DONNA QUIXOTE Crown 8vo.,. carefully printed on creamy paper, and tastefully bound in cloth, for the Library, price 3s. 6d. each. THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. popular Stories bp tfje best SlutljorS. Ready-Money mortiboy. By Walter Besaat and James Rice. My Little Girl. By Walter Besant and James Rice. The Case of Mr Lucraft. By Walter Besant and James Rice. This Son of Vulcan. By Walter Besant and James Rice. With Harp and Crown. By Walter Besant and James Rice. The Golden Butterfly. By Walter Besant and James Rice. By Celia’s Arbour. By Walter Besant and James Rice. The Monks OF Thelema. By Walter Besant and James Rice. ’Twas IN TRAFALGAR’S BAY. By Walter Besant and James Rice. The Seamy Side. By Walter Besant and James Rice. Antonina. By Wilkie Collins. BASIL. By Wilkie Collins. Hide and Seek. By Wilkie Collins. The Dead Secret. By Wilkie Collins. Queen of Hearts. By Wilkie Collins. My Miscellanies. By Wilkie Collins. The Woman in White. By Wilkie Collins. The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins. Man and Wife. By Wilkie Collins. Poor Miss Finch. By Wilkie Collins. Miss OR MRS. ? By Wilkie Collins. The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins. The Frozen Deep. By Wilkie Collins. The Law and the Lady. By Wilkie Collins. The Two Destinies. By Wilkie Collins. The Haunted Hotel. By Wilkie Collins. The Fallen Leaves. By Wilkie Collins. Jezebel’s Daughter. By Wilkie Collins. Deceivers Ever. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. Juliet’s Guardian. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. Felicia. By M. Betham-Edwards, Olympia. By R. E. Francillon. Garth. By Julian Hawthorne. Robin Gray. By Charles Gibbon. For Lack of Gold. By Charles Gibbon. In LOVE and War. By Charles Gibbon. What Will the World Say? By Charles Gibbon. FOR the king. By Charles Gibbon. In Honour Bound. By Charles Gibbon. Queen of the Meadow. By Charles Gibbon. Under the Greenwood Tree. By Thomas Hardy. Thornicroft’S Model By Mrs. Hunt. fated TO BE Free. By Jean Ingelow. CONFIDENCE., By Henry James, jun. The Queen of Connaught. By Harriett Jay? The Dark Colleen. By Harnett Jay. NUMBER SEVENTEEN. By Henry Kingsley. OAKSHOTT CASTLE. By Henry Kingsley. The World Well Lost. By E. Lynn Linton. The Atonement of Leam Dundas. By E. Lynn Linton. PATRICIA Kemball. By E. Lynn Linton. Under Which Lord? By E. Lynn Linton. With a Silken Thread. By E. Lynn Linton. The Waterdale Neighbours. By Jus- tin McCarthy. My Enemy’S Daughter. By Justin MeCarthy. Linley ROCHFORD. By Justin McCarthy. A Fair Saxon. By Justin McCarthy. Dear Lady Disdain. By Justin McCarthy. MISS Misanthrope. Byjustin McCarthy. Donna Quixote. By Justin McCarthy. Quaker Cousins. By Mrs. Macdonell. LOST Rose. By Katharine S. Macquoid. The Evil Eye and other Stories. By Katharine S. Macquoid. OPEN 1 Sesame l By Florence MarryaL touch and Go. By Jean Middlemass. WHITELADIES. By Mrs. Oliphant. The Best of Husbands. By James Payn.. Fallen Fortunes. By James Payn. Halves. By James Payn. WALTER’S WORD. By James Payn. WHAT He cost HER. By James Payn. Less Black than We’re Painted. By James Payn. By Proxy. By James Payn. UNDER ONE ROOF. By James Payn. High Spirits. By James Payn. Her Mother’s Darling. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saunders. Guy Waterman. By John Saunders. One Against the World. By John Saunders. The Lion In the Path By John Saunders. The Way We Live Now. By Anthony Trollope. The American Senator- By Anthony Trollope. Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. A. Trol- lope. CHATTO AND WIND US, PICCADILLY, W. ‘ Why, you foolish creature , you don't mean to say that you don't know you are beautiful l 1 DONNA QUIXOTE BY JUSTIN M C CARTHY, M.P. AUTHOR OF ‘DEAR LADY DISDAIN' ‘ MISS MISANTHROPE* ‘a HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES’ ETC. A NEW EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IToitimtr CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1 88 1 The right of translation is reserved LONDON : PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOM5E AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET CONTENTS $23 /W x * CHATTER I. n. hi. IY. V. VI. VIL YIH. IX. — X. «=X? XI. 1) XH. CT7 ^ c XIII. “S XIV. i XV. o_ XVI. cr XVH, ■*=*- i_ XVIII. <5 XIX. Cr XX. ‘Widowed Wife and Wedded Maid’ . ‘ The Graceless Girl ’ . Mrs. Albert Vanthorpe .... The Lodgers in Bolingbroke Place . The Rolling Stone and the Millstone. Gabrielle’s Clients . ^ Gabrielle’s Guests ..... ‘ Lady, dost thou not fear to stray ? ’ At a Morning Concert .... Fielding goes a-visiting ‘ One Dream goes : Another grows ’ Where Fielding went next, and next The House on the Surrey Side ‘A Friend to her Friend’ . A Man and a Brother .... * I will discourse with my Philosopher ’ * I CLAIM YOU AS THE SlSTER OF MY SOUL 5 Paulina Stoops to Conquer . The Sunstroke Sir Wilberforce’s Intervention . PAGE 1 30 18 33 43 52 64 75 83 95 304 114 127 140 148 157 167 176 189 196 - / V VI CONTENTS . CHAPTER PAGE XXI. Exorcised . . . 202 XXII. Gabrielle flies to Sanctuary 213 XXIII. Gabrielle’s Great Hope Fulfilled . . . 219 XXIV. ‘Furens quid Femina’ ...... 229 XXV. * Sir, You and I have Loved; but that’s not it’ 239 XXVI. « Gabrielle ’ 252 XXVII. ‘When Falls the Modest Gloaming’ . . . 261 XXVIII. What People said ....... 268 XXIX. Paulina Launches her Fire-ship . . . . 275 XXX. ‘An Excellent Plot: Very Good Friends’ . 283 XXXI. Paulina ‘ At Home ’ 293 XXXH. ‘ Perchance, Iago, I will ne’ei^ go Home ’ . 300 XXXIH. * ’Tis A Quick Lie : ’twill away again ’ . . 306 XXXIV. ‘ We will have no more Marriages ’ , .314 XXXV. Paulina puts her Foot in it . . . . . 320 XXXVI. ‘At One o’clock To-morrow’ . , . .332 XXXVII. The Fair Penitent 343 XXXVIII. * One minded like the Weather, most un- quietly’ . . 351 XXXTX. The Night of Storm 358 XL. ‘Farewell, ye Lovers; the Sweet Day is yours ’ 365 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS, * You FOOLISH CREATURE, YOU DON’T MEAN TO SAY THAT YOU DON’T KNOW YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL ? ’ . ‘This young lady is to be congratulated on THE POSSESSION OF SUCH A VOICE ’ ‘He pulled all manner of things to eat and DRINK FROM THE CUPBOARDS’ . Oh, Mr. Fielding, don’t mind him ’ ‘ Why, this is never Clarkson V . Claudia Lemuel at home Oh, I am so glad you are not in bed ! ’ . ‘I ain’t out of order’ ‘ He took her hand, and she did not resist * . ‘ He tossed him out of his path ’ . ‘The thought was too much’ . ‘For a while they were silent’ . Frontispiece To face p. 60 99 99 72 124 156 164 208 234 260 298 330 368 DONNA QUIXOTE. CHAPTER I. ‘widowed wife and wedded maid/ The dawn came creeping slowly np over Genoa. It was the dawn of a beautiful morning in late autumn, when the Mediter- ranean shores of northern Italy look specially lovely ; and yet this dawn showed livid and cheerless in the eyes of the watchers who became aware of its presence as they saw it stealing into a room in an hotel that looked upon the arched promenade and the port and the sea. ‘ Ugly night ’ is described in some lines of immortal beauty as coming breathing at the heels of the setting sun. The dawn sometimes looks uglier still as it comes breathing at the heels of the night, which threw at least a pitying and friendly shelter over tear-stained faces and weary eyes. There were three or four persons in the room, and they were gathered round a death-bed. Albert Vanthorpe, a young Englishman of some three-and- twenty, had just died. The watchers had been with him all the night, and it was in the hopeless hush that followed the first assurance of his death that some of them became aware of the coming of the dawn. One of the watchers said, in a low firm voice — ‘ It is all over ; there is nothing else to be done. I should like to be left alone for a little, if you please ; I should like to be left alone — with my husband/ One of the others, an elderly lady, seemed to hesitate ; she stood as if about to plead some objection. The younger said with a beseeching gesture — ‘ Oh, yes ; even you too, dearest ! Only for a moment or two ; you will come back again. Just a moment or two/ The elder lady and the others left the room without a word, and the wife was alone with her husband. B 2 DONNA QUIXOTE. She was a very young wife, not to say a very young widow. She did not look quite twenty ; she was in fact a little more than twenty-one ; she was rather tall, and had a pale face that looked as if the melancholy dawn were its proper setting. For all the haggardness given to her by the hour and the occasion, she was singularly handsome. She sat by the bedside of the young man who lay dead, and took one of his hands in hers. Her eyes sometimes wandered round the room which the dawn began faintly to light. A strange indescribable effect was wrought on her mind by the sight of objects that had belonged to him and now belonged to him no more — his clothes, some of his books, his watch, his chain, rings, purse; the presents that he had brought home to give to friends, the cigar-case, the silver-mounted revolver that he had lately been carrying — all these things that had no owner now ; or, stranger still, had her for their owner. It was strange, indeed, to think that she alone had now the absolute right to sit beside him as he lay dead ; that it was for her alone to say who should come into the room and who should be refused admission. It was very strange to think that people would come to her soon and ask her what was to be done with everything he had left behind, and that her word would be a law even as to the very place where his body was to lie. The other day she was a dreamy, impracticable girl, full of nonsensical ideas and preposterous schemes ; and nbwr-'she had a whole world of practical responsi- bilities put upon her and was absolutely independent of all control. She bent her face over the dead young man and kissed his chill, rigid hand ; not again and again as agonised mourners vainly do, but once timidly and respectfully. This was not assuredly the sort of grief which a young wife just bereaved might be expected to feel. In all the strain and confusion of the moment’s emotions, Gabrielle Ronalds was distinctly conscious of this ; she was as clearly aware of it as she was aware of the fact that the coming of the dawn was rendering the light of the soft lamps a superfluity. She knew that her regret for the dead man was not what the grief of a wife ought to be ; and she was conscious of a painful impression that her putting on the aspect of a widow’s sorrow would in some measure be like the playing of a part, perhaps like that of a professional mourner hired for a funeral. If she could have lived her life over again and could have known what was coming, she would have tried to love him much more than she had done ; she would have compelled herself to love him ; she must have loved him. Nobody surely could have deserved to be ‘ WIDOWED WIFE AND WEDDED MAID.’ 3 loved more than he had deserved love from her. Of course she was inclined to heap unmerited reproaches on herself now, and to make a crime of what was in the truest sense a duty. The only fault of which she could even in this remorseful moment accuse herself was, that she could not succeed in loving poor young Yanthorpe. She had never deceived him or herself as to her feelings : he knew that she did not love him ; he knew more — he knew that she had tried her very best and failed. Now, however, she kept telling herself over and over again of his goodness and her unworthiness ; of his generous heart, his uncalculating, unchanging affection, which would have given everything and which got nothing ; and she contrasted this with her own cold and deliberate study of her emotions and inclina- tions, and she told herself that she ought to feel penitent and ashamed. After a while some one tapped lightly at the door, and she heard a voice calling the name that was his. She started, and turned her eyes instinctively to the bed, as if it must have been the dead man’s name that was so inopportunely spoken. She forgot for the moment that it was her own name ; that, like all the rest he once owned, it belonged to him no longer but only to her. , When we spoke of her as Gabrielle Ronalds a few lines back, it was by the name which belonged to her as an unmarried girl. Nothing could be more natural than to describe her in this way, for in truth she had hardly had time to recognise herself by the name which marriage had given her. She has not yet been three days a wife, and she is a wife only in name. The last few hours of her married life had been spent in watching with others at her young husband’s death-bed. All this is not so mysterious or even so romantic as it may seem at first. Albert Yanthorpe had loved her since they were boy and girl together, and she had sometimes thought that she could love him. But she had always found when he pressed the question on her, or she pressed it on herself, that she could not, and at last saw her way and made up her mind clearly on the point. He was always in weakly health and he went on a long travel- ling expedition in order to get stronger ; and for a while he was growing stronger, and every one who cared for him began to hope that he had a long career before him. Perhaps he grew too fully assured of his own strength and he overtaxed it, and did all manner of toilsome and adventurous exploring feats, and he brought on his death. One day Gabrielle received a letter from him, dated from Genoa, telling her plainly that he had got b 2 4 DONNA QUIXOTE. thus far on his way home only to die, and in simple, pathetic tones asking her to give him the one only gratification he now could have in his closing hours — that of calling her his wife even for once before he died. To her who knew so well his sweet, soft, somewhat feminine nature, this wish seemed pecu- liarly characteristic of him. She reproached herself that she had not forced herself to love him in time; and if he had now asked her to become his wife with the view that she might be burnt as his widow on his funeral pile, she was well in the mood to have uncompromisingly accepted the offer. She agreed to marry him, and she and his mother went out to Genoa to- gether. There was no difficulty there in having his last ro- mantic whim gratified. The event which he expected was nearer even than he had anticipated, and he died, as we have said, within three days after his marriage. He had had a will prepared, and he had it brought to him immediately after the marriage ceremony, and he read it over and signed it and had it properly attested. Gabrielle wondered that he could think of such things then, but he smiled with a peculiar melancholy sweetness at her, and murmured something about marriage altering a man’s will, or something of the kind — she hardly knew what. When this was all done and the lawyer was gone, he took her hand and kissed it, and told her he was now happy, for he had made her his wife and had made her rich. e Oh, I remember all your plans and projects/ he said, 1 and now you can carry some of them out. You will be able to do good to somebody, at all events; and I should never have known the way how, and so that’s all right.’ He smiled another of his boyish smiles, and the smile brought a pang to her heart. She had always complained of him for being too boyish, and had sometimes impatiently given that as a reason why she could not marry him. He was older than she, but she had often talked and thought of him as if he were only a child. She was constantly complaining that he did not try to turn his life to any account, and had compared him more than once to Richard Carstone in ‘ Bleak House,’ the young man who keeps to nothing, and dies saying he is just going to begin the world in earnest. 4 If he should remember that now,’ she thought with terror, and remind her of it, and tell her that her comparison was made good at last. But he did not remember it, or at least he did not say anything about it. He did remind her, however, that she had often told him that anybody with his fortune ought to be ashamed not to do * WIDOWED WIFE AND WEDDED MAID I 5 some good for the world ; ‘ and now,’ he whispered, ‘ I am doing some good for the world ; for I am giving you the chance of doing good, and you know how to make use of it. So you see I am not quite such a foolish boy after all.’ Now it is all over. The dawn has come ; the young life has gone. Some one is calling to her, is calling her by his name, and she is now and henceforth Mrs. Albert Vanthorpe, a wife and a widow at once. She is very calm and composed to all appearance, and she goes out, and talks, and gives directions in a low firm tone, so that sometimes those who speak with her think she does not feel anything about what has happened ; and those who know a little more of her story say to themselves, that of course she can’t be expected to care much; that she had refused him before, and only married him now because he couldn’t live, and to please him ; and that she was to have a great deal of money. Still, the German chambermaid thought she might try to look a little more as if she was sorry ; and the Italian nurse said she had seen many young widows in her time, but she did not remember ever to have seen one that took sorrow as easily as that. The English doctor who had been brought with the young man’s mother and Gabrielle from Harley Street, and who could do nothing whatever but say a soft word or two to the hopeless patient, had taken Gabrielle’s hand kindly in his and felt her pulse, and looked into her large tearless eyes, and told her to be sure she left Genoa as soon as possible and got back to the active life of England ; and im- pressed upon her in low warning tones that she must still have many duties, and that the husband she had, lost would think she was most faithful to his memory the more she tried to bear up and do them. For the doctor read the story of her calm demeanour so differently from the German chambermaid and the Italian nurse, that he had formed an uneasy suspicion that the young widow was contemplating suicide. A woman is capable of anything, he said to himself, when she looks like that. Meanwhile the mother of the dead man, who had been with him to the last, and had only left the room at Gabrielle’s prayer when all was done, now sent in her maid to ask if she might see Mrs. Albert Vanthorpe. The formality of the request surprised Gabrielle. Of course she would see Mrs. Leven, but should she not go to her ? ‘Many thanks, no. Mrs. Leven would come to Mrs. Vanthorpe.’ 6 DONNA QUIXOTE. Another moment and Mrs. Leven came. In the yet colour- less dawn her face looked marvellously like that of her son. Gabriel le was going to meet her with all the affection due to their common suffering, but the elder woman cut her short at the very threshold. ( No more of that, thank you, between us. While he was living I would not give him a moment’s pain ’ — her lips trembled as she looked at the white rigid face on the pillow ; ‘ but now he cannot hear any more ; and I have come to tell you that I am leaving Genoa at once, and that there is no reason why you and I should meet in England or anywhere else. We could never be friends — never, never ! I blame you for all this ; if he had never seen you, he would be alive and happy now ; or if you had married him in time, when the poor foolish boy asked you, he might have been alive now.’ ‘ But, Mrs. Leven,’ the girl pleaded with scared, appealing face, ‘ you always said you liked me — you always said you were so fond of me. You praised me when first I said I couldn’t marry him ; you told me yourself I had done right.’ ‘ I didn’t know then that the poor boy was so mad about you ; I would rather he married anybody than have been un- happy. He was always happy until lately ; and I know now that he never cared for his mother this long time. You have his name now, and all the rest. I don’t grudge you his money — you know that. I am glad you have it, for it will help you to make yourself ridiculous all the faster. I have only come to say now that I presume you will have my son buried with his father and his people.’ Gabrielle made a gesture as if in utter deprecation of any sinister purpose on her part. 4 Of course I insist upon nothing,’ Mrs. Leven went on ; * I have no right. If cremation or something of the kind should suit your ideas, I have no right to interfere. I am told that my son’s will gives you express right to do as you think fit in that matter too.’ Gabrielle did not know ; she had not thought about the precise provisions of the will. ‘ Oh, yes ; you have the right to do as you please in every- thing. I only ask leave to remind you that my son was a gentleman ; that there is a burial-place where his father and his grandfather were buried before him, and where his mother hopes to be buried one day ; and where, before that time comes, she might wish sometimes to see her son’s grave, if modern ideas would allow of so much concession to old-fashioned senti- ment — that’s all.’ ‘ WIDOWED WIFE AND WEDDED MAID . 1 7 Gabrielle only said — 4 He is much more yours than mine, this poor boy, though he did give me his name. I don’t know how you can think I would do anything — if you do think it — to give you any pain about him ; now, I mean ; ’ for she saw the expression forming itself on Mrs. Leven’s face which would have said, 4 Have you not given me pain enough about him ? Did you not take him from me ? ’ So Gabrielle hastened to forestall superfluous contention with the one simple pathetic qualification 4 now.’ 4 Well, that is all I have to say ; and it is easily said. I hope we shan’t meet any more.’ 4 Ought we to quarrel here 1 ’ Gabrielle said, with a gesture towards the death-bed. 4 If he could hear us, think how it would pain him.’ 4 1 did think of that while he could hear us. You must admit that I never said a word all the time to make him suspect that I was not delighted with all the whole arrangement.’ 4 Ho; you deceived me as well as him,’ Gabrielle said sadly ; 4 1 thought you were still to me what you always were before.’ 4 1 meant to spare him, and I did spare him.’ 4 1 thank you for that with all my heart and soul.’ 4 Don’t thank me in his name. Let me be spared that.’ The mother went to the side of the bed and knelt down and remained a while there — only a moment or two, as if in prayer. The young wife leaned upon the window-frame, turn- ing her eyes purposely away from what was passing in the room, and looked vacuously over the prospect of sea, and hills, and sails, that was spreading out clearer and more lovely in the brightening dawn. Her heart was full of pity for the bereaved woman who once loved her, and now seemed to have only hatred for her. The girl’s memory went back to days when that woman’s house was the happiest home to her ; when Albert and she were children together; to days much later, when the mqther and she good-humouredly engaged in competi- tion, one to spoil the young man, and the other to strengthen him ; to days’ when it no more entered into the heart of any of the three that they could ever be sundered in affection, than it occurred to them to think that the boy’s career was to end in mere boyhood. She looked back into the room ; Mis. Leven had risen from her knees, and was going away. Gabrielle gave way to an impulse of old affection and devotion ; she ran between her and 8 DONNA QUIXOTE. the door, knelt down, caught her hand and pressed it to her lips. It was of no use. Mrs. Leven went resolutely and coldly out of the room, and the young widow was alone again with her husband. Never were two friends more devoted than the woman who had just gone from the room and the mother of the girl who was left there. When Gabrielle’s mother died she had left her little daughter to the care of her friend, and had further made to the friend that faithful promise so often exacted by yearning affection, that if she could come back even for a moment, a shadow from the land of shadows, she would return to her friend to tell her of the whence and the whither. They were bound by the additional bond of affection that each was a widow, and each had but one child — at least, Albert’s mother had only him to love. But look how things come about ; a few years pass, and everything is unlike what the most cautious and calculating mind might have anticipated. The one thing reasonable would have seemed to be that this girl and boy should love each other and marry ; and such seemed to be the arrangement of things developing itself, until suddenly the girl took it into her head that she could not love him, and that she would not marry him ; and from that moment, as it seemed to his mother at least, all went wrong. The young man made himself intellectually and in all other ways the devoted slave of the girl who would not marry him. Her opinions upon everything were law to him ; all her dreams, and whims, and odd new ways were the inspirations of genius for him ; and the mother was not wrong in believing that a word from Gabrielle was more to him than a sermon or a precept from her. He never would listen to a word said even in complaint of Ga- brielle’s refusal of him. He was always a weak and tender- natured lad, his mother thought ; and this was one of the reasons why she would have wished Gabrielle to marry him, for the girl’s vigour of intelligence and resolve would have counter- acted the defects of his temperament. He went away to travel, evidently still holding to a hope that he could persuade Gabrielle to love him yet, and having vague ideas of doing something gallant and good to deserve her; and his mother, too, still looked for something of the kind. But Gabrielle would not hear of it, and at last left the home in which she had lived so long ; and Mrs. Leven being still a handsome woman, who had barely ceased to be young, was herself induced one day to marry again. Hers was a fitful nature, full of sudden emotion and impulse, and she accepted an offer of marriage, not very well 'WIDOWED WIFE AND WEDDED MAID I 9 knowing why she did so, but having a vague idea that, as she had been disappointed in everything, she had a right to pay off the destinies by disappointing reasonable expectation in her own case. Then came the news that her boy was dying, and his pas- sionate desire to be married to Gabrielle ; and the mother was as angry in her heart with the girl for consenting to his entreaty now as for having refused it before. No question of money had anything to do with Mrs. Leven’s anger. She had money of her own; her new husband was a man of considerable property. Her son’s fortune, which was large, had all been left to him by his father’s brother, who had made it as a successful railway contractor. Mrs. Leven had never liked him or his money either, and would, if left to herself, have much preferred that her son should be wholly dependent on her. Albert’s having a fortune of his own to look out to always seemed to her the first cause of his coming to have ideas that were not hers, and of his being ready to accept the laws of life from the lips of a pretty girl rather than from those of one who had lived and suffered and known the world. She blamed Gabrielle for everything — her own second marriage among the rest. She blamed herself, indeed, for having as it were forced the girl on her son’s notice ; but she only condemned Gabrielle now all the more for this. ‘ Without this lass,’ says poor Caleb Balderstone, * would not our ruin have been a’thegither fulfilled ! ’ Mrs. Leven now thought even more bitterly of her dear old friend’s daughter. Without that lass there would have been little to suggest a ruin of her hopes, to say nothing of ruin’s fulfilment. Yet she kept down all her feelings for love of her son while she and Gabrielle were travelling to Genoa, and only revealed her- self when Albert’s ears could hear no more. It must be owned that the position of the young woman who is now left alone in the dawn with the corpse of the youth whose name she has taken is sufficiently strange and trying even for the bravest spirit and the healthiest temperament. A new life indeed is that which is opening on her. She is a widow almost at the very moment of becoming a wife ; she has lost the brother of her heart and of her childhood ; she has lost the friend who was a mother to her, and seems to have found an enemy instead. Gabrielle never before thought of the possibility of her having an enemy, unless when in some of her dreamings she pictured herself as fearlessly frustrating the plans of the wicked in the cause of the good, and thus winning the enmity of the children of darkness and being proud of it. She has lost much indeed ; and she has gained or IO DONNA QUIXOTE. had forced upon her what wise people would probably think most dangerous or fatal gifts for one so young and full of fancies ; she has money and she has absolute independence. CHAPTER II. ‘the graceless girl/ Some months had passed since Albert Vanthorpe’s death. Summer had come upon London. Albert’s mother and her husband were at home. They lived in one of the streets run- ning out of Piccadilly, in a small old-fashioned house which Major Leven’s family had owned for time out of mind. Major Leven’s family had belonged to quite better-class respectability — if we may use such a phrase— for more generations than we venture to enumerate, neither sinking nor rising all the time. Since Albert’s death they had lived in seclusion — that is, a sort of seclusion. Mrs. Leven saw nobody in the hostess’s sense, and of course went nowhere ; but her husband was a very active and busy man, and his doors were almost as constantly open as those of the good Axylus in the ‘ Iliad.’ It was for some time a mystery to the friends of Major Leven and his wife alike, why these two should have married. Leven was fifty years old at least, and had always been set down as not a marrying man. But he had found much pleasure in the society of Mrs. Vanthorpe, as she then was, and in the people who used to go to her house ; and he took it into his head that she must be lonely without her son, when Albert went travelling all over the world ; and one day he asked her to marry him. As we have said, she accepted him out of a kind of spite against the destinies. If it were to do over again, she at least would pro- bably not do it ; but he and she got on very well, and he was happy in his own way. Major Leven had left the army, and had devoted himself to the wrongs of mankind. He had considerable means, and he gave up his time to the redressing of wrong. He had written more pamphlets and accompanied more deputations than perhaps any other man of his time. He had never succeeded in getting into parliament ; partly because he was always induced to come forward and contest some hopeless place where no- body but himself could possibly be induced to waste time ‘ THE GRACELESS GIRL: ii and money in such an endeavour, and partly because at the moment of every contest his soul was sure to be in some case of grievance which he would put forward as his great motive in entering parliament, and for which the constituents whose favour he sought could not be induced to care a rush. The chiefs and managers of parties swore at him a good deal among themselves, for he was always disturbing the arrange- ments of head-quarters everywhere and splitting up constitu- encies. When a contest between some representative of his own political party and an opponent was so nicely balanced as to leave to his own side only a confident hope of success, Major Leven was sure to appear in the field as the exponent of some cause, or case, or grievance, for which the chiefs cared nothing, to present himself as a candidate on that platform, and carry off just enough of eccentric votes to make the victory sure to the enemies of the party with whom, to use the correct phrase, Major Leven usually acted. If any foreign or colonial difficulty arose in the way of the Government, no matter to what party the Government belonged, Major Leven was instantly out with a pamphlet, in which, by the aid of portentous local knowledge, he made it clear that Her Majesty’s ministers had bungled the affair from first to last; that their official instructors evidently could not even find out on the map the places particularly con- cerned ; that no one in the Government service knew any of the languages which the emergency required to be known ; that he, Major Leven, had predicted in a pamphlet years before exactly what would happen, and at the same time shown exactly what ought to be done ; and that he could even now in ten minutes put any intelligent schoolboy in possession of knowledge enough to enable him to pull the Government out of the whole diffi- culty, if the Government would only have wit enough to allow themselves to be saved. In private life Major Leven liked everybody and could hardly be persuaded to think ill of anybody ; but his creed as an observer of public men apparently was, that every Secretary of State was a double-dyed and unmitigated villain bent upon the ruin of his country. Major Leven believed what everyone told him, unless it were the statement of a minister made in public ; for all such statements he regarded as outrageous lies. His general impression was that all ministers, but more es- pecially foreign and colonial ministers, were scoundrels who ought to be impeached. With all this, Major Leven was not a self-asserting or bump- tious man. He was in manner a very modest, courteous, kindly 12 DONNA QUIXOTE. gentleman ; a little grave and heavy, as indeed was unavoidable in the case of one who bore on his shoulders such a burden of grievance. An over-sensitive humanity, an implicit belief in what anybody told him in private, and a chivalric restlessness which did not allow him to hear of any grievance without feel- ing himself at once called to rush to the rescue, made him occasionally somewhat of a trouble to his friends. He had no judgment whatever as to the rights and wrongs of any particular controversy, and was indeed generally secured by the side which first appealed to his attention. But he had con- siderable cleverness, when once a conviction had taken hold of him, in finding arguments to convince outsiders that that was the true side of the case. He had served a good deal and been in many parts of the world. When any grievance was brought under his notice, he had no difficulty in recalling some ex- perience of his own which supplied him with reason for assum- ing that the wrong had been done. When he was at the Cape, just the same sort of treachery had been shown to one of the native chiefs ; when he was at Bawul-Pindee he had had to interfere himself in exactly such a case of cruelty to a servant ; he knew of his own knowledge in the Mauritius that a fellow had been promoted to a most important office for no other reason in the world than because he had married the favourite maid of the Governor’s wife ; and so on, through various other instances. Thus Major Leven was always able at a moment’s notice to call himself as evidence to the truth of any case of alleged injustice about which it would be proper to worry a department. Mrs. Leven was a good listener ; a t least, she always seemed to listen to her husband’s arguments and explanations, and was never seemingly tired. Her great quality for this purpose was a faculty of self-abstraction. At present she had only one thought occupying her mind, and that concerned her dead son and the girl he had married. But she listened with an air of deep attention ; and the air was not assumed, for she was absorbed in her own thoughts, only Major Leven naturally assumed that she was absorbed in his grievances and not hers, and he was content with his audience. Major Leven and his wife were at breakfast together. The table on Leven’s side was covered with letters, newspapers, pamphlets, and proofs. It was thus he liked to breakfast. During the meal he had been interrupted more than once by important visitors; he liked to be interrupted. One of the visitors was young Walter Manny Taxal, second son of Lord Taxal, a nobleman who had been elevated to the peerage because ‘ THE GRACELESS GIRL.' 13 he had finally proved his utter incapacity to serve his party in the House of Commons. Young Walter Manny Taxal was a fresh and clever youth with two sides to his character ; he was an amateur musician and a popular agitator. He had a stronger voice than Major Leven and was a better speaker; but he believed in Leven, and was delighted to take his tone from him. He was about to preside this night over a great meeting of working men in St. James’s Hall, and had come in to get some advice from Leven as to what he ought to say. The matter had been talked over, and Walter Manny was going away when he suddenly said — ‘ Oh, by the way, Mrs. Leven, you can tell me, no doubt. May I call upon your daughter — or would she rather I didn’t yet awhile ? I should like to, if I might.’ ‘ On Mrs. Albert Yanthorpe 1 ’ I Exactly ; yes; Mrs. Albert Yanthorpe. I saw her in town yesterday. She is looking pale, but she is very handsome ; handsomer than ever, I think.’ I I have not seen her,’ Mrs. Leven said slowly, e since my son’s death. I don’t know if she receives visits or not ; I do not even know where she lives.’ ‘ Oh, she lives in poor Albert’s house, you know.’ * I presume so ; I don’t know.’ Walter Manny saw that he had, as he would have said himself, put his foot in it; he dropped the subject, and presently took his leave. Then Major Leven turned to his wife : ‘ Don’t you think, you know, Constance, that the time has come to 1 forget and forgive It Time to hold out the olive-branch a little, as old Melbourne used to say 1 ’ i Not much time has passed, George ; and I don’t know that mere lapse of time does much in cases like mine. You can’t be expected to feel as I do. I don’t make any accusation of that, dear ; but he was nothing to you ; I mean, he was not a son, and you could not understand how a mother feels. Why, the grass is hardly green on my boy’s grave, and you talk of olive- branches.’ ‘ Yes, yes, of course it’s not long ago ; and I know it’s too soon for you not to feel as much as ever ; but it isn’t exactly that. I think you are wrong, Constance — I do, indeed — in putting any of the blame on her. You ladies are always a little unreasonable ; and — you don’t mind my speaking on so painful a subject 1 — I asked Dr. Saville particularly, and he told me most positively that poor Albert’s death was certain years and years ago.’ 14 DONNA QUIXOTE. Mrs. Leven only shook her head, but said nothing on this subject. She declined to be set right on a matter of such heart- and-soul conviction as that of the wrong done to her by her former favourite. 4 1 am told she never put on mourning for him,’ Mrs. Leven said after a moment’s pause, the uneasiness of which was chiefly occasioned to Major Leven by the fact that he had not yet quite got the particular thing said which he wanted to say ; 4 she dressed the day after his death just as she did the day before. So they tell me.’ Major Leven was about to suggest that there might possibly be philosophical reasons very imperative on certain minds for wearing mourning before a melancholy and certain event rather than after it. But he checked himself in time, and spared his wife a speculation into which she could hardly be expected to enter very earnestly just then. Major Leven had in truth hardly known anything of poor Albert, and could only do his best to keep up with the feelings of his wife. 4 All these new ideas, I suppose,’ he said. 4 You rather liked them at one time, Constance.’ 4 1 did,’ said Constance sadly. 4 1 did not know then that they could take any real hold on anybody’s mind.’ 4 Still, really, you know, you ought not to blame her too much ; and I do think, Constance, the time has come for mak- ing up the whole quarrel. I don’t want to dictate to you, of course ; but it’s a sort of duty on my part — quite a duty, I feel it — to press you a little on this point. And then, another thing ’ — he began to gain courage and resolution— 4 there is that other son of yours. I don’t know all the rights and wrongs of the story, but he must have been very young when you and he didn’t get along ; and time has passed away, and he may have changed ; and some sad things have happened, and we must not bear anger always ; and I do think, Constance, you would do well to turn this over in your mind sometimes, and to re- member that if you have lost a son you still have a son.’ 4 How do I know that I have a son 1 ’ she asked. 4 For all these long years he has never taken any pains to remind me that I had such a son. How do I know whether he is living or dead h How do I know, if he is still living, into what sort of life he has fallen ? How do I know what his associates are, or his ways of life ? He may have married a gipsy or a dancing- woman for all I know.’ 4 He hasn’t behaved well in not writing to you all this time, that’s quite clear. A fellow’s mother is his mother always, how- 1 THE GRACELESS GIRL.' *5 ever they may have quarrelled ; but I fancy, Constance, he may have had a little of his mother’s temperament in him, and for that, my dear, if you will allow me to say so, you are more re- sponsible than he. But anyhow, I don’t mean to press this matter on you all at once. Just think it over, that’s all I say. I felt it my duty to remind you of it. That’s all.’ Mrs. Leven made no answer ; one of her principles was that a woman should never contradict her husband. She held that the man was always to be regarded as supreme in his household, but she did not feel bound to translate her acknowledgment of his supremacy into action. She felt quite free to do just as she liked. She had not the least intention of acting on his advice in this case. ‘ Do you hear anything about her % ’ Major Leven asked ; * anything more, I mean, than that she hasn’t put on mourning.’ Major Leven was really much interested in the fortunes of Albert’s young wife. He had greatly admired Gabrielle when he used to meet her at Mrs. Leven’s ; she had always entered cordially into his projects. He was not by any means uncon- scious that with a good many purposeless persons he passed for a sort of bore ; and he should in all ordinary cases have set down a handsome young woman as the least likely person in the world to enter cordially into his ideas. But Gabrielle had always paid him the delightful homage of an evidently genuine interest in any project that he might have had in hand. He had seen her eyes sparkle with generous anger when he de- nounced the iniquity of some Secretary of State or other official ; she had come eagerly towards him to ask him about the result of some deputation to the Foreign or the Colonial Office con- cerning intolerable wrong inflicted on some meritorious race or individual. ‘ I do hear about her now and then,’ his wife answered in a hesitating way, as if it were against her principles to own to any interest in such a woman. ‘ 1 dare say she is forming a home for decayed old gentlewomen, or something of that kind ; or for strayed cats, perhaps ; I am not quite certain which. It is of no consequence, in any case. It won’t last long with her ; she will want some new piece of folly before long.’ Major Leven moved in his chair somewhat uneasily. 1 But,’ he said, * excuse me, Constance, did you actually hear that she was getting up a home for strayed cats % It would not be a bad thing to do by any means, and I shouldn’t think the worse of her ; only, is she doing anything of the kind, or is this only your conjecture 1 16 DONNA QUIXOTE . 4 1 don’t hear much about her ; I don’t desire to ; but Mrs. Bramble, the wife of Albert’s old servant — you remember him ? — comes sometimes here, and I have seen her, and she has told me now and then things about her. I did not ask her, but one could hardly refuse to listen to the poor old woman.’ ‘ Of course not. Certainly not. Why should you refuse % Well, she told you ? ’ ‘ Oh, well, nothing very much, but that the young woman has all sorts of ridiculous persons coming to see her in Albert’s house, and makes it, I fancy, a sort of refuge for the destitute. Mrs. Bramble is her housekeeper, and old Thomas Bramble; I believe she considers them her friends, and entertains their poor relations; and there was something about a distressed cat — I have forgotten what it was. At all events, I know that my boy’s house is desecrated by her whims.’ Major Leven did not discuss the question any farther. He did not see much harm in what was told of Gabrielle, even if the worst were true. He was sure she would never forget to behave like a lady, he said to himself ; from what he had seen of her he was quite satisfied that she would always be a lady. So he presently went to his pamphlets and his deputations, not wholly dissatisfied with what he had said to his wife about her living son, and what he had heard her say about Gabrielle. She does keep asking questions about Gabrielle, or getting to know about her somehow, he thought. The reminder about the son will keep working in her memory. Meanwhile, the young woman about whom the Levens had been talking was not engaged in organising a home for decayed ladies, or cats, or sufferers of any kind. It suited the warmth and bitterness of Mrs. Leven’s present mood to represent her as a restless organiser of all manner of schemes and novelties; but in truth Gabrielle had very little of the disciplined temper- ament which makes itself systematically useful. She was one of the last persons in the world likely to be of use as a member of a ladies’ committee, nor had she of her own prompting much interest in an abstraction called a £ cause ’ of any kind. She used to admire Major Leven very much for the readiness with which he could at a moment’s notice throw himself into the championship of people he had never seen ; the genuine anger which he could feel towards an entire department of Govern- ment; the completeness with which he could enter into the cause, so to speak, of a whole parallel of latitude. She had often envied him this faculty, and blamed herself because she had not more of the same sort of spirit. But her own feelings « THE GRA CELESS GIRL.' *7 were awakened chiefly by the condition of some particular man or woman. Her impulse towards help was always to hold out the helping hand herself. She was quite conscious that she wanted all the discipline of nature which makes a successful and useful worker in any good cause, and she assumed that she lacked that faculty because she was a woman and not a man. Wealth and poverty, we used to read in the days when Bindley Murray was yet studied, are both temptations. ‘ This excites pride; that discontent/ Neither temptation was put in the way of Gabrielle. In her early days she had been left with only a slender provision for herself; but, on the other hand, she had passed nearly all her growing years with Mrs. Leven, in whose household she certainly saw nothing like great wealth as wealth is rated in our times, but she always saw the evidences of sufficient money liberally spent. She never heard any talk of difficulties arising out of the want of money, except among the class who were generically described as ‘the poor/ Mrs. Leven was a woman who delighted in having everything happy about her, and in hearing that she made those around her happy. Albert had his mother’s love of happiness joined with a sweet, sunny temper all his own, which had none of his mother’s fitfulness and sudden strong gusts of emotion. One might have thought a girl brought up amid such companionship would have taken the world easily and as it came, and readily accepted the conditions of things that showed so favourably for her. But, whether from nature or from the sheer force of con- trast, Gabrielle grew up the most impatient of mortals, so far as all arrangements here below were concerned. The frame- work of human society seemed to her to have got all out of gear ; and what amused her friends more, she always went on as if on her were imposed in some way the duty of trying to put things right. She would stop in the streets, if she might, to argue with a drunken man, and convince him of the evil of the course he was pursuing. If a red-faced woman at an apple stall seemed chilly in the keen air of spring, Gabrielle regarded her as a victim to the unequal laws of society, and wondered that no one would take her home, and give her some warmth and shelter until the summer days should come, when she might follow her trade in the sun without suffering from east winds and cold blasts. Nothing would have given the girl more pleasure than to seat herself at the stall every now and then and attend to the sales, in order to allow the poor apple- seller an occasional relief. She was constantly bringing all c 1 8 DONNA QUIXOTE. manner of objects of charity to the house which was her home. Some of the stories Mrs. Leven had heard were true enough. Outcast dogs, affrighted cats hunted of hideous schoolboys, ragged girls who swept crossings, pretty, pathetic-looking organ boys, strapping lasses with saucy eyes who sold flowers — these and various other victims of social inequality had again and again partaken of the hospitality of Gabrielle’s house. Nor was there anything in all this of that merely aesthetic benevo- lence which is only touched by picturesque suffering. It was the suffering itself which won Gabrielle’s sympathy, not its attitude or its prettiness. She held society responsible for everything — especially in the days before she had come to trouble herself with any thought as to what this all-neglecting, all- responsible society really was. These ways were very amusing and even charming to Mrs. Leven for a long time. Gabriellewas so pretty and so graceful ; there was such a fresh winningness in her perverse ways of looking at everything ; she stuck by her nonsense so bravely ; she lectured Albert with such a bewitching gravity, as if she were a Minerva- Mentor heaven-appointed to teach and guide and sometimes even drive him, that Albert’s mother found her life greatly brightened by the companionship of this fascinating enthusiast. When Albert fell in love with Gabrielle, his mother was delighted ; and even when Gabrielle refused Albert, the mother forgave her and went so far as to admit that she had done right according to her conscience, fully believing all the time that the scruples of conscience would give way, and that her boy would be made happy in the end. But when heavy disappointment fell upon all her hopes, she felt that she was growing to hate the girl. She hated her all the more because Albert would not hear a word that found fault with her. Then the melancholy end came ; and she blamed Gabrielle at last for everything that had happened, and felt towards her much as a lady of the middle ages might have felt towards some fair sorceress who had bewitched and betrayed her son. CHAPTER III. MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. The house in which Gabrielle Vanthorpe lived was one of Albert’s whims. Almost immediately after he had come of age, and when he still had hopes that Gabrielle would marry him, MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. 19 he had seen a pretty little house standing in a tiny enclosure of its own, the enclosure being itself enclosed in a corner of one of the parks. It was so surrounded by trees and so embedded in its corner, that one might pass by day after day without suspecting that the little gate led to any dwelling of mortal. Albert was delighted with it, set his heart upon it, succeeded in getting possession of it on a long lease, and had it furnished after his own favourite ideas. It was to be a surprise and a delight to Gabrielle, if things came right ; and when there was no possibility of things coming right any more for him in this world, he had made it his express wish that Gabrielle should live in the house after his death. She had settled there now. It soothed her to be always in a place associated with his name ; she would, if she might, have made every room in the little house a shrine of his memory. Like the father of whom Pliny tells us, she would have had the cherished image in brass, in marble, in wax, in every manner of substance, if she might. She resolved to keep the anniversary of his death as a day of mourning and solemn fast. Mrs. Leven was mistaken in sup- posing that she had made no change in her dress when Albert died. She always wore black, but she would not advertise herself as a widow by putting on the preposterous weeds. In all that was meant as a tribute to his memory there was, it is needless to say, a virtual acknowledgment that thau memory might possibly otherwise have faded. * At least there was the evidence of regret and something like remorse, because she had not loved him. Gabrielle was determined to keep his memory green with her; the determination itself an all- sufficient proof that she had truly interpreted the feelings of her heart when she came to the conclusion that she could not love him. Now that the bitterness of his death is past, and that every day is softening the force of regret into a tender and sweet emotion, it must be owned that Gabiielle Vanthorpe is not so unhappy as perhaps she ought to have been. Her deepest source of present regret is that her once loving friend, Mrs. Leven, seems to have hardened her heart against her. But Gabrielle is sure this will not last ; and she has filled her soul with the determination to prove that she is worthy of that love which used to be like a mother’s to her. Gabrielle has vague, magnificent purposes of doing so much good with the means Albert has left her, as to raise a very mound and monu- ment of noble deeds as a tribute to his virtues and to the inspiration she has caught from them. Albert had had a servant who was once butler in his father’s house and who c 2 20 DO UNA QUIXOTE. afterwards married, and started a west-end lodging-house, which wholly failed and scattered all his and his wife’s earnings to the winds. Gabrielle took up the pair, and put them in charge of the house and of herself as well. There was one room in the house into which no mere visitor was ever admitted on any pretext. It was Gabrielle’s own room, but not sacred to herself. It was a room which Albert had intended to make his own study, and had begun fitting up for the purpose. Every shelf and book he had had put in remained as it was, and Gabrielle had brought from Genoa everything that had been his and stored them as sacred relics in this memorial room. It was on the ground-floor, and was almost darkened by the trees outside ; the gloom gave it additional austerity as a chamber consecrated to the memory of one who was no more. If Gabrielle had ventured, she would have asked Mrs. Leven to give her some precious relic of each period of Albert’s life, the memorials of each stage of growth and culture and whim and fad he had passed through, in order that this chamber of memory might illustrate his whole career. Over the chimney-piece was a large photograph of the cemetery in which he lay buried and of his grave. One who came and sat in this room even in gaudy summer might have almost fancied himself far away from the tumult of modern life, buried in the seclusion of some lonely demesne, whose rightful owner is dead, and which is a monument rather than a home. At first the pale and melancholy face of Gabrielle seemed quite in keeping with the room she commonly occupied, but of late it must be owned that activity and youth were sending back the glow of health to the face of the young widow. With all her eager, earnest ways, some of which ill-natured censors might perhaps have been tempted to describe as flighty, Gabrielle was a great lover at times of quietude and always of beauty. She delighted to surround herself with pretty things, and was made happy in a childlike way by colours and per- fumes. She enjoyed the sight of fruits even more than their taste. While waiting to do great good for all who needed a helping hand, she meanwhile loved to adorn her rooms with what might have seemed to others superfluous decoration. She enjoyed profusion, although she could well enough have told her heart to put up with stint if needs were. There was a great deal that must have been fascinating in her present life. Its utter quiet at home, its absolute independence at home and abroad, the sense of sufficiency that it brought to her ; perhaps, above all, the prospect of the marvellous good deeds she was to MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. 21 do, and the faint sound, heard long in advance, of the voices that were to praise her for her good deeds — all these conditions poured a soft, sweet atmosphere around the romantic young woman’s yet untried existence. Gabrielle had not many friends, but they were all such as she felt she could trust. They were all, it may as well be said, women. As yet she had not opened her door to any male visitor ; Walter Manny Taxal would have applied in vain so far. Her friends were, as Mrs. Leven had remarked, of curiously varied classes of life. One of her newest friends was Janet Charlton, a married niece of respectable Mrs. Bramble, the housekeeper. There were some ferns and other trinkets of curious Oriental make which Albert had brought home for Gabrielle, and which had got broken or otherwise injured here and there ; and Gabrielle wanted some artificer of delicate touch and trustworthy skill to whom they might be given for repair, or at least for preserva- tion. Mrs. Bramble told Gabrielle she had a niece married to a man who could do just that sort of thing, and who made a living by it; she did assure Mrs. Vanthorpe ladies of the highest rank came to him, to repair their ornaments for them — things which they wouldn’t put into the hands of the first jeweller in town. They were so friendly, some of these ladies ; oh, you could not think ; why, she had known of countesses going and sitting for two hours together, chatting with Robert Charlton and his wife while he was doing the work they wanted to have done. Gabrielle did not suggest that possibly those great ladies sat there because they did not care to trust their ornaments out of their sight. She only said that she supposed if he could do the work to the satisfaction of such great persons he could satisfy her ; and she sent him some jobs of work, beginning with the least precious, until she found that he really had a marvellous hand and could be trusted with anything. The work was sometimes brought back by his wife, and Gabrielle insisted on making her acquaintance. She was all the more impelled to this because Mrs. Bramble suggested in a mysterious way that, although Robert Charlton was a good husband, yet his wife had not always a very happy life of it. Gabrielle was still more drawn to Janet Charlton when she saw her. First of all, Janet seemed absurdly young for a wife ; she looked more like a school girl. This was personally touching to Gabrielle. Next, she was singularly pretty, and even beau- tiful ; and Gabrielle, loving all beautiful things, loved dearly to look upon a beautiful woman. Then, too, Janet seemed so 22 DONNA QUIXOTE. sweet, and innocent, and tender, so craving for care, and sym- pathy, and love, that Gabrielle thought it pity of her life if she could do nothing to relieve her of trouble, if trouble she really had. Gabrielle more than once tried gently to get at the young woman’s confidence ; but either she had failed to touch the right chord, or Janet really did not think that anyone could want to know anything about so insignificant a creature as herself. Janet had especially beautiful hair; it was almost startling in its golden splendour. It was all gathered up in a great mass on the back of her head, and seemed as if, when let down, it might have clothed her in a robe of gold far finer and more becoming than Lesbia’s. One day, when Janet had come to see her, Gabrielle could not keep from breaking out into raptures, to the young woman’s blushing and perturbed face, about her glorious hair and her beauty. ‘ Why does not somebody paint you ? Do you know any painters 1 I wish I were a painter for once ; I could make a lovely picture of you. I never saw such hair.’ The young person thus complimented might be supposed to be gratified, but she did not seem so ; on the contrary, she appeared rather to wince under the compliments. She faintly murmured, ‘ Oh, no ; please don’t say so — please don’t.’ 1 Why, you foolish creature, you don’t mean to say that you don’t know you are beautiful ? Has no one ever told you so % Does your husband never say so ? Don’t you ever look in the glass ? ’ The object of this appeal only grew more and more uneasy. 1 This is genuine, I do believe,’ Gabrielle said, after a moment of bewilderment. c It is real modesty ! Men, I am sure, would not believe in such a thing ; and I don’t wonder. I should not have believed in it ; here is a woman who po- sitively does not like to be told, even by another woman, that she is beautiful ! ’ * Oh, no, please ; it isn’t that ; it isn’t modesty. Oh, no!’ ‘ It isn’t modesty 1 ’ Gabrielle said, highly puzzled and amused. ‘ Then what on earth is it, child 1 ’ 6 It’s only because I get into so much trouble by it ! Oh, I do so wish I were not good-looking ! I should be so happy if I were ugly ! I wish I had the smal 1-pox, or that I might cut off all this horrid hair.’ ‘ My dear creature, you are talking sacrilege, simple sacri- lege. I should not wonder if the roof fell in ’ The uneasy fair one with golden locks actually glanced up MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. 2 3 with sudden fearfulness at the ceiling, apparently in alarm lest it might be going to descend. Gabrielle saw the glance, and smiled and reassured her. i No, it won’t fall ; don’t be alarmed ; I did not mean that literally. But it sounds like a sin against beauty to hear you talk of cutting off that glorious hair. You would drive an artist wild, if he were to hear you talking in that manner.’ 1 1 don’t care,’ said the desperate little beauty. 1 1 am often like to be driven wild myself.’ ‘ But why ? What is the mystery ? Come and tell me all about it, if it is no secret, and may be told. I have heard of the fatal gift of beauty, to be sure ; but I always thought that where it belonged to a woman she was very proud of it, whether it brought fatality or not.’ ‘ They weren’t like me,’ the golden-haired one murmured ; no doubt, having in her mind generally the women whose fatal gift of beauty was nevertheless a source of personal pride. ‘ Oh no — if they had been they wouldn’t have liked it half so well, I can tell them.’ ‘ Can you really ? Well, will you tell it to me ? I should like to know what the conditions are that ever make a woman wish not to be beautiful.’ * It’s because of my husband,’ the young woman said timidly, and casting a glance round the room as if fearful that he might be there listening to her revelation. * Why, is he bad to you ? You do not look like that.’ * Oh, no, he is not bad, he is very good; and he is very fond of me, and kind to me in other ways. But he thinks I am too handsome ; and he makes me very miserable sometimes.’ ‘ Thinks you too handsome? Would he rather you were not handsome ? And if so, why did he marry you ? Why didn’t he find some ugly woman to suit his peculiar taste ? ’ 1 No, it isn’t that,’ and Janet could not keep from a faint smile. * But he thinks people look at me, and that I attract attention, and I don’t ; oh, goodness knows, I don’t want to — if he only knew. No one comes near the place but he worries me and insists on my going to hide; or says they are coming after me, and that they all admire me, and they don’t, 1 do declare they don’t ; half of them never notice me, or think about me — why should they? I wish I never saw anyone; he and I could be very happy together if we never saw anybody.’ Gabrielle thought for a little. The distress of the poor young woman was evidently genuine ; and, for all the whimsicality of its cause, was very touching. 24 DONNA QUIXOTE, 1 Well, yon are a beautiful young woman, that is certain. But I may speak quite frankly to you, as you have such good cause not to be too vain of your charms ; and I must say that I think you would pass off quietly enough only for all that mass of lovely hair. You would be admired always by people who looked closely at you ; but this is a busy age, and people in general don’t give themselves much trouble about looking for beauty. I fancy no woman could go about with hair like that without being noticed ; it is a challenge to all the world to stop and look. Now, if your husband would just let you cut that hair off close, and cover whatever had to be left neatly up in a little cap, you would not draw half the attention on you, and then you and he might be very happy.’ ‘ Oh, but he wouldn’t listen to it ; he wouldn’t hear a word of the kind. He admires my hair awfully; I dare not touch it — to cut any of it off, I mean.’ ‘ I thought as much. That is the way with your self- tormentor always. There is a sure way of relief at hand, but he won’t use it. Well, my poor child, yours is rather a hard case, and I should like to help you. I’ll go and talk to your husband ; he must be a man who can be talked to and argued with.’ ‘ You go and talk to my husband 1 ’ i Yes, child ; why not 1 You won’t be jealous 1 ’ 1 Oh, no ; ’ and Janet smiled a really bright and cheerful smile that it did good to G-abrielle to see. ‘ Very well ; he can’t be jealous. I am not a handsome young man drawn by your golden hair. Yes, I’ll go and talk to }' our husband, and see if I can’t bring him to reason.’ ‘ But if he knew that I had been telling, it would seem like complaining of him perhaps, and he might be angry.’ ‘ Set your mind at rest, child ; I’ll not betray you. I will talk to him and get him to betray himself, and then I shall have an opportunity of giving him what people call a piece of my mind. Now we must arrange all this ; I must come at a time when I shall be sure to see him, so that we may begin the acquaintance at once. It may take some time, you know, before my advice comes to have any effect. But it shall have effect in the end; for I am quite determined that something shall be done for you, and for him too. I can tell you I am not by any means without a certain sort of sympathy for him. It is something to have even an exaggerated emotion of love in such an age as this.’ ‘ Yes, I suppose it is/ Mrs. Charlton said rather ruefully; MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE . 25 * I suppose I ought to look at it in that light, and 1 do some- times ; but you have no idea how very, very trying it is ; and to think how happy we might be, we two, only for this.’ There was something in this simple utterance which brought tears into the eyes of Gabrielle, she could not tell exactly why. ‘ You must not mind that too much/ she said quickly. ‘ There are worse things to be endured in life than being thought too much of by one’s husband. But I. hope we shall bring him to reason. Tell me — there are other people who live in the same house with you ; other lodgers, I mean 1 ’ Yes, there were several, Janet said. Were there any of these about whom her husband complained in any way 1 ? Well, yes; there was one young man who lived on the lower floor ; but he never exchanged a word with her, except the most commonplace civilities, such as he would offer to anyone else ; and her hus- band liked him very well, and was very glad to talk to him sometimes ; he was a very nice gentleman. Now, Gabrielle had some trifling weaknesses of character as well as some larger defects, and one of her weaknesses was that she was apt to be annoyed when persons of a class somewhat beneath her own, as she fancied, allowed themselves to describe their personal friends and associates as gentlemen and ladies. What does a man want with being called a gentleman, she was wont to argue, if he has not been brought up in the ways and with the education of the class who are called gentlemen ? So long as he is a good and true man, that ought to be enough for him. If I — thus she would reason — were an intelligent man of the humbler class I should no more crave to be called a gentle- man than to be called a bishop. 6 A gentleman ? ’ she asked with some little emphasis. 1 Do you really mean a gentleman, Mrs. Charlton, or simply a re- spectable and agreeable man 1 ’ ‘ Oh, no ; he is a real gentleman ; at least, the people always say so. He looks like one, certainly.’ Gabrielle did not ask how it was that a gentleman came to live in the same place with Mrs. Charlton and her husband, partly because such a question would put very broadly the fact that she did not consider Mr. Charlton to be a gentleman, and partly because she reflected in time that even a true gentleman may come to be poor and hide himself in obscurity in London. But it always irritated her when people had not the courage to stand by their own class. ‘ Well, Mrs. Charlton, I shall be delighted to come and see you whenever you allow me ; and I’ll do my best to bring your 26 DONNA QUIXOTE. husband to reason. You and he ought to be very happy. You must give me a little time, you know, to make your husband’s acquaintance, and see what sort of man he is, and how one can best approach him. I suppose every man has ways and peculi- arities of his own.’ ‘ I suppose so/ the mild Mrs. Charlton said, willing to accept an opinion from any higher intelligence, although she was just on the verge of giving it as her conviction that all men were alike. It might have afforded a somewhat curious subject of contemplation to the student of human self-conceit, to find these two young women thus gravely laying down the law on the general character and moral constitution of man. Janet Charlton was quite prepared to take her views from one who not only sympathised with her troubles, but was con- fident she could help her out of them ; and she went homeward that evening almost indifferent to the curious or admiring glances which the passing stranger might throw after her. In all ordinary cases there was one terror which specially haunted the poor little beauty’s mind. Suppose some evening, when she was returning home, she should be made the subject of unusually pertinacious attentions on the part of some admiring stranger ; suppose he persisted in following her; and suppose just about that time her husband happened to be in the street and saw her % . He would be sure to think that she was encouraging the stranger’s admiration ; and what would become of her % On the other hand, how was she to act % She had often thought the situation over, and could not see her way to any safe and satis- factory course of proceeding. Suppose she were to remonstrate with the seeming admirer, and he were to reply that he had never been thinking of her at all ; that he walked that way because bis business led him thither, and that he presumed the streets were as free to him as to her 'l What was she to do then 1 She should only have made herself ridiculous for nothing. Then, besides, if her husband were to come up at that particular moment he would be sure to regard her well-meant efforts as only an artful device for the purpose of drawing on herself the attention and admiration of some stranger who would otherwise have passed unheeding. But this evening she was walking home with a heart free from such cares. She was not thinking of passing strangers or their admiration; they might admire or not, for all she cared; and if her husband had appeared insight she would have hai'ed his coming with unmixed joy. The sweet kindly ways of the new friend she had just left filled her with delight. The firm, MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. 27 decisive manner of Mrs. Yanthorpe gave her entire confidence; such a lady, she thought — so sweet, so kind, so gracious, and so commanding, could do anything. She thought, too, of the delight it would give her husband if so splendid a lady as that were to come and talk with him in a friendly way ; talk to him about books and the newspapers, and politics and wars, and things that she, his ignorant little wife, knew nothing about. It would be a great thing too that she, the ignorant little wife, had been the means of introducing Robert to this charming lady. That would be some pride for her, and make her husband think more of her ; more of her good sense, that is, for she was sick of hearing about her beauty. It occurred to Janet, too, with a feeling of genuine satisfaction, that the lady was a great deal handsomer than she — oh, if one don’t mind the hair, ever so much handsomer ; and then Robert might get to understand that a woman can be handsome without all the world running after her, and without any occasion for her to be tormented to death by her lawful guardians, or treated as if she ought to be kept in a glass case. Indeed, the world began to look very bright this evening to handsome golden-haired Janet. She found herself humming a tune as she walked on. Her way was not short. It lay through one of the parks. The evening was bright and soft, and the sight of the grass and the sun and the sky and the trees sent a thrill half of delight half of pain through Janet’s heart. There came back upon her the memories of the bright time when she lived in the country, and bad the trees and the flowers always around her, and took a deep interest in the changes of the seasons, and used to think it delightful to go to the church on Sunday; to cross the fields and get to the church with the huge tree in front of the gate. It was in that church she first saw Robert ; and there she was married. She remembered not without a pang that she then thought it a glorious thing to go to live in London, which shone upon her imagination as a city of gold and marble, of parks and palaces. She was very loyal to her new life, and would not have admitted even to herself that she was not perfectly happy with her husband ; at least, that she would not be perfectly happy if he would only trouble himself and her less about her beauty and about what people thought of her. But still the London of which she had daily experience was certainly a very different place from the London in which she was once so proud to think that she was going to live. Just at this moment, however, as she is crossing the park, what with her new friend and her hope of Robert’s being talked into reason, 28 DONNA QUIXOTE. and the fine evening, and the grass and the trees, the London that she sees around her does somehow begin to look like the city of palaces and parks. Her happiness was destined to a slight disturbance, for just at that moment a cheery voice behind her was heard : ‘ Good evening, Mrs. Charlton; one does not often see you out in this quarter. 1 am glad to have met you — or rather, I should say, to have overtaken you, for I have not met you. Do you remember the story about the slow walker and the snail ? ’ Poor Janet was not in a condition to remember that or any other story at the moment. She looked up alarmed and be- wildered into the face of the young man who, as yet wholly unconscious of the emotion his presence was creating, was walking by her side and talking all the time. He was a tall young man, slight but strong, with something like the appear- ance of one who has not yet quite done growing — such promise did his chest and shoulders give when compared with the general slightness of his figure. He had a face with fine outlines, and a pair of sparkling dark eyes. All Janet could say at first was, ‘ Oh, Mr. Fielding ! 1 and then — ‘you did so frighten me ! ’ ‘ Frighten you ? — I’m sure I am very sorry ; I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you going homeward 1 I am. May I walk with you ? Shall I carry your basket for you % ’ For Janet was bearing a basket in which she had some little delicacies bought for her husband’s tea. ‘Oh, no, thank you,’ she said in an alarmed tone. ‘I had rather walk alone, please. I am not sure ; I don’t think I am going home ; at least, I think I am going the other way.’ ‘ What, back again — the way you were coming h ’ ‘ I don’t know if I have not forgotten something ; I have been to call upon a lady; perhaps I had better go back.’ ‘ Come, why not say at once you don’t want 'to walk with me 1 ’ he asked in a tone of perfect good-humour. ‘ I am not in the least offended ; I suppose I ought not to have offered my companionship ; but really one forgets the proprieties sometimes. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Charlton ; good evening. You need not turn back, for I shall get on a good deal faster than you are likely to do.’ He raised his hat to her, and was going on. ‘ But I am afraid you will think me rude, Mr. Fielding/ she said timidly ; ‘ and I don’t mean to be, indeed. And I am sure you only meant to be kind.’ ‘ Really, I don’t think I did, Mrs. Charlton, except to myself. I thought you were going my way, and I should like MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE. 29 to have your company ; I get a good deal of my own society, and I get tired of it now and then.’ ‘ I am sure I should be delighted/ Janet stammered out, ‘ and you are so kind to say so — to say you would like it ; but I don’t suppose, perhaps — it might not be quite — oh, really, I don’t know, Mr. Fielding ; but I am very much obliged to you ; and I want you not to think that I have been rude.’ She smiled with a half-alarmed eagerness that might perhaps have seemed an invitation to Mr. Fielding to remain in her company, but which was certainly not so intended by her, and was not so interpreted by him. He understood perfectly well what she meant; he could see without any trouble to his penetration that she was a kindly little modest creature, who for some reason or other thought she was bound to keep men at a severe distance. So he only said a word or two to assure her that he did not feel offended, and his tall slight figure was very soon, at his rate of walking, a speck in the dim distance. Mrs. Charlton was troubled by the meeting. She was afraid that some one might have seen her who would tell Robert ; she was greatly afraid that she had been rude, and had offended her well-meaning acquaintance ; and again, she was afraid she had betrayed her fears so far as to let him guess that her husband was foolish and jealous. As she walked along, she wondered to herself again and again why women — at least, why married women — liked to be thought handsome. ‘ If I were not thought handsome by Robert, or anybody,’ she kept Saying to herself, ‘ how friendly I might be with everyone, and how happy I might be ! * Her mind was a good deal occupied too by the prospect of the visit she was to have from Mrs. Vanthorpe. It was to be, moreover, not a visit but a series of visits. Mrs. Vanthorpe had talked of deliberately making Robert Charlton’s acquaintance; and that would take time and would involve a coming again and again. It was very likely too that Mrs. Vanthorpe would ask Robert and herself to tea some evening ; and then if Robert could only be persuaded to put aside his odd independent ways for once, and to accept the lady’s invitation, how delightful it would be; how charming to have Robert show how clever he was, and what books he had read ; and he would do so when he was at his ease, which he was sure to be very soon with so charming a lady. What a very young lady she was — what a young widow. Why, she did not look more than twenty ! How Robert would admire her ; and surely Mrs. Vanthorpe could not help liking Robert. Hie whole prospect was delightful. One little cloud was on it; 30 DONNA QUIXOTE . Mrs. Charlton hoped somehow that the young man she had just met would not happen to he anywhere in the way when the lady came. Gabrielle’s doubt as to whether he was really a gentleman pressed upon the little woman’s mind. ‘ Perhaps he is’nt a gentleman,’ she thought; ‘ and if he is’nt, I hope she won’t see him at all.’ One question came up to Janet’s mind many times during the next day or two. Would Mrs. Vanthorpe come in her carriage 1 ? Would the carriage have one horse or two? Would the carriage stop in the square out of which ran the narrow street in which the Charltons lived, or would it actually drive up to the very door ? Janet watched with unflagging attention for the sound of carriage wheels for two days, and after all did not know when her visitor was actually at the door. For Gabrielle, who was fond of walking and of seeing the streets, had merely set out on foot the third afternoon following Janet’s visit, and walked briskly across the park and through a maze of streets, only stopping now and then to soothe crying children, and reason with wrangling or cat-persecuting urchins. At length she reached the square. It was a very quiet, dull, decaying, grass-grown old square, somewhere in the region of the Foundling Hospital. Very few private houses were in the square ; it was given up to charitable institutions and queer old libraries founded by long-forgotten oddities into whose awful cells no one ever seemed to enter. There were dispensaries, and little hospitals, and asylums for aged respectabilities there; but no mortal had ever seen a patient entering or borne into one of them, or a decayed re- spectability looking out of window or taking an airing in the sun. Glancing into one of the libraries, you could not fancy any modern reader studying there. One might, perhaps, form a conception of the founder of the institution himself, in neat black small-clothes and shiny knee-buckles, and rigid, decorous pigtail, taking some of the books down from their mouldering shelves and lovingly whisking the dust from their snuff-coloured leaves, and timidly making himself air when the rattle of a chance cab below suggested the possibility of a knock at the door and a visitor from the living world outside. Perhaps Gabrielle Vanthorpe was nursing some fancy of this kind as she walked round the old square in search of the little street to which she was bound. Gabrielle was fanciful enough usually, and, whenever she saw any peculiar-looking house, immediately fitted it up with some appropriate story. Because of some fancy or other, she stopped a moment when MRS. ALBERT VANTHORPE . 31 slie came to the opening of the street she was seeking, and hesitated to go down. It was dark and narrow ; it had one long row of tall, heavy, old-fashioned decaying houses; the other side was only a huge wall, bounding one of the mysterious institutions v already mentioned. There was no egress at the other end of the street; a wall stopped it up. The whole place looked mournful and forbidding to Gabrielle ; it seemed to her for the moment that if she went down there something evil must come of it. She got over this feeling in a moment, however, and went down the street until she came to the house she was seeking. It was tall, grey, and melancholy. A mournful memory of decayed respectability seemed to cloud its high flight of crumbling steps. Gabrielle knocked and rang again and again. She did not understand the economy of the number of little bell-handles which she saw at the side of the door, and rang the first, there- fore, that came to her hand. At last the door opened, and a young man stood before her, who began by saying — 4 1 am sorry you have been kept so long. I heard the bell ring ever so many times ; and at last it dawned upon me that somebody whom it concerned must be out, and that nobody whom it did not concern would take any trouble, and so I thought I had better come to the rescue.’ ‘ Do you know if Mrs. Charlton is at home ? ’ Gabrielle asked, when he had come to the end of his rapid little speech. 4 I don’t know, I’m sure. Very likely she is. Will you come in for a moment, and I’ll ring her bell for you ? That’s her bell, you see — second floor front.’ 4 Oh, that’s her bell,’ G-abrielle said, rather amused by his quick cheery way. 4 I did not know.’ 4 Of course not ; how could you know ? You have never been here before, I suppose 1 ’ 4 No ; I have never been here before.’ 4 Your estate is the more gracious, I can assure you. Now, you see, I have rung Mrs. Charlton’s bell, and she will be here in a moment. Won’t you sit down % I’ll bring you a chair from my room. It’s not any trouble, not the least.’ 4 Thank you — no,’ said Gabrielle. 4 It is hardly worth while ; I think I hear Mrs. Charlton coming.’ Gabrielle put on all the dignity she could call up on the instant, considering that she was, as we have said, rather amused by the eager courtesy of her new acquaintance, and was wondering within herself whether he was not about to ask her to take a seat in his room. At that moment Janet Chari- 32 DONNA QUIXOTE . ton come rustling down the stairs. She blushed and grew confused when she saw Mrs. Yanthorpe and the lodger ap- parently in friendly conversation. Very pretty and winning she looked in her embarrassment. ‘ Oh, Mrs. Charlton,’ the young man said before she had time to put in a word, ‘ here is a lady to see you. She might have been there long enough, I fancy, if I had not happened to observe that somebody was ringing at the bell, and that nothing was coming of it. There never was such a house as this. I believe there are servants, but what do they do, Mrs. Charlton — what do they do ? ’ 1 1 am sure I am greatly obliged to you,’ said the bewildered Janet. ‘I am so sorry, Mrs. Yanthorpe, to have kept you waiting. Will you be kind enough to come upstairs, Madame 1 ? ’ 1 She was almost overwhelmed at the thought of such a lady as Mrs. Yanthorpe being kept waiting in such a way, and was thinking to herself, ‘ She will never come here again after all this.’ ‘ Y anthorpe ? ’ the young man suddenly asked, stopping short in the midst of the parting bow he was making. ‘ Excuse me — did you say Y anthorpe % ’ ‘ My name is Yanthorpe/ Gabrielle answered gravely. ‘ Miss Yanthorpe ? ’ ‘ 1 am Mrs. Yanthorpe,’ Gabrielle said. 1 Shall we go upstairs, Mis. Charlton ? Pray don’t make any apologies. I was not long waiting, and it was only my own mistake that caused any delay.’ She cut short anything the young man might have to say by a very chilling bow as she followed the confused and de- pressed Janet up the narrow staircase to the second floor. On their way up Janet contrived to cast back at the young man one wondering, reproachful glance that seemed to say, ‘ Now you have done it. Oh, how could you be so odd ? ’ The lodger only raised his eyebrows and smiled at poor Janet wholly unabashed. He stood for a moment on the threshold of his own room as if thinking over some question which he hoped to settle in a moment. 1 Rather a rude young woman,’ he suddenly said aloud to himself. ‘ I wonder if her husband, too, is jealous, and goes wild if anybody speaks to her/ THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE . 33 CHAPTER IV. THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE. Gabrielle followed Mrs. Charlton up the stairs ; but for the moment she was not thinking either of Janet or of her own purpose in coming to Janet’s house. She was strangely im- pressed by the demeanour and the words of the odd young man she had seen on the staircase, and whom she at once identified in her own mind with the 4 real gentleman ’ whom Janet had described to her, and concerning whom Mr. Charlton might possibly have been disposed to make himself foolishly uneasy. He seemed a gentleman, certainly, Gabrielle thought, although there was something abrupt and sans gene in his manner that she did not like. But it was not his abruptness that impressed her especially ; it was the manner in which he had gone over her name as if it affected him with some strange associations. Those who follow Gabrielle Yanthorpe’s story will not be long in finding out that she was a young woman of a very lively imagination, marvellously ready to form impres- sions, jump to conclusions, and endow the fantasies of her own mind with flesh-and-blood reality. Even as she mounted the stairs to Janet’s room, she was already wondering whether it might not be possible that the destinies had, at the very outset of her career of active beneficence, thrown her on the track of a discovery which was very near her heart, but had seemed far away from her hopes. She was somewhat surprised when she saw Mr. Charlton. He was quite unlike what she had expected to see. This was a weakness on her part. She ought to have known that he would be unlike what she naturally expected to see. Everybody ought by this time to have mastered the physiological truth that the furious fanatic is certain to have the gentlest and sweetest manners ; that the uncompromising atheist is one whose whole appearance suggests only devotional fervour ; that the remorseless tyrant will have the complexion, the curls, and the hands of a girl ; and so forth. Gabrielle expected, when she heard of Mr. Charlton’s jealousy and his masterful love, to see a tall powerful man, with the approved or regulation tawny beard, and all the rest of the gigantic and tyrannical acces- sories ; but having found this image naturally present itself, she ought to have known that the real man would be the very D 34 DONNA QUIXOTE, opposite of all this. So, of course, it proved. Robert Charlton was a small, slender, delicate-looking man, with long, thin fingers, such as an Asiatic worker in ivory might have ; a dar k, silky beard, the very silkiness of which suggested a wasted or over-refined physical constitution. He was sitting in the window engaged at some work upon a fan when Gabrielle entered, and was trying to catch all the sunlight that allowed itself to take the trouble of piercing its way into Bolingbroke Place. He seemed nervous to the point of personal distress when Gabrielle entered, and while he was presented to her by his wife. He gave Gabrielle a chair*, however, with a certain graceful shyness, and then he stood up as if wondering what was to come next. Janet sat on a sofa, and seemed as if she were not expected to make any part of the social interview. This would have been a little embarrassing to most visitors, but it did not affect Gabrielle in the least. 4 You are a wonderful worker, Mr. Charlton/ she said by way of a beginning ; 4 I never saw such delicate manipulation as yours/ The tone of her voice had a friendly ring about it. She seemed above all things sympathetic, to begin with. 4 1 am glad you think so/ Robert answered hesitatingly ; 4 some people don’t understand the difficulty ; I like to meet with one who does. It is the only thing I can do.’ 4 Oh, now, there’s a story ! ’ Janet broke in, roused from her quiescence by his disparagement of himself — a thing she never could stand. 4 Indeed it is not true, Mrs. Yanthorpe, not a word ; although he always goes on that way. He can do ever so many things ; he could do anything he tried to, I am sure.’ Gabrielle turned to her in admiration ; the little woman was looking so lovely in the fervour of her excitement. 4 1 am sure he can do many things/ Gabrielle said ; 4 1 see you have hands that ought to be able to do anything in the way of artistic work, Mr. Charlton : hands as slender and delicate as a girl’s ; but strong, I dare say, as a girl’s can’t be.’ Charlton looked quickly at his hands, with an embarrassed but not at all a displeased air, and turned off attention by saying to his wife : 4 Janet, I am sure this lady * 4 Mrs. Yanthorpe/ said Gabrielle, smiling. 4 Mrs. Yanthorpe would like a cup of tea.’ Of course Gabrielle took car e to say that she wished for a cup of tea above all things. 4 You will excuse me, Mrs. Yanthorpe, I hope,’ Robert went THE LODGERS IN B0L1NGBR0KE PLACE. 35 on, brightening up a little, ‘ if T seemed to forget your name. Of course I knew well enough that it was for Mrs. Yanthorpe I was doing the work ; but when I saw you I never thought you were the lady. You look too young to be a married lady. I thought you were Miss Yanthorpe, perhaps, or some other relation of the lady I was working for.’ ‘ I am not so young as your wife, I think/ Gabrielle said ; * yet she is Mrs. Charlton.’ * Yes, that is quite true/ he answered ; ‘ but then * and he stopped and became embarrassed; for he knew that the Mrs. Yanthorpe he was working for was a widow, and he was on the verge of saying something of the kind. His habitually pale face grew almost red at the thought of what he had so nearly uttered. Gabrielle was for a moment a little embarrassed too, but she recovered herself in the resolve to set him at his ease. ‘ Your wife is a beautiful woman — or girl, I ought to call her/ she said. Janet was now in another room, bustling about in the preparation of the tea. ‘ I think I never saw such lovely hair. You must be very proud of her.’ ‘She is very beautiful/ he said uneasily, and his face colouring once more. ‘She is too handsome for the kind of life we have to lead ; I only hope she will not come to think so.’ ‘ Oh, she never will,’ said Gabrielle decisively. ‘ She is not at all like that.’ Gabrielle spoke as confidently as if she had known J anet from her earliest infancy. ‘ She does not seem to value her own beauty in the least, except as it pleases you. She appears to me to be a model wife, and I am sure you appreciate her, Mr. Charlton.’ ‘ I do appreciate her, I do/ he said, as if in a tone of self- remonstrance ; ‘ I never like to find fault with her ; but what kind of life is this for a woman so pretty as she 1 She has to go about here on errands for me, with my work and that, like any common servant. People may talk to her, and tell her she is too handsome for that sort of thing.’ ‘ She is much too sensible and much too fond of you to care for any such stuff. You must not think we women are all fools, Mr. Charlton.’ ‘ She should be a fool/ he said, shaking his head, ‘ if she thought the kind of life she leads here was a pleasant one, or tit for a woman like her. It is all very well to talk wisely on the matter ; but there are people enough about to tell her so, and fill her mind with the thought.’ 3 $ DONNA QUIXOTE. 1 You want faith in her/ Gabrielle said, almost angry with him for his perversity. ‘ I don’t think you deserve so fond a wife, Mr. Charlton.’ ‘ Exactly/ he answered, with an uneasy smile. ‘ That is just what people will tell her, I dare say; that I am unworthy of her, and all that sort of thing. It does affect a woman’s mind, however well-inclined she may he.’ Janet entered the room again, and cut short the conversa- tion. She was handing Gabrielle a cup of tea, when a tap was heard at the door. Charlton looked towards his wife uneasily. ‘It’s Mr. Lefussis, dear/ Janet said. ‘Mrs. Yanthorpe won’t care to be disturbed.’ ‘ Oh, he can’t come in now/ Robert said. ‘ He is a man who lodges here ; not a bad fellow, but a nuisance sometimes.’ Gabrielle fancied it must be the young man she had seen, and she was anxious for an opportunity of seeing him again. ‘ Don’t send him away for me, please/ she said. ‘ I must not put you out of your usual ways. Mrs. Charlton promised me that you were not to be interfered with by me.’ Meanwhile the visitor who had tapped, and indeed tapped again without getting any answer while this discussion was going on, now gently opened the door, and was entering. When he saw a strange lady, he began a sort of apology, but made no attempt to withdraw. He was a tall lean man, some fifty years of age or thereabouts, wearing a shabby brown waterproof coat, which did not seem to cover any undercoat. He wore a stiff rigid old-fashioned stock of forgotten mould round his neck, and his shirt-collar suggested the days of the first Reform Bill. He had stiff beaver gloves, one of which was carried on, the other in, a hand. He was apparently the wreck of a gentleman ; a hulk that had been much wasted and battered by adverse wind and weather. His thin hair and whiskers had that dusty grey on their edges which always suggests what Henry of Navarre called the wind of adversity blowing in the face. It showed curiously unlike the soft comfortable grey that speaks of life to the latest well enjoyed, and of dinners always sure to come at the right time. ‘ Beg pardon, I am sure/ the visitor said ; ‘ I hope I may come in just for a moment. I am not going to make any stay. I trust the lady will excuse me.’ ‘ Mr. Lefussis, madam,’ said Janet, doing the honours not very willingly. ‘ A — a friend of Robert’s and mine.’ Mr. Lefussis made a grand bow, with a wave of the arm that suggested the necessity of a three-cornered hat to render THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE. 37 the effect of the gesture complete. Gabrielle acknowledged the salutation with external graciousness and internal wonder. ‘ 1 thought you would like to know, Charlton/ he said grandly. ‘ I have been in town ; in the Whitehall region, you know, F. 0. in fact. I have had a long chat with Lord Bosworth, and I know all that’s going to be done. The German am- bassador came in before I left, and Bosworth went over a good deal of it for him again; but not all, not quite all, of course.’ Some one ought to have said something, apparently, for Mr. Lefussis paused a moment. But Charlton sat with his eyes fixed on his own slender hands, and made no observation. Janet never pretended to have anything to say where lords and am- bassadors and such- like personages were the subject of conversa- tion ; and Gabrielle did not feel it incumbent on her to do or say anything. ‘ Things are looking very bad/ Mr. Lefussis went on, when he found that he had as yet made no great impression ; ‘ I don’t well know, indeed, how they could by any possibility be much worse. If some step be not taken to hold this government back from the mad course they are pursuing, we shall have all Europe in war in less than a month.’ ‘ Good gracious ! ’ exclaimed Janet, roused into attention by this appalling prospect. ‘Can nothing be done, Mr. Lefussis ? ’ ‘ Bosworth can do nothing/ he said decisively ; and now addressing himself to Janet, as she alone appeared to have given proper attention to his story. ‘ He sees it all as plainly as I do ; but he can do nothing. What could he do, you see 1 It isn’t for him, Mrs. Charlton.’ ‘ Oh, isn’t it 1 ’ asked Janet, much perplexed ; ‘ what a pity ! Isn’t there anybody who can do anything h ’ ‘ Yes/ he answered with dignity ; ‘ I hope I can do some- thing. I mean to try. Leven can do something ; Taxal can do something, in his small way, of course, in his small way. We can hold meetings ; I am going at once to Taxal and to Leven.’ The names gave Gabrielle a chance of coming into the con- versation which she was rather glad of, for it was clear that Charlton would not enter into it, and poor Janet was fast break- ing down, and Mr. Lefussis would not go away. ‘ Is “ Leven ” Major Leven, may I ask ? Ho you know Major Leven 1 * * Certainly, madam, certainly. I knew Leven in Hemerara 38 DONNA QUIXOTE. — let me see — when was it? In ’52 or ’55; I am really not quite certain which. You know Major Leven, madam % ’ 4 Major Leven is a very old friend of mine, and a very dear friend,’ Gabrielle answered, feeling her sentiments towards Mr. Lefussis grow warmer and deeper because of his intimacy with Major Leven. 4 Indeed ! ’ Lefussis eagerly said, and his eyes sparkled with unspeakable satisfaction. 4 Then I tell you what it is, Mrs. Charlton, my coming in to tell this to your husband is one of the most remarkable illustrations of the working of Providence in our human affairs that you can well imagine. I fancy Charlton is inclined to be a little of a sceptic now and then ; but I hope even he won’t quite disregard the meaning of what I am going to say.’ Charlton looked up. for a moment and nodded, but said nothing. Gabrielle was now quite bewildered. 4 Look here,’ Lefussis went eagerly on; ‘I came in to see your husband, Mrs. Charlton, never dreaming that I was to have the happiness and the honour of an introduction to this lady ; and even when I had that happiness and that honour, never dreaming that in her I was to see a valued friend of Major Leven. Is there nothing providential in this? Why, this lady has only to sit down at Charlton’s desk there and write me a letter of introduction to Major Leven, and it may be that Europe is saved from a war.’ 4 1 thought you said you knew this gentleman ? ’ Charlton interposed, looking suddenly up. 4 So I do, my dear fellow, so I do ; at least, I did, you know, in Demerara, and other places too ; but men forget each other. I haven’t been to dine with Leven this long time ; and I never see him at the club now ; I believe he has got married or some- thing of the sort ; but if this lady would just be kind enough to give me a line of introduction, it might perhaps be the means of rousing him to a deeper interest ; and she might here- after claim to have had her share in saving England from a disgraceful war.’ Poor Janet interchanged glances of agony with her husband. This was too bad ; Mrs. Yanthorpe seemed destined to be tormented by all their fellow-lodgers in turn. Now surely after this she would never come again. 4 1 should be delighted to bear my share in saving England from so great a calamity,’ Gabrielle said gravely ; 4 but I fear I ought not to give any introduction to Major Leven just now. I have some good reason for not writing to him at present.’ 4 Now that is rather a pity,’ the unabashed Lefussis said. THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE. 39 ‘You see, it would be such an advantage, and might do so much good ; but of course if you can’t, why there’s an end. Might I even mention your name to Leven ] — as a friend of my friends here, you know.’ ‘Oh, but please, Mr. Lefussis,’ said Janet, in a low depre- cating tone, ‘ don’t make a mistake. Robert and I are not so presumptuous as to call ourselves friends of this lady.’ ‘ That lady’s face,’ Lefussis decisively affirmed, ‘ proclaims her a friend of the whole human race. I ought to understand something of faces, and I can see that. I hope the lady will excuse me if I seem somewhat forward and pressing ; it is in a great cause — a great cause ; and there is no time to be lost. I’ll go and talk to Fielding; Fielding sometimes has suggestions to give ; and in any case I must see Leven and Taxal. Good evening, madam ; good evening, Mrs. Charlton ; good evening, Charlton. I thought you would like to know how things were going, and so I looked in.’ ‘ Now, who is he % ’ Gabrielle asked in much curiosity after Mr. Lefussis had gone. ‘ He is a fool, madam,’ said Charlton — ‘ excuse me if I use strong language — an idiot who is made happy in his poverty and his failure by telling himself and everyone he can get to listen that he is hand and glove with every great person ’ ‘ Oh, Robert,’ his wife interposed, ‘ I am sure poor Mr. Lefussis is very kind and friendly, and he means everything well. It was very wrong in him to make such a request of Mrs. Yanthorpe, and I shall tell him so ; but he never meant to be rude, Mrs. Yanthorpe, he never did, indeed.’ ‘ He was not rude,’ Gabrielle said ; ‘ he was very polite, and I feel interested in him ; but I am anxious to know whether he deceives himself, or is trying to deceive other people % ’ ‘ He deceives himself,’ Charlton said ; ‘ he is not conscious of contradicting himself, or making up stories, or being an idiot. Whatever he likes to believe, he imagines; and he is happy for the time. I believe he is a gentleman, and I believe he had prospects once; and now he has come to live in this place and to have Janet and me for friends.’ ‘ Is he poor % ’ asked Gabrielle. ‘ Poor as a church mouse,’ Charlton answered. ‘ In fact, I don’t know what he lives on ; Janet and I are rich in comparison. But I presume he thinks he patronises us because we never belonged to the class that has thrown him off.’ ‘ I should like to do something for him, if I could,’ Gabrielle said quietly. ‘ You may do anything you like for him, madam,’ Charlton 40 DONNA QUIXOTE. said, with an angry flush crossing his face, but only seeming to touch its surface as one sometimes sees a sunset ray fall on a little frozen pool. ‘ You may do anything you like for him, but I beg you will not think of doing anything for me. I want nothing ; Janet and I want nothing from anybody. I am not a gentleman, she is not a lady; I am ready to work for ladies and gentlemen, but I don’t want patronage, and I don’t want help.’ He did not look at Gabrielle all the time, but kept uneasily moving up and down the room and rubbing his hands. ‘ Oh, Robert, Robert,’ his wife entreated ; 1 how can you go on in such a way ? I am sure Mrs. Yanthorpe never meant ’ Gabrielle was neither alarmed nor offended. She took this outbreak with perfect composure ; indeed, it interested her far more than ordinary conversation would have done. ‘ Your husband is quite right, child/ she said quietly to Janet. * I like him the better for his independence. But when I think of intruding my patronage it will be quite time, Mr. Charlton, to resent it, will it not ? I was only thinking, when I spoke of serving your friend here, whether I might really venture to give him a letter to Major Leven — my doubt was on family reasons only. I am glad to know your wife, and I like her very much. I shall be glad to know you if you will allow me.’ Charlton seemed a little ashamed of his outburst, and Gabrielle turned the conversation presently on books and on art, of which she found that Charlton knew a good deal in the scrappy dogmatic way common to 1 self-educated ’ persons, as the phrase is. He had many fresh ideas, and she drew him artfully into talk until he became much delighted with himself and with her, and quite eloquent in the end. Gabrielle did not think she could safely approach the question of Janet’s beauty and his jealous humours that time. She would come again, she thought, and accomplish that part of her mission ; the first thing was to win Charlton’s confidence in herself. That she did her best to accomplish at once. So far did she get, that before she had left he promised to come with his wife to see Gabrielle at her house. Gabrielle was as proud of having conquered thus far, and tamed his fierce independence, as if she were a commander who had succeeded in capturing some strong position at the beginning of a battle. Her goodness and her good opinion of her own skill were gratified alike. Gabrielle was about to go. She had ordered her little carriage to come for her, and it had now been some time waiting. She had lingered a good deal, not altogether without THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE. 41 a hope that the young man she had seen at the door might come in, and that she might have an opportunity of seeing what he was like. She had made up her mind that there was some- thing mysterious about this young man, and about the wonder which he had expressed when he heard her name. ‘ What is the name of your other fellow-lodger % ’ she asked carelessly. ‘ The young man who was at the door when you came down to-day, Mrs. Charlton — the young man who let me in?’ ‘Was he there ? ’ Charlton asked of his wife. ‘ You didn’t tell me that.’ ‘ He opened the door for me very politely,’ said Gabrielle. ‘ Mrs. Charlton was not there just then.’ ‘ His name is Fielding,’ Robert said. ‘ I don’t know very well who he is ; he thinks a good deal of himself, I fancy ; I wish he would mind his own affairs a little more. He seems a clever sort of fellow, but rather eccentric.’ Gabrielle was gratified to hear that he was eccentric. So far as that went, it fitted in with the little speculation in which she had already been indulging her active fancy. She would not hear of Robert Charlton’s coming to show her downstairs ; his time was far too valuable, she said, to be wasted in ceremonial. Mrs. Charlton would light her down, and she would not have anyone else. She went down the dark stairs with J anet, smiling and nodding a good-bye to Robert as she looked back. Then she leaned unon Janet’s arm in the friendliest fashion, and told her in a whisper that she hoped to accomplish all for her yet in bringing her husband to reason : and she put Janet into a very bewilderment of pride and delight. Just as they came to the bottom of the stairs a door on the left opened, and Mr. Lefussis and Fielding came out together. Gabrielle graciously bowed to both. Lefussis at once insisted on opening her carriage door for her, which he did with the air of a man who still believes that in carriages sit his natural companions. Fielding remained behind and talked to Janet. Gabrielle somewhat relaxed towards Lefussis. ‘ Perhaps I might be able to do something in the way of introducing you to Major Leven,’ she said. ‘ If you were to call on me, Mr. Lefussis, the day after to-morrow, perhaps I might have thought of some way ; and I should like to bear my part in saving England from destruction.’ ‘ What part more worthy of a noble-hearted English lady ? ’ the delighted Lefussis said, taking her words quite seriously. 42 DONNA QUIXOTE. 4 1 shall esteem it the highest honour to be allowed to wait upon you after to-morrow or any day.’ Gabrielle gave him her address, and left him in a condition of exalted happiness. Surely never woman had in a few minutes — an hour or so — made more admirers with honester intention. Janet and Lefussis both remained a moment or two on the door- step to sound her praises; both agreed that so charming, so delightful, so kind, so unaffected, so altogether noble a young woman, was never seen before. Poor Lefussis saw himself once more a welcome visitor in those West-end drawing-rooms from which he had for some little time been sadly absent. Janet saw a peaceful happy home opening up for her as the result of this almost angelic visitation. As for Mr. Fielding, he agreed in all that was said about Gabrielle’s beauty and grace of appearance; but he entered a protest as regarded her manners, which lie still professed to consider rude. His two companions, however, raised indignant protest, and he gave up the contest, and went hack to his room, won- dering much within himself as to who the young and hand- some woman could be who bore the name of Mrs. Yanthorpe. ‘ Robert, dear, is she not delightful ? ’ Janet asked, as she burst in upon her husband. He raised his head from some piece of work he seemed to be bending over earnestly, but he did not look at Janet. ‘ Who is delightful, J anet ? ’ 1 Oh, Mrs. Yanthorpe, of course. Is she not charming? * ‘ She is charming,’ Robert slowly said, and he went on with his work. Janet was disappointed. He did not seem nearly so much gladdened by Gabrielle’s visit as Janet was, or as she had expected that he would be. ‘ So kind she is,’ Janet said. 4 We are to spend an evening with her, Robert ; when shall we go ? ’ 4 I don’t know ; perhaps I shall not go at all/ 4 But that would be so very unkind, and such a bad return for her kindness, Robert ! And she likes to talk to you about books and pictures and things.’ 4 She can’t care to talk to a man like me,’ he said. 4 She puts it on, out of kindness; but she can’t really care. She knows too many people who are educated and gentlemen ; not fellows like me.’ 4 Oh, but she does care, I know ; I could see by her manner. You would not understand her manner so well as I could, Robert. I know she was pleased to talk to you.’ 4 I have read of such women,’ Robert said ; 4 1 never talked THE LODGERS IN BOLINGBROKE PLACE. 43 with one before — I mean, except in the way of this wretched business. I suppose they are common enough in that class.’ 4 What sort of women, Robert 1 ’ 4 Women who can talk of things that rational men care to hear about.’ Janet did not resent this, and indeed did not understand it in any sense disparaging to herself. She always assumed that a poor man’s wife was not supposed to know anything about books, and that her husband would no more complain of her on that account than because she had not brought him a large fortune. 4 She is very rich,’ Janet said, returning to her favourite topic. 4 My aunt says that her husband left her ever so much money.’ 4 1 shall never leave you any money,’ Charlton said. 4 You gave me your love, Robert, and all your cleverness, dear.’ 4 1 couldn’t endow you with that,’ he said sharply, and he turned doggedly to his work. Janet did not quite understand this sarcasm, but she knew that something was wrong with Robert. She saw that, for some reason or other, the visit she had looked forward to with so much hope, and which had given her such delight, had not yet added to her husband’s stock of happiness. Robert did not talk any more. He looked up once or twice, and glanced around the room, and at Janet. The room showed very mean and pitiful in his eyes ; his work seemed mechanical and ignoble ; and Janet’s hair looked less glorious than usual. CHAPTER Y. THE ROLLING STONE AND THE MILLSTONE. Robert Charlton was a man just clever enough to be bitterly discontented, and loving enough to be morbidly jealous. He had had no school education. He had somehow got it into his head that he must have come of a high family, and that anyhow fate had done him a personal wrong in not making him a gentleman. His way of educating himself had made him dogmatic, and had allowed him to grow into the con- viction that he had genius far above his sphere or his chances. The very work which he could do so well, and which was in its own way strictly artistic, he despised even while he 44 DONNA QUIXOTE. was vain of his success in it. He was short of stature and feeble ; and he convinced himself that only handsome men were ever really loved by women. He made himself miserable in his love-making days when Janet would not marry him at once, because he persuaded himself that if he had only been tall, handsome, or a gentleman, she would have taken him without delay ; and now that he was married he made himself miserable with the idea that his wife’s head might be turned by the ad- miration of anybody who was tall, or rich, or handsome ; not to say by anyone — and, alas ! he knew how many such there were ! — who was tall, handsome, and of high social position all at once. He girded at men or women of position if he supposed they were presuming to patronise him ; and he raged at them in silence when they seemed to take no notice of him. The countesses and other fine ladies of whom Mrs. Bramble had spoken filled him with wrath when they came and sat con- descendingly by him in his room and watched his work. He knew that their familiarity was only the cruellest evidence of the fathomless gulf they supposed to exist between him and them. They never spoke to him on any subject that was not in some way connected with his craft. It was with perfect truth he had said that Gabrielle was the only lady with whom he had ever really talked. She was not, good sooth, of the countess or duchess class ; but he saw that she was a lady who might have held herself at a wide distance from him, and therefore, when she sate and talked with him in such an un- affected and friendly way, he felt an entirely new sensation of gratified vanity and stimulated intelligence stirring within him. It pleased him to say to his wife that Mrs. Yanthorpe did not care to talk to him, and to draw forth Janet’s simple earnest assurance of her conviction that Mrs. Yanthorpe felt great delight in his conversation. Janet had gone to bed early, and her husband remained in their sitting-room working. Presently he heard the street-door open to some late lodger, and after a few moments he heard a familiar step coming up the stairs towards his room. He knew that it was Fielding’s step, and at the moment he was not glad of the visit. His feelings towards Fielding were a curious com- pound of liking and dislike, of sympathy and distrust. In the first place, he was inclined to dislike Fielding because the latter was tall and good-looking. On the other hand, Fielding seemed, like himself, to be poor, and to be discontented with the world. The sweet and sacred bond of poor devilship, therefore, ought to have held them together; and this was a bond which, to do THE ROLLING STONE AND THE MILLSTONE . 45 him justice, Charlton was inclined to recognise. What par- ticular occupation Fielding followed he had never been quite able to make out, but in that house men did not trouble them- selves much about each other’s occupations. The step came to his door, the knock which he had expected followed, and Fielding came in. ‘ Hard at work, as usual/ Fielding said. ‘ I say, Charlton, what a fagging fellow you are ! You are always slaving. You ought to make a fortune.’ ‘Yes, I am very likely to make a fortune ! ’ Charlton grimly said. ‘ People in this old building often make fortunes, don’t they? What an opulent fellow Lefussis is, for example.’ Charlton motioned to the effect that there was a chair at Fielding’s service. Fielding accepted the invitation, somewhat careless though it was, and sat down. ‘Lefussis is off his head,’ he said ; ‘ he has been invited by that pretty woman who was here this evening to call upon her. He fully believes he is going into the gilded saloons again.’ ‘ He had better get a new coat, I would suggest,’ said Charlton, made angry by the idea of any civility being shown to Lefussis which might tend to diminish the value of the kind- ness offered to himself. ‘ So he said himself to me/ Fielding answered. ‘ He isn’t ashamed of being poor. That’s one reason why I like dear old Lefussis. He is a good deal of an idiot, and a dash of a madman, but he continues to be a gentleman all the same.’ Charlton looked angry. He was always suspecting that people were implying that he was not a gentleman. ‘ By the way/ Fielding asked, ‘ who is that woman ? She is very handsome, although she is so pale. I am rather curious about her.’ ‘ She is a Mrs. Vanthorpe.’ ‘ Thank you. Yes, she told me that much herself. But I want to know who the Mrs. Yanthorpe is. I should have expected an elderly Mrs. Vanthorpe; but I didn’t think of a girl looking as young as Janet there.’ ‘As — Janet?’ ‘ Yes ; as J anet. Janet is your wife’s name, isn’t it ? As Mrs. Robert Charlton, I ought to have said, no doubt, to be properly formal, and not to disturb the mind of a jealous old blockhead like yourself — or young blockhead, if you insist on it ; young, that is, in years, but old in absurdity.’ ‘ We were talking about Mrs. Yanthorpe/ Charlton said. ‘ So we were. Your words, Charlton, recall me to myself, 46 DONNA QUIXOTE. as they used to say in the Surrey tragedies. Well, I am curious to know something about this pretty Mrs. Vanthorpe. Is she a widow ] ’ * She is.* ‘ That is very strange. I can’t make it out.’ ‘ What % that there should be a young widow ? ’ ‘ No, but about this young widow. You see, Charlton, Vanthorpe is not a very common name; it isn’t even as common as Charlton ’ ‘Or Fielding/ interjected the other, irritated by the faintest suggestion of disparagement to his name or himself. ‘ Or Fielding, as you say. Well, I knew a Vanthorpe in the States ; I knew him in St. Louis and also in New Orleans.’ ‘ I didn’t know you had been in America.’ c Didn’t you] did I never tell you? Well, that shows how discreet .a person I am, and don’t bore people with my travels. Of all things on earth, nothing bores one like another fellow’s travels. I have been in all sort of places in my time. I knew this Vanthorpe, and we were thrown a good deal together. We rather took to one another, in fact, we two Britishers. He interested me. I don’t say that he was the sort of man Dean Stanley or Dr. Newman would have got on with, but I liked him.’ * Was he anything to this Mrs. Vanthorpe ] ’ ‘ That is just the thing I should like to know. He never spoke of any Mrs. Vanthorpe but his mother. I presume he had not been the very best of sons ; he talked about his mother in a sort of way that made me think so.’ ‘ What became of him since ] ’ ‘ Ah, yes ; just so, exactly ; what did ] Anyhow, his story wouldn’t interest you, Charlton, my good fellow, and so I’ll use the same discretion you say I displayed with regard to my travels. By the way, are you fond of travelling ] ’ ‘ I never travel anywhere. How could I get time and money to travel ? I never was out of England in my life. I have been always working in this sort of way, and I dare say I always shall be. A man who has a wife to keep can’t travel.’ ‘ There you go — grumbling again ! You married fellows really ought to remember that you can’t have everything in life. You can’t have the charming wife, the life-companion, the angel in the house and all that, and have the freedom of a travelling tinker besides. You oughtn’t to envy us poor bachelors the desolate freedom of the wild ass — isn’t that somebody’s phrase ] You would not exchange Janet — I mean, of course, Mrs. THE ROLLING STONE AND THE MILLSTONE. 47 Robert Charlton — for the independence of the freest bachelor Red Indian that ever sold beads and nuts at the Cheyenne railway station.’ * Then you don’t know anything now about this man Yan- thorpe — the man in America ? ’ * Man in the South ; so he was ; in the Southern States ; and he burnt his mouth, I rather fancy, many a time. I did not say I knew nothing about him now, Charlton. I only said his story would not interest you, and no more it would, and therefore I am not going to tell it. But I am greatly interested in the Mrs. Yanthorpe I saw to-day, and I wish you would tell me something about her.’ ‘ There’s nothing to tell. My wife’s aunt is a servant, as 1 dare say she has confessed to you and everybody she knows long before this; simply a servant. She is a servant in Mrs. Yanthorpe’s house, and Mrs. Yanthorpe is kind enough to take an interest in the husband of her servant’s niece, and gives him jobs of work to do ; and that’s how she comes to be here. I know nothing else about her, and I don’t ask questions. I know my place, as all the servants say. If one’s wife has relations in service, what’s the use of affecting to be better than one’s class % ’ ‘What a delightful creature you are, Charlton — so genial and full of gratitude and of the milk of human kindness ! If ever I get up a great social revolution I shall know where to look for someone to chop off the heads of the bloated aristocrats for me. You have the regulation look of the Caliban-Robe- spierre-Desmoulins — that sort of thing. I should think, now, you could easily be got to take quite a pleasure in fixing that pretty young woman’s neck in the guillotine just because she was kind to your wife and wants to be a lady-patroness to you.’ ‘ She does not propose to be a lady-patroness to me. I gave her my mind pretty clearly on that subject.’ ‘ Did you really % What a nice, polite, refined creature she must have thought you ! ’ ‘ I don’t care ; she shan’t patronise me.’ ‘ Shan’t she % Well, I don’t mind, I’m sure. I only wish she would patronise me. We should see which would grow tired first, she or I.’ ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Charlton angrily. ‘I do not believe you would endure it. At least, I don’t know ; some fellows have no — Anyhow, I am not to be patronised.’ ‘ Some fellows have no spirit, you were going to say. All 4 ? DONNA QUIXOTE. right ; I shouldn’t have any spirit of that kind where so charm- ing a woman as that was concerned. If she looked at me in a particular sort of way, I would lie down at her feet. “ Oh, sweet, divine creature, come and trample on me,” that would be my word. I am quite serious, Charlton, you precocious young- old savage. I should say to her, 44 Queen of my soul, have the gracious goodness to imprint the heels of your boots on this manly forehead.” ’ 4 Why don’t you make a pretext of asking her whether she is any connection of this Yanthorpe you knew? ’ ‘No; I shall not do that,’ said Fielding gravely. There was a moment’s silence. ‘Won’t you have something to drink?’ asked Charlton, seeing that his visitor was not making any movement as if to go away. 4 Some brandy and water ? ’ 4 Beg your pardon — you were saying — something to drink ? No. But that reminds me of what I came for. You just come down to my room. I have got some wonderful burgundy ; that’s why I came up for you. Come with me, and we’ll have some, or if you don’t like to come down, I’ll bring a bottle up. But I think we should be better below — we shouldn’t spoil your wife’s little room with our smoke.’ Janet did not like the smell of smoke, to be sure, but Charlton was on the point of refusing Fielding’s invitation coldly for all that. He did not like hearing of his wife’s 4 little room.’ It was not a very big room, truly ; but what manner of man was Fielding to give himself airs and talk patronisinglv about people’s little rooms? His own room was not by any means a very spacious apartment ; and a man who was still a bachelor could afford to put on the ways of easy comfort at small expense. Then, Fielding was a still younger man than Charlton, and he therefore might be expected to be a little more respectful. 4 I see you don’t want to come down,’ said the irrepressibly good-natured Fielding. * All right ; I’ll bring you up a bottle, and we’ll be very comfortable here. We’ll open the windows ; or, I say, we’ll not smoke ? It does not matter for once, and we ought to think of Janet — I mean, of Mrs. Bobert Charlton.’ In a moment Charlton came to the conclusion that Fielding did not want him to go down, and also that he was patronising Janet. 4 Oh no, let us go down,’ he said. 4 We shall, as you say, be more comfortable in your large apartment than in the little room where Janet and I have to live.’ THE ROLLING STONE AND THE MILLSTONE. 49 Fielding looked at him and laughed. ‘ What a delightful old surly bear you are, Charlton ! You are quite a study, I declare. You are a modem copy of the wliat’s-his-name in Terence; the self- tormenting fellow, you know.’ Charlton made no reply. Indeed, he was used to com- pliments of this kind; and although he deserved them, he could not keep from acting in a way to deserve them. They went down together. Fielding’s room was not a very large one certainly, and its fittings were not luxurious ; they were quite in keeping with the general conditions of the place. A round table in the middle covered with a dark red cloth, a few chairs with horse- hair cushions, a little sofa of the same description ; a mirror in a gilt frame over the chimney-piece, which if it had been a magic mirror could not have reflected more clearly the story of a poorer-class London lodging-house ; an engraving of Her Majesty the Queen, and one or two coloured pictures from an illustrated paper. These were the utensils and the ornaments of the room. But it did not escape the observation of Robert Charlton that there were some smaller properties of a very different kind. There was, for example, a heavy lamp of antique shape, and which Charlton was certain had cost money, and had never been bought by any lodging-house keeper. There were coats and rugs of an expensive kind lying around ; there was an ebony writing-desk such as one does not buy in a cheap furniture shop ; and in one of the compartments of the desk which happened to be open there was lying a diamond ring which sparkled in the very eyes of Charlton as he entered the room. Charlton had keen sight, and immense observation for costly and beautiful things. He might almost be said to have exchanged glances with the diamond, so quickly did his eye flash on it as it flashed. Fielding may have observed the look, for he too glanced at the desk. ‘ You must make a lot of money sometimes or somehow/ Charlton said. ‘ But you will be robbed some night, if you leave such things lying about.’ ‘Men come down in the world sometimes, don’t they, Charlton % You have come down yourself, I am inclined to think ; but I don’t ask questions.’ This, whether said purposely or not, was touching Charlton at his weakest point. Of all things it most delighted him to have it supposed that he had come down to his present position from some place in society. He became more friendly to hi3 S 50 ' DONNA QUIXOTE. companion at once. Moreover, he was sympathetic enough to understand that a man who had once had money and had mixed in good company would like, through whatever difficulties, to keep with him some relics of the departed brighter days. So much was he softened towards Fielding, that he could not help admitting to himself that his host must have looked a hand- some young fellow in the season when the diamond ring and the other costly things were appropriate to his every-day life. The burgundy proved to be delicious, and Charlton had the most of it. He observed that Fielding enjoyed it and seemed to appreciate it, what he did drink of it; but he certainly drank very little. The thin pale face of Robert Charlton began to colour and glow a little with the genial effect. They talked of many things, and argued and disputed not a little. Charlton observed that Fielding often brought the talk back to Mrs. Yanthorpe. Charlton, however, had little to disclose on that subject, for he knew very little himself. As they were separating, Robert’s quick eye fell upon the back of an old letter which Fielding threw down after having torn a part of the envelope to light his cigar. He observed that it was addressed to ‘ — Fielding, Esq., Langham Hotel.’ 1 So you were once living at the Langham Hotel % Pretty expensive place, isn’t it ? ’ i Stayed there after I came back from America last,* Fielding said coolly. 1 A man has money sometimes, Charlton, and some of us are never happy when we have it unless we find some way of spending it. Yes, you can spend money at the Langham if you like ; but I don’t know that it is a par- ticularly expensive place in the ordinary way. Many American fellows go there ; I went with an American fellow.’ ‘ 1 just remember something, by the way,’ Charlton said suddenly. i You have a good many books, Fielding. I wonder, have you anything among them that would throw a light on something I want to know about just now 1 I have got a fan to repair, and there must be some new colouring put to it. It’s a fan with little pictures of famous places — the Parthenon at Athens, Alhambra, and that monument — the Taj Mahal, isn’t it 'i — in India. I want to get a right notion of the general colours, you know ; not to do as a man did who gave a general tone of grey to the Coliseum and of red to the leaning tower of Pisa.’ ‘ I have not any books,’ Fielding said, after a moment’s thought ; ‘ but if you show me the thing, I dare say I can tell you all you want to know. I’ve seen all these places, and I THE ROLLING STONE AND THE MILLSTONE . 51 think I can remember perfectly well what they were like — as to shades and colour, and all that.’ * You have seen all these places ? ’ Charlton asked, in un- disguised wonder. ‘Yes, I told you I had been in some places,’ Fielding answered carelessly. ‘ I have been a sort of rolling stone in my time ; and you see I haven’t gathered much moss.’ ‘ I have been a millstone fastened here and grinding here all day; I don’t know that I have got much by that.’ * You might make quite an instructive fable of that, Charlton. What the millstone said to the rolling stone. — A rolling stone once being rebuked by a millstone ; — you see the idea ? ’ Then the millstone and the rolling stone were separated foi the night. Next day Charlton said to his wife : * I don’t know what to make of that fellow Fielding, Janet. I wish you would avoid making much acquaintance with him.’ ‘ I hardly ever see him, Robert, unless when he comes in to see you. Why don’t you know what to make of him ? ’ ‘He has been everywhere, travelled all over the world almost, Greece, Spain, America, India, every place. He has all the ways of a man who spends money ; he has diamonds, and he gave me burgundy last night that must have cost a big price. And what is he ? what does he do for a living h ’ Janet suggested that perhaps he was in the City. ‘ Stuff, J anet ! sometimes he doesn’t go out for three days together. I thought he might be a literary man, but there’s no one of that name in the field that I ever heard. He isn’t a painter, for he never paints. He isn’t a newspaper writer, for he doesn’t often go out at nights.’ J anet was going to say that he was a very nice gentlemanly man anyhow ; but she reflected in time on the inexpediency of indulging in praise of any male creature. She had begun her sentence, however, and she had to finish it ; so she suggested that possibly he might be a detective. ‘A detective! You are a fool, Janet. No; he isn’t a detective, you may take your oath of that. If I have any suspicions at all, they point a very different way.’ e 2 52 DONNA QUIXOTE . CHAPTER VI. gabrielle’s clients. If mental activity constitute the nearest approach to happi- ness in mortals, as the philosophic prose-poet maintains, then Gabrielle Vanthorpe’s condition just now ought to have been happy. Her mind was much occupied with more or less advanced and active projects for the benefit of her fellow- creatures. She was determined to win again the affection of Mrs. Leven by finding out her lost son and restoring him to her arms ; and strange as the idea may seem, she had all but persuaded herself that the young man she had seen in Boling- broke Place could put her on the track of the lost one. If Gabrielle had ventured to confess boldly to herself all that her fancy would fain have persuaded her to be true, she would have said that she imagined the young man Fielding himself to be the vanished prodigal. But even if this should not be so — and she did not dare to tell herself too plainly that it actually was so — it seemed certain to her that the young man must know something of the matter. Else why did he seem so much surprised to hear the name of Yanthorpe % It was an un- common name ; but there was nothing in its sound to amaze anyone, unless he had some particular associations connected with it. At all events, one of her schemes had to do with Fielding and Bolingbroke Place. Another of her schemes had to do with Bolingbroke Place as well, but it concerned the happiness of Robert and Janet Charlton. She proposed to make the one wise and content, and the other happy. She had other projects, too, and other people to protect. Gabrielle had ventured on writing a short letter to Walter Taxel, asking him to come and see her some day, and telling him she had one or two favours to ask of him. She had long admired his singular good nature, his willingness to serve any* one, and his restless energy, which was always occupying itself in new fields. She knew that he was at once amateur politician and amateur musician, and she had just now occasion to appeal to his kindness and his help in each capacity. She thought he ought to be able and willing to lend a hand to Lefussis in his important project for saving England. Gabrielle did not exactly believe that the salvation of the country really depended on Mr. Lefussis, or even on Mr. Lefussis and Walter Manny Taxal GABRIELLE’S CLIENTS. 53 combined. But still she thought that if danger of any kind were impending, it might be as well not to neglect any chance of averting it. Even the most elementary reading of Roman history warned her against supposing that only wise and noble birds can do anything to save the Capitol. That was one object she had in view in sending for Taxal. Another was the cause of a girl who was believed by her friends to have marvellous musical and dramatic talent, and who only wanted a chance to throw Europe into ecstasies and make a fortune for herself. This young lady lived with her brother, much older than herself, and the brother had been Albert Yanthorpe’s fencing-master years ago. When Gabrielle settled in Albert’s house, he sought her out and made his appeal to her ; and Gabrielle, without giving the matter ten minutes’ consideration, had taken up the cause of the sister, and was prepared to champion her musical capacity against, if needs were, the Royal Academy of Music and a whole sceptical world. Now she thought Walter Taxal would be the very man to help this girl into a position which would enable her to help herself. Another woman in Gabrielle’s place would have hesitated about writing to Taxal, for there had been at one time a vague idea that if Albert were not there Taxal might have become an admirer of hers. But Gabrielle never thought of such a thing now, and perhaps in any case would not have allowed any such mere conjecture to interfere between her and the chance of getting Walter Taxal to do good to himself and others by helping his fellow-creatures. 1 There is somebody wanting to be helped, and here is somebody capable of giving the help ’ — it was after this fashion that Gabrielle would have reasoned — ‘ What ought anyone to do who can do it but try to bring these two together 1 ’ She would rather have written to Major Leven than to Mr. Taxal, so far as Lefussis and the redemption of England were concerned ; but she could not write to Major Leven while Major Leven’s wife would not speak to her ; and in any case Major Leven could neither appreciate nor assist her young musical prodigy. The day when Gabrielle was expecting the visit from Mr. Lefussis she received a card from Walter Taxal. She was sitting alone in the melancholy room that we may call her sanctuary; but she would not receive a visitor there. She hastened to her drawing-room, and there saw two figures, not one. When she entered, one of the two ran towards her, and caught her in his arms and kissed her. When she saw who it 54 DONNA QUIXOTE. was, she returned his kisses ; and the tears were in her eyes and in his. Walter Taxal stood modestly in the background. ‘ How kind of you — oh, how kind of you to come and see me,’ Gabrielle said. ‘ 1 did not like to write to you.’ ‘ My dear, I was always fond of you since I knew you/ Major Leven said, recovering his voice as well as he could. ‘ I always knew you for a sweet good girl. You have a friend in me, no matter what anybody may say. When Taxal told me that he was coming to see you, I said to myself, “ I may come too, I may come too; Gabrielle must be changed indeed if she won’t receive me, and take my visit as it is meant, you know.” I can’t answer for others, Gabrielle, but I can answer for my- self ; and I am your friend, my dear, always your true friend.’ ‘ How is Mrs. Leven 1 ’ Gabrielle asked timidly. ‘ Does she ever speak of me ? Oh, how I loved her.’ ‘We have spoken of you, but not much, Gabrielle; not much as yet. It would not be well, perhaps ; you ladies have odd ways — not all of you, I don’t mean — but some of you. But she’ll come round. I have been talking to her about her son — the other son, you know — I hope he is alive.’ ‘ I am sure he is alive,’ said Gabrielle suddenly, and then checked herself. ‘But here is Taxal,’ Major Leven said; ‘and I know you want to talk to him about something. I just came round with him. I didn’t mention to Mrs. Leven that I was coming, you know ; it would not be of any use rousing premature feeling ’ Gabrielle smiled with tear-sparkling eyes, and held out her hand again to Leven in token of understanding and friendship. The kindly and chivalrous Leven pressed it to his lips. ‘ We will trust to time,’ said Gabrielle bravely. ‘ She will love me again, Major Leven.’ ‘ She will ; she can’t help it,’ Leven declared energetically. ‘Well, I am truly happy to have seen you ’ ‘ Ho, you must not go yet,’ Gabrielle interposed. ‘ I want you too, as well as Mr. Taxal. Do, Mr. Taxal, excuse us if we have been rudely inattentive. Major Leven and I are such old friends ; and we have not seen each other this long time, and so many things have happened since we met last.’ Walter Taxal hastened to assure her that he was not in the least put out by the fact that he had been overlooked for a moment. Truth to say, he did not seem to harbour any deep resentment. Then Gabrielle began to unfold her projects ; first, as regarded Mr. Lefussis. There was somewhat of a twinkle in Taxal’s eyes when the name was mentioned. GABRIELLE' S CLIENTS. 55 ‘ Surely we know something of Lefussis, Leven ? ’ he said, turning to his friend. ‘ The man, isn’t he, who proposes amendments at all the Conservative working men’s meetings, and is invariably hustled out for his pains ? I fancy he is not a very had sort of fellow ; a little out of it, perhaps, in the head.- But how you came to know him, Mrs. Vanthorpe, I cannot imagine.’ ‘ What does he want us to do for him, Gabrielle ? ’ Major Leven asked. * Tell him I’ll do anything you ask me ; only, my dear, I think I wouldn’t be getting all sorts of odd people round me. You don’t understand ; you will be found believing everything everybody tells you. Now, I don’t say a word against this poor Lefussis; I dare say he is a very honest fellow ; hut you must be cautious ; you don’t know anything of the world.’ 4 Listen to him,’ Gabrielle said, ‘ to him who believes every tale of grievance everyone tells him in the streets, and who has to leave his purse at home if he is not to get rid of all that is in it before he comes half-way to the end of a walk ! He would bid me be cautious and careful and knowing about the world, and all the rest of it.’ 1 Well, well ! good advice, you know, is good advice, even though one isn’t always wise oneself. You must be prudent, Gabrielle, and not set people talking, not give them a handle, and all that. If Taxal and I ever make fools of ourselves, why it doesn’t much matter. But tell poor Lefussis I’ll do anything I can. Let him come and see me ; he’ll see Taxal to-day ; I can’t wait.’ Gabrielle could not well explain to them what Lefussis proposed to do, except generally to save England. Major Leven shook his head gravely, and expressed his fear, in all seriousness, that that was past praying for. But he declared that he was not for openly proclaiming despair, and that he would work with Lefussis or anyone else in a good cause. Then, as he had no end of other engagements, and as Mr. Taxal wanted to talk over some of them with him, it was arranged that Taxal should accompany him on some of his errands, and come back a little later in the day to see Lefussis and to hear the young aspirant for the crown of lyric song. It may be remarked that Taxal, for all his stock of native enthusiasm, grew grave when he heard of the new singer, and thought hers a far more difficult undertaking than that of Mr. Lefussis. The time seemed long and slow to Gabrielle when Leven and Taxal were gone, and she was left alone. She did not like 56 DONNA QUIXOTE. now to be left alone. In her girlish days she had delighted in occasional solitude, but now loneliness oppressed her. It set her thinking of the youth who had loved her, and tormenting herself with doubts as to whether she had been to him all that she might have been. It allowed her to go over and over again, to no purpose, the story of her long companionship with Mrs. Leven, and its harsh and sudden severance ; and again she tortured herself by trying to make up her mind as to whether she was to blame, and whether there was anything that she ought to have done in time and had not done. Her schemes of active benevolence, too, seemed to grow chill and bodiless when she was long alone. Her eager temperament faded and withered in enforced inactivity. She was glad when her maid came to tell of the arrival of the aspiring singer, and the singer’s still more aspiring brother. Professor Elvin — he was professor of the art of arms — entered the room with a long gliding step forward, and then a short step, and then a long gliding step again. He was a man of forty, with hair and beard already turned grey. He was straight and almost as lithe as one of his own fencing foils ; and he was always in some attitude that now suggested soldier, and now actor, and now again dancing-master. His beard and moustache were neatly trimmed ; the beard into a little peak, the moustache into points. He was dressed in a dark blue single-breasted frock coat, fawn-coloured trowsers, and wore lavender gloves, glossy and glazed with newness. Miss Elvin was a sallow girl, who looked as if she had stepped out of a mediaeval painting — her chin was so pointed, her mouth was so large, her lips were so thin, her eyes were so long and mourn- ful, her drapery was so darksome in its green. She had a way of first lowering and then suddenly raising her eyes, which dis- composed the stranger. She accepted Gabrielle’s genial welcome with a proud humility, like one who, conscious of supreme merit, leaves it to whomso it concerns to take the responsibility of making it known to the world. ‘ Yours is a noble ambition,’ Gabrielle said enthusiastically, meaning what she said. ‘ We have had enemies,’ Professor Elvin said, with a grand wave of the right arm. ‘We have bad many enemies. You will not be surprised to hear that, Mrs. Vantborpe. My sister’s voice and her talents must, of course, make enemies for her.’ ‘ I suppose so ; I have no doubt,’ Gabrielle exclaimed, with sparkling eyes. ‘ It is always so, I am afraid ; the world is GABRIELLE ’S CLIENTS. 57 always like that. But I am not sorry to hear it in your case, Mr. Elvin ; I should not have much faith in anyone who did not make enemies. Such enmity is only a tribute to your sister’s talents.’ ‘Just so; exactly so; you are quite right, madam; so we feel it, I assure you. The more I hear of plots and conspiracies against this dear girl, the more I feel encouraged — the more I encourage her. I always say to her, “You ought to be proud of this, Gertrude — proud of it, my sister ; it proves that they fear you as a rival.” And they do fear her, Mrs. Vanthorpe ; and they shall have cause to fear still more when she once begins to make her way.’ ‘ I have had some enemies, undoubtedly,’ the young aspirant said, with eyes modestly downcast, and speaking in the re- strained tone of one who could tell startling things if she did but wish. ‘ You would hardly believe some of the things we have known of — known as a certainty — you would hardly believe them if you did not yourself know them. I don’t see why they should fear. The lyric stage is surely wide enough for all of us.’ ‘ They have conspired against her, madam ; hatched plots and conspiracies to keep her off the boards of the Opera. The most popular singers of the day are in the plot — I won’t call them the greatest ; they are not great, an y of them — and they have made the managers promise that she shall never have a chance. Why, I am in a position to prove that ’ (he named a famous queen of song) ‘ actually told the manager that she would never sing for him again if he as much as gave Gertrude a trial.’ ‘ But that is unspeakably mean and pitiful,’ said Gabrielle ; 4 1 cannot imagine anything more ignoble. Oh, it is too shameful.’ Miss Elvin tossed her head and shrugged her shoulders, as if to signify that really that was nothing, if Gabrielle knew but all. ‘ WTien self-conceit once gets possession of the mind,’ the Professor loftily said, ‘ there is no measuring the depths of folly and meanness to which it will carry its victims.’ 1 That is only too true,’ Gabrielle answered, so earnestly that Miss Elvin looked sharply up at her, as if suspecting for a moment that the remark had in it something of present applica- tion. But Gabrielle spoke simply and in perfect good faith ; marvelling at the injustice and selfishness of a great singer, who, herself fed with success and fame, could endeavour to keep this 53 DONNA QUIXOTE. poor young aspirant from even having a fair chance of showing what she could do. ‘ What I don’t quite see/ said Gabrielle meditatively, ‘ is how we are to battle against this conspiracy. Don’t think I would have you fail in courage, Miss Elvin, or that I would fail in courage myself. Only, if all these great singers are in a band against us ’ — Gabrielle had already made Miss Elvin’s cause her own — -‘ I fear we can hardly do much against them.’ ‘ Oh, madam, don’t be at all intimidated. We shall soon crush them ; crush them, madam, as completely as base plots ever were crushed. They think they can do anything now, because my sister is a poor unprotected girl, with no powerful friends to take up her cause, and only a humble fencing-master for a brother to fight her battle. Ah, if it were a battle that could be fought by a man’s right arm, they should see ! But when they find that she has some friends after all, rich and powerful friends, it will be a very different thing, Mrs. Yan- thorpe ; a very different thing, madame. We’ll soon bring the managers to their knees, and the press, ma’am, the critics who are now in league against us.’ ‘ But, Mr. Elvin,’ Gabrielle said, very earnestly, for she was anxious that the brother and sister should be under no illusions, ‘ I am afraid you must not think of gaining any rich or power- ful friends through me. I am not rich, and my friends are not powerful. I can only offer your sister sympathy and a helping hand.’ ‘You are a lady, madam, of rank and distinction, whose name is already becoming a household word for deeds of noble and discriminating generosity. Pardon me, Mrs. Yanthorpe, if for once I decline to allow even you to interrupt me ; I say this, madam, in your presence, because it is the truth. You have friends among the rich and the powerful. The distinguished young nobleman whose name you did me the great honour to mention to me is celebrated wherever music is known as a patron of the art as judicious as he is generous. A word from him — a word in season, madam — will amply prove to all the world that Gertrude Elvin is no longer an unprotected girl on whom envy may trample with impunity.’ ‘Well,’ Gabrielle said, when this burst of eloquence had passed away, ‘ I am sure Mr. Walter Taxal will do all he can to assist anyone who deserves his help, and whom ’ ‘And whom you recommend, Mrs. Yanthorpe — whom you recommend. Gertrude and I are well aware to whom we shall owe any effort that may perchance be made on her behalf.’ 59 GABRIELIE’ S CLIENTS. * But you know, Mr. Elvin ’ ‘ I call myself Professor Elvin/ the eloquent fencing- master observed, with a deprecatory movement of his hand and a melancholy smile that seemed to say, ‘ I know it is a weak- ness, I know it is not a legal claim ; yet pry thee indulge me in at least this poor conceit.’ ‘ I beg pardon ; of course I should have said Professor Elvin ; you know that I do not even pretend to be a qualified judge of singing.’ Professor Elvin made a gesture of earnest protestation, as if to imply that there really could be nothing in musical or any other science concerning which Mrs. Yanthorpe was not a perfectly competent critic, authority, and judge. ‘No; I really know very little about it, not nearly enough to make me even fancy myself qualified to have a decided opinion; and in any case I should be carried away by my inclinations, and your sister would seem to me to be Patti or Nilsson if I were on her side, as I am.’ ‘ But excuse me,’ the Prbfessor said with a smile, ‘ Patti or Nilsson ! We hope to shew you that Gertrude has much higher pretensions than to be classed with singers like Patti or Niisson.’ ‘ I don’t think anything of Patti or Nilsson,’ the aspirant herself said, in her low thrilling tone. ‘ They belong to a school with which I have no sympathy ; I say so quite apart from any feeling of resentment which I might be justified in entertaining.’ ‘ You see, then,’ Gabrielie resumed, ‘ this only shows how little qualified I am to judge. I thought these were two great singers.’ ‘You are very good, Mrs. Yanthorpe,’ the Professor ob- served. The comment was intended to imply that it was only out of sheer goodness of heart that Mrs. Yanthorpe condescen- ded to regard such persons as singers at all. ‘ Then you see,’ said Gabrielie, ‘ I cannot answer for Mr. Taxal’s judgment. He perhaps- may form a different opinion, Professor Elvin, from that which you and I form. We can’t tell ; we shall have to wait until — until ’ ‘Until he has heard Gertrude? Certainly, Mrs. Yan- thorpe ; that is what we desire ; that is all we desire. We have no fear of the judgment of one so qualified as Mr. Taxal, although he is but an amateur. Gertrude only longs for an opportunity of proving to Mr. Taxal that she is not unworthy of your countenance and recommendation.’ 60 DONNA QUIXOTE . * I am not afraid of the issue/ the aspirant said, first casting her eyes down and then suddenly turning all the light of them full on Gabrielle’s face. * Here is Mr. Taxal, just come in time/ Gabrielle said, delighted that he had come, and delighted too with the courage, the confidence, and the deep bright eyes of the aspirant. * It is like that I would have a woman/ she thought ; ‘ brave, strong confident in her powers when she has them.’ Walter Taxal came forward somewhat awkward and timid- looking, and he positively blushed as he was presented to Miss Elvin, and she, having first dropped her eyes on the ground, then raised them to his and fixed him with an imploring gaze. Ho time was lost in making the experiment. The aspirant sat down to the piano and accompanied herself ; her brother turned the leaves of the piece of music which she had chosen. Walter Taxal’s short sight rendered his undertaking such a task a dangerous experiment; and moreover Professor Elvin had gently urged that, to appreciate his sister’s singing, the mind should be absolutely free from the strain of any duty, however welcome and graceful. Gabrielle stood behind the singer, full at once of fear and hope. Professor Elvin turned over each leaf with the action of a man delivering a final and triumphant thrust to some rival swordsman. The singing 1 Well, Miss Elvin had a voice of tremendous power and compass. There was a raw keen raucous energy about it that at first was positively startling. The little glass drops of the chandelier all rattled and echoed as the first notes played in among them. The strings of a harp at the other end of the room vibrated shrilly. The leaves of open books fluttered and rustled like startled birds. The room seemed to be filled to painful distension with the volume of sound ; the singer herself appeared to be possessed by her voice like a sibyl with the prophetic fury. Every limb of her moved; every bone and muscle seemed to be in corresponding motion as the sounds came forth. Her shoulders, her arms, her back, her knees, all were agitated together ; not a vein was quiet ; the contortions of the sibyl at least were there. When she finished, it was as though she flung voice and song away from her with a passionate energy, like that of Atlas sick of his burden and tossing a world into unending space. Then there was silence, and Professor Elvin fell into an attitude and waited. Gabrielle fixed her eyes beseechingly on Walter Taxal. ‘ Great power, great power, quite a tremendous organ ; no doubt about that/ he said, after a moment’s pause. ‘ This ‘ 27 iis young lady is to be congratulated on the possession op such a voice.' > , i 1 ( GABRTELLE'S CLIENTS. 61 young lady is to be congratulated, really to be congratulated, on the possession of such a voice.’ ‘ Not many like that, sir, on the lyric stage now,’ Professor Elvin said defiantly. ‘ Not many like it ; oh, no, certainly not ; very rare, I am quite sure. Yes; the voice is all right enough. A little more, perhaps, of culture, don’t you think 1 Perhaps a certain want of training may be evident at times. The young lady has not been taught in Italy, perhaps V I No sir, she has not,’ her brother said sternly. I I would suggest,’ Taxal went on, in a deprecating and even timid tone, ‘if it could be arranged, you know, that before venturing on a trial at the hands of any of our great people here — our managers, you know — she should have some little finishing training in Italy. People think so much of Italy; partly a superstition, I dare say, but it might perhaps be well to give in to it.’ ‘ Then you don’t think my sister is fit to take a place on the lyric stage at once % ’ ‘Well, I don’t exactly say that; and you must understand that my opinion is that of a mere amateur. I don’t pretend to a decisive judgment of any kind; but I would suggest that a little more training would be well. One can’t suffer, you know, from a little more training at any time.’ Miss Elvin rose from the piano. ‘ I might say,’ she said with downcast eyes, ‘ that a singer is hardly able to do justice to herself with an instrument like that. It is an excellent piano for all ordinary purposes, I am sure ; but it is hardly the instrument for an artist.’ ‘Oh, no,’ Gabrielle interposed, seizing the opportunity for coming to the rescue ; ‘ that piano is nothing that a really great artist ought to touch. I felt all the time that it was not quite fair to Miss Elvin to ask her to sing to it. But I was so anxious to hear her, that I could not wait for a better time.’ ‘Mrs. Yanthorpe is all goodness,’ Professor Elvin said in the tone of one who tenders to his wronger a Christian but reluctant forgiveness. ‘ Oh, I probably could not have done any better in any case,’ Miss Elvin said bitterly. There was another pause. Everyone felt depressed and awkward. At last Walter Taxal hit upon something to say. He happily remembered that there was to be a concert given in i few days at Lady Honeybell’s, in aid of the cause of indepen- dence in Thibet, and he thought it would be a capital thing if 62 DONNA QUIXOTE. Miss Elvin were to sing there. It would be a great opportunity. Everyone would be there ; some of the most famous singers had promised their assistance, and many of the greatest patrons of art, professional and amateur, would be among the audience. If Miss Elvin made an impression there, it would be a splendid opening for her. He was sure he could promise that Lady Honeybell would be delighted to enrol Miss Elvin on her list of singers. He would be able to let Miss Elvin know to- morrow. This happy thought went far to restore satisfaction to the company. Professor Elvin was profuse and statuesque in his manner of returning thanks. Miss Elvin expressed her grati- tude with the carefully humbled air of one who submits to being misprised, and wishes it to be understood that, after what has passed, she admits that anything is good enough for her. Gabrielle insisted that for that night at least Miss Elvin must stay with her, as it was too far for her to go home with her brother and return next morning in time to hear the good news which Mr, Taxal was sure to bring about Lady Honeybell and the concert. Gertrude grew brighter at this, and accepted the offer readily. While she spoke a few words to her brother about some commissions he was to execute for her as he was passing through town, Walter Taxal found an opportunity of exchang- ing a sentence or two with Gabrielle. ‘ I hope you are satisfied with what I have said and done for your protegee 1 ’ he asked. ‘ Only half satisfied,’ Gabrielle replied. ‘ At least I like what you have done very well, but not what you said. You don’t appear to me to be half enthusiastic enough. The poor girl was quite cast down ; there were tears in her eyes.’ ‘ Well, but really, you know, one must not go too far in praising beginners. You have no idea how self-conceited some of these people are, and what impossible notions they get into their heads.’ ‘ But surely she has a wonderful voice 1 Come, you must admit that much, at least.’ ‘ Yes ; she has a wonderful voice — very wonderful ; that’s exactly the word for it. I never heard anything like it ; but whether it’s going to be wonderfully good or wonderfully bad is what I don’t quite profess to know. And look here, Mrs. Yanthorpe, excuse me; don’t you take too much trouble about these people ; they’ll not be grateful to you one bit. You have no idea what such self-conceit can do. That fellow’s a cad, depend upon it; he thinks he can trade upon his sister’s voice.’ GABRIELLE'S CLIENTS. 63 * I am soriy you take it in that way/ Gabrielle said, dis- appointed. ‘I had set my heart on getting that poor girl a chance to be heard, and I know she will succeed. What do I care about her brother or his manners ? I feel for the girl ; I am sure she has genius ; I know she has, and I only wish I could do something for her.’ ‘Well, we’ll all try to do something for her,’ Taxal said, in great alarm lest he should have offended Gabrielle, and wishing he had given it as his opinion that Miss Elvin had gifts more promising than those of any songstress since Malibran. ‘ I am only afraid of encouraging too much hope, letting her in for dis- appointment and all that.’ ‘Men have no sympathy but with the successful,’ said Gabrielle sententiously, and forgetting at the moment that the man before her had hardly ever in his life been the advocate of any but some lost and hopeless cause. * Oh, come, Mrs. Yanthorpe, you must really think a little better of us ; and in this case I will do all I can ; I’ll move heaven and earth, in fact, to show you that I am not so bad as all that, and that I have sympathy with merit even before it succeeds.’ At this moment one of Gabrielle’s maids brought her a card from Mr. Lefussis. ‘You have done too much for me to-day already,’ said Gabrielle. ‘ Can you stand Mr. Lefussis 1 ’ ‘ Mr. Anybody for you. I am only too glad to have a chance of making up for my comparative failure to satisfy you as to your musical friend.’ Mr. Lefussis entered, bowing to Gabrielle with ancient grace, and still carrying his hat somehow as if it were one proper to the courtly costume of a Beau clerk or a Wyndham. He had hardly begun to pay his formal respects when she was informed that Mr. and Mrs. Robert Charlton had come, and were waiting below. This was indeed the evening for which Gabrielle had invited our friends, and she had not forgotten the invitation ; but she had certainly failed to observe how time was flying in her various other occupations. It was now seven o’clock. She seemed to the kindly Walter to be a little em- barrassed by the simultaneous appearance of such a little crowd of visitors. He glanced significantly at Lefussis and then at Gabrielle, and his look clearly asked her, ‘ Shall I take him away 1 ’ and her reply, conveyed too in one quiet glance, said, ‘ Oh, yes, if you can.’ Gabrielle introduced him to Lefussis with becoming dignity of manner. 64 BO ANA QUIXOTE. ( I begged Mrs. Yanthorpe to be kind enough to introduce roe/ Walter said, ‘ although I think you and I have met before, Mr. Lefussis. We have been engaged in the same good cause, I know, more than once. Now, Mrs. Yanthorpe has promised to excuse me, and I hope you will excuse me too ; I have to speak at a meeting in the East-end to night, and there is only just time to get a hasty scrap of dinner at my club as I go along. If you don’t mind coming with me, we can jump into a cab, get a morsel of dinner, and you shall accompany me to the meeting, and we can talk over the things you want to speak of as we go along.’ Never was a man more delighted than Mr. Lefussis. He did not even stop to complete the explanations he was beginning to give concerning the lateness of his visit, and the delays which had unavoidably made it so late. He took a grateful but hurried farewell of Gabrielle, and went off with Taxal, feeling as if he were suddenly restored to that delightful world of political movement and of brilliant names from which he had long been an exile. As Walter was disappearing, he cast one glance back upon Gabrielle, which seemed to have almost as much meaning in it as the cry that the soldier rushing into battle sends back to his great chief, ‘ You shall praise me this time, 0 Caesar ! ’ Descending the stairs, they met Robert Charlton and Janet. Mr. Lefussis could not refrain from stopping to exchange a word with them in the pride of his heart. ‘ Glad to see you ; haven’t a moment to spare. I am just going to dine with young Taxal, Lord Taxal’s son ; we have to attend a very important meeting afterwards. Tell you all about it to-morrow. Good-bye.’ 1 Eool ! ’ was the murmured observation of Charlton as his friend hurried after Walter Taxal. ‘ I am sorry we came here, Janet,’ he muttered to his wife as they were being shown upstairs. CHAPTER YII. gabrielle’s guests. A benevolent person once, so goes the story, invited a beggar from the streets to share a meal with him. He gave the beggar rich meats and dry wines, dessert of rarest fruits, cigars and coffee that might have satisfied any frequenter of the Cafe Anglais ., A week after, the beggar met him and put in a plea GABRIELLE 1 S GUESTS. 65 for a similar banquet. Being denied, he denounced his former entertainer as one who h.„d only given him a tantalising taste for good things, which was never more to be gratified in this life. ‘ Was I not happy,' the aggrieved mendicant exclaimed. * before I ever knew thaL there were things so delightful to be had as turtle soup and di y champagne ? ’ It is much to be feared that Gabrielle V anthorpe with the best of mot ves was entertaining Robert Charlton with turtle and champagne. Not that these delicacies really were produced this evening when he and his wife took tea in the old fashioned way with Mrs. "V anthorpe. Gabrielle modelled the little enter- tainment as much as possible after the fashion to which she knew they were accustomed, lest they, or he at least, might fancy that she was treating them like a patroness. But she was unconsciously feeding poor Robert on a fare to which he was wholly unaccustomed, and which he was not likely to have set before him very often. She talked to him with such friendly, kindly ease ; she drew him out so delicately on the subjects he best understood; she deferred with such an appearance of sincerity — indeed it was sincerity and not appearance — to his opinion on many things ; she entered with such intelligence into all the political and other questions of general interest he touched upon : that Charlton felt as if he were taken by some sudden magic out of his own hard narrow world, with its petty amusements, and its broken glimpses at knowledge, into some delightful sphere where beautiful women enhanced the charm of their beauty by talking like rational men. Mrs. V anthorpe had a great many books and engravings to show him, and he talked with much intelligence about them and could tell her many things which she did not know and was glad to learn. She took a genuine pleasure in talking to him, and most of the evening passed agreeably for her. She had her heart set all the time on winning his confidence so thoroughly that he would be at last found willing to take her advice, and then she would talk to him about Janet and make him ashamed of his nonsense, and teach him a true appreciation of his wife and of woman in general, and so make happy for ever the life of the poor fair one with locks of gold. Janet enjoyed the evening to the full as much as her husband did, although in a different way. She had ever since their marriage been accustomed to sink herself so entirely in him that in order to enjoy anything it was only necessary for her to know that he was enjoying it. They had no children, and, as often happens with & young pair in such case, the protecting F 66 DONNA QUIXOTE. maternal sentiment closes around the husband and makes him its object. Janet was proud to see Robert able to talk to a lady of education like Mrs. Vanthorpe, and she anticipated nothing but good from the intervention of one so kind and clever and generous. The one of the little company who least enjoyed the evening, or rather indeed who did not enjoy it at all, was Miss Elvin. That young lady very quickly found out the social position of Mr. and Mrs. Charlton, and was exceedingly wroth at the idea of being set down to pass an evening with them. She would have liked Mr. Taxal, or some one of that class ; but she bitterly resented in her mind the thought of being called upon to amuse people like the Charltons. Gabrielle of course asked her to sing, assuming that she would like to be asked, and afraid that the girl would think her gifts slighted if she were not called upon to display them. Most assuredly if Miss Elvin had not been asked to sing she would have nourished in her mind a very grievous sense of wrong. But now that she was asked she considered it a great piece of impertinence on the part of Mrs. Yanthorpe to invite her to sing for such people as the Charltons. She received Janet’s raptures and Robert's some- what slow and pedantic dissertations of praise with an air of indifference which he must have observed if he were not think- ing so much of himself, and which Janet would probably have noticed, only that she hardly ever thought of herself. Gabrielle, whose habit was to interpret everything to everybody’s ad- vantage, ascribed the girl’s manner to shyness or the sensitive- ness of genius, or some such cause not easily to be understood by common people. In truth, the young aspirant’s bosom was already swelling with anger against her unconscious hostess, who was only thinking how she could best help her and please her. Miss Elvin set down Gabrielle as a self- conceited purse- proud spoilt favourite of fortune, who despised Gertrude Elvin because she was only a struggling artist, and deliberately sought to convey to her the conviction that she was only good enough to sit down with Charltons and people of that sort. Were it not for the valuable aid she expected to derive from Gabrielle’s patronage, the girl would have indulged in some burst of open ill-humour. But she thought, amid whatever sense of injury, that it would be very convenient to be occasionally asked to stay at Gabrielle’s house. She and hei* brother lived out Camber- well way, and she saw herself in her mind’s eye writing letters bearing date from Mrs. Vanthorpe’s more fashionable quarter. Nor did she forget Lady Honeybell, and the thought of how GABRIELLE' S GUESTS. 67 very agreeable it would be to be conveyed to Lady Honeybell’s in Mrs. Yanthorpe’s carriage. Still more perhaps did her thoughts dwell on Walter Taxal, whom she knew to be the son of a lord, and on whom it was not absolutely impossible that the attractions of a gifted artist who believed herself far from unlovely might work some little impression. Already she was longing for the next day, which was to bring the promised visit of Mr. Taxal and perhaps some good news from Lady Honeybell. All these considerations induced Miss Elvin to ‘ put up/ as she would herself have expressed it, with a good deal of what she would have called the ‘ airs * of her hostess ; although she could not humour those airs to the extent of manifesting the slightest interest in people like the Charltons. Gabrielle saw during her talk with Robert Charlton that the young singer seemed rather weary and moody, and that she and Janet were apparently not able to carry on any conversa- tion between themselves or to join in a general talk. She went over to Miss Elvin, who was affecting to look into a music-book at the other end of the room. ‘I am afraid you are tired, Miss Elvin; or lonely. We ought not to have asked you to sing ; it must have fatigued y°u.’ 1 Oh, thank you, no/ Miss Elvin said graciously. ‘ I am a little lonely, perhaps, without my brother. I so seldom go out alone, I hardly know myself without him.’ ‘ I am so sorry/ Gabrielle said quite penitently ; ‘ I ought to have known, I ought not to have asked you to stay. You must forgive me; I never had a brother, and I did not re- member for the moment how lonely one must feel without such a companionship when one is used to it.’ This, however, was by no means the sentiment which it would have suited Miss Elvin to encourage. Nothing could have been a more complete frustration of her plans and hopes than that Mrs. Yanthorpe should suppose that she and her brother were inseparable. ‘Oh, no, it is not that/ she hastened to explain ^ ‘un- fortunately, my brother and I have to be only too often separated as it is, Mrs. Yanthorpe. He has to give lessons out of London — in Brighton and other places, and sometimes I don’t see him for days and days together. If I were at home now, the chances are that I should be sitting alone there. Oh, no, it was not that I meant. What I meant to say was that here in this charming house of yours, made so welcome by your kind- ness and so happy, it seems a sad thing that he should not ue f2 63 DONNA QUIXOTE . here too ; that he should be away, working perhaps with tin- congenial people for a living.’ ‘Ah, yes; I can quite understand that,’ Gabrielle said softly. ' If I had a brother I am sure I should feel as you do. There can be no friend like a brother.’ ‘ Pardon me, Mrs. Vanthorpe ; you could hardly be expected to feel as I do. You could hardly have the occasion. If you had a brother, he would be a gentleman of fortune ; he would not be going about the world giving fencing-lessons for a living. You would not be going to face the great cold hard world, to expose yourself to slight and reproach, to fail perhaps.’ ‘ You will not fail, I know ; I am sure. We shall hail your complete success before long — and see how young you are ! We are all sure of your success. Mr. Charlton understands a great deal about music, and he has just been telling me that he never heard such a voice as yours.’ Miss Elvin’s anxiety to please her patroness could not carry her farther than to express with the very slightest bend of her head an acknowledgment of praise coming from a person like Mr. Charlton. * But the gentleman who was here to-day,’ she said — ‘ when I sang. He was not very sanguine. He said all he could to please you, Mrs. Yanthorpe; but it was easily to be seen that he was by no means hopeful. My brother, I fear, spoils me with his praise ; he is so sanguine and he is so fond of me.’ ‘ But I assure you Mr. Taxal is much more hopeful than he seems ; only he thinks it right to guard against giving too much hope for fear of disappointment. He told me so, when we talked of you before he went.’ ‘ You were kind enough to talk to him about me % ’ Miss Elvin said, turning the full light of her anxious eyes on Gabrielle, and delighted to hear that she had been the subject of conversation. * Yes, of course we did ; what else should we have talked of then 1 And he told me he thought it right always to guard against saying too much ; I suppose he does wisely in that, but I confess it is not my way, Miss Elvin. When I feel enthusiasm I must let it be seen ; but others of course are different. You may trust to his championship all the same.’ * I know that he will try to do anything you ask him, Mrs. Yanthorpe ; indeed, who would not % Whatever may come, I shall owe all to you.’ Miss Elvin had grown suddenly very curious on one point. Was Mr. Taxal an admirer of Mrs. Yanthorpe 1 Was there GABRIELLE'S GUESTS. 69 any probability that she would marry him 1 Her brother had given her to understand that Mrs. Vanthorpe had suffered so much grief at her husband’s death that she never could think of marrying again ; but Miss Elvin was convinced that she knew exactly what value to set on womanly resolves of that kind. She thought there was something in the devotedness of Taxal’s manner that suggested a love-making and a possible engagement ; and it would be of very great importance for her to know whether there was any ground for this impression. She made up her mind that she would find out something on that head before she committed herself in any way either to Mrs. Van- thorpe or to Mr. Taxal. So, being a very clever little person as well as a great artist — clever, that is, when her moods of selfishness and ill-humour did not get the better of her judgment — she set herself to extract the supposed secret from Gabrielle. ‘ I have sung more than once to please myself and to please others to-night, dear Mrs. Vanthorpe — may I not now sing something to please you ? ’ The manner of the singer was particularly propitiatory and winning. She had seated herself in a suppliant attitude beside Gabrielle on a sofa, shrinking as it were beneath her protecting shadow and looking up to her with all her eyes. Now, Gabrielle was one of those rarest of beings — a heroine who did not know much about music. For musical performances in general she did not even care. Long, long hours of delight had she passed in listening even to such poor music and such poor singing as her own. There were times and moods when one chance chord of a piano wafted to her ears ; one sound of the trumpet across the park from the barracks ; ay, even one bar on an old hurdy-gurdy, odious and insufferable to the cultivated — would set all her pulses thrilling as if with the deepest influence of music. Often had she in one sound drunk in the full sense of that exquisite saying of Richter’s hero about the music which speaks of things that in all our lives we have not found and shall never find. But for set musical performances, more especially of the severe and classic order, she had, it must be owned, rather a languid ear. So when Miss Elvin thus grace- fully entreated her, she had the misfortune to respond to the invitation by replying that she should be delighted above all things to hear any of the early English or Irish or Scottish ballads — any that Miss Elvin pleased — she loved all of them that she knew, and was sure she should love to hear any one that Miss Elvin might happen to sing. Alas ! Miss Elvin never sang that sort of music ; oh, never. It did not suit her 70 DONNA QUIXOTE. voice at all. She was so sorry ; but she never could sing music like that ; in fact, her brother would not wish her to do so, as he feared it would spoil her style. ‘ But I wish to sing something for you,’ she said implor- ingly, ‘ something specially for you. Is there anything Mr. Taxal particularly loves % Perhaps as you are such friends you might have a preference for something he likes 1 ’ ‘ I don’t think I have the least idea of what Mr. Taxal likes,* Gabrielle said. ‘ I have not seen him for a long time until very lately ; until I asked him to come here and talk about you. I fancy he would think my taste in music barbarous, as you do, I am sure, Miss Elvin,’ said Gabrielle, not at all annoyed, but, on the contrary, highly amused. ‘ Sing whatever you like your- self ; whatever belongs to your style. I shall be sure to like it ; and I hope we shall get you a far more appreciative audience before long.’ This was not, perhaps, a very happy way of putting a singer into great good humour. Miss Elvin performed a song at Gabrielle ; it could not be said that she sang. Then she rose from the piano and made a pretty little bow to Gabrielle, as if to say, ‘ I have now performed my act of fealty.’ She regarde d herself simply as a martyr. Miss Elvin would have judged of Julius Caesar, Michael Angelo, Queen Elizabeth, or Madame de Stael, by his or her capacity to appreciate singing ; that is to say, the singing of Miss Elvin. The little company did not blend ; it was, if such an illustra- tion may be used, mixed but not compounded. Each of the two guests who would talk at all wanted to talk only to Gabrielle. Robert Charlton was happy to the very fulness of comfort while she talked with him. Her words made him feel clever and eloquent. When she turned to speak to Miss Elvin or to Janet he fell under a pall of silence and began to turn over the leaves of illustrated books. While Gabrielle was speaking with him, Miss Elvin openly took refuge in music-books or photographs. The singer cared nothing about such art as Charlton under- stood. Charlton would just then have been sorely bored by the music of St. Cecilia. Gabrielle fancied that Janet must be lonely, having so little to do with any conversation that there was. She resolutely told Robert Charlton to talk to Miss Elvin for a little, and she drew Janet into particular conversation with herself. She was anxious, too, to get some account of Janet’s fellow-lodgers ; to hear about Mr. Lefussis, who was poor, and whom it might be possible in some way to help; and about Mr. Fielding. Janet GABRIELLE'S GUESTS. 7i opined that Lefussis was very poor ; but she believed he was proud, and she did not exactly see her way to doing anything much for him of that sort. He made her laugh, poor Mr. L&fussis, Janet said. She had often seen him openly mending his old coat as she passed by his room, and she had seen him blackening the seams with ink. Mr. Fielding 1 ? well, she did not fancy Mr. Fielding was particularly well off ; but he certainly appeared to have money to spend sometimes; and then he always spent it, Janet thought. How did she know ? Well, Robert told her; but besides she had known him to do ever so many kind things for lodgers who were in difficulty. There was a poor man died in the second floor of the next house; and Mr. Fielding gave the servant in Janet’s house a letter for the widow, and she wasn’t to say whom it came from ; and the servant did not say, but she waited to see it opened, and the poor widow found there was nothing but a ten-pound note in it. The lady in charge of the house where Janet lived told her that Mr. Fielding was always doing kind things for her, and for her little girls, and for everybody, when he had the opportunity. Janet began to talk so much about Fielding that Gabrielle feared Mr. Charlton might hear what his good- natured little wife was saying, and wholly misinterpret the nature of her enthusiasm. Partly for this reason and partly because for motives of her own she was pleased to have heard so good an account of Fielding, she began to speak of his appearance with a certain admiration, and to say that she had been rather taken by his manner. Suddenly Robert Charlton, who had been trying very unsuccessfully to carry on a conversa- tion with Miss Elvin, and who had had all the difficulties of the task hideously aggravated by his desire to hear what Gabrielle and his wife were saying, broke off abruptly in his attentions to the singer and turned to Mrs. Yanthorpe. ‘You were talking of that man Fielding, Mrs. Yanthorpe? I don’t know what to make of him ; I sometimes think he is not all right ; I have been telling Janet to avoid him.’ There was something in his manner which Gabrielle, for all her good-nature, thought unpleasant and presuming. ‘ I know nothing about the gentleman,’ she said coldly ; ‘ but he appears to me to be a gentleman. I was saying so to your wife. She was afraid I might have supposed him to be rather rude in manner ; but I did not.’ ‘ I don’t know what he does for a living ; nor where he gets any money,’ Charlton went on with malice awkwardly dis- guised. ‘ The worst thing about being poor and living in a 72 DONNA QUIXOTE. place like that, Mrs. Vanthorpe, is per dinner- dress, explaining with needless iteration how she had not come with the least idea of staying, but only to see what Gabrielle was like and whether they could get on together, and how she was that independent that if she hadn’t liked Gabrielle, and hadn’t thought Gabrielle liked her, she wouldn’t have remained a moment in the house. ‘ But I do like her. I took to her from the first; I saw she w'as just my style from the moment I looked into her eyes,’ the effusive Paulina went on. ‘ Beal jam, I call her. This young lady don’t understand what real jam is, I see. Nor you neither, Gabrielle, I dare say % ’ She laughed at the notion of their ignorance. ‘I don’t know what it means,’ Gabrielle said in a dis- heartened tone, as of one who had no profound anxiety to learn. ‘ Pray do explain,’ Miss Elvin urged. She had already con- vinced herself that Gabrielle was dying with shame because of this dreadful sister-in-law, and she was anxious to draw Paulina out as much as possible in order that Gabrielle’s pride might have the fall which she considered providentially due to it. ‘ It is some American expression, I suppose 1 Is it Mark Twain ? ’ ‘Well, now that is funny!’ Paulina explained. ‘That I should come all this way to teach London slang to you two London ladies ! Why, that’s a London saying, real jam is. It’s the music-halls, I think ; and you a singer too, and you didn’t know that ! ’ ‘ I don’t sing at the music-halls,’ Miss Elvin said in a tone of infinite scorn. ‘ No ? They get a good screw at the music-halls, I’m told. Some first -class artists came out of the music-halls too. But ‘7 CLAIM YOU AS THE SISTER OF MY SOUL.' 175 I’m not American, you know, I’m English to the back-bone ; I’m a regular cockney ; born within sound of Bow Bells. My poor Phil had a notion — one of his odd ideas — that nobody ever was born in London ; and it is curious, if you ask people, how you find almost everyone you ask was born in the pro- vinces. But I always told him his notion wouldn’t wash ; for I was born within the sound of Bow Bells themselves.’ Paulina’s apologies for her lack of proper dinner-dress were not only superfluous, but had the inconvenient effect of drawing attention to the fact that her get-up, such as it was, displayed a good deal of gorgeousness, and contrasted with the pre- Baphaelite dead colouring and scant ornament of Miss Elvin’s attire, and the extreme simplicity of Gabrielle’s dress. Further, Paulina had contrived to extemporise a sort of imitation dinner- toilette, according to her idea of its requirements, by turning in a considerable portion of the neck and front of her dress, and so managing to make a very respectable display of bust crossed and recrossed with massy chains of gold. Paulina drank a great deal of wine at dinner ; and for Gabrielle and Miss Elvin wine was rather an ornamental accessory of the dinner-table than a part of the meal. She also asked for soda-water, and for a little brandy to compound with it. She had a very vigorous, healthy appetite ; and her capacity for the consumption of sweets proved to be something remarkable. When Gabrielle’s maid was a little slow about the opgning of the soda-water, Paulina good-naturedly said, 1 Hand it over, my dear ; I fancy I can do that better than you can,’ and made her boast good by proving that she could do it a great deal better. 1 1 can open a bottle of soda or a bottle of fizz,’ Paulina said with well-founded pride, 1 and never as much as wink.’ It was a trying evening for all three. But it would surely have surprised Gabrielle if she could have known that it was most of all trying to Paulina, who ate and drank with such an appearance of content and relish. Paulina had a hard struggle many a time to keep down her temper, and not to have what she would have called a flare-out. She saw in a moment that the little sallow-girl, as she called Miss Elvin, was giving her- self airs and looking down on her. And she thought, with a fierce longing for the chance, how short a time it would take her to knock the conceit out of the girl. Then even Gabrielle’s sweet and kindly ways sometimes aroused in her a spirit of antagonism. 4 Why is she any better than me, I want to know 1 ’ she mentally asked herself. ‘ I haven’t had any bringing up ; if I had, I dare say I should be just as good and just as much 176 DONNA QUIXOTE . of a lady as her.* But Paulina was for the present playing a part ; and she was determined to play it out. As she boasted to Fielding, she was quite clever enough to take on any part that might best commend her to the people she sought to please; and she thought she had hit upon the best way to ‘ fetch ’ Gabrielle, as she would herself have put it. She knew that the one part she could not sustain was that of a lady. The moment she spoke to Gabrielle she saw that it would be of no use attempting any imitation of the part with her. She had thought for a moment of doing the high tragedy ; but she fancied she saw something in Gabrielle’s manner that would have made that attempt unpromising. In another moment or two her genuine natural cleverness enabled her to get at the reality of Gabrielle’s character. She saw its simplicity, its generosity, its chivalry, if we may apply such a word to a woman’s nature, its Quixotry. 1 At the age of two,’ she said to herself, ‘ I wasn’t as innocent as that. Lord, how could I be % ’ She made up her mind at once. The part of a kind- hearted, unaffected, untaught woman was the thing for Gabrielle, she felt certain. Not goody-goody, but honest and good-natured. A frank confession of humble bringing-up and lack of education, and an appeal to the generosity of Gabrielle not to be ashamed of her because she hadn’t had a bringing-up — that, she thought, was the card to play. She played it accordingly ; and she saw that things were going on very well. But there were moments when the performance came a little hard upon her. She re- membered a night when she flung a woman on the floor in New Orleans and trampled on her. If Miss Gertrude Elvin could have known how often this pleasant recollection was passing through the mind of her companion at Gabrielle’s table, and how the past triumph was re-enacted in imagination with her for its victim, she would have found the little banquet far less agreeable even than it actually was. CHAPTEE XVIII. PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER. The day after the arrival of the unexpected guest at Gabrielle’s, Fielding — perhaps we may still describe him simply as we have always hitherto known him — was on his way to pay a visit to Paulina’s hostess. One result of Gabrielle’s good offices between the brothers naturally was to place Fielding in the position of a recognised friend. The new phase of Fielding’s existence was very delightful to him. He would in any case PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER . 177 probably have enjoyed the novelty of it as he did most novel- ties ; and would have liked the West-end London life if only as a change after the Southern States and Bolingbroke Place. But he had now one or two particular reasons for liking the change. He was greatly touched by his brother’s way of receiving him, and of renewing their affection, or rather making way for an affection which before had had no chance of existence. Nothing could have been less like what Fielding might have expected than the ways of his brother towards him. If Wil- berforce had discovered some entirely new and incomparable way of lighting his house, he could not have been more pleased than he was with the novelty of having a brother. He was never done talking to all the people he knew about ‘my brother, don’t you know 1 — my brother Clarkson ; just come back from somewhere ; splendid fellow : you positively must know him.’ He took Clarkson all over his town house from garret to basement, to show him all the recent improvements. He proposed to take him down to his country place presently, where there were still greater wonders to be exhibited, for the genius of practical science had to do there with gardens, grounds, and game, horses and stables, dogs and kennels, as well as with fireplaces and windows. Meantime, he hurried him down to Sydenham to show him a little place he had there quite near the Crystal Palace, and where he was trying plans for the accli- matisation of various foreign shrubs and flowers. He was always telling Clarkson they must have a long talk over old times together ; but the long talk never seemed likely to come off, for whenever they were alone Wilberforce had always some new device in the way of industrial science on which to consult his brother. He persisted in the assumption that a man who had been in so many foreign countries as Clarkson must be an authority on all subjects connected with the building, furnish- ing, lighting, and ventilating of houses. Fielding fell into all this in his usual companionable way. He declared that he was getting already softened and spoiled by civilisation ; and he persisted in retaining his old lodging in Bolingbroke Place, and in going there to pass a night when he felt inclined. But for the present at least he was in a manner taken captive by his brother’s kindness and good-fellowship, and he liked the new life remarkably well. He was always saying to himself that such a life would never suit him, that he was made for a gipsy or a tramp ; and he was always making up his mind that he must go somewhere and do something to- N DONNA QUIXOTE. morrow. But meantime he was like that son of Cato the younger, of whom the epigram set forth that he had passed we know not how many days in going to-morrow. One other novelty in which Sir Wilberforce took a manifest and undisguised delight was the society of Gabrielle. He made up his mind to go to Lady Honey bell’s whenever there vas a chance of her being there; and he called to see her sometimes at her own house, and talked a great deal with her whenever he had the opportunity. Fielding was generally with him on these occasions, and therefore grew to be quite an established friend of Gabrielle’s. It sometimes seemed to her as if she surely must have known him for years instead of a few weeks. This particular day, however, Fielding set out to call on Gabrielle without his brother. He was anxious to speak to her about the Yanthorpe affair. He had heard or come at the knowledge of something which, made him more than ever sus- picious of Paulina’s movements and purposes, and he thought it would be of great importance to put Gabrielle on her guard. He little suspected that at the very time when he was making his way to Gabrielle’s with this object, his name was on the lips of her and of the woman from whom he would if possible have kept her wide as the poles apart'. If Gabrielle Yanthorpe had been dealing in unholy arts, and had conjured up, to scare her friends, some abhorrent phantom she could not now exorcise and banish, she could hardly have felt more painfully responsible and self-reproachful. She thought with sickening misgivings of the part she had taken, slight as it was, in bringing up the spectre of Paulina to vex the future life of Mrs. Leven. Why did she meddle or make in the matter ? she kept asking herself. True, it was at no call of hers, and by no quest of hers, that the extraordinary Paulina presented herself. But Gabrielle had long been wish- ing to find some trace of Philip Yanthorpe, and had thought, not surely in any ignoble way, to find her own account in it by commending herself to his mother ; and now she seemed like some unlucky creature who, by a single unhallowed wish, has summoned an unwelcome apparition that will never cease to haunt. Every hour she spent in Paulina’s company more and more convinced her that it would be absolutely impossible to induce Mrs. Leven to endure such a daughter-in-law. If she could only believe Paulina to be an impostor — but there was no use in thinking of such a thing. Paulina had referred to Fielding as a witness to the truth of her story Indeed, it PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER . 179 would be impossible to doubt it. She had told Gabrielle a hundred things about Philip Vanthorpe’s younger days and his quarrels with his mother, of which Gabrielle remembered to have heard in a vague half-hushed sort of way before, and which certainly Paulina could only have heard from Vanthorpe himself. There was something uncomfortable, uncanny about the woman which made her companionship more oppressive to Gabrielle than any mere lack of education or good manners could have done. There was something sinister about her when the surface of good-heartedness was ruffled for a moment by any hint of contradiction. Gabrielle had seen her eyebrows contract and a light flash from her eyes once or twice as she looked at Miss Elvin, which had alarming suggestions about it as of the cage of a wild animal or a maniac’s cell. Then, where was the child ? It was now well on in the afternoon of the day after her arrival, and Paulina did not appear particularly anxious about the child. The whole world seemed to have grown perplexed for Gabrielle since this ill-omened visitor came inside her threshold. Yet to her Paulina was only exuberant good-nature and gratitude. 4 I must do something, I must send for some one — take some one’s advice,’ the troubled Gabrielle thought. 4 Major Leven 1 — Mr. Fielding, surely, would be better.’ 4 Had I not better write a line to Mr. Fielding, and ask him to come and see you, Paulina 1 ’ Gabrielle asked. They two were alone. 4 He will wish to see you, and you will like to see him.’ 4 Law, Gabrielle, send for him as soon as you like, if it’s any ease to your mind, my dear ; if you don’t feel quite sure about yours truly, Fielding will soon give you satisfaction on that point. He can’t deny that I am myself, anyhow ; he can’t say that this girl isn’t the wife of Philip Vanthorpe. But don’t send for him on my account, I beg of you, nor on his, my dear. We don’t particularly want to see each other, I can tell you.’ 4 But he was such a friend of your husband ? ’ 4 Just so; but the friend of the husband isn’t always the friend of the wife, dear ; especially if the wife should happen to be too fond of the husband. Any how, Master Fielding don’t like me now ; I dare say he won’t have a good word for me ; but send for him as soon as ever you like, Gabrielle ; I see it would be something of a satisfaction to you, and I don’t blame you. Why should you take mv word? although I know I N 2 180 DONNA QUIXOTE . could take your word for anything, once I looked into your eyes. Send for Fielding, dear, right away. It don’t matter to me at all. We are not very good friends; but we shan’t come to words in your presence, I dare say.’ Gabrieli e found this sort of talk unendurable. ‘ Perhaps if I were to consult Major Leven ‘ That’s the husband of the old lady ? ’ ‘ Please, Paulina, don’t call Mrs. Leven the old lady. I don’t like it ; she is not old.’ 1 That’s only my way, Gabrielle dear. You’ll not mind me when you have known me a longer time.’ Gabrielle’s heart sank at the suggestion. ‘ Mrs. Leven is a lady many people find it difficult to deal with,’ Gabrielle explained. 1 She is a noble woman at heart, but she has strong predilections — strong likings and dislikings, I mean.’ ‘I’ll bring her to reason, depend upon it. Ain’t I her eldest son’s wife 1 ’ ‘ Yes, but then you must remember, Paulina, that her son left her very early, and she may not admit any claim on her ; and she is married again — and I think we had better make our appeal to her feelings and her heart.’ ‘ You leave it to me, my dear : I’ll bring her to reason soon enough,’ the complacent Paulina said. ‘ The sooner she falls in with my views and the quieter she keeps me, the less talk and exposure there will be, don’t you see ? Folks like her don’t like family affairs talked of.’ ‘ I don’t think that would have much effect on Mrs. Leven, Paulina ; it would not have any on me,’ Gabrielle said firmly. Paulina was afraid she had been going too far. ‘ Oh, for that matter,' she said softly, ‘ I am well aware I haven’t any sort of claim on you, Gabrielle, only what your kind heart and your nature give. You are very good to take me on my own word even. You have been only too good already. The moment you say “ go,” I’ll go, Gabrielle ; and I shall still owe you good will for some happy, happy hours of shelter and kindness.* At this moment it was announced to Gabrielle that Mr. Fielding had called. She hailed his coming with delight. * Here is Mr. Fielding, Paulina ; we will see him at onu>. I am so glad ! ’ 1 Now for a nice piece of acting,’ thought Paulina. Gabrielle went forward to welcome Fielding with special cordiality. The room was somewhat darkened, for the summer PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER. 181 was growing on, and Paulina, for all her Southern experiences, declared that she could not bear the sun. Fielding did not at once see who was with Gabrielle, although her manner made him sure that she had something out of the common to say to him. 1 You have come at the very time when we wanted you, Mr. Fielding/ the almost breathless Gabrielle said. ‘ You see I have an old friend of yours with me. You have not for- gotten this lady ? ’ ‘ If you have forgotten me I shall take it unkind of you, Fielding/ the lady said for herself, half rising from her chair in a languid way. And Fielding saw that the woman whom it was his special effort to keep from touching Gabrielle with even the slightest contact was under her roof and seated in closest companionship with her. His mind went back in a moment to some of the scenes of Philip Yanthorpe’s later life; to the fierce quarrels he had himself witnessed ; to what he had seen with his own eyes of Paulina’s savage temper, animal love of food and drink, revolting coquetry, and almost brutal vul- garity; and as he now saw her by Gabrielle’s side, his first wild feeling was regret that she was not a man whom he could thrust by force from that sweet and gracious home. He did not even speak to Gabrielle at first. ‘ How did you come here ? ’ he asked sternly of the un- abashed Paulina. ‘I came to see my sister-in-law, Mrs. Albert Vanthorpe — why shouldn’t I come to see her % She is not ashamed of me because I wasn’t well brought up and wasn’t born a lady. And why 1 Because she’s a lady herself.’ ‘How on earth did you find her out 1 ’ he asked, turning to Gabrielle. ‘ I thought you gave me your promise ’ ‘ I have not broken any promise/ Gabrielle said, rather coldly. His manner was a little too sharp, she thought. It was hardly the manner he ought to assume to any woman. ‘ My sister-in-law is here of her own wish. She came to see me ; and I have welcomed her.’ ‘ Who told you her name 1 ’ he now addressed himself once more to Paulina. ‘ How did you get to. know it 1 ’ * I don’t suppose my whereabouts was very hard to find out, Mr. Fielding/ Gabrielle said, still cold in her manner towards him. ‘ There is a London directory ; and the name of Van- thorpe is not quite so common as that of Smith.’ ‘ But she never knew your name.’ ‘ My name is her name, Mr. Fielding/ * Yes, yes, it is now ; of course it is her name by right — but 1 82 DONNA QUIXOTE. she never knew it. She never heard the name of Yanthorpe ; she was always called Clarkson ; it was a whim of poor Philip’s to suppress his own name — a whim at first, but after his mar- riage a very serious purpose. When I saw her the other day I told her that no one but myself knew anything about the whole story, and that I would not tell her your name unless on conditions — that she knows.’ ‘ That’s all true enough, Gabrielle,’ Paulina said meekly. i My poor husband did go by the name of Clarkson out in the States ; but I don’t see what’s the odds of that now. I was Philip Yanthorpe’s wife, Mr. Fielding, his lawful wife; you won’t deny that ? ’ 4 You were his wife ; that’s only too true.’ 4 Well,’ said Gabrielle, interposing, 4 1 think that is all I want to know, Mr. Fielding. She was the lawful wife of my husband’s brother : she loved him, and he loved her, and he is dead ; and she comes to me. Let others do as they like, I’ll not refuse to own her, and she shall always be welcome here.’ Paulina seized Gabrielle’s hand and covered it with kisses, and then pressed it to her breast. Fielding made a movement as if he would pluck the hand away. But he stopped. 4 Stuff ! play-acting ! ’ were his genial words. 4 1 told you, Gabrielle,’ Paulina said ; 4 1 said Mr. Fielding didn’t like me. I told you he would not have a good word for me ; he was always trying to make my husband distrust me. He knows why he don’t like me, and I know it too ; but let that pass.’ Fielding was about to break in angrily upon her. But ho checked himself. He was not going to wrangle with such a woman in that presence ; or to condescend to vindicate his motives or his conduct by a word. 4 Let that pass,’ Paulina hurried on, seeing with joy that she was gaining something of an advantage. 4 1 can be generous if he can’t. The only thing I told you that he couldn’t do, Gabrielle, was that he couldn’t deny that I was Philip Yan- thorpe’s wife, and that Phil Yanthorpe loved me. You see he don’t deny it, and you see he would deny it if he could.’ 4 Yes,’ said Fielding, who saw that remonstrance was now useless, 4 1 would deny it if I could ; I only wish I could.’ 4 You see ! ’ Paulina exclaimed triumphantly. 4 Now, Mr. Fielding,’ Gabrielle said, returning to composure not without an effort, 4 you see our minds are made up here, and I am sure you have too much sense to think of arguing with women when they tell you they have made up their minds. PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER. 183 I hoped my sister-in-law would have found a warmer friend in you ; but I am glad that at least you don’t refuse to help her to establish her identity. I want your advice about her. I am sure you will give me good advice.’ ‘Yes; I will give you good advice; but will you take it when it is given 1 ’ ‘ I should like first to know what it is ; I don’t intend to commit myself, Mr. Fielding.’ ‘ My advice is this — about your brother’s wife I have only one advice to offer— ’ ‘ Shall I leave the room, Gabrielle 1 ’ Paulina asked. ‘ I don’t mind at all. You can talk about me more freely, perhaps, when I’m not in the way.’ ‘No, no ; you must stay,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I had rather you heard what I have to say,’ Fielding added. ‘ My advice is this — don’t have this woman staying in your house. Buy her off, if you will — I don’t advise it, but if you like buy her off, or get Mrs. Leven to buy her off ; but don’t keep her under your roof. She is not a woman to be a companion of yours; I am not talking now about what she calls her character. If she were as good as the goddess Diana in that sort of way, she is not a companion for you ; and I tell you some harm will come of having her* near you. Do any- thing you will in the way of kindness or charity ; but don’t allow her to remain in your house.’ ‘ What has he to say against me ? ’ Paulina asked still in her meek fashion. ‘ Let him say anything he will, Gabrielle ; I don’t mind ; I’m not afraid. Ask him what he has to say against me : it’s only fair he should speak out/ ‘Yes, that seems only fair, Mr. Fielding,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I believe men always hold to some principle of not insinuating a charge without giving one a chance of defending himself ; is there not some such principle among you 1 Why should I not be a friend to one who is so nearly connected with me, and who wants my friendship 1 Would you act so in such a case 1 ? ’ ‘ I hope I should listen to the sincere advice of one who knew more than I could know ’ ‘ No, Mr. Fielding ; you would do nothing of the kind. I don’t believe you would ; I am sure you would not. You would never turn your back on anyone whom you ought to care for merely because of some vague hints and objections. You would not do it ; neither will I.’ ‘ I suppose it is useless,’ Fielding said warmly, ‘ to expect a woman to listen to reason.’ 1 84 DONNA QUIXOTE . ‘ See the way you treat us ! ’ Gabrielle said, speaking quickly and with an emotion that now and then seemed likely to stop her speaking altogether. ‘We are never done hearing that women have no principles of honour, and fair-play, and all the i est of it ; that they listen to stories told behind people’s backs, and hit people when they are down ; and that only men are open and fair, and meet things face to face, and I don’t know what else ! And when we try to act on your principles of manly fair dealing, see what comes of it ! Then you tell us that we never can be reasonable, because we don’t simply do as we are told, and cast off anyone who has a claim on us without asking why or wherefore ; because some man chooses to say she is not worthy of your help, but I won’t tell you why ! You can’t have all of us this way, Mr. Fielding ; you must take some of us one way or the other. I choose to act on your own prin- ciples; and I will stand by a friend like a man.’ Gabrielle looked exceedingly unlike a man at this moment. Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her voice was all tremulous ; and she looked strikingly handsome and intensely feminine. She took Paulina’s hand the while and turned to- wards Fielding with a look of something like defiance. ‘ I should like you to stand by your friend,’ he said, ‘ if that was all ; I am not a man to turn my back on a friend or advise anyone else to do such a thing. But is she your friend 1 You see her for the first time; you know nothing about her — I do ! She broke poor Philip Yanthorpe’s heart.’ ‘ It’s not true,’ Paulina protested in tones of injured and melancholy innocence. ‘ He died in my arms. If he were alive you wouldn’t talk in this way. But I don’t want to make any quarrels, Gabrielle, between you and your respectable friends. I ain’t a respectable person, I know, in that sense ; I am only a poor woman whom Philip Vanthorpe loved and made his wife.’ ‘ Stuff ! ’ interjected the ungracious Fielding. * I’ll go away, Gabrielle ; I’ll go away. God bless you always, anyhow ; for you believed me and were kind to me.’ ‘ You shall not go,’ Gabrielle said ; ‘ you shall stay with me ; you are my sister-in-law, and you shall have a home here as long as you want one.’ ‘Look here,’ Fielding said, turning suddenly on the now flushed Paulina, ‘ what will you take to go away ? what is your sum? It will come to that in time — why not give us the figure at once ? ’ ‘ You don’t understand me, Mr. Fielding/ Paulina replied PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER. 185 in a tone of noble scorn. 4 You never did. You mistook me in more ways than one. What is my price to go away % I’ll tell you. One word from the lady of this house. Let this lady say the word 44 go,” and I’m gone. Now you have your answer. These are my terms.’ 4 I say stay,’ Gabrielle declared ; 4 1 say you shall not go. And now surely we need not say any more about all this ? I am sorry if you are offended, Mr. Fielding, or if I seemed angry. I am sure you meant well and kindly ; but you don’t understand women.’ 4 That he don’t,’ interjected Paulina. 4 We have some principles of fair-play, and we have our code of chivalry. I heard you talk once of somebody with whom it would not be safe to go tiger-hunting. He would back out, I suppose, in the moment of danger, and leave his friend in the lurch. Well, I think there are women you might go tiger-hunting with ; I am one.’ Fielding remembered the illustration to which she was referring in her emotional way. It was, indeed, rather a favourite illustration of his own. It was meant to picture the kind of man who, good and worthy enough in other ways, could not be trusted to stay by his friend to the last out of pure companionship and loyalty. It touched him now to hear her cite his own words even in objection to himself. 4 One thing will you do 1 ’ he asked. 4 Will you put her a plain question — where is Philip Yanthorpe’s child 1 ’ 4 1 do not mean to ask her any question now,’ Gabrielle re- plied. 4 She will tell me all that I want to know, I am sure, time enough. I think she has had questioning enough for one day.’ Gabrielle was now very angry. She could not understand how Fielding could act what seemed to her so unfair a part. She could not understand how he could expect her to sanction it or join in it. She felt hurt to think that he could have known so little of her. A man must despise women in his heart, she thought, who could expect them to act like that. If any drop of poison from Paulina’s half-spoken hints about the cause of his recent dislike to herself mingled in any way with Gabrielle’s feelings then, Gabrielle was not herself conscious of its influence. She was grieved and angered that Fielding should have misunderstood her, and expected her to play an ungenerous part towards the unfortunate Paulina. It came on her mind with a flush of pride in the recollection that it was only the other day she had heard insinuations made against himself and had refused to believe them. 1 86 DONNA QUIXOTE. 1 Well/ Fielding said, i I suppose there is no use in our talking of this any more, Mrs. Yanthorpe 1 ? You asked me for my advice and I gave it to you honestly. You won't take it, and there’s an end.’ * I know what you would think of me,’ she answered, ‘ if I were to take such advice in any other affair. We should hear something about the high principles of women then ! ’ He presently left her. Each was angry with the other. Paulina was doubly, trebly delighted. She had made her game, as she would have put it, to her own entire satisfaction. If she might have ventured on such a performance, it would have greatly delighted her to execute a wild dance of triumph in the very face of the discomfited Fielding. As it was, she could not refrain from flinging at him one saucy look of exulta- tion as he passed out of the room. He saw it, and she meant that he should see it. She would have lost half the joy of her cleverly won success if she could not have thus taken Fielding into her confidence and let him know distinctly that she had been only playing a part and that she considered herself to have won, and therefore was free to mock at his confusion. That night Robert Charlton and his wife were sitting in their room in Bolingbroke Place rather late. Robert was seized with a fit of hard work, and was toiling away assiduously, and in silence, his head down. Janet was engaged in some sewing. She was very much depressed and out of spirits. She had not seen anything of Mrs. Yanthorpe for many days. Mrs. Bramble, her aunt, had come to see Janet once or twice, and had brought her some scraps of gossip, but they were not, somehow, of a nature to gladden Janet. Suddenly a knock was heard at the door. Charlton started from his work and stood up like a man who fancies he sees a ghost. His wife started merely on seeing him start. 1 Was that a knock, Janet % ’ ‘ I think so, dear. It’s late ; I wonder who it can be.’ ‘ Don’t you go/ he said, motioning her back. ( Don’t you go/ He was moving towards the door. The knock was heard once more, and there was a certain impatience in it. ‘ Do you think it is some woman ? ’ Robert asked. Why he did not open the door at once or let her open it, his wife could not guess. A voice was heard outside. ‘I do declare it’s Mr. Fielding!’ Janet exclaimed. Her husband drew back. ‘ Fielding ? ’ he said. ‘ So it is — you open the door, Janet/ Janet promptly opened the door. PAULINA STOOPS TO CONQUER. 187 * Why, Mr. Fielding, I said it was you ! ’ ‘Well, Janet, are you glad to see me 1 ’ ‘ Indeed I am.’ For a moment or two Robert kept far back in the room, almost like one who expects to have to stand suddenly on his defence. Then, seeming to take a more satisfactory view of the visit, he came forward to meet Fielding. * Well, Charlton, here you are as usual working away.’ ‘We didn’t expect to see you, Mr. Fielding.’ ‘ Didn’t you really, Mr. Charlton % Why not now, might one ask % A man may occasionally visit his rooms, mayn’t he h ’ ‘ Yes ; but when one has become a grand swell, you know, and lives with one’s friends in a great West-end square, one isn’t expected to come back very often to a den like this.’ ‘ Piff-paff ! I have been back to the den several times lately, only you didn’t know anything about it. I come and go, follow my own whim as usual, Charlton. Don’t you remember the talk we had one night about the rolling-stone and the mill- stone ; I like the den ; perhaps it suits me best.’ * We are glad to see you again, Mr. Fielding, at all events,’ the meek Janet ventured to say. ‘ Thank you, Janet, I do believe you are. I don’t quite know about your husband ; but he is such a surly old bear, one never expects much gladness from him. I say, Charlton, are you well acquainted with the history of Ireland under the reign of Queen Elizabeth 1 ’ ‘ No, I can’t say that I am.’ ‘Because if you were you would know that there was a distinguished Irish chieftain of that time who went by the name of Surly-boy. I should think you must be a descendant of his.’ £ Well, there’s nothing to make a man particularly lively here. You have more the luck of it, Mr. Fielding.’ ‘ To be sure ; yes, your only jig-maker ! Well, I have come now to hale you and Janet — Mrs. Robert Charlton, of course I mean — by force of arms, if needs be, down to supper in my little den, just as we had it once before, don’t you re- member, Janet 1 ’ Yes, Janet remembered very well. That was indeed a pleasant night. The young man’s voice sounded sweet and cheery in her ears that had heard scarcely any but repining and melancholy tones for a long time, and Janet had always greatly liked Fielding and his kindly, companionable ways. To-night, however, she looked at him with something of a doubtful 1 88 DONNA QUIXOTE. expression. His gaiety of manner did not seem quite like the old thing, somehow ; it appeared to her to be forced and un- natural. Perhaps, she conjectured, he is only doing this to show that he doesn’t think any the less of his old friends because he has gone back to his grand family. It was kind of him all the same, she thought. Robert accepted the invitation, much to his wife’s surprise. ‘ Come, Janet, be quick,’ he said ; ‘ don’t keep Mr. Pielding waiting.’ ‘ Keep Mr. Fiddlestick ! ’ said Fielding. ‘ We need not be so high and mighty in our politeness, need we, Charlton 2 ’ ‘ We have been hearing such wonderful things about you, Mr. Fielding,’ Janet said in her delight, as she was preparing to go downstairs. ‘ Truly, Janet 2 Anything good 2 That would be odd news, indeed, wouldn’t it 2 ’ * Oh, yes, delightful news ; all about you and your brother, and how fond he is of you, and how you are always going to live with him, and be always a gentleman; oh, I beg pardon, I don’t mean that,’ and Janet blushed. ‘ Don’t mean what, Janet 2 Don’t mean that I am going to be a gentleman 2 Why, now you are hard upon me.’ ‘ Oh, no, no ! I only meant that of course you were always a gentleman ; there’s nothing new in that ; money can’t alter that/ ‘Janet, you chatter too much,’ her husband said. ‘ Not too much for me,’ Fielding said. ‘ It gives me pleasure to hear a friendly voice. Go ahead, Janet, chatter away, if your husband will call it chattering.’ No modest little woman ever yet found her fluency of speech increased on being told by one of two listeners that she chattered too much, and enjoined by the other to chatter away. Janet became silent all at once. ‘ You’ve stopped her up,’ said Fielding ; ‘ see what an unlucky fellow you are, Charlton.’ ‘ It was you stopped me up more than Robert, Mr. Fielding,’ Janet said in great good humour, ‘ for you told me to chatter away.’ ‘ Yery well ; and why don’t you chatter away 2 ’ ‘ Oh, because I seemed to be only making a fool of myself, and one does not like that.’ ‘ I wish I could make a fool of myself.’ ‘ Why so, Mr. Fielding 2 ’ ‘ Because that would prove that the thing had not yet been done, Janet ; there would be some comfort in that.’ THE SUNSTROKE. 189 * Talking of people making fools of themselves/ Robert inter- rupted, ‘ is it true what we hear about Mrs. Yanthorpe h ’ ‘ What do you hear about her 1 ’ ‘ They say she is going to be married.’ 1 Oh, I don’t believe a word of it/ said Janet. ‘ It’s only some nonsense my aunt has got into her head ; I wouldn’t repeat such things, Robert.’ ‘ Why not % Where’s the harm % Mr. Fielding is sure to know whether it is true or isn’t.’ * Why should I be sure to know ? ’ Fielding asked. c Well, because the story goes that she is to be Lady Field- ing — that she is going to marry your brother.’ 1 Oh, Robert ! ’ Janet protested. * I know nothing about it/ Fielding said carelessly. ‘ I am not by any means my brother’s keeper ; and Mrs. Yanthorpe isn’t likely to consult me. Come along ; let us have supper, and let who will marry or talk of marriages.’ He drew Janet’s arm within his own and swept her down the stairs, leaving Robert to follow at such pace as suited him. Janet looked timorously into his face as they went down. She wished her husband had not talked in such a way ; she could not understand why he had done so — it was so unlike Robert to repeat what he was fond of calling women’s silly gossip, and he generally professed the poorest opinion of anything said by Janet’s aunt, even when it happened to be good sense. But Mr. Fielding did not seem to have paid much attention to Robert’s words; at least, he talked and rattled all the way down as if he were in the highest spirits. CHAPTER XIX. THE SUNSTROKE. A traveller in a tropical country goes about for days, or months, and braves the sun and the climate, and suffers nothing ; perhaps, if he be of a specially hardy mould, scarcely thinks about such a thing as danger. Suddenly one day he is cleft down by a sunstroke. Why that day more than another ? The conditions were the same to all appearance for him all the days before. So many days that could be counted, so many sun-rays that could not be counted, had shone on his unharmed head ; and why on this one particular day does this one particular ray cleave him down % Was that sunbeam charged from all eternity 190 D ONNA Q UIXO TE. before to do the work, as Madame de Sevigne declares the cannon-ball to have been that struck down the great Turenne ? The question is asked now d, propos only of so unhistoric and unimportant a person as Clarkson Fielding. He had been out and about the world for many years, young as he still was ; he had been his own master almost since he was a boy ; he had seen many countries; he was fond of making acquaintances everywhere; he must have met and known, on a moderate computation, some hundreds of pretty women, and he had never until now felt one real thrill or pang of love. It is un- reasonable to suppose that many of these women were not handsomer and cleverer than Gabrielle Yanthorpe; and yet it was the ray from Gabrielle’s kindly eyes that gave him his sunstroke. The thing might not have been surprising if he were one who disliked women and kept aloof from them, and was at last drawn, or dragged, into companionship with a woman, and so fell the easier victim. It would not have been surprising if he were one who had a low opinion of women generally, and was at length suddenly forced to see that there was one woman at least deserving of a better judgment. But Fielding had always liked the society of women, so long as they were easy and agreeable. He liked to be on pleasant terms of camaraderie with an intelligent woman of any class ; and even if she were not particularly intelligent, as in the case of Janet Charlton, he liked her if she were genial and friendly. He was never conscious of having been shy or constrained in the society of women : there never was a time when he could not have looked a girl straight in the face ; there never was, until now, a time when his pulse would have quickened by one beat at meeting or parting with a woman, except as it might have quickened at meeting or parting with some man, his friend. Not that he had not had flirtations and what are called love affairs. He was far too curious a student of human nature not to put himself in the way of such experiences ; but he had never found his rest much disturbed by them. The moment he saw Gabrielle Yanthorpe he fell in love with her. It did not even take him long to be conscious to the full of what had happened. He did not by any means like the new sensation. It dis- turbed him ; it was opposed to all his ways ; it marred his easy enjoyment of life ; it was a new and strange element disarranging the established economy of his irresponsible existence. He had known himself, or had fancied he knew himself, for some time, and had never supposed he could turn into a fond lover. Besides, when the new sensation came, it seemed utterly out of THE SUNSTROKE. 191 the question to suppose it could lead to anything more than simple disturbance to himself. He did not even stop for one moment to contemplate the possibility of Gabrielle Vanthorpe falling in love with him, and marrying him. It may as well, indeed, be said that if the possibility had occurred to his mind at the earlier stages of their acquaintance, it would have brought him little comfort. He did not want to be married ; he did not think he was by any means the sort of person to undertake the responsibility of a married life. It seemed to him as much out of keeping with all his schemes and ideas of existence, as to be governor of the Bank of England, or Chancellor of the Exchequer. How was a man to know, he had sometimes thought in other days, whether he would like to be married or not ? A woman might be very good company for an hour or two — but every day and for ever? He rather sympathised with the American lady who declined to get married on the ground that she couldn’t have a man always dangling at her heels. He did not feel the least anxiety to have a woman always dangling at his heels. It would be intolerable when the thing was done to know that it could not be undone, and had to be tolerated. Therefore, when Fielding became conscious of the new sen- sation, he chafed against it vehemently. He tried hard to shake himself loose of it ; perhaps we may say to laugh him- self out of it. He tried not to believe in it. For a while he really did not, or would not, believe in it. Death is a thing for others, not for us — that we all know. The strange new pain that would seem to us significant beyond misapprehen- sion for another, cannot be death for us — oh, no, it is impos- sible ; it is this, it is that, it cannot be death. So it was at first with Fielding and his new sensation. It could not be love : absurd, impossible. But after a little there was no mis- taking the thing ; and Fielding looked the reality fairly in the face, and saw that his time too had come, and that the whole conditions of his life had changed. Not poppy, nor mandragora, could ever steep his senses in such forgetfulness that the time to come should be as the time that was now gone for ever. Perhaps the worst of it was that the past life seemed now as barren in his eyes as the future. It seemed far worse : it ssemed odious as well as barren. He hated the recollection of the experiences he had gone through ; the pitiful amusements, the ignoble companionships, the worthless enterprises, the vap'd love of change, the selfish pursuit of pleasures and whims — and oh, such tasteless pleasures, such paltry -whims ! His brother 192 DONNA QUIXOTE. now seemed to him a thousand times superior, for all his oddities and his nonsense. Wilberforce had some purposes of practical good, at least. He hustled and fussed and busied himself about schemes which, if they came to anything, would do good to somebody. Nobody on earth would be the better for his, Clark- son Fielding’s, having lived; or need care twopence if he were dead. It is perhaps needless to say that some, at least, of Fielding’s respect for the schemes of Sir Wilberforce came from his obser- vation of the respect with which Gabrielle Yanthorpe listened to them. Gabrielle, as we know, held nothing alien from her which in the slightest degree concerned the good, or even the comfort, of a man and a brother ; and she had always listened with an interest, the more flattering because it was genuine, to Sir Wilberforce’s expositions of the good he was about to con- fer on civilised mankind, by his various applications of practical science to the improvement of the conditions of every-day life. Fielding began to grow more and more full of regard for Wil- berforce. In proportion to the strength of his old reluctance to come near his brother was now the revulsion of feeling towards him. Through half his life Fielding had made up his mind that his elder brother disliked him, and was glad to be rid of him, and would be sorry to see him again ; and now that he found Wilberforce so simple, so straightforward, so affectionate in his peculiar way, the heart of the younger man went out towards him with a remorseful tenderness. No one could have obliged Fielding more than by trying to injure Sir Wilberforce, and giving him, Fielding, a chance of getting at the wrong-doer. He felt as if he ought to be taking care of Wilberforce, who was so much his senior ; for there was something unspeakably boy- ish, not to say childlike, in Wilberforce’s oddities and fads, and unnecessary unresting activity. ‘ Tell you what, Clarkson,’ the elder said one day as they were leaving Gabrielle Yanthorpe, 1 that’s one of the nicest women I know. You don’t think so, no 1 why not, Clarkson 1 why not 1 ’ ‘ I didn’t say she wasn’t one of the nicest women 1 knew/ Fielding said ; 4 1 think she is the best woman I ever saw, and the most beautiful too, and the cleverest, and the sweetest, and the dearest — and anything else you like, Wilberforce. I’m open to a competition to see who can say the most in her praise, like two of the shepherds in Yirgil singing the praises of some idyllic girl.’ ‘No, I don’t think I’ll venture to compete, Clarkson — you had always more of the literary turn than I, my boy ; and I never could care anything about these things of Y irgil ; stupidest THE SUNSTROKE. *93 things in the world they seem to me : I suppose you do really like them, since you say you do ; but I give you my word, I never could see anything in them but silly stuff, don’t you know ? ’ t What do they prove, after all 1 ’ Clarkson asked ironically, thinking of Newton and ‘ Paradise Lost.’ ‘ Exactly,’ Wilberforce said very contentedly ; ‘ there it is ; what do they prove ? why, look here, Clarkson, these Romans, do you know, with their poets, and their Tityruses, and Amaryl- lises, and all that lot, they hadn’t a chimney to their houses. Call that greatness ? I don’t.’ ‘ Well, if I don’t agree with you in all that, I do agree with you about Mrs. Yanthorpe, Wilberforce ; I think her a charming woman, and a woman with a character and a heart.’ ‘ Glad to hear you say so, Clarkson ; you have seen the world and cities and all that, like who is it-— Ulysses or some- body — and you ought to be a judge of character. A man might do worse than marry Mrs. Yanthorpe ; eh, Clarkson, don’t you think so ? ’ Fielding was surprised at this remark, and looked into his brother’s face. Wilberforce was quite unmoved. ‘ Tell you what, Clarkson, I wish she would marry me ; I do indeed. I am not much of a marrying man ; but I suppose a man will be expected to marry some time or other. It’s a sort of social duty one owes, I take it ; people will look for it ; and I think it is about time for me to be making up my mind. I am not like you with all the world before me ; I’m getting on, you know. I have been thinking of this a good deal lately \ ever since I came to know her.’ Fielding murmured out something about its being very natural and very proper, and doing equal honour to the head and heart of somebody ; he did not exactly explain whom he meant. He was indeed much bewildered. ‘ She’s the nicest woman I ever knew,’ Sir Wilberforce went on ; ‘ much the nicest. She has no stuff and nonsense about her ; and she takes an interest in things ; I never knew so young a woman take such an interest in things. She would make a capital wife. A deuced deal younger than I am, of course ; but I don’t think that is a matter of any consequence ; and then, having been left a widow all at once, you know, there’s a kind of gravity about her, so that one doesn’t think of her exactly as if she were a mere girl, you know ; and there wouldn’t appear all the discrepancy that there is.’ Fielding had indeed often noticed that the peculiar conditions O 194 DONNA QUIXOTE. of her life had given a sort of sweet gravity to Gabrielle’s man- ner that made her seem less young, less like a girl, than she really was. Still, the idea of a marriage between her and Sir Wilberforce seemed to him something preposterous. ( Of course, this is all between ourselves, Clarkson ; I have only been thinking of it in a vague sort of way, you know ; I wouldn’t mention it to anyone but you for all the world. I don’t know, of course, whether she would have me. I am not the sort of fellow a handsome young woman would be likely to fall in love with ; I know that pretty well, not being quite a fool, Clarkson. But then I could offer her a good position, you know, and money enough ; and I fancy I shouldn’t make half a bad husband ; and a woman might do worse, mightn’t she, Clarkson ? eh, eh ? don’t you think so ? ’ Clarkson really did think so. He thought a woman might do a great deal worse than marry his honest, kindly, fussy brother ; and he said as much with emphasis. ‘ Thank you, Clarkson ; thank you very much ; I know you mean what you say. — Well, we’ll think it over. You know, when one has gone to all this trouble, and has had all these houses arranged as perfectly as the practical science of the day can make them, one is bound, I suppose, to put a woman over them, isn’t he? people will expect it; people will expect it. Don’t you think so ? ’ The conversation threw Fielding into a contemplative mood. That was one of the nights when he first went back to his old lodgings in Bolingbroke Place. He found his way into his den unseen and unnoticed by the Charltons, or anyone, and he began, almost without thinking of it, to put a few things together, as a man does who is preparing for a journey. Would she marry Wilberforce ? he kept asking himself. Why not ? There could hardly be a better fellow ; and it would be absurd to suppose that any woman in Gabrielle’s position could be wholly indiffer- ent to the attractions of a title and great wealth. And what if she did marry Wilberforce? why should he, Fielding, feel in any way astonished, or shocked, or grieved ? He had not thought of the possibility of her marrying anyone, but was it at all likely she would remain, or be allowed to remain, in mere unmeaning widowhood all her life ? She was only a girl yet ; why should she not marry ? Exactly; why should she not? Yet the thought of such a thing seemed to make Fielding weary of the sun ; seemed to make the stars lose their fire. His impulse was to go away ; go away at once, and never come back. With all his joyous temperament, his general good spirits, and his indomitable ease THE SUNSTROKE. *95 and familiarity of manner to all comers, he had a great deal of nervousness and sensitiveness in his composition, and was liable to intervals of profound depression. There is a preposterous Engl ish - man in a once famous French novel, of whom it is told that his mother always called him ‘ poor sensitive ; ’ such was the tender and delicate melancholy of his insular nature ; he was, if we are not mistaken, a Lancashireman. Now, Fielding’s young mother, while greatly amused at this French idea of a typical Lancashire- man — a class of person towards whom she felt but slight attraction — was yet pleased to discern in her boy, even at his thought- less years, something of that sensitive nature, so rare among Englishmen, and she loved to call him 4 poor sensitive.’ Some of her friends laughed at her, seeing how healthy, strong, and fearless the boy was growing up, seeing that there never was a dog, however uncouth or savage, that he could not play with at first sight ; not a colt he could not ride ; no man or woman he could not question and get into talk with. But the mother knew something about the true nature of her boy, for all that. She had had the benefit of all his little confidences ; she had known how he would creep into her arms and cry because of supposed slights that no one but she ever thought he had felt; because of pathetic scenes or suggestions that no one but she could ever have fancied likely to touch him. She had known how some music affected him ; and some lines of poetry. She had known him to be so much affected by a little poem he once found in a country newspaper that she had to steal it away from him, to keep him from reading it again and again, and always with tears, although the poem did not contain a single allusion to the stock subjects of the pathetic by which children are com- monly affected. The lines were from some collection of poems with which she was not acquainted, and no name was attached to them in the newspaper ; but Fielding found out years and years after that they were by William Blake. His mother was not so far wrong when she called him 1 poor sensitive,' half in jest, half in earnest, after the man in the ‘ Juif Errant.’ It was this very sensitiveness which nobody but his mother saw in him that drove him away from his father’s house in resent- ment of fancied slights, in anticipation of injustice that he now saw would never have been done. Yet he rallied again after the talk with Wilberforce, and schooled himself into a saner mood, and he went back to his bro- ther’s house, and visited Gabrielle again, as we have seen, and re- solved to think no more of the matter. But he was greatly hurt at first by Gabrielle’s manner to him the morning when she bade 196 DONNA QUIXOTE. him defiance in defence of the beauteous Paulina ; and he went back to his den that night, and tried a joyous supper with the Charltons, and made up his mind that he must leave Engl an l at once. It was not any better with him when, thinking over all that had passed, he began to see that Gabrielle had been very much in the right, and had shown, even in her unwisdom and her quixotry, just that chivalrous spirit which he so much admired in her. The more foolish her conduct appeared in a worldly sense, the more generous, the more truly like herself it showed to him. He began to think how very like she was to the kind of ideal character which, in his days of fanciful boy- hood, he used to set out as the model on which to mould him- self. He began to be sentimental and egotistic then and there, and to declare that she was like his better self — that Providence had sent her to be a better self to him ; and that only perverse chance, and the world, and the devil, could have come between him and her. But this highflown mood soon sank, fell into the marsh of reality. ‘ She doesn’t care for me ; not one straw,’ he told himself ; ‘ I know that well enough : why should she % how could she 1 I have never done anything such a woman could care about. Wilberforce is a thousand times a better fellow in every sense. I wish she had never brought us together — such a good fellow as he is; and now the moment I have found him, I must lose him again. I wish I had never seen her. I was happy before I saw her — oh, no, I was not. I can only be happy by remembering her. What an ass I am ! ’ This was the only conclusion at all satisfactory at which he could arrive. There are two famous mortals whom sportive sorcery translates into the likeness of the ass. One is Bully Bottom ; the other, and much older, is the hero of Apuleius. Bottom did not know of his ass’s head ; his elder brother in misfortune was only too conscious of the change that had been wrought in him. Some thought of this was whimsically pass- ing through the brain of Fielding. * At least/ he said, ‘ 1 am like the fellow in Apuleius ; if I am an ass, I know it/ CHAPTER XX. sir wilberforce’s intervention. When the excitement of her discussion with Fielding was over, and she had formally proclaimed herself the protectress of Paulina against the world, Gabrielle began to feel a little dis- pirited and blank. She was convinced that she had been in SIR WILBERFORCES INTERVENTION. 197 the right, and that she could not have acted otherwise ; hut she was sorry to have had to act in any way that might offend Fielding. She became more and more sorry for it as, during the course of the next day or two, Paulina kept insinuating explanations of Fielding’s dislike of her in a manner which was not clear enough to challenge any comment, and which Gabrielle felt she had better decline to encourage by any manner of notice. She felt herself more inclined every hour to shrink from close contact with Paulina. The house seemed to have been made unwholesome by the strange woman’s presence. Gabrielle lay awake at nights thinking with a strong sense of repugnance that Paulina was sleeping not very far off. Fielding she did not expect to see soon again. She could not even desire to see him as long as Paulina remained in the house. It was a great sacrifice, she thought, to have displeased him for the sake of Paulina. Yet she could not bring herself to believe that it was any part of her duty to accept unproved accusations against this poor outcast of respectability, or to turn Paulina out of doors as a sacrifice to the proprieties and the conventionalities of the world. But like all women, even the strongest and bravest, she felt it a "terrible trial to have to stand up alone against the opinions of her little world. She could not but remember too that, of all men she had ever met, Fielding seemed the least likely to be governed by any servile regard for the mere conventionalities of society. It was a great relief to her when one morning she saw Sir "VYilberforce ride up to her gate. He looked so stout and strong, so healthy and rosy, as he checked his horse and was preparing to dismount, that his very presence seemed an antidote against morbid thoughts and fearsome misgivings. She remembered at that moment a saying of Lady Honeybell’s — ‘ Eh, my dear, your woman’s-rights theory and your woman’s independence are all very well for fair weather ; but when anything is going wrong, it’s a great comfort to have a man in the house to advise with.’ Sir Wilberforce seemed to be just the sort of man a woman would like to have in the house under any untoward circumstances requiring firm counsel. Gabrielle found herself almost admiring him as she saw him get off his horse ; and she went promptly to her drawing-room to welcome him. If he had been at all a vain man, he might, with such purposes as he had communicated to his brother, have drawn cheering auguries from the evident pleasure with which Gabrielle received him. ‘ Mrs. Yanthorpe, can you tell me what has become of my brothei Clarkson % he hasn’t turned up now for two days.’ 19S DONNA QUIXOTE. Gabrielle felt confused somehow, she could not tell why. Perhaps she wondered why Sir Wilberforce should have asked her anything about his brother. 4 He sometimes goes off to the place he used to live in — the place where you saw him first/ Sir Wilberforce explained ; 4 but he always came back the next morning. Don’t know why he ever went there, I’m sure ; said it kept up his title to inde- pendence, or something of the kind ; queer fellow, Clarkson ; always was ; you understand his ways as well as I do, Mrs. V anthorpe, I dare say. But this time he hasn’t come back, and I haven’t heard anything about him, and I ask you, Mrs. Vanthorpe, because the last time I saw him he told me he was going to call on you — two days ago.’ 4 But, Sir Wilberforce, you don’t think, I hope, that we have been murdering him secretly, Miss Elvin and I % ’ 4 No, no, I can assure you; nothing of the kind; never thought of such a thing, giye you my honour. But did he call on you that day 1 ’ 4 Yes, he was here for a short time,’ Gabrielle said, remem- bering with a sort of compunction that they had had something like a quarrel ; 4 and I am afraid we did not part the very best of friends, Sir Wilberforce ; but that wouldn’t account for his not going back to your house, would it ] ’ 4 You didn’t part the best of friends 1 how was that, I should like to know. I hope it wasn’t Clarkson’s fault. I don’t think it could have been, Mrs. Yanthorpe, if you’13 pardon me for saying so much ; because, don’t you know, Clarkson thinks the world and all of you. You should hear him talk.’ 4 It was not his fault altogether, Sir Wilberforce; but I don’t think it was all my fault either. 5 ‘Tell us all about it,’ Sir Wilberforce said, with a good- humoured bluntness, drawing a seat close to her and bestowing himself to listen, as if her consenting to tell him all about it were a mere matter of course. Gabrielle, now sadly in want of a confidant, was only too glad to get one of Sir Wilberforce’s mature years. She had been making up her mind to send for Major Leven ; she had almost thought of going to Mis. Leven and appealing to her feelings. Now she did not attempt to resist Sir Wilberforce’s frank appeal ; and she told him the whole story, beginning pretty well at the beginning, so far as she knew it. She told him what Clarkson had advised her to do with Paulina, and wound up by asking simply, 4 Now, Sir Wilberforce, you know it all — and what am I to do with this poor woman i 1 SIR WILBERFORCE S INTERVENTION. 199 Sir Wilberforce thought the matter gravely over, and shook his head more than once. ‘ I fancy Clarkson was right, you know/ he said at last ; * he must have known a deal more about her than you or I, Mrs. Vanthorpe; and he isn’t an unkindly fellow, Clarkson.’ £ But he says she really is what she professes to be — she really is my brother’s widow, Sir Wilberforce.’ ‘ Just so, just so; exactly; that may be all right enough; but that isn’t the point so far as you are concerned, don’t you see 1 ’ ‘ I don’t see it by any means ; I think it is the very point, Sir Wilberforce. I am afraid you are just as bad as he. How can you both be so unkind to this poor woman 1 ’ ‘ Why, you see, it’s partly, I dare say, because we both think' more of you than we do of her. She may have been your brother’s wife and yet she mayn’t be by any means the sort of person for you to have in your house. Young fellows when they go abroad to these places, you know, are apt to pick up with such extraordinary kind of women, and marry them, by Jove, before they know where they are, or what they are doing. I say, wasn’t it lucky Clarkson didn’t fall in love with any woman of that sort 1 If he did, he’s just the man to marry her, I fancy.’ ‘ But about this poor creature — you see we are only con- jecturing all these dreadful things/ Sir Wilberforce. ‘ I dare say Clarkson knew a good deal more than he said ; he couldn’t well tell you, you know. Why doesn’t this person go to the mother of her husband 1 there would be the place for her — she hasn’t any claim on you.’ ‘ She says so ; she is very honest/ pleaded Gabrielle. 6 Then, why does she come to you % why doesn’t she go to the other lady 1 ’ i Well, perhaps because she fancied I might be more sym- pathetic; or she heard of me first.’ i Hot a bit of it; excuse me, I don’t mean to say you are not sympathetic ; but that isn’t her reason for settling down on you. It’s because there is no man here to deal with. Let her go to Major Leven ; let him tackle her.’ Gabrielle could not help thinking that Major Leven would be about as easily talked over as anybody in the world. ‘ I was going to write to Major Leven/ she said ; ‘ I am anxious that he should come and see this poor woman.’ c I’ll see her/ Sir Wilberforce said, rising from his chair with an air of business-like promptitude. ‘ I understand all 200 DONNA QUIXOTE. that sort of thing ; I’ve been a magistrate since before you were born, I dare say. Where is she ? I’ll go to her.’ ‘ I will ask her to come, if you wish •’ ‘No, no, my dear lady; you mustn’t be present, if you please. I should much rather talk to her myself. Tell your servant to show me to where she is. I’ll soon get to know all about the whole affair.’ Sir Wilberforce was evidently about to enter on a formal examination of Paulina, after the regular fashion of a county justice of the peace interrogating some new tramp or alien beggar who has ventured within his jurisdiction. Gabrielle could not repress a smile. ‘ But I don’t th ink she would like to be taken in that way, Sir Wilberforce. It is very kind of you to try to relieve me of some trouble ; but would it be fair to my brother’s widow to treat her as if she were a person of suspicious character ? She is here as a guest and not as a prisoner.’ Sir Wilberforce shook his head and sat down again. ‘Where do you keep your property?’ he asked — ‘jewels and things — plate and things ? plate at the bank ? ’ ‘ Everything of that kind that I have is in this house — not much, Sir Wilberforce,’ said Gabrielle, smiling and likewise blushing. His good-humoured, brusque , dictatorial way was not to be resisted, even although Gabrielle began to think that he was looking on her as a fool. ‘ Never do, never do,’ Sir Wilberforce went on. ‘ Ridicu- lous to have a place like this with only women. Coachman even- — does he sleep on the premises? ’ ‘ Mr. Bramble does ; he is my housekeeper’s husband, Sir Wilberforce.’ ‘ That old man I saw the other day ? Well, he would not be much good, I fancy.’ ‘ But, Sir Wilberforce, really it isn’t a case of standing siege. The house isn’t going to be attacked by the forty thieves — and even if it were, I don’t see how poor Paulina’s being here would be likely to make things any the worse. She’s not in league with the captain of the band. This house is not a grange.’ ‘Not a what? ’ Sir Wilberforce asked. He was not strcng on Shakespeare. ‘ Well, I mean it isn’t like a lonely country house. Besides, this poor Paulina — what on earth is thereabout her that makes you all go wild with suspicion ? you are as bad as your brother.’ ‘ You don’t know much about this sort of people ; and you SIR WILBERFOR CE'S INTERVENTION. 20 1 are so awfully good-natured, you know. Well, do you think I mayn’t see this person and talk with her a little 1 ’ ‘ I shouldn’t like to have her shown off like a wild animal, Sir Wilberforce ; or to have her treated as if she were a prisoner. Do please to understand that she is my sister-in-law, who has been guilty of no greater crime, so far as I know, than that of coming to ask me to help her in making herself known to her husband’s mother.’ ‘ Well, look here; the best thing you can do is to comply with her wish at once. Turn her over on Major Leven and his wife ; they will understand how to deal with her much better than you can. Tell you what, Mrs. Yanthorpe : if you will allow me, I will call on Major Leven at once. I’ll go over there now, and tell him all about the whole affair, and let him come and see this woman. It really is his business much more than yours, don’t you know 1 ’ Gabrielle could not dispute this fact. Sir Wilberforce’s offer relieved her of a difficulty. She was really growing much distressed by the presence of Paulina. There was no talk of Paulina’s returning to her lodgings, or sending for her child. When Gabrielle asked her about the boy she only evaded any answer, or laughed and assured her the boy was all right, and that he was to be brought over to her the very next day, and that he should stay there if Gabrielle liked him. But the boy did not make his appearance all the same, and Gabrielle could not but remember Fielding’s urgent advice to her to press for some information about the child. In other ways too the companionship of Paulina became distressing. She talked with the maids a great deal, and asked them a variety of questions and made odd jokes with them. She rang her bell incessantly, and sometimes apparently for no other purpose than to have a chat with any of the servants ; unless, indeed, when she wanted a little dry sherry or some soda-water with a dash of brandy. She scowled so fiercely at Miss Elvin more than once that that young lady declared herself in bodily fear of Paulina, and protested that Paulina would certainly murder someone before she left the house. Gabrielle despised these terrors, and was determined that she would not be frightened out of sheltering Paulina as long as nothing worse than lack of polite manners could be ascribed to her ; but in the mean time her presence seemed to vulgarise the very atmosphere. It was a great relief, therefore, to Gabrielle when Sir Wilberforce took on himself the task of calling on Major Leven, and directing his attention to Paulina. Gabrielle liked Sir Wilberforce so much, and 202 DONNA QUIXOTE. thought him so kind and fatherly, that she did not mind in the least making use of his volunteered intervention. Nothing could be more remarkable than the manner in which she seemed to have struck up a friendship with him. They might have been uncle and niece, she thought, so free and friendly and trusting they were. She might have been his ward and he her guardian. Truly it is to be observed that Gabrielle had rather a rapid way of striking up friendships and of making confidants ; and perhaps if Sir Wilberforce had known how quickly her likings were formed, he would have felt less gratified by her manifest liking for him. The liking was manifest, however, and he rode away very cheery and delighted to do her a service. He sang in imagination a sort of 4 Tirra-Lirra,’ like a middle- aged Lancelot of the more than middle-aged nineteenth century, as he went on his way to Major Leven. It must be owned that Gabrielle did actually cast a glance from one of her win- dows after him as he trotted off, looking firm and healthful and magisterial, with his sleek groom behind him — just the very model, to all outward seeming, of the man a young woman in perplexity would rely on for comfort and aid. ‘ Absurd to have her living all alone in that sort of way/ the stout Sir Lancelot said to himself as he rode on. ‘ Never do, never do.’ Then his spirits began to sing ‘ Tirra-Lirra * again. CHAPTER XXL EXORCISED. Why had Clarkson Fielding been so unwise as to argue and endeavour to convince Gabrielle? He should not have dis- cussed the question of Paulina’s treatment : he should have done something forthwith, and confronted Gabrielle with accom- plished realities. . For all that experience of men and cities on which Sir Wilberforce had complimented him, he had not any- thing like the knowledge of how to deal with women which came instinctively to his home-keeping brother’s homely wits. Sir Wilberforce made up his mind at once that it would ‘ never do ’ to have Paulina saddled on Gabrielle ; that when Clarkson spoke against the woman there must be matter in it ; and he decided that she must be got out of the house directly. The end proved to be very easily brought about. Paulina’s little plot was soon exploded. As she would probably have put it herself, ‘ the game was up ’ in a moment. A very brief in- EXORCISED, 203 vestigation conducted by Major Leven, at the instigation and with the companionship of Sir Wilberforce, and with the help of Scotland Yard, turned far too much light on the immediate plans of Philip Yanthorpe’s widow. To begin with, her one child had died before she came to Europe, and she had been in active negotiation, with the help of the woman in whose house she lodged on the Surrey side, to supply his place with a hired darling, in order to establish an irresistible claim on Mrs. Leven and. the family generally. That was enough. Into her past life there was no need to enquire closely. Sir Wilberforce pru- dently suggested that the less anyone now knew about it the better. It was arranged, however, that she should be offered a small yearly sum, provided she took herself away from London and did not notoriously misconduct herself. But to this pro- posal the high-souled Paulina replied by snapping her fingers in the face of Major Leven who made it, and informing him that she was not to be kept quiet on such terms as that. She now boldly assumed the responsibility of her little plot : to adopt her own expression, she ‘ faced the music.’ She avowed that, as her child was dead, she meant to have hired another one, ‘ to gammon the old lady/ and she laughed boisterously at the severe language which Major Leven began to use in repro- bation of her conduct. ‘ Keep your twopenny-halfpenny allowance ’ — such were her irreverent words — ‘ I’ll have the pleasure of making your lives miserable for it. Look out for me, Major ; tell the old lady she’ll hear from me once or twice before all’s done. Tell her she hasn’t heard the last of Paulina Yanthorpe, not by a long way.’ < There are laws in this land, Madame/ Major Leven said with dignity. ‘ So there are, old boy, and mother-in-laws too/ the un- daunted Paulina replied, * and I mean to go for one of them one of these days.’ ‘ I presume I need not say that you are to leave Mrs. Yan- thorpe’s house 1 ’ Major Leven said. ‘ Mrs. Yanthorpe hasn’t a house to leave.’ * This house/ Major Leven said with emphasis. ‘ This house ain’t Mrs. Yanthorpe’s ; Mrs. Yanthorpe’s rich relations are turning her out of house and home ; she may go and lie in the streets for all they care ; I am Mrs. Yanthorpe.’ Major Leven winced, but he could not dispute the accuracy of her statement. ‘ I mean Mrs. Albert Yanthorpe/ he said. 204 DONNA QUIXOTE. 4 You ought to say what you mean/ was Paulina’s com- ment. 4 You will leave this house, of course % ’ 4 I’ll settle all that with my sister-in-law Gabrielle,’ Paulina replied grandly. 4 She’s the only Christian in the lot.’ Even Major Leven was displeased with Gabrielle. He could not but think that she had in some way brought this dreadful woman on them all, and made them ridiculous and exposed them to an almost unlimited possibility of shame and scandal. Gabrielle did not venture to ask him what Mrs. Leven said about the whole affair. In truth, Mrs. Leven had not said much. She resolutely declined from first to last to see Paulina, or to have anything whatever to do with her, beyond making the offer of the annual grant which Paulina had so contemptuously spurned. Her words about Gabrielle were few and harsh. 4 Will you ask that mad girl,’ she said to Major Leven, 4 to cease once for all from trying to bring further dis- grace on the family of her dead husband 1 ’ Major Leven did not bear this message to Gabrielle. He did not say that, when- ever his wife spoke of her now, she only called her 4 that mad girl.’ But he did remonstrate with Gabrielle firmly and somewhat sadly on her impulsiveness ; and she felt his words keenly. Major Leven saw dreadful things looming in the future. He wished very much Paulina had taken the money : he wished they had offered her more at first. He felt sure she would be as good as her word, and would try to inflict all manner of annoyance upon them. He even feared she would not leave Gabrielle’s house. He spoke of his fear to Gabrielle. 4 Hadn’t I better do something, Gabrielle 1 She can be got out of the house, you know, if she won’t go quietly. But I don’t see how you are to manage with her. You are far too soft. She will easily talk you over. Hadn’t I better take some steps ? ’ 4 Thank you, no,’ Gabrielle said quietly. 4 If I have brought this on myself, I can get out of it myself. I don’t believe the poor creature is so bad as you all appear to think. I am not in the least afraid of her. I have more faith in human nature than even you, Major Leven, although you used to teach me once that above all things one must not lose faith in the better part of human nature.’ 4 Yes, my dear, yes,’ Major Leven said, a little softened ; 4 but that was in dealing with untutored aboriginal races, you know, and not in the case of creatures spoiled by the neglect of society — having all the viciousness of our efiete civilisation EXORCISED. 205 grafted on to tlie wild passions of the savage.’ Major Leven was gliding insensibly into the eloquence of St. James’s Hall. ‘ Well, you must leave me to deal with my aboriginals in my own way, Major Leven. You need not be alarmed for me. I shall go into the lioness’s cage, without any fear, and come out all right. I believe I could have dealt with this poor woman better than any of you — at all events for what remains I mean to try.’ There was no coping with the mad girl in one of these humours. Major Leven left her, not without pity and regret. * At all events old Bramble is in the house,’ he said to himself, ‘ a hale old fellow, and there are several women ; I don’t see how any harm can come to the girl.’ He remained more than an hour near the house, however, and when he was going away he took a policeman into his confidence, and bound him to keep a special look-out over Gabrielle’s little demesne. Meanwhile Gabrielle had entered the cage of the lioness She went to Paulina’s room at once. She did not knock at the door, fearing that Paulina might lock herself in and refuse to see her, but boldly opened the door and went in. At first she was a little startled. Paulina lay upon the hearth, her face downward, writhing like one in passion or in pain, and beating the floor with her hands. Gabrielle never wanted more than a second of thought to regain her courage. She stooped down and touched the woman’s shoulder. Paulina leaped to her feet with a spring which might indeed have almost reminded one of the leap of the lioness. She confronted Gabrielle with glaring eyes and passion-distorted features. Her half-bare arms ap- peared to have the muscles and strength of an amazon. At the sight of Gabrielle, however, her expression became less fierce, and she muttered something about having been sleeping, and tried to pull herself into more seemly condition. ‘Paulina,’ Gabrielle said in her quiet, sweet tone, ‘I am sorry for all this, very sorry. You ought not to have deceived me about the child. I was your friend.’ ‘ There, there ! ’ Paulina said vehemently ; ‘ don’t say any more about it. I know I did wrong. I don't care a I mean, I don’t care a button about them ; but I do care about you. If I had known you longer, I’d have let you into the secret ; I’d never have tried to deceive you.’ It was not clear whether Paulina meant that, if she had known Gabrielle better, she would have shown her appreciation of Gabrielle’s sense of honour by taking her into the plot about the child. It is possible this may have been her meaning. 206 DONNA QUIXOTE. Poor Paulina’s moral sense was a little perverted. The idea, however, did not occur to Gabrielle. ‘ It was a very, very wicked thing, Paulina,’ she began to say, ‘ to try to deceive Mrs. Leven or anyone about the child. You must feel, every woman must feel, how wrong and wicked that was.’ ‘ You may say anything you like to me, Gabrielle,’ the im- penitent Paulina said, ‘ I don’t mind anything from you. But if you were like me, you know, left a widow, and tired of knocking about the world, and wanting to be taken in some- where and allowed to live a decent life, you’d do many shabby things to get what you wanted. At least, you wouldn’t, per- haps ; but I never was good like that — and most women would do like me, you bet.’ Gabrielle saw the futility of sermonising on the subject just now. She had not, perhaps, any great faith in set preaching to sinners just at the moment when their punishment was about to fall upon them. Preaching and penalties did not seem to her to make a becoming companionship. ‘ When am I to go h ’ Paulina suddenly asked, with the fierce light coming into her eyes again. ‘You need not go until you are ready, until you like,’ Gabrielle answered. ‘ And you must let me know what you are doing, Paulina : I must help you in some way : you will come and see me sometimes.’ ‘ Then you ain’t going to turn me right out of doors ? 1 haven’t got to leave this very moment % ’ ‘ Not this moment, nor to-night ; only when you are ready to go, and like to go.’ ‘ But that old Major talked of my being sent out of this at once.’ ‘ Major Leven is a kind good man, Paulina ; you must re- member that you were deceiving him and his wife very cruelly, and you couldn't expect him to think well of you. But Major Leven is not the owner of this house.’ ‘ No, thank the Lord ! ’ ‘ See, Paulina, you must want money, perhaps. I’ll leave that purse on your table \ take just what you want ; take it all if you want it, it is not a great deal ’ ‘ I have gold chains and things, I can get money for them — I’m not proud.’ ‘ But they were given you by your husband, I suppose : you must not part with them, Paulina ; no, take what you want from me for the present, until you see what you can turn your- EXORCISED. 207 Pelf to ; there must be many ways for a woman of energy and spirit to make a living in London. We will try to do some- thing ; but I think you would be better out of London perhaps. Would you like to return to America 1 ’ Paulina made no reply, but, to Gabrielle’s utter astonish- ment, seized her in her strong white arms, lifted her fairly off her feet, caught her up to her breast as one catches a child, kissed her again and again, and then set her down. Gabrielle stood ruffled and panting, and feeling terribly undignified. ‘ You are a little darling, and a blessed angel, and I don’t know what all,’ Paulina exclaimed. ‘ I’ll never harm you or annoy you, Gabrielle, you may take your oath of that. But I’ll have it out of them ; I’ll have it out of him .’ Gabrielle did not think at the moment of who the 1 him ’ might be. She assumed that Paulina was threatening the Levens, and she began to remonstrate. ‘ I wouldn’t touch their money — did you hear % I wasn’t to be bought off at such a price as that. Revenge is sweeter than that much, anyhow. I’ll have it out of him too ; I owe him a score, and it has to be worked off. I would not touch their money, Gabrielle, but yours is a different thing ; I have no revenge in for you. And look here, Gabrielle, let me give you a bit of advice before we part : do you know a cad and a sneak called Robert Charlton % ’ * I know a Robert Charlton- * ‘ Very well, that’s the chap. Don’t you try to do any good for him, he ain’t worthy of it. It was he first gave me your name and your address, and helped me to all this ; he’s a cad. I’ll make use of him, perhaps — but don’t you have anything to say to him ; he ain’t for the likes of you. All right, now, Ga- brielle ; leave the purse here, and I’ll not trouble you long. You trust me.’ She had by this time worked herself into something like composure, and had brought her dress and her hair into a semblance of array. As she stood in the deepening dusk, tall and stately, with her strong and shapely arms seen and her eyes still flaming, and with the ravages of time, and paint, and passion, and tears, only faintly visible in the dim light, she seemed like some savage queen challenging the confidence of a doubting stranger. Gabrielle could not help looking at her with a certain artistic admiration. ‘I trust you in this; of course I do,’ Gabrielle said. ‘I would have trusted you in everything, Paulina, It is not my fault if I am obliged to say that you were not as true to me. as I would have been to you.’ 20S DONNA QUIXOTE. Paulina only answered by a half-impatient gesture, as of one who would ask, ‘ What is the good of going over all tb at now 1 * Gabrielle felt that there was indeed no good in going over it. Paulina was not in the slightest degree penitent for what she had done, except alone for not having ‘ played the square game/ as she would have called it, with so good a crea- ture as Mrs. Albert Yanthorpe. Gabrielle left her. A few moments after, it happened that Miss Elvin was passing along one of the corridors and she met Paulina. Perhaps the singer expressed some pity or scorn in her eyes, or drew her skirts a little too ostentatiously around her to let the outcast of respectability go by. Anyhow, Paulina suddenly stopped and seized Miss Elvin by her two thin sallow wrists, and shook her until Paulina’s own bangles rattled like cymbals in the affrighted captive’s ears. ‘ Do you know that I could lift you up in one hand, and chuck you over these balusters 1 ’ Paulina asked, and she fixed her fierce eyes on Miss Elvin’s feeble struggles and shivers. ‘ Do you know that I could strangle you, or snap you in two across my knee 1 There, get away with you, and put on a civil face when next you meet me.’ Poor Miss Elvin vanished in mere hysterics. That night Gabrielle sat in her room alone. She had sent her maid to bed, but she had as yet no notion of going to bed herself Her window was open to the skies, like that of Irene with her destinies of whom Edgar Poe sings. The soft night air came with benign coolness and freshness across the trees of the park. The murmur of London was subdued to a low rush-* ing sound, as that of some far-distant waterfall. There was no moon, but the stars were very bright, and appeared to be in movement of unwonted energy through the still heaven. Ga- brielle seemed as if by looking up to the sky, and abstracting herself from the sight of the trees and the walls, she could actually feel the motion of the earth through space. She had some need to abstract herself from realities and to indulge in fancies ; for there had of late been many disagreeable influences affecting her life, and the conditions of her existence had been disturbed by more than one unwelcome and uncongenial intru- sion She was glad in one sense that Paulina was to go ; and yet she felt some pity still for the woman, and she was sorry that it was from her house Paulina had to be, as it were, thrust forth. She was beginning to have a disheartening and tormenting doubt as to the virtue of acting always on generous impulses. She was having it forced upon her that the efforts ‘ Oh, I am so glad you are not in bed !’ EXORCISED. 209 she loved to make for people’s good were for the most part end- ing in miserable failure. She had not brought happiness, it would seem, but misery to the Charltons. She had done no good for poor Paulina ; she had embittered Mrs. Leven against herself more than ever. She seemed to have offended and estranged Clarkson Fielding : she was beginning to have grave doubts concerning the gratitude and the truthfulness of Ger- trude Elvin. She feared that she had been too friendly with Walter Taxal ; she began to find out that he was not a man to be treated as if he were of like age with Sir Wilberforce Fielding. In short, her mind was a good deal perturbed with doubts of herself, and of the success of the good purposes to which a little while ago she fondly believed she was devoting her existence, and thereby rendering it justifiable. Suddenly she heard a rapid succession of little knocks at her door, and before she could rise the handle was turned from the outside, and Miss Elvin came in with all the manner of one who had been considerably scared. 1 Oh, I am so glad you are not- in bed,’ the child of song exclaimed, her eyes almost starting from her head ; * I thought I would come and see you, if you were up. I am so frightened.’ She did look scared certainly, but she had not forgotten to make herself aS picturesque as possible even in her alarm. She was only half-dressed ; but was in a very artistic condition of undress, with her hair all floating on her back and shoulders — just such deshabille as the most prudent heroine of romance might not object to be found in if the flames were breaking out and the lover were expected every moment to burst into the imperilled damsel’s chamber and bear her away to safety. ‘ What is the matter, Gertrude 1 ’ Gabrielle took the girl’s hand and led her gently into the room. Gabrielle was not easily put in personal fear, and she assumed that this would be only a question of robbers, or of a mouse, or perhaps even a blackbeetle. She knew that Miss Elvin was of the highly wrought temperament that lives in exaggeration. ‘ That woman, that dreadful woman ! I am so much afraid of her. I am sure she means to kill me ! ’ ‘ Do you mean poor Paulina h ’ Gabrielle asked, not alto- gether without a tone of contempt in her voice. ‘ I do, I do ; she hates me ; there is something deadly about her ; she will try to kill me, I know. Oh, how I wish I had gone to Lady Honeybell’s yesterday ! ’ ‘ Sit down, Gertrude, and tell me what you are afraid of.’ i Mayn’t I lock the door first 1 ’ p 2io DONNA QUIXOTE. ‘ No, that would be rather ridiculous, wouldn’t it? as if we were two frightened children.’ ‘ But I am so frightened — oh ! ’ The girl looked over her shoulder towards the doorway as if she expected some grisly apparition to cross the threshold. Gabrielle went to the door, opened it, and looked out along the corridor. There was no one there. All seemed quiet. She came back and sat down by the singer. * Come, Gertrude, tell me all about it.’ ‘ That woman hates me,’ Miss Elvin began ; ‘ that you know — you must have seen it, and she is a dreadful woman.’ ‘ Well, but to-night 1 ’ ‘ I was in my room, not very long ago, and I was undress- ing, and I had made the lamp very low ; I don’t like light ; and it was very low, like twilight. And suddenly I heard the door open softly, softly, behind me, and that woman crept into the room.’ * Paulina — came into your room % ’ ‘ She did ; I saw her. She came in and looked round, and her face was all black with rage and hate, and her eyes were like the eyes of a tiger, or a devil, or something, and she made towards the bed, and I know if I had been asleep she would have killed me ! Oh ; yes, Mrs. Yanthorpe, you may wonder, but I know she would. And then she saw me — Oh ! ’ ‘ She saw you % Did she say anything 1 ’ 6 Not a word ; but she glared at me with the expression of a demon, and I didn’t dare to stir ; I thought she was going to kill me. I couldn’t move, dear Mrs. Y anthorpe ; no, not to save my life. I seemed to be paralysed, as one is in a night- mare, you know. I seemed to be in some horrible dream.’ ‘ I think you must have been in a dream, Gertrude ; the light was low, and it was late, and you fell asleep and dreamed this.’ ‘Oh, no, Mrs. Yanthorpe. Oh, how could that be? I had my hair down, I was brushing my hair, the brush never fell from my hand. Oh, I hadn’t a thought of sleep. If I had been asleep she would have killed me.’ ‘ But why should she want to kill you ? Did she say any- thing ? What did she do when you looked up ? Did she see you i ’ ‘ Oh yes, her eyes met mine. She glared into my eyes.’ ‘ And said nothing all this time ? ’ ‘ Not a word. It wasn’t a long time, though it seemed to me as if ages must have rolled by in that moment — ages.’ EXORCISED. 21 1 * Yes, yes, of course ; we know all that/ Gabrielle said a little impatiently; ‘but did nothing come of this? Did she stand looking at you, and you sit looking at her, and neither speak one word to the other % ’ * I didn’t dare to speak a word to her, I didn’t dare to say a word, I hadn’t the power. When she saw that I was up and dressed, and that she couldn’t kill me in my sleep, she gave a laugh — Oh, dear Mrs. Yanthorpe, such a laugh ! If you ever heard a devil laugh •’ ‘ But I never did, Gertrude ; so the comparison isn’t of any use to me. Anyhow, she laughed ? ’ ‘ She did — such a laugh ! I know it was like a devil’s laugh. A low fiendish chuckle — oh, I shall never have it out of my ears or out of my mind.’ ‘ Oh, yes/ said Gabrielle quietly, ‘ I have no doubt you will ; but I dare say it was a disagreeable laugh. I should not like a woman coming into my bedroom late at night to perform a laugh there. What happened then ? ’ ‘ Then — oh, then she went out of the room and closed the door behind her.’ ‘ Then, is that all 1 ’ ‘ All ! dear Mrs. Yanthorpe, is not that enough ? I know you are ever so brave, and I am not ; but still, if that woman had suddenly come into your room late at night and glared on you in that way, you would have been frightened too.’ ‘Well, I dare say I should have thought it very odd con- duct. But then she is an odd person. She has not been long in the house, and she may have mistaken your room for hers.’ Miss Elvin shook her head. ‘ Her room is at the other side of the house.’ ‘ Yes, but the house isn’t very large, and she might easily have made a mistake. Perhaps she wanted to ask you for some- thing.’ ‘ But why did she come creeping in that way towards the bed ? Why didn’t she speak when she saw me ? ’ ‘ Perhaps she saw by your manner that you were alarmed and she thought she had better go away as fast as possible. Just tell me, Gertrude — I think she must have merely mistaken the room — was she dressed ? ’ 4 Oh yes, she was dressed for the street, dressed for walking ; she had her hat on.’ ‘ Come now, Gertrude, I really think you must have fallen asleep and dreamed this. Why should the poor woman be dressed for walking out at midnight % ’ 2 T 2 DONNA . Q UIXO TE. i I don’t know what she was dressed for, or why she was there ; hut I know she was dressed. I saw her beastly eyes glaring at me under her beastly hat.’ Gabrielle thought the whole thing very unpleasant. No one could well say what odd prank Paulina might have taken it into her head to play off for the purpose of annoying Miss Elvin, or anybody else ; and Gabrielle had certainly more than once seen her cast glances of dislike and disgust at Miss Elvin. She was perhaps the sort of malign creature who would take a pleasure in terrifying anyone who showed a capacity for being frightened. 1 1 think I had better go and speak to her, Gertrude.’ 1 Go near that dreadful woman, dear Mrs. Yanthorpe ? — oh, no, pray don’t do that.’ ‘ I am not afraid,’ said Gabrielle quietly. 1 Won’t you call any of the servants 1 ’ * No, I don’t want to make any alarm or to have things talked about.’ ‘ Then I must go with you ; I dare not stay by myself while you are away.’ 1 I should rather go alone, Gertrude ; I can deal with her much better by myself. There can be no danger to you while you stay here ; I shall intercept the danger, you know, what- ever it is.’ Gabrielle took a lamp and went to Paulina’s room, not per- haps without a little heart-beating at the prospect of a scene rather than of any danger. But there was no scene. Paulina was not in her room, nor in any room. One of the sitting- rooms had windows that were almost level to the little lawn : and Paulina had evidently contrived to open one of these, had gone out, and closed it behind her. The little outer gate pre- sented no obstacle to the elastic limbs of the resolute Paulina. She was gone. Why she had looked into Miss Elvin’s room — w'hether by mere mistake, or with some sudden purpose to do the girl mischief, or out of a freak to frighten her, or whether she took it for Gabrielle’s room and meant to have a last look at her patroness, could not now be known. The certain thing was that she had gone and had left no word of message behind her. A sort of message she had left, however. On the table in the room Paulina had occupied, Gabrielle found conspicuously set out the money she had put in the purse which she offered to the outcast. Gabrielle had put a certain sum into it ; and there it was now untouched, every sovereign. But the purse was taken — an old thing that had cost a few shillings when it GABRIELLE FLIES TO SANCTUARY. 213 was new. Paulina had left the place no richer than she entered it, except for the value of an empty purse that had belonged to Gabrielle. Gabrielle understood what was meant by the money left behind and the purse taken. CHAPTER XXII. GABRIELLE FLIES TO SANCTUARY. Wild indeed were the rumours that went about among those who knew Gabrielle when the story of Paulina’s visit and her sudden mysterious disappearance became known. The tale swelled in growing until, with some people, it became magnified into a terrible narrative about an attempt on the life of Gabrielle, or of Miss Elvin, or of both together, by a furious assailant who was represented by some as an escaped madwoman, and by others as a professional murderess ; a sort of demoniac ‘ Roaring Girl ’ without any quality of goodness. The news reached the Charltons soon, but reached them free of all the more extrava- gant additions. They learned at least that Gabrielle was alive and well, and that nobody had even offered to do her harm. But Robert turned pale, and could not hide, even from the un- suspicious eyes of his wife, the alarm which he felt when he was told that the terrible Paulina had disappeared and was at large. He had but a very vague idea of how her schemes had come to failure, but he had a ghastly suspicion that she would blame him somehow, and that he had not heard the last of her. The late Emperor Napoleon was haunted, people used to say, by a hideous conviction that all the Orsini bombs were not fired away in the attempt of the rue Lepelletier, but that some were saving up in unknown and desperate hands for a new conspiracy. Something of the same sort of alarm was felt by humble Robert Charlton when he found that Paulina had missed her aim and was at large. He had been forced to go and see her in the Surrey house more than once, unknown to his wife, while the plot was maturing ; he did not know whether she might not seek to make him now responsible for its failure. Janet saw that he was distressed by something, but did not dare to ask him for an explanation. She resolved that she would take the first opportunity of appealing to Gabrielle for advice and comfort. The news of Paulina’s escape reached Walter Taxal among all the rest. It was told to him at Major Leven’s. It was set off by many bitter comments from Mrs. Leven on the general 214 DONNA QUIXOTE. misdoings of the mad girl. Walter Taxal listened with uncom- fortable sensations, then undertook a defence of Gabrielle, who seemed to him to have simply acted for the best in the whole affair ; and then he stammered in the defence and became em- barrassed and broke down, and let Mrs. Leven have it all her own way as long as he remained. But he did not remain long. The thought of Gabrielle living alone, and subject to all manner of annoyance and misconstruction beca use of her very generosity, filled him with courage to make an attempt for which he had long been trying to nerve himself. 1 1 think you spoke too strongly about Gabrielle, Constance,* Major Leven said when Taxal was gone. ‘ She is very foolish, but she means everything for the best; and do you know I think Taxal likes her % I have thought so this some time.’ ‘Yes; I am sure he likes her/ Mrs. Leven said composedly ; ‘ and that is the very reason why I feel it my duty to warn him against her mad ways. She is very likely thinking of marrying the young man. I have a great regard for Walter Taxal, and he shall not be drawn into such a thing if I can help it. At least he shall have his eyes open.’ ‘ I don’t believe Gabrielle would marry him or anyone else/ Major Leven said. 4 1 could believe anything of her now. I am glad I have not a third son. I owe the death of one son to her : and but for her I might never have come to know of the degradation and the miserable end of the other.’ Major Leven winced and turned in his chair. It was fear- ful for one accustomed to public discussion to hear such utterly unreasonable expressions of opinion, and not to point out their lack of reason. But he knew from experience that argument in that case would only confirm the error it fondly tried to assail. Gabrielle was not particularly delighted just then to receive a visit from Walter Taxal. She liked the young man very much ; she had, indeed, something almost amounting to affec- tion for him. He was not very clever, or brilliant, or original ; and she liked men to be in some way clever, or brilliant, or original. But he was thoroughly manly, brave, and generous ; she liked him, and liked him all the better because she knew that he liked her. She was almost as free with him as if he were a brother, or a cousin at least. She would send to him or write to him at any time if she wanted anything done. She felt inclined sometimes to adopt Lady Honeybell’s words, and say that Walter Taxal was her right-hand man. It had not GABRIELLE FLIES TO SANCTUARY. 