^»\:^^ 
 
 SS§\v 
 
 ^N
 
 LI E> RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS
 
 THE DUCHESS 
 
 or 
 
 ROSEMAEY LANE.
 
 THE DUCHESS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROSEMAEY LANE. 
 
 % Nobel. 
 
 BY 
 
 B. L. FAEJEOIST, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 'GRIF;" "bLADE-O'-GRASS;" "JOSHUA MAEVEI,;" " AT THE SIGN OF THB SILVER 
 FLAGON;" "an island PEAKL ; " "SHADOWS ON THE SNOW," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1876. 
 
 \_All rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved.']
 
 PRINTED KY TAYLOll AND CO., 
 LITTLE QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS.
 
 P5 3 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 c^ 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 PAGE 
 PAKT THE FIEST. — SPKTNG- . . . . . .1 
 
 PAET THE SECOND. — SUMMER 15 
 
 PART THE THIRD. — AUTUMN .42 
 
 PAET THE rOCTRTH. — WINTER 52 
 
 y 
 
 .^ 
 
 ,PART THE FIRST.-THE CHILD. 
 
 CHAP. rAGB 
 
 I. THE CHILD 85 
 
 II. IN WHICH IS BELATED THE TABLE OF THE ONE- 
 EYED TOAD 9J 
 
 III. SHOWING THE CLOSE RELATION THAT EXISTS BE- 
 
 TWEEN POLITICAL AND DOMESTIC DIFFERENCES OF 
 OPINION, AND INTRODUCING, IN A SLEEPY WAY, 
 THE HEROINE OF THE STOEY .... 10 i 
 
 IV. IN WHICH ME. CHESTER EVINCES A SINGULAR AND 
 
 AN UNACCOUNTABLE ANXIETY WITH REFERENCE 
 
 TO A PENNY TIN WHISTLE 139 
 
 Y. SHOWING HOW UMFORTUNATE, UP TO A CERTAIN 
 PERIOD OF HIS LIFE, A MAN MAY BE WHO IS BOEN 
 WITH THE LUCKIEST OF OMENS .... 140
 
 yi Contents. 
 
 CB-iX, PAGE 
 
 VI. THE DKEAM OF THE MOTIIEE . . . ' . 168 
 
 VII. THE DEEAM OF THE CHILD 100 
 
 VIII. IN WHICH ME. CHESTEE DISCOVEES WHO IT WAS 
 
 THAT PLAYED ON THE TIN WHISTLE . . .201 
 
 IX. IN WHICH THE HEEOINE IS IN DANGEE OF BEIKG 
 
 THROWN FEIENDLESS ON THE WOELD . . . 239
 
 THE 
 
 DUCHESS OF ROSEMAEY LANE. 
 
 " We see 
 The seasons alter : hoary-headed frosts 
 Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson rose ; 
 And on old Hymen's chin and icy crown 
 An odorous chaplet of sweet summer buds 
 Is, as in mockery, set." 
 
 PAET THE FIEST. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 It is a lovely morning in April. The 
 last drops of a radiant shower have fallen, 
 and Nature is smiling through her tears, 
 as might a happy maiden in the sparkling 
 face of her lover, who, suddenly and unex- 
 pectedly, has brought her joyful tidings. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 The Duchess of Rose77iary La7ie. 
 
 The titlark and the whitethroat, and other 
 feathered visitors of spring, are flying 
 hither and thither in glad delight, singing 
 their blithest songs, and carrying rays of 
 sunlight on their wings to illumine the 
 summer nests which they are building. 
 Joyously busy are these graceful citizens 
 of the woods, and proud of their work ; 
 they chirp, and twitter, and exchange glad 
 greetings, as they fly hither and thither, 
 and when they rest from their labour of 
 love on the sprays of the common beach, 
 they seem to be sitting in bell-shaped 
 thrones of emerald, while the dew upon the 
 flowers of the silver birch glitters like 
 drops of molten gold in the eye of the 
 sun. 
 
 Surrounded by these and myriad other 
 evidences of spring, stands a fair and beau- 
 tiful girl, herself in the spring of life. The 
 name of the place in which she stands is 
 appropriate to her and to the season. 
 Springfield is an enclosed park of forty
 
 spring. 
 
 acres, tlie beauties of which are jealously 
 hidden from vulgar gaze. It is a small 
 but the most picturesque portion of an im- 
 portant estate, at present in the possession 
 of Lady Josephine Temple, who lies sick in 
 the quaint old house yonder, built in the 
 Elizabethan style, the designs for which 
 are said to have been prepared by John of 
 Padua. But John of Padua and all the 
 historical associations of the house are as 
 dead letters to Lady Temple, who has suf- 
 ficient food for contemplation in her own 
 immediate affairs and condition. The blinds 
 of the room in which she lies are drawn 
 down for the express purpose of shutting 
 out the day, in accordance with the ancient 
 formula, which provided that the sick should 
 be depressed and weakened by dim light 
 and silence, instead of cheered and strength- 
 ened by sunlight and cheerfulness. 
 
 To beautiful Nelly Marston, as she stands 
 by the quaint old windows in the laughing 
 sunlight, with diamond drops of rain glis- 
 
 B 2
 
 Ihe Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 tening in her bouny brown hair, and on her 
 lashes, — 
 
 '* The April in her eyes ; it is love's spring, 
 And these the showers to bring it on," — 
 
 to her comes, with a bashful air upon him, 
 the son of the head gardener of Springfield, 
 a young man of twenty-five or thereabouts, 
 fairly handsome, fairly ■ well-made, and, 
 through the long services of his father, 
 fairly well-to-do in the world. He has in 
 his hand some loose flowers, and a small 
 bouquet of lilies of the valley, arranged in 
 good taste, and looking, with their white 
 petals and their background of exquisitely 
 green leaves, like turrets of ivory carved 
 out one above another, built up on emerald 
 mountains. The young man, with a world 
 of admiration expressed in his manner, 
 holds out the lilies to Miss Nelly Marston, 
 with a shyness that would have been comical 
 in one so strong had his earnestness allowed 
 scope for any quality less strong than itself. 
 " May I offer you these, miss ? "
 
 spring, 5 
 
 As though he were offering her his 
 heart, which, indeed, he was ready and 
 eager to do, but lacked the courage. 
 
 *^ Thank you, John," she says, turning 
 the flowers this way and that, with as 
 dainty a coquetting with man and flower 
 — though she does not look at Mm — as well 
 could be. Then she selects two or three 
 of the lilies, and places them in her brown 
 hair, where they rest like white doves In 
 an autumn forest. John's heart is full as 
 he sees his flowers thus disposed. Nelly, 
 then, inhales the fresh air, demonstratively, 
 as though it were nectar. ^^ What a lovely 
 morning ! And yet it was blowing last 
 night, almost like winter." 
 
 *^ Ah, you heard the wind, miss," re- 
 sponds the young gardener, delighted at 
 the opportunity of exchanging a few words 
 with the girl who had but lately come to 
 Springfield, and who had taken his heart 
 captive the moment his eyes rested on her 
 fair face. A thrill actually runs through
 
 6 The Duchess of Roseviary Lane, 
 
 his foolish heart at the thought that he and 
 she were awake at the same moment listen- 
 ing to the wind. '' It is a good sign, miss, 
 for harvest." 
 
 ^' I have heard you are weatherwise, 
 John," says Nelly Marston, with a little 
 laugh sweeter to the young fellow than the 
 sweetest chime of bells, or the sweetest 
 music of birds. ^'Harvest-time is far off. 
 In what way is it a good sign ? " 
 
 '' When April blows his horn, it's good 
 for hay and corn. An old saying, miss." 
 
 '' As old, I dare say, as that April showers 
 make May flowers." (Nelly Marston is 
 almost as pleased as the young gardener 
 himself at the opportunity for conversation. 
 She finds Springfield very dull. Every 
 soul in it, with the exception of the mistress, 
 is a servant, and Lady Temple, a childless 
 widow, is not remarkable for cheerfulness 
 or lively manners. There is no one at 
 Springfield with whom the girl can associate. 
 " These lilies are very, very pretty, John !
 
 spring, 7 
 
 "What is that flower you have in your hand, 
 that one with the spotted leaves ? " 
 
 ^^This, miss? It isn't very handsome, 
 but I can't resist picking a bit when I first 
 catch sight of it in the spring hedges, be- 
 cause it reminds me of the time when I was 
 a little un, and when me and the others 
 used to play at lords and ladies with it. 
 It's almost a medicine flower, too, miss, the 
 cuckoo-pint." 
 
 ^^The cuckoo-pint! Is lords-and-ladies 
 another name for it ? " 
 
 *' Not a proper name, miss, but that's what 
 we used to call it. It's come down to us in 
 that way." 
 
 ^' And the cuckoo flower, too ! I have 
 heard of the cuckoo flower, of course, but 
 never of the cuckoo-pint. Lords-and-ladies I 
 Give it to me, John, will you ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, miss," answers the 
 delighted and palpitating John. ^' I'll pick 
 you a bunch of them, if you like, miss." 
 
 "Yes, do! But— I am a very curious
 
 8 The Duchess of Roseinary Lane, 
 
 person, John, always wanting to know' 
 things — tvliy is it called lords-and-ladies ? " 
 
 ^^ I don't exactly know, miss, except, per- 
 haps, that it changes more than any other 
 flower." 
 
 ^^ And lords and ladies do that ? " 
 
 ^* It isn't for me to say, miss. I only re- 
 peat what I have heard. There's other 
 names for it. If you'll allow me, miss." 
 John's nerves tingle as he takes the flower 
 from the girl's hand, and in doing touches 
 her fingers. The contact of her soft flesh 
 with his is a concentrated bliss to him, and 
 sets his sensitive soul on fire. " You see, 
 I pull down this hood " — (he suits the action 
 to the word, and turns down the outer leaf) 
 — '-'- and here's the Parson in his Pulpit. 
 You might fancy 'twas something like it, 
 miss." 
 
 '-^ You must not make fun of parsons, 
 John. My father was one." 
 
 John, who is a staunch church-goer, and 
 by no means irreverently inclined, is in-
 
 spring. 
 
 stantly imbued with a deeper reverence 
 than ever for parsons, and says apologeti- 
 cally, 
 
 " 'Tis not making fun of them, miss, to 
 liken them to flowers. If I was to liken 
 them to medicine bottles, now, with the 
 white labels tied round their necks, ^twould 
 be different ; but I wouldn't go so far as 
 that." 
 
 Nelly Marston laughs, the likeness of 
 medicine bottles to the clergy is so clearly 
 apparent. 
 
 *^ It is a long stretch either way, John. 
 I must go in now. Don't forget to pick me 
 a bunch of lords-and-ladies ! " 
 
 ^' I'll not forget, miss." 
 
 The happy young gardener touches his 
 cap, and walks away with a blithe heart, 
 to search at once among the hedges for this 
 particular species of the arum. Be sure 
 that none but the very finest specimens will 
 meet with his approval. From this day 
 forth the cuckoo- pint holds a curiously-
 
 lO The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 tender place in his memory, and the season 
 
 " When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 And lady-smocks, all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight," 
 
 never comes round without bringing with 
 it a vision of himself and a fair and beauti- 
 ful girl by the old house at Springfield, she 
 with white lilies and cuckoo flowers in her 
 hands, and he standing before her, with a 
 heart pulsing with love and adoration. 
 
 Nelly Marston would have stopped a 
 longer time conversing with him, had she not 
 seen a maid approaching her from the house 
 to summon her to Lady Temple's room. 
 
 ^' I have been waiting for you. Miss Mar- 
 ston," says the sick lady, in a peevish tone, 
 as the girl enters, ^^ and wondering where 
 you were. What have you in your hand ? 
 Flowers! Send them away. Ycu know 
 am expressly forbidden to have flowers 
 about me. Stay. What are they ? Don't 
 bring them too close."
 
 spring, 1 1 
 
 " Only a few lilies of the valley, Lady 
 Temple, that the gardener's son gave 
 me." 
 
 ^' And you have some in your hair, too — 
 that the gardener's son gave you ! And 
 those other flowers, the yellow ones ? " 
 
 ^' This is the cuckoo flower — the cuckoo- 
 pint, rather. Lords-and-ladies, he called 
 it." 
 
 " And that's why you choose it, I sup- 
 pose. So you have been gossiping with 
 the gardener's son ! You are like your 
 mother, I am afraid." 
 
 ^'My mother. Lady Temple," says the 
 girl proudly, straightening her slight figure 
 '^ during her lifetime, always spoke of you 
 with respect and aff'ection. I shall be glad 
 if you will explain the meaning of your 
 words — if they have a meaning." 
 
 " There, there, don't worry me, Miss 
 Marston. I am not strong enough for 
 scenes. It seems to be a bright morning." 
 
 " It is very fresh and lovely out of doors.
 
 1 2 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 Spring is come in real earnest. The apple- 
 blossoms look beautiful " 
 
 '-^ And I lie here." interrupts Lady- 
 Temple querulously, '^ shut out from it 
 all, shut out from it all ! I have never had 
 any happiness in my life, never ! Shall I 
 never rise from this horrible bed ? " She 
 gazes at IN'elly Marston, envious of the 
 girl's youth and brightness. ^^ I suppose, 
 Miss Marston, if you were mistress of this 
 house and grounds, you think you could be 
 very happy ? " 
 
 *^ I think so, Lady Temple. I should not 
 require much else." 
 
 '^ You would ! " cried Lady Temple 
 fiercely. '^ One thing. Love ! 'J^hat is 
 what your mother sacrificed herself for, the 
 fool ! " 
 
 ^^ Why speak of her in that way," asks the 
 girl, in a quiet tone, but with a bright 
 colour in her face which shows how deeply 
 she resents the words of her mistress, 
 ^^ before her daughter? She was your
 
 spring. 1 3 
 
 friend, remember. You say you have never 
 had happiness in your life. I am sorry for 
 you, and I am glad to think that my mother 
 had much." 
 
 ^^ There, there I Be still. Your mother 
 was a good creature, and no one's enemy 
 but her own. What are those shadows on 
 the blind?" 
 
 ^^ Swallows, Lady Temple. I lay awake 
 for a long time this morning, watching 
 them. They are building nests just outside 
 my window." 
 
 '^IS'ever mind them," says Lady Temple 
 fretfully. ^^ Listen to me. Miss Marslon. 
 I am not quite alone in the world. I have 
 relatives who love me very much just now 
 — oh, yes, very much just now, when they 
 think I have not long to live ! But only 
 one shall darken my doors. My nephew, 
 Mr. Temple, will be here in a few days ; you 
 must see that his rooms are ready for him 
 when he arrives. Give me his letter. 
 There it is, on my dressing-table. "What
 
 14 TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 have you dropped ? What are you looking 
 at?" 
 
 ** A portrait, Lady Temple. It slipped 
 from the envelope. Is it Mr. Temple's 
 picture ? " 
 
 ^' Yes, yes ; give it to me. It is a handsome 
 face^ is it not, Miss Marston? Now sit 
 down, and do not annoy me any longer. 
 When I am asleep, go softly, and see to 
 Mr. Temple's rooms. He will have this 
 house when I am gone, if he does not 
 thwart me. But I will take care — I will 
 take care ! " 
 
 The sentence is not finished, and there is 
 silence in the sick room. Lady Temple 
 dozes, and Nelly Marston sits, quietly by 
 the window, stealthily raising a corner of 
 the blind now and then, to catch a glimpse 
 of the sun and the beautiful grounds upon 
 which it shines.
 
 PAET THE SECOND. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 The moon shines on a rippling brook in 
 Springfield, and the summer flowers are* 
 sleeping. But even in sleep the foxglove 
 lights up the underwood, and the clover re- 
 tains the sunset's crimson fire. It is a 
 beautiful and peaceful night; an odorous 
 stillness is in the air, and 
 
 " the floor of heaven 
 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold." 
 
 The shadows of gently- undulating branches 
 and the delicate traceries of thp feather- 
 grass — so subtly sensitive that in the still- 
 est night its bells are tremulous; may- 
 hap in response to fairy whisperings — are
 
 1 6 The Duchess 0/ Rose?nary Lane. 
 
 reflected in the stream j which reflects also 
 the shadow of ^N'elly Marston, who is bend- 
 ding low to look at her fair face in the 
 depths made luminous by stars. As with 
 sparkling eyes she stoops lower and lower 
 in half-sportive, half-earnest admiration of 
 herself, her face rises in the water to greet 
 her, until the smiling lips of flesh almost 
 kiss their shadow. 
 
 As she gazes, another shadow bends over 
 hers, blotting the fairer vision, and a strong 
 arm is thrown around her waist. 
 
 " Why, JS^elly — Miss Marston ! Are you 
 about to play Ophelia in my aunt's pretty 
 brook ? '' 
 
 The girl starts to her feet, and swiftly 
 releases herself from his embrace. Not far 
 from them, but unseen by either, stands 
 the gardener's son, watching them. Their 
 breasts are stirred by emotions which bring 
 an agitated pleasure to them ; his is stirred 
 by darker passions. 
 
 '' I was simply," replies Nelly, with
 
 Summer. 1 7 
 
 burning blushes in her face, '^ bending over 
 the water to — to " 
 
 And pauses for lack of words. 
 
 Mr. Temple assists her. 
 
 ^^ To look at your pretty face, or perhaps 
 to kiss yourself, as a spirit might. Labour 
 thrown away, Miss Marston, and most 
 certainly unprofitable, if what the poet 
 says is true : 
 
 " Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
 Such have but a shadow's bliss." 
 
 Nelly Marston regains her composure. 
 
 *^We did not expect you to-night, Mr. 
 Temple." 
 
 ^^ Then I should be all the more wel- 
 come," he answers gaily. ^' I am starving, 
 Nelly " 
 
 She checks him by a look. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Miss Nelly Mars- 
 ton, I am starving with hunger. I have 
 not had a morsel of food in my mouth 
 since the morning." 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 1 8 The Dtuhess of Roseviary Lane. 
 
 *^ There will be no difficulty in reviving 
 your fainting soul, Mr. Temple," she says, 
 with a desperate attempt to imitate his 
 light manner ; '-'- but Lady Temple must not 
 know you are here. ' Miss Marston,' she 
 said to me this afternoon, ' my nephew will 
 be absent for some time. He will write to 
 me regularly. Directly his letters arrive, 
 let me have them. If I am asleep place 
 them at once by my side.' " 
 
 Mr. Temple, a handsome, graceful man, 
 not less than thirty-five years of age, inter- 
 poses with a merry laugh. 
 
 ** I posted one to her ladyship three 
 hours ago, twenty-miles from this spot." 
 
 ^' All the more reason," says Nelly Mars- 
 ton seriously, ^^ why she should not know 
 you are in Springfield." 
 
 He tries to stop her remonstrance by, 
 ^^ ISFow, my dear Mother Hubbard ! " but 
 she will not listen to him. 
 
 *^ Lady Temple unfortunately magnifies 
 the smallest trifles into serious vexations.
 
 Sum^ner. i g 
 
 She is very, very fretful" — this with a 
 little weary sigh — " and the doctor says it 
 is most important she should not be an- 
 noyed in any way. Mr. Temple, if she 
 suspects you are in the house to-night, she 
 will never forgive you," 
 
 ^^ And houses, lands, and money," he 
 rejoins, with a careless shrug of his 
 shoulders, ^^ would melt away into such airy 
 distances that, though my limbs were* 
 quickened with mercury, I should never be 
 able to overtake them. But what are all 
 these when weighed against love " 
 
 Flushed and palpitating, Nelly finds 
 strength to interrupt him. 
 
 ^^Mr. Temple, I must not listen to you. 
 I am not ignorant of the reason why 
 your aunt sent you away — for you were 
 sent, you know ! " she adds, somewhat 
 saucily. 
 
 ^^Oh, yes, I know I was sent away. I 
 am sure I did not want to go." 
 
 ^^ Twice to-day Lady Temple has spoken 
 
 c z
 
 20 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 seriously to me — I leave you to guess upon 
 what subject. Mr. Temple, you know 
 what my position is. 1 am a dependent, 
 without parents, without friends, without 
 money. Sometimes when I look into the 
 future, and think of what would become of 
 me if I were thrown upon the world, I 
 tremble with fear." 
 
 "And yet you have a strong will of 
 your own," he mutters, not in the most 
 amiable tone ; but in another instant he 
 relapses into his lighter mood. 
 
 There is a moment's hesitation on her 
 part, as though her strong will were about 
 to desert her ; but she, also, succeeds in 
 controlling herself. 
 
 " No, I am weak, very, very weak ; but 
 for my own sake I must strive to be strong. 
 And now I will leave you, please. No ; do 
 not walk with me to the house. We shall 
 be seen, and the servants will talk." 
 
 " Let them talk ! " he cries impetuously. 
 
 She looks him steadily in the face.
 
 Summer, 1 1 
 
 " If they do, Mr. Temple, who will suffer 
 — you or I ? " 
 
 ^^ You don't understand me, T^elly — nay, 
 I will call you Nelly when no one is by 
 to hear ! — I will answer for their discretion; 
 but indeed and indeed, we shall not be 
 seen ! " 
 
 While he speaks, she is walking towards 
 the house, and he is by her side. After 
 them, through the path where the shadows 
 lie, steals the gardener's son, quivering with 
 excitement. If he could but hear what 
 these two are saying to each other ! He 
 loves Nelly Marston with all the strength of 
 his nature. He not only loves her; he 
 respects her. The very ground she walks 
 upon is sacred in his eyes. Until lately he 
 had fed hopefully upon small crumbs of 
 comfort which the girl, wittingly or unwit- 
 tingly, had given him. Nelly had spoken 
 pleasantly to him ; Nelly had smiled upon 
 him as she tripped past him ; Nelly wore 
 a flower he gave her. But he had never
 
 22 The Duchess 0/ Rosefnary Lane. 
 
 found the courage to open his heart to her, 
 she being in his estimation so far above him, 
 and now he fears that a rival has stepped in, 
 and that what he yearns for with all his 
 soul is slipping from him. 
 
 '^ Mr. Temple," says Nelly, when they 
 are near the house, " you said just now 
 that you were starving of hunger. You 
 had best bribe one of the servants, and get 
 something to eat. Then I should advise 
 you to quit Springfield, and not return 
 till you are sent for." 
 
 *' Should you ! " he replies, defiantly 
 and yet beseechingly. '' Advice is a 
 cheap gift. You would not send for me, I 
 warrant." 
 
 '' By what right should I ? " 
 
 " Hungry for food I am," he says, ''but 
 I have another kind of hunger upon me 
 which makes me regardless of that." 
 
 " Indeed ! " she exclaims, with a pretty 
 gesture of surprise. 
 
 ^' Nelly, you are merciless. You see that
 
 Sum?ner. 23 
 
 I am starving of love for you, and you 
 systematically " 
 
 She stays to hear no more, and gliding 
 from him, passes into the house. But he, 
 stung by her avoidance of him, steps swiftly 
 after her, and before she is aware of his 
 presence, stands with her in the sick- 
 chamber, where Lady Temple lies sleeping. 
 
 Within this man is working the instinct 
 of our common nature. The more difficult tcT 
 win becomes the prize — without question of 
 its worth : the measure of difficulty gauges 
 that — the more ardeut is he in its pursuit, 
 and the greater value it assumes. And 
 being piqued in this instance, all the forces 
 of his intellect come to his aid. 
 
 And Nelly ? Well, loving him already, 
 she loves him the more because of his 
 persistence, and because of the value he by 
 his recklessness appears to place upon her. 
 
 " O Mr, Temple," she whispers, deeply 
 agitated, ^^ how can you so compromise me ? 
 Go, for Heaven's sake, before she wakes ! ''
 
 24 The DucJiess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 '^ On one condition," he answers, lower- 
 ing his voice to the pitch of hers; ^^that 
 you meet me by the brook in an hour from 
 this.'^ 
 
 '^Anything — anything ! — but go ! " 
 
 ^' You promise, then ? " 
 
 ^' Yes, yes — I promise." 
 
 He is about to seal the promise, she being 
 at his mercy, when Lady Temple moves 
 restlessly, and opens her eyes. He has 
 barely time to slip behind the curtains at 
 the head of the bed before the sick lady 
 speaks. 
 
 ^' Is that you. Miss Marston ? " 
 
 *'Yes, Lady Temple." 
 
 " I thought I heard voices ! " 
 
 " I have this moment come in." 
 
 " T went to sleep without taking my 
 medicine, Miss Marston. Why did you 
 let me go to sleep without it ? " 
 
 " You fell asleep suddenly. Lady Temple, 
 and I thought it best not to wake you." 
 
 '^ Give it to me now."
 
 Stunmer. 25 
 
 Nelly takes a bottle from a table at the 
 head of the bed, pours out the medicine, 
 and gives it to the sick lady. As she re- 
 places the bottle, Mr. Temple, with un- 
 thinking and cruel audacity, seizes her 
 hand, and kisses it. Lady Temple, with 
 the medicine at her lips does not drink, but 
 gazes suspiciously at Nelly, who cannot 
 keep the hot colour from her cheeks. 
 
 '^What sound is that?" asks Lady 
 Temple. '^ What makes your face so red, 
 Miss Marston ? " 
 
 Nelly busies herself — her hand being 
 released — about the pillows, and replies : 
 
 '' You should not gaze at me so strangely. 
 You are full of fancies to-night, Lady 
 /Temple." 
 
 ^' Maybe, maybe. Hold up the candle, 
 so that I may see the room — higher, 
 higher I " 
 
 Her inquisitive eyes peer before her, 
 but she sees nothing to verify her suspi-
 
 26 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 cions, Mr. Temple being safely concealed 
 behind the curtains. 
 
 '^ That will do, Miss Marston. Put down 
 the candle — the glare hurts my eyes. Full 
 of fancies ! " she murmurs. ^' It is true 
 I see shadows ; I hear voices : I am not 
 certain at times whether I am awake or 
 asleep. But what I said to you to-day," 
 she exclaims in a louder tone, ^^ is no fancy, 
 Miss Marston." 
 
 ^^ There is no occasion for you to repeat 
 it, Lady Temple." 
 
 ^' I am the best judge of that. Miss Mars- 
 ton, and I do not intend to be misunder- 
 stood. I tell you now, plainly, that I sent 
 my nephew away because I saw what was 
 going on between you." 
 
 " Lady Temple ! " cries Nelly indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 " You must not agitate me. Miss Marston. 
 Oblige me by holding this glass while I 
 speak. If you wish to leave the house, you 
 may do so."
 
 Summer, 27 
 
 *^ It is so generous and good of you to 
 threaten me ! " says the girl scornfully ; 
 " knowing my position. If I had any shel- 
 ter but this, I would not stop with you 
 another day.'^ 
 
 *^ You are only showing your ingratitude, 
 Miss Marston. I do not threaten you, and 
 I will not be contradicted. I promised your 
 mother before she died that you should 
 have a home here while I live, and I will 
 not turn you away. If you go, you go of 
 your own accord. I tell you again I know 
 perfectly well what is stirring within that 
 busy head of yours. You are like your 
 papther, no better, and no worse, and I knew 
 her well enough; never content, never 
 content unless every man she saw was at 
 her feet." 
 
 " And yet," says Nelly more quietly, 
 ^^ you have spoken slightingly of her more 
 than once because she sacrificed herself, as 
 you term it, for love." 
 
 " Yes, she was caught at last, and was 
 punished."
 
 28 TJie Duel less of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 " It was a happy punishment, then. She 
 would not have changed her lot with yours, 
 Lady Temple.'' 
 
 ^* She was punished, I tell you. As you 
 will be, if you do not take care. You will 
 live to prove it, if you are not mindful of 
 yourself. You have a pretty face — psha ! 
 we are women and no one but ourselves 
 hears Avhat I say. I had a pretty face once, 
 and I knew its power, and used it as you 
 wish to do. But not with my nephew, 
 Miss Marston, mark that ! You have all 
 the world to choose from, with the excep- 
 tion of my nephew. And you fancy you 
 know him, I have no doubt — simpleton ! 
 You know as much as a baby of the 
 world and of men of the world. Take an 
 old woman's counsel — marry in your own 
 station " 
 
 ^'My mother was a lady," interrupts 
 Nelly, with a curl of her lip, ''and T am 
 
 one." 
 
 '' Pooh ! Nonsense ! You have no money.
 
 Summer, 29 
 
 You are a poor girl, and no lady — a& 
 ladies go," she adds, unconsciousl}?' utter- 
 ing a truism in her attempt to soften the 
 effect of her words. " There's the gar- 
 dener's son. You can't do better than 
 marry him. His father has been all his 
 life at Springfield, and has saved money 
 I hear. He is continually making you 
 presents of flowers, and the housekeeper 
 tells me " 
 
 "With a burning consciousness that these 
 words are reaching other ears than her 
 own, Nelly again interrupts her mistress : 
 
 ^^ When you have finished insulting me. 
 Lady Temple, I shall be glad to leave the 
 room." 
 
 '' You shall not leave the room till I am 
 asleep. Marry whom you like except my 
 nephew. If he marries you he is a beggar 
 by it. I am tired of talking. I will take 
 my medicine." 
 
 She empties the glass, and sinks back on 
 her pillow. The medicine is an opiate,
 
 30 TJie Duchess of Rose7nary Lane. 
 
 but even while she yields to its influence, 
 she continues to murmur, in a tone so low 
 that only Nelly now can hear her. 
 
 '* Marriage, indeed ! As if he means it, 
 and as if, meaning it even, he dared to 
 thwart me ! A pair of fools ! They will 
 rue the day ! " 
 
 Thus she mutters until sleep overpowers 
 her, and she takes her theme with her into 
 the land of dreams. 
 
 Mr. Temple steals from his hiding- 
 place. 
 
 '-'- She is in a sweet temper," he says in 
 a whisper, placing his hands on Nelly's 
 shoulders, and drawing her to him. "I 
 was very nearly coming forward and spoil- 
 ing everything ; but I couldn't afi*ord to do 
 it. Nelly, I want to know about that 
 gardener's son. 
 
 She yields to his embrace for a moment, 
 then draws away. 
 
 ^' I can tell you nothing now. Go, for 
 my sake, lest she should awake."
 
 Summer, 3 1 
 
 " For your sake, then. Do not forget. 
 In an hour, by the brook." 
 
 '' I ought not to come." 
 
 " You have promised," he says, in a 
 louder tone. 
 
 '^ Hush — hush ! " she entreats. " Yes, 
 I will come." 
 
 Before the hour has passed, he has ap- 
 peased his hunger, and is standing by the 
 brook, waiting for Nelly. The night is. 
 most peaceful and lovely, and Mr. Temple, 
 as he smokes his cigar, pays homage to 
 it in an idle way, and derives a 
 patronising pleasure from the shadows in 
 the starlit waters. His thoughts are not 
 upon the graceful shapes, although his 
 eyes behold them. What, then, does he see 
 in their place ? Do the floating reflections 
 bear a deeper meaning to his senses than 
 they would convey under ordinary condi- 
 tions? Does he see any foreshadowing 
 of the future there? No. His thoughts 
 are all upon the present, and wha^ he be-
 
 3 2 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 holds is merely tinged with such poetry 
 as springs from animal sentiment. He may 
 trick himself into a finer belief, but he can- 
 not alter its complexion. He is in an 
 ineffably pleasant mood, and his pulses are 
 stirred by just that feeling of pleasurable 
 excitement which sheds a brighter gloss on 
 all surrounding things. At the sound of a 
 step behind him he smiles and his heart 
 beats faster. ''It is Nelly," he whispers. 
 But when he turns, and confronts the gar- 
 dener's son, the smile leaves his face. 
 
 " I ask your pardon, sir," says the young 
 man, '^ can I have a word with you ? " 
 
 '' Ah ! " says Mr. Temple, with a look of 
 curiosity at the young fellow, '' you are the 
 gardener's son." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 Mr. Temple regards the intruder atten- 
 tively, and says, rather haughtily : 
 
 '^ You have selected a singular time for a 
 conference." 
 
 " I must speak to you now, sir."
 
 Summer, 
 
 Z?> 
 
 *' If you please, sir.'' 
 
 '^ By-and-by will not do ? " 
 
 ^^By-and-by may be too late, sir." 
 
 Mr. Temple looks at the gardener's son 
 still more earnestly. 
 
 ^'Attend to wbat I am about to say, 
 young man. You have lived all youi' life 
 at Springfield, I believe ? " 
 
 "I was born here, sir." 
 
