■ 
 
 ■ 
 I ■ 
 
 
 ■ 
 
 : 't'¥4M$kM : ,

 
 BLONDEL PARVA.

 
 BLONDEL PABVA 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LOST SIR MASSINGBERD," 
 
 ETC. , ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, & CO., 11, BOUVERIE ST. 
 
 1868. 
 [All Rights reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
 
 V. 1 
 
 TO 
 
 THAT BEST OF FRIENDS, 
 
 MY WIFE, 
 
 &Jjis Book 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I.- 
 
 II.- 
 
 III.- 
 
 IV.- 
 
 V.- 
 
 VI.- 
 
 VII- 
 
 VIII.- 
 
 IX.- 
 
 X.- 
 
 XI.- 
 
 XII.- 
 
 XIII.- 
 
 XIV.- 
 
 XV.- 
 
 XVI.- 
 
 -A REASONABLE OFFER — REFUSED . 
 
 -IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN 
 
 -"NOTHING — NOTHING WHATEVER" 
 
 -AFTER LONG YEARS .... 
 
 -THE BLIND MAN AT HOME . 
 
 -SUTPER AND LODGING .... 
 
 -AT THE COURT-GATES .... 
 
 -"QUICK, QUICK" 
 
 -THE FACE AT THE "WINDOW 
 
 -CROSS-PURPOSES 
 
 -BY THE BANKS OF START 
 
 -A WOMAN OF BUSINESS .... 
 
 -STRAITS AT THE MANOR, AND FEARS A 
 THE VICARAGE .... 
 
 -HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE . 
 
 -SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA " . 
 
 -TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1 
 
 33 
 
 47 
 
 77 
 
 83 
 
 97 
 
 111 
 
 129 
 
 157 
 
 170 
 
 186 
 
 215 
 
 232 
 
 247 
 261 
 284
 
 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 
 
 Of all the old-world, out -of- the -way 
 hamlets on the south coast of England (and 
 they are many), nestled amid rolling downs, 
 and wearing a deep inland look, although 
 almost within hearing of the passionate sea, 
 Blonde! Parva is the least and the fairest. 
 It does not attain even to the dignity of a 
 village. It boasts, indeed, of an old manor- 
 house, not by any means complying with 
 the exigencies of modern life, but with an 
 imposing massiveness about it too, such as 
 builders do not arrive at in these days; with 
 a large, carelessly ordered garden, sheltered
 
 2 BLOXDEL PAKVA. 
 
 by mouldering and ivied walls ; with an old 
 fishpond, that would perhaps be better for 
 
 cleaning out and for a bottom of concrete, 
 but with whose muddy depths and v 
 strewn surface the fat carp, those most 
 conservative of fish, are very well content ; 
 with a broad terrace looking to the west, 
 that should be of gravel, but where the grass 
 grows so luxuriantly that it usurps its place ; 
 and with an ancient bowling-green, where, 
 in the July heats, it is pleasant to sit and 
 let the fancy rove, without bias, like the 
 bowls themselves, out of whose lamprey 
 eyelet holes the lead has dropped, since, for 
 all I know, the time when the old house- 
 roof was stripped of the same metal to 
 furnish bullets for Cromwell's men. 
 
 Throughout the summer months, there is 
 a glorious scent about the plaice of wall- 
 flowers and thyme, a fine old English aroma 
 of sweet smells, with which, at least in the 
 bees' opinion, no glass-house, heated to the
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 3 
 
 most exact temperature, and stored with 
 costliest exotics, can compare : they hum 
 and murmur their applause here from morn 
 to eve, and in the long lime-walk, leading 
 to the banks of Start, so thickly cluster, you 
 would almost think that there was organ- 
 music in the scented air. The black-birds, 
 too, give thanks (with full choral service) for 
 the clustering peaches, which Mrs. Irby's 
 dexterous fingers, deftly as they ply, cannot 
 make net-armour enough to shield. 
 
 Mrs. Irby is the lady of the manor, but 
 by no means so wealthy or important as 
 such a title may seem to imply. It is 
 because she is not rich that the old place 
 possesses these charms of unkempt luxuri- 
 ance and picturesque decay. The terrace 
 would doubtless be new gravelled, the pond 
 cleaned out, the garden- walls rebuilt, instead 
 of being merely propped as they were with 
 timber, or strengthened with Xs of old iron, 
 if Madam could have her way. Similarly, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 if she could but afford it, hateful reforms 
 would, without doubt, be effected within the 
 mansion: the old tapestry that blows about 
 
 in the great hall, and shows through many a 
 rent the plaster behind it, would be replaced 
 by a neat paper from London ; the broad 
 oak staircase would have a carpet laid upon 
 it ; and down the long gallery, once hung 
 with rnctures, but now bare enough, one 
 would be able to walk without slipping. I 
 have no faith in the best of women (and 
 Madam, as the villagers call her, is a most 
 excellent one) as respects reverence for 
 antiquity : they like change ; they will 
 always beckon the upholsterers into a house 
 if they call pay, and sometimes if they 
 can't. They have a morbid passion for 
 cleanliness and precision, such as is only 
 seen in jails and light-houses ; they like 
 everything about them to be spick-and-span. 
 But Blondel manor-house was fortunately so 
 large, and Madam's spare cash so scant}'.
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 5 
 
 that any scheme of " thorough " in the way 
 of amendment was out of her power ; while 
 piecemeal reform, she was well aware, would 
 only make the rest of the old place, by 
 contrast, more "ramshaekly." Her conver- 
 sation was homely, and that was her own 
 graphic term. " There was nothing for it," 
 said she, speaking of this picturesque dilapi- 
 dation, " but to bide until her ship came in." 
 There was more chance in Mrs. Irby's case 
 of her ship coining in — a possibility, indeed, 
 of the arrival of a whole argosy — than there 
 commonly is with persons who are in the 
 habit of using this expression ; but we will 
 speak of that hereafter. 
 
 There is one room in the old house, how- 
 ever, which, I think, even in the eyes of Mrs. 
 Irby, could not be bettered by alteration, 
 and that is Kate's boudoir. Madam is a 
 widow, and Kate is her only daughter, for 
 whom she lives, in whom she has her sole 
 pleasure, and who is the one link that binds
 
 G BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 her to earth. To most people, however, Kate 
 
 Irby seemed more like a link with heaven — 
 so tender was her air, so kind and bright 
 her dark-bine eyes, so pure her brow, 
 
 exquisitely fair her oval face. This last, 
 indeed, was said by certain hypercritica t«> 
 be too pointed at the chin, and the chin 
 (these idiots added) is the principal feature 
 of a countenance, and of far more conse- 
 quence than all the rest, including the i ■-■ 
 Well, well, if you, good reader, could only 
 have seen Kate as I see her now, in my 
 mind's eye, you would know how to despise 
 those detractors. 
 
 The boudoir, then, was a bower fit for 
 such a gracious fairy. Theiv was a. har- 
 monium of the newest fashion, from which 
 she evoked (mostly when alone, however) 
 the most touching melodies ; books, new as 
 well as old, lined the walls from floor to 
 ceiling, and without one forbidding pane of 
 glass to screen them ; an easel, with a half-
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 7 
 
 finished sketch upon it, from a certain 
 venerable place to which you shall be intro- 
 duced in time ; and on the table, work — not 
 crochet or any other such fal-lal, but good 
 honest needle- work, for Kate " mended her 
 own things," as well as made warm gar- 
 ments for half the old women in the parish, 
 and baby- clothes for the young mothers. 
 The carpet was really a handsome one, and 
 such as had not its fellow in all the house ; 
 and the rest of the furniture was in keeping 
 with that on which it stood. The windows 
 opened southward upon the lime-walk, and 
 looked down in the distance upon the 
 hurrying Start. About this river hung a 
 sad story. A mournful memory ever came 
 in from that swift river, and was especially 
 borne upon the summer air, along with the 
 murmur of the bees and the odour of the 
 limes, and touched Kate's heart with love 
 and pity. Ten years ago, when she was a 
 child of ten, her father had been drowned
 
 8 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 while bathing in that dangerous stream one 
 summer morning. His body, carried out to 
 sea by the fierce current, had never been 
 recovered. It was denied to wife jo id child 
 to know where his bones lay whitening : 
 they only knew that somewhere in " that 
 vast and wandering grave, they tossed with 
 tangle and with shell. " 
 
 The boudoir opened on a sleeping-room, 
 looking down on the terrace-walk. This 
 Avas very plainly furnished : the bed- gear 
 was as white as milk ; the chest of drawers 
 of plain white deal ; and the little dressing- 
 table, with its vase of flowers and Kate's 
 Bible, was covered with a clean white linen 
 cloth, spotless as ever was lain upon church- 
 table. There is a temptation to write that 
 those two rooms might well have typified 
 the grace and cultivation, the purity and 
 piety, of their occupant ; but we will, if 
 possible, avoid exaggeration. Kale [rbywas 
 a good and accomplished girl, but she would
 
 A EEASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 9 
 
 have been better than human to have 
 received no hurt from the associations of her 
 youth, which had not been favourable either 
 to simplicity or refinement. Her father had 
 been a betting-man by profession (at least 
 he had had no other calling, although at 
 one time he possessed large private means), 
 and we know what sort of society that 
 leads a man to keep ; and as for Kate's 
 other parent, the good honest soul would 
 herself frankly acknowledge that she had 
 not "mixed much with gentlefolk." Her 
 family were of the yeoman class — " our 
 country's pride," it may be, but, if so, cer- 
 tainly not on account of their intellectual 
 culture. 
 
 Kate always averred that her mother 
 spoiled her in thus allotting the plcasantest 
 sitting-room in the old manor-house for her 
 sole use and benefit ; but the truth was, not 
 only did her greatest happiness lie in seeing 
 her daughter pleased, but Mrs. Irby, for her
 
 10 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 own part, had no pleasure in boudoirs what- 
 ever. When she was not actively engaged 
 about the house, which generally was the 
 case, she was to be found "looking out" the 
 snowy linen for the weekly use of the house- 
 hold, or "preserving,'*' or doing some other 
 housewifely duty in a half-underground 
 apartment, called the housekeeper's room 
 (although no such functionary had ever 
 existed in her time), the casement of which 
 opened on the vegetable part of the walled 
 garden, and admitted a fine flavour of 
 onions. At a certain period of the year, she 
 was also to be found in a dilapidated bower, 
 called the greenhouse (smelling strongly of 
 mould and matting) , potting plants. " Win -i i- 
 ever I please," said she, when expostulated 
 with upon the humility of her choice of 
 private sitting-rooms, "I am always welcome 
 in Kates parlour" [on the pronunciation of 
 the word boudoir, as being of French origin, 
 she did not venture] ; " and what should an
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 11 
 
 old woman like me need more than that ? 
 Why, nothing." 
 
 No visitor, indeed, was so welcome to 
 Kate as her mother, and many a half-hour 
 did the latter spend, entranced with some 
 growing picture, or listening with folded 
 hands to those grand harmonies which, she 
 knew not why, used to fill lier with such 
 tender melancholy. It needed the sharp 
 and sudden reflection, that something wanted 
 "looking to" in the domestic economy, to 
 tear the good body away, and a smothered 
 "Drat that cook!" (in the midst of a melody 
 of Beethoven's) not seldom resented the 
 necessity of departure. 
 
 There was another person at present 
 under this roof, far more capable of under- 
 standing, if not of sympathising with Kate's 
 pursuits, who had also, by right of relation- 
 ship, the entree of that boudoir, but who 
 was not by any means so welcome there. 
 This was Kate's cousin — or rather her late
 
 12 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 father's cousin, for lie was Imt distantly 
 connected with the Irbies — Packard Anstey. 
 He was only eiglit-and-twenty, or so ; but 
 he might have been taken, from his air and 
 manner, even more than from his appear- 
 ance, to have been many years older. A 
 handsome fellow enough, tall and well-made, 
 with keen gray eyes, perhaps somewhat too 
 hard in their expression ; fine black hair, " a 
 little thinning about the top," Mr. Truefitt's 
 young men had warned him for some time ; 
 and a forehead that miolit have looked 
 better if the baldness had taken place there, 
 for it was a low one. His teeth, too, were 
 bad — victims to excessive smoking — which 
 was the reason, perhaps, why he so rarely 
 smiled. He was not a great talker, but 
 what he said was generally sensible, and 
 always to the point. Indeed, his misfortune 
 was to be a little too practical in his ideas. 
 and to express them without sufficient 
 regard to the feelings of others. He did not
 
 A SEASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 13 
 
 even perceive, for instance, that when talking 
 to a young lady whose pecuniary interests are 
 unhappily in antagonism with our own, we 
 should avoid, by all means, money- matters 
 as a topic of tete-a-tete conversation. 
 
 " Uncle Nicholas is very ill/' said he, as 
 he sat at the open window of his cousin's 
 prettily furnished bower, strumming with 
 one hand upon the sill, and holding in the 
 other an open letter. " I should not wonder, 
 from what this doctor writes, if the old man 
 did really die this time." 
 
 " I hope not," returned Kate gravely, 
 pausing in the sketch on which she was 
 engaged} with her back to her cousin ; " I 
 hope that he may not be thus cut off in the 
 midst of his sins." 
 
 " Just so," observed the young man drily ; 
 " though, as to that, it is my opinion that 
 the longer he lives the worse Sir Nicholas 
 will get. He is not the sort of man to 
 hedge, bless you — not he."
 
 14 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " I do not understand you, Cousin Richard." 
 
 This was not quite correct ; she knew 
 very well what he meant — how could the 
 daughter of Robert Irby — nicknamed, from 
 his good-fortune on the race-course, the 
 Netter — fail to do so ? Only she did not 
 choose to show her knowledge, but her dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Now, don't be angry, Kate," said he 
 soothingly. " The truth is, from having 
 been brought up as much in the stable as 
 out of it, I express myself best in the lan- 
 guage of the turf ; but I mean no disrespect 
 to religion. — Seriously, then, I am informed 
 in this communication that Sir Nicholas is 
 in a very bad way, and like to die. I am 
 pressed to start for Anstey Court at once, if 
 I would see him alive. Under these circum- 
 stances, I would like to have a word with 
 you." 
 
 He paused, and she bowed curtly in assent. 
 He folded up the letter twice, and once again
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 15 
 
 before he spoke. In the meantime, she went 
 on painting. 
 
 " You have been out of favour with my 
 uncle for many years, Kate." 
 
 " I was only in it for six months, Eichard. 
 He took a fancy to me, quite a little child, 
 when he was staying here ; and when my 
 poor father and he quarrelled, shortly after, 
 the fancy left him." 
 
 " True. But while it lasted, it was strong 
 enough to cause him to leave you half his 
 fortune, excepting a beggarly five hundred 
 pounds to myself, his own nephew and next 
 of kin." 
 
 " I have heard so." 
 
 " Heard so ? You know such was the 
 fact, Kate ; and although, when that row 
 took place at the Court, he got back the will 
 from your father, which he had given to him 
 to keep, in token of the genuineness of his 
 bequest, and destroyed it before his very 
 eyes (as I have heard), my uncle has always
 
 16 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 had a liking for you. You are an outsider 
 in the great race for Who shall be Heir, 
 Kate, but still you are not quite out of the 
 betting." 
 
 " I understood that your uncle had made, 
 more recently, a will in your favour, Richard." 
 
 " So he did ; but he may have made fifty 
 other wills since then. There is no knowing 
 into what gutter he may not throw his 
 money at the very last. In the first place, 
 he is naturally so whimsical and impulsive, 
 that a pretty face — even a child's, as in your 
 case, although, of course, you were not to 
 blame in the matter — may alter his most 
 settled plans ; and, secondly, he is sur- 
 rounded by the most worthless and design- 
 ing lot of people you can possibly imagine. 
 It would not be right for me to dwell upon 
 that subject in your presence, Kate, but, as 
 you are aware, one-half of my uncle's fortune 
 is certain — whoever gets the other half — to 
 be devoted to those who, in the eye of the
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 17 
 
 law, are (very properly) nobodies, although 
 his own flesh and blood ; it has already been 
 so settled by deed of gift ; and the bulk of 
 it (as I understand) to a certain person who 
 is not even related to him." 
 
 As there is nothing for which a young 
 girl of sensibility is more grateful than for 
 advice in some delicate matter, delicately 
 offered by a fit and proper person, so there 
 is nothing she resents more deeply than the 
 introduction of an embarrassing subject of 
 conversation by one in whom she has little 
 confidence, and for whom she has small 
 liking. Kate's countenance grew crimson 
 while her cousin spoke ; her lips shut tightly 
 together, and her trembling fingers could 
 scarcely direct the brush ; but she still 
 painted on; and Eichard himself, only 
 glancing towards her furtively from time to 
 time, of course could not see her face, nor 
 did he notice her annoyance. 
 
 " It is useless," he went on, " to endeavour 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 to convince my uncle of the injustice lie has 
 committed against his lawful heir. It is 
 half his fortune only that has any chance of 
 coming my way, or" 
 
 "Keally, Mr. Anstey," interrupted Kate, 
 turning sharply round upon her cousin, "my 
 advice upon such matters as you speak of 
 can be scarcely worth your asking. I don't 
 understand business — if, indeed, the dispo- 
 sition of a gentleman's property before he be 
 dead comes under that denomination — and, 
 moreover, it does not interest me." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear girl." He would 
 have laid his hand upon her shoulder, but 
 that she drew sharply away — "everybody is 
 interested in what concerns themselves. 
 This half-fortune — no trifling bequest, as you 
 are aware — may come, I was about to say, 
 your way, and not mine ; there is a chance 
 of it, though not an equal chance. You 
 know there is. Your mother herself is 
 always talking of what is to be done to the
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 19 
 
 old manor-house in case Sir Nicholas should 
 remember his godchild • though I should 
 think, for that matter, the spiritual tie 
 between him and you was even more slender 
 than the kinship." 
 
 "I do not wish to converse about Sir 
 Nicholas Anstey's will, Kichard." 
 
 " Of course not, Kate : money is doubtless 
 not so pleasant a subject for a young woman 
 like you to talk about as music, poetry, and 
 the fine arts ; but when money can be 
 realised by verbal agreement, I am sure your 
 mother would agree with me that we should 
 not lose it for want of the words." 
 
 Kate uttered an exclamation half of weari- 
 ness, half of downright annoyance, laid down 
 her paint-brush, and confronted her cousin 
 face to face. 
 
 " You have been endeavouring to force 
 this conversation upon me for some days, 
 Eichard ; you have seen that it is very dis- 
 tasteful to me, and yet you persist. Well, I 
 
 c 2
 
 20 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 am now ready to listen to you, but, remem- 
 ber, it is once for all." 
 
 "If it annoys you, I will not proceed, 
 Kate. I am sure I beg your pardon. Let 
 us put it off to another time." 
 
 " No, Bichard ; now or never." 
 
 " Then go on with your painting ; I really 
 cannot say what I have to say while you 
 stand so, like the Sphinx waiting for her 
 riddle to be ans\vered." 
 
 " You need not look at me ; you can cast 
 down your eyes, cousin, as you usually do 
 when you are speaking to people. Please 
 to begin." 
 
 Without noticing this unpromising remark, 
 except by the very slightest contraction of 
 his narrow forehead, Richard Anstey did as 
 he was bid. 
 
 " Do you remember, Kate, a game of cards 
 called Fright, at which we two used to play 
 when you were a child, and I half a boy and 
 half a man ? "
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 21 
 
 " Yes. The cards were thrown on the 
 table upon their faces, and we drew by turns 
 for one agreed upon. Whoever got it re- 
 ceived the half-crown that poor papa used to 
 put in for the pool. I remember you used 
 generally to win it." 
 
 " Well, Kate, when, as sometimes hap- 
 pened, there were but three cards left with 
 the winning card among them, and it was 
 my turn to draw, do you recollect what we 
 used to do then 1 " 
 
 " Perfectly," answered she smiling. " You 
 used to propose to divide the stake in what 
 you called the proper proportion of our 
 chances. You gave me sixpence, and took 
 the two shillings for yourself : you ought (I 
 have since discovered) to have only taken 
 one-and-eightpence." 
 
 " I don't recollect that," observed the 
 young man coolly ; " I only remember that 
 we used to divide." 
 
 " I remember both circumstances, Richard
 
 22 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 But pray, go on. I confess I do not feel the 
 same interest in this allegory (for I suppose 
 it is such) as I did in the game itself." 
 
 "Wait a moment, cousin: you will feel 
 it presently. The stake that you and I are 
 now playing for — which we must play for 
 whether we will or not — is more than half-a- 
 crown, more, I am credibly informed, not- 
 withstanding what has been cut off from the 
 estate, than eight thousand pounds a year. 
 My chances of drawing the right card as 
 compared to yours are, however, not in this 
 instance two to one — they are more than 
 twenty to one — nay, they are a hundred to 
 one ; and yet I am desirous to place you and 
 myself upon exactly equal terms." 
 
 " What ! cousin ? You propose to divide 
 this property into two equal shares, and to 
 give me one of them. Is that indeed your 
 proposition ? " He nodded. 
 
 " Well, Richard, although it is impossible 
 for me to entertain such an offer for a
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 23 
 
 moment, yet, believe me, I am most sensible 
 of its generosity. It is not only over- 
 whelming, but forgive me if I add, unex- 
 pected. It is the very fanaticism of chivalry, 
 and I have never taken you, cousin Eichard, 
 I confess, for a chivalric person. Since you 
 have thus shown yourself in your true riding 
 colours — which under that drab greatcoat of 
 sagacity and calculation nobody could have 
 guessed at — I also will be frank with you. 
 I have never cared for money, and notwith- 
 standing that you have often told me that 
 everybody does care, I fancy you will allow 
 there is some truth in my protest. I do not 
 care for it now for my own sake, but I know 
 that it would please my mother to see things 
 about her a little less ruinous, and I should 
 like her to have the means of making them 
 so. Nay, I owe you the whole truth for 
 having so uncharitably misread you hitherto. 
 We are in debt, Eichard — not much, but 
 still a little ; and I know it would be an
 
 24 BLONDEL PAEVA. 
 
 immense comfort to my mother to be set 
 quite free ; I should therefore be glad to feel 
 that some small portion of my godfather s 
 wealth would be mine for certain. I think, 
 too, it is only just and fair that such should 
 be the case, for you well know that over ten 
 thousand pounds of it were won of my poor 
 father under circumstances not altogether 
 justifiable, even on the turf." 
 
 " Well, it was rather sharp practice," 
 assented Eichard, smiling unpleasantly to 
 himself, " though the committee, to whom it 
 was referred, decided in my uncle's favour. 
 Your father went to the Court upon the 
 matter in person, and there were mutual re- 
 criminations and quite a scene ; and in con- 
 sequence thereof, Sir Nicholas's will was 
 burned, and your good money went after 
 your father's bad." 
 
 " Just so, Eichard ; then, as I may say, it 
 would be only right" 
 
 " Stop a bit, Kate ; you mean poetically
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 25 
 
 right," interrupted the young man ; " not 
 legally right, of course, and far less morally 
 right, since upon the turf there are no morals. 
 Let us quite understand one another." 
 
 " By all means, Eichard. I mean that, 
 judged by any simple standard of justice, 
 Sir Nicholas Anstey might well make resti- 
 tution by bequest of that which he gained 
 during his lifetime by overreaching his 
 friend." 
 
 " It was a question of ' early information ' 
 about the breaking down of the Derby 
 favourite," explained the young man ; " Sir 
 Nicholas and your father were partners, and 
 one member of the firm sold the other." 
 
 " I say, cousin," continued the girl, with 
 heightened colour, " that the transaction was 
 shameful, and judged by any high standard 
 — far less by that of such generosity as 
 yours — he ought never to have touched the 
 money. I am not seeking to detract from 
 the nobility of your own motives, Richard,
 
 26 BLONDEL PAHVA. 
 
 but only to justify my taking advantage, in 
 even a modified form, of your most handsome 
 proposition. — I surely could not have mis- 
 understood you," added she suddenly, in a 
 changed voice : " you did offer to give up 
 half whatever your uncle should leave you, 
 did you not ? " 
 
 "Yes, Kate, yes." The young man left 
 the window-seat for the first time and stole 
 his arm about his cousin's waist ; but she 
 placed her hand upon his wrist, and kept 
 him off with a steady grasp. With his dis- 
 engaged hand, he played uneasily with his 
 moustache, and stood biting his under lip, 
 the very picture of irresolution and embar- 
 rassment. "It is not half eight thousand a 
 year, but all of that I will give you, Kate, if 
 you will only take the hand that offers it as 
 well." 
 
 " I see," observed Kate coldly, and with a 
 look of contempt it was impossible to mis- 
 understand : " there is a condition. That
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 27 
 
 does detract from the generosity of your 
 proposal, Mr. Anstey. While deeply sensible 
 of the exaggerated value you have set upon 
 me — quite a ' fancy price/ I am sure you 
 will admit to yourself upon reconsideration 
 — I feel compelled/' here she courtesied 
 gravely, " to decline your very flattering 
 offer. — Talk of ' Fright/ sir ! yours is rather 
 an historical proposition, borrowed from the 
 reconcilement of the claims of York and 
 Lancaster by marriage. If the royal succes- 
 sion depended upon my compliance, I believe 
 my answer would be the same ; but being- 
 only plain Kate Irby, and not a princess of 
 the blood, I have no hesitation in replying 
 in the negative." 
 
 " You are cruel, Kate, unnecessarily cruel," 
 pleaded Eichard Anstey. " I am more sorry 
 than I can say to have thus offended 
 
 you." 
 
 " Offended me ? Nay, I am penetrated 
 with the sense of the honour you designed
 
 23 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 for me, not to mention the gracefulness of 
 the form in which your offer was couched." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled, her bosom heaved, her 
 nice glowed from chin to brow with con- 
 temptuous passion, and yet Kichard thought 
 he had never seen her beauty so glorious. 
 
 "You have misconstrued me, cousin — 
 cruelly misconstrued me," said lie quietly ; 
 " but I shall not attempt to exculpate my- 
 self. You may stand there, as you do, like 
 the very type of beautiful Scorn ; but when 
 the unhappy object is removed, when you 
 come to think of this matter alone, Kate, 
 you will judge me more fairly. I am quite 
 content to wait until your better nature 
 asserts itself. You will then perceive why 
 my proposal took the shape it did. To have 
 told you that I loved you, to have spoken of 
 regard, respect, devotion, would have merely 
 been to say once more what (as I had hoped) 
 my every action, look, air, words, have 
 said already. But you thought me selfish,
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 29 
 
 grasping (you have confessed as much), a 
 hard man of the world, as indeed I am ; but 
 not to you, Kate, not to you. What is 
 money to me, unless I win you ? Heaven 
 knows it, nothing ! And with respect to 
 your rights, do you suppose if my uncle 
 should be so forgetful of common justice as 
 to omit the mention of you in his* will, that 
 I should not redress that wrong, as soon as 
 law and lawyers could do it ? " 
 
 She shook her head, not contemptuously 
 this time, only incredulously. 
 
 He felt that he was recovering lost ground. 
 " Suppose, Kate," continued he with frank- 
 ness, " that this case were reversed. Should 
 Sir Nicholas leave you his heiress, would you 
 take all the law allowed you, and leave me 
 penniless 1 " 
 
 " You knoiv I would not, Kichard." 
 
 " Then why attribute to me — for you are 
 doing so, Kate, what in yourself would seem 
 an incredible baseness. You feel you have
 
 30 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 done me wrong, I see. I do not ask you to 
 confess it ; it is enough for me if you no longer 
 misjudge me. I perceive my mistake, Kate. 
 I have got my answer. But if we cannot be 
 lovers, we are cousins, and ought to be 
 friends. Come, take my hand, Kate ; for- 
 give me, and forget this talk, and let us be 
 to one another as before." 
 
 His supple fingers closed upon her plump, 
 pink palm, and she returned their pressure. 
 
 "What a wretch I feel/' said he, "now 
 you are kind. You promised to take me to 
 the spot from which that sketch was taken. 
 I have not been to the old ruin for years. 
 Let us go, then, after lunch. To-day will be 
 my last chance; I must start for.Anstey 
 Court by the mail-train at latest." 
 
 " After lunch then, by all means," assented 
 she. " There goes the bell. I shall put my 
 bonnet on at once. I daresay mamma will 
 go with us, if you ask her." 
 
 A light nod and a bright smile passed be-
 
 A REASONABLE OFFER REFUSED. 31 
 
 tween the cousins, as Kicharcl left the room. 
 The reconciliation was apparently effected, 
 the mutual understanding quite complete. 
 But no sooner was the door placed between 
 them, than Kate Irby sank down in the 
 chair, and hid her face in her hands. The 
 large tears welled quickly through her fingers. 
 It was her first offer, which always affects 
 damsels in that manner, whether their affec- 
 tions are concerned or not. But Kate's 
 tears were of a bitter sort ; it is not pleasant 
 for a young lady to be bid for by a suitor, at 
 least at first hand. There is the same eti- 
 quette about it as about purchasing the next 
 presentation to a living. 
 
 " He is a coarse unmannerly fellow," mur- 
 mured Kate, " and I wonder how dear 
 mamma can encourage him so." 
 
 Fortunately, Mr. Eichard Anstey did not 
 overhear this ebullition of feeling. 
 
 "By Jove!" muttered he, as he went 
 slowly down the stairs, " I was very near
 
 32 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 upsetting the coach. The idea of her sup- 
 posing I was going to give her old Nicks 
 fortune without any value received ! But 
 then one never knows how great a fool a 
 woman may be until one tries her. She dis- 
 tinctly stated that I should have my full 
 share of the estate, if it fell to her. That is 
 something, at all events, though I wish I 
 could have found an excuse for getting her 
 to set it down in writing. And yet when I 
 said that the money was nothing in com- 
 parison with herself, I spoke as near the 
 truth as one is in the habit of hearing. And 
 I'll wed Kate Irby yet ; by Heaven, I will ! 
 This is only the first heat, and he who loses 
 the first heat, don't always lose the race. 
 Nay, since there is no rival in the matter, it 
 is only a match against time, and I mean to 
 win it,"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 
 
 Besides its manor-house, Blondel Parva 
 owns a vicarage, which is in its way as 
 charming, although neither so large nor so 
 dilapidated. It can hardly be said to stand 
 in its own grounds, so very scanty is the 
 lawn that divides it from the village street, 
 but then the street itself is so quiet and un- 
 populous that the parson's privacy is scarcely 
 marred by that circumstance. At the back 
 of the house there is a tolerably large garden, 
 with one huge slumberous cedar, beneath 
 whose layers of shade you can lie and watch 
 the summer hazes shimmer upon the level 
 flats, and the shining sea beyond them ; for 
 the vicarage is on the hill-top, and commands 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 31i BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 a view to southward such as the manor-house 
 cannot pretend to. 
 
 It is nestled upon the very brow of what 
 was once a bluff, jutting out into the sea ; 
 but the great waters have left Blondel Parva 
 this many a year, and more than a mile of 
 salt-marsh now intervenes where once the 
 stately ships went on, and even Leviathan 
 himself, for it is certain that a whale was 
 once stranded thereabouts, since near the 
 cedar tree is an arbour, the entrance whereof 
 is between its monstrous jaws. That was 
 not, however, in the Eev. Charles Milton s 
 time, the present pro tern, incumbent, nor 
 even in that of the superannuated vicar ; 
 while, as for the propinquity of the sea, it is 
 eight hundred years since Blondel Parva was 
 a port, albeit the fact is as certain as though 
 the oldest inhabitant could certify to it of 
 his own knowledge. Written books are 
 extant, of a time when fiction by no means 
 so engrossed our literature as at present,
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 35 
 
 wherein this village makes quite a figure as 
 a haven. The Norman galleys landed there, 
 and so harried the place, that one might 
 imagine it had shrunk inland out of such 
 marine contingencies. One of the most im- 
 portant of the feudal privileges of Blondel 
 Priory was its right to wreck of the sea ; and 
 in return, that loyal and religious foundation 
 placed a vessel-of-war at the king's service, 
 built at Blondel, and launched on the Start 
 still a very rapid little river, though silted 
 up as to its channels, and wholly un- 
 navigable. 
 
 It was a strange sight, and evoked strange 
 thoughts, even in the most thoughtless, to 
 sit in that old-world garden, and look down 
 upon what was once the deep's untrampled 
 floor. Heard melodies are sweet, but those 
 unheard are sweeter, sings the subtle poet. 
 It was sweet to listen to the distant mono- 
 tone of yonder summer sea, but sweeter to 
 the unheard ripple of the absent wave ; and
 
 36 BLONDEL PAHVA. 
 
 Maurice Glyn, college-friend of Mr. Milton's, 
 and now staying with him at his second 
 curacy, for the first time was vastly struck 
 by it, as indeed, poetaster and litterateur as 
 he was, he was bound to be. A good face 
 had Maurice, although somewhat effeminate ; 
 his silken hair and moustache making, by 
 contrast of their jetty blackness, his pale 
 skin white as milk ; and with his hazel eyes 
 bright and restless as a bird's. Upon the 
 whole, he had a foreign look ; while his friend 
 the parson, with his tawny curling hair and 
 florid cheeks, was every inch the Saxon. 
 
