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 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRAEIES. 
 
 GABR1ELLE DE BOURDAINE. By Mrs. John Kent 
 
 Spencer, author of " Godwyn's Ordeal," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 NEW BABYLON ; or, Daughters of Eve. By Paul 
 
 Mekitt and W. Howell Poole. 3 vols. 
 
 DAISY BERESFORD. By Catharine Childab, author 
 
 of " The Future Marquis." 3 vols. 
 
 SAINT AND SIBYL : A Stoby of old Kew. By C. L. 
 
 Piekis, author of " A Very Opal," " Wanted, an Heir," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE MERCHANT PRINCE. By John Berwick Har- 
 
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 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 RED RYVINGTON 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM WESTALL, 
 
 AUTHOE OF 
 
 "LARRY LOHENGRIN," "THE OLD FACTORY 
 &c, &c. 
 
 3? 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1882. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 $£3 
 
 TUL* 
 
 V. 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 TO 
 
 MY "WIFE
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/redryvington01west
 
 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE BELLS. 
 
 A SUMMER morning in the valley of the 
 ■*"*- Upper Rhone. 
 
 A wayfarer in orthodox pedestrian costume — 
 knickerbockers, Norfolk jacket, helmet-shaped 
 hat, and mountain boots — is walking leisurely 
 down the Furca Road. In one hand he carries 
 a stout alpenstock, strong enough to sustain a 
 man's weight over a crevasse ; from his belt is 
 suspended a geological hammer. A strap 
 slung across his right shoulder holds a light 
 waterproof coat ; a second, slung across the 
 other shoulder, supports a light hand-bag. 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Other incumbrances the traveller has none. 
 He has discovered that Switzerland possesses 
 the cheapest and best organised parcel post in 
 Europe. Before setting out on a journey he 
 puts a postage stamp on his baggage and con- 
 signs it to the nearest post office, addressed to 
 his next destination, where he never fails to 
 find it on his arrival thither. 
 
 Our wayfarer is young ; he does not look 
 more than five or six and twenty, and his coun- 
 tenance, equally with his dress, attest his English 
 nationality. The bronze tint of it, and the 
 peeled appearance of his cheeks, show that he 
 has lately spent much time in the open air, and 
 probably made more than one excursion among 
 the glaciers of the high Alps. As touching 
 stature he is rather under than over middle 
 height, wide-shouldered and deep-chested ; and 
 the breadth of his hand, as it grasps his alpen- 
 stock, shows that it has been accustomed to 
 wield heavier tools than painter's brush or 
 writer's pen. His face is oval and perhaps too 
 long to suit a fastidious taste, albeit the defect 
 is rendered less apparent by a long tawny 
 beard, which, moreover, so completely covers
 
 TEE BELLS. 3 
 
 his mouth and chin that it is difficult to deter- 
 mine whether these important features denote 
 firmness of character or weakness of purpose. 
 To complete our description, it remains only to 
 add that the traveller has a broad, intelligent 
 forehead, a somewhat large, though straight, 
 nose, well-marked eyebrows, and large, deep 
 blue eyes — the whites of them remarkably clear 
 and bright — a sign of health and high spirits 
 often observable in persons of temperate habits 
 who have passed some time in the open air at 
 great altitudes. 
 
 From time to time the pedestrian stops in 
 his walk to break a geological specimen from an 
 erratic block, to gather from the wayside an 
 alpine flower, or to gaze on the prospect around 
 him ; as well he may, for the scene is one of 
 stupendous grandeur. He is between two 
 mountains, the Galenstock and the Grimsel. 
 Behind him rises the great mass of the cloud- 
 pinnacled Furca. Peaks still loftier — the alps 
 of the Valais and the Oberland, the Shreckhorn, 
 the Finsteraarhorn, andtheMischabel — crowned 
 with their eternal diadems of snow, are in view. 
 The road he is traversing, cut in the flank of the 
 
 b2
 
 4 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Galenstock, skirts the great Rhone glacier, 
 which gleams in the unclouded sunshine like a 
 frozen Niagara, as if some mighty cascade, 
 leaping down the gorge, had been stopped in 
 full career and turned into ice by the stroke of 
 an enchanter's wand. 
 
 As the traveller advances, the character of 
 the scenery changes. Hardly a sign of vege- 
 tation is visible. He is enclosed between great 
 ramparts of rock. The ground is strewn with 
 huge blocks of weird shape, like the ruins of a 
 shattered planet, while great ribs of granite, 
 which might be the bones of a buried world, 
 thrust themselves from the ground. A tremen- 
 dous rift intersects the valley, down which the 
 new-born Rhone, as if mad with joy at being 
 released from its icy prison, forces its way ; but 
 so deep is the abyss that in the upper air the 
 wild uproar of its foam-churned waters sounds 
 like the murmur of a summer stream. 
 
 The road is a marvel, winding now between 
 frowning crags, now, where the valley widens 
 out, through green meadows, brilliant with cow- 
 slips, primroses, and the blue gentian — skirting 
 ever and anon the gloomy gorge through which
 
 THE BELLS. 5 
 
 rushes the turbid torrent, swollen by the melting 
 of alpine snows. Seen from afar, the road is 
 
 'Like a silver zone. 
 Flung about carelessly, it shines afar, 
 Catching the eye in many a broken link, 
 In many a turn and traverse as it glides ; 
 And oft above and oft below appears, 
 Seen o'er the wall by one who journeys up 
 As though it were another, through the wild. 
 Leading along, he knows not whence or whither. 
 Yet through its fairy course, go where it will. 
 The torrent stops it not, the rugged rock 
 Opens and lets it in, and on it runs, 
 "Winning its easy way from clime to clime, 
 Through glens locked up before.' 
 
 In plain prose, the Furca road, like other 
 alpine roads, is a zig-zag, and however pictur- 
 esque zig-zags of this sort, when seen from a 
 distance, may be, they are terribly round about ; 
 and pedestrians who want to save their legs, 
 and dislike heat and dust, do not disdain to 
 take short cuts through the w T oods or meadows 
 that border the way, varied by an occasional 
 scramble over a promontory of rock. This expe- 
 dient Randle Ryvington often adopted, all the 
 more willingly as the trees with their heavy 
 foliage offered an agreeable shade, and the foot-
 
 6 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 paths were free from the dust that rendered the 
 high road well nigh unbearable. After making 
 one of these short cuts, whereby he saved 
 several miles of road walking, he threw himself 
 down on a mossy bank at the foot of a tall pine- 
 tree, near which flowed a tiny stream of crystal 
 water. Then, drawing from his pocket a case 
 of sandwiches, he proceeded to eat with good 
 appetite, as indeed he might, — for it was well 
 nigh noon, and he had been afoot since early 
 morning, — washing down his repast with an 
 occasional draught from the rill. He next lit a 
 pipe, and, after solacing himself with a smoke, 
 lay down at full length, his head pillowed on a 
 piece of velvety turf, and looked up at the 
 patches of blue sky that showed through the 
 verdant fretwork of the tree tops. The attitude, 
 the hour, the place seemed favourable to medi- 
 tation, and Handle set himself to meditate 
 accordingly ; but the circumstances were still 
 more favourable for repose, and after several 
 vain efforts to collect his ideas, and resume the 
 thread of thought which he had begun with his 
 pipe, he fell into a deep sleep, well earned by 
 the fatigues of the day.
 
 THE BELLS. 7 
 
 He had slept, he knew not how long, when 
 he awoke with a start and the sound of bells in 
 his ears, his first thought being that he was in 
 his own bed at home, and that the Whitebrook 
 factories were ringing in the hands to their 
 work. A single glance at the blue sky over- 
 head showed him his mistake, and the continued 
 tinkling of bells and the crackings of whips in 
 the distance roused him to full consciousness. 
 Rising to his feet, and looking upward through 
 the trees, he perceived that his " knocker-up ' 
 was one of those huge vehicles known in Ger- 
 man Switzerland as a post wagon, and in the 
 Swiss Romande as a diligence — a sort of Noah's 
 ark on wheels, carrying a ton of luggage and a 
 score of passengers, and strong enough and 
 heavy enough to have outlasted the life of an 
 antediluvian patriarch. The ponderous concern 
 was dragged by six horses, three abreast, to 
 each of whose collars were attached two or 
 three bells, the ringing of which had wakened 
 Randle from his sleep. 
 
 The diligence, driven at a tremendous speed 
 in a cloud of dust, descended the hill. After 
 waiting until the dust had somewhat subsided,
 
 8 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 our traveller went down into the road ; for the 
 footpath, which for some time had been little 
 more than a faint track, had now ceased alto- 
 gether, and the hillside was fast becoming too 
 steep and rocky to afford even foothold for goats 
 or vantage ground for fir-trees. 
 
 Randle Ryvington resumed his walk, little 
 thinking that the tinkling of those diligence 
 bells, which he could still hear faintly in the 
 distance, marked a turning point in his destiny, 
 or that they had summoned him to save a human 
 life. He was thinking rather of Whitebrook 
 and its factory bells ; that his holiday was nearly 
 over ; that he must soon make for home, and 
 wondering what news the letters he expected 
 to find at Ouchy would bring him. 
 
 He had walked briskly for the greater part 
 of an hour, neither the geological features of the 
 country nor its botanical productions seeming 
 to attract much of his attention, and reached 
 the bottom of a steep incline where the way 
 diverged abruptly to his right, when he heard 
 again the sound of bells, this time behind him. 
 Looking round, he perceived an open travelling 
 carriage descending the incline at a fast trot.
 
 THE BELLS. 9 
 
 To keep as much out of the dust as possible, 
 Randle drew aside iuto the angle formed by the 
 turn in the road, and there waited for the 
 vehicle to pass by. The point at which he 
 stood overhung the Rhone, whose white swirling 
 waters, as they dashed themselves against the 
 rocky sides of the gorge, he had only to turn 
 his head to see. 
 
 He watched the carriage curiously ; for both 
 pace and place were eminently suggestive of 
 the possibility of accident, — what sort of acci- 
 dent Randle shuddered to think. But when he 
 saw that one of the wheels was firmly locked 
 with a shoe and a chain, another held in check 
 by a strong brake, and that, as the carriage 
 n eared the bend, the driver pulled his horses 
 into a jog-trot, he felt re-assured. 
 
 'These fellows know their business,' he 
 muttered ; e why should I feel concerned ? Be- 
 sides, the penalty of a mistake would be so 
 terrible that they dare not be reckless.' 
 
 The carriage, he noticed, contained two 
 ladies and a gentleman, besides a fourth passen- 
 ger on the box. They also noticed him. 
 
 i That young fellow looks very like an Eng-
 
 10 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 lishman,' observed the gentleman, ' pedestrian- 
 ising, I suppose.' 
 
 'I have no doubt he is,' said one of the 
 ladies. ' See how stolidily he stands there, bolt 
 upright, his alpenstock firmly planted and his 
 countenance unmoved.' 
 
 ' Yes, he looks more like a sentinel on duty 
 than a youth on pleasure bent. But young 
 men now-a-days do take their pleasure sadly 
 — not as they used to do when I was young.' 
 
 Meanwhile the object of these remarks was 
 just about to leave his post and continue his 
 walk, when he heard another jingling of bells, 
 and saw, rather to his annoyance, a second 
 carriage coming full trot down the incline ; and 
 no sooner had it shot round the corner, and 
 disappeared in a cloud of dust, than a third 
 hove in sight. 
 
 Not wanting to be choked, he decided to wait 
 until this, too, had gone by. 
 
 He was watching its progress with some im- 
 patience, when, as the carriage reached the 
 middle of the brow, he was surprised to per- 
 ceive that its speed, instead of slackening, sud- 
 denly increased. Then he heard a snap ; the
 
 THE BELLS. 11 
 
 horses broke into a canter, which almost 
 instantly became a gallop ; and the driver, after 
 a vain attempt to pull them up, threw down 
 the reins and leaped into the road, leaving his 
 passengers — who, as Randle Ryvington now 
 saw, were two ladies — to their fate. His first 
 impulse was to seize the horses' heads and try- 
 to stop them by main force before they reached 
 the precipice ; for turning the corner at the pace 
 they were going was out of the question, even 
 if there had been anyone to guide them. But 
 this expedient was conceived only to be aban- 
 doned. To attempt it would be to sacrifice his 
 life to no purpose, for a single glance sufficed 
 to show him that the horses, even with the 
 best will in the world, could not stop. If he 
 tried to withstand them, he must of necessity 
 be thrown down and trampled to death, or 
 hurled over the precipice. As it seemed, no- 
 thing short of a miracle could save them and 
 the inmates of the carriage from destruction. 
 
 So Randle, despite his burning desire to do 
 something, had to stand helplessly by, and with 
 white face and sternly compressed lips await 
 the issue.
 
 12 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Another minute, and- 
 
 The horses are now almost abreast of him ; 
 they are making straight for the abyss. One 
 of the ladies, half rising from her seat, her lips 
 blanched and terror-parted, utters a piercing 
 scream and looks at Randle with appealing eyes. 
 
 ' Now or never !' he says to himself, and as 
 the carriage flashes past he leans forward, 
 seizes the lady in his arms, and, exerting all his 
 strength, lifts her clean over the wheels, and 
 lands her safely beside him. 
 
 The next moment the carriage is on the 
 narrow ledge below the road. For a second it 
 seems to dwell there, and then, with a wild cry 
 of fear, the horses with their living freight 
 plunge into the boiling Rhone. 
 
 Then Randle Ryvington turned and looked 
 at his companion whom he still held in his arms. 
 She was deadly pale and half fainting, but, as 
 her rescuer thought, very beautiful. Her hat 
 had come off, and her long black hair, loosen- 
 ed by the descent from the carriage, fell over 
 her shoulders like a veil. She seemed young 
 — not more than eighteen, Randle thought, and 
 tall for her age.
 
 THE BELLS. 13 
 
 He asked her if she felt better, if she was 
 hurt at all. She answered him with a half- 
 dazed, inquiring look, as if she had heard his 
 question without understanding it. 
 
 * Is it a dream or is it real V she murmured, 
 pointing to the precipice. 'Has the carriage 
 gone down there? Where is Miss Jo3 T ce?' 
 
 fc The carriage has gone down there,' said 
 Randle, solemnly, ' and Miss Joyce, if she be 
 the lady who was with'you, has gone too. You 
 will never see her alive again.' 
 
 ' And I am saved — you have saved me from 
 a terrible death. Oh, sir, I know not who you 
 are, but I owe you my life.' 
 
 1 You owe it, not to me, but to God. I was 
 called to save you. If it had not been for the 
 ringing of the bells But we are forget- 
 ting the driver. See, he is up yonder, writhing 
 in the dust. He did not act a very noble part, 
 it is true, but we must try to help him for all 
 that/ 
 
 'Do you think it was his fault that the horses 
 ran away V 
 
 < I am not sure that the horses did run away, 
 but in any case he ought not to have left his
 
 14 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 post without making more of an effort to stop 
 his horses. I think the shoe must have slipped 
 off the wheel or the chain snapped — perhaps it 
 was never properly secured — and, the man not 
 having his horses well in hand, they were 
 pushed into a gallop. When he left his seat 
 all chance of stopping them was, of course, 
 gone. A little pluck and presence of mind, 
 and all might have been well ; but the fellow 
 thought of nothing but saving his own wretched 
 life.' 
 
 ' You must not be too severe on him. You 
 know " all that a man hath that will he give 
 for his life." ' 
 
 * And quite right, too — all that he hath. But 
 you see this man risked two lives and lost one 
 that he might keep his own.' 
 
 By this time they had reached the spot 
 where the driver lay, apparently unable to rise. 
 Handle submitted him to a rapid examination, 
 and asked him a few questions, in which he 
 was assisted by the young girl, whose know- 
 ledge of German was much superior to his 
 own. The man was less hurt than they had 
 expected. The blood on his face came from a
 
 THE BELLS. 15 
 
 superficial wound on the head, which was easily 
 staunched by a pocket handkerchief. His 
 other injuries consisted of a few contusions and 
 a severely sprained ankle. Randle, after giv- 
 ing him a drink from his pocket-flask, helped 
 him to the roadside and made him as comforta- 
 ble as was possible in the circumstances. His 
 account of the accident was that the horses, 
 startled by the snapping of the chain, and feel- 
 ing the carriage almost on their haunches, 
 rushed madly down the hill. When he found 
 it impossible to stop them he jumped into the 
 road. He did not appear conscious of having 
 in any way failed in his duty, and Randle could 
 not command enough German to tell him what 
 he thought of his conduct. He did not object 
 to be left. A vehicle of some sort was sure to 
 pass before long, he said, that would give him 
 a lift as far as Viesch.
 
 16 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 
 
 rpHE next question with Handle was what to 
 -*- do with the fair girl whom he had rescued, 
 and who was evidently so overcome with 
 agitation and distress as to be in no condition 
 to judge for herself. He could not ask her 
 what she proposed to do, so he inquired what 
 he could do for her, and whither she would like 
 to go. If she would remain there, he said, 
 with the post-boy he would hurry on to the 
 nearest village and fetch a carriage, so that she 
 might continue her journey. 
 
 ' Oh, no,' she replied, 4 1 would not like to 
 remain here. If you will let me ' (timidly) * I 
 would rather walk on with you. When the 
 others find that our carriage does not come 
 they will wait and we can overtake them.'
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 17 
 
 'The others? You belong to the party 
 in the two carriages that have just passed, 
 then !' 
 
 'Yes, my father and mother and the courier 
 are in the first, my sisters and the maids in the 
 second. We are on our way from Chur to 
 Zermatt. Miss Joyce — the lady — the lady who 
 was with me, was our governess. She has been 
 with us ever since I was a little girl. She 
 was so good and kind, and we all loved her — 
 oh ! we loved her.' 
 
 Here the poor girl's lip quivered and a sob 
 choked her utterance. 
 
 'Are you quite sure, sir,' she exclaimed, when 
 she was again able to speak, 'I mean, do you 
 think she is surely killed — that there is no 
 possibility she may have escaped V 
 
 ' I fear, none. No creature could fall down 
 that precipice and live. It is a sheer descent 
 of nearly a thousand feet. But before we go I 
 will look; though the gorge hereabouts is so 
 deep, and the river so rough, that I do not 
 expect to see any trace either of the carriage or 
 the horses.' 
 
 As Randle spoke he let himself down from 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 the road to the narrow ledge bordering the 
 precipice five or six feet below, and, lying full 
 length on the ground, gazed long and intently 
 down the face of the rock and into the seething 
 water. Then he rose and rejoined his com- 
 panion, who had been anxiously watching him. 
 ' I can see nothing whatever of the carriage 
 and horses/ he said, ' but on a piece of jutting 
 rock, out of which grows a bush, about a 
 hundred yards down, I thought I saw the flut- 
 tering of a robe. It may be part of the poor 
 lady's dress, or even her body.' 
 < Alive V 
 
 Handle shook his head. 
 
 ' The concussion alone, the slightest touch 
 against the side of the gorge, after so tremend- 
 ous a fall, would be enough to cause instant 
 death, even if the flight through the air had not 
 caused it already. But it would be well for 
 somebody to go down and see. And if it is the 
 poor lady's body it must be brought up and re- 
 ceive Christian burial. And now, if you feel 
 sufficiently recovered,, we had perhaps better 
 go on. The other carriages will be a long way 
 ahead of us by this time.'
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 19 
 
 The young lady, who. as Ran die perceived, 
 could not trust herself to speak, bowed, in token 
 of acquiescence, and they set out on their walk. 
 He began by adapting his pace to hers, but he 
 soon found that she was almost as good a ped- 
 estrian as himself ; and having the advantage 
 of falling ground they made rapid progress, 
 doing four miles in little more than an hour. 
 
 ' Oh, how thoughtless and selfish I am,' ex- 
 claimed the girl suddenly, breaking silence for 
 the first time since they had left the scene of 
 the disaster. f I hope I am not taking you out 
 of your way. Am I, or were you going in this 
 direction V 
 
 4 Yes ; I was on my way to Viesch and 
 Brigue.' 
 
 1 1 am so glad. It would be really too bad, 
 after all you have done, to make further de- 
 mands on your kindness. But I should like you 
 to see my father and mother, that they may 
 thank you for having saved their daughter's life 
 at the peril of your own.' 
 
 'No, no ; you mistake ; I risked nothing. 
 There is no danger in lifting a young lady from 
 a carriage.' 
 
 C2
 
 20 BED RYVINGTON. 
 
 * Not when the horses are going full gallop 
 and the carriage is on the edge of a precipice ! 
 It was a feat that required great courage and 
 presence of mind, and you might easily have 
 been crushed under the wheels or thrown into 
 the gorge. Suppose your foot had slipped at 
 the moment you leaned forward to lift me out ! 
 I shall always consider that you saved my life 
 at the risk of your own. You have placed me 
 and my family under an obligation that we can 
 never repay ; and I am sure my father and 
 mother will say the same.' 
 
 6 Less than you think for. As I said a little 
 while ago — but you were probably too much 
 agitated to hear me — I was called to save you.' 
 
 * Called to save me V said the girl, wonder- 
 ingly. * flow V 
 
 ' By the ringing of the bells. I was fast 
 asleep up there in the wood, and if it had not 
 been for the ringing of those bells I might have 
 been there yet ; and if the diligence had passed 
 by five minutes sooner or later, I should certain- 
 ly not have been at the turn of the road when 
 your carriage went into the Ehone ' 
 
 ' And I should have gone with it,' interposed
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 21 
 
 the young lady, the returning colour again de- 
 serting her cheeks. 
 
 1 1 am afrajd so,' returned Handle, whom the 
 incident seemed to have deeply impressed. ' But 
 you see it was not to be ; it had been ordered 
 otherwise.'' 
 
 4 Poor Miss Joyce !' 
 
 4 Yes, one is taken and another left. Life is 
 fall of mysteries. It is only a question of a few 
 years with the youngest and the strongest of 
 us. There is an appointed time for all men, and 
 when our time comes we must shuffle off this 
 mortal coil as those have done who have gone 
 before us.' 
 
 ' Do you belong to our church V said the other, 
 somewhat timidly, for she had not been used to 
 this sort of talk, and scarcely knew what to say. 
 
 ; I think so. At least, if you mean the Church 
 of England, 1 do — in a fashion.' 
 
 ' Are you High or Low V 
 
 ' That is a difficult question to answer. If I 
 wanted to be very precise I should say a little 
 of both and not very much of either,' said Ran- 
 dle, inwardly amused at the turn the conversa- 
 tion was taking.
 
 22 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Perhaps you are Broad V 
 
 'In some things I am — very. In others peo- 
 ple say I am very narrow. But is not that a 
 carriage crawling up the next zig-zag ? It 
 seems empty, too.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I do not see anybody but the driver.' 
 
 4 If it is empty, do you not think it would be 
 well to get the driver to turn round and take 
 you to Viesch ? Your parents will be there by 
 this time, and may be anxious about you.' 
 
 ' You will go with me V 
 
 ' Certainly, if you wish it.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, I do wish it. Papa and mamma 
 would be very sorry if they were not to see you 
 and thank you.' 
 
 1 1 shall be very glad to make their acquaint- 
 ance, I am sure ; but if it were possible I should 
 be glad to be spared the thanks.' 
 
 ' I mean,' added Handle, fearing that the 
 remark might appear somewhat rude, whereas, 
 in fact, it was attributable in about equal 
 measure to bashfulness and modesty — f I mean 
 that you have already thanked me quite as 
 much as I deserve, and you know in what a
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 23 
 
 strange manner I happened to be near when 
 the accident befell.' 
 
 1 Yes, I know. It was God's doing, and it is 
 our duty to thank Him. But it was your doing 
 also, and we should fail in our duty if we were 
 not to thank you, and I am sure my father and 
 mother will say the same. I shall never forget 
 it as long as I live — never.' 
 
 * Here comes the carriage,' said Handle, glad 
 of an opportunity to turn the conversation* 
 ' The man seems to have no passengers. I do 
 not suppose he is likely to make any difficulty 
 about taking us to Viesch.' 
 
 Nor did he — at least none that did not yield 
 to an offer of full fare and double Trinhgeld — 
 and in half an hour they were at Viesch. 
 
 As the carriage drove up to the hall door, a 
 stout, middle-aged gentleman, of commonplace 
 though pleasant countenance, destitute of beard 
 or whisker, came forward, looking very much 
 surprised. 
 
 'How is this, Muriel? What have you been 
 doing so long ! Where is Miss Joyce ! And 
 — and — who is this gentleman V
 
 24 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 1 1 do not know who he is, papa, but he has 
 saved my life, and Miss Joyce is — is ' 
 
 And here Muriel burst into tears. 
 
 'What has happened? Has there been an 
 accident? Why, this is not the same carriage. 
 There has been an accident.' 
 
 4 There has, indeed. The driver lost com- 
 mand of his horses, and the poor lady who was 
 with your daughter was carried down into the 
 Eh one.' 
 
 4 And Muriel?' 
 
 'This gentleman saved me, papa — dragged 
 me out of the carriage only one second before 
 the horses rushed over the precipice, at the 
 peril of his life.' 
 
 ( Thank God, thank God, and' (turning to 
 Handle) ' may God bless you, sir, for your cour- 
 age and devotion. You have made us your 
 debtors for life. Might I ask to whom we are 
 beholden for this great service ?' 
 
 ' My name is Handle Ryvington. But you 
 make too much of what I did, sir ; you do, in- 
 deed ; and when you know all the circum- 
 stances ' 
 
 ' It is sufficient for me to know that by an
 
 TALK BY THE WAY. 25 
 
 act of courage and devotion you saved nay 
 child from a frightful danger. No explanation 
 can minimise it, my dear sir, or lessen the 
 obligation under which you have placed me 
 and my family. But it is time, I think, that 
 you knew something more of us. I am Lord 
 Lindisfarne ; the young lady whose life you have 
 saved is Lady Muriel Avalon ; and if you will 
 kindly accompany me into the hotel I will 
 introduce you to the countess and my other 
 daughters, who will, I am sure, add their thanks 
 to mine.' 
 
 So Handle, not being able to resist a request 
 so kindly put, followed his new acquaintance, 
 and had the honour of being introduced to Lady 
 Lindisfarne and her eldest and younger daughters, 
 the Ladies Maude and Mary, one of whom was a 
 few years the senior, the other a few years the 
 junior, of Lady Muriel, and, notwithstanding 
 the young man's shyness — of which, however, 
 there was little outward manifestation — he did 
 not find their gratitude embarrassing. For 
 though the expression of it was warm and, to 
 all appearance, sincere, not a word was said 
 which gave him any sense of discomfort or of
 
 2$ RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 being overpraised. They all seemed much 
 shocked and distressed at the terrible death of 
 Miss Joyce, yet it seemed to Randle that their 
 grief was less acute than Muriel's had been.
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 RAISING THE DEAD. 
 
 6 "PiO you think, Mr. Ryvington.' said Lord 
 *J Lindisfarne, after the story of the acci- 
 dent had been told and retold, and its causes 
 and consequences curiously discussed, ' that 
 poor Miss Joyce's body was caught on that 
 bush and still remains there?' 
 
 'I think it is very likely — so likely that it 
 would be well to place the matter beyond doubt 
 by sending somebody down to see.' 
 
 ' If it be there we must, of course, have it 
 brought up and buried. But will not that be 
 very difficult ? How far down did you say it 
 was V 
 
 ' Three or four hundred feet, I should think. 
 I do not think there will be any great difficulty 
 either in ascertaining if the body be there or of
 
 28 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 bringing it up if it is — with proper appliances, 
 of course. I have given my mind to a little 
 practical engineering occasionally, and if I can 
 be of any use T am sure I shall be very glad.' 
 
 ' Thank yoa very much, your help will be 
 most welcome,' said Lord Lindisfarne. 'You 
 are really too kind : not content with conferring 
 upon us one inestimable obligation, you seek to 
 confer upon us another. But can you remain 
 here all night without inconvenience to your- 
 self V 
 
 ' Certainly. In no case should I have gone 
 farther than JBrigue, and I am not sure that I 
 should not have stayed here/ 
 
 'It was our intention to go on to Brigue this 
 afternoon ; but we cannot, of course, continue 
 our journey without making an attempt to 
 recover poor Miss Joyce's body, and give it 
 decent burial. You spoke of appliances just 
 now. We shall want a long rope, I suppose, 
 and some sort of hoisting tackle?' 
 
 'If any is to be had here, which, from the 
 look of the place, I greatly doubt. But I will 
 just look round the village and see what they 
 have got. There is sure to be a forge, and
 
 RAISING THE DEAD. 29 
 
 somebody -who can do a bit of iron and wood 
 work ; and if there is not I daresay I can con- 
 trive what is necessary myself.' 
 
 ■ If you will permit me I will go with yon. 
 I can perhaps be of some use, for 1 was once a 
 sailor.' 
 
 f A sailor, LordLindisfarneT 
 
 4 Yes, I was a few years in the navy in my 
 young days ; but it is so long ago that I am afraid 
 I have lost all my cunning in the matter of 
 ropes, though I think if I tried I could still reef 
 a topsail and tie a bowline knot/ 
 
 'By all means come. Your advice and help 
 will be most useful, and my knowledge of Ger- 
 man is so very limited that I fear that alone I 
 should not be able to make these fellows under- 
 stand what I want.' 
 
 ' In that case I am probably worse equipped 
 than yourself, for I hardly know German at all. 
 But that is easily arranged ; we must have the 
 courier with us ; he will interpret for you.' 
 
 After taking counsel with the innkeeper they 
 visited the blacksmith and the joiner, the latter 
 of whom also acted as master-builder ; but, as 
 Eandle expected, the best hoisting machinery
 
 30 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 available was of the most primitive description, 
 and not at all suited for the purpose required. 
 He was obliged, therefore, to make shift with 
 such rough tackle as he could devise, and the 
 village workmen put together on the spur of 
 the moment. A cat-head was contrived by 
 fixing a strong though extremely clumsy block 
 to the end of a stout post, which Handle pro- 
 posed to make fast at the edge of the precipice 
 with iron clamps, forged after his instructions 
 by the blacksmith. Ropes there were and to 
 spare, but a good deal of splicing had to be 
 done before the length Randle deemed neces- 
 sary was prepared. To the end of it was at- 
 tached a wooden seat like that of a swing, and 
 a short rope with hook and eye to loop round 
 the body, if it should be found. 
 
 When all was ready an expedition consisting 
 of three vehicles and seven or eight men, 
 besides Lord Lindisfarne, Randle Ry vington, the 
 courier, and a young Englishman of the name 
 of Voules, who volunteered to accompany them 
 and lend a hand, set out for the scene of the 
 accident. The days were fortunately then at 
 their longest, and, though the hour was some-
 
 RAISING THE DEAD. 31 
 
 what late, nobody doubted that the object they 
 had in view could easily be accomplished be- 
 fore nightfall. And so, if all had gone well, it 
 might have been. They only forgot, as people 
 generally do, to allow for the unforeseen. 
 
 4 Which of these fellows do you propose to 
 lower into the gulf?' asked Lord Lindisfarne of 
 Handle, as their carriage toiled slowly up the 
 steep ascent near — 
 
 ' Where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between 
 Heights which appear as lovers who have parted 
 In haste, whose mining depths so intervene, 
 That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted. 1 
 
 4 To swing down there at the end of a rope five 
 hundred feet long were a fitting feat for a 
 maintopman.' 
 
 1 Or a North Country steeple-Jack,' said Ran- 
 dle^ with a smile. f I do not propose to ask 
 any of them to go down ; I mean to undertake 
 that job myself.' 
 
 ' You, Mr. Ryvington ! Oh, no, that would 
 be too bad. You have done enough for us 
 already, my dear sir ; more than we can ever 
 repay. Let one of those men go down. I 
 have no doubt they will be quite willing enough
 
 32 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 for a sufficient consideration. For a couple of. 
 napoleons I daresay everyone of them would 
 volunteer/ 
 
 ' I should think that is very likely. At the 
 same time you must remember that we do not 
 know these men, nor what they can do, nor 
 what sort of nerves they possess. They 
 probably do not know themselves. Now it 
 would be a very sad thing if one of them — per- 
 haps a man with a family— when he had been 
 lowered away and beyond the reach of help, 
 should grow faint or giddy, lose his hold, and 
 fall into the river. If one has nerve the thing 
 is easy enough, hardly more dangerous than 
 sitting in an arm-chair at home. I have no 
 doubt about my nerves. I have proved them 
 lately in several alpine excursions, much more 
 perilous than being swung over the Rhone at 
 the end of a long rope, and quite as trying to 
 the nerves. 1 think you had better let me have 
 my way, Lord Lindisfarne.' 
 
 ' I cannot deny that there is much force in 
 what you say, and I should certainly be very 
 sorry for one of these men to make the 
 attempt and come to grief for want of nerve.
 
 RAISING THE DEAD. 33 
 
 Yet I am very reluctant to tax your kindness 
 still further. Is there no other way?' 
 
 ' Of getting up the body, you mean ; for I 
 am almost sure it is there?' 
 
 < Yes.' 
 
 'I do not think there is ; and you would not 
 like to leave it where it is.' 
 
 1 Certainly not. It is only a sentiment, per- 
 haps, but it would seem the height of unkind- 
 ness not to put the poor creature decently 
 under the ground after all the years she has 
 been with us ; and the very suggestion of such 
 a thing would be intolerable both to Lady 
 Lindisfarne and my daughters, especially to 
 Muriel, who was really warmly attached to Miss 
 Joyce.' 
 
 ' It shall be done, Lord Lindisfarne, and do 
 not think that you are overtaxing my kindness 
 as you put it ; for 1 like to do things, and this, 
 after all, is so small a thing to do.' 
 
 f Be it so then, Mr. By vington. But what- 
 ever you may say I do not consider it a small 
 thing to do ; and you are placing us under 
 obligations which we shall never be able to 
 repay. But you will know how to take the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 will for the deed, and if ever the opportunity 
 offers there shall be no lack of deed. Of that 
 you may be assured.' 
 
 Handle bowed. He could not think just then 
 of any suitable answer, and was glad to be 
 able to divert the conversation by pointing out 
 to his companion the scene of the accident, 
 whither they had now almost arrived, and ex- 
 plaining his plan of campaign. 
 
 The first thing to be done was the fixing of 
 the cathead as nearly as possible in a direct 
 line with the bush whereon the drapery, sup- 
 posed to be that of Miss Joyce, could still be 
 seen fluttering in the breeze, a work which 
 Handle's forethought in providing the clamps 
 rendered easy of accomplishment. For greater 
 security the concern was further stayed with 
 ropes, which were fastened to two stout fir- 
 trees hard by. The long rope was then run 
 through the block, and Randle seated himself 
 in his chair, which, by means of a strap passing 
 round his body and the rope, was so arranged 
 that he had the free use of his hands. He 
 carried with him a revolver and a supply of 
 cartridges for signalling purposes. One shot
 
 RAISING THE DEAD. 35 
 
 meant stop ; two, go on lowering; three, hoist 
 up. As there was no winding tackle the rope 
 would, of course, have to be paid out by hand. 
 To Mr. Voules w r as assigned the duty of 
 watching the cat-head, and seeing that the men 
 lowered steadily, and not too fast ; while Lord 
 Lindisfarne undertook to stand by the coil of 
 rope and keep it from fouling, a duty for which 
 his experience as a sailor well fitted him. 
 
 When these arrangements were completed 
 the word was given to lower away, and Handle 
 found himself swinging in face of a huge wall 
 of rock of forbidding appearance, with the 
 purple sky above and the raging Rhone be- 
 neath him. The oscillation was his greatest 
 difficulty, and the more the rope was paid out 
 the worse it became. It was all he could do 
 to keep himself from being dashed against the 
 side and seriously hurt, for the rock was far 
 from being as smooth as it appeared from 
 above. It w r as seamed with age and the action 
 of the weather, and abounded in sharp angles, 
 hollows, and elevations, which rendered Randle's 
 task much more onerous, and, as he confessed 
 to himself, more dangerous than he had looked 
 
 d2
 
 36 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 for. But be had little leisure for reflection — all 
 his wits, as well as all his limbs, were in con- 
 stant requisition. Nor was he the man to 
 withdraw from any work to which he had once 
 put his hand. The very strangeness of the posi- 
 tion, moreover, had a charm for him — dangling 
 between two mighty crags, in presence of the 
 immensity of Nature, as much cut off from the 
 world as if he had been in the bowels of the 
 earth. The consciousness that his life hung on 
 a frail rope that might at any moment be 
 severed by a sharp corner of rock tended rather 
 to give zest to his excitement than to damp his 
 spirits. Men of adventurous temperament, high 
 courage, and youthful energy find a pleasure in 
 dangers which they can combat, and delight in 
 perils that call forth their supremest capacities 
 of action and endurance. 
 
 At length Randle, unhurt but breathless, 
 found himself immediately above the place, 
 where, as he could see, lay the body of the 
 unfortunate Miss Joyce. He calculated the 
 distance to a nicety, and a minute before he 
 came level with the spot, fired the shot which 
 was to give the signal of stoppage.
 
 6( 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A DROP TOO MUCH. 
 
 T^OULES, who was on the lookout, saw the 
 " flash before he heard the report. 
 
 ' Stop !' he sang out. 
 
 ' Horet auf !' shouted the courier. 
 
 The sound of the shot, faintly heard, was 
 followed by a series of echoes, as if Randle were 
 engaged in a combat with unseen foes. 
 
 ' Has he found anything. Can you see what 
 he is doing?' asked Lord Lindisfarne. 
 
 'I think he has found something; but what 
 he is doing I cannot make out. It is growing 
 dark down there, and objects are very indis- 
 tinct.' 
 
 ' I daresay ; the sun is getting low, and even 
 at full noon there cannot be much light in that 
 gorge.'
 
 38 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 A few minutes passed in complete silence, all 
 listening intently, while Voules, with one hand 
 on the cat-head, looked down the precipice. 
 
 1 One,' said Voules, as a sharp flash of light 
 shot upward in the deepening gloom, * two — 
 three ; hoist slowly.' 
 
 ' Hebt langsam auf,' shouted the courier, and 
 amid a volley of smothered echoes, the men 
 began to pull the rope home, keeping in mind 
 the caution to heave slowly, and a second 
 exhortation, given by Lord Lindisfarne, to 
 heave steadily. 
 
 * Pity we have not some sort of capstan,' said 
 the peer, after the pulling had been going on 
 four or five minutes. ' I don't much like this 
 hand work. The men must jerk more or less, 
 do as they will. Do they find it a heavy pull, 
 courier V 
 
 6 Not as heavy as they expected, my lord. 
 They are rather surprised at its lightness ; for 
 Mr. Ryvington is sure to be bringing the 
 body up with him, I suppose?' 
 
 ' No doubt, if he has found it ; and Mr. Voules 
 seems to be sure that he has. We shall soon 
 know
 
 A DROP TOO MUCH. 3D 
 
 'My God! what has happened?' exclaimed 
 his lordship, as Voules uttered a cry of dismay, 
 and the bolsters fell in a confused heap on the 
 ground. 
 
 4 The rope has parted,' said Voules, hoarsely, 
 in his agitation hardly able to speak, ' and — 
 and ' 
 
 'You surely don't mean that Ryvington has 
 gone to the bottom — that he is killed V 
 
 1 1 am afraid it is so, my lord,' put in the 
 courier. ' See, the rope is quite slack ; there is 
 evidently no weight at the other end.' 
 
 1 And I saw it break/ said Voules ; ' at least 
 I saw the one end fly up and the other go 
 down.' 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! poor fellow !' muttered Lord 
 Lindisfarne, ' and he was so confident about 
 there being no danger. I shall never forgive 
 myself for allowing him to go down. I wonder 
 who his friends are? Can we do nothing — is 
 there no possibility of his being alive? Ask 
 those men, courier; they know the place and 
 the river. Ask them if there is no chance of 
 saving him. He might swim, you know.' 
 
 The courier shook his head.
 
 40 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 'They say, my lord, that the gentleman 
 could not possibly reach the water without 
 striking against the side ; that if he did, he 
 could hardly miss striking against one of the 
 huge boulders which lie in thousands in the bed 
 of the river. And even supposing that, by a 
 miracle, he has escaped these two dangers, the 
 Rhone is so full of whirlpools, and it is so far to 
 any place where he could land, that swimming 
 would be quite out of the question. They 
 think, my lord, that there is not the . least 
 hope.' 
 
 c Poor fellow ! and, beyond his name, we know 
 nothing of him. We shall have a sorrowful 
 tale to tell when we get back to Viesch. It is 
 very, very distressing.' 
 
