LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN 
 
 823 
 
 W62m 
 
 v.l 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/mornsimiliasimil01whyte 
 
M. OR N. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
l-BINTED KV WILLtAM CLOWES AM) SONfc, STAJItORD STREET 
 AND CHARIKG CROSS. 
 
M. OR N. 
 
 SI MI LI A SIMILIBUS CURANTUR." 
 
 By G. J. WHYTE-MELVILLE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "DIGBY GRAND," " CERISE," " THE GLADIATORS," ETC. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADHXY. 
 
 1869. 
 
 [The right of Tratislation is reserved. "^ 
 

 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 P4GE 
 " SMALL AND EARLY "... 1 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 "nightfall" . . . .22 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 TOM RYFE ..... 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 GENTLEMAN JIM 
 
 61 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE cracksman's CHECKMATE . . 8 1 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A REVERSIONARY INTEREST , .101 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 b 
 
v'i Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 PAGE 
 
 DICK STANMORE .... 122 
 
 CHAPTER VHL 
 
 NINA .... 
 
 . 148 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE USUAL DIFFICUllTY . . . 165 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FAIRY GUEEN . . . . 1 85 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 IN THE SCALES .... 209 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 " A CRUEL parting" . . . 222 
 
 CHAPTER XIH. 
 
 SIXES AND SEVENS .... 24I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE officers' MESS . . . 268 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. STANMORE AT HOME DANCING . 29O 
 
M. OR N. 
 
 " Similia similibus curantur." 
 
 (( 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 SMALL AND EARLY. 
 
 A WILD wet night in the Channel, the white 
 waves leaping, lashing, and tumbling to- 
 gether in that confusion of troubled waters, 
 which nautical men call a " cross-sea." A 
 dreary, dismal night on Calais sands : faint 
 moonshine struggling through a low driving 
 scud, the harbour-lights quenched and blurred 
 in mist. Such a night as bids the trim French 
 sentry hug himself in his watch-coat, calmly 
 cursing the weather, while he hums the chorus 
 of a comic opera, driving his thoughts by force 
 of contrast to th^ lustrous glow of the wine-shop, 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 M. or N. 
 
 the sparkling eyes and gold ear-rings of Made- 
 moiselle Therese, who presides over Love and 
 Bacchus therein. Such a night as gives the 
 travellers in the mail-packet some notion of 
 those ups and downs in life which landsmen 
 may bless themselves to ignore, as hints to the 
 Queen's Messenger, seasoned though he be, 
 that ten minutes more of that heaving, pitching, 
 tremulous motion would lay him alongside 
 those poor sick neophytes whom he pities and 
 condemns ; reminding him how even he has 
 cause to be thankful when he reflects that, save 
 for an occasional Levanter, the Mediterranean 
 is a mill-pond compared to La Manche. Such 
 a night as makes the hardy fisherman running 
 for Havre or St. Valerie growl his " Babord " 
 and " Tribord " in harsher tones than usual to 
 his mate, because he cannot keep his tnoughts 
 off Marie and the little ones ashore ; his dark- 
 eyed Marie, praying her heart out to the 
 Virgin on her knees, feeling, as the fierce wind 
 howls and blusters round their hut, that nor 
 on her wedding-morning, not on that summer 
 
" Small and Earl}\ 
 
 eve when he won her down by the sea, did she 
 love her Pierre so dearly, as now in this dark 
 boisterous weather, that causes her very flesh 
 to creep while she listens to its roar. Nobody 
 who could help it would be abroad on Calais 
 sands. " Pas meme un Anglais !" mutters the 
 sentry, ordering his firelock with a ring, and 
 wdshing it was time for the Relief. But an 
 Englishman is out nevertheless, w^andering 
 aimlessly to and fro on the beach ; turning his 
 face to windward against the driving rain ; try- 
 ing to think the wet on his cheek is all from 
 withoitt ; vainly hoping to stifle grief, remorse, 
 anxiety, by exposure and active bodily ex- 
 ercise. 
 
 " How could I stay in that cursed room ?'" 
 he mutters, striding wildly' among the sand- 
 hills. " The very tick of the clock was enough 
 to drive one mad in those long fearful pauses 
 — solemn and silent as death ! Can't the fools 
 do anything for her ? What is the use of 
 nurses and doctors, and all the humbug of 
 medicine and science ? My darling ! my 
 
4 M. or N, 
 
 darling! It was too cruel to hear you wailing 
 and crying, and to know I could do you no 
 good ! What a coward I am to have fled 
 into the wilderness like a murderer ! I couldn't 
 have stayed there, I feel I couldn't ! I wish I 
 hadn't listened at the door ! Only yesterday 
 you seemed so well and in such good spirits, 
 with your dark eyes looking so patiently and 
 fondly into mine ! And now, if she should 
 die ! — if she should die !" 
 
 Then he stands stock-still, turning in- 
 stinctively from the wind like one of the brutes, 
 while the past comes back in a waking dream 
 so akin to reality, that even in his pre-occupa- 
 tion he seems to live the last year of his life 
 over again. Once more he is at the old place 
 in Cheshire, whither he has gone like any other 
 young dandy, an agreeable addition to a 
 country shooting-party because of his chestnut 
 locks, his blue eyes, his handsome person, and 
 general recklessness of character : agreeable, he 
 reflects, to elderly roiK^s and established m,arried 
 women, but a scarecrow to mothers, and a 
 
" Small and Early' 
 
 stumbling-block to daughters, as being utterly 
 penniless and rather good-for-nothing. Once 
 more he comes down late for dinner, to find a 
 vacant place by that beautiful girl, with her 
 delicate features, her wealth of raven hair, 
 above all, with the soft, sad, dreamy eyes, that 
 look so loving, so trustful, and so good. In 
 such characters as theirs these things are soon 
 accomplished. A walk or two, a waltz, a skein 
 of silk to wind, a drive in a pony-carriage, an 
 afternoon church, and behold them in the 
 memorable summer-house, where he won her 
 heart — completely and unreservedly, while 
 flinging down his own ! Then came all the 
 sweet excitement, all the fascinating mystery of 
 mutual understanding, of stolen glances, of 
 hidden meanings in the common phrases and 
 daily courtesies of social life. It was so 
 delightful for each to feel that other existence 
 bound up in its own, to look down from their 
 enchanted mountain, with pity not devoid of 
 contempt on the commonplace dwellers on the 
 plain, undeterred by proofs more numerous 
 
6 M. or N, 
 
 perhaps on the hills of Paphos than in any 
 other airy region, that 
 
 " Great cljTnbers fall unsoft ;" 
 
 to know that come sorrow, suffering, disgrace, 
 or misfortune, there was refuge and safety for 
 the poor, broken-winged bird, though its 
 plumage were torn by the fowler's cruelty, or 
 even soiled in the storm of shame. Alas ! that 
 the latter should arrive too soon ! 
 
 Perhaps of this young couple, the girl, in 
 her perfect faith and entire self-sacrifice, may 
 have been less aghast than her lover at the 
 imminence of discovery, reprobation, and scorn. 
 When no other course was left open, she eloped 
 willingly enough with the man she had trusted 
 — shutting her eyes to consequences, in that 
 recklessness of devotion which, lead though it 
 may to much unhappiness in life, constitutes 
 not the least lovable trait of the female cha- 
 racter, so ready to burst into extremes of right 
 and wrong. 
 
 Besides, who cares for consequences at nine- 
 
" Small and EaidyT 
 
 teen, with the sun glinting on the waves of the 
 Channel, the sea-air freshening cheek and brow, 
 the coast of Picardy rising bright and glisten- 
 ing, in smiles of welcome, and the dear, fond 
 face looking down so proudly and wistfully on 
 its treasure ? Consequences indeed ! They 
 have been left with the heavy baggage at 
 London Bridge, to reach their proper owner 
 possibly hereafter in Paris ; but meantime, with 
 this fresh breeze blowing — on the blue sea — 
 under the blue sky — they do not exist — there 
 are no such things ! 
 
 These young people were very foolish, very 
 wicked, but they loved each other very dearly. 
 Mr. Bruce was none of those heartless, unscru- 
 pulous Lovelaces, oftener met with in fiction 
 than in real life, who can forget they are men 
 as well as gentlemen ; and when he crossed the 
 Channel with Miss Algernon, it was from sheer 
 want of forethought, from mismanagement, no 
 doubt, but still more from misfortune, that she 
 was Miss Algernon still. 
 
 To marry, was to be disinherited — that he 
 
8 M. or N, 
 
 knew well enough ; but neither he nor his 
 Nina, as he called her, would have paused for 
 this consideration. There were other diffi- 
 culties, trivial in appearance, harassing, vexa- 
 tious, insurmountable in reality, that yet seemed 
 from day to day about to vanish ; so they 
 waited, and temporized, and hesitated, till the 
 opportunity came of escaping together, and 
 they availed themselves of it without delay. 
 
 Now they had reached French ground, and 
 were free, but it was too late ! That was why 
 Mr. Bruce roamed so wildly to-night over the 
 Calais sands, tortured by a cruel fear that he 
 might lose the treasure of his heart for ever ; 
 exaggerating, in that supreme moment of 
 anxiety, her sufferings, her danger, perhaps even 
 her priceless value to himself. 
 
 To do him justice, he did not think for an 
 instant of the many galling annoyances to 
 which both must be subjected hereafter in the 
 event of her coming safely through her trial. 
 He found no time to reflect on a censorious 
 world, an outraged circle of friends, an in- 
 
" Small and Early.'' 
 
 furiated family ; on the cold shoulder Mrs. 
 Grundy would turn upon his darhng, and the 
 fair mark he would himself be bound to offer 
 that grim old father, who had served under 
 Wellington, or that soft-spoken dandy brother 
 in the Guards, unerring at " rocketers," and 
 deadly for all ground game, neither of whom 
 would probably shoot the wider, under the cir- 
 cumstances that he, the offender, felt in honour 
 he must stand at least one discharge without 
 retaliation, an arrangement which makes twelve 
 paces uncomfortably close quarters for the 
 passive and immovable target. He scarcely 
 dwelt a moment on the bitter scorn with which 
 his own great-uncle, whose natural heir he was, 
 would calmly and deliberately curse this piece 
 of childish folly, w^hile he disinherited its per- 
 petrator without scruple or remorse. He never 
 even considered the disadvantage under which 
 a life that ought to be very dear to him was 
 now opening on the world : a life that might 
 be blighted through its whole course by his 
 own folly, punished, a score of years hence, for 
 
10 M. or N. 
 
 unwittingly arriving a few weeks too soon. 
 No ! He could think of nothing but Nina's 
 anguish and Nina's danger ; could only wander 
 helplessly backwards and forwards, stupefied 
 by the continuous gusts of that boisterous sea- 
 wind, stunned by the dull wash of the incoming 
 tide, feeling for minutes at a time, a numbed, 
 apathetic impotency ; till, roused and stung by 
 a rush of recurring apprehensions, he hastened 
 back to his hotel, white, agitated, dripping wet, 
 moving with wavering gestures and swift, irre- 
 gular strides, like a man in a trance. 
 
 At the foot of the staircase he ran into the 
 arms of a dapper French doctor, young, yet 
 experienced, a man of science, a man of plea- 
 sure, an anatomist, a dancer, a philosopher, and 
 a dandy — who put both hands on his shoulders, 
 and looked in his face with so comical an ex- 
 pression of congratulation, sympathy, pity, and 
 amusement, that Mr. Bruce's fears vanished on 
 the instant, and he found voice to ask, in husky 
 accents, " if it was over ?" 
 
 " Over !" repeated the doctor. " Pardon, 
 
*' Small and EaidyT 1 1 
 
 my good sir. For our interesting young friend 
 it is only just begun. A young lady, monsieur, 
 a veritable little aristocrat, with a delicate nose, 
 and, my faith, sound and powerful lungs ! I 
 make you my compliment, monsieur. I am 
 happy to be the first to advertise you of good 
 news. It is late. Let madame be kept tranquil. 
 You will permit me to wish you good-night. 
 I will return again in the morning." 
 
 " And she is safe r" exclaimed Bruce, crush- 
 ing the doctor's hand in a grasp like a vice. 
 
 " Safe !" answered the little man. " Parbleu 
 — yes — for the present, safe as the mole in the 
 harbour, and likely to remain so if you will 
 only keep out of the room. Come, you shall 
 see her for one quite little moment. She 
 desires it so much. And when I scratch at 
 the door thus, you will come out. Agreed ? 
 Enter then. You shall embrace your child." 
 
 So the good-natured man turned into the 
 hotel again, to conduct Mr. Bruce back to the 
 door from w^iich he had fled in anguish an 
 hour or two ago, and was thus five minutes 
 
12 M, or N. 
 
 too late for another professional engagement, 
 which could not be postponed, but went on 
 indeed very well without him, the expectant 
 lady being a person of experience, the wife of 
 a Calais fisherman, and now employed for the 
 thirteenth time in her yearly occupation. But 
 this has nothing to do with Mr. Bruce. 
 
 That gentleman stole on tiptoe through the 
 darkened room, catching a glimpse as he passed 
 the tawdry mirror on the chimneypiece, of a 
 very pale and anxious face strangely unlike his 
 own, while from behind the half-drawn bed- 
 curtains he heard a quiet placid breathing, and 
 a weak, faint voice with its tender whisper, 
 " Charlie, are you there ? My darling, I begged 
 so hard to see you for one minute, and — Charlie 
 dear, to — to show you thisT 
 
 This was a morsel of something swathed up 
 in wrappings, round which the young mother's 
 arm was folded with proud, protecting love ; 
 but I think he had been too anxious about the 
 woman to feel a proper elation in his new 
 position as father to the child. The tears came 
 
^^ Small and Early T 13 
 
 thick to his eyes once more, while he caught 
 the pale, fragile hand that lay so weary and 
 listless on the counterpane, to press it against 
 his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, murmuring 
 broken words of endearment, and gratitude, and 
 
 joy- 
 
 She would have kept him there all' night : 
 she would have talked to him for an hour, 
 feeble as she was, of that little being, in so 
 short a time promoted to its sovereignty of 
 Baby (with a capital B), in which she had 
 already discovered instincts, qualities, high rea- 
 soning powers, noble moral characteristics : but 
 the doctor's tap was heard, '* scratching," as he 
 called it, at the door, and Bruce, too happy not 
 to be docile, had the good sense to obey his 
 summons without delay. 
 
 " Let them sleep, monsieur," said the French- 
 man, struggling into his great-coat, and hurry- 
 ing downstairs. " It will do them more good 
 than all your prevision, and all my experience. 
 I will return in the morning, to inquire after 
 madame and to renew my acquaintance with 
 
14 M. or N. 
 
 mademoiselle — I should say with ' your charm- 
 ing mees/ Monsieur, you are now father of a 
 family — you should keep early hours. Good- 
 night then — till to-morrow." 
 
 Bruce looked after him with a blessing on 
 his lips, and a fervent thanksgiving in his heart 
 to the Providence that had spared him his 
 treasure. For the moment, I believe, he com- 
 pletely forgot that important personage with 
 whom originated all their anxiety and discom- 
 fort. To men, indeed, there is so little 
 individuality about a Baby, that, I fear, it has 
 to be weaned and vaccinated, and to go 
 through many other processes before it ceases 
 to be a thing, and rather an inconvenient one. 
 No ; Bruce went to his own sitting-room, with 
 his heart so full of his Nina, there was scarcely 
 place for other considerations ; therefore, in- 
 stead of going to bed, he kicked off his wet 
 boots, turned on a brilliant illumination of gas, 
 and threw himself into an arm-chair — to 
 smoke. yVfter the excitement he had lately 
 passed through, the first few whiffs of his cigar 
 
" Small and Early T 1 5 
 
 were soothing and consolatory in the extreme, 
 but reflection comes with tobacco, not less 
 surely than warmth comes with fire ; and soon 
 he began to see the crowd of fresh difficulties 
 which the events of to-night would bring 
 swarming round his devoted head. How he 
 cursed his foolish calculations, his ill-judged 
 caution, his cowardly scruples, thus to have 
 postponed the ceremony of marriage till too 
 late. How impossible it would be now, to 
 throw dust in the eyes of society as to dates 
 and circumstances ! how fruitless the reparation 
 which should certainly be put off no longer, 
 no, not a day ! It seemed so hard that he, of 
 all the world, should have injured the woman 
 who loved him, the woman whom he so 
 devotedly loved in return. He almost hated 
 the innocent baby for its inopportune arrival ; 
 but remembering how that poor little creature 
 too must bear the punishment of his crime, he 
 flung the end of his cigar against the stove 
 with a curse, and for one moment — only one 
 hitter, painful moment — found himself wishing 
 
1 6 M. or N: 
 
 he had never met, never loved, his darling ; 
 had left the lamb at peace in its fold, the rose 
 ungathered on its stalk. 
 
 The clock did not tick twice before there 
 came a reaction. It seemed so impossible that 
 they should be independent of each other. He 
 would not be himself without Nina ! and the 
 flow of his affection, like the back-water of a mill- 
 stream, returned only the stronger for its momen- 
 tary interruption. After all, Nina was everything, 
 Nina was the first consideration. Something 
 must be done at once. As soon as she could 
 bear it, that ceremony must be gone through 
 which should have been performed long ago. He 
 was young, he was impatient, he would fain be 
 at work without delay ; so he turned to his 
 writing-table, and began opening certain letters 
 that had already followed him into France, but 
 that he had laid aside without examination, in 
 the excitement of the last few hours. 
 
 Thev were not calculated to afford him 
 much distraction. A circular from a coal 
 company, a couple of invitations to dinner, a 
 
" Small and Early T 1 7 
 
 tailor's bill, and a manifesto from the firm, 
 calling attention to the powers of endurance 
 with which their little account had " made 
 running" for a considerable period, while 
 promising a " law^^er's letter " to enforce pay- 
 ment of the same. Next this hostile protocol 
 lay a business-like missive bearing a Lincoln's 
 Inn look about it not to be mistaken, and 
 which Bruce determined he would leave un- 
 opened till the morning, when, if Nina had 
 slept, and was doing well, he felt nothing in 
 the world could make him unhappy. 
 
 " Serves me right, though," he yawned, " for 
 deserting Poole. He wouldn't have bothered 
 me for a miserable pony at such a time as 
 this ;" and flinging off his clothes, in less than 
 five minutes he was as fast asleep as if he had 
 never known an anxiety in the world, but 
 was lulled by the soothing considerations of a 
 well-spent past, an untroubled conscience, and 
 a balance at his banker's ! 
 
 So he slept, and dreamed not as those sleep 
 who are thoroughly out-wearied in body and 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
i8 M. or N. 
 
 mind, waking only when the sun had been up 
 more than an hour, and the stormy night had 
 given place to a clear, unclouded day. 
 
 The Channel was all blue and white now ; 
 the rollers, as they subsided into a long heaving 
 ground-swell, bringing in with them a freight 
 of health and freshness to the shore. The 
 gulls were soaring and screaming round the 
 harbour, edging their wings with gold as they 
 dipped and wheeled in the morning light. 
 Everything spoke of hope and happiness and 
 vitality. Bruce opened his window, drew in 
 long breaths of the keen, reviving air, and stole 
 to listen at Nina s door. 
 
 How his heart went up in gratitude to 
 heaven ! Mother and child were sleeping — so 
 peacefully, so soundly. Mother and child ! 
 At that early period the dearest, the sweetest, 
 the holiest link of human love — the gold with- 
 out the dross, the flower without the insect, the 
 wine without the headache, the full fruition of 
 the feelings without the wear and tear of the 
 heart. 
 
'' S7?iall and Early T 19 
 
 He could have kissed the antiquated French 
 chambermaid, dressed Hke a Sister of Mercy, 
 wlio met him in the passage, and wishing 
 " Monsieur " good-morning, congratulated him 
 with tears of honest sympathy in her glittering, 
 bold black eyes. He did give a five-franc 
 piece to the alert and well-dressed waiter, who 
 looked as if he had never been in bed, and 
 never required to go. It may be this impulse 
 of generosity reminded him that five-franc 
 pieces were likely to be scarce with him in 
 future, and an unpleasant association of ideas 
 brought the lawyer's letter to his mind. There 
 it lay, square and uncompromising, between 
 his watch and his cigar-case. He opened it, I 
 am afraid, with a truly British oath. 
 
 He turned quite white when he read it the 
 first time, but the blood rushed to his temples 
 on a second perusal, and he flung himself down 
 on his knees at the window-sill, thanking 
 Providence, somewhat inconsiderately, for the 
 benefits that only came to him through another 
 man's death. 
 
20 M. or N. 
 
 This letter, indeed, though the composition 
 of a lawyer, had not been written at the instance 
 of his long-suffering tailor, but was from the 
 solicitor who conducted the business of his 
 family. It advised him, in very concise 
 language, of his great-uncle's sudden " demise," 
 as it was worded, " intestate ;" informing him 
 that he thus became heir, as next of kin, to the 
 whole personal and real property of the deceased, 
 and concluded with sincere congratulations on 
 his accession to a fine fortune, not without 
 a hope that their firm might continue to 
 manage his affairs, and afford him the same 
 satisfaction that had always been expressed by 
 his late lamented relative, &c. 
 
 The surprise staggered him like a blow. 
 From such blows, however, we soon " come to 
 time," wining to take any amount of similar 
 punishment. He gave himself credit for self- 
 denial in not waking Nina on the instant to tell 
 her of their good fortune. Still more, he 
 plumed himself on his forethought in resolving 
 to ask her doctor's leave before he entered on 
 
" Small and Early T 1 1 
 
 so exciting a topic with the invahd. He 
 longed to tell somebody. He was so happy, 
 so elated, so thankful ! and yet, amidst all his 
 joy, there rankled an uncomfortable sensation 
 of remorse and self-reproach when he thought 
 of the little blighted life, the little injured help- 
 less creature nestling to its young mother's side 
 in the next room. 
 
CHAPTER II, 
 
 a X- 
 
 NIGHTFALL. 
 
 TT is more than twenty years ago, and yet 
 how vividly it all comes back to him to- 
 night ! 
 
 The sun has gone down in streaks of orange 
 and crimson over the old oaks that crown the 
 deer-park sloping upward to the rear of Eccles- 
 field Manor. Mr. Bruce walks across a 
 darkened room to throw the window open for 
 a gasp of fresh evening air, laden with the 
 perfume of pinks, carnations, and moss-roses in 
 the garden below. Her garden ! Is it possible r 
 Something in the action reminds him of that 
 bright, hopeful morning at Calais. Something 
 
" Nightfair: 23 
 
 in the scent of the flowers steals to his brain 
 half torpid and benumbed ; his heart contracts 
 with an agony of physical suffering. " My 
 darling ! my darling !" he murmurs, " shall I 
 never see you tying those flowers again r" and 
 turning from the window, he falls on his knees 
 by the bedside with a passionate burst of weep- 
 ing that, like blood-letting to the body, restores 
 the unwelcome faculty of consciousness to his 
 mind. When he raises his head again he 
 knows well enough that the one great mis- 
 fortune has arrived at last — that henceforth for 
 him there may come, in the lapse of long 
 years, resignation, even repose, but hope and 
 happiness no more. 
 
 Even now, though he wonders at his own 
 callousness, he can bear to look on the bed 
 through a mist of tears ; and, so looking, feels 
 his intellect failing in its effort to grasp the 
 calamity that has befallen him. 
 
 There she lies, like a dead lily, his own, his 
 treasure, his beloved ; the sweet face, calm and 
 placid, with its chiselled ivory features, its 
 
24 M. or N. 
 
 smooth and gentle brow, has already borrowed 
 a higher, a more perfect beauty from the 
 immortality on which it has entered. Not 
 fairer, not lovelier did she look that well- 
 remembered evening when he first knew her 
 pure and priceless heart was his own, though 
 she has borne him a daughter — nay, two 
 daughters (and he winces with a fresh and 
 different pain) — the younger as old as she was 
 then. Her raven hair is parted soft and silky 
 off those pale, delicate temples ; her long black 
 lashes rest upon the waxen cheek. No ; she 
 never looked as beautiful, not in the calm sleep 
 he used to watch so lovingly; and now the 
 deep, fond eyes must open on his own no 
 more. She was so gentle, too, so patient, so 
 sweet-tempered, and oh! so true. He had 
 been a man of the world, neither better nor 
 worse than others : he knew women well ; 
 knew how rare are the good ones ; knew the 
 prize he had won, and valued it — yes, he was 
 sure he always valued it as it deserved. What 
 was the use? Had she not far better have 
 
« Nightfall: 25 
 
 been like the others — petulant, wilful, capricious, 
 covetous of admiration, careless of affection, 
 weak-headed, shallow-hearted, and desirous 
 only of that which could not possibly be her 
 own ? Such were most of the women amongst 
 whom he had been thrown in his youth ; but 
 oh! how unlike her who was lying dead there 
 before his eyes. 
 
 *' For men at most differ as heaven and earth, 
 But women, worst and best, as heaven and hell." 
 
 He felt so keenly now that she had been his 
 better angel for more than twenty years ; that 
 but for her he might long ago have deteriorated 
 to selfishness and cynicism, or sunk into that 
 careless philosophy which believes only in the 
 tangible, the material, and the present. 
 
 A good woman's lot may be linked to that 
 of a bad man ; she may even love him very 
 dearly, and yet retain much of her purer, better 
 nature amidst all the mire in which she is 
 steeped ; but it is not so with us. To care for 
 a bad woman is to be dragged down to her 
 
26 AI. or N, 
 
 level, inch by inch, till the intellect itself 
 becomes sapped in a daily degradation of the 
 heart. From such slavery emancipation is 
 cheap under any suffering, at any sacrifice. 
 The lopping of a limb is a painful process, but 
 above a gangrened wound experienced surgeons 
 amputate without scruple or remorse. 
 
 On the other hand, a true woman's affection 
 is of all earthly influences the noblest and most 
 elevating. It encourages the highest and 
 gentlest qualities of man's nature — his enter- 
 prise, courage, patience, sympathy, abo\e all, 
 his trust. Happy the pilgrim on whose life 
 such a beacon-star has shone out to guide him 
 in the right way ; thrice happy if it sets not 
 until it has lured him so far that he will never 
 again turn aside from the path. 
 
 Such reflections as these, while they added 
 to his sense of loss and loneliness, yet took so 
 much of the sting out of Mr. Bruce's great 
 sorrow, that he could realize it for minutes at 
 a time without being goaded to madness or 
 stunned to apathy by the pain. 
 
" Nightfair: 27 
 
 There had been no warning — no preparation. 
 He had left her that morning as usual, after 
 smoking a cigar in her society on the lawn, 
 while she tied, and snipped, and gathered the 
 flowers of her pretty garden. He had visited 
 the stable, ordered the pony-carriage, seen the 
 keeper, and been to look at an Alderney cow. 
 It w^as one of his idle days, yet, after twenty 
 years of marriage, such days he still liked to 
 spend, if possible, in the company of his wife. 
 So he strolled back to write his letters in her 
 boudoir, and entered it at the garden door, 
 expecting to find her, as usual, busied in some 
 graceful feminine employment. 
 
 Her work was heaped on the sofa ; a book 
 she had been reading lay open on the table ; 
 the very flowers she gathered an hour ago had 
 the dew on them still. He could not finish 
 his first letter without consulting her, for she 
 kept his memory, his conscience, and his money, 
 just as she kept his heart, so he ran upstairs to 
 her bedroom door and knocked. 
 
 There was no answer, and he w^ent in. At 
 
28 M. or N. 
 
 the first glance he thought she must have 
 fainted, for she had fallen on her knees against 
 a high-backed chair, her face buried in its 
 cushions, and one hand touching the carpet. 
 He had a quick eye, and the turn of that grey- 
 rigid hand warned him with a stab of something 
 he refused persistently to believe. Then he 
 lifted her on the bed where she lay now, and 
 sent for every doctor within reach. 
 
 He had no recollection of the interval that 
 elapsed before the nearest could arrive, nor 
 distinct notion of any part of that long sunny 
 afternoon while he sat by his Nina in the death- 
 chamber. Once he got up to stop the ticking 
 of a clock on the chimneypiece, moving 
 mechanically with stealthy footfall across the 
 room lest she should be disturbed. The 
 doctors came and went, agreeing, as they left 
 the house, that he had answered their questions 
 with wonderful precision and presence of mind ; 
 nay, that he was less prostrated by the blow 
 than they should have expected. " Disease of 
 the heart," said they — I believe they called it 
 
" Ntghtfalir 29 
 
 *"' t\\t pericardmm r a-nd after paying a tribute 
 of admiration to the loveliness of the dead 
 lady, discussed the leading article of that day's 
 " Times " with perfect equanimity. What 
 would you have ? There can be but one 
 person in the world to whom another is more 
 than all the world beside. 
 
 This person was sitting by Nina's bed, except 
 for a few brief minutes at a time, utterly 
 stupefied and immovable. Even Maud — his 
 cherished daughter Maud — whose smile had 
 hitherto been welcome in his eyes as the light 
 of morning, could not rouse his attention by 
 the depth of her own uncontrolled grief. He 
 sat like an idiot or an opium eater, till some- 
 thing prompted him to open the window and 
 gasp for a breath of fresh evening air. Then 
 it all came back to him, and he awoke to the 
 full consciousness of his misery. 
 
 There are men, though not many, and these, 
 perhaps, the least inclined to prate about it, 
 who have one attachment in their lives to 
 which every other sentiment is but an accessory 
 
30 M. oj^ N. 
 
 and a satellite. Such natures are often very 
 bold to dare, very strong to endure, very diffi- 
 cult to assail, save in their single vulnerable 
 point. Force that, and the man's whole vitality 
 seems to collapse. He does not even make a 
 fight of it, but fails, gives in, and goes down 
 without an effiDrt. Such was the character of 
 Mr. Bruce, and to-day he had gotten his death- 
 blow. 
 
 The stars twinkled out faintly one by one, 
 the harvest-moon rose broad and ruddy behind 
 the wooded hill, and still he sat stupefied at the 
 bedside. The door opened gently to admit a 
 beautiful girl, strangely, startlingly like her 
 dead mother, who came in with a cup of tea 
 and a candle. Setting these on the chimney- 
 piece, she moved softly round to where he sat, 
 and pressed his head, with both hands, against 
 her breast. 
 
 " Dearest father," said she, " I have brought 
 you some tea. Try and rouse yourself, papa, 
 dear papa, for viy sake. You love me too." 
 
 The appeal was well chosen ; once more the 
 
''Nightfalir 31 
 
 tears came to his eyes, and he woke up as from 
 a dream. 
 
 " You are a good girl, Maud," he answered, 
 with a vague, distracted air. " I have my 
 children left — I have mv children left ! But 
 all the world cannot make up to me for what I 
 have lost !" 
 
 She thought his mind was wandering, and 
 tried to recall him to himself. 
 
 " We must bear our sorrows as best we mav, 
 papa," she answered, very gently. " We must 
 help each other. You and I are alone now in 
 the world." 
 
 A contraction, as of some fresh pain, came 
 over his livid face. He raised his head to 
 speak, but, stopping himself with an obvious 
 effort, looked long and scrutinisingly in his 
 daughter's face. 
 
 Maud Bruce was a very beautiful girl even 
 now, in the extremity of her sorrow. She had 
 been crying heartily ; no wonder, but her 
 delicate features were not swollen, nor her dark 
 eyes dimmed. The silky hair shone smooth 
 
32 M, or N. 
 
 and trim, the muslin dress was not rumpled nor 
 disarranged, and the white hands, with which 
 she still caressed her father's sorrow-laden head, 
 neither shook nor wavered in their office. 
 
 With her mother's beauty, Miss Bruce had 
 inherited but little of her mother's character ; 
 on the contrary, her nature, like that of her 
 father's ancestors rather than his own, was 
 bold, firm, and self-reliant to an unusual 
 degree. She was hard, and that is the only 
 epithet properly to describe her — manner, voice, 
 appearance, all were lady-like, feminine, and 
 exceedingly attractive ; but the self-possession 
 she never seemed to lose, would have warned 
 an experienced admirer, that beneath the white 
 bosom beat a heart not to be reduced by 
 stratagem, nor carried by assault ; that he must 
 not hope to see the beautiful dark eyes veil 
 themselves in the dreamy softness which so 
 confesses all it means to hide ; that the raven 
 tresses clinging coquetishly to that faultless 
 head were most unlikely to be severed as a 
 tribute of affection for any one whose conquest 
 
''Nightfair: 33 
 
 would not be a question of pride and profit to 
 their owner. Tenderness was the one quahty 
 Maud lacked, the one quality, which, like the 
 zone of Venus, completed all her mother's 
 attractions, with an indefinable and irresistible 
 charm. 
 
 There is a wild German legend which 
 describes how a certain woodman, a widower, 
 gave shelter to a strangely fascinating dame, 
 and falHng in love with her, incontinently made 
 his guest lawful mistress of hearth and home ; 
 how, notwithstanding his infatuated passion, 
 and intense admiration for her beauty, there 
 was vet in it a fierceness which chilled and 
 repelled him, while he worshipped ; how his 
 children could never be brought to look in 
 the fair face of their stepmother without crying 
 aloud for fear ; and how at last he discovered, 
 to his horror and dismay, that he had wedded 
 a fearful creature, half wolf, half woman, com- 
 bining the seductions of the syren with the 
 cruel voracity of the brute. There was some- 
 thing about Maud Bruce to remind one of that 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 M, or N. 
 
 horrible myth, even now, now at her gentlest 
 and softest, while she clung round a sorrowing 
 father, by the death-bed of one, whom, in 
 their different ways, both had very dearly 
 loved. 
 
 It was well that the young lady preserved 
 her presence of mind, for Bruce seemed in- 
 capable of connected thought or action. He 
 roused himself, indeed, at his daughter's call, 
 but gazed stupidly about him, stammered in 
 his speech, and faltered in his step when he 
 crossed the room. The shock of grief had 
 evidently overmastered his faculties — some- 
 thing, too, besides affliction, seemed to worry 
 and distress him — something of which he 
 wished to unbosom himself, but that yet he 
 could not make up his mind to reveal. Maud, 
 whose quickness of perception was seldom at 
 fault, did not fail to observe this, and reviewing 
 the position with her accustomed coolness, 
 drew her father gently to the writing-table, and 
 sat down. 
 
 " Papa," said she, " there is much to be done. 
 
" Nightfall r 35 
 
 We must exert ourselves. It will do us both 
 good. Bargrave can be down by the middle 
 of the day, to-morrow. Let me write for him 
 at once." 
 
 Bargrave and Co. were Mr. Bruce's solicitors, 
 as they had been his great-uncle's : it was the 
 same firm, indeed, that had apprised him of 
 his inheritance at Calais twenty years ago. 
 How he rejoiced in their intelligence then ! 
 What was the use of an inheritance now r 
 
 A weary lassitude had come over him ; he 
 seemed incapable of exertion, and shook his 
 head in answer to Maud's appeal ; but again 
 some hidden motive stung him into action,^ 
 and taking his seat at the writing-table, he 
 seized a pen, only to let it slip helplessly 
 through his fingers, while he looked in his 
 daughter's face with a vacant stare. 
 
 Maud was equal to the occasion. Obviously 
 something more than sorrow had reduced her 
 father to this state. She sat down opposite, 
 scribbled off a note hastily enough, but in the 
 clear unwavering hand, affirmed by her corre- 
 
36 M. or N. 
 
 spondents to be so characteristic of the writer's 
 disposition, and ringing the bell, desired it 
 should be despatched on the instant. " Let 
 Thomas take the brougham with the ponies; 
 the doctor is sure to be at home. He can 
 bring him back at once." 
 
 Then she looked at her father, and stopped 
 the ladies'-maid who, tearful and hysterical, had 
 answered the familiar summons, which but this 
 morning was " missis's bell." 
 
 " While they are putting to," said she, 
 calmly, " I will write a telegraphic message and 
 a letter. Tell him to send word when he is 
 ready. I shall give him exactly ten minutes." 
 
 Once more she glanced uneasily at Mr. 
 Bruce ; what she saw decided her. In half a 
 dozen words she penned a concise message to 
 her father's solicitor, desiring him to come 
 himself or send a confidential person to Eccles- 
 held Manor, by the very first train, on urgent 
 business ; and wrote a letter as well to the same 
 address, explaining her need of immediate 
 assistance, for Mr. Bargrave to receive the 
 
" Nightfall: 37 
 
 following morning, in case that gentleman 
 should not obey her telegram in person, a 
 contingency Miss Bruce considered highly 
 probable. 
 
 The ten minutes conceded to Thomas had 
 stretched to twenty before he was ready ; for so 
 strong is the force of habit among stablemen, 
 that even in a case of life and death, horses 
 cannot be allowed to start till their manes are 
 straightened and their hoofs blacked. In the 
 interval, Miss Bruce became more and more 
 concerned to observe no signs of attention on 
 her father's part — no inquiries as to her motives 
 — apparently no consciousness of what she was 
 doing. When the brougham was heard to roll 
 away at a gallop, she came round and put her 
 arm about his neck, where he sat in his chair 
 at the writing-table. 
 
 " Papa, dear," she said, " I have told them to 
 get your dressing-room ready. You are ill, 
 very ill. I can see it. You must go to 
 bed." 
 
 He nodded, and smiled. Such a weary. 
 
38 M. or N. 
 
 silly smile, letting her lead him away like a 
 little child. He would even have passed the 
 bed where his wife lay without a look, but that 
 his daughter stopped him at the door. 
 
 " Papa," said she — and the girl deserved 
 credit for the courage with which she kept her 
 
 tears back — ''won't you kiss her before you 
 go- 
 
 It may be some instinct warned her that not 
 in the body was he to look on the face he 
 loved again — that those material lips were 
 never more to touch the gentle brow which in 
 a whole life-time he had not seen to frown — 
 that their next greeting, freed from earthly 
 anxieties, released from earthly troubles, must 
 be exchanged, at no distant period, in heaven. 
 
 He obeyed unhesitatingly, imprinting a 
 caress on his dead wife's forehead, with no kind 
 of emotion, and so left the room, muttering 
 vaguely certain indistinct and incoherent syl- 
 lables, in which the words " Nina " and 
 " Bargrave " were alone intelligible. 
 
