UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 ILLINOIS l IBRARY 
 
 AT UrtBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 BOOKSTACKS
 
 LOVED AT LAST 
 
 MAEK LEMON, 
 
 Author of "Wait for the Entd," etc. 
 
 Not at first sight, nor with a dribbing shot, 
 Love gave the wound, which while I breathe will bleed : 
 But known worth did in tract of time proceed, 
 Till by degrees it had full conquest got. 
 I saw and liked, I liked but loved not ; 
 I loved, but did not straight what love decreed." 
 Sir Phiup Sidney. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVEEIE STEEET. 
 
 1864. 
 
 [The Right of Translation is reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 BRAD BUI; Y AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
 
 L5441 
 v.l 
 
 ) 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 WE ARE TAKEN TO HILLTOWN — PUT UP AT THE "WHITE 
 
 HORSE " AND VISIT ASHTREE FARM ON A SOLEMN 
 
 OCCASION 1 
 
 CHAPTER H. 
 
 WE ARE INTRODUCED AT OLD COURT, AND LEARN WHO 
 LIVES THERE. — MR. SELWYN Ai*D HIS NEPHEWS 
 TAKE THEIR PLACE IN OUR STORY ... 30 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 JACOB SELWYN GIVES INSTRUCTIONS FOR HIS WILL, AND, 
 HAVING SIGNED IT, DIES IN PEACE ; BUT ASHTREE 
 FARM-HOUSE HAS HAUNTED CHAMBERS ... 56 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KATE WYCHERLY'S BIRTH-DAY. THE LEGEND OF OLD 
 
 COURT.— JIM PERKS WALKS THE ROAD TO RUIN . 85 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 <*! THE HOME IN SUBURBAN SQUARE. — BUSINESS IN THE 
 CITY WITH PHILCHER AND CO., AND A PLEASANT 
 DRIVE TO HOLLY LODGE 110 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 J THE HUNT BREAKFAST AT OLD COURT. — SOMETHING 
 ABOUT THE RUN, WHICH ENDED WITH DINNER AT 
 THE "ROSEBUSH" 132
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIT. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE FROST, AND WHAT CAME OF IT AT OLD COURT AND 
 
 THE ROSEBUSH INN . . . . . .154 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 VISIT TO A VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER AND WHO HE 
 
 PROVED TO BE. HOW CECIL CAME TO REMAIN 
 
 AT THE " ROSEBUSH " . . . . . • 178 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. HARTLEY DISPLAYS HIS PARENTAL SOLICITUDE IN 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY MANNER, AND JIM PERKS 
 MAKES PREPARATION FOR GOING TO AMERICA . 201 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WYCHERLY IS SCHOOLED BY KATE, AND PROVES HIMSELF 
 NO WISER THAN HE OUGHT TO BE.— CECIL LOSES 
 HIS NURSE 227 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 JIM PERKS RESOLVES TO GO INTO EXILE AND MR. 
 GARRETT AIDS HIM TO EFFECT HIS OBJECT. — A 
 LITTLE DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC . . . 248 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CECIL GAINS AN INSIGHT INTO HIS FATHER'S MODE OF 
 DOING BUSINESS, AND AFTERWARDS MAKES A 
 VOYAGE TO AMERICA 2G6
 
 LOVED AT LAST 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WE ARE TAKEN TO HILLTOWN — PUT UP AT THE 
 " WHITE HORSE " — AND VISIT ASHTREE FARM 
 ON A SOLEMN OCCASION. 
 
 Cold, dull Hilltown deserves to have a 
 place in these pages for divers reasons. Time- 
 worn and irregular, it rests on an eminence over- 
 looking, on either side, broad valleys studded with 
 homesteads and other farm buildings, the broad 
 plains irrigated by a bright river and sparkling 
 brooks. In one direction the background of hills 
 is studded with large patches of forest trees, 
 and when the sun sets behind them in fiery 
 splendour, plain and upland are thrown into Strong 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 shadow. As the twilight deepens into night, 
 the lights in many a far-off window gleam out 
 bright and cheerily, shining as welcome land- 
 marks to the late sojourners in Hilltown, who 
 have found the attractions of the * White Horse " 
 on market nights more than usually seductive. 
 
 Hilltown has legends of past importance, 
 and the old Court-House, now used as a 
 grocer's warehouse, reminds some of the grey 
 headed inhabitants of the time when the assizes 
 were held therein, and when the old town was 
 awake from morn till eve for a whole fortnight 
 together. Now, it only rouses itself on market 
 days, or at election times, but continues, somehow 
 or the other, to maintain its place in the country 
 with respectability and honour. There is an old 
 college for poor men and women, founded — it is 
 recorded over the principal entrance — by Queen 
 Elizabeth, when on a visit to Hilltown ; and the 
 memory of this royal visit and its consequent 
 benefaction has done much to keep the place 
 from despondency and greater degeneration. 
 
 The Reform Bill of 1832, however, swept away
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 3 
 
 its Borough dignities, its corporation soon following 
 the right to return two members to Parliament, 
 and the Great House — Old Court it was called — 
 passed out of the category of mansions, and 
 became the dwelling-house of a substantial yeo- 
 man, who bought a portion of the estate when 
 it ceased to be valued for the political influence 
 which it conferred. 
 
 Old Court had been formerly a moated house, 
 and though the great ditch remained filled with 
 clear running water, it was crossed by a stone 
 bridge on one side, and allowed to flow forth on 
 another, thus forming a lake of some extent, and 
 adding greatly to the beauty of the situation. We 
 shall have to revisit Old Court in the course of 
 our story, and therefore will not linger now, as 
 our present business is at the " White Horse," in 
 Hilltown. 
 
 The Widow Mereweather had been long in 
 possession of the most popular hostelry in the 
 dull old town, and whatever of mirth and good 
 fellowship occurred there was generally to be 
 found in her well-ordered parlour, especially on 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 market days, when a substantial and well-cooked 
 dinner attracted the neighbouring farmers after 
 the business of the day was done. Jacob Selwyn 
 usually took the chair on such occasions, and 
 never neglected the widow's interests, keeping the 
 bottle and the glass in active circulation, though 
 rarely exceeding the bounds of Market-day mode- 
 ration. 
 
 Jacob Selwyn was a clever man, although .not 
 much of a scholar, but he was allowed to be 
 the best judge in the county of cattle, of which 
 he reared some and bought more. He also stood 
 high as a valuer of timber and land, and was, 
 moreover, a fair dealing man, never haggling over 
 a bargain, but giving market value when it was 
 asked of him. 
 
 It was not only on market days that Jacob 
 Selwyn patronised the "White Horse," as he 
 would sometimes make a supplementary call 
 when business brought him to Hilltown, and it 
 was generally surmised that he remained there 
 occasionally to allow Mrs. Selwyn to expend a 
 stormy temper, by which she was said to be
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 5 
 
 possessed, before he returned home to Ashtree 
 Farm. Now and then he would invite his two 
 orphan nephews — his sisters' children — to dine or 
 sup with him at the " White Horse," as Mrs. 
 Selwyn was addicted to limited hospitality, espe- 
 cially towards poor relations, except in the 
 instance of her own nephew, whom she had 
 quartered upon her husband's purse, urging in 
 support of her liberality that the boy had been 
 named Jacob Selwyn Hartley after his uncle, as 
 a sort of benevolent condescension on the part 
 of his parents, Jacob and his wife being child- 
 less. 
 
 One of Jacob's nephews, Jeffery Garrett, was 
 an apprentice to a draper in Hilltown, to whose 
 business it was rumoured he was likely to succeed. 
 The conditions of his trade (dealing as he did 
 principally with feminine requirements), combined 
 with a very simple nature, rendered Jeffery a 
 quiet, unobtrusive character, and one strongly in 
 contrast to his cousin, Peter Masham, who carried 
 on, under the control of his father's executors, a 
 small brewery in Hilltown. It is therefore hardly
 
 b LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 surprising that when Masham had once made up 
 his mind to prefer his suit to pretty Hester Mere- 
 weather, whatever partiality the lady might have 
 entertained for Jeffery Garrett was instantly 
 extinguished. Hester was a buxom girl of nineteen 
 or twenty, and free from any of the diffidence which 
 sometimes oppresses young women of that age, as 
 her constant intercourse with her mother's guests 
 had given her confidence. Not that Hester was a 
 bold girl, or displayed anything in her conduct 
 to which exception could be taken, beyond that 
 want of refinement and diffidence which consti- 
 tute the great charms of maidenhood to most 
 young men. Peter Masham, however, was not 
 one to value such qualities, and Hester's ready 
 answer and saucy look won his admiration first, 
 and then his love, until he resolved to make a 
 formal proposal to become her suitor, whenever he 
 could muster courage to ask his uncle's consent, 
 utterly disregarding all consideration for his 
 cousin, Jeffery, who showed, by loss of appetite 
 and a distracted manner, that he suspected how 
 matters were going on at the " White Horse," and
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 7 
 
 that his chance was out with the blooming 
 Hester. 
 
 The owner and occupier of Old Court, Mr. 
 Wycherly, was occasionally the chairman of the 
 market dinner ; but, being a gentleman farmer, 
 there was always a reserve when he was present, 
 and much more wine and liquor drunk, as was 
 usually the case on those days when conversation 
 was restricted and the guests left to their own re- 
 flections and an increased consumption of tobacco. 
 When he passed away, and was succeeded by 
 his nephew, Jacob Selwyn was less frequently 
 deposed than during the elder Wycherly's lifetime, 
 as the new possessor of Old Court was even less 
 of the farmer and more of the gentleman than his 
 father had been, for he employed a bailiff; and the 
 restraint was not lessened when, some few years 
 afterwards, he married a parson's daughter, from 
 whom, however, he was destined soon to be sepa- 
 rated by death, after she had given birth to a 
 daughter. This circumstance for a time probably 
 rendered his intercourse with his neighbours less 
 cordial and frequent than it might otherwise have
 
 8 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 become ; and Mr. Wycherly, of Old Court, was 
 therefore only distantly known to those who made 
 up the middle world of Hilltown and its neighbour- 
 hood. The poor and needy, however, knew him 
 well, and he was always ready to do a neighbourly 
 turn, either in word or deed, to any one who 
 sought his assistance or advice. 
 
 It was after a pleasant evening spent at the 
 market table that Jacob Selwyn, riding home- 
 wards, — the moon shining brightly and the wind 
 singing drowsily in the trees, — had his pleasant 
 thoughts disturbed by the clatter of a horse's 
 hoofs on the hard road, and the speedy arrival of 
 a man whom he recognised as one of his own 
 farm-servants. 
 
 " What's the matter, Tom ? " said Jacob, look- 
 ing instinctively in the direction of his homestead. 
 " Nothing on fire ? " 
 
 " No, master," replied the man, " not so bad as 
 that ; — missus is in a fit." 
 
 "Afit?" 
 
 " Yes, sur ; at leastways we thinks it is," 
 answered Tom. " She's been ranting about the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 9 
 
 kitchin like a good 'im ever since the clock struck 
 ten on 'em, acos you wasn't corned home, till at 
 last she sot herself down on the settle in the fire- 
 place, and went red in the face, quite foaming at 
 the mouth, and spacheless." 
 
 " Ride on for the doctor," said Jacob, setting 
 spurs ^to his horse, for, despite Mrs. Selwyn's 
 faults of temper, he was sincerely attached to his 
 wife. 
 
 Leaving the horse to take care of itself in the 
 straw-yard, Jacob hastened into the house, and 
 was shocked to find Mrs. Selwyn lying almost 
 exhausted upon the floor, her head supported by 
 pillows, and attended by the domestics. 
 
 " What is the matter, Sarah ? " said Jacob, 
 bending over her affectionately. "What has 
 happened % " 
 
 The woman could only shake her head to and 
 fro, and breathe heavily. 
 
 " Please, sir," said one of the maids, " missus 
 
 was a going-on " 
 
 * " I know, I know," interrupted Jacob. " One 
 of you get some brandy and a teaspoon."
 
 10 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " No ! " ejaculated the prostrate woman, the 
 utterance of the monosyllable apparently ex- 
 hausting her. 
 
 fe But you must take something, Sarah, or 
 you will sink before the doctor comes," said 
 Jacob. 
 
 " I shan't ! and I don't want a doctor ! " replied 
 Mrs. Selwyn, with great effort-. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear," said Jacob. " You have 
 scarcely any pulse, and your hands are as cold as 
 stone." 
 
 " Well they may be," answered Mrs. Selwyn, 
 " sitting up till this time of night." Each word 
 was punctuated with a gasp. 
 
 " Now, my dear, don't think of that just now. 
 Quiet yourself, Sarah, pray do " 
 
 " I shan't!" 
 
 " At least, for the present," added Jacob. 
 
 The presence of her husband had evidently 
 acted as a stimulant to Mrs. Selwyn, and she con- 
 tinued to jerk out her reproaches despite the 
 deprecatory look of Jacob. ^ 
 
 "This is all your doings, sir — stopping out
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 11 
 
 guzzling and gorging — spending money and health 
 — wasting your substance at home and abroad — 
 swilling spirits and water at Hilltown — burning 
 fire and candle at home — and " (a gig was heard 
 to drive up to the door) " sending for a doctor — as 
 I won't see." 
 
 " Sarah, my dear," said Jacob, " I insist upon 
 your seeing the doctor — now don't ! don't agitate 
 yourself ! — but if what you have said be true, I'll 
 have him in, in self-defence." 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn knew when Jacob was determined 
 to be master, so closing her eyes and mouth 
 firmly, her face assumed a look of puckered 
 defiance. Mr. Gregory, the principal Hilltown 
 practitioner, was no stranger to Mrs. Selwyn's 
 peculiarity of temper, having attended her when 
 she had broken her arm by a fall from her hus- 
 band's gig ; and though her case had been con- 
 ducted with much skill, he had received only 
 rudeness and incivility from his patient. The 
 bandages were too tight, the splints were no use, 
 the medicine was ditch-water, and the reasonable 
 charges, gross imposition. Mrs. Selwyn was one of
 
 12 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 those thankless persons who look upon a doctor as 
 one who exists only by the misfortunes and 
 sufferings of others, and whom it is their bounden 
 duty to undervalue when his ability and expe- 
 rience have removed their ailments. His broken 
 rest, long rides or drives through darkness, rain, 
 and snow, and searching winds, are counted as 
 nothing. His earnest watchings of every phase 
 of varying disease, his noble courage, which faces 
 contagion in all its dreadful forms ; his patient 
 bearing towards all, and the exercise of skill and 
 knowledge acquired by years of study and astute 
 observation, are disregarded by too many, and 
 would go unrewarded if the doctor could feed off 
 the chameleon's dish, and would be content to do 
 so. Mr. Gregory was not disturbed, therefore, 
 when he found his patient perversely silent, and 
 he was obliged to form his diagnosis of her case 
 from what the servants had told him and his 
 own observation. 
 
 " Some internal injury has occurred," said Mr. 
 Gregory, "and great care must be taken in 
 removing Mrs. Selwyn to her room."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 13 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," muttered the obstinate 
 woman ; but her oppressed breathing 'gave as- 
 surance of the doctor's accuracy. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Selwyn, listen to me," said Mr. 
 Gregory : " be sure that I tell you the truth. 
 Unless you keep yourself free from excitement, 
 and allow of the treatment I prescribe, you will 
 be answerable for your own death. Don't attempt 
 to reply, but submit, like a sensible woman, and a 
 few days may possibly restore you to better 
 health." 
 
 Mr. Gregory's manner was so calm, and the 
 tone of his voice so impressive, that his patient 
 believed in her danger, and permitted herself to 
 be conveyed to her bed, from which she was never 
 to rise again a hale woman. 
 
 The more alarming symptoms of her disorder 
 were subdued in a few days, but she continued to 
 be confined to her chamber, and used her conva- 
 lescence in a manner which accorded with her 
 previous mode of discharging her conjugal duty to 
 Jacob her husband. 
 
 "Jacob Selwyn," she said one day, when she
 
 14 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 was permitted to sit up in the great dimity- 
 covered chair by her bedside, " Jacob, you are the 
 cause of all this ; your selfish bad conduct has 
 reduced me to my present condition, and I beg of 
 you never to forget it." 
 
 Jacob could not plead guilty to this grave ac- 
 cusation in his heart, but fearing to increase her 
 malady by contradiction, he remained silent. 
 
 " For years and years," continued the invalid, 
 " I have borne with a great deal from you, and I 
 only wonder why I slaved and saved as I have 
 done, when I knew how you guzzled and guttled 
 away from home, as though your r money was 
 dirt." 
 
 Jacob thought to himself that he had worked 
 hardly and honestly enough for what he had spent 
 and gathered together, and his conscience remained 
 at rest, and his tongue continued silent. 
 
 " I have talked and talked to you often enough, 
 Jacob" — Quite true, enough and too much, Jacob 
 could have said — " I have even got myself an ill 
 name among friends and servants on account of 
 my temper being so tried by you, Jacob ; and if
 
 LOVED AT LAST. IS 
 
 I am never to go down stairs again but in my 
 coffin, you will be answerable for my death." 
 
 Jacob could not endure this, so he said, quite 
 gently however, " Sarah, dear, don't say that." 
 
 " But I do, and I will, Jacob ; and don't you 
 hasten my end by contradicting me." 
 
 Jacob said he would not. 
 
 " But you do, and it is simply brutal of you to 
 do so." Mrs. Selwyn paused ; but whether to 
 recover her equanimity, or to provoke Jacob to 
 reply, he could not guess. " Now, Jacob," she 
 continued, at length, " I look to you to make me 
 some amends for what you have done. I shall 
 not take any refusal, so don't make any ; what I 
 require you to do you must promise me solemnly 
 you will see performed. You do promise, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 Jacob mildly requested to be informed of her 
 wishes, and then he would reply. 
 
 " I thought as much ! " said the impracticable 
 woman. " I thought you would presume upon 
 my condition, and shuffle out of doing what I am 
 sure is your duty, and the only compensation you
 
 16 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 can make me for all you have made me suffer, 
 Jacob Selwyn." 
 
 Jacob became alarmed, as a deep flush stole 
 into the sick woman's face, and her breathing 
 became diffcult ; therefore, without regarding 
 himself any longer, he promised to do whatever 
 she might require of him. 
 
 " Very well, Jac ob ; that's no more than right, 
 and your conscience will be less troublesome for 
 consenting to listen to me for once in your life. 
 I've known for some time, though you never told 
 me so, that you are continually stuffing and cos- 
 setting those two nephews of yours up at Hill- 
 town." He had told her of one of his little 
 dinner-parties, and been reminded of it at all 
 seasons for years afterwards. " Now I am not 
 going to have that any more, unless others have 
 their share. There's my nephew to be thought 
 of, Jacob ; my poor sisters fatherless boy " (he 
 was five-and-twenty), " who was named after you, 
 having the ugly name of Jacob given to him, and 
 all to do honour to you." 
 
 Jacob was not a dull man, ordinarily ; but, for
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 17 
 
 the life of him, he could not discover how he had 
 been honoured by this baptismal condescension. 
 
 " That boy must be yours, Jacob. I have looked 
 to his schooling and his clothing and his keep up 
 to this time, and I have put him out to a trade 
 and set him up in business as soon as he was 
 ready for it. You must make as much of him as 
 of those other fellows, Jeffery and Peter, who had 
 no right to have been left orphans so early, and 
 live on us as they have done. You must push 
 him forward in life while you are alive, and not 
 wait till your money is of no use to yourself 
 before you part with it. You understand me now, 
 Jacob, and you promise to do as I say, and then I 
 will forgive you — if I can/' 
 
 Jacob had contributed so long to the support 
 of Jacob Selwyn Hartley, and had always intended 
 to have helped the young man onward, that he 
 readily gave the required promise, in the hope 
 that if the days of his wife were numbered they 
 might be passed in peace. 
 
 Jacob was never more mistaken in his life ; 
 for so long as strength was left to her, did Mrs. 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Selwyn continue to accuse him of being the cause 
 of her suffering, and only promising him her for- 
 giveness on the conditions aforesaid. 
 
 There was silence at last in the sick woman's 
 chamber, but Ashtree Farm seemed less like home 
 to Jacob Selwyn when the silence came. She had 
 been his first love, the sharer of his early struggles, 
 in which he would have been beaten down again 
 and again but for the counsels she had given and 
 the courage she had inspired. He could not bear 
 the loneliness of the old bed-room, nor the old 
 memories which everything about it brought back 
 to him in the silent night-time : it was saddening 
 enough to be where other memories were in the 
 broad daylight ; and so, after some vain attempts 
 to overcome this weakness, he had the room 
 closed up, and occupied another chamber, where 
 he had formerly kept his books and papers. 
 
 Other changes came about Ashtree Farm, 
 which gave evidence that the departed housewife 
 had been as busy with her hands as with her 
 tongue. The flowers and green plants which used 
 to adorn the lower windows were soon wanting
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 19 
 
 altogether, or had become leafless twigs. The 
 best parlour, as the state-room was called, had 
 that oppressive and tomb-like smell which per- 
 vades chambers long closed or rarely put to hospi- 
 table or common uses. One or two of the window- 
 blinds were awry, and the untrimmed creepers in 
 the front of the house flapped with every wind 
 against the glass, as though to denounce the 
 accumulation of dirt within and without. Dust 
 gathered upon shelves and ledges where none had 
 accumulated for years before ; and here and there 
 were evidences of slatternly disorder which would 
 have disquieted the ghost of the tidy woman, had 
 it been permitted for a " certain term to walk the 
 night " through the house of Ashtree Farm. The 
 simple nWers which grew under the windows and 
 at the sides of the grass-grown gravel-walk leading 
 •to the summer-house, and which a friendly hand 
 once trimmed and watered, soon grew intermixed 
 with weeds, or perished for the want of care. 
 
 Jacob might now and then be seen walking 
 about "the place," apparently indifferent to all 
 these changes for the worse which had followed 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 the loss of his wife ; but he noted them all, with- 
 out the heart to stay or lessen them. It is God's 
 good providence that we should sooner forget the 
 sorrows than the pleasures of our lives, and Jacob 
 soon ceased to remember the bitter words, the 
 angry railing of his departed Sarah, and recalled 
 only her wifely care for him and his substance. 
 
 After a time he resolved to do her justice now 
 that she could no longer speak for herself, and 
 he took advantage of a quiet evening with Mr. 
 Wycherly to put this good resolution into practice. 
 
 Having expressed his wishes to Wycherly, and 
 begged of him to draw up a proper form of in- 
 scription to be placed over his departed wife, he 
 went on to say, — 
 
 "Her name was Sarah — simply Sarah," as 
 though the fact was a testimony to the modest 
 nature of the departed. " She was of late years 
 sixty-eight," he continued, referring at the same 
 time to an old pocket-book; "but according 
 to my reckoning we lost three years or so 
 from not keeping a check upon her birthdays. 
 But put . her down at sixty-eight, as she must
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 21 
 
 have known her own age better than anybody 
 else." 
 
 Mr. Wy cherry wrote, " aged sixty-eight." 
 
 "Would you say 'aged'?" asked Selwyn. "I 
 don't think she would have liked that. Say in 
 her sixty-eighth year, if you please." 
 
 Mr. Wycherly wrote as he was requested. 
 
 "She was an excellent cook, Wycherly, .and 
 made hams — you know her hams — better, I 
 think, than any woman in the county," said 
 Selwyn, with a pardonable feeling of pride. 
 
 " I don't think we can put that into her 
 epitaph," remarked Wycherly. 
 
 " No, no, perhaps not ; but it's a pity, it ought 
 to go down, as it might have stimulated other 
 young women to have as much said of them," 
 said Selwyn; adding, after a pause, "she was 
 good at figures, and taught me to cipher when 
 we was first married; but that can't go down 
 either, I suppose. She was a very tidy woman, 
 and made others tidy — broke in a lot of good 
 servants, who never had a kind word to say for 
 her, I dare say ; that can't go down, I suppose '. n
 
 22 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " It would be difficult to express it," answered 
 Wycherly. 
 
 "Pickling and preserving — she was a great 
 Land at both," said Sclwyn, with an inquiring 
 look, but receiving no encouraging response from 
 bis amanuensis, he took another shot. "Always 
 early with her chickens and turkeys, and pretty 
 nigh found herself in clothes out of the eggs. 
 What do you say to that ? That ought to go 
 down?" 
 
 Mr. Wycherly thus appealed to, replied, " Well, 
 ( think all the good qualities which you have 
 enumerated, Selwyn, must be comprised in, ' She 
 was an excellent wife.'" 
 
 "Ah! that she was!" said the bereaved 
 husband; "and it's hard she can't have it 
 put stronger than that. She was affectionate, 
 Wycherly." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure of thai." 
 
 "Sometimes rather too affectionate, and showed 
 a little unnecessary anxiety about me. I used 
 to vex her sometimes on purpose just to try her 
 temper."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 23 
 
 " And how did you find it 1 " said Wycherly, 
 slyly. 
 
 u Well, it varied ; sometimes smooth enough, 
 at other times warm — perhaps very warm ; but 
 as her good qualities can't be set out at length, 
 I won't have her little infirmities advertised in 
 the churchyard." 
 
 The result of this conference was seen in 
 Hilltown churchyard shortly after in the form of 
 a neat white rail, on which was inscribed, in fair 
 black letters, a list of virtues which those who 
 had known the woman living never suspected her 
 to possess ; and Mr. Wycherly had smiled more 
 than once as he wrote them down from poor 
 Jacob's dictation, who testified to the sincerity 
 of his belief and sorrow by his broken voice and 
 tearful eyes. 
 
 «Jacob was quite alone in his tribulation. His 
 two nephews disliked their aunt, and, with the 
 honesty of youthful natures, had never taken any 
 care to conceal the feeling, except in their uncle's 
 presence, when they saw, with surprise, how much 
 her loss affected him, whilst the one for whom
 
 24 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 she had been so mindful found immediate conso- 
 lation in the prospective good which she had 
 secured for him. Had Jacob foreseen the conse- 
 quences that were to follow the fulfilment of his 
 promise to his dead wife, he would have regarded 
 his obligation almost like a compact with the Evil 
 One. 
 
 Oddly enough, Mrs. Selwyn died on a market- 
 day, and the news of her demise was announced 
 and received at the " White Horse " in a manner 
 not at all complimentary to the defunct lady, 
 Jacob being frequently alluded to as a man 
 more to be congratulated than condoled with. 
 As the evening waxed late, and the conversation 
 became more general, it was nearly determined to 
 present him with a testimonial, but the motion 
 broke down, as a division of opinion existed as to 
 the form it should take — some being for a paj^ier- 
 mdch6 tea tray for Jacob, whilst others were 
 clamorous for a tombstone for Mrs. Selwyn, the 
 inscription thereon to be drawn up by her 
 neighbours. 
 
 One consequence of Mrs. Selwyn's retirement
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 25 
 
 from the stage of life was soon the talk of Hill- 
 town. About a fortnight after his uncle's be- 
 reavement, Mr. Peter Masham had paid him a 
 visit at Ashtree Farm, and from that time Mr. 
 Peter had deserted the public parlour of the 
 "White Horse," and had taken up his position 
 in the snug little room at the back of the bar, 
 where he might frequently be seen by those tall 
 and curious enough to peep over the Venetian 
 blinds intended to screen the occupants of the 
 snuggery from observation, sitting very lovingly 
 by the side of Miss Hester Mereweather. That 
 these love passages were with the full consent of 
 the worthy hostess of the " White Horse," became 
 evident on the following Sunday, when Peter, 
 having escorted the young lady to church, sat in 
 the same pew with her, and afterwards conducting 
 her home, remained to dinner. 
 
