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LI E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
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 V.I 
 

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Creatures of Circumstance 
 
 a il3oi3eI 
 
 HORACE G. HUTCHINSON 
 
 author of 
 'goi.f" (badminton library), "famous golf-links," etc. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST i6t" STREET 
 1891 
 
i^3 
 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Little Pipkin Village Green . . i 
 
 N II. Pebblecombe 19 
 
 III. Little Pipkin Manor House gets a 
 
 N^ Tenant 31 
 
 • IV. The Education of Robert Burs- 
 cough 49 
 
 V. Robert develops a Talent ... 62 
 
 VI. Boy and Girl : 88 
 
 VII. Mr. Cheadle starts his Son in Life 102 
 
 VIII. A Betrothal 109 
 
 IX. Sybil in London 127 
 
 X. The Course of True Love . . . 140 
 
 ^ XI. Lord Morningham's "Situation" . 154 
 
 XII. A Minor Poetess 175 
 
IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XIIL Cricket — England v. Australia . 190 
 
 XIV. Lord Morningham's Proposal . . 215 
 
 XV. Mrs. Etheredge's Ambuscade . . 226 
 
 XVI. Sybil, Lady Morningham .... 234 
 
CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 
 
 " My fayther," said Mr. Slocombe, in the 
 deliberate voice which tallied with his 
 name, " was the fastest bowler in all 
 England. He was as big round his arm 
 as I am round my leg." 
 
 The old white drake in the duck-pond 
 beside them said, " Quack, quack ! " as if 
 to say " Yes, I know he was." At least, 
 that is what he seemed to say to the little 
 boy to whom the old man was telling the 
 story ; and certainly the old white drake 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 9 
 
2 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 ought to know, if anybody could, for he 
 had been quacking there, so the oldest 
 inhabitant said, when he, the oldest 
 inhabitant, used to paddle in the pond, 
 a little bare-legged boy. Or, if it was not 
 the same white drake, it was one exactly 
 like him. 
 
 '' No ! was it, really ? " said the little 
 boy, in astonished reference to the 
 measurement of the late Mr. Slocombe's 
 arm. 
 
 ** 'Deed, and it was, Master Robert," Mr. 
 Slocombe asserted. "'Twas for him the 
 Mary-le-bone Club passed the rule that 
 the bowling should not be from above the 
 shoulder." He pronounced the name of 
 the Club conscientiously, syllable by 
 syllable, as if Mary and Lee had been 
 given at baptism to a lady whose surname 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 3 
 
 was Bone. " Ah, he was a man ! " he 
 ended impressively. 
 
 The Httle boy looked up In the old, 
 weatherbeaten, kind face, in open-eyed 
 reverence. It did not seem a strange 
 thing to have a dead father — for he was 
 an orphan himself, and could not at all 
 remember his own father ; but he had an 
 old uncle who supplied the place of father 
 to him — to whom he told all his troubles, 
 and whose sympathy was very perfect and 
 ready. And to have lost such a father as 
 Mr. Slocombe had lost ! What an ex- 
 perience Mr. Slocombe must have had ! 
 Greatly as the little boy revered the 
 memory of his own father, he never for 
 a moment thought of setting him in com- 
 parison with Mr. Slocombe's father. 
 Indeed, Mr. Slocombe himself had as 
 
4 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 good as told him that the world did not 
 produce such men nowadays — (the age of 
 Mr. Slocombe, senior, had been pro- 
 digious) — and to that, too, the old white 
 drake had said, " Quack, quack ! " So he felt 
 quite certain that there were no such men 
 now on earth as the late Mr. Slocombe. 
 
 They were sitting under the great big 
 horse-chestnut tree, which stands on the 
 side of the road where there are no houses 
 in Little Pipkin village. Of course there 
 are houses on both sides of the road further 
 up, but there, where the horse-chestnut 
 tree stands, the hedge runs beside the 
 vicarage glebe ; and beyond that, on that 
 side there are no houses. Beside the 
 horse-chestnut, in the corner formed by 
 the road and the vicarage hedge, is the 
 duck-pond, where the old drake lives with 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 5 
 
 his household. There is a lame fellow 
 amongst them. He was one day pluming 
 his feathers beside the pond, when Charlie 
 Pitman, the blacksmith, hit his great hit 
 which men will go on talking of as long 
 as cricket is played. It was, as most 
 people know, in the great annual match 
 Little Pipkin versus White Cross, the next 
 village. Young Lord Morningham himself 
 was bowling — those slow, high-dropping, 
 twisting things, for which he has since 
 become famous — and Charlie Pitman ran 
 out very nearly half-way across the pitch, 
 they said, and hit the ball harder than a 
 cricket ball was ever hit before. The 
 wicket was then pitched about two hun- 
 dred yards from the duck-pond, and the 
 ball carried rlQ^ht over the brow of the rise 
 on which is the village green, and coming 
 
O CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 down to the duck-pond at a fair round 
 pace, broke the leg of one unfortunate 
 fellow who had his head under his wing 
 at the time, never thinking that any 
 human being could hit a cricket ball so 
 great a distance ; and even after that, the 
 ball was so far from being spent that it 
 went right on into the pond, and no one 
 has ever been able to find it since, though 
 you may be sure very many have joined 
 in the search. It was a lucky thing for 
 Lord Morningham's side that the ball was 
 lost, for when they called '' lost ball," 
 Charlie Pitman could only get six runs 
 for that great hit, though if they had run 
 them out, and the ball had not been lost, 
 they would certainly have run nearer a 
 dozen. And all Lord Morningham said 
 was, "Well hit, Charlie!" He did not 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 7 
 
 seem a bit impressed by the distance the 
 ball was driven, nor vexed that it should 
 have been so hit off his own bowling. 
 That was the remarkable thing about 
 Lord Morningham, even from a boy — that 
 nothing seemed to anger him or ruffle him 
 in the least. So unlike his father, whose 
 temper was very choleric ! Yet men liked 
 the father better than the young lord ; 
 though it is more than likely that this 
 equable temper of his was the reason of 
 his great success as a bowler. 
 
 All these stories of the villao-e the little 
 boy used to hear from Mr. Slocombe as 
 they sat under the great horse-chestnut 
 tree. A wooden seat ran round the tree, 
 and there were wood-lice, and all sorts of 
 crawling things ; but even the wood-lice 
 and earwigs seemed to know the villagers 
 
8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 who came regularly and sat there, and 
 never crawled over or inconvenienced 
 them, though they would certainly have 
 come out and made a thorough examina- 
 tion of you or me if we had ventured to 
 try the seat. 
 
 Mr. Slocombe was parish clerk of Little 
 Pipkin. He had held the post, to which 
 was attached the very occasional duty of 
 grave-digger, for a great many years, as 
 his father, the man of the mighty arm, had 
 done before him. He was clad in a suit 
 of shiny, professional black, which assorted 
 oddly with the russet brownness of his 
 open-air face. 
 
 Presently, down the village street, came 
 a quick pattering of childish feet, and a 
 shrill sound of childish voices, '' Robert, 
 Robert, come and play cricket, and Mr. 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 9 
 
 Slocombe, you must come too ; oh yes, 
 you must — please do. See, I will give you 
 such a kiss if you will come." 
 
 The little girl who spoke was dark and 
 slender, with hair and eyes almost black, 
 and a thin, queer little face, alight with an 
 intense vivacity. She threw down the 
 cricket bat and stumps with which her 
 arms had been overburdened, and, climb- 
 ing upon the old man's knee, put her arms 
 round his neck and kissed him. 
 
 Mr. Slocombe bore the embrace with 
 kindly composure. '* Ay, ay," he said ; 
 " I'll come and keep the wicket for you, 
 Missie ; but I'm doubting if you'll ever 
 have the patience to make a cricketer, 
 
 Miss Sybil. Now, my fayther " But 
 
 Miss Sybil was down again by this time, 
 and gazing up the road. 
 
lO CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 ** Come along, do ! hurry up ! " she said 
 impatiently ; and, thus entreated, a heavy, 
 red-faced boy managed to put himself into 
 a run, and arrived with two more stumps 
 and a cricket ball. 
 
 " It's Jim Cheadle, isn't it ? " said the 
 little boy, who at first had been alone with 
 the old clerk. 
 
 ** Yes, of course, it is," the little girl said. 
 
 *' How do you do, Jim ? " he said, as the 
 heavy, red-faced boy came up; and Jim 
 said — 
 
 *' How do you do, Robert ? " and then 
 they stood and stared rather sheepishly, 
 as boys will. 
 
 " Oh, do come on ! " the little girl called 
 
 to them. 
 
 She had already collected in her arms 
 all the cricket things — far more than she 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. I I 
 
 could really carry, for Jim, arriving rather 
 breathless, had at once dropped his, and 
 she had picked up these in addition to her 
 former burden. Then Robert, whose sur- 
 name was Burscough, jumped forward, 
 and said — 
 
 *' Oh, Sybil, I am so sorry ! Let me 
 carry some." 
 
 So he took some from her, and they all 
 went up to the village green together, the 
 children eager, the old clerk in kindly 
 and amused silence. Human nature and 
 cricket were the studies in which he found 
 relaxation from his professional duties. 
 Each member of the village cricket club, 
 and each blade of grass on the village 
 green, had grown up under his personal 
 supervision. He was supposed to have a 
 professional knowledge of the laying of 
 
12 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 turf, nor did he dispute the supposition. 
 The style of each of the young cricketers 
 of Little Pipkin was a more or less 
 debased or improved expression of Mr. 
 Slocombe's own. For Mr. Slocombe, 
 though less famous than his illustrious 
 father, had been a great cricketer in his 
 own day, and his prowess was an integral 
 part of the traditions of Little Pipkin. 
 The most solemn day of the year with 
 Mr. Slocombe was unquestionably the day 
 of the great match between Little Pipkin 
 and White Cross, which was played in 
 alternate years on the village greens of 
 each. He was a very pious man, as 
 befitted his profession, and was a good 
 deal hurt that the vicar of Little Pipkin 
 declined a suggestion which he made on 
 a Sunday preceding the great match, that 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 1 3 
 
 an extra Liturgy petition should on that 
 day be read in Little Pipkin church pray- 
 ing Heaven for deliverance '' from all 
 shooters, bumpers, and yorkers on the leg 
 stump." He failed to see that cricket was 
 at all a less matter than '' Our daily bread." 
 Indeed, by a skilful allegorical treatment, 
 he brought in the incidents of the cricket- 
 field as texts of many a lay sermon 
 preached from the wooden seat around 
 the horse-chestnut. 
 
 '' Now, Miss Sybil dear, you must go 
 in first," the old man said, when the wicket 
 was pitched in a place where it would not 
 interfere with the pitches for the great 
 matches. " Left shoulder forward, Miss 
 Sybil, and do watch the ball well, there's 
 a dear. Not too fast, Master Robert, for 
 a lady." 
 
14 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; bowl as fast as ever you 
 like, Robert ; I like it fast." To prove 
 the truth of what she said, she hit the ball 
 with a very crooked bat hard back to 
 him. 
 
 " Left shoulder up, please, Miss Sybil/' 
 said the old man, anxiously. ''What an 
 eye she do have, to be sure ! " 
 
 When Sybil was out, Jim Cheadle went 
 in. He was more of a stranger than the 
 others, because he lived not in Little 
 Pipkin itself, but in Pebblecombe, the 
 watering-place on the sea-shore, a mile 
 distant. 
 
 So the cricket went amicably, while 
 the old man looked on with kindly and 
 anxious interest, until it occurred to Master 
 James Cheadle to trade somewhat too 
 shrewdly on his privileges as visitor. He 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 1 5 
 
 Stoutly declared it was his turn to bat, 
 which it certainly was not. 
 
 " Well, I mean to go in," he said, taking 
 the bat, and putting himself in position at 
 the wicket. 
 
 " Certainly," Robert said, with perfect 
 politeness, *' you may go in, but nobody 
 will bowl to you." 
 
 Miss Sybil came back at the moment 
 from pursuit of the ball, and at once 
 grasped the situation of things. Her 
 argument had none of the polished and 
 scathing satire of Robert's. 
 
 " Come out," she said, ** you nasty little 
 beast ! Give me the bat ; it's my innings ; " 
 and Jim dropped the bat as if it were red- 
 hot, and retreated in all haste to long-off. 
 
 *' I do not know much about ladies. 
 Miss Sybil," said the old clerk, with 
 
1 6 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 gravity ; " but from what I do know, I 
 should say that ' nasty little beast ' is not 
 the sort of words they uses. Is it, Miss 
 Sybil?" 
 
 The dark little face flushed hotly, and 
 the dark eyes filled with tears. " Oh, 
 I'm so sorry, Mr. Slocombe ! I did not 
 mean to," she said ashamedly. '* But," 
 she added a moment after, with quick 
 change of mood, and the tears drying up 
 suddenly into a hard glitter — "but it 
 served him right, didn't it ? He knew 
 quite well it wasn't his innings." 
 
 The old man loved seeing the children 
 play — how they held the ball in such a 
 business-like way, and did everything 
 correctly, as if it had been " Gentlemen 
 and Players" at ''Lord's." He did not 
 laugh at them much, for if the inclination 
 
LITTLE PIPKIN VILLAGE GREEN. 1 7 
 
 arose, it was held in sober check by the 
 thought that a Higher Power was looking 
 on at them all — a Higher Power even 
 than a " Gentleman" or a '' Player" — one 
 in whose eyes the result of the Gentlemen 
 V. Players' match might not seem of 
 greatly more importance than the result, 
 or lack of result, of Sybil Davies's innings. 
 So he looked at them with the respect of 
 the wise man who has taken nil admirari 
 as his motto, in the sense of ojnnia 
 admirari — all things being alike worthy 
 of admiration as God's creations, and in 
 themselves not one more wonderful than 
 another. But he appreciated with a quiet 
 smile the intense imitativeness of the 
 children, and his own style of batting that 
 they expressed, sometimes with exaggera- 
 tion ; and he thought over the prospects 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
i 8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 of their lives' innings — of the fat Httle boy 
 who tried to cheat the girl of her turn ; of 
 the courteous effectiveness of the other 
 boy's retort, " Certainly you may go in, 
 but no one will bowl to you ; " and of the 
 dark-eyed, impetuous little girl, and her 
 quickly changing penitence over " You 
 nasty little beast, get out." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 PEBBLECOMBE. 
 
 Jim Cheadle lived at Pebblecombe. 
 Pebblecombe is a small, half-finished 
 watering-place on the seaside, a mile from 
 Little Pipkin. Many visitors come to 
 Pebblecombe, but few of them suspect 
 even the existence of Little Pipkin, em- 
 bowered among the wooded hills. The 
 two are very different. Pebblecombe is 
 all that is new and bright, and would-be- 
 gay and fashionable ; Little Pipkin is all 
 that is old, and gray, and mellow. The 
 game and the life of Pebblecombe is golf ; 
 
 ( 19 ) 
 
20 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 the game and the Hfe of Little Pipkin is 
 cricket. 
 
 There was an era when Pebblecombe 
 was no Pebblecombe, but merely Pebble- 
 combe Farm. And a wind-swept, for- 
 saken place it was in those prehistoric 
 days. The few forlorn hedge-elms, its 
 only apology for timber, were poor, bent, 
 infirm creatures, like prematurely aged 
 men, gazing away to leeward, lowering 
 from the remorseless gale which tore down 
 on them from the ocean. The grass was 
 wretched, thin, yellow stuff, hay as soon 
 as it was born ; and even the miserable 
 donkeys, ownerless for the most part, or 
 the property of any one who could catch 
 them, seemed as if they had not courage 
 to lift their heads seaward, whence came 
 that eternal tearing wind. 
 
PEBBLECOMBE. 2 1 
 
 Behind the old original farm of Pebble- 
 combe, three hundred yards or so from 
 the sea, rose the steep hillside, on which 
 are now dotted the villas of many retired 
 business men and half-pay officers. It 
 was a desolate place in those days ; and 
 had you stood under the gloom of the 
 hill, and looked forth at the grey broken 
 sea, and the cripples of trees, and the bare 
 common ground and sandhills to the east- 
 ward, you would have said that he must 
 be a bold man, and superhumanly in- 
 different to his surroundings, who would 
 take up his dwelling in this howling 
 wilderness. Yet see what has happened. 
 A man named Cheadle, a Scotsman, who, 
 some said, had made a fortune, others a 
 failure, in business, came, some said in 
 search of health, others in search of 
 
22 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 oblivion, and took lodgings in the village 
 of Little Pipkin. 
 
 " Worth a guinea a gasp — this air," he 
 was known to declare, when in good 
 spirits — and with some good spirits in 
 him, as sometimes happened. 
 
 Mr. Cheadle was one day walking upon 
 the common, where the sand-hills and the 
 broken ground are, when he suddenly- 
 pulled up short and looked about him. 
 Then he said, "By Jove!" He went a 
 little further, and stopped again ; and 
 again looking about him, said " By Jove ! " 
 He did this five several times, and then 
 he walked slowly home. At the boundary 
 fence between the common and the en- 
 closed land, he stopped again. He climbed 
 the hill behind the farm. The time was 
 summer; the day was bright and sunny, 
 
PEBBLECOMBE. 23 
 
 the gorse on the unkempt hillside was 
 golden, the sands were scarcely less so, 
 and the sea was blue. 
 
 Mr. Cheadle said " By Jove ! " once 
 more, and then he went home. All the 
 evening he was unusually silent. He 
 covered a large sheet of paper with dots 
 and lines. The largest dot he marked 
 *' Hotel," and then he said '' By Jove ! " 
 again. " By Jove! " is often said by many 
 men; but Mr. Cheadle's " By Jove!" was 
 not as other men's " By Joves ! " Lord 
 Burleigh's nod was a thing of little mean- 
 ing as compared with Mr. Cheadle's " By 
 Jove ! " 
 
 "What is it, Mr. Cheadle?" his wife 
 asked. 
 
 " Why, it's fortune, and it's fame, and 
 it's a golf links, and an hotel," Mr. 
 
2 4 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 Cheadle answered in a soft, cat-like way, 
 as if speaking to himself. 
 
 '' That's a deal, Mr. Cheadle. Where's 
 all that to come from ? " 
 
 " From here, my lassie," Mr. Cheadle 
 said affectionately, with a comprehensive 
 hand wave. " On the common you may 
 make the finest golf links in the world. 
 What an air we breathe ! Worth a guinea 
 a gasp ! Indeed, my dear, it is, though 
 likely I have made the remark before. 
 What is needing to make this a watering 
 place ? Where are finer sands ? Where 
 a more beautiful view ? I looked over 
 the sea to-day ; its beauty almost over- 
 came me." (He fortified himself against 
 his emotion from a tumbler at his elbow.) 
 
 " Well, then," he resumed, " I have dis- 
 covered it. I am its king. I will buy 
 
PEBBLECOMBE. 25 
 
 ground lots for a mere song. I will build 
 an hotel, lodging-houses. I will advertise, 
 * The finest golfing resort, and the most 
 salubrious sea-side place in England.' I 
 will say that no person has ever died here. 
 That is true, for no one has ever lived 
 here. If my own capital is insufficient, I 
 will form a Company. I will be the heart 
 and soul of it. We will be millionaires. 
 Then we will build swimming-baths ; a 
 pier ; steamers will run to and fro ; we will 
 build assembly-rooms. There is no know- 
 ing where we will stop. Of course, before 
 this we will get it connected — it's only 
 two miles — with the railway at Bridge- 
 hampton." He looked up with bright, 
 hopeful eyes into his wife's face. " What 
 do you think of it, eh ? " 
 " I think ye're a fool." 
 
26 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I know," Mr. Cheadle 
 said sadly. ** Ye mostly do think so, and 
 ye're mostly right." 
 
 But he had his way. He bought land 
 whereon to build his hotel, merely inform- 
 ing Lord Morningham, the landowner, 
 that he was going to build a house on it. 
 An hotel is a house, so there was no 
 deception in that. 
 
 Unfortunately, Lord Morningham some- 
 how got wind of Mr. Cheadle's intentions, 
 and instead of letting him have his other 
 building lots for a '' mere song," as he had 
 boasted to his wife, made him pay what 
 that good lady, ingeniously extending the 
 metaphor, called '' a pairfect oratorio " — 
 something between ;^I50 and ;^200 per 
 acre. 
 
 The hotel, however, was built. The 
 
PEBBLECOMBE. 2^ 
 
 next step was the blasting out of the rocks 
 below high-water mark — a large pit where, 
 behind the rather partial concealment of 
 a dressing-tent and a board announcing 
 this to be the " Ladies' Bathing Pool," 
 figures might at times be seen like unto 
 Venus Anadyomene, daughter of the foam, 
 rising from the waves, her divine loveli- 
 ness enshrouded from profane eyes by a 
 blue serge bathing gown and a waterproof 
 mob-cap. When asked where gentlemen 
 were to bathe, Mr. Cheadle, with that 
 majestic wave of the hand which was so 
 favourite a gesture with him, would indi- 
 cate the whole expanse of mighty ocean, 
 as if it were his private property, and 
 exclaim with mild surprise, *' Where ? 
 Why, there ! " 
 
 When the hotel was fairly started, Mr. 
 
2 8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 Cheadle built a few more houses. He 
 surveyed the common and dug some golf 
 holes, working hard with an empty 
 gallipot and an old kitchen knife. He 
 then had printed an attractive circular 
 about the " Pebblecombe and South of 
 England Golf Club " — he did not mention 
 that he was the only member — and a plan 
 of the course, with an account of the 
 *' Opening day of these Unrivalled Links." 
 He sent this circular to all his Scottish 
 friends and to secretaries of all the Clubs 
 he could think of A few members 
 joined from a distance, and a few of the 
 neighbouring gentry, who conceived golf 
 as a cross between polo and curling, 
 gave their names on the chance of seeing 
 them in print. 
 
 The few members who had joined on 
 
PEBBLECOMBE. 29 
 
 the faith of Mr. Cheadle's circular beean 
 to drop in on his hotel. They found the 
 *' Club " rather a small one ; but the 
 secretary, Mr. Cheadle, was all atten- 
 tion, and the links were undeniable. 
 '' St. Andrews no better ; pon my soul, 
 I believe I like this best ! " said one old 
 golfer with bated breath, lest they should 
 overhear his audacious heresy In the far 
 North — an opinion which was much 
 quoted and carried weight. 
 
 Mr. Cheadle built a convenient villa 
 or two, at moderate rental, which quickly 
 found tenants ; and deeming his own 
 capital and credit inadequate to the 
 growing possibilities of Pebblecombe, re- 
 solved himself into a Limited Liability 
 Company, whose shares were soon taken 
 up by the tenants of the villas. In a 
 
30 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 few years' time the Club was built. A 
 pier was in the course of building, but the 
 sea washed it away and left it half finished 
 • — an allegory of human life. There were 
 lodging-houses where men could live and 
 feed ; a church to supply their spiritual 
 needs, and a swimming bath for wants 
 that hold second place in importance. 
 Moreover, the first sod of the Pebblecombe 
 and Bridgehampton railway had been cut 
 by a titled lady with a silver spade and 
 put into a mahogany wheelbarrow, but 
 as yet that first sod was also the last. 
 
 A land surveyor of powerful imagina- 
 tion had assisted Mr. Cheadle in drawing 
 up a very striking picture of " Pebble- 
 combe as laid out for building purposes," 
 which might be seen and admired in the 
 waiting rooms of all the more important 
 railway stations in the kingdom. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LITTLE PIPKIN MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 
 
 A FEW years after the cutting of the first 
 (and last) sacred sod of the projected 
 railway from Pebblecombe to Bridge- 
 hampton, a military officer, lately returned 
 from India, was standing in some per- 
 plexity before one of the many copies 
 of that picture of Pebblecombe as it 
 existed in the mind of Mr. Cheadle and 
 his imaginative draughtsman. The pic- 
 ture hung in the waiting-room of a 
 London Terminus, and represented a 
 populous place. 
 
 ( 31 ) 
 
32 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 The officer looked to be a man who 
 had seen service, for a sleeve, empty 
 from the elbow, was pathetically fastened 
 by a large safety pin upon his breast. 
 In spite of this, he appeared a man of 
 vigorous health. Nor was the unused 
 coat-sleeve allowed to be a mere super- 
 fluity, for it was full of Trichinopoly 
 cheroots, one of which Colonel Burscough, 
 as the letters on his travelling bag 
 revealed his name to be, was smoking 
 while he studied the much idealised 
 picture of Pebblecombe. He was a man 
 of very warm temper, as military men 
 who have been much in hot climates are 
 apt to be ; but if his temper were warm 
 his heart was warmer, and the pale-faced, 
 fair-haired little boy who was with him, 
 addressed him as *' Uncle Robert " with 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 33 
 
 perfect confidence. And this must have 
 been the result of close acquaintance, for 
 the Colonel's outward man bespoke no 
 gentle disposition. His moustache and 
 whiskers were white ; his face and nose 
 were red. His eyes were uneven, for 
 though Nature had made them a match, 
 an Afghan spear had spoiled their 
 symmetry. Art and a glass eye inade- 
 quately supplied the loss, so that in his 
 moments of irritation, which were frequent, 
 the Colonel's " business eye " scintillated 
 with a fury that froze the very marrow 
 of the beholder, while the glass optic 
 preserved all the decorum of an extinct 
 volcano. 
 
 "Jammed extraordinary thing," he was 
 saying, half in soliloquy and half in 
 answer to the little boy's question about 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 the picture ; " extraordinary how one 
 gets out of the way of things out in 
 India. Jammed glad I brought you home ; 
 you'd have grown up as ignorant as I am 
 out there. I never heard of this blessed 
 place, Pebblecombe, in my life; and yet 
 there it is — brass bands, steamers, piers, 
 hotels, walk on lovely sands with golden 
 woman — no, golden sands with lovely 
 woman, I mean — I think we'll go there, 
 boy. What do you say ? " 
 
 Now that he had seen the Zoological 
 Gardens, and had been assured that he 
 could see no snow until November — the 
 two cherished prospects of his past Indian 
 life — all places were indifferent to the 
 nephew. 
 
 But though they had seen the Zoological 
 Gardens, the Colonel's perplexities were 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 35 
 
 by no means satisfied, for he had to find 
 a home in England in which to bring up 
 this young orphaned nephew whom an 
 only brother had committed to his care. 
 
 The Colonel was a poor man, like most 
 distinguished military men, but the brother 
 had been a civilian, and a successful 
 shaker of the Pagoda tree, in the days 
 before the depreciation of the rupee, and 
 the young ward was amply provided for. 
 Until his coming of age, the Colonel had 
 sole management of his affairs, with very 
 full and discretionary powers. But the 
 boy was delicate and anaemic, as many 
 Indian-reared children are, and a healthy 
 climate was essential. 
 
 Two days later, as a result of his study 
 of the picture in the waiting-room, Colonel 
 Burscough and his nephew went down 
 
36 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 by the last train to Bridgehampton. 
 Their surprises began when they found 
 at the booking-office that the train did 
 not run all the way to Pebblecombe. 
 They were yet more surprised at the 
 length of the dark drive in the omnibus 
 from Bridgehampton to Pebblecombe, but 
 consoled themselves with a supper at the 
 Royal Hotel, where all was peace until 
 the morning. 
 