 "This view is suggestive as a graveyard, 
 Charley," is Maurice Glyn's remark, as he 
 sits with his pipe in his mouth on the very 
 ed^e of the bluff, and with his lees dano-lino- 
 over it — "it's quite as suggestive as a grave- 
 yard, and yet has nothing personal : none of 
 that ' As I am now, so you shall be ; about 
 it. I like it much, and I am very glad I 
 came to see you."
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 37 
 
 "I am sure that I am glad, Maurice," 
 returned his host with a smile at the doubt- 
 fulness of the compliment. " I do think you 
 will get on with your work here, at all 
 events, as well as at fashionable Shingle- 
 beach. There is nothing to distract your 
 mind and interfere with composition at 
 Blondel Parva : no German bands, no hurdy- 
 gurdies, no charming young ladies — or, at 
 least, only one." 
 
 "And I don't want to see her, Charley. 
 I have got my heroine in my mind's eye, 
 and don't wish to have the image deranged. 
 I have come here to see you, old friend, and 
 to finish my novel. Literature and friend- 
 ship are enough for me at a time, and go 
 very well together. Love is a disturbing ele- 
 ment, and puts everything else out of your 
 thoughts. You find that, don't you, yourself? " 
 
 " Yes," rejoined the other, musing: "that 
 is," added he, quickly, his countenance turn- 
 ing ruddier than apple in the sun, " I dare-
 
 38 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 say you are right. I was speaking without 
 thinking. What should a poor curate like 
 me know about love ? M 
 
 "Why, a deal more than the bench of 
 bishops, of course. — Don't attempt to humbug 
 me, Charley, for you can't do it. I recog- 
 nised all the symptoms in you before we had 
 been an hour together. You are most cer- 
 tainly in love — over head and ears and white 
 choker ; and since you tell me there is but 
 one young lady in the place, I can make a 
 shrewd guess at the beloved object. So you 
 are captive to Miss Kate Irby, my friend. 
 The arrow of love has gone home through 
 that very strait waistcoat. Well, she is 
 good, intelligent, and pretty, of course { *' 
 
 " All three, Maurice." 
 
 " But, on the other hand, she has got no 
 money — eh ? Well, we can't expect every- 
 thing; and yet she lives in a manor-hot! 
 you told me, which has a pleasant metallic 
 sound about it too."
 
 IX THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 39 
 
 " Vox et prceterea nihil, Charley/' an- 
 swered the curate, cheerfully. " Miss Irby 
 is very far from rich, thanks to a father who 
 had a taste for horseflesh. I never saw him, 
 for he died ten years ago ; but, by all ac- 
 counts, he was no great loss : indeed, pecu- 
 niarily speaking, his death w^as a gain ; for 
 he had insured his life very heavily, and the 
 proceeds thereof enabled his widow to pay 
 his debts, considerable as they were, and to 
 stay on at the manor, although in greatly 
 reduced circumstances. It would have been 
 a bad day for my poor people, on which 
 Madam Irby, as they call her, had had to 
 leave Blondel." 
 
 " And not a good day for their curate — 
 eh, Charley ? since she would probably have 
 taken her daughter with her. Come, make 
 a clean breast of it, and tell me the whole 
 story : I was your confidant before, you 
 know, in that affair of the pastrycook's 
 pretty daughter at . But there ; I
 
 40 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 won't talk about that now — it makes you 
 feel quite a bigamist, I see. Come ; what 
 does your highly respectable uncle think of 
 this matter? — for I remember he was avers*' 
 to the other. If the young lady is not rich, 
 she is, I daresay, of ancient lineage — belongs 
 to ' a county family ' (a charming expres- 
 sion to my mind), and so far would be 
 satisfactory to the old gentleman." 
 
 " Miss Irby is tolerably ' well connected,' 
 as the phrase goes," replied the curate, 
 smiling. "Her nearest male relative is a 
 baronet of large fortune — Sir Nicholas Anstey 
 by name — and, by all accounts, one of the 
 most unprincipled persons on the earth's 
 surface. But by the mother's side she is 1 >ut 
 of humble origin. Mrs. Irby is a good, 
 kind-hearted soul enough, but she is not a 
 polished person." 
 
 "Not a polished person! My good sir, 
 you speak of her as if she were an Indian 
 squaw who had omitted to oil herself. One
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 41 
 
 would think she was your mother-in-law 
 already." 
 
 "Your intuition is mistaken for once, 
 Maurice/' observed the curate. " I did not 
 intend to speak in Mrs. Irby's disparage- 
 ment ; indeed, she and I are particularly 
 good friends." 
 
 "But she does not favour your suit, 
 Charley ; come — confess that. It is no use 
 your laughing ; I can see plainly that there 
 is something wrong about that old lady. 
 Perhaps " — here he turned, and laid his 
 hand upon his friend's knee — " perhaps she 
 favours somebody else ? " 
 
 "Well, without at all acknowledging to 
 the feelings you impute, Maurice, I do allow 
 that why I entertain a less regard for Mrs. 
 Irby than I otherwise should is, because she 
 gives encouragement to a person wholly un- 
 worthy of it, as a suitor for her daughter's 
 hand. True, she does not know, as / 
 know" — here the curate's mild blue eyes
 
 42 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 seemed to strike fire — " that Richard 
 Anstey is an utter scoundrel ; but she 
 knows what ought to he enough to cause 
 her to shut her doors against him — to pre- 
 vent his staying under her roof, as he is 
 doing now/' 
 
 "This Mr. Anstey, then, is the son of 
 Sir Nicholas— eh ? " 
 
 " No ; Sir Nicholas has no legitimate 
 issue; Richard is his nephew and heir-pre- 
 sumptive;" 
 
 "I see. The title and estates too*ether 
 make a very taking bait for a lady with a 
 marriageable daughter. You must not be 
 too hard upon the old lady, Charley. When 
 a woman has had but an indifferent- husband 
 herself, and yet has managed to get on with 
 him, she is not disposed to be exacting in 
 the choice of a son-in-law : from a com- 
 mendable disinclination to place her own 
 dear Departed much under the average, she 
 is led to think all men pretty much alike.
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 43 
 
 Perhaps, too, in this case, Madam herself, 
 not being delicately sensitive, gives her 
 daughter credit for equal robustness of cha- 
 racter." 
 
 " You could not have described Mrs. Irby 
 better, Maurice, if you had known her for 
 years," returned the curate, admiringly. 
 " Her late husband, however, though reckless 
 and dissipated, and somewhat of a tyrant in 
 his own house, had a sound place in his 
 heart : the very extent of his life insurance 
 shewed he had a genuine and unselfish 
 regard for his own belongings ; whereas 
 this Kichard Anstey is depraved, and yet 
 cold and calculating. When I spoke so 
 severely of Sir Nicholas a while ago, I 
 wronged him thus far, that his nephew, 
 while equally abandoned, is also, unlike him, 
 both callous and cunning. Confound the 
 fellow" — here the curate rose, and began to 
 walk to and fro with hasty steps — " I cannot 
 trust myself to talk about him ! "
 
 44 BLONDEL PAIiVA. 
 
 " All right, Charley. Don't distress your- 
 self," returned Maurice, gravely. "I re- 
 member your morbid dislike to offensive 
 people of old. There were half-a-dozen men 
 up at Trinity with none of whom you could 
 sit in the same room, you know." 
 
 " Nay ; I recollect that was the case with 
 yourself, Maurice," observed the curate, 
 laughing; "but I am sure I had no such 
 antipathies. " 
 
 " Well, perhaps it was myself," answered 
 the other with an air of reflection. " In- 
 deed, now I think of it, I am sure it was. 
 But I am quite changed in that respect, 
 Charley. Next to an old friend like your- 
 self, there is no one whose society- delights 
 me more than your utter reprobate. He 
 must, however, have no redeeming points 
 (and I am thankful to say that there are 
 many people without them). He must be a 
 scoundrel, pure and simple ; and, above all 
 things, grossly insolent in his manner.
 
 IN THE VICARAGE GARDEN. 4o 
 
 That is what gives him the great attraction, 
 and me the zest. Then it is that I sketch 
 him, con amove, from the life, and he adorns 
 my next novel as its principal villain. 
 Sweet are the uses of complete worthlessness, 
 Charley, to us whose profession is that of 
 writing fiction. One finds a balm, my dear 
 fellow, this way, in even one's disagreeable 
 relatives ; they may not be so exceptionably 
 hateful as the great models of whom I speak, 
 but, on the other hand, they afford better 
 opportunities for observation." 
 
 " Well, upon my word, Maurice," ex- 
 claimed the curate, laughing, "literature 
 seems to be a gracious trade. I daresay you 
 manage to pick out a striking shadow or 
 two even in the characters of your best 
 friends, and I daresay you have combined 
 business with pleasure in coming down to 
 stay with me. — I wish I could overcome my 
 dislike of this Mr. Anstey, so far as to oblige 
 you with an introduction, but I really
 
 46 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 cannot take you to the manor-house while 
 he is there." 
 
 " Very good, Charley ; I shall survive it. 
 Absence from that angel's home (I am 
 speaking, of course, of Miss Kate, and not 
 of Mr. Eichard) is not, since I have never 
 seen her, the rayless exile to me that it is to 
 you. Let us visit, this afternoon, that 
 ancient priory you were talking of. There 
 is nothing more charming, to my mind — 
 which, I hope, is naturally reverent — than a 
 church in ruins. It has all the solemn 
 sanctity of an ecclesiastical edifice in com- 
 plete repair, and possesses, in addition, this 
 inestimable advantage, that you can sit 
 down in it and smoke."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " NOTHING — NOTHING WHATEVEE." 
 
 Eight years ago, when Charles Milton 
 and Maurice Glyn graduated at Cambridge, 
 after three years of unbroken college inti- 
 macy, there was no marked difference in 
 then ways of life, or even their habits of 
 thought ; and now there was scarcely any- 
 thing in common between them, save their 
 friendship. 
 
 At the epoch I speak of — to many the 
 turning-point of life, the spot from which its 
 roads often diverge, some up, some down, so 
 widely, that thenceforth these fellow-travel- 
 lers never meet again — Charles "went in 
 for the Vol" (the "voluntary examination" 
 preparatory to entering the church), was 
 "japanned" (ordained), and took a curacy
 
 48 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 in the country — preferring the sacred calling 
 to that of commerce, which his uncle and 
 sole guardian, a rich merchant in the City, 
 had marked out for him. The change these 
 simple proceedings worked with him in a 
 year or two was so extraordinary, that the 
 theory of the apostolic succession might 
 have almost rested on his example. He had 
 become by that time (not, however, that he 
 had been particularly the reverse before) 
 orthodox in belief, pure in morals, an 
 admirer of the landed gentry, a denouncer 
 of the penny press, and a welcome guest in 
 every cottage in his parish where the 
 inmates did not sing psalms upon week- 
 days. 
 
 Maurice Glyn, who, like his friend, was 
 an orphan, but had a few hundred pounds 
 a year of his own, read fiction for the usual 
 period, in a pleader's chambers, and was 
 presently called to the bar; his profession, 
 however, as I have said, was literature. He
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 49 
 
 had good talents and excellent spirits, the 
 latter of which atoned for him for the 
 former with the literary Bohemians, with 
 whom he was a great favourite ; but he did 
 not belong exclusively to their honourable 
 society. On the contrary, he had contri- 
 buted to the " Superfine Beview," until the 
 whim had suddenly seized him to write a 
 novel, which had been a success. Since 
 then, he had given up criticism to his 
 friends, and applied himself entirely to pro- 
 viding them with subjects. His views upon 
 religious matters were vague, if not hazy, 
 and his morals somewhat dependent on cir- 
 cumstances ; but he was neither sceptical 
 nor depraved. He had a hatred of injustice 
 more honest than was ever entertained by 
 knight-errant of old ; for he had no respect 
 whatever for social position ; courteous as 
 well as compassionate to the j)oor, he was 
 compassionate as well as courteous to 
 women ; and true to his friend as steel, he 
 
 VOL. r. E
 
 50 BLOXDEL PAEVA. 
 
 was bitter and rather unscrupulous against 
 enemy. 
 
 " I am always civil in the first instance ; 
 I. never ' begin* it," said lie on one occasion, 
 when excusing himself from this last charge ; 
 " and therefore, if a man be rude or pick a 
 quarrel with me, he must be a horn beast, 
 and I treat him accordingly." 
 
 There was some truth in what Maurice 
 Glyn said; but feeling that he was "good 
 company" with most people, he did not 
 understand that the very geniality and 
 frankness which proved his charm with 
 them, might be an impertinence and a 
 reproach in the eyes of oth< 
 
 The Kev. Charles Milton was very far 
 from being among the outraged minority. 
 He appreciated his friend's talents to the 
 full; was well aware, too, in respect of a 
 
 ■ important matter, that there w\ i 
 lenl bottom under the mud, and charitably 
 hoped that the mud itself was not very dele-
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 51 
 
 terious. In a word, Charles had an affec- 
 tionate admiration for Maurice, and Maurice 
 had an affectionate respect for Charles. 
 
 They are sauntering down the fields 
 towards the priory, each with a hand upon 
 the other's shoulder, like two school-friends 
 out upon a holiday, and well they may, for 
 they are still boys at heart. 
 
 " Look, there is the ruin, Maurice ; that 
 is the Lantern Tower which lifts its head 
 above the trees yonder. It is the only part 
 of the priory visible, until you come close 
 upon it, it is sunk in so deep a dell. How 
 finely the blood-red stone stands out amid 
 the green, does it not 1" 
 
 " A beautiful and quiet home, indeed," 
 said Maurice, who had a poetic rather than 
 an artistic eye. "Such places must have 
 had great attractions for pensive natures 
 vexed with the rudeness of the times." 
 
 " Filled, too, with devout aspirations," 
 urged the curate — "submitting themselves 
 
 E 2 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 II ( IMHIC I inn.nl/
 
 52 BLONDEL I'AKVA. 
 
 to that severe Cistercian discipline with 
 
 eager self-denial — welcoming the hard and 
 
 narrow, bed, the scanty fare " 
 
 "True. But what is that line of ruin 
 across which we stepped without notice V* 
 
 interrupted. Maurice. "I now perceive it 
 
 surrounds the whole domain/' 
 
 "That is the ancient wall which formed 
 the brethren's deer-park." 
 
 " And what are these two hollows on our 
 
 left r 
 
 "Those were the fishponds." 
 
 "Good. The cellars were, of coin-''. 
 within the walls. But I cut you short. 
 Charley; welcoming, you were saying, the 
 scanty fere " 
 
 "The deer and fish were for their guests, 
 Maurice; the monks were greatly given to 
 hospitality; but as for their own fere, they 
 ate neither flesh nor fowl, nor eggs, nor even 
 cheese. They had but two meals a day of 
 porridge, and on Fridays only one. Even
 
 -NOTHING WHATEVER." 53 
 
 that wretched fare they partook of in silence. 
 They never spoke to one another except in 
 the locutory. Each slept in his clothes, and 
 with his girdle on, and rose at midnight 
 to sing the divine offices. They had four 
 services a day, besides matins, vespers, and 
 compline. They lived to God, and not to 
 man, and still less to woman. ' The sweet, 
 sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of 
 wife/ was denied to them." 
 
 " My dear Charley," said Maurice, quietly, 
 "the last prior was reported by the royal 
 commission to have four wives, and his 
 monks an average of two apiece. I read all 
 about it last night in the ' Annales Blondel- 
 lenses ' (or some such name), which you were 
 so indiscreet as to leave in my bedroom. 
 No, no — 
 
 Your saintly monk was fat, 
 .And issuing, shorn and sleek, 
 Would twist liis girdle tight, and pat 
 The girls upon the cheek ; 
 
 and I really cant blame him, if the girls
 
 54 BLONDEL PABVA. 
 
 were like yon pretty damsel, who is tripping 
 
 along to the same goal as ourselves. If I 
 were the prior now, and religiously restricted 
 
 to four wives, the very next vacancy should 
 be reserved" 
 
 "Don't, Maurice, don't/'' said the cxu 
 gravely. " I know you mean no harm, hut 
 the jest is misplaced. If ever there v. 
 good girl in the world, in the old tim- 
 these, it is Mary Grange. Her father is the 
 keeper of the ruins, and she is his only 
 daughter. The holy place loses none of its 
 sanctity by her presence, any more than 1 »y 
 the violets that grow in its chancel. — How 
 are you, Mary V* — for the girl and they had 
 met by this time. "Tins is my old college 
 friend, that I have been expecting this long 
 time, you know — Mr. Glyn.* 
 
 Maurice lifted his cap. and gazed with 
 undisguised bul respectful admiration upon 
 the blushing girl, as she stood with downcast 
 eyes and lingers nervously busy with the
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 55 
 
 covered basket she carried in Iier hand. Her 
 slender figure had scarcely attained the grace 
 of womanhood, but her face was divinely 
 fair ; its expression pure as a saint's, modest 
 as a fawn s ; and the complexion, unkissed 
 by the sun, so exquisitely delicate, that with 
 her drooping head upon its tender stem, she 
 looked a very lily. 
 
 " And what have you got in your basket, 
 Mary V 9 asked the curate. 
 
 " Only fathers handiwork, sir. His stock 
 at the priory needs replenishing, so he sent 
 me home for these." 
 
 She drew back the coarse but curd- white 
 cloth, and displayed some pretty wooden 
 paper-knives and book-markers. 
 
 " How very nicely carved \" exclaimed 
 Maurice. " Why, your father must be quite 
 an artist; and no wonder, since he spends 
 his days in so beautiful a spot." 
 
 "Alas, sir, he is blind," replied the girl. 
 " He has never seen the place amid which
 
 5G BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 he dwells, although, to hear him talk, you 
 would never think it. He knows every 
 stick and stone. He cuts these little things, 
 sir, out of the elder-trees that grow in the 
 guest-house." 
 
 " Are they for sale?" asked Maurice, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, sir. But if you kindly think of 
 buying, be so good as to buy of father, not 
 of me. It pleases him to sell them, above 
 all things, and he has not many pleasur 
 
 The three had now reached the ruins. 
 Immediately in front of them rose the great 
 north gateway, with its semicircular Norman 
 arch, and a few mossy stones, which had 
 once been seats beneath a porch. Rude 
 planks, with a doorway cut in them, now 
 filled up the stately entrance, and a rusty 
 eliain hung from it, which, at .Mary's touch, 
 set a cracked bell in motion within-side. 
 
 Scarcely had its tinkling ceased, ere the 
 door opened, and an old man appeared, with
 
 snow-white hair and beard, but upright as a 
 dart : his light-blue eyes had that fixed and 
 stony stare which belongs to the blind 
 alone. 
 
 " I expected you before, darling," said he, 
 fondly. "I am afraid those paper-knives 
 were hard to find : I told you that it was 
 only I who knew where to lay my hand 
 upon them." 
 
 " He thinks he can find everything better 
 than folks with sight," whispered the girl, 
 softly. " He knew my ring of the bell, you 
 see, sir, though it would sound the same to 
 you as another's. — Here is Mr. Milton, 
 father, and a friend of his." 
 
 "Yes, Grange," said the curate, taking 
 the old man's hand, "I have brought my 
 friend, Maurice Glyn, here, that you may 
 shew him the priory." 
 
 " Very glad to see you, sir," said the blind 
 man, turning his eager yet patient face 
 towards the visitor. " A fine afternoon, and
 
 58 BLONDEL PAItVA. 
 
 weather that is likely to last, although a 
 cloud or two crosses the sun." 
 
 It was touching to hear the old gate- 
 keeper talk thus, as though he had no 
 affliction that shut him out alike from sun 
 and cloud ; and more touching still to 
 watch his daughter's triumphant look as she 
 marked Glyn's surprise. 
 
 " Yes," said Maurice, "I am fortunate in 
 having the sunshine upon the priory; but 
 still more fortunate, as I am assured, in 
 having you for my guide. They tell me 
 you know every stick and stone of the old 
 place." 
 
 "And so I ought, sir: who better?" 
 returned the blind man. "I have 
 here more than thirty years — ten under the 
 Moresby family (all dead and gone now) ; 
 ten with poor Mr. Irby, as was drowned in 
 Start; and ten with Madam; God bless 
 herl -Please to step in, sir; and mind the 
 doorway, for its rather low."
 
 Koofless and ruined as was Blonde! 
 Priory, perhaps never, in its palmiest days 
 of wealth and power, had it impressed the 
 beholder more with its surpassing beauty. 
 The long transept, in which Maurice Glyn 
 now found himself, was bright with such 
 colours as only Nature herself can use with- 
 out abuse. The lofty walls, of blood-red 
 sandstone, here jagged against the sky, here 
 pierced for casements that once threw gules 
 and crimson upon the sacred floor, were 
 tapestried with shining leaf and feathery 
 fern ; luxuriant foliage strove everywhere to 
 repair the ravages of time ; all along the 
 shattered clere-story, in every cranny of 
 broken arch, and in the niches, emptied of 
 their sculptured saints, clustered parasitic 
 flowers ; up the ruined bases of the walls, 
 clinging to shaft and pillar, crept wild-roses, 
 exhaling a perfume sweeter beyond compare 
 than any incense censer-swung ; the carpet 
 of short grass — a living green — that covered
 
 CO BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 all below, was gemmed with daisies; and on 
 
 the moss-grown tombs of prior and knight, 
 the many-tinted lichen glowed. Above was 
 the blue sky. 
 
 The blind man kept a most unguidelike 
 silence; waiting, as a mother waits to bear 
 the praises of her child, for the admiration 
 which rarely failed to be expressed at the 
 first view of his beloved charge. Mary was 
 watching her father's face, unwilling to miss 
 the gleam of satisfaction it was as sure to 
 shew ; the curate in his turn gazed on her, 
 and when the expected commendation at 
 last was uttered, derived a pleasure not less 
 great than that of the others, at third hand. 
 
 Then the old guide began his archaeo- 
 logical patter, upon the copyright erf which 
 yre will not infringe. 
 
 They threaded the long nave, where lay 
 many a mouldering knight, their carven 
 images here clasping .swords, t«> shew they 
 had perished in battle; here, with cr<
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 61 
 
 legs, to witness they had fought the Saracen ; 
 and here again, stretched out at length, with 
 no such good works to boast of, but with 
 devout hands turned upward, trusting to 
 Faith alone. This was a baron of high 
 degree, and patron of the church ; and this 
 a spiritual chief, that had erst ruled all the 
 stately place, including the souls of them 
 that dwelt therein : nay, in the once splendid 
 chancel, close by where the high-altar had 
 stood, and sheltered by its very shadow, lay 
 the bones of the high and puissant lord who, 
 " consulting God, and providing for the 
 safety of his own soul," had " in the name of 
 the Holy Trinity, and in honour of St. 
 Agnes of Blonde!/' founded the priory itself. 
 The earl had been dust, and his good sword 
 rust, for nearly a thousand years. 
 
 Maurice Grlyn, who had a sense of the 
 awful Past more deep than most men, and 
 was studiously averse to shew it, here pulled 
 out his cigar-case.
 
 G2 BLOXDEL PAKVA. 
 
 " You heathen ! " exclaimed the curate. 
 
 "Nay, Charley ; hut consider what a time 
 it is since this respectable old nobleman 
 smelt incense." 
 
 They wandered on across the cloisters, 
 and the court within them, with its grave- 
 stones levelled with the earth, that studious 
 monks might walk and read there without 
 stumbling. There were no echoes now, nor 
 would have been from scores of sandalled 
 feet, for all the floor was sunny lawn. The 
 guide and visitor walked first, the curate 
 and Mary following. Suddenly, Maurice 
 stopped, and uttered an ejaculation of 
 surprise. 
 
 Turning the corner of a highly decorated 
 porch, an unlooked-for spectacle presented 
 itself. In a large apartment, some small 
 portion of whose groined roof still stood, and 
 one fair pillar, whose fallen capital had been 
 replaced by Nature's hand with its, perhaps, 
 first type, a honeysuckle, there were seated
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 03 
 
 on the ground two ladies and a gentleman, 
 eating strawberries and cream. It was too 
 late to retreat, even if the involuntary 
 intruder had been aware (which of course he 
 was not) that the man before him was the 
 object of his friend's dislike. 
 
 In another moment, the curate had 
 entered also, and Mrs. and Miss Irby and 
 Mr. Eichard Anstey were introduced to 
 Maurice in due form. 
 
 "You are just in time for some straw- 
 berries, gentlemen," exclaimed the hospit- 
 able old lady. — "You and Mary can go, 
 Grange ; we will shew Mr. Glyn the rest of 
 the priory ourselves. — Pretty place, is it not, 
 sir ? and as I always say, just the very spot 
 for a picnic." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Maurice, taking the 
 proffered seat between his hostess and her 
 daughter. "I conclude that this is the 
 refectory ? " 
 
 " I daresay it was," said the old lady.
 
 61 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 Kate Irby, who seemed at least as pleased 
 to Bee their party of three thus increased as 
 her mother, uttered a silver peal of laughter. 
 " No, no ; it is the chapter-house," said she. 
 "It is here that the old monks sat in 
 solemn conclave, just as the rooks were 
 doing when we disturbed them. — Is it not, 
 Mr. Milton?" 
 
 "Certainly, Miss Kate. Here the novice 
 besought admittance into the order, having 
 asked humbly of the chapter for ' the mercy 
 of God and yours/ The austerities of the 
 place were then explained to him " 
 
 "I accept them," interrupted Maurice, 
 gravely, " and take my strawberries without 
 Cream. I feel myself admitted into this 
 pleasant fraternity, I do assure you/' 
 
 Kate smiled with eye and lip. Mrs. Lrby, 
 too, fell thai the visitor had Bomehow Baid a 
 very civil thing ; no woman, however dull, 
 fails to perceive when a man evinces a desire 
 to please.
 
 "Pray, take some sugar, sir," said she, 
 "if you don't mind a paper sugar-basin. 
 It's quite clean, I'll answer for it." 
 
 " My dear mamma ! " ejaculated Kate, 
 reprovingly. 
 
 " yes, Kate ; that's all very well," 
 retorted the old lady; "but I know what 
 picnics are, and how things are sometimes 
 wrapped up, and I daresay Mr. Glyn does — 
 ham sandwiches in newspapers, and such- 
 like. What I say is, let food be as simple 
 as you please, only let it be clean." 
 
 " The old monks were not so particular as 
 you, Madam," observed Maurice, laughing. 
 " I was reading only last night some very 
 disagreeable details — only my friend here 
 will listen to nothing against it — about the 
 mixtum made in this place." 
 
 " Ah, mixture indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Irby, contemptuously. " Nasty stuff enough, 
 I daresay. — Oh, I know what an admirer 
 Mr. Milton is of your priors and friars ; we
 
 66 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 often fight about them, we two ; but he 
 would not have liked their mode of life in 
 one respect, or else I am mueh mistaken." 
 And here the old lady nodded and winked 
 with sueh extreme sagacity, and grew BO 
 purple with a consciousness of her own 
 waggery, that it did not need an CEdipus to 
 guess that she was alluding to the celibacy 
 of the clergy. 
 
 "0 yes, Milton is very susceptible," 
 observed Maurice, coolly, but with the secret 
 reflection that not only was the curate right 
 in his remark, that Mrs. Irby was "not a 
 polished person," but also that she was about 
 the most embarrassing old lady, considering 
 the circumstances, he had ever had the 
 fortune to meet. "I am also afraid that he 
 would have been apt to be late at matins, if 
 they took place before nine o'clock." 
 
 "Ah, I see you know him well," said 
 Madam, chuckling. "He is a lazy man, is 
 he not 1 "
 
 "NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 67 
 
 There is no shorter method of getting into 
 favour with a certain class of old ladies than 
 by joining with them in a good-natured 
 attack upon some common friend, and 
 Maurice had taken that course designedly. 
 He hoped to be able to put in a good word 
 for the curate with this possible mother-in- 
 law, before he left Blondel Parva. 
 
 While he and Mrs. Irby thus rattled on 
 together, the other three had maintained a 
 silence which was becoming oppressive ; but 
 here Richard Anstey rose with a yawn 
 ("You're a beast," thought Maurice), and 
 muttering something about going to have a 
 pipe in the Lantern Tower, strolled sullenly 
 away. 
 
 " Now, don't the rest of you young people 
 mind me," exclaimed the good-natured old 
 lady. "I have brought my netting with 
 me, and shall sit here comfortably enough 
 till you come back. — Would you not like to 
 climb the tower with your cousin, Katie ? "
 
 68 BLONDEL PAUVA. 
 
 " Not I, mamma ; tliank you. I have 
 been there once already to-day, to show the 
 place from which I took the sketch. Besides, 
 he knows we have no dislike to tobacco. I 
 think, by the bye, I saw you throw a cigar 
 away, Mr. Glyn, just now." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Irby ; "it was a 
 great pity, for I daresay it cost you three- 
 pence or fourpence at the least. My poor 
 husband never gave less, I know." 
 
 " Thank you," said Maurice, carelessly ; 
 " my cigar was nearly finished. — You spoke 
 of a sketch, Miss Irby ; might I venture to 
 ask to see it ? " 
 
 " I am sorry to say it is not here," an- 
 swered Kate, with hesitation. 
 
 " That don't matter, child," said the old 
 lady, kindly. — "Come up to the manor- 
 house, Mr. Glyn, and see it this evening. 
 Come both of you and dine. — What do you 
 say, Mr. Milton? Another day? How I 
 hate that phrase! — Well, come to-morrow,
 
 " NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER." 69 
 
 although Richard goes to-night, and there 
 will be no gentleman to do the honours." 
 
 The invitation was accepted at once ; and 
 then the three young people sallied forth, 
 leaving the widow, like a captured black- 
 bird, among the meshes of an unfinished 
 cherry-net. 
 
 Maurice thought it very strange that, 
 released from the presence of Kate's un- 
 propitious mamma, as well as from that of 
 his rival, the curate made no attempt at 
 conversation with his beloved, but suffered 
 him to monopolise her entirely. Nothing 
 loath to do so, still he could not help 
 remarking his friend's clouded brow and 
 distrait air, as well as the want of pertinence 
 in his replies to the questions that were put 
 to him. Presently, the curate dropped be- 
 hind altogether, and Kate and Maurice 
 wandered over the great ruined fane alone. 
 It was an admirable opportunity for making 
 love, but honourable friendship forbade him
 
 70 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 to give way to that temptation, and doubt- 
 less the pair got to understand one another 
 more quickly than if they had spent their 
 time in pretty speeches. The place and 
 circumstances had naturally suggested a 
 quotation from the Princess, and Maurice 
 found that Kate was, like himself, an atten- 
 tive student of the sweetest singer of our 
 time : thence they had glanced at the rights 
 and privileges of the sex, contrasting its 
 modern position with that it occupied of 
 old : then their views of social matters were 
 interchanged. 
 
 "Could that old life, amid the relics at 
 which they were now straying, have been a 
 happy one ? " 
 
 Kate thought it could. Independently of 
 devotional feeling, which doubtless actuated 
 many, the poor novice who joined Blond* & 
 Priory was no longer tin* servant of many 
 masters, but of the Church alone: he was 
 certain of a home, of enough, at all events.
 
 " NOTHING — NOTHING WHATEVER." 71 
 
 for his physical needs. The battle of life — 
 the straggle for necessaries, which in those 
 times, as now, went on unceasingly among 
 our poor — was so far gained. The monks 
 were sure of bed and board, and a roof to 
 cover them. 
 
 " You have that horror of poverty which 
 belongs to all delicate and graceful natures, 
 Miss Irby," returned Maurice ; " but I am 
 greatly mistaken if you would not bear it 
 well, should poverty befall you." 
 
 " No," said she, with a little shudder ; " I 
 could not endure it. I would rather die 
 than face what is called penury — want. At 
 the risk of your setting me down as a sadly 
 material personage, Mr. Grlyn, I must confess 
 that the not having enough to eat and drink 
 seems to me among the worst misfortunes — 
 far worse than any spiritual troubles, for 
 instance, those religious doubts and difficul- 
 ties, for involuntarily entertaining which 
 these poor old monks used to scourge them-
 
 72 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 selves and wear hair-shirts. I am neither 
 devotee nor philosopher. The worst of 
 poverty is by no means, in my eyes, that it 
 may make one ridiculous ; I should not like 
 the slights, the rubs and snubs, and far less 
 the insolences Hark ! what is that ? n 
 
 " I heard nothing," said Maurice, " but 
 the cawing of the rooks. — Pray, go on with 
 what you were saying." 
 
 " Well, in a word, I should not like to be 
 otherwise than what I am, a lady — I mean 
 what the world calls a lady, for to have 
 expensive tastes, without the means of grati- 
 fying them, education without the surround- 
 ings of refinement (like Mary Grange, the 
 guide's daughter here, a girl that knows 
 twice as much as I do, thinks twice as 
 deeply, feels twice as sensitively, yet Uvea in 
 a hovel, and is glad of broken victuals), that 
 would be terrible ! No ; I must have two 
 gowns (and more), and even-thing hand- 
 some about me, like Dogberry."
 