 Jeffery Garrett saw all this with burning eyes 
 and throbbing brain, and read his own fate in 
 what he saw. Whither he fled, until ten o'clock 
 that night, nobody knew. How he found his way 
 home again he could not tell. His dream of
 
 26 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 love (which had been for some time more like 
 a nightmare) was crushed, he said to a fellow- 
 apprentice; his young hopes were calcined, and 
 his general existence so blighted, that he should 
 never flower again. Lovers are inclined to mix 
 their metaphors. 
 
 In the course of time, Jacob resumed his place 
 at the market table, and became also a more 
 frequent caller at the "White Horse," feeling 
 it was, he said, a sort of home to him, now that 
 Peter was Hester's accepted sweetheart, and the 
 young girl, partly from her good nature, and 
 partly to gratify one to whom her future husband 
 was so largely indebted, " cossetted " Jacob in so 
 many ways, amongst others, admitting him into 
 the sanctuary of the snuggery, that the gossips of 
 Hilltown took into their wise heads to prognosti- 
 cate that Widow Mereweather might ride her 
 " White Horse " to Ashtree Farm whenever she 
 pleased. No ! no ! good gossips. Though Jacob 
 loved and mourned his departed grey mare, 
 he was too wise a man not to have profited In- 
 experience, and dull and cheerless as his old
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 27 
 
 paradise had become, he never intended to enliven 
 it by introducing another Eve. 
 
 Ashtree Farmhouse was destined, however, to 
 put on a cheerful and bustling appearance for a 
 whole week, when its chambers were, swept and 
 garnished, and every chimney reeked with smoke 
 airing rooms, or preparing the bridal feast for 
 Peter and Hester's wedding. Even the long- 
 neglected garden was made trim again, and the 
 vagrant creepers, vines, jessamines, climbing rose- 
 trees, and clematis, were brought into order. And 
 again long-closed windows opened to the fresh 
 air. 
 
 Cartloads — yes, cartloads of good things from 
 the stores of the "White Horse" continued to 
 arrive up to the very morning of the wedding, 
 which was as merry as though the walls of the 
 farm-house had never had within them an aching 
 head, or had had their traditional ears offended 
 by an angry word. The Hilltown band made the 
 kitchen rafters tremble again, so stimulating was 
 the strong ale and the other good cheer freely 
 administered to all. The old parlour floors danced
 
 28 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 in unison with the nimble feet above them, as 
 though their oaken planks rejoiced at feeling 
 another tread than the heavy foot of sorrowful 
 Jacob, though indeed it had been seldom enough 
 that he had visited them since the great change 
 came upon the house. Even Jeffery Garrett suc- 
 cumbed to the general mirthfulness after he had 
 gone through a pantomime of "the maniac" in the 
 barn, and restored himself to reason by punching 
 his own head for being envious, uncharitable, and 
 unthankful. He returned to the house with his 
 hair in such disorder that his head resembled a 
 Turk's-head broom, and was seen perpetually 
 bobbing about for the rest of the evening, what- 
 ever the dance, although he had never been 
 known to have been saltatory before, and was 
 now under obligation to each of his partners 
 for comfort and guidance during his various 
 performances. 
 
 Uncle Jacob bore himself bravely so long as the 
 young couple were of the party, even when the 
 widow's " customary tears" flowed freely, as the post 
 chaise, inscribed " Mary Mere weather, Hilltown,"
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 29 
 
 drove away with the happy pair. As the drops 
 of maternal joy would continue to trickle down 
 her plump cheek, Jacob dried them up in her 
 smiles, by giving the widow the heartiest kiss her 
 full red lips had known since weeds had mingled 
 with her orange blossoms. Then Jacob stole 
 away to an old covert of a summer-house, until he 
 was unearthed by two old cronies who discovered 
 him by the wreaths of tobacco smoke which he 
 was blowing forth to quiet his beating heart, and 
 to hide the visions of other days, which rose 
 before him full of tenderness and love, though 
 painted by his own rude fancy.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WE ARE INTRODUCED AT OLD COURT, AND LEARN 
 WHO LIVES THERE— MR. SELWYN AND HIS 
 NEPHEWS TAKE THEIR PLACE IN OUR STORY. 
 
 There was another house in the neighbourhood 
 -of Hilltown, besides Ashtree Farm, where the 
 shadow of death lingered long after the destroyer 
 had done his work. Old Court had been made 
 too happy by the presence of Mrs. Wycherly not 
 to suffer by her removal, although she left behind 
 her an angel in the house, to comfort him who 
 had loved her long and truly. The courtship of 
 Herbert Wycherly and Catherine Gray had ex- 
 tended over some years, as Herbert, until he had 
 succeeded to his uncle's property, had been 
 scarcely in a position to marry. The young 
 couple would have trusted in each other, and 
 worked out their future, could Catherine have
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 31 
 
 consented to leave her father to finish his 
 pilgrimage alone. When the time came that her 
 filial cares were ended, with what bright hopes 
 was she welcomed as the "mistress of Old Court ; 
 and though her life was to end there so soon, she 
 and Herbert lived in a most happy future, which 
 their love and their contentedness created for 
 them. Herbert Wycherly was a man of strong 
 feeling and somewhat imperious temper, and he 
 appeared at times to resent, as it were, the sorrow 
 which had overtaken him. Then it was that the 
 reproving angel spake to him by his infant 
 daughter's voice, and chided him by her pretty 
 looks for his want of thankfulness that Heaven had 
 not claimed all that was its own at once, but had 
 left him some one to love and cherish with all the 
 affection of his bruised heart. 
 
 As time wore on, Wycherly would sometimes 
 consider the propriety of his marrying again ; but 
 when he looked around to find a fitting helpmate, 
 the old love was too strong to be supplanted, and 
 he could discover none other to take his Cathe- 
 rine's place in heart or home. He was fortunate,
 
 32 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 moreover, in an introduction to a lady and her 
 daughter who had accepted the direction of his 
 household affairs together with the care and edu- 
 cation of his daughter Kate. Perhaps also he 
 would have sooner become reconciled to his loss, 
 and put aside his .sorrow, had he not been a com- 
 parative stranger to his neighbours. He oc- 
 casionally joined the hunt or a shooting party, 
 but as it was apparent he did not seek for com- 
 panionship, nothing more than the usual common- 
 place courtesies passed between Wycherly and 
 his acquaintances. 
 
 Jacob Selwyn was more intimate at Old Court 
 than any other person, and he had conceived the 
 greatest regard for Wy cherry's character and judg- 
 ment. He often sought his neighbour's opinion 
 on affairs of business. Having been long accus- 
 tomed to discuss such matters with his sharp- 
 witted wife, Selwyn appeared to be afraid of 
 running alone, and occasionally they made joint 
 ventures, which, to the credit of their mutual 
 foresight, usually turned out to be very profitable. 
 
 When Jacob came to reflect — sometimes by
 
 LOVED AT LAST. .**3 
 
 day and sometimes by night — on the promise he 
 had made to his defunct Sarah, he would become 
 somewhat apprehensive that he was hardly keep- 
 ing his word to that best of wives now that she 
 was silent, and that it was his duty to take more 
 interest than he had hithertoe done in the worldly 
 prosperity of Jacob Selwyn Hartley, who had, 
 by the bye, paid him more than one visit, and 
 opened anew the closing wounds in the old man's 
 heart, by his strong expressions of love and admi- 
 ration for his deceased aunt and benefactress. 
 
 The frequent recurrence of these self-examina- 
 tions and self-reproachings became rather trouble- 
 some to Jacob at last, and after smoking many 
 pipes in the old summerhouse — thus holding 
 counsel, as it were, with his invisible and in- 
 audible helpmate of former days — he projected a 
 scheme for a just discharge of his obligation, which 
 he determined to put into immediate execution, 
 provided it met with Mr. Wycherly's approval. 
 
 As all Jacob's nephews were to be benefited by 
 this notable scheme, and as its operation will 
 have much to do with this story, we will proceed
 
 o4i LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 at once to ascertain the positions of the young 
 men at the time when their uncle had taken 
 them into his thoughts and was preparing to 
 discharge what he considered to be his duty to the 
 dead wife. 
 
 Jacob Selwyn Hartley is entitled to prece- 
 dence not only on account of his seniority, being 
 some nine years the elder of the cousins, but for 
 other reasons to be hereafter developed. There 
 is a class of traders in London, and possibly in 
 other large commercial cities, whose speciality is 
 not particularised in the Directory, although the 
 names of those who exercise the calling may be 
 found there under various designations. They 
 are known amongst themselves and others as 
 "buyers of job lots," and are no doubt very useful 
 members of the commercial community, when 
 their honesty is proof against the temptations 
 around them. They buy for ready money any 
 superfluities of stock which other traders may 
 have to sell, and of course at prices much below 
 the original market value, and this proceeding 
 would be fair enough, did not dishonest people,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 35 
 
 whose credit is better than their principles, avail 
 themselves of these convenient marts, where 
 ready money is to be had and no questions asked, 
 to defraud their confiding creditors, and do injury 
 incalculable to many a fair dealer. There are 
 [strange stories extant of job buyers' doings — of 
 mysterious bargains — of bales on bales of goods 
 diverted from their supposed destination by such 
 dishonest facilities, and of immense fortunes 
 realised, bringing, in some cases, only remorse to 
 the successful rogues. To the principal of such 
 an establishment had Master J. S. Hartley been 
 apprenticed, and in due time, by his aunt's 
 agency and his uncle's money — Jacob's honestly 
 earned money — admitted a junior partner. He 
 was well qualified for the business. 
 
 He had also gone into another partnership, of 
 which he had not thought it prudent to inform 
 his aunt, knowing how she had protested against 
 such undertakings, unless there were good pecu- 
 niary reasons to apologise for the act. Mr. Hart- 
 ley had clandestinely united himself to a pretty, 
 gentle creature, with just soul enough to love 
 
 D 2
 
 3G LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 submissively any bolder spirit which demanded 
 her admiration. Jacob had married her after a 
 brief courtship, partly because her prettiness 
 pleased him, and partly because he laboured under 
 misapprehension of her expectations. He had 
 been told that she was entitled to a thousand 
 pounds or more on the death of a lady aged 
 seventy-six ; but the reversionary interest proved 
 to belong to a cousin of the same name. Mr. 
 Hartley never forgave his wife the mistake he 
 had made, but converted it into a moral weapon, 
 which he frequently used with marital severity. 
 Poor thing ! she certainly had not tumbled on a 
 conjugal couch 
 
 " whose roughest part 
 Was but the crumpling of the roses." 
 
 She found there abundance of thorns, and her 
 manifold sufferings changed many of her weak- 
 nesses into virtues. 
 
 Mr. Hartley's quiver had begun to fill before 
 his aunt's death, and a fine boy, Cecil, and two 
 fragile girls, had been added to his household. 
 
 Peter Masham, the son of Mr. Selwyn's elder
 
 LOVED AT LAST. ,>7 
 
 sister, had succeeded to his inheritance of a small 
 brewery, where he and his buxom wife Hester 
 lived merrily enough, spending their gains quite 
 as fast as they made them. They were both 
 young, however, and time might bring prudence ; 
 so Mrs. Mereweather chided very gently at first, 
 and let them alone altogether after awhile, as she, 
 finding the bar-parlour of the " White Horse " 
 rather lonely when her daughter had married, gave 
 her hand very unexpectedly to the exciseman of 
 the district, and found she had enough to do to 
 restrain his convivial tendencies and his passion 
 for horse-flesh. 
 
 As for Jeffery Garrett, poor fellow, he succeeded, 
 by help from his uncle, to his old master's drapery 
 business, and pursued the even tenor of his way 
 very unobtrusively. It was fortunate for Jeffery 
 that there was no rival establishment in Hilltown, 
 or he might have been less prosperous, as it was 
 quite evident that the fashions outran him, and 
 there were exhibited in his windows more " lots 
 at reduced prices " than would have been advan- 
 tageous to the profit side of his year's balance.
 
 38 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Whatever small ambition to make his way in the 
 world he had possessed, had been crushed out of 
 him by Hester Mereweather, and he cared little 
 whether a paper of pins or a silk dress were 
 required by a customer. 
 
 There was another nephew of Jacob Selwyn — 
 a brother of Peter Masham, and who, being a lad 
 of an adventurous spirit, had turned his back upon 
 Hilltown, and gone to India, under the patronage 
 of a former member for the defunct borough. 
 His'name was Philip. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly was lying on the lawn in his 
 garden, having been engaged to perform the part 
 of a gee-gee to his little daughter Kate, when 
 Jacob Selwyn arrived at Old Court, full of the 
 grand scheme which had occupied his mind for 
 several days past. The evening sun lighted up the 
 broad latticed windows of the old house, until it 
 seemed like a golden palace, and, as the merry 
 laughter of the child mingled with her father's 
 voice, Jacob paused ^before he disturbed them, 
 and then contrasted, in his rude way, the cheerful 
 look of Old Court, and the living mirth he found
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 33 
 
 there, with the tristfulness of Ashtree Farm, and 
 the depressing silence which haunted it night and 
 day. 
 
 The child was the first to perceive Jacob, and, 
 opening her large dark eyes until she recognised 
 him, waved about her plump hands, as though to 
 give him welcome, for Jacob was as great a 
 favourite with little Kate as he was with her father. 
 
 Jacob soon had the child in his arms, and as 
 he kissed her rosy cheeks and looked into her 
 happy face, he little foreboded how much of her 
 after life was to be affected by the business which 
 had brought him to Old Court that calm sum- 
 mer's evening. 
 
 " Just in time for our gossip-water," said 
 Wycherly ; " for I hear the urn fizzing yonder, 
 and' here comes Miss Meriton for you, Katey." 
 
 The petted child at first made some faint show 
 of resistance, and clung to the neck of Jacob ; 
 but it was soon evident that the young lady who 
 had approached them was too much loved by her 
 little charge to permit of any long-continued 
 disobedience ; and well, indeed, was it for the
 
 40 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 motherless Kate that Providence had sent her 
 such friends as Mrs. Meriton and her daughter. 
 They were teaching a brave example, fitting her 
 for the life which was before her, and wherein 
 much would be required of her that none could 
 have foreboded, not even those who now watched 
 her with such love and tenderness. 
 
 As the evening advanced, Wycherly and Jacob 
 were seated at the open window of a small room, 
 looking out upon the lake which had been formed 
 by an outlet from the moat once surrounding 
 Old Court. The smoke from their pipes stole 
 gently out into the air, and then darted away in 
 companionship with the soft breeze blowing from 
 the water. There had come a few moments' 
 pause in the conversation, and Jacob began to 
 emit the smoke from his lips in quicker puffs, as 
 though his mind were not so composed as it should 
 have been, to have rendered perfect his enjoyment 
 of the nicotian weed. He was evidently in the 
 throes of some revelation, as he had coughed two 
 or three times, gasped slightly, resumed his pipe, 
 and gasped again.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 41 
 
 "What's the matter, Jacob ? " said Wycherly, 
 after a pause. " What are you thinking about?" 
 
 " To own the truth, Wycherly," replied 
 Jacob, " I have come here this evening to break 
 a matter to you, and I hardly know how to 
 begin." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Yes ; the fact is, I'm afraid you'll think me a 
 fool for what I have had in my mind for some 
 time," said Jacob, pausing abruptly. 
 
 " I can't say whether I agree with you or not 
 unless you tell me your thoughts," replied 
 Wycherly, laughing. 
 
 " No ; that's true enough," continued Jacob ; 
 " So here goes. You didn't know much of my 
 wife — the late Mrs. Selwyn ? You did not, I 
 believe % " 
 
 " I did not — only by report," added Wycherly, 
 seeing that Jacob looked at him earnestly. 
 
 " Ah, and report, I know, hadn't much to say 
 in her favour," said Jacob ; " but report was 
 always a liar from the beginning, you know, and 
 Sally didn't deserve one-half that was said of her.
 
 42 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 She had rather a hasty temper, I own, and was 
 very persevering in argument ; but, being gene- 
 rally in the right, she was not called upon to 
 give in/' 
 
 " You forget, Jacob, that I wrote her epitaph 
 from your dictation," said Wycherly, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 " Yes — you did — and I've a great mind to have 
 the rail made wider, and add ever so many more 
 good qualities, which ought to have gone down to 
 her account — managing servants among them— 
 for the contrary hussies nearly drive me distracted." 
 
 Jacob was clearly endeavouring to come to the 
 point, but Wycherly had to wait patiently whilst 
 Jacob jerked out another dozen whiffs of smoke, 
 and said : 
 
 "Well, Wycherly, just before she died — when 
 you would have thought any other woman would 
 
 have been thinking only of herself and her 
 
 backslidings, she sent for me to her bedside, 
 where she was sitting in the big dimity chair." 
 
 Jacob paused again. 
 
 Wycherly took his hand, and said, " Jacob, I
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 43 
 
 have had my trials also — I have had such another 
 parting." 
 
 "No — no, my dear fellow, I don't think you 
 have," replied Jacob, returning his friend's pres- 
 sure of the hand. " For Sarah insisted — I mean 
 requested — that is, she made me promise so- 
 lemnly, that I would adopt, as it were, a nephew 
 of hers — a sister's child, who was christened after 
 me for some unaccountable reason — and in fact 
 provide for him." 
 
 " And you promised to do so, I presume," said 
 Wycherly. 
 
 " Well — yes, I did, under rather powerful pres- 
 sure from Sarah. I have not done much as yet to 
 redeem my word, and I don't feel quite easy in 
 consequence. Now, this is what I have been 
 thinking of doing. There are my own nephews, 
 Peter and Jerry — good young fellows enough, and 
 struggling to make a place in the world. I am 
 getting too old — too tired for business — and I 
 think I shall give up the old place, and be quiet 
 for the rest of my days." 
 
 Here Jacob mixed himself a glass of spirits
 
 4i LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 and water, and refilled his pipe, performing each 
 operation so deliberately that Wycherly might 
 have fairly inferred that Jacob intended to take 
 up his rest at Old Court, the more so, as he 
 added : 
 
 " Well, we'll consider that done. Now for 
 what you will perhaps consider the foolish part 
 of my scheme. I am worth, say, about eight 
 thousand pounds, more or less : now, I've four 
 nephews, including Philip in India, and the 
 nephew of Sally's that I have as good as adopted. 
 I have thought, therefore, that a little help, now 
 the young people want it, will be worth more 
 than a deal when I am gone, and I shall have the 
 satisfaction of seeing my money doing its good 
 whilst I live, and know that no one is wishing 
 me in the churchyard, for what they can get 
 when I am there." 
 
 " Surely," said Wycherly, greatly surprised at 
 what he had heard : " surely you do not intend to 
 give each of these young men two thousand 
 pounds 1 " 
 
 " No, Wycherly," replied Jacob, blowing out the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 4-5 
 
 smoke now in one long and graceful cloud — " no, 
 I do not intend to give them the money at 
 present. I propose to lend them by degrees, as 
 they can employ it advantageously in their 
 business, taking their bonds for the sums I 
 advance, and so, I trust, making them more 
 careful of their means than most people are 
 over windfalls." 
 
 "And for yourself?" asked Wycherly. 
 
 " 0, I have a few hundreds at the Bank ; I 
 shall have the interest of the bonds; and I shall 
 retain Philip's share : he is doing very well in 
 India, and don't need help ; and I shall make him 
 residuary legatee, so that he will have no cause to 
 grumble when I am gone. Now, what do you 
 say ? Am I an old fool, or am I doing a proper 
 thing, seeing I have none to care for besides the 
 boys \ " 
 
 " What do I say ? " exclaimed Wycherly, again 
 taking his old friend by the hand ; — " that you 
 are acting benevolently, wisely, as you are placed. 
 The young fellows, I hope, will prove worthy 
 of such a kind and thoughtful benefactor, and
 
 46 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 never give you cause to regret the confidence you 
 place in them." 
 
 And then the two friends sat late into the 
 night devising how Jacob Selwyn's scheme for 
 keeping his promise to his wife could be carried 
 into execution. 
 
 As Jacob rode home in the bright moon- 
 light, he felt there was a new life before him, 
 not to be employed in making careful gains, 
 but in distributing those which he had ac- 
 quired by patient, honest industry, to secure 
 happiness to himself and others. When he 
 reached Ashtree Farm, and saw his old house 
 clothed in silver light, he again contrasted it with 
 what he had seen at Old Court, and a feeling of 
 peace stole over him as he laid down that night, 
 full of grateful thankfulness. 
 
 Jacob soon put his good intentions into execu- 
 tion, with one reservation, however. He could 
 not bring himself to part with Ashtree Farm, for, 
 somehow or the other, it was no longer so dull 
 and dreary as it had been, and he began to find 
 pleasure in restoring the neglected garden to its
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 47 
 
 former neatness, and, after a while, to sit in the 
 old parlour, and recall old times. He then began 
 to invite old friends and his young relatives to 
 simple hospitalities, until, in the course of time, 
 he laid his Sally's ghost in every chamber of the 
 house. 
 
 Peter Masham pushed his business with great 
 energy, and many of the outlying public-houses 
 were ornamented with striking sign boards, an- 
 nouncing that " Masham's line ales " were sold 
 within. Even the " White Horse " grew proud of 
 the connection, and declared the same fact in 
 letters a foot long. Mrs. Masham, however, was 
 not so satisfied with this increasing prosperity as 
 might have been supposed — Peter in search of 
 business, being often out late from home, returning 
 very frequently under other influences than his 
 own honest beverages. But Peter promised that 
 it should be only for a short time, until the busi- 
 ness was well established, when he would sin no 
 more. He was bound to do the best with uncle's 
 money. 
 
 As for Jerry Garrett, he awoke amazingly for a
 
 48 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 lime. He mounted a plate glass front, and 
 named his house " The Emporium of Fashion," 
 doing little however to invite that ever-changing 
 goddess to take up her abode there, and, after a 
 time, more dust, more flies, more " lots at reduced 
 prices" declared that Jerry had collapsed into his 
 normal hibernal condition, and that Fortune as 
 well as Fashion was equally at odds with him. 
 
 Not so Mr. Selwyn Hartley, as that gentleman 
 chose to be designated, out of respect, he said, to 
 his dear departed aunt and his kind living uncle ; 
 he seemed to have fascinated the blind goddess 
 in some way, and to have obtained the loan of her 
 cornucopia, at least, if all the stories of his gains 
 which he told at Ashtree Farm were true ones. 
 As his opportunities of making advantageous 
 bargains occurred very frequently, he soon con- 
 trived to get the larger portion of his share of his 
 uncle's advances into his possession, and he also 
 managed the confession of his marriage so 
 adroitly that it turned rather to his advantage 
 than to his confusion. He had discovered that his 
 uncle's weak point was the late Mrs. Selwyn.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 4!) 
 
 " My dear aunt," he said, " knew of my mar- 
 riage, and indeed urged it upon me. She had her 
 peculiarities, as you know, and I never could 
 understand why she desired me to keep it a secret 
 from every one, even from you, sir. With me her 
 word was ever law, and I never presumed to dis- 
 obey her." 
 
 Well, Jacob thought, Selwyn Hartley was not 
 singular in that particular. Her word had been 
 law to Jacob, and he never or rarely disobeyed 
 her. 
 
 " When she heard of the cruel deception which 
 had been practised upon me," said Hartley, " in 
 regard to the reversionary interest, she wrote me 
 the most tender and affectionate letter, promising 
 therein, that if her life should be spared she 
 would make me amends for the loss I had sus- 
 tained." 
 
 " And she has done so," said Jacob. 
 
 " Amply, sir, amply !" exclaimed Hartley. " To 
 have bequeathed me to your care is to have re- 
 placed my loss a hundred-fold, I am sure, sir ; 
 and though I have now four children, with in- 
 
 TOL. I. E
 
 50 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 creasing prospects, I am sure, by your generous 
 assistance, to secure in a few years an indepen 
 dence for myself and for them." 
 
 Jacob believed all that the wily Hartley told 
 him, and listened with interest to the stories of 
 his mercantile successes, regretting, when he gave 
 him the last £500 of his share of the money to 
 be advanced, that he had not more to offer to 
 one who could employ it so advantageously, — 
 one who must, at no distant day, take his place 
 among the " merchant princes of London" — a 
 favourite phrase with Mr. Selwyn Hartley. 
 
 Nor were the young gentleman's visits discon- 
 tinued, even when there appeared no further 
 immediate advantages to be gained by continuing 
 them, and Jacob did not fail to notice this. 
 Hartley had made himself useful to his uncle in 
 getting certain moneys transferred or sold out, 
 and had had the several bonds given by his 
 cousins prepared as they were required, thus 
 saving his uncle much trouble in matters of 
 business with which he was not very conversant, 
 and which his imperfect education had rendered
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 51 
 
 distasteful to him. Thus, in the course of a few 
 years, Selwyn Hartley became Jacob's man of 
 business in a limited sense, and his uncle was 
 grateful for his services, to be rewarded in time 
 to come, as good and evil deeds are often recom- 
 pensed even in the world of the present. 
 
 There was little intercourse between Hartley 
 and his cousins, but he became, by some mysterious 
 means, acquainted with all their shortcomings, 
 and generally contrived — no doubt to stimulate 
 them to better courses — to convey the knowledge 
 he had obtained to their uncle, urging him, in the 
 tenderest way, to remonstrate with the delin- 
 quents, until Jacob became rather a bore to his 
 nephews in Hilltown, and though no positive 
 rupture occurred between them, the same cordi- 
 ality ceased to exist as formerly distinguished their 
 intercourse. Peter Masham continued to push 
 business and thrive, to all .appearance, and Jerry 
 only claimed his uncle's assistance when he could 
 not do without it. 
 
 As time wore on there was a change also for 
 the better at Old Court. Sunlight was in every 
 
 E 2 
 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY
 
 O'l LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 room, and music sweeter than the songs of birds 
 to Wycherly's ear was heard there from morn till 
 night, and he began to bear into the outer world 
 some of the sunshine of his home, whilst his own 
 voice had much of the home music in it. For 
 the baby Kate had grown into a lively intelligent 
 girl, and the widowed father saw in her face and 
 in her winning manner a constant resemblance to 
 her beloved mother. 
 
 Mrs. Meriton and her daughter had nobly done 
 their ministerings to the child, and her affection- 
 ate nature repaid them with a love which made 
 their service a most pleasurable duty. Little 
 Kate soon became a popular pet with every one, 
 as she rode about on her pony, which was led by 
 Jim Perks, the best scholar in the free school ; 
 and those who hesitated to court an intimacy 
 with the father, indulged in many a pleasant chat 
 with the good-tempered child. Almost the only 
 frequent playfellow of Kate was Peter Masham's 
 daughter Ruth, who was about two years her 
 junior; and the intimacy thus formed lasted 
 throughout their future lives, and was destined
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 53 
 
 to have a strange influence on the happiness of 
 both. 
 
