L I E> RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 P29ca 
 
 V.I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/carlyonsyear01carl
 
 CAELYON'S YEAE.
 
 CAELYON'S YEAR 
 
 EY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LOST SIR MASSINGBERD, 
 
 ETC. 
 
 IX TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BRADBURY, EVANS, & Co., 11, BOUVERIE ST. 
 
 1S6S. 
 
 [All Rights reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 KRADBl'RY, EVANS. AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITCFRIARS.
 
 823 
 v. | 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — ON THE SANDS 1 
 
 II. — BY THE WATEES OP DEATH .... 26 
 
 III. — THE ROAN AND HIS EIDER . . . . 3d 
 
 IV. — A TERRIBLE TUBS. 58 
 
 V.— COMING HOME 78 
 
 VI.— A COUPLE OE VISITORS 95 
 
 VII. — OX THE EOAD 114 
 
 VHI.— EXPLANATORY 132 
 
 IX. — GREYCRAGS 147 
 
 X. — CTBRA'S TEACHING 170 
 
 XI. — A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS . . . 191 
 
 XII. — SKETCHING RED REELED .... 216 
 
 XIII. — HOW JOHN CARLYON BECAME A HERETIC . 234 
 
 xlv. — MRS. Newman's act op charity . . . 252 
 
 XV. — AGNES AND SISTER MEG 275 
 
 XVI. — SENTENCE OP DEATH 288
 
 Reprinted from " Once a Week.'
 
 CABLYOFS YEAK. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON THE SANDS. 
 
 cc That will do, Stephen, thank you. You 
 may let us out here. A charming scene, is 
 it not, Richard ? " 
 
 The speaker was a young lady of nineteen ,- 
 looking, however, not older, but far wiser 
 than her years. A thoughtful face by nature, 
 and besides, one upon which some sorrow 
 and much care for others had set their marks. 
 The hazel eyes, large and tender, were con- 
 fident, without being bold. The forehead, 
 from which the heavy folds of bright brown
 
 2 CARLYON S YEAR. 
 
 hair were not drawn back, but overflowed it 
 from under her summer hat at their own 
 wild will, was broad and low. The form 
 tall and slender, but shapely ; the voice 
 singularly clear and sweet, and whose tones 
 were such as seemed to give assurance of the 
 truth they utter. She was certainly speaking 
 truth now when she said, "A charming 
 scene." 
 
 The persons she addressed were seated 
 with her in a cart, in the middle of one of 
 those bays upon our north-western coast, 
 from which the sea retires, with every tide, 
 for many miles, and leaves it a level waste of 
 sand, save for two river-channels, besides 
 several smaller streams, fordable in places, 
 but always running swiftly. Some islands, 
 oases in this desert, dotted here and there at 
 no great distance, yet farther than they 
 seemed, showed grandly with their walls of
 
 ON THE SANDS. 3 
 
 rock and crowns of foliage. The shores of 
 the bay itself, miles away at the nearest point, 
 were of a beauty singularly varied, consider- 
 ing their extent. To southward a range of 
 round, green hills sloped down to a white 
 fringe of coast, on which a tolerably large 
 town could be distinctly viewed, with, behind 
 it, a castle on a hill, which marked the site of 
 a much larger town. Upon the spurs of 
 these hills were almost everywhere to be seen 
 a cluster of grey dwellings, and from the 
 valleys thin blue smoke; the district, although 
 somewhat un-come-at-able, was so fair that 
 many came to dwell there, especially in the 
 summer ; but yet it was not densely peopled. 
 Eastward, these signs of habitation were more 
 rare, and the hills began to rise in grandeur, 
 till, in the north-east, they culminated to 
 mountains, a knot of which towered in the 
 extreme distance at the head of the bay. 
 
 b2
 
 carlyon's year. 
 
 Small coves and inlets indented the northern 
 shore, which was, moreover, thickly wooded ; 
 a white village or two, from one of which the 
 cart had just arrived, glimmered through the 
 trees ; and to the west a far- stretching pro- 
 montory, with one beetling cliff, concluded 
 the fair scene, — that is, so far as the land 
 reached. Upon the south was the sea, sepa- 
 rated from them by no bar or bound of any 
 sort, and roaring in the distance, as though 
 for prey. It was this which formed the most 
 striking feature in the picture, and indeed, to 
 a stranger to the position, — as was one of 
 the three individuals we are concerned with, 
 — it was almost terrible. 
 
 "Well, Agnes," observed Richard Crawford 
 to his cousin, to whom he looked junior by 
 at least twelve months, but was really her 
 senior by that much; "this is truly grand. 
 I could never have imagined what a spectacle
 
 ON THE SANDS. 5 
 
 ' Over Sands ' afforded, if I bad not thus 
 seen it with my own eyes. It is certainly the 
 very place for a sketch. Now, jump, and I 
 will catch you." 
 
 The young man had leapt lightly from the 
 back of the cart upon the brown, firm sand, 
 and now held out both his arms, that his 
 cousin might alight in safety. 
 
 "Thank you, Richard, I am used to help 
 myself out of this sort of difficulty," replied 
 she, smiling ; " am I not, Stephen % " 
 
 " Yes, miss," returned the driver, respect- 
 fully, but in broad north-country accents ; 
 " this is not the first time you have been in 
 my cart, nor yet the second. She's as active 
 as any deer in his lordship's park out yonder, 
 that I'll answer for, Mr. Richard. Lor bless 
 you ! you don't know Miss Agnes ; but then, 
 how should you, you that has been in foreign 
 parts so long ! "
 
 caelyon's year. 
 
 Richard Crawford had, it was true enough, 
 been for many years in a far- distant climate, 
 and one which had turned his handsome 
 features to the hue of those of a bronze 
 statue ; but he grew a more dusky red than 
 even the eastern suns had made him, when 
 his cousin, touching one of his extended arms 
 with her finger-tips only, lightly leapt upon 
 the sand. She took no notice of his evident 
 annoyance, but exclaimed, gaily, " Now, 
 Stephen, the chair and the camp-stool ; then 
 go your ways, and good-luck to your craam. 
 I dare say Mr. Richard here does not know 
 what a c craam ' is ; so great is the ignorance 
 that prevails in the tropics. See here, cousin. " 
 She drew out from the cart a sort of three- 
 pronged, bent fork, used by cockle-gatherers 
 for getting the little bivalve out of the sand, 
 beneath the surface of which it lies about an 
 inch. " There ! that is the true Neptune's
 
 ON THE SANDS. 7 
 
 trident. No barren sceptre, but one upon 
 whose magic movement, thus " — she deftly 
 thrust it into the sand, where two small 
 eyelet-holes announced the presence of the 
 fish, and whipped one out — "meat, and 
 drink, and clothing are evoked for many a 
 poor soul in these parts. Why, you need not 
 go far afield, Stephen, since there seem to be 
 cockles here." 
 
 "Nay, miss, there's nobbut but one or 
 two here about," returned the man. " The 
 skeer* lies far away out yonder. You'll not 
 be afraid to bide here till I come back and 
 fetch you?" 
 
 " Certainly not, Stephen. How many 
 hours shall we have to spare, think you ? " 
 
 " Well, with this light south wind stirring, 
 perhaps not four, miss. But I shall pick 
 
 * The local name for the large beds in which the cockles 
 are found.
 
 8 carlyon's year. 
 
 you up long before that — just as usual, you 
 know. A deal of company you will have 
 upon Sands this afternoon, I reckon," added 
 the man, as he drove off to the cockle-ground ; 
 " you have brought Mr. Richard out on quite 
 a gala day." 
 
 The scene upon the wave-deserted bay was 
 indeed growing quite animated ; for, in 
 addition to many carts, such as that in which 
 they had come, the owners whereof were all 
 setting to work with their craams, two long- 
 strings of horsemen and wheeled conveyances 
 were beginning to cross from either side of 
 the bay, making almost to the place where 
 the two were standing, sketch-books in hand ; 
 each band, both from the east and west, were 
 conducted by a guide over the first eau or 
 river, after which their course lay plain 
 enough across certain broad, but shallow 
 streams, to the second, near the oppo-
 
 OX THE SANDS. 9 
 
 site shore, where the other guide was 
 posted. 
 
 "I have seen nothing like this since I 
 crossed the desert," ejaculated the young 
 man, with admiration. " I can almost fancy 
 that those horses are camels, and the trees on 
 yonder island palms, only there are no thieves 
 of Bedouins." 
 
 " But in Egypt there is no sea, Richard, 
 like that which seems to hunger yonder for 
 men's lives. Is it not strange to think that 
 all this space now used as a safe road by man 
 and beast will, in an hour or two hence, be 
 landless sea ? that not one of those black 
 rocks that stand out so prominently yonder 
 will lift its head above the waves. Folks 
 talk of there being 'no sea to speak of in 
 these parts, but if they mean that the ocean 
 has here no elements of grandeur and terror 
 they are much mistaken. Its very retreat
 
 10 carlyon's year. 
 
 and advance so many miles are something 
 wondrous ; and when I see the crowds of 
 people crossing thus during its short absence, 
 I always think of the Israelites passing 
 through the Red Sea upon dry land. Nay/* 
 added she, as if to herself, and with reverence, 
 " it is only God's arm that keeps the waves 
 from swallowing us up to-day." 
 
 " Yes, of course," returned Richard, drily ; 
 "yet the tides obey fixed laws, I suppose, 
 and can be calculated upon to within a few 
 minutes ; otherwise I should say these good 
 folks, including ourselves, are somewhat fool- 
 hardy." 
 
 " I have known the tide come in here more 
 than two hours earlier than usual," observed 
 the young girl, gravely. " There was a ship 
 wrecked in yonder bay in consequence ; the 
 men having gone ashore and left her, high 
 and dry, and feeling confident of returning in
 
 OX THE SANDS. 11 
 
 time. A strong south wind will always bring 
 the sea up quickly." 
 
 "There's a south wind to-day, Agnes/' 
 laughed her cousin. " I think you must be 
 making experiments upon my courage." 
 
 " Nay," returned she, " the breeze is very 
 light. Besides, the guides and the cocklers 
 all know very well what they are about. It 
 is very seldom anyone is lost, and wdien they 
 are, it is through their own folly, poor 
 folks." 
 
 " They get drunk a good deal in these parts, 
 don't they ? " said the young man, carelessly, 
 as he sat down on the camp-stool and began 
 to sharpen a pencil, " and being half-seas-over 
 before they start, why it's no wonder if the 
 tide—" 
 
 " Hush, Richard, do not jest with death," 
 said, the girl, reprovingly. "Men and women 
 have sins to answer for here as in other places ;
 
 12 carlyon's year. 
 
 but I have ever found them an honest and 
 kindly race." 
 
 " Well, I only hope in addition to kindli- 
 ness and honesty your friend Stephen reckons 
 sobriety among his virtues. What ! He is a 
 little fond of tippling, is he ? Phew ! " here 
 the young man indulged in a long low 
 whistle, and his black eyes beamed with sly 
 laughter. 
 
 "Stephen is weak," replied Agnes Craw- 
 ford, gravely ; " though not so bad, even in 
 his weakness, as some say." 
 
 " There, I see it all," cried the young man, 
 clapping his hands so sharply that the half- 
 dozen gulls that strutted on the sands a little 
 way off rose heavily, and wheeled in the blue 
 air, ere alighting at a greater distance ; " I see 
 it all quite plainly. My Cousin Agnes, who 
 is so good herself that she can believe evil of 
 nobody, employs this Stephen because no one
 
 ON THE SANDS. 13 
 
 else will employ him ; she trusts him because 
 everybody says that he is not trustworthy." 
 
 " I believe he would risk his life to save 
 mine," rejoined Agnes, simply. 
 
 " Of course he would, my dear cousin ; for 
 without you he is probably well aware that 
 he could not gain a living. Don't be angry 
 now ! I am only delighted to find you are 
 so unchanged ; the same credulous, tender- 
 hearted creature that I left when I was almost 
 a boy, who never allowed herself the luxury 
 of going into a tantrum, unless one of her 
 dumb favourites was ill-treated. Now let me 
 tell you a secret — that is, something which 
 is a secret to you, although it is known to 
 everybody else who knows you. My dear 
 Agnes, you are an angel." 
 
 " Don't you rumple my wings, then," re- 
 plied the young girl, coolly, as Mr. Richard 
 Crawford concluded his eulogistic remarks by
 
 14 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 patting her on the shoulder. " See ! yonder 
 is a drove of cattle about to cross the eau. 
 Are they not picturesque ? Now, if you were 
 an animal painter instead of being, like my- 
 self, only able to draw immovable objects — to 
 shoot at sitting birds, as it were — we might 
 by our joint efforts make a very pretty picture 
 of this scene." 
 
 " You make a very charming picture alone, 
 I do assure you," said her cousin, admiringly. 
 
 The remark evoked no reply, nor even a 
 touch of colour on the young girl's cheek. 
 Her brow just clouded for a moment, that 
 was all. 
 
 " We have secured an excellent position for 
 our sketches," said she, after a pause, and 
 each took their seat.. 
 
 " Do people ever cross the sands on foot? " 
 inquired Richard, presently, in a constrained 
 voice. He had parted with his somewhat free
 
 ON THE SANDS. 15 
 
 and easy manner, and manifestly felt that lie 
 had been going too fast or far with his com- 
 pliments. 
 
 " Very rarely," returned she. " There are 
 always some places tolerably deep, as yonder, 
 where, as you see, the water is above the 
 axle-trees of the coach. The poorer sort of 
 cocklers, however, sometimes come out without 
 a cart. Once no less than eight people were 
 lost in that way, and on a perfectly windless 
 day. It happened before we came to live 
 here, but I heard the story from the guide's 
 own lips. A sudden fog came on, and they 
 were all drowned ; and yet it was so calm that 
 when the bodies were found at the next tide 
 the men's hats were still upon their heads. 
 A little girl, he said, with her hands folded 
 across her bosom, lay dead beside her dead 
 father, just as though she slept." 
 
 "Even if they had had carts, then, the
 
 16 carlyon's year. 
 
 poor folks could not have been saved," ob- 
 served Richard. 
 
 " Yes, it was thought they might/' returned 
 the young girl, sadly. " The guide has a 
 trumpet which carries his words, or at all 
 events the sound of them, to a great distance. 
 It was supposed they were making for the 
 right direction when the waters overtook 
 them, but being encumbered with women and 
 children, and on foot, the party could not 
 hurry on." 
 
 " What a repertory of dreadful stories your 
 friend the guide must have, Agnes. " 
 
 " Yes, indeed," answered she, gravely. 
 " There's one churchyard I know of in our 
 neighbourhood in which have been buried 
 no less than one hundred persons, victims to 
 these treacherous sands." 
 
 "And the quick-sands themselves are the 
 graves of many, I suppose ? "
 
 ON THE SANDS. 17 
 
 "No, never; or, at least, almost never. 
 They are quick-sands in the sense of insta- 
 bility; but they do not suck objects of any 
 considerable size out of sight, or at all events 
 they take some time to do so. The bodies of 
 drowned persons are almost always found." 
 
 " Upon my word, Agnes, you make my 
 blood creep. Talking to this guide of yours 
 must be like a business interview with an 
 undertaker." 
 
 " Nay, Richard," rejoined the girl, solemnly, 
 " such stories are not all sad. Death has 
 been sometimes met, as it were, with open 
 arms by those who knew it was eternal life. 
 And, besides, there are narratives of hair- 
 breadth escapes from peril sometimes, too, 
 which instance the noblest courage and self- 
 sacrifice. I wish, however, that there was no 
 such road as ' Over Sands.' " 
 
 " Nay, then we should never have been
 
 18 carlyon's year. 
 
 here with our sketch-books," returned the 
 young man, gaily. " See ! I have put in the 
 three islands already." 
 
 "So I perceive, Richard; and the largest 
 of them in the wrong place. Where are you 
 to sketch in yonder village ? " 
 
 " Oh ! bother the village. The picture is 
 supposed to be executed when the country 
 was not so overbuilt. What are those little 
 trees sticking up above the river? Every- 
 thing here seems so anomalous that I ought 
 not to be surprised ; but nothing grows there 
 surely." 
 
 "They are only branches of furze called 
 ' brogs,' which are set up by the guides to 
 mark the fords. It is their business to try 
 the bed of the stream every tide, — for what 
 was forclable yesterday may be quick-sands 
 to-day, — before folks begin to cross. There 
 goes the coach. "
 
 ON THE SANDS. 19 
 
 " Yes, and how the passengers do stare," 
 returned Richard; "nor indeed is it to be 
 wondered at, if it is their first experience of 
 this road. I think some of them will be glad 
 when they find themselves on terra firma. 
 Perhaps you might have seen me arrive 
 rather pale in the face, Agnes, if I had come 
 home this way, instead of by sea, to White- 
 haven." 
 
 " No, Richard]; to do you justice, I think 
 you are afraid of nothing." 
 
 " I am afraid of one thing, and that is of 
 you, cousin, or, rather, of your displeasure," 
 said the young man, sinking his voice, and 
 speaking very tenderly. 
 
 " If you are, you would not talk such non- 
 sense," rejoined his cousin, quietly. 
 
 " Dear Agnes, don't be cruel, don't ; nor 
 affect to take for jest what I mean with all my 
 heart and soul. Thousands of miles away on 
 
 c2
 
 20 CARL YON S YEAR. 
 
 the wild waves the very likeness of your face 
 has comforted me, which you gave me when 
 we parted, boy and girl, so many years ago. 
 Think, then, what happiness it is to me to 
 gaze upon that face itself, a child's indeed no 
 longer, but with all the innocence and purity 
 of the child beaming from it still. You used 
 to tell me that you loved me then, Agnes." 
 
 " And so I tell you now, Richard," returned 
 the girl, changing colour for the first time, as 
 she bent over her drawing, and forced her 
 trembling fingers to do their work. " I love 
 you now, very much indeed, dear cousin." 
 
 " Cousin," repeated the young man, slowly, 
 " yes ; but I don't mean that, as you well 
 know, Agnes. I only wish you could have 
 seen me in my little dingy cabin, reading 
 your letters by one wretched candle stuck in 
 a ginger-beer bottle — don't laugh, Agnes ; I 
 am sure you would not have laughed if you
 
 ON THE SANDS. 21 
 
 really could have seen it. I quarrelled with 
 the only one of my companions whom I 
 liked, and knocked him backwards down the 
 companion-ladder because he put his stupid 
 foot upon the desk you gave me. You are 
 laughing again, Agnes. True, I was only a 
 poor lad in the Merchant Service, and poverty 
 is always ridiculous ; but I would have shown 
 my love for you in other ways had it been 
 possible. Heaven knows I thought of little 
 else than you ! " 
 
 "Look here, cousin Richard," said Agnes, 
 rising quickly from her seat and speaking 
 with some severity. M I will not hear this 
 talk ; you are well aware what my father thinks 
 of it" 
 
 " I cannot help my uncle's not liking me," 
 said the young man, somewhat sullenly. 
 
 " Nor can I, Richard, or you know I should 
 make him esteem you as I do myself. But
 
 22 carlyon's year. 
 
 you are under his roof now ; he is your host 
 as well as your uncle — and my father. That 
 is reason good — independent of other very 
 valid ones upon which I do not wish to enter 
 — why you should not address such words to 
 nie. I think you should have seen they were 
 distasteful, Richard, without obliging rne to 
 tell you so." 
 
 The young man did not utter a reply : he 
 only bowed, not stiffly however, and held his 
 hand up once and let it fall again with a cer- 
 tain pathetic dignity that seemed to touch his 
 companion's heart, and indeed did so. Her 
 large eyes swam with tears. 
 
 " Forgive me, Richard, I am sorry to have 
 pained you," said she, in soft low tones, inex- 
 pressibly tender : " very sorry." 
 
 " I am sure you are, cousin." That was 
 all he said; his handsome, clear cut features 
 appeared to have grown thinner within the
 
 ON THE SANDS. 23 
 
 last few minutes, as she watched his side face 
 bent down over his sketch-book. They were 
 both silent for a long time, during which they 
 plied their pencils. Draughtsmen know how 
 quickly the hours pass in this way without 
 notice. Presently Richard lifted his eyes 
 from his work, and looked around him. 
 " Agnes," said he, " why does not Stephen 
 fetch us?" 
 
 She looked up too, then started to her feet 
 with agitation. " My God !" cried she, " the 
 carts have all gone home." 
 
 "Don't be frightened, dearest," said the 
 young man, confidently. " There are two 
 carts still, and Stephen's is one of them. My 
 eyes are good, and I can recognize it plainly, 
 although it is a great way off. He is run- 
 ning the thing very near ; that is all." 
 
 " Alas ! he has forgotten us altogether, 
 Richard. Both those carts are making for the
 
 24 carlyon's year. 
 
 other side ; he could not now cross over to us 
 even if he would. Do you not see how the 
 sea has stretched its arm between us and 
 him?" 
 
 Richard Crawford uttered a tremendous 
 imprecation. 
 
 " Do not curse him, Richard. They have 
 given him drink, and he knows not what he 
 is doing : or perhaps he concludes that we 
 have gone home by other means, as indeed 
 we might have done. Poor fellow, he will be 
 sorry to-morrow. Curse me, rather, my poor 
 cousin ; for it is I who have murdered you in 
 having brought you hither." 
 
 "No, no !" ejaculated the young man vehe- 
 mently. " Do not think of that. 1 swear I 
 would rather die with you like this, than live 
 without you. But is there no hope ? Hark ! 
 what is that ? " 
 
 " It is the guide's trumpet ; they see our
 
 OX THE SANDS. 25 
 
 danger from the land, although they cannot 
 help us." 
 
 " Let us hasten, then, in God's name ! " 
 exclaimed the young man bitterly ; " and if 
 He has ordained it so, let us die as near home 
 as we can."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BY THE WATERS OF DEATH. 
 
 There was no necessity for the words " let 
 us hasten. " Both had left chairs and sketch- 
 books, and were running as swiftly as they 
 could towards the western shore: but the 
 sand, lately so hard and firm, was now grow- 
 ing soft and unstable — the flowing tide 
 already making itself felt beneath it ; their 
 progress therefore was not rapid. 
 
 "The thought that I have brought you 
 hither, Richard, is more bitter to me than 
 will be these waters of death," said Agnes, 
 earnestly. " You can run where I can 
 scarcely walk ; leave me, then, I pray you, 
 and save yourself. Remember, you cannot
 
 BY THE WATERS OF DEATH. 27 
 
 save me by delaying, but will only perish also. 
 Why should the sea have two victims instead 
 of one?" 
 
 "If the next step would take me to dry 
 land/' answered the young man, vehemently, 
 "and you were deep in a quick- sand, lifting 
 your hand in last farewell — like the poor soul 
 you told me of yesterday — I would gladly 
 think that you beckoned to me, and would 
 turn back and join you in your living 
 grave." 
 
 She reached her hand out with a loving 
 smile, and he took it in his own, and hand in 
 hand they hastened over the perilous way. 
 Richard, because he knew his cousin and how 
 little likely she was to be alarmed, far less to 
 despair, unless upon sufficient grounds, was 
 aware of their extreme danger ; otherwise, a 
 stranger to the place would at present have 
 seen no immediate cause for fear. The sea
 
 28 carlyon's yeae. 
 
 was yet a great 'way off, save for a few inlets 
 and patches winch began to make themselves 
 apparent as if by magic ; moreover, the shore 
 to which they were hastening had become so 
 near that they could plainly perceive the knot 
 of people gathered round the guide, and hear 
 the words, " Quick, quick," which he never 
 ceased to utter through his trumpet, with the 
 utmost distinctness. It seemed impossible 
 that two persons should be doomed to perish 
 within sight and hearing of so many fellow- 
 creatures, ah eager for their safety. And yet 
 both were doomed. Between them and the 
 land lay the larger of the two rivers that 
 emptied themselves into the bay at high water, 
 and ran into the open sea at low. The cur- 
 rent was setting in by this time very swiftly, 
 and the swirling turbid waters were broaden- 
 ing and deepening every minute. The banks 
 of this stream, instead of being firm sand,
 
 BY THE WATERS OF DEATH. 29 
 
 were now a mass of white and slippery mud, 
 a considerable extent of which lay between 
 the eau and the shore ; so that it was impos- 
 sible to carry or even push down a boat upon 
 its treacherous surface to the river's edge. 
 The bank upon which the two unfortunates 
 were standing was not as yet so much dis- 
 solved as the other, but they could feel it 
 growing more and more unstable beneath 
 their feet, as they now stood on the brink of 
 the eau, not fifty yards from their would-be 
 rescuers. The scene was only less terrible 
 to these than to the doomed pair themselves. 
 Women could be seen among the crowd 
 wringing their hands in a2;onv, and strong 
 men turning their heads away for the pity 
 of so heart-rending a spectacle. Once, either 
 moved by the entreaties of others, or unable 
 to restrain his own feverish desire to be 
 doing something, a horseman spurred his
 
 30 carlyon's year. 
 
 steed upon the ooze, as though he would have 
 crossed the river to their aid ; but the poor 
 animal, well accustomed to the sands, and 
 conscious of danger, at first refused to move, 
 and when compelled, at once began to sink, 
 so that it was with difficulty that either man 
 or horse reached land again. 
 
 " Swim, swim," cried the guide, through 
 his trumpet. 
 
 " Yes, swim," echoed Agnes. " How 
 selfish it was of me to forget that. It is very 
 difficult, but to a good swimmer like yourself 
 it is not utterly hopeless. Let the tide carry 
 you up yonder, as far as the island, Richard, 
 then strike out for that spit of land ; there is 
 firm footing there. Take your coat off, and 
 your shoes ; quick, quick ! " 
 
 The young man looked mechanically in the 
 direction indicated, then smiled sadly, and 
 shook his head. 

 
 BY THE WATERS OF DEATH. 31 
 
 " We are not going to be parted, Agnes j 
 we are to be together for ever and ever. You 
 believe that I love you now? " added he with 
 grave tenderness. 
 
 She did not hear him. Her eyes were 
 fixed on a high-wooded hill, close by the pro- 
 montory I have mentioned, with the roof of a 
 house showing above the trees. This was her 
 home. 
 
 " Poor papa, poor papa ! " murmured she ; 
 " what will he do now, all alone ? " The tears 
 stood in her eyes for the first time since she 
 had been made aware of their danger. Both 
 had now to step back a little, for the bank 
 was crumbling in; the increasing stream 
 gnawed it away in great hunches, which fell 
 into the current, making it yet more turbid 
 than before. There was still a considerable 
 tract of sand, firm to the eye, although in 
 reality quite unstable, lying between them and
 
 32 carlyon's year. 
 
 the sea; but the latter had now altered its 
 plan of attack. It no longer made its inroads 
 here and there, running slily up into creeks 
 and coves of sand, and holding possession of 
 them until reinforcements came up, but was 
 advancing boldly in one long low line, with 
 just a fringe of foam above it like the sputter 
 of musketry. In addition to the threatening 
 growl noticeable so long, could also now be 
 heard a faint and far-off roar. 
 
 " It will soon be over now, Richard," said 
 the young girl, squeezing the hand that still 
 held her own ; " that sound is our death 
 knell." 
 
 "What is it, Agnes?" 
 
 " It is the tidal wave they call the Bore. 
 It may be half an hour away still ; it may be 
 but a few minutes. But when it comes it will 
 overwhelm us." 
 
 She raised her eves to the blue skv, which
 
 BY THE WATERS OF DEATH. 33 
 
 was smiling upon this scene of despair and 
 death, after nature's cruel fashion, and her 
 lips, which had not lost their colour, moved in 
 silent prayer. Suddenly a great shout from 
 the shore, echoed by another from Richard, 
 drew her thoughts again to earth. 
 
 The crowd of people on the shore were part- 
 ing to admit the passage of a man and horse, 
 both so large that the guide and the animal 
 he bestrode seemed by comparison to become 
 a boy and pony. 
 
 " What are they shouting for, Agnes ? " 
 asked the young man, eagerly. 
 
 "Because/' said she, "yonder is the man 
 who can save us yet, if man can do it." 
 
 She spoke with calmness, but there was a 
 flush upon her cheek, and a light in her eye, 
 which the other did not fail to mark. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked he, half angrily. For 
 if men can be angry on their death-beds, how
 
 34 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 much more when, though in view of death, 
 they are still hale and strong. 
 
 " It is John Carlyon, of Woodlees," said 
 she.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 
 
 It might well have surprised and shocked 
 a stranger to have seen that cluster of village 
 folks watching for so long the approaching 
 doom of two of their fellow creatures, without 
 making — with the exception of the attempt 
 we have mentioned — a single effort to save 
 them. Their inaction, however, really arose 
 from their thorough knowledge of the fruit- 
 lessness of such efforts. It was not the first 
 time, nor the second, nor the fiftieth that the 
 sea had thus marked out for itself prey in 
 that same bay hours before it actually seized 
 it, quite as certain of its victims as though 
 its waves were already rolling over them. 
 
 d2
 
 3G carlyon's year. 
 
 Hundreds of years ago it was the same, when 
 the guides were paid with Peter's pence by 
 the old Priors of Mellor, and were prayed for 
 during their perilous passage together with 
 those entrusted to their guidance by the 
 monks on Lily Isle, the ruins of whose 
 oratory could yet be seen. As Ave and 
 Kyrie had failed to save those who had 
 delayed too long upon that treacherous waste, 
 so good wishes availed not now. And they 
 were all which could be given in the way 
 of aid. It was very doubtful whether 
 Richard Crawford could have saved himself 
 by swimming even at the moment when it 
 had been suggested to him. The strength 
 of the tide of the eau was very great ; " the 
 furious river struggled hard and tossed its 
 tawny mane," and firm footing there was 
 none on either bank. It was this last fact 
 which the stranger was slow to comprehend.
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS EIDER. 37 
 
 " Surely," he would say, " a good swimmer 
 has only got to wait for the water to come 
 up." But long before it could do so the 
 victim found himself in something which was 
 neither land nor water, and in which he could 
 neither stand nor swim. Neither could boat 
 nor horse get at him under such circum- 
 stances. 
 
 When the two cousins had first made to- 
 wards the shore, they had to traverse only wet 
 sand, which somewhat clogged their footsteps. 
 Some patches of this were more watery than 
 others, and through these, progress was more 
 difficult. Presently the whole surface of the 
 bay assumed this character, and then, where 
 the patches had been, appeared shallow strips 
 of water, as yet unconnected — superficially at 
 least — with the sea. Through these they had 
 to make their way, ankle-deep in sand, knee- 
 deep in water. The bank upon which they
 
 38 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 now stood was higher than the surrounding 
 space, and as I have said, had only suffered 
 the first change, from sand to a sort of white 
 mud. The people on shore were as perfectly 
 aware of what these two had had to contend 
 with, as though they had accompanied them 
 in their useless flight; and they knew now, 
 as well as Agnes knew, that their life was to 
 be reckoned by minutes, and depended upon 
 how rapid or how slow might be the advance 
 of the Bore or tidal wave. 
 
 This wave, which in winter or in storm was 
 sometimes as tall as a man, was in summer 
 very much less : but it never came up until 
 the whole surface of the bay was under water, 
 and all hope was therefore gone for those it 
 found there. 
 
 It was to the menacing roar of this coming 
 doom that both victims and spectators were 
 now listening.
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 39 
 
 " It will be twenty minutes yet," said some 
 among the latter ; " Nay, not so long," said 
 others ; " the sooner the better, poor things," 
 added one, to which many murmured a 
 sorrowful assent. 
 
 All seemed to know how the sad mischance 
 had occurred, and yet no one alluded to the 
 man whose forgetfulness or more culpable 
 neglect had caused the catastrophe. The 
 reason of this was that William Millet, 
 Stephen's only son. was among the crowd. 
 His face was deadly pale, and twitched like 
 one with the palsy. He would have given 
 his life to have saved the victims of his father's 
 folly, and, indeed, had almost done so, for it 
 was he who had mounted the guide's horse, 
 awhile ago, and strove to reach them. Every 
 word that was spoken around him, notwith- 
 standing the reticence above alluded to, went 
 to his heart like a stab.
 