 ^' Have you an idea as to who will be the 
 next master of this estate ? " 
 
 *' Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you wish to continue on it ? " 
 
 '''- That's as it may be, sir." 
 
 These questions have been asked with a 
 perfect consciousness of the subject which 
 the gardener's son wishes to approach, and 
 have been so worded as to have an indirect 
 bearing upon it. The answer to the last, 
 spoken with manly independence, conveys 
 to Mr. Temple the knowledge that the gar- 
 dener's son is not ignorant of their bearing, 
 
 VOL. I. i>
 
 34 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 and the tone in which it is given, although 
 perfectly respectful, does not please him. 
 
 '-'' I must request you," he says, with a 
 masterful wave of his hand, ^^ to choose some 
 other time for your confidence." 
 
 ^^ You expect some one, perhaps, sir." 
 
 Mr. Temple smiles complacently. In the 
 few words that have passed, the battle has 
 been fairly opened. He determines that it 
 shall be short. 
 
 ^^ As you seem resolved," he says, taking 
 out his watch and consulting it, ^^ to force 
 yourself upon me, I will give you just 
 five minutes. Now, what have you to 
 say ? " 
 
 He is aware that he is taking the young 
 fellow at a disadvantage by his abrupt 
 method ; but, being a lawyer, he is not 
 nice as to the means of gaining an advan- 
 tage. 
 
 ^' It is about Miss Marston,'' says the 
 gardener's son, after a slight pause. 
 
 ^' What of that young lady ? "
 
 Summer. 35 
 
 ^^ I don't know whether I have a right to 
 speak " 
 
 '* That is candid of you." 
 
 The arrow misses its mark. 
 
 *^ But it may be," proceeds the young 
 fellow, ^Hhat I have, for the reason that I 
 love her." 
 
 His voice trembles, but his earnestness 
 imparts power to it. 
 
 " I am obliged to you for your confidence," 
 observes Mr. Temple, watching for !N"elly 
 Marston as he speaks, ^^ unsolicited as it is. 
 A pretty young lady generally inspires that 
 passion in many breasts." 
 
 ^^But not in all alike," quickly retorts 
 the gardener's son. 
 
 '-^ That is fair philosophy. Proceed." 
 
 ^^You speak lightly, sir, while I am 
 serious. It stands in this way, sir. People 
 
 are beginning to talk " 
 
 ^^ People will talk," interrupts Mr. 
 Temple, with malicious relish; ^^as in the 
 present instance." 
 
 D 2
 
 36 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 " And Miss Marston's name and youi*s 
 have got mixed up together in a manner it 
 would grieve her to know." 
 
 "You forget, in the first place," says Mr. 
 Temple haughtily, with an ominous frown 
 on his face, " that Miss Marston is a lady ; 
 and in the second, you forget to whom you 
 are speaking," 
 
 " Truly I am not thinking of you, sir," 
 replies the gardener's son quietly and simply, 
 " I am thinking of her. A young lady's 
 good name is not a thing to be lightly 
 played with." 
 
 " Therefore," says Mr. Temple impa- 
 tiently, *' I would advise you to take that 
 very lesson to heart, and to tell those 
 persons who are, as you say, making light 
 of her good name — you are evidently ac- 
 quainted with them — that it will be wise 
 for them to choose other topics of gossip. 
 I cannot acknowledge your right to address 
 me on this matter, and this conversation 
 must come to an end. Young ladies nowa-
 
 Summer, 3 7 
 
 days are perfectly well able to take care 
 of themselves, and as a rule choose for 
 themselves. We rougher creatures are 
 often more sensitive than they, and more 
 particularly on certain points. And now 
 let me tell you, my man, it is a dangerous 
 thing for you to seek me out at night, 
 and address me on such a subject in the 
 tone and manner you have assumed. You 
 are speaking to a gentleman, remember. 
 You '' 
 
 " Are not one,'* interposes thp gardener's 
 son, with sad significance ; ^' I know it, 
 sir." 
 
 ^^ 1 will waive that, however, and say this 
 much to you. If Miss Marston had consti- 
 tuted you her champion and had authorised 
 you to speak, I should be willing to listen 
 to you. But that is not the case, I pre- 
 sume, and I wish you good-night." 
 
 The gardener's son twines his fingers 
 convulsively. Were Mr. Temple his equal 
 in station^ it would have fared ill with him,
 
 38 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 smarting as the man is with passionate 
 jealousy and the sting of unrequited love. 
 He controls himself sufficiently to say, 
 
 '^ I must ask you one question, sir. Do 
 you remain at Springfield ? " 
 
 '^ No ; I leave to-night, and I shall pro- 
 bably be absent for weeks. Ah, I perceive 
 that answer is satisfactory to you. I see 
 a lady approaching. Shall you or I re- 
 tire?" 
 
 The gardener's son, casting one glance at 
 the advancing form, walks slowly away, and 
 his shadow is soon swallowed up by other 
 shadows, among which he walks in pain and 
 grief. 
 
 Nelly Marston is in no holiday humour ; 
 she is trembling with shamo at the thought 
 of what passed in the sick-chamber of her 
 peevish mistress, and she approaches Mr. 
 Temple with downcast head. Love and 
 humilation are fighting a desperate battle 
 within her breast, and she does not respond 
 sympathetically to her lover's glad greeting.
 
 Summer, 39 
 
 • 
 
 He uses his best arts to soothe and comfort 
 
 her ; he addresses her by every endearing 
 
 title, saying she is dearer to him than all 
 
 the world, and beseeching her to throw all 
 
 the rest aside. She listens in silence at 
 
 first, as he pours this sweet balm of Gilead 
 
 upon her troubled soul. He is in his 
 
 brightest mood, and his speech which tells 
 
 the oft-told tale flows sweetly and tenderly. 
 
 They stand beneath ^^ stars, and he call^ 
 
 upon them to witness his love, his truth, 
 
 his honour. Every word that falls from his 
 
 lips sinks into her soul, and her heart is 
 
 like a garden filled with unfading flowers. 
 
 Humiliation and unrest melt into oblivion, 
 
 never more to rise and agonise her. He 
 
 loves her ; he tells her so a hundred times 
 
 and in a hundred ways. He will be true to 
 
 her ; he swears it by all the beautiful signs 
 
 around them. Fairer and more lovely 
 
 grows the night as he kisses away her tears. 
 
 The moon rises higher in the heavens and 
 
 bathes them in light. Softly, more tenderly.
 
 40 TJic Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 he speaks, and she, like a child, listens, 
 listens, — listens and believes, and hides her 
 blushing face from him. Ah, if truth lives, 
 it lives in him — in him, the symbol of all 
 that is good and manly and noble ! She 
 is so weak, he so strong ! She knows so 
 little, he so much ! The sweet and enthral- 
 ling words he whispers into her ears as her 
 head lies upon his breast, form the first 
 page of the brightest book that life can 
 open to her ; and the sighing of the breeze, 
 the sleeping flowers, the hushed melody of 
 the waving grass, the laughing, flashing 
 lights of heaven playing about the dreamy 
 shadows in the waters of the brook, are one 
 and all delicious evidences of his truth, his 
 honour, and his love. 
 
 '' I love you — I love you — I love you ! " 
 he vows and vows again. '^Put your arms 
 about my neck — so ! and whisper to me 
 what I am dying to hear." 
 
 '' You are my life ! " she sighs, and their 
 lips meet; and then they sit and talk, and
 
 Su^L. 
 
 as she gazes into tlie immeasurable distances 
 of the stars, she sees, with the eyes of her 
 soul, a happy future, filled with fond and 
 sweet imaginings.
 
 PAET THE THIED. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 The season of England's loveliest sunsets 
 is here. The golden corn, ripe and ready 
 for the sickle, bows gracefully beneath the 
 lavender-perfumed breeze, and whispers to 
 bountiful earth, ^^ My time has come. 
 Farewell ! " 
 
 In a garden attached to a cottage situated 
 twenty miles from Springfield stands Nelly 
 Marston, by the side of an old apple-tree 
 loaded with fair fruit and looking, with the 
 white moss gathered about its limbs, like an 
 ancient knight clothed in silver armour. 
 The cottage has many rooms of delightfully 
 odd shapes, is tastefully furnished, and is 
 built in the centre of an acre of land so
 
 Autumn, 
 
 43 
 
 prettily laid out and so bright with colour 
 that few strangers see it without pausing a 
 while to admire. 
 
 Nelly Marston is more beautiful than 
 when we saw her last at Springj&eld, and to 
 the poetical mind presents a fine contrast to 
 the gnarled and ancient tree, which, could it 
 speak, might honestly say, ^^ Old I am, but 
 am yet fair to the eye and can produce good 
 things. Come, my girl, gather sweetness' 
 from me, and wisdom too, if you need it." 
 
 She gathers sweetness, and that is enough 
 for her. From where she stands, she has a 
 broken view of the winding lane which, 
 from distant wider spaces, leads to the front 
 of the cottage. Often and again her eyes 
 are directed towards this lane, with a look 
 which denotes that her heart is in them. 
 She is like fair Eosamond, waiting for her 
 prince. He comes ! A horseman turns 
 into the winding path and waves his hand 
 to her. She replies with the gladdest of 
 smiles and with a waving of her own pretty
 
 44 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 hand, and her heart beats joyfully to the 
 music of the horse's hoof. Her prince 
 draws rein at the cottage-door, and she is 
 there to meet him. A lad with face deeply 
 pock-marked takes the horse to the stable, 
 casting as many admiring glances towards 
 Nelly as time will permit of. 
 
 *' Now, Nelly," says the prince gaily, 
 as he throws his arms about her and kisses 
 her again and again, ^^ was ever lover 
 more punctual than I ? " 
 
 ^^ How can I tell ? " she answers. ^^ I 
 never had but one." 
 
 ^^ Ah, Nelly, Nelly ! " he exclaims, with 
 uplifted finger and an arch smile ; "do 
 you forget the gardener's son ? " 
 
 " No, I do not forget him ; he was 
 very good to me. But I do not mean in 
 that way." 
 
 '^ In what way, then, puss ? " 
 
 " You'll tease me till I tell you. I 
 don't know how to say it." 
 
 " Say it you must, though, my queen."
 
 Autumn, 43 
 
 ^^ Of course I must. You have got 
 what you call a strong will. Isn't that 
 it ? " 
 
 ^'That is it," he assents, with a nod 
 which is both careless, and determined. 
 
 '' And are never to be turned from your 
 purpose ? " 
 
 " Never. That is the only way to get 
 on in life, and I mean to get on." 
 
 '''' Nothing can prevent that. You are' 
 so clever that I am half inclined to be 
 frightened of you. And I should be, if I 
 were not sure you loved me." 
 
 He kisses her as he observes, ^^ Put the 
 strongest will into the crucible of love, and 
 it melts like lead in a furnace. In such a 
 test, steel would become as pliant as 
 running water. Love is the most intoxi- 
 cating poison, my darling." 
 
 ^'1 don't like the word," she says. 
 
 *^ The word ^ darling ' ? " he inquires. 
 
 ^^ No ; the word ' poison.' Love is not 
 a poison ; it is an elixir." She winds her
 
 46 The Duchess 0/ Rosemary Lane. 
 
 arms round his neck, and murmurs, " It 
 has given me a new life. The world is 
 more beautiful than it used to be, I am 
 sure." 
 
 He smiles at her sentiment. "I re- 
 member telling you once that you had a 
 strong will of your own, Nelly." 
 
 '^ I haven't that much," she says, placing 
 the nail of her thumb to the tip of her 
 little finger. "Not that much ! " i 
 
 " But you are a cunning puss, for all 
 that," he says, as he draws her face to his. 
 They are in the cottage now, and she is 
 sitting on his knee. ''You want to fly 
 away from the subject we were speaking of, 
 so my strong will must bring you back to 
 it. Well, I'll be content with a compro- 
 mise. Who is this lover that so limits 
 your knowledge '? " 
 
 " I shall not tell you that, sir. You 
 must guess it — if you can ! As if you 
 could ! No, I'll not say ! I can keep a 
 secret. Oh, you may laugh, but I can ! "
 
 Autumn, 47 
 
 " Well, then, where is he ? " 
 
 "Where? Why, thousands of miles 
 away, of course ! " 
 
 " Let me not catch him ! " he cries 
 gaily. " Well, now, pet, to spite that 
 person, who I hope will not suffer very 
 much in consequence, I intend to stop 
 with you a whole fortnight." 
 
 Her face lights up with joy. 
 
 "I have important business in London," 
 he continues, with a sly laugh ; "oh, most 
 important ! My presence is imperativelj^ 
 required in the great city. The interests 
 of an influential client depend person- 
 ally upon me, so Lady Temple has 
 given me leave of absence. Confiding 
 old soul ! " 
 
 " Lady Temple is the same as ever ? " 
 
 " The same as ever. No change. Fret- 
 ful and peevish, throwing out all sorts of dark 
 innuendoes one minute, and smiling upon 
 me the next. IN'ow a lamb, now a tigress. 
 I have the temper of an angel, ^Nell,
 
 48 The Duchess 0/ Rosemary Lane. 
 
 or I could never stand it. But I humour 
 her — for your sake, pet, as well as my 
 own. Our future depends upon her. 
 
 " Does she speak of me ? " 
 
 '-'' She mentioned your name once last 
 week, and not amiably. But enough of 
 her. Good-bye, my worthy aunt, for a 
 happy fortnight. If she guessed how 
 matters stood, Nell, between me and you, 
 
 I should be well, best not think of 
 
 that. The prospect is not a pleasant one. 
 Now tell me how you have passed the 
 time, how many new-laid eggs you get a 
 day, how the chickens are, whether the 
 new little pig has any idea of its ultimate 
 fate, how the fruit is getting on, and how 
 you like the new boy I sent to look after 
 the stable. You did not want him, you 
 wrote to me ; but thereby hangs a tale, 
 which you shall hear presently. Upon my 
 word, Nell, I suspect he is in love with 
 you, like everybody else who sees you. I 
 have a kind of belief that you are a love-
 
 Autumn, 49 
 
 witch. He never took bis eyes off you, all 
 the time lie was waiting for my nag. I^ow 
 for the reason of his being here. Nelly, 
 to-morrow morning, before you are up, 
 there will arrive at this little cottage the 
 prettiest basket-carriage and the prettiest 
 pair of ponies in England. A present for 
 you, pet, from your lover thousands of miles 
 away. Ah, you kiss me for that, do you ! 
 Then I take it, you are pleased with this 
 mysterious lover of yours ! " 
 
 '' I believe no woman in the world was 
 ever half so happy as I. When you are 
 with me, there is not a cloud on my 
 life." 
 
 ^^ That's a good hearing," he says, 
 heartily. ^' Why, Nelly, you are a living 
 wonder ! A satisfied woman ! I shall 
 scarcely be surprised to hear you say you 
 have not a wish ungratified." 
 
 " Not quite that. I have one wish." 
 
 " To wit," he prompts. 
 
 She whispers it to him. 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 50 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 ^^That the next fortnight would last 
 for ever, so that you would never have to 
 leave me ! " 
 
 ^^A woman's wish all over," he says. 
 '^ But the old man with the scythe will not 
 be denied, my pet. While lovers dream, 
 time flies the faster. I can't imagine you 
 with white hair, Nell ; yet you would look 
 lovely anyway.'' 
 
 *^ Your hair will be white, too, remem- 
 ber," she says, in a tone of tender jesting. 
 " It will be strange to look back so many 
 years, and think and talk of the past. But 
 we shall be to each other then what we 
 are now. Say that we shall." 
 
 " Say it ! I swear it, my pet ! Let 
 Time do his worst, then. You shall not 
 pluck another white hair out of my head. 
 Nelly, I love you more and more every 
 day of my life." 
 
 " And nothing shall ever part us ! " 
 
 '^ Nothing, my darling ! " 
 
 She is, indeed, supremely happy. The
 
 Autumn, 51 
 
 springtime of youth and love is hers, and 
 no deeper heresy could have been whis- 
 pered to her than the warning such a 
 springtime resembles 
 
 " The uncertain glory of an April day, 
 Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, 
 And by-and-by a cloud takes all away." 
 
 The minutes fly all too quickly, and Love, 
 with magic brush, paints the present and 
 the time to come. 
 
 ^«RSI7YOFILLmOf!: 
 
 E 2
 
 PAET THE FOTJETH. 
 
 WINTER. 
 
 Fifteen months have passed. It is winter, 
 and the snow is falling ; weather-wise men 
 say that it will continue to fall for days. 
 Peaceful and solemn are the fields, with 
 Nature's carpet of virgin snow covering 
 and protecting the seedlings in the soil 
 beneath. White and graceful devices 
 beautify the woods, the traceries of which 
 are so wonderfully delicate and exquisite 
 that none but spirit fingers could have 
 shaped them, and every little branch stands 
 out bright and clear in the life-giving 
 air. 
 
 The scene is the same as the last, but
 
 Winter, 53 
 
 the pretty cottage shows signs of neglect. 
 Our Nelly is there, and there is also a 
 change in her. She is no longer the bright 
 and winsome girl we looked upon a short 
 time since. Her face is thin and haggard, 
 and the expression on her features is one of 
 despair and agony. In the clear light of 
 the healthy winter's day she walks up and 
 down, and round and round the little room 
 where love once dwelt, and where she 
 called up fair visions. Her fingers are 
 tightly interlaced, her lips are white and 
 trembling, her eyes dilate with fear and 
 helpless bewilderment. She does not speak, 
 and for an hour at least she walks about 
 the room with tumultuous agony at her 
 breast. 
 
 Watching her from without, with 
 sympathising eyes, and with an air which 
 denotes that he bears magnetically a share 
 in her pain, is the stable-lad who was hired 
 to look after the prettiest pair of ponies in 
 the world, a present to her from her lover,
 
 54 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 who vowed that nothing should ever part 
 them — from her lover, who had stolen '' her 
 soul with many vows of love, and ne'er a 
 true one." And ne'er a true one ! Ah, 
 kind Heaven ! can it be possible ? Can 
 such treachery exist in a world where good- 
 ness is ? No, she will not believe it. She 
 strives to shake the doubt from her, feebly 
 she wrestles with it, but it clings to her 
 with the tenacity of truth, and inflicts un- 
 speakable torture upon her. 
 
 ^^ If she'd only set down ! " muttered the 
 stable-boy. ^^If she'd only be still a bit! 
 If she'd only drop off asleep ! " 
 
 But her whole soul is quivering, as her 
 flesh might under the influence of a keen, 
 palpable torture. Pale as she is, a fire is 
 burning within her which almost maddens 
 her, and a thousand feverish pulses in her 
 being are beating in cruel sympathy. Is 
 love left in the world ? Is faithfulness ? 
 Is manliness ? No. The world is filled 
 with shame, and dishonour, and treachery.
 
 . Winter. 55 
 
 and she stands there, their living, suffering 
 symbol. 
 
 Why the stable-lad is near her no one 
 but himself could explain, and he perhaps 
 would have been puzzled to do so. He was 
 dismissed from his service months ago, 
 when the ponies and basket- carriage were 
 sold ; but he refused to leave. He lingers 
 about the house, picks up his food anyhow, 
 sleeps anywhere, and during the daylight 
 hours is always ready to Nelly's call. She 
 has sometimes, from the despair born of 
 loneliness, made a companion of him. She 
 has no other now. 
 
 He experiences a feeling of relief when, 
 after more than an hour has . passed, he 
 observes a change in her movements. She 
 throws on her hat hurriedly, and passes out 
 of house. The lad follows her at a dis- 
 tance. She does not know that she has 
 forgotten her cloak, and she heeds not the 
 snow. The fire burning within her warms 
 her with a terrible, dangerous warmth. To
 
 56 The Ditchers of Roseinaiy Lane. 
 
 all external impressions she seems to be 
 absolutely dead. She walks for a mile into 
 the village, and enters a stationer's shop, 
 where the post-office is kept. 
 
 " Have yon any letters for me ? " she 
 asks. 
 
 She is evidently known to the woman 
 behind the counter, who replies with small 
 courtesy, ^^ There is nothing for you.'' 
 
 Nelly holds out her hand with eager 
 imploring. She has not heard the answer. 
 
 "I told you there are no letters," says 
 the woman. 
 
 ^^I beg your pardon,'' sighs Nelly, 
 humbly; and looking round the shop, as 
 though to find some other excuse for having 
 entered, picks up a paper, pays for it, and 
 retraces her steps home. Home ! Alas ! 
 
 The stable-lad follows her, and is pre- 
 sently aware that somebody is following Mm. 
 It is a man, and the lad turns and confronts 
 him. The stranger takes no notice of the 
 lad, and strives to pass.
 
 Winter. 57 
 
 *' Where are you pushing to ? '' cries 
 the lad, being himself the obstructive 
 party. 
 
 ^^ Out of my way, my lad," says the man, 
 adding under his breath, ^' I must not lose 
 her now." 
 
 " What are you following that lady for ?" 
 demands the lad. 
 
 The question, is answered by anothei 
 
 ^^ You have something to do with her^ 
 then?" 
 
 '-'- 1 should think I have." 
 
 *^ I want to know where she lives. I am 
 a friend of hers." 
 
 ^^ She wants 'em, I should say — badly." 
 
 This remark is made after a keen observ- 
 ance of the stranger's face. It is a well- 
 looking, honest, ruddy face, and the exami- 
 nation appears to satisfy the lad. 
 
 " Wants what ? " asks the stranger. 
 
 " Friends." 
 
 ^^ I thought she had — rich ones." 
 
 ^' If she had," answers the lad, ^^ and
 
 58 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 mind, I don't say she hadn't — if she had, 
 she hasn't got 'em now." 
 
 ^' Ah," says the stranger, drawing a 
 deep breath, ^^ he has left her, then. Poor 
 Nelly ! " 
 
 The last two words, uttered with feeling, 
 and in a low tone not intended to be heard, 
 reach the lad's sharp ears, and dispose 
 him still more favourably towards the 
 stranger. 
 
 ^^ Look here," he blurts out, *' are you a 
 gentleman ? " 
 
 " Does that mean, am I rich ? " 
 
 The lad looks dubious, not being quite 
 sure. 
 
 ^'Am I a gentleman?" continues the 
 stranger. '' That's as it may be. Every 
 true man is a gentleman ; every gentleman 
 is not a true man." The lad grins. Some 
 understanding of the aphorism penetrates 
 his uneducated mind. '-'- Best ask me if I'm 
 a true man, my lad." 
 
 '' Well, then, are you ? "
 
 Winter. 59 
 
 ^^ I think so. So far as regards that lady, 
 I am sure so." 
 
 "A true man, and a friend," says the 
 lad. ^^ That's just what she wants. !N'o 
 more gentlemen ; she's had enough of them, 
 I should say. I ain't a bit of use to her — 
 was turned off when the ponies was sold, 
 but couldn't go. Thought she might make 
 use of me in some way, you see. She never 
 give me a hard word — never, l^ot like, 
 him ; he was as hard as nails — not to her ; 
 oh, no ; he was always soft to her with 
 his tongue, as far as I could see, and I kept 
 my eyes open, and my ears too ! " 
 
 By this time they had reached the 
 cottage, and Nelly enters, without turning 
 her head. 
 
 " There," says the lad, '-^ that's where 
 she lives, and if she ain't caught her death 
 of cold, coming out without her shawl, I'll 
 stand on my head for a week. But J can't 
 do anything for her. She wants a man to 
 stand by her, not a poor beggar like me."
 
 6o The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 The stranger looks kindly at the lad. 
 
 ^^ My boy," he says, '-^ if you have sisters, 
 look shai-p after them, and never let them 
 play the game of lords and ladies, ^ow 
 come with me, and tell me what I want to 
 know." 
 
 It is a few hours later, and the snow is 
 still falling. A candle is alight in the little 
 room, in which Nelly restlessly sits or 
 walks. The paper she bought at the post- ^ 
 office lies unfolded on the table. Suddenly 
 a moan escapes her lips ; an inward pain 
 has forced it from her. She grasps the table 
 convulsively, and her fingers mechanically 
 clutch the paper. The pain dies away, and 
 she sits exhausted on her chair. Listlessly 
 and without purpose she looks at the paper, 
 seeing at first but a dim confusion of words ; 
 but presently something in the column she 
 is gazing at presents itself to her mind in 
 a coherent form. She passes her hands 
 across her eyes, to clear the mist from
 
 Winter, 6 1 
 
 them, bends eagerly down to tlie paper, and 
 reads the words that have attracted her 
 attention. So eager is she that she does 
 not hear a knock at the door, and therefore 
 does not respond to it. Starting to her feet, 
 with the paper in her hand, she is hurrying 
 to th,e door, when it opens from without, 
 and the stranger who had followed her home 
 appears. 
 
 '^ John ! " she cries, with her hand to her 
 heart. " Ah, he has sent you, then ! 
 Thank God ! He has sent you ! " 
 
 ^^ ]^o one has sent me," says the gardener's 
 son who played his part in the Spring and 
 Summer of our Prologue. '' I am here of 
 my own accord." 
 
 ^' What for ? " she asks, shrinkingly, im- 
 ploringly. It is remarkable in her that 
 every word she speaks, every movement she 
 makes, implies fear. She bears the appear- 
 ance of a hunted animal, in dread of an un- 
 known, unseen torture. '^Why are you 
 here ? "
 
 6i The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 '* I come to ask if I can serve you." 
 
 '' You ! You ! " 
 
 " I — in truth and sincerity. I will not 
 insult you by telling you that my feelings 
 
 are unchanged Good heavens ! you are 
 
 in pain ! " 
 
 ^' Don't touch me ! Don't come near me ! 
 It will be gone presently ! " Two or three 
 minutes pass in silence. Then the lines 
 about her lips which recorded her pain relax, 
 and she speaks again, with a strange 
 mingling of timidity and recklessness. 
 ^^ Do you know anything ? " 
 
 ^^ Much. Enough. Believe me, I wish 
 to know nothing from you." 
 
 "And you come to ask me if you can 
 serve me ? Meaning it, in truth and 
 sincerity ? " 
 
 " Meaning it, in truth and sincerity." 
 
 She gazes at him, striving to discover 
 whether his face bears truthful witness to 
 the evidence of his lips, and, failing, makes 
 a despairing motion with her hands.
 
 Winter, 63 
 
 ^^ God help me ! " she cries. " I cannot 
 see. I do not know. But I believe you. 
 I must, or I shall go mad. Do not wonder 
 at what I say, or at any change you see in 
 me. If you do not mean me to take you 
 simply at your word, leave me at once 
 without a sign." 
 
 " I will stop, and serve you." 
 
 Her lips quiver at this exhibition of 
 fidelity. Silently she hands him the papery 
 and points to the passage which appears to 
 have aroused her to life. His eyes glitter 
 as he reads the paragraph, which announces 
 that on this evening Mr. Temple will take 
 the chair at a lecture on ^^ Man's Duty," to 
 be delivered at a certain institution in a 
 small town twenty miles away. 
 
 '-^ I must go to that place," she says. 
 
 " To-night ? " 
 
 " To-night. I must see him. I must 
 speak to him to-night." 
 
 ^^ You are not well ; you are not fit to 
 travel. To-morrow "
 
 64 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 '' To-morrow I may not be able to travel. 
 To-morrow will be too late. What I have 
 said, I must do. You don't know what 
 hangs upon it." Her lips contract with 
 pain again. '*If you leave me alone, and I 
 do not see him to-night, I — I " 
 
 Her eyes wander as her tongue refuses 
 to shape the thought which holds her 
 enthi ailed with fear and horror. 
 
 " A word first," says the gardener's son. 
 " How long is it since you have seen 
 him?" 
 
 ^^ Three months." 
 
 ^^ You have written to him ? " 
 
 * ' Yes — yes. Ask me nothing more, for 
 God's sake ! " • ' 
 
 ^'The place is twenty miles away. It is 
 now six o'clock. In four hours the lecture 
 will be over. It is snowing hard." 
 
 She comes close to his side; she looks 
 straight into his eyes. 
 
 " John, your mother is dead." 
 
 ^^Yes."
 
 Winter. 65 
 
 ^^ I heard of her at Springfield," — she 
 shudders at the name — ^^ and of your devo- 
 tion to her. You loved her." 
 
 '^ I loved her." 
 
 " You stood at her deathbed." 
 
 *^ I held her in my arms when she died." 
 
 ". Did she speak to you then ? " 
 
 *' A few words." 
 
 '•'- They are sacred to you." 
 
 ^^Ay." "• 
 
 She pauses but for a moment; he looks 
 at her wonderingly. 
 
 "John, you loved me!^'' He clenches 
 his hands, and digs his nails into his palms. 
 ^^This that I am about to say will live in 
 your mind till the last hour of your life, 
 with the last words your mother spoke to 
 you. If you do not take me at once to the 
 place I wish to go to, I will not live till 
 midnight ! " 
 
 He sees the deadly resolution in her white 
 face, and he determines to obey her. 
 
 " Eemain here till I return," he says. 
 
 VOL. T. F
 
 66 The Duchess of Rosemary Lajie. 
 
 I will not be gone a quarter of an hour. 
 Wrap yourself up well, for the wind is 
 enough to freeze one. Put on a thick veil 
 to keep the snow from your face. I will do 
 as you wish." 
 
 *^ Ah, you are good ! Yon are good ! '^ 
 she sighs, and for the first time during the 
 day, for the first time for many days, the 
 tears gush forth. ^^ God reward you — and 
 pity me ! " 
 
 He goes, and returns within the time he 
 named. A light American buggy is at the 
 door, and the stable- lad is at the horse's head. 
 Nelly is so weak that the young gardener 
 has to support her as she walks from the 
 house ; he lifts her with ease in his strong 
 arms into the conveyance — marvelling at 
 her lightness, and loving and pitying her 
 the more because of it — and mounts by her 
 side. The stable-lad looks on wistfully. 
 
 '^ There is no room for you, my lad," 
 says the gardener's son. *' Stop here till we 
 return. He can sleep in the house ? " He 
 asks this question of IS^elly.
 
 Winter, 67 
 
 *' Oh, yes,'' she answers, listlessly. 
 
 The next moment they are off. 
 
 The boy runs after them, keeps them in 
 sight for a little while, but is compelled at 
 length to stop for rest. 
 
 ^^ Never mind," he mutters, when he has 
 recovered his breath. ^' I know where 
 they've gone to. I'll follow them the best 
 way I can." 
 
 And off he starts, at a more reasonable 
 pace for a human being. 
 
 The snow comes down faster and faster, 
 and the gardener's son, with his head bent 
 to his breast, plies whip and rein. Their 
 road lies through many winding lanes, lined 
 and dotted with hedges and cottages. Not 
 a soul is out but themselves, and the home- 
 light gleams from the cottage windows. 
 Echoes of voices are heard from within, some 
 laughing, some singing, some quarrelling. 
 The gardener's son notices all the signs as 
 they rattle past ; Nelly is indifferent to 
 them. They stop at a wayside inn, to give 
 
 F 2
 
 68 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 the horse breathing time. The gardener's 
 son urges Nelly to take some refresh- 
 ment ; she refuses, with sad and fretful im- 
 patience, and begrudges the horse its 
 needful rest. They start again, he striving 
 to keep up her spirits with tender and 
 cheerful words. 
 
 ^' Another mile-post," he says, shaking 
 up the reins, and in a few minutes proclaims 
 blithely, ''and another mile-post! That's 
 quick work, that last mile. What's the mat- 
 ter with the nag ? " he cries, as the beast 
 shies in sudden fright. "It's not a mile- 
 post. It's a woman." 
 
 The woman, who has been crouching by 
 the roadside, rises, and walks silently into 
 the gloom. They can see that she is in 
 rags — a sad, poverty-stricken mortal, too 
 numbed with cold and misery to make an 
 appeal for charity. This thought is ex- 
 pressed by the young gardener, who con- 
 cludes his remarks with, " Poor creature ! " 
 Nelly shudders at the words and the pity-
 
 Winter. 69 
 
 ing tone in whicli they are uttered. White 
 are the roads they traverse, leaving a clear- 
 cut black gash behind them, into which the 
 soft snow falls gently, as though to heal the 
 wounds inflicted. White is the night, but 
 Nelly's face bids fair to rival it. A sigh 
 escapes her bosom, and she sinks back, 
 insensible. 
 