 Ruth Masham was a great favourite with Mr. 
 Wycherly. She was a pretty, gentle creature, 
 who seemed to regard her more intelligent play- 
 fellow with a deference which children often ex- 
 hibit towards each other ; and Kate, who knew her 
 superiority — as children will discover — sometimes 
 used her power very despotically. Dolls had to 
 be surrendered without a murmur, orders executed 
 with dispatch, and inferior parts taken in all the 
 extemporised domestic dramas which were enacted 
 in the garden or the nursery. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly noticed all this, and, though 
 he loved little Ruth for her submissiveness to 
 his little darling, he saw also with regret that 
 his own seclusion, if continued, would be ad- 
 verse to the interests of his daughter, debar- 
 ring her from the society of other children, 
 which goes so far in making the happiness of 
 the young, if it does not in most cases assist 
 in the formation or development of their charac- 
 ters. He therefore resolved to seek friends
 
 54 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 among his neighbours ; and, as the home influ- 
 ences of which we have spoken had been com- 
 municated to himself, he found the task — the 
 duty — easy of accomplishment. The hunting- 
 field gave him abundant opportunities of intro- 
 duction to his fellow-yeomen, and his evident 
 desire to abandon the reserve which had kept 
 them apart met with ready recognition, and in 
 the course of a year or two there was not a more 
 popular man ten miles round Hilltown than 
 Herbert Wycherly of Old Court. All was not well 
 with him, however, for he continued to nurse the 
 silent sorrow for the loss he had sustained by the 
 death of his wife until at times he gave signs of 
 relapsing into his former exclusiveness. Then 
 Mrs. Meriton or her ^ood daughter would encourage 
 little Kate to display her many winning ways 
 until the unconscious father was cheated into for- 
 getfulness, and made to be thankful for the 
 blessings which remained to him. 
 
 How Kate Wycherly was to learn that the 
 influence which she possessed over her father was 
 to be exercised as her paramount duty, and how
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 55 
 
 she performed it at the sacrifice of the happi- 
 ness of nearly half her life, we have yet to 
 know. 
 
 The story-teller's quill, like the magician's 
 wand, is potent only by permission of superior 
 agencies, and we must wait patiently the coming 
 of events, having shown their shadows.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 JACOB SELWYN GIVES INSTRUCTIONS FOR HIS 
 WILL, AND, HAVING SIGNED IT, DIES IN 
 PEACE ; BUT ASHTREE FARM-HOUSE HAS 
 HAUNTED CHAMBERS. 
 
 Jacob Selwyn was a clear-headed man enough, 
 and clever in his way ; but he had his weak- 
 nesses, and one of them was an undefinable objec- 
 tion to making his will. Jacob was not singular 
 in this, as many persons of his position in life 
 are reluctant to perform such an easy duty, and 
 thereby avoid bequeathing to their inheritors ill 
 blood and litigation. Jacob would walk under a 
 ladder, or sit down thirteen at the market table, 
 but he never cared to enter upon any important, 
 business on a Friday, or make his will at any 
 time. It was needful to be done, however, as he 
 felt his strength failing him, and other unmis-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 57 
 
 takable indications that his life was waning fast, 
 daily reminded him to set his house in order 
 before he departed on the long journey which has 
 no return. He was ashamed to confess to his 
 friend Wycherly that he had so long neglected to 
 make this prudent preparation for the future, and 
 he therefore determined to entrust the matter to 
 his nephew Hartley, with the necessary instruc- 
 tions for securing the fulfilment of his generous 
 intentions to his young relatives. 
 
 " It has always been my determination, Sel- 
 wyn," he said, " to leave to you and Peter and 
 Jerry the money which I have lent you from 
 time to time, and I have thought it better, now 
 and then, to have put all your bonds in the fire 
 and so made an end of them." 
 
 Why did Hartley's face grow deadly pale, and 
 then change into a fiery red, at this simple state- 
 ment of his uncle Jacob ? 
 
 " But then I've thought," ^continued the old 
 man, " that if I did so, you might forget that you 
 had had your shares, and blame me for leaving 
 what I have left to your cousin Philip in India,
 
 58 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 who was a dear sister's son as well as Peter and 
 Jerry " 
 
 " You are quite right, sir," interrupted Hartley, 
 " quite right ; we might have been ungrateful 
 enough to have done so. Spent gold is soon for- 
 gotten, sir " 
 
 " But mine, I trust, is not spent," said Jacob ; 
 " I hope it is doing the good I intended it should 
 do " 
 
 " No doubt of it, sir," again interrupted Hart- 
 ley. " I am sure it has done so with me ; and if 
 I, with five little ones " (his quiver contained that 
 number of arrows now), "have contrived to save, 
 sir, others, with less incumbrances, no doubt have 
 done better." 
 
 " Five children ! " echoed Jacob ; '* have you 
 so many 1 " 
 
 " I have, sir ; delicate plants most of them, re- 
 uiring careful and expensive nursing, and con- 
 stant, medical attendance." He paused, and 
 looked tenderly at his uncle, then adding, " All 
 bear Selwyn as their second name, sir." 
 
 Jacob gave a short cough, and then said, rather
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 59 
 
 sharply, " But you are very prosperous — so you 
 have told me — and should be thankful that so 
 many blessings have come into your house. I 
 might have been happier at one time had only 
 one child been bestowed upon me. It might have 
 made your aunt's life better — happier also." 
 
 Whatever Hartley's object had been in calling 
 attention to his domestic census, it had evidently 
 awakened no feeling of condolence in the breast 
 of the prospective testator. Indeed Uncle Jacob 
 appeared to regard children as positive advan- 
 tages, and might take them into account ; it was, 
 therefore, necessary to say something. 
 
 " I am grateful, sir ; very grateful that Mrs. 
 Hartley is what we may call ' a mother in 
 Israel' — expensive as the position is — costly, I 
 may say ; education, the great blessing of our 
 era, is attainable for money ; and clothing, though 
 greatly reduced in price, can only be realised for 
 cash. Still, sir, I am grateful ; and though the 
 name of Hartley may perish — four of my blossoms 
 are girls — the name of Selwyn will be preserved 
 for the next generation at least. And now, sir,
 
 60 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 shall I take your instructions?" said Hartley, 
 preparing to write. 
 
 The testator's instructions were soon given and 
 written down. The bonds were to be cancelled ; a 
 few small legacies to old friends and the servants 
 in the house at the time of death ; his silver testi- 
 monial cup — presented by the farmers meeting at 
 the market table of the " White Horse " — to Mr. 
 Wycherly, his executor ; the best china tea-set to 
 Miss Kate ; and the residue to Philip Masham, 
 then away in India. Hartley recapitulated his 
 memoranda in the most cheerful voice, and his 
 manner altogether was of the airiest. Half an 
 hour later he was seen walking in the most 
 secluded part of the garden, with a thoughtful 
 brow and a downcast look, plotting, doubtless, 
 some clever scheme which was to make him rich 
 as Dives, and more wretched than Lazarus here- 
 after. 
 
 There is need of haste if Selwyn Hartley has 
 any designs upon his uncle Jacob, for the old man 
 has sickened suddenly, and, as his old servant 
 Susan said, " was breaking fast." Selwyn Hartley
 
 LOVED AT LAST. (51 
 
 was a good man of business, and let no grass grow 
 beneath his feet when the way led to his own 
 advantage ; and he was to be benefited, was he 
 not ? by having his bonds cancelled by his uncle's 
 will. 
 
 It was nearly dark when Hartley arrived from 
 London with his uncle's last testament. There 
 was no one in the house but old Susan and Jim 
 Perks, who had come over from Old Court to 
 make inquiries as to the state of the invalid. Jim 
 was now a fine young man, and employed as 
 under-keeper to Mr. Wycherly, having preferred 
 the keeper's lodge to the stable, where Miss Kate 
 no longer required him as her master of horse. 
 He was, according to custom at Ashtree Farm, 
 regaling himself with food of some kind and a 
 jug of strong ale, when Mr. Hartley drove up ; 
 and, as there was no one about the place at the 
 moment to take the horse to the stable, Jim 
 offered his services. Selwyn Hartley walked 
 with him into the yard, apparently thinking of 
 other matters than his tired horse, which had 
 evidently been driven long and fast.
 
 €2 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " You don't belong to the Farm ?" he said at 
 length. 
 
 " No, sir/' replied Jim ; • I live at Old Court, 
 and ha' come to know how Master Selwyn he 
 to-day." 
 
 " Can you write your name ? " asked Hartley, 
 abruptly, after a short pause. 
 
 " O yes, sir," replied Jim, with a self-satisfied 
 smile ; " and, more than that, sir, I can read and 
 write almost anything." 
 
 " Then don't go away just yet : I shall want 
 you to witness a paper which Mr. Selwyn has to 
 sign ; and — " he paused, and taking a half-crown 
 from his pocket, gave it to Jim, " you needn't 
 mention the matter at Old Court — unless you 
 please." 
 
 Hartley went into the house. Jim Perks, as 
 he removed the harness and fed the tired horse, 
 wondered why he had received half-a-crown not 
 to say he had written his name at Ashtree Farm 
 when he got back to Old Court — w unless he 
 pleased." 
 
 When Jim returned to the kitchen, which he
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 63 
 
 did much sooner than he would have done had 
 Mr. Hartley not excited his curiosity, he found 
 that Susan had been asked the same question as 
 to her calligraphic capacity, but had 'received no 
 money — at least she kept her own counsel if she 
 had been rewarded for her scholarship. 
 
 Jacob Selwyn had become very weak — very 
 weak indeed — during the last few days, and it 
 was with great effort that he could follow with 
 his dim eyes and his clouding mind the words 
 and purport of the paper which he read by the 
 light of a candle at his bedside. By that paper 
 he cancelled his nephews' bonds, gave a few 
 small legacies to old friends and the servants in 
 his house at the time of his death, his silver cup 
 to Wycherly, and his old china to Miss Kate, and 
 bequeathed the residue of his estate to Philip 
 Masham, then away in India. 
 
 He would hardly have mastered the meaning 
 of what he had read, had not Hartley perused 
 aloud the rough draft of the will It now needed 
 only the signatures of Jacob and the necessary- 
 witnesses to become the act and deed which
 
 (U LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 disposed of his worldly possessions. Hartley took 
 the paper and went to the door to summon Jim 
 Perks and Susan, and was more surprised than 
 gratified to find them on the landing outside the 
 bed-room door. Susan, a dull woman, had mis- 
 understood something Hartley had said to her 
 about " being in the way," and so she had gone 
 up stairs and invited Perks to follow her. Mr. 
 Hartley said nothing, however, although he looked 
 angry enough, but the business in hand no doubt 
 kept him silent. With some difficulty Jacob 
 signed the paper, making a great blot at the end 
 of his name, and then Susan and Jim Perks 
 signed also. When all this was over, Mr. Hartley 
 said in a low voice, " I hope this will be as satis- 
 factory to others, uncle, as it must be to me." 
 
 " I trust so, too," replied Jacob, evidently sur- 
 prised at the remark : " why should it not be so ? " 
 
 " Certainly there is no proper reason why you 
 should not do as you like with your property," 
 said Hartley ; " but I am not a blood relation as 
 your other nephews are, and they may think I am 
 taking what is their right."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 65 
 
 Jacob could only shake his head to and fro, and 
 murmur : " No, no — good lads always — kind 
 lads ;" and then he appeared to fall into a doze. 
 
 When Jim Perks had mounted his rough pony 
 to return to Old Court, he was rather surprised to 
 find Mr. Hartley waiting in the road outside the 
 farm gate. 
 
 " Stop a moment, Perks," said Hartley. " You 
 heard what passed between Mr. Selwyn and me 
 after the will was signed, did you not ? " 
 
 " O yes, sir," replied Jim, " every word." 
 
 " Very well : you may some day perhaps be 
 called upon to remember the exact words. If I 
 were you I would write them down to-night be- 
 fore I slept — word for word, you know. Good- 
 night ;" and Mr. Hartley placed another half- 
 crown in the hand of Jim Perks. 
 
 Jim wondered why he was being so well paid 
 for such easy work, and as he rode along he 
 thought — "What can Mr. Hartley be dreamin' 
 about to make him so free with his money ? " 
 
 No doubt Jacob Selwyn was "breaking fast," 
 although Mr. Hartley declared that he was evi- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 dently stronger — so much stronger, indeed, that 
 he should go to London, and would return again 
 in a fortnight. Therefore, having locked up the 
 will in the bureau which stood in his uncle's 
 bed-room, and given Mr. Selwyn the key, he took 
 his departure. 
 
 The doctor, however, was of a different opinion, 
 and told Mr. Wycherly that a few days — a week 
 at the most — would see an end of Jacob. Mr. 
 Wycherly, therefore, called daily upon his old 
 friend, and during one of his visits learned that 
 all worldly matters were arranged, and that 
 he had been appointed executor. The doctor's 
 prognostication was correct, and Peter and Jeffery 
 were summoned to Jacob's bedside to take a long 
 farewell of the kind man who had cared so much 
 for them. Jacob was too weak to speak — too 
 weak to raise his hand — but he seemed to regard 
 them affectionately with his eyes until he closed 
 them for ever, passing away as a faint murmur 
 which sounded like " Sally " escaped his lips. 
 
 Selwyn Hartley was written to immediately, 
 but no reply was received until the day before the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 67 
 
 funeral, when a letter came announcing that Mr. 
 Hartley had been called suddenly to the Conti- 
 nent, and no one knew with certainty where a 
 communication would reach him. The funeral, 
 therefore, had to take place without Selwyn 
 Hartley. 
 
 Hilltown was not a progressive place, and had 
 not established a hearse ; therefore, as Ashtree 
 Farm was nearly three miles from the church, 
 Jacob had to be conveyed to his resting-place, 
 accordiug to the custom of the country, in one 
 of his own waggons, newly painted for the occa- 
 sion. The mourners, dressed in their ordinary 
 attire, came in every variety of one-horse con- 
 veyance to pay their last mark of respect to their 
 deceased friend, their profuse hat-bands stream- 
 ing in the wind, or muffling the faces of the 
 wearers, as it was gusty weather when Jacob 
 died. To one accustomed to the uniformity of 
 city funerals the effect would have been the 
 reverse of impressive ; but those who had known 
 Jacob Selwyn as a good neighbour and a just 
 man saw nothing of the incongruous in the rude 
 
 f 2
 
 68 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 procession, but regarded the exhibition of respect 
 in its true meaning, and sympathised accordingly. 
 As Mr. Hartley's return was uncertain, Mr. 
 Wycherly advised that the will should be opened 
 on the day following the funeral, and those inte- 
 rested being assembled, the bureau was unlocked 
 and the will produced. It was carefully enveloped 
 and sealed, and Mr. Wycherly, as executor, being 
 requested to act as reader, removed the outer 
 covering. 
 
 The principal signature was that of Jacob 
 Selwyn, blot and all, and the witnesses were 
 James Perks and Susan Hobbs. The paper set 
 out in due form that it was the last will and 
 testament of Jacob Selwyn, and duly bequeathed 
 small legacies to sundry old friends, the silver 
 cup to Mr. Wycherly as a token of the testa- 
 tor's esteem, and the old china to Miss Kate. As 
 Susan Hobbs had received a gift of £100 the 
 preceding Christmas, Jacob bequeathed her 
 nothing more. So far the will realised and sa- 
 tisfied the expectations of all. 
 
 What followed was perfectly incomprehensible.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 6fl 
 
 The paper set forth that the testator had ad- 
 vanced at various times certain sums of money 
 to his three nephews, Jacob Selwyn Hartley, 
 Peter Masham, and Jeffery Garrett, and for which 
 they had given their respective bonds. These 
 bonds (but without any interest which might be 
 due at the time of his decease) the testator now 
 bequeathed to Jacob Selwyn Hartley, in consi- 
 deration of his valuable and constant services 
 rendered to the said testator during the last 
 seven years, and also in consideration of his 
 bearing the name of the said testator, and in 
 accordance with a solemn promise made to his 
 
 late wife Sarah on her death-bed. 
 
 « 
 
 Great was the consternation created by this un- 
 looked-for disposal of Jacob's wealth. Mr. Wy- 
 cherly threw down the will upon the table and 
 declared his disbelief in the genuineness of the 
 document. He had been consulted years ago, 
 when Jacob first thought of advancing money to 
 his nephews, and he was sure that Jacob would 
 have then made it a gift but for certain pruden- 
 tial considerations. Yet there, staring them all in
 
 70 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 the face in incontrovertible black and white, was 
 Jacob's revocation of his intended benevolence, 
 and the interest of only one nephew considered. 
 
 Jirn Perks was sent for ; Susan was ordered into 
 the room, and questioned as to her signature and 
 that of her dead master. Susan had no doubt — 
 no misgiving of any kind — as to the genuineness 
 of both. She remembered the great blot which 
 master made after sionino" and when Jim Perks 
 arrived he remembered it also. 
 
 " Was anything said at the time ? " asked 
 Wycherly. 
 
 " Yes ; there were two or three things said ;" 
 and Jim repeated the conversation which took 
 place ; — how Mr. Hartley feared that others 
 wouldn't be satisfied, and that they would think 
 that, as he was not a blood relation, he was takiuo 
 the rights of others, whatever they were. Jim 
 and Susan were sent out of the room almost 
 angrily by Mr. Wycherly. 
 
 " What could it mean ? What could be done ?" 
 
 No one could answer. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly talked for some time of disputing
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 71 
 
 the will, but after-reflection convinced him that 
 there was nothing to justify such a course. The 
 signatures were acknowledged to be genuine, and 
 there was an end of the testamentary hopes of 
 Peter Masham and JefTery Garrett. 
 
 When Mr. Wycherly resumed reading, and 
 found that Philip Masham was residuary legatee, 
 he resolved to accept the office of executor, a 
 position which he had declared he would not 
 assume when he had first read the conditions of 
 the will. 
 
 A month passed without the appearance of Mr. 
 Jacob Selwyn Hartley, but he had written more 
 than once from some obscure place in France, ex- 
 pressing his confidence that all that was necessary 
 would be done, and in conformity with his uncle's 
 will. Mr. Wycherly foreboded a storm from 
 this treacherous calm, and his foresight did him 
 credit. 
 
 Preparations were being made for the sale of 
 Ashtree Farm and all thereto pertaining, and Jim 
 Perks had been put into the house to keep old 
 Susan company, when late one evening a gig was
 
 72 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 driven up to the gate, and Jim recognised the 
 voice of Mr. Hartley bawling to be admitted. 
 
 Mr. Harley was very cold from his drive, and 
 therefore very uncommunicative, and it required 
 more than two stiff glasses of brandy-and-water 
 and the whole front of the kitchen fire to thaw 
 him sufficiently to announce his intention of 
 sleeping at the Farm, and his desire to have a 
 fire lighted in his bedroom as soon as some eggs 
 and bacon were prepared for his supper. He gave 
 these orders at brief intervals, as though his 
 mind were occupied by other thoughts than 
 creature comforts. If he were thinking of his 
 dead uncle, or his own large accession of 
 wealth, he did not let a word escape his lips 
 which could have indicated the direction of his 
 cogitations. 
 
 Having eaten his supper very rapidly, as men 
 in thought generally do eat, he drank another 
 very stiff glass of grog, and proceeded with a 
 somewhat unsteady step up-stairs. Susan had 
 offered to light him to his chamber, but when 
 they came to the door of the room in which Jacob
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 73 
 
 Selwyn had died, Hartley took the candle from 
 the old woman, and, bidding her a curt " Good- 
 night," waited until she had reached the bottom 
 of the stairs before he entered in. His eyes went 
 instantly to the bed on which his uncle had died ; 
 but nothing was lying there but the palliasse 
 covered with a white cloth. With a quick step 
 he crossed the floor, and opening a cupboard in 
 an angle of the room, lifted from it a small iron 
 box, in which he knew he should find his own and 
 his cousins' bonds. Then, from a secret drawer in 
 the bureau, he produced a key which opened the 
 little safe. Having removed the papers contained 
 in the box, and placed them in the pocket of his 
 coat, he returned key and box to their respective 
 places. He knew that he was alone in the room, 
 and that neither Susan nor Jim Perks could be 
 watching him ; but he did all that has been 
 described rapidly, furtively, and with a trembling 
 hand. He glanced once more at the white cloth 
 on his uncle's bed as he left the room, and ha\ in- 
 locked the door and reached his own chamber, be 
 heaved a deep sigh, as though relieved of some
 
 74 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 oppressive feeling. Perhaps he remembered that 
 he was about to lie down to sleep where his aunt 
 Sally had breathed her last ; but he could not have 
 slept, he felt, in the room he had just quitted. 
 
 He partly undressed himself, and then sat down 
 before the fire ; but the wood was green, or the 
 chimney was damp from long disuse, and the 
 embers burned with a dull, sullen glow. He had 
 often slept in that room before, and he looked 
 about it as though to see if any change had been 
 made in it. No ; the old sampler, worked sixt} r - 
 one years ago by jcaraj) Uttieg, hung over the fire- 
 place : the fingers were dust and bones now which 
 had traced those letters and figures, those queer 
 birds and strange little houses. The great oak 
 clothes-press was in its accustomed place, and the 
 red moreen curtain hung before the door which 
 opened inwards on a landing connected with the 
 servants' sleeping-rooms. How often had that 
 passage rung with the shrill tones of the excellent 
 housewife, the late Mrs. Sehvyn, when the kitchen 
 clock had struck five and Susan was not astir. 
 There was the oval dressing-glass in its painted
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 7-5 
 
 frame, which had reflected so often his aunt Sally's 
 face, from the time when it was a comely picture, 
 bright and fresh from Nature's easel, until it be- 
 came cracked and rumpled by years added to 
 many home-made vexations. 
 
 But the night was cold, and Hartley was sitting 
 in his shirt-sleeves before a dull fire, so he left 
 off thinking of the past and went to bed. He 
 could not sleep, however ; and as he lay looking 
 out into the dark he saw, as it were, a great fiery 
 eye gleam upon him from the red curtain. 
 
 " Who's there ? " cried Hartley, starting up. 
 
 " Only me, sir," replied Jim Perks, drawing 
 aside the curtain ; and then closing the door 
 quickly behind him, he placed the candle which 
 he carried upon the dressing-table. 
 
 Why was Hartley silent ? Why did he not 
 demand the reason for this intrusion ? Why did 
 his heart beat quickly, as though a sudden fear 
 had come upon him ? 
 
 " I ask pardon, Mr. Hartley," said Jim, " for 
 coming in so unawares ; but I did not like to 
 knock, in case Susan should have heard me, and I
 
 76 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 knew you had only just gone to bed ; I heard you 
 moving about." 
 
 " Well, what do you want with me at this time 
 of night ? " asked Hartley, his heart still beating 
 quickly. 
 
 " May I sit down, sir 1 " asked Jim. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Jim drew up the large dimity-covered chair in 
 which Mrs. Selwyn sat when she made Jacob pro- 
 mise to care for the man now lying upon her 
 bed, breathing almost as painfully as she had 
 breathed at that time, knowing almost what his 
 untimely visitor was about to say to him, yet 
 wondering how he had obtained the knowledge 
 of the wicked thing which he, Jacob Selwyn 
 Hartley, had done so cleverly. 
 
 " Mr. Hartley," said Jim, after a pause, " I think 
 you once said to Susan in my hearing, that some 
 one — we cannot say who, perhaps — helps them as 
 helps themselves. Now, sir, I think I've got a 
 chance of doing that for myself, and I fancy you 
 haven't forgot your own text, and have done like- 
 wise."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 77 
 
 "Yes, he knows all, or suspects all," Hartley 
 thought ; so he kept silent. 
 
 " I have heard, sir," continued Jim, " that 
 Master Selwyn — your uncle by Mrs. Selwyn's side 
 — has left you nigh all he had." 
 
 " No, not by a great deal," said Hartley, some- 
 what relieved, he knew not wherefore. 
 
 " Well, some'ut is set by for his nephew in 
 Indy, but you have got a bonny share of the old 
 gentleman's leavings. You're to have, so I hear, 
 all the money as was lent to Mr. Masham and 
 Mr. Garrett. Isn't it so, sir % " asked Jim, rather 
 pertly. 
 
 " Yes ; it was so left in the will you saw signed," 
 said Hartley, with effort. 
 
 " Yes — I hear so." Jim paused. " I saw my 
 handwriting to the paper, and the queer some'ut 
 which old Susan calls her name ; and Mr. 
 Selwyn's hand was to it also, and the great blot 
 he made, if you remember; and finely Mr. 
 Wycherly has rated me for not telling him what 
 I had done at the time ; but you gave me five 
 shillings to be quiet, you know, Mr. Hartley.' 1
 
 78 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " No, not to be quiet : I cared nothing about it ; 
 I gave you the money for your trouble," replied 
 Hartley. 
 
 " You gave me the money to be quiet, sir ! " 
 said Jim, pausing between every word, " and you 
 set me a-thinking often why you did so ; and I 
 could never guess why until I heard that you was 
 to come into so much, and that Mr. Masham and 
 Mr. Garrett was to have nought of their uncle's 
 leavings." 
 
 Hartley discerned mischief in Jim's voice and 
 looks, so he asked boldly : " Well, and what have 
 you guessed ? " 
 
 " I guess that you and me had better be friends, 
 Mr. Hartley. Had Mr. Wycherly been more civil 
 to me than he has been of late, I might have 
 thought different ; but when I see that he cares 
 nought for me — not so much as he does for the 
 horse he rides or the hound he hunts with, — 
 though I have been a srood servant, and tended 
 to Miss Kate more like a slave than a Christian, 
 why, he's made me think of myself and nobody 
 else, and that's why I've come here to-night."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 79 
 
 " The sooner you make your business known 
 the better, then," said Hartley, " as I want to go 
 to sleep." 
 
 " I don't think you will when you have heard 
 me," replied Jim, rising and going to the door by 
 which he had entered. He opened it softly, and 
 seeing no one in the passage, closed it again. 
 * We have been talking rather loud, sir, and I 
 have reason to know that sounds can be heard 
 through deal wainscotin'." 
 
 Jim, then, in a whisper almost, communicated 
 to Hartley the reasons he had for solving the 
 problem of the half-crowns. They were simple 
 enough, and might as well be written down at 
 once, if there were not a pleasure in guessing. 
 
 Some of the consequences of that night's con- 
 ference between Jim and Mr. Hartley may, how- 
 ever, be recorded. 
 