 40 carlyon's year. 
 
 " How T wish we had brought them home 
 in our cart," said one woman, who had been 
 cockling upon the sands the preceding tide. 
 
 " Ay, or we in ours," returned another ; 
 " but there, how is one to know ? Who could 
 
 have thought " and William knew, though 
 
 his own eyes were fixed upon the cousins, 
 that a glance from the speaker towards where 
 he stood, concluded the sentence. 
 
 " The Lord will take Miss Agnes to him- 
 self, that's sure," said one in a solemn voice. 
 "It is the poor folk who are to be pitied, 
 rather than she, for they will miss her." 
 
 " Ay, that's true," murmured many voices. 
 
 " She will be in heaven in twenty-five 
 minutes, or half an hoar at farthest," con- 
 tinued the same speaker, with exactness, — a 
 good man, by trade a cobbler, but who, ima- 
 gining himself to have the gift of preaching, 
 was sometimes carried .beyond his Inst.
 
 THE BOAN AND HIS RIDER. 41 
 
 "And the lad, too, I hope," returned a 
 fresh-featured dame somewhat sharply. " Did 
 you not see how he would not leave her when 
 Dick called out to him to swim. That will be 
 taken into the account, I suppose." 
 
 " We have no warrant for that," resumed 
 the cobbler, shaking his head. 
 
 " God will never be hard upon one so 
 young and so bonny as yon," rejoined the 
 dame, with a certain emphasis about the 
 words, implying that the cobbler was neither 
 the one nor the other. 
 
 u I trust not," returned the other simply. 
 " Let us all entreat of Him to be merciful to 
 those who are about to fall into His hands." 
 
 If there had been time to reflect, not a few 
 of those present would doubtless have hesi- 
 tated to follow such a spiritual leader as the 
 mender of material soles ; but as he raised 
 his voice in passionate pleading with the
 
 42 carlyon's year. 
 
 Almighty — using such texts of Holy Writ as 
 seemed to him applicable to the circumstances 
 — every man bared his head, and every voice 
 joined audibly in the Amen that followed his 
 supplication. 
 
 Never, perhaps, since the days of the Early 
 Church, was any company gathered together 
 by the seashore in act of worship more reve- 
 rent and awe-struck than was that little 
 handful of fisher-folk in those brief moments ; 
 but while the last solemn word was being 
 spoken, and its sound growing faint and far 
 overhead, as though already upon its way to 
 the Throne of Grace, the clatter of a horse's 
 hoofs was heard from the village street, and 
 down the steep lane which led from it to the 
 sea came a rider at full speed. His own 
 height, as far as you might judge a man in the 
 saddle, must have been considerably more 
 than six feet, but the red roan which he
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 43 
 
 bestrode was so large and powerful, that steed 
 and rider together looked quite colossal ; just 
 as though a mounted statue had descended 
 from its pedestal, as in the days of portents. 
 
 " Make way, make way," cried he ; and as 
 the obedient crowd parted to right and left, 
 " A rope, a rope ! " he added, then gallopped 
 right on to the white unctuous mud. So great 
 and swift was the impetus with which he rode 
 that he got beyond the place which the guide's 
 horse had reached without much difficulty, or 
 hindrance. Here, however, the roan began to 
 stagger and slide, and then, as he sunk fetlock 
 deep, and further, into the impatient ooze, to 
 flounder in a pitiful manner. Upon such 
 unstable footing the weight of his rider was 
 evidently too much for his powers. Ere, 
 however, that thought could shape itself into 
 words among the lookers-on, the man leapt 
 from his saddle, and while obliged to shift his
 
 44 carlyon's year. 
 
 own feet with the utmost rapidity to save 
 them from a like fate, he drew the animal by 
 main force out of the reluctant mud, and led 
 him trembling with sweat and fear, to the 
 brink of the eau. Now the river, although 
 swollen by this time to a most formidable 
 breadth, and running very swift and strong, 
 had about this spot a bed comparatively firm, 
 and which seldom shifted ; so that what 
 seemed to the superficial observer the most 
 perilous part of the whole enterprize — namely, 
 the passage of the river — was, in reality, the 
 least difficult. Horse and man seemed to be 
 equally well aware of the fact, and when the 
 former felt the water up to his girths, he for 
 the first time ceased to plunge and struggle, 
 and even stood still for his master to 
 remount him. 
 
 " Up stream, up stream," roared the guide 
 with trumpet voice to the two unfortunates,
 
 THE EOAN AND HIS EIDER. 45 
 
 who were watching the heroic efforts of their 
 would-be rescuer with earnest eyes ; " he 
 cannot come straight across." And indeed, 
 while he yet spoke, the current had taken 
 man and horse, despite their weight and 
 determination, many yards to the northward ; 
 and the two cousins hurried in that direction 
 also, over the fast-dissolving ooze. If once 
 the roan lost footing, himself and master 
 would have been carried to a spot where the 
 river ceased to be fordable, and where the 
 banks were even of a less trustworthy nature 
 than those between which they now were ; 
 and, but that his heavy rider kept him down, 
 this would have assuredly happened. With 
 such a weight upon him it seemed easier to 
 the poor animal to walk than to swim ; his 
 vast strong back was totally submerged, and 
 only the saddle visible ; but his head showed 
 grandly above the stream, the fine eyes eager
 
 46 carlyon's year. 
 
 for the opposite bank, and the red nostrils 
 pouring their full tide of life in throbs like 
 those of a steam-engine. But for that head 
 the rider himself, half-hidden by the tawny 
 waves, might have been taken for a centaur. 
 He looked like one quite as ready to destroy 
 men's lives, if that should be necessary, as to 
 save them ; to snatch a beauty for himself 
 from a Lapithean husband, as to preserve her 
 from the ancient ravisher Death ! He was 
 by no means a very young man ; but if he 
 had passed the prime of life, he was still in its 
 vigour, and that vigour was something Her- 
 culean. His hat had fallen during the late 
 struggle with his horse, and the short brown 
 curls that fringed his ample forehead showed 
 here and there but scantily, although they 
 had no tinge of grey. His large brown eyes, 
 although fixed stedfastly enough upon the 
 point he hoped to reach, exhibited little
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 47 
 
 anxiety, and certainly no fear. Their expres- 
 sion, although far from cold, was cynical, and 
 the firm lips, pressed tightly together as they 
 now were, yet spoke of recklessness if not of 
 scorn. The gallant roan, as he neared the 
 wished for shore, drew gradually out of water, 
 until his girths scarce touched the stream ; 
 but his rider made no attempt to force him to 
 climb the bank. 
 
 " Be ready," shouted he to those who 
 awaited him ; then leaving the saddle, he 
 hastily motioned to Agnes to take the vacated 
 seat. " No, no ! " cried he, as she was about 
 to put her foot into the stirrup-leather, " you 
 must trust to me to hold you on," and he 
 passed his huge arm round her dainty waist. 
 11 Hold fast by the other stirrup," said he to 
 Richard, "and stand against the stream all 
 you can." Then, leading his horse close 
 under the bank to southward, so far as he
 
 48 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 judged safe in order to allow for shifting, he 
 turned his head to land. A shout of admira- 
 tion had burst forth from those on shore 
 when he had succeeded in crossing the eau ; 
 but every voice was hushed as the horse with 
 its fair burthen, and the two men on either 
 side her saddle, began the return passage. 
 Nothing was heard save the laboured breath- 
 ing of the roan and the increasing roar of the 
 ocean, enraged, as it seemed, at this attempt 
 to deprive it of its lawful prey. Richard, 
 who was upon the side next the sea, had 
 trouble enough to keep his footing ; but the 
 stranger had allotted to himself a far more 
 difficult task ; his huge form leant against the 
 horse with all its strength, and so strove to 
 neutralise the rush of the tide, which was 
 bearing them all to northward. 
 
 " God bless you, Mr. Carlyon," said Agnes 
 once, and then was silent.
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS EIDER. 49 
 
 The strong man bowed gravely and smiled 
 — though his air was not so confident as 
 when he had made the passage alone — but 
 answered nothing. Indeed, he had no breath 
 to spare. Clogged with his wet clothing, 
 pushing through sand and water, and fighting 
 against the weight of his two companions and 
 the roan, as well as against the stream, his 
 task was arduous enough, even for one of his 
 enormous strength. The water deepened 
 with every step, and the force of the current 
 increased. 
 
 " Not so fast/ 5 cried Richard, staggering in 
 vain to keep his feet. 
 
 " Faster, or you are a dead man," was the 
 stern response. 
 
 They were at the very worst by that time 
 and in the centre of the flood. Richard 
 almost neck deep ; the horse still feeling 
 ground, but with his very nostrils in the
 
 50 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 water ; Agnes deadly pale, but bearing her- 
 self as resolute and quiet as though she were 
 Undine herself. The great shoulders of John 
 Carlyon still showed above the tawny waves. 
 They had passed the centre, and were getting 
 into shallower water. The breathing of the 
 horse was, however, growing very laboured 
 and painful. 
 
 " He will never climb the bank," said 
 Agnes, calmly. 
 
 " I know it," returned the other ; " but I 
 shall save you, do not fear." 
 
 His eyes fell once upon her grave and 
 glorious beauty, then turned anxiously to 
 southward. The roaring of the sea was 
 growing very near. As they reached the 
 bank, and before the roan could lift his fore- 
 feet, and so place the barrier of his neck and 
 shoulders between his burthen and the shore, 
 John Carlyon's arm swept Agnes from the
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 51 
 
 saddle and drew her up the bank. The poor 
 roan, the bulk of his protector thus with- 
 drawn, uttering a terrible snort of fear and 
 anguish, was instantly whirled away. Agnes 
 had stretched out her hand and caught her 
 cousin by the collar of his coat, or he would 
 assuredly have shared the same fate. As it 
 was, the three together struggled on through 
 the water, for all was water now. It was 
 then, for the first time, that Agnes uttered a 
 stifled cry of horror. The tidal wave was 
 coming ; within ten feet of them it reared its 
 creaming crest. Carlyon saw it too, and 
 stretched out one giant arm as though for 
 help. As he did so something struck him 
 sharply in the face, and his fingers closed 
 upon a rope, thrown at him lasso-wise by 
 some on the land. The next moment all 
 three were under water, with a noise in their 
 ears like the roar of a broadside from a tiiree- 
 
 e2
 
 52 carlyon's year. 
 
 decker. But the line was being pulled taut, 
 though not too sharply ; and presently the 
 three were draped n shore in a tanded 
 
 CO o 
 
 mass, like some great waif from a wreck. 
 
 The first to rise was Richard Crawford. 
 He pushed his wet hair back with both his 
 hands, and gazed vacantly at the other two, 
 round whom the crowd was standing, al- 
 though at some little distance, for they knew 
 better, from long experience of like mis- 
 chances, than to throng close about folks in 
 such a plight, who need air above all things, 
 and to whom at first all help is an encum- 
 brance. 
 
 As consciousness returned, Richard's brow 
 began to knit, and he strove feebly to unclasp 
 the arm that still encircled his cousin's waist. 
 
 But the powerful muscles mechanically re- 
 tained their hold. 
 
 Presently Agnes opened her large eyes and
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 53 
 
 gazed wonderingly about her ; the colour 
 rushed to her white cheeks, and her hand, 
 too, sought to release itself from that which 
 held her. At the touch of her cold fingers 
 those of her preserver began at once to relax 
 their grasp ; but the next instant, catching 
 sight of the ghastly face beside her, she 
 desisted. 
 
 "He is dying/' cried she ; " fetch the doc- 
 tor. Fetch Mr. Carstairs. Quick, quick ! " 
 and taking one great palm between her small 
 hands she strove to recall in it the warmth 
 that seemed to have fled for ever. Truly it 
 seemed strange enough that this strong man, 
 to whose Herculean force the pair were in- 
 debted for their safety, should be the last of 
 the three to recover from the late shock. 
 The fine face was pale as marble, except for a 
 certain blue tint about the temples ; the eyes 
 between their half-shut lids expressionless and
 
 54 CARLYONS YEAH. 
 
 dim ; the limbs rigid ; and the still curved 
 left arm lying motionless beside him, which 
 had so lately borne her from death to life. 
 He did not want for tendance : other hands 
 were chafing his wrists, and had unloosed his 
 neckcloth, and propped his stately head ; but 
 she knelt by him still, ceaselessly adjuring 
 them to fetch the doctor. At last he came ; 
 a middle-aged, intelligent man, with a quick 
 step and voice. 
 
 " Bring blankets," cried he, sharply. 
 Then poured the contents of a phial into the 
 unresisting mouth. 
 
 " Is he drowned ? " asked the young girl, 
 in an agonised whisper. 
 
 " No, ma'am, no, it is not that," returned 
 he, hastily, but with an anxious look. 
 " Here, William, you and three more take 
 Mr. Carlyon to my house. Gently, gently ; 
 keep his head up. No, my dear Miss
 
 THE EOAN AND HIS EIDER. 55 
 
 Agnes/' said he, firmly, as the girl strove to 
 accompany the party, still clinging to the 
 hand that hung down cold and lifeless, " your 
 presence will be worse than useless. Go 
 home at once, and you, Mr. Richard, too " — 
 for the young man had constituted himself 
 one of the bearers of the inanimate body — 
 " unless, that is, you wish me to have three 
 patients to attend to instead of one. Stop ! " 
 The white set lips of John Carlyon began to 
 twitch a little, and Mr. Carstairs bent down 
 to listen. " Yes, Miss Agnes is safe, sir ; 
 don't disturb yourself, I beg. It was Wil- 
 liam Millet who threw the rope. There, I will 
 answer no more questions ; move on, men." 
 
 " He has spoken, he will live, then," ex- 
 claimed Agnes, joyfully. "Oh, tell me, we 
 have not caused his death ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am, you have not caused it. 
 That is — what nonsense I am talking. You
 
 56 carlyon's year. 
 
 should never bother a medical man, Miss 
 Agnes," said Mr. Carstairs, testily, " during 
 his professional duties. Go home and get to 
 bed. You are as wet as a mermaid. I will 
 bring you word of Mr. Carlyon to-night." 
 
 " This Carl von is a fine fellow, whoever he 
 is," observed Richard Crawford, as the two 
 cousins walked swiftly homeward by the side 
 of the bay that had so nearly proved their 
 grave ; " but who is he ? " 
 
 " He is the owner of Woodlees, the estate 
 that lies between us and the earl's." 
 
 " A rich man, I suppose, then. Is he a 
 married man, or a widower ? " 
 
 " He has never been married, I believe," 
 said Agnes, changing colour in spite of all her 
 efforts to prevent it. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember now," observed 
 Richard, drily. " He lives rather a queer 
 life, don't he ? "
 
 THE ROAN AND HIS RIDER. 57 
 
 Agnes threw at him a glance of reproach, 
 almost of resentment. 
 
 u He has just saved our lives," said she. 
 
 " Yes, true ; he is a fine fellow, as I said, 
 whatever he is. I shall certainly make a 
 point of calling upon him to thank him in 
 person on behalf of us both. Carlyon — what 
 an odd name. It's scarcely English." 
 
 " It was once French. The old family 
 name, they say, was Cceur-de-Lion," answered 
 Agnes, coldly : " nor can it be denied that its 
 present inheritor worthily bears the title. 
 He has shown himself a lion-hearted man to- 
 day."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 
 
 " Well, doctor, you are not going to send 
 for Puce, are you ? " was the inquiry ad- 
 dressed by John Carlyon, as he lay upon the 
 horse-hair sofa in Mr. Carstairs' uncheerful 
 little parlour. The two men were alone ; 
 those who had carried the patient to the doc- 
 tor's house having departed, well pleased 
 enough to see the large brown eyes of Squire 
 John gaze upon them once more in their old 
 kindly fashion. " It is not time to think 
 about the Rev. Mr. Puce yet, is it ? " 
 
 " No," returned the doctor, gravely ; " it is 
 not necessary to think about Puce, Mr. John ;
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 59 
 
 but it is always worth a man's while to think 
 about God." 
 
 Mr. Carlyon turned his yet pale face very 
 sharply round upon the speaker. But Mr. 
 Carstairs was gazing through the wire blind 
 upon the dusty village street, and he could 
 gather nothing from the expression of his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " My good friend, you are rather like Puce 
 yourself in one thing," resumed the patient, 
 dropping his eyelids, partly from weariness — 
 for he was still very weak — and partly be- 
 cause it was his wont so to do when indulging 
 in sarcasm; "although his trade is to cure 
 souls, he dearly loves to recommend all sorts 
 of patent medicines, which he protests have 
 done him good; so much so, that I some- 
 times think he is a paid agent of Parr or 
 Holloway; and you, in the same way, and 
 perhaps in retaliation for his conduct, I have
 
 GO caelyon's yeae. 
 
 observed to take your opportunities of drop- 
 ping in a word or two of religion." 
 
 " It is not so altogether unreasonable, Mr. 
 Carlyon, as you seem to imagine ; if I had 
 made an investment which produced a very 
 tolerable percentage even now, and which 
 promised to pay a thousand-fold at some 
 future time, is it not natural that I should 
 give a hint to my friends that they also might 
 lay out their money to so great an ad- 
 vantage ? " 
 
 " Very good, doctor. It is extraordinary 
 with what a gift of imagery the profession of 
 religion seems to endow its advocates. They 
 take up their parable at the shortest possible 
 notice, just as a mere infidel might pick up a 
 stone. There is Puce, for instance, who when 
 pushed by simple folk like me, will envelope 
 himself in a mist of metaphor, like any cuttle 
 fish, and so escape. \Vhen a man becomes
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 61 
 
 a parson it really seems as if he could no 
 longer speak straight. His words begin to 
 wheel about the subject supposed to be next 
 his heart, " like doves about a dove-cot,'' but 
 never alight upon it. He studies to say the 
 least he can in the most words." 
 
 "I don't think you are much worried by 
 sermons, Mr. Carlyon," returned the other, 
 drily. 
 
 " Well, it is true, I don't give Puce much 
 opportunity for punishing me in that way. 
 But I heard him preach only last Sunday." 
 
 "You were not at church, were you?" 
 ejaculated the other, turning a face of great 
 amazement upon his patient. 
 
 " Not in church, but I was just outside, so 
 that not a single trope was lost upon me. 
 Berild and I were wandering about in the 
 sunshine, and while he cropped a little church- 
 yard grass, I thought I would get some
 
 62 carlyon's year. 
 
 spiritual provender for myself. We were 
 quite alone out there, for the earl was at 
 church — he never fails to go once a year, you 
 know, and not a soul (worth saving, that is) 
 in all the parish but was there. Not only a 
 great muster of carriage people and gentility, 
 but all the fine-woolled sheep from the 
 cobbler's fold. You may talk of the dangers 
 of dissent, but if they get to be serious you 
 have only to ordain half a hundred of the 
 junior nobility and send them into the dis- 
 affected districts, and not a female saint but 
 will return to her allegiance forthwith. The 
 attention of the congregation — nobody thought 
 of looking at me when I peeped in — seemed 
 to be about equally divided between heaven 
 and his lordship ; but that of Puce, I will do 
 him the justice to say, was entirely concen- 
 trated upon the crimson pew. ' Now/ 
 thought I, ' here is our reverend friend's op-
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 63 
 
 portunity for saving a word in season. He 
 has this chance but once in twelve months, 
 and surely he will not fail to take advantage 
 of it. There will be something in the dis- 
 course for his lordship's particular ear (as 
 indeed, there was, although scarcely of an 
 edifying kind), or else he is even a more 
 pitiful sneak than I take him for.' I confess 
 I was curious to hear the elegant periphrasis 
 by which he would delicately refer to the 
 existence of Mademoiselle Debonnaire, the 
 latest acquisition to our respectable neigh- 
 bourhood, and whom I had just met, with 
 two of his lordship's grooms sitting behind 
 her, driving a pair of the prettiest little cream- 
 coloured ponies in the world. An allusion to 
 this particular weakness, if not to the object 
 of it, might surely have been hazarded, con- 
 sidering the very advanced age of the noble 
 sinner, and the extreme probability that Puce
 
 64 carlyon's year. 
 
 would never catch him at church again. And 
 yet what do you think that sermon was 
 about? From first to last it was a denun- 
 ciation of the unpardonable crime of poaching. 
 The snare of the wicked one was represented 
 in the literal form of a wire and horse-hair 
 springe ; his net was a partridge net ; and the 
 human agent he found most ready to his 
 hand was an unin quiring game dealer." 
 
 " The fact of Puce happening to be a mean 
 skunk — which I grant very readily," observed 
 Mr. Carstairs, cheerfully, " does not invalidate 
 the claims of religion. Of course it is very 
 sad that a clergyman should pander to his 
 patron in the maimer you describe, and I 
 have no doubt truly, for I heard that his lord- 
 ship congratulated him on his discourse. 
 But the man is not aware of his own degra- 
 dation. Many persons who fill our pulpits 
 are quite ignorant of the true nature and
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 65 
 
 beauty of the thing which it is unhappily 
 their lot to preach. You might as well 
 expect to find in an organ-grinder, nay, in 
 the monkey whose mission it is to sit upon 
 the organ, an appreciation of Mozart." 
 
 "It appears to me, doctor," observed Mr. 
 Carlyon, slily, " that that last remark reflects 
 upon the Church as w r ell as the parson. You 
 don't think much of hurdy-gurdies, I sup- 
 pose ! n 
 
 "I think a good deal of Mozart," answered 
 the other, coldly. " Man's attempts to 
 express his religious sentiments may fall very 
 short of what he feels; his apparatus of 
 worship may be exceedingly incomplete ; 
 but to deny the necessity for an operation 
 merely because our means are inadequate 
 for perfect success, seems to me illogical ; 
 and, if you will forgive me, rather un- 
 generous." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 carlyon's year. 
 
 "Now, don't get angry, my dear doctor," 
 observed Mr. Carlyon, laughing; " J have no 
 objection to the monkey and the organ, I do 
 assure you. I even pay them what is cus- 
 tomary without a murmur, although they are 
 far from pleasing to me. I am not like the 
 cobbler who is always refusing to pay his 
 church-rates." 
 
 "No; nobody accuses you of being a 
 hypocrite, Mr. Carlyon," returned the doctor, 
 not unwilling to exchange argument for 
 agreement, even if only upon the demerits of 
 a ranter. "That Job Salver is certainly a 
 most offensive humbug. I understand the 
 fellow was singing a psalm- tune on the shore 
 yonder, within hearing of that poor girl and 
 boy, instead of stirring a finger to help them. 
 Both would have solved the problem long ere 
 this which you and I have often so vainly 
 contended about, had their safety depended
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 67 
 
 upon that whining charlatan, who ventures to 
 oppose himself to all authority, speaking evil 
 of dignities and things that he understands 
 not." 
 
 " And yet," said Mr. Carlyon, thoughtfully, 
 " it is very curious — but the singing of that 
 very hymn did, in point of fact, save those 
 two lives. Red Berilcl and I were going 
 slowly home, and had even reached the cross- 
 roads, when the sound of the psalm-singing 
 reached us ; whereupon, instead of riding 
 down the hill to the Hall, I cantered up the 
 rise to see what they were making such a 
 noise about. Then, thanks to poor Berild, 
 who did the half mile in about a minute, we 
 got down just in time. It was a precious 
 narrow thing even then; and if it had not 
 been for William Millet and the rope, we 
 should all have been in kingdom-come by this 
 time — that is, if your views are correct. If 
 
 f2
 
 68 carl-yon's yeae. 
 
 otherwise, we should have been as the jockeys 
 say 'nowhere 5 — out of the human race al- 
 together." 
 
 " And the thought of that gave you no un- 
 easiness, Mr. Carry on, eh ? " inquired the 
 other, sharply, and regarding his patient with 
 great earnestness. 
 
 " I did not think about it, doctor, for there 
 was no time for thought, but only for action. 
 If I had been quite certain that I was going 
 to my death, I don't quite know how I should 
 have felt. All change is disagreeable to a 
 man who has reached my time of life ; if you 
 were to tell me, 'You will die in an hour 
 from this time exactly' — as in certain cases 
 you doctors are acquainted with — it would 
 ' give me a turn.' If I know myself, however, 
 I should certainly entertain no fear. There is 
 nothing terrible to me in the idea of annihi- 
 lation."
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 69 
 
 " What ? to lie in cold obstruction and to 
 rot?" 
 
 " In other words, to go to sleep and not to 
 wake again, my good doctor. What is there 
 objectionable in that? That is one of the 
 ideas which it is conventionally agreed upon 
 among religious people to shudder at. I am 
 very much mistaken, however, if nine-tenths 
 of the good folks, who express themselves so 
 strongly upon this subject, would not gladly 
 welcome extinction rather than run the risk 
 of a much worse thing." 
 
 " What ! would men be content to die like 
 dogs ? " exclaimed Mr. Carstairs. 
 
 "Ay; and most of them would think them- 
 selves lucky in so doing. I am as certain of 
 that as that I am lying upon this sofa. 
 Many who are not absolutely terror-stricken, 
 are conscious that they have been more for- 
 tunate in this world than they deserve ; and
 
 70 CARL YON S YEAR. 
 
 are afraid of matters being righted in the 
 other to their own disadvantage. A few, 
 such as my lord up at the park yonder, justly 
 conclude (with some character in one of 
 Bulwer's novels, I forget whom or which), that 
 it is doubtful whether in any other state of 
 life, they can possibly be so well off as they 
 have been in this. For my own part, I sym- 
 pathise with none of these people ; but I have 
 not found life so pleasant as not to have got 
 over my first love for her. It is only the 
 young who are in reality enamoured ; for 
 though the old cling to her oftentimes with 
 impotent desire, it is not because they love 
 her, but because they fear the shadow that is 
 beckoning them away. As for myself, I have 
 said I have no fear, and what loss can death 
 inflict upon me? You and I are very good 
 friends, doctor; but we can endure to part 
 from one another even though it should be for
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 71 
 
 ever. Observe, for yourself, how absence 
 cools the friendship of the very best of 
 friends ; the materials of it being generally far 
 from lasting. Love, indeed, is said to be 'for 
 evermore ; ' but I am not in a position to 
 offer an opinion on that delicate matter ; and 
 as for the ties of blood, I am sure I could 
 bear to part from my only sister, Margaret, 
 with equanimity; and I rather fancy that 
 both she and nephew George would suffer 
 such a calamity with equal resignation, pro- 
 vided they got Woodlees." 
 
 " Mrs. Newman does not behave to you in 
 a very sisterly manner, I must own," said the 
 doctor, grimly ; " but there is one excuse to 
 be made for her ; she is a bilious subject. 
 Without revealing matters that should be 
 sacred, I can assure you, as her medical 
 attendant, that she has a great deal of 
 bile."
 
 72 carlyon's year. 
 
 " Has she ? " returned the other, shrugging 
 his shoulders. " I thought it was religion : 
 the symptoms of both are often much alike to 
 the unlearned." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Carlyon," said the doctor, 
 earnestly, " I am no bigot ; I don't print texts 
 round the wrappers of my physic bottles as 
 some do." 
 
 " What moderation 1" exclaimed Mr. Car- 
 lyon. 
 
 " But, I do confess," continued Mr. Car- 
 stairs, without heeding the interruption, " that 
 nothing annoys me more than these illnatured 
 carpings against what is to me a great truth. 
 From your lips they are especially obnoxious. 
 Here is a man who has just risked his life — 
 nay more, put it in the most imminent peril — 
 to save two helpless fellow creatures deserted 
 by all other human aid " 
 
 " Tut, my friend, you make too much of a
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 73 
 
 small matter," interposed the other, with an 
 air of some annoyance ; " and besides, you 
 know," he added gaily, " I have no right to 
 any credit ; it was not even a good action in 
 your eyes." 
 
 " I am d d if it was not ! " cried 
 
 Mr. Carstairs, slapping his hand upon the 
 little round table till the phial danced in 
 the tumbler. 
 
 " Nay, the condemnation falls on me" re- 
 plied the other bitterly. "What, have you 
 served the office of churchwarden, and yet not 
 learnt that works done by unbelieving wretches 
 (like me, my dear sir,) lack grace of congruity, 
 and even have the nature of sin ? It would 
 have been wrong for me not to have assisted 
 those two poor tidebound fellow-creatures, and 
 it was also wrong for me to do so. Hit high, 
 hit low, we can never please you theological 
 gentry."
 
 7-i CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 The speaker's face was very stern and pale, 
 and his voice shook with passion. 
 
 " I do not deny," he continued, " that there 
 are worse Churches than the Church of Eng- 
 land. There is one that says ' For the mani- 
 festation of the glory of our Creator, some men 
 are fore-ordained unto everlasting death ; 9 
 and yet they say the nation that invented 
 that dogma has no sense of humour. Well, 
 sir, your Church is only a little less barbarous 
 than this." 
 
 " John Carlyon, you ought to be ashamed 
 of yourself," returned the doctor, walking 
 swiftly towards the couch. "To say such 
 words within sight of yonder church, where 
 your poor father is lying in his grave, is 
 shameful. You should have respect for his 
 memory, if for nothing else. What an example 
 of faith, of piety, of goodness, was thrown 
 away upon you in that excellent man's life ; 

 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 75 
 
 how you disgrace his teaching; how you 
 insult " 
 
 " That will do, sir," said Carlyon, coldly, 
 raising himself with difficulty from the sofa. 
 " I congratulate you upon having discovered 
 a method for shutting my mouth. I can walk 
 alone, sir, thank you, very well." 
 
 So saying he seized his hat and staggered 
 to the door. His countenance wore the same 
 leaden hue as when he lay upon the beach, an 
 hour or so ago, just rescued from the sea, but 
 it had not the same vacant expression. He 
 looked angry, and pained, but also something 
 more and worse. If it had been possible in a 
 man of such calibre — both mental and bodily 
 — as John Carlyon, one would have said that 
 he looked panic-stricken. 
 
 " I am sorry/' began the doctor, pleadingly ; 
 " it was cruel and unfair, I own." 
 
 But holding up one hand as though to
 
 76 carlyon's year. 
 
 deprecate all further talk, Carlyon groped 
 about the door with the other, and presently 
 getting it open, felt his way along the passage 
 like a blind man, and so into the street, and 
 took his way towards home. 
 
 " I am a beast, 5 ' exclaimed Mr. Carstairs, 
 self-reproachfully, standing in his little porch 
 and watching his departing patient move 
 slowly and painfully away. " And the beast 
 which I am is an ass. I have done him more 
 harm than good in every way. Matters could 
 scarcely have been worse, had I told him the 
 truth at once, although he did say it would 
 have ' given him a turn,' and yet how could 
 I have known that the mention of his father 
 would have put him into such a state ! it was 
 a mercy he did not drop down dead at my 
 very door. Such a gallant, honest fellow, too ! 
 He will be a loss to the world, although, 
 may-be, the world, as he says, will be no loss
 
 A TERRIBLE TURK. 77 
 
 to him : but as for you, Robert Augustus 
 Carstairs, F.R.C.S., and late overseer of this 
 parish, when your turn comes to be grassed 
 over, you will be a loss to nobody, being an 
 ass."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 The short, yet straggling street, of the vil- 
 lage of Mellor was always very quiet. There 
 was but little traffic through it, and still less 
 in it, for it contained but one shop, full in- 
 deed of the most various commodities, from 
 Bath note-paper to lamp-black, from Dutch 
 cheese to Lancashire clogs, but not much fre- 
 quented by customers. Most people stopped 
 at the window, and turned away again after 
 dropping their letters into the slit beneath it, 
 for it was also the post-office ; and there were 
 not many folks even to post letters at Mellor. 
 The houses on the north side of the street, 
 which was built on a hill, made the most 

 
 COMING HOME. 79 
 
 show, standing back from the road, and at 
 a considerable elevation above it, with neat 
 little gardens, spread apron-wise before them ; 
 eyeshot from the windows of these dwellings 
 flew over the heads of passers-by. On the 
 south side of the houses all looked out to sea- 
 ward over unseen gardens of their owm, and 
 turned their backs to the road, so that it was 
 quite possible, providing only that he escaped 
 the notice of the lynx-eyed post-mistress, for 
 a wayfarer, however remarkable in his per- 
 sonal appearance, to pass through Mellor 
 street without being observed. During the 
 despatch of the mails at 5 p.m., a ritualist in 
 full vestments, or the Lord Chief Justice of 
 the Queen's Bench, in wig and gown, might 
 have very possibly made a progress through 
 it from end to end (if only they maintained a 
 dignified silence), without any Mellorite being 
 the wiser.
 