 The gardener's son calls to her in alarm, 
 but she does not reply. He sees a light in 
 a cottage window a short distance off, and 
 he draws up at the door. Yet even as he 
 lifts Nelly down with gentle care, she 
 recovers, and asks him with a frightened 
 air why he has stopped. 
 
 ^' You fainted," he explains. 
 
 ^' I am well now," she cries, with fever- 
 ish eagerness. '-'- Go on — go on ! " 
 
 He answers, with a determination, that 
 he will not proceed until she has taken 
 something to sustain her strength — a cup 
 of tea, a little brandy, anything — and she 
 is compelled to yield. He knocks at the
 
 70 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 cottage door. A labourer opens it. The 
 young gardener explains the nature of his 
 errand, and produces money. 
 
 ^^ You are in luck's way/' says the la- 
 bourer. ^^ The missus has just made herself 
 a cup of tea." 
 
 His wife turns her head, with a reproach- 
 ful look, towards the door, the opening of 
 which has brought a blast of cold air into 
 the room. She is kneeling by a cradle at 
 the fireside, and with common, homely 
 words of love is singing her baby to sleep. 
 Nelly catches her breath as the song and its 
 meaning fall upon her ears and under- 
 standing, and in an agony of agitation she 
 begs the young gardener to take her away. 
 The tears stream down her cheeks, and her 
 face is convulsed as she thus imjjlores him. 
 The soft sweet song of the mother has cut 
 into her heart with the sharp keenness of 
 cruelly-edged steel. 
 
 ^^Let me go," she cries wildly, ^^let me 
 go ! my heart, my heart ! "
 
 Winter. 7 1 
 
 The labourer's wife comes hurriedly for- 
 ward, still with the mother's love-light in 
 her eyes. But instead of speaking soothing 
 words to the girl, she exclaims, 
 
 ** Lord save us ! What brings you out 
 on such a night as this, and where do you 
 belong to ? You ought to be ashamed of 
 yourself" — (this to the young gardener) — 
 ^' carrying the poor child about in such a 
 condition ! " 
 
 "Ay, ay, dame,'* replies the young gar- 
 dener, gently, with an observant glance at 
 Nelly, a glance which brings a troubled 
 look into his own face; "it is a bitter 
 night " 
 
 ]S"elly stops his further speech, and putting 
 her arm about the woman's neck, whispers 
 to her. The young gardener turns his back 
 upon the women, and the labourer sits on a 
 chair, with his eyes to the ground. For a 
 minute or so the men do not stir from the 
 positions they have assumed ; then, as 
 though moved by a common thought, they
 
 72 The Duchess of Rose7nary Lane. 
 
 tep softly from the cottage, and stand in 
 silence outside for many minutes, until the 
 wife comes to the door, and beckons them 
 in. Nelly is on her knees by the cradle. 
 
 '^Get along as quick as you can," whis- 
 pers the labourer's wife to the young gar- 
 dener; ^ there's little time to lose." 
 
 There are tears on her face, and on 
 Nelly's also, as she rises from her knees. 
 
 ^^ God bless you, my dear!" says the 
 woman to the unhappy girl ; and when 
 Nelly and her protector have departed, she 
 turns to her husband, and kisses his 
 weather-worn face, with a grateful feeling 
 in her breast, to which she could not have 
 given expression in speech. But words 
 are not needed at this moment. 
 
 In the meanwhile the travellers are speed- 
 ing onwards. 
 
 ''Only four miles to go now,'' says the 
 young gardener, cheerfully ; " keep up 
 your strength." 
 
 Nelly nods, and hides her face from her
 
 Winter. 73 
 
 companion. It might make his heart faint 
 to see the suffering depicted there. 
 
 It is difficult travelling, for the snow lies 
 nearly a foot thick on the road, but John 
 works with such good will, and the horse 
 is so willing a creature, that they make fair 
 progress. On they go, through wide and 
 narrow spaces, clothed in purest white, and 
 John now begins to wonder how this night's 
 work will end. The reflection disturbs 
 him, and he shakes the reins briskly, as 
 though, by doing so, he can shake off dis- 
 tressing thoughts. Another mile is done, 
 and another, and another. The young 
 gardener's tongue keeps wagging all the 
 way. 
 
 '^ I see the lights in the town," he says, 
 in a tone of satisfaction, pointing with his 
 whip. 
 
 The words have no sooner passed his lips 
 than the horse twists its hoof in a hole 
 hidden by the snow, and falls to the ground. 
 John jumps out hastily, and lifts Nelly
 
 74 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 from the conveyance. The willing animal, 
 in obedience to the gardener's urging, 
 strives to rise, and partially succeeds, but 
 slips down immediately with a groan. 
 
 *^The horse is lamed," says John; 
 ^* what shall we do now ? " 
 
 He looks around for assistance. !N'ot a 
 house nor a human being is near them, and 
 the town is nearly a mile distant. The 
 lights which they could see from their ele- 
 vation in the conveyance are no longer 
 visible to them. ISTelly's hands are tightly 
 clasped as she looks imploringly into the 
 face of her companion. ^^ Can you walk ? " 
 asks John. 
 
 The reply comes from lips contracted 
 with pain. '' I must." 
 
 '' I will carry you. I can ! " 
 
 She shrinks from him, and moans that he 
 must not touch her, and that she will try to 
 walk. Slowly they plod along through the 
 heavy snow, he encouraging her by every 
 means in his power. Half an hour passes.
 
 Winter. 75 
 
 and a church clock strikes ten. The church 
 is quite close to them — a pretty, old-time 
 place of worship, with many gables and an 
 ancient porch ; and a quaint churchyar d 
 adjoining, where hearts are at rest, and 
 where human passions no longer bring woe 
 and suffering. 
 
 Nelly clings to the gate of the church. 
 " John," she whispers. 
 ^^ Yes," he answers, bending down to her. 
 ^' You have been a good friend to me. 
 Will you continue to do what I wish ? " 
 
 She speak very slowly, with a pause be- 
 tween each word. She feels that conscious- 
 ness is departing from her, that her strength 
 has utterly left her, that she cannot walk 
 another dozen yards. But she has some- 
 thing to say, and by a supreme effort of 
 ip^ill — only to be summoned in such a bitter 
 crisis as this is in her young life — she re- 
 tains her senses until it is said. 
 
 '' I will do as you wish," says John, 
 supporting her fainting form, and knowing
 
 76 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 instinctively, as lie places his arms about 
 her, that it is almost death to her that he 
 shall touch her. 
 
 '' I cannot walk another step. My 
 strength is gone." 
 
 '' What must I do ? " 
 
 " Take me to that porch. Lay me there 
 — and leave me." 
 
 " Leave you ! " 
 
 '-^ If you raise me in your arms, I shall 
 die ! If you attempt to carry me into the 
 town, I shall die ! If you do not obey me, 
 I shall die, and think of you as my 
 enemy ! " 
 
 He listens in awe. He has never heard 
 language like this — he has never heard 
 a voice like this. 
 
 '''- Lay me in that porch. Then seek a 
 woman with a kind heart, and send her to 
 me. Then — then " 
 
 She struggles with nature. "With the 
 strength of a death's agony she fights for 
 another minute of consciousness.
 
 Winter, 77 
 
 ^* And then? " he prompts, with his ear 
 close to her lips, for the snow falls scarcely 
 less lightly than the words she breathes 
 forth. 
 
 " Then," she whispers, " seek him^ and 
 bring him to my side." 
 
 She has finished, and sinks into his arms, 
 where she lies insensible and motionless, 
 with her white face turned upwards to the 
 sky, and the soft snow floating down upon 
 it. 
 
 Implicitly he obeys her. Swiftly, and 
 with the gentleness of a good woman, he 
 bears her to the porch, and stripping off his 
 outer coat, wraps her in it, and lays her 
 within the holy hood of the house of prayer. 
 Once or twice he speaks to her, but receives 
 no answer ; and once, with a sudden fear 
 upon him, he places his ear to her heart, 
 and hears with thankfulness its faint beat- 
 ing. He wipes the snow from her face, and, 
 his task being thus far accomplished, he 
 leaves her to seek for help.
 
 78 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 The churchyardj with its silent dead, is 
 not outwardly more still than is the form of 
 this hapless girl ; and but for the mystery 
 within her, hidden mercifully from the 
 knowledge of men, she might have been as 
 dead as any buried in that ancient place. 
 The soft snow falls and falls, and vagrant 
 flakes float into the porch, and rest lightly 
 upon her, like white- winged heralds of love 
 and pity. In the churchyard are tombs of 
 many designs — some lying low in humility, 
 some rearing their heads with an arrogance 
 befitting, mayhap, the clay they cover when 
 it was animated with life. Lies there be- 
 neath these records the dust of any woman's 
 heart, which, when it beat, sufl'ered as Nelly 
 suff*ers now ? Lie there, in this solemn place, 
 the ashes of any who was wronged as she is 
 wronged, deserted as she is deserted, wrecked 
 as she is wrecked ? If such there be, may- 
 hap the spirits of the dead look down pity- 
 ingly upon this suffering child, and hover 
 about her in sympathy and love.
 
 Winter. 79 
 
 Where, when haply she is oDce more con- 
 scious of the terror of her position, shall she 
 look for succour, for practical pity and love ? 
 If man deserts her, can the angels help her ? 
 
 Comes the answer so soon ? A gentleman 
 approaches the church, with blithe steps. 
 His face is flushed with pleasure, his eyes 
 are bright, his heart beats high. He has 
 had a triumph to-night. A thousand per- 
 sons have listened to his praises, and have 
 indorsed them — proud to see him, proud to 
 know him, proud to have him among them, 
 proud to add their tribute to his worth and 
 goodness. He is elate, and joyful. The 
 moon, emerging from a cloud, shines upon 
 his face. It is Mr. Temple. 
 
 The light shines also upon the white 
 tombs of the dead, and upon Nelly's face. 
 
 He is not aware of her presence until he 
 is close upon her, and then he only sees a 
 woman's form lyihg within the porch. 
 
 Animated by an impulse of humanity, he 
 hastens to her; he bends over her; his
 
 So TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 hand touches her cheek as he puts aside a 
 a curl of brown hair which the light breeze 
 has blown across her face. 
 
 " Good God ! " he cries. '' It is 
 Nelly ! " 
 
 Is it pity, or fear, or annoyance, that is 
 expressed in him? No man, seeking to 
 know, could answer the question at this 
 moment, for a cloud obscures the moon, and 
 throws darkness on his face. 
 
 He hears voices in the near distances. 
 The speakers are almost upon him. He 
 starts from his stooping posture with a look 
 of alarm, and retreats to a safe shelter, 
 where he can see and not be seen. 
 
 The voices proceed from two women and 
 two men. One of the men is the young 
 gardener ; the other is a doctor ; the 
 women are from the nearest house, whom 
 John has brought to the assistance of the 
 girl he loves. 
 
 The doctor kneels by the side of the 
 insensible girl, and raises her in his arms.
 
 Winter, 8 1 
 
 '^ She lives/' he says, almost imme- 
 diately. 
 
 '' Thank God ! " exclaims John. 
 
 Stronger evidence of life is given by 
 Nelly herself. She moans and writhes in 
 the doctor's arms. 
 
 The yonng gardener has two warm rugs 
 with him. The doctor looks at him in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 ^'' You are her husband ? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 The doctor frowns. 
 
 '-^ You had best retire, then. Place those 
 wraps here. Stay — you must do something. 
 Go to my house as quickly as you can, 
 
 and bring No, there might be some 
 
 difficulty. I will write what I want." 
 
 With Nelly's head still lying on his 
 knee, he takes from his pocket a book, 
 writes instructions upon a leaf, tears it out 
 and gives it to the gardener. 
 
 "Do not delay," he says. "You and 
 my man must bring the couch and the 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 The Duchess of Rosernary Lane. 
 
 blankets at once. There's not a moment to 
 lose. 
 
 John darts away, and the doctor beckons 
 the women to him, and whispers gravely 
 to them. 
 
 Mr. Temple, in his retreat, clasps his 
 hands, and listens. For what ? He cannot 
 hear a word that passes between the 
 women and the doctor, and their forms 
 shut Nelly from his sight. But presently 
 a sound reaches his ears that makes him 
 tremble. It is a baby's cry. Another 
 soul is added to the world's many. In the 
 stillness of the beautiful night, while the 
 snow is falling upon the ancient church and 
 on the tombs of the dead who worshipped 
 there, a child is born, and the mother's 
 sharpest physical agony is over. 
 
 THE END OF THE PROLOGUE.
 
 mt ; ■' ''**~*'T!?**''^*' **TT*'!r^TT^!? !' *TTT^''*''*''**'''T**T**T'^^ 
 
 ^art tte JFirst. 
 
 THE CHILD.
 
 52525a 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CHILD. 
 
 As in a theatre, after the overture is 
 played, the first thing shown to the 
 audience is the scene in which the action of 
 the drama commences, so let our first 
 words be devoted to the locality in which 
 the story opens. 
 
 An ingenious philologist, in a treatise on 
 surnames, lately undertook to prove that 
 no man possessed such an appendage acci- 
 dentally, and that, however wild and out- 
 rageous the surnames might be, a special 
 and reasoning providence has superintended 
 their distribution to the human race. Thus, 
 though you, being naturally but one man, 
 possess the name of Fortyman, there are,
 
 86 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 you may depend upon it, good and logical 
 grounds for your being thus liberally mul- 
 tiplied; or, though you, having all your 
 limbs complete, have come into the world 
 with the name of Quarterman, that there 
 are equally as good grounds for your being 
 deprived of three -fourths of yourself : 
 which you may prove if you care to travel 
 as the crab can, backwards. 
 
 This may be a comfort and a consolation 
 to many unfortunates ; but not the slightest 
 doubt can be entertained as to the injustice 
 inflicted upon hapless descendants of very 
 remote forefathers who walked carelessly 
 into their graves, leaving such afflicting 
 names as Bug and Gumboil behind them. 
 
 There is another side to the picture. Had 
 it been my fortune to be legally known as 
 Mr. Truelove, I would nightly have blessed 
 the first Truelove of my race ; as, in like 
 manner, were I forced to put Eottenherring 
 on my doorplate, I would daily have exe- 
 crated the memory of the monster who had
 
 The Child. 87 
 
 transmitted it to me. Might it not, under 
 certain reasonably-assumed conditions, prove 
 tiie ruin of my career and the blight of my 
 life ? For supposing I saw my way to 
 making my fortune as a fishmonger, how 
 could I carry on the business with such a 
 name staring my customers in the face ? 
 Or, supposing I loved a maiden whose name 
 was Sweetapple, where could I find courage 
 to say, ^^Dear Miss Sweetapple, I love you; 
 be mine, and become a Eottenherring ! " 
 
 There should be a court established in 
 which every innocent man so cursed should 
 .be able, without expense — for it is distinctly 
 a national matter — to change his name to 
 something more agreeable, to something 
 that would not sit like a perpetual night- 
 mare on his life. There be some who do 
 filch, or bury, or cunningly alter a letter; 
 but it is, I believe, an expensive process, 
 and therefore out of the reach of the poor. 
 But was it not yesterday that I saw, above 
 a barn in which cabbages and coals were
 
 88 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 courting — tlie cabbages sitting, as it were, 
 in the very lap of the coals — the significant 
 announcement, " Percy Fitzsmythe, green- 
 grocer '' ? Look to your privileges, Bel- 
 gravia. 
 
 The philologist already referred to would 
 have a harder task before him if he attacked 
 the names of places, for no manner of 
 reasoning could justify their nomenclature. 
 I have seen a Garden-of-Eden Square so 
 squalid, wretched, and woebegone, even in 
 the finest weather, that I have fiown from it 
 as from a pestilence ; an Angel Court in 
 which vice held high revel from year's end 
 to year's end, and so reeking with dirt as to 
 make it an impossible dwelling-place for 
 purity ; and a Paradise Eow in which 
 drunken women were quarrelling and fight- 
 ing, while a score of half-naked, hungry, 
 dirty children wallowed in the gutters. 
 Surely the very spirit of mischief and 
 mockery must have bestowed such names 
 on such places !
 
 ■jv^fpr* —r*rF^rr':-f:^v TTf^y 
 
 The Child, 89 
 
 Eosemary Lane was not quite such a 
 parody as either Paradise Eow or Garden- 
 of-Eden Square, but I doubt whether the 
 pretty shrub from which it derived its name 
 was ever seen in the locality, or whether, 
 being seen, it would have been recognised 
 as a familiar sign. Then again, rosemary 
 has a peculiarly sweet odour; Eosemary 
 Lane had not. In one sense there was fit- 
 ness in the name ; for as the flower of rose- 
 mary has frequently been used as an emblem 
 of constancy and fidelity, so in Eosemary 
 Lane, poor and humble as it was, might be 
 found living proofs of the existence of 
 those qualities. 
 
 In and about Eosemarv Lane there re- 
 sided more than one class of inhabitants. 
 In the lowest depths of society there are 
 grades, and lines of demarcation as wide as 
 in Belgravia — lines of demarcation created 
 in the first place by property, in the second 
 
 by character; and though the property 
 
 •ft 
 
 which set these Knes in Eosemary Lane 
 
 ^^^'"^■^^^^
 
 The Child, 
 
 89 
 
 
 Rosemary Lane was not quite such a 
 parody as either Paradise Eow or Garden-" 
 of-Eden Square, but I doubt whether the 
 pretty shrub from which it doriFogl rltsname 
 was ever seen in the locality, or whether, 
 being seen, it would have been recognised 
 as a familiar sign, ^on Qgaiij^ rosemary 
 has a peculiarly sweet odour; Eosemary 
 Lane had not. In one sense there was fit- 
 ness in the name ; for as the flower of rose- 
 mary has frequently been used as an emblem 
 of constancy and fidelity, so in Rosemary 
 Lane, poor and humble as it was, might be 
 found living proofs of the existence of . . , . 
 those qualities. U ^ "^^ "^ ^ (^r^c^^ 
 
 qualit ^ . - 
 
 In and about Rosemary Lane there re- 
 sided more than one class of inhabitants. 
 In the lowest depths of society there are 
 grades, and lines of demarcation as wide as 
 in Belgravia — lines of demarcation created 
 in the first place by property, in the second 
 by character ; and though the property 
 which set these lines in Rosemary Lane 
 
 ^i-^txX
 
 go The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 miglit be simply such as was defined by a 
 common tea-service, with gaudy flowers 
 painted on the earthenware surfaces, with- 
 out a crack in cup or saucer, and a service 
 cracked and chipped, and without a handle 
 to its name, it amply served the purpose of 
 marking social distinctions. The women 
 ruled these matters ; the men were not 
 mindful of them. As to character — well, it 
 rested chiefly between women who were 
 wives and women who were not. The 
 degree of intimacy existing between such 
 and such depended chiefly upon tempera- 
 ment, and it was most pleasant to observe 
 the large amount of kindness and leniency 
 displayed by one to another. They had a 
 deeper insight than those above them with 
 respect to trials and temptations, and they 
 made excuses for those who, being deceived 
 by the outer gloss of the fruit, had been 
 tempted to a discovery of its inner rotten- 
 ness. But apart from natural kindliness, 
 the grades were pretty clearly deflned.
 
 The Child, 
 
 91 
 
 The higher class of society in Eosemary 
 Lane was composed of working people, who 
 were neither more nor less contented with 
 their lot than it is in the nature of human 
 beings to be. But they were forced to walk 
 in their grooves. The men took a dull 
 interest in politics, and in an aimless way 
 talked over high matters, somewhat ignorant 
 of the premises, and somewhat hazy in their 
 conclusions. In so far as such discussions 
 gave an additional flavour to the beer, and 
 stimulated a demand for more, there was, 
 both to the State and to themselveg as 
 citizens, a questionable advantage derived 
 from them. The women did not encroach 
 upon their men's prerogatives. Their in- 
 terest in politics and the rivalry of nations 
 was confined to the taxes on tea and sugar 
 and other necessaries of life ; a penny more 
 or less on the four-pound loaf of bread was 
 a subject more vital to them than the life or 
 death of kings or princes ; a yard of new 
 ribbon to a bonnet was of greater import-
 
 92 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 ance than the bravest colours — ragged and 
 bloodstained as the flag might be in the 
 honourable usage of war — that ever waved 
 a regiment to death and victory or death 
 and defeat : in either case the same, abso- 
 lutely and abstractedly, to those who lay 
 pulseless on the bloody field. Truly enough, 
 they played but a small part in the world's 
 history. In the records of their neighbeur- 
 hood could not be found a single instance of 
 any one comrade who had ever distinguished 
 himself, or risen above his station. Some 
 among them went into the world (a curious 
 phrase, as implying that Eosemary Lane 
 was out of it) to seek their fortunes ; none 
 ever came back in their carriages, and the 
 locality could not boast of a Dick TVTiitting- 
 ton. Men fell who had been born among 
 them, and women also, and caused hearts to 
 throb with pain, or scorn, or pity ; but not 
 one rose. Ambitions they had, not less 
 wild or soul-stirring because they were 
 narrow and petty ; pleasures they had, *not
 
 The Child, 93 
 
 less sweet because they were cheaply pur- 
 chased ; sin they had, not less heinous 
 because they lived in small houses ; love 
 they had, not less pure because their clothes 
 were patched; sorrows they had, not less 
 keen because the world knew not the names 
 of those who suffered. So they lived 
 through their lives, loving, suffering, enjoy- 
 ing, and all the happier perhaps (but they 
 would scarcely have acknowledged this) 
 because they moved on one social level, 
 from the cradle to the grave, and because 
 that level was on a low foundation. 
 
 Here, then, although it has been impos- 
 sible to enlist the painter's art in the depic- 
 tion, is presented a fairly reliable picture oi* 
 Eosemary Lane and its inhabitants at the 
 time of the introduction of the heroine of 
 the story.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 IN WHICH IS RELATED THE FABLE OF THE 
 ONE-EYED TOAD. 
 
 Who she was^ where she came from, whether 
 she had a relative in the world, what was- 
 her origin and what her real name, and 
 any and every other circumstance that be- 
 longed to her history,, were sealed mysteries 
 to the inhabirants of Eosemary Lane. One 
 thin and most mysterious thread was theirs, 
 but this could scarcely be called a clue. 
 Some kind of knowledge — partly inductive, 
 partly superstitious and fanciful — they 
 certainly possessed. 
 
 As to what she was : She was human and 
 a female. On these points no doubt could 
 exist.
 
 The Child. 95 
 
 As to where she came from : There being 
 not the slightest clue to lead to a definite 
 conclusion, the hazard of a kind gossip, who 
 said that the child dropped as it might be 
 from heaven among them, was accepted, in 
 lieu of a hazard more reasonable. Notwith- 
 standing that this is a matter-of-fact age, 
 and that the speculation was a wilful per- 
 version of the truth, let us accept it, and 
 thus incur the contempt of critics anH 
 purists who look down on sentimentalists. 
 
 As to whether she had a relative in the 
 world : She must have had^ at some time, a 
 mother. Whether that mother was alive 
 or dead, was not known, and there were no 
 means of ascertaining. She must have had 
 a father ; but we will leave him out of the 
 question — as fathers are frequently willing, 
 and occasionally grateful, to be left. That 
 matter, therefore, may be said to be settled. 
 
 As to her origin : Greater persons and 
 riper intellects than were to be found in 
 Eosemary Lane are at variance upon origin.
 
 g6 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 No wonder, then, that the inhabitants of 
 Rosemary Lane were in doubt. Whether 
 she were descended from an ape mattered 
 little to her, and did not affect her life. 
 The point, therefore may safely be left to 
 the natural philosophers who gain renown 
 by discussing it. Before their disputes are 
 ended, the Duchess of Eosemary Lane and 
 all the mortal generations that follow her, 
 will be in their graves. 
 
 As to her real name : What did it mat- 
 ter? A rose by any other name would 
 
 smell as But the proverb is musty. 
 
 If she had no name by right, one was found 
 for her. There are christenings and chris- 
 tenings. Most are orthodox ; a few the 
 reverse. This was the reverse — and cer- 
 tainly original — which, in these days of 
 mental rag-and-bone picking, should make 
 the subject of it distinguished after a 
 fashion. 
 
 These moot points, then, are (satisfac*. 
 torily or not) disposed of.
 
 The Child, 
 
 "Was notMng else known concerning her ? 
 Yes, sometliing — of the vaguest character, 
 but still giving the most distinct contra- 
 diction to the heaven- dropping theory — 
 which shall now be briefly told. 
 
 Eefore this is done, however, we will, of 
 our own accord, and quite apart from the 
 gossips of Rosemary Lane, remain for a 
 moment or two with the Duchess as she 
 appears, a stranger, before us. There i» 
 another state, besides her material and 
 physical one, which demands recognition. 
 
 For the settlement of certain exceedingly 
 important points concerning ourselves, 
 but a very few moments are necessary. 
 Some questions are so easily answered that 
 it is with impatience we listen to a solution 
 or a speculation which differs from our con- 
 victions. 
 
 As thus : Supposing me to be a believer 
 in the tenet of Original Sin, and that in ac- 
 cordance with my doctrine I condemn you 
 to damnation, with what scorn should I 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 regard the outpourings of a humanitarian, 
 who worships the memory of Theodotus of 
 Byzantium? "With me in this position, 
 there is no question to discuss. The mat- 
 ter is determined. Temporal death and 
 everlasting punishment are your inevitable 
 doom. I have nothing to say to your cry, 
 '^ Unhappy mortal that I am, why was I 
 born ? " I have troubles enough of my 
 own to occupy my mind. 
 
 Or that I, setting aside the dogmas of 
 theological schools, and ignoring the doc- 
 trines upheld by Augustine, Pelagius, 
 Erasmus, Luther, Kant, and other theolo- 
 gians and metaphysicians, should choose to 
 settle my faith and the ways of it for myself 
 — that I should even go so far into the 
 region of moral law as to assert that crime 
 is to be distinctly and definitely gauged by 
 the measure of responsibility and the cir- 
 cumstances of the individual life — with 
 what contempt should I meet the efforts of 
 those who would win me to a more esta-
 
 The Child, 99 
 
 blished belief, and who would strive to 
 convince me that my heart, my mind, and 
 all the thought and impulse which actuate 
 my wayward life had nothing whatever to 
 do with me or my fate ! 
 
 Or that I, having no convictions, and 
 being tossed on the waves of doubt, should 
 still refuse to have the matter settled for 
 me by others, saying mayhap in my blind- 
 ness, ^' I do not, cannot find the road to go, 
 there are so many, and they are so en- 
 tangled. As your soft voice would fain 
 persuade me, thousands of harsh voices 
 thunder at me to Beware. Look which 
 way I will, the aspect is the same. At 
 every turning one sign-post invites me, 
 while a hundred others warn me that death 
 lies in that direction. God knows which is 
 right; I do not." With what impatience 
 I should view the sad head-shakings and 
 hand-raisings of those who look upon me as 
 lost ? 
 
 Or, supposing that I am imbued with the 
 
 H 2
 
 lOO The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 spirit and ideas of the toad who, being fast 
 stuck in a rock, lived there for more years 
 than he could remember, until he was^ one 
 day most unexpectedly released and brought 
 to light. In the evening he arrived at a 
 swamp, where he met a friendly frog, to 
 whom in tones of agitation, he related the 
 story of his life so far as it was known to 
 himself. '^Poor thing!" said the sympa- 
 thising frog. " What a fate was yours ! 
 To be fast stuck in stone, and shut out from 
 the light of day for so many, many years ! " 
 "You speak," observed the toad, ^'as 
 though I was to be pitied for that." " Truly 
 to be pitied," replied the frog; ''but now that 
 you are released, and can see, and move 
 freely and act for yourself, your troubles are 
 at and ^nd." '' Fool ! " exclaimed the toad. 
 '' Until this day I have lived a happy, con- 
 tented life, and it is only now that my troubles 
 have commenced. Hitherto the years have 
 glided by calmly and peacefully. Nothing 
 disturbed me. Unfortunate that I am !
 
 The Child. JOi 
 
 what evil have I committed in my unevent- 
 ful life that I should be cursed with light ? " 
 At these strange and mournful utterances the 
 frog regarded the toad with astonishment, 
 whereupon the toad exclaimed, " Listen, 
 thou ignorant one ! IN'o sooner did the 
 light fall upon me, than the man who with 
 his accursed pick destroyed my home, aimed 
 a blow at me with his weapon, and made a 
 gash in one of my legs. The moment I 
 hopped away from the monster, a boy caught 
 sight of me, and pursued me; but I was 
 too nimble for him, and he, enraged at being 
 unable to catch me, threw a stone at me > 
 which almost crushed my back. Then, as I 
 hopped onwards in terror, a dog flew at me, 
 and seized and bit me. Doubtless I should 
 have been killed if, when he bit me, he had 
 not instantly dropped me. As I hopped ^ 
 away, I saw him standing with his paw to 
 his nose — I think he did not like the smell 
 of me. Then an elderly man in spectacles, 
 who was hunting about the fields for speci-
 
 I02 The Duchess oj Rosemary Lane. 
 
 mens, laid his hands upon me, and holding 
 me in such a position that I could not move, 
 took a sharp steel instrument from a case, 
 and commenced to poke it delicately into 
 J^y ^y^ — tiiat feature in me which is really 
 beautiful, and of which I am justly proud. 
 If nature had given me teeth, I should have 
 fastened them into his flesh, and so re- 
 venged myself. Prom his expressions of 
 delight at my agonised writhings, I inferred 
 that I was affording him infinite pleasure. 
 Happily for me, his attention was diverted 
 for a moment, and his grasp relaxed ; in that 
 moment I escaped from him. But he had 
 already inflicted irreparable injury upon 
 me ; from this day forth, I am a one-eyed 
 toad. These are my experiences since I 
 have enjoyed the freedom upon which you 
 congratulate me. There is no moon to- 
 night, I believe. I shall hunt about for 
 another rock. I like darkness best." 
 
 All of which, you may say, can have 
 nothing whatever to do with our Duchess.
 
 The Child, 103 
 
 So be it. Certainly, it would all — theology, 
 fable, and speculative wanderings — have 
 been as so much Greek to the inhabitants of 
 Eosemary Lane. They were, as a rule, an 
 ignorant set of people, who could not (ideal- 
 istically) see beyond their noses, and as 
 this is a simple story, plainer language and 
 less involved imagery should be used. 
 
 We will, therefore, start from a point 
 upon which we shall all agree : that the 
 Duchess of Eosemary Lane was born — and 
 couldn't help it.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 SHOWING THE CLOSE RELATION THAT EXISTS 
 BETWEEN POLITICAL AND DOMESTIC DIF- 
 FERENCES OF OPINION, AND INTRODUCING, 
 IN A SLEEPY WAY, THE HEROINE OF 
 THE STORY. 
 
