
 removed from brutal violence, which was con- 
 spicuous in every word and gesture of Spence- 
 
154 PROBATION. 
 
 ley, that the others were quiescent. How 
 he had got there was a mystery to them ; but 
 being there, they were EngHshmen enough 
 to wish for fair play, and had sufficient sense 
 to perceive that the workman was no black- 
 guard, whatever his interlocutor might 
 be. 
 
 ' You were in Markham's Lane to-night,' 
 went on Myles composedly, though his 
 face had become white, and his lips were 
 set. 
 
 ' What's that to you ? What business have 
 you to come spying on gentlemen ?' 
 
 ^ If I were you, I wouldn't say too much 
 about spying. You know what happened 
 there — in Markham's Lane, I mean. If 
 anything like it happens again — just once 
 again ' 
 
 He paused. 
 
 ' Well X said Spenceley, with a sneer and 
 a taunt, ^ what will be the consequences, my 
 fine fellow f 
 
 ^ They will be unpleasant to you, for 
 
PROBATION. 155 
 
 I'll thrash you within an inch of your 
 life.' 
 
 ^ Ha ! ha! IfiaT roared Mr. Spenceley, but 
 somehow there was a false note in the full 
 chord : it failed of rounded, complete har- 
 mony. 
 
 ' Freddy, what have you been up to 1' 
 cried Charlie Saunders, in amaze ; but he 
 did not ask what the other man had been 
 * up to.' It appeared to be taken for granted 
 that he had good ground for his complaint. 
 
 ^ Look here, you beggar,' observed 
 Spenceley to Myles ; * just get out of this^ 
 before you are turned out, and don't interfere 
 in things you don't understand.' 
 
 ^ I go when I have your promise to behave 
 yourself in future — not before.' 
 
 ^ Wha-at \ Promises \ I don't make 
 promises to cads.' 
 
 ' Then I suppose you've never promised 
 yourself what you deserve. I'm waiting for 
 a promise to me, not a cad, and I'll stay till 
 I get it.' 
 
156 PROBATION, 
 
 ' T) — n you ! will you be oiF ?' shouted 
 Spenceley, iu a sudden passion, as he saw 
 the cool, scornful face of Myles, and his 
 €yes contemptuously measuring him from 
 head to foot ; and took in with a side-glance 
 the scarcely concealed smile ujDon the faces 
 of the others. ' Will neither of you fellows 
 ring the bell, and have this fool turned 
 out V 
 
 The rules of the club not providing for 
 such an emergency, they took no notice of 
 what he blustered at them, w^hile Myles re- 
 plied coolly as ever : 
 
 ' When I've got what I want, I'll be off, 
 as I said.' 
 
 'Perhaps you want to keep the little 
 darling to yourself,' began Spenceley. 
 
 * Drop that !' said Myles sharply, for the 
 first time losing his perfect self-command. 
 
 ^ Ah, that's it I We don't want to be 
 disturbed in our little game. We are so 
 very industrious and literary in our pur- 
 suits ' 
 
PROBATION, 157 
 
 In clenching his hand, Myles felt some- 
 thing in it which he had forgotten — the 
 parcel containing Mary's straps. The paper 
 which enwrapped them had got loose. 
 One strap had fallen coiling upon the floor ; 
 one remained in his hand. He looked 
 at it, and felt very strong to wield it. He 
 turned once more to Spenceley, saying : 
 
 * Do you promise never to speak to, or 
 molest the lady again V 
 
 ' Make promises to you, about that little 
 jade . . . .' began Spenceley jeeringly, but 
 he did not finish the sentence. 
 
 Myles's hand, like an iron vice, was at his 
 throat, and during the paralysing astonish- 
 ment and bewilderment of the other two^ 
 Frederick Spenceley received such a thrash- 
 ing as he had many a time deserved, but 
 which circumstances had hitherto denied to- 
 him. Myles's hold, strengthened by a pas- 
 sion which lent him irresistible power, did 
 not for one moment relax. At last Saunders 
 turned and rang the bell, but not before 
 
158 PROBATION, 
 
 the fine broadcloth coat was in ribbons 
 upon its owner's back, and the face above it 
 purple and almost suffocating, did Myles 
 fling him away from him, remarking coolly : 
 
 ^ Perhaps that will answer as well as a 
 promise. If ever it's necessary, there's the 
 same thing, and worse, ready for you a 
 second time.' 
 
 He turned to find the door open, and the 
 waiter staring in, aghast. 
 
 ' Kick him out ! Fetch some water !' cried 
 young Saunders, bending over the pros- 
 trate figure of his friend. ^ Kick him out, I 
 say !' he reiterated. He was remarka.bly 
 small and slender in figure, and doubtless felt 
 that it would be a mockery to attempt the 
 deed himself. 
 
 Myles turned towards the Avaiter, who still 
 blocked up the doorway. 
 
 ' Well,' said he tranquilly, ^ I am waiting ; 
 which are you going to do ? Kick me out — 
 or let me pass '?' 
 
 The billiard-marker had made no attempt 
 
PROBATION. 159 
 
 to interfere. The insults received that very- 
 evening from Spenceley rankled in his 
 mind ; he was well-pleased at the humilia- 
 tion of the bully. The little waiter looked 
 up for a moment at the tall, muscular, sinewy 
 young man who towered above him, with a 
 pale face, and a look of inflexible determina- 
 tion and power about his eyes and mouth, 
 and a frown of anger, terrible in its intensity, 
 on his brow. He stood aside silently. 
 Myles turned and said : 
 
 ^ If I'm wanted again about this business, 
 my name is Heywood, and I live on the 
 Townfield. I can easily be found.' 
 
 No answer was returned : he composedly 
 picked up his second strap and walked 
 away. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AFTER-THOUGHTS. 
 
 HAT ails thee, Myles V asked his 
 sister, as he came into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 * Me ? Nothing, lass. Here's your straps. 
 The new one has had a kind of inauguration, 
 but I reckon it will have done it good more 
 likely than harm.' 
 
 ' What dost mean V she asked, staring at 
 him. 
 
 * Oh, nothing !' said he with a slight laugh, 
 as he leaned against the mantelpiece Avith 
 his arms folded behind him, his favourite 
 attitude. 
 
PROBATION. 161 
 
 ' Hast changed my book, Myles ?' inquired 
 Edmund. 
 
 ' Eh, I clean forgot it,' repKed Myles, 
 with a start. ' I'm very sorry. Fact is, I 
 Avas called off, and I never thought of the 
 book again.' 
 
 'Well, it doesn't matter,' answered Ed- 
 mund, who was in high good humour at his 
 mother's absence. 
 
 Mary also seemed less constrained, though 
 nothing would have induced her to own that 
 she was glad her mother had left them. She 
 moved about more freely, and as she passed 
 to and fro, ' putting things to rights,' she 
 was heard to sing snatches of no less a song 
 of praise than the ' Old Hundredth.' And 
 when her household work was done (for 
 Myles's adventure had not taken long, and it 
 was now barely eight o'clock) she brought 
 her work, and sat down with her brothers ; 
 and though there were shadows brooding 
 over them all — darker shadows, and deeper, 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 PROBATION, 
 
 than they imagined — they formed a very 
 happy trio. 
 
 Mary especially felt happy and contented. 
 She was devoted to her brothers — loved 
 Edmund with a mother s and a sister's love 
 combined, while she looked upon Myles as 
 her ideal of all that was good and manly. 
 He had given her no cause to think other- 
 wise. With regard to her own merits, she 
 was humble ; but let any one impeach in the 
 slightest degree those of Myles or Edmund, 
 and she became fierce, proud, and resentful. 
 Something in Myles's mien to-night disturbed 
 her. she knew not why. 
 
 ^ Wilt have thi pipe, lad % It's theer ; I'st 
 get it in a minute.' 
 
 * No thank you, Molly. I don't care about 
 smoking to-night.' 
 
 ' Did iver ony one see sich a chap V said 
 Mary, secretly filled with pride in him. 
 ' He ne'er drinks, and he ne'er hardly 
 smokes, and he ne'er does nowt disao-ree- 
 able. 
 
PROBATION, 1G3 
 
 ' He hasn't a redeeming vice/ said Myles 
 ironically, watching her fingers as she plied 
 her needle, and forcing himself to speak, 
 though he did it half mechanically. What 
 was she making ?' he asked. 
 
 ' A shirt.' 
 
 ' For whom V 
 
 ^ Why, for thee, lad !' said Mary, with a 
 laugh and a look at him ; and Myles returned 
 the look with a smile, and instantly became 
 lost in a long train of reflection. 
 
 Edmund and Mary loved him, and looked 
 up to him as to a superior being, as the 
 centre figure in their lives, and the person 
 around whom clustered their hopes, fears, 
 and loves. Beyond them, out of their circle, 
 was Adrienne Blisset ; was it in the nature 
 of things that she could ever behold him 
 with eyes like theirs ? No, never ; because 
 she was instructed, and they were ignorant. 
 Well, was adoration the best thing for a 
 man % Was it not better to adore % Could 
 there be any shame in the worship of a 
 
 11—2 
 
164 PROBATION, 
 
 ^. 
 
 woman like Adrienne ? He decided, no. It 
 was not the giving up of independence — it 
 was the bending to a superior being which, 
 when that attitude was self- elected, was the 
 highest independence. Here all was secure, 
 safe, assured. Nothing would ever change 
 the love of these two for him : outside there, 
 where Adrienne was, all was stormy, cloudy, 
 feverish, uncertain : he knew not what she 
 thought of him — what feelings or no-feelings 
 her gracious manner might cover. 
 
 He had defended her — from the first mo- 
 ment of their intercourse his attitude had 
 been made by circumstances a protecting 
 one : he felt at once an inferiority and a 
 superiority to her, which two things do 
 surely form part of the primal basis of pure 
 and hoty love. He stood still, leaning 
 against the chimney-piece, thinking of what 
 he had this night done for her sake, and his 
 face flushed at the remembrance. 
 
 * Can she ever be like another woman to 
 me V he thought. ' It is impossible. If it 
 
PROBATION. 1G5 
 
 were possible I should be a clod.' For what 
 he had done counted for something with 
 Myles : he was not one of those heroes who 
 will thrash you half a dozen fellows, twice as 
 big as themselves, and then require to be re- 
 minded of such a trifle. 
 
 He was not quite sure, even now, that he 
 felt unmixed satisfaction in the deed. To 
 thrash a cowardly bully, who seemed unable 
 to express himself without the assistance of 
 copious volleys of oaths, was one thing, and 
 Myles contemplated with some complacency 
 the fact that he had done it. But if any 
 evil consequences should ensue to Adri- 
 enne ! 
 
 After a moment he reassured himself. 
 He did not believe that Spenceley knew her 
 name. He had not mentioned it. Myles 
 would have died rather than utter it himself 
 in that company — that would indeed have 
 been a casting of pearls before swine, of 
 which he was naturally incapable. 
 
 If Mr. Spenceley chose to prosecute him 
 
166 PROBATION, 
 
 he would own himself guilty, and take his 
 punishment — anything rather than drag her 
 name into the discussion ; but he doubted 
 much whether Spenceley would wish to draw 
 public attention so pointedly to the fact that 
 he had been flogged by a workman in the 
 billiard-room of his own club. That would 
 have been to expose his own brutal insolence 
 and violence, and to hint, moreover, at some 
 discreditable deed in the backwound which 
 had called forth the attack. Myles began to 
 wonder how that beautiful sister of his, whom 
 he had spoken to that morning — could it be 
 that morning ? — would receive her brother. 
 Then his thouorhts wandered off ao-ain to 
 Adrienne. 
 
 ^ At any rate, I can't face her yet. I 
 must stay quiet awhile until it has blown 
 over. Perhaps, as she's so very quiet and 
 goes out so little, she'll not hear about it; and 
 then I could call, and not mention it, and it 
 would all pass over.' 
 
 A knock at the back-door roused him. 
 
PROBATION. 1G7 
 
 Mary lifted her head, and cried, ' Come 
 in !' but after a pause the knock was re- 
 newed. 
 
 'It's Harry,' observed Edmund. 'Thou 
 mun open to him, Myles, or he'll go on 
 knocking for half an hour.' 
 
 'Ay, poor lad, I suppose he will,' said 
 Myles, going towards the door, while Mary 
 maintained absolute silence, continuing her 
 work. 
 
 Myles soon returned, accompanied by a 
 young man, slight and somewhat delicate- 
 looking, pale-faced and fair-complexioned, 
 whose calm, open countenance was pleasant 
 to look upon, despite a certain vagueness in 
 its expression — not a want of intelligence, or 
 anything approaching vacancy, but rather as 
 if something escaped him and left him apart 
 from other people. 
 
 ' Good-evenin', Mary — evenin', Ned,' he 
 said, in the very softest and gentlest of 
 voices. 
 
 ' Sit down, Harry, and have supper with 
 
168 PROBATION, 
 
 us,' said Myles ; and when he spoke Harry 
 Ashworth's infirmity became apparent. 
 
 Myles had to go close up to him and 
 speak, not very loudly, but very slowly and 
 clearly. He was almost deaf, in consequence 
 of a fever he had had when a boy of twelve. 
 He was twenty-five now, and the weakness 
 increased each year ; it was probable that in 
 a few more years he would be stone-deaf. 
 He was a frequent visitor at the Heywoods', 
 and a great friend of Myles and Edmund ; 
 Mary and he had little to say to each other 
 beyond the words of greeting and farewell. 
 
 There was a certain constraint this even- 
 ing immediately after his entrance, on account 
 of what had happened in regard to Mrs. 
 Hey wood, but this constraint was dissipated 
 by Harry himself 
 
 * I hear your mother has gone,' he re- 
 marked. 
 
 Myles assented in a grave sort of way. 
 
 Mary's cheeks flushed, and she did not 
 raise her eyes from her work. 
 
PROBATION, leg* 
 
 ' She thinks of being married soon, then X 
 
 ' I expect so/ said Myles. 
 
 ' Ah/ said Harry ; and then, without any 
 embarrassment, changed the subject. 
 
 ^ We may expect changes soon, Myles, I 
 reckon.' 
 
 ' What changes f asked Myles, who had 
 come close to Harry, while the latter had 
 placed his chair close to Edmund's sofa. 
 
 ^ The master's coming back — so I hear/ 
 
 * Oh, him !' said Myles, again trying to 
 turn up his nose, and again failing to 
 do so. 
 
 Harry laughed, and Mary remarked : 
 
 * Eh, but I could like to see yon chap. He 
 mun be some and clever.* 
 
 ' Molly thinks he must be clever,' said 
 Myles to Harry, who nodded. 
 