 SO carlyon's year. 
 
 It was about 5 p.m. that John Carlyon 
 took his way through Mellor, and that he 
 was not spoken with by any one after what 
 had recently occurred was a pretty convincing 
 proof that he was not seen. The village 
 inn, indeed, had more than its usual fringe 
 of idlers about it, eagerly discussing the 
 very occurrence in which he had so dis- 
 tinguished himself; but it stood apart 
 from the road, on a little plateau of its 
 own, and was avoided altogether by those 
 who took the turning to the right which 
 led to Mellor Church. Mr. Carlyon took, 
 this way. The church tower, being very 
 highly placed, could be seen far out to 
 sea, and was even used as a landmark 
 for ships. The churchyard itself stood 
 much above the village, and, indeed, was 
 the highest point save Greycrags (whereon 
 the house occupied by the Crawfords was
 
 COMING HOME. 51 
 
 situated, and after which it was named), 
 within some miles of Mellor ; it was there- 
 fore free from all overlookers. Something 
 tempted him, as he passed by, to push open 
 the wicket and enter that great green resting- 
 chamber, where no sleeper turned uneasily 
 on his pillow, or longed with impatience 
 for the morning. Very many generations 
 lay beneath those grassy mounds, or in the 
 vaults of the old church, which was almost 
 coeval with the abbey, the ruins of which 
 could be seen from where he stood. Another 
 phase of Christianity had succeeded to the 
 ancient faith, but little change had been 
 made in externals. Two stone images in 
 lichen-covered niches stood on either side 
 the porch, but time or the sea-winds had de- 
 prived them of all recognisable features ; they 
 might be meant to represent saints or demons. 
 The stoup for holy water still had its place in
 
 82 caslyon's year. 
 
 the wall. Within lay many a cross-legged 
 crusader — 
 
 Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries, 
 
 or 
 
 Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails ; 
 
 the dead representatives of a dead form of 
 creed, lying, unargumentatively enough, be- 
 side Protestant lords of the manor, and other 
 modern worthies of high degree. In the 
 superior sanctity of the chancel, under what 
 looked like a four-post bedstead of marble, hung 
 with 'scutcheons, and sculptured with heraldic 
 emblems, reposed the long line of ancestors of 
 Charles, Earl Disney, whose anxiety for the 
 preservation of game had been so recently sym- 
 pathised with from that moth-eaten pulpit. 
 
 " All silent and all damned," quoted Car- 
 lyon, thoughtfully, as he gazed through the 
 iron gate which suffered the cool evening air 
 to purify this sanctuary, while it kept more
 
 COMING HOME. 83 
 
 substantial intruders out. " There is nobody 
 at least to contradict it. What thousands of 
 years of death have these good folks to tell of, 
 yet not an hour's experience will the greatest 
 gossip among them reveal." 
 
 He turned from the dark porch, where a 
 certain musty flavour of mortality seemed to 
 make itself apparent, and set his face to the 
 sea breeze, fresh as on the day when it first 
 blew from the gates of the sun. 
 
 The wavy west was one great field of gold, 
 with just a ripple upon it like corn at harvest 
 time that smiles to find the sovereign wind its 
 wooer. A few white sails flecked its glitter- 
 ing surface, and a faint black line of smoke 
 above one out-going steamship blurred the 
 red sky. From the village beneath thin blue 
 smoke ascended for a little way, till it mixed 
 with the bluer air and was lost ; and far off, 
 on the other side of the bay, wreaths of grey 
 
 g2
 
 84 carlyon's year. 
 
 marked the unseen spots where man was living 
 and labouring. Here was death — yonder was 
 life ; you seemed to step from one to the 
 other at a single stride. Both hushed, for 
 not a sound could be heard, save the dreamy 
 lap of the sea, less like sound than silence ; 
 yet the one so chill and hopeless, the other so 
 bright and busy ! 
 
 " There seems certainly something in what 
 Carstairs says," mused Carlyon ; " that is, at 
 times. To lie here for ever, first bones, then 
 dust, has truly little charm ; and if it be so, 
 death is a bathos, and the scheme of creation 
 — that is the proper phrase, I believe — a total 
 failure. Perhaps it is : who knows?" 
 
 It was not, however, for purposes of philo- 
 sophic speculation that the speaker had sought 
 this place of tombs ; and the mention of Mr. 
 Carstairs seemed to remind him, although in- 
 deed he had not forgotten it, but purposely pro- 

 
 COMING HOME. 85 
 
 crastinated the matter, of what had attracted 
 him thither. He walked with a quick step 
 towards a secluded corner of the churchyard, 
 and black with the shadow of an enormous 
 yew ; within a square of small stone pillars, 
 not unlike milestones, and connected by iron 
 chains, stood a huge monument of granite. 
 
 " Thanks to him, I have never set foot here 
 save last Sunday, since the day we buried 
 him ; so this will be new to me," muttered 
 the visitor, as he held aside a layer of yew T 
 and let the sunshine in upon the gilded letters 
 of the inscription, now fast fading and almost 
 effaced : — 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 E ALPH CAELYO N, 
 
 OF \YoODLEES, 
 
 A DEPUTY LIEUTENANT FOR THE COUNTY AND JUSTICE OF 
 
 THE PEACE. 
 
 A Prudent Father, 
 A Pattern Husband, 
 A Perfect Christian. 
 He closed a Life of Piety, Feb. JXth. 1840.
 
 86 carlyon's year. 
 
 "Those are Meg's adjectives," muttered the 
 intruder, grimly ; " but what is this in Latin ? 
 I did not give her credit for the classics. 
 
 1 Gone to join the majority.' 
 
 That was not Meg's, I'm sure. Ah! I re- 
 member now. He told me something of his 
 wish to have a certain sentence placed above 
 his grave, and I — thinking it was some pious 
 text — bade her let it be done. Well, this is 
 truth, at all events, and consistency likewise, 
 for this perfect Christian and Deputy-lieu- 
 tenant always held with the majority while 
 he was alive. But, silence, bitter tongue. 
 De mortuis nil nisi bonum ; and, moreover, this 
 dead man was my father. Let me try to feel 
 pious and regretful at the tomb of my parent. 
 Alas ! I cannot do it. But the doctor was 
 wrong too when he accused me of un dutiful- 
 ness to this man. His example of faith has 
 not been thrown away upon his son. I have
 
 COMING HOME. 87 
 
 not disgraced his teaching. I have had respect 
 for his memory, if for nothing else, heaven 
 knows ! Ralph Carlyon," murmured he, after 
 a pause, " I forgive you ; and if what these 
 gravestones preach be true, God himself can 
 scarce do more. You have placed a gulf be- 
 tween me and all good folks, dead and alive, 
 as broad and impassable as that which is said 
 to separate the wicked from the blessed in 
 the world to come. Thanks to you, I have 
 no happiness in the present, nor hope in the 
 future. Forty years of wasted life lie already 
 behind me ; there may be as many still to 
 come, for I am very strong. Is it likely that 
 these will be more tolerable than those already 
 passed, with youth exchanged for age, and 
 strength for weakness ? It is idle to suppose 
 it ; the years must soon draw nigh of which, 
 even good men say, they find no pleasure in 
 them. I have no friend in either heaven or
 
 88 caelyon's year. 
 
 earth. My kindred wish me dead that they 
 may possess my goods. They are welcome, I 
 am sure, although I doubt whether old Robin 
 and the rest would like the change of dynasty. 
 I wish they had had their desire this very day. 
 I wish that William Millet had been a little 
 less ready with his rope. But no ; I don't 
 say that, for then there would have been an 
 angel less in the world — Agnes Crawford. I 
 believe in angels so far. It would have been 
 worse for others, if better for me. She is 
 everybody's friend — everybody's, that is, who 
 is wretched — except mine. They have told 
 her lies about me without doubt, and even 
 the truth would make her shrink from me as 
 she never shrinks from mere pestilence and 
 contagion." 
 
 He was leaning over the wicket gate and 
 looking northward, where Greycrags, clothed 
 and crowned with its verdant and noble trees, 

 
 COMING HOME. 89 
 
 rose from the margin of its little bay like one 
 green tower. 
 
 " No woman loves me, or will ever love me, 
 being what I am," he went on; "and least 
 of all, one like her." A far* off noise — the 
 beat of a horse's hoof — struck upon his ear. 
 " Even my horse is lost ; the only living thing 
 that cared for me. Poor Berild ! you died 
 doing your duty, good nag, and if there be a 
 
 heaven for horses Why, surely I should 
 
 know that footfall ; and unless there are 
 equine ghosts that haunt the way to their late 
 stables, this is my own Red Berild coming 
 home ! " 
 
 He passed swiftly through the gate, and, 
 standing in the middle of the road, clapped 
 his hands together and whistled shrilly. Im- 
 mediately the trotting sound was exchanged 
 for a canter ; and as the coming steed turned 
 the corner and came within sight, a faint but
 
 90 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 joyful whinny proclaimed his recognition of 
 his master. He never stopped till he had his 
 nose in his human friend's hand, and was 
 rubbing his tall, stiff ear against his bosom. 
 There was nothing wrong with him, as 
 Carlyon's anxious inspection soon discovered ; 
 but he had evidently gone through great 
 exertions. His heaving flanks were dripping 
 as much with sweat and foam as with salt 
 water; his broken bridle trailed upon the 
 ground ; his saddle was half turned round ; 
 his legs were covered with black mud and 
 sand up to the knees. 
 
 It was a touching sight to see the meeting 
 between those two old friends. 
 
 " My brave Berild ! " cried one. 
 
 And the other, though he could not speak, 
 answered, " Dear master ! " with his eyes. 
 
 Then setting the saddle straight, and knot- 
 ting the bridle, so that his favourite should
 
 COMING HOME. 91 
 
 not be incommoded, John Carlyon once more 
 resumed his way towards home, man and 
 horse walking together side by side. The 
 former seemed for the time to have recovered 
 his usual spirits, whistling snatches of melody, 
 or even occasionally trolling out a patchwork 
 of song ; but as he began to descend the other 
 side of the long hill, and to lose sight of all 
 the glorious landscape, and of Greycrags with 
 the rest, his depression returned. 
 
 Woodlees was not a place to create high 
 spirits. It was a fine mansion, with a small 
 deer-park attached to it, and no less than 
 three terraced gardens. But the house itself 
 was in a hollow. Notwithstanding that the 
 sea lay so near, not a breath of its fresh clear 
 air ever visited it. It seemed to have an 
 atmosphere of its own, odorous indeed, but 
 faint and oppressive, in which it was an 
 effort to breathe. For size and antiquity,
 
 92 carlyon's year. 
 
 it was an edifice of which the proprietor might 
 reasonably (if there is any reason in such 
 pride) be proud. The hall, with its huge 
 painted windows — the spoil, it was said, of 
 Mellor Abbey — and splendidly carved chimney- 
 piece, was undoubtedly very fine, if somewhat 
 dim and cheerless. The grand staircase of 
 polished oak had for its every alternate 
 baluster a twisted column of vine or briony, 
 but then it was a very sunshiny day on 
 which they could be seen without a candle. 
 There were only two cheerful rooms in the 
 whole house. One, the large drawing-room, 
 now never used, the French windows whereof 
 opened immediately upon the Rosery, and 
 over the huge fire-place of which was a vast 
 sheet of glass, so that you could sit in the 
 warm glow and watch the snow-flakes whiten 
 the broad carriage drive, and deck the ever- 
 greens in bridal raiment. The other, the
 
 COMING HOME. 93 
 
 octagon chamber in the tower, John Carlyon's 
 smoking-room, whence could be seen Mellor 
 Church and Greycrags, and, far to the south, 
 a strip of distant sea that was never sand. 
 
 Mr. Carlyon made straight for the stables, 
 and saw the wants of his four-footed friend 
 attended to with his own eyes, then strolled 
 across the garden towards the house. At 
 the open front door stood an old man with a 
 scared face. 
 
 " God 'a mercy, Mister John ! what is it 
 now?" 
 
 " What is what now, Robin ? " echoed the 
 Squire, in an amused tone. 
 
 " Why, your masquerading, sir ! " 
 
 "Oh yes! I had forgotten. I could net 
 think what made them stare so in the stable. 
 I have got Mr. Carstairs' clothes on, that's 
 all ; and they don't fit/' 
 
 " Well, well, sir, you are the Squire now ;
 
 94 carlyon's year. 
 
 you do as you please. But I don't think my 
 old master would ever have exchanged clothes 
 with the parish doctor." 
 
 " I dare say not," returned Carlyon, drily. 
 Then, after a pause, he added, laying his 
 hand upon the old man's shoulder, " I know 
 it is undignified, Robin • but I could not help 
 it. Red Berild and I were caught by the 
 sea, and so got wet through. Mr. Carstairs 
 was good enough to rig me out." 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed the butler, shaking his 
 white head as he made room for the Squire 
 to pass in, " my old master never would have 
 been caught by the sea, not he."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 
 
 While Mr. Carlyon was yet arranging 
 himself in garments more adapted to his six- 
 feet-three of bone and muscle than the habili- 
 ments of the little doctor, Robin came up to 
 say that two gentlemen were waiting for him 
 downstairs — Mr. Crawford and Mr. Richard 
 Crawford. 
 
 " I will be down directly," said the Squire, 
 with a flush of pleasure ; " into which room 
 have you shown them ? " 
 
 "Into the master's room, of course, Mr. 
 John. Where else ? " inquired the domestic. 
 
 " Very good, Robin," was the quick reply. 
 
 John Carlyon particularly disliked that
 
 96 CARLYOX's YEAR. 
 
 room, and the old butler knew it ; but at the 
 same time thought it his duty to combat so 
 unnatural an aversion. It had been the 
 favourite chamber of John's father, and ought, 
 one may suppose, to have been agreeable to 
 his son on that account. Otherwise, it had 
 certainly few attractions of its own, being the 
 gloomiest of all the reception rooms. A 
 small apartment shut within an angle of the 
 building, into whose old-fashioned, diamond- 
 shaped panes the sun rarely peeped, and 
 when it did so, could throw no cheerful 
 gleam upon the cedarn wainscot, or the few 
 family pictures disposed — and not happily 
 disposed — upon its sombre surface. It seemed 
 as though the old gentleman had preferred 
 the company of the worst favoured among all 
 his ancestors, with one exception. This was 
 the full-length portrait of a young girl, whose 
 short-waisted attire and tower-like arrange-
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 97 
 
 merit of her long fair hair, could not deprive 
 her of the admiration due to great natural 
 beauty. Seldom as it was that a sun-beam 
 struggled in so far, when it did reach that 
 exquisite face the whole room was lit up with 
 its loveliness. Those luxuriant locks glittered 
 as though gold dust — the meretricious fashion 
 of a much later date — had been scattered 
 upon them ; the peach-like cheeks glowed 
 with bashful innocence ; the blue eyes gazed 
 at you with a tender simplicity that was 
 inexpressibly touching. This portrait faced 
 the fire-place ; and when the fitful gleams of 
 flame fell upon it, the mobile features seemed 
 really instinct with life. Nothing else was 
 bright in this room, except the silver hilts of 
 a yataghan and dagger that hung over the 
 chimney-piece, and were kept untarnished by 
 the butler's careful fingers. They had been 
 brought by his old master from the East, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 carlyon's year. 
 
 where he had travelled (not without some 
 strange adventures, it was whispered, in 
 which those mysterious weapons had borne 
 their part) in his far back youth. Here, day 
 after day, for many weary years the old man 
 had sat, too feeble to stir abroad ; and here, 
 night after night, had lain when near to 
 death. At last, upon a sofa bed, with his 
 back to the picture and his face to the 
 fire, he had died here. Perhaps it was 
 its association with that last event which 
 had made the cedar chamber distasteful to his 
 son. 
 
 However, John Carlyon now entered it 
 with a winning smile, and a courteous greet* 
 ing for his two unexpected guests. With 
 one of these, Richard Crawford, we are 
 already acquainted ; the other, his uncle, was 
 a very tall old man, of distinguished appear- 
 ance; one, who, though manifestly hale and
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 99 
 
 vigorous, and as upright as a May-pole, gave 
 the idea of extreme age, unless some sorrow 
 had done the work of years in emaciating his 
 lengthy limbs, and deepening the caverns of 
 his eyes. These last were very bright and 
 black, and shot from under thick, white eye- 
 brows one swift, suspicious look as the Squire 
 entered, then gazed upon him frankly and 
 gratefully enough. 
 
 " This is my uncle, Mr. Carlyon," said the 
 younger of the two visitors, " come in person 
 to thank you for your noble devotion in 
 saving my dear cousin " 
 
 "Nay, Richard," interposed the old gen- 
 tleman, with dignity, and stretching forth an 
 arm almost as long as Mr. Carlyon's own, 
 though wasted to one-half its thickness, " I 
 must thank him for that myself. You have 
 preserved to me, sir, the clearest thing left to 
 me in this world : my beloved and only 
 
 H2
 
 100 carlyon's year. 
 
 daughter. Accept the gratitude of one who, 
 but for you, would have found the little 
 remnant of life he has still to live very 
 miserable and barren." 
 
 "I am most pleased, Mr. Crawford/' 
 answered the Squire, returning the pressure of 
 the other's long, thin fingers, " to have been 
 the instrument of saving, not only to yourself, 
 but to the many who have experienced her 
 unselfish benevolence, a life so priceless as 
 Miss Crawford's. And for you, sir," here he 
 turned to the young man, who was giving 
 utterance to certain conventional expressions 
 of gratitude upon his own behalf, "I am 
 sincerely glad to have been able to have given 
 you a helping hand in a difficulty that cer- 
 tainly might have been serious." 
 
 " Serious ! " observed the old gentleman, 
 " why, my daughter tells me that death stared 
 her in the face."
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 101 
 
 "And so it did, uncle," answered Mr. 
 Richard, frankly. " Mr. Carlyon makes light 
 of the matter, only because he is used to risk 
 his own life for strangers. Directly Agnes 
 saw him she cried, ' There is the man to save 
 us, if man can do it ! ' Twice before, as I 
 hear, upon those very sands " 
 
 "Hush, hush, my dear young sir," inter- 
 rupted Carlyon, hastily ; " your goodwill 
 makes you exaggerate matters, or else you 
 have been misinformed. In the first place, 
 Miss Agnes Crawford is not a stranger to any 
 one who lives near Mellor, and who has ears 
 to listen to good report; and, secondly, pos- 
 sessing unusual advantages in my excellent 
 steed, I should have been base indeed not to 
 have used them on so critical an occasion. Had 
 I done otherwise, I do assure you, it would 
 have been the act of a coward," added he, 
 turning towards his elder visitor; "and we
 
 102 carlyon's year. 
 
 men who are over six feet high should at 
 least be courageous, should we not ? " 
 
 Up to this time, in spite of his host's in- 
 vitation to be seated, Mr. Crawford had been 
 standing, hat in hand, as though his visit was 
 intended to be of the shortest ; but at these 
 words he sank slowly down upon the nearest 
 chair, as though he had been pushed into it 
 by main force, and in spite of himself. His 
 long limbs trembled as with the palsy ; and 
 his thin face grew more wan and white than 
 ever, except that in the centre of each hollow 
 cheek there was a spot of burning red. His 
 ashen lips endeavoured in vain to articulate. 
 
 " Good heavens ! your uncle is ill," cried 
 Carlyon, pulling the bell with violence; 
 "what is it he should take ? Wine — brandy? 
 Speak?" 
 
 But before Richard could reply, the old 
 man answered for himself, in tolerably firm
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 103 
 
 tones, that he was better now and needed no 
 refreshment. 
 
 . " The fact is, my dear Mr, Carlyon, this 
 interview has a little unmanned me. I am 
 very old, you see ; and for these many years I 
 have lived a hermit's life. The sight of a 
 stranger is quite a shock to me. Thank you : 
 since the brandy has come I will take a 
 little." 
 
 But Carlyon observed that he scarcely put 
 his lips to the glass, and that while he spoke 
 his bright eyes once more flashed forth such 
 glances of anger and suspicion as certainly 
 showed no lack of vital power. 
 
 " There, I am better now already," resumed 
 Mr. Crawford, with cheerfulness. "Certainly, 
 if there is an elixir vitce for the old at all it is 
 French brandy. I have some in my cellar at 
 Greycrags, — and I trust you will come and 
 dine with us shortly, and take a petit verre of
 
 104 carlyon's year. 
 
 it after dinner, — which numbers as many 
 years in bottle as I myself have been in the 
 flesh ; in other words, it is three-quarters of a 
 century old/' 
 
 " That would be a great attraction," said 
 Mr. Carlyon, gallantly, " to any other house 
 but Greycrags, which, however, possesses a 
 much more priceless treasure. You have so 
 overwhelmed me with your generous, but 
 really exaggerated, gratitude, that I have not 
 yet been able to ask after Miss Agnes herself. 
 I trust she has escaped all consequences of 
 her late adventure." 
 
 " Yes, I think I may say, that, except for a 
 little fatigue, which it is only natural she 
 should feel after having gone through so much 
 excitement, my daughter is none the worse. 
 She is used to cold, and even to getting wet 
 through, in her perambulations among the 
 poor. Richard and she walked home at their
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS, 105 
 
 best pace, so she has not felt even a chill. 
 She was exceedingly anxious, however, upon 
 your account; and indeed, from her state- 
 ment, I scarcely hoped to find you so com- 
 pletely yourself again. So, as soon as Richard 
 was ready, he and 1 drove to Mr. Carstairs' 
 house, and finding you had gone home, ven- 
 tured to follow you hither. We should have 
 welcomed a much less valid excuse 1 am sure. 
 What a charming place is this Woodlees of 
 yours ! 
 
 " It is picturesque," said Carlyon, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, " viewed from without ; 
 but a lonely and cheerless place to live in." 
 
 " That must be the fault of its proprietor, 
 surely," observed Mr. Crawford, with a mean- 
 ing smile. 
 
 "No, sir, his misfortune/' returned the 
 other, drily. " However, my butler seems to 
 have resolved you should be as unfavourably
 
 106 carlyon's year. 
 
 impressed as possible, by showing you into 
 this sombre room." 
 
 " Ah S there I differ from you/' answered 
 the old gentleman. " Tor my part, I like 
 gloom. The worst of Grey crags is, that it is 
 so exceedingly light ; its uniform cheerfulness 
 oppresses one like a too lively talker — a com- 
 panion who is always in high spirits. In the 
 whole house there is no quiet little den like 
 this, where an old man may sulk by himself 
 out of the sunshine. Not, however, that any 
 room can be gloomy with such a glorious pic- 
 ture as that in it. Richard and I were agree- 
 ing, before you came down, that we had never 
 seen a more charming face on canvas. 
 Woodlees could not have been so lonely at one 
 time, if, as I conjecture, that beautiful crea- 
 ture was once its mistress." 
 
 John Carlyon bowed gravely. 
 
 " What tenderness of expression, Richard,
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 107 
 
 is there not? " continued the old man, rising 
 and approaching the picture. " It is almost 
 painful in its pathos. Now, what epoch can 
 this lady have adorned ? — not your own, of 
 course, and scarcely mine." 
 
 " She was my mother, sir," observed Mr. 
 Carlyon, drily ; then, after a pause, he added, 
 " I should be sorry, Mr. Crawford, for you to 
 carry away with you an impression of Wood- 
 lees derived from this apartment only. Let 
 me persuade you to step up so far as the 
 tower room, where perhaps you will take a 
 cigar." 
 
 With these words he opened the door like 
 one who would have no denial. 
 
 "My smoking-days are over,' , replied the 
 old gentleman, smiling ; " I am a worn-out 
 profligate in that way, and can only partake 
 of the mere flavour of vice from the snuff- 
 box : yet I will gladly visit your sanctum.
 
 108 caelyon's year. 
 
 But what a long way up it is; why, its quite 
 an eyrie." 
 
 " Yes, and here I sit, a wretched, middle- 
 aged bird, all alone and moulting." 
 
 " It should be a nest full of eaglets ; the 
 very room for a nursery, sir," observed Mr. 
 Crawford, unheeding the other's remark, and 
 standing in the centie of the spacious cham- 
 ber with its three huge windows. " What a 
 beautiful prospect ! See, Richard, yonder is 
 Greycrags. My daughter and I have often 
 wondered, Mr. Carlyon, to what use this 
 tower which never shows a candle was put, 
 and I think we must have come to the right 
 conclusion, to judge at least by this teles- 
 cope. " He touched a large instrument 
 standing on a brass tripod and turning on a 
 pivot. " This is your observatory, is it not ? 
 You sit in the dark here and watch the 
 stars ? "
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 109 
 
 " Not I," returned Mr. Carlyon, smiling ; 
 "you give me credit for much more learning 
 than I possess. But to keep a lamp burning 
 here is very dangerous to folks at sea. It has 
 been mistaken more than once for the light at 
 Mellor point ; and so, as I don't want to hold 
 the candle in whose flame human moths may 
 shrivel, I sit here in the dark. But as for 
 the stars, I do not trouble myself with 
 
 them." 
 
 " No : I see this is not a night glass," 
 observed Mr. Crawford, turning the instru- 
 ment to southward. "But what a field it has! 
 This must have cost you a great deal of 
 monev." 
 
 " I see you are a judge of telescopes, Mr. 
 Crawford. Yes, this was really a great piece 
 of extravagance for me to indulge in ; but it 
 forms my only amusement. This is my watch- 
 tower, from whence I survey the world, both
 
 ]1() carlyon's year. 
 
 land and ocean. I can sit here and sweep 
 fifty miles of sea. The least white spec out 
 yonder, I can recognise, or know at least 
 whether she is friend or stranger. Look now, 
 to that sail in the south-east, hugging the 
 land; that is his lordship's yacht, the San 
 Sonci — very much misnamed by-the-bye, if 
 all 'tales concerning her proprietor be true. 
 One would think she would never weather the 
 point yonder." 
 
 " She never will," observed Mr. Crawford, 
 decisively, who was watching her through the 
 telescope. 
 
 " Not weather it ! Permit me to look one 
 moment. Ah, you don't know that yacht. 
 She can sail nearer the wind than any craft 
 in the bay. She is rounding it even now." 
 
 " She is doing nothing of the sort, sir," 
 said the old man, smiling, and tapping his 
 snuff-box ; " look again."
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. Ill 
 
 " You are quite right, sir/' cried Carlyon, 
 much astonished ; " she has missed stays. 
 And yet I would have bet a hundred to one. 
 What an eve you have : whv one would think 
 you had been born a sailor. — Good heavens I 
 Mr. Richard, your uncle is taken ill again. 
 It must be the tobacco smoke ; I am afraid it 
 was wrong of us to light our cigars." 
 
 Mr. Carlyon threw up the north window, 
 the opposite one being already open, and so 
 created a strong draft. 
 
 " I am better now," said the old man, 
 feebly ; " but it was not the tobacco smoke." 
 
 "My uncle sits with me while I smoke, 
 every night/' said Richard, coldly ; " it must 
 have been the exertion of coming up so many 
 stairs." 
 
 " Yes, that was it, no doubt," added Mr. 
 Crawford. " I am a very old man, Mr. Car- 
 lvon, and vou must excuse me/'
 
 112 caelyon's year. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Crawford, I only reproach 
 myself for my thoughtlessness in having per- 
 suaded you " 
 
 "Don't mention it, don't mention it, I 
 beg," answered the old gentleman, hurriedly ; 
 " but if you will allow my nephew to ring for 
 the carriage. We shall see you soon at Grey- 
 crags, Mr. Carlyon ? I shall behave better, 
 I hope, as your host than I have done as your 
 guest." 
 
 Leaning heavily on his nephew's shoulder, 
 he slowly descended the un carpeted and slip- 
 pery stairs to the great hall ; then, holding 
 out a hand cold and clammy as that of a 
 corpse, he bade Mr. Carlyon adieu, and 
 climbed into his carriage. Richard also shook 
 hands in as friendly a manner as he could 
 assume ; but the effort was sufficiently evi- 
 dent. 
 
 " I am sorry that I don't like Mr. Car-
 
 A COUPLE OF VISITORS. 113 
 
 lyon," observed the young man, after a long 
 interval of silence, during which they had 
 rolled through Mellor. 
 
 " Indeed," replied his uncle, in the dry and 
 cynical tone which was habitual to him when 
 there was no necessity for politeness. " That 
 is of no great consequence ; I beg, however, 
 you will take pains to conceal your dislike 
 while you remain under my roof."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ON THE ROAD. 
 
 The day after that on which the events 
 which we have narrated took place, John 
 Carlyon took a ride towards Mellor; although 
 at first he had turned his horse's head another 
 way. On his road thither he met with an 
 interruption. Scarce had he left his own 
 gates, when he came upon a knot of cocklers, 
 just returned from the bay, and apparently 
 making up for their superstitious abstinence 
 from quarrel on the sands * by " having it 
 out ,; on dry land. 
 
 * The cocklers never quarrel "on the sands," being under 
 the impression that if they do so the cockles will leave their 
 usual haunts with the next tide.
 
 ON THE ROAD. 115 
 
 " What is the matter, rny friends ? " cried 
 Carlyon, good-humouredly, interposing the 
 huge bulk of Red Berild between two com- 
 bative ladies who were contending for the 
 possession of something that seemed to be all 
 legs. " Have you found the spokes of one of 
 Pharaoh's chariot wheels ? " 
 
 At this, all burst into a guffaw, for Squire 
 John was an immense favourite with this 
 class, and his jokes always certain of accept- 
 ance. 
 
 " Well, sir, it might be/ 5 returned one ; 
 " at least, it's like nothing as we knows on ; 
 it seems of no manner of use, unless it's for 
 pinching your fingers." 
 
 " Hulloa ! " observed the squire, examining 
 this curiosity with interest. " Where did you 
 find this ? " 
 
 "In the middle of the bay, sir, stuck 
 in the sand/' answered the same comely 
 
 I 2
 
 116 caelyon's yeae. 
 
 dame who had held contention with the 
 spiritual cobbler on the previous evening. 
 " It might have floated away but for this 
 great pad as it had hold of, just like a 
 crab/' 
 
 " My good Mrs. Mackereth, this is a camp- 
 stool," explained Mr. Carlyon. " The pad, 
 as you call it, was once a drawing-book, the 
 weight of which, as you say, without doubt, 
 prevented its wooden companion from going 
 to sea/' 
 
 " Lor, sir, why then they're Miss Craw- 
 ford's ! " ejaculated one of the late com- 
 batants. " I am sure if we had known, we 
 should not have thought of keeping them. 
 Directly after' we have had our sup o' tea 
 we'll take them round to Greycrags, won't us, 
 Dick ? " 
 
 " Stop ; 1 am going there myself at once," 
 said Carlyon, after a pause, " I will take the
 
 ON THE ROAD. 117 
 
 book with me. Here are two half-crowns for 
 your trouble, and I daresay you will not leave 
 the house empty-handed when you have taken 
 the camp-stool." 
 
 " No, squire, that's not likely ; God bless 
 her ! yes, bless her," returned the cockier, 
 dividing the spoil with her rival. " Miss 
 Agnes has as open a hand as your own ; long 
 life to you both." 
 