 ' He was a brave fellow,' said Voules, as a 
 tear rolled down his cheek; ' a fine fellow.' 
 
 ' A noble fellow ; a young man of rare courage 
 and presence of mind. He saved my daughter's 
 life this morning, and now, in trying to do me 
 a service, he has lost his own. What made the 
 rope break, do you think? It seemed strong 
 enough to carry three or four people.' 
 
 'Cat by chafing against a sharp point of rock,'
 
 A DROP TOO MUCH. 41 
 
 said Voules, who by this time had got the rem- 
 nant of rope hauled in. e See here.' 
 
 4 Yes, cut as if with a knife. What shall we 
 do? How communicate with his friends ? Poor 
 young gentleman ! What a death !' 
 
 And Lord Lindisfarne, who appeared deeply 
 affected by Handle's tragic end, peered, 
 shuddering, into the gulf; but so deep was the 
 gloom that hardly anything could be seen, and, 
 beyond the beating of the wild waters of the 
 river on the rocks beneath, nothing heard. 
 
 * The men are right, Mr. Voules, I fear,' he re- 
 marked to the young Englishman, who was 
 standing near him. ' He is dead beyond a doubt, 
 and I do not suppose we shall be able even to 
 recover his body. Ah ! what is that?' 
 
 A tongue of flame flashed for a moment in the 
 darkness, followed at an interval of two or 
 three seconds by a faint yet distinct crack, which 
 startled all the echoes of the gorge, and they 
 answered back as with muffled breath. 
 
 'It is he! He is not dead, then!' exclaimed 
 the peer ; 'but where can he be ? How has he 
 escaped V 
 
 By this time the courier and all the helpers
 
 42 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 were lying full length on the ground and craning 
 over the brink of the precipice. 
 
 Then came another shot, followed by another 
 round of echoes. 
 
 ' The men think, my lord,' said the courier, 
 ' that the gentleman was not on the rope when 
 it broke, that he sent up the body of the lady 
 first, thinking to follow himself afterwards, and 
 that he is still on the ledge of rock where he 
 found the body. That is the reason it was so 
 much easier to haul up than the men expected. 
 The pistol shot is to tell us that the gentleman 
 is alive, and to ask for help/ 
 
 1 You think he is down there, clinging to a 
 ledge of rock % Good heaven, what a position, 
 and we here doing nothing ! Lower the rope ; 
 tell the men to lower the rope at once, courier.' 
 
 ' It is a great deal too short, my lord ; the 
 greater part of it is broken off and fallen into 
 the river.' 
 
 ' True, true ; I had forgotten that. What 
 shall we do, then? Look here, Mr. Voules. 
 Will you kindly remain here with two or three 
 of the men — you can send one of them to the 
 nearest inn for some refreshment — and I will go
 
 A DROP TOO MUCH. 4S 
 
 with the courier and the others to Yiesch for 
 more rope ? We shall use all possible speed, 
 and be back, I hope, in two or three hours.' 
 
 ' Certainly, Lord Lindisfarne. I will remain 
 with pleasure. But should we not do something 
 to let Mr. Ryvington know that we have heard 
 the shots, and that help is coming.' 
 
 6 You are quite right. What shall we do ? 
 Shout V 
 
 4 1 do not think he could hear a shout ; the 
 rush of the river would drown our voices, even 
 if we were to shout our loudest and all together. 
 We must answer his light with another light. 
 I will see if I cannot manufacture a torch out 
 of paper and some of these rotten fir branches 
 that are lying about, and then we will make a 
 bonfire, the glare of which he is sure to see.' 
 
 6 Very well ; I will leave all that to you. The 
 sooner we get away the sooner shall we be able 
 to deliver Mr. Ryvington from his purgatory in 
 that terrible gorge.'
 
 u 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LEFT SITTING. 
 
 THE thing Randle had taken for a bush proved 
 to be a stunted fir-tree. It grew on a nar- 
 row ledge of rock — too narrow to give a man 
 foothold, yet wide enough to hold a- bit of soil 
 wafted thither by the wind. Here the tree had 
 taken root, and solidly anchored itself by shoot- 
 ing its tough tentacles into the interstices of 
 the cliff. On this shrub — for it was little more — 
 Miss Joyce had fallen, and, as Randle at once 
 saw, life was utterly extinct. Her poor body 
 was fearfully mangled. He shuddered as he 
 looked at it, and almost regretted that he had 
 not yielded to Lord Lindisfarne's advice, and 
 let some other person undertake the job. But 
 the hesitation was only momentary, and after a 
 few minutes' thought he addressed himself to
 
 LEFT SITTING, 45 
 
 his task. His original idea had been to fasten 
 the body under his seat with the loop he had 
 caused to be made for the purpose, and carry it 
 up with him. But when he recalled the diffi- 
 culties of the descent, and thought of the in- 
 creased stress on the rope the ghastly burden 
 would entail — for Miss Joyce was a much bigger 
 woman than he had expected — he altered his 
 plan. He resolved to send the body up first, 
 and wait where he was until the arm-chair, as 
 he had jokingly called it to Lord Lindisfarne, 
 could be lowered a second time. 
 
 It was a choice of evils, and, like a wise man, 
 he chose the one that seemed to him the least. 
 The body going up alone would doubtless get 
 a good deal knocked against the rocks, but that 
 was decidedly a smaller evil than getting 
 knocked about himself, and, perhaps, badly 
 hurt, to say nothing of the greater strain on the 
 rope and the risk of its breaking, while the poor 
 governess would be none the worse for a few 
 additional bruises. 
 
 Having arrived at this resolution, Ran die 
 hooked the body to the rope, placed himself on 
 the stunted fir-tree, and gave the preconcerted
 
 46 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 signal to hoist, by discharging two barrels of 
 his revolver. 
 
 He found the shrub decidedly less comfortable 
 than the seat he had just quitted. That at 
 least was a seat ; this was literally a perch, and 
 about as unpleasant a perch as could well be. 
 In the first place, it was exceedingly rough and 
 covered with little branches, which made a very 
 bad substitute for cushions. In the next place, 
 he could not sit sideways for fear of losing his 
 balance and falling headforemost into the Rhone, 
 which, as he reckoned, was a good hundred 
 yards below him. So he was obliged to 
 straddle. 
 
 Now, sitting astride of a horse, or a tree trunk 
 of respectable dimensions, is one thing ; strad- 
 dling across a stunted fir-tree, half way down 
 a precipice a thousand feet deep, with nothiug 
 save space between yourself and a raging flood, 
 is quite another thing. It is not easy to get a 
 good grip of a thing not more than three or 
 four inches in diameter, and Randle's perch was 
 so painfully narrow that, in order to preserve 
 his balance, he was constrained to lean forward 
 and grasp the tree firmly with his hands. It
 
 LEFT SITTING. 47 
 
 was 'sitting on a rail ' with a vengeance, Handle 
 said to himself, and he did not care how soon 
 the penance was at an end. He might have to 
 endure it some twenty minutes, he thought, 
 that being about the time it would take to 
 hoist up the body and let down the ; arm-chair.' 
 As he arrived at this conclusion he heard a 
 noise overhead ; but, before he could raise his 
 head to look, something whizzed closely past 
 him — so closely that, in the involuntary move- 
 ment he made to avoid it, he almost lost his 
 equilibrium. Following the object with his 
 eyes, which had now become accustomed to the 
 obscurity, he saw the fated body of poor Miss 
 Joyce, after bounding from point to point of the 
 rocky wall, plunge into the milk-white water of 
 the Rhone. Then he looked upward and saw 
 the broken end of the rope dangling in mid air. 
 ' What an escape !' he murmured, breathing 
 at the same time a prayer of thankfulness to the 
 Divine Being, to whose interposition he ascribed 
 his escape. 
 
 It was only by degrees, as his preoccupation 
 subsided, that he realised the full peril of his po- 
 sition ; but as he looked down through the gloom
 
 48 KED RYVINGTON. 
 
 towards the cruel foam of the surging flood, 
 and upward to the unreachable brink of the 
 precipice, his heart for a moment failed him, 
 and he doubted if he should ever again put his 
 foot on solid earth. But he quickly shook off 
 his despondency. 'If my hour had come,' he 
 thought, ' I should not be here now; I should 
 have gone up with the body — and down with it. 
 It will be time to despair when I can do nothing 
 else. I can hold on an hour yet. But I must 
 let them know up there that I am still alive, 
 and in need of help.' And with that he drew 
 his pistol and fired the two last shots it contained. 
 But he had still a few cartridges left. 
 
 Then he began to consider his position w r ith 
 a view to making it safer and more endurable, 
 for, roused by his danger to greater sharpness 
 of observation, he perceived that the impact of 
 Miss Joyce's body had greatly impaired the 
 integrity of the tree. Some of its roots had 
 been torn from their fastenings, and, when he 
 moved, it yielded to his weight in a way that 
 was anything but re-assuring. He thought too 
 — albeit this apprehension may have ren- 
 dered him fanciful — that the tree was sinking
 
 LEFT SITTING. 49 
 
 very slightly perhaps, yet still perceptibly, 
 giving way under his weight. Whether ill or 
 well founded, the idea was not a pleasant one, 
 and he resolved to lessen the pressure, and get 
 some support for his back, by turning round 
 and creeping nearer the rock. The operation 
 was a sufficiently ticklish one, for even when 
 sitting still he had a difficulty in keeping his 
 balance ; and if his surmise as to the condition 
 of the tree were correct every movement would 
 tend to make it still more precarious. When 
 he swung his leg round, the branch bent and 
 creaked in a way that would have made a more 
 nervous man give pause ; but Handle went on, 
 and when he reached the rock, and leaned 
 against the ledge and the roots, he was pleased 
 to see that the shrub, relieved from a portion of 
 his weight, raised its drooping head by several 
 inches. 
 
 Though the change rendered Handle's position 
 more tolerable and much safer than it had pre- 
 viously been, it was still one of extreme dis- 
 comfort. His legs, arms, and back ached to a 
 degree that nobody who has not undergone the 
 experience of sitting astride the slender branch 
 VOL. I, E
 
 50 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 of a tree for a considerable time can have any 
 idea of. He could not lean against the rock 
 for long together, as not only were its angles 
 and projections painfully sharp, but water 
 trickled down it, and he was soon wet to the 
 skin. Then it grew bitterly cold ; for although 
 the day had been warm the sun's rays reached 
 the depths of the ravine during only a few hours 
 of the twenty-four ; and the river brought with 
 it a wind keen enough, as Handle thought, to 
 have been iced by the glaciers in which the 
 Rhone had its birth. But few predicaments are 
 so bad that they might not be worse ; and, 
 rightly regarded, there are no evils without 
 their consolations. As luck would have it, 
 Handle had his pipe with him, tobacco, and 
 matches ; and after several vain essays he suc- 
 ceeded in striking a light and treating himself 
 to a smoke. The moment this match went out 
 — and as it might seem in answer thereto — 
 there came a red glare overhead, brightly re- 
 flected in the opposite side of the abyss, in 
 which he rightly read a response to his signal 
 and an intimation that help was not far off. 
 Then he thought of the varied incidents of
 
 LEFT SITTING. 51 
 
 the day, of the strange contrast they offered 
 to the somewhat monotonous routine of his life 
 at home, and how seemingly trivial incidents 
 lead sometimes to momentous results. Who 
 could have supposed that his sleep in the wood, 
 and the tinkling of the diligence bells, would 
 be the means of saving the life of an earl's 
 daughter and bringing his own into deadly 
 peril — for what purpose time alone could tell. 
 For Randle Ryvington firmly believed in a 
 divine influencing of human affairs, and his 
 early training had given his character somewhat 
 of a bent towards fatalism, which subsequent 
 circumstances had tended rather to confirm than 
 relax. 
 
 Then he thought of his past life, of the 
 incidents of his Swiss tour, of Whitebrook, of 
 business, of a hundred things besides — until 
 little by little a feeling of intense drowsiness 
 overcame him, his ideas grew faint and confus- 
 ed, his head drooped, and he fell into a dose 
 from which he awoke with a start so violent 
 that he almost lost his hold of the tree and fell 
 down the precipice. But the heaviness — in 
 which he recognised an effect of the bitter cold 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 HNmcDcnv nc u niif s
 
 52 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 — still clung to him, and so great was his in- 
 clination to sleep that even the consciousness 
 that to indulge in it would be death hardly 
 sufficed to keep him awake. He shook himself, 
 he let the water from the rock trickle down his 
 back, he tried to count and identify the stars 
 in the narrow strip of purple sky that vaulted 
 the gulf; he reckoned over and over again how 
 soon he might be released from his strange 
 prison ; he struck match after match to see how 
 sped the time ; he smoked all the tobacco in his 
 pouch. 
 
 At length, when he had exhausted all these 
 and sundry other devices, and had begun to 
 feel that, die or not, he must sleep, he heard 
 what seemed to his fevered mind like voices 
 from the stars, and, looking upwards, he saw 
 lights in violent agitation. 
 
 The sight gave him new courage ; his sleepi- 
 ness vanished like a dream ; he knew that relief 
 was at hand. 
 
 A few minutes later the lights began to de- 
 scend. 
 
 Handle loaded his pistol so that he might 
 give the signals.
 
 LEFT SITTING. 53 
 
 As the lights drew nearer he perceived that 
 they came from two torches fastened to the 
 cradle, or seat, in which he was to be carried 
 to terra firma. In his excitement he stood up, 
 and placed one foot on the shrub, the other 
 on the ledge of rock, a feat that in cool blood, 
 and by daylight, he had hardly dared to 
 attempt. 
 
 The moment was an anxious one, for the rope 
 carrying little weight it oscillated considerably, 
 and the cradle might easily pass so wide of the 
 fir-tree as to be beyond his grasp. When it 
 reached the level of his shoulder he gave the 
 signal, and a few seconds thereafter it stopped. 
 
 What he feared had come to pass. The 
 cradle, swaying to the right, was prevented by 
 a roughness of the rock, or some other obstruc- 
 tion from returning to where Handle stood. 
 Reaching it was out of the question. It was 
 two yards off, at least. 
 
 There was only one way, as he thought, of 
 meeting the emergency. He gave the signal 
 to pay out more rope, and returning the re- 
 volver to his pocket, braced himself for the 
 desperate effort he had resolved to make.
 
 54 RED RYVINGTON. I 
 
 When the cradle reached the level of the tree it 
 came a little nearer, and Handle, after measur- 
 ing the distance with his eye, leaped boldly to- 
 wards it, and succeeded in grasping the wood- 
 work with both hands. As one of the torches, 
 dislodged by the shock, fell through the dark- 
 ness, leaving behind it a scattering route of 
 sparks, Handle found himself dangling in mid- 
 air, while the cradle, still descending, swayed 
 violently to and fro. But he retained his 
 presence of mind and kept his hold ; and after 
 steadying the rope by planting his legs against 
 the rock, he succeeded, without much difficulty, 
 in mounting to his seat, when he lost no time 
 in firing the signal to hoist. The next moment 
 he was moving in the opposite direction, and 
 although in constant apprehension of the rope 
 again parting, he reached the goal without 
 further mishap, save a slight bruising of his 
 hands and face against the rock.
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WORDS OF GRATITUDE. 
 
 i S Handle stepped from his cradle into the 
 -*-*- full light of a blazing fire, he was greeted 
 with loud cheers. The news that an English- 
 man was holding on to a fir-tree half way 
 down the bed of the Rhone had spread far and 
 wide, and the road was crowded with people 
 from Viesch and Munster, who had come to 
 witness his deliverance or shudder over his fate. 
 Among them were several carriages, in one of 
 which were seated Lady Lindisfarne and her 
 two elder daughters. 
 
 This was more than Randle had bargained 
 for, and he felt somewhat embarrassed at being 
 under the necessity, in his present not very 
 presentable condition, of appearing before so 
 distinguished a company. And he looked
 
 56 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 worse than he knew. His hat was gone, his 
 hair dishevelled, his face blackened with smoke 
 and streaked with blood, and his clothes were 
 wet, dirty, and torn. 
 
 But if he had been a prince returning from 
 a successful war he could hardly have received 
 a warmer welcome. Voules was the first to 
 greet him. Then the rough-handed, hearty 
 fellows who had been pulling the rope insisted 
 on shaking his hand and complimenting him on 
 his courage. It was some minutes before Lord 
 Lindisfarne could find an opportunity of offer- 
 ing his congratulations, and leading him to the 
 countess and the ladies Maude and Muriel, to 
 receive their congratulations. 
 
 All this embarrassed Handle exceedingly. He 
 would much rather have been allowed to go 
 quietly away, as he said to himself, without 
 fuss. But it was not to be. 
 
 4 You are a brave man, Mr. ftyvington,' said 
 Lady Lindisfarne, after he had assured her, in 
 answer to her inquiries, that he was none the 
 worse, and that the wounds on his face and 
 hands were the merest scratches, and she had 
 expressed her satisfaction at his escape. ' We
 
 WORDS OF GRATITUDE. 57 
 
 shall never forget how much we owe you — 
 shall we, girls V 
 
 'Never,' said Lady Maude, emphatically. 
 ' We shall never be able to thank Mr. Ryving- 
 ton enough.' 
 
 1 Never,' murmured Lady Muriel, softly. ' He 
 saved me from a terrible death, and I shall be 
 grateful to him all my life long.' 
 
 'And he has increased the obligation by 
 risking his life a second time to recover poor 
 Miss Joyce's body,' continued the countess. 
 'I blame my husband very much for having 
 allowed you to undertake such a dangerous 
 task; but he says you were so determined, and 
 that you both thought there was no risk.' 
 
 c It was quite my own doing, Lady Linclis- 
 farne. Lord Lindisfarne did his best to dis- 
 suade me, but I would not let myself be 
 dissuaded. As for the risk, all I can say is 
 that I was very much mistaken. Had I known 
 what I know now, I greatly doubt if I should 
 have made the attempt; 
 
 f But you did make the attempt, and the 
 dauger is too evident to be denied; so evident, 
 indeed, that I shudder to think of it. I am
 
 58 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 sure if I had been here I should neither have 
 allowed you nor anyone else to run so frightful a 
 risk.' 
 
 4 1 do not regret having made the attempt, 
 Lady Lindisfarne. I only regret not having 
 succeeded. We have lost poor Miss Joyce's 
 body after all.' 
 
 ' I know, and am very sorry ; but poor Miss 
 Joyce will be none the worse ; and as you have 
 saved a life to-day you have good reason for 
 contentment, and we, I am sure, have great 
 cause for thankfulness.' 
 
 She accompanied these words with a glance 
 at her daughter, who, while murmuringly echo- 
 ing her mother's words, bent a look at Handle 
 so eloquent with gratitude that he felt more 
 than rewarded for all the perils he had under- 
 gone. He did not say so, however, for just as 
 he was thinking how to put his thoughts into 
 speech Lord Lindisfarne came bustling up. 
 
 ' Come, come,' exclaimed the peer, whose 
 countenance rather suggested that he had a 
 weakness for good cheer, ' this will not do at 
 all, you know. You are forgetting that Mr. 
 Kyvington has been holding on to that fir
 
 WORDS OF GRATITUDE. 59 
 
 bush four or five hours, that he is sure to be cold, 
 and cannot fail to be hungry. He must have 
 something to eat and drink forthwith. Hallo, 
 courier, bring hither the hamper.' 
 
 The hamper was brought accordingly, its 
 contents were unpacked, and Handle, who was 
 quite as hungry as Lord Lindisfarne thought, 
 seating himself, by order of the countess, next 
 to her and opposite to Lady Muriel, made a 
 vigorous attack on a cold fowl, which he washed 
 down with some excellent vin du pays mixed 
 with water from a neighbouring well. 
 
 Then as a substitute for a hat Lady Muriel 
 with her own hands bound round his head, 
 turban-wise, a soft white shawl, which they all 
 declared became him amazingly. 
 
 1 May I keep it as a memento of the day V 
 asked Handle. 
 
 ' Of course you may,' said the countess, with 
 a keen glance, first at him, then at Muriel ; ' but 
 I should like to give you some worthier me- 
 mento than a shawl.' 
 
 ' The worth of a memento consists in its 
 associations,' answered Randle, sententiously. 
 
 1 You are quite right,' observed Lady Maude ;
 
 60 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 1 and that shawl will serve to remind you that 
 you saved my sister's life.' 
 
 4 1 shall not require reminding, Lady Maude. 
 Never, so long as I live, can I forget the events 
 of to-day.' 
 
 ' Nor I,' said Lady Muriel, softly. 
 
 'None of us will ever forget, Mr. Ryvington, 
 the service you have this day rendered us. 
 Gracious heaven ! but for you, my child would 
 have been down there in that terrible gorge 
 with poor Miss Joyce ! What a fate !' 
 
 And, as if the picture her imagination had 
 summoned up was more than she could bear, 
 the countess, with a visible shudder, drew her 
 shawl about her and sank back into her seat.
 
 61 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FORGET ME NOT. 
 
 T ORD LINDISFARNE made particular in- 
 -■■-* quiry the next morning as to the likeli- 
 hood of recovering Miss Joyce's body. Opinions 
 greatly differed. It might be found the very 
 next day ; it might not be found for days and 
 weeks : and it was far from improbable that it 
 might never be found at all. The river was 
 extremely high, and running with rapid-like 
 swiftness. The body might be carried down 
 without once rising to the surface, and buried 
 under the sand and mud which the Rhone is 
 constantly discharging into the Lake of Geneva. 
 In these circumstances Lord Lindisfarne did 
 not think it necessary to remain any longer at 
 Viesch. After offering a reward for the find- 
 ing of the body, which he caused to be exten-
 
 62 RED RYVINGTOX. 
 
 sively advertised, and arranging with the local 
 authorities that, in the event of the bo'dy being 
 recovered, it should be decently buried, and 
 himself at once informed of the circumstance, 
 he and his family, accompanied by Handle, 
 went on to Brigue. 
 
 Here they had to part, for the Lindisfarnes 
 were bound for Zermatt, and Eandle, who 
 telegraphed for his letters to Ouchy, said that 
 he must leave by the first train next morning 
 for Bouveret, on his way to England. He 
 pleaded pressing engagements as a reason 
 for not accepting Lord and Lady Lindisfarne's 
 invitation to spend a few days with them at 
 Z'ermatt. 
 
 ' At any rate, Mr. Ryvington.' said the earl, 
 as they were about to separate for the night — 
 the early hour at which Randle intended to 
 leave in the morning rendering it improbable 
 that they would meet again before his depart- 
 ure — ' you will favour us with an early visit at 
 Avalon Priory V 
 
 i Oh, yes, you must come, Mr. Ryvington ; we 
 will take no denial. There is no compulsion,
 
 FORGET ME NOT. 63 
 
 you know — only you must,' added the countess, 
 with a smile. 
 
 Lady Muriel made no remark, but Handle 
 read in her expressive eyes a warmer and more 
 sincere promise of welcome than that which 
 her mother had spoken. 
 
 ' You are very kind, Lady Lindisfarne ; I am 
 sure I shall be very happy to visit you some, 
 time at Avalon Priory,' answered Handle. 
 
 'Have you Mr. Ryviugton's address, 
 Reginald?' asked the countess of her husband, 
 that we may write to him when we return 
 home.' 
 
 1 Yes, I have his card in my pocket. He gave 
 it me a few minutes ago. We shall probably 
 spend the greater part of the summer in Swit- 
 zerland, Mr. Ryvington, but immediately we 
 get back to the Priory you shall hear from us. 
 We shall expect a long visit, you know.' 
 
 4 1 fear I may not be able to spare time for a 
 very long visit, Lord Lindisfarne ; I am rather 
 a busy man. But at any rate, whatever may 
 be my engagements, when I hear from you I 
 will come.'
 
 64 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 And then they said good night and good-bye. 
 
 As Handle stepped out of the Hotel de la 
 Poste shortly after six the following morning, 
 on his way to the station, he thought he heard 
 a soft voice calling his name. Looking upwards, 
 whence the sound seemed to come, he perceived 
 at a window which opened on a balcony the 
 .charming face of Lady Muriel. She held in 
 her hand a bunch of forget-me-nots, and was 
 bidding him a last good-bye and wishing him a 
 pleasant journey. 
 
 'You will be sure to come to Avalon?' she 
 said, and as she leaned over the balcony one 
 half her bunch of forget-me-nots fluttered to the 
 ground and fell at Handle's feet. 
 
 4 1 have promised, Lady Muriel ; I am sure to 
 come,' answered Handle, as he stooped to pick 
 up the forget-me-nots. 
 
 Then he stood uncovered for a moment be- 
 fore the balcony and bowed his adieux. When 
 he turned his head for the last time, before 
 losing sight of the hotel, Lady Muriel was still 
 at the window, holding in her hand the remain- 
 der of the forget-me-nots.
 
 Qo 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN, 
 
 rpHE railway from Brigue to Bouveret, al- 
 ■*■ though it bears the imposing name of ' Ligne 
 dTtalie/ and, in all probability, is destined 
 sooner or later to make good its designation by 
 linking together Switzerland, France, and Italy, 
 and forming part of a great highway between 
 England and the East, is chiefly remarkable at 
 present for the preternatural slowness of its 
 trains. If the management, as has been sug- 
 gested, are trying experiments with a view to 
 seeing how slowly trains can be made to go, it 
 must be admitted that they have achieved a 
 great success. 
 
 Though the distance Randle had to travel on 
 this sleepy line was not more than eighty or 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6Q RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ninety miles, it was almost noon when he 
 reached his destination — Bonveret, at the head 
 of Lake Leman — whence he proposed to proceed 
 by water to Nyon, where he had a call to make 
 before continuing his journey homeward. 
 
 The day was all that could be desired. The 
 sky was clear and blue, the higher mountains 
 were of a dazzling whiteness, and as the azure 
 wavelets of the lake danced in the sunlight they 
 sparkled like liquid diamonds. 
 
 The view from the deck of the steamer was 
 superb, and Randle — who had an inquiring 
 mind — anxious to know the names of some of 
 the peaks around him, put a question, in what 
 he imagined to be the French tongue, to one of 
 the crew. 
 
 4 1 don't understand English, monsieur,' said 
 the fellow, with a deprecatory shake of his head. 
 
 Randle bit his lip. Not to be understood is a 
 common experience, but to have your French 
 taken for English is somewhat humiliating ; 
 above all, when you have carefully prepared 
 your sentence beforehand and said it over 
 several times in your head before letting it see 
 daylight.
 
 OX LAKE LEMAX. 67 
 
 ; These men are really too stupid/ said a 
 voice near him. ; That snow-clad mountain 
 before us is the Dent du Midi ; the other is the 
 Dent de Jlorcles. The strangely-shaped one 
 with the two peaks., like two horns, is the Dent 
 d'Oche; and the mountain above Chillon yonder 
 where you see vineyards, meadows, chalets, and 
 forests, surmounted by a fantastically-formed 
 rock, that is the Col de Jamant. The others 
 are the Hoine and the Naze.' 
 
 This was spoken rapidly and in excellent 
 English, albeit the intonation and accent had a 
 decidedly foreign ring. 
 
 4 Thank you very much,' said Randle, turning 
 to the speaker, whom he was surprised, now he 
 looked at him, not to have noticed before ; for 
 his appearance was rather striking. 
 
 Tall, and rather slightly built, a nut-brown 
 beard hung low on his breast. He had regular 
 features, but a complexion almost devoid of 
 colour, and his eyes were so dark that the 
 pupils of them could hardly be distinguished 
 from the iris. When he smiled he displayed a 
 row of brilliantly white teeth, the upper parts 
 of two of which were covered or adorned with
 
 68 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 two thin crescent-shaped plates of gold. The 
 face seemed to Handle, albeit its owner was 
 evidently little older than himself, that of a man 
 who had suffered. It showed much power and 
 courage, yet it wore, when in repose, an ex- 
 pression of wistful sadness which both won 
 Handle's sympathy and roused his curiosity. 
 What could have happened to this man, still in 
 the heyday of youth, to stamp his features with 
 as deep a shade of melancholy as if he had 
 drunk the cup of life's bitterness to the dregs V 
 
 These thoughts passed rapidly through Han- 
 dle's mind as he gazed in the direction indicated 
 by the stranger. 
 
 'And that point in the far distance, right 
 away to the south, slightly powdered with 
 snow?' 
 
 'That is the beginning of the St. Bernard 
 range. One of the lower spurs — I have heard 
 the name often enongh, but just now I cannot 
 recall it.' 
 
 ' Thank you very much. It is of no import- 
 ance. You have told me more already than I 
 shall probably remember. You seem to be well 
 acquainted with this part of the country V
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 69 
 
 ' Yes, I like it. I often make the tour of the 
 lake.' 
 
 1 1 am not surprised at that, if you live in the 
 neighbourhood. If I lived hereabouts I think I 
 should always be on the water — in weather of 
 this sort, pretty often in it. I suppose you are 
 Swiss.' 
 
 4 1 have not the privilege, for it is a privilege, 
 to be a native of the freest of European 
 countries. It was my misfortune to be born in 
 Russia, where there is no freedom, neither in 
 fact nor in name.' 
 
 1 Oh, you are a Russian. No, I do not sup- 
 pose there is too much liberty in the dominion 
 of the Czar, though, to own the truth, Russia 
 is not a country I know much about.' 
 
 ' That is well for you. Fuller knowledge of 
 the country would not tend to increase either 
 your respect for it or for human nature. Russia 
 is a prey to tyranny. Its masses are sordidly 
 ignorant. Its upper classes either frivolous or 
 corrupt ; the few who dare to utter a word of 
 remonstrance, or point out the way to reform, 
 are sent into exile or consigned to a dungeon.' 
 
 This was spoken with much warmth, yet the
 
 70 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 stranger's mobile face and kindling eye were 
 even more eloquent of indignation and disgust 
 than his words. 
 
 ' I could a tale unfold,' he continued more 
 quietly ; ' but I must not ; I am under a promise, 
 I must correct you on one point, however. You 
 called me just now a Russian. I am not a 
 Russian.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, but I thought you said 
 you were born in Russia V 
 
 ' So I was, yet 1 am no Russian. I have 
 abjured my nationality. My country has cast 
 me off, so I cast it off. I have no country ; I 
 am a cosmopolitan, a citizen of the world. Do 
 you mark how the vast volume of the Rhone 
 rushes, arrow-like into the lake, and changes in 
 a moment its turbid whiteness into translucent 
 blue ? A curious sight, is it not ? Let us go 
 nearer the stern that we may have a better 
 view of it.' 
 
 It was a curious sight, and interested Randle 
 greatly ; but his curiosity was less piqued by 
 the natural phenomenon to which the citizen of 
 the world called his attention than by the 
 startling way in which that gentleman, without
 
 OX LAKE LEMAX. 71 
 
 pause or change of voice or any apparent reason 
 whatever, had gone, metaphorically speaking, 
 from Russia to the Hhone. 
 
 6 They say,' continued the stranger, as Handle 
 and he crossed the deck, ' that the lake is blue 
 because the river is white ; that the colouring 
 matter which gives the water its beautiful tint 
 is contained in the powdered rock ground by 
 the glaciers and brought down by the stream. 
 I daresay there is some truth in the theory, for 
 no lakes that I know of, fed by springs or clear 
 streams, are blue as Lake Leman is blue/ 
 
 * It is perhaps the mingling together of "glacier 
 milk " and clear water — there are clear streams 
 flowing into the lake, I suppose — that produce 
 the colour.' 
 
 4 That is very likely, I should think. And 
 now ' (lowering his voice and giving a glance 
 over his shoulder), ' I suppose you would like 
 to know why I changed the subject of our con- 
 versation so very abruptly. It was very kind 
 of you to take the hint. You followed my cue 
 admirably.' 
 
 f I followed you, if I did not follow your cue,' 
 replied Handle, with a smile. ' I did think it
 
 72 RED KYVINGTON. 
 
 rather strange, but I presumed you had a rea- 
 son.' 
 
 ' I had. Did you observe that man who came 
 and sat down near to us and pretended to be 
 reading a newspaper?' 
 
 ' Do you mean that stout little fellow with a 
 game eye and a bottle nose V 
 
 'Exactly. Well, unless I am much mistaken, 
 that fellow is a spy.' 
 
 4 God bless me, a spy V returned Randle, con- 
 siderably astonished. ' Spies in this country ! 
 Why, you said just now that Switzerland was 
 the freest of European countries.' 
 
 ' So it is. But that man is a Russian, not a 
 Swiss, spy. He is a servant of His Imperial 
 Majesty the Autocrat of All the Russians, King 
 of Poland, Duke of Finland, and I don't know 
 what besides. You are perhaps not aware that 
 the Russian Government have a regular police 
 bureau at Geneva, and a full staff of detectives, 
 whose chief— I should rather say sole — duty it 
 is to watch the poor fellows who eat here the 
 bitter bread of exile — men most of them of 
 whom their country was not worthy — until it 
 shall please Heaven . But, see, that cursed
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 73 
 
 mouchard is creeping round this way. Let us 
 promenade round the deck awhile, and when 
 we pass him I will change the subject.' 
 
 e Do you know the man V 
 
 * I never saw him before in my life, but he has 
 been described to me by those who know him 
 only too well. Besides, I recognise moucliards 
 the moment I set eyes on them. An unerring 
 instinct tells me when I am in their presence. 
 I believe I could scent them in the dark. I re- 
 member once at St. Petersburg . Yes, that 
 
 is Chillon Castle. You remember Byron : — 
 
 "Lake Lenian lies by Chillon's walls ; 
 A thousand feet in depth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
 Thus much the fathom-line was sent 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement 
 Which round about the wave enthralls." 
 
 ' Snow-white battlements ! That is poetic 
 license, I suppose ? A dirty yellow I call them.' 
 
 'You are too matter-of-fact, Monsieur PAn- 
 glais. You forget that poets view things through 
 a medium of their own. What is imagination 
 worth if it cannot transmute dirty yellow into 
 snow white ¥ 
 
 1 Especially when dirty yellow will not scan.
 
 74 RED KYVINGTON. 
 
 Yellow will, though, and it would not sound 
 badly either. 
 
 " From Chillon's yellow battlement." ' 
 
 * Perhaps it was really snow white when 
 Byron saw it. Let us suppose so. You were 
 saying that once at St. Petersburg V 
 
 ' Yes, I was going to tell you of a little adven- 
 ture I once had with a spy — one of many ; a 
 trifling incident enough in itself, but it will serve 
 to show you how wary one has to be. I was 
 on my way to a secret printing-office with some 
 manuscript in my pocket, a little matter I had 
 written for distribution among the peasants, in 
 which I tried to show how greatly their eco- 
 nomical condition was susceptible of improve- 
 ment, and to explain what is meant by consti- 
 tutional government, and to set forth its advan- 
 tages. There was nothing alarming in it — no 
 advocacy of violence or revolution ; but no 
 printer could have printed it openly without the 
 risk — the certainty rather — of having his estab- 
 lishment shut up by the police and being himself 
 imprisoned, and, as likely as not, sent off to 
 Siberia. So I had to take .my manuscript to a
 
 OX LAKE LEMAK. 75 
 
 clandestine office belonging to the political 
 society of which I was a member. I did not go 
 the most direct way, as you may suppose. I 
 was already suspected of revolutionary tenden- 
 cies — in other words, of entertaining doubts as 
 to whether ours was the best of all possible 
 governments, and the Czar an earthly deity — 
 and I knew the police had their eye on me. 
 Well, I had not gone fa*r when I saw before me 
 a man in the dress of a peasant, looking through 
 a shop window. There was nothing unusual in 
 this, and the fellow had the appearance of a 
 real moujik ; but I felt at once — something told 
 me — that he was a spy, and had been sent to 
 watch me. I knew that unless T could get rid 
 of him it would be madness to go to the print- 
 ing-office, and I wanted particularly to go ; not 
 so much about my "copy," -which could wait, 
 as that I expected to find a friend there whom 
 I wanted to see. I had heard he was in danger 
 of arrest, and it was necessary to warn him. So 
 I resolved on a bold stratagem. Instead of 
 trying to dodge my mouchard — an attempt in 
 which I should probably have failed — I spoke 
 to him, asked him if he wanted a job. He pre-
 
 76 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 tended to r be very much delighted at the idea, 
 and said he would be glad to do anything for 
 me. Then I walked on and told him to follow 
 me, looking ever and anon over my shoulder, as 
 if I were in dread of being followed. Telling 
 the man to wait outside I went into a cafe which 
 had the reputation of being frequented by revo- 
 lutionary characters. I looked about me as if 
 1 expected to find somebody, and then with a 
 gesture of disappointment called for pen and 
 paper and wrote a note. I knew, of course, 
 that my spy was carefully scanning all my 
 movements through the window. After sealing, 
 not simply gumming, my letter — it was merely 
 an invitation to dinner and a word or two in 
 cypher — I went outside, gave it to the false 
 peasant with a handsome gratuity, told him to 
 take it to its destination, and bring me back an 
 answer. Then I re-entered the cafe, but the 
 moment he was out of sight I ran to the printing- 
 office, gave in my copy, spoke a few words to 
 my friend, and then walked quickly home.' 
 
 'Are you sure the man was a spy '? I don't 
 think he was very sharp to let you get rid of 
 him so easily.'
 
 OX LAKE LEMAN. 77 
 
 ' I don't think he was. Spies are often very 
 stupid people, I think. But you see this fellow 
 fancied he would find valuable information in 
 that letter, and was in a hurry to turn it to 
 account.' 
 
 * Did he deliver it V 
 
 i Oh, yes, after it had been opened and read.' 
 ' You saw the seal had been tampered with, I 
 suppose V 
 
 4 Yes, and very clumsily tampered with.' 
 ' So there was no mistake about the fellow's 
 being a spy V 
 
 'None. He was that and more.' 
 ' That and more — what do you mean V 
 6 He was a traitor,' said the Russian, savagely, 
 his face darkening with a look of hatred that 
 made Handle shudder. 'My friend recognised 
 him as one of ours. He had been affiliated to 
 the society at Kieff, and entered the service of 
 the police at St. Petersburg, where he thought 
 nobody knew him, the hound. But Paul Demi- 
 doff saw through his designs at once, and ' 
 
 4 What became of him?' asked Randle, seeing 
 that the Russian did not seem disposed to com- 
 plete the sentence.
 
 78 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 c Became of whom — Paul Demidofff 
 
 ' No, of the spy.' 
 
 ' He was found a few days afterwards in the 
 Neva with a bullet in his brain,' said the Rus- 
 sian, speaking slowly and almost in a whisper. 
 
 ' Good heavens !' exclaimed Randle, with a 
 horror-struck look, 'you don't mean that 
 you ' 
 
 ' Oh clear, no/ rejoined the other, indifferently. 
 ' I had nothing to do with it. I only read of 
 the incident in the newspapers. I would not 
 have soiled my hands by touching the wretch. 
 But — ah, here is Montreux and Glion ; a little 
 further on is Clarens. 
 
 ' " Clarens ! sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love ! 
 Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; 
 Thy trees take root in love ; the snows above 
 The very glaciers have his colours caught." ' 
 
 ' Byron again ! You are better up in Byron 
 than I am. I have dipped into his poems from 
 time to time, but I never studied them, or got 
 " Childe Harold " off by heart, as you seem to 
 have done.' 
 
 1 1 can easily believe that Byron is not 
 esteemed by his countrymen as he deserves, and
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 79 
 
 unless I am greatly at fault he is much more 
 read abroad than at home — perhaps because he 
 is the poet of freedom and passion, and of the 
 little respect he shows for the great ones of the 
 earth. Freedom you English have in a great 
 measure gained, and are, therefore, no longer 
 enthusiastic about it — though you are not quite 
 so free as you sometimes think yourselves — and 
 passion and irreverence are qualities that do 
 not command your admiration. You are too 
 respectable and conventional. But Byron is 
 the poet of peoples who are fighting for free- 
 dom. How often in our secret midnight meet- 
 ings have we repeated those magnificent lines 
 of his that might have been written for 
 Russia : — 
 
 4 " Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but trying, 
 Streams like the thunderstorm against the wind ; 
 Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 
 The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ; 
 Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and its rind, 
 Chopp'd by the axe, looks -rough and little worth, 
 But the sap lasts — and still the seed we find 
 Sown deep, even in the bosom of the Xorth ; 
 So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth." ' 
 
 The stranger began the stanza in rather a
 
 80 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 low voice, but as he went on his excitement in- 
 creased, and he repeated the last two or three 
 lines in a style that made everybody look at 
 him. 
 
