c>- 2- 
 
 
 iuturgarry 
 
 LI E. RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 e?.3 
 
 •.\
 
 -/Vpt^^-^^ 
 
 ^^^^-^ PlJ {LJ^i^-L.
 
 HIGH AND LOW; 
 
 LIFE'S CHANCES AND CHANGES. 
 
 BY THE HON. HENEY COKE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 A RIDE OVEE, THE EOCKY MOITNTArNS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 13, GEEAT MAELBOEOUGH STEEET. 
 
 1854.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 or 
 
 CO 
 
 2^3 
 
 i HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In one of the Cathedral towns of England, 
 
 as you enter from , the road gradually 
 
 hecomes a street. The town begins with a 
 
 huge red brick eyesore, which you at once 
 
 know to be the Union. Then comes a 
 
 pubhc-house with tea-gardens attached to 
 
 the premises ; the resort of village swains 
 
 _^ and of stout labouring men, who play at 
 
 ^: skittles, drink beer and smoke short 
 
 pipes; and of sallow-faced townsmen, who 
 
 ^ drink brandy-and-water and smoke long 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 i
 
 2 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 pipes, and have secret cock-fightings in an 
 outhouse, which illegal pursuits the landlord 
 winks at because these sort of men sing 
 capital songs, and bring custom on week- 
 days as well as Sundays. Then comes a 
 row of almshouses, quite new, and hardly 
 finished. They make one wonder, when 
 one reflects that almshouses always are 
 either new or unfinished, whether there be 
 more almsgivers in these days ; or whether, 
 which is not so pleasing a reflection, there 
 be more almstakers and almswanters than 
 there used to be in the " good old times." 
 Further on is a ricketty line of tumble-down 
 tenements, whose upper story is a garret with 
 gable windows, and dangerously cracked 
 and rain-stained ceilings. On the threshold 
 are little gates, which little children are 
 often seen struggling to get over, or where 
 perhaps an ancient hag is leaning, who 
 looks like the undying contemporary of 
 her tottering abode. Joining these is, 
 perhaps, a fat and greasy butcher's shop,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 6 
 
 with a dead pig hanging up, whose very 
 white skin and very red nose make 
 him look cold in the hottest weather. 
 Then a harness-maker's, a baker's, and 
 so on. 
 
 But opposite this hne of buildings, all 
 on one side of the road, is a patch of 
 green, railed in by a double row of pollard 
 Hme trees, now in full blossom. 
 
 From one corner of it, the path under 
 the Hme trees leads into the churchyard; 
 from the other, if you enter by a small white 
 gate and walk through a neat little garden 
 and shrubbery, you come to a square house 
 of evident respectability. It has no pre- 
 tensions to more than mediocrity in house 
 rank; but would decidedly occupy a dis- 
 tinguished position amongst those members 
 of the brick and mortar family well known 
 as the white front, green door, and 
 brass knocker, class. 
 
 Inside, it is the perfection of comfort ; and 
 in truth the drawing-room wears a decided 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 pretension to luxury, with its Brussels' 
 carpets, embroidered chairs, and general 
 amiability of furniture. The windows are 
 wide open, and the gentle breeze blows 
 in a gale of fragrance, over a magnificent 
 crop of mignionette, boxed up outside the 
 sill. 
 
 No man, the least versed in domestic idio- 
 syncracies, could contemplate the aggregate 
 physiognomy of that room — bearing in 
 mind its component parts, particularly one of 
 them, namely, a writing-table bestrewed with 
 what the French graphically term charmantes 
 inutilites, no one — we say, could make use of 
 his eyes and other senses in this apartment 
 without feeling a positive and very pleasing 
 conviction, that woman dwelt in its vicinity. 
 If, gentle visitor, you carry your admiring 
 glance round the room, and peep into the 
 recess of the end window, you will receive a 
 still more positive proof that your surmises 
 are correct. There she sits. 
 
 If you admire a dark beauty, with raven
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 5 
 
 tresses, we are sorry to disappoint you. If 
 you are inconsolable, because your heroine has 
 not golden locks and eyes like firmaments, 
 we are equally sorry not to accommodate you. 
 One thing we will answer for, if you only take 
 her all in all as you find her, the fault must 
 be in your own taste or imagination, if you do 
 not fall in love with her at first sight. Of 
 course, no disparaging insinuations are here 
 meant to others equally charming; and we 
 take it for granted that we are not suspected 
 of encouraging infidelity in the breast of any 
 man. 
 
 There she sits. Were we scribbling to 
 swell the pages of fiction, we might fill book- 
 cases with portraits, painted in all the rain- 
 bow hues contained in the vast recesses of 
 Imagination's colour-box. Were she a mere 
 "airy nothing" of the brain, we could 
 describe her with perfectly circumstantial 
 accuracy, from the bump of veneration on one 
 extremity, to the remarkably dandy bow on 
 her shoe at the other. But alas, she is an
 
 b HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 every-day reality, a girl of nineteen; so 
 interesting, so pretty, that any attempt to 
 describe her must at once annihilate both 
 Truth and Romance. 
 
 She is sitting at the window. A water- 
 colour drawing half finished is lying on the 
 table before her. She has just put down 
 her pencil, and has taken up a letter, which 
 she reads aloud. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " I am anxious to see you on business of 
 a pressing and important nature, and hope 
 to find you at home when I come to-morrow 
 or the next day. Pray give my kindest 
 and most affectionate remembrances to 
 Mary, and believe me to be 
 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 "Gerard Winter." 
 
 "P.S. — It is possible I may leave town 
 to-morrow by the two o'clock train, and shall 
 reach Mossbank Cottage in time for dinner."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 7 
 
 The girl leaned back into the room, till 
 she could, by so doing, command a sight of 
 the clock. 
 
 " Why, it's only four. I wonder if that 
 stupid clock has stopped ?" And, in order to 
 satisfy her doubt she jumped up and ran 
 towards the suspected time-piece. On it 
 went, tick, tick, to the most provokingly 
 monotonous tune, unconscious of its stu- 
 pidity, and apparently quite unaware that 
 there could be such a thing as impatience in 
 the world. 
 
 " I should think he would like the green 
 room best ; he used to say it was the snuggest 
 room in the house. I wonder the room his 
 father died in, should not recall — -but per- 
 haps, that is the reason he likes it. He 
 has so much good feeling. I wonder if he 
 will know who did the drawing over his 
 chimney-piece. I wish this had been 
 finished. It is far prettier and better done 
 too, than that ; but then he must remember 
 the abbey where we picnicked. He told
 
 8 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 me it was the pleasantest picnic he ever 
 was at. I should Hke to know why it was 
 so pleasant to him." 
 
 Here the young lady resumed her brush, 
 and washed in a very bold foreground of 
 raw sienna and brown madder, making the 
 drawing look as if it had been sitting with 
 its feet in a mud bath. 
 
 " Poor Gerard !" she mused, half aloud, 
 turning her pretty little head from side to 
 side, as she questioned with half closed 
 eyes the result of the mud bath. " Poor 
 Gerard ! what an age it is since he was 
 here. I can't help thinking he has forgotten 
 all about us amongst his gay London friends. 
 What with balls and — I wonder what a 
 London ball is like ; it must be very dif- 
 ferent to the race balls at . There 
 
 must be so many pretty people. Much 
 prettier than — heigho ! What a very 
 stupid brush this is ! How very odd it 
 is Gerard does not marry; no sensible 
 girl would ever refuse him, I should
 
 HIGH AND LOW. \) 
 
 think. But then it must be something 
 very captivating, or he would not fall in 
 love. He is so tremendously particular, 
 poor boy ! I cannot think what his im- 
 portant business can be with papa; it must 
 be something to do with marriage settle- 
 ments. I should so like to see him happily 
 married. It would be very shocking never 
 to see him any more, though. How funny 
 it would be to have him living here with 
 his wife. Mrs. Winter ! Mrs. Winter ! 
 how strange the name sounds ! Mrs. 
 Winter and I, would have to be immense 
 friends. I should go out walking with 
 her, and drive her about to see the poor 
 people, and take it by turns to read to 
 them. Then we should draw together, 
 and sing duets, and talk together about 
 Gerard — we should never get tired of 
 talking of Gerard. Then he would hunt 
 and shoot — and what else would he do ? 
 I am afraid he would find poor papa very 
 dull. Dear papa ! he is so fond of business
 
 10 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 — I am sure he is making himself quite 
 ill with that horrid business. He never 
 leaves the office now, and when he does, 
 he looks so tired and worn, it is quite painful 
 to see him. He promised to take a walk 
 with me before dinner. I must go and 
 put my bonnet on or we shan't be back 
 before Gerard comes."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 11 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Behind the house, detached from the 
 main building, and separated by the stable- 
 yard, was a smaller one, containing two 
 rooms on the ground floor. In the first 
 of these rooms, at a high desk hidden 
 from the entrance by a Venetian screen, 
 sat two attorney's clerks. One of them had 
 just finished applying splinters and band- 
 ages to the stem of a black meerschaum 
 pipe, and was now busily engaged in 
 cutting deep circles in the mahogany, with a 
 pair of big iron compasses. The other had
 
 12 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 his head buried in his crossed arms, and 
 appeared to be asleep. 
 
 Every one, who has read Dickens, must 
 be perfectly familiar with both the live and 
 dead furniture of an attorney's office. 
 With such exquisitely finished pictures sus- 
 pended round the walls of his memory, 
 it would be presumption to offend the 
 reader's taste, by offering to his notice 
 an ordinary sketch ; did we not feel con- 
 fident that, were the reader in this 
 office, he would pause to consider the 
 strange outward appearance of the first- 
 named of these two clerks, before he 
 paid the slightest attention to the conver- 
 sation which presently ensued between 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Posthumus Mobbs — such is the 
 singular name of this singular little man — 
 considered in an indefinite point of view, 
 that is, without reference to this or any other 
 history, would justly merit not only inspec- 
 tion, but an accurate and detailed description.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 13 
 
 In this particular history, however, the part 
 he is destined to play, though of the utmost 
 importance, is so very short, that we feel 
 compelled to dismiss him with a mere out- 
 line of his peculiarities. 
 
 Taken from the stool on which he was now 
 perched, he measured little more in height 
 than that piece of furniture : possibly in 
 his stockings he might be a quarter of an 
 inch below it. He was thin — unpleasantly 
 thin ; but with his activity of mind and 
 body it could not be otherwise. At first 
 sight the point about him, which at once 
 caught the eye, was his wig. In fact it 
 was a very characteristic wig ; and formed 
 no small item in the general remarkableness 
 of the wearer. It might easily have been 
 mistaken for a piece of door-mat. Its 
 fiery and perverse stubbles were parted 
 down the centre by a neutral ground of 
 brown net. In the very front, a wet 
 brush kept the bristles in a tolerably subdued 
 state; but behind, the dust of many ages
 
 14 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 had accumulated in such masses, that 
 nothing short of a carpet beating could 
 have dislodged it. The wig always had 
 a peculiar cock ; thus leaving a vast expanse 
 of baldness on the back of his head : and 
 while its consequent protrusion in tront gave 
 him a marked resemblance to a monkey, 
 the complex lines of wrinkles about the 
 corners of his eyes and mouth, entitling him 
 to as much affinity with the corresponding 
 features of a cockatoo or mackaw. 
 
 " Mr. Taylor," said this comical com- 
 pound to his drowsy companion on the 
 other side of the desk, " I say, Mr. Taylor, 
 what a very silent young man you are. Now 
 if I was in your circumstances I shouldn't 
 take it to heart so. You ought to cheer up, 
 now you're going away for a change of 
 air." 
 
 '' Take it to heart !" said Mr. Taylor, 
 looking at the speaker with a pair of heavy, 
 sunken eyes, " take it to heart ! — take 
 what to heart, Posthumus ?"
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 15 
 
 " It? you know. Come, why don't you 
 disgorge it, and have done with it ; instead 
 of cherishing the boa-constrictor in your 
 own vitals, and poisoning the peace and 
 harmony, the happiness and prosperity of our 
 scholastic occupations ! True happiness — the 
 secret of true happiness — depend upon it, Mr. 
 Taylor — the secret — I say, are you listening ? 
 the secret of true happiness depends upon 
 getting rid of misery as quick as you 
 can." 
 
 Whether Mr. Taylor was roused by 
 the startling truth just propounded by 
 Posthumus, or whether he dreaded the 
 continuous attacks of the fidgetty little 
 philosopher, it is difficult to say. He 
 raised his head ; and as if with the view of 
 changing the subject from himself, inquired 
 of Posthumus if he knew the reason of 
 his master's close application to business 
 vdthin the last few weeks. 
 
 " He gives us little or nothing to do," 
 he said, " but works all day long himself."
 
 16 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " You see," said Posthumus, with a 
 knowing wink, "it's my private opinion, 
 Mr. Taylor, there is a screw loose some- 
 where. There's a sleeping partner in 
 this firm. We needn't mention names, 
 Mr. Taylor, but my private opinion of that 
 sleeping partner is, that he is a remarkably 
 wide awake young gentleman." 
 
 " Mr. Winter, you mean ?" said Taylor, 
 " I have heard some awkward reports of 
 him before. Didn't you say the other 
 day he was expected to marry Miss 
 Bellerby?' ' 
 
 "There was a rumour of that nature, 
 Mr. Taylor. Of course we do not pretend 
 to say how true. But between ourselves, 
 I am of opinion Mr. Winter has an eye 
 to that investment ; and a very snug 
 business might be made of it too." 
 
 "Do you think her father would give 
 his consent ?" 
 
 Posthumus closed his eyes and shook 
 his head, till the dust flew out of his wig.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 17 
 
 " That putty won't prove adhesive, Mr. 
 Taylor. Mr. Bellerby has a sharp eye, and 
 knows the shape of a hoof when he sees 
 it, as well as most men." 
 
 " But the lady ?" 
 
 " I fear. Sir, she listens to the voice of 
 the charmer too willingly. To be sure, 1 
 know nothing of these matters ; but 1 
 have seen 'em together, and — bat that's a 
 long time since. Mr. Winter is to be here 
 this evening ; we shall then see how the 
 wind blows." 
 
 *' How do you know he is coming, 
 Posthumus ?" 
 
 " Happened to see his note quite acci- 
 dentally ; but it caught my eye." 
 
 " You seem to pick up a good deal of 
 accidental information," observed the little 
 man's companion. "If it really is the 
 case that Mr. Winter is to be here this 
 evening, I only hope he will arrive before 
 I go. I have a singular desire to see that 
 man: J once knew a person of the same 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 name. It can't be him though — no, no, 
 that's not possible. I wonder, Mobbs, if 
 Mr. Bellerby would send you down to 
 Yorkshire instead of me, to look after 
 the Weyton estate. It would just suit you 
 now to be away for a week or ten days ; it 
 would be as good as a holiday for you." 
 
 " Gracious heavens ! Mr. Taylor, what 
 are you talking of. Sir ? I go to York- 
 shire, and leave Mrs. Mobbs and family 
 here ! Bless you, if I am away for one 
 day, she is afraid I have been assassinated, 
 and is preparing, by the time I get back, 
 to put the whole family into mourning. 
 Besides it's just time for you to be off; 
 you've got all your instructions from the 
 master and the sooner you're out of the 
 house the better." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must go. It doesn't 
 much matter to me where I am. You 
 put all the Weyton papers into my bag, 
 did you?" 
 
 " Yes ; they're all there. I hope you'll
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 19 
 
 have a pleasant time of it, Mr. Taylor, 
 and come back without having your throat 
 cut — and look a little more cheerful when 
 I see you again. I dare say you won't be 
 away more than a fortnight. If you do 
 see anybody that asks after me, you may 
 as well give 'em a sixpence. It won't ruin 
 you, Mr. Taylor ; I dare say no body in 
 Yorkshire ever heard of me." 
 
 Not long after the melancholy-looking 
 clerk had taken his leave of the attorney's 
 office, and while Posthumus was, for the 
 hundredth time, canvassing in his mind 
 all the possible causes of his fellow 
 scrivener's sadness, and was reducing this 
 investigation to the form of a mathematical 
 problem, with the aid of the compasses, on 
 the mahogany desk, there came a tap at the 
 door, which opened and admitted a tall man 
 of gentlemanlike appearance. 
 
 " Is Mr. Bellerby within ?" inquired the 
 stranger. 
 
 " He is, Sir," answered Posthumus ; and 
 
 c 2
 
 20 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 without more ado the gentleman knocked 
 at the inner door of the office, entered the 
 inner apartment, and closed the door behind 
 him.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At an escritoire in the corner of the 
 room, between the two windows, sat the 
 attorney. He was a spare man, dressed in 
 black. His long grey locks were parted 
 in the centre of a low, receding forehead. 
 His features were careworn and anxious. 
 His eye was bright and piercing. As the 
 door opened, he started and turned to look 
 at the intruder. Hastily shutting down the 
 lid of the escritoire, he rose and held out 
 his hand. 
 
 " I am glad to see you looking so well,
 
 22 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Winter. Here, take the arm-chair. Charm- 
 ing weather, isn't it? Country looking 
 beautiful?" 
 
 "Very much so. I came to see you on 
 business, Mr. Bellerby." 
 
 Mr. Bellerby winced. 
 
 " So you informed me by letter. Any- 
 thing that I can do for you, I am sure I 
 shall be very happy ;" Mr. Bellerby fidgetted 
 in his chair. 
 
 " I dare say, Mr. Bellerby, you can guess 
 the object of this visit.^' 
 
 " Not I, my dear Sir ; I am no conjurer. 
 Nothing gone wrong with you — I mean — 
 I hope — that is — no unpleasant communica- 
 tion to meke ?" 
 
 " Rather so. I want money." 
 
 Mr. Bellerby's fingers nervously grasped a 
 handful of shillings in his pockets. 
 
 " Unfortunate — very unfortunate, I fear 
 you will be obliged to borrow at an ex- 
 orbitant rate of interest just now. The 
 price of money has risen very much lately.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 23 
 
 But with good securities — good securities I 
 I dare say you might — " 
 
 " I might do much, I don't doubt ; but 
 you know as well as I do that all my 
 securities are in your hands. You must 
 advance more money on the same securities. 
 If I don't repay you, you will still be a 
 gainer. You know you bought my father's 
 business for a mere trifle ; and cheated me 
 of half my fortune when he was on his 
 death-bed." 
 
 " Mr. Winter ! what do you mean to — " 
 
 " Pish ! We understand each other now. 
 I want money, and you must lend it." 
 
 " On my honour. Winter, I cannot lend 
 you money. You have nearly ruined me, 
 as it is. The last remittance I made 
 you, was borrowed on my daughter's for- 
 tune." 
 
 " It is a lie." 
 
 " Winter, I swear it 1" 
 
 "Then what am I to do? I am not 
 going to starve, while you have your miserly
 
 24 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 coffers full to the brim. What am I to do, 
 I say?" 
 
 The attorney thought for a moment, 
 and covered his face with his hands as if 
 to keep off the keen looks of the other. 
 
 " Have you no rich friend ?" he presently 
 asked, screwing his sharp features into a look 
 of deep cunning. 
 
 " Only one that I could bleed, and he has 
 no ready money ; d — n him !" 
 
 " Hem !" said the attorney, apparently at a 
 loss to suggest any other scheme. " What's 
 to be done !" 
 
 "What's to be done! I'll tell you 
 what's to be done :" said Winter. " He can 
 give you good securities; lend him the 
 money !" 
 
 " What securities ?" inquired the attorney. 
 
 " Land:" said the other. 
 
 " But how do you know he is will- 
 ing to embarrass his estate by mort- 
 gage ?" 
 
 " He must, if he has no money."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 25 
 
 " Is he extravagant ?" 
 
 " Yes, he gambles, and will soon be 
 ruined ; and you — " 
 
 " Foreclose and get possession of the estate 
 at half its value," whispered the attorney. 
 
 " Exactly so." said Winter, as he watched 
 the twinkling eyes in the cunning face before 
 him. 
 
 " Is the property a valuable one ?" asked 
 Mr. Bellerby. 
 
 " One of the most valuable of its size 
 in England !" was the answer. 
 
 " Do you think this can be managed ?" 
 whispered the attorney in a confidential tone 
 of voice. " How much money will he want ?" 
 
 " That depends. Perhaps five or six 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " And if I raise that sum, wiU you secxu-e 
 me the mortgage?" 
 
 " On one condition," said Winter. 
 
 " Name it." 
 
 " That you advance me a thousand 
 without any more securities."
 
 26 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " Winter, it can't be done." 
 
 " Well then, you lose the estate. Remem- 
 ber, his ruin depends on me !" 
 
 "But how will you ruin him? and how 
 do I know, if I lend you the money without 
 securities, that you will keep your word ; or 
 that you have any such friend to ruin ?" 
 
 " I tell you I have such a friend. You 
 know the estate; it is in the adjoining 
 county ; his name is More of Moreton : and, 
 I swear to you, if you lend me this sum, 
 I will ruin him and place his property in 
 your hands." 
 
 This w^as said in rather a loud tone : 
 but had it been much less loud, there was 
 an ear at the keyhole that still might have 
 heard it plain enough. 
 
 Mr. Bellerby shuddered. 
 
 " I cannot consent to such — such — " 
 
 " Villainy. Come, out with it !" 
 
 " Never !" said the old man, jumping from 
 his chair. " I vdll not do it." 
 
 A fiendish expression of contempt and
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 27 
 
 malevolence passed over Winter's features. 
 He glanced cautiously round the room : then 
 bending forward towards the attorney, he 
 slowly whispered ; 
 
 " If not, your daughter — " 
 
 "Ah," exclaimed the old man, starting 
 from his seat, " what would you with her ?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing. But you know how 
 she loves me. You know the power I have 
 over her. Hesitate, and she is ruined." 
 
 " Villain !" gasped the attorney with a 
 voice of agony. " It's a lie ! She does not 
 love you ! Let me pass, I will tell her aU !" 
 
 " Ay, do so ; tell her all : and let her 
 know her father is a greater villain than 
 her lover. And tell her, for if you 
 will not I must, that forgery — that 
 forgery, mind — is punished with trans- 
 portation." 
 
 Mr. Bellerby grasped the back of his chair 
 for support. 
 
 At this moment, the attorney's daughter 
 entered the apartment.
 
 28 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " Dearest papa ! I have been knocking for 
 five minutes at least. What have you been 
 about ? How do you do, Mr. Winter ? 
 I want to get papa out for a walk before 
 dinner. He locks himself up in this close 
 room all day long. See how pale he looks 
 now. Come, papa dear, here's your hat and 
 stick !" 
 
 She had shaken hands with Mr. Winter, 
 as if she was thinking of nothing but her 
 dear papa; but whether from the exertion 
 of knocking at the door, or of carrying 
 Mr. Bellerby's hat and stick, there certainly 
 was more colour than usual on her cheeks ; 
 which Mr. Winter possibly attributed to a 
 totally different cause. 
 
 In the course of their walk before dinner. 
 Winter, who had given his arm to Miss Bel- 
 lerby, contrived to make her of the opinion 
 that he had grown more agreeable than ever 
 since their last meeting. 
 
 He told her endless anecdotes about his 
 London friends. In all his stories, he was
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 29 
 
 the hero. She thought she never should 
 get tired of hstening to him. He made 
 it very clear to her, that London was the 
 most delightful place in the world, with 
 one exception; and when he refused to 
 name that one place, he heaved a sigh 
 that brought the roses to Mary's cheeks 
 in an instant. Poor Mary would have 
 given anything to have made him name 
 that place; so as to be quite certain she 
 was not mistaken in believing it to be 
 Mossbank Cottage. Yet when she thought 
 of it afterwards, she was satisfied in her 
 own mind, that there could be no other 
 place, which Gerard liked so well as Moss- 
 bank; not so much, perhaps, for any one 
 particular reason, as for old associations of 
 times when he was a boy, and used to 
 teach her to play at cricket on the green, 
 and laugh at her, because she could not 
 run like a boy, or throw a ball like a boy : 
 when he used to come to Mossbank for 
 his happy holidays, and everybody was
 
 30 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 pleased to see him home again; and how 
 he used to hide behind the door if she 
 was out of the way when he came back, 
 and jump out and frighten her into a 
 laugh and a scream, and then kiss her, 
 and call her little Moll, as if they had been 
 brother and sister. Now, it was such a 
 long time since she had seen him ; he 
 had been travelling ever since he left 
 College, and had lived so much in Lon- 
 don, it was impossible to address him in 
 any Vv^ay but as Mister Winter : and it 
 would have been absurd to have shown, 
 how excited she was when he came, as, pro- 
 bably, he was not the least thinking about 
 her. 
 
 By degrees. Winter changed the Miss Bel- 
 lerby for " Mary," and Miss Bellerby found 
 herself calling Mr. Winter " Gerard" quite as 
 naturally as if they had never been sepa- 
 rated. In the evening, after dinner. Winter 
 admired Miss Bellerby's drawing ; but de- 
 clared, on his honour, that it was not half
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 31 
 
 SO charming as the one up- stairs over the 
 chimney-piece in his room ; which he assured 
 her he recognised as the pic-nic ruin the 
 moment he saw it. He wished he had a 
 copy of it, and was even bold enough to ask 
 permission to carry off the picture itself; but 
 he asked with such a melancholy air, that 
 Mary thought she had never seen him look 
 so handsome before. The little coquette was 
 half disposed to refuse him for the sake of 
 another melancholy look ; and although she 
 gave the drawing, as if she valued it more 
 than anytliing belonging to her, she would, 
 if the truth was known, have given him 
 all the drawings she possessed, and, in- 
 deed, have done anything in the world her 
 kind nature could think of to please that 
 fascinating creature. 
 
 Her father, all the time the young couple 
 were billing and cooing together, sat in an 
 arm-chair with his head back, as if he was 
 asleep : but he was not hkely to sleep, when 
 he knew so w^eU the character of the man
 
 32 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 who was stealing from him that priceless 
 treasure — his daughter's heart. Distinctly 
 he heard every syllable that passed between 
 them, as if his life depended on having to 
 repeat their conversation word for word. He 
 saw the cold grey eyes of Winter reading the 
 tender thoughts which beamed in the sweet 
 expression of his daughter's face. He saw 
 him whisper ; and he saw her blush. He 
 saw Winter's hand as if by accident touching 
 hers. He could have screamed with rage, or 
 seized the large bread-knife from the tea-table 
 and killed the viper at a blow ; but Winter's 
 last words, as his daughter came into the 
 office, chained him hand and mouth. 
 
 He fixed his eyes upon the black chimney : 
 and there he pictured to himself a long sea 
 voyage, and gales and storms hurling him on 
 through thousands of miles of frothy waves 
 and grey dull space, further and further 
 from all he loved — and worse — further and 
 further from all that loved him. If it was 
 only separation, he might learn to bear it;
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 33 
 
 but beyond, to the place where he was going, 
 were clanking chains, and hideous, short- 
 cropped heads which swelled all over with 
 bumps of villainy. And these were to be 
 his friends and mates for life ! And in- 
 stead of Brussels carpet, and embroidered 
 chairs, and Mossbank Cottage, and above all — 
 far, far above all — Mary, an angel who loVed, 
 who prayed for him, who knew or dreamt not 
 of any guilt in him; instead of these and 
 her — chains, cropped heads, grinning mur- 
 derers' faces, and a shining bayonet to 
 make him work and groan, and groan and 
 work. Poor old man, he reaped as he had 
 sown. Bitter to him was the fruit of dis- 
 honesty. 
 
 Meanwhile, the two took no heed of Mr. 
 Bellerby. Winter had learnt to sing ; and 
 she too had a voice for song. Their voices 
 grew loud together and soft together ; and 
 the sham warmth of his pretended tenderness 
 kindled sweet emotions in her fond heart. 
 Those songs had never been more than 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 pretty songs before: from that time forth 
 they were not forgotten by her. 
 
 The next day, Mary asked Mr. Winter, 
 what business had brought him down from 
 London? He told her it was the business 
 of a friend ; but would not enter into any 
 particulars. She was, however, very anxious 
 to 'know the particulars, and pressed him 
 to tell them. Then he explained how a 
 dear friend of his, who would not be 
 guided by his advice, was an extravagant 
 young man, and gambled and fooled away 
 his money : and how he was now obliged 
 to borrow money, and had come to him, 
 to know where to get it. He, Winter, 
 had hopes of procuring a certain portion 
 of this sum from Mr. Bellerby, and was 
 here with the view of negotiating between 
 the two parties for the mortgage of Mr. 
 More's estate. 
 
 " For whose estate did you say, Gerard ?" 
 inquired Miss Bellerby. 
 
 ''Did I let his name slip?" said Winter,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 35 
 
 " What a careless dog I am, to be sure ! 
 Well, you know all my sficrets ; I may as 
 well tell you this. But can you keep a 
 secret, Mary ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, for ever !" 
 
 "Let me see if you can keep a secret." 
 And Winter took , her little finger — the 
 smallest of all her little fingers — and 
 squeezed the end of it between his finger 
 and thumb; and though he pinched very 
 hard, she shut her little mouth, and looked 
 as firm as a marble status, but never uttered 
 a word. Then he laughed and kissed the 
 end of the finger he squeezed ; whereat Mary 
 looked angry and indignant. 
 
 " Well now, why don't you tell me the 
 secret ? come — quick. You said something 
 about mortgaging Mr. More's estate. What 
 Mr. More is that ? I know one Mr. More : 
 I hope it isn't him." 
 
 " The More I mean is More of Moreton." 
 
 " Dear, how shocking ! That's the very 
 one I know. I have met him at two of 
 
 D 2
 
 36 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 the race balls, and he danced with 
 
 me both times. « He is a little lame, and 
 only dances quadrilles. He was so amiable 
 and nice. How sorry I am he is going 
 to lose his place. I remember he told 
 me all about it ; and I thought from his 
 description, it must be the prettiest old place 
 in England." 
 
 " So you were quite captivated with Mr. 
 More, were you? Well there's no ac- 
 counting for taste," said Winter, putting on 
 an offended air and shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "I ! — nonsense ! I only said he was 
 agreeable ; but is he really going to lose all 
 his estate ?" 
 
 " No, he is only going to mortgage it ; 
 but it is the fate of all these spendthrifts 
 and gamblers. It would serve him right 
 if he lost every penny." 
 
 Mary thought Winter said this with a 
 show of ill-feeling, which quite surprised 
 and displeased her. But it was only for a 
 moment that she ceased to smile. She soon
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 37 
 
 forgot all about Mr. More ; and about every- 
 thing else except the man she was talking to. 
 Once or twice, in the presence of her 
 father, Winter had told Mary he must 
 really take leave of Mossbank Cottage, and 
 return to London ; but when he spoke of 
 going away, Mary looked so sad that he was 
 obliged to agree with her in thinking it 
 needless to be in such a hurry. Then she 
 made her father ask Winter \vith his own 
 mouth to stop a day or two longer. Poor 
 old man ! what a task for him to bring down 
 ruin on himself and all he loved ! But 
 what could he do ? He had gone on his 
 knees to that heartless villain ; he had given 
 him the thousand pounds the very morning 
 after his arrival. But Winter would not 
 go, and said he must have another 
 thousand. Another thousand ! No Shylock 
 ever looked at his glittering gold, and 
 thought it more precious than did this old 
 man when he remembered how for years 
 he had hoarded it ; and what power it had
 
 38 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 to free him now, though but for a short 
 time, from Winter's presence, and Winter's 
 threats. 
 
 Day followed day, and the serpent wound 
 new coils round his victim ; and she, poor 
 victim ! resisted not her fate; but rather 
 courted it, as innocence often will. Her 
 guileless nature suspected no ill from any 
 one. She loved all the world — ^and who 
 would knowingly do her a wrong ? Had 
 not Winter told her that he loved her? 
 Was it in her trusting nature to think herself 
 more true than him ? Assuredly she did 
 think, not his nor any other creature's love 
 could equal her own worshipful admiration for 
 the object on which she chanced to concen- 
 trate it. But she believed he loved as he was 
 able ; and if she sometimes sighed to think his 
 love a little cold, she was still generous, not 
 too exacting. It was not her's to do things 
 by halves ; her heart needed an idol. She 
 loved her father as fondly, with as much 
 tender and respectful affection, as daughter
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 39 
 
 could. Then this to her mind was a thing 
 of course, not a duty when done, but the 
 worst of crimes left undone. She sought 
 an object more exciting than this — not an 
 everyday routine affair requiring no sacrifice, 
 asking no thanks, but — a brighter ideal, a 
 something which made her pulse throb to 
 think of, a something she had often conjured 
 up in her own brain, but that she had never 
 known, yet was quite prepared to find, to 
 know, to worship. And had she then at 
 last — already found it ? What was there in 
 this man's look, voice, manner, words or 
 address, to warrant such conclusion ? 
 