 "NOTHING — NOTHING WHATEVER. " 73 
 
 " What ! carriages and horses ? " cried 
 Maurice, thinking of his friend the curate. 
 " It may make some poor man's heart ache, 
 one day, to hear you confess as much." 
 
 "No, no," laughed Kate; "I am not so 
 bad as that. "Wealth does not dazzle me." 
 Here she spoke more gravely, with the 
 remembrance, perhaps, of what had taken 
 place that morning in her mind. " If I love 
 
 comfort, I do not covet splendour Hark ! 
 
 there is that scream again ; I was sure I 
 heard it." 
 
 This time, Maurice also caught what 
 seemed indeed like a woman's cry for help ; 
 some broken steps beside him led to a totter- 
 ing wall, from which half the ruin could be 
 seen, and he sprang up there on the instant. 
 
 " What is the matter, Mr. Glyn ? What 
 is it that you see ? Pray, tell me." 
 
 For a few moments, he did not answer ; 
 then : " Nothing, nothing whatever," said 
 he ; but yet he did not quit his post.
 
 74 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 u You arc not deceiving me, I trust, sir," 
 cried Kate, piteously. " Is my mother safe ? 
 Look to the chapter-house — the roof " 
 
 " The roof — what is left of it at least — is 
 just where it has been for eight hundred 
 years or so, and your mother is working 
 away, like Penelope at her web. There are 
 some people playing at hide-and-seek in the 
 nave/' 
 
 " Oh, I daresay, excursionists," exclaimed 
 Miss Irby, pettishly. " I hope they have 
 enjoyed themselves, for they have destroyed 
 my pleasure for the day. — Let us go back to 
 my mother, Mr. Glyn." 
 
 Kate looked so pale that Maurice did not 
 attempt to dissuade her, and besides, he 
 perceived that she was not quite' satisfied 
 with his report. They found the old lady 
 Bitting just where they left her. 
 
 "What have you done witli Mr. Milton?" 
 cried she; "and wheiv is Richard ?" 
 
 " I know nothing of them, mamma ; but
 
 cc 
 
 NOTHING NOTHING WHATEVER.' 75 
 
 I have had such a fright about you — it was 
 only some stupid people playing at hide- 
 and-seek in the nave — but I thought I 
 heard you scream." 
 
 " Silly child ! " answered the old lady ; 
 " I ain't afraid of frogs ; see, I've caught two 
 in my net, poor little things. It's getting 
 damp — that's what brings them out — and I 
 am glad you came, because of my rheu- 
 matics. — In the absence of these truants, 
 Mr. G-lyn, perhaps you will escort us 
 home?" 
 
 To this request, Maurice of course ac- 
 ceded ; albeit he was very curious to see his 
 friend, and receive an explanation of the 
 scene he had witnessed from the summit of 
 the abbey- wall. "What he had described to 
 Miss Irby as " Nothing, nothing whatever," 
 had indeed been a very interesting spectacle ; 
 no less than that of Mr. Richard Anstey, 
 magistrate for the county, lying upon the 
 grassy floor of the south transept, and the
 
 76 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 Eev. Charles Milton, M.A., standing over 
 him, with one hand clenched, and his right 
 foot planted (apparently with emphasis) 
 upon that prostrate gentleman's white waist- 
 coat.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AFTER LONG YEARS. 
 
 Evening had fallen upon Blondel Priory, 
 touching its blood-red summits with a 
 deeper glow, and leaving its quiet chambers 
 yet more still. Nothing in that secluded 
 dell — the casket of one of Time's fairest 
 jewels — is now heard, save the unceasing 
 song of the pebbly brook, which had for 
 centuries laved its western wall — unceasing, 
 and yet so various ; for had it not spoken of 
 something different to all human ears that 
 had cared to listen to it, for unnumbered 
 generations ! To the swineherd, before one 
 sacred stone there was laid upon another, 
 of some fair serf-girl, who should be his 
 comfort yet, notwithstanding his scanty dole 
 and many stripes ; to the noble founder, of
 
 73 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 condonation or forgiveness for many a pas- 
 sionate and tyrannous deed ; to the monks, 
 let us hope, as its clear waters hurried to the 
 neighbouring sea, of that Eternity to which 
 their own pure lives were as surely tending. 
 While walls decayed and creeds outwore 
 themselves, it had still flowed on, continuous 
 accompaniment to all human thoughts and 
 hopes : lover and mourner, pleasure-seeker 
 and student, had still been soothed or sad- 
 dened by its gentle strain, had seen in its 
 lucent mirror the wavering image of their 
 future, or the more steadfast presentment of 
 their past. 
 
 There is one standing by it now, listening 
 and gazing, like the rest : an old man, to 
 judge by his thin gray hairs and broken 
 looks, and a poor one certainly. He is in 
 rags ; his shoes are gaping so that they show 
 his stockingless and blistered feet, and, 
 perhaps to cool them, instead of using the 
 little wooden bridge, he presently steps into
 
 AFTER LONG YEARS. 79 
 
 the stream, and wades across. So still it is 
 that the plash of every footfall wakes a 
 slumberous echo in the ruined fane. He 
 approaches the door and listens, then pulls 
 the bell, which clangs and creaks unan- 
 swered. 
 
 " Grange has gone home, and for all I 
 know, to his long home," muttered the old 
 man. " I will try his cottage, or what used 
 to be his cottage, for meat and drink I must 
 have. As for sleeping, I can come back and 
 sleep here ; I daresay the roof still holds 
 above the chapter-house ; and whether it 
 does or not, is the same to me. Even if it 
 rain, that will not spoil my clothes." He 
 spoke with bitterness, and the expression of 
 his face was hard and scornful; but pre- 
 sently, as he stood still and listened, it grew 
 milder. 
 
 " Why should I be angry ? " murmured 
 he. "I am come here for my pleasure, the 
 only pleasure — God help me ! — I have had
 
 80 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 for many a year. If it is selfish so to do, it 
 is scarcely sinful, as my old pleasures were. 
 I will run no risk ; there shall not be the 
 least imprudence ; but I must see my 
 Katie's face before I die. It is not much to 
 
 ask of her in return for Bah ! it is no 
 
 use trying to deceive one's self; I am a 
 rogue, let me look at myself from which 
 side I will." He sat down on one of the 
 moss-grown steps outside the door, and fell 
 a-musing. " She must be twenty now, and 
 beautiful — I will answer for it — though they 
 did use to say she was growing like her 
 father. I should no more know her than 
 she would know me. The last time we 
 were together, I carried her across this very 
 stream : how she laughed, and chatted, and 
 covered my face with her sweet k 
 Alas, alas ! " He hid his lace in his large 
 sunburned palms, and groaned aloud ; then 
 sweeping one across his eyes, resumed : 
 " We had a picnic here that day — my fare-
 
 AFTER LONG YEARS. 81 
 
 well to champagne for ever. Thanks to it, 
 my spirits were excellent. Nobody guessed 
 that I was worse than a beggar by five 
 thousand pounds of honest debt, and thrice 
 that money owed to sharpers. What a 
 frightful fool was I to bring myself to such a 
 pass ! How could I do it ? And yet it was 
 not all my fault : no, not all mine. That 
 cursed Sir Nicholas ! The thief, the traitor ! 
 I have sold many men, myself; overreached 
 them, lied to them {cheated them, some 
 would say), but my friend, never ! The 
 dirty villain ! Then, when we broke, to 
 punish me through my poor darling Katie ! 
 To burn his will ! " Here some remem- 
 brance seemed to tickle the old man, and he 
 uttered a low chucklino: laugh. " Well, 
 that's over, I suppose. He has made 
 another long since, I do not doubt. I 
 wonder who is heir? Most likely, his 
 nephew Richard : a bad lot by this time, I 
 guess, if at least the boy is father to the
 
 82 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 man. He must be nearing middle age. 
 How strange it seems — to be in the world, 
 
 and yet not of it ! — to mark how it wag 
 when a man is dead, as though he Lad never 
 lived. — Ah, but these wel rags strike cold ! 
 Well, that will help to shorten matters, 
 
 perhaps. I have gone through what would 
 have killed other men thrice over, during 
 these last years, but the iron frame begins to 
 ereak at last ; and I would it were i 1 1 
 pieces." Here he rose, and slowly climbed 
 the footpath towards the village, pausing 
 once at the gap in the old deer-park wall to 
 mutter: "Susan, I will not see; there 
 would be risk in that — but only Katie,"
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 
 
 When the gate-keeper and his daughter 
 left the ruins at the usual hour for closing, 
 and after the visitors had departed in a 
 different order from that in which they 
 came — first Richard Anstey; then Maurice, 
 with the two ladies ; and lastly the curate — 
 there were traces of recent sorrow on Mary's 
 face. Her voice was studiously cheerful ; 
 but her movements, less agile and childlike 
 than customary, had already caused her 
 father to inquire what ailed her. He had 
 kissed her cheek, but she had made haste to 
 dry the tear that lay there, and even his 
 instinct failed to inform him of her red eyes 
 and downcast look. It was not the first 
 time that Madam's cousin — the nearesi 
 
 G 2
 
 84 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 relative of the family to whom she and her 
 lather owed their bread — had offered her a 
 rudeness. He had persecuted the poor girl 
 with his unwelcome attentions with a per- 
 sistence possible only to a clown by nature, 
 with a heart of stone. His pretensions to 
 the hand of Miss Kate Irby interposed no 
 obstacle ; his views were liberal, and his 
 tastes catholic, as respected women; even 
 the propinquity of the lawful object of his 
 affections made, as we have seen, no sort of 
 difference with him, any more than with the 
 stage-gallant, who does not hesitate to flirt 
 with his mistress's maid, almost under the 
 lady's very eyes. 
 
 Mr. Eichard Anstey honestly believed 
 that the daughters of the lower classes were 
 created for his pleasure, and even that his 
 condescension could not be otherwise than 
 gratifying to its objects, however a] >pearan< es 
 might seem to point the other way. It is not 
 uncommon with gentlemen in his position to
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 85 
 
 labour under the same mistake. Delicately 
 sensitive to the least rudeness offered to 
 their own female relatives, and microscopi- 
 cally careful of their reputation for courage, 
 their behaviour with respect to young 
 women in social grades below their own is 
 habitually base and cowardly. Nor is it so 
 easy as it may seem for their victims to 
 resent such persecutions. To conceal their 
 occurrence, which a modest girl is naturally 
 inclined to do, is of course to encourage 
 repetition ; to publish it, is not only certain 
 to draw down upon her the most unpleasant 
 animadversions — especially from those of 
 her own sex and station — but may be 
 productive of the most distressing conse- 
 quences. 
 
 In Mary's case, for instance, she was 
 aware that Mr. Anstey aspired to Miss 
 Irby's hand, and for all that she knew, that 
 young lady — whose mother owned the 
 priory, as well as their little cottage, and to
 
 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 whom they were under many obligations — 
 
 was not unwilling to bestow it on him. To 
 complain that Mr. Richard had chucked her 
 
 under the chin, and tried to kiss her, would 
 have been to break off the match upon 
 which Mrs. Irby, at all events, was known 
 to have set her heart. Still more did she 
 dread the effect of such intelligence upon 
 her blind father : it would have gone well 
 nigh to kill him to hear that his Mary was 
 subject to such rudenesses. So she had 
 borne with them without complaint, only 
 shewing, unmistakably, as she imagined, to 
 their inflicter the contempt and abhorrence 
 with which they inspired her. Richard 
 Anstey, not perceiving, let us hope, how 
 helplessly she was tied and bound, had 
 taken enforced silence for something like 
 consent to his attentions, and had pursued 
 them with more and more of impudence, 
 until that occasion we have described, when 
 he found himself confronted by the church
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 87 
 
 militant, and prostrated by the secular arm. 
 His conduct towards this innocent lamb had 
 not gone unnoticed by the lynx-eyed shep- 
 herd of the Blondel Parva flock. Some 
 trivial circumstance had long ago awakened 
 the curate's suspicion ; his sacred calling of 
 course more than justified interference, and 
 he had gone to Mrs. Irby, and stated very 
 temperately (and putting a great restraint 
 upon himself in doing so) the nature of his 
 misgivings. Perhaps too temperately. That 
 lady had treated the matter lightly. The 
 curate, she averred, was mistaken ; or, at 
 most, she was sure that Eichard meant 
 nothing more than a harmless flirtation. It 
 would be most injudicious to treat such 
 an affair gravely, or even to mention it 
 at all ; nay, she begged, as a particular 
 favour to herself, that no stir should be 
 made about it. 
 
 After this, the Eev. Charles Milton re- 
 solved to act upon his own responsibility,
 
 88 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 and no wolf was ever watched by sheep-dog 
 more vigilantly than Richard Anstey was 
 watched by him. His ecclesiastical training 
 had in no way chilled his blood, nor 
 hindered it, on sufficient occasion, from 
 rising to boiling-heat at the shortest notice ; 
 and the occasion had arisen, as has been 
 hinted, in the ruins of Blondel Prior}'. In 
 his college-days he had not been without 
 distinction for hitting out straight from the 
 shoulder, and never at refractory bargee 
 upon reedy Cam had he struck a blow more 
 potent (or, it must be confessed, one which 
 gave him a tenth of the pleasure) than that 
 which took Mr. Richard Anstey exactly 
 between the eyes, and levelled him with the 
 grassy floor. 
 
 Bichard had picked himself up as soon as 
 he was permitted to do so, and pressing his, 
 handkerchief to his face, had quitted the 
 priory without a word. .Maurice had found 
 him at the manor-house, looking rather pale,
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 89 
 
 but perfectly composed, and accounting for 
 his having left the party by the statement 
 (not far from fact) that he had been seized 
 with a sudden and violent attack of bleeding 
 at the nose. The curate had looked about 
 for his friend, and discovering his departure, 
 had gone home, not displeased to find him- 
 self at leisure to reflect alone upon what had 
 happened, although he had already resolved, 
 for the young girl's sake, to say nothing of 
 the matter, unless Mr. Anstey should compel 
 him to do so. 
 
 "You will not be troubled any more, I 
 hope, Mary," was what he had said to the 
 gate-keeper's daughter, as he left the ruins. 
 But Mary answered nothing. It is very 
 embarrassing for a young female parishioner 
 to thank her spiritual pastor for knocking 
 down the lover of her young mistress (for 
 such in fact Kate was), and indeed the 
 curate himself was not so perfectly satisfied 
 with the achievement when his blood began
 
 90 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 to cool. The poor girl shed many a Lit 
 tear, for she felt that the trouble might not 
 be over, but far otherwise. Moreover, she 
 felt shame, almost as scathing as though she 
 had earned it by some misconduct of her 
 own. Kate had not spoken beyond the 
 truth when she said that the gate-keepe 
 daughter was more sensitive than herself 
 The pride of kings, as that of all other folks 
 which springs from mere social elevation, 
 may be humbled ; power and its sycophants, 
 wealth and its parasites, all the appliances of 
 state and luxury, may be suddenly snatched 
 away, and leave their late possessor eclipe 
 and abject; and yet there nerd not be felt 
 one pang of shame. But intelligence crushed 
 under the heel of ignorant force, virtue out- 
 raged by brutal viee* these writhe and wince. 
 tormented to the quick. There is no pride 
 that suffers from slighl or tall as theirs does. 
 For once, it almost seemed well to Man- 
 Grange that she had a blind man for her
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 91 
 
 father : she felt thankful to be able to 
 conceal from him her burning cheeks, her 
 dewy eyes, the shame and grief that were 
 stamped, she knew, upon her every feature, 
 as they sat together at home that eventful 
 evening, and conversed as usual. 
 
 Though very small, their cottage, set on 
 the outskirts of a coppice that crowned the 
 hill above the priory, was both comfortable 
 and picturesque. It had a gay fringe of 
 garden, and a pretty porch, scarcely less 
 brilliant with sweet-scented creepers ; while 
 within, it was not only scrupulously clean, 
 but furnished in a manner much superior to 
 dwellings of its class. A charming water- 
 colour picture of the ruins, executed by 
 Kate herself, hung over the chimney-piece ; 
 and rows of neatly-arranged books — the 
 modest bindings of which evidenced much 
 use — lined the white walls. Flowers, too, 
 were almost as numerous within as with- 
 out; all chosen by Mary for their odour,
 
 92 BLOXDEL rARYA. 
 
 not for beauty, since fragrance was their 
 only attribute which her father could 
 enjoy. 
 
 The gate-keeper was curious about new 
 people; and it was often his daughter's 
 nightly task to describe to him the personal 
 appearance of those who had visited the 
 priory during the day. 
 
 It was most disagreeable to Mary that she 
 had to supply, on this particular occasion, a 
 categorical description of the very man 
 whose hateful image she was endeavouring 
 to banish from her thoughts ; but so it 
 happened. Richard Anstey had stayed at 
 Blonde! Parva years ago, when he was a 
 mere lad, and the gate-keeper had been not 
 unacquainted with him; but during his 
 present visit, the young man had not 
 chanced to visit the ruins before that after- 
 noon ; he had me1 .Mary elsewhere, mostly 
 in the coppice that lay between the cottage 
 and the village : ecclesiastical edifices of all
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 93 
 
 sorts, whether in repair or decay, were 
 altogether out of his line. 
 
 "What sort of man has Mr. Eicharcl 
 grown to, Mary ? " inquired the blind 
 man. 
 
 "He is tall, and strongly-built, an^ he 
 has good features, father." 
 
 " But not good looks, eh ? So I thought, 
 child." 
 
 " Nay, father; I daresay some folks might 
 think him very good-looking." 
 
 " His voice is not improved," mused the 
 blind man ; " it is harsh and tyrannical. I 
 trust, Mary, he will never become our 
 master." 
 
 Mary shuddered, and all her wan face 
 cried " Amen ! " but she did not trust herself 
 to speak. 
 
 " Do you think that Miss Kate really 
 loves him ? " pursued the blind man medi- 
 tatively ; "or is it only Madam who wishes 
 her to do so ? "
 
 94 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " I do not know, father, I have scarcely 
 even seen them together except at church." 
 
 "And I never, save to-day, child. Yet 
 one can make a guess. I have heard her 
 speak of him oftentimes, and even that tells 
 something." 
 
 " That is so like you, dear father:" she 
 laid her taper fingers on the old mans hand 
 with n playful and affectionate grace. " I 
 was telling Mr. Milton only this very day 
 how much more you think you see than 
 other folks ; and we agreed that you were 
 growing very conceited." 
 
 " Ah, the curate ! " murmured the blind 
 man : the rayless eyes looked, as usual, 
 straight before them; but the head here 
 turned aside with the expectant ear ready 
 to catch the slightest modulation in his 
 daughters tone. " So you were having a 
 talk with the curate to-day, were you, 
 Mary?" 
 
 " Yes, father : at least, that is " — she
 
 THE BLIND MAN AT HOME. 95 
 
 blushed and hesitated — " he and his friend 
 met me as I was returning to the priory, 
 and we walked together a little way." 
 
 " Just so. And the friend, this Mr. G-lyn 
 — he that bought half my stock in trade — 
 that young man with the good heart (so 
 much, I know) — what is he like, child ? " 
 
 "He has a sharp, thin face, father, oval 
 as Miss Kate's, and his eyes are even softer 
 than hers; but he is very dark. His features 
 are good enough ; yet it is his expression 
 which strikes you most ; so frank, so in- 
 telligent. I think, as you say, that he must 
 have a good heart. " 
 
 " So my Mary has fallen in love with the 
 curate's friend, eh ? " said the blind man, 
 smiling. " Come, tell me the truth. He is 
 very handsome." 
 
 " No, father, I cannot say that." 
 
 " Well, as handsome as the curate. 
 Come." 
 
 Eose-red the lily turned from chin to
 
 1)0 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 brow, and the delicate ears grew pink as the 
 lips of the murmuring sea-shell. "Yes/' 
 said she, " handsomer than he." 
 
 " Indeed ! And handsomer than Mr. 
 Richard?" 
 
 " Much, father." 
 
 " Then Miss Kate may yet make a better 
 choice ; and, as far as a blind man may 
 
 judge Who knocks ? Who is that at 
 
 the door, child?" 
 
 Pale as a sheet, the girl tottered to the 
 window, and looked forth. Her heart beat 
 fast with the dread of seeing that hated face 
 of which her father had just spoken on the 
 other side of the pane. But her alarm was 
 groundless. " It is an old beggar-man," 
 said she; "he looks very wan and wretched, 
 but not harmful." 
 
 " Let him in, child, and give him of what 
 we have. I am old myself, and may be a 
 beggar yet, for aught I know."
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 
 
 " God bless you, pretty damsel, for open- 
 ing your door to a poor wretch like me," said 
 the incomer in the whining tone peculiar to 
 the professional mendicant. " Most people 
 shoot their bolts against such as I am, after 
 nightfall." 
 
 " We are not afraid of any evil-doers here 
 in Blondel," observed the gate-keeper stur- 
 dily ; " and although I be a blind man, I can 
 use my staff upon occasion. — Sit down, 
 fellow, and if you can eat bread and cheese, 
 with new milk to wash them down, you 
 shall have them. — Where do you come from 
 and whither are you going ? " 
 
 "I thank you for your hospitality; but 
 as for your questions, they are easier asked 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 BLONDEL FARVA. 
 
 than answered," returned the beggar grimly. 
 " Like Satan, I come from going to and fro 
 on the earth, and from walking up and 
 down in it." 
 
 " Like Satan, too, it seems you can quote 
 Scripture/' rejoined the other gravely ; 
 " though holy writ is not for heedless use. — 
 Are you in search of work ? " 
 
 " Work ! " echoed the beggar scornfully. 
 " Ask your fair daughter, blind man, whether 
 I look like a worker. — Tell him what you see, 
 girl, without fear of wounding my feelings. 
 A ragged wretch, old and broken, such as no 
 farmer would look at twice, in haytime or 
 harvest, unless it were to set his dog at him. 
 Is it not so ? n 
 
 " He looks ill, and worn, and old," 
 Mary, thus appealed to. 
 
 "Ay, and famished with hunger, save for 
 these last five minutes. You say right, girl. 
 ■ — I drink your good health in milk, Mr. 
 Gate-keeper — and yours, pretty lass — since
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 99 
 
 malt liquor seems to be scarce in these 
 parts." 
 
 " I am sorry we have no beer," observed 
 Mary simply ; " but you need not spare the 
 milk. Madam is so good as to let us have a 
 cow entirely for our own use ; and when 
 cream and milk are not much wanted for 
 picnic parties at the priory — which is the case 
 at present — we have more than we need." 
 
 " And who is this Madam who is so good 
 to you ? " inquired the stranger carelessly, 
 and proceeding with his repast like one who 
 has not had his fill for many a day. 
 
 " Mrs. Irby of the manor-house : she 
 owns the ruins and all about here; and a 
 better mistress is not to be found." 
 
 " Ah ! She is a widow, I conclude, since 
 you don't speak of her husband." 
 
 ' Yes. Mr. Irby, poor man, was drowned 
 years and years ago." 
 
 " And she has children, I reckon ; for that 
 mostly makes people tender-hearted." 
 
 H 2
 
 100 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " She has one daughter." 
 
 " Good. I like manor-houses without a 
 master, and where there is a young lad}'. 
 It is at such places — next to the cottages of 
 charitable poor folks like yourselves — that 
 we beggars get most given to us. Is the 
 young lady kind as she is beautiful ? Y< >u 
 did not say she was beautiful, I know, but 
 that is our professional way of talking. 
 ' Good lady, be kynd as you are beautiful ; 
 and, for the love of Heaven (or of the Blessed 
 Virgin, if we are in Ireland), give us a 
 copper ; ' notwithstanding that she may be 
 as old and ugly as the devil." 
 
 There was a savage irony in the old man's 
 tone which strongly contrasted with his 
 former lachrymose style, though the gate- 
 keeper did not seem to mark it : always ap- 
 prehensive for the future, and perhaps re- 
 minded by the mendicant's talk of the penury 
 which might one day be his own, the blind 
 man sat with unchanging, though not inatten-
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 101 
 
 tive face, and kept silence without sign. 
 Mary, on the other hand, resented the speaker s 
 words with something like indignation. 
 
 " Miss Kate Irby does not happen, how- 
 ever, to be either old or ugly, but the reverse 
 of both," said she ; " and she is very kind- 
 hearted also, although, it is true, not easily 
 imposed upon." 
 
 "Don't be angry, pretty lass," returned 
 the beggar, smiling ; "I had no intention to 
 offend in what I said. I shall not impose 
 upon your young lady, I promise you, unless 
 to ask for sixpence is an imposition. It is 
 part of our trade to gather all the informa- 
 tion we can respecting those whom we intend 
 to honour with a call." 
 
 " Is that how you found out I was the 
 gate-keeper ? " inquired the blind man, break- 
 ing silence after a long interval. 
 
 " Of course it was, good sir. And now, 
 in your turn, I have got your daughter here, 
 to tell me something of these Kirbies — or
 
 102 BLONDEL PAIIVA. 
 
 Irbies, is it ? — which may get me a meal and 
 a shilling to-morrow up at the great house. 
 Poor people should always help one another, 
 although, indeed, I should not say that here; 
 first, because you have already treated me so 
 well ; and secondly, because I have no right 
 to place you in the same category with a 
 poor devil like myself." 
 
 " Category is a Ions word for a beggar- 
 man to use so glibly," observed the blind 
 man quietly, looking a very Dionysius 
 chamber — all ear. 
 
 " Ah, now that tells me, that you have 
 never been on the tramp yourself," returned 
 the mendicant coolly. " Scripture and long- 
 words are the very commodities we deal in, 
 and our correspondence, in particular, is 
 chokefull of texts and quotations. — But 
 talking of these K irbies or Irbies, my pretty 
 damsel, is this young lady grown up ? If so, 
 being such as you describe her, she ought 
 to have a suitor, if not half-a-dozen."
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 103 
 
 "It is not for me to talk to a stranger 
 about Miss Kate's affairs/' returned Mary 
 stiffly ; "but anybody in the village will tell 
 you this much, that her cousin, Mr. Eichard 
 Anstey, wishes to marry her." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said the mendicant care- 
 lessly. " There was a gentleman of that 
 name in Sussex, not very far from here : 
 Anstey Court he lived at, and he was a 
 baronet. I have had good victuals given to 
 me in that house years ago." 
 
 " That is Sir Nicholas Anstey, this young 
 gentleman's uncle," said Mary. " He is now 
 dangerously ill ; I heard Madam say this 
 evening that Mr. Eichard had to go to 
 Swinlake by the mail-train to-night in 
 consequence." 
 
 " I suppose, then, he expects to be heir, 
 eh ? Just as in foreign parts where I have 
 been, the vulture comes flapping from the 
 sky to attend the dying — that is, for the 
 pickings."
 
 104 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " Let us hope that this man goes not only 
 for them" answered Mary reprovingly, un- 
 willing to seem to approve, by silence, of so 
 harsh a speech, though uttered against one 
 whom she had so little cause to defend. 
 
 "Let us hope so, by all means," rep] Led 
 the beggar cynically, " I have never known 
 any harm come of hopings, although much of 
 expectations." 
 
 There was an embarrassing silence. The 
 stranger's mocking tone froze Mary dumb ; 
 she seemed to perceive in him a wicked 
 man, whom deserved penury and crosses 
 had only hardened and embittered. 
 
 " You spoke just now of foreign parts,'" 
 observed the gate-keeper suddenly; "have 
 you travelled much abroad ? " 
 
 " Yes. When I told you I was a wan- 
 derer on the earth, I might have added, and 
 on the seas also. You have heard of 
 Citizens of the World ; well, I am one of 
 those, except that I have scarcely possessed
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 105 
 
 the rights of citizenship. I am a Vagabond 
 of the World : like Cain, yon may say, 
 perhaps, only I never had a younger brother; 
 nor, what is worse, and offers much greater 
 temptation to fratricide, an elder one. Yes, 
 man, I have travelled far, both east and 
 west ; and that reminds me that I have 
 come a long day's march — half the way 
 from town — since morning, and my old 
 bones are weary. Is there any shelter that 
 I can creep into for to-night 1 " 
 
 In the little cottage, there was no room, 
 absolutely none, where this man could be 
 put. The farmers about Blondel, as Mary 
 was well aware, most strongly objected to 
 any tramp sleeping in their barns ; and yet 
 she did not venture to utter the words : 
 " There is the workhouse." There was 
 about their visitor, abject and homeless 
 though he confessed himself to be, a 
 certain grotesque but genuine dignity which 
 forbade it.
 
 106 BLONDEL PABVA. 
 
 There ensued a pause more awkward than 
 any which had preceded it. Why did not 
 
 her father — generally by no means scant of 
 speech — explain how matters stood ? She 
 was on the point of framing an excuse for 
 their apparent want of hospitality, when the 
 stranger himself relieved her from embar- 
 rassment. 
 
 "I know you cannot take me in here, Mr. 
 Gate-keeper ; but you could let me sleep in 
 the priory, could you not ? There are no 
 silver candlesticks, nor any communion-plate 
 there, I reckon, nor — so far as I could see 
 as I came along — so much as a morsel of 
 painted glass to tempt a poor fellow. Even 
 if I was one of those gentry who strip the 
 lead off roofs, I should do no harm there. 
 Come, I only ask for bare walls and a bed 
 of grass." 
 
 Notwithstanding her prejudice against 
 him, Mary could not but pity this poor 
 houseless wretch, thus humbly pleading for
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 107 
 
 so small a boon, and the more so since she 
 was well convinced that it would not be 
 granted. No verger of St. George's Chapel 
 could have regarded that splendid fane with 
 a greater reverence than the gate-keeper paid 
 to his own ruined charge ; and she knew 
 that a man might just as well have asked 
 permission of the former official to occupy 
 for the ni^ht one of the stalls of the Knights 
 of the Garter, as have made that request to 
 her father which she had just heard. 
 
 What was her surprise, then, when the 
 latter answered, in a grave slow voice : 
 " The accommodation you demand is cer- 
 tainly not good, yet it is better than you 
 think for. There is a small room which 
 Madam has had roofed in for us, just within 
 the gateway, as a shelter in wet weather, 
 and you can sleep there, if you will." 
 
 Here the blind man rose, and took down 
 the giant key that hung beside the chimney- 
 piece.
 
 JOS BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " I will show you the place myself," con- 
 tinued he. — "You need not come with us, 
 child. I shall be back soon." 
 
 The young girl, accustomed to obedience, 
 expressed no astonishment; but returning 
 the stranger's grateful farewell, opened the 
 cottage-door for the departing pair. She 
 watched them, through the gathering gloom, 
 wind down the narrow path towards the 
 ruins — the blind leading the seeing — and 
 cross the little bridge ; then they were hid 
 from sight. 
 
 Who could he be, this beggar-man, who 
 had thus persuaded her father to grant so 
 unparalleled and distasteful a request ? 
 
 So long did she wait for the blind man's 
 return, that she began to grow uneasy, not- 
 withstanding that he was well accustomed 
 to go out alone. She had even thrown her 
 shawl round her shoulders, in order to go 
 forth, when his familiar step at last was 
 heard.
 
 SUPPER AND LODGING. 109 
 
 "What a long time you have been, father ! 
 I almost began to get nervous about you, 
 alone with that strange man." 
 
 " Silly child," said he tenderly ; " who 
 would hurt a blind man ? The poor fellow's 
 clothes were wet, so we had to light a fire : 
 that is what detained me." 
 
 " Light a fire ! " thought Mary. " Why, 
 he will not suffer even the quality who come 
 a-gipsying to boil a kettle within the priory 
 walls, unless by Madam's special license ! " 
 She could scarcely believe her ears. 
 
 What with thinking of what had happened 
 that afternoon concerning herself, as well as 
 upon this late occurrence, Mary by no means 
 fell asleep that night, as was her wont, 
 almost as soon as her dainty head touched 
 the coarse pillow. Hence it was that she 
 slept later than usual. When she rose, her 
 father was already up and out. Presently, 
 she saw him returning, as if from the ruins, 
 with an empty cup and platter, which she
 
 110 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 watched him carefully wash and put away 
 in their places. It was evident that he had 
 been to take their guest of the previous 
 night his breakfast, but did not wish it to 
 be known. It was no sin to humour a blind 
 man's wishes, and Mary made no remark 
 upon the subject. When her father and 
 herself went down to the ruins, at their 
 usual hour, the stranger — the first who had 
 used the guest-chamber there, doubtless, for 
 more than three hundred years — had gone 
 his way. 
 
 The whole affair seemed to Mary like a 
 curious dream — one of those weird ones 
 which are not dreamed and done with, but 
 recur. Involuntarily, she asked herself : 
 Should she not, one day, see that poverty- 
 stricken, but caustic and astute old man 
 again ? And something within her, equally 
 independent of her own will, seemed to 
 answer : " Yes, for certain."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE COUET-GATES. 
 