 In the morning all was war — declared 
 in the Colonel's most stentorian word of 
 command, to the inmates of the Royal 
 Hotel, Pebblecombe, and the adjoining 
 blocks of houses. 
 
 " I tell you," the Colonel said, '' that 
 this is not Pebblecombe. I don't care 
 what you say to me; I've seen a picture of 
 Pebblecombe. Look at this," he went on. 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 37 
 
 waving his hand towards the window. 
 " Where is the pier ? Where is the 
 promenade ? Where does the band play ? 
 Where is the theatre ? Where are the 
 Assembly Rooms ? Where's everything ? 
 Where's anything ? Where's Pebble- 
 combe ? Yes, that's the first question ; 
 where is Pebblecombe ? — for this is not 
 Pebblecombe. What place is this .'^ — that's 
 the next question — this place with one 
 pothouse, one bathing machine, one 
 church, one donkey, no roads ! — and as 
 for the Theatre, Assembly Rooms, band — 
 Oh, jam it all, not one hurdy-gurdy ! " 
 
 All this was excellently overheard from 
 the passage outside the coffee-room, where 
 the whole establishment of the Royal 
 Hotel, Pebblecombe, to the utter neglect 
 of its collective duty, had gathered itself 
 
^S CREATURES OP CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 together, to hear the Colonel's remarks 
 on the salubrious watering-place. The 
 two Teutonic waiters, to whom the Colonel 
 was more particularly addressing himself, 
 and who were in the lion's den, so to 
 speak, were bethinking themselves regret- 
 fully of the fair-headed fraulelns of the 
 Happy Fatherland, which they feared 
 never again to see, for of all the terrors 
 of the Teutonic waiter the returned 
 Anglo-Indian, with a liver like a Chili 
 pepper and the manners of a conquering 
 race, is the most dire. 
 
 The Colonel had come down the night 
 before, under the impression that he was 
 visiting a place of which the picture at 
 London terminus was a faithful repre- 
 sentation — namely, a populous watering- 
 place, with a fine pier, seven steamers 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 39 
 
 Steaming up to it, and eight in different 
 stages of departure, yachts in the offing, 
 several large hotels, a Theatre Royal, 
 Assembly Rooms, Music Halls, and a 
 promenade, where the band played every 
 day. He had seen the name *' Pebble- 
 combe" beneath these beauties, but had 
 overlooked the small printed saving clause 
 that followed: — *'As laid out for building 
 purposes." But the saving clause, though 
 printed so exceeding small, covered much. 
 It covered all the pleasant things named 
 above, except one hotel — and a good deal 
 more. It covered Pebblecombe as a 
 whole, except the "one bathing machine," 
 etc., as per Colonel Burscough's inventory. 
 All this the manager of the hotel had 
 to explain to the Colonel, and he did not 
 deem the explanation satisfactory. He 
 
40 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 had arrived late at night, and after supper 
 had gone straight to bed, so that he did 
 not find out the '' imposition," as he called 
 it, till the morning. Then he had risen 
 very early, and had been talking, with 
 the whole hotel for audience, ever since. 
 The only thing that annoyed him now, 
 so he said, was that there was no train 
 till twelve o'clock, by which they could 
 leave. 
 
 His anger, however, had no effect upon 
 his appetite. He breakfasted well, and 
 went for a stroll with Master Robert until 
 such time as the omnibus should start to 
 catch the train at Bridgehampton. 
 
 Now Pebblecombe is an exceedingly 
 martial neighbourhood. Most of the villas 
 on the hillside towards Little Pipkin are 
 inhabited by retired officers of limited 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 4 1 
 
 income and unlimited family. If a stranger 
 in Pebblecombe, you may safely accost 
 any whom you meet as *' General," on 
 sight ; for if he be not a General, he is 
 sure to be a Colonel, and will not resent 
 the brevet promotion. 
 
 Many were in the Indian service, and 
 in the billiard or card rooms of the little 
 Pebblecombe Club you may hear strange 
 words, such as kitmaghar, shikar, punkah- 
 wallah, and so forth, giving a kind of 
 Oriental glamour to the tobacco-laden 
 atmosphere. 
 
 It was not very wonderful, therefore 
 that while he was gazing disapprovingly at 
 the sad sea-waves, the Colonel, whose one- 
 armed figure was not hard to identify, 
 should hear a cheery voice greeting him 
 from behind with a — 
 
42 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 '' Burscough, old boy ! By all that is 
 wonderful ! Is It possible ? '* 
 
 It was one of the Colonel's most inti- 
 mate Indian cronies, with whom he had 
 passed many a *'warm" time, both in peace 
 and war. So they fell to talking of old 
 days, while little Robert looked up, 
 listening with reverential wonder at all 
 this experience, into which he could not 
 enter, then wandered off on a quest of 
 more personal interest — after ** common 
 objects of the sea-shore." 
 
 " And what," said the Colonel at length, 
 in a pause of reminiscences, " what, in the 
 name of goodness, are you going to do 
 with those sticks ? " 
 
 "Sticks! My dear fellow," said the 
 other, rather shocked, " these are not 
 sticks ; they are clubs — golf clubs." 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 43 
 
 *' Golf clubs! What's golf?" 
 
 Then, to the poor benighted Colonel 
 did his old crony explain at great length 
 the mysteries of the game of golf, till the 
 Colonel's night was even less lucid than 
 before — lit with lurid night-mare, will-o'- 
 wisp of explanation, such as " dormy," and 
 *' stimy," and '* niblick," and a multitude of 
 others. 
 
 But nothing would do for the old crony 
 but that the Colonel should come and stay 
 a night or two — a week or two, a month 
 or two, if he liked — at his " bungalow," as 
 he called it. 
 
 '' What, go away to-day ! Never heard 
 of such a thing ! No pier ! no band ! 
 of course there isn't ; thank goodness ! 
 Wouldn't find me here if there was. That 
 picture — oh yes — fraud — of course it is. 
 
44 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 It's old Cheadle s picture ! What else 
 could you expect ? " 
 
 So the end of it was that the Colonel 
 moved all his things and young Robert's 
 to the villa of his old crony, instead of 
 Bridgehampton, and so back to town again. 
 Or rather, that was only the beginning of 
 it, for when the Colonel had been there 
 a day or two he felt the place beginning 
 to "grow on" him, as it is called. He 
 confided to his crony his need of a roof- 
 tree, beneath which he and young Robert 
 might lay their heads. 
 
 " Oh," said the crony, '' Cheadle s the 
 man. He's sure to know of something for 
 you. 
 
 And his confidence was not misplaced. 
 Mr. Cheadle, when consulted, knew ex- 
 actly the very thing for the Colonel. 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 45 
 
 " It's perfectly marvellous ! " he said. 
 " There's the very house awaiting you, 
 Colonel. Little Pipkin manor house. 
 Why, it's made for you. Eh ! Yes, the 
 young man must not be exactly on the 
 sea-shore. Oh yes, I understand. Just 
 a mile inland, or maybe less ; and there 
 it is, just crying out for a tenant. No 
 doubt but there's a Providence in it, 
 Colonel. We will thus add another to our 
 roll of distinguished military men." 
 
 " Jammed buttery old knave ! " the 
 Colonel said ; but he went to see the 
 manor house nevertheless. 
 
 The manor house of Little Pipkin is a 
 comfortable, warm-looking, red, square- 
 built house, with a creeper climbing up 
 nearly to its flattish roof. It is rather the 
 style of the house that children build with 
 
46 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 bricks. He was a simple man, the archi- 
 tect, but solid, if the house at all ex- 
 pressed his character. It had a few fine 
 trees around it, and its fields, which were 
 occasionally complimented by the name of 
 ** park," were separated only by a fence 
 and ha-ha from the village green, whence 
 one saw it in the aspect just described. 
 There were stables, and a greenhouse and 
 gardens behind ; but the village green 
 and the seat under the horse-chestnut tree 
 knew nothing of them. 
 
 So Colonel Burscough became tenant 
 of the manor house, and inheritor of all 
 the privileges thereto pertaining ; namely, 
 bullying the village parson and the parish 
 doctor, and patronising the village cricket- 
 club ; Mr. Slocombe at once falling into 
 rank as his lieutenant, with a docility he 
 
THE MANOR HOUSE GETS A TENANT. 47 
 
 might not have shown had the Colonel pos- 
 sessed the normal number of arms and eyes. 
 For a day or two Mr. Slocombe could 
 not see the Colonel without fixing his eye 
 stonily upon the glass optic. He was 
 far from any intention of discourtesy, but 
 the unevenness of the eyes fascinated 
 him. As an ecclesiastic, he had picked 
 up some dim notions of the ''jettatura," 
 and felt a little insecure. But when he 
 learned from one of the Colonel's servants 
 that the one eye was really glass, his 
 uneasiness was turned into profound 
 admiration. He vexed himself in at- 
 tempting to discover which eye was 
 which, and when the Colonel, to set his 
 mind at rest, one day told him all about 
 it, he fairly enchanted the Cyclops by 
 asking in a voice of solemn reverence, 
 
48 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " I suppose you can't see hardly so well 
 with that eye as with the other, can you, 
 Colonel ? 
 
 Almost every day the Colonel used to 
 walk in to the club In Pebblecombe, 
 where he soon became an Institution — a 
 sort of privileged volcano liable at any 
 moment to dangerous activity ; and any 
 afternoon you might hear his Anglo- 
 Indian comments of " Shabash " or " Mara 
 Jean," on the varying fortune of a game 
 of billiards, whenever you came within 
 an ordinary man's shouting distance of 
 the club. His expletives were of a 
 ferocious sounding, but inoffensive cha- 
 racter, his favourite exclamation of *' Jam 
 it all" combining a soothing sound and 
 semblance of profanity with an utter 
 absence of commlnatory or other meaning. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 
 
 The Lord of the Manor of Little 
 Pipkin, from whom Colonel Burscough 
 rented the manor house, was a person 
 of some artistic appreciation. The draw- 
 ing-room was absolutely beautiful. It 
 had a very fine carved mantelpiece ; its 
 furniture was of old oak, and old cabinets 
 and presses stood around supporting fine 
 bronzes. The floor was polished oak 
 with rugs upon it, and on the walls were 
 pictures of the old Dutch portrait school, 
 relieved by an occasional symbolical 
 
 VOL. I. ( 49 ) E 
 
50 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 sacred picture whose colouring was a 
 joy to the eye, and here and there a 
 flat extensive landscape in the style of 
 Constable and " Old Crome." 
 
 In the bay of the window of this ideal 
 room were cushioned seats, and here 
 the boy, Robert Burscough, used to lie 
 by the hour and read, or gaze out towards 
 the distant hills, with a wealth of wonder 
 and fancy in his busy little brain as to 
 the marvels and the new world which 
 he doubted not lived beyond the range. 
 In after years it seemed the saddest 
 part of his experience to learn that 
 beyond the home horizon all other 
 horizons are similarly prosaic, and that 
 there is no room for fairies and giants 
 and fancies. 
 
 But here the boy sat and dreamed, in 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 5 1 
 
 his lazy yet vivid Oriental way. In his 
 bedroom all was different. It was an 
 apartment of common type, but was made 
 remarkable by the marvellous menagerie 
 that he kept in it — canary birds scattering 
 their seeds and husks upon the carpet; 
 white mice, which were constantly eating 
 their way out and getting into the boy's 
 bed and everywhere ; caterpillars, which 
 ought to have turned into chrysalises, 
 and then to moths and butterflies, but 
 generally escaped and fell a victim to 
 their natural foes in the shape of white 
 mice or housemaids. It was rather a 
 dreadful room, but the little boy loved 
 all these things intensely — and study of 
 the ways of the creatures was his educa- 
 tion. One day somebody showed him a 
 catapult and the wondrous things that 
 
 »««-s;ir" 
 
52 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 could be done with it, and the months 
 dragged slowly till he was old enough to 
 have one of his own, which was a red- 
 letter day for the glazier of Little Pipkin. 
 Then he had his books. With character- 
 istic freedom of opinion, he rejected 
 '' Robinson Crusoe " as inadequate, but 
 delighted in '' Masterman Ready " — crying 
 inexhaustibly, with an ever new emotion, 
 each time of reading of Masterman's death. 
 There was another room, too, in which 
 he learnt much strange lore — old Slo- 
 combe's parlour — with the fuchsia in the 
 shelf of the latticed window, and the 
 waxwork flowers under a glass case, stand- 
 ing on a crocheted mat on a big Bible, 
 which was centrepiece on a table covered 
 by a shiny cloth, with the best china 
 tea-things, an heirloom of the Slocombe 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 53 
 
 family for years, ranged round them in 
 a perfect circle. On the mantlepiece were 
 china dogs and shepherdesses, which Mr. 
 Slocombe, and the little boy no less, 
 admired as masterpieces of the highest 
 art ; and there were foreign shells, in 
 which, if you held one of them to your 
 ear, might be heard the sounds of the 
 storm and the waves in all lands — the 
 trades, the tropics, and the roaring forties 
 — and again, the crowning work of art 
 of all, on the wall a picture of the ship, 
 wondrously full-rigged on a wondrously 
 green sea, in which, on his last voyage 
 but one (for, from the last, he had never 
 come back), old Slocombe's son had 
 brought home these shells with their 
 magic music. 
 
 But even all these engines of education 
 
54 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 did not seem to Colonel Burscough 
 sufficient for the boy. He wanted him 
 " taught something," in the sense of the 
 sort of things that young English gentle- 
 men learn at school, and subsequently 
 forget. Now, there was in London a 
 certain gentleman of the name of Pro- 
 fessor Fleg, who might, any evening 
 before dinner, have been found asleep in 
 one of the armchairs on either side of 
 the fire in the reading-room of the 
 Athen^um Club. He was a very learned 
 man, and a very simple one. His know- 
 ledge was varied ; but that which he 
 especially " professed " was the science of 
 anatomy. He was also a student of 
 human nature, which he knew intimately 
 in its elemental passions ; but of its 
 affectations — that is to say, of the world, 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 55 
 
 whether of business or society — he was 
 profoundly ignorant. He had travelled 
 over a large part of the globe, and had 
 met Colonel Burscough in India. The 
 Colonel had subsequently endeared himself 
 to him by sending him, from the Himalaya 
 frontier, what Professor Fleg, who was 
 of the old school of courtesy, referred to 
 as '' some invaluable specimens, my dear 
 sir, of lepidoptera and coleoptera," but 
 which the Colonel described, with terse 
 comprehensiveness, as ''bugs and beetles." 
 Therefore, when young Robert was 
 approaching that age at which it appeared 
 desirable that he should "learn some- 
 thing," and was presenting some especial 
 difficulties in the way of his moral educa- 
 tion, by evolving a habit — partly due to 
 constitutional influence, and partly, per- 
 
56 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 haps, to the early influence of Indian 
 Ayahs — of facile lying whenever It might 
 suit his purpose, It occurred to Colonel 
 Burscough to consult Professor Fleg on 
 his perplexities. 
 
 So Mr. Fleg came down and stayed 
 at the Manor House, and in answer 
 to the Colonel's request for advice, 
 prudently deferred his opinion till he had 
 made study of young Robert Its subject. 
 He went about with the boy, winning 
 his heart completely by a timidity of 
 manner akin to the boy's own, and by 
 telling him wonderful true fairy-tales of 
 the relationships of beasts and birds and 
 nature, and by showing the greatest 
 interest In his mice and caterpillars and 
 varied pursuits. All the while, he ob- 
 served the boy with a microscopic intent- 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 57 
 
 ness, as if he were an entomological 
 specimen — and this phrase, for the minute- 
 ness of his scrutiny, is not altogether 
 metaphor ; for he examined him, with 
 his face very close to the boy's face, 
 through a double pair of magnifying 
 spectacles, which were so much a part 
 of Mr. Fleg's daily attire that he might 
 have left off far more important garments 
 with less seeming impropriety ; for he 
 was very short-sighted, and his nose was 
 of that peculiar thin aquiline which seems 
 as if it were made for pince-nez. A weak, 
 silvery fringe of whisker framed his thin 
 worn face, with its straight slit of a 
 mouth, and the hair grew sparsely away 
 from his temples. All the feeling and 
 thought of the face were concentrated in 
 the searching look of the eyes, with their 
 
58 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 puckered and weary corners. As he 
 examined the little boy, he classified him 
 off — again as if he were a ''specimen" — 
 pale blonde, what Oliver Holmes calls 
 '' washed-out blonde." Characteristics — 
 lack of vitality, general dreaminess, subject 
 to fitful impulses of energy, to be ruled 
 by the heart rather than by the head, 
 modified in the individual under observa- 
 tion by high reasoning powers, as shown 
 in the capacity of the brow. Capable of 
 very high ideals, and of artistic apprecia- 
 tion (mouth well formed and sensitive, 
 wide-open eyes) ; but ideals constantly 
 to be thwarted unless the depths of the 
 nature are touched. 
 
 All this the boy's face said to double 
 magnifying spectacles. To the ordinary 
 observer it expressed just a pale-faled, 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 59 
 
 fair boy, of delicate appearance, with grey 
 eyes and a quiet manner. 
 
 Professor Fleg volunteered the personal 
 conduct of Robert's education, stipulating 
 only that he should receive no pay, and 
 exacting in return from Colonel Burs- 
 cough a solemn promise that he should 
 be given his dismissal, which he under- 
 took to accept without offence, at the 
 first moment at which it should appear 
 to the Colonel that the boy could have 
 better instruction elsewhere. So Pro- 
 fessor Fleg rented a villa at Pebblecombe, 
 and took up his abode there, and some- 
 times the boy came to him, and sometimes 
 he came over to the Manor House to the 
 boy ; and Robert grew to love his books 
 and his learning with scarcely less love 
 than his love of cricket. " Old Fleg," 
 
60 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 meantime, as the inhabitants soon began 
 irreverently to call him, was learning no 
 less, studying the moulding under his 
 own hands of a rather complex human 
 nature. In this study and in his lessons, 
 and also in the moulding of the young 
 human clay, Miss Sybil Davies had a 
 share, for she used to be often with the 
 boy and with old Fleg, and old Fleg kept 
 them both well in hand with a loving 
 interest. 
 
 By care, and by that best of teachers, 
 affectionate sympathy. Professor Fleg 
 eradicated from Robert the evil trick of 
 lying which had threatened to beset him ; 
 and equipped him with a sufficient store 
 of scholastic learning to pass him without 
 trouble into one of the big public schools 
 in the thirteenth year of his young life. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF ROBERT BURSCOUGH. 6 I 
 
 Then, though to all appearances his busi- 
 ness at Pebblecombe was ended, Mr. Fleg 
 stayed on, and without pressing his ana- 
 chronic society on the boy, found him 
 quite anxious to seek It again when he 
 returned on his holidays ; and the two, 
 strangely assorted as they seemed, were 
 the closest and best of friends. 
 
 But though Robert's physical and muscu- 
 lar health Improved, so that he could take 
 his part with the best In cricket and school 
 games, his constitutional delicacy was still 
 with him, and a chill or undue surfeit of 
 '' tuck " did not always glide off him as 
 harmlessly as from other boys. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 
 
 Few who knew Colonel Burscough did 
 not know Colonel Burscough's "Creature." 
 The Colonel had a small rough shoot- 
 ing upon the hill ; furze bushes, a few 
 decrepit trees cowering away from the 
 gale, and amongst them an occasional 
 rabbit and a few wild pheasants and 
 partridges. 
 
 It was a strange uncouth Creature, with 
 
 a tremendous face. If there is anything 
 
 in frontal devolopment, the authorship of 
 
 the "Iliad," the "Odyssey," all Shake- 
 
 ( 62 ) 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 63 
 
 speare's works, and all Goethe's, should 
 have been child's play to it. If chin is 
 an index of character, the will of the first 
 Napoleon should have been a broken reed 
 to it. And it used to clean boots and 
 keep other poachers than itself off Colonel 
 Burscough's demense, at a pound a week 
 and its breakfasts. At a certain period 
 in his career. Colonel Burscough had been 
 attached to a Militia battalion. And so 
 had the Creature — in a subordinate posi- 
 tion. The Creature had been more per- 
 sonally attached to Colonel Burscough 
 as his servant. At this time the Creature 
 was in the habit of drinking " sairly ; " but 
 the Colonel understood the Creature, and 
 had kicked and beaten and ill-treated it, 
 until he frightened it into sobriety and into 
 taking the pledge. And having taken the 
 
64 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 pledge, which Is common, it kept it, which 
 is rare. 
 
 The Creature had a father, from whom 
 it inherited part of Its chin and the thirst 
 of its youth. When Colonel Burscough 
 settled down In Little Pipkin, and bade 
 the Creature follow him thither, it de- 
 clined, unless permission were given it 
 to bring its father too. Its father drank 
 yet more '' salrly " than the Creature had 
 ever done, and would take no pledge, 
 though he took willingly all else he could 
 lay his hands on. So the Creature and 
 its father lived In a small cottage in Little 
 Pipkin, in the floor of which was a loose 
 hearthstone. When its father had been 
 satiating the thirst. It carried him home, 
 and laid him In a corner tenderly. Then 
 it went out and sat on the shore and gazed 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 65 
 
 seaward, as if to stimulate its brain by 
 the sad message of the waves. What- 
 ever its creations were, they were doubt- 
 less modified by the whiskey imperfectly 
 assimilated in early youth — that is, if the 
 brain was creative, for this is doubtful, 
 because it never of its own accord spoke 
 to a grown man. Only it was said to 
 speak to its father, and chiefly about his 
 thirst, rebukingly. 
 
 Its chief business in life was the educa- 
 tion of young Robert Burscough in the 
 use of the gun and knowledge of wood- 
 land sports and arts. Robert Burscough 
 was a boy ; and to boys, girls, children, 
 horses, dogs, and ferrets, the Creature 
 would talk in their own language, with 
 mutual comprehension. When full-grown, 
 the human creature went beyond its 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 ken. It used to tell Robert wonderful 
 stories. 
 
 "One time," it said, "as I was coming 
 up Barton Hill, they were pulling down 
 of a rick, just beside the road ; and as I 
 come along, there was a gentleman stand- 
 ing by, with a pleesure dogue " 
 
 *' A what ? Robert asked. 
 
 " pleesure dogue," said the Creature. 
 " Kind o' dogue that ain't no manner of 
 use at all. Opposite sort to smell-dogue." 
 
 " I see. Like a ' pleasure horse ! ' " 
 :' " Likely it is," said the Creature. 
 ** Well this here dogue was no manner 
 of use, but a great big rogue, with his 
 left ear cocked, and his left eye ope, and 
 his t'other eye shut, and his t'other ear 
 lop '* 
 
 "Why that's poetry," said Robert. 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 6/ 
 
 " And just as I was a-passing by," said 
 the Creature, correcting itself and lapsing 
 back to prose again, "a rat nipped out 
 o' 'the rick, and nipped across the road. 
 Well — the dogue snip ee up. Well — 
 he'd hardly done licking his lips 'fore out 
 there's another great big one flips " 
 
 " Poetry again." 
 
 *' So the dogue snip 'ee up, and there 
 they was — two. Well, two or three 
 minutes more, and out there flips another, 
 and the dogue snip 'ee up — three. And 
 so they went on — the rats nipping out, 
 and the dogue snippying them up, until 
 he'd snipped up eighty-two rats. And 
 just as he was a-going to snippy up the 
 eighty-third, something took 'ee unwell, 
 and he drawed up all the eighty-two 
 rats, and they all ran back into the rick." 
 
68 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " Is that true ? " Robert asked. 
 
 " Perfectly," said the Creature, with 
 great solemnity. 
 
 It was worthy of a creature with the 
 frontal development of all the geniuses, 
 and the chin that would have made putty 
 of Napoleon the First. 
 
 So the Creature prospered, after its 
 manner — blackened boots, ate breakfasts, 
 and caught rabbits at a pound a week ; 
 and its hoard grew. 
 
 Meanwhile its father did nothing, save 
 thank Heaven for his thirst and the 
 means of gratifying it, and listen with 
 respectful attention to his son's rebukes 
 thereon — the Creature sometimes talked 
 to him by the hour together of this and 
 other things. But of one thing it did not 
 talk to him — namely, of Its hoard under 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 69 
 
 the floor. In this it showed a lack of 
 confidence which its father would have 
 been the first to deplore. 
 
 It was five years since the Creature 
 had tasted spirits, and for a week or two 
 its father had been having an exceptional 
 time of it. The Creature wondered at 
 the resources of its father's revenue, for 
 his expenditure in whiskey must have 
 been heavy. 
 
 Along the common, at the foot of 
 Pebblecombe Hill, runs — or walks — a 
 stream. Here and there it hardly even 
 crawls, and occasionally altogether stag- 
 nates. It is locally called the " Rill." 
 
 One day the Creature saw a small 
 crowd gathered upon the bank of the 
 Rill. It regarded the crowd with no 
 interest, until a straggler came along. 
 
70 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " They're dowking yer feyther i' the 
 Rill," he said. 
 
 " Eh ? " said the Creature, and the 
 straggler repeated his news. 
 
 The Creature said nothing, and its 
 expression did not change, but it set off 
 at a steady run towards the Rill. As it 
 came up, the crowd parted. They seemed 
 to recognise the Creature's interest in the 
 paternal " dowking." Its father had been 
 '' dowked " once, and they were about 
 to " dowk " him again. He was all mud 
 and water without, and whiskey within. 
 In a spirit of ghastly, senile, alcoholic 
 gaiety, he was getting as much fun from 
 it as anybody, and chuckled toothlessly, 
 while the dirt ran off his wispy grey hair 
 and streaked down his cheeks. One 
 strong knave had him by the heels, 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 7 1 
 
 another by the head, as the Creature 
 arrived. They had already swung '' One " 
 — ''two" — and **three" — when the ''away" 
 was interrupted by the Creature's fist 
 falHng on the jawbone of the knave who 
 had the Creature's father by the head. 
 
 The knave did not say anything, but 
 gurgled with a little whistling noise in the 
 windpipe which sounded as if it was miles 
 away. He huddled himself up very quietly 
 in a heap on the grass, and made no sign. 
 The head and shoulders of the Creature's 
 father fell lumpishly to the ground. He 
 laughed vacantly at his heels high above 
 him. 
 
 " Ye've killed him," said the knave 
 who still held the heels, referring to the 
 huddled humanity on the grass. 
 
 The Creature did not dispute the 
 
72 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 diagnosis, but came a step nearer. Then 
 the knave dropped the father's heels and 
 began to talk. 
 
 *' Don't 'ee know why we're a-dowking 
 of him ? " he asked. '* Don't 'ee know 
 as he's been and found all yer money and 
 wasted It all — all that as you'd hid under 
 yer hearthstone ? " 
 
 The Creature let Its monstrous lower 
 jaw fall heavily. 
 
 " Has 'ee a-done that ? " It asked 
 hollowly. 
 