 A mystery ! It is a mystery, a mad- 
 ness, a contradiction as barefaced as noon- 
 day to believe that vice is virtue, that 
 guilt is innocence, that hideousness is love- 
 liness ; and then, forsooth, to wish to die a 
 thousand deaths to prove it ! In all men^s 
 eyes this indefinite fellow is an ass, a cox- 
 comb, a very worthless thing indeed. Ask 
 women how it is ; and they will tell you, or
 
 40 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 strongly hint it, that he is an angel in tailor's 
 broadcloth. Oh 1 — believe them — and never 
 had you seen or might again delight your 
 senses with such incarnate perfection ! The 
 converse is just as true, with this exception ; 
 creation's lords with one consent pay homage 
 to all forms of outward beauty : creation's 
 ladies often dispense even with this accessory. 
 All contrasts, most hateful to each other if 
 unmasked, are bound together by mutual 
 strugglings to that end, and then 
 
 *' from their sleep 
 
 They wake to weep !" 
 
 and cry, "is all illusion? is there nothing 
 left 
 
 ' But pale despair, and cold tranquillity ?'" 
 
 At the end of a week. Winter had made 
 considerable havoc with Miss Bellerby's heart. 
 But that gentleman, whatever his intentions 
 might be, was beginning to weary of his 
 occupation as love maker. He was accus- 
 tomed to playing desperate games; and
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 41 
 
 provided the stake was a high one, and the 
 chances of winning or losing moderately even, 
 his interest never flagged. The game once 
 decided, his appetite for play was gone. If 
 he must lose, why, there was no help for it ; 
 but if the turn of Fortune's wheel was evi- 
 dently in his favour, he would decide the 
 matter by grasping at the prize with a pre- 
 cipitancy that often made him a loser. He 
 knew the danger of this tendency, and 
 determined not to suffer through his own 
 rashness on the present occasion. 
 
 But how to bring the matter to a ter- 
 mination ? That Miss Bellerby loved him, 
 was as clear to Winter as it was to the 
 attorney. To marry her, however, formed no 
 part of his present scheme. Yet it was 
 necessary to keep up the delusion — to make 
 both father and daughter believe that mar- 
 riage was his intention — in order to obtain 
 the second thousand pounds, the ransom 
 money he was to extort from the old man 
 as the price of the daughter's happiness.
 
 42 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 There were moments when even his stony 
 heart warmed with the influence of the girl's 
 sweet nature. Passionless as he was, he 
 could not be insensible to her beauty. But to 
 relent, to feel remorse, or anything beyond 
 the most transient pity, was as foreign to 
 his purely selfish nature, as sunlight to the 
 ocean's caves. He knew not how else to ac- 
 complish his design, and the effort it cost 
 him to maintain the delusion began to weary 
 and fatigue him. Old Bellerby saw his 
 daughter's danger, yet still held back the 
 ransom. How could Winter move him ? 
 He would threaten worse than marriage ; and 
 if the father could bear the threat, he could 
 bear the reality. Mary Bellerby was a 
 worthy victim. She was not the first, 
 and she certainly was the most beautiful; 
 there was no brother to give satisfaction to ; 
 only a miserly old wretch who, in all pro- 
 bability, would soon die broken-hearted — the 
 sooner the better. 
 
 Such was the course Winter proposed to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 43 
 
 himself as the most satisfactory one to adopt. 
 Like many other plans, either good or bad, 
 it was destined, at least for the present, to 
 miscarry. 
 
 While these evil designs were passing 
 through Winter's thoughts, the struggle in 
 the attorney's mind between his affection 
 for his daughter and the love for his money, 
 ended in the victory of the first. He was 
 Dot alarmed for his own safety, as re- 
 spected the guilty act of which Winter had 
 reminded him ; for he imagined he knew 
 Winter's character well enough to be safe 
 on that score — inasmuch as any exposure 
 Winter made, must necessarily involve them 
 both in the penalties which the law enforced. 
 But he was alarmed on his daughter's ac- 
 count, and on her account alone. It was 
 a matter of the greatest inconvenience to 
 him at that moment to produce the required 
 sum ; but by means, perhaps not strictly in 
 accordance with honourable dealings, he had 
 procured it ; and with a curse in his heart
 
 44 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 he handed over the money ; not, however, 
 until he had received a promise from Winter 
 to leave the house next day. " Go !" said 
 the old man, trembling with passion, " and 
 unless you hold to your bond ; unless you 
 accomplish the villainous scheme you have 
 proposed ; unless you henceforth for ever keep 
 without the precincts of these walls ; neither 
 my own fate nor the fear of my daughter's 
 ruin shall save you from that retribution 
 which will one day reward your crimes." 
 
 The day of Winter's departure was an 
 unhappy day for Mary Bellerby. If she 
 had not been perfectly happy all the time 
 of his stay at Mossbank Cottage, she had 
 been in an agreeable state of suspense ; 
 she had built airy fabrics of every descrip- 
 tion of architecture — whether palace or 
 cottage — one charm invested all — one magi- 
 cian's wand bade them all rise. At his 
 shrine she burnt her incense, was blinded 
 in the smoke, and was well pleased to breathe 
 or suffocate.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 45 
 
 Her father's manner to Winter surprised 
 and sometimes alarmed her. She saw there 
 was no love between them : wherefore not, 
 she could assign no cause, and racked her 
 brains in vain to find one. Winter spoke 
 of him to her with great respect ; was much 
 concerned for his declining health ; and 
 imputed to the infirmity of age the constant 
 testiness of his manner. • He, Winter, was 
 delighted to find Mr. Bellerby had said 
 no unkind things of him to Mary ; and con- 
 vinced her, as he had power to do, that 
 her father was sorry he was about to leave 
 them. He touched more than once upon 
 the declining health — the advanced age of 
 Mr. Bellerby. So pointedly did he paint his 
 rapid decay, and the lonely state of the 
 heiress of Mossbank; that she, poor girl, 
 found tear-drops welling from her eyes, and 
 looked beseechingly for forbearance. 
 
 The picture he drew in his own mind of 
 Mossbank as it soon would be : the miser 
 gone, screwed down, and sodded over ; the
 
 46 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 coffers open, or what was tantamount to it, 
 the key in Mary's girdle ; his own uncertain 
 future, his hand-to-mouth existence, impend- 
 ing judgments, debts outstanding, false posi- 
 tion, a stony path, where stilts like his were 
 wont to stumble — to stumble, to fall, to rise no 
 more. 'Twas worth a thought — worth more. 
 Pledged to him she would be both faithful 
 and secret. He might, if need be, cancel all ; 
 he might in safety bide his time, if now 
 he seized the opportunity. 
 
 " Mary, dear Mary !" the words were 
 spoken, his arm was round her waist. The 
 door opened ; always cool, nothing escaped his 
 eye, he had plenty of time to withdraw his 
 hand. Mr. Bellerby, who entered, detected 
 nothing in his unchanging face. 
 
 *' Winter," he said, " your chaise is at the 
 door. You have only five-and- twenty minutes 
 to catch the train." 
 
 Away went the chaise, and Winter with 
 it ; soon he met the train, and soon was 
 whirled off, miles from Mossbank Cottage.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 47 
 
 The father's joy, the daughter's sorrow, 
 were both kept secret ; instinctively they 
 knew their feelings did not accord. His 
 prayers were earnest ; and if they are granted, 
 never again will he see his partner's son. 
 Her's were timid hopes, more than uttered 
 prayers. She knew not how long it might 
 be before she saw again the man she almost 
 loved. Uncertain events, how distant are 
 they!
 
 48 HIGH AND LOW, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 There was a third person at Mossbank 
 Cottage, who took no small interest in Mr. 
 Winter's departure. Little Mobbs was a 
 charitable little man, but he was a sharp- 
 sighted little man too. He dreaded Winter 
 as much as he disliked him. When Winter 
 was gone, he chuckled and rubbed his hands, 
 and jumped up and down from his stool 
 with a sensation of relief that he in vain 
 attempted to wear with calmness and dignity. 
 After Taylor came back from Yorkshire, 
 Posthumus was quite eloquent in his de- 
 nunciation of his master's partner.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 49 
 
 " Lor ! Mr. Taylor," said he, stabbing 
 the compasses into a circle which, for the 
 nonce, he imagined to be Winter's head, 
 " he is a flinty cove to look at. I had quite 
 a wrong idea of the Evil One till I saw him. 
 It made my blood creep every time the viper 
 came across me. The master don't love 
 him any more than 1 do, Mr. Taylor; and 
 if he hadn't somehow put a ring through 
 Mr. Bellerby's nose, he'd have had his 
 walking ticket, without the trouble of asking 
 for it, long enough ago." 
 
 "What hold do you think Winter has 
 on Mr. Bellerby? Do you suppose it has 
 any reference to the conversation you over- 
 heard the day I went away ?" 
 
 " Couldn't say, indeed. You see, Mr. 
 Taylor, after Mr. W. mentioned to Mr. B. 
 that little arrangement for ruining More of 
 Moreton, and swore that he would ruin 
 him, Mr. W. dropped his voice for a 
 minute or so : and, though I could hear 
 a whisper, I heard nothing more, till the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 old gentleman said ' villain !' and then 
 you see Miss Bellerby came into the office, 
 and as near as a toucher caught me, 
 ' flagrante delicto,' as we lawyers say." 
 
 " You deserve to have been caught, 
 Posthumus, and punished too. But con- 
 sidering the nature of the conversation, 
 and the discovery you made, it was for- 
 tunate you played the eaves-dropper. I 
 hope it may be the providential means 
 of averting this man's villainy. But tell 
 me, who is this Mr. More of Moreton, 
 Winter proposes so shamefully to ruin? 
 Do you know^ anything of him ?" 
 
 " Nothing personally, Taylor. He lives 
 twenty or thirty miles from here. I under- 
 stand he is a tolerable sort of gentleman. 
 He doesn't live at Moreton — can't afford 
 to keep it up. The late Mr. More was a 
 tremendous hand for making nothing of 
 a good deal. He played at ducks and 
 drakes with a very pretty property — very 
 pretty property, indeed, Mr. Taylor ; and
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 51 
 
 that man's ruin made this man's for- 
 tune." 
 
 " What ! Mr. Bellerby's ?" 
 
 " Late ' Bellerby and Winter.' Yes, Sir, 
 Moreton estate was mortgaged in old Mr. 
 More's time to nearly the full value of the 
 property. I don't believe. Sir, the present 
 owner has a nett income of a thousand 
 per annum." 
 
 " But how do you mean that Mr. 
 Bellerby's fortune was made by Mr. More's 
 ruin?" 
 
 " Messrs. Bellerby and Winter mortgagees, 
 Sir, — mortgagees. This business not worth 
 much, as you know, Mr. Taylor. Mr. 
 Bellerby, man of independent fortune Sir ; — 
 independent fortune — receives the whole in- 
 terest on the Moreton debt !" 
 
 " But Mr. Winter is no longer in the firm ; 
 and I don't see how he can effect Mr. More's 
 ruin." 
 
 "Leave him alone for that, Mr. Taylor; 
 he's up to a trick or two. There are 
 
 E 2 
 
 SSiwoFawoB
 
 52 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 more ways than one of ruining a man." And 
 Mobbs looked hard at his companion's shabby 
 coat, and hollow cheek, as if to insinuate that 
 Mr. Taylor was as well aware of the fact as 
 most men. 
 
 The look was unnoticed. 
 
 "I don't like," said Taylor, "prying 
 into other people's affairs; but I wish I 
 knew more of this matter. Such a 
 villainous scheme should be put a stop to, if 
 possible." 
 
 " I don't see how that is exactly your 
 business or mine, Mr. T.," observed Posthu- 
 mus, who felt an awkward conviction that 
 any exposition must be traced to his eaves- 
 dropping. " ' Every one for himself, and the 
 devil take the hindmost,' is the wisest maxim 
 I know of. I have a great respect for Mr. 
 More of Moreton, but can't afford to lose 
 my bread out of respect to him, or any other 
 gentleman of my acquaintance." 
 
 *' Whatever you may think about it, 
 Posthumus, I consider it my duty to frustrate
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 53 
 
 this scheme, if I can. Don't be alarmed on 
 your own account ; what I do, will not com- 
 promise you." 
 
 Mr. Mobbs mentally imprecated the curi- 
 osity and incautiousness of his brother clerk. 
 He fully expected that Taylor's punctiliousness 
 would involve them both in certain ruin. 
 He was, however, aware, that no remon- 
 strances, on his part, would for a moment 
 alter the resolution of the other ; and thought 
 it safest to let the matter sink if possible in 
 oblivdon. 
 
 It was by no means a common failing of 
 Mobbs's to forget the wrongs of his fellow- 
 creatures : on the contrary he had, perhaps, 
 even more than his share of the milk of 
 human kindness ; but in the present instance 
 he reflected that his own indiscretion had 
 put him in possession of facts which, however 
 much he might commiserate, a certain duty 
 he owed to Mrs. Mobbs and family, impera- 
 tively called upon him to overlook. Such 
 a dereliction on Mr. Mobbs's part is doubtless
 
 54 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 liable to the censure of the moralist ; but 
 Mobbs, though not habitually weak, was, 
 nevertheless, fallible on some points. 
 
 Like the rest of the world, Posthumus 
 found it convenient, now and then, to 
 put on those coloured spectacles, which so 
 alter the aspect of things, that those who 
 wear them are excused, at least by them- 
 selves, in following false appearances. His 
 judgment, too, on this occasion, was slightly 
 biassed by one of those ' Idola et notiones 
 falsse,' which completely delude the under- 
 standing with their subtleties ; making * black 
 appear not so very black :' and in short, giving 
 to some passions — self-interest for example 
 — power to subdue even the strongest love 
 of Justice. 
 
 It is a nice point for splitting hairs upon, 
 — that duty to our neighbour, versus duty 
 to that near relative — self once removed — 
 a wife. If it was merely a question between 
 numbers one and two ; number one of course 
 should yield ; but, though man and wife
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 00 
 
 be one flesh, there is, nevertheless, a line 
 of separation as clear and definable, as the 
 very strongest bond of union ever tied. 
 A man may, for instance, if it amuse 
 him, pull his best tooth out of his own 
 head; but for putting his fingers into his 
 wife's mouth with like intent, has she not 
 a right to bite them ? So also he may box 
 his own ears, and deserve it too — a like 
 act to his wife, though possibly permitted 
 by law, is neither customary nor genteel. 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding this palpable dis- 
 tinction, the two are one — or should be so. 
 Board or bed, happiness or misery, brats or 
 barrenness, are shared alike, are common 
 property. What business has my wife to 
 be in prison and I in 'fat contentment?' 
 What business has my wife to entertain 
 princes in the drawing-room and keep 
 me locked up in the coal-hole ? Our 
 interests are one, or should be so. Am 
 I a king ? *' the brightest jewel in my crown 
 should be my queen." Am I a beggar ?
 
 56 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 my queen is a ragged queen ; but she is a 
 queen to me for all that. Man and wife are 
 but two names given to one pair, or should 
 be so. Yes ! there should be a 
 
 '* Close, narrow chain, yet soft and kind 
 As that which spirits above to good does bind — 
 
 Gentle and sweet necessity. 
 Which does not force, but guide, our liberty !" 
 
 If it is so — if such be the chain — 
 and we know it is such a one which binds 
 Posthumus to Mrs. Mobbs — what exactly 
 might his duty be, when pity for a 
 stranger was placed in the balance with a 
 loving wife and hungry family tugging at 
 one scale, till it completely over-balanced 
 all other considerations, and made them 
 worth no consideration at all? Mobbs 
 forsook a duty ; but it was to obey another 
 duty. " Every man for himself," was no 
 best of maxims in his mind; and though, 
 as was perfectly natural, he did tremble 
 lest Taylor's good intentions should be
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 57 
 
 visited with the attorney's wrath on his 
 head, yet he secretly hoped that by some 
 accident he might escape, and that Mr. More 
 of Moreton might escape also.
 
 58 HIGH AND LOW 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was toward the close of a sultry day in 
 the month of July. The London season was 
 in the zenith of its utmost bustle and gaiety. 
 Bond Street was thronged with chariots and 
 britzkas. Tall footmen in bright liveries, 
 with gold-headed canes, were opening car- 
 riage doors and letting down steps. Lovely 
 creatures, looking as light as their fluttering 
 dresses, were tripping into beautiful shops ; 
 and rusty old dowagers were tumbling out 
 after them, with a roll that made the easy 
 carriage swing and pitch like a ship at sea.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 59 
 
 Piccadilly resembled the run of an ant's nest. 
 Heavy 'busses, and laden carts, reminded one 
 of the httle insects staggering along under 
 eggs twice their own size ; cabs and private 
 vehicles — of the busy, restless, unburdened 
 little labourers. Along the pavement, oppo- 
 site the park, lounged the gentleman, who 
 kindly struts through life for the entertain- 
 ment of his fellow creatures ; who dresses for 
 their admiration, and with wondrous self- 
 denial sacrifices his own peace of mind for 
 the edification of the vulgar. 
 
 Gloved and scented — two, apparently be- 
 longing to this class, now stood upon the 
 steps of the Coventry. One had just alighted 
 from a well-appointed brougham, the other 
 was coming out of the Club. 
 
 " You may go home, Thomas, I shall 
 want the brougham at eight. Well, how 
 are you, my boy?" said the young gen- 
 tleman of the brougham, holding out two 
 fingers to his friend at the door. 
 
 " How are you ?" was the reply, " you
 
 60 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 look rather seedy. Come and take a stroll 
 in the park, it will do you good," and the 
 two linked arms, and walked in the direction 
 as proposed. 
 
 Their conversation was not amusing, and 
 would hardly serve our present purpose of 
 developing their respective characters. Let 
 us suppose we have accompanied them as 
 far as the banks of the Serpentine, and 
 that we already have the following correct 
 information concerning them. 
 
 Mr. Arthur Longvale, the youngest of 
 the two (etiquette gives him precedence in 
 description) was the only son of the Honor- 
 able Colonel Longvale, and nephew and heir 
 to his wealthy uncle, who bears the noble 
 title attached to that name. In age he was 
 hardly three- and twenty, in appearance hand- 
 some and gentlemanlike. His abilities and 
 acquirements were neither above nor below 
 the average. Women liked him because 
 he was unselfish, and danced well. He was 
 popular amongst men of his own standing,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 61 
 
 because he was extravagant, and had 
 prospects of a large fortune. His temper 
 was remarkably sweet, his disposition amiable, 
 he was a good sportsman, could drink his 
 bottle without being the worse, and had few 
 faults greater than the harmless one of 
 telling prosy stories. Probably, if Arthur 
 Longvale, the heir to twenty thousand a- 
 year and a title, had been plain Mr. Dash, 
 with the uncertain prospect of pecuniary 
 difficulties to fall back upon ; he might have 
 lived in society or lived out of it without 
 society the least appreciating his good 
 qualities, or missing them when lost. As it 
 was, society took considerable notice of all 
 his merits, both positive and negative, and 
 if he was not exactly looked upon as a 
 brilliant ornament to her circles, he at least 
 possessed advantages, which would some 
 day make him a useful one. 
 
 His companion was somewhat older, and, 
 though almost as young looking, might be 
 his senior by ten years. He was one of
 
 62 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 those men whom to glance at was not to 
 know. If you looked at him twice, you 
 were sure to have two distinct impressions of 
 him. One might be favourable, the other 
 disagreeable ; yet could you not say, if asked, 
 which prevailed. A quick observer would 
 have singled him out of a crowd as a cha- 
 racter worthy of study ; an unobservant 
 person, on the other hand, would have 
 thought him singularly uninteresting. He 
 smiled when he spoke, but his smile never 
 varied the breadth of a muscle. He always 
 laughed at other people's jokes, however bad ; 
 but, however good the joke, his laugh was 
 as unvarying as his smile ; it lasted exactly 
 the same length of time, it was pitched to 
 the same key, and vibrated to the same degree 
 of loudness. The only feature of his coun- 
 tenance that ever the least changed its ex- 
 pression was his eye : and though his manner, 
 look, and general deportment were calm and 
 self-possessed, the movements of his eyes 
 were quick and restless.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 63 
 
 When, unconscious of his presence and 
 talking to another person, you happened to 
 turn round, you would find his piercing glance 
 fixed upon you ; a glance which always 
 created an unpleasant sensation, because 
 instantly withdrawn ; leaving you to infer 
 that this scrutiny had been attended with 
 sinister reflections. 
 
 As far as regularity of form is considered, 
 he was good looking ; rather tall than short ; 
 scrupulously neat in his dress, with this pecu- 
 Uarity about it — that he ever wore the same. 
 When any one remarked his predilection for 
 one set of cuts and patterns, he assured them 
 it was less trouble than a change, and that 
 it was decidedly more economical, as nobody 
 knew what was new and what old. As to 
 this last reason people doubted the truth of 
 it. It could hardly be supposed that a man 
 like Gerard Winter, who belonged to all the 
 clubs of the West End ; who invariably had 
 a better " stepper" in his cab than anybody 
 else ; who had at one time or other broken all
 
 64 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 the " hells" in London ; and who paid on the 
 settling day at Tattersall's as regularly as 
 any man on the turf, would be guilty of 
 economising in such small matters as his 
 tailor's bill. But now a days it is thought 
 a fashionable thing to talk of economy. The 
 richest people, ladies in particular, tell each 
 other in confidence how hard the times are ; 
 and shrug their shoulders when they ask 
 the price of something they admire, and have 
 already determined to buy ; with an " Ah ! 
 if I could only afford it." 
 
 Young men thought Mr. Winter's answer 
 little better than humbug; concluding, as 
 in the case of other fashionables, that — 
 since poverty, joking aside, was a disreput- 
 able and ungentlemanly condition — neither 
 Winter nor any one with a distinguished 
 position to maintain, would acknowledge the 
 circumstance, if true. In fact, it is generally 
 taken for granted, when people make a parade 
 of poverty, in the faces of those with whom 
 they are not very intimate, that they mean to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 65 
 
 imply that at present they are very well off, 
 but would behave extremely heroically, if 
 they chanced to be in the awkward position 
 they affect. What right any of Winter's 
 friends had to accuse him of asserting an 
 untruth with regard to his wearing apparel 
 we cannot say. No one was sufficiently in 
 his confidence to be aware of the precise 
 amount of his income ; though all his ac- 
 quaintances concluded from his expensive 
 habits that he knew where to go when he 
 wanted money. Whither that was, no one else 
 could tell. He never spoke of his relations. 
 Somehow, through his own unimpeachable 
 respectability, a profound mystery was always 
 preserved on that subject. There were, it 
 is true, some of his old college acquaint- 
 ances, who went so far as to doubt the fact 
 of his being a gentleman by birth. Indeed 
 it had been rumoured — then this was a long 
 time ago — that he had a near relation of 
 the same name, a petty-fogging attorney in 
 a small town in the north of England. 
 
 VOL I. F
 
 66 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 However well founded these ill-natured 
 remarks might once have been, • they had 
 long since been silenced and forgotten, and 
 the subject of them, so far from being pre- 
 judiced by suspicion, was now looked upon 
 with respect, and considered by all the rising 
 idlers of the day as the very model and 
 pattern of a " swell." 
 
 " Who is that girl,' that Pierce More is talking 
 to ? Do you know her, Arthur?" asked Winter, 
 as they leant over the rails, at which a crowd 
 of loungers daily collect to stare at the con- 
 tents of the passing carriages. 
 
 " Where ?" answered his companion, with- 
 out troubling himself to turn his head to the 
 right or left. 
 
 " In the dark green britzka with two 
 women in it " 
 
 " Oh, don't you know her ? that's the 
 new beauty, Lady Bellfable's last turn out, 
 x\rabella Trammers. By Jove ! Pierce seems 
 to be very sweet. What a jolly smile she 
 has, hasn't she, Gerard? PU bet More is
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 67 
 
 saying something piquant. Notwithstanding 
 that queer phiz of his, he is a devil of a fellow 
 with women." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say he's popular," said 
 Winter, thoughtfully, " hut if he had a wall 
 eye as well as an ugly face, he would be 
 just as popular, with two thousand a-year to 
 atone for it." 
 
 " He might be with the mothers, but deuce 
 a bit with the young 'uns. Dash it ! I wish 
 I had his gift of the gab." 
 
 Winter smiled. 
 
 " What, then, you think, up to a certain 
 ag-e w-omen are all disinterested anf^els. but 
 after that time become mercenary old she- 
 dragons ? Depend upon it, my boy, you are 
 mistaken ; ask More what he thinks. He 
 is always dangling after women, he ought 
 to know something about them." 
 
 '* Bless your heart, I never met a fellow with 
 such high flow^n ideas about women as Pierce. 
 In my opinion, he is as just as absurd in 
 thinking them all angels, as you are in think- 
 
 F 2
 
 68 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 ing them all t'other things. I believe it's all 
 my eye, expecting too much of women. I 
 must say I think them deuced jolly in their 
 way. Miss Trammers, now, is a stunner 
 — you can't deny that. Winter." 
 
 By this time the carriage had passed on, 
 and the third person, of whom they had 
 spoken, observing that he was beckoned to, 
 crossed the road and joined the two com- 
 panions. 
 
 " How are ye. More ?" 
 
 " The last favourite wins. Pierce ; no out- 
 siders for you — eh, old fellow ?" 
 
 " Pshaw ! Arthur," said the new comer, 
 shaking the last speaker warmly by the hand, 
 and nodding rather stiffly to Winter. " What 
 a suspicious chap you are ! You need'nt be 
 afraid ; I won't cut you out." 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that. Did you ask 
 her if she goes to Lady Bellfable's to-night ?" 
 
 " She says she most likely will, if she is 
 not too tired after the opera." 
 
 " Oh, if she's going to the opera, that'll
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 69 
 
 do just as well. I've got a box. Let's all 
 dine at the ' Travellers' and go together. 
 Will you come, Winter ?" 
 
 " I shall be delighted." 
 
 " Et vous, Pierce ?" 
 
 " I don't mind if I do ; who'll order 
 dinner ?" 
 
 " I'll do that," said Longvale. 
 
 *^No, I'll be hanged if you shall," said 
 More, " I never met a man who understood 
 so little about eating as you. I know exactly 
 what you would give us, cod and oyster 
 sauce, mutton, and a roast chicken." 
 
 " Well, what more do you want ?" 
 
 " What more ! my dear fellow, you know 
 nothing about it ; I feel a creeping all down 
 my throat when I think of your dinners. 
 Beefsteaks and porter may be very good 
 things, when a man has the stomach of a 
 cannibal, but London vitals must be supported 
 by a creative genius." 
 
 " Very well, very well ; for my part, I don't 
 care a fig for your singe au petit verole^ or
 
 70 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 whatever you call your French messes. Have 
 it your own way. Shall w^e say 7.30 ? it 
 is half-past six now. We can't dine sooner, 
 but let us be punctual, for I want to hear 
 the beginning." 
 
 " Punctual to a minute," said More ; 
 " this is my way, so au revoir !" 
 
 " Punctual to a minute" signified, in other 
 words, any time within three quarters of an 
 hour of the time appointed. Accordingly, 
 about a quarter after eight, so nearly had 
 the three young men calculated their several 
 capacities for patience and punctuality, they 
 were unfolding their snowy napkins, and 
 preparing to pass sentence upon the artistic 
 efforts of the great . 
 
 " To do you justice. More, the dinner was 
 a good one," said Winter. " Now what, 
 for a guess, should you say they will have 
 the wickedness to charge us ?" 
 
 " Not more than five-and-twenty shillings 
 a head, I dare say, wine included."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 7l 
 
 *' That depends upon how much we drink," 
 said Longvale. 
 
 " Five-and-twenty shillings a head !" mused 
 Winter. " It strikes me this is rather ex- 
 travagant. Five-and-twenty shillings when 
 you come to think of it, is a good deal to 
 sink in this way." 
 
 "It is, rather," answered Longvale; 
 *' but don't moralize, for Heaven's sake, it 
 gives one such a cursed indigestion. You 
 remind me of a scene that happened to me 
 at Homburg last year." 
 
 "Pass the bottle. More," said Winter, 
 "Arthur's long stories are so deuced dry, 
 they want something to wash 'em down." 
 
 "I heard you played pretty high," said 
 Pierce, " did you win ?" 
 
 "No; but I am going to tell you. I 
 had been there four or five days, and was 
 beginning to be awftiUy bored — you know 
 there is nothing to do at Homburg but to 
 play — when one fine morning about two
 
 72 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 o'clock, as I was breakfasting in bed, I heard 
 a tremendous row outside my door, and my 
 servant swearing that somebody should not 
 come in, as I was'nt up. Presently the door 
 flew open, and who should appear but an 
 old " bufl'er" dressed like a parson, in a white 
 choker, the queerest-looking old boy you ever 
 saw." 
 
 " Egad, Arthur, you must have taken him 
 for the ' old gentleman' himself. What the 
 dickens did he want ?" 
 
 " He didn't wait for me to ask him that, 
 but, making a polite bow, 
 
 " ' You must pardon the liberty I have 
 taken, Mr. Longvale,' said he, ^ but my 
 name is Gregory. I should not have ven- 
 tured to intrude upon you in this uncere- 
 monious way, had I not been a very old 
 friend of your father's.' 
 
 " ' Not at all,' said I, * delighted to make 
 your acquaintance. Sir ; won't you sit down ?' 
 Of course I thought be was going to com-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 73 
 
 municate some important news about my 
 family, so I sent my servant away, and he 
 weilt on. 
 
 " ' I should have thought it incumbent 
 upon me (deuced pompous old chap you 
 know), incumbent upon me to make further 
 apologies, Mr. Longvale, but I trust my 
 name will sufficiently vindicate the step I 
 have thought proper to take.' 
 
 "'Not at all, not at all. Sir. Don't 
 mention it. Have you breakfasted ?' said I, 
 ' let me ring for another cup.' 
 
 " * I fear,' said he, ' the object of my 
 intrusion is of a more important and less 
 agreeable nature.' 
 
 "'Then I wish,' thought I, 'that you 
 would go somewhere else, old boy.' 
 
 " ' I think it so happened, Mr. Longvale,' 
 he continued, ' that we arrived at Homburg 
 the same day ; but here, I think, ceased the 
 similarity of our pursuits. My object was 
 to benefit by the waters and recruit my health :
 
 74 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 yours, as it appears, by other recreations to 
 impair yours.' 
 
 " ' Really, Mr. Gregory, you seem — ' 
 
 " * Nay, Sir, have the goodness to listen 
 to me. I saw your name — long familiar to 
 me — in the stranger's book, and although I 
 had not the pleasure of being personally 
 acquainted with you, I was naturally in- 
 terested w^henever I heard that name men- 
 tioned. What was my regret at always 
 hearing it coupled with others of a character 
 I blush to think of.' " 
 
 " Served him right ; why didn't he blush 
 for himself," said Winter. 
 
 " ' Upon my word, Mr. What's-your-name, 
 you forget Sir — ' 
 
 "'The object of this visit? not for a 
 moment, Sir, and disagreeable as is the task 
 I have imposed upon myself, I do not shrink 
 from it. To be explicit, Mr. Longvale, I 
 have learnt that you spend the whole of 
 your time here in the gambling-houses V
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 75 
 
 " ' And if I do, Sir, what's that to you ?' " 
 
 " Aye, what was that to him ?" said 
 Winter. 
 
 " ' A great deal to me, and much more 
 to you, Mr. Longvale, I know nothing of 
 your present means, but I know you are the 
 heir to a large fortune.' 
 
 " ' And hav'nt I a right to spend it as I 
 think proper ?' " 
 
 "To be sure you have," said Winter, 
 "and you had better pay the bill, and let 
 us toddle." 
 
 ." * Neither you. Sir, nor any man living ;' 
 says the old chap. ' Legally, you have the 
 disposition of your wealth at your command, 
 but morally speaking you are amenable to 
 higher laws than those framed by man. 
 
 *' Bosh !" interrupted Winter. 
 
 " ' Wealth in the hands of a wise man is a 
 blessing, in the hands of the fool a curse. 
 Did you ever reflect, Mr. Longvale, that as the 
 heir to a large fortune, you have a responsi- 
 bility to answer for which does not fall to the
 
 76 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 lot of one in ten thousand. If not, I rejoice to 
 have been the first to remind you of it. Be 
 not deluded with the false notion that you 
 have a reputation to establish as a young 
 man of fashion ; and take the word of an 
 old man, that the vice you are indulging in 
 is one of the hardest to relinquish, that its 
 fierce excitement will make all true pleasure 
 tame, and that, in the end, it will leave you 
 nothing but remorse for a passion which you 
 know yourself to be guilty of, but cannot 
 shake off.' " 
 
 " Why the deuce didn't you get up and 
 shake him off ?" said Winter, yawning, " his 
 prosiness would certainly have made me do 
 that, or else have sent me to sleep; but 
 come, we've finished the bottle, let's order 
 a cab, and be off." 
 
 "There's no hurry," said More, "what 
 else did he say ?" 
 
 Winter yawned. Longvale, whose dignity 
 and prosiness had increased with each glass 
 of wine, said :
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 77 
 
 " You see, Pierce, I did'nt know how to 
 answer him. It might be all devilish true 
 what the old boy said : and he was a mildish 
 old man, so I did'nt like to tell him he was 
 an ass." 
 
 " But what else did he say ?" inquired 
 More. 
 