 We must go back a little — not far ; to the 
 year 1848, when Europe was convulsed with 
 civil war. Firebrands were abundant, but 
 not more abundant than the hands ready to 
 use them. Political incendiarism was the 
 fashionable crime of the day. Eed was the 
 favourite colour, and blood and fire supplied 
 it freely. The gutters ran with the stream 
 of the one, and the heavens reflected the 
 glare of the other. The ploughshare, turned 
 into a sword, was used for reaping limbs
 
 The Child. 105 
 
 instead of ploughing the soil, and the sun- 
 rise when the lion shall lie down with the 
 lamb was as distant as it was a thousand 
 years ago. On the surface of things floated 
 a little reason and much unreason ; a little 
 purity and much dirt ; a little abnegation 
 of self and much toiling for its exaltation. 
 Patriots (ever their own sculptors) carved 
 their names in history, and, trodden into the 
 gutters of the towns and the furrows of the 
 fields, shedding their life-blood there, were 
 thousands of men who might this very day 
 have been tilling the land, and hastening 
 the millennium. It was a time of solemn 
 awful tragedies. And because the gut- 
 ters were not purified when the blood was 
 ' cleared away, men despaired who had 
 grasped at shadows. And because the 
 heavens were bright and fair when the 
 dreadful glare had died out of them, milder 
 theorists still hoped that the day would 
 come when their dreams should be realised. 
 Great Britain and Ireland — being, like
 
 ic6 TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 other nations, blessed with an abundance of 
 patriots — did not escape the fever. Ireland 
 was ready and eager for it, Scotland held 
 out its hands for it, it crept into England. 
 There were meetings everywhere, in open 
 spaces, in cellars, in public-houses ; and 
 many men who were drudging patiently 
 through their lives, looked, and listened, 
 and wondered whether, after all, every- 
 thing in the world was wrong, and the mo- 
 ment had come to set it right. In the 
 early summer of the year, the lower classes 
 of the people of London took the disease 
 badly, and some inconsiderable blood-letting 
 had to be resorted to to purge them of it. 
 (Old-fashioned remedies for certain com- 
 plaints still exist.) There was to be a 
 monster meeting at Bonner's Fields, and 
 Rosemary Lane and the surrounding neigh- 
 bourhood sent scores of newly-fledged poli- 
 ticians and suddenly-developed patriots to 
 the spot historically famous in the name of 
 the bishop who played so ruthless a part
 
 The Child. 107 
 
 in the tragic reign of bloody Mary. Shrewd 
 traders, with an eye to business, followed 
 the crowd with barrows of food and drink, 
 and drove a rare business on the outskirts — 
 keeping a sharp look-out for the moment 
 when it was necessary for them to fly to 
 save their unsold wares. There were pa- 
 triots among them doubtless, but the magic 
 number of life is !N'umber One, and they 
 were awake to the fact. Troops wera 
 massed to meet the mob, but happily there 
 was little need for them. The leaders who 
 had promised to instruct the newly -fledged 
 and suddenly-developed in the first prin- 
 ciples of liberty did not appear, and copious 
 and beneficent showers of rain spoilt the 
 bad promise of the day. Back to their 
 homes went the idlers ; for, indeed, there 
 was little of serious purpose in ninety-nine 
 out of every hundred who assembled : and 
 the arm of the law came down lightly, 
 comparatively few persons being arrested. 
 There was at first some dissatisfaction
 
 io8 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 expressed at this lame result of great ex- 
 pectations, but it wore away with the day, 
 and a feeling of relief took its place : re- 
 sembling the not unpleasant sensation ex- 
 perienced by being in a great danger, and 
 escaping without injury. Those who had 
 been at Bishop Bonner's Fields breathed 
 more freely. Their having been present 
 at the demonstration was something to talk 
 about ; they had performed a part in a play 
 likely to be remembered, and which would 
 certainly be mentioned in history. 
 
 In the evening Rosemary Lane was ex- 
 ceedingly animated, and became hilariously 
 so as the night deepened. The beer- and 
 public-houses were crowded, and liberty, 
 moistened by gin, was freely discussed. 
 The Royal George (not a personage ; a 
 public-house) was, paradoxically, the most 
 thronged resort in the neighbourhood for 
 the discussion of these two important mat- 
 ters. There was more light in the Royal 
 George than in all the private houses within
 
 V
 
 -rfl^™-!^.. 
 
 The Child, 109 
 
 a radius of five hundred yards : it cannot be 
 said that it was on this evening more than 
 usually brilliant in honour of the day, for 
 it was always brilliant to its fullest extent ; 
 but it was more than usually crowded. The 
 Eoyal George was a grand stone building, 
 abounding in bright glass, handsome pillars, 
 and gilt cornices, and it was situated within 
 a very short distance of the residence of Mr. 
 Eichard Chester, who, for a sufficient reason, 
 was not at the present moment one of the 
 throng there assembled. He was at home, 
 beating his wife. 
 
 Of course, previous to the beating there 
 had been a quarrel, or shall we rather say, 
 a difference of opinion. It is good to be 
 parliamentary when there is an opportunity. 
 The world has two great throbbing pulses 
 from which all quarrels spring : love, and 
 money. Mr. Chester did not beat his wife 
 for love ; he beat her for money — or, rather, 
 for the want of it. * 
 
 He had been at the meeting at Bonner's
 
 The Child, 109 
 
 a radius of five hundred yards : jt cannot be ^X/ - / 
 
 said that it was on this evening more than P\ 
 
 usually brilliant in honour of the day, for h^^^ 
 
 it was always brilliant to its fullest extent ; 
 
 but it was more than usually crowded. 
 
 Beycil Goorgo <wasa grand stone building, 
 
 abounding in bright glass, handsome pillars, .« 
 
 and gilt cornices, and it was situated within 
 
 a very short distance of the residence of Mr. 
 
 Kichard Chester, who, for a sufficient reason, ^ 
 
 was not at the present moment one of the 
 
 throng there assembled. He was at home, 
 
 beating his wife. 
 
 Of course, previous to the beating there 
 had been a quarrel, or shall we rather say, 
 a difi'erence of opinion. It is good to be . JiJi^^ 
 parliamentary when there is an opportunity. ^^jL^y-^ 
 The world has two great throbbing pulses \ ' 
 from which all quarrels spring : love, and 
 money. Mr. Chester did not beat his wife 
 for love ; he beat her for money — or, rather, . ^lz^ 
 
 for the want of it. ^ ^^-^^^Tp^fLi /^^, H 
 He had been at the meeting at Bonner's ^*^ jy^^t^-f^c^
 
 1 1 o TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 Fields, and had come home safe. What 
 more natural than that in the evening, when 
 there was but one dull candle burning in 
 the parlour of his house, he should go to 
 the Eoyal George where there was so much 
 light ? He went there on other evenings, 
 and there was a double reason why he 
 should go on this. The first, custom : a 
 hard thing to oppose. The second, to cele- 
 brate his safety : much in the same way as 
 prayers are put up in churches for the sick 
 and those who are encountering peril. Mr. 
 Chester's church was the public-house. 
 
 Eeing there, in an exceedingly devout 
 mood, he spent his last penny. "When his 
 glass was drained and his pockets empty, 
 he was in the middle of an oration on 
 liberty. As he was turning a florid sen- 
 tence lie raised the empty glass to his lips. 
 With a disappointed air, he continued, but 
 the words hung on his tongue, and played 
 him tricks, demanding — the imps ! — the 
 wherewithal he had not the means to
 
 The Child, 1 1 1 
 
 supply. He sucked at the glass, but the 
 inspiration refused to come. He would not 
 ask for credit, for he knew it would be re- 
 fused. One golden motto had the landlord 
 of the Eoyal George : ready money down ; 
 and it was leading him rapidly to fortune, 
 over roads strewn with the wreck of human 
 hopes and with the sad records of gin-soaked 
 lives. But that was not his business. 
 Every man for himself, and God for us all ! 
 Mr. Chester felt that his reputation was 
 at stake. He had not yet approached his 
 peroration, which he intended to be mas- 
 terly. The more he sucked at his dry glass 
 the more masterly he intended his perora- 
 tion to be, and the less capable he found 
 himself, deprived as he was of the afflatus 
 supplied by liquor. He was an eloquent 
 and ready speaker, there was no doubt of it. 
 But words are dry things, and he suffered 
 from constitutional thirst. Then his theme 
 was grand. He was wounded to the soul 
 that he was not able to do it justice.
 
 112 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 He had no more money ; his wife had a 
 little. He knew this, not from absolute 
 knowledge, but from deduction and the 
 teachings of past experience. His wife, 
 foolish creature, always had a little when, 
 on such occasions as the present, he needed 
 it. It was one of those mysterious threads 
 in the domestic life for which there is no 
 accounting. But then his wife was such a 
 sly woman I 
 
 What was hers was his, clearly. He had 
 a respect for law when it supported him, 
 and here it was undoubtedly on his side. 
 
 Mrs. Chester really did possess fifteen 
 pence, and she refused to give it, upon de- 
 mand, to her husband. He took the law 
 into his own hands, and administered it. 
 The might and majesty of reason and 
 humanity, as well as the might and majesty 
 of law, upheld him. "What ! When 
 millions of money were spent, when fivers 
 of blood were poured out, at the sacred 
 altar of liberty, should he be compelled to
 
 The Child. 113 
 
 turn his back upon it for the price of a glass 
 of liquor ! 
 
 Under certain conditions Mr. Chester 
 might have become a distinguished man. 
 He had many of the qualities necessary for 
 greatness ; but he had not been born to it, 
 want of opportunity had prevented him from 
 achieving it, and he had not been fortunate 
 enough to have it thrust upon him. 
 
 He was naturally a logician, and he had 
 had a fairish education, an education far 
 above that of his fellows round about. Yet 
 it had not kept him out of the ruts of life, 
 and it had not strengthened him to perform 
 life's duties. Herein lies the exceedingly 
 small kernel of reason that is hid in the 
 aphorism, '-'- A little knowledge is a dan- 
 gerous thing." Mr. Chester made use of 
 his in chiefly arguing himself right in any 
 little matter under dispute. He had, also, 
 that most valuable, and ofttimes most fatal 
 gift, the gift of oratory, and practice had 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 made him a ready speaker. He had a sense 
 of humour, too. 
 
 This came into play in the present in- 
 stance, though it may be doubted whether 
 the other half of him was ready to appreciate 
 it. 
 
 Wife-beating is, in a measure, a science 
 — a natural science. Some masters of it 
 know exactly how far to go, and useful 
 practice guides them how to administer cor- 
 rection so as to produce the desired effect. 
 For the time being, that is : women are hard 
 scholars, and so dogmatic in retaining 
 opinions up to a certain point, that with 
 them experience seldom teaches. Some men 
 hit hard, and hurt ; some hit soft, and inflict 
 small pain : but the women cry as loud. 
 Their souls feel the smart and the wound 
 more than their bodies, they are such stupidly 
 sensitive creatures. Some men use sticks, 
 some their fists, some pokers, some heavily- 
 nailed boots, some straps, some, not being 
 particular, anything that is handy. Fashion
 
 The Child. 
 
 J15 
 
 in this matter is not arbitrary. Mr. Chester 
 used a strap. There is nothing like leather. 
 Which he was ready to swear, with heaven- 
 directed awl. He was a shoemaker. 
 
 No injustice must be done to him. He 
 used gentle means first, let it be owned. 
 He employed all his arts in the attempt to 
 wheedle the fifteen pence out of his wife; 
 but she was firm — no, obstinate — and would 
 
 not be wheedled. He even rehearsed the 
 
 • 
 
 peroration on liberty, which he was burn- 
 ing to deliver at the Eoyal George. It 
 had no more effect upon her than if she 
 had been a dummy woman. Mr. Chester 
 took his strap into his hand, and drew it 
 between his palms. Mrs. Chester held her 
 breath, and bit her lips. Her conduct de- 
 served a better reward than this, for during 
 the preliminaries to action she had played 
 the part of a wise woman — she had not 
 uttered a word. But Mr. Chester was not 
 in the mood to appreciate this virtue in his 
 wife. 
 
 1-2
 
 1 1 6 The Duchess of Rose^iiary Lane, 
 
 '^ The money," said he. 
 '-^ Dick," she answered, speaking for the 
 first time, " you'll be sorry for it. I can't 
 give you the money — and won't! It's 
 wanted for other things than drink." 
 
 Mr. Chester, standing near the door, so 
 that his wife should not escape, contemplated 
 the strap with a pensive eye. 
 
 '^ I must have it, old woman," he said, 
 in a musing tone. V' The cause demands it. 
 I am but an instrument. Liberty soars upon 
 
 heavenly wings, and cries for " 
 
 " Gin ! " interrupted Mrs. Chester, with 
 scornful emphasis. 
 
 Mr. Chester laughed with an air of keen 
 enjoyment. He appreciated the wit of the 
 retort, and was proud of his wife for making 
 it. But he was not to be diverted from 
 his purpose, and when his laugh was over, 
 he flourished his strap, and brought it down 
 upon hiis wife's shoulders. Her head shrunk 
 into her neck as she stood to receive the 
 blow, which was neither savage nor vindic-
 
 The Child. 117 
 
 tive. It appeared, indeed, to be adminis- 
 tered more in sorrow than in anger. Yet 
 she cried, 
 
 ^^ODick!'' 
 
 ^^ Come," he said persuasively, holding 
 out his hands, *' the money." 
 
 ^^ You may beat me black and blue," she 
 replied, ^^ but you'll get no money out of 
 me to-night." 
 
 ^' Beat you black and blue ! " exclaimed 
 the tipsy humorist, as he flourished his 
 strap, and brought it down again. ^^It is 
 not you that I am beating — it is myself. 
 It is I that am mean and stingy, and it is 
 I that suffer. Are you not bone of my bone, 
 and flesh of my flesh? Are you not my 
 filched rib ? Take that, and that, and 
 that ! " 
 
 His wife took that, and that, and that, 
 meekly, so far as her outward manner 
 denoted. She was really not hurt much, 
 for his blows were very light ; but the tears 
 gathered in her eyes. *
 
 1 18 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 '^ Dick/' said she, ^^if you were sober, 
 I'd speak to you." 
 
 " In that case, I should be wise to be 
 always drunk." 
 
 ^^ Do you know why, if you killed me, 
 I would not give you the money ? " 
 
 '^Because you're an obstinate woman," he 
 replied, with hand upraised. 
 
 " Because I want it for medicine for 
 Sally." 
 
 At this point the door of the room opened, 
 and two persons appeared — a man, certainly 
 wide awake, and a very little girl, certainly 
 almost fast asleep, holding on to the skirts 
 of his coat. No sooner did the man pause 
 on the right side of the door, than the child 
 converted " almost " into '' quite." With 
 a bit of his coat tightly clasped in her little 
 hand, she closed her eyes and went to sleep, 
 using his leg as a resting place for her head. 
 It was a pretty little head, round and well 
 shaped, such as a mother is proud of when 
 she looks at her baby. This child was
 
 The Child. iiQ 
 
 scarcely more than a baby, and seemed, in- 
 deed, as though her toddling days were 
 barely over. The one candle which lighted 
 the room showed dimly the form of the 
 man, but the child, being exceedingly small, 
 was hidden from the Chosters in the shadows 
 which lay upon the floor. 
 
 The intruder, at a glance, recognised the 
 position of affairs. 
 
 " Don't mind me," he said, with a coarse 
 laugh ; '-^ this is a free country." 
 
 His remark was not a success. Mr. 
 Chester was a person of delicate suscepti- 
 bilities, and he had no desire that his filched 
 rib should be lowered in the eyes of stran- 
 ' gers. Herein he consulted his own dignity. 
 Then, again, as a philosopher, he liked to 
 wash his dirty linen out of the sight of pry- 
 ing eyes. Perhaps, however, it was his 
 wife's reference to Sally that caused him to 
 lay aside his strap. He greeted the stranger 
 with resentful words. 
 
 " I do mind you, and this is not a free
 
 1 20 The Duchess of Rosemary Laiie, 
 
 country. The next time you come into a 
 man's room, perhaps you'll remember to 
 knock at the door." 
 
 ^^ Then the man '11 have to keep his ears 
 open," retorted the stranger. '^ I knocked 
 at yours half-a-dozen times, but you were 
 too busy to hear." 
 
 " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Is this your house ? " 
 
 *' I pay the rent of it, and the poor- 
 rates — devil take them ! " 
 
 " You've got a bedroom to let ; I made 
 out the bill in the window " 
 
 " All right ; just you wait a bit— I'll talk 
 to you presently." He turned to his wife. 
 '' What's the matter with Sally ? " 
 
 *^ She's took HI again. She fainted 
 dead away again this afternoon, all of a 
 sudden, without saying with your leave or 
 by your leave. I was ironing at the 
 time, and as I couldn't bring her round, I 
 took her to Dr. Lyons. He says that she
 
 The Child. 12 1 
 
 must have strengthening things, that she's 
 got no more strength than a kitten, and 
 that he won't answer for her." 
 
 Women are amazingly contradictory 
 creatures. Utterly forgetting her declara- 
 tion that if her husband killed her she 
 would not give him the money, Mrs. 
 Chester dragged the fifteen pence out of 
 her pocket, and flinging it upon the table, 
 cried passionately, « 
 
 ^^ Take it ! and ^irink the child's life 
 away ! " 
 
 Mr. Chester looked at the money with 
 a frown and at his wife with something 
 like reproach. 
 
 " Not quite so bad as that, old woman," 
 he said. " I've enough to reproach my- 
 self with one. Is Sal asleep ? " 
 
 His question was answered by the 
 pattering of two little bare feet, and Sally 
 herself appeared from an inner room, 
 which, with the parlour in which this
 
 122 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 scene was taking place, formed the domes- 
 tic establishment of the Chester family. 
 
 ^^ iNo, father, I'm not asleep," cried 
 Sally, as she ran. 
 
 Sally was only five years of age, and 
 was such a mite of a child that she might 
 have been no age at all. Waking sud- 
 denly, she had scrambled out of bed on 
 hearing her father's voice. 
 
 " You parcel of bones ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Chester, with rough tenderness, lifting the 
 child in his arms. ^^ "What have you been 
 up to again ? " 
 
 '^ I fainted dead away, father ! " replied 
 Sally gleefully ; " dead away ! " 
 
 The proud tone in which, in her thin child- 
 ish voice, she made this evidently familiar 
 statement respecting herself was very re- 
 markable. 
 
 " Why, Sally, you're always at it ! " 
 
 " Yes, father," said Sally, with a trium- 
 phant laugh. She was conscious that it 
 was not every little girl who could go on
 
 ^ 7*9i5^T-^iJtT~ ' 'y^srr' 
 
 The Child. 123 
 
 fainting away as she could. '^ It is beau- 
 tiful!" 
 
 " Beautiful," echoed Mr. Chester, as 
 gravely as his condition permitted. ^' But 
 if you go on fainting away like this, Sally, 
 one of these days you'll faint so dead 
 away that you'll never come t-o again." 
 
 This conveyed no terrors to Sally's mind, 
 for she clapped her bony hands in delight 
 at the idea. She stopped in the midst of 
 her clapping, and struggled to get out of 
 her father's arms. She had caught sight 
 of the sleeping child. Mr. Chester, with- 
 out knowing why she wanted to be free, 
 set her down, and she ran to the stranger. 
 Her impulse was to cement an immediate 
 friendship with this new little girl, but 
 seeing that she was asleep, Sally stood by 
 her side, gazing solemnly at the pretty face. 
 Following Sally's movements, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Chester saw for the first time that 
 the man who had intruded upon them 
 was not alone. 
 
 t|-V-*- --.■-•>',-«L-l.i 
 
 Sf^l^iib^t^it^itfii^i^J
 
 The Child, 123 
 
 fainting away as she could. ''It is beau- 
 tiful ! " 
 
 *' Beautiful," echoed Mr. Chester, as 
 gravely as his condition permitted. '' But 
 
 f if you go on fainting away like this, Sally, 
 one of these days you'll faint so dead 
 away that you'll never come to again." 
 
 This conveyed no terrors to Sally's mind, 
 for she clapped her bony hands in delight 
 at the idea. She stopped in the midst of. 
 her clapping, and atruggloa to got out of 
 her father's arms, ^S ho had caught oigh t 
 r^ w^r. cjjppp^'-pg rhild] — Mr. Choatcr, wi th- 
 
 ^•■^t ^^nnwHr ^^hy ^"'y y^<^^^^^ ^^ i ^' i-^-*^^ 
 
 aot hoifadown^ and olK}^ran to theXetrahgei:. ^^UJ^i ^^ 
 Her impulse was to cement an immediate /^^ 
 friendship with this new little girl, but 
 seeing that she was asleep, Sall y stood 
 
 ..her side, gazing^olemnly at the pretty face. 
 Following Sally's movements, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Chester -B^H^Tfor the first time that 
 the man who had intruded upon them 
 was not alone.
 
 124 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 The two children presented a notable 
 contrast. Sally had not a spare ounce of 
 flesh upon her body, and her bones lay 
 loose in their skin. The new-comer was 
 plump, and her limbs were well propor- 
 tioned and well filled out. Sally was 
 dark and sallow ; the new-comer was fair, 
 and despite her weariness, there were roses 
 in her cheeks. Sally's hair was black, and 
 hung straight in lank disorder about her 
 forehead ; the new-comer's hair was flaxen, 
 and although it, also, was disordered, it 
 hung about her forehead in naturally - 
 graceful curls. She was like one of 
 Eaphael's angels, fresh from heaven ; Sally 
 was very much like an elf from dark 
 woods. 
 
 Sally gazed upon the sleeping girl in 
 solemn wonder and admiration, with eyes 
 as wide open as they could be, and pre- 
 sently, encouraged by the silence, put 
 forward one of her fingers and touched the 
 rosy cheek — drawing it quickly back, as
 
 The Child, 125 
 
 though it were a presumptuous thing to 
 do. Again she stretched forth her hand, 
 and played with the flaxen curls. Then, 
 emboldened by success, Sally did a curious 
 thing. She wetted her forefinger on her 
 tongue, and rubbed it softly up and down 
 over the roses in the sleeping child's face. 
 That, when she looked at her finger after 
 this operation, there was no red upon it, 
 was evidently a puzzle to Sally. Her next 
 proceeding was to take the sleeping child's 
 plump hand in her bony one, and make an 
 examination of the fat little fingers, sepa- 
 rating them one by one, and curiously 
 comparing them with her own. While 
 thus employed, Sally happened to glance up 
 at the man, and, meeting his eyes, her arm 
 stole round the sleeping child's neck. The 
 next moment Sally was sitting on the 
 floor, nursing the new little girl on her 
 lap. 
 
 Sally had had her dreams, as all chil- 
 dren have — bright dreams of flowers, and
 
 126 Ihe Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 gardens, and light, and colour, and beauti- 
 ful shapes — of dolls with pink faces and 
 spangled silk dresses — dreams born of what 
 to the world are dull and stale exj)eriences, 
 such as the sight of a daisy, the scent of a 
 bunch of wall-flowers, the vividly -coloured 
 bottles in a chemist's shop, a poorly-dressed 
 and faded columbine dancing on a piece of 
 board in the street, with roses on her 
 cheeks shamelessly put on — she had had 
 her dreams and longings, tiny daughter of 
 Eve as she was (surely Eve must have 
 been a child in mind when she looked and 
 longed for the apple !) — but never, in her 
 wildest fancies, had she compassed the pos- 
 session of such a lovelv doll as this she 
 now nursed in her lap. 
 
 Was ever doll seen like it? It could 
 move, it could breathe, it was warm, it had 
 real hair almost like silk, it was beautiful 
 in every way, and although in her fancies, 
 when the door of sleep shut out tlie world, 
 she had never seen anything so sweetly
 
 The Child, 127 
 
 exquisite, the little stranger in her lap 
 harmonised with her brightest hours, and 
 seemed, miracle as it was, to come natur- 
 ally into her life. So she sat in her thin 
 night-dress, poor wan little elf, rocking 
 her new treasure, and fondling it in 
 purest delight. 
 
 Mrs. Chester gazed at the children with 
 a rebellious feeling in her breast. Kind 
 woman and good mother she was, and 
 therefore fond of children. Sally, from 
 her birth, had been a source of perpetual 
 anxiety to her, and the greater the worry, 
 the greater grew the mother's love. The 
 plainest little thing in the world, no one 
 but the mother had ever seen anything 
 attractive in Sally, and now, as the faces 
 of the two children met her view, her 
 tender heart began to bleed. That this 
 strange child should be so beautiful, and 
 rosy, and plump, and her child so forlorn- 
 looking, and pale, and thin, smote her 
 with keenest pain.
 
 128 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 '^ Get up from the cold floor, Sally ! " 
 she cried ; ^' you'll catch your death setting 
 there with nothing on ! " 
 
 Sally staggered to her feet, with the 
 little stranger in her arms. 
 
 "Mercy take the child!" cried Mrs. 
 Chester, still more crossly. '' You'll let her 
 fall ! Here, give her to me ! " ' 
 
 But Sally, heavy as her burden was, held 
 her precious possession close to her, and 
 managed to reach the bedroom door, where 
 she stood for a while, looking at the group 
 of grown-up persons in the room. 
 
 The man who had brought the baby-girl 
 into the scene seemed to be the least inter- 
 ested person in the party. Mr. Chester's 
 countenence wore a tipsily- observant ex- 
 pression. He was in that condition when 
 trifles become magnified and of importance, 
 and when any little matter in which one is 
 not directly concerned forms, as it were, 
 a relief from the larger responsibilities 
 of life. Mrs. Chester was undergoing a
 
 The Child. 129 
 
 struggle ; the indifference of the man towards 
 his charge drew her sympathies towards the 
 pretty baby-girl, and the look of proud 
 happiness in her Sally's thin face strength- 
 ened this feeling. 
 
 Mr. Chester brought affairs to some sort 
 of a climax. It suddenly dawned upon him 
 that his oration on liberty was still un- 
 finished, and that he himself was still 
 without money for liquor. He looked at 
 the silver shilling and the few coppers 
 which his wife had dashed upon the table, 
 and his hand stole slowly towards them ; 
 and as this action was proceeding, he looked 
 at Sally — in proof, most likely, that his 
 taking the money was not a premeditated 
 act on his part. Sally was leaning against 
 the bedroom door with her human doll in 
 her arms, and as her father's eyes rested 
 on her pale face, he swiftly withdrew his 
 hand from the table, leaving the money 
 undisturbed. Then he turned abruptly to 
 the stranger. 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 130 The Duchess 0/ Rosemary JLane, 
 
 " Now, then," said he, " what's your 
 name when you are at home ? " 
 
 ^^ When I'm at home I'll tell you," 
 replied the stranger. 
 
 Mr. Chester was not disposed to be 
 amiable, and the tone, as well as the words, ' 
 of his retort was aggressive. 
 
 ^^ You've a knack of making yourself at 
 home in strange places. You're pretty free, 
 I must say." 
 
 "Not more free than welcome, I'm in 
 the habit of finding," was the stranger's 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "That's to be proved in this case," 
 observed Mr. Chester, always ready for an 
 argument. 
 
 " I'll prove it — or try to. Let's come to 
 business. You've got a bedroom to let. 
 "What's the rent of it ? " 
 
 " Eespectable references, of course ? " 
 inquired Mr. Chester, who had never in his 
 life, in the letting of his rooms, put this 
 question — most absurd in such a neighbour-
 
 The Child, ix\ 
 
 hood — but to whom it occurred on the 
 present occasion, both as a salutary check 
 upon the stranger's free-and-easy manner, 
 and as necessary to his own dignity. 
 
 '^ Stuff 1 " exclaimed the stranger, taking 
 some silver pieces from his pocket. " Here's 
 my reference." 
 
 '^Not a bad one," said Mr. Chester, 
 seeing his peroration in the coin. " But 
 the rent's not the only point to be decided. 
 If you can't find a respectable reference, 
 you're a respectable man, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, I'm respectable enough ! " 
 
 As implying that such a matter was of 
 small importance in this case, and therefore 
 reflecting upon Mr. Chester's social position, 
 that gentleman did not choose to be satisfied 
 with the reply. 
 
 *' Not so fast. Perhaps you think we're 
 bound to let you the room, because it 
 happens to be empty. Perhaps you think 
 we should be much obliged to you for 
 taking the room. You're mistaken. In 
 
 K 2
 
 132 TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 the absence of a reference, I decline to accept 
 you as a tenant, unless you answer three 
 questions to my satisfaction." 
 
 '^ Fire away." 
 
 ^^ First, I ask you again, are you a 
 respectable man ? " 
 
 '^ As respectable as you are." 
 
 *' That's good enough. Second, do you 
 take the rooms for a permanency ? " 
 
 ^^I shall be here a goodish long time, I 
 reckon — six months, at least, perhaps six 
 years." 
 
 ^^ That'll do. Third, are you a friend of 
 liberty ? " 
 
 " Out and out." 
 
 " Then the rent's three shillings a week, 
 and in consideration of the peculiar circum- 
 stances of the case, I shall require two 
 weeks in advance." 
 
 ^* Here you are," said the stranger, count- 
 ing out six shillings into Mr. Chester's hand. 
 ^^ And that's settled." 
 
 '^ Not so fast again." Mr. Chester
 
 The Child. 133 
 
 turned the coins over in his palm, not en- 
 tirely approving of his own conduct. He 
 always liked to come out of an aifair with a 
 good grace and in a good light, and it 
 occured to him that his stipulation of two 
 weeks' payment in advance needed justifica- 
 tion. ^^ You see you're a stranger to us." 
 
 ^^ That's true; but we'll become better 
 acquainted." 
 
 " As a stranger," continued Mr. Chester, 
 " a man's got to be careful what kind of 
 people he admits into the bosom of his 
 family. You see, you're not alone. You 
 bring a little girl with you — a pretty little 
 
 ^girl " 
 
 ^^She is that, isn't she?" observed the 
 stranger, calling up a look of interest on his 
 face. 
 
 '^ I've said as much," proceeded Mr. 
 Chester. ^^ But you see, pretty as she is, 
 we've got one little girl of our own already, 
 and we don't wish to be left with another on 
 our hands that don't rightly belong to us.
 
 134 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 Children are no rarity ronnd about in these 
 parts." 
 
 Conscious that this was a miserably lame 
 justification, Mr. Chester strove to impart 
 pith to it by laughing as he spoke, as though 
 his words were intended for a joke, but his 
 innate sense of justice tripped him up, and 
 his laugh was, at the best, a laugh apolo- 
 getic. 
 
 The stranger joined in the laugh ; but his 
 laugh, also, had a false ring in it. 
 
 Sally, by this time, had found her burden 
 too heavy for her, and the baby -child, with 
 her golden curls and perfectly beautiful 
 features, was now lying on the ground, and 
 Sally was bending over her. 
 
 Mrs. Chester, who had thrown a thin 
 shawl over Sally, listened to the conversation 
 with interest. She was glad to let her 
 room, but she could not quite make up her 
 mind as to the character of her new tenant. 
 He and the child he had brought with him 
 did not seem to harmonise^ He was a tall
 
 The Child. 1 35 
 
 spare man, with thin yellow whiskers and 
 light-grey eyes. His hands were somewhat 
 delicately shaped, and his nails were in good 
 condition, denoting that he was not a 
 common workman, nor one who gained a 
 livelihood by manual labour. His clothes 
 were shabby, and an air of shabby refine- 
 ment pervaded him. Mrs. Chester was 
 puzzled what to think of him. 
 
 '^ You don't want to be left with her ^n 
 your hands?" exclaimed the stranger 
 boisterously. '' l^ot a likely thing that. 
 "Why, every hair of the darling's head is as 
 precious to me as — as — " hunting about for 
 v-a simile, he found one which he deemed 
 suitable to Mr. Chester's tastes — '^ as liberty 
 is to you ! Look there. Your little girl 
 seems to have taken a fancy to — to — my 
 little girl. They'll be company for each 
 other. I warrant, if I tried to take her up- 
 stairs to bed now, Sally would begin to cry." 
 He was wrong. Sally did not cry as the 
 stranger approached her, but standing, with
 
 136 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 flashing eyes before her treasure, she struck 
 at him viciously with her little fists. Mrs. 
 Chester's mind was made up. Sally's in- 
 stinctive aversion to the stranger found an 
 immediate response in the mother's breast. 
 
 "Didn't I tell you?" inquired the 
 stranger of Mr. Chester, without ill-humour. 
 *' Sally's a game little bird. What do you 
 say to letting the children sleep together, 
 just for this night ? To-morrow we'll maker 
 things straight and comfortable." 
 
 " All right," replied Mr. Chester, anx- 
 ious to be ofi". '^The old woman'll see to 
 that. You'll come along with me now, 
 and we'll have a glass at the Royal George. 
 Good night, Sally. Give us a kiss." 
 
 He stooped to Sally's face, and kissed her. 
 With her arms round his neck, she pulled 
 him to his knees, and made him kiss the 
 sleeping child on the ground. Then, when 
 he raised his face, she kissed him again, 
 and with her mouth close to his, inhaled his 
 broath, and exclaimed.
 
 The Child, 137 
 
 '-^ Oil, shouldn't I like some to drink ! I 
 can only smell it now." 
 
 ^' Like some what, Sally ? " asked the 
 stranger, as, in a shame -faced way, Mr. 
 Chester turned from his child. 
 
 ^^ Some gin,'' answered Sally, with a 
 smack of her lips. 
 
 Mr. Chester rose to his feet, with a rue- 
 ful look. 
 
 The stranger chuckled. '•'' Train up la 
 child in the way she should go, and when 
 she is old she will not depart from it." 
 
 ^' Suppose you trouble your head with 
 what concerns you, Mr. What's your-name," 
 cried Mr. Chester. " And as for you, 
 Sally, you don't know what your talking 
 about. Here, old woman, here's a week's 
 rent in advance for you, so don't you 
 grumble any more ! " 
 
 ^' Give me a kiss, too, Sally," said the 
 stranger ; " I'm fond of game little girls." 
 