 Jim certainly had more money at command 
 shortly afterwards than he could receive as under- 
 keeper, and he became disposed to be insolent to 
 his superior fellow-servants, and at last to Mr 
 Wycherly, who, speaking (as was his wont) rather
 
 80 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 sharply to Jim on some neglected duty, the under- 
 keeper resigned his gun and licence, and went 
 away to London. Occasionally he came down to 
 Hilltown and flashed about his money, treating 
 and drinking with the most disreputable fellows 
 in the neighbourhood, giving assurance that he 
 had gone to the bad in the country, whatever his 
 mode of life was in the great metropolis. His 
 prosperous debauchery did not continue, however, 
 above a year or two, and Jim Perks returned to 
 his native place a broken man — broken in health, 
 character, and fortune. Down he went lower 
 and lower in the little community of Hilltown, 
 until the beershop and the skittle-ground were 
 his constant resort, and his means of livelihood 
 became of very questionable acquirement. Now 
 and then, when he has been in great distress, Miss 
 Wycherly had sent him money and clothes, al- 
 though her father had forbidden him to come 
 near Old Court, and always spoke of him as an 
 ungrateful poaching vagabond. So well deserving 
 was he of this character, that w T e should have left 
 him to his fate ; but as he will turn up now and
 
 LOVED AT LAST. JSl 
 
 then in the course of our story, it seemed ad- 
 visable to say thus much of his biography. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley made a very indifferent 
 breakfast next morning, and his loss of appetite 
 he attributed to the bad fire of the preceding 
 night, and the wretched quality of the brandy sup . 
 plied by the " White Horse." He had had a 
 night-mare and slept very little, he said. A 
 night-mare truly ; and Jim Perks, who rode it, 
 could have told what an uneasy goer she had 
 been, and what grief they had come to. As Mr. 
 Hartley could not eat, he put on his hat and coat 
 and took a turn in the garden, more grass-grown 
 now than it had ever been, even when it was in 
 mourning for Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 " I never could see much in a garden at any 
 time," mused Hartley ; " nothing but time and 
 money wasted over a few flowers that you can 
 buy in Co vent Garden Market for a shilling, and 
 dear at the price. But this affair is perfectly dis- 
 gusting and depressing to one's spirits. I've a 
 good mind to drive over to Mr. Wycherly and ask 
 when he means to sell the farm." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 It was quite as well for Mr. Hartley's peace of 
 mind, that lie did not carry that intention any 
 further, as Mr. Wycherly no sooner heard of his 
 presence at Ashtree Farm than he despatched a 
 short note to old Susan, requesting her to inform 
 Mr. Hartley that he had no right to be upon the 
 property, and to request he would remove himself 
 to Hilltown, or a more distant locality. 
 
 Susan gave the note to Mr. Hartley to read, 
 and as he did not wish, he said, to have any 
 unpleasant altercation with Mr. Wycherly or his 
 cousins Peter and Jerry at Hilltown, he resolved, 
 out of respect to his uncle's memory, to depart in 
 peace from Ashtree Farm for London. 
 
 Mr. Hartley adequately avenged himself for this 
 indignity by pressing payment of the bonds with 
 the greatest urgency as soon as Mr. W}^cherly had 
 exhausted all legal procrastination in discharging 
 his duty as an executor. Mr. Hartley was very 
 patient under this ungenerous treatment, as he 
 called it, and even Mr. Wycherly thought at one 
 time that fair terms might be obtained, if not 
 some redistribution of the property, more in ac-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 83 
 
 cordance with Mr. Selwyn's previously expressed 
 intentions. 
 
 These anticipations were soon dispelled by Mr 
 Hartley. 
 
 " Had he been treated with more friendly 
 consideration/' he said, " he should not have 
 pressed his claims upon his cousins with any 
 severity." As it Avas, he drove poor Peter 
 Masham to the verge of bankruptcy ; and then 
 poor Peter " pushed business " so vigorously, that 
 he drank aw r ay his health until he died, leaving 
 his widow and child almost penniless. Not friend- 
 less also, for Providence brought about them 
 many kind hearts, as we shall learn as time 
 progresses. 
 
 As for Jerry Garrett, he put up his shutters at 
 once, only taking them down again to exhibit 
 nothing but "lots at reduced prices," and then 
 sold himself off without reserve for the benefit of 
 his creditors, though not for his own, as it was 
 known that after he had paid twenty shillings in 
 the pound to every one, he had, with only fifty 
 pounds in his pocket, left Hilltown. For a time, 
 
 G 2
 
 84 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 however, none knew in what direction he had fled 
 from trouble. 
 
 Poor Jerry ! He had only himself to care for 
 in the wide world, and he felt that a very little 
 corner would hide him.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KATE WYCHERLY's BIRTHDAY. — THE LEGEND OF 
 OLD COURT. — JIM PERKS WALKS THE ROAD 
 TO RUIN. 
 
 An April morning as bright and warm as early 
 summer. The woods were still leafless, but the 
 hedgerows were showing signs of returning ver- 
 dure ; their banks glowing here and there with 
 primroses, intermingled with clusters of wood 
 violets. The very weeds possessed a beauty 
 from the tender green which they displayed, 
 and even the marshy ground was strewn with 
 golden lent-lilies among its tufts of rushes. The 
 sweet-throated song-birds carolled their hymns 
 to the great Giver of the spring ; and those denied 
 the gift of song twittered their thankfulness for 
 the bright sunshine, and the plenty it was creat- 
 ing. The early garden flowers were yielding rich
 
 86 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 banquets to the bees, and bright yellow butter- 
 flies had burst their winter cerements and com- 
 menced their short lives of pleasant rambles. The 
 pear and plum and cherry trees put on their 
 wreaths of snowy blossoms, and amongst them 
 the brigand house-sparrows were busy when re- 
 leased from their domestic cares. The tiny lake 
 at Old Court was alive with matron geese and 
 their motley progeny, and the clucking of anxious 
 pullets was heard ever and anon to recall their 
 wandering chicks, or to proclaim the discovery of 
 luxurious pickings. The measured thud of the 
 flail in the distant homestead was not out of har- 
 mony with the peacefulness which was not silence, 
 and the young corn which streaked the furrows 
 with green seemed to proclaim that garners must 
 be emptied and barn bays cleared to make room 
 for a coming harvest. That April morning was 
 an anniversary of Kate "Wycherly's eighteenth 
 birthday, and seemed to be in accord with all 
 that pertained to her. Her beauty, like the 
 young year, was more due to youth and cheerful- 
 ness than to perfect development of feature,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 87 
 
 although none could look in her bright face with- 
 out remarking what quickness of intelligence her 
 dark eyes displayed, or what firmness of charac- 
 ter was to be relied upon if Lavater had cor- 
 rectly described her expressive mouth. None 
 could have divined her future who saw her on 
 that April morning, in the midst of some dozen 
 friends who had come to keep holiday with her 
 at Old Court, and who were marshalled on the 
 lawn which stretched down to the margin of the 
 little lake, mounted as rather irregular cavalry 
 preparatory to a campaign to a neighbouring 
 tower, a favourite place with lovers and pic-nickers 
 in and about Hilltown. There were no victims 
 to Dan Cupid, however, in that happy group, and 
 the season was not advanced enough to permit 
 the pic-nick, but the road to the tower lay through 
 pleasant lanes and over a stretch of down whose 
 springy turf made a gallop delightful even to the 
 most timid rider. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly was in command, as a matter of 
 course, and when arranging the order of march he 
 stopped suddenly, and exclaimed :
 
 88 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " Kate ! Kate, dear ! where is Ruth Masham ? " 
 
 " In the house, papa," was the reply. " I could 
 not persuade her to come, though I have had 
 Merrylegs kept purposely for her to ride." 
 
 " Not go ! Oh, it will never do to leave her 
 behind." So, riding up to the entrance door he 
 bawled out, " Ruth Masham ! Ruth, dear ! Come 
 forth immediately, or I shall have to dismount, 
 for go you must, you little bashful puss." 
 
 A pretty pale-faced girl, just past sixteen 
 years of age, answered his summons. She was 
 dressed in faded mourning, and presented certainly 
 a great contrast to her more smartly-attired com- 
 panions. She was the daughter of Peter Masham, 
 and had left a home of sorrow at Kate's earnest 
 pleading, as, strange to say, the losses and changes 
 which had come with Peter's death had made no 
 difference in the friendship of Miss Wycherly for 
 the poor bankrupt's daughter, who had been her 
 earliest, and at one time, her only playmate. 
 
 Ruth pleaded that she was not a good rider — 
 indeed she was not. 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear girl," said Wycherly, " you
 
 LOVED AT LAST. <S0 
 
 used to ride that vicious shying little brute of 
 your — of a Welsh pony, when you had scarcely 
 the strength of a baby, and I have seen you on 
 Merry legs twenty times since — this year. Hi ! 
 Mary ! " calling to one of the servants, " bring 
 down a skirt of Miss Kate's, — she must have a 
 dozen — and help Miss Masham to put it on ; and 
 Tom," addressing a groom, " bring out Merrylegs ; 
 see that his girths are tight; and take up an 
 extra link in his curb-chain." 
 
 Poor Ruth was longing to join the party, but she 
 had fancied that some of the smart young ladies 
 had looked askance at her faded black dress, and 
 remembered why it was so shabby — remembered 
 that her father had died in debt, his life shortened 
 by disreputable courses ; and not all Kate's kind 
 words could reassure her that she was there upon 
 an equality. Ruth's was a very gentle nature — 
 loving, how loving ! timorous, and enduring. Poor 
 child ! 
 
 Mr. Wycherly's commands, however, could not 
 be disputed, and in a few minutes Ruth was 
 ready to mount Merrylegs — Kate's second fa-
 
 90 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 vourite — and then — to quote more dignified 
 writers — "the cavalcade set forth on its progress 
 to the tower." 
 
 What merry music their young sweet voices 
 made in the green lanes, startling the birds from 
 the hedges, and sending a sentinel rook caw- 
 cawing away in great trepidation. They were 
 silent on the down, for their delighted horses, 
 feeling the springy turf beneath their feet, would 
 not be restrained, but arching their graceful 
 necks, dashed onward to the jDleasant excitation 
 of their riders. The fresh breeze tossed about 
 the long curls of the happy girls, and tinted even 
 Ruth's pale face with the glow of roses. What 
 a glorious scamper over that yielding turf, and 
 through that healthful wind, until they entered 
 Pemberton Wood ; the merry music again scaring 
 the rabbit and the hare crossing the green 
 rides on either side of the main bridle-path, or 
 disturbing the jays chattering on the boughs. 
 
 As they came upon the turnpike-road, a carriage- 
 with post-horses passed them, and was seen soon 
 afterwards to make for the entrance to Holly
 
 LOVED AT LAST. !)] 
 
 Lodge, a small compact residence, with no great 
 amount of acreage attached to it. It had been 
 untenanted for some time, its former owner going 
 abroad after making himself extremely unpopular 
 with everybody. 
 
 "A new neighbour, I suppose," said Mr. 
 Wycherly. " I heard the Lodge had been 
 let to a Londoner, a Mr. Lockyer, I think. 
 I hope he likes hunting and other field 
 sports, and won't prove such a curmudgeon 
 as the late tenant, who trapped foxes, locked 
 his gates, and forbade the Master to draw his 
 covers. Such a fellow has no business to 
 live in the country. London's good enough for 
 him:' 
 
 The carriage had stopped, and two men had 
 alighted from it, — a father and son, perhaps. 
 
 Did no heart beat more quickly for what the 
 eyes then saw ? Did no vague terror steal over 
 more than one in that happy group? No. 
 Happily, the future is hidden from us, or the 
 merry meeting at the Tower would not have been 
 long remembered as one of the happiest days in
 
 92 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 other lives than those of Kate Wycherly and 
 her earliest friend, Ruth Masham. 
 
 The next day was as bright and warm as 
 that which had preceded it, but there was a cloud 
 over Old Court. Its coming had been foreseen 
 and pondered on, but it was not the less dark 
 for that premonition. 
 
 Old Court had been, as we have recorded, a 
 moated house, and might have dated back many 
 years before the time of the Commonwealth, as 
 it was reported to have given refuge to one of 
 the regicides when the hunt was up for all who 
 had taken part in that great tragedy whose 
 actors are only now beginning to be understood 
 and appreciated according to their deserving. 
 There were pannelled rooms and deep bay 
 windows reaching almost to the ground, some 
 of them with latticed panes emblazoned with 
 the arms of departed owners. It was such a 
 house as claims to have many legends associated 
 with it, but one will suffice for our story. 
 
 A young husband and a young wife once dwelt 
 at Old Court, loving each other most tenderly.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 93 
 
 On an autumn evening they sat together in one 
 of the bay windows, watching a child, tired by 
 play, sleeping in the lady's lap. They talked of 
 the future which they believed was before them, 
 and of the part the child was to play in it, until 
 they pictured her a young maiden — a wife — 
 a mother. They thought of so much happiness 
 that no shade of sorrow stole over the bright 
 picture they had painted, until they seemed to 
 have exhausted the power of words, and became 
 silent with their happiness. But unseen, unfelt, 
 a fiery evil stole in at the opened window, and 
 breathed upon the lady as it passed, and before 
 the night had gone which succeeded this happy 
 evening, a fire was in her veins, which, before 
 many days, dried up the life within her heart, and 
 she laid in her chamber dressed for the grave. 
 
 Then for months and months the bereaved 
 husband wandered from chamber to chamber in 
 the old house, and could hardly at times realise 
 the greatness of his sorrow ; but when he did so, 
 his grief made him almost rebellious at his loss. 
 After a time, when his little child would watch
 
 94 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 for him at the bay window, and run to meet him 
 in the hall, and draw him by the hand into his 
 house, he often felt deep thankfulness that she 
 had been left to him. As his daughter grew 
 older, she appeared (so he thought) to assume her 
 mother's face and to speak with her mother's 
 voice, and his love grew stronger for the child, 
 and so increased at last that she divided his heart 
 with the one he had mourned so long, until he 
 brought himself to believe that he should better 
 show the sincerity of his love by making his 
 daughter's life as happy as he would have striven 
 to have made the life of her mother. In earnest 
 fulfilment of this fatherly duty, Mr. Wycherly had 
 not been left to work alone. Mrs. Meriton and 
 her daughter Agatha had aided him with their 
 womanly knowledge and devotion ; and it was 
 because they had announced their intention of 
 resigning those duties, which they had discharged 
 with such advantage to Wycherly and to Kate, 
 that a cloud was over Old Court on that bright 
 April day. 
 
 Mrs. Meriton was the widow of an estimable
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 95 
 
 man — a naval surgeon — who had died in the 
 discharge of his duty, leaving his wife and child 
 with little more than a small pension to depend 
 upon. Mrs. Meriton had preferred to trust her 
 own exertions, rather than rely upon the uncer- 
 tain aid of her own or her husband's friends, 
 and had, fortunately for Mr. Wycherly — under- 
 taken the care of his house, and by the aid of 
 her daughter, the education of Kate. 
 
 Agatha Meriton was not more than rive years 
 the senior of her little pupil, but she possessed the 
 qualities necessary to form an able instructor in 
 a remarkable advance of her years. Firmness, 
 united with great kindness and patience, clear- 
 ness of exposition and thorough acquaintance 
 with the subjects she undertook to teach — they 
 were limited to English, French, and Music — she 
 succeeded in creating an earnest interest in the 
 mind of her pupil, which made the labour of 
 both a labour of love. The work of the school 
 at an end, Agatha became the cheerful com- 
 panion of her young pupil ; nor was she an un- 
 welcome intruder when Ruth Masham became
 
 96 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 a needful accessory, and romps and high jinks 
 were permitted as conducive to health and 
 girlish enjoyment ; although she sometimes gently 
 directed the boisterousness of the happy play- 
 fellows "within" the limits of becoming mirth ! 
 
 As Mrs. Meriton knew by her own sad ex- 
 perience the cause of Mr. Wycherly's frequent 
 musings and disrelish of general society, she wisely 
 employed the engaging agency of the child to 
 solace the father, and so as Kate grew older she 
 became aware of the influence she possessed, and 
 her love became so watchful that Wycherly was 
 rarely left to dwell long upon his great sorrow. 
 Some new display of tenderness, some irresistible 
 witchery of his cheerful, devoted child would 
 chase away his gloomy thoughts and move him at 
 last to seek his place among his neighbours, until 
 Old Court promised to become, as we have said, 
 one of the pleasantest homes in the county. But 
 now the Meritons having completed their allotted 
 task, had declared their departure to be impera- 
 tive. It was a sad but necessary parting — neces- 
 sary for the future happiness of Agatha, who with
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 97 
 
 a self-devotion rarely to be met with even among 
 women, had delayed for nearly two years the 
 acceptance of her share in another home where her 
 early love had found shelter long ago. Could any 
 one — even Kate, who loved them with the affec- 
 tion of child and sister almost, ask them to stay ? 
 Could Wycherly, who knew that they had raised 
 up for him the counterpart of the one whom he 
 had lost, when her love and presence had been so 
 needful to his peace and happiness 1 No, those 
 dear friends must go their appointed way, carrying 
 with them the love and gratitude of those with 
 whom they had tarried, not as strangers, but as 
 most cherished friends. God will bless them, and 
 all such unselfish comforters 'of the mourner and 
 such loving counsellors of the motherless. Who 
 has needed comfort more than Wycherly? and 
 who may need counsel more than his daughter 
 Kate? 
 
 When Kate assumed her position as house- 
 keeper she soon became aware of the gravity of 
 her responsibilities, but the pretty blunders she 
 made were only a source of enjoyment to her
 
 98 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 father, and therefore she was not in the least 
 discouraged by her failures. Every day she was 
 more convinced that her father's chief happiness 
 was centred in herself, and the consciousness of 
 this great trust at times imparted a gravity to her 
 character which fitted her for the trials which 
 awaited her. For her father, and for him alone, 
 she resolved to live. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly was not insensible of his daughter's 
 devotion, although he had never contemplated the 
 matter as she had regarded it, and he sought by 
 every means in his power to make her life a 
 happy one. He denied her nothing which she 
 desired or which he thought she ought to desire, 
 indeed he seemed to live for her alone also, as she 
 had resolved to live for him, but without the pro- 
 bability of having to make the sacrifices which 
 her resolution might exact from her. 
 
 Kate was a capital horsewoman, and her father 
 mounted her so well that she often accompanied 
 him to the field and rode, if not so boldly as some 
 of our cotemporaries, at least as well as a young 
 lady ought to do. She was a great favourite with
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 99 
 
 the hunt, and might no doubt have led some gal- 
 lant Nimrod captive once and again, had she shown 
 the least indication that she was to be approached 
 successfully, but though she was a most agreeable 
 young lady to her general acquaintance, she 
 became rather repellant when any marked atten- 
 tion was addressed to her by the young men of 
 her acquaintance. Rural gentlemen are easily 
 discouraged, especially when a young lady is quick 
 witted and somewhat of an adept at administering 
 cold water. Kate Wycherly had her own reasons, 
 as we know, for avoiding any danger to her 
 affections, and she thought it quite possible to 
 confer all the love of her honest nature on 
 her father. But it has been said "Love grows 
 not at our will. It springs up in our hearts 
 like wayside flowers sown by the hand of 
 Heaven." 
 
 Upon one subject Kate was very disobedient to 
 her father's command. No, not exactly command, ' 
 but his very strongly expressed opinion. Wycherly 
 had not forgiven Jim Perks for keeping the 
 share he had had in the preparation of Jacob 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Sehvyn's will a secret from him, although he never 
 suspected him of any evil complicity with Hartley. 
 He brought himself to consider it a breach of 
 trust, a want of confidence as it were, which was 
 personally offensive. And when Jim left his 
 service and became the scapegrace we have known 
 him, Mr. Wycherly forbade him Old Court, and 
 prophesied that the gaol and he would soon 
 become acquainted. Kate, on the other hand, 
 remembered the kindly lad who had led her pony 
 about the pleasant lanes, and gathered for her 
 flowers and nuts as they went along, and had 
 always been to her the most willing of servants. 
 She believed that he had been led into error by 
 bad companions, and that he would — as he had 
 told her more than once — gladly return to his 
 former honest courses if any one would give him a 
 chance. Kate had mooted the question now and 
 then to her father, but Mr. Wycherly could be 
 very obstinate — he called it being firm — when 
 he had once formed an opinion. Decision, con- 
 sistency, and firmness are all fine qualities, no 
 question of that, but in the exercise of them good
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 101 
 
 men sometimes shunt off into pigheadedness and 
 unjustifiable perverseness. 
 
 One afternoon Kate was driving her little 
 pony attended only by a lad, such as Jim Perks 
 had been years before, when she saw her former 
 servant leaning listlessly over a gate by the road 
 side. The noise of the wheels made him look up, 
 and when he saw his once kind mistress approach- 
 ing, his pale cheeks — pale from the past night's 
 debauch — became flushed instantly, proving, Kate 
 thought, that all sense of shame had not died out 
 of him. 
 
 He touched his ragged hat, but did not move 
 otherwise. 
 
 Kate stopped her pony, and said, " I am sorry 
 to see you idle again, James Perks. You pro- 
 mised me you would try for work." 
 
 " And so I have done, miss," replied Jim, look- 
 ing down upon the ground as though he could not 
 bear to see the bright innocent face which he had 
 once regarded unabashed. " So I have done, miss. 
 I walked until I was foot-sore, but no one would 
 give me a job. I was knowed, they said, and
 
 102 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 nobody wanted such as me about their place. 
 So I must starve, I suppose, unless I do as master 
 told me I should — die in a gaol." 
 
 "David, get down and stand by the pony's 
 head," said Kate to her attendant, — " and Perks, 
 come you here." The poor vagabond fellow ap- 
 proached the carriage, his eyes still bent upon the 
 ground. 
 
 "Now tell me, James," said Kate, in a low 
 whisper, "what do you think will be the end 
 of this ? What will become of you % " 
 
 " God only knows, miss ! I see only one end. 
 I can't be expected to starve ; no one will give 
 me work, so I suppose I must " He paused 
 
 "Steal, you were about to say," said Kate. 
 " That will lead to the gaol and to punishment 
 of some kind or another." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 There was so much hopelessness conveyed in 
 that one word — spoken as it was in a voice that 
 came not from the sjoeaker's throat, but from his 
 heart, that Kate's pity overcame her recollection 
 of his misconduct, and she said, —
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 103 
 
 "James Perks, that must not be, if anything 
 
 can be done for you ? Can you suggest nothing ?" 
 
 Poor Jim paused before he replied. 
 
 " If I could get away — if I could get away from 
 this place — I mean from England altogether, and 
 go out to Americky, or the other places where 
 people are going to now, I might have a chance. 
 I'm sure I would try — ay, if I died I would." 
 
 " Then why don't you go, James \ " asked 
 Kate innocently ; but the question seemed so 
 unaccountable to the one to whom it was ad- 
 dressed, that he looked up into her face with eyes 
 of wonder. 
 
 " Why don't I go, miss ? It costs money, — a 
 power of money, and I haven't the price of a loaf ! 
 Clothes, too, some one to speak a good word for 
 me — I have nothing of the sort, miss." 
 
 Kate remained silent now that Jim had an- 
 swered her question. She would gladly have 
 made any personal sacrifice to have helped her 
 old servant ; but she reflected that it was her 
 father's money she should have to give, and she 
 knew how badly he thought of " that Jim Perks"
 
 104 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 who now stood tattered and torn — ay, and all 
 forlorn, beside her. 
 
 " I am sorry almost/' Kate said, " that I asked 
 such a question so inconsiderately, James, and the 
 more so, as I do not think I have the power to 
 help you to what really seems to be your only 
 chance of escape from a life of crime and degra- 
 dation. But — now mind you must not hope too 
 much from what I am about to say — I will try 
 what can be done with my father's consent." 
 
 Poor Jim sighed and shook his head when he 
 heard the condition on which help was promised. 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right to think I may 
 not be able to do what I would for you. But I 
 will try nevertheless. Come to Old Court to- 
 morrow. O yes, you may come, as I shall tell 
 my father of what we have now said, although I 
 cannot promise that he will take the same view 
 of your case as I do." She put a piece of silver 
 money into his hand, and David having resumed 
 his place by her side, drove away, leaving Jim 
 Perks dreaming of better things than a gaol. 
 
 He was not, however, to be lon^ in dreamland,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 105 
 
 for his name was called by a familiar voice — one 
 which jarred harshly upon his ear, now that his 
 thoughts had been attuned to Kate's kindly words. 
 
 "Jim! Jim Perks!" 
 
 The man who spoke was in a copse opposite, 
 and his whole appearance was as villanous as it 
 was dirty. 
 
 " I seed the young missus tip you, you lucky 
 beggar ! Come over here, there's a gap ayond, 
 and we'll wet the money at beer-shop." 
 
 " I ain't going drinking again to-day," replied 
 Jim. " I'd enough last night to last one to the 
 end of the week, and so had you, Bill." 
 
 " None of your preachments, Mr. Jim ; you're 
 alus so precious good after a sermin by her," re- 
 joined the tempter. " Come ! come ! just one 
 pint atween us, or I'll peach to Old Wycherly, 
 who likes you like pison." 
 
 Whether Jim thought of trouble to Kate, or 
 whether he was a weak man and fond of beer, ho 
 yielded without any further remonstrance, and 
 joined his companion. 
 
 The beer-shop was in a lane, and any one in
 
 106 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 ignorance of the character of the locality and the 
 proprietor, would have wondered how a living 
 was to be obtained by the sale of beer to the 
 household of the two cottages which stood beside 
 it. The guests indeed were few, but they were 
 the roaring boys of the neighbourhood, fellows 
 who worked but seldom and yet had plenty to 
 spend, thanks to the game laws, which make 
 game stealing such a profitable employment. 
 Men who rob hen-roosts are called thieves, and 
 those who purchase the plunder are stigmatised 
 and punished as receivers of stolen goods. 
 Your game jDilferer is called a poacher, and the 
 consumers of his filchings are not ashamed to 
 know that they have paid the wages of sin for 
 the gratification of their appetite. The common 
 thief is shunned by the honest of his own station. 
 The poacher commands a dangerous sympathy 
 and encouragement from those who consider the 
 temptations which full coverts present, preserved 
 only for a few hours' sport in the course of the 
 year, and regard the trespass as venial which puts 
 the price of a few long-tails into a poor man's
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 107 
 
 pocket. The sooner such false considerations are 
 ended the better for the poor man and the poor 
 man's friends. One poacher in a village does more 
 to demoralise his fellows, to crowd the beer-shop, 
 and in time the union or the hospital, than all 
 the other rustic delinquents, be their peccadilloes 
 what they may. Poacher has money to spend, 
 gotten all guess how ; punches any man's head 
 who calls him a thief; and roars himself hoarse 
 singing " The delight of a shiny night In the 
 season of the year." Mr. Legislator, if you would 
 do society a service make him a thief, just make 
 plundering a covert as degrading as robbing a 
 hen-roost. Treat the receivers, whether of eggs, 
 birds, or beasts, as you do the marine store- 
 keeper, when the black doll at his door is indica- 
 tive of the darkness of his doings within. 
 
 The one pint, as proposed by the friend of Jim 
 Perks, became two — and more ; the shiny night 
 was sung in full chorus ; and Kate's gift went 
 into the beer-shop-keeper's old stocking, which 
 contained his ill-gotten money, and was always 
 kept under his pillow for security.
 
 108 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Kate strove her best that night to interest her 
 father in behalf of the weak, the erring Jim 
 Perks, and it will never be known whether her 
 eloquence — her persuasiveness shook the firmness 
 of her father, but when Mr. Wycherly kissed her 
 before going to bed, he promised to think over 
 the matter by the morning. 
 
 The result of his cogitation was not revealed, 
 as the proceedings of Mr. Perks during the night 
 rendered all consideration for his future comfort 
 impossible ; and when Dewsbury, the keeper, 
 asked to see Mr. Wycherly at breakfast the next 
 morning, it was to announce that " they had took 
 Ginger Bill and Jim Perks in the Home Wood 
 last night with several wires in their pockets, and 
 a good deal of resistance." 
 