 When Richard Anstey left Blondel Parva 
 for his uncle's on the same evening which 
 introduced Maurice to the manor-house, he 
 was in by no means an enviable state of 
 mind. It is not pleasant to be knocked 
 down by anybody, but to suffer that indig- 
 nity at the hands of a clergyman is especially 
 objectionable, since — unless in the very ex- 
 ceptional case of one's being secretary to a 
 Sheffield Union— you cannot take your 
 revenge. Richard could not call his enemy 
 out, or, what was the same thing, Mr. 
 Milton could not come if he did ; nor could 
 he, under the circumstances, bring an action 
 against him, with much chance of getting 
 damages : nor could he (and of this he felt
 
 112 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 most satisfied of all) inflict condign punish- 
 ment upon him — that is, punch his head. 
 But if hate could have killed a man, such a 
 good hater was Richard Anstey, that the 
 Kev. Charles Milton would have been dead 
 already, even though, instead of being 
 curate, he were in occupation of the best 
 living of his college, and endowed with the 
 corresponding powers of vitality. 
 
 Again, although the suspicion of rivalry 
 had scarcely had time to dawn, Mr. Anstey 
 did not like the notion of leaving Maurice 
 Glyn — " Just one of those finicking fellows 
 that take so with women " — with his footing 
 within Blondel Manor already secured. 
 
 Again, Mr. Kichard's nose was tender, 
 and hurt him a good deal with its nervous 
 twitching. He owed a debt, which was not 
 of gratitude, for that, to " that hypocritical 
 little prude, the gate-keeper's daughter, con- 
 found her ! " He was no longer indifferent 
 to her disgrace. His wicked fancy for the
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 113 
 
 poor girl, though keen as ever, began to be 
 mingled with a desire for her humiliation. 
 She possessed the power of doing him a 
 great injury. Suppose, corroborated by the 
 curate, she were to publish what had really 
 happened ! His chance with Kate (he un- 
 derstood her well enough to feel) would 
 then be over. He was really enamoured of 
 his cousin, as deeply as his natural selfish- 
 ness would permit him to be ; and, besides, 
 it might be of great importance to him, in a 
 pecuniary way, to make her his wife. He 
 had spoken truth when he said his uncle 
 might have made any number of wills 
 since that by which he had made him his 
 sole heir ; and the old man had always had 
 a liking for his godchild, strongest, too, at 
 those rare times when his better nature 
 asserted itself; and now that he was sick, 
 and perhaps dying, there was no knowing to 
 what sentimental nonsense he might not 
 give way.
 
 114 BLONDEL PAHVA. 
 
 Such were the unsatisfactory reflections 
 in which the young man indulged, both on 
 the way to the station, as he sat silent on 
 the dog-cart, with his cigar clenched tightly 
 between his teeth, and also during his brief 
 railway journey. It was but fnv-and-thirty 
 miles by road and rail from Blondel Parva 
 to Swinlake, the village where his uncle's 
 house was situated ; but when he arrived 
 there it was too late to go up to the Court 
 that night. It was by no means open to 
 him, as his uncle's nearest relative, to come 
 thither or go thence as he pleased. At no 
 time had he ventured to do this, for reasons 
 that will presently appear, but least of all, 
 at a critical period such as the present. If 
 the baronet was not so ill as his informant 
 had described, or if he had got better in the 
 meantime, it was probable that he would 
 take great offence at so untimely a visit. 
 Folks in his position are commonly ex- 
 tremely jealous of their heirs (especially if,
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 115 
 
 as in this case, they are not their personal 
 favourites), and resent above all things the 
 being believed to be near their end. The 
 beggar s remark about the vulture would 
 have occurred to Sir Nicholas at once, had 
 his nephew made his uninvited appearance, 
 with kind inquiries, at 11.30 p.m., and that 
 young gentleman was much too sagacious to 
 do so. He resolved to take up his quarters 
 for the night at the village inn. 
 
 The Anstey Arms was not by any means 
 an early-closing house ; the landlord, Mr. 
 James Hoskins, secure in the good will 
 of his patron — earned years ago, it was 
 Avhispered, in ways too disreputable as well 
 as too numerous to mention — did not trouble 
 himself much about the law in that matter ; 
 and besides, Mr. Eichard was expected. It 
 was Jem Hoskins who had given him warn- 
 ing by letter of his uncle's precarious condi- 
 tion, and it was Jem himself who drove the 
 spring-cart — the only vehicle which his 
 
 i 2
 
 116 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 slender establishment possessed — which met 
 him at the Swinlake Station. 
 
 "I am deuced glad to see you, Mr. 
 Richard/' observed this worthy, confiden- 
 tially, as the young man seated himself by 
 his side. "Your uncle was took main bad 
 to-day again. He'll slip his wind this time, 
 as sure as eggs." 
 
 " Does the doctor say that, or is it only 
 your own muddle-headed notion ? " returned 
 the other, in an irritable tone. " I shan't 
 thank you, Mr. Hoskins — I can tell you 
 that — if you have brought me here on a 
 fool's errand, when I was much better en- 
 gaged." 
 
 " Oh, you are engaged, Mr. Richard, are 
 you?" inquired the landlord, waggishly. 
 " Well it's a good thing to have made sure 
 of Miss Kate, at all events." Then, per- 
 ceiving that his companion received this 
 pleasantry with a face like a thunder-cloud, 
 he added with gravity : " The doctor has said
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 117 
 
 nothing, sir, because he knows better than 
 to do so ; but, for all that, Sir Nicholas is a 
 dying man. A young man, too, as one may 
 say — not five years older than me : it is 
 enough to make one quake for fear one's-self. 
 Lord, Lord, I remember him a younger one 
 than yourself, Mr. Kichard ; and a deal more 
 gamesome." 
 
 " How do you know he is dying ? " in- 
 quired the impatient heir. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Kichard, I do know it, 
 although I have not heard it said in words. 
 Her Ladyship knows it well enough, I can 
 see, though I should not like to be the man 
 to tell her so. I saw her this very afternoon. 
 Everything goes on as usual up at the Court, 
 and there is even company there. Mr. 
 Charles has a friend there, and so has Mr. 
 Leonard." 
 
 Richard muttered a savage oath, and 
 struck his foot with violence against the 
 splash-board.
 
 118 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " There, there, sir ; don't frighten the old 
 mare. All that is coming to an end now," 
 continued the landlord, soothingly. " The 
 whole Noah's Ark of them will have to clear 
 out, and you will be where you ought to be 
 at last. Only, it is just as well you should 
 see to things yourself, and that's why I 
 wrote. That old harpy — what Sir Nicholas 
 can have seen in her for so many year-. 
 nobody knows : she is as thin as the whip- 
 ping-post she ought to be tied to, and yellow 
 as the guinea which she ought to be cut 
 off with ; yes, sir, she is black and yellow 
 (Sir Nicholas's racing colours, that's one 
 thing), like an old crow, and dresses like a 
 scarecrow, and yet what airs she gives 
 herself! — that old harpy, as I was savin-. 
 may not be satisfied even with the slice she 
 has got ; and the young ones — hers and the 
 others — have, I daresay, each got their bills 
 open crying : ' More, more ! ' although their 
 crops should be full enough. I am pretty
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 119 
 
 ♦ 
 
 sure there's mischief brewing, her Ladyship 
 looked so haggard and anxious — which, why 
 should she do, considering what has been 
 secured to her, unless she were greedy for 
 more ? But the fact is, she has no con- 
 science, and " 
 
 " The devil take her ! " interrupted Richard, 
 violently. " Why do you harp upon her, 
 when you know it annoys me ? " 
 
 " Well, you don't hate her worse than I 
 do, Mr. Richard," replied the other coolly. 
 " To hear her give her ' orders/ forsooth, 
 and lord it over those who were hand and 
 glove with Sir Nicholas when she was a 
 mere baby, makes me near to mad. Then 
 to think of such a one as she affecting 
 religion, or at all events, philanthropy 
 (which is almost as bad), and being good to 
 the poor (with your money, as it were, 
 which, I hope will be better spent some day) 
 — it's absolutely sickening. Interfering, too, 
 in the parish (she could not do worse if she
 
 120 BLONDEL PAIIYA. 
 
 was a parsons wife), and protecting people 
 (as she calls it) agin their masters and 
 betters " 
 
 " That'll do, Mr. Hoskins," interrupted 
 the young man impatiently. " I tell you I 
 won't hear her spoken of. I know well 
 enough why you are so bitter against the 
 woman ; but what's that to my wrong 1 
 She spoilt some little game of yours on one 
 occasion, did she not ? — would not permit 
 you to take advantage of unprotected inno- 
 cence, eh ? " 
 
 " Innocence be damned ! " muttered the 
 landlord sullenly. 
 
 " Well, let us hope, for your sake, it will 
 be so, and not vice versa, as is generally 
 supposed," returned the other coolly.- " But 
 that reminds me ; has Sir Nicholas sent for 
 the parson ? " 
 
 " Not he, Mr. Richard ; he hates parsons, 
 as he does lawyers, like pison ; neither of 
 them has been at the Court these many
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 121 
 
 years. No, he lias not sent for the parson ; 
 fortunately, he is a deal too game for that." 
 
 " Why fortunately, Mr. Hoskins ? " 
 
 " Did I say fortunately ? " inquired the 
 other with a look of stolidity. 
 
 " Yes, and you meant it. You think that, 
 in a moment of weakness, or perhaps of 
 terror, my uncle might confess to the parson 
 a thing or two which would implicate a 
 certain parishioner of his, who shall be 
 nameless, but who is not in very good odour 
 with the bench of magistrates already. Yes, 
 it is fortunate for you that no parson has 
 been sent for." 
 
 " That may be, or it may not," answered 
 the other, with a sneer in his turn : " at all 
 events, it is fortunate for somebody else that 
 the rector has had no chance of putting a 
 spoke in his wheel. If your uncle should 
 ask advice about his worldly affairs, as well 
 as t'other, your character don't stand over- 
 well with the clergy, I believe ; and every-
 
 122 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 body pities Miss Kate Irby, the nearest 
 relative to Sir Nicholas, except yourself, and 
 who lost so great a chance twelve years ago." 
 
 The worthy pair now kept silence, each 
 chewing his cud of bitter tli ought, till pre- 
 sently, on turning a corner of the road, the 
 little inn came into view. "Come," resumed 
 the landlord, " I didn't go for to make you 
 angry, Mr. Richard, and shouldn't ha' done 
 it, but that you began girding at me. Them 
 as lives in glass houses shouldn't throw 
 stones. However, there's no need for us to 
 quarrel ; we are both in the same boat in 
 this matter, although I pull such a little oar, 
 and you such a large one ; and that's all the 
 more reason why we should pull each other 
 round." 
 
 Mr. Richard Anstey was by no means in 
 a humour to appreciate this stroke of fancy 
 - bis nature was morose, and altogether an- 
 tagonistic to that of the jovial old sinner by 
 whose side he sat — but he was understood
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 123 
 
 to ask: "Who the blank wanted to quarrel?" 
 in a tone which, if not exactly apologetic, 
 was as near to it as it was necessary for a 
 person of his superior position to go. 
 
 Though reconcilement had thus been 
 made, Mr. James Hoskins — not altogether 
 unused to deal with fellow-creatures who 
 require delicate handling — had the tact to 
 perceive that he had furnished all the infor- 
 mation required of him, and that his further 
 companionship was not desired. Accordingly, 
 after setting forth some supper with his own 
 hands, he left his future patron alone in the 
 little private sitting-room of his establish- 
 ment ; it looked out immediately upon the 
 gates of the park, and from it the lights in 
 the sick man's residence could easily be seen 
 glimmering above the tree-tops of the long 
 avenue. The adjoining bedchamber was not 
 made use of by Mr. Richard. All night 
 long he sat at the open window, smoking 
 cigar after cigar, first picturing to himself
 
 124 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 the view he knew so well, and when the 
 moon rose, and displayed it, gazing upon 
 sward and timber, tower and turret, with 
 greedy and far-reaching eyes. The proximity 
 of the prize he coveted had altered the 
 character of his meditations, but they were 
 still far from being pleasant om 
 
 Anstey Court was indeed a stately place, 
 statelier even than befitted the rent-roll of 
 its present tenant, and how was the heir to 
 keep it up upon an income so greatly 
 diminished as he well knew, under the most 
 favourable circumstances, it was sure to be ? 
 The woman Hoskins had called " her Lady- 
 ship " (although with no legal right to that 
 title), and her little son would rob him, nay, 
 had already robbed him, of many a fair acre. 
 Charles and Leonard, too, bastards both, 
 though by different mothers, had had their 
 share. Sir Nicholas had been careful amply 
 to provide beforehand for his own flesh and 
 blood, and trusted nothing to the generosity
 
 AT THE COURT-GATES. 125 
 
 of his lawful heir. Was it possible that 
 these hateful persons were plotting still 
 further against him (Eichard), or were they 
 merely living in clover yonder as long as the 
 old man was master, content to retire, each 
 with his proper spoil, at his decease? That 
 was one suspicion that troubled Mr. Eichard. 
 Another source of anxiety was Kate Irby. 
 Had any softening influences been at work 
 since he had seen his uncle last (many 
 months ago), to induce him to remember her 
 in his will more largely 1 Suppose some 
 remorse, for instance, had caused him to 
 bequeath to her those ten thousand pounds 
 he had won so cunningly of her dead father, 
 and which Kate had spoken of as her 
 " right." What a huge cantle out of his 
 diminished heritage would that be ! He 
 would not permit himself, within sight of 
 that magnificent domain, to think it possible 
 that she could be left sole heiress, although, 
 a few hours ago, even that had appeared to
 
 12G BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 him not utterly out of the question ; and her 
 statement that she would, in such a case, 
 make ample amends, had given him comfort. 
 No, he would not contemplate such a con- 
 tingency as that. But to find Kate placed 
 in anything like affluent circumstances — in- 
 dependently of its being done at his expense 
 — that would be most unwelcome, since it 
 would make her more difficult to win. To 
 do him justice, Eichard Anstey had no con- 
 ceit with respect to his own powers of 
 pleasing. Her refusal of his hand that 
 morning had Avounded no self-esteem. He 
 had not imagined himself beloved by his 
 cousin, although he was far from guessing 
 how much she disliked him. Curiously 
 enough, notwithstanding that her own at- 
 traction for him was very strong, lie did not 
 take liking much into account when estimat- 
 ing his chances of winning Kate. He could 
 not conceive that any girl could shut her 
 eyes to practical advantages; and although
 
 AT THE COUKT-GATES. 127 
 
 he had been rejected as a man of great ex- 
 pectations, he had good hope to be looked 
 upon more favourably as Sir Eichard Anstey, 
 Bart., with a rent-roll of eight thousand a 
 year. If, at the same time, she was herself 
 poor, or, still better, in debt, as she had 
 hinted (here he made a memorandum to 
 send Hoskins to Blondel Begis, the nearest 
 town to Blondel Parva, to make private 
 inquiries as to whether the widow owed 
 money there), and if Sir Nicholas had 
 adhered to his last resolve of leaving her but 
 five hundred pounds, then his chance with 
 the girl would be almost assured ; nay, it 
 would be a deuced generous thing in. him to 
 take her. 
 
 Twice during the night, these calculations 
 or forebodings of Mr. Bicharcl were boiste- 
 rously interrupted : once came a horseman at 
 full speed down the avenue, and thundered 
 at the lodge-door to rouse the porter; and 
 once, towards morning, a carriage-and-four
 
 ]28 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 flew through the gates, which had been set 
 wide in expectation of its arrival, and tore 
 up the hill to the Court. 
 
 Eichard rightly guessed that some physi- 
 cian had been sent for on a sudden, in 
 addition to the ordinary medical attendant 
 that was retained in the house, and that the 
 end was surely drawing very near.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 "QUICK, quick." 
 
 The news that Hoskins brought up-stairs 
 with Mr. Richard's breakfast, next morning, 
 was, that Sir Nicholas " had been took with 
 a fit or summut," during the night, but had 
 since rallied considerably. The guests at 
 the Court, however, were to leave by an 
 early train, and the physician lately sum- 
 moned was still in attendance. 
 
 "They know as you are here, sir," said 
 the landlord, his manner growing perceptibly 
 more respectful as the change of patrons 
 grew more imminent. " Her Ladyship has 
 sent to beg you will step up. She was 
 about to despatch a messenger for you to 
 Blondel, when she was informed of your 
 arrival here." 
 
 VOL. T. K
 
 130 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 "Very likely indeed, I should think," 
 observed Richard, cynically. "However, 
 that reminds me, Hoskins " — and it was 
 curious how the young man's manner 
 towards his inferior had also changed since 
 (lie last few hours ; it was no longer peevish, 
 but condescendingly familiar — "if you can 
 make it convenient, I wish you to go over to 
 Blondel Eegis, and make inquiries, in a 
 quiet way, concerning Mrs. Irby's affairs. I 
 am almost afraid they are growing embar- 
 rassed. Find out whether she owes much 
 money to the trades-people ; do you under- 
 stand?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir Eichard — I beg pardon, Mr. 
 Richard." 
 
 There was no necessity to apologise for 
 the mistake. A look of gratified vanity 
 stole over the young man's face, in spite of 
 himself, though the next moment it wore its 
 habitual look of reserve and prudence. 
 
 " Who was the other witness, beside your-
 
 "QUICK, QUICK." 131 
 
 self, to that will of Sir Nicholas of which we 
 were talking the last time I was here, 
 Hoskins ? " 
 
 " Bob Dene, sir, the head gamekeeper : 
 him as was shot in Swinlake Spinney, the 
 year before last, by the poachers." 
 
 " yes, I remember — poor fellow ! " 
 returned the other carelessly. " I hope my 
 uncle provided for his family in a proper 
 manner ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Eichard, I daresay he would 
 ha' done it, if Bob had happened to be 
 married, but he was a bachelor. Not, 
 
 indeed, as that alivays " But here the 
 
 facetious landlord became conscious that his 
 pleasantry was misplaced, and cut it short 
 with a dry cough, addressed in confidence to 
 the palm of his hand. 
 
 " Well, I shall go up to the Court as soon 
 as these strangers are gone, Hoskins, and 
 not before. Their presence there at such a 
 time is absolutely indecent. — Talk of the 
 
 K 2
 
 132 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 devil, &c. &c. Here comes the wagonette 
 with the very people, if I don't mistake. 
 Umph ! Those young fellows are really not 
 ill dressed. I wonder where Charles and 
 Leonard pick up their friends ! — There now, 
 as soon as I have had my cigar, I shall stroll 
 up. And you will not forget that little 
 commission of mine, Hoskins. It is market- 
 day at Blondel Eegis, to-day, is it not ? — and 
 the very best of times to pick up any local 
 rumours — so you had better start at once." 
 
 Whereupon the obsequious landlord left 
 the room to harness the mare to the spring- 
 cart. The park-gates were still wide open, 
 suggesting thereby present calamity, like 
 those of the Temple of Janus, or the 
 authority that forgets a dying master : and 
 Eichard Anstey passed through them un- 
 observed by the porter. 
 
 " He had better look a little sharper when 
 he is in my service," muttered the young 
 man, whose vision was not so obscured by
 
 " ^TTTATr ^TTTAT. " 
 
 QUICK, QUICK. 133 
 
 grief but that lie had an eye to business. 
 " Suppose any of the deer were to get out, 
 or one of those thievish tramps get in ! " 
 
 There was no one to be seen about. In 
 the tapering avenue, his own was the only 
 shadow that crossed the chequer-work 
 thrown by branch and leaf, and the great 
 sunlit park stretched far and wide on both 
 sides, untenanted by human creature ; but 
 as he drew near to the east terrace that 
 fronted the house, fitter for some military 
 display than for the strutting to and fro of 
 the half-dozen peacocks that generally held it 
 in possession, he saw two gentlemen standing 
 together by the great hall-door. They saw 
 him too, and came slowly forward as if to 
 greet him. One was a man of middle age, 
 and the other nearly twenty years his junior; 
 the former was fair, the other dark ; they 
 had nothing in common between them 
 except the bronze upon their cheeks, the 
 result of much exposure to the elements,
 
 134 BLONDEL PARYA. 
 
 for they were both keen sportsmen ; yet 
 they were half-brothers. 
 
 " How are you, Mr. Marston ? How are 
 you, Mr. Irving ? " said Richard, carelessly. 
 
 They lifted their hats in salutation, as he 
 had done ; but Richard passed coolly on 
 fore they could make any reply. 
 
 " If they flattered themselves I was going 
 to call them Charles and Leonard not':,'' 
 soliloquised he, " they are most uncommonly 
 mistaken." 
 
 They were his uncle's sons, by different 
 mothers, and lived at the Court : the esta- 
 blishment of Sir Nicholas being patriarchal 
 in that respect, and comprehending three 
 distinct families. There was Mr. Marston, 
 who had his own apartments and 'stables; 
 Mr. Irving, who had ditto, ditto : and &he 
 whom Hoskins had satirically called "her 
 Ladyship," who ruled the house, and was in 
 her turn ruled by her little son Leopold. 
 The great outer door stood open, and
 
 " QUICK, QUICK. 135 
 
 through the inner doors of glass, Eichard 
 gazed on the huge entrance-hall, and broad 
 branching staircase, irresolute whether to 
 ring the bell or announce himself. Pre- 
 sently deciding on the latter course, he 
 pushed his way in. There was none to stop 
 him. His footsteps on the tesselated pave- 
 ment evoked only echoes. The fountain 
 was not playing — the machinery having 
 been neglected of late, as such matters are 
 apt to be in times of domestic trouble — but 
 the place was charmingly cool. The tiled 
 floor, the polished marble-lined walls, the 
 lofty ceiling — on which was represented some 
 elaborate pastoral story — the pillars that 
 supported it, and the tw^o huge malachite 
 vases, one on either side the stairs, all 
 seemed to scatter coolness, just as, without 
 doors, in that sultry forenoon, all things 
 reflected heat. To the right, and opening 
 directly on the hall, was the statue gallery, 
 a double line of graceful groups and single
 
 186 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 figures, intermingled with flowers and ferns 
 — white marble, and green leaf, and scarlet 
 blossom. Beyond it lay the picture-rooms, 
 with their brown and shining floors un- 
 carpeted, and save that there was a 
 sprinkling of arm-chairs, in which you could 
 recline and feast upon the treasures on the 
 walls, unfurnished. Here Reubens's nude 
 unblushing beauties glowed ; here Rem- 
 brandt's dusky forms grew into life and 
 light the more you gazed ; here Claude 
 would have you bask in southern sunshine ; 
 here Poussin beckoned to his shady groves. 
 Richard strode straight on, blind to all 
 triumphs of art — though not without a 
 general notion that the scenes were well set 
 forth, and the judgment sound that had 
 selected them, and a particular sense that 
 they were worth a good deal of money, and 
 would be his own in a few hours — until he 
 drew near a half-opened door, which, he 
 knew, was that of "her Ladyship's" boudoir.
 
 (( ^TT™T^ ATTT^Tr " 
 
 QUICK, QUICK. 137 
 
 Then lie trod as softly as lie could, and 
 paused, and listened. There were two 
 voices talking within — a woman's and a 
 child's — and through the hinge of the door, 
 Kichard could see the speakers. One was a 
 dark lady, with a sad and thoughtful face; her 
 age, as he knew it to be, was about thirty, but 
 she looked much more than that ; her dress 
 was simple, but not slovenly, as Hoskins had 
 implied ; her thin white fingers rested on the 
 curly head of a little boy of six, evidently 
 her own son, though his eyes were bright 
 with the anticipations of youth, while hers 
 reflected the sad experience of years. At pre- 
 sent, however, even the boy's face was grave. 
 
 " Yes, darling," answered she tenderly to 
 some question of the child's ; "he does look 
 very ill ; but he was kind to us, was he not, 
 poor papa ? " 
 
 "Yes," returned the boy, after a little 
 hesitation. "Shall I be taken to see him 
 any more ? "
 
 138 BLONDEL PAIIVA. 
 
 His mother shook her head, and turned 
 her face to the window, that he might not 
 see its look, for there was something worse 
 than sorrow on it. 
 
 " If papa dies, shall I still have my little 
 pony, mamma, and Mimmie to wait upon 
 me?" 
 
 " Hush ! Yes. Why do you ask, Iippy \ 
 You should not be thinking of such things 
 now." 
 
 " Because John once said," continued the 
 boy with childish persistence, " when he was 
 angry with me about that whip I broke, that 
 when Sir Nicholas died, you and I would have 
 to 'turn out.' What did John mean by that I " 
 
 A dangerous light gleamed in the lady's 
 eyes, and she drew herself up to her full 
 height " Did he really dare t<> say that, 
 Lippy \ " 
 
 "Yes, mamma. But I promised him not 
 to tell, only I forgot : so you must not be 
 angry with him; I like old John."
 
 "QUICK, QUICK. 139 
 
 The mother turned, and smiling, stooped 
 down, and kissed the child. 
 
 " Shall we have to leave the Court, as Mrs. 
 Placet had to leave the rectory, mamma, 
 when her husband died, and the new rector 
 came ? " 
 
 " Yes, Lippy." 
 
 "And shall you have to wear a horrid 
 widow's cap, mamma, as Mrs. Placet does % " 
 
 " No, Lippy." 
 
 Just those two words, and yet with such 
 pathetic meaning in their tone that even the 
 child was awed by it into silence. He looked 
 up with inquiring wonder into his mother's 
 face, and she sat down, and snatched him up 
 on her lap, and burst into a torrent of tears. 
 
 " It's deuced lucky she began to cry," 
 murmured Richard to himself, as he stepped 
 back with caution ; "I was afraid they 
 would have found me out, they kept so 
 precious quiet. — Ahem, ahem ! " here he 
 cleared his throat, and once more approached
 
 140 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the boudoir, but this time designedly with 
 heavy tread. He knocked sharply at the 
 door, and a voice, it would have been hard 
 to identify with that of the previous speaker, 
 bade him " Come in." 
 
 A woman's, nay, a lady's voice, but firm 
 almost to peremptoriness ; not a trace of 
 humiliation lurked within it now, and 
 scarcely a tinge of sorrow. She had expected 
 a servant's summons, and she was not one 
 to exhibit weakness before a servant. 
 
 When she saw that it was no servant, but 
 her enemy, the last shadow-skirts of her 
 depression vanished ; she was mistress of 
 herself at once, and of the situation. 
 
 " I am glad you are come, Mr. Richard/' 
 said she gravely, stretching out her hand, 
 which he took politely enough. " If I had 
 known how serious your uncle's condition 
 had been, I should have sent for you 
 before this. Up to yesterday, even, we 
 had good hopes ; but last night, and this
 
 " QUICK, QUICK. " 141 
 
 morning " She looked towards the child, 
 
 and Eichard nodded in token that he under- 
 stood her. 
 
 " Are both doctors agreed ? " inquired he. 
 
 " Both. It is a question of a few days, 
 perhaps hours; that is all. But I ana 
 thankful to say he suffers but little save 
 from want of rest. The reason why I am 
 not with him is that he has been left quite 
 alone in hopes that he may get some sleep ; 
 but it is now time that he should take his 
 medicine. Will you come with me at once 
 and see him ? — Good. — You will stay here, 
 Lippy, like a good boy, till I come back. — 
 Sir Nicholas is in the Blue Parlour ; he has 
 not been up-stairs for months." 
 
 She moved towards a doorway hung with 
 heavy curtains, which opened into another 
 picture-room, the oak-floor of which had 
 been thickly carpeted to deaden sound. As 
 she laid her fingers lightly on the handle of 
 a door upon the right, she whispered : "He
 
 142 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 lies here : you must be prepared to find your 
 uncle greatly altered." 
 
 The next moment they were in the sick 
 man's room. This was a small apartment, 
 with two windows opening upon a little 
 garden, and hung, as its name implied, with 
 blue. Except for the unseasonable fire in 
 the hearth — albeit the fever was upon the 
 patient now, and not the chill — and for the 
 presence of the bed and its occupant, it was 
 a very cheerful room ; but the exceptions 
 marred it sadly. 
 
 An old man, who had evidently once been 
 very handsome, but with wasted features, 
 and wearing that pinched look which is 
 humanity's almost universal expression when 
 near its end, lay there propped with- pillows, 
 and on a bed of down, yet with eyes that 
 hungered for their sleep in vain. 
 
 "Why did you leave me, Meg ? " exclaimed 
 he, querulously. "It is hard to be left so 
 long alone."
 
 li 
 
 QUICK, QUICK. ]43 
 
 "You sent me away yourself, Nicholas, 
 and insisted on my not returning until it 
 was time for you to take your draught." 
 
 " Did I ? Perhaps I did. I am glad you 
 are come now, at all events. I have had no 
 sleep ; I shall never sleep again. — Who is 
 that you have brought with you ? I will 
 not see either of those damned doctors 
 
 again." 
 
 "It is I, Sir Nicholas," said the young 
 man, stepping forward to the foot of the bed. 
 " I am exceedingly sorry to find you so far 
 from well." 
 
 "That is a lie, Nephew Eichard. You 
 are exceedingly pleased to find me so near 
 to death." 
 
 This remark, embarrassing under any 
 circumstances, was particularly awkward, 
 inasmuch as all present were aware that 
 it was true. 
 
 " However," continued the sick man, un- 
 graciously, " it is as well that you are come.
 
 144 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 You arc near to me, if not especially dear ; 
 and you can do no harm, thank Heaven. 
 Meg and Lippy are well provided for, and 
 also Charles and Leonard. It is quite right 
 that you should be here to take possession of 
 your own when I am gone. You will not 
 have to wait many hours. In the meantime, 
 I can dispense with your presence. — Meg, 
 give your orders that a room be prepared at 
 once for Mr. Kichard Anstey. — You need not 
 look like that, sir," cried he, excitedly. 
 " She is mistress here while the breath is in 
 my body. Moreover, she is worth ten thou- 
 sand of you ; and it is she I have wronged, 
 and not you. — Meg, he hates you, this 
 scoundrel. I will not have him about my 
 deathbed. — Do you hear me, sir ? .Go ! " 
 
 The old man spoke with such shrill vehe- 
 mence that Richard was quite alarmed. 
 Was it possible that so much vigour could 
 exist with a condition utterly hopeless ? 
 
 " I will cut you oft' with a shilling ! "
 
 )> 
 
 QUICK, QUICK. 145 
 
 screamed Sir Nicholas. — " There ; I knew 
 that would make him go ! " chuckled he, 
 the perspiration standing out on his forehead, 
 and his breath coming in painful gasps. — 
 " What a rogue that is, wench ! — Is he gone, 
 or is he listening at the door ? He was 
 always one for that. He would turn you 
 out of house and home — you and Lippy ; 
 and have you whipped, if he could. Did 
 you not see how he looked at you when I 
 said ' give orders ? ' Damn him ! I will 
 not have him here." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! Sir Nicholas." 
 
 But there was no occasion to say "Hush!" 
 now. Thoroughly prostrated by that access 
 of passion, the sick man closed his eyes, and 
 seemed to sink into the pillow. The lady 
 whom he had called Meg bent over him, not 
 indeed with love, but with that pity which 
 is near akin to it, and smoothed the sheet 
 about his shoulders, and touched his forehead 
 with some cool and fragrant mixture. She 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 116 BLONDEL PARYA. 
 
 sat down behind the bed-curtain, and 
 
 watched until his breathing shewed that 
 exhaustion had induced sleep, then noise- 
 lessly withdrew to where she had left her 
 little son. A wife worthy of the name 
 would not perhaps have done so ; yet she 
 was only obeying the doctor's orders. Want 
 of sleep was the chief torture from which the 
 baronet was now suffering ; and narcotics, 
 instead of alleviating, only seemed to aggra- 
 vate his painful and unnatural wakefulness. 
 If she remained with him now, it was pos- 
 sible she might be summoned from without, 
 and a knock at the door, however gentle, 
 would have roused him instantly. A silken 
 cord lay on the coverlet, communicating with 
 ,-! bell in her own apartment, and she placed 
 it carefully close to his wasted lingers, before 
 she loft the room. 
 
 A soft west wind came in at an open 
 window, bearing, with the scent of the flowers, 
 the dreamy caw of the rooks on the gently
 
 "quick, quick." 147 
 
 swaying elms, and the slumbrous coo of the 
 wild pigeon from the more distant woods ; 
 otherwise, all was silent, save for that 
 laboured breathing which was so soon to be 
 stilled. 
 
 Was it the snapping of a twig without ? 
 or the alighting of a bird upon the window- 
 sill ? Or did some far-off door in that 
 stately mansion undutifully jar, and rouse 
 its master ? Some slight noise, he knew not 
 what, had smitten suddenly on the sick 
 man's ear, and awakened him thoroughly. 
 Was it long, or only a little time — was it an 
 hour or a minute, that he had been asleep 
 and alone ? — All was quite still, but the mis- 
 chief had been done. It seemed to him now, 
 indeed, that he should never get to sleep 
 again until the last sleep of all. And yet he 
 would not ring for Meg. He was not in 
 absolute pain, and the best chance for those 
 aching eyes to close was for him to remain 
 alone. But they did not close : they stared 
 
 l2
 
 US BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 through that open window upon the brilliant 
 garden-plot with its pleasant arbour and 
 surrounding shrubbery, and beheld many 
 things beside. 
 