 " I can't remember exactly what he said. 
 I know he preached one of the longest 
 sermons I ever heard, and made out that 
 gambling, and good dinners, and all that 
 sort of fun were quite a mistake ; he declared 
 they made people unhappy, and talked about 
 young men with my education and advantages 
 having higher aims in life than mere amuse- 
 ment ; and said if one could not do good in 
 any other way, one ought to improve oneself, 
 and set a good example, and all that sort of 
 humbug, and of course hammered away 
 about having too much money. I believe 
 he was a regular old socialist, for he wound 
 up with some quotation about ' the pampered
 
 78 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 creature of society, who has more than 
 enough thieving from his brother.' " 
 
 " Ha, ha !" laughed Winter, " they won't 
 take me up for stealing then ; I don't think 
 I have money to pay the bill." 
 
 " All right," said Longvale. " Put it 
 down to me, waiter, and fetch a cab." 
 
 " Did you ever see your friend again ?" 
 inquired More. 
 
 " Thank goodness ! no. I never was so 
 much bored in my life." 
 
 " I should think not," said Winter, " if 
 he was as prosy as you were Arthur." 
 
 " I wish I knew him :" thought More. 
 And so by accident the old gentleman's 
 homily had found a listener. 
 
 Pierce More was a lover of music : and the 
 opera they went to hear, happened to be one 
 of his favourite pieces. His brain was heated 
 with wine ; and this made him so deaf that 
 he could only hear the swelling fortes of a
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 79 
 
 powerful chorus, and the loud crashes of the 
 orchestra over which their box was placed. 
 The music was more intoxicating than the 
 wine ; he leant back into the shade, and 
 head and heart throbbed as if they would 
 burst. A tumult of thought and passion 
 rushed into his mind. Not the wine alone, 
 nor the music alone could have wrought 
 him to such a pitch, but perhaps the two to- 
 gether did it. Perhaps, a fit of indigestion, 
 perhaps, what thoughtless people call accident. 
 There is no telling how it was. Simply, we 
 know that certain temperaments are and ever 
 will be strangely stirred sometimes. His was 
 so now. He had heard this particular opera 
 many years ago : since then he had had much 
 rough acquaintance with the world. He had 
 witnessed startling scenes, and had experienced 
 much in thought and deed. These scenes, 
 these experiences now moved before him as a 
 melodrama, with grand orchestral accompani- 
 ment. Through the din and confusion, 
 Arthur Longvale's prosy anecdote recurred to 
 him constantly like a nightmare.
 
 80 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Ideas come from no one knows where, 
 they creep in, are turned over, admitted, 
 fostered and adopted for ever. Ideas akin 
 to the sentiments of Longvale's Hom- 
 burg friend had hovered about the portals 
 of More's mind for some days past ; 
 and now, apparently by chance — for thus 
 chance systematically operates — these same 
 ideas were brought to a working focus. 
 Was there, then, any similarity between 
 him and that common-place being, Arthur 
 Longvale ? Alas ! he was compelled to 
 admit there was. Mr. Gregory's advice 
 was applicable to a whole class. Of that 
 class he was as much a member as either of 
 his friends then present. 
 
 The reflection was not agreeable — reflec- 
 tions seldom are when turned inwards ; but, 
 thoudit Mr. More, if this advice does con- 
 cern me, at least I will not be as insensible 
 to it as these thoughtless men. It was 
 galling to a mind like his to make compa- 
 risons between himself and those whom he 
 considered his inferiors — he was not used to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 81 
 
 it, and beginnings are hard ; chance, syste- 
 matic chance, however, forced him. Was 
 he not a gambler worse than Longvale — 
 worse because he actually played more and 
 ought to have known better ? He had tried 
 to give it up but found that impossible ; 
 how despicable to be thus defeated ! how 
 humiliating ! Why did he go on with it ? 
 For the love of excitement ? yes, excitement 
 was delicious, the fiercer the better ; but the 
 reaction — how was that? Painful. Was it 
 possible that self-indulgence, when gratified 
 as he had the power of gratyfying it, could 
 fail to produce happiness ? He had tried it, 
 and seemingly it had totally failed. Not only 
 had it failed, but it had produced exactly a 
 contrary result. Head-aches, heart-burnings, 
 discontent, a want, and a blank, were all it 
 produced. Did the old man talk of higher 
 aims than self-indulgence, of noble gifts 
 perverted, of wasted time, of energies unused, 
 of sloth, of ignorance, of pride, of means to 
 do good without the will to execute, of high 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 responsibility, of self-improvement ? Not 
 new to him these thoughts. But here they 
 v^ere to-night, arrayed in spectral forms before 
 him. 
 
 The opera w^as " La Favorita." The third 
 act had just begun ; the echoes of the last 
 chorus were fading on his senses, and the 
 soft notes of an organ, followed by the plain- 
 tive chant of the choir, stole upon him. 
 The rich harmony, the religious character of 
 the music, the wonderful illusion of the 
 ruined Gothic pile, in all the mysticism of 
 its midnight shade ; the cowled monks, with 
 lantern and shovel moving solemnly along 
 aisle and cloister, to bury their dead ; the 
 imposing silence of the audience — together 
 worked powerfully on his heated imagi- 
 nation; regrets for the past gave place to 
 brighter hopes for the future. He forgot 
 where he was, and a tear stole down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 "I say, Arthur," said Winter, nudging 
 his companion, "look at More; he is distil-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 83 
 
 ling red wine into white ; poor devil ! he's 
 cr\dng diTink." 
 
 More overheard the remark. With a 
 sudden effort at self-command he turned to 
 Longvale and asked him if he had found out 
 where Miss Trammers was. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; she is in the box above 
 us ; I have just been paying my respects. 
 She made all sorts of tender inquiries after 
 you." 
 
 " Come along, More," said Winter ; " let's 
 go and see her. I want to be introduced." 
 
 " I can't introduce you here ; if we meet 
 at Lady Bellfabie's I shall be most happy." 
 
 The opera ended, the trio did not wait for 
 the ballet, but drove straight to the ball in 
 Curzon Street.
 
 84 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A STRING of carriages extended nearly the 
 whole length of the street. Inch by inch 
 they moved on by little jerks, and depositing 
 their gay burdens, the coachmen drove off 
 with a rattle to regale themselves at the 
 nearest public-house. Although the night 
 was hot and close, the rain descended in tor- 
 rents, and none of the thin-booted gentlemen 
 inside the cab were in so desperate a hurry 
 to arrive at their destination, as to prefer 
 walking through two or three hundred yards 
 of slop, to being set down at the door with
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 85 
 
 dry feet, and locks underanged by the cruel 
 necessity of putting on their hats. More 
 looked out to see how long they would 
 probably have to wait ; they were getting on 
 slowly ; each lady had to be handed out 
 with an umbrella over her head. He could 
 hear the music distinctly, and observed a 
 policeman clearing the pavement on the 
 opposite side of the street of a few ragged 
 boys, who were staring at the open window 
 of the ball-room. As he threw himself back 
 in the cab he smiled at an old recollection 
 which framed itself into the following half 
 coherent form. 
 
 " Strange !" he mused, " this recollection 
 which comes across me is almost like one 
 of those sudden fits of prevision, when the 
 mind forestalls each thought and circum- 
 stance before it happens. How long since 
 is it ? It seems ages ago ; yet it cannot 
 be more than ten years at the outside. I 
 remember being led by the sound of a 
 band, in one of my evening rambles.
 
 86 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 to a house somewhere in this very neigh- 
 bourhood. A mob had collected about the 
 doors ; numbers of carriages were driving up, 
 and numbers of very smartly dressed people 
 were being set down. There was a ball 
 up-stairs. I was standing with a little 
 knot of shabby fellows, perhaps idlers like 
 myself, who, maybe, took more pleasure 
 in listening to the merry music than in 
 thinking of the fantastic groups who entered 
 to caper to its measures. Presently I started 
 from a rude push on the shoulders, and 
 received, in a harsh voice, an order to move 
 on. I looked at the policeman for a minute 
 but the badge of authority left me no appeal 
 —I was herded with the herd. 
 
 " For a few moments I paused to take a 
 glance through the open windows — at those se- 
 lect merrymakers, whom it was the policeman's 
 duty to guard from our contamination, and of 
 whose music we were not allowed to taste the 
 notes which fell from the open windows. What 
 a mingling mass of ' black spirits and white,
 
 HIGH AND LO'xV. 87 
 
 red spirits and grey !' coats of all colours, 
 muslin gowns, glittering jewels, and ostrich 
 feathers— all twirling round, and sliding, and 
 hobbing, and smiling, and looking happy. 
 How happy they all seemed ! Little they 
 troubled their heads about anything outside 
 those walls. Little did they care for us poor 
 devils in the streets who had no right — 
 not the smallest in the world to listen to 
 theh' merriment. So, at least, thought L 
 Dance away, twist and twirl and bob and 
 slide away — every dog has his day ! you, 
 perhaps, are not happy though you look so. 
 The object of this hfe is not dancing, and 
 this world was not made for you alone 
 — though polkas, perhaps, may be. Dance 
 away, you will be tired enough by-and-bye, 
 and you are hot enough now, and you will 
 all look like custards and cheesecakes in 
 the morning 1 
 
 "So, at least, thought I, and so might 
 have thought Mutton-face, the butcher's boy, 
 at my side. And so we might all have thought
 
 88 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 — we of the mob outside — but we all had to 
 move on, nevertheless, and silently and sulkily 
 we did it too. 
 
 "When I got home I was more sulky 
 than ever, and I had no body to tell how 
 sulky I was, and so I cried. And why 
 did I cry? Was it because I thought 
 myself one of an ill-used set, and that I 
 sympathized for that set as a portion of a 
 class who, if they attempted to share the 
 pleasures of the rich, might always be subject 
 to the same rough treatment as I had just 
 experienced? Was it that I felt for them 
 a sympathy which the class I belonged to 
 witheld from them ? Was it that I re- 
 flected that these midnight revellers were 
 capering at the expense of these other mid- 
 night labourers ? Not so — no, it was quite 
 different to this ; I was not brought up with 
 such notions ; I was reared the stiff backed 
 child of luxury and pride. To look up, not 
 to look down, had been my teaching. 
 
 " Much as I hated the dancers, I had still
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 89 
 
 less affection for the mobbers. I would sooner 
 have had fifty crowds swept on by rude autho- 
 rities, than that the set to which I belonged 
 should have lost the sacred privilege of listen- 
 ing exclusively to their own polkas. Then 
 why did I cry ? Foolish boy ! I would not 
 have confessed it then, though I laugh at it 
 now. I cried for no better reason than 
 because I was not man enough to go to 
 balls, and because I was lame, and should not 
 be able to dance as others danced, when I did 
 go. Another galling reason was, that 1, who 
 had been turned away like one of the mob, 
 was every bit as proud as the proudest of 
 them in the ball-room. Oh ! some day (I 
 remember thinking), when I grow older and 
 )igger, 1 will go to all their balls ; and if I 
 can't dance — I'll dress as well as they, and be 
 as conceited as they are ; my time will come 
 to be taken care of by the pohcemen and 
 have the crowd turned out of my way, lest 
 they should damp my merriment with their 
 sordid looks. Ten years ago ! yes, ten years
 
 90 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 work great changes, when the necessity of 
 thinking and acting for ourselves breaks the 
 chains of prejudices wound about us by 
 education." 
 
 "Take care, Sir," said a policeman, as he 
 opened the cab door, and offered More his 
 arm, "it is very slippery, Sir." 
 
 More thought of the ragged boys on the 
 opposite side of the street, and, preceded by 
 a groom of the chambers, walked up-stairs. 
 
 He made his bow to Lady Bellfable, but 
 passed on into the crowd ; knowing that 
 anything beyond a passing remark would be 
 lost upon her ladyship in the hurry of re- 
 ceiving her guests. The room was densely 
 crowded; and not seeing any one close to 
 him whom he cared to more than recognize, 
 he took his stand in the balcony ; and while 
 he watched the throng, unconsciously pur- 
 sued the thread of his meditations in the 
 cab. 
 
 " And so this scene, which ten years ago 
 it was one of the objects of my highest
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 91 
 
 ambition to play a part in, is now as familiar 
 to me as my commonest habit ; and instead 
 of being an excitement and a pleasure, it has 
 become a necessary part of my existence. 
 Yes, I have changed; but they have not 
 changed — this crowd — the same ingredients 
 make the sam.e mixture. As many men 
 and women as are in this large room, so 
 many distinct and unlike characters are there ; 
 so many strange episodes in human nature's 
 history; full of joys and sorrows, of love and 
 hatred, of jealousies and friendships, of 
 confidence and distrust, of selfishness, of 
 wisdom, of folly, of all kinds of good, of all 
 kinds of evil. How separate and dissimilar ! 
 and yet how similar in some things ! Their 
 petty ambitions, their mode of life, their 
 good opinion of themselves, their general 
 heartlessness ! And the end of all is pleasure ! 
 Pleasure? See how they elbow each other 
 about, how civil they look, and how uncivil 
 they feel, when' they tread on each other's
 
 92 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 toes, or admire something better than their 
 own ! Some hasty and pushing and out of 
 temper because they cannot get by, others 
 shy and retiring, also out of temper, because 
 they are pushed. Some whom everybody 
 knows and speaks to, others whom nobody 
 takes the smallest notice of. The only ones that 
 look really happy are the young and pretty ; 
 and they perchance would not be happy could 
 they read the thoughts of those who are not 
 young nor pretty; if they could see the 
 wrinkled hearts beneath the wrinkled skins, 
 which grow more wrinkled as they look upon 
 the smoothness of their youngers. 
 
 " And must I too grow old ? Clearly. But 
 not to be, and think like one of these ? Yet 
 in what should I differ ? But all those bright 
 visions that dance in the radaint gar-den of 
 the future — fond companions of my happiest 
 moments — kind, cheering friends of hopes, 
 it matters not how wild — dissipators of 
 despondent melancholy — gallant champions
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 93 
 
 of love and honour, before whom all that 
 is base must flee — will they forsake me? 
 Sooner than be without them — 
 
 " How d'ye do, Miss Trammers ?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. More, I am so glad to see you. 
 Mamma was afraid you would not get her 
 invitation in time. It is, I fear rather a 
 stupid ball. Who are you talking to in the 
 balcony? agreeable, I hope?" 
 
 " The most agreeable person of my 
 acquaintance, at least, to me, Miss 
 Trammers." 
 
 *•■ Indeed, do tell me her name," and 
 the young lady tried to look indifferent. 
 
 " I didn't say anything about her — I was 
 talking to myself." 
 
 " Now really, Mr. More, you get worse and 
 worse. What were you thinking of, that 
 made you seek the retuement of the 
 balcony ?" 
 
 "Nothing particular. I only went there 
 to get out of the crush : I hate to be squeezed 
 to death as if one was a lemon."
 
 94 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " And to be made as sour as one by the 
 
 process — eh ?" 
 
 " Do you mean to be personal ?" 
 
 " You take me up as if you thought I did." 
 
 " You do say sharp things sometimes ; but 
 
 beauties will be beauties." 
 
 " Do you mean to be personal, Mr. More ?" 
 " Yes, of course I do ; you knew that." 
 " Not I ; I did not think you w^ere such 
 
 a humbug ; and then, you know I am not 
 
 vain — now am I ?" with the sweetest smile. 
 " I should hardly accuse you of vanity, if 
 
 you did happen to be proud of your looks." 
 ^' Upon my word, you should have lived 
 
 at the court of Louis Quatorze, Mr. More ; 
 
 your compliments are thrown away in this 
 
 matter-of-fact age." 
 
 "Nay, I was merely stating matters-of-fact." 
 
 " Have you been dancing to-night ?" 
 
 " You know I can only dance quadrilles, 
 
 and this I never do unless I find an agreeable 
 
 partner." 
 
 " I should think you would have no diffi-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 95 
 
 cult3^ if you look round. See, there's Lady 
 Emily Lin thorn e without a partner ; she is 
 clever ; and so pretty ! Why don't you ask 
 her?" 
 
 " Because she is ' so pretty' and gives her- 
 self airs. If I asked her to dance, she 
 would say, ' I shall he delighted ; hut let 
 me see — I'm engaged for three polkas, two 
 quadrilles, and four waltzes — but I shall be 
 very happy to dance with you.' Then I 
 should say : ' It seems you mean me to 
 get rid of some of your partners; which 
 shall I insult, and shoot on the spot ?' Then 
 she would answer, * Oh, any or all if you 
 please ; I always make a hash of all my 
 partners.' Then I : ' Pray make a hash of 
 me, as long as we manage it somehow. 
 Since you have given me hope, I shall 
 never despair ;' and away I should go, dis- 
 gusted with her pei-fidy and conceit." 
 
 " Well, there's Miss Halcyon ; what do 
 you think of her? She's thought very 
 handsome."
 
 96 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 "Not by me. She ivould be a beauty 
 but doubts whether she is one. If I were 
 to ask her, she would be less gracious than 
 a real beauty in pretending the favour she 
 granted was a greater one ; she would look 
 grand and say : * I am afraid, Mr. More, I 
 am engaged ; but really I am engaged for 
 so many dances, that I can't remember about 
 this next.' I should, of course, say, ' I knew 
 beforehand it was hopeless to ask,' and leave 
 her disgusted at her own refusal and at my 
 indifference. But see, here's Lord Pumpton 
 coming to ask you. Do you want him?" 
 
 " Not the least ; but unless you — " 
 
 " Well, then, may I have the honour ?" 
 
 " With great pleasure." A sweet smile. 
 
 " Is Miss Trammers engaged for this 
 quadrille ?" said Lord Pumpton. 
 
 " Yes, I am sorry to say." And Miss 
 Trammers looked the picture of regret. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said More, " he'll think 
 that look was genuine." 
 
 " Let him," said the beauty, laughing.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 97 
 
 " What a shame ! but that's the way all — " 
 
 " All what ? how ungrateful you are !" 
 
 " Not ungrateful ; I fully appreciate your 
 
 kindness to me ; but at the same time have 
 
 not the least doubt you will treat me the 
 
 same whenever it suits your convenience." 
 
 " What shocking opinions you have of 
 people. Did I ever treat you in that way ?" 
 with a look of tenderness. 
 
 " I don't know that I ever gave you a 
 chance. But why did you send Pumpton 
 away ? I thought he was a great friend of 
 yours ; he's always extremely attentive." 
 More said this with a dash of sarcasm in 
 his tone, as if he expected it to produce a 
 positive effect of some kind. 
 
 " Why ?" repeated the beauty, with a 
 charmingly confidential look, rendered more 
 charming by a slight embarassment of 
 manner, " w'hy ? because Lord Pumpton is 
 a bore. He makes himself so ridiculous — 
 he plagues one to death by the most tedious 
 stuff about the heat of the room, and 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 the opera, and racing; and says every- 
 thing in short, that every other man has 
 said fifty times over before he comes. I 
 can't bear those sort of people. I like to 
 be amused — in fact, I like — " with a careless, 
 and, of course unintentional look up at 
 More's face — " I like agreeable people." 
 
 More felt a painful conviction that, as 
 novelists term it, " the eloquent blood was 
 mantling in his cheeks." He was always 
 satisfied in his own mind, that Pumpton was 
 a person of very small consequence, and only 
 wondered how he could ever have instituted 
 a comparison between them so derogatory to 
 himself. 
 
 " And so you like agreeable people ?" said 
 More, feeling his importance augmented by 
 the last remark to the rate of about fifty 
 Pumptons per cent. " Yet, as a general 
 rule, agreeable people are seldom popular. 
 Others are envious of talents they them- 
 selves do not possess. And besides this, 
 people have a suspicion that agreeable
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 99 
 
 talkers are insincere; they try to please 
 everybody indiscriminately, and must con- 
 stantly dissemble." 
 
 " Yes, I fear that honesty and stupidity are 
 but too often convertible terms ; but I hope 
 there are exceptions/* Miss Trammers spoke 
 feelingly. 
 
 " I hope so too ; it were a shame if wit 
 and falseness were equally synonymous." 
 
 " Yet, strange enough, the world prizes 
 cleverness more than honesty." 
 
 " The world we live in does," said More, 
 " but simply because it fears the one quality 
 and despises the other." 
 
 " You seem to have a very exalted opinion 
 of the world, Mr. More." 
 
 " I sincerely wish some one," with an 
 emphasis on the some one, " would comnnce 
 me of my error." 
 
 " It will be your own fault if you are not 
 comanced of that ;" said Miss Trammers in 
 a low tone of voice. 
 
 The quadrille was ended : and as numerous 
 
 H 2
 
 100 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 applicants approached to ask for the honour 
 of his partner's hand, Pierce found that those 
 inconvenient lets called appearances com- 
 pelled him much against his inclination to 
 resign his enviable post, and to retire. The 
 look bestowed on one side, and returned on 
 the other, did not very clearly indicate that 
 either of them was much delighted with the 
 sacrifice they were obliged to make; and 
 when More met Winter in the supper-room, 
 after having undergone the purgatorial in- 
 flictions of the crush upstairs, he was not 
 so elated with an excess of good spirits, but 
 that he readily acceded to Winter's proposal of 
 finishing a bottle of iced champagne deposited 
 by that gentleman behind an unconspicuous, 
 raised pie at one end of the supper tables. 
 
 " Well, old boy," and the speaker filled a 
 good-sized tumbler, and handed it to his 
 friend, " you seemed to be getting on swim- 
 mingly. What a nice-looking girl she is, 
 I wish you'd introduce me." 
 
 ^^ If don't think I shall go up any more,"
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 101 
 
 said the other, replacing his empty glass on 
 the table. " No more wine for me." 
 
 " Nonsense ; there's nothing like it in 
 these melting moments ; what are you going 
 to do to-night, old fellow? How well this 
 wine is iced ! The second glass is better than 
 the first. If you won't introduce me to 
 Miss Trammers, I shall go and shake my 
 elbow for half-an-hour in Bonnet Street. 
 What say you ? let us light our 'baccoes, and 
 walk down." 
 
 "No, I'll be hanged if I do ; I shan't 
 go there again. I am going to give up 
 playing." 
 
 " Ha, ha, I like that, by Jove ! If I 
 had your luck I'd break every bank in 
 London." 
 
 " Luck ! my dear fellow, I tell you I have 
 
 had the d dest i-un of iU-luck this last 
 
 month that ever man had. I tell you in 
 confidence, Winter, my purse won't stand it : 
 I am fairly cleaned out, and owe lots of 
 money into the bargain."
 
 102 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " Nonsense, have another shy ; here's 
 Pumpton. I'll pound it he's going there. 
 I say, Pumpton, are you going to Vieux- 
 champs ?" 
 
 " Yes, will you come ?" 
 
 " I want to come, but here's More says he 
 won't go." 
 
 " What's the matter, has he got the 
 pip ?" inquired his lordship, as he buttoned 
 up his great coat. 
 
 " No, but the sinner has turned saint in 
 his youth." 
 
 " D — d nonsense," interposed his lord- 
 ship, " come on More, I'll lend you a * fiver' 
 to start with." 
 
 " Thank you, I daresay I have got as much 
 as that myself." And piqued with the two 
 last insinuations upon his morals and his 
 poverty. Pierce More accepted the preferred 
 arm of Lord Pumpton, and the three walked 
 on till they reached the steps of No. 70, 
 Bonnet Street, St. James's. 
 
 While the young nobleman communicated
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 103 
 
 all the impatience of his noble birth to the 
 brass knocker on the door : the second tum- 
 bler of Lady Bellfable's champagne caused 
 the area bell to vibrate with unusual fury 
 down stairs. Nothing could have been more 
 supererogatory than these frantic exertions for 
 admittance. A single tap with the knuckle 
 of the forefinger would iiave had all the 
 magical effect upon the gates of this robber's 
 den, that the " open Sesame" had upon those 
 of the more respectable thieves of yore. 
 The bolts of an eccentric Chubb lock retired 
 with a slippy and noiseless jerk to the mys- 
 terious recesses of their own vitals, a sombre- 
 looking man with a white neckcloth opened 
 the street door, admitted the three gentle- 
 men, and instantly turned the Chubb inside 
 out with a grim signifying defiance to the 
 whole constabulary force of the metropolis. 
 Another cat-like face and white neckcloth 
 appeared at a small wicket in a very large 
 door, from behind which, judging from its iron 
 bound aspect, the cat-faced individual at the
 
 ]04 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 wicket could with perfect safety to himself 
 civilly admit, or uncivilly reject any number 
 of visitors whose personal appearances might 
 or might not meet with his approbation. 
 
 " Come, don't be all night !" 
 
 " All right, my lord," said the two sombre 
 gentlemen, as the second barrier to the 
 entrance retired on its hinges, " I hope you'll 
 have good luck, Mr. More." 
 
 The three ascended the staircase, taking 
 two steps at a time, and were met on the 
 landing by the polite and accomplished master 
 of the establishment, who bowed them through 
 the supper-room into the inner sanctum, with 
 expressions of hospitality which showed how 
 cordially they were welcome. A couple of 
 young guardsmen, and a florid-faced man 
 with a profusion of diamond rings and a 
 bald head, were sitting at the hazard table ; 
 two croupiers were attending to the game; 
 and a third individual, whose business ap- 
 peared to consist in handing lights for cigars, 
 and fetching brandies and sodas, stood in the
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 105 
 
 background. This last only occasionally 
 interfered with the table, whenever a bad 
 throw for the caster called forth a volley 
 of vituperative accusations against the 
 croupiers in general, and the dice in par- 
 ticular. Upon such occasions he would step 
 up and with a sublime look of offended in- 
 nocence, cause one die to spin upon the face 
 of the other in so beautiful and satisfactory 
 a manner, as to convince the players by this 
 proof of its perfect balance, that it could not 
 possibly be loaded. 
 
 " Take a seat, gentlemen," said the 
 croupier. " Seven's the main — eleven's the 
 nick." 
 
 " Is that the first throw ?" asked More. 
 
 " Yes, Sir, that gentleman's in great luck 
 to-night." 
 
 " Ten white chips on the * In,' and five 
 pound on the ' hand !' " 
 
 " Stop, Sir, I did'nt hear the ' main'called." 
 
 " Seven again," said the caster. 
 
 "Five to seven. Make your betting,
 
 106 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 gentlemen. Stop a minute, Sir. Five to 
 seven. Now, Sir !" 
 
 A five was thrown : and More, having no 
 money, wrote a check for twenty pounds. 
 We will spare the reader the particulars of 
 a game which it is most devoutly to be 
 hoped he is utterly ignorant of. The result 
 of an hour's play was that More had signed 
 checks to the amount of several hundred 
 pounds ; that Winter had been also a small 
 loser ; that all the party had imbibed a large 
 quantity of spirituous liquors, and that the 
 supper was on the table in the next room. 
 
 More sat with his back to the fire, and 
 next to the florid-faced man with the bald 
 head. The florid-faced man — if so unchari- 
 table an inference might be deduced from 
 the extreme irritability of every feature in his 
 countenance ; or from the violent manner in 
 which he crushed the legs and wings of a 
 snipe between a ponderous pair of jaws that 
 knocked down one of his shirt collars at 
 the very onset ; or from the peppery tone in
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 107 
 
 which he requested his neighbour to give 
 him the salt — appeared to bear his share of 
 the general loss with much less than his 
 share of the general stoicism. 
 
 His temper had not been improved by an 
 accident of which More was the innocent cause. 
 While conveying to his lips a very full glass of 
 port wine, More's elbow had the misfortune 
 to come in contact with his arm ; and by far 
 the larger portion of the ruby-coloured fluid 
 was precipitated down his throat, but be- 
 tween his white neckcloth and the outside 
 of that passage ; thus, by one act disappointing 
 his stomach, destroying his linen, and adding 
 caloric to his temper. 
 
 Lord Pumpton, who had finished his 
 supper, and was warming his back at the 
 fire, with difficulty suppressed a very strong 
 inclination to laugh: at the same time, 
 however, he encouraged an equally strong 
 inclination to keep the ire of the florid- 
 faced man up to the boiling mark. He had 
 been amusing himself before this little di-
 
 108 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 version by crumbling a piece of bread and 
 throwing the crumbs into the fire. An 
 irresistable impulse seized him at this critical 
 moment to drop a few of these crumbs upon 
 the shining and hairless pate in front of him. 
 The first experiment was executed with the 
 utmost caution. More was the only person 
 who observed it. The florid-faced man merely 
 intimated that he was aware of a tickling 
 sensation on that part of his person by 
 passing his hand two or three times over the 
 smooth surface from which the crumbs had 
 rolled clean away. 
 
 Lord Pumptonwas about to repeat the opera- 
 tion, when More, who had risen in the mean- 
 time, caught his hand and detained it in the act. 
 At that instant, the victim of the joke happened 
 to raise his eyes to a looking-glass in front, 
 wherein he distinctly saw the attitudes of 
 the two figures behind him. With that rapid 
 action of the mind by which it sometimes 
 comprehends at a glance the connexion of 
 cause and effect, he saw at once the present
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 109 
 
 intention, he recollected the tickling sensation 
 that had not yet subsided. He determined 
 in his own mind which was the aggressor, and 
 which was the defender ; he resolved upon one 
 step to be taken. Taking that one step, he 
 changed his position with a celerity of motion 
 that would have done credit to a semaphore, 
 and planted a very powerful fist upon the 
 bridge of More's nose. The collision of the 
 fii'st impellent was communicated through 
 the first body at rest to the second, against 
 which that body was impelled. In less 
 scientific terms, More's head was driven like 
 a battering ram into the pit of Lord 
 Pumpton's stomach. And that gentleman's 
 head in turn was driven against the looking- 
 glass with a velocity that produced a star of 
 the first magnitude in the piece of furniture, 
 and a variety of small constellations within 
 his lordship's pericranium. 
 
 On recovering the first shock, a natural dis- 
 position to combativeness suggested to More 
 the propriety of resenting the injury in a
 
 110 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 mode similar to that in which it had been 
 committed. But as certain apprehensions with 
 regard to their own safety operated upon the 
 minds of the bystanders, they rushed to the 
 rescue, intent upon the prohibition of further 
 bloodshed ; and — while More with his bloody 
 nose was staggering and struggling in the 
 arms of his peacemaking friend, Mr. Winter 
 — Monsieur Vieuxchamps and the three crou- 
 piers appropriated to their several custodies 
 the legs, arms, and body of the infuriated 
 gentleman of the bald head. 
 
 " Vieuxchamps !" screamed he of the florid 
 
 face, " get off, you ; if the wants 
 
 to fight me, I'll give him my card." 
 
 " Your card," shouted the other belli- 
 gerent, "you •, bald-headed, drunken 
 
 old cheesemonger, do you think I would 
 
 condescend to shoot such an in snob 
 
 as you. If I get at you I'll pummel your 
 whole body till it is as blue as your nose." 
 
 "Be quiet, for God's sake, More," said 
 Winter, in a pacifying tone of voice. " We
 
 HIGH AND LOW. Ill 
 
 shall have the police breaking in pre- 
 sently." 
 
 " Oh, let the blackguard alone," said Lord 
 Pumpton, just descending from the clouds of 
 insensibility, and arranging his hair in the 
 shattered looking-glass, with no evident in- 
 tention of pursuing the conflict. " He 
 knows very well that if you had a mind, you 
 could grease his head and swallow him 
 whole. But the best way is to let him 
 alone. Come, let us be off!" 
 
 " The cowardly 's !" growled the bald 
 
 headed man, hoarse with rage, and coupling 
 the above adjective with a very choice 
 epithet. "They are going to sneak off; but 
 I shall catch some of you one of these days. 
 Let me go, Vieuxchamps, or I'll break your 
 head next." 
 
 But Monsieur Vieuxchamps, as if to 
 provide against so pleasing a contingency 
 only kept the tighter hold ; and, observing 
 to his croupiers with profound wisdom and 
 foresight, that so long as the gentlemen were
 
 112 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 left together, they would call each other all the 
 blackguards they could think of, he with 
 some persuasion and more pulling, removed 
 his charge to the adjoining room. 
 
 More, who had been effectually sobered 
 from his first state of excitement, was now 
 gradually calming down from his second; 
 and as the object of his animadversion was 
 removed, he began to see how ridiculous and 
 contemptible it would be to recommence a 
 round of fisty-cufRng with a vulgar and low 
 bred ruffian, whom he had been brought into 
 contact with, only by his own folly and indis- 
 cretion. It required little persuasion, there- 
 fore, to get him out of the house ; and this 
 accomplished, tranquillity was once more 
 restored. 
 
 The gas lamps were already beginning to 
 look dim through the first grey hues of day- 
 break. More had left his companions and 
 was walking slowly towards his chambers in 
 the Albany ; a confused review of the after- 
 noon's events, amongst which the scene in
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 113 
 
 the gambling-house was most prominent, was 
 passing through his mind. He was about to 
 cross Piccadilly when he was accosted by a 
 man whose sordid rags and haggard cheeks 
 betrayed the signs of unfeigned want and 
 misery. He seldom refused a beggar when 
 he had any small change about him, but 
 he was in no humour to stop and unbutton 
 his coats, and search for a sixpence in 
 pockets which had just been so completely 
 emptied. He hardly looked at the man 
 who begged of him, indeed he purposely 
 inclined his head in a contrary direction; 
 and increasing his speed of walking endea- 
 voured to release himself from the pre- 
 sence of misery which his conscience hinted 
 to him it would have been more creditable to 
 relieve. The beggar still followed. 
 