 " And I wish that them hands was joined, 
 and that that was your marriage blessing," 
 observed Dame Mackereth, boldly. This 
 good lady was deficient in delicacy as some of 
 her sex and age not seldom are. The rest 
 seemed to feel that their spokeswoman had 
 gone a little too far, so her observation elicited 
 no mark of adhesion. The situation was 
 rather embarrassing for everybody but her- 
 self, who, pleased as a gunner who has sent a 
 shell plump into the enemy's magazine, not-
 
 118 caelyon's year. 
 
 withstanding that it has destroyed a score or 
 two of innocent noncombatants, indulged in a 
 very hearty fit of laughter. 
 
 "Good-morning, my friends/' said Carlyon, 
 coldly, moving slowly off with his prize under 
 his arm. He did not venture to ride fast, for 
 fear the merriment should at once become 
 general. On the other hand, he could not 
 help hearing the following observations. 
 
 " There, now, you have angered the squire, 
 dame ; your tongue is just half-an-inch longer 
 than it ousjht to be." 
 
 " Nay, it's just the right length," returned 
 that indomitable female ; " and as for anger- 
 ing him, I'll be bound he's as pleased as 
 Punch. I have not come to my time of life 
 and been wooed and wed by three proper 
 men — all in the grave, poor souls, worse luck 
 — without knowing what a man likes said to 
 him and what he don't."
 
 ON THE EOAD. 119 
 
 And certainly John Carlyon wore a smile 
 upon his face, as he trotted up the hill. 
 
 " I think I shall call now? said he to him- 
 self; "it will be only civil to take this 
 drawing-book." He regarded it doubtfully 
 enough, though, and indeed it had a rueful 
 look. " One might almost think that Brown- 
 ing wrote of this identical article — 
 
 " There you have it, dry in the sun 
 With all the binding all of a blister, 
 And great blue spots where the colour has run, 
 And reddish streaks that wink and glister 
 O'er the page so beautifully yellow. " 
 
 What a fool I am to be taking it back to her 
 in all this hurry ! Nobody can ever draw 
 upon it again. It has become a mere 
 blotting pad as that old woman called it. 
 She was right there, though not when she 
 gave me her good wishes. What is the use of 
 my crying for the moon like a great baby ? 
 Mr. Crawford may be willing enough to have
 
 120 carlyon's year. 
 
 me for a son-in-law, and, indeed, I think be 
 wished me to see that. But even if her 
 affections are not engaged to her handsome 
 cousin — and why not ? he is half my age and 
 has twice my good looks (if, that is, I have 
 any left) ; and he has opportunities which I 
 can never have ; and he loves her, I could see 
 that when they stood yonder upon the brink 
 of their grave. The young bantam showed 
 no white feather, that I will say. And Agnes 
 — was ever such a courage seen in woman ? 
 I remember a picture at Antwerp, where 
 they are binding the arms of a beautiful 
 maiden before they cast her into some roaring 
 flood — a Christian martyr, of course — and she 
 wore just such an expression as this girl did 
 last night when the sea was craving for her, 
 and death within a hand's breadth. One 
 would have thought that she had been in 
 heaven already. And it is a saint like this that
 
 ON THE ROAD. 121 
 
 you have set your mind upon, John Carlyon, to 
 have for your wife, is it ? No less will serve 
 your infidel turn, eh ? But this is no Margaret 
 to be won by the aid of any Mephistopheles. 
 Faust, Faust, let me recommend you to stick 
 to your profession as a country gentleman ; 
 hunt, shoot, drink, and die." 
 
 Here he arrived at the fork of the road 
 leading down from Mellor Church, and pulled 
 his horse up. 
 
 " No," added he, grimly, after a pause, " I 
 will send this book by hand, and then be off 
 to London, where I have so many kind 
 friends ; some of them female ones. Then, 
 when the invitation comes to dine at Grey- 
 crags, I shall escape temptation, or rather, 
 what is much less pleasant, certain disappoint- 
 ment. Yes, I'll go home and pack my 
 portmanteau, no matter how old Robin may 
 purse his lips ; or suppose/' continued he,
 
 122 caklyon's year. 
 
 after a pause, " I let Red Berild decide the 
 matter, as the knights of old used to do, 
 letting the reins fall on the neck of their 
 steed, and following his guidance rather than 
 using their own judgment. But then that 
 would be scarcely fair to — to the Grey crags 
 alternative, since Berild is sure to take the 
 road to his stables." 
 
 His fingers were yet playing irresolutely 
 with the bridle, when a young man came 
 suddenly upon him from the direction of the 
 village, walking very fast, and with his cap 
 pulled low over his brows, as though to avoid 
 observation. 
 
 " Ah, William," cried Carlyon, cheerily ; 
 and it was curious to note how very cheery 
 his manner at once became, when addressing 
 others, no matter how sombre might have 
 been his previous meditations while alone ; 
 " the very man I wished to see ! "
 
 ON THE ROAD. 123 
 
 " And I was on my road to Woodlees, sir," 
 returned the other, gravely, " expressly to see 
 you, Mr. Carry on." 
 
 The voice was subdued and low for a man's 
 voice, but with that earnestness and resolution 
 in its tone which bespeak deep convictions in 
 the speaker. 
 
 " Coming to me, were you, William ? well, 
 I am always glad to see you, but I think it 
 was my business to come to you. When I 
 looked in the glass this morning, and saw this 
 bruise on my forehead, I said to myself, 'I 
 have William Millet to thank for that. 5 The 
 rope struck me just over the eyes ; exactly 
 the spot where they lasso wild cattle on the 
 prairies. There must be no touching of hats; 
 you must give me your hand, my friend, this 
 morning. John Carlyon owes you his life." 
 
 The young man hesitated ; then diffidently 
 reached out his hand to meet the other's.
 
 124 carlyon's year. 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir," said he, " except 
 in the bare fact that it was I who threw the 
 rope ; though Miss Agnes is good enough to 
 make as much of that as she can. But, 
 indeed, so far from your being indebted to me 
 or mine, it was through — it was through my 
 poor father, sir," (here the young man fixed 
 his eyes upon the ground,) " that the mis- 
 chance happened at all. His old enemy 
 tempted him and he fell." 
 
 " That's religion, William, and therefore 
 unintelligible," returned Carlyon, coldly ; 
 " how was it, in plain terms ? " 
 
 " Miss Agnes and her cousin went out in 
 father's cart, to take a sketch of the bay from 
 the middle of the sands." 
 
 The speaker had enunciated his words with 
 painful difficulty, notwithstanding that he 
 evidently strove to be distinct and collected, 
 and now he came to a full stop altogether.
 
 ON THE ROAD. 125 
 
 " Well, she was on the sands and sketch- 
 ing," said the other, impatiently ; " I know 
 that much already, for here is her drawing- 
 book." 
 
 Under any other circumstances precise 
 William Millet would have smiled to hear a 
 gentleman and lady thus spoken of as a single 
 individual, to whom moreover was attributed 
 the sex that is un gallantly stated to be less 
 worthy than the masculine ; but he was full 
 of a great trouble, and had no sense of any- 
 thing else. 
 
 " It was arranged as usual, for he had been 
 out, with Miss Agnes at least, on such expedi- 
 tions before, that father should call for them 
 on his way back to Mellor, and in good time. 
 But while at the skeer he met with an old 
 comrade, living on the other side of the bay, 
 who not content with drinking the devil's 
 health on shore — for that's what a man does
 
 126 caklyon's yeae. 
 
 every time he puts his lips to the whiskey 
 bottle — must needs take out his liquor with 
 him upon the very sands. Sir, my father 
 could not resist it. God forgive him, he 
 drank till he scarce knew where he was ; 
 drank till he had clean forgotten his promise 
 to Miss Agnes ; and at last, went home with 
 his companion, quite unconscious that death 
 w r as drawing nigh to the best friend he 
 had in the world, (for Miss Agnes has 
 been his guardian angel, sir,) and all 
 through his own fault, his own folly, his own 
 crime. 5 ' 
 
 "What a cursed fool the man must have 
 been ! " cried Carlyon angrily. 
 
 " A fool, sir, indeed, but I trust not 
 cursed," returned the young man solemnly. 
 "He is sorry enough now, is father ; it is 
 terrible to see his grief. But for you, Mr. 
 Carlyon, he feels, that he should have been a
 
 ON THE EOAD. 127 
 
 murderer. He will never hold up his head 
 again, I doubt." 
 
 " Well, the sense of the mischief he so 
 nearly wrought will at least have this good 
 result, I suppose, that Stephen will leave off 
 drinking," said Carlyon. " That will be good 
 coming out of evil — isn't that the phrase ? " 
 
 " God grant it may be so," returned the 
 young man without noticing the other's cyni- 
 cal tone; "and that this awful lesson may 
 save his soul alive." 
 
 " Humph," said Mr. Carlyon drily ; then 
 murmured to himself, " how characteristic 
 all this is. To save a soul that is not worth 
 saving two other folks are put within a hair's 
 breadth of being drowned. And after all, 
 the salvation is not with certainty effected. 
 This sot will probably have to complete a 
 murder before that satisfactory result is 
 achieved. The calmness with which pious
 
 12S carlyon's year. 
 
 folks talk of sacrificing the lives or in- 
 terests of innocent people to benefit the 
 spiritual condition of scoundrels of this 
 sort, is most curious. It is like making 
 a blood bath from the veins of children 
 in order that some jaded voluptuary may 
 become rejuvenescent." 
 
 " I see you are very angry, sir," resumed 
 the young man humbly ; "and I am sure 
 I cannot blame you. You are the third 
 person whose death would have lain at 
 my father's door. It was your forgiveness 
 that I was coming to ask for him, sir. 
 He dursn't come himself. I think he 
 would rather die than meet Miss Agnes 
 just at present, although the dear young 
 lady was very anxious to assure him of 
 her pardon. He can look in no man's face. 
 Oh, sir, he is bowed down to the earth with 
 shame and sorrow."
 
 ON THE ROAD. 129 
 
 " Well, William, you may tell him lie has 
 my free forgiveness as far as what he has 
 done to me is concerned." 
 
 " But not as respects Miss Agnes ? You 
 will never forgive him that. That's what 
 you mean, is it not, sir? ,, said the young 
 man, looking up with flushed cheeks, for 
 the first time. " That's what they all say, 
 sir. They will point at father as the man 
 that nearly murdered Miss Agnes ; and 
 yet she — Mr. Carlyon, if you are going up 
 to Greycrags, ask her what she thinks they 
 ought to do. What she thinks you ought to 
 do. She says for her part, that if she had 
 been downright drowned and that through 
 that circumstance " 
 
 " That will do, William," interrupted Mr. 
 Carlyon, harshly. " Don't speak to me any 
 more, or you will put me in a passion, and I 
 shall say things that will hurt your feelings. 
 
 VOL. I. T.
 
 130 carlyon's year. 
 
 You are an excellent fellow yourself (although 
 you are a fool in some things), and I have 
 always had a good opinion of you. I am 
 bound to be your friend for life, for what 
 you did for me twenty-four hours ago, and 
 you may depend upon me at all times. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " Stop, sir, stop ! " cried the young man, 
 laying his hand imploringly upon the other's 
 bridle rein, and speaking in earnest, but rapid 
 tones ; " if, as you say, I have deserved any- 
 thing at your hands, let it weigh with you 
 now. The man that I speak of is cast down 
 to the very dust — a broken man without 
 hope ; it lies in your example to give him 
 one more chance among his fellow creatures 
 here or not ; and, oh, sir, he is my own 
 father!" 
 
 A spasm passed across Mr Carlyon's face, 
 the index of some mental struggle within,
 
 ON THE ROAD. 131 
 
 and lie did not speak for some moments. 
 Then, with a very gentle voice, he said, — 
 "What a good fellow you are, William. 
 You may tell this man that I forgive him 
 from the bottom of my heart, and I will do 
 my best to persuade others to do so — for 
 his son's sake." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; though I wish it had 
 been for God's sake," returned the young 
 man, fervently. "May He prosper you in 
 all your undertakings, and call you home to 
 Him at last." 
 
 But John Carlyon had already touched Red 
 Berild with his heel, and did not wait for 
 that reply. He had turned his horse's head 
 towards Grey crags. 
 
 K 2
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 EXPLANATORY. 
 
 The residence occupied by Mr. Crawford 
 (for it was not his own) was as secluded as 
 Woodlees itself, although in a different 
 fashion. It w r as a house that stood on a 
 hill, and yet it was hid. Trees environed 
 it almost wholly, although not growing 
 so near as to give the outlook any appear- 
 ance of gloom. Curiously enough, the 
 view of the sea, an advantage generally 
 so desiderated in those parts, was altogether 
 shut out from the mansion, the principal 
 rooms of which faced the north-west, and 
 commanded a grand inland prospect. In 
 that direction, hill rose behind hill, until in
 
 EXPLANATORY. 133 
 
 the distance their summits were usually 
 mingled with the clouds ; but on very bright 
 days indeed this highest range stood grandly 
 out against the clear blue sky, and in the late 
 autumn, when the snow began to hoar 
 their tops, afforded a really glorious spectacle. 
 A still better view, of course, was gained 
 from the summit of the hill from which the 
 house was named, and hence it had at one 
 time been a great resort for parties of 
 pleasure during the summer months. This, 
 however, was long ago; ever since Mr. 
 Crawford's tenancy of the place a rigorous 
 exclusion of all strangers had been main- 
 tained. Nay, it might almost be added of 
 all friends, in such solitude had the old 
 man lived for the whole five years he had 
 passed at Mellor. So far, therefore, from 
 enjoying its ancient reputation as a place 
 of amusement, it was now in no very pleasant
 
 134 carlyon's year. 
 
 repute. Being shut out from Grey crags, its 
 poorer neighbours affected (like the fox who 
 pronounced the uncomeatable grapes sour) to 
 shun it; or perhaps they really had got to 
 believe the tales which they had themselves 
 invented against its proprietor when he for- 
 bad their making use of his grounds. What 
 did the old curmudgeon mean by such con- 
 duct ? People did not hedge themselves in, 
 and keep themselves to themselves in that 
 sort of way without some very good reason 
 which (like the spirits at the Mellor Arms) 
 were strong without being so very good. 
 
 What should induce an old gentleman of 
 seventy years of age, with an only daughter 
 of fifteen or so, to come and live at such a 
 place as Greycrags — a man, one would think, 
 to whom society would have been most accept- 
 able, since his sole establishment upon his 
 arrival had consisted of his daughter's atten-
 
 EXPLANATORY. 135 
 
 dant, and she a black woman ! He had 
 engaged the few other servants his simple 
 mode of life required, in the neighbourhood, 
 and dropped down, just as it might be, 
 (except that the black woman was credited 
 with having hailed from what I may venture 
 to call the opposite locality,) from the skies. 
 It was nothing less than an insult to the 
 intelligence of his neighbours, to behave 
 in this unaccountable manner. Many of 
 them would have forgiven his having closed 
 the grounds, if they could have only found 
 out why he did it. Even Mr. Puce, the 
 parson, a man who had the reputation of 
 knowing a great deal of the world (some 
 even said that for a clergyman he had too 
 exclusively given his attention to it) could 
 make nothing of Mr. Crawford. He had 
 called, of course, not without some thirst 
 for information, and he found the new-comer
 
 136 CARLYON S YEAR. 
 
 pretty much as we have seen him five years 
 afterwards at Woodlees ; with a curious look 
 of suspicion about him just at first, which 
 wore off before the visit was ended. A gen- 
 tleman without doubt ; Mr. Puce was ready 
 to stake his reputation (not his professional 
 one but the other) upon that fact; he was 
 never mistaken as to whether a man had been 
 accustomed to "move in the upper circles." 
 He even expressed his opinion that Mr. 
 Crawford was one who had been accustomed 
 to habits of command. But this was going 
 a little too far. The gentry of the locality 
 who had not enjoyed the privilege of a per- 
 sonal interview with the mysterious stranger 
 —they who had called and been "not-at- 
 homed," and whose calls had not been re- 
 turned — would not credit that much. It was 
 onlv natural that Mr. Puce should make the 
 most of his advantage ; but after all, what
 
 EXPLANATORY. 137 
 
 Mr. Crawford had alleged about himself was 
 probably correct. He had made a compe- 
 tency by commerce, and very late in life had 
 married a young w r ife, who had died in child- 
 bed with his little daughter. At nearly the 
 same time his only brother and his wife had 
 been carried off by fever in India, and their 
 infant son had been consequently consigned 
 to his charge. The Ayah who had brought 
 him over had undertaken the management of 
 both children ; and servants of all sorts were 
 now required. Mr. Puce could doubtless 
 recommend some amongst his parishioners. 
 
 In short, Mr Crawford had been as busi- 
 ness-like as polite throughout the interview ; 
 but although thus far communicative about his 
 own affairs — indeed, evidently anxious to ex- 
 plain his position — there was nothing to be 
 got out of him by cross-examination. At- 
 tired in deep mourning, his wasted form and
 
 138 CARLYON S YEAR. 
 
 cadaverous features fully bore out his assertion 
 that both as concerned health and spirits he 
 was totally incapacitated for mixing with 
 society ; and this he hoped that Mr. Puce 
 would be so good as to make known to 
 any families who might be kind enough to 
 entertain the design of calling upon him. 
 He was not even at present well enough, 
 he added (and during the last five years he 
 had never been sufficiently convalescent to 
 attempt the experiment), to attend public 
 worship. 
 
 Indeed, notwithstanding the not unpromis- 
 ing character of that first interview, the rector 
 had never got speech with his parishioner 
 again. He had called perhaps half-a-dozen 
 times at Greycrags (for he was piqued at 
 having been so foiled in his dexterous home- 
 thrusts and anxious to retrieve his reputation 
 as a far-sighted investigator into social mill-
 
 EXPLANATOPwY. 139 
 
 stones), but the answer he constantly received 
 was that Mr. Crawford did not feel himself 
 equal to see him — that is, except from a 
 distance ; for as the rector walked away 
 discomfited it sometimes happened that the 
 ancient invalid was watching him through his 
 telescope from some umbrageous portion of 
 the elevated grounds. As time went on a 
 governess of mature years was provided for 
 Agnes ; and whether from the admirable 
 "system" employed by that lady (and quite 
 peculiar to herself as everybody's "system" 
 is), or from her previous training under some 
 one else, no more satisfactory female pupil was 
 ever turned out of the educational workshop. 
 Her accomplishments, however, were far out- 
 shone by her kindliness and charity. Even 
 Mr. Puce was compelled to confess that the 
 church had no such servant in his parish as 
 the daughter of the recluse of Grey crags. She
 
 140 carlyon's year. 
 
 was humble, too, and submissive to authority; 
 not like that pestilent Job Salver, who blas- 
 phemously conceived that he had received the 
 gift of preaching ; nor even that William 
 Millet, who carried his religion into every 
 affair of life like some nursing mother who 
 embarrasses her neighbours by considering the 
 baby is included in all invitations. 
 
 Agnes Crawford, unlike her father, " went 
 out " (as the phrase goes) a good deal ; but 
 not into what is generally called society. She 
 was on excellent terms with the ladies of the 
 neighbourhood, who had no worse term to 
 apply to her than " very peculiar ; " but she 
 did not often visit them. No person (with 
 any sense of propriety) could blame her for 
 that, since having parted with her governess 
 in her eighteenth year, she had no longer a 
 " chaperon." Old Mrs. Heathcote, of Mellor 
 Lodge, had indeed offered her services to " the
 
 EXPLANATORY. 141 
 
 dear girl," in this matter — including some 
 very appropriate personal properties, item : a 
 front as black as the raven's wing ; a splendid 
 turban, with an ostrich feather in it ; and a 
 portrait of her deceased husband, worn as a 
 stomacher, and almost the size of life. But 
 Agnes, with grateful thanks, had declined her 
 protection. She did not even care for either 
 of the two county balls (one civil, the other 
 military) ; and therefore it may be easily 
 imagined that the ordinary evening parties of 
 the neighbourhood failed to attract her. 
 Dinner parties were not given about Mellor — 
 a neatly written statement that the pleasure 
 of your company was requested to tea being 
 the favourite form of invitation — but it is my 
 belief that Miss Crawford would not very 
 much have cared even for going out to dinner. 
 She only took other people's dinners out to 
 them in a basket ; and when they were sick,
 
 142 caelyon's year. 
 
 supplied them with little comforts — made 
 inexpressibly more comforting in their minis- 
 tration. Thus it might have easily happened 
 that not moving in the best local circles (to 
 borrow Mr. Puce's imagery) Agnes had never 
 so much as spoken with John Carlyon, although 
 so near a neighbour. 
 
 The fact was, however, that Mr. Carlyon 
 did not move in them either, or rather had 
 not done so for many years. He had flown 
 off from them at a tangent of his own free 
 will, or perhaps, as they themselves averred 
 with some complacency, they had made him 
 fly. The squire at Woodlees had very much 
 over-rated his social position if he imagined 
 that he might think as he liked, or at all 
 events might express his opinions. Because 
 the Earl Disney thought fit to absent himself 
 from public worship fifty-one Sundays per 
 annum, that was no excuse for Mr. John
 
 EXPLANATORY. 143 
 
 Carlyon's absence therefrom for fifty-two. 
 Nor had he even the decency, like Mr. 
 Crawford (an old man whose case was shock- 
 ing to contemplate, but who had yet some 
 sense of shame), to frame an excuse. The 
 squire was the picture of health, and might be 
 seen, Sunday after Sunday, starting for his 
 gallop on the sands, while all the other gentry 
 of the neighbourhood were proceeding with 
 demure faces to listen in the proper place to 
 the clergyman of their parish. These gentle- 
 men, his sometime companions in the hunting- 
 field, would look up in rather a sheepish 
 manner and say, " How do, Carlyon ? " as he 
 met or overtook them on such occasions ; but 
 their wives never vouchsafed him a nod. Nay, 
 as soon as he had passed by on his ungodly 
 errand, they would often anticipate Mr. Puce's 
 discourse by a little sermon of their own, or 
 even bring the tell-tale colour into their lord's
 
 144 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 cheek by stating their belief that he himself 
 would rather be on horseback at that very 
 moment like yonder wicked man, if the truth 
 were known. It is fair to add, however, that 
 it was not merely Mr. Carlyon's absence from 
 church which caused him to be thus sent to 
 Coventry (not a wholly disagreeable place, he 
 averred in his cynical way), but also a very 
 deplorable habit he had of speaking disrespect- 
 fully of religion. He protested he never did 
 so unless in self-defence, and when belaboured 
 by the weapons of the dogmatic; but not only 
 was this denied, but the defence, such as it 
 was, was disallowed. He ought to have been 
 thankful for the correction ; and at all events, 
 even in war, folks are never justified in 
 poisoning wells or using Greek fire. What 
 aggravated the matter, too, above all things, 
 was that John Carlyon's father had been one 
 of the best and most orthodox of men. While
 
 EXPLANATORY. 14 5 
 
 he lived no evidence of his son's depravity had 
 been afforded ; but no sooner had his example 
 been withdraAvn than the young squire had 
 thrown off the mask, and appeared in his true 
 character as infidel and scoffer. For the rest 
 he was a man of daring courage, and open- 
 handed generosity; but these virtues, of course, 
 only made his irreligious opinions the more 
 to be deplored. Everybody in Mellor did de- 
 plore them, and especially Mrs. Newman, his 
 widowed sister, a lady of most unimpeachable 
 views in spiritual matters, although in worldly 
 affairs she had the reputation of being over 
 prudent. With regard to money, of which 
 she had a plentiful supply, she was even 
 called close-fisted. The shrewd husband of 
 one of the poor women, whom it was her 
 pleasure to edify, once observed of Mrs. 
 Newman that " You might get a ton of texts 
 from her easier than an ounce of tea," and it
 
 146 carlyon's year. 
 
 must be confessed that the remark was not 
 without foundation. 
 
 John Carlyon and Agnes Crawford, then, 
 except for those terrible minutes on the 
 lessening sand, had never met, although each 
 had been made well aware, by report, of the 
 character of the other. " She will thank me," 
 mused the squire to himself, as he rode up to 
 the front door at Greycrags, " and then she 
 will shrink from me as from an adder.'*
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 GREYCRAGS. 
 
 "Mr. Crawford lias not at present left his 
 chamber, being unwell/' was the reply given 
 by the servant to Mr. Carlyon; "but Mr. 
 Richard is somewhere about the grounds, and 
 I will let him know you are here. Miss 
 Crawford is in the drawing-room, sir, if you 
 will step this way." 
 
 Twice or thrice, but not more, Carlyon had 
 had an opportunity of observing Agnes with 
 attention, but he thought that she had never 
 looked half so lovely as when rising hastily, 
 though with grace, from a table at which she 
 was putting some finishing touches to a draw- 
 ing, she came forward to meet him with 
 
 i 2
 
 148 carlyon's year. 
 
 heightened colour, and outstretched hand. 
 On the day before, her beauty had struck him 
 indeed as wonderful; but then it was some- 
 thing out of nature, if beyond it. The ex- 
 pectation of immediate death had glorified 
 that charming face, and changed it to some- 
 thing celestial; it had presented the chastened 
 and unearthly loveliness which the moon- 
 beams cast upon some fair landscape. To- 
 day, though radiant as a sunbeam, she looked 
 
 |" A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 " Mr. Carlyon," said she, " I have to thank 
 you for my life ; what words shall I find in 
 which to do so ? " 
 
 "None, my dear madam," returned he. 
 " Words are unnecessary ; indeed they are. 
 I read in your face that gratitude which a 
 generous mind is so prompt to pay with 
 usurious interest."
 
 GREYCRAGS. 149 
 
 She smiled and shook her head. "As 
 you please," said she. " True courage, it 
 is said, always makes light of its own 
 acts ; but when we left you yesterday at 
 Mr. Carstairs' house, you were scarcely re- 
 covered. I trust you are now yourself 
 again. " 
 
 " Unhappily, madam, yes ; " here he re- 
 leased her hand, and sighed. " They tell me 
 I was under water a few seconds longer than 
 yourself and your cousin; otherwise a great 
 hulking fellow like me ought to be ashamed 
 of himself to have been the last to get his 
 breath." 
 
 "And your horse, Mr. Carlyon, — I trust 
 that noble horse has come safe to land ? " 
 
 "He is standing in your stables at this 
 moment. If I could but let him know that 
 you had asked after him, I am sure that Red 
 Berild would be better pleased than with a
 
 150 carlyon's year. 
 
 feed of corn. His nature is chivalric — ex- 
 cept," added Carlyon, smiling, " that he never 
 earns the spurs." 
 
 " I have had another visitor this morning, 
 Mr. Carlyon, to whom, next to yourself, 
 Richard and I are indebted for our preserva- 
 tion yesterday; and for fear I should forget 
 it, I will tell you at once that I have a favour 
 to ask you in connection with him. When 
 one owes one's life to a fellow creature, it does 
 not matter what one owes beside ; the weight 
 of obligation cannot be increased ; so you see 
 I am quite shameless." 
 
 "Whatever the favour may be, it is granted, 
 my dear Miss Crawford. You speak of William 
 Millet, I suppose, whom I have just met upon 
 the road." 
 
 " Then he probably asked you himself ? " 
 said Agnes, eagerly. 
 
 "No; although, of course, I would have
 
 GREYCRAGS. 151 
 
 obliged him in any way. But he is very 
 modest, is William." 
 
 "Very modest and very good," replied Miss 
 Crawford, thoughtfully. " I don't know any- 
 one so good in all Mellor." 
 
 "He does not seem a happy man, how- 
 ever; at least, he has always a melancholy 
 go-to-meeting sort of air about him." 
 There was the shadow of a sneer upon 
 this last sentence, cast by the speaker's 
 self-contempt, not contempt of his sub- 
 ject. Carlyon felt that he was in danger 
 of playing a hypocritical part to please this 
 beautiful girl, and he resented his own weak- 
 ness. 
 
 "If William Millet has sorrows," replied 
 Agnes, confidently, "they are not his own. 
 His heart, like the pelican's breast, bleeds for 
 others, not for himself." 
 
 " Yes ; he has a worthless, drunken father,
 
 152 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 poor fellow," said Carlyon, abruptly; "that 
 must be a bitter bane to any man." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mr. Carlyon ; you and I 
 cannot know how bitter. I say you from 
 hearsay only ; but if what everybody agrees 
 in must needs be true, you were exceptionally 
 blessed in your father." 
 
 "He was a man of the strictest religion 
 and piety," returned Carlyon. 
 
 The extreme coldness of his tone could 
 scarcely have escaped her, — and indeed it was 
 intended to be observed, — but she went on as 
 though she had not heard it. 
 
 "In that case you ought to feel pity for 
 those who are less fortunate in their parents." 
 
 " I do pity William Millet, Miss Crawford. 
 If you ask me to pity Stephen, a man who for 
 a glass of gin has put a life like yours, to say 
 nothing of your cousin's and mine, in dead- 
 liest peril, I cannot do it."
 
 GKEYCRAGS. 153 
 
 "I ask you to forgive him," said Agnes, 
 pleadingly. 
 
 " William has asked me to do that already, 
 and I have done it. I have promised also 
 to try my best to get the old man forgiven, 
 although that will be no easy task in Mellor, 
 where, if you had perished, they tell me every 
 household would have lost its truest friend. " 
 
 " No, sir, no," said Agnes, hastily ; " poor 
 folks are thankful for small kindnesses, and 
 magnify them in their talk. But to this 
 household — that is, to my poor father — my loss 
 would have been doubtless great. The very 
 nearness of such a calamity (for such it would 
 have doubtless been to him) affected him very 
 deeply ; he showed himself far from well at 
 Woodlees yesterday, Richard tells me." 
 
 "Yes, he was twice overcome, although I 
 did not understand the cause; but at your 
 father's age there is nothing surprising in
 
 154 carlyon's year. 
 
 such seizures, particularly since lie has been 
 such an invalid so long." 
 
 "Just so/' said Agnes, in low earnest 
 tones; " there is nothing surprising. You 
 will not be disturbed therefore, if, when you 
 come to see us, as he hopes you often will, he 
 should occasionally give way in a similar 
 manner. I am afraid he is scarcely well 
 enough to see you to-day, although I know 
 he counts upon the pleasure of your dining 
 here on Thursday — indeed, I had, at his 
 request, written you this formal invitation — 
 which, as you see, only awaits the postman." 
 
 "I accept it very gladly," said Carlyon; 
 " notwithstanding which, oblige me by not 
 tearing up the note. It will remind me — 
 although, indeed, I am not likely to forget it 
 — of the engagement. Do you always act as 
 your father's amanuensis then, Miss Craw- 
 ford?"
 
 GREYCRAGS. 155 
 
 "Always: I have done so for some years. 
 Even his business matters — except just where 
 his signature is necessary — are entirely trans- 
 acted by me. You smile, as though you 
 doubted my fitness for such a post; but, I 
 assure you, I am very exact and methodical." 
 
 "Nay, I was only envying the attorney 
 whom Mr. Crawford employs," said Carlyon, 
 simply. Tone and gesture were both wanting, 
 which should have accompanied a compliment 
 so highflown. The young girl blushed deeply, 
 and there ensued an embarrassing pause. 
 
 "That drawing of yours reminds me," re- 
 sumed Carlyon, pointing to the table, " of the 
 pretext on which I have ventured to intrude 
 upon you. This sketch-book was found upon 
 the sands this morning, as well as a camp- 
 stool, which the finder will bring with him 
 before night ; it is yours, I conclude, although 
 I am afraid it can be of no further use."
 
 156 CARLYONS YEAK. 
 
 Miss Crawford looked very grave at the 
 sight of this memento of her late peril. " I 
 thank you much, Mr. Carlyon. It is useless, 
 as you say, for its original purpose ; but I am 
 very glad to have it. It will serve to remind 
 me of the Providence which mercifully pre- 
 served me in so terrible a strait; as well," 
 added she, with frankness, " of the brave gen- 
 tleman who risked his life — nay, almost lost 
 it — to save that of mere strangers. My un- 
 finished sketch, I perceive " — here her voice 
 faltered in spite of her utmost efforts at self- 
 command — "has vanished from the block. 
 Surely the sea could not have taken all the 
 colour out." 
 