 Maud saw her father to his room, and con- 
 
" Night fair: 39 
 
 signed him to the hands of his valet, to be put 
 to bed without delay. Then she went to the 
 dining-room, and forced herself to eat a crust 
 of bread, to drink a single glass of sherry. " I 
 shall need all my strength to-night," thought 
 the girl, " to take care of poor papa, and 
 arrange about the funeral and such matters 
 as he cannot attend to — the funeral ! Oh, 
 mother, dear, kind mother ! I wasn't half 
 good enough to you while you were with us, 
 and now — but I won't cry — I won't cry. 
 There'll be time enough for all that by-and-by. 
 The first thing to think of is about papa. He 
 hasn't borne it well. Men have very little 
 courage when they come to trial, and I fear — 
 I fear, there is something sadly wrong with 
 him. Let me see. Three-quarters of an hour 
 to get to Bragford — five minutes' stoppage at 
 the turnpike, for that stupid man is sure to 
 have gone to bed — five minutes more for 
 Doctor Skilton to put on his great-coat, forty 
 minutes for coming back, those ponies always 
 go faster towards home. No, he can't be here 
 
40 M. or N. 
 
 under another hour. Another hour ! It's a 
 long time in a case hke this. Suppose papa 
 should have a paralytic stroke ! And I haven't 
 a notion what to do — the proper remedies, the 
 best treatment. Women ought to know 
 everything, and be ready for everything. 
 
 " Then there's the lawyer to-morrow. I 
 don't suppose papa will be able to see him. I 
 must think of all the business — all the arrange- 
 ments. He can't be here till ten o'clock at 
 the earliest, even if he starts by the first train. 
 I shall write my directions for hhn in the 
 morning. Meantime, I'll go and sit with poor 
 papa, and see if I can't hush him off to sleep." 
 
 But when Miss Bruce reached her father's 
 room, she found him lying in an alarming state 
 of which she had no experience. Something 
 between sleeping and waking, yet without the 
 repose of the one, the consciousness of the 
 other. So she took her place by his pillow, 
 and watched, listening anxiously for the 
 brougham that was to bring the doctor. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 TOM RYFE. 
 
 A T half-past eight in the morning Mr. Bar- 
 grave's office in Gray's Inn was still empty. 
 It had been swept, indeed, and " straightened," 
 as he called it, by a young gentleman, whose 
 duty it was to be in attendance at all hours 
 from sunrise to sunset, when nobody else was 
 in the way, and who fulfilled that duty by 
 slipping out on such available occasions to 
 join the youth of the quarter in sports of 
 clamour, strength, and skill. Just now he was 
 half a mile off in Holborn, running at full 
 speed, shouting at the top of his voice, with no 
 
42 M. or N. 
 
 apparent object but that of exercising his own 
 physical powers and the patience of the general 
 public in his exertions. It was not, therefore, 
 the step of this trusty guardian which fell sharp 
 and quick on the stone stair outside the office, 
 nor was it his hand, nor pass-key, that opened 
 the door to admit Mr. Bargrave's nephew, 
 assistant, and possible successor in the business, 
 Tom Ryfe. 
 
 That gentleman entered with the air of a 
 master, looked about him, detected the absence 
 of his young subordinate as one who is dis- 
 gusted rather than surprised, and lifted two 
 envelopes lying unopened on the table with an 
 oath. " As usual," he muttered, " telegram and 
 letter, same date — same place. Arrive together, 
 of course ! Chances are, if there is any hurry 
 you get the letter before the telegram. Halloa ! 
 here's a business. Bargrave's sure to be an 
 hour late, and that young scamp not within a 
 mile. If I had my way. Hang it ! I will 
 have my way. At all events I must manage 
 this business my way, for it seems there's not a 
 
Tom Ryfc. 43 
 
 moment to spare, and nobody to help me. 
 Dorothe-a !'* 
 
 The dirtiest woman to be found, probably, 
 at that hour in the whole of London, appeared 
 from a lower story in answer to his summons. 
 Pushing her hair off a grimy forehead with a 
 grimier hand, she listened to his directions, 
 staring vacantly, as is the manner of her kind, 
 but understanding them, nevertheless, and not 
 incapable of remembering their purport : they 
 were short and intelligible enough. 
 
 *' Tell that young scamp he is to sleep in 
 the office to-night. He mustn't leave it on 
 any consideration while I'm away. I'm going 
 into the country, and I'll break his head when 
 I come back." 
 
 Tom Ryfe then huddled the letter into his 
 pocket for perusal at leisure, hailed a hansom, 
 and in less than a quarter of an hour was in 
 his uncle's breakfast-room, bolting ham, muf- 
 fins, and green tea, while his clothes were 
 packed. 
 
 Mr. Bargrave, a bachelor, who liked his 
 
44 M. or N. 
 
 comforts, and took care to have them, was 
 reading the newspaper in a silk dressing-gown, 
 and a pair of gold spectacles. He had finished 
 breakfast — such a copious and leisurely repast 
 as is consumed by one who dines at six, drinks 
 a bottle of port every day at dessert, and never ! 
 smoked a cigar in his life. No earthly con- ' 
 sideration would hurry him for the next half- \ 
 hour. He looked over the top of his news- 
 paper with the placid benignity of a man who, '. 
 considering digestion one of the most important ; 
 functions of nature, values and encourages it 1 
 accordingly. 
 
 " Sudden," observed Mr. Bargrave, in answer 
 to his nephew's communication. " Something 
 of a seizure, no doubt. Time is of importance ; 
 the young lady's telegram should have come 
 to hand last night. Be so good as to make a 
 note on the back. Three doctors, does she 
 say? Bless me! They'll never let him get 
 over it. Most unfortunate just now, on account 
 of the child — of the young lady. You can 
 take the necessary instructions. T will follow. 
 
To77i Ryfe. 45 
 
 if required. It's twenty-three minutes' drive 
 to the station. Better be off at once, Tom." 
 
 So Tom took the hint, and was off. While 
 he drives to the station we may as well give an 
 account of Tom's position in the firm of Bar- 
 grave and Co. 
 
 Old Bargrave's sister had chosen to marry a 
 certain Mr. Rvfe, of whom nobodv knew more 
 than that he could shoot pigeons, had been 
 concerned in one or two doubtful turf trans- 
 actions, and played a good hand at whist. 
 While he lived, though it was a mystery hovj 
 he lived, he kept Mrs. Ryfe " very comfortable," 
 to use Bargrave's expression. When he died 
 he left her nothing but the boy Tom, a pre- 
 cocious urchin, inheriting some of his father's 
 sporting propensities, with a certain slang 
 smartness of tone and manner, acquired in those 
 circles where horseflesh is affected as an induce- 
 ment to speculation. 
 
 Mrs. Ryfe did not long survive her husband. 
 She had married a scamp, and was, therefore, 
 verv fond of him ; so before he had been dead 
 
46 M. or N. 
 
 a year, she was laid in the same grave. Then 
 her brother took the boy Tom, and put him 
 into his own business, making him begin by 
 sweeping out the office, and so requiring him 
 to rise grade by grade till he became con-' 
 hdential clerk and head manager of all matters ; 
 connected with the firm. 
 
 At twenty-six years of age, Tom Ryfe pos-, 
 sessed as much experience as his principal,' 
 joined to a cunning and sharpness of intellect 
 peculiarly his own. To take care of number 
 one was doubtless the head clerk's ruling 
 maxim ; but while thus attending to his per- 
 sonal welfare, he never failed to affect a keen 
 interest in the affairs of numbers two, three, 
 four, and the rest. Tom Ryfe was a ''friendly 
 fellow," people declared ; " a deuced friendly 
 fellow, and knew what he was about, mind you, 
 better than most people." 
 
 " Every great man," said the Emperor 
 Nicholas, " has a hook in his nose." In the 
 firmest characters, no doubt, there is a weakness 
 by which they are to be led or driven ; and 
 
Tom Ryfc. 47 
 
 Tom Ryfe, like other notabilities, was not with- 
 out this crevice in his armour, this breach in 
 his embattled wall. He had shrewdness, know- 
 ledge of the world, common sense, and yet the 
 one great object of his efforts was to be ad- 
 mitted into a class of society far above his own, 
 and to find there an ideal lady with whom to 
 pass the rest of his days. 
 
 " I'll marry a top-sawyer," he used to say, 
 whenever his uncle broached the question of 
 his settlement in life. " Why, bless ye, it's the 
 same tackle and the same fly that takes the big 
 fish and the little one. It's no more trouble to 
 make up to a duchess than a dairymaid. I'll 
 pick a real white-handed one, you see if I don't. 
 A wife that can movc^ uncle, cool, and calm, 
 and lofty, like an air balloon ; wearing her 
 dresses as if she was made for them, and her 
 jewels as if she didn't know she'd got them on ; 
 lookingasmuch at home in the Queen's drawing- 
 room as she does in her own. That's my sort, 
 and that's the sort I'll choose ! Why, there's 
 scores of 'em to be seen any afternoon in the 
 
48 Af. or N. 
 
 i 
 
 Park. Never tell me I can't go in and take 
 my pick. * Nothing venture, nothing have,' 
 they say. I ain't going to venture much. I 
 don't see occasion for it, but I'll have what I 
 want, you see if I won't, or I'll know the reason 
 why." |. 
 
 Whereon Bargrave, who considered woman- ^ 
 kind in general as an unnecessary evil, would j 
 reply — 
 
 " Time enough, Tom, time enough. I 
 haven't had much experience with the ladies 
 myself, except as clients, you know. The less 
 I see of 'em, I think, the more I like 'em. 
 Better put it off a little, Tom. It can be done 
 any day, my boy, when you've an hour to spare. 
 I wouldn't be in a hurry if I was you. There's 
 a fresh sample ticketed every year ; and they're 
 not like port wine, you must remember, they 
 don't improve with keeping." 
 
 Tom Ryfe had plenty of time to revolve his 
 speculations, matrimonial and otherwise, during 
 his journey to Ecclesfield Manor by one of 
 those mid-day trains so irritating to through- 
 
Tom Ryfe. 49 
 
 passengers, which stop at intermediate stations, 
 dropping brown-paper parcels, and taking up 
 old women with baskets. He reviewed many 
 little affairs of the heart in which he had lately 
 been engaged, without, however, suffering his 
 affections to involve themselves too deeply for 
 speedy withdrawal. He reflected with great 
 satisfaction on his own fastidious rejection of 
 several " suitable parties," as he expressed it, 
 who did not quite reach his standard of aristo- 
 cratic perfection, remembering how Mrs. Blades, 
 the well-to-do widow, with fine eyes and a 
 house in Duke Street, had fairly landed him 
 but for that unfortunate dinner at which he 
 detected her eating fish with a knife ; how cer- 
 tain grated-looking needle-marks on Miss 
 Glance's left forefinger had checked him just 
 in time while in the act of kissing her hand ; 
 and how, on the very eve of a proposal to 
 beautiful Constance De Courcy, whose manner, 
 bearing, and appearance, no less than her name, 
 denoted the extreme of refinement and high 
 birth, he had sustained a shock, galvanic but 
 
 E 
 
50 AI. or N. 
 
 salutary, from her artless exclamation, "Oh 
 my ! whatever shall I do ? If here isn't Pa !" 
 
 " No," thought Tom, as he rolled on into 
 the fair expanse of down country that lay for 
 miles round Ecclesfield, " I haven't found one 
 yet quite up to the pattern I require. When 
 I do I shall go in and win, that's all. I don't 
 see why my chance shouldn't be as good as : 
 another's. I'm not such a bad-looking chap 
 when I'm dressed and my hair's greased. I can 
 do tricks with cards like winking. I can ride \ 
 a bit, shoot a bit — 'specially pigeons — dance a • 
 bit, and make love to 'em no end. I've got 
 the gift of the gab, I know, and I stick a 
 nothing. That's what the girls like, and that' 
 what will pull me through when I find the one" 
 I want. Another station, and not there yet ! 
 What a slow train this is !" 
 
 It was a slow train, and Tom arriving at 
 Ecclesfield, saw on the face of the servant who 
 admitted him that he was too late. In addition 
 to the solemn and mysterious hush that per- 
 vades a house in which the dead lie yet un- 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
Tom Ryfe. 3 1 
 
 buried, a feeling of horror, the result of some 
 unlooked-for and additional calamity, seemed 
 to predominate ; and Tom was hardly surprised, 
 however much he might be shocked, when the 
 old butler gasped, in broken sentences, " Seizure 
 — last night — quite unconscious — all over this 
 morning. Will you take some refreshment, 
 sir, after your journey r" 
 
 Mr. Bruce had been dead a few hours — dead 
 without time to set his house in order, without 
 consciousness even to wish his child good-bye. 
 
 She came down to see Mr. Bargrave's clerk 
 that afternoon, pale, calm, collected, beautiful. 
 but stern and unbending under the sorrow 
 against which her haughty nature rebelled. In 
 a few words, referring to a memorandum the 
 while, she gave him her directions for the 
 funeral and its ceremonies ; desired him to 
 ascertain at once the state of her late father's 
 affairs, the amount of a succession to which she 
 believed herself entitled ; begged he would 
 return with full information that day fort- 
 night ; ordered luncheon for him in the dining- 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS 
 
52 M. or N\ 
 
 room ; and so dismissed him as a bereaved 
 queen might dismiss the humblest of her 
 subjects. 
 
 Tom Ryfe, returning to London by the 
 next train, thought he had never felt so small ; 
 and yet, was not this proud, sorrowing, and 
 beautiful young damsel the ideal he had been 
 seeking hitherto in vain ? It is not too much 
 to say that for twenty miles he positively hated 
 her, striving fiercely against the influence, which 
 yet he could not but acknowledge. In another \ 
 twenty, his good opinion of his best friend 
 Mr. Ryfe reasserted itself He had seen some- 
 thing of the world, and possessed, moreover, a 
 certain shallow acquaintance with human J 
 nature, not of the highest class, so he argued 
 thus : 
 
 " Women like what they are unaccustomed 
 to. The Grand Duchess of Gerolstein makes 
 love to a private soldier simply because she 
 don't know what a private soldier is. This 
 girl must have lived amongst a set of starched 
 and stuck-up people who have not two ideas 
 
 A 
 
Tom Ryfc. ^f'}^ 
 
 beyond themselves and their order. She has 
 never so much as seen a smart, business-hke, 
 active fellow, ready to take all trouble off her 
 hands, and make up her mind for her before 
 she can turn round — young, too, and not so 
 bad-looking, though I dare say she's used to 
 good-looking chaps enough. The man's game 
 who went in for Miss Bruce would be this : 
 constant attention to her interests, supreme 
 disregard for her feelings, and never to let her 
 have her own way for a moment. She'd be so 
 utterly taken aback she'd give in without a 
 fight. Why shouldn't I try my chance ? It's 
 a good spec. It must be a good spec. And 
 yet, hang it ! such a high-handed girl as that 
 would suit me without a shilling. It dashed 
 me a httle at first; but I like that scornful 
 way of hers I own. What eyes, too ! and 
 what hair ! I wonder if I'm a fool. No ; 
 nothing's impossible ; it's only difficult. What ! 
 London already ? Ah ! there's no place like 
 town." 
 
 The familiar gas-lamps, the roll of the cabs. 
 
54 M. or N. 
 
 the bustle in the streets, dispelled whatever 
 shadows of mistrust in his own merits remained 
 from Tom's reflections in the railway carriage ; 
 and long before he reached his uncle's house, 
 he had made up his mind to "go in," as he 
 called it, for Miss Bruce, morally confident of 
 winning, yet troubled with certain chilling 
 misgivings, as fearing that this time he had 
 really fallen in love. J 
 
 Many and long, during the ensuing week, 
 were the consultations between old Bargrave 
 and his nephew as to the future prospects of 
 the lady in question. Her father had died 
 without a will. That fact seemed pretty evi- 
 dent, as he had often expressed his intention of j 
 preparing such an instrument, but had hitherto 
 moved no further in the matter. 
 
 " Depend upon it, Tom," said his uncle, that 
 very evening over their port wine, " he wouldn't 
 go to anybody else. He was never much of a 
 business-man, and he couldn't have disentangled 
 his affairs sufficiently to make 'em clear, except 
 to me. It's a sad pity for many reasons, but 
 
Tom Ryfe, 55 
 
 I'm just as sure there's no will as I am that my 
 glass is empt)'. Help yourself, Tom, and pass 
 the wine." 
 
 "Then she takes as next of kin," said Tom, 
 thinking of Maud's dark eyes, and filling his 
 glass. " Here's her health !" 
 
 " By all means," assented Bargrave. " Her 
 very good health, poor girl ! But as to the 
 succession I have mv doubts ; grave doubts. 
 There's a trust, Tom. I looked over the deed 
 while you were down there to-day. It is so 
 worded that a male heir might advance a prior 
 claim. There is a male heir, a parson in 
 Dorsetshire, not a likely man to give in without 
 a fight. We'll look at it again to-morrow. If 
 it reads as I think, I wouldn't give a pinch of 
 snuff for the young lady's chance." 
 
 Tom's face fell. " Can't we fight it, uncle ?" 
 said he, stoutly, applying himself once more to 
 the port ; but Bargrave had drawn his silk 
 handkerchief over his face, and was already fast 
 asleep. 
 
56 M. or N. 
 
 So uncle and nephew went into the trust- 
 deed, morning after morning, arriving in its 
 perusal at a conclusion adverse to Miss Bruce's 
 interest ; but then, as the younger man 
 observed, " the beauty of our EngUsh law is, 
 that you can always fight a thing even if you 
 haven't a leg to stand on." 
 
 It was almost time for Tom Ryfe's return 
 journey to Ecclesfield, and a coat ordered for 
 the express purpose of captivating Miss Bruce 
 had actually come home, when the post 
 brought him a Uttle note from that lady, 
 which afforded him, as such notes often do, an 
 absurd and overweening joy. It was bordered 
 with the deepest black, and ran as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 (" Dear sir," thought Tom, " ah ! that 
 sounds much sweeter than plain sir") — I 
 venture to trouble you with a commission in 
 the nature of business. A packet, containing 
 some diamond ornaments belonging to me, 
 will be left by the jeweller at Mr. Bargrave's 
 
 1 
 
Tom Ryfe. 57 
 
 office to-morrow. Will you kindly bring it 
 down with you to Ecclesfield ? 
 
 " Yours, very obediently, 
 
 " Maud Bruce." 
 
 Tom kissed the signature. He was very far 
 gone already, and took care to be at the office 
 in time to receive the diamonds. That boy 
 was out of the way, of course ! So Tom 
 summoned the grimy Dorothea to his presence. 
 
 " I shall be busy for an hour," said he ; 
 " don't admit anybody unless he comes by 
 appointment, except it's a man with a packet 
 of jewellery. Take it in yourself, and bring it 
 here at once. I've got to carry it down with 
 me to-night by the train. Do you under- 
 stand ?" 
 
 " Is it a long journey as you're a-goin', sir ?" 
 asked Dorothea. " I should like to clean up 
 a-bit while you was away." 
 
 " Only to Bragford," answered Tom ; " but 
 I might not be back for a day or two. Mind 
 about the parcel, though," he added, in the 
 
I 
 
 58 M. or N. 
 
 exuberance of his spirits. '' The thing's 
 vakiable. It's for a young lady. It's jewels, 
 Dorothea. It's diamonds !" 
 
 " Lor !" said Dorothea, going back to her 
 scrubbing forthwith. 
 
 The jeweller, being dilatory, Tom had finished 
 his letters before that artificer arrived, thus 
 saving Dorothea all responsibility in the valu- 
 able packet confided to his charge, for Mr. Ryfe 
 received it himself in the outer office, whither 
 he had resorted in a fidget to compare a time- 
 table with a railway map of England. He 
 fretted to set off at once. He had finished his 
 business ; he had nothing to do now but eat an 
 early dinner at his uncle's, and so start by the 
 afternoon train on the path of love, triumph, 
 and success, leaving the boy, coerced by ghastly 
 threats, to take charge of the office in his 
 absence. 
 
 We have all seen a bird moulting, draggled, 
 dirty, woe-begone, not to be recognized for 
 the same bird, sleek and glossy in its holiday- 
 suit of feathers, pruning its wing for a flight 
 
Tom Ryfe. 59 
 
 across the summer-sky. Even so different was 
 the Dorothea of the unkempt hair, the soapy 
 arms, the dingy apron, and the grimy face, 
 from a gaudy damsel who emerged in the 
 afternoon sun out of Mr. Bargrave's chambers, 
 bright with all the colours of the rainbow, and 
 scrupulously dressed, according to the extreme 
 style of the last prevailing fashion but two. 
 
 She was a good-looking woman enough now 
 that she had " cleaned herself," as she expressed 
 it, but for a certain roughness of hair, coarse- 
 ness of skin, and general redundancy of outline, 
 despite of which drawbacks, however, she 
 attracted many admiring glances from cab- 
 drivers, omnibus-conductors, a precocious shoe- 
 black, and the policeman on duty, as she 
 tripped into Holborn and mingled with the 
 living stream that flows unceasingly down that 
 artery of London. 
 
 Dorothea seemed to know where she was 
 going well enough, and yet the coarse red 
 cheek turned pale while she approached her 
 goal, though it was but a flashy, dirty-looking 
 
6o M. or N. 
 
 gin-shop, standing at a corner where two streets i 
 met. Her colour rose though, higher than 
 before, when a potboy, with a shock of red J 
 hair, and his shirt-sleeves rolled up to his 
 shoulders, thus accosted her : 1 
 
 " You're just in time, miss ; he'd 'a been off ■ 
 in a minit, but old Batters, he come in just now, 
 and your young man stopped to take his share ' 
 of another half-quartern." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 GENTLEMAN JIM. 
 
 I ^HERE is no reason, because a woman is 
 coarse, hard-working, low-born, and badly- 
 dressed, she should be without that incon- 
 venient feminine appendage — a heart. Dorothea 
 trembled and turned pale when the door of 
 the Holborn gin-shop swung open and the 
 man she most wished to see in all the world 
 stood at her side. 
 
 He would have been a good-looking fellow 
 enough in any rank of life, but to Dorothea, 
 and others of her class, his clear, well-cut 
 features and jetty ringlets rendered him an 
 absolute Adonis, despite the air of half-drunken 
 
62 M. or N\ 
 
 \ 
 
 bravado and assumed recklessness which marred 
 a naturally resolute expression of countenance. 
 He wore a fur cap, a velveteen jacket, and a 
 bright-red neckcloth, secured by an enormous 
 ring ; nor was this remarkable costume out of 
 character with the perfume he exhaled, denoting 
 he had consumed at least his share of that; 
 other half-quartern which postponed his de-, 
 parture. 1 
 
 Dorothea slipped her arm in his, and clung 
 to him with the fond tenacity of a woman who 
 loves heart and soul, poor thing, to her cost. 
 
 His manner was an admirable combination 
 of low-class gallantry with pitying condescen- 
 sion. \ 
 
 " Why, Doll," said he, " what's up now ? 
 You don't look hearty, my lass. Step in and 
 take a dram ; it'll do you good." 
 
 She glanced admiringly in the comely dissi- 
 pated face. 
 
 " Ah ! they may well call you Gentleman 
 Jim," she answered ; " you're fit to be a lord 
 of the land, you are ; and so you would, if I 
 
Gentleman yini. 63 
 
 was queen. But I doesn't want you to treat 
 me, Jim, leastways not this turn ; I wants you 
 to come for a walk, dear. I've a bit of news 
 for you. It's business, Jim," she added, some- 
 what ruefully, " or I wouldn't go for to ask." 
 
 His face, which had fallen a little, assuming 
 that wearied expression a woman ought most 
 to dread on the face she cares for, brightened 
 considerably. 
 
 '' Come on, lass !" he exclaimed, " business 
 first, and pleasure arter. Speak up, and let's 
 hear all about it." 
 
 They had turned from the main thorough- 
 fare into a dark and quiet bye-street. She 
 crossed her work-worn hand on his arm, and 
 proceeded nervously — 
 
 "You say I never put you on a job, Jim. 
 Well, I've a job to put you on now. I don't 
 half like it, dear. It's for your sake I don't 
 half like it. Promise me as you'll be carefid, 
 very careful, this turn." 
 
 " Bother !" answered Jim. " Stow that, lass, 
 and let's have it out." 
 
64 M. or N. 
 
 Thus elegantly adjured, Doll, as he called 
 her, obeyed without delay, though her voice 
 faltered and her colour faded more than once 
 while she went on. 
 
 " You told me as you wouldn't love me 
 without I kep' my ears open, and my eyes too. . 
 Well, Jim, I've watched and watched old 
 master and young, like a cat watches a mouse- j 
 hole, till I've been that sick and tired I could , 
 have set down and cried. Now, to-day I 
 wanted to see you so bad, at any rate, and, 
 thinks I, here's a bit of news as my Jim will 
 like to learn. Look, now : young master, he's 
 a goin' to a place they call Bragford by the 
 five o'clock train. Oh, I mind the name well 
 enough. You know, Jim, you always bid me 
 take notice of names. Well, it's Bragford. 
 Bragford, says he, quite plain, an' as loud as 
 I'm a-speakin' now." 
 
 " Forty-five miles from London," answered 
 Jim, "and not ten minutes' walk from the 
 branch line. Well?" 
 
 " He's a takin' summut down for a young 
 
' Gentleman Jim. 63 
 
 lady," continued Doll. " It is but a small 
 package, what you might put in your coat- 
 pocket, or your hat. Oh, Jim ! Jim ! if you 
 should chance on a stroke of luck this turn, 
 won't you give the trade up for good and all r 
 If you and me had but a roof to cover us, I 
 wouldn't ask better than only liberty to work 
 for you till I dropped." 
 
 Tears stood in her eyes, and for a moment 
 the face that looked up into the ruffian's was 
 almost beautiful in its expression of entire 
 devotion and trust. 
 
 He had taken a doubtful cigar from his 
 coat-pocket, and was smoking thoughtfully. 
 
 " Small," said he, " then it ought, by rights, 
 to be valuable. Did ye get a feel of it, Doll, 
 or was it only a smell r" 
 
 " He took it hisselt out of the jeweller's 
 
 hands," answered Doll ; " but I hadn't no call 
 
 to be curious, for he told me what it was free 
 
 enough. There ain't no smell about diamonds, 
 
 im. 
 
 " Nor you can't swear to them neither," 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 M. or N, 
 
 replied Jim, exultingly. "Diamonds, Doll! 
 you're sure he said diamonds ? Come, you 
 have done it, my lass. Give us a kiss, Doll, 
 and let's turn in here at the Sunflower, and 
 drink good luck to the job." 
 
 The woman acceded to both proposals, 
 readily enough, but followed her companion, 
 into the ill-favoured little tavern with a wearyj' 
 step and a heavy heart. Some unerring in-, 
 stinct told her, no doubt, that she was giving, 
 all and taking nothing, offering gold for silver,; 
 truth for falsehood, love and devotion for aj 
 mere liking, rapidly waning to indifference and| 
 contempt. 
 
 Tom Ryfe, all anxiety to find himself oncef. 
 more in the same county with Miss Bruce,' 
 was in good time, we may be sure, for the: 
 train that should carry him down to Eccles- 
 field. Bustling through the station to take 
 his ticket, he was closely followed by a well-- 
 dressed person in a pair of blue spectacles, 
 travelling apparently without luggage or im- 
 pediments of any description. This individual 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
Gentleman Jim. 67 
 
 jeemed also bound for Bragford, and showed 
 iome little eagerness to travel in the same 
 carriage with Tom, who attributed the com- 
 pliment to his lately-constructed coat and 
 general appearance as a swell of the first w^ater. 
 ^' He don't often get such a chance," thought 
 Mr. Ryfe, accepting with extreme graciousness 
 the other's civilities as to open windows and 
 •change of seats. He even went so far as to 
 take a proffered cigar from the case of his 
 fellow-traveller, which he would have smoked 
 forthwith, but for the peremptory objections 
 ■of a crusty old gentleman, who arrived at the 
 last moment, encumbered with such a para- 
 phernalia of railway-rugs, travelling-bags, books, 
 newspapers and magazines, as denoted the 
 through passenger, not to be got rid of at any 
 intermediate station. The old gentleman glared 
 defiance, but made himself comfortable never- 
 theless ; and the presence of this common 
 enemy was a bond of union to render the two 
 chance acquaintances more than ordinarily 
 cordial and communicative. 
 
68 M, or N, 
 
 II 
 
 Smoking being prohibited, they had not 
 proceeded many miles into the country ere 
 the gentleman in spectacles produced a box of 
 lozenges from his pocket, and, selecting one 
 for his own consumption, offered another, with 
 much suavity, to Tom Ryfe, surveying mean-f 
 w^hile, with inquisitive glances, the bulge inf 
 that gentleman's breast-pocket, where he car-t 
 ried his valuable package ; but here again both* 
 were startled, not to say irritated, by the die-: 
 tatorial interference of the last arrival. 
 
 " Excuse me, gentlemen," said this irrepres-| 
 sible old man, " I cannot permit it. Damn* 
 me, sir !" turning full round upon Tom Ryfe,i 
 " I wo7it permit it ! I can detect the smell off 
 chloroform in those lozenges. Smell, sir, I've 
 the smell of a bloodhound. I could hunt ai 
 scamp all over England by nose — by nose, II 
 tell you, sir, and worry him to death wheni 
 I ran into him ; and I wotdd^ too. Now, sir, 
 if yotc choose to be chloroformed, I don't. 
 I'm not anxious to be taken out of this com- 
 partment as stupid as an owl, and as cold as a 
 
Gentleinmi Jim. 69 
 
 cabbage, with a pain in my eyes, a singing in 
 my ears, and a scoundrel's hands in my waist- 
 coat pockets. Excuse me, sir, I'm warm — 
 I wouldn't give much for a chap that wasn't 
 — and I speak my mind !" 
 
 It seemed a bad speculation to quarrel with 
 him, this big, burly, resolute, and disagreeable 
 old man. Tom Ryfe, for once, was at a 
 nonplus. He murmured a few vague sentences 
 of dissent, while the passenger in spectacles, 
 consigning his lozenges to an inner pocket, 
 buried himself in the broad sheet of the 
 "Times." 
 
 But it was his turn now, and not even thus 
 could he escape. Staring grimly at him, over 
 the top of the paper, his tormentor fired a 
 point-blank question, from which there was no 
 refuge. 
 
 " Pray, sir," said he, " are you a chemist ?" 
 
 The gentleman in spectacles signified, by a 
 shake of the head, that was not his profession. 
 . " Then, sir," continued the other, " do you 
 know anything about chemistry — volatile es- 
 
70 M. or N. 
 
 % 
 
 sences, noxious drugs, subtle poisons? I do." 
 (Here Tom Ryfe observed his ally turn pale.) 
 " Permit me to remark, sir, that if you don't, 
 you are like a schoolboy carrying a pocketful 
 of squibs and crackers on the fifth of Novem- 
 ber, unconscious that a single spark may blow ' 
 him into the Christmas holidays before he can ! 
 say ' knife !' Let me see those lozenges, sir — ■ i 
 let me have them in my hand ; I'll tell you in ] 
 five seconds what they're made of, and how, i 
 and where, and why." j 
 
 Here the man in spectacles, with consider- • 
 able presence of mind, threw the whole of^^ 
 his lozenges out of window, under cover of the i 
 " Times." \ 
 
 " You frighten me, sir," said he ; "I wouldn't 
 keep such dangerous articles about me on any 
 consideration." 
 
 The old gentleman executed an elaborate 
 wink, denoting extreme satisfaction, at Tom 
 Ryfe. " If you were going through," said he, 
 " I could tell you some funny stories. Queer 
 tricks upon travellers I've seen in my time. 
 
Gentleman yim, 71 
 
 Why I was the first person to find out the 
 sinking floor dodge in West Street. My 
 evidence transported three people for life, and 
 a fourth for fifteen years. I once saw a man 
 pulled down by the heels through a grating 
 in one of the busiest streets in the City, and if 
 I hadnt seen him he would never have come 
 up ahve. Why the police apply to me for 
 advice many a time when people are missing. 
 ' Don't distress yourselves,' says I, ' they'll turn 
 up, never fear.' And they do turn up, sir, in 
 nineteen cases out of twenty. In the twentieth, 
 when there's foul play, we generally know 
 something about it within eight-and-forty 
 hours. Bragford r Is it ? You get out here, 
 do you ? Good-morning, gentlemen ; I hope 
 you've enjoyed your jaunt." 
 
 Then as Tom, collecting great-coats, news- 
 papers, &c., followed his new acquaintance out 
 of the carriage, this strange old gentleman 
 detained him for an instant by the arm. 
 
 " Friend of yours, sir ?" said he, pointing to 
 the man in spectacles on the platform. " Never 
 
72 M. or N. 
 
 saw him before ? I thought so. Sharper, sir, 
 I'll take my oath of it, or something worse. 
 know the sort ; I've exposed hundreds of them. 
 Take my advice, sir, and never see him again." 
 
 With that the train glided on, leaving 
 Mr. Ryfe and the gentleman in spectacles 
 staring at each other over a basket of fish and 
 a portmanteau. 
 
 " Mad !" observed the latter, with an uneasy 
 attempt at a laugh, and a readjustment of his 
 glasses. 
 
 "Mad, no doubt," answered Tom, but 
 followed the lunatic's counsel, nevertheless, so 
 far as to refrain from offering the other a lift 
 in the well-appointed brougham, with its burly 
 coachman, waiting to convey him to Eccles- 
 field Manor, though his late fellow-traveller 
 was proceeding in that direction on foot. 
 
 Tom had determined to sleep at the Railway 
 Hotel, Bragford, ere he returned to London 
 next day. This arrangement he considered 
 more respectful than an intrusion on the 
 hospitality of Ecclesfield, should it be offered 
 
 1 
 
 ( 
 
 I 
 
Gentleman yhn, 73 
 
 him. Perhaps so scrupulous a regard for the 
 proprieties molUiied Miss Bruce in his favour, 
 and called forth an invitation to tea in the 
 drawing-room when he had concluded the soli- 
 tary dinner prepared for him after his journey. 
 
 Tom Ryfe was always a careful dresser. Up 
 to forty most men are. It is only when we 
 have nobody to please that we become negli- 
 gent of pleasing. I believe, though, that never 
 in his life did he tie his neckcloth or brush 
 his whiskers with more care than on the 
 present occasion in a large and dreary chamber 
 known to the household as one of the " best 
 bed-rooms " of Ecclesfield Manor. 
 
 Tom looked about him, with a proud con- 
 sciousness that at last his foot was on the 
 ladder he had wanted all his life to climb. 
 Here he stood, actually dressing for dinner, 
 a welcome guest in the house of an old- 
 established county family, on terms of con- 
 fidence, if not intimacy, with its proud and 
 beautifiil female representative, in whose cause 
 he was about to do battle with all the force of 
 
74 M, or N. 
 
 his intellect, and (Tom began to think she 
 could make him fool enough for anything) all 
 the resources of his purse. The old family- 
 pictures — sad daubs, or they would never have 
 been consigned to the bedrooms — simpered 
 down on him with encouraging benignity. 
 Prim women, wearing enormously long waists, 
 and their heads a good deal on one side, 
 pointed their fans at him, while he washed his < 
 hands, with a coquetry irresistible, had their \ 
 colours only stood, combining entreaty and ! 
 command ; while a jolly old boy in flowing \ 
 wig, steel breastplate, and the most convivial \ 
 
 of noses, smiled in his face, as who should say, j 
 
 i 
 ^^ Audaces Fortunajtivat ! — Go in, my hearty, 1 
 
 and win if you can !" 
 
 What was there in these surroundings, in 
 
 the orderly decorum of the well-regulated 
 
 mansion, in the chiming of the stable clock, 
 
 nay, in the reflection of his own person shown 
 
 by that full-length glass, to take the starch, as 
 
 it were, out of Tom's self-confidence, turning 
 
 his moral courage limp and helpless for the 
 
Gentleman yim. 75 
 
 nonce, bringing insensibly to his mind the 
 familiar refrain of " Not for Joseph r" What 
 was there that bade him man himself against 
 this discouragement, as true bravery mans 
 H itself against the sensation of fear ? and why 
 should he be less worthy of approbation than 
 other spirits who venture on " enterprises of 
 great pith and moment " with beating hearts, 
 indeed, but with unflinching courage and a 
 dogged determination to succeed? 
 
 Had Tom been a young knight arming for 
 a tournament, in which the good fortune of 
 his lance was to win him a king's daughter for 
 his bride, he might have claimed to be an 
 admirable and interesting hero. Was he, 
 indeed, a less respectable adventurer, that for 
 steel he had to substitute French polish, for 
 surcoat and corslet, broadcloth and cambric — 
 that the battle he was to wage must be fought 
 out by tenacity of purpose and ingenuity of 
 brain, rather than strength of arm and down- 
 right hardness of skull ? 
 
 He shook a little too much scent on his 
 
76 M. or N. 
 
 handkerchief as he finished dressing, and walked 
 down stairs in a state of greater agitation than 
 he would have liked to admit. 
 
 Dinner was soon done. Eaten in solitude 
 with grave servants watching every mouthful, 
 he was glad to get it over. In a glass of brown 
 sherry he drank Miss Bruce's health, and thus 
 primed, followed the butler to the drawing- 
 room, where that lady sat working by the light 
 of a single lamp. 
 
 The obscurity was in his favour. Tom made 
 his bow and accepted the chair offered him, 
 less awkwardly than was to be expected from 
 the situation. 
 
 Maud looked very beautiful with the light 
 falling on her sculptured chin, her fair neck, 
 and white hands, set off by the deep shadows 
 of the mourning dress she wore. 
 
 I believe he was going to begin by saying 
 " it had been a fine day," but she stopped him 
 in her clear, cold voice, with its patrician 
 accent, so difficult to define, yet so impossible 
 to mistake. 
 
 * 
 
Gentleman Jim. 77 
 
 " I have to thank you, Mr. Ryfe, for taking 
 such care of my jewels. I hope the man left 
 them at your office as he promised, and that 
 you had no further trouble about them." 
 
 He wanted to say that " no errand of hers 
 could be a trouble to /^/;;^5" but the words stuck 
 in his throat, or she would hardly have pro- 
 ceeded so graciously. 
 
 " We must go into a few matters of business 
 this evening, if you have got the papers you 
 mentioned. I leave here to-morrow, and there 
 is little time to spare." 
 
 He produced a neatly-folded packet, docketed 
 and carefully tied with tape. The sight of it 
 roused his energies, as the shaking of a guidon 
 rouses an old trooper. Despite of the en- 
 chantress and all her glamour, Tom was himself 
 again. 
 