 ''Yes, faith he has. Say then — shan't 
 us dowk him ? " 
 
 The Creature was silent. Its father 
 added to the solemnity of the moment 
 by contributing a vague chuckle of drunken 
 merriment— at everything. The knave 
 it had knocked down began to get con- 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 73 
 
 sclousness again, with groans. Then it 
 picked up its father carefully, laid him 
 upon its shoulder, and bore him off, a 
 limp chuckling burden, with wet and filth 
 trickling from his grey locks. It carried 
 him home and laid him in a corner of its 
 room. Then it lifted the loose stone in the 
 flooring, where its hoard had been. All 
 the money was gone — all but one half- 
 sovereign ! 
 
 Still the Creature said nothing. It 
 put a bench under its fathers head, 
 that he should not suffocate, and then 
 it went out of the house. 
 
 At the door it paused, and putting its 
 half-sovereign between its huge teeth, bit 
 it sagely, to see that it was good, and 
 made its way straight for the Gentle 
 Lamb Hotel. 
 
74 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 For four days It stayed there. During 
 that time it ate nothing ; but it drank 
 royally, with no consciousness above 
 whiskey. Then its half-sovereign was 
 spent, and It was taken home. 
 
 The landlord rejoiced over it, as a 
 creature won from sobriety. But on the 
 fifth day the Creature presented itself, 
 penitent, before Its master. It was for- 
 given, and led away to take a new pledge. 
 And It never broke it. 
 
 All this was worthy enough of a Creature 
 with a chin, before which the first 
 Napoleon would have been pliable as 
 potter's clay. 
 
 Now on fine evenings, on his return 
 from the club, Colonel Burscough was 
 in the habit of walking up and down the 
 pitch of cricket ground, examining each 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 75 
 
 daisy, while he smoked his cheroot. He 
 always smoked, but in the manner of his 
 smoking there was a difference. If things 
 were going well, if daisies were not too 
 obtrusive, he smoked calmly and regularly ; 
 but if his mind were troubled, the smoke 
 came out in quick angry jets so as to form 
 a good index thermometer of the tem- 
 perature within. 
 
 One evening when daisies were not too 
 salient, and the smoke was issuing peace- 
 fully, Mr. Slocombe came to him with a 
 quiet grin on his russet face. 
 
 " Well, Slocombe — the pitch is looking 
 fine," the Colonel said, taking a fresh 
 cheroot out of a bundle of them in the 
 sleeve of his amputated arm. 
 
 ** There's a sight as I should like to 
 show 'ee. Colonel, if you're minded for a 
 
76 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 little stroll," said Mr. Slocombe, after 
 carefully pulling up an offending plantain ; 
 " it's no great distance." 
 
 So they set off down the beautifully 
 wooded road in the direction of Pebble- 
 combe, and Mr. Slocombe led the way to 
 the Creature's cottage. A small group 
 was gathered around it. From the shouts 
 of laughter it was clear that they were 
 well amused. The Colonel began to puff 
 with dangerous energy. 
 
 ** They're not bating the Creature, are 
 they ? " 
 
 *' No, no, Colonel," said Slocombe. ** It 
 isn't that — there's none of 'em as is quite 
 man enough for that. You'll see directly." 
 
 One side of the Creature's cottage w^as 
 fairly whitewashed. Mounted on a chair 
 before this whitewashed surface was 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. ^"^ 
 
 Master Robert, brandishing a house- 
 painter's brush full of red paint, with 
 which he was plentifully bespattered and 
 wherewith he sent an occasional shower 
 among the spectators. Beside him, hold- 
 ing the paint pot, was Jim Cheadle — and 
 upon the fair white wall Robert had 
 painted all sorts of figures. There was 
 the Creature itself, with full justice 
 rendered to the Shakspearean brow and 
 Napoleonic chin. There was Mr. Slo- 
 combe, in his most favoured attitude, 
 batting on the village green. Finally, as 
 they came up unobserved behind the little 
 crowd, there was Colonel Burscough 
 himself, one-armed, his choleric colouring 
 fully rendered, while a fringe of whitewash, 
 artistically left, skilfully Indicated his snowy 
 hair. 
 
yS CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 It was the most rough and ready 
 portraiture imaginable, but the originals 
 were suggested with an adequacy that 
 bespoke genius, which was generously 
 recognised by Little Pipkin in repeated 
 volleys of laughter at each stroke of the 
 red brush. The Creature showed no 
 objection to this desecration of its lovely 
 wall. It did not laugh, but from time 
 to time a curious sound, indicative of 
 appreciation, proceeded from the neigh- 
 bourhood of its stomach. And the sun, 
 setting red and big over the trees of the 
 manor-house, seemed to linger awhile 
 longer as if to share in the entertainment. 
 
 Mr. Slocombe was a little shocked at 
 having brought the Colonel upon the scene 
 just as his own martial features were 
 forming the subject of his graceless 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 79 
 
 nephew's caricature. But the Coloners 
 wink of ecstatic enjoyment reassured the 
 old clerk, and convinced him that the 
 coincidence in reality was a happy one. 
 They waited in silence till the picture 
 was finished. One after the other of the 
 group turned and saw the Colonel, and 
 a fearful awe took the place of the 
 boisterous guffaws. But the young artist, 
 engrossed in the finishing touches of his 
 portrait, did not observe it. He turned 
 round with a happy smile to invite the 
 spectator's applause ; then relapsed into 
 a stony horror as he caught sight of the 
 original of his picture. 
 
 " Jammed impertinent young Jack- 
 anapes, sir," said the Colonel in a voice 
 an army would have quaked to hear, 
 darting forward and seizing with his one 
 
8o CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 powerful hand, his little white-haired 
 nephew — " what do you mean by taking 
 off your poor old uncle in this disgraceful 
 style ? " 
 
 He had snatched the boy from his chair 
 by that portion of his pantaloons which 
 promised to balance his form most per- 
 fectly, and held the young artist aloft, a 
 pitiful spectacle for his late admirers. 
 
 '* There, sir," he said, shaking him ; 
 *' will you ever do the like again ? " 
 
 " No, uncle," said the boy, trying to 
 squirm upwards and shake a defiant 
 paint-brush in the Colonel's face — *' not 
 if I can help it : I'll try to do it better 
 next time." 
 
 He had been horror-stricken for the 
 moment by his uncle's sudden appearance, 
 but as soon as he heard the tones of that 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 8 1 
 
 well-loved and would-be ferocious voice, 
 he knew there was no anger in it, and as 
 far as the breathlesness of his position 
 would allow him, was ready to give 
 back his old uncle chaff for chaff 
 
 *' And do you," Colonel Burscough 
 said to the Creature, seeing he was likely 
 to ring no good change out of his nephew 
 — " do you permit this young scamp to 
 go making a picture-gallery of your house 
 like this?" 
 
 The Creature made a sort of coy bow 
 and shuffle, which were meant to indicate 
 that it deemed itself a guilty thing, but 
 the impenitent chuckle of amusement in 
 the depths of its great carcase could not 
 be suppressed. 
 
 So the Colonel let the boy down, and 
 with much laughter and touching of caps, 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 the group said their good-nights, and 
 dispersed as the sun finally dipped its 
 red visage behind the trees, and the 
 Colonel and Slocombe, and Robert much 
 paint-bedaubed, went slowly home under 
 the silent trees. 
 
 ** Have you been drawing there before, 
 Robert ? How the mischief did all those 
 fellows come to be looking on ? " the 
 Colonel asked. 
 
 '' He'th a-drawed there several evenings 
 now," said Slocombe, as the boy seemed 
 slow to tell his exploits. " Every evening, 
 it's summat new," said the old man, 
 admiringly — ''but every evening he'th 
 a-finished up with they three.'* 
 
 ** And the Creature whitewashes them 
 out in the morning ; is that it ? " the 
 Colonel asked. 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 83 
 
 *' That's of it," Mr. Slocombe said. 
 
 " Then run back, Robert," said his uncle, 
 ''and tell the Creature from me that he 
 is not to rub out those you did to-night. 
 I want to show them to Mr. Fleg." 
 
 Now the Colonel had often seen Robert 
 drawing, as boys will, on scraps of paper, 
 but had thought nothing of it. The 
 Colonel was " no flier at art," as he him- 
 self expressed it ; but it struck him never- 
 theless that these rude splodges on the 
 wall were of extraordinary merit for a 
 boy of Robert's age. *' But I'll ask old 
 Fleg about it," he concluded ; '' It's in 
 the family ; my poor brother was a 
 wonderful draughtsman." 
 
 In the morning he did ask old Fleg. 
 He did not tell him whom the caricatures 
 were by, and taxed his exquisite courtesy 
 
84 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 greatly by making him guess an inordinate 
 number of times ; finally, however, he 
 told him, and Mr. Fleg's astonishment 
 was a treat. 
 
 '* My dear sir, — it's extraordinary — it's 
 marvellous ! " he said. '* I thought of 
 course it had been some poor clever 
 fellow of a wandering artist. But Robert 
 — is it possible ? " 
 
 '' Well, my dear sir, his career is 
 marked for him. The boy must study 
 
 art." 
 
 So Robert's profession was settled. A 
 drawing-master was engaged for him. 
 Mr. Fleg taught him much of anatomy, 
 that true groundwork of correct figure- 
 painting ; and feeling that he was making 
 progress, he was happy. He worked 
 with lazy, slow persistency characteristic 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 85 
 
 of him, a method which is best of all for 
 reaching an end that will wait. For this 
 was the feature of his character : laziness, 
 and obeying elementary laws of motion 
 in going in the direction of least resis- 
 tance. Thus, he shuffled aside out of 
 the way of many difficulties. He would 
 say ''yes" and make an excuse after- 
 wards, rather than bear the pain and 
 trouble of vexing himself or another by 
 saying '' no " at first. This was weakness. 
 But, push the boy behind these outworks, 
 and you came to a very solid wall of 
 mulish obstinacy. He was a singularly 
 open-minded boy — reasonable and without 
 prejudices. Mr. Fleg and his masters 
 could turn him aside from his most 
 cherished schemes by reasons, if the 
 reasons commended themselves to the boy. 
 
86 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 And his judgment was precociously 
 sound. But if the reasons pleased him 
 not, he yielded to nothing short of force 
 Tnajeure, So that the scrutiny of the 
 double spectacles resulted in this pro- 
 phecy, that in the small currents of life 
 the boy would go along as driftwood, 
 with a passiveness that would land him 
 oftener than most on rocks, but that once 
 in danger of present shipwreck, he would 
 prove a dogged swimmer, and it would 
 need a big flood to bear him under. 
 
 Mr. Fleg felt, in fact, that the true 
 course of the boy's life was guided less 
 by himself or his schoolmasters than by 
 some compass, or idea of duty within him, 
 though doubtless its rudiments had been 
 implanted by external influences. And 
 this pleased Mr. Fleg well, for it seemed 
 
ROBERT DEVELOPS A TALENT. 87 
 
 as If in the depths of his nature the boy's 
 will was strong, rather than merely- 
 obedient ; and it was thus that Mr. Fleg 
 would have wished it. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BOY AND GIRL. 
 
 Quite apart from his official position, 
 Mr. Slocombe was a person of some mark 
 in Little Pipkin. His cottage, as already 
 suggested, had a parlour as well as a 
 kitchen. With him lived a little orphan 
 grand-daughter, named Betty, the only 
 other representative in Little Pipkin of 
 the name of Slocombe, and a parrot. 
 The parrot had belonged to Mr. Slo- 
 combe's only son, the father of Betty, a 
 sailor who had been drowned in the 
 Pacific. It was a good bird on the whole, 
 ( 88 ) 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 89 
 
 though less careful in its language than 
 the parrot of a parish clerk should be. 
 Mr. Slocombe's creed was, in theory, very 
 orthodox ; but in practice he had an 
 infinite charitableness which extended 
 itself even to the failings of the parrot. 
 When the parrot said a nautical word, 
 Mr. Slocombe would look up from his 
 rocking-chair, tap his big Bible with 
 significant emphasis, and shake his head 
 at the erring bird, with a humorous 
 sadness which always made it silent. 
 
 For events that had come within Mr. 
 Slocombe's immediate ken (excepting 
 perhaps such things as the measurement 
 of his father's arm) he had a memory 
 which was wonderfully exact. He did 
 not refer events to dates, however, but just 
 as certain racing men refer them to the 
 
90 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 year of such and such a Derby winner 
 (as Bend Or's year, etc.) so Mr. Slocombe 
 used to refer them to such and such an 
 incident in the annual cricket matches 
 between Little Pipkin and White-Cross 
 (as *'the year that we should ha won in 
 an innings, barring the rain " — " the year 
 that White-Cross won by one run " — or 
 *' the year that Charlie Pitman broke the 
 old duck's leg "). 
 
 A few years after the date of the game 
 of cricket which took place in the first 
 chapter, Mr. Slocombe, to the general 
 astonishment of his friends, began a new 
 era. He referred events no longer to 
 the annual matches, but to Robert Burs- 
 cough. The year three years later than 
 the date of the first chapter of this story, 
 he dated "the year in which Master 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 9 1 
 
 Robert went to school." The fact was 
 that Robert early developed a genius for 
 cricket which was quite surprising, con- 
 sidering that Mr. Slocombe was his only 
 tutor. How far the boy's skill was the 
 cause, and how far effect of the old clerk's 
 wonderful affection for him, no one, not 
 even Mr. Slocombe, could have told; but 
 when still quite small he showed such 
 aptitude for the game as led Mr. Slocombe 
 to prophecy for him very great things 
 Robert's fourteenth year was referred to 
 by Mr. Slocombe as '' the year that 
 Master Robert first played for Little 
 Pipkin " — his fifteenth, as '' the year that 
 Master Robert scored fifty-six against 
 White-Cross" — and his sixteenth, as ''the 
 year that Master Robert scored seventy- 
 five for his school against the M.C.C." 
 
92 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 The following year Robert reached what 
 is perhaps the highest peak of school-boy 
 ambition ; he was captain of his school 
 eleven. 
 
 While Robert was having all these 
 successes, time was not standing still with 
 other people. Little Sybil Davies was a 
 young lady — a young lady different in 
 many respects from the " general." Other 
 young ladies who dwelt in the neighbour- 
 hood of Pebblecombe had little good to 
 say of her. They knew her hardly at all, 
 whence it followed that they found much 
 to say. ''She was unsociable — she was 
 gauche^ she was even aggresively rude " — 
 but there were saving clauses— she did 
 not play lawn-tennis and she did not care 
 for curates. They called her gauche, but 
 the occasional guests at her father's house 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 93 
 
 did not find her so. Her father's business 
 brought him much in contact with 
 foreigners. 
 
 In the upper strata of the foreign 
 community in London there are many 
 specimens of interest, and many found 
 their way, for the night, to Little Pipkin. 
 Mr. Davies loved Sybil in his own way, 
 and had notions about her education. He 
 liked these interesting cosmopolitans to 
 come down and fill her quick head with 
 ideas. An occasional statesman appeared, 
 whose line was foreign policy ; and none 
 of these found Sybil gauche. On the 
 contrary, amongst the attractions of the 
 countriness and homeliness of the villa 
 between Little Pipkin and Pebblecombe 
 not the least attraction was contact with 
 the fresh brilliancy of the young hostess — 
 
94 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 for her mother had long been dead. 
 With any of these visitors the child 
 learned to hold her own ; and more than 
 her own, In virtue of no education, but 
 of quick fancy and power of fence. It 
 was a strange atmosphere for a young 
 girl's rearing, and strange and brilliant 
 and impetuous Sybil grew. 
 
 But she played cricket still with Robert 
 Burscough and Jim Cheadle and a few 
 others — her ever faithful fielders and 
 bowlers — or with Robert she would wander 
 on day-long excursions through the woods 
 about Little Pipkin, having a profound 
 instinct of love for all sights and sounds of 
 nature. She had no care of weather. She 
 rejoiced in the golden sunshine, and no 
 less, when the drip, drip, drip of drenching 
 rain poured from every leaf, delighted to 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 95 
 
 lead Robert miles and miles through the 
 woodland. Her black hair hung drench- 
 ingly around her dark cheeks, but she 
 paid no need. Only from time to time 
 she would turn protectingly to Robert, 
 and ask if he were tired or wet. For 
 the boy was not strong. His health was 
 perfect until he grew over-tired, but 
 several times after long innings at cricket 
 he had felt an extreme exhaustion, which 
 doctors attributed to a weakness of the 
 heart. It was the cause to Mr. Slo- 
 combe of great searching of the dark 
 ways of Providence, that one in all other 
 respects so singularly gifted for that 
 mighty business of life — the game of 
 cricket — should be shackled by this heavy 
 disability. So hard was it for him, that 
 in spite of the veneration for all authority 
 
96 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 which was part of his very life, he 
 openly questioned the doctor's dictum, 
 and declared that In his opinion Master 
 Robert's heart (barring Miss Sybil) was 
 as sound as his eye, and that no man 
 could say more for it than that — yes, 
 barring Miss Sybil, for there could be 
 no doubt of their affection — only its exact 
 nature was a little hard to define. Even 
 they could not have told. It seemed 
 quite natural that they should go on 
 loving each other thus, that they should 
 play cricket, and go about the world 
 together, hand in hand, wrapped in the 
 same cloak — Sybil's. Robert could even 
 feel a tiny thrill when Sybil showed a 
 little too much favour to Jim Cheadle 
 or Freddy Benson, another of their 
 cricket mates ; but It was only transient, 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 97 
 
 for she gave no cause for more than 
 the most transient jealousy. They were 
 far too much to each other for any — Jim 
 Cheadle or Lancelot or another — to come 
 between them. Jim Cheadle was humble, 
 he took with gratitude the second place. 
 
 There was one who threatened rivalry 
 in a distant, characteristic way, — namely, 
 Lord Morningham. Lord Morningham 
 was still a young man. His father had 
 been first peer — raised to the peerage 
 most deservedly for brewing excellent 
 beer, and devoting part of the profits to 
 the service of the political party to which 
 he was otherwise purely ornamental. The 
 first Lord Morningham had been a brewer, 
 and had looked it — red, and hasty, and 
 hearty. With some of the profits from 
 the beer which had not gone to politics, 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 he had bought himself a wife of the old 
 aristocracy. Their only son took after the 
 mother and the aristocracy, not after the 
 beer. He was thin, and pale, and cold, 
 physically and intellectually. Through the 
 training of Eton, Baliol, and the Master 
 of Masters, he had come out most ad- 
 mirably equipped for the struggle of young 
 political life, and as deadly a prig as ever 
 was fashioned out of man. He had not 
 a vice belonging to him. Universally dis- 
 liked and respected, he was already recog- 
 nized as a certain power in the Upper 
 House, where it is hard for a young man 
 to be a power. His invincible coolness, 
 which had given him success as a slow 
 bowler, gave him the victory in debate 
 over many really abler men. His intellect 
 was always available, never to be rum- 
 
BOY AND GIRL. 99 
 
 mao-ed for behind a disturbing emotion 
 or an indifferently digested dinner. Men 
 said he was very highly principled. In 
 point of fact, he was intensely one-prin- 
 cipled — i.e. self-principled ; and for this 
 he had the less excuse that he cared little 
 about himself, save only that he desired 
 that men should think well of him. 
 
 And Lord Morningham threatened 
 rivalry. He did nothing active, but 
 hovered watchfully on the horizon ; reined 
 up his horse on the side of the village 
 green and watched them at cricket ; occa- 
 sionally came to the Davies' house and 
 made a formal — very formal — call on 
 Sybil. To Robert it seemed impossible 
 to regard him really as a rival. He was 
 older — at an age when a few years are a 
 great space ; and he was a peer. It did 
 
lOO CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 not seem a bit impossible that he should 
 be thinking about Sybil Davies ; but it 
 seemed impossible that he should be 
 thinking about the same young lady that 
 he — Robert — was thinking of. 
 
 For a long time Lord Morningham had 
 certainly taken no notice whatever of 
 Sybil. But once a statesman, who had 
 been at the Davies' at Little Pipkin, spoke 
 to him of the brilliant girl hostess ; and 
 it occurred to Lord Morningham that in 
 failing to improve his acquaintance, he 
 was perhaps missing a useful opportunity. 
 And Lord Morningham did not like 
 missing opportunities. It was quite con- 
 trary to his one-principled ideas. There- 
 fore it was that he appeared on the 
 horizon, a distant but conceivable danger, 
 though Sybil's undisguised contempt of 
 
BOY AND GIRL. lOI 
 
 him might have reassured Robert suffi- 
 ciently. " It's Hke being near a reptile," 
 she would say of him. '' It is like shaking 
 hands with a fish." 
 
 But Lord Morningham was a mighty 
 power in the county, and, young man 
 though he was, was fully master of the 
 old Elizabethan house named Whitecross 
 Abbey, in the grounds of which the village 
 cricket club of Whitecross played their 
 matches, and in alternate years had that 
 great field day, so marked of Mr. Slocombe, 
 against Little Pipkin. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. CHEADLE STARTS HIS SON IN LIFE. 
 
 Lowland Scotchmen are of two types 
 physically — the fair and fat, with the 
 pudding face, and the piggy eyes, and the 
 choleric hair; and the black and bony, 
 with a clear complexion and dark hair, 
 thick and strong. Mr. Cheadle was of the 
 former. He had a great big capacious 
 brow standing up from his fatty eyes. 
 His mouth was full of butter, and his head 
 was full of schemes. 
 
 The great emotion of Mr. Cheadle's life 
 had been his love for his wife. He had 
 { ^02 ) 
 
MR. CHEADLE STARTS HIS SON IN LIFE. IO3 
 
 loved her terribly, and she had ruled him 
 with a firmly judicious hand, in the way, 
 or in some by-paths not greatly removed 
 from it, in which he ought to go. 
 
 Then Mrs. Cheadle had died, and Mr. 
 Cheadle suffered very acutely. A parting 
 after twenty years of daily mutual inter- 
 course is a wrench. Human natures differ 
 in their behaviour under a blow of this 
 kind. Some wear upon their hearts, and 
 hang upon their bosoms, everything which 
 can remind them of their loss. Others 
 burn their last memorial, or hide it out of 
 sight, as if they hoped by so doing to put 
 away the memory of their pain. Mr. 
 Cheadle was of the latter class. All that 
 could recall to him his lost one — his pain, 
 his longing, his desidermin (there is no 
 word to express it as the Latin word does) 
 
I04 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 he put out of his life. He lived on, it is 
 true, in the same place, and even in the 
 same house, but he had all the rooms re- 
 papered, he had all the furniture changed ; 
 he did everything in his power to destroy 
 the associations of the past. 
 
 But there was one thing he could not 
 get re-papered, or altered much, nor did 
 he quite care to destroy him — that was his 
 son. And as the years went on, he grew 
 to hate this boy, this ever -living reminder 
 of his loss, with a bitter hatred. He was 
 a queer boy, and had a queer life. His 
 schooling was very occasional, for he 
 generally fought with his masters, and 
 came home in disgrace. His father seemed 
 to satisfy some of his enmity by sending 
 him to schools at which it was unlikely he 
 could succeed. So when the boy came 
 
MR. CFIEADLE STARTS HIS SON IN LIFE. IO5 
 
 home with an extra week of holiday 
 because he had made school too hot for 
 him, Mr. Cheadle was said to exult at the 
 boy's discomfiture, while grieving at the 
 trouble of having; him aorain at home. 
 
 But all this was principally Mr. Fleg's 
 estimate; and perhaps human nature looks 
 different through double glasses. 
 
 So one boy gets educated one way and 
 one another, and in the end young Cheadle 
 came out of the school of adversity as well 
 fitted as most to take part In the struggle 
 for life. For he learnt self-reliance of a 
 necessity, since he had none other on 
 whom to rely. 
 
 His father found means of annoying 
 him, even when at school. He wrote to 
 him saying, " I wish you would take more 
 pains with your handwriting ; it is almost 
 
106 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 illegible." The boy's reply was to cut out 
 the reproof, and enclose it back to his 
 father with the remark, '* There was one 
 sentence in your letter which I could not 
 read, nor could any of the fellows I showed 
 it to. I send it back, so that you can 
 write it more clearly in your next." 
 
 Young Cheadle was like his father ; 
 there were schemes in his fat head like- 
 wise, but there was less butter on his lips. 
 What was eternally on his lips was a 
 melody named " The Braes o' Mar," which 
 he whistled perpetually — to his father's 
 intense annoyance — until it became a 
 chronic habit. He would set it to pibroch, 
 march, or reel time, according to the 
 quality of his subjective moods and tenses. 
 
 When he arrived at the age of seventeen 
 his father proposed him for the Pebble- 
 
MR. CHEADLE STARTS HIS SON IN LIFE. IO7 
 
 combe Club. Pebblecombe marvelled, 
 for young Cheadle was not popular, his 
 manner was so uncouth. He was nearly 
 sure to be blackballed, and Pebblecombe 
 wondered that his father's fat, capacious 
 head had not gauged this probability. 
 
 When the election day came, Young 
 Cheadle was very badly black-balled. 
 The secrecy of the ballot-box was not 
 strictly inviolate at Pebblecombe. It was 
 discovered that there had been many black- 
 balls ; suspicion attributed one of them 
 to Mr. Cheadle, senior. 
 
 A few days later young Cheadle broke 
 off " The Braes o' Mar" (pibroch time), in 
 the middle of a bar, to say to Mr. Fleg, 
 *' I am going to America ; my father wants 
 me to go. Certainly I am not wanted 
 here. My father says I ought to be 
 
Io8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 ashamed to be seen here, after being 
 black-balled that way for the club. And 
 so, I suppose, I ought ; but, to tell you 
 the truth, I never knew I was being 
 put up.'' 
 
 Thus was revealed to the double 
 spectacles the Providence that had taken 
 in hand young Cheadle, and the motives 
 and methods of its working. His father 
 had got him black-balled for the club as a 
 fulcrum for levering him to that part of 
 the globe from w^hich he was least likely 
 to return. 
 
 So Pebblecombe said good-bye to young 
 Cheadle with no very general regret ; and 
 the little boy who had schemed to take an 
 innings out of his turn on the Little Pipkin 
 village green, went off to try a new pitch 
 in the States of the South West. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A BETROTHAL. 
 
 '* Sybil," said Mr. Davies one day, '' we 
 are going to live in London." 
 
 Her heart seemed suddenly to stand 
 still. She waited a moment to be sure 
 she had understood aright. Then she 
 answered, with that perfect self-repression 
 of which her impetuous nature was some 
 times capable — 
 
 *' Yes, father ? " 
 
 She spoke interrogatively, and he began 
 to explain to her that he found the strain 
 of his constant journeys to London too 
 ( ^09 ) 
 
no CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 much for him, and, greatly as he preferred 
 the country, the sea, and Little Pipkin, 
 had resolved to live in town. Sybil 
 listened with full appreciation of the situa- 
 tion, and acquiesced in it with scarcely 
 any expressed regret. She attempted no 
 gainsaying. 
 
 But there was a cruel pain at her heart, 
 and she went to seek Robert Burscough. 
 She found him busy over his painting, 
 sitting, brush and palette in hand, before 
 his easel. 
 
 ** Robert," she said, with the simple 
 directness that her father had used, " we 
 are going to leave this place ; we are 
 going to live in London." 
 