 * I don't see why he shouldn't be, chooso 
 how. I think you're a bit hard on him, 
 Myles. We know no harm on him.' 
 
 * Yes, we do. We know he's neglected 
 his business and his property. He's six and 
 
170 PROBATION. 
 
 twenty if he's a day, and he's never looked 
 in upon us since he came into possession. 
 He's a gawmless chap — he must be.' 
 
 ' Well^ we'st see that when he comes. 
 Have you heard as Mr. Lippincott, his 
 health's failin', and he's ordered abroad ? 
 They say he can't live.' 
 
 Mr. Lip|)incott was the sitting member for 
 Thanshope. 
 
 * Nay, I heard nothing of that,' said Myles 
 reflectively. ' Then, suppose he dies, we 
 shall liave a fresh election.' 
 
 ' Ay ; and I have heard,' pursued Harry, 
 not without a twinkle of humour in his eyes, 
 ^ as it's possible Mr. Mallory may stand, if 
 Mr. Lippincott resigns or dies.' 
 
 ' What !' ejaculated Myles. ' And who is 
 to oppose him ?' ^ 
 
 ' Spenceley — Bargaining Jack.' 
 
 * Why, Myles, thou'd be hard set to know 
 who to vote for,' said Mary innocently. 
 
 Myles suddenly recovered his presence of 
 mind, and shouted to Harry : 
 
PROBATION. 171 
 
 * You've heard wrong, lad. Mallorys are 
 all Tories, and always have been — it's bred 
 in the bone ; and Bargaining Jack reckons to 
 be a Conservative too, so far as he's any- 
 thing. Conservatives manage better than 
 us. They would never run two candidates 
 in Thanshope — in fact, they only ran one for 
 the look of the thing. They can't get the 
 wedge in here.' 
 
 ' Well, I have heard too,' continued Harry, 
 * as how Mallory is a Radical — a Liberal, 
 choose how.' 
 
 ' That I'll never believe till I hear him say 
 it himself,' said Myles decidedly. ^ And 
 from all I've heard, I think you've been 
 misinformed, Harry.' 
 
 ' Well, perhaps I have,' said Harry peace- 
 ably. ^ It doesn't matter to me which way 
 it is.' 
 
 Nor did the others appear to take much 
 interest in the subject, for it dropped, and 
 Mary began to get supper ready. 
 
 At that meal the conversation was carried 
 
172 PROBATION. 
 
 on almost entirely between Harry and Myles. 
 Harry was a spinner, in receipt of a large 
 wage. He was, as has been said, a pleasant, 
 comely-looking young man, and if not very 
 robust, did not look unhealthy. Many of his 
 friends wondered why he did not marry ; for 
 he was turned twenty-five. He and Myles 
 and Mary Hey wood were beginning to be 
 looked upon as drifting into the old-maid 
 and bachelor ranks. 
 
 At all times, early — terribly early — mar- 
 riages are the rule in Lancashire ; but in 
 those halcyon years of plenty and golden 
 prosperity preceding the American Civil War, 
 they had been more numerous than ever. 
 
 After supper, Edmund, stretching out his 
 arms, said in a muffled kind of voice : 
 
 * Eh, I say, it is some and hot here. I 
 wonder what it's like outside.' 
 
 ' Why, the air's pleasant enough on the 
 Townfield,' said Harry. 
 
 ' I could like to feel it,' remarked Ed- 
 mund. ' I've not been out these three days.' 
 
PROBATION. 173 
 
 ' Well, come along and take a turn/ said 
 Myles good-naturedly, well knowing that 
 Edmund's motive for suggesting such a thing 
 at that time was that the dusk was rapidly 
 gathering : there were fewer people about, 
 and he was less likely to be observed. 
 
 Edmund jumped at the offer, and Myles, 
 giving him his cap, and taking his own, drew 
 his brother's arm through his, shouting to 
 Harr}^ : 
 
 ^ Wilt come with us, or wilt stay with 
 Molly ?' 
 
 ' I'st stay and have a pipe till you come 
 in, if Mary's no objection,' said Harry ; and 
 Mary, by way of answer, pointed to a china 
 basket on the mantelpiece, in which stood 
 half-a-dozen neatly-made ^ spills.' 
 
 These spills were a mystery to the house- 
 hold. Mary gave it out that she liked to 
 have them. They looked tidy like, and did 
 for lighting the pipes ; but it was a well- 
 known fact that Edmund did not smoke at 
 all ; that Myles preferred to light his pipe 
 
174 PROBATION, 
 
 with a coal or a match, and that the only 
 visitor who enjoyed the privilege of smoking 
 in that kitchen was Harry Ash worth. Yet 
 no one ever suggested that the lighters were 
 kept in stock for Harry's benefit, though 
 Edmund had been perilously near doing so 
 once or twice. Had he or anv one else 
 uttered that theory, it is impossible to ima- 
 gine what Mary would have said — possibly 
 nothing at all, for she was, in practice at 
 least, a strong upholder of the theory that 
 * silence is golden.' 
 
 The two brothers went out, leaving the 
 door open, and a waft of the somewhat cooler 
 outside air penetrated to the kitchen. The 
 gas was not lighted ; the fire had burnt low ; 
 the room was almost dark. Mary could no 
 longer see to work, and sat, with her head 
 thrown a little backwards, in the hioh- 
 backed, red-cushioned rocking-chair. The 
 clock ticked : everything was very still. 
 It was Harry who spoke first, in his soft 
 voice. 
 
PROBATION. 175 
 
 ' Warm and close, this here weather, 
 Mary.' 
 
 ' Ay,' said Mary ; ' 'tis.' 
 
 * How does Ned get on ?' he asked ; for 
 though she did not speak very loudly, she 
 spoke deliberately, and he appeared to hear 
 her easily. 
 
 ^ He feels th' heat aboon a bit,' replied 
 Mary. 
 
 ' Ay ! I dare say.' 
 
 A pause, while Harry puffed away at his- 
 pipe, and Mary offered no further observa- 
 tions on men or things. 
 
 ^ I took a long walk o' Sunday — yesterday, *" 
 observed Harry at last. 
 
 ' Did yo ? Where to ?' 
 
 ' Keet o'er th' moors to th' top o' Black- 
 rigg.' 
 
 ' It's to' far. Thou'rt none strong eno' for 
 sich like walks.' 
 
 ' Yea, but I am. I set me down on th*^ 
 heather, and listened wi' all my might, and 
 I thowt I heard a bird singing.' 
 
17t) PROBATION, 
 
 ^ Happen a lark ?' said Mary, after a per- 
 ceptible pause. 
 
 ^ Happen. I should ha' gone to church in 
 th' evenin', but I can't hear — nowt distinct, 
 that's to say — and I'm a' most inclined to 
 think that I didn't hear yon lark, but only 
 thowt I did, from memory, thou known.' 
 
 ^ Ay,' assented Mary. 
 
 ^ And when I go into church, and hear th' 
 organ buzzin', and th' voices all mixed up wi' 
 it, and can't make out what it is, it fair 
 moithers me ; same as when I look up, and 
 see th' parson speakin', and don't know what 
 it's about.' 
 
 ^ Ay,' said Mar}^, laconically as ever, but 
 this time there was the faintest possible 
 vibration in her voice. 
 
 And there was another long pause, while 
 Mary's eyelids drooped. He did not see 
 that — it was too dark ; and had he seen it, 
 he could not have known that those eyelids 
 were sore with repressed tears, which burnt 
 them, and which she would not allow to flow. 
 
PROBATION. 177 
 
 * Sometimes/ his voice broke in again, ^ I 
 get discontented. I'm main fond o' music, 
 as you know, Mary/ 
 
 ' Ay, I know thou art/ 
 
 ^ And it troubles me above a bit sometimes 
 as I should be deaf, for it just takes away 
 my greatest pleasure. Sometimes I wish I'd 
 been blind instead/ 
 
 No answer from Mary, till Harry, in a 
 hesitating voice, said : 
 
 ^ What dost think, Mary % Is it very 
 wrong to have such thoughts '?' 
 
 * No, I dunnot,' replied Mary. ' I call it 
 very nateral. If I was deaf, I reckon I should 
 make more noise about it than you do. I 
 wonder what them chaps is doin'. It's time 
 they was comin' in/ 
 
 ' Don't thou go out. I'll find 'em, and tell 
 'em, for I mun be goin' too,' said Harry, 
 rising. 
 
 Mary had begun to poke the fire vio- 
 lently, and now let the poker fall with a loud 
 rattle, as Harry, without her knowing it, had 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 PROBATION. 
 
 advanced close to her, so that her elbow- 
 struck ao'ainst his outstretched hand. 
 
 ' Dule tak' th' fire-irons !' said she impa- 
 tiently. ' I conna think what ails 'em. 
 Good-neet to you, if you mun be going,' she 
 added, shaking hands with him, and, as soon 
 as he was gone, lighting the gas. 
 
 Presently her brother came in. The 
 house was locked up. Mary went to bed, 
 followed by Edmund. Myles was left by 
 the dying-out kitchen fire, wdth a book on 
 the table, which he never opened, but sat 
 till far into the nig^ht, livino' throuoii some of 
 those strange hours of still, silent, yet vivid, 
 rushinof, mental life which come to all of us 
 sometimes in our youth, and w^hich are like 
 no other hours in our experience. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A TEA-PARTY. 
 * Mir war's so wolil, so well !' 
 
 /^FTER that evening, Myles found 
 ^ himself in a position which he at 
 least found full of difficulties. 
 Two things happened, both of which he had 
 looked upon as probable ; the news of what 
 had happened spread, and Frederick Spence- 
 ley did not prosecute. The waiter who had 
 allowed Myles to go into the billiard-room 
 was dismissed ; the billiard-marker who had 
 stood by shared the same fate. 
 
 It would be difficult to guess what object, 
 real or supposed, was gained by this measure; 
 
 12—2 
 
180 PROBATION. 
 
 but it seemed to afford great satisfaction to 
 many minds. Spenceley found it convenient 
 to leave liome for some weeks, and Myles 
 heard no more of his share in the transaction. 
 There were endless tales in circulation — 
 the facts, the names, the causes of the affair, 
 all got mixed up in the wildest and most 
 inextricable confusion, as in such cases they 
 always do. The principals maintained ab- 
 solute silence, and let report work what 
 wonders it would or could. 
 
 * Bear not false witness ; let the lie 
 Have time on its own wings to fly !' 
 
 They adhered to the precept, and the re- 
 sult was that they and their grievances were 
 soon completely obscured in the buzz of talk, 
 conjecture, wrong guesses, and wild surmises 
 which gathered about them like a thick 
 cloud. One thing soon became apparent ; 
 and, once secure of that, Myles cared 
 nothing for the rest. Adrienne's name was 
 not known. The cause of the fracas was 
 generally supposed to be a woman ; but the 
 
PROBATION. 181 
 
 tale which gained the greatest favour was 
 one takinof the side of the workman — that 
 mysterious * workman/ whose name had 
 somehow disappeared in the midst of con- 
 tradictory reports, and whom no one could 
 distinctly specify, because there were so 
 many workmen in Thanshope. How was a 
 genteel person to know one linen jacket, or 
 its wearer, from another'? This report, which 
 preserved a kind of likeness amidst all its 
 variations, was to the effect that Frederick 
 Spenceley had deserved his thrashing ; for 
 that he had been taking undue liberties with 
 the young man's sweetheart — and her name 
 was Sally Rogers, was Frances Alice Ker- 
 shaw, and she was a dressmaker, was a mill 
 hand, and lived in half a dozen places, and 
 worked in as many factories, quite certainly 
 and positively ; she was very pretty, and he 
 w^as very jealous; or, she was not a par- 
 ticularly good-looking girl, but Fred Spence- 
 ley had had words with the young man 
 before, and had wished to insult him. 
 
182 PROBATION, 
 
 Myles maintained a rigid silence upon the 
 subject, even when Mary came in one day in 
 a state of unusual excitement, exclaiminof : 
 
 ^ Eh ! Ned Myles, have ye heerd tell o' 
 what's happened ?' 
 
 ' What V 
 
 * Jack Spenceley's lad has had such a 
 leathering,' said Mary ; and told the rest of 
 it with much excitement and volubilitv, for 
 her. 
 
 Edmund manifested a lively interest in the 
 story, and Myles admitted indifferently that 
 he had heard somethinof about it. 
 
 They were, however, not much given to 
 gossiping at that house, and the subject 
 soon dropj^ed. * 
 
 Then came Myles's other difficulty. He 
 did not know w^hether boldly to go and call 
 at Mr. Blisset's as he longed and desired to 
 do, or whether to remain away. He plagued 
 himself with wondering what she thought 
 about it, and then tried to believe that she 
 had perhaps not even heard of it — her life 
 
PROBATION. 183 
 
 was so very retired, she saw and heard so 
 little of what was going on outside. Then 
 he might go % But suppose she did know, 
 and he appeared as if he came to be thanked 
 and made a hero of ? He contradicted him- 
 self ten times a day ; decided to go — to stay 
 — to go — and stayed because he absolutely 
 could not decide which was best. 
 
 So the days went on until Saturday, and 
 he had not had a glimpse of her — only the 
 remembrance of her grateful eyes and the 
 pressure of her hand, as she bade him good- 
 bye at her uncle's gate before it had all hap- 
 pened. When Saturday afternoon came, his 
 longing to see her was growing almost un- 
 bearable, and he had the sensation that if he 
 went out of the house, his feet would turn 
 mechanically towards Blake Street. 
 
 -rr •?'? -5'? 4^ -)5- 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon ; the clock- 
 hands pointed to five ; Mary's ' cleaning ' 
 was over, and the house was quiet. Ed- 
 mund lay upon his sofa with a headache. 
 
184 PROBATION. 
 
 and Myles was softly reading to him^ glad 
 of some monotonous occupation which should 
 divert his thoughts somewhat from the topic 
 which at present tyrannised over them. 
 
 Edmund had been reading in a magazine 
 about the works of the Bronte sisters, and 
 Myles had procured him * Jane Eyre ' and 
 ' Wuthering Heights ' from the free library. 
 * Wuthering Heights ' lay as yet untouched : 
 it had not yet laid its strong and dreadful 
 spell on the boy's spirit. They were deep in 
 ■ Jane Eyre.' It proved a spell which caused 
 Edmund to forget his headache, and en- 
 chained the attention of Myles himself, with 
 its passionate expression of the equality of 
 soul and soul, and its eager conviction of the 
 supremacy of mind over the differences of 
 rank or place. Its burning radicalism went 
 straight to Myles's soul, while its deep 
 poetry touched Edmund's inmost heart. 
 