 " I assure you, dear Miss Crawford, on my 
 honour," exclaimed Carlyon earnestly, "that 
 I have ventured to take no such liberty. The 
 book is just as it came into my hands." 
 
 " Nay, there would have been no great
 
 GREYCRAGS. 157 
 
 harm," returned she, smiling, " even had you 
 committed such a theft. The wrecker, I am 
 afraid, whoever he is, will have gained but a 
 worthless prize." 
 
 " There I differ from you," said Carlyon. 
 " I never before properly appreciated my 
 manorial rights to Flottsam and Jettsam : I 
 will punish the rascal who has thus deprived 
 me of them with all the rigour of the law — 
 that is, I would if I could. From whence is 
 the sketch taken which you have just finished 
 so charmingly? I should know those hills 
 well enough : that is Wynthrop Pike, is it 
 not? and that Cold Harbour Dod? " 
 
 " No, the Dod is here, in the middle dis- 
 tance ; although I daresay it is my fault that 
 it is not recognisable. It is taken half way 
 up the crags; a most glorious place for a 
 view. Come, I will show you the very spot." 
 
 "I should like that of all things," answered
 
 158 carlyon's year. 
 
 Carlyon, eagerly. " Grey crags has been so 
 well preserved a sanctuary since your father's 
 time, that I have quite forgotten the view 
 from your hill." 
 
 She took up the summer hat that lay on 
 the chair beside her, and, with the drawing 
 in her hand, stepped out through the open 
 window on the lawn, which sloped up to the 
 wood-crowned height to southward. Two 
 winding walks, to left and right, led to the 
 top of this hill ; and both of them had several 
 little level resting-places, or plateaux, provided 
 with seats either for rest or enjoyment of the 
 extensive prospect afforded from them. On 
 one of these, which commanded the windows 
 of the drawing-room they had just left, 
 Richard Crawford was seated reading, or, at 
 least, with a book in his hand. He did not 
 seem to observe Carlyon and his cousin. He 
 had taken up his position on the left-hand
 
 GREYCRAGS. 159 
 
 walk ; and when the point was reached where 
 the two diverged, Agnes, after a moment's 
 hesitation, took the other. 
 
 That, certainly, was a fair spot from which 
 the good folks of Mellor had been shut out 
 by Mr. Crawford's veto years ago. Art and 
 nature seemed to have vied with one another 
 in adorning the scene. The luxuriance of the 
 wilderness predominated ; for Mr. Crawford's 
 out- door establishment was scarcely sufficient 
 to keep in order such extensive grounds ; but 
 still the lawn, on which you looked down at 
 every turn of the shady zigzag, was kept 
 smooth and shaven, and the flower-beds in 
 their emerald setting glowed with harmonious 
 hues. A terrace-walk — now diminished to a 
 strip of gravel — ran round the house, and this 
 was set with urns full of scarlet blossom. As 
 they moved higher, above the level of the 
 house-roof, the prospect to the north-west, to
 
 160 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 which we have alluded, began to expand 
 itself, and for the spectators an alcove had 
 been erected at the most eligible point of 
 view. 
 
 " This is the place from which I took this 
 drawing, Mr. Carlyon," said Agnes ; " and I 
 think you owe me an apology for mistaking 
 Windy Scar, yonder, for Cold Harbour Dod, 
 whose hump, I flatter myself, I have repre- 
 sented with great fidelity. I have always 
 been taught to prefer truth to beauty, inde- 
 pendently of the fact that the former is always 
 attainable, and the latter not." 
 
 " The poet tells us they are the same," 
 answered Carlyon, " ' Beauty is truth — truth, 
 beauty ; ' and when I look at your face, Miss 
 Crawford, I do believe him." 
 
 " Mr. Carlyon, I am not used to listen to 
 compliments/' said Agnes, rising from the 
 bench with quiet dignity ; " and, to tell you
 
 GKEYCRAGS. 161 
 
 the truth — or the beauty, since you say the 
 terms are synonymous — it is a taste which I 
 do not wish to acquire." 
 
 "You altogether misconceive my unfortu- 
 nate observation, dear Miss Crawford," replied 
 Carlyon, humbly ; "but pray sit down. I 
 will take care not to offend again, even in ap- 
 pearance. You make light of my poet's 
 dogma, it appears ; I hope you do not flout 
 at all bards, as Meg — that is, Mrs. Newman 
 — does. A painter like yourself should 
 surely be on friendly terms with the sister- 
 art. 
 
 " I like poetry very much, Mr. Carlyon ; 
 but I must confess — making all allowance for 
 my own lack of intelligence — that the claims 
 which its admirers often put forth are some- 
 what extravagant. Poets seem to me to be 
 the most thoughtful and suggestive of writers, 
 touching with marvellous skill the innermost
 
 162 carlyon's year. 
 
 chords of our being ; but as high-priests of 
 our spiritual life I do not recognise their 
 authority." 
 
 "You do not believe in the inspiration of 
 the muse, then ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do ; but not in the same sense in 
 which I believe in the inspiration of the 
 Scriptures." 
 
 "Plenary?" asked Mr. Carlyon, smiling. 
 "You surely don't believe, with Mr. Job 
 Salver, that the Bible was dropped from 
 Heaven in a lump, and in the vulgar 
 tongue ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir, I am an ignorant girl, and know 
 nothing of what you hint at. But this I 
 know, that when folks want comfort on their 
 sick-beds, they only get it from one book." 
 
 " You are speaking of uneducated, simple 
 people, such as you find about here." 
 
 " Yes ; or in other words, of about nine-
 
 GREYCRAGS. 163 
 
 teen-twentieths of our fellow creatures. Of 
 the other twentieth — the educated classes — 
 about one twentieth again, perhaps, have 
 really any genuine poetic feeling. Thus the 
 influence of the poets, however powerful, is 
 restricted within very narrow limits. It is 
 idle to speak of them as supplying the 
 spiritual place of those inspired writers who 
 address themselves to every degree of man- 
 kind." 
 
 " My dear Miss Crawford," returned Car- 
 lyon, laughing, " if it be possible that Doctor 
 Samuel Johnson has been permitted to re- 
 appear upon the earth's surface in the form of 
 a fair lady, she is certainly before me now. 
 You make me believe in the doctrine of me- 
 tempsychosis/' 
 
 " I wish I could make you believe in some- 
 thing better and truer," returned the young 
 girl, gravely. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 carlyon's year. 
 
 " Well, try. I should like you to have as 
 good an opinion of me as you have of William 
 Millet. 55 
 
 " Nay, sir, but that is impossible. 55 
 
 "Dear me, 55 quoth Carlyon ; "why this 
 is worse measure than I should get from 
 Mr. Puce himself. Surely he would esti- 
 mate the Squire of Mellor above a cockler 5 s 
 son. 55 
 
 "Do you suppose, Mr. Carlyon, that God 
 Almighty, who made the whole world, and 
 ten thousand other worlds for all we know, 
 cares whether a man is a king or a cockier ? 55 
 
 " No, Miss Crawford ; nor, indeed, do I 
 care, either. You are wasting your energies 
 in preaching equality to one of ' the Moun- 
 tain ' like me." 
 
 " And yet I see a pride in this very humi- 
 lity of yours, Mr. Carlyon. Every man is 
 equal, you say. You bend to no one, and
 
 GEEYCRAGS. 165 
 
 you wish the humblest to treat you as 
 man with man. And yet you are aware 
 of your own superiority to the rest. When 
 you rode down yesterday 'into the jaws of 
 Death ' " 
 
 " ' Into the mouth of Hell,' " interrupted 
 Carry on, finishing the quotation. 
 
 " Nay, I do not say that ; God in his 
 mercy forbid ! " continued Agnes, fervently ; 
 " but when you saw yourself to be the only 
 man of all that concourse upon the shore who 
 would peril his life to save that of others, you 
 must have known that you were braver, 
 nobler, more generous than other men. Oh, 
 sir, it is not w T ell, I know T , to say such things 
 to your face ; I see it embarrasses your 
 nature to hear them ; yet it is my duty to 
 speak. Courage is good ; but that is not 
 courage which in the favoured servant leads 
 him to defy his master to whose forbearance
 
 166 carlyon's year. 
 
 he is indebted ; that is not courage, but an 
 ungrateful audacity, which moves a man to 
 defy his God." 
 
 " Miss Crawford," returned Carlyon, 
 slowly, " I thank you. I am not so wilfully 
 blind but that I can perceive you mean to do 
 me a good service. We will talk of these 
 things some other time together, as procrasti- 
 nating "Festus said to Paul. My visit to 
 Greycmgs has already been unconscionably 
 long ; in remembrance of it, however, — 
 especially of this interview, — may I beg for 
 that chalk drawing, that admirable half-length 
 of my old friend, Cold Harbour Dod. Come, 
 or else I shall think you vexed because your 
 eloquence has not converted me upon the 
 instant. You know it is quite the custom 
 for those who would gain spiritual proselytes 
 to bestow material advantages. ' Come to 
 church, and you will get coals and blankets at
 
 GREYCRAGS. 167 
 
 Christmas/ says Mr. Pace to the disciples of 
 Job Salver." 
 
 " As you will," said Agnes, sighing ; " but 
 you are very welcome to my poor drawing, sir." 
 
 Her cheeks were pale, the light which had 
 glowed in her earnest eyes awhile ago had 
 quite gone out. Carlyon, on the other hand, 
 looked flushed and pleased. He rolled up the 
 little sketch with tenderest care, and placed it 
 in his breast pocket. 
 
 " I will make a frame for it with my own 
 hands/' cried he, joyfully ; " no carver and 
 gilder shall touch it. Like the good old em- 
 peror of old, you may say to yourself, Miss 
 Crawford, that you have not misspent this 
 day, since you have made a fellow-creature 
 happy." 
 
 Agnes did not reply. Slowly, and in a 
 silence broken only by one or two conven- 
 tional phrases, the two descended the hill.
 
 108 caelyon's yeae. 
 
 Richard Lad deserted his bench, and was 
 nowhere to be seen. When they reached the 
 drawing-room, and the horse had been ordered 
 to be brought round, — 
 
 "I must go out and see Red Berild ! " 
 exclaimed Agnes. 
 
 " Ah, do so," said Carlyon ; " although he 
 never looks so well, so powerful, and yet so 
 gentle, as when he is carrying a lady/' 
 
 So she went out to where the noble crea- 
 ture stood, pawing the gravel, and patted his 
 arching neck approvingly, and whispered in 
 his pricking ears how grateful she felt to 
 him. 
 
 " On Thursday, we shall see you at dinner, 
 Mr. Carlyon," were her last words. 
 
 " Without fail," answered he, with a 
 warmth that contrasted with her quiet tones ; 
 and so they shook hands and parted. 
 
 Rapt in happy thought, and ever and anon
 
 GREYCEAGS. 1G9 
 
 touching his breast pocket as though to assure 
 himself that his treasure was safe, Carlyon 
 rode slowly away ; and when he and his steed 
 had come to a retired part of the road, and 
 out of eyeshot of the house, he leaned forward 
 and kissed that neck upon which Agnes 
 Crawford's hand had lingered so lovingly.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 cubra's teaching. 
 
 When Agnes returned to the drawing- 
 room, having bid adieu to her guest, she did 
 what was with her a very unusual thing 
 indeed, — that is, nothing. Instead of work- 
 ing, or reading, or drawing, or attending to 
 matters of the house, she sat in her old seat, 
 with her hands on her lap, looking thought- 
 fully out upon the flower-bordered lawn, 
 but only seeing the pictures in her brain. 
 How long she might have thus remained in 
 dreamland it is impossible to say, for that 
 locality, seductive to all, is particularly so 
 to those who, like her, are comparatively 
 strangers to it, and find themselves there only
 
 cubra's teaching. 171 
 
 occasionally ; she was soon startled into con- 
 sciousness, however, by some one moving in 
 another part of the room which lay in shadow. 
 
 " Richard ! " cried she, in astonishment. 
 " What, are you here ? " 
 
 " Yes, Agnes. I would not have disturbed 
 you if I could have helped it ; but I got the 
 cramp and was obliged to move a limb." 
 
 "You frightened me very much, Richard," 
 replied she, with a touch of annoyance in her 
 tone. " Why did you not speak ? " 
 
 "Because I had nothing to say which 
 would be pleasant to you, or at least one-half 
 as pleasant as the thoughts which are occu- 
 pying your mind." 
 
 " You cannot have read them, Richard, 
 very correctly, if that is the conclusion you 
 have arrived at." 
 
 " Y r es, I have, Agnes. I can tell you what 
 you have been dreaming of, for it is a dream
 
 ill carlyon's year. 
 
 which can never have any reality, thank God ! 
 You have been dreaming of converting John 
 Carlyon — into a husband." 
 
 " Richard ! " She had risen to her full 
 height, with flashing eves and flaming cheeks. 
 " How dare you insult me thus — you that 
 are my own kith and kin ! I blush for 
 
 you." 
 
 " No, you are blushing for yourself, Agnes. 
 You have seen this man but for an hour or 
 so, and yet the mention of his name turns 
 you scarlet. I saw you when you stepped 
 out with him yonder on the lawn together. 
 You both looked up to where I sat, and then 
 he asked you a question. An inner sense 
 told me what it was as surely as though it 
 had been wdiispered in my ears. You said 
 that though my manner might have struck 
 him as strange, that I meant no harm. That 
 you really had a great regard for me, being
 
 cuera's teaching. 173 
 
 your cousin, and lest he, Mr. Carlyon, should 
 misjudge me, you would confide to him 
 at once that I had had a sunstroke in 
 Barbados.'' 
 
 " Heaven is my witness, Richard," inter- 
 rupted Agnes, earnestly, "that I never ut- 
 tered one syllable of all this ; that even the 
 idea of uttering it never entered into my 
 mind. You will believe my word, Richard, 
 I suppose, in opposition to this inner sense 
 you speak of. Oh ! cousin, cousin, for 
 shame." 
 
 " How gentle and kind you are with me in 
 consideration of my infirmity ! " observed the 
 young man, bitterly. " I dare say you have 
 made up your mind that there shall always 
 be an asylum for me in your own home — that 
 is, if he has no objection — when you are 
 married and settled." 
 
 He thought she would have flamed up
 
 174 caklyon's yeae. 
 
 again at this, but her face was now still and 
 pale. Her large eyes gazed upon him in 
 wonder and in sorrow. His fiery dart was 
 turned aside by the shield of pity. 
 
 " Yes, you can afford to be patient and 
 forbearing," he went on ; " or at least you 
 think you can ; though do not be too sure." 
 
 A speck of colour came into each fair 
 cheek, then vanished instantly as a spark ; 
 but her eyes, suddenly stern, retained their 
 firmness. 
 
 " I do not wish to threaten you, Agnes." 
 
 " Threaten me ! " Unutterable scorn never 
 took a more graceful shape than in that face 
 and form. " You are mad, Richard." 
 
 " No — not mad, but wounded, vexed ; that 
 I allow 7 , Agnes. Forgive me. I will school 
 myself to better manners. Why did this 
 man come hither ? Why did he ask for you, 
 not for your father? Why, as though this
 
 cubra's teaching. 175 
 
 room was not sufficiently private for him, did 
 he lead you to yonder arbour? " 
 
 " 1 deny your right, Richard, to ask any 
 such questions ; but they are easily answered, 
 thus : Mr. Carlyon came to return me this 
 sketch-book left on the sands on the day when 
 he saved your life and mine. My father has 
 not quitted his room, and therefore could not 
 see him. It was I myself who proposed to 
 take Mr. Carlyon up the hill." 
 
 " Good. The rest I know. He asked you 
 for your drawing, and you gave it to him, and 
 he said you had made him happy. I was 
 behind the alcove and heard it all." 
 
 " What ! you played the eavesdropper ! " 
 
 He had approached her, but she waved him 
 off with a gesture of supreme contempt. 
 
 "If you were a poor man, sir, I tell you 
 what you would have been — you would have 
 been a thief ! "
 
 17G carlyon's year. 
 
 " We do not despise the man — the Bible 
 says it — who steals for bread," replied the 
 young man, passionately. "I starve, and 
 therefore steal. You, Agnes, are to me the 
 bread for which I hunger; the fire for lack 
 of which my blood runs cold ; the drink I 
 thirst for ; the atmosphere in which alone I 
 breathe. Oh, listen to me — listen to me, if 
 you have a heart not stone." 
 
 He cast himself before her on his knees, 
 and clasped her dress, for she was about to 
 leave the room in terror at his words. 
 
 "You are all I have to live for — all. I 
 love you as no woman ever yet was loved. 
 Look you, you have given that man a 
 drawing, and he says that he will prize it ; 
 but not as I prize this, although it was no 
 gift at all. I tore it from your sketch-book 
 yesterday, when I thought we had but a few 
 minutes to live. So dear even then was
 
 cu bra's teaching. 177 
 
 everything belonging to you. I wish we had 
 both died together. Not I alone, for then 
 you would have married this man — which you 
 never shall — no, never. Yes, I had rather see 
 you angered thus than pitiful. You never 
 shall." 
 
 "Richard!" 
 
 "Nay, Agnes, do not look like that — I 
 then feel without heart or hope. Oh ! pity 
 me." 
 
 From menace to appeal, from love to hate, 
 his mood thus shifted : yet all his face was 
 bright with changeful beauty, like some 
 Eolian harp, whose strings obey the tempest 
 or the whispering summer wind as happens, 
 but harmonious to each. Now he lay pros- 
 trate on the floor with his face hidden in 
 his hands, and to judge by the movement 
 of his shoulders, sobbing with hysterical 
 violence.
 
 178 carlyon's year. 
 
 " For shame, Richard 1 That is not the 
 behaviour of a man, but of a spoiled child 
 denied some plaything of which, if it were 
 given him, he would tire in a little time and 
 fret for something else. I cannot stav, and 
 will not, to see you thus conduct yourself. I 
 will send Cubra to you, for I am sure you 
 must need a nurse." 
 
 Thoroughly roused to wrath, Agnes dis- 
 engaged her dress from his now yielding 
 fingers, and left the room. The young man, 
 moaning in a restless manner, like some wild 
 beast in pain, lay where he was. 
 
 " What, Master Richard ill again ? What 
 have they been doing to my darling ? " cried 
 a female voice, speaking with great rapidity, 
 and in broken English. Then followed a 
 torrent of Hindostanee. * " Get up, my 
 own, lest the sahib come in and find you 
 thus."
 
 oubea's teaching. 179 
 
 He looked up with an angry scowl. " Let 
 him come, Cubra; I know now how to deal 
 with him. Let him take care." 
 
 " Hush, hush ! The wise snake gives no 
 rattle. Has Miss Agnes made you angry ? 
 She is always doing that." 
 
 "No, Cubra, no," replied the young man, 
 rising to his feet, and giving the old black 
 woman his hand, which she covered with 
 kisses ; " it is I who was in fault. You must 
 not be vexed with Agnes." 
 
 " What ! when she does not love my 
 Richard ? n She shook her head, its hair 
 more intensely black even than that of her 
 young master, though by a score of years his 
 elder, and her eyes gleamed white with wrath. 
 " No, no. Why not she love you, my beau- 
 tiful? It is she who should lie there and 
 say, ' Kiss me, Richard, be my husband, be 
 my master/ Tell me how she help it." 
 
 K 2
 
 180 caelyon's year. 
 
 " She cares nothing for me ; nobody cares 
 for me, except you, Cubra. And what is 
 worse, she loves another man." 
 
 " She — love — another — man ! " echoed the 
 ayah ; first in profound wonder, and then 
 with malignant ferocity. " She love another 
 man. Take Cubra's knife — this one she 
 killed the dog with years ago, that kept my 
 pet awake o' nights with its yelping. Take it 
 and kill him. If Massa Richard is afraid f 
 shall Cubra do it ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Never hint at such 
 a thing again, I beg. Throw that knife 
 away. It would be very wrong, very wicked, 
 and would displease me very much indeed, 
 Cubra." 
 
 "I always please Master Richard, not 
 make him sorry," returned the black woman, 
 quietly. "What shall we do, then? kill 
 her?"
 
 cubra's teaching. 181 
 
 " Murderess ! " cried the young man, with 
 fury, seizing the ayah by the throat. " Give 
 utterance to that devilish thought again, and 
 I will choke you. Touch my Agnes, injure 
 one shining hair of her bright head, and I 
 would ugh, you black savage ! " 
 
 Richard let go his hold and shuddered. 
 The application of the homoeopathic principle 
 of like to like, passion to passion, for the 
 time at least, had cured him. The exhi- 
 bition of such instincts in another had 
 made him sensible of his own unreasonable 
 conduct. 
 
 He passed out on the lawn and up to the 
 alcove which Carlyon and Agnes had lately 
 occupied. There he sat alone, watched by 
 the eyes of Cubra from below, exactly as a 
 man in some trouble, beyond canine sagacity 
 to comprehend, is watched by his faithful 
 dog.
 
 182 CARLYOX'S YEAR. 
 
 The ayah had been Richard's foster-mother, 
 although not in India. For some reason, best 
 known to Mr. Crawford, the place of the black 
 nurse in whose care he had been brought 
 home had been supplied by Cubra directly the 
 vessel arrived in England ; but she loved him 
 as though he had been her charge and comfort 
 from the first. Great and wondrous is the 
 affection which women often evince for the 
 little ones who are indebted to them not for 
 the gift of life, but only for the prolongation 
 of it ; but in Cubra's case, this feeling was 
 devotion ; nay, idolatry. Without friends, 
 without relatives, without country, without a 
 God, this poor, ignorant creature had found a 
 substitute for them all in Richard Crawford. 
 She was ready to shed her heart's blood for 
 him, and she had given him all that she had to 
 give him, short of that. Some of her gifts had 
 better never have been bestowed. He had
 
 CUBRA.S TEACHING. 1S3 
 
 inherited from her the vehement passions of 
 her Eastern race, not mitigated, and scarcely 
 skinned over bv her loner contact with the 
 civilised world. His education, such as it 
 was, had done him but little service. His 
 uncle, moody, and at times morose, had never 
 taken kindly to the boy, although he had 
 always done his duty by him in what is falsely 
 termed "essentials," that is, in material re- 
 quirements. He had not spared money (the 
 child had inherited but very little from his 
 own parents) and had sent him to a respect- 
 able school. He had then offered to give him 
 a fair start in any profession, save one, to 
 which he might take a fancy. And here 
 occurred the first considerable breach between 
 the boy and his guardian. Richard had that 
 vehement longing to enter the navy which 
 sometimes seizes upon our insular youth with 
 an intensity not to be explained, and upon
 
 184 carlyon's year. 
 
 which as a nation we may well congratulate 
 ourselves, but not always as parents and 
 guardians. Mr. Crawford entertained a re- 
 pugnance for the sea quite as great and as 
 unaccountable as was his nephew's predilection 
 for it. The contest was very violent, and 
 bore bitter fruit. So far as the subject of 
 dispute was concerned, Richard gained his 
 point, inasmuch as he was sent afloat, but 
 instead of being admitted into the Royal 
 Navy, he entered the Merchant Service. His 
 uncle never forgave him his obstinacy, and 
 his own proud spirit deeply resented the being 
 placed in what he considered an inferior 
 branch of his beloved calling. 
 
 At the time of his departure on his first 
 voyage — which proved a long one — and just 
 before Mr. Crawford's removal to Mellor, a 
 second ground of offence had arisen. The 
 boy had fallen in love with his cousin — if
 
 CUBRAS TEACHING. 185 
 
 one of his rash arid impetuous nature could 
 be said to fall, and not rather to have leapt 
 headlong over the icy barrier of kinship into 
 the fiery gulf of love. The passion of a 
 youth of sixteen for a girl one year his junior 
 is not generally a very dangerous matter, and 
 especially when there is no sign of its being 
 returned ; but it naturally intensified his 
 uncle's prejudice against him, at the same 
 time as it probably forwarded his own views 
 in the matter of his being sent to sea. After 
 an absence of a year or two on the salt water, 
 it was reasonably to be expected that such a 
 cobweb would be blown away from his young 
 brain ; and no serious talk had ever been 
 held with him upon the point. Yet now, 
 after being away from the beloved object for 
 no less than five years, the young man had 
 returned home more enamoured of her than 
 ever. He had only been at Greycrags for a
 
 186 caelyon's year. 
 
 few weeks, and, as we have seen, lie had 
 already addressed his cousin in the terms of 
 a passionate lover ; and yet the duration of 
 his stay at home was indefinite. This was a 
 state of things the suspicion of which might 
 have aroused the anxiety of any father. Mr. 
 Crawford, however, was not ignorant of the 
 relative position which the two cousins occu- 
 pied. Not only was he confident of the 
 dutifulness of his daughter, but the sisterlv 
 affection which she had at all times manifested 
 towards Richard was evidence to the shrewd 
 old man of her not reciprocating any warmer 
 feeling. She had interceded for him with 
 her father, a hundred times, but never when 
 the favour sought would have been to the 
 lad's hurt, albeit to his gratification. She 
 had shown none of the blind fondness of 
 one who loves, and none of the reticence. 
 Mr. Crawford knew from her own lips that
 
 COBRAS TEACHING. 1S7 
 
 his nephew had offered her his hand, and 
 been refused. She had confided it to him 
 upon the understanding that poor Richard 
 was to be treated none the worse for all that 
 had come and gone. It was. doubtless, owing 
 to this proviso that the young' sailor owed the 
 toleration which he enjoyed at Grey crags 
 from his host and kinsman, notwithstanding 
 his audacious aspirations. 
 
 Although accepting his position, Richard 
 was bv no means grateful for the sufferance. 
 He knew, or thought he knew, that he pos- 
 sessed a claim upon the hospitality of Grey- 
 crags, nay, upon the possession of Agnes 
 Crawford for his wife, that only required to 
 be put forward to be allowed ; a claim basely 
 acquired, indeed, and base for a man to use, 
 — but still a valid one. Of the game he 
 felt himself certain; whether it was to be 
 obtained by honest play, or by the card
 
 1S8 carlyon's year. 
 
 which he kept in his sleeve, was the question 
 that now agitated him as he sat in the alcove, 
 endeavouring to nerve himself for the cheat's 
 device by thinking how willingly she had 
 lately sat there by another's side. It was not 
 an easy task ; for the young man, although 
 unprincipled and reckless, w r as not a coward, 
 as we have already seen. He had stooped to 
 at least one meanness, beside that with which 
 we are acquainted : but it was not his nature 
 to be mean. The strength of his master- 
 passion had overthrown all barriers of honour 
 and good faith that interposed themselves to 
 its current, and was now threatening to 
 whelm his whole moral being. Out of the 
 course of this stream there was much good 
 ground and fertile ; but, curiously enough, in 
 pursuit of one of the purest objects human 
 heart could desire, his own was indurating 
 and being debased, just as the diamond-seeker
 
 cobra's TEACHING. 1S9 
 
 burrows in the depths of the mine, or the 
 modern Prometheus seeks the photographic 
 fire with covered face. 
 
 " It is only a little less base than Cubra's 
 knife," muttered Richard to himself, after 
 much reflection. " She might hate me for 
 using such a weapon, even though she became 
 my wife. No, no : it cannot be that she will 
 always reject such love as mine. I was 
 wrong to show myself so jealous of the visit 
 of this stranger, although I can see how the 
 old man favours him. Oh, Agnes, Agnes ! " 
 exclaimed he, passionately, as with a fervent 
 and almost frenzied gaze, like some fire- wor- 
 shipper in presence of his divinity, he gazed 
 upon the western hills, now smitten with 
 flame, " if I could only win you fairly, my 
 beloved one ! " Then, as he turned to 
 descend, and his eye fell upon Cubra, still 
 keeping her patient watch below, he added,
 
 IPO carlyon's year. 
 
 " but fairly or not, Agnes Crawford," — and 
 there was a bitter sneer in the tone in which 
 he pronounced her name, — " you shall be 
 w r on, and that soon."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 
 
 The institution of dinner parties, admirable 
 for mankind in many respects, and certainly 
 superior to all other forms of entertainment, 
 is not so advantageous with regard to our 
 relations with the other sex. Man can have 
 no better opportunity of cultivating ac- 
 quaintance with his brother man, but scarcely 
 a worse for improving his position with the 
 lady of his affections. We may not be so 
 fastidious as the noble bard who " hated to 
 see a woman eat," but we still must acknow- 
 ledge that we had rather see our beloved 
 object doing almost anything else. We do 
 not know how it may be with chopsticks, but
 
 192 CAELYONS YEAR. 
 
 a knife and fork in woman's hands seem cer- 
 tainly inimical to the tender passion ; the 
 jingle of glasses, the clatter of plates, are not 
 to be trusted to, as in any degree permanent ; 
 servants are not invariably noisy ; and just as, 
 under cover of a fusillade of this sort, you 
 have hazarded a remark with meaning, a 
 sudden silence may place you in the most em- 
 barrassing position. The attentive fair one 
 poising a morsel upon her fork, presents a 
 truly ridiculous spectacle, and you — with the 
 sentence you dare not finish — how foolish you 
 also look, as you plunge madly at your 
 champagne glass, and wish it were an opaque 
 pitcher in which you could hide your dimi- 
 nished head. And yet, how you counted 
 beforehand on that evening when you knew 
 you were to meet her, and that your good- 
 natured hostess would see that your Arabella 
 should be placed under your charge in the
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 193 
 
 procession to the dining-room ! For my part, 
 I think the Eastern custom, which excludes 
 females from feasts, is a most excellent one. 
 The only exception should be pic-nics, which, 
 indeed, would never exist except for women, 
 who care not what they eat, or what they drink, 
 but only wherewithal they shall be clothed. 
 
 However, as I have said, the lover still 
 looks forward to the repast at which he is to 
 meet his fair one, notwithstanding the not un- 
 recorded experiences of the generations before 
 him : and the Thursday on which John 
 Carlyon was invited to Greycrags, seemed to 
 beckon him to bliss. 
 
 His late interview with Agnes had filled his 
 heart with hope — it must be confessed on but 
 slight grounds. He did not take into ac- 
 count the depth of gratitude which she felt 
 for the service he had rendered her, and 
 which, of course, had placed him upon quite
 
 194 carlyon's year. 
 
 another footing than that of a stranger 
 making his first visit of ceremony ; the 
 unconventional simplicity of her nature, too, 
 so different from that of young ladies in 
 general, gave to her manners a frankness and 
 cordiality which he had construed, somewhat 
 egotistically perhaps, into a liking for himself. 
 But, he was at all events certain that she did 
 not shrink from him as he had apprehended 
 would have been the case, in pious horror. 
 He did not at all dislike her remarks to him 
 upon the question of religion. They evinced 
 an interest in his future welfare, which 
 perhaps might be extended to the present. 
 Charity begins at home, but love may begin 
 anywhere. Marriages themselves were said 
 to be made in heaven. It was very foolish of 
 him to leap to these conclusions ; but the fact 
 was, Carlyon was dealing with a person whose 
 motives of action he could appreciate, and yet
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 195 
 
 by no means understand. Nothing is more 
 unintelligible to an irreligious man than the 
 position of the truly pious. The quoters of 
 texts, the wearers of long faces, the de- 
 nouncers of fiction, the foes of the Pope, and 
 all that rout of the vulgar and ignorant who 
 make up so large a portion of what is called 
 " the religious world," are very transparent to 
 him, and afford him endless opportunities of 
 scoffing at the Great Cause of which these 
 foolish persons imagine themselves to be the 
 advocates. Bat, brought face to face with 
 those who spend their lives in doing good, 
 from motives quite other than those of simple 
 benevolence, and whose charity is of the heart 
 as well as the hand, he is puzzled how to 
 treat them. These " amiable enthusiasts," 
 who show their faith by their works, are very 
 embarrassing to him ; but they are seldom 
 met with in society. 
 
 o 2
 
 196 carlyon's year. 
 