 " What do you want ?" said More. " Go 
 away ; I have nothing to give you." 
 
 " For the love of God, Sir, help me if you 
 have it in your power." 
 
 There was something in the tone of the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 speaker's voice — something too in the manner 
 of expressing himself — which made More 
 turn and look at him. 
 
 " Yes, Sir," said the man, as if interpret- 
 ing the meaning of the investigation ; " I am 
 not what I look; at least I was not always 
 so. If you have a Christian heart listen to 
 me." 
 
 " Of course you fellows always have a 
 story to tell. The half of you beggars were 
 in better circumstances once ; it's a regular 
 dodge. I tell you I have nothing to give 
 
 you." 
 
 The last of these sentences was uttered in an 
 accent which a less practised ear than that of 
 the suppliant's might have easily translated into 
 a readiness to give, if the speaker had had it 
 in his power at that moment to do so. The 
 beggar saw the impression he had made, 
 and entreated if the gentleman had nothing to 
 give, he would at least listen to his story. 
 Pierce, whose heart was made of anything 
 hut stone — butter would be a more applicable
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 115 
 
 illustration of its natural obduracy — had no 
 ready excuse at hand, he therefore slackened 
 his pace, and, lighting his cigar, ended by 
 sitting on a door-step, while the beggar 
 narrated the following tale. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " I AM the youngest son of a large family. 
 My father was a clergyman, and an excellent 
 scholar. At his hands I received an educa- 
 tion that might have fitted me for a dis- 
 tinguished university career. But I *had 
 
 no sooner entered at College, than I 
 
 became intimately acquainted with a young 
 man of fashion, who introduced me to his 
 numerous friends ; at that time the most 
 dissipated set in the whole university. They 
 were mostly young men with either rank or 
 prospects far above my own. They were all well
 
 HIGH AND LOW. llj 
 
 off, but all extravagant beyond their means. 
 They rode steeple chases, kept hunters, gam- 
 bled high, were excellent billiard players, 
 and were particularly proud of being seen 
 in the betting ring at Newmarket. Upon 
 every occasion they acted in open defiance of 
 general decorum and of the university regula- 
 tions ; and although such a breach of discipline 
 would have been visited with the severest marks 
 of displeasure upon undergraduates of humbler 
 pretensions — the tutors, so far from remon- 
 strating or exposing their misdeeds, seemed 
 rather to court and play the sycophant in pro- 
 portion to the flagrancy of their conduct. 
 
 " Living exclusively, as I did, with such a 
 a set, I found it impossible to escape from 
 the vortex of their debaucheries. Eman- 
 cipated from the guardianship of a rigidly 
 virtuous home, I entered with zest into 
 their habits of excess. I had no money to 
 pay my bills ; but the company I kept was, 
 I suppose, a sufficient voucher to the trades- 
 men for my respectability ; and naturally of
 
 118 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 a proud disposition, there was no extrava- 
 gance they committed which I did not feel 
 bound to imitate, or exceed. 
 
 "At the end of two years, most of my 
 companions having the privilege as members 
 of noble families to graduate in that time, 
 I was left to prepare myself for the 
 final examination. All I had learned from 
 my father's tuition had been forgotten in 
 riot and dissipation. I foresaw that to 
 enter for my degree could only be attended 
 with disgrace. The importunity of my 
 creditors by no means dispelled the qualms 
 of conscience which now tormented me. 
 I knew that the disappointment of my 
 family, and especially of my father, would 
 be a serious blow for me to inflict. I had 
 no alternative but one. My father's elder 
 brother had inherited the bulk of the family 
 property. He had one daughter, and I was 
 his favourite nephew. At the beghining of 
 the long vacation, before going home, I took 
 my place in the coach for the nearest town
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 119 
 
 to his country-seat, and presented myself at 
 his house with, the hold resolution to make 
 a full confession of the baseness of my past 
 conduct. 
 
 " He received me with cordiality, and, to 
 my utmost concern and dismay, congratu- 
 lated me on my industrious behaviour at 
 the university ; expressing his hearty wishes 
 that I should verify the assurances my father 
 had given him of my ultimate success at the 
 examination. His utter ignorance of my 
 real condition rendered it almost impossible 
 for me to make the disclosure ; and I know 
 not how I should have mustered sufficient 
 courage to w^ound his feelings, if the kind 
 intervention and womanly tact of my cousin 
 had not then assisted me. To her I had, 
 on my arrival, communicated the real object 
 of my visit. She entered into the em- 
 barrassing nature of my situation with the 
 most tender sympathy. We devised a 
 thousand schemes for breaking the intelli- 
 gence to her father, but rejected all when
 
 120 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 we came to the conclusion that she alone, by 
 awaiting her opportunity, could relieve me 
 from the scrape, and ensure his forgiveness. 
 
 "Even with strangers, my cousin Louisa 
 had the most fascinating and persuasive 
 manner. Her father doted on her ; she 
 was his only child. It is not then to be 
 wondered at, that she had little difficulty in 
 appeasing his anger, and obtaining his 
 promise to assist me. He reprimanded 
 me severely, yet not unkindly ; but added 
 that, although it was easy to overlook my 
 extravagance, he was less ready to pardon 
 my deceit when there had been so little 
 occasion for it. He desired to have all 
 my bills sent to him, and, receiving from 
 me my word of honor that I would not 
 gamble in future, dismissed me to my father, 
 with injunctions to tell him everything except 
 the amount of my debts, which he (my uncle) 
 had promised to pay for me. 
 
 " I had been at home some months ; the 
 first disappointment at my failure had
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 121 
 
 subsided ; I was beginning to be weary of 
 inactivitv, and lono-ed for the excitement 
 of travelling, or a profession. My father's 
 numerous family made him also anxious that 
 I should now begin to provide for myself; 
 and, as he felt he could never trust too im- 
 plicitly in the kindness of his brother, I was 
 sent to my uncle to ask his wishes and 
 advice on the subject of my future prospects. 
 As usual, he received me with open arms : 
 and, informing me that he could not then 
 decide what course I had better adopt, insisted 
 on my making his house my home, until he 
 had chosen me a profession. 
 
 " My uncle's wife had not been dead 
 many years. Of all the women I ever 
 knew, she approached the nearest to per- 
 fection. Since her death, my uncle had 
 lived a life of perfect retirement. He 
 devoted his whole being to the happiness 
 and education of his daughter. With 
 that daughter, and in the house of that 
 recluse, I passed six months of perfect
 
 122 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 enjoyment. At the end of that time, I 
 loved Louisa, and Louisa loved me. My 
 uncle was not blind to the state of our 
 feelings towards one another. Nor did he 
 cast any obstacles in the w^ay of our in- 
 creasing intimacy. But he was aware of 
 the dangers of a too early marriage, and, 
 knowing the importance it was to his 
 daughter's future welfare, that I should 
 undergo some experience before I involved 
 both her and myself in an irretrievable step, 
 procured me a commission in a cavalry 
 regiment in India, which I was compelled 
 to join without delay. 
 
 " It was not till the last moment before 
 my departure, that I declared to Louisa how 
 passionately I loved her. She encouraged 
 me to hope for glory and distinction. She 
 promised to write by every mail. We ex- 
 changed vows of eternal constancy, and I 
 tore myself aw^ay from my happy home. 
 
 " I was about three years in India. I had 
 distinguished myself in several of the severest
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 123 
 
 campaigns and, by the greatest good fortune 
 escaping the fate of many of my brother 
 officers, had succeeded to their rank by the 
 most rapid promotion. All this time I had 
 been constantly receiving the happiest as- 
 surances of Louisa's unchanged attachment ; 
 and when at the end of three years I obtained 
 six month's leave of absence, it was as the 
 accepted lover of my cousin that I was wel- 
 comed to her father's house. 
 
 "My uncle now saw how much his daughter's 
 happiness depended upon our immediate union. 
 My conduct during the three years of my 
 absence had re-established me in his good 
 opinion. He had but one objection to give his 
 consent. That one was the parting v>ith his 
 only child. But, in his unselfish consideration, 
 his own happiness was not long permitted to 
 interfere with ours. Before he was aware that 
 it had been our mutual intention not to rob 
 him of this one consolation, he joined our 
 hands and, giving us his pious blessing, was 
 in his own estimation amply rewarded for the
 
 124 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 sacrifice he made, by the contemplation of 
 our complete happiness. 
 
 " I will not attempt to describe the enjoy- 
 ment of a state, I had unceasingly looked 
 forward to for nearly four years. The beauty 
 of my wife was, comparatively speaking, a 
 trifling charm when compared with the tender 
 and affectionate nature of her disposition. 
 Each day I learned to love her more and 
 more. Each day, in my eyes, she grew more 
 beautiful, more fascinating. Our love was 
 insatiable. We lived only for each other. 
 
 " One only thought marred this delicious 
 dream, it was the prospect of our quickly ap- 
 proaching separation. My leave of absence had 
 nearly expired, and notwithstanding the regi- 
 ment to which I belonged, had but one more 
 year in India, in order to complete the fixed 
 period of its foreign service, I felt as if this 
 year was a lifetime that would separate me 
 for ever from the object of my devotion. 
 
 " I should not here forget to mention that 
 before my marriage, on my homeward passage,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 125 
 
 I had fallen in with my old college friend, 
 who had been travelling for his amusement 
 in the East. Our intimacy was renewed 
 with all the warmth of early friendship. 
 He congratulated me sincerely on my success 
 as a soldier, and heartily wished me joy of 
 the happy prospects before me. He ex- 
 pressed a natural curiosity to see the woman 
 I was for ever describing to him with all 
 the enthusiasm of a romantic lover; and 
 promised in answer to an invitation I gave 
 him, to pay me a visit as soon as I was 
 settled in my new condition as a husband. 
 
 " It was on the eve of my departure that I 
 heard he was visiting at a country house in 
 the neighbourhood. I immediately wrote to 
 ask him to come and see me. He accepted 
 the invitation, and remained with us till the 
 day I sailed. His easy and courteous manner, 
 his frank and manly appearance, and his long 
 standing friendship for me, soon won him 
 the regard and affection of my wife and 
 uncle ; and amidst the sorrow of my leave-
 
 126 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 taking it was a consolation to all of us, when 
 he promised to cheer them in my absence by 
 as long and as frequent visits as his other 
 engagements would permit him to make." 
 
 Here the beggar paused, and after some 
 minutes continued : 
 
 " The sequel to this chapter of my story 
 is too evident to a man of the world. I 
 need not detain you, Sir, with details which 
 I dare say are of every day occurrence, but 
 which, I trust, you may never know by ex- 
 perience as I have done." 
 
 Again the beggar paused, and appeared 
 to be undergoing a painful struggle with his 
 emotions. He leant against a lamp-post for 
 support, large drops of perspiration burst out 
 on his forehead, his chest heaved, and his 
 breathings became quick and laboured. 
 
 Pierce was touched by the beggar's mis- 
 fortune, and felt anxious to hear the con- 
 clusion of his story ; but he also felt it would 
 be unkind and inconsiderate to rip up an 
 old wound, by making the narrator recall
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 127 
 
 recollections so evidently painful to him. 
 He therefore told the beggar he must leave 
 him for the present, but, assuring him of his 
 readiness to afford aU the assistance in 
 his power, appointed a place to meet him 
 some time in the forenoon of the following- 
 day. 
 
 The tears that trickled down the beggar's 
 face, showed the sincerity of his gratitude. It 
 had been many a long day since those foun- 
 tains had been dried with the scorching 
 fierceness of his pent-up wrongs and sorrows. 
 Of many a busy passenger he had asked com- 
 passion, that is, he had asked for halfpence 
 to buy the bread which prolonged his miser- 
 able existence. He had tried for work, but 
 once or twice had been refused. He had 
 not the heart to try again; nor could he 
 tell to every idle and scornful mocker the 
 deep secret of all his woes : No, he was too 
 proud to purchase life, at the price of pr - 
 claiming to the world the infamy of her 
 whom he loved more than all the world
 
 128 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 beside. It was a moment of abject wretched- 
 ness, indeed, that made him forget his proud 
 resolve. Nevertheless he had forgotten it, 
 and had spoken. But Providence had sent him 
 a ready ear, a heart full of compassion ; and 
 amid his tears there came a smile. God's 
 mercy had touched the withered heart of 
 misery.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 129 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 The next morning More rose with a 
 headache and a pair of black eyes. He 
 could not eat his breakfast, so he drank a 
 tumbler of light claret, ate a bunch of grapes, 
 lit his cigar, and threw himself upon the sofa. 
 
 The combination of mental and physical 
 neuralgia, which he there enjoyed, was none 
 the more bearable when he reflected how 
 richly it was deserved, how often he had 
 suffered rom exactly the same malady before, 
 and how very very often he had resolved 
 never to suffer from it again. Of course, as 
 he rolled over from side to side, seeking 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 130 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 relief to his restlessness in every possible 
 change of posture, and cooling his feverish 
 head on a fresh place in the cushion — of 
 course, he made another and a firmer reso- 
 lution to reform his evil habits. But this 
 resolution naturally reminded him he had 
 not kept the last, and that it was not very 
 much use making new ones if they were 
 always to be broken. 
 
 The reflection had a sad damping influence 
 upon his good intentions. It seemed hopeless 
 to improve at all. He remembered, a long 
 time back, looking forward to some distant 
 period when he would have become so 
 much better* a man as to be altogether 
 above the foolish temptations which then 
 beset him. Yet here he was, up to the latest 
 hour of his life — he had never been so old or 
 so wise as now — stretched on his back, and 
 suffering from the effects of one of the most 
 humiliating vices a man could be guilty of. 
 He remembered, in days gone by, to have 
 looked on to the times to come ; and to have
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 131 
 
 promised himself immeasureable happiness in 
 the innocent and useful life he meant to lead. 
 And how had that life been led ? How had 
 that Past passed away ? and what was that 
 Futiu'e that had now become a Present? 
 It used to be a very mysterious future once : 
 it w^as a very evident Present now : not 
 answering at all to those former expectations, 
 but disappointing and distressing indeed, to 
 contemplate. The old forecasting had been 
 through a misty veil, behind which there was 
 a sun; the retrospect was through as puz- 
 zling a maze as that had been : but looking 
 back, the confusion increased with the ob- 
 scurity : and now the ghost of that dead Past 
 rose up wdth menacing scowls, and shook 
 its skeleton finger, and said with truth- sound- 
 ing tones, " What is done cannot be undone. 
 Bear that in mind, and be blue-devilled as 
 you well deserve !" 
 
 With the memory of neglected duties, many 
 of which had been reviewed the night before 
 
 K 2
 
 132 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 at the opera, came visions of a state more 
 future than the most distant days of this 
 life. These were mightily unpleasant. For 
 Pierce More, poor wretch, had huilt his 
 views of things to come on no sound rock. 
 No blazing beacon lighted him to the resting 
 haven ; all his lights were will o' the wisp 
 affairs, which he knew would deceive him 
 when he followed them. 
 
 As a child he had been trained in the way 
 he should go, neverthless he had departed from 
 it. He had been rigidly instructed in the 
 Church Catechism; had been confirmed; had 
 even said the Lord's Prayer, at two years old, 
 without a fault. Twice every Sunday he had 
 been sent to church; and if he slept or laughed 
 when there, was made to learn the collect 
 and epistle, till now he knew^ them nearly 
 all by heart. Even as a child he had always 
 had the dangerous habit of thinking; and 
 often asked for explanations of things diffi- 
 cult to be explained. Once indeed he told his
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 133 
 
 pastor that the Athanasian creed was to his 
 mind, a mystification ; and that it was evident 
 the devil had had a hand in the final clause. 
 The good pastor's dismay may be imagined. 
 
 His religious education had, in truth, not 
 been neglected. But after education — travel- 
 ling in foreign countries, much contact with 
 his fellow men, some of whom were far more 
 bigotted than any he had yet seen, and some 
 again more liberal in their ways of thinking 
 — undermined the first foundations ; and 
 compelled him, in self-defence, when he saw the 
 strange diversity, and heterogeneous nature 
 of thinking men's opinions on these vital 
 questions, to form some judgment of his own. 
 
 Then came that arch-fool pride of scep- 
 ticism, persuading that as all men erred, he 
 was no worse than they ; that what none could 
 know, was but conjecture with the wisest. 
 Who should dictate God's laws to him ? 
 Why this man a prophet more than that ? If 
 there were proofs for, there were proofs 
 against these revelations, whereon creeds were
 
 134 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 founded. Above all, that truths of last im- 
 portance should be truths in the West, and 
 lies in the East, could not be; — one or both were 
 right ; one or both were wrong. Was it then 
 blasphemous to doubt ? So he had been taught 
 in youth ; but chance had placed him in the 
 company of doubters. He was not respon- 
 sible for chance ; nor for the ideas and doubts 
 which chance suggested. Again these doubts 
 arose from exercise of that reason which God 
 had given him for a guide. He might err ; 
 his reason might be weak and wrong ; but 
 error was not crime. 
 
 Long to doubt on matters of such deep 
 concern is repulsive to nature. He thought 
 he had been bold ; thought his conclu- 
 sions were firm and fixed ; but, determine as 
 he would, the ground beneath him was a 
 shifting sand ; and with all his pride and 
 self-gratulation on his boldness ; still he re- 
 mained 
 
 •* In doubt to deem himself a god or beast." 
 
 Had he a soul immortal ? There was the
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 135 
 
 doubt, neither passion, nor prejudice, nor 
 thoughts of hell flames could solve. To use 
 and not abuse the gift of life — was it not 
 enough ? What more than virtue, could the 
 dignity of the soul demand ? Established 
 dogmas were after all mainly speculations — 
 they might be established superstitions. Virtue 
 was its own reward — not always — the wicked 
 triumphed — the just were oppressed. Yes ! 
 here calm reason — even man's poor sense of 
 justice called for a future state. And if he 
 had a soul — a serious thing to have — a 
 serious thing to be without — it was worth 
 looking to . 
 
 When men have wet their feet they care 
 not how deep they wade. More had passed 
 the Rubicon, Cisalpine provinces of faith were 
 left behind. Beyond, lay fields of battle where 
 the subtle hordes of reason and conscience 
 should henceforth struggle for dubious 
 victory. 
 
 We cannot harp for long on one dis- 
 cordant string ; and this one was sadly out of
 
 136 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 tune. So was the whole instrument. From 
 Epicurus, his thoughts trained on to Mam- 
 mon, and Astarte, But the discord was 
 as great, for the headache was no hetter, and 
 this was nothing to the heartache. 
 
 Pierce groaned and sighed, and thought it 
 was a hard lot to be chained in dulness and 
 inactivity to the soft springy sofa. *' Why had 
 he been born ?" That oft put question. " No 
 man's lot was worse than his — no man could 
 be more unhappy." Then he began to 
 compare other men's lots with his own ; and 
 from a long list he could not pick one so 
 much to be pitied as himself. Till presently 
 he thought of the beggar and his story. This 
 at once arrested his selfish flights. Here was 
 one more wretched than himself. And whv 
 more wretched ? Great misfortunes had 
 afflicted him. But he had not himself to 
 blame. His conscience, at least, was unbur- 
 dened. No ! all misfortunes were lighter to 
 bear than a sense of shame and guilt. Yet 
 another of the beggar's ills was poverty.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 137 
 
 Hard-fisted, unrelenting, griping poverty ! 
 Hem ! it must be hard to starve. Misfortunes, 
 and a bad conscience might possibly be a trifle 
 more unpalatable to an empty stomach than 
 to a full one. 
 
 More rolled round upon his sofa. It was a 
 very easy sofa ; and considering what a bad 
 headache he had, the wet muddy flag-stones 
 out of doors, would under the circumstances, 
 have been inconvenient to reflection. Yet 
 the beggar reposed on such ! 
 
 He cast his eyes round his apartment : it 
 was the cabinet of a virtuoso ; the study of a 
 man of letters ; the drawing-room of an 
 exquisite; the museum of a traveller. He 
 smiled at his own taste and accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 His thoughts w^ere in another channel. 
 His eye rested on the portrait of a dear 
 friend. The portrait was by himself, and 
 discovered great power in the artist. The 
 friend was dead. His thoughts were divided 
 between a melancholy reminiscence of the
 
 138 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 friend; and a satisfactory contemplation of 
 his own artistic merits ! 
 
 His piano was open, he had half a 
 mind to try its chords: but the frivolous 
 inclination passed noiselessly into the fifth 
 quarter of the globe : thither transported by 
 the ghastly grin of a dried New Zealander's 
 head. Then miles, and thousands of miles 
 by land and sea were traversed and re- 
 traversed in one drawing of the breath. 
 What many things he had seen, what many 
 remained to see. Here a struggle for 
 life ; there a love affair ; a raging fever ; a 
 kindred spirit seen, and loved, and parted 
 with for ever ; a fight, a carousal ; the long 
 looked for news from home ; the earthquake ; 
 the raging tempest; the sublime face of nature 
 in frozen ice-peaks, in glowing tropics. And 
 so homewards to the round table within 
 arm's length of the sofa, whereon lay a 
 miniature, and a heap of tradesmen's bills 
 unopened. 
 
 Back, back to poverty in an instant !
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 139 
 
 Piano, portraits, New Zealander's head, and 
 all the valuables in the room would have to 
 be sold up to pay those accursed bills. This 
 pending surplus on the debtor's side of his 
 account was a bug-bear of some standing. 
 As often as it visited him, he tried to forget 
 it : but its visits of late had become more fre- 
 quent and more importunate. It was be- 
 coming pretty obvious to him that he must 
 soon do more than shut his eyes, or he would 
 get such a hug from the bear as he could ill 
 put up with. The deficit must be choked, 
 or it W'Ould swallow him. 
 
 Clear as this was to his understanding, he 
 still lived on without making any positive 
 effort to avert the dies ires. On the contrary, 
 he grew more reckless as his fate grew more 
 inevitable. He gave more orders, paid less 
 ready money, and gambled more than ever. 
 He shrank from the memory of last night's 
 debauch, and the fresh incubus which his 
 losses entailed. He saw no remedy what- 
 ever, no loophole whereby to escape his ruin.
 
 140 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Even to relieve the starving want of the beggar 
 would leave him penniless. Yet to send that 
 man empty away would be the bitterest pang his 
 extravagance could inflict, or his pride sustain. 
 
 He tore open two or three of the biUs. 
 Some were enclosed in attorney's letters 
 requesting immediate payment, with the 
 penalties in case of refusal. Amongst his 
 letters were invitations to balls and evening 
 parties ; one from Lady Bellfable which he 
 thought was written in the daughter's hand. 
 His heart beat quickly as he examined the 
 characters of the hand-writing. He threw 
 it down, afraid to think of what these feelings 
 might lead to. Marriage ! What had he to 
 do with marriage ? He should hardly be able 
 to keep himself from starving in a little while 
 perhaps. Did he want to starve Miss Tram- 
 mers, and, perhaps — ? Again his heart beat, 
 and he blushed. 
 
 Another cover contained a large card with 
 the Duchess of Phatanappy's name upon it. 
 He thought of the time when the receipt of such
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 141 
 
 a card was the height of his ambition. When 
 he saw such cards as these stuck in the look- 
 ing-glasses of all the fashionable young men 
 of his acquaintance, and would have taken 
 any amount of pains to obtain one to orna- 
 ment his own chimney-piece, and excite the 
 envy of younger men than himself. He 
 looked at the card twice ; and was ashamed 
 to think that he was actually tempted to stick 
 it on the chimney-piece ; but he thought 
 how contemptible this would be, and even 
 took the trouble to throw it into the fire. 
 
 And now what cheer ? A small note and a 
 woman's hand-writing — more palpitations of 
 the heart ! Better by far live in the wilder- 
 ness, beware of pleasuredom, and seek a 
 " world of glass." But dry wood will 
 burn. What another of the elect ! Even so, 
 poor daughter of sin and shame ! She once 
 had reigned as queen of hearts. What 
 filthy kennels the clearest streams are some- 
 times turned to ! The paper swelled in
 
 • 
 
 142 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 little blots where tears had fallen on the 
 words. He read : 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I write as a suppliant. Condemn me not 
 with scorn, for you cannot know the suffer- 
 ings which have driven me to this extremity. 
 Perhaps you hate me ; I have treated your 
 addresses with contempt ; I have told you 
 that I hated you ; and with truth I told it 
 you. When with foul offerings you thought 
 to purchase my guilt and misery, you saw 
 me degraded to the lowest depths of shame 
 that woman's nature can endure. You mis- 
 took my hollow mirth for unblushing want 
 of modesty, and you believed my wantoness 
 to be at the command of the highest bidder. 
 
 " I do not murmur, I do not blame you. 
 Once I sinned against God and man. The 
 vengeance that pursues me I acknowledge 
 to be just. Would to heaven I alone 
 might bear the wretchedness which I alone
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 143 
 
 deserve. But there are others upon whom 
 the evil of my sin has fallen. My child ! and 
 that child's father. 
 
 " Sir, it is to you — whom in the bitterness 
 of my heart I have unjustly cursed — to you, 
 upon whom I have no earthly claim, except 
 that of having saved you from a hideous 
 crime, that I now appeal. Oh ! do not re- 
 member me as you have seen me — submitting 
 to the insolence of the fiend you blindly call 
 your friend. Hear the passionate cries of a 
 mother pleading for her child ! Hear the 
 broken-heated accents of a penitent wife ! 
 Soon this voice shall be for ever still ; who 
 then shall pray for mercy for the helpless 
 orphan ? 
 
 '* You are rich. I have seen touches of 
 kindness in your nature. You would have 
 made me worse — more sinful than I am. 
 You have escaped a base act ; will you not 
 now do a noble one ? As you hope for 
 mercy fi-om your Heavenly Father afford pro-
 
 144 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 tection to the child who soon will have no 
 parent. At least come to see me /" 
 
 Pierce read the note over mechanically a 
 second time while he pondered on its contents. 
 
 " Is there nothing but misery in this world ? 
 Misery ! The lot of this mother about to 
 leave it, the lot of the child about to enter 
 it ! Yet some it spares, and why not others ? 
 Why not all ? If He that rules be good ? 
 Granted this misery is the wage of sin. 
 But life is sin. Forced to live, I am forced 
 to sin. 'Twas no wish, no fault of mine to 
 live ! Why then am I to suffer for what I 
 cannot help ? Again, the wages of sin are 
 death. Not enough to suffer here — but here- 
 after also I must suffer. 
 
 " Great God ! A secret power moves my 
 mind to feel and to acknowledge that Thou art 
 good. Oh ! why am I so blind ? Why see 
 alone the chastisement, and be denied the power 
 to worship the design ? If there be light to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 145 
 
 illumine our darkened minds, teach us 
 where to find it ! T know that Thou art 
 good. It were easier to believe there is no 
 God, than to believe that Thou art evil." 
 
 He paused and buried his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Yes," he presently continued ; " I have 
 hopes in Thy mercy ; and I will protect this 
 woman's child !" 
 
 He rose to ring the bell, but his servant 
 entered and announced Mr. Winter. 
 
 " How are the eyes, old fellow, after that 
 brute's rough handling last night ?" inquired 
 the visitor, throwing himself into an arm- 
 chair as he spoke. " Not much the worse, I 
 hope ?" 
 
 "No," said More, "the swelHng's gone 
 down, but I expect they'll be black for a 
 week. Confound the feUow ! he has given me 
 a splitting headache, and I have had a fit of the 
 blues all the morning. What will you have — 
 some light claret ? It's very fair tipple for 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 hot weather. There's some white curacoa 
 and cherry-brandy in the hqueur-case." 
 
 " No thank ye ; I'll ring for some pale ale 
 and soda-water." 
 
 In going to the bell, Winter's eye fell on 
 the note More had just been reading, and 
 which now lay open on the tahle. 
 
 " Hulloa !" said he, taking it up, " a billet 
 from Flora ? what says my beauty ? May 
 I read it ? I'll be bound to say she pays 
 me a pretty compliment." 
 
 More hesitated to answer; and Winter, 
 who had turned his back to hide a slight 
 twittering in the muscles of his face, soon 
 skimmed through its contents. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha !" he laughed, as he coolly 
 folded the note and returned it to its cover ; 
 "that is an exquisite piece of composition, 
 and deserves to be framed. She is tired of 
 me and wants a new lover. I told you she 
 would come round at last ; that dodge of 
 hanging back was only to whet your appetite.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 147 
 
 I should recommend you to strike while the 
 iron is hot. These women are capricious 
 devils, I can tell you. Ton my life she's 
 'cuter than I thought she was 1" 
 
 " What do you mean, Winter ? you can't 
 persuade me that this letter is humbug? 
 The poor woman says she is dying." 
 
 " Dying ! yes, I should think so ! Why, 
 confound her impudence ! I only parted from 
 her an hour since, and she wanted me to 
 give her ten pounds to pay for a supper 
 party. Dying ! ha ! ha ! I like this. W^hy, 
 you can't be such a goose as not to see 
 through such a bare-faced trick as this ! She 
 wants you to adopt her brat, and then she'll 
 swear you are the father of it. D — n these 
 women ! it's always the case : no matter how 
 much kindness you show 'em, they are sure 
 to turn upon you at last. Just see how she 
 abuses me now ! For the last three years 
 she has been a regular sinking fund to me. 
 She has cost me mints of mone}^, and now 
 hasn't a penn'orth of gratitude for all my 
 
 L 2
 
 148 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 kindness. I didn't mean to throw her over, 
 but considering how ill she behaves, and how 
 deucedly 1 am out of pocket by her, 1 think 
 it's high time to let her shift for herself. To 
 change the subject, what shocking bad luck 
 we all had last night ! I lost most awfully. 
 You came off pretty well, didn't you ?" 
 
 " Not I : I believe I was the heaviest 
 loser of the lot." 
 
 " But what's a few hundreds to you ? 
 If I were a rich fellow like you. More, I 
 would spend a thousand a-year in gambling, 
 willingly." 
 
 " A thousand a-year, my good fellow ! 
 why I haven't much more to live upon. 
 The fact is, I have been losing money, and 
 fooling it away for the last eighteen months : 
 and I'll be hanged, Winter, if I don't think 
 it's your confounded example." 
 
 " Come, come, that's too bad : you know, 
 my dear Pierce, I am about the steadiest 
 man of your acquaintance. But you don't 
 mean to say you are really hard up —
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 149 
 
 I was going to ask you to back a bill for 
 me." 
 
 " I would in a minute if I could ; but on 
 my honour I am deuced near cleaned out ; 
 and what's more, see nothing for it but to 
 bolt." 
 
 " Well ! I'm all for a short life and a 
 merry one. But never say die while there's 
 a shot in the locker. Moreton ought to 
 be good for a round sum." 
 
 " Don't hint at it ; I wouldn't sell More- 
 ton on any account." 
 
 " I confess it is a bore sending the halls 
 of one's ancestors to the hammer ; but you 
 can put it up the spout for a time." 
 
 " It's already mortgaged to the park walls ; 
 and money is so scarce that one could not 
 raise much on it now." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; I fancy you might 
 get ten or fifteen thousand pounds, easy 
 enough. Haven't you any money in the 
 funds?" 
 
 " Yes, but they're so low I don't like to
 
 150 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 sell out. The fact is, I am so confoundedly 
 ignorant about business matters, that I 
 shrink from facing lawyers and their red 
 tape. I wonder who I could consult on 
 the matter." 
 
 " Who is your own agent or man of 
 business ? He is the man to go to." 
 
 " He is the biggest fool in the world, and 
 perfectly useless." 
 
 " Then I would go to the man who holds 
 the mortgage on your estate : he is the most 
 likely person to advance you a further sum. 
 Do you know who he is ?" 
 
 " I ought to know him ; he receives half 
 my income. He is an attorney of the name 
 of Bellerby. By-the-way, it used to be 
 " Bellerby and Winter," I believe — a name- 
 sake of yours." 
 
 " Lor ! fancy having an attorney for a 
 namesake ! But it's a common enough name. 
 WeU, I should advise you to write to him on 
 the subject at once, and ask him all the parti- 
 culars."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 151 
 
 " I will ! rU write by to-day's post. 
 What time is it ? Why it's three o'clock, 
 by Jove ! and J have only just finished break- 
 fast. Confound it ! now that is provoking ! 
 I never thought of it till now." 
 
 " What ? — thought of what?" asked 
 Winter. 
 
 "Nothing; only I promised to meet a 
 man at one to-day, and I forgot all about it." 
 
 " Most likely he will have forgotten all 
 about it too." 
 
 More knew well enough that the man 
 with whom he made the appointment was 
 not at all likely to have forgotten it — poor 
 fellow ! he might be starved by this time. 
 
 " Very likely ;" he said. 
 
 " There's somebody at the door ;" said 
 Winter. 
 