 Robert, knowing her step, had not 
 looked up as she came. Their lack of 
 ceremony might have been discourtesy, 
 
A BETROTHAL. Ill 
 
 had not courtesy been replaced by a better 
 thing — sympathy. But at her words he 
 stopped painting, and his hands fell upon 
 his knees. 
 
 " What ? " he asked. 
 
 '' We are going to live in London," she 
 repeated. 
 
 " Who are ? " he said helplessly. '' You 
 and I?" 
 
 '' No," she said, with a half laugh ; 
 *' father and I." 
 
 " You can t," said Robert hollowly. 
 
 Again she laughed — a very mirthless 
 laugh. " W^e are, though," she insisted. 
 
 Then Robert aroused himself to an 
 understanding. *' Sybil," he said, " how 
 dreadful ! " 
 
 She repeated to him all that her father 
 had said, pointing out to Robert the justice 
 of it all. 
 
I I 2 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " People do separate, you know, Robert, 
 and meet again in this world." 
 
 " Yes," he said, "yes ; but it will be for 
 years. I shall never see you. It will 
 never be the same again. This place can 
 never be the same ; I can never be the 
 same." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, dear Robert," Sybil 
 cried, breaking down at the sight of the 
 misery of his face, *' it is the way of the 
 world ! Oh, I do not know what I can 
 possibly do without you, and without Little 
 Pipkin, and the woods and the sea, and 
 everything ! It is like tearing my heart 
 out of my body. But, you see, it must be. 
 Don't make it harder for me, Robert ; 
 please, please don't ! " 
 
 "No, no; I oughtn't to— I won't," he 
 said. " But it is so sudden." 
 
A BETROTHAL. 113 
 
 '' Of course you will always be coming 
 to see us," she said, "in London, or 
 wherever we are/' 
 
 '* No, no," Robert said ; *' it will not be 
 the same. It can never be the same as 
 when you were here, always here." 
 
 It was a very cruel wrench to these 
 two, who had grown up hand in hand, 
 mentally and bodily ; but, of course, it was 
 a very ordinary thing — a very little sorrow 
 really. Sybil naturally, sharp as the pain 
 was, found it relieved by the prospect of 
 the change and the excitement of a London 
 life. It would be life^ in a sense, instead 
 of vegetation ; though she had had Robert 
 to vegetate with her. And Robert, too, 
 looked forward to having a studio of his 
 own in London in a year or two, where 
 he could get the best masters and models, 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 and be au courant with the doings of the 
 art world. 
 
 After the first shock of the announce- 
 ment was over, it did not seem such a 
 desperately terrible thing after all ; though 
 each knew that a blank would be found in 
 each life. In Robert's the blank would be 
 the worse, for Sybil was going to new 
 interests. He would have but the old 
 ones without the best part — her sharing in 
 them. He did not propose cutting the 
 knot, and binding their lives inviolably by 
 marriage, for his uncle, with all possible 
 kindness, pointed out to him that he was 
 yet too young, and dissuaded him from 
 tying Sybil to a long engagement, as she 
 was on the eve of going into a world 
 which for the first time would put her 
 feeling to a real test. 
 
A BETROTHAL. II5 
 
 Mr. Davles was a man whose action 
 quickly followed his resolve. Within two 
 months of his decision, the little villa near 
 Pebblecombe was abandoned to the house- 
 agent, and the Davies' household had 
 moved to London. In the interval Sybil 
 was much occupied with the packing and 
 the new arrangements, and many good- 
 byes — to Slocombe, to Colonel Burscough, 
 to Mr. Fleg, even to the Creature, and a 
 number more — but found time for many a 
 walk with Robert in their old familiar 
 paths by shore and woodland. 
 
 Away over the bents and the sandhills 
 there was a pine wood of small extent. 
 But the trees grew high, and their blue- 
 green foliage was dense above, though 
 their great columnar stems stood far apart, 
 rising from the red carpet of their wasted 
 
Il6 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 needles. In the midst of the wood, not 
 to be seen from without it, was a steep 
 hillock or mound, whose summit was on a 
 level with the highest matted foliage of the 
 pines. Thither Sybil and Robert wended 
 their way on the day before the Davies' 
 departure for London, silently and with full 
 hearts. It was late autumn, but the noon 
 slumbered in the peculiar mystery of the 
 Indian summer. They climbed the mound, 
 and sat themselves on It, and looked forth 
 over the pine-tops, over the bents, and 
 over the sea, with Its studding islets, to 
 the horizon, where sky and sea blended in 
 the heat mist. All about them numbers 
 of kittlwake gulls kept floating back on 
 the light air, or mounting up against It, 
 hawking the flies that played In multitudes 
 over the fir-trees. The loneliness and 
 
A BETROTHAL. 117 
 
 beauty of the scene were in wonderful 
 accord with the feelings of the boy and 
 girl, and for a long while they sat in a 
 silence that was full of mutual sympathy, 
 letting Nature's influences sink into their 
 souls. 
 
 " Shall you come here often when I am 
 gone ? " Sybil asked at length. 
 
 " Sometimes, not often," Robert said ; 
 " only on beautiful days like this, or on 
 some of those wild days we love, when the 
 grey scud is coming up out of the west 
 and the gales are making the pines rock 
 and moan. I shall not come here on 
 ordinary days ; that would spoil the place 
 for me, without you." 
 
 She looked at him awhile, without 
 speaking. *' Do you love me, Robert ? " 
 she asked then. 
 
Il8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 They seldom spoke of their feeling for 
 each other; so perfect was the sympathy 
 that the feeling needed no words for expres- 
 sion. They knew what they were to each 
 other. But just on this last day, and in 
 this lovely scene, it seemed to Sybil that 
 she would like to hear him say it — a 
 memory that she could carry away with her. 
 
 For a long time he made no answer, 
 looking out seaward with dreamy eyes. 
 But she knew he had heard her, and was 
 thinking of the question, and without the 
 slightest mistrust let him take his time to 
 speak. 
 
 " Do I love you ? Heavens ! do I love 
 you ? do you ask?" he said at length, turn- 
 ing up his face to hers, and breaking the 
 silence with burning, eloquent words. 
 *' How can I tell you whether I love you ? 
 
A BETROTHAL. I 1 9 
 
 What Is love ? I know this, at least, that 
 you are part — the greatest part of all my 
 life. There Is not an episode of It, In all 
 my day-dreams, which you do not share. 
 How could it be otherwise ? You have 
 grown up with me, beside me, as a part of 
 me — of myself. That which I look 
 forward to in coming back from school 
 Is what ? Yes — Uncle — Slocombe — the 
 Creature — these are the others that I look 
 forward to coming back to — but you ! In 
 you, I look forward to coming back to part 
 of my own self I never feel, even when 
 I am at school, that we are really apart. 
 A few miles of distance are between us, 
 but you are there, part of me, thinking as 
 I think about things. For that Is what I 
 say to myself in all my thoughts — first, 
 how would Sybil think of this ? So then 
 
I20 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 my thought is not my own thought ; it is, 
 in part, your thought. It does not matter 
 what it is — cricket, school work — no 
 matter — my first thought is how you would 
 be pleased in my success, or sorry with 
 me at my failure. So, in your pleasure is 
 my pleasure, and in your sorrow my 
 sorrow. Do you see ? You are just part 
 of my life — of myself. You have grown 
 up as part of me. Is that love ? If so, I 
 love you." 
 
 Sybil's dark, earnest eyes had filled 
 with tears, as she listened to this strange 
 avowal of the boy whose feeling was so 
 deep in comparison with his usual sparing 
 expression of it. 
 
 "Yes," she said, bending to him, and 
 kissing him fondly on the brow. " Dear 
 Robert, that is love indeed. At least I 
 
A BETROTHAL. 12 1 
 
 should think It is. It is better than the 
 love that one reads of in books ; it is 
 unlike anything I have quite thought of 
 as love. But yes, that must be love ; and, 
 see, Robert, It is not necessary that I 
 should tell you that you are dearer to me 
 than anything in all the world, and that 
 you always will be ; it is not necessary 
 that I should tell you, because it Is abso- 
 lutely necessary that it should be so. And 
 I know you feel it so. As you say, I am 
 part of you, and you are part of me, and 
 the one part of each of us knows the other 
 part without any spoken word. Is that 
 love?" 
 
 " Yes, Sybil, my own love, indeed it is,'* 
 he said, and drew her hand down to him, 
 and kissed her in return — a solemn kiss 
 upon the brow. 
 
122 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 And this was their betrothal. The 
 kittiwakes still played about over the pine 
 trees, to and fro, and wondered at them, 
 as well they might. 
 
 "And when we are married," Robert 
 said simply, " we will live at the Manor 
 House, and I will paint, and we will come 
 and sit here very often." 
 
 It was the first mention of marriage, 
 but though he spoke it so simply, it did 
 not seem strange to Sybil ; but she said, 
 "Yes, so we will, but somehow I do not 
 know if it can ever be quite as divine as it 
 is to-day." 
 
 Then they went down off the hill, and 
 through the pine-wood, hand in hand. 
 And over the bents the sinking sun threw 
 their shadows, long and fantastic, before 
 them. When they came to the end of 
 
A BETROTHAL. 12 3 
 
 the links, and neared the houses, they 
 kissed again. 
 
 '' God bless you, Sybil," the boy said 
 reverently. " I do not know what is going 
 to become of me when you are gone, and 
 I fear for you — I mean for me and your 
 thought of me — in your going to London. 
 I wish it were anywhere else. But you 
 will never, never forget, will you Sybil ? 
 Remember it is part of my life, part of me, 
 you take to London with you. You will 
 never forget it ? " 
 
 Sybil said, " No, of course not ; how 
 could I ! Do you not trust me ? " And 
 though her heart was very full, and she 
 loved him very dearly, yet she found room 
 for the criticism, *' What a very funny boy 
 he is, and yet what a dear one. Yes, a 
 part of my life. And so, as part of my 
 
124 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 life he will go to London with me. I will 
 be very careful of him, and mindful — I 
 could not help it." 
 
 This was their parting, and though the 
 flitting of the Davies' household did not 
 come to pass till next morning, Robert 
 was too sensible and too sad at heart to 
 go into Bridgehampton to see them off. 
 
 For some days after Sybil's departure 
 he went about their old haunts and walks 
 with the feeling that but half of himself — 
 a mutilated self — was there. Each morn- 
 ing as he woke he had a vague conscious- 
 ness of a painful blank, and a minute of 
 feeble groping in his memory before he 
 realized that the part of his life which was 
 missing was Sybil Davies. All the points 
 of view and lovely places seemed to have 
 lost their inspiration. The genttds loci had 
 
A BETROTHAL. I 25 
 
 fled from them. The earth had lost its 
 sun. Mr. Slocombe's parrot seemed to 
 ejaculate ** Sybil and Robert " with a new 
 note of pathos, as if it understood some- 
 thing of his loss, and sealed its sympathy 
 with a lugubrious oath. 
 
 Gradually the sharp pain of the loss 
 faded to a dull ache, and except at those 
 evil times which are commonly spoken of 
 as ''the blues," his life and mode of 
 thought resumed their old way. He 
 painted with less enthusiasm, but in the 
 relief of the physical activity of cricket 
 found greater happiness than ever, the 
 more so that he was beginning to out- 
 grow his youthful weakness of constitution. 
 He greatly distinguished himself for 
 the County, and also for Gentlemen 
 against Players, adding a red letter day 
 
126 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 to Mr. Slocombe's calendar at each 
 event. 
 
 In the Creature's sight, too, he found 
 favour, for that excellent eye of his that 
 could show him how to draw a line, or hit 
 a half-volley so truly, taught him as if by 
 instinct the use of the gun ; and he became 
 the best game shot, as well as the best 
 cricketer in the neighbourhood. For each 
 of which accomplishments Mr. Slocombe 
 and the Creature took to themselves im- 
 mediate credit as the moulders, perhaps 
 with insufficient recognition of the quality 
 of the clay. Nor was Mr. Fleg, who had 
 taught him so much out of his plenteous 
 knowledge of anatomy, above claiming his 
 full share in Robert's success in figure 
 painting. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SYBIL IN LONDON. 
 
 '' Wherever I go in London, my dear, I 
 see nothing but 'busses and impudent 
 women on top of them." So said a stiff, 
 old, handsome Scotch lady, with cork- 
 screwy curls and bosom glistening with 
 cairngorms. '' Oh dear, oh dear, and I'm 
 always going about in 'busses." So 
 answered Miss Sybil Davies. It was 
 many months since she and Robert 
 Burscough had parted, with mutual vows 
 of love, in the pine-woods near Little 
 Pipkin. 
 
 ( 127 ) 
 
128 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 Meantime the Davles had taken up 
 their abode in a tiny and delightful house 
 in a fashionable part of London. It was 
 of the style described in house agents' 
 circulars as a bijou residence, or maisonette; 
 and Sybil had made it very charming. 
 All belonging to it was of the best, though 
 the scale was small. Whether or not they 
 were wealthy, Sybil did not know, for her 
 father never spoke to her of business, 
 although she was his confidante to a degree 
 in which few girls are admitted to their 
 father's confidence, and the relation 
 between them was one of mutual friend- 
 ship rather than the ordinary one of parent 
 and child. He had spoken to her of most 
 matters which occupied his leisure, and in 
 talk with him and the cosmopolitan visitors 
 she had picked up scraps of art, of politics, 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. 1 29 
 
 of metaphysics, and of much information 
 which girls are generally without — and on 
 all of these her quick fancy had woven 
 ideas which were as original as they were 
 generally incorrect. Her father had been 
 wont to talk to her in almost all the 
 continental languages with equal care, and 
 she had picked up much of his facility. 
 He was a man who took all thino^s care- 
 lessly, his daughter included. She was 
 an amusement to him — a toy he loved, 
 and — left much to its own devices. It 
 had not been part of his principle to 
 provide her with any regular education, 
 other than the most elementary, so that 
 her mind was a strange storehouse of facts 
 and fancies and vacuities. She had little 
 idea of money's value, though her quick 
 intelligence made her a good housekeeper. 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 When she wanted money she asked her 
 father for it, and he gave it to her as 
 unquestioningly as if it grew like wild 
 flowers in the woods. If she forgot to 
 ask for it, as often happened, and found 
 herself with but few shillings in her pocket, 
 she would go about all day in omnibuses 
 with perfect satisfaction. To her father it 
 would never have occurred to go in 'busses. 
 Hansoms were a quicker conveyance ; 
 therefore go in a hansom. The money 
 question did not strike him. He was not 
 afflicted by that strange disease which 
 makes taking a shilling from their pocket 
 like the loss of a drop of life's blood to 
 many generous and perfectly well-to-do 
 people who feel no pang in signing a 
 cheque for a hundred pounds. The hard- 
 ship of letting go '' God's good gold " did 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. I3T 
 
 not touch the Davies household. So that 
 to Sybil setting off, as she often did, in a 
 'bus, with a girl friend, to cheap seats at 
 the French play, or elsewhere, the economy 
 was not a studied thing so much as a whim 
 of fancy ; and when she laughed back in 
 the face of the old Scotch lady who com- 
 plained " of the 'busses and the impudent 
 women on top of them," she delighted in 
 the shock which her answer gave. 
 
 '' It's a fine, healthy, breezy situation, 
 the top of 'busses," said Mr. Davies, who 
 had never tried it, laughingly taking Sybil's 
 part. Then, when she was gone, they 
 would laugh together at the prim old 
 Scotch lady, but in no ill-natured way. 
 And thus their life went on. They were to 
 each other in the language of the day as 
 '* very good fellows," and that was the end 
 
132 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 of It. Therefore there was a pathos in 
 her life which seemed on the surface all 
 so bright and quick changing. 
 
 The friends, the cosmopolitans, and the 
 statesmen, had not deserted the Davieses 
 when they came to London. Sybil was 
 straightforward, almost to bluntness, in 
 speech and manner. It was a trick she 
 had learned, perhaps from talking to 
 the men who visited them at Little 
 Pipkin, and hearing their talk to each 
 other. It was of value to her now. The 
 wives of cosmopolitans might perhaps 
 have cosmopolitan hearts ; but this was 
 not to be said of the wives of the states- 
 men. They called upon the Davieses with 
 all the suspicion and lifting of skirts that 
 the brilliancy of the young hostess, as 
 reported to them by their spouses, might 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. 1 33 
 
 naturally inspire in a true British bosom. 
 But if they found her, indeed, a thought 
 more brilliant than they would perhaps 
 approve in their own daughters, she had 
 also a thorough earnestness that was 
 almost childlike, which their more self- 
 conscious daughters were without. In 
 the first place, it made Itself absolutely 
 apparent that such a young lady could not 
 be a flirt — that if she were unusual, she 
 was at all events thorough — that not an 
 untrue note rang in all she said. 
 
 So the spouses of the statesmen departed, 
 with all their suspicions disarmed, and In a 
 London season languishing for a novelty, 
 were only too glad to have this new young 
 lioness to make mirth for them, since her 
 claws were sheathed. Many a time had 
 her father, dining beside a dowager of 
 
134 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 fearful respectability, solaced his own ennui 
 by laughing, with a touch of pride in his 
 mirth, at Sybil, the little, wild, wood maiden 
 of Little Pipkin, holding more than her 
 own with a Cabinet Minister upon one 
 side and a Bishop on the other, in defence 
 of a hopelessly impossible theory of her 
 own coining on the relations of Church 
 and State. The ladies forgave her her 
 triumphs, for her game was not their 
 game, and she left them at peace in their 
 pursuings. Sybil Davies became a very 
 popular lioness, and Robert Burscough, 
 with some misgivings of heart, read of 
 her, in the few society papers which he 
 looked at, as a figure at great receptions. 
 
 Sometimes she felt very lost and with- 
 out guidance, full of a conception that 
 there was something good in her, yet 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. 1 35 
 
 questioning whether it would ever bear 
 fruit. Her life seemed a very helmless 
 drift. The good-natured, light-hearted 
 father had taught her little of a cradle 
 faith. Therefore, if she were without 
 higher guidance, she was at least spared 
 the agony which the loss of cradle faith 
 brings. But it is bad for a woman when 
 she has to be all her own support. Nor 
 could Sybil pour out her woes in song, in 
 music, or in any form of art — as yet she 
 had not found her voice. The great god 
 Pan had cleft at the reed, and was racking 
 and hewing it; but so far there was no 
 sweet music to be won from it — all its 
 vibrations were within, vexing its own 
 soul to pieces. 
 
 Only in the brilliancy of her conversa- 
 tion did her genius sometimes break forth, 
 
136 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 and it would have been a very severe 
 surprise to some of those young ladles, 
 who stood by and trembled while she said 
 things and started theories that took their 
 breath away, could they have known that 
 this fervour of expression of hers was but 
 giving voice to her misery — that she, 
 whom they envied, from her heart of 
 hearts envied them, with far truer cause, 
 their mothers, their homes, and all their 
 helps, which they were so apt to deem 
 hindrances. 
 
 Her father looked on and smiled at 
 her success, as at most things — bearing 
 the world lightly — and she asked no more 
 of his affection than this. She made 
 friends with passionate impetuosity, but 
 beneath all the surface excitability of 
 her nature ran an under-current of deep 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. 1 37 
 
 steadfast feeling, which had grown up with 
 her hfe, and the w^hole of this strong, 
 steady current belonged to Robert. To a 
 girl of her disposition there was something 
 irresistibly pathetic and attractive in its 
 pathos — in the protective care which 
 Robert, though so spendid a cricketer and 
 athlete, accepted from her in his constitu- 
 tional delicacy. And she was a gifted hero 
 worshipper, with all a woman's power of 
 investing very ordinary clay with glorious 
 attributes. In the cricket-field, Robert 
 appealed to her as an incarnation of ideal 
 humanity; in his studio, she formed dreams 
 of him as heir of a divine genius. And it 
 was this Robert that accepted her protec- 
 tion and love ! Of his genius, such as it 
 was, she was the main source, for many an 
 enthusiasm that inspired Robert's pictures 
 
138 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 of Nature he would never have felt — or 
 expressed — but for Sybil's passionate 
 appreciation. At heart, however, the two 
 were strangely alike — the little boy who 
 had said, "You may certainly go in, but 
 no one will think of bowling to you," 
 and the little girl who had said, "You 
 nasty little beast — get out." Both alike 
 had intense and quick sensibilities, but 
 while with Sybil they broke out in pas- 
 sionate and often regretted expression, in 
 Robert's nature the same were cherished 
 up under that reserve that has been called 
 the cynicism of tenderness. But with the 
 boy the love had been rather a permissive 
 affection — allowing himself to be loved 
 and cared for, and repaying the other's 
 more active affection by intense admiration 
 and gratitude. So that while Sybil never 
 
SYBIL IN LONDON. 1 39 
 
 doubted of Robert, in the steadfast light 
 of her own love — he, away on the sea- 
 shore, and among the pine-trees, had often 
 asked himself if it were possible that she 
 should remain constant to him in spite 
 of the admiration she excited in London 
 Society. 
 
 And their letters were not expansive, 
 but spoke of a mutual sympathy and 
 pleasure in hearing of each other's doings 
 and life, and left aside for the time, as 
 perfectly settled between them, all im- 
 mediate question of *' the thing called 
 love." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 
 
 Robert had seen very little of Sybil, 
 since the Davieses had moved to London, 
 and his occasional glimpses had given 
 him no pleasure. He was a country- 
 bred boy, and had all a country cousin's 
 veneration for things metropolitan. Only 
 once had he seen her alone, and then it 
 was with the ever present prospect of in- 
 terruption by a caller, x^nd those callers, 
 how Robert hated them. Their clothes 
 and their boots fitted better than his — 
 they knew all about the right people and 
 ( 140 ) 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 141 
 
 the right things — therefore he hated them 
 for this superiority. And they seemed 
 to him to talk such nonsense, such 
 inanities, and their manners were so 
 affected — therefore, again he hated them 
 for this inferiority. Also, he knew that 
 the things wherein he envied their supe- 
 riority, were little, petty things — things 
 in respect of which no man, who is a man 
 ought to feel any envy. Wherefore, 
 finally, he hated them worse than ever. 
 The truth is that he was not quite a man. 
 He was quite a young man, and there is 
 a difference. Also, he was in love — so 
 taking the two together, it will appear 
 that he was capable of everything. 
 
 He had taken to himself a studio, some- 
 where in that debateable country which 
 the natives call Kensington, and those who 
 
142 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 live in the East call Brompton — or, by 
 way of insult, even Fulham — and he was 
 constantly up and down between his 
 studio and Little Pipkin. It was a noble 
 roomy studio, with a good north light, and 
 very cheap. A bedroom was cubicled 
 off the main room. He had arranged 
 with a resident housekeeper in the base- 
 ment to give him a species of breakfast, 
 and even a bath. The old lady marvelled. 
 Previous lodgers had been an Ishmaelitish 
 tribe of artist — hydrophobists. So he 
 was very comfortable, and ought to have 
 thought himself well off. But he did 
 not. 
 
 The truth' is, that he was clumsy, and 
 unresourceful — capable of everything in 
 the way of clumsiness and lack of re- 
 source, as a young man badly in love 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. I43 
 
 ought to be. Of course, he asked Sybil 
 to come and see his studio, and Sybil 
 of course said it would not be proper ; 
 and equally of course, it did not occur to 
 stupid, loving Robert to suggest that 
 she should get a chaperone to come with 
 her ; and equally of course, stiff-necked 
 Miss Sybil was not going to suggest such 
 a thing of her accord. The way these 
 little misunderstandings arise, is charm- 
 ingly simple — all out of the fearful manly 
 stupidity of the male creature, and the 
 exasperation of the female creature, at 
 thinking how infinitely better she could 
 make love, if only she were the man. 
 And Robert was not even an ordinary 
 type of man. The stupidity of manliness 
 was aggravated in him by a sensitiveness 
 almost womanly — a tenderness, which had 
 
144 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 to withdraw itself under a shell of cynicism, 
 terribly liable to misconstruction. 
 
 ** Oh, I love her— I love her — I love 
 her" — he would say aloud, marching up 
 and down his studio with the desperation 
 of a caged lion, and making a sad fool 
 of himself. *' And she does not love me 
 a bit. How should she, with these 
 clever people, and these smart people, 
 and these people who are all this and all 
 that, that I am not, about her ? Great 
 heavens, and who are they, these 
 little worms in smart clothing ? Freddy 
 Benson among them ! the little fat, podgy 
 boy that we used to bowl at, at Little 
 Pipkin, who used to cry when we hit his 
 legs. He is there now — a rising barrister 
 they say — who say ? Freddy Benson says, 
 I should think ; no one else. But Sybil 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 1 45 
 
 — yes, she likes him. Sat next to him 
 at the play when we dined and went to 
 the Gaiety. To be sure, I might have 
 squeezed in and sat next to her, but I 
 wanted to see if she would give me a sign ; 
 but no, not a sign. So Freddy Benson 
 sat next her, and how they talked and 
 had a good time all the play through ; 
 and then she went to the Wellington, and 
 we had supper afterwards. She will 
 accept that invitation from him, but she 
 will not come and see my studio — 
 damn." And he threw his pipe at his 
 lay figure, and the pipe broke, and he 
 felt better. 
 
 Silly as it sounded, there was a measure 
 of truth in it. Robert with his doubts, 
 which were natural enough, aggravated 
 Ly his peculiar sensitiveness, which was 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 morbid, was so different a creature from 
 the Robert, with his heart full of trust and 
 love, whom she had known at Little 
 Pipkin, that Sybil might well be forgiven 
 the thought that he had changed to her. 
 One is apt to forget this, knowing one s 
 own heart as one does, that others can 
 but judge by what one shows on the 
 surface. Then, one is offended because 
 others do not read and understand that 
 which one has jealously hid and kept 
 back from all expression. Whence comes 
 trouble, as with Robert and Sybil. For 
 Sybil, deeming he had changed to her, 
 grew, as was but natural, very wild with 
 herself — called herself fool — for ever think- 
 ing that he cared. This is a step towards 
 caring less, and a yet farther step towards 
 such action as will make the other think 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 1 47 
 
 you care less. She had divined, with 
 a woman's quick intuition, that of all 
 those who came to their little house it 
 was of Freddy Benson, whom Robert had 
 correctly described as a fat podgy boy 
 who used to cry when they hit him on 
 the legs at cricket, that Robert was most 
 ready to feel jealous. Others, who had a 
 name in politics, or literature, or art, 
 might approach Sybil from a different 
 vantage ground, but she was quite sapient 
 enough to know that, if he cared at all, 
 it would be at favour shown to Freddy 
 Benson, the familiar friend of their child- 
 hood, whom they had always laughed at 
 and bullied, that he would feel most 
 sore. She was no angel, this Sybil — only 
 a very impulsive, gifted human woman. 
 Therefore, when she knew Robert to be 
 
148 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 coming, she manoeuvred that Freddy 
 Benson should be present, and by her 
 favour towards him drove Robert nearly 
 crazy. 
 