 * You are forgetting the spy,' whispered Han- 
 dle, who was beginning to feel much interested 
 in his new acquaintance. 
 
 ' He will not know that I am quoting Byron y 
 and if he does it is of no importance. But I 
 have thought of a way of getting rid of him. 
 We shall be at Vevey in a few minutes.' 
 
 < How V 
 
 ' You will see. Only one thing — take as a 
 matter of course anything I may do.' 
 
 'All right. Do you suppose he knows 
 English?' 
 
 1 Certainly. You may be sure the Russian 
 Government would not go to the expense of 
 sending — how do you say it ? — duffers to Gen- 
 eva. It would be too costly, and useless as 
 that, as the Americans say.' 
 
 ' How well you speak English ! I quite envy 
 your command of languages.' 
 
 ' As to my command of languages, there is 
 nothing extraordinary in that — my own, that
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 81 
 
 goes without saying ; and besides that, German, 
 French, and a little Italian. German and 
 French we learnt from our governesses without 
 knowing that we were learning. English is my 
 second mother tongue, for my mother was half 
 English, and we had also an English governess. 
 So if I did not know well your tongue I should 
 be a very stupid fellow.' 
 
 ■ You have been in England, of course V 
 'Never. But I hope — ah, here we are at 
 Vevey. I will now put my little plan into exe- 
 cution. If you do not object, we will resume 
 our conversation afterwards.' 
 
 And then the citizen of the world took off his 
 hat, spoke a few words in French, and joined 
 the throng of passengers who were hurrying 
 across the gangway to the landing stage. 
 
 ' Why, he has gone,' said Handle to himself. 
 ' I never knew such a thing in my life. How 
 can he resume the conversation? I suppose 
 that gibberish was meant for good-bye. Ah, 
 he was right about that fellow, after all ; he is 
 landing too. How will he get rid of him, I 
 wonder V 
 
 By this time the Russian was on the landing 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 stage, and catching Randle's eye took off his 
 hat a second time. Eandle did the same. Then 
 passengers began to come on board. When the 
 last of them had embarked, and just as the men 
 were beginning to unship the gangway, the 
 Russian, who was a little beyond the supposed 
 spy, whipped quickly round, and the next 
 moment had regained the deck. The spy 
 would have followed, but he was too late. 
 Just as he put his foot on the gangway, the men, 
 who had not seen him, pushed it back, the 
 steamer began to move, and the moucJiard, losing 
 his balance, went head-foremost into the water. 
 Then ensued a terrible commotion ; everybody 
 ran to and fro, shouted vociferously, and told 
 everybody else what to do without doing any- 
 thing himself. If a lad who was fishing had 
 not thrust into the man's hands a rod by which 
 he held on until picked up by a small boat, he 
 might have been drowned, for he did not seem 
 to have much swim in him. The steamer 
 stopped for a few minutes, but when the captain 
 saw that the fellow was in safety he sang out 
 * En route, 9 the French equivalent for ' Go ahead,' 
 an order that was promptly obeyed.
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 83 
 
 f That is better than I bargained for,' said the 
 Russian to Randle. ' I meant to give him [the 
 slip, but I had no idea that he would take an 
 involuntary header into the lake. It might 
 have been better, though.' 
 
 'How?' 
 
 * He might have been drowned.' 
 
 1 Do you mean that you would have let him 
 drown V 
 
 ' My dear sir, I would not have raised a finger 
 to help him,' said the other, fiercely. f If I had 
 the power, I would drown every spy in exist- 
 ence—at any rate every Russian spy. You are 
 shocked, I can see ; but if you only knew what 
 I— what some have suffered, you would not be 
 surprised.' 
 
 4 Why was this man following you — have you 
 any idea V 
 
 1 I suppose he has been ordered by the Third 
 Section to write a report about me. They very 
 likely want to know how I am spending my 
 time — what I am doing, with whom I associate, 
 and, above all, if I meddle in any way with 
 politics. These gentlemen of the Third Section 
 are very curious, I assure you.' 
 
 g2
 
 84 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' But are all Russian gentlemen on their 
 travels followed about in this way ? It must 
 take quite an army of spies, to say nothing of 
 the expense.' 
 
 * Oh dear, no, not all. Only a few of us are 
 honoured in this way. Why I am one of the 
 select few I may some time tell you — if we 
 should ever meet again.' 
 
 ' And if you come to England, as I think you 
 said a little while ago you intended to do, we 
 may meet again.' 
 
 ' 1 am sure it would afford me much pleasure. 
 Yes, I mean to visit England. I want to see 
 the country, and I am particularly anxious to 
 study the condition of the people.' 
 
 * Do you mean of the working classes V 
 
 6 1 do. The proletariat — peasants and people 
 who live from hand to mouth. The highly 
 educated, and what you call the upper classes, 
 are pretty much alike everywhere ; they are too 
 monotonous. I don't care for them, and the 
 bourgeoisie I detest. Traders, mammon worship- 
 pers, and such like, I have no sympathy with 
 whatever ; their lives are unlovely and their 
 characters uninteresting.'
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 85 
 
 4 Is not that rather a hard judgment?' said 
 Eandle, with a smile. 'My character may be 
 uninteresting — I daresay it is ; but I know 
 some traders who are men of most original 
 character. And, though the lives of some of us 
 are unlovely in all conscience, that cannot truth- 
 fully be said of all. Besides, a trader is not ne- 
 cessarily a mammon-worshipper.' 
 
 I You speak warmly. I fear I have hurt your 
 feelings. If so, 1 am very sorry ; but I had 
 really no idea you were a ' 
 
 ' Mammon-worshipper. Well, I hope I am 
 not. Nevertheless, I am a trader, or, at least, 
 a manufacturer, which is pretty much the same 
 thing.' 
 
 I I was thinking of people who merely traded, 
 who created nothing. A manufacturer creates, 
 and if he does not exploite his employes he may 
 be a useful member of society and worthy of all 
 respect.' 
 
 f Well, I don't think we exploite our employes, 
 if by that you mean getting all we can out of 
 our hands, paying them the lowest wages they 
 can be persuaded or forced to take, and then 
 letting them go to the devil, if they are so
 
 86 KED RYVINGTON. 
 
 minded. That is not our way, though T am 
 sorry to say it is the way of some. But come 
 and see for yourself. You will find some things 
 to blame, but many things, I hope, to praise. 
 And as to character, you will find as much 
 originality among our Lancashire folks as in 
 any part of England, perhaps more.' 
 
 * You are from Lancashire, then 1 You are 
 right ; it is socially the most interesting part of 
 England. It is there, is it not, that the asso- 
 ciative spirit among artisans has reached its 
 highest development, where the system of co- 
 operation both in production and distribution 
 has been most successful? I thank you very 
 much for your invitation. I accept it. I cer- 
 tainly will come.' 
 
 ' But you must know where to come. See, 
 I have written my address on this card.' 
 
 < Thank you. " Mr. Randle Ryvington, 
 Whitebrook, Lancashire." I suppose I shall 
 easily find Whitebrook — there is a railway V 
 
 1 Oh, you will find it right enough. Make for 
 Manchester, and then ask for a ticket for White- 
 brook ; that is all you have to do.' 
 
 ' And when I arrive at your station I will de-
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 87 
 
 mand to be directed to the house of Mr. Randle 
 Ryvington? 
 
 ' No, I would not advise you to do that. Ask 
 which is the way to "Red Ryviugton's," or 
 better still take a cab and drive there.' 
 
 ' But here on the card is the name of Mr. 
 Randle Ryvington, and you say ask for "Red 
 Ryvington" — that is rather droll, is not V 
 
 ' I daresay you find it so ; but the fact is I 
 am better off than some people. I have two 
 names — that given me by my godfathers and 
 godmother, and a post-baptismal one, by which 
 I am best known in the town and district of 
 Whitebrook ; and as I am not the only Randle 
 Ryvington it is rather a convenience than other- 
 wise.' 
 
 * Ah, I see,' said the Russian, albeit he still 
 seemed somewhat puzzled. ' 1 will write " Red 
 Ryvington" on the back of the card, so that I 
 may not forget it. And now permit me to give 
 you my card.' 
 
 It bore merely two words, ' Sergius Kalouga.' 
 
 ' Being, as I have already mentioned, a 
 wanderer, a sort of cosmopolitan vagabond,' 
 continued Kalouga, ' I have no fixed address.
 
 S 8 RED RYYINGTON. 
 
 My home is wherever I happen to be. At 
 present it is at Divonne, a hydropathic estab- 
 lishment not far from Nyon, where I am making 
 a cure of water.' 
 
 ' Nyon ! Why, that is where I am going.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I fancied you were going to 
 Geneva.' 
 
 'I may afterwards, then on to Lausanne, but 
 only to pass through on my way home. I must 
 get back to my mammon-worshipping, you 
 know,' laughed Eandle. 
 
 f Come now, Mr. Ryvington, that is too bad. 
 I never said you were a mammon-worshipper ; 
 and I am sure you are not one. You have not 
 the air.' 
 
 'Thank you, Mr. Kalouga. I hope I have 
 not the reality either. But about Nyon. Do 
 you know a house there called — let me see — 
 Villa Artemisia?' 
 
 1 Yes, I pass it in driving to Divonne.' 
 
 6 Well, I have to make a call there. Perhaps 
 you will be good enough to point it out to 
 me V 
 
 ' With pleasure. I will, if it please you, do 
 more. A carriage waits me near the landing
 
 ON LAKE LEMAN. 89 
 
 stage. You shall go with me as far as the 
 Villa Artemisia, and I will put you down at 
 the gate. It is a pensionnat des demoiselles, is it 
 not ? At least, I often see some very charming 
 young ladies walking about.' 
 
 1 Yes, it is a young ladies' boarding-school, 
 and I am going to see one of them.' 
 
 1 Your sister, probably V 
 
 i No ; the young lady I am goiug to see is 
 not my sister. She ' 
 
 • Tant mieux — so much the better. You are 
 in luck, Monsieur Ryvington. I congratulate 
 you. But here we are at Nyon. If you have 
 any baggage you would do well to look after it, 
 I think.'
 
 90 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VILLA ARTEMISIA. 
 
 TflLLA ARTEMISIA was a large, old-fashion- 
 ' ed house, with high-pitched roof, tall 
 chimneys, rounded corners ; and at one side 
 rose a nondescript sort of thing bearing a faint 
 resemblance to a tower. It was embowered in 
 trees, and its general appearance was rather 
 suggestive of a castle, or a baronial hall of stunt- 
 ed growth, than an educational establishment, 
 and before Mademoiselle Vieutemps turned it 
 into a ladies' boarding-school, and changed its 
 name to Villa Artemisia, it had been known in 
 the neighbourhood as the Chateau de la Roche. 
 Beautifully situated on the summit of a gentle 
 acclivity, it commanded a superb view of the 
 lake, the mountains of Faucigny, and the Pen-
 
 VILLA ARTEMISIA. 91 
 
 nine Alps, with the rocky ramparts of the Jura 
 for background. 
 
 'You will not forget your promise?' said 
 Handle, as Kaloaga put him down at the outer 
 gate of Villa Artemisia. 
 
 ' I will not forget. You rmiy count on seeing 
 me sooner or later, and rather sooner than later, 
 at Whitebrook. Au revoir. I wish I was go- 
 ing to visit a beautiful young lady.' 
 
 ' Au revoirj said Handle, and opening the 
 gate he walked briskly up the fine avenue of 
 chestnut-trees that led to the villa, while the 
 Russian drove rapidly towards Divonne. 
 
 When Randle arrived at the house he rang 
 the bell, and, handing his card to the smart 
 bonne who answered his summons, demanded an 
 interview with Miss Dora Ryvington. 
 
 ' Perfectly, monsieur,' said the girl. 'Will 
 monsieur give himself the trouble to enter.' 
 
 Randle entered accordingly, and presently 
 found himself in a room quaint as the house 
 itself, and very charming. There were two 
 windows at each end, reaching from floor to 
 ceiling. One set looked into a garden, gay 
 with flowers and rich with trailing vines and
 
 92 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 heavily laden fruit-trees ; the other looked 
 over the lakes, the mountains, and the Alps. 
 A few old pictures, the subjects mostly rural, 
 hung on the walls. The furniture, all of 
 antique design, was upholstered in crimson 
 cloth, and the dark oaken floor so brightly 
 polished that walking across it, for the unprac- 
 tised, was quite a risky undertaking. The 
 tables, the nick-nacks on them, the cabinets, 
 the clock on the mantelpiece, the mirrors, 
 more numerous than the pictures, were in per- 
 fect keeping. The only modern thing in the 
 room was the piano : for the books, albeit 
 the literary part of them was comparatively 
 modern, were bound in old-fashioned style to 
 match the furniture. 
 
 Randle sat down in a fauteuil and took up 
 one of the books in which he soon became so 
 absorbed that he did not notice the opening of 
 the door ; and on hearing an eager, silvery 
 voice speak his name, he looked round in 
 momentary surprise. 
 
 ' Handle !' 
 
 ' Dora !' 
 
 Then he rose, took both the girl's hands in 
 his and gave her a cousinly kiss.
 
 VILLA ARTEMISIA. 93 
 
 'How well you are looking, Dora. Why, I 
 do believe you have grown/ 
 
 There was no mistake about her looking 
 well. She looked bright and happy too, and 
 delighted at seeing her cousin. Dora was 
 eighteen, tall and sylph-like. Face and head 
 rather small, but exquisitely formed. Dark 
 hair, rich complexion, small mouth, a good nose, 
 yet perhaps a little too large to be in perfect 
 keeping with the rest of her features, and 
 large grey eyes, full of fire and animation. 
 
 * Do you think so ? Well, you are quite 
 right,' said Dora, giving a fleeting glance at 
 herself in one of the many mirrors that adorned 
 the walls. ' I have had to let my frocks out a 
 full inch since I came here, and I do believe I 
 am growing yet. I am so glad ; I want to be 
 tall. How are they all at home V 
 
 i Very well, when I heard last. But I dare- 
 say your news is later than mine.' 
 
 'I had a letter yesterday. Nothing new 
 except that either Handle or papa is coming for 
 me next year.' 
 
 * Then I suppose you are perfect in French '?' 
 
 1 Oh dear, no, not perfect. One may easily
 
 94 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 know French pretty well, but to learn it per- 
 fectly, to be able to write a good style with- 
 out faults, is extremely difficult. What do you 
 think Professor Maigre said to me yesterday ? 
 and he thought he was paying me a compli- 
 ment, poor man. He said if Mademoiselle 
 Reevington would stay in -Switzerland one 
 more year and talk and write during that time 
 nothing but French, she would know the 
 language passablement pour une anglaise V 
 
 ' Not very flattering, I must say. But you 
 will know enough to pass muster at White- 
 brook.' 
 
 ' Whitebrook ! I should think so indeed. 
 Why, who is there at Whitebrook except 
 Monsieur Hubert and his daughter that can 
 speak French fluently? And though I cannot 
 write to satisfy Monsieur Maigre I speak it 
 easily and presque sans accent, je t'assureJ 
 
 ' You must not despise Whitebrook folks, 
 Dora. You know you are one of them, though 
 you do live at Deepdene.' 
 
 ' Yon quite mistake me, Kan ; it is not that 
 at all. I am not proud, I despise nobody. 
 I like the farmers and people about Deepdene,
 
 VTLLA ARTEMISIA. 95 
 
 and the factory folks at Whitebrook, but some 
 of the masters I do not like at all ; they are 
 vulgar, purse-proud, and pretentious.' 
 ' Not all, Dora ; not all.' 
 
 s I did not say all. I only said some ; and I 
 think the brewers, rich as they are, are worse 
 than the manufacturers and shopkeepers.' 
 
 1 Why, Dora, what books have you been read- 
 ing—where have you got your ideas? You 
 might have been talking with Mr. Kalouga.' 
 
 'Mr. Kalouga, who is he? But here comes 
 Mademoiselle Vieutemps ; you must be very 
 polite to her,' whispered the girl to Handle, as 
 the schoolmistress entered the room. 
 
 Whereupon the cousin made a profound bow, 
 which the lady acknowledged with a courtly 
 
 reverence. 
 
 Mademoiselle Vieutemps was about sixty 
 years old, petite as touching her person, yet 
 with enough of vigour for a person half her 
 age. Though her hair was almost white, her 
 fresh and rosy face showed hardly a wrinkle ; 
 and her keen, dark eyes could still read a char- 
 acter and detect a fault of French composition 
 at a glance. Her toilette was perfection. As
 
 96 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Randlesaid to himself, she looked like a picture, 
 and ought to have been kept in a gold frame. 
 
 ' 1 am vary glad to make your acquaintance, 
 Mr Ryvington,' she said, out of consideration 
 for her guest speaking the best English she 
 could muster. 'I hope you find your sister 
 looking good V 
 
 ' Dora is ' 
 
 Here Dora, who was behind Mademoiselle 
 Yieutemps, gave Randle a glance which it was 
 impossible to misunderstand, even ifshehadnot 
 supplemented it by placing her finger on her 
 lips. 
 
 So instead of saying ' Dora is not my sister.' 
 as he was about to do, he said, ' Dora is look- 
 ing remarkably well, Mademoiselle Vieutemps, 
 as I was just telling her ; and no wonder, for 
 the Villa Artemisia must be as healthy as its 
 situation is superb.' 
 
 ' Yes, as you say, monsieur, the situation is 
 superb,' answered the schoolmistress, evidently 
 much pleased with the compliment, ' and all my 
 girls do enjoy the very best of health. And 
 your sister does not fret for her home ; she is 
 very happy and mignonne, very darling, we
 
 VILLA ARTEMISIA. 97 
 
 all do love her very much ; is it not so, ma fille 
 clierie.'' 
 
 ' And I love you very much, dear Mademoi- 
 selle Vieutemps. I shall be glad to go home, 
 because home is always home, you know, but I 
 do not think I shall ever in all my life be so 
 happy as I have been at Villa Artemisia ; and 
 if papa will let me I shall come and see you 
 every year.' 
 
 1 And you will always be very welcome, my 
 cabbage,' said the old lady, pinching the girl's 
 fresh smooth cheek with her little white hand. 
 4 Do you make a long sojourn at Nyon, Monsieur 
 Kyvington?' 
 
 ' No. I must go on to-night, either to Geneva 
 or Lausanne. In three or four days from this 
 I should like to be at home.' 
 
 ' In that case you will have to leave by the 
 half-past eight o'clock train. But we cannot 
 let you go without offering you of our hospital- 
 ity. I will order a little goute ' (a light repast) 
 1 for you. It shall be ready in an hour ; that will 
 leave you plenty of time. Meanwhile, Dora 
 will perhaps show you round our grounds, let 
 you see our vineyards and orchards, and take 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 you for a little promenade in the village/ 
 
 f May I, mademoiselle V 
 
 ' Parfaitement. Why not V 
 
 'A thousand thanks, mademoiselle. I will 
 run and put on my hat. I shall not keep you 
 waiting three minutes, Ran.'
 
 99 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DORA. 
 
 T\ORA was as good as her word, and, before 
 *-* Mademoiselle Vieutemps had finished 
 the little speech descriptive of the beauties of 
 Villa Artemisia and its eminent suitability for 
 a pensionnat, the young lady returned to the 
 room, hatted and gloved. 
 
 'I always keep my word, Ran,' she" said. 'I 
 am ready.' 
 
 ' Yes, Mademoiselle Dora, you are always 
 very ponctuel. And as your brother has so 
 little of time at his disposition, and the repast 
 I have ordered will soon be ready, you would do 
 well to make your walk at once. It would be 
 very sad if he were to depart without well see- 
 ing our vast and beautiful campagne.' 
 
 1 Why didn't you want me to say I was not 
 
 h2
 
 100 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 your brother?' asked Randle, as soon as they 
 were outside. 
 
 4 Don't you know ? Why, mademoiselle would 
 not have let us be alone for three minutes ; 
 while as to walking with you tete-a-tete, she 
 would rather have perished than permitted such 
 a thing.' 
 
 'But why?' 
 
 ' It is their way here. And the French are 
 stricter than the Swiss; and mademoiselle is 
 French, you know. She would never think of 
 letting the biggest girls in the school, even two 
 together, leave the grounds unaccompanied 
 by herself, a teacher, or a bonne. And it is not 
 considered proper for a young girl to speak to 
 a male cousin in the street if she happen to 
 meet him alone ; she must just nod and move 
 on.' 
 
 ' That is absurd enough. At least it seems 
 so, according to our English notions. But will 
 not mademoiselle be annoyed when she knows 
 what our relationship really is? I would not 
 like to vex the old lady.' 
 
 'Don't fidget; I will tell her afterwards. 
 When it is done it will be all right, though she
 
 DORA. 101 
 
 could not give her consent beforehand. She 
 knows that English ideas in these matters are 
 much less rigid than French ; and when I assure 
 her that aunt, or mamma, if she had been living, 
 would have let me go out for a walk with my 
 cousin, I do not think she will be angry. She 
 is a dear, good creature. And now, give an 
 account of yourself. Where have you been for 
 the last three or four weeks, and what have 
 you been doing?' 
 
 'Generally, knocking about in Switzerland. 
 To descend to particulars, I have done the 
 Wetterhorn, the Matterhorn, the Galenstock, 
 Naegeli's Graetli, Mount Pilatus, and a variety 
 of [smaller mountains. I have walked a good 
 many score miles, visited Basle, Berne, Zurich, 
 Lucerne, Thun, and Interlaken, and saved, or 
 been the means of saving, the life of an earl's 
 daughter, and made the acquaintance of a 
 Russian revolutionist.' 
 
 ' Oh, how nice ! But never mind about 
 Matterhorn, Wetterhorn, and the other horns ; 
 tell me about saving the earl's daughter.' 
 
 ' What a brave, noble fellow you are, Ran,' 
 said Dora, looking at him admiringly when he
 
 102 RED ItYVINGTON. 
 
 had told her the story, in which, as she discern- 
 ed, he had spoken very modestly of his own 
 part in it. ' I knew you were brave and good, 
 but I did not know how brave and good. And 
 now you must tell me more about Lady Muriel 
 Avalou. flow old is she ! Is she pretty V 
 
 1 About your age — seventeen or eighteen. 
 Yes, I think you would call her pretty.' 
 
 ' But give me a description of her. Is she 
 tall or short, slim or stout ? Tell me all about 
 her this minute. If she is not good-looking, I 
 shall be dreadfully disappointed.' 
 
 ' Well, she is slim, but neither tall nor short 
 — rather between the two; though, if she be 
 as young as I take her to be, she may grow a 
 little yet.' 
 
 'Come, go on. What sort of hair has she? 
 What sort of a face f 
 
 ' Her hair is chestnut, complexion likewise. 
 Eyes brown and soft, with very long lashes ? 
 face oval, nose rather aquiline, dimpled chin, 
 rosy mouth, and lofty forehead. Altogether, I 
 should pronounce her a handsome, high-bred 
 girl.' 
 
 ' I knew it,' said Dora, with a merry laugh.
 
 DORA. 103 
 
 'I knew it from the first. One never reads 
 of plain girls being rescued, though I am sure 
 I do not know why. Well, Ran, the next 
 thing is for you to marry her.' 
 
 i I marry Lady Muriel Avalon !' exclaimed 
 Eandal, looking as much surprised as if the 
 possibility of such a consummation had been 
 absolutely strange to his thoughts. ' How very 
 absurd ! What could put such an idea into 
 your head, Dora V 
 
 'Everything. What could be more natural? 
 You have saved her life. The least she can 
 do is to give you her hand. Besides, it would 
 only be — what do you call it? — poetic justice. 
 When a lady is rescued by a gentleman, it 
 seems the proper thing for her to marry her 
 deliverer.' 
 
 'But suppose the gentleman is bespoke, 
 Dora?' 
 
 ' Are you bespoke, Ran V said Dora, with an 
 arch look. 
 
 Ran die laughed. 
 
 i I know you are not. You are only joking. 
 Now, pay attention to what I say. You must 
 marry Lady Muriel. Think what an honour
 
 104 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 it would be to have an earl's daughter in the 
 family ! Why, you would be the greatest man 
 in Wbitebrook. You might get into Parlia- 
 ment, and I don't know what besides.' 
 
 ' All very tine, Dora ; but suppose the daugh- 
 ter is not willing, and the father objects to her 
 marrying a manufacturer — what then V 
 
 1 No fear about the daughter. She is in love 
 with you already, take my word for it. I 
 know girls better than you do, which is only 
 natural, seeing that I am a girl myself. As 
 for the father, I really don't see why he should 
 object. You have placed him under a great 
 obligation. We Ryvingtons are at least re- 
 spectable; and papa and my brother, you 
 know, have found out that ours is one of 
 the oldest families in the kingdom. And 
 really, Ran, I do not see that because a man 
 happens to be an earl he is better than any- 
 body else. Why should he be V 
 
 1 Why, you said only just now what an 
 honour it would be to have an earl's daughter 
 in the family.' 
 
 ' Well, so it would, in the eyes of the world. 
 But, realty, you know, it. would amount to
 
 DORA. 105 
 
 very little. Lady Muriel would riot make you 
 a better wife, love you more, or make you any 
 happier, simply because she happens to have 
 a title, than if she were plain Miss Muriel.' 
 
 • That is exactly what I think myself, Dora. 
 She might even make me a worse wife on 
 that account. No, Dora, when I have made 
 up my mind to marry, I shall look nearer 
 home.' 
 
 ' I hope you are not thinking of me, Ran, 
 because, if you are, I tell you frankly you 
 have no chance,' said Dora, with a mischievous 
 look at her cousin. 
 
 8 Why, what have I done to offend you, 
 Dora ? Or perhaps you do not think I would 
 make you a good husband?' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I think you would make 
 the best in the world. You are as good as 
 gold. That is just it ; you are too good. 
 The man I fall in love with — and, unless 1 
 fall in love, I shall not marry— must be just 
 a little bit wicked — a dare-devil, dark-com- 
 plexioned, piratical kind of a man, you know.' 
 
 * What ! have you been reading Byron V 
 
 ' How did you know ? A little. His memory
 
 106 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 is greatly honoured in these parts. He and 
 Rousseau together made the Lake Lernan fa- 
 mous, they say; and there is a copy of his 
 poems in almost every house — at any rate of 
 " Childe Harold " and the " Prisoner of Chil- 
 lon." We have been reading them aloud, and 
 the "Corsair" and the "Bride of Abydos.' " 
 
 1 Well, it is not exactly the sort of reading 
 I should choose for a young ladies' school,' 
 observed Ran die. 
 
 ' We don't use Byron's poems for lesson- 
 books, you old fogey ; we read them, or rather 
 such of them as mademoiselle allows— she is 
 very strict, you know — amongst ourselves, 
 when it rains, and that, and we cannot go 
 out. But never mind Byron, tell me about 
 the others; 
 
 'What others V 
 
 ' Why, the Countess of Lindisfarne and the 
 other daughters.' 
 
 * What shall I tell you about them?' 
 
 { How stupid you are, Ran ! Or perhaps you 
 had eyes for nobody but Lady Muriel. I only 
 want to know how old they are, what they 
 look like, and how they were dressed.'
 
 DORA. 107 
 
 'Only! Good heavens, what an only ! Well, 
 1 will do my best. Lady Lindisfarne is on the 
 side of forty, but very well preserved, middle- 
 sized, and rather stout, nose slightly hooked, 
 eyes dark, hair ditto, and streaked with grey, 
 full face, chin rather tending to double, com- 
 plexion good, cheeks red, general expression 
 masterful and decided, yet not ungenial.' 
 
 1 And what had she on V 
 
 ' That you will have to guess, for if I might 
 be shot this minute I could not tell you.' 
 
 1 Did she wear a hat V 
 
 * Yes, that I do remember, and a very ugly 
 one it was — brim about a yard in circumfer- 
 ence.' 
 
 1 Well, she is not my ideal of a countess — 
 she is more like a duchess: 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 1 I always picture countesses as being tall, 
 shapely, and haughtily handsome ; duchesses 
 as stout, hook-nosed, arrogant, and double- 
 chinned. Now tell me about Lady Maude.' 
 
 1 Tall, plain-featured, sandy-haired, freckle- 
 faced, and, as it seemed to me, rather proud and 
 reserved.'
 
 108 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 1 Jealous of her sister, perhaps.' 
 
 ' You absurd girl— what will you say next V 
 
 'I am sure I don't know/ 
 
 ' I don't think you do.' 
 
 1 Yes, I do, though. What is the other like 
 — there is another, is there not V 
 
 4 Yes, Lady Mary. Twelve years old, short- 
 frocked, long-legged ; and the child has a good 
 face and pleasant ways. Anything else?' 
 
 ' Yes. Are there no sons V 
 
 6 Two or three, I believe ; but I may tell you 
 at once that I know nothing about them. I 
 heard just one mention of the boys, and I 
 suppose the earl's sous were the youngsters 
 spoken of.' 
 
 4 That reminds me. I was forgetting about 
 the earl. What is he like?' 
 
 ' A middle-aged gentleman of rather ungainly 
 figure and homely countenance. Not very 
 clever, I fancy, and a good deal led by his wife ; 
 but very courtly in manner, and, I should think, 
 very kind-hearted.' 
 
 'Now, I think that is all,' answered Dora, 
 thoughtfully. ' You will go to Avalon Priory, 
 of course V
 
 DORA. 109 
 
 4 If they invite me, and I can find time.' 
 
 'Find time! Of course you can, and if you 
 cannot you must, if only that you may take 
 notice what they wear and tell me afterwards.' 
 
 'But you know I never do take notice 
 what ladies wear,' remonstrated Handle, rather 
 alarmed at this suggestion ; 'or, if I do, I forget 
 immediately afterwards. I could not possibly 
 remember, Dora.' 
 
 ' That difficulty is easily got over,' returned 
 Dora, with one of her most mischievous glances, 
 for she delighted in teasing her cousin. ' You 
 shall write every day and tell me everything; 
 and then there will be no danger of your for- 
 getting, you know. It will be so nice — almost 
 as good as being at Avalon Priory oneself. 
 You will now — won't you — like a dear, good 
 old Ran V 
 
 4 1 can try, you know/ said Handle, dubiously, 
 not feeling quite sure whether Dora was in jest 
 or earnest ; ' but it will be time enough to think 
 about that when I get my invitation. Who 
 knows? It may never come.' 
 
 'No fear of that. And now, tell me about 
 your other adventure.'
 
 110 RED RYVINGTOX. 
 
 ' What other adventure?' 
 
 'With that Russian you spoke about.' 
 
 ' It was no adventure. I merely said that I 
 had made the acquaintance of a Russian revolu- 
 tionist on the steamer. We exchanged cards ; 
 see, here is his.' 
 
 ' Ah, Sergius Kalouga. How do you know he 
 is a revolutionist V 
 
 4 1 gathered as much from his remarks, and 
 then there was a spy following him.' 
 
 f Oh, how romantic ! Did the spy catch 
 him?' 
 
 4 Not exactly. He caught the spy.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he is a Nihilist,' observed Dora, 
 thoughtfully, when Randle had told her of the 
 disaster that befell the spy at Vevey. 
 
 4 Who— the spy ?' 
 
 ' Of course not. How can the spy be a 
 Nihilist ? This M. Kalouga, of course.' 
 
 4 It is possible. But really I don't know 
 much, about these Nihilists. What are they 
 like ?' 
 
 4 Like ! Why, they are the most dreadful 
 people in the world. Madame Vieutemps says 
 they are worse than Thugs or cannibals. They
 
 DORA. Ill 
 
 believe in nothing, and kill everybody they 
 don't like.' 
 
 ' 1 hope Kalouga is not one of them, for I 
 have invited him to Whitebrook.' 
 
 * Oh, Ran, invite a Nihilist to Whitebrook ! 
 He will blow somebody up, or do something 
 else equally dreadful.' 
 
 'Nonsense! Kalouga talks rather wildly at 
 times, it is true, but he is no Nihilist.' 
 
 ' I hope he is not, Ran, for all our sakes, if he 
 goes to Whitebrook ; but there are a great 
 many of them about here. Is he very fierce- 
 looking?' 
 
 ' Quite the contrary, and very quiet and gen- 
 tlemanly in manner ; but I fancy he can be a 
 good deal of a dare-devil if he likes. And, 
 now I think of it, he has very dark eyes. Just 
 a man after your own heart, I should think, 
 Dora.' 
 
 4 Thank you, cousin. My ideas have certainly 
 enlarged since I came to Switzerland, but one 
 must draw the line somewhere, and I draw it 
 at Nihilists.' 
 
 ' But 1 tell you Kalouga is not a Nihilist.' 
 
 ' I am not at all sure about that, Randle.
 
 112 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 From your description, I rather think he is/ 
 
 'If you are at home when he comes to White- 
 brook, I will introduce him to you, and then 
 you may judge for yourself/ answered Handle, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 ' Thank you very much, Ran, but I don't want 
 to be introduced to him. At any rate, you must 
 have him searched first, to see that he has no 
 dynamite or bomb-shells about him, and ' 
 
 ' Here comes a young woman who wants to 
 speak to you, I think, Dora.' 
 
 The young woman proved to be a bonne (ser- 
 vant), who came to announce that Monsieur 
 Ryvington's repast was served, and that Made- 
 moiselle Vieutemps awaited him in the dining- 
 room.
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 
 
 rpHE cousins, in obedience to the summons 
 ■*• conveyed by the bonne, returned to the 
 house, and, when they entered the dining-room, 
 found Mademoiselle Vieutemps at the head of 
 the table, of which, on no consideration what- 
 ever, would she let anyone but herself do the 
 honours. 
 
 i By taking your repast now, Monsieur Ryving- 
 ton,' she observed, ' you will have time to walk 
 leisurely to the station, whither Dora can ac- 
 company you and make her last adieux. Did 
 you show your brother the Promenade des Mar- 
 ronniers, mignonne V 
 
 'You mistake, mademoiselle,' said Dora, de- 
 murely. i Randle is not my brother — he is my 
 cousin.' 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Quelle horreur V exclaimed the schoolmis- 
 tress, falling back m in her chair as if she were 
 going to faint, her face expressive of the deep- 
 est dismay. 'Mais, mon JDieu, mademoiselle, 
 this is too much. Did you not tell me this 
 gentleman was your brother ; and you, monsieur, 
 did you not say that Mademoiselle Ryvington 
 was your sister?' 
 
 ' Neither one nor the other, Mademoiselle 
 Vieuternps/ said Dora, coolly. ' He was an- 
 nounced as Mr. Ran die Ryvington.' 
 
 'Very well; Mr. Randle Ryvington is your 
 brother, your only brother, as you have often 
 told me.' 
 
 1 So he is, and my cousin too.' 
 
 1 Pray be serious, mademoiselle. This is an 
 affair very grave, I assure you. Do not attempt 
 any calembours or mauvaises plaisanteries — any 
 ill-timed jokes — if you please. How can this 
 gentleman be at the same time your brother and 
 your cousin ? You mock me ; you amuse your- 
 self at my expense, Mademoiselle Dora.' 
 
 ' 1 beg your pardon, Mademoiselle Vieu- 
 temps ; I did not say that he was.' 
 
 ' But, Mademoiselle Dora, what mean you ?
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 115 
 
 You will tell me next that I have no ears. 
 Did I not this moment hear you say so V 
 
 i I said that Randle Ryvington was my cousin, 
 and I said that Randle Ryvington was my bro- 
 ther, and what I said was true.' 
 
 ' Excuse me, Mademoiselle Dora, that cannot 
 be true — it is impossible — it is a thing unheard 
 of. But I see how it is ; you are making a 
 little joke. He is all the time your brother. 
 Are you not, Monsieur Ryvington V 
 
 ' I am her cousin, as she says,' answered 
 Randle, who thought the mystification had 
 gone far enough. * Yet she is quite right. Her 
 brother, my cousin, bears the same name as 
 myself. She has, therefore, a brother Randle 
 and a cousin Randle.' 
 
 ' Oh, mecJiante, to deceive me in such a 
 fashion,' said the schoolmistress, shaking her 
 finger, but not unkindly, at Dora. 'What 
 would monsieur your father say if he knew ! 
 And it is not convenable — it is not comme il faut 
 — what do you say? Proper ! It is not proper 
 for a young girl to take walks tete-a-tete with a 
 young gentleman, though he is her cousin.' 
 
 * Why, papa asked him to call, Mademoiselle 
 
 12
 
 116 . RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Vieutemps ; and as for talking tete-a-tete, Handle 
 and I have walked tete-a-tete hundreds of 
 times. You must remember that we are 
 English, and English girls are not jeunes jilles? 
 
 ' I daresay it is true/ observed Mademoiselle 
 Vieutemps, thoughtfully. 'It is certainly to 
 me altogether incomprehensible ; yet 1 have 
 heard that such enormities are committed in 
 England. Still, if I had known, Dora, you 
 would not have walked out with your cousin 
 alone. But you will promise me one thing, 
 my cabbage — you will not let it be known that 
 this gentleman is not your brother. The 
 example would be frightful, it might demoralise 
 the whole school. On this condition I think 
 you may go with monsieur your cousin to the 
 station to make your last adieux ; but Julie 
 must accompany you both there and back. 
 We are not in England, remember. How young 
 girls who are allowed such liberties can possi- 
 bly turn out well is to me absolutely incompre- 
 hensible — absolutely incomprehensible. But 
 the English always were a people apart, and I 
 suppose their way of bringing up their children 
 is only in keeping with the national character/
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 117 
 
 ' We have no reason to be dissatisfied with 
 the results, I think — at least, so far as our girls 
 -are concerned,' said Randle, who was not at all 
 disposed to admit the superiority of the French 
 system of girl training, which Mademoiselle 
 Vieutemps seemed to take for granted ; ' I have 
 not, it is true, seen much of continental young 
 ladies ; but I cannot admit that they are one 
 whit better, or more modest, than our English 
 maidens.' 
 
 If Randle had not feared to give offence, he 
 would have said that the maidens of England 
 were in every way superior to the jeunes filles of 
 France. 
 
 Dora rewarded him with an approving 
 glance. 
 
 1 It is very well of you, monsieur, to defend 
 your country and your compatrioies ; and it is 
 only right that you should think highly of 
 them; but you know our French proverb, 
 chacun a son gout — everyone to his taste ; and 
 you must let an old woman retain her belief 
 that the system under which she was brought 
 up, and in which she tries to bring up the 
 jeunes filles committed to her charge, is the best
 
 118 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 possible— except perhaps for English girls, who 
 are like none other.' 
 
 ' I do not know if you intend that as a com- 
 pliment, mademoiselle,' answered Handle, ' but 
 I take it as one. You are right. English 
 girls are like none other.' 
 
 The repast over, Handle took leave of the 
 schoolmistress, and Dora, followed by a servant, 
 who, however, remained so far in the rear that 
 they were practically as much en tete-a-tete as 
 before, went with her cousin to the station. 
 They walked slowly, and Dora had ample time 
 to point out, and Handle to admire, the 
 beauties of Nyon — its superb situation, its 
 trees, terraces, and gardens, its quaint houses 
 and Gothic towers, and the unrivalled views 
 which it commanded. The evening was calm. 
 The blue wavelets of the lake broke noiselessly 
 at the foot of the hill on which Nyon sits en- 
 throned. Fishermen's boats, laden with lacus- 
 trine spoil, were returning slowly homewards ; 
 and a fleet of lateen-rigged barques, their wing- 
 like sails bellying lazily to the dying breeze, 
 were bearing up for Yvoire and Geneva. The 
 sun, now low in the west, had veiled his face
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 119 
 
 behind a mass of trailing clouds which rose 
 from the crest of Mont Reculet ; and his mel- 
 lowed rays shed on the green meadows and 
 fragrant woods, the white villas and grey 
 castles of the Savoyard shore, a golden glory ; 
 and made the wild desolation of the Pennine 
 Alps and the eternal snows of Mont Blanc re- 
 splendent with a more than earthly beauty. 
 
 * There is nothing like this at Whitebrook, 
 Dora,' said Handle, softly. l Do you think you 
 can live contentedly in Lancashire after being 
 so long in Switzerland?' 
 
 1 1 shall regret Nyon often, no doubt. All 
 my life long 1 shall think of it, and my stay 
 here, with pleasure. But then you see, Ran, 
 Lancashire is home, and Nyon is not. It might 
 become so, though — any place might.' 
 