 At this moment they were wandering 
 with ' Jane ' over the summer moors, home- 
 less, friendless, foodless, penniless ; and they 
 
PROBATION. 185 
 
 had forgotten all outside things with her, as 
 she reposed herself beneath the broad sky, 
 on the friendly bosorn of her mother — 
 Nature. 
 
 ' Hist !' said Edmund suddenly, ^ there's a 
 knock.' 
 
 Myles paused. Some one knocked at the 
 front door. Mary had heard it, and rose from 
 her rocking-chair. 
 
 * Thee go on wi' thi' readin'/ said she, 
 going out ; and they heard her open the 
 door, and a low voice — a woman's voice — ask 
 her some question. 
 
 With an inarticulate exclamation, Myles 
 
 half rose, the book open in his hand, and as 
 
 Edmund was in the act of inquiring what 
 
 was the matter, Mary came in again, looking 
 
 rather bewildered, and saying, as she turned 
 
 to some one who followed her : 
 
 ' Myles, here's a lady wants to speak to 
 thee.' 
 
 ' Why did you not come ?' said Adrienne, 
 
 going straight up to Myles. * Why have you 
 
18G PROBATION, 
 
 never been to see me % I have waited and 
 waited, until I could wait no longfer.' 
 
 He stood, crimson, unable to speak a word, 
 but looking at her with eyes that must have 
 told their tale — which must have warned her 
 had she been less excited and earnest. 
 
 * How could you go and do a thing like 
 that, and then never take any further notice 
 of me ?' she continued. ^ I have thought of 
 nothing else since I heard of it. It was 
 most wonderfully foolish — oh, very foolish ; 
 but oh, I do thank you, and honour you for 
 it, with all my heart. It is exactly what 
 such canaille deserve, and it was nobly done 
 — it was indeed !' 
 
 ^MissBlisset . . . you . . . you — It was- 
 nothing. Any one would have done it. I 
 couldn't have rested or slept till I had 
 punished him. I was obliged to do it.' 
 
 * Ah, that is how you put it, no doubt — but 
 any one would not have felt so — only you 
 would. I can never thank you — never.' 
 
 * Well, don't then ! I — it makes me 
 
PROBATION, 187 
 
 ashamed of myself — it does indeed,' said 
 lie earnestly. 
 
 ' But whativer is it o' about, miss '?' said 
 Mary, putting into words her own and Ed- 
 mund's boundless astonishment. 
 
 * Is it possible/ said Adrienne, turning 
 with wide-open eyes to Myles — ^ Is it pos- 
 sible that you have never told them % Did 
 he not tell you '?' 
 
 * Nay, he's ne'er told us nowt,' said Mary. 
 
 * I never heard of anything so extraordi- 
 nary,' said Adrienne, with still a vibration in 
 her voice, which showed how much she was 
 moved. ^ You must have heard about that 
 man — Spenceley — who insulted me, and . . ." 
 
 * Thank heaven, your name has never been 
 uttered,' interposed Myles hastily. 
 
 ' And your brother, who had once before 
 sent him away when he tried to annoy me, 
 at the library, went to make him promise to 
 behave himself, and he would not. Was not 
 that it ? So he flogged him.' 
 
 * Eh — Myles !' said Mary, with a long- 
 
188 PROBATION. 
 
 drawn intonation, compounded of incredulity, 
 pride, and pleasure. ^ Eh — h — Myles ! I 
 niver did — no niver !' 
 
 ^ So it were you, Myles/ said Edmund. 
 * Thou hast kept some and quiet about it. 
 But I'm glad thou did it.' 
 
 ^ And he has never come near my home — 
 never given me a chance of thanking him,' 
 pursued Adrienne. ^You must understand, 
 now, why I have come.' 
 
 ^ Ay, I can so,' said Mary, regarding her 
 with great favour and cordiality, for this 
 praise of Myles touched her to the very 
 heart. ' Won't you sit down X she 
 added. 
 
 ' I don't wish to disturb you,' said Adrienne, 
 hesitating. 
 
 ^ Eh, no sich thing. Sit you down,' said 
 Mary, drawing up the rocking-chair, in which 
 Adrienne sat down, and Myles stood leaning 
 against one end of the mantelpiece, feeling 
 the need of a support of some kind ; for he 
 felt a sort of intoxication and a bewilderment, 
 
PROBATION. 18^ 
 
 and a strange, subtle, new life in the very 
 fact of Adrienne's presence. 
 
 ' I had to inquire where you lived/ she 
 said, looking up at him. * You did not even 
 tell me that. You once mentioned that you 
 lived on the Townfield, and I thought I 
 should never find your house ; but the first 
 person I met told me where you lived. But 
 would you never have come "?' 
 
 ' I — I hardly liked to come. I did not 
 know whether you might have been — dis- 
 pleased, perhaps,' he said, with some embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 ' My uncle has often asked when yoit were 
 coming. He wants to see you again. But 
 now you will come soon — yes V 
 
 ^ I — yes. I should like to,' said he. 
 
 * I hope you don't mind my coming here,' 
 said Adrienne to Mary. 
 
 ' Eh, no ! Lord, no !' said Mary earnestly. 
 * I'm reet glad to see you. Yon chap would 
 ne'er ha' told us what he'd been doin'. He's 
 so — stupid.' 
 
190 PROBATION, 
 
 ' Yes — so I sliould think/ said Adrienne, 
 meeting Mary's eyes with a smile. 
 
 And then looking at Edmund, she said, 
 
 ' I've heard of you, too. You are not 
 strong.' 
 
 ^ No/ said Mary, answering for him. ' He's 
 ne'er one o' th' strongest, and to-day he's 
 getten a headache.' 
 
 ^ Don't you do anything for your head- 
 aches 1' 
 
 'Nay, I just bide 'em out.' 
 
 ' That is a pity. I could do something for 
 them — if I come again, I will bring you some- 
 thing: that will do them c^ood.' 
 
 She went on talking to Mary and Edmund, 
 who seemed to feel no embarrassment in the 
 intercourse. Adrienne certainly possessed 
 in a high degree the art of putting people 
 at their ease in her company. Mary and 
 Edmund Avere not usually communicative in 
 first interviews with strangers ; but this 
 stranger appeared to take their hearts by 
 storm, and quickly succeeded in making them 
 
PROBATION'. 191 
 
 forget that there was any difference in station 
 between them. She apologised for her in- 
 trusion much more particularly than she 
 would have done to a woman whose servant 
 had opened the door, taken her card, and 
 announced her with a flourish. This de- 
 meanour was not put on — it was her natural, 
 spontaneous manner, springing from instinc- 
 tive politeness and geniality of nature. 
 Everything about her Avas true and pure 
 — what Myles was accustomed to call in 
 the vernacular, 'jannock.' Mary, also, was 
 nothing if not jannock ; and the two girls — 
 the lady and the factory-worker, seemed 
 instinctively to get on. 
 
 ^ I must not detain you any longer now,' 
 said Adrienne, at last. ^ I see you are going 
 to have your tea. But I should like to know 
 you. Would you mind if I came again, 
 now and then ?' 
 
 ' Eh, I'st be vary glad,' said Mary, ' if so 
 be we're not too simple and plain like for 
 you. Yo'seen we're nobbut working folk . . .' 
 
192 ■ PROBATION. 
 
 ^ Well, I am a working person too, and 
 like seeks like,' said Adrienne. 
 
 ^ I reckon you're a different mak' o' worker 
 fro' us,' said Mary. 
 
 '■ I am sure I work as hard as you at least, 
 and am as tired and as glad of rest as you, 
 when my work is done.' 
 
 ^You look tired now,' said Mary, fixing 
 her large, clea,r eyes upon Adrienne's pale 
 and somewhat weary face, from Avhich 
 the glow had faded. * Where do you 
 
 live ?' 
 
 ' Up at Stonegate, in Blake Street.' 
 * My certy ! But that's a good step !' said 
 Mary, who, like many of her class, was 
 nothing of a walker. 'We're just goin' 
 to have our tay — won't you draw up 
 and have a sup, and a bit o' summat to 
 evt f 
 
 That homely, cordial Lancashire invita- 
 tion, ' Come and have a sup, and a bit o' 
 summat to eat ' — what Lancashire ears are 
 there that do not know it and love it for the 
 
PROBATION. 193 
 
 kind thoughts it arouses I It went straight 
 home to our lonely Adrienne : a mist rushed 
 over her eyes ; she said somewhat hesi- 
 tatingly : 
 
 ^ Oh, I should like it. You are very 
 
 kind, but I fear ' she half turned to 
 
 Myles. 
 
 'Myles, coom out o' yon corner, and be- 
 liave thisel', mon ! Thou can when thou's a 
 mind to,' said Mary briskly. *Now draw 
 up,' she added to Adrienne. ' Tak' off your 
 hat, and I'st hang it up, so I And Myles'll 
 see you home. He's got nowt to do to- 
 neet.' 
 
 Mary must have been inspired when she 
 made this suggestion. 
 
 ' Oh, I need not trouble him now,' said 
 Adrienne, wdth a radiant smile upon the 
 approaching Myles — ^ unless he has forgotten 
 the way to my uncle's house, as I begin to 
 think.' 
 
 ' It's much better I should go with you. 
 It's Saturday evening,' said Myles, seating 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 PROBATION. 
 
 himself beside her, and throwing a fleeting 
 glance towards her face. 
 
 She was content, pleased, even flattered at 
 the friendly way in which she had been re- 
 ceived. Her expression said that as plainly 
 as words could do. Myles began to lose 
 some of his bewilderment, and to gain some- 
 what more confidence. 
 
 ^ Eh, I've forgotten tli mowflins !' said 
 Mary suddenly, a shade crossing her face. 
 ' We mun really wait while I toast th' 
 mowflins.' 
 
 She jumped up and produced tea-cakes 
 out of a cupboard, and Myles suggested that 
 perhaps it did not matter about the muflins. 
 Mary was, however, firm, and bade him cut 
 some bread-and-butter while she toasted. 
 
 ' And mind thou cuts it nice and thin, and 
 not all i' lumps,* she added in admonitory 
 tones. 
 
 Myles, much too simple-minded to see 
 anything derogatory in cutting bread-and- 
 butter, began, but in half a minute Adrienne 
 
PROBATION. 195 
 
 had jumped up and laid hold of the 
 knife. 
 
 ' Stop ! That is clearly not your sphere/ 
 said she, laughing into his embarrassed, yet 
 ever-attractive face. ' It is not stern enough 
 — not commanding enough. Let me do it.' 
 
 Unaware of the distinguished example set 
 by the Wetzlar heroine in the bread-and- 
 butter- cutting line, Myles watched the deft 
 fingers of his enchantress as if no woman 
 had ever been known to cut bread-and- 
 butter properly before. 
 
 Mary, w^ho grew visibly and every mo- 
 ment more satisfied with her guest, toasted 
 the ^mowffins,' buttered them, and tea was 
 proclaimed ready with acclamation. 
 
 Then Edmund came to the table ; they all 
 sat there, and Mary made tea in state, apo- 
 logising for not having the best tea-things 
 because of the impromptu nature of the 
 visit. 
 
 * I am sure these seem delightful tea- 
 things,' said Adrienne, smiling. 
 
 13—2 
 
196 PROBATION, 
 
 The festivity was altogether successful as 
 regarded Adrieiine, Mary, and Edmund. 
 But Miss Blisset cast every now and then 
 fleeting glances at Myles, and was not quite 
 at her ease about him, for he alone of all the 
 party was silent and grave. It was the 
 deep intensity of the delight within him that 
 caused this, but Adrienne could not be sup- 
 posed to know that — in very truth, as yet 
 she honestly believed the greater admiration 
 and liking to be on her side. That delusion 
 was soon to be ended, but at present she was 
 under its influence. 
 
 The meal was not longf over when she 
 said she must go, and promising Mary to 
 come again, she went away, accompanied by 
 Myles. 
 
 Their way lay through what was called 
 Hhe Park.' They turned in at the large 
 iron gates of a town pleasure-ground, laid 
 out in gravel walks, grass plots, seats, and 
 flower-beds. They were on a height. The 
 town lay below, with the gilded spire of the 
 
PROBATION. 197 
 
 town-liall cleaving the air, and the hazy- 
 looking blue wall of Blackrigg to the north 
 and north-west. 
 
 As they walked slowly along a broad 
 terrace, unoccupied save by themselves, 
 Adrienne asked, in her quick, foreign way : 
 
 * Say to me, Mr. Hey wood — you are vexed 
 that I came V 
 
 ' I — vexed — nav !' was all that he could 
 
 t/ 
 
 say. 
 
 The current which for the last week had 
 ever been hurrying more and more quickly 
 forward, had now arrived at the vergfe. It 
 leapt over it in a bound, and carried every- 
 thing before it. He was madly in love, and 
 all he could do was to. say as little, be as 
 brief as possible, for fear of showing her, 
 startling her, perhaps repelling her ; for he 
 was intensely conscious of the difference ; 
 all his dearly-loved, passionately-cherished 
 theories of equality could not blind him to 
 the fact that they were not equals — that 
 while he loved her with a strength that 
 
198 PROBATION, 
 
 shook his nature with its power, yet the bare 
 thought of touching her, holding her hand, 
 speaking to her on easy and famiHar terms, 
 came to him with a sense of impropriety — 
 brought him the conviction, non sum digmis, 
 
 ' You were so quiet,' said she. ' You 
 would hardly speak to me. I Avas afraid I 
 had offended you.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said poor Myles, unable to 
 say more lest he should say too much. 
 
 * I am sure/ pursued Adrienne, stopping 
 in her w^alk and looking earnestly at him, 
 — ' I am sure you know that I did not 
 mean to offend you ; and you could not be 
 so hard as to w^ish me to keep silence. You 
 behaved splendidly. I felt that I nmst 
 thank you for it.' 
 
 It was growing too much for him to 
 stand there quiescent, and hear that voice, 
 which contained all melody for him, and to 
 see that face, those eyes, looking at him so. 
 The eagerness of desperate love came storm- 
 ing down upon ^^^^^^ence, and hurrying 
 
PROBATION, 199 
 
 words of devotion to his lips. Mastering 
 himself by a strong effort, and clasping, or 
 rather clenching: his hands behind him, he 
 said, in what seemed to Adrienne a singu- 
 larly calm, colourless voice : 
 
 ^ You make too much of it. I would 
 rather not be thanked for it.' 
 
 ^ You are hard upon me to say that. It 
 gives me such pleasure to thank you, but 
 you deserve at my hands that I should 
 comply with your wishes — after what you 
 have done for me. But you cannot guess 
 what a delightful feeling it is to one so 
 lonely as I, to suddenly discover that there is 
 some one who has been not afraid to stand 
 up for her — and to some purpose. 
 