 But Sally was not to be won over, and 
 when the stranger tried to force the kiss
 
 138 The Duchess of Rose7nary Lane, 
 
 from her, she dug her fingers into his sandy- 
 whiskers with such spiteful intention that 
 he was glad to free himself from her 
 clutches. 
 
 " There, get out, the pair of you ! " cried 
 Mrs. Chester. '^ Can't you see the child 
 don't want to have any thing to do with 
 you ? And I must say I don't think much 
 of you myself." 
 
 '* You'll like me better when you know 
 me better," observed the stranger, with an 
 assumption of heartiness. 
 
 ^^ Perhaps," replied Mrs. Chester, ^' and 
 perhaps not. I've seen enough of your 
 face for one night , at all events, and now I 
 shall be glad to see your back. You'll find 
 your bed ready when you come home, 
 which I expect won't be till you're turned 
 out of the Eoyal George. Dick'll show you 
 your room." 
 
 She caught up the sleeping child, and 
 taking the candle, retired to the inner 
 room, driving Sally before her.
 
 CHAPTER TV. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. CHESTER EVINCES A SINGULAR 
 AND AN UNACCOUNTABLE ANXIETY WITH 
 REFERENCE TO A PENNY TIN WHISTLE. 
 
 ^' I've enough to reproach myself with one." 
 These words, spoken by Mr. Chester in 
 the course of his late domestic difference 
 with his wife, were not spoken at random. 
 They were instinct with terrible meaning, 
 and they brought with them to Mr. Chester's 
 mind a feeling of deep remorse. 
 
 There is such a thing as being too clever. 
 That man is in a strait indeed who, when his 
 conscience asks questions, is able to justify 
 his worst failings, or, if not to justify, to 
 plaster them over. Better by far to be the 
 greatest ignoramus the world can produce
 
 li^o TJie Duchess 0/ Rose7nary Lane, 
 
 than to be so clever *5s to have no moral 
 balance. Vanity and self-indulgence then 
 become the dominant passions of one's exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Mr. Chester was in this position, and the 
 greater misfortune was his to affect — and 
 not in himself innocently — for evil another 
 life in whose veins his blood ran. In so far 
 as concerns human beings, we have not yet 
 dared to grapple with certain physiological 
 mysteries, being fearful, perhaps, lest we 
 might find justification for hereditary evil. 
 In however slight a degree, Mr. Chester was 
 to some extent responsible that a child of 
 his blood was walking the crooked paths; 
 and it was a gloomy sense of this respon- 
 sibility that had made him say, when his 
 wife taunted him with a wish to drink Sally's 
 life away, ^' N^ot quite so bad as that, old 
 woman ; I've enough to reproach myself 
 with one." 
 
 /^Lu. cyLuS Till I i]ii1i1 iif hi^ nhii had ^^ gone wrong," 
 ^ ^-^^r '*^*'*^ as the saying is, was his only son, a man by
 
 li^O T/ie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 than to be so clever as to have no moral 
 balance. Vanity and self-indulgence then 
 become the dominant passions of one's exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Mr. Chester was in this position, and the 
 greater misfortune was his to affect — and 
 not in himself innocently — ^for evil another 
 life in whose veins his blood ran. In so far 
 as concerns human beings, we have not yet 
 dared to grapple with certain physiological 
 mysteries, being fearful, perhaps, lest we 
 might find justification for hereditary evil. 
 In however slight a degree, Mr. Chester was 
 to some extent responsible that a child of 
 his blood was walking the crooked paths; 
 and it was a gloomy sense of this respon- 
 sibility that had made him say, when his 
 wife taunted him with a wish to drink Sally's 
 life away, '^ Not quite so bad as that, old 
 woman ; I've enough to reproach myself 
 with one." 
 
 This child of his who had ^^ gone wrong," 
 as the saying is, was his only son, a man by 

 
 ■if/sf^r — 7'- 
 
 The Child. 141 
 
 this time, and it was a remembrance of him 
 that had prompted the utterance. A. sharp 
 pain shot through the hearts of husband 
 and wife as the words fell from the father's 
 lips. But Mr. Chester was not in the 
 humour to be sentimental, and, once more at 
 the Eoyal George, he did his best to drown 
 uncomfortable reminiscences. Yet in the 
 midst of his imbibings, it came strongly 
 upon him, in an odd way, in connection 
 with his new tenant. 
 
 Mr. Chester remained at the Royal George 
 until the last moment, and being engaged in 
 an argument when the doors were shut upon 
 him and his brother enthusiasts, he and 
 they lingered about the pavement, and in 
 the ardour of their aspirations for equality 
 and fraternity, struck up clinging friend- 
 ships with unsympathetic but reliable lamp- 
 posts, until, like clocks off their springs, 
 they were unable to mark the record.^ 
 
 Within the Eoyal George, the night had 
 been liyely and noisy. The theme of the 
 
 te. I j/J^Vj-:-i«i»)fv.Tr,>?',.*-,.'i,- ... ..s-J?S*r. .; ..,l..-«-i
 
 The Child. .141 
 
 this time, aiid it was x remembrance of teir^C^ ^t^in^ 
 that had prompted the utterance. A sharp 
 pain shot through the hearts of husband 
 and wife as the words fell from the father's 
 lips. But Mr. Chester was not in the 
 humour to be sentimental, and, once more at 
 the Eoyal George, he did his best to drown 
 uncomfortable reminiscences. Yet in the 
 midst of his imbibings, it came strongly 
 upon him, in an odd way, in connection* 
 with his new tenant. 
 
 Mr. Chester remained at the Eoyal George 
 until the last moment, and being engaged in 
 an argument when the doors Ivere shut upon 
 him and his brother enthusiasts, he and 
 they lingered about the pavement, and in 
 the ardour of their aspirations for equality 
 and fraternity, struck up clinging friend- 
 ships with unsympathetic but reliable lamp- 
 posts, until, like clocks off their springs, 
 they were unable to mark the record. 
 
 Within the Eoyal George, the night had 
 been lively and noisy. The theme of the
 
 142 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 day — liberty — was ventilated and discussed 
 with vigour, if not with originality. It can- 
 not be said to have made much progress, 
 although the libations at its altar were most 
 liberal, although gallons of gin were sacri- 
 ficed to it. It was a cheerful and willing 
 sacrifice, and there was a surprising geniality 
 prevalent among the company. But there 
 was really no question in dispute. They all 
 agreed that they were crushed, oppressed, 
 and trodden upon ; that things were not as 
 they should be, being, in fact, unequal — a 
 monstrous injustice to those who occupied 
 the lower rungs of the ladder; that the 
 government of the country was atrocious ; 
 that the working man was in a miserable 
 position, and that their. ruJcrs were fattening 
 upon their blood ; et cetra, et cetra, et cetra. 
 One of the company gave a fine flavour 
 to these utterances by introducing the Di- 
 vinity at suitable intervals, serving it out in 
 the same way as he would have served out 
 the stufiing of a goose. The general gaiety
 
 •I5i»l 
 
 The Child, 
 
 143 
 
 and brightness under this deplorable condi- 
 tion of affairs was most remarkable. There 
 was no sinister bravo air about the man- 
 ner in which these enormities were dis- 
 cussed; there was no slouched hat and 
 stiletto business introduced. It was not a 
 tragedy; it was a fine, sterling, enjoyable 
 drama. A grievance is a possession not to 
 be despised ; it places one on a pedestal. 
 At intervals during the conversation, the 
 policeman looked in for a moment in an 
 aimless way, and after a vacant look around, 
 retired, apparently satisfied with the con- 
 dition of society as he found it in his walk 
 of Hfe. 
 
 Mr. Chester's new tenant evinced no 
 interest in the topic of the day. Whether 
 it was that he had no sympathy with it, or 
 that he was of a surly uncongenial nature, 
 was not made apparent, for he scarcely 
 opened his lips except to drink. His man- 
 ner of drinking his liquor was not attrac- 
 tive ; he raised his glass to his lips with a 
 
 I 
 
 ;. _ ^ ■_. . _ ^ ■.■■-■i^:^Sj?M^
 
 The Child, 143 
 
 and brightness under this deplorable condi- 
 tion of affairs was most remarkable. There 
 was no sinister bravo air about the man- 
 ner in which these enormities were dis- 
 cussed; there was no slouched hat and 
 stiletto business introduced. It was not a 
 tragedy; it was a fine, sterling, enjoyable 
 drama. A grievance is a possession not to 
 be despised ; it places one on a pedestal. 
 At intervals during the conversation, the^ 
 policeman looked in for a moment in an 
 aimless way, and after a vacant look around, 
 retired, apparently satisfied with the con- 
 dition of society as he found it in his walk 
 
 Mr. Chester's new tenant evinced no 
 interest in the topic of tht day. — Whoth-cr - J-t^^-^^^^-^^ 
 it was that he had no sympathy with it, or ^ 
 
 that he was of a surly uncongenial nature, 
 was not made apparent, for he scarcely 
 opened his lips except to drink. His man- 
 ner of drinking his liquor was not attrac- 
 tive ; he raised his glass to his lips with a
 
 144 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 sly furtive air, and seemed, without visible 
 cause, to be secretly jealous and watchful 
 of those about him. He conducted himself 
 throughout in an objectionable and jarring 
 spirit, and was evidently not anxious to 
 ingratiate himself into the good graces of 
 his ^landlord. Consequently, when, within 
 half an hour of midnight, he said, churlishly, 
 "I think I may as well get home;'' Mr. 
 Chester replied, quite as ungraciously, '^ All 
 right ; you'll not be missed in this com- 
 pany." Thereupon, the stranger, with an- 
 other sly watchful look around, took his 
 leave, to every one's satisfaction. 
 
 Upon his departure, Mr. Chester was 
 questioned by his neighbours as to who the 
 stranger was.^ a/ ^fficient proof that he was 
 
 My. ChontojMitold them 
 
 ^ all he knew, and had the stranger listened 
 
 / lU^jL^i^-^ ^^ their comments upon him, he would have 
 
 <v-C^--^ , acknowledged the truth of the proverb that 
 
 listeners seldom hear any good of themselves. 
 
 Every person in the Eoyal George who had
 
 www^m^^'i" ^' '■■■■■■:■-. 
 
 144 TAe Duchess of Rosemary Laru, 
 
 sly furtive air, and seemed, without visible 
 cause, to be secretly jealous and watchful 
 of those about him. He conducted himself 
 throughout in an objectionable and jarring 
 spirit, and was evidently not anxious to 
 ingratiate himself into the good graces of 
 his landlord. Consequently, when, within 
 half an hour of midnight, he said, churlishly, 
 " I think I may as well get home ; '' Mr. 
 Chester replied, quite as ungraciously, ^' All 
 right; you'll not be missed in this com- 
 pany." Thereupon, the stranger, with an- 
 other sly watchful look around, took his 
 leave, to every one's satisfaction. 
 
 Upon his departure, Mr. Chester was 
 questioned by his neighbours as to who the 
 stranger was, a sufficient proof that he was 
 a stranger to them. Mr. Chester told them 
 all he knew, and had the stranger listened 
 to their comments upon him, he would have 
 acknowledged the truth of the proverb that 
 listeners seldom hear any good of themselves. 
 Every person in the Eoyal George who had 
 
 4<a^j>?-•^.^^i,-;•::,v'
 
 The Child, 145 
 
 observed him had a bad or disparaging word 
 for him, and he was unnaimously voted to be 
 not of the right sort. Mr. Chester was pro- 
 ceeding to speak upon other and more con- 
 genial subjects, when he suddenly paused, 
 and held up his hand. His attitude of 
 attention was magnetically repeated in the 
 attitudes of the persons around him. As 
 when a person in the street stands still, and 
 points at nothing in the sky, he speedily 
 draws about him a throng of interested 
 ones, who all look up, and point at nothing 
 also. 
 
 What had arrested Mr. Chester's atten- 
 tion was the faint sound of music from 
 without. Only half-a-dozen notes reached 
 his ears, and they were softly borne to him 
 from a wind instrument. That much he 
 knew, and although, as has been said, the 
 sound was faint, he recognised the notes as 
 belonging to the air of ^ Love's Young 
 Dream.' 
 
 The glass which he held trembled in his 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 hand, and, had he not placed it on the 
 counter, would have fallen to the ground. 
 
 He walked, slowly and hesitatingly, to 
 the door, and looked out in the street for 
 the musician. He could not see him, and 
 the sound had died away. Eeturning to his 
 companions, he resumed the previous sub- 
 ject, but his thoughts were wandering, and 
 his eloquence deserted him. In the very 
 middle of a sentence he paused again, and 
 abruptly asked, by no means in a convivial 
 tone, 
 
 ^^Did any of you observe whether that 
 man " — referring, with a backward pointing 
 of his thumb, to his new tenant^ — ^'had any- 
 thing in his breast pocket ? '' 
 
 One and another answered, IN'o, they had 
 not observed anything particular. 
 
 Upon this, Mr. Chester's manner became 
 more gloomy, but his spirits rose when one 
 who had not spoken said that he thought, 
 now Mr. Chester mentioned it, that the 
 stranger did have something in his breast
 
 The Child, 147 
 
 pocket. This man was generally regarded 
 as competent to give an opinion, for the 
 reason that a second cousin of his had been 
 a lion-tamer, and had been killed by his 
 tamed wild beasts in a travelling menagerie. 
 Why this circumstance should have con- 
 ferred distinction upon the surviving relative, 
 who had never in his life seen a lion, and 
 why, further, it should have been su^jposed 
 to give him a deeper insight into speculative 
 matters than his neighbours possessed, are 
 not easy of explanation. But the fact re- 
 mains. 
 
 The lion-tamer's second cousin, then, said, 
 that now Mr. Chester mentioned it, he 
 thought the stranger did have something in 
 his breast pocket. 
 
 "Something that stuck out," suggested 
 Mr. Chester vivaciously. 
 
 Perceiving that he had made a hit, the 
 lion-tamer's second cousin unhesitatingly 
 drew upon his imagination, and answered 
 
 L 2
 
 148 The Duchess 0/ Rosemary Lane, 
 
 that he thought it was something that stuck 
 out. 
 
 '^ Might have been a stick ? " proceeded 
 Mr. Chester. ' 
 
 " Yes, it might have been a stick." 
 
 *' Or a flute?" 
 
 " Yes, it might have been a flute." 
 
 '' Or," asked Mr. Chester, coming now to 
 his climax, " a penny tin whistle ? " 
 
 Yes, the man thought it might de- 
 cidedly have been a penny tin whistle ; 
 which so satisfied Mr. Chester, that he in- 
 haled a long breath of relief, and asked the 
 deceased lion-tamer's second cousin what he 
 would take to drink.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 SHOWING HOW UNFORTUNATE, UP TO A CER- 
 TAIN PERIOD OP HIS LIFE, A MAN MAY 
 BE WHO IS BORN WITH THE LUCKIEST 
 OF OMENS. 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Chester proceeded 
 with her domestic duties. Desiring Sally, 
 in a sharp tone, to " Get to bed, now ! " she 
 commenced to undress the baby-child whom 
 Sally, with that precocious maternal instinct 
 peculiar to little girls, had already adopted 
 as her own. The process of undressing her 
 treasure was, however, too absorbing for 
 Sally to obey this order, and she stood, 
 barefooted, in her nightdress, by her 
 mother's side, handling the clothes of the 
 sleeping child with admiring curiosity.
 
 150 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 That they were in every respect superior to 
 those she herself was in the habit of wearing 
 brought no discontent to Sally's mind. 
 There was ample room, truly, for such a 
 sentiment, for Sally, in the matter of apparel 
 — notwithstanding her mother's care of her 
 — was a mere thing of shreds and patches, 
 and the stuff of which her garments were 
 composed was of the commonest and cheap- 
 est. Mrs. Chester was filled with wonder 
 and curiosity as she undressed the little one, 
 and noted the superior order of the child's 
 clothes. The shoes, though dirty and dusty 
 (but small regard had manifestly been paid 
 by the new tenant to the tender feet of his 
 pretty charge), were sound, and without a 
 crack ; the socks had not a hole in toe or 
 heel — a state of sock which Sally seldom 
 enjoyed; the frock was of beautiful blue 
 cashmere, and as her mother handed it to 
 her, Sally pressed her lips and eyes against 
 the comfortable material, with a sense of 
 great enjoyment ; then came a petticoat.
 
 The Child. 151 
 
 of black merino; then a white petticoat, 
 with tucks and insertions, which increased 
 Sally's admiration, then, the little petticoat 
 of flannel, not like the flannel in Sally's petti- 
 coat, hard, gritty, and unsympathetic ; this 
 was thick, and soft, and cosy to the touch — 
 there was real warmth and comfort in it ; 
 then the pretty white stays ; and the child 
 lay in Mrs. Chester's lap, in her chemise, 
 with its delicate edgings of lace round the 
 dimpled arms and fat little bosom — lay like 
 a rose dipped in milk, as the good woman 
 afterwards expressed it to neighbouring gos- 
 sips. The little one looked so pretty, and 
 pure, and sweet, that Mrs. Chester's motherly 
 heart was stirred by love, and the dull 
 feeling of discontent which had stolen upon 
 her at the contrast between these clothes 
 and those that Sally wore, died utterly 
 away. The undressing of the child, the 
 contact of her soft flesh, and now the sight 
 of her, as she lay asleep, helpless, and lovely, 
 and innocent, were to Mrs. Chester like
 
 152 TJie Duchess 0/ Roseviary Lane, 
 
 sparks of fire upon dry tinder. Soft lights 
 of memory glo\Yed upon her, lighting up 
 the dark sky ; sweet reminiscences sprang 
 up in her mind, and bloomed there like 
 flowers in an arid soil, and for a few mo- 
 ments she experienced a feeling of deli- 
 cious happiness. But soon, in the light of 
 sad reality, the stars paled in the sky, the 
 flowers faded, and sorrowful tears were 
 welling from the mother's ey:s. Sally did 
 not see them, for her face was hidden in the 
 sleeping baby's neck, and she was kissing 
 and kissing her lovely treasure with pro- 
 found and passionate devotion. 
 
 ^'Come, now," abruptly said Mrs. Chester, 
 furtively wiping away her tears, so that her 
 child should not see them, ^' just you get to 
 bed, or I'll slap you I I shall be having 
 nice work with you to-morrow if you've 
 caught cold. You'll be fainting dead away, 
 again, and there'll be a fine to-do ! " 
 
 Sally's reply denoted that her thoughts 
 were not on herself.
 
 The C/iila, 153 
 
 ^* Ain't she a beauty, mother ? She's 
 ten and twenty times better then the coller- 
 bine that dances in the street. Now we've 
 got her, no one shall take her away. Mother, 
 she didn't come from a parsley -bed, did 
 she ? " 
 
 This was in reference to her belief in her 
 own origin, but Mrs. Chester declined to be 
 led into conversation ; so Sally wriggled 
 herself between the bed-clothes, and holding 
 out her arms, received the pretty child in 
 them. Supremely happy, she curled herself 
 up, with her baby-treasure pressed tightly 
 to her bony breast, and was soon fast asleep. 
 
 Mrs. Chester, with soft sighs, sat by the 
 bedside, and, after seeing that the children 
 were warmly tucked up, took Sally's clothes 
 one by one, and commenced the mother's 
 never-ending task among the poor of stitch- 
 ing and mending. And as she stitched and 
 patched, the words her husband had spoken, 
 " I've enough to reproach myself with one," 
 recurred to her, and brought grief and sad-
 
 154 The Duchess of Rose^nary JLa7ie. 
 
 ness with them. Her tears fell upon Sally's 
 tattered garments as she dwelt upon the 
 bright promise of the first years of her 
 married life and the marring of her most 
 cherished hopes. Absorbed in these con- 
 templations, she did not notice that the 
 candle which lighted the room was almost at 
 its last gasp. It flickered and flickered, and 
 went out with a sob, leaving Mrs. Chester in 
 darkness. Wearied with a long day's toil, 
 she closed her eyes ; her tear-stained wjrk 
 fell to the ground ; her head sank upon the 
 pillow, and her hand sought Sally's. As she 
 gained it, and clasped it within her own, she 
 fell asleep by the children's side. Her sleep 
 was dreamless until nearly midnight, when a 
 few tremulous notes from ^ Love's Young 
 Dream,' played outside the house on a 
 penny tin whistle, stirred imagination into 
 creative action, and inspired strangely- con- 
 trasted dreams within the minds of mother 
 and child. 
 
 # # # ^ «
 
 The Child. 155 
 
 To trace to its source the action of Sally^s 
 dream would be too difficult a task to under- 
 take in these pages. It will be sufficient 
 presently to attempt to describe it as it 
 presented itself to her. The vivid shadows, 
 animate with wondrous form and colour, 
 which subtly move and play their parts 
 in a child's imagination, can rarely be under- 
 stood by the maturer minds of men and 
 women. Much easier will it be — and fte- 
 cessar}^ to the story— to show over what 
 foundation ran the current of Mrs. Chester's 
 sleeping fancies. 
 
 ***** 
 
 She had been married for twenty-five 
 years, and had had two children — one, a 
 boy, a year after her marriage ; the other, a 
 girl, the Sally of this story, twenty years 
 afterwards, when all hope, or even desire, of 
 pressing another child of her own to her 
 bosom had died out of her. This first- 
 born child now formed the subject of her 
 dream.
 
 156 TJie DucJiess of Rosemary La7ie. 
 
 She had not seen him, had not heard of 
 him, for more than five years. For aught 
 she knew, he might be dead. For three or 
 four years after her marriage she had lived 
 in the country, and those were the happiest 
 years of her life. Then her husband had 
 brought her to Eosemary Lane, where they 
 had lived until the present time. She was a 
 foolish, fond woman, and a more foolish, 
 fond mother. She lavished upon her darling 
 boy, Ned, all the strength of her love ; she 
 worshipped him with all her heart and soul; 
 she never crossed liim in a wish ; she 
 indulged him in every whim, never mind at 
 what sacrifice to herself. He was her idol, 
 her young god, who made life sweeter for 
 her when he but smiled at her. He was a 
 handsome child, the very opposite to Sally ; 
 full of spirit and mischief; often crying out 
 for the moon ; always craving for pleasure 
 and excitement, always being indulged in 
 his cravings to the full extent of his 
 mother's means. This unvarying kindness
 
 Tne Child. 157 
 
 should have influenced him for good ; but it 
 may be that the capacity for good was not 
 in him, or that the counteracting influences 
 — either in his mind, or in outward circum- 
 stance — were too powerful even for a mother's 
 perfect love. Anyway, he glided into the 
 wrong track when he was young, and at an 
 early age developed a remarkable talent for 
 appropriation. In the preliminary stages, 
 his exercises in this direction were confined 
 to home, and were glossed over, or not 
 seriously regarded. The father had no time 
 to look after his son's morals, being himself 
 absorbingly engaged in the cultivation of 
 a talent for which he, also, had shown 
 early aptitude — a talent for gin-drinking. 
 Both father and son became proficients, 
 thus proving themselves of a capable 
 breed. 
 
 The lad was much to be pitied on two 
 special grounds, which, according to popular 
 belief among the humbler classes, should 
 have conspired to his advantage. But the
 
 158 TJic DucJiess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 reverse was the case. He had a perpetual 
 '"'- gift " on his thumb, and he was born with 
 a mole on his right temple. 
 
 His mother was overjoyed when she saw 
 this mole. It was the luckiest of omens. 
 For had not seers of old — never mind what 
 seers — declared that the child that was born 
 with a mole on his right temple would 
 surely, in the course of his life, arrive at 
 sudden wealth and honour ? 
 
 Silver spoons in the mouth fade in com- 
 parison. 
 
 '^ Look, Dick," the foolish woman would 
 exclaim to lier husband, ^'look at the 
 beautiful mole ! And just in the right 
 place, too I The lovely lad ! He will be a 
 rich man, one day. You'll have no need to 
 work when our Ned's a man." 
 
 Thought Mr. Chester, " The sooner he's 
 a man, the better, then." 
 
 Sudden wealth and honour were the 
 lovely lad's, for certain. In what way they 
 were to be gained was dark ; but it would
 
 The Child, 139 
 
 be made plain by-and-by. In the very un- 
 reason of the thing there was special fasci- 
 nation. Games of chance are the most en- 
 trancing, all the world over. 
 
 The lad was drilled into his mother's be- 
 lief, and in his childhood's days seriously 
 regarded the mole as a magical posses- 
 sion. 
 
 Then there was the ^^ gift " on the thumb, 
 as an endorsement of the mole on the temple. 
 Every person who knows what a ^^gift" is, 
 and who is at all versed in commonfolk lore, 
 knows full well that a gift on the finger is 
 sure to linger, and that a gift on the thumb 
 is sure to come. 
 
 So, what with a mole and the gift, Ned 
 Chester's fortune was made. What need, 
 then, for him to trouble himself when the 
 Fates had decided maters for him ? 
 
 And this is not all. '^The lovely lad," 
 his mother's quaint term of endearment, was 
 an unfortunate phrase for him. He had a 
 mole, he had a gift on his thumb, and he
 
 i6o The DucJicss of Roseinary Lcuie. 
 
 was a loverly lad. These accumulated mis- 
 fortunes were surely more than sufficient to 
 crush any ordinary human being. 
 
 And his cup was not yet full. The dis- 
 covery that her lovely lad could not keep 
 his hands from picking and stealing, and 
 that her husband was too freely indulging 
 in the luxury of dram- drinking, were made 
 by Mrs. Chester almost at the same time. 
 She gently chid her child, and remonstrated 
 with her husband. The child had nothing 
 to say for himself, the ftither had a great 
 deal. He even argued the matter with his 
 wife, knowing his strength in that direction. 
 But it happened in this instance that his 
 logic was not a match for his wife's common 
 sense and matter-of-fact utterances. Not to 
 be vanquished, he threw a shield before 
 him. "Look here, old woman," he said, 
 " it's no use talking. A man can't help his 
 proclivities. Eemember that, Ned. If a 
 man's proclivities are too strong for him, 
 he's not accountable. Ned's got a mole.
 
 The Child, i6i 
 
 Is he to be blamed for it ? Certainly not. 
 There you are, then." 
 
 And there she was, and there she re- 
 mained, while Mr. Chester hugged his pro- 
 clivity, year after year, closer and closer to 
 his heart, until it so fastened itself into his 
 system that to shake it off would have been 
 worse than death. And Ned, the lovely lad, 
 hugged his, and did not forget his father's 
 argument, Nay, he threw it into his father's 
 teeth on more than one occasion. "With a 
 dutiful regard, also, for parental example, 
 he followed his father's footsteps to the 
 public-house, and was, at a very early age, 
 fond of draining pots and glasses. 
 
 As Ned grew older, he extended the field 
 of his operations. But he had only one 
 father and mother, and strangers resented 
 his appropriation of their goods and chattels. 
 Thus it came about that one fine morning 
 the young thief found himself in a police- 
 court. His offence had been committed at 
 some distance from his father's house, and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 62 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 in a neighbourhood where he was not known. 
 Eeing of an original and powerful turn of 
 mind — and having a dread, also, of his 
 father's strap, which he had frequently- 
 tasted — he decided to accept the responsi- 
 bility of his misdeeds, and declined to throw 
 disgrace upon his family. He gave a wrong 
 name and a wrong address, and being recog- 
 nised by a zealous and astute police-officer 
 as a hardened and habitual criminal — al- 
 though this was really his first appearance 
 in a police-court — he was sent to prison as 
 a rogue and a vagabond. There was no 
 doubt he was both. 
 
 This did not look promising for the 
 realisation of the seer's decree. But he 
 did not lose faith in his mole, nor in his 
 '^ gift," which, strangely enough, always 
 appeared upon his thumb, notwithstanding 
 the growing of the nail. He might suffer 
 from temporary misfortune, but nothing in 
 the world could cheat him of sudden wealth 
 and honour.
 
 The Child, 163 
 
 When he was released from prison, he 
 did not go home immediately ; he thought 
 it best to wait until his hair grew again. 
 The lovely lad had fine curly locks when 
 they were allowed their natural way, and 
 perhaps in his vagabond nature some senti- 
 ment of affection for his mother impelled 
 him not to present himself, shorn, before 
 her, knowing what pride she took in his 
 beauty. He wandered about, at fairs 
 chiefly, picking up food anyhow, and 
 enjoying the life ; and by the time he made 
 his appearance again in Eosemary Lane, 
 his hair was as curly as ever, and his mother 
 wept over him, and killed the fatted calf 
 for her lovely lad. It is of no impor- 
 tance to relate what story he told to 
 account for his ' absence ; sufficient to say 
 that it waB a story, pure and simple. He 
 brought home with him a new accomplish- 
 ment in the shape of a tin whistle, upon 
 which he discoursed the most eloquent 
 music. This accomplishment he probably 
 
 M 2
 
 164 The Duchess oj Rosefnary Lane. 
 
 picked up at the fairs, and it is a fact 
 that it often helped him to a meal. With 
 this whistle he charmed and soothed the 
 tender nature of his mother, and the less 
 impressionable nature of his father. 
 
 Well, now, as though his bundle of 
 misfortunes — to wit, the mole, the ^' gift," 
 his being a lovely lad, and his not being 
 responsible for his proclivities — were not 
 heavy enough for him, this new one was added. 
 He became really a good musician, playing 
 entirely by ear, and never on any instru- 
 ment but a whistle which a penny would 
 purchase. The music he produced from 
 this humble instrument was truly exquisite, 
 and, for an uneducated lad, marvellous. 
 
 It was perhaps, his greatest misfortune, 
 for it confirmed him in his vagabondage. 
 His father thoughtlessly helped him in his 
 downward course, taking his boy with him 
 to the public-house, where he delighted all 
 around him. There he got his fill of 
 drink, from the customers, from the land-
 
 The Child, 165 
 
 lord, from Mr. Chester himself, and in 
 after days when the lovely lad's character 
 was about as bad as his worst enemy could 
 have desired —when he had been in prison 
 a dozen times, and had fully earned his 
 diploma as a professional thief — it caused 
 the father real remorse to think that he 
 had helped his son to his undoing. It 
 was this which caused Mr. Chester to utter 
 the words, ^^I've enough to reproach my- 
 self with one.'' 
 
 The lovely lad proved so utterly incor- 
 rigible that his father was compelled to 
 request him to shift for himself. The 
 young fellow would not work ; all that he 
 would do was to drink, and thieve, and 
 play upon a tin whistle. There had been 
 many violent scenes between father and 
 son, and five years ago — a few months 
 after Sally was born — ]S"ed Chester disap- 
 peared from the neighbourhood of Eose- 
 mary Lane, and nothing had since been 
 heard of him.
 
 1 66 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 But the mother's heart never went from 
 her boy. Never a day passed but her 
 thoughts dwelt lovingly upon him. He 
 had caused her the bitterest anguish of 
 her life, and she loved him the more for 
 
 it. 
 
 # * * * 
 
 This brief digression having now come 
 to an end, we return to Mrs. Chester, who 
 lies asleep by the side of Sally and her 
 baby-treasure. There is no light in the 
 room, there is no moon in the sky. With 
 trembling fingers, the man in the street 
 plays upon the keys of his instrument. 
 The air is changed now, and the music 
 proclaims that ' The Light of Other Days 
 has Faded.' He does not play the air 
 through ; he pauses in the middle of a 
 note, and shakes as though an ague were 
 on him. It is a terrible fit, and lasts for 
 minutes ; when it subsides, he looks around 
 him fearsomely, and sees monstrous shapes 
 in the air coming towards him. Descend-
 
 The Child, 167 
 
 ing from the dark clouds, uprising from 
 the black pavement, emerging from the 
 viewless air, with eyes that glower, with 
 features that threaten, with limbs that 
 appal, they glide upon and surround him. 
 "With hoarse cries and shuddering hands he 
 strives to beat them off, and staggers to the 
 door of the house in which the mother and 
 children are sleeping, with smiles upon 
 their lips. «
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE DREAM OF THE MOTHER. 
 