 'How, Dora?' 
 
 4 Home is wherever the heart and affections 
 are.' 
 
 e And yours V 
 
 1 Are going with you to Whitebrook, Ran.' 
 
 ' Where you will soon follow them,' answered 
 Randle, carelessly; for he saw in his cousin's 
 remarks nothing more than a confession of
 
 120 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 girlish home-sickness, albeit the time came 
 when they appeared to him in another light, and 
 he saw in her words a deeper meaning. « You 
 are not alone in wanting something you do not 
 possess. It is a very common complaint. When 
 we are at home we want to be abroad, and 
 when we are abroad we want to be at home. I 
 only wish I could stay all the summer in Switz- 
 erland.' 
 
 < Why don't you, then V 
 
 ' What would become of the concern, I should 
 like to know, if I were to stay away all sum- 
 mer ? Since my father died the whole weight 
 of it has rested on my shoulder — before he died, 
 I might say, for he was ill several months. 
 This is the first holiday I have taken since, and 
 I feel that I have already been away too long.' 
 
 'There is Bob.' 
 
 ' So there is, and he does not do amiss ; but 
 he is little more than a lad yet, remember.' 
 
 1 That means, I suppose, that he is not much 
 of a help to you.' 
 
 ' Not much, though I manage him better than 
 my father did, I fancy. He is a bit wild and 
 harum-scarum at times, and my father was
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 121 
 
 afraid of trusting him, and did not give him 
 much to do. That was a mistake. I act quite 
 differently. I tell him a thing must be done, 
 and make him responsible for the doing. Then 
 he works and pays attention. When Bob is a 
 little older, I think he will do very well. In 
 fact, if he had not been shaping well of late, I 
 could not have taken so long a holiday. But 
 father and he never pulled very well together. 
 I think Bob's occasional wildness rather fright- 
 ened him. You know how very strict and old- 
 fashioned in his ways and ideas my father used 
 to be.' 
 
 * Bob and he were antipathetic, I suppose,' 
 suggested Dora. 'They did not understand 
 each other, and when people do not understand 
 each other they are apt to get on badly. At 
 least, that is what I was reading in a book.' 
 
 1 The book is right, Dora. I daresay that is 
 why your brother and 1 do not always get on 
 very well together — we are antipathetic' 
 
 4 Then you and I must be sympathetic, Ran, 
 for we always got on very well together,' ob- 
 served Dora, with the gravity becoming the 
 discussion of a somewhat metaphysical subject.
 
 122 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Exactly. And you and Bob always got on 
 well together, I think/ 
 
 ' Always. I like Bob. Does not he come of 
 age next year?' 
 
 ' Yes, early in June — the 5th, I think.' 
 
 w I shall be at home then. What are you 
 going to do 1 ?' 
 
 ' By way of keeping it up, you mean V 
 
 • Yes. You will have to give a dance, of 
 course, and a treat to the hands.' 
 
 i Really, I have hardly given the matter a 
 thought yet. I don't know about the dance ; I 
 am not sure that my mother would like it. The 
 hands must, of course, have a treat. We shall 
 see when the time comes. In any case we will 
 not decide till you get back. I suppose you 
 would like to have a finger in the pie?' 
 
 ' You must give a dance or something, and I 
 should certainly like to have a finger in that 
 pie ; and I will make papa or Handle fetch me 
 in May, so that I may be at home in good time. 
 But here we are at the station. Don't you think 
 you had better take your ticket V 
 
 1 Decidedly, and register my belongings, 
 which I ordered to be sent here from the
 
 ANOTHER PARTING. 123 
 
 landing-stage, if you will kindly excuse me a 
 moment.' 
 
 Ran die had hardly taken his ticket, watched 
 the rather tedious operation of weighing his 
 luggage, and obtained the voucher for it, when 
 the whistle of the train was heard. 
 
 Three minutes later he was gone, and 
 Dora was returning wistfully towards Villa 
 Artemisia. 
 
 The bonne who formed Dora's escort, when 
 talking next day with her fellow-servants, told 
 how very fond Mademoiselle Ryvington was of 
 her brother. She made her adieux without 
 shedding a tear; but when the train was out of 
 sight, and she no more waved her handkerchief, 
 • my faith how she wept,' said the girl, 'and she 
 had such a headache afterwards that she could 
 not come down to supper, and spent the rest of 
 the evening all alone in her room.' 
 
 As for Randle, he sped towards Lausanne 
 (if travelling by a Swiss train can be called 
 speeding), whence he intended to proceed, via 
 Pontarlier, to Paris, thinking sometimes of his 
 business, sometimes of the girls he had left 
 behind him. Though he had been greatly
 
 124 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 struck by Lady Muriel Avalon, he did not feel 
 as if he had lost his heart to her ; and he 
 had so long looked on Dora as a girl, that 
 it did not occur to him she might have begun 
 to feel and think as a woman.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED FIRM. 
 
 A LONG, straggling, loose-jointed, monoton- 
 -^*- ous ujanufacturing town in Mid-Lanca- 
 shire — a multitude of chimneys, 'tall as masts 
 of some high admiral,' tossing their smoke in 
 the sombre air — a wilderness of streets and 
 lanes, running in all directions until they are 
 lost, miles away, in brick-fields and waste 
 places. The streets, for the most part, ex- 
 cept about the central square and the out- 
 skirts, are passages between gaunt and gloomy 
 factories, foundries, machine-shops, and mean- 
 looking cottages. Here and there is a sooty 
 church, save for its stumpy steeple, hardly 
 distinguishable from a warehouse, or slab-sided 
 chapel of depressing aspect. Near the middle 
 of the town is a space free from long chim-
 
 120 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 neys, and occupied by the town hall, market- 
 place, banks, and other buildings, which, if 
 they were a little less dingy, might be deemed 
 almost handsome. On the rising ground to- 
 wards the north are clusters of comely villas, 
 surrounded by gardens and embowered in 
 trees ; and, beyond the chimneys and the 
 smoke, the outlook is as picturesque and at- 
 tractive as the town itself is ugly and repel- 
 lent. Yet, unlovely as Whitebrook undoubted- 
 ly is, something may be urged in its behalf — 
 it might be worse. There are places still less 
 lovely. It is not, for instance, quite as dismal 
 as Heywood, which has been aptly likened 
 to a petrified funeral procession ; nor as hide- 
 ous as Wigan, which could hardly be blacker 
 if it had been quarried from its own coal 
 measures; nor as gloomy as Bolton, whose 
 dingy buildings and cindered roads might 
 well suggest the idea that the town is sor- 
 rowing for its sins in soot and ashes. And 
 though the air of Whitebrook cannot truthfully 
 be described as balmy, nor as reminding him 
 who breathes it of Araby the Blest, it will 
 compare favourably with that of a large town
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED FIRM. 127 
 
 ill another part of the county, where, in a dry 
 summer, the manufacturers are wont to fill 
 their boilers and draw their supplies of con- 
 densing water from the main sewer. 
 
 Whitebrookers of this generation might also 
 urge in extenuation of judgment that the 
 town is pretty much as they found it, and 
 that by far the greater part of it was in 
 existence long before the esthetic idea came 
 into vogue, or sanitary science into being. 
 They are, moreover, making creditable efforts 
 to repair the faults of their forefathers, and 
 the town is visibly, if very slowly, emerging 
 from the condition of unredeemed ugliness in 
 which it was so long content to abide. 
 
 The working people of Whitebrook are a 
 sturdy, independent, and industrious race, some- 
 what lacking, perhaps, in sweetness and light, 
 and too much given to quarrelling over their 
 cups and punching each other's heads, but 
 thoroughly in earnest, gifted with considerable 
 shrewdness, and possessed of a rich store of 
 mother wit. The masters are of all sorts, from 
 the overlooker just starting for himself, who 
 lives like one of his own hands, and makes
 
 128 RED RYVINGTON . 
 
 his lads work harder than hired servants, to 
 the cotton lord who counts his looms by the 
 thousand, and his spindles by the hundred 
 thousand, educates his sons at Oxford, and his 
 daughters at Paris, drops his 7is, and aspires to 
 Parliamentary honours. 
 
 The Ryvingtons, though they were supposed 
 to have some connection with Rivington Pike, 
 had long flourished in Whitebrook. The first 
 of them, according to the family tradition, 
 settled in the town about the middle of the 
 last century, when it was little more than a 
 large village of timbered houses, clustering 
 round the parish church in a green and shady 
 valley, through which meandered the White 
 Brook, the stream whence the place derives its 
 name, at that time clear, if not white (some 
 local archaeologists hold that ' white,' in this 
 case, is a corruption of 'wide'), and not, as 
 now, of the consistency of porridge, and the 
 colour of ink. 
 
 The first of the Whitebrook Ry vingtons was 
 not supposed by his neighbours to have any 
 ancestors to speak of, and he died in ignorance 
 of the fact, discovered in a later age by one of
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED FIRM. 129 
 
 his descendants, that his name was one of the 
 most illustrious in the North of England, and 
 his house remotely akin to the royal race of 
 Barbarossa. Seeing, however, that he was a 
 hard-working draper in a small way of business, 
 whose chief concern was to make both ends 
 meet and bring up his family creditably, it may 
 be questioned if the knowledge would have 
 afforded him much satisfaction. A little legacy 
 or a large order would have been more to the 
 purpose. His son Randle, who succeeded him 
 in the shop, was a shrewd and prosperous trades- 
 man, who conceived the happy idea of himself 
 manufacturing some of the goods in which he 
 dealt. So he bought him yarn and gave it out 
 to weave, manufacturing in those halcyon days 
 being open to anybody who could hire a weaver 
 or two and find a few cops and warps. Some 
 of the pieces which he produced he sold in the 
 grey, and acquired considerable local celebrity 
 for the excellent quality of his bumps and sheet- 
 ings ; others he got bleached, and sold as shirt- 
 ings or stuff for shifts. As his business in- 
 creased he opened up a connection in Man- 
 chester, took his sons into partnership, and^ 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 when he died, left his firm in good credit and 
 his family in easy circumstances. 
 
 His descendants honoured the memory of 
 their ancestor by making Randle a family name, 
 and perpetuating the designation of Randle 
 Ryvington and Sons, which he had bestowed 
 upon the firm, a designation that after the lapse 
 of a hundred years it still retains. 
 
 This Randle — Randle the first, he may be 
 called — and the two sons that succeeded him — 
 just and God-fearing men all of them — gave the 
 house a character and a tone which it never 
 lost. Their influence, as does that of most of 
 us, either for good or for evil, lived after them. 
 In disposition they were prudent and cautious, 
 in their dealings honourable and straightfor- 
 ward. They were slow in adopting new inven- 
 tions, deliberate in making changes, and looked 
 with distrust on new-fangled ways. They clung 
 to hand looms long after some of their neigh- 
 bours were making fortunes by power looms ; 
 and adopted the innovation only when they saw 
 it was an assured success. They were equally 
 backward in substituting self-actors for hand 
 mules, loose reeds for fast reeds, and two pick-
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED FIRM. 131 
 
 ing sticks for one. They never increased their 
 business or put up a new building until the 
 money was ready beforehand. They had always 
 a balance at their bankers, and would rather 
 have perished than have had anybody ' astride 
 of the ridging ' of house or factory. 
 
 ; We should feel as if th' place was not our 
 own if we parted with th' writing,' said a mem- 
 ber of the firm one day to a neighbour who was 
 talking about mortgaging his mill. ' I'd liefer 
 sell it out and out, and be a tenant, than go on 
 in th' name of owning a property as somebody 
 could sell o'er my head.' 
 
 This was not the way to make a large fortune 
 or build up a big business ; and considering, 
 further, that the Ryvingtons always divided 
 their substance fairly among their children, 
 making no difference between sons and daugh- 
 ters, it is not surprising that the 'concern,' as 
 they always called it, did not equal in magni- 
 tude some establishments of much later growth, 
 2ior that, after several generations, they were 
 rather well-to-do than w r ealthy. 
 
 But they had their compensations. They 
 were free from the greatest of troubles that 
 
 k2
 
 132 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 can beset a business man — shortness of money. 
 Even in the worst of times their credit was 
 never questioned, nor their power of keeping 
 their mills going and their people employed im- 
 paired. ' Ryvingtons ' never either stopped or 
 ran short time; and as they had no need to 
 'grind' their hands, always paid full wages, 
 and used good cotton, they had rarely a turn- 
 out. Their honesty was proverbial. They 
 gave so full weight and measure, and were so 
 correct in their accounts withal, that even the 
 keenest buyers accepted their invoices without 
 examination. They never tried to pass off 
 faulty pieces as perfect. Goods in respect of 
 w r hich abatements had been made from the 
 weaver's wages were kept scrupulously apart 
 and sold as ' rejects.' It was sometimes said 
 that Ryvingtons' ' bates,' as faulty goods are 
 occasionally called, were better than some peo- 
 ple's ' regulars.' They paid their accounts to 
 the day, and with those who did not treat them 
 in like manner they would have nothing to do. 
 It was a rigid rule of the concern to close the 
 account of any buyer who, either by unpunctual 
 payments or any other lapse, showed that he
 
 AN OLD-FASHIONED FIRM. 133 
 
 was not careful to keep bis engagements ; and, 
 albeit by tbus acting they lost a few good cus- 
 tomers, they escaped bad debts and saved 
 themselves an infinitude of worry. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that Ryvington 
 and Sons had never anything to do with bills. 
 They regarded them as an invention of the 
 devil. Even when they imported cotton, which 
 shippers invariably draw against at a usance 
 of a certain number of days or months, the 
 concern always took up the drafts under 
 discount. 
 
 It is almost superfluous to say that a family 
 firm so old-fashioned in their ways and ideas 
 were orthodox in religion and conservative in 
 politics. They were faithful, if not very ardent 
 supporters of the Church as by law established ; 
 and though they did not mix themselves up 
 much in local matters, having generally other 
 fish to fry, they always thought it their duty, 
 when Whitebrook was contested, to place their 
 vote and interest at the disposal of the Tory 
 candidates. 
 
 As befitted their antiquity, there being no 
 other family in the borough that could boast of
 
 134 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 so long a pedigree, the Ryvingtons were some- 
 what reserved in their manner and exclusive in 
 their choice of associates, holding themselves 
 studiously aloof from new comers and upstarts. 
 They made an exception, however, in favour of 
 those of their old hands who had set up for 
 themselves and seemed to be getting on. 
 These the} r graciously patronised, and some- 
 times substantially helped.
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE RED SCAR RYVIXGTONS. 
 
 fPHE home of the Ryvingtons, though tecbni- 
 ■*■ cally within the borough of Whitebrook, 
 was some distance from the town proper. At 
 the time of the first Reform Bill the parliamen- 
 tary boundaries of the borough had been con- 
 siderably broadened, and made to include a 
 wide extent of open country. Redscar, as the 
 place was called, lay in a little valley at the 
 very extremity of the boundary. It was shut 
 off from the town and sheltered from its smoke 
 by an intervening -wood-crowned hill. The 
 situation had been chosen by the first Randle 
 for its water privileges and other advantages, 
 including proximity to a canal which, reaching 
 as far as Wigan and Liverpool, formed, before 
 the advent of railways, a medium for the
 
 136 RED RYVINGTON'. 
 
 supplies of cotton and coal of inestimable 
 value. 
 
 It goes without saying that the mills were 
 near the canal. They formed a grotesque and 
 rather confused mass of buildings— from the 
 four-storeyed, narrow- windowed, ivy-mantled, 
 weather-worn little factory, nearly a hundred 
 years old, now used as a warehouse, to a 
 modern loom shed with a glass roof, and a 
 stately, six-storeyed, fireproof mill with a flat 
 one, and windows evidently designed to justify 
 the final cause of windows and give the utmost 
 possible amount of light. But the wonder and 
 triumph of Redscar was a most remarkable 
 chimney, in shape and appearance rather 
 resembling an Italian campanile than a Lan- 
 cashire f luver,' a chimney, strange to say, that 
 never smoked. Careful observers averred that 
 they could occasionally discern a cloud-like 
 something hovering about the top of it ; but 
 even the most censorious admitted that this 
 appearance was more like condensing steam 
 than factory smoke, and that if all the chimneys 
 in Whitebrook were fitted up on the same prin- 
 ciple it would effect an immense improvement
 
 THE REDSCAR RYVIXGTONS. 137 
 
 in its aspect, and probably an important sav- 
 ing in the consumption of coal. 
 
 At right angles to the mills were two long 
 rows of cottages, as old fashioned, some of 
 them, as the factory of the first Randle, yet by 
 no means bad dwellings, since, having been 
 built with ' shops ' for the reception of hand 
 looms, they were more roomy than many 
 modern erections of the same class. The style 
 of the majority of them, however, was of a later 
 age, and a new row was in course of building 
 so superior to the rest that they promised, when 
 finished, to fulfil the boast of their designer, and 
 be a comfort to look at and a pleasure to live 
 in. 
 
 On the brow of the wooded hill which I have 
 mentioned as cutting off Redscar from White- 
 brook were two houses, about half a mile apart, 
 embowered in trees, surrounded by gardens, 
 and approached by winding, grass-bordered 
 avenues. They were square, substantial struc- 
 tures of grey sandstone, and, though sufficiently 
 well-looking, had evidently been planned rather 
 with a view to comfort and solidity than to 
 outward appearance.
 
 138 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 One of them was called Redscar Hall; the 
 other bore the name of Redscar House. In the 
 former, some years prior to the opening of our 
 story, had lived Randle Ryvington, uncle of 
 the Randle whose acquaintance the reader has 
 already made, and Dora's father. In Redscar 
 House lived the younger Randle, better known 
 in the neighbourhood as Red Randle and Red 
 Ryvingtou, and his brother Robert, generally 
 spoken of as Bob, to distinguish him from his 
 father, whose name was also Robert. This 
 Robert had died the year before Randle's visit 
 to Switzerland, shortly after taking his elder 
 son into partnership, and some ten years after 
 the elder Randle had dissolved his connection 
 with the firm of Ryvington and Sons, and left 
 Redscar Hall for Deepdene Park, a place on the 
 other side of Whitebrook. As Randle senior 
 had also a son Randle, the male members of the 
 Ryvington family consisted at that time of 
 three Randies and two Roberts, a state of 
 things which naturally led to one of the families 
 being distinguished as the Redscar and the 
 Deepdene Ry vingtons. By a natural transition 
 these designations were shortened respectively
 
 THE REDSCAR RYVINGTONS. 139 
 
 to 'Red' and 'Deep;' and the cousins Randle, 
 who were almost exactly of the same age, and 
 so like each other as often to be mistaken for 
 twins, became par excellence -Deep Ryvington' 
 and ' Red Ryvington,' while their fathers were 
 invariably spoken of as 'Mr. Ryvington' and 
 1 Mr. Robert.' In this respect they were excep- 
 tionally fortunate, nearly every other manufac- 
 turer in the neighbourhood being dubbed with 
 some post-baptismal name, often more expres- 
 sive than flattering. 
 
 Robert Ryvington had devoted himself nearly 
 all his life long to the concern, to which he 
 considered it to be one of the greatest of earth- 
 ly privileges to belong. He loved it as a sailor 
 loves his ship, an officer his regiment, a squire 
 of old family his hereditary estate. He looked 
 upon it as something apart from himself, as 
 having an almost sacred character. He placed 
 its interest above his own personal interest, or 
 that of any other person. * The concern must 
 not suffer,' was his final and invariable answer 
 to every proposal which seemed adverse to its 
 welfare. It was a joke among his neighbours 
 that when Mr. Robert died he would take the
 
 140 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 latest balance-sheet with him to show to his 
 father in the other world. 
 
 When his brother Randle first proposed to 
 retire from the concern, Robert could hardly 
 believe his own ears. It was the first time in 
 the history of the concern that any Ryvington 
 had wished to sever his connection therewith ; 
 and the state of mind which could make such a 
 consummation seem desirable was simply in- 
 comprehensible to him. Although his brother's 
 retirement would leave him sole proprietor of 
 the concern, he tried hard to turn him from his 
 purpose ; but Ran die had made up his mind, 
 and their partnership was dissolved — in some 
 measure also their friendship, for they were 
 never the same to each other again, and Robert 
 marked his sense of his brother's lack of loyalty 
 to the concern by erasing his name as executor 
 from his will. Shortly before his death, how- 
 ever, he repented him of this resolve, and re- 
 nominated Randle as one of his trustees. 
 
 Two years after Randle's retirement, Robert's 
 elder son, then about eighteen, finished his 
 education, and began to learn his duties as a 
 future member of the concern. As the lad was
 
 THE REDSCAR RYYINGTONS. 141 
 
 sharp, arid had a bent for science, his father, 
 after he left the Whitebrook Grammar School, 
 sent him for two years to Glasgow, where he 
 studied mechanics and chemistry under two 
 celebrated professors of those branches of know- 
 ledge. 
 
 The day his son was of age Robert made him 
 a partner, an arrangement that gave the old 
 gentleman unspeakable satisfaction ; for the 
 thought that in the event of his death the con- 
 cern would be left to manage itself, and might, 
 in such a dire contingency, even cease to exist, 
 had longed caused him mortal anxiety. From 
 this fear he was now relieved, and, as Handle 
 had already proved himself an able coadjutor 
 and an excellent man of business, his father 
 felt that, with a little more experience, the lad 
 might be trusted to bear the burden alone 
 should the need arise. The need did arise. A 
 few years later Robert slept his last sleep in 
 the family vault in the parish churchyard. 
 Wheu he knew his end was approaching he 
 called his son to him. 
 
 1 You are young to be left with such a weight 
 on your shoulders, my dear lad,' he said. ' I
 
 142 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 would I might have been spared a few years 
 longer; but God's will be done ! Be cautious ; 
 don't stretch your arm further than the coat 
 sleeve will reach. You are sharp enough — I 
 have no fear about that, but young folks are 
 sometimes apt to be a bit too venturesome. Be 
 a father as well as a brother to Bob ; he's not 
 like you, he'll want looking after. I need not 
 tell you to be good to your mother, yon always 
 have been; you have been good to us both. 
 Nobody could wish for a better son. God in 
 Heaven bless you, my lad ! Do your duty ; 
 stick to the concern.' 
 
 'I will try, father/ said Randle, struggling 
 with his tears. ' And, God helping me, I will 
 do my duty by the concern, as you have done 
 yours.' 
 
 He gave the promise freely, though he would 
 rather his father's thoughts at this surpreme 
 moment had not been so entirely taken up with 
 worldly affairs. 
 
 ' I know you will ; good lad, good lad. 
 Now I shall die easy. I know the concern in 
 your hands will be safe. It makes me feel 
 better; may be I shall pull through after all.'
 
 THE REDSCAR RYVIXGTONS. 143 
 
 The day after this conversation Robert 
 Ryvington died. His last words were, ' Duty — 
 concern — Randle.' 
 
 He appointed as his executors Sophia, his 
 wife, Randle, his brother, Randle, his son, and 
 Leonard Pleasington, of Whitebrook, his 
 trusty friend and legal adviser. His second 
 son, then about twenty, was to have the option, 
 two years later — of which there could be little 
 question that he would avail himself — of enter- 
 ing the concern as partner, if Randle should at 
 that time be of opinion that his brother could 
 fill the position with credit to himself and ad- 
 vantage to the business. 
 
 Among other provisions of the will was one 
 to the effect that on each of the testator's sons 
 and his wife should be settled a sum often thou- 
 sand pounds, so that, as Robert, when he was 
 explaining his intentions in this regard to his 
 lawyer, observed, there would always be bread 
 and cheese for them, whatever happened. As, 
 however, Randle did not think that so large a 
 sum could at once be spared from the working 
 capital of the concern — seeing that they had 
 lately built a new loom shed and spent a good
 
 144 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 lot of money on machinery and other improve- 
 ments — it was agreed that the amount in ques- 
 tion should form a first charge on the Redscar 
 estate. When this expedient was first propos- 
 ed, Handle objected that it was against a long- 
 standing rule of the concern to borrow money, 
 either on mortgage or in any other way. To 
 this objection Mr. Pleasington replied that the 
 transaction would involve neither borrowing 
 nor payment, and that the property would be 
 just as much the property of the family as 
 previously ; whereupon Handle yielded the 
 point and the arrangement as proposed was 
 carried out. 
 
 The year following his father's death, Randle, 
 who besides bearing almost alone the burden 
 of a large business — for Bob had not long left 
 school, and was not yet of much use to him — had 
 been compelled to undertake many extraneous 
 matters arising out of the winding-up of his 
 father's affairs, and was beginning to suffer 
 somewhat in health, made a trip to Switzer- 
 land, in the course of which, as the reader is 
 aware, he formed the acquaintance of Lord Lin- 
 disfarneand his family, and of Sergius Kalouga.
 
 145 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 
 
 /TVBREE days after quitting Switzerland, Dora, 
 ■*■ and Lady Muriel, Randle was in the midst 
 of murky Manchester. The change was start- 
 ling. It could hardly have been more so if he 
 had gone to bed .in fairy-land and awoke in 
 pandemonium. Instead of snow-white peaks, 
 vaulted over with cerulean skies, were black- 
 throated chimneys overhung with smoky 
 clouds. The arrowy Rhone was replaced by 
 the inky Irwell, the pathless pine-woods b$, 
 crowded streets, the blue expanse of Lake 
 Leman by a babel of sooty buildings. Randle, 
 as he walked down Mosley Street towards 
 Ryvington and Son's warehouse, breathed a 
 sigh of regret : for, man of business and devot- 
 ed to duty though he was, he had a strain of 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 romance in his character, and glancing at the 
 sights around him, and mentally comparing 
 them with the scenes he had so lately quit- 
 ted, he thought, if the alternative had been 
 open to him, he would willingly have exchang- 
 ed Lancashire and his present lot for some 
 
 * Fair clime where every season smiles 
 Benignant o'er those blessed isles,' 
 
 and, perchance, a companion equally fair and 
 benignant. But the atmosphere and associa- 
 tions of Mosley Street are not altogether 
 propitious for 4 winged wanderings of the 
 fancy ;' and when Randle reached the door of 
 his warehouse he was roused to the reality of 
 things by the sight of a load of shirtings fresh 
 from Redscar ; while the grasp of old Oates's 
 hand, and the sound of his cheery voice, com- 
 pleted the shattering of his day-dream, and 
 Jbanished from his mind — for the moment at 
 least — the last vagrant yearnings for a moun- 
 tain land and an angelic face. 
 
 'Glad to see you back, Mr. Randle; glad 
 to see you back. Your trip seems to have 
 done you a power of good. Why, you are as 
 brown as a bit of old mahogany. I hope
 
 IX MOSLEY STREET. 147 
 
 you liked Switzerland, sir. A fine country, 
 they tell me. Don't you feel as if you were a 
 ticket-of-leave man going back to penal servi- 
 tude? I always do when I come back to 
 Manchester after my holiday at the sea-side.' 
 
 Oates was the salesman, a dapper little fellow 
 with big eyes, so very wide open as to suggest 
 that the owner's mental condition was one of 
 chronic astonishment. Though everybody 
 called him Old Oates, and he had been a long 
 time in the service of the concern — for which he 
 had an immense respect — he was not a very old 
 man, and, despite his sixty years, ' sound in 
 wind, limb, and eyesight,' as he often took oc- 
 casion to observe. 
 
 ' Well, it is rather a trial, buckling to after a 
 pleasant holiday, which you would gladly have 
 made longer if you could. But life is not all 
 beer and skittles, you know. We must not put 
 pleasure before business. And how have you 
 been this long time, Oates V 
 
 ' Salubrious, Mr. Handle ; salubrious. Never 
 better in my life, as I know of — sound in wind, 
 limb, and eyesight ; and there isn't many men 
 of my age can say that. And what is more, I'll 
 
 l2
 
 148 EED RYVINGTON. 
 
 back myself to run np a flight of steps with 
 anybody in Manchester ten years younger ; or 
 anybody else, weight for age. Ah, ah, ah !' 
 
 The capability of physical exertion denoted 
 by Mr Gates's last observation was one of con- 
 siderable importance to a person in his position, 
 for a Manchester salesman passes about half his 
 working life in getting up stairs, and a failure of 
 leg power, or a tendency to broken-windedness, 
 would be almost as fatal to his usefulness as to 
 that of a racehorse in training or a foot soldier in 
 war time. 
 
 ' I am glad you keep so well and hearty, 
 Oates. Why, you are as fresh as when you 
 first came to us, and that is — let me see— how 
 long since?' 
 
 ' Eight and twenty years come next Septem- 
 ber. I entered the service of the concern the 
 year your father was married — that was before 
 you were born, and I hope I shall live to see 
 you married also, Mr. Randle.' 
 
 * Thank you for the information,' said Randle, 
 with a laugh ; ' and now about business. How 
 have things gone on while I have been away V 
 
 ' Very well, Mr. Randle. Nothing special has
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 149 
 
 happened, at least Dot at this end, and I have 
 not heard of anything at the works. Deliveries 
 are all in order ; everything up to time.' 
 
 ' Sold anything?' 
 
 ' Very little — for the time, I mean — perhaps 
 20,000 pieces of one sort and another. I took 
 an order yesterday from Madder and Mordaunt 
 for 3,000 railways at seven and six.' 
 
 By ' railways ' Mr. Oates meant a description 
 of cloth on which that name had been conferred 
 to signify the extreme rapidity with which, 
 owing to their lightness of texture, they were 
 woven. 
 
 ' But is not that rather a low price V asked 
 Handle. ' The last price we got, if I remember 
 rightly, was seven and nine.' 
 
 ' So it is, but the market has been as flat as 
 ditch water — all the time yon have been away, 
 I think. But we are not badly off. We have 
 orders on the books that will keep us going for a 
 fortnight or more ; and there was decidedly a 
 better feeling on 'Change yesterday afternoon. 
 There is more doing at Calcutta, I'm told, and 
 "Wild and Savage sent over, an hour ago to ask 
 for quotations ; [and that's a good sign. They
 
 150 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 know the time o' day, Wild and Savage do. 
 But they won't catch old Oates napping, let 'em 
 get up as early as they like.' 
 
 1 You did not quote, I suppose V 
 ' Not exactly. I said I'd slip across in the 
 course of the morning. I don't mean to name 
 a price to anybody until I know what the feel- 
 ing is here, and what is being done in Liverpool. 
 When Wild and Savage want a quotation early 
 in a morning, I says to myself, " Keep your 
 weather eye open, Oates," says I. It is not 
 easy to catch an old bird with chaff, Mr. 
 Handle.' 
 
 ' Not an old bird like yon, Oates, I'm sure. I 
 shall leave everything to you to-day, for I'm so 
 completely out of the swim that if I were to 
 meddle I should muddle. Will my brother be 
 here to-day, do you suppose V 
 
 ' I believe so. He was here on Friday, and 
 said he should very likely run up to-day to see 
 what was going on. A smart young man Mr. 
 Robert, sir. With a little more experience he'll 
 make a capital man of business. He knows 
 what he's about, he does.' 
 
 ' Yes, Bob is no fool. I think sometimes he
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 151 
 
 is even too sharp — too sharp and sanguine. 
 His ideas are very large.' 
 
 1 Why, yes, they are, just a little. It is a 
 fault of young people, being very hopeful, and 
 believing they know better than anybody else. 
 And it's maybe as well.as it is so, or else what 
 would become of 'em when they get older, poor 
 things, and found what a terribly disappointing 
 world it is? Depend upon it, Mr. Randle, a 
 hopeful disposition is a wonderful help to a man 
 in the battle of life. As for Mr. Robert, you 
 have only to keep a tight hand on him, and 
 he'll do first-rate. But here is Blezzard coming 
 down the steps. He was here on Friday, in- 
 quiring when you'd be back, very anxious ; and 
 as he would not say what his business was, 
 neither to me nor Mr. Robert, I expect it is 
 something private. 1 think I'll just see how 
 many pieces have come up this morning. Wild 
 and Savage are very pressing for the completion 
 of their order for madapollams.' 
 
 Ryvington and Sons' warehouse was a large 
 cellar, divided into a room for the reception of 
 pieces, and two small offices. Their standing 
 and the extent of their business would have
 
 152 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 fully warranted the firm having a more imposing 
 place ; but they had been tenants of this par- 
 ticular cellar upwards of thirty years ; and, as a 
 rule, the concern was very conservative, espe- 
 cially as touching outlay or changes, the influence 
 of which on future stocktakings was problem- 
 atical or remote. 
 
 ' If you will undertake to get a halfpenny a 
 piece more on our production the year round,' 
 said Mr. Robert Ryvington one day to Oates, 
 when the latter was urging him to take a large 
 first-floor warehouse in Portland Street, ' we 
 will flit to-morrow.' 
 
 The salesman, notwithstanding the soundness 
 of his wind, limbs, and eyesight, and his un- 
 equalled capacity for getting up stairs, being 
 unable to accept this condition, the lease of the 
 cellar was renewed for a further term of four- 
 teen years. 
 
 ' Well, Blezzard,' said Randle, as the in- 
 dividual whom Oates had seen descending 
 the steps entered the office, ' you wanted 
 to see me, I hear ; what can I do for you to- 
 day!' 
 
 ' It is gradely warm to-day,' rejoined Blezzard,
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 153 
 
 taking a big blue- pocket-handkerchief from the 
 crown of his hat and mopping his face there- 
 with — a pleasant, clean-cut face, with plenty of 
 colour, which, however, it did not owe to drink, 
 the man being a teetotaller. ' Wor it as warm 
 wheer yo've bin, Mr. Frank V 
 
 4 Warmer, a good deal.' 
 
 t Bith, mon, yo' wornt frozen, then ? Do yo' 
 want a boss, thinken yo', Mr. Frank — a gradely 
 good un, rising seven, saand as a bell, and 'ansom 
 as paint; just suit yo' or Mr. Eobbut, to ride a- 
 hunting.' 
 
 * I have not time to go a-hunting, Blezzard, 
 and Robert has a hunter : if he had another, he 
 would be hunting too much, I am afraid.' 
 
 < Well, could yo' do wi' a cart hoss, then ? 
 That grey mare as goes in th' shafts — Patty, 
 durn'd they call her? — is getting too stiff for 
 yo're wark. I've getten one as would jest do 
 for yo', same colour, too, but a hoss — you never 
 seed such legs and such a barril i' your life. 
 Stan's sixteen hon's and a hoaf ; as strong as a 
 helephant and draws like a devil. What sayen 
 yo', Mr. Frank?' 
 
 ' I don't know, Blezzard. I think the grey
 
 154 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 mare will do yet awhile. When I make up my 
 mind to part with her, I'll let you know.' 
 
 * Are yo' wantin' ought i'th shuttle or bobbin 
 way, thinken yo"? We are gradely weel fit 
 up now for torning 'em out fast, and I can put 
 'em in chep.' 
 
 ' You know we always give orders for these 
 things at the works, Blezzard. I'll inquire how 
 we stand when we get back, and you can call 
 on Friday. Is that all V added Handle, with a 
 shade of impatience in his voice; for he was 
 growing rather weary of the man's impor- 
 tunity. 
 
 1 Nay, not quite. I wanted to speak to yo' 
 about summut else,' said Blezzard, as he again 
 vigorously applied the pocket-handkerchief to 
 his face, which, without apparent cause — for the 
 cellar was cool enough — was now perspiring 
 more profusely than ever. 
 
 < Well, what is it, Blezzard V 
 
 'About that theer account as is due next 
 Friday. I wanted to ax yo' to let it stan' o'er 
 till next month end.' 
 
 ' What is it for, and how much V 
 
 4 Them twothry skips o' yarn ; they comin" to
 
 IX MOSLEY STREET. 155 
 
 welly' (nearly) 'a hundred pounds — £98 15s. 6d. 
 after the discount's taken off.' 
 
 ' Well, you know our rule, Blezzard. When 
 people don't keep faith with us — that is, when 
 they don't pay according to agreement — we 
 have nothing more to do with 'em.' 
 
 1 That is hard law, Mr. Frank.' 
 
 4 Law always is hard to those who break it. 
 You must pay the account when it is due, Blez- 
 zard, or take the consequences. I should make 
 the same answer to the best house in Manches- 
 ter, even if I knew they had a million at their 
 bankers.' 
 
 Blezzard wiped his forehead more furiously 
 than ever. He was an old Redscar overlooker, 
 and had known Handle from a lad. Some years 
 previously he had given up his situation, and 
 started for himself as a sort of jack-of-all-trades. 
 He was partner in a small weaving concern, ran 
 a bobbin mill and a sawmill, made glue, pickers, 
 and soap, dealt in horses, and traded in timber. 
 A spirit of enterprise, however laudable in itself, 
 is apt to land a man in pecuniary difficulties. 
 This was Blezzard's position on the present 
 occasion. He was desperately hard up. The
 
 156 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 request he had made of Handle he would never 
 have dreamt of preferring to Handle's father ; 
 but he had counted — as it seemed without war- 
 rant — on the son being more complaisant. If 
 he could have persuaded him to buy the hunter 
 or the cart horse, the amount to be paid on the 
 following Friday would have been materially 
 reduced, so that Handle's refusal to trade was a 
 great disappointment. 
 
 ' Well,' he said, after a long pause and another 
 application of the handkerchief, c I mun see if I 
 cannot scrape it together. This is Tuesday ; 
 I'm three days afore me ; I can happen manage 
 it. I suppose if I bring yo' th' brass i' good 
 time o' Saturday morning that'll do V 
 
 6 No, Blezzard, it must be Friday — as late as 
 ever you like, but Friday.' 
 
 ' Well, yo' are hard, Mr. Handle, and me as 
 tackled ' (overlooked) ' five and twenty year for 
 yo're father and yo're gronfather, and wor a 
 wey ver at Hedscar factory afore yo' were born ! 
 Good day to yo', Mr. Handle.' 
 
 ' Wait a moment,' said Handle, as Blezzard 
 turned to go, f I am, perhaps, not as hard as 
 you think. How is your business, or, I should
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 157 
 
 rather say, how are your businesses going on — 
 are you all right V 
 
 1 Yo' mean con I pay twenty shillings t' pound, 
 I reckon V 
 
 Handle nodded. 
 
 ' Ay, con I, and have as much left as will keep 
 our Mary and me i' porridge as long as Ave live. 
 And what is moor, I shall have plenty of brass 
 comin' round in a month's time — enough to pay 
 everybody.' 
 
 6 Well, I'll tell you what I'll do for you. The 
 concern must be paid. I can have no parley 
 about that. But I'll lend you £200 — give you 
 a cheque on my own private account, I mean. 
 Half that will, of course, go to pay your debt 
 to the concern ; the other half you can use until 
 your money comes round — say until the end of 
 next month.' 
 
 'That's gradely good on yo', Mr. Handle,' 
 said Blezzard, shoving the blue pocket handker- 
 chief into the crown of his hat, for a sunny smile 
 was drying up the perspiration that bedewed 
 his face. ' If ever I can do yo' a good turn for 
 this kindness, I will.' 
 
 The cheque was written out and Jack Blez-
 
 158 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 zard left the warehouse with a light heart. He 
 took the steps two at a time, and went at such 
 a rate that he nearly overturned a young man 
 who was leisurely descending them, whom in 
 his hurry he had not perceived. 
 
 ' Hulloa ! By Jingo, you nearly knocked me 
 down,' exclaimed the young man. ' Why, it's 
 Jack Blezzard. You have got your seven- 
 leagued boots on this morning, I think, Jack. 
 But I would not advise to go at such a bat up 
 Mosley Street. If you do the police will be tak- 
 ing you up for overdriving, or on suspicion of 
 being an escaped lunatic' 
 
 'I ax you pardon, Mr. Robbut. I did not 
 see you.' 
 
 'It's a good job I saw you. If I had not you 
 would have knocked me into the middle of next 
 week. Has my brother turned up this morning, 
 do you know V 
 
 'Ay, yo'll find him theer i' th' office.' 
 
 ' All right. Good morning, Jack ; and, I say, 
 the next time you feel inclined to try how fast 
 you can get upstairs, just see that the way is 
 clear before you start.' 
 
 < Well, I will, Mr. Robbut ; I promise yo' that.
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 159 
 
 It wouldn't do to knock yo' into th' middle o' 
 next week ; yo'd happen be stopping theer. I 
 went so fast because I wor so fain ; if yo'll ax 
 yo're brother he'll happen tell you why. Good 
 day.' 
 