 Carlyon had long regarded Agnes like 
 some star set far above him in a heaven of its 
 own ; but now that he had been admitted to 
 her presence, and listened to her opinions, she 
 seemed no longer out of his reach. Yet as 
 soon might he imagine that the substance of 
 the star was any nearer to him, because in 
 some tranquil pool he had seen its reflex, and 
 hung over it for a little unrebuked. 
 
 It is sad to think how soon w r ith ordinary 
 men, and especially with those who pay a 
 somewhat exceptional homage to women, the 
 angel is lost in the wife, and the wife in the 
 drudge ; how lightly they value the prize once 
 so humbly sought w r hen they have become 
 possessed of it. With one of Carlyon's gene- 
 rous and knightly nature such degradation 
 was impossible, but he was not without some 
 share of that vanity of his sex which trans- 
 lates the pressure of a woman's hand into
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. l';7 
 
 " Persevere," and her smile into " You will 
 succeed." A week ago, had his heart ven- 
 tured to whisper to him that Agnes Crawford 
 might some day be his, he would have 
 laughed aloud for very bitterness. But now, 
 as he was borne towards Greycrags, in the 
 close car of the country, to dine in company 
 with that no longer unapproachable young 
 woman, the idea of such an union was by no 
 means laughable, but eminently practicable 
 and very nice. There was no dinner-party to 
 meet him, of course. Not that there is any 
 difficulty in the country in getting folks to 
 dine with you, for they will cheerfully come 
 six, and even ten miles, to do it in the depth 
 of winter, but simply because Mr. Crawford 
 knew nobody to ask. Mr. Puce, indeed, 
 would have given five pounds (and he was not 
 a recklessly extravagant man either) for an in- 
 vitation to Greycrags ; but Mr. Puce was not
 
 198 carlycn's year. 
 
 there. Mr. Carstairs was the only guest, 
 besides Carl} on, who was not an inmate of 
 the house. 
 
 An apology for this circumstance was ten- 
 dered by the stately old man, as he welcomed 
 the young squire, who on his part rejoined, 
 most truthfully, that he was glad they were to 
 be so small a company. He might, with 
 equal veracity, have added that at least one of 
 the present party could have been well spared. 
 Mr. Richard Crawford, offensively good- 
 looking and objectionably young, was stand- 
 ing by his cousin's side, and continued there 
 to stand while Carlyon and she shook hands 
 and dilated upon the fineness of the evening 
 — as though June were generally a series of 
 pouring days alternating with snow-storms. 
 It was quite a relief when cheery Mr. 
 Carstairs bustled in late — (" When a lady's in 
 the case, my dear sir, and especially under
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 199 
 
 certain circumstances — ahem — all other things 
 must give place") — and fastened himself 
 upon Mr. Richard, with some startling par- 
 ticulars concerning the right of fishing, which 
 that young gentleman, it seems, had exercised 
 of late in contempt of the lawful authority of 
 Charles, Earl Disney. The doctor, indeed, 
 was just one of those persons whose presence 
 is invaluable in a small company, in which 
 there are discordant elements. A common 
 acquaintance of all, he seemed to be unaware 
 of the existence of any antipathies. He 
 rattled on at dinner from one subject of 
 gossip to another in his good-natured way, 
 insisting especially upon the attention of 
 Richard as being a youth, and one who 
 had never paid him his dues in any other 
 form. In vain the young man replied to him 
 in monosyllables, and never took his eyes off 
 Carlyon and his cousin, who were conversing
 
 200 carlyon's year. 
 
 in reality innocently enough about ordinary 
 matters ; the doctor poured forth his cornu- 
 copia of news to the last item, and then took 
 to science. 
 
 " By-the-bye, Mr. Richard, ever since I 
 heard you have been to Peru, I have wanted 
 to have a long talk with you about the cin- 
 chona plant." 
 
 And a long talk he had, lasting through 
 half the repast, during which his unfortunate 
 victim presented the appearance rather of one 
 who was employed in taking quinine than of 
 merely conversing about it. Mr. Crawford, 
 senior, threw in a word or two, here and 
 there, evincing considerable knowledge of the 
 subject, but never at sufficient length to ex- 
 tricate his nephew from the discussion and 
 set him at liberty to watch his cousin and her 
 neighbour. If, in short, the whole thing had 
 been planned for the discomfiture of the
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. SOI 
 
 young sailor, and for affording his opportunity 
 to Carlyon, the end in view could not have 
 been more successfully attained. 
 
 When Agnes had risen and departed, the 
 doctor, exhilarated by social success and some 
 first-rate Madeira, was still the lion of the 
 evening. 
 
 " I am glad to see you to-night, Mr. Car- 
 lyon," said the little man, good-humouredly ; 
 " the last time we parted, it was after rather 
 an unpleasant discussion ; but forgive and 
 forget is my motto, as I am sure it is yours. 
 And I am glad to see you here, sir, especially, 
 where you will find precept and example too 
 — for, if your excellent daughter, Mr. Craw- 
 ford, does not convert him from his errors, 
 neither would one who rose from the dead ; 
 that's my opinion." 
 
 " I too am extremely glad," observed the 
 old gentleman, with a grave smile, " to see
 
 202 caklyon's year. 
 
 Mr. Carlyon here, although I was not aware 
 that he stood in need of spiritual aid. But 
 for him, sir, my daughter, of whom you are 
 pleased to speak so highly, would not be now 
 alive ; nor, indeed, would this young gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " I have already endeavoured to express 
 my gratitude to Mr. Carlyon," rejoined 
 Richard, stiffly. "Mr. Carstairs, I think I 
 know what you have in your mind, and also 
 in your pocket. I assure you my uncle has 
 no sort of objection to your smoking a 
 cigar." 
 
 " None whatever," responded the old gen- 
 tleman, and the cigars were lighted accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 Carlyon had not thought it possible that 
 any observation of Richard Crawford's could 
 have afforded him so much satisfaction. 
 Armed with the benignant weed he knew
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 203 
 
 that he would be permitted to dream as he 
 pleased while the doctor talked ; that he 
 could conceal his thoughts in grateful silence 
 as easily as he could hide his countenance in 
 the fragrant smoke. 
 
 "You are very indulgent, Mr. Crawford," 
 began the little man ; " unusually so to us 
 young folks — ahem" (the doctor was on the 
 shady side of fifty) ; " and you don't smoke 
 yourself, neither, which makes the permission 
 doubly commendable. " 
 
 " I was so smoke-dried in my — at one 
 time in my life/' observed the old gentleman, 
 coldly, " that nothing annoys me in that 
 way. 
 
 Mr. Carstairs had it upon the tip of his 
 tongue to say, " That was in the army, I sup- 
 pose?" but he did not feel quite equal to such 
 an audacity, so helped himself to Madeira 
 instead.
 
 204 caklyon's year. 
 
 " One thing gives me great comfort," con- 
 tinued the little man ; " without which, even 
 with your permission, I should scarcely ven- 
 ture to enjoy myself in this way, and that is, 
 that Miss Agnes has no objection to the smell 
 of smoke. She never asks a poor man to put 
 out his pipe when visiting his cottage, 
 although the tobacco in Mellor is by no means 
 like that of the young squire's here. What a 
 difference there is in tobacco ! When we go 
 home together, Carlyon, I shall ask you for 
 one out of your case." 
 
 Carlyon laughed, and they all laughed. 
 This little doctor, who had dined and wined 
 so freely, and was enjoying himself so much, 
 was quite a godsend to the company. In the 
 drawing-room after dinner he was still the 
 leading spirit. At the conclusion (and some- 
 times a little before it) of Agnes' charming 
 Scotch songs he led the applause, clapping his
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GEEYCEAGS. 205 
 
 large hands together, like a dramatic critic of 
 the pit. Once again he informed Carlyon that 
 he was glad to see him in that house, and in 
 such improving company. " Go and talk to 
 her, sir, she will do you good," whispered he, 
 with earnestness. Nor did he fail to give him 
 the opportunity ; for fastening vampire-like on 
 the unhappy Richard, he sucked his brains 
 for a quarter of an hour, with reference to the 
 insufficient supply of lime-juice in the mer- 
 chant service for the prevention of scurvy. In 
 short, Carstairs was the guest of the evening ; 
 nay, it was Carstairs' dinner given by Craw- 
 ford ; it was almost Carstairs' daughter by a 
 previous marriage. 
 
 Carlyon laughed aloud as he and the little 
 man strode home together that beautiful night 
 — having sent away their respective vehicles 
 — each with one of those excellent cigars of 
 the Woodlees brand in their mouths. He
 
 206 carlyon's yeah. 
 
 had not had much private talk with Agnes, 
 but he was indebted to the surgeon for all that 
 he had had. Her last words had been the 
 sweetest. She had expressed a wish to take 
 the portrait of her equine preserver Red 
 Berild. He was to ride the gallant roan to 
 Greycrags for that purpose the very next day. 
 She had said, " any day," and he had replied, 
 " To-morrow," and to-morrow it was to be. 
 It would take a long time and many sittings, 
 (if such a term could be used for such a sub- 
 ject) to paint a horse. He saw no end to his 
 opportunities of visiting Greycrags. 
 
 " What a charming evening we have had ! " 
 exclaimed he, enthusiastically. 
 
 " Very jolly ! " answered the surgeon, 
 promptly. " I never enjoyed myself more 
 in my life. Curious young fellow, though, 
 that Mr. Richard; deuced hard to get any- 
 thing out of him. Wants a deal of pumping.
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GEEYCRAGS. 207 
 
 But when I want to get the truth out of a 
 man, I flatter myself I generally get it — How 
 do you like Miss Agnes ? " 
 
 " Stop a bit ; my cigar's going out. Give 
 me a light, Car stairs." 
 
 " No, it isn't. It is in a state of complete 
 combustion. How do you like her, sir ? " 
 
 "What, Miss Crawford ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't mean the girl that helped 
 to wait at table ; I refer to our late hostess." 
 
 " I think she is a very — pleasant — agree- 
 able — and certainly beautiful young woman." 
 
 This opinion, given with the utmost delibe- 
 ration, and much of the conscious solemnity 
 of a judge, seemed to satisfy the inquirer. 
 They walked on for some distance in silence. 
 
 " Don't you think that young fellow, 
 Richard, uncommonly handsome, Carlyon ? " 
 
 "Very," returned the squire, unhesitatingly. 
 
 " And so young, too," continued the doctor.
 
 208 carlyon's year. 
 
 " One cannot wonder that Miss Agnes is 
 obviously weak in that quarter. Did you not 
 notice how quickly she spoke in his behalf 
 when the old gentleman was inclined to take 
 him to task once or twice.'' 
 
 " Yes ; she defends everybody ; and, be- 
 sides, as you say, she is doubtless much at- 
 tached to the lad. They are first cousins, you 
 know." 
 
 They walked on in silence as before, except 
 that ever and anon the doctor now stole a look 
 at his unconscious companion, full of embar- 
 rassment and pity. His high spirits seemed 
 to have quite deserted him. Carlyon, on the 
 other hand, stepped gaily along, solacing him- 
 self, in place of another cigar, with snatches 
 of song, according to his custom when well- 
 content. They were drawing near to Mellor, 
 where they were to part, before Mr. Carstairs 
 spoke again.
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 209 
 
 " I say, Carlyon, did you observe a very 
 singular thing that took place this evening 
 while we were sitting and smoking in the 
 dining-room ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the other, demurely ; " I 
 noticed you let Mr. Richard finish one whole 
 sentence without interrupting him ; it was a 
 phenomenon no one could fail to observe." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! I don't mean that ; those 
 young fellows want to be pulled up now and 
 then. But did you see what old Crawford 
 was doing while we smoked ?" 
 
 "No; what?" 
 
 " Why, he was chewing tobacco. He kept 
 moving the quid about in his mouth whenever 
 he thought he was not observed/' 
 
 " Nonsense. He was talking ; only you 
 would not listen to a word he had to say, so 
 that he might have seemed to you to be only 
 chewing."
 
 210 carlyon's year. 
 
 "I will stake my existence, Carlyon, that 
 he had a quid in his mouth. Was it not 
 monstrous?" 
 
 "I didn't see it; and, therefore, can't say 
 whether it was monstrous or not," rejoined 
 the other, laughing. 
 
 "Now, do be serious, Carry on. I mean, 
 was it not monstrous for a person in Mr. 
 Crawford's assumed position to be doing such 
 a thing ? " 
 
 " Assumed ; why assumed ? " inquired the 
 other, sharply. 
 
 " Well, that's just the point," pursued the 
 doctor. " Nobody knows who he is, or where 
 he hails from. You have observed, I dare 
 say, how shily he fights off any question about 
 his past history. Well, coupling that pecu- 
 liar fact with the occupation in which I saw 
 him engaged to-night — putting one and one 
 together, you know — I should be surprised
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 211 
 
 (notwithstanding Puce's opinion to the con- 
 trary) if this strange old gentleman has not 
 sprung from a very low origin." 
 
 "Well; and what then?" inquired Carly on, 
 coolly. 
 
 " Well, a good deal then, I should think. 
 I mean that this Crawford's relatives and 
 antecedents are probably by no means what 
 they ought to be." 
 
 " Yet he seems to me to speak very good 
 
 grammar," returned the other, laughing. "If, 
 
 however," added he, more gravely, "you refer 
 
 to the possibly inferior social position of the 
 
 ancestors of the gentleman with whom we 
 
 have just condescended to dine, I honestly tell 
 
 you I have no sympathy with such prejudices. 
 
 A man's father may have been a sweep for all 
 
 I care, so long as the colour is not transmitted 
 
 (I do stop at colour). And, by-the-bye, did 
 
 you happen to observe that dusky female who 
 
 p 2
 
 212 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 flitted like a bat up the staircase as we were 
 lighting our cigars in the hall? " 
 
 "Yes; that was Cubra, young Mr. Richard's 
 foster-mother. The only servant whom the 
 Crawfords brought with them from the south. 
 She never ails in health, or she might afford 
 me an opportunity for a harmless experiment 
 I have long had in view, in respect to the 
 circulation of the blood. Very interesting 
 subject that, Mr. Carlyon." 
 
 "Doubtless, doctor. That reminds me — 
 since you are the medical attendant of Mr. 
 Crawford, might I ask, supposing it is no 
 breach of professional confidence, whether 
 he has anything the matter with his heart ? " 
 
 The doctor's rubicund face grew almost 
 white; he stopped suddenly. "What, in 
 heaven's name, made you ask that question ? " 
 inquired he. 
 
 " Simply, because I have seen him start
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 213 
 
 and change colour in a very curious manner 
 more than once, from apparently inadequate 
 causes/' 
 
 "No, sir, his heart is as sound as a roach," 
 returned the doctor, abruptly ; " I wish I 
 could say as much for all my — patients. 
 Well, I must wish you ' good- night ' here, 
 Cariyon." 
 
 " Good-night, Carstairs. Don't cut poor 
 Crawford out of your visiting list because you 
 are not sure if his family came in with the 
 Conqueror. Make inquiries ; or give him the 
 benefit of the doubt." 
 
 Laughing gaily, the young squire strode 
 away up the hill. The churchyard cast no 
 shadow of death upon him to-night as he 
 passed it swiftly by. The moonlight sleeping 
 on the bay had no power to make him sad. 
 When a woman has passed the heyday of her 
 life, she never deceives herself in respect to
 
 214 carlyon's year. 
 
 that matter, notwithstanding that she may 
 use all her art to deceive others ; but with as 
 men it is different. There is an Indian sum- 
 mer in many a man's life ; a period always 
 brief indeed, but of uncertain duration, which 
 takes place after youth has fled, and its flight 
 been acknowledged. It is fostered by the 
 sunshine of a woman's love, often only to be 
 nipped by the frost of her indifference. Then 
 winter sets in indeed. 
 
 This second summer had suddenly befallen 
 John Carlyon. He had never been in such 
 high spirits, or felt so full of life since the 
 time — a score of years ago — when he was a 
 boy. 
 
 " I ought to have told him from the first," 
 mused Mr. Carstairs, gloomily, as he lit the 
 flat candle left for him as usual in his little 
 hall. " My plan for that poor fellow's welfare 
 has sadly miscarried. Instead of her doing
 
 A LITTLE DINNER AT GREYCRAGS. 215 
 
 him good she has done hirn harm. He has 
 fallen in love with her, head over ears. What 
 a fiasco have I made of it ! All that I have 
 done this evening is to leave an impression 
 upon the company that Robert Augustus 
 Carstairs, M.R..C.S., was exceedingly drunk. 
 Well, I will tell Carlyon to-morrow at all 
 hazards. I was a coward not to do it just 
 now when opportunity offered ; but he 
 seemed so full of hope and life, poor fellow, 
 that I had not the heart."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 
 
 In pursuance of his previous night's resolve 
 the doctor called at Woodlees first in his 
 morning's round ; he had taken one foot out 
 of the stirrup, making sure of his man at that 
 early hour, when Robin stopped him with, 
 " The young squire's out, Mr. Carstairs ; " 
 then added, in a confidential tone, "he has 
 ridden over to Greycrags." And his old eyes 
 twinkled with unaccustomed mirth. " There 
 mayn't be anything in it, you know ; I don't 
 say there is," continued he, " but it would be 
 a great thing for the old house, as you re- 
 member, in the old times, to have a missus,
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 217 
 
 and Miss Agnes, by all accounts, is just the 
 one to do him good." 
 
 "Yes, Robin, perhaps so," responded the 
 doctor, thoughtfully, not at all astonished by 
 the terms in which the ancient retainer spoke 
 of his young master and his affairs. Carlyon's 
 spiritual case was considered " interesting " 
 by all the orthodox about Mellor, and as 
 many different remedies had been recom- 
 mended by all classes, as are volunteered for 
 the whooping-cough. "I will call again to- 
 morrow, or the next day." 
 
 Day after day went on, and Mr. Carstairs 
 called and called again at Woodlees, but saw 
 nobody but Robin, whose servile smirk was 
 now exchanged for a broad and very unbe- 
 coming grin. " I have clone my duty," mur- 
 mured the little doctor to himself, on each 
 occasion ; then cantered away, not sorry that 
 his mission had ended where it did, like an
 
 218 carlyon's year. 
 
 unwilling church-goer who duly presents him- 
 self at the sacred edifice and finds there is no 
 room for him. 
 
 In the meantime Red Berild — very gradu- 
 ally, for Carlyon, when matters were going 
 too fast, would make critical objections, and 
 cause a whole leg to be rubbed out — was 
 being transferred to paper. He was permitted 
 to come upon the lawn, where he stood, now 
 making futile efforts to crop the short-shaven 
 sward, now advancing towards his master and 
 the fair artist, to complain, perhaps, of the too 
 great efficacy of the grass cutting-machine. 
 Like the French Government when revolution 
 threatens, Agnes always gave him bread upon 
 such occasions which she kept by her in 
 necessarily large quantities for purposes of 
 erasure. The three made a very pretty 
 picture ; Agnes sitting upon that camp-stool 
 reclaimed from ocean, Carlyon stretched at
 
 SKETCHING RED BEEILD. 219 
 
 her feet, with his fine face bathed in sunshine ; 
 and the great horse champing his bit, as 
 though proudly conscious that he was being 
 handed down to posterity. On the terraced 
 walk, half way up the wooded hill, sat Richard 
 Crawford, always with the same book in his 
 hand, and the same leaf of the book open 
 before him. 
 
 At unfrequent intervals Mr. Crawford 
 senior's skeleton form would stalk out of the 
 house, and cast its gaunt shadow over the 
 pre-occupied pair. 
 
 " How good it was of Mr. Carlyon to give 
 up his usual gallop on the hill-side, or c Over 
 Sands/ in order to indulge his daughter's 
 whim in this fashion. What a very magnifi- 
 cent creature — although he (Mr. Crawford) 
 for his part was no horseman, nor a judge of 
 horses — was Red Berild ! He did hope so 
 much that Mr. Carlyon would honour his poor
 
 220 carlyon's year. 
 
 house [lunch being invariably over before the 
 old gentleman put in an appearance], by re- 
 maining to dinner." 
 
 Thus matters went on — with the exception 
 of the wet days, that are " neither few nor far 
 between " about Mellor, and on which there 
 was no excuse for Carlyon's coming — for 
 weeks. The conversation between him and 
 Agnes had hitherto never centred upon re- 
 ligious matters, since the occasion of his first 
 visit to Greycrags. Each felt that that was 
 the only ground not common to both, and, 
 although one of them most earnestly desired 
 that it should be made so, she shrunk from 
 the contest for fear of its possible result. 
 Not that she had any apprehension for her 
 own firm faith ; not that she was without hope 
 of turning his noble soul to the truth; but 
 if she failed to conquer, something told her 
 that they two would have to part; and she
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 221 
 
 was so happy as things were. Happy always 
 in his presence ; but, out of it, when he had 
 gone away no wiser than he came — not bet- 
 tered, when she had had it in her humble 
 power to better him, or at least to try to do 
 so— her conscience, tender as a rose leaf, was 
 pricked. 
 
 " Preach the word : be instant in season, 
 out of season ; reprove, rebuke." Had these 
 words been addressed to Timothy only, or to 
 all true professors of the faith ? She would 
 repeat them to herself, even while he was 
 speaking to her in his low earnest tones, as 
 though they were a charm against witchery. 
 At last the opportunity long-wished for, long 
 shrunk from, offered itself. 
 
 He was speaking of Stephen Millet, now, 
 notwithstanding his late lesson, and vehe- 
 ment protestations of amendment, become 
 even a greater sot than before, and a source
 
 9 
 
 CARLYON S YEAR. 
 
 of poverty as well as wretchedness to his 
 son. 
 
 " The poor fellow has had to sell his very 
 furniture to support that old scoundrel/' said 
 Carlyon. " When I think of William Millet, 
 and of my Lord Disney over yonder, it really 
 almost seems that Providence, in applying the 
 sacred precept of ' Love your enemies,' pro- 
 tects its own foes, while it persecutes its 
 friends." 
 
 " That is indeed only seeming, Mr. Carlyon. 
 The happiest man in all this parish, the richest 
 (in all true riches), the wisest, and best, is 
 William. 'Fret not thyself because of evil- 
 doers, of him who prospereth in his way, and 
 bringeth wicked devices to pass. 5 Nay, do you 
 believe in your inmost heart that such a man 
 as Lord Disney is happy ! " 
 
 " Most certainly I do, my dear Miss Agnes, 
 in so far as his capabilities permit. He is not
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 223 
 
 happy in the sense that you are happy, but 
 he is happy enough for him. The middle 
 classes of this country possess just so much 
 religion as to make them uncomfortable. 
 They have too little to constitute happiness, 
 yet too much to permit of them enjoying 
 themselves. Now, the aristocracy, to do them 
 justice, are not restrained from indulging in 
 any pleasure by considerations of its sinfulness. 
 Nor do they lose the respect of society by so 
 doing, for the Bible of the said middle classes 
 is bound up with their Peerage, aud merely 
 forms a supplement to it, unless when they 
 are at death's door, and the choice has to be 
 abruptly made between their duty to the Lord 
 of Lords, or to persons of title generally. 
 Even the clergy are thus divided in allegi- 
 ance ; or else, like some we wot of, they boldly 
 throw in their lot with the latter, and become, 
 as it were, private chaplains to the hereditary
 
 224 carlyon's year. 
 
 aristocracy — than which occupation, by-the- 
 bye, in the literal sense, I can fancy nothing 
 queerer. Think of it ; Paul accepting the 
 post of private soul-keeper to a nobleman of 
 the neighbourhood : or still worse (since it 
 would be a spiritual sinecure), to one not of 
 the neighbourhood ! Upon the whole, I must 
 say, for religious folks, that they have the 
 smallest sense of humour, the greatest obtuse- 
 ness with respect to their own anomalies and 
 contradictions, and, I may add, the least 
 understanding of the principles of their own 
 creed of any people I know. Have not the 
 true faith with respect of persons — the whole 
 chapter is addressed to these idiots ; but it 
 might just as well not have been written, 
 we are told, since they grovel at the feet 
 of any fellow-creature, however base, who 
 happens to have a tag to his name. Look 
 at the behaviour of your religious folks about
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 225 
 
 Mellor, in regard to his lordship, for instance. 
 My sister Meg is almost charitable when she 
 speaks of his little peccadillos. Mr. Puce 
 himself dined at the great house last week, 
 in company which I cannot speak of before 
 you. 
 
 lie spoke with uncommon energy and pas- 
 sion, though never raising his voice beyond 
 its usual tone ; his cheeks flushed brightly, 
 his eyes flashed scornful fire. Agnes, on the 
 other hand, grew very white, and her hand, 
 so cold that it could scarcely hold the brush, 
 trembled exceedingly. She felt that the time 
 was come for her to speak. 
 
 " This may be very true, Mr. Carlyon," 
 returned she, after a pause, " concerning the 
 professors of the truth — or at least some of 
 them — because, as you say, they are ignorant 
 of the very principles they profess. But if 
 ignorant, why be angry with them ? why 
 
 vol. i. Q
 
 226 caklyon's year. 
 
 scourge them with such terrible words, when 
 they only (as you allow) need teaching? If 
 we do not love our brother whom we have 
 known, how can we love God whom we have 
 not known ? " 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Miss Agnes," rejoined 
 Carlyon, smiling, " I think there is something 
 wrong about that text, for I am sure I should 
 have a much greater regard for sister Meg, if 
 I had never had the misfortune to know her. 
 Still, as you hint, my expressions were not 
 charitable, and I retract them. Come, you 
 see you are doing me good, reprobate that I 
 am i and, also, please to observe that I might 
 have behaved much worse by railing against 
 religion itself, instead of its professors." 
 
 " I cannot go with you there, Mr. Carlyon," 
 replied Agnes, gravely. " I have always held 
 that to speak evil recklessly against our fellow- 
 creatures is worse than to speak blasphemy
 
 SKETCHING RED BEBILD. 227 
 
 against the Most High. We cannot hurt 
 Him by anything we say. He can redress 
 his own wrongs in a terrible fashion ; we are 
 very sure of that, although He may not use 
 the thunderbolt upon the instant. But Man, 
 whom He has also bidden men to love, is 
 weak : our words may injure him in reputa- 
 tion — in a thousand ways — nay; they may 
 embitter his very soul." 
 
 " And do you say the same of deeds, Miss 
 Agnes, in relation to man and his Creator ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. Can any sacrilege be 
 equal in guilt to an act of oppression, or 
 rather is not oppression the very highest 
 sacrilege against the poor, who are God's 
 peculiar people ? " 
 
 " Very good and very true," said Carry on. 
 "Then the sin of unbelief, the intellectual 
 misfortune of not being able to credit the 
 statements of the Bible, vou must allow is not 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 carlyon's year. 
 
 to be compared in point of enormity to the 
 sin of leading a wicked — that is, a cruel and 
 remorseless — life." 
 
 Agnes was silent; her heart beat so 
 strongly that she could hear it in that still, 
 sultry noon ; she heard the horse cropping 
 the grass ; she thought she heard her ever- 
 watchful cousin crumpling the leaves of his 
 book as he leant forward to listen to her 
 reply. 
 
 " If faith without works is dead," continued 
 Carljon, earnestly, "faith with bad works 
 must be surely rotten. Now what I want to 
 know is this — I am not speaking of myself in 
 the matter, for I do nothing to boast of, God 
 knows — but are good works without faith in 
 your opinion valueless, Miss Agnes ? " 
 
 If he was not speaking of himself, it was, 
 she well knew, of him that she had to speak, 
 when she should answer. There were texts
 
 SKETCHING RED BEEILD. 229 
 
 enough ready to her hand, crushing ones, 
 final ones, such as Mr. Puce would have 
 clapped on quickly enough, like hatches upon 
 a mutinous crew in the Tropics, and yet she 
 hesitated. A harsh and uncharitable dogma 
 from her lips — that is, one that would seem 
 so to this unregenerate man — might do the 
 very mischief it was her intention to avert. 
 He had never given himself the opportunities 
 of grace — what if she should throw away this 
 chance by any spiritual indiscretion, and so 
 through her (of all people), this soul (of all 
 souls) should perish ! 
 
 " You say you do not speak of yourself, 
 Mr. Carlyon; but I cannot affect to agree 
 with you — at least, altogether — in that. Is 
 it possible that you have no belief in 
 religion ? " 
 
 " I do not quite say that," returned Car- 
 lyon, frankly ; " it is indeed impossible to be
 
 230 carlyon's year. 
 
 so rank an infidel in the presence of so pure a 
 disciple " 
 
 She stopped him with a reproving finger, 
 and a face very stern and sad. 
 
 " Do not trifle with me, Mr. Carlyon ; but 
 answer me honestly, and like — if that is all I 
 may adjure you by — and like a gentleman." 
 
 " Well, dear lady, I will say this much. 
 Your religion is good for poor folks, I do 
 believe, and admirably adapted for them, 
 although, as I have said, the upper classes can 
 make nothing of it. Your remark about 
 William Millet, for instance, was in my 
 opinion a just one. He comforts himself in 
 the absence of earthly blessings, with dreams 
 of heaven. The weightier his cross here, the 
 richer, he thinks, his crown hereafter. The 
 devout countrymen of our friend Mistress 
 Cubra, who hope to gain Paradise by self- 
 torture, present only an exaggerated phase of
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 231 
 
 the same superstition. Don't be angry with 
 me, Agnes," added he, pleadingly, tenderly ; 
 " don't look like that. I was obliged to be 
 honest with you. You would not have had 
 me tell you a lie." 
 
 She shook her head, and her lips moved 
 twice or thrice without sound. 
 
 "No," murmured she, presently; "I sup- 
 pose a lie would have been worse even than 
 what you have said. I am not angry, sir, 
 God knows — I almost wish I were ; but I 
 would have given this right hand to have 
 heard vou answer differently. The Psalmist 
 says that he never beheld the seed of the 
 righteous begging their bread; but, how 
 much more terrible is this, that the son of a 
 righteous man should deny his God ! " 
 
 She dropped her head upon her lap, and 
 wept like one who feels she has lost for ever 
 him that is dearest to her.
 
 232 caelyon's year. 
 
 "Shall I tell you, Miss Crawford," said 
 Carlyon, in an altered voice, not moved by 
 her tears, but cold and bitter in its tone, 
 " shall I tell you how it was I became a 
 heretic ? " 
 
 " Became, sir ! it is not possible that such 
 as you can have once found God and then 
 lost him. And yet I have heard of some- 
 thing of this before ; with such a father it 
 could not be but that you were brought up in 
 the right way : and after that to go astray ! 
 Alas ! alas ! ■ it is impossible/ it is written, 
 1 if they shall then fall away, to renew them 
 again/" 
 
 The despair in the young girl's face w r as 
 unspeakable, as though, with those tender 
 eyes, she had herself seen the open door of 
 heaven closed in his face. 
 
 " Mi*s Crawford, I am beyond measure 
 shocked to have caused you such pain ; I was
 
 SKETCHING RED BERILD. 233 
 
 about to say — not in justification, indeed, but 
 in explanation of my opinions, that there had 
 been reasons un guessed at " 
 
 "But with God nothing shall be im- 
 possible," murmured Agnes, under her 
 breath ; " why did I not think of that before ? 
 Yes, yes — I beg your pardon, sir, you were 
 saying " 
 
 " I was about to tell you something that 
 has been a secret between me and the dead 
 for many a year. Promise me to keep it, 
 when you have heard it, as though it had 
 never been told." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " Listen, then."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HOW JOHN CARLTON BECAME A HERETIC. 
 
 With hesitation and evident reluctance, 
 with his face averted from the listener, and 
 at first hammering the daisy heads upon the 
 lawn with the handle of his riding- whip, John 
 Carlyon began : — 
 
 " My father, as no doubt you have heard, 
 Miss Crawford, on all hands, was indeed a 
 constant churchgoer, and he brought me up 
 in the same path. There was no man more 
 respected, although I do not think he was 
 loved, in all this neighbourhood. He not 
 only never offended against the proprieties, 
 but he was a steadfast upholder of them — 
 what is called one of the safeguards of society.
 