 The first sensation she experiences, as the 
 music of the tin whistles falls upon her 
 sleeping senses and arouses her to mental 
 activity, is the taste in her mouth of a crab- 
 apple. How comes that ? Certainly from 
 the apple itself, which she is holding to her 
 teeth — a rosy deception, with the very 
 shape of which she is familiar. In her lap, 
 with one of his little hands clasped in that 
 hand of hers in which the apple is not, a 
 child is lying — her own lovely lad, Ned, 
 between three and four years of age, clean 
 and beautiful and bright, gazing about in 
 full enjoyment. Sure is she that no mother
 
 The Child, 169 
 
 / 
 
 in the world possesses so beautiful a boy, 
 and she has dressed him in his best, to 
 enhance perfection — as if that were possible. 
 She and her child are in a cart, and a man 
 — the husband of a friend of her early days 
 — is driving them into the country to his 
 cottage, where they are to spend the day, 
 and where she and her girl-friend are to talk 
 oyer old times. The driver has given her 
 the apple, and she has just bitten into it. • 
 
 Certainly it is a taste to remember. The 
 apple is sour, and it sets her teeth on edge. 
 She makes a comically-wry grimace, at 
 which her child laughs and crows. The 
 driver, turning, guesses what has happened, 
 and laughs heartily with the child. 
 
 The holiday has been long thought of and 
 long looked forward to. Her friend is but a 
 few months married, and they have not seen 
 each other for years, not since her own 
 marriage. Therefore they have much to 
 speak of; to peer into memory's well at the 
 few stars reflected in its .depths; com-
 
 lyo The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 parisons to make ; old reminiscences to 
 recal, of fortune -telling days, wlien they 
 sought to learn whether their husbands 
 would be dark or fair, tall or short, rich or 
 poor ; they have to relate to each other all 
 the details of their courtship, all its slips, and 
 quarrels, and makings-up, and how at length 
 everything came right ; and numberless 
 other matters. But the crowning glory of 
 the day, in Mrs. Chester's mind, will be the 
 exhibition of her handsome boy to her friend, 
 who has no child — as yet. Honey is taste- 
 less in comparison with the sweet pleasure 
 to be derived from the mutual contempla- 
 tion of the child-wonder of the world. 
 
 How runs the sequence ? From a few 
 notes of music played on a tin whistle, to 
 the taste of a crab-apple — from that, to the 
 apple itself — from that, to a country ride in 
 a cart, with all its varied pleasures and 
 delightful experiences — from those, to the 
 cottage, where she and her friend exchange 
 delicious confijiences, and where she listens
 
 The Child. 171 
 
 to praises of her boy — from those, to a field 
 where the mother and her child pelt each 
 other with flowers — from that, to a tea-table, 
 where crisp radishes and fresh bread-and- 
 butter are freely served — from that, to a 
 peaceful ride homewards through the beau- 
 tiful night — from that, to the loving task of 
 putting her child to bed, instilling into his 
 ears the while good words of a bright world 
 where the stars are shining. Then, dark- 
 ness and confusion, and an awakening to 
 reality. 
 
 What a lovely day it is ! It is early 
 morning, and they are on a broad highway^ 
 Their own home lies six miles behind them. 
 Soon they will be in the very heart of the 
 country, with its fields, and hedges, and 
 scent of sweet flowers anrl fresh-mown hay. 
 The clouds are bright, and smile upon the 
 mother and her child — surely especially 
 upon them, and surely it is because this is 
 their holiday that the day has turned out so 
 fair! The mother's heart is filled with love
 
 17- The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 and gratitude as the horse jogs steadily 
 along. 
 
 Their pace is slow, luxuriously slow, but 
 not so slow as that of this white-smocked 
 carter, sitting on the shaft of his lumbering 
 wagon, which, as it rumbles onwards, makes 
 noise enough for a dozen. But it is the way 
 of all such dunderheads. He reminds them 
 of the voice of the sluggard, and they hear 
 him complain, you have woke me too soon, 
 I must slumber again. He must be asleep, 
 and his horse, following his vicious example, 
 must also be asleep, for both their heads are 
 gently nodding, and the wagon is in the 
 middle of the road — as though it were 
 made solely for them to creep over, and 
 nothing else had any business there — and 
 when at length it moves aside, it does so 
 in an indolent, reluctant fashion most 
 tantalising to men and cattle more briskly 
 inclined. The question is, if it takes the 
 white-smocked carter so long to describe a 
 gentle curve from tlie middle to the side of
 
 The Child. 173 
 
 the road, what day in the next week would 
 it be before he described a circle ? His 
 gentle curve is completed just in time, for 
 behind them thunders the mail-coach, and 
 the guard's horn sounds merrily on the air. 
 A brisk, exhilai'ating sound it is, and she 
 and her child and their driver prick up their 
 ears, and are stirred into brighter animation 
 at the approaching event. The mother 
 heard its first faint echo many moments ago, 
 and ^^ There comes the mail-coach!" the 
 driver of the cart has exclaimed, and she 
 has watched it grow, as it were, out of the 
 distant sky and land, where Liliputia lies. 
 And now it is upon them, with no suspicion 
 of Liliputia about it. , On it comes, with a 
 Hillo ! hallo ! hi ! hi! hi ! heralding and 
 proclaiming itself blithely, loudly, ringingly^ 
 and yet not arrogantly. Their manner is 
 right and proper, for are they not — guard, 
 coachman, and horses — kings of the road? 
 Out of the way, then, everybody and every- 
 thing, and make room for their excellencies !
 
 174 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, > 
 
 Out of tlie way, you lumbering, white- 
 smocked carter, and open your sleepy eyes 
 — which, he does in a befitting fashion for 
 such a sluggard, as he indolently turns his 
 head to see what is coming with such a 
 rattle, wondering, no doubt, why on earth 
 people make such a noise about things ! 
 Out of the way, you pair of young dreamers, 
 you, who, arm-in-arm so closely, are surely 
 asleep and dreaming also ! Or are you so 
 wrapt in love that you cannot hear the 
 merry horn and the clatter behind you? 
 Is this the time of day, and yours the time 
 of life, for dreaming ? She, the first awake, 
 starts in sudden alarm, with bright blushes 
 now in her pretty pensive face, and he — 
 fflad of the chance — throws his arm around 
 her, and hurries her to the roadside, but a 
 yard or two away from the faces of the 
 bounding cattle, whose ringing hoofs play a 
 brisker air upon the roadway than ever 
 Apollo's son played upon the lyre. Away 
 goes the coach, and the mother holds her
 
 The Child. 175 
 
 lovely lad aloft in her arms, who, in silent 
 wonder, listens to the fading horn, an^ 
 watches the coach grow smaller and smaller, 
 until it disappears entirely from the sight ; 
 and then the mother casts a backward ap- 
 proving glance at the Iqvers by the roadside, 
 with pleasant thoughts in her mind of her 
 own courting days not so very long 
 ago. 
 
 The mail-coach is gone, and no echo of 
 the horn is heard — the white-smocked carter 
 is far behind, out of sight and almost asleep 
 again — and they are the only human crea- 
 tures on the road. Onward they go through 
 the dreamy solitudes, alone and yet not 
 alone, for the air is melodious with the 
 murmur of soft voices, whose refrain is love 
 and peace, and shadows of green leaves and 
 branches wave about them in never ending 
 beauty and variety. 
 
 How lovely is the day ! The birds are 
 singing, the bees are busy, all nature is 
 glad. What a morning for a holiday —
 
 176 The Duchess of Roseviary Lane. 
 
 what a morniiig for lovers to walk through 
 shady paths and narrow lanes, over stiles, 
 and under great spreading branches, whose 
 arms bend down caressingly to shield them 
 from the sun ! What a morning to bring 
 a long courtship to a sweet conclusion, and 
 to whisper the words that make lads' and 
 lasses' hearts happier than the thrush that 
 pipes its tremulous notes above them as they 
 sit ! "What a morning to look through lov- 
 ing eyes into loving souls, with the incense 
 of a thousand grateful perfumes blending 
 sweetly round, to sanctify the binding of 
 heart with heart ! 
 
 And now the mother and her child are in 
 a narrow lane, with hedges on either side, 
 over which they see the ripe corn waving. 
 The mother prattles fondly to her boy, who 
 understands the tone, if not the words, she 
 uses. Every new object she sees is made 
 the medium for fond expression. She sings 
 a song about the days when we went gipsy- 
 ing a long time ago, and her friend, the
 
 The Child, 177 
 
 driver, joins in the chorus heartily. At its 
 conclusion, he says, incidentally, 
 
 *^ How about that mole on IN'eddy^s right 
 temple that Jane was telling me of?" 
 (Jane is his young wife.) '^ Has the little 
 fellow got such a thing ? " 
 
 *^ Oh, yes," replies the mother, and 
 proudly shows the mole. 
 
 ^' And what does it really signify ? " he 
 asks. 
 
 " You ask any fortune-teller," says the 
 mother. '^ It's the very luckiest thing that 
 ever can happen. When a child is born 
 with a mole on the right temple, it is certain 
 sure to arrive at sudden wealth and honour." 
 
 " There's no doubt of that, I suppose ? " 
 he queries. 
 
 " Doubt ! " she exclaims. *^ Did you 
 ever know a child that was born with such 
 a mole that didn't live to be a fine gentle- 
 man ? " 
 
 The driver, pondering, is bound to say 
 that he never did know of such a failure 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 of the prediction; but lie says, a moment 
 afterwards, that he was never acquainted 
 with an)'- person possessing such a natural 
 treasure. 
 
 " Well, but that doesn't matter," observes 
 the mother. 
 
 ^' No," assents her friend, '^ that doesn't 
 matter, that I know of." 
 
 " Because you never had a friend," con- 
 tinues the mother, '^who wasn't lucky 
 enough to be born with a mole on his right 
 temple, it doesn't follow that all the fortune- 
 tellers in the world are wrong." 
 
 ^^No, it doesn't follow," assents her 
 friend again. '' "Wouldn't a mole on the left 
 temple do ? " 
 
 ^' Oh, no," she quickly responds. 
 
 ^' I wish / had a mole," says the driver, 
 rubbing his forehead with an air of vexa- 
 tion. 
 
 *^ If you had but a gift on your thumb," 
 observes the mother sympathisingly ; and 
 she explains to her friend, who knows what
 
 The Child. 179 
 
 a " gift " is, but is hazy as to its deep signifi- 
 cation, how a gift on the finger is sure to 
 linger, while a gift on the thumb is sure to 
 come. 
 
 Thus enlightened, the driver cudgels his 
 brains for confirmation within his own ex- 
 perience, and, finding it, says that it muBt 
 be true, for two or three of his acquaintances 
 — mentioning there names — who have had, 
 at various times, ^^ gifts " upon their fingers, 
 have always been as poor as church mice. 
 
 *^ There ! " cries the mother, dancing her 
 son in the air, "that's a proof, my lovely 
 lad, that's a proof! " 
 
 " It's not everybody that's born to good 
 luck," says the man ; " but Jane, you know, 
 she'll soon — in two or three months perhaps 
 — you know " 
 
 '' Oh, yes, I know," says the mother, 
 with a smile, and a nod of approval. 
 
 '^ Well," pursues the man, " Jane has been 
 harping a good deal on this mole ever since 
 she heard of it from you, and she does 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 Tiothiiif^ but talk about it. She's set her 
 mind ou it, you see. And if our young 
 un's born with a mole on the right temple, 
 it'll be about the luckiest day of our lives." 
 
 '^ I'm sure I hope it will be," says the 
 mother, ^'and that it'll be in the right 
 place." 
 
 ^' Though where that mole's to come 
 from," concludes the man, ^^ is a teaser. I 
 haven't got the shadow of one, and no more 
 has Jane." 
 
 While this conversation is proceeding, 
 the horse has slackened his pace, and his 
 head is now nodding, nodding, nodding, as 
 indolently as can be, and as though he has 
 caught the sluggard-fever from the white- 
 smocked carter — and the driver jumps off 
 the cart to pick some sweet honeysuckle, a 
 piece of which he gives to the mother and 
 the child — and the heavens are beautifully 
 bright, and fairy ships are sailing in the 
 clouds — and a donkey blocks the way and 
 stares stupidly at them, apparently oblivious
 
 The Child. i8i 
 
 for the time being of the savoury morsels 
 under his nose, which is not usually the way 
 of donkeys — and ten or a dozen young 
 children, who are playing in a cluster, sud- 
 denly cease there sport, and huddle together 
 by the roadside, and some with the corners 
 of their pinafores, and some with their dirty 
 fingers to their mouths, gaze also at the 
 cart so shyly and wonderingly that the 
 mother laughs and nods familiarly 8t theiji, 
 without, however, receiving any response, 
 they are so transfixed — and they go jog- 
 ging, jogging, jogging on, until ther arrive 
 at their journey's end. 
 
 Pulling up at a pretty little cottage, with 
 a pretty little green gate for its boundary, 
 between which and the cottage itself there 
 is the tiniest plot of garden, with a shell 
 grotto in the centre, the man throws the 
 reins on his horse's back, and jumping down, 
 calls out ''Jane ! '' more than once. 
 
 In the midst of his calling, a pretty little 
 woman runs hastily from the cottage, wiping
 
 1 82 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 her hands, ^Yhich are all over flour, on her 
 apron. This is his wife, Jane, whose visitors 
 coming a little earlier than she expected — 
 as she afterwards explains — have caught her 
 in the act of making a pudding. She kisses 
 her husband heartily, and then helps the 
 mother and child from the cart, and kisses 
 them heartily. She is a merry little woman, 
 and everything she does is done with a 
 bustling cheerfulness which adds to its 
 value. 
 
 The first embraces being over, they all — 
 with the exception of the horse, who ambles 
 into the stable, where he is made happy — 
 go into the kitchen, where ^^ pudding is 
 tied up, and put into the pot ; and then, 
 although their tongues have been wagging 
 all the time, the women fall-to and exchange 
 confidences, telling the husband beforehand 
 to go about his business, as they don't want 
 him, 
 
 Jane opens her white deal chest of 
 drawers, and shows the few bits of finery
 
 The Child, 183 
 
 she possesses, the brooch and the ring her 
 husband gave her before they were married, 
 and the dress she was married in ; and Mrs. 
 Chester shows her treasure, Ned, with his 
 lucky mole — ''And wishing yours, my dear, 
 may have the same!" — and listens to 
 praises of her darling, which Jane pours 
 forth without stint. 
 
 What with these, and dinner, and other 
 joaatters, they pass a happy time within the 
 cottage, and then the scene fades most 
 naturally in the millionth part of a second, 
 and she and her child are in a field alone, 
 playing, and, after a time, pelting each 
 other with flowers. The child grows tired, 
 and the mother makes a nest of fern for her 
 darling to rest in, at the foot of an old tree, 
 whose branches presently fill all the land- 
 scape, and cover them with delicious shade. 
 Not a variation of colour in the sky, not a 
 bird's note, not a whisper of the leaves, that 
 the fond mother does not convert into a 
 symbol of happiness for her heart's treasure.
 
 1 84 The Duchess of Rosernary Lane. 
 
 What extravagant figures of him in the 
 future she raises from her imaginings have 
 theii" germ in her motherly heart of love, 
 and are not extravagant to her ! A magic 
 gift is his, which protects him and guides 
 him triumphantly to good and worthy ends. 
 There is for him no siiadow of trouble or 
 unhappiness in her musings — above all, 
 there is no disgrace ; all is fair, and sweet, 
 and pure. And so, as he sleeps, drawing 
 his breath gently, she sits by his side, 
 gazing with worshipping eyes upon him, 
 until the tree fades and becomes the cottage 
 again, where they are all clustered round 
 the tea-table, eating the sweetest bread-and- 
 butter and the freshest radishes that love 
 can produce. 
 
 Then the moon comes out and pierces the 
 ceiling, which changes into night-clouds and 
 solemnly-silent roads, through and over 
 which they are riding peacefully home. The 
 night is as beautiful as the morning was, 
 and as full of delightful experiences. Small
 
 The Child. 185 
 
 memorable incidents of the homeward ride 
 follow each other, and a river, of which they 
 had a glimpse some hours ago when the 
 sun's rays were playing on it, changes now 
 into a white road, over which the cart is 
 slowly passing ; now into a field of waving 
 corn, through which they are calmly wend- 
 ing their way without breaking a stalk ; 
 now into the tiny garden in front of the 
 cottage, over which they are riding fof 
 miles ; now into the stairs of her own cosy 
 home-nest, up which she is walking, with 
 her darling, very sleepy, in her arms. And 
 when she has softly sung a few words of a 
 familiar cradle-song, she points to the stars, 
 not deeming it strange that they are shining 
 all around her, and tells the child that 
 heaven is there I 
 
 An amazing transformation of scene and 
 circumstance takes place. She is walking 
 by herself through familiar streets to the 
 meeting of Chartists in Bonner's Fields. 
 She meets no person on the way, but she
 
 1 86 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 hears voices which terrify her, warning her 
 that danger, possibly death, lies in the 
 direction she is taking. She strives to 
 retrace her steps, but an unseen and in- 
 vincible power compels her to proceed. 
 Arrived at Bonner's Eields, she finds herself 
 surrounded by an immense infuriated throng 
 of persons, among whom she recognises the 
 faces of many of her neighbours. They are 
 surging this way and that, with hoarse cries 
 and despairing gestures, and through their 
 disordered ranks thousands of soldiers, on 
 foot and horse, are ploughing their way, 
 firing furiously as they approach her. Her 
 neighbours fall on all sides of her, screaming 
 and groaning in agony. Still the soldiers 
 plough their way onwards, killing as they 
 advance, with now but one object in view : 
 herself. A hundred thousand eyes are 
 glaring at her, a hundred thousand guns 
 and swords are pointed towards her. She 
 shrieks aloud in terror ; a thick cloud 
 envelops her, and she is alone, with black-
 
 The Child, 187 
 
 ness all around her. Every threatening 
 face has disappeared, and she is in the 
 midst of dark rolling clouds. The rain 
 pours down like a deluge, and a terrific 
 explosion occurs, which shakes the earth to 
 its foundations. 
 
 Aroused by the violent banging of the 
 street door, Mrs. Chester starts from the 
 bed. The rain is softly pattering in the 
 street, and she hears the sound of uncertayi 
 footsteps groping up the stairs. 
 
 '^ It is the new lodgeir," she murmurs. 
 ^^ He might have made less noise with the 
 door. How long have I been asleep, I 
 wonder ? " She feels about the bed. 
 ''Dick isn't in yet." Then, rubbing her 
 eyes, she calls, " Sally, are you awake ? " 
 
 Sally, who has been partially aroused by 
 the violent closing of the street door, hears 
 her mother's voice through a mist of softly- 
 falling rain, and murmuring some indistinct 
 words in reply, cuddles closer to her treasure- 
 baby, and the next moment is asleep again.
 
 i88 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 '* The brute ! " exclaims Mrs. Chester. 
 ^' Waking the children with his row ! I'll 
 talk to him to-morrow/' 
 
 Standing in the dark, she listens. The 
 person who is ascending the stairs to the 
 bedroom in the upper part of the house 
 staggers and stumbles terribly on his way. 
 Thus much Mrs. Chester is conscious of, but 
 she does not hear his low moans, nor see 
 him shake and tremble, as he drags his feet 
 along in fear and dread, certain that a 
 bottomless pit is near, into which he will 
 fall and be dashed to pieces. Still he is 
 relieved from other fancies as frightful — the 
 horrible monstrous shapes have fled — the 
 house, thus far, has proved a sanctuary. 
 When he reaches his room, he falls, dressed, 
 upon the bed, and for a little while becomes 
 unconscious. But even then he claws at the 
 air, and picks at the bedclothes in ceaseless 
 unrest, being beset by demons of every 
 shape and form, presenting themselves in a 
 thousand monstrously-grotesque disguises.
 
 The Child. 189 
 
 Mrs. Chester has heard sufficient to cause 
 her to form a just conclusion. 
 
 ** Drunk of course," she murmurs; "and 
 Dick '11 be as bad when he comes home." 
 
 Then she lights a candle, and patiently 
 resumes her task of stitching and patching.
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 THE DREAM OF THE CHILD. 
 
 Sounds of music in the air, beneath her, 
 around her, above her, from pipes, from 
 organs, from combs wrapt in paper, from 
 violins, from whistles, from jews' harps, 
 from reeds, from birds' throats, all har- 
 moniously blending ; strange and fantastic 
 shapes and forms, dissolving one into 
 another, heads, limbs, and bodies, uncouth 
 and grotesquely joined, and exciting, in 
 their complete forms, no surprise; bloom- 
 ing flowers, and grass of rarest shades of 
 green ; glittering water, for white swans to 
 swim on, Avitli their proudly arched necks 
 and spotless plumage, for paper ships to sail 
 on. rainbow-veined with spars and ropes of
 
 The Child. 191 
 
 sparkling glass ; waving branches laden 
 with dew- diamonds ; birds flying among the 
 trees, and, hung on silver threads that reach 
 from heaven to earth, ascending and de- 
 scending with tremulous, outstretched wings ; 
 clouds of fleece and feather, the exquisite 
 colours of which are ever changing; — and 
 standing in the midst of all these wonders, 
 little Sally Chester herself, in her ragged 
 clothes. Her lank locks are hanging over* 
 her eyes, her boots yawn wide without a 
 lace, her stockings are down at heel, her 
 hands are fresh from the making of mud 
 pies ; but within Sally's soul there is no 
 sense of incongruity. Comes a procession 
 from the skies, heralded by a glittering 
 white star, which widens into an avenue of 
 light, through which the actors move, 
 growing, dwindling, fading, re-appearing, 
 and passing through most strange and natu- 
 ral metamorphoses. It is within Sally's 
 waking experiences that a young boy-com- 
 panion, lured by glory's trump, became a
 
 igi The Duchess of Rosejnary Lane, 
 
 drummer-boy in the British army, and that, 
 shortly after his martial rise, he paid a visit 
 to the scenes of his yonth in Rosemary 
 Lane ; on that occasion Sally saw him, and 
 worshipped, and never saw him more. ISTow 
 comes he on, as big as a mouse, heading the 
 procession, with a drum larger than a hogs- 
 head slung round his shoulders ; behind 
 him trots a donkey, familiar to the neigh- 
 bourhood, who, recognising Sally, smiles 
 grotesquely, and asks her when she is going 
 to faint dead away again. The entire con- 
 tents of a toy and cake shop, into the win- 
 dows of which Sallv has often gazed with 
 hungry eyes, follow the eccentric donkey. 
 First appear the royal beefeaters, repre- 
 sented by men cut out of rich brown ginger- 
 bread, with features formed of Dutch metal, 
 their legs and arms also being magnificently 
 slashed with strips of the same ; the legs of 
 these magnificent men are very thick (^^ All 
 the better for eating, my dear ! "), their 
 limbs ludicrously disproportionate, and their
 
 The Child. 193 
 
 features — especially their gilt eyebrows — 
 generally diabolical in expression,' but this 
 does not lessen their attractiveness. Then 
 come a regiment of men of lower degree, 
 composed of light seedcake, who, with small 
 currants stuck in their heads for eyes, bear 
 the appearance of having passed a dissipated, 
 not to say seedy existence ; then a legion of 
 wooden dolls, with not a vestige of clothing 
 on their bodies, their staring expressionless 
 features testifying to their shamelessness 
 and their indifference to public opinion ; 
 then the animals from Noah's arks, so indis- 
 criminately coupled as to betray a disgrace- 
 ful Scriptural ignorance; then tin soldiers 
 on slides, their outstretched swords pro- 
 claiming that they are on the straight road 
 to glory; concluding with an army of 
 wooden grenadiers with fixed bayonets, who 
 march without bending a joint. All these 
 move through the avenue of light, the chief 
 feature in the procession being the drummer- 
 boy, who flashes up inconsequentially in a 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 dozen places at once, to put life into the 
 affair. Once he appears arm-in-arm with a 
 little girl with whom, until she died 
 twelve months ago, Sally used to play at 
 grocers' shops in dark kitchens and on back- 
 window sills. As these fade from sight, 
 a bower of golden hair rises in their place, 
 which, being parted by two pretty little 
 hands, reveals the beautiful face of a child, 
 bearing a resemblance to Sally's baby-trea- 
 sure. But the glimpse is so evanescent, 
 appearing and passing away as insubstan- 
 tially as a light shadow over water, that 
 Sally is not sure it is she. And now an- 
 other procession enchains her attention. 
 With a grand fanfaronade of trumpets, on 
 marches a gay troop of soldiers, followed by 
 men carrying huge flags, the devices in 
 which are quick with life. On the waving 
 folds of silk, fish are swimming, horses are 
 prancing, artizans are following their trades, 
 and the lion and the unicorn are fighting 
 for the crown with restless animation.
 
 The Child. 195 
 
 These precede more soldiers and carriages 
 and flags, until the shouts that rend the air 
 proclaim the approach of the principal 
 figure in the procession. This proves to be 
 a gilt coach of antique shape, with coachmen 
 and footmen blazing with gold lace, and 
 Sally jumps up and down in a paroxysm of 
 frantic excitement as she recognises the in- 
 mate of the coach, who is staring in wonder 
 out of the window at the people huzzaing 
 and waving their hats in her honour. It is 
 her own baby-treasure who sits in the coach, 
 with flushed and beautiful face, and with 
 eyes bluer and more beautiful than the 
 brightest and bluest clouds Sally has ever 
 yet gazed upon. In the midst of this trium- 
 phant display a man suddenly appears, and, 
 with sinister looks, stands by the coach in 
 which the child is sitting. It is the new 
 tenant who has taken the bedroom in her 
 mother's house, and his menacing attitude 
 proclaims that he is bent on mischief. The 
 child looks imploringly towards Sally for 
 
 2
 
 196 The Duchess of Kose77iary Lane. 
 
 protection, and instantaneously Sally is on 
 the donkey's back, riding full tilt at their 
 common enemy, who goes down in great 
 confusion before her. Upon this the crowd 
 and the entire pageant melt away like warm 
 vapour fi'om a glass, and Sally, with her 
 baby-treasure safe in her arms, is walking 
 along a dark street, the houses in which are 
 so tall that they shut out the sky. The 
 place in which she is walking is strange to 
 her, and she" wraps her thin shawl closely 
 about her precious charge as she plods 
 along, shivering. The night is cold, the 
 rain is falling, and they are alone, walking 
 for many hours through the dreary tho- 
 roughfares, until from an archway a shadow 
 steals and strives to seize the child. It is 
 the new tenant again. Sally, terror-stficken, 
 flies from him as fast as her little legs will 
 allow her — and flies so swiftly, and through 
 so many streets, for seemingly-interminable 
 hours, that her breath fails, and life is 
 leaving her : and all through this terrible
 
 The Child, 197 
 
 ^ — ■ C— . ■ . 
 
 flight the pursuer is at her heels, with 
 flashing eyes and with death in his face. 
 Sally knows that this is expressed in him, 
 and that he is bent on destruction, although 
 her back is towards him. She feels 
 his hot breath on her neck; she hears a 
 hissing sound from remorseless lips; closer 
 and closer he comes, and his arms are about 
 to close around her, when she falls over 
 a precipice, down, down, into the spreading 
 branches of a tree, where she places her 
 baby safely in a cradle of flowers, and 
 watches the form of their enemy flash, like a 
 glance of light, into the abyss, the yawning 
 mouth of which closes upon him with a 
 snap. As the light of the child's golden hair 
 falls on the green branches, they become 
 magically transformed into the likeness of 
 Sally's playmates and acquaintances round 
 and about Eosemary Lane. There is Jane 
 Preedy without any boots, and Ann Taylor 
 without any stockings, and Jimmy Piatt 
 with the hair of his head falling over his
 
 198 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 weak eyes and sticking through the peak of 
 his cap, and Young Stumpy with bits of his 
 shirt thrusting themselves forward from 
 unwarrantable places, and Betsy New- 
 biggin selling liquor-ice-water for pins ; 
 and there besides is the sailor-beggar without 
 legs, who lives next door to the Chesters, 
 comfortably strapped to the little wooden 
 platform on wheels, on which with fair 
 success, he fights the battle of life. Then 
 the actors in the Lord Mayor's procession 
 loom out on other branches, conspicuous 
 among them being the drummer-boy, 
 standing on his head on the donkey's back, 
 and valiantly playing the drum in that 
 position. There being still some branches 
 vacant, half-a-dozen very little girls carry- 
 ing very big babies start up on them, and 
 impart a domestic interest to the scene. 
 The cradle of flowers fades, and its place 
 is occupied by a square piece of carpet, 
 upon which Sally's baby-treasure is 
 dancing. The child is now dressed in
 
 The Child, 199 
 
 the oddest fashion, her garments being 
 composed of stray bits of silk and ribbon, 
 which hang about her incongruously, but 
 with picturesque effect. As she dances, 
 the drummer-boy, who is now, in addition 
 to his drum, supplied with pandean pipes, 
 beats and pipes to the admiration of the 
 audience. Carried away by the applause, 
 he, in an inadvertent moment, bangs so 
 loudly on his drum that he bangs the 
 entire assemblage into air, and Sally is 
 again alone, sitting in the tree by the side 
 of the empty flower cradle. As she looks 
 disconsolately around for her baby-treasure, 
 ' comes a vision in the clouds — a vision 
 which fills her with ineffable delight and 
 ecstasy. Thousands of angels, with bright 
 wings and faces of lustrous beauty, are 
 clustered about an old cobbler, a friend of 
 Sally's, who occupies a stall in Eose- 
 mary Lane, and who for the nonce trans- 
 ferred to a heavenly sphere, now plies his 
 awl on Olympian heights. Yery busy is
 
 200 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 he, "witli his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his 
 shoulders, mending shoes for the angels, 
 who are flying to him from every bright 
 cloud in the heavens, with old shoes and 
 slippers in their hands. He works with 
 lightning rapidity to satisfy their eager 
 demands. But presently a lull takes 
 place, and the lustrous shapes are all 
 gazing tenderly on Sally's baby-treasure, 
 upon whose little feet the old cobbler is 
 fitting a pair of shining slippers. A sudden 
 clap of thunder inspires multitudinous 
 images of beauty, all of which presently 
 merge into the sound of falling water, and 
 the air is filled with a myriad slender lines 
 of flashing light. Fainter and fainter they 
 grow, and Sally awakes from her dream. 
 
 She hears the rain falling softly in the 
 streets, and hears her mother ask her if 
 she is awake. Almost unconscious, she 
 murmurs she knows not what in reply, 
 and pressing the child closer to her, is in 
 a moment asleep again ; but her sleep now 
 is dreamless.
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. CHESTER DISCOVERS WHO IT 
 WAS THAT PLAYED ON THE TIN WHISTLE. 
 
 The handle of tlie street door of Mr. 
 Chester's house could be so worked from 
 without by any person initiated into the 
 secret that it yielded easily to practised 
 fingers. This was Mr. Chester's ingenious 
 invention. Early in his married life he had 
 come to the conclusion — founded on expe- 
 rience — that it was not always agreeable 
 to his sensitive feelings that, after a night's 
 carouse, the door should be opened for him 
 by his wife. Even if she said nothing, 
 there was an expression in her face not 
 pleasant to contemplate. Hence the device. 
 
 f
 
 200 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 he, with his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his 
 shoulders, mending shoes for the angels, 
 who are flying to him from every bright 
 cloud in the heavens, with old shoes and 
 slippers in their hands. He works with 
 lightning rapidity to satisfy their eager 
 demands. But presently a lull takes 
 place, and the lustrous shapes are all 
 gazing tenderly on Sally's baby-treasure, 
 upon whose little feet the old cobbler is 
 fitting a pair of shining slippers. A sudden 
 clap of thunder inspires multitudinous 
 images of beauty, all of which presently 
 merge into the sound of falling water, and 
 the air is filled with a myriad slender lines 
 of flashing light. Fainter and fainter they 
 grow, and Sally awakes from her dream. 
 
 She hears the rain falling softly in the 
 streets, and hears her mother ask her if 
 she is awake. Almost unconscious, she 
 murmurs she knows not what in reply, 
 and pressing the child closer to her, is in 
 a moment asleep again ; but her sleep now 
 is dreamless.
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. CHEST KR DISCOVERS WHO IT 
 WAS THAT PLAYED ON THE TIN WHISTLE. 
 
 The handle of tlie street door of Mr. 
 Chester's house could be so worked from 
 without by any person initiated into the 
 secret that it yielded easily to practised 
 fingers. This was Mr. Chester's ingenious 
 invention. Early in his married life he had 
 come to the conclusion — founded on expe- 
 rience — that it was not always agreeable 
 to his sensitive feelings that, after a night's 
 carouse, the door should be opened for him 
 by his wife. Even if she said nothing, 
 there was an expression in her face not 
 pleasant to contemplate. Hence the device.
 