 Whereupon Blezzard turned into Mosley 
 Street, while Robert Ryvington completed his 
 descent of the steps, and, after exchanging 
 greetings with Oates, entered the little glass- 
 partitioned inner office, where his brother was 
 looking over a list of the orders that had been 
 taken in his absence. 
 
 1 Hulloa, Bob, is that you V said Randle, look- 
 ing up. - How are you, old fellow V 
 
 'Tip-top. And you — but I need not ask — 
 your face is the colour of a piece of ancient oak. 
 Enjoyed yourself 1 ? 
 
 ' Very much. I have had a most delightful 
 trip. You must have a run on the Continent 
 one of these days, Bob.' 
 
 '1 shall be delighted, I am sure. You could 
 not name a day for the start, could you, Ran I 
 I am ready.' 
 
 ' Not at this moment, I am afraid. We will 
 see later. How is the mother V
 
 1.60 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 'Very well in body, but rather uneasy in 
 mind/ 
 
 ' What about V 
 
 4 Her son Handle. When she heard you 
 were on the Alps, she was afraid you might 
 be tumbling down a precipice, or getting your- 
 self smothered by an avalanche. But her 
 latest fear — I might say her present (for we 
 were not sure on what day you would be back) 
 — was that you might be lost in crossing the 
 Channel.' 
 
 ' Poor mother ! she is too anxious.' 
 
 4 Well, if there had not been you to fidget 
 about there would probably have been some 
 other source of anxiety for her/ rejoined Bob, 
 with a reflective air. ' A certain amount of 
 misery seems necessary to mother's happiness.' 
 
 4 How have you gone on at the works % All 
 right ! 
 
 4 Could not have gone on better, Ran, if you 
 had been there yourself. For that matter you 
 might have taken another month. You have 
 not been missed in the least.' 
 
 4 That is because of your excellent manage- 
 ment, I suppose,' said Randle, who had made
 
 IN MOSLEY STREET. 161 
 
 such complete arrangements before bis depar- 
 ture tbat it was hardly possible for things to 
 have gone otherwise than smoothly during his 
 absence. 
 
 'Well, 1 think my management has had 
 something to do with it. By-the-by, I bagged 
 Robin o' Kits the other day.' 
 
 1 What for ? Robin is a a very good weaver, 
 and has been with us a long time.' 
 
 1 He cheeked me, and I could not stand that, 
 you know.' 
 
 4 1 thought Robin had more sense. I have 
 always found him very respectful. What did 
 he say to you. Bob V 
 
 1 He did not say it exactly to me,' rejoined 
 Bob, reddening, 'but I heard him, and that is 
 the same thing, you know,' 
 
 1 But what did he say V 
 
 6 Well, there was a lot of them— a lot of the 
 hands, I mean — going up New Factory Lane, 
 and I was close behind them, but they did not 
 see me, and they were talking ' (here Bob red- 
 dened a second time) 'about my — about my 
 moustache.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' observed Randle, gravely, though 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 with the least suspicion of a smile lurking 
 at the corners of his mouth. ( And what did 
 they say?' 
 
 ' One of them was saying that young Rob- 
 but seemed to have a good conceit of that top 
 lip of his. " Top lip be hanged/' said Robin ; 
 " if our Betty couldn't grow a better mous- 
 tache than young Bob's, I'd give her a good 
 hiding." That made me rather mad, as you 
 may suppose, Ran, so I just stepped up and 
 asked him if he thought that was a right 
 way to speak of his employer, and what 
 do you think ? — he had actually the impudence 
 to maintain that they were not talking about 
 me at all, and that the Bob he meant was 
 bandy-legged Bob — the self-actor minder in 
 number five, you know ! That was more than 
 I could stand, so I told him to go about his 
 business, for a cheeky young rascal.' 
 
 * And you think he did mean you V 
 
 c Think ! I am sure. Why, bandy-legged 
 Bob has no more moustache than a new-born 
 baby.' 
 
 ' Still I don't think Robin o' Kits meant to 
 be disrespectful ; he did not know you were
 
 IN MOSLBY STREET. 163 
 
 within earshot, and you remember the proverb, 
 u Listeners never hear any good of themselves !" 
 When he found you had heard him, he tried to 
 get out of the scrape the best way he could. If 
 he asks to come back, as I daresay he will, I 
 think yon had better give him a talking to, 
 and take him on again.' 
 
 ' Well, if you think so, Ran, I will. But 
 I'll give him a good blowing up first,' said Bob, 
 with a fierce pull at his fluffy moustaches, of 
 which, being all the hair he had on his face, or 
 was likely to have, he was excusably proud, 
 and submitted them to frequent caressings and 
 strokings. For the rest, Bob Ryvington was a 
 tall, well-proportioned lad, with an intelligent 
 eager face, and keen grey eyes. His hair was 
 light, his complexion blonde, and his nose 
 retrousse. He wore his hat rather on one side, 
 which gave him a rakish air that was foreign to 
 his disposition, dandyism not being one of his 
 foibles. The habit was involuntary, due, not 
 to deliberate intention, but to physical pecu- 
 liarity ; for his skull, being slightly lobsided, he 
 could not, do as he would, prevent his hat 
 from tilting a little towards his left ear. This 
 
 M 2
 
 1 64 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 difficulty and his extremely youthful appear- 
 ance, owing to the almost nakedness of his 
 face, were for the present Bob's greatest 
 troubles. 
 
 'Have you had occasion to draw anything 
 out of the bank V asked Handle. 
 
 * I have not drawn a single cheque. There 
 has been nothing to pay but wages and some 
 small accounts since you went away, which 
 have been more than covered by moneys re- 
 ceived. The bank balance has improved by as 
 many thousands the last two or three weeks.' 
 
 After some further conversation on divers 
 topics, and a conference with Oates, on the all- 
 important question of prices and sales, all three 
 left the warehouse on various errands relating 
 to the business of the concern.
 
 165 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 RED RAXDLE AT HOME. 
 
 FTVHE compartment in which Handle and his 
 ■*■ brother travelled to Whitebrook was filled 
 with manufacturers. It was market day, and 
 there was probably not a person in the train 
 that did not own allegiance to King Cotton. 
 As was natural in the circumstances, a good 
 deal of shop was talked. 
 
 'Done any business to-day, Ryvington?' asked 
 a portly, pompous gentleman, with a red face, 
 and a white waistcoat, who seemed gifted with 
 great fluency of speech, for he talked as much 
 as all the rest of his companions put together. 
 He was the active partner in the firm of Oliver 
 Tugwood and Co. His brother was one of the 
 borough members. Their father, in days gone 
 by, had kept the 'Nag's Head,' in Leather
 
 166 EED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Lane, a circumstance which the people of 
 Whitebrook strove to keep in remembrance 
 by calling the Tugwood Mills ' PiDchnoggin.' 
 
 ' A little/ answered Handle ; ■ about 15,000 
 pieces, I think, of one sort and another.' 
 
 ' Shirtings V 
 
 6 Some of them — about half, I fancy.' 
 
 4 What did you get for eight and a quarters, 
 if it's a fair question V asked Tugwood, who 
 was noted for his thirst for information, especi- 
 ally about other folks' business. 
 
 Handle told him. 
 
 ' Ton my word, Ry vington, you always 
 seem to get better prices than anybody else. 
 Why, I have not got as much by sixpence a 
 piece.' 
 
 'That perhaps comes of the difference in 
 quality,' suggested Randle. 
 
 'But you surely don't mean to say, Ryving- 
 ton, that your shirtings are sixpence a piece 
 better than ours? A trifle better they may be, 
 but not that much.' 
 
 ' Buyers don't seem to be of your opinion, 
 Tugwood, and the proof of the pudding is in 
 the eatiDg, you know.'
 
 RED HANDLE AT HOME. 167 
 
 < What do yon think about it, Twister V in- 
 quired Tngwood of the man next to him. ' Do 
 you think that Ryvington's shirtings are better 
 than ours?' 
 
 'Ay, do I. Why, there's sixpennuth moor 
 cotton in 'em than yours, let alone better weav- 
 ing. Yours is nobbut rags, mon, with th' hoiles 
 filled up wi' china clay.' 
 
 Twister had risen from the ranks, and, having 
 made money, he naturally thought himself as 
 good as any other body. He always spoke his 
 mind with uncompromising bluntness, and with- 
 out the least respect for persons. A roar of 
 laughter followed his answer, for Tugwood, 
 besides being too inquisitive and patronising to 
 be popular, had the name of putting more filling 
 in his goods than any other manufacturer in 
 the trade. Not having a rejoinder ready at the 
 moment, he judiciously gave the conversation 
 another turn by asking if anybody present had 
 received his assessment under schedule D, 
 which he pronounced ( sheddle.' 
 
 1 1 guess we all have/ said Twister, his stiff, 
 red beard bristling with indignation. 'I know 
 I have, and a bonny beggar it is.'
 
 168 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say, Twister, that they 
 have stuck you something on V 
 
 < By gum, but haven't they ! Only £2,000.' 
 
 ' They have increased our assessment too — 
 very considerably,' said Tugwood. 
 
 'And mine,' joined in several others. 
 
 1 1 call it a right down hard case,' observed 
 Twister, 'that we should be taxed for* bigger 
 incomes when we are making less brass.' 
 
 6 Are you going to appeal V 
 
 t What is the use % I should get nowt off. 
 I did go to Smalley one time, and tried to 
 convince him as he had assessed me a deal too 
 high ; and 1 showed him figures as proved what 
 I said. " And so you have not made that much, 
 Mr. Twister?" he said, quite pleasant like. 
 "That I haven't, Mr. Smalley," says I, "and 
 I hope you'll take my case into consideration, 
 and knock me a thousand or two off," says I. 
 " You assure me, then, Mr. Twister," says he, 
 " that you have really not made within £2,000 
 of the amount of profit for which you are 
 assessed ?" " I have not, Mr. Smalley," says I, 
 " dall my rags if I have." " Then you ought 
 to have, Mr. Twister," said th' owd beggar,
 
 RED RANDLE AT HOME. 169 
 
 " and I am quite unable to comply with your 
 request to make an abatement of your assess- 
 ment. I consider it to be most reasonable, and, 
 if what you say be true, you are managing your 
 business very badly. If you like to appeal, you 
 can, of course, do so ; but I am really afraid you 
 would only have your trouble for your pains." ' 
 
 6 And did you appeal V 
 
 1 1 wasn't such a fool. What would have 
 been the use of losing both time and money? 
 Another thing, I've given o'er making any 
 return. I just pays what they put down. A 
 time will happen come when they'll put down 
 too little, and if it does, dall my rags if I'll tell 
 'em.' 
 
 1 How do you get on with these income tax 
 chaps, Bradshaw ? Do they treat you as bad- 
 ly as they seem to be treating everyone else?' 
 asked Tugwood of an individual who sat 
 quietly smoking in a corner of the compart- 
 ment, and who had hitherto taken no part in 
 the conversation. He was a heavy pasty- 
 faced man with a large nose, little eyes, and a 
 very big head — like a book, some people said it 
 was — for he possessed a marvellously retentive
 
 170 RED KYVINGTON. 
 
 memory, and could calculate things mentally 
 and instantaneously that other people had to 
 waste a good deal of time and blacklead over. 
 These qualities, combined with good business 
 capacity, had raised him from the position of 
 warehouseman and outlooker to that of 
 partner in one of the largest concerns in the 
 county. 
 
 ' Well, gentlemen,' he observed, in answer to 
 Tugwood's appeal, 'you may say what you 
 like about the income tax being this, that, or 
 the other. All I can say is as I'm d — d glad 
 I have it to pay. I never thought I should 
 have had at one time. Them as doesn't like 
 income tax can easy mend themselves — they've 
 only to look cuts ' (cotton pieces) ' and cut their 
 income down to a pound a week.' 
 
 This phase of the conversation, like that 
 about the price of Ryvington's shirtings, ended 
 in a laugh rather at Tugwood's expense, and 
 in no very long time thereafter the train arriv- 
 ed at Whitebrook. 
 
 A great gathering of horses and vehicles was 
 ranged in front of the station — a handsome and 
 roomy edifice — waiting for the home-coming
 
 RED RANDLE AT H031E. 171 
 
 manufacturers. Amoug them was the Ryving- 
 ton four-wheeled drag, and the brothers mount- 
 ing thereon. Bob took the reins and drove 
 rapidly in the direction of Bedscar. After 
 passing up a narrow street, bounded on one 
 side by coal wharves and foundries, on the other 
 by breweries and factories, and rising a steep 
 hill, they entered a broad, macadamised road, 
 whose whiteness contrasted pleasantly with 
 the coal and soot-darkened pavement they had 
 left behind them — the more especially as the 
 surrounding country was agreeably undulating 
 and. for that part of the county, well-wooded. 
 
 A short spin on this road brought them to 
 the lane leading to Redscar, which ran at right 
 angles with the main road. 
 
 ' Shall we go round by the counting-house, 
 Handle,' asked Bob, 'or drive straight home?' 
 
 ' I think we will go home. It is almost too 
 late to do any good at the counting-house, and 
 I daresay mother will be anxious to know if I 
 am back.' 
 
 'All right; here we are, then. Kenyon, 
 jump down and open the gate. Old Jane is as 
 deaf as a post. If she does not happen to be
 
 1 72 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 on the watch, you have to shout at least fifty 
 times before you can get her out of the lodge.' 
 
 Redscar House, though as to externals solid 
 and unpretentious, was a spacious, and by no 
 means an unhandsome dwelling ; and being set 
 in a fair show of greensward and garden, and 
 approached by an avenue of old lime-trees, 
 populated by a colony of rooks, its general 
 appearance was rather that of a country 
 gentleman's seat than a manufacturer's mansion. 
 
 The drag had hardly pulled up before the 
 substantial portico which adorned the front of 
 the house, when the door opened and a tall lady 
 in black silk dress and a widow's cap appeared 
 at the threshold. Despite her sixty years, her 
 tall form was unbent and her dark hair only 
 slightly streaked with grey. Her features 
 were rather large, and their expression in 
 repose was somewhat hard and stern ; but, 
 when she caught sight of Handle, they lit up 
 with a glow of pleasure which changed their 
 look as if by magic into one of deepest ten- 
 derness and love. 
 
 Handle jumped from the drag, took both his 
 mother's hands in his, and. kissed her.
 
 RED RANDLE AT HOME. 173 
 
 'I am thankful you are safe back, child,' she 
 said. ' 1 was beginning to be anxious about 
 you.' 
 
 1 So Bob has been telling me. But, dear me, 
 mother, what was there to be anxious about ? 
 There is no more danger in a trip to Switzer- 
 land now-a-days than in a journey to London.' 
 
 ■ We can never tell what may happen,' re- 
 joined Mrs. Ryvington, who always looked at 
 the dark side of things. 'Even a journey to 
 London has its dangers. Are there not rail- 
 way accidents? And I am always uneasy 
 about my children when they are away from 
 me.' 
 
 1 It is very well you have no more of them, 
 then ; or whatever would become of you ? How 
 would you do if you had two or three children 
 in every quarter of the globe, like Mrs. Mait- 
 landf 
 
 4 1 suppose I should have to bear it. God 
 tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, you know. 
 But won't you come into the dining-room and 
 have some tea ? I am sure you are hungry.' 
 
 1 Well, I do feel rather peckish. Yes, thank 
 you, mother, I will have some tea.'
 
 174 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Would you like something to it V 
 
 'I don't know whether Ran would or not,' 
 put in Bob, who had at this moment joined 
 them, ' but I know I should. Besides, what a 
 queer tea it would be without anything to it !' 
 
 ' Randle knows what I mean. Would you 
 like some meat V 
 
 ' By all means, mother, let us have — but I 
 know you have something ready, and I am 
 sure it is good.' 
 
 ' So am I, because I know,' interrupted Bob. 
 *' I heard a whisper this morning. It's boned 
 turkey and cold boiled ham. When will tea 
 be ready, mother?' 
 
 ' In ten minutes.' 
 
 'All right. In ten minutes I'll be ready too, 
 and I bet Ran will also.' 
 
 The Redscar Ryvingtons kept up the old 
 custom of early dinners and evening teas, 
 which latter on special occasions, such as 
 Randle's return, were particularly strong teas, 
 differing little from the more substantial meal 
 save in the addition of the beverage that cheers 
 but not inebriates. 
 
 * Have you seen much of uncle while I have
 
 RED RANDLE AT HOME. 175 
 
 been away V asked Randle, as his mother was 
 pouring out his second cup of tea. 
 
 ' Not very much. He has only called twice, 
 I think; but he has been pretty often to the 
 counting-house. Has not he, Robert?' (Mrs. 
 Ryvington never called her second son Bob.) 
 
 f Rather — every day nearly. I never saw 
 such a tiresome old beggar in my life,' 
 
 'Robert!' exclaimed his mother, in a tone of 
 remonstrance, 'is that the way you speak of 
 your uncle V 
 
 1 1 don't care, mother, he is tiresome. He 
 never lets a fellow alone. He was always 
 wanting to know everything, and patronised 
 me, and gave me fatherly advice, until at last 
 I ran out of the counting-house whenever I saw 
 his carriage coming over the hill ; and old Pitt 
 had standing orders never to be able to find 
 me so long as Mr. Ryvington was on the 
 ground. I suppose, as Randle was away, he 
 thought he would have his fling.' 
 
 4 Uncle Randle has a passion for meddling, 
 there is no doubt,' said Red Randle, and, if I 
 had not been partner as well as executor, I 
 don't know what I should have done. But
 
 176 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 since the time I reminded him that I was both, 
 and that, though I would listen to his advice, 
 I was the sole manager of the concern and 
 meant to remain so, he has let me alone.' 
 
 ' Only wait until I am partner, and I'll give 
 him a bit of my mind too.' 
 
 4 He will have nothing more to do with the 
 concern after you are a partner, Bob; he will 
 simply be one of the trustees for the settle- 
 ments.' 
 
 ' So much the better, for I don't like Uncle 
 Handle a bit.' 
 
 'Robert! what are you saying?' exclaimed 
 his mother. 
 
 'It's true, mother; and one ought always to 
 speak the truth, you know. And, if you were 
 to speak your mind, I don't think you like him 
 much either — any more than Ran does. What 
 do you think he was saying the other day in 
 Whitebrook V 
 
 'I have not the least idea, Robert. What 
 was it V 
 
 1 Why, that he kept " those lads " on their 
 legs — meaning Randle and me.' 
 
 'I think I have heard of him saying some-
 
 RED RANDLE AT HOME. 177 
 
 thing of that sort before,' said Handle. 'He 
 probably thinks it his duty ; he is always great 
 on duty, you know. At any rate it is of no 
 consequence. If it pleases him to say so, it 
 does us no harm.' 
 
 'You are too patient, Ran. I call such 
 statements downright annoying — as if we 
 could not get along without him.' 
 
 ' Never mind,' observed Handle, helping him- 
 self to a slice of boned turkey, ' let him think 
 and talk what he likes. But I will have no 
 meddling, and that he knows. Hulloa ! what 
 is that V 
 
 I Wheels,' said Bob. 
 
 I I declare, it is Uncle Handle,' exclaimed Hed 
 Handle, as a carriage drove past the dining- 
 room window. 
 
 1 Talk of the devil,' muttered Bob, as the 
 door opened, and a smart waiting maid 
 announced Mr. Hyvington and Mr. Handle 
 Ryvington. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DEEPDENE RANDLE. 
 
 MR. RYVINGTON was a tall, rather stout, 
 grey-haired gentleman, with a short neck, 
 a ruddy countenance, and a somewhat high- 
 coloured nose, a peculiarity, as also an occasion- 
 al attack of gout, which was probably attribut- 
 able to the fact that he thought it his duty to 
 drink the greater part of a bottle of port wine 
 every day with his dinner. He tried to put on 
 a stately manner, but only succeeded in being 
 pompous, and, as is often the case with pompous 
 people, his words were apt to be bigger than 
 his deeds. 
 
 His son Randle was strikingly like his 
 nephew Randle. Apart, they were often mis- 
 taken for each other ; albeit when they were
 
 DEEPDENE RANDLE. 179 
 
 together it was impossible to doubt which was 
 which. Deepdene Randle, though in height, 
 feature, and complexion so much resembling his 
 cousin that they might have been twin brothers, 
 was slightly stouter than Redscar Handle ; his 
 eyes were a shade smaller, his face, too, was 
 fuller, and his general aspect, some people 
 thought, less frank and winning. 
 
 ' Glad to see you back, Randle, lad/ said Mr. 
 Eyvington, as he shook hands with his nephew, 
 after having greeted his sister-in-law. ' I hope 
 you have enjoyed yourself in Switzerland. I 
 travelled there myself when I was a young 
 fellow — did it all. Times were different then, 
 though. How long were you in going from 
 Lausanne to London?' 
 
 ■ Twenty-six or seven hours, I think.' 
 
 1 Just look at that, now. I was twelve days 
 on the road, and did not let the grass grow 
 under my feet either. But that is forty years 
 since — things are very different now.' 
 
 Here Mrs. Ryvington interposed to ask if he 
 would not take a cup of tea. 
 
 'Ah, thank you, Sophia, just a cup, but 
 nothing to eat. We dine late, you know, and 
 
 n2
 
 180 RED RYVINGTOM. 
 
 I don't want to spoil my dinner. We just call- 
 ed en passant — on our way back from Orrington, 
 you know — been to look at some property 
 there, which I think I shall purchase, if they 
 will take my price. I will give £9,500, and as 
 I told Chipping — that is the agent, you know 
 — the money is ready when he is ready, cash 
 down, and no questions asked. Ah, ah — that 
 is the way to do business. If I had not been 
 well trained in business we should not have 
 occupied the position we do now — eh, Randle, 
 my lad V (This was spoken to his son.) ' My 
 father, whom you two boys resemble so much, 
 knew how to bring up a child in the way he 
 should go, I can tell you. But it answers — that 
 sort of bringing up answers. You will not find 
 many men, taking it all together, who have 
 succeeded better than me — than my brother 
 Robert and myself. He has left you very well 
 off, though I have perhaps been more fortunate 
 than he has, and, please God, I'll put the family 
 in its proper position before I have done. Is 
 " Ancient Families of the Northern Counties " 
 out yet, Randle V 
 
 * Not yet,' answered his son. 'I don't think
 
 DEEPDEXE HANDLE. 181 
 
 it will be out for two or three months. But 
 Peter Wiswell expects a proof every day — we 
 have to revise it together.' 
 
 * Ah, yes ; I was forgetting. Did I tell you, 
 Handle ' (to his nephew) ' Did I tell you that 
 we have traced the family pedigree back to 
 Adam de Ryvington of Angelzark, who obtained 
 a grant of Ryvington Pike from Edward III. 
 for his valour at the battle of Agincourt V 
 
 ' Yes, you told me,' said Randle, rather 
 indifferently, for he had heard the story— of 
 which he did not believe a word — at least half 
 a dozen times before. 
 
 ' It has cost me a deal of money having these 
 researches made, as you may suppose. But 
 that is not all. Peter Wiswell found a docu- 
 ment the other day that carries the pedigree 
 back a stage further, and it appears that the 
 father or grandfather of this Adam was a 
 soldier of fortune, served in the Imperial Guard 
 at Constantinople, and afterwards in Germany, 
 where he married Hildegarde, daughter and co- 
 heiress of Prince Hermann Barbarossa, one of 
 .the first and oldest families as is, Peter says. 
 If he is right we have royal blood in our veins,
 
 182 EED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Ran die, lad. And we have got a portrait of 
 the reigning prince, and everybody that has 
 seen it thinks that him and me are very like.' 
 
 ' He has got a big red nose, then,' whispered 
 Bob to his brother. 
 
 ' It is all going to appear in the '* Ancient 
 Families of the Northern Counties." You shall 
 have a copy as soon as it comes out. I have 
 ordered fifty.' 
 
 < Fifty !' 
 
 1 Yes, fifty at two guineas, that's the ' 
 
 'Never mind about the pedigree just now, 
 father,' interrupted his son, just in time to pre- 
 vent his parent letting the cat out of the bag. 
 ' We are forgetting all about Dora. I suppose 
 you saw Dora, Ran V 
 
 Whereupon Randle told how he had found 
 the young lady, and delivered the various mes- 
 sages with which she had charged him. After 
 this he was asked to give some account of his 
 wanderings — where he had been and what he 
 had done. His first idea was to say nothing of 
 his adventure in the Furca Pass, but remem- 
 bering that he had told the story to Dora, and 
 she might mention it in her letters home, he con-
 
 DEEPDENE RANDLE. 183 
 
 eluded — lest his silence should be misconstrued 
 — to tell it a second time. 
 
 'Oh, Handle, you might have been killed,' 
 exclaimed his mother, when he had finished ; and 
 her emotion was so great that she felt con- 
 strained to retire a few minutes from the room, 
 as her son rightly supposed, to offer up a thanks- 
 giving for his escape. 
 
 I And you saved the life of Lord Lindisfarne's 
 daughter, of Lady Muriel Avalon !' observed 
 Mr. Ry vington, in an awe-struck tone. ' How 
 very providential !' 
 
 ' And the earl asked you to Avalon Priory,' 
 said Deep Handle, with a look of envy. ' You 
 are in luck, cousin !' 
 
 I I did not say he invited me. I said he pro- 
 mised to send me an invitation when the family 
 returned to England.' 
 
 ' It is the same thing.' 
 
 ' Not quite ; he may forget, you know.' 
 
 ' Why, it is one of the oldest earldoms in the 
 kingdom, isn't it, Handle V asked Mr. Ryvington. 
 
 1 Earl of Lindisfarne in the peerage of Scot- 
 land, and Baron Avalon of Avalon in the peer- 
 age of the United Kingdom/ answered Deep
 
 184 RED RYVINGTOX. 
 
 Randle, who was very knowing in such matters. 
 ' But the present earl is not very rich, I believe. 
 He came into the title rather late in life — suc- 
 ceeded his uncle the late earl — and as he has 
 two or three dowagers on his hands, besides 
 other encumbrances, his income is not exactly 
 princely. At least so I have heard,' 
 
 ' But think of his high rank — Earl of Lindis- 
 farne in the peerage of Scotland, and Baron 
 Avalon of Avalon in the peerage of the United 
 Kingdom — his ancient lineage and honourable 
 name!' urged Mr. Ryvington. 'What is mere 
 income compared with such priceless advan- 
 tages V 
 
 ' They would be of very little use without in- 
 come, I fancy,' said Red Randle. ' But do you 
 think the earl is as well off in the matter of 
 lineage as we are, uncle ? At any rate he is 
 not descended from the Prince Hermann what- 
 do-you-call-him — Barbarossa — and I don't think 
 he has royal blood in his veins.' 
 
 ' But that is different, you know. Not that I 
 don't think our pedigree is as good as his, but 
 Lord Lindisfarne is — however, there is no use 
 talking to you about these things. You are a
 
 DEEPDEXE HANDLE. 185 
 
 Kadical, and would like, I daresay, to level all 
 our ancient institutions to the ground.' 
 
 4 Do you consider the Ryvington pedigree, as 
 prepared by Peter Wis well, to be an ancient in- 
 stitution, uncle?' rejoined Handle, with a sig- 
 nificant smile. 
 
 ' What does it matter to you whether I do 
 or not V returned Mr. By vington, angrily. ' At 
 any rate you are not worthy of such a pedigree. 
 I am sorry, very sorry, Randle, to see you are 
 such a Radical. If my poor brother could have 
 foreseen that his son would have deserted the 
 old flag, how it would have grieved him V 
 
 i I have not deserted the old flag, uncle. I 
 have been a Liberal ever since I began to think 
 seriously, that is since I went to Glasgow ; and 
 I believe that in keeping my opinion in abeyance 
 during my father's lifetime I did what was 
 right. But I never pretended to be what 
 I was not.' 
 
 f Well, well, it is a subject about which we 
 shall never agree, so let it drop. We are unen- 
 lightened individuals, and you are wiser than 
 me, your father, and your grandfather all put 
 together.'
 
 186 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' 1 thought you said let it drop, uncle V 
 
 1 Well, I have doue, hav'n't I ? But ' (looking 
 at bis watch), ' bless me, how late it is ; we must 
 be going, Handle ' (to his son). * I think you will 
 find all right at the factory, Handle' (to his 
 nephew). * I have called nearly every day during 
 your absence — I thought it my duty, you know 
 — as Robert will tell you, though I am sorry to 
 say he was not always there. I had a good 
 deal of fault to find at times — I thought it my 
 duty, you know — but the men knew I was not 
 to be trifled with, and, as I said, you will find 
 things all right.' 
 
 ' Thank you, uncle,' said Handle, gravely. ' I 
 am sure you have been very good.' 
 
 ' Confound his impudence,' said Bob, sotto voce. 
 ' Why, he never came that he did not set 
 everybody by the ears, and it was all I could do 
 to persuade the fellows to be civil to him.' 
 
 ' I try to be, lad ; I try to be ; and if you 
 would only follow ray advice about everything 
 you would do well. But we cannot put old 
 heads on young shoulders. You know the say- 
 ing : Young folks think old folks are fools ; old 
 folks know that young folks are. Come, Handle.
 
 DEEPDENE HANDLE. 137 
 
 lad, let us be off. We shall be half an hour late 
 for dinner as it is.' 
 
 1 1 think my uncle is getting slightly crazed 
 about the antiquity of the Ryvington family,' 
 said the other Randle, as he returned to the 
 dining-room after seeing that gentleman and 
 his son into their carriage. ' It was always a 
 weak point with him, but he talked greater 
 nonsense to-night than I ever heard him talk 
 before. If he swallows that story about our 
 descent from Prince Hermann Barbarossa he'll 
 swallow anything.' 
 
 ' But do you think he does believe it, Randle V 
 asked his mother. 
 
 'I fancy he does. When a vain man wants 
 very much to believe something that exalts 
 him in his own estimation, and, as he thinks, 
 in that of his neighbours, he generally suc- 
 ceeds/ 
 
 ' Peter Wiswell makes a nice penny out of 
 him.' 
 
 ' Rather. And Peter will go on making bogus 
 pedigrees as long as he is paid for them. That 
 was really a fine stroke of his to connect us 
 with the Barbarossa family. Why, Prince Bar-
 
 188 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 barossa is half-cousin to the Queen, brother-in- 
 law to the Emperor of Austria, and akin to 
 half the royal houses in Europe.' 
 
 ' It will all appear as large as life in the 
 "Ancient Families of the Northern Counties," I 
 suppose ? That's another of Peter's specula- 
 tions. Oh, he's a very downy gentleman, is 
 Mr. Wis well. Did you hear what my uncle 
 said — that he had agreed to take fifty copies at 
 two guineas each? And he would have said 
 more if my cousin had not stopped him.' 
 
 'What would he have said?' 
 
 ' That his taking fifty copies was the condi- 
 tion on which his bogus pedigree was to figure 
 among those of the ancient families of the 
 northern counties.' 
 
 4 And then V 
 
 ' Why, he thinks it will be the means of at- 
 taining the great object of his ambition — get- 
 ting the Ryvingtons of Deepdene recognised as 
 a county family, and himself admitted to the 
 intimacy of such people as the Claughtons, the 
 Myerscoughs, and the Stalmines.' 
 
 ' Do you think he will succeed V 
 
 ' No, they don't like him. They don't like
 
 DEEPDENE HANDLE. 189 
 
 his bumptiousness. They have heard of his 
 meannesses, and they laugh at his claims to 
 ancient lineage. He would have had a far 
 better chance of getting his ends if he had 
 not pretended to be more than he is — a retir- 
 ed manufacturer of honourable family. It is 
 Deepdene that has spoiled my uncle. My 
 father used to say that, though my uncle was 
 always a bit soft on the pedigree question, he 
 was a very sensible man so long as he was in 
 the concern. But he is not the first, by a 
 long way, who has been demoralised by pros- 
 perity and the possession of land.' 
 
 'But he is very shrewd in some things, 
 Randle,' observed his mother. ' See how well he 
 manages his property. And I have heard your 
 poor father say that the purchase of Deepdene 
 was almost a stroke of genius.' 
 
 1 Shrewd ! I should think he is. In money 
 matters there is nobody more so. Very few 
 people have anything to do with Uncle Handle, 
 except Peter Wiswell, that don't come off 
 second best. As Jack Blezzard would say, 
 they generally get hold of the dirty end of the- 
 stick.'
 
 190 RED RYVINGTOX. 
 
 * And some people say the deep 'un ' (this was 
 a designation Bob had conferred on his cousin) 
 4 is quite as keen.' 
 
 1 I don't know about that. But it is likely 
 enough, for he looks at everything from one 
 point of view — that of his own interest. He 
 did at school, and I don't suppose he has 
 altered much since.' 
 
 ' But does not everybody do the same V put 
 in Bob. 
 
 'Every unregenerate person does, Robert,' 
 observed his mother, with a little sigh, ' and I 
 am afraid your cousin Handle is one.' 
 
 'And not the only one, by a long chalk,' 
 muttered Bob. 
 
 ' Very likely,' continued Handle, not heeding 
 these interruptions; 'but there are degrees. 
 What I mean is, that whenever anything hap- 
 pens that can touch himself or the family, the 
 first thought that occurs to Handle is : How 
 will this affect me? And he never tries to rise 
 above this egoism, or to fight against the selfish 
 impulses from which nobody is wholly free. 
 And, unless his actions belie him, he is shaping 
 his life on the principle of placing his own com-
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 191 
 
 fort and ambition before every other considera- 
 tion — before even his duty to his father or the 
 affection he owes his sister, to say nothing of 
 outsiders.' 
 
 4 Are you not judging him rather hardly, my 
 dear?' rejoined Mrs. Ryvington. 'I know he 
 is very worldly, but to say he is utterly selfish 
 seems rather uncharitable.' 
 
 ' I merely say what I believe to be true, 
 mother. You know Handle and I have been 
 schoolfellows, and I have very good grounds 
 to go upon. Time will show whether I am 
 right or not. If I am not, so much the 
 better.'
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 
 
 COUSIN RANDLE is in luck,' said the 
 other Randle to his father, as the two 
 drove away from Redscar. 
 
 ' In having rendered so important a service 
 to Lord Lindisfarne's family, you mean V 
 
 'Not so much that as in having got intro- 
 duced to the family, and received an invitation 
 to Avalon Priory.' 
 
 ' Yes. I wish it had been your luck instead 
 of his. If we were on visiting terms with the 
 Lindisfarnes, Sir Humphrey Stalmine would 
 think twice before refusing my invitations to 
 dinner, as he did the last time I asked him. 
 But do you think you would have had the pre- 
 sence of mind, Randle, to have plucked that 
 girl — the Lady Muriel — from the carriage V
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 193 
 
 • Oh, yes, I think so. And very likely my 
 cousin makes the most of it. I don't suppose 
 it was so much of a feat as he makes it appear.' 
 
 'I don't agree with you there, Handle. I 
 have no great cause to love my nephew ; he is 
 not too respectful, and refuses to follow my ad- 
 vice ; but, whatever may be his faults, he is at 
 least sincere and truthful.' 
 
 * A man may exaggerate, may he not, with- 
 out absolutely lying? Well, I think Handle's 
 story of the rescue, and that, is too strange to 
 be altogether true. Let us see whether he 
 is really asked to Avalon Priory or not. That 
 will be the. test. If he is not, we shall know 
 what conclusion to draw.' 
 
 'If he is, he will perhaps introduce you and 
 me, so for goodness' sake don't let him sup- 
 pose you doubt his word. If we could ask the 
 Stalmines and Myerscoughs to dinner to meet 
 the Earl of Lindisfarne it would be the making of 
 us. Until we can do something of the sort, 
 or can get you a high-born wife, I am afraid we 
 shall not be admitted into the county set. I 
 should like you to marry well, Handle.' 
 
 'And I mean to marry well if I can get a 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 chance. But how am I to go about it 1 These 
 people never invite me to their houses. I 
 should like to propose to Miss Claughton, but I 
 never see her except in the hunting field.' 
 
 'But you will be very well off, Handle, and 
 Miss Claughton is not rich. They say her 
 father cannot leave her more than five thou- 
 sand pounds, and will not give her a penny 
 down.' 
 
 * That may be. But you will worsen my 
 chance of marrying blood much, father, if you 
 persist in dividing the property equally between 
 Dora and myself.' 
 
 ' There is no help for it, Randle. I promised 
 your mother before she died that I would leave 
 you equal. Besides, it is in the settlement. 
 Your mother's fortune was twenty thousand 
 pounds, which I thought a great deal thirty 
 years since — it was as much almost as I had 
 myself — and we agreed, and it was put down 
 in the deed, that my property as well as hers 
 should be equally divided among any children 
 we might have. It is an engagement to which 
 I have put my hand and seal, and there is no 
 getting out of it. But I promise you one
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 195 
 
 thing, Randle, that my will shall be made in 
 such a way that it will be entirely your own 
 fault if you do not come into all my property, 
 with the exception of a small legacy to Dora 
 in addition to what she takes under her mother's 
 settlement ; and that she will, of course, have 
 when she is twenty-one. I don't believe in 
 large fortunes for girls.' 
 
 ' But how on earth will you manage that, 
 father?' said the young man, eagerly. s I can- 
 not conceive.' 
 
 4 1 daresay you cannot, and I do not mean to 
 tell you. You will know soon enough ; that is, 
 when my last will and testament is read. 
 Meantime you have no reason to complain. 
 You have the interest of your mother's ten thou- 
 sand pounds, and that, with your allowance from 
 me, is equal to £1,000 a year, besides which 
 yoo live free of charge at Deepdene, and I keep 
 your horses. It is more than Sir Humphrey 
 Stalmine allows his son. You are very well 
 off, my lad, whatever you may think.' 
 
 'I was not complaining, father; only, if you 
 want me to marry blood, I must be in a posi- 
 tion to do so ; and, if it were given out that I 
 
 o2
 
 196 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 am to inherit all your real estate, I should be a 
 deal more of a catch, don't you see V 
 
 'All right, my lad. You find the blood, and 
 I'll find the groats. Talking of marrying, do 
 you think your cousin Randle cares at all for 
 Dora V 
 
 4 1 do think so. Ran is very close in some 
 respects, and hard to read ; but I think he is 
 fond of Dora, and I am sure she likes him. At 
 any rate, they have always cottoned to each 
 other a good deal. Why do you ask the ques- 
 tion — would you like them to make a match of 
 it?' 
 
 * Not particularly ; I was only asking for in- 
 formation. As for Dora marrying, it will be 
 time enough to think about that two or three 
 years hence. I don't believe in girls marrying 
 so very early,' with the utterance of which sen- 
 timent Mr. Ryvington fell into a brown study, of 
 which his son took advantage to light a cigar, 
 and indulge in a smoke that lasted until they 
 reached the gates of Deepdene Park. 
 
 Deepdene lay about two miles from White- 
 brook, but the estate to which it gives a name 
 was almost conterminous with the northern
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 197 
 
 boundary of the borough. Its purchase by the 
 elder Byvington was regarded, not only by his 
 brother, but by the world of Whitebrook gener- 
 ally, as a stroke of genius. From almost time 
 immemorial Deepdene had belonged to the Earls 
 of-Holleth, and been under settlements so strict 
 that, although much of it was most desirable 
 building land, nobody could be persuaded to 
 build upon it. The longest lease the Holleth 
 trustees were empowered to grant was sixty 
 years, and Whitebrook manufacturers absolutely 
 refused to build factories on a tenure so onerous. 
 Mr. Kyvington had often cast his eye on the 
 property and calculated its value to an enter- 
 prising man unfettered by absurd restrictions, 
 and he resolved, if ever the opportunity should 
 arise, to become its owner. The opportunity 
 did arise. When Lord Forton, the Earl of 
 Holleth's heir, attained his majority it was 
 arranged to sell the Lancashire estates and in* 
 vest the proceeds in land in Staffordshire. Mr. 
 Ryvington, who was on friendly terms with the 
 local steward, getting a word of this before any- 
 body else in the neighbourhood, went up to 
 London, saw the lawyers engaged in the matter,
 
 198 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 and succeeded in buying the whole estate at the 
 rate of twenty-five years' purchase of its agri- 
 cultural value. It would have been cheap at 
 double the money. Some rich Whitebrook 
 people, who would gladly have bought Deep- 
 dene, when they knew how acutely Mr. Ryving- 
 ton had out-generalled them, were much an- 
 noyed that he should have acquired the pro- 
 perty for so inadequate a price; and it was 
 broadly insinuated that he had bought the 
 steward as well as the estate, if he had not 
 bought the lawyers. To these insinuations — if 
 they came to his ears — he paid no heed, but 
 busied himself almost day and night in develop- 
 ing the resources and increasing the capabilities 
 of his purchase. Being just outside the borough, 
 and therefore escaping the heavy borough rates, 
 yet close to the railway and well supplied with 
 water, it quickly came into vogue as a site for 
 factories and cottages, and grew so fast in 
 value that when Robert Ryvington died his 
 brother was a man of £10,000 a year, albeit the 
 possibilities of the property were by no means 
 exhausted. 
 