 Kate coloured as her father looked at her, 
 laughing derisively, and puzzled the keeper by 
 saying, " Mr. Perks wanted to emigrate. I'll do 
 my best to get him a berth on board one of her 
 Majesty's ships the first time he breaks a hedge- 
 stake over your head, Dewsbury." 
 
 Kate gave up her protege for a time. Only for
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 109 
 
 a time, as she was determined now to prove to 
 her dear, positive father, that Jim Perks was 
 more sinned against than sinning. 
 
 Is there not a fable called the Lion and the 
 Mouse ? And is not the moral found when the 
 weaker animal helps the stronger.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE HOME IN SUBURBAN SQUARE — BUSINESS IN 
 THE CITY WITH PHILCHER AND CO., AND A 
 PLEASANT DRIVE TO HOLLY LODGE. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley had, as we have seen, 
 effectually " sewn up his cousins " — to quote one 
 of his favourite expressions — and had thriven 
 wonderfully well on the money acquired by the 
 process, despite Mr. Wyche'rly's prognostications to 
 the contrary. True, the firm of Philcher & Co. had 
 figured rather fishily in more than two or three 
 bankrupts' accounts, and been compelled to hear 
 themselves accused of being the principal cause 
 of infinitesimal dividends, and much fraudulent 
 trading. But these slanders they outlived and 
 appeared to flourish under oppression — like the 
 chamomile, which improves by being trodden 
 upon. More than one envious (no doubt) rival
 
 LOVED AT LAST. Ill 
 
 warehouseman boldly averred, that their bad 
 reputation was necessary to their success — that 
 some day, they would prove too clever, and find 
 the hand of the law at their throats. Messrs. 
 Philcher & Co. had been known to talk of actions 
 for libel when such rumours had reached their 
 counting-house, but strong, no doubt, in their own 
 respectability, they were magnanimous enough to 
 " treat their maligners with silent contempt/' 
 
 To see Mr. Selwyn Hartley (the Co.) walk up 
 and down Gutter-lane (his warehouse was in that 
 locality), any one would have thought him the 
 best of citizens. His rosy, open face always 
 lighted up by a smile of self-satisfaction — if it 
 were assumed, he was a great actor — a free 
 jaunty step showed he earned no weight in his 
 bosom, but that his heart was as light as good- 
 ness could make it. His coat and hat, glossy as 
 a raven, whilst his drab Bedford cords were as 
 spotless as his own conscience should have been 
 to have justified his appearance of self-content. 
 His good-nature could not be questioned, as he 
 never resented or remembered any coolness of
 
 112 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 recognition, or jeering word from his trade-fellows, 
 but passed on with a nod and smile for all. True, 
 it was his habit to carry his hands in his 
 trowsers-pockets ; a peculiarity some maliciously 
 said, acquired from having his proffered civilities 
 slighted or rejected ; but he assigned a better 
 reason. " He liked a man," he would say, " who 
 could thrust his hands into his pockets and look 
 the whole world in the face." 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley could do that certainly, 
 and without winking — most birds of prey can 
 endure a strong light, and Mr. H. had devoured 
 the substance of many men. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley was a man of money, how- 
 ever, and had plenty of acquaintance, as there are 
 always people enough willing to accept the pos- 
 session of wealth as an assurance of respectability 
 and desirable companionship. His private house 
 in Suburban Square was flashily, though incon- 
 gruously furnished, and two or three times a year 
 its treasures were exhibited to rather a mixed 
 circle, assembled at what Mr. Hartley delighted 
 to call a " conversationee," and occasionally at a
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 113 
 
 dinner party, ranging from six to a dozen of his 
 business connexions, when the pastry-cook was 
 called in to provide indigestibles, and put the, at 
 other times, respectable household into confusion. 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley always gave champagne upon 
 those occasions, and as the liquid served out was 
 highly aerated and very fizzy, no one of the in- 
 experienced guests ever suspected it was of home 
 manufacture, procurable at a price so reasonable 
 that to mention it might possibly excite incre- 
 dulity. The port, the sherry, the claret, were 
 marvels of practical chemistry, as they not only 
 passed muster, but provoked frequent commen- 
 dation — until the next morning. Mr. Selwyn 
 Hartley's dinner-parties were distinguished by 
 the intensity of the headaches they conferred on 
 the convives who had partaken of them, "due," 
 the host said, "to the quantity of wine con- 
 sumed, to his great satisfaction, on every festive 
 occasion." 
 
 Mr. Hartley had a reserved seat on the omni- 
 bus, and was more liberal than was agreeable in 
 offering to his fellow-passengers a tasteless pre- 
 
 TOL. I. I
 
 114 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 paration of tobacco-leaves made in Houndsditch, 
 and which he persisted in calling cigars. He was 
 not easily abashed or offended, but the names of 
 his firm appearing very disadvantageously — if 
 not disreputably — in a bankruptcy case, the 
 banter and personalities became a shade or so 
 too strong, and Mr. Hartley, to the relief of the 
 other riders on the omnibus, resigned his seat, 
 "taking," as he expressed it — "his change out 
 of the party," by starting a red and yellow mail 
 phseton, drawn by a very clever cob, which he 
 had bought a bargain of an insolvent butcher 
 in want of a little ready money. From Subur- 
 ban Square to Gutter Lane, and from Gutter 
 Lane to Suburban Square was easy work enough 
 for the clever little cob, which had been accus- 
 tomed to do its day's work by two o'clock, a.m., 
 and .then go out at five on a pleasure excursion 
 with its master, the insolvent butcher, possibly 
 spending the evening some six or eight miles 
 from home, and returning when the dry skittle- 
 ground had lost its charms, or the parlour 
 company had been dispersed by the ' chimes at
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 115 
 
 midnight/ Therefore, Mr. Hartley determined, 
 that as idleness is the parent of vice — especially 
 in horses, he would occasionally, say once a week, 
 have a turn with the Surrey hounds. He could 
 ride very well, as his father had required a pony 
 to assist in his business of a country huckster or 
 tallyman, and Jacob, as he was then called, lost 
 no opportunity to acquire equestrian excellence, 
 even at the expense of the pony's wind and 
 knees. Jacob had received many a sound thrash- 
 ing for his love of equitation, but the pain 
 attendant upon detection added only to the 
 pleasure of the transgression, and the remem- 
 brance of former enjoyment determined him to 
 renew his acquaintance with the pig-skin, now 
 that he was his own master, and could afford it. 
 Nor was riding the only advantage he had derived 
 from the early opportunities of instruction which 
 he had enjoyed under his father's teaching. No. 
 The tallyman is the bane of many a poor man's 
 home, tempting the thoughtless wife to buy 
 worthless finery on credit, that appears to be 
 easy of payment, until the day of failure arrives. 
 
 i 2
 
 11G LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Then comes the compulsory summons to the 
 unsuspecting husband ; and strife, ill-will, and 
 future mistrust enter the once happy home. 
 Jacob had learned to regard such scenes as " only 
 matters of business," reckoning his father's profits 
 against the poor man's loss — and he indulged in 
 the same comfortable delusion when he was 
 selling himself wholesale to that Evil influ- 
 ence, whose name is never mentioned in good 
 society. 
 
 Selwyn Hartley joined the Surrey Hunt, the 
 meet being at Purley Downs, in the neighbourhood 
 of Croydon. His 'get up' had been rather 
 hurried, and presented a strange combination of 
 articles — the evening and the morning being both 
 represented. A black dress coat, a crimson velvet 
 waistcoat displaying a lace frill, were met by white 
 cord breeches and a pair of span new topboots of 
 coachman-like construction, and the only person 
 who was satisfied with the general effect was 
 Selwyn Hartley himself. Although the field of 
 i lie Surrey Hunt was eminently commercial, none 
 knew him ; but he rode about among the assem-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 117 
 
 bled horsemen smiling and staring everyone in 
 the face as though they were old acquaintance, and 
 the hounds and the country they hunted his 
 individual possessions. So, having set the beggar 
 on horseback, we will leave him for awhile, and 
 time will show whether he will make the tra- 
 ditional journey, taking his own line of country 
 for that purpose. 
 
 Of Selwyn Hartley's household we have said 
 little, except that Mrs. Hartley was a gentle- 
 minded woman, and that their children were 
 many and sickly. Death had been busy amongst 
 them during the twelve years which had passed 
 since Uncle Jacob's death, and a boy and a girl 
 were all that had been left to them. Selwyn bore 
 these bereavements like a stoic philosopher that 
 he was, and as the presence of his children had 
 afforded him no enjoyment, their death caused 
 him no sorrow. He came and went from what he 
 called ' his home ' with less thought or care for 
 those who should have made it the dearest spot of 
 earth, than he left or sought the dingy warehouse 
 near Gutter Lane. The few hospitalities which
 
 118 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 we have mentioned were practised to gratify his 
 own love of vulgar display, or to increase his 
 opportunities of gain from those he entertained. 
 Mrs. Hartley's pleasure or convenience were never 
 consulted, and though there were no positive acts 
 of violence exercised towards her, yet her whole 
 married life had been one of unsatisfied love and 
 unrecognised obedience. Selwyn Hartley loved, 
 nay, cared for no one but himself, not even for his 
 noble, high-spirited boy Cecil, who owed, no doubt, 
 the fine qualities he displayed to the absence of 
 all association with his father, and the teaching of 
 the excellent gentleman to whom his mother had 
 confided his education. 
 
 The visitations of death in his house, we have 
 said, made no change in Selwyn's selfish conduct 
 towards his wife ; and when he has returned and 
 found her weeping, like Rachel for her children, 
 he has only sought to frighten away — not soothe 
 her sorrow. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, my dear," he would say, 
 when some recent loss weighed heavily upon the 
 poor mother's heart and forced the tears from her
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 119 
 
 eyes. " I tell you what it is, if I can't come home 
 after a hard clay's work without finding you snivel- 
 ling and groaning over what can't be helped, I 
 shall vote myself change of scene and air, I can 
 tell you." 
 
 "Don't be cruel, Selwyn," she has answered. 
 " Think — it was my child : " 
 
 " My child ! Well, I like that uncommonly. 
 Our child I should fancy, considering I am its 
 father and at all the expense of doctor and under- 
 taker. What would become of my business, I 
 wonder, if I was to go fretting about the City and 
 looking the picture of misery that you do. And 
 this is your place of business, Rebecca — I expect 
 you to do your part at home, whilst I do mine 
 abroad." 
 
 " And I do, Selwyn ; indeed I strive to do," she 
 replied. " I have nursed night and day — I mean 
 I do strive to be cheerful, and remember who has 
 given and who has taken away." 
 
 " Very well — then be cheerful now, if you p] 
 You never were considered over lively or talkative, 
 but I'd rather have a little of your best than find
 
 120 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 nobody at home but the blue devils. You ought 
 to be happy — you've a capital house furnished 
 like a palace ; three pound a week for house- 
 keeping, and nothing to pay towards coals, wine, 
 or house rent. I've let you do as you like about 
 Cecil — you've sent him to a public school almost, 
 costing me one way or t'other nigh a hundred 
 a-year." 
 
 "And see what a bright fellow he has become," 
 said the mother, forgetting for a moment her dead 
 loved ones in the promise of her darling boy. 
 (t He will make a name in the world, whatever 
 may be his calling." 
 
 " He'll have a name in the ' London Directory,' 
 under the head of ' Commercial/ I hope, and I 
 don't care how soon he begins to qualify. I shan't 
 stand more than another half, so you had better 
 tell Dr. What's-his-name so when you see him." 
 
 " I am sure as you said yourself the other day, 
 Cecil is wasting no time," replied the mother, " as 
 lie is making friends of some of the sons of the first 
 merchants in the City." 
 
 "Do you think I should have let him been
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 121 
 
 there so long if I hadn't known that ? " said 
 Hartley, with a cunning chuckle. " No, old girl, 
 you may think yourself very clever, but I am a 
 shade or two cleverer where my interests are con- 
 cerned. I shall astonish you some day by the 
 use I mean to make of Cecil." 
 
 The anxious mother looked rather frightened at 
 this announcement, but as Selwyn had taken a 
 large bill-case from his pocket and began busying 
 himself with the contents, Mrs. Hartley feared to 
 press for further information as to her husband's 
 future plans, but rose silently and went into an 
 adjoining room, where her only remaining daughter 
 was asleep. Pale and fragile as the angels who 
 had preceded her, her slumber seemed to resemble 
 that which knows no waking so nearly, that her 
 mother's tears came fast as she bent over the little 
 couch. She strove in vain to restrain them, 
 fearing that she might be called to the cold 
 hearted man who, now busied only about his gains 
 or losses, was unconscious that a time would come 
 when all which he would know of earthly peace 
 or considerateness for himself would be associated
 
 122 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 with the love and tenderness of that sleeping 
 child. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley slept little during the succeeding 
 night, as she knew enough of her husband's cha- 
 racter not to anticipate much real advantage to 
 her darling Cecil, from any plan which the father 
 had devised for her son's future. Why did he 
 laugh when he told her of his concealed inten- 
 tions ? Why did he not at once make her 
 acquainted with them ? What terrible shadows 
 did her mother's love not conjure up throughout 
 that almost sleepless night, and all because a 
 father had promised to direct the future of a son. 
 
 Cecil Hartley was indeed deserving of all her 
 love — all her motherly anxiety. He was a fine 
 manly fellow for his age, nineteen nearly, and 
 possessed all those qualities which endear young 
 men to old and young. He was a great favourite 
 with nearly all his schoolfellows, and had laid the 
 seeds of one friendship at least which would grow 
 with succeeding years. 
 
 Frank Lockyer was the chosen one. The son 
 of a merchant of good standing in the city of
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 123 
 
 Loudon, he had received the nurture of a gentle- 
 man from his cradle, and as an only child, had 
 miraculously escaped being spoiled by indulgence. 
 He and Cecil had during the last two years spent 
 much of their vacation time together, although 
 Mr. Lockyer, the father, had discouraged any 
 intimacy with the elder Hartley, without having 
 any further reason for doing so, than the fact, 
 that no one with whom he was acquainted knew 
 of such a person. Had Mr. Lockyer given him- 
 self the trouble to make closer inquiries he might 
 possibly have thought less favourably of his son's 
 friend and schoolfellow, but Cecil was so unob- 
 jectionable in himself, indeed so desirable a com- 
 panion, that none but the most favourable opinions 
 were entertained of his family connections. 
 
 Selwyn Hartley became strangely liberal to his 
 son Cecil, allowing him a sufficient supply of 
 money, and an unlimited account with his tailor. 
 Nor did he seek to force his acquaintance upon 
 either of the Lockyers, being content, it seemed, 
 to have Cecil received into such an excellent con- 
 nection. Possibly he was worldly-wise enough to
 
 124 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 think that Philcher & Co. might not be considered 
 sufficiently well esteemed in the commercial world 
 to take their place with the merchant princes, or 
 even with those of the lower grade assigned to 
 Lockyer, Bland, & Company. 
 
 It was not until Cecil had left school that his 
 father began to make use of him, and there was 
 something original in his mode of doing so. Mr. 
 Hartley had continued to hunt occasionally with 
 the Surrey, and had picked up a few acquaintance 
 thereby. He had become some way remarkable 
 for his dandyfied appearance, being always dressed 
 point de vice, as though he was anxious to re- 
 move by his after completeness of attire any 
 unfavourable impression he might have created 
 by his first appearance. He bought a second 
 horse, and then presented the cob to Cecil with 
 a request that he would invite his young friend 
 Lockyer to accompany them to the next meet of 
 the Surrey. Both young men were delighted at 
 the proposal, and one round of the ladder, which 
 Mr. Hartley intended to mount by his son's help, 
 was gained. Frank Lockyer knew many of the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 125 
 
 men out, and as a matter of course introduced 
 his friend Cecil, whose own personal recommenda- 
 tions soon procured him a welcome from many 
 members of the Hunt. Mr. Selwyn Hartley kept 
 himself apart, evidently undesirous of intruding 
 upon a society which had treated him with 
 reserve and coolness ; but after two or three 
 meetings of a similar kind, introductions became 
 almost a matter of course, and Mr. Hartley was 
 hail fellow with many of the first men in the 
 City. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley had hardly any defined 
 notion of the use which he proposed to make of 
 the advantage to be derived from an improved 
 connection. Philcher had taken him into his 
 warehouse as a combination of clerk and errand- 
 boy. He had admitted him in due time to the 
 mysteries and rascalities of dealing in job lots. 
 He had shown him particular kindness and favour 
 by taking him into partnership, and now that 
 Philcher had grown old in commercial sins, and 
 since Uncle Jacob's legacies, he had delegated to 
 Mr. Hartley the more active management of the
 
 126 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 business. All these past considerations on the 
 part of the aged Philcher were no reasons why 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley should not throw the old 
 fellow overboard, and with him the reputation 
 of the more doubtful transactions in which they 
 had hitherto engaged, and with a new name and 
 new connections make a place for himself in the 
 City annals, and possibly become Lord Mayor of 
 London ! 
 
 Let us wipe our pen, and for a while leave such 
 shabby records. 
 
 Cecil had accepted an invitation to spend a 
 week with Frank Lockyer at Holly Lodge, near 
 Hilltown, and they had determined to proceed 
 thither in a light dog-cart belonging to Frank's 
 father, a horse being sent on from the Lodge 
 the day before to meet them mid-way on their 
 journey. No lighter hearts travelled the road 
 towards Hilltown that day, and their wheels as 
 they spun over the hard turnpike road, made 
 cadence to the pleasant voices of the young men. 
 A clear, brisk January day is just the time for
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 127 
 
 such a journey, more particularly when there has 
 been only a light frost any day for a week past, 
 and the hounds within an hour's ride of your 
 destination on the morrow. 
 
 Step along, good horse ! there are five miles of 
 straight road before you, then a gentle hill, at 
 whose summit stands a roadside inn renowned 
 the country round for good entertainment for 
 man and horse. Walk now, old fellow — walk 
 so that you may slake your drought shortly as 
 your masters will do, and when your sleek hide 
 has had a refreshing rub, you shall take your 
 feed. Whilst you are so pleasantly engaged, a 
 luncheon of sweet bread and cheese as rich as 
 butter, both worthy of the nappy ale which 
 accompanies them, will have placed you and your 
 masters on an equality of content. 
 
 Another seven miles, and the change was made 
 — the groom who had brought on the second horse 
 remaining behind to return home with the first 
 later in the evening. 
 
 Conversation between the two young men was 
 soon resumed.
 
 128 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " I hope you will like your horse to-morrow, 
 Cecil, as we shall hunt the best part of our 
 country if the wind keeps where it is," said 
 Frank. 
 
 "I am not very particular about my mount;' 
 replied Cecil, " so that he can gallop a little and 
 jump pretty well. I am not a first flight man, 
 as you know. We meet near your house, you 
 said?" 
 
 " Yes. A quiet hour's ride, at Old Court, and 
 Wycherly, who lives there, always gives a break- 
 fast, so we are ^sure of some jumping powder if 
 we feel nervous. We shall have some ladies out, I 
 have no doubt, as Miss Wycherly hunts, though 
 I have never seen her. She rides very well, they 
 say." 
 
 " I don't care to see ladies in the hunting-field," 
 said Cecil. " They are very ornamental at a meet, 
 but I am always so awfully afraid of their com- 
 ing to grief." 
 
 " That rarely happens," replied his friend, " as 
 they are generally well mounted and well 
 piloted. I don't know that I should hesitate to
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 1 29 
 
 marry a girl that hunted" — adding after a pause 
 — " but I shall never marry, I fancy." 
 
 " You not marry," cried Cecil, laughing aloud. 
 " No fellow more likely — why you are quite a 
 ladies' man, Frank." 
 
 " I don't deny the soft impeachment," replied 
 the other. " I like the society of women, pro- 
 vided they are not positively ugly, ill-tempered, 
 or too vain of their pretty faces and graceful 
 figures." 
 
 " Then why do you say you shall never marry ? 
 You are always making yourself agreeable to 
 some girl or the other ? " asked Cecil. 
 
 " True, I am partial to a little pleasant fooling, 
 I confess ; but my experience has shown me that 
 all girls are alike in the aggregate, and I have 
 never felt a preference for any." Frank Lockyer, 
 the speaker, had arrived at the mature age of 
 two-and-twenty. 
 
 " Your time will come some day, old boy," said 
 Cecil " You are too good a fellow to be a male 
 flirt, or a roue.' 
 
 " God forbid that I should be either," replied
 
 130 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Frank, very seriously. " I think a man who 
 trifles with a girl's affections the worst of scoun- 
 drels, and a roue is fool as well as villain, for 
 he excludes himself by his vices from the chiefest 
 blessing of life, the society of good women : no, 
 Cecil, I shall be neither a flirt nor a rout." 
 
 "I, know you won't, — you are much too good 
 a fellow to be either," said Cecil, patting his 
 friend's shoulder. " I shall live to be your best 
 man some day, rely upon it." 
 
 " If ever I want support on such a trying 
 but unlikely event, I shall remind you of what 
 you have said, my friend," replied Frank, with a 
 laugh. " It will only be a return for waiting 
 upon you on a like occasion." 
 
 "I don't know that," said Cecil. "I have 
 never given such a matter a thought, — my circle 
 of female acquaintance not presenting many 
 temptations to go wife-hunting." 
 
 The time may come when all this idle talk will 
 be remembered. 
 
 "Yonder is Old Court down in the bottom 
 there," said Frank.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 131 
 
 The setting winter sun had lighted up the 
 large latticed windows of Old Court, as at the 
 time when Jacob Selwyn received comfort from 
 the sight The road to the lodge then took a 
 turn, and when the young men looked again at 
 the old moated house the light was gone, and the 
 gables, and above them the surrounding trees, 
 showed darkly against the background of fiery 
 clouds. 
 
 Holly Lodge was reached at last, and the 
 young travellers were welcomed heartily. 
 
 K 2
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE HUNT BREAKFAST AT OLD COURT. — SOME- 
 THING ABOUT THE RUN, WHICH ENDED 
 WITH DINNER AT THE ROSEBUSH. 
 
 There were evidences of frost on the windows, 
 in the fields, on the trees, and housetops the next 
 morning, as though winter, like a vain widow, 
 would not dispense with her diamonds even in 
 her desolateness. Our young sportsmen might 
 therefore have despaired of their anticipated 
 enjoyment had not the sun come forth bright 
 and warm, promising to dispel the impediment 
 to their day's sport. Neither Cecil nor Frank 
 laid any restraint on their good appetites when 
 a substantial breakfast was placed before them, 
 intending to accept or refuse Mr. Wycherly's 
 hospitality according to circumstances. Old Mr. 
 Lockyer had some premonitions of gout and de-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 133 
 
 clined being of their party, as he had originally 
 intended, for although a Londoner, he had been 
 a keen sportsman throughout his life. When the 
 horses were brought to the door, and Cecil and 
 Frank mounted, looking two as likely fellows to 
 make their way across country as you would find 
 in broad England, Mr. Lockyer threw up his bed- 
 room window to wish them good morrow, and 
 give them his parting valediction ; adding — 
 
 " Now mind, Master Frank, you take care of 
 the horses. If you've a long run put up and give 
 them some gruel ; and mind, I don't wait one 
 minute after six for dinner. Mr. Cecil will ex- 
 cuse my saying so, — after that time you must 
 shift for yourselves. You'll not try to find before 
 twelve, and I don't think the scent will be good, 
 and hi ! don't blaze all over the country that 
 I've done something to my great toe ! " 
 
 The youngsters laughed, and waved their hands 
 in token of amicable relations with the high con- 
 tracting party, and rode on their way to Old 
 Court. The main road might have been a trifle 
 nearer, but there was a bridle way through the
 
 134 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 fields leading to Pemberton Wood, which was 
 much more tempting. The keen fresh air of 
 the morning was delicious, and the fine animals 
 which the young men rode, evidently conscious 
 of the coming enjoyment, showed their satis- 
 faction by tossing their heads and curvetting on 
 the sparkling turf, but settling after a while 
 into a quiet walk. 
 
 Taking one of the rides — the frost had yielded 
 to the sun-rays every here and there showing 
 patches of green — the young men indulged in a. 
 gentle trot, and the withered twigs blown from 
 the trees crackling beneath the horses' hoofs, dis- 
 turbed sundry pheasants which had ventured 
 from the underwood, and whose loud " cock-cock," 
 as they sought the shelter of the trees, made the 
 invading steeds prick up their ears, and gaze 
 about with large distended eyes. 
 
 "What a glorious morning," cried Cecil, un- 
 buttoning his coat and expanding his broad chest, 
 when they had pulled up on coming to a lane, 
 " I feel as though I could ride for my life on this 
 fine fellow, who seems as happy as I am ! I shall
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 135 
 
 remember my ride through that wood — what do 
 you call it ? H 
 
 " Pemberton Wood," replied Frank. 
 
 " I shall remember my ride through it as long 
 as I live." He did do so, and recalled all the 
 pleasurable emotions he had experienced long 
 after, when the world had dealt very hardly by 
 him. 
 
 At the end of the lane they were traversing was 
 the covert to be drawn later in the day, and they 
 took counsel together whether they should wait 
 then for the coming of the hounds or ride on to 
 Old Court, now distant about a mile-and-a-quarter. 
 
 u The meet is advertised for eleven," said Frank, 
 "but twelve will be nearer the time after this 
 frost. I vote for Old Court, as I should like to 
 have a close look at Miss Kate Wycherly and 
 the other Dianas." 
 
 " Old Court be it then," replied Cecil. " Yonder's 
 the house I suppose, and some one seems to have 
 been over this gap. Shall we follow our leader ? " 
 
 " All right," said Frank, and the horses hopping 
 through the gap were soon cantering away over
 
 136 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 the green sward of what had once been Old Court 
 Park, and which still retained something of its 
 past aristocratic appearance, although intersected 
 here and there by low hedges, whilst its 
 surface had been scored by the plough in 
 various directions, leaving, occasionally, a stately 
 tree still standing in the centre of some of the 
 fields. 
 
 The space of ground enclosed by the moat was 
 not large enough to accommodate the horses of all 
 comers, and the labourers and lads engaged to 
 take care of the hunters whilst breakfast was on, 
 had assembled in the home paddock, some of 
 them provided with horse cloths and sacks in case 
 such accommodation should be required for their 
 animals by any of the more careful visitors. 
 Several arrivals had already taken place, and Mr. 
 Wycherly was standing on the door steps giving a 
 hearty welcome to all comers. 
 
 Two horses with side saddles were on the lawn, 
 and as they were partially clothed and their legs 
 road-stained, it was evident that Miss Kate was 
 not to be the only lady out.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. VS7 
 
 " I hope the riders are pretty," said Frank in an 
 under tone to Cecil. 
 
 " Well — yes, they may as well have that advan- 
 tage," replied Cecil, not caring much about the 
 matter. 
 
 Frank was known slightly to Wycherly, and was 
 received with a hearty shake of the hand. 
 
 "Very glad to see you and your friend too," 
 said the hospitable host. "You'll find other 
 friends in the room to the right." And so the 
 young men entered the cave of Destiny. 
 
 At the upper end of the table the light from 
 the large window falling aslant upon her bright 
 face and glossy hair sat Kate Wycherly, chatting 
 and laughing merrily with two lady equestrians, 
 both of whom were plump and middle aged, as 
 though they had been selected as foils to her own 
 youth and — no, not beauty, not prettiness — the 
 right word is wanting. 
 