 Freddy Benson was still the fat boy 
 they had known at Little Pipkin ; but he 
 had taken upon him the smooth, glib fat- 
 ness of one who knows all things that are 
 at all worthy to be known. He knew 
 where every piece was being played, and 
 when it was to be taken off, and why ; 
 and what Mr. Irving said about the new 
 play at the Lyceum, and so forth. In 
 slang phrase, he made it his mdtier to be 
 " in the know " — not only on theatrical 
 matters, but on all the scenes and side 
 scenes of London life. It is a role which 
 barristers, when they are young and brief- 
 less, often affect. His fund of information 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 1 49 
 
 was surprising, for he was industrious and 
 intelligent ; and it was always available, for 
 his digestion was excellent. He was, in 
 fact, a fool of the highly intelligent type, 
 and knew no form of shyness or diffidence, 
 for he was enough of a fool never to 
 suspect himself of folly. 
 
 So there he would sit and talk, with 
 spendid satisfaction, Sybil keeping him 
 going with a pleasant smile and an occa- 
 sional bright question ; and Robert would 
 look on, a little apart, smothering his 
 woes, and trying to look as if he were in 
 the conversation and enjoying it. Then 
 he would go back again to his studio, and 
 try to paint Sybil's face — in which he 
 always failed miserably — and then try 
 Freddy Benson's, which he did with fair 
 success, whereupon he would attack the 
 
150 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 portrait with brush, and put into It all 
 sorts of evil meaning, which poor, harm- 
 less, commonplace Freddy was perfectly 
 innocent of; until, finally, he exchanged 
 his brush for the poker, and hammered 
 away at the painted Freddy, driving the 
 poker through the canvas, while the old 
 housekeeper began to tremble and fear 
 she had a lunatic for a lodger ; nor some- 
 times was he quite sure that the lady was 
 wrong. 
 
 Second sight would not be a good thing 
 for us ; but what a deal of misery It might 
 have saved Robert, and Sybil, too. If, after 
 such a visit as this, he could for a moment 
 have seen her. For, after saying good- 
 bye to Freddy with the briefest of smiles, 
 and to Robert with the coldest of hand 
 touches, she would rush to her room, and 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. I5I 
 
 throw herself on her bed with a passion 
 of pain at her hot heart. 
 
 '* He does not love me ! he does not 
 love me ! He cannot care, if his manner 
 is like that ! " and, in a wild animal way, 
 she bit at the bed clothes, as if the physical 
 pain of champing her teeth down hard 
 upon them gave her mental relief. *' Ah, 
 but he must love me — he must ! It must 
 be that he — that he what ? I do not 
 know, only that it is impossible, impossible 
 that, when I have given him all — all — all 
 my life, he should not take it, should not 
 pay it back with some little tiny bit of his 
 — nay, with all of his ' " 
 
 The passionate nature fought against its 
 convictions. That very episode of the 
 places at the play, when she had purposely 
 manoeuvred, by dropping a fan and making 
 
152 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 a pause, that Robert should sit beside her, 
 and he had stood like an image, and 
 Freddy Benson had taken the seat instead 
 — made her hot and hateful to herself. 
 
 " If I had begged him, would he have 
 come beside me, I wonder ? " she asked 
 herself in scorn. " I must be falling low 
 indeed to think of begging his attention." 
 
 Yet this very pause, and that in it she 
 gave him no sign to sit beside her, had 
 rankled in poor Robert's mind. When 
 there is love, and the natures are highly 
 organized — maybe too morbidly sensitive 
 — it seems that the truer the love the less 
 likely is its course to run smooth. 
 
 Meanwhile, it was a little hard on 
 Freddy Benson, whom Sybil had to snub 
 in private to keep him humble, after the 
 kindness she showed him for the edifica- 
 
THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE. 1 53 
 
 tion of Robert ; but it is a quality of the 
 intelligent fool to know his place before 
 his superiors, among whom he had no 
 difficulty in placing Sybil ; and Freddy 
 Benson's back was broad and pachyder- 
 matous as well as fat, 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 LORD MORNINGHAm's ''SITUATION.'* 
 
 Lord Morningham came up St. James' 
 Street at the measured pace habitual to 
 him. It was a bright clear morning. His 
 frame of mind was, for him, a happy one, 
 for the gamut of his sensibility had few 
 octaves. That morning he had come to 
 a final decision on his one-principled 
 premisses, and was proceeding to put it 
 into effect. His face wore the habitual 
 expression of a man who has planned his 
 life well, and carries it out in accordance 
 with his propositions. 
 
 ( 154 ) 
 
LORD MORNINGHAMS "SITUATION. I 55 
 
 This day he had a plan before him which 
 would alter his life. He intended to marry. 
 
 For some while past he had thought 
 that marriage might materially strengthen 
 his position — marriage, that is, with the 
 right person. Lord Morningham threw 
 no glamour over it ; he did not live in 
 *' atmosphere." What he meant by mar- 
 riage was purchasing, by means of his 
 title, his wealth, his political position, and 
 the privilege of hearing the lucubrations 
 of his intellect, a lady who should make 
 his house attractive to those who could 
 help him in the political strife. It was 
 very simple. Lord Morningham several 
 times went over the names of the ladies 
 whose gifts best qualified them for the 
 post, and found none with testimonials so 
 high as Miss Davies. He regretted that 
 
156 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 she had no title and brought him no useful 
 family connection ; but with title and con- 
 nection he was well supplied already. He 
 thought of Sybil as the wild little girl who 
 played cricket at Little Pipkin, and smiled 
 his cold, pale smile at the prospect of the 
 glory that was opening to her. She had 
 looked surprised, the previous day, when 
 he had asked permission to call on her in 
 the morning. He wondered if she had 
 any, the remotest suspicion of what he 
 had to say to her; but no, she could 
 hardly be so presumptuous. 
 
 Sybil was alone. Lord Morningham 
 prefaced the true purport of his visit by 
 some political topics, which he introduced 
 by his favourite phrase, '' So far as I can 
 diagnose the feeling of the House of 
 Peers." 
 
LORD MORXIXGHAM S ''SITUATION.' I 57 
 
 Then he drew his chair a foot or two 
 nearer. "I have come," he said, "to a 
 great decision : I propose to marry." 
 
 '' To marry ! Really ? And may one 
 ask your reasons ? Surely you are not in 
 love ! " 
 
 Lord Morningham had not seen the 
 quick blush w^hich came and went on 
 Sybil's face at his announcement. He 
 believed her still unconscious of the honour 
 in store for her. Her tone was as calm 
 as his. It was absurd, she told herself, to 
 blush before a thing called a man that had 
 no emotions of its own. But, as matters 
 stood, Lord Morningham found her ques- 
 tion a nasty one. 
 
 '' Well, well, you know," he said, " I do 
 not think that I exactly know what love 
 
 means." 
 
158 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 '' No," said Sybil quickly, with a faint 
 smile ; " I dare say not." 
 
 Then he laid before her at length — as 
 was but necessary, for were they not many 
 to tell ? — the advantages he had to offer 
 a wife, his position, his prospects, his 
 property, real and personal. All these, 
 he said finally, he laid at her feet. Then, 
 as she made a movement to speak, he 
 interrupted her. 
 
 '* No,'' he said ; " do not think I make 
 you this offer hastily. I have thought it 
 well over — it is not my habit to act with- 
 out consideration — and I have concluded 
 that there is none other among my ac- 
 quaintance so well fitted as yourself to 
 fulfil the duties of mistress in such a house 
 
 as mine." 
 
 Then, and not till then, as was the 
 
LORD MORNINGHAMS ''SITUATION. I 59 
 
 manner of the man, having finished what 
 he had to say, he stopped. 
 
 " There is one thing I like about you," 
 Sybil said. 
 
 He looked up, a little surprised. This 
 was not the tone of response that he 
 had expected. Its note was not pleasure, 
 or gratitude — It was criticism. 
 
 '* One thing ! " he repeated. " What is 
 that ? " 
 
 ** It is that you have not once said 
 that you loved me. Yes," said Sybil, 
 with heightening colour and heat as she 
 spoke, ** that humiliation at least you 
 have spared me, and I am grateful. 
 Most men would have shown enough 
 contempt for my intelligence to have 
 pretended that love was at the base of 
 It all. You at least," she said scornfully, 
 
l6o CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 "have wrapped up the proposal In no 
 such pretence, and I thank you. It 
 stands out beautifully clear and cold and 
 crude. Nothing could be more explicit, 
 or I believe more correct, than your 
 Inventory of the advantages of the 
 situation you offer me. Would you 
 mind putting them down In writing ? " 
 
 Lord Mornlngham was fearfully alarmed. 
 What did this mean ? Was It conceivable 
 — surely It was not — that this young girl 
 was treating him — him — as If he were a 
 fool! 
 
 " Miss Davies," he said, " what Is It ? 
 What do you mean ? Are you laughing 
 at me ? " 
 
 " Laughing ? " she echoed. " Yes ; I 
 suppose It Is to be called laughing ; all 
 laughter Is not a mirthful, pleasant thing. 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S ''SITUATION." l6l 
 
 is it ? " And, as she spoke, she laughed 
 in a manner that had far more bitter 
 than sweet. 
 
 " But am I to understand that you do 
 not accept my proposal ? " he asked. 
 
 " Your situation, you mean," Sybil said, 
 with a return of her vivacious mood. 
 *' Yes I decline ; it is surprising, is it 
 not ? But I do." To herself she said, '' It 
 sounds horrid, speaking like that, but I 
 do not care. It is not horrid really — to 
 him — he doesn't feel it." 
 
 Lord Morningham made a great effort 
 to realize the position, but it was very 
 difficult. Nevertheless, despite the won- 
 drous nature of it, it was plain — not to 
 be denied — this dark-eyed, terribly quick- 
 witted maiden, Miss Davies, declined to 
 marry him. Lord Morningham ! 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
1 62 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 *' And this is your answer — I am to 
 go — like this ? " 
 
 " I suppose you must go, but why 
 should you hurry away ? Do not be dis- 
 couraged^ Lord Morningham. Yours, 
 you know, is such an excellent situation, 
 you are sure to find people who will 
 accept it. Good-bye, then, if you are 
 really going," she said, rising, as he got 
 up without another word from his chair. 
 She held out her hand to him, frankly, 
 to say good-bye, and laughed, frankly 
 too, at his refusal to notice it. 
 
 And so he bowed and went. 
 
 Then she laughed again, merrily, 
 "Was I brutal? "she asked herself. *' I 
 don't think so, because, you see, he is 
 so made that he cannot feel it. I never 
 treated any one else who proposed to me 
 
LORD MORNINGHAm's "SITUATION." 1 63 
 
 SO badly ; and yet they most of them treated 
 me worse, because they pretended to be 
 in love. But perhaps they deceived 
 themselves a little too, and thought they 
 were. He, at all events, did not pretend 
 to think that. I think I rather like Lord 
 Momingham. He is an interesting piece 
 of clockwork. It's a pity but what he 
 had a heart ; but if he had, the mainspring 
 would not work so well." 
 
 Meantime, Lord Morningham was walk- 
 ing home, with feelings which he had not 
 experienced since, at Eton, he visited, 
 once only, a certain room in which they 
 kept a birch rod. Something seemed to 
 have gone all wrong in the clockwork — 
 for, see, he had not only been foiled, 
 which hardly ever happened to him, 
 because his ends were always judiciously 
 
164 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 bounded ones, but had even been laughed 
 at, which one might say never happened, 
 both because men disliked and respected 
 him too much to laugh often at him, and 
 because he had no faculty for perceiving 
 it when they did. But this end, namely 
 Miss Sybil Davies, which he had pro- 
 posed to himself, was neither a fact nor 
 a principle, nor even clockwork, but 
 something which Lord Morningham had 
 never come nearly within grasping distance 
 of — a very human creature. He knew 
 the humanities fairly, but humanity not at 
 all. For how should he ? Being one-, i.e, 
 self-, principled, he did not learn by obser- 
 vation of others, and introspection showed 
 him clockwork, not human nature at all. 
 
 But now, as he wxnt home, the 
 crossing sweeper at the top of St. James' 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM's ''SITUATION." 1 65 
 
 Street, to whom he gave a shIlHng each 
 Sunday in the season, and who was a 
 student of physiognomy, as became his 
 trade, noticed a new expression in Lord 
 Morningham's face, which was changeless 
 commonly as the twelve o'clock face of 
 the St. James' Palace clock. Something 
 had got into the mainspring ; this is what 
 the matter was. It was monstrous, pro- 
 digious, ridiculous — no epithet could be 
 half strong enough — that this girl should 
 have refused to marry him. It was so 
 hard to believe that he almost went 
 back again to ask if it must not have 
 been all a mistake — if he could have 
 dreamed it. Only he was not subject to 
 hallucinations. But what was yet more 
 incredible than all, is that his thoughts 
 persisted in going back, not to dwell upon 
 
1 66 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 her in the despiteful manner in which, 
 according to any known one-principled 
 principles, they should have done, to 
 this terrible maid who had scorned and 
 flouted him in a manner that really little 
 but madness could seem to explain. 
 Rather his thoughts dwelt upon her 
 regretfully, wishfully ; quite differently, yet 
 quite as strongly as they had done before 
 she had dealt his smarting self-respect — 
 a very stiff-starched quality with him — 
 this blow which reminded him of that 
 dark room at Eton. What did it mean, 
 that he could think of her thus ? Was 
 it, indeed, that something like a very 
 gently beating, stirring heart was begin- 
 ning to throb a little against the true 
 working of the mainspring ? Lord 
 Morningham did not know. 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM's *' SITUATION." 1 67 
 
 Sybil meanwhile had rushed upstairs 
 and put on a hat, and after hurrying 
 through the intricacies of mews and back 
 slums around May fair, was flying along 
 Piccadilly, westward, at a most unconven- 
 tional pace. As she walked, she smiled 
 to herself, a smile which varied and 
 deepened, or sometimes gave place to a 
 frown, as different turns of the late inter- 
 view came to the top in her mind. She 
 loved walking on this bright day, but her 
 legs would not carry her fast enough. 
 
 " Oh dear, I shall never get there ! " she 
 said to herself; and at Hyde Park Corner 
 she took a hansom, and made the man 
 drive to Eaton Square. She paid the 
 driver, hurried up the steps and rang, 
 fretted while the bell was answered, and 
 scarcely waiting to hear the servant's reply 
 
l68 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 that his mistress was at home, ran past 
 him up the stairs. 
 
 In the drawing-room, w^hich she entered 
 without knocking, a lady sat writing. A 
 glad smile of welcome followed her first 
 start of surprise at Sybil's breathless 
 entry. 
 
 *' What is it, my darling ? " she said 
 fondly. 
 
 "Oh, Helen dearest, I felt I could not 
 breathe till I had told you. Oh, who do 
 you think has proposed to me now ? Who 
 do you think ? Oh, do guess, quick, quick, 
 do, or I m74s^ tell you.'' 
 
 Sybil had seated herself at the elder 
 woman's feet. The latter passed a sooth- 
 ing, affectionate hand over Sybil's up- 
 turned cheek. 
 
 " Let me see. I am to guess ? Who 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM's ''SITUATION." 1 69 
 
 can it be ? It is not for want of people. 
 The difficulty is to begin." 
 
 *' Guess — guess — quick," Sybil inter- 
 rupted impatiently. 
 
 The other laughed gently, with a won- 
 derfully serene, sweet smile, back into the 
 vexatiously questioning eyes. Then she 
 tried several names quickly, each of which 
 Sybil received with a shake of the head 
 and a laugh. 
 
 " Oh no, no," she said. " You will never 
 guess. I must tell you. Try once more. 
 No ? Well, then, it is Lord Morning- 
 ham." 
 
 " Lord Morningham ! " 
 
 *' Yes," said Sybil, with a laugh at the 
 other's amazement. 
 
 '' Lord Morningham ! Well, it hardly 
 seems proper that he should ask any 
 
170 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 one to marry him. I mean he is too 
 proper." 
 
 ** His manner of doing it made it 
 proper." 
 
 '' Oh, do tell me, Sybil dear. What did 
 he say ? But wait ; I cannot listen in this 
 chair, I must get comfortably settled. 
 There now, tell me.'* 
 
 Almost all the love that Sybil could 
 spare from Robert — for her affection for 
 her father was hardly love — she had given 
 to this gentle, beautiful woman. Helen 
 Athelstane's perfect, sweet nature seemed 
 to Sybil an ideal thing; it was so much 
 the opposite and the complement of her 
 own. And Mrs. Athelstane's life, too, was 
 an ideal — an ideal marred only by the one 
 blank, that she had no children. But in 
 place of them, she had taken all her friends 
 
LORD MORNINGHAm's "SITUATION." 171 
 
 as her children, and their joys and sorrows 
 touched her far more keenly than her own. 
 
 It was little w^onder that Sybil loved 
 her. What perhaps was more matter for 
 wonder, she answered Sybil's love in the 
 fullest way, by loving her in return, and 
 calling out the very best of the many sides 
 of Sybil's nature. For Mrs. Athelstane 
 had a power of loving which Is rare In 
 people so universally beloved. Though 
 all were her friends, she was friend to but 
 a few, of whom the first was her husband, 
 and the second, perhaps, Sybil. 
 
 There was one thing of which Sybil had 
 not spoken to Mrs. Athelstane — the love 
 which was the love of her life, for Robert 
 Burscough, for she had not made Mrs. 
 Athelstane her friend until she had begun 
 to doubt how truly Robert was so. But 
 
172 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 in the meantime, they made merry over 
 Lord Morningham and the clockwork, and 
 its beautifully perfect arrangements, until 
 the luncheon bell. 
 
 '' Of course it is the ideal life of all, 
 such a married life as yours, dearest," 
 Sybil said ; " a perfect ideal, all except for 
 the one lack," she went on, kissing the 
 sweet beautiful face, '* that you have no 
 children. Oh, I do not think I could 
 bear," Sybil said with painful conviction, 
 "to die and have had no children. I do 
 love them so ; and fancy having them all 
 one's own. But I could never marry any 
 one, I am quite, quite sure, unless I were 
 most tremendously in love with him. Do 
 you know, I think that is the wickedest 
 thing a woman can do in the whole world 
 ■ — to marry a man whom she is not in love 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S "SITUATION. I 73 
 
 with. I do not think any of the things 
 that people get divorces for are half so 
 bad as that." 
 
 '' No, dear, perhaps they are not," Mrs. 
 Athelstane answered, smiling at her im- 
 petuosity. 
 
 " All the same," Sybil went on, '' if one 
 had to live one's life alone in a lighthouse 
 w^ith another, I believe I'd sooner live 
 with a woman than a man. It would not 
 be possible with a man, not unless he was 
 a most tremendous dear." 
 
 '' You wait, my dear, till the right man 
 comes," Mrs. Athelstane said. " He will 
 be ' a most tremendous dear,' as you call 
 him, to you. Then, when your ideal life 
 has become a reality, you will know what 
 a perfect thing life can be." 
 
 " Yes," Sybil said, with glistening, hope- 
 
174 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 ful eyes. " I believe there is some good 
 in me somewhere, very deep down. I 
 seem to feel it ; only I don't believe it will 
 be a man that will draw it out," she added, 
 with a laugh to smother her heart-pang 
 as she thought of Robert Burscough. 
 " Oh, I think one ought to be married on 
 trial, you know, to see how one gets on." 
 
 "Ah, but I'm afraid, my dear," Mrs. 
 Athelstane objected, *' there are some men 
 who'd be always trying." 
 
 '' Yes," laughed Sybil, '' live on samples ! 
 I dare say they would." 
 
 And so they went down arm-in-arm to 
 luncheon. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A MINOR POETESS. 
 
 " Robert," said Sybil one day, d propos 
 of nothing but her secret thoughts, *' who 
 is Mrs. Etheredge ? " 
 
 He was startled by the unexpectedness 
 of the question into a blush, which did 
 not escape Sybil's notice. However, he 
 answered quietly enough — 
 
 **Well, I hardly know who she is, 
 exactly. Her husband is a Queen's mes- 
 senger. Her people are west country, I 
 think — Somerset, or Devon, or Cornwall ; 
 I don't exactly know." 
 
 ( 175 ) 
 
176 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 " Oh, that's not what I mean. What 
 sort of woman Is she ? " 
 
 " Oh, she's very nice — pretty, I suppose 
 people would call her. Yes, certainly 
 pretty, and her husband's rather a beast.'" 
 
 *' You mean that he's unkind to her ? " 
 
 "Yes, I think he Is." 
 
 *' And she told you so ? '* 
 
 ''Well, yes," Robert stammered. "Yes, 
 I believe she has said so." 
 
 " I see," Sybil said, with quiet slg- 
 ' nificance. " Where did you meet her ? " 
 
 Robert writhed under her catechising, 
 but he could not but answer. 
 
 " Oh, down In the country somewhere," 
 he said petulantly, "playing- a cricket 
 match. We were stopping In the same 
 house." 
 
 " But she lives In London, doesn't she ? " 
 
A MINOR POETESS. I 77 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 And while she was bothering him with 
 these questions, Robert's self was occupied 
 with another question : ** Who the mischief 
 could have told her ? And what had the 
 mischief-maker told ?" But he did not 
 like to put this simple question direct to 
 Sybil, because he wished to invest the 
 whole business with an air of indifference. 
 
 If he had been disposed to tell Sybil 
 the whole truth about his feeling for Mrs. 
 Etheredge he would have found it diffi- 
 cult, for he did not understand himself. 
 The house in which he had first met the 
 lady was surrounded by a breezy, healthy, 
 out-of-doors, cricketing atmosphere — an 
 atmosphere in which Mrs. Etheredge was 
 not at home. Her own atmosphere was 
 a dim, indistinct, half-light, in which she 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 discussed such subjects as mutual affinities, 
 theosophy, and minor and immoral poets, 
 in which latter class it was her highest 
 ambition to range herself. In this atmo- 
 sphere she wrote such poetry as is con- 
 genial to it, indistinct in rhythm, metre, 
 morality, and sense. 
 
 To women of Mrs. Etheredge's tem- 
 perament it is impossible to live long 
 without what it pleases them to call 
 sympathy, and she had not eaten a dinner 
 in the country house at which she first 
 met Robert before discovering that in him, 
 of all this Philistine company, was her 
 need for sympathy most likely to find 
 satisfaction. 
 
 He was very young, and it was a fresh 
 experience to him to find an attractive 
 woman claiming a kinship of soul with 
 
A MINOR POETESS. 1 79 
 
 him, anxious to hear his thoughts, willing 
 to confide to him all — (as she told him) — 
 of her own. She spoke in a language 
 which was new to him, or so it seemed ; 
 for though Sybil and he had conversed in 
 a very similar way, it was different when 
 surrounded by the mystery of coming from 
 a woman of whom he knew so little. 
 
 They discussed books and music, and 
 art and souls, and, while he gave open 
 homage to Mrs. Etheredge's opinions, his 
 manner paid tacit reverence to her charm. 
 
 " As soon as we met," Mrs. Etheredge 
 told him, " I felt that we could be friends, 
 that we were of the same clay. One's 
 instincts are never mistaken. I know — I 
 feel — that you and I have no need to go 
 on learning one another to see whether we 
 can be friends. We are friends. We 
 
iSo CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 were made to be friends. Do you not 
 feel it so ? I know you do." 
 
 Robert could only reply with a rather 
 shame-faced, "Yes." To himself he said, 
 schoolboyishly, '' By Jove ! she's going it." 
 Then he repented the next moment of 
 his slang unspoken comment, as if it were 
 a degradation even to think in these terms 
 of a woman of such exquisite sensibility. 
 And though this aggressive manner of 
 friendship a little took away his breath, 
 the attraction of the dainty, highly cultured 
 woman of the world won upon him, so 
 that, if he said but little of his own 
 accord, he responded with ready gratitude. 
 
 He called on her in London, and she 
 made very much of him. He was first 
 of all her friends, she said. She read 
 him her poetry, which he thought mar- 
 
A MINOR POETESS. l8l 
 
 vcllously fine ; it had a delicate, weak 
 beauty, which touched the tenderer side 
 of his complex, inexperienced nature. And 
 on one side of his being he was really 
 akin to this woman, who was not altogether 
 bad, but foolish, and mated with a husband 
 utterly unable to comprehend either her 
 weakness or her charm. But in her 
 foolishness she did evil, though with no 
 ill intent, for she muddled a young heart 
 like Robert's out of all understanding of 
 itself ; so that he asked himself many 
 terrible quetions — Was he true to Sybil ? 
 Ought he not to go to Sybil, and to tell 
 her — what ? That he loved this other 
 woman ? But did he ? And if he did, 
 ought he not to tear himelf away from her 
 (it would not, after all, he believed, be 
 such a fearful wrench ; but, perhaps, that 
 
1 82 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 was because his was such a very strong 
 nature), for was she not a married woman ? 
 So he suffered very much in his per- 
 plexities. 
 
 No climax seemed likely to arrive to 
 enlighten him, because he was a good lad, 
 with a deep reverence for womankind, and 
 because Mrs. Etheredge was not a morally 
 bad, but only a foolish woman, and while 
 skilful to keep her sympathiser's devotion 
 at the proper warmth, had no wish to fan 
 it to red-hot and perilous extremities. In 
 the meantime he said nothing about all 
 this to Sybil, because he feared that, if he 
 introduced Mrs. Etheredge's name at all, 
 he would be unable to do so in a natural 
 way, and Sybil might be led to attach a 
 deeper significance to their acquaintance 
 than it really had. 
 
A MINOR POETESS. 1 83 
 
 But women have " d d good-natured 
 
 friends " in greater number than men, and 
 at a crowded afternoon party a friend of 
 Sybil's took occasion to point out to 
 her '' Mrs. Etheredge — isn't she pretty ? 
 Robert Burscough's great friend, you 
 know." 
 
 After which, as may be imagined, it did 
 not take Sybil long to hear a good deal 
 more about these ''great friends" than 
 facts gave any solid warrant for. And it 
 was not until she had found out far more 
 than there was to know that she sprang 
 upon Robert that startlingly simple ques- 
 tion, ''Who is Mrs. Etheredge ? " 
 
 The answer came up, unexpectedly for 
 Sybil, a very few days later. When one 
 lives in Hill Street, and has a friend, or 
 foe, in South Kensington, what more con- 
 
184 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 venient arena for a meeting than the 
 neighbourhood of Pont Street ? So Sybil, 
 coming to tea one day, by invitation, in 
 Pont Street, with a lady who was so far 
 her friend that Sybil could describe her 
 as "a pleasant, pious, unprincipled woman," 
 found another visitor in the room before 
 her. 
 
 And when she observed the start which 
 this lady thought fit to affect at the men- 
 tion of Miss Sybil Davies's name, and the 
 surprise which she expressed at meeting 
 her, it was patent to Sybil that she was 
 in the toils. Her "pleasant, pious, un- 
 principled'* friend had asked Mrs. Ethe- 
 redge, probably on the latter s suggestion, 
 thought Sybil, to meet her here. This, 
 then, was the battle-field or scene of the 
 opening skirmish. All was in order, the 
 
A MINOR POETESS. 1 55 
 
 tea-things of delicate china, the room 
 luxuriously and artistically furnished. Sybil 
 turned to an easel, on which was a not 
 quite finished portrait of her hostess. This 
 gave her time. 
 