 They looked forth upon a wasted life — a 
 life of sensual and selfish pleasure, and be- 
 yond it upon Death the Avenger. It had 
 been Sir Nicholas Anstey's boast that he 
 could never be frightened by a priest ; and 
 indeed his was not that Deathbed of the In- 
 fidel of which most of us have read, if few 
 have seen : but he was come to that place — 
 the last stage of human travel — from whence 
 men strain their eyes into the past, in hopes 
 to find some ground of comfort. His me- 
 mory, flitting from scene to scene of vice and 
 dissipation, strove in vain to light, on some 
 oasis in that now arid desert, which had 
 once seemed so rich with fruit and bright 
 with blossom, on which to rest, if but for a 
 little space, and fold in peace its wearied 
 wing ; some act of charity ; some deed of
 
 "QUICK, QUICK." ]49 
 
 unselfish kindliness ; the recollection of some 
 well-doing, however slight and transient. 
 But alas ! it could find none. The long ac- 
 count of his evil passions and their reckless 
 gratification lay open before him, with no- 
 thing on the per contra side — only a blank 
 page, which there was now no time to in- 
 scribe with the exercise of a single virtue. 
 He had known ruined gamblers — men he 
 had helped to ruin — with the alternative of 
 suicide or a life of wretched penury before 
 them, to indulge for one last evening, ere 
 they chose the former, in some wild debauch ; 
 but even this was denied to him. He had 
 not the strength to lift a glass of wine to his 
 lips, far less did he possess the power of en- 
 joying it. His fortune indeed was his own, 
 and would remain so while his breath was 
 yet in his body, and even after it would 
 serve for speech ; it was his own " for life." 
 — What a perpetuity of existence had that 
 phrase once conveyed ; and now it was
 
 150 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 dwindled to a few painful hours ! — Nay, it 
 was his own still further, for he could be- 
 queath it to whom he pleased by will. He 
 had been wont to take credit to himself for 
 leaving his illegitimate offspring well pro- 
 vided for, and not neglecting them, like 
 other men of the world he knew, but he had 
 come to that pass when he could no longer 
 impute to himself a virtue without car 
 It was not such a very generous action, after 
 all, to enrich his own flesh and blood at the 
 expense of an heir whom he disliked ; and 
 as for what he had given to Meg, he had 
 never ventured to congratulate himself upon 
 that arrangement, even in his most compla- 
 cent moods. If he had given her all, he 
 could never have made up for what he had 
 taken away from her ; for the bitter wrong 
 he had inflicted, the base deception he had 
 practised, the villany with which he had 
 repaid her for her simple trust. The world, 
 indeed, if the matter had been canvassed in
 
 "quick, quick. 151 
 
 society, would probably have taken his side, 
 and discredited his victim's story, but what 
 could that avail him now ? No one knew 
 but he — not even the woman herself, else 
 how could she have forgiven him ? — the 
 utter heartlessness of his falsehood, the pas- 
 sionless premeditation of his crime. Many 
 a fair one's face, whose brightness he had 
 changed to shadow, and whose smile to 
 tears, thronged unbidden and unwelcome 
 before his restless gaze, but none with such 
 rebuke in it as hers — the daughter of his 
 companion and familiar friend, intrusted 
 
 with dying lips to his protecting care 
 
 Whose face ivas that at the window ? 
 Whose eyes had looked into his own but for 
 one instant, yet all sufficient for mutual 
 recognition ? 
 
 In the physical reality of the vision, his 
 reason refused to believe. Had the devil 
 indeed thus summoned him in the person of 
 a messenger whose credentials he could not
 
 152 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 dispute ? or was it a figment of his disordered 
 brain ? were the alternatives which presented 
 themselves. It was the face of another dead 
 companion to whom lie had done a wrong 
 only less base and perfidious than to Meg's 
 father, and one which had had, indirectly, 
 fatal consequences. 
 
 Sir Nicholas had always held that Eobert 
 Irby, being almost penniless, and grievously 
 oppressed with debt, had drowned himself 
 designedly, in order that his family should 
 reap the benefit of his heavy insurances. It 
 was just the sort of half-chivalrous, half- 
 scoundrelly action which would have recom- 
 mended itself to a character, at the same 
 time affectionate and unprincipled, like that 
 of Irby. And the thing that had originally 
 sapped his fortune, and eventually brought 
 him to that unhappy end, was the loss of 
 those ten thousand pounds of which his 
 friend had so treacherously robbed him. 
 This deed was not in reality the worst by
 
 "QUICK, QUICK. 153 
 
 many that could be laid at the sick man's 
 door, but it was the one which the baronet 
 had always found most difficulty in recon- 
 ciling with his conscience, easy and pliable 
 though it was ; it was a crime that should 
 have been out of the catalogue of the offences 
 of a man of his quality, one repugnant even 
 to that elastic code of morals in use among 
 " men of honour ; " and the recollection of it 
 had often galled him more than he liked to 
 own even to himself. 
 
 Perhaps, if the man had borne himself 
 with greater moderation under his wrong, 
 and not so indignantly appealed against it, 
 Sir Nicholas would have made amends ; but 
 as it was, Irby's conduct had only produced, 
 as has been narrated, a second injury. The 
 baronet had revoked the will that made his 
 godchild Kate his heiress, save for five 
 hundred pounds left to his nephew, and 
 made another which reversed those bequests. 
 Here, however, reparation could yet be
 
 154 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 made, if lie had only time. This idea, by- 
 excluding other subjects of thought, afforded 
 him, by comparison, what was almost a 
 pleasure, and he snatched at it, as he had 
 done through life at all things in pleasure's 
 shape. But ivas there time ? To devise a 
 new will, however short — to narrate, how- 
 ever briefly, his wishes — to sign, and seal, 
 and deliver, he felt there was not time. 
 Moreover, if there had been, he would 
 scarcely have liked to leave Kate Irby, by 
 solemn bequest, those ten thousand pounds 
 which men would have said were the repara- 
 tion for what he must have all along been 
 conscious was a fraud upon her father. Sir 
 Nicholas, like some others who are reckless 
 of their character while alive, was tenacious 
 of his reputation after death ; he still clung, 
 posthumously, to the skirts of that respect- 
 ability which he had cast off his own person 
 as an encumbrance; and, indeed, it was 
 owing to some feeling of this kind that he
 
 "quick, quick." 155 
 
 had bequeathed so much of his fortune as he 
 had done to the nephew whom he hated. 
 No, a new will could not be made; but 
 something might be done in another way. 
 His feeble fingers clutched the bell-rope, and 
 when Margaret answered the summons, his 
 feeble voice murmured: "Send for Eichard." 
 
 " For Eichard, Sir Nicholas ! " ejaculated 
 the astonished woman, with the recollection 
 of that scene between uncle and nephew so 
 fresh in her mind. "Do you not mean 
 Charles or Leonard ? " 
 
 "No, Meg; I have seen them and our 
 own little Lippy for the last time, but I must 
 see Nephew Eichard over again. Quick, 
 quick ! " 
 
 But it was to no purpose that the baronet 
 reiterated that " Quick, quick ! " and griping 
 the sheet with fretful fingers, gasped out his 
 impatience and distress. Eichard had gone 
 forth none knew whither, enraged at his 
 reception by his uncle, and did not return
 
 156 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 until evening. Doubtless, he hoped to find 
 that the baronet was dead ; but coming back 
 from his aimless walk through mead and 
 woodland — perhaps by that time, thought 
 he, all his own — he called at the Anstey 
 Arms, resolving to remain there rather than 
 at the Court, and received from Mr. Hoskins 
 (with certain other intelligence) his uncles 
 urgent summons, which — not without some 
 tremor mingled with his great surprise — he 
 hastened to obey.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 
 
 Kichakd Anstey was only just in time. 
 The tide of the sick man's life was almost 
 at its lowest ebb ; and there was to be 
 no more flow. His face wore that unmis- 
 takeable look of farewell on which the 
 coffin-lid is soon to lie. At a glance 
 from him, for he had no breath to spare, 
 nor strength to make sign, Margaret left 
 the room, and uncle and nephew were 
 alone. 
 
 Eichard drew quite close to the pillow, 
 and waited patiently — and perhaps with 
 some touch of pity — his advantage in youth 
 and health over this poor sinking wretch 
 was so enormous — for the struggling lips to 
 speak. " Give me brandy, Dick."
 
 158 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 The baronet had not called his nephew by 
 that familiar name since he had grown up to 
 manhood, and the hard face softened for a 
 moment, as it listened. Years ago, when he 
 was a schoolboy, and before certain disagree- 
 ments had taken place, Sir Nicholas had 
 been kind to him after his fashion; tolerably 
 lavish in the way of "tips," and always 
 ready (since that cost nothing) to ask for a 
 holiday for him; these things came to the 
 young man's remembrance now, and he 
 forgot, for a moment, to cherish the remem- 
 brance of his wrongs as he filled the wine- 
 glass, and put it carefully to the sick man's 
 lips. 
 
 " Thank you, Dick," murmured the 
 baronet in distincter accents. " I .am sorry 
 to have spoken as I did, a while ago. You 
 must forgive a dying man — your father's 
 brother." 
 
 "I do, uncle." 
 
 " I have left you all I have to leave, Dick
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 159 
 
 — the will lies in yonder desk — and it is 
 more than you think for : you will have 
 nine thousand pounds a year." 
 
 A look of pleasure, perhaps of gratitude, 
 lighted up the young man's face. 
 
 "Does that satisfy you, Nephew Richard?" 
 
 "It is much more than I expected, sir, 
 and I thank you." 
 
 " Good. That is the rent-roll you will 
 have, if you obey my last request, which I 
 am now about to make to you ; if you 
 neglect it, you will have more, but the curse 
 of a dying man will cling to you. Years 
 ago, I won ten thousand pounds of Eobert 
 Irby. I desire that that sum — and there 
 is more than that in my banker's hands — 
 shall be paid over to his daughter Kate at 
 once." 
 
 Eichard made no reply. Not a sound 
 was to be heard within, save the fall of an 
 ember in the grate ; but without, there was 
 a rustle in the shrubs — doubtless the tiny
 
 ICO BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 patter of the laurel leaves stirred by the 
 evening breeze. 
 
 " Do you hear me, nephew \ This money 
 was obtained unjustly, and must be repaid. 
 Promise me that — you — will — do — this." 
 
 " Why not have done it yourself, uncle, 
 during these many years ? Why not have 
 made a deed of gift to Kate, as to so many 
 others ? " 
 
 " You should not taunt a man so near to 
 death," murmured Sir Nicholas faintly. " I 
 ought to have done it, but I was proud, and 
 did not care to shew, by doing it, that I had 
 wronged him. Now, all seems different. 
 Richard, as sure as I am drawing near my 
 end, I saw dead Robert Irby's face at yonder 
 window not six hours ago. — You smile, 
 nephew; you think you see a way to keep 
 this money, and yet salve your conscience. 
 You will say to yourself : ' My uncle was 
 wandering in his mind, and knew not what 
 he said towards the last/ — I see by your
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 161 
 
 face that I have guessed aright, and if so, 
 my wits cannot have left me, Richard. And 
 indeed they have not. I know that Robert 
 is dead as well as you do, and therefore that 
 I could not have seen him in the flesh ; but 
 I did see him ! He came to remind me of 
 the evil I had done to him and his, and to 
 bid me repair it." His failing breath could 
 scarcely shape itself into words, but still it 
 struggled on. " I desire to do so with all 
 my heart — with all my heart." 
 
 "It shall be done, uncle." 
 
 There was a twitching of the lips, as 
 though the dying man had tried to smile his 
 thanks, and then not a feature stirred. The 
 mobile face, once instinct with so many 
 passions, was set for ever. 
 
 For the first time, in that ensuing silence, 
 Richard became aware that there was a 
 clock in the room ; every beat of its tiny 
 pendulum seemed to strike upon his brain, 
 and say : " Dead, dead, dead, dead ! " But
 
 162 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 tliough the stillness was grown so oppressive, 
 and the shadow of death lay already every- 
 where, he bent down his ear to the dumb 
 white lips, to satisfy himself that all was 
 over. He was not unawed ; but the worldly 
 prudence, that was habitual with him, soon 
 conquered the unaccustomed horror. Some- 
 thing he had been thinking about since 
 yesterday, after his interview with Kate, 
 but which had recurred to him with greater 
 force within the last hour, was to be put in 
 practice now — at once — if it was to be done 
 at all. The opportunity had been offered to 
 him beyond all expectation. 
 
 Eising noiselessly, and treading softly, he 
 crossed the room, and opening his uncle's 
 desk, drew forth the will of which the 
 latter had so lately spoken. It was the 
 same one which had been drawn up years 
 ago, at the time of. Sir Nicholas's quarrel 
 with Kobert Irby, and Richard was familiar, 
 thanks to Jem Hoskins, with its contents ;
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 163 
 
 but, nevertheless, he ran his eye carefully 
 over them. The witnesses were the land- 
 lord of the Anstey Arms and Eobert 
 Dene. 
 
 "She shall have her five hundred pounds," 
 muttered Kichard, "but not by this will. 
 She shall have her ten thousand pounds, too 
 — when she becomes my wife." 
 
 He threw the will upon the slumbering 
 fire, and presently the tongues of flame 
 began to lap it round. 
 
 "She shall have her five hundred pounds," 
 continued he musing, "but not now. 'Over 
 head and ears in debt/ was Hoskins's report, 
 and therefore the more easily won." 
 
 A slight noise at the still open casement 
 made him start with a guilty look. Some 
 leaves of the creeper that hung about it had 
 flapped against the window-ledge ; yes, that 
 was surely all. Yet the sweat stood upon 
 his forehead as he turned to listen. True, 
 as he reasoned, he was doing no moral
 
 164 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 wrong : he meant to give the money as it 
 was willed ; he meant even to give the 
 larger sum, in accordance with the dead 
 man's wishes — he would settle it upon her — 
 on their marriage : he was going to act not 
 only honestly, but honourably. In the 
 meantime, however, he was committing a 
 felony, and that is apt to make a novice 
 somewhat nervous. Once burned, there was 
 small chance of the will being inquired for. 
 It was not likely that Sir Nicholas had 
 informed " her Ladyship " concerning a 
 matter that in no way affected her ; there 
 was only Hoskins — a man devoted to his 
 interests — who probably knew of its exis- 
 tence. There was absolutely no danger in 
 what he was doing, for who would credit 
 that he would destroy a will that left him 
 all, save a miserable five hundred pounds, 
 merely to make himself sole heir? — But just 
 while the parchment was becoming ashes, 
 Richard Anstey experienced qualms, tremors.
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 165 
 
 Above the fireplace was a large mirror, that 
 reflected all things in the now ghastly room, 
 except that ghastliest sight which was 
 hidden by the bed-curtains. Eichard was 
 looking in it at his own scared and anxious 
 visage, when another and unlooked-for face 
 presented itself therein ; it, too, was haggard 
 and anxious, but not scared : a face, alive 
 with hate and exultation, and cognizant, if 
 expression ever showed cognizance, of the 
 unlawful deed in which he was engaged, 
 was peering in at the open window. For a 
 moment and more, Eichard stood rooted to 
 the spot — paralysed with terror; over- 
 whelmed with the possible consequences of 
 discovery that thronged upon him. Then 
 he sprang to the casement, and leaped 
 out. 
 
 There was no man to be seen. The soft 
 evening light fell only on the grateful flowers, 
 the thick belt of shining laurels, and the 
 quaint old summer-house, with its roof of
 
 166 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 pine and fringe of fir-cones. Could the 
 intruder be there ? Or did that rustling in 
 yonder shrubbery mark the course of his 
 fleeing footsteps ? If he had fled, would it 
 be well to follow ? Suppose this man were 
 overtaken, seized, and given into custody — 
 what tale might he not tell 1 If, on the 
 other hand, he were in the arbour, would it 
 not be well, thought Eichard, to know with 
 whom he had to deal ; and perhaps to deal 
 with him \ Involuntarily, the young man 
 had snatched up the poker, and he felt that 
 in his now desperate hand the shining steel 
 was a weapon that could be relied on. The 
 face he had seen was of a man advanced in 
 years, and probably a feeble one, and Eichard 
 was not thinking of self-defence. . 
 
 He pushed open the half-closed door with 
 savage impatience, but the place was empty. 
 The light from its little painted windows 
 played fancifully upon the round oak-table 
 and the few rustic chairs that formed its
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 167 
 
 furniture. Years ago, his uncle had been 
 wont to sit and smoke there : Eichard re- 
 membered to have had coffee there himself, 
 during his last visit to the Court ; but there 
 was not a sign of recent occupation. Was 
 it possible that he had been the victim of 
 some delusion, as Sir Nicholas had been % 
 Or suppose — and a cold sweat came out upon 
 him with this second thought — that Sir 
 Nicholas had not been deluded ! Of whom 
 was it that that old and haggard face indis- 
 tinctly reminded him, now that he came to 
 think about it, but of his uncle's friend, 
 Kate Irby's father ! And yet that could not 
 be, unless the sea should have given up its 
 dead. That somebody had, in reality, been 
 witness to his recent doings was, however, 
 now certain, for he saw that the flower-bed 
 beneath the window-sill had been trampled 
 upon, and the marks of feet were plainly 
 evident in the black mould. 
 
 How changed were his feelings from those
 
 168 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 of a quarter of an hour ago ! What a slip 
 had happened between the cup and his lip ! 
 All had then been triumph and security : 
 now, nothing presented itself to his mind 
 but uncertainty and danger. Suppose some 
 one should have entered that room within 
 the last few minutes — during his absence — 
 and found the parchment not entirely con- 
 sumed ! It was necessary to look to this 
 last matter at once, and yet the young man 
 had grown so utterly unnerved that to re- 
 enter that chamber of death was abhorrent 
 to him. He looked in, and all was still as 
 before, except for that ticking, nay, that 
 tolling of the clock on the mantelpiece. He 
 dared not turn his eyes upon the bed, where 
 that dreadful shape showed itself so ghastly 
 through the coverlet ; but, keeping his face 
 towards the fire, he crept in, and heaped the 
 coals together on the few white ashes which 
 were all that remained of that will, he would 
 now have given twice those five hundred
 
 THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. 169 
 
 pounds to have never touched ; then pulled 
 the bell-handle with frantic force, to summon 
 he cared not whom, so that they only came 
 and left him in that hateful room alone no 
 longer.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 
 
 So well did Maurice Glyn recommend 
 himself to the favour of Mrs. Irby, during 
 that afternoon of their first acquaintance, 
 that she insisted upon his staying at the 
 manor-house to dine ; and to combat his un- 
 willingness to leave his friend and host alone 
 at the vicarage, a messenger was despatched 
 to invite the curate also. 
 
 Maurice well knew that Milton would 
 not come ; but the two had already had 
 an early dinner, and doubtless he did not 
 feel the scruples about deserting him, which 
 he would have done in the case of the 
 more important meal. Moreover, was it 
 not in the curate's own interests that he 
 (Maurice) was at the manor-house at all,
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 3 71 
 
 and was making himself so very agreeable 
 there ? Of course it was. And yet he 
 found himself reiterating that argument 
 again and again in his own mind, just as 
 though there had been some question about it. 
 If his well-meant attentions had been con- 
 fined to his friend's possible mother-in-law, 
 his conscience would not certainly have thus 
 disturbed him ; but what occasion was there, 
 it whispered, for him to so strenuously en- 
 deavour to ingratiate himself with Kate ? 
 Surely that was the Eev. Charles Milton's 
 business, and not his. The system of 
 wooing by proxy has always been attended 
 with danger, from the time of Athelwold, 
 and doubtless before it, until now. 
 
 Even after Eichard Anstey had taken his 
 departure for the railway station, Maurice 
 still lingered, and freed from the restraint 
 of her cousin's presence, Kate's conversation 
 seemed even more agreeable than before. 
 Hers was not the conventional talk he was
 
 172 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 accustomed to hear from young ladies in 
 London drawing-rooms, hut imaginative, 
 fresh, and natural. Her tastes in poetry and 
 fiction were similar to his own, or perhaps 
 rather to what had been his own before 
 town-life and the calling of a reviewer had 
 dulled the edge of literary enthusiasm, and 
 made him more observant of defects, less 
 sensitive to beauties. He saw his own mind 
 (of which he had a very high opinion) 
 reflected in hers ; and as for the moral 
 sentiments, for these he gave her that bound- 
 less credit which it is customary under such 
 circumstances to bestow. The time — soft 
 incense -breathing eve ; and the place — a 
 drawing-room, with its French windows 
 opening wide on the old-fashioned garden — 
 worked so well with the opportunity; 
 mamma, behind the only pair of candles in 
 the huge apartment, was nodding over the 
 pages of a novel, and he and Kate were 
 sitting in the twilight by the window-sill —
 
 CBOSS-PURPOSES. 173 
 
 that Maurice almost forgot his mediatorial 
 character, and began to imagine himself a 
 principal. What was worse than all was, 
 that now and then an apprehension flitted 
 across his mind, that this young woman was 
 not precisely the character suited to his 
 friend — would fail, perhaps, in making him 
 happy, or (what seemed quite as bad) would 
 not herself find happiness with the prosaic 
 curate. The clock in the old church tower 
 boomed eleven on the silent night before the 
 guest who had volunteered "to see the ladies 
 home " at five, rose up to go. 
 
 No sooner, however, had Maurice Grlyn 
 left Kate's presence than his sense of honour 
 began, though tardily, to assert itself; he 
 still felt the glamour of her charms, but 
 knew that his duty was to avoid being sub- 
 jected to their influence for the future. He 
 had suffered himself to drift into something 
 more than admiration for the girl, partly, it 
 was true, because that kind of drifting is so
 
 174 BLONDEL PAEVA. 
 
 pleasant, but partly also from what some 
 people call " devotion to their art : " he was 
 always ready to place himself, without much 
 thought of consequences, in any position 
 which would produce him a new sensation, 
 and thereby enable him to describe it. He 
 fell in love, as some gentlemen, in the 
 interests of science or philosophy, have 
 bled themselves to death ; at this stage, 
 he had intended to murmur to himself, the 
 heart beats with such and such rapidity; 
 and at this, a little quicker; but somehow 
 he had forgotten to record his experiences 
 as they occurred ; and now he had lost his 
 heart altogether. Under these circum- 
 stances, although he was quite resolved to 
 stick closely to the path of honour for the 
 future, and not to trespass upon forbidden 
 ground, he was not displeased to learn from 
 the servant, on his arrival at the vicarage, 
 that the curate had already retired for the 
 nioht. He did not wish to be interrogated,
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 175 
 
 just then — "And how do you like my 
 Kate V "Is she not charming ? " or (more 
 especially), " Do you not congratulate me on 
 my good fortune V That last request he 
 would have found to be a very severe trial 
 of friendship. The executioner may ask his 
 victim on the scaffold for forgiveness for the 
 deed he is about to do, but he ought 
 scarcely to look for approbation. 
 
 The curate also had his reasons for avoid- 
 ing his friend's society for that night. He 
 was equally averse to be questioned upon 
 the events of the day, and he knew that 
 cross-examination is apt to be less strict and 
 searching in the morning than over the last 
 pipe (or two) before going to bed. 
 
 Thus it happened that when they met at 
 the breakfast-table, there was just a little 
 embarrassment between them arising from 
 the reticence which each was determined to 
 maintain. 
 
 "I am afraid I deserted you, old fellow,
 
 176 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 in a very shameful manner yesterday," said 
 Glyn, as they shook hands ; " but that dear 
 old lady, Mrs. Irby (whom you do not half 
 appreciate), would not hear of my coming 
 home earlier." 
 
 " Don't mention it, my dear Maurice ; it 
 was my fault as much as yours ; and I am 
 glad you found things so pleasant up at the 
 manor. Now that that man, Anstey, has gone, 
 
 we will be up there as much as you like 
 
 But what a quantity of letters you have ! 
 Our poor old postman will be demanding an 
 increase of salary if your correspondence 
 continues to be of that extent." 
 
 " Yes, it's a great nuisance : but w^e poor 
 literary folks can never get away from the 
 printing-press. Most of these are proofs — I 
 have been correcting them in bed, for an 
 hour and more — but I am sorry to say, 
 Charley, there is something worse among 
 them. I have received some intelligence — 
 respecting a certain business matter — which
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 177 
 
 will cut short my stay here, and, in- 
 deed, necessitate my going up to town at 
 once." 
 
 " What ! You are surely not going to 
 leave me, Maurice, upon the second day 
 after your arrival," pleaded the curate ; 
 "just when I was looking forward to a 
 pleasant fortnight at least with my old 
 friend " 
 
 "Yes, Charley," interrupted Grlyn, touched 
 with the other's evident regret and pain ; 
 " I think it will be better so ; I do indeed." 
 
 " Better so, Maurice ! Come, I am sure 
 there is something here which needs to be 
 explained. I do not believe in this sudden 
 call to London. You are not surely an- 
 noyed with me because I did not sit up for 
 you last night ! It was not very hospitable, 
 I confess ; but I was rather depressed and 
 out of sorts." 
 
 "No, no, Charley. It is not likely that 
 I should quarrel with you, after so many 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 BLONDEL PAKVA. 
 
 years, on such a ground as that ; nor, 
 indeed, on any ground ; we understand one 
 another far too well, I hope. But there is 
 really a reason why I should leave this 
 place, and the sooner the better." 
 " And what is that, Maurice ? " 
 " It would only pain you to hear it." 
 " Nay, my friend ; it would pain me 
 much more if you left without an expla- 
 nation." 
 
 " Well, then, this is the whole truth, 
 Charley; I have unwittingly permitted 
 myself to — to feel a greater interest in that 
 beautiful young creature, who, I sincerely 
 hope, will make your life a very happy one as 
 your wife, than I ought to feel. I am more 
 impulsive than you are, old friend, and 
 doubtless not so well-principled, or it would 
 never have happened : but, as it is, it is 
 better for me to leave Blondel. When you 
 are married, I will come and finish my visit, 
 and be godfather to your first baby ; but, in
 
 CEOSS-PUEPOSES. 179 
 
 the meantime, I shall go back to the musty 
 old Temple, and work there, instead of in 
 your pleasant home : the loss will be mine 
 every way ; and besides, I am afraid that I 
 have already fallen in your estimation. " 
 
 " No, Maurice, no," said the curate, laying 
 his hand affectionately upon the other's 
 shoulder ; " on the contrary, I esteem you 
 more than ever. To flee from a temptation is 
 often as difficult as to overcome it. But — 
 forgive me — how is it possible that within 
 such a very little time you should feel 
 yourself in such danger? It is to me 
 astounding — incomprehensible. " 
 
 " And to me too, Charley. I am not 
 naturally tincler, nor even tender," (here he 
 tried to laugh in his old way, but there was 
 no music in it), " with respect to the fair sex; 
 but the half-dozen hours or so I passed with 
 that lovely girl, so simple, so charming " 
 
 " The half-dozen hours ! " ejaculated the 
 curate, his Saxon face a-glow with in- 
 
 N 2
 
 180 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 dignation ; "you didn't sec her for ten 
 minutes ! " 
 
 " Why, you must be mad, Milton," re- 
 joined the other : " I was at the manor- 
 house from five o'clock to eleven — although, 
 indeed, it seemed, as you say, less than a 
 quarter of an hour. Come — it is unpleasant 
 for us, you see, even to converse about this 
 matter. I told you it would only give you 
 pain. I shall go and pack up my traps at 
 once." 
 
 "Stop a bit," said the curate, in whose 
 honest face amusement and embarrassment 
 began to struggle. " I think there is a little 
 mistake here. You have fallen in love with 
 Miss Kate Irby, have you not % " 
 
 " I don't say that, Milton. But I think, if 
 I staid here longer, I should feel more 
 warmly than is becoming, towards one whom 
 my friend hopes to make his wife." 
 
 "My dear fellow, you may feel just as 
 warmly towards her as you like," returned
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 181 
 
 the curate, chuckling. " Don't think of me, 
 I beg. I give her up to you as Pathfinder 
 gave up Mabel in one of those books of 
 Cooper's that we used to read together, lying 
 on the shady river-bank, in the old May 
 terms at Trinity. To deny ourselves any 
 advantage for the benefit of another, is the 
 greatest pleasure (and, indeed, about the 
 only one) in which we poor clergymen can 
 indulge. Take her, Maurice ; I wish you 
 may get her — I really do ; and I will perform 
 the marriage service without fee. — My good 
 friend," continued he, with a merriment that 
 became almost uproarious, as Maurice stood 
 staring at him with mute astonishment, and 
 not without apprehension for the other's wits, 
 " I don't want her : it was only your own 
 ridiculous supposition — suggested by that 
 sagacity in all human affairs about which 
 you pride yourself — that I ever did want 
 her. Kate Irby is nothing to me, nor I to 
 her."
 
 182 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 Then, for the first time (so occupied had 
 he been with his own difficulties), the recol- 
 lection of beautiful Mary Grange, and of the 
 combat he had witnessed, doubtless upon her 
 account, between Anstey and the curate, 
 occurred to Maurice Glyn. He conjectured 
 rightly that Milton had no intention of com- 
 municating the details of the latter event, of 
 which he little imagined his friend had been 
 a witness; and chagrined at his own mistake 
 and at his host's triumphant hilarity, Maurice 
 revengefully resolved to prolong the mis- 
 understanding. 
 
 " Well, Milton/' said he gravely, " I con- 
 fess that I have been utterly deceived, but 
 then I did not think you were one who 
 would ever contemplate a match which the 
 world would call unequal " 
 
 "I don't care much about 'the world/* 
 returned the curate warmly ; " much less 
 indeed, perhaps, than some folk who pique 
 themselves upon being unconventional. But
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 183 
 
 if any inequality does exist, the advantage 
 is not upon my side. She may be poor, but 
 then I myself am not rich; she has the mind 
 of a true gentlewoman; she is sufficiently 
 educated — you would be astonished if you 
 knew how much she has taught herself — she 
 is virtuous, pure, and beautiful. I confess, 
 therefore, I do not see ' the inequality ' you 
 speak of." 
 
 " My dear Milton, pray forgive me; I was 
 only thinking of your respective ages. 
 While readily granting all that you have 
 said about her in other respects, Mrs. Irby 
 must surely be very considerably your 
 senior ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Irby, Mrs. Fiddlestickends ! " roared 
 the curate, and Maurice Glyn roared with 
 him, so that the former could not but per- 
 ceive that his friend had been only jesting, 
 and put forth his hand at once in token of 
 reconciliation. 
 
 " No," said the curate with cheerful era-
 
 184 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 vity, " my love is much more lowly placed 
 than on the lady of the manor; I am 
 content with " (here he hesitated to swallow 
 a little pride) — "with her dependant, Mary 
 Grange. But you must please to keep this 
 secret, which you have so curiously compelled 
 me to reveal, to yourself, Maurice ; not, 
 Heaven knows, that I am ashamed of my 
 choice, but simply that Mary herself knows 
 nothing about it, and may perhaps never 
 know. I am no accepted lover. She is not 
 one to catch at a man merely because he is 
 above her in social position ; and then there 
 is my uncle's consent to gain, which as you 
 may guess, will be a very difficult matter." 
 
 " I am afraid it will," answered Maurice 
 thoughtfully, and then was silent. .He waa 
 calling to mind a certain vulgar, pompous 
 personage he had met once or twice, and to 
 whom, though he was his friend's uncle, he 
 had not found it easy to be civil ; who had 
 exasperated him by leaving out his aspirates,
 
 CROSS-PURPOSES. 185 
 
 or putting them in unnecessarily, as when he 
 congratulated himself (which he did fre- 
 quently) upon being the harchitect of his 
 own fortunes. Glyn was picturing how this 
 undesirable individual was likely to receive 
 the news that his only nephew and heir — " a 
 lad as 'ad bin to a tiptop school and to 
 college, sir, and was to 'ave as fat a living as 
 money could buy ' — had engaged himself, or 
 was meditating that step, to the daughter of 
 the blind gate-keeper of Blondel Priory. 
 
 And the Kev. Charles Milton, M.A., sat 
 silent also, revolving the same difficulty, 
 albeit in a more respectful spirit, in his 
 anxious mind.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 
 
 It may be easily imagined, after the ap- 
 planation and confession of the Bev. Charles 
 Milton, that Mr. Maurice Clyn postponed 
 indefinitely the transaction of the important 
 business which awaited him in town, and 
 remained at Blondel Parva. It may also be 
 conjectured that he spent his spare time up 
 at the manor, and the guest of a hard-work- 
 ing parson, with the sole charge of a 
 straggling parish, has a great deal of spare 
 time. Mrs. Irby liked him better and better 
 every day she saw him (and she saw him 
 every day) ; and the same, and more, may 
 be said of Kate. 
 