 One of Mr. Ryvington's first proceedings,.
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 199 
 
 after paying off the mortgage which he had 
 raised io order to enable him to complete his 
 purchase, was to restore the old house in Deep- 
 dene Park, into which no Holleth had put his 
 head for half a century. It was a fine old tim- 
 bered mansion, standing on a grassy kuoll, 
 flanked by a small lake, and approached by a 
 grand avenue of chestnut-trees. When its 
 owner sent out invitations for his house-warm- 
 ing he felt that he was at length on the point of 
 reaching the secret ambition of his life, and be- 
 coming, not only a country but a county 
 gentleman, as he was already a county magis- 
 trate. Bitter, therefore, was his disappointment 
 when none of the gentry of the neighbourhood 
 accepted his invitation. They all replied very 
 courteously and made very plausible excuses. 
 One had the influenza, another had a wife in the 
 straw, another had a sick son, others had pre- 
 vious engagements — all had something, and the 
 end of it was that the county families were con- 
 spicuous by their absence, and their places had 
 to be filled up at the last moment by an equal 
 .number of the despised people of Whitebrook. 
 It next occurred to Mr. Eyvington that the one
 
 200 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 thing needful was a pedigree, that if his family 
 could be proved to be of a respectable antiquity 
 — and he had an impression derived from his 
 own consciousness that the proof would be easy 
 — the position to which he aspired would readily 
 be accorded to him. 
 
 In this emergency he bethought himself of 
 Peter Wis well, a local genealogist, journalist, 
 antiquarian, author, and poetaster; for Peter was 
 as great a hand at turning verses for puffing 
 tradesmen as in making pedigrees for aspiring 
 manufacturers. In early life Peter had come to 
 grief as a bookseller and stationer, whereupon, 
 to use his own expression, ' he had betaken him- 
 self to a literary career.' His greatest achieve- 
 ment in this line, the one of which he was most 
 justly proud, was his ' Whitebrook As It Is.' 
 He was commissioned to write the work for an 
 enterprising publisher, who proposed to bring it 
 out in combination with a directory. There 
 was a little preliminary difficulty about the 
 terms. Peter wanted a lump sum for the job ; 
 the publisher wanted to pay by results. In the 
 end Peter agreed to accept so much a sheet, 
 and the price was so low that the publisher
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 201 
 
 thought he had made a most excellent bargain. 
 But the poor mau had forgotten to make any 
 stipulation about quantity, the amount of 'copy ' 
 to be supplied being left implicitly to the 
 author's discretion, and he sent in, week after 
 week, such piles of manuscript, that the un- 
 fortunate publisher was driven to the verge of 
 despair. Peter wrote both a preface and an in- 
 troduction. In the former he had much to say 
 about the ancient Britons, the Romans, the 
 Angles and Saxons, and the Danes, ' who 
 harassed this part and made sad havoc in their 
 incursions.' The introduction was a philo- 
 sophical treatise in which Peter expressed his 
 views on things in general in sentences of por- 
 tentous length. ' The irregular progression of 
 society,' he observed, 'in intellectual development, 
 in moral force, in religious fervour, and in mer- 
 cantile prosperity — its advances, retrogradations, 
 aberrations, and intervals of quiescence are 
 phenomena hard to understand and difficult to 
 explain. There are, indeed, known to thought- 
 ful observers and students of humanity, physical 
 causes and ethical combinations on which 
 philosophy is accustomed to base its estimates
 
 202 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 oi particular social epochs and political revolu- 
 tions ; but there would seem to be something 
 more recondite than their agency, which pro- 
 duces, at fixed intervals, an unwonted activity 
 of mind and removes the time and ages in 
 which it occurs from the common roll of history 
 and its records ; and it is because of the faithful 
 tracing from cause to effect of unbroken concat- 
 enation in the chain of great events and momen- 
 tous cataclysms, and of the well-detailed and 
 practical illustration which furnishes a complete 
 clavis to their connection with, and affinity for, 
 each other, that I experience such deep and un- 
 feigned pleasure in bringing a work of this 
 nature forward, as being a history of the ancient 
 and renowned town of Whitebrook, a town 
 whose present commercial development is on a 
 par with its local importance in the days of the 
 Plantagenet and Tudor monarchs of this realm 
 of England.' 
 
 There was no event in the history of the 
 borough that Mr. Wiswell thought too trivial 
 to be chronicled. When he came to the year 
 183 ( .) he observed: 'About this time we were 
 chequered in our business,' a euphemism by
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 203 
 
 which the few who were still cognisant of the 
 circumstance were reminded that 1839 was the 
 year of Peter's bankruptcy. He devoted three 
 chapters to the market house alone. He told 
 of the time when, in the infancy of the town, 
 old women who sold sweetstuff and potatoes 
 were exposed without any protection, save such 
 as their umbrellas afforded them, to all the in- 
 clemencies of the weather ; and drew a pathetic 
 picture of their sufferings. He next described 
 iii great detail a wooden shed — the first attempt 
 at a covered market — which had been erected 
 by a charitable townsman at his own expense 
 to protect ' these poor but industrious and 
 honest creatures from the fury of the elements/ 
 And so he went on, until he came to the new 
 market house, which he described from its very 
 inception to the weather vane on its top, and 
 wound up his narrative by observing, that ' over 
 the principal entrance is a handsome lantern 
 (by Messrs. Hodges and Podges, of this town), 
 placed there for the purpose of giving light.' 
 
 The bookseller declared that he was going to 
 be ruined, and offered to give Peter double the 
 lump sum he had at first asked, on condition
 
 204 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 that he should keep his ' copy ' within reasonable 
 bounds, an offer that the writer of ' Whitebrook 
 As It Is ' accepted with feigned reluctance but 
 inward rejoicing. 
 
 Peter's fame as a genealogist dated from the 
 time when he found a pedigree, a new name, 
 and a coat of arms for the Bellows family. Joe 
 Bellows, its founder, had started life in White- 
 brook as a working blacksmith and beershop 
 keeper. He was so illiterate that he could 
 hardly write his own name, yet so shrewd and 
 energetic withal that he won wide renown and 
 a large fortune as a maker of boilers and steam 
 engines. All that he knew of his ancestry was 
 that his father had been transported for life for 
 killing a fellow- workman in a drunken brawl ; 
 and when his two sons, to whose industry his 
 success was largely due, suggested that his new 
 carriage could not be considered complete with- 
 out a crest on the panels he had to be told what 
 a crest was. But he let the lads have their 
 way. 
 
 'It maks no difference to me,' said honest 
 Joe, * what mack ' (sort) ' of a pictur they 
 painten on th' panels/
 
 PEDIGREE PETER. 205 
 
 So Peter Wiswell, who had really a fair smat- 
 tering of heraldic and archaeologic lore, was 
 called into council, and speedily produced a 
 coat-ofarms and a crest which made a very 
 pretty show when emblazoned on the new 
 carriage. Nor was this all. Joe's children did 
 not like their name. It was bad that the father 
 was generally spoken of as Old Bellows (among 
 the hands in familiar converse this became ' Owd- 
 Bellies-to-Mend '), but what most hurt their 
 feelings was, that the family at large should al- 
 ways be designated as " them Bellowses.' This 
 grievance suggested to Peter one of his happiest 
 inspirations — rather, let us say, one of his most 
 remarkable discoveries. He found out that the 
 true, original name of the family was not 
 Bellows at all, but Bellasis. Bellows was a 
 modern corruption, a proposition which Peter 
 supported by documentary proof — extracts from 
 registers and so forth — and a pedigree that 
 carried conviction to the minds of the entire 
 family, except the head of it, who, when it was 
 proposed to change his name, swore with a big 
 oath that Joe Bellows he was born and Joe 
 Bellows he would die. But few men can with-
 
 206 RED RYVxNGTON. 
 
 stand the importunity of wife and children ; and 
 the old blacksmith and boiler-maker is described, 
 on the marble tablet which chronicles his virtues 
 and records his death, as ' Joseph Bellasis, Esq., 
 deputy lieutenant and justice of the peace of 
 this county,' and his grandchildren, if not his 
 children, are fully convinced that they come of 
 an aristocratic stock. 
 
 In short, Peter was a genius ; and, as may be 
 supposed, he had not much difficulty in pro- 
 viding Mr. Ryvington with a pedigree entirely 
 to his satisfaction. Knowing his man, he did 
 not hesitate to give him a very distinguished 
 ancestry indeed. Perhaps the only person at 
 Whitebrook who believed that the Ryvingtons 
 were akin to the royal house of Barbarossa was 
 the owner of Deepdene himself. 
 
 As for Wiswell, his celebrity as a genealogist 
 won for him the name of 'Pedigree Peter,' a 
 name which he retained to the day of his death.
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 "PvORA was as good as her word. The spring 
 *J following Randle's memorable excursion in 
 Switzerland, she returned from Nyon under the 
 escort of her brother, reaching Deepdene a few 
 days before Robert Ryvington's twenty-first 
 birthday, and in time to take part in the in- 
 formal council which was held to consider in 
 what manner the event should be celebrated. 
 
 'I am going to Redscar this afternoon, Dora,' 
 said Mr. Ryvington, as they were taking break- 
 fast together the morning after his daughter's 
 arrival ; - will you bear me company ? I daresay 
 your aunt would like to see you.' 
 
 4 Certainly, papa. It is my duty to see Aunt 
 Sophia, you know, and I think I should have 
 gone to Redscar to-day — at any rate, to-morrow
 
 208 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 — even if you had not been going. What is 
 going to be done about Bob's birthday 1 ?' 
 
 6 That is one of the things we have to talk 
 about. Your aunt hinted the other day that 
 they would like to have my advice, though Tarn 
 not sure that I shall give it.' 
 
 ' Why not, papa?' asked Dora, in a tone of 
 some surprise ; for she had observed that advice 
 was the only thing her father ever gave freely. 
 
 ' Well, you see, Dora, my authority as executor 
 ceases the day Robert is of age. He goes into 
 partnership with Randle, and henceforth they 
 conduct the concern on their own responsibility. 
 I shall have nothing more to do with it.' 
 
 ' But if they ask your advice, you know V 
 
 ' It is exactly what they have not done. Your 
 aunt has, but I have had to complain ever since 
 my brother's death of the little attention the 
 young men have paid to my wishes. I am only 
 afraid, now that they are their own masters, 
 they will make ducks and drakes of the property ; 
 and I should be sorry indeed if the concern were 
 to go down. But I fear it will ; I fear it will.' 
 
 'But I thought Randle was such a good 
 business man, papa. I have heard people say
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 209 
 
 that the Redscar mills are almost the best 
 managed in Whitebrook.' 
 
 < Who says so V 
 
 4 Why, did not that Mr. Riser who was here 
 last night say so V 
 
 ' Ah, yes, I remember. But he forgets that 
 Randle has never yet been left to himself. 
 Since his father's death he has always had me 
 to look after him ; and, though he has not ob- 
 served my advice as he ought to have done, my 
 position as executor has enabled me to veto 
 more than one questionable scheme. And he 
 has notions about treating the hands that will 
 never answer.' 
 
 'How, papa?' 
 
 1 Why, he thinks he can rule them by kind- 
 ness; but he'll find it out; they will let him see.' 
 
 'But is it not our duty as Christians, papa, to 
 treat everybody with kindness, whether they 
 are hands or not ? You know we are told to 
 love our neighbours as ourselves.' 
 
 1 Do you consider that our workpeople are 
 our neighbours, then V 
 
 'Cousin Randle's workpeople are his neigh- 
 bours at any rate, papa.' 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' You are much too literal, Dora,' rejoined her 
 father, tersely. ' Besides, girls do not under- 
 stand these things. When you are older, you 
 will think differently. But I must be going ; I 
 have an appointment with Riser at nine o'clock. 
 How that man has got on, to be sure ! I can 
 remember him being a weaver at Redscar, and 
 now he wants to take land for another loom 
 shed, and he has nearly one thousand looms 
 already.' 
 
 'Will Randle go with us to Redscar V asked 
 Dora, who did not seem greatly interested in 
 Mr. Riser and his looms. 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know. You can ask him 
 when he comes down to breakfast. I shall be 
 out all morning. We leave at two o'clock, 
 remember ; I have some matters of business to 
 arrange with my nephews.' 
 
 'Very well, papa. I will be ready.' 
 Half an hour after Mr. Ryvington's departure, 
 his son Randle sauntered languidly into the 
 morning-room, where the Ryvingtons generally 
 breakfasted when they were without guests. 
 
 ' How late you are, Randle !' said his sister. 
 4 It's past nine o'clock !'
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 211 
 
 * Nine o'clock ! Do you call that late ? I call 
 it early.' 
 
 ' It seems very late to rne. At Villa Artemisia 
 Ave breakfasted in summer at half-past six, and 
 in winter at seven o'clock.' 
 
 1 That is all very well for Swiss schoolgirls,' 
 yawned Deep Randle, as he drew a chair to the 
 table and cut himself a slice of ham, 'but you 
 won't persuade me to breakfast either at half- 
 past six or half-past seven, nor even half-past 
 eight. Pour me out a cup of tea, there's a good 
 girl. Where has the governor gone V 
 
 4 He's gone to see Mr. Riser about some 
 land.' 
 
 ' Glad to hear it. That means an addition to 
 the value of the estate. I hope my father will 
 make Mr. Riser pay a good price. I think he 
 will, for our revered parent is not easily beaten 
 at a bargain. What are you going to do with 
 yourself to-day, Dora V 
 
 c Papa and I are going to Redscar after lun- 
 cheon. Papa has something to arrange with 
 Randle and Bob, and I want to see Aunt Sophia. 
 Will you go with us, Ran V 
 
 'No, I don't think I shall.' 
 
 p2
 
 212 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 6 Why f I am sure Aunt Sophia and the cou- 
 sins would be glad to see you.' 
 
 c I am not. At least, so far as the cousins 
 are concerned, and Aunt Sophia wearies me 
 with her canting conversations.' 
 
 * Aunt Sophia never cants, Handle. She has 
 her faults, perhaps — who has not ? — but insin- 
 cerity is not one of them; and she is always 
 very kind.' 
 
 1 1 will say, then, by her frequent references 
 to religion, and the tacit assumption of infalli- 
 bility, which is the badge of that party in the 
 Church to which she belongs. She speaks of 
 me as worldly, I believe ; that means, I suppose, 
 that I am not, like herself, a self-elected saint. 
 At any rate, I am as saintly as either of her sons, 
 even as that paragon of perfection, my cousin 
 and namesake. Did you hear of that wonder- 
 ful exploit of his in Switzerland — the rescue of 
 Lord Lindisfarne's daughter, I mean V 
 
 ' Yes, I heard ; what then V replied Dora, 
 with a contemptuous curl of her lip. 
 
 * What then ! Why, it is all a cram, or at any 
 rate a gross exaggeration.' 
 
 'You don't mean what you say, Randle ; you
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 213 
 
 cannot mean it,' exclaimed Dora, passionately. 
 You know as well as I know that Randle 
 Ryvington of Redscar is utterly incapable of 
 telling a deliberate falsehood.' 
 
 ' Oh, we are indignant, are we !' said the 
 other, with a sneer. ' Well, since you put it in 
 that way, Dora, let me tell you that I don't 
 know that my cousin Randle — or anybody else, 
 for that matter— is utterly incapable of telling 
 a deliberate falsehood, if the inducement is suffi- 
 cient.' 
 
 ' Oh, Randle, if you talk like that,' rejoined 
 the girl, in a voice trembling with emotion, ' you 
 will make me almost dislike you. But you can- 
 not mean what you say. You are only trying 
 to tease me. Besides, I know that my cousin 
 did rescue Lady Muriel Avalon, when she was 
 run away with in the Furca Pass.' 
 
 ' How do you know ? Were you there V 
 
 'No, but I saw an account of it in the Gazette 
 de Lausanne.' 
 
 'I don't know anything about the Gazette de 
 Lausanne,' answered Deep Randle, whose scep- 
 ticism this statement seemed somewhat to 
 shake. ' But just tell me this. If my cousin
 
 214 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 really did what he says he did, he laid the 
 Lindisfarne family under a great obligation. 
 Yet they take not the slightest notice of him. 
 He said he was going to see them at Avalon 
 Priory, but he has never been, and, so far as I 
 know, has received no communication from 
 them. Is it credible that if he had rendered 
 them so important a service they would not 
 acknowledge it in some way V 
 
 ' The invitation never came, then V 
 ' Not it — shouldn't we all have known if it 
 had ? I have asked Randle two or three times 
 when he was going to Avalon Priory. The 
 last time I asked him he seemed rather waxy, 
 and wanted to know what business it was of 
 mine ; so, seeing the subject was a delicate one, 
 I just let it drop.' 
 
 c I don't wonder he was vexed. Such in- 
 gratitude would vex anybody, let alone your 
 sneers, and I daresay you did sneer,' exclaimed 
 Dora, with great warmth. 'But I don't care. 
 Randle did rescue Lady Muriel, and nearly lost 
 his life by trying to get up the body of the 
 governess from the place where it had fallen. 
 I am as sure of it as if I had been there myself;
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 215 
 
 and, after what be has done, the conduct of the 
 Lindisfarnes is simply disgraceful. If Handle 
 is vexed it is because of their ingratitude. As 
 for their invitation, I don't believe he cares for 
 it one bit. I don't believe, if it came now, he 
 would accept it.' 
 
 1 Xot care for an invitation from the Earl of 
 Lindisfarne V rejoined Handle, with a mocking 
 laugh. ' I pity your innocence, Dora. Why, it 
 is exactly what he does care for. He would 
 give his ears for an invitation.' 
 
 4 You would, I daresay. But I will talk no 
 more with you, Randle. I shall not be able to 
 keep my temper if I do. Do you want any 
 more tea ? I am going into the garden.' 
 
 ' No, I don't want any more tea. By all 
 means go into the garden if you want to go.' 
 
 ' If that young lady is not in love with her 
 cousin Handle,' muttered her brother, as the 
 door closed behind Dora, i the female mind is 
 an unfathomable mystery.' 
 
 They met a little later in the garden, as 
 Randle was returning from the stables, when 
 Dora again asked him to accompany her father 
 and herself to Redscar. He again declined, but
 
 2 It) RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 this time a little more graciously, adding that 
 as he was under a long-standing engagement 
 to be present at an agricultural show in the 
 neighbourhood he could not go if he would. 
 Dora had her doubts as to the entire accuracy 
 of this statement ; but it was so far satisfactory 
 that it might seem to account for her brother's 
 non-appearance at Redscar. 
 
 During the remainder of the morning Dora 
 thought of little else than her cousin and the 
 Lindisfarnes. Though since Handle's visit to 
 Nyon she had not once heard from him, she 
 never doubted that he had made the contem- 
 plated visit to Avalon Priory ; she had even 
 reproached him in her thoughts for his failure 
 to write to her as he had promised, a failure 
 which she was disposed to attribute to the 
 fascinations of Lady Muriel, with whom she 
 made up her mind that he had fallen in love. 
 The news that he had not been to Avalon 
 Priory at all was almost startling. This con- 
 tingency was one the possibility of which had 
 never occurred to her. Despite her brother's 
 assurance that Randle had received no com- 
 munication from Lord Lindisfarne since their
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER, 217 
 
 parting at Brigue, Dora finally came to the 
 conclusion that it was more probable he had 
 received and refused — for reasons best known 
 to himself — an invitation, than that he should 
 not have received one at all, a refusal with 
 which she had a vague suspicion that she her- 
 self might be not remotely connected. 
 
 This theory was, however, rather rudely 
 shaken by a conversation she had with her 
 father on their way to Redscar. She told him 
 what had passed between her brother and her- 
 self on the subject, and asked him what he 
 thought about it. 
 
 8 It's a very strange affair,' said Mr. Ryving- 
 ton. ■ T don't understand it at all.' 
 
 'But are you sure, papa, that Randle has 
 received no communication whatever from Lord 
 Lindisfarne V 
 
 i He says he has not.' 
 
 ' How long ago did he say so V 
 
 * I don't know exactly how long. Three or 
 four months, perhaps.' 
 
 'May he not have heard something since?' 
 
 1 He may, of course ; but, when I saw that 
 Randle did not like being questioned on the
 
 218 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 subject, I questioned him no more. He's rather 
 testy if you tread on his corns., my nephew is. 
 Still I don't think he has heard. If he had 
 received an invitation to Avalon Priory we 
 should all know, of course.' 
 
 ' But suppose the invitation was so long 
 delayed, or so coldly given, that Handle, feeling 
 hurt, declined it, and told nobody V 
 
 Mr. Ryvington, instead of replying, shrugged 
 his shoulders and smiled. No more than his 
 son could he believe in the possibility of any- 
 body refusing an invitation from an earl, 
 whether long delayed or coldly given. 
 
 * I know what you mean, papa, but I am sure 
 that Cousin Randle is quite capable of declining 
 an invitation from Lord Lindisfarne, or any 
 other lord. Bat you surely don't share in my 
 brother's opinion that Randle never met the 
 Lindisfarnes, and that it is all a made-up 
 story V 
 
 ' No,' said the old gentleman, reflectively. 
 ' It is queer, certainly — very queer ; but I don't 
 think that. As I have said before, though my 
 nephew Randle is not always as respectful as he 
 might be, he is, I believe, an honest man. At
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 219 
 
 any rate, he is not a fool, and I do not see 
 what he could hope to gain by inventing such 
 a story, and above all by saying that he was 
 going to Avalon Priory, if he had no ground to 
 go upon. Such a proceeding could only bring 
 upon him discredit and expose him to ridicule. 
 As it is, many people believe that it was a piece 
 of bounce — about the invitation, I mean.' 
 
 ' Did he tell many people, then V 
 
 ' No, I don't think he did ; but these things 
 get out, you know. Your brother mentioned it 
 to the Stalmines and one or two others — that is 
 what makes him so sore ; and, for my own part, 
 I did not think it my duty to make a secret of 
 it, you know. I did not see the necessity. 
 Altogether, it has been a very annoying piece 
 of business for us all.' 
 
 Mr. Ryvington judiciously omitted to mention 
 that both he and his son had told pretty nearly 
 everybody they knew of Red Ran die's exploit 
 in the Furca Pass, and of his expected visit to 
 Avalon Priory. They had even gone so far as 
 to hint that Lord Lindisfarne was expected at 
 Whitebrook in the course of the winter, and 
 that Mr. Ryvington, as head of the family,
 
 220 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 would give a grand dinner in his honour at 
 Deepdene, to which all the gentry of the neigh- 
 bourhood were to be invited. 
 
 f Iara glad, however, papa, that you do not 
 think, with my brother, that Handle has been 
 deliberately deceiving us.' 
 
 ' No. I don't think so,' replied Mr. Ryvington, 
 but rather less confidently than before, for the 
 conversation had revived the bitterness of 
 his disappointment about the dinner party, on 
 which he had counted to launch himself, once 
 for all, into county society. ' But I do not 
 think that the matter requires explanation. 
 Either the Earl of Lindisfarne said he would 
 have my nephew at Avalon Priory or he did 
 not. If he did say so, why has the invitation 
 never come? The supposition that his lord- 
 ship has failed in his promise is not admissi- 
 ble, for noblemen of his rank are always as 
 good as their word. Noblesse oblige, you 
 know. At the same time, I should be sorry 
 to think that my nephew, for some incompre- 
 hensible reason ' 
 
 ' Your nephew is quite incapable of doing 
 anything dishonourable,' interrupted Dora,
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 221 
 
 impetuously. ' 1 know very little about uoble- 
 meu and their ways, but I do know Cousin 
 Ran die ; and I would rather take his word than 
 that of any duke or earl or baron in the king- 
 dom. In my opinion, Lord Lindisfarne and his 
 wife, and his daughter, whose life my cousin 
 saved, are ungrateful wretches. Their treat- 
 ment of him is disgraceful ; they may be noble, 
 but they are not gentle. The acquaintance of 
 such people is no honour ; I would rather asso- 
 ciate with honest factory folks.' 
 
 1 Dora, Dora, what are you saying V exclaimed 
 her father, almost breathless with astonishment 
 at the vehemence of his daughter's language. 
 f Never let me hear you utter such sentiments 
 again. They are low, they are radical, they 
 are unladylike, they are — in fact they are bad 
 form in every way. I do hope they have not 
 turned you into a nihilist, or a republican, or 
 something equally dreadful, at Villa Artemisia. 
 If I thought so, I do believe ' 
 
 Mr. Ryvington's belief in the matter was 
 destined never to be known, for the suggestion 
 that she could possibly have learnt anything- 
 politically heterodox from Mademoiselle Vieu-
 
 222 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 temps tickled Dora so much that she interrupted 
 her father with a merry laugh. 
 
 'Why, don't you know, papa dear, that 
 mademoiselle is far more conservative than you 
 are yourself? She adores the memories of 
 Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette, hates all 
 republics with undying hatred, and would 
 rather have a rattlesnake in her house than a 
 radical. Oh, Mademoiselle Vieutemps is the 
 most correct person in the world, I do assure 
 you.' 
 
 ' I am very glad to hear it ; but where have 
 you got your ideas, then? I am sure you did 
 not get them at Deepdene.' 
 
 4 1 do not think I did,' replied Dora, with a 
 look which, if her father's quickness of appre- 
 hension had been on a par with his sharpness at 
 making a bargain, he would have understood to 
 imply that, in her opinion, Deepdene was not a 
 place especially rich in ideas. 
 
 ' Well, then, I hope you will get rid of them 
 at Deepdene ; for they are not ideas that I like 
 my daughter to hold. But here we are at Red- 
 scar. Driffield will drive you up to the house. 
 I will get out here and walk down to the mill, 
 where I have to meet my nephews.'
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A PEACE-OFFERING. 
 
 YT7HEN Mr. Ryvington joined his daughter 
 " " at Redscar House he was in high good 
 humour. His nephews had presented him with 
 a handsome chronometer repeater, striking the 
 hours and quarters, furnished with a perpetual 
 calendar, and emblazoned with the Ryvington 
 arms. They offered it to him, Randle said, as 
 a token of their respect, and in acknowledg- 
 ment of his services as executor during Robert's 
 minority. The old gentleman was lifted into 
 the seventh heaven of delight, and expressed 
 his thoughts in a long, but slightly incoherent 
 speech ; and when he showed the watch to 
 Dora it was easy to see, by her kindling eye 
 and the increased animation of her counten- 
 ance, that she, too, was deeply gratified.
 
 224 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 In answer to an inquiry from herself and 
 her father, Handle said that he had ordered the 
 watch at Geneva, but that watches with highly 
 complicated movements are only cased, finished, 
 and regulated in that city, the mechanism being 
 made in the valley of Joux, near the lake of 
 that name, in the Vaudois Jura. He further 
 told them that, albeit that Genevan and other 
 watchmakers sell timekeepers of complex con- 
 struction as entirely their own manufacture, 
 they are an exclusive speciality of the Joux 
 Valley, the horologists of no other locality, in 
 Switzerland or out of it, being able to make 
 these movements, or at any rate to make their 
 production a commercial success. 
 
 1 Well, I suppose there are tricks in all trades, 
 and you were always clever at rooting things 
 out, Handle/ said Mr. Ryvington, whose pre- 
 sent disposed him to be complimentary. ' I 
 have heard your poor father say it of you many 
 a time, and I have perceived it myself. It is 
 an excellent quality in a business man, that 
 power of rooting things out — getting to the 
 bottom of 'em, eh, Bob? I was good at rooting 
 things out myself when I was a young fellow.
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 225 
 
 They could not palm much false-packed cotton 
 on me, those Liverpool fellows. I always took 
 the cotton buying when I was in the concern, 
 you know. Well, about this watch, you know ' 
 (regarding it complacently), f as I told you 
 down at the counting-house, I shall prize it and 
 wear it as long as I live. I consider it my duty 
 to do so, and after my death I shall give it — I 
 mean before my death I shall transmit it as an 
 heirloom to my son, to remain in the family as 
 — as — yes, as an everlasting memorial of this 
 day — of Bob's twenty-first birthday, I mean.' 
 
 Mrs. ftyvington gave her sons a significant 
 glance, which they both rightly interpreted as 
 meaning ' I told you so.' The idea of the pres- 
 ent had, in fact, originated with her, and been 
 carried out almost at her sole instance, for 
 Handle did not regard the project with much 
 favour, and Robert had vigorously opposed it. 
 
 1 We owe Uncle Ran die no gratitude,' he had 
 said, ■ and I will be no party in making him a 
 present.' 
 
 Randle knew his mother's motive. The 
 relations between the two families had become 
 unpleasantly strained, and in the interest of 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 peace and goodwill she was desirous to mark 
 the occasion of Robert's majority by strength- 
 ening the fast-weakening ties which had for- 
 merly united Deepdene and Redscar. She 
 had also another and less disinterested mo- 
 tive ; for, whatever might be the case with the 
 elect, Mrs. Ryvington in her dealings with 
 the world showed much more of the cunning 
 of the serpent than the meekness of the dove. 
 She feared that a feud between Redscar and 
 Deepdene might militate against the interests of 
 her sons. She could not foresee exactly how, 
 but she had a very strong presentiment to that 
 effect ; and on general grounds she was of 
 opinion — an opinion which she strove very 
 earnestly to impress on Randle and Robert — 
 that young people, at the outset of life, should 
 spare no pains to make friends ; and that, see- 
 ing the wealth and the influence of their uncle, 
 it was well worth their while (worldly speak- 
 ing) to be on good terms with him. In the 
 end she had her way, and the watch was 
 bought, although neither Randle nor Robert 
 was quite convinced that the gift would have 
 all the effect she anticipated from it.
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 227 
 
 1 It may please ray uncle, though I am not 
 quite sure even about that,' said Handle ; ' but 
 it will not propitiate my cousin. He is no friend 
 of ours, and never will be, do what we may. 
 However, let it be as you say, mother. It is 
 well to try to promote goodwill, even if we 
 have little hope of success.' 
 
 The mention of Bob's birthday by Mr. Ryving- 
 ton suggested the question as to how it should 
 be kept. 
 
 'Robert wants to give a dinner party and a 
 dance,' observed Mrs. Ryvington, in a tone as 
 serious as if she were discussing the day of 
 judgment ; ' but a dinner party would give a 
 vast deal of trouble, and dancing, I am afraid, 
 is very worldly. Besides, it is hardly two 
 years since his father died, and it might be 
 thought we were not paying proper respect to 
 his memory. No, I do not think I should like 
 to have a dauce in the house.' 
 
 Bob, to whom these arguments did not alto- 
 gether commend themselves, was on the point 
 of asking his mother if she objected to a dance 
 out of the house, when he was anticipated by 
 Dora. 
 
 Q2
 
 228 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Well, then,' she said, ' suppose we have a 
 picnic, aunt. Take some carriages, start early 
 in the morning, and have a long day in the 
 country/ 
 
 6 Capital/ exclaimed Bob, who at length saw 
 his way to the much-longed-for dance ; ' I beg 
 leave to second that motion.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Mrs. Byvington, who felt that 
 Dora's plan would remove a great weight from 
 her mind, for there was nothing she more dis- 
 liked than such a disturbance of the regularity 
 of her household arrangements as the giving of 
 a party would have entailed. ' I think that 
 would be very nice. What do you think, 
 Handle?' (to her brother-in-law). 
 
 ' I quite agree with you, Sophia ; nothing 
 could be nicer. But, look here, why not have 
 your picnic at Deepdene ? We have plenty of 
 room in the park, and we will have dinner or 
 tea, or something, out in the open, under the 
 trees. Yes, by all means come to Deepdene. 
 And then after sunset, you know, we could 
 light up the terrace and the garden with 
 Chinese lanterns.' 
 
 ' That would be very, very nice, papa, but I
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 229 
 
 do not think it is exactly what we want. We 
 want a long drive in the country; the drive 
 would be the best part of it. Don't you think 
 so, Bob? It has to be your entertainment, you 
 know. I am only suggesting.' 
 
 * You express my opinion exactly, Dora — the 
 drive, by all means. At the same time we are 
 very much obliged to Uncle Handle for the 
 offer.' 
 
 f Yes, it is very kind of papa ; but we mean 
 to have a fete cliampetre at Deepdene all the 
 same, although not on Bob's birthday. But I 
 don't believe in eating on the grass — there are 
 always nasty earwigs and ants and things 
 about.' 
 
 ' Well, everything considered, I prefer sitting 
 on a chair myself,' observed Bob, sententiously. 
 ' Could we not regale ourselves in some country 
 inn and ' 
 
 ' And get up a dance,' he was going to say, 
 but fearing some objection from his mother he 
 prudently checked himself in time. 
 
 ' An excellent idea, Bob,' rejoined Dora, ' 1 
 vote for the country inn. Don't you think so, 
 Cousin Handle?'
 
 230 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' It's Bob's birthday we are going to keep, 
 you know, and whatever pleases you and him 
 will please me. Yes, let us have the drive and 
 the country inn, by all means.' 
 
 Thereupon followed an animated conversation 
 as to the direction they should take, and it was 
 finally decided to drive to Salley Abbey, and 
 after a ramble by the Ribble to hold their revels 
 in the inn at Chat burn. 
 
 All the available vehicles of the two families 
 were to be placed in requisition, and if those 
 did not suffice additional carriages were to be 
 hired at ^Yhitebrook. 
 
 ' You will come, of course, uncle V said 
 Eandle. 
 
 4 Certainly,' answered Mr. Ryvington, as he 
 trifled with the chain of his new repeater. ' It 
 will be a great pleasure, and even if it were 
 not a pleasure it would be my duty to be 
 present on the occasion. We old folks — your 
 mother and I, you know — and my sister will all 
 go together in our pony phaeton.' 
 
 ' No, Handle, you must let me stay at home/ 
 said Mrs. Ryvington, as she laboriously rubbed 
 her spectacles with her pocket-handkerchief.
 
 A PEACE OFFERFX - . 2 3 1 
 
 'Handle and Robert will both be away, and 
 there is no telling what might happen. I shall 
 be quite happy here, th i . g 1 1 w y a r e a 1 1 
 er;;yi:;g yourselves.' 
 
 'Bother.'" exclaimed Bob. 'How can any- 
 thing happen? It won't be the firat time the 
 place has been left to itself for a lay." 
 
 •Is: -.1 am sure I should 
 
 ' Oh, but we cannot do without you, aunt,' 
 
 put in Dora. 
 
 • Y illy must go with us, Sophia." observ- 
 ed Mr. Rwin^ton. *I consider it is nothing 
 less than your duty to g:.' 
 
 'I think you had better make one of us. 
 
 moth-io* said Handle, quietly, putting his hand 
 
 on hers : ' you know Bob will never be tweiity- 
 
 again. This is the last coming of age we 
 
 shall have tc celebrate.' 
 
 Thus pressed Mrs. Ryvington was censtrain- 
 ;.I to yi:l.h ;/.!.:: :. : who. v.t a long-drawn 
 sigh and a deprecatory shake f the head, as it 
 to signify that she was .tf the same opinion still 
 and yielded only to overwhelming force. 
 
 • You made a mistake just now, Cousin Ran-
 
 232 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 die,' remarked Dora, when this knotty point 
 had been settled. 'Bob's coming of age is not 
 the last we shall have to celebrate, unless in- 
 deed you count on my never being twenty- 
 one. Be good enough to remember that even 
 now I am in my twentieth year.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon very much, Dora,' laugh- 
 ed Eandle. ' I meant our family, of course. I 
 hope we shall live to celebrate your "majority in 
 a manner becoming the occasion.' 
 
 i Please God, we may,' sighed Mrs. Ry ving- 
 ton, who was feeling decidedly unhappy at the 
 idea of the house and the mills being deserted 
 by every member of the family for a whole day. 
 'But there is no telling what may happen. 
 We know not what a day may bring forth, 
 and your uncle and I are getting into years ; 
 maybe ' 
 
 ' You forget that other text, mother,' inter- 
 posed Handle, who could see that her last re- 
 mark was not at all to his uncle's liking. 
 " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." We 
 have now to decide how many we shall ask, and 
 whom.' 
 
 ' All right,' said Bob, 'and then we shall be
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 233 
 
 able to organise the transport and commissariat 
 departments. We shall ask the Bellasis, don't 
 you think V 
 
 ' I suppose so,' replied Randle, though with 
 a shade of hesitation in his voice. ' They are 
 rather stuck up and give themselves airs, it is 
 true; but we are on friendly terms with them, 
 and they are likely to take it amiss if we don't 
 ask them.' 
 
 ' Yes, you had better ask them,' observed Mr. 
 Ry vington, gravely. ' They are doing a splen- 
 did business, I am told, and I know they are 
 rich. Old Joe left those lads very well off, and 
 they know how to take care of it ' (their for- 
 tune, Mr. Ryvington probably meant). 
 
 'Yes,' said Handle, 'he left his two sons 
 more than £100,000, and his daughter only 
 £15,0C0. I don't think that right.' 
 
 ' I differ from you there, Randle,' said his 
 uncle. 'I look upon £15,000 as being a very 
 handsome fortune for a girl.' 
 
 ' She was just as much Joe Bellasis's child as 
 William or Henry, and she ought to have been 
 left equal with them. Besides, they have the 
 business, which is a fortune in itself.'
 
 234 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Anyhow,' interposed Bob, rather irrelevant- 
 ly, and perhaps somewhat more emphatically 
 than the occasion required, ; Flora Bellasis is a 
 deuced fine girl.' 
 
 'Robert!' exclaimed his mother, in a tone ot 
 horror, 'what are you saying?' The poor lady 
 entertained a shrewd suspicion that her second 
 son had a weakness for the sex which might 
 some day lead to unpleasant results, and she 
 feared that the admiration he expressed for 
 Miss Bellasis pointed to a possibility that she 
 would have strongly deprecated ; for, c fine ' as 
 the young lady in question undoubtedly was, 
 Mrs. Ryvington did not look upon her as an 
 eligible daughter-in-law. 
 
 4 1 don't care what you say, mother,' returned 
 Bob, rather sulkily, for he thought it was high 
 time she ceased to treat him as a child, ' she is 
 a fine girl.' 
 
 e And a haughty and a proud one/ said Mrs. 
 Ryvington. ' She is not a girl I admire. 
 " Handsome is that handsome does." ' 
 
 ' Do you know what the hands say about 
 the Bellasis V asked Handle, by way of putting 
 a stop to this altercation.
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 235 
 
 ' No, what do they say V 
 
 • That old Joe was a rough casting, and his 
 children want to pass themselves off as fine 
 gold.' 
 
 4 Ah, ah/ laughed Mr. Ryvington, l not bad, 
 not at all bad. But it serves them right. What 
 business have they to pretend to have a high 
 pedigree, and try to persuade people that they 
 come of an old stock? Very high, indeed, I 
 should think. Why, old Joe's father was 
 hanged for sheep-stealing, wasn't he if 
 
 ' 1 believe there is a tradition of that sort,' 
 said Ran die, * but I rather think it was a case 
 of manslaughter and transportation beyond the 
 seas ; and maybe, after all, the story is a pure 
 invention. However, it is no business of ours. 
 The only fault I find with the Bellasis is their 
 trying to ignore that which constitutes their 
 chief, if not their only, claim to distinction and 
 respect — the lowness of their origin. It is 
 surely not less honourable to have for fore- 
 fathers men who have won their bread by the 
 work of their hands than to belong to a family 
 that has lived for generations on the labour of 
 others. Will the time ever come, I wonder — '
 
 236 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Don't you think it would be well to settle 
 about the invitations, Randle '? Perhaps there 
 is somebody you might like to ask,' put in Mrs. 
 Ryvington, who was apprehensive that if her 
 son went on he might say something that 
 would give his ■ uncle as much offence as the 
 repeater had given him pleasure, and so mar 
 all the good effect she anticipated from a pres- 
 ent which she regarded both as an investment 
 and a peace-offering. 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Randle, gravely, but inward- 
 ly amused at this display of his mother's 
 anxious watchfulness. 4 Is there anybody in 
 particular you would like us to ask, uncle V 
 
 ' No, I don't think there is. It is Robert's* 
 party, you kuow. Had you not better leave 
 the invitations to him V 
 
 4 In cousultation with Dora,' suggested Bob, 
 with a smile. ' It is too big a job for me to 
 tackle alone, I think.' 
 
 ' Agreed,' said Randle. ' You and Dora form 
 the invitation and organisation committee. 
 Are you willing, Dora V 
 
 ' I shall be delighted, Cousin Randle, to give 
 Bob every help in my power, and all the benefit
 
 A PEACE OFFERING. 237 
 
 of my experience,' answered Dora, with mock 
 seriousness. 
 