 ' I should have thought you would have 
 many friends,' remarked Myles, endeavour- 
 ing to change the too-fascinating subject. 
 
 ' I — no indeed. I don't think any one 
 with fewer friends ever lived.' 
 
 ' But you may have left friends behind 
 vou on the Continent '?' 
 
•200 PROBATION. 
 
 A momentary ^^ause Avhile he looked at 
 her. It was as though some sudden blow 
 had struck the words back from her Hps to 
 her heart — then she said steadily : 
 
 ^ Some few ; but chiefly benefactors rather 
 than friends — benefactors who befriended and 
 helped me in my loneliness and destitution, 
 for my father and I were sometimes almost 
 destitute. 
 
 ' Destitute '?' echoed Myles, shocked. 
 
 ' Oh yes ! I have not always lived in 
 Lancashire, you know. No one seems to be 
 poor here. I have known what it is to look 
 at a piece of money w^orth sixpence, and 
 know that if I spent that upon my suj^per I 
 should not have a penny in the morning to 
 buy breakfast with.' 
 
 ' But not seriously X 
 
 ' I assure you it seemed very serious to 
 me. I have sunk lower. I have known what 
 it was to go supperless to bed, wondering 
 what poor little trinket or book I could spare 
 in order to get a breakfast next morning.' 
 
PROBATION, 201 
 
 Myles was silent, and Aclrienne continued : 
 
 ' That, you know, is not what is considered 
 respectable for a young lady.' 
 
 ^ Hang respectability !' was all he said. 
 
 'Not at all! I like it. After all the 
 fever and the turmoils, and the ups and 
 downs, and dreadful uncertainties of that 
 life, my present one is like Paradise. Oh, 
 rest is a very sweet thing — rest and security, 
 and a strong arm to help you.' (Myles 
 turned to her with parted lips.) * Your 
 home is beautiful. That sister of yours is 
 so calm and good. I love her already. She 
 must be very dear to you.' 
 
 ' Ay, I love Mary dearly.' 
 
 ^ Yes. Both she and you, and all of you, 
 look as if you had had a home all your lives. 
 Do you think I might go to see them again 1' 
 
 ' They'll be only too glad. I never 
 thought you could sympathise so much — 
 with our sort,' said Myles constrainedly. 
 
 ' To-morrow you will come to Stonegate^ 
 will you nof? and then I will tell you my 
 
202 PROBATION. 
 
 story, and you will perhaps understand how 
 it is that I sympathise with " your sort," as 
 you call it, and why I think so much of what 
 you have done for me.' 
 
 ^ I will come, with pleasure.' 
 
 ' To-morrow afternoon, then, I shall ex- 
 pect you.' 
 
 They walked the rest of the w^ay in 
 silence, and Myles left her at the gate. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' DEEPER AND DEEPER STILL.' 
 
 IT was a lovely Sunday afternoon 
 on which Myles took his way to 
 Stonegate. He found Adrienne 
 alone. She said her uncle was taking his 
 afternoon airinof in his bath-chair in the 
 garden, and did not wish to be disturbed ; 
 his old servant, Brandon, was Avith him. 
 
 ^ But sit down,' she continued, ' and we 
 can have a talk.' 
 
 With that she picked up her knitting and 
 began to work. 
 
 ' You will talk,' said Myles, ' if you keep 
 
204 PROBATION. 
 
 your promise. You promised to tell me 
 about yourself.' 
 
 * Do you really want to hear that '?' 
 
 ' I came on purpose.' 
 
 ' Well^ I will tell it you, and I hope it 
 will have the effect I intend.' 
 
 ^What effect is that? 
 
 ^ You are determined to look upon me (I 
 have seen it, so don't be at the trouble of 
 denying it) as something fine and delicate, 
 and unused to roughness and hardship.' 
 
 ^ Yes, one can see plainly enough that you 
 are that.' 
 
 ' Can one % Well, I'll begin my story^ 
 and you shall learn how appearances may 
 deceive.' 
 
 Adrienne related well. She did not ex- 
 awerate ; there was nothino- strained — no 
 striving after effect ; but there was colour, 
 pathos, life, in her tale, and a subtle poetry 
 thrown over all, by her way of looking at 
 things. 
 
 Myles, in listening, felt as if he were 
 
PROBATION, 205 
 
 actually wa^ndering with her on that nomadic 
 life she spoke of; through the great foreign 
 capitals, and the country villages, and the 
 towns, big and little ; to be sojourning with 
 her in the gay, feverish watering-places ; to 
 survey the distant, rose-tinted Alps. He 
 utterly forgot where he was, and knew only 
 her and her life. 
 
 . There had been two brothers, she told 
 him, of whom her father was the youngest 
 
 and her uncle the elder. Kith and kin they 
 had' none, and their patrimony was small. 
 
 Both were gifted, but in different ways. 
 Adrian, her father, was artist to the marrow 
 of his bones. Kichard, her uncle, had also 
 some taste for art, but more of the analytical 
 and critical than of the synthetic description ; 
 he had been, moreover, at one time a prac- 
 tical man of business, and had made money 
 — he was not rich, but thoroughly indepen- 
 dent. Her father had had the gift of spend- 
 ing, not of making. The brothers had 
 parted early. Adrian, as soon as he was 
 
206 PROBATION, 
 
 his own master, had said farewell to home, 
 and had gone, first to Germany, there to 
 study the music which his soul loved, and 
 which had beautified his otherwise weary, 
 disappointed life. 
 
 Some time was spent in Germany ; then 
 two or three years in miscellaneous and 
 somewhat aimless travel ; then back again to 
 Germany, to music, and to love. The fair, 
 clever, and penniless daughter of a poor 
 professor and man of science won his heart, 
 as he hers, and they married. 
 
 With marriaofe came the feelins^ of an in- 
 sufficiency of means, and the desire to aug- 
 ment them led him into business speculations 
 of a nature which he did not in the least 
 understand : the bubble burst, and Adrian 
 Blisset found himself a ruined man in less than 
 a year after his marriage. Adrienne's mother 
 died at her birth ; the girl had never known 
 that holy bond, however much she might 
 have longed for it. Her father chose to lay 
 part of the cause of his wife's death to the 
 
PROBATION. 20r 
 
 anxiety induced by his extravagance and folly 
 — moreover, he had adored her — and from the 
 hour of her death he had been a changed 
 man. He had his own living and that of 
 his child to gain, but he settled nowhere. 
 His life became nomadic. He and the little 
 one did not sojourn long in the tents of any 
 particular tribe. Scarce a city or a town of 
 any importance in Europe, but had sheltered 
 the unconscious head of the infant, or been 
 trodden by the child's uncertain feet, or by 
 the sedate step of the maiden, careworn 
 before her time, while she knew intimately 
 many an out-of-the-way nook, unnamed by 
 Murray, Bradshaw, or Baedeker, amongst 
 Italian hills, deep in the sunny lands of 
 France ; Thtiringian woods and slopes, or 
 sleepy red-roofed Bhenish hamlets. 
 
 A restless ghost drove the musician with 
 his child and his violin hither and thither^ 
 never permitting him to stay long in any one 
 place and gather substance ; but ever, so soon 
 as the novelty had worn off, seeming to drive 
 
208 PROBATION, 
 
 liim forth on a fresh search after — what ? 
 Adrienne had learnt at an early age to ask 
 herself that question, and sorrowfully to give 
 up the answer. 
 
 Sometimes he was in funds, when he 
 showered all kinds of presents upon her, and 
 called her his dear child, his Herzallerliebste ; 
 but oftener they were plunged in poverty, 
 sore, sordid, dreadful poverty. His moods 
 varied distressingly, from kindness that had 
 in it something fitful and sinister, up to the 
 dark and melancholy silence which was his 
 most frequent humour. He was proud, and 
 his pride was of a touchy and intractable 
 kind ; it offended men of business, and 
 estranged friends and pupils. 
 
 Adrienne had had many teachers and many 
 strange lessons, and the whole had combined 
 into a varied and truly most unconventional 
 education. Her father had lavished musical 
 training upon her. At Florence, where they 
 stayed a whole 3^ear, longer than anywhere 
 else, she had wandered about with a kind- 
 
PROBATION, 209 
 
 hearted old artist, who led her about with 
 him to the great galleries, and showed her 
 the grandest pictures, and made her know 
 the beautiful buildings, till she had imbibed 
 the undying loveliness of such masterpieces 
 as Giotto's Campanile, or Michael Angelo's 
 Duomo, and had discovered that her favou- 
 rite thing in Florence was the ' Pensiero ' 
 Medici of the last-named artist. 
 
 ' You remind me of him,' she added, sud- 
 denly looking at Myles. And she had sat, 
 at thirteen years of age, for a picture of 
 ' Gravity.' 
 
 ^ Was that what he called you V asked 
 Myles. 
 
 ' Yes. Gravity, or Sedateness was his 
 name for me — and it suited me.' 
 
 She had had to part from her good old 
 friend, and that had cost her the pain which 
 parting brings to those who know they will 
 not meet again. 
 
 In Paris, Adrienne had had lessons in 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
210 PROBATION. 
 
 democracy from a young universal genius, 
 whose talents were too vast to stoop to any 
 ordinary Avalk of life. He lived in a garret, 
 and planned schemes of a perfect republic. 
 Adrienne had not felt much grief on parting 
 from him. 
 
 A monstrous learned professor, who lived 
 at Bonn, in a Schlafrockj slippers, and spec- 
 tacles, had taught her a little store of Greek 
 and Latin. But her greatest teacher had 
 been a strange, absent-looking professor, in 
 Berlin — a man of literature and philosophy,. 
 Avho had been very fond of her, and had 
 given her freely of his very best. Her 
 uncle, Mr. Blisset, looked upon this as a 
 providential circumstance, for he found when 
 she came to him, that he had no tyro to deal 
 with, but one already instructed in philosophy 
 and its terminology. 
 
 Two years ago her father had died ; and 
 just before his death, she had learnt for the 
 first time, that they possessed any relation in 
 the world. She had received a letter to give 
 
PROBATION. 211 
 
 to her uncle. She fulfilled the behest, and 
 that was how she first met Mr. Blisset. 
 
 ' And what did he say ? How did he 
 receive you f asked Myles eagerly. 
 
 * I was chilled/ said she, ' as I sat opposite 
 to him and saw his pale, impassive face, and 
 watched how he raised his eyes now and then 
 from that letter. He gave me no reply that 
 night ; told me nothing ; did not intimate 
 whether he were pleased or displeased to see 
 me^ but ordered a room to be prepared for 
 me ; and the next day he told me that my 
 father had asked him in his letter to orive 
 me a shelter until I was able to find some 
 employment by which I could support my- 
 self. Mv uncle said that if I could endure to 
 live buried alive with an old man, and work 
 hard at a sedentary employment, he would 
 give me a home and pay me a certain sum 
 every year. I accepted his proposal grate- 
 fully, and have never repented it ; and I 
 trust he never will, either.' 
 
 There spoke the true Adrienne Blisset. 
 
 14—2 
 
212 PROBATION, 
 
 ' And you are happy here V 
 
 ^As hapj)y as I expect to be. It is a 
 great thing not to be miserable.' 
 
 * That's what our rulers appear to think 
 we w^orking-men ought to feel,' said Myles 
 sardonically, his thoughts for the moment 
 flying off at a tangent. 
 
 ^ Are you bitter against your rulers ?' 
 asked Adrienne tranquilly. 
 
 ^ I am bitter against some of them- — a 
 pampered set of rich men, w^ho never had a 
 care in their lives, hut don't mind how many 
 other people have to bear. There are some, 
 now — Bright, and Cobden, and the like — for 
 them I'd die. There's that in their faces 
 which says they have not a mean thought, 
 nor a desire but for our good ; but the most 
 of them' — he shruo^Qfcd his shoulders — ' those 
 lily-handed politicians who call themselves 
 Kadicals in these days, and plan how to pre- 
 vent a working-man from getting his beer, 
 but have half-a-dozen sorts of wine at their 
 own tables, and go mincing about at public 
 
PROBATION. 213 
 
 meetings, talking lightly of trials that would 
 make them cringe if they had to face them; 
 talking about " supply and demand," and how 
 to improve the condition of the lower orders 
 — isn't that the phrase ? Much they know 
 about the lower orders, and how to improve 
 them ! They don't know what ails them yet/ 
 
 He laughed sarcastically. 
 
 ' It is true, they are a somewhat emasculate 
 type,' said she ; ' but I don't see what right 
 you have to blame them much. It is the 
 working-man's own fault that they can do no 
 more for him.' 
 
 ' His own fault ! ' he echoed incredu- 
 lously. 
 
 ' Now don't eat me up, please ! I wonder 
 if you and I differ essentially in first prin- 
 ciples on this subject. You have thought 
 about it, haven't you '?' 
 
 * Ay, I have. I've plenty of reason to 
 think about it, when I see such fellows as 
 Frederick Spenceley and young Mallory 
 living on the fat of the land, without havins^ 
 
214 PROBATION, 
 
 lifted a finger to get it, or proved by a single 
 act that they merited it.' 
 
 ^ Mr. Mallory,' said Adrienne slowly, ' you 
 say you have seen him ; has he come home f 
 
 ^ No. I meant to speak figuratively. I 
 don't see him ; but I know it is so. If I 
 don't know him^ I know the likes of 
 him ' 
 
 ^ But — but what about him X she asked, 
 still v/ith the same slowness and a kind of 
 hesitation. ^ What has he done wrong '( 
 
 ^ He has done nothing ; that's what he has 
 done wrong,' said Myles. ' Well, he's coming 
 home soon ; we shall see how he breasts the 
 storm — for we are in for a storm, sooner or 
 later. But don't you think, Miss Blisset, it 
 must make a man think to see these con- 
 trasts — a man who has the least bit of a 
 power of thought V 
 
 'No doubt. And what conclusion have 
 you come to in the matter V 
 
 ^ The conclusion that it's a crying injustice.' 
 
 * To whom V 
 
PROBATION, 215 
 
 ' To — well, to put it broadly, we'll say to 
 the w"orking-man — but I mean to those in 
 general, who work very hard, and get very 
 little.' 
 
 * In what way V 
 
 ' Miss Blisset ! Where is the justice of 
 fellows like that having that money without 
 either rhyme or reason ; and of fellows 
 Hke ' 
 
 ^ You,' suggested Adrienne demurely. 
 
 ' I don't mean me in particular, but my 
 class in general, earning from thirty to sixty 
 shillings a week — the very best paid of us — 
 in payment for hours and hours of close, hard 
 work.' 
 