 " Come in !" 
 
 A servant entered, and presented a note 
 to More. 
 
 " From Longvale," observed More, as he 
 broke the seal, and read aJoud :
 
 152 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 "My dear Pierce, 
 " I am going to Mona in a day or two, 
 and wish you would come with me, and stay 
 till the first week after the twelfth. Our moors 
 are not worth much in Wales, but I hear 
 there are a good few birds; and I dare say 
 we can make it out somehow. I am going 
 to ask Gerard Winter to be of the party. 
 As to who will be there besides, I can't say. 
 The only person I hear is asked, is the 
 old stick-in-the-mud who, I told you, lectured 
 me at Homburg as an old friend of my 
 father's. Just fancy what a bore ! I expect 
 to catch it. I hope my cousin Eda will 
 be there; I should hke you to know her. 
 She is a regular stunner. I hope you are 
 none the worse for the row I hear you got 
 into last night. Let me know if you will 
 come. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Arthur Longvale." 
 
 " P.S. There's a report that Pumpton
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 153 
 
 is to marry Miss Trammers, and that he pro- 
 posed and was accepted last night at Lady 
 Bellfable's." 
 
 " P.P.S. You had better bring your 
 rods." 
 
 " Do you mean to go ?" said Winter. 
 
 "Go? I don't know. Ha! ha! ha!" 
 laughed More, hysterically, " Miss Trammers 
 going to marry that fool Pumpton ! Wonders 
 will never cease. She told me last night — 
 actually last night — that she thought him a 
 tremendous bore." 
 
 " Ah ! that was before he proposed. It 
 does not give a woman much trouble to 
 change her mind." 
 
 " It appears not. Well, if she isn't a flirt, 
 I never saw one." 
 
 " My dear fellow, they are all alike." 
 
 " Oh ! it's disgusting, upon my life. I 
 can't believe it — it is too absurd !" 
 
 " What ? — that Miss Trammers should 
 accept a coronet and twenty thousand a-year ?
 
 154 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 I don't think it is so very absurd when you 
 come to think of it." 
 
 " No, but then a man like Pumpton, who 
 positively hasn't two ideas to bless himself 
 with. And besides, when I remember all 
 the things — Well ! one lives and learns !" 
 And More lit a cigar, and puffed away as 
 if determined the affair should end in smoke 
 one way or another. 
 
 " Any answer, sir ?" enquired the servant, 
 with his hand on the door. 
 
 "Yes, stop a minute. Give me the 
 blotting-book off the writing-table. There 1" 
 said he, folding up the answer, *' I'll go to 
 Mona Castle as soon as Longvale likes. I 
 am sick of London and everything else." 
 
 " Well, I must be off," said Winter, " I 
 must go and leave some pasteboards. Ta! 
 ta 1 Don't forget to write to Billyboy, or 
 whatever you call him. I hope you'll be all 
 straight by the time we meet at Mona. 
 Take care of yourself !"
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 155 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 So saying, Winter left the room. We 
 also will leave Mr. More to arrange his 
 pecuniary difficulty, and to enjoy, as he no 
 doubt would, the pleasing intelligence that 
 Miss Trammers was to become the bride 
 of Lord Pumpton. A disappointed lover 
 and a bankrupt is not the most agreeable 
 of companions. When More was alone 
 with himself, he experienced for the first time 
 in his life the truth of this position. He 
 had yet to learn the real bitterness of these 
 hostile weapons of " outrageous fortune."
 
 156 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Winter had played his part judiciously. 
 Ever at More's elbow, the force of his in- 
 sidious example had answered his most san- 
 guine expectations. By a long' and patient 
 course of, what may be called, methodical 
 villainy, he had dug that pit into which his 
 quarry was now about to fall. By encou- 
 raging on every occasion More's natural bent 
 for extravagance, Pierce had at last reduced 
 his dilapidated fortune to a state nearly allied 
 to ruin. The suggestion he made to 
 More to relieve his difficulties by borrowing 
 money, was, in the eyes of his unsuspecting 
 victim, the natural advice of an amiable 
 friend. He had not even mentioned the 
 name of Bellerby. He had cunningly led 
 Pierce on to propose the negociation with 
 his own attorney. If this scheme had failed, 
 he meant to have produced Bellerby by way 
 of an accidental acquaintance, with whom he 
 had money transactions, as a fitter person 
 for the emergency than any Pierce might 
 have named. He also intended to have
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 15? 
 
 made his share in the matter so great a 
 favour as to have induced More to back 
 his bill in reward for his assistance. This 
 main object was not, however, lost sight of; 
 but he devised another plan for executing it. 
 Instead of leaving visiting cards, as he had 
 just pretended to be his intention, he has- 
 tened to his lodgings and wrote the following 
 note to Mr. Bellerby. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " It is now nearly three months since you 
 last heard from me. I have not been idle. 
 The important moment is arrived. The 
 citadel has surrendered at discretion, and 
 requires immediate support to repair the 
 injuries sustained in its protracted siege. 
 By the same post you will receive a demand 
 for supplies. I caution you. If you value 
 them, make them dear. The present state 
 of the money market is a sufficient blind 
 to a mouse whose knowledge of business is 
 about equal to an attorney's sense of morality.
 
 158 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 On no account accede to his request. Your 
 interest, as well as mine, depends on your 
 positive refusal. He knows of no under- 
 standing between us, so remember my name 
 is Junius. 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 " G. W." 
 
 Primed with this information, Mr. Bellerby 
 being of opinion that the danger of obeying 
 Winter's injunctions was fully counter- 
 balanced by the danger of acting in opposi- 
 tion to them, wrote to More as he had been 
 directed. This disappointment to his anxious 
 hopes for a temporary support, again reduced 
 Pierce to a state of despondency. He had 
 made Winter his confidant. Without doubting 
 this man's integrity, he had formed the highest 
 opinion of his shrewdness and perspicacity. 
 His only expectation now depended on 
 Winter's advice ; and of this he resolved to 
 avail himself as soon as their meeting at 
 Mona should afford him an opportunity.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 159 
 
 It was on the day before his departure 
 from town, that he again fell in with the 
 beggar whom he had desired to meet him 
 there three days previously. Saville Row had 
 been the place appointed for the interview. 
 They had parted at the Piccadilly entrance to 
 the Albany ; and the beggar concluding that 
 the liberal-minded gentleman had chambers 
 in the arcade, had watched for his exit each 
 succeeding morning. 
 
 His patience was at last rewarded. As 
 More was sallying forth to make a few 
 farewell visits, the beggar accosted him ; 
 and reminded him of his charitable promises. 
 Pierce at once recognized the unfortunate 
 object who had already excited his interest 
 and compassion. He, however, was not 
 prepared to hold a long conversation in 
 the public street with so ragged an ac- 
 quaintance. Feeling rather ashamed of his 
 protege, and still more ashamed at his 
 own want of moral courage, he told the 
 mendicant to follow him back to his chambers.
 
 160 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 As soon as they were seated, and the beggar 
 had drank a glass of wine, and eaten a few 
 mouthfuls of a game pie, which More fetched 
 with his own hands from the pantry, the 
 ragged story-teller, at the instigation of 
 his host, resumed his narrative from the 
 point of interruption on the preceding 
 night. 
 
 " I did but hint," he began, " at the most 
 fatal catastrophe of my life. I cannot now 
 recur to it in calmness. I dare not recall the 
 state of mind I endured for months. It 
 was next to madness. I hardly know what 
 became of me. I believe I made many 
 attempts to destroy myself I had no 
 sooner recovered sufficient strength to leave 
 the sick chamber where I had been confined, 
 than 1 escaped from the hands of my relations, 
 and, without leaving any traces of my steps, 
 directed all my energies to the discovery of 
 the wretch who had poisoned the foun- 
 tain of my whole existence. One in his 
 position in society was not difficult to find.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 161 
 
 " When I had ascertained his residence in 
 London, my first impulse was to way-lay him 
 at night, and secretly plunge a dagger into 
 his heart. But I changed my mind. I did 
 not shrink from the fate of a murderer : I 
 should have given myself up at once ; and have 
 been glad to die. I had nothing more to live 
 for — the last tie to earth had been snapped. 
 But I thought the act was cowardly : and again 
 — so sudden a fate would have robbed me of 
 my full revenge. I waited a more fitting 
 moment ; and following him to the door 
 of his club, I caught him standing amidst 
 a knot of friends. A riding whip in my 
 hand, and hardly giving him time to start 
 at my unearthly apparition, I seized him by 
 the collar, and exclaiming ' Devil ! Coward ! 
 and Beast ! I thus chastise you !' struck him 
 two or three times in the face with all my 
 strength and passion. 
 
 " The friends around him, one of whom 
 was also an acquaintance of mine, inter- 
 posed, and hurried him within the club 
 
 VOL. L M
 
 162 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 doors. I waited outside, and in a minute 
 or two was joined by the person who knew 
 me, and who had heard the cause of the 
 insult. He offered to be my second. It 
 was needless to talk of a reconciliation. 
 A meeting was arranged for the following 
 day : and, that I might not keep my ad- 
 versary waiting, I walked to the ground that 
 evening, and remained on the spot all night. 
 
 " You have read of a thousand duels : you 
 may have witnessed one for aught I know. 
 I will not trespass on your patience. It was 
 not my intention to kill him, as I before 
 told you. I had acquired considerable skill 
 in the use of the pistol while in India ; my 
 object was to wound him in such a manner as 
 to render him an unsightly cripple for life. 
 Too anxious in my purpose, I failed. My shot 
 left him untouched; and I received a wound 
 which in a few moments rendered me insen- 
 sible, and unable to fire again. 
 
 *' Believing that my wound would prove 
 fatal, my enemy had left the country for
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 163 
 
 North America. I did not follow him, 
 as might have been expected. By the time 
 I had recovered from the effects of the 
 shot, all my angry passions had given 
 place to a sullen state of dejection. When 
 I thought of my wife, it was as of one dead 
 and lost to me for ever. I had no wish to 
 see her; but rather hoped that she might 
 never again cross my path. My only wish 
 was to die. How many have wished the 
 same, and have been condemned to live ! 
 
 " During my illness, I had been kept in a 
 hospital, where the acquaintance who had been 
 my second had placed me at my own request, 
 SufRciently restored to be no longer in need 
 of medical attendance, I was obliged to quit 
 this place of shelter. I was entirely destitute 
 of means ; and, although more inclined to 
 starve than provide for my subsistence, a 
 sudden desire possessed me to join the 
 Indian army, and seek a grave in the 
 first battle I was engaged in. T repaired 
 
 to Chatham, where the th was re- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 cruiting. My new resolution had inspired 
 me with new life, and I longed to be enlisted 
 and to quit for ever my native land. 
 
 " Notwithstanding my health was much 
 impaired by the two illnesses, my con- 
 stitution was naturally vigorous, and I 
 never questioned the fact of my making an 
 acceptable recruit. I, who had been an 
 officer, had no excuse for so great an 
 oversight. I might have known the exami- 
 nation a private soldier is subject to before 
 he enters the ranks ; probably I underrated 
 the serious consequences of my wound. 
 The surgeon of the regiment declared my 
 lungs to be injured, and that it was impossible 
 for any surgeon in the army to admit me. 
 I was in despair. I even confided to him a 
 part of my story. I told him 1 had been 
 an officer in the army, had received the 
 wound in a duel, had accidentally lost all my 
 property, and had no other means of recover- 
 ing my position as a gentleman than by 
 returning to the profession which I had left,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 165 
 
 in the hope of gradually rising from the 
 ranks to the station I once held. 
 
 " He was an amiable man, and professed to 
 take an interest in my case, which he repre- 
 sented to the head of his department at the 
 Horse Guards. I obtained an interview with 
 an officer who possessed considerable influence 
 with the authorities, and who for some time 
 held out expectations of an exception being 
 made in my favour. By these promises I was 
 kept for several weeks in a state of suspense. 
 Till finding those to whom I made appli- 
 cation wearying at my solicitations, I per- 
 ceived that my purpose was futile, and 
 resigned it in disgust for any occupation 
 chance might throw in my way. 
 
 " The exertions I had been making had in 
 some measure mitigated my sorrows, and 
 lessened my aversion to activity. One day, 
 glancing at the supplement of the ' Times' 
 newspaper, in a small coff'ee-house, I acci- 
 dentally read in the columns of advertise- 
 ments, * Wanted, an attorney's clerk, in one
 
 166 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 of the market towns in the north of Eng- 
 land/ 
 
 " I had from the first moment of my dis- 
 grace adhered to a firm resolution never to 
 return to my own family, or to that part of 
 the country with which such painful associa- 
 tions were connected. This town was situ- 
 ated in a part of England far from my 
 own home, and I thought, if I could obtain 
 the situation under the assumed name of 
 Taylor, I might pass the remainder of my 
 days in tranquillity and obscurity. 
 
 " Fortune for once favoured me, and 
 partly through the intercession of an angel 
 of light, the attorney's daughter, to whom 
 I imparted an outline of my history, I 
 obtained the humble office I aspired to. For 
 the space of three years I acquitted myself 
 in that office to the entire satisfaction of my 
 employer ; until an accident again cast me an 
 adventurer upon the world. 
 
 " By the merest chance I became possessed 
 of a secret scheme of villainy between my
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 167 
 
 master and man who I believe had once 
 been a partner in the firm. The desire to 
 discover the whole plot, and save the person 
 whom they designed to ruin, was now my 
 only excuse for remaining under that roof. 
 I used the most careful vigilance to detect 
 the conspiracy, but could lay my hands 
 on no document relating to it. I once 
 thought of laying the matter before a magis- 
 trate, and bringing my fellow-clerk to 
 swear to the conversation he had overheard ; 
 but esteem and gratitude to my kind bene- 
 factress constrained me to be silent : and with 
 nothing to support me but the reward of my 
 own conscience I left my situation, to beg my 
 way up to this great sink of wretchedness, 
 where the ablest efforts of an honest man in 
 vain compete with the crafty expedients of 
 every kind of turpitude. 
 
 " Visit the haunts of burglars and felons ; 
 picture to yourself scenes of vice and misery 
 more horrible than you could believe to exist, 
 and you may have some idea of the tragic
 
 168 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 parts I have been forced to play, and ani 
 familiar with. 
 
 " Would you tell me that a naan of education, 
 and with a will to apply it, need never starve — 
 need never come to this ? I would have 
 said so once. It is a common assertion of 
 those who live in affluence. Yes ! 'tis easy to 
 be very poor, and yet to live. But to be 
 without a penny, without one friend — to 
 live and still be honesty is harder than they 
 think for ! 
 
 " Sir, my story is ended. I know not who 
 you are ; but were you to put a hundred 
 pounds into my hands this minute, I could 
 not thank you so sincerely from my heart, as 
 now I do, for that one tear of sympathy. 
 May God Almighty bless you, and, if one 
 poor sinner's prayers avail in heaven, may you 
 be rewarded as you deserve 1" 
 
 More's heart was too full to answer, or he 
 would have told the beggar that he. Pierce 
 More, was much the greater sinner of the 
 two, and much the less deserving of the two.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 169 
 
 And if any one ever did deserve the very 
 contrary treatment to reward, it was he. And 
 the possibility that such reward might, at no 
 very distant period, be meted to him, made 
 his past life still more hateful to him than 
 it had ever appeared before. 
 
 " No, no !" said Pierce, with his heart at 
 the top of his throat. " Don't talk so my 
 good fellow, I don't deserve it, I don't 
 indeed ! Here, here's ten pound for you. I 
 wish I could give you more — but — but just 
 now I have no money about me. Oh, non- 
 sense !" he continued, as the beggar thrust 
 back the note ; " you must take it. Come, 
 I will only lend it to you then ; and if I can 
 get something for you to do, you shall pay it 
 back again when you are well off. You 
 must come and look me up again when that's 
 done. Now I must run out for I'm late, so 
 good luck to you !" 
 
 They parted at the entrance to the Arcade. 
 More got into a cab and drove off to Bel- 
 gravia. The beggar waited till he was
 
 170 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 out of sight; then returning to the porter's 
 lodge asked the name of his benefactor. 
 
 " Mr. More," said the porter gruffly. 
 
 " More !" exclaimed the beggar ; " do you 
 know where he lives in the country ?" 
 
 " What's that to you ?" said the porter, 
 more gruffly ; " ax ! and find out ! if you vants 
 to know. He aint a pal o' yourn, is he ?" 
 
 The half sneer, half grin, which accom- 
 panied this last sally of the porter's wit was 
 meant as a final answer. The beggar re- 
 membered his rags, and walked away. 
 
 In the course of the day an indistinct 
 recollection came across him that Posthumus 
 Mobbs had said something about Mr. More 
 of Moreton being a lame man. He could 
 not be sure that he had heard this ; but there 
 was at all events a possibility that the man 
 who had been so kind to him was the iden- 
 tical person in danger of being ruined, and 
 that he might have a speedy opportunity of 
 showing his gratitude by acquainting this
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 17 1 
 
 gentleman with the conversation which Pos- 
 thumus had overheard. 
 
 The chance of making some return for the 
 benevolent treatment he had just met with, 
 added joy to his present good fortune. He 
 wrote to More stating what he had learnt 
 from Mobbs : at the same time mentioning 
 the names of Bellerby and Winter, and ex- 
 cusing the step he had taken, in the supposi- 
 tion that he was addressing the person whom 
 the information really concerned. He carried 
 this letter with him the next morning to the 
 Albany. More had already left town : but 
 the porter put the letter in his pocket ; pro- 
 mising to have it forwarded, or to deliver it 
 to the gentleman on his return from the 
 country.
 
 172 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MoNA Castle is situated in one of the 
 most beautiful districts in North Wales. 
 Portions of the ancient building are supposed 
 to be of a date prior to the conquest. 
 According to muniments, still in possession 
 of the family, it is said to have been 
 conferred by Edward I. upon one Simon 
 de Longuevalle, a military tenant of Mor- 
 timer's, who had the good fortune to slay 
 the unhappy Lewellyn with his own sword, 
 and received the demesnes of Mona as the 
 reward of his personal prowess. 
 
 The castle retains at the present day few
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 173 
 
 traces of early architecture. The rude 
 hands of the elements, and the still rougher 
 handhng of the civil wars have left but the 
 mere outline of its feudal aspect ; and, although 
 it still has the appearance of a baronial castle, 
 much of this appearance is merged in a peace- 
 ful atmosphere of modern domesticity. 
 
 The huge, uneven pile stands on the crest 
 of a thickly wooded eminence. The road by 
 which it is approached winds up a steep 
 ascent. On the other side, a succession of 
 terraces end abruptly in a precipitous declivity, 
 at the bottom of which, embedded in birch 
 trees and alders, runs a deep and rapid 
 stream. The upper flights of terrace are laid 
 out in flower-beds of every shape and hue. 
 At one end, the garden is enclosed by a broad 
 ballustrade of white marble ornamented 
 with casts of the most celebrated of the 
 Grecian statues. At the other, it terminates 
 in a square plot of grass, tended with as 
 much care now as when the game of bowls
 
 174 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 was the favourite amusement of its earlier 
 possessors. 
 
 The court-yard is entered by an archway 
 so completely overgrown with ivy that the 
 Longvale arms, surmounting the porch, are 
 almost concealed. Indeed the arms them- 
 selves are so worn and defaced that a learned 
 antiquary would be puzzled now to make out 
 the boars' heads on the shield, or even the 
 rampant wolves that support it. 
 
 The hall is a lofty room, the whole height 
 of the centre of the building. The greater 
 part of it is filled by the oak staircase, which 
 is nearly as dark as ebony, and broad enough 
 for twenty men to march up a-breast. To 
 the left of the hall, and on the same floor, 
 is a long gallery, a division of which is 
 still used as the family chapel : the other 
 part remains as a library. This room over- 
 looks the flower- terraces and the deU beyond 
 them. One of its windows is towards 
 the rising, the other towards the setting
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 175 
 
 sun. Always bright and cheerful, it forms 
 a pleasant contrast to the sombre old 
 chambers on the other sides of the 
 castle. 
 
 The dining-room, which corresponds, on 
 the opposite side of the hall, is one of the 
 most perfect specimens of its class in the 
 kingdom. Its shape is oblong ; with one 
 deep recess for the windows. The panels in 
 the wall are richly inlaid with ebony. The 
 ceiling is formed by intersecting arches, 
 the apex of the groins bearing the crest, 
 the monogram, the arms, and the motto 
 of the Longvales. Above the paneling, is 
 a sort of entablature whereon are painted in 
 brightest colours grotesque figures of armed 
 knights sallying forth fi'om a castle no bigger 
 than a mouse-trap ; and melancholy damsels 
 playing lutes, the finger-boards of which are in 
 the clouds ; with gaudy pages standing behind 
 them, to w^hom the perspective gives such 
 prominent positions, that they appear to be
 
 176 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 walking on their mistress' heads. The large 
 stone mullions in the windows obstruct the 
 light: while all that enters is subdued and 
 tinted by stained-glass, also bearing the arms 
 and mottoes of the family. Over the large 
 oak chimney piece is suspended a burgonet, 
 with a corselet and tasset adjoined. They 
 are preserved as relics of the harness worn 
 by one of the Lords de Longuevalle in the 
 Holy Land. 
 
 What thrilling images of chivalry and the 
 dark ages these tokens recall I Alone in their 
 presence we forget the anachronism of cos- 
 tume, and are for the moment Amadises of 
 chivalric zeal. Behold ! a score of armed 
 knights are seated at the festive board, 
 haughty dames are listening to their tales of 
 warlike deeds, planning some new scheme to 
 prove their loyal daring. We choosing 
 some radiant beauty from out the throng 
 kneel to her, and while she ties her scarf 
 across our mail-clad breast, swear eternal
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 177 
 
 constancy and love ! — Oh, fatal bathos ! Two 
 plush-legged footmen enter to lay the cloth, 
 and a mob-capped housemaid comes to stir 
 the fire. That distant ratthng sound is no 
 clump of spearmen ranging the fair cham- 
 paign. We know too well the familiar rattle 
 of the " bounder." 
 
 " The hill's enough to make 'em blow — 
 Through the archway, post-boy ! The new 
 gravel is heavy with the rain." The chaise 
 pulls up : More's servant rings the noisy 
 hall bell. Arthur Longvale is there in a 
 minute ; and welcomes Pierce to his uncle's 
 house with a manner that becomes the heir 
 apparent well. 
 
 " 1 thought you weren't coming, Pierce ! 
 You never said what day you'd be here. 
 Well, I'm deuced glad to see you. I ex- 
 pected Winter would have come with you; 
 but I suppose he'll be here by a late 
 train." 
 
 " How long does it want to dinner, 
 Arthur ?" 
 
 VOL. L N
 
 178 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " About a couple of hours, I think. 
 Would you like to see your room ? or shall 
 we have a game of billiards ? It's a first-rate 
 table." 
 
 " Hadn't I better go and pay my respects 
 to his lordship ?" 
 
 " He isn't come home yet. He's out 
 riding with my cousin. She only came back 
 to-day. She has been staying with my 
 father, who is laid up with a fit of the 
 gout." 
 
 '' Who are the party here ? anybody I 
 know ?" 
 
 " No, nobody I think. They are all coun- 
 try people, except, by the way, the ' porpoise,' 
 whom you know." 
 
 " Heaven defend us ! What a splendid old 
 house this is." 
 
 "Yes, it's a fine thing in its way. I'll 
 show you one or two of the rooms." 
 
 As they looked into the drawing-room they 
 saw three or four ladies at work. The two 
 young men, as young men always will be.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 179 
 
 were alarmed at the formidable conclave ; and, 
 begging pardon for something that was 
 neither heard nor spoken, instantly with- 
 drew. 
 
 " Whereabouts is my room ?" said More. 
 
 " Come along, I'll show you." 
 
 It was a curious old tapestried apartment, 
 with an enormous bed in an alcove ; which 
 might be shut off at pleasure from the rest 
 of the room, by a pair of heavy faded damask 
 curtains. 
 
 Longvale hoping that his guest approved 
 of the quarters, and that he had got every- 
 thing he wanted, left him to the care of 
 his servant who was busily engaged in un- 
 packing the portmanteaux. 
 
 A strange room in a strange house is not 
 usually comfortable. But there is a degree of 
 adaptability and an air of repose about these 
 old chambers, in our English country-houses, 
 which soon make one on the best of terms 
 with them. Besides this, Pierce had an 
 excellent valet. And with a handy servant, 
 
 M 9
 
 180 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 who thoroughly understands his master's 
 habits — who never puts the right slipper on 
 the WTong foot, who is quick without bustling, 
 who knows where his presence is required, and 
 where his absence, and who has, moreover, 
 the happy knack of making any room in five 
 minutes look like his master's own room — it 
 is no hard matter to be physically comfortable. 
 The two or three hours before dinner, in a 
 large country-house, ere one can legitimately 
 and honourably retreat to one's private apart- 
 ment, are often the most tedious in the day ; 
 especially when the days begin to shorten, and 
 out-door amusements are exchanged for the 
 dullness of the unlighted drawing-room. But 
 what a luxury is the coziness of your parti- 
 cular fire as the time for dressing approaches ! 
 — a time when men betake themselves to 
 dressing-gown and slippers, and stick their 
 feet upon the fender with a conscious pride 
 of having done a good day's work — in other 
 words, of having got an appetite for dinner ; 
 when women wash down what little appetite
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 181 
 
 their luncheon left them \^^th a cup of tea, 
 and take a nap to make them fresh for the 
 evening ; or sit for half an hour hefore the 
 looking-glass to have their hair done, and 
 read, the while, the last new novel. It is a 
 cozy time, indeed ; and More, with all his 
 grievances, as he sat buried in an arm-chair, 
 screening his face with his book, could not 
 help smiUng to think how cozy and comfort- 
 able it was. 
 
 Pierce would have been glad to have 
 enjoyed for any length of time this state of 
 luxurious repose. But he was troubled with 
 that peculiar temperament to which modern 
 physiologists have applied the compound term 
 of nervous-bilious: and this idiosyncrasy 
 entailed upon him the severe infliction of an 
 active mind. As, therefore, it had befaEen 
 him the day before, under afflicting circum- 
 stances, to wonder at the unequal distribution 
 of misery in the world, and to experience 
 certain rebellious feelings at the apparent 
 caprice of fortune to his cost ; so, now — as he
 
 182 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 drew his silk dressing-robe around him, and 
 felt that his chief care for his maintenance 
 of present comfort consisted in keeping 
 the soles of his feet from scorching — it 
 occurred to him that fortune's whim was 
 far more apt to treat him in this way than 
 in any other. And it required no great skill 
 in logic to bring him to the conclusion that he 
 had as little right to claim the one condition, 
 as he had to be exempt from the other. 
 
 Coupled with this conviction, a very un- 
 defined sense of duty again crossed his mind. 
 Again he asked himself, " was he born for no 
 higher mission than to lounge in cushioned 
 chairs ? To dawdle through life — useless to 
 himself — and to everybody else ? He was 
 fast wearying of this slothful monotony. 
 But what was he to do ? He did his best, 
 when called upon to do so. The mother 
 pleading for her defenceless child whispered 
 a reproof. But then, this must be a lie? 
 Winter had seen her just before, and she 
 was in perfect health. Yet was there an air
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 183 
 
 of truth about the letter ; and if by chance it 
 should be true, and if Winter— it was not the 
 first suspicion he had entertained of Winter's 
 good faith— should be deceiving him, would 
 he not have to answer for a neglect of duty 
 
 here? 
 
 ''But he was so badly off, he could 
 not do much for the poor creature. What 
 on earth could he do ^Yith a child three 
 years old ? After all, there were hundreds, 
 nay, thousands of women in the same pre- 
 dicament. Poor things 1 it was a sad fate, 
 that of those lost women: and ten times 
 worse in a case like this of an educated 
 woman ! There were for them but two ways 
 of averting their wretched fate : one to repent 
 the other Heaven I what an alterna- 
 tive ! to bury misery in excess of misery, 
 to heap vice upon vice, sin upon sin, till con- 
 science, memory, heart, reason, and remorse 
 were all palsied, and blotted out. Bah ! what 
 devils' work it is! And this poor wretch 
 with a soul— if any had one— most iJl-adapted
 
 184 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 to her fate, more pitiable than others ! Why 
 were men like Winter, who committed such 
 crimes, not permitted to see the full extent of 
 misery they brought with them ? Did Winter 
 talk of her ingratitude ? Could he forget 
 the injury he had done her? If he did, if 
 he saw her suffer and felt no shame, if he 
 abandoned her without regret, without 
 an effort to save her, surely some retributive 
 justice would punish the crime !" 
 
 From one subject to another, More fell 
 to conjecturing how soon Winter might 
 arrive, to advise him as to the means of 
 procuring money. The reflections he had a 
 few minutes before been indulging in, mate- 
 rially injured Winter in his estimation; 
 but, these suspicions of his friend's honesty 
 did not the least affect his high opinion of 
 Winter's resources in all matters where 
 monetary difficulties w^ere concerned. On 
 him, as we have before seen, he mainly 
 relied for immediate pecuniary relief 
 
 His thoughts took another turn, and he
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 185 
 
 began to speculate on the probable characters 
 of the party into which he was about 
 to be introduced. He knew none of them, 
 personally, except his friend Arthur. Long- 
 vale had often spoken to him of his 
 uncle ; describing him as a somewhat bigoted 
 aristocrat ; captious to all who differed from 
 his opinions ; exceeding proud of his family 
 descent ; profusely hospitable ; slightly whim- 
 sical ; and truly warm-hearted. One of the 
 guests, with whom Pierce was fiiUy prepared 
 to become intimate, was the old gentleman, 
 whose timely admonitions to Arthur had found 
 their way into several of his late reveries. 
 
 For the lady portion of the company, 
 he felt no particular interest — nor, as yet, 
 curiosity. Miss Trammers had occupied 
 what small chambers of his heart had been 
 to let ; and, although those apartments were 
 now vacated, some preparatory sweepings 
 and whitewashings were necessary, before 
 they would be again in a fit condition to 
 receive another tenant.
 
 186 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Sleepy, and not the least hungry, he was 
 roused by his valet, and informed that the 
 dressing-bell had sounded a quarter of an 
 hour. Pierce, without foppishness, was 
 careful about his dress. A trifle vain, he 
 flattered himself he could in a quarter of 
 an hour produce as much effect as was to 
 be expected from a man, who placed more 
 reliance on conversational powers, than in the 
 arrangement of a naturally well-curled head 
 of hair. 
 
 This day, however, he exceeded by a few 
 minutes his usual dressing time; and, as
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 18? 
 
 Lord Longvale happened to be one of 
 those Grand Lamas of Thibet who would 
 have sentenced his cook to death for 
 keeping him waiting thirty seconds, More's 
 first presentation to his lordship took place 
 in the midst of dinner. Lord Longvale 
 shook his nephew's friend warmly by the 
 hand, and, muttering something about " sharp 
 hours, and cold soup," pointed to the only 
 vacant chair at the table. 
 
 Having spread his napkin over his knees, 
 pulled down his wristbands, and turned his 
 rings with that exquisite supineness so in- 
 dispensable to the manners of a gentleman, 
 Pierce took two mouthfuls of soup before 
 he condescended to cast his eyes either 
 upon his right neighbour or his left. 
 
 On one hand sat a stout elderly gentle- 
 man, not unlike a porpoise with a pair of 
 extra fins for legs. On the other, a young 
 lady of any age between seventeen and 
 twenty. The young lady he had never 
 seen before. The " porpoise" he knew well
 
 188 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 by sight ; for he hardly ever walked down 
 St. James's Street, without meeting him, 
 umbrella in hand, about to enter a club ; 
 where he was universally known and re- 
 spected as the most dangerous man for a 
 button-hole gossip in society. 
 
 Sir Andrew Fitzbun, first cousin of Lord 
 St. Brooke's, was a widower, with half-a-dozen 
 grown-up daughters. Sir Andrew had a 
 house in town ; where, unfortunately for 
 his numerous acquaintances, he resided two- 
 thirds of the year, on account of his official 
 duties as a director of the Metropolitan Mud 
 and Dust-hole Company. The remaining 
 third he dedicated to inconveniencing his 
 most distinguished country friends, who 
 tolerated him, simply because they were 
 compelled to do so ; and who afforded him 
 a reluctant week of hospitality, just as some 
 persons pay inferior street-sweepers once in 
 twelve months, to avoid their tiresome im- 
 portunity for the rest of the year. 
 
 No little might be added respecting this cele-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 189 
 
 brated character ; but courtesy calls our atten- 
 tion to Pierce's other neighbour. As we 
 have already remarked, two of the personages 
 now in juxtaposition were entirely unknown 
 to each other. Mr. More felt it incumbent 
 upon him to take the initiatory step. It was, 
 
 " May I trouble you for the salt ?" 
 
 This question, though boldly designed and 
 promptly executed, did not necessarily involve 
 a reply. The salt was passed ; no reply was 
 vouchsafed ; and the desired end so much 
 the farther removed by the failure of the 
 commendable attempt made to reach it. 
 