 1 1 am sure we are greatly indebted to you, 
 Miss Ryvington,' returned her cousin, gravely. 
 ' And now, I think, we may consider this meet- 
 ing adjourned until the day on which Bob 
 becomes a man.'
 
 238 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 BOB S BIRTHDAY. 
 
 rpHE sun rose auspiciously on Robert Ryving- 
 -*• ton's birthday, and the promise it gave of 
 brilliant weather was justified by the event. 
 The guests numbered more than a score, with- 
 out reckoning the people from Deepdene and 
 Redscar. The first vehicle to leave was a large 
 waggonette, drawn by four horses, in which 
 rode Robert and most of the maiden and bach- 
 elor members of the party. The rear was 
 brought up by carriages which were chiefly 
 affected by the married and middle-aged. 
 Ran die Ryvington of Deepdene, who looked 
 upon the whole proceeding as being somewhat 
 beneath him, and accepted his cousin's invita- 
 tion only out of deference to the paternal wish, 
 had chosen to drive his own drag, and was
 
 bob's birthday. 239 
 
 accompanied by his particular friends, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Tom Cliviger. Not caring to be publicly 
 identified with what he rather scornfully de- 
 scribed to the lady and gentlemau aforesaid as a 
 juvenile picnic, he did not leave Deepdene until 
 the others were well on the road. 
 
 In the waggonette that led the van there 
 rode, besides Robert and Handle, Dora, Miss 
 Flora Bellasis, her brother William, and five or 
 six others. 
 
 Flora fully answered to Bob's description of 
 her as a fine girl. Though rather tall, she was 
 exceedingly well proportioned, and her dark 
 hair and eyebrows, brilliant complexion, and 
 regular, if somewhat too heavy, features would 
 almost have rendered her worthy to be called 
 beautiful if she had not posed as a beauty, and 
 sought by every petty artifice of which she was 
 mistress to call attention to her charms. Al- 
 though the criticism she thus challenged was 
 not always favourable to her claims, she had 
 many admirers among the young men of White- 
 brook ; but the one she most desired to capti- 
 vate, Red Ryvington, had hitherto shown an 
 insensibility to her attractions as provoking as
 
 240 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 it was incomprehensible. As for Bob, she 
 looked upon him as a boy ; but as it was easy to 
 see that he admired her, a sentiment that, with 
 time, might not improbably develop into some- 
 thing warmer, she judiciously decided to give 
 the young fellow a little encouragement, to 
 keep him in hand, as it were, so that, if the 
 elder brother should fail her, there might be 
 somebody else to fall back upon. It must not, 
 however, be supposed that Miss Bellasis was a 
 mere man-hunter, for, as she one day confided 
 to her friend, Mrs. Tom Cliviger, she could 
 have had half-a-dozen offers any day by lifting 
 up her little finger. But she fully believed in 
 the Bellasis pedigree, and had made up her 
 mind that the Ryvington family was the only 
 family in Whitebrook into which it would not 
 be beneath her to marry. 
 
 William Bellasis was a gay young bachelor of 
 forty, heavy as to build and stolid as to coun- 
 tenance. The greatest of his minor troubles 
 was the bigness of his hands, a peculiarity 
 which he probably inherited from his iron- 
 working ancestors, and which he sought to 
 minimise by wearing the tightest-fitting gloves
 
 bob's birthday. 241 
 
 he could thrust his fingers into. He affected, 
 moreover, an airiness of attire, particularly in 
 the matter of neckties, which were often of 
 gorgeous hue, that, together with a habit he 
 had of sporting a bright flower in his button- 
 hole, had procured for him among the White- 
 brook people the name of ' Blooming Bill.' 
 
 Notwithstanding his foibles, William Bellasis 
 was an acute man of business and a shrewd 
 politician. He was chairman of the Whitebrook 
 Conservative Committee, and his powers of 
 organisation were highly thought of by his party. 
 
 Whitebrook men never come together, how- 
 ever sad, solemn, or festive may be the occasion 
 of their meeting, without talking shop, and the 
 wagonette was hardly under way when Bloom- 
 ing Bill introduced the topic that was ever 
 uppermost in his mind by asking Handle if he 
 had anything fresh in business. Randle an- 
 swered in the negative, and gave his gossip the 
 opening he desired by inquiring in turn if 
 he had anything new. 
 
 4 Only that there's trouble brewing among 
 the hands,' said the other, ' they're getting con- 
 foundedly uppish, that's what they are. I've 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 just bad a rumpus with our chaps, aud had to 
 give in too.' 
 
 'Indeed ! How was that?' 
 
 4 Well, you see, we've got some rather good 
 contracts lately . We've one for ten locomo- 
 tives from Australia ; we are making a pair of 
 fifties for Riser's new factory, and we are fit- 
 ting the Blackmoor colliery up with new 
 engines and pumping gear. One way and 
 another we've jobs on hand that will keep us 
 busy for six or eight months. Well, the beg- 
 gars got wind of this, and last Saturday they 
 sent a deputation to my brother and me to say 
 that if we did not give them an advance of 
 five per cent, all round they'd knock off work. 
 I told them at first to go to the devil, but 
 when we came to talk it over it was plain to 
 see that there was nothing for it but submission. 
 We could not afford a turn-out — that's the 
 plain truth — so we just gave them what they 
 asked for. But it was a very unfair thing to 
 do, and I shall not soon forget it. If hands 
 take advantage that way, it will be impossible 
 soon to do any business at all.' 
 
 'Upon my word, Bellasis,' said Randle, 'I
 
 bob's birthday. 243 
 
 don't see that you have much cause for com- 
 plaint. You got off very cheaply : the men 
 might have asked ten per cent., you know.' 
 
 4 What, Mr. Ryvington ! You, an employer 
 of labour, think that hands are justified in 
 taking advantage of their masters being under 
 contract?' 
 
 * Why not V 
 
 It was clear from the bewilderment express- 
 ed in Mr. Bellasis's countenance that this ques- 
 tion had never before either occurred or been 
 put to him. In disputes between masters and 
 men he always assumed that the masters were 
 in the right, or, conversely, that the hands 
 were in the wrong, and he had not believed it 
 possible that there could be any difference of 
 opinion as to the recent conduct of his own 
 workpeople. Nevertheless, beiug somewhat 
 slow of utterance, and not very quick of thought, 
 he did not find it very easy to answer Handle's 
 question. 
 
 4 Because,' he said, after a rather long pause, 
 ' it is not right. I mean it is not right to take 
 an unfair advantage.' 
 
 * There I quite agree with you. But I don't 
 
 R2
 
 244 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 see that your men were taking an unfair ad- 
 vantage. Political economists are never tired 
 of telling us that labour is a commodity, the 
 price of which is regulated by supply and 
 demand, and the cost of living. Hence your 
 men, having something to sell — to wit, their 
 labour — have the same right to sell it to the 
 best advantage, as you have to sell your 
 engines for the utmost you can obtain. You 
 have pressing need of their services for the 
 next few months, and they, in the exercise of 
 their strict right, profit by the circumstance to 
 demand a higher price for their labour.' 
 
 ' That is all very well, Ryvington, as to 
 theory ; but come to practice. How can I ever 
 take a contract again if I know that the day it 
 comes to their knowledge the beggars will be 
 down on me for a riseT 
 
 ' How do you secure yourself against a rise in 
 the price of iron when you make a contract for 
 engines V 
 
 ' By making a contract for iron at the lowest 
 prices of the day.' 
 
 ' Why not adopt a similar course with your
 
 bob's birthday. 245 
 
 ' Why, if I did that I should never be able to 
 take a contract without asking their leave. Nay, 
 by Jingo !' 
 
 'You may call it asking their leave if you 
 like. I should call it making a bargain. It 
 seems to me a very easy matter to call your 
 people together, tell them you are tendering for 
 some large contracts, and inquire if, in the event 
 of your obtaining them, they will agree to work 
 until their completion at whatever wages you 
 ■can afford to give them.' 
 
 'Nay, by Jingo, we have not come to that 
 yet. I'd rather take my chance.' 
 
 'Very good. But then you must not com- 
 plain if your men, knowing that you are busy, 
 and have need of them, profit by the oppor- 
 tunity to ask a higher price for their services.' 
 
 4 It is all very fine talking, Kyvington,'* re- 
 plied Blooming Bill, whose strong point was not 
 readiness of reply, ' but just wait a bit until the 
 shoe pinches you, and then we shall hear what 
 you will say. And it will pinch you, take my 
 word for it, and soon. There's going to be a 
 big turnout at Eibbleton, and the factory hands 
 at Whitebrook are deuced fractious ; at any
 
 24G RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 rate, they are at our Nova Zembla mill/ 
 
 'Yes, I have heard there is trouble brewing at 
 Ribbleton, but I fancy we shall escape it at Red- 
 scar. We hardly consider ourselves as belonging 
 to Whitebrook, you know. But it is not wise 
 to meet troubles half-way ; sufficient for the day 
 is the evil thereof.' 
 
 ' Come, now, I like that, Randle,' put in Bob, 
 with a serio-comic air. ' " Sufficient for the day 
 is the evil thereof" — the day being my birthday. 
 I suppose you and Mr. Bellasis consider the 
 whole thing a bore. A nice compliment to the 
 ladies, 'pon my word. Did you hear what my 
 brother was saying just now, Miss Bellasis? 
 " Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." A 
 pleasant sentiment for a fellow to hear the day 
 he comes of age, isn't it V 
 
 ' We were not talking about you, Bob ; we 
 were discussing business,' replied Randle, with a 
 smile. 
 
 4 That I can well believe,' said Miss Bellasis, 
 sarcastically, as she adjusted one of her bracelets 
 on her shapely arm ; ' my brother talks business 
 everywhere, in season and out of season. It is 
 business at our house morning, noon, and night.
 
 bob's birthday. 247 
 
 I wish with all my heart there was no business. 
 You are very fortunate, Miss Ryvington' 
 (turning to Dora), ' in not having any brothers 
 in business.' 
 
 1 1 am not very sure about that,' returned 
 Dora. ' T rather think my brother finds having 
 nothing to do hard work sometimes. Depend 
 upon it, Miss Bellasis, if your brothers were out 
 of business, and did not take to some other 
 occupation, you would have far more cause for 
 complaint than you have now.' 
 
 ' You are of my opinion, I can see, Miss Ry- 
 vington — that every man ought to have some 
 occupation,' observed Bellasis. 
 
 'A hobby sometimes answers as well/ said 
 Randle. 
 
 ' Exactly, because it provides a man with oc- 
 cupation. And, as for business, I daresay we 
 do become too much absorbed in it sometimes. 
 And my brother and I have often matters to 
 talk over at home that we have not time to 
 talk over at the works. But you should not say 
 anything against business, Flora. It has made 
 us what we are.' 
 
 1 It has helped to retrieve the family fortunes,
 
 248 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 I know,' said the young lady, proudly ; ' but the 
 Bellasis were not always in trade, as I daresay 
 you are aware, Miss Byvington. If Bertram 
 Bellasis of Bowland had not joined Prince 
 Charlie in 1745, and lost all his property, my 
 brothers would not be making engines and boil- 
 ers at Whitebrook now.' 
 
 6 Well, I am sure we are all greatly indebted 
 to Bertram Bellasis of Bowland,' said Bob, 
 gravely. ' You see but for him we should not 
 have had the pleasure of your acquaintance, 
 nor of your company to-day. Your misfortune 
 has been our gain, Miss Bellasis.' 
 
 ' It is really very kind of you to say so, I am 
 sure,' returned Flora, with a gratified smile. 
 i Still, you know, I cannot help feeling sorry 
 that our ancestor was so unfortunate. But it is 
 some little consolation to know that he did not 
 lose his estates by gambling or speculation, or 
 anything of that sort, but by his devotion to a 
 great cause. How many acres were forfeited to 
 the Crown, William V 
 
 ' I do not just remember — several thousands, 
 I think,' answered William, with a large vague- 
 ness becoming the subject and the occasion ;
 
 bob's birthday. 249 
 
 and there flitted across his face the suspicion of 
 a smile, which suggested to Robert Ryvington, 
 who was rather quick at drawing inferences, 
 the idea that Flora's implicit faith in Peter 
 Wiswell's version of the family history might 
 possibly not be quite so implicitly shared by 
 her brother. 
 
 ' He must have had a fine property, this 
 Bertram Bellasis ; and it was in a fine country 
 too. Whereabouts in Bowland was it, did you 
 say V asked Bob, with an appearance of great 
 interest. 
 
 4 Well, you know,' said Blooming Bill, ' on 
 that point the family history is just a little 
 obscure — some of the records lost and that, you 
 know. But I don't think the property was 
 exactly in a ring fence. There w T ere several 
 estates, in different parts of the West Riding, 
 and some in Lancashire. This Bertram Bellasis 
 my sister has been speaking of lived in the 
 neighbourhood of Bolton, I believe ; that is 
 where my father came from. The house he 
 lived in was burnt down ages ago. But it is 
 really too bad to inflict all these details upon 
 you. You must find them very tiresome.'
 
 250 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Not at all; I find tbeni very interesting, I 
 assure yon. I think the history of old families 
 is one of the most fascinating of studies. You 
 have, of course, paid many visits to the cradle 
 of your race, Miss Bellasisf 
 
 'I am ashamed to say I have never been 
 there once, Mr. Robert. I have often asked my 
 brothers to take me, but they are always too 
 busy ; and then, until just lately, I have been 
 almost always at school/ 
 
 ' Well, then I will tell you what we will do,' 
 said Bob, with the eagerness of a man who con- 
 ceives a brilliant idea. ' You must see Bolton, 
 you know. It is not far from Chatburn ; we 
 are well before the others ; we have four good 
 horses ; we will drive to Bolton, take a look at 
 the church, perhaps stroll a few minutes in the 
 park, and get back in time for the banquet. 
 What do you say V 
 
 ' Thank you very much, Mr. Robert/ exclaim- 
 ed the young lady, whom the proposition seemed 
 greatly to delight. ' It will be so awfully nice 
 — don't you think so, William? I want so 
 much to see Bolton.' 
 
 1 What's that you were saying about a
 
 bob's birthday. 251 
 
 banquet, Mr. Robert?' asked William, ignoring 
 his sister's question, from which Bob rightly 
 inferred that he did not much care about going 
 to Bolton. 
 
 1 Oh,' said Bob, carelessly, ' I call it a banquet 
 because I do not know what else to call it. 
 Three o'clock — that is the time fixed, you know 
 — is either too early or too late for dinner, and 
 the wrong time for luncheon. It seemed to 
 require a name out of the common, so I called 
 it a banquet. Perhaps, though, banquet sounds 
 rather too swell, but I don't know any better 
 word.' 
 
 'Refection,' suggested Dora. 
 
 ' Yes, refection is, perhaps, better ; but if we 
 could find a word between refection and ban- 
 quet it would be better still. Can you, Dora V 
 
 Dora had to admit that she could think of no 
 middle term between refection, which signifies 
 a light meal, and banquet, which signifies a 
 rich repast. 
 
 1 Well, never mind,' Bob went on ; ' we will 
 call it refection, then. It will not be grand and 
 rich, but good and substantial, as becomes a 
 country inn. Now look here, this is the pro-
 
 252 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 gramme. After the refection we — that is, 
 those of us that are so disposed — inspect the 
 ruins of the abbey or wander by the banks ot 
 the Ribble for an hour or two. Then we return 
 to the inn and have some music, and perhaps 
 a little dancing in the cool of the evening, and 
 drive home by moonlight.' 
 
 ■ Oh, how nice !' exclaimed several young 
 ladies in chorus. ' But where will the music 
 come from V 
 
 ' That is all in perfect order/ answered Bob, 
 with business-like precision. ' I have arranged 
 everything. There is a very fair piano at the 
 inn, which I have had tuned expressly for the 
 occasion. A musician is coming from White- 
 brook to work it. He brings with him a clever 
 lady harpist and her harp, and a blind man who 
 plays divinely on the harmonium.' 
 
 ' Oh, how awfully nice !' exclaimed the chorus 
 of young ladies.
 
 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 MISS BELLASIS HEARS SOMETHING ABOUT HER 
 ANCESTORS. 
 
 ' T OOK there, Dora,' exclaimed Randle, as the 
 ■*-• party in the wagonette sighted S alley. 
 1 See the bright river winding past the ivy-clad, 
 weird-looking ruins of the old abbey — the green 
 pastures and yellow corn-fields, with the back- 
 ground of dark wood towards Bolton Hall. Is 
 it not as beautiful as anything ever seen in 
 Switzerland? And those whitewashed cot- 
 tages, are they not as picturesque as Swiss 
 chalets V 
 
 'At any rate they suit the landscape better, 
 and they have the quality of cleanness, which 
 Swiss chalets do not always possess. I do 
 not know how it is, but in Switzerland, I 
 think, no place can compare with it ; yet when
 
 254 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 I return to England, it seems — where it is not 
 scarred by coalpits and made hideous by long 
 chimneys — the most beautiful country in the 
 world. How do you explain the contradiction, 
 is it natural prejudice V 
 
 i Well, I suppose we are all more or less 
 prejudiced in favour of our native land, 
 though that would not, of course, account for 
 your preference for Switzerland. Perhaps latest 
 impressions are the strongest. In order to 
 make a fair comparison, it would be necessary to 
 have the most characteristic features of English 
 and Swiss scenery side by side, and look at 
 them together. My own idea is that, while 
 Swiss scenery is unquestionably the finer, our 
 English scenery is the more beautiful. There 
 is nothing in England to compare in grandeur 
 with the Furca Pass, the gorge of the Reuss, or 
 the lake of the four cantons — to say nothing of 
 the Alps ; and then there is nothing in Switzer- 
 land to equal the rich beauty of this part of the 
 valley of the Kibble, and many another spot in 
 what Shakespeare calls this precious stone set 
 in a silver sea.' 
 
 ' And demi-paradise !' put in Bob. ' It might
 
 MISS BELLASIS AND HER ANCESTORS. 255 
 
 be, perhaps, if it were not quite so muggy at 
 times, and bad a better climate of its own.' 
 
 'And a little more sunshine,' suggested 
 Dora, ' and a loftier sky, and not quite so much 
 rain.' 
 
 ' I am not sure about that,' returned Kandle, 
 who seemed, as Bob whispered to Dora, to be 
 in an unusually patriotic mood. f The low sky 
 you speak of is much more favourable to 
 enjoyment than eternally blue skies and glar- 
 ing sunshine. It mellows the landscape, too, 
 keeps the grass green, and fills the streams. 
 If we had a continental climate, all those fields 
 and meadows would be burnt brown, and the 
 country robbed of more than half its beauty, 
 and ourselves of more than half our energy. 
 Our climate has its faults, but I don't know any 
 other that I would like to exchange it for. It 
 gives us the finest horses, the most beautiful 
 women, and the most laborious working people 
 in the world.' 
 
 'Bravo, Kyvington, you express my senti- 
 ments to a T,' exclaimed Blooming Bill, whom 
 this laudation of the British climate greatly 
 pleased. 'But here we are at Salley. Do you
 
 256 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 mean to drive on without stopping, Robert V 
 
 ' Oh, dear, no ; we must stop a few minutes, 
 and let the horses have some meal and water/ 
 
 ' Well, then, I shall get out and wait here 
 until you come back.' 
 
 8 What, won't you go on to Bolton with us V 
 
 'No, thank you. I have been to Bolton 
 several times before. I would rather stroll 
 about here, and go over the ruins of the 
 abbey.' 
 
 ' As you like, we shall be back in an hour 
 or so/ 
 
 Before Bellasis alighted from the wagonette, 
 he whispered a few words to his sister, to 
 which the only reply she vouchsafed him was a 
 negative and almost angry gesture. 
 
 The arrival of a carriage and four at the 
 quiet village of Bolton naturally caused some- 
 what of a sensation, and a crowd of gossips 
 and sightseers quickly gathered near the church 
 gate, where the wagonette was brought to a 
 stand. All the party alighted and entered the 
 quaint old building. The object that at- 
 tracted the most attention was the curious 
 monument of Sir Ralph Pudsay (the faith-
 
 MISS BELLASIS AND HER ANCESTORS. 257 
 
 ful follower of Henry VI., who sheltered that 
 unfortunate monarch at Bolton Hall after the 
 disastrous battle of Hexham), with the effigies 
 of his three wives and twenty-five children. 
 
 'I don't see any of the Bellasis amongst 
 them ; do you V whispered Flora to Bob, by 
 which she probably meant to intimate that she 
 did not see the name of Bellasis recorded any- 
 where in the church. 
 
 'Nor I,' answered Bob, with becoming 
 gravity, ' but they have perhaps got rubbed 
 out ; they are so old, you know.' 
 
 ' Yes, I daresay that is the reason. I wonder 
 if my ancestors were much respected in the 
 neighbourhood.' 
 
 'Not a doubt of it, I should say. Perhaps 
 you would like to ask? I see there are some 
 very old people near the church gate, there. 
 Shall I inquire if the name is still remembered 
 hereabouts V 
 
 'Thank you, Mr. Robert; if it would not be 
 too much trouble. I am so anxious to learn all 
 I can about our family, and it is so inter- 
 esting to be in the place where they lived so 
 long.' 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 As they crossed the road towards the park, 
 Bob exchanged a few words with an aged vil- 
 lager, and presented him with a shilling, where- 
 upon the old fellow gave a grin of delight, mut- 
 tered something which Bob did not quite under- 
 stand, and hobbled off. 
 
 'Confound the old beggar,' muttered Robert, 
 4 he has taken me in. He knows nothing.' 
 
 They did not linger long among the stately 
 elms and ancient oaks of Bolton Park. The 
 time when they had promised to be back at Sal- 
 ley was nearly up, and after one glimpse at the 
 grey old house, so rich in historic memories, 
 they returned to the village. 
 
 As Robert, who was walking with Flora, 
 crossed the road a second time, he was accosted 
 by an ancient woman. She could not have been 
 less than eighty, and might have been a hun- 
 dred, yet though bent and shrivelled and white- 
 haired, her eyes were not dim, and she seemed 
 sharp of hearing and quick of speech. 
 
 ' Which on yo,' she inquired, with a look di- 
 rected at Robert, * has been axing if onybody 
 here knew aught o' th' Bellowsis V 
 
 1 Bellowsis ! That must be the local pronun-
 
 MISS BELLASIS AND HER ANCESTORS. 259 
 
 ciation of Bellasis,' thought Flora, for she did 
 not remember her father, and the alteration of 
 the name had occurred before she was born. 
 
 'Yes, I was asking, on behalf of this young 
 lady, who is a Bellasis,' said Robert. ' Her fa- 
 ther came from somewhere hereabouts, I think.' 
 
 1 Oh, shoo's one o' th' Bellowsis, is shoo ? 
 Father's name was Joseph, worn't it V 
 
 * Yes, my papa was Mr. Joseph Bellasis,' an- 
 swered Miss Bellasis, haughtily, and with a 
 strong emphasis on the ' Mr.,' as if to intimate 
 to the old body that her manner was vastly too 
 familiar. 
 
 s Ay, ay,' returned the ancient woman, dream- 
 ily. 'I knew Joseph Bellows weel, if ever ony- 
 body dud. But that wasn't th' name as he went 
 by i' these pairts, though I alius called him Jo- 
 seph mysen. He went by th' name o' Joe o' 
 Fat Sam's i' this country. Ay, ay, him and me 
 should ha' been wed ! and if we had been, who 
 knows, my bonny wench ' 
 
 ' Woman, you lie !' exclaimed Flora, who was 
 beside herself with rage, and trembling lest the 
 woman should say something still more unpleas- 
 ant, for the rest of the party had now come up, 
 
 s2
 
 260 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 and many of the villagers were within earshot. 
 1 What do you mean by insulting me in this 
 way ? My father could never have been mar- 
 ried to the like of you.' 
 
 ' Oh, couldn't he V said the old woman, quiet- 
 ly, but with an angry twinkle in her dark eyes. 
 i It was t'other way about. I couldn't be wed 
 to him. Do you know, my proud young lady, 
 why my mother wouldn't let me be wed to him 
 as you call Mr. Joseph Bellasis ? It was because 
 his father was sent to Botany Bay for killing 
 Black Ned, fra Slaidburn ; and if he hadn't been 
 worse for drink when he dud it, and Ned hadn't 
 provoked him, he'd ha' swung for it. I seed 
 your grandfather, wi' my own een, marched 
 down this here road between two constables, 
 wi' gyves on his wrists, my braw Miss Bellasis.' 
 
 'It is not true, it cannot be true,' exclaimed 
 Flora, passionately. ' You are a wicked, wretch- 
 ed old woman to tell such untruths. I will 
 have you punished — pat in prison — that I will. 
 Do let us go ; please take me away, Mr. Robert/ 
 
 As Robert led her to the carriage, she burst 
 into a flood of tears, which he greatly feared 
 might be the forerunner, of a fit of hysterics ;
 
 MISS BELLASIS AND HER ANCESTORS. 261 
 
 but he bad under-estimated the young lady's 
 power of self-control, and before they were well 
 out of sight of Bolton she was sufficiently com- 
 posed to ask him if he could imagine what had 
 induced that wicked old woman to say such 
 terrible things. 
 
 * I really cannot tell/ answered Bob, hesitat- 
 ingly, ' unless it was that you said she lied. 
 That made her mad, I expect.' 
 
 ' But she did lie, didn't she ! You don't think 
 for one moment, Mr. Robert, that what she said 
 was true V 
 
 Seeing that Bob believed every word of the 
 old woman's story, and was moreover rather 
 1 spoons' on Miss Bellasis, this was a sufficiently 
 embarrassing question. But he was a youth of 
 resource, and, by simply saying 'Impossible,' 
 came happily out of the difficulty. 
 
 This answer seemed to give the young lady 
 great satisfaction. 
 
 t Impossible, indeed,' she exclaimed. ' Im- 
 possible and preposterous. But can nothing be 
 done to her — cannot she be punished for telling 
 such untruths ! Is there no law against defam- 
 ation of character V
 
 262 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 * Not, I am afraid, against defaming the char- 
 acter of one's grandfather.' 
 
 This was an unfortunate answer 
 
 ' And do you really believe, Mr. Robert,' ex- 
 claimed Flora, her voice trembling with indig- 
 nation, * that the wretched convict this miser- 
 able woman spoke of was really my grand- 
 father ? Don't you see that there is some dread- 
 ful mistake, or that the malignant creature 
 made it all out of her own head, just to annoy 
 me V 
 
 6 Exactly, exactly. Yes, of course, decidedly,' 
 replied Bob, in some confusion. ' And that, you 
 see ' (briskly, as if struck by a happy thought) 
 'makes it all the more difficult to do anything, 
 for if you could not punish her for slandering 
 your own grandfather, it stands to reason that 
 you could not punish her for slandering some 
 other body's grandfather.' 
 
 ' Still, I should like,' said Miss Bellasis, vin- 
 dictively, ' I should like to do something at 
 that old woman, and at those Bolton people 
 too, for I saw some of them laughing, and they 
 looked as if they believed her. I will certainly 
 speak to my brother about it the moment
 
 MISS BELLASIS AND HER ANCESTORS. 265 
 
 we get to Chatburn. 1 wish be had been 
 here.' 
 
 ' By all meaus ; that is decidedly the best 
 thing you can do. Yes, it was a pity he did 
 not come,' said Bob, who felt, however, by no 
 means sure that when Blooming Bill heard 
 what had come to pass he would be of the 
 same opinion, nor that apprehension of some 
 such fiasco as had actually occurred was not 
 his motive for staying behind. 
 
 When, a few minutes later, they arrived at 
 Salley, they found that the remainder of the 
 party had been waiting for them half-an-hour 
 or more, and that the repast which Robert had de- 
 scribed as being something between a confec- 
 tion and a banquet was ready to be served. 
 
 4 Well, how did you like Bolton-by-Bowland?' 
 asked William Bellasis of his sister, as they 
 walked towards the inn. 
 
 ' Not at all,' answered Flora, with an angry 
 toss of her head. ' It's nothing but a common 
 little village, and I was grossly insulted by a 
 wretched old woman — I may say by all the 
 people of the village, for they evidently sym- 
 pathised with her.'
 
 264 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 * Well, I wanted you not to go, you know. 
 Who was this old woman, and what did she 
 say V 
 
 What else passed between the brother and 
 sister was never exactly known ; but, as Robert 
 Ryvington remarked that Miss Bellasis did not 
 refer again to the unpleasant incident at Bolton, 
 and that she rarely thereafter spoke of her 
 family, or boasted of her distinguished ancestry, 
 he drew the conclusion that she had profited by 
 the lesson he had been the unwitting means of 
 giving her.
 
 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PUDSAY S LEAP. 
 
 QAYE that the viands composing it were cold, 
 U the repast that Robert had provided for 
 his guests deserved better the description ap- 
 plied to it by himself than by the word which 
 his cousin had suggested. As touching abun- 
 dance and variety the meal was rather a 
 banquet than a refection. A splendid Ribble 
 salmon reposed at one end of the table, a 
 magnificent sii'loin of beef adorned the other, 
 These lords of the larder were reinforced by an 
 appetising array of side dishes, such as roast 
 capons, boned turkeys, ox tongues, Strasburg 
 pies, and cold hams, over which a small army 
 of bottles, headed by a large contingent of 
 gold-helmed champagne flasks, stood guard.
 
 266 BED EYVINGTON. 
 
 As Robert, who bad occasionally shrewd 
 ideas, albeit he did not always act shrewdly, 
 explained to his guests, he had thought it well 
 to order such a meal as they saw before them, 
 rather than a regulation dinner, for several 
 reasons. In the first place, the day was warm, 
 and hot dishes, he opined, did not go well with 
 hot weather. Then, the house being only a 
 country inn, he did not want to put too great a 
 strain upon its resources ; and last, though not 
 least, as the excursion partook somewhat of a 
 picnic character, it seemed in accordance with 
 the fitness of things that their principal repast 
 should be as little formal as was compatible 
 with comfort. 
 
 This explanation was received with warm 
 approval. Everybody applauded Robert's idea, 
 the ladies one and all declaring that a cold 
 collation was 'greatly to be preferred to a warm 
 dinner, which would have taken up much 
 time which might be used to better purpose 
 than eating. 
 
 Bob, who was in such excellent humour that 
 he had forgotten all his grudges against his 
 uncle, requested Mr. Ryvington to take the
 
 267 
 
 head of the table, and, although the old gentle- 
 man made a show of resistance on the ground 
 that the place was properly his nephew's, he 
 ended by accepting the honour and carving the 
 sirloin, while Robert took the second place and 
 served out the salmon. 
 
 Notwithstanding the drinking of a few toasts, 
 the refection was soon over. The principal 
 health drunk was of course that of the hero of 
 the day, proposed by Mr. Ryvington, who 
 described his nephew as ' an honour to our an- 
 cient family and a very promising young man.' 
 Bob blushed, but replied with a point and dis- 
 cretion that surprised many who heard him. 
 When Tom Cliviger proposed the married ladies, 
 and expressed a hope that both Mr. Robert Ry- 
 vington and his brother would before long 
 4 enter the land of Uz ' (by which he was under- 
 stood to signify the holy estate of matrimony), 
 Bob blushed again and stole a sly glance at 
 Flora Bellasis, to whom a few glasses of Moet 
 and Chandon had restored the equanimity which 
 the old woman at Bolton had so rudely dis- 
 turbed. He fancied that she blushed too, and 
 felt flattered and gratified thereat ; but seeing
 
 268 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 that she had just drunk the greater part of a 
 glass of champagne he may possibly have been 
 mistaken in connecting the young lady's seeming 
 emotion with Mr. Cliviger's witty and suggestive 
 Biblical allusion. 
 
 When the toast-drinking came to an end the 
 younger ladies withdrew to equip themselves 
 for the proposed walk, and so soon as they were 
 ready were joined by most of the gentlemen. 
 A few, however, among whom were Mr. Ry- 
 viugton and his son, Tom Cliviger and William 
 Bellasis, preferred to stay where they were, and 
 round off the repast with brandy and water and 
 cigars. 
 
 After a stroll through the ruins of the abbey, 
 where Mrs. Eyvington and Mrs. Ford (Mr. Ey- 
 vington's sister-in-law and housekeeper), and a 
 few more of the old and middle-aged signified 
 their intention of remaining until the young 
 folks should return from their walk, the pe- 
 destrians set out on their excursion. 
 
 The walk chosen by Robert led by the river- 
 side, through fat pastures and green meadows, 
 in which scores of beautifully-marked and 
 heavily-uddered cows were feeding on the rich
 
 pudsay's LEAR 269 
 
 grass for which Craven is so famous. The 
 stream, broad, shallow, and bright, was bordered 
 by a row of gnarled old thorns, of age so great 
 that they must have outlived many generations 
 of men. Round some of them, as if seeking the 
 protection of their strength, clung the tender, 
 sweet-scented honeysuckle ; and prompted, per- 
 haps, by a kindred feeling, the wild white rose 
 had mingled its pale petals with their dark 
 green leaves. Further on, the valley takes the 
 form of an amphitheatre, the sides of which are 
 clothed with shady woods. The turrets of Bol- 
 ton are visible in the distance, and old Pendle, 
 his rugged outlines softened by a silvery haze, 
 beams benignantly on the scene. 
 
 Among the foremost group of saunterers were 
 Handle, Robert, Dora, Miss Bellasis, and several 
 others, but these gradually fell behind, some to 
 gather wild flowers, others to lie on the grass 
 and listen to the music of the river, others again 
 to take a line of their own ; for Bob had de- 
 clared liberty to be the watchword of the day, 
 and that everyone was free to follow his own 
 fancy. 
 
 The brothers were not far from each other,
 
 270 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 but it somehow came to pass, rather to Robert's 
 disappointment, that the elder paired off with 
 Miss Bellasis, the younger with Dora ; and in 
 this order they strolled until they came to a 
 picturesque part of the river known asRainsber 
 Scar, or Pudsay's Leap. 
 
 The scar is a tall cliff, crowned with noble 
 trees, and mantled with ferns, mosses, and clus- 
 tering ivy. At its base flows the yet limpid 
 Ribble — soon, alas, to be polluted with unspeak- 
 able abominations — mingling its silvery voice 
 with the i wood-notes wild ' of the feathery den- 
 izens of the vale. 
 
 i Let us sit down here,' said Randle ; ' we shall 
 hardly find a lovelier spot to while away a few 
 minutes in, I think/ 
 
 The proposal was received with acclamation, 
 and the four seated themselves on the trunk of 
 a fallen elm, not far from the edge of the 
 stream. 
 
 1 Well, what say you to this, Dora V continued 
 her cousin, directing her attention by a look to 
 the rustling trees as they bent graciously over 
 the Scar, the gliding river, and the rich emerald 
 of the grass, spangled with cowslips aud wild
 
 pudsay's leap. 271 
 
 hyacinths. ' Did you ever see the marrow of it 
 in Switzerland?' 
 
 ' Your thoughts seem to be running a great 
 deal on Switzerland just now, Randle. Why 
 are you so wishful to know my opinion on the 
 comparative merits of English and Swiss 
 scenery? What does it matter which I prefer? 
 Besides, I have told you already.' 
 
 * Yes, I know your general views, but it is 
 well sometimes to descend from generals to 
 particulars. It seems to me that the scenery 
 hereabouts cannot be matched out of England, 
 and I was curious to know if you thought the 
 same.' 
 
 'It is certainly very beautiful, but I think I 
 could find the marrow of it, as you say, in the 
 Jura; and in the Jura, moreover, there is hardly 
 a stream, a well, or a mountain that is not 
 consecrated by some quaint or graceful legend, 
 and legends always seem to add to the interest 
 of a place, to throw a glamour over it, as it 
 were, and to heighten the beauty of nature by 
 the charm of association.' 
 
 4 Well, there is a legend about this place. 
 Mv brother has been here before, he knows all
 
 272 RED RYVINGTOX. 
 
 about it. Can you tell us the story of Pudsay's 
 Leap, Bob V 
 
 1 1 daresay I can, especially as there is very 
 little to tell. William Pudsay, who was the 
 owner of Bolton Hall some time in the sixteenth 
 century, had a lead-mine at Remington-in- 
 Craven. Whether he was a clever metallurgist, 
 and hit upon a method of extracting the silver 
 that lead ore almost invariably contains, or he 
 found a vein of the nobler metal in some other 
 form, nobody knows. Anyhow, as the story 
 runs, silver he got and coined into shillings. 
 And although these shillings were good — better 
 probably than the coin of the realm then current 
 — coining was and is still a royal prerogative, 
 and nobody had a right to make money, save by 
 leave of the sovereign, at that time Queen 
 Bess; who, moreover, by an old law of the 
 realm was seized of all the gold and silver 
 mines in the kingdom. Thus Mr. Pudsay 
 committed a double crime. He appropriated 
 the Queen's silver and illegally stamped it with 
 Her Majesty's image and superscription. When 
 this came to the old lady's ears, as it did in 
 course of time, for Pudsay flooded all Yorkshire
 
 pudsay's leap. 273 
 
 and Lancashire with his shillings, she was 
 mighty wroth, and sent off a pursuivant and a 
 posse— I think that is the right word — of men- 
 at-arms to catch him and bring him up to 
 London. But our friend William did not 
 believe in being caught. When he heard the 
 men-at-arms come clattering up the avenue he 
 knew that his little game was up, and made up 
 his mind from Bolton to bolt. Calling for his 
 seven-league boots — I mean for his horse, 
 Wanton Grey, which always stood ready sad- 
 dled in the stable — he jumped on its back, and 
 at the very moment the pursuivant was ham- 
 mering with his sword-hilt at the front door, 
 and demanding admittance in the Queen's 
 name, Pudsay galloped off towards Rainsber 
 Scar, leaped clean over it down into the river 
 there, and got clear away. And of all the 
 Queen's horses, and of all the Queen's men, 
 there was neither steed nor rider that dared to 
 follow him. The place has been called " Pud- 
 say's Leap " ever since.' 
 
 1 A rare jump, wasn't it V added Robert, 
 looking up at the cliff; 'a hundred feet, if it 
 was an inch/ 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 RED BYVINGTON. 
 
 c I don't believe it/ exclaimed Miss Bellasis. 
 * Why, the man would have been killed.' 
 
 'Ah, but you don't know. You have not 
 read the ballad. Here it is ' (taking a book 
 from his pocket). ' This contains the true 
 version, I think; but we must not criticise 
 legends too narrowly, you know. Do you 
 criticise your Swiss legends, Dora?' 
 
 ' Oh dear, no. We accept them in faith.' 
 
 ' Exactly. That is the right thing to do ; it 
 
 is what I do myself. Well, according to this 
 
 poetic version, William Pudsay was a very 
 
 popular gentleman hereabouts, " loved and 
 
 honoured by every degree," and a special 
 
 favourite with the denizens of the nether world, 
 
 two of whom, Lob and Michel, invited him one 
 
 moonlight night to revel in Aithera Hoile, a 
 
 cave up in the woods yonder, and — 
 
 " They gave him there a magical bit, 
 
 The strangest thing you ever could see, 
 And charged him aye to remember it, 
 If ever he chanced to be forced to flee ; 
 
 For it would nourish a drooping horse 
 From evening red to morning grey, 
 
 And help him by its magical force 
 To gallop away for the live-long day." ' 
 
 ' I wish I had a bridle like that/ said Bob,
 
 275 
 
 looking up ; 'a fellow might ride the same 
 horse to hounds every day of the week, and 
 always be in the first flight. It would save a 
 mint of money in horseflesh, a bridle like that 
 would.' 
 
 ' Well, you must emulate the example of 
 William Pudsay; try to be a popular gentle- 
 man, and make friends with Lob and Michel,' 
 said Dora. 
 