 HOW JOHN CAELYON BECAME A HEEETIC. 235 
 
 That was the general opinion of him to the 
 day of his death ; but it was a mistaken one. 
 He was a hypocrite from first to last; his 
 whole life was one huge lie." 
 
 " Mr. Carlyon ! " exclaimed Agnes ; " you 
 make my blood run cold ; not so much by 
 what you say, which seems almost too terrible 
 to be true, but at your manner of saying it." 
 
 " When, however, I first found out the 
 truth, young lady, I was more moved than I 
 am now. The student of anatomy faints at 
 his introduction to the dissecting-room ; but, 
 after a while, he ceases to shudder at its 
 revelations. He sees what lies behind the 
 velvet cheek of beauty, and the keen eye of 
 wit, but it affects him little. He knows that 
 with all humanity it is the same. He has his 
 advantage over me in that respect. If I could 
 think that behind the veil of religion, the 
 cloak of respectability, the infidel and the
 
 236 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 debauchee were inwardly concealed, I should 
 loathe my own father less ; but I know there 
 are honest folks in the world. I know that 
 you, Agnes, are as pure as you look, as good 
 as you seem. But this man, that was my 
 own flesh and blood, to whom I owe my 
 being, to whom I was bound by Nature 
 herself to respect and honour — oh, spare me ! 
 I cannot bear to speak of it." 
 
 " Even a good man may err and give way 
 to strong temptation," whispered Agnes ; 
 " yet if he repents " 
 
 " This man did not repent," broke in 
 Carlyon, almost fiercely. " He had nothing 
 to repent of ; for in his eyes nothing was sin, 
 nothing was vice, nothing was wrong — unless 
 it was found out. Then indeed he would 
 have been sorry. He was a tyrant, and he 
 broke my mother's heart. I will never forgive 
 him that ! She was beautiful, gentle, guile-
 
 HOW JOHN CARLYON BECAME A HERETIC. 237 
 
 less as yourself, and he killed her. She 
 prayed for him upon her deathbed, and he 
 despised her prayer; I do believe that that 
 was the bitterest drop she had to drain in the 
 whole cup of her wretched married life. She 
 made me promise not to tell him what I knew, 
 and not to tell the world. I had to live on 
 with this murderer for years, a participator in 
 his acted lie, and hoodwinked, as he thought, 
 like the rest. He deceived everybody, — yes, 
 everybody — parson, people, neighbours, ser- 
 vants. Robin, at home, believes him to this 
 day to have been the best of men. A tyrant 
 and a libertine, he was yet reckoned the most 
 pious man in Mellor parish. This was the 
 sort of father, Agnes, from whom I learnt how 
 to be religious. 5 ' 
 
 " Mr. Carlyon," returned she, thoughtfully, 
 after a long pause, " are you sure — are you 
 quite sure, that in your great love for such a
 
 238 caklyon's year. 
 
 mother as you describe, and in your own 
 tenderness of heart, you may not have taken 
 sternness for cruelty ? " 
 
 He shook his head impatiently. 
 
 " Some men," she went on, " not naturally 
 cruel, I have known to be without tenderness 
 of maimer, even to those dearest to them ; 
 rugged and harsh even when their wives lay 
 a-dying, and yet not heartless." 
 
 " No, girl, this man was not rugged. He 
 knew how to frame tenderest words for ears 
 that should have blushed to listen to them. 
 Of some men, it is said, ' we never knew his 
 worth until we lost him ; ' now / never knew 
 how base a father I had got until he came 
 to die." 
 
 " Ah ! he confessed his sins, and ' the long 
 catalogue appalled you ! " exclaimed Agnes, 
 clasping her hands. "You should thank God 
 for that. Perhaps in that last hour, all was
 
 HOW JOHN CAELYON BECAME A HERETIC. 239 
 
 forgiven him. No one can fathom the infinite 
 depths of Divine mercy. Let us hope, let 
 us pray, that he may have been preserved 
 from that awful state of which he stood in 
 dread." 
 
 "Kay, Agnes, we Carlyons have no fear," 
 observed her companion, proudly. 
 
 " No fear ! " echoed she, in scorn. " What ! 
 had this man, living, as you say, a lie, for fear 
 of the opinion of his neighbours, no fear ? 
 Does cowardice, then, among infidels, solely 
 consist in being afraid of the righteous 
 judgments of God? If so, 'obtuseness with 
 respect to their own anomalies and contra- 
 dictions ' is surely not entirely peculiar to 
 religious people." 
 
 Carlyon bit his lip. 
 
 " It would surely be the rankest cowardice 
 to be afraid of that in the existence of which 
 one does not believe," said he, evasively.
 
 240 carlyon's year. 
 
 " The man I speak of died, laughing in his 
 sleeve at the world he had cajoled. He had 
 been a wanderer in many lands, and examined 
 a hundred creeds, only to find one as worth- 
 less as another. His god was Self, and he 
 had served him very faith fully. His last 
 advice to me, his only son, was given when 
 the grave was gaping for him : we were alone 
 together, and he upon the sofa that was to be 
 his death-bed, and he knew it ; the very room 
 has been hateful to me ever since. He bid 
 me lie like him ; be serious and devout ; 
 affect the virtues that I had not, for the very 
 vices' sake which they concealed. So should 
 I live a life of ease and yet of dignity, and die 
 with honour, troops of friends, and all the 
 regard that accompanies the close of a life 
 well spent. He would, as it were, have 
 bequeathed me his very mantle of deceit, 
 having no further occasion for it himself, like
 
 HOW JOHN CARLTON BECAME A HERETIC. 241 
 
 some poor conjuror, who teaches his tricks to 
 his children while he lies a-dying, as the best 
 legacy he has to leave them." 
 
 "Mr. Carlyon, this is too horrible to be 
 believed," gasped Agnes. " Nature does not 
 permit of such a father. I have seen many 
 death-beds, and when death is claiming us 
 we are often not ourselves ; the senses are 
 disordered, the mind wanders ; men impute 
 to themselves sins which they have never 
 committed." 
 
 " But not this man, Agnes. Do you 
 suppose that I would not believe so if I 
 could ; that I have not exhausted every 
 suggestion that could lighten this load which 
 has so weighed down my life ? No. He 
 told me the truth at last. He left behind 
 him only too ample corroboration of it. No 
 one is so prudent that he can guard his 
 memory after death. No man, who keeps a 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 CARLTON S YEAR. 
 
 cheque-book, can dare say ' I do not keep a 
 journal j ' besides, there were letters that came 
 for him long after he was lying in his grave — 
 but why all this ? You know his secret now, 
 which I have hitherto preserved inviolate. 
 Do you wonder that I loathe religion ; that 
 ' the very name of Nazarene is wormwood to 
 my Paynim spleen/ and synonymous with all 
 that is false and fair-seeming ? That, from the 
 instant that I found myself freed by this 
 man's death from my promise to my mother, 
 I forsook his hypocritical w T ays and all be- 
 longing to them." 
 
 "I do not wonder, Mr. Carlyon," said 
 Agnes, sorrowfully; "I do not even say (as 
 others w r ould), why doubt the genuineness of 
 that thing of which you have only witnessed 
 a fraudulent imitation. We are moulded, I 
 know, by the iron force of circumstances — 
 though not all of us. Your mother did not
 
 HOW JOHN CAELYON BECAME A HERETIC. 243 
 
 lose her faith in Heaven because your father 
 had none ? " 
 
 " My mother ? No," answered Carlyon, in 
 hushed and reverent tones. 
 
 " She was a Christian woman to the 
 last ? " 
 
 " She was an angel : to impute wrong 
 to her would be to confuse wrong with 
 right." 
 
 " And has the thought of her — of her long- 
 suffering patience, and forgiveness — never 
 moved you towards the faith your father 
 professed, but which she practised ? " 
 
 " I have sometimes thought there should 
 be an immortality for such as she ; that so 
 much goodness ought not surely to be allowed 
 to perish. I have thought so lately of one 
 other person also — of you, Agnes." 
 
 " Hush, sir, hush ! 1 am very different 
 from this saint in Heaven. If she had lived, 
 
 R 2
 
 244 carlyon's year. 
 
 I cannot but think her love, her teaching, her 
 example, would have won you to her creed, 
 as to herself. You felt better — happier — 
 when you were in her presence, did you 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, I did," replied Carlyon, eagerly ; 
 "as I feel when I am in yours. Yes, Agnes, — 
 do not shrink from me ; I will do my best — 
 only I will not lie — to learn better things of 
 you. Will you teach me, even although I do 
 not promise to learn ? " 
 
 He looked up in her face for the first time, 
 while she, the heretofore questioner, drooped 
 her eyelids, and a fire burnt in her cheeks. 
 
 " Can you not take compassion upon me, 
 even though I am a heretic ? " urged he, with 
 tenderness ; but she heard him not. 
 
 " If any man love not the Lord, let him be 
 anathema, maranatha," were the words which 
 she seemed to hear.
 
 HOW JOHN CARLYON BECAME A HERETIC. 245 
 
 " Go to some wise and holy man/' said she, 
 in a faint voice. 
 
 "To Mr. Puce ? " asked he; " or to whom? 
 No, I shall sit at the feet of this Gamaliel, 
 Agnes Crawford, or of none. I love you with 
 all my heart ; nay, I can well believe — so 
 wondrous is the change through all my 
 being — with all my soul. I seem to have 
 another life beyond myself, and if that be my 
 soul, it is you who are its keeper, for to you 
 it flies. Will you be my teacher ? Will you 
 be my wife ? one word, one f yes,' will answer 
 both questions." But there came no answer. 
 He could not even read one in her face, for it 
 was hidden in her hand. She was speaking, 
 though her speech was inarticulate, but not 
 to him. 
 
 "I know you will never marry — an infidel," 
 said he, slowly. 
 
 " Never, never," answered she, with eager-
 
 246 carlyon's year. 
 
 ness. It was quite a relief to her to get so 
 categorical a question, and one to which she 
 could so unhesitatingly reply. 
 
 " Yet you will not reject my — proposition ; 
 you will not refuse to afford nie an oppor- 
 tunity of being convinced ? " 
 
 " I cannot say," murmured she ; " I must 
 have time, Mr. Carlyon, to think of this. Do 
 not press me for your answer — that is, just 
 now. In your presence, I cannot — I must be 
 alone/' added she, hurriedly. " I must ask 
 guidance." 
 
 " I venture to think," interrupted Carlyon, 
 respectfully, " that your father will be no 
 obstruction." 
 
 Her face flashed from brow to chin. " I 
 was not referring to my father," said she, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I trust," returned he, earnestly, " I have 
 not been too bold — not said too much and
 
 HOW JOHN CARLYON BECAME A HERETIC. 247 
 
 too soon. Pardon me, Agnes ; do not let the 
 greatness of my love be the cause of my 
 undoing. If my presence is an embarrass- 
 ment to you, you will write, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will w r rite ! " exclaimed she, 
 eagerly ; " to-night, to-morrow. It will be 
 better so." 
 
 He rose at once and took her hand in his. 
 
 " Whatever you may so write, Agnes," 
 said he, slowly, " will be my law. If you 
 decide against me, to having nothing to do 
 
 O ; DO 
 
 with this wicked person, to avoid the touching 
 of pitch, lest even your pure soul may be 
 defiled, I shall understand it. It will be un- 
 necessary to state reasons. The one word 
 1 no ' will suffice ; I had rather that you wrote 
 nothing more. I will never trouble you again. 
 I shall have turned my back on Paradise for 
 ever. But if — if you think within yourself 
 that I may be won to what you deem the
 
 24 S carlyon's year. 
 
 right — mind, I do not say it is even probable, 
 for I will not use lies to gain Heaven itself — 
 and if won, that you might, in time, even 
 stoop to love me, I shall understand that also, 
 by one word, 'yes.' " 
 
 What would he not have given to have 
 touched her white brow with his lips, as she 
 stood close beside him, downcast, thoughtful, 
 with her snow-cold hand in his ! It was not 
 because every window, for all that he knew, 
 might have had its watcher, or because her 
 cousin was playing the spy as usual, upon 
 yonder terrace, that Carlyon did not do so. 
 It was not for fear of them, that, having raised 
 those fingers midway to his lips, he let them 
 fall again, and turned away in silence, while 
 Red Berild followed, docile, with a hasty fare- 
 well crop at the scanty grass. To have kissed 
 her would have been very sweet, but it might 
 have demanded its dread memories for years.
 
 HOW JOHN CARL YON BECAME A HERETIC. 249 
 
 Heavy of heart, the strong man took the 
 road from Greycrags homewards ; while his 
 good horse pressing his great nose against 
 his hand, strove vainly to give his master 
 comfort. 
 
 Agnes remained standing in her place, 
 deep sunk in thought, till a book fell heavily 
 upon the terrace-walk, and a well-known step 
 began to descend the hill; then, at its first 
 foot-fall, she started from her reverie and 
 hastening in, sought her own chamber, where 
 she remained for hours. 
 
 Her mind was torn with antagonistic emo- 
 tions. She would never marry an unbeliever, 
 that was certain ; to that she clung, and 
 reverted to it again and again ; it was her 
 sheet-anchor in the storm. But had she not 
 grown to love one ? Was she not paltering 
 with her own conscience in this matter? and 
 even with still more sacred things ? Did she
 
 250 carlyon's year. 
 
 honestly believe herself to be a bearer of 
 God's message to those unwilling ears ; or 
 was not her strong desire to convert the 
 Sceptic alloyed with a wish to win the Man ? 
 Agnes Crawford was not a student of Pope, 
 or she might almost have applied to herself, 
 the self-accusation of Eloisa — 
 
 " E'en then to those dread altars as I drew, 
 Not on the cross my e3 T es were fixed, but you ; 
 Not Grace nor Zeal, Love only was my call, 
 And if I lose thy love I lose my all. " 
 
 Hour after hour passed by ; the luncheon 
 bell rang, but she took no heed : but, late in 
 the afternoon, a knock came to her chamber 
 door, and a voice in mocking tones (or what, 
 perhaps, she fancifully imagined to be so), 
 reached her through the key-hole, saying, 
 " Missie Agnes, you are wanted in the 
 parlour; Mrs. Newman's come, and wish to 
 see you very partickler." 
 
 " Mr. Carlyon's sister ! " murmured Agnes
 
 HOW JOHN CARLTON BECAME A HERETIC. 251 
 
 to herself, while a sudden pain seemed to 
 shoot through her heart ; " why should she 
 come here ? " But she answered, in her 
 usual firm, clear tones, " Very well, Cubra ; 
 tell her I will be down directly."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 mrs. newman's act of charity. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Carlyon's 
 visits to Greycrags passed without notice 
 among the good folks of Mellor. The appetite 
 of that small community for gossip was 
 absolutely insatiable ; it was quite a trade 
 with more than one respectable female to make 
 it, and even to invent the materials. So that 
 when a subject for it was found, that could be 
 relied upon as fact, good solid substratum, for 
 all sorts of scandal, the public satisfaction was 
 unbounded. But not in all cases the private. 
 Mrs. Newman, of Mellor Lodge — a place that 
 had been once termed the Priorv, but it was 
 not to be supposed that so good a Protestant
 
 mes. Newman's act of charity. 253 
 
 would call her residence by that name, — was 
 by no means pleased with the reports that- 
 reached her from all quarters concerning 
 her brother's proceedings. She had long 
 " washed her hands of him," in a spiritual 
 sense ; she had excommunicated him in an 
 almost episcopal manner, by throwing her 
 hands up and shutting her eyes, at solemn 
 conclave over many a tea-table; but she had 
 never shut her eyes to his property, which 
 was entirely at his own disposal. She antici- 
 pated with confidence the reversion of Wood- 
 lees for herself and Jed, (short and loving for 
 Jedediah,) her son, when its present unworthy 
 occupant should be — elsewhere ; for Carlyon 
 was her senior by five years. It was 
 astonishing with what calmness and fortitude 
 this excellent woman reflected upon the 
 future fate — the terrors which she honestly 
 believed to be in store — for so near a relative.
 
 254 carlyon's year. 
 
 Upon one occasion, while discoursing upon 
 this particular topic, which was a very favourite 
 one with her, she was rebuked by no less a 
 person than the archdeacon of the diocese. 
 For archdeacons, as such, she had no great 
 reverence ; but this one happened to be own 
 nephew to my Lord Disney, and she had that 
 admiration for noble birth which supplies the 
 place of such a multitude of other virtues in 
 minds like hers. He bade her not to make 
 too sure of the eternity of the torments of 
 the wicked, and explained to her the doubts 
 entertained by the learned of the literal 
 meaning of the word alwvios. " Not," added 
 he, with a benignant smile, " that that much 
 alters matters ; for the duration signified 
 doubtless extends to millions and millions of 
 years." 
 
 " That is some comfort," quoth Mrs. New- 
 man cheerfully, and with a sigh of relief.
 
 mrs. Newman's act of charity. 255 
 
 But, notwithstanding this opinion of 
 Carlyon's deserts, she had always counted 
 upon his leaving W'oodlees and the rest of his 
 property to his own flesh and blood. Not to 
 provide for one's family is (as is well-known) 
 to be worse than an infidel, and Meg had 
 never thought worse of brother John than 
 that. Yet, lo ! at an age when he might be 
 supposed to have almost escaped the perils of 
 matrimony, here was he visiting Greycrags 
 daily, with a motive that it was easy to guess 
 at. Jedediah, indeed, who was of a frank 
 and open nature, even for eighteen, alluded to 
 it one morning at breakfast in the following 
 terms. 
 
 "I say, mother ! Uncle John is after t hat- 
 gal at Greycrags — Miss What-d'ye-call-um — 
 Crawford." 
 
 " Seeking to ally himself matrimonially 
 with that young woman, Jed ? Impossible ! "
 
 256 CARLYONS YEAR. 
 
 " Glad you think so," answered Jedediah, 
 gruffly, and filling liis mouth with muffin ; he 
 was rather gluttonous in his habits, and also 
 a good deal spoilt. If his mother was stern 
 to others, she was not so with him ; he had 
 always done as he liked from his childhood, 
 and he had generally liked what was not good 
 for him. He was vicious beyond what she 
 had any suspicion of, and his good-nature was 
 of the sort that only lasts so long as its pro- 
 prietor is pleased. Mrs. Newman was getting, 
 as all such mothers do in time, a little afraid 
 of her darling son. 
 
 " You needn't be cross, Jedediah," said 
 she, quietly; "I was only asking for infor- 
 mation. The affairs of this world have, I am 
 thankful to say, no great interest in my eyes, 
 and those who know me do not much trouble 
 me with them. I have, however, heard a 
 rumour of what you speak of, although I have
 
 MRS. NEWMANS ACT OF CHARITY. 257 
 
 never suspected anything serious in it. I am 
 not of a suspicious nature, Jed." 
 
 "Ah," said the young man, drily — so drily, 
 indeed, that the tone would have suited 
 " Bah " equally well ; " I wish for my sake, 
 then, if not for your own, that you'd just look 
 alive and put a stop to it. It's a most dis- 
 graceful thing. Why, if uncle marries, there 
 may be a whole kit of children, and then 
 what becomes of those alterations that you 
 are always talking about making when we 
 come into Woodlees?" 
 
 Between Mrs. Newman and her brother 
 although their characters, and therefore the 
 expression of their countenances were so dif- 
 ferent, there was a considerable personal re- 
 semblance. Although she did not dress 
 becomingly, and, indeed, wore clothes of a 
 texture much inferior to what is usual with 
 w r omen of her social position, and wore them 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 CARLYON's YEAR. 
 
 threadbare, she always looked a lady ; but 
 when annoyed, her thin lips shut together 
 unpleasantly close ; her fine blue eyes seemed 
 to harden, and she sniffed like the war-horse 
 that scents the battle, only of course in a 
 lower key. There had been a passage of 
 arms between herself and Jedediah that 
 morning in reference to a scarcity of marma- 
 lade at the breakfast table, and he had carried 
 his point and got a new pot. This had given 
 her real pain, as extravagance always did. 
 There were still a few stale strips sticking to 
 the little glass dish, and she would have liked 
 to have seen them eaten before being driven 
 to the preserve cupboard for a fresh supply. 
 Jed had even taunted her, at the height of 
 the discussion, with those prudential habits 
 which her enemies (for the good lady had 
 enemies) denominated parsimoniousness, and 
 when she had replied, " Ungrateful boy, it is
 
 mrs. newman's act of charity. 259 
 
 only for you I save," he had replied, " It is 
 for me, then, that I require some fresh 
 marmalade. " 
 
 He had taken butter, as well as that costly 
 sweetmeat, with his muffin, on purpose to vex 
 his parent, and had effected his object; and 
 now he was choosing a subject of conversation 
 very ill adapted to give her peace of mind. 
 The relations said to be established between 
 her brother and Miss Crawford were by no 
 means a matter of such indifference to her 
 as she professed. In fact, she had thought 
 of little else from the first moment the 
 rumour had reached her ears ; but she 
 had endeavoured to shut her eyes to the 
 full extent of the danger ; it was very objec- 
 tionable to have it brought before her in this 
 inexorable manner, and she sniffed disapproval 
 audibly. 
 
 " Yes, I know you don't like it," observed 
 
 s 2
 
 260 carlyon's year. 
 
 Jedediah, in reference to this signal ; " but it 
 is time to look matters in the face. ,, 
 
 " What would you have me do, Je- 
 dediah?" 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I don't know ; she is one 
 of your own sort, this girl, and you ought to 
 be able to stop it somehow. I only know 
 this, that Uncle John is said to be getting on 
 in that quarter uncommonly fast, and the 
 sooner you set about putting a spoke in his 
 wheel the better." 
 
 " I shall certainly consider it my duty," 
 said Mrs. Newman, slowly, " to hint to this 
 young lady at the injurious reports that are 
 in circulation respecting her ; she cannot 
 surely be aware of the peculiar opinions en- 
 tertained by your unhappy uncle." 
 
 " She is probably aware that he is sweet 
 upon her, and has a good two thousand a 
 year," observed the practical Jedediah.
 
 mes. newman's act of charity. 261 
 
 " Xo, Jed ; I will not think so ill of any 
 young person of religious principles as to 
 suppose she is actuated by sordid motives. " 
 
 " Bah ! " exclaimed Jedediah, this time 
 with a most unmistakeable B. It was rude, 
 but not altogether inexcusable. From the 
 day from which dated one of the boy's 
 earliest but strongest recollections, when his 
 deceased parent had been carried to his long 
 home in a coffin made out of an ancient 
 piano-case (some enemies of the thrifty widow 
 averred that it was too short for him, and that 
 he had been decapitated to suit its dimen- 
 sions), up to the present hour, when that stale 
 marmalade had been almost foisted upon his 
 reluctant palate, he had been familiar with 
 the sordid devices of at least one saint, and 
 had learnt to suspect, them all. Yet singu- 
 larly enough, while mistrusting the genuine- 
 ness of the profession of those among whom
 
 262 carlyon's year. 
 
 his lot was cast, this young man had imbibed 
 their prejudices, and though greatly inclined 
 to vice, was as intolerant of error as Mrs. 
 Newman herself. It was an unspeakable 
 comfort to her to reflect, that although boys 
 would be boys, and you could not put old 
 heads upon young shoulders (this in allusion 
 to some very Bowdlerized edition of Jed's 
 peccadillos which occasionally reached her 
 ears), her Jedediah was a young man of the 
 most excellent principles. For the rest, he 
 was a very handsome young fellow (except 
 for a certain coarseness about the mouth, 
 which it did not need a Lavater to translate), 
 and there was no wonder that his mother was 
 proud of him. Moreover, he was a sensible 
 fellow, after a fashion — what Mr. Carlyle and 
 the vulgar are both agreed to call "knowing" 
 — and she did not despise his blunt but prac- 
 tical utterances.
 
 MRS. NEWMANS ACT OF CHARITY. 263 
 
 Nothing more passed between them on the 
 present occasion ; their sparring — in which 
 the hitting was all on one side — often ended 
 in that manner ; but the force of Jedediah's 
 observations, backed as they were by Mrs. 
 Newman's own secret misgivings, was not 
 lost, She had made up her mind to follow 
 his advice in respect to that peril so immi- 
 nently impending at Greycrags, but in the 
 meantime she did not neglect her usual pre- 
 cautions in the smaller matters of domestic 
 economy. When her Jed had lounged out of 
 the room to have his pipe in the stable, — for 
 the time had not yet come when he should 
 rule the house and take his narcotic therein, 
 — she locked up the tea and sugar, and 
 having scraped up the old marmalade and 
 mixed it with the new, made a faint mark 
 with her pencil outside the pot exactly at its 
 highest level. Then she descended to the
 
 264 
 
 kitchen, discovered that there were sufficient 
 bones and debris left from past meals to make 
 excellent soup, without getting in fresh stock, 
 as recommended by that extravagant hussy, 
 the cook ; sniffed violently in the larder over 
 the carcase of a fowl, which did not appear to 
 have so many legs as it ought to have had. 
 " Mr. Jedediah had had both broiled for his 
 yesterday's breakfast," said the hussy. " I 
 only saw one," said her mistress. 
 
 She shook her head when the kitchen-maid 
 demanded another box of lucifer matches. 
 
 " How dare you require so many lucifer 
 matches in the summer ? " inquired she, as 
 though, during that season, the kitchen-fire 
 might be lighted by a burning-glass. " What 
 is the use of my having that admirable pro- 
 verb hung over the dresser ? " and she 
 pointed to the spot upon the whited wall 
 where " Waste not, want not " was inscribed
 
 mrs. newman's act of charity. 265 
 
 upon a scroll, not in the illegible high church 
 fashion, but in such a manner that one who 
 roasts might read. 
 
 Next she dived into the pantry and de- 
 livered to the astonished foot-page — the last 
 of a long, but short-lived line of foot-pages — a 
 lecture upon the use and abuse of plate-pow- 
 der, with a few remarks upon the pecuniary 
 penalties that await breakage in all well- 
 conducted establishments. After which, as- 
 cending noiselessly to the upper regions, she 
 came upon two housemaids making a bed and 
 giggling, to whom she promptly issued a 
 couple of tracts, entitled "The Crackling of 
 Thorns ; or, How Anna Thema and Marion 
 Arthur were made to lausfh on the other side 
 
 o 
 
 of their Mouths/' with one (practical) illus- 
 tration. 
 
 After thus performing the duties of a dili- 
 gent mistress, she sat down at her desk, with
 
 266 carlyon's year. 
 
 a mind relieved of all lesser cares, and free to 
 be concentrated upon the important subject 
 forced upon her notice by Jedediah. Even 
 then her habitual prudence and attention to 
 minute affairs did not desert her ; instead of 
 spoiling half-a-dozen sheets of Bath post, as 
 some persons do, who have a letter of difficult 
 composition before them, she selected some 
 waifs and strays of paper, backs of envelopes, 
 and blank spaces at the foot of bills, and thus 
 proceeded to concoct a letter on almost as 
 many surfaces as the Sybil inscribed her 
 oracles. " Dear madam," it began ; then 
 " Madam ;" then "My Christian friend;'' 
 and once — but that she tore up into small 
 pieces as soon as written, and sniffed so that 
 she blew them all about the room — "My dear 
 Miss Crawford." 
 
 She was still hanging over " My Christian 
 Friend " — on the blue lines of a butcher's bill
 
 mks. xewman's act of charity. 267 
 
 — like a poet in search of an impossible 
 rhyme, when a shrill voice suddenly inter- 
 rupted her with, "Please, mum, the gardener's 
 wife is a-waitin' for her bonnet." 
 
 " You wicked boy," cried she, starting to 
 her feet ; " how dare you enter the room 
 without knocking ? " and, with that, as if to 
 apply the mnemonical system of association 
 of ideas, she smartly slapped his cheeks. 
 " Tell her to come up ; that is, in a minute or 
 two." 
 
 The page retired drooping, dogs' eared. 
 Mrs. Newman instantly sought her own 
 apartment, and opening the door of its 
 hanging wardrobe, took from it a faded 
 old summer bonnet, looking like an autumn 
 leaf. 
 
 " I've promised it to the woman," mused 
 she, regretfully } "-and I suppose I must give 
 it her. And yet it looks almost as good as
 
 263 carlyon's year. 
 
 new. I am sure I might have had another 
 season's wear out of it." 
 
 She gazed at the vellow bonnet-strings 
 which had once been white, with lingering: 
 fondness. 
 
 " Well, I'll cut off the trimming, at all 
 events ; that is quite unsuited to a person in 
 her station of life." 
 
 Suiting the action to the word, she re- 
 garded the mutilated article of apparel with 
 some approach to resignation. 
 
 " There/' said she ; " the wires are all in 
 shape. She could not have got such a bonnet 
 as that, if it was new, under fifteen shillings. 
 Fifteen shillings," she repeated, very slowly, 
 as though she were reluctantly counting down 
 the money, coin by coin. "That is a very 
 large sum to give awav. I think I'll tell her 
 to call again some other time — but then I've 
 done that twice already. How weak it was of
 
 mes. Newman's act of charity. 269 
 
 me to promise it to her. How foolishly im- 
 pulsive I am." 
 
 The mirror of the hanging wardrobe before 
 which she stood did not reflect the features 
 which are generally considered indicative of 
 an impulsive character. The pinched-up 
 mouth, the greedy eyes, the fingers clutching 
 tightly at the threatened treasure, would have 
 furnished a study for any painter who wished 
 to symbolise (genteelly) greed. But presently 
 the thin lips straightened themselves into a 
 really pleasant smile, the eyes softened and 
 even twinkled, and the white hand carried its 
 burthen of frail rubbish with a grace. She 
 had thought of a plan to keep her word, and 
 yet not lose her bonnet, or at least her 
 bonnet's worth. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Jones/' exclaimed she, with 
 cheerfulness, as she entered the drawing-room, 
 " you see I have brought your bonnet."
 
 270 carlyon's year. 
 
 It was very necessary to say this. For 
 Mrs. Jones, a delicate nipped-up-looking 
 woman, who had had half-a-dozen more 
 children than was good for her, and was 
 expecting another, regarded the object dan- 
 gling from her mistress's fingers with consi- 
 derable embarrassment. Conld that wretched, 
 half-stripped thing be the long-promised 
 gift which she had already applied for 
 to its unwilling donor twice in vain? It 
 was no more a bonnet than a skeleton is 
 a man ! 
 
 But all of us are not in a condition of life 
 to express our genuine sentiments ; it is not 
 so easy to be honest and straightforward as 
 gentlemen of " culture " and independent 
 means, who write philosophic leaders in 
 reviews and newspapers, are apt to imagine. 
 People who live by hard work, and have little 
 ones to support, cannot afford to lose their
 
 mrs. Newman's act of charity. 271 
 
 places ; but must be humble and obedient to 
 their masters (and mistresses) in a sense be- 
 yond that which (I hope) the Church Cate- 
 chism contemplates. Thus, Mrs. Jones, the 
 gardener's wife, bethinking herself of those 
 near and dear to her, resisted the temptation 
 of saying, " Where is the bonnet ? " and 
 dropped a curtsey before its simulacrum. 
 Perhaps the expression of her mistress's face, 
 beaming with conscious benevolence, per- 
 suaded her for the moment that the thing was 
 really of some value, and induced her to 
 murmur, " Thank ye, mum." 
 
 "I thought you would be pleased, Mrs. 
 Jones," returned the lady, still maintaining 
 her hold upon the article in question. "It 
 will make a very nice bonnet after a little 
 looking to." 
 
 Whatever this mysterious process of ob- 
 servation might have implied, the very
 
 272 carlyon's year. 
 
 mention of it seemed to enhance the value of 
 that with which Mrs. Newman was about to 
 part. " Now mind," she continued, " I don't 
 wish to make a bargain with you, Mrs. Jones, 
 for this is a free gift. A promise is a promise, 
 and you shall have it whether or no." 
 