 * I suppose it is not the work you object 
 
 tor 
 
 ' ' No. I like work. I should be lost with- 
 out my work.' 
 
 ' The property which those young men 
 enjoy has been earned with trouble as great, 
 or probably, from an intellectual point of 
 view, greater than your weekly wages.' 
 
216 PROBATION. 
 
 ' But not by them.' 
 
 * Suppose it had been earned by you, and 
 you wished to leave it to your only son, 
 whom you had educated with a view to his 
 inheriting it, and the law stepped in and said 
 you should not, but should leave it amongst 
 a number of working-people whom you had 
 never seen or heard of — how would you like 
 that r 
 
 ' But that is an exaggerated view of the 
 case.' 
 
 ^ I don't see ifc. I don't believe you have 
 ever considered the subject fairly. And 
 answer me this : Suppose the average work- 
 ing-man became possessed of that money, or 
 of part of it — money ivJiich he had not earned 
 — money which had become his ©y a lucky 
 chance : do you think his use of it would be 
 worse, or as good as, or better, than the use 
 made of it by those two of whom we are 
 speaking ? Do you think it would do him a 
 real and permanent good : increase his self- 
 respect, lessen his self-indulgence, make him 
 
PROBATION. 2ir 
 
 steadier, soberer, more inwardly dignified, 
 worthy, and honourable ?' 
 
 She was looking earnestly at him, and 
 Myles frowned, the words driven back from 
 his lips. Did he know one man amongst 
 his fellow- workfhen, on whom the possession 
 of such money would have such an effect ? 
 Would it have such an effect upon himself? 
 The generalities of the writers who cried up 
 the working-man and his wrongs seemed 
 suddenly to grow small, and to shrink into 
 the backofround. 
 
 ' Oh,' went on Adrienne, ^ I don't think 
 you working-men know in the least how 
 noble your work intrinsically is. You only 
 see that others are outwardly better off than 
 you, and you clamorously demand a share of 
 that wealth. You don't see how disastrous 
 to your best interests such an acquisition 
 would be,' 
 
 Myles had started up, feeling terribly 
 humiliated. 
 
 ' You think so ill of us !' he exclaimed. 
 
218 PROBATION, 
 
 * You could come and see us yesterday, and 
 talk to my sister as if she had been your 
 sister — and now you reproach us in this way. 
 Good-bye I' 
 
 ' Stop !' said she, laying her hand upon his 
 arm, and looking earnestly into his face. 
 ^ How wild and impatient you are ! Think 
 a moment ! It is not of you I am speaking. 
 Do you know any other working-man to 
 whom I could speak in this way X 
 
 She paused. It was true ! Perhaps 
 Harry Ashworth might hear those words 
 ^and bear them — he knew of no other who 
 would do so ; and while he was stung and 
 tortured by what she said, he felt a bitter 
 consciousness that it was true. But he stood 
 still, and waited to hear the end. 
 
 ' I am speaking to you with a purpose/ 
 Adrienne went on in the same tone, low and 
 quiet, but full of vehemence. * Since that 
 night when you stepped forward in my de- 
 fence, I have thought much about you — very 
 much. I have studied you, and you do not 
 
PROBATION, 219 
 
 know how well-used I am to studying people. 
 The more I have studied you, the more I 
 have felt that you were both generous and 
 high-minded — and terribly hot-tempered/ she 
 added, with a smile^ which Myles thought 
 must have charmed the temper of a ravening 
 wolf' ' Just think what you, a workman, 
 might do, by setting an example to your 
 fellow-workmen. Take the right side. You 
 are too good for the commonplace career of 
 an ordinary " intelligent working-man," for a 
 blind submission to trade -union rules, and for 
 an obstinate resistance to your masters, just 
 because they are your masters, or because 
 your union bids you resist them. Don't be 
 a tool ; use your reason ; consider the why 
 and wherefore of things. Be answerable to 
 your conscience alone for all you say and do. 
 Hel^D to show your fellows that all improve- 
 ment in their condition must arise actively 
 from within, not be received passively from 
 without — you know that, and own it, don't 
 you V 
 
220 PROBATION. 
 
 ' Yes/ said Myles quickly, folding his 
 arms and leaning against the mantelpiece^ 
 his eyes fixed upon her, as she stood before 
 him, with her head a little thrown back ; her 
 eyes alight, looking beautiful in her energy 
 and excitement. 
 
 ' I wdsh,' she said, ^ I often wish that I 
 were a working-woman, like your sister. I 
 would show you what I meant ; how toil 
 could be ennobled.' 
 
 She paused. Myles's heart was beating 
 wildly. Something, whether God or devil 
 he had no time to think, hurried quick words 
 from his lips ; in a voice as low, as vehement 
 as her own had been, he said : 
 
 ' Do you % And suppose it ever came to 
 the point % Suj)pose some day some working- 
 man came to you, and told you he loved you ; 
 that he could see how toil micvht be ennobled, 
 if you Avould help him to do it — there Avould 
 be an end of your philosophy. You would 
 think of the cottaofe to live in, the floors to 
 scrub, the rous^h neicyhbours, the coarse com- 
 
PROBATION. 221 
 
 mon life, the children to tend, and make, and 
 mend, and sew for ; and if you could get over 
 that, there would be the man himself — a great 
 rough fellow — a workman, not a gentleman, 
 a man of rough speech, like — like our sort. 
 You would have to work for him, too ; to 
 cook, and sew, and wash for him ; to obey 
 him — you. When he said " Do this," you 
 must do it, and when he called ^^ Come here !" 
 you must go to him. That's the way amongst 
 us working people. What about the ennob- 
 ling of toil then f 
 
 He spoke jeeringly, and hated himself for 
 doing so ; and listened for her answer in a 
 state of wild, if silent, excitement. 
 
 Her hands had dropped, her eyes had sunk, 
 her face was burning ; she turned away. If 
 he could have trusted himself to move or 
 speak, he would have fallen upon his knees, 
 and begged her pardon. 
 
 ' Oh, Myles !' said she, at last, in a very 
 low voice. He bit his lip till the blood came, 
 at that sound; the most maddening, in its 
 
222 PROBATION. 
 
 minofled sweetness and bitterness, he had 
 ever heard. ' I suppose I gave you the 
 right to say that/ she said, ^ and to demand 
 an answer too. You put it tersely, certainly. 
 As you speak, I can see the very life rising 
 before me that you picture.' 
 
 ' And yourself in it !' said he, still wdth a 
 sneer, though he would have given the world 
 to .ask her to forgive him. 
 
 * No. You forget something,' she replied, 
 walking to the window, while he still leaned 
 against the mantelpiece. * You made it all 
 hard and sordid. You forgot the very " en- 
 noblino; " that beofan the discussion. I could 
 fancy myself in such a home — a w^orking- 
 man's wife — but to become that, I must love 
 that man ; and in the life you described there 
 was no love. The man I loved, be he work- 
 man or prince, must be a gentleman — not a 
 brute.' 
 
 ^ Ah ! and supposing you met this working- 
 man — or whoever he might be V suggested 
 Myles, in a calm, restrained kind of voice. 
 
PROBATION. 22a 
 
 ^ If I met him, and if I loved him, and he- 
 loved me, and asked me to many him, I 
 would say ^^ yes ;" and I would love him, and 
 serve him faithfully to the end of my life.' 
 
 The words fell softly and gently, almost 
 timorously, as if she hesitated to speak of 
 such a thing ; and yet with a certain gentle 
 firmness which said that they were no senti- 
 mental verbiage, but expressed the steadfast 
 feeling of a steadfast heart. But each word 
 was like a drop of liquid fire in the young 
 ma,n's veins. She seemed suddenly to be 
 close beside him — a possibility, a thing he 
 might dream of — and fifty thousand times- 
 higher and farther off*, and more impossible 
 to him than ever. How could lie ever hope 
 to bend that heart to love him \ The very 
 thought was insanity. 
 
 He mastered his emotion, and walked up 
 to her. She turned, but did not look at. 
 him. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, most humbly,' said he, 
 
 ' It is granted freely. I dare say it has 
 
224 PROBATION. 
 
 been good for me ; it has reduced my vague 
 theories to the language of common sense. 
 I had no right to reproach you with the 
 faults of your class, and expect nothing but 
 milk and honey from your lips in return. 
 We understand each other. Oh, but yours 
 is a bitinof tono^ue ! It cuts like a knife.' 
 
 ' It forgot itself when it turned against 
 you. But, remember, your words had roused 
 me. You made me blush for my own ^^ vague 
 theories," as you call them. If you could not 
 have said what you did, to any other w^ork- 
 man, do you supj^ose I could have spoken so 
 to any other young lady V 
 
 ^ No, no. I suppose not,' said she, but her 
 face was still downcast. The glance which 
 he at last received wavered almost timidly. 
 She resumed her seat and her work, saying : 
 ^ And you wdll think of what I have said V 
 
 ' I will — seriously. I believe you are right, 
 but the thino' was too wonderful for me. I 
 could not attain unto it — all at once.' 
 
 The conversation was turned, as if by one 
 
PROBATION. 225 
 
 consent, to books. Adrienne's heart was 
 beating unwontedly fast ; her knight had not 
 only surprised, but somewhat subdued her ; 
 dehghting her at the same time. He was no 
 tool ; he could turn upon her, and he had the 
 front of a ruler. That glance and that voice 
 were not to be forgotten. She thrilled as 
 she remembered them. She was glad he had 
 not gone ; the sensation that he was still 
 there was pleasurable, with a strange 
 potency of strength. 
 
 The door opened, and Mr. Blisset was 
 wheeled in, and a servant brought afternoon 
 tea. Then Mr. Blisset began to talk, and 
 Mvles to listen. Mr. Blisset had some of his 
 niece's conversational power. The time flew 
 insensibly, till supper was announced. Myles 
 rose, fearing he had intruded too long. 
 
 ^ No,' said Mr. Bhsset. * Stay, vmless you 
 are tired, and my niece will give us some 
 music' 
 
 He looked at her, and she said, ' Yes^ do 
 stay ?' And Myles stayed. 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
226 PROBATION. 
 
 That evening Adrienne sang some songs. 
 She finished with ^ Ntue Liehe, neues Lehen,^ 
 and Myles went home wdth its last pas- 
 sionate words ringing in his ears : 
 
 ' Liebe, Liehe, lass' mich los P 
 
 Would it ever 'let him loose/ that love which 
 had sprung up so suddenly and so strongly, 
 making every other feeling weak in the glow 
 of its might and strength ? 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 PROMISES. 
 
 HAT visit was but the first of a 
 lonof series. Mr. Blisset was 
 pleased to see the young man 
 who listened so patiently and so deferentially 
 to him ; and Myles had an ever-growing con- 
 viction that Mr. Blisset's views of men and 
 things, of right and wrong, were deeper and 
 sounder than his own ; riper, truer, and more 
 justly balanced. Myles learnt much in these 
 visits and conversations. 
 
 Adrienne had been many times to the cot- 
 tage on the Townfield, and had completely 
 
 15—2 
 
228 PROBATION, 
 
 won the hearts of Mary and Edmund. She 
 had opened up a new field of deHght and 
 wonder to the boy, by putting him in the 
 way of studying botany^ and his enthusiasm 
 knew no bounds. She lent him books and 
 specimens, and Harry Ash worth, who was a 
 great walker, brought him all kinds of plants, 
 and ferns, and mosses, from the moors on 
 which he was wont to spend his Saturday 
 afternoons and Sunday mornings. 
 
 When Myles and Adrienne were in his 
 house at the same time, they seemed to have 
 little to say to each other ; which was, per- 
 haps, not surprising, for their subjects were 
 not those discussed by Mary and Edmund. 
 Harry Ashworth had a great deal to ask 
 Miss Blisset about music ; she comforted him 
 too, for she helped him to some scientific un- 
 derstanding of the mighty harmonies of 
 which he was fast losing the outward appre- 
 hension. Harry had not read much about 
 music or musicians; he had, while his hearing 
 had been pretty good, contented himself with 
 
PROBATION, 229 
 
 drinkinsf in the sounds themselves. Adrienne 
 soon discovered that the sorrow of his Hfe 
 was his faihng hearing, and one evening it 
 occurred to her to tell him the story of 
 Beethoven. Mary and Harry and she 
 happened to be alone. Adrienne began, 
 and related that saddest of stories. It had 
 the effect she intended. 
 
 Harry sat with one hand shading his face, 
 in an attitude which he had assumed soon 
 after she began the story, when she said : 
 * And at last he wrote to one of his friends 
 and confessed that he was growing quite 
 deaf — that if he went to the opera, he must 
 sit close to the orchestra, and even then, even 
 leaning over towards it, he could scarcely 
 hear.' 
 
 Mary went on knitting. Adrienne's voice, 
 somewhat raised, slow, distinct, and clear, 
 told the tale of that mighty genius — Christ- 
 like in the immensity of his woe, and the 
 utterness of his separation from those around 
 him. She went throusrh it all. She told 
 
230 PROBATION. 
 
 him about the great symphonies, about 
 Beethoven's one or two sad, kickless love- 
 episodes ; his poverty ; his love for the thank- 
 less young profligate, his ne23hew ; the per- 
 formance of the Choral Symphony — of that 
 great adagio ' in which we discern the slowly- 
 stalking movement of a god !' 
 
 ' When it was over,' Adrienne w^ent on, 
 'the audience were almost mad with rapture 
 and delight, and the applause was deafening 
 — thundering: — it resounded through and 
 through the great room ! the master still 
 stood with his baton in his hand, his back 
 to the audience, till one of the vocalists 
 gently turned him round, and he saw them 
 all — how they wxre wild with pleasure and 
 emotion ; lie had thus moved them by his 
 heavenly music to "joy," and he had heard 
 no sound of it all.' 
 
 She paused. It was the life which she 
 most loved in all truth or poetry ; to her 
 Beethoven's suflferinofs were as actual as his 
 genius or his grandeur. 
 
PROBATION, 231 
 
 She saw Harry look at her with an ex- 
 pression which told her that he too under- 
 stood, and she went on to the end — told of 
 the bitter loneliness of those last years, that 
 death in harmony with the life — that passing 
 away of the Titan soul in the sublime music 
 of the spring thunderstorm, and then she was 
 silent. 
 
 Harry looked at her for a moment, started 
 up, and took her hand. 
 
 ^ Thank you, miss,' said he, and left the 
 house. 
 
 ' Eh, Miss Blisset,' said Mary, wiping her 
 eyes, ^ you're like no one else as ivver I heerd 
 tell on afore. You've done a kindness to 
 yon poor lad, such as he never had yet.' 
 
 ' I'm very glad if you think so.' 
 