 " Business is my trade. Miss Bruce," said he, 
 briskly. " I must ask your earnest attention 
 for a quarter of an hour, while I explain our 
 position as regards the estate. At present it 
 appears beset with difficulties. That's my look 
 
78 M. or N. 
 
 \ 
 
 out. Before we begin," added Tom, with a 
 diffident faltering of voice, partly natural, partly 
 assumed, " forgive my asking your future 
 address. It is indispensable that we should 
 frequently communicate, and — and — I cannot 
 help hoping and expressing my hope for your ' 
 happiness in the home you have chosen." " 
 
 Maud's smile was very taking. She smiled ' 
 with her eyes, those dark, pleasing eyes that ' 
 would have made a fool of a wiser man than ^ 
 Tom. : 
 
 " I am going to Aunt Agatha's," she said. : 
 " I am to live with her for good. I have no \ 
 home of my own now." 
 
 The words were simple enough — spoken, \ 
 too, without sadness or bitterness as a mere 
 abstract matter of fact, but they aroused all 
 the pen-and-ink chivalry in Tom's nature, and 
 he vowed in his heart to lay goose-quill in rest 
 on her behalf, with the devotion of a Montmo- 
 rency or a Bayard. 
 
 " Miss Bruce," said he, resolutely, " the battle 
 is not yet lost. In our last, of the 15th, we 
 
Gc7itleman yhn. 79 
 
 advised you that the other side had already 
 taken steps to oppose our claims. My uncle 
 has great experience, and I will not conceal 
 from you that my uncle is less sanguine than 
 myself ; but I begin to see my way, and if there 
 is a possibility of winning, by hook or by crook, 
 depend upon it. Miss Bruce, win we will^ for 
 our own sakes, and — and — iox yotirs T 
 
 The last two words were spoken in a whisper, 
 being indeed a spontaneous ebullition, but she 
 heard them nevertheless. In her deep sorrow, 
 in her friendless, homeless position there was 
 something soothing and consolatory in the 
 sympathy of this young man, lawyer's clerk 
 though he were, as she insisted with unnecessary 
 repetition to herself. He showed at his best, 
 too, while explaining the legal complications 
 involved in the whole business, and the steps 
 by which he hoped eventually to succeed. 
 Maud was too thoroughly a woman not to 
 admire power, and Tom's intellect possessed 
 obviously no small share of that quality, when 
 directed on such matters as the present. In 
 
8o M. or N. 
 
 { 
 
 half an hour he had furnished her with a lucid 
 statement of the whole case, and in half an hour 
 he had inspired her with respect for his opinion, 
 admiration of his sagacity, and confidence in 
 his strength — not a bad thirty minutes' work. 
 xVt its conclusion, she shook hands with him 
 cordially when she wished him good-night. 
 Tom was no fool, and knew when to venture 
 as when to hold back. He bowed reverentially 
 
 over the white hand, muttering only — " God 
 bless you, Miss Bruce ! If you think of any- 
 thing else, at a moment's notice I will come 
 from the end of the world to serve you," — and 
 so hurried away before she could reply. 
 
 A 
 
 f 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE CRACKSMAN S CHECKMATE. 
 
 "pUCKERS, or Aliss Puckers, as she liked 
 to be called below-stairs, was a little 
 puzzled by her young mistress's abstraction, 
 while she brushed out Maud's wealth of raven 
 hair for the night. Stealing glances at herself 
 in the glass opposite, she could not help ob- 
 serving the expression on Miss Bruce's face. 
 The light was in it once more that had been 
 so quenched by her father's death. Puckers, 
 who, in the housekeeper's room, had discussed 
 the affairs of the family almost hourly ever 
 since that sorrowful event, considered that it 
 must have left his daughter in the possession 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 M. or N. 
 
 I 
 
 of untold wealth, and that " the young man 
 from town," as she designated Tom Ryfe, was 
 sent down expressly to afford the heiress an 
 estimate of her possessions. A true lady's-maid, 
 she determined to hazard the inquiry. 
 
 " I suppose, miss," said she, brushing ' 
 viciously, " we shan't be going to your aunt's ' 
 now quite so soon. I'm sure I've been that : 
 hurried and put about, I don't scarce know j 
 which way to turn." | 
 
 "Why?" asked Maud, quietly. "Not so : 
 hard, please." 
 
 " Well, miss, a lady is not like a servant, you | 
 know ; she can do as she chooses, of course. \ 
 But if I was ji/^?/, miss, I'd remain on the spot. 
 There's the new furniture to get ; there's the 
 linen to see to ; there's the bailiff given warn- 
 ing ; and that there young man from town, I 
 suppose he wouldn't come if we could do with- 
 out him, charging goodness knows what, as if 
 his very words was gold. But I give you joy, 
 miss, of your fortune, I do. I was a sayin', 
 only last night, was it ? to Mrs. Plummer, says 
 
The Cracksy7ian s Checkmate. 83 
 
 I, ' Whatever my young iady will do,' says I, 
 ' in a house where she isn't mistress, she that's 
 been used to rule in her poor ma's time, and 
 her pa's, ah ! ever since she cut her teeth 
 almost ;' and Mrs. Plummer says, says she '* 
 
 " That'll do. Puckers," observed Miss Bruce, 
 " I shall not want you any more. Good-night." 
 
 She took as little notice of her handmaid's 
 volubiUty as if the latter had been a grey parrot, 
 and dismissed her with a certain cold, imperial 
 manner that none of the household ever dreamt 
 it possible to dispute or disobey ; but after 
 Puckers, with a quantity of white draperies 
 over her arm, had departed to return no more, 
 she sat down at the dressing-table, and began 
 to think with all her might. 
 
 Her maid was a fool, no doubt : all maids 
 were ; but the shaft of folly, shot at random, 
 went home to the quick. " A house where she 
 wasn't mistress !" Had she ever considered the 
 future shelter offered her by Aunt Agatha in 
 that light r Here at the Manor, for as long 
 as she could remember, had she not reigned 
 
84 M. 07' N. 
 
 supreme ? All the little arrangements of dinner- 
 parties, picnics, archery-meetings, and such 
 gatherings as make up country society, had 
 fallen into her hands. Mamma didn't care — 
 mamma never cared how anything was settled 
 so long as papa was pleased ; and papa thought 
 Maud could not possibly do wrong. So by 
 degrees — and this at an age when young ladies 1 
 are ordinarily in the schoolroom — Miss Bruce \ 
 had grown, on all social questions, to be the 
 virtual head of the family. It was a position 
 of which, till the time came to abdicate, she 
 had not sufficiently appreciated the value. It 
 seemed so natural to order carriages and horses 
 at her own hours, to return visits, to receive 
 guests, to do the honours of a comfortable 
 country-house with an adequate establishment, 
 and now, could she bear to live with Aunt 
 Agatha, on sufferance ? — Aunt Agatha, whom 
 she had never liked, and whom she only re- 
 frained from snubbing and setting down, be- 
 cause they so seldom met, but when the elder 
 lady had been invited by the younger as a 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate. 85 
 
 guest ! " To be dependent," thought Maud, 
 mentally addressing the beautiful face in the 
 glass. " How should you like that ? yoic with 
 your haughty head, and your scornful eyes, 
 and your hard, unbending heart ? I know you ! 
 Nobody knows you but me ! And I know 
 how bad you are — how capricious, and how 
 cruel ! When you want anything, do you 
 ever spare anybody to get it ? Did you ever 
 love any one on earth as well as your own way ? 
 Even mamma r Oh ! mamma, dear, dear 
 mamma, if you had lived I might have got 
 better — I was better, I know I was better while 
 I was with yott. But now — now I must be 
 myself. I can't help it. After all, it is not 
 my fault. What is it I most covet and desire 
 in the world? It is power. Rank, wealth, 
 luxury — these are all very well as accessories of 
 life ; but how should I loathe and hate them 
 if they were conditional on my thinking, as 
 other people thought, or doing what I was 
 told ! I ought to have been a man. Women 
 are such weak, vapid, idiotic characters, in 
 
86 M. or N. 
 
 general — at least, all I meet clown here. En- 
 grossed with their children, their parishes, their 
 miserable household cares and perplexities. 
 While in London, I believe there are women 
 who actually lead a party and turn out a 
 minister. But they are beautiful, of course. 
 Well — and me ? I don't think I am so much 
 amiss. With my looks and the position I 
 ought to have, surely I might hold my own 
 with the best of them. But what good will 
 my looks do me if I am to be a dependent on 
 Aunt Agatha ? No. Without the estate I 
 am nothing. With it I might be anything. \ 
 This lawyer thinks he can win it for me. I \ 
 wonder if he knows. How clever he seems ! ^ 
 and how thoughtful! Nothing escapes him, 
 and nothing seems to take him by surprise. 
 And yet what a fool I could make of him if I 
 chose. I saw it before he had been five minutes 
 in the room. I wonder now what he thinks of 
 n/c ! — whether he has the presumption to sup- 
 pose I could ever allow him to betray what he 
 cared for me. I believe I should rather admire 
 
The Cracks7Jia7is Checkmate. 87 
 
 his impudence ! It is pleasant to be cared for, 
 even by an inferior ; and, after all, this Mr. 
 Ryfe is not without his good points. He has 
 plenty of talent and energy, and I should think 
 audacity. By his own account he sticks at 
 nothing, when he means winning, and he cer- 
 tainly means to win for me if he can. I never 
 saw anybody so eager, so much in earnest. 
 Perhaps he thinks that if he could come to me 
 and say, ' There, Miss Bruce, I have saved your 
 birthright for you, and I ask nothing but one 
 kind word in return,' I might be disposed to 
 give it, and something more. Well, I don't 
 know. Perhaps it would be as good a way as 
 any other of getting into favour. One thing 
 is certain. The inheritance I must preserve at 
 every sacrifice. Dear me, how late it is ! I 
 ought to have been in bed hours ago. Puckers, 
 is that you r" 
 
 Puckers did not answer, and a faint rustle in 
 the adjoining room, which had called forth 
 Miss Bruce's question, ceased the instant she 
 spoke aloud. 
 
88 M. or N. 
 
 This young lady was not nervous ; far from 
 it ; yet her watch seemed to tick with extra- 
 ordinary vigour, and her heart to beat harder 1 
 than common while she listened. 
 
 The door of communication between the 
 two rooms was closed. Another door in the 
 smaller apartment opened to the passage, but \ 
 this, she remembered, was habitually locked on 
 the inside. It couldn't be Puckers, therefore, 
 who thus disturbed her mistress's reflections, 
 unless that handmaiden had come down the 
 chimney, or in at the window. 
 
 In this smaller room Miss Bruce kept her 
 riding-habits, her ball-dresses, her draperies of 
 different fabric, her transparencies of all kinds, 
 and her jewels. 
 
 The house was very silent — so silent, that in 
 the distant corridors were distinctly audible 
 those faint and ghostly footfalls, which traverse 
 all large houses after midnight. There were 
 candles burning on Maud's toilet-table, but 
 they served rather to show how dismal were 
 the shadowy corners of the large, lofty bed- 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate. 89 
 
 room, than to afford light and confidence to 
 its inmate. 
 
 She Kstened intently. Yes ; she was sure 
 she heard somebody in the next room — a step 
 that moved stealthily about ; a noise as of wood- 
 work skilfully and cautiously forced open. 
 
 One moment she felt frightened. Then her 
 courage came back the higher for its interrup- 
 tion. She could have escaped from her own 
 room into the passage, easily enough, and so 
 alarmed the house ; but when she reflected that 
 its fighting garrison consisted only of an infirm 
 old butler — for the footman was absent on 
 leave — there seemed little to be gained by such 
 a proceeding, if violence or robbery were really 
 intended. Besides, she rather scorned the idea 
 of summoning assistance till she had ascertained 
 the amount of danger. 
 
 So she blew her candle out, crept to the door 
 of the little room, and laid her hand noiselessly 
 on its lock. 
 
 Softly as she turned it, gently as she pushed 
 the door back on its hinges inch by inch, she 
 
90 M, or N. 
 
 did not succeed in entering unobserved. The 
 light of a shaded lantern flashed over her the 
 instant she crossed the threshold, dazzling her 
 eyes indeed, yet not so completely but that she 
 made out the figure of a man standing over 
 her shattered jewel-box, of which he seemed to 
 have been rifling the contents. Quick as 
 thought, she said to herself, " Come, there is 
 only one ! If I can frighten him more than he 
 frightens me^ the game is mine." 
 
 The man swore certain ghastly oaths in a 
 whisper, and Maud was aware of the muzzle of 
 a pistol covering her above the dark lantern. 
 
 She wondered why she wasn't frightened, not 
 the least frightened — only rather angry and 
 intensely determined to save the jewels, and 
 have it out. 
 
 She could distinguish a dark figure behind, 
 the spot of intense light radiating round her 
 own person, and perceived, besides, almost 
 without looking, that an entrance had been 
 made by the window, which stood wide open 
 to disclose the topmost rounds of a garden- 
 
The Cracksmaiis Chechriate. 91 
 
 ladder, borrowed doubtless from the tool-house, 
 propped against its sill. 
 
 What the housebreaker saw was a vision of 
 dazzling beauty in a flood of light. A pale, 
 queenly woman, with haughty, delicate face, 
 and loops of jet-black hair, falling over robes 
 of white, erect and dauntless, fronting his 
 levelled weapon without the slightest sign of 
 fear. 
 
 He had never set eyes on such a sight as 
 this ; no, neither in circus nor music-hall, nor 
 gallery of metropolitan theatre at Christmas. 
 For a moment he lost his head — for a moment 
 he hesitated. 
 
 In that moment Miss Bruce showed herself 
 equal to the occasion. 
 
 Quick as thought, she made one step to the 
 window, pushed the ladder outwards with all 
 her force, and shut down the sash. As it closed, 
 the ladder, poising for an instant, fell with a 
 crash on the gravel below. 
 
 " Now," she said, quietly, " you are trapped 
 and taken. Better make no resistance, for the 
 
92 M. or N. 
 
 gamekeepers watching below are a rough sort 
 of people, and I do not wish to see you ill- 
 treated." 
 
 The man was aghast ! What could it all 
 mean ? Was he awake or dreaming ? She 
 must be well backed, he said to himself, to 
 assume such a position as this ; and she looked 
 so beautiful — so beautiful ! 
 
 The latter consideration was not without its 
 effect on him, even in the exercise of his pro- 
 fession. " Gentleman Jim," as his mates 
 affirmed in their nervous English, became a 
 fool of the deepest crimson dye whenever a 
 woman was concerned, and this woman was in 
 his eyes as an angel of light. 
 
 Nevertheless, instinctively rather than of 
 intention, he muttered hoarsely — 
 
 " Drop it, miss, I warn you. One word out 
 loud and I'll shoot, as sure as you stand 
 there." 
 
 " Shoot away !" she answered with perfect 
 composure ; " you will save me the trouble of 
 giving an alarm. They expect it, and are 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate^ 93 
 
 waiting for it every moment below stairs. 
 Light those candles, and let us see what 
 damage you have done before you return the 
 plunder." 
 
 A pair of wax-candles stood on the chimney- 
 piece, and he obeyed mechanically, wondering 
 at himself the while. His cunning, however, 
 had not entirely deserted him, and he left his 
 pistol lying on the table, ready to snatch it 
 away if she tried to take possession. It was 
 thus he gauged her confidence, and seeing. she 
 scarcely noticed the weapon, argued that 
 powerful assistance must be near at hand to 
 render this beautiful young lady so arbitrary 
 and so unconcerned. His admiration burst 
 out in spite of his discomfiture and critical 
 position. 
 
 " Well, you are a cool one !" he exclaimed, 
 in accents of mingled vexation and approval. 
 " A cool one and a stunner, I'm blessed if you 
 ain t ! No offence, but I never see your likes 
 yet, not since I was born. Come, miss, let's 
 cry quits. You pass me out o' this on the 
 
94 ^^- 07^ N. 
 
 quiet. I dessay as I can make shift to get 
 down without the ladder, an' I'll leave all these 
 here gimcracks just as I found 'em. Now I've 
 seen ye once, I'm blessed if I'd take so much 
 as an ear-drop, unless it was in the way of a 
 keepsake. Pass me out, miss, and I'll promise 
 — no, I'm blowed if I think as I ca7i promise — 
 never to come here no more." 
 
 Undisguised admiration — the admiration 
 always acceptable to a woman when accom- 
 panied with respect — shone in Gentlem_an Jim's 
 dark eyes. He seemed under a spell, and 
 while he acknowledged its strength, had no 
 power, nay, had no wish, to resist its influence. 
 When on such jobs as these it was his habit to 
 observe an unusual sobriety. He was glad now 
 to think of his adherence to that rule. Had 
 he been drunk, he might, peradventure, have 
 insulted this divinity. What had come over 
 him ? He felt almost pleased to know he was 
 in her power, and yet she treated him like the 
 dirt beneath her feet. 
 
 " No insolence, sir," she said, in a command- 
 
 I 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate. 95 
 
 ing voice. " Let me see, first of all, that every 
 one of my trinkets is in its place. There, that 
 bracelet would have brought you money ; 
 those diamonds would have been valuable if 
 you could have got them clear off. You must 
 have learned your trade very badly to suppose 
 that with such things in the house we keep no 
 guard. Come, I am willing to believe that 
 distress brou2:ht vou to this. Listen. You 
 
 O J 
 
 are in my power, and I will show you mercy. 
 If I give you five pounds now, on the spot, 
 and let you go, will you promise to try and get 
 your bread as an honest man r" 
 
 The tears came in his eyes. This woman, 
 then, that looked so like an angel, was angel all 
 through. Yet, touched as he felt in his better 
 nature, the proletary instinct bade him try 
 once more if her effort to get rid of him 
 originated in pity or fear, and he muttered, 
 " Guineas I make it guineas, miss, and I'll say 
 ' done.' " 
 
 "Not a shilling more, not a farthing," she 
 answered, moving her hand as if to put it on 
 
g6 M. or N. 
 
 the bell-pull. " It cannot matter to me," she 
 added, in a tone of the most complete indif- 
 ference, " but while I am about it I think I 
 would rather be the making of an honest man 
 than the destruction of a rogue." 
 
 Her acting was perfect. She seemed so 
 cold, so impassive, so completely mistress of the 
 position, and all the time her heart was beating 
 as the gambler's beats albeit in winning vein, 
 ere he lifts the box from off the imprisoned 
 dice — as the lion-tamer's beats while he spurns 
 in its very den the monster that could crush 
 him with a movement, and that yet he holds in 
 check by an imaginary force, irresistible only 
 so long as it is unresisted. 
 
 Such situations have a horrible fascination 
 of their own. I have even known them pro- 
 longed to gratify a morbid thirst for excite- 
 ment; but I think Miss Bruce was chiefly 
 anxious to be released from her precarious 
 position, and to get rid of her visitor as soon 
 as she could. Even her resolute nerves were 
 beginning to give way, and she knew her 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate. 97 
 
 own powers well enough to mistrust a pro- 
 tracted trial of endurance. Feminine fortitude 
 is so apt to break down all at once, and Miss 
 Bruce, though a courageous specimen of her 
 sex, was but a woman who had wrought her- 
 self up for a gallant effort, after all. 
 
 She was quite unprepared though for its 
 results. Gentleman Jim snatched up his 
 pistol, stowed it away in his breast-pocket, as if 
 heartily ashamed of it, brought out from that 
 receptacle a pearl necklace and a pair of coral 
 ear-rings, dashed them down on the table with 
 an imprecation, and looking ridiculously sheep- 
 ish, thus delivered himself — 
 
 " Five pounds, miss ! Five devils ! If ever 
 I went for to ask five shillings of you, or five 
 fardens, may the hands rot off at my wrists 
 and the teeth drop out of my head. Strike me 
 blind, now, this moment, in this here room, if 
 Fd take so much as a pin's head that you 
 valued, not if my life depended on it and 
 there wasn't no other way of getting a morsel 
 of bread ! Look ye here, miss. No offence ; 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 M. or N. 
 
 I'm but a rough-and-ready chap and you're a 
 lady. I never come a-nigh one afore. Now 
 I know what they mean when they talk of a 
 real lady, and I see what it is puts such a spirit 
 into them swells as lives with the likes of you. 
 But a rough chap needn't be a blind chap. I 
 come in here for to clean out your jewel-box. 
 I tell ye fair, I don't think as I meant to have 
 ill-treated you, and now I know as I couldnt 
 have done it, but I wanted them gimcracks 
 just the same. If so be as you'd like to see me 
 shopped and lagged, you take and ring that 
 there bell, and look if I go for to move a foot 
 from this blessed spot. There ! If so be as 
 you bid me walk out free from that there 
 winder, take and count these here now at once, 
 and see there's not one missing and not one 
 broke. Say the word, miss — which is it to 
 be ?" 
 
 The reaction was coming on fast. Maud 
 dared not trust her voice, but she pointed to 
 the window with a gesture in which she pre- 
 served an admirable imitation of confidence 
 
The Cracksman s Checkmate. 99 
 
 and command. Gentleman Jim threw up the 
 sash, but paused ere he ventured his plunge 
 into the darkness outside. 
 
 " Look ye ere, miss," he muttered in a hoarse 
 whisper with one leg over the ledge, " if ever 
 you wants a chap to do you a turn, don't ye 
 forget there's one inside this waistcoat as will 
 take a leap in a halter any day to please ye. 
 You drop a line to ' Gentleman Jim ' at the 
 Sunflower, High Holborn. Oh ! I can read, 
 bless ye, and write and cipher too. What I 
 says I sticks to. No offence, miss. I wonder 
 will I ever see you again r" 
 
 He darted back for an instant, much to 
 Maud's dismav, snatched a knot of ribbon 
 which had fallen from her dress on the carpet, 
 and was gone. 
 
 She heard his leap on the gravel below, and 
 his cautious footsteps receding towards the 
 park. Then she passed her hands over her 
 face and looked about her as one who wakes 
 from a dream. 
 
 *' It was an escape I suppose," she said, " and 
 
lOO 
 
 M. or N. 
 
 I 
 
 I ought to have been horribly frightened ; yet 
 I never seemed to lose the upper hand with 
 him for a moment. How odd that even a 
 man Hke that should be such a fool ! No 
 wiser and no cooler than Mr. Ryfe. What is 
 it, I wonder ; what is it, and how long will it 
 last r" 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A REVERSIONARY INTEREST. 
 
 A LTHOUGH Dorothea could assume on 
 occasions so bright an exterior as I have 
 in a previous chapter endeavoured to describe, 
 her normal state was undoubtedly that which 
 is best conveyed by the epithet " grimy." 
 Old Mr. Bargrave, walking serenely into his 
 office at eleven, and meeting this handmaiden 
 on the stairs, used to wonder how so much 
 dirt could accumulate on the human coun- 
 tenance, when irrigated, as Dorothea's red eye- 
 lids too surely testified, by daily tears. Yes, 
 she had gone about her work of late with a 
 heavy heart and a moody brow. Hers was at 
 
I02 M. or N. 
 
 best a dull, dreary life, but in it there grew a 
 noxious weed which she was pleased to cherish 
 for a flower. Well, it was withering every day 
 before her eyes, and all the tears she could 
 shed were not enough to keep it alive. Ah ! 
 when the ship is going down under our very 
 feet, I don't think it much matters what may 
 be our rank and rating on board. The cook's 
 mate in the galley is no less dismayed than the 
 admiral in command. Dorothea's light, so to 
 speak, was only a tallow-candle, yet to put it 
 out was to leave the poor woman very desolate 
 in the dark. So Mr. Bargrave ventured one 
 morning to ask if she felt quite well ; but the 
 snappish manner in which his inquiries were 
 met, as though they masked a load of hidden 
 sarcasm and insult, caused the old gentleman 
 to scuffle into his office with unusual activity, 
 much disturbed and humiliated, while resolved 
 never so to commit himself again. 
 
 Into that office we must take the liberty of 
 following him, tenanted as it is only by himself 
 and Tom Ryfe. 
 
A Reversionary Interest. lo 
 
 J 
 
 The latter, extremely well dressed, wears a 
 posy of spring flowers at his buttonhole, and 
 betrays in his whole bearing that he is under 
 some extraneous influence of anunbusiness-like 
 nature. Bargrave subsides into his leather 
 chair with a grunt, shuffles his papers, dips a 
 pen in the inkstand, and looks over his spec- 
 tacles at his nephew. 
 
 "Waste of time, waste of capital, Tom," 
 says he, with some irritation. " Mind, I 
 washed my hands of it from the first. You ve 
 been at work now for some months ; that's 
 your look-out, and it's been kept apart and 
 separate from the general business — that's 
 miner 
 
 " I've got Tangle's opinion here," answered 
 Tom ; " I won't ask you to look at it, uncle. 
 He's dead against us. Just what you said six 
 months back. There's no getting over that 
 trust-deed, nor through it, nor round it, nor 
 any way to the other side of it. I've done my 
 d — dest, and we're not a bit better off than 
 when we began." 
 
I04 M. or N'. 
 
 He spoke in a cheerful, almost an exulting 
 tone, quite unlike a man worsted in a hard and 
 j)rotracted struggle. 
 
 " Fm sorry for the young lady," observed 
 Bargrave, " but I never expected anything else. 
 It's a fine estate and it must go to the male 
 heir. She has but a small settlement, Tom, 
 very inadequate to her position, as I told poor 
 Mr. Bruce many a time. He used to say 
 everything would be set right by his will, and 
 now one of these girls is left penniless, and the 
 other with a pittance, a mere pittance, brought 
 up, as I make no doubt she was, to believe 
 herself an heiress." 
 
 " One of them T exclaimed Tom. " What 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 " Why, that poor thing who was born a few 
 weeks too soon," answered Bargrave. " She's 
 totally unprovided for. With regard to Miss 
 Bruce, there is a settlement. Two hundred a 
 year, Tom, for life, nothing more. I told you 
 so when you undertook the job. And now 
 who's to pay your costs r" 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 105 
 
 " Not you, uncle," answered Tom, flippantly, 
 " so don't distress yourself on that score." 
 
 " I don't, indeed," observed Bargrave, with 
 emphasis. " You've had your own time to 
 work this, on the understanding, as you know, 
 that it was to be worked at your own risk. I 
 haven't interfered ; it was no affair of mine. 
 But your costs will be heavy, Tom, I can't help 
 seeing that. Tangle's opinion don't come so 
 cheap, you see, though it's word for word the 
 same as mine. I would have let you have it 
 for nothing, and anybody else for six and eight- 
 pence." 
 
 " The costs will be heavy," answered Tom, 
 still radiant. " I should say a thou, wouldn't 
 cover the amount. Of course, if we can't get 
 them from the estate, they must come out of 
 my pocket." 
 
 Bargrave's eyebrows were raised. How the 
 new school went ahead, he thought. Here 
 was this nephew of his talking of a thousand 
 pounds with an indifference verging on con- 
 tempt. Well, that was Tom's look-out ; never- 
 
io6 M. or N. 
 
 theless, on such a road it would be wise to 
 establish a halting-place, and his tone betrayed 
 more interest than common while he asked — 
 
 " You won't take it into Chancery, Tom, 
 will you?" 
 
 The younger man laid his forefinger to the 
 side of his nose, winked thrice with consider- 
 able energy, lifted his hat from its peg, adjusted 
 his collars in the glass^ nodded to his uncle, 
 muttering briefly, " Back in two hours," and 
 vanished. 
 
 Old Bargrave looked after him with a grim, 
 approving smile. " Boy or man," said he, 
 aloud, " that chap always knew what he was 
 about. Tom can be safely trusted to take care 
 of Number One." 
 
 He was wrong, though, on the present 
 occasion. If Mr. Ryfe did indeed know what 
 he was about, there could be no excuse for the 
 enterprise on which he had embarked. He 
 was selfish. He would not have denied his 
 selfishness, and indeed rather prided himself on 
 that quality; yet behold him now waging a 
 
 J 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 107 
 
 contest in which a man wastes money, time, 
 comfort, and self-respect, that he may wrest 
 from real sorrow and discomfiture the shadow 
 of a happiness which he cannot grasp when he 
 has reached it. There is much wisdom in the 
 opinion expressed by a certain fox concerning 
 grapes hanging out of distance ; but it is a 
 wisdom seldom acquired till the limbs are too 
 stiff to stretch for an effort — till there is scarce 
 a tooth left in the mumbling jaws to be set on 
 edge. 
 
 Tom Ryfe had allowed his existence to 
 merge itself in another's. For months, as 
 devotedly as such natures can worship, he had 
 been worshipping his ideal in the person of 
 Miss Bruce. I do not say that he was capable 
 of that highest form of adoration which seeks 
 in the first place the unlimited sovereignty of 
 its idol, and which, as being too good for them, 
 women constantly undervalue ; but I do say 
 that he esteemed his fair client the most 
 beautiful, the most attractive, and the most 
 perfect of her sex, resolving that for him she 
 
io8 M. or N, 
 
 was the only woman in the world, and that in 
 defiance of everything, even her own inclina- 
 tions, he would win her if he could. 
 
 In Holborn there is always a hansom to be 
 got at short notice. "Grosvenor Crescent," 
 says Tom, shutting the half-doors with a bang, 
 and shouting his orders through the little hole 
 in the top. So to Grosvenor Crescent he is 
 forwarded accordingly, at the utmost speed j 
 attainable by a pair of high wheels, a well-bred 
 " screw," and a rough-looking driver with a 
 flower in his mouth. 
 
 There are several peculiarities, all unreason- 1 
 able, many ridiculous, attending the demeanour 
 of a man in love. Not the least eccentric of 
 these are his predatory instincts, his tendency 
 to prowl, his preference for walking over other 
 modes of conveyance, and his inclination to 
 subterfuge of every kind as to his ultimate 
 destination. Tom Ryfe was going to Belgrave 
 Square ; why should he direct his driver to set 
 him down a quarter of a mile off? why overpay 
 the man by a shilling? why wear down the 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 109 
 
 soles of an exceedingly thin and elaborate pair 
 of boots on the hot, hard pavement without 
 compunction ? Why ? Because he was in 
 love. This was also the reason, no doubt, that 
 he turned red and white when he approached 
 the square railings ; that his nose seemed to 
 swell, his mouth got dry, his hat felt too tight, 
 and the rest of his attire too loose for the 
 occasion ; also that he affected an unusual 
 interest in the numbers of the doors, as though 
 meditating a ceremonious morning call, while 
 all the time his heart was under the laburnums 
 in the centre of the square gardens, at the feet 
 of a haughty, handsome girl, dressed in half- 
 mourning, with the prettiest black-laced parasol 
 to be found on this side of the Rue Castiglione, 
 for love — of which, indeed, as the gift of 
 Mr. Ryfe, it was a type — or money, which, not 
 having been yet paid for, it could hardly be 
 said to represent. 
 
 That heart of his gave a bound when he saw 
 it in her hand as she sailed up the broad 
 gravel-walk to let him in. He was almost 
 
no M. or N. 
 
 I 
 
 happy, poor fellow, for almost a minute, not 
 distressmg himself to observe that the colour 
 never deepened a shade on her proud, pale 
 cheek ; that the shapely hand, which fitted its 
 pass-key to the lock, was firm as a dentist's, and 
 the clear, cold voice that greeted him far • 
 steadier than his own. I 
 
 It is a choice of evils, after all, this favourite ! 
 game of cross-purposes for two. To care more i 
 than the adversary entails worry and vexation ; \ 
 to care less makes a burthen of it, and a bore. ; 
 
 "Thank you so much for coming, Miss 
 Bruce — Maud," said Tom, passionately. " You 
 never fail, and yet I always dread, somehow, 
 that I shall be disappointed." 
 
 " I keep my word, Mr. Ryfe," answered the 
 young lady, with perfect self-possession ; " and 
 I am quite as anxious as you can be, I assure 
 you. I want so to know how we are getting on." 
 
 He showed less discouragement than might 
 have been expected. Perhaps he was used to 
 this sang-froid, perhaps he rather liked it, 
 believing it, in his ignorance, a distinctive mark 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 1 1 1 
 
 of class, not knowing — how should he ? — that, 
 once excited, these thoroughbred ones are, of 
 all racers, the least amenable to restraint. 
 
 " I have bad news, he said," tenderly. " Miss 
 Bruce, I hardly like to tell you that I fear we 
 cannot make out case enough to come into 
 court. I took the opinion of the first man we 
 have. I am sorry to say he gives it against us. 
 I am not selfish," he added, with real emotion, 
 " and I am sorry, indeed, for your sake, dearest 
 Miss Bruce." 
 
 He meant to have called her "Maud;" but 
 the beautiflil lips tightened, and the delicate 
 eyebrows came down very straight and stern 
 over the deep eyes in which he had learned to 
 read his fate. He would wait for a better 
 opportunity, he thought, of using the dear, 
 familiar name. 
 
 She took small notice of his trouble. 
 
 " Has there been no mismanagement ?" she 
 asked, almost angrily ; " no papers lost ? no 
 foul play ? Have you done your best ?" 
 
 " I have, indeed," he answered, meekly. 
 
112 M. or N. 
 
 " After all, is it not for my own interest as much 
 
 as yours ? Are they not henceforth to be in 
 
 % 
 
 common r 
 
 She ignored the question altogether ; she 
 seemed to be thinking of something else. 
 While they paced up and down a walk screened 
 ft"om the square windows by trees and shrubs 
 already clothed in the tender, quivering foliage 
 of spring, she kept silence for several seconds, 
 looking straight before her with a sterner 
 expression than he could yet remember to have 
 seen on the face he adored. Presently she 
 spoke in a hard, determined voice — 
 
 " I am disappointed. Yes, Mr. Ryfe, I 
 don't mind owning I am bitterly and grievously 
 disappointed. There, I suppose it's not your 
 fault, so you needn't look black about it ; and 
 I dare say you did the best you could afford at 
 the price. Well, I don't want to hurt your 
 feelings — your very best, then. And yet it 
 seems very odd — you were so confident at first. 
 Of course if the thing's really gone, and there's 
 no chance left, it's folly to think about it. But 
 
A Reve7'sio7iary Interest. 1 13 
 
 what a future to lose — what a future to lose ! 
 Mr. Ryfe, I can't stay w4th Aunt Agatha — I 
 can't and I won't! How she could ever find 
 anybody to marry her ! Mr. Ryfe, speak to 
 me. What had I better do r" 
 
 Tom w^ould have given a round sum of 
 money at that moment to recall one of the 
 many imaginary conversations held wdth Miss 
 Bruce, in which he had exhausted poetry, 
 sentiment, and forensic ardour for the successful 
 pleading of his suit. Now^ he could find 
 nothing better to say than that " he had hoped 
 she was comfortable with Mrs. Stanmore ; and 
 anybody who didn t make Miss Bruce comfort- 
 able must be brutal and wdcked. But — but — 
 if it w^as really so — and she could be persuaded 
 — why, Miss Bruce must long have known — " 
 And here the voice of Tom, the plausible, the 
 prudent, the self-reliant, degenerated to a husky 
 whisper, because he felt that his very heart was 
 mounting to his throat. 
 
 Miss Bruce cut him exceedingly short. 
 
 " You remember our bargain," she said, 
 
 VOL. 1. I 
 
114 M, or N. 
 
 bitterly. " If you don't, I can remind you of 
 
 it. Listen, Mr. Ryfe ; I am not going to 
 
 cheat you out of your dues. You were to win 
 
 •back my fortune from the next of kin — this 
 
 cousin who seems to have law on his side. You 
 
 charged yourself with the trouble — that counts 
 
 for nothing, it is in the way of your business — ! 
 
 « 
 with the costs — the expenses — I don't know J 
 
 what you call them — these were to be paid out ♦ 
 of the estate. It was all plain sailing, if we had' 
 conquered ; and there was an alternative in the 
 event of failure. I accepted it. But I tell you, '. 
 n ot till every stratagem has been tried, every stone 
 turned, every resource exhausted, do I acknow- 
 ledge the defeat, nor — I speak plain English, 
 Mr. Ryfe — do I pay the penalty." 
 
 He turned very pale. "You did not use 
 this rone when we walked together through the 
 snow in the avenue at Ecclesfield. You pro- 
 mised of your own accord, you know you did," 
 said poor Tom, trembling all over ; " and I 
 have got your promise in writing locked up in 
 a tin box at home." 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 115 
 
 She laughed a hard, shrill laugh, not without 
 some real humour in it, at his obvious distress. 
 
 " Keep it safe in your tin box," said she, 
 " and don't be afraid, when the time comes, 
 that I shall throw you over. Ah ! what an 
 odd thing money is ; and how it seems able to 
 do everything !" She was looking miles away 
 now, totally unconscious of her companion's 
 presence. " To me this five or six thousand a 
 year represents hope, enjoyment, position — all 
 that makes life worth having. More, to lose 
 it is to lose my freedom, to lose all that makes 
 life endurable !" 
 
 "And you have lost it," observed Tom, 
 doggedly. He was very brave, very high- 
 minded, very chivalrous m any way ; but he 
 possessed the truly British quality of tenacity, 
 and did not mean to be shaken off by any 
 feminine vagaries where once he had taken 
 hold. 
 
 "Et je payerais de ma personne," replied 
 Miss Bruce, scornfully. " I don't suppose you 
 know any French. You must go now, 
 
ii6 M, or N. 
 
 Mr. Ryfe ; my maid's coming back for me 
 from the bonnet-shop. I can t be trusted, you | 
 see, over fifty yards of pavement and a crossing 
 by myself. The maid is walking with me now 
 behind these lilac-bushes you know. Her 
 name is Ryfe. She is very cross and silent ; 
 she wears a well-made coat, shiny boots, rather 
 a good hat, and carries a nosegay as big as a I 
 chimney-sweep's — you can give it me if you 
 like — I dare say you bought it on purpose." 
 
 How she could twist and turn him at will ! 
 three or four playful words like these, precious 
 all the more that her general manner was so 
 haughty and reserved, caused Tom to forget 
 her pride, her whims, her various caprices, her 
 too palpable indifference to himself He offered 
 the flowers with humble gratitude, ignoring 
 resolutely the presumption that she would 
 probably throw them away before she reached 
 her own door. 
 
 " Good-bye, Miss Bruce," said he, bowing 
 reverently over the slim hand she vouchsafed 
 him, and " Good-bye," echoed the young lady, 
 
A Reversio7iary Interest. 1 1 7 
 
 adding, with another of those hard Httle laughs 
 that jarred so on Tom's nerves, " Come with 
 better news next time, and don't give in while 
 there's a chance left ; depend upon it the 
 monev's better worth having; than the client. 
 By-the-by, I sent you a card for Lady Gold- 
 thred's this afternoon — only a stupid breakfast 
 — Did you forget it r" 
 
 " Are you going r" returned Tom, with the 
 clouds clearing from his brow. 
 