 There is no more favourable opportunity 
 for a young gentleman to pay his addresses
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 187 
 
 than when the fair object of them has re- 
 cently discarded some other suitor. It may 
 be that, by reason of her thoughts being al- 
 ready directed altarwards, the more eligible 
 swain finds his wooing made easy for him ; 
 or may be the characteristic tenderness of 
 the sex induces her to make prompt repara- 
 tion for the coldness with which she has 
 treated the one male creature by falling in 
 love with the other. At all events, a rejec- 
 tion is very commonly followed by an ac- 
 ceptance, and matters were certainly tending 
 this way in the present instance. If Maurice 
 found Kate refreshing by comparison with 
 fashionable misses, Kate beheld in Maurice 
 something totally different to any man she 
 had ever met with. She knew no society 
 but that of the country, and had mixed but 
 little even with that. Prosy old landowners 
 and sporting young ones, with a few highly 
 respectable parsons, made up the whole list 
 of her male acquaintance, with the exception
 
 188 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 of her cousin Richard, who, by no means 
 unintelligent, had of late clone his very best 
 to exhibit sympathy with her tastes, but had 
 succeeded only in exhibiting the effort it 
 cost him to do so. 
 
 But here was a man who, without effort, 
 seemed to anticipate her every idea ; who 
 expressed, with eloquence and exactness, the 
 vague thoughts that had often thronged 
 her brain, the emotions that had so deeply 
 moved her, she scarcely knew why. To her, 
 his knowledge (by no means a very ample 
 page) appeared universal, boundless ; his 
 impatience of authority in matters of opinion, 
 the independence of a mind that towered 
 above its fellows ; the utterance of his lively 
 fancy, jewels of wit, and jets of flawless 
 epigram ; while his flow of animal spirits — 
 and in this she was wiser than she knew, 
 and almost right — she took for nothing less 
 than genius. Maurice Glyn did not indeed 
 possess that faculty divine ; but he would
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 189 
 
 have been a rare and pleasant companion 
 anywhere : how much more then at Blondel 
 Parva, where there had probably been no- 
 thing like him since the abbey was founded, 
 and most certainly not before that epoch. 
 The dull old manor-house was illumined by 
 his presence, as by a sunbeam, or rather — 
 since he was a product of the latest civilisa- 
 tion — by the lime-light or magnesium. 
 
 Curiously enough, the curate was, as a 
 subject of conversation, avoided by Maurice 
 now almost as much as when he imagined 
 himself to be his proxy ; for he was not at 
 liberty to speak of his friend's passion for 
 Mary Grange, while, in connection with him, 
 he could think of nothing else. What an 
 incomprehensible affair it seemed, that such 
 a stickler for convention and the proprieties 
 as Milton, should suffer himself to be so 
 taken captive by a pretty face ! Why, even 
 he, Maurice Glyn, semi-Bohemian and des- 
 piser of dignities as he was, would have
 
 190 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 hesitated to do the like, though unhampered 
 by that eity uncle of "disinheriting coun- 
 tenance/' who frowned upon the curate in 
 the background. 
 
 Then, again, fancy her father, Grange , pere i 
 becoming a member of one's own family and 
 household ! Going about the parish (so 
 Maurice pictured him), when his daughter, 
 engaged in maternal cares perhaps, could 
 not accompany him, with a dog in a string, 
 who stopped short before every benevolent- 
 looking individual from habit, and sat on 
 his hind-legs ! The thing was monstrous, 
 and Milton must be mad. As for the girl's 
 not accepting him, as the curate had hinted, 
 that was the wildest offshoot of the whole 
 insane idea. Without doubt, she would 
 marry him to-morrow, if he asked her. As 
 for remonstrating with his friend upon his 
 infatuation, that, he knew from experience, 
 would be labour in vain. He had done so, 
 years ago, in the case of that pastry-cook's
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 191 
 
 daughter up at Cambridge, and Milton had 
 received his advice with the good-nature of 
 a Newfoundland dog, but also with the ob- 
 stinacy of a jackass. " My dear Maurice," 
 had been his smiling reply, "this lovely 
 creature is my choice, in a matter where one 
 chooses for one's-self ; and as for her father 
 being a pastry-cook, the trade by which my 
 uncle made his money was a much less 
 attractive one, I do assure you." 
 
 Milton would have married her, while an 
 undergraduate, but for that "little affair" 
 between her and Viscount Periwinkle of his 
 own college, which fortunately revealed itself, 
 just in time, in a manner that not even a 
 lover could refuse to credit. 
 
 No ; this young man, so ready to give 
 place to his superiors that he seemed almost 
 obsequious, had of his own position in the 
 world the most modest notion, and any 
 argument founded upon social inequality 
 would, Maurice well knew, only intensify
 
 192 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 his rash resolve. Thus, since nothing could 
 be done for his friend, it was only reasonable 
 that Maurice should concentrate his attention 
 upon his own affairs, and while the curate's 
 pastoral duties led him pretty often to that 
 quarter of his parish in which the priory 
 happened to be, the footsteps of his guest 
 were turned as frequently towards the manor- 
 house. 
 
 Upon a certain morning, calling there 
 with some not very urgent message intrusted 
 to him (not to say invented for him) by the 
 curate, with respect to the bestowal of a 
 bottle of port- wine upon some ailing parish- 
 ioner in Tinker's Hollow, he found from the 
 servant that Madam had gone to Blondel 
 Eegis in the pony-carriage, and that Miss 
 Kate was also not within, but "walking 
 somewheres in the grounds." If only he 
 himself had been concerned, doubtless, Mr. 
 Maurice Glyn would have left his visiting- 
 card and departed, content with the above
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 193 
 
 reply ; but since his errand was one of 
 charity — and since Madam was always so 
 particular to do her duty in that respect — he 
 judged it better to go in search of the young 
 lady. He knew his way about the place by 
 this time very well, and also Kate's favourite 
 haunts; but on this occasion she was neither 
 feeding the carp in the round pond, nor busy 
 in the walled garden ; nor did the fluttering 
 of the fowls, nor the joyous barking of old 
 Nero, proclaim her presence in the poultry- 
 yard. From the top of the long lime-walk, 
 however, he caught a glimmer of her light 
 dress upon the river-bank, and hurrying 
 down, there found her, pacing slowly to and 
 fro, and so deep in thought that she was not 
 aware of his approach until he reached her. 
 
 It was just the spot for melancholy mus- 
 ing, screened from the house and offices, and 
 cut off from all intruders from without by 
 the river Start, whose blood-red current ran 
 by like a mill-race. A little bay, protected
 
 ]94 BLONDEL PAEVA. 
 
 by its promontory from the fierce stream, 
 had once formed a bathing-place, and the 
 ruins of some wooden structure were still 
 standing there ; but the locality had been 
 always dangerous, and since that fatal acci- 
 dent with which we are acquainted had taken 
 place there, " the Cove/' as it was called, had 
 never been used for bathing. 
 
 " I am afraid I am intruding upon you, 
 
 Miss Irby Heaven forbid that I should 
 
 have frightened you ! " 
 
 But he had frightened her, nevertheless. 
 At his first word, she had given quite a 
 shriek of terror, and now she turned so 
 deadly pale that he instinctively put out his 
 arm to prevent her falling. . 
 
 " It is very foolish of me, Mr. Glyn," said 
 she"; "but I did not hear you coming, and 
 the sudden shock " 
 
 " Nay, Miss Irby ; it was my stupidity : I 
 ought to have remembered that I was walk- 
 ing on turf, and made no more noise than
 
 BY THE BANKS OF STAET. 195 
 
 one of those disembodied spirits, about whose 
 possible walking powers we are both agreed. 
 — You did not think I was a ghost, did 
 you?" 
 
 Then it flashed upon Glyn's mind, just a 
 quarter of a second too late — as such flashes, 
 unlike those of lightning, always do come, 
 immediately after speech — that that was 
 precisely the very thing she had thought, 
 since this was the spot where her father had 
 been drowned ; and the clever young gentle- 
 man wished for the moment that he had 
 been drowned also, or born dumb. 
 
 " I did not pass a very good night," said 
 she wearily ; " and some news this morning 
 has a little put me off my balance — that's 
 all." 
 
 " Some news ? " inquired he anxiously. 
 " Not, I trust, bad news ? " : 
 
 " Well, it is not good news," returned 
 she, with an attempt to smile ; " though it 
 is not what a philosopher would call ' bad/ 
 
 o 2
 
 196 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 I have no doubt. But then, as I have 
 confessed to you, I am not a philosopher ; 
 on the contrary, I am always very sorry 
 for myself whenever anything unpleasant 
 happens." 
 
 "And sorry for others, I am sure, my 
 dear Miss Irby." 
 
 "Well, I hope so; indeed, it is upon 
 dear mamma's account, more than on my 
 own, that I am vexed this morning with 
 this letter : you may read it if you please — 
 there are no secrets between my mother and 
 her correspondent (for the communication is 
 addressed to her), and certainly none between 
 the writer and me. You are a student of 
 human nature, and it may interest you to 
 learn how mean and hypocritical a gentle- 
 man, that is a baronet, may be." 
 
 " It is, without doubt, a very cautious 
 piece of composition," observed Maurice 
 thoughtfully, when he had read the letter ; 
 "and yet it suggests a great deal." He
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 197 
 
 looked at her scrutinisingly enough, but she 
 exhibited no shadow of embarrassment. 
 
 " It shows that the writer has neither 
 honour nor honesty/' answered Kate with 
 indignation. " I blush to think that the 
 same blood runs in our veins. He knows, 
 look you, that my mother is very far from 
 rich, and that it is owing to this dead man 
 — his uncle — that it is so ; he knows that 
 he is himself but a receiver of stolen goods. 
 — But there ; I beg your pardon ; I have 
 no right to trouble you with these family 
 matters." 
 
 " Do not say that, my dear Miss Irby ; 
 you have not indeed known me long, but I 
 hope I am not considered as a stranger. 
 None of my own people are alive, and to 
 me — without one domestic tie — such a 
 confidence as you have been pleased to show 
 is much more than a compliment : it is a 
 deep source of pleasure, I do assure you. If, 
 without offence, I may offer to be of assis-
 
 198 BLONDEL PABVA. 
 
 tance in any possible way, pray, command 
 me. To suffer me to be of service to you, 
 would be the greatest pleasure you could 
 confer upon me." 
 
 " You are very kind, Mr. Glyn, for I am 
 sure you mean much of what you say. But 
 the fact is, nothing can be done. We have 
 built too much upon expectations — however 
 just ones. My mother, in her secret heart, 
 has always regarded me as a sort of co- 
 heiress with my cousin, and now the whole 
 fabric has come down with a run. After all, 
 it is not a matter to make the earth gape 
 that this Sir Nicholas Anstey has chanced to 
 die without remembering his cousin and 
 god-child in his will, and, indeed, without 
 having made one. We shall, however, have 
 to leave the manor, and lead a very quiet 
 life — not that we have hitherto lived parti- 
 cularly fast, mamma and I — in future. It 
 troubles me to have to quit the old place. — 
 But don't look so grave, Mr. Glyn," added
 
 BY THE BANKS OF STAET. 199 
 
 she smiling; "I shall not be compelled to 
 take in plain needlework, and we shall 
 doubtless have pudding upon Sundays still. 
 Our poverty will be of the genteelest kind, 
 and by no means like that of this unfortunate 
 individual now coming up the lime-walk. I 
 wonder how he managed to pass scathless by 
 Nero's kennel." 
 
 The poverty of the approaching stranger 
 could certainly, by no stretch of politeness, 
 be termed "genteel." His clothes were no 
 threadbare suit, but a mere heap of rags ; 
 his hat, no napless but well-brushed beaver, 
 was a worn-out wideawake, with a jagged 
 piece torn off the brim ; his shoes had holes 
 in them ; and he carried a stick of black- 
 thorn in his hand, which had little resem- 
 blance to an olive branch. But for a certain 
 look of exhaustion and ill-health about him 
 — which mitigated his effect, like the tooth- 
 lessncss of a savage doff — he would have 
 
 o o 
 
 been a most truculent fellow.
 
 200 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 "There is no public footway here, Misfl 
 Jrby, is there ? " ejaculated Maurice, irritated 
 by this inopportune intrusion. " Had I not 
 better turn the man out ? " 
 
 "No, no," said Kate smiling. "I begin 
 to have a great sympathy with trespassers, 
 since we shall so soon have to turn out our- 
 selves. — Hush, he does not see us. What 
 on earth can he have come here for \ " 
 
 " Not to bathe, I hope," thought Maurice, 
 " although a little water would do him no 
 harm." 
 
 The pair had sought no concealment, but 
 the trunk of a large pollard on the bank 
 chanced to intervene between them and the 
 lime-walk, and completely shielded them 
 from the mendicant's observation. He came 
 on at a rapid pace, although he halted in his 
 gait, glancing to right and left, like some 
 hunted creature, until he reached the ruined 
 bath-house. There lie Btopped, and support- 
 ing himself upon his stick, regarded the
 
 BY THE BANKS OF STAET. 201 
 
 scene with fixed attention. There was little 
 that was picturesque about it either ; a dark 
 swift stream hurrying between two rows of 
 pollarded willows to an unseen sea; but it 
 seemed to have a strange interest for this 
 man. 
 
 " I am afraid the poor wretch is not quite 
 in his right mind," whispered Maurice. — The 
 sound of his voice (for the stranger was very 
 near them), or more probably his movement 
 as he bent down to his companion's ear, 
 attracted the new-comer at once. Shading 
 his eyes, as if to keep the sun off, though it 
 might have been to conceal his own features, 
 he regarded the pair with scrutinising 
 suspicion ere he came limping up to where 
 they stood. 
 
 " Hollo, my friend, I have seen your face 
 before," ejaculated Maurice. 
 
 But the mendicant, whose gaze was fixed, 
 with a certain wistful earnestness, upon 
 Kate, answered him not a word.
 
 202 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " What is it you want, my good man i " 
 inquired she. 
 
 "Nothing,"returned he gravely — " nothing 
 more. That is/' added he hastily, " nothing 
 more than you can guess, young lady : money, 
 clothes, victuals, anything that you and the 
 gentleman have to bestow on a poor man.' 1 
 
 " A very modest string of requests, I am 
 sure," said Maurice laughing. " But you 
 should not beg of the same person twice in a 
 month ; that is bad policy. Gentlemen of 
 your trade should have a good memory. Do 
 you not remember me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I do remember you, sir," re- 
 turned the beggar, glancing at Glyn for the 
 first time. "It is no wonder if I forget 
 them I beg of, since I beg of all I meet ; 
 but to recollect those from whom I receive 
 something, that, as you say, ought to be an 
 easy matter. You gave me some money at 
 the Workhouse in Paddington, on Tuesday 
 fortnight."
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 203 
 
 " That was so," explained Maurice to his 
 companion. " I went to the "Workhouse in 
 search of copy, and found this interesting 
 specimen of humanity among the rest. — But 
 how is it you came to Blondel, my man ? 
 This is not a place in which to look for 
 work." 
 
 "That's true, sir, I came here, as I 
 suppose you do, for pleasure. In the 
 summer months, people of my quality leave 
 their London residences (in one of which we 
 made acquaintance) for our seats in the 
 country — there are very spacious ones in 
 every district." 
 
 The speaker addressed his words to Glyn, 
 but his gaze was still centred on Kate — a 
 yearning gaze — a beseeching and hungry 
 one, as it seemed to her. 
 
 "You seem in great need," said she, 
 in pitying tones, "besides looking very 
 ill and worn. If you will come up to 
 the house, you shall have something to eat
 
 204 BLOXDEL PAEVA. 
 
 and drink. — Mamma always sets her face 
 against giving money to beggars," whis- 
 pered she to Glyn ; " but oblige me, for I 
 have left my purse within doors, by giving 
 this poor fellow a shilling. Besides that 
 dreadful cough of his, and his looking so 
 near to death's door, there is something 
 about him which touches me." 
 
 " I should be very sorry if anything about 
 him touched me," answered Glyn in the same 
 low tones. "You are suffering your feelings 
 to rim away with your judgment, Miss Irby, 
 but he shall have what you please. — Look 
 here, my man. This young lady, who is 
 not so well acquainted with your little 
 devices as I am, imagines that you are as 
 afflicted as you appear to be : that you have 
 consumption and are lame, besides bring in 
 the last stage of starvation. You must not 
 suppose that you have imposed upon me in 
 these particulars ; but here is a crown to buy 
 you a new hat, for you certainly need one."
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 205 
 
 "Yes, sir, the big clog yonder tore the 
 brim off/' 
 
 "What! Nero?" exclaimed Kate. "I 
 am very sorry for that. I trust he did you 
 no more mischief! He has not bitten 
 you ? » 
 
 "No, miss — bless your kind heart — and 
 it was not the poor dog's fault neither. Of 
 course he flew at me, seeing me in rags like 
 these — that is dog's nature. Moreover I 
 deserved it, for, like a thief in the night, I 
 clambered over yonder wall." 
 
 " Clambered over the wall ? " 
 
 "Yes, miss; otherwise I should never have 
 been let in at all, and should thereby have 
 missed seeing you, and getting this gentle- 
 man's money." 
 
 " It was very lucky for you," said Kate, 
 gravely, "notwithstanding your meeting 
 with Nero, that you got over' the wall 
 where you did ; for almost anywhere else 
 you must have been seen from the house,
 
 206 BLONDEL PAIIVA. 
 
 and the constable would have been sent 
 after you." 
 
 " Yes ; but he is used to outrun the con- 
 stable," remarked Maurice, "that is, if the 
 history he told me about himself, the other 
 night, be correct." 
 
 " What history was it, sir ? " inquired the 
 beggar, coolly; "for I give so many different 
 accounts of myself, that I can't pretend to 
 remember." 
 
 "Well, I confess that at the time, I was 
 persuaded what you said was true," said 
 Glyn ; " but, if 'tis a tangled web we weave 
 when first we practise to deceive, it is 
 equally certain that after but a little trying, 
 there's nothing easier than lying. Your 
 story was (of course) that you had once seen 
 better days, but had outrun the constable, 
 and been obliged to flee the country, leaving 
 your family in England ; and that now you 
 were returning, after many years' exile, just 
 to see your daughter's face before you died."
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 207 
 
 " And a very pretty piece of patter, too," 
 observed the beggar, critically. — " So it took 
 you in, sir, did it ? " 
 
 " Then it was not true ? " inquired Kate 
 with severity. "Do you mean to say, un- 
 happy man, that you invent these sorrows, 
 these misfortunes, only to play upon other 
 people's feelings ? " 
 
 (" Yes ; like those unprincipled writers of 
 fiction," muttered Maurice.) 
 
 " Have you no real troubles of your own, 
 then, besides that poverty which, I fear, is 
 but the fruit of your own idleness or vices V 
 
 " Nay, young lady, I have some troubles 
 of my own," answered the old man hoarsely, 
 " nor is the cause of my poverty so entirely 
 selfish as you suppose. Something at least 
 of the story I told was true enough. I have 
 been long abroad, and though a man has no 
 home, the coming back to one's own land 
 
 But there ; this gentleman will say 
 
 that I am only plying my trade upon you."
 
 208 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 "Never mind him. Listen to me" 
 answered Kate, impatiently. "You spoke 
 of your daughter parted from you these 
 many years. Have you seen her ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And why did you not remain with her, 
 instead of following this wretched mode of 
 life?" 
 
 " I have seen her, but she has not seen 
 me, young lady. She is rich in comparison 
 with me, yet poor enough. Why should I 
 — a ragged vagabond, as you see — make 
 myself known, and shame her ? You do 
 not know, pretty mistress, and may you 
 never know, what poverty is. A great evil 
 to all, but most hated (because most 
 dreaded) by those who arc themselves only 
 a little removed from it," 
 
 " Lend me money, Mr. Glyn," whispered 
 Kate, excitedly. " Let me have whatever is 
 in your purse. There is something about 
 this unhappy man which moves me beyond
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 209 
 
 measure. I feel as if I should never forgive 
 myself if I did not help him all I could. — 
 See, here is money for you — gold. If your 
 daughter is in the circumstances you repre- 
 sent, perhaps your possession of it may 
 smooth your way with her, though I cannot 
 think she could be otherwise than pleased to 
 find her father, no matter what his circum- 
 stances. If more be necessary, it shall be 
 forthcoming, although I can but ill afford 
 it." 
 
 She held out her hand with three shining 
 pieces in its palm, but the mendicant made 
 no corresponding movement, but gazed upon 
 her pitying face with the same yearning 
 look as before. 
 
 " You hesitate," said she, gravely ; " I am 
 afraid you are deceiving me. That would 
 be a very cruel and deceitful act." 
 
 " I am not deceiving you, young lady/' 
 answered the beggar. The money is more 
 than enough. But — you are so kind that 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 BLONDEL PAHVA. 
 
 nothing seems impossible — might I ask — I 
 would rather have it than one of these 
 pounds — for the little black cross that you 
 wear about your neck ? — so that when I 
 look upon it I may always say : c This was 
 given to me by the kindest, fairest human 
 creature that ever I met/ " 
 
 " I cannot part with that cross/' answered 
 Kate simply, "because it was my dear 
 father's gift. But I will gladly make you a 
 present of this jet bracelet, if the possession 
 of it would be likely to move your heart 
 towards good." 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear Miss Irby/' inter- 
 posed Maurice, "but remember that this man 
 may be merely a clever hypocrite, a begging- 
 letter impostor, used to n 
 
 But even while he spoke the bracelet had 
 changed hands as the money had already 
 done. 
 
 " God bless you, young lady ! " exclaimed 
 the beggar, fervently. " I can give you
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 211 
 
 nothing, repay you nothing, but only pray 
 that He who is the poor man's friend may 
 one day discharge my debt. — I am obliged 
 to you, sir, too, although you are so sus- 
 picious of me ; and if ever the lion should 
 need the mouse's help, he shall have it." 
 
 "Thank you," returned Maurice, coldly., 
 "If I am ever caught in a net, I will send 
 for you. — But in the meantime," continued 
 he, stepping forward, " lest you should 
 chance to meet with Nero again, or with 
 persons less soft-hearted than this young 
 lady, I will see you safe out at the 
 gate." 
 
 " As you please, sir," said the mendicant, 
 humbly. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Kate. " May you live 
 
 for the future with your friends, and follow 
 
 this miserable course of life no longer. I 
 
 trust, for your sake, that I shall never see 
 
 your face again." 
 
 The mendicant's head fell forward, as 
 
 r 2
 
 212 BLONDEL PAKYA. 
 
 though in meek assent, and turning abruptly 
 away, he limped off by the young man's 
 side. 
 
 " You have made a good haul, my friend, 
 this morning/' observed the latter, breaking 
 silence for the first time as they neared the 
 gate. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "And yet you don't seem in such spirits 
 as we would expect a man to be who, seldom 
 seeing a shilling, finds himself with three 
 sovereigns in his pocket." 
 
 " Do I not, sir ? I am sure I am very 
 thankful for what I have got." 
 
 " Why, the starch seems all taken out of 
 you, my man. You are not half the witty 
 rogue you were when I saw you in town. 
 Perhaps you are thinking that you might 
 have made a deal more out of this matter, 
 if you had been wise. Look here ; that 
 bracelet is not a bit of good to you ; it is not 
 worth ten shillings, and you will never get a
 
 BY THE BANKS OF START. 213 
 
 crown upon it at the pop-shop. Yet I will 
 give you a couple of pounds for it." 
 
 "You are fond of the young lady, are 
 you, sir ? " returned the beggar, quietly. 
 " I hope, if you become her husband, you 
 will be kind to her, as indeed I think you 
 will. — No, sir ; I cannot part with the 
 bracelet." 
 
 " Nonsense, man ! See, here is the gate. 
 Would it not be well to take the road with 
 five pounds in your pocket instead of three ? 
 It is only stepping with me to the vicarage 
 yonder for the money." 
 
 "No, young gentleman. If ever you 
 grow to be old and penniless, and to wander 
 about the world for ten long years without a 
 
 soul ever wishing you God-speed But 
 
 there ; that's patter. — Good-bye to you, sir." 
 
 "That's an odd fish," observed Maurice 
 Glyn, reflectively, as he watched the old 
 man limp wearily along the dusty road : "a 
 very, very queer beggar, if indeed begging is
 
 214 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 his proper vocation. He is a well-spoken 
 fellow, notwithstanding his rags, and he 
 refused to go up to the house for food, as 
 though he did not relish broken victuals. I 
 think I perceive a grand opportunity for the 
 creation of a character. Let us suppose him 
 to be a decayed nobleman — but no ; in that 
 case, he would have got more out of Miss 
 Kate, and not have refused to sell me her 
 bracelet. Decayed noblemen — so far as my 
 experience goes — are not more sentimental 
 than other noblemen. There is one thing 
 certain, however, that the poor old fellow 
 has not long to play his part in the world ; 
 whatever is the nature of the performance, 
 it will soon be over. "What a churchyard 
 cough he had ! — or, even if it were feigned 
 — how ill and worn he looked! I dares 
 he deserves it ; but it must be very bad to 
 be old and ill, and to be flown at by New- 
 foundland dogs on account of one's personal 
 appearance."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 
 
 It was doubtless very unreasonable of 
 Miss Kate Irby to give away three sove- 
 reigns (not to mention that jet bracelet) to 
 a whining mendicant, of whom she knew 
 nothing save what he himself chose to tell 
 her ; but there is no accounting for the 
 vagaries of impulse. Perhaps she was 
 obeying a solemn instinct, perhaps she was 
 indulging in a whim. At all events, it was 
 not such an unreasonable piece of liberality 
 as it may appear. Except at the moment of 
 our receiving unexpected wealth, the time 
 when we are most inclined to be liberal is 
 when we are in the transition state between 
 competence and poverty. The unjust 
 steward never thought of forgiving anybody
 
 216 BLONDEL PAPVA. 
 
 his debts until he was upon the point of 
 losing his stewardship. Moreover, this is 
 especially the case when our impending loss 
 and future circumstances are both indefinite. 
 If we are to lose half our present income, 
 and sink into some altogether inferior social 
 position, three pounds do not appear of 
 much importance in that schedule of expen- 
 diture which has brought on such a state of 
 things ; while, on the other hand, we have had 
 no experience, as yet, of that condition of 
 existence wherein folks " look twice at a 
 shilling before parting with it/' and in which 
 three pounds seem " a good deal of money." 
 Like many other women who are excellent 
 "managers," and diligently attend to all 
 matters of the house, Mrs. Irbv, while 
 pluming herself upon that species of know- 
 ledge which is vaguely called " business," 
 was in reality grossly ignorant of it. She 
 scarcely comprehended the sources from 
 which she drew her income, and as lono- as
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 217 
 
 she liacl enough money " to go on with," did 
 not much concern herself with how it was 
 come by. She had now for a considerable 
 time been permitting her bills to run on and 
 run on, and even obtaining loans from her 
 banker, under the fixed impression, that 
 when Sir Nicholas died, all would, at all 
 events, be set right, even if her daughter 
 was not made a great heiress. At the least 
 (for Eichard had told her that himself), 
 there would be five hundred pounds at 
 Kate's disposal as soon as she came of age ; 
 but she did not like to dwell upon so pitiful 
 a result to her great expectations. Then 
 there was always Eichard " to fall back 
 upon, as it were." In her secret heart, she 
 did not much care about the young man for 
 his own sake ; but as the probable heir of 
 Sir Nicholas, she esteemed him highly. He 
 evidently loved Kate, and as his wife, she 
 would probably do him a great deal of 
 good : " He only wanted some one to look
 
 218 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 after him, poor fellow ; his uncle had so 
 snubbed him all his life that he had never 
 known the meaning of a home ; there was a 
 good deal of good about Richard ; " &c. &c. 
 In short, Madam endeavoured to express to 
 herself, as euphoniously as she could, the 
 fact that Eichard Anstey was a good match 
 for her daughter, notwithstanding a secret 
 misgiving that he was a bad man. 
 
 But it was a cruel disappointment to her 
 when his letter arrived, telling that not even 
 that wretched five hundred pounds were left 
 to Kate. It seemed to the widow that there 
 was now no choice but to have him for her 
 son-in-law ; and somehow, although she 
 favoured his addresses, she would rather 
 that there had been a choice in that matter. 
 She was unaware that he had already offered 
 himself to Kate, and been refused ; but if 
 she had known it, she woidd still have come 
 to the same conclusion. " Circumstances," 
 she would have said (for her philosophy
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 219 
 
 was proverbial), " alter cases ; " and when 
 the opportunity occurred again, as without 
 doubt it would (for was not her darling a 
 prize to be sought again and again by any 
 man?), Kate must not say "No," but "Yes." 
 It would be madness for her to reject him 
 now. 
 
 Mrs. Irby, however, knew her daughter 
 far too well to give utterance to this prac- 
 tical idea. She had pushed Richard's letter 
 across the breakfast-table that morning 
 without any observation beyond : " This is 
 bad news, my clear." 
 
 "So he means to keep the money, unless 
 I choose to be his wife," was Kate's quiet 
 remark when she had read it through ; but 
 the words were spoken with bitter scorn. 
 
 "It is worse news even than it looks, 
 darling," said Mrs. Irby, ignoring this de- 
 duction altogether, " for the fact is we are 
 grievously in want of money. Mr. Crozlcy 
 has been remonstrating: with me of late with
 
 220 BLOXDEL PAEVA. 
 
 regard to our expenditure, although I am 
 sure I don't know where we are to retrench : 
 we owe a good deal to the tradespeople at 
 Blonde! ; and I have also overdrawn my 
 account at the bank." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear this, mamma, but 
 still more sorry to hear it now for the first 
 time." Kate rose from her chair, and put her 
 arms about her mother's neck. " Why haw 
 you not admitted me to your confidence, 
 and shared your troubles with me 1 " 
 
 " That's just it, my darling. I do so like 
 to see you happy," returned the old lady 
 simply. " I am used to worries, and you are 
 not, and I trust you will never be." 
 
 " That is treating me like a spoiled child, 
 dear mother ; and besides, it makes the 
 truth much more bitter when it comes to be 
 told, as come it must," 
 
 " Yes, darling ; but I always thought 
 there would be no occasion to tell you. If 
 Sir Nicholas had only behaved with common
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 221 
 
 honesty, everything would have been paid 
 off without our feeling the loss. I did it all 
 for the best, as I thought, Katie." 
 
 " Yes, and all for my sake," answered the 
 young girl caressingly. " I know quite well 
 that Love has been your prompter all along. 
 But it has been a mistake, dear mamma ; 
 and now please to make amends by telling 
 me without concealment how matters really 
 stand." 
 
 "Well, Kate, the truth is, although I 
 understand business as well as most people, 
 I don't quite know, myself; and if Mr. 
 Crozley, the lawyer, knows, it's as much as 
 he does. When your poor father came to 
 his sad end, his affairs were in a terrible 
 state. It's dreadful to speak of such a 
 thing ; but if he had not died, I don't know 
 what would have become of us. He owed 
 money to everybody, and yet he had realised 
 all he could — among other things, even the 
 advowson of the living which had been in
 
 222 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the Irby family, I believe, ever since 
 William the Conquerors time." 
 
 " I scarcely think quite so long as that, 
 mamma," said Kate, smiling in spite of 
 herself. 
 
 "Well, I don't know, my dear; but it 
 was quite an heirloom, at all events. How- 
 ever, it is no use crying over spilt milk. He 
 did what he could, poor man — insured his 
 life in three different offices for a great sum, 
 no less than fifteen thousand pounds ; and 
 because he had only paid a premium or two, 
 a hard job we had to get the money. Just 
 as if it had been his fault that he got 
 drowned, dear, dear, or as if he had done it 
 on purpose. They did pay it after a bit, 
 but there were great legal debts, to dis- 
 charge." 
 
 " Legal debts, mamma 1 Did you not 
 pay all his debts ? " 
 
 "Certainly not, Kate. As for what he 
 owed the racing people, I don't know, and I
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 223 
 
 don't care : your father never told me 
 whether he won or lost ; he would come 
 home after having thrown a thousand 
 pounds away upon 'an event/ as they call 
 it — shocking events, I say — as cool as a 
 cucumber, and never take out his ill-luck in 
 ill-temper with his wife, as some husbands 
 do ; but I have heard, although he was very 
 fortunate as a young man, that of late years 
 everything went wrong with him. Those 
 race-courses are sad things : if a man could 
 win a little money, and then get away from 
 them, that would be different ; but there, he 
 is never satisfied — at least that was your 
 poor dear father's case — it is just like the 
 moth at the candle " 
 
 " Then, besides the estate, dear mamma," 
 interrupted Kate, with well-founded appre- 
 hension of digression, "we had fifteen 
 thousand pounds to live upon, or what was 
 left of it after paying our debts ? " 
 
 " Estate ! my dear child — there is no
 
 ;>;>! BL0XDEL PARVA. 
 