 Before coming out that day she had 
 spent some little while in front of her glass 
 in contemplation of a new hat. She had 
 doubted whether or no to wear it. '' I 
 love myself in it," she had said ; " but 
 I think it is rather waste to wear it there." 
 
 Finally, she elected to keep it on, as 
 the woman who deliberates on such a 
 question before her glass is sure to do. 
 She had another mood, quite different 
 from this, in which she would look at 
 herself in the glass. Often she would 
 sit so and gaze at herself, not in any spirit 
 of vain admiration, but with an intense 
 
1 86 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 longing to learn something of the mystery 
 and meaning of her reflected face. She 
 almost felt as if she ought to be able to 
 read her soul and its destiny through the 
 mirrored eyes. Then she would turn 
 away in tears, partly the fruit of physical 
 weariness of gazing, and partly of the 
 feeling of baffled disappointment that she 
 could read so dimly. " A morbid fancy," 
 some will say ; but who is always sane ? 
 And, after all — after all our preachments 
 against egotism which are mostly Peck- 
 sniffisms — what face is of such interest to 
 us, what face is so inscrutable even, as our 
 own ? 
 
 Whilst she muttered, "How pretty!" 
 over her hostess's portrait in the Pont 
 Street drawing-room, she was mapping 
 out in mind her plan of campaign. 
 
A MINOR POETESS. 1 87 
 
 When she turned again, and faced the 
 enemy, her tactics were determined. She 
 strengthened herself by a mental vision 
 of the becoming hat. 
 
 Then she plunged into the battle. 
 
 " I had no idea," she said to Mrs. 
 Etheredge, in her sweetest manner, *' that 
 we had a friend in common," indicating 
 her hostess. ''Ah yes! I did, though. 
 We have another friend in common — a boy 
 friend — man friend — what is he ? Robert 
 Burscough I mean. Isn't he a dear ? " 
 
 Their pleasant, pious, unprincipled 
 hostess, watching the skirmish with ap- 
 preciation, smiled in covert approval of 
 the boldness of the younger woman's 
 attack. Mrs. Etheredge was her friend 
 much more than Sybil, and just for that 
 very reason she would like to see her in 
 
l83 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 difficulties. Dans la malheur des autres 
 il y a toujoMVs quelque chose qui ne nous 
 deplaise pas ; but it adds much to the 
 enjoyment if these auh^es are of the 
 number of our friends. 
 
 " Ah," said Mrs. Etheredge, " yes ! Is 
 he not a kind, good fellow ? And tell me 
 — you have known him all your life ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! ever since we were babies." 
 
 " Ah, how nice ! How I envy you such 
 a life-long friendship ! Or, is it friendship 
 only ? But I ought not to ask." 
 
 '* Of course I should tell you it was only 
 friendship, shouldn't I — whatever it was ? " 
 Sybil said, laughing. Then, looking with 
 quiet study at the lines that time had 
 written around Mrs. Etheredge's eyes and 
 brow, " You see, he and I are almost 
 exactly the same age." 
 
A MINOR POETESS. 1 89 
 
 Mrs. Etheredge's colour grew a shade 
 warmer, but she only said, " Ah yes ! how 
 nice! But" — a little vexedly — "you are 
 far older in worldly wisdom." 
 
 This little compliment, which her foe's 
 resource had honestly won from Mrs. 
 Etheredge, was perhaps the only thing 
 that rankled in Sybil's memory of the 
 battle. For the combatants then desisted, 
 after making arrangements for prospective 
 carnage by promising to call on each other 
 in the near future. As they went away, 
 Mrs. Etheredge's brow was set in a frown, 
 which the queer look of amusement on her 
 hostess' face did not help to smooth. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 CRICKET ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 
 
 A GREAT many of the world that still 
 lingered in London were going to ** Lord's," 
 for it was the day of the last great match 
 against that team of Colonials which 
 taught English cricket several salutary 
 and distasteful lessons. 
 
 Their first match on that ground had 
 been an interesting study, If one were not 
 too cruelly jealous a cricketer. No eleven 
 of any note had ever come from abroad 
 before. England bowled, batted, and 
 fielded. In a serenity as profound as that 
 ( 190 ) 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. I9I 
 
 which preceded the Crimean war. Then 
 the presumptuous Colonials came. They 
 played two matches immediately on land- 
 ing, and, with their sea-legs still deceiving 
 them, did nothing of great note. Then 
 they came to play the M.C.C. at " Lords," 
 and when the team selected against them 
 was advertised, men said it was a shame. 
 " These poor Colonials, who have come 
 over here to learn the game of cricket ! 
 What a team to put against them ! Almost 
 a representative eleven ! " A few were a 
 little wiser, and said it was the right thing 
 to do. '' Best to make certain — it would 
 never do to be beaten by them, don't you 
 know." 
 
 And the M.C.C. won the toss, and 
 England's — the world's — greatest batsman 
 had the first ball. There was a low 
 
192 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 whistle from the multitudinous, critical 
 mouth of the pavilion as a long Colonial 
 — in after days to come to fame, luridly, as 
 *' the Demon " — delivered the first ball. 
 For it passed fearsomely close to the 
 stumps, though the champion batsman 
 conscientiously tried to play it, and took 
 no liberties. And — see ! though the ball 
 went quick as light, the wicket-keeper 
 handled it (no long stop ! we had 
 thought he would be a slow bowler), and 
 had the bails off on the chance that, 
 over-reaching in his forward stroke, the 
 champion might drag his feet. 
 
 "He didn't ask for it, either," said a 
 shrewd critic. " Looks as if he was in 
 the habit of doing it ! " 
 
 The second ball was in no way calcu- 
 lated to restore the confidence of the bats- 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 1 93 
 
 man, though he met it by careful play. 
 But the third defeated him completely, 
 and the death rattle at the bails was 
 accompanied by a many-voiced groan from 
 the spectators, and with shattered hopes 
 the batsman slowly left his shattered 
 wicket. 
 
 All this is an old record now, but it was 
 a shock to the nation's pride in its national 
 game at the time ; and on this the last 
 occasion, for the year, on which England 
 was to meet the Colonial team, she had 
 got together all her best to wipe out the 
 defeat that her own sons from the other 
 side of the world had put upon her. Lord's 
 ground was a sea of faces round about the 
 green oval. The London sparrow, quite 
 unabashed, pecked about on the turf, and 
 wondered at it all. To left of the pavilion 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 — that nice old pavilion which we all knew 
 our way about before the erection of the 
 trackless modern railway station — were 
 many coaches. The crowd was as 
 numerous (and a deal more keenly appre- 
 ciative of cricket) as at the more fashion- 
 able 'Varsity or Eton and Harrow match, 
 for the enthusiasm over this great struggle 
 between Old and Greater Britain was red- 
 hot. 
 
 In the members' seat, to the right of 
 the pavilion, Miss Sybil Davies was sitting 
 with her father. For a while she watched 
 the cricket keenly. Then her attention 
 wandered to more mundane matters — to 
 the bonnets and dresses around her — till it 
 arrested itself with amazement at a re- 
 markable back view on the lowest seat, 
 two rows in front. A very broad brimmed 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 1 95 
 
 hat, SO low in the crown as but just to 
 come under the generic name of *' high " 
 was parted by a very narrow fringe of 
 snowy hair from a black swathe of old- 
 fashioned stock. A coat of shiny black 
 covered a much bent back. The front 
 view of this curious ensemble was not 
 visible, for the attention of its owner was 
 intensely engrossed by the cricket. The 
 match went fairly for the English side, 
 which now was in. Two batsmen were 
 out, but the third and fourth wickets were 
 making a fine stand, and the 50 went up 
 on the telegraph board amid plaudits. 
 Scarcely had they died away when the 
 batsman, playing a little too far for- 
 ward to the next ball, dragged his right 
 foot an atom. Like light the wicket- 
 keeper had the bails from the stumps, the 
 
196 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 umpire gave the fatal verdict, and the 
 batsman wended his sad way to the 
 pavilion. 
 
 While the clapping which accompanied 
 his exit still sounded, the next batsman 
 came out to take his place. A quick flush 
 passed over Sybil's face. It was Robert 
 Burscough. She looked eagerly at his 
 slender figure as he started on that trying 
 walk to the wickets, then with a shame- 
 faced consciousness she turned away, and 
 answered with an indifferent *' Oh yes," to 
 her fathers ''Look, Sybil — there's Robert." 
 
 But had she been free to notice it, she 
 might have seen a tremulous quiver pass 
 over the queer fashioned figure two seats 
 before them. If his attitude had expressed 
 his interest before, every thread and fibre 
 of the coat and stock and hat were 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. I 97 
 
 eloquent of it now. At the first ball 
 Robert played nervously, and as it passed 
 just off the wicket, the figure shrank into 
 its stock as if in physical pain. But at 
 the second, the young batsman stepped out 
 and drove the ball clean and hard between 
 long-off and cover-point to the boundary. 
 Then the old hat seemed to rise inches 
 from the stock, and drumming vigorously 
 with his stick, the figure added its mite to 
 the thunder of the applause. Then it was 
 " over," and his attitude of intense watch- 
 ing was relieved until Robert again had 
 the ball. 
 
 Soon the new batsman began to prove 
 himself master of the situation, and the 
 old figure's enthusiasm grew to a fever 
 heat as the score mounted. The smarter 
 dressed spectators around him began to 
 
198 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 divide their attention to the cricket with 
 amused watching of his behaviour, but he 
 was perfectly unconscious. His observa- 
 tions grew audible. 
 
 " Well hit ! — whew — ew — should have 
 played her back — all safe though." '' Oh, 
 gently — gently. Master Robert. Do 'ee 
 take care." " That's it — splendid—beauti- 
 ful — all along the carpet." 
 
 Then as the batsman, gaining con- 
 fidence, jumped a step to meet the ball, 
 and getting well hold of it, half volley, 
 landed it fairly over the ring of spectators, 
 and among the coaches, above the echoing 
 plaudits was heard the appreciative com- 
 ment of the old figure, " My word. 
 Master Robert, you did get on terms with 
 that one ! " 
 
 He turned to see where the ball had 
 
CRICKET ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. I 99 
 
 gone, and, for the first time, Sybil got a 
 glimpse of his face. 
 
 " Father ! " said Sybil, excitedly, digging 
 him fearfully with her elbow, " Father, it's 
 old Slocombe ! " 
 
 ''Well, really, Sybil, I can't help it," 
 said her father pathetically ; *' and it 
 makes it none the less painful to be 
 punched " 
 
 '' Hush ! " Sybil interrupted ; '* I must 
 speak to him — Slocombe — Slocombe — 
 Slocombe," she began, in a a^escendo stage- 
 whisper, rather to the scandal of those 
 around them. 
 
 " Call him louder — louder," said her 
 father, who took an impish delight in 
 encouraging her in this sort of little un- 
 conventionality. 
 
 But now she became conscious of the 
 
200 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 people, and said, " Oh, it's no good. Of 
 course, he's got no eyes for anything but 
 this old cricket. It wouldn't be him if he 
 had." 
 
 Whereupon a gentleman in front politely 
 attempted to attract Mr. Slocombe's atten- 
 tion. He touched the queer figure on the 
 shoulder, saying that a lady behind wished 
 to speak to him. But Mr. Slocombe 
 tossed off the hand impatiently, and 
 scarcely turning, said rebuklngly, '' Hush, 
 sir — don't 'ee see — they'm playing cricket!" 
 And the polite gentleman shook his head 
 to Sybil, with a smile to intimate that the 
 figure was hopeless. 
 
 Robert was all the while batting with 
 that perfect confidence which, when it 
 comes as the crown of science, makes all 
 bowling look so easy. When he played 
 
CRICKET ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 20I 
 
 the ball it met his bat hard and true, and 
 when he hit, it flew along the ground to 
 the boundary. His score reached fifty 
 when the batsman who was partnered with 
 him was yet in the forties, though Robert 
 had been in a far shorter time. Just as 
 the other was within two of the half 
 century, he returned a ball into the bowler s 
 hands. 
 
 When the new batsman joined him 
 Robert still played with the same sound 
 confidence, and Mr. Slocombe's excitement 
 was almost at agony point as Robert 
 neared the century. At 97 he put up a 
 ball, his first mistake, in the direction of 
 an out-fielder at long-off, but the Colonial 
 just failed to get to it; the ball bounded 
 past him, and as it rolled under the 
 boundary ropes, rapturous applause from 
 
202 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 all round the ground greeted Robert's 
 hundred. 
 
 What that moment of suspense had cost 
 Mr. Slocombe no words can tell, but as 
 the fieldsman missed the ball he dashed 
 the low-crowned hat upon the ground, and 
 cheered and clapped as if Robert — his 
 protdgd — had gained a kingdom. 
 
 But the very next ball, while still 
 the hand-clapping was echoing, bowled 
 Robert's middle stump, and the luncheon 
 bell sounded and the players came in to 
 the pavilion. 
 
 Sybil's sensations, the while, had been 
 a strange, contradictory medley. She 
 could not analyse them. Was she happy, 
 or was she hurt to see the success and 
 enthusiastic reception of this young man 
 whom she could not doubt that she loved, 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 203 
 
 but whom she despised herself for loving ? 
 She could not tell. Did she love him 
 still, or did she not ? That even she 
 could hardly tell ; though in her heart of 
 hearts she said to herself that she feared 
 she did. But to her the saddest part of 
 all, was the comparison she could not help 
 drawing between the present war of her 
 emotions, and the unmixed delight she 
 w^ould have felt could she still have been 
 confident of Robert's love. 
 
 She sat silent and distraite, while the 
 people all round got up, until her father 
 touched her. 
 
 ''Come, Sybil," he said. ** Morning- 
 ham's coach is here. Let's go and draw 
 him for lunch." 
 
 " Stop a minute," she said, " I must 
 just go and speak to old Slocombe." 
 
204 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 So they got out of their seats, and went 
 round to where the old clerk still sat, 
 pulling out of the skirt pocket of his coat 
 a brown paper parcel of bread and cheese 
 for his luncheon. 
 
 '' How do you do, Slocombe ? " she 
 cried delightedly to the old man, who 
 had not seen them come. 
 
 " Bean't it splendid ! " he said, in an 
 absent-minded way, taking the little gloved 
 hand she held out to him in his great 
 rough paw. 
 
 For one flattering moment Sybil thought 
 the adjective applied to his pleasure in 
 seeing her there. Then she realized 
 that it was all intended for Robert Burs- 
 cough. 
 
 ''Oh yes — the cricket," she said, "Yes, 
 certainly it is." 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V AUSTRALIA. 205 
 
 '' Oh, that Master Robert ! " Slocombe 
 ejaculated, as if words could not express 
 what he felt. Then, collecting himself ; 
 " Do you know, Miss Sybil, there is 
 nothinof in this world I would not do for 
 that young gent. I would die for that 
 young gent this minute. What a grave 
 I would dig for that young gent, if only 
 I might be spared to do it ! " 
 
 Mr. Davies, of whom the old man had 
 taken no notice, moved away a step or two 
 to hide his amusement. 
 
 '* Do you not love him, Miss Sybil," 
 Slocombe asked, seeing that the girl did 
 not respond to his enthusiasm. 
 
 Her face flushed up a moment. " Yes, 
 no — yes, I think I do," she said irreso- 
 lutely, with a little weak laugh. Then 
 setting her face, and coming a step nearer, 
 
206 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 *' No," she said in a low decided voice 
 — " No. I think — I know — I hate 
 him." 
 
 Then she joined her father, and they 
 went off to Lord Morningham's coach, 
 leaving the old clerk speechless with 
 amazement. 
 
 Lord Morningham had a very well 
 appointed coach. He did not care at all 
 for coaching, but to have a coach was the 
 thing to do, so Lord Morningham did it. 
 He was a good driver, for he had sensitive 
 hands and was never guilty of the weak- 
 ness of losing his head. 
 
 He had called on Sybil since her scorn- 
 ful rejection of him, and had won a 
 promise from her, with no difficulty, that 
 they should resume their former relation, 
 which he described as *' being friends." 
 
CRICKET ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 2 0/ 
 
 Sybil's heart was so little touched by him, 
 that she could consent to this without an 
 atom of embarrassment, the more readily 
 that her analysis of his character gave 
 " no heart " in its results. She had quite 
 made up her mind that after her rejection 
 of him, Lord Morningham would at once 
 cease to think of her, and turn elsewhere 
 where his chance was better. 
 
 But though her analysis of Lord Morn- 
 ingham was quite correct in putting heart 
 out of the obtainable results, it had erred 
 In want of perception of an effect of the 
 one-principled code on which his life 
 worked. She had lost sight of one of 
 the effects of great selfishness — an intense 
 dislike to being thwarted. 
 
 Lord Morningham had hitherto had 
 most things that he wanted, and the more 
 
2o8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 he thought of the absurdity of being gain- 
 said in such a wish as merely to have 
 Miss Sybil Davies as his wife, the greater 
 grew his exasperation. The clockwork 
 arrangements within him were quite dis- 
 turbed by this, as he told himself, quite 
 unworthy vexation. His thoughts were 
 constantly coming round to her, and her 
 contrariness ; and this was the more 
 annoying, because hitherto one of his most 
 valuable gifts had been the faculty of 
 putting behind him any petty past annoy- 
 ance, and concentrating on the present all 
 his excellent intellectual abilities. He 
 began to feel a genuine engrossing 
 passion for her — a passion which was 
 none the less genuine because it was so 
 wholly selfish. 
 
 But in this new state of his being, he 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 209 
 
 was Still SO far ruled by the clear reasoning 
 of his brain, as to be able to hold himself 
 in hand and carry out his resolve to lose 
 nothing by precipitation, but by assiduous 
 and respectful attention win back his way 
 with Sybil to the position, such as it was, 
 from which he felt he must have fallen 
 when he appeared in the ridiculous role 
 of a rejected lover. 
 
 Therefore, if Sybil had only known it, 
 he was so far from having put her from 
 his thoughts, that he was a thousand times 
 more intent than ever upon eventually 
 making her his wife. 
 
 He was charmed to see her and her 
 father as they came to his coach. The 
 footmen bustled to bring them luncheon 
 and champagne, more zealously obedient 
 to Lord Morningham's cool imperatives 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
2IO CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 than they had ever been to his fathers 
 choleric bluster. And still, as she sat 
 there and ate and drank, it seemed to 
 Sybil that every one was for ever talking 
 of Robert Burscough and his triumph, 
 and since she had relieved her strained 
 feeling by her whisper in old Slocombe's 
 ear, she felt her heart softening and 
 veering back again ; so difficult is it for 
 a woman to resist the fascination of the 
 glamour that surrounds the hero of the 
 hour. She hoped that she should see 
 Robert before the luncheon interval 
 was over, and be able to tell him how 
 happy she was in his success. 
 
 So, on the vague chance of meeting 
 him, she allowed Lord Morningham to 
 escort her, when the slight al fresco lunch 
 was done, to look at the wicket. There 
 
CRICKET ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 2 I I 
 
 they found Mr. Slocombe absorbed in 
 the same study, still munching from time 
 to time at a hunk of bread and cheese. 
 From this encounter Sybil managed to 
 get some diversion, for she made Slo- 
 combe walk back with them in front of 
 the pavilion, and Lord Morningham had 
 to accompany them and talk to them 
 with an uncertainty about the dignity of 
 the situation. For there is no denying 
 that Mr. Slocombe was an object of a 
 good deal of attention, as he well deserved 
 whenever he visited the metropolis. 
 
 She would not accept Lord Morning- 
 ham's invitation to come back to his 
 coach — an elevated but rather draughty 
 perch — and made him take her back to 
 her place in the seats for members. She 
 had seen nothing yet of Robert. 
 
212 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 But when the bell for clearing the 
 ground had rung some minutes, and the 
 green-sward was again tolerably free, 
 Robert came walking up from the direc- 
 tion of the members' lunching-place, 
 with a lady whom Sybil instantly recog- 
 nised. It was Mrs. Etheredge. They 
 were talking absorbedly, with an unmistak- 
 able air, as it seemed to Sybil, of perfect 
 mutual understanding. In an instant, 
 all her kind feeling of happiness in Robert's 
 success had vanished. That in this 
 moment of his triumph he should be 
 appropriated, as it were, and should allow 
 himself to be so appropriated, by this 
 other, was peculiarly painful to her. And 
 she felt a resentment, which she knew to 
 be absurd, that this woman should parade 
 her conquest, on this day of all others, 
 when Robert was the cynosure of eyes. 
 
CRICKET — ENGLAND V. AUSTRALIA. 2 I 3 
 
 Sybil shrank back in her seat, anxious 
 that Robert should not see her. But it 
 was scarcely likely that he would. '' He 
 has no eyes but for Mrs. Etheredge," 
 she said to herself. Already they were 
 almost past, when old Slocombe's un- 
 usual figure amongst the smart people 
 caught Robert's attention. In an instant 
 Robert had come to him. '* How are 
 you, old man ? " Sybil heard him say, as 
 he took the old clerk's hand in both of 
 his. 
 
 Slocombe, in a voice that quavered 
 with emotion, could hardly say, "■ God 
 bless 'ee, Master Robert — God bless 'ee — 
 it was splendid ! " 
 
 And Robert laughed shyly, and turning 
 his eyes away from Slocombe, met Sybil's 
 eyes just as she averted them. But she 
 
214 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 could not, without absolute rudeness, 
 ignore him, more especially as her father 
 was nodding to him. So she looked 
 towards him again, and bowed ; and for 
 an instant Robert, as he carried his hand 
 to his cap, made a movement as if he 
 would come the two steps up the passage 
 and say, " How do you do." But some- 
 thing In the manner of her bow stopped 
 him. After all, he could hardly with 
 courtesy have left Mrs. Etheredge stand- 
 ing alone there, even for that short 
 moment. 
 
 So he contented himself with bowing, 
 with the sun-tan on his fair face just a 
 trifle heightened In colour, and passed 
 on with his friend, who had not been 
 unobservant. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 LORD MORNINGHAm's PROPOSAL. 
 
 A FEW mornings after the great cricket 
 match, Lord Morningham came up St. 
 James's Street with an expression that was 
 new to the observant crossing-sweeper. 
 The determination of his thin features was 
 strono-er set even than usual ; but there 
 was a look that was not common to them, 
 of trouble and doubt. 
 
 London was in its most diabolical state, 
 parchingly hot. The Board of Works was 
 making merry with every other street in 
 a fashion which suggested Paris and the 
 
 ( 215 ) 
 
2l6 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 barricades. Most people had left town ; 
 the others were evil-minded because they 
 had to stay. Lord Morningham was de- 
 tained by his duties as legislator. Mr. 
 Davies was slaving at his work, that he 
 might fly to the Continent with Sybil in 
 a week. Mrs. Etheredge was waiting on 
 in town till some dear friend should ask 
 her to a country house. Robert, ever on 
 the move, had gone back, Sybil supposed, 
 to Little Pipkin. 
 
 Lord Morningham, with his new ex- 
 pression, climbed over the torn-up gas 
 pipes and the blocks of perished wood- 
 paving across Piccadilly, and made his way 
 through the slummy back streets of the 
 aristocratic quarter of May fair, to the 
 house in Hill Street at which the Davieses 
 lived. He had asked no leave of Sybil 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S PROPOSAL. 2 I 7 
 
 to call, and when the servant announced 
 *' Lord Morningham," she was genuinely 
 surprised. She received him graciously, 
 but in his manner she scented trouble, and 
 prepared herself from the first for the 
 difficulty that she felt was at hand. She 
 knew it was no good to think of putting 
 Lord Morningham off on side-issues of 
 conversation. He had come to say some- 
 thing, and he would not go away without 
 saying it. 
 
 So, in the first pause, she did not inter- 
 rupt him, but let him collect his ideas, and 
 waited with calm patience till they came 
 forth in words. 
 
 "Miss Davies," he then said, with a 
 note of trouble in his voice which she had 
 never yet heard, " even at the risk of 
 vexing you, I must refer to a subject on 
 
2l8 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 which I spoke to you before. Once, a 
 while ago, in this room I asked you to be 
 my wife. On that occasion you answered 
 me very decidedly, and said — pardon my 
 reminding you — many very unpleasant 
 things. Now, in the first place, I want to 
 tell you that all those unpleasant things 
 were true ; that you were perfectly justified 
 in saying them. You told me, I think, 
 that I had laid before you an * inventory 
 of the advantages of the situation ' I 
 offered you — I think those were the terms 
 you used — 'm proposing to marry you. I 
 want to tell you now that you were per- 
 fectly justified in describing my proposal 
 in that way, and that I wish to apologize 
 to you most humbly and reverently for 
 having approached you in such a spirit. 
 I deserved all your castlgation, and I hope 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S PROPOSAL. 2 I 9 
 
 and believe that I am benefited by it. 
 But now I come to renew my proposal. 
 Bear with me a moment, please," he said, 
 as Sybil appeared inclined to interrupt 
 him. " I wish to renew my proposal, but 
 I make it in a very different spirit. When 
 I went home I doubted not, smarting- 
 though I was under your words, that I 
 should soon be able to forget you ; that 
 I should be able to ' offer my situation ' 
 to some other who seemed fairly qualified 
 for it. I have found myself mistaken. 
 The more I have tried to put you out of 
 my thoughts, the more persistently your 
 image has remained there. No other 
 human being, no other interest even, has 
 ever occupied so much room in my mental 
 outlook. I have thought over you, and 
 dwelt upon you in my mind, till it seems 
 
2 20 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 to me as if life were not possible for me 
 without you. It is impossible that I can 
 ever love any one so again. I had 
 believed it impossible that I could ever 
 love so at all. Will you marry me ? " 
 
 He had spoken in the calm, level 
 accents in which he delivered his well- 
 prepared speeches to the Peers ; but in 
 the four last words a new note sounded, 
 a new light came into his cold eyes — a 
 horrid, hungry light of passion, as it struck 
 Sybil. Hitherto she had merely over- 
 looked this man, this clockwork ; now it 
 was as if the clock face had shown fangs 
 and passion. She dreaded it. 
 
 " No, Lord Morningham," she said in 
 a clear, decided voice. *' I will not marry 
 you — no, never ; not if you were the last 
 man in the world. When you came here 
 
LORD MORXINGHAM S PROPOSAL. 22 1 
 
 before, I told you I respected you, for 
 then you did riot make any show or 
 pretence of loving me ; to-day — no, let me 
 finish ; do not interrupt me — to-day, you 
 have said that you love me, and I believe 
 you. I believe that you love me to the 
 utmost of the capacity that you have for 
 love. I have seen It In your face, and 
 it has made me afraid of you. Before, 
 I would as soon have married a fish ; 
 to-day I would as soon marry a venomous 
 reptile. A cold man's passion Is a cruel 
 thing." 
 
 As she spoke these unmaidenly words, 
 she threw herself back In her chair with 
 her hands clasped behind her head, and 
 looked out at him with loathing, and with 
 interest. Did she know what she was 
 doine ? Did she understand that this was 
 
2 22 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 her most seductive pose ? Did she love 
 torturing the wild, fierce thing Into which 
 she had wrought this well-balanced man ? 
 Or was It all but an unconscious act ? 
 