 "Perhaps we shall, if it's fine," was the replv. 
 " And now I can't wait any longer. Don't 
 forget what I told you, and do the best you 
 can. 
 
 So Tom Rj-fe departed from his garden of 
 Eden with sundry misgivings not entirely new 
 to him, that the fruit he took such pains to 
 ripen for his own gathering might but be 
 gaudy wax-work after all, or painted stone, 
 perhaps, cold, smooth, and beautiful, against 
 which he should rasp his teeth in vain. 
 
 The well-tutored Puckers, dressed in faded 
 splendour, and holding a brown-paper parcel 
 
it8 M, or N. 
 
 in her hand, was waiting for her young lady at 
 the corner of the square. 
 
 While thus engaged she witnessed a bargain, 
 of an unusual nature, made apparently under 
 extraordinary pressure of circumstances. A 
 ragged boy, established at the crossing, who , 
 had indeed rendered himself conspicuous by 
 his endeavours to ferry Puckers over dry-shod, 
 was accosted by a shabby-genteel and remark- ' 
 ably good-looking man in the following ver- 
 nacular — 
 
 '' On this minnit, off at six, Buster ; Two 
 bob an a bender, and a three of eye-water, in ?" 
 
 '' Done for another joey," replied Buster, j 
 with the premature acuteness of youth foraging 
 for itself in the streets of London. 
 
 " Done," repeated the man, pulling a handful 
 of silver from his pocket, and assuming the 
 broom at once to enter on his professional 
 labours, ere Puckers had recovered from her 
 astonishment, or Buster could vanish round the 
 corner in the direction of a neighbouring mews. 
 
 Though plying his instrument diligently, the 
 
A Reversionary Intei-est. 119 
 
 man kept a sharp eye on the square gardens. 
 When Tom Ryfe emerged through the heavy 
 iron gate he whispered a deep and horrible 
 curse, but his dark eyes shone and his whole 
 face beamed into a ruffianly kind of beauty, 
 when after a discreet pause, Miss Bruce followed 
 the young lawyer through the same portal. 
 Then the man went to work with his broom 
 harder than ever. Xot Sir Walter Raleigh 
 spreading his cloak at the feet of his sovereign 
 mistress lest they should take a speck of mud 
 could have shown more loyalty, more devotion, 
 than did Gentleman Jim sweeping for bare life, 
 as Miss Bruce and her maid approached the 
 crossing he had hired for the occasion. 
 
 Maud recognized him at a glance. Xot 
 easily startled or surprised, she bade Puckers 
 walk on, while she took a half-crown from her 
 purse and put in the sweeper's hand. 
 
 " At least it is an honest trade," said she, 
 looking him fixedly in the face. 
 
 The man turned pale while he received her 
 bounty. 
 
120 M. or N, 
 
 " It's not that, Miss," he stammered. " It's 
 not that — I only wanted to get a look of ye. 
 I only wanted just to hear the turn of your 
 voice again. No offence, Miss, I'll go away 
 now. Oh ! can't ye give a chap a job ? It's 
 my heart's blood as I'd shed for you, free — and 
 never ask no more nor a kind word in return !" 
 
 She looked him over from head to foot once 
 more and passed on. In that look there was 
 neither surprise, nor indignation, nor scorn, 
 only a quaint and somewhat amused curiosity, 
 yet this thief and associate of thieves, quivered, 
 as if it had been a sun-stroke. When she 
 passed out of sight he bit the half-crown till it 
 bent, and hid it away in his breast. • " I'll 
 never part with ye," said he, " never ;" un- 
 mindful of poor Dorothea, going about her 
 work tearful and forlorn. Gentleman Jim, 
 uneducated, besotted, half-brutalized as he was, 
 had yet drunk from the cup that poisons 
 equally the basest and noblest of our kind. A 
 well-dressed, good-looking young man, walking 
 on the other side of the square, did not fail to 
 
A Reversionary Interest. 121 
 
 witness Tom Ryfe's farewell and Maud's inter- 
 view wdth the crossing-sw^eeper. He too looked 
 strangely disturbed, pacing up and down an 
 adjoining street more than once, before he 
 could make up his mind to ring a well-known 
 bell. Verily Miss Bruce seemed to be one of 
 those ladies whose destiny it is to puzzle, 
 worry, and interest every man with w^hom they 
 come in contact. 
 
CHAPTER VIL 
 
 DICK STANMORE. 
 
 OHE had certainly succeeded in puzzling 
 Dick Stanmore and already began to 
 interest him. The worry would surely follow 
 in due time. Dick was a fine subject for the 
 scalpel — good-humoured, generous, single- 
 hearted, with faultless digestive powers, teeth, 
 and colour to correspond, a strong tendency to 
 active exercise, and such a faculty of enjoy- 
 ment, as, except in the highest order of in- 
 tellects, seldom lasts a man over thirty. 
 
 Like many of his kind, he said he hated 
 London, but lived there very contentedly from 
 April to July, nevertheless. He was fresh, just 
 
 ^ 
 
Dick Stanmore. 123 
 
 at present, from a good scenting season in 
 Leicestershire, followed by a sojourn on the 
 Tweed, in which classical river he had improved 
 many shining hours, wading waist-deep under 
 a twenty-foot rod, any number of yards of line, 
 and a fly of various hues, as gaudy, and but 
 little smaller than a cock pheasant. Now he 
 had been a week in town, during which period 
 he met Miss Bruce at least once every day. 
 This constant intercourse is to be explained in 
 a few words. 
 
 Mrs. Stanmore, the Aunt Agatha with whom 
 Maud expressed herself so unwilling to reside, 
 was a sister of the late ]Mr. Bruce. She had 
 married a widower with one son, that widower 
 being old Air. Stanmore, defunct, that son 
 being Dick. Mrs. Stanmore, in the enjoyment 
 of a large jointure (which rather impoverished 
 her step-son), though arbitrary and unpleasant, 
 was a woman of generous instincts, so offered 
 Maud a home the moment she learned her 
 niece's double bereavement ; which home, for 
 many reasons, heiress or no heiress. Miss Bruce 
 
124 ^'^^' or N. 
 
 felt constrained to accept. Thus it came about 
 that she found herself walking with Tom Ryfe 
 en cacJiette in the Square gardens ; and, leaving 
 them, recognized the gentleman whom she was 
 to meet at luncheon in ten minutes, on whose 
 intellect at least, if not his heart, she felt pretty 
 sure she had already made an impression. 
 
 " I won't show her up," said Tom to his 
 neatest boots, while he scraped them at his 
 mother's door ; " but I should like to know 
 who that bumptious-looking chap is, and what 
 the h-11 she could have to say to him in the 
 Square gardens all the same." 
 
 Mr. Stanmore's language at the luncheon- 
 table, it is needless to say, was far less emphatic 
 than that which relieved his feelings in so- 
 liloquy ; nor w^as he to-day quite so talkative 
 as usual. His mother thought him silent (he 
 always called her " mother," and, to do her 
 justice, she could not have loved her own son 
 better, nor scolded him oftener, had she pos- 
 sessed one) ; Miss Bruce voted him stupid and 
 sulky. She told him so. 
 
Dick Staiimore. 125 
 
 "A merrythought, if you please, and no 
 bread sauce," said the young lady, in her calm, 
 imperious manner. " Don't forget I hate bread 
 sauce, if you mean to come here often to 
 luncheon ; and do say something. Aunt 
 Agatha can't, no more can I. Recollect we've 
 got a heavy afternoon before us." 
 
 Aunt Agatha always contradicted. " Not 
 heavier than any other breakfast, Maud," said 
 she, severely. "You didn't think that tea at 
 the Tower heavy last week, nor the ghosts in 
 the mess-room of the Blues. Ladv Gold- 
 thred's an old friend of mine, and it was verv 
 kind of her to ask us. Besides, Dick's coming 
 down in the barouche." 
 
 Maud's face brightened, and, be sure, Dick 
 saw it brighten. 
 
 " That accounts for it," said she, with the 
 rare smile in her eyes ; " and he thinks we 
 shan't let him smoke, so he sulks beforehand, 
 grim, grave, and silent as a ghost. Mr. Stan- 
 more, cheer up. You may smoke the whole 
 way down. Fll give vou leave." 
 
126 M. or N. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," observed Aunt 
 Agatha, sternly. " He don't want to do any- 
 thing of the kind. What have you been 
 about, Maud, all the morning? I looked for 
 you everywhere to help me with the visiting- 
 list." 
 
 " Puckers and I took a * constitutional,' " ^ 
 answered Miss Bruce, unblushingly. " We i 
 wanted to do some shopping." But her dark i 
 eyes stole towards Dick, and, although his 
 never met them, she felt satisfied he had wit- 
 nessed her interview with Tom Ryfe in the ; 
 Square gardens. •' 
 
 " I saw you both coming in. Miss Bruce,' 
 said Dick, breaking the awkward pause which \ 
 succeeded Maud's misstatement. " I think 
 Puckers wears twice as smart a bonnet as yours. 
 I hope you are not offended." 
 
 Again that smile from the dark eyes. Dick 
 felt, and perhaps she meant him to feel, that 
 he had lost nothing in her good opinion by 
 ignoring even to herself that which she wished 
 to keep unknown. 
 
Dick Stamnore. 127 
 
 " I think you've very little taste in bonnets, 
 whatever you may have in faces," answered the 
 voung lady ; '* and I think I shall go and put 
 one on now that will make you eat your words 
 humbly when I appear in it on the lawn at 
 Lady Goldthred's." 
 
 " I have no doubt there won't be a dry eye 
 in the place," answered Dick, looking after her, 
 as she left the room, with undisguised admira- 
 tion in his honest face — with something warmer 
 and • sweeter than admiration creeping and 
 gathering about his heart. 
 
 So they all went down together in the 
 barouche, Dick sitting with his back to the 
 horses, and gazing his fill on the young beauty 
 opposite, looking so cool and fair in her fresh 
 summer drapjeries, so thoroughly in keeping 
 with the light and sparkle of everything aroimd 
 — the brilliant sunshine, the spring foliage, the 
 varying scenery, even to the varnish and glitter 
 of the well-appointed carriage, and the plated 
 harness on the horses. 
 
 Aunt Agatha conversed but sparingly. She 
 
128 M. or N. 
 
 was occupied with the phantom pages of her 
 banker's book ; with the shortcomings of a 
 new housemaid ; not a Httle with the vague 
 sketch of a dress, to be worn at certain ap- 
 proaching gaieties, which should embody the 
 majesty of the chaperon without entirely re- . 
 signing all pretensions to youth. But for one • 
 remark, " that the coachman was driving very j 
 badly," I think she travelled in stately silence , 
 as far as Kew. Not so the other occupants of , 
 the barouche. Maud, desirous of forgetting 
 much that was distasteful to her in the events 
 of the morning, and, indeed, in the course of \ 
 her daily life, resolved to accept the tangible \ 
 advantages of the present, nor scrupled to show | 
 that she enjoyed fresh air, fine weather, and 
 pleasant company. Dick, stimulated by her 
 presence, and never disinclined to gaiety of 
 spirit, exerted himself to be agreeable, pouring 
 forth a continuous stream of that pleasant non- 
 sense which is the only style of conversation 
 endurable in the process of riding, driving, or 
 other jerking means of locomotion. 
 
Dick Stanmore. 129 
 
 It is only when his suit has prospered that a 
 man feels utterly idiotic and moonstruck in the 
 presence of the woman he adores. Why, when 
 life is scarce endurable but at her side, he 
 should become a bore in her presence, is only 
 another intricacy in the many puzzles that 
 constitute the labyrinth of love. So long as 
 he flutters unsinged about its flame, the moth 
 is all the happier for the warmth of the candle, 
 all the livelier for the inspiration of its rays. 
 Dick Stanmore, turning into the Kensington 
 road, was the insect basking in those bright, 
 alluring beams ; but Dick Stanmore on the 
 further side of Kew felt more like the same 
 insect when its wings have been already 
 shrivelled and its powers of flight destroyed in 
 the temerity of its adoration. 
 
 Still it was pleasant, very pleasant. She 
 looked so beautiful, she smiled so kindly, 
 always with her eyes, sometimes with the per- 
 fect, high-bred mouth ; she entered so gaily into 
 his gossip, his fancies, his jokes, allowing him to 
 hold her parasol and arrange her shawls with 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 M. or N. 
 
 such sweetness and good-humour, that Dick 
 felt quite sorry to reach the Portugal laurels 
 and trim lawns of their destination, when the 
 drive was over from which he had derived this 
 new and unforeseen gratification. Something 
 warned him that, in accordance with that rule 
 of compensation which governs all terrestrial 
 matters, these delights were too keen to last, I 
 and there must surely be annoyance and vexa- 
 tion in store to complete the afternoon. | 
 
 His first twinge originated in the marked 
 admiration called forth by Miss Bruce's ap- 
 pearance at the very outset. She had scarcely 
 made her salaam to Lady Goldthred, and 
 passed on through billiard-room, library, and 
 verandah, to the two dwarfed larches and half- 
 acre of mown grass which constitute the 
 wilderness of a suburban villa, ere Dick felt 
 conscious that his could be no monopoly ot 
 adoration. Free trade was at once declared by 
 glances, whispers and inquiries from a succession 
 of well-dressed young gentlen^en, wise doubt- 
 less in their own conceit, yet not wanting in 
 
Dick Stamnore. 131 
 
 that worldly temerity which impels fools to 
 rush in where angels fear to tread, and gives 
 the former class of beings, in their dealings 
 with that sex which is compounded of both, an 
 immeasurable advantage over the latter. 
 
 Miss Bruce had not traversed the archery- 
 ground twenty-five feet, from target to target, 
 on her way to the refreshment tent, ere half a 
 dozen of the household troops, a bachelor 
 baronet, and the richest young commoner of 
 his year were presented by her host, at their 
 own earnest request. Dick's high spirits went 
 down like the froth in a glass of soda-water, and 
 he fell back discouraged, to exchange civilities 
 with Lady Goldthred. 
 
 That excellent woman, dressed, painted, and 
 wound-up for the occasion, was volubly de- 
 lighted with everybody ; and being by no 
 means sure of Dick's identity, dashed the 
 more cordiality into her manner, while careful 
 not to commit herself by venturing on his 
 name. 
 
 ''^So good of you to come," she fired it at 
 
132 AI. or N. 
 
 him as she had fired it at fifty others, " all this 
 distance from town, and such a hot day, to see 
 my poor little place. But isn't it pretty now r 
 And are we not lucky in the weather ? And 
 weren't you smothered in dust coming down r 
 And you've brought the beauty with you too. . 
 I declare Sir Moses is positively smitten. I'm 
 getting quite jealous. Just look at him 
 now. But he's not the only one, that's a 
 comfort." 
 
 Dick did look, wondering vaguely why the 
 sunshine should have faded all at once. Sir 
 Moses, a little bald personage, in a good- 
 humoured fuss, whom no amount of inexpe- 
 rience could have taken for anything but the 
 " man of the house," was paying the utmost 
 attention to Miss Bruce, bringing her tea, 
 placing a camp-stool for her that she might 
 see the archery, and rendering her generally 
 those hospitable services which it had been his 
 lot to waste on many less attractive objects 
 during that long sunny afternoon. 
 
 " Sir Moses is always so kind," answered 
 
Dick Stanmore. 133 
 
 Dick, vaguely, " and nobody's breakfasts are so 
 pleasant as yours, Lady Goldthred." 
 
 " I'm too glad you think so," answered his 
 hostess, who, like a good-hearted woman as she 
 was, took enormous pains with these festivities, 
 congratulating herself, when she washed off 
 her rouge, and doffed her robes of ceremony 
 at night, that she had got through the great 
 penance of her year. " You're always so good- 
 natured. But I do think men like to come 
 here. The country air, you know, and the 
 scenery, and plenty of pretty people. Now, 
 there's Lord Bearwarden — look, he's talking to 
 Miss Bruce, under the cedar — he's actually 
 driven over from Windsor, and though he's a 
 way of being so fine and blasi and all that, he 
 don't look much bored at this moment, does 
 he f Twenty thousand a year they say, and 
 been everywhere and done everything. Now, 
 I fancy, he wants to marry, for he's much 
 older, you know, than he looks. To hear him 
 talk, you'd think he was a hundred, and 
 broken-hearted into the bargain. For my 
 
134 M. or N. 
 
 part, I've no patience with a melancholy man ; 
 but then I'm not a young lady. You know 
 him, though, of course." 
 
 Dick's reply, if he made one, was drowned 
 in a burst of brass music that deafened people 
 at intervals throughout the afternoon, and 
 Lady Goldthred's attention wandered to fresh 
 arrivals, for whom, with fresh smiles and un- 
 tiring energy, she elaborated many more re- 
 marks of a similar tendency. 
 
 Dick Stanmore did know Lord Bearwarden, 
 as every man about London knows every other 
 man leading the same profitable life. There 
 were many whom he would have preferred as 
 rivals ; but thinking he detected signs of weari- 
 ness on Maud's face (it had already come to 
 this, that he studied her countenance, and 
 winced to see it smile on any one else), he 
 crossed the lawn, that he might fill the place 
 by her side to which he considered himself as 
 well entitled as another. 
 
 His progress took some little time, what 
 with bowing to one lady, treading on the dress 
 
Dick Stanmore. 135 
 
 of another, and parrying the attack of a third 
 who wanted him to give her daughter a cup of 
 tea, so that by the time Dick reached her Lord 
 Bearwarden had left Miss Bruce to the atten- 
 tions of another guest, more smart than gentle- 
 manhke, in whose appearance there was some- 
 thing indefinably out of keeping with the rest. 
 Dick started. It was the man with whom he 
 had seen Maud walking before luncheon in the 
 Square. 
 
 People were pairing for a dance on the lawn, 
 and Mr. Stanmore, wedged in by blocks of 
 beauty and mountains of muslin, could neither 
 advance nor retreat. It was no fault of his 
 that he overheard Miss Bruce's conversation 
 with the stranger. 
 
 " Will you dance with me ?" said the latter, 
 in a whisper of suppressed anger, rather than 
 the tone of loving entreaty with which it is 
 customary to urge this pleasant request. 
 
 " Impossible !" answered Maud, energetically. 
 " Fm engaged to Lord Bearwarden — it's the 
 Lancers, and he's only gone to make up the set." 
 
136 M, or N. 
 
 The man ground his teeth and knit his 
 brows. 
 
 " You seem to forget," he muttered — '' you 
 carry it off with too high a hand. I have a 
 right to bid you dance with me. I have a 
 right, if I chose, to order you down to the river ."< 
 there and row you back to Putney with the 
 tide ; and I will^ I swear, if you provoke me 
 too far." 
 
 She seemed to keep her temper with an I 
 effort. 
 
 " Do be patient," she whispered, glancing 
 round at the bystanders. " Surely you can 
 trust me. Hush ! here comes Lord Bear- 
 warden." 
 
 And taking that nobleman's arm, she walked 
 off with a mournful, pleading look at her late 
 companion, which poor Dick Stanmore would 
 have given worlds to have seen directed to 
 himself. 
 
 There was no more pleasure for him now 
 during the rest of the entertainment. He did 
 indeed obtain a momentary distraction from his 
 
Dick Stanmore. 137 
 
 resolution to ascertain the name of the person 
 who had so spoilt his afternoon. It helped him 
 very little to be told the gentleman was " a 
 Mr. Ryfe." Nobody seemed to know any 
 more, and even this information he extracted 
 with difficulty from Lady Goldthred, who 
 added, in a tone of astonishment — 
 
 " Why, you brought him, didn't you ?" 
 Dick was mystified — worse, he was unhappy. 
 For a few minutes he wandered about behind 
 the dancers, watching Maud and her partner 
 as they threaded the intricacies of those 
 exceedingly puzzling evolutions which con- 
 stitute the Lancer quadrilles. Lord Bearwarden 
 was obviously delighted with Maud, and that 
 young lady seemed by no means unconscious 
 or careless of her partner's approval. I do not 
 myself consider the measure they were engaged 
 in threading as particularly conducive to the 
 interchange of sentiment. If my memory 
 serves me right, this complicated dance demands 
 as close an attention as whist, and affords 
 almost as few opportunities of communicating 
 
138 M. or N. 
 
 with a partner. Nevertheless, there is a language 
 of the eyes, as of the lips, and it was not Lord 
 Bearwarden's fault if his looks were misunder- 
 stood by their object. All this Dick saw, and 
 seeing, grew more and more disgusted with life 
 in general, with Lady Goldthred's breakfast in 
 particular. When the dance ended, and Dick ' 
 Stanmore — hovering about his flame, like the 1 
 poor moth to which I have compared him, ! 
 once singed and eager to be singed again — was ^ 
 hesitating as to whether he, too, should not go \ 
 boldly in and try his chance, behold Mr. Ryfe '■■ 
 with an offensive air of appropriation walks off 
 with Miss Bruce arm-in-arm, towards the ^ 
 sequestered path that leads to the garden-gate, \ 
 that leads to the shady lane, that leads to the '^ 
 shining river ! 
 
 It was all labour and sorrow now. People 
 who called this sort of thing amusement, 
 thought Dick, would go to purgatory for 
 pastime, and a stage farther for diversion. 
 When he broke poor Redwing's back three 
 fields from home in the Melton steeple-chase 
 
Dick Sfanmore. 139 
 
 he was grieved, annoyed, distressed. When he 
 lost that eleven-pounder in the shallows below 
 Melrose, because "Aundry," his Scottish 
 henchman, was too drunk to keep his legs in a 
 running stream, he was angry, vexed, disgusted ; 
 but never before, in his whole life of amusement 
 and adventure, had he experienced anything 
 like the combination of uncomfortable feelings 
 that oppressed him now. He was ashamed of 
 his own weakness, too, all the time, which only 
 made matters worse. 
 
 " Hang it !" thought Dick, " I don't see why 
 I should punish myself by staying here any 
 longer. I'll tell my mother I must be back in 
 London to dinner, make my bow, jump into a 
 boat, and scull down to Chelsea. So I will. 
 The scull will do me good, and if — if she has 
 gone on the water with that snob, why I shall 
 know the worst. What a strange, odd girl she 
 is ! And oh ! how I wish she wasn't !" 
 
 But it takes time to find a lady, even of 
 Mrs. Stanmore's presence, amongst five hundred 
 of her kind jostled up in half an acre of ground ; 
 
140 M. or N. 
 
 neither will the present code of good manners, 
 liberal as it is, bear a guest out in walking up 
 to his hostess a boitt portant^ to interrupt her 
 in an interesting conversation, by bidding her 
 a solemn good-bye hours before anybody else 
 has begun to move. Twenty minutes at least 
 must have elapsed ere Dick found himself in a 
 dainty outrigger with a long pair of sculls, 
 fairly launched on the bosom of the Thames — 
 more than time for the corsair, if corsair he 
 should be, to have sailed far out of sight with 
 false, consenting Maud in the direction of • 
 London Bridge. 
 
 Dick w^as no mean waterman. The exercise 
 of a favourite art, combining skill with muscular * 
 effort, is conducive to peace of mind. A swim, \ 
 a row, a gallop over a country, a fencing bout 
 or a rattling set-to with " the gloves " bring a 
 man to his senses more effectually than whole 
 hours of quiescent reflection. Ere the perspi- 
 ration stood on Dick Stanmore's brow, he 
 suspected he had been hasty and unjust ; by 
 the time he caught his second wind, and had 
 
Dick Stanmore. 141 
 
 got fairly into swing, he was in charity with all 
 the w^orld, reflecting, not without toleration and 
 self-excuse, that he had been an ass. 
 
 So he sculled on, like a jolly young waterman, 
 making capital w^ay with the tide, and calcu- 
 lating that if the fugitive pair should have done 
 anything so improbable as to take the water in 
 company, he must have overhauled, or at least 
 sighted them ere now\ 
 
 His spirits rose. He wondered why he should 
 have been so desponding an hour ago. He 
 had made excuses for himself — he began to 
 make them for Maud, nay, he was fast return- 
 ing to his allegiance, the allegiance of a day, 
 thrown off in ^\t minutes, when he sustained 
 another damper, such as the total reversal of 
 his outrigger and his own immersion, head 
 uppermost, in the Thames, could not have 
 surpassed. 
 
 At a bend of the river near Putney he came 
 suddenly on one of those lovely Httle retreats 
 which fringe its banks — a red-brick house, a 
 pretty flower-garden, a trim lawn, shaded by 
 
1 42 M. 01^ N, 
 
 weeping-willows, kissing the water's edge. Oi 
 that lawn, under those weeping-willows, he' 
 descried the graceful, pliant figure, the raven 
 hair, the imperious gestures that had made 
 such havoc with his heart, and muttering the 
 dear name, never before coupled with a curse, 
 he knew for the first time, by the pain, how 
 fondly he already loved this wild, heedless, 
 heartless girl, who had come to live in his 
 mother's house. Swinging steadily along in 
 mid-stream, he must have been too far off, he 
 thought, for her to recognise his features ; yet 
 why should she have taken refuge in the house 
 with such haste, at an open window, through 
 which a pair of legs clad in trousers denoted 
 the presence of some male companion ? For a 
 moment he turned sick and faint, as he resigned 
 himself to the torturing truth. This Mr. Ryfe, 
 then, had been as good as his word, and she, 
 his own proud, refined, beautiful idol, had 
 committed the enormity of accompanying that 
 imperious admirer down here. What could be 
 the secret of such a man s influence over such 
 
Dick Stanmore. 143 
 
 a girl ? Whatever it was, she must be Dick's 
 idol no longer. And he would have loved her 
 so dearly ! — so dearly ! 
 
 There were tears in the eyes of this jolly 
 young waterman as he pulled on. These 
 things hurt, you see, while the heart is fresh 
 and honest, and has been hitherto untouched. 
 Those should expect rubbers who play at 
 bowls ; if people pull their own chestnuts out 
 of the fire they must compound for burnt 
 fingers ; and when you wager a living, loving, 
 trustful heart against an organ of wax, gutta- 
 percha, or Aberdeen granite, don't be sur- 
 prised if you get the worst of the game all 
 through. 
 
 He had quite given her up by the time he 
 arrived at Chelsea, and had settled in his own 
 mind that henceforward there must be no 
 more sentiment, no more sunshine, no more 
 romance. He had dreamt his dream. Well 
 for him it was so soon over. Seniel insani- 
 vimus omnes. Fellows had all been fools once, 
 but no woman should ever make a fool of him 
 
144 M. or N. 
 
 I 
 
 again ! No woman ever could. He should 
 never see another hke her ! 
 
 Perhaps this was the reason he walked half a 
 mile out of his homeward way, through Bel- 
 grave Square, to haunt the street in which she 
 lived, looking wistfully into those gardens 
 whence he had seen her emerge that very day 
 with her mysterious companion — gazing with 
 plaintive interest on the bell-handle, and door- .• 
 scraper of his mother's house — vaguely ponder 
 ing how he could ever bear to enter that house 
 again — and going through the whole series of 
 those imaginary throes, which are indeed real . 
 sufferings with people who have been foolish 
 enough to exchange the dignity and reality of; 
 existence for a dream. 
 
 What he expected I am at a loss to explain ; ; 
 but although, while pacing up and down the 
 street, he vowed every turn should be the last, : 
 he had completed his nineteenth, and was on 
 the eve of commencing his twentieth, when 
 Mrs. Stanmore's carriage rolled up to the door, 
 stopping with a jerk, to discharge itself of that 
 
Dick Stanmore. 145 
 
 lady and Maud, looking cool, fresh, and un- 
 rumpled as when they started. The revulsion 
 of feeling was almost too much for Dick. By 
 instinct, rather than with intention, he came 
 forward to help them out, so confused in his 
 ideas that he failed to remark how entirely his 
 rapid retreat from the breakfast had been over- 
 looked. Mrs. Stanmore seemed never to have 
 missed him. ' Maud greeted him with a merry 
 laugh, denoting more of good-humour and 
 satisfaction than should have been compatible 
 with keen interest in his movements or justifi- 
 able pique at his desertion. 
 
 " Why here you are !" she exclaimed gaily. 
 " Actually home before us, like a dog that one 
 takes out walking to try and lose. Poor thing ! 
 did it run all the way under the carriage with 
 its tongue out ? and wasn't it choked with dust, 
 and isn't it tired and thirsty ? and won't it come 
 in and have some tea ?" 
 
 What could Dick say or do r He followed 
 her upstairs to the back drawing-room, meek 
 and submissive as the dog to which she had 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 M. or N. 
 
 likened him, waiting for her there with a dry 
 mouth and a beating heart while she went to 
 '' take ofF her things ;" and when she reappeared 
 smiling and beautiful, able only to propound 
 the following ridiculous question with a gasp — 
 " Didn't you go on the water then after all ?" 
 " On the water !" she repeated. " Not I. 
 Nothing half so pleasant, I assure you. I wish 
 we had! for anything so slow as the whole 
 performance on dry land, I never yet ex- 
 perienced. I danced five dances, none of them 
 nice ones — I hate dancing on turf — and I had 
 a warm-water ice and some jelly that tasted of 
 bees'-wax. What became of you ? We 
 couldn't find you anywhere to get the carriage. 
 However, I asked Aunt Agatha to come away / 
 directly somebody made a move, because I 
 was cross and tired and bored with the whole 
 business. I think she liked it much better 
 than I did ; but here she is to answer for 
 herself." 
 
 Dick had no dinner that day, yet what a 
 pleasant cigar it was he smoked as he coasted 
 
Dick Stanmore. 147 
 
 Belgrave Square once more in the sweet spring 
 evening under the gas-lamps ! He had been 
 very unhappy in the afternoon, but that was all 
 over now. Anxiety, suspicion, jealousy, and 
 the worst ingredient of the latter, a sense of 
 humiliation, had made wild work with his 
 spirits, his temper, and indeed his appetite ; yet 
 twenty minutes in a dusky back drawing-room, 
 a cup of weak tea and a slice of inferior bread 
 and butter, were enough to restore self-respect, 
 peace of mind, and vigour of digestion. He 
 could not recal one word that bore an un- 
 usually favourable meaning, one look that 
 might not have been directed to a brother or 
 an intimate friend, and still he felt buoyed up 
 with hope, restored to happiness. The reaction 
 had come on, and he was more in love with 
 her than ever. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 NINA. 
 
 T T might have spared Mr. Stanmore a deal 
 of unnecessary discomfort had the owner 
 of those legs which he saw through the open 
 window at Putney thought fit to show the rest 
 of his person to voyagers on the river. Dick 
 would then have recognized an old college 
 friend, would have landed to greet him with 
 the old college heartiness, and in the natural 
 course of events would have satisfied himself 
 that his suspicions of Maud were unfounded 
 and absurd. 
 
 Simon Perkins is not a romantic name, nor 
 did the exterior of Simon Perkins, as seen 
 
Nina. 149 
 
 either within or without the Putney cottage, 
 correspond with that which fiction assigns to a 
 hero of romance. His frame was small and 
 slight, his complexion pale, his hair weak and 
 thin, his manner diffident, awkward, almost un- 
 gainly, but that its thorough courtesy and 
 good-nature were so obvious and unaffected. 
 In general society people passed him over as a 
 shy, harmless, unmeaning little man ; but those 
 who really knew him affirmed that his courage 
 was not to be damped, nor his nerve shaken, 
 by extremity of danger — that he was always 
 ready with succour for the needy, with sym- 
 pathy for the sorrowful. In short, as they 
 tersely put it, that " his heart was in the right 
 place." 
 
 For half a dozen terms at Oxford he and 
 Dick had been inseparable. Their intimacy, 
 none the less close for dissimilarity of tastes 
 and pursuits, since Perkins was a reading man 
 and Dick a "fast" one, had been still more 
 firmly soldered by a long vacation spent 
 together in Norway, and a " thrilling tableau," 
 
130 M. or N. 
 
 as Dick called it, to which their expedition 
 gave rise. Had Simon Perkins's heart been no 
 stouter than his slender person, his companion 
 must have died a damp death, and this story 
 would never have been told. 
 
 The young men were in one of the most 
 picturesque parts of that wild and beautiful 
 country, created, as it w^ould seem, for the 
 express gratification of the fisherman and the 
 landscape painter ; Simon Perkins, an artist in 
 his very soul, wholly engrossed by the sketch 
 of a mountain, Dick Stanmore equally absorbed 
 in fishing a pool. Scarce twenty yards apart, 
 neither was conscious, for the moment, of the 
 other's existence ; Simon, indeed, being in spirit 
 some seven thousand feet above the level of the 
 sea, putting more ochre into the virgin snow 
 that crested his topmost peak, and Dick deftly 
 dropping a fly, the size of a pen-wiper, over 
 the nose of a fifteen pounder that had already 
 once risen to the gaudy lure. 
 
 Poising himself, like a Mercury, on a rock 
 in mid stream, the angler had just thrown 
 
Nina. 1 5 1 
 
 eighteen yards of line lightly as a silken thread 
 to an inch, when his foot slipped, and a loud 
 splash, bringing the painter, like Icarus, out of 
 the clouds with a run, startled his attention to 
 the place where his companion was not. In 
 another second Simon had his grip on Dick's 
 collar, and both men were struggling for dear 
 life in the pool. Stanmore could swim, of 
 course, but it takes a good swimmer to hold 
 his own in fisherman's boots, encumbered, 
 moreover, with sundry paraphernalia of his art. 
 Simon was a very mild performer in the water, 
 but he had coolness, presence of mind, and 
 inflexible tenacity of purpose. To these 
 qualities the friends owed it that they ever 
 reached the shore alive. It was a very near 
 thing, and when they found their legs and 
 looked into each other's faces, gasping, drip- 
 ping, spouting water from ears, nose, and 
 mouth, Dick gathered breath to exclaim, " You 
 trump ! I should have been drowned, to a 
 moral !" Whereat the other, choking, cough- 
 ing, and sputtering, answered faintly, " You old 
 
152 M. or N. 
 
 mufF! I believe we were never out of our 
 depth the whole time !" 
 
 Perkins did not go up for his degree, and 
 the men lost sight of one another in a few 
 years, cherishing, indeed, a kindly remembrance 
 each of his friend, yet taking little pains to 
 refresh that remembrance by renewed inter- 
 course. How many intimacies, how many 
 attachments outlast a twelvemonth's break ? 
 There are certain things people go on caring t 
 for, but I fear they are more intimately con- \ 
 nected with self in daily life than either the 
 romance of friendship or the intermittent fever 
 of love. The enjoyment of luxury, the pursuit \ 
 of money-making, seem to lose none of their I 
 zest with advancing years, and perhaps to { 
 these we may add the taste for art. 
 
 Now to Simon Perkins art was as the very 
 air he breathed. The greatest painter was, in 
 his eyes, the greatest man that lived. When 
 he left Oxford, he devoted himself to the pro- 
 fession of painting with such success as ren- 
 dered him independent, besides enabling him 
 
Nina. 133 
 
 to contribute largely to the comfort of two 
 maiden aunts with whom he lived. 
 
 Not without hard work ; far from it. There 
 is no pursuit, perhaps, which demands such 
 constant and unremitting exertion from its 
 votaries. The ideal to which he strains can 
 never be reached, for his very successes keep 
 building it yet higher, and a painter is so far 
 like a baby his whole life through that he is 
 always learning to see. 
 
 Simon was still learning to see on the after- 
 noon Dick Stanmore sculled by his cottage 
 windows — studying the effect of a declining 
 sun on the opposite elms, not entirely averting 
 his looks from that graceful girl, who ran into 
 the house to the oarsman's discomfiture, and 
 missing her more than might have been ex- 
 pected when she vanished upstairs. Was not 
 the sun still shining bright on that graceful 
 feathery foliage r He did not quite think it 
 was. 
 
 Presently there came to the door a rustle of 
 draperies, and an elderly lady, not remarkable 
 
154 M. or N. 
 
 for beauty, entered the room. Taking no 
 notice of Simon, she proceeded to arrange 
 small articles of furniture with a restless man- 
 ner that denoted anxiety of mind. At last, 
 stopping short in the act of dusting a china 
 tea-cup, with a very clean cambric handker- 
 chief, she observed, in a faltering voice, • 
 " Simon, dear, I feel so nervous I know I shall " 
 never get through with it. Where's your j 
 aunt Jemima r" 
 
 Even while she spoke there appeared at the \ 
 door another lady, somewhat more elderly, and ; 
 even less remarkable for beauty, who seated \ 
 herself bolt upright in an elbow-chair without \ 
 delay, and, looking austerely round, observed, '• 
 in an impressive voice, " Susannah, fetch me ' 
 my spectacles ; Simon, shut the door." 
 
 Of all governments there must be a head. 
 It was obvious that in this deliberative assembly 
 Miss Jemima Perkins assumed the lead. Both 
 commands being promptly obeyed, she pulled 
 her spectacles from their case and put them on, 
 as symbols of authority, forthwith. 
 
Nina, 155 
 
 " I want your advice, Simon," said this 
 strong-minded old lady, in a hard, clear voice. 
 " I dare say I shan't act upon it, but T want it 
 all the same. I've no secrets from either of 
 you ; but as the head of the family I don't 
 mean to shirk responsibility, and my opinion 
 is, she must go. Susannah, no weakness. My 
 dear, you ought to be ashamed of yourself 
 Nina, run upstairs again, we don't want you 
 just now." 
 
 This to a pretty head with raven hair, that 
 popped saucily in, and as saucily withdrew. 
 
 Simon looked wistfully after the pretty head, 
 and relapsed into a day-dream. Was he think- 
 ing what a picture it would make, or what a 
 reality it was ? His aunt's voice recalled him 
 to facts. 
 
 " Simon," she repeated, " my opinion is she 
 must go." 
 
 " Go !" said her nephew, vacantly, " what 
 do you mean, aunt ? Go ? — where ? — who r" 
 
 " Why that girl we're all so fond of," replied 
 Miss Jemima, growing every moment more 
 
156 M. or N. 
 
 severe. " Mr. Algernon used to come here 
 twice every quarter, usedn't he ? Never missed 
 the day, did he ? and paid his money as regular 
 as clock-work. Susannah, how long is it since 
 he's been to see us r" 
 
 Susannah sobbed. 
 
 "That's no answer," pursued the inflexible ■ 
 speaker. "To-morrow week it will be ten ; 
 months since we have seen him ; and to- \ 
 morrow week it will be ten months since we've . 
 had a scrap of his handwriting. Is that girl to ; 
 remain here, dependent on the bounty of a • 
 struggling artist and tw^o old maids ? My ; 
 opinion is that she ought to go out and gain 
 her own livelihood ; my feeling is that — that ;• 
 — I couldn't bear to think of the poor dear in 
 any home but this !" 
 