 " How very punctual we were to-day !" 
 said More, with his best possible smile. 
 " Such respect for a cook's feelings is a 
 remarkable instance of humanity rarely to be 
 met with. Does Lord Longvale always 
 regulate our digestive organs by his kitchen 
 clock?" 
 
 Here was a long-winded sentence ; and 
 More pronounced it so slowly that it gave 
 him plenty of time to read the features
 
 190 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 of the person he was addressing. He could 
 not tell whether she was handsome, or not. 
 He was answered by a faint smile — 
 
 " She believed he did." 
 
 This was not encouraging. The smile 
 was provokingly indifferent. Pierce was 
 not accustomed to such treatment. Who 
 was this girl who thus received the advances 
 of a fashionable hero with a nominal income 
 of two thousand a-year ? Probably some 
 country Miss who knew no better. He 
 looked at her again. She was not what 
 is called a " beauty." If she had been, her 
 manner were easily understood. She was 
 not stupid : her face beamed with intelli- 
 gence. She could scarcely be shy : her 
 manner was so calm. Had she been either 
 a beauty, or stupid, he would have thought 
 no more about her. Something more than 
 beauty — more even than intelligence — inte- 
 rested him, attracted him. He sent away his 
 soup, and set to work to break the ice with 
 a volley of common-place insipidities. To
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 191 
 
 these he hardly ever received a reply — 
 scarcely even a look. " Ah !" thought 
 Pierce, " I see what this means." And he 
 cast a glance round the table in search of 
 the sympathetic twin. A young lady oppo- 
 site, making eyes at him, was the only 
 suspicious object in the company. 
 
 At length, with an ovei-powering effort at 
 civility, his neighbour asked in-a-propos to 
 anything and everything, " if he was fond of 
 hunting ?" 
 
 " Here," thought Pierce, " is an opening !" 
 
 " No," he replied, with a careless swagger ; 
 — " he seldom or ever hunted unless he 
 thought the hounds were sure of a good 
 run." There was now an opportunity to 
 remark that, unless he was blessed with 
 second sight, he was not likely to see much 
 sport. But no answer. 
 
 " Are you fond of riding ?" he continued. 
 
 " Yes, rather," said the girl. " Why 
 don't you like hunting ? Most men like 
 hunting."
 
 192 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " I don't know — it's too tame. I used 
 to think the chance of breaking one's neck 
 rather exciting once ; but since I've shot 
 my hon in Numidia, and my cannibal in 
 New Zealand, I find hunting is a bore, 
 especially as one might lose a front tooth 
 and be blemished for life by it." 
 
 The young lady slightly turned her 
 face, and cast an inquiring look upon 
 More. Did she conclude he was a cox- 
 comb ? " Is shooting lions dangerous 
 sport ?" she asked. 
 
 " Not at all that I know of," replied Pierce. 
 
 " Then I wonder it amuses you, since you 
 are fond of excitement." 
 
 " It doesn't amuse me at all. In fact, I 
 think it extremely foolish to shoot lions." 
 
 " Then why shoot them ?" 
 
 " Because most people think it a fine thing 
 to have shot lions." 
 
 " What a strange motive !" 
 
 " Not at all. It is the commonest motive 
 in the world for everything men do."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 193 
 
 " And you like to imitate the rest of the 
 world ?" 
 
 " To be sure ! There is no greater folly 
 than affecting singularity." 
 
 Whether or no More cared for the opinion 
 of the young lady he was addressing, he had 
 conceived sufficient respect for her discern- 
 ment, to have little apprehension lest she 
 should fall into the ridiculous error of be- 
 lieving, that the wish to do like most people 
 was a motive that ever actuated him. 
 
 " Lord Longvale is asking you to drink 
 wine," said Sir Andrew Fitzbun. 
 
 " I beg his pardon — with much pleasure. 
 Whatever you please, Sir. I take sherry." 
 
 " Were you ever in this part of the world 
 before, Mr. More ?" inquired his lordship. 
 
 " Never. No ; I never was in Wales 
 before." 
 
 " Ah ! it's a wild country. Won't suit 
 you Leicestershire men. Stiff work for hounds 
 here. Very fair shooting, though, when the 
 woodcocks are over. Some fine old places 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 worth your notice. Fond of the picturesque, 
 eh ? I dare say Eda has told you all about 
 it ; she knows more of the country than I 
 do." 
 
 " So," thought More, '' this is Lady Eda 
 Longvale I have been talking to, is it ?" 
 
 " Lady Eda," said Pierce turning again to 
 his neighbour, " did not tell me I had the 
 honour of sitting next to Lady Eda, or I 
 might have asked for some agreeable infor- 
 mation, instead of talking such — " 
 
 " I assure you," interposed Lady Eda, 
 with a smile, " Numidia and New Zealand 
 are much more interesting places to me than 
 Mona Castle and North Wales. Besides — " 
 
 " You were determined not to let me find 
 out who you were ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; I had heard so much of 
 you, that it never struck me we were quite 
 strangers." 
 
 The utter simplicity of this remark should 
 have completely removed the faintest sus- 
 picion of flattery.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 195 
 
 " I am excessively flattered," said Pierce. 
 
 " Why ?" asked Lady Eda naively. 
 
 " That my reputation should have 
 reached — " 
 
 " These uttermost corners of the earth ? 
 Not at all. You forget that your friend 
 Arthur is my cousin." 
 
 '* To be sure !" said Pierce, who had for- 
 gotten this simple herald of his fame. " And 
 through the same medium, 1 may say you 
 have long been only in part a stranger to me. 
 If Arthur has been but half as liberal in his 
 encomiums on one side as he has on the other, 
 we ought to be great friends at once, I think." 
 
 Lady Eda smiled : and bowed with a bow 
 peculiar to herself. 
 
 After a time gloves w^ere put on : and Lady 
 Eda, having signalized with a fat dowager 
 on the other side, the gentlemen were left 
 to quench that extraordinary thirst, generally 
 supposed to seize them on this cruel separa- 
 tion of the sexes. 
 
 " How was it, Bellows, you weren't on the 
 
 o 2
 
 196 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 bench to-day ?" said his lordship to a worldly 
 pillar of the church, who was helping him- 
 self to a bumper of claret. '^ I wanted you 
 there to help me. I trundled off a pack of 
 vagabonds to jail. The country is swarming 
 with them. Money is so deuced scarce — 
 thousands of poor devils are out of employ. 
 I'll answer for it, if you had been with us 
 we should have given 'em a longer lease than 
 we did." 
 
 " Ah !" said this puify gentleman, " I 
 agree with your lordship. I am quite of your 
 lordship's opinion that mendicity must be 
 suppressed. I always make a point of com- 
 mitting all vagrants to jail. It is an ancient, 
 and very constitutional provision for them," 
 he added with a chuckle. 
 
 " It is a serious business," observed his 
 lordship, " this mons'ous increase of people 
 out of work. I never remember the jails and 
 workhouses so fuU as they are now. Depend 
 on't, our poor laws are very much to blame — 
 very much to blame !"
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 197 
 
 " I agree with you, my lord," said Mr. 
 Bellows ; " the increased rates are a grievous 
 burden. Indeed, I always considered paro- 
 chial relief as a very erroneous system. It 
 encourages idleness, and does more harm 
 than good." 
 
 "No doubt, no doubt," replied his lord- 
 ship : " Dependence on this relief causes 
 a mons'ous deal of indolence and want. 
 It may be very weU to give a beggar a 
 shilling now^ and then, or to help a rascal in 
 distress, but this pretence to charity on a 
 large scale is all stuff and nonsense. What 
 do you think, Gregory ? Come, you're a 
 philosopher !" 
 
 An elderly gentleman, with a very sweet 
 expression of countenance, to whom this was 
 addressed, answered: 
 
 " Doubtless it is a blow to all industry, to 
 maintain one man, at the public cost, in 
 greater comfort than another can by his 
 own efforts maintain himself. And for this 
 reason I am of opinion that workhouses
 
 198 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 should afford the smallest possible attraction on 
 its own account, consistent with humanity. But 
 there are cases where starvation would ensue 
 if assistance was withheld : and surely State 
 charity is better able, by a systematic method, 
 to test the claims of an applicant for relief, 
 than promiscuous charity from casual sources. 
 Of course, in some cases, the system may 
 fail, and the individual may give more de- 
 servedly ; but this, I should say, was not 
 generally the case. I should be inclined to 
 differ with your lordship and Mr. Bellows. 
 For, on the whole, I believe that private charity 
 tends more than State charity to increase 
 mendicity." 
 
 "There is very little to choose between 
 them ;" said Mr. Bellows in a melancholy 
 tone of voice, sipping his claret. " One system 
 is as obnoxious as the other. Fortunately for 
 us it is not now as it used to be, when all 
 relief to the poor was saddled upon the 
 church." 
 
 " Ay," said his lordship, *' to be paid out
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 199 
 
 of the * fruits and profits' of the church, I 
 think the wording goes. It's a deuced pity 
 the reformation ever cancelled that act. Ha ! 
 ha! ha!" 
 
 " You forget, my lord, they robbed us of 
 the power to do so any longer, when they 
 seized all our richest endowments. I am 
 sure we feel the pressure of the times as hard 
 as any ; and for my part I don't see why the 
 lower class shouldn't bear their share of the 
 burden as well as the church." Here Mr. 
 Bellows emptied his glass with great satis- 
 faction. 
 
 " Yet I do not think," said Mr. Gregory, 
 with a good-natured smile, "that they are 
 quite so able to bear it. Don't you think, 
 Sir, the church could more easily do with 
 less claret for instance, than the man, who has 
 eight shillings a week and half-a-dozen children 
 to feed, could do without a quartern loaf? 
 Besides, 'man cannot live by bread alone;' 
 there are two other necessities in the present 
 day ; one is, to provide for decency's sake — not 
 to mention the winter's snow — these same
 
 200 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 half-dozen children and himself, with sundry 
 yards of fustian, and certain hob-nailed shoes, 
 &c. I doubt whether they have many super- 
 fluous comforts to dispose of" 
 
 " Ah, but it does not follow, my good Sir," 
 said Mr. Bellows, " because this happens 
 to be a bad harvest, and bread is dear, that 
 clothing should be dear also." 
 
 " That may be true," replied Mr. Gregory, 
 " altho' it is an established law, I fancy, in 
 political economy, that the price of the first 
 necessary of life in the long run affects the 
 value of all other commodities. But you, as a 
 clergyman, will not deny that the other neces- 
 sity which I alluded to, is of more lasting 
 importance still. I mean the education of 
 the poor." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! What do you want to 
 educate the poor for ?" said his lordship ; " to 
 make 'em discontented — nothing else, no- 
 thing else. It's all stuff and nonsense, Sir, 
 stuff and nonsense !" 
 
 " I quite agree with you, my lord," said 
 Bellows. " Education is an extremely dan-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 201 
 
 gerous experiment. It is my decided opinion 
 we are not at all in a condition to extend 
 education." 
 
 " How, Sir ?" said Mr. Gregory. " Can 
 it admit of an argument ? It may be a 
 question whether dependence or self-depen- 
 dence is the better condition for the poor — 
 whether they are to think for themselves, 
 or passively to submit to the tutelage of the 
 rich. But if the rich do undertake this 
 entire supervision of their interest, shall they 
 acknowledge the obHgation to provide for 
 their wants, and then ignore the most im- 
 portant of all wants, their sphitual improve- 
 ment ? It appears to me little better than a 
 state of brute animalism, when the minds of 
 the lowest class in society are so engrossed by 
 the necessity of providing for the mainte- 
 nance of life, as to be utterly debarred the pri- 
 vilege of learning to what end they were born. 
 
 " Can it be doubted that, as the state 
 of its members depends on the health of the 
 human body — so, conversely, the state of the
 
 202 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 body politic depends on the condition of its 
 individual members ? Can it be denied that 
 the basis of all political well-being must be 
 founded on the ennoblement of the popular 
 character? Depend upon it, Mr. Bellows, 
 it is less ignominious to give with a free will 
 than to be robbed. It is better to yield at 
 discretion than to be conquered without a 
 hope of quarter. It will soon no longer be 
 a question, how much good we are called 
 upon to do ; but how much evil we can 
 prevent being done." 
 
 " Bah !" exclaimed his lordship, " Gregory's 
 a regular rad — a Job's comforter. I don't 
 see that we are all going to the dogs, as these 
 fellows want to make out. The country 
 never was in a more flourishing state. If we 
 have a good harvest this year, we shall be as 
 well off as ever. Stuff and nonsense about 
 Manchester Leagues and popular education ! 
 I don't wish to see a Chartist on the throne. 
 Sir. Here's the Queen, Sir, God bless her ! 
 Pass the bottle, Arthur."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 203 
 
 " I am sorry to differ with you, Sir/' said 
 Mr. Gregory, as he drank the Queen's health, 
 " but I cannot entirely shut my eyes to the 
 dark side of things. You know, Sir, in 
 eating our plum-cake we sometimes bite 
 upon a Uttle pebble, which sets our teeth 
 on edge. I was inclined to think with you 
 once ; but I see abuses clamorous for repeal ; 
 I see the effects of this ver}^ want of 
 education, which, whether you will or no, is 
 becoming more threatening every day; I 
 see men, though poor, so intelligent that 
 they will think for themselves. And though 
 you deny them the power to act for them- 
 selves, yet they soon will make their voices 
 heard ; and those who were deaf before will 
 be the first to tremble then." 
 
 " Goodness me, Mr. Gregory !" said Mr. 
 Bellows, " you are surely not an advocate for 
 universal suffrage, are you ?" 
 
 "Ay, to be sure he is," said his lordship, 
 " and would have the country ruled by boiler- 
 makers and stump orators."
 
 204 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 "Yes," chimed in Sir Andrew, "and 
 upset all the public institutions in the 
 country, and annihilate the Metropolitan Mud 
 and Dust-hole Company, I'll be bound for it, 
 he would." 
 
 " No, my lord, I am no Chartist. Nor 
 am I even an advocate for universal suffrage. 
 But I think the dangers of a little are only to 
 be overcome by a more extended range of 
 information. Potent liquors administered by 
 spoonfuls soon inebriate, but do not satisfy 
 the thirst. The small end of the wedge — 
 their favourite and hackneyed metaphor — is 
 already inserted, and the hammer is raised to 
 strike. As to our electoral system, an exten- 
 sion of the franchise is imperatively necessary. 
 The system of representation is at all times 
 the true test of the amount of rational liberty 
 which a country enjoys. Can any one examine 
 into ours and not denounce it as unworthy 
 the age we live in ? I am opposed to universal 
 suffrage as strongly as any man living, for, 
 while I acknowledge it as an essential ele-
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 205 
 
 ment of an ideal state of freedom, I lament 
 the impossibility of exercising it in England. 
 And yet, the only real obstacle I recognise to 
 its admission, is the danger of entrusting it 
 in the hands of a people, at present too 
 ignorant and too easily misguided to use, 
 without abusing it." 
 
 "Then, in Heaven's name," asked his 
 lordship, " where would you draw the line ? 
 Would you give the fellow who stands be- 
 hind my chair at dinner the same voice in 
 the country as his master, who has several 
 thousand acres at stake ? Would you give 
 the d — d rascal (his lordship waxed wroth 
 with the supposition) the power of voting 
 against me, upon whom he depends for his 
 bread and meat, Sir ?" 
 
 " I should be very sorry, my lord, to give 
 him any power which he wanted the discretion 
 to use in a proper manner ; and I do not deny 
 that T think the property quahfication is at 
 present low enough ; but there is a class of 
 men whose intelligence and information is
 
 206 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 far above the standard of intelligence and 
 information in many classes higher than 
 themselves. These men, under the present 
 system, have no nominal qualification what- 
 ever. Numerically, they form a large body. 
 Intellectually, they are the most formidable 
 one in the state. Blindly to ignore their 
 claims is foolish and unjust. Wholly to ac- 
 cede to their demands is impossible. All 
 that remains is to temper resistance with 
 discretion; and protract the evil which 
 threatens us, till superior knowledge shall 
 reveal to them the truth, that an identity of 
 interest pervades all classes, and that no real 
 amelioration can accrue to one by an injury 
 inflicted upon another. 
 
 " That men of the class I refer to," con- 
 tinued Mr. Gregory, " are excluded from the 
 privileges of the franchise is by no means the 
 greatest evil. A still worse is, that those 
 whose names are registered as free and inde- 
 pendent electors, those who possess the right 
 to vote, and are supposed to exercise thnt
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 20? 
 
 right to the best of their discretion, have, 
 after all, but a nominal voice, a vox et prcB- 
 terea nihil, in the choice of their representa- 
 tives. The electoral voice to them is a bell 
 without a tongue — a cheat foisted upon them 
 in place of a reality, a lacquered farthing made 
 to pass for the sterling guinea. It is some years, 
 my lord, since I have meddled in electioneering 
 matters ; but I remember to have seen many a 
 poor man curse the privilege which our con- 
 stitution boasts of. He cared little that his 
 vote belonged to his employer, and not to 
 himself. But he thought it very hard to be 
 compelled to use that vote contrary, not only 
 to his interest, but also to his principles. I 
 have seen many a poor tradesman ruined be- 
 cause he could not vote three different ways l" 
 " Very right, very right too ! No doubt he 
 deserved it," said his lordship. "Property 
 must and will carry its proper influence. 
 What do such blockheads know about legis- 
 lating for the country ! And who is so fit to
 
 208 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 direct them as their better educated employer ? 
 Besides, Sir, there will be abuses in all human 
 institutions. There's no remedy for this that 
 I see. It always has been so as long as I can 
 remember, and always will be so to the end 
 of the chapter." 
 
 " That's begging the question, I think, 
 my lord. Because it always was so, is the 
 better reason that it should no longer be so. 
 I do not see that abuses, like your wine, 
 my lord, improve with age. I doubt, with 
 all due deference to your assertion, whether the 
 employers are the fittest persons to direct the 
 employed. I doubt whether they are always 
 better educated even ; and if they are, you must 
 admit that the interests of the two classes, how- 
 ever closely allied, are not precisely identical. 
 
 " You say there is no remedy for the 
 undue influence exercised by the employer. 
 There is one, at least so I think, and 
 only one. I sincerely trust for the welfare 
 of this country it will not be long before it
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 209 
 
 becomes the established law of the land. I 
 mean the hallotf^ 
 
 At this offensive word, Lord Longvale 
 pished and pshawed with great vehemence 
 and disgust. Bellows drank two glasses 
 of claret in quick succession, pulled down his 
 w^aistcoat, and brushed his hair on end as if 
 preparing to annihilate Mr. Gregory ; but 
 thinking better of his violence — said not a 
 word. Sir Andrew puffed, picked his teeth, 
 and said " Preposterous." 
 
 More, who had been gulping down everj^ 
 sentence the old gentleman uttered, felt his 
 eyes suddenly opened to a new arena of action 
 and interest. Politics he had always looked 
 upon as an encumbrance to the heaux esprits 
 amongst mankind, which old " fogies" and 
 ambitious young men undertook the direc- 
 tion of, from motives of gain or of pure 
 vanity. 
 
 The conversation had only touched upon 
 one or two subjects ; but these deeply in- 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 terested him. The views which, as he 
 thought, Mr. Gregory had so ably expounded, 
 seemed to be exactly what would have been 
 his own views if he had ever thought on the 
 matter. He was not the least aware that 
 these problems had been canvassed and 
 solved, and rejected, and re-canvassed again. 
 That strong men had long been straining 
 every nerve, exhausting every argument, to 
 bring about reforms, which day by day were 
 being brought about in the teeth of all 
 dogged prejudices, and short-sighted bigotry, 
 whatever. His heart beat to avenge the 
 wrongs of society ; he was ready at a 
 moment's notice to put his lance in the rest, 
 and charge all the windmills of abuse in the 
 country. He could have rammed Sir 
 Andrew's tooth-pick down his throat, or hit 
 the corpulent parson in the stomach with 
 all the pleasure in the world. He was afraid 
 to speak, he was so excited. He would, how- 
 ever, have said something had not Lord
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 2 I 1 
 
 Longvale stopped him by playfully throw- 
 ing his napkin at Mr. Ai'thur's head, to 
 stimulate that young gentleman who had 
 fallen fast asleep, to ring the bell for 
 coffee. 
 
 P 2
 
 212 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 After Pierce had warmed his back at the 
 drawing-room fire, and hovered as near as he 
 dared to the table where the ladies sat at 
 work, he began making up his mind to renew 
 his conversation with Lady Eda ; not select- 
 ing her for any particular reason that he was 
 aware of, but none of the other ladies were 
 known to him, and she was, as it were, mis- 
 tress of the house; so in fact it became a 
 sort of dutiful civility to speak to her. He 
 hesitated a second or so to think what he 
 should say ; unfortunately, having no brilliant
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 213 
 
 remark on hand, he delayed just long enough 
 to see Sir Andrew Fitzbun sneak up and lean 
 over her ladyship's chair. Sir Andrew's 
 remarks were made in an under tone of voice, 
 accompanied by such a horrid leer, that Pierce 
 felt quite disgusted with looking at him : 
 while w^hat was most extraordinary, her lady- 
 ship seemed to treat him with great kind- 
 ness, and with very Uttle of that reserve she 
 had shown towards himself. She smiled 
 when he spoke, and appeared to answer him 
 with ease and familiarity. 
 
 If Sir Andrew Fitzbun had been some 
 five-and-forty years younger, and had he been 
 without two striking peculiarities, either of 
 which are generally — but united always — fatal 
 to any shadow of sentiment, viz., a bald head, 
 and an undue proportion of rotundity on 
 the anterior view of his figure — Pierce More 
 would have regarded it as the strictest point 
 of honour, not to have approached within 
 earshot of them. But in Pierce's mind, there 
 was not the faintest possibility of reciprocity
 
 214 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 on the part of Lady Eda; and he saw no 
 reason to submit to a monopoly of posses- 
 sion. Accordingly he determined, like a wary 
 soldier, to lay siege to the quarter at present 
 disengaged. He had hardly come to this 
 resolution, when a fresh obstacle interposed 
 itself in Arthur Longvale. On Arthur's part 
 there was no such thing as indecision. 
 Boldly marching to the front he captured the 
 nearest chair, and planting it at Lady Eda's 
 side took no notice of Sir Andrew's discom- 
 fiture ; but calling his cousin by the familiar 
 name of Edie, asked her what horse she had 
 ridden that day. 
 
 " The Hornet," she replied : " I like him 
 the best of the two ; he has much the most 
 fire, though he is not half so handsome as 
 the Erl-King." 
 
 " You must mind what you're at, Edie, 
 or, by Jove ! you'll come to grief with the 
 Hornet some day." 
 
 " Better be stung by a hornet than be 
 run away with by an Erl-King !" said Sir
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 215 
 
 Andrew, with one smile for Lady Eda, and 
 another for himself. 
 
 " Lor ! bless you, Sir Andrew ! the Erl- 
 King would never run away with her," said 
 Arthur ; " nor any horse in England I 
 believe. I never saw such a hand in a 
 saddle. There's no one can hold a candle to 
 you, is there, Edie ?" 
 
 Lady Eda laughed. 
 
 " What have you done with that mare 
 my uncle gave you, that broke the second 
 whip's neck last season ?" continued Arthur. 
 
 " I left her in shire ; it is no use 
 
 bringing a hunter to Wales. Have you seen 
 my dog, Arthur, since you came down this 
 time ? I have got such a handsome creature ; 
 
 Lord sent it to me all the w^ay from 
 
 Scotland. It is a deer-hound, and I don't 
 know what to call him." 
 
 More thought the discussion probably 
 about to arise on the subject of names, might 
 afford him an excellent opportunity to join 
 the conversation.
 
 216 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " What sort of name do you want, Lady 
 Eda ?" he asked. " A romantic name, a 
 fierce name, a tragic name, or a comic 
 name ?" 
 
 " I don't know," answered Lady Eda, 
 suddenly changing her manner from ease to 
 formality. 
 
 " Suppose we christen him Juba," said 
 Arthur, who had in his mind's eye a pug 
 so called ; and could remember no other dog's 
 name at the moment. 
 
 " Now, really, Arthur, what a name for a 
 deer-hound!" said Lady Eda. "I thought 
 of calling him Oscar or Bruce. But these 
 names are so common. Besides, I want a 
 name with some meaning in it. I intend to 
 make him my faithful page, to follow me 
 wherever I go." 
 
 " Call him Fridolin, then," suggested 
 More, who was thinking of the " Message to 
 the Forge." 
 
 "I never heard that name before," said 
 Lady Eda. " Come, Sir Andrew, can't
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 217 
 
 you help me to a good name for my 
 dog?" 
 
 Pierce thought Lady Eda dull ; and turned 
 on his heel to speak to the young lady who 
 had made eyes at him across the dinner- 
 table. He had not an idea as to who she 
 might be ; but soon found her extremely com- 
 municative, and particularly agreeable, because 
 she evidently thought him so. They rattled 
 away, talking of everything that came upper- 
 most ; till insensibly the young lady, with th at 
 wonderful ingenuity which young ladies use 
 to turn the conversation upon interesting 
 subjects, introduced the name of Lady Eda. 
 Having gone through aU the preliminary 
 bush-beatings before fairly starting the game, 
 she at last, as if by accident, or rather, as if 
 by a sudden thought, which had never crossed 
 her mind before, asked Mr. More whether he 
 thought Lady Eda pretty. 
 
 " No, certainly not ; that is — one can't 
 exactly say she is not pretty — but — but in
 
 218 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 fact, I had not thought much about it. She 
 certainly has a very striking face." 
 
 " Well !" said the young lady, " it as- 
 tonishes me that you don't think her pretty. 
 I should call her really very nice-looking if 
 she was only dark instead of fair." 
 
 " It depends a great deal on taste," re- 
 turned Pierce. " For my part, I don't admire 
 your dark beauties." 
 
 The young lady, who was almost as white 
 as an albino, blushed in acknowledgment of 
 the compliment More had unconsciously 
 paid her. 
 
 " Certainly," she said, " her eyes are a 
 leetle too large for her face ; and sometimes 
 she is so very pale, that it is quite painful to 
 look at her. I can't say I think her very 
 agreeable." 
 
 The last part of this speech was lost on 
 More ; for looking np, he found the large blue 
 eyes in question fixed upon him. They were 
 withdrawn not a whit the quicker for his
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 219 
 
 finding them there. He felt slightly con- 
 fused. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said hurriedly, 
 turning again to the speaker — " not agree- 
 able, did you say ? No, he seems the most 
 tedious old bore I ever came across." 
 
 " He— who ?" said the albino. 
 
 " Why, that blustering old fellow talking 
 to her — didn't you mean him?" 
 
 The young lady changed from white to 
 red, then back again ; but made no reply. 
 More saw that he had said something he 
 ought not to have said, and as the vulgar 
 expression goes, that he had " put his foot in 
 it :" but how", or into what, he could not 
 possibly tell. The young lady appeared to 
 be offended past all hopes of reconciliation ; 
 and knowing that when the thorn has entered, 
 attempts to extract often drive it farther in, 
 he held his tongue, and w^as soon relieved 
 from this unpleasant situation by a proposal 
 of Sir Andrew's to start a round game. 
 
 The chairs w^ere placed ; and this time Pierce
 
 220 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 took good care to secure one next to Lady Eda. 
 The young lady he had been talking to, and 
 the fat dowager, who turned out to be a 
 maiden aunt of Lady Eda's, were unani- 
 mously of opinion that pounce commerce at 
 penny lives was the fittest game to be played 
 at. Arthur, however, declared in such sar- 
 castic tones, this shocking gambling would 
 ruin everybody, that the maiden aunt, by 
 name Lady Dorothy, the most good-natured, 
 ready-to-please old soul alive, shook her fat 
 fist at her nephew, and gave in to his wishes 
 without a struggle. 
 
 The cards were no sooner dealt, than it 
 became evident Lady Eda did not know an 
 ace from a king. She applied in despair to 
 Mr. Gregory. He assured her his ignorance 
 exceeded her own ; and referred her to Mr. 
 More. Pierce, who had anxiously watched 
 the dilemma, did not wait to be asked. He 
 instantly took Lady Eda under his especial 
 protection ; and promised, as he expressed it, 
 to " conquer or die" in the fight.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 221 
 
 Until he had put her in possession of the 
 first principles of the game, she appeared to 
 take no concern in it whatever. But without 
 much difficulty, he soon taught her the com- 
 plex mysteries of " sequences" and " whole 
 hands." Thus informed, she found to her as- 
 tonishment that he always threw away his best 
 cards to make her hand. Perceiving that 
 he regularly pursued this method of self- 
 sacrifice, she indignantly remonstrated aloud. 
 Whereupon Sir Andrew pronounced that cheat- 
 ing could not be allowed, and rose to change 
 places with Mr. More. This gentleman, 
 however, showed no intention of moving ; and 
 Lady Eda, saying that if Mr. More would 
 promise not to cheat again, there was no 
 reason why he should go away, the game 
 went on as well as before. 
 
 It happened that Pierce played with great 
 luck. But since he had been able to give only 
 his advice, and not his cards, to his protegee^ 
 she on the contrary had been very unfortu- 
 nate. Only three persons remained " alive."
 
 222 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 These were Lady Eda, the white young 
 lady, and Pierce. The first round proved 
 fatal to Lady Eda. More then declared, 
 with much sincerity, he had no farther inte- 
 rest in the game — she being * dead ;' and 
 insisted upon her accepting one of his 
 lives. This she took ; much to the annoy- 
 ance of her opponent ; for, to judge from 
 the expression of the albino's countenance, 
 she was engaging in this mimic warfare with 
 feelings akin to real animosity. Her glances 
 were frequently directed towards the little 
 china basin containing the pool; but, although 
 she unquestionably was animated by the hopes 
 of transferring its contents to her pocket, 
 we venture to say the genius of her sex will 
 detect deeper motives for her anxiety, than 
 the innocent one of augmenting her pin- 
 money by the enormous sum of three shillings 
 and sixpence. 
 
 Nothing would have grieved Lady Eda 
 so much as the thought of annoying another 
 person ; but she had now thoroughly learned
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 223 
 
 the game, and was so roused by the excitement 
 of the last round, that she enth'ely overlooked 
 the possibility of being a stumbling-block, 
 to her opponent, and, forgetting her natural 
 reserve, clapped her little hands in true enjoy- 
 ment of the fun. 
 
 Before looking at his own hand, Pierce ex- 
 amined the faces of both the other players. 
 That of the white young lady beamed 
 with delight ; Lady Eda's fell with despair. 
 He was determined to be as good as his 
 word, and " die or conquer" in the cause 
 he had espoused. We grieve to relate it, 
 but, in spite of all his promises to the con- 
 trary, he resolved, if his purposes were not to 
 be carried by fair means, basely to resort to 
 strategy. With this intention, he let fall his 
 pocket-handkerchief, and in stooping to pick 
 it up, took the opportunity to overlook her 
 ladyship's hand. A glance told him exactly 
 how it was. The very card he hap- 
 pened to hold. He threw it down, and Lady 
 Eda pounced upon it with an exclamation
 
 224 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 of triumph. Pierce was now the victim, and 
 Lady Eda, still unsuspicious of the plot, 
 insisted on his taking back the life that 
 rightly belonged to him. The generosity of 
 this offer had an immediate effect on the tem- 
 per of the white young lady, who asserted that 
 the game could not be prolonged unless fairly 
 played out. Pierce's obstinate refusal slightly 
 pacified her, but her indignation instantly re- 
 turned when he claimed the right to advise 
 Lady Eda as a looker-on. Without no- 
 ticing the tosses of the head across the table, 
 he pulled his chair close to that of his 
 protegee ; and, by dint of taking the cards 
 from her hand twenty times in a minute and 
 as often replacing them, effected such excel- 
 lent changes, that upon the last show she was 
 the winner by many pips. 
 
 Her skilful adviser then politely emptied 
 the pool on to the table before the winner. 
 She wanted to share it with the white young 
 lady. This generous proposal, however, was 
 received with more tosses of the head, and
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 225 
 
 Lady Eda found herself obliged to take the 
 whole three shillings and sixpence ; saying, as 
 she did so, that she felt like a thief running 
 away with her gains. 
 
 When Lady Eda wished Pierce good- 
 night, she expressed a hope that Arthur paid 
 proper attention to his comforts. It was 
 Arthur's duty, she said, to take care of the 
 gentlemen. If Mr. More liked to see the 
 wonders of the castle to-morrow, she would 
 be his cicerone for the occasion. 
 
 The next day, receiving no intelligence from 
 Winter, Pierce wrote to express his anxiety 
 to see him. In his letter he stated how 
 Bellerby had positively declined to lend 
 money ; and begged Winter to hasten to Mona, 
 that he might as soon as possible have the 
 benefit of his advice. He passed a few gos- 
 siping comments on the party there assembled ; 
 and in consideration of Winter's predilection 
 for female society, offered to his notice as an 
 inducement for his early arrival, a young 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 lady both fair and witty whom he thought 
 would in every respect suit his taste. 
 