 204 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 unheard, force themselves upon the con- 
 science. Mr. Chester had a conscience — a 
 distinct merit in a drunkard, and at the 
 same time a distinct inconvenience. 
 
 Yet Mrs. Chester was not unkindly- 
 disposed towards her husband. The dream 
 of her first-born lingered in her memory, 
 and, while it saddened, softened her ; but 
 she felt that her wrongs were great. Two 
 opposing trains of thought were in her 
 mind, one belonging to the mother, the 
 other to the wife. 
 
 By the time Mr. Chester had finished his 
 supper, the silence had become intolerable 
 to him. His wife, having finished Sally's 
 clothes, was now engaged gathering them 
 together. He made another conciliatory 
 step. 
 
 ^^ How is Sally?" he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Chester's lip curled. *^ Sally's 
 asleep," she answered. 
 
 Then ensued another silence, broken 
 again by Mr. Chester.
 
 The Child, 205 
 
 '•'' Did you get her any — any strengthen- 
 ing things ? " 
 
 Here was an opening, and Mr. Chester 
 was not slow in taking advantage of it. 
 He was annoyed with his wife because of 
 her reticence, annoyed with himself because 
 he was in the wrong, and annoyed with his 
 tongue because it was not entirely under 
 his control ; it was tripping him up, as it' 
 were. 
 
 " Why didn't you get strengthening 
 things for the young un ? I left you the 
 money for 'em." 
 
 She shivered his lance to splinters. 
 
 ^^All the shops were shut — except the 
 public-houses." 
 
 " Ah, yes, I forgot. But you might 
 have asked her if she fancied anything." 
 
 " I was afraid to." 
 
 <-<• Why ? " 
 
 "Better not ask me, Dick. You won't 
 relish the answer."
 
 2o6 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 It is very difficult to avoid accustomed 
 grooves ; that they were now approaching 
 a dangerous and familiar one was evident 
 to both, and yet, with the best intentions, 
 they could not take another road. 
 
 " I 6/0 ask you. Why were you afraid ? " 
 
 ^' I said to her last week," replied the 
 mother, with a dark fierce flash into her 
 husband's face, ^^when she came out of one 
 of her faints, ^ Sally, what would you 
 like ? ' 'I'd like some gin, mother,' she 
 answered. I was afraid she might give me 
 the same answer again." 
 
 He quailed before the look, and the 
 strong reproach conveyed in the mother's 
 words. 
 
 ^^ I spoke to Dr. Lyon about it," she 
 continued, in a hard tone. *^ He's an 
 understanding man, and '11 talk sense to 
 them that '11 listen to it. I asked him 
 why Sully should fancy gin before any- 
 thing else. ^ Your husband's fond of it,' 
 says Dr. Lyon. ' What's that to do with
 
 The Child. 207 
 
 my girl ? ' I asked. ' Well,' he says, 
 passing his hand over his chin, and lookirjg 
 at me hard — you know his way, Dick — 
 * If a father's got spots, it's likely the 
 child '11 have spots ; if a father has fits, 
 it's likely the child '11 have fits; yon see, 
 what's in a father's blood is likely to 
 be in the child's.' That was what Dr. 
 Lyon said, and you may make the best 
 of it." 
 
 '-'- Dr. Lyon's an old fool," said Mr 
 Chester ruefully ; " his head is full of 
 crotchets, as everybody knows. I don't 
 mean to say that I'm always right ; I'm 
 sometimes wrong. So don't let's have 
 any more quarrelling to-night, old wo- 
 man." 
 
 ^^ I don't want any quarrelling. I'm not 
 a match for you, Dick." 
 
 " That's as it should be, old woman," he 
 said, recovering his spirits. *^ Man's the 
 master." 
 
 '^ You're good at words, Dick."
 
 2o8 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 ^'That's so," lie chuckled vainfully. 
 
 Her eye lighted on an object near her. 
 
 ^^But better at something else." 
 
 " At what, old woman ? " 
 
 With a scornful glance she laid before 
 him the strap with which he was in the 
 habit of striking her. He flung it away 
 with an oath. 
 
 '' You'll drive me to—" 
 
 She finished the sentence before he could 
 proceed. " To drink, perhaps." 
 
 Ordinarily, this would have been suffi- 
 cient to create a scene, but Mr. Chester 
 was in no mood for one, and he forbore 
 to fan the fire. 
 
 •' There's no arguing with a woman," he 
 said, with a wise impatience. '' Come, it's 
 time to get to bed. I suppose the new 
 lodger is in." 
 
 '^ He came in an hour ago." 
 
 " And the little girl ? " 
 
 " She's asleep with Sally." 
 
 Mr. Chester, who had risen, stood silent
 
 The Child, 209 
 
 for a few moments, drumming gently with 
 his fingers on the table. 
 
 *^ Did you see him when he came 
 home ? " 
 
 Mrs. Chester's anger was spent, and her 
 husband's kinder tone now. met with a 
 kindred response. 
 
 '' No, Dick." 
 
 ^^Ah, then, there's no use asking. But 
 you might have heard something, Loo." * 
 
 Mrs. Chester's Christian name was 
 Louisa, and when her husband used the 
 old familiar Loo — always on his tongue 
 during the time they kept company to- 
 gether, before they were married — it was 
 '^ Loo " this, and '-^ Loo " that, in those 
 days, and he was her slave, not she his — 
 when he used the old endeared title, her 
 heart invariably melted towards him, and 
 all her wrongs and sorrows were forgotten 
 in the memory of the golden days that 
 were gone." 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 2io The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 ^' What might I have heard, Dick?'' 
 she asked, approaching close to his side. 
 He passed his arms around her. 
 
 *' Something that would have reminded 
 you — " He broke off abruptly with, ^^ No 
 matter." 
 
 ^^ But tell me, Dick." 
 ^^ You heard no music, then ? '* 
 ''No, Dick, I heard no music." 
 ''As I was drinking at the Eoyal 
 George" — this with some small sense of 
 shame expressed in him, invoked by their 
 late conversation — " I fancied that I heard 
 a man playing on a tin whistle." 
 
 Mrs. Chester's lips quivered, and a 
 shudder ran through her frame. 
 
 " The new tenant," pursued Mr. Chester 
 — " hang him ! he's got into my head 
 like a black fog ! — the new tenant had 
 just gone away^ and good riddance to him, 
 when I heard the music, as I thought, 
 and I went to the door to look. I saw 
 nobody, and a man in the Eoyal George
 
 The Child. 211 
 
 said that our new lodger had something 
 in his pocket that looked like a whistle or 
 a flute. As he came straight home, I 
 thought you might have heard him play 
 it." 
 
 ^'I was asleep, Dick, when he came 
 home ; the slamming of the street door 
 woke me." She paused and played ner- 
 vously with a button of her husband's 
 coat. " Dick, I dreamt of our Ned to- 
 night." 
 
 " Ay, Loo," he answered softly. 
 
 ^' What can have become of him ? Where 
 is he now, the dear lad ? " 
 
 " Best for us not to know, perhaps," 
 replied Mr. Chester gloomily. 
 
 " I've thought of him a good deal 
 lately," said Mrs. Chester, not to be 
 diverted from her theme ; ^' more than I've 
 done for a long time past. And my dream- 
 ing of him to-night is a good sign. Dick, 
 I've got it into my head that he'll open 
 the door one day, as handsome as ever, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 and rich too, and that he'll make it up to 
 
 us " 
 
 ^ Mr. Chester interrupted her with a 
 bitter laugh, and took up her words. 
 
 *' And '11 make it up to us for all the 
 trouble and disgrace he's' brought upon 
 us ! If my head doesn't ache till then 
 
 but you women are always dreaming 
 
 of impossibilities. Stop talking of him, and 
 let's get to bed." 
 
 They went into the bedroom together, 
 and Mrs. Chester held the candle over the 
 sleeping children, turning the coverlid 
 down, so that their faces could be seen. 
 They were both fast asleep ; the baby's 
 head was lying on Sally's bare shoulder, 
 and their lips almost touched. 
 
 It was not upon Sally's face that Mr. 
 Chester's eyes rested. He gazed intently 
 upon the child sleeping in Sally's arms, 
 much as though he were striving to find 
 the solution to some perplexing problem.
 
 The Child. 213 
 
 His wife, noticing his intent observance of 
 the child, observed, 
 
 " Doesn't she look like a little angel, 
 Dick?'» 
 
 Mr. Chester nodded abstractedly. It 
 was not the child's likeness to an angel 
 that was in his mind at this moment. 
 
 ** I never saw such a face," said Mrs. 
 Chester. "It's like a flower. And such 
 a complexion ! Like a peach." 
 
 *' Yes, that's so. But what^s puzzling 
 me. Loo, is the difference between the 
 young un and the man upstairs. Now, 
 there's Sally. She's not the beauty that 
 this baby is ; that there's no denying. All 
 the better for her, perhaps." 
 
 " Dick ! " murmured the mother, who 
 would have made any sacrifice to see 
 her Sally as pretty as the child beside 
 her. 
 
 " I know what I'm saying, Loo. It's 
 more often a bit of good luck than not for 
 a girl to be plain-looking. They don't get
 
 214 TJic Duchess 0/ Rosemary Lane. 
 
 so many temptations thrown in their way. 
 Well, but to come back to my argument. 
 There's Sally, there. She's dark, and 
 skinny, and queer-looking all round ; but 
 anybody can see with half an eye that 
 she's oar child. It's the same with Ned ; 
 he was about the handsomest lad that you 
 could see in a mile's walk " 
 
 ^^ Ay, that he was, Dick," said the fond 
 mother. 
 
 ^' — Not a bit like Sal, and not much 
 like us to speak of, in a general way. And 
 yet nobody could doubt that they were 
 brother and sister, and that he was our 
 boy. Nature works out these things in 
 her own way. Very well, then. In what 
 way has Nature worked out a likeness 
 between this new baby and the man sleep- 
 ing upstairs ? " 
 
 ^' In no way that I can see," replied 
 Mrs. Chester, receiving with favour this 
 evidence against a man vo whom she had 
 taken a dislike at first sight.
 
 The Child. 215 
 
 ^^ In no way that anybody can see. 
 There ain't a feature in their faces alike 
 — not one. Now, Nature doesn't tell 
 lies as a rule ; but she has told a whopper 
 if that man is this young un's father. 
 He didn't behave like a father; I didn't 
 notice it at the time, but it comes upon 
 me now. Do you mean to tell me," he 
 demanded, turning by a kind of instinct, on 
 his wife, as though her views on me 
 subject were not in accordance with his 
 own, ^^ that a father would behave to his 
 own flesh and blood as that fellow behaved 
 to this little one to-night ? It ain't in 
 human nature. Well, then! Look here, 
 old woman. There's lots of things against 
 me, I know. I go wrong more often than 
 I go right. I might be a better man to 
 you, I dare say, and a better father to Sal ; 
 but things have gone too far for me to alter. 
 But for all that, I think I've got the feel- 
 ings of a father towards our lass, and I
 
 2 1 6 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 wouldn't part with her for her weight in 
 gold." 
 
 Which speech, uttered with rough, 
 genuine feeling, was a recompense to 
 Mrs. Chester for months of neglect and 
 unfair usage. 
 
 ''Well, Dick," she said, "don't bother 
 any more about it now. We've got two 
 weeks' rent in advance, at any rate." 
 
 And this practical commentary Mrs. 
 Chester considered a satisfactory termina- 
 tion to the conversation — at least, for the 
 present. 
 
 Mr. Chester was a heavy sleeper. Being 
 an earnest man, he was as earnest in his 
 sleep as in other matters, and his wife had 
 often observed that it would take the house 
 on fire to rouse him. He had no belief 
 in the virtue of the old saying, with 
 reference to sleep, six hours for a man, 
 seven for a woman, and eight for a fool. 
 A man wanted a good eight hours, he said, 
 and as a man of his word he generally took
 
 The Child, 2 1 7 
 
 them — in one act — being, it must be con- 
 fessed, more often than not fortified by his 
 imbibitions for the carrying out of his 
 assertion. It was singular, therefore, that 
 on this night, when he went to bed well 
 fortified for the stupefaction of his senses, 
 he should wake up within an hour of his 
 closing his eyes, with an idea in his mind 
 which had not before presented itself in an 
 intelligible shape, and yet which it seemed 
 to him he had been revolving for several 
 weeks. In after comment upon the cir- 
 cumstance, and what arose from it, Mrs. 
 Chester remarked that there must have 
 been a providence in it ; but then she was 
 a superstitious woman, and frequently made 
 rash statements. Despite the many hours 
 he had spent at the Royal George, Mr. 
 Chester awoke mentally fresh and clear. 
 He lay silent in the dark for a few 
 moments. 
 
 "I say, old woman," he mumbled, ^^are 
 you awake ? "
 
 2i8 TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 The instinct of habit caused Mrs. Chester 
 to answer, drowsily, 
 
 '' Yes, Dick," 
 
 ^' It's buzzing about my head so," said he, 
 then, unconscious that he was guilty of a 
 wilful perversion of the truth, '' that I 
 haven't been able to get a wink of sleep. 
 Do you hear me ? " 
 
 Mrs. Chester, who had relapsed into 
 sleep in the interval, woke up to reply, 
 mechanically, *' Yes, I hear you, Dick," 
 and instantly fell asleep again. 
 
 Mr. Chester, feeling justly aggrieved at 
 this want of sympathy, grumbled, 
 
 "Just like all you women! Come. 
 Eouse yourself." (Assisting her by a 
 rough push.) " What time was it you 
 told me the new lodger came in ? " 
 
 Under the impression that the question 
 had been put to her many hours since, and 
 therefore not quite clear as to its purport, 
 Mrs. Chester said, 
 
 "Eh, Dick?"
 
 The Child, 219 
 
 ^' Eh, Dick ! and eh, Dick ! " retorted 
 Mr. Chester. '' ^Now, then, are you listen- 
 ing ? " 
 
 *^ Of course I am," she said reproach- 
 fully, throwing upon him the onus of 
 evading the question. '^ Go on." 
 
 " I'm going on. Slow." (With a pause 
 between each word.) " What — time — did 
 — you — tell me — that — the — new — lodger 
 — came — in — to-night ? " 
 
 *^ Oh, yes, Dick," replied Mrs. Chester ; 
 and, satisfied that she had now set his 
 mind at ease, she turned round, and dozed 
 off again. 
 
 ^^Was there ever such a woman?" he 
 cried, shaking her so roughly that she 
 started up in alarm, and inquired if there 
 were thieves in the house. 
 
 " No," he said. '' Lay down. I've 
 been asking you a question for the last 
 half-hour, and can only get '^ yes " and 
 '^ no " out of you. I want to know about
 
 2 20 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 the new lodger. 1 can't sleep for thinking 
 of him.'' 
 
 ^' What is it yon want to know, Dick ? " 
 
 Mr. Chester irritably repeated his 
 question. 
 
 ** There, I was sure of it," murmured 
 Mrs. Chester triumphantly. '* I knew you 
 were talking to me, and I've answered 
 that question two or three times already." 
 
 "Well, answer it again," he growled. 
 
 '* He came home about an hour before 
 you." 
 
 ^'That's all right, then. He left the 
 Eoyal George about that time. And you 
 were asleep ? " 
 
 " Yes, and I'm almost asleep now. That's 
 enough for to-night, Dick." 
 
 " Not half enough, old woman," he said, 
 continuing to shake her without mercy. 
 " And now I think of it, if you were 
 asleep, how do you know what time he 
 came in ? " 
 
 " He woke me up," replied Mrs. Chester,
 
 The Child, 221 
 
 goaded to desperation, '^with the way he 
 slammed to the door. I'll give him a bit 
 of my mind in the morning. There's 
 other lodgers in the house besides him, 
 and I ain't going to have them disturbed 
 in that way. I shouldn't wonder if 
 some of 'em don't give us warning to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Never mind them. You are asleep." 
 
 *^Yes, I am, Dick, or I ought to be. 
 You've no more feelings than a stone. 
 For the Lord's sake, don't talk to me 
 any more ! I've got to be up at six 
 o'clock." 
 
 He proceeded, without paying the slightest 
 regard to her appeal, 
 
 " You don't take me. I mean, when the 
 new lodger comes into the house you are 
 asleep." 
 
 ** I was. The candle went out as I was 
 mending Sally's clothes, and I was that 
 tired '* 
 
 ** There never was a woman, I do
 
 222 TJic Duchess of Rosejnary Lane. 
 
 believe," he interrupted angrily, ^^ as 'd 
 stick to a point for five minutes together ! " 
 
 Which provoked his wife to retort, with 
 considerable show of reason, ^^ Is this the 
 time of night to stick to a point, I should 
 like to know ? " 
 
 "You're an unreasonable, provoking 
 woman. What have Sally's clothes to do 
 with what I'm talking about, I want to 
 know ? " 
 
 '^ If you knew," exclaimed Mrs. Chester, 
 with drowsy indignation, and with a cer- 
 tain conviction that she was a most hardly- 
 used wife, "half as much as you'd like to 
 know, you'd know enough to drive a 
 hundred women out of their senses. But 
 go on. If you must talk, you must, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " When the new lodger comes home a 
 couple of hours ago," he continued, fol- 
 lowing out his train of thought, " you are 
 asleep. He wakes you up with the way he 
 bangs the door. lie comes into the house.
 
 The Child. 223 
 
 and goes upstairs to his room. That's it, 
 isn't it ? " 
 
 ^^ That's it, Dick," replied Mrs. Chester 
 listlessly. 
 
 *' And you don't set eyes on him ?'' 
 
 ^'No, and don't want to." 
 
 " Now, old woman, just keep your mind 
 on what I'm saying — " but here Mr. Ches- 
 ter interrupted himself by exclaiming, 
 *^ What's that row upstairs ? It comes 
 from his room." 
 
 Koused to fuller consciousness by the 
 disturbance above, and by her husband's 
 irrepressibly earnest manner, Mrs. Chester 
 '^ pulled her senses together — " her own 
 way of expressing it — and listened. The 
 noise proceeded undoubtedly from the room 
 let to the new lodger, and, as well as she 
 could judge, was caused by the stealthy 
 moving about of furniture. It did not 
 last long and presentlv all was quiet 
 again. 
 
 ^^ I shall have to go up to him," said Mr.
 
 224 l^f^^ Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 Chester, shaking his head at himself in the 
 dark, ''if he give us any more of that fun. 
 I'm not sure, when I put this and that to- 
 gether, whether I oughtn't to go up to him 
 as it is. For this is the way it stands. 
 He's a stranger in the neighbourhood. IN'ot 
 a soul in the Eoyal George ever set eyes 
 on him before to-night. You never saw 
 him before to-night. I never did. He 
 comes here with a child — a mere baby — 
 that don't seem as if it had any right to be 
 here at all. He takes the room and pays a 
 fortnight in advance, without ever asking 
 for a receipt, and without ever saying my 
 name is George, or Jim, or Jo, or whatever 
 else it might be. He pulls out a handful of 
 money, too. Are you following me. 
 Loo ? " 
 
 " I'm following you, Dick." 
 
 *'He speaks and looks in such a way 
 that our Sally has a down on him imme- 
 diate ; and I believe in our Sally — she's a 
 girl of sense, young as she is. And for the
 
 The Child. 21^ 
 
 matter of that, children can see further than 
 grown-up people in some cases. He gives 
 no reference. He comes with me to the 
 Eoyal George, and makes himself generally 
 disagreeable. He looks about him dark 
 and sly -like, and when he makes himself 
 scarce, he pleases the lot of us. Come. 
 You're a sensible woman. Does this sound 
 suspicious, or doesn't it ? " 
 
 ^^ It does sound queer, as you put 
 it," acquiesced Mrs. Chester, now wide 
 awake. 
 
 *' And, by Jove ! there's something more 
 suspicious behind. Who showed him his 
 bedroom ? " 
 
 '' I didn't." 
 
 ^^ And /didn't. Who showed him how 
 to open the the street-door without a key ? " 
 
 '' I didn't." 
 
 '-'- And / didn't. Then how the devil 
 does he open it without being shown how it 
 is done ? and how the devil does he find 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 2 26 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 his way, without a light, to a room he's 
 never seen ? Tm going to look into this, 
 Loo, before I close my eyes again." 
 
 Mr. Chester jumped out of bed energeti- 
 cally, with the intention of putting his 
 purpose into execution. But if his de- 
 termination of looking into the matter had 
 not been formed by his own logical reason- 
 ing on the suspicous elements in the case, 
 it would have been forced upon him by 
 what took place immediately his feet 
 touched the floor. The moving of furniture 
 in the new lodger's room recommenced — 
 not stealthily now, but with great violence, 
 and much as though it were being thrown 
 about with the wilful intention of breaking 
 it to pieces. The noise had aroused the 
 other lodgers in the house, and a knocking 
 at Mr. Chester's door, followed by a pa- 
 thetic inquiry about that disturbance up- 
 stairs, and an entreaty that it should be 
 stopped at once, as the speaker's old man 
 had a racking headache, and the row was
 
 The Child, 22'] 
 
 driving him out of his mind, quickened Mr. 
 Chester to speedier action. 
 
 *'A11 right, Mrs. Midge," Mr. Chester 
 called out, *'I'm going upstairs this min- 
 ute. It's only a new lodger we've taken in 
 to-night. If he don't stop his row, I'll 
 bundle him neck and crop into the street." 
 
 "With the handle of the open door in his 
 hand, he turned to his wife, and telling 
 her not to be frightened, groped his way to 
 the upper part of the house. 
 
 Mrs. Chester, disregarding her husband's 
 injunction, sat up in bed, and listened to 
 the noise, which so increased in violence 
 every moment that she got out of bed be- 
 fore Mr. Chester was halfway upstairs, 
 and stood ready to fly to his assistance. 
 
 The person who was causing this commo- 
 tion had, when he entered the bedroom, 
 fallen upon the bed in a stupor. He had 
 had no rest for a week, and was utterly 
 exhausted. For days he had been haunted 
 and pursued by horrible phantoms, which 
 
 g2
 
 228 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 had driven him ahnost mad. When the 
 fit first seized him, he was in the country, 
 fifty miles from Eosemary Lane, and the 
 thought occurred to him that there was but 
 one house in all the wide world in which 
 he could find refuge from his enemies. To 
 this refuge he slowly made his way, eating 
 nothing, but drinking whenever the oppor- 
 t unity for doing so presented itself. But 
 for drink he could not have carried out 
 his purpose, and could not have reached his 
 sanctuary. It gave him for the time a fic- 
 titious strength, and enabled him at length 
 to reach Mr. Chester's house. 
 
 The room was in total darkness, and for 
 two hours he lay helpless and supine, un- 
 aware that even in his stupor he was cease- 
 lessly picking unearthly reptiles from the 
 blanket upon which he had fallen. For two 
 hours he lay thus, and then consciousness 
 returned to him. 
 
 It slowly dawned upon his fevered imagi- 
 nation that he was no longer alone. With
 
 The Child, iic^ 
 
 his eyes tightly closed, he was aware that 
 the frightful shapes which had pursued him 
 for a week had discovered his sanctuary, 
 and were stealing upon him. They were 
 subtle and powerful enough to force their 
 way through stone walls, through closed 
 doors, and they had done so now. Per- 
 haps, thought he — if it can be said 
 that he thought at all — if I keep my 
 eyes closed, they will not discover me. It 
 is dark, and I shall evade them. They will 
 not think of searching too closely for me 
 here. ^ 
 
 He lay still and quiet, as he believed, with 
 loudly-beating heart; but all the time he 
 struck at the air with his hands, helpless, 
 impotent, terror-bound. Soon, encouraged 
 by the silence, he ventured to open his eyes, 
 and a spasm of despair escaped him as he dis- 
 covered how he had been juggled. Creep- 
 ing towards him stealthily was a huge shape- 
 less shadow. Form it had none, its face 
 and eyes were veiled, but he could see huge
 
 230 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 limbs moving within dark folds, and he 
 knew that it intended to destroy him. The 
 window and door were fast closed, and it 
 could only have entered the room by way 
 of the chimney and fireplace. If he could 
 thrust it back to that aperture, and block it 
 up, he would be safe. It was only one 
 shape that threatened him — there was com- 
 fort in that — only one to battle with. Surely, 
 with cunning, he could master that one 
 enemy. He rose from the bed, shaking 
 and trembling like a leaf in a strong wind, 
 and slowly moved the common washstand 
 between himself and the shadow. Pushing 
 it slowly before him, he whispered trium- 
 phantly to himself as he perceived his enemy 
 retreat. Cunningly he drove it towards the 
 fireplace and compelled it into that niche, 
 where it passed away like the passing of a 
 cloud. Thank God ! it was gone. And so 
 that it should not again find entrance, he 
 placed against the fireplace all the available 
 furniture in the room. That being done.
 
 The Child. 231 
 
 lie lay down upon tlie bed, with a sense of 
 inexpressible relief. 
 
 But peace was not for him. Within five 
 minutes the shadows began again to gather 
 about him, and the same monstrous shape 
 which had previously threatened him reap- 
 peared. Not now in disguise, or veiled. 
 He saw its limbs, its horrible face and eyes, 
 and its aspect was so appalling that a 
 smothered shriek of agony broke from his 
 parched lips. Wither should he fly ? How 
 could he escape these terrors ? Ah ! the 
 door! He moved towards it, but shrank 
 back immediately at the sound of steps and 
 muffled voices. The window ! but iliat was 
 blocked up by a crawling monster, whose 
 thousand limbs were winding and curling 
 towards him, warning him to approach at 
 his peril. He dared not move a step in that 
 direction. In what direction, then, could 
 he find a refuge ? In none. He was 
 hemmed in, surrounded by these fearful 
 enemies ; the room was filled with them, and
 
 232 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 they were waiting for him outside. In mad 
 desperation he seized a chair and hurled it 
 at the approaching shapes ; with a terrible 
 strength he raised the heavier furniture, and 
 strove to crush them. In vain. There was 
 no escape for him. Closer and closer they 
 approached ; their hot breath, their glaring 
 eyes were eating into his soul, were setting 
 his heart on fire. And at that moment Mr. 
 Chester, who had stopped on his way, to 
 obtain a lighted candle, opened the door and 
 appeared on the threshold. 
 
 It was no human form that the maddened 
 man saw. It was a being so awful and 
 demoniacal as to blast his sight. The candle 
 which Mr. Chester held above his head as 
 he opened the door threw a lurid glow 
 around his fearful form. In a paroxysm of 
 blind delirium the furious wretch threw 
 himself upon his arch enemy. The candle 
 fell to the ground and was extinguished. 
 But the madman needed no light to guide 
 him. He would kill this monster who came
 
 The Child, 233 
 
 to destroy him ; he would squeeze the breath 
 out of him ; he would tear him limb from 
 limb. He raised Mr. Chester in his arms 
 as though he were a reed, and dashed him 
 on to the bed. He knelt upon him, and 
 struck at him with wild force, and pressed 
 his hands upon his throat, with murderous 
 intent. Mr. Chester was as a child in his 
 grasp — powerless to defend himself, power- 
 less to escape, only able, at intervals, to 
 scream lustily for help. 
 
 The sounds of this terrible struggle aroused 
 the whole house, and every person leaped 
 from bed, the most courageous among them 
 running to ascertain the cause of the disturb- 
 ance. Mrs. Chester was the first to reach 
 the room. She had no candle, but she saw 
 enough to convince her that her husband's 
 life was in danger. She threw herself upon 
 the delirious man, and added her affrighted 
 shrieks to the confusion. The lodgers came 
 hurrying up, and their candles cast a light 
 upon the scene.
 
 234 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 Then Mrs. Chester saw clearly before her 
 — saw the distorted face of the man who was 
 striving to strangle her husband — saw in his 
 hand a tin whistle, with which, deeming it 
 to be a dagger, he was stabbing at the form 
 writhing in his grasp. 
 
 " O God ! " she shrieked. '' It is ISTed— 
 my boy Ned ! ]N'ed — Ned ! for the love of 
 God, come off ! Are you blind or mad ? It 
 is your father you are killing ! " 
 
 Her words fell upon heedless ears. 
 Nothing of their sense could he understand. 
 So intent was he in what threatened to be a 
 death-struggle — so strung to a dangerous 
 tension was his tortured imagination — that 
 the entreating voices, the lights, the hands 
 about him striving to frustrate his deadly 
 purpose, were unheard, unseen, unfelt. 
 
 The men grappled with him, but their 
 united efforts were unavailing ; their blows 
 had no more effect upon him than falling 
 rain. Thus the terrible struggle continued. 
 
 " Ned — Ned ! " cried Mrs. Chester again,
 
 The Child, 235 
 
 forcing her face between him and the object 
 of his fury, so that, haply, he might recog- 
 nise her, ^^for gracious God's sake, take 
 your hands away ! Take your hands away ! 
 do you hear ? Your mother is speaking to 
 you." 
 
 The lines in his forehead deepened — the 
 mole on his temple became suffused with 
 blood — the cruel, frenzied expression on his 
 face grew darker and stronger. He dashed* 
 her aside with a curse, and, had it not been 
 that one of the bystanders pulled her out of 
 reach of his arm, he might have left his 
 mark upon her. 
 
 But as her son turned from her, the 
 struggle came to an end, without being 
 brought to this happier pass by the force of 
 either words or blows. Simply by the 
 appearance of a little child. In this 
 wise : 
 
 The conversation that had taken place 
 between husband and wife in Mrs. Chester's 
 bedroom had awakened Sally and her baby-
 
 236 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 treasure. Sally did not move when her 
 father went out of the room, but when, 
 alarmed by his cries for help, her mother 
 followed him, Sally got out of bed, and lifted 
 her baby-treasure to the ground. Hand in 
 hand, they crept to the top of the house. 
 
 They reached the room in which the 
 struggle was taking place — and reached it 
 just in time. Another minute, and it might 
 have been fatally too late. 
 
 The grown-up persons were too intently 
 engrossed in the action of the terrible scene 
 to observe the entrance of the children, and 
 thus it was that they made their way to the 
 bedside. At this precise moment it was 
 that Ned, the lovely lad, flung his mother 
 from him with brutal force, and that his 
 eyes met those of Sally's baby-treasure, who 
 was gazing upon him with a look of curious 
 terror. 
 
 Her white dress, her beautiful face, her 
 blue eyes staring fixedly at him, her golden 
 hair hanging around her pretty head, pro-
 
 The Child. 237 
 
 duced a powerful and singular effect upon 
 him. 
 
 The horrible shapes by which he had 
 been pursued faded from his sight, and 
 something sweeter took their place. The 
 dark blood deserted his face, and the furious 
 fire died out of his soul, leaving him once 
 more pale, haggard, and degraded, and weak 
 as trickling water. 
 
 With shaking limbs he fell upon his 
 knees before the baby-child, and placed his 
 trembling hands upon her shoulders. 
 
 The men and women in the room were 
 spell-bound, not daring to interpose between 
 him and the child, lest they should awake 
 the savage spirit within him. 
 
 Brief as was this interval, Mr. Chester 
 had been raised from the bed, and, dazed 
 and smarting, was now being led out of the 
 room. His wife was too intent upon the 
 movements of her son to follow him. 
 
 For a very few moments did the lovely 
 lad remain in his kneeling position, em-
 
 2^S The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 braceing the child. Utterly exhausted, by 
 drink, by want of rest, by the terrific excite- 
 ment of this and previous sleepless nights, 
 his eyes closed, and with wild shudders he 
 sank fainting to the ground. 
 
 In response to Mrs. Chester's entreaties, 
 the lodgers assisted her to place him on the 
 bed, and this being done she asks them 
 to go down for her clothes, and to bring her 
 word how her husband is. 
 
 '-'' And take the children away," she said 
 with a wan smile. '' I shall stop with my 
 boy and nurse him. I am not frightened 
 of him. He will not hurt me. See, 
 the poor lad has no more strength than 
 a baby." 
 
 As they left the room with the children 
 the mother bent over her degraded son, 
 with love and pity in her heart, and her 
 scalding tears fell on his white lips and 
 on the lucky mole on his temple which 
 was to bring sudden wealth and honour 
 to its possessor.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE HEROINE IS IN DANGER OF 
 BEING THROWN FRIENDLESS ON THE WORLD. 
 