 Here the old lady, whose assumption of 
 extreme fortitude had been gradually leading 
 to the inevitable catastrophe, broke down alto- 
 gether, while Susannah, giving rein to her 
 emotions, lifted up her voice and wept. 
 
 " You knew who she was all along, Jemima," 
 
Nina. 137 
 
 said the latter, gulping sadly at her syllables : 
 " you know you did ; and it's cruel to harrow 
 up our feelings like this." 
 
 Simon said nothing, but on his homely 
 features gathered an expression of resolve, 
 through which there gleamed the bright 
 radiance of hope. 
 
 Miss Perkins wiped her eyes and then her 
 spectacles. Resuming her dignity, she pro- 
 ceeded in a calmer voice — 
 
 " I will not conceal from you, Susannah, 
 nor from you, Simon, that I have had my 
 suspicions for several years. Those suspicions 
 became a certainty some time ago. There can 
 be no doubt now of the relationship existing 
 between our Nina and the Mr. Algernon, as 
 he called himself, who took such an interest in 
 the child's welfare. When I saw Mr. Bruce's 
 death in the paper, I knew that our pet had 
 lost her father. What was I to do r When I 
 consented to take charge of the child twenty 
 years ago — and a sweet pretty babe she was — 
 I perfectly understood there must be a mystery 
 
158 M. or N. 
 
 connected with her birth. As head of the 
 family, I imparted my suspicions to neither of 
 you, and I kept my conjectures and my dis- 
 approval to myself. This seemed only fair to 
 my correspondent, only fair to the child. 
 When I learned Mr. Bruce's death, it came 
 upon me like a shot^ that he was the Mr. Al- 
 gernon who used to visit here, and who fur- 
 nished such liberal means for the support and 
 education of that girl upstairs. — Susannah, I 
 cannot make myself understood if you will' 
 persist in blowing your nose! — Since Mr.; 
 Bruce's death no Mr. Algernon has darkened- 
 our doors, no remittances have come to hand, 
 with the usual signature. Simon, my impres-i 
 sion is that no provision whatever has been; 
 made for the poor thing, and that our Nina is* 
 — is utterly destitute and friendless." 
 
 Here Miss Susannah gave a little scream, 
 whereat her sister glared austerely, and resumed 
 the spectacles she had taken off to dry. 
 
 " Not friendless, aunt," exclaimed Simon, 
 m a great heat and fuss ; " never friendless so 
 
Nina, 159 
 
 long as we are all above ground. I am per- 
 fectly willing to — stay, Aunt Jemima, I beg 
 your pardon, what do you think ought to be 
 done ?" 
 
 The old lady smoothed her dress, looking 
 round with placid dignity. 
 
 " I will first hear what you tw^o have to 
 propose. Susannah, leave off crying this 
 minute, and tell us what you think of this — 
 this very embarrassing position." 
 
 It is possible that but for the formidable 
 adjective Susannah might have originated, and 
 indeed expressed some idea of her own ; but 
 to confront a position described by her sister 
 as " embarrassing " was quite beyond her 
 powers, and she could only repeat feebly, " I'll 
 give her half my money — I'll give her half my 
 money. We can't drive her out into the 
 cold." This with sobs and tears, and a hand 
 pressed helplessly to her side. 
 
 Miss Jemima turned from her with con- 
 tempt, declaring, in an audible whisper, she 
 had " more than half a mind to send the 
 
i6o M. or N\ 
 
 foolish thing to bed ;" then looked severely at 
 her nephew. 
 
 " This girl," said he, " has become a member 
 of our family, just as if she were a born 
 relation. It seems to me there is no question 
 of feeling or sentiment or prejudice in the 
 matter. It is a mere affair of duty. We are 
 bound to treat Nina Algernon exactly as if , 
 she were a Perkins." 
 
 His aunt took his face in both her hands, 
 squeezed it hard, and flattened his nose with a 
 grim kiss. After this feat she looked more ; 
 severe than ever. 
 
 " I believe you are right," she said ; " I j 
 believe this arrangement is a special duty sent I 
 on purpose for us to fulfil. I had made up ; 
 my mind on the subject before I spoke to you, • 
 but it is satisfactory to know that you both 
 think as I do. When we give way to our 
 feelings, Susannah, we are sure to be injudicious, 
 sometimes even unjust. But duty is a never- 
 failing guide, and — oh ! my dears, to part with 
 that darling would be to take the very heart 
 
Nina. 1 6 1 
 
 out of my breast ; and, Simon, I'm so glad you 
 agree with me ; and Susannah, dear, if I spoke 
 harshly just now, it was for your own good ; 
 and — and — FU just step up-stairs into the store- 
 room, and look out some of the house-linen 
 that wants mending. I had rather you didn't 
 disturb me. I shall be down again to tea.'' 
 
 So the old lady marched out firmly enough, 
 but sister and nephew both knew right well 
 that kindly tears, long kept back from a sense 
 of dignity, would drop on the half-worn house- 
 linen, and that in the solitude of her store-room 
 she would give vent to those womanly feelings 
 she deemed it incumbent on her, as head of 
 the family, to restrain before the rest. 
 
 Miss Susannah entertained no such scruples. 
 
 Inflicting on her nephew a verv tearful embrace, 
 
 \ she sobbed out incoherent congratulations on 
 
 the decision at which her elder sister had arrived . 
 
 " But we mustn't let the dear girl And it 
 out," said this sensitive, weak-minded, hut 
 generous-hearted lady. " We should make no 
 sort of difference in our treatment of her, of 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
1 62 M. or N. 
 
 course, but we must take great care not to let 
 anything betray us in our manner. I am not 
 good at concealment, I know, but I will under- 
 take that she never suspects anything from 
 mine." 
 
 The fallacy of this assertion was so transparent 
 that Simon could not forbear a smile. 
 
 '' Better make a clean breast of it at once," 
 said he. " Directly there's a mystery in a 
 family. Aunt Susannah, you may be sure there 
 can be no union. It need not be put in a way 
 to hurt her feelings. On the contrary, Aunt 
 Jemima might impress on her that we count 
 on her assistance to keep the pot boiling. Why, 
 she's saving us pounds and pounds at this 
 moment. Where should I get such a model 
 for my Fairy Queen, I should like to know ? 
 It ought to be a great picture — a great picture, 
 Aunt Susannah, if I can only work it out. And 
 where should I be if she left me in the lurch ? 
 No — no ; we won't forget the bundle of sticks. 
 I'll to the maul-stick, and you and Aunt Jemima 
 shall be as cross as two sticks ; and as for Nina, 
 
Nina. 163 
 
 with her bright eyes, and her pleasant voice, 
 and her merry ways, I don't know what sort of 
 a stick we should make of her." 
 
 " A fiddlestick, I should think," said that 
 young lady, entering the room from the garden 
 window, having heard, it is to be hoped, no 
 more than Simon's closing sentence. " What 
 are you two doing here in the dark ? It's past 
 eight — tea's ready — Aunt Jemima's down — and 
 everything's getting cold." 
 
 Candles were lit in the next room, and the 
 tea-things laid. Following the ladies, and 
 watching with a painter's eye the lights and 
 shades as they fell on Nina's graceful beauty, 
 Simon Perkins felt, not for the first time, that 
 if she were to leave the cottage, she would carry 
 away with her all that made it a dear and happ\' 
 home, depriving him at once of past, present, 
 and future, taking from him the A'ery cunning 
 of his handicraft, and, worse still, the inspiration 
 of his art. 
 
 It was no wonder she had wound herself 
 round the hearts of that quiet little family in 
 
164 M. or N. 
 
 the retired Putney villa. As like Maud Bruce 
 in form and feature, as though she had been 
 her twin sister, Nina Algernon possessed the 
 same pale, delicate features, the same graceful 
 form, the same dark, pleading eyes and glossy 
 raven hair ; but Mr. Bruce's elder and unac- 
 knowledged daughter had this advantage over 
 the younger, that about her there was a sweet- 
 ness, a freshness, a quiet gaiety, and a donkommie 
 such as spring only from kindliness of disposi- 
 tion and pure unselfishness of heart. Had she 
 been an ugly girl, though she might have 
 lacked admirers, she could not have long re- 
 mained without a lover. Being as handsome 
 as Maud, she seemed calculated to rivet more 
 attachments, while she made almost as many 
 conquests. Between the sisters there was a 
 similitude and a difference. One was a costly 
 artificial flower, the other a real garden rose. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE USUAL DIFFICULTY. 
 
 A /TAUD'S instincts, when, soon after her 
 father's death, she felt a strong dis- 
 incUnation to Hve with Aunt Agatha, had not 
 played her false. As inmates of the same house, 
 the two ladies hit it off badly enough. Perhaps 
 because in a certain imperiousness and hardness 
 of character they were somewhat alike, their 
 differences, though only on rare occasions 
 culminating in a battle royal, smouldered per- 
 petually, breaking out, more often than was 
 seemly, in brisk skirmish and rapid passage of 
 arms. 
 
 Miss Bruce's education during the lifetime 
 
1 66 M, or N. 
 
 of her parents had been httle calculated to fit 
 her for the position of a dependant, and with 
 all her misgivings, which, indeed, vexed her 
 sadly, she could not yet quite divest herself of 
 an idea that her inheritance had not wholly 
 passed away. Under any circumstances she 
 resolved before long to go at the head of an ■ 
 establishment of her own, so that she should f 
 assume her proper position, which she often ! 
 told herself, with her attractions and her oppor- 
 tunities was a mere question of will. 
 
 Then, like a band of iron tightening round 
 her heart, would come the thought of her pro- 
 mise to Tom Ryfe, the bitter regret for her 
 own weakness, her own overstrained notions of 
 honour, as she now considered them, in com- 
 mitting that promise to writing. She felt as 
 people feel in a dream, when, step which way ' 
 they will, an insurmountable obstacle seems to 
 arise, arresting their progress, and hemming 
 them in by turns on every side. 
 
 It was not in the best of humours that, a 
 few days after Lady Goldthred's party, Maud 
 
The Usual Difficulty. 167 
 
 descended to the luncheon-table fresh from an 
 hour's consideration of her grievances, and of 
 the false position in which she was placed. 
 Mrs. Stanmore, too, had just sent back a mis- 
 fitting costume to the dressmaker for the third 
 time ; so each lady being, as it were, primed 
 and loaded, the lightest spark would suffice to 
 produce explosion. 
 
 While the servants remained it was necessarv 
 to keep the peace, but cutlets, mashed potatoes, 
 and a ration of sherry having been distributed, 
 the room was cleared, and a fair field remained 
 for immediate action. Dick's train was late 
 from Newmarket, and he was well out of it. 
 
 To do her justice, Maud had meant to 
 intrench herself in sullen silence. She saw the 
 attack coming, and prepared to remain on the 
 defensive. Aunt Agatha began quietly enough 
 — to borrow a metaphor from the noble game 
 of chess, she advanced a pawn. 
 
 " I don't know how I'm to take you to 
 Countess Monaco's to-night, Maud ; that stupid 
 woman has disappointed me again, and I've 
 
1 68 M, or N. 
 
 got literally nothing to go in. Besides, there 
 will be such a crush we shall never get away in 
 time for my cousin s ball. I promised her I'd 
 he early if I could." 
 
 Now Miss Bruce knew, I suppose because 
 he had told her, that Lord Bearwarden would 
 he at Countess Monaco's reception, but would 
 not be at the said ball. It is possible Mrs. 
 Stanmore may have been aware of this also, 
 and that her pawn simply represented what 
 ladies call " aggravation." 
 
 Maud took it at once with her knight. " I 
 don't the least care about Countess Monaco's, 
 aunt," said she. " Dick's not going because 
 he's not asked, and I'm engaged to dance the 
 first dance with him at the other place. It's a 
 family bear-fight, I conclude ; but though I 
 hate the kind of thing, Dick is sure to take 
 care of 7ner 
 
 Check for Aunt Agatha, whom this off-hand 
 speech displeased for more reasons than one. 
 It galled her to be reminded that her step-son 
 had received no invitation from the smart 
 
TJic Usual Difficulty. 169 
 
 foreign countess; while that Maud should thus 
 appropriate him, calling him " Dick " twice in 
 a breath, was more than she could endure. So 
 she moved her king out of position. 
 
 " Talking of balls," said she, in a cold, civil 
 voice, " reminds me that you danced three 
 times the night before last with Lord Bear- 
 warden, and twice with Dick, besides going 
 down with him to supper. I don't like finding 
 fault, Maud, but I have a duty to perform, and 
 I speak to you as if you were my own child." 
 
 " How can you be sure of that r" retorted 
 incorrigible Maud. " You never had one." 
 
 This was a sore point, as Miss Bruce well 
 knew. Aunt Agatha's line of battle was sadly 
 broken through, and her pieces huddled 
 together on the board. She began to lose her 
 head, and her temper with it. 
 
 "You speak in a very unbecoming tone. 
 Miss Bruce," said she, angrily. " You force 
 me into saying things I would much rather 
 keep to myself. I don't wish to remind you of 
 your position in this house." 
 
I 
 
 170 M. or N'. 
 
 It was now Maud's turn to advance her 
 strongest pieces — castles, rooks, and all. 
 
 " You remind me of it often enough," she 
 replied, with her haughtiest air — an air which, 
 notwithstanding its assumption of superiority, 
 certainly made her look her best ; " if not in 
 words, at least in manner, twenty times a day. • 
 You think I don't see it, Mrs. Stanmore, or \ 
 that I don't mind it, because I've too much i 
 pride to resent it as it deserves. I am indebted ., 
 
 r' 
 
 to you, certainly, for a great deal — the roof .; 
 that shelters me, and the food I eat. I owe ; 
 you as much as your carriage-horses, and a ! 
 little less than your servants, for I do my work { 
 and get no wages. Never fear but I shall pay 'l 
 up everything some day; perhaps very soon. I 
 You had better get your bill made out, so as 
 to send it in on the morning of my departure. 
 I wish the time had come to settle it now." 
 
 Mrs. Stanmore was aghast. Very angry, no ' 
 doubt, but yet more surprised, and perhaps 
 the least thing cowed. Her cap, her laces, the 
 lockets round her neck, the very hair of her 
 
The Ustial Difficiilfy. 171 
 
 head, vibrated with excitement. Maud, cool, 
 pale, impassible, was sure to win at last, 
 waiting, like the superior chess player, for that 
 final mistake which gives an adversary check- 
 mate. 
 
 It came almost immediately. Mrs. Stanmore 
 set down her sherry, because the hand that held 
 her glass shook so she could not raise it to her 
 lips. " You are rude and impertinent," said 
 she ; '' and if you really think so wickedly, the 
 sooner you leave this house the better, though 
 you are my brother's child ; and — and — Maud, 
 I don't mean it. But how can you say such 
 things r I never expected to be spoken to like 
 this." 
 
 Then the elder lady began to cry, and the 
 game was over. Before the second course 
 came in a reconciliation took place. Alaud 
 presented a pale, cold cheek to be kissed by her 
 aunt, and it was agreed that they should go to 
 Countess Monaco's for the harmless purpose, 
 as they expressed it, of "just walking through 
 the rooms," leaving thereafter as soon as 
 
172 M. or N. 
 
 practicable for the ball ; and Mrs. Stanmore, 
 who was good-hearted if bad-tempered, trusted 
 " dear Maud would think no more of what she 
 had said in a moment of irritation, but that 
 they would be better friends than ever after 
 their little tiff/' 
 
 None the less, though, for this decisive ' 
 victory did the young lady cherish her deter- 
 mination to settle in life without delay. Lord : 
 Bearwarden had paid her considerable attention 
 on the few occasions they had met. True, he 
 was not what the world calls a " marrying 
 man ;" but the world, in arranging its romances, 
 usually leaves out that very chapter — the < 
 chapter of accidents — on which the whole plot •; 
 revolves. And why should there not be a Lady '' 
 Bearwarden of the present as of the past r To 
 land so heavy a fish would be a signal triumph. 
 Well, it was at least possible, if not probable. 
 This should be a matter for future considera- 
 tion, and must depend greatly on circum- 
 stances. 
 
 In the mean time, Dick Stanmore would 
 
The Usual Difficulty. 173 
 
 marry her to-morrow. Of that she felt sure. 
 Why r Oh, because she did ! I beheve 
 women seldom deceive themselves in such 
 matters. Dick had never told her he cared 
 for her ; after all, she had not known him 
 many weeks, yet a certain deference and soft- 
 ness of tone, a diffidence and even awkward- 
 ness of manner, increasing painfully when they 
 were alone, betrayed that he was her slave. 
 And she liked Dick, too, very much, as a 
 woman could hardly help liking that frank and 
 kindly spirit. She even thought she could 
 love him if it was necessary, or at any rate 
 make him a good wife, as wives go. He would 
 live in London, of course, give up hunting and 
 all that. It really might do very well. Yes, 
 she would think seriously about Dick Stan 
 more, and make up her mind without more 
 delay. 
 
 But how to get rid of Tom Ryfe ? Ignore 
 it as she might — strive as she would to forget 
 it in excitement, dissipation, and schemes for 
 the future, none the less was the chain alwavs 
 
1/4 M. or N. 
 
 round her neck. Even while it ceased to gall 
 her she was yet sensible of its weight. So long 
 as she owed him money, so long as he held her 
 written promise to repay that debt with her 
 hand, so long was she debarred all chances for 
 the future, so long was she tied down to a fate 
 she could not contemplate without a shudder. 
 To be " a Mrs. Ryfe " when on the cards lav 
 such a prize as the Bearwarden coronet, when 
 she need only put out her hand and take Dick ' 
 Stanmore, with his brown locks, his broad 
 shoulders, his genial, generous heart, for better 
 or worse ! It was unbearable. And then to 
 think that she could ever have fancied she ^ 
 liked the man ; that, even now, she had to give \ 
 him clandestine meetings, to see him at un- 1 
 seasonable hours, as if she loved him dearly, 
 and was prepared to make every sacrifice for 
 his sake ! Her pride revolted, her whole spirit 
 rose in arms at the reflection. She knew he 
 cared for her too ; cared for her in his own 
 way very dearly ; and " C'est ce que c'est d'etre 
 femme." I fear she hated him all the more ! 
 
The Us7cal Dijficiilty. 1 75 
 
 So long as a woman knows nothing about him. 
 her suspicion that a man hkes her is nine points 
 out of ten in his favour ; but directly she has 
 fathomed his intellect and probed his heart : 
 squeezed the orange, so to speak, and resolved 
 to throw away the rind, in proportion to the 
 constancy of his attachment will be her weari- 
 ness of its duration ; and from weariness in such 
 matters there is but one short step to hatred 
 and disgust. 
 
 Tom Ryfe must be paid his money. To 
 this conclusion, at least, Maud's reflections 
 never failed to lead. Without such initiatory 
 proceeding it was useless to think of demanding 
 the return of that written promise. But how 
 to raise the funds r After much wavering and 
 hesitation. Miss Bruce resolved at last to pawn 
 her diamonds. So dearly do women love their 
 trinkets, that I believe, though he never knew 
 it, Tom Ryfe was more than once within an 
 ace of gaining the prize he longed for, simply 
 from Maud's disinclination to part with her 
 jewels. How httle he dreamt that the verv 
 
176 M. or N'. 
 
 packet which had helped to cement into 
 intimacy his first acquaintance with her should 
 prove the means of dashing his cherished 
 hopes to the ground, and raising yet another 
 obstacle to shut him out from his lovely client ! 
 While Maud is meditating in the back 
 drawing-room, and Aunt Agatha, having 
 removed the traces of emotion from her eyes 
 and nose, is trying on a bonnet up stairs, Dick 
 Stanmore has shaken off the dust of a railway 
 journey, in his lodgings, dressed himself from 
 top to toe, and is driving his phaeton merrily 
 along Piccadilly, on his way to Belgrave 
 Square. How his heart leaps as he turns the 
 well-known corner — how it beats as he skip^ 
 into his stepmother's house — how it stops 
 when he reaches the door of that back drawing- 
 room, where, knowing the ways of the establish- 
 ment, he hopes to find his treasure alone ! 
 The colour returns to his face. There she is 
 in her usual place, her usual attitude, languid, 
 graceful, indolent, yet glad to see him never- 
 theless. 
 
The Usual Diffic2tlty. 177 
 
 " I'm in luck," said Dick, blushing like a 
 schoolboy. " My train was late, and I was 
 so afraid you'd be gone out before I could get 
 here. It seems so long since I've seen you. 
 And where have you been, and how's my 
 mother, and what have you been doing r" 
 
 " What have you been doing, rather ?" 
 repeats the young lady, giving him a cool and 
 beautiful hand that he keeps in his own as 
 long as he dares. "Three days at Newmarket 
 are long enough to make ' a man or a mouse,' 
 as you call it, of a greater capitalist than you, 
 Mr. Stanmore. Seriously, I hope you've had 
 a good week." 
 
 " Only lost a pony on the whole meeting," 
 answered Dick, triumphantly. " x\nd even 
 that was a 'fluke,' because Bearwarden's Bac- 
 chante Ally was left at the post." 
 
 " I congratulate you," said Maud, with 
 laughter gleaming in her dark eyes. " I sup- 
 pose you consider that tantamount to winning. 
 Was Lord Bearwarden much disappointed, and 
 did he swear horribly r" 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
I jS M. or N. 
 
 " Bearwarden never swears," replied Dick. 
 
 " He only told the starter he wondered he 
 
 could get them off at all ; for it must have 
 
 put him out sadly to see all the boys laughing 
 
 at him. I've no doubt one or two were fined 
 
 in the very next race, for the official didn't 
 
 seem to like it." 
 
 Maud pondered. " Is Lord Bearwarden ; 
 
 < 
 
 very good-tempered ?" said she. i 
 
 " Well, he never breaks out," answered Dick, t 
 
 " But why do you want to know ?" • \ 
 
 " Because you and he are such friends," said : 
 
 this artful young lady. " Because I can't \ 
 
 make him out — because I don't care whether s^ 
 
 he is or not ! And now, Mr. Stanmore, though <i 
 
 I, 
 you've not been to see your mamma yet,'^ 
 
 you've behaved like a good boy, considering; 
 so I've got a little treat in store for you. Will 
 you drive me out in your phaeton ?" 
 
 " Will a duck swim ?" exclaimed Dick, de- 
 lighted beyond measure, with but the one draw- 
 back to supreme happiness, of a wish that his 
 off-horse had been more than twice in harness. 
 
 I 
 
The Us7tal Difficulty. 179 
 
 " Now before I go to put my bonnet on," 
 continued Miss Bruce, threatening him with 
 her finger hke a child, " you must promise to 
 do exactly what you're told — to drive very 
 slow and very carefully, and to set me down 
 the instant Fm tired of you, because Aunt 
 Agatha won't hear of our going for more than 
 half an hour or so, and it will take some diplo- 
 macy to arrange even that." 
 
 Then she tripped upstairs, leaving the door 
 open, so that Dick, looking at himself in the 
 glass, wondering, honest fellow, what she could 
 see in him to like, and thinking what a lucky 
 dog he was, overheard the following conversa- 
 tion at the threshold of his stepmother's 
 chamber on the floor above. 
 
 A light tap — a smothered " Who's there ?" 
 and the silvery tones of the voice he loved — 
 
 "Aunt Agatha — may Mr. Stanmore drive 
 me to Rose and Brilliant's in his phaeton ?" 
 
 Something that sounded very like " Certainly 
 not. 
 
 " But please. Aunt Agatha," pleaded the 
 
i8o M. or N. 
 
 voice, " I've got a headache, and an open 
 carriage will do me so much good, and you 
 can call for me afterwards, whenever you like, 
 to do our shopping. I shan't be five minutes 
 putting my bonnet on, and the wind's changed, 
 and it's such a beautiful day !" 
 
 Here a door opened, whispers were ex- 
 changed, it closed with a bang, a bell rang, an \ 
 organ in the street struck up " The Marsel- j 
 laise," and ere it had played eight bars, Maud 
 was on the stairs again, looking, to Dick's ad- j 
 miring eyes, like an angel in a bonnet coming ; 
 straight down from heaven. 
 
 In after-days he often thought of that happy 
 drive — of the pale, beautiful face, in its trans- 
 parent little bonnet, turned confidingly up- 
 wards to his own, of the winning ways, the 
 playfully imperious gestures, the sweet caressing 
 voice — of the hope thrilling to his very heart 
 that perhaps for him might be reserved the 
 blissful lot of thus journeying with her by his 
 side through life. 
 
 As they passed into the Park at Albert Gate, 
 
The Usual Dijjiailty. i8i 
 
 two of his young companions nodded and took 
 off their hats, elbowing each other, as who 
 should say, " I suppose that's a case !" How 
 proud Dick felt, and how happy ! The quarter 
 of a mile that brought him to Apsley House 
 seemed a direct road to Paradise : the man 
 who is always watering the rhododendrons 
 shone like a glorified being, and the soft west 
 wind fanned his temples hke an air from 
 heaven. How pleasant she was, how quaint, 
 how satirical, how amusing! Not the least 
 frightened when that off-horse shied in Picca- 
 dilly — not the least impatient (neither, be sure, 
 was he) when a block of carriages kept them 
 stationary for ten minutes in the narrow gorge 
 of Bond Street. Long before they stopped 
 at Rose and BriUiant's it was all over with Dick. 
 " You re not to get out," said Maud, while 
 they drew up to the door of that fashionable 
 jeweller. " Yes you may, just to keep my 
 dress off the wheel, but you mustn't come in. 
 I said I'd a treat for you ; now tell me without 
 prevarication — will you have sleeve-links with 
 
1 82 M. or N. 
 
 a cipher or a monogram ? Speak up — in one 
 word — quick !" 
 
 Sleeve-links ! and from her ! A present to 
 be valued and cherished more than life itself 
 He could hardly believe his senses. Far too 
 bewildered to solve the knotty point of cipher 
 versus monogram, he muttered some incohe- 
 rent syllables, and only began to recover when 
 he had stared blankly for a good five minutes 
 at the ofF-horse's ears, from the driving-seat of 
 his phaeton. 
 
 It took a long time apparently to pick out 
 those sleeve-links. Perhaps the choicest assort- 
 ment of such articles remained in the back 
 shop, for thither Miss Bruce retired ; and it is 
 possible she may have appealed to the pro- 
 prietor's taste in her selection, since she was 
 closeted with that gentleman in earnest con- 
 ference for three-quarters of an hour. Dick 
 had almost got tired of waiting, when she 
 emerged at last to thank him for her drive, 
 and to present him, as she affirmed, with the 
 results of her protracted shopping. 
 
The Usual Dijfiaclty. 183 
 
 " There is a design on them aheady," said 
 she, shpping a httle box of card into his hand 
 with her pleasantest smile, " so I could not 
 have your initials engraved, but I dare say you 
 won't lose them all the same." 
 
 Dick rather thought not^ hiding the w^elcome 
 keepsake away in his waistcoat pocket, as near 
 his heart as the construction of that garment 
 would permit ; but his day's happiness was 
 over now, for Mrs. Stanmore had arrived in 
 her brougham to take his companion away for 
 the rest of the afternoon. 
 
 That night, before he went to bed, I think 
 he was fool enough to kiss the insensible 
 sleeve-links more than once. They were 
 indeed choice little articles of wTjrkmanship, 
 bearing on their surface two quaint and fanci- 
 ful designs, representing a brace of Cupids in 
 difficulty, the one singed by his own torch, 
 the other crying over a broken bow. 
 
 At the same hour Maud was enclosing an 
 order for a large sum of money in a letter 
 which seemed to cost her much study and 
 
1 84 
 
 M. or N. 
 
 vexation. Even Miss Bruce found some 
 difficulty in explaining to a lover that she 
 valued truth, honour, and fidelity at so many 
 hundred pounds, while she begged to forward 
 him a cheque for the amount in lieu of the 
 goods marked " damaged and returned." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE FAIRY QUEEN 
 
 T HAVE said that Simon Perkins was a 
 painter to the tips of his fingers. Just as a 
 carpenter cannot help looking at a piece of wood 
 with a professional glance it is impossible to 
 mistake — a glance that seems to embrace at 
 once its length, depth, thickness, toughness, 
 and general capabilities, so a painter views 
 every object in nature, animate or inanimate, 
 as a subject for imitation and study of his art. 
 The heavens are not too high, the sea too deep, 
 nor the desert too wide to afford him a lesson ; 
 and the human countenance, with its endless 
 variety of feature and expression, is a book he 
 
1 86 M. or N. 
 
 never wearies of learning by lieart. When his 
 professional interest in beauty is enhanced by 
 warmer feelings, it may be imagined that 
 vanity could require no fuller tribute of ad- 
 miration than the worship of one whose special 
 gift it is to decide on the symmetry of out- 
 ward form. "' 
 
 As a painter, Simon Perkins approved of 
 Nina Algernon — as a man he loved her. Lest 
 his position should not prove sufficiently fatal, 
 she had become of late practically identified 
 with his art, almost as completely as she was 
 mixed up with his every-day life. For many 
 months, perhaps even for years, the germ of a 
 great work had taken root in his imagination. 
 Slowly, almost painfully, that germ developed 
 itself, passing through several stages, sketch 
 upon sketch, till it came to maturity at last in 
 the composition of a large picture on which he 
 was now employed. 
 
 The subject affiDrded ample scope for liberty 
 of fancy in form and grouping — for the in- 
 dulgence of a gorgeous taste in colouring and 
 
The Fairy Qtteen, 187 
 
 costume. It represented Thomas the Rhymer 
 in Fairyland, at the moment when its glamour 
 is falling from his eyes, when its magic lustre 
 is dying out on all that glittering pageantry 
 and the elfin is fading to a gnome. The 
 handsome wizard turns from a crowd of 
 phantom shapes, half-lovely, half-grotesque 
 — for their change is even now in progress 
 — to look wistfully and appealingly on the 
 queen. 
 
 There is a pained expression in his comely 
 features, of hurt affection, and trust betrayed, 
 yet not without a ray of pride and triumph, 
 that, come what might to the others, she is 
 still unchanged. Around him the fairies are 
 shedding their glory as trees in autumn shed 
 their leaves. Here a sweet laughing face sur- 
 mounts the hideous body of an imp, there the 
 bright scales of an unearthly armour shrivel to 
 rottenness and dust. The dazzling robes are 
 turning blank and colourless, the emerald rays 
 waning to a pale, sad light, the flashing diadem 
 is dulled and dim. Yet on the fairy queen 
 
1 88 M. or N. 
 
 there lowers no shadow of change, there 
 threaten no symptoms of decay. 
 
 Bathed in the halo of a true though hapless 
 love, she is still the same as when he first saw 
 her all those seven long years ago, glistening 
 in immortal charms, and knelt to her for the 
 queen of heaven, where she rode — " under the ' 
 linden tree." 
 
 It is obvious that on her countenance, be- 1 
 sides the stamp of exceeding beauty, there 
 must appear sorrow, self-reproach, fortitude, '. 
 majesty, and undying tenderness. All these : 
 the painter thought he read in Nina Algernon's . 
 girlish face. 
 
 So she sat to him dutifully enough for a| 
 model of his fairy queen, and if she wearied at - 
 times, as I think she must, comforted herself 
 with the remembrance that in this way she 
 helped the family who gave her bread. 
 
 For the convenience of sitters, Simon Perkins 
 had his painting-room in Berners Street : 
 thither it was his custom to resort in the 
 morning, by penny steamer or threepenny 
 
The Fairy Queen. 189 
 
 omnibus, and there he spent many happy 
 hours working hard with palette and brush. 
 Not the least golden seemed those in which 
 Nina accompanied him to sit patiently while 
 he studied, and drew her, line by hne, feature 
 by feature. The expeditions to and fro were 
 dehghtful, the labour was pleasure, the day was 
 gone far too soon. 
 
 A morning could not but be fine, when, 
 emerging from an omnibus at Albert Gate, 
 Simon walked by the side of his model 
 through Hyde Park on their way to Berners 
 Street ; but about this period one morning 
 seemed even finer than common, because that 
 Nina, taking his arm as they crossed Rotten 
 Row, thought fit to confide to him an inter- 
 view of the day before with Aunt Jemima, in 
 which she extorted from that dear old lady 
 with some difficulty the fact of her own friend- 
 less position in the world. 
 
 "And I don't mind it a bit," continued the 
 girl, catching her voice like a child, as was her 
 habit when excited, "for I'm sure you're all so 
 
iQo M. or N\ 
 
 kind to me that Fd much rather not have any 
 other friends. And I don't want to be inde- 
 pendent, and I'll never leave you, so long as 
 you'll keep me. And oh ! Simon, isn't it good 
 of your aunts, and you too, to have taken care 
 of me ever since I was quite a little thing? 
 For I'm no relation, you know — and how can . 
 I ever do enough for you ? I can't. It's im- ] 
 possible. And you don't want me to, if I could !" j 
 
 Notwithstanding the playful manner which , 
 was part of Nina's self, there were tears of real ? 
 feeling in her eyes, and I doubt if Simon's ; 
 were quite dry while he answered — ; 
 
 " You belong to us just as much as if you { 
 were a relation, Nina. My aunts have said so \ 
 ever since I can remember, and as for me, why-- 
 you used to ride on my foot when you were in ' 
 short frocks ! What a little romp it was ! 
 Always troublesome, and always will be — and 
 that's why we're so fond of you." He spoke 
 lightly, but his voice shook nevertheless. 
 
 " So you ought to be," she answered. " For 
 you know how much I love you all." 
 
TJic Fairy Qtceen. 191 
 
 " What, even stern Aunt Jemima ?" said this 
 blundering young man, clumsily beating about 
 the bush, and thus scaring the bird quite as 
 much as if he had thrust his hand boldly into 
 the nest. 
 
 "Aunt Jemima best of all," replied Nina, 
 saucily, " because she's the eldest, and tries to 
 keep me in order, but she can't." 
 
 " And which of us next best, Nina ?" con- 
 tinued he, turning away with extraordinary 
 interest in a mowing machine. 
 
 "Aunt Susannah, of course." This very 
 demurely, while tightening her pretty lips to 
 keep back a laugh. 
 
 " Then I come last," he observed, gently ; 
 but there was something in the tone that made 
 her glance sharply in his face. 
 
 She pressed his arm. " You dear old simple 
 Simon," said she, kindly. " Surely you must 
 know me by this time. I love you very dearly, 
 just as if you were my brother. Brother, in- 
 deed ! I don't think if I'd a father I could be 
 much fonder of him than I am of you." 
 
192 M. or iV. 
 
 What a bright morning it had been 
 live minutes ago, and now the sky seemed 
 clouded all at once. Simon even thought the 
 statue of Achilles looked more grim and 
 ghostly than usual, lowering there in his naked 
 bronze. 
 
 She had wounded him very deeply, that . 
 pretty unconscious archer. These random 1 
 shafts for which no interposing shield makes j 
 ready are sure to find the joints in our harness. 
 A tough hard nature such as constitutes the \ 
 true fighter only presses more doggedly to the . 
 front, but gentler spirits are fain to turn aside ; 
 out of the battle, and go home to die. There / 
 came a dimness before Simon's eyes, and a ; 
 ringing in his ears. He scarcely heard his i 
 companion, while she asked — 
 
 " Who are those men bowing ? Do you 
 know them ? They must take me for some- 
 body else." 
 
 " Those men bowing " were two no less 
 important characters than Lord Bearwarden 
 and Tom Ryfe, the latter in the act of selling 
 
The Fairy Qiceen. 193 
 
 the former a horse. Such transactions, for 
 some mysterious reason, always take place in 
 the morning, and whatever arguments may be 
 adduced against a too enthusiastic worship of 
 the noble animal, at least it promotes early 
 rising. 
 
 Tom Ryfe was one of those men rarely seen 
 in the saddle or on the box, but who, never- 
 theless, always seem to have a horse to dispose 
 of, whatever be the kind required. Hack. 
 hunter, pony, phaeton-horse, he was either 
 possessor of the very animal you wanted, or 
 could suit you with it at twenty-four hours" 
 notice ; yet if you met him by accident riding 
 in the Park, he was sure to tell you he had 
 been mounted by a friend ; if you saw him 
 driving a team — and few could handle four 
 horses in a crowded thoroughfare with more 
 neatness and precision — you might safely 
 wager it was from the box of another man's 
 coach. 
 
 He was supposed to be a very fine rider over 
 a country, and there were vague traditions of 
 
 VOL. I. o 
 
194 ^^' 01' N. 
 
 his having gone exceedingly well througli 
 great runs on special occasions ; but these ex- 
 j)loits had obviously lost nothing of their 
 interest in the process of narration, and were 
 indeed enhanced by that obscurity which in- 
 creases the magnitude of most things, in the 
 moral as in the material world. 
 
 Mr. Ryfe knew all the sporting men about 
 London, but not their wives. He was at home 
 on the Downs and the Heath, in the pavilion 
 at Lord's, and behind the traps of the Red 
 House. He dined pretty frequently at the 
 barracks of the household troops, welcome to 
 the genial spirits of his entertainers, chiefly for 
 those qualities with which they themselves 
 credited him ; and he called Bearwarden " My 
 lord," wherefore that nobleman thought him 
 a snob, and would perhaps have considered 
 him a still greater if he had not. 
 
 The horse in question showed good points 
 and line action. Mr. Ryfe walked, trotted, 
 cantered, and finally reined him up at the rails 
 on which Lord Bearwarden was leaning. 
 
 J ( 
 
The Fairy Quee^i. 195 
 
 "Rather a flat-catcher, Tom," said that 
 nobleman, between the whifFs of a cigar. 
 " Too much action for a hunter, and too little 
 body. He wouldn't carry my weight if the 
 ground was deep, though he's not a bad goer, 
 I'll admit." 
 
 " Exactly what I said at first, my lord," 
 answered Tom, slipping the reins through his 
 fingers, and letting the horse reach over the 
 iron bar against his chest, to crop the tufts of 
 grass beneath, an attitude in which his fine 
 shoulders and liberty of frame showed to great 
 advantage. " I never thought he was a four- 
 teen-stone horse, and I never told you so." 
 
 "And I never told yo7i- I rode fourteen stone, 
 did I ?" replied Lord Bearwarden, who was a 
 little touchy on that score. " Thirteen five at 
 the outside, and not so much as that after 
 deer-stalking in Scotland. He's clean thorough- 
 bred, isn't he ?" 
 
 The purchaser was biting, and Tom under- 
 stood his business as if he had been brought 
 up to it. 
 