 Pierce promised that Winter should find 
 no rival in him ; as notwithstanding the ex- 
 cellent first impression he was sure he had 
 created, unfortunately he had for ever lost 
 himself in her good graces by some shocking 
 remark about the Porpoise (Sir Andrew was 
 universally known by this soubriquet), who 
 to his dismay turned out at breakfast next 
 morning to be no other than the young lady's 
 father. 
 
 He concluded with a Hst of the guests, 
 making mention of Mr. Gregory in particular 
 as having agreeably surprised him, after 
 Arthur's description. The only name he 
 omitted was that of Lady Eda. The omission 
 Was not accidental. Pierce felt no wish to 
 prepossess Winter in her favour.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The two or three days following that of 
 More's arrival, passed without the occur- 
 rence of any of those startling incidents 
 which, according to some romance \\Titers of 
 the period, attend the footsteps of all heroes 
 and heroines throughout life. We do not 
 pretend to say that his career was not a 
 trifle more eventful than ordinary. The fact 
 of its appearing so to us, is the best pretext 
 we can assign for the prominent position he 
 occupies throughout this narrative. But we 
 believe that any person endowed with a 
 similar disposition and equal means of pur- 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 suing its bent, could, if he spoke truthfully, 
 relate a history far more wonderful than the 
 one, dear reader, you are now perusing. 
 
 The eventfulness of Mr. More's life, was 
 rather the eventfulness arising from trifling 
 than from great events. It was the event- 
 fulness of small things acting upon an im- 
 pressible nature. The causes were everyday 
 causes, but the effects were Seventh-day 
 results. This it is which makes some men 
 great, some insignificant. A trifle is nothing 
 but a trifle to this man, while to that it is a 
 pregnant occasion. 
 
 Opportunities — events — have to be assi- 
 milated by the organs of the mind for its 
 growth — precisely as food has to be assimi- 
 lated by the organs of the body. 
 
 Life — from its beginning to its end — is 
 but an assimilating process. A process by 
 which the chyle of this world's business and 
 pleasure, of its sorrows and joys, is trans- 
 formed into the blood of a purer, Heavenlier 
 life.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 229 
 
 All experience teaches that God delights 
 in an active creation. 
 
 As the functions of an intricate organiza- 
 tion sustain material life — and enable it to 
 work out its own preservation : — so the 
 mysterious powers of the soul are given to 
 minister to the growth of the spiritual Life — 
 to enable it "to \vork out its own salvation." 
 
 The materials are liberally supplied us — to 
 fashion according to our good or evil will. 
 To use, or to abuse them. 
 
 Those Materials are — Events. 
 
 Greatness, or goodness — (for they are 
 convertible terms — since there is no great- 
 ness without goodness — no goodness without 
 greatness) requires not for its manifestation 
 glaring events. Quiet endurance transcends 
 glittering action. The modest bud precedes 
 the flower. 
 
 In this bountiful distribution there is no 
 unjust caprice. All may be gi^eat : for all 
 may be good. All may be happy : for there is 
 no real happiness, but in goodness. All may
 
 230 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 conquer difficulties — the ordained hot-beds 
 of moral growth : — all may cultivate to the 
 utmost the talent entrusted to them. 
 
 The Peasant and the Peer — Newton and 
 the Kaffir — have, in truth, the same field 
 before them : — the same plant to cultivate — 
 the same harvest to reap ! 
 
 Trifling therefore, though he many of the 
 incidents we have to relate, ' Hse nugse seria 
 ducunt' — with natures like Pierce's these 
 trifles lead to serious results. Pierce More 
 is not our hero : we have none ; we could 
 not paint one; for, honestly, we never yet 
 met one. The delineation of a natural cha- 
 racter is all we aim at : at this stage of its 
 progress — vacillating, foolish, and uncertain 
 — by degrees acquiring strength ; growing 
 more like a hero in reality, as he departs 
 from the vision of romance. 
 
 At the termination of these two or three 
 days, Pierce found himself comfortably in- 
 stalled at Mona Castle. He had become used 
 to its inmates, and they had become used to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 231 
 
 him. Though by temper reserved and retiring, 
 he had lived long enough with society to be 
 perfectly at his ease when in it. Slow in 
 forming attachments, he nevertheless was 
 always ready to meet the advances of others. 
 No one was more sure to be popular where 
 he liked ; but he took no pains to please those 
 with whom he could not sympathize. He 
 cared as little as men have a right to care 
 for general popularity — he was too self- 
 relying for this — and had no regard for the 
 many whom he frequently met in search of 
 it. Of an impulsive nature, he was apt to 
 misconstrue manner, attributing to sincerity 
 the polish of outward behaviour, and mis- 
 taking for absence of all feeling the simple 
 result of shyness, or the equally common 
 fault of a bashful pride. Such a disposition 
 led him to form hasty conclusions, which, as 
 they resulted in sudden prepossessions or 
 antipathies, were often as injurious to himself 
 as they were unjust to others. 
 
 Lady Eda's manner to him on the first
 
 232 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 evening of his introduction, made it more 
 than probable that, had he never seen her 
 again, he would soon have forgotten, or at 
 all events only have remembered her, as a 
 haughty young lady hardly worth the 
 trouble it would have cost to know her 
 better. The short acquaintance of three 
 days had so altered his opinion, that he 
 now looked upon her as amiable, accom- 
 plished, and interesting. The variety in her 
 character was a charm rather than a fault 
 — in goodness she appeared always con- 
 sistent. Her abruptness of manner he now 
 saw, to be the consequence partly of modesty, 
 and partly of an honest aversion to feign an 
 interest when she felt none. Besides these 
 qualities, she possessed much sensibility 
 which a natural pride seldom permitted her 
 to discover ; and a temper that would have 
 been quick, had it not been under perpetual 
 control. There were points in her character, 
 which Pierce was for the present, at a loss to 
 interpret, but was better able to comprehend
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 233 
 
 when he sometime afterwards heard from her 
 own mouth the. peculiarities of her education 
 and daily mode of life. 
 
 Her mother had died when she was a 
 child. Her father, who devoted the chief of 
 his time to agricultural pursuits and field 
 sports, left the direction of her education 
 almost entirely to her own caprice : only per- 
 mitting the interference of his sister Lady 
 Dorothy, when the qualifications of a new 
 governess were beyond the limits of his 
 judgment to decide upon. Till she was 
 seventeen years of age (she had just com- 
 pleted her eighteenth year) Lord Longvale had 
 carefully excluded her from all society but 
 that of the neighbourhood. He had always 
 thought it a part of his duties as an here- 
 ditary statesman to reside in London during 
 the Session of Parliament. For several 
 months, therefore, in every year, his daughter 
 was left sole mistress and sole occupant of 
 Mona Castle. At these times — it was for the 
 most part in the summer months — Lady 
 Eda passed her existence in the indulgence
 
 234 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 of occupations which contributed alone to her 
 pleasure, without those ordinary restrictions 
 calculated to operate for her improvement. 
 
 Nothing could have been more dangerous 
 to her future welfare than this ill-judged 
 absence of restraint. The worst conse- 
 quences might have been apprehended from 
 so lax a system of education. Fortunately, 
 her nature was proof against the trial. Her 
 disposition was too pure to be spoiled. Those 
 affections which might have perished for 
 want of proper objects on which to bestow 
 them, were lavished with all the fondness of 
 a child's heart upon her only playmates — her 
 dogs and pony. The governess who in- 
 structed her, the servants who attended upon 
 her, the village poor who received her boun- 
 ties, all loved her. Evil was a word she 
 read in books, but this was her only acquain- 
 tance with it. How anybody could be bad, 
 when she saw no inducement to be anything 
 but good, was a problem that perplexed her. 
 
 By degrees— as the child became the 
 woman, and the mind expanded with the
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 235 
 
 maturing frame — the scamper with dogs and 
 pony over the wide moorlands, surrounding 
 the castle, was more frequently forsaken for 
 the hidden treasures of the dusty book- case. 
 The bent of her intuitive taste guided her in 
 her choice of authors. Amongst her fa- 
 vourites, those who ranked highest were 
 Scott, Schiller, Longfellow, and Keble, and 
 especially the saint-like Fenelon. As to 
 voyages and travels, there were hardly any 
 so dull as not to please her. With the 
 magic aid of these companions she wandered 
 over the whole of that globe one inch of 
 which, beyond her father's domains, she had 
 made up her mind never to set foot on. 
 She took it for granted that the rest of her 
 life would pass as it had begun, and was 
 content to look at men and things through 
 the refracting prism of romance. 
 
 Gradually the contemplation of the cha- 
 racters she read of, turned her thoughts to 
 the examination of her own. She was at 
 first annoyed at the suspicion of certain
 
 236 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 faults in herself, which she had learnt to 
 deprecate in others. On closer inspection, 
 she was both grieved and surprised to find 
 these faults actually existing. Discovering 
 the cause, she resolutely determined to coun- 
 teract it. "The long habit of having no 
 wish thwarted was the secret of a slight im- 
 patience, which, when not instantly checked 
 by the gratification of her whims, was 
 frequently attended with hastiness of tem- 
 per. She saw these dangers ; and many 
 times — when trifles crossed her will, when 
 servants came not the instant of her beck, 
 when toys or baubles were lost or broken, 
 when passing illness (or any such little evil) 
 made her fretful, when absorbing interest 
 in some romantic plot incited her to de- 
 vour a work of fiction — the rising temper, 
 the morbid curiosity were restrained, the 
 novel laid aside — and turning to the well- 
 scored pages of her mother's Bible, she read 
 of Him who was holy on earth, and thought 
 the while how wicked she had been.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Three days had sufficed to a ^uick 
 observer like More to discover many of the 
 peculiarities in Lady Eda's character. But 
 many remained yet to be revealed. Such 
 women as Miss Fitzbun were as familiar 
 to him as the look of his own face. An 
 Eda Longvale he had never met with before. 
 This concrete form seemed almost made to 
 fit the outline of his ideal creation. In soul 
 he was an artist ; here he had found a model. 
 In mind, right worthy of his anatomizing. 
 In form — he had half-doubted once — now —
 
 238 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 but no matter; we must not betray secrets 
 out of place — we know he was an impetuous 
 young gentleman — and what are his three- 
 day-impressions worth ? In all ordinary pos- 
 sibility he might change his mind at the end 
 of another three days. He has plenty of 
 time to study his model. Arthur declares he 
 shall not go for a month ; and all this time 
 he has to watch trifles, and talk seriously — 
 two certain methods of probing the minds of 
 men and women. 
 
 " Do you live upon air, Mr. More ?" Lady 
 Eda one day asked him after luncheon. 
 "You eat no breakfast, no luncheon, no 
 dinner. I shall begin to think Mona does 
 not suit your health before long ?" 
 
 " You exaggerate a little, Lady Eda. I 
 eat both breakfast and dinner. I don't 
 eat luncheon, because I am better with- 
 out it." 
 
 " In what sense better without it ?" 
 
 " In every sense. I find it suits my 
 health j and my spirits depend on my health ;
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 239 
 
 therefore I am the better for abstemious- 
 ness." 
 
 " If it does harm to your health to eat 
 luncheon, you are quite right to do without 
 it ; but I can't see any other reason for 
 eating so little. I believe your love of doing 
 as others do — don't you remember telling 
 me the first night you came that you always 
 liked to do as other people do ? — I think it 
 must be that feehng which has made you 
 imitate Mr. Gregory. He is even more ab- 
 stemious than yourself. His breakfast is a 
 crust of bread and a glass of water." 
 
 " I confess my admiration for Mr. Gregory 
 would lead me to imitate him in most things, 
 and his example has perhaps had its effect 
 upon me even in this matter. Do you not 
 think all self-denial, however trifling, has a 
 lasting result on the mind ?" 
 
 " Surely you do not call it an act of self- 
 denial to eat no pudding at dinner? If I 
 thought so, I never would touch pudding 
 again; but as I should not miss it in the
 
 240 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 least, it would be no sacrifice on my part 
 to go without." 
 
 " Yes," said More, smiling, " but all 
 people have not the same disrespect for 
 pudding that you have. Think you that old 
 Fitzbun, for instance, would go without his 
 pudding for any mortal consideration what- 
 ever? Think you that he could resist any 
 dainty dish that would provoke the grossness 
 of his pampered appetite ? And if he could 
 not resist this trifling temptation, how think 
 you he could resist a greater ?" 
 
 " Of course," said Lady Eda, " I abominate 
 the idea of indulging one's appetite to excess 
 — nothing can be more revolting — yet where 
 there is no danger of doing so, I think we 
 ought to be thankful for all the blessings 
 that are given us, and use them accordingly. 
 If we are to sacrifice every convivial pleasure 
 from the fear of abusing it, where are we to 
 draw the line of our concession ? We may 
 starve ourselves to death." 
 
 " It is, I own, difficult to define the limit,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 241 
 
 though I expect the number of deaths, pro- 
 duced by voluntary starvation, would hardly 
 equal those produced by intemperance. 
 There can be, I think, no doubt of the 
 benefit to be derived from fasting. Not 
 that I would have it a mere formal 
 exercise, to be evaded surreptitiously ; or 
 causing self- commendation in the rigour of 
 its observance. Those only should practise 
 it, who voluntarily did so for the sake 
 of self-denial, and mortification. If any 
 question the mortification of such a 
 custom, let them sit down to a good 
 dinner when hungry, and, without the ap- 
 proval of a single being except their own 
 conscience, try to fast ; they will be astonished 
 to find how despicably weak is the moral 
 constraint they hold upon themselves. The 
 merit of resisting temptation, is seldom in 
 proportion to the magnitude of the evil re- 
 sisted. I am convinced that every negation 
 to self-indulgence, is a step towards self-cul- 
 ture. Besides this, I, for one, have too 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 little of the spiritual about me, as it is. 
 These carnivorous propensities make me 
 shudder at myself" 
 
 Such opinions were not very consistent 
 with those Mr. Pierce held a few days before, 
 when about to dine at his club. Then, he 
 was surrounded by companions whose society 
 did not inspire such thoughts. It is aston- 
 ishing what a purifying influence the inter- 
 course with purity itself will have ! 
 
 " There is truth in what you say," answered 
 Lady Eda: "I am indebted to you for the 
 hint." 
 
 " And, to change the subject of puddings, 
 will perhaps discharge the debt by allowing 
 me to look at your drawing." 
 
 " Most gladly ; I so want you to see it, 
 and to give me some more hints. I think 
 you will find one or two of the figures im- 
 proved since yesterday." 
 
 Pierce set the drawing on a chair, and ex- 
 amined it carefully. The subject was taken 
 from Schiller's "Robbers:" but the scene
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 243 
 
 was an imaginary one; in which the two 
 brothers allegorically represented nobility and 
 baseness. Hovering above them was Amaha, 
 about to place a wreath on the head of the 
 younger. 
 
 As he looked into the drawing, Pierce 
 observed that the head of Karl had been 
 altered ; and, as it struck him, now bore 
 a slight resemblance to himself. The idea 
 made his heart beat quicker. 
 
 " It is better, don't you think ?" said Lady 
 Eda. 
 
 "No, it is still very much out of pro- 
 portion. Amalia's face is not sufficiently 
 foreshortened, and Karl's features are not 
 symmetrical enough." 
 
 " Dear, how tii'esome you are !" said Lady 
 Eda playfully. "I shall have to rub it all 
 out again, for the fiftieth time." 
 
 "Not for the world. It is charming on 
 the w^hole." 
 
 "Oh, but I will rub it out. Where's 
 Arthur?" He was standing behind her 
 
 R 2
 
 244 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 chair. " Arthur ! lend me your pocket hand- 
 kerchief to rub the chalk out." 
 
 "It isn't as clean as it might be/' said 
 her cousin ; " but I'll fetch one in a minute." 
 And away he ran. 
 
 " He is such a good creature !" said Lady 
 Eda : and then she told More a story about 
 his having gone out one night in winter to 
 wait for wild fowl. And described how it came 
 on to freeze and snow ; and how the boy who 
 went with him to hold his dog, was nearly 
 starved with cold ; and how Arthur, the noble- 
 hearted fellow, having no great coat or plaid, 
 pulled off his shooting coat to wrap the boy 
 in ; and then sat till morning with the en- 
 durance of an Indian ; shooting ducks in his 
 shirt sleeves. She was so eloquent in his 
 praise, that Pierce wished she had known 
 what wonderful adventures he had had, and 
 might think as well of him, as she did 
 of Arthur. He could not deny in his own 
 mind that Arthur was a very noble fellow ; 
 yet consoled himself with the reflection that
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 245 
 
 his friend was more manly than intel- 
 lectual. 
 
 " So you don't think your namesake, Karl 
 Moor, good-looking enough. I think he is 
 very handsome. It is a style of face I 
 admire." 
 
 " There," said Longvale, as he came back 
 with one of his best cambric handkerchiefs 
 in hand, " will that do for you ?" 
 
 " Yes, beautifully," and she began dusting 
 away till the drawing was effaced. 
 
 " What are you going to do to-day, 
 Eda ?" inquired Arthur. 
 
 " I am going to draw, don't you see ?" 
 
 " You're always drawing now. I wanted 
 you to come for a gallop. The Hornet will 
 be so fresh, you won't be able to ride him 
 in a day or two." 
 
 " Oh, yes I shall." 
 
 '^ Then will you come out now ?" 
 
 " No ; 1 wish you would go away and not 
 bother."
 
 246 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " Well, Eda, you might as well speak 
 civilly to a 'feller: Dash it !" 
 
 Wherewith Mr. Longvale walked away 
 offended. 
 
 "Here, Arthur, stop, I didn't mean — " 
 but he w^as gone. " Foolish boy !" said Lady 
 Eda. "Mr. More, will you put up the 
 drawing ? I am going out riding." And Pierce 
 was left to make the most of a fit of jealousy. 
 
 To throw him over he thought in that 
 unceremonious way was uncivil ; but to show 
 so marked a preference for Arthur Longvale's 
 company, was, to say the least of it, unbe- 
 coming. Never for a moment reflecting that 
 he monopolised Lady Eda's society for two 
 thirds of the day, and that her cousin had as 
 much right to be civil to her as any one else 
 — he overlooked Arthur's good-nature in never 
 putting himself in the way, forgot the kind- 
 ness of the girl's disposition, and ended by 
 making reflections, not very favourable to 
 any one concerned.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 247 
 
 In the comparisons he drew between him- 
 self and Arthur, he pictured the latter as a 
 handsome, good-natured, irresistible eldest 
 son ; himself — an ill-tempered, sensitive, 
 hard-featured wretch with prospects of pecu- 
 niary embarrassments for life. In this 
 humour he banged down the chalk box, 
 determining never to look over her drawings 
 again ; and taking his hat, went for a long 
 walk, where no doubt he enjoyed many 
 pleasant thoughts, entirely to himself. 
 
 At dinner that day he did not give his 
 arm to Eda as usual, but offered it 
 instead to Miss Fitzbun, to whom he made 
 desperate love all through the first course. 
 Arthur sat next to his cousin, and was in 
 high spirits. Lady Eda laughed at his 
 honest jokes, and appeared to be much more 
 amused at them than ever she was at his own 
 prosy lectures. With all his pretended in- 
 difference, Pierce could not help, now and 
 then, stealing a glance at the couple opposite : 
 whenever he did so, it was sure to happen by
 
 248 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 some extraordinary fatality, that Lady Eda 
 was looking at him. On these occasions 
 he felt awkward and confused. Her ladyship 
 did not appear the least so. He eat no 
 dinner, but drank a great deal of wine ; till 
 he felt flushed and excited. When the ladies 
 were gone, he became so impatient to follow 
 them, that he could not sit still for a minute 
 at a stretch. Several times he tried to make 
 a move ; but was disappointed and disgusted 
 because old Fitzbun had pinned Mr. Gregory 
 in a button-hole conversation. Lord Long- 
 vale seemed to be amused by it too. 
 
 " Pray, Sir," said Sir Andrew, " what then 
 is your opinion on these matters ?" in a tone 
 which signified that he had driven ,Mr. 
 Gregory to a corner at last. 
 
 " If l)y religion," answered Mr. Gregory, 
 " you mean to what sect I belong, I answer 
 none." 
 
 " No religion, Mr. Gregory ! good Heavens ! 
 then you must be an atheist !" . 
 
 " That, Sir Andrew, does not follow. My
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 249 
 
 own priest tells me what is right, and what is 
 wrong." 
 
 " Ah ! I see, you keep a chaplain. Is he 
 a clever man? that is, are you sure he is 
 competent to direct you in the right path ? 
 And his salary, if I might be so inquisitive, 
 what is that Mr. Gregory ?" 
 
 " His services are entirely disinterested. 
 As to his talents, I cannot question them, 
 for I never knew his advice to be misplaced, 
 or his judgment to err." 
 
 " Really an invaluable friend. I have 
 made inquiries in all directions for such a 
 person to educate my children." 
 
 "You need not have given yourself that 
 trouble. In the first place, my adviser is 
 not of this world ; and — " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! you alarm me ; nothing 
 supernatural, I hope." 
 
 " Nothing unusual ; your children, I do 
 not doubt, are each supplied with such an 
 instructor, and you yourself possess one also : 
 if, at least, you have not destroyed him."
 
 250 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " Destroyed him ! Bless me, Sir, what 
 do you mean ? I destroy my instructor ! 
 really—" 
 
 " It is a fact, Sir Andrew, I assure you, 
 that your children are blest with the best 
 of all instructors." 
 
 " Since you seem to know more of my 
 own family affairs than I do myself, will you 
 be good enough to tell me the names of 
 these invisible advisers ?" 
 
 " That is not easy ; for although each 
 of your children has its own adviser, yet 
 these advisers are of like nature and name. 
 People who are acquainted with them have 
 given them different names. I know not 
 which is the most correct, but that little 
 signifies as — " 
 
 " Their names, Sir, their names." 
 
 " Are by some called Conscience, by others 
 Reason, by others Common Sense." 
 
 " Ah ! now I understand you. Very good ; 
 very good. But do you really think, Mr. 
 Gregory, that a man's conscience will teach
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 251 
 
 all that is necessary for him to know, in a 
 moral sense ?" 
 
 "Not entirely, but what is fundamentally 
 right and wrong, that will it teach him." 
 
 " x\nd what, Sir, do you mean by funda- 
 mentally right and wrong ?" 
 
 " Our duty to God, and our duty to man. 
 This, I believe, was a law taught by Zoroaster 
 and Confucius, long before it was perfected by 
 the Divine Founder of the Christian religion." 
 
 " This is all very correct and proper, and 
 I may say astonishing for a man without a 
 religion. But, Sir, had you never heard 
 these precepts preached, they would not have 
 been likely to enter your head." 
 
 " That, Sir Andrew, is a matter of opinion. 
 Ideas may, as you and other philosophers have 
 thought, be solely derived through induction 
 from the senses. There may also be some 
 ti-uth in the theories of Kant, and Bishop 
 Berkeley. You will not deny that many 
 nations, who have never had the advantage 
 you speak of, do nevertheless found their
 
 252 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 laws of morality upon principles fundamen- 
 tally the same as ours. They seemto have 
 discovered the difference between right and 
 wrong without the assistance of others." 
 
 " Excuse me, I doubt whether they have 
 made that discovery. They are always at 
 war with their neighbours ; and what is more, 
 Sir, they eat them when they catch them. 
 Do you call that Christian-like behaviour? 
 What has conscience done for such ruffians 
 as these ?" 
 
 " A great deal, though not everything. I 
 admitted that conscience would not teach 
 men all that is necessary for them to know ; 
 but it has taught them as much as it has 
 taught us. It has taught them to believe in 
 a Supreme Being ; and it has taught them to 
 make such laws as conduce to the preserva- 
 tion of order and virtue in their relations as 
 man to man. That they are nearly always 
 at war with their neighbours, is no proof to 
 the contrary ; for in that respect they are no 
 worse than the most civilized nations. As to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 253 
 
 the custom of eating one another; that, Sir 
 Andrew, is a matter of taste. Cannibalism 
 is a barbarous mistake ; but inasmuch as it 
 does not signify a straw, what becomes of the 
 material part of a man when he is dead, I 
 cannot call it a sin to eat him either cooked 
 or raw." 
 
 " HoiTible, quite horrible !" said Sir 
 Andrew. " Do give me a glass of sherry ; I 
 feel quite overcome." 
 
 Mr. Gregory laughed at the effect of his 
 playful banter ; and his lordship did the same. 
 More's patience ended with the conversation ; 
 he rose and sought the company of Lady Eda 
 in the next room.
 
 254 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 She was sitting by herself and hardly 
 noticed his approach. He thought there was 
 an unusual chilliness in her answers. He had 
 intended to teaze her a little. His intention 
 changed. He spoke to her in a melancholy 
 tone of voice ; but it produced no effect. 
 He altered his tone to a gay and flippant pitch. 
 Even this was unobserved. He talked of 
 liking and disliking, and hinted that some 
 persons were very capricious. Lady Eda 
 thought so too. 
 
 " Worse/' he said, "than caprice was a
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 255 
 
 sort of deceitfulness in some people's manner, 
 which led others to suppose they were liked 
 when they were not cared for." 
 
 " It was very wrong," she thought. 
 
 He was of opinion that " one could always 
 judge by appearance whether people were 
 worth liking or not." 
 
 " Yes, perhaps so." 
 
 "And when he was prepossessed in a 
 person's favour, he took pains to know 
 them." 
 
 " Yes, she did so too ; but it required a 
 long time really to know a person ; some 
 people thought they could know you in a 
 week, and took violent fancies that were 
 foolish in the extreme !" 
 
 " Ah ! but then he had met people who 
 were so reserved it was impossible ever to 
 know them. Again some persons though 
 perfectly unreserved one day, would let you 
 down the next, and positively snub you." 
 
 " They might do this to try them, on — " 
 
 " On what ?" he asked.
 
 256 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " She had forgotten what she was going to 
 say. By the way, she wanted to ask, did he 
 belong to any profession ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " It was a pity with his talents ; he was 
 the very person to succeed in a profession ; 
 the Bar for instance." 
 
 " It was too hard work : he had just money 
 enough to he idle." 
 
 " It was a misfortune ! Why w^asn't he 
 in Parliament ? it would be the very thing 
 for him." 
 
 " He had no ambition, and w^as thankful 
 for it. It was impossible for any ambitious 
 man to be happy." 
 
 "Was he happy?" 
 
 " Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn't." 
 
 " She thought he wanted strength of 
 purpose ; that he had ambition she was sure ; 
 and plenty of energy too, but she feared when 
 his aim was won, he cared no more for the 
 object." 
 
 A slight blush. More's heart beat.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 257 
 
 " Oh ! how could she be so deceived ! 
 There was no man Hving of more resolute 
 purpose. If she only knew how he longed 
 for one particular thing — how he would die 
 to win it, and die if need be, to cherish 
 it." 
 
 " She did not know what that could 
 possibly be." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! she knew well enough." For 
 a moment he looked steadfastly into her eyes : 
 she looked away to her work. " She knew," 
 he said, " what that one thing was ; and if 
 she would, she could tell him whether he had 
 a chance of winning it or not." 
 
 "No she couldn't." 
 
 She moved to go. 
 
 " Why did she want to go ?" 
 
 " She wanted her work." 
 
 " He would fetch it. Would she be less 
 
 reserved in future? She told Fitzbun, the 
 
 old fool, everything ; why would she not speak 
 
 about herself to him ?" 
 
 '"The case was so very different; one 
 
 VOL. L s
 
 258 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 could not be as familiar with a young person 
 as with an old." 
 
 " Was she not familiar with Arthur V 
 
 " She had a right to be familiar with 
 whom she pleased, without asking Mr. 
 More's permission," a little angrily: then 
 more kindly, " Arthur was her cousin." 
 
 Pierce " supposed his idea of reserve was 
 different from hers ? He could explain his 
 meaning better in writing than by word of 
 mouth." 
 
 " He might do as he pleased." 
 
 Lady Eda began arranging a sprig of 
 verbena in her waist-band. 
 
 *^ What sweet stuff that is," he said ; 
 pinching one of the leaves between his 
 fingers, as the sprig stuck in her girdle. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. More, you are very 
 cool !" and she got up and left him. 
 
 Presently Arthur entered, and went to 
 Lady Eda. She smiled sweetly on him. 
 He sat down, and she gave him some of 
 her work to do.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 259 
 
 " What a jolly ride we had to-day, Eda, 
 hadn't we ?" - 
 
 " Yes, charming ! do let us go every day 
 while the w^eather is so fine." 
 
 She had promised to get up a pic- 
 nic some day : now every day was to be 
 spent riding with Arthur ! It was evident 
 that he, Pierce, had been making an ass of 
 himself. The sherry had got into his head. 
 He hated Longvale. Lady Eda was a flirt ! 
 He should go to London the next day. 
 The sooner he cut the whole concern the 
 better. 
 
 He gnashed his teeth, and kept a fixed 
 stare on Lady Eda's face. She looked up 
 and seemed unable to take her eyes away 
 from his. She appeared sad. The next 
 minute a hearty laugh at one of Arthur's 
 jokes. This was unbearable : he dashed 
 from the room, and went to the hall-door 
 for air. The rain was falling in pailfuls. 
 He wanted cooling; and it w^as highly 
 romantic to get wet in full dress, on a dark 
 
 s 2
 
 260 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 night, without a hat on. He folded his 
 arms, and walked with tragic strides along 
 the terrace, looking gloomily into the abyss of 
 the pitch-dark dell, where the stream leaped 
 in torrents below. The night being hot, 
 the drawing-room window was open. The 
 light streamed from the room, and showed 
 the rain-drops glittering in it rays. Was 
 she laughing at Longvale's jokes now? 
 Or had it been only to annoy him that she 
 laughed ? His vanity persuaded him it was 
 only done to annoy him. He would look in at 
 the window. But how to reach it ? It was 
 twenty feet from the ground. He went 
 beneath to listen, and could only hear a 
 confusion of voices. He looked up. There 
 was a trellis-work for creepers to climb by. 
 Would it bear him? He tried. It was 
 tolerably strong, but bent a good deal. 
 What if he fell, and broke his neck ! 
 Pshaw ! so much the better ! Up he went ; 
 it was dangerous work ; the climbing roses 
 tore his hands with thorns, he had a hard
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 261 
 
 job to get a footing. Now and then a nail 
 came out of the mortar, and crack went the 
 loosened woodwork. His arms were begin- 
 ning to ache. If he fell, 'twould be certain 
 death ! Five minutes ago, he had thoughts 
 of jumping into the abyss ; he clung to the 
 trellis, now, till his whole frame shook, and 
 the sweat stood on his forehead. One more 
 effort, another pull, his hand is on the 
 window-sill, all the danger forgotten, and 
 his whole being is intent on the scene 
 within. 
 
 The elders are at their whist table. His 
 lordship and Lady Dorothy are partners 
 against Mr. Gregory and the rector. 
 Miss Fitzbun is at the piano, playing a 
 morceau ! Arthur has some worsted w^ork 
 in his hand, and Eda is leaning over him, 
 telling him how it is to be done. Sir 
 Andrew is leering at Lady Eda, standing 
 beside her, looking eminently ridiculous, and 
 feeling conscious that he is so. 
 
 " Surely," thought Pierce, " Arthur is not
 
 262 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 SO stupid as to need this teaching, nor need 
 they sit so very close together." She put her 
 hand on his shoulder, and leaned over him 
 to watch his work; Pierce breathed more 
 freely when she took it off. Now she 
 laughed. Oh, if he only knew at what ! 
 He did not like to listen ; it was ungentle- 
 manhke. Did he by accident hear his own 
 name? Yes, Arthur smiled, and said: 
 " Poor Pierce !" So they were laughing at 
 him ! He was an object of pity and of 
 ridicule ! They should smart for this. 
 
 Longvale looked at some jewellery 
 fastened round her neck by a large old- 
 fashioned chain. It was the only ornament 
 she ever wore. He spoke of it as the 
 " Longvale Crucifix," and asked her to give 
 it to him. She refused. He asked why. 
 " She must have told him fifty times, that 
 she could not part with it ; she never could 
 permit it to leave the family." Arthur 
 dropped his voice, so that Pierce heard 
 neither question nor answer. He saw Lady
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 263 
 
 Eda change colour, and concluding that 
 it was all over with him, scrambled 
 down rather quicker than he had scrambled 
 up. 
 
 Before going to bed that night, a brief 
 cross-examination convinced him that, as he 
 expected, he had acted upon the whole very 
 like a fool. What business had he to be in 
 love with Lady Eda. In love with Lady 
 Eda ! Was he in love with her ? Why, 
 she was a thousand times too good for him. 
 It was absurd to suppose a girl like her — 
 the most accomphshed, most graceful, most 
 fascinating creature he had ever seen — should 
 care for him. Besides, if she did, had he 
 no sense of honour? Would he, in the 
 selfishness of his own passion, subject her — 
 who had been brought up in a palace of 
 luxury, who had a right to expect a husband 
 in every way his superior — to the liabilities of 
 his own impoverished state ? Alas ! alas ! 
 if he had not ruined himself! Had he only 
 been heir to a title and £50,000 a-year, what
 
 264 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 a glorious thing to have laid all at her feet ! 
 This, however was a dream ; it was not to 
 be; the sooner he made up his mind 
 to the alternative, the better. He would 
 forget her. 
 