 She moved her head graciously to the new 
 comers, who returned her salutation and took their 
 places at the end of the table furthest from Kate. 
 You, reader, already surmise that the fate of those
 
 138 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 young people will become henceforth intermingled, 
 but they had no such foreboding. 
 
 No — Frank and Cecil had recovered a portion 
 of the appetite they had lost at the Lodge and 
 " did justice/' as it is called, to a cold pheasant, and 
 a jug of admirable October, nor were they singular 
 as the good things provided, grills and devils and 
 broils upon the centre table disappeared with 
 wonderful rapidity, nor was the rosy sirloin of 
 beef on the sideboard unregarded by those who 
 coming in with hands chilled by their ride, had 
 sought the great wood fire blazing in the large old 
 chimney, and been unable to resist the fascina- 
 tion of the national joint which stood beside it. 
 
 " Hark, papa ! " said Kate, rising, " there 's the 
 huntsman's horn ! " 
 
 " Hush, my dear," r replied Wycherly, smiling, 
 " you and I should be the last to hear it, or our 
 friends may think you want to save your break- 
 fast." 
 
 All the guests, however, applauded Miss 
 Wycherly's proper consideration for the real 
 business of the day, some with their mouths full,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 139 
 
 some murmuring in breakfast cups, or tankards, or 
 glasses as they hastened to finish their refection 
 and take the field. 
 
 The hounds and huntsmen were moving quietly 
 about the paddock where the Master was declar- 
 ing his devotion to Miss Wycherly in a glass of 
 Old Court-made cherry brandy, whilst the rest of 
 the field were making needful preparations by 
 tightening girths or mounting their horses. 
 
 " Tan-tan " from the huntsman and the whole 
 party were in motion, soon reaching the covert 
 before mentioned. The hounds were thrown in, 
 but the draw proving blank gave the two plump 
 horsewomen a longer ride with the gentlemen 
 then they had calculated upon, and when the next 
 covert yielded a fox their fair round faces had 
 become exceedingly rosy and their crisp ringlets 
 very much disordered. 
 
 " Away ! away S " but as we cannot keep pace 
 with Digby Grand, of Market Harborough, or 
 with him who led the way (but, alas ! will lead it 
 no more !) for Mr. Jorrocks, Soapey Sponge, Facey 
 Romford, and a large field besides, the run which
 
 140 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 ensued must be recorded in most unsportsmanlike 
 fashion. 
 
 Frank and Cecil soon separated when the 
 hounds got to work and the former found himself 
 not far away from his fair hostess, who had 
 obtained the lead of her father. Frank had taken 
 a low hedge and was looking towards Kate to see 
 how she got over when he noticed her horse 
 stumble after clearing the jump and pull up dead 
 lame. He rode towards her immediately with the 
 intention of offering assistance. 
 
 " Pray do not mind me, sir," she said smiling as 
 pleasantly as though the accident had produced 
 no disappointment whatever. " Pray keep on, sir, 
 my horse has stubbed himself, I fancy. Thanks, 
 but pray keep on. My father is here." 
 
 Frank bowed and obeyed her, but for some 
 reason or the other he was not satisfied with him- 
 self for doing so. 
 
 The scent was bad and the hounds soon came 
 to a check. While they were questing about 
 Mr. Wycherly rode up to Frank and thanked 
 him for his kindness in looking to Kate's mishap.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 141 
 
 " Stubbed her horse," said Wycherly'; " the little 
 puss would not keep with me or I could have told 
 her that the hedgers had been at work where she 
 was going. However," he continued, laughing, 
 " she has lost the run. Our keeper's cottage was 
 at the corner of the field, so I let her go there by 
 herself." 
 
 The hounds had picked up the scent again and 
 were off to music. Again it was lost ! Again 
 found and run until a kill. A second fox brought 
 the day's sport to an end, and as Frank and Cecil 
 had kept with the hounds — Mr. Wycherly had 
 gone home after the first kill — they found them- 
 selves about eight miles from Holly Lodge, and 
 on the further side of Hilltown which they had 
 ringed round almost in the course of the day. 
 
 " No dinner at home to-day," said Frank, look- 
 ing at his watch, " so the sooner we find other 
 quarters the better. There 's a capital little public 
 about a quarter of a mile on, where we can make 
 sure of something well-cooked and cleanly served. 
 I think we had better jog on in case any one fore- 
 stalls us."
 
 142 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 So swinging away gently to suit their tired 
 horses the two friends made way to " The Rose- 
 bush," whose picturesque outside and clean white 
 curtains within, were enough to invite the favour- 
 able opinion of the wayfarer. 
 
 Nor did the Rosebush by Hester Masham belie 
 its outward promise. When Peter Masham died, 
 leaving little to his widow after payment of his 
 creditors, Mr. Wycherly, remembering the help- 
 lessness of the playmate of his daughter Kate 
 and indignant at the conduct of the fortunate 
 legatee Hartley, assisted Mrs. Masham to gather 
 together the wreck of her husband's property, 
 and having, as he said, a few idle pounds himself, 
 bought the Rosebush Inn, and induced Hester to 
 become its tenant. Her previous experience fitted 
 her for such employment, but there were diffi- 
 culties in the way of her acceptance of it, arising 
 entirely from her consideration for her daughter 
 Ruth. Mrs. Masham knew, she said/ how slight- 
 ingly many people regarded a young girl who was 
 placed as she herself had been, and how frequently 
 that position had been rendered painful, even to
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 143 
 
 her, who had a bold spirit and not much refine- 
 ment of character, by the inconsiderateness, to use 
 the mildest term, of those with whom she was 
 compelled to come in contact. Ruth was too 
 gentle, too sensitive, for such exposure, and any 
 other means of providing for their mutual re- 
 quirements would be more acceptable to both of 
 them. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly at once admitted the force of this 
 objection, but suggested an alternative. Ruth 
 should keep a school, and thus be spared the 
 necessity for assisting her mother, whilst she 
 would have the satisfaction of bearing her own 
 burthen, in part, at least. So Mrs. Masham be- 
 came mistress of the Rosebush, and a small school- 
 room was built in the garden for Ruth ; and by 
 Mr. Wycherly *s aid and countenance, a fair 
 number of scholars were also secured. 
 
 The Rosebush ignored anything so vulgar as 
 " a tap," but the parlour was the rendezvous of 
 the neighbouring farmers and others who had 
 known Peter. There was a capital trout stream 
 close at hand, and the fishing was obtained for
 
 144 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 visitors to the Rosebush, which soon became very 
 popular with the professors of the gentle craft ; 
 for however disappointing the day's sport might 
 have been, there was always a certainty of com- 
 fort and good cheer to make amends for it. There 
 was also a well kept bowling-green, surrounded by 
 cosy arbours, and in summer-time the holiday- 
 makers from Hilltown were numerous and con- 
 stant. Mrs. Masham contrived, therefore, to 
 make both ends meet, if she did not lay by any 
 large amount of profits for her darling daughter 
 Ruth. The comely matron, it was said, might 
 have relieved herself from her responsibilities had 
 she been so minded, but Hester appeared to have 
 had a sufficient experience of matrimony, and was 
 content to devote herself to the interests of her 
 child. 
 
 Frank Lockyer had made more than one pre- 
 vious visit to the Rosebush. He had heard 
 Ruth playing on the piano — part of the salvage 
 of the family wreck — and highly commend- 
 ing the performance had won sufficiently upon 
 Hester to obtain an introduction into the little
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 145 
 
 sanctum behind the bar. He was struck by 
 the taste and neatness with which the room was 
 arranged, and surprised to find in Ruth the evi- 
 dence of her gentle nurture, and the absence of 
 gaiccherie and ill-bred embarrassment, although 
 she was perfectly quiet and unassuming. Frank 
 was himself a very fair musician, and having had 
 opportunities of hearing the best public exponents 
 he had made his short casual visits exceedingly 
 interesting to Ruth by several additions to her 
 stock of musical knowledge. Mrs. Masham, there- 
 fore, received him and Cecil with even more than 
 her usual courtesy, and whilst the young men 
 were occupied in seeing their tired horses pro- 
 perly cared for, she prepared an excellent dinner, 
 to which her guests brought hunters' appetites. 
 When their meal was ended, Cecil said, "Your 
 confidence in the Rosebush was not misplaced. I 
 never made a better dinner in my life." 
 
 " I'm glad of that. • Mrs. Masham is no ordi- 
 nary person, I assure you. She is the widow of 
 a brewer, and formerly lived at Hilltown in a 
 good position. She has a very pretty, amiable 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 daughter that she keeps out of the business, and 
 to whom I have had the pleasure of an intro- 
 duction." 
 
 "Of course, Frank," said Cecil, demurely. 
 " You are a ladies' man, you know." 
 
 Frank then told Cecil how he had become 
 known to Ruth, and what a pleasant intimacy 
 had grown up between them, although many 
 weeks had intervened between each of his visits. 
 
 " I have no doubt that Miss Masham would 
 give us an audience this evening if the queen 
 mother is graciously disposed. I'll see," said 
 Frank. He left the room, and soon returned 
 again, to say that his embassy had been suc- 
 cessful, and that they were to be presented 
 accordingly. 
 
 Cecil thought he had never seen a gentler face 
 than Ruth's, or listened to a sweeter voice than 
 hers, as she sang a simple ballad which Frank 
 had given her on a former visit ; and he did not 
 wonder at the mother's pride beaming from 
 Hester's eyes as she listened to her daughter's 
 song, and observed the admiration the singer ex-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 147 
 
 cited. Cecil little thought how nearly allied his 
 father had been to the buxom hostess, and how 
 widely separated now by his father's act and deed 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley had found it convenient to 
 forget Hilltown, and all those connected with it, 
 and had forbidden Mrs. Hartley to make the most 
 distant allusion to them. 
 
 " I desire," he said, one day, " I desire that you 
 never mention that detestable place, and my most 
 ungrateful relatives. I wish to forget them. To 
 sweep them from the surface of my remembrance 
 clean ! " and he passed the palms of his hands 
 over each other, suiting the action to the word. 
 
 No wonder he desired to forget Hilltown and 
 all its associations, but in what the ingratitude of 
 his poor ruined cousins consisted it would have 
 puzzled a conjuror to discover. Mrs. Hartley 
 never disputed or disobeyed any command of her 
 husband, and Cecil, therefore had grown up in 
 perfect ignorance of his father's kindred and 
 former connection with Hilltown, or he might 
 perhaps, had he known Ruth's claims upon his 
 consideration, referred to the conversation which
 
 148 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 he and Frank had held together on their way- 
 down to the Lodge. Frank was certainly making 
 himself very agreeable to pretty, gentle Ruth, 
 and doubtless without any evil intention. Is 
 there not an old Italian story of a careless lover 
 presenting his dear mistress with a rose? The 
 flower had been poisoned by mistake ; and — there 
 is some such legend. 
 
 The cuckoo-clock sang eight as the two friends 
 mounted for their homeward ride, both taking a 
 respectful leave of their entertainer, as though no 
 pecuniary ceremony had passed between them. 
 The moon was at the full, and the rime on tree 
 and grass glittered like fairy gems. The cottage 
 windows, ruddy from the fires within, contrasted 
 cheerfully with the moonlight and the myriads of 
 stars visible in the heavens. The young men 
 trotted on, so long as their way was on the 
 turnpike-road, and the clear, sharp ring of their 
 horses' feet announced that Jack Frost had been 
 road-making since the sun had gone down, and 
 promised to continue his work until stream and 
 lake would bear also.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 149 
 
 The two friends had intended to have kept the 
 high road all the way home, but the appearance 
 of the ride through Pemberton Wood was too at- 
 tractive to be avoided. Here and there the dark 
 shadows of the trees meeting overhead changed 
 the frosted turf into the softest grey, harmo- 
 nising, as does all nature-work, with the silver 
 patches thrown down by the moon through every 
 break in the vista. 
 
 The horses' feet fell noiselessly upon the turf, 
 and the riders were silent from admiration, neither 
 dreaming that the prologue to the drama of their 
 lives had been spoken, although they had heard it 
 not. 
 
 After a while the horses pricked forward their 
 ears, their quick sense of hearing having been 
 disturbed by some sound unheeded by their 
 masters. The flash of a gun, the noise of a falling 
 substance dropping from bough to bough, ex- 
 plained the cause of their disturbance. Both 
 horses started, and would have turned round had 
 not the skill of their riders controlled them. 
 Before they had done so, Cecil saw by the flash
 
 150 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 of the discharged gun the face of the man who 
 had fired it, so strongly illuminated that every 
 feature was more distinctly shown than it would 
 have been in the broad daylight. So strong was 
 the impression made upon Cecil that when his 
 horse was quieted he looked in the direction 
 whence the shot had been fired, expecting almost 
 to see the face still lighted up with such remark- 
 able distinctness. It was gone, however, the 
 cracking of branches far in the wood told in what 
 direction. 
 
 "One of those rascally poachers," said Frank. 
 * This neighbourhood is infested by them. I should 
 have liked to have surprised the fellow, and laid 
 my crop about his shoulders." 
 
 " I could swear to the fellow's face among a 
 thousand," said Cecil. " I can see it now as dis- 
 tinctly as I see the moon." 
 
 " See it ? How could you see it ? " asked 
 Frank in surprise. 
 
 " The fire from the gun — I fancy it must have 
 been a flint-lock — showed me every feature of the 
 man's face. It seemed like a fiery mask among.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 151 
 
 the dark bushes. The effect was most extraordi- 
 nary and striking," replied Cecil. 
 
 " I trust your recollection will hold good should 
 we come across the vagabond. I detest a poacher 
 almost as much as I despise those who encourage 
 him," said Frank. 
 
 Cecil's recollection of that face did hold good, 
 although years, and many joys and sorrows had 
 mingled their memories with it. 
 
 Mr. Lockyer had become rather impatient for 
 the return of the young sportsmen, not that he 
 had any anxiety concerning them or their horses ; 
 but the gout — that is, the pain in his toe — was 
 becoming less intermittent, and he wanted to go 
 to bed ; but, as the old soldier 
 
 " shouldered his crutch 
 
 And showed how fields were won," 
 
 so nothing is more pleasant to an old foxhunter 
 than to talk over a good run, even if he has not 
 had the felicity of being present. Therefore Mr. 
 Lockyer became impatient for the return of his 
 son and his guest, and was rewarded at last by the
 
 152 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 full, true, and particular account of the proceed- 
 ings of the day, from the breakfast at Old Court 
 to the dinner at the Rosebush, although it must 
 be recorded that no mention was made either by 
 Frank or Cecil of the charming little singer and 
 the charming little concert which had closed the 
 evening entertainment at Mrs. Masham's. 
 
 The poacher would have been a grand incident 
 in their narrative, but as Frank knew that the 
 mention of it would irritate his good father, and 
 perhaps tend to develope the pain in his toe, he 
 had arranged with Cecil to say nothing about it 
 until Mr. Lockyer was again on horseback, in his 
 town-made boots, which were cut to such accu- 
 racy of fit that they would not have admitted the 
 obtrusion of a seedling bunion. Mr. Lockyer had 
 been so much interested by the conversation of 
 the young men, that in acknowledgment, he 
 kindly related the particulars of certain long- 
 winded runs in which he had borne a conspicuous 
 part — as Frank had heard a hundred times before. 
 From a sense of filial duty, however, the younger 
 sportsman endeavoured to follow the elder through-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 153 
 
 out a tremendous day with the H. H., and Cecil, 
 grateful for the hospitalities of Holly Lodge, tried 
 to keep in their company ; but tired nature 
 would have way, and the two young men fell 
 asleep at the moment when Mr. Lockyer's mare, 
 taking a brook in her stride, landed him first at 
 the finish, and — 
 
 " The rest was silence." 
 
 When Frank and Cecil awoke they found the 
 fire had gone out, and conjectured that Mr. 
 Lockyer had retired to bed in dudgeon, as the 
 liqueur-case and cigar-box had been removed and 
 locked up in the sideboard.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE FROST, AND WHAT CAME OF IT AT OLD 
 COURT AND THE ROSEBUSH INN. 
 
 Jack Frost had continued to be busy through- 
 out the night, covering the window-panes with 
 fantastic crystal-work, hardening the roads with 
 his cold breath, and bridging over the streams 
 and ponds with ice. He never rested for the 
 succeeding four days and nights, and all hope of 
 another day with the hounds was over for the 
 time present. Frank and Cecil amused thenar 
 selves as well as they could — shooting a little, 
 skating a little, and smoking a great deal more 
 than was good for them. 
 
 On the afternoon of the fourth day, Mr. Wych- 
 erly's groom arrived at the Lodge with a letter 
 from his master. It was dated from Old Court 
 and ran thus —
 
 loved at last. 155 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 "As the frost seems likely to hold for 
 some time, and as hunting is at an end till it 
 breaks, we propose to-morrow to have a frolic on 
 our lake, and if you and your young friend will 
 join our party, we shall be delighted to see you. 
 Luncheon at two o'clock, and other refreshments 
 from daylight till dark. 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Herbert Wycherlt." 
 
 A more acceptable proposal could not have 
 been made to two weather-bound young fellows 
 with more animal spirits than they could manage 
 to expend upon 'each other, and the invitation 
 was answered accordingly, and by good time in 
 the morning they were on their road to Old 
 Court. 
 
 As they drew near to the house, it was evident 
 that there was to be a large gathering of frozen- 
 in neighbours, and the stables, barns, and sheds 
 down at the homestead were nearly filled with 
 the horses of the assembled visitors. A rude
 
 156 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 shanty had been constructed with hurdles and 
 rick-cloths on the margin of the lake, wherein 
 some of the servants of the house dispensed tea 
 and coffee, or even more stimulating beverages. 
 There were several skaters displaying their ac- 
 complishments to the ladies on the ice and on the 
 banks, whilst others were sliding or giving support 
 to some fair damsel more venturesome than her 
 companions. Mr. Wycherly was master of the 
 ceremonies, and adding to the general merriment 
 by his awkward attempts to skate, keeping his 
 daughter Kate in a continual state of interesting 
 alarm for his safety. Cecil and Frank were ex- 
 cellent skaters, and, after paying their respects to 
 Miss Wycherly and her father, became the most 
 conspicuous among the performers on the ice. 
 Some very clever feat of Cecil's obtained the 
 unrestrained applause of the ladies, which he 
 acknowledged by a graceful bow, as in duty 
 bound. Having stopped opposite to Kate Wych- 
 erly, he inquired if she would venture to take an 
 initiatory lesson, but his offer was declined with a 
 merry laugh.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 157 
 
 " I should never have courage to make the 
 attempt, especially before such an assemblage as 
 the present. Papa is making himself sufficiently 
 ridiculous for both of us/' she said. 
 
 " I assure you it is very easy of performance, or 
 I should not have been so fortunate as to have 
 met with approval," replied Cecil. " I am a very- 
 clumsy fellow, I assure you." 
 
 "Ah! now you are asking for a compliment," 
 said Kate. "We are all country bred at Old 
 Court, and do not practise that accomplishment. 
 I hope you are not tired ? " 
 
 " Not in the least," answered Cecil, not taking 
 the hint to continue his skating. " I wish I could 
 persuade you to make an attempt. But stay — 
 what is that yonder ? A sledge, I declare ! I 
 shall be most happy to put it to use." And so 
 saying, he skated away towards an improvised 
 sleigh — a large arm-chair, to which had been 
 attached two rude rockers, the work of the village 
 wheelwright. 
 
 Cecil soon returned to the assembled group, 
 pushing before him his new acquisition, and was
 
 158 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 surprised to see Miss Wycherly tenderly em- 
 bracing Ruth Masham. 
 
 Cecil recognised the lady of the "Rosebush" 
 with a bow, and received a bashful smile and 
 curtsey in return. Kate's quick eye noticed in- 
 stantly what was passing, and Cecil saw that Ruth 
 was explaining how they had gained knowledge 
 of each other. 
 
 " Now, ladies," said Cecil, " I am waiting for a 
 volunteer. I will promise to conduct you in 
 perfect safety, and with the speed of a reindeer." 
 
 " A volunteer ! A volunteer ! " shouted all the 
 pretty lips at once, but none ventured to accept 
 the invitation. 
 
 " I will devote myself," said Kate, after a while, 
 " if you will all promise to follow your leader." 
 
 " Yes, all ! all ! " sang the chorus ; and Cecil 
 was likely to have sufficient employment if " all " 
 kept their engagements. 
 
 Kate was duly installed in the chair, and 
 wrapped about with cloaks and shawls ; affecting 
 the utmost courage even if she felt any mistrust 
 for her safety. She needed not to have been the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 159 
 
 least alarmed, as Cecil was a skilful skater, and 
 they went whirling over the ice to the admiration 
 of the ladies and the envy of the gentlemen, who 
 thought the stranger from London was cutting 
 them out in all ways. 
 
 When the further end of the lake had been 
 reached, and Cecil paused to recover his breath a 
 little, Kate looked up at him over her shoulder, 
 and said in her sweetest tones : 
 
 " Oh how very delightful ! I often imagined the 
 pleasure birds must have in skimming through 
 the air, and I am sure I have experienced some 
 of the sensations of flying. I am afraid you must 
 be tired." 
 
 " Not in the least — only a little out of breath, I 
 assure you/' replied Cecil. 
 
 " You know my dear friend Ruth Masham, do 
 you not ? " asked Kate, rather abruptly. 
 
 " Very slightly. I was introduced to her by my 
 friend Lockyer at her mother's house on the even- 
 ing of that capital run — when you had the misfor- 
 tune to lame your horse." 
 
 " Oh, were you out on that day ? " said Kate, her
 
 160 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 face, rosy as it had been before, growing rosier 
 from a blush. "Your friend Mr. Lockyer has 
 been very kind to Ruth, has he not ?" 
 
 " I fancy he has lent her some music — nothing 
 more," replied Cecil. 
 
 " Several times, I think. Ruth is a dear, gentle 
 girl, and very grateful — too grateful sometimes 
 for the smallest kindness," adding, after a very 
 brief pause, "which I have shown her. Are you 
 sufficiently recovered to resume your self-imposed 
 task ?" 
 
 Cecil was quite recovered, and back he sped 
 with the sleigh, to the delight of the ladies. 
 
 Cecil found his sleigh getting rather too popu- 
 lar, and he resigned it for a time to Frank, who 
 considerately came to his rescue. Mr. Wycherly 
 was greatly delighted that his notion had proved 
 such a success ; and when Ruth Masham posi- 
 tively declined to take her turn under Frank's 
 pilotage, he volunteered to be her propeller, and 
 came to grief accordingly when she had assented 
 to his proposal. 
 
 The exhibition of a white tlao at the Hall door
 
 LOVED AT LAST. lf)l 
 
 announced that luncheon was ready ; and to re- 
 ward the gallant exertions of Cecil, Kate was 
 confided to him, whilst Frank had charge of 
 pretty Ruth, Mr. Wycherly foregoing his own 
 claims to her arm, as he was always her cavalier 
 whenever she visited Old Court. And so the 
 merry party returned to the house, and enjoyed 
 the hospitality prepared for them. Most of the 
 ladies then took their departure, and the few 
 gentlemen who remained sauntered about, chat- 
 ting and smoking their cigars, more than one 
 asking Wycherly the name of his new friend. 
 
 " He came with young Lockyer," replied Wych- 
 erly, " and I fancy his name is Mr. Cecil." 
 
 "That may be his Christian name;' observed 
 one. 
 
 "Yes — it may. I'll ask Lockyer," replied 
 Wycherly, going to Frank. 
 
 " Well, sir, we've had a pleasant day, and I am 
 much indebted to you and your friend Mr. Cecil — 
 Am I right in calling him so ? " 
 
 " Partly," replied Frank, smiling. " His name 
 is Cecil Hartley." 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " Hartley ! " said Wycherly, abruptly. " He is 
 not any connection, I hope, of Jacob Hartley ' 
 
 " I should say not," answered Frank. " His 
 father's name is Selwyn Hartley — a merchant in 
 London," replied Frank. 
 
 " A great scoundrel, wherever he lives," said 
 Wycherly, sharply. 
 
 "Mr. Wycherly, that is a very offensive term 
 to apply to my friend's father," replied Frank, 
 warmly. 
 
 "It is, and I ought not to have used it in 
 your hearing, Mr. Lockyer," said Wycherly ; " but 
 I have known so much bad of that man — -seen so 
 much misery caused by him to others — that my 
 indignation got the better of my courtesy. Do 
 you know this — father ? " 
 
 " Very slightly, sir," replied Frank, coldly. 
 " Cecil I do know most intimately, and a more 
 noble, generous, warm-hearted fellow does not 
 live. I am sorry to have heard what you have 
 said of his father." 
 
 "And I am sorry to have said it, as it 
 has given you pain. I think it right to
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 163 
 
 myself to give you some reason for my indig- 
 nation." 
 
 " I would rather hear nothing which Cecil 
 should not hear also," replied Frank. 
 
 " Nor shall you. You may repeat all that I 
 say at Hilltown market-place. I will merely 
 state certain facts which are known to every 
 one who has lived in this neighbourhood a few 
 years, and you can then judge for yourself." 
 
 Wycherly then, as briefly as he could, told the 
 story of Jacob Selwyn's will, which had done so 
 much injustice to Peter Masham and Jeffery 
 Garrett; and Frank was compelled to acknow- 
 ledge to himself that Mr. Selwyn Hartley's con- 
 duct was remarkably fishy. He said, however, 
 
 " I can say nothing in justification of Mr. 
 Hartley's harsh treatment of his cousins. I am 
 sorry to hear that he was capable of such — of 
 such -" 
 
 "Cold-blooded, grasping conduct," said Wy- 
 cherly, filling up the sentence. 
 
 " Of such conduct," repeated Frank ; " and none 
 would coincide in my opinion more than my 
 
 M 2
 
 164 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 friend Cecil. No two persons can be more op- 
 posite in character than Cecil and his father. I 
 am sorry to have been the means of introducing 
 him to you, Mr. Wycherly, who ■-" 
 
 " No, no ! " interrupted Wycherly. " I beg you 
 will not think that I am prejudiced against the 
 son on account of his bad father. I like your 
 friend exceedingly, and shall always be glad to 
 meet him here or elsewhere." 
 
 Mr. Wycherly did not know himself when he 
 said this. He did not know how obstinate he 
 was in his dislikes ; how unreasonable he was in 
 his prejudices ; or how he should always associate 
 the evil he remembered of the father with his 
 estimate of the unoffending son. Wycherly's was 
 an honest nature, and could ill conceal what was 
 uppermost in his thoughts, and for the rest of 
 their short stay at Old Court, he appeared to 
 avoid Cecil, and certainly parted from him with a 
 coolness which could not be unnoticed by either 
 of the friends. They had not proceeded far on 
 their homeward journey — both having been silent 
 for some time — when Cecil asked a question which
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 165 
 
 Frank had anticipated he would ask from the 
 time they had left Old Court. 
 
 " What was the matter with Mr. Wycherly ? I 
 mean what was the reason for his sudden change 
 of manners towards us — at least towards me ? He 
 was almost rude when we parted." 
 