 * Yo've gien him summat to console him. 
 He'll go about now, thinking he may bear 
 his deafness quite easy like, seein' yon man 
 as yo' towd us on were so great and patient. 
 His mind is fair beautiful — Harry's mind is,* 
 said Mary, moved out of all reticence. 
 
232 PROBATION, 
 
 ' I like him very much/ said Adrienne ; 
 'very much indeed.' 
 
 * Ay ! He's good — good to th' marrow of 
 his bones, he is.' 
 
 'Like you, Mary. You and he are well- 
 matched.' 
 
 ' Eh, nay ! Eh, don't think o' that ! He's 
 ne'er said nowt about it.' 
 
 * He will, sometime !' 
 
 Mary was silent, with a downcast face, till 
 at last she said : 
 
 ' I know you'll ne'er say a word to no one 
 about it. I can trust you to tell you this, as 
 whether he ever says owt about it or not, the 
 vary thowt of ony other mon than him fair 
 gives me a turn.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Adrienne. ' And you do de- 
 serve to be happy, Mary. I wonder how it 
 is that you and all yours are so different 
 from other people. I always feel well and 
 happy, and right with the world v\^hen I am 
 with you.' 
 ' Later, as Myles walked with her up Blnke 
 
PROBATION. 233 
 
 Street, Adrienne remarked that the end of 
 September was approaching and the evenings 
 darkened earher. 
 
 * Yes/ said Myles, ^ soon winter will be 
 here. And then .... now then, you,' he 
 added^ to a j)asser-by, who gave Adrienne a 
 very close berth ; * mind your manners when 
 you're passing a lady.' 
 
 ^ I didn't know you had lady-friends, 
 Myles Heywood,' replied a smooth voice, 
 as the offender j)aused, and looked at them. 
 
 ' Oh, it's you r said Myles, with trenchant 
 contempt. 'If I'd known, I w^ouldn't have 
 troubled to speak to you.' And he passed 
 on. 
 
 ' Who is the man '?' asked Adrienne. 
 
 ' He's my — step-father,' said Myles, in a 
 peculiar voice. Adrienne had heard the 
 whole story from Mary ; Myles had never 
 been able to speak of it. 
 
 ' Oh, forgive me for saying i t, but I wish 
 you had not spoken to him in that way.' 
 
 ' Whv % How 1' he stammered. 
 
234 PROBATION, 
 
 ' Has he ever done you any harm V 
 
 ^ Not directly ; but I can't abide the very 
 
 looks of him.' 
 
 ' There !' said she, with a somewhat 
 
 nervous smile ; ' you are too contemptuous. 
 
 Heverence is better than contempt ; it is 
 
 indeed.' 
 
 * Reverence ? Would you have me reve- 
 rence him T 
 
 ' Yes. You ought to reverence human 
 nature — your own nature — in him. If you 
 could have heard yourself speak ! Do you 
 know what you would do, if any one spoke 
 to you in that way V 
 
 ' What r 
 
 * Why, you would — I think you would 
 shake him. I can just see you make one 
 stride towards him, and fasten upon him — 
 poor fellow ! — to teach him manners.' 
 
 ^ You mean that I have none myself. 
 Well, you may be right.' 
 
 * Are you ofifended V 
 
 ^ Miss Blisset — you could not offend me.' 
 
PROBATION. 235 
 
 * I think 1 could. But do think of what 
 I have said ; and try not to be so contemptu- 
 ous. Will you '?' 
 
 ' The next time I meet Jim Hoyle, I'll 
 take off my hat to him politely — since you 
 wish it.' 
 
 ' You will drive me to desj)air I How 
 different you are from your reasonable sister, 
 who sees the rio^ht bearino-s of things at once ; 
 and from your sensitive brother, who . . . .' 
 
 ^ Yes, Ned is like a girl for delicacy/ said 
 Myles, a sarcastic flavour in his voice. * Well 
 Miss Blisset, I will try hard to please you. 
 Next week there's a fellow coming that I Inave 
 a contempt for, if I ever had for any one.' 
 
 ' Who may that be ?' 
 
 ' Mr. Sebastian Mallory, our so-called 
 master,^ 
 
 A pause. Then a hesitating, ^ In-deed I' 
 from her, the intonation of which Myles did 
 not remark. 
 
 ' So I'll try to be polite to him, if our 
 paths cross — which I hope they won't.' 
 
236 PROBATION, 
 
 ^ Perhaps they may not. But dow do try/ 
 said she. ' You may find it easier than you 
 think/ 
 
 They parted at the wicket, and Myles 
 went home, to find Edmund gone to bed, and 
 to sit up himself, reading * My Beautiful 
 Lady,' which Adrienne had lent to Edmund, 
 never supposing that Myles would look at it, 
 or that he would take any interst in it if he 
 did. But he pored over it, and his heart- 
 strings trembled to the poet's notes : it was 
 he himself, his own thoughts put into poetry, 
 as the lover waited his lady's coming. And as 
 for the end, Myles read it diiFerently ; to 
 please himself, he allowed common sense to 
 step in — Adrienne was not consumptive. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. MALLORYS POLITICS. 
 
 * Philinte. Mais on entend les gens au moins sans se facher. 
 Alceste. Moi, je veiix me faclier, et ne veux point en- 
 tendre.' 
 
 Le Misanthrope. 
 
 UKING the following forenoon^ 
 Myles sat alone in the outer ofEce^ 
 employed exactly as he had been 
 on the day of Mrs. Mallory's visit, Aveeks 
 before. Wilson was sfoins^ his usual round 
 in the works, and Mr. Sutcliffe, the manager,, 
 was out. 
 
 Pausing at the end of a column of 
 figures, he raised his eyes and saw coming 
 doAvn the street somethino^ which caused 
 
238 PROBATION. 
 
 him to open his eyes in surprise, though 
 surprise was not his usual expression. 
 
 It was a very high and very swell phaeton, 
 with a pair of magnificent bays, which 
 danced along the street, as if its shabby, 
 cloo^-worn stones caused much distress to 
 their aristocratic hoofs. The driver of this 
 (in Thanshope) unique conveyance was a 
 young man in light grey clothes and a round 
 cloth cap — no English cap : indeed there 
 was, at least to the uninitiated Thanshope 
 eye, something un-English in his whole ap- 
 pearance. He was, however, master of his 
 cattle, as even Myles could see. Beside him 
 sat a slight, dark boy, with a plain, queer, 
 but attractive face ; and behind was a very 
 correct-lookino' m-oom. 
 
 ' Who on earth is that chap X was Myles's 
 first very natural thought, as he forgot his 
 work, and gazed in the blissfulness of igno- 
 rance at the vision. The next moment he 
 could have bitten off his tonirue could he 
 
 have had the feelino- that he had not be- 
 
 o 
 
PROBATION. 239 
 
 stowed a second glance upon the whole affair, 
 for the dancing bays came sidling down the 
 street, and the driver pulled them up before 
 that very office door ; moreover, he had 
 caught sight of Myles staring at him, and 
 had given him in return a lazy look from a 
 pair of rather sleepy eyes. 
 
 Now Myles knew it was the ^ so-called 
 master ' — it was Sebastian Mallory : a second 
 glance at the fair, though bronzed face, the 
 yellow hair and moustache, the proudly cut 
 features, and the indifferent expression, dis- 
 played sufficient likeness to his mother to 
 make the first intuitive conviction a certainty. 
 
 Furious with himself at having been 
 caught staring openly and wonderingly, 
 Myles forgot his voluntary promise to 
 Adrienne, and, in order to prove that, what- 
 ever his open eyes might at first have seemed 
 to intimate, yet that he was not really at all 
 struck by anything he had seen, he turned 
 his back to the door, and was apparently 
 bending with the deepest attention over his 
 
240 PROBATION. 
 
 work, when that door was opened ; he heard 
 a voice conckide some injunctions to the 
 groom, and the answer which followed : 
 
 ' Jawolil, mein Herr! 
 
 ' Foreign servants, even !' murmured 
 Myles, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 * Good-morning, my good man,' Avas the 
 next thine: he heard, in an accent as different 
 from that of the Thanshope ^ gentleman/ as 
 Adrienne's Avas different from that of the 
 Thanshope lady. 
 
 He turned round and looked up ; he was 
 forced to do so now, and without noticing 
 the lad who stood in the background, he faced 
 Mallory. The two young men confronted 
 each other for the first time. 
 
 So far as expression and complexion went, 
 they were as great a contrast as could be 
 imagined. Both were tall, spare, and well- 
 built, and there the resemblance ended. 
 Myles was, as has been said, quick, passion- 
 ate, lithe, alert, with a temper that sprang 
 into action on every possible occasion, with 
 
PROBATION. 241 
 
 -eyes that flashed, brows that contracted, very 
 often hi the course of a day. Sebastian 
 Mallory was graceful, but there was some 
 languor, real or assumed, m the grace. He 
 Y/as handsome, but the good looks were 
 certainly marred by the bored expression on 
 his pale, fine features. His eyes moved 
 ;slowly; they were very good eyes, luminous, 
 and hazel in colour, but they did not look as 
 if they would easily flash. He spoke, looked, 
 moved, as if he found life rather troublesome, 
 and scarcely worth the trouble when it had 
 been taken. He had taken off his cap when 
 he entered the office — foreign fashion, and 
 Myles saw that his face, all save the fore- 
 head, was somewhat bronzed ; but it was 
 with the bronze of a hot -'sun — not nature, 
 naturally he was pale. His hair, too, seemed 
 to have caught the sun at the ends, elsewhere 
 it was just yellow hair. Every gesture and 
 movement was full of the polished ease of 
 high cultivation. 
 
 Myles, looking straight at him, said to 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 PROBATION. 
 
 himself, ' One of your languid, heavy swells 
 are we % I'm afraid we shall ruffle his fine 
 feathers in this horrid democratic place/ 
 
 He had Mrs. Mallory in his mind's eye, as 
 he surveyed her son : her principles were 
 well known — the divine riofht of kino-s — 
 the Conservative side through thick and thin, 
 good report and evil report ; Church and 
 Constitution intact through every storm ; 
 our greatest Premier, the late lamented Duke 
 of Wellington ; the worHng-man in his jyroj^^er 
 place (wherever that may be) ; rich and poor, 
 gentle and simple, a providential arrangement 
 which it would be sinful and impious to think 
 of disturbino'. 
 
 Thinking of all this, Myles surveyed Se~ 
 bastian Mallory, and as he found him entirely 
 different from any young man he had ever 
 seen before, and as most of the Thanshope 
 people, great and small, were of the Radical 
 persuasion, he immediately concluded that 
 he was right — what had been bred in the 
 bone must come out in the flesh, and it was 
 
PROBATION. 243 
 
 quite clear that Mr. Mallory was a Conserva- 
 tive of the bluest dye. 
 
 Meanwhile Sebastian had been looking: at 
 Myles, too, surprised at receiving no answer 
 to his remark, and still more surprised to 
 observe that the eyes of the ' good man' 
 were fixed intentlv, criticising^lv, and with an 
 unabashed steadfastness upon himself, and ap- 
 peared to measure him over from head to 
 foot, in a manner which was, to say the least, 
 singular. The cap of the young man re- 
 mained on his head ; he did not rise ; he did 
 not ask w^hat he could do, nor the visitor's 
 business ; he simply looked at him with a 
 pair of remarkably keen, piercing dark eyes, 
 and Sebastian returned the look, until at last 
 a gleam of amusement appeared in his sleepy 
 eyes. 
 
 That look of amusement was not lost 
 upon Myles ; it irritated and angered him. 
 He was so terribly in earnest about all he 
 did, thought, or believed, as not readily to see 
 the comic side of a question, while it was 
 
 16—2 
 
244 PROBATION. 
 
 Mallory's chief foible to take everything in 
 this world that came to him as rather amusing 
 — if not too troublesome. 
 
 * Ma foi f he observed, with a quaint look, 
 but very good-naturedly ; ' they told me in 
 the train that I should be surprised at the 
 Thanshope people, and so I am !' 
 
 ' Perhaps they'll be equally surprised with 
 you,' said Myles concisely. 
 
 ^ Well, they may,' replied Sebastian, coolly. 
 ^ Do you know who I am V 
 
 Myles hesitated- a moment, much wishing 
 to say, ^ No, I don't,' but integrity got the 
 upper hand ; he only j)ut the fact as disagree- 
 ably as he could. 
 
 ^ I should suppose you are Mrs. Mallory's 
 son.' 
 
 Sebastian turned to the brown-faced, dark- 
 eyed boy who stood behind, and remarked 
 smilingly : 
 
 ' You see, / am nobody, Hugo ; only my 
 mother's son; and yet here I am upon my 
 own property.' 
 
PROBATION. 215 
 
 The youth nodded, and glanced thought- 
 fully at Myles, who could not resist going on 
 with tlie rather perilous game he was playing, 
 and who remarked dryly : 
 
 ' You'll find that we count a good deal by 
 residence and relationship here.' 
 
 * So !' said Sebastian, with the amused, 
 half-smile still playing about his lips and in 
 his eyes, to the intense exasperation of Myles, 
 who naturally saw nothing at all to laugh at 
 in the situation. There was something, too, 
 about Mallory which struck a subtle blow at 
 his pride and self-esfceetn — something which 
 in his innermost heart he knew to be superior 
 to himself, though he passionately refused to 
 admit the idea. 
 
 * Your guess is correct,' went on Sebastian. 
 ' I am Mrs. Mallory 's son. And now I should 
 be glad to know who and what you are — one 
 of my work-people, perhaps X 
 
 The young man did not seem to be at all 
 annoyed at what was taking place ; indeed, 
 there was that in his manner which said that 
 
246 PROBATION. 
 
 he was mildly amused with the whole affair. 
 He looked around as he spoke, with a lazy, 
 criticising glance, but it was the glance, as 
 M3des keenly felt, of a master, and of one 
 who was accustomed to be a master. He 
 was surveying his property, and question- 
 ing one of his servants. All the revolu- 
 tionary element in that servant was in per- 
 turbation. 
 
 ' What am I X lie beo^an, w^hen Sebastian, 
 who had taken off his cap on entering the 
 office, said suggestively : 
 
 ' Hadn't you better take your cap off X 
 
 ' That is a matter of opinion,' said Myles, 
 the blood rushinsf to his face. ' It is nob the 
 fashion here. As for me, I doff to no man, 
 and but few women.' 
 
 ^ Ah ! well, we won't quarrel about it. 
 As you say, it is a matter of opinion,' said 
 Sebastian politely ; but there was something 
 in the tone which made Myles feel small, and 
 as if he had been behaving childishly — not a 
 comfortinof feel in n^. 
 