 Whatever It was, It was an Impulse, and 
 she obeyed It with abandonment. But for 
 the self-willed man before her, strong In 
 his passion once let loose as In Its habitual 
 repression. It was too provocative. He 
 made a dash towards her, and seized her 
 in his arms, bearing her up from her chair 
 and pressing kisses on her face. 
 
 She struggled to free herself — in vain — 
 till Lord Morningham lifted his head, and 
 caught a sight of her face and of her eyes. 
 Their dumb, blazing fury quelled him. 
 He dropped his arms by his side and let 
 her go. She stood trembling in white, 
 inarticulate wrath. 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S PROPOSAL. 223 
 
 " Go ! " she said presently. *' Go, you 
 man-devil ; go. Let me never, never 
 speak to you — see you again." 
 
 Lord Morningham had perfectly re- 
 covered himself. Like a douche of cold 
 water, Sybil's eyes had made him sane. 
 He picked up his hat, and umbrella, and 
 gloves with absolute self-possession. He 
 bowed to her as she stood watching him 
 with half averted, disdainful face, then let 
 himself out of the room and from the 
 house. As he repassed the old crossing- 
 sweeper, he wore again a new expression. 
 Things were moving fast in the clockwork. 
 Lord Morningham was wondering at him- 
 self ; he had never given himself occasion 
 for wonder before ; but now he found him- 
 self interesting, and a ghost of an intro- 
 spective smile was about his face. For 
 
224 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE* 
 
 the present, curiously enough, he was 
 thinking more of himself than of Sybil. 
 
 But Sybil ! Poor Sybil's face was no 
 place for smiles, but for bitter wrath and 
 tears — wrath the rather that she knew 
 herself in a measure to blame for what 
 had befallen her ; tears for outraged 
 maidenly dignity and respect. She felt 
 inclined to curse her life, and her gods, 
 and all her fate ; for everything seemed 
 very dark before her. Robert was changed 
 to her. He did not come to see her. 
 He occupied himself with Mrs. Etheredge. 
 
 Sybil could not enter into the difficulties 
 of Robert's shynesses before her smarter 
 friends, for this was a feeling of his which 
 was outside her sympathy, and he had 
 never spoken of it. She could not under- 
 stand him. She only knew that he kept 
 
LORD MORNINGHAM S PROPOSAL. 225 
 
 at a distance, while here, this one that 
 she would have fain kept at so great a 
 distance — faugh ! — had come so close ; and 
 she washed and wiped and rubbed at her 
 face where he had kissed her, as if he had 
 kissed venom on her. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. ETHEREDGE's AMBUSCADE. 
 
 Mrs. Etheredge's drawing-room was a 
 restful apartment, if one found the personal 
 atmosphere congenial. It was full of 
 subdued lights, of draperies of aesthetic 
 shades, of delicate odours of pot-pourri 
 and the rest. But its furniture was of no 
 style ; it was a medley of all sorts of 
 prettinesses. Photographs, which aimed 
 at beauty rather than fidelity, cumbered 
 every table ; and where there was an 
 island among the photograph frames, it 
 was crowded with small oddities. The 
 ( 226 ) 
 
MRS. ETIIEREDGES AMBUSCADE. 22; 
 
 house lay in the far west, In the debateable 
 country, the Kensington of its denizens, 
 the Brompton of its tradesfolk, the Fulham 
 of its foes ; and thither, the day after Lord 
 Morningham's visit to Sybil, Robert found 
 his well-accustomed way. His hostess* 
 reception was always a fresh surprise to 
 him. Sybil, in the old days, might have 
 met him with an equal sympathy ; but no 
 one had ever made him feel his presence 
 so great a help. 
 
 '' Ah, my best of friends," she cried, '' I 
 want your sympathy very badly to-day ! 
 May I call you best of friends ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you may," he said. 
 "Sister, I love to call you. You know 
 I never had a sister. I like to dream 
 that, if I had one, she would have been 
 like you." 
 
228 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 *' Do you think you would love me 
 better, if I were your sister ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Yes — no. I don't 
 know." 
 
 Mrs. Etheredge smiled. She was not 
 without a sense of humour, though she 
 was a poetess. But while she smiled at 
 his naivete, it touched her a little too. 
 
 "• Well, now, I tell you what I wish to 
 know — if I am best of your friends, that 
 means that I am first, doesn't it ? Or is 
 it only that you are to be first to me, and 
 I am to be second, or nothing to you ? '\ 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! you are first." 
 
 " Are you quite sure 1 " 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Dear boy ! Well, tell me now about 
 your Miss Sybil Davies. Is not she a 
 sister too '^. " 
 
MRS. ETHEREDGES AMBUSCADE. 229 
 
 Robert blushed. '' No, not quite. Oh, 
 you know I have known her all my life ! 
 That's different. As a sister I love you 
 very dearly ; your sympathy is very, very 
 dear to me. There is no one in the whole 
 world to whom I can tell everything with 
 such perfect certainty of being understood ; 
 but " 
 
 ''Hush!" 
 
 Robert's eyes followed the direction of 
 Mrs. Etheredge's glance. There, in the 
 dim doorway, stood Miss Sybil Davies 
 herself — Miss Sybil Davies, with her face 
 a deader white even than its wont. The 
 servant stood with the door open. No 
 doubt he had announced her. But it was 
 an order of Mrs. Etheredge's household 
 that no servant should speak in natural 
 tones. An awful, soulful silence was upon 
 
230 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 it all. Door handles did not jar, doors 
 did not creak, in this suburban home of 
 poetry. Still it was strange that Mrs. 
 Etheredge had neither seen the door open 
 nor heard the announcement of the name, 
 for her face was towards the door. Robert 
 had been speaking engrossedly, with his 
 back to it. He, of course, had not heard. 
 Mrs. Etheredge's start and pretty con- 
 fusion were perfectly natural, as she rose 
 to receive her visitor. But the visitor 
 stood motionless, while the astonished 
 servant held the door. It was not till 
 Mrs. Etheredge had crossed half the room 
 to meet her that she recovered herself 
 with a low exclamation of surprise or pain, 
 and allowed the servant to shut the door, 
 which he did with deliberation. Sybil's 
 manner was a little cold, but self-possessed. 
 
MRS. ETHEREDGES AMBUSCADE, 23 I 
 
 She shook Mrs. Etheredge's hand with 
 sufficient cordiaHty, but Robert had to 
 content himself with the iciest bow he had 
 ever known from Sybil. The conversation 
 did not languish, because either lady could 
 talk ; but on Robert's part it was neces- 
 sarily lop-sided. For while Mrs. Ethe- 
 redge made a point of referring each topic 
 to him, Sybil ignored him altogether. 
 
 She paid a very brief visit, and bowed 
 again coldly to Robert at parting. She 
 had not spoken to him one single word. 
 
 " Poor boy ! " said Mrs. Etheredge, when 
 Sybil had gone. *' Yes, and poor girl ! 
 Of course she feels it, too. Yes, I have 
 seen it ; you have had a little quarrel. Is 
 it not so ? But it will soon be put right." 
 
 Robert did not answer. He was too 
 sore at heart. That she should treat him 
 
232 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 thus, just at the moment that he was 
 about to confide in Mrs. Etheredge his 
 devotion to her ! How glad he felt that 
 he had not done so ! Though he believed 
 implicitly in Mrs. Etheredge, and in her 
 friendship, he shrank before the picture 
 which his imagination conjured of the 
 absurdity of introducing, by a declaration 
 of his love for Sybil, the scene in which 
 she had just subjected him to such a role. 
 He rejected, rather thanklessly, as he took 
 his leave, Mrs. Etheredge's proffered 
 sympathy ; but that soulful lady's face 
 none the less wore a smile that suggested 
 triumph. 
 
 " So much for Act number two," she 
 said, as she took up a blue and white 
 poetry book, and sank on her sofa in 
 weary appreciation. *' Quite a nice drama 
 
MRS. ETHEREDGE S AMBUSCADE. 233 
 
 Act I. — Pont Street drawing-room : defeat 
 of Mrs. Etheredge. Act II. — Kensington 
 drawing-room: defeat of Miss Sybil Davies. 
 Who laughs last laughs best. But the 
 ddnoument is not yet. I wonder what it 
 will be ? That arrival was wonderfully 
 apropos. I think I stopped him just at 
 the right time." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 
 
 Mrs. Etheredge's servant called a hansom 
 for Sybil, and she was whirled away in the 
 direction of Hill Street. It was a whirl 
 indeed ; the swaying of the rickety hansom 
 seemed in rhythm with the turmoil of her 
 thoughts. She saw nothing ; the cabs, 
 the people, the houses went past her like 
 things in a dream or an impressionist 
 picture. All the street traffic formed itself 
 into a sing-song accompaniment to those 
 words of Robert's which she had over- 
 heard, '^ I love you very dearly ; your 
 ( 234 ) 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 235 
 
 sympathy Is very, very dear to me. There 
 is no one In the whole world to whom I 
 can tell everything with such perfect cer- 
 tainty of being understood." The picture 
 before her mind's eye was not the Im- 
 pressionist one of the hurrying cabs and 
 houses ; but a fixed one, though It seemed 
 to jog with the jolts of the hansom, of 
 Robert and Mrs. Etheredge, and of him 
 saying those words to her. She was able 
 to marvel at the minuteness of her remem- 
 brance of the scene ; of Robert's attitude ; 
 of how his hat and stick were on the 
 carpet beside him ; of how one of his 
 hands hung over the chair, and of Its 
 effect against a background of some 
 strange coloured Liberty silk. That drive 
 home was with Sybil for many a year 
 after as a nightmare, in which her brain 
 
236 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 was tortured nearly to madness, and out 
 of which the occasional fear that the cab- 
 man might cut her face as he struck his 
 horse with the whip, was her only conscious 
 impression from the present surroundings. 
 She went to her room, and, sitting in a 
 chair before her dressing-table, buried her 
 face upon her folded arms, dried eyed, in 
 dumb misery and rage. 
 
 When she lifted her face, the sight of 
 it in the glass frightened her. As she 
 continued to dwell on it, it grew set into 
 a hard purpose, and the great black eyes 
 gazed back at her under contracted brows, 
 and her sensitive mouth closed- fast in a 
 firm line. She plunged her face into a 
 basin of cold water, dried it hastily, looked 
 at it In the glass once more ; then went 
 downstairs, and out of the house. She 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 237 
 
 called a hansom, and told the man to drive 
 her to Lord Morningham's. 
 
 It was an act of outrageous uncon- 
 ventionality ; but Mrs. Grundy, for whom 
 she never greatly cared, seemed at that 
 moment to have shrunk to the size of the 
 smallest midget, and for herself she had 
 no fear. 
 
 '' Yes, his Lordship was at home," the 
 servant said wonderlngly, and ushered 
 her up. 
 
 Lord Mornlngham sat at a writing-table 
 In a room which was at once library and 
 study. He turned with a start as the 
 servant said her name. Lord Mornlngham 
 seldom showed emotion — the emotion of 
 surprise least often, perhaps, of any. It 
 had been educated out of him. But this 
 Miss Sybil Davies had once before given 
 
238 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 him perhaps the greatest surprise of his 
 life when she declined the offer of his hand 
 in marriage. His surprise at her announce- 
 ment as his visitor to-day, after their 
 parting of the day before, was scarcely 
 less. 
 
 '' How do you do ? " he said, rising to 
 meet her. 
 
 She bowed, but said nothing, waiting 
 deliberately until the servant shut the 
 door. Though Lord Morningham was 
 without great skill in such matters, he 
 divined that she was repressing great 
 nervous excitement. 
 
 ** I have come," she said, standing up 
 before him, very calm apparently, except 
 for a slight shivering, '* to tell you that I 
 want to marry — to ask you — if you will 
 marry me. I have not come to apologize 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 239 
 
 for what I said to you yesterday ; I meant 
 it all, and I mean it still. I hate you still ; 
 yes," she said, looking at him studyingly, 
 '' I think I hate you still — yes, I am sure 
 I do ; and yet I rather like you, for I am 
 afraid of you, and I love everything that 
 terrifies me. It impresses me." 
 
 Lord Morningham smiled — a cold gray 
 smile. ** But tell me," he said; **you 
 must be a little more explicit. What is 
 your reason for asking me to marry you ? 
 I suppose it is not the feeling you speak 
 of which makes you ask me ? Is it the 
 position you will have as my wife — the 
 money ? " 
 
 '* No, no ; not the money. The position, 
 yes. But, understand, I do not care two- 
 pence about the position, except " 
 
 She paused, embarrassed. 
 
240 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 '' Yes ? " he said. 
 
 '' Yes/' she echoed ; *' I will tell you. 
 I will not offer myself to you on any false 
 pretences. It zs for your position. It is 
 to show another whom I love, and who 
 does not love me, that every one does 
 not scorn me so. Do you see ? " she 
 said, with a bitter laugh. ''It is not a 
 very flattering offer that I make you, 
 is it ? " 
 
 '' No," he said ; '' but I do not care 
 about that," and the pale, cold smile 
 played on his face ; " but," he went on, and 
 the cold smile became alive with male- 
 volence, " there is one proviso I must 
 make before I say yes, and consent to 
 regard you as my engaged wife — and that 
 is that you shall swear, here, where we 
 stand, by all that you hold most sacred, if 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 24 1 
 
 you do hold anything sacred — which I 
 doubt — that you will not change your 
 mind and go back upon me, and after 
 using your position as my betrothed wife 
 for the edification of your lover, throw me 
 over and marry him." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " she said ; " what is the good 
 of talking about swearing, or things we 
 hold sacred ? That is nonsense. Give 
 me paper and pen." 
 
 She wrote quickly, '* This is to certify 
 that I have this day asked Lord Morning- 
 ham to be my husband." — '*Yes," she 
 said, sinking on her knees at the writing- 
 table, and repeating the words she was 
 inscribing, " have asked him on my knees 
 — and this further certifies that Lord 
 Morningham has sworn by his honour as 
 a gentleman " — ''gentleman ! " she repeated 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 in a tone that made even Lord Morning- 
 ham wince — "that he will make no use of 
 this interesting document to my discredit 
 unless I fail to ratify my promise of 
 marrying him" — ''within what, shall we 
 say ? " 
 
 '*A month," Lord Morningham sug- 
 gested. 
 
 "No, two months," she said. "There 
 — I have signed it. Sign your name 
 under — it is a nice betrothal bond, isn't 
 it ? Stay, though, let me first insert this, 
 ' unless death or physical or mental disease 
 intervene.' It is not unlikely." 
 
 Lord Morningham still smiled the cold, 
 malevolent smile as he signed the extra- 
 ordinary paper. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Sybil, as soon as this 
 business was completed. " You had better 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 243 
 
 tell my father to-morrow, and I shall 
 leave all arrangements to you." 
 
 " Good-bye," he said, drawing near her, 
 to kiss her. But she held up her hand as 
 if to ward off a blow. 
 
 " No," she said, a little faintly. It was 
 the first note of her voice that had not 
 rung out clear and strong in the interview ; 
 but the fear and the magnetic influence of 
 the man were upon her, even though she 
 hated him. '' No," she said, "please not." 
 And Lord Morningham smiled again, 
 coldly, and, opening the door, contented 
 himself with a plain '' Good-bye." 
 
 The London season was well over when 
 the engagement of Sybil to Lord Morning- 
 ham became the property of the world. 
 
 '' She'll be happy now that she's got a 
 tide," was the comment of many a defeated 
 
244 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 match-maker at continental hof or British 
 country-house or sea side. 
 
 Of all whom the engagement took by- 
 surprise, no one, except perhaps Lord 
 Morningham, was so much surprised as 
 Mr. Davles. Without any habitual or 
 careful observation, he had gained a 
 tolerably intimate knowledge of his 
 daughter, and he knew Morningham, like- 
 wise, fairly well. That Sybil could love 
 such a man was inconceivable to him ; and 
 that she should marry for the sake of 
 Morningham's position seemed equally 
 unlike her. To say, sooth, he was rather 
 disgusted. In his airy, cynical way, he 
 had always been uttering wise truths about 
 the folly of marrying for love, and the 
 superiority of French cookery to a dinner 
 of herbs ; but it is different when one 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 245 
 
 comes down from generalities to the con- 
 crete, especially when the particular 
 instance is one's daughter. 
 
 *' Do you love him, Sybil ? " he had 
 asked her, with a tenderer kindness than 
 his wont. 
 
 But she had put him off with a laughing 
 " Father, how can you ask a girl to be so 
 unmaidenly as to answer a question like 
 that ? " 
 
 " You know next to nothing of him," he 
 persisted. 
 
 " Quite enough," she said, with a signific- 
 ance that puzzled him. 
 
 *' Surely, dear," the father said kindly, 
 '' you should know a man very well before 
 marrying him." 
 
 '' Oh, but think how deadly dull marry- 
 ing a man you know all about, and 
 
246 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 not to have anything to find out about 
 him." 
 
 And so she fenced him off with a mirth- 
 less jest. 
 
 ''Well, dear," he said, ''you have done 
 well for yourself I hope you will be very 
 happy." 
 
 Of all the congratulations that she had 
 to bear, this, from her own father, was the 
 hardest to Sybil. " You have done well 
 for yourself" — yes, that was what the 
 world would say of her. And, after all, 
 was it not true ? And had she not merited 
 it ? She drew herself up before the glass 
 in her room, and appraised herself highly, 
 and correctly enough, by the world's 
 standard. She vowed to herself that she 
 would be queen of this London fashionable 
 and political society. This she would take 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGIIAM. 247 
 
 for her god. The gods of her heart were 
 outcast, and she would take to herself 
 other gods more worldly and more wise. 
 
 But it did not do. Let her study her 
 glass and rate herself never so favourably, 
 she knew the while that it was but wilful 
 self-delusion ; and the next 'moment had 
 flung herself upon her bed in an agony of 
 tears. 
 
 She had no one of all the friends whom 
 she made with such passionate fervour to 
 whom she would go w^ith this sorrow. 
 They should never know it was a sorrow 
 • — not even her beloved Mrs. Athelstane 
 should know that ; none but herself should 
 ever know it, and her own self she tried 
 her utmost to deceive. But she shivered 
 as she thought of this man whom she was 
 about to marry, and once or twice, but for 
 
248 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 her bond, might have repented of It. For 
 he was not Indifferent to her. His pre- 
 sence was constantly before her mental 
 vision, and she dreaded him, and was 
 facinated by her very fear of him. It 
 was no such extravagant word that she 
 had spoken in telling him that she would 
 as soon have married a venomous reptile 
 — had only the venomous reptile been 
 able to serve her wretched purposes in 
 showing the man, whom she deemed to 
 have rejected her, that one in the highest 
 position was ready to take that which he 
 had scorned. And it was because she 
 knew herself, and her quickly changing 
 moods, that she had bound herself over, 
 hand and foot, to her evil course — had 
 urged upon Lord Morningham the bond 
 which put her so completely at his mercy 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 249 
 
 — the bond of which such a man as he 
 would make such merciless use. But she 
 did not draw back. The demons of 
 wounded pride and of recklessness of that 
 most sacred gift — self — which gods have 
 given to mortals, had firm hold upon this 
 most proud and most wilful mortal. So 
 the bond remained a secret, and the pre- 
 parations for the wedding went merrily. 
 
 Mrs. Athelstane could make nothing of 
 her. For the first time almost, this 
 impetuous young girl, whom she loved 
 with all the stedfast warmth of her serene 
 nature, set her sympathy at defiance. 
 Sybil would not let Mrs. Athelstane know 
 that she was flying in the face of her most 
 cherished life maxim by giving herself to 
 this man she did not love — nay, hated. 
 
 Mrs. Athelstane saw it was all wrong 
 
2 50 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 with her ; but she could not lay her hand 
 on the root of the trouble, or its cure, in 
 face of Sybil's stony silence or bitter jests. 
 She was disposed to throw the blame on 
 Mr. Davies. 
 
 " What is Sybil doing ? " she asked him 
 on the first opportunity for a moment's 
 
 He did not pretend to misunderstand. 
 '' Doing .^" he said, with his light, cynical 
 laugh — " marrying a peer.'* 
 
 " Idiot ! " she said, in indignation at his 
 jesting tone. 
 
 ^'Oh, charming, Mrs. Athelstane ! " Mr. 
 Davies answered, with a laugh. '' Why I 
 did not know the word was in our vocabu- 
 lary, or such a use of it in your philosophy. 
 This is you in a new, a yet more delightful 
 mood." 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 25 I 
 
 " Oh, don't," she said wearily. *' There, 
 I apologise. I did not mean It. But you 
 must know what she Is doing — she cannot 
 love him. Cannot you help her — guide 
 her ? " 
 
 *' No, no, my good friend," Mr. Davles 
 said, taking her hand gratefully, and the 
 tears springing to his eyes in Sybil's own 
 manner. *' No, I cannot help her. I hope 
 to Heaven it may be for the best ; but I 
 know I have been but a careless father to 
 her, and I cannot expect her confidence in 
 a moment. I know it — I feel it is my 
 own fault, and such an one as you can 
 never say words strong enough to tell the 
 blame I put on myself. Cannot you, her 
 best friend, help her } '* 
 
 Mrs. Athelstane shook her head sadly. 
 
 ''Well, well," he said, with an attempt 
 
252 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 at a return to his usual mood ; '' after all, 
 it is something, I suppose, to be a 
 Countess. Ces^ magnifique, this coup of 
 Sybil's, maisy' he added, with a grim 
 smile, '' ce nest pas la mariage!' 
 
 After which, Mrs. Athelstane, however 
 she might blame him, pitied him a great 
 deal more — a sentiment in much truer 
 consonance with her nature. 
 
 If Mr. Davies were one of the most 
 surprised at the news of Sybil's betrothal, 
 Robert Burscough was, perhaps, the least. 
 His surprise was rather at himself — that 
 he was not more surprised — for now it 
 became clear to him, for the first time, 
 how fully — though he had made himself 
 no conscious avowal of it — he had been 
 prepared for this or some similar blow. 
 All might yet have been put right had he 
 
253 
 
 understood the position. But he could 
 not do that. He did not know the mean- 
 ing that Sybil had, perforce, attached to 
 those words of his that she had over- 
 heard in Mrs. Etheredgfe's drawine-room. 
 He did not know that at the very moment 
 that he was coming to an understanding 
 between himself and his hostess, by telling 
 her that Sybil was the one and only love 
 of all his life, he had seemed to Sybil to 
 be saying all that a man could say by way 
 of avowal of his love to his confidante. 
 The humility of his character made him 
 deem it only natural that Sybil, now she 
 had seen men and life, should prefer the 
 position of Lord Morningham's countess 
 to anything that he could offer. He did 
 not complain or think of blaming her, 
 much less of attempting to alter her 
 
2 54 CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 decision. It was right and just, he told 
 himself, that it should be so. It was the 
 position for which she was fitted. But 
 oh ! the pain at his heart, and the blank- 
 ness that seemed to possess his life. To 
 repine was useless. He must but suffer it, 
 and work it out to the bitter end — this 
 mutilated life of his. His sorrow had 
 pierced down below all his surface weak- 
 ness. He had fulfilled the prophecy read 
 by the double spectacles long ago at Little 
 Pipkin. He had drifted like flotsam upon 
 the jagged rocks, but now he would swim 
 and struggle doggedly, and not let himself 
 be overborne by the flood. 
 
 Sybil's wedding was hurried on apace, 
 and celebrated with great circumstance, 
 and well-wishing, and bell-ringing, and 
 triumphal arches, in the village of White- 
 
SYBIL, LADY MORNINGHAM. 255 
 
 cross ; though in Mr. Slocombe's parlour 
 the parrot still ejaculated, '' Sybil and 
 Robert," with furious oaths ; but, three 
 days before, Robert Burscough had sailed 
 with Mr. Fleg for America, seeking 
 change of scene for himself and of scenery 
 for his paint-brush. 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
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 BEBS OF THE OhurcH OF 
 
 England. 
 
 t. Oatalogub OF Works 
 
 GSNEBAL LOTRATURB. 
 
 in 
 
 HISTORY, POLITICS, HISTORICAL MEMOIRS, Ac. 
 Abbey and Overton's English Ohuroh In the Eighteenth Centurj. Or. 8v«. It, M. 
 Abbott's Skeleton Outline of Greek History. Crown 8vo. 3*. Zd. 
 
 — Hifltory of Greece. Part 1, crown 8vo. lOi. 6d. Part 2, in th* prest. 
 Acland and Ransome'a Handbook in Outline of the Political HIstorv of Eno-i'ond 
 to 1887. Crown 8vo. 6t. ' -Uoiana 
 
 Annual Register (The) for the Tear 1889. Svo. 18*. The Vols, for 1863-1888 
 
 can still be had. 
 Arnold's Lectures on Modem History. Svo. 7«. 6d. 
 Aihby'9 English Economic History and Theory. Part 1. The Middle Ao-aa 
 
 Crown 8vo. 5j. » ^bot , 
 
 Bagwell's Ireland under the Tudow. Vols, land 2. 8vo.33i. VoL 3. Svo. 18*. 
 Ball's Legislative Systems In Ireland, 1172-1800. Svo. 6«. 
 
 — The Reformed Church of Ireland, 1637-1889. Svo. It. 6d. 
 Boultbee'a History of the Church of England, Pre-Eeformatlon Period. Svo. lit. 
 
 I LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
A Selection of Works 
 
 Briirht's (J. Franck) History of England. Or. 8vo. Vol. 1, 449-1485, 4«. 6d. 
 
 Vol. 2, 1485-1688, 5*. Vol. 3, 1689-1837, Is. 6d. Vcl. 4, 1837-1880, 6». 
 Buckle's History of Civilisation, 3 vols, crown 8vo. 24*. 
 Church CSir Richard) : a Memoir. By Stanley La'ne Poole. 8vo. 5s. 
 Oox's (Sir G, W.) General History of Greece. Crown 8vo. Maps, ?i. 64. 
 Crake's History of the Church under the Roman Empire, a.d. 30-476. Crown 
 
 8vo. 7.^. 6d. 
 OrPighton'B Papacy during the RefQrmation. 8vo. Vols. 1 & 2, 32*. Vols. 3 &4, 24*. 
 Curzon's Russia in Central Asia in 1889. With Maps. Illustrated. 8vo. 21 ». 
 De RedclifEe's (Viscount Stratford) Life. By Stanley Lane-Pools. Abridged 
 
 Edition, 1 vol. crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. 
 De Tocqueville'i Democracy in America. 2 vols, crown 8vo. 16*- 
 Doyle's English in America : Virginia, Maryland, and the Caroiinaa, 8vo. 18*. 
 
 ~ — — The Puritan Colonies, 2 vols. 8vo. 36*. 
 
 Esssay Introductory to the Study of English Constitutional History. Edited 
 
 by H. 0. Wakeman and A. Hassall. Crown 8vo. 65. 
 Swald'B Antiquities of Israel, translated by Solly. Svo. 125. 6i. 
 
 — History of Israel, translated by Carpenter & Smith, 8 vote. Svo. Veil. 
 