215 occurred to her, until lately, that a young man might very satisfactorily occupy that place for Lady Honeybell, who could not safely be allowed to hold the same position with regard to Gabrielle Vanthorpe. Gabrielle had very little personal self- conceit. It would have been much better for herself and for others if she had had a great deal more. Perhaps her tempera- ment was too impetuous and eager to leave her much time for mere thinking about herself. The wrongs of somebody or other were always appealing to her for redress, and they occupied her to the exclusion of her own personal considerations. Besides, it never occurred to her to suppose that anyone could associate tne name of Albert Vanthorpe’s widow with any thought of marriage. She liked Walter Taxal; why should he not like her 1 She had not the faintest idea of falling in love with him ; why should he fall in love with her 1 Of late, however, as we have said already, Gabrielle did begin to have some misgivings that she had been too friendly with Walter Taxal. Gabrielle certainly was not a dull young , woman ; and she could not help seeing that Taxal had been trying to devote himself to her lately in a manner that sug- gested a claim for more than mere friendship/ This troubled her, among other things. It did more than vaguely trouble her. It set her doubting much as to the wisdom of trusting to the light of her unguided impulses. It set her thinking — 1 Am I only doing harm, and not good, to those whom I like and would gladly serve 1 ’ She received Walter Taxal this day, therefore, with decided mistrust and an uncomfortable apprehension that a trying scene was before her. At first the talk was only about Paulina and her disappearance. Gabrielle spoke up for unfortunate Paulina as well as she could. ( Where did you hear of all this, Mr. Taxal ? ’ she asked, de- lighted that the conversation was gliding as smoothly along on such harmless ground. * I heard it at Leven’s ; Mrs. Leven told me all about it/ He was growing embarrassed. Gabrielle forgot him for the moment on hearing Mrs. Leven’s name. 4 She blames me very much, I suppose ? ’ Gabrielle said. 4 It is strange ; I was only trying to do her a kindness ; and now it all ends in this way. I try to do things for the best, I think I do really, and they turn out for the worst ! I am afraid I am an unlucky woman ; everybody will soon have to avoid me.’ This was an unlucky remark. It drew tire at once. It 21 6 DONNA QUIXOTE. gave an opening for the very appeal Gabrielle did not wish to hear, and had been hoping even still to escape. Unluckily, too, Gabrielle accompanied it with an appealing look of her melancholy eyes, meant less for Walter Taxal than for the destinies and the powers generally that rule over humanity. ‘ You’ll not get me to avoid you, Mrs. Vanthorpe,’ the ex- cited young man blurted out, ‘ or to think anything of you but that you are ever so much too good for this sort of world' alto- gether. Look here, Gabrielle — I’ve been trying to come to this a long time; I’ve had the words on my lips again and again, and I always broke down somehow and could not get them out ; but now I will speak. Give me a right to speak for you ; let me stand up for you ’ ‘ Mr. Taxal — don’t, please, talk in that way — no one is con- demning me — everyone is too kind to me — almost everyone — I don’t want any defenders — I have done no wrong.’ She stopped for breath ; she was stifled by her feelings. ‘ I don’t mean that ; I know you don’t care what people say. But you know what I mean; you know I love you; I want you to be my wife. Gabrielle, Gabrielle ! ’ It was all out now. The worst had come. He attempted to take her hand, but she drew back, and stood so resolutely aloof that he stopped disheartened. He could not fancy that in her manner there was any of the winning coyness that only waits to be pressed. He saw that he had failed and that there was no hope. She too began to see her way now. ‘ Will you come this way, Mr. Taxal 1 One moment, please ; I do not ask you to go far or to stay long.’ Her eyes were sparkling now, her lips were trembling, there was an animation about her that he had never seen before. It almost frightened the poor young man. He remembered having heard elderly and cynical men declare as an axiom in natural philosophy that every woman has a temper, if you only wait to find it out. Could it be that this was the revelation of Gabrielle Vanthorpe’s temper? Meanwhile Mr. Taxal had not the least idea as to whither she was leading him, or to what awful rite or presence he was about to be introduced. Gabrielle crossed a corridor or two and suddenly opened a door and invited Taxal to enter with her. He obeyed. The room was darkened by the close branches of trees outside the windows, and was further gloomed by the sombre colour of the walls, the curtains, the furniture, everything. It seemed at first to his puzzled fancy like a small museum or cabinet of GABRIELLE FLIES TO SANCTUARY. 217 curiosities. There were certainly various small objects scattered, or rather very carefully arranged, on tables and stands and in window- seats and on brackets. A black curtain hung against one of the walls. Gabrielle drew it hastily aside and showed a white tablet. ‘ Look at that, Mr. Taxal,’ she said ; ‘ read that, if you please. Will you read it aloud, please 1 ’ The astonished Taxal was rather short-sighted. He had to spoil a good deal of dramatic effect by searching for, adjusting, dropping, and adjusting again his eyeglass. Gabrielle waited meantime with what might be called monumental composure. Then he read the words, ‘ This room is devoted to the memory of Albert Yanthorpe, who died in Genoa ’ and then followed the date of his death and the name of the English cemetery in which he lay buried. Now Walter Taxal began to understand why he had been brought into this room, Gabrielle silently pointed to the pho- tograph of Albert’s grave. ‘ That is where my husband is buried,’ she. said. ‘ See, Mr. Taxal, there are memorials of him all round this room. I don’t receive people here, or I might perhaps have been here when you asked me to marry you. That would have been appropriate, would it not 1 This would be the proper place for me to receive such a proposal.’ She smiled a wild smile. Poor Taxal felt crushed. In that mournful room, in presence of that pale face and those glittering eyes, he seemed to himself like some criminal called up for his sentence. ‘You must forgive me, Mrs. Yanthorpe,’ he stammered out ; ‘ I didn’t mean to give you any pain ; I didn’t think of it in that way ; I couldn’t help loving you ’ ‘ Oh, hush, hush,’ she said with a scared expression in her face, ‘ don’t talk like that. That is why I brought you here, that you might not use words like that. See here, Mr. Taxal, there is the date of my husband’s death. Almost the other day, you see ; one may say only the other day. He was very fond of me ; oh, so kind and good to me ; and I never could repay his kindness ; I never had a chance, no — not in life. All that I have I owe to him. All the poor means I have of doing good to any human creature, and of making life worth having, I owe to him. Do you think I am going to put another in his place — already 1 ’ and her wild smile* this time had something in it scornful. ‘ Oh, no ; you don’t think so any more. You know now 3 and you will forget all this, and I shall try to 2 18 DONNA QUIXOTE. forget it, and we shall he friends once again as we were as we always were before this.’ She seemed more reasonable now. He felt that he had the courage to say 1 But you are so young, and you can’t live always this lonely sort of life — no, don’t be angry, I am not speaking now for my- self any more.’ 4 Thank you,’ she answered quite fervently ; ‘ I knew you would not, Mr. Taxal, when I had told you.’ ‘ No, Mrs. Yanthorpe,’ the poor youth said in a resigned tone ; ‘ I was not speaking for myself : what would be the use 1 But I was thinking of you — of you always living this lonely, unnatural sort of life ; and you who might be so happy ’ ‘ Oh no, not lonely, nor unnatural, nor unhappy. I am never alone, unless when I want to be. I have friends — the kindest friends a woman could have, I think ; and I shall have another dear friend in time ; you know whom I mean, Mr. Taxal, you know her.’ She was thinking, he knew very well, of Mrs. Leven. ‘ How could I be unhappy 1 have I not you for a friend ? ’ ‘ I have loved you,’ he said, ‘ this long time ’ ‘ Oh — ’ she made an effort to stop him. ‘No, Mrs. Yanthorpe,’ he said very quietly. ‘You must let me say it now, just this once, and then I shall be done with it, don’t you know ; with talking of it, I mean ; and that will be better for both of us. I just want to explain.’ She stood near the chimney-piece, with her eyes fixed on the photograph of Albert Yanthorpe’s grave, and she allowed him to go on without interrupting. ‘ This long time,’ he said ; ‘ this is no new thing -with me. I didn’t know about poor Albert, or I might have spoken even before him, and got my dismissal long ago.’ He made a feeble attempt to take it lightly. ‘ I want you to believe that this is no new thing and no trifling thing, but something real and deep. I want you to believe that; I should be sorry otherwise.’ ‘ I do believe it, I believe anything you tell me, and I am so grateful to you for taking it in this way. I shall always count you among my dearest friends. One good thing of all this is that after what has passed between us we may be very, very frank to each other — and I may say how very dear you are to me, and always will be ; and you will understand ? ’ Yes, he quite understood now. He knew that he had a faithful friend ; and that in her he could never have anything more. He could bear this, but it was too soon for him to do more than endure it. GABRIELLE’S GREAT HO RE FULFILLED. 219 * This is a dreary room/ she said, ‘ for anyone but me ; and I would not have brought you here, only — do you know that you are the only man who has ever been in this room since it was given up to its present purpose ? ’ She was not thinking of any such meaning, but her words told Taxal that he was the first who had ever approached her on the subject of marriage since Albert’s death. 1 There will be others/ he thought. ‘ Other poor fellows will be called in for sentence here, as I have been.’ There was a sort of grim consolation in the thought. ‘ And now/ she said, ‘ I must not keep you in this melan- choly place any longer. Good-bye, Walter : I’ll call you by your name this once, to show that we are friends.’ 4 Good-bye, Gabrielle.’ Her name spoken in that tone came from him as the final and formal renunciation of his hopes. She came with him out of the melancholy room, and then he went away ; and she went back to her sombre sanctuary. Walter Taxal certainly could not have known why she humbled herself in such penitence and grief that day before the tablet put up to poor Albert’s memory. She was torturing herself with self-accusation and shame. If Taxal could have seen her self-abasement and heard her oc- casional ejaculations he might possibly, were he a vain young fellow, have come to the conclusion that her heart was fighting for him all the time against her conscience, and that she was now accusing herself of a tendency to yield to his appeal. But Walter was not vain; and he would not have caught from her words or her looks any thought to favour his lost hope. Yet she did speak as if there was some feeling arising within her which her over-sensitive conscience condemned as an infidelity to the memory of Albert Yanthorpe. Why was she self-re- proachful ? Not, surely, because a brave young man had loved her, and she had not been able to love him. There could be no substance for self-reproach in that. CHAPTER XXIII. gabrielle’s great hope fulfilled. Clarkson Fielding presented himself at his brother’s a day or two after as if nothing had occurred. ‘ Why, Clarkson, I thought you had gone off to California or Patagonia again/ Sir Wilberforce said. 4 Where were you all this time ? We were quite alarmed about you.’ 220 D 0/ViVA Q UIX 0 TE. Fielding wondered who were the ‘we’; but did not ask any question. He had been schooling himself down a good deal during his absence. He explained that he had been back to his old lodgings for a while. ‘ I have a lot of things to put in order there, you know/ he said; ‘ papers and all that. I think of going off somewhere again : one must do something.’ £ Don’t see why you could not make up your mind to stay here,’ Sir Wilberforce said. 4 There’s plenty for you to do, you know, Clarkson. I have a good deal of your money — it’s yours and not mine ; poor father would always have it kept for you, and so there’s no compliment in the matter ; and there are lots of things to do in England. You must have knocked about the world quite enough, I am inclined to think. Settle down, my boy, settle down. Politics, now — quite fascinating, I believe, for people who have an interest in that sort of thing. I dare say that many people think I ought to be in the House of Commons. Poor father would certainly have liked one of us to be in the House, I know. But I haven’t any taste that way ; practical science is more my line. "Why can’t you go in for politics % You could get a seat as easily as anything.’ ‘ I don’t think I should be much of a success, Wilberforce ; I’m afraid I don’t quite understand all about the county fran- chise and the judicature bill.’ ‘But foreign affairs, you know — the Eastern Question, American politics and that sort of thing. You might talk very well on such subjects as that — when occasion required, of course ; when occasion required. I believe lots of the men in the House know nothing of foreign politics, or of anything, by J ove, for that matter. And then you need not speak unless you liked. It’s not by any means necessary for a man to speak. Some of the best men in the House never open their mouths, I’m told.’ ‘ Perhaps my political opinions wouldn’t agree with yours, Wilberforce. I am an awful Badical, you know — a sort of Bed Bepublican.’ ‘ God bless my soul ! you don’t say so ? I had no idea at all. But that won’t last, I dare say. All young men are that way, I fancy. It passes off ; it’s like falling in love, and in- fidelity, and so on. Still, it would be better to wait perhaps. Well, then, let me see, there’s the army. You wouldn’t think of the army % ’ ‘ A little past the time for beginning, I am afraid,’ Fielding said with all possible gravity. ‘ Yes, yes ; I dare say it is. But the volunteers, now — GA BRIE LIE’S GREAT HOPE FULFILLED. 221 why not the volunteers ? A commission might be got, I dare say ; do they have a commission in the volunteers 1 Anyhow, you might become a captain of volunteers and take a lot of interest in the drill and the marching and all that ; it gives one something to think about/ Fielding shook his head. * I don’t think I should care for mere playing at soldiers,’ he said. 4 Well, well, there are no end of other things. Why, let me see — the bar, for instance. Why not the bar, Clarkson 1 You might go in for being Lord Chancellor one of these days.’ 4 Why not the Church 1 ’ Clarkson asked. Sir Wilberforce looked up in sudden doubt as to whether Clarkson was really serious this time. 4 Well, yes ; the Church of course, if a man had any turn that way ; what could be better % If he really had a turn that way, Clarkson ; but I don’t know, somehow.’ 4 You don’t think I have a turn that way, Wilberforce, and you are quite right. It was only a very stupid joke of mine. I am greatly afraid I have no turn for anything that is steady or good or respectable, and I doubt whether I am young enough to mend. I think I am at my best when knocking about the world. At least I don’t get in anybody’s way then ’ 4 Come, now, Clarkson, you mustn’t talk in that way — no, no, you must not indeed. That sounds as if you thought we did not want you here, and that isn’t so, you know ; it really isn’t.’ Again Clarkson mentally wondered who were 4 we.’ 4 1 didn’t mean that, indeed, Wilberforce.’ 4 No, no,’ Wilberforce went on ; 4 we couldn’t stand that, you know ; I couldn’t afford to lose you again just after finding you. I ha ven’t been so happy for years as since you turned up. I don’t mean to say that I kept thinking of you all the time you were away as much as I ought to have done ; people don’t, you know. You had becqme a sort of myth to me, my boy ; like the wandering Jew, or the Man in the Moon, or some- thing. But I am really delighted that you have turned up, and I feel monstrously obliged to Mrs. Yanthorpe for having brought us together — Cad, what a trump of a woman she is ! I have something to talk to yoti about presently concerning her, but just now I want to have this out with you about your leaving England, which I think is very unnecessary and unwise ; and I don’t like it at all. I want you here. There are only the two of us, and there’s nothing now to keep us asunder.’ 222 DONNA QUIXOTE. There was something very moving in the earnest simplicity of Wilberforce. Clarkson felt greatly touched by it. 4 We ought to have known each other much sooner, Wilber- force. I shouldn’t have spent so much of my life knocking aimlessly about the world if I had known what sort of a fellow you were.’ Then he told Wilberforce of the time when he actually came to that house with the intention of seeing and speaking to his brother, and how, happening to see Wilberforce on his horse preparing for a ride, he changed his mind and did not make himself known. 4 God bless my soul, Clarkson, what an extraordinary thing to do ! I never heard of such a thing. Why, I should have been delighted to see you ; I always thought poor father was too hard, you know. Gad, he was often hard enough on me, I can tell you ; I hadn’t it all my own way, by any means.’ 4 Well, you see one result of it all,’ said the younger brother, 4 is that I can’t settle to anything, Wilberforce. I don’t think I could bring myself to sit down to any steady pursuit ; I am not young enough to begin all over again.’ 4 Better try, better try before you give up,’ Wilberforce said cheerily. 4 Turn to something for a while, anyhow. Art, now ; I suppose you haven’t any taste that way ? ’ Fielding shook his head. 4 Literature ? Lots of fellows write books nowadays that don’t seem to me a bit better than you might do, or anyone if he only tried. Then there’s business ; the City. You might do something in banking, or the China trade ; capital things ; keep a fellow at work and give him something to think of. I wish you would turn your attention to practical science with me; I could find you occupation enough, and we could work together ; and you have no idea what a hold it takes on you once you go into it.’ 4 1 think I should like to try a little exploring,’ the younger man said with some hesitation. 4 Africa and that sort of thing? I don’t think I would do that, Clarkson. It’s used up, isn’t it? Every fellow does exploring in Africa now, and reads a paper at the Geographical Society, and writes a book with queer pictures of black men and women. I don’t think I would turn to that if I were you. No, my boy, stay at home for the present at all events ; I can’t let you go away just yet.’ Fielding made no answer. It was hard not to yield to his brother’s kindly pressure, and yet he felt that the one thing he now could not do was to remain in London. It was easy, however, CABRTELLES GREA T HOPE FULFILLED . 223 to turn aside the stream of any conversation in which Sir Wil- berforce was engaged, and Fielding did so now by reminding him that he had something to tell about Mrs. Yanthorpe. Fielding fully expected to hear that Sir Wilberforce had pro- posed for her and been accepted. But it was only about Paulina. Sir Wilberforce told of his own intervention, and how it had ended, and how Paulina had disappeared. All this was very interesting news to the young man. He cordially approved of all that Wilberforce had done, and gave him fresh reasons drawn from his own knowledge of Paulina’s history to make Wilber- force satisfied that he had taken the right course. But Clark- son kept thinking all the time how unsuccessful had been his attempt to induce Gabrielle to listen to reason. Wilberforce seemingly had had his own way without any trouble, and spoke almost as one who already had authority in the matter. The African exploring enterprise began to commend itself more and more to the younger brother while he listened to the narrative of the elder. ‘ I think I shall ask her to marry me, Clarkson ; I really think I shall,’ Wilberforce said abruptly. * You haven’t done so yet ? ’ ‘No, I haven’t done so yet. I have been turning it over in my mind ; I begin to think more and more that it would be the very best thing I could do. Don’t you think so, Clarkson, eh?’ ‘ She would make any man whom she marr r ed very happy I am sure ; unless he were a very stupid man,’ Clarkson said emphatically. His brother’s eyes lighted with pleasure. ‘ The thing is, would she have me, Clarkson ? There’s the rub, isn’t it ? I’m not young, you see ; not what she would call young ; and I’m not particularly good-looking ; never was ; and I’m not clever. I shouldn’t like to ask her, if I were to be refused ; I don’t mind about myself, being refused ; I mean I should not hesitate about asking her on that ground merely ; a man must take his chance — eh ? But I shouldn’t like the idea of annoying her, you know; and then perhaps if she wouldn’t marry me it wouldn’t be right to* go and see her any more for a long time ; and, by Jove, Clarkson, I shouldn’t like that one bit. Do you know I have a great idea of taking Leven into my confidence ; he’s a nice fellow, Leven. Do you know him ? — no ? You must know him. ' Come over there with me one day. To ask Leven whether he thinks she would be likely to have me — there wouldn’t be anything indelicate in that, Clarkson, you don’t think ? ’ 224 DONNA QUIXOTE. Sir Wilberforce talked on, and Clarkson had to listen and do his best not to seem either disturbed or wanting in interest. Then Sir Wilberforce proposed that they should both call on Gabrielle that day. ‘ She’ll be glad to see you, Clarkson ; she thinks you are a little huffed, I believe, or something of that sort, because she didn’t take your advice about that woman ; but you are not of course, are you 1 I told her I was sure you were not. Now you shall go and pay her a visit along with me, and we’ll show her that you are not a bit put out; and she’ll be pleased, I know.’ Did Clarkson like to go 1 Did he dislike to go 1 He could not have told anyone ; he could not have made it clear to him- self if he had tried. A wise and strong man doubtless would not have gone ; but on the other hand a still wiser and stronger man would surely have gone and schooled his feelings so that no one should suspect that he was concerned about anything in particular. Clarkson decided to go. In his heart he was glad of any excuse for seeing Gabrielle, and he told his reason and conscience that it was necessary he should go lest Wilberforce should suspect anything and be put to useless pain. His feel- ings towards Wilberforce were a curious compound of gratitude, affection, and a sort of compassion, such as one has for some child or woman whose simple goodness deprecates intellectual criticism. They walked to Gabrieli e’s, and Wilberforce talked all the way of his projects and successes in the application of practical science to English domestic life. Clarkson compelled himself to listen and answer, although he sometimes longed to shout out as a relief to the tension of his feelings. At Gabrielle’s a sur- prise awaited the brothers. A visitor was there whom they never expected to see. They found Mrs. Leven in affectionate companionship with Gabrielle. Walter Taxal in the fulness of his emotions told Mrs. Leven the first time he met her of his bitter disappointment and of Gabrielle’s unconquerable devotion to the memory of Albert. Poor Taxal never supposed that he had any rival but the dead Albert. He knew that Albert’s mother credited Albert’s widow with a desire to marry again, and many warning hints had been given him to understand that Mrs. Leven suspected Ga- brielle of a desire to marry him. Inspired partly by a kind of resentment, as if Mrs. Leven had betrayed him to his disap- pointment, and partly by a chivalrous resolve to set Gabrielle light in Mrs. Leven’s eyes, the young man told all that had GAP RLE LIE'S GREA T HOPE FULFILLED. 225 happened to him ; how he had made love and been rejected, and not merely rejected but rebuked, and how he had come away from Gabrielle’s presence and her remonstrances almost as penitent as if he had been doing some wrong. Albert Van- thorpe, according to him, was the girl’s saint. She was devoting herself to his memory ; she would bury her youth in his grave. Then with a rush Mrs. Leven’s old affection for the young woman came back. The girl who thus honoured Constance Leven’s son could not be unworthy of Constance Leven’s love. Even in her best moods Mrs. Leven regarded things and people in the light of personal property or appanages. She loved her son Albert while he continued devoted to her ; she was angry with him when he became devoted to Gabrielle. She never could forgive the elder son who had shown that he could live without her. She loved Gabrielle while Gabrielle was like a particularly submissive daughter. She grew angry with the girl when Gabrielle showed that she could have a will and a conscience of her own. But now Gabrielle had proved her de- votion to the memory of Constance Leven’s son, and this was homage to Constance Leven. She had a fitful nature, swept every now and then from the moorings of conscience and rea- son by some strong and stormy gust of emotion. She quarrelled with her son Philip in a fit of emotion ; she quarrelled with Gabrielle in the same way ; she had married Major Leven in the same way. Now came another current of emotion, and it drove her to Gabrielle’s side. It was characteristic of Mrs. Leven that she never for a moment doubted as to the manner in which her overtures would be received. She simply pardoned Ga- brielle. She told her husband that she was greatly pleased by the young woman’s devotion to Albert’s memory. She ordered her carriage, and straightway delighted and bewildered Ga- brielle by presenting herself in her daughter-in-law’s house and announcing that she had made up her mind to forgive Gabrielle and that they were to be friends once more. It was on the very day of this reconciliation that Sir Wilberforce and Fielding went together to see Gabrielle. They found Gabrielle overflowing with the rapture of her recovered friendship. Her joy shone through her. She besought of Wilberforce and Clarkson to be witnesses of, and sharers in, her happiness. Wilberforce was simply delighted. He thought it all did the highest honour to her head and heart. It was another reason for admiration of her to find that she was so de- voted to the elder lady. 1 Gad, there isn’t too much of that sort of thing among girls to-day,’ he thought. He liked Mrs. Q 226 DONNA QUIXOTE. Leven, too, from the first. There was something imposing and stately about her. If a man must have a mother-in-law he thought it was not easy to see how he could have a nicer mother-in-law than that, and, by Jove, he didn’t believe half the bad things that were said about mothers-in-law. He had thought of this even before Mrs. Leven’s reconciliation with Gabrielle, and now of course he was prepared to like her all the better. Mrs. Leven for her part much liked him. He seemed so good-humoured, so respectable, and so strong, that she could not but like him. She was getting not to like young men much. They were all too opinionated, too full of their own whims and conceits. They thought too much of themselves in every way. She found herself thinking that if she were to have a son-in-law she should like just such a man as Sir Wil- berforce Fielding. Even at that moment she wondered what Gabrielle thought of him, and she began to find the doubt coming up in her mind whether it would not be wrong to expect Gabrielle to live lonely all her life because of her devotion to Albert Vanthorpe’s memory. The younger Fielding she did not like at all, and Fielding disliked her with a curious instinct. He would have disliked her because she had treated Gabrielle so badly all this long time, but he disliked her now because she had chosen to be reconciled in that imperious and queenly way, and because Gabrielle put up with it and did homage for it, and was over- whelmed with joy because of it. In truth he found himself perhaps for the moment of less importance than he could have liked in that little circle. He did not seem to have any par- ticular place there. He felt sure Mrs. Leven would put Ga- brielle against him if she could, and Gabrielle now was in a mood of mind to believe anything Mrs. Leven told her. Yet Gabrielle did not neglect Fielding. On the contrary, she thanked and praised him again and again for the earnest advice he had given her, and she told Mrs. Leven how much she was obliged to him and how ungracious she feared she had been. Mrs. Leven from the first moment felt an antipathy to the young man, and thought his presence there of sinister import. She remembered what Major Leven had told her of him ; she saw in him the very young man to turn a girl away from the deference and devotion due to her elders. * Your brother is not like you, Sir Wilberforce,’ she said in an undertone ; ‘ I should never have known him to be anyone of your family.’ ‘Well, Clarkson’s so much younger, you see,’ the good- GABRIELLES GREAT HOPE FULFILLED. natured Wilberforce explained. 4 And then, Mrs. Leven, he’s such a good-looking young fellow. We hadn’t the same mother, you know ; and he’s been all about the world, while I have been stagnating here.’ 4 Yes, I heard that he was a good deal about the world/ Mrs. Leven said with significant emphasis. 4 And he wants to go all about the world again, Mrs. Leven, much to my dissatisfaction, I can assure you. I tell him that he had much better remain at home and settle down.’ 4 Young men find it very hard to settle down, I believe, when they have lived much of that sort of life. I have had some experience of that kind in my own family.’ 4 Yes, yes ; so I have heard ; sorry to hear it ; great trouble to you, of course.’ 4 We owe a great deal to your kindness and energy in that matter, Sir Wilberforce — of the person who unfortunately was married by my elder son.’ 4 Don’t mention it,’ Sir Wilberforce hastened to say. 4 1 thought it was a pity, you know, that Mrs. Vanthorpe should be troubled, and I was afraid that she would be put upon — wouldn’t understand things — that’s why I took the liberty of calling on Major Leven about it ; and very good of you both, I’m sure, to forgive my intrusion.’ 4 It is not always,’ Mrs. Leven said with a sigh, 4 that one can find such delicate and judicious advice and help in a family disgrace ; for of course it is a disgrace.’ 4 Oh, by Jove, you know, as to that, every family has some- thing of that kind, I dare say, if we only knew. There will be wild young fellows always. But I hope you have not heard any more from that lady — that person, Mrs. Leven.’ 4 We have not heard from her since. No. Major Leven is in some alarm about her, unnecessarily, I think. She has no claim on us any further. We made her what I think a very liberal offer, and she rejected it insolently. I don’t see what more she can have to do with us. I am not in the least uneasy about anything she can do.’ 4 Still, I think I would have bought her off, if I were you/ Fielding the younger said. Gabrielle and he had now joined in the conversation on the mention of Paulina. 4 She’s capable of anything.’ 4 We offered her a yearly sum enough to maintain her in respectability/ Mrs. Leven answered in somewhat stately style , 4 1 would not consent to go any further than that.’ 4 It’s no use standing on one’s dignity with a woman of that Q 2 228 DONNA QUIXOTE. kind/ Fielding urged. 1 She can annoy yon, and you can’t annoy her.’ ‘ I don’t believe the poor creature is half as bad as all that/ Gabrielle pleaded earnestly. ‘ She showed by her conduct in this house that she has some generous impulses.’ Something was said about the alarm given to poor Miss Elvin, which, however, only seemed to amuse Sir Wilberforce. ‘ Where is that girl now 1 ’ Fielding asked in his abrupt way, turning to Gabrielle. ‘ She has gone on a visit to Lady Honeybell’s ; Lady Honeybell is very kind to her.’ ‘ I’d let her stay at Lady Honeybell’s, if I were you,’ said Fielding. ‘ I don’t like that girl ; there’s something treacherous about her look.’ ‘ It seems to me that you don’t like any of my friends/ Gabrielle said. ‘ That young man gives his opinion much too dogmatically/ Mrs. Leven thought to herself. ‘ If I were Gabrielle I would not allow him to talk in that sort of way. I must advise her. How unlike he is to his brother ! ’ ‘ Major Leven is having a great meeting somewhere to- night, isn’t he ? ’ Sir Wilberforce asked her. ‘ He is — at St. James’s Hall. Something about a colony. I do not quite understand the subject.’ ‘ Sure to be some good cause/ Sir Wilberforce politely said. ‘ Major Leven only lives for every good cause/ Gabrielle declared with fervour. ‘ Young Taxal is to speak, I see/ Sir Wilberforce said. ‘ I should like to go if I cared more about politics : but I don’t. Are you going, Mrs. Leven % ’ ‘No; I did not think of going; unless, Gabrielle, you would like to come, dear ?• ’ ‘ Oh, no/ Gabrielle answered hastily, and growing a little red ; ‘ I should not like to go.’ Mrs. Leven at once understood Gabrielle’s reason for not going, and her confusion. It was because Walter Taxal was to be there. ‘Very proper and very becoming on her part/ she thought — ‘ she is a dear girl, and my own Gabrielle still ! ’ The brothers presently went away. As Clarkson was going, Gabrielle held out her hand to him and looked in his face with an expression of so much happiness and such an appeal for his sympathy in her happiness, that the heart of the young man was touched to the quick. She seemed so joyous, so anxious that all the world should share her joy, so unconscious of any « FURENS QUID FEMINAI 229 reason why anyone now should not be happy, that it seemed to him as if a formal declaration from her that she cared nothing about him could not have been more conclusive. Some ex- pression of this must have come into his face, for he saw a sudden look of surprise and almost of pain come into hers. She felt as if for some unknown reason the friend to whom she specially looked for sympathy in her happiness was refusing it to her. ‘ Why should she care about me % 1 he thought. ‘ She will marry Wilberforce and be very happy.’ His mind was more than ever made up to leave England. He now only thought of how this could be done with least pain to his brother. ‘ She will not care.’ CHAPTER XXIY. ‘FURENS quid femina.’ The great public meeting about which Sir Wilberforce spoke to Mrs. Leven took place that night. It was to be a grand popular, not to say national, demonstration. People were streaming into St. James’s Hall for more than an hour before the opening of the proceedings. Huge placards at the doors invited the public to keep streaming in still. The stalls, the whole floor of the hall, the galleries, and the platform — ad- mission to this latter place being for those privileged with special tickets — were soon filled by an excited crowd. Major Leven and his friends had found a really delightful grievance to charge against the government. The Colonial office had intimated to the colonists of Yictorietta that it would be a proper thing for them to take on themselves a certain share of the cost of defending the colony against invasion on the part of any aggressive foreign power. The colony of Yictorietta had been for a long time anxious to connect itself with the great political movements of the world. It had looked with jealousy upon the exciting complications, entanglements, and dangers which other dependencies of the British Crown were privileged to enjoy. Canada, India, Hew Zealand, the Cape, even Jamaica, occasionally gave subject for great political and par- liamentary excitement, while ambitious Yictorietta was hardly ever named in the British Senate. This was humiliating for some of the nobler spirits among the colonists. They therefore got up a panic of invasion. It became a theory with them that the eyes of all foreign states hostile to England, or jealous of 230 DONNA QUIXOTE . her, were fixed with especial keenness on the little colony, and that the unfriendly statesmanship of continental Europe re- garded Yictorietta as the very place where the severest blow could be given to England’s strength and pride. Yictorietta was a small island situated in the midst of a positive waste of ocean. It was not known even by name in most of the continental chancelleries. Many otherwise excellent maps omitted to give it a place. But the colonists nevertheless per- suaded themselves that the eyes of hostile Europe were on them, and that projects for the invasion of Yictorietta were occupying the minds of the French, the Germans, the Russians, the Americans, and the Fenians. They got up an elaborate and extensive plan of fortifications and they called for the loan of a fleet and an army from the parent country. The colonial minister refused to believe in any imminent danger. He pointed with pedantic official obstinacy to the fact that there was no continent anywhere nearer to the island than three thousand miles, and that her nearest neighbour was a great English colony. The statesmen of Yictorietta were not to be thus put off. They pressed their demand again and again ; they sent a deputation to London ; they besieged the Colonial Office. The Colonial Office held out, and would go no further than an offer to bear part of the expense if the alarmed islanders would bear the remainder ; and the expense was in any case to be only that of a very much moderated project of fortification and defence. Then the deputation turned to the British public and got hold of Major Leven and Walter Taxal. A pretty vigorous agitation set in. The newspapers took up the quarrel. It was made the subject of several questions, various notices of motion and one 1 count-out ’ in the House of Commons. The impression on one side of the controversy was that the glory of England was gone for ever if the patriotic representations of Yictorietta should be disregarded by a degenerate British Ministry. The contention, on the other hand, was that the last straw would be laid upon the back of that cruelly over- burdened camel the British taxpayer if the cost of any part of the defences of Yictorietta were to be imposed on him. The one class of patriots appealed to the memories of Drake and Raleigh ; the other to the economical precepts of Mr. Cobden. Major Leven flung himself into the battle. He was heart and soul, with the cause of Yictorietta. He would have gone in, if the colonial patriots desired it, for fortifying their island with a triple wall of brass. He listened with full and ready faith to all the stories which told of plans actually drawn up 231 ‘ FUR E NS QUID FEMINAI by the military authorities of St. Petersburg, or Berlin, or Washington, for the occupation of Victorietta in the event of a war with England. He had no words strong enough to express his indignation and contempt for the unworthy and unpatriotic ministry who could think of the money cost on such an occasion. He got up the meeting at St. James’s Hall. A peer who had in his long-past early days been under-secre- tary for the colonies for about three months, and was never invited to occupy any office again, was announced as the chair- men of the meeting. The people of England, men and women, were invited by placard to attend in their thousands and stand up for the rights of the colonies which are at once the ornament and the strength of England. Major Leven’s name was put prominently forward as one of the speakers. The night came, and the hall, as we have said, was crowded. It was evident from the first that opinion was not wholly unanimous. Major Leven represented the more popular side undoubtedly, and the more numerous party ; but there was a considerable force of economical dissent and scepticism. The ladies of England were not unrepresented. Claudia Lemuel and some of her friends were in one of the galleries. Walter Taxal was present. He had promised to speak, and he kept his word, although it must be owned that his mind was almost as far away from the hall as the slighted Victorietta itself. Mr. Lefussis was bustling about the com- mittee-room and the platform full of excitement and hyperbole. The Chairman spoke, and his speech was listened to with that respect which the British pn blic usually show for a peer well stricken in years, who is understood to have held office in the dim time when there really were English statesmen. Walter Taxal spoke with great vigour and fluency. No one would have thought that the young man was deeply depressed at heart, and that for the moment he honestly believed life for the rest to be a blank to him. Mr. Lefussis spoke, but became rather too excited and sputtered a little, and was unlucky enough to raise a laugh or two, thereby putting the meeting somewhat out of tune for the first time. Mr. Lefussis became angry, and declared in vehement tone that that was no occasion for laughter to any true-hearted Englishman. This, however, did not do much good, and Mr. Lefussis finished up rather a failure. Major Leven set about to retrieve the prestige of the cause. Major Leven spoke with a fervour of sincerity and con- viction that well nigh supplied the place of eloquenca He 232 DONNA QUIXOTE. denounced the iniquity of the ministers, Liberal or Conservative be they who they might, who would neglect and discard a loyal and devoted colony, however small. He made a telling pnint by comparing Victorietta to an unhappy step-daughter, who, rejected from the hearth that ought to have burned for her with a genial and protecting glow, is sent out to be at the mercy of a cold and heartless world. The impression pro- duced by the closing sentences was decidedly good. Mr. Lefussis, who now took on himself to act the part of fugleman, rose to his feet and directed the rounds of applause by waving his kerchief energetically round his head. The audience were fairly hit home, it would seem, and even the grumblers and the malcontent hardly ventured to breathe their dissent in tones above a whispered sneer. But when the repeated applause was at length allowed to die away and some other orator was preparing to take up the tale, the audience were amazed to hear the voice of a woman send shrilly through the hall the following remarkable words : ‘ Mr. Chairman, before you go any further, sir, I want to ask Major Leven why he turned his own step-daughter out of doors, and left her to starve or to beg 1 As we are on the subject of step-daughters, perhaps he would not mind telling the meeting something about his own conduct and his wife’s to their step- daughter.’ The words, though all clearly spoken, were rattled off so volubly that they were got fairly into the ears of the assembly before anyone had time even to cry ‘ order.’ Every eye was turned on the new speaker. There she stood in one of the central rows of the stalls, a tall, handsome woman, who kept her attitude of orator with entire composure, and was evidently determined to address the audience at some length upon this rather inappropriate family topic. Then there were loud cries of 4 order, order,’ from those who sympathised with the object of the meeting, and ironical calls of 4 bravo,’ 4 hear, hear,’ 4 woman’s rights for ever,’ and other such irreverent inter- jections from the few who liked to see a little disturbance of any kind. 4 Is she mad 1 ’ several cool neutrals were heard to ask of each other. Some ladies in the neighbourhood of the fair speaker were alarmed and tried to get out of their seats, but could not for the pressure of the crowd. 4 1 am not mad ! ’ exclaimed, in tones growing yet more shrilly, the undaunted woman, 4 although I have been treated so as to make any woman mad. I won’t hear a man talking about step-daughters, like a hypocrite, when he has had his own 233 ‘ EURE NS QUID DEMINA.* step- daughter turned out of the house into the streets. I’m her — let him deny it if he can.' Wild clamour followed this declaration. Major Leven rose to his feet, and was seen to be gesticulating earnestly, but no word he spoke reached the bewildered audience. Evidently Paulina Yanthorpe — for it was she, we need hardly say, who claimed a hearing — had some sympathisers or confederates among the audience : there were cries of ‘ hear her, hear her/ ‘ let the woman speak/ ‘ she’s not mad/ ‘ she’s all right enough/ ‘ no police here/ ‘ fair play for the lady/ and various other such expressions of opinion. ‘ I ask to be heard/ screamed the much-injured woman. ‘ If this is a meeting of English men and women, I know they won’t refuse me a hearing. I’ll show you what sort of men are trying to pass off as patriots and philantrophists ’ — for it has to be recorded that thus, and not otherwise, did Paulina pro- nounce the rather trying word. Shouts of anger, laughter, and applause followed this outburst of emotional eloquence. The platform was observed to be in wild commotion. Excited conference was going on between Major Leven, the Chairman, Mr. Lefussis, and others. Some of the promoters of the meet- ing had managed to get out at the back of the platform, and to bring in a policeman or two at the other end of the hall. But the policemen could do nothing. They could not get to Paulina through the crowd ; and in any case Paulina could only be considered as a speaker who seemed anxious to introduce irrelevant topics into her speech. It was a question for the authority of the Chairman rather than that of the ministers of the law. Paulina’s quick eye detected the presence of the police. ‘ He wants to have me removed by the police/ she cried. ( He is afraid to face the truth — he knows he cannot deny what I say of him. I ask of all true Englishmen not to let an injured daughter be illtreated by the blue-coated minions of a despotic government.’ Paulina was positively developing a genius for popular oratory. In the excitement of her cause, too, her theory as to the relationship between her and Major Leven began to assume more formidable proportions. She had grown at one bound from his wife’s daughter-in-law to his own step-daughter ; she now threatened to become his daughter. The intensity of the scene was suddenly enhanced in an unexpected manner by the intervention of Claudia Lemuel v That excitable young lady, being in one of the galleries, was aware that some woman was 234 DONNA QUIXOTE . trying to address the meeting, but she had not heard Paulina’s words. She assumed that Paulina was presenting herself as the representative of some great cause or other, and that an attempt was being made to eject her simply because she was a woman. The heroic little Claudia pressed forward to the front of the gallery, and cried out in tones of earnest appeal : ‘ In the name of the women of England I demand a hearing for this woman ! This is a free meeting in a free country ; it is an outrage upon all womanhood to deny a hearing to a woman.’ Matters became more complicated than ever. The large number of persons who did not understand the proceedings at all now assumed from Claudia’s words that some injustice was really being done to Paulina, and that she actually had some- thing to say. A great many voices therefore began to cry out that the woman ought to be heard. At length the Chairman rose and came to the front of the platform and made signs that he desired to speak. There were very general cries of ‘ hear the Chairman,’ ‘chair, chair,’ ‘order, order,’ and so forth. Many really respected the Chairman and his authority, and some who did not particularly care for either wished to have him heard because they thought he could explain what all the row was about. ‘ This lady is really out of order,’ the Chairman began. ‘I ain’t out of order,’ Paulina exclaimed. ‘Does Major Leven say he don’t know me 1 Does he say I ain’t the widow of his wife’s son % ’ The question was received with new demonstrations of impatience on one side and amused approval on the other. The Chairman was observed to whisper to Major Leven. ‘ This meeting is not the place to discuss the family affairs of any gentleman,’ the Chairman began. ‘ He admits the charge ! ’ screamed the triumphant Paulina. ‘ English men and women, you hear that he admits it ! ’ ‘ This meeting is called to discuss a great public and national question,’ the Chairman pleaded. ‘ This lady does not rise to propose any amendment to the resolution ’ ‘Yes, I do,’ Paulina cried. ‘ She does, she does,’ was chorussed by many delighted voices. ‘ Will the lady have the goodness to state the terms of her amendment 1 ’ the noble Chairman asked blandly but firmly. ‘ This is my amendment ! ’ screamed Paulina : ‘ That we free- born Britons refuse to be dictated to by humbugs.’ Hoars ‘ I ain't out of order.' 235 * FURENS QUID FEMINA.' of laughter, cries of ‘ order/ shouts of applause, and wild general confusion followed this astonishing proposition. Paulina looked round the hall in triumph, as if she had done something really brilliant this time, and she nodded her head this way and that in approval of herself and acceptance of the well-earned applause of others. Major Leven rose and came to the front of the platform, but finding it utterly impossible to obtain a hearing, and the clamour of his friends being as much in his way as the laughter and shouts of his enemies, he bowed and returned to his seat. His face was crimson with shame and vexation. Mr. Lefussis sprang forward and shrieked some words of which no one caught the meaning, and shook his hand in futile wrath at enemies who answered him with shouts of laughter. The heroine of the evening being, in parliamentary phrase, on her legs, remained there, and seemed evidently determined to have a hearing or let no one else be heard. The Chairman made another appeal for silence, and had a momentary success. He declared that, according to his judg- ment, the amendment proposed by the lady was not in order, and could not be properly entertained. Thereupon several men, some excited, some only amused, rose up and cried out all together that the amenement was perfectly in order. One tall, stout man, who had the advantage of a voice that seemed to clear the air like thunder, and could have been heard amid roll of drum, compelled the meeting to listen to him while he argued that, as Major Leven had proposed a resolution con- demning the government, it w T as in perfect order to offer an amendment to the effect that the meeting declined to be dictated to by humbugs. He demanded that the noble Chairman should show fair play, and give the lady an opportunity of supporting her amendment by argument and illustration. There was a good deal of applause for this. It sounded reasonable enough, some unconcerned persons thought. A sort of dialogue set in between the Chairman and the man with the voice of thunder. It was a relief to many present when a man spoke whose tones made it impossible not to hear him. ‘ Why do you refuse this lady a hearing ? ’ the deep-toned one demanded. 1 Is it, my lord, because she is a woman % ’ The noble Chairman, with words and gestures, deprecated any such ungallant intention. ‘ Then why is she not to be heard, my lord % * the rolling thunder asked. ‘ This meeting has not been called for the discussion of any private controversies/ the Chair man said, with bland plaintive- 236 DONNA QUIXOTE. ness, wishing in his heart he had never listened to the entreaties of Major Leven or consented to have anything to do with the meeting. ‘ But we have not heard what the lady has to say for her amendment, my lord. I presume she intends to support it on public grounds. 7 He looked with prodigious deference towards the heroic Paulina as if he were giving her the assurance that 6he should be heard under the shelter of his voice. ‘Yes, I do, 7 Paulina exclaimed, panting. ‘Pll give you public grounds enough if you will only hear me. Fair play, my lord ; oh, fair play ! I appeal for fair play to my country- men and my countrywomen. 7 Then there was a renewed storm of contending voices, some clamouring for Paulina to be heard and some calling for the police, for the Chairman, for order, for anything else that occurred to them at the moment as preferable to the eloquence of Paulina. The intrepid Paulina herself now mounted on to the seat from which she had risen, and from that vantage-ground endeavoured to make herself heard, as with voluble tongue and vivacious gesture she denounced the Chairman, Major Leven, and the promoters of the meeting generally. Soon in every part of the room was someone addressing the Chairman, or the meeting at large. The cause of order and of Victorietta was hopeless for that night. The wrongs of the colony were for- gotten. The Chairman gave up the battle. He quietly with- drew from the platform. Major Leven followed him rather hastily, pursued by some shrieking taunt from the conquering heroine, and by shouts of laughter from the irreverent and the unconcerned. Major Leven would have felt it a positive relief if, as he was escaping from the platform, he had heard the crack of doom. Those who favoured the cause of Victorietta now left the hall as quickly as they could. Those who remained elected a chairman of their own on the spur of the moment, and carried a resolution, proposed by the man with the thunder- tones, approving of the conduct of the government. Paulina then modestly withdrew, followed by a few admiring friends. She wiped her heated brow, as she went, for the moment heedless of the paint. She was on fire with triumph and gratified spleen. She had indeed wrestled well and overthrown more than her enemies. Thus is history sometimes made. It is probable that the island of Victorietta will be left undefended for ever merely because Paulina Vanthorpe happened to have a spite against Major Leven. Paulina is to be added to the company of Helen and Cleopatra and the wife of Prince Breffni and ‘FURE.VS QUID DEMINA.' 237 Florinda, and all the other famous ladies whose personal wrongs and quarrels disturbed the progress of States. The papers next morning were filled with accounts of the astonishing proceedings in St. James’s Hall. Most of the reports wooed the eye of even the most indifferent reader by the temptation of large-type headings and the words ‘Extra- ordinary Scene at St. James’s Hall ; ’ lengthened and vivacious descriptions were given, in which of course the appearance of Paulina, her manner, and her startling eloquence, obtained full justice. Some of the papers bad pleasant leading articles holding up the promoters of the meeting to playful ridicule. The noble Chairman’s face grew a deep red as he glanced over the journals at his breakfast. In the fulness of his heart he cursed Major Leven ; and, although in general a devoted friend of liberty of the press, he began to think there was a good deal to be said after all in favour of some despotic system to restrain these confounded newspapers. Maj or Leven was even more angry with those at the meeting who supported Paulina than with Paulina herself. He waxed eloquent over the degeneracy of the English nation when men could be found with such levity in them as to prefer the encouragement of a piece of mad foolery to the calm discussion of a great cause and the redress of a great wrong. He began seriously to think of emigrating to some happier and less effete country, where the corruptions of luxury had not so completely wasted the spirit of patio tism, justice, and manhood. Of one thing he was certain — the band of the Colonial Office was in the whole affair. The colonial minister had employed some wretched minions to make use of that infamous woman. Indeed, he began to think now that Paulina had been in the pay of the government from first to last. He declared that such ministers were capable of anything. This thought consoled him. It had the soothing effect produced upon an author when he convinces himself that the disparaging reviews of his master- piece are the result of a vile conspiracy got up by jealous hate to crush him. Major Leven would have felt utterly crushed if he were not satisfied that the Colonial Office was trying to crush him. This thought gave him nerve to bear the light of the sun. Mrs. Leven was impetuous. She was for taking instant pro- ceedings against Paulina; dragging her to the bar of justice somewhere and inflicting the direst punishment upon her. She was for making no compromise, shr inkin g from no publicity, drawing the sword and throwing the scabbard away. 1 There must be laws,’ she declared indignantly. It was idle to point 238 DONNA QUIXOTE. out that, although there were laws, it might not be easy to bring any one of them to bear on that particular case in the way Mrs. Leven desired. She urged Major Leven to prosecute Paulina at once — she would not have quailed, to do her justice, before any exposure of family scandals. But Major Leven shook his head. 4 It’s no use, Constance/ he said ; ‘ the Colonial Office is behind her, don’t you see % She must have some power at her back. No paid magistrate would punish her.’ Walter Taxal wrote a few lines recommending Major Leven to hold another meeting on the same subject and to have the admission by tickets only. But he said that, for reasons he need not explain to Mrs. Leven, he was resolved to leave town for the present. A little knocking about would do him good, he said. Sir Wilberforce gave hearty good advice to Major and Mrs. Leven not to bother about Paulina and her goings on at all. ‘ A nine days’ wonder — soon die away, soon forgotten, if you only let it alone.’ As to the scandal, there were scandals everywhere, he suggested. There was one person to whom the goings-on of Paulina gave unmixed delight, and that was Miss Elvin. The singer became quite an object of curiosity and in- terest herself by virtue of the vivacious descriptions she was able to give of Gabrielle Vanthorpe’s sister-in-law. She became so sprightly on the subject at Lady Honeybell’s, that Lady Honey- bell snubbed her at last, expressed the warmest sympathy and admiration for ‘that dear young thing, Mrs. Vanthorpe,’ and left Miss Elvin with a deeper sense of wrong against Gabrielle than ever. To Clarkson Fielding the manner in which Paulina had chosen to relieve her spleen seemed, all things considered, highly satisfactory. He knew that there were two sides to her nature — one that of the hoyden, the other that of the tigress. It looked as if she had made up her mind to appease her wrath in this instance by no worse vengeance than something in the nature of a practical joke. A few days after the meeting, however, the London public were amused and amazed by a letter which appeared in several of the newspapers and was signed ‘Paulina Vanthorpe.’ It professed to be a defence of the writer against some of the comments made upon her in the press, and against the attempt of the noble chairman to suppress her speech at the meeting. She declared that she had come forward under the influence of purely patriotic motives, as an Englishwoman, to save her countrymen from being made the instruments of a self-seeking and hypocritical clique. She 239 'SIR, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED? announced that she intended before many days to hold a meeting of her own in some public hall in London and invite Englishmen of all parties there to hear a tale of wrong and of suffering which would make the heart of every honest man and pitying woman glow with sympathy and indignation. Major Leven writhed when he read this manifesto. ‘ They’ll make a heroine of her, you’ll find, Constance — some people will,’ he groaned. 1 1 told you, George,’ his wife said with that gentle firmness which becomes those who gave good advice that was not taken — 1 1 told you this creature would give trouble if she were left at large. She ought to have been met boldly and sent to prison at once.’ ‘ But, my dear, you couldn’t have sent her to prison.’ ‘ I’d have sent her to prison,’ Mrs. Leven said. When Clarkson Fielding read Paulina’s letter he began to think the thing was growing a little serious. The heroine herself could never have written such an epistle. There was clearly someone behind her. If anyone really wished to injure or annoy the Levens, Paulina, under effective guidance, could easily be made a very serviceable instrument. Fielding, it must be owned, did not greatly care what annoyance might fall upon the Levens. But he was deeply concerned that Gabrielle should not suffer any pain. CHAPTER XXV. 1 SIR, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED ; BUT THAT’S NOT IT.* Clarkson Fielding began to persuade himself that there could be no harm in his calling on Gabrielle and telling her of the suspicion he had that somebody was backing-up Paulina. He did not care to speak to Major Leven on the subject; and he disliked Mrs. Leven, and had an instinctive conviction that she disliked him. In truth, he was longing for any excuse to see Gabrielle before he left England, perhaps for ever. He thought there could be no harm in his doing this. It would, indeed, be the wisest possible precaution against any suspicion of his secret getting out. What could be better evidence of quiet friendship, and of friendship only, than to go and say a kindly farewell to one whose regard he desired to preserve % If he were to go away in any more abrupt manner, surely it would be only putting a very provocation in suspicion’s way. Heartily did he wish that he could go away as the brother does in 240 DONNA QUIXOTE. Richter’s sad and beautiful story, who, finding that he loves only too well the girl his brother loves, sets out one morning blowing his familiar flute as if for an ordinary stroll, and is never heard of more. But Clarkson was concerned for Gabrielle and for his brother. It would doubtless make Gabrielle sad if she thought she had been the cause of his unhappiness and of his going away. ‘ She brought us together, Wilberforce and me,’ he thought ; * she would be greatly hurt if she thought she were now the means of separating us.’ He was deeply con- cerned for Wilberforce, knowing how his brother would be pained if he could think that Clarkson’s heart was touched by Gabrielle. If he could contrive to get away, people would set down his going to the restlessness of an unmanageable and wandering nature, and it might never occur to any mind that there was any other cause. Wilberforce had told him lately that he had made up his mind to ask Gabrielle to marry him ; and indeed had added that he would not see her again until he went for the purpose of asking her. Perhaps it is all settled before this, Clarkson thought. If so, the greater need that he should act in such a way as to make his secret a secret for ever. While he was in this condition of mind, longing to see Gabrielle and yet afraid to see her, the question was decided by a few lines from Gabrielle herself. She asked him to come and see her as soon as he could. She had heard from his brother that Clarkson wished to leave England and that Wilberforce wished to keep him there, and in her impulsive way she fancied that it would be only right of her to endeavour to impress upon him the necessity of his acting as his brother wished. If Gabrielle had been given to self-examination, she would never have written that letter. Only of late had she ever thought of questioning the propriety of anything she felt impelled to do. If she had examined her own heart now, she would have seen how much of a selfish feeling there was in her when she set herself to write to Fielding. It was indeed selfishness of a very pardonable, human, harmless order ; but it was the impulse of self all the same. She could not bear the idea of Clarkson going away. She felt as if she must be utterly lonely when he had gone. There was something peculiarly congenial in their natures. Each was impulsive, generous, uncalculating; neither cared for what the world or society said or thought. Each had, even if unconsciously, certain motives of action drawn from deeper and purer sources than those which the conventional proprieties and what are called the ways of the world supply. When she heard that Clarkson was going away . 241 •SIX, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED. 9 she felt as if she must throw herself between him and such a resolve ; as if she should have no friend on earth for whom she could really and deeply care when he had gone. It had never occurred to her to think that he felt anything more than friendship for her. There was nothing in his manner to tell of the lover or the sentimentalist. He was always frank and friendly; a little abrupt sometimes; he often showed an easy and kindly roughness like that of a brother to a sister. Gabrielle had not asked herself the question ‘ Is he in love with me i * No thought of the kind had ever found its way into her mind. He did not seem the man to be in love with any woman. But she knew now well enough, only too well, that she could have loved him if love had been thought of between them. She felt that if it had been he, and not Walter Taxal, who told her of love, she could not have held faithful to the memory of Albert Yanthorpe. Besides — besides, she was very unhappy just now. A great illusion had gone for ever. How many parables, legends, fables, poems, essays, sermons, have been composed for the purpose of telling vain man that the least satisfactory thing on earth is to have his darling wish conceded ? Never a man probably was any the wiser in advance for all the teaching. Never a woman surely was any the more willing to put up in patience with the denial of her darling wish. Gabrielle Yanthorpe had long had one darling wish ; and now it is conceded ; and no sermonising could have made her believe in advance the truth that is forcing itself on her unwilling mind. She has had the protectress of her youth given back to her. The friendship which, denied, made life so blank to her, is now hers again ; and is she satisfied with it? She is beginning to find out that the Constance Leven whom she now knows is not in the least like the Con- stance Leven of her memory and her imagination. Gabrielle had grown up under the care of Mrs. Leven. She was petted and fondled to her heart’s content by her protectress, who was very fond of her as long as things went well with them. If she had married Albert Yanthorpe earlier, when his mother wished it, the love and petting would probably have continued always, and it may be that Gabrielle would never have discovered that she was only loved as any other pet is loved — a lapdog or a kitten. Mrs. Leven’s nature was in its way about as complex a combination of the tyrant and the slave as that of any empress of the East whom history or fiction had painted. She was the slave of her own will, and the tyrant of all the alien wills that would oppose it. R 242 DONNA QUIXOTE. While Gabrielle was in constant intercourse with her, the girl never saw anything of this. Mrs. Leven was to her simply as the mother who must always be right in whatever she does. But the long separation had turned Gabrielle into a new kind of observer. It forced upon her a new point of view. The links of habit were burst ; the witchery of old association was gone. The girl with whom devotion was an article of faith had grown into a woman, and into a woman lately beginning to question the goodness of even her own emotions and impulses. It is a risk for two parted friends, even the dearest and the least open to criticism, to come together after long separation. New habits have grown up in each meanwhile ; new ways of thinking ; new tastes. They look upon each other as one looks on some long unvisited scene of early youth. It is the same, no doubt ; it must be — and yet surely that hill used to seem higher and grander ; the grass used to be greener ; the stream was brighter. Can that be really the lovers’ walk that was such a path of poetic and romantic delight? Now it seems mean and swampy, and there are thistles growing in it here and there. So, perhaps, we are apt to look on the idealised friends of long ago. They stand the test sometimes ; as the dear schoolboy spot does; and become all the dearer for it. But there are times when we find, not merely that the charm is not there, but that no charm could ever have been there if we had always had our senses about us. And this was the melancholy case of Gabrielle Yanthorpe when she found herself restored to the affection of her old protectress. She resisted the growing conviction at first ; but it was not very long to be resisted. She soon began to acknowledge to herself that she found Mrs. Leven narrow, hard, and egotistic. She saw more and more the woman who had been cold and cruel to her in the presence of Albert Vanthorpe’s dead body, and less and less the ideal friend, the more than mother, of her earlier memories. There was something even worse than this ; for Gabrielle began now to reconcile the woman of the Genoa scene with the former woman and to see that it was after all only one consistent individuality. ' Innumerable vague memories disregarded before came up now to tell her that Mrs. Leven was always the same — self-willed, tyrannical, in the strictest sense effeminate. Gabrielle recognised in her the strong clamorous will of effeminacy, and the feeble reason and con- science ; the effeminate incapacity to put oneself in the place of another ; the tendency to make a creed and a religion out of one’s own likes and dislikes, one’s whims and passions. Before 243 'SIR, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED.' very many days had passed over their renewed friendship Gabrielle felt that she had lost her friend for ever. More than that, she knew that for her no such friend had ever been in existence. Mrs. Leven made much of her, in the homely phrase ; insisted on being called ‘mother’ by her — as if anyone ever with a title to such a name had need to insist on its being given. The renewed intimacy was very agreeable for the time to Mrs. Leven, who had begun to find her fife rather dull, and had long yearned for a pet of some kind. But it was painfully evident to Gabrielle that their ways of thinking and acting were not the same, and that some time there must come a collision of will or judgment or conscience ; and then all would be in the dust again. It was evident that Mrs. Leven regarded Gabrielle as bound to her by eternal gratitude for having been taken back into favour. Indeed, much of Mrs. Leven’s enjoy- ment in the reconciliation came from the satisfaction and com- placency with which it enabled her to regard herself. She admired her own magnanimity very much. She was flattered by Gabrielle’s submission thus far. It did not occur to her to doubt for a moment that she had acquired the absolute right to dispose of Gabrielle’s life as might seem good to her. No one could be kinder than Mrs.’ Leven to those who would allow themselves to be ruled in all things by her as Capulet would have his daughter. So Gabrielle wrote to Clarkson. His hand trembled as he took the letter. He smiled rather grimly at his own weakness. It was a short note, simply asking him to come and see her, as she had something to say to him. He had often received such notes before from her. He might have compared this with any of its predecessors if he had felt inclined, for he had kept them all safely stored. But it seemed to him that there was something peculiarly friendly and familiar in these few words ; a sort of sisterly imperiousness. i It is all over ; it is done,’ he leaped to the conclusion at once. * She feels already as if she were my sister ; she has promised to marry Wilberforce.’ Then a great wave of disappointed love and of wild jealousy swept for a moment across the poor young man’s heart. A positive cry broke from his lips ; the cry of a pain that knows it will from that moment have to be still for ever. ‘ Why did I ever see her h Why did I ever come near him again 1 Why did she bring us together 1 Why is he so good and kind that I can’t even hate him % He can never love her as I do ; he can r 2 244 DONNA QUIXOTE. never appreciate her as I do. She can never be to him what she might have been to me.’ He was in the old room in Bolingbroke Place. He had gone again into a sort of hiding there under pretence of putting together his papers and things before going away. He sat down and leaned his hand upon his chin and gave himself up to moody absorption for a full hour. He let the wave of passion and regret break quite over him unresisting. Then he got up and said to himself that now he could go and see her. A pang went through him as he stood on the doorstep and thought of the day when he opened that door for her and saw her for the first time. ‘ After this day I shall never see her again ! ’ Never again — the immemorial syllables of despair. When he saw her in her house she was apparently under the influence of some embarrassment or constraint. He thought it was easy to understand the reason why. 1 My future sister- in-law/ he thought, 1 finds the new position a little embarrass- ing at first.’ He put on the most unconstrained and friendly air he could adopt. He seemed to her very cheerful and easy. He might have been a little more sorry to leave his friends, she thought ; but of course man’s instinct is for adventure and occupation and unrest. Gabrielle did not say at once why she had sent for him ; and Clarkson talked a little about Paulina, and told of his suspicion about some unseen hand guiding that energetic creature’s somewhat unskilled pen. Gabrielle did not follow all this with deep interest. She had taken the Paulina scandal very composedly ; she could not be brought to see that any disgrace whatever fell upon the Levens or upon herself because Mrs. Leven’s son had married a coarse and ungovernable woman. She was sorry, for the sake of womanhood, that Paulina should have made such an unseemly exhibition ; but for herself she felt in no way abashed or alarmed. Gabrielle still thought they had all been a little too hard on the unfor- tunate Paulina. She had a firm conviction yet that she could have managed Paulina a great deal better than that. If they would only allow her, she would try what she could do even now. She hardly therefore followed the meaning of what Clarkson was trying to impress on her about Paulina. Her mind, indeed, was on other things. ‘ Do you know why I wrote and asked you to come here 1 * she broke in suddenly. No, he didn’t know, he said. 1 1 wrote to you because I thought it would please your brother.’ 'SIX, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED.* 245 4 Ah, yes/ Clarkson thought ; 4 1 knew as much as that. It is all settled. I am talking to my sister-in-law that is to be.’ He made some unmeaning answer. 4 Your brother doesn’t like your leaving England.’ 4 1 know/ Clarkson said doggedly. * Then why not gratify him and stay here ? It was I who brought you together — don’t you remember ? ’ Oh, yes ; he had not forgotten that. 4 And so I claim a sort of right to keep you together, if I can, Mr. Fielding.’ 4 You are very kind, but ’ He shook his head. * But I don’t see why you must leave us. Your brother so wishes you to stay, and you seem to me to have travelled enough. It is time for you to settle down, Mr. Fielding, I think.’ 4 Settle down to what ? ’ 4 Well, to some kind of regular life. A man can’t be always travelling aimlessly about the world, can he ? All that ought to be only a preparation for some sort of career, I think. It can hardly be a career in itself, can it ? ’ 4 If one can do no better ’ 4 But you can do better. I feel sure you can — we all know you can.’ 4 Who are 44 we ” ? ’ Fielding could not help asking. 4 We? Who are we? Everyone who knows you — your brother ’ 4 Ah, yes ; but Wilberforce is very partial.’ 4 1 don’t know; he has great judgment and good sense. Once you would have thought he was partial the other way. Don’t you remember what trouble I had to prevail on you to go near him at all ? Why, I had to adopt an audacious strata- gem to bring you together.’ 4 1 remember all that — I couldn’t well forget it. I owe it to you altogether that Wilberforce and I have become friends and brothers again; I oughtn’t to say “again,” indeed, for we never were friends and brothers before. Now, I think he is the best fellow that ever lived ’ 4 Indeed he is/ Gabrielle said with emphasis. 4 Yes ; even you can’t say a word more in his praise than I shall say, Mrs. Vanthorpe. Well, I owe all that to you; I should have lived and died under a false impression about my brother if it were not for you.’ 4 Oh, no/ said Gabrielle, blushing slightly at his earnestness ; ‘you and he would have found each other out in some way, you may be sure. You would never have been kept apart all your 246 DONNA QUIXOTE . lives for the mere want of someone to bring you together. Heaven is not so dependent upon any of us to bring about its ends. But I am glad it was my good fortune to be the medium in this case, Mr. Fielding ; I freely confess that.’ 4 You are always doing good,’ he said. Gabrielle was thinking of instances in which she did not seem to have done good for all her trying. 4 Oh no, Mr. Fielding ; very much the reverse sometimes, I am afraid. I try to do good ; but I rush into things in an impulsive way, and I find that I make sad mistakes. I wish I were not so impulsive : I wish I could restrain myself and not follow out every impulse the moment it begins to drive me on. I am afraid I have made enemies.' Fielding smiled. 4 Come,’ he said, 4 that is impossible. I can’t imagine any- body being an enemy of yours.’ 4 Does that mean that I am not worth anybody’s enmity, Mr. Fielding % If so, I don’t take it as a compliment at all. I haven’t forgotten also what Sir Oliver says about people who have no enemies — don’t you remember — in the “ School for Scandal ” ? ' 4 No, I don’t mean that,’ said Fielding composedly ; 4 although I never much believed in Sir Oliver’s saying, all the same. I don’t much believe in enemies ; I don’t think anyone makes enemies who acts for the best and goes straight on.’ 4 But now about your going away and ranging the world all over again,’ she asked, anxious to turn the talk away from herself. 4 1 really do want to argue this point with you. You say you owe me something — and you do owe me at least some goodwill. Come then, I will release you from the obligation if you will only talk this over with me like a rational being. Why do you want to leave England % ’ 4 Why should I stay in England ? ’ 4 Ah, that is not talking like a rational being ; that is only asking a question. Still, I’ll try to answer it. Because you ought to have some calling in England; because it is your country ; England is the place where you ought to live and do what work you can. You ought to have travelled to educate yourself for England. Your friends all wish you to stay here ; your brother wishes it ; we all wish it.’ 4 Do you wish it — yourself? ' 4 Do I wish it ? Of course I do. If you were my brother should beg of you to stay. At least you must have some reasc for not staying ; you can tell me that.' ‘S/E, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED? 247 ‘ 1 have a reason.’ He stood up, and leaned with his hack to the chimney-piece. 1 Oh, you have a reason ? Well, I am glad ! What is it, Mr. Fielding ? ’ He wondered to see how clear and unsuspicious her eyes looked. ‘ If I should tell her now ! ’ he thought. ‘ Surely you may tell me what it is,’ she said in kindly, gentle tones. ‘ Is it that you are poor % Is it that you are proud 1 Is it that you don’t like to he dependent on your brother ? He tells me that you are not dependent on him — he says that the money he holds for you is not his ; that it is yours. But that is a matter of no consequence ; you can easily hnd a career in England. What is your reason for going away % ’ * Well,’ he said with hesitation, ‘ things will not be always the same here ’ ‘ No, of course not. Who supposes they would ? What has that to do with it % — they won’t be always the same anywhere else.’ ‘ Wilberforce will get married.’ ‘ Yes ; I suppose so. Why should you go away because of that % ’ ‘ Oh, don’t you know % ’ he cried, losing fast all the patience and self-control he had kept so long. ‘ No, Mr. Fielding ; how should I know % 3 1 You might guess, I think,’ he said with a certain bitterness in his tone. ‘ Might 1 1 then I should like to guess, for I don’t wish to seem stupid. It surely cannot be because if your brother were married you think he would have less affection to spare for you i I don’t believe that can be the reason ; that wouldn’t seem like you, Mr. Fielding.’ 1 No,’ he said ; ‘ it isn’t that.’ ‘ I thought so : I am glad of it. Then tell me ; for I don’t think I could guess.’ ‘ She really does not know/ Fielding said to himself, and the bare conviction sent a rush of blood to his face. 1 She has no idea of anything of the kind. Wilberforce has not yet spoken to her.’ ‘ I don’t understand you,’ she said. ‘ I begin to understand you less and less as we go on, Mr. Fielding. Is there any mystery in all this 1 Why can you not tell me in plain words — or why do you excite my curiosity if the thing is not to be told 1 3 She looked so earnest and so kindly that the young man’s barrier of self-composure melted completely away. 2\% DONNA QUIXOTE. 4 Well, then, I will tell you,’ he exclaimed ; 4 1 was de- termined not to speak, but I can’t help it. I heard you were going to be married ’ She did not at tirst see the meaning of his words, so much was she surprised by the thought that there should have been auy talk about her being married. She felt herself growing hot and confused. She took it good-humouredly, however. 4 1 never heard of it before, Mr. Fielding, I can assure you, and I am not going to be married. But I don’t see why in any case ’ and then looking up and seeing the revelation in his face she stopped short in such utter confusion that it would have been a positive relief to her if she had fainted, or the floor had given way, or the sky fallen, or anything happened to save her from saying more or seeming to leave more unsaid. The full meaning of his words suddenly came on her, and she knew of his love. 4 You know it all now/ Fielding said. 4 Oh, stop ! ’ she begged. 4 It’s too late now to stop. Yes, you know it all now, Mrs. Vanthorpe. I was in love with you, that’s all ; I am in love with you, that’s all. I have a right to be in love with you if I like ; and I can’t help it whether I like it or not, or whether I have a right. I thought you might have guessed this before ; I thought women always knew of such things.’ 4 1 didn’t know it,’ said Gabrielle, and she tried to say something more, and did not succeed in getting any words articulately spoken. She sat down and put her hands to her face and fairly burst into tears. She could not help herself, she had no other way of giving a voice to her feelings. She had long borne almost unknowingly too hard a strain. She had fought earnestly against a growing love which seemed to her, as things then were, to be unwomanly and a shame — and now all at once she knew that he loved her. The joy was mingled with fear; she foresaw much difficulty and much reproach; and it seemed like impiety and ingratitude to re- nounce in this way the memory of Albert. Yet life had lately been growing barren and full of disappointment, and all her hopes were turning out to be only shining bubbles at the best, and she was unhappy and was not making others happy, and she felt that now she would go to the end of the world with Fielding if he asked her, and she longed to go and be away at once from question and reproach and the sneers of cold friends and the misconstruction of some and the pity of others — and in short all her little world had shattered and fallen asunder, and 249 ‘SIX, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED . 9 a new, strange world was coming up in its place, and this was too much for her, and she could only sit and sob. Fielding started in alarm and moved towards her in fear that she was about to faint, and in his sudden movement his arm struck against the portrait of Albert Yanthorpe, and it fell to the floor. Gabrielle motioned with one hand for Fielding not to approach her. She could not speak to him just yet. She could not listen to anything he could say. She did not venture to look up ; she only still sat and sobbed. Fielding fell back bewildered. He expected surprise and anger, he expected perhaps some keen and hasty words, or he might have looked for a reproof of icy coldness • but he never dreamed of such a reception for his words as this. The one thing that had never seemed to him to come within the limits of possible conjecture was her caring about him. He did not think of it now ; her tears he supposed were only evidence of her impassioned resentment of a supposed offence. ‘ Have I offended you so much, Mrs. Yanthorpe? ’ he asked very humbly. 1 1 never meant to do that ; I did not mean to say what I have said two moments ago, but I couldn’t help saying it. But pray, pray don’t be offended, do forgive me. Oh, do but think of it, I am the sufferer and not you. Shall I go away ? ’ Still keeping her handkerchief to her eyes with one hand, she held out the other towards him. He touched it respect- fully, assuming that it was offered in token of forgiveness. Suddenly she looked up at him and said in her characteristic and impulsive way : 1 Are you sure of this ? ’ * Sure of what ? ’ the bewildered young man asked. * Sure of what you have told me ? Is it certain, and deep ? Ho you know yourself? Is it sure to-last?’ ‘ You mean my love for you ? It has lasted since I first knew you ; since I first saw you, I think. It will last all my time, Mrs. Yanthorpe.’ He spoke with that simple earnestness which was a part of his nature and which made his quiet words stronger than the oaths of other men. ‘I wish I were not so foolish,’ she said, rising from her chair. ‘ But this is such a strange sensation ; I don’t know what to say or what to think even. What shall I say, Mr. Fielding ? ’ 1 Say that you forgive me,’ he answered, * and that you will sometimes think of me perhaps.’ He had even yet no better hope. 250 DONNA QUIXOTE. ‘ But must you still go away 1 7 * You would not have me stay, after this ? * ‘ Oh, yes, I would.' 1 Mrs. Vanthorpe' — he broke into a great cry of surprise — ‘ it can’t he — it cannot be ; you do not care about me — about me?’ i Oh, yes,’ she answered quietly ; ‘ I have cared for you this long time. But I never thought you cared about me.’ She turned away towards the windows as she spoke ; she was not able to look him in the face ; perhaps she feared that her words might provoke some passionate demonstration. At that moment she heard the tread of a horse’s feet on the gravel beneath, and she saw that Sir Wilberforce was alighting at her door. 1 Oh, your brother ! ’ she exclaimed, turning to Fielding with an expression of something like alarm. * I could not see him at this moment — I could not see anyone. Will you see him 1 ’ ‘ I can’t see him,’ Fielding said. ‘ Do you know what he has come for 1 ’ ‘ No — how should I know 1 * i He has come to ask you to marry him. I know he has. He told me his secret ; he trusted it to me ; he told me of it again and again. He will think I have been a traitor to him — I cannot see him, Mrs. Vanthorpe ! ’ Gabrielle turned cold with surprise and pain. She could not understand Fielding’s natural impulse of self-reproach and of compassion at the mention of his brother’s name. She did not give herself time to understand it. She only knew that he seemed to speak as if there were some mystery and shame about their love to be hidden away from the outer world. A quick revulsion of feeling took place within her. Even in the very moment of her sudden love-confession, she had felt that there was something of a fall to her pride in having to make it. She had felt her heart pierced as with a sudden wound when she saw Albert Vanthorpe’s picture fall. But she was ready to give up everything for her love ; she would have braved any amount of misconstruction and anger and humiliation for him • — and now he seemed as if he were afraid or ashamed to look his brother in the face, and tell him that he loved her. To make it all the more bitter, he had called her ‘ Mrs. Vanthorpe.’ ‘ This is a little too like a French comedy for my taste,’ said Gabrielle, speaking with forced composure. ‘ I can’t hide you behind the curtains, Mr. Fielding ; and if you don’t wish to meet your brother, you must make your escape your own way. 251 * SIR, YOU AND I HAVE LOVED.' I shall see Sir Wilberforce ; but I shall not betray your confi- dence. We have not committed ourselves very far, either you or I ; and the little that has been said shall count as unsaid/ Fielding was approaching her ; but she waved him off with scornful and imperious gesture. ‘ Show Sir Wilberforce in,’ she said to the servant, who entered the room that moment. ‘ Or stay, Rose ; help me first to put my husband’s picture into its place ; it has fallen ; I must have it fixed there more firmly. Good morning, Mr. Fielding ; or I suppose it must be good-bye if you are really resolved on leaving England. This way, Rose, if you please ; just here/ Fielding made one step towards her ; but she had turned her back upon him. It was her evident resolve to keep her maid in the room until he had gone. He could not attempt a word of explanation with Gabrielle. He understood a fury in her words, but he did not yet clearly understand her meaning. He had gone through too many confusing sensations during the last few moments to be able to get his wits about him soon again. Everything had turned out as surprisingly unlike what he had looked for, as if he were living out in actual experience the incoherent incidents of a dream. He had entered the house with the purpose of saying good-bye for ever to the woman he loved, and as he believed loved hopelessly; he had resolved to keep his secret firm and fast ; he had betrayed himself in a moment ; the next moment he heard Gabrielle tell him from her own lips that she loved him and that he must not go ; and then in a moment again, he found himself dismissed with anger and contempt : dismissed, and not allowed and not able to say one word for himself. An instant or two he stood irresolute, and then — there was nothing else for it — he left the room and left the house, finding in all his bewilderment a sense of relief in the fact that he was able to make his painful and ignominious escape without meeting his brother as he went. Suddenly, with the rush as of a wind, a great feeling of joy came over him. ‘ She said she loved me; I heard her say it; nothing on earth can alter that 1 9 2^2 DONNA QUIXOTE. CHAPTEB XXVI. ‘ GABRIELLE.’ Mrs. Leven was in a specially anxious mood when she went to see Gabrielle on the day of Sir Wilberforce’s visit and of his brother’s abrupt dismissal. The two brothers had been early visitors that day, and Mrs. Leven arrived long after both had gone. She had heard from Major Leven something about Sir Wilberforce’s views with regard to Gabrielle. Indeed, anyone might have guessed from the frequency of his visits to Gabrielle what his views were. There was not much of the crafty diplomatist about Wilberforce, and his attentions to Gabrielle had become so marked of late that anybody but Gabrielle herself must have understood their significance. She had not understood it, or thought anything about it. To her he seemed simply a kind goodhearted friend who might almost have been her father. But to Mrs. Leven he seemed still a sort of young man ; and of course she assumed that he was certain to marry some time or other. Therefore she had a strong conviction that before long he would be found opening his mind to Gabrielle, and she was anxious to antici- pate him if she could. She wanted Gabrielle to know at once that if Sir Wilberforce should ask her to marry him, she, Mrs. Leven, Gabriclle’s protectress, friend, and mother, was of opinion the offer should be accepted. Mrs. Leven thought the position, the name, the respectability of character, the British strength of Sir Wilberforce would be the best shelter for Gabrielle’s impulsive life. Mrs. Leven had forgotten her elder son in her love for the more dutiful younger. She was now like to forget Albert in the renewed affection she had for Albert’s widow. She often argued gently with Gabrielle on the unwisdom of keeping up the memorial chamber to Albert’s name, and pointed out that she herself in all her grief, whereof the grief of forty thou- sand widows could not make up the sum, had never main- tained any such monument. She was for Gabrielle now going freely out to meet the world, and bringing the world as much as possible to her. After a while she began to go further yet, and to hint to Gabrielle that it was absurd and impossible to continue in her resolution not to get married again. In truth Mrs. Leven had now set her heart on the marriage of Gabrielle to Sir Wilberforce Fielding. He was a Baronet; * gabrielle: 253 ho was very rich ; and as he was not a young man he could not be supposed to come into any sort of comparison with the dead Albert. Everyone would know that Gabrielle did not marry him for love; and there would be no slight to the memory of Mrs. Leven’s son. By refusing Walter Taxal, who was young and good-looking, and the son of a peer, Gabrielle had sufficiently acknowledged what was due to the memory of Albert Yanthorpe. Mrs. Leven therefore thought that all the proprieties justified her in hoping to see her daughter, as she now once more called her, converted from Mrs. Albert Yan- thorpe into Lady Fielding. ‘ Gabrielle, my love, you look quite pale. You seem to me to be very unwell. What is the matter, dearest child ? * Mrs. Leven sat beside Gabrielle on a sofa, and drew the girl towards her, and put her arm round her neck, and petted her as in the old days. But Gabrielle could not warm, somehow, with the old affection. She bore the petting pa- tiently; she did not delight in it. ‘ I am very well, dear,’ Gabrielle said. ‘Nothing ever ;:.