 (■state ! We get nothing out of the manor 
 whatever, unless it's the wall-fruit and the 
 
 carp, which I had just as soon be without, 
 for dressed alone they're tasteless, and 
 stewed with sauces they're very unwhole- 
 some. The whole place is mortgaged to its 
 full value, and Mr. Crozley says, beyond it. 
 We have just the interest of twelve thou- 
 sand pounds, or so, to live upon. I don't 
 quite know what it comes to, but it's in the 
 per cents quite safe ; you can see my 
 accounts, and there is not a penny I have 
 not put down. I am sure I have nothing to 
 reproach myself with, in that respect," 
 
 "But what do we spend a year, mam- 
 ma ? " 
 
 "I can tell you to a fraction, my love. 
 Last year we spent £713 17 s. S^d. ; and 
 the year before that, rather ]ess ; now, this 
 year it will be a trifle more, because of the 
 new carpet in your own little parlour 
 (which, however, I don't regret buying in
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 225 
 
 the least), and also of some repairs that 
 were absolutely necessary : the oak-fence 
 round the paddock was so rotten that 
 Mr. Crozley said it was a wonder that the 
 wind didn't blow it down." 
 
 " Seven hundred a year ! Then we must 
 have been living far beyond our income, 
 dear mamma." 
 
 " That's just what Mr. Crozley said, dear : 
 his very words to me only the last time I 
 saw him. But then I always thought as 
 Sir Nicholas would have behaved like an 
 honest man, and, at all events, left us that 
 ten thousand pounds of which he robbed 
 your poor papa. That would have set us 
 up quite nicely ; and you should have had 
 a new piano — that one you took such a 
 fancy to in Mr. Lute's shop at Blondel Regis 
 ■ — on your very next birthday. But you 
 must wait now, my darling, till better 
 times." 
 
 " Never mind the piano, mamma ; the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 old one will do for me very well ; but above 
 all tilings, let ns understand our position — 
 let Mr. Crozley tell us exactly bow matters 
 are, and wbat it is necessary for us to do. 
 It seems to me that we ougbt to leave this 
 bouse." 
 
 " Wbat ! leave the manor ? Leave the 
 place where the Irbys have been so re- 
 spected time out of mind ! Leave all the 
 poor people who are dependent upon us. 
 and Mr. Milton too, who, I'm sure, is a very 
 nice young man — with no new-fangled ways, 
 such as curates so often have now-a-days — 
 and there is nothing I dislike more than a 
 change of clergyman ! It's worse than a 
 change of air ; and you know that the air 
 away from Blondel always seems to me 
 either too bracing or too relaxing. Then 
 there's the priory, which, as I have often 
 heard you say, is what no other place has to 
 
 shew; and your own clear little parlour 
 
 No, no ; it would break my heart to see
 
 A WOMAN OF "BUSINESS. 227 
 
 you anywhere else; and I am sure your 
 cousin Eichard, or Sir Eichard Anstey, 
 as I should say now — although he does 
 write cautious and prudent, would be 
 shocked " 
 
 " Never mind Sir Eichard Anstey, mam- 
 ma," interposed Kate gravely ; "let us look 
 this matter in the face for ourselves, whom 
 it alone concerns. As for leaving Blondel, 
 I should, of course, be sorry to do that ; but 
 it is evidently impossible for us to go on 
 living as we have done heretofore. This 
 house — or, at all events, its grounds — is 
 expensive to keep up, and quite beyond our 
 needs : why should we not take some 
 pleasant little cottage, like Widow Lint- 
 white's, which is now to let, by-the-by, and 
 where you could still be able to keep your 
 pony-carriage ? " 
 
 "No, my dear," replied Mrs. Irby with 
 dignity ; " I have always been lady of the 
 manor here, and if I am not to be so for the 
 
 q 2
 
 228 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 future, I had rather leave Blondel alto- 
 gether/' 
 
 " Be it so, dear mamma," answered Kate 
 cheerfully. " Now, what I should suggest 
 is, to drive over to Blondel Regis at once, 
 and see Mr. Crozley." 
 
 " Very well, darling — if you wish it 
 — by all means," hesitated Mrs. Irby : 
 " but there is no immediate hurry ; and 
 really, between ourselves, I am quite 
 ashamed to show myself in the town. 
 The butcher, the baker, and the candle- 
 stick-maker, as the song says (for although 
 there may be no candlestick-maker, there 
 is an ironmonger who has not been paid 
 for three years), they all seem to ln- 
 asking for a settlement, and • some of 
 them have even forgotten to touch their 
 hats. It's quite unpleasant, I do assure 
 you." 
 
 " But, my dear mother, they have a right 
 to be paid," urged Kate ; " and as for the
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 229 
 
 unpleasantness, all the shame is gone so 
 soon as we intend to do our duty. With 
 me by your side, to share your trouble, you 
 will not feel it half so much. Let me ring 
 for the carriage, mamma, and let us start at 
 once." 
 
 "My dearest Kate," returned Mrs. Irby 
 with gravity, " what you propose is simply 
 impossible, and out of the question. I will 
 go to Blondel myself, since you wish me to 
 do so, but I go alone, I could not allow 
 you to see Mr. Crozley on such a subject. 
 It is not right for a young lady to concern 
 herself with it. You don't understand these 
 affairs as I do, my love — how should 
 you?" 
 
 Kate smiled ; she would much rather have 
 heard how matters stood from Mr. Crozley 's 
 own lips ; but she saw that by insisting 
 upon it she should pain her mother. 
 Mrs. Irby really piqued herself upon being 
 " a woman of business," and resented any
 
 230 BLONDEL PAEVA. 
 
 interference, not only as an infringement 
 upon her prerogative, but as meddling with 
 a subject which she had by stud)' made her 
 special forte. She would, however, doubt- 
 less have granted this request of Kate's — as 
 she did all others — but that she feared the 
 plain-spoken candour of Mr. Crozley. She 
 had no intention of any longer withholding 
 from her daughter the true circumstances of 
 their position, but she hoped to be able to 
 soften matters a little in the recapitula- 
 tion. 
 
 Worldly wise (and worldly foolish) as we 
 have seen Mrs. Irby to be, yet the real 
 mainspring of all her motives was, after 
 all, no mean one, since it was maternal 
 love. 
 
 Mrs. Irby, then, had driven to Blondel 
 Eegis alone that morning ; and her inter- 
 view with her lawyer was so protracted that 
 she did not return until dinner-time. Her 
 absence, and the suspense it necessarily
 
 A WOMAN OF BUSINESS. 231 
 
 involved, was, however, mitigated to Kate 
 throughout the interval — such are the agree- 
 able opportunities which country-life affords 
 — by the society of Mr. Maurice Glyn.
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 STRAITS AT THE MANOR, AND FEARS AT 
 THE VICARAGE. 
 
 The report which the widow brought 
 back with her from " my man of business, 
 Mr. Crozley," was dolorous enough. He 
 had made her listen to him at last. She did 
 not turn her eyes away this time from the 
 picture he presented to her view : he had 
 always done so faithfully enough ; but it 
 was now absolutely necessary not only that 
 she should believe, but act ; or else, he did 
 not hesitate to say, there would ensue some- 
 thing like ruin. Perhaps, deceived by his 
 client's confidence in Sir Nicholas's testa- 
 mentary intentions, he had forborne to press 
 her hardly hitherto, and therefore he was 
 the more urgent upon this occasion. She
 
 STEAITS AT THE MANOR. 233 
 
 saw for the first time clearly tlie growing 
 hillocks of debt by which her path was envi- 
 roned, and the dangerous abyss into which 
 it led. Mr. Crozley strongly advised, as 
 Kate had done, that the widow should leave 
 the manor-house for some less ambitious 
 residence in Blondel Parva ; but upon this 
 point Madam was firm. She shrank from 
 the confession of poverty which such a 
 change would involve, for the opinion of her 
 neighbours was much to her ; and she had 
 another and still more valid reason for 
 remaining where they were, at all events 
 for the present. All her hopes were now 
 centered in her daughter's union with 
 Eichard, and she read his character suf- 
 ficiently well to know that it was best to 
 treat with him on something like equal 
 terms, or what at least appeared to be such. 
 There was no external inequality in an en- 
 gagement between Sir Eichard Anstey, Bart., 
 and Miss Irby of Blondel Manor, whereas
 
 234 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 this there would certainly be if the widow 
 removed to Acacia Cottage. So it was 
 settled that the Irbys were still to remain at 
 the great house ; but the pony-carriage was 
 to be disposed of, the groom "put down," 
 and the paddock to be let for grazing 
 purposes ; nor did poor Madam need to 
 weave chain-armour for the fruit in the old 
 wall-garden any more, since it was to be 
 rented by an enterprising speculator in 
 Blondel Eegis, who would consign the 
 bloomy plums and downy peaches to the 
 London market. 
 
 It was touching to hear Mrs. Irby 
 breaking this terrible news, as she considered 
 it, to her daughter, and accusing herself of 
 being the cause of their common misfortune. 
 "It is little matter indeed to me, my 
 darling, for I have not been used to comforts 
 all my life, as you have, and can easily go 
 back to my old way of life when I kept 
 fathers house for him, and looked after the
 
 STEAITS AT THE MANOR. 235 
 
 dairy with my own hands as well as eyes ; 
 but yon, my dear, are not fit for such 
 things ; you will never, never take kindly 
 to poverty ; and, oh, I am so wretched when 
 I think that it is my own foolish trust in a 
 bad man which has brought you to this 
 pass/' 
 
 "My dearest mother," returned Kate, 
 whose face was not only cheerful, but 
 radiant, "the only thing that can give me 
 cause for sorrow in this matter is to hear 
 you thus reproach yourself, and estimate my 
 own character so low. It would be shame- 
 ful in one, with youth and health, like me, 
 to bewail the loss of mere luxuries. One 
 would really think that something like 
 beggary was before us, instead of so much 
 being left for us to be thankful for ; though 
 I do wish that we could manage to keep the 
 pony-carriage, for I know you enjoy driving 
 so 
 
 " Oh, bother the pony-carriage ! " broke in
 
 230 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the old lady ; " thank God, I can get about 
 on my own legs yet ; but it is your having 
 to go without that new piano that bothers 
 me, the old one is so ramshackly ; and then, 
 again, we shall be able to keep no company 
 — and I do like to see you shine, my darling 
 — no, we mustn't even ask Mr. Milton any 
 more to step in when he likes for pot-luck, 
 and far less entertain any strangers, like 
 that nice Mr. Glyn ." 
 
 " Well, dear mamma, but perhaps we may 
 find that people come to us for something 
 else than their dinners." 
 
 "Not men, my darling; don't you 
 deceive yourself. Women will come for tea, 
 and even for talk ; but if you want gentle- 
 men's company, you must give them meat 
 and wine. Your poor dear father knew men 
 well, and he always used to say, that the 
 true way to a man's heart lay through — 
 what's the name of the thing he tastes with, 
 my dear ? — yes, his palate."
 
 STRAITS AT THE MANOR. 237 
 
 "Very well, mamma, we shall see," re- 
 joined Kate, with a smile that had some- 
 thing of quiet triumph in it. 
 
 And Kate was so far right, that 
 Mr. Maurice Glyn did not discontinue his 
 afternoon visits to the manor, notwithstand- 
 ing that it became the custom there to dine 
 at mid-day — Madam found early hours to 
 agree best with her, she said — and there was 
 therefore nothing but " kettle-drum " in the 
 way of refreshment ; but Mrs. Irby would 
 by no means allow that her theory was 
 thereby disproved. "It is only that 
 Mr. Milton happens to dine early also, my 
 dear ; and you needn't flatter yourself that 
 we should have that gay London gentle- 
 man's company, only that he is sure of a 
 good supper when he gets home ; and even 
 as it is, you see, the curate does not come 
 up here so often as when there was always 
 a knife and fork for him. That's the worst 
 of the clergy — and so I have read it was in
 
 238 BLOXDEL PAHVA. 
 
 the old monks' times — they have always 
 such a relish for good victuals." 
 
 This severe remark was so far justified in 
 Mr. Milton's case, that he did not often ac- 
 company his friend to the manor-house. 
 There was a good deal to he done in the 
 parish just then, he said, and, as we have 
 hinted, particularly in one part of the parish. 
 Poor Joseph Grange being the only person 
 in all his flock afflicted with blindness, he 
 was naturally an object of peculiar solicitude 
 with his pastor, and his reception at the 
 gate-keeper's cottage was always cordial. 
 
 " It is a pleasure to see you, sir," the old 
 man would say, with characteristic disregard 
 of his own calamity ; and Mary's welcome 
 was as unmistakeable as her father's, though 
 it was only given by her eyes. 
 
 The old man's bed had been removed into 
 the parlour of late, his own apartment being 
 very small, and the weather oppressive, so 
 that the reception-room had even a more
 
 STEAITS AT THE MANOR. 239 
 
 humble appearance than usual ; not that 
 furniture, indeed, or the lack of it, makes 
 much difference in the eyes of love ; but 
 there were other matters that might have 
 put the visitor in mind, not only of the ine- 
 quality, but of the unsuitability of the 
 alliance he contemplated. As for Mary, her 
 manner was perfection itself ; but her father 
 fell so very considerably short of that stan- 
 dard in his behaviour, that the length of the 
 interval might have well made a less resolute 
 suitor pause. To a man blind as well as 
 poor, to whom so great a social advantage 
 offered itself, much was to be forgiven, but 
 not the vulgar obsequiousness with which 
 he treated his guest, and the coarse 
 flattery with which he strove to enhance 
 his daughter's merits. No match-making 
 mother, destitute of that tact upon which 
 the sex (too often fallaciously) pride them- 
 selves, could have worse played her cards, 
 or more openly showed her hand to the
 
 240 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 anticipated victim. The curate could not 
 avoid perceiving this, and winced ; but then 
 did not Mary shudder too ? " This man of 
 commonest clay," thought he, " has got a 
 daughter who is an angel. " 
 
 But how was such information to be con- 
 veyed in practical shape to a city uncle ? 
 The Eev. Charles Milton was not a man to 
 be without a strong sense of family duty, 
 but he had also a sense of what was due to 
 all, including himself. Now, at all events, 
 however it might have been in that bygone 
 case of the pastrycook's daughter, he felt he 
 was past that age when an uncle is the best 
 judge as to whom his nephew shall marry ; 
 and, besides, much of that great love which 
 induces a man to leave father and mother 
 and cleave to his wife was already given to 
 Mary. He had not as yet asked her to be 
 his, and he resolved to delay this until he 
 should have informed his uncle of his fixed 
 intention so to do. If most people in his
 
 FEARS AT THE VICARAGE. 241 
 
 position would not (as society, losing all 
 patience with such conduct, would certainly 
 have expressed it) " have made such fools of 
 themselves/' it must also be remembered 
 that some would have married, and not 
 asked leave till afterwards. 
 
 If Maurice Glyn had chanced to spend a 
 certain afternoon at the vicarage, instead of 
 "just looking in" at the manor-house, as 
 had now become his invariable custom, he 
 would not have failed to notice that his 
 friend began to grow nervous and uneasy 
 soon after the post had gone out. When he 
 came home to supper, he did observe that 
 Charley had no appetite, and had got the 
 fidgets ; and in the course of the night, he 
 was awakened more than once by a hasty 
 walking to and fro in his host's room. But 
 the fact was, Maurice had a certain matter 
 of his own to think about, such as, above all 
 others, makes men selfish, and prone to 
 think their fellows as happy as themselves ; 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 and it was not until they met at the break- 
 fast-table that he perceived, from the curate's 
 face and distrait manner, that something 
 was going very wrong with his friend and 
 host. Then, indeed, his solicitude was 
 aroused, and self-reproach perhaps made it 
 all the keener, and more inclined for action. 
 
 " I have written to my uncle about 
 Mary," said the curate, simply, in reply to 
 his anxious questioning ; " and until his 
 answer comes — which it will do by to- 
 morrow's post, unless he comes himself — I 
 am afraid I shall be but a dull companion." 
 
 " Don't talk of that. What can I do for 
 you ? " was his friend's affectionate reply. 
 
 " Leave me to myself, Maurice ; that is 
 the best service you can do for me to-day. 
 feel better alone: I shall not even go down 
 to the cottage ; not until to-morrow, when I 
 shall know the worst — that is, from the 
 world's point of view, not mine. True, I 
 have scarcely any hope that my uncle will
 
 FEABS AT THE VICARAGE. 243 
 
 accede to my wishes ; but in that case, I 
 shall be almost as poor as Mary herself, and 
 all inequalities will vanish. " 
 
 " Yes, Charley ; but — you will forgive an 
 old friend — are you perfectly certain that, 
 under those changed circumstances " 
 
 "I think so, Maurice," interrupted the 
 curate, gently — " I think she loves me for 
 myself." 
 
 "Just so," persisted the other, thought- 
 fully ; " but if it should turn out otherwise. 
 This young lady has a father — and from 
 hints you have occasionally dropped, it is 
 not impossible he may be more mercenary — 
 should she act under his advice, and decline 
 your offer, what would you do then, old 
 fellow?" 
 
 " I should feel, Maurice, that I had been 
 mistaken — and — and — hope in time to find 
 in Duty that happiness which I had too 
 rashly counted upon to find in Love. — But 
 there," added he, with vehemence, "God 
 
 B 2
 
 244 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 alone knows what I should do — I dare not 
 think of it. She seems to hold my very life 
 within her little hands ! " 
 
 How strange it seemed that this eminently 
 respectable young man, so submissive to 
 authority in the abstract, and who shrank 
 aghast even from the utterance of unli- 
 censed opinion, should be so resolutely 
 prepared to take his own way in this 
 matter, at so great a risk, nay, at the posi- 
 tive certainty of ruin to all his prospects. 
 But for his affection for him, the litterateur 
 would have regarded the curate (as an artist 
 his model unexpectedly thrown into an 
 attitude abnormal, but highly picturesque) 
 with the utmost professional interest ; but 
 as it was, Maurice felt very sad as he con- 
 templated that future which he thought he 
 saw awaiting his friend. He knew what 
 the contents of the letter which would arrive 
 next morning would be, as certainly as 
 though it lay open before him ; and the
 
 FEARS AT THE VICARAGE. 245 
 
 curate also knew, and although he had used 
 the words "scarcely any hope/' he indeed 
 had none at all. 
 
 Mr. Milton the elder, vulgar and material 
 in his ideas though he was, as any indivi- 
 dual whom the City welcomes during office- 
 hours, and dismisses to suburban villa at 
 eve, was yet furnished with at least two 
 poetical elements of character — the passion 
 of anger and an implacable purpose. That 
 episode of the pastrycook's daughter, although 
 popular enough in undergraduate circles, had 
 never reached his ears ; he did not conceive 
 it possible that his nephew and heir could 
 choose a wife that was not in a position of 
 life at least equal to his own ; or that, 
 having chosen, he should venture to adhere 
 to that choice in defiance of his will. If he 
 should presume to do so, however, he would 
 be at no loss how to deal with such audacity. 
 It is not only persons of large landed estates 
 and hereditary titles who are tyrants, and
 
 246 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 treat tlicir dependents as slaves ; nor was 
 Brutus the last man who has sacrificed 
 paternal love to other feelings — not neces- 
 sarily patriotic ones. 
 
 Eevolving this matter in his mind, and 
 attaching that greater value to his conclu- 
 sions, which we are apt to do when consider- 
 ing a friend's affairs and not our own, 
 Maurice Glyn paced alone the vicarage 
 garden, and presently passing through its 
 wicket-gate, took for a furlong his accus- 
 tomed way; then suddenly branched off 
 into a footpath, which led him by so cir- 
 cuitous a route that he did not arrive at the 
 manor until late in the afternoon.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 
 
 If our joys fall short of our expectations, 
 our sorrows are, on the other hand, rarely so 
 painful as the suspense which precedes them. 
 When Charles Milton got his uncle's letter, 
 harsh as were its contents, and even more 
 resolutely set against his wishes than he had 
 apprehended, still he now knew the worst, 
 and could find relief in action. 
 
 " If you demean yourself by this alliance," 
 wrote the old man, in words elevated by 
 passion far above his wonted style, " you are 
 no longer nephew of mine. I disown you — 
 I disinherit you ; I will hold no manner of 
 communication with you while I live ; not a 
 penny of mine shall you receive when I am 
 dead. I would rather throw my money in
 
 248 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the gutter than let it go to you. Marry this 
 beggar-girl if you dare ; then starve with 
 her and the brats she bears you on a hun- 
 dred pounds a year. I am glad indeed 
 to think that I never bought you a 
 living." 
 
 There was much more to the same effect ; 
 but there were other portions of the letter 
 almost tender, wherein the writer expressed 
 his hope that his nephew would not disgrace 
 him yet, but listen to his warning voice 
 while there was time. 
 
 But the sentences above quoted were 
 what alone seemed to concern the young 
 man now. If Charles Milton had nothing- 
 else in common with his uncle, he had his 
 determination of purpose, and he had made 
 up his mind to make Mary Grange his wife. 
 This resolve perhaj^s might have been sapped 
 by tender adjuration, affectionate appeal; 
 but this attempt to carry it by assault not 
 only failed, but rendered what before was
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 219 
 
 firm inflexible. He put the letter into his 
 friend's hand with a grim smile. 
 
 " You mean to persist?" inquired Maurice, 
 quietly, when he had read it through. 
 
 "At the risk of being a curate all my 
 days," replied the other, cheerfully. " Yes : 
 that is not so very terrible to me as it seems 
 to my uncle. Now, you would not think it, 
 but this very man himself wooed and won 
 his wife when he had not half this income 
 which he sneers at." 
 
 " Still, he married in his own rank of life, 
 Charley. He has risen, not without pains, 
 to one much higher, and he has toiled, 
 hitherto, not only for himself, but for you. 
 To your uncle, who has worked for it and 
 won it, social position means much, and of 
 course it angers him to see his nephew at 
 one stroke destroy what he has wrought 
 with such long effort." 
 
 "You are right, friend," rejoined the 
 curate, gently. " It ill becomes me to
 
 250 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 rebuke my uncle, but I cannot obey him. 
 Oh, if you had but seen the letter which I 
 wrote him, Maurice, this would seem a harsh 
 reply." 
 
 "I don't doubt it, Charley. It is his 
 nature to be stern, and when opposed, to 
 become what seems to you cruel. Besides, 
 a man who has made his own way in the 
 world, as he has done, becomes in the 
 process less nice and sensitive than those 
 who, like you and me, are started on a 
 raised level. He has worked with spade 
 and barrow, and built the embankment, and 
 laid down the rails; what wonder if his 
 hands are rougher than ours, the mere 
 passengers, who have only had to take our 
 first-class places, and sit still while the train 
 goes smoothly along the line." 
 
 " That is true, Maurice, and I thank you 
 for pointing it out. I have indeed no right 
 to blame my uncle ; and, besides, I owe 
 him very much, I know, but not so much as
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 251 
 
 lie demands here, by way of repayment : I 
 must tell him that." 
 
 "Yes, but not now/' said Glyn, as the 
 curate seated himself at his desk, as if to 
 write. "There are hours to spare before 
 the post goes out. Take time to think 
 about it." 
 
 "Nothing will alter my resolution, 
 Maurice." 
 
 "Yet I say take time." 
 
 " All, I see what you mean, friend. 
 Well, I will see her first, and then write. 
 I begged you yesterday to leave me ; to-day, 
 I ask you to stay here, or at least to be here 
 when I return. By then, I shall know what 
 to write home, or to what was my home." 
 
 "I will stay here till you come back, 
 Charley : but — look here, old friend — don t 
 be too sure of what we two were talking 
 about yesterday ; and if matters do not turn 
 out as you expect, don't be broken-hearted, 
 and don't be angry with the girl."
 
 252 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 "Angry with Mary? No, Maurice. That, 
 for certain, I shall not he. If I should have 
 mistaken her, there will be nobody to be 
 angry with except myself. " 
 
 To see the curate's confident grave smile 
 and cheery nod as he took up his hat, was a 
 pleasant sight after what had gone before. 
 He knew himself henceforward as one poor 
 in this world's goods, and who would grow 
 poorer, with prospects blighted, and his only 
 relative estranged ; but, on the other hand, 
 how secure of her whose love should make 
 amends for all. 
 
 Maurice Glyn looked after him wistfully, 
 sadly, as he strode across the little lawn and 
 into the quiet street, then passed — still 
 listening to his friend's retreating- steps — 
 into his favourite haunt, the vicarage garden. 
 He would not have long to wait, he knew ; 
 counting time by minutes, the curate could 
 scarcely be an hour away. Yet how the 
 minutes dragged along ! The level marsh,
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 233 
 
 where once the sea had been, had his gaze, 
 but not his thoughts ; nor could the ocean 
 itself, with its ceaseless roar, its boundless 
 range, fill them as it was wont to do ; nor 
 the curved bay, dotted for miles with towers, 
 each the counterpart of each, whose war- 
 like use was gone. Earth's changes and the 
 monuments of time are nothing to him that 
 has one gnawing care : an eyelash inward 
 turned makes valueless the most glowing 
 landscape ; and the toothache's twinge has 
 force to abolish past and present, and fix 
 our whole being's regard upon a single 
 nerve. With a face paler even than usual, 
 and eyes gazing vacantly on land and sea, 
 Maurice Glyn paced the grassy walk, his 
 ears attentive for the curate's returning step. 
 The deep quiet of the country was around 
 him, and what wind there was blew from 
 the quarter whence his friend would come. 
 At last, along the unfrequented road, there 
 is a far-off footfall. Can it be his, that slow
 
 251 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 and lagging tread, so different from the firm 
 clastic stride with which lie started ? Yes, 
 it stops at the gate on the other side of the 
 house, and comes up the gravel-path, like 
 the step of one who follows a dead friend 
 to his grave, and then the study-door is 
 opened, closed, and locked. 
 
 " Poor Charley ; Heaven help him I u 
 muttered Maurice. " But it is surely better 
 thus : the cup is bitter, but who would not 
 rather drain it — if his mind were free to 
 judge — than live a life full of disease and 
 pain ? The day will come when the patient 
 will be grateful ; and even if the physician 
 get no thanks, the good is done. If I were 
 
 in his place, and Kate But there, 
 
 that's nonsense." 
 
 He entered the house, and knocked softly 
 at the study-door. There was no verbal 
 answer, but almost at once the curate un- 
 locked it, and stood before him, pale and 
 worn — for it is not years that wear, but the
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 255 
 
 bad clays in them — and yet with no despair 
 in his grave eyes ; some wholesome tears, 
 perhaps (for they were red), had cleansed 
 them of it. 
 
 "You were right, friend," said he, with 
 the ghost of a smile, " and I was mistaken." 
 
 " I will not say that I am sorry," returned 
 Glyn, taking the curate's hand, " except for 
 the present pain. In years to come " 
 
 " Don't Maurice, don't. It may be or it 
 may not — God knows. Just now, it seems 
 that time — nay, that eternity itself has 
 nothing of compensation in it. She did love 
 me once ; I am very sure she did, and oh, I 
 would have loved her as wife was never 
 loved. — God forgive the man who has come 
 between us ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " ejaculated Maurice, fervently. 
 " It is quite off, is it, Charley ? " 
 
 "Quite; for ever. I can tell my uncle 
 what will please him so far." 
 
 There was an expression in the curate's
 
 256 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 countenance his friend had never seen there 
 heretofore ; one which, if a ruffian's face had 
 worn, one would have said : " How unmer- 
 ciful, how relentless ! " 
 
 " What are you going to do with that, 
 Charley ? " Glyn pointed to a bank-note 
 which the other was placing in an envelope. 
 
 " I am going to return the fifty pounds he 
 sent me on my birthday," answered the 
 other, sternly. " I wish I could repay him 
 all I owe him." 
 
 " Are you speaking of your uncle ? " 
 
 " Yes ; who else ? I will never take a 
 shilling; from his hand again. His threat 
 shall take effect exactly as he intended : it 
 is only right that it should do so ; for it was 
 to be the punishment of my disobedience, 
 and I am disobedient still." 
 
 "This is sheer madness, Milton. "What! 
 would you lose both bride and uncle — 
 impoverish yourself thus, and for nothing ! " 
 
 "No, not for nothing, Glyn," answered
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 257 
 
 the curate, hoarsely ; " but for this letter, 
 which has robbed me of my love, my life, 
 my wife ! Since he can write such words as 
 these — draining my heart of health, of hope, 
 of all — he has ceased to be my kinsman. 
 Yes, I know what you would say : that I 
 am a clergyman — a minister of God. It is 
 easy for you to remember that." There was 
 a spark of anger in his tone, but it died out 
 as soon as struck. " Do not imagine that I 
 wish my uncle harm — that I would not pay 
 him reverence and duty where I could. But 
 henceforth, I renounce his favours. I will 
 take no gift from the hand that could deal a 
 blow like this. She read it, Maurice — read 
 here "this beggar-girl;" and the cruel words 
 crushed out of her the love she bore me. 
 They pressed it from her eyes in one sweet 
 shower, then left them cold and lightless. — 
 Maurice, Maurice, it is hard to bear ! " 
 
 "And her blind father, Charley — what 
 did he say ? "
 
 258 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " Nothing ; he only nodded ' Yes' to what 
 she said. She spoke without his prompting. 
 She said that since my friends had set them- 
 selves against the match — for she ivould 
 read the letter — and since I should hut have 
 
 a curate's stipend upon which to live 
 
 But why repeat it ? If she had been a lady 
 born and bred, she could not have been 
 more discreet and cold. And yet it seemed 
 sometimes as though she spoke by rote, like 
 one who had learned her lesson from another 
 — but who was there to teach her ? Who 
 could have known, save you and me, that I 
 was coming ? And coming with that letter 
 — why, I did not know that myself. I did 
 not think my uncle could have written such 
 words. No, no ; she does not love me, 
 Maurice ; you are right. It is all over." 
 
 He leaned his head upon his hands, and 
 stared before him with such a hopeless look 
 as was pitiful to see. 
 
 "But since it is so, Milton," urged
 
 HIDDEN DEPTHS IN THE CURATE. 259 
 
 Maurice Glyn, "why make the matter 
 worse, by breaking with your uncle ? " 
 
 " Ah, you do not understand that ? " re- 
 turned the curate, bitterly. "You would have 
 me fat and sleek, and kiss the hand that 
 pampers when it does not chance to crush. 
 Well, we will not discuss that matter. Help 
 me rather to forget ; that is the kindest 
 service you can do me now. Take another 
 pipe in the garden, old fellow, while I get 
 this letter off my mind ; and then we will 
 walk out together where you will." 
 
 For the first time during their long com- 
 panionship, Maurice Glyn felt himself 
 weaker than his friend, and did as he was 
 bid. The soothing weed was wont to be 
 very grateful to him ; under its influence, 
 he dreamed his fairest dreams, nurtured his 
 fondest ambitions, and thought the thoughts, 
 which, though losing much in the process of 
 expression, others were yet well pleased to 
 read ; but to-day the charm might not work. 
 
 s 2
 
 260 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 Notwithstanding the bright future that 
 seemed opening for himself, and which but 
 yesterday had given to all things such a 
 golden tinge, Maurice Glyn had never felt 
 more wretched; and, indeed, he had good 
 reason for his sorrow.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 SIR RICHARD " ASKS MAMMA." 
 
 Sir Nicholas being dead, there was of 
 course an end to Dubarrydom. It would 
 ill become this respectable history to follow 
 the subsequent fortunes of Lippy, of Leo- 
 nard, or of Charles. As for Meg, an apology 
 is perhaps due to Society for having ever 
 mentioned her. Such people, it seems, must 
 exist, but their existence ought to be 
 ignored. With respect to these unlawful 
 children, then, it will be sufficient to hazard 
 a conjecture, that the two last-named settled 
 down — having tolerably good incomes se- 
 cured to them — into gentlemen-farmers, on 
 speaking terms with members of the county 
 hunt, but scarcely with their wives and 
 daughters. Lippy, who, even at that early
 
 262 BLONDEL PABVA. 
 
 age at which lie was introduced to our 
 notice, had exhibited taste with his pencil, 
 went abroad with his mother to Eome, and 
 (let us suppose) became a painter — a pro- 
 fession in which genealogy is not of much 
 consequence. 
 
 At the same time, it must be confessed 
 that the effects of the bar sinister are not 
 always so unpleasant as rigid morality would 
 desire. It is a question not so much of 
 principle as of comparison. The illegitimate 
 descendants of a monarch, for instance, are 
 held in the highest honour, and become 
 the principal ornaments of an hereditary 
 peerage ; even those of an earl, if he is 
 very rich, and has left them well pro- 
 vided for, are by no means looked down 
 upon in the country, and hunt in scarlet 
 without incurring objectionable inuendos 
 with respect to the colour. But Society 
 must draw the line somewhere (or where 
 are we ?), and she draws it — with her
 
 SIE RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA." 263 
 
 usnal exquisite discrimination — just above 
 baronets. 
 