196 M. or N. 
 
 " Clean," he answered, passing his leg over 
 the horse's neck, and sliding to the ground, 
 thus leaving his saddle empty for the other. 
 " But he's thrown away on a heavy man. His 
 place is carrying thirteen stone over high 
 Leicestershire. Nothing could touch him 
 there amongst the hills. Jumping's a vulgar 
 accomplishment. Plenty of them can jump if 
 one dare ride them, but he's really an extra- 
 ordinary fencer. Such a mouth, too, and such 
 a ge7itle77ian ! Why he's the pleasantest hack 
 in London. You like a nice hack, my 
 lord. Get up and feel him. It's like riding a 
 bird." 
 
 So Lord Bearwarden jumped on, and altered 
 the stirrups, and crammed his hat down, ere 
 he rode the horse to and fro, trying him in 
 all his paces, and probably falling in love 
 with him forthwith, for he returned with a 
 brightened eye and higher colour to Tom 
 Ryfe on the footway. 
 
 It was at this juncture both gentlemen 
 started and took their hats off to the lady who 
 
The Fairy Qiiccn. 197 
 
 walked some fifty paces off, arm-in-arm with 
 Simon Perkins, the painter. 
 
 Their salute was not returned. The lady, 
 indeed, to whom it was addressed seemed to 
 hurry on all the faster with her companion. 
 It was remarkable, and both remarked it, that 
 neither made any observation on this lack of 
 courtesy, but finished their bargain without 
 apparently half so much interest in sale or 
 purchase as they felt five minutes ago. 
 
 "You'll dine with us, Tom, on the nth?" 
 said Bearwarden, w^hen they parted opposite 
 Knightsbridge Barracks, but he was obviously 
 thinking of something else. 
 
 " On the I ith," repeated Tom — " delighted, 
 my lord — at eight o'clock, I suppose," and 
 turned his horse's head soberly towards Picca- 
 dilly, proceeding at a walk, as one who revolved 
 certain reflections, not of the most agreeable, 
 in his mind. A dinner at the barracks was 
 usually rather an event with Mr. Ryfe, but on 
 the present occasion he forgot all about it 
 before he had gone a hundred yards. 
 
198 M. or N. 
 
 Lord Bearwarden, rejecting the temptation 
 of luncheon in the mess-room, ran upstairs to 
 his own quarters to think — of course he smoked . 
 at the same time. 
 
 This nobleman was one of the many of his 
 kind who, to their credit be it said, are not 
 spoiled by sailing down the stream with the 
 wind in their favour. He had been " a good 
 fellow " at Eton, he remained " a good fellow " 
 in the regiment. With general society he was 
 not perhaps quite so popular. People said he 
 " required knowing ;" and for those w^ho didn't 
 choose to take the trouble of know^ing him he 
 was a little reserved ; with men, even a little 
 rough. His manner w^as of the world, w^orldly, 
 and gave the idea of complete heartlessness 
 and savoir /aire ; yet under this seemingly 
 impervious covering lurked a womanly romance 
 of temperament, a womanly tenderness of 
 heart, than which nothing would have made 
 him so angry as to be accused of possessing. 
 His habits w^ere manly and simple, his chief 
 ambition was to distinguish himself as a soldier, 
 
The Fairy Queen, 199 
 
 and so far as he could find opportunity he had 
 seen service with credit on the staff. A keen 
 sportsman, he could ride and shoot as well as 
 his neighbours, and this is saying no little 
 amongst the young officers of the Household 
 Brigade. 
 
 Anything but a " ladies' man," there was yet 
 something about Bearwarden, irrespective of 
 his income and his coronet, that seemed to 
 interest women of all temperaments and cha- 
 racters. They would turn away from far 
 handsomer, better dressed, and more amusing 
 people to attract his notice when he entered a 
 room, and the more enterprising would even 
 make fierce love to him on further acquaint- 
 ance, particularly after they discovered what 
 up-hill work it was. Do they appreciate a 
 difficult}^ the greater trouble it requires to 
 surmount, or do they enjoy a scrape the more, 
 that they have to squeeze themselves into it 
 by main force r I wonder if the sea-nymphs 
 love their Tritons because those zoophytes 
 must necessarily be so cold ! It is doubtless 
 
200 M. or N. 
 
 against the hard impenetrable rock that the 
 sea-waves dash themselves again and again. 
 Bearwarden responded but faintly to the 
 boldest advances. There must be a reason for 
 it, said the fair assailants. Curiosity grew into 
 interest, and, flavoured with a dash of pique, 
 formed one of those messes with which, in 
 stimulating their vanity, women fancy they 
 satisfy their hunger of the heart. 
 
 Bearwarden was a man with a history ; of 
 this they were quite sure, and herein they were 
 less mistaken than people generally find them- 
 selves who jump to conclusions. Yes, Bear- 
 warden had a history, and a sad one, so far as 
 the principal actor was concerned. Indeed he 
 dared not think much about it even yet, and 
 drove it — for he was no weak, silly senti- 
 mentalist — by sheer force of will out of his 
 mind. Indeed, if it had not wholly changed 
 his real self, it had encrusted him with that 
 hardness and roughness of exterior which he 
 turned instinctively to the world. The same 
 thing had happened to him that happens to 
 
The Fairy Queen. 201 
 
 most of us at one time or another. Just as 
 the hunting man, sooner or later, is pretty- 
 sure to be laid up with a broken collar-bone, 
 so in the career of life must be encountered 
 that inevitable disaster which results in a 
 wounded spirit and a sore heart. The collar- 
 bone, we all know, is a six weeks' job, but 
 injuries of a tenderer nature take far longer to 
 heal. Nevertheless, the cure of these, too, is 
 but a question of time, though, to carry on 
 the metaphor, I think in either case the hapless 
 rider loses some of the zest and dash which 
 distinguished his earlier performances, previous 
 to discomfiture. " Only a woman's hair," 
 wrote Dean Swift on a certain packet hidden 
 away in his desk. And thus a very dark page 
 in Lord Bearwarden's history might have been 
 headed '' only a woman's falsehood." Not 
 much to make a fuss about, surely ; but he 
 was kind, generous, of a peculiarly trustful 
 disposition, and it punished him very sharply, 
 though he tried hard to bear his sorrow like a 
 man. It was the usual business. He had 
 
202 M. or N. 
 
 attached himself to a lady of somewhat lower 
 social standing than his own, of rather question- 
 able antecedents, and whom the world accepted 
 to a certain extent on sufferance, as it were, 
 and under protest, yet welcomed her cordially 
 enough, nevertheless. His relations abused 
 her, his friends warned him against her ; of 
 course he loved her very dearly, all the more 
 that he had to sacrifice many interests for her 
 sake, and so resolved to make her his wife. 
 
 For reasons of her own she stipulated that 
 he should leave his regiment, and even in this, 
 though he would rather have lost an arm, he 
 yielded to her wish. 
 
 The letter to his colonel in which he re- 
 quested permission to send in his papers 
 actually lay sealed on the table, when he 
 received a note in a well-known hand that 
 taught him the new lesson he had never 
 expected to learn. The writer besought his 
 forgiveness, deploring her own heartlessness 
 the while, and proceeded to inform him that 
 there was a Somebody else in the field to 
 
The Fairy Queen. 203 
 
 whom she was solemnly promised (just as she 
 had been to him), and with whom she was 
 about to unite her Lot — capital L. She never 
 could be happy, of course, but it was her 
 destiny : to fight against it was useless, and 
 she trusted Lord B. would forget her, &c. &cC. 
 All this in well-chosen language, and written 
 with an exceedingly good pen. 
 
 It was lucky his letter to the colonel had 
 not been sent. In such sorrows as these a 
 soldier learns how his regiment is his real 
 home, how his comrades are the stanchest, the 
 least obtrusive, and the sincerest of friends. 
 
 Patting his charger's neck at the very next 
 held-dav, Bearwarden told himself there was 
 much to live for still ; that it would be un- 
 soldierlike, unmanly, childish, to neglect duty, 
 to wince from pleasure, to turn his back on all 
 the world had to offer, only because a woman 
 followed her nature and changed her mind. 
 
 So he bore it very well, and those who knew 
 him best wondered he cared so little : and all 
 the while he never heard a strain of music, nor 
 
204 M, or N. 
 
 felt a ray of sunshine, nor looked on beauty of 
 any kind whatever, without that gnawing cruel 
 pain at his heart. Thus the years passed on, 
 and the women of his family declared that 
 Bearwarden was a confirmed old bachelor. ^ 
 
 When he met Miss Bruce at Lady Gold- f 
 thred's, no doubt he admired her beauty and 
 approved of her manner, but it was neither 
 beauty nor manner, nor could he have ex- 
 plained what it was that caused the pulses 
 within him to stir, as they stirred long ago — 
 that brought back a certain flavour of the old 
 draught he had quaffed so eagerly, to find it 
 so bitter at the dregs. Another meeting with 
 Maud, a dance or tw^o, a whisper on a crowded 
 staircase, and Lord Bearwarden told himself 
 that the deep wound had healed at last ; that 
 the grass was growing fresh and fair over the 
 grave of a dead love ; that for him too, as for 
 others, there might still be an interest in the 
 chances of the great game. 
 
 Surely the blind restored to sight is more 
 grateful, more joyous, more triumphant, than 
 
The Fairy Queen. 205 
 
 he who, born in darkness, finds himself over- 
 whelmed and dazzled with the glare of his new 
 gift ! 
 
 Some men are so strangely constituted that 
 they like a woman all the better for " snubbing " 
 them. Lord Bearwarden had never felt so 
 grave an interest in Miss Bruce as when he 
 entered the barracks under the impression she 
 had cut him dead, without the slightest pretext 
 or excuse. 
 
 Not so Tom Ryfe. In that gentleman's 
 mind mingled the several disagreeable sensa- 
 tions of surprise, anger, jealousy, and disgust. 
 Of these he chewed the bitter cud while he 
 rode home, wondering with whom Miss Bruce 
 could thus dare to parade herself in public, 
 maddened at the open rebellion inferred by so 
 ignoring his presence and his love, vowmg to 
 revenge himself without delay by tightening 
 the curb and making her feel, to her cost, the 
 hold he possessed over her person and her 
 actions. By the time he reached his uncle's 
 house, he had made up his mind to demand an 
 
206 M. or N. 
 
 explanation, to come to a final understanding, 
 to assert his authority, and to avenge his pride. 
 He turned pale to see Maud's monogram on 
 the envelope of a letter that had arrived during 
 his absence ; paler still, when from this letter a 
 thin slip of stamped paper fluttered to the floor 
 — white to the very lips while he read the sharp, 
 decisive, cruel lines that accounted for its pre- 
 sence in the missive, and that bade him re- 
 linquish at a w^ord all the hope and happiness 
 of his life. Without unbuttoning his coat, 
 without removing the hat from his head, or 
 the gloves from his hands, he sat fiercely down, 
 and wrote his answer. 
 
 " You think to get rid of me, Miss Bruce, 
 as you would get rid of an unsuitable servant, 
 by giving him his wages and bidding him to 
 go about his business. You imagine that the 
 debt between us is such as a sum of money can 
 at once wipe out : that because you have been 
 able to raise this money (and how you did so 
 I think I have a right to ask) our business 
 connection ceases, and the lover^ inconvenient, 
 
TJie Fairy Queen. 207 
 
 no doubt, from his priority of claim, must go 
 to the wall directly the lawyej^ has been paid 
 his bill. You never were more mistaken in 
 your life. Have you forgotten a certain pro- 
 mise I hold of yours, written in your own hand, 
 signed with your own signature, furnished, as 
 itself attests, of your own free will r and do 
 you think I am a likely man to forego such 
 an advantage ? You might have had me for a 
 friend — how dear a friend I cannot bear to tell 
 you now. If you persist in making me an 
 enemy, you have but yourself to blame. I am 
 not given to threaten ; and you know that I 
 can generally fulfil what I promise. I give 
 you fair warning then : so surely as you try, 
 in the faintest item, to elude your bargain, 
 so surely will I cross your path, and spoil 
 your game, and show you up before the 
 world. Mine you are, and mine you shall be. 
 If of free will, happily ; if not, then to your 
 misery and my own. But, mark me, always 
 mine /" 
 
 " The wisest clerks are not the wisest men." 
 
2o8 M. or N. 
 
 It is a bad plan ever to drive a woman into a 
 corner ; and with all his knowledge of law, I 
 think Mr. Ryfe could hardly have written a 
 more ill-advised and injudicious letter than the 
 above to Miss Bruce. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN THE SCALES. 
 
 T T was a declaration of war. Of all women 
 in the world — and this is saying a great 
 deal — Maud was perhaps the least disposed to 
 accept anything like usurpation, or assumption 
 of undue authority, especially on the part of 
 one in whose character she had detected an 
 element of weakness. Tom Ryfe, notwith- 
 standing his capabilities, was a fool, like most 
 others, where his feelings were touched, and 
 proved it by the injudicious means he used to 
 attain the end he so desired. 
 
 Locked in her own room, she read his letter 
 over and over again, with a bitter curl of her 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
 k 
 
2IO M, or N. 
 
 lip, that denoted hatred, scorn, even contempt. 
 When a man has been unfortunate enough to 
 excite the last of these amiable feelings, he 
 should lose no time in decamping, for the game 
 is wholly and irretrievably lost. Mr. Ryfe 
 would have felt this, could he have seen the 
 gestures of the woman he loved, while she tore 
 his letter into shreds — could he have marked 
 the carriage of her haughty head, the com- 
 pression of her sweet, resolute lips, the fierce 
 energy of her white, cruel hands. Maud paced 
 the floor for some half-dozen turns, opened the 
 window, arranged the bottles on her toilet-table, 
 the flowers on her chimneypiece, even took a 
 good long look at herself in the glass, and sat 
 down to think. 
 
 For weeks she had been revolving in her 
 mind the necessity of breaking with Tom Ryfe, 
 the policy of securing position and freedom by 
 an early marriage. That odious letter decided 
 her ; and now it only remained to make her 
 choice. There are women — and these, though 
 sometimes the most fascinating, by no means 
 
In the Scales. 2 1 1 
 
 the most trustworthy of their sex — who possess 
 over mankind a mesmeric influence, almost 
 akin to witchcraft. Without themselves feeling 
 deeply, perhaps for the very reason that they 
 do not, they are capable of exercising a magic 
 swav over those with whom thev come in 
 contact ; and while they attract more admirers 
 than they know what to do with, are seldom 
 very fortunate in their selection, or happy in 
 their eventual lot. ^Nliss Bruce was one of 
 these witches, far more mischievous than the 
 old conventional hags we used to burn under 
 the sapient government of our first Stuart, and 
 she knew a deal better than any old woman 
 who ever mounted a broomstick the credulity 
 of her victims, the dangerous power of her 
 spells. These she had lately been using freely. 
 It was time to turn their exercise to good 
 account. 
 
 " Mr. Stanmore wo2ild, in a moment," 
 thought Maud, '' if I only gave him the 
 sUghtest hint. And I like him. Yes. I like 
 him very much indeed. Poor Dick ! What 
 
212 M. or N\ 
 
 a fool one can make a man look, to be sure, 
 when he's in love, as people call it ! Aunt 
 Agatha wouldn't much fancy it, I suppose ; 
 not that I should care two pins about that. 
 And Dick's very easy to manage — too easy, I 
 think. He seems as if I couldn't make him 
 angry. I made him sorry^ though, the other 
 day, poor fellow ! but that's not half such fun. 
 Now Lord Bearw^arden has got a temper, I'm 
 sure. I wonder, if we were to quarrel, which 
 would give in first. I don't think I should. I 
 declare it would be rather nice to try. He's 
 good-looking — that's to say, good-looking for 
 a man. It's an ugly animal at best. And 
 they tell me the Den is such a pretty place in 
 the autumn ! And twenty thousand a year ! 
 I don't care so much about the money part of 
 it. Of course one must have money ; but 
 Selina St. Croix assured me that they called 
 him The Impenetrable ; and there wasn't a girl 
 in London he ever danced with twice. Wasnt 
 there ? He danced with me three times in two 
 hours ; but I didn't say so. I suppose people 
 
Ill tJic Scales. 213 
 
 would open their eyes. I've a great mind — a 
 very great mind. But then, there's Dick. He'd 
 be horribly bored, poor fellow ! And the worst 
 of it is, he wouldn't say anything ; but I know 
 exactly how he'd look, and I should feel I was 
 a beast ! What a bother it all is ! But some- 
 thing must be done. I can't go on with this 
 sort of life ; I can't stand Aunt Agatha much 
 longer. There she goes, calling on the stairs 
 again ! Why can't she send my maid up, if 
 she wants me ?" 
 
 But Miss Bruce ran down willingly enough 
 when her aunt informed her, from the first 
 floor, that she must make haste, and Dick was 
 in the large drawing-room. 
 
 She found mother and son, as they called 
 themselves, buried in a litter of cards, enve- 
 lopes, papers of every description referring to 
 " Peerage," " Court Guide," visiting-list — all 
 such aids to memory — the charts, as it were, 
 of that voyage which begins in the middle of 
 April and ends with the last week in July. As 
 usual on great undertakings, from the opening 
 
214 ^- or N. 
 
 of a campaign to the issuing of invitations for 
 a ball, too much had been left to the last 
 moment ; there was a great deal to do, and 
 little time to do it. 
 
 " We can t get on without you^ Miss Bruce," 
 said Dick, with rising colour and averted eyes, j 
 that denoted how much less efficient an 
 auxiliary he would prove since she had come 
 into the room. " My mother has mislaid the 
 old visiting-list, and the new one only goes 
 down to T : so that the U's, and the V's, and 
 W's will be all left out. Think how we shall 
 be hated in London next week ! To be sure 
 it's what my mother calls ' small and early,' 
 like young potatoes, and I hear there are three 
 hundred cards sent out already." 
 
 " You'll only hinder us, Mr. Stanmore," said 
 Maud. " Hadn't you better go away again ?" 
 but observing Dick's face fall, the smiling eyes 
 added, plainly as words could speak, "if you 
 can r She looked pale though, and unhappy, 
 he thought. Of course he felt fonder of her 
 than ever. 
 
 I 
 
In the Scales. 215 
 
 "Hinder you!" he repeated. "Why, I'm 
 the mainstay of the whole performance. Don't 
 I bring you eight-and-twenty dancing men ? all 
 at once if you wish it, in a body, like soldiers." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," interrupted Aunt 
 Agatha. " The staircase will be crowded 
 enough as it is." 
 
 Maud laughed. 
 
 " But are they real dancing men ?" she asked, 
 " not ^ dummies,' ' duffers,' — what do you 
 call them ? people who only stand against the 
 wall and look idiotic. They're no use unless 
 they work regularly through ; as if it was a 
 match or a boat-race. I don't call it dancing 
 to hover about, and be always wanting to go 
 down to tea or supper, and to haunt one and 
 look cross if one behaves with common 
 propriety — like some people I know." 
 
 Dick accepted the imputation. 
 
 " Fm not a dancing man," said he, " though 
 my eight-and-twenty friends are. I cannot see 
 the pleasure of being hustled about in a hot 
 room with a girl I never saw before in my life. 
 
2i6 M. or N. 
 
 and never want to see again, — who is looking 
 beyond me all the time, watching the door for 
 another fellow who never comes." 
 
 " Then why on earth do you go ?" asked 
 Miss Bruce, simply. 
 
 " Yott know why," he answered in a low 
 voice, without raising his eyes to her face. 
 
 " Oh ! I dare say," replied Maud ; but 
 though it was couched in a tone of banter, the 
 smile that accompanied this pertinent remark 
 seemed to afford Dick unbounded satisfaction. 
 
 Mrs. Stanmore looked up from her writing- 
 table. 
 
 " I can't get on while you two are jabbering 
 in that corner." (She had not heard a word 
 either of them said.) " I'll take my visiting-list 
 upstairs. You can put these cards in envelopes 
 and direct them. It will help me a little, but 
 you're neither of you much use." 
 
 She gathered her materials together and was 
 leaving the room. Dick's heart began beating 
 to some purpose ; but his stepmother stopped 
 at the door and addressed her niece. 
 
 1. 
 
hi the Scales. 217 
 
 "By-the-by, Maud, I'd almost forgotten. 
 I'm going to Rose and Brilliant's. Fetch me 
 your diamonds, and I'll take them to be cleaned. 
 I can see the people myself, you know, and 
 make sure of your having them back in time 
 for the ball." 
 
 The girl turned white. Dick saw it, though 
 his mother did not. He observed, too, that 
 she gasped as if she was trying to form words 
 which would not come. 
 
 " I am not going to wear them." She got it 
 out at last with difficulty. 
 
 " Not wear them ! nonsense !" was the reply. 
 " Bring them down, my dear, at any rate, and 
 let me look them over. If you don't want it, 
 you might lend me the collar — it would go 
 very well with my mauve satin." 
 
 Maud's eyes turned here and there as if to 
 look for help, and it was Dick's nature to 
 throw himself in the gap. 
 
 " ril take them, mother," said he. " My 
 phaeton's at the door now. You've plenty to 
 do, and it will save you a long drive. Besides, 
 
2i8 M. or N. 
 
 I can blow the people up more effectually than 
 a lady." 
 
 " Tm not so sure of that," answered Mrs. 
 Stanmore. "How^ever, it's a sensible plan 
 enough. Maud can fetch them down for you, 
 and you may come back to dinner if you're 
 disengaged." 
 
 So speaking, Mrs. Stanmore sailed off, leaving 
 the young people alone. 
 
 Maud thanked him with such a look as 
 would have repaid Dick for a far longer 
 expedition than from Belgravia to Bond Street. 
 
 "What should I do without you, Mr. 
 Stanmore ?" she said. " You always come to 
 the rescue just when I want you most." 
 
 He coloured wdth delight. 
 
 " I hke doing things {ox yo7i^' said he, simply ; 
 " but I don't know that taking a parcel a mile 
 and a-half is such a favour after all. If you'll 
 bring it, I'll start directly you give the word." 
 
 Miss Bruce had been very pale hitherto, 
 now a burning blush swept over her face to 
 the temples. 
 
hi the Scales, 219 
 
 " I — I can't bring you my diamonds," said 
 she, " for the first of those thirty reasons that 
 prevented Napoleon's general from bringing up 
 his guns — I haven't got them : they're at Rose 
 and Brilliant's already." 
 
 " Maud !" he exclaimed, unconsciously using 
 her Christian name — a liberty with which she 
 seemed in nowise offended. 
 
 " You may well say ' Maud !' " she murmured 
 in a soft, low voice. " If you knew all, you'd 
 never call me Maud. I don't believe you'd 
 ever speak to me again." 
 
 " Then I'd rather not know all," he replied. 
 " Though it would have to be something very 
 bad indeed if it could make me think ill o^yotc ! 
 Don't tell me anything. Miss Bruce, except 
 that you would like your diamonds back 
 again." 
 
 " They m^ist be got back !" she exclaimed. 
 " I must have them back by fair means or foul. 
 I can't face Aunt Agatha, now that she knows, 
 and can't appear at her ball without them. 
 Oh ! Mr. Stanmore, what shall I do ? Do you 
 
220 M. or N. 
 
 think Rose and Brilliant's would le^id them to 
 me only for one night ?" 
 
 Dick began to suspect something, began to 
 surmise that this young lady had been " raising 
 the wind," as he called it, and to wonder for 
 what mysterious purpose she could want so 
 large a sum as had necessitated the sacrifice of 
 her most valuable jewels ; but she seemed in 
 such distress that he felt this was no time for 
 explanation. 
 
 " Do !" he repeated cheerfully, and walking 
 to the window that he might not seem to notice 
 her trouble. " Why do as I wish you had 
 done all through — leave everything to 7ne, I 
 was going to say, ' trust me,' but I don't want 
 to be trusted. I only want to be made use of." 
 
 Her better nature was conquering her fast. 
 
 '' But indeed I will trust you," she murmured. 
 " You deserve to be trusted. You are so kind, 
 so good, so true. You will despise me, I know 
 — very likely hate me, and never come to see 
 me again ; but I don't care — I can't help it. 
 Sit down, and I will tell you everything." 
 
In the Scales. 221 
 
 He did not blush nor stammer now, his 
 voice was very firm, and he stood up like a 
 man. 
 
 " Miss Bruce," said he, " Maud — yes, I'm 
 not afraid to call you Maud — I won't hear 
 another word. I don't want to be told any- 
 thing. Whatever you have done makes no 
 difference to me. Some day, perhaps, you'll 
 remember how I believed in you. In the 
 mean time tell mv mother that the diamonds 
 will be back in time for her ball. How late it 
 is ! I must be off like a shot. Those horses 
 will be perfectly wild with waiting. I'm coming 
 to dinner. Good-bye !" 
 
 He hurried away without another look, and 
 Maud, burying her head in the sofa-cushions, 
 burst out crying, as she had not cried since she 
 was a child. 
 
 " He's too good for me ! — he's too good for 
 me !" she repeated, between the sobs she tried 
 hard to keep back. '^ How wicked and vile I 
 should be to throw him over ! He's to good 
 for me ! — too good for me by far !" 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I 
 
 (i 
 
 A CRUEL PARTING. 
 
 ^ I ^HE phaeton-horses went off Hke wildfire, 
 Dick driving as if he was drunk. Omni- 
 bus-cads looked after him with undisguised 
 admiration, and hansom cabmen, catching the i 
 enthusiasm of pace, found themselves actually | 
 wishing they were gentlemen's servants, to have 
 their beer found, and sit behind such steppers 
 as those ! 
 
 The white foam stood on flank and shoulder 
 when the pair were pulled up at Rose and 
 Brilliant's door. 
 
 Dick bustled in with so agitated an air that 
 an experienced shopman instantly lifted the 
 
" A Cruel Par ting r 223 
 
 glass from a tray containing the usual assort- 
 ment of wedding-rings. 
 
 " I'm come about some diamonds," panted 
 the customer, casting a wistful glance towards 
 these implements of coercion the while. '' A 
 set of diamonds — very valuable — left here by 
 a lady — a young lady — I want them back 
 again." 
 
 He looked about him helplessly ; neverthe- 
 less, the shopman, himself a married man, 
 became at once less commiserating, and more 
 confidential. 
 
 " Diamonds !" he repeated. " Let me see — 
 yes, sir — quite so — I think I recollect. Perhaps 
 you'll step in and speak to our principal. Mind 
 your hat, if you please, sir — yes, sir — this way, 
 sir. 
 
 So saying, he ushered Mr. Stanmore through 
 glass doors into a neat little room at the back, 
 where sat a bald, smiling personage in sober 
 attire, something between that of a provincial 
 master of hounds and a low-church clergyman, 
 whose cool composure, as it struck Dick at the 
 
224 M. or N. 
 
 time, afforded a ludicrous contrast to his own 
 fuss and agitation. 
 
 " My name is Rose, sir," said the placid man. 
 " Pray take a seat." 
 
 Nobody can " take a seat " under feelings of 
 strong excitement. Dick grasped the proffered 
 chair by the back. 
 
 " Mr. Rose," he began, " what I have to say 
 to you goes no farther." 
 
 "Oh dear, no! — certainly not — Mr. Stan- 
 more, I believe ? I hope I see you well, sir. 
 This is my private room, you understand, sir. 
 Whatever affairs we transact here are in private. 
 How can I accommodate you, Mr. Stanmore ?" 
 Dick looked so eager, the placid man was per- 
 suaded he must want money. 
 
 " There's a young lady," said Dick, plunging 
 at his subject, "who left her diamonds here 
 last week — quite a young lady — very handsome. 
 Did she give you her name ?" 
 
 Mr. Rose smiled and shook his head bene- 
 volently. " If any jewels of value were left 
 with us^ you may be sure we satisfied ourselves 
 
" A Cruel Parting'' 11^ 
 
 of the party's name and address. Perhaps I 
 can help you, Mr. Stanmore. Can you favour 
 me with the date ?" 
 
 " Yes, I can," answered Dick, " and the name 
 too. It's no use humbugging about it. Miss 
 Bruce was the lady's name. There ! Now 
 she wants her jewels back again. She's changed 
 her mind." 
 
 Mr. Rose took a ledger off the table, and 
 ran his finger down its columns. " Quite 
 correct, sir," said he, stopping at a particular 
 entry. " You are acquainted with the circum- 
 stances, of course." 
 
 Dick nodded, esteeming it little breach of 
 confidence to look as if he knew all about it. 
 
 " There is no difficulty whatever," continued 
 the bland Mr. Rose. " Happy to obhge Miss 
 Bruce. Happy to oblige yo2c. We shall 
 charge a small sum for commission. Nothing 
 more — oh ! dear, no ! Have them cleaned 
 up ? Certainly, sir ; and you may depend on 
 their being sent home in time. At your con- 
 venience, Mr. Stanmore. No hurry, sir. You 
 VOL. I. a 
 
226 M. or N, 
 
 can write me your cheque for the amount. 
 Perhaps I'd better draw out a httle memoran- 
 dum. We shall make a mere nominal charge 
 for cleaning." * 
 
 Dick glanced over the memorandum, in- 
 cluding its nominal charge for cleaning, which, 
 perhaps from ignorance, did not strike him as ■ 
 being extraordinarily low. He was somewhat ; 
 startled at the sum total, but when this gentle- , 
 man made up his mind, it was not easy to turn . 
 him from an object in view. 
 
 The steppers, hardly cool, were hurried 
 straight off to his banker's, to be driven, after 
 their owner's interview with one of the partners, 
 back again to the great emporium of their . 
 kind at Tattersall's. 
 
 A woman who wants to make a sacrifice 
 parts with her jewels, a man sells his horses. 
 Honour to each, for each offers up what is 
 nearest and dearest to the heart. 
 
 Dick Stanmore lived no more within his 
 income than other people. To get back these 
 diamonds he would have to raise a considerable 
 
" A Cruel Pariino:'^ 227 
 
 ^> 
 
 sum. There was nothing else to be done. The 
 hunters must go : nay, the whole stud, phaeton- 
 horses, hacks, and all. Yet Dick marched into 
 the office to secure stalls for an early date, with 
 a bright eye and a smiling face. He was 
 proving, to himself, at least, how well he loved 
 her. 
 
 The first person he met in the yard was 
 Lord Bearwarden. That nobleman, though 
 knowing him but slightly, had rather a liking 
 for Stanmore, cemented by a certain good run 
 they once saw in company, when each approved 
 
 of the other's straightforward riding and unusual 
 
 forbearance towards hounds. 
 
 " There's a nice horse in the boxes," said my 
 
 lord ; " looks very hke your sort, Stanmore, 
 
 and they say he'll go cheap, though he's quite 
 
 sound." 
 
 "Thanks," answered Dick. "But I'm all 
 
 the other way. Been taking stalls. Going to 
 
 sell." 
 
 "Draft?" asked his lordship, who did not 
 
 waste words. 
 
228 Af. or N. 
 
 '' All of them," replied the other. " Even 
 the hacks, saddlery, clothing, in short, the 
 
 whole plant, and without reserve — going to 
 
 I 
 give it up — at any rate for a time." 
 
 " Surry for that," replied Bearwarden, adding, 
 courteously, "Can I offer you a lift? I'm 
 going your way. Indeed, I'm going to call at 
 your mother's. Shall I find the ladies at ■ 
 home r" 
 
 '• A little later you will," said honest, unsus- ■ 
 pecting Dick, who had not yet learned the 
 lesson that teaches it is not worth while to 
 trust or mistrust any of the sex. " They'll be 
 charmed to give you some tea. I'm off to 
 Croydon to look over my poor screws before -' 
 they're sold, and break it to my groom." 
 
 " That's a right good fellow," thought Lord 
 Bearwarden, " and not a bad connection if I 
 was fool enough to marry the dark girl, after 
 all." So he called out to Dick, who had one 
 foot on the step of his phaeton — 
 
 " I say, Stanmore, come and dine with us on 
 the nth; we've got two or three hunting 
 
" A CriLcl Parting!' 229 
 
 fellows, and we can go on together afterwards 
 to vour mother's ball." 
 
 " All right," said Stanmore, and bowled away 
 in the direction of Croydon at the rate of four- 
 teen miles an hour. If the horses were to be 
 sold, people might just as well be made aware 
 of the class of animal he kept. Though the 
 sacrifice involved was considerable, it would be 
 wise to lessen it by all judicious means in his 
 power. 
 
 How great a sacrifice he scarcely felt till he 
 arrived at his country stables. 
 
 Dick Stanmore had been fonder of hunting 
 than any other pursuit in the world, ever since 
 he went out for the first time on a Shetland 
 pony, and came home with his nose bleeding, 
 at five years old. 
 
 The spin and " whizz " of his reel, the rush 
 of a brown mountain stream with its fringe of 
 silver birch and stunted alder, the white side 
 of a leaping salmon, and the gasp of that noble 
 fish towed deftly into the shallows at last, 
 afforded him a natural and unmixed pleasure. 
 
230 M. or N. 
 
 He loved the heather clearly, the wild hill- 
 side, the keen, pure air, the steady setters, the 
 flap and cackle of the rising grouse, the ringing 
 shot that laid him low, born in the purple, and 
 fated there to die. Nor, when corn-fields were 
 cleared and partridges almost as swift as bullets, 
 and as numerous as locusts, were driven to and 
 fro across the open, was his aim to be foiled 
 by a flight little less rapid than the shot that 
 arrested it. With a rifle in his hand, a general 
 knowledge of the surrounding forest, and a 
 couple of gillies, give him the wind of a royal 
 stag feeding amongst his hinds, and, despite the 
 feminine jealousy and instinctive vigilance of 
 the latter, an hour's stalk would put the lord 
 of the hills at the mercy of Dick Stanmore. 
 In all these sports he was a proficient, from all 
 of them he derived a keen gratification, but 
 fox-hunting was his passion and his delight. 
 
 A fine rider, he loved the pursuit so well, 
 and was so interested in hounds, that he gave 
 his horse every opportunity of carrying him 
 in front, and as his natural qualities included a 
 
''A Cncel Partingr 231 
 
 good eye, and that confidence in the immediate 
 future which we call " nerve," he was seen in 
 difficulties less often than might be expected 
 from his predilection in favour of " the shortest 
 way. 
 
 His horses generally appeared to go plea- 
 santly, and to reciprocate their rider's confi- 
 dence, for he certainly seemed to get more 
 work out of them than his neighbours. 
 
 As Mr. Crop, his stud-groom, remarked, in 
 the peculiar style of English affected by that 
 trustworthy but exceedingly impracticable 
 servant — 
 
 " Take and put him on a ' arf-bred ' 'oss, an' 
 he rides him like a hangel, nussin' of him, and 
 coaxin' of him, and sendin' of him along, 
 beatttifttl for ground, an' uncommon liberal for 
 fences. Take an' put him on a thoro' bred 
 'un, like our Vampire 'oss, and — Lor !" 
 
 One secret perhaps of that success in the 
 hunting-field, which, when well mounted, even 
 Mr. Crop's eloquence was powerless to express 
 but by an interjection, lay in his master's 
 
232 M. or N. 
 
 affection for the animal. Dick Stanmore 
 dearly loved a horse, as some men do love 
 them, totally irrespective of any pleasure or 
 advantage to be derived from their use. 
 
 There is a fanciful oriental legend which 
 teaches that when Allah was engaged in the 
 work of creation, he tempered the lightning 
 with the south wind, and thus created the 
 horse. Whimsical as is this idea, it yet 
 suggests the swiftness, the fire, the mettlesome, 
 generous, but plastic temperament of our 
 favourite quadruped — the only one of our 
 dumb servants in whose spirit we can rouse at 
 will the utmost emulation, the keenest desire 
 for the approval of its lord. Even the coun- 
 tenance of this animal denotes most of the 
 qualities we affect to esteem in the human race 
 — courage, dociHty, good-tem.per, reflection 
 (for few faces are so thoughtful as that of the 
 horse), gratitude, benevolence, and, above all, 
 trust. Yes, the full brown eye, large, and 
 mild, and loving, expresses neither spite, nor 
 suspicion, nor revenge. It turns on you with 
 
" A Cruel Partingr 233 
 
 the mute unquestioning confidence of real 
 affection, and you may depend on it under all 
 pressure of circumstance, in the last extremity 
 of danger or death. Will you say as much 
 for the bluest eyes that ever sparkled in mirth, 
 or swam in tears, or shone and deepened under 
 the combined influence of triumph, belladonna, 
 and war-paint ? 
 
 I once heard a man affirm that tor him 
 there was in every horse's face the beauty each 
 of us sees in the one woman he adores. This 
 outrageous position he assumed after a good 
 run, and, indeed, after the dinner which suc- 
 ceeded it. I will not go quite so far as to 
 agree with him, but I will say that in gene- 
 rosity, temper, and fidelity, there is many a 
 woman, and man too, who might well take 
 example from the noble qualities of the horse. 
 
 And now Dick Stanmore was about to offer 
 up half a dozen of these valued servants before 
 the idol he had lately begun to worship, for 
 whom, indeed, he esteemed no victim too 
 precious, no sacrifice too dear. 
 
234 M. 07^ N. 
 
 Driving into his stable-yard, he threw the 
 reins to a couple of helpers, and made use of 
 Mr. Crop's arm to assist his descent. That 
 worthy's face shone wdth delight. Next to his 
 horses he loved his master — chiefly, it is fair to 
 say, as an important ingredient without which 
 there would be no stud. 
 
 " I was expectin' of ye, sir," said he, touching 
 an exceedingly straight-brimmed hat. " Glad 
 to see ye lookin' so well." 
 
 To do him justice, Mr. Crop did his duty 
 as if he always was expecting his master. 
 
 '' Horses all right r" asked Dick, moving 
 towards the stable-door. 
 
 "'Osses is 'ealthy, I am thankful to say," 
 replied the groom, gravely, " and lookin', too, 
 pretty nigh as I could wish, now they've done 
 breakin' with their coats. There's Firetail got 
 a queerish look — them Northamptonshire 
 'esses is mostly unsound ones — and the mare's 
 ofF-leg's filled ; and the Vampire 'oss, he's got 
 a bit of a splent a-comin', but I'll soon frighten 
 that away ; an' old Dandybrush, he's awful, 
 
I 
 
 " A Cruel PartingT 2^^ 
 
 but not wuss nor I counted ; and the young 
 un 
 
 " I'll look 'em over," said Dick, interrupting 
 what threatened to be a long catalogue. " I 
 came down on purpose. The fact is (take 
 those horses out and feed them) — the fact is, 
 Crop, I'm going to sell them all. I'm going 
 to send them up to Tattersall's." 
 