 Could she have had her way, Mrs. Chester • 
 would have confined the knowledge of the 
 incidents related in the last chapter to the 
 bosom of her family ; but such concealment 
 was out of the natural order of things, 
 and therefore impossible of accomplishment. 
 She really had no voice in the matter. The 
 public craving for excitement is as irrepres- 
 sible as lava from a volcano, and as erratic 
 in its course, and there is no resisting it. 
 Early the next morning, before the men 
 went to their work, and while Mrs. Chester, 
 weary and sad-hearted, was watching by* 
 the bedside of her son, rumour, flying from
 
 240 Tlie Duchess of Rosemary Lajie. 
 
 one house to another, set the tongues of 
 the neighbours wagging over extravagant 
 accounts of the occurrences of the night. 
 Like dust, it crept in by every nook and 
 crevice. There is no denying, now that the 
 inhabitants of Eosemary Lane had some- 
 thing stirring to talk about, that they made 
 good use of their material. The early 
 breakfasts were eaten with more than 
 ordinary relish, and some few of the resi- 
 dents, who (in imitation of their betters) 
 were prone to be wise after the event, laid 
 claim to prophetic insight by recalling from 
 fancy's depths forebodings that they were 
 sure that something strange would before 
 long occur to the Chesters. Some said, '* I 
 was only waiting for it;" others, ^' I al- 
 ways said so; " which utterances had upon 
 the speakers much of the comforting medi- 
 cinal e£Pect produced by peppermint and 
 aniseed. So distinctly pleasant an anima- 
 tion pervaded the neighbourhood that a 
 stranger passing through it for the first time
 
 The Child. 241 
 
 might reasonably have suspected that a 
 handsome and unexpected legacy had been 
 left to it. It was a curious feature in 
 the godsend that it contributed to the heal- 
 ing of domestic differences. Families who 
 had been for a long time on bad terms 
 instantly lit the pipe of peace, and renewed 
 affectionate and neighbourly intercourse; 
 and Mr. Taylor, the stonemason, noted for 
 being the worst-tempered man in the dis- 
 trict, kissed his wife before he went to 
 work, for the first time in eight years, and 
 gave the kiss much as though, in the 
 circumstances of the case, it was a right 
 and proper thing to do ; she receiving it in 
 like spirit. The pictures that were drawn 
 by the gossips of the return of the prodigal 
 son, and of the scenes that took place in the 
 house of the Chesters, culminating with the 
 frightful struggle, were not drawn in black 
 and white. Colour was freely and liberally 
 laid on, which every minute became more 
 glaring and fascinating. Never was growth 
 VOL. I. E
 
 242 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 more rapid or amazing. Before four-and- 
 twenty hours had elapsed, the seed of truth 
 bad grown into an enormous tree, the 
 branches of which spread far into fable-land. 
 And the most praiseworthy attention was 
 paid to detail during the circulation of the 
 various editions. Thus, Mrs. Smith, who 
 had it from Mrs. Jones, who had it from 
 Mrs. Weatherall, who had it from Mrs. 
 Chizlet, who had it from Mrs. Johnson, who 
 had it from Mrs. Ball, who had it from Mrs. 
 Pascoe, who had it from Mrs. Midge, '^ who 
 lives in the house, my dear ! " was so 
 careful and elaborate in her lengthened 
 account to Mrs. Phillips, as they stood in 
 the street with folded arms (happening to 
 meet accidentally as they were going out 
 marketing), that it was evident that to her 
 conscientious mind it would have been a 
 crime of the highest magnitude to deviate 
 from the truth in the most minute particular. 
 Hence it was that Mrs. Smith was so careful 
 and precise in her description of Ned
 
 The Child. 243 
 
 Chester prowling about the house for nights 
 and nights, of his outward appearance and 
 inward thoughts, of his adventures during 
 the last four years, of the interview between 
 him and his father (every word that was 
 spoken being circumstantially set down), of 
 the father wishing to turn the son out of 
 the house, of the son refusing to go, of the 
 mother interposing and begging on her 
 knees that her husband would not be so' 
 cruel to their only boy, of his flinging her 
 brutally aside, of the commencement of 
 the struggle and its duration (not less than 
 thirty -two minutes; the figdt was too ex- 
 citing an episode to be lightly treated), of 
 the setting fire to the house and the mercy 
 it was that the lodgers weren't all burnt in 
 their beds, and of a hundred other details 
 the truth of which it was next to impossible 
 to doubt. In a very short time special 
 persons were set up as authorities in special 
 points. As, for example, about the fire 
 (which never occurred), Mrs. Johnson, 
 
 R 2
 
 244 The Duchess of Rosemary Ldiie. 
 
 whose cousin was a fireman, was perpetually 
 being solicited for particulars, and, being 
 thus elevated to a position of enviable im- 
 portance, told the story so many times and 
 so circumstantially, that before the day was 
 out she actually believed that her cousin 
 (who lived in another county) had by his 
 sole personal eiforts extinguished an alarm- 
 ing conflagration, Mrs. Chester would have 
 been amazed and confounded if she had 
 heard the account related by Mrs. Smith — 
 who, if not an actual witness, was as good 
 as one, my dear ! — to her confidential and 
 bosom friend, Mrs. Phillips. But Mrs. 
 Chester had other and graver matters to 
 occupy her attention. 
 
 On the second day, a new and entrancing 
 addition was made to the pictures painted- 
 by the gossips. It was discovered that 
 there was a child in the house, a mere baby 
 — *' one of the most beautiful little crea- 
 tures you ever set eyes on, Mrs. Phillips ! " 
 — a child whom none of the neighbours
 
 The Child. 245 
 
 had ever before seen. Now, whose child 
 was it ? The question was no sooner asked 
 than it was answered. Clearly, the child 
 of the prodigal son. The likeness was so 
 wonderful that there could be no doubt of 
 it. This at once cleared up what was to 
 some a mysterious and inexplicable thread 
 in the terrible struggle between father and 
 son. For it now came to be said that when 
 the struggle had reached a stage which* 
 threatened to be fatal, when Ned Chester's 
 hand, with a glittering knife in it, was 
 raised to strike the deadly blow, the child, 
 with its lovely face and golden hair, had 
 with bold innocence seized her father's hand, 
 and taken the knife from him. Aroused bv 
 the child's beauty to a proper sense of the 
 dreadful deed he was about to commit, Ned 
 Chester burst into tears, fell upon his knees, 
 and clasped his baby to his breast. This was 
 a good domestic touch, and was enthusiasti- 
 cally received. Eosemary Lane was a very 
 hive of children, and there were very few
 
 246 The Duchess of Rose?7tary Lane. 
 
 mothers there who were not mothers of 
 babies ; therefore the incident '' came home 
 to them," as the saying is, and e very- 
 mother narrated it with feeling and pathos. 
 But where was the mother of the interest- 
 ing child who had so providentially arrested 
 the uplifted hand of her father, and saved 
 him from the commission of a dreadful 
 crime ? This inquiry and the results it led 
 to created the most tempting dish in the bill 
 of fare from which the residents of Eose- 
 mary Lane were feeding. Ned Chester's 
 lucky mole had in years gone by formed 
 the subject of many a conversation among 
 Mrs. Chester's friends and acquaintances, 
 who were quite prepared for the fulfilment 
 of the seer's prediction. Added to this, 
 Ned Chester was a favourite in the neigh- 
 bourhood, his wonderful talent with his tin 
 whistle having made him welcome in every 
 house. And at length the prediction loas 
 fulfilled — the lucky mole had vindicated it ^ 
 self. The rumours ran this way : Ned
 
 The Child, 247 
 
 Chester had married, and had come home 
 with his child. Now, to marry is common 
 and natural enough ; and there must, there- 
 fore, have been some peculiar feature in 
 Ned's marriage which removed it out of 
 the ordinary run of things. The feature 
 was soon discovered by the gossips. Ned 
 Chester had married above him, had mar- 
 ried a lady with a little money, which.^ 
 within an hour, had swelled into a gre^t 
 deal of money — sum stated, and growing at 
 the rate of a hundred per cent, a minute. 
 The lady also grew in consequence and 
 position. First she was a governess ; then 
 the daughter of a sea captain ; then the 
 daughter of a retired sugar-baker, who had 
 amassed an independence ; then an '-'- heiress" 
 (which, without more precise definition, 
 had a lofty ring in it) ; then, a lady born 
 and bred; lastly, she was a nobleman's 
 daughter, who had fallen in love and had 
 eloped with handsome Ned. Where, then, 
 was the mother ? Dead ? Oh, no. The
 
 248 The Duchess of Roseinary Lane, 
 
 ^ 
 
 noble father^ after hunting for his daughter 
 for three years, at length discovered her 
 and tore her from her husband's arms — 
 this being distinctly legal according to the 
 Eosemary Lane understanding of the law 
 as it affected the families of the aristocracy. 
 But Ned Chester, determined not to be 
 parted from his little girl, had fled with 
 her to the home of his child liojd, which 
 he reached after many perilous escapes 
 from the pursuing father-in-law. The ro- 
 mance attached to this imaginative and 
 highly-cloloured version rendered it very 
 alluring, and it was implicitly believed in. 
 Thus the story grew, and passed from 
 mouth to mouth. 
 
 It was notable that, during the excite- 
 ment produced by the rumours, no sympa- 
 thy was extended to Mr. Chester. The 
 part assigned to him, that of the cruel 
 father, shut him out from commiseration. 
 "What sympathy was expressed «tTTi"~Mt 
 was dMyuiud >iululj -^ K'ed Chester, the
 
 248 TAe Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 noble father, after hunting for his daughter 
 for three years, at length discovered her 
 and tore her from her husband's arms — 
 this being distinctly legal according to the 
 Eosemary Lane understanding of fche law 
 as it affected the families of the aristocracy. 
 But Wed Chester, determined not to be 
 parted from his little girl, had fled with 
 her to the home of his childliojd, which 
 he reached after many perilous escapes 
 from the pui'suing father-in-law. The ro- 
 mance attached to this imaginative and 
 highly-cloloured version rendered it very 
 alluring, and it was implicitly believed in. 
 Thus the story grow, and passed from 
 mouth to mouth. 
 
 It was notable that, during the excite- 
 ment produced by the rumours, no sympa- 
 thy was extended to Mr. Chester. The 
 . part assigned to him, that of the cruel 
 father, shut him out from commiseration. 
 What sympathy was expressed and felt 
 was directed solely to ]S"ed Chester, the
 
 The Child. 249 
 
 lovely lad, and his supposed daughter. In 
 them lay the deeper interest and all the 
 romance of the affair. Even when it be- 
 came known that Mr. Chester was lying 
 Reriously ill from the effects of the struggle, 
 no pity was shown. ^' Serve him right," 
 was the general verdict, arrived at from 
 purely imaginative evidence. 
 
 While the gossips were busy with her 
 and hers, Mrs. Chester had her hands and 
 her heart full. For days she could not 
 leave the house, and she had, therefore, no 
 opportunity of hearing the extravagantly- 
 fanciful versions that were current of the 
 eventful occurrences of the night. She had 
 a divided duty to perform, for both her 
 husband and her son needed close care and 
 attention. Her husband, bruised in body 
 and spirit, lay ill in one room ; her son, 
 beset by dangerous fancies, lay ill in an- 
 other. In these larger responsibilities, the 
 small circumstance of the non-appearance of 
 the new tenant who had brought a strange
 
 250 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 child into, her domestic circle scarcely found 
 place in her mind. This man was never 
 again seen in Rosemary Lane, and had the 
 circumstances attendant upon his myste- 
 rious appearance and disappearance, and his 
 bringing into the neighbourhood a strange 
 child and immediately deserting it, been 
 known to the inhabitants, it would have 
 imparted a still farther sj^rinkling of spice 
 to the extravagant rumours. But, being 
 ignorant of these details, they invented 
 others more romantic and interesting, and 
 fed upon them until the truth became 
 known. 
 
 The lovely lad, Ned Chester, was in the 
 sorest of straits. What kind of a life he 
 had led during the years he had been absent 
 from home, might readily be guessed from 
 his present condition. It not being safe to 
 leave him alone, Mrs. Chester was at her 
 wits' ends how to manage, but she found an 
 unexpected and useful ally in the strange 
 child who had found a place in her poor
 
 The Child, 251 
 
 household. She made the discovery on the 
 second day of her son's illness, when, with 
 eyes dilated with terror, he was describing, 
 with wonderful minuteness, two horrible 
 creatures created by his delirium, which 
 were standing at the foot of his bed. Mrs. 
 Chester listened to him with a sinking 
 heart. 
 
 ^' There ! there ! " he cried, rising in his 
 bed, and clutching his mother's hand with 
 such violence that she moaned with pain. 
 " Do you not see them ? They are coming 
 closer and closer ! Give me a knife ! Give 
 me a knife ! " 
 
 With shuddering shrieks he hid his face 
 in the bedclothes, and during this interval 
 Sally and her baby-treasure entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Go out, child ! go out ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Chester, fearful lest, should her son 
 see the children, he should do them some 
 violence in his paroxysm. But Sally's crav- 
 ings were too strong for obedience. The
 
 252 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 bread-winner of the family being no longer 
 able to work, the supplies ran short, and 
 Sally's need for food for herself and her 
 precious charge was most pressing. She 
 had come to ask for bread, but before her 
 mother could reply to her, Ned Chester 
 raised his wild and haggard face from the 
 pillow, and his eyes fell upon the form of 
 the strange child. ' The effect produced upon 
 him by her appearance during the fatefal 
 struggle with his father was repeated. The 
 terrible look departed from his eyes, the 
 delirious fancies faded from his imagination. 
 
 *^ They are gone — they are gone ! " he 
 sighed, and sinking back upon his bed 
 again, he gazed with a kind of worship upon 
 the child, and gradually passed into a more 
 peaceful mood. 
 
 Eeference has already been made .to the 
 poor doctor of the poor neighbourhood, Dr. 
 Lyon, an able, sensible, well-informed man, 
 to whom the tide which, taken at the flood, 
 leads on to fortune, had never yet come.
 
 The Child, 253 
 
 He worked for a scant pittance, with zeal, 
 and patience, and him Mrs. Chester called 
 in to see her son and her husband. He re- 
 garded her husband's condition as the more 
 serious of the two, and made no secret of 
 his opinion. 
 
 '-'- Your son will get over it," he said to 
 Mrs. Chester ; ^' with him it is only a 
 matter of time and nursing. He is playing 
 havoc with his constitution, but he is young 
 as yet. It is different with your husband,* 
 who is no longer a young man. He has 
 been a heavy drinker all his life ? " 
 
 He put this in the form of a question, and 
 Mrs. Chester sighed an assent. 
 
 '^ He has received a shock," continued 
 Dr. Lyon, ^' which may lead to a serious 
 result." 
 
 These words brought to Mrs. Chester's 
 mind forebodings of fresh trouble ; visions 
 of a coroner's inquest flitted before her, and 
 of her son arraigned for the murder of his 
 father. She trembled from fear, but wisely
 
 254 TJie Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 held her tongue. Before the doctor left 
 the house she acquainted him with the 
 effect the presence of the strange child had 
 upon her son in his paroxysms. The doc- 
 tor evinced great interest in the narration. 
 Mrs. Chester had, as have most of the poor, 
 a firm belief in the efficacy of medicine, and 
 but small confidence in any medical man 
 who was sparing of doctor's stuff. Dr. 
 Lyon, however, was too conscientious a man 
 to be influenced by these prejudices, and 
 after eliciting the fullest particulars from 
 Mrs. Chester, he thus propounded : 
 
 ''Under the influence of the delirium 
 produced by drink, there is no accounting 
 for the form a man's fancies assume. In 
 such cases, you may set aside reason, pro- 
 bability, and all logical conclusion. The 
 best way is to wisely humour the patient. 
 The child may really have a curative power 
 on the diseased imagination of your son." 
 
 Some parts of this speech were far above 
 Mrs. Chester's comprehension, but she un-
 
 The Child. 255 
 
 derstood as much as it was necessary for 
 hep to understand, and on the following day- 
 she timidly tried the experiment of calling 
 the child into the room, in the midst of a 
 fresh paroxysm. The doctor's words were 
 proved, and there could be no doubt that 
 the child really possessed a power for good 
 over the lovely lad. It was impossible to 
 say by what mysterious means, or in what 
 mysterious way, the effect was produced, 
 but the simple appearance of the child by 
 the man's bedside was sufficient to calm his 
 wildest delirium, and contributed to his 
 speedier recovery. This, however, did not 
 diminish the need for food which pressed so 
 hardly upon Sally and her treasure-baby ; 
 and as Mrs. Chester could not supply this 
 need, it devolved upon herself to do so. 
 She proved equal to the occasion, and played 
 the part of Little Mother in a manner at 
 once affectionate and ingenious. Children 
 in Sally Chester's station of life learn 
 quickly some very strange lessons, being
 
 2^6 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 from necessity precocious. The lesson in 
 which Sally was most proficient, and by 
 means of which she obtained food for her- 
 self and her charge, is easy of explanation : 
 she knew her way to the pawnbroker's. 
 Sally's stock of clothes was of the scantiest 
 and poorest, and no man trading under the 
 shadow of the three balls would have ad- 
 vanced the price of a four-pound loaf of 
 bread upon the child's entire wardrobe. 
 But Sally's shrewd eyes and hungry soul 
 had noted the superior texture of her baby- 
 treasure's garments, and one by one they 
 went to the pawnbroker's, and weie there 
 embalmed in an odour not savoury, being 
 replaced by such of Sally's belongings as 
 the little mother could conveniently spare. 
 Thus the little stranger was gradually trans- 
 formed, until she became in outward 
 appearance as to the manner born in the 
 locality in which her childhood was to be 
 passed, and in this way Sally obtained 
 food, and supported herself and her charge
 
 The Child, 257 
 
 during the illness of her lovely lad of a 
 brother. 
 
 Every movement made, and every word 
 spoken, by the strange child were, of course, 
 of the deepest interest to Sally, and were 
 magnified by Sally's admiring sense. The 
 child could babble but a few words, and of 
 these '^ mama " was the principal. That she 
 was conscious of a marked and inexplicable 
 change in her condition of life was clearly 
 evident, and she was as clearly compelled to 
 accept it — having no power of resistance, or 
 sense of understanding as to the why and 
 the wherefore ; and except for a certain 
 wonderingly -mournful manner in which she 
 gazed around her, fixing her eyes always on 
 one object for full two or three minutes, 
 before removing them to another, and for a 
 habit she had, for the first few weeks of her 
 sojourn in Eosemary Lane, of sobbing 
 quietly to herself, there was nothing espe- 
 cially noticeable in her but her beauty — 
 which was so remarkable as to draw upon 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 her the affectionate attention of every person 
 who saw her. But after the lapse of these 
 few weeks the child's demeanour had 
 changed, and her quiet sobbing and her 
 mournful looks were no more heard and seen. 
 While they lasted they made an impression 
 upon Sally which deepened her admiration 
 of her treasure. There was a plaintive and 
 gentle quality in the child's gaze to which 
 Sally was unaccustomed; and as for the 
 sobbing, it was something entirely novel in 
 Sally's varied and extensive experience in 
 the ways and habits of babyhood. Sally's 
 acquaintance in the baby line was exceed- 
 ingly numerous, and every baby friend of 
 hers was a good crier. But their behaviour 
 when they exercised their lungs was of a 
 commoner and rougher kind than that of this 
 strange child. They screamed, or yelled, or 
 accompanied their vocal efforts with violent 
 contortions of limb and muscle, or held their 
 breath and grew black in the face ; whereas 
 this child simply sobbed softly, without
 
 The Child. 
 
 259 
 
 violent spasms and paroxysms, and com- 
 ported herself during her emotion in a 
 genteel and ladylike manner. This in itself 
 would have been a sufficient claim to higher 
 rank ; but there was another and a more 
 potent claim — the word ^' mama." Eose- 
 mary Lane abounded in mothers, but there 
 was not a mama among them, and Sally, 
 young as she was, knew how superior in 
 degree a mama was to a mother ; to state it 
 in a rough way, she knew that mothers were 
 polar women, and that mamas were ladies. 
 Therefore, this child's mama had been a- 
 lady, and this was one of the reasons why 
 ^Sally, after the fashion of all time, bowed 
 down and worshipped the youngster whom 
 it had fallen to her lot to protect. 
 
 By the time that Sally arrived at these 
 conclusions with respect to her treasure- 
 baby, her brother had recovered from his 
 delirium, and once more took his place 
 among the residents of Eosemary Lane, 
 evincing, for the present, no inclination to 
 
 s 2
 
 26o The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 play truant again. Relieved from the care 
 of nursing him to health, Mrs. Chester 
 turned her attention to her more immediate 
 household cares and duties. Dr. Lyon's 
 prediction concerning her husband seemed 
 likely to be fulfilled, and his condition 
 became so desperate that the doctor strongly 
 advised he should be sent to the hospital. 
 This, with some difficulty, was accomplished, 
 and Mrs. Chester now began to consider how 
 she should live. She was in debt and 
 behind-hand with her rent; her son, work- 
 ing from necessity, earned in a vagrant way 
 as much as would keep him, and no more ; 
 clearly, then, she could not afford to saddle 
 herself with such a responsibility as Sally's 
 treasure-baby. The child must find a home 
 elsewhere. It is necessary to explain that 
 no Christian name had been found for the 
 child ; Sally called her Baby, and the others 
 followed suit. 
 
 The influence which baby had exercised 
 over Ned Chester during his fever con-
 
 The Child, 261 
 
 tinued in a smaller degree after Ms re- 
 covery. He took a strange pleasure in the 
 society of the child, and exhibited so 
 marked a partiality for her that the im- 
 pression among the neighbours that he was 
 her father gained strength. But upon 
 being questioned on the matter, he denied 
 it distinctly. ^^ She's no child of mine," he 
 said roughly, and called his mother to 
 prove it. Then "the true story- became 
 known — to the displeasure of the Eose- 
 mary Lahe folk, who, by a singular process 
 of reasoning, considered themselves injured 
 because the romance was stripped from the 
 history. Baby's beauty alone prevented her 
 from being looked upon with disfavour. 
 
 As the days went by, Mrs. Chester 
 found it a harder and harder task to live, 
 and but for the kindness of the neigh- 
 bours to Sally and Baby, the children 
 would have often gone to bed with empty 
 stomachs. Looking about for a friend in 
 her distress, Mrs. Chester thought of Dr.
 
 262 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane,, 
 
 Lyon, and consulted him, with a vague 
 hope that he might be able to assist her. 
 He was a practical man, and was in the 
 habit of being consulted by his humble 
 patients on knotty points outside the scope of 
 his professional duties. He listened patiently 
 and kindly to Mrs. Chester's story. 
 
 " Let us look the matter straight in the 
 face," he said, when she had concluded; 
 ^^ I can tell you of something that might 
 be made to suit you. But there is a 
 difficulty in the way." 
 
 '' What difficulty ? " she asked. 
 
 " You shall find that out for yourself," 
 he answered. "We must first see how the 
 ground lies. You have no resources — ^no 
 money, I mean." 
 
 " None," she sighed. 
 
 '^Your husband is in the hospital, and 
 there is no saying how long it will be 
 before he comes out. I should say that 
 if even he does come out, which is doubt- 
 ful, he will be no longer able to work."
 
 The Child, 263 
 
 There was no cruel delicacy about Dr. 
 Lyon; he knew the class he ministered 
 for, and he invariably spoke plainly, and 
 to the point, and always with kindness. 
 
 Mrs. Chester nodded a mournful assent. 
 
 '^Your furniture has been seized for 
 rent, and you have no home — to speak of." 
 
 Mrs. Chester nodded again. 
 
 '^ And," he continued, "it is clearly a ne- 
 cessity that you must live. Listen to this 
 letter." * 
 
 He read to her a letter from a country 
 union, forty miles from London, which 
 wanted a matron, without encumbrance; 
 residence and rations free; wages, 18/. per 
 annum. 
 
 " I think I have sufficient influence to 
 obtain the situation for you," said Dr. 
 Lyon. "You are a kind woman, and I 
 can recommend you." 
 
 Hope lighted up Mrs. Chester's face — 
 for one moment only. 
 
 "It's forty miles away," she murmmred.
 
 264 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 ** That is nothing," observed Dr. Lyon. 
 
 *^ And without encumbrance," she said; 
 " that means children. There's Sally." 
 
 *^ The difficulty I referred to," said Dr. 
 Lyon; *'and upon that I cannot advise 
 you. Go home, and sleep upon it, and give 
 me your answer the day after to-morrow." 
 
 She thanked him, and walked slowly 
 out of his consulting room, which was 
 about as large as a pill-box ; but returned 
 within five minutes to ask him how much a 
 week eighteen pounds a year would give her. 
 
 '^ Seven shillings," he replied. 
 
 Mrs. Chester went home filled with 
 sorrowful contemplation by this sad crisis 
 in her life ; she had no thought of sleep- 
 ing upon the proposition made by Dr. 
 Lyon, as he advised. It was rather to 
 adopt his first expedient, of looking the 
 matter straight in the face. To part from 
 Sally would be like tearing a string from 
 her heart ; but if it was for the child's 
 good ! Yet even if she could calmly con-
 
 The Child. 265 
 
 template the separatioiij and calmly resolve 
 upon it, where could she place the child? 
 There was the practical difficulty, in the 
 solution of which she played no direct part. 
 So entirely occupied had Sally been with 
 her duties as Little Mother, that since her 
 first introduction to the reader she had not 
 fainted dead away, as her wont and seem- 
 ingly her pleasure were. But while the 
 conversation between the mother and Dr. 
 Lyon was proceeding, Sally once more in- 
 dulged, and swooned off suddenly and 
 unexpectedly. There were only herself 
 and her baby-charge present, and they 
 were sitting on the floor in the one room to 
 which Mrs. Chester was now reduced. It 
 was evening, and dusk, and the baby- 
 child, naturally supposing that Sally had 
 gone to sleep, crawled close to the insen- 
 sible form of her friend and protector, and 
 placing her face upon Sally's breast, fell 
 asleep also. In this position Mrs. Chester 
 found them when she arrived home.
 
 266 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane,, 
 
 Her first impression was that they were 
 asleep, but she was soon undeceived. The 
 baby, when the woman raised her from 
 the ground, awoke and cried; and Mrs. 
 Chester knew instinctively that the little 
 creature was crying for food. But Sally 
 did not stir when her mother raised and 
 shook her. Then the mother, rushing to a 
 despairing conclusion, wrung her hands, 
 and moaned that her child had died of 
 starvation. What extravagance of emotion 
 she might have exhibited in her grief it 
 is hard to say ; but a slight movement 
 from the child assured her that she was 
 mistaken in her impression. She ran hur- 
 riedly back to Dr. Lyon, and begged him 
 to come and see Sally immediately. 
 
 '^ It is only one of the old attacks," he 
 said to the grief-stricken mother, as they 
 stood together by the poor bed on which 
 the children were lying, "but brought 
 about now by a different cause. See, she 
 is sensible now. Sally, can you hear me ? "
 
 The Child, 267 
 
 Sally, feeling for her baby -treasure, 
 sigbed a monosyllable in reply. Her arms 
 clasped her baby, and, closing ber eyes, 
 she would have relapsed into insensibility 
 but that Dr. Lyon prevented her. 
 
 ^^ Now, Sally,'' he said, not allowing her 
 to be still for a moment, " what is the 
 matter with you ? " 
 
 '^ I am hungry," moaned Sally ; ^^ and 
 so is Baby. We've only had a slice of 
 bread between us to-day." 
 
 Dr. Lyon looked at the mother's white 
 face, and bit his lips hard. 
 
 ^' Do not leave the children," he said ; " I 
 will send in some medicine in five minutes." 
 
 The medicine duly arrived in the shape 
 of a four-pound loaf of bread, a small pat of 
 butter, a two -ounce packet of tea, and a 
 little sugar. On the loaf of bread was 
 stuck an apothecary's label, with the 
 written inscription, "To be taken at once, 
 with a cup of hot tea." The mother burst 
 into tears, and set about preparing the
 
 268 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, , 
 
 medicine for the children. But Dr. Lyon 
 had forgotten that to make hot tea a fire 
 was necessary. Mrs. Chester had no 
 coals. There was nothing of value in the 
 room, and there was no time to lose. She 
 stood by the cold empty grate, considering 
 for a moment. Her eyes fell upon her 
 wedding-ring. It was all of the world's 
 goods she had remaining. A melancholy 
 freak it was that induced her to creep to 
 Sally's side, and say, 
 
 ^^ Sally, I'm going to make you some 
 nice tea, and good Dr. Lyon has sent you 
 some nice bread-and-butter." 
 
 *^ Oh," replied Sally, in a whisper, ^^ I'm 
 so glad — so glad! Make haste, mother, 
 make haste ! You don't know how hungry 
 we are." 
 
 ^' I must run out and get some coals, 
 dear child," said the mother. '^ You'll 
 lay still, won't you ? " 
 
 *' Yes, mother." 
 
 ^'Kiss this, my dear," said the mother,
 
 The Child. 269 
 
 with a sob, placing the wedding-ring to 
 Sally's lips. 
 
 Sally, without any understanding of her 
 mother's meaning, kissed the ring, and then 
 kissed her mother, whose tears bathed her 
 neck. 
 
 " Don't cry, mother," said Sally ; ^^ it 
 ain't your fault, is it ? " 
 
 "Heaven knows it ain't, my sweet," 
 replied the mother; and with a heart 
 made lighter by Sally's embrace, ran out, 
 and soon returned with wood and coals. 
 
 That night Sally, lying awake, but 
 supposed to be asleep, overheard a full 
 account of her mother's troubles, as they 
 were related to the brother who had 
 brought this trouble upon them. Mrs. 
 Chester did not reproach her boy, being 
 indeed utterly blind to his faults ; and she 
 confided to him only because she yearned 
 for sympathy and counsel. He was 
 ready enough with both — with heartless 
 sympathy and empty counsel — devouring a
 
 270 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. 
 
 great part of the loaf of bread, as he 
 bestowed them after the fashion of his 
 nature, and greedily drinking the tea which 
 his mother poured out for him with ready 
 hand and loving heart. 
 
 " And you think I had better accept 
 the situation, l^ed, if I can get it ? " 
 
 " I don't see what else is to be done," 
 said Ned ; ^' Pve got nothing." 
 
 '^ I know that, I know that," inter- 
 rupted the mother tenderly, '^ or you 
 would never see us want." 
 
 '* Of course I wouldn't," replied the 
 lovely lad, in a whining tone ; '^ but luck's 
 against me — it's been against me all my life ! " 
 
 '^ It'll turn one day, Ned, you see if it 
 won't," said the mother, gazing, from force 
 of habit, with infatuation, at the mole on 
 his temple ; ^^and then when you're a rich 
 man you'll take care of your poor mother, 
 whose heart is almost broken at the 
 thought of parting from her children, 
 won't you, Ned ? "
 
 The Child, 271 
 
 The piteous words and tbe more piteous 
 'tone in which they were uttered elicited from 
 the vagabond son nothing but a sulky- 
 promise — as intangible as the air into 
 which it was breathed — that when he was 
 a rich man, he wouldn't forget the mother 
 that bore him. 
 
 ^^ It must be done, then," sighed Mrs. 
 Chester; "there's no help for it. But 
 where am I to put Sally ? Who's to look 
 after her ? '^ • 
 
 IS^ed shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " If one of the neighbours 'd take her," 
 continued Mrs. Chester, ^^ till luck turns. 
 Dr. Lyon says he could get me the situation. 
 Eighteen pounds a year is seven shillings 
 a week. I could give half of that, three- 
 and-sixpence a week, for her keep. It 
 might be managed that way." 
 
 " Half of eighteen pound," grumbled 
 Ned, '^ is nine pound. If I had nine pound, 
 I could make my fortune." 
 
 " Whatever I can spare you shall have,
 
 272 The Duchess of Rosemary Lane, 
 
 Ned. But Sally comes first. She's not old 
 enough to look after herself, and she's a 
 girl, remember." 
 
 Which had no other effect upon Ned than 
 to make him wish he was a girl, for girls 
 always had the best of everything, and he 
 couldn't be worse than he was — an uncon- 
 sciously-uttered truism, of which he did not 
 see the point. They stopped up talking for 
 an hour longer, and by midnight the room 
 was quiet and dark. Mrs. Chester did not 
 sleep ; she lay awake all the night, thinking 
 of the sad change in her fortunes which was 
 about to take place. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 FBIMTED BT TATLOB ANJ> CO., 
 
 LITTLE QtJBEJT STKKBT, LIWCOLN'S INN FIELD!!
 
 V