 Forget her ? was he ever to forget her ? 
 
 The same day he got a letter from Winter, 
 saying that he had been unwell, and pre- 
 vented on this occasion from coming to 
 Mona. He had, however, much to tell More 
 with regard to money matters; and as he 
 should pass through Conway on his w^ay to 
 Ireland, whither the death of a near relative 
 summoned him, he would meet Pierce there 
 at an early hour the day after he received 
 this letter. 
 
 " So," thought Pierce, " here the affair will 
 die a natural death." Not that this was at 
 all a consoling reflection. On the contrary, 
 he felt very wretched and discontented. " He 
 was the most unlucky devil in the world 1 
 A positive football for fortune to kick at ! 
 What was the use of these beautiful
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 265 
 
 creatui'es, if they were only to tantalize 
 and disappoint men? He never wanted to 
 meet her. He never wanted to fall in love 
 with her ; but how could he help it ? Any- 
 body would have fallen in love with her ! 
 Nobody could have helped it. Of course 
 she wished to marry Arthur, that was natural 
 enough. All women valued marriage only 
 so far as it gave them position in the world. 
 They were mighty romantic in their notions 
 of love, but practically they had not half 
 the sentiment men had. There was not one 
 woman in the world who married for love 
 alone !" 
 
 Such was his mood when he accidentally 
 met Arthur Longvale. He told him he had 
 heard from Winter, who had been ill, and 
 could not come to Mona. He said he was 
 obliged to meet him upon important business ; 
 and should leave Mona early the next morning. 
 
 Arthur was sorry he was obliged to go 
 away, but insisted on his coming back after 
 seeing Winter.
 
 266 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " No, he must go on to town." 
 
 " Oh ! what nonsense ! What did he 
 want to go for ? Had he got tired of 
 Mona? What was the matter? He had 
 not quarrelled with Eda, had he ?" 
 
 " With Lady Eda ? what an idea ! why 
 should he quarrel with her ?" 
 
 Arthur " could not say ; he w^as sure he 
 saw no reason why they should quarrel: 
 on the contrary, they seemed to be uncommon 
 good friends. He had never seen Eda get 
 so thick — thus he expressed himself — with 
 any one before, in so short a time." 
 
 More " did not know why he should 
 think that. He did not know that they 
 were particularly good friends. He hoped 
 she didn't dislike him, for he would confess 
 he liked her very much, that was, he thought 
 her a very nice girl — in fact, as nice a girl as 
 he knew." 
 
 " Ah ! she was a one — er, wasn't she ? 
 He, Arthur, didn't know where to look for 
 another like her. By George ! the fellow
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 267 
 
 that landed her would be a lucky chap. He 
 believed Pierce had as good a chance as 
 any child of his acquaintance." 
 
 " Pshaw ! what nonsense ! It was plain 
 enough that Arthur was the happy man." 
 
 " He, Arthur ! don't tell him ! He wasn't 
 such a fool as he looked. Anybody could 
 see with half an eye that Pierce had nothing 
 to do but to go in and win." 
 
 " Ah ! that was just like Arthur, the 
 most good-natured fellow he had ever met. 
 Well, w^hichever w^ay it w^as, he would leave 
 the coast clear, and then he advised him to 
 do his best." 
 
 " If he must go, he must ; but he 
 could tell Pierce that Edie was not in the 
 habit of looking at a fellow as a cat watches 
 a mouse; yet so she always watched him. 
 Why, hang it ! wasn't she everlastingly 
 playing duets with him ? and hadn't he 
 heard Eda say that Pierce was as good 
 as a professional ? Which, dash it ! he 
 must see was rayther partial than other-
 
 268 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 wise. See how she talked to him ! Wasn't 
 it a first-rate sign when women talked so ? 
 In fact, there could be no doubt he was as 
 right as a walking-stick, if he would only 
 go in and say how it was."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 In the afternoon, the two went out rid- 
 ing, talking all the time of nothing but 
 Eda ; encouraging each other, and dis- 
 paraging themselves, just in proportion as 
 each hoped he might be mistaken in the 
 end. 
 
 When they came home, it was nearly 
 dusk. Arthur took the horses to the 
 stables. Pierce went to the long drawing- 
 room. There were no lights in the room. 
 He could just see who was present. Lady 
 Dorothy was dozing in an arm-chair. Mr.
 
 270 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Gregory was in another, chatting with 
 Lady Eda. Nobody else was there. Mr. 
 Gregory and Lady Eda were talking 
 about books. It was a subject which in- 
 terested More, and he always liked to listen 
 to Mr. Gregory ; but he heartily wished 
 the old gentleman had been out of the way 
 now, for he wanted to have a word with Lady. 
 Eda alone. However, there was nothing for 
 it but to join in the conversation. 
 
 " If you were asked, Mr. Gregory," said 
 Lady Eda, " to name your favourite author, 
 who should you say ?" 
 
 "That, Lady Eda, is a very difficult 
 question to answer. To choose a best where 
 there are so many good, is almost impos- 
 sible." 
 
 " I thought you did not much admire 
 modern literature." 
 
 " Were you not alluding to ancient as well 
 as modern ?" 
 
 " No. It was more with reference to the 
 literature of the day that I asked. Knowing
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 271 
 
 you had so few favourites amongst them, I 
 thought you could name the one you liked 
 best." 
 
 "As to my favourites, they are indeed 
 few ; but those few I respect sincerely. In- 
 deed, I consider their works as important 
 studies for the present generation as those 
 ancient classics whose wisdom has been 
 borrowed and adapted to later ages. On the 
 whole, we have much cause to rejoice in the 
 literature of the present day. As compared 
 with that belonging to the commencement of 
 the last century, it is inferior in brilliancy of 
 wit and humour, but it is incomparably 
 superior to it in the earnestness of its 
 purpose, as well as in the morality of its 
 tone. There are, I confess, some writers 
 who paint no passions but such as disgrace 
 our nature ; who diffuse unhappiness by en- 
 gendering morbid sentiments ; and who sow 
 the seeds of discontent by overwrought illus- 
 trations of misery and distress ; such are the
 
 272 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 exception. They are mostly of inferior or 
 unhealthy minds ; or are men compelled to 
 earn their daily bread, by pandering to a 
 vicious taste." 
 
 " But," said Lady Eda, *' though I am 
 not fond of reading books filled with horrors, 
 don't you think they are useful in their way 
 as moral lessons ? Don't you think we 
 ought to be reminded of our insecurity, I 
 mean, the dangers which beset us, and which, 
 if we did not see their terrible results, we 
 might fall into? Sometimes the sight of 
 sin and suffering brings us painfully to a 
 sense of our own condition, and our own 
 ingratitude to God for preserving us from a 
 similar fate." 
 
 " What you say is partly true. But they 
 are very few in this world. Lady Eda, so 
 unacquainted with sin and its results 
 as you are. Were all readers equally 
 in the dark, I would admit your hypothesis 
 to be wholly true. But I fear the world is
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 273 
 
 too familiar with guilt and horrors already. 
 You have not forgotten Pope's lines on" vice : 
 
 " * Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face. 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace.' 
 
 Be assured the market is over-stocked with 
 vice. It is not enough to be taught, even if 
 we do not already know it, that vice is hate- 
 ful. We need, far more, instruction in the 
 paths of virtue. The contemplation of 
 good is more improving than the contempla- 
 tion of evil." 
 
 " Yet how strange it is," said More, " that, 
 as a general rule, books of horrors should 
 be more interesting than so-called ' good 
 books.' This seems to be one of many 
 proofs of the prevalence of evil in our dis- 
 positions. Is it not that we want more in- 
 ducement to seek after truth than truth in 
 the abstract offers as the reward of our 
 search ?" 
 
 " There," said Mr. Gregory, " you have 
 started serious problems, which we have no 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 time to discuss now. I do not admit that 
 the history of virtue is less interesting than 
 the history of vice ; and what — " 
 
 " Then how do you account," said Lady 
 Eda, " for the preference one gives to heart- 
 rending stories ? And what means that sort 
 of feeling w^hich, when you are looking for a 
 book to read and lay your hand on a volume 
 of sermons, makes you put it hastily on one 
 side, and then feel ashamed at your distaste 
 for such serious reading ?" 
 
 " What does it mean ? It means that the 
 subjects they treat of, which demand all the 
 force of creative energy, are rendered 
 nauseous by feeble platitudes, narrow-minded 
 views, debasing prospects of human nature, 
 derogatory notions of God, bigotry, want of 
 charity, intolerance, and all that our reason 
 and faith alike rebel against. The writers of 
 such books delude themselves by thinking the 
 holiness of their subject compensates for their 
 unworthy mode of treating it. They imagine 
 that truth, that the revelations of religion,
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 275 
 
 are palpable to the meanest intellect ; and 
 through their own ignorance either fail to 
 arrest our interest, or else succeed in filling 
 our minds with such gloomy apprehensions, 
 that we never revert to the subject but 
 with aversion. Would such men could be 
 brought to a sense of their high mission. 
 Would they might learn that man's high 
 destiny, and not (for ever) his sinful nature, 
 is their glorious theme ; that our progress is 
 without limit henceforth and for ever ; that 
 in our Hkeness to God we bear a germ of all 
 that is good ; that we have a glorious respon- 
 sibility to discharge, which no ban of uni- 
 versal corruption or primeval sin can prevent 
 us from fulfilling. Above all, let them teach 
 that love and mercy, not vengeance, are the 
 attributes of God. 
 
 " When such truths are clothed in bold 
 and vigorous eloquence, pourtrayed with the 
 vivid conception of genius, and enforced with 
 genuine earnestness, they must and will 
 
 T 2
 
 276 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 attract the attention of even the most de- 
 graded minds. And assuredly, the privileged 
 few who have the power, and opportunity of 
 writing, should bear in mind how many 
 thousands may be influenced by what they 
 accidentally let fall from their pen. For, 
 after all, men are ruled by the pen, and not 
 by the sceptre; it must be the writers, or 
 thinkers who guide the readers and non- 
 thinkers. What are the statesmen of a 
 country compared to the leading authors — 
 those master minds, the great high priests 
 of letters ? Do not these direct the great 
 will which chooses its own lawgivers, and 
 dictates its own measures to the legislator ? 
 What potentate or parliament shall say 
 ' Peace,' when the people say * There is no 
 peace ?' Well do these real sovereigns act 
 when they fulfil their charge, and sway the 
 minds of men towards the love of immutable 
 truth and virtue." 
 
 Mr. Gregory paused, and saying he had
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 277 
 
 a letter to write before the post went out, 
 left Pierce and Eda to take care of the slum- 
 bering Lady Dorothy. 
 
 More felt a certain awkwardness at being 
 alone with Lady Eda, though he had before 
 wished for the opportunity. Now that it 
 had arrived, he was afraid of losing it unless 
 he did something to detain her. He talked 
 a little about Mr. Gregory. Lady Eda 
 seemed disposed to listen. By degrees, he 
 introduced the subject of reserve. She asked 
 if he had written any more. He said he 
 had not, but could illustrate his idea of the 
 term, by relating a trifling incident which oc- 
 curred to him at the moment. She agreed 
 to listen, and he began, 
 
 " It is now some years ago. I was 
 travelling by myself in the south of Europe. 
 It had been a scorching day, and I had 
 walked many miles upon a dusty mountain- 
 road, till I was weary, sad, and footsore. 
 Towards nightfall I came in sight of two or 
 three cottages dotted along the side of one
 
 278 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 of the prettiest little valleys I ever beheld. 
 The sloping hills, covered with fruit-laden 
 vines, reflected the last rays of the setting sun, 
 in streams of red and yellow light. A spark- 
 ling rivulet wound snake-like through the 
 rank verdure, which overhung its banks. 
 The fragrant blossoms of the orange-tree 
 breathed forth their incense to the peaceful 
 hour. All was beautiful. As I ascended 
 the path toward the head of the valley, the 
 notes of a guitar reached my ear. Conducted 
 by the sound, I reached the nearest cottage, 
 and, raising my hat as a salutation to those 
 before its doors, 1 seated myself, tired and 
 faint, without further ceremony, on a bench 
 by the oldest man of the party. As I wore 
 the ordinary garb of the country, and spoke 
 a few words in a language almost as familiar 
 to me as my own, my arrival hardly attracted 
 attention. I folded my arms, leant back 
 against the wall, and forgetting the dark 
 thoughts of those misfortunes which had 
 made me at that time of my life, a w^anderer, I
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 279 
 
 was soon lost in contemplation of the scene 
 before me. 
 
 " On the other side of the old man was one, 
 who, from his age and marked features, ap- 
 peared to be the son of his elder companion. 
 This man, as I supposed, was the father of 
 some four or five children dancing and romp- 
 ing on the grass, while he played, or rather 
 accompanied his voice on the jingling instru- 
 ment. Never do I remember a brighter 
 group. Those merry little ones. Their ring- 
 ing laugh echoing through the valley. Their 
 freedom from care. Their utter ignorance of 
 all beyond that spot and hour ! Presently 
 the game stopped ; there was some difficulty. 
 The stranger's eye was upon them. No, it 
 was not this ; for, though by their looks they 
 were thinking and consulting about the 
 stranger, they evidently were not afraid of him. 
 At last it was decided. The youngest volun- 
 teers to take the message : and what is it ? 
 
 ^< ^ Will the sefior come and play ?'
 
 280 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " ' Sweet child/ I replied, * the senor can- 
 not play, he is tired.' 
 
 " ' Has the senor eaten T 
 
 " * He will eat when the dance is over.' 
 
 " The child's head hung down. The other 
 children whisper : * AUegra has failed.' 
 But AUegra did not fail. The cloud 
 passed away, sunshine brightened every 
 feature. AUegra climbed the stranger's 
 knee. She gave one gentle kiss, then like 
 the frightened fawn bounded rapidly away. 
 Sweet child !" exclaimed More, lost in the 
 remembrance of the event he had recalled. 
 " Sweet child ! though noblest acts of friend- 
 ship be forgotten — though sacred bonds be 
 strained an^ broken — though, life's hard 
 struggle shall confirm mistrust — that kiss is 
 fresher than the budding rose. Such simple 
 faith shall mark my creed. When that is 
 false, others may be true !" 
 
 The dressing-beU sounded, and Lady Eda 
 rose to go.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 281 
 
 "Is that a true story, Mr. More?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes. I have not intentionally coloured 
 it," he said. 
 
 " It was a pretty incident." 
 
 " It was an instance of pure childish con- 
 fidence. One of those touches of nature not 
 easily forgotten." 
 
 "No, when they happen to people with 
 feehng." 
 
 "It is a great misfortune, I fancy, to be 
 blessed with too much feeling in this world. 
 There are many things we would gladly 
 forget, but cannot." 
 
 " Surely not when they are pleasant 
 things ?" 
 
 " Yes, when they are pleasant things ; for 
 they are joys passed for ever. Many times 
 in my travels the pain of parting with 
 a friend, with the almost certainty of never 
 seeing him again, has not been counter- 
 balanced even by the great pleasure I took in
 
 282 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 his companionship. I would sooner not have 
 met him." 
 
 "It is I own painful to part with people 
 just as you get to know and to like them." 
 It was so dark More could not see the ex- 
 pression of Lady Eda's face. " As it happens 
 even to those who are shut up in old castles 
 sometimes ;" she added. He fancied the tone 
 of her voice was sad. 
 
 " Lady Eda, I am going to-morrow. Once 
 again in my life I shall part from those 
 whom I would much rather I had never 
 met." 
 
 " Are you really going ? I suppose we 
 shall not meet again for a long time. I 
 should he sorry if it were so." 
 
 " Sorry ! The thought is painful to 
 me." A brief pause. " But why," his voice 
 trembling, " why should we not meet again ? 
 We can if we will it so. There must and shall 
 be a way. We shall meet in society — in 
 London."
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 283 
 
 " I never go out anywhere." 
 
 " Then here ! Lady Eda's— '' 
 
 " Come, Eda, get away and dress," said 
 Lord Longvale, as he came down to look at 
 the papers before dinner was announced.
 
 284 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Pierce did not leave Mona next morning 
 until he had promised Lord Longvale to re- 
 turn for the twelfth. 
 
 While he is on the road to join Winter, 
 we, gentle reader, availing ourselves of the 
 Asmodean privileges of a narrator, will, if 
 you please, place you astride, or on a pillion, 
 as may be most convenient to your habits 
 of equestrianism, on our grey goose quill, 
 and — we say grey goose quill, because we 
 have a sort oi* superstitious notion that this 
 feathered and infernal missile is more closely
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 285 
 
 associated with witches, necromancers, ma- 
 gicians, and all disciples of the black arty 
 than that villainous invention of modern 
 ages — we are in reality using a gold pen — 
 which either splutters all over the paper, or 
 scratches through it, or else has a hair in 
 the nib — and never would have been in- 
 vented at all, but for the contemptible way 
 men have of worshipping the metal it is 
 made of — which, as all wise men, since the 
 days of Juvenal, have predicted, will in the 
 due course of events be eventually applied to 
 the making of frying-pans and warming- 
 pans, boiling-pots and other pots, and aU 
 kind of utensils, common and uncommon, 
 noble and ignoble — a desecration that so 
 excessively astonished the ambassadors of 
 the Anemolians on their visit to the city 
 of Amaurot, and will so terribly alarm the 
 funded proprietors and personages holding 
 fixed incomes of the day — as to — but steady 
 — on our grey goose quill, and with a hocus 
 pocus — this particular conjuration is most
 
 286 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 appropriate to present locality, for be it 
 known to the unlearned, these words are 
 derived from hoced and pwca, the Welsh for 
 a juggler — and with a hocus pocus, trans- 
 late you from Wales to London. Excuse 
 this jolting by the way, and please imagine 
 yourself for a change, in company with a 
 villain. 
 
 It was on the very day Pierce left London 
 for Mona Castle — remember, we are a week 
 or two younger than we were — that Winter 
 called at the Albany to see if his friend was 
 gone. Finding he was not at home, he asked 
 the porter if Mr. More had left town. The 
 porter replied in the affirmative, and begged 
 for his address, as a man had left a letter 
 which he had promised to forward. The 
 constant state of suspicion enjoyed by a 
 guilty mind is perhaps not unknown to the 
 best of us. We do not pretend to explain, 
 why Winter desired to see that letter, it 
 might have been from a good-natured wish 
 to carry it to his friend, whom he expected
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 287 
 
 to join in a few days. Whatever his secret 
 motive, the last was his overt one. The 
 letter was produced, Winter read its direction, 
 told the porter he would forward or deliver 
 it, put it in his pocket and walked away. 
 
 The quiet of Saville Row enabled him to 
 read Taylor's letter to More without inter- 
 ruption. " So, so, Mr. Taylor," he muttered 
 between his teeth, " I'll be even mth you, 
 my eaves-dropping friend, yet ! Taylor ?" he 
 suddenly exclaimed, stopping short, and knit- 
 ting his brows as if to aid his memory. 
 " Taylor ? Taylor ? No ! there's nobody I 
 know of that name, and yet I've seen the 
 handwriting before. Again he stopped and 
 examined the letter carefully. " By God !" he 
 said, starting, and turning deadly pale, " that's 
 his writing ! They told me he was dead 
 — and he is here — here in correspondence 
 with More, come to d — n everything at the 
 moment I was within a hair's-breadth of 
 getting what would have made me safe for 
 ever."
 
 288 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 As he walked with furious strides towards 
 his rooms, brushing against people in the 
 street with such violence as to make many a 
 quick-tempered man turn and tell him to 
 mind where he was going — fifty schemes 
 passed through his artful brain, but none of 
 them afforded the slightest relief to his 
 anxiety. 
 
 His chief thought was how to rid himself 
 of Taylor. Murder was the first idea, but this 
 was too hazardous. Could he get him arrested 
 for any crime ? Taylor had thanked Pierce at 
 the end of his letter for some act of liberality. 
 He was evidently in want — a beggar, perhaps. 
 A beggar ! It could not be a hard matter to 
 ruin a beggar. Could he but find him out 
 without discovering himself, he might bribe 
 some ruffian to swear robbery against him. 
 But he would be hard to find. This was an 
 insuperable difficulty. 
 
 There remained but one thing to be done. 
 He must set off instantly for Mona, and 
 induce More to endorse the blank bills before
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 289 
 
 Taylor could have time to make the dis- 
 closure. But here arose another difficulty. 
 More would never endorse the bills until he 
 had positive proof that the money was ah'eady 
 advanced on his estate, and that he was under 
 a great obligation to him (Winter) for pro- 
 curing it. It was just possible, too, More 
 might have some suspicion of his honesty, and 
 would refuse to put his name to the blank bills 
 at all. However, he would tiiist to his powers 
 of deception, and make the experiment. 
 
 Alas ! even this resolution afforded him 
 only a momentar)^ consolation. It now struck 
 him, that if he did get a blank biQ signed, 
 wliich he might fill up for as large a sum as 
 he pleased, he could not get it exchanged 
 until the money was actually paid to Flore's 
 account. It was, therefore, useless to attempt 
 amthing before he had communicated with 
 Bellerby. 
 
 With this conclusion he at once wrote to 
 the attorney, desiring him to pay into the 
 hands of !More's bankers ten thousand pounds, 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 for which sum he already possessed in writing 
 More's direction to mortgage the Moreton 
 estate. By return of post he received Bellerby's 
 answer. 
 
 The attorney declared it to be utterly im- 
 possible to procure such a sum at so short 
 a notice. He assured Winter he had ad- 
 vertised, and done all in his power ; that he 
 himself had been disappointed on discovering 
 his own inability to advance more than five 
 thousand on the property ; but if More was 
 inclined to sell, and he strongly recom- 
 mended him to do so, he knew of a party will- 
 ing to purchase a portion of the estate, to the 
 amount of about fifteen thousand pounds. 
 
 It was clear then to Winter, that five 
 thousand, being ail Bellerby could produce, 
 would be the utmost he could make off with. 
 It would have been better, he thought, to 
 have found himself in America with twice 
 this sum. He was in for it now : the whole 
 affair would soon blow up. It was out of 
 the question to wait for the fifteen thousand.
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 291 
 
 He suspected Bellerby was himself the "party" 
 who wished to purchase ; and believed the 
 attorney was trying to over-reach him. 
 This was enough to make him cancel his 
 promise to play into Bellerby's hands. He 
 remembered More's speaking of money in 
 the funds. A new method of securing that 
 sum now occurred to him, wiiich, when he 
 came to think of it, was far more practicable 
 than the blank bill scheme. 
 
 While congratulating himself upon the 
 brilliancy of his new project, he received 
 More's letter from Mona, pressing him to 
 hasten thither with all speed. This much 
 of the letter pleased him well enough. There 
 was, however, one part of it, which so startled 
 him, that he instantly changed his purpose 
 of going there. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, 
 when he observed it, " that was a narrow 
 escape." The next day he wrote to More, 
 as we have before seen, appointing a meet- 
 ing at Conway. 
 
 Pierce was already there, inquiring for his 
 
 u 2
 
 292 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 friend at the hotel near the railroad station, 
 when Winter, carpet-bag in hand, arrived. 
 
 "Where is the rest of your luggage?" 
 asked Pierce. 
 
 " This is all I have," said the other, taken 
 rather aback by the question. 
 
 " What ! going to Ireland with nothing 
 but a carpet-bag ? I thought such swells as 
 you never went about without two dozen 
 portmanteaux at least. Have you dined ?" 
 
 " No, how should I ? Haven't you ordered 
 dinner ?" 
 
 " Not yet, but we soon will." 
 
 The waiter was summoned, and the 
 dinner ordered as soon as it could be 
 got ready. Meanwhile, the two companions 
 sauntered away to the bridges. Winter re- 
 fused to talk business, as he called it, till 
 after dinner; and plied More with endless 
 interrogations concerning his stay at Mona. 
 Pierce, nothing loth to talk on so interesting 
 a subject, became in a short time unusually 
 communicative. After their walk was over —
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 293 
 
 during the whole of dinner-time — after dinner 
 — till a late hour in the evening, Mona and 
 Lady Eda Longvale were the sole topics 
 of their conversation. Winter listened with 
 the most profound attention, entered into 
 More's feelings with the most affectionate 
 sympathy. Wished him success with all his 
 heart. Was quite sure Pierce would succeed. 
 He was just the sort of fellow women took 
 a fancy to. And though he didn't mean to 
 flatter him — he w^ould not soft-soap the biggest 
 swell in England ! not he — yet he would say 
 Pierce was a catch for any girl in society. 
 Then he rang for the waiter ; and ordered a 
 pint of pale brandy, and some hot water and 
 sugar. More wouldn't drink. " Dash it ! not 
 drink the future Lady Eda More's health ? 
 He wasn't half a chap ! To be sure, that's 
 right !" said he. " Here's her health, and 
 here's your's too, my boy," and Winter got 
 up, and shook Pierce enthusiastically by the 
 hand. 
 
 Poor Pierce ! he was anything but a fool,
 
 294 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 yet he had the misfortune, or the foible — 
 whichever you please to call it — of being rather 
 " soft." Better men than he are not proof 
 against flattery ; and after all, he only believed, 
 as he hoped that Winter sympathized with 
 him in earnest, that Winter really took a very 
 amiable interest in his suit to Lady Eda, 
 and that Winter's opinion of his case was 
 correct. It was a foolish want of circum- 
 spection, we know; it was an unpardonable 
 instance of " verdure ;" but he was young ; 
 and had yet much to learn. There was not 
 the shadow of a suspicion in Pierce's heart, 
 when he returned that pressure of the hand ; 
 so far from it, he felt at that moment as if 
 Winter was the kindest fellow he had ever 
 met, and heartily wished he might soon have 
 an opportunity of proving his affection. 
 
 Winter, on the contrary, who never gave 
 people credit for good qualities which he 
 himself did not possess, only received this 
 emphatic demonstration of amiability as an 
 indication of insincerity ; and by affecting an
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 295 
 
 imaginary change of places with More, became 
 fiilly convinced that he himself must have 
 seen through the other person's duplicity; 
 and should unquestionably have concealed his 
 suspicions as he supposed More to have done, 
 by an additional pressure of his friend's hand. 
 It was unfortunate for Pierce that Winter 
 thought him wiser than he was ; for the error 
 caused Winter to apply means for reducing 
 him to a state of greater obtuseness than he 
 had been originally destined to. 
 
 Watching for a moment when More's back 
 was turned. Winter dropped a few grains of 
 a soporific drug into his brandy and water, 
 the virtues of which operated so powerfully 
 on the system of the drinker, that he was 
 nearly overtaken by sleep before Winter had 
 time to execute his ingenious scheme of 
 embezzlement. 
 
 " There is only one drawback to what 
 would otherwise be a first-rate match," ob- 
 served Winter.
 
 296 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 " What's that ?" eagerly questioned the 
 other. 
 
 " It doesn't, perhaps, make much dif- 
 ference to you after all, I dare say. And of 
 course you have turned it over in your mind 
 before now." 
 
 " What is it, my dear fellow ? What the 
 deuce do you mean ?" 
 
 " Her ladyship's fortune. Of course you 
 know she only has ten thousand pounds." 
 
 " Indeed !" said More, rousing himself, 
 " Indeed ? Who told you that ?" 
 
 " Her cousin Arthur has told me so a 
 dozen times at least ; and he considers it as 
 rather a stingy thing of the old boy to settle 
 so little upon her. But then you know, his 
 family pride — there's where it is — his family 
 pride makes her father anxious to leave every 
 sous he can with the title." 
 
 " Well," said Pierce, " that's a deuced 
 serious thing ; I never thought — you see we 
 should not be able to live very, very — not
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 297 
 
 that I care a sixpence on my own account. 
 For I give you my word of honour as a gen- 
 tleman, Winter, as far as I am concerned, 
 I would marry her to-morrow if she would 
 have me, though she had not a single penny 
 to bless herself with ; I would indeed ! I'd 
 sweep the streets, or beg for her, or anything 
 in the world rather than lose her. But you 
 see she has been brought up to live in such 
 a magnificent way, as mistress of that big 
 house ; she never could be reconciled to liv- 
 ing in a shabby manner. Confound it ! This 
 intelligence has given me quite a bad turn ! 
 It would be so ungenerous and selfish to — " 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense. You mustn't let that 
 break your heart. You must pluck up and 
 get your debts paid off; and then begin to 
 save, and get some parliamentary job, or 
 something of that sort." 
 
 " Ay, to be sure, I must get my debts paid, 
 but that is easier said than done. What have 
 you managed for me? Have you come to
 
 298 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 terms with that old screw, Bellerby ? Will 
 he fork out ?" 
 
 '' No, devil a farthing ! I wrote to him, 
 and could get nothing out of him. So I took 
 the trouble — it was most confoundedly in- 
 convenient for me — but I took the trouble, 
 and went down to see him." 
 
 " No, did you ? Now that's what I call 
 a good-natured act. Well ?" 
 
 " Well, when I got there, I had a tremen- 
 dous row with the old fool ; and after a great 
 deal of humbug, he promised at last to let 
 you have a thousand pounds at twenty per 
 cent ; but swore he could not get a farthing 
 on the estate, unless he sold it." 
 
 " And what did you tell him ?" 
 
 *' I told him to go to the d — 1, and that 
 I would get the money for you elsewhere. 
 It so happened that I recollected at the time, 
 about your having money in the funds." 
 
 " Well," said Pierce, beginning to yawn. 
 
 " And now I should recommend you to
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 299 
 
 sell out as quick as you can ; for the funds 
 have gone up like smoke in the last day 
 or two; and I shouldn't wonder but you 
 might clear something pretty by it." 
 
 " Well ?" yawning again. 
 
 " So the sooner you sell out the better." 
 
 "Ah! just so. Well?" 
 
 " WHiat then would you like to do ? 
 Perhaps you don't want the money directly, 
 especially if you think of giving up Lady 
 Eda." 
 
 " Who said I was going to give up Lady 
 Eda ? I ain't going to do any such thing 
 — I have not the smallest intention." 
 
 " Then the sooner you pay off your debts 
 the better." 
 
 '* Just so — very true" — a yawn — " the 
 sooner I pay my debts the better. But 
 how am I to get the money ?" 
 
 " Come to London and draw it." Winter 
 knew the power of attraction at Mona. 
 
 " Not I, I would see London d — d first.
 
 300 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 Can't you get it for me ? I would write to 
 my agent — only he's such an ass." 
 
 "I dare say I could manage it for you 
 somehow; but you must give me a power 
 of attorney to do it." Winter's face, as he 
 spoke, was pale wdth eagerness. 
 
 " Eh ?" said More. 
 
 " A power of attorney," repeated Winter, 
 as carelessly as he could. 
 
 " Power of 'torny ! what's that ?" yawning 
 and turning over in his chair to sleep. 
 
 " Why, you've only got to sign a bit of 
 paper which enables me to draw the money 
 for you." 
 
 A snore. Winter shook him. 
 
 "I say. Pierce, old fellow, come, wake up!" 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Why, I want to settle this for you, for 
 I must be off before daylight in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Settle it ! then why don't you ?" 
 
 *' Yes, yes, but you must sign this — look !"
 
 HIGH AND LOW. 301 
 
 " Where is it, then ?" 
 
 " Here," said Winter, producing the legal 
 warrant; "you've only got to scratch your 
 name along here — see !" 
 
 Now whether it was that Winter's finger 
 trembled, as he pointed to the place for the 
 signature, or whether the wakening effects 
 of getting out of his arm-chair gave More 
 a disincHnation to sign, we cannot say. Cer- 
 tain it is, however, he did feel unwilling 
 to put his name to a legal paper, transferring 
 the power over his property from himself to 
 Winter. Not that he read the paper — he 
 could not fix his eyes on the printed words 
 without instantly becoming dizzy ; but he 
 had an unwillingness to sign. 
 
 " Well, why don't you go a-head, old 
 fellow ? Can't you see to write ?" said 
 Winter, lauQ^hing;. 
 
 " Oh yes !" he replied, " I can see to 
 write w^eU enough." He could not answer 
 the other part of the question. 
 
 " Then why don't you write," said Winter,
 
 302 HIGH AND LOW. 
 
 '' you are not afraid that I want to cheat you, 
 are you ?" 
 
 This was an artful stroke. Of course. 
 More could not say he was afraid Winter 
 would cheat him, and therefore was obliged 
 to sign to prove his confidence. 
 
 " I tell you what," said Pierce, " I'll just 
 date this a week hence. I shall be in town 
 then ; so we shall be able to see about it 
 together, and then, old fellow, I dare say I 
 can help you." 
 
 Winter bit his nails to the quick ; he had 
 no reply to make. More signed the warrant, 
 rolled into his chair, and was soon sound 
 asleep. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 FOR CIRCULATING LIBRARIES. 
 
 Just Published, 
 
 A SECOND AND CHEAPER EDITION, 
 
 In 3 vols., price 5s. per volume, half-bound, with the full allowance to 
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 "FORTUNE." 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. 
 
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