 ' You think it is all true, then, Miss Ryving- 
 ton/ exclaimed Miss Bellasis, ' and that this 
 Mr. Pudsay had really a magical bridle !' 
 
 4 1 believe every word of it,' observed Robert, 
 * only I am afraid that Lob and Michel haunt 
 the woods of Bolton no more. The shriek of 
 the railway whistle, if nothing else, would be 
 enough to scare them away ; and I daresay, if 
 the truth were known, they went out long 
 before railways came in.' 
 
 'Does the ballad say nothing else?' asked 
 Flora. 
 
 1 Oh, yes, lots ; but I do not think you would 
 care to hear it all read. It tells how he made 
 his money, " thinking no ill ;" how he escaped, 
 and how — 
 
 t2
 
 276 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 " Out of the gates himself he flung, 
 Rainsber Scaur before him lay ; 
 
 ' Now for a leap, or I shall be hung, 
 
 Now for a leap,' quoth brave Pudsay ! 
 
 ' If of death I must meet the shock, 
 
 Since it may no other be, 
 Better a leap from my own good rock. 
 Than from a ladder at York,' quoth he. 
 
 Into his steed he drove the spur, 
 Fearfully did he snort and neigh ; 
 
 Yet, though at first he was hard to stir, 
 Over the Scaur sprung Wanton Grey." 
 
 ' The last verse seems rather mixed, though, 
 don't you think V remarked Bob, with an inter- 
 rogative look. ' Which of them was it that 
 did so fearfully snort and neigh — the rider or 
 his horse V 
 
 i The horse, of course. How could the rider 
 snort and neigh ? Why, you were talking only 
 two or three minutes since as if it were almost 
 sacrilege to criticise a legend, and here you 
 are the first to find fault ! I am surprised, 
 Bob.' 
 
 ' Permit me to observe, Miss Ry vington, that 
 I was criticising, not the legend, but the word- 
 ing of this ballad, which, being quite modern, 
 has nothing sacred about it. I daresay, as you 
 seem to think, the writer does mean that it was
 
 pudsay's leap. 277 
 
 Wanton Grey who snorted and neighed, though 
 he might have been a little more precise ; and a 
 jump like yon is quite enough to make any 
 man snort, and, if not neigh, at any rate, say 
 * nay." ' 
 
 ' Bob, you are becoming insufferable,' exclaim- 
 ed Dora. ' What a wretched pun ! Have you 
 no more of the ballad ? What became of 
 Pudsay after he leaped the Scar V 
 
 4 He galloped off to London as hard as he 
 <;ould go, to ask the Queen's pardon, found Her 
 Majesty on board a ship in the Thames, threw 
 himself on his knees before her, and being a 
 good-looking chap, and her own godchild to 
 boot, she let him off with a wigging. As the 
 ballad says — 
 
 " She gave him her hand to kiss ; 
 So, while the tear stood in his e'e, 
 His heart was brought from bale to bliss, 
 ' But no more Pudsay shillings !' said she." 
 
 ' Is that all?' inquired Miss Bellasis. 
 
 ' That is all,' answered Bob, putting the book 
 in his pocket. * And now' (looking at his 
 watch) ' I think we had better be retracing our 
 steps. I expect my musicians have arrived by
 
 278 KED RYVINGTON. 
 
 this time, and I must see that the preparations 
 for our dance are in proper train.' 
 
 ' All right,' returned Randle, ' you three go 
 on. I will follow in a few minutes. There are 
 some fine snap-dragons up there, which I would 
 like to get.' 
 
 ' I will wait for you, Cousin Randle,' said 
 Dora, reseating herself on the fallen elm. ' You 
 two go on ' (to Robert and Flora), ' we will 
 come presently.' 
 
 Miss Bellasis would have preferred a some- 
 what different arrangement, but not being of 
 the family she acquiesced in the proposal with 
 seeming alacrity, and went away with the 
 younger brother in the direction of Chatburn.
 
 279 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 
 
 WHILE Randle gathered his snap-dragons, 
 Dora sat musing on her elm-tree. 
 Her cousin's manner puzzled her. Though, 
 since her return home she had seen little of 
 him, she fancied he was quieter and more 
 taciturn than of yore ; and if he did not seem 
 less happy, he was decidedly less mirthful. 
 Did the cause, she asked herself, lie in his in- 
 creasing business responsibilities, or had it 
 some connection with his adventure in the 
 Furca Pass ? Could disappointment at not 
 hearing from the Avalons be the source of his 
 melancholy ? Was he, after all, as she had 
 jestingly suggested at Villa Artemisia, in love 
 with Lady Muriel? As for her own feelings
 
 280 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 towards Handle, they were complex and con- 
 tradictory. She had a greater liking and re- 
 spect for him than any man she knew, or was 
 likely to know. If he had asked her to be his 
 wife she would have said * yes/ without much 
 hesitation. And yet, strange to say, she felt 
 no jealousy of this great lady who, she began 
 to suspect, had really stolen her cousin's heart, 
 albeit she felt indignant at what she deemed 
 her ingratitude, and the ingratitude of her 
 kindred, and deeply sorry that Randle's noble 
 conduct s*hould have brought him only vexation 
 and an unquiet mind. That -the disparity 
 in rank between her cousin and Lord Lin- 
 disfarne's daughter — even if they should meet 
 again, and all else were favourable — might prove 
 a bar to their union, never so much as occurred 
 to her. Dora's knowledge of the world was not 
 very profound, and it seemed, she thought, only 
 in accordance with the fitness of things that 
 Randle's guerdon should be the hand of the girl 
 who owed him her life — if he asked for it and 
 she returned his love. Her only misgiving was 
 lest, if they did marry, Lady Muriel might not 
 make him happy. She was proud, of course —
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 281 
 
 that went without saying — and, what would be 
 much worse, she might be gay and frivolous, 
 and always wanting to go to balls and parties ; 
 and Handle did not like balls and parties. He 
 looked upon them, as she had heard him say, as 
 necessary evils, and as involving a frightful 
 waste of time. 
 
 It fell out that, when Dora had arrived at this 
 stage of her reflections, she raised her head, a 
 movement which chanced to coincide with Han- 
 dle's descent from the bank where he had been 
 botanising. The incident interrupted the flow 
 of her thoughts, and suggested to her that she 
 had, perhaps, been travelling a little too fast. 
 She had omitted from her calculations the rather 
 important consideration that Lady Muriel's 
 family, so far from being eager to wed her to 
 Randle, had never, since the parting at Brigue, 
 condescended to acknowledge his existence. 
 She possessed, moreover, no positive evidence 
 that her cousin reciprocated the love which she 
 had once ascribed to Lady Muriel. She might 
 easily be mistaken, but the difficulty was easy 
 of solution. She would ask him. Her cousin 
 and she had always been on good terms. He
 
 282 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 bad ever treated her in a brotherly fashion, 
 while her feeling for him was that of a sister for 
 a favourite brother. She had no secrets from 
 him, and she felt sure that he would make no 
 difficulty in telling her whether he had lost his 
 heart to Lady Muriel or not. 
 
 ' I am glad we let the others go on, Handle,' 
 she said, so soon as he came back with his snap- 
 dragons. 4 I want to have a talk with you. 
 We have not had a talk since I came back, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Talk away then, Dora,' answered her cousin, 
 rather absently. 'I am always glad to hear 
 anything you have to say. Is there anything I 
 can do for you V 
 
 ' Talk away, indeed !' returned Dora, with all 
 her wonted liveliness of manner. ' It must be 
 the other way about. I want you to talk to me. 
 Have you nothing to tell mel' 
 
 ' Nothing very particular, I think,' replied 
 Handle, seriously, as if he were trying to recall 
 something that might interest her. e Oh, yes, I 
 have, though ' (briskly, as if struck by a happy 
 thought). ' You remember Mary Waddington, 
 that girl who was so badly hurt in our card-
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 283 
 
 room, and whom you took so much interest in 1 
 You will be glad to know that she is quite re- 
 covered, and was married the other day to 
 Dick-o'-Dolly's — a decent lad is Dick, and doing 
 well.' 
 
 1 How provoking you are, Handle ! Of course, 
 I am glad to know that Mary Waddington is 
 well, and happily married to Dick-o'-Dolly's. 
 What a name., though ! I suppose she will be 
 Mrs. Dick-o'-Dolly's? But it is yourself 1 want 
 to know about.' 
 
 ' What do you want to know about me, Dora, 
 that you don't know already?' was Randle's 
 somewhat ungracious answer. 
 
 4 Well, first of all, is it true that Lord Lindis- 
 farne has not written to you V 
 
 1 Quite true.' 
 
 4 What can be the cause, do you think V 
 
 Handle shrugged his shoulders and walked a 
 little faster. 
 
 c I really don't know, Dora, and I don't think 
 1 much care.' 
 
 This answer, and the manner in which it was 
 given, w T ere so irreconcileable with the theory 
 she had formed that it seemed hardly worth
 
 284 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 while to question him further ; but, having 
 started the subject, Dora felt that she ought to 
 continue it, if only to express her sense of Lord 
 Lindisfarne's conduct. 
 
 ' But cannot you conjecture V she said, after a 
 short pause. 
 
 ' The only ground on which 1 can account for 
 Lord Lindisfarne's silence is that he wishes to 
 drop the acquaintance. I am only a Lancashire 
 cotton-spinner, you know, and he is a peer of 
 the realm.' 
 
 • Did you tell him you were a cotton-spinner V 
 
 ' I do not think I did. I said no more about 
 myself than was necessary. It was rather an 
 exciting time, and we were not long together. 
 But I think he understood I was in business. I 
 gave him my address, too, and he must know it 
 is hardly possible for a man to live in a Lan- 
 cashire manufacturing town and not be in 
 business.' 
 
 4 But he promised he would write to you and 
 name a time for you to go to Avalon Priory, 
 did he not?' 
 
 'No. I don't call it a promise. It was 
 merely an expression of his intention to do a
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 285 
 
 certain thing. Circumstances, or further reflec- 
 tion, have caused him to change his intention, 
 that is all.' 
 
 I Still you must feel very much annoyed. 
 You cannot help seeing that you have been 
 treated in an unworthy mauner. You have ren- 
 dered Lord Lindisfarne a priceless service — you 
 saved his daughter's life — and yet, because you 
 happen to be a cotton-spinner, he treats you with 
 contumely. ITou may say what you like, Han- 
 dle, I call it shabby in the extreme, and if you 
 are not very much annoyed you ought to be.' 
 
 I I do not say that I am not annoyed, Dora,' 
 said Randle, smiling at his cousin's vehemence, 
 'yet less because Lord Lindisfarne has acted, 
 as you. say, shabbily, than that he has acted, as 
 it seems to me, insincerely. I claim no credit 
 for saving his daughter's life ; I should have 
 done just the same if she had been his coach- 
 man's daughter; and it was quite open to him 
 to have gone on his way without taking further 
 thought about me. But instead of that he and 
 the others showered thanks on me far beyond 
 my deserts, treating me, during the short time 
 we were together, almost as one of themselves,
 
 286 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 and pressed me to make them a long visit after 
 their return to England. And I liked them. 
 I had an idea that earls and " ladies" were stiff 
 and formal, if not high and mighty, in manner. 
 But I am bound to say the Avalons were ex- 
 tremely pleasant and agreeable Their kind- 
 ness could hardly have been greater if I had 
 been a member of the family. It seems now, 
 though, that it was all put on. I suppose they 
 forgot all about me before I was well out of 
 sight. Yes, Dora, I am disappointed, or, rather, 
 I was. I have given over thinking about it 
 now.' 
 
 < And Lady Muriel V 
 
 ' Lady Muriel. What about Lady Muriel V 
 ' You said she was so nice, you know.' 
 1 A little hypocrite, rather ! I expect these 
 people make it the study of their lives to be 
 gracious and courtly. But it is all veneer. 
 They are what my father would have called 
 " hollow".' 
 
 ' You don't care then ' 
 
 Dora hesitated. It seemed absurd, after what 
 Handle had said, to suggest that he might, after 
 all, have a tender feeling for Lady Muriel Ava-
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 287 
 
 Ion. Perhaps if she had known of a certain 
 bunch of forget-me-nots that her cousin kept 
 hidden away in a private drawer at home she 
 might have thought differently. 
 
 1 1 see what you are driving at, Dora/ he 
 went on, with a laugh. ■ You think, because I 
 was instrumental in saving a girl's life, I ought 
 to fall in love with her. That is the way in 
 novels, perhaps ; but novels are one thing, real 
 life is another. You are too romantic, coz.' 
 
 'And you are too matter-of-fact. It would 
 have been so very nice, you know.' 
 
 ' Nice ! to fall in love with a girl that I shall 
 very likely never see again, and who would not 
 have me, or be allowed to have me, if I were to 
 ask her. Besides, a lady with a handle to her 
 name is not a right sort of wife for a plain manu- 
 facturer. But I think it is now my turn to ask 
 you a question or two. Are you sure that no- 
 body — no sturdy Switzer or fascinating French- 
 man — has stolen your heart, Cousin Dora ?' 
 
 ' I should just like to hear you put that ques- 
 tion to Mademoiselle Vieutemps, Ran. She 
 would resent the mere suggestion of such a 
 possibility as a foul libel on her establishment.
 
 288 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Nobody has stolen my heart yet, cousin, and 
 that is a more straightforward answer than you 
 gave me/ returned Dora, who had an uneasy 
 sense of not having obtained quite all the in- 
 formation she desired. 
 
 * What is the matter, I wonder ? Why, they 
 are coming back.' 
 
 This seemingly irrelevant observation was 
 caused by the appearance of Robert Ryvington 
 and William Bellasis, who were making towards 
 them — apparently in great haste — from the di- 
 rection of Chatburn. 
 
 ' Why have you come back, Bob 1 Nothing 
 wrong, I hope,' said Randle when they met, as 
 in a few minutes they did. 
 
 'lam sorry to say there is,' answered Bob, 
 who was evidently much agitated. ' There has 
 been an accident.' 
 
 * Nothing serious, I hope. Is anybody hurt V 
 1 Yes, but not seriously — not fatally, I mean/ 
 
 said Bob, looking earnestly at his cousin. 
 
 ' Is it my father or my brother V asked Dora, 
 with trembling lips. She had rightly interpre- 
 ted Bob's look. 
 
 < Your father ; but I hope it is nothing very
 
 A COUSINLY TALK. 289 
 
 bad. He got knocked down by a brewer's cart 
 as he was crossing the road to the Abbey 
 grounds.' 
 
 ' Was he run over V asked Handle. 
 
 'No, only thrown down by the shaft ; but the 
 horses were going at a trot, and the fall was a 
 bad one. He could not speak at first, but he 
 seemed to be coming round a bit when we left.' 
 
 ' Is my brother there V inquired Dora, faintly. 
 
 'No, he w r ent off for a doctor first thing. 
 He thought it would be better than sending a 
 messenger.' 
 
 1 Oh, this is terrible,' cried the poor girl, as the 
 tears ran down her cheeks. ' And to happen on 
 Robert's birthday, too, when w r e were all so 
 happy. It is terrible. Poor papa ! Let us go 
 on, please, as fast as w T e can.' 
 
 ' Do not distress yourself, Dora,' said Ran- 
 dle, gently. ' It may not be so bad as. you think. 
 I do not gather from Bob that your father is 
 very badly hurt — that he has any bones broken, 
 for instance — has he, Bob V 
 
 6 I do not think so. Do you think he has, 
 Mr. Bellasis V 
 
 'lam sure not. I helped to carry him in. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 He is slightly cut about the head— scratched, 
 rather — for the wounds are quite superficial. 
 But he was stunned, you know, and I daresay 
 rather badly shaken ; that is the worst, so far as 
 I am aware.' 
 
 ' You hear, Dora. Nothing worse than a bad 
 shake. There is nothing to fear. I have no 
 doubt that, with careful nursing, uncle will be 
 all right again by to-morrow, or at any rate in a 
 few days.' 
 
 Notwithstanding this expression of confidence, 
 Eandle was not without fear that, to a man of 
 his uncle's years and habits, the consequences of 
 a ' bad shake ' might be very grave.
 
 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 ONE RAXDLE LESS. 
 
 A N" excited, chattering crowd had gathered 
 "■ before the inn door. Everybody was telling 
 everybody else how the mishap had come to 
 pass, and there were naturally almost as many 
 versions as individuals. The great point of 
 contention was whether Mr. Ryvington had 
 been knocked down by a brewer's cart or a 
 butcher's van. One gossip averred that a rail- 
 way lorry had done the mischief, another laid 
 the blame on a carriage and pair. As to the 
 extent and nature of Mr. Ryvington's injuries 
 opinions were equally conflicting : some had it 
 that his head was cut open, and that he had 
 sustained a compound fracture of the thigh ; 
 others asserted that both arms were broken, one 
 
 TJ 2
 
 292 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 so badly that it would have to be amputated. 
 The suggestion of a sceptical shoemaker that 
 i t'owd gentlemon was nobbut in a bit of a faant,' 
 and that ( a glass or two of brandy would bring* 
 him raand directly,' was received with general 
 indignation ; and the rebuke of the dogger's 
 wife (the originator of the compound fracture 
 theory), that it was ' the most unfeelingest 
 saying as she had ever heard come out of a man's 
 mouth,' was warmly applauded. 
 
 When Dora and Randle appeared the clamour 
 was instantly hushed, and as tbey walked 
 swiftly towards the inn door all respectfully 
 made way for them. 
 
 They found Mr. Ryvington in a room on the 
 ground floor. He was lying on a sofa, with 
 closed eyes ; and his pallor, and the black court- 
 plaister with which his cuts had been dressed, 
 gave him a look so ghastly that Dora was al- 
 most startled into a scream, The rustle of her 
 dress, or the creaking of the door, attracted his 
 attention, and he opened his eyes. When he 
 saw Dora he smiled. This made him look more 
 natural, and, recovering herself, she went forward 
 and kissed him.
 
 ONE HANDLE LESS. 293 
 
 ' Dear papa,' she said, ' I am so very, very 
 sorry. Are you much hurt — have you paiu V 
 
 ' A little, child ; but perhaps when the doctor 
 comes he will be able to do something for me. 
 Kiss me again, dear.' 
 
 This was so tenderly spoken that Dora could 
 hardly restrain her tears. 
 
 ' Can I do anything for you, papa dear V 
 
 i I do not think you can, child. Your aunt " 
 (looking towards Mrs. Ryvington, who was the 
 only person in the room besides themselves) ' is 
 very kind, and has done all that was possible. 
 I am pretty comfortable, thank you. But if you 
 would leave Randle and me alone a few minutes 
 I should be very glad.' 
 
 As the door closed behind them the expression 
 of cheerfulness which the stricken man had put 
 on in his daughter's presence gave place to one 
 of pain and misgiving. 
 
 ' What is it, uncle?' said Randle, anxiously; 
 * do you feel worse V 
 
 ' Not worse just now, but no better. I am done 
 for this time, Randle, lad.' 
 
 'Nonsense, uncle ; you must not talk in that 
 way. You will live many a year yet. Y r ou are
 
 294 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 only a little shook. You have no bones broken, 
 you know.' 
 
 ' But I am afraid I have something broken 
 here/ (pressing his hand to his side). ' I feel it ; 
 something tells me I am not long for this world. 
 And I am not easy in my mind, Randle.' 
 
 'Can I do anything for you, — anything to 
 make your mind easier V 
 
 ' Thank you kindly,' said the old man, plain- 
 tively. < You were always good and kind, 
 Randle. I only wish others were more like 
 you. It is about my will, Randle. I fear much 
 I have made a foolish will, — that it may lead 
 to trouble, especially for Dora. It opens a man's 
 eyes when he gets his death-stroke, as I have 
 got mine.' 
 
 ' Not so bad as that, uncle, I hope. You 
 must keep up your courage, you know. That 
 is half the battle. We shall have the doctor 
 here soon, and he will tell you that you are 
 quite mistaken. But about this will ; can it not 
 be altered V 
 
 ' That is what I want to talk to you about. 
 I want you to telegraph for Pleasington to
 
 OXE RANDLE LESS. 2 ( J5 
 
 come over by the first train ; there may perhaps 
 be time.' 
 
 ' Yes, uncle ; I will go at once.' 
 
 ' Wait a minute. Don't tell anybody ; above 
 all, don't tell your cousin Ran die. When 
 Pleasington comes let him be shown in here at 
 once, and send everybody else out of the room. 
 Till then, not a word. And, Randle, I have 
 made you one of my executors. You will act, 
 won't you V 
 
 4 Certainly, uncle, if it will give you any 
 satisfaction.' 
 
 ' It will, it will. And if so be that — that this 
 will cannot be altered, you will do your best 
 for Dora. You will not let her be put upon in 
 any way, I mean.' 
 
 ' I don't know altogether what you mean, 
 uncle ; but so far as it depends on me she shall 
 not be put upon by anybody. Of that I give 
 you my word. I will watch over her interests 
 as if she were my own sister.' 
 
 1 Thank you, Randle ; thank you. I wish my 
 own lad had been more like you. But go and 
 send that message to Pleasington. I acted
 
 296 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 against his advice in making my will as I did, 
 but I would not heed him. I see now, though. 
 It is not a right will, and may lead to trouble. 
 But go — time presses — and send Dora and your 
 mother here.' 
 
 When the two women re-entered the room, 
 Mr. Ryvington asked his daughter to sit 
 beside him. Then he took her hand in his and 
 closed his eyes. Mrs. Ryvington, who was an 
 experienced nurse, noticed with alarm that his 
 paleness had increased, and that his voice was 
 weaker ; but Dora thought that her father seem- 
 ed more tranquil, and therefore better. 
 
 As Handle returned from despatching his 
 telegram to the lawyer, a two-horse drag was 
 driven at a fast trot to the inn door. His 
 cousin had brought a doctor — a grey-haired old 
 gentleman — who was at once conducted into 
 the patient's room. His first proceeding, after 
 asking a few questions, was to request the 
 ladies to withdraw for a minute or two. Then, 
 while the two Randies looked on, he made a 
 careful examination of Mr. Ryvington's body 
 and limbs. 
 
 ' You are right,' he said, when the inspection
 
 OXE RANDLE LESS. 297 
 
 was over, turning to Deep Randle. 'No bones are 
 broken, nor is there much internal injury. It is 
 a case in which a surgeon is almost powerless — 
 one of nervous shock. We can look for cure 
 only to time, good nursing, suitable diet, and 
 perhaps a course of tonics. At present the 
 quieter Mr. Eyvington can be kept the better.' 
 
 ' You do not think it would be safe to take 
 him home, then?' asked Deep Randle. 
 
 The surgeon shook his head and looked very 
 grave. 
 
 • Xot at present, certainly,' he said. ' I think 
 the ladies might come in now.' 
 
 As Dora and Mrs. Kyvington returned, the 
 doctor left the room, remarking, with a signifi- 
 cant glance at the two Randies, that he would 
 be back in a few minutes. 
 
 Both the young men followed him. 
 
 ; Well,' said Deep Randle, as soon as they 
 were outside, * what is your opinion, doctor "? 
 Do you think there is any danger ¥ 
 
 ' 1 am afraid there is considerable danger. 
 Your father has a weak heart ; the shock to the 
 system has been very great ; and — I always 
 like to be plain in cases of this sort — if he does
 
 298 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 not rally very speedily you must prepare for 
 the worst.' 
 
 'But can nothing be done ? Cannot you give 
 him something.' 
 
 1 1 am going to do. We must try stimulants. 
 But tell me first, please, what have been your 
 father's habits. I mean has he taken much 
 wine or spirits V 
 
 'No, I do not think you can say he has taken 
 much; that is, not too much. He drinks half 
 a bottle of port, sometimes a whole one, with 
 his dinner.' 
 
 ' And takes a nightcap, I suppose V 
 
 ' Yes, he generally takes a glass or two of 
 brandy and water before going to bed.' 
 
 ' I feared so. Well, we can only do our best \ 
 but I should be doing wrong if I encouraged 
 you to look for a favourable issue. But I must 
 now return to my patient and give some in- 
 structions.' 
 
 * This is terrible. I did not expect this. The 
 doctor means that it is impossible for my father 
 to get better — that he must die,' said Deep 
 Handle to his cousin. 
 
 He looked much distressed, as, indeed, he
 
 OXE RANDLE LESS. 299 
 
 was ; for although his own interest was always 
 his first consideration, and he had often thought 
 of the day when he should receive his inherit- 
 ance and become master of Deepdene, contem- 
 plating the possibility of his father's demise 
 with perfect equanimity, the stroke had come 
 so unexpectedly that he felt completely un- 
 manned. Now that he was about to lose his 
 father, he recognized for the first time how 
 much he owed him, how kind he had been, how 
 he had schemed and striven to raise his family 
 to a higher social position ; and he remembered, 
 not without remorse, that he had not always 
 rendered him that respect which was his due — 
 had openly sneered at his old-fashioned ways, 
 his closeness in money matters, and even his 
 educational deficiencies. 
 
 1 Terrible indeed. I do not think the doctor 
 expects him to live many hours/ observed Red 
 Handle, who was surprised at his cousin's evi- 
 dently genuine emotion. He had not given 
 him credit for so much feeling. 
 
 ' Do you know anything about his will V 
 asked the other, after a short pause. 
 
 This was rather an embarrassing question.
 
 300 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 Handle disliked concealing the fact of his hav- 
 ing sent for the lawyer ; yet he did not feel 
 that it would be right to disobey his uncle's 
 injunction to keep it from his cousin's know- 
 ledge. So he was constrained to do the thing 
 he most disliked — dissemble. 
 
 4 Only that he has made a will, and that I am 
 to be one of the executors. I thought you 
 knew all about it.' 
 
 4 Hardly so much as you know yourself. I 
 was not aware, for instance, that you were to 
 be one of the executors.' 
 
 This was said with a slight tinge of bitter- 
 ness, as if the news did not altogether please 
 him. The first shock over, Deep Handle's grief 
 was already giving place to an anxious curiosity 
 as to the tenor of his father's testamentary 
 dispositions. 
 
 ' I was not aware myself until half an hour 
 ago.' 
 
 4 Will you act?' 
 
 4 That is a strange question at such a moment 
 as this. I have no ambition that way, I assure 
 you. An executorship is about the most thankless 
 office a man can have. But I can give you an
 
 OXE HANDLE LESS. 301 
 
 answer. I promised my uncle that I would act, 
 and I shall keep my word.' 
 
 ' I do not think you will find the office a 
 thankless one so far as Dora and I are con- 
 cerned, Ran/ said the other, to whom it had 
 just occurred that, as his cousin was appointed 
 and determined to act, it might be as well to 
 keep on good terms with him. 'And there will 
 be very little to do. It will not be like winding 
 up a manufacturer's business, you know. The 
 principal thing will be the investment of my 
 sister's fortune, and that, I make no doubt, is 
 made a charge on the estate.' 
 
 'That I know nothing about,' returned Red 
 Randle, coldly. ' But don't you think our place 
 just now is in your father's room ? The doctor 
 evidently thinks he may not survive the day.' 
 
 ; Yes, let us go,' answered the other, annoyed 
 as well at his cousin's rebuke as at his own 
 failure to illicit information from him ; for, in 
 spite of his denial, he was convinced that Randle 
 knew all about the will. 
 
 The surgeon's prognosis of the probable result 
 of Mr. Ryviugton's accident was realized even 
 more speedily than he had anticipated. In less
 
 302 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 than an hour after his arrival, Mr. Ryvington 
 passed away, so quietly and painlessly that 
 Dora and the two Randies thought he had sunk 
 into a deep sleep, and it was only when Mr. 
 Thyme placed his hand on his patient's heart 
 and said, f It is all over,' that they knew their 
 father and uncle was no more. 
 
 Amid the solemn silence that followed the 
 surgeon's words, Dora bent reverently over the 
 dead man's face and touched the cold forehead, 
 with her trembling lips. Then she knew that 
 her father was gone from her for ever, that in 
 this life they could never meet again, and her 
 heart seemed dead within her. In his lifetime 
 she had not been blind to her father's faults. 
 What child is? Bat at this solemn moment 
 she remembered only that he was her father, 
 and that he had loved her as she had loved him. 
 And there fell upon her a foreboding that, as 
 his death had brought her trouble, so it might 
 bring her evil, and that the brightness of her 
 young life would be buried in her father's 
 grave. 
 
 Her brother, too, in that supreme moment, 
 =was conscious only that he had lost a father.
 
 ONE HANDLE LESS. 303 
 
 Death for a while banished every thought of 
 self. He forgot even that the event to which 
 he had so long looked forward had at last come 
 to pass, and that he was now master of Deep- 
 dene and £10,000 a year, with full liberty to 
 shape his life according to his liking. 
 
 But this abnegation was not of long duration, 
 and jealousy of his sister and cousin, and an 
 uneasy doubt as to the provisions of the will, 
 despite his father's assurances that they were 
 in his favour, began speedily to assert them- 
 selves — doubts that were far from being allayed 
 by an incident which occurred shortly after his 
 father's demise. As he and the other Handle 
 left the chamber of death they met Lawyer 
 Pleasington, looking very hurried and dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 1 Am I in time?' he asked of Red Randle. ' I 
 started the moment I got your telegram. How 
 is your uncle going on V 
 
 4 1 am sorry to say my uncle died half an 
 hour ago.' 
 
 ' Dear me, dear me, it's a thousand pities ; 
 but I set off the moment I received your tele- 
 gram, and if there had not been a train on the
 
 304 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 point of starting I could not have got here for 
 an hour or more.' 
 
 ' What telegram V exclaimed Deep Handle, 
 to whom this conversation was altogether 
 enigmatical. ' What does it all mean V 
 
 'I telegraphed for Mr. Pleasington at your 
 father's request,' said the other. ' He wanted 
 him to make some alterations in his will, and 
 he particularly desired that I should not mention 
 the circumstance to anybody, not even to 
 you.' 
 
 'I ' began Deep Randle, angrily, and 
 
 then, restrained doubtless by prudential con- 
 siderations, he stopped short ; but his look said 
 as plainly as words could say, ' I don't believe 
 you.' 
 
 ' What alterations did he want to make, Mr. 
 Pleasington?' he asked, after a short pause. 
 
 * That is more than I can tell you.' 
 
 ' Can you guess, then Y 
 
 'It is against my principles to guess, Mr. 
 Handle.' 
 
 'But his present will — you made it — is it all 
 in order V 
 
 'Perfectly.'
 
 OXE RAXDLE LESS. • 305 
 
 ■ And valid V 
 
 1 Of course/ 
 
 1 What is its purport V 
 
 1 That I am not at liberty to say. But you 
 will not have to restrain your curiosity long 
 Mr. Ryvington,' said the lawyer, sarcastically, 
 recognising for the first time the young man's 
 accession to the headship of the family. * On 
 the day your father is buried you will be fully 
 enlightened.' 
 
 This answer did not seem to give Deep 
 Handle much satisfaction, and, after remarking 
 that he had several pressing matters to attend 
 to, he left Mr. Pleasington and his cousin to 
 themselves. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 306 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MRS. RYVINGTON AND HER NIECE. 
 
 < TF it could only have been ; if it could only 
 •*• have been ; if even yet it might please the 
 Lord to bring it about !' And then Mrs. Ry- 
 vington stopped short, as if afraid of going 
 any further, or, perhaps, to watch the effect 
 of this rather enigmatical utterance on Dora, 
 who, by her own wish, was staying at Redscar 
 until after the funeral. 
 
 1 If what could only have been, aunt V asked 
 Dora, with wondering eyes, still red with 
 weeping. 
 
 ' Oh, Dora, my love, it will be lonely for you 
 in yon big house, all by yourself, for your 
 brother will be often away, and your aunt 
 Ford is not much company for one of your age.
 
 MRS. RYVINGTON AND HER NIECE. 307 
 
 And if the estate is left to him, as I daresay it 
 is, you may have no right to live there/ 
 
 ' You surely do not think Randle would turn 
 me out of the house, mother 1 And I am sure 
 dear papa will have left us both alike. Am 1 
 not as much his child as my brother V 
 
 1 As far as that goes, yes ; and I think 
 parents should make no difference between one 
 child and another. But everybody does not 
 think so, and your poor father, I know, wanted 
 to keep Deepdene in the family. He is almost 
 sure to have entailed it, and, even if you lived 
 there for the present, Handle might marry, you 
 know, and then what would you do V 
 
 6 Oh, aunt, you are too anxious. I cannot 
 think about such things at present. I am sure 
 poor papa will have arranged everything for 
 the best ; and he once told me that he had 
 promised mamma to leave us both alike.' 
 
 ' If it could only have been ; if it could only 
 have been,' exclaimed Mrs. Ryvington. again 
 with a heavy sigh, and a look as dolorous as if 
 she, not Dora, had been left an orphan. 
 
 1 How mysterious you are, aunt,' said Dora 
 
 x2
 
 308 RED RYVTNGTON. 
 
 smiling in spite of her sorrow. ' If what could 
 only have been V 
 
 1 If it might have pleased the Lord to make 
 you one of us.' 
 
 * But am I not one of you already ? We are 
 all Ryvingtons, you know,' answered Dora, 
 quite unable to conjecture what her aunt was 
 driving at. 'Tell me plainly what you mean, 
 for I am sure I shall never guess.' 
 
 4 That if it might please the Lord in His 
 goodness to bring you and my son Handle 
 together the great wish of my life would be 
 realised.' 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 For a few minutes nothing more was said. 
 Mrs. Ryvington was watching anxiously for 
 some indication of the effect of her words, 
 while Dora seemed to be thinking how she 
 should reply. 
 
 ' Does — does Handle know of this V she said 
 at length. 
 
 4 Not at all, Dora. He has not the least sus- 
 picion that I have any such wish. You may 
 think it strange that I have chosen this time,
 
 MRS. RYYINGTON AND HER NIECE. 309 
 
 when your poor dear father is lying dead, to 
 moot such a matter to you. But it seemed to 
 me, seeing that the Lord has taken away your 
 only parent, that it might comfort you to look 
 forward to having a house of your own, and 
 living where your father and mother lived and 
 you were born.' 
 
 'You forget, aunt, that I have no right to 
 look forward to any such thing. I have always 
 looked upon Randle as a dear brother, and I 
 am sure he has never thought of me in any 
 other light than as a sister.' 
 
 4 But if so be ' 
 
 ' You are mistaken, aunt, I am sure. Randle 
 and I are brother and sister, and I do not think 
 we shall ever be anything else. And' (hesitat- 
 ingly) ■ it seems hardly right to discuss such a 
 subject now. Let us talk about something 
 else.' 
 
 Mrs. Ryvington was far from being dissatis- 
 fied with this answer. The question was, as it 
 were, left open, and Dora had said nothing to 
 indicate that she w r ould refuse Randle if Randle 
 at some future time should ask her to be his
 
 310 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 wife. Meanwhile the matter had been laid 
 before her. She could not help thinking about 
 it if she would. Mrs. Ryvington knew, more- 
 over, that when the heart is softened by a 
 great sorrow, we crave more for sympathy, and 
 are more thankful for any manifestation of it 
 than at other times ; and nothing could exceed 
 the kindness and delicacy of Handle's atten- 
 tions to his cousin since her bereavement, 
 attentions which left as little doubt in his 
 mother's mind that his love for Dora was 
 more than the love of a brother as that they 
 were exceedingly grateful to the young lady 
 herself. 
 
 As Mrs. Eivington had told her niece, a mar- 
 riage between her and Handle had long been 
 one of her day-dreams. She honestly thought 
 they were well suited to each other, and would 
 make each other happy ; and, as a woman who 
 knew the value of money, she was fully alive to 
 the advantage her son would derive from mar- 
 rying a girl with so large a fortune as Dora 
 would be sure to possess. 
 
 In the evening she mentioned the matter to
 
 MRS. RYVIXGTON AND HER NIECE. 311 
 
 Handle. She thought it might be expedient to 
 put the idea into his mind also, if peradventure 
 it were not theie already. 
 
 * Poor Dora,' she began ; * it will be very 
 lonely for her at Deepdene. Her aunt Ford is 
 no company for anybody. When the funeral 
 is over and everything settled she will feel the 
 loss of her father more than ever/ 
 
 4 She will, indeed, poor girl,' answered Handle, 
 pityingly. 'But we must have here often. She 
 is always pleased to come to Reclscar. I have 
 heard her say she feels more at home here than 
 at Deepdene.' 
 
 1 I am afraid that cannot be, Randle. You 
 forget that Dora is now a woman. People 
 would talk.' 
 
 ' What would they talk about ? Let them 
 talk,' exclaimed Randle, who had a great con- 
 tempt for what he called ■ twaddle,' meaning 
 thereby gossip and scandal. 
 
 1 It is very easy for you to despise talk, but 
 Dora would probably be less indifferent. Sup- 
 pose they said she came here to see you V 
 
 1 Suppose they did, what then V
 
 312 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 ' Dear me, Handle, how obtuse you are ! 
 Would you like it to be said of Dora that she 
 came here to look for a husband V 
 
 ' Oh, that is it, is it V 
 
 'Yes, that is it. Has no such idea ever 
 occurred to you V 
 
 ' What, that Dora came here to look for a 
 husband?' 
 
 ' No, you know what I mean. Has the thought 
 that you might do worse than make her your 
 wife never occurred to you V 
 
 6 Honestly, mother, it never has. I have al- 
 ways looked upon Dora as a sister, and the idea 
 of marrying her, now you mention it, seems to 
 me positively unnatural.' 
 
 ' Perhaps when you have thought a little more 
 about it, it may seem less so. And oh, Handle, 
 nothing would please me more than to see you 
 and Dora united.' 
 
 ' Has Dora any such idea, do you think V 
 asked Handle, sharply. 
 
 ' That is more than I can say ; but I almost 
 think so. I think if you were to ask her she 
 would not say you nay.' 
 
 ' I hope you are wrong, mother. I should be
 
 MRS. RYVINGTON AND HER NIECE. 313 
 
 sorry to think that Dora's feeling for me is other 
 than sisterly, for great as is my affection for her 
 it falls far short of the love a man ought to have 
 for the woman he means to marry, I have a 
 warm brotherly love for her, but nothing more.' 
 
 1 The more would come in time, Handle. At 
 any rate, think about it.' 
 
 6 You put it in such a way that I cannot help 
 thinking about it, mother. I shall think about 
 it a great deal, though perhaps not in the sense 
 you desire.' 
 
 And he did. As he said, the idea of being 
 more than a brother to Dora in affection, or a 
 cousin in fact, had never entered his mind, and, 
 as it seemed to him, there was no particular 
 reason why he should make haste to marry — 
 either her or anybody else. But if his mother 
 were right in her conjecture that Dora loved 
 him, that she had misinterpreted his attentions, 
 the matter would wear an entirely different as- 
 pect. For he liked her so well that he would 
 have been deeply grieved to know that she 
 cherished an unrequited love, and he admitted 
 to himself that if he should resolve to marry he 
 could not find anywhere a better or more suit-
 
 314 RED RYVINGTON. 
 
 able wife than Dora. True, he could not offer 
 her that higher love, that thorough devotion of 
 heart and mind which are the tokens of a great 
 passion ; but these, as his mother had suggested, 
 might come with time. 
 
 And then he thought of Lady Muriel, of her 
 last words of farewell, and of the bunch of for- 
 get-me-nots which he still kept hidden away in 
 one of the drawers of his w r ri ting-table. Long 
 past as the time was, the thought almost made 
 him tremble. The passion that he lacked for 
 Dora he could, had circumstances been pro- 
 pitious, have felt for Lady Muriel — had almost 
 felt indeed. But the rubs of time had already 
 dulled the vividness of the impression she had 
 made upon him, and if the memory of their 
 meeting and parting came back to him, as it 
 sometimes did, he would thrust it aside, with a 
 smile at his own folly for allowing his thoughts 
 to dwell on one who could never be his and whom 
 he might never see again. 
 
 As for Dora, there was no need for a present 
 decision. Even if he should come to the reso- 
 lution which his mother so evidently desired, it
 
 31RS. RYVIXGTON AND HER NIECE. 315 
 
 would not be seemly to broach the matter for 
 some time after Mr. Ryvington's funeral. Mean- 
 while he would watch his cousin and try to find 
 out if his mother's surmise as to the nature 
 of her affection for him had any foundation in 
 fact. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 

 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBAN* 
 
 3 0112 056531996