 Yes ; to borrow the delicate expression 
 more than once made use of in the servants' 
 hall, " the whole lot of them left-handed ones 
 had to clear out" from the Court on the 
 accession of the rightful heir. The whole 
 affair might have furnished another allegory 
 for the author of that celebrated ceiling-piece 
 in the great drawing-room, Vice fleeing 
 before Virtue. Sir Eichard Anstey, Bart., 
 reigned in his ancestral halls alone, and was 
 condoled with upon the domestic affliction 
 which had befallen him by all the families 
 in the neighbourhood, and especially by 
 those which included marriageable daughters. 
 It was not unknown that he had been pay- 
 ing his addresses to Miss Kate Irby, but it 
 was rumoured that the affairs of that young 
 lady's mamma had become greatly embar- 
 rassed : since Sir Nicholas had died without 
 a will, she had no longer even expectations ;
 
 264 ELOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 and it was not to be expected that a young 
 man in so brilliant a position as Sir Richard 
 would throw himself away upon a portion- 
 less girl. Marriage between cousins, too, a 
 matter always to be deprecated, is more 
 especially so when the lady has no com- 
 pensation-balance at her banker's. 
 
 There was no dispute about the late ba- 
 ronet's intestacy. Even Mr. James Hoskins 
 thought it as likely as not that Sir Nicholas 
 had destroyed the will which he had wit- 
 nessed ; and since that intruder, who had 
 beheld a certain occurrence through the 
 window of the Blue Parlour, had made no 
 sign of what he had seen, the whole affair 
 might be considered concluded, and Sir 
 Richard felt himself tolerably secure. 
 
 Tolerably, but far from absolutely. That 
 haggard triumphant face, which had some- 
 how contrived to borrow the lineaments of 
 the dead, had peered in upon him in ima- 
 gination for many nights and days, although
 
 265 
 
 its visits were now growing less frequent. 
 Gardeners, park-keepers, lodge-keepers, had 
 been keenly questioned as to whether an ill- 
 looking tramp had not been seen about the 
 place on the day on which the late baronet 
 died ; but they all agreed, not only in deny- 
 ing it, but in affirming that so great was 
 their vigilance and circumspection, that no 
 such wretch could possibly have set foot in 
 the Court precincts : with which statement 
 their new lord and master had perforce to be 
 content. 
 
 Sir Kichard Anstey was not, as we have 
 hinted, by nature genial, or greatly given 
 to society; like many other disagreeable 
 persons, he shewed his bad taste in liking 
 his own company ; but after a little, when 
 he had got his uncle buried, and other 
 pressing matters of business arranged, the 
 hours at Anstey Court began to hang very 
 heavily upon its master's hands. Pomp and 
 magnificence are attractive only to the unac-
 
 266 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 customed spectator ; they soon pall on him 
 who is invested with them ; and Kichard's 
 thoughts began to turn again to the place 
 where we saw them centred a few weeks 
 ago — upon his cousin Kate Irby. 
 
 He was really fond of her ; he had seen 
 no one else whom he desired half so much 
 for his wife ; and perhaps the secret sense of 
 having done her wrong, prompted him also 
 to make amends for all by offering her 
 wealth and title — provided he himself was 
 included in the gift — as speedily as possible. 
 
 He had written shortly after Sir Nicholas's 
 death to Mrs. Irby, expressing great regret 
 that Kate had not been mentioned in his 
 uncle's will — or rather that he had died 
 without making one — but cautiously hinting 
 that that omission might be practically re- 
 medied. He had (as we have hinted) com- 
 posed the epistle with great care, making it 
 as suggestive and yet as uncompromising as 
 possible, and he was much chagrined at
 
 SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA. 267 
 
 having received no reply. Kate had in- 
 sisted upon her mother's silence, and Mrs. 
 Irby was not disinclined to humour her so 
 far; it would necessitate, she argued with 
 herself, the young man's coming to Blondel, 
 and face to face with Kate, his capture 
 would be certain. Sir Eichard was not 
 without his suspicion of the feeling with 
 which his fair cousin regarded his conduct — • 
 the protestations he had made to her while 
 the intentions of his late uncle were yet 
 dubious, being very fresh in his mind — but 
 still she surely could not but accept the very 
 ample reparation which he had in prospect 
 for her. He had endeavoured to hint this 
 by letter ; but since that had failed, there 
 was nothing for it but to go in person and 
 express himself more plainly. Even though 
 Kate's indignation should be still so warm 
 as to blind her to her own interests, her 
 mother, at all events, was a sensible woman, 
 who knew, and prided herself on knowing,
 
 208 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 upon which side of the slice her bread was 
 buttered — and her daughter's bread. There 
 was now no doubt that Mrs. Irbys affairs 
 were in a wretched state — indeed, that she 
 and her daughter were miserably poor ; and 
 when Sir Kichard took the train to Blondel 
 Parva that summer afternoon, it was with 
 far other feelings than those with which he 
 had last returned from it ; he had now 
 scarcely any fears for the successful issue of 
 his wooing;. 
 
 As he had written no word of his coming, 
 there was no vehicle to meet him at the 
 station, so, leaving his portmanteau there to 
 be sent for — for he counted upon being, as 
 usual, Mrs. Irby's guest — he took his way to 
 the village upon foot. 
 
 The manor-house, the grounds of which 
 were always in a somewhat unkempt con- 
 dition, already gave evidence, to Sir Kichard's 
 attentive eye, of increased scarcity of service, 
 short-handedness above the common. The
 
 SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA." 269 
 
 rusty iron gates stood open now, and the 
 great bell had been removed which was 
 wont to summon the lodge-keeper ; for the 
 tenant of the lodge was no longer Madam's 
 servant. Up the broad gravel sweep, fur- 
 rowed by carriage-wheels — though the vi- 
 sitors were of no recent date — with the vast 
 stables lying tenantless and silent on his left, 
 Sir Eichard strode unchallenged. The front- 
 door was opened to him by a female servant, 
 who, evidently a late promotion from the 
 housemaid's closet, did not understand her 
 business. " Her mistress was in the house- 
 keeper's room," she said, in answer to his 
 inquiry, " a-doing of the jams ; " and she 
 would doubtless have been equally explicit 
 if that lady had been engaged in her 
 ablutions. 
 
 " Was Madam alone ? " asked he. 
 
 " Yes, quite alone : Miss Kate being some- 
 where about the grounds." 
 
 " I know my way to the housekeeper s
 
 270 BLONDEL PAILVA. 
 
 room/' said Eicharcl quietly : and the poor 
 girl, divided between a sense of duty, which 
 urged her to suggest the drawing-room, and 
 a sense of relief from responsibility, which 
 prompted her to let him take his own way, 
 offered but a feeble resistance to his progress. 
 With a cool "Don't trouble yourself, my 
 good girl," the baronet preceded her to the 
 room in question, and knocking at the door, 
 obeyed Madam s somewhat tart " Come in." 
 She thought it was the cook, and she hap- 
 pened not to be in the best of humours with 
 that domestic. Without looking up from 
 her occupation therefore, which was the 
 tying of parchment over jam-pots, she ad- 
 dressed the newcomer with the following 
 objurgation (for Mrs. Irby was not one to be 
 afraid of her servants, as modern mistresses 
 are apt to be ; not she. " If they chose to 
 give warning, let them : there was as good 
 fish in the sea as ever came out of it : " she 
 spoke her mind) :
 
 SIR RICHARD " ASKS MAMMA. 271 
 
 " Here's sugar enough, cook, in every pot 
 for two pots, and it's a shameful waste : and 
 just, too, when economy is so important to 
 me, as you well know, and when one would 
 think that anybody with their mistress's 
 interests at heart would try to save a little. 
 It's no use denying it, for I have dipped my 
 
 finger into Lor, Eichard ! who would 
 
 ever have thought of seeing you ? The idea 
 of that stupid hussy's showing you in here, 
 instead of into the drawing-room ! " 
 
 "It was my fault, Mrs. Irby," returned 
 the young man laughing ; "I insisted upon 
 it. I thought I was old friend enough to 
 be privileged to come and see you even 
 though you were 'preserving.' There is 
 nothing like a mistress keeping her own eye 
 upon such matters. I am sure the jams at 
 the Court were never to be compared with 
 your jams." 
 
 " It is very good of you to say so, Eichard ; 
 though, where money is no object, and one
 
 272 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 may use the very best white sugar, every- 
 thing ought to be first-rate. We are not 
 quite so flush of money here, you know, 
 though, perhaps, I may have laid rather 
 greater stress upon the necessity for economy 
 just now than was absolutely necessary ; but 
 then, one can never put it strong enough 
 before one's servants, and especially the 
 cook. — And now 111 wash my hands, for 
 they are all sticky, and join you in the 
 drawing-room." 
 
 " No, no ; I must insist upon your going 
 on with your task, dear Mrs. Irby. Besides, 
 I want to have a few words with you, and 
 we are less liable to interruption here than 
 we should be elsewhere. It is a very com- 
 fortable secluded sanctum this of yours, and 
 what a pretty look-out it has into the old 
 garden." 
 
 "Ay ; well, it might be made very 
 pleasant," sighed Madam ; " but it's all 
 rather ramshackly : that old summer-house
 
 SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA." 273 
 
 yonder, for instance — quite a pleasant little 
 parlour it used to be, where Kate learned all 
 her lessons in summer-time when she was a 
 girl ; but now it's given up to onions and 
 such-like, though it might be made as good 
 as ever for a few pounds. I always flattered 
 myself that we should one day have had 
 enough and to spare to make everything 
 nice about us — but there, it seems that it is 
 not to be." 
 
 "I do assure you, my dear Mrs. Irby," 
 returned Sir Richard gravely, " that nobody 
 regrets your recent disappointment — the 
 failure of your very reasonable expectations 
 — more than myself. But mere pecuniary 
 disaster is not like the losses which death 
 inflicts." Here Sir Richard pointed to his 
 hatband. " It is not irremediable." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I don't know," observed 
 Madam doubtfully, and without taking 
 notice of his action. (" She had no patience 
 with such pretence," as she subsequently rc- 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 BLONDEL PAHVA. 
 
 marked, " and had no intention of squeezing 
 out one crocodile tear.") — "Time is a great 
 healer — I found that after a bit, even when 
 my own poor dear husband died — but po- 
 verty never lets you forget it. I don't mind 
 for myself; but to think of my darling 
 Katie — so beautiful and clever — being denied 
 those little luxuries to which she has always 
 been used, and which seem to be hers by 
 right ! And, indeed, between ourselves, 
 Richard/' added the old lady hotly, " you 
 must allow that the money to buy them is 
 hers by right. I mean those ten thousand 
 pounds of which your uncle robbed her 
 father, just as though he had picked his 
 purse out of his pocket. It is a wonder to 
 me that Sir Nicholas could die with such a 
 weight upon his mind. You saw him on 
 his death-bed : did he never allude to that 
 matter ? " 
 
 Richard had nerved himself for some such 
 question as this, but he felt he was growing
 
 275 
 
 pale, and that his tongue would stumble at 
 the lie it was about to shape. 
 
 " Unless the wretched man quite lost his 
 wits," continued the widow, pursuing her 
 manifest advantage, " I cannot suppose but 
 that he did." 
 
 But in this last remark, she made a great 
 error, for it opened a door for her adversary's 
 escape. " Yes," said he eagerly, " but that 
 was just what happened : my uncle did lose 
 his wits. He was so light-headed, that, 
 among other fancies he entertained, he was 
 convinced that he saw your poor husband 
 looking in at his window." 
 
 " Lord-a-mercy ! " exclaimed Mrs. Irby. 
 " That must ha' been his wicked conscience. 
 And yet it didn't lead him to think of my 
 Katie, to make up for the wrong he did her 
 father." 
 
 " Yes, he did think of Katie, Mrs. Irby," 
 returned Eichard very gravely; "and that 
 is what I wish to speak to you about. Sir 
 
 T 2
 
 276 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 Nicholas mentioned his godchild with almost 
 his latest breath." 
 
 " Ay, and if he had had time to make a 
 will, it would, may be, have been mentioned 
 there," observed Madam, regarding the 
 young man fixedly enough. She could not 
 be all conciliation, strive as she would. 
 "You have just remarked, Eichard, that 
 pecuniary losses are not irremediable — why 
 not then give effect to your uncle's wishes ? " 
 
 " I wish to do so, Mrs. Irby — with my 
 whole heart and soul, I do. It remains with 
 you, or rather with Katie herself, whether I 
 shall do so or not." 
 
 " How is that, Eichard ? " Madam knew 
 well enough what the nature of his reply 
 would be ; but though it was in ' accordance 
 with her own long-cherished design, her 
 heart misgave her as she pictured this man 
 lord and master of her daughter, and her 
 limbs shook under her and her voice trembled 
 as she reiterated : " How is that ? "
 
 ii L^C -HTK^^rK » 
 
 SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA. 277 
 
 "Well, it is very difficult to put the 
 matter without offence, as my uncle put it," 
 answered Eichard with feigned reluctance. 
 "A dying man speaks out, you know, as 
 one in health does not like to do, and, in 
 particular, he says for others what they 
 cannot say for themselves. I desire, says 
 one, for instance, that my son shall marry 
 so-and-so ; and the son may feel his father's 
 wishes binding — especially if he already loves 
 the person referred to ; while, on the other 
 hand, the young lady may not do so. The 
 sick man exasperates the effect of his last 
 words upon all whom they may concern, and 
 concludes that they will be obeyed. He 
 looks upon the matter as settled, and orders 
 his own affairs, so far as they are affected by 
 it, accordingly." 
 
 Eichard paused, and again Mrs. Irby 
 unwittingly came to his relief. "Did Sir 
 Nicholas understand that you were to marry 
 my daughter, Eichard 1 "
 
 273 BL0XDEL PARVA. 
 
 " My uncle expressed his earnest wish to 
 that effect, dear Mrs. Irby ; and although I 
 placed before him the contingency of Kate's 
 refusal (for of my own desire to win her, he 
 had no doubt), he refused to listen to me — 
 he would hear of nothing but that she was 
 to be my wife. Under this conviction, even 
 had he had the time and strength for it, 
 there was, of course, no necessity to provide 
 for his kinswoman and godchild by will. 
 What was mine would be hers; if I was 
 heir she was heiress; and it seemed an 
 unspeakable comfort to him — upon my 
 sacred word of honour, it did — to feel that 
 Kate was well provided for." 
 
 "But he left the provision entirely in 
 your hands ? * asked the widow, search- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Solely and wholely, my dear madam. 
 He said no word about making up for 
 anything amiss; but I do think with you 
 that those ten thousand pounds ought to be
 
 SIR RICHARD "ASKS MAMMA." 279 
 
 Kate's own, and I shall take care to make 
 them over to her, by settlement, upon our 
 marriage. " 
 
 "And if she — that is, if either of you," 
 faltered the old lady, "should decline to 
 accede to Sir Nicholas's wish " 
 
 " The loss, my dear madam," interrupted 
 Eichard, positively, " must fall on the 
 defaulter. It is, if I must say so, a 'p. p. 
 engagement/ There is no other possible 
 result. Your daughter must, of course, 
 comply with the injunction. I am not a 
 sentimental person, but I do respect the 
 memory of the dead; and to make over 
 ten thousand pounds of my uncle's property 
 to my cousin, would be nothing less than to 
 acknowledge the justice of an allegation 
 against him which he was always resolute 
 to deny. I thought I had placed all this 
 before you in my letter, dear Mrs. Irby, 
 although, indeed, it was a very delicate 
 affair to express in writing."
 
 280 BLOXDEL PAHVA. 
 
 " I understood you, Sir Richard," said the 
 widow, quietly ; " and if I had not done so, 
 you would have rendered the matter plain 
 to-day. I would have preferred — and I 
 should have thought that you would have 
 preferred — my daughter to accept you as 
 her husband under less unequal circum- 
 stances. I do not say she does not value 
 you upon your own account ; but certainly 
 that would have made itself more apparent 
 had she been not so poor — I do not say c or 
 you so rich/ However, you have my full 
 consent to your wooing, Richard — as indeed 
 you always had — and if you win her, as I 
 think you will, do treat her tenderly, love 
 her truly; she has been loved and tended 
 all her life, and has deserved it." 
 
 Here the good old lady, albeit but little 
 given to tears, fairly broke down, and 
 putting to her eyes the corner of the snow- 
 white apron that was her shield against the 
 jams, sobbed as if her heart would break.
 
 SIR RICHARD " ASKS MAMMA. 2S1 
 
 "You don't seem to have much confi- 
 dence in me," observed Kichard, peevishly. 
 " One would scarcely think that I was 
 offering to make Kate Lady Anstey — a 
 position which is just now making many a 
 mouth water, let me tell you, as pretty as 
 her own." 
 
 "That I don't believe," sobbed the old 
 lady, indignantly ; "I mean, as far as pret- 
 tiness goes. There is nobody in all the 
 county to compare with my Kate. You 
 had better go and see for yourself, Eichard, 
 if I don't speak truth. She is gone down 
 to the Cove, to gather water-lilies for the 
 flower-stands in the drawing-room — a pre- 
 sent we've just had from Mr. Glyn — you 
 will be sure to find her down the lime- 
 walk." 
 
 For an instant, Sir Eichard hesitated as 
 to whether he should ask a question about 
 this Mr. Glyn, the mention of whose name 
 recalled to him a disagreeable suspicion, or
 
 2S2 BLOXDEL PARVA. 
 
 rather the shadow of one ; but the thought 
 of seeing pretty Kate alone and at once 
 overpowered all others. 
 
 " I go/' said he, with what was, for him, 
 quite a genial smile ; " and when I come 
 back, dear Mrs. Irby, it will be, I trust, to 
 call you no longer Madam, but (by brevet) 
 Mother." 
 
 If that was not a pretty speech to leave a 
 room with, it was, at all events, the pret- 
 tiest the speaker had ever made, and, like 
 all sweets from habitually sour folks, it was 
 very grateful to the recipient. 
 
 " Under his reserved and almost repulsive 
 manner, then," reflected the widow, "this 
 young man has a kindly nature, which can 
 show itself upon occasion pleasantly enough. 
 That sort, depend upon it, often makes a 
 better husband than your attractive pleasant 
 gentleman, who lays himself out to be agree- 
 able to everybody, but has no deep feelings, 
 perhaps, after all."
 
 SIR KICHARD " ASKS MAMMA." 283 
 
 Here she sighed, and murmured to her- 
 self : " And yet I have no right to say that, 
 neither," for her conscience reproached her 
 with having levelled the shaft at " that nice 
 Mr. Glyn."
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 
 
 Sir Kichard Anstey, Bart., of Anstey 
 Court, strode down the lime-walk with the 
 step of one the object of whose errand is 
 assured. He had not anticipated much 
 opposition from the widow, but she had 
 offered absolutely none, and her acquies- 
 cence made the remainder of his task 
 comparatively easy. Any embarrassment 
 which he might have felt (and, indeed, had 
 felt,) with respect to reopening the subject 
 to his cousin, which she had so recently and 
 resolutely closed, was greatly mitigated to 
 him, since he could now say : "I have your 
 mother's full consent, Kate ; nay, it is her 
 earnest wish that you should become my 
 wife." A much more satisfactory argu-
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 285 
 
 ment to use, even to one not nicely con- 
 scientious, than a feigned and forged one, 
 such as he had not hesitated to employ with 
 Mrs. Irby. 
 
 Thus confident, he walked on until he 
 had almost reached the end of that fragrant 
 avenue, and caught, between its final trees, 
 a glimpse of her he sought. 
 
 In the calm backwater of the Cove grew 
 the water-lilies Kate had come to gather, 
 and she was gathering them after the 
 following fashion — by deputy. She herself 
 was standing upright, but her outstretched 
 hand was clasped by Maurice Glyn, who, 
 kneeling on the river-bank, reached forth 
 and plucked the graceful flowers, and gave 
 them to her, one by one, like one who 
 works by time, and not the piece, and 
 lingers in and loves the work he does. It 
 was a pretty picture : she with the lilies 
 close-clasped to her maiden breast, and he 
 with his bright curls dripping in the mellow
 
 286 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 sunlight, for he had just over-reached him- 
 self, and been well wetted, and the laughter 
 of the pair over that disaster was still ring- 
 ing round them : but to Richard Anstey's 
 eyes the scene had no beauty in it, but was 
 hateful. Perhaps the tumult of the bees 
 above him made itself more heard, as he 
 stood there, than while he was in motion, 
 for there was a roaring in his ears, and his 
 whole brain seemed dazed with sound : 
 perhaps the summer air blew cooler from 
 the river's surface than it had done hereto- 
 fore, for a chill stole over him from heel to 
 head. 
 
 Had Mrs. Irby, then, ventured to make a 
 fool of him, or did she not know of this ? 
 Or was there nothing in what he beheld 
 more than a chance nutation, which, though 
 it drove him mad to look upon, he must 
 needs treat as nothing % 
 
 Not trusting himself to think upon the 
 matter further, he stepped forth from the
 
 287 
 
 shadow of the limes, and walked slowly 
 towards them : still they did not see or hear 
 him. 
 
 "These are enough, indeed," she was 
 saying ; " enough for both vases." 
 
 " Then one more for yourself," replied her 
 assistant, gaily, again applying himself to 
 his task; "just to place in your bonny 
 brown hair this evening, when " 
 
 " How are you, Cousin Kate V 
 
 Whatever may be urged to Sir Kichard's 
 disparagement on this occasion, it could not 
 be said that his appearance did not create 
 a sensation; in that respect, it was pre- 
 eminently successful. Silent and sombre in 
 his suit of black and deep-craped hat, he 
 stood, waiting for some reply. 
 
 "The devil!" exclaimed Maurice, invo- 
 luntarily, as he scrambled to his feet ; " that 
 is — I beg your pardon — Mr. Anstey." 
 
 Kate, not so startled as her companion, 
 seemed to have even a greater difficulty in
 
 2S8 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 finding her tongue ; she crimsoned to her 
 ear-tips [" It's only a flirtation, then, after 
 all," thought the new-comer], hesitated, and 
 then coldly took his proffered hand. " How 
 are you, Richard V* 
 
 " Pretty well, Kate, thank you ; consider- 
 ing what I have had to go through during 
 the last three weeks. I can, however, con- 
 gratulate you, cousin, upon your good 
 spirits." He cast a meaning glance at her 
 gaily- trimmed summer -hat and coloured 
 garb. 
 
 " Yes," said she, quietly, "I am very 
 happy just now — very. You seem to 
 reprobate my not being in momning, 
 Richard. The fact is, I never pretend to 
 what I don't feel. It is quite right, on the 
 other hand, for you, who so dearly loved 
 your uncle, to exhibit all the outward signs 
 of grief for so irreparable a loss." 
 
 An ugly look crossed Richards face, and 
 at the sight of it — directed as it was against
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 289 
 
 the girl — the brow of Maurice Glyn began 
 to darken. 
 
 "You do not seem to be aware of my 
 presence, sir," exclaimed he, in the quick 
 tone that courts a quarrel; "and yet we 
 have met before, Mr. Anstey." 
 
 "If we have, sir, I had forgotten it," 
 replied the other, insolently : " you do not, 
 on your own part, seem to know me very 
 well, since you miscall my name. I am not 
 Mr. Anstey, but Sir Bichard." 
 
 Before the ready scorn about Glyn s lip 
 could, shoot forth in words, Kate stepped 
 between him and her kinsman. "Hush, 
 Maurice. What my cousin says is very 
 true : but there is a misunderstanding on 
 both sides. Let me clear it up. This is Sir 
 Kichard Anstey, Maurice, my cousin ; and 
 this, Sir Richard, is Mr. Maurice Glyn, 
 barrister-at-law, and my intended husband." 
 
 " And how long has this — gentleman 
 — been so favoured ? " inquired Richard
 
 290 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 huskily, " and without the knowledge of your 
 mother too ? " 
 
 " You are curious, cousin, but your curi- 
 osity shall be gratified," returned Kate with 
 deliberation. " Half-an-hour ago, I should 
 not have been able to introduce Mr. Glyn to 
 you in the terms I have just used. My 
 mother has not yet heard of our engagement, 
 simply because I have not been within doors 
 since it occurred. For other particulars — 
 this is my nearest relative, Maurice, save 
 one, and doubtless considers he has a right 
 to ask them — I refer you to Mr. Glyn." 
 
 By neither word nor look did the baronet 
 so much as acknowledge the young man's 
 presence, but set his hard white face and 
 piercing eyes towards Kate alone. 
 
 "I am glad you are here, Sir Richard," 
 observed Maurice Glyn in calm but con- 
 strained tones, " notwithstanding that I seek 
 neither your consent nor approbation. It 
 was only a few minutes back that I was
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 291 
 
 telling your cousin I wished she had some 
 kinsman who understood such matters, to 
 whom I could explain my circumstances. I 
 have a few hundreds a year assured to me — 
 of which I shall be happy to offer you 
 proofs — and I realise about as much again 
 by my pen. I shall therefore be able, I 
 trust, always to supply your cousin with 
 those comforts to which she has been accus- 
 tomed ; and if I have no high social position 
 to offer her" — here Sir Eichard, unable to 
 repress a sneer, shewed those unhandsome 
 teeth he was generally so solicitous to hide 
 — "there is nothing about my origin to 
 be ashamed of," added Maurice sternly, 
 " although, indeed, there is no baronetcy in 
 my family." 
 
 " And you intend this man to be your 
 husband, Kate," said Sir Eichard, as though 
 his rival had uttered not a word, " whether 
 your mother approves of such a match or 
 not \ * 
 
 u 2
 
 292 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 " My mother, I am very sure," answered 
 the young girl with heightened colour, 
 "would never be an obstacle to my true 
 happiness. I should certainly not marry 
 without her consent ; but, on the other 
 hand, it is equally certain," and here her 
 eyes met his with earnest meaning, " that if 
 I do not marry Maurice Glyn, no other man 
 shall be my husband." 
 
 Turning short upon his heel, and mutter- 
 ing something to himself that sounded like 
 the quintessence of all curses, Sir Eichard 
 strode away without another word ; at first, 
 and while within the manor grounds, at a 
 rapid rate, then loitering slowly, with lips 
 compressed and hat pulled forward over his 
 furrowed brow. Wandering thus aimless, 
 he suddenly left the road, and took a foot- 
 path through the copse. There was not 
 much fear of meeting folks even in the road, 
 and the shades of evening had already 
 begun to fall, but the deeper gloom and
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 293 
 
 solitude of the wood were more congenial to 
 his sombre thoughts. He loitered on, pluck- 
 ing here and there a tender branchlet, and 
 stripping it savagely of its leaves : his heart 
 was full of evil passions — rage, and desire, 
 and hate. If he had possessed a despot s 
 power, he would have laid waste a province, 
 dishonoured her whom he professed to love, 
 and put to death his rival by slow fires. 
 Such men, when crossed, are mere wild 
 beasts in cages, restrained indeed by the 
 law's barriers and the scourge of the keeper 
 Justice, but longing to be free to glut them- 
 selves with blood and rapine. 
 
 The birds that filled the cool green wood 
 with song annoyed him as though he had 
 been compelled to listen to a psalm, and the 
 sober calm of evening scarcely less. As he 
 stood hacking with his heel a hapless blind- 
 worm that had strayed across his path, he 
 heard a human step approaching from the 
 direction to which his face was turned.
 
 294 BLONDEL PAEVA. 
 
 With haste, he slunk into the coppice to 
 wait there until the intruder passed, and 
 watching him through the leafy screen 
 as he came on, his evil face grew darker 
 than before. It was the curate, looking 
 very grave and sad, and evidently deep in 
 thought; but seeing the wounded worm 
 upon the path, he raised it tenderly with 
 his stick, and turned aside and placed it on 
 the grass, then slowly moved away with 
 head depressed and chin resting upon his 
 hand. 
 
 Sir Kichard with a clenching of his fingers 
 and a muttered curse, looked after him 
 awhile and listened, then pursued his own 
 way as before, but at a much more rapid 
 rate. Some object had evidently now pre- 
 sented itself to his mind, and made his steps 
 no longer aimless. 
 
 From gloom to golden green the pathway 
 passed, then suddenly to open sunlight. 
 The limit of the copse was reached — a
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THREE IS NONE. 295 
 
 massive stile — the trysting-place of many a 
 village maid who now were dames and 
 
 CD 
 
 grandams — and beyond it the priory mea- 
 dows with the grand old ruin set deep 
 among them, its towers aflame for the ten- 
 thousandth time with the dying autumn 
 sun. On his right, a very bower of leaf and 
 blossom, stood the gate-keeper's cottage. 
 The curate's appearance had reminded 
 Eichard, naturally enough, though by no 
 means pleasantly, of Mary Grange, and it 
 was she whom he was now about to visit. 
 Suppose he were to marry her ! She was 
 fair enough and fine enough for that matter, 
 since, so far as look and manner went, she 
 might have been a born duchess. Gad, how 
 Madam would fret and fume ! Nay, how 
 Kate herself— after a little, when her 
 children came and narrow means, and she 
 got tired of this Grub Street fellow — would 
 bite her lips for envy of " my lady." As for 
 the old blind dotard, Mary's father, he could
 
 296 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 be pensioned off. Everything was to be 
 done and got for money — at least almost. 
 Perhaps this girl might be obtained at a less 
 price than that of marriage. She might not 
 be so coy as formerly, now that he was Sir 
 Richard, and could command his thousands 
 with a stroke of the pen. He owed her 
 something that was not money, however — 
 thanks to her shrill voice and that inter- 
 loping parson, curse him ! — and he would be 
 even with the pretty jade some day. Was 
 she within there, or had she not yet re- 
 turned from her duties at the priory ? If at 
 home, there was nobody but herself to see 
 him, that he knew; and she would not 
 inform her father of his presence if she could 
 help it. 
 
 Without any attempt at concealment, 
 therefore, beyond the precaution of treading 
 softly, Sir Richard skirted the little garden, 
 all ablaze with flowers, and walked up the 
 box-set path to the cottage-door. It was
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THEEE IS NONE. 297 
 
 closed and locked, and the key had been 
 removed : it was evident that the cottage 
 was tenantless. The window, however, was 
 open, and he looked in upon the humble 
 room, half-bedchamber, half-parlour, with a 
 contemptuous smile. If the girl who took 
 pride and pleasure in such tawdry prints 
 and paltry art-treasures as he saw before 
 him, could but see the glories of Anstey 
 Court, she would hardly hesitate, thought 
 he, to become its mistress on any terms. 
 
 Satisfied that the cottage was empty, he 
 was about to turn away, when a sound 
 struck upon his ear — half-groan, half-male- 
 diction — proceeding from some inner room. 
 Sir Eichard stole across the front of the 
 house, and rounding its corner, cautiously 
 looked in at a small open casement. The 
 little white bed, with patch- work quilt ; the 
 few well-filled book-shelves ; and on the 
 deal chest that was both drawers and toilet- 
 table, the bunch of autumn roses reflected in
 
 298 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the tiny looking-glass, convinced him at a 
 glance that this was Mary's room. The 
 neighbour casement was open likewise, and 
 through it once more proceeded the sound of 
 one in pain, mixed with another that shewed 
 the sufferer was no patient in the adjective 
 sense. He caught even a smothered oath. 
 It was a man s deep voice, but not old 
 Joseph's ; and besides, the gate-keeper was 
 never known to swear. Who, then, could 
 this be ? Eichard had never heard that the 
 Granges took in a lodger, nor, indeed, had 
 they apparently any room for one. Tins 
 mysterious guest, too, was an invalid : the 
 cottage was a hospital. This second window 
 was smaller than the former one, and placed 
 in an angle almost out of sight, it would 
 have probably escaped Kichard's notice 
 altogether, but for the groaning which issued 
 from it, and which was much louder than 
 when heard in the principal apartment. 
 Stepping noiselessly upon the turf, Sir
 
 TWO IS COMPANY, BUT THEEE IS NONE. 299 
 
 Eichard stooped beneath the sill, and 
 slowly raised himself till his eyes were at 
 its level. 
 
 Another pair of eyes — belonging to one 
 who, although in bed, had been wheeled 
 close to the casement, in order to catch 
 every breath of summer air — encountered 
 his own at less than a yard of distance. 
 They had met before — that sick man and he 
 — certainly once, although not quite so near 
 — when his uncle, Sir Nicholas, lay dead in 
 the Blue Parlour ; but it was suddenly borne 
 
 in upon Eichard that they had met more 
 
 than once. Nor was the recognition only 
 
 upon his side. 
 
 " Eobert Irby ! " exclaimed the one : 
 
 " impostor, felon, tramp ! What ! you are 
 
 alive and in hiding at your own place, arc 
 
 you?" 
 
 " Eichard Anstey ! " 
 
 The sick man's hand involuntarily sought 
 
 his pillow; but ere he could bring forth
 
 300 BLONDEL PARVA. 
 
 the weapon that lay concealed there, and 
 raise his feeble frame above the window- 
 sill, Sir Kichard had plunged into the 
 copse. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBURV, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITBFRIARS.
 
 ■ V 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ ■'<'''< ^H ^H 
 
 ■ 
 
 ■ 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 ^^H 
 
 ■-,y'.A 
 
 ■ 
 
 7 I ... 
 
 
 f *w 
 
 ^ 
 
 m 
 
 J^L '•
 
 ittVH