PROBATION. 247 
 
 ' But I interrupted you,' continued Mallory, 
 who seemed to be acquiring gradually a sort 
 of interest in the conversation ; ^ you were 
 going to tell me who you are 1' 
 
 * My name is Myles Heywood, and my 
 business is cut-looking and part of the over- 
 looking in this factory/ said Myles. 
 
 ^ Heywood,' repeated Sebastian, his eyes 
 losing their lazy look, ' Heywood ; where 
 have I — ah, yes ! A cut-looker — I don't 
 know what that is.' 
 
 ^ Likely enough not,' said Myles. 
 
 ' But it is quite certain that I must learn 
 it,' pursued Sebastian ; ' what is it, if I may 
 
 ask r 
 
 An uncomfortable sense besfan to steal 
 over Myles, that Mr. Mallory was courtesy 
 itself, and that too, under considerable provo- 
 cation. He gave a short sketch of his busi- 
 ness. 
 
 ' Thanks,' said Sebastian. * And now — 
 by-the-bye, I am absolutely forgetting my 
 business — is Mr. SutclifFe in '^' 
 
248 PROBATION. 
 
 * Not now ; lie will be in about an hour.' 
 ' In an hour ? Then I must go over the 
 works without him. Is there any one here 
 who knows all about it — you, perhaps ?' he 
 added quickly, as if struck by a happy 
 thought. 
 
 The idea of leading Mr. Mallory round the 
 works excited the liveliest aversion in Myles's 
 mind. 
 
 ' Wilson, the head-overlooker, is above me. 
 He generally does that,' said he. 
 
 '• Wilson — I oug^ht to remember Wilson. 
 He has been here a long time, hasn't 
 he? 
 
 ' He has/ said Myles, rather emphati- 
 cally. 
 
 ' I thought so. Well, where is he ?' 
 Myles, despite himself, very much despite 
 himself, felt the influence of Sebastian's man- 
 ner. He would have been glad could he 
 reasonably have classed him with Frederick 
 Spenceley, but no such classification was for 
 a moment possible. He wished he had not 
 
PROBATION. 24^ 
 
 made that difficulty about going through the 
 works. He suddenly remembered his volun- 
 tary promise to Adrienne, and felt that he 
 could not tell her he had kept his word. 
 But too proud, or perhaps too shy, to suddenly 
 change his manner, he said, in the same curt 
 tone : 
 
 ' He's going round the works. If you'll 
 v/ait a minute I'll send him to you.' 
 
 ^ Thank you/ said Mr. Mallory. 
 
 Myles went out of the office, and across 
 the yard to the factory ; and Mallory, putting 
 his hand upon Hugo's shoulder, silently 
 pointed to the workman's figure, and they 
 watched him until he had gone into the 
 mill. 
 
 ' Hugo, you have not a good ear for 
 English names yet, but I have. I have 
 heard that man's name just lately — yester- 
 day, in fact, in the train as we came from 
 Manchester. He is a fellow I must know 
 something more about. Did you notice 
 him ? He has a splendid face.' 
 
250 PROBATION, 
 
 ' Splendid manners too, I think/ said the 
 boy sarcastically. 
 
 ^ Yes/ replied Sebastian meditatively. 
 ^ Hey wood ! If he had not mentioned his 
 name when he did, I think I should have 
 lost my temper. As it is, I shall try 
 another plan. There he goes ! What a row 
 comes from behind that door T 
 
 Then they looked through the window. 
 
 ' What a prospect !' said Sebastian, glancing 
 over the head of his companion, ^vho leaned 
 with both arms on the window-sill. ^ This 
 time last w^eek, do you remember % we were 
 with — ah, what was their name — those girls 
 and their brother '?' 
 
 ' On the Luzern steamer, going to Fluelen/ 
 said Hugo, his eyes fixed upon the dead wall 
 opposite. 
 
 ' Just so ! Do you remember the sunset, 
 and Mount Pilatus, as we came back? Well, 
 Pilatus is there now — and we are here/ 
 
 Hugo made no answer, but Sebastian saw 
 a smile curve his cheek. 
 
PROBATION, 251 
 
 * Why, you might be pleased rather than 
 not/ said he. 
 
 ' I am not displeased,' replied the lad, with 
 the same little smile. 
 
 ' Not displeased that I took a notion about 
 duty into my head, and whirled you away 
 from Switzerland, and snow-peaks, and Alpine 
 colouring, to Thanshope, Hugo 1' 
 
 '■ Suppose you had obeyed the call of duty 
 without whirling me away — had left me be- 
 hind somewhere V said Hugo tranquilly. 
 
 ' Ah, so ! That is at the root of it,' said 
 
 Sebastian, laughing. ^ What an odd ah, 
 
 here comes the overlooker ! Now, Hugo, 
 observe me doing the merchant-prince, and 
 prepare your artist-eye for some shocks during 
 the progress we are going to make.' 
 
 Wilson entered in a state of high excite- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Mr. Mallory, sir, this is a hunexpected 
 pleasure! I couldn't believe it. 'Ow are 
 you, sir % Well, I 'ope. We've looked for- 
 ward long to this event.' 
 
252 PROBATION. 
 
 'Yer}^ well, thank you. I found myself 
 at home sooner than I had expected — a week 
 earlier. I remember you very well,' he 
 added. ^ How are you and your family '?' 
 
 ^ As well as possible, sir, thank you/ said 
 Wilson, pressing the hand which Sebastian 
 had held out to him. ' Do I see a friend of 
 yours, sir ?' he added, looking at Hugo, who 
 was watching the man with the preternatural 
 solemnity which was one of his ways of 
 showing that he was amused. 
 
 'Yes; a very great friend — Mr. Yon 
 Birkenau,' was all Sebastian said ; and added : 
 * I want to go through the works. I asked 
 that young fellow who was here, who ' 
 
 ' I hope he wasn't rude, sir. I trust he 
 didn't make himself unpleasant,' said Wilson 
 fervently. 
 
 * Why, is he insubordinate usually, or rude 
 to his superiors f asked Sebastian, with a 
 sudden keenness of look, in strong contrast 
 with his soft voice and gentle manner. 
 
 ' Insubordinate ! no, sir. A better work- 
 
PROBATION, 253 
 
 man or an honester young fellow never lived ; 
 only he's got the idea that he hasn't got no 
 superiors — and it will bring him into trouble. 
 I often tell him so.' 
 
 * But he is clever and honest, you say V 
 said Sebastian, pausing to ask the question. 
 
 ' Yes, sir/ said Wilson, who was fond of 
 Myles, and had been fond of him for years. 
 * He's got the brains of half a dozen of the 
 usual run, and you might trust him with un- 
 told gold ; ay, and more dangerous things 
 than that. But he is apt to give a little too 
 much of his sauce.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Well, we will go on now, if you 
 please ; and when Mr. SutclifFe comes in, I'll 
 get him to go on and lunch with me. I 
 should like to say a few words to the — 
 *' hands," is it you call them ? if there is any 
 place where they could come to listen to 
 me.' 
 
 ' Surely, sir ! The big yard will hold them 
 all, and more than them.' 
 
 * Then be good enough to lead the way/ 
 
254 PROBATION. 
 
 said Sebastian, looking at his watch sug- 
 gestively. 
 
 Wilson Avas a proud and a happy man that 
 morning, as he led the newly-arrived lord of 
 that place through the maze of great rooms 
 and machinery, and pointed out all the im- 
 provements, the wonderful contrivances for 
 makino" wood and steel and iron do the work 
 of hands and feet ; all the * perfection of 
 mechanism, human and metallic,' of Avhich 
 the factory and its contents formed an ex- 
 ample. 
 
 Sebastian followed him : his eyes had lost 
 their sleepy look ; he asked many questions, 
 acute enough, for all the indifferent tone of 
 them. He seemed to have much of the gift 
 which is said to be royal — the eye w^hich 
 took in with incredible rapidity both details 
 and generalities. Very little that was to be 
 seen escaped him, including the curious 
 glances and the loud comments and surmises 
 relative to himself 
 
 It took an hour to go even quickly through 
 
PROBATION. 255 
 
 the different rooms, and then Wilson, saying, 
 ^ This is the last, sir, the warehouse,' took 
 them into a large, well-lighted room, in which 
 were some half-dozen men at work : Myles 
 Heywood in the centre. Sebastian stooped 
 to Hugo, whispering : 
 
 ^ I want to speak to that young fellow 
 alone a few minutes.' 
 
 Hugo stepped up to a large pile of cloth, 
 seemingly interested in some mystic marks 
 and figures upon it, which he requested 
 Wilson to explain ; while Sebastian, going on, 
 stopped at Myles's side, and looking at his 
 work, said : 
 
 ^ That is cut-looking, is it ?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ^ Well, I've learnt something. Listen to 
 me a moment, will you ?' 
 
 Myles looked up inquiringly. 
 
 *■ I am going to say something to all these 
 people directly, and I want you to promise 
 to come and listen to it ; will you X 
 
 Half vexed, half flattered, Myles looked 
 
^56 PROBATION. 
 
 into Mallory's face. He had not given up 
 his notion that the young man was a 'jacka- 
 napes ;' but if so, the 'jackanapes' had a 
 manner that it was not easy for even a 
 superior person to resist. Myles rephed : 
 ' Certainly, I will come.' 
 
 He looked as if he were going to add 
 something — in fact it was on the tip of his 
 tongue to say : ' I don't promise to like what 
 I shall hear ;' but he refrained. He remem- 
 bered Adrienne, and his promise. Yet he 
 had the conviction that he would dislike what 
 ■Sebastian had to say. A Conservative — 
 Southern sympathies, no doubt. What could 
 such an one have to say that he would like ? 
 But he would go, if only to watch till the 
 •cloven foot showed itself 
 
 At that moment Wilson came up again. 
 
 ' You've seen the last of the rooms, sir. 
 If you're ready, I'll have the bell rung, and 
 then we can go out into the yard.' 
 
 In a few minutes the great bell had 
 clanged out, the engines had been stopped, 
 
PROBATION. 257 
 
 the hands were streaming out into the 
 yard. 
 
 Sebastian and, Wilson stood upon a huge 
 empty lurry that was close by one of the 
 warehouse doors, so that they had nothing 
 to do but step on to it, which they did, w^hile 
 Myles and his comrades swung themselves 
 on to the ground, and took their stand in a 
 knot, not far away from this impromptu 
 platform. 
 
 Sebastian looked keenly at all the up- 
 turned faces, while Wilson made a few brief, 
 yet remarkably entangled and involved in- 
 troductory remarks. 
 
 The overlooker's voice ceased. He swuno^ 
 himself from the lurry, and went and stood 
 with the crowd. 
 
 ^ My friends,' began Sebastian, * circum- 
 stances have kept me for ten years aw^ay 
 from Lancashire. Perhaps I might still not 
 have made the necessary effort to return, but 
 for this great struggle which is going on in 
 America, and whose direct effects will first 
 
 VOL. I. 17 
 
258 PROBATION, 
 
 be felt in Lancashire. When that beo^an, I 
 felt I had no right to remain any longer 
 away. I have heard, and one or two little 
 things Avhich I have seen, even during the 
 few hours I have been in Thanshope, lead 
 me to feel that the saying is a true one, that 
 you Lancashire men are inclined to despise 
 an employer who does not know his business, 
 much as you would despise a workman who 
 did not know his work. The principle is a 
 right and honest one ; and I don't say that 
 I may not have come under the head of 
 those who deserve some contempt as being 
 ignorant, and " absentee owners." Even 
 since I came here, I have discovered that 
 I never knew what work was before ; I 
 see that my task will be no easy one, 
 to master the principles of my business, 
 and to try and provide in some degree 
 against the dark days which, I fear, are 
 almost inevitable. But, hard or easy, it is a 
 task I mean to learn. The time is coming, 
 as I think all thoughtful men must see — 
 
PROBATION. 259 
 
 coming rapidly, v/hen Lancashire will have 
 to exert every effort to meet that distress 
 which will rush upon her ; that cloud that is 
 hastening across the Atlantic is a very 
 black cloud, and will make the days very 
 dark. Let us try manfally, hand in hand, 
 to breast the storm tosfether. 
 
 ' I suppose that you all, or nearly all, will 
 agree v/ith me upon at least one point — sym- 
 pathy with the Federal side in this struggle. 
 (A murmur, deep and strong, of profound 
 approbation arose — a murmur in which men's 
 and women's voices alike joined.) *That 
 noble man, Abraham Lincoln, against whose 
 honour the Southern press has lifted its im- 
 potent voice — not to mention some journals 
 in this country, which Englishmen ought to 
 be ashamed to read, — that noble man, should 
 he live and be fortunate in his grand crusade, 
 will benefit all the world by his intrepidity. 
 He cannot give you cheap and abundant 
 supplies of cotton now, but by his courage 
 and wisdom he is securing your future sup- 
 
 17—2 
 
1160 PROBATION. 
 
 plies upon a firm basis, very different from 
 the slippery vantage-ground of slave labour 
 upon which they have hitherto depended.' 
 (Another murmur indicative of that approval 
 which, to their honour, Lancashire working 
 men and women, throughout those bitter 
 years, gave to the Federal side, greeted the 
 speaker.) 
 
 ' I understand that you Lancashire men, 
 especially you Thanshope men, think a great 
 deal of politics and principles. So you ought, 
 considering who is your member, and that 
 other great name which is connected with 
 Thanshope. I also know that in spite of the 
 strong Conservative element amongst your 
 gentry, and, they tell me, amongst the work- 
 men too ' (a voice : * Conservative working- 
 man — there's no such thing !') — ^ in spite of 
 this alleged Conservative element, you have 
 always, since you first returned a represen- 
 tative to Parliament, returned a Radical. 
 
 ' I was not aAvare of the streno-th of the 
 feeling upon this point in Thanshope. I 
 
PROBATION, 2G1 
 
 have always myself held politics to be 
 secondary to some other subjects, but, since 
 I find so much interest centred round the 
 point here, and moreover, since persons 
 whom I have met and spoken to have 
 treated me on the tacit assumption that I 
 was a Conservative, I judge it as well to tell 
 you, face to face, that, whatever I may be 
 on other matters, in politics I am no Con- 
 servative, but a Radical. Of course there 
 are almost as many kinds of Radicals as 
 there are of Dissenters. The details of my 
 radicalism and those of your radicalism are, 
 I dare say, somewhat different ; but I hope 
 we shall both be able to respect the principle 
 and never mind the form. 
 