 1 & 8, 24*. Vote. 3 & 4, 21*. V«l. 5, 18*. Vol. 6, 16*. Vol, 7, 81*. 
 
 Vol. 8, 18*. 
 Freeman's Historical Geography of Europe. 2 vote. Svo. 31*. 6d. 
 Fronde's English in Ireland in the 18th Century. 3 vote, crown Svo. 18*. 
 
 — Htetory of England. 18 vote, crown Svo. 3*. fid. each. 
 
 — Short Studies on Great Subjects. Cabinet Edition, 4 vols, orowii Svo. 
 
 24*. Cheap Edition, 4 vols, crown Svo. ds. 6d. each. 
 Gardiner's History of England from the Accession of James I. to the Outbreak 
 of the Civil War. 10 vols, crown Svo. 60*. 
 
 — History of the Great Civil War, 1642-1649 C3 vols.'J Vol. 1, 1642-1644, 
 
 Svo. (out of print). Vol. 2, 1644-1647, Svo. 24*. 
 
 — Student's History of England. Illustrated. (3 vols.) Vol. 1, crown 
 
 8V0.4*. 
 Greville's Journal of the Reigns of King George IV., King William IV., and 
 
 Queen Victoria. Cabinet Edition. S vols, crown Svo. 6*. each. 
 Harrison's The Contemporary History of the French Revolution. Cr. Svo. 3*. 6d. 
 Historic Towns. Edited by B. A. Freeman, D.C.L. and the Rev. Winiam Hunt, 
 
 M.A. With Maps and Plana. OrowH 8vo. 3*. 6d. each. 
 
 London. By W. J. Loftie. 
 Exeter. By B. A. Freeman. 
 Cinque Ports. By Montagu 
 
 Burrows. 
 Bristol. By the Rev. W. Hunt. 
 Oxford. By the Rev. C. W. Boase. 
 
 Colchester. By the Rev. E. L. Outti. 
 Carlisle. By the Rev. M. Orelghton. 
 Winchester. By G. W. Kitchin. DJD. 
 York. By the Rev. James Raine. 
 New York. By Theodore Roosevelt. 
 
 Jennings' Ecclesia Anglioana : a History of the Church of Christ in England. 
 
 Crown Svo. 7s. 6d. 
 L«oxyB History of England in the Eighteenth Century. Vols. 1 & 2, 1700-1760, 
 Svo. 86*. Vols. 3 & 4, 1760-1784, Svo. 36*. Vols. 5 & 6, 1784-1793, 86*. 
 Vote. 7 & S, 1793-1800, 36*. 
 
 — History of European Morals. 2 vote, crown Svo. 16*. 
 
 — ~ _ Rationalism in Europe. 2 vote, crown Svo, 16*. 
 Leger's History of Austro-Hungary. Crown Svo. lOs. 6d. 
 Liddell's Memoirs of the Tenth Royal Hussars. 1 vol. imp. Svo. 
 Lyde's Introduction to Ancient History. Crown 8vo. 3*. 
 
 LONGMAIfS, GBEEN, & CO., London and New York. 
 
in General literature. 
 
 MacaoIay'B Complete WorkB. Library Edition. 8 vols. 8vo. £6. fi. 
 
 — — — Cabinet Edition. 16 vols, crown 8vo. £4. l«j. 
 
 — History of England :— 
 
 Popular Edition. 2 vols. or. 8vo. 6«. I Cabinet Edition. 8 vols, post 8vo. 48j. 
 
 Student's Edition, 3 vols. or. 8vo. 12i. Library Edition, 6 vols. 8vo. £4, 
 
 People's Edition. 4 vols. or. 8vo. 16*. | 
 Hacaulay's Critical and Historical Easaya, with Lays of Ancient Rome In One 
 Volume :— 
 
 Anthorised Edition. Cr. 8vo. i$. 6d. I Popular Edition. Cr. 8v#. 2j. 6rf. 
 or 3#. 8d. gilt edges. | 
 
 Macaolay's Critical and Historical Essays :— 
 
 Student's Edition. 1 vol. cr. 8vo. 6j. | Cabinet Edition. 4 vols, post 8vo. S4«. 
 
 Trevelyan Edition. 2 vols. cr. 8vo. 9*. Library Edition. 8 vols. 8vo. 36*. 
 
 People's Edition. 2 vols. cr. 8vo. 8*. | 
 Macanlay's MisceUaneous Writings. 2 vols. 8vo. Sl«. 1 vol. crown 8vo. 4*. ed. 
 
 — Miscellaneous Writings and Speeches :— 
 
 Popular Edition. Or. 8vo. 2*. Sd. J Student's Edition, Cr. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 — Miscellaneous Writings, Speecbes, Lays o! Ancient Boms, &o. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. 4 vols, crown 8vo. 24j, 
 
 — Writings, Selections from. Crown 8vo. 6j. 
 
 — Speeches corrected by Himself. Crown 8vo. 8j. Sd, 
 Magnus's Outlines of Jewish History. Pep. 8vo. 3*. 6rf. 
 Malmesbury's (Earl of) Memoirs of an Ex-Minister. Crown 8vo. T*. 9d. 
 May's Constitutional History of England, 1760-1870. 3 vols, crown 8vo. 18*. 
 Merivale's Fall of the Roman Republia 12mo. 7*. 6d. 
 
 — (General History of Rome, B.C. 763-a.d. 476. Crown 8vo. 7i. 6d. 
 
 — History of the Romans under the Empire. Cabinet Edition. 8 vols. 
 
 poet 8vo, 48*. Popular Edition. 8 vols. 3*. Bd. each. 
 Miles (W. Augustus), The Correspondence of, on the French Revolution 1789- 
 
 1817. 2 vols. 8vo. 
 Murdock's Reconstruction of Europe, from the Rise to the Pall of the Second 
 
 French Empire. Crown 8vo. 9*. 
 Oman's History of Greece from the Earliest Times to the Macedonian Conquest. 
 
 Crown 8vo. 4s. Gd. 
 Ransome's The Rise of Constitutional Government in England. Crown 8vo. 6*. 
 Rawlinson's The History of Phoenicia. 8vo. 24.*. 
 Roget's History of the ' Old Water-Colour ' Society. 2 vols, roy, 8vo. 
 Russell's (Lord John) Life. By Spencer Walpole. 2 vols. 8vo. 36*. Cabinet 
 
 Edition, 2 vols, crown 8vo. 12^. 
 Seebohm'B Oxford Reformers — Colet, Erasmus, <fc More. 8vo. 14*. 
 Short's History of the Church of England. Crown 8vo. 7*. 6<i 
 Smith's Carthage and the Carthaginians, Crown 8vo= 6*. 
 Stephens' (H. Morse) History of the French Revolution. 3 vols. 8vo, Vol. 1. 
 
 18*. Vol. 2, in the press. 
 Stubbs' History of the University of Dublin. 8vo, 12*. 6d. 
 Symes' Prelude to Modern History. With Maps. Crown 8vo. 2*. ed. 
 Taylor's Manual of the History of India. Crown 8vo. 7*. Qd. 
 Toynbee's Lectures on the Industrial Revolution of the 18th Centurv In 
 
 England. 8vo. 10*. 6d. 
 Walpole's History of England, from 1816. Library Edition, i vols. 8vo. £4. 10*. 
 
 Cabinet Edition. 6 vols. 6*. each. 
 
 LONGMANS, GBEEN, ft CO., London and New York. 
 
A Selection of Works 
 
 EPOCHS OF ANCIENT HISTORY. 
 
 Hfflted by the Bev. Sir G. W. Oox, Bart. MJL. and by 0. Sankbt, M.1,. 
 
 10 volumes, fcp. 8vo. with Maps, price 2*. 6d. each. 
 
 The Gracchi, Marius, and Sulla. By A. H. Beesly, MA. With 2 Maps. 
 
 The Early Eoman Empire. By the Kev. W. Wolfe Capes, MA. With 2 Maps. 
 
 The Roman Empire of the Second Century. By the Rev. W. Wolfe Capes, M Jl. 
 
 With 2 Maps. 
 The Athenian Empire from the Flight of Xerxes to the Fall of Athens. By the 
 
 Rev. Sir G. W. Cox, Bart. M.A. With 5 Maps. 
 The Rise of the Macedonian Empire. By Arthur M. Curtei*, M.A. With 8 Mapa. 
 The Greeks and the Persians. By the Rev. Sir G. W. Cox, Bart. With 4 Maps. 
 Rome to its Capture by the Gauls. By Wilhelm Ihne. With a Map. 
 The Roman Triumvirates. By the Very Rev. Charle* Merivale, D.D. With Map. 
 The Spartan and Theban Supremacies, By Charles Sankey, M.A. With 6 Maps. 
 Rome and Carthage, the Punic Wars. By R. Bosworth Smith. With 9 Maps, 
 
 EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 Bdittd by 0. Colbeok, M.A. 19 volumes, fcp. Svo. with Maps. Price 2s. 6d, each. 
 
 The Beginning of the Middle Ages. By the Very Rev. R. W. Church. With 3 Maps. 
 
 The Normans in Europe. By Rev. A. H. Johnson, MJL. With 3 Maps. 
 
 The Crusades. By the Rev. Sir G. W. Cox, Bart. M.A. With a Map. 
 
 The Early Plantagenets, By the Right Rev. W. Stubbs, D.D. With 2 Maps. 
 
 EdwarQ the Third. By the Rev. W. Warburton, M.A. With 3 Maps. 
 
 The Houses of Lancaster and York. By James Gairdner. With 6 Maps. 
 
 The Early Tudors. By the Rev. 0. E. Moberly, M.A. 
 
 The Era of the Protestant Revolution. By F. Seebohm. With 4 Maps. 
 
 The Age of Elizabeth. By the Rev. M. Creighton, M.A. LL.D. With 6 Maps. 
 
 The First Two Stuarts. By Samuel Rawson Gardiner. With 4 Maps. 
 
 The Thirty Tears' War, 1618-1648. By Samuel Rawson Gardiner. With a Map. 
 
 The English Restoration and Louis XIV., 1648-1678. By Osmund Airy. 
 
 The Fall of the Stuarts. By the Rev. Edward Hale, MA. With 11 Maps. 
 
 The Age of Anne. By E. B. Morris, MA. With 7 Maps and Plans. 
 
 The Early Hanoverians. By B. E. Morris, M.A. With 9 Maps and Plans. 
 
 Frederick the Great and the Seven Tears' War. By P.W.Longman. With 2 Maps. 
 
 The War of American Independence, 1776-1783. By J. M. Ludlow. With 4 Maps. 
 
 The Pr«nch Revolution, 1789-1795. By Mrs. S. R. Gardiner. With 7 Mayi. 
 
 The Epoch of Reform, 1830-1860. By Justin McCarthy, M.P. 
 
 EPOCHS OF CHURCH HISTORY. 
 
 Edited by the Rev. Mandmji CBEiaHTON. 10 vols. fop. Svo. price 2«. fid. each. 
 
 The English Church in other Lands. By the Rev. H. W. Tucker. 
 
 The History of the Reformation in England. By the Rev. George G. Perry. 
 
 The Church of the Early Fathers. By Alfred Plummer, D.D. 
 
 The Evangelical Revival in the Eighteenth Century. By the Rev. J. H. Overtea, 
 
 A History of the University of Oxford. By the Hon. G. C. Brodrick, D.O.L. 
 
 A History of the University of Cambridge. By J. Bass Mullinger, M.A. 
 
 The English Church In the Middle Ages. By Rev. W. Hunt, M.A. 
 
 The Arian Controversy. By H. M. Gwatkin, M.A. 
 
 Wyoliffe and Movements for Reform. By Reginald L. Poole. 
 
 The Couater-Reformation. By A. W. Wwd. 
 
 The Church and the Roman Empire. By the Rev. A. Carr. 
 
 The Church and the Puritani, 1570-1660. By Heary Offley Wakem»i, 
 
 The Ohnreh aad the Eastern Empire. By the Rev. n. F. Tozer. 
 
 Eildebraad wd His Timsik By the Bev. W. R. W. Stephens. 
 
 The Popes and the Hchenstenfen, By Ugo Balzani. 
 
 LOSraiCAirS, GBEEN, & OO.. London and New York. 
 
in Oeneral Literature. 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL WORKS. 
 
 Armstrong's (B. J.) Life and lietterS: Edited by Q. F, ArmBtr«iig. Fop. 8to. 7t.td. 
 
 Baccn's Life &nd Letters, by Spedding. 7 vols. 8vo. £4. 4U, 
 
 Bagehot'B Biographical Studies. 1 voL 8vo. lit, 
 
 Carlyle's (Thomas) Life. By James A. Fronde. Grown 8vo. 1796-1836, 2 vols. 
 
 7s. 1834-1881, 2 vols. 7*. 
 Fox (Charles James) The Early History of. By Sir Qt» 0, Trsvelyaa. Or. 8to. 6l. 
 Fronde's Csesar : a Sketch. Crown 8vo. is. 6d. 
 HamUton'a (Sir W. R.) Life, by Graves. 3 vols. 87«. lit. oftok. 
 Havelock's Life, by Marshman. Crovm 8vo. 3s. 6d. 
 Macanlay's (Lord) Life and Lttters. By his Nephew, Sir Q. 0. Trevelyan, Bart, 
 
 Popular Edition, 1 vol. cr. 8vo. 24. 6d. Student's Edition, 1 vol. or. 8vo. 6i, 
 
 Cabinet Edition, 2 vols, post 8vo. 12j. Library Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. 86*. 
 MoDougall's Memoirs (Bishop of Labuan). By C. J. Bunyon. 8vo. 14*.' 
 Mendelssohn's Letters. Translated by Lady Wallace. S toIb. or. 8vo. 6i. eaoh. 
 Moore's Dante and his Early Biographers. Crown 8vo. 4j. 6<f. 
 Newman's Apologia pro Vita Su&. Crown 8vo. 6i. Cheap Edition, or. 8v«. 8*. 6d. 
 
 — Letters and Correspondence during his Life in the English 
 Church. 2 vols. 8vo. 30«. net. 
 Shakespeare, OutUne of the Life of. By J. 0. Halliwell-Phlllipps. ninatrated. 
 
 2 vols, royal 8vo. 21*. 
 Shakespeare's True Life. By James Walter. With 600 Illustrations. Imp. 8vo. 21i. 
 Southey'a Correspondence with Caroline Bowles. 8vo. 14t, 
 Stephen's Essays in Eccleslaitioal Biography. Crowa 8vo. ft. Mg 
 Wellington's Life, by Gleig. drown 8vo.8«. 6d. 
 
 MENTAL AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY FINANCE, &c. 
 
 Amos' Primer of the English Constitution. Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 Baoon's Essays, with Annotations by Whately. 8vo. 10*. 6<I, 
 
 — Works, edited by Spedding. 7 vols. 8vo. 78*. 6d. 
 Bagehot's Eoonomio Studies, edited by Button. 8vo. lOi. id. 
 Bain's Loglo, Deductive and Inductive. Grown 8yo. 10*. id. 
 
 Pabt I. Deduction, it. | Pabt n. Indootion, it, Cct 
 _ Mental and Moral Science. Grown 8vo. lOi. 64. 
 » The Senses and the Intellect. 8vo. 16i. 
 
 — The Emotions and the Will. 8vo. I6i. 
 
 Blake's Tables for the Conversion of 5 per cent. Interest from iV ^o f P^r cent. 
 
 8vo, 12«. 6d. 
 Case's Physical Realism. 8vo. 16i. 
 Ommp's Short Enquiry into the Formation of English Political Opinion. 8ro. 7i.6d. 
 
 — Causes of the (Jreat Fall in Prices. 8vo. 6*. 
 Dowell'B A History of Taxation and Taxes in England. 8to. YoIb. 1 & 1, 11<. 
 
 Vols. 3 t 4, 21j. 
 Green's (Thomas HiU) Works. (I yoIb.) Vols, lit 2, Fhiloaophioal Worka. 8to. 
 
 16«. eaoh. Vol. 8, MiscellanleB. With Mtmoir. 8to. Sli. 
 
 LOHQWLSS, aBBEN. * 00„ Loodon and Haw Yofk, 
 
A Selection of Works 
 
 Sume'B Eesays, edited by Green & Gross. 2 vols. 8vo. 28j. 
 
 — Treatise of Human Nature, edited by Green & Grose. S yoli. tro. 28«, 
 Ladd's Elements ef Physiological Psychology. 8vo. 21*. 
 
 Lang's Custom and Myth : Studies of Early Usage and BaUef. Grown 8T0. It. M. 
 (ieslie's Essays in Political Economy. 8vo. 10*. 6d. 
 Lewes's History of Philosophy. S vols. 8vo. 82*. 
 Lubbock's Origin of Civilisation, Illustrated. 8vo. 18*. 
 Macleod'e The Elements of Banking. Grown 8vo. 6*. 
 
 ~ The Theory and Practice of Banking. Vol. 1, 8vo. 12*. Vol. 2, 14*: 
 
 — The Theory of Credit. (2 vols. Svo.) Vol. 1, 7*. 6d, Vol. 2, Part 1, 
 
 Manuals of Catholic Philosophy, crown Svo. :— 
 Clarke's Logic. 55. 
 Rickaby's First Principles of Knowledge. 6*. 
 
 — Moral Philosophy. 6*. 
 
 — General Metaphysics. 5*. 
 Maher's Psychology, 6«. 6d. 
 
 Boedder'g Natural Theology. (In the press.) 
 Devas' Political Economy. {In preparation.) 
 
 Max Mtiller's The Sdeiice of Thought. Svo. 21*. 
 
 Mill's (James) Analysis of the Phenomena of the Human Mind, t vols. 8to. S8<i 
 
 Hill (John Stuart) on Representative Government. Orown 8vo. 8*. 
 
 — — on Liberty. Crown Svo. 1*. 4d. 
 
 — ->» Examination of Hamilton's Philosophy. Svo. ISi. 
 
 — — Logic. Orown Svo. 6*. 
 
 — ^ Principles of Political Economy. S rola. 8to. 80*. Feople'l 
 
 Edition, 1 vol. crown Svo. fi*. 
 
 — — Utilltariamsm. Svo. i*. 
 
 — — Three Essays on Religion, lio. Svo. U, 
 Monck's Introduction to Logic. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 Muihall'B History of Prices since 1850. Crown Svo. 6*. 
 Sandars' Institutes of Justinian, with English Notes. 8v9. 18li 
 Seebohm's English Village Community. Svo. 16*. 
 
 Sully's Outlines of Psychology, Svo. 12*. 6({. 
 
 — Teacher's Handbook of Psychology. Grown Svo. 8*. %4, 
 Swinburne's Picture Logic. Post Svo. 6*. 
 
 Thompson's A System of Psychology. S vols. Svo. 85*. 
 
 — The Problem of Evil. Svo. 10*. 6<i. 
 
 — Th« Religious Sentiments of the Hmnan Mind. Svo. 7i. 6<It 
 ~ Social Progress : an Essay. Svo. 7*. 6<i, 
 
 Webb's The Veil of Isis. Svo. 10*. M. 
 Whately's Elements of Logic. Crown Svo. 4*. 6<f. 
 
 — — — Rhetoric. Crown Svo. 4*. 6i. 
 
 Zeller's History of Eclecticism in Greek PhiloKophy. Orown Svo. 10*. 64. 
 
 — Plato and the Older Academy. Orown Svo. 18*. 
 
 — Fre-Socratio Schools. S vols, orown Svo. 80*. 
 
 — Boorates and the Sooratio Schools. Orown Svo. 10*. M. 
 
 LOHGMAHS, GBEEN. k 00., London and TStm Yoxk. 
 
Zeller's Steles, Epicureana, and Sceptioa. Crown 8vo. 16t. 
 
 Outlines of the History of Greek Philosophy, drown 8to. 10*. 6i. 
 
 CLASSICAL LANGUAGES AND LITERATURE. 
 
 ^schylus, The Eunisnidee of. Text, with Metrical Bngllsh Translation, by 
 
 J. P. Davlei. 8vo. 7i, 
 Aristophanes' The Achamians, translated by R. Y. Tyrrell. Grown 8vo. Is. 
 Aristotle's The Ethics, Text and Notes, by Sir AJex. Grant, Bart. 8 vols. 8vo. 33*. 
 
 — The Nicomachean Ethics, translated by Williams, cmwn 8vo. It. 8<i. 
 
 — The Politics, Books I. III. IV. (VII.) with Translation. &o. by 
 
 Bolland end Lang. Crown 8vo. 7*. 6d. 
 Becker's Chariclet and Oallu», by Metcalfe. Post 8vo. 7*. 64. each. 
 Cicero's Correspondence, Text and Notes, by R. Y. Tyrrell. Vols. 1, 2, li 3, 8to, 
 
 125 each. 
 Famell's The Greek Lyric Poets. Rvo. 
 
 Harrison's Myths of the Odjssey in Art and Literature. lUnstrated. 8to. 18,j. 
 Hellenica : a Collection of Essays on Greek Poetry, && Edited by Evelyn 
 
 Abbott. 8vo. 16*. 
 Mackail's Select Epigrams from the Greek Ajithology. 8vo. 16^. 
 Plato's Parmeniaetj, writh Notes, <&c. by J. Maguire. 8vo. 7j. 6d. 
 Sophocles. Translated into English verse by Robert Whitelaw. Or. 8vo. 8*. 6d. 
 Virgil's Works, Latin Text, with Commentary, by Kennedy. Crown »vo. 10». 6tt. 
 translated into BngUsh Verse, by Conington. Crown 8vo. 6j. 
 
 — _ _ _ byW.J. Thomhlll. Cr.8vo.7».6(J. 
 
 — — — Proae, by Conington. Crown 8vo. 6j 
 
 — Eclogues and Georgics of Virgil. Translated by J. W. Mackail. Royal 
 16mo. 5i. 
 
 Witt's Myths of Hellas, taranslated by P. M. Tounghuaband. Grown 8vo. 8i, M 
 
 — The Trojan War, — — Fcp. 8vo. S*. 
 
 — The Wanderinsrsof Uly«sep, — OrowD five. 8*. 6c 
 
 — The Retreat of the Ten Thousand, — Crown 8vo. 
 
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 REFERENCE. 
 
 Aoton's Modern Cookery tor Private Familiea. Fcp. 8yo. ii. 6i. 
 
 A,yTe'8 Treasury of Bible Knowledge. Fcp. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Blake's Tables for the Conversion of 6 per Cent. Interest, &c. 8vo. \2s. 6i. 
 
 Chisholm's Handbook of Commercial Geography. 29 Maps. 8vo. 16*, 
 
 Gwllt'g Bnoyclopsedla of Architecture. 8vo. 62j. 6d. 
 
 Longmans' New Atlas. 66 Maps. Edited by G. G. Chiaholm. 4to. or imperial 
 
 8vo. 12*. 6i. 
 M'Culloch's Dictionary of Commerce and Commercial NaYigatiOfli Sto. 63<. 
 Maunder'a Biographical Treasury. Fcp. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 — Historical Treasury. Fcp. 8vo. Ci. 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., London and New York: 
 
A Selection of Works 
 
 Maunder'g Scientific and Literary Treaaury. Pep. 8vo. «i. 
 
 — Treasnry of Bible BLnowledge, edited by Ayre. Fop. 8vo. 6s. 
 
 — Treaaury of Bocany, edited by Lindley St Moor*. Two Parte, 124. 
 
 — Treasury of Gtography, Fop. 8vo. 6«. 
 
 — Treasury of Knowledge and Library of Reference. Fop. 8vo. 6i. 
 
 — Treasury of Natural History. Pop. 8vo. 6*. 
 
 Quain'B Dictionary of Medicine. Medium 8yo. 81<. 6d., or In S vols. 81l. 
 Bich's Dictionary of Boman and Greek Antiquities. Crown 8to. 7i. <4t» 
 Sogot'B Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases. Grown 8vo, IOj. M, 
 WlUlch's FopoUu: Tables, by Marriott, drown 8vo, 10#. M, 
 
 NATURAL HISTORY, BOTANY, AND GARDENING. 
 
 Bennett and Murray's Handbook of Oryptogamio Botany. Sto. 16«. 
 Hartwlg'B Aerial World. With 68 Illustrations. 8vo. lOi. 9d, 
 
 — Polar World. With 93 Illustrations. 870. lOi. 6d. 
 
 — Bea and its Liying Wonders. With 315 Illustrations. 8vo. 10». M. 
 
 — Subterranean World. With 80 Illustrations. 8vo. lOi. 6<l, 
 
 — Tropical World. With 180 Illustrations. 8yo. lOi. M« 
 Lladley'fl Treasury of Botany. 2 vols. fop. 8vo. Us, 
 Loudon's BncyolopsBdia of Gardening. 8vo. 31<. 
 
 — Plants. 8vo. 48*. 
 
 Birers's Oiobard House. Grown 8to. 6s. 
 
 — Miniature Fruit Garden. Pep. 8vo. 4t, 
 Stanley's Familiar History of British Birds. Grown 8vo. is. 84, 
 Wood's Bible Animals. With 112 niustrations. Svo. lOt. 6d. 
 
 — Homes Without Hands. With 140 Illustrationi. 8yo. lOi. M, 
 » Insects Abroad. With 600 Illustrations. 8yo. 10«. 6d. 
 
 — Insects at Home. With 700 lUustrations. tro. 10». 9d. 
 
 — Out of Doors. With 11 Illustrations. Grown 8vo. 9t. 6d. 
 
 <-> Fetland Revisited. With 33 Illustrations. Grown 870. Zt. 9d. 
 te Strange DweUinga. With 60 Illustrations. Oxown 8yo. It. id. 
 
 THEOLOGICAL AND RELIGIOUS WORKS. 
 
 Oolenso on ths Pentateuch and Book of Joshua. Grown 8to* •#« 
 
 De la Saussaye's Manual of the Science of Religion. 
 
 Eolmrt's Medical Language of Bt. Luke. 8vo. I64. 
 
 lbtedoaald'B(G.) Unspoken Sermons. First and Second Series. Grown 8vo.8<. 6(1. 
 
 each. Third Series. Crown 8vo. 7». 6d. 
 
 — The Miracles of our Lord. Grown 8vo. it. td. 
 
 Martineau's EndeaTOurs after the Christian Life. Crown 8yo. 7t. 6<f. 
 
 — Hymns of Praise and Prayer. Grown 8vo. 4*. 6({. 83mo. 1«. 64. 
 
 •- The Seat of Authority In Religion. 8vo. Us. 
 
 R Sermons, Hmu-b of Thought oh Sacred Things. 2 Tola, ft, 64. aaelt. 
 
 LONaMANS, OBSffil. & 00., iKHidon and New York. 
 
Martineau's Essays, Reviews, and Addressei. 4 toIs. crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 [/n course of publication,"] 
 Max MUller's Origin and Growth of Religion. Crown 8vo. 7$, M. 
 
 — — Bolence of Religion. Crown 8vo. 7s. Bd- 
 
 — -- GifEord Lectures on Natural Religion. Crown 8vo. 10<. Bd. 
 Newman'B Apologia pro Vita Sufi. OrownSvo. 6*. Cheap Edition, cr.Svo. 3*. 6(f. 
 
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