 Every groom is more or less a sporting man, 
 and it is the peculiarity of sporting men to 
 betray astonishment at no eventuality, however 
 startling ; therefore Mr. Crop, doing violence 
 to his feelings, moved not a muscle of his 
 countenance. 
 
 " Fm sorry to part with them. Crop," added 
 Dick, a little put out by the silence of his 
 retainer, and not knowing exactly what to say 
 next. " They've carried me very well — I've 
 seen a deal of fun on them — I don't suppose I 
 shall ever have such good ones — I don't sup- 
 pose I shall ever hunt much again." 
 
 Mr. Crop began to thaw. "They're £-ood 
 'osses," he observed sententiously ; " but that's 
 
236 M. or N. 
 
 not to say as there isn't good 'osses elsewheres. 
 In regard of not huntin there's a many seasons, 
 askin' your pardon, atween you and me, and I 
 should be sorry to think as I wasn't goin' 
 huntin', ay, twenty years from now ! When is 
 'em goin' up, sir r" added he, sinking sentiment 
 and coming to business at once. 
 
 " Monday fortnight," answered Dick, enter- 
 ing a loose box, in which stood a remarkably 
 handsome mare, that neighed at him, and 
 rubbed her head against his breast. 
 
 '• I should ha' liked another ten days," re- 
 plied Crop, for it was an important part of his 
 system never to accept his master's arrange- 
 ments without a protest. " I could ha' got 
 'em to show as they ought to show by then. 
 Is the stalls took ?" 
 
 Dick nodded. He was looking wistfully at 
 the mare, thinking what a light mouth she had, 
 and how boldly she faced water. 
 
 " That leg'll be as clean as my face in a 
 week," observed Mr. Crop, confidently. " She'll 
 fetch a good price, she will. Sir Frederic's 
 
" A CriLcl PartiJio-r 23 7 
 
 «b 
 
 after her, I know. There's nothing but tares 
 in there, sir, old Dandybrush is in the box on 
 the right." 
 
 Dick gave the mare a loving pat, and turned 
 sadly into the residence of old Dandybrush. 
 
 That experienced animal greeted him with 
 laid-back ears and a grin, as though to say, 
 " Here you are again ! But I like you best in 
 your red coat." 
 
 They had seen many a good gallop together, 
 and rolled over each other with the utmost 
 good-humour, in every description of soil. To 
 look at the old horse, even in his summer 
 guise, was to recall the happiest moments of a 
 sufficiently happy life. 
 
 " I'd meant to guv it him pretty sharp," 
 said Crop ; " but Til let him alone now. He'd 
 'a carried you, maybe, another season or two, 
 with a good strong dressin' ; but them legs 
 isn't what they was. Last time as I rode of 
 him second horse, I found him different — 
 gettin' inquisitive at his places — and when they 
 gets inquisitive they soon begins to get slow. 
 
238 M. or N. 
 
 You'll look at the Vampire 'oss, sir, before you 
 go back to town ?" 
 
 Now " the Vampire 'oss," as he called him, 
 was an especial favourite with Mr. Crop. 
 Dick Stanmore had bought him out of training 
 at Newmarket by his groom's advice, and the 
 highbred animal, being ridden by an exceed- 
 ingly good horseman, had turned out a far 
 better hunter than common — not invariably 
 the case with horses that begin life on the 
 Heath. Crop took great pride in this purchase, 
 confidently asserting, and doubtless believing, 
 that England could not produce its equal. 
 
 He threw the box-door open with the air of 
 a man who is going to exhibit a picture of his 
 own painting. 
 
 " It's a pity to let him go," said the groom, 
 with a sigh. " Where'll you get another as 
 can touch him when the ground's deep, like it 
 was last March ? I've had a many to look 
 after, first and last ; but such a kind 'oss to do 
 for in the stable I never see. Why, if you was 
 to give that 'oss ten feeds of corn a day he'd take 
 
" A Cruel Par ting ^ 239 
 
 an' eat 'em all out clean — wouldn't leave a hoat ! 
 And legs ! Them's not legs ! them's slips of 
 gutta-percher an' steel! To be sure he'll 
 
 I fetch a hawful price at the 'ammer — four 
 'underd, five 'underd, I shouldn't wonder — why 
 ' he's worth all the money to look at. Blessed 
 if you mightn't ride a good 'ack to death only 
 tryin' to find such another !" 
 
 Nevertheless, the Vampire horse was con- 
 demned to go up with the rest. Notwith- 
 standing the truth of the groom's protestations, 
 its money value was exactly the quality that 
 decided the animal's fate. 
 
 Driving back to London, Dick's heart 
 bounded to think that in an hour's time he 
 should meet Miss Bruce again at dinner. 
 How delightful to be doing all this for her 
 sake, yet to keep the precious secret safe 
 locked in his own breast, until the moment 
 should come when it would be judicious to 
 divulge it, making, at the same time, another 
 confession, of which he hoped the result might 
 be happiness for life. 
 
240 M. or N. 
 
 " I'd do more than that for her," muttered 
 this enthusiastic young gentleman, while he 
 trotted over Vauxhall Bridge. '' I liked my 
 poor horses better than anything ; and that's 
 just the reason I like to part with them for her 
 sake. My darling, I'd give you the heart out 
 of my breast, even if I thought you'd tread it 
 under foot and send it back again !" 
 
 Had such an anatomical absurdity been re- 
 concileable with the structure of the human 
 frame, it is possible Miss Bruce might have 
 treated this important organ in the contu- 
 melious manner suggested. 
 
 1 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 SIXES AND SEVENS. 
 
 T N the mean time, while Dick Stanmore is 
 hugging himself in the warm atmosphere 
 of hope, while Lord Bearwarden hovers on the 
 brink of a stream in which he narrowly escaped 
 drowning long ago, while Tom Ryfe is plunged 
 in depths of anxiety, jealousy, and humiliation 
 that scorch like liquid fire. Miss Bruce's dark 
 eyes, and winning, wilful ways, have kindled 
 the torch of mistrust and discord between two 
 people of whom she has rarely seen the one 
 and never heard of the other. 
 
 Mr. Bargrave's chambers in Gray's Inn 
 were at no time more remarkable for cleanliness 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 R 
 
242 AI. 07- N. 
 
 than other Hke apartments in the same locaUty; 
 but the dust lies inch-thick now in all places 
 where dust can lie, because that Dorothea, 
 more moping and tearful than ever, has not 
 the heart to clean up, no nor even to wash her 
 own hands and face in the afternoon, as here- 
 tofore. 
 
 She loves her " Jim," of course, all the more 
 passionately that he makes her perfectly miser- 
 able, neglecting her for days together, and 
 when they do meet, treating her with an indif- 
 ference far more lacerating than any amount of 
 cruelty or open scorn. 
 
 Not that he is always good-humoured. On 
 the contrary, "Gentleman Jim," as they call 
 him, has lost much of the rollicking, devil- 
 mav-care recklessness that earned his nickname, 
 and is often morose now — sometime? even 
 fierce and savage to brutality. 
 
 The poor woman has had a quarrel with him, 
 not two hours ago, originating, it is but fair to 
 state, in her own extremely irritating conduct 
 regarding beer, Jim being anxious to treat his 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 243 
 
 ladye-love with that fluid for the purpose, as he 
 said, of " drowning unkindness," and possibly 
 with the further view of quenching an incon- 
 venient curiosity she has lately indulged about 
 his movements. No man likes to be watched : 
 and the more reason the woman he is betray- 
 ing has to doubt him, the less patience he 
 shows for her anxiety, the less he tolerates her 
 inquiries, her jealousy, or her reproaches. 
 
 Now Dorothea's suspicions, sharpened by 
 affection, have of late grown extremely weari- 
 some, and Jim has been heard to threaten, 
 more than once, that " if so be as she doesn" t 
 mend her manners, and live conformable, he'll 
 take an' hook it, he will, blessed if he won't !" 
 — a dark saying which sinks deeply and pain- 
 fully into the forlorn one's heart. When, 
 therefore, instead of drinking her share, as 
 usual, of a foaming quart measure containing 
 beer, dashed with something stronger, this 
 poor thing set it down untasted, and forthwith 
 began to cry, the cracksman's anger knew no 
 bounds. 
 
244 ^^' or N. 
 
 " Drop it !" he exclaimed, brutally. " You'd 
 best, I tell ye 1 D'ye think I want my blessed 
 drink watered with your blessed nonsense ? 
 What's come to ye, ye contrairy devil r I 
 thought I'd larned ye better. I'll see if I can't 
 larn ye still. Would ye now !" 
 
 It was almost a blow, — such a push as is the 
 next thing to actual violence, and it sent her 
 staggering from the sloppy bar at which their 
 altercation took place against a bench by the 
 wall, where she sat down pale and gasping, to 
 the indignation of a slatternly woman nursing 
 her child, and the concern of an honest coal- 
 heaver, who had a virago of a wife at home. 
 
 " Easy, mate !" expostulated that worthy, 
 putting his broad frame between the happy 
 pair. " Hold on a bit, an' give her a drop 
 when she comes to. vShe'd a' throwed her 
 arms about your neck a while ago, an' now 
 she'd as soon knife ye as look at ye." 
 
 Wild-eyed and pale, Dorothea glared round, 
 as Clytemnestra may have glared when her 
 hand rested on the fatal axe ; but this Holborn 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 245 
 
 Agamemnon did not seem destined to fall by a 
 woman's blow, inasmuch as the tide was 
 effectually turned by another woman's inter- 
 ference. 
 
 The slatternly lady, shouldering her child, as 
 a soldier does his firelock, thrust herself eagerly 
 forward. 
 
 " Knife him !" she exclaimed, with a most 
 unfeminine execration. " I'd knife him, 
 precious soon, if it was me, the blessed willen ! 
 To take an use a woman like that there — a 
 nasty, cowardly, sneakin', ugly, tallow-faced 
 beast !" 
 
 Had it not been for the imputation on his 
 beauty, Dorothea might perhaps have blazed 
 out in open rebellion, or remained passive in 
 silent sulks ; but to hear her Jim, the flash 
 man of a dozen gin-shops, the beloved of a 
 score of rivals, called " ugly," was more than 
 flesh and blood could endure. She turned 
 fiercely on her auxiliary and gave battle at 
 once. 
 
 " And who arst yotc to interfere, mem, if I 
 
246 M. or N. 
 
 may wenture to make the inquiry ?"' said she, 
 with that polite but spasmodic intonation that 
 denotes the approaching row. " Keep yerself 
 ^0 yerself, if you please, mem. And I'll thank 
 ye not to go for to come between me and 
 my young man, not till you ve got a young 
 man of your own, mem, and if you'd like to 
 walk out, there's the door, mem, and don't you 
 try for to give me none o' your sauce, for I'm 
 not a-goin' to put up with it." 
 
 The slatternly woman ran her guns out and 
 returned the broadside with promptitude. 
 
 " Door, indeed ! you poor whey-faced drab, 
 you dare to say the word door to me, a respect- 
 able woman, as Mister Tripes here knows me 
 well, and have a score against me behind that 
 there wery door as you disgraces, and as it's 
 yo2i as ought to be t'other side, you ought, for 
 it's out of the streets 2iS yoic come, well I knows, 
 an' say another word, and I'll take that there 
 bonnet off of your head, and chuck it into 
 them streets and yoic arter it. Oh dear ! oh 
 dear ! that ever I should be spoke to like this 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 247 
 
 here, and my master out o' work a month come 
 Toosday, and this here gentleman standing by ; 
 but I'll set my mark on ye, if I get six months 
 for it— I will !" 
 
 Thus speaking, or rather screaming, and 
 brandishing her baby, as the gonfalonier waves 
 his gonfalon, the slatternly woman, swell- 
 ing into a fury for the nonce, made a dive 
 at Dorothea, which, but for the interposition 
 of "this here gentleman," as she called the 
 coalheaver, might have produced considerable 
 mischief. That good man, however, took a 
 deal of " weathering," as sailors say, and ere 
 either of the combatants could get round his 
 bulky person, the presence of a policeman at 
 the door warned them that ordeal by battle 
 had better be deferred till a more fitting 
 opportunity. They burst into tears therefore, 
 simultaneously, and the dispute ended, as such 
 disputes often do, in a general reconciliation, 
 cemented by the consumption of much excise- 
 able fluid, some of it at the expense of the 
 philanthropic coalheaver, whose simple faith 
 
248 M. or N, 
 
 involved a persuasion that the closest con- 
 nection must always be preserved between good- 
 fellowship and beer. 
 
 After these potations, it is not surprising that 
 the slatternly woman should have found herself, 
 baby and all, under the care of the civil power 
 at a police-station, or that Gentleman Jim and 
 his ladye-love should have adjourned to sober 
 themselves in the steaming gallery of a play- 
 house. 
 
 Behold them, then, wedged into a front seat, 
 Dorothea's bonnet hanging over the rail, Jim's 
 gaudy handkerchief bulging with oranges, both 
 spectators too absorbed in the action of the 
 piece to realize its improbabilities, and the 
 woman thoroughly identifying herself with the 
 character and fortunes of its heroine. 
 
 The theatre is small, but the audience if not 
 select are enthusiastic ; the stage is narrow, but 
 affords room for a deal of strutting and striding 
 about on the part of an overpowering actor in 
 the inevitable belt and boots of the melo- 
 dramatic highwayman. The play represents 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 
 
 49 
 
 certain startling passages in the career of one 
 Claude Duval, formerly a running footman, 
 afterwards — strange anomaly ! — a robber on 
 horseback, distinguished for polite manners and 
 bold riding. 
 
 This remarkable person has a wife, devoted 
 to him of course. In the English drama all 
 wives are good ; in the French all are bad, and 
 people tell you that a play is the reflection of 
 real life. Besides this dutiful spouse, he 
 cherishes an attachment for a young lady of 
 high birth and aristocratic (stage) manners. 
 She returns his tenderness, as it is extremely 
 natural a young person so educated and 
 brought up would return that of a criminal, 
 who has made an impression on her heart by 
 shooting her servants, rifling her trunks, and 
 forcing her to dance a minuet with him on a 
 deserted heath under a harvest moon. 
 
 This improbable incident affords a favourite 
 scene, in which Dorothea's whole soul is 
 absorbed, and to which Jim devotes an earnest 
 attention, as of one who weighs the verisimili- 
 
250 M. or N. 
 
 tude of an illustration, that he may accept the 
 purport of the parable it conveys. 
 
 Dead servants (in profusion), struggling 
 horses, the coach upset, and the harvest moon, 
 are depicted in the back scene, which represents 
 besides an illimitable heath, and a gibbet in the 
 middle distance : all this under a glare of light, 
 as indeed it might well be, for the moon is 
 quite as large as the hind wheel of the coach. 
 
 In the foreground are grouped, the hero 
 himself, a comic servant with a red nose and a 
 fiddle, an open trunk, and a young lady in 
 travelHng costume, viz., white satin shoes, paste 
 diamonds, ball-dress, and lace veil. The tips 
 of her fingers rest in the gloved hand of her 
 assailant, whose voice comes deep and mellow 
 through the velvet mask he wears. 
 
 " My preservier !" says the lady, a little 
 inconsequentially, while her fingers are lifted to 
 the mask and saluted with such a smack as 
 elicits a " hooray !" from some disrespectful 
 urchin at the back of the pit. 
 
 "To presurrve beauty from the jeer of 
 
Sixes and Scvcjis. 251 
 
 insult, the grasp of vie-olence is my duty and 
 my prow-fession. To adore it is my ree-ligion 
 — and my fate !" replies the gallant highway- 
 man, contriving with some address to retain his 
 hold of the lady's hand, though encumbered 
 by spurs, a sword, pistols, a mask, and an 
 enormous three-cornered hat. 
 
 "And this man is proscribed, hunted, in 
 danger, in disgrace !" exclaims the ladv, aside, 
 and therefore loud enoue^h to be heard in the 
 street. Claude Duval starts. The start of 
 such an actor makes Dorothea jump. " Perdi- 
 tion !" he shouts, " ve have reminded me of 
 what were well buried fathom-deep — obliterated 
 — forgotten. Tr you, lady, 'tis ee-ven so ! I 
 have a compact with my followers — the 
 ransom !" 
 
 " Shall be paid right willingly," she answers ; 
 and forthwith the comic servant with the red 
 nose wakes into spasmodic life, winks repeatedly, 
 and performs a flourish on his " property " 
 fiddle, a little out of tune with the real instru- 
 ment in the orchestra at his feet. 
 
252 M. or N. 
 
 "What are they going to do?" asked 
 Dorothea, in great anxiety. 
 
 " Hold your noise !" answers Jim, and the 
 action of the piece progresses. 
 
 It is fortunate, perhaps, that minuets have 
 gone out of fashion ; if they involved such a 
 test of endurance as that in which Claude 
 Duval and his fair captive now disport them- 
 selves with an amount of bodily exertion it 
 seems real cruelty to encore. His concluding ' 
 caper shakes the mask from his partner's face, ^ 
 and the young lady falls, with a shriek, into his 
 arms, leaving the audience in that happy state 
 of perplexity, which so enhances the interest of 
 a plot, as to whether her distress originates in 
 excess of sentiment or deficiency of wind. 
 
 " It's beautiful !" whispers Dorothea, refresh- 
 ing herself with an orange. " It 'minds me of 
 the first time you and me ever met at Highbury 
 Barn." 
 
 Jim grunts, but his grunt is not that of a 
 contented sleeper, rather of one who is woke 
 from a dream. 
 
Sires and Sevens. 253 
 
 After a tableau like the last, it is natural 
 that Claude Duval should find a certain want 
 of excitement in the next scene, where he 
 appears as a respectable householder in the 
 apartments of his lawful spouse. This lady, 
 leaving a cradle in the background, and 
 advancing to the footlights, proceeds to hover 
 round her husband, after the manner of stage 
 wives, with neck protruded and arms spread 
 out, like a woman who is a little afraid of a 
 wasp or earwig, but wants to catch the creature 
 all the same. He sits with his back to her, as 
 nobody ever does sit but a stage husband at 
 home, and punches the floor with his spur. It 
 is strictly natural that she should sing a faint 
 song with a slow movement, on the spot. 
 
 It is perhaps yet more natural that this 
 should provoke him exceedingly, so he jumps 
 up, reaches a cupboard in two strides, and pulls 
 out of it his whole paraphernalia, sword, pistols 
 mask, three-cornered hat, everything but his 
 horse. Then the wife, from her knees, informs 
 all whom it may concern, that for the hrst time 
 
254 ^^' 0^ ^' 
 
 in their happy married hfe she has learned her 
 husband is a robber, as they both call it, by 
 " provvfession." 
 
 Dorothea's sympathies, womanlike, are with 
 the wife. Jim, whose interest is centred in the 
 young lady, finds this part of the performance 
 rather wearisome, and thirsts, to use his own 
 expression, for " a drain." 
 
 Events now succeed each other with startling 
 rapidity. Claude Duval is seen at Ranelagh, 
 still in his boots, where he makes fierce love to 
 his young lady, and exchanges snuff-boxes 
 (literally) with a duke. Next, in a thicket, 
 beset by thief-takers, from whom he escapes 
 after prodigies of valour, aided by the comic 
 servant, and thereafter guided by that singular 
 domestic to a place of safety, which turns out 
 to be the young lady's bedroom. Here Jim 
 becomes much excited, fancying himself for 
 the moment a booted hero, rings, laced-coat. 
 Stein-kirk handkerchief, and all. His dress 
 touches that of his companion, but instinctively 
 he moves from her as far as the crowded seat 
 
I 
 
 Sixes and Sevens. 255 
 
 will permit, while Dorothea, all unconscious, 
 looks lovinglv in his face. 
 
 " She's a bold thing, and I can't abide her," 
 is that lady's comment on the principal actress. 
 " She ought to think shame of herself she 
 ought, a-cause of his wife at 'ome. But he's a 
 good plucked-un, isn't he, Jim ? and, lady or 
 no lady, that goes a long way with a woman !" 
 
 Jim turned his head aside. Brutalized, 
 besotted, depraved, there was yet in him a 
 spark of that fire which lights men to their 
 doom, and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 But the thief-takers have Claude Duval by 
 the throat at last ; and there is a scene in court, 
 where the yoang lady perjures herself unhesi- 
 tatingly, and faints once more in the prisoner's 
 arms. In vain. Claude Duval is sworn to, 
 found guilty, condemned ; and the stage is 
 darkened for a grand finale. 
 
 Still gay, still gallant, still impenitent, and still 
 booted, though in fetters, the highwayman sits 
 in his prison cell, to be visited by the young lady, 
 who cannot bear to lose her partner, and the 
 
256 M. or N'. 
 
 wife, who still clings to her husband. Unlike 
 Macheath, he seems in no way embarrassed by 
 the position, His wife forgives him, at this 
 supreme moment, all the sorrow he has caused 
 her, in consideration of some unexplained past, 
 "gilded," as she expressed it, "by the sunny 
 smiles of southern France," while the young 
 lady, holding on with great tenacity to his hand, 
 weeps frantically on her knees. 
 
 A clock strikes. It is the hour of execution. 
 Dorothea begins to sob, and Gentleman Jim 
 clenches his hands. The back of the stage 
 opens, to disclose a street, a crowd, a hangman, 
 and the fatal Tyburn tree. Faint cheers are 
 heard from the wings. The sheriff enters bear- 
 ing in his hand a reprieve, written apparently 
 on a window-blind. He is attended by the 
 comic servant, through whose mysterious 
 agency a pardon has been granted, and who 
 sticks by his fiddle to the last. 
 
 Grand tableau : Claude Duval penitent. 
 His wife in his arms. The young lady convey- 
 ing in dumb show how platonic has been her 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 2^y 
 
 attachment, of which, nevertheless, she seems a 
 little ashamed. The sheriff benignant ; the 
 turnkeys amused ; the comic servant, obviously 
 in liquor, brandishing his fiddlestick, and the 
 orchestra playing " God save the Queen." 
 
 Walking home through the wet streets, 
 under the flashing gas-lights, Dorothea and her 
 companion preserve an ominous silence. Both 
 identify themselves with the fiction they have 
 lately witnessed. The woman, pondering on 
 Mrs. Duval's sufferings and the eventful reward 
 of that good lady's constancy and truth ; her 
 companion reflecting, not on the charms of 
 the actress he has lately been applauding, but 
 on another face which haunts him now, as the 
 wills and water-sprites haunted their doomed 
 votaries, and which must ever be as far out of 
 reach as if it belonged indeed to some such 
 being of another nature ; thinking how a man 
 might well risk imprisonment, transportation, 
 hanging, for one kind glance of those bright 
 eyes, one smile of those haughty, scornful lips ; 
 and comparing, in bitter impatience, that exotic 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 M. or N. 
 
 beauty with the humble, homely creature at 
 his side. 
 
 She looks up in his face. " Jim," says she, 
 timidly, and cowering close to him the while, 
 " if you was took, and shopped, like him 
 in the long boots, I'd go to quod with you, 
 if they'd give me leave — I'd go to death with 
 you, Jim, I would. I'd never forsake you, I 
 wouldn't! I couldn't, dear, — not if it was 
 ever so !" 
 
 He shudders and shrinks from her. " It 
 might come sooner than you think for," says 
 he, adding, brutally enough ; " now you could 
 do me a turn in the witness-box, though I 
 shouldn't wonder but you'd cut out white like 
 the others. Let's call in here, and take a drop 
 o' gin afore they shuts up." 
 
 The great picture of Thomas the Rhymer, 
 and his Elfin Mistress, goes on apace. There 
 is, I believe, but one representation in London 
 of that celebrated prophet, and it is in the 
 possession of his lineal descendant. Every 
 feature, every shadow on that portrait has 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 259 
 
 Simon Perkins studied with exceeding diligence 
 and care, marvelling, it must be confessed, at 
 the taste of the fairy queen. The accessories to 
 his own composition are in rapid progress. 
 Most of the fairies have been put in, and the 
 gradual change from glamour to disillusion, 
 cunningly conveyed by a stream of cold grey 
 morning light entering the magic cavern from 
 realms of upper earth, to deaden the glitter, 
 pale the colouring, and strip, as it were, the 
 tinsel where it strikes. On the Rhymer him- 
 self our artist has bestowed an infinity of pains, 
 preserving (no easy task) some resemblance to 
 the original portrait, while he dresses his con- 
 ception in the manly form and comely features 
 indispensable to the situation. 
 
 But it is into the fairy queen herself that 
 Simon loves to throw all the power of his 
 genius, all the resources of his art. To this 
 labour of love, day after day, he returns with 
 unabated zest, altering, improving, painting 
 out, adding, taking away, drinking in the 
 while his model's beauty, as parched and 
 
26o M. or N. 
 
 thirsty gardens of Egypt drink in the over- 
 flowing Nile, to return a tenfold harvest of 
 verdure, luxuriance, and wealth. 
 
 She has been sitting to him for three con- 
 secutive hours. Truth to tell, she is tired to 
 death of it — tired of the room, the palette, the 
 easel, the queen, the rhymer, the little dusky 
 imp in the corner, whose wings are changing 
 mto scales and a tail, almost tired of dear 
 Simon Perkins himself; who is working con- 
 tendedly on (how can he r) as if life contained 
 nothing more than effect and colouring — as if 
 the reality were not better than the representa- 
 tion after all. 
 
 " A quarter of an inch more this way," says 
 the pre-occupied artist. " There is a touch 
 wanting in that shadow under the eye — thanks, 
 dear Nina. I shall get it at last," and he falls 
 back a step to look at his work, with his head 
 on one side, as nobody but a painter can look, 
 so strangely does the expression of face com- 
 bine impartial criticism with a satisfaction 
 almost maternal in its intensity. 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 261 
 
 Before beginning again, his eye rested on 
 his model, and he could not but mark the air 
 of weariness and dejection she betrayed. 
 
 " Why, Nina," said he, " you look quite pale 
 and tired. What a brute I am ! I go paint- 
 ing on and forget how stupid it must be for 
 you, who mustn't even turn your head to look 
 at my work." 
 
 She gave a stretch, and such a yawn ! 
 Neither of them very graceful performances, 
 had the lady been less fair and fascinating, but 
 Nina looked exceedingly pretty in their perpe- 
 tration nevertheless. 
 
 " Work," she answered. " Do you call that 
 work r Why you've undone everything you 
 did yesterday, and put about half of it in again 
 If you're diligent, and keep on at this pace, 
 you'll finish triumphantly with a blank canvas, 
 like Penthesilea and her tapestry in my ancient 
 history." 
 
 " Penelope," corrected Simon, gently. 
 
 " Well, Penelope ! It's all the same. I 
 don't suppose any of it's true. Let's have a 
 
 \ 
 
262 M. or N. 
 
 peep, Simon. It can't be. Is that really like 
 
 me t 
 
 The colour had come back to her face, the 
 light to her eye. She was pleased, flattered, 
 half amused to And herself so beautiful. He 
 looked from the picture to the original, and 
 with all his enthusiasm for art awarded the 
 palm to nature. 
 
 " It was like you a minute ago," said he, 
 in his grave, gentle tones. " Or rather, I 
 ought to say you were like //. But you 
 change so, that I'm often in despair of catching 
 you, and, somehow, I always seem to love the 
 last expression best." 
 
 There was something in his voice so ad- 
 miring, so reverential, and yet so tender, that 
 she glanced quickly, with a kind of surprise, 
 in his face ; that face, which, to an older 
 woman, who had known suffering and sorrow, 
 might have been an index of the gentle heart, 
 the noble chivalrous character within, which, 
 to this girl, was simply pale and worn, and not 
 at all handsome, but very dear, nevertheless, as 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 263 
 
 belonging to her kind old Simon, the playmate 
 of her childhood, the brother, and more than 
 brother, of her youth. 
 
 Those encounters are sadly unequal, and 
 very poor fun for the muffled fighter, in 
 which one keeps the gloves on, while the 
 other's blows are delivered with the naked fist. 
 
 Miss x\lgernon w^as at this time perhaps 
 more attached to Simon Perkins than to any 
 other creature in the world ; that is to say, she 
 did not happen to like anybody else better. 
 How different from him, to whom she re- 
 presented the very essence of that spiritual hfe 
 which, in our several ways, we all try to live, 
 which so few of us know how to attain by 
 postponing its enjoyment for a few short 
 troubled years. 
 
 It is probable that, if the painter had thrown 
 down his brush at this juncture, and asked, 
 simply, *' Nina, will you be my wife r" she 
 would have answ^ered, " Thank you kindly, 
 yes, I will !" but although his judgment told 
 him he was likely to succeed, his finer in- 
 
264 M. 07^ N. 
 
 stincts warned him that an affirmative would 
 be the sacrifice of her youth, her illusions, her 
 possible future. Such sacrifice it was far more 
 in Simon's nature to make than to accept. 
 
 " Will she ever know me thoroughly ?" he 
 used to think. " Will the time ever come 
 when I can say to her, 'Nina, I am sure you 
 care for me now, and therefore I am not afraid 
 to tell you how dearly I loved you all through ?' 
 Such a time would be well worth waiting for, 
 ay, though it never came for seven years, and 
 seven more to the back of that. Then I 
 should feel her happiness depended on mine. 
 Now I often think the prince in the fairy tale 
 will ride past our Putney villa some summer's 
 day, like Launcelot through the barley sheaves 
 (I'll paint Launcelot when I've time, with the 
 ripe ears reddened in the sun, and the light 
 flashing off his harness) ride by, and take 
 Nina's heart away with him, and what will be 
 left for me then ? I could bear it ! Yes, I 
 could bear it if I knew she was happy. My 
 darling, my darling I so that you walk on in 
 
Sixes and Sevens. 265 
 
 joy and triumph, it matters little what becomes 
 of me !" 
 
 The sentiment was perhaps overstrained. 
 It is not thus that women are won. The fruit 
 that drops into people's mouths is usually 
 over-ripe, and the Sabine maiden would have 
 thought less of her Roman lover, though 
 doubtless she would have taken the initiative 
 rather than miss him altogether, had it been 
 necessary to pounce on him in the vineyard 
 and desire him straightway to carry her home. 
 But the bird of prey must have its natural 
 victim, and such hearts as our poor generous 
 painter possessed are destined for the talons 
 and the beak. Ah ! those who value them 
 least win the great prizes in the lottery. 
 Fortune smiles on the careless player — gold 
 goes to the rich — streams run to the river, and 
 if you have more mutton than you know what 
 to do with, be sure that in your folds will be 
 found the poor man's ewe-lamb. Put a ribbon 
 round her neck, and be kind to her as ke was. 
 It is the least you can do ! 
 
266 M. or N, 
 
 " You've taken a deal of pains, Simon," 
 says the sitter, after a long and well-pleased 
 scrutiny. " Tell me, no flattery now, why 
 should I be so difficult to paint?" Why, 
 indeed, you saucy innocent coquette ! Per- 
 haps, because, all the while, you are turning 
 the poor artist's head, and driving pins and 
 needles into his heart. 
 
 " I ought to make a good likeness of you," 
 answers Simon, rather sadly. " I'm sure, 
 Nina, I know your face by heart. But I'm 
 determined to take enormous pains with this 
 picture. It's to be my great work. I want 
 them to admire it at the Academy. I want all 
 London to come and look at it. I want the 
 critics, who know nothing, to say it's well 
 drawn ; and the artists, who do know^ some- 
 thing, to say it's well treated ; and the public 
 to declare my fairy queen is the loveliest, and 
 the sweetest, and the dearest face they ever 
 beheld. You see I'm very — very — ambitious^ 
 Nina!" 
 
 " Yes, I suppose all painters are," replies 
 
I 
 
 Sixes and Sevens. 267 
 
 Miss Algernon, with a little gasp of relief, 
 accompanied by a little chill of something not 
 quite unlike disappointment. " But vou ought 
 to be tired of working, and I know I am tired 
 of sitting. Hand me my bonnet, Simon — 
 not upside down — why that's the top where 
 the rose is, of course ! And let's walk back 
 through the Park. It will be nearly full by 
 this time." 
 
 So they walked back through the Park and 
 it was full — full to overflowing ; nevertheless, 
 amongst all the riders, drivers, sitters, strollers, 
 and idlers, there appeared neither of the smart- 
 looking gentlemen who had roused Nina's 
 indignation by bowing to her in the morning, 
 without having the honour of her acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE OFFICERS MESS. 
 
 A GIGANTIC sentry of Her Majesty's 
 
 household cavalry paces up and down 
 in front of the officers' quarters at Knights- 
 bridge Barracks some two hours before watch- 
 setting. It is fortunate that constant use has 
 rendered him insensible to admiration. Few 
 persons of either sex pass under his nose witii- 
 out a glance of unqualified approval. They 
 marvel at his stature, his spurs, his carbine, 
 his overalls, his plumed helmet, towering high 
 above their heads, and the stupendous mous- 
 taches, on which this gentleman-private prides 
 
The Officers Mess. 269 
 
 himself more than on all the rest of his heroic 
 attributes put together. 
 
 Beyond a shade of disciplined weariness, 
 there is no expression whatever on his hand- 
 some face, yet it is to be presumed that the 
 man has his thoughts too, like another. Is he 
 back in Cumberland amongst his dales, a 
 stalwart stripling, fishing some lonely stream 
 within the hills, watching a bout at " knurr- 
 and-spell " across the heather, or wrestling a 
 fall in friendly rivalry with his cousin, a son of 
 Anak, tall as himself? Does that purple sun- 
 set over Kensington Gardens remind him of 
 Glaramara and Saddleback ? Does that distant 
 roar of wheels in Piccadillv recall the rush and 
 ripple of the Solway charging up its tawny 
 sands with the white horses all abreast in a 
 spring-tide r 
 
 Perhaps he is wishing he was an officer with 
 no kit to keep in order, no fatigue-duty to 
 undergo, sitting merrily down to as good a 
 dinner as luxury can provide, or a guest, of 
 whom he has seen several pass his post in 
 
270 M. or N . 
 
 starched white neckcloths and trim evening 
 clothes. Perhaps he would not change with 
 any of these, after all, when he reflects on his 
 own personal advantages, his social standing 
 amongst his comrades, his keen appreciation 
 and large consumption of beer and tobacco, 
 with the innumerable conquests he makes 
 amongst maids and matrons in the middle and 
 lower ranks of life. Such considerations, how- 
 ever, impress themselves not the least upon 
 his outward visage. A statue could not look 
 more imperturbable, and he turns his head 
 but very slightly, with supreme indifference, 
 when peals of laughter, more joyous than 
 common, are wafted through the open windows 
 of the mess-room, where some of our friends 
 have fairly embarked on that tide of good- 
 humour and hilarity which sets in with the 
 second glass of champagne. 
 
 It is a full mess ; the colonel himself sits at 
 dinner, with two or three friends, old brothers- 
 in-arms, whose soldierlike bearing and manly 
 faces betray their antecedents, though they 
 
The Officers Mess. 271 
 
 may not have worn a uniform for months. A 
 lately-joined cornet looks at these with a re- 
 verence that I am afraid could be extorted 
 from him by no other institution on earth. 
 The adjutant and riding-master, making holi- 
 day, are both present — " to the front," as they 
 call it, enjoying exceedingly the jests and 
 waggeries of their younger comrades. The 
 orderly-officer, conspicuous by his belt, sits 
 at one end of the long table. Lord Bear- 
 warden occupies the other, supported on either 
 side by his two guests, Tom Ryfe and Dick 
 Stanmore. It is the night of Mrs. Stanmore's 
 ball, and these last-named gentlemen are going 
 there, with feelings how different, yet with the 
 same object. Dick is full of confidence, elated 
 and supremely happy. His entertainer ex- 
 periences a quiet comfort and bie7i-etre stealing 
 over him, to which he has long been a stranger, 
 while Tom Ryfe with every mouthful swallows 
 down some emotion of jealousy, humiliation, 
 or mistrust. Nevertheless, he is in the highest 
 spirits of the three. 
 
272 M. or N. 
 
 " I tell you nothing can touch him, my 
 lord, when hounds run," says he, still harping 
 on the merits of the horse he sold Lord Bear- 
 warden in the Park. Of course half the party 
 are talking of hunting, the other half of racing, 
 soldiering, and women. " He'd have been 
 thrown away on most of the fellows we know. 
 He wants a good man on his back, for if you 
 keep him fiddling behind, it breaks his heart. 
 I always said you ought to have him — you or 
 Mr. Stanmore. He's just the sort for both of 
 you. I'm sorry to hear yours are all coming 
 up at Tattersall's," adds Tom, with a courteous 
 bow to the opposite guest. " Hope it's only 
 to make room for some more." 
 
 Dick disclaims. " No, indeed," says he, 
 " it's a bond fide sale — without reserve, you 
 know — I am going to give the thing up !" 
 
 "Give up hunting!" expostulates a very 
 young subaltern on Dick's left. " Why, you're 
 not a soldier, are you ? What shall you do 
 with yourself? You have nothing to live 
 for." 
 
The Officers Mess. 273 
 
 Overcome by this reflection, he empties his 
 glass and looks feelingly in his neighbour's 
 face. 
 
 " Are you so fond of it too ?" asks Dick, 
 with a smile. 
 
 " Fond of it ! I believe you !" answers the 
 boy. " What is there to be compared to it ? — 
 at least that I've tried, you know. I think the 
 happiest fellow on earth is a master of fox- 
 hounds, particularly if he hunts them himself: 
 there's only one thing to beat it, and that's 
 soldiering. I'd rather command such a regi- 
 ment as this than be Emperor of China. 
 Perhaps I shall, too, some day." 
 
 The real colonel, sitting opposite, overhears 
 this military sentiment, and smiles good- 
 humouredly at his zealous junior. " When 
 you are in command," says he, " I hope you'll 
 be down upon the cornets — they want a deal 
 of looking up — I'm much too easy with them." 
 The young soldier laughed and blushed. In 
 his heart he thought the " chief," as he called 
 him, the very greatest man in the world, oifer- 
 
 VOL. I. T 
 
274 M. or N. 
 
 ing him that respect combined with affection 
 which goes so far to constitute the efficiency 
 of a regiment, hoping hereafter to tread in his 
 footsteps and carry out his system. 
 
 For ten whole minutes he held his tongue — 
 and this was no small effort of self-restraint — 
 that he might listen to the commanding of- 
 ficer's conversation with his guests, savouring 
 strongly of professional interests, as comprising 
 Crimean, Indian, and continental experiences, 
 all tending to prove that cavalry massed, kept 
 under cover, held well in hand, and " offered " 
 at the critical moment, was the force to render 
 success permanent and defeat irretrievable. 
 