 ' Now I will not keep you longer — only 
 let me say, finally, I am here to learn my 
 business, and to try to guide my ship through 
 the storm that is coming. Thanshope, as 
 you know, is one of the places where the 
 pinch of distress will be soonest felt, since 
 the counts of yarns used here are precisely 
 
2G2 PROBATION. 
 
 those, the supply of which will soonest fall 
 off. I ask a promise from you, and I make 
 one to you. In that time that is coming I 
 ask you to trust me — my feelings and in- 
 tentions towards you, and on my part I 
 promise to strain every nerve to do my duty 
 by you. We will work on as long as there 
 is cotton to be had, and then — I trust, for 
 your sp.kes, and mine, and that of humanity 
 at larofe, that it will not be lonof that I shall 
 have to help you in your fight to keep the 
 wolf from the door.' 
 
 He stopped, bowed, and was turning away, 
 when they gave him a hearty cheer; and one 
 or two voices informed him laconically that 
 they ' reckoned he was one o' th' reet sort,' 
 and that ^ he'd suit.' 
 
 He jumped down from the lurry, joined 
 Wilson and his friend Hugo, and went with 
 them towards the office. The engineer re- 
 turned to his post ; soon the busy machinery 
 vras in full roar again, as if there had been 
 no such thing as war — no such parties as 
 
PROBATION, 263 
 
 Federals and Confederates. The interrup- 
 tion to the morning's work was ah^eady a 
 thing of the past — an incident to be talked 
 about. 
 
 Myles Heywood maintained entire silence 
 upon the subject^ nor could any one of all 
 who inquired of him get him to say what he 
 thought of the new master. He might have 
 deep thoughts about it — at least they were 
 unexpressed. The rest of the hands talked 
 the event over with lively excitement. The 
 general impression was a favourable one. 
 The men liked what he had said^ though he 
 was generally pronounced to be ^ a bit too 
 much of a swell/ and it was agreed that he 
 * spoke rather fine/ and, they said, minced 
 his words too much ; was, in short, rather 
 too much of a fine gentleman. Otherwise 
 he was considered sound, and they were 
 pleased to find him on the right side in 
 politics. 
 
 The women, too, liked him, for reasons ap- 
 parently similar to those alleged by Peter 
 
2G4 PROBATION. 
 
 van den Bosch, as their grounds for liki 
 PhilijD van Artevelde : 
 
 * And wenches who were there, said Artevelde 
 AYas a sweet name, and musical to hear.' 
 
 ]\Iary Heywood, at least, said she * liked the 
 chap : he had siccan a soft voice, and a nice, 
 smooth-soundin' name, like.' 
 
 The general conclusion was a very Lan~ 
 cashire one : that the young man had spoken 
 well and reasonably ; sensibly enough for a 
 person who knew nothing about his business, 
 but that ^ fair words butter no parsnips i and 
 the conjecture may reasonably be hazarded 
 whether Sebastian's speech had induced any 
 one of his hearers to form a decided opinion^ 
 good or bad, of him. They waited to see,, 
 and indeed the time was stridinof forward 
 with fearful rapidity, nearer and nearer, when 
 the sincerity of his profession should be put 
 to the proof. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 INITIATION. 
 
 |EBASTIAN and Hugo drove away 
 from the factory, accompanied by 
 '■^^ Mr. Sutcliffe, the manager and 
 head man of the business. Arrived at the 
 Oakenrod, Mallory and his manager retired 
 to the library, and there plunged straight into 
 business. 
 
 Mr. SutclifFe was a small, mild-looking 
 man, with eyes that were keen despite his 
 nervous^ almost timid expression, a bald 
 head, spectacles, a gentle smile, and a large 
 bundle of what he called 'documents.' 
 
 Over these documents he and Sebastian 
 
266 PJ? OB AT/0 AT. 
 
 remained absorbed until luncheon was an- 
 nounced. They tarried not long over that 
 meal. Hugo von Birkenau appeared to be a 
 very familiar friend, for Sebastian made no 
 excuse for leaving him, and with a slight 
 apology to his mother, he and Mr. Sutcliffe 
 returned to the library. 
 
 An hour, two, three hours passed, chiefly 
 occupied in expositions from Mr. Sutcliffe on 
 the nature of the business, its principles, and 
 the method of carrying it on. Sebastian's 
 part consisted chiefly in listening, naturally ; 
 but every now and then he interposed with a 
 question — questions so much to the point, 
 and showing such discernment and dis- 
 crimination, that Mr. Sutcliffe, who had at 
 first beo^un his task with some constraint and 
 great dryness of manner and tone, brightened 
 visibly every minute ; his tone grew warmer, 
 his manner more animated, his eyes flashed 
 now and then. Thus the interview went 
 on, until Mr. Sutcliffe, laying down a bundle 
 of papers, whose import he had just ex- 
 
PROBATION. 267 
 
 plained, took up another bundle, and was 
 beginning, 
 
 ' These refer to the ' 
 
 But Sebastian interrupted him. 
 
 'Excuse me, Mr. SutclifFe. Suppose we 
 lay aside business for to-day. I want to ask 
 you some other questions. With such a 
 manager as you, I have no fear of things 
 going wrong.' 
 
 Mr. Sutcliffe smiled. 
 
 ' Judging from what I have heard and seen 
 of you, Mr. Mallory, you will soon be in a 
 position to manage your own business. You 
 must not feel offended when I say that I 
 have been most agreeably disappointed — sur- 
 prised is perhaps rather the v\^ord.' 
 
 Sebastian smiled a little. 
 
 ' I am a fearfully indolent fellow, I believe/ 
 said he. ' I take a lot of rousing ; but once 
 set me to plod at a thing, and I continue 
 until I understand it — at least, I think 
 so.' 
 
 ' That is a very modest way of describing 
 
268 PROBATION. 
 
 your ready comprehension of details which 
 must be as strange to you as those we 
 have just been discussing. But that's neither 
 here nor there ; you wanted some other in- 
 formation ? 
 
 ^ I suppose you are pretty well acquainted 
 with the different parties^, social and political^ 
 in the town, and with the characters, at any 
 rate, of the leading people ?' 
 
 ^ I may say that I certainly am.' 
 
 'Well, to begin with, I Avish you would 
 tell me candidly what character is borne by 
 my own concern and the management of it ?' 
 
 Mr. Sutcliffe looked up quickly, an almost 
 startled expression upon his face. 
 
 ' That is rather a delicate matter,' he 
 began. 
 
 'Yes, I sujopose it is. But I am sure 
 you will be frank with me. I drew my own 
 conclusions from what I saw and heard this- 
 morning, and I want to find out if your ac- 
 count agrees with them. Never mind how 
 disagreeable it may be.' 
 
PROBATION. 269 
 
 ^ Your works, then, bear a very high re- 
 putation in many respects. Your hands are 
 as decent and as steady a lot as any in the 
 town, take them all in all. Things are 
 generally peaceable. It is looked upon, and 
 with justice, as an increasing, thoroughly 
 prosperous concern. Our goods, both yarns 
 and cloth, have got a name. I like the men 
 who are under me, and I think they like me 
 — Wilson, and Heywood, and the others. I 
 think I have succeeded in keeping things 
 right; but ' 
 
 ' Well ? 
 
 ^ There are some misunderstanding's about 
 yourself — some prejudices. They don't like 
 absentee owners here, and that's a fact. But 
 I'm sure that impression will soon be effaced, 
 now that you are here yourself. If you show 
 them that you don't mean play ' 
 
 Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 * Mon Dieu I There does not seem to be 
 much question of play. I never saw anything 
 so oppressively in earnest as every one here 
 
270 PROBATION, 
 
 seems to be. It is stamped upon almost 
 every face you meet. Certainly I am not in 
 play.' 
 
 ' Then they will soon find that out, and 
 respect you accordingly.' 
 
 'But that is not all you were going to 
 say?' 
 
 ' It may seem a small kind of complaint to 
 make ; but it's better to let you know the 
 truth at once. There certainly is a feeling 
 against Mrs. Mallory.' 
 
 Sebastian looked up in surprise. 
 
 ^ Against my mother % What has she to 
 do with it ?' 
 
 'A feeling that she is not sufficiently 
 liberal in her ideas, and that she would, if 
 she could get the authority, interfere unduly 
 in matters which, mth the utmost respect to 
 her, she does not understand, never having 
 had occasion to study them. I am bound to 
 say that, though I have never had anything 
 like a dispute with Mrs. Mallory, yet that is 
 my own impression too, and that is one reason 
 
PROBATION. 271 
 
 why I rejoice at your return. You are now 
 the final authority/ 
 
 The murder was out, and Mr. SutchiFe's 
 shrewd eyes watched the young man's face 
 attentively. He did not look angry, did not 
 look even annoyed ; but rather thoughtful 
 for a moment. Then he said : 
 
 * I am glad you mentioned it. Of course, 
 that is not a topic for discussion. As you 
 said, my presence will make all the difference. 
 Is that all about my own works ?' 
 
 'Yes. I don't think there is anything else.' 
 
 ' Who are the leading men here ? 
 
 ' So far as money goes, there are a good 
 many big men here. Mr. Spenceley is re- 
 ported to be the richest, and I believe report 
 is right.' 
 
 ' Spenceley ! Ah ! What about him ?' 
 
 * He is a spinner ; does an enormous trade. 
 They say he has been speculating rather too 
 much lately. He has a certain influence in 
 some quarters, but it is an influence that 
 will die with him.' 
 
PROBATION. 
 
 ^ How so V 
 
 ' He has only a son and a daughter, and 
 the son is probably the biggest blackguard in 
 the place ; he will never have any influence. 
 The daughter, I hear, is rather an eccentric 
 young lady.' 
 
 * Oh !' was all Sebastian said. 
 
 Mr. SutclifFe went on : 
 
 ' The son, I believe, is a very black sheep. 
 It was only a week or two ago that he in- 
 sulted some young woman — in a small place, 
 you see, these things make a good deal of 
 noise — in a most abominable manner ; but he 
 was punished for that, for the girl's sweet- 
 heart — at least that is one of the tales, I 
 don't believe it myself ; but one thing is quite 
 certain, a young working-man followed him 
 to his club that very night, and gave him a 
 good hiding in the billiard-room. No one, I 
 don't think one soul, was sorry for him. The 
 feeling was so dead against him that he did 
 not even prosecute.' 
 
 ' I have heard some account of it. But 
 
PROBATION, 273 
 
 -don't you know who the young man was who 
 
 did it r 
 
 Mr. Sutchffe smiled a little as he said : 
 
 ' In my own mind, I believe I could lay my 
 iiuger upon the man ; but as I thoroughly 
 respect him for what he did, and should be 
 sorry to get him into trouble, I shall keep 
 quiet about it/ 
 
 Sebastian looked inquiringly at him. 
 
 * I believe the man was one of your own 
 workpeople — Hey wood, a fellow I have 
 known from the time when he first came as a 
 half-timer.' 
 
 ' I have seen the man. You think it was 
 he. Why ?' 
 
 ' Partly because I was passing the club- 
 door at the very time of the row, and saw 
 him come out of it, looking rather dangerous, 
 with a couple of straps in his hand ; and, 
 secondly, because when it has been discussed, 
 which you will easily believe has been pretty 
 actively, he has looked embarrassed, and kept 
 perfect silence upon the subject.' 
 
 VOL. I. 18 
 
274 PROBATION, 
 
 Sebastian nodded. 
 
 ^ Miss Spenceley is a great friend of Mrs. 
 Mallory,' went on the manager. ' But that's 
 neither here nor there ; only they are about 
 the biggest people, in a money point of view, 
 in the place. There are several other famihes- 
 something like them. Then there's Canon 
 Ponsonby, the radical parson, our vicar, a 
 very fine old gentleman ; you will like him. 
 He is respected by all who are themselves- 
 worthy of respect, be they churchmen or dis- 
 senters.' 
 
 * Naturally the feeling here is radical V 
 
 ' Tremendous ; and North, almost to a man» 
 Lots of these workinof-men know what's 
 coming ; and it is coming upon them too, 
 like the very devil. They'll tell you they 
 know the cotton must run out soon, or run 
 up to such a price that we can hardly get it. 
 But if they have to do without it, or with 
 Surats ' 
 
 ' What on earth is '' Surats " V 
 
 ' Indian cotton ; abominable stuff to work. 
 
PROBATION. 275 
 
 Haven't you — but of course you haven't — 
 heard of the weaver who put up the prayer^ 
 ''■ Lord ! send us cotton ; hut not Surats /" 
 But if they have to work Surats, they'll stick 
 to it that North is right, and South wrong ; 
 and they'll clem rather than have anything to 
 say to Jeff Davis.' 
 
 ' How soon do you think distress will 
 begin V 
 
 ' I think we shall have to shut up shop by 
 Christmas. It's of no use talking much about 
 it beforehand. All I can say is, there's a 
 time coming which will prove Lancashire 
 once for all, her rich and her poor alike ; and 
 show them up to the world in a light as fierce 
 as that of the midday sun. We shall get ta 
 see the stuff we're made of. And there's 
 half-past five ; I must go.' 
 
 * Won't you stay and dine with us V 
 
 ^ I have another engagement, thank you. 
 To-morrow, at the same time, Mr. Mallory, 
 we will resume the discussion, if vou feel so 
 inclined.' 
 
 18—2 
 
276 PROBATION. 
 
 * Certainly. I shall expect you. Good- 
 evening.' 
 
 He was left, leaning against the mantel- 
 piece, to reflect upon what had passed. 
 
 A tap at the door was followed by the 
 entrance of his Jiiother. 
 
 ' Have you finished at last, Sebastian % I 
 have had no opportunity to tell you that I 
 am expecting a friend to dine with us to- 
 night.' 
 
 ^ Oh, are you ? Who may he be ?' 
 
 ' She is Helena Spenceley, a very great 
 favourite of mine. If my son will spend all 
 his time away from home, I am obliged to 
 iind some kind of a substitute, you know. 
 She has been almost like a daughter to me.' 
 
 ' Any relative of the young man who re- 
 cently distinguished himself by earning a 
 thrashing 1' 
 
 Mrs. Mallory looked annoyed. 
 
 * He is her brother,' said she coldly. ^ He 
 is away from home now. You must not 
 judge Helena by him. Poor girl I She has 
 
PROBATION. 277 
 
 a sad, unhap23y home. I believe I really 
 have been a friend to her. And I like to see 
 young people about me.' 
 
 * Yes, of course.' 
 
 * I hope you have no engagement '?' 
 
 ^ None at all. I shall be delighted to make 
 Miss Spenceley's acquaintance.' 
 
 She retired, after casting a comprehensive 
 glance around at the papers which strewed 
 the table. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AJiK bONS, PRlNTtRS, GUILDFORD, SVKBEY. 
 
 S. & 11. 
 
univenBi i t v»r ■""s^lr 
 
 3 0112 045844260