 Frank did not know how to reply. He was 
 too ingenuous to practise dissimulation, and he 
 loved his friend too much to give him pain. His 
 silence was more than confirmatory that some- 
 thing had passed which affected Cecil. 
 
 " Frank, my friend, something has been said 
 which you do not care to repeat to me. I cannot 
 understand why you should hesitate to do so. 
 Mr. Wycherly and you were talking some time 
 together after lunch. Was I the subject of your 
 conversation ?" 
 
 What could Frank say but " Yes. I mean 
 you were incidentally alluded to." 
 
 " And to my prejudice ? If so, I know that I 
 was not permitted to be wronged in any way, as 
 you were the listener. What was said ? " 
 
 " My dear Cecil, I feel that I ought not longer
 
 166 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 to keep silent, as you would imagine that some- 
 thing worse had passed between us than really 
 has been the case. I should not have hesitated 
 a moment had you alone been the subject of 
 any misrepresentation, — if any misconception had 
 been formed respecting yourself, because I be- 
 lieve you incapable of wrong ; but as another was 
 concerned, and that other your father, I could 
 have wished to have been spared repeating what 
 I have heard." 
 
 Cecil repeated the words " My father ! my 
 father ! " in a low thoughtful tone, and then 
 after a pause painful to both, added, " Ought 
 T to ask you to say more ? Is it anything 
 which will create an unfilial feeling towards my 
 father?" 
 
 Frank was again silent. 
 
 " I must .know," cried Cecil. " I feel that I 
 shall imagine some act — some conduct which, I 
 trust, must be more censurable than the reality. 
 Do not hesitate. I will confess to you" — his 
 voice was now hoarse and low — " that I shall not 
 be shocked — perhaps not surprised — to learn that
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 167 
 
 he has practised some clever trickery to gain 
 a desired end, for I have heard him .call cer- 
 tain actions cleverness when I could have found 
 a harder name for them. You can now speak 
 freely, Frank." 
 
 Frank yielded at once, and recapitulated all 
 that he had learned from Wycherly. 
 
 " It is a sad, miserable story," Cecil said, when 
 his friend had finished, " and partakes largely of 
 the cleverness of which I spoke just now. Let 
 me ask this. Did Wycherly infer that anything 
 wrong had been done about the will ? I mean 
 any other wrong than the use Mr. Hartley 
 had made of his influence with his uncle to 
 obtain the portions intended at one time for his 
 cousins ? " 
 
 " No, not exactly ; certainly not in direct 
 terms," replied Frank. 
 
 Cecil burst into tears ; but whether they were 
 caused by his joy that such an accusation had not 
 been made, or sorrow that such an imputation 
 was not quite withheld, who can say ? 
 
 Frank left Cecil undisturbed to the relief his
 
 1G8 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 tears afforded him, and neither spoke again until 
 they entered the ride in Pemberton Wood. 
 
 " And so," said Cecil, " although I cannot 
 positively claim kindred with our friends at the 
 ' Rosebush,' I might, had circumstances turned out 
 differently, have called Mrs. Masham aunt, and 
 pretty, gentle Ruth my dear cousin." 
 
 " Yes ; so it seems," replied Frank. 
 
 " Frank, old fellow, you must let me ride or 
 drive over to them to-morrow, alone, if you please. 
 I must tell them who I am, and learn something 
 more of this shabby story than you or Mr. 
 Wy cherry care to tell me. My poor mother" — he 
 had to pause awhile — " My poor mother must have 
 known somewhat of this matter, and have had her 
 gentle spirit wounded deeply by it. Since I could 
 observe and reflect upon what I saw, I have felt 
 what a martyrdom her life has been. I wanted 
 only this knowledge to determine me as to my 
 future course. We will talk no more of this at 
 present, as I wish to carry a cheerful face, if not 
 a light heart, into your father's house." 
 
 The two friends grasped each other's hands,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 169 
 
 and vowed silently to be as Saul and Jonathan 
 had been in the old time, and that no strife 
 should ever come between them. 
 
 Frank was surprised in the morning to find 
 Cecil more talkative than he had ever known 
 him, although the hectic flush upon his cheek and 
 his feverish lip told how restlessly the night had 
 been passed. 
 
 When the horses were brought to the door, 
 Mr. Lockyer, made envious by his gout, compli- 
 mented the young men on their hardihood and 
 disregard of the biting cold, promising to use 
 his influence to procure them appointments in 
 the next Arctic expedition, should another ever 
 be projected. Little did he think how one brain 
 throbbed and burned, — how one heart was beat- 
 ing its wholesome blood into a feverish stream 
 which neither snow, nor ice, nor frost could cool 
 into the calm and equal Aoav of the preceding 
 morning. 
 
 Frank felt too much for Cecil's distress to 
 care for anything but its alleviation, and he 
 had insisted upon accompanying him on his way
 
 170 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 to the " Rosebush," and then to wait his return at 
 Hilltown. To that friendly arrangement Cecil at 
 first demurred, as he felt that his own excited 
 thoughts would occupy him too much to admit 
 of any other companionship ; but Frank would 
 not be denied, and urged that Cecil's absence 
 without him would cause surprise if it did not 
 provoke inquiry at home. 
 
 The two friends parted in silence when they 
 had reached the point of the road at which their 
 separation was to take place, but each read in the 
 other's face the anxious thoughts which oppressed 
 them. 
 
 Cecil rode straight to the stables of the inn, 
 and having seen that his horse would be cared for, 
 slowly made his way to the front door, which he 
 had entered and left so lately with a light and 
 happy heart. 
 
 Mrs. Masham received him in her usual urbane 
 manner ; but Cecil strove in vain to meet her 
 without a strong feeling of restraint, believing 
 that she knew so much to his father's discredit, 
 that when he should reveal to her his name,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 171 
 
 some undefined dishonour would cling to him 
 also. Mrs. Masham was rather embarrassed by 
 this change in Cecil, and placed it to the account 
 of the young man's rejection of any approach 
 to familiarity in a person of her condition, and 
 she was about to summon the parlour-maid to 
 attend him, when he laid his hands upon hers 
 to forbid the summons, saying at the same 
 time, — 
 
 " Pray, Mrs. Masham, do not call any one. I 
 wish to speak with you alone — quite alone, on 
 some very painful business of mine." 
 
 Mrs. Masham's smiling face instantly became 
 very solemn and alarmed, one conjecture succeed 
 ing another as to what the young gentleman's 
 business could be with her. " Ruth certainly was 
 concerned some way ; " for almost every thought 
 of Mrs. Masham's, which was not given to the 
 creditable conduct of the " Rosebush," was con- 
 nected with Ruth — her darling Ruth. As soon as 
 Mrs. Masham could collect her affrighted senses, 
 she begged that Cecil would step into her private 
 room, where they would be free from interrup-
 
 172 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 tion. When they had entered the little sanctum 
 Cecil took his seat with his back to the light. 
 
 " I am here, Mrs. Masham," said Cecil, after two. 
 or three ineffectual attempts to speak. " I am here 
 to claim a distant relationship with you — or at 
 least, a family connection." 
 
 " Indeed, sir ; " exclaimed Mrs. Masham. " You 
 surprise me, if you are not joking, sir." 
 
 " I wish I could feel merry enough to do that," 
 answered Cecil; "but I fear I have too much 
 cause for sorrow," — he added, after a pause, not 
 daring to use the shameful word which had 
 striven for utterance. 
 
 " I must ask you to speak plainer, sir, if I am 
 to understand you. And Ruth's school will be 
 over in a quarter of an hour, when she will come 
 here." Mrs. Masham was determined to know at 
 once if her daughter was in any way concerned in 
 Cecil's revelation. 
 
 "You will pardon my hesitation I am sure," 
 he said, " when I tell you that I am the son of 
 one who I fear does not stand very well in the 
 estimation of yourself and others."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 173 
 
 Cecil saw that Mrs. Masham's rosy face became 
 paler and paler as she looked at him ; but after 
 he had borne her scrutiny for a few moments, 
 her colour returned, as though she had not found 
 one lineament of his to resemble those she had 
 sought. Cecil guessed as much ; for he knew he 
 was singularly unlike his father in form and 
 feature ; but this intimation of the certainty of 
 coming evil almost deprived him of the power of 
 utterance. Mrs. Masham was perplexed to under- 
 stand the emotion displayed by her visitor, and 
 she said, after a long pause : — 
 
 " I know but one man who could possibly 
 have anything in common with you and me, and 
 whose wicked conduct has gained him an evil 
 name : but you are unlike him, quite unlike 
 him." 
 
 " I know I am," said Cecil, scarcely above a 
 whisper. 
 
 "You know the man I speak of, then," 
 said Mrs. Masham, rising. "You know Jacob 
 Hartley ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am his son," replied Cecil aloud, he
 
 174 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 could say no more from his fear of what he be- 
 lieved was to follow. 
 
 " Then why are you here, sir ? " said Mrs. 
 Masham, her eyes flashing as she spoke. * Why 
 are you here in this room which is all of home 
 that your father has left me and my child. He 
 ruined my husband — killed him, I might say, and 
 drove my child to daily drudgery when she should 
 have held up her head with the best in the land. 
 Why have you come here, sir ? " 
 
 "To learn what no one else will tell me — to 
 know what wrong you and others have suffered at 
 my father's hands, that I may, if possible, compel 
 him to make restitution." 
 
 "Restitution!" said Mrs. Masham. "What 
 restitution ? Can he bring back my husband 
 from his grave ; can he restore the peace he has 
 destroyed, or make amends for the shame and 
 suffering endured by me and my darling Ruth ? 
 No, sir, let him keep his wicked gains. I would 
 accept neither his money nor repentance if that is 
 what you have come to offer." 
 
 " I have come to offer neither, Mrs. Masham. I
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 175 
 
 am here a miserable son, who heard for the first 
 time yesterday that my father was so badly 
 esteemed — that his name was a bar to the ordinary 
 civilities of life being extended to me. I am told 
 you know his wretched story, and I have come 
 to implore you to tell it me, for my sake — for the 
 sake of my dear innocent mother, whom I fear 
 to see again with this vague knowledge of wicked- 
 ness upon my mind. I must know what has been 
 done, and what can be done to undo the con- 
 sequences of the past. It would be the course she 
 would advise — command me to follow — if she 
 believed, as I do now, that you and others have 
 suffered injury at my father's hands. You will 
 tell me all, dear Mrs. Masham ? You will not let 
 it be supposed that I have been cognisant of my 
 father's wrong-doing, and come amongst you as it 
 were to glory in his success. Let me know the 
 worst that I may judge what my future course 
 must be."* 
 
 Mrs. Masham's full, womanly heart gave way, 
 and she burst into tears, pouring forth such 
 copious streams that it was evident, as she said
 
 176 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 afterwards, " That she hadn't had such a cry for 
 many a day." 
 
 The sad, disgraceful story was told after much 
 further entreaty, and so unreserved did Mrs. 
 Masham. become, that she hesitated not to declare 
 that it was the conviction of Mr. Wycherly, Jerry 
 Garrett, and herself, besides a host of neighbours, 
 that if Jacob Selwyn's will was not forged it ought 
 to have been. She spoke lightly of her own 
 sufferings consequent upon the loss of the money 
 and the death of her husband ; but when she 
 referred to the changed position of her darling 
 Ruth, her voice became tremulous and her lips 
 quivered with emotion. 
 
 Cecil was greatly distressed at what he had 
 heard, and it was some hours before he could 
 bring himself to take his departure. Before he 
 left Mrs. Masham he confided to her certain 
 intentions for the future and some acceptable 
 arrangements for the present, and so* delighted 
 was Mrs. Masham that she could have hugged 
 Cecil to her bosom, and condoned all the trans- 
 gressions of the father in her admiration of the son.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 177 
 
 What will become of all that we have now 
 recorded ? It may not be difficult to guess ; but 
 as Cecil rode away from the " Rosebush," his 
 heart much lighter — though sad enough in all 
 truth — he met Kate Wycherly, driving in her 
 pony chaise to call on Ruth, and she coloured 
 deeply when she bowed to him in passing. The 
 blood mounted into Cecil's face also, as he put 
 an unfavourable construction on Miss Wycherly's 
 recognition of him, and felt how much further 
 relief it would have given him if he could have 
 told her all that had passed between himself and 
 Mrs. Masham. 
 
 We wonder if Ruth or her mother kept Cecil's 
 secrets as they had promised to do ? 
 
 vol. ;.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A VISIT TO A VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER AND WHO 
 HE PROVED TO BE. — HOW CECIL CAME TO 
 REMAIN AT THE ROSEBUSH. 
 
 Story-tellers are not to be trusted with a 
 secret, as they are sure to reveal it if their purpose 
 is served by so doing, and we are no better than 
 others of the craft. 
 
 The cold grey of a winter's early morning was 
 gradually changing to broad daylight, and the 
 white wood smoke rose freely from the chimney of 
 the village schoolhouse, proclaiming to all whom 
 it concerned, that the master was astir and pre- 
 paring for his rather monotonous daily drudgery. 
 A large yellow basin, piled up with pieces of 
 wholesome bread, and a saucepan filled with fresh 
 milk simmering on the small fire in the little 
 sitting room, were the preparations for his simple
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 179 
 
 breakfast. The Dominie himself was seated at 
 the table listening patiently and not without 
 interest to the prolix and divaricating recital of 
 his attendant, a middle-aged woman, concerning 
 the delinquencies of her good-for-nothing nephew. 
 The delinquent was Jim Perks, who had been 
 passing the last three weeks in the county gaol, 
 and had sent her an earnest appeal to be per- 
 mitted to come and lodge with her when he should 
 be at large again, in order that he might have 
 a very doubtful chance of once more earning 
 an honest crust, a quality of food of which 
 lie had not partaken very largely for some time 
 past. 
 
 Mrs. Fielder was only a morning attendant at 
 the school-house, receiving a shilling a week in 
 money and the education of two stupid boys as 
 remuneration for her services ; and therefore this 
 proposition of her disreputable nephew or as not 
 difficult of accomplishment, as Mr. Fielder her 
 husband had no objection to anything in par- 
 ticular, provided he had his meals regularly, and 
 was allowed to go to bud at eight o'clock. The
 
 180 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 reasons for hesitation on the part of Mrs. Fielder 
 were twofold. 
 
 Firstly, would anybody employ her nephew Jim 
 Perks, and allow him to earn his own keep ? 
 
 Secondly, would he be likely to bring discredit 
 upon her and her boys who were promised work 
 when the summer came on 1 On those two points 
 she wanted the Dominie's advice. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " he said in reply, " he was once 
 an honest lad enough, but fell into bad hands, as 
 others did also." And here his eye glanced to a 
 rude portrait of a lady (painfully mediaeval in out- 
 line, and evidently the work of an amateur) which 
 hung over the mantel piece, and bearing a faint 
 resemblance in the rosiness of its cheeks, the 
 blueness of the eyes, and the nut-brown colour of 
 the hair to Hester Masham, nee Mereweather. 
 
 " It would be a Christian act to help the poor 
 fellow to a better course of life," continued the 
 Dominie, " and I think we might manage amongst 
 us to keep him from starving for a time." 
 
 This munificent gentleman was in the receipt of 
 threepence a week from each of about forty pupils,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 181 
 
 the honorarium not paid with great regularity 
 during the winter quarter. He had, however, in 
 addition, the free use of the school-house, and the 
 interest of fifty pounds lodged in the hands of Mr. 
 Wycherly, who cleverly contrived, to the confusion 
 of the schoolmaster, to make five per cent, on 
 that capital amount annually to five pounds and 
 a goose at Christmas. 
 
 " La, sir," said Mrs. Fielder, as she poured out 
 steaming milk upon the absorbent bread, " I 
 couldn't think of letting you pay nothing, con- 
 sidering how hard you work and how little you 
 get for it." 
 
 " Well," interrupted the Dominie, " we will not 
 discuss that matter just now. If Fielder has no 
 objection to have the poor fellow home, perhaps a 
 little sympathy may go as far as a little money 
 towards reclaiming poor Jim." 
 
 Mrs. Fielder had no idea what the thing was 
 which the Dominie thought might go as far as 
 money, but having the highest respect for his judg- 
 ment and learning, she only answered ; "Well, sir, 
 we'll make the 'speriment, and let's hope good '11
 
 182 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 come on it," — and then left the schoolmaster to 
 make his breakfast in peace. 
 * The schoolmaster was a man about forty years 
 of age, with a good kindly face and light sandy 
 hair, the right side of which was lined with 
 numerous black streaks, its proprietor having 
 habituated himself to use that side of his head as 
 a pen-wiper. His figure was far from robust, but 
 slight as it was, it appeared to be somewhat too 
 large for the pepper and salt suit which encased 
 it. There was nothing else approaching the 
 ridiculous about the village Dominie, although few 
 of the faded belles of Hilltown would readily have 
 recognised the former proprietor of the ' Emporium 
 of Fashion', Jeffery Garrett. He evidently wielded 
 the ferule mildly, as his rustic subjects greeted 
 him with grins as they doffed their caps on 
 entering the school, crowding in turns around the 
 blazing wood fire for a warm, before beginning 
 their simple studies, at which we will leave them 
 until eleven o'clock, when the postman opened the 
 schoolroom door, and delivered a post-paid letter 
 for Mr. Jeffery Garrett.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 183 
 
 So few — so very few of late years had been the 
 Dominie's correspondents, that the receipt of the 
 letter set his heart in a flutter, the superscription 
 not being in the handwriting of Mr. Wycherly, 
 (the goose and interest had arrived weeks before) 
 and the characters were really feminine. Had he 
 ever seen them before, or was the motto and 
 device. on the seal — the good old ship and legend 
 " Such is life " — familiar to him ? Why did he 
 turn the letter over and over, reading the post- 
 mark ' Hilltown ' more than twice or thrice half 
 aloud, and then place the letter before him upon 
 his desk, unopened ? Why did he in correcting a 
 sum of stupid Billy Fielder, make twice seven 
 nineteen, and carry two to the edification of that 
 little booby ? And why did he at last exclaim 
 " Boys, you may go home — and perhaps, you may 
 as well have a half holiday." 
 
 Not one dissentient voice was heard to this 
 unexpected suggestion of Muster Garrett, and 
 with a rapidity hardly to be expected from those 
 infant bumpkins, the schoolroom was cleared and 
 Jeffery left alone with his letter.
 
 184 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 His hand trembled slightly as he broke the 
 seal, and a dim haze came between his eyes and 
 the unfolded paper as he began to read what 
 follows : — 
 
 "The Rosebush Inn, Tuesday. 
 
 "Dear Cousin Garrett, 
 
 " It is so long since we have met or 
 heard from each other, that you will no doubt be 
 surprised to receive a letter from me after such a 
 long silence, but I have had so much trouble and 
 sorrow, and so many things to occupy almost every 
 hour of the day, that I have had neither the spirits 
 nor the time to write even to such an old friend 
 as you are." Why had she underscored friend ? 
 She had told him they were only to be ' friends ' 
 years ago, and he had never forgotten her words — 
 never. " I have heard of you now and then from 
 Miss Wycherly, who has never made any difference 
 since our loss, in her conduct to my dear darling 
 Ruth ; God bless her for it ! You will be glad I 
 am sure to know that Ruth has a very nice school 
 now ; more than twenty scholars, and as she
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 185 
 
 can teach music and French — (thanks to Miss 
 Wycherly) — she gets very well paid by some." 
 
 Jeffery was glad to hear of her success, and 
 more especially as her threepences might possibly 
 be shillings, some people value the instructor's 
 labours so highly. 
 
 " It is not about dear Ruth that I wanted to 
 write to you ; but I am sure you will excuse a 
 mother's feelings, as you were always so kind and 
 ffoodnatured and liked by every one." 
 
 «3 
 
 Why does a great tear fall ' splot ' upon the 
 open page, as though there was an old spring in 
 Jeffer/s heart which had not dried up during all 
 the past solitary hopeless years which he had 
 passed in the village schoolhouse ? 
 
 " I have just heard some good news which will 
 please you as much as it has done me, and I hope 
 you will act as I have done, and receive it 
 willingly when I have told you what it is. 
 
 " A gentleman called upon me a few days ago, 
 and after asking me ever so many questions about 
 our family — I mean our own family, Uncle Sel- 
 wyn, and you, and my poor Peter — " Jeffery
 
 186 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 made a full stop and counted four, although there 
 was not any attempt at punctuation in the whole 
 letter — " who died, as you know, broken hearted ; 
 well, after he had talked and inquired a great 
 deal, he said, calling me by my name, Mrs. 
 Masham, I have come to discharge a debt of 
 honour due to your Uncle Selwyn, but as he is 
 dead and gone, I must ask you to let me pay you 
 and your cousin Jeffery, what I am not able to 
 pay your good uncle, — and then the upshot of it 
 was this : he said he could not pay all that is due 
 to us at once, but he shall send it by 521. a year 
 to you if I will consent to receive the money for 
 you, and promise never to mention his name 
 should I ever find it out. 
 
 " Of course you will not refuse to take the 
 money, as I shall not when it is brought to me, 
 and I think it will be better to let me send it 51. 
 at a time, than give it you in a lump, as I know 
 of old how soft-hearted you are, and how little 
 you care for yourself if other people are in need. 
 I wish you would come some day and see us, and 
 if you would say when, I would send our light-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 187 
 
 cart and meet you half-way. You know you 
 have been often asked, and would always have 
 been welcome. Hoping you are in good health 
 as this leaves me and Ruth at present, 
 " Believe me, 
 " Your old and true friend and cousin, 
 
 " Hester Masham." 
 
 No wonder, after reading this long letter, that 
 JefTery, without waiting for his dinner, went out 
 for a long walk, rejoicing over his new fortune, 
 and marvelling who could be the giver of it ; 
 sorrowing also over his old love, well remembering 
 who had created and destroyed it. Nor was Jim 
 Perks, lying in the county gaol, altogether for- 
 gotten ; and had it not been for him, perhaps, 
 Jeffery would have felt so rich that he might have 
 resigned the drudgery of the school, and so lost the 
 opportunity of doing a great good, which brought 
 about the happiness of his old age* 
 
 The secret of Mrs. Masham's demonstrativeness 
 when parting from the son of her dead husband's 
 enemy, is now explained, but whether she was
 
 188 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 equally communicative to Ruth and Kate Wy- 
 cherly, during the long conversation which they 
 held together in the little sanctum, must remain 
 a matter of conjecture. Whatever had been the 
 subject which had detained Kate more than an 
 hour beyond the time she usually devoted to 
 her visits to Ruth, it had evidently produced a 
 seriousness not usual with her, and the speed at 
 which she drove home was an indication that she 
 was more occupied with her own reflections, than 
 with a considerateness for the comfort of her 
 favourite pony. 
 
 As Kate invariably communicated all her acts, 
 almost all her thoughts, to her father, she in- 
 formed him, as they sat at their light supper, of 
 her visit tQ the Rosebush, and her accidental 
 meeting with Cecil Hartley, laying more stress 
 somewhat on the incident than might have ap- 
 peared to have been absolutely necessary. 
 
 " I thought this frost would have sent that 
 young gentleman back to London," said Mr. 
 Wycherly, rather unkindly. ft We can get on 
 very well here without any of his name."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 189 
 
 " You seem to have taken a strange dislike to 
 Mr. Hartley, papa," remarked Kate. " The little 
 we have seen of him hardly justifies you in your 
 unfavourable opinion, does it ? " 
 
 " He comes of a bad strain, and I have faith in 
 blood, r Kate, whether horse or man. He must 
 have known something of his father's proceedings 
 down here, and it would have been more to his 
 credit to have kept clear of the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Mrs. Masham is of opinion that he has been 
 kept entirely in ignorance of all that has past. 
 He did not even know of his family connection 
 with Euth and her mother," interposed Kate, 
 very softly. 
 
 " He knows now, I suppose ? " asked Wycherly, 
 sharply. 
 
 " I believe he does, from Mrs. Masham ; and 
 she appears to have formed a very high regard 
 for him, from what took place after the discovery," 
 replied Kate, speaking as gently as before. 
 
 " Well, that's Mrs. Masham's affair, not ours," 
 said Wycherly, not knowing what further objec- 
 tion to urge. " I suppose he will not be very
 
 190 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 proud of his family connection — I mean with his 
 rogue of a father — but get back to London at 
 once." 
 
 " He returns to London the day after to-mor- 
 row," replied Kate — adding after a pause — " so I 
 believe." 
 
 " So much the better," said Wycherly, putting 
 on his spectacles, and proceeding to turn over the 
 County paper, which Kate knew he had read from 
 end to end after breakfast. 
 
 Kate looked very serious, as though she was 
 pained at her father's remarks, showing, as they 
 did, that he could be unjust upon occasion, and 
 condemn the innocent for an unavoidable con- 
 nection with the guilty. 
 
 When Frank Lockyer had heard nearly all 
 which had passed at the Rosebush, he strove to 
 comfort his unhappy friend, and Cecil was most 
 unhappy. He had long suspected from nianv 
 trivial indications, that his father was held in 
 light esteem by many men with whom he had 
 come in contact, and he knew that his mothers 
 life had not been a happy one. True she had
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 191 
 
 had her heart bruised again and again by the 
 hand of Death, but there was a sorrow always 
 present with her when she should have been 
 comforted by the presence of her husband. She 
 rarely spoke of him when absent — never with 
 disrespect ; but a mother's tongue is rarely silent 
 to her children concerning their father's virtues. 
 The willing bread-winner striving daily to con- 
 vert the wants of home into enjoyments, has but 
 scant leisure to educe the affection of his children, 
 and it is from a mother's lips that they must 
 learn how dear they are to him, whose ceaseless 
 labour is one long effort of enduring love. Cecil's 
 mother had some great secret cause for silence, 
 or her loving, patient, honourable nature would 
 not have permitted her to wrong her husband, by 
 her unvarying reticence of all which usually forms 
 the sweetest talk of home. 
 
 As Cecil grew in years he became painfully 
 sensible that there was a shadow always in their 
 house, and he feared to discover the cause. Had 
 he learned it now ? Had his father's cruel treat- 
 ment of his cousins become known to his mother?
 
 192 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Had the vague hints of greater wrong to them 
 than enforcing his claims upon them with the 
 hardest pressure of the law, reached his mother's 
 ears also? Could such suspicion be justified by 
 the slightest show of evidence ? What tenible 
 doubts ? What terrible anticipations begotten by 
 them S Might not his father's wickedness, like 
 some hidden evidence of murder long ago com- 
 mitted, be brought to light when least expected, 
 and blight his young life when at the happiest 1 
 It had done so, in part, already, although Frank 
 Lockyer tried to reassure him by the kindest 
 words that ever were spoken by friend to friend. 
 Cecil strove to accept the comfort which was 
 proffered, but another voice heard only by him, 
 whispered, ' His sin will find him out,' and the 
 power of the charmer availed nothing. 
 
 Strange to say Cecil slept calmly throughout 
 the succeeding night, his dreams being pleasant 
 phantasies, but he awoke unrefreshed and pos- 
 sessed with a quickened sense of all that he 
 had learned and lost. 
 
 He could not conceal his distress when at the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 193 
 
 breakfast-table, and Mr. and Mrs. Lockyer fortu- 
 nately attributed his depression to the prospect of 
 quitting the Lodge. 
 