 Here the thing changed hands, and its late 
 proprietress uttered such a sigh as only es- 
 capes from one who has resisted a great 
 temptation. "It's your wedding day, is it 
 not, Mrs. Jones ? " 
 
 " Yes, mum, it be ; it is twenty year come 
 this very day that me and my husband have 
 lived together, and a many crosses we have 
 had, and it's been a hard job all along to make 
 both ends meet, but we do make 'em, thank 
 God!" 
 
 "Very good, and very right; it's a plea- 
 sure to hear you say so, Mrs. Jones; and 
 now, I dare say, you have a nice little dinner
 
 MRS. NEWMANS ACT OF CHARITY. 273 
 
 to-day — a leg of pork, or a bit of beef, perhaps 
 — about one o'clock." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, thank you, mum, we ave got 
 a leg of mutton, although it is not every day 
 as we sees even bacon, far less butcher's 
 meat—" 
 
 " Just so," interrupted Mrs. Newman, with 
 one of her sweet smiles ; " and you will have 
 no stint of potatoes, for your husband has 
 permission to take as many as he pleases for 
 his own use out of the garden." 
 
 " Yes, mum ; that was considered in his 
 wages." 
 
 But Mrs. Newman went smiling on as 
 though no such remark had been interpolated. 
 
 "Now, what I was going to say, Mrs. 
 Jones, was, that if you find the leg of mutton 
 more than you require, one o'clock being my 
 luncheon hour, if you choose to send a nice hot 
 slice, with a few potatoes, between two plates, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 caelyon's year. 
 
 — mind, I say if you have lots to spare, and I 
 don't want to put it as any return for the 
 bonnet, (which, indeed, is ridiculous, for that 
 was a very costly article) — I shall be very 
 much obliged to you, — there." 
 
 And Mrs. Newman smiled and nodded, and 
 pointed towards the door, as though to pre- 
 clude all expressions of gratitude upon the 
 part of the gardener's wife, and really looked 
 so lady-like and pleasant, that poor Mrs. 
 Jones retired like one in a dream, doubtful 
 whether she could have heard aright. But 
 before she reached the bottom of the stairs, 
 her doubts were resolved, for a sweet voice 
 called softly to her over the banisters, — 
 
 " Let the potatoes be fried, Mrs. Jones, if 
 it is all the same to you; and don't trouble 
 yourself about the pepper and salt, for I don't 
 wish to put you to expenses."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 
 
 Doubtless it was with the elastic vigour 
 that characterises the acts of most of us when 
 we have done a good stroke of business in 
 whatever walk of life, that Mrs. Newman 
 reverted to her epistolary labours, after having 
 secured for herself a gratuitous luncheon. Yet 
 none of her compositions seemed to give her 
 satisfaction. But for her forethought in using 
 scraps of paper for her rough draughts, she 
 might have wasted two-penny worth of Bath 
 note. 
 
 " I will go and see the girl myself," mur- 
 mured she, impatiently ; " that will be better 
 than writing." 
 
 T 2
 
 276 carlyon's year. 
 
 She would have started on the instant, for 
 Mrs. Newman was not a person to let the 
 grass grow under her feet when once a reso- 
 lution was formed ; but she could not bring 
 herself to sacrifice, or, at all events, expose to 
 possible miscarriage and loss, that excellent 
 slice of mutton. And here she made a mis- 
 take. It is providentially arranged that very 
 prudent and saving persons shall invariably, at 
 one time or another, miss their mackerel, 
 through an unwillingness to expose their sprat 
 to possible loss ; in their exclusive care of the 
 pence the pounds occasionally take to them- 
 selves wings ; their pin a day secures to them 
 their groat a year, but in picking it up they 
 sometimes neglect more important sources of 
 income. Thus, in waiting for her gratuitous 
 lunch, Mrs. Newman missed her opportunity 
 of putting a stop to that conversation between 
 her brother and A^nes Crawford, which we
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 277 
 
 have bad the privilege of overhearing. If 
 she had started on her mission without waiting 
 for that slice of mutton, she might (to use a 
 culinary metaphor while speaking of a kindred 
 subject) have cooked somebody's goose pretty 
 completely. Imagine the effect of her appear- 
 ance upon that sunny lawn ; its abrupt inter- 
 ruption of the tete-a-tete; how she would have 
 frightened the horse, and worried the man, 
 that (would have liked to have) kissed the 
 maiden all forlorn, that lived in the house 
 called Greycrags. 
 
 As it was, Mrs. Newman did not start for 
 that retired mansion until 2 "30 p.m. She 
 arrived in her basket pony-carriage driven by 
 the small foot-page : like a baleful fairy, who, 
 though drawn by fiery dragons, guided by a 
 duodecimo fiend, reaches the house of the 
 young princess the day after her coming-of- 
 age, when it is vain to wish her wall-eyed or
 
 278 carlyon's year. 
 
 web-footed. But, out of elflancl, it is never 
 too late to do mischief. 
 
 Agnes had a foreboding that evil was 
 impending when C libra hissed through the 
 key-hole, "Missis Newman come, and wish 
 to see you very partickler ; M nor did her 
 instinct deceive her. 
 
 Nothing could be sweeter than the smile 
 with which her guest arose as she entered the 
 drawing-room, and greeted her as a mother 
 might greet a daughter. It was the first time 
 that Mrs. Newman had visited Grey crags 
 since the Crawfords had resided there, and 
 she had a great deal to say about the improve- 
 ments that had been effected in the meantime. 
 At last she said, — 
 
 "What a charming lawn you have, my 
 dear Miss Crawford ; but what a pity it is 
 that you allow horses upon it, for surely I see 
 hoof-marks ? "
 
 AGXES AND SISTER MEG. 279 
 
 ["Ah," thought the speaker, ''it's all true. 
 The hussy blushes. It's quite as well I 
 acted upon dear Jed's suggestions."] 
 
 " Yes, those are Red Berild's hoof-marks ; 
 the horse vour brother rode when he saved 
 my cousin and me upon the sands. I wished 
 to take his portrait." 
 
 "My brothers portrait P" 
 
 " No, madam ; Red Berild's." They were 
 looking steadily in one another's faces. Agnes 
 had quite recovered herself. Mrs. Newman 
 felt that no easy task was awaiting her. 
 
 " It is all the same," said she, " whether it 
 was the horse or the rider. I am an old 
 woman — that is, comparatively speaking — 
 and you, Miss Crawford, are a very young 
 one. I am quite sure that you are unaware of 
 the consequences — I mean of the construction 
 which must needs be put, nay, which of late 
 has been put upon my brother's visits to this
 
 280 carlyon's year. 
 
 house. In your exceeding innocence — " here 
 Mrs. Newman placed a hand with a darned 
 glove on it upon her young friend's shoulder, 
 and her voice became even tenderer and more 
 winning — "and in your happy ignorance of 
 the ways of the world, you have unwittingly 
 given this wicked creature " 
 
 " The horse, madam ? " 
 
 " Miss Crawford, I am astonished at you. 
 This levity is most unlooked-for, most unbe- 
 coming. I say that you have unwittingly — 
 as I hope unwillingly — given this wicked and 
 abandoned man encouragement. I am 
 obliged to speak plainly." 
 
 " So it seems, Mrs. Newman, since you call 
 your own brother by such names." She drew 
 herself slowly away, so that her guest's hand, 
 reluctantly slipping, hung by the darned 
 finger tips for a second, and then fell. 
 
 " And is it not the truth, Miss Crawford ?
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 281 
 
 Can you pretend to be ignorant that John 
 Carlyon is an infidel ? And is not that to be 
 wicked and abandoned? " 
 
 " We are all wicked, madam ; but we can- 
 not tell whom God has abandoned." 
 
 "And I thought this was a Christian 
 woman ! " exclaimed Mrs. Newman, holding 
 up her hands. " How we are deceived in 
 this world." 
 
 " Yes, madam," returned Agnes, coldly, " it 
 is only in the next world that a true judg- 
 ment will be arrived at, and even then we 
 shall not be the judges." 
 
 If Mr. Richard Crawford had been occupy- 
 ing his usual post (which he was not) half 
 way up the hill, or even higher, he could not 
 have failed to hear Mrs. Newman's sniff; it 
 was like a hippopotamus who has just 
 emerged from under water. 
 
 " Perhaps you think the infidel is only to
 
 282 CARLYOx's YEAR. 
 
 be pitied, young lady," observed she, with 
 what, had she been an irreligious person, 
 would certainly have been termed a sneer. 
 "Now pity, we all know, is akin to love." 
 
 " Mrs. Newman ! " 
 
 " Yes ; I can read it in your face. You 
 love this man. You would marry him if he 
 asked you to do so." 
 
 " That is false, madam, and I think you 
 know it." 
 
 Notwithstanding this unpleasant imputa- 
 tion, Mrs. Newman was pleased. The girl 
 was on her part evidently speaking truth. 
 No irretrievable mischief had as yet been done. 
 If he had proposed, she had not accepted him, 
 although perhaps she might not have rejected 
 him. 
 
 " I would never marry any man," she went 
 on, " with the opinions you have, however 
 uncharitably, described."
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 233 
 
 "But you are not without hope that his 
 opinions may change/' observed Mrs. New- 
 man, quickly. "You believe in this man's 
 possible conversion. Perhaps you believe 
 that you yourself may be the happy instru- 
 ment. You do ; I see you do." 
 
 " If you have no other purpose in coming 
 here than to insult me thus, Mrs. Newman," 
 returned Agnes, trembling, " I will retire." 
 Her courage, so high when it was he who was 
 attacked, sank before these relentless blows 
 aimed at herself alone. 
 
 "Not before I have told you the whole 
 truth," exclaimed the other, stepping swiftly 
 towards her, and grasping her by the wrist, 
 "Your conscience whispers that you are 
 looking beyond the convert for the lover. If 
 you have hitherto deceived yourself, you can 
 do so no longer now, for I have undeceived 
 
 you."
 
 284 carlyon's year. 
 
 " And you do not wish your brother to be 
 converted ? " 
 
 " By you, no," answered Mrs. Newman, 
 fiercely ; " that is,'' added she, recollecting 
 herself, " because such a thing is out of your 
 power j you do not know how strong he is — 
 this man. It is you who would be perverted 
 by him. Two precious souls lost in the 
 endeavour to save one." 
 
 " He did not think of his own life when he 
 spurred across the whirling river to rescue 
 mine," murmured Agnes, as though to herself. 
 
 " A reckless man will do anything for a 
 pretty face, girl." 
 
 " You hurt my wrist, madam ; please to let 
 me go. A reckless man ! A brave and 
 noble man, I say, and one to be of the same 
 blood with whom should make you proud/' 
 
 " Those are strong words, young lady, and 
 scarcely modest ones. If I must needs be
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 285 
 
 proud of being this man's sister, how fine a 
 thing it would be to be his wife. And it 
 would be a fine thing to some people." 
 
 Up till now, Mrs. Newman had preserved 
 the habitual smile and gentle tones that had 
 stood her in such good stead through years of 
 vulgar and penurious greed, but at these 
 words her look and manner became those of a 
 shrew. 
 
 " For a girl, for instance," she went on, 
 " without money, without family — springing, 
 in fact, from no one knows whom or whence, 
 it doubtless would be a great matter to secure 
 John Carlyon for a husband ; that is to say, 
 if she had no religious principles whatever, 
 and was only bent upon attaining a position 
 for herself in this world. But for you, Miss 
 Crawford, no matter what the advantage you 
 might gain by such a marriage, I will take 
 leave to tell vou "
 
 2S6 carlyon's year. 
 
 "Nothing more, madam," interposed Agnes, 
 with dignity, at the same time ringing the bell 
 sharply for her visitor's carriage. " I will 
 not listen to another word. You have said 
 enough already, far more than any gentle- 
 woman ought to say. Any honour to be 
 gained by alliance with one of your family 
 would indeed be dearly purchased if it entailed 
 intimacy with such as you." 
 
 Mrs. Newman curtsied deeply, with her 
 customary grace. 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Crawford," said she. 
 
 "I have also to be grateful to you " 
 
 here the servant entered and received his 
 orders, retiring, doubtless, with the impres- 
 sion that the two ladies were most uncom- 
 monly polite to one another, — "for having 
 exhibited to me, under the disguise of a 
 Christian young person, an unprincipled girl, 
 and a designing fortune-hunter."
 
 AGNES AND SISTER MEG. 287 
 
 " She never can see him again after that? 
 murmured Mrs. Newman, as, leaning back 
 in her pony carriage, she thought over that 
 heavy chainshot delivered at parting. "It 
 was absolutely necessary that I should not 
 mince matters; and what a comfort it is to 
 think that I have acted for the girl's own 
 good!"
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 
 
 It was on the morning after the interview 
 between Mrs. Newman and Agnes that Mr. 
 Carstairs, calling, as he often did, at Wood- 
 lees, was, for the first time, so fortunate as 
 to find its proprietor at home. 
 
 "Mr. John is in to-day, sir/' said old 
 Robin, whose eye-twinkling upon this subject 
 had become chronic; "he really is, for 
 once." 
 
 " Oh," ejaculated the doctor, by no means 
 with satisfaction, but rather like one who, 
 having received certain information that his 
 dentist is out of town, has gone to consult 
 him respecting a troublesome tooth, and finds
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 289 
 
 him in. "Not gone to Greycrags this morn- 
 ing, then, eh, Robin ? " 
 
 " No, sir, but he's got a letter from the 
 young lady. Leastways, one was brought to 
 him five minutes ago, and if you had seen his 
 face when he took it into his hand — oh, yes, 
 we was right about that, bless you. 'There 
 was no answer,' said the man as brought it 
 over. Why, of course not; what's the need 
 of answering by letter when my gentleman 
 rides over every mortal day? Perhaps he's 
 put off a bit, that's all." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mr. Carstairs, musing. 
 
 "I tell you what, sir," went on the garrulous 
 old man, "it will be a sore day for Miss 
 Meg as was when the young squire marries. 
 She counted upon Woodlees for Master 
 Jedediah, bless you. But it's better as it is, 
 to my thinking; for Miss Agnes, she'll win 
 Mr. John to what's right, to the path as my 
 
 VOL. I. IT
 
 290 carlyon's year. 
 
 old master walked in all the days of his life — 
 a good man, Mr. Carstairs, if ever there was 
 one — and that is all as is really wanting. If 
 he had bnt piety and propriety, as our gar- 
 dener says (and a remarkable long head has 
 gardener), he would be perfect ; and though I 
 think it my duty not to let him know it, this 
 I will say, never had servants a better master, 
 or a kinder, than Mr. John. Whereas, you 
 know, Miss Meg as was, she was always near 
 — very pious and very proper, but most 
 audacious near. Why, I remember, as if it 
 was yesterday, when our Susan (she as was 
 married to him as kep the Disney Arms, and 
 a sad drunkard he was, but they're both gone 
 now) went out to wash some chitterlings in 
 the mill-race yonder and fell in. That was 
 just after missis died, and Miss Meg she 
 managed the house, and pretty nigh starved 
 us for a matter of six months ; we had to eat
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 291 
 
 the innerds of everything, such as we had 
 
 been used to throw away before her time, and 
 
 she set us an example by having chitterlings 
 
 for breakfast ; nasty stinking things as ever 
 
 you smelt. Well, Susan fell in, and the news 
 
 came to the kitchen just as I was bringing in 
 
 the urn, and I told Miss Meg at the breakfast 
 
 table. 'Ma'am/ says I, 'while cleaning them 
 
 innerds Susan Grives have tumbled into the 
 
 mill-race.' ' Where are the innerds?' cried 
 
 Miss Meg. I never shall forget it, never. 
 
 Without even asking whether the girl were 
 
 drowned or not, ' Where are the innerds ? ' 
 
 Oh, yes, I do hope that Miss Meg as was will 
 
 not be mistress here in my time." 
 
 "Well, that's not very likely, Robin, is 
 
 it?" inquired the doctor, looking earnestly 
 
 in the old man's face. "You surely do 
 
 not expect at your age to outlive your 
 
 master." 
 
 v 2
 
 292 CAELYONS YEAR. 
 
 "At my age," grumbled Robin; "well, 
 I'm sure, one would think I was Methuselah. 
 And as to that, the young are taken, and the 
 old ones left, oftentimes. " 
 
 "Very true, Robin," answered Mr. Car- 
 stairs, nodding. " And now let me see Mr. 
 John. I know my way, and needn't trouble 
 you to come up-stairs." 
 
 "Ah, but he ain't in the turret room," 
 ejaculated the other, still in rather a dissa- 
 tisfied tone, for Robin was tender as a belle of 
 cight-and-twenty upon the point of age, "he's 
 in the master's room. He happened to be in 
 the hall when the letter came, and just as 
 though he couldn't wait for a minute, lie shut 
 liisself in there to read it, and ain't been out 
 since ! I daresay he's getting it by heart," 
 chuckled the old man. "You must knock 
 louder than that, bless ye " 
 
 But Mr. Carstairs, getting no reply to his
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 293 
 
 summons, and finding the door made fast, 
 stooped down and looked through the key- 
 hole. "Fetch some cold water," cried he; 
 ''quick, quick!" and while uttering the 
 words, the agile little man flew out at the 
 garden door, and in at the window of the 
 cedar chamber (standing open as usual to get 
 what sunshine it could) like a bird. There 
 was, indeed, not a moment to spare. John 
 Carlyon lay upon the floor, still breathing 
 stertorously, but with a face like that of a 
 strangled man. His head had fortunately 
 been caught by the sofa cushion, and re- 
 mained higher than the rest of his body. 
 His hand still clutched an open letter, the 
 receipt of which had doubtless caused the 
 calamity by some emotional shock, and a 
 small book — it looked like a Testament — lay on 
 the floor by his side. The doctor's quick eye 
 took in all these things at a single glance, and
 
 294 caelyon's year. 
 
 sooner than the action could be described in 
 words, he had freed Carlyon's throat from 
 neckcloth and collar, and bared his arm. 
 Then, throwing open the door to get a free 
 current of air, as well as to admit Robin, he 
 began to use the lancet. Would the blood 
 never flow ? Was he dead — this strong man, 
 in the full vigour of his prime ? No ; very 
 slowly, drop by drop, but presently in a 
 crimson tide, came the life stream ! while old 
 Robin stood by, dazed with terror, and 
 sprinkling the cold water as often on the floor 
 as upon his young master's forehead. 
 
 "Is it a fit, doctor?" inquired he, in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 "No, the heat of the weather, that's all," 
 responded Mr. Carstairs, hastily. " See, he 
 is getting better now." 
 
 There was a deep-drawn respiration, and 
 the large eyes drowsily opened and closed.
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 295 
 
 " You had better go away, Robin ; he is 
 coining to himself, and perhaps would not 
 like to know that you had seen him in this 
 state. Say nothing to anyone of what has 
 happened. Hush ! go, go." 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir, I understand," answered the 
 old man, moving reluctantly away. "It is 
 not for me to tittle-tattle about my master's 
 affairs." Then, as the door was pushed 
 hastily behind him, he added, " But I knows 
 a fit from a faint, I reckon. God forbid that 
 Miss Meg as was should be mistress here in 
 my time, as I was just saying; yet inany's 
 the true word spoken in jest. And he did. 
 look mortal bad, sure/y." 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Carry on, 
 sitting up, and passing his hand wearily 
 across his forehead, "Have I been ill, 
 doctor?" 
 
 "Yes, my friend, very ill; but you are
 
 296 caelyon's year. 
 
 getting over it now. Let me help you on to 
 the sofa; there/' 
 
 " The letter ! Where is it ? " inquired Car- 
 lyon, feebly. 
 
 " It is here," said the other, returning it to 
 him, folded up. 
 
 "You have read it, doctor? " 
 
 "Yes; I could not help reading it — that 
 is, seeing that one word." 
 
 "Ay." 
 
 The voice that was wont to be so strong 
 and cheery sounded faint and hollow like the 
 last boom of a funeral bell. 
 
 " Only one word, doctor, yet with a world 
 of meaning in it. That ' No,' means for me 
 No happiness, No hope. I wish you had 
 not come and saved my life. What years of 
 wretchedness may be before me ere I gain 
 the shelter of the grave ! " 
 
 "No, Carlvon," returned the doctor, gravely,
 
 sentence of death. 297 
 
 "you have at least not that to fear. You will 
 never be a long-lived man." 
 
 "How so?" inquired the other, incredu- 
 lously. "I should be glad to be able to 
 believe you; for somehow," glancing up at 
 the strange weapons upon the wall, " I could 
 never bring myself to hasten matters — to 
 desert my post here, albeit I have nothing to 
 guard, nothing to protect " 
 
 Carlyon did not finish the sentence, but 
 turned round with his face to the wall. 
 
 " That letter was from Miss Crawford, was 
 it not?" said the doctor, very tenderly; 
 " and its meaning is that she has refused 
 you. I am deeply sorry, old friend, that 
 you have been caused this pain, and I re- 
 proach myself because it was in my power to 
 avert it." 
 
 " In yours? " 
 
 "Yes. If I had done my duty, I should
 
 298 carlyon's year. 
 
 have told you something weeks ago which 
 would have spared you much of this. Can 
 you bear to hear it now ? " 
 
 "I can bear anything," murmured Carlyon, 
 wearily, " the worst that can befall has hap- 
 pened to me already. She is not like other 
 girls ; when she says No, she means it." 
 
 The despairing words had no such hopeless 
 ring but that the other knew an answer was 
 expected with some comfort in it. Yet none 
 was given. 
 
 " Carlyon," said he, after a long silence, 
 "if Agnes Crawford had written 'Yes/ instead 
 of ' No,' still knowing what I know, learning 
 what it would have been my duty to tell her, 
 she would not have married you. And you, 
 if you had known, you would not have asked 
 her to become your wife." 
 
 " Would I not ? " murmured Carlyon, bit- 
 terly. " Your secret must indeed then be a
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 299 
 
 terrible one. Perhaps I have madness in my 
 blood. I sometimes think I have." 
 
 "No. It is not terrible — at least, it need 
 not be so — but only sad. Had it been what 
 you hint at, I should have known it years 
 ago, but this I only learnt a few weeks back 
 — on the day when you saved Miss Crawford's 
 life upon the sands." 
 
 " I wish I had been drowned in saving it." 
 "You were very nearly drowned, Carlyon. 
 It was only your fainting under water that 
 saved you. Your case, I saw at once, was 
 different from the other two j and when you 
 lay insensible at my house, I found out this — 
 you have heart disease, John Carlyon. You 
 nearly died to-day ; you may die to-morrow if 
 anything should cause you the least excite- 
 ment. Your life is not worth six months' 
 purchase. I do not think it possible that you 
 will live beyond a year." There was a solemn
 
 300 carlyon's year. 
 
 pause, during which the lightest sound was 
 heard ; a butterfly brushed against the open 
 window ; a bee buried in some fragrant flower 
 beneath its sill, emitted a muffled hum • far 
 off, on the other side of the high garden -wall, 
 the mill-race roared ; the rooks cawed sleepily 
 from the elm tops in the park. 
 
 " You remember, upon the day I mention, " 
 continued the doctor, "that I'began to speak 
 upon religious matters. Doubtless it seemed 
 impertinent to you that I did so; but you 
 know the reason why. I thought — do not let 
 us argue any more, my friend — I thought it 
 my duty to do so, and I think so now. Science 
 had passed your sentence of death, and it was 
 surely meet that Religion should comfort you. 
 1 saw that I was unfit for such a task, and yet 
 I wished to be of some service to the son of 
 your father. There, I will not speak of him 
 again, since it pains you. But I have known
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 301 
 
 you from a child, my friend, nnd I knew your 
 clear mother, who gazes upon you from yonder 
 picture, with the same love and with the same 
 fear, (I did not understand it then, but I do 
 now,) with which I have seen her gaze upon 
 her darling bov a hundred times." 
 
 "You understand it now? "said Carlyon, 
 bitterly ; " oh, no." 
 
 "I think I do," returned Mr. Carstairs, 
 quietly. 
 
 Still keeping his face averted, Carlyon held 
 out his hand, which the other took tenderly 
 within his own. 
 
 l ' And why did you not tell me this — I 
 mean about my heart — before, doctor? " 
 
 " Partly, lest the shock might hurt you at 
 that time, which, from something that you 
 yourself let fall, I thought it would ; partly 
 because I was a coward, and loth to be the 
 bearer of such news j but principally, because
 
 302 caklyon's yeae. 
 
 I thought I saw in Miss Agnes one who 
 w T ould show you the road to heaven far better 
 than I. I knew, of course, after what had 
 happened, that you two must needs become 
 intimate, but I did not look forward to your 
 — to this sad end of it all. Even that, how- 
 ever, lies in some measure at my door. I did 
 all for the best, and nothing has turned out 
 as I would have had it." 
 
 " Don't fret, my friend ; don't reproach 
 yourself, you good soul," said Carlyon, turn- 
 ing round and smiling upon the doctor, who 
 stood dejected by his side. " It was not cer- 
 tainly your fault that I shut my eyes to the 
 gulf that lay between me and Agnes. I am 
 punished for my folly, that is all." 
 
 " It was I, however," pursued the doctor, 
 mournfully, "who gave you at least one op- 
 portunity which has doubtless worked with 
 others to this sad end. I knew that that
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 303 
 
 hare-brained cousin of hers would be jealous 
 of you. He suspects everybody. I believe 
 he is jealous of me, the self-willed idiot ! — 
 and so, when we were at Greycrags that 
 night, I kept him to myself, solely that Miss 
 Agnes might have some serious talk with you. 
 I was an ass not to foresee what sort of talk 
 it would be. I would have told her the whole 
 truth, but that that would have been the 
 betrayal of a professional secret. Now, if I 
 had been a parson I should have done so for 
 the good of your soul." 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! for ever lost ! " murmured 
 Carlyon. 
 
 " No, no, my friend, not lost," returned the 
 doctor, kindly. " It is never too late to — enter- 
 tain more correct views upon religious matters." 
 
 " What are you talking about, man ? " ex- 
 claimed Carlyon, fiercely. " I was not think- 
 ing of my ■ miserable soul/ as you call it."
 
 304 carlyon's YEAR. 
 
 "1 am sorry to hear it," returned the 
 doctor, simply. 
 
 "And I am not going to join your fire 
 insurance society," added the other, scorn- 
 fully. " The premium would, under the cir- 
 cumstances, be probably enormous." 
 
 "I have said what I thought it was my 
 duty as a Christian man to say/' said Mr. 
 Carstairs, reddening, "and now I am here in 
 my professional capacity only. Can I do 
 anything more for you, Mr. Carlyon ? " 
 
 " Yes. That instrument which I see peep- 
 ing out of your pocket is the stethoscope, is 
 it not ? Please to use it once more." 
 
 " I have told you what its answer will be," 
 said the doctor, hesitating. 
 
 " Nevertheless," replied the other, smiling, 
 •" I wish to make * siccar,' as Kirkpatrick said 
 when he drove his dirk into the Red Comyn." 
 
 He opened his waistcoat himself, and
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 305 
 
 watched Mr. Carstairs steadily as he applied 
 the instrument. 
 
 " When I was on the grand jury at Lan- 
 caster last year, doctor, I saw a sad scene. 
 A mother waiting for the verdict upon her 
 son, who was being tried for murder, and 
 had been caught red-handed in the very act. 
 I am glad to think that when you pronounce 
 my doom there will be none to lament for me, 
 not one. Come, doctor, what is it ? I know 
 you are a wise man, who looks upon the 
 bright side of things, and yet has the knack 
 of telling the truth. You are putting your 
 black cap on, I see. The sentence is Death, 
 is it . J 
 
 The kind-hearted doctor nodded. Perhaps 
 he did not like to trust himself to speak. 
 
 " Good. And the stethoscope never de- 
 ceives r 
 
 "Never," returned Mr. Carstairs, firmly,
 
 306 carlyon's year. 
 
 and with some approach to indignation. " I 
 will stake my professional reputation upon 
 what I have stated with respect to your 
 case." 
 
 Carlyon smiled in his old, pleasant fashion. 
 " I would not damage your credit, doctor, 
 by overliving my year, for all the world. 
 And I may die in the meantime, of course? " 
 "At any moment. To-day — to-morrow. 
 It is certainly your duty to lose no time in 
 setting your affairs in order. I think you 
 should see your sister, Mr. Carlyon. I met 
 her only yesterday afternoon, and she spoke 
 most kindly of you/'' 
 
 " Most kindly of ?ne ? Then she must cer- 
 tainly have been speaking very ill of me to 
 somebody else. I have always observed that 
 in Meg. After administering a great deal 
 of scourge she sometimes applies a little 
 balsam."
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 307 
 
 " You are uncharitable, Carlyon. She not 
 
 only spoke quite enthusiastically of your 
 heroism upon the sands the other day, but 
 also very patronisingly (you know her way,) 
 about Miss Agnes, whom she had just been 
 to see at Grey crags. Why, what's the 
 matter ? Excitement of this sort is the very 
 
 worst thing " 
 
 " Did my sister go to Greycrags ? n ex- 
 claimed Carlyon, starting to his feet. " Did 
 that lying woman speak to Agnes ? It is she 
 then whom I have to thank for this — this 
 letter. I see it all now. She did not wish 
 me to marry, lest Woodlees should not revert 
 to her Jedediah ; and to stop it, she maligns 
 me to Agnes. The hypocrite, the backbiter!" 
 " You are killing yourself, Mr. Carlyon." 
 " You are right ; I will be very careful," 
 returned the other, bitterly, and pacing the 
 room with hasty strides. " I should be sorry
 
 308 carlyon's year. 
 
 to die within the next few days. Perhaps 
 you will call to-morrow, and see how I am." 
 
 Carlyon took the little man by the arm and 
 gently, but firmly, urged him towards the 
 door. 
 
 " It is no use my coming to see you, sir," 
 expostulated the doctor; "I can do nothing 
 for you." 
 
 "Very well, then, don't come," returned 
 the other, quietly. "I shall remember you 
 all the same, as if you did." 
 
 " Sir ! " ejaculated Mr. Carstairs. 
 
 " Forgive me, old friend ; I am not myself. 
 I do not know what I am saying. I thank 
 you for all your kindness, and especially for 
 your telling me the truth." 
 
 Doctor and patient shook hands warmly 
 enough. Although widely different, each 
 respected the other after his fashion. 
 
 " For God's sake keep yourself quiet," was
 
 SENTENCE OF DEATH. 309 
 
 the kindly and characteristic remark of the 
 former, as he rode away. 
 
 Carlyon nodded, then turned to Robin. 
 
 " Tell James to saddle Red Berild directly, 
 and then come to me." 
 
 "Red Berild, Mr. John?" returned the 
 old man, scarcely believing his ears, for it was 
 rarely that anyone ever crossed that horse 
 except his master. 
 
 "Did not I say so?" observed Carlyon, 
 coolly, and, returning to the parlour, sat him- 
 self down to write. The note was finished 
 before the groom came, and he began to fret 
 and. fume. 
 
 " You have been a long time coming, sir," 
 said he, with unwonted sternness ; " and Red 
 Berild must make up for your delav. Do not 
 spare the spur. I want this letter taken to 
 Burnthorp, to Mr. Scrivens." 
 
 "The lawyer, sir?"
 
 310 carlyon's year. 
 
 " Yes, the lawyer ; who else ? There is no 
 answer ; but he or his partner is to come at 
 once. If the means of conveyance are 
 wanted, lend him your horse, and you will 
 walk." 
 
 " It is twenty miles," murmured the groom, 
 thinking of the distance to be traversed by 
 Shanks, his (unaccustomed) mare. 
 
 "I shall expect him here in four hours," 
 observed Carlyon, referring to his watch 
 instead of to this remonstrance. 
 
 When sentence of death is pronounced by 
 one's doctor, we think — that is, just at first — 
 that it is going to be executed forthwith ; and 
 we are in a particular hurry to make our 
 wills. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBCRY, EVAX3, AXD CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. 
 
 c>
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 060920581