 When they got into a dissertation on shoe- 
 ing, with the comparative merits of " threes " 
 and " sections " at drill, the young man re- 
 freshed himself liberally with champagne, and 
 turned to more congenial discourse. 
 
 Of this there seemed no lack. The winner 
 of the St. Leger was as confidently predicted 
 as if the race were already in his owner's 
 pocket. A match was made between two 
 
 I 
 
The Officers HI ess. 275 
 
 splendid dandies, called respectfully by their 
 comrades " Nobby " and " The Dustman," to 
 walk from Knightsbridge Barracks to Windsor 
 Bridge that day week — the odds being slightly 
 in favour of "The Dustman," who was a peer 
 of the realm. A moderate dancer was freely 
 criticised, an exquisite singer approved with 
 reservation, and the style of fighting practised 
 by our present champion of the prize-ring 
 unequivocally condemned. Presently a deep 
 voice made itself heard in more sustained tones 
 than belong to general conversation, and 
 during a lull it became clear that the adjutant 
 was relating an anecdote of his own military 
 experience. " It's a wonderful country," said 
 he, in reply to some previous observation. 
 " I'm not an Irishman myself, but I've observed 
 that the most conspicuous men in all nations 
 are pure Irish or of Irish extraction. Look at 
 the service. Look at the ring — prize-fighters 
 and book-makers. I believe the Slasher's 
 mother was born in Connaught, and nothing 
 will convince me but that Deerfoot came 
 
276 AI. or N. 
 
 from Tipperary — east and west the world's 
 full of them — they swarm, I'm told, in 
 America, and I can answer for them in 
 Europe. Did ye ever see a Turk in a vine- 
 yard ? He's the very moral of Pat in a 
 potato-garden : the same frieze coat — the same 
 baggy breeches — the same occasional smoke, 
 every five minutes or so — and the same rooted 
 aversion to hard w^ork. Go on into India — 
 they're all over the place. Shall I tell you 
 what happened to myself? We were engaged 
 on the right of the army, getting it hot and 
 heavy, all the horses with their heads up, but 
 the men as steady as old Time. I was in the 
 Lancers then, under Sir Hope. The Sikhs 
 worked their guns beautifully, and presently we 
 got the word to advance. It wasn't bad 
 ground for manoeuvring, and we were soon 
 into them. The enemy fought a good one — 
 those Sikhs always do. There was one fine 
 old white-bearded patriarch stuck to his gun 
 to the last. His people were all speared and 
 cut down, but he never gave back an inch. 
 
The Officers Mess. i^'] 
 
 I can see him now, looking like the pictures of 
 Abraham in my old Sunday-school book. 
 I thought I'd save him if I could. Our chaps 
 had got their blood up, and dashed in to finish 
 him with their lances, but I kept them off with 
 some difficulty, and offered him ' quarter.' I 
 was afraid he wouldn't understand my language. 
 * Quarter,' says he, in the richest brogue you'll 
 hear out of Cork — ' quarter ! you bloody 
 thieves ! will you stick a countryman, an' a 
 comrade, ye murtherin' villains, like a boneeii 
 in a butcher's shop !' He'd have gone on, I 
 dare say, for an hour, but the men had their 
 lances through him before you could say 
 'knife.' As my right-of-threes, himself a 
 Paddy, observed — he was discoorsin' the devil 
 in less than five minutes. The man was a 
 deserter and a renegade, so it served him 
 right, but being an Irishman, you see, he 
 distinguished himself — that's all I mean to 
 infer." 
 
 The young officer was exceedingly attentive 
 to an anecdote which, thus told by its bronzed. 
 
278 M. or N. 
 
 war-worn, and soldier-like narrator, possessed 
 the fascination of romance with the interest of 
 reality. 
 
 Lord Bearwarden and his guests had also 
 broken off their conversation to listen — they 
 returned to the previous subject. 
 
 " There are so many people come to town 
 now-a-days," said his lordship, " that the whole 
 thing spoils itself Society is broken up into 
 sets, and even if you belong to the same set, 
 you cannot insure meeting any particular 
 person at any particular place. Just the same 
 with clubs. I might hunt you two fellows 
 about all night, from Arthur's to the Arlington 
 — from the Arlington to White's — from White's 
 to the Carlton — from the Carlton back to 
 St. James's Street — and never run into you at 
 all, unless I had the luck to find you drinking 
 gin and soda at Pratt's." 
 
 Tom Ryfe, belonging only to the last-named 
 of these resorts, looked gratified. Dick Stan- 
 more was thinking of something else. 
 
 " Now, to-night," continued Lord Bear- 
 
The Officers Mess. 279 
 
 warden, turning to the latter, " although the 
 ball is in your own stepmother's house, I'll 
 take odds you don't know three-fourths of the 
 people you'll meet, and yet you've been as 
 much about London as most of us. Where 
 they come from I can't think, and they're like 
 the swallows, or the storks, or the woodcocks, 
 only they're not so welcome. Where they'll 
 go to when the season's over I neither know 
 nor care." 
 
 Tom Ryfe would have given much to feel 
 equally indifferent. Something like a pang 
 shot through him as he reflected that for him 
 the battle must be against wind and tide — a 
 fierce struggle, more and more hopeless, to 
 grasp at something drifting visibly out of 
 reach. He was not a man, however, to be 
 beat while it was possible to persist. Be- 
 lieving Dick Stanmore the great obstacle in 
 his way, he watched that pre-occupied gentle- 
 man as a cat watches a mouse. 
 
 " I don't want to be introduced to anv more 
 people," said Dick, rather absently. '^ In my 
 
28o M. or N, 
 
 opinion you can't have too few acquaintances 
 and too many friends." 
 
 " One ought to know lots of women^'' said 
 Mr. Ryfe, assuming the air of a fine gentle- 
 man, which fitted him, thought Lord Bear- 
 warden, as ill as his uniform generally fits a 
 civilian. " I mean women of position — who 
 give things — whom you'd like to be seen 
 talking to in the Park. As for girls, they're a 
 bore — there's a fresh crop every season — they're 
 exactly like each other, and you have to dance 
 with 'em all !" 
 
 " Confound his impudence !" thought Lord 
 Bearwarden ; " does he hope to impose on me 
 with his half-bred swagger, and Brummagem 
 assurance ?" but he only said^ " I suppose, 
 Tom, you're in great request with them — all 
 ranks, all sorts, all ages ! You fellows have 
 such a pull over us poor soldiers ; you can be 
 improving the time while we're on guard." 
 
 Tom looked as if he rather believed he 
 could. But he only looked it. Beneath that 
 confident manner, his heart was sad and sink- 
 
The Officers Mess. 281 
 
 ing. How bitter he felt against Miss Bruce, 
 and yet he loved her, in his own way too, all 
 the while. 
 
 "Champagne to Mr. Stanmore !" said his 
 entertainer, beckoning to a servant. " You're 
 below the mark, Stanmore, and we've a heavy 
 night before us. Your thinking of your pets 
 at Tattersall's next week. Cheer up. Their 
 future masters won't be half so hard on them, 
 I'll be bound. But I wouldn't assist at the 
 sacrifice if I were you. Come down to the 
 Den with me ; we'll troll for pike, and give the 
 clods a cricket-match. Then we'll dine early, 
 set trimmers, and console ourselves with claret- 
 cup under affliction." 
 
 Dick laughed. Affliction, indeed, and he 
 had never been so happy in his hfe ! Perhaps 
 that was the reason of his silence, his abstrac- 
 tion. At this very moment, he thought, 
 Maud might be opening the packet he made 
 such sacrifices to redeem. He had arranged 
 for her to receive the diamonds all reset and 
 glittering at the hour she would be dressing 
 
282 M. or N'. 
 
 for the ball. He could almost fancy he saw 
 the beautiful face flushed with delight, the dark 
 eyes filled with tears. Would she press those 
 jewels to her lips, and murmur broken words 
 of endearment for him f Would she not love 
 him 7tow, if, indeed, she had not loved him 
 before ? Horses, forsooth ! What were all the 
 horses that ever galloped compared to one smile 
 of hers ? He would have given her his right 
 arm, his life, if she wanted it. And now, per- 
 haps, he was to obtain his reward. Who could 
 tell what that very night might bring forth ? 
 
 Mr. Stanmore's glass remained untasted 
 before him, and Lord Bearwarden observing 
 that dinner was over, and his guests seemed 
 disinclined to drink any more wine, proposed an 
 adjournment to the little mess-room to smoke. 
 
 In these days the long sittings that delighted 
 our grandfathers have completely given way 
 to an early break up, a quiet cigar, and a 
 general retreat, if not to bed, at least to other 
 scenes and other society. In ten minutes from 
 the rising of the colonel. Lord Bearwarden, and 
 
The Officers Mess. 283 
 
 half a dozen guests, the larger mess-room was 
 cleared of its inmates, and the smaller one 
 crowded with an exceedingly merry, and rather 
 noisy assemblage. 
 
 "Just one cigar," said Lord Bearwarden, 
 handing a huge case to his friends. " It will 
 steady you nicely for waltzing, and some eau- 
 de-Cologne in my room will take off all the 
 smell afterwards. I know you dancing swells 
 are very particular." 
 
 Both gentlemen laughed, and putting large 
 cigars into their mouths, accommodated them- 
 selves with exceeding goodwill to the arrange- 
 ment. 
 
 It was not in the nature of things that 
 silence should be preserved under such incen- 
 tives to conversation as tobacco and soda- 
 water with something in it, but presently, 
 above other sounds, a young voice was heard 
 to clamour for a song. 
 
 " Let's have a chant !" protested this eager 
 voice ; " the night is still young. We're all 
 musical, and we don't often get the two best 
 
284 M. or N. 
 
 pipes in the regiment to dine here the same 
 day. Come, tune up, old boy. Give us 
 ' Twisting Jane,' or the ' Gallant Young Hus- 
 sar. 
 
 The '' old boy " addressed, a large, fine- 
 looking man, holding the appointment of 
 riding-master, smiled good-humouredly, and 
 shook his head. " It's too early for ' The 
 Hussar,' " said he, scanning the fresh, beardless 
 face with its clear, mirthful eyes. " And it's 
 not an improving song for young officers, 
 neither. I'll try ' Twisting Jane,' if you 
 gentlemen will support me with the chorus ;" 
 and in a deep, mellow voice he embarked 
 without more ado on the following barrack- 
 room ditty : — 
 
 " I loved a girl, down Windsor way, 
 
 When we was lying there. 
 As soft as silk, as mild as May, 
 
 As timid as a hare. 
 She blushed and smiled, looked down so shy, 
 
 And then — looked up again — 
 My comrades warned me — ' Mind your eye, 
 
 With Twisting Jane !' 
 
The Officers Mess. 285 
 
 " I wooed her thus, not sure but slow, 
 To kiss she vowed a crime, — 
 For she was ' reining back,' you know. 
 While I was 'marking time.' 
 ' Alas !' I thought, ' these dainty charms 
 Are not for me, 'tis plain ; 
 Too long she keeps me under arms. 
 Does Twisting Jane.' 
 
 " Our corporal-major says to me, 
 
 One day before parade, 
 ' She's gammoning you, young chap,' says he, 
 ' Is that there artful jade ! 
 You'll not be long of finding out, 
 
 When nothing's left to gain, 
 How quick the word is " Threes about !" 
 With Twisting Jane !' 
 
 " Our corporal-major knows what's what ; 
 
 I peeped above her blind, 
 The tea was made — the toast was hot — 
 
 She looked so sweet and kind. 
 My captain in her parlour sat, 
 
 It gave me quite a pain ! 
 With coloured clothes, and shining hat. 
 
 By Twisting Jane. 
 
 " The major he came cantering past, 
 
 She bustled out to see, — 
 ' Oh, major ! is it you at last ? 
 
 Step in and take your tea.' 
 
286 M. or N\ 
 
 The major halted — winked his eye — , 
 
 Looked up and down the lane, — 
 And in he went his luck to try 
 
 With Twisting Jane. 
 
 " I waited at ' attention ' there, 
 
 Thinks I, ' There'll soon be more,' 
 The colonel's phaeton and pair 
 
 Came grinding to the door. 
 She gave him such a sugary smile, 
 (Old men is very vain !) 
 ' It's you I looked for all the while,' 
 Says Twisting Jane. 
 
 " ' I've done with you for good,' I cried, 
 ' You're never on the square ; 
 Fight which you please on either side. 
 
 But hang it, lass, fight fair ! 
 I won't be last — I can't be first — 
 
 So look for me in vain 
 "When next you're out "upon the burst," 
 
 Miss Twisting Jane ! — 
 When next you're out " upon the burst," 
 
 Miss Twisting Jane !' " 
 
 "A jolly good song," cried the affable young 
 gentleman who had instigated the effort, adding, 
 with a quaint glance at the grizzled visage and 
 
The Officers Mess. 287 
 
 towering proportions of the singer, " you're 
 very much improved, old chap — not so shy, 
 more power, more volume. If you mind 
 your music, I'll get you a place as a 
 chorister-boy in the Chapel Royal, after all. 
 You're just the size, and your manners the 
 very thing!" 
 
 " Wait till I get yoit in the school with that 
 new charger," answered the other, laughing. 
 " I think, gentlemen, it's my call. I'll ask our 
 adjutant here to give us 'Boots and Saddles,' 
 you all like that game." 
 
 Tumblers were arrested in mid-air, cigars 
 taken from smooth or hairy lips, while all eyes 
 were turned towards the adjutant, a soldier 
 down to his spurs, who " tuned up," as univer- 
 sally requested, without delay. 
 
 BOOTS AND SADDLES. 
 
 " The ring of a bridle, the stamp of a hoof, 
 Stars above, and a wind in the tree, — 
 A bush for a billet, — a rock for a roof, — 
 Outpost duty's the duty for me ! 
 
288 M. or N. 
 
 Listen. A stir in the valley below — 
 
 The valley below is with riflemen crammed, 
 
 Covering the column and watching the foe — 
 Trumpet-major ! — Sound and be d — d ! 
 
 Stand to your horses ! — It's time to begin — 
 Boots and Saddles ! The Pickets are in ! 
 
 " Though our bivouac-fire has smouldered away, 
 
 Yet a bit of good 'baccy shall comfort us well ; 
 When you sleep in your cloak there's no lodging to pay, 
 
 And where we shall breakfast the devil can tell ! 
 But the horses were fed, 'ere the daylight had gone, 
 
 There's a slice in the embers — a drop in the can — 
 Take a suck of it, comrade ! and so pass it on, 
 
 For a ration of brandy puts heart in a man. 
 Good liquor is scarce, and to waste it a sin, — 
 
 Boots and Saddles ! The Pickets are in ! 
 
 " Hark ! there's a shot from the crest of the hill ! 
 
 Look ! there's a rocket leaps high in the air. 
 By the beat of his gallop, that's nearing us still. 
 
 That runaway horse has no rider, I'll swear I 
 There's a jolly light-infantry post on the right, 
 
 I hear their bugles — they sound the 'Advance.' 
 They will tip us a tune that shall wake up the night. 
 
 And we're hardly the lads to leave out of the dance. 
 They're at it already, I'm sure, by the din, — 
 
 Boots and Saddles ! The Pickets are in ! 
 
The Officers Mess. 289 
 
 " They don't give us long our divisions to prove — 
 
 Short, sharp, and distinct, comes the word of command. 
 ' Have your men in the saddle — Be ready to move — 
 
 Keep the squadron together — the horses in hand — ' 
 WTiile a whisper's caught up in the ranks as they form — 
 
 A whisper that fain would break out in a cheer — 
 How the foe is in force, how the work will be warm. 
 
 But, steady ! the chief gallops up from the rear. 
 With old ' Death-or-Glory ' to fight is to win. 
 
 And the Colonel means mischief, I see by his grin. — 
 Boots and Saddles ! The Pickets are in ! — 
 
 Boots and Saddles ! The Pickets are in !" 
 
 "And it must be ' Boots and Saddles' with 
 us," said Lord Bearwarden to his guests as the 
 applause subsided and he made a move towards 
 the door, " otherwise we shall be the ' lads to 
 leave out of the dance,' and I fancy that would 
 suit none of us to-night." 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. STANMORE AT HOME. 
 
 DANCING. 
 
 A MONGST all the magnificent toilettes 
 composed to do honour to the lady 
 whose card of invitation heads this chapter 
 none appeared more variegated in colour, more 
 startling in effect, than that of Mrs. Puckers 
 the maid. 
 
 True, circumstances compelled her to wear 
 a high dress, but even this modest style of 
 costume in the hands of a real artist admits of 
 marvellous combinations and extraordinary 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Ho7ne. 291 
 
 breadth of treatment. Mrs. Puckers had 
 disposed about her person as much ribbon, 
 tulle, and cheap jewelry as might have fitted 
 out a fancy fair. Presiding in a little breakfast- 
 room off the hall, pinning tickets on short red 
 cloaks, shaking out skirts of wondrous fabrica- 
 tion, and otherwise assisting those beautiful 
 guests who constituted the entertainment, she 
 afforded a sight only equalled by her after- 
 performances in the tea-room, where, assuming 
 the leadership of a body of handmaidens 
 almost as smart as herself, she formed, for 
 •several waggish and irreverent young gentle- 
 men, a principal attraction in that favourite 
 place of resort. 
 
 A ball is so far like a run with fox-hounds 
 that it is difficult to specify the precise moment 
 at which the sport begins. Its votaries gather 
 by twos and threes attired for pursuit ; there is 
 a certain amount of refitting practised, as 
 regards dress and appointments, while some ot 
 the keenest in the chase are nevertheless the 
 latest arrivals at the place of meeting. Pre- 
 
292 M. or N. 
 
 sently are heard a note or two, a faint flourish, 
 a suggestive prekide. Three or four couples 
 get cautiously to work, the music swells, the 
 pace increases, ere long the excitement extends 
 to all within sight or hearing, and a perform- 
 ance of exceeding speed, spirit, and severity is 
 the result. 
 
 Puckers, with her mouth full of pins, is 
 rearranging the dress of a young lady in her 
 first season, to whom, as to the inexperienced 
 hunter, that burst of music is simply madden- 
 ing. She is a well-bred young lady, however, 
 and keeps her raptures to herself, but is slightly 
 indignant at the very small notice taken of her 
 by Dick Stanmore, who rushes into the tiring- 
 room, drops a flurried little bow, and hurries 
 Puckers off into a corner, totally regardless of 
 the displeasure with which a calm, cold-looking 
 chaperon regards this unusual proceeding. 
 
 " Did it come in time ?" says Dick in a loud 
 agitated whisper. " Did you run up with it 
 directly ? Was she pleased ? Did she say 
 anything r Has she got them on now ?" 
 
Mrs, Sta7mtore at Home. ig2> 
 
 " Lor, Mr. Stanmore !" exclaims Puckers, 
 " whatever do you mean ?" 
 
 " Miss Bruce — the diamonds," explains Dick, 
 in a voice that causes two dandies, recently 
 arrived, to pause in astonishment on the stair- 
 case. 
 
 " Oh ! the diamonds !" answers Puckers. 
 " Only think now. Was it yo7c, sir ? Well, I 
 never. Why, sir, when Miss Bruce opens the 
 packet, not half an hour ago, the tears comes 
 into her eyes, and she says, 'Well, this is 
 kind ' — them was her very words — ' this is 
 kind,' says she, and pops 'em on that moment ; 
 for Fd done her hair and all. Go up stairs, 
 Mr. Stanmore, and see how she looks in them. 
 I'll wager she's waiting for Somebody to dance 
 with her this very minute !" 
 
 Though it is too often of sadly short dura- 
 tion, every man has his " good time " for a few 
 blissful seconds during life. Let him not 
 complain they are so brief. It is something to 
 have at least tasted the cup, and perhaps it is 
 better to turn with writhing lips from the bitter 
 
294 M. or N\ 
 
 drop near the brim than, drinking it fairly out, 
 to find its sweets pall on the palate, its essence 
 cease to warm the heart and stimulate the 
 brain. 
 
 Dick, hurrying past his mother into the 
 soft, mellow, yet brilliant radiance of her 
 crowded ball-room, felt for that moment the 
 happiest man in London. 
 
 Miss Bruce was not waiting to dance with 
 him, according to her maid's prediction, but 
 was performing a waltz in exceeding gravity, 
 assisted, as Dick could not help observing with 
 a certain satisfaction, by the ugliest man in 
 the room. The look she gave him when their 
 eyes met at last sent this shortsighted young 
 gentleman up to the seventh heaven. It seemed 
 well worth all the hunters in Leicestershire, all 
 the diamonds in Golconda ! He did the 
 honours of his stepmother's house, and 
 thanked his own friends for coming, but all 
 with the vague consciousness of a man in a 
 dream. Presently the " round " dance came to 
 an end, much to the relief of the ugly man, 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Home. 293 
 
 who cared, indeed, for ladies as little as ladies 
 cared for him, and Dick hastened to secure 
 Miss Bruce as a partner for the approaching 
 " square." She was engaged, of course, six 
 deep, but she put off all her claimants and took 
 Mr. Stanmiore's arm. " He's my cousin, you 
 know," said she, with her rare smile, '* and 
 cousins don't count ; so you're all merely put 
 back one. If you don't like it, you needn't 
 come for it — Oest tout simple /" 
 
 Then they took their places, and the dark 
 eyes looked full into his own. Dick felt he 
 
 was wmnmg m a canter. 
 
 Miss Bruce put her hand on the collar of 
 diamonds round her neck. " I'm glad you're 
 not my cousin," she said ; "I'm glad you're 
 not really a relation. You're far dearer as it 
 is. You're the best friend and truest gentle- 
 man I ever met in my life. Now I shan't 
 thank you any more. Mind your dancing, 
 and set to that gawky woman opposite. Isn't 
 she badly dressed r" 
 
 How could Dick tell ? He didn't even know 
 
296 M. or N. 
 
 he had a vis-a-vis^ and the " gawky woman," 
 as Miss Bruce most unjustly called her, only 
 wondered anybody could make such blunders 
 in so simple a figure as the EtS. His head 
 was in a whirl. A certain chivalrous instinct 
 warned him that this was no time, while his 
 idol lay under a heavy obligation, to press his 
 suit. Yet he could not, for the life of him, 
 help venturing a word. 
 
 " I look at nobody but you," he answered, 
 turning pale as men do when they are in sad 
 earnest. " I should never wish to see any 
 other face than yours for the rest of my life." 
 
 " How tired you'd get of it," said she, with a 
 bright smile ; but she timed her reply so as to 
 embark immediately afterwards on the Ckaine 
 des Dames^ a measure exceedingly ill calculated 
 for sustained conversation, and changed the 
 subject directly she returned to his side. 
 
 "Where did you dine?" she asked, saucily. 
 " With those wild young men at the barracks, 
 I suppose. I knew you would : and you did 
 all sorts of horrid things, drank and smoked — 
 
Mrs. Stamnore at Home. 297 
 
 I'm siu^e you smoked." She put her laced 
 handkerchief laughingly to her nose. 
 
 " I dined with Bearwarden," answered honest 
 Dick, " and he's coming on here directly with 
 a lot of them. My mother will be so pleased 
 — it's going to be a capital ball." 
 
 " I thought Lord Bearwarden never went to 
 balls," replied the young lady, carelessly ; but 
 her heart swelled with gratified vanity to think 
 of the attraction that drew him now to every 
 place where he could hear her voice and look 
 upon her beauty. 
 
 "There he is," was her partner's comment, as 
 his lordship's head appeared in the doorway. 
 " We'll have one more dance. Miss Bruce — 
 Maud — before the night is over ?" 
 
 "As many as you please," was her answer, 
 and still Dick felt he had the race in hand and 
 was winning in a canter. 
 
 People go to balls for pleasure, no doubt, 
 but it must be admitted, nevertheless, that the 
 pleasure they seek there is of a delusive kind 
 and lasts but for a few minutes at a time. 
 
298 M. or N. 
 
 Mr. Stanmore's whole happiness was centred 
 in Miss Bruce, yet it was impossible for him 
 to neglect all his stepmother's guests because of 
 his infatuation for one, nor would the usages 
 of society's Draconic laws, that are not to be 
 broken, permit him to haunt that one presence, 
 which turned to magic a scene otherwise only 
 ludicrous for an hour or so, and simply weari- 
 some as it went on. 
 
 So Dick plunged into the thick of it, and 
 did his duty manfully, diving at partners right 
 and left, yet, with a certain characteristic 
 loyalty, selecting the least attractive amongst 
 the ladies for his attentions. Thus it happened 
 that as the rooms became crowded, and half 
 the smartest people in London surged and 
 swayed upon the staircase, he lost sight of the 
 face he loved for a considerable period, and 
 was able to devote much real energy to the 
 success of his stepmother's ball, uninfluenced 
 by the distraction of Miss Bruce's presence. 
 
 This young lady's movements, however, were 
 not unobserved. Puckers, from her position 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Home. 299 
 
 behind the cups and saucers, enjoyed great 
 reconnoitring opportunities, which she did not 
 suffer to escape unimproved — the tea-room, 
 she was aware, held an important place in the 
 working machinery of society, as a sort of 
 neutral territory, between the cold civilities of 
 the ball-room and the warmer interest fostered 
 by juxta-position in the boudoir, not to mention 
 a wicked little alcove beyond, with low red 
 velvet seats, and a subdued light suggestive of 
 whispers and provoking question rather than 
 reply. 
 
 Puckers was not easily surprised. In the 
 housekeeper's room she often thanked her stars 
 for this desirable immunity, and indeed on the 
 present occasion had furnished a loving couple 
 with tea, whose united ages would have come 
 hard upon a century, without moving a muscle 
 of her countenance, albeit there was something 
 ludicrous to general society in the affectation 
 of concealment with which this long-recognised 
 attachment had to be carried on. The gentle- 
 man was bald and corpulent. The lady 
 
300 M. or N\ 
 
 — well, the lady had been a beauty thirty years 
 ago, and dressed the character still. There 
 was nothing to prevent their seeing each other 
 every day and all day long, if they chose, yet 
 they preferred scheming for invitation to the 
 same places, that they might meet en evidence 
 before the public ; and dearly loved, as now, a 
 retirement into the tea-room, where they could 
 enact their role of turtle-doves, uninterrupted, 
 yet not entirely unobserved. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, this imaginary restraint af- 
 forded the little spice of romance that preserved 
 their attachment from decay. 
 
 Puckers, I say, marvelled at these not at all, 
 but she did marvel, and admitted it, when Miss 
 Bruce, entering the tea-room, was seen to be 
 attended, not by Mr. Stanmore, but by Lord 
 Bearwarden. 
 
 Her dark eyes glittered, and there was an 
 exceedingly becoming flush on the girl's fair 
 face, usually so pale. Her maid thought she 
 had never seen Maud look so beautiful, and to 
 judge by the expression of his countenance, it 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Home. 301 
 
 would appear Lord Bearwarden thought so too. 
 They had been dancing together, and he 
 seemed to be urging her to dance with him 
 again. His lordship's manner was more eager 
 than common, and in his eyes came an anxious 
 expression that only one woman, the one 
 woman it was so difficult to forget, had ever 
 been able to call into them before. 
 
 " Look odd !" he repeated, while he set down 
 her cup and gave her back the fan he had 
 been holding. " I thought you were above 
 all that, Miss Bruce, and did what you liked, 
 without respect to the fools who stare and 
 can't understand." 
 
 She drew up her head with a proud gesture 
 peculiar to her. " How do you know I do 
 like it r" said she, haughtily. 
 
 He looked hurt, and lowered his voice to a 
 whisper. " Forgive me," he said, " I have no 
 right to suppose it. I have been presumptuous, 
 and you are entitled to be unkind. I have 
 monopohzed you too much, and you're — 
 you're bored with me. It's my own fault." 
 
302 M. or N. 
 
 " I never said so," she answered in the same 
 tone ; " who is unkind now r" Then the dark 
 eyes were raised for one moment to look full 
 in his, and it was all over with Lord Bear- 
 warden. 
 
 "You will dance with me again before I 
 go," said he, recovering his former position 
 with an alacrity that denoted some previous 
 practice. " I shall ask nobody else — why 
 should I ? You know I only came here to 
 stt yoic. One waltz. Miss Bruce — promise !" 
 
 " I promise," she answered, and again came 
 into her eyes that smile which so fascinated 
 her admirers to their cost. " I shall get into 
 horrid disgrace for it, and so I shall for sitting 
 here so long now. I'm always doing wrong. 
 However, I'll risk it if you will." 
 
 Her manner was playful, almost tender ; and 
 Puckers, adding another large infusion of tea, 
 wondered to see her look so soft and kind. 
 
 A crowded w^altz was in course of per- 
 formance, and the tea-room, but for this pre- 
 occupied couple, would have been empty. 
 
Mrs, Staiifuore at Home, 303 
 
 Two men looked in as they passed the door, 
 the one hurried on in search of his partner, the 
 other started, scowled, and turned back amongst 
 the crowd. Puckers, the lynx-eyed, observing 
 and recognizing both, had sufficient skill in 
 physiognomy to pity Mr. Stanmore and much 
 mistrust Tom Ryfe. 
 
 The former, indeed, felt a sharp, keen pang, 
 when he saw the face that so haunted him in 
 close proximity to another face belonging to 
 one who, if he should enter for the prize, could 
 not but prove a dangerous rival. Neverthe- 
 less, the man's generous instincts stifled and 
 kept down so unworthy a suspicion, forcing 
 himself to argue against his own conviction 
 that, at this very moment, the happiness of his 
 life w^as hanging by a thread. He resolved to 
 ignore everything of the kind. Jealousy was a 
 bad beginning for a lover, and after all, if he 
 should allow himself to be jealous of every 
 man who admired and danced with Maud, life 
 would be unbearable. How despicable, be- 
 sides, would she hold such a sentiment ! With 
 
304 M. or N, 
 
 her disposition, how would she resent anything 
 like espionage or sicrveillance ! How unworthy 
 it seemed both of herself and of him ! In two 
 minutes he was heartily ashamed of his mo- 
 mentary discomfiture, and plunged energetically 
 once more into the duties of the ball-room. 
 Nevertheless, from that moment, the whole 
 happiness of the evening had faded out for 
 Dick. 
 
 There is a light irradiating all such gather- 
 ings which is totally irrespective of gas or wax 
 candles. It can shed a mellow lustre on dingy 
 rooms, frayed carpets, and shabby furniture ; 
 nay, I have seen its tender rays impart a rare 
 and spiritual beauty to an old, worn, long-loved 
 face ; but on the other hand, when this magic 
 light is quenched or even temporarily shaded, 
 not all the illuminations of a royal birthday 
 are brilliant enough to dispel the gloom its 
 absence leaves about the heart. 
 
 Mr. Stanmore, though whirling a very 
 handsome young lady through a waltz, began 
 to think it was not such a good ball after all. 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Home. 303 
 
 Tom Ryfe, on the other hand, congratulated 
 himself on his tactics in having obtained an 
 invitation, not without considerable pressure 
 put upon Miss Bruce, for a gathering, of which 
 his social standing hardly entitled him to forn 
 a part. He was now, so to speak, on the very 
 ground occupied by the enemy, and though 
 he saw defeat imminent, could at least make 
 his own effort to avert it. After all his mis 
 givings as regarded Stanmore, it seemed that 
 he had been mistaken, and that Lord Bear- 
 warden was the rival he ought to dread. In 
 any case but his own, Mr. Ryfe was a man of 
 the world quite shrewd enough to have reasoned 
 that in this duality of admirers there was 
 encouragement and hope. But Tom had lost 
 his heart, such as it was ; and his head, though 
 of much better material, had naturally gone 
 with it. Like other gamblers, he determined 
 to follow his ill-luck to the utmost, bring 
 matters to a crisis, and so know the worst. In 
 all graver affairs of life, it is doubtless good 
 sense to look a difficulty in the face ; but in 
 
 VOL. T. X 
 
3o6 M. or N, 
 
 the amusements of love and play practised 
 hands leave a considerable margin for that un- 
 certainty which constitutes the very essence of 
 both pastimes ; and this is why, perhaps, the 
 man in earnest has the worst chance of winning 
 at either game. 
 
 So Tom Ryfe turned back into the crowd, 
 and waited his opportunity for a few minutes' 
 conversation with Miss Bruce. 
 
 It came at last. She had danced through 
 several engagements, the night was waning, 
 and a few carriages had already been called up. 
 Maud occupied the extreme end of a bench, 
 from which a party of ladies had just risen to 
 go away ; she had declined to dance, and for 
 the moment was alone. Tom slipped into the 
 vacant seat by her side and thus cut her off 
 from the whole surrounding world. A waltz 
 requiring much terrific accompaniment of brass 
 mstruments pealed out its deafening strains 
 within ten feet of them, and in no desert island 
 could there have been less likelihood that their 
 conversation would be overheard. 
 
Mrs, Stanmore at Home. 307 
 
 Miss Bruce looked very happy, and in 
 thorough good-humour. Tom Ryfe opened 
 the trenches quietly enough. 
 
 " You haven't danced with me the whole 
 evening," said he, with only rather a bitter 
 inflection of voice. 
 
 " You never asked me," was the natural 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " And I'm not going to ask you now," pro- 
 ceeded Mr. Ryfe ; " you and I, Miss Bruce, 
 have something more than a mere dancing 
 acquaintance, I think." 
 
 An impatient movement, a slight curl of the 
 lip, was the only answer. 
 
 "You may drop an acquaintance when you 
 are tired of him, or a friend when he gets 
 troublesome. It's done every day. It's very 
 easy, Miss Bruce." 
 
 He spoke in a tone of irony that roused 
 her. 
 
 " Not so easy," she answered, with tightening 
 lips, "when people have no tact — when they 
 are not gentlenienr 
 
3o8 M. or N. 
 
 The taunt went home. The beauty of 
 Mr. Ryfe's face was at no time in its expres- 
 sion — certainly not now. Miss Bruce, too, 
 seemed well disposed to fight it out. Obviously 
 it must be war to the knife ! 
 
 " Did you get my letter ?" said he, in low, 
 distinct syllables. " Do you believe I mean 
 what I say ? Do you believe I mean what I 
 write f " 
 
 She smiled scornfully. A panting couple 
 who stopped just in front of them imagined 
 they were interrupting a flirtation, and, doing 
 as they would be done by, twirled on. 
 
 " I treat all begging-letters alike," answered 
 Maud, " and make yours no exception, because 
 they contain threats and abuse into the bar- 
 gain. You have chosen the wrong person to 
 try and frighten, Mr. Ryfe. It only shows 
 how little you understand my character." 
 
 He would have caught at a straw even then. 
 " How little chance I have had of studying it !" 
 he exclaimed. " It is not my fault. Heaven 
 knows I have been kept in ignorance, un- 
 
Airs. Stanmore at Home, 309 
 
 certainty, suspense, till it almost drove me 
 mad. Miss Bruce, you have known the worst 
 of me ; only the worst of me, indeed, as yet." 
 
 The man was pleading for his life, you see. 
 Was it pitiable, or only ludicrous, that his 
 voice and manner had to be toned down to 
 the staid pitch of general conversation, that a 
 fat and happy German was puffing at a cornet- 
 a-piston within arm's length of him ? But for 
 a quiver of his lip, any bystander might have 
 supposed he was asking Miss Bruce if he 
 should bring her an ice. 
 
 " I have seen enough !" she replied, very 
 resolutely, " and I am determined to see no 
 more. Mr. Ryfe, if you have no pleasanter 
 subjects of conversation than yourself and your 
 arrangements, I will ask you to move for an 
 instant that I may pass and find Mrs. Stan- 
 more." 
 
 Lord Bearwarden was at the other end of 
 the room, looking about apparently for some 
 object of unusual interest. Perhaps Miss 
 Bruce saw him — as ladies do see people without 
 
3IO M. or N. 
 
 turning their eyes — and the sight fortified her 
 resolution. 
 
 " Then you defy me !" whispered Tom, in 
 the low suppressed tones that denote rage, 
 concentrated and intensified for being kept 
 down. " By Heaven, Miss Bruce, you shall 
 repent it ! I'll show you up ! I'll expose you ! 
 I'll have neither pity nor remorse ! You think 
 you've won a heavy stake, do you ? Hooked 
 a big fish, and need only pull him ashore ? 
 He shan't be deceived! He shall know you 
 for what you are ! He shall, by !" 
 
 The adjuration with which Mr. Ryfe con- 
 cluded this little ebullition was fortunately 
 drowned to all ears but those for which it was 
 intended by a startling flourish on the cornet- 
 a-piston. Miss Bruce accepted the challenge 
 readily. " Do your worst !" said she, rising 
 with a scornful bow, and taking Lord Bear- 
 warden's arm, much to that gentleman's de- 
 light, walked haughtily away. 
 
 Perhaps this declaration of open war may 
 have decided her subsequent conduct ; perhaps 
 
Mrs. Stanmore at Home. 3 1 1 
 
 it was only the result of those circumstances 
 which form the meshes of a certain web we 
 call Fate. Howbeit, Miss Bruce was too tired 
 to dance. Miss Bruce would like to sit down 
 in a cool place. Miss Bruce would not be 
 bored with Lord Bearwarden's companionship, 
 not for an hour, not for a week — no, not for a 
 lifetime ! 
 
 Dick Stanmore, taking a lady down to her 
 carriage, saw them sitting alone in the tea- 
 room, now deserted by Puckers and her assis- 
 tants. His honest heart turned very sick and 
 cold. Half an hour after, passing the same 
 spot, they were there still ; and then, I think, 
 he knew that he was overtaken by the first 
 misfortune of his life. 
 
 Later, when the ball was over, and he had 
 wished Mrs. Stanmore good-night, he went up 
 to Maud with a grave, kind face. 
 
 " We never had our waltz. Miss Bruce," 
 said he ; " and — and — there's a reason^ isn't 
 there ?" 
 
 He was white to his very lips. Through all 
 
312 M. or N. 
 
 her triumph, she felt a twinge, far keener than 
 she expected, of compunction and remorse. 
 
 " Oh, Dick !" she said, " I couldn't help it ! 
 Lord Bearwarden proposed to me in that 
 room." 
 
 " And you accepted him ?" said Dick, trying 
 to steady his voice, wondering why he felt half 
 suffocated all the time. 
 
 " And I accepted him !" 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 U)>l>OS : IRINTtU BY V II.UAM ^I>f»^^^^' ANU SO. S, &TAKJORIJ STBKKT 
 A.SU CHABINC; CU(>BS. 
 
UNivEBsrry of illinois-urbana 
 
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