 "You have certainly been unfortunate in the 
 weather," said the host ; " and I have been kept 
 
 in-doors by this gout." (Dashes are said to 
 
 be symptoms of the disorder.) " However, should 
 the weather break shortly, run down and spend 
 another week with us." 
 
 Cecil thanked him for his kindness, but felt 
 that the acceptance of it for the time to come 
 would be impossible. 
 
 "Do you care to ride with me to the Rose- 
 bush ? " asked Cecil, when Frank and he had 
 sauntered into the garden. 
 
 " Yes," replied Frank, not appearing to notice 
 the doubt implied in Cecil's question. " I shall be 
 delighted, old boy ; and I hope this fresh, sharp 
 wind will blow some of your good spirits back 
 again. Come, we will be off at once, as I fancy 
 those clouds yonder may favour us with snow 
 should the wind drop a little." 
 
 The old road was traversed again. Through 
 
 YOL. i. o
 
 194 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Pemberton Wood first of all ; and Cecil recalled 
 almost every incident, every thought of his first 
 ride : the lane and the covert where they met on 
 the day of the great run, and the country they 
 had crossed came back to him as though seen in 
 a panorama. Sorrow is so fantastic in her hu- 
 mours ! But his first visit to the Rosebush Inn 
 was mingled with the last, and he became con- 
 scious only of the cruel present, and all its shame 
 and sorrow. 
 
 If anything could have restored Cecil's self- 
 respect it should have come at the welcome he 
 received from Mrs. Masham. She took both his 
 hands when he entered, and pressed them warmly, 
 looking into his face with forgiveness, almost 
 lovingness in her own, and then, quite disregard- 
 ing Frank Lockyer, led Cecil into the little 
 parlour, saying, — and every word had the ring of 
 t ru th — " I am so glad you have come again before 
 you left for London. I was afraid I might have 
 spoken too plainly, Mr. Hartley." 
 
 " Not in the least, but call me Cecil," he said, 
 with a sad smile. * Will you, aunt ? "
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 195 
 
 " Indeed — indeed I will if you desire it," and 
 Mrs. Masham's eyes twinkled with pleasure. 
 
 " I came," said Cecil, " to reassure myself that 
 I had not lost all claim to respect, and to thank 
 you once again for what you have said to me, and 
 what you have promised to undertake in my 
 behalf. 1 ' 
 
 " The letter is written and sent," replied Mrs. 
 Masham. " You and Mr. Lockyer, — whom I have 
 left to take care of himself, by the bye — must stay 
 and have lunch with me and Ruth." 
 
 " With cousin Ruth ? " said Cecil, smiling. 
 
 " Yes, with cousin Ruth, if you like to call her 
 so." And then Mrs. Masham went in pursuit of 
 Frank, returning with him just as Ruth, released 
 from her duties in the little school, entered from 
 the garden. 
 
 Cecil and his new cousin greeted each other 
 heartily, and Frank was equally well received, 
 though with a blush, which, considering how 
 much older an acquaintance Frank was than 
 cousin Cecil, seemed to be an unnecessary addition 
 to the ceremony.
 
 196 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Mrs. Masham had invited her visitors to 'lunch,' 
 but quite a little dinner made its appearance in 
 about half-an-hour ; and being served on the best 
 crockery, kept for private use, there was not a 
 sniff of the Rosebush proper about the affair. 
 Frank Lockyer was as respectful and atten- 
 tive to pretty Ruth as he could have been had 
 she been the heiress of Old Court ; and it must 
 be confessed that at times the young gentleman 
 had exercised a shade more freedom than he would 
 have done, possibly, had Ruth been more on an 
 equality with him in social estimation. 
 
 Two hours or more had passed pleasantly 
 enough, when the wind lulled, and the snow 
 fell as Frank had predicted. There was nothing 
 for it, however, but to button up closely and face 
 the storm. 
 
 " Good bye, Cousin Ruth," so Cecil said, kissing 
 her hand. " Good bye, Aunt Hester," kissing her 
 cheek, and receiving a smile in return. " I may 
 not see you again for some time, I'm afraid ; 
 but I will come as soon as I can bring myself." 
 — He paused.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 197 
 
 "What an odd speech, Cecil," said Frank, 
 laughing, but noticing that his friend' appeared 
 confused if not distressed, he added : " And in 
 the mean time I will do myself the pleasure of 
 keeping the family informed of your health 
 and proceedings — that is, if Mrs. Masham per- 
 mits me the entree of the parlour sanctum. 
 Now mount, Cecil, before the snow buries the 
 horses." 
 
 " Good bye ! good bye ! " How often have those 
 words been spoken when return seemed certain, 
 and have proved the last kindly utterances 
 between friends and loved ones ! What com- 
 fort would those words have brought had 
 they been uttered before death removed those 
 whom some petty strife had kept apart f 
 Good bye is a solemn, hopeful, forgiving valedic- 
 tion ; and never let good friends part with it 
 unsaid. 
 
 As the two friends rode forward, the snow fell 
 in large flakes, almost blinding both horse and 
 rider. They had not proceeded a quarter of a 
 mile when a cur dog rushed out of a cottage
 
 198 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 garden, and barking furiously, made Cecil's 
 horse start and swerve considerably. As the 
 animal's feet were balled with the snow, it fell 
 on its side with considerable force, Cecil's leg 
 beneath it. The horse was soon upon its feet 
 again ; not so his rider, for when Cecil attempted 
 to rise he found that his leg was powerless and 
 very painful. 
 
 "I'm afraid you are hurt," said Frank, dis- 
 mounting instantly. 
 
 " I am certain of it, my dear boy," replied Cecil, 
 with a very feeble smile ; " my leg is broken, I 
 fancy, for I cannot move, and there's no doubt 
 about the pain." 
 
 Too true. Cecil's leg was fractured ; and he 
 was borne back, by Frank and two other men, 
 to the Rosebush, to await the arrival of a 
 surgeon. 
 
 Mrs. Masham and Ruth were in great dis- 
 tress, and wept plenteously ; but Cecil affected to 
 think lightly of the matter, and to derive consola- 
 tion from the accident occurring within hail of the 
 Rosebush.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 199 
 
 u How lucky this should have happened so near 
 to your house, Aunt Hester. That's a great com- 
 fort, you know," said Cecil, making a desperate 
 effort to conceal his pain. 
 
 " That certainly was a comfort," Mrs. Masham 
 said, "for you may be sure of good nursing 
 The chintz room has a look out over the valley to 
 Hilltown ;" adding cheerfully. " As you will have 
 to keep your bed for some time, it will be pleasant 
 to see the old church in the distance." 
 
 The surgeon proved to be skilful and expe- 
 ditious, and Cecil was soon as comfortable as a 
 man with a broken leg and at a wayside inn 
 could expect to be. Had he had a mind at 
 ease he would have cared little for the physical 
 suffering : the pain indeed serving for awhile 
 to divert his thoughts from the constant con- 
 sideration of his father's censurable proceedings, 
 now known to him for the first time. 
 
 Frank Lockyer would not hear of leaving Cecil ; 
 and having dispatched a messenger to the Lodge 
 for necessaries, took up his quarters at the " Rose- 
 bush," occupying the adjoining room to Cecil's,
 
 200 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 but having another prospect. His bed room 
 window commanded a full view of Ruth's little 
 academy, including the chair occupied by the fair 
 professor.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MR. HARTLEY DISPLAYS HIS PARENTAL SOLICI- 
 TUDE IN AN EXTRAORDINARY MANNER, AND 
 JIM PERKS MAKES PREPARATION FOR GOING 
 TO AMERICA. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley had been immediately 
 informed of the accident to his son, and by return 
 of post a letter arrived from that excellent parent. 
 It was dated from his place of business near 
 Gutter Lane, and requires to be given in ex- 
 tenso : — 
 
 " Dear Cecil, 
 
 " Mr. Lockyer's favour of the loth inst. 
 is duly to hand. I cannot imagine how you could 
 have been so foolish as to venture on horseback 
 during such weather as we have had lately. The 
 frost has been severe enough to burst all our
 
 202 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 water-pipes, and the snow has choked up all the 
 gutters both here and at Suburban Square. I 
 think you ought to consider yourself fortunate 
 that you have only broken a leg, and not two or 
 three of your ribs as well; and I suppose there 
 will be a pretty stiff bill with the doctor as it is. 
 I am glad that your friend Lockyer is with you, 
 as it is impossible for me to leave business just at 
 the end of the season, when so many of our 
 clients are wanting to clear off stock, and I have 
 no one I can depend upon but myself to negotiate 
 delicate transactions which turn up daily. I must 
 make hay whilst the sun shines. I hope you are 
 comfortable where you are, though country inns 
 are not always the best places to be bed-ridden 
 at. You will write every other day, and let me 
 know how you are ; but I suppose things must 
 take their course, and you won't find much change 
 for the better for a week or so. If you want any 
 money, ask Mr. Lockyer to let you have £-5 or 
 £10, and I will pay him again, as I do not like 
 sending money by the post, and I suppose a 
 cheque would be of no use where you are. By the
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 203 
 
 bye, mind you don't ivrite to your mother what 
 has happened, or I shall have her whining and 
 fidgeting to come down to you, which can do no 
 good, and will only upset the house at home, and 
 I've got a small dinner-party of some of my best 
 buyers coming off in a day or two, when I can see 
 my way to nailing a new man from Bristol. I 
 shall tell her you have been pressed to stop at 
 Lockyer's, as the frost has spoiled your hunting — 
 that's true enough, you know. You can write in 
 about a week, and tell her you and your friend 
 are going somewhere — any place will do, as her 
 geography is rather shy, and I can make her 
 believe anything. I don't want her to leave 
 home, you understand, as servants always take 
 advantage of missus' absence, and spoil the din- 
 ner as well as the breakfast, which are my two 
 principal meals. I found that out when two of 
 the little ones — I forget which — were ill with 
 scarlet fever at school, and I made up my 
 mind she shouldn't leave home without me 
 again. So you must bamboozle [the old lady a 
 little."
 
 204 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Cecil crushed the letter in his hand, saying 
 aloud, " I shall do no such meanness — no such 
 wickedness ! Poor, dear mother ! " 
 
 There were only two or three lines more to be 
 read : — 
 
 "As you won't be likely to hunt again this 
 season, and as two purse-proud humbugs of the 
 S. H. chose to cut me the last time I was out, I 
 shall sell your horse to a man who is very sweet 
 upon him, and I rather fancy he is about throwing 
 a splint on his right fore leg. 
 
 " Yours always, 
 
 "Selwyn Hartley." 
 
 " P.S. {Confidential) — If you can find out that 
 Lockyer's people are speculating in Manchester 
 goods, let me know. I think I could put a few 
 lots or so into them if they are buyers." 
 
 Cecil's disgust at this epistle was very great, 
 and he thrust the paper beneath his pillow to hide 
 it away, as though it were some unsightly thing 
 that should offend no other eyes than his own.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 20.5 
 
 Frank had left the room during Cecil's perusal 
 of the letter, and when he returned he was 
 shocked to see the look of sorrow in the face of 
 his friend. 
 
 " Your father I am afraid is greatly distressed 
 at your accident," said Frank, anxiously. 
 
 Cecil shook his head, and turned away as he 
 answered " No ! " 
 
 " Your mother perhaps is unduly alarmed," said 
 Frank. " If it will be any relief to you, Cecil, I 
 will go to town at once and see her. Perhaps I 
 had better do so ? " 
 
 Cecil held out his hand and pressed Frank's, 
 saying, " Thanks, dear old friend ; but that must 
 not be done at present. My father desires that 
 she may be kept in ignorance of what has hap- 
 pened — for a day or two. I shall comply with 
 his request until I can write myself to her, as I 
 fear the consequences should she believe me inca- 
 pable of writing." 
 
 " Then why not let me go ? I would break it 
 to her very gently " 
 
 " It is not any fear on that account. She has
 
 206 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 known too much sorrow to be greatly moved by 
 such a common occurrence as this," interrupted 
 Cecil. " But — she loves me so well, dear Frank, 
 that she would wish to come to me — to be my # 
 nurse." The words came from him painfully and 
 slowly. 
 
 * And why should she not ? " asked Frank. 
 " What could be better ? " 
 
 " Nothing," answered Cecil, " if my father were 
 not the selfish, cruel man that I now know him to 
 be ! I will not ask you to read this letter — it is 
 too humiliating to me — too discreditable to him 
 who wrote it ; and her natural desire to come to 
 her only son would subject her, I am sure, to 
 more of that brutality which has already bruised 
 her loving heart. O Frank ! there are words 
 which strike harder than blows — ruffianly words, 
 which leave no outward marks of injury, but 
 which kill slowly and surely, though the victim 
 smiles whilst she is dying. God direct me in 
 what I ought to do." Cecil covered his face with 
 his arms, and breathed heavily. 
 
 " We must not talk further now, old boy," said
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 207 
 
 Frank softty. " You will excite yourself too 
 much, and perhaps do injury. In a day or two 
 you will be able to write to your mother, — 
 until then you must accept of me for your nurse, 
 under correction of Mrs. Masham and pretty Ruth. 
 Come, pitch this cruel father overboard for to-day. 
 I shall take a turn round the bowling-green, and 
 expect to find you composed and comfortable 
 when I return." 
 
 Frank advised his friend very judiciously, for 
 the excitement he had already undergone in- 
 creased the slight fever which had been con- 
 sequent on his accident, and retarded his com- 
 munication to his mother a day or two longer 
 than would have been the case otherwise. 
 
 When he was well enough to be propped up in 
 his bed a letter from his mother was given to him, 
 •in which she affectionately reproached him for not 
 writing to her, and complaining that new friends 
 should cheat her of all his thoughts and inter- 
 course. 
 
 Poor mother ! If she had known how constantly 
 she was present to him — how whenever he was
 
 208 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 alone he held communion with her on her wrongs 
 and sorrows, she would have believed — not that he 
 loved her more — that was impossible, but that all 
 the filial love she had thought buried in her 
 children's graves was living in his bosom. 
 
 He wrote to her at last — a cheerful letter mak- 
 ing light of the pain he had suffered and speaking 
 confidently of the cure that was perfecting, care- 
 fully avoiding the mention of Mrs. Masham's 
 name, in case his mother might have some pain- 
 ful recollection awakened by it. This letter he 
 enclosed in a brief one to his father, declaring his 
 determination not to conceal longer his condition 
 from his mother, and requesting that the matter 
 might be broken to her as gently as possible 
 before his own communication was delivered. 
 How Mr. Selwyn Hartley performed this delicate 
 mission we have now to learn. 
 
 " How strange that Cecil has not written home 
 for nearly a week," said Mrs. Hartley, as she and 
 her husband sat down to dinner. " Have you 
 heard from him ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Hartley. "Now, Mary, take
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 209 
 
 off the cover. Fried soles, eh ? Next time let us 
 have them boiled, my dear." 
 
 "You said the other day you liked them 
 better " 
 
 " So I did then, but we 11 have them fried for 
 a change, if you please. You like the tail, I 
 believe ? " and Mr. Hartley made a very unfair 
 division of the fish. " P'tater, Mary ; not mashed 
 I hope." 
 
 " The potatoes are so bad just now " 
 
 " Not in the p'tater cans," observed Mr. Hartley, 
 abruptly ; " there 's a man at the corner of the 
 square selling 'em as big as my fist, and as mealy 
 as balls of flour. I don't know how it is, but you 
 never can get a p'tater cooked properly at home, 
 never. If I kept house I should get over that 
 difficulty before I went crotchying and maccas- 
 saring." 
 
 " My crotching," said Mrs. Hartley, smiling, " is 
 confined to holes in stockings and " 
 
 " Why ? " asked Hartley, with his mouth full. 
 " I brought home half-a-dozen new pairs not three 
 weeks ago — some of a first-rate lot." 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " They were very bad ones," replied Mrs. Hartley 
 " they have washed into holes " 
 
 " Then change your washerwoman — uses some 
 of those beastly powders, I'll be sworn. Take 
 away, Mary," and Mr. Hartley applied himself to 
 his toothpick. 
 
 " What's to follow ? Boiled mutton. Got plenty 
 of turnips, I hope." 
 
 " There were none to be had, owing to the frost 
 and " 
 
 " Then why did you have boiled mutton ? 
 Nothing without turnips. You ought to know 
 that by this time. Any caper sauce ? Oh, there 
 it is. Chopped up the capers of course ? No, for 
 a wonder. Why the meat 's as red as beet-root." 
 
 " It is only the gravy and this cold weather " 
 
 " Only gravy ; don't tell me that — Well it 
 seems to be gravy, and that 's a stroke of luck, I 
 consider," said Mr. Hartley, applying himself 
 silently and vigorously to the business of the 
 moment. 
 
 There was no tart, as he did not care for pastry, 
 and nothing to be said against the Stilton, which
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 211 
 
 he had bought himself and required to be kept 
 for his own consumption. 
 
 When the cloth was removed and a pint of 
 sherry placed upon the table — Mrs. Hartley did 
 not take wine, not liking sherry — Mr. Hartley- 
 spread himself out before the fire and mused for 
 a few minutes. 
 
 " Things are precious queer in the City," he 
 said at length. " One or two smashes to-day ; — 
 Dobbs and Dust the tea dealers gone, — thought 
 they were shaky last week by coming to we 
 in such a hurry. Just try what that stuff's 
 like, when we have tea," and he took a 
 little blue paper packet from his pocket and 
 threw it on the table. Again he relapsed into 
 thought. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley all this time was thinking of her 
 darling boy Cecil, yet fearing — why should she 
 have done so ? — to ask what his father had heard 
 from him. Mr. Hartley evidently guessed at the 
 cause of her silence, so he said : 
 
 " You asked, before dinner if I had heard 
 from Cecil and I told you, yes I had, but as I did 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 not want to spoil my dinner I didn't say what I 
 had heard." 
 
 " Selwyn, what has " 
 
 " Now please to keep quiet, and don't cry out 
 hefore there is an occasion for it. Cecil has been 
 playing the fool, and like other fools has to pay 
 the penalty." 
 
 "What is the matter ?" said Mrs. Hartley, in a 
 tone which seemed to demand an answer. 
 
 "He has met with an accident," replied 
 Hartley, filling his glass, " broken something — 
 his leg I believe ; but there's a letter to you 
 which came yesterday, and I suppose he has told 
 you all about it. It's very unfortunate just now, 
 very, as I could have used him on some very 
 particular business." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley heard nothing of the latter por- 
 tion of her husband's speech, as she had opened 
 Cecil's letter, and was reading it as well as her 
 streaming eyes would permit her to see the words. 
 
 "And you have known of this for nearly a 
 week, Selwyn," she said, " and never told me. 
 How very cruel of you ! "
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 213 
 
 " Cruel ! I wish some one would keep all 
 my troubles from me, Mrs. Hartley. What on 
 earth is the use of your crying in that way? 
 Tears won't mend broken bones ; but you like to 
 be miserable." 
 
 "Like to be miserable !" repeated Mrs. Hartley. 
 " I have had no choice in the matter, Selwyn ; 
 but God's will be done ! I say again it was cruel 
 of you to keep this knowledge to yourself, know- 
 ing that our only son was lying in pain, and 
 danger perhaps, with no one near him that could 
 nurse or care for him as I should do. Where is 
 this place that he is lying ? Can I get there 
 to-night ? " 
 
 " No, nor to-morrow either, Mrs. Hartley, with 
 my consent. He's well cared for I dare say." 
 
 "Not go to him?" cried Mrs. Hartley, her 
 mother's love rousing her into rebellion. " Not 
 go to him, unfeeling man, even you shall not 
 prevent me if I have to walk the journey. Cecil, 
 my dear, dear Cecil ! I can no more obey you, in 
 this matter, Selwyn, than I could in the wickedest 
 thing you could propose to me. Where is this
 
 214? LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 place ? Surely I have heard of it at some time. 
 I remember it is near Hilltown, near where your 
 Uncle Selwyn lived. Why don't you speak to 
 me ? Why don't you answer me ! " 
 
 Had she seen her husband's face pale as death, 
 his lips apart, and his eyes wide open, gazing into 
 the fire, she would have guessed that some more 
 powerful motive than her anger and her re- 
 proaches kept him silent. 
 
 " This is a matter," she said, after a pause, " in 
 which I have a right to act for myself, and I am 
 sure you will not object to my going to-night if 
 possible — if not, to-morrow morning, to our son. 
 Remember Selwyn, that by our children's death- 
 beds I have been the only watcher, and you 
 never denied me the right to exercise my solemn 
 duty. You will not interpose now between me 
 and my right to go to my son — to your son. Do 
 you consent ? " 
 
 " I have already told 3^011 my wish," said 
 Hartley hoarsery. " I don't want you to go into 
 that neighbourhood, as there's no necessity." 
 
 " No necessity !"
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 215 
 
 " Well, don't be violent, I beg of you. You've 
 said one or two nasty things which I shan't 
 forget in a hurry. Go, if you will, in the morning, 
 madam!" 
 
 She hardly knew what she had said ; but for 
 that she cared nothing, now she could go to 
 her darling Cecil. 
 
 " Thanks, Selwyn," she answered, and rose to 
 make preparations for her journey. 
 
 " Don't thank me," said Hartley, " my consent 
 is forced from me, and I hope you won't have 
 cause to repent of your obstinacy. Your son 
 seems to be a deal more considered than his 
 father who has to find board and lodging for the 
 lot. But no matter. I dare say^ shan't be 
 starved by the servants, and if I find no comfort 
 at home, why, I suppose I must look for it out of 
 doors." He sat silent for some time, expecting an 
 answer ; but when he looked round over his 
 shoulder, he found that Mrs. Hartley had left 
 the room. He instantly faced about to tRe 
 table, and drank off two or three glasses of wine 
 rapidly.
 
 216 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 "She will go," he thought, "she will go, that's 
 certain, and may perhaps hear something of old 
 times, as Cecil may have done. Well, suppose 
 they do, what should I care ? She — is — my wife," 
 he muttered, pausing on each word, "and will 
 keep her tongue quiet whatever she may think of 
 my conduct. As for Cecil, I have thought of his 
 future career, and if he's too much of a gentleman 
 to follow it, he can shift for himself, that's all. 
 She won't have to go to Hilltown ; the branch 
 station is two or three miles from it, and as no 
 one knows her she may come back only as wise as 
 she went." He finished the small decanter, but 
 as the wine was not of a very generous nature, he 
 subsequently supplemented it with a strong glass 
 of brandy and water, and then went to bed. Mrs. 
 Hartley preferred to sleep in the nursery, as she 
 had many arrangements to make for the morning. 
 
 Poor mother ! unhappy wife ! She knelt down 
 by the bedside of her sleeping daughter — the one 
 left of many taken — and sought for strength and 
 comfort where only the weak and wretched are sure 
 to find them.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 217 
 
 The next morning Mr. Hartley made a very 
 sulky breakfast, being much longer over it than 
 ordinary. He was exceedingly dilatory and pro- 
 voking afterwards, changing his boots two or three 
 times, and giving a world of unnecessary trouble 
 to the servants. He would give no information 
 respecting the train until he got to the office, he 
 said, as he was not sure there was any railway 
 beyond Hilltown, and if women would be obsti- 
 nate and have their own way, he wasn't going to 
 be put out of his. He insisted upon having all 
 the keys labelled, and required to be informed of 
 the state of the tea-caddy and the cellaret. He 
 requested also to have a full report of the cold 
 meat in the larder, and to know if the cask of 
 table beer had been tilted. He suddenly took an 
 interest in the state of the chimneys, and would 
 refer to Mrs. Hartley's housekeeping book to know 
 when the sweeps had been last employed. Having 
 fairly exhausted the patience of all his household, 
 except his gentle wife, he got into the cab (which 
 had been waiting nearly half an hour) smoking 
 an ill-flavoured cheroot, drawing up both windows
 
 218 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 to give Mrs. Hartley the full benefit of the 
 fumigation. 
 
 When they arrived at the office he would open 
 all his morning letters before referring to Brad- 
 shaw, and then affected to find that easily com- 
 prehended publication difficult of interpretation. 
 Having ascertained the route Mrs. Hartley was to 
 take, he discovered that the cab might reach the 
 station in time for the next train, provided 
 the cabman had luck and there were no stop- 
 pages. He sent the porter to see his wife 
 off, and maliciously gave her two franc pieces 
 in some loose silver which he presented to 
 her at parting. That was all. Not one kindly 
 remembrance to his son, until he was re- 
 minded that he had omitted such an ordinary 
 ceremony. 
 
 " Oh yes ! I'd forgot him for the moment," he 
 said. " Say all that's agreeable, and tell him to 
 get well as soon as he can, as I want him to take 
 up a matter of business for me when he can hobble 
 again." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley could and would put this unfeel-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 219 
 
 ing speech into gentle words when she saw Cecil, 
 be sure of that. 
 
 The cabman was in luck, and arrived in time. 
 Neither did he receive either of the franc pieces 
 and thereby occasion a dispute with the lady or 
 the attendant porter. 
 
 Hilltown was barely thirty miles from London, 
 but Mrs. Hartley travelled by a " stopping train," 
 and the journey of an hour and three-quarters 
 appeared to be interminable to her whose anxious 
 thoughts had been wandering to the Rosebush 
 Inn all through the preceding night and early 
 morning. Arrived at Hilltown she found that 
 the branch train would not proceed for a quarter 
 of an hour, and though she might have procured 
 easy conveyance by road she was too inexpe- 
 rienced a traveller to avail herself of other than 
 her prescribed means of procedure, therefore she 
 entered the little waiting-room, and seated her- 
 self at the window looking in the direction of 
 the place where she had ascertained her poor 
 wounded Cecil was lying. 
 
 After a while she became conscious of the pre-
 
 220 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 sence of a man walking to and fro on the platform 
 outside, and who appeared to regard her with 
 increasing interest as he passed and re-passed the 
 window at which she was seated. The man's face 
 appeared to be not quite unknown to her, but 
 she could not recall where she had seen him. 
 His dress was a shabby shooting-coat and well- 
 worn leather leggings, his old jerry hat appeared 
 too large for his head, the hair on which had 
 been closely cut, his face had been cleanly 
 shaven. 
 
 At last he stopped opposite the window, and 
 having apparently satisfied himself of Mrs. Hart- 
 ley's identity with some one he had known, he 
 smiled and motioned her to open the window. 
 Mrs. Hartley was not the least afraid at this 
 singular invitation, connecting it, she knew not 
 why, with Cecil. Having opened the little win- 
 dow the man touched his hat respectfully, and 
 said, "Are you alone, ma'am — no one in the room, 
 is there 1 " 
 
 " No one." 
 
 " You seem to have forgotten me, Mrs. Hartley,"
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 221 
 
 he said ; " and I don't wonder at it. I am James 
 Perks." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Mrs. Hartley, the man's 
 features being instantly remembered. " Are you 
 Mr. Perks that I knew years ago ? How changed 
 you are ! " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," said Jim. " The life I have 
 lived since then and the place I have just come 
 from changes a good many better men than me." 
 
 " Where do you come from ? " asked Mrs. 
 Hartley. 
 
 Jim took off his hat and showed his cropped 
 crown, as though that could answer the question, 
 but perceiving that Mrs. Hartley did not compre- 
 hend the meaning of the exhibition, said softly : 
 
 " The gaol, ma'am," and as Mrs. Hartley rather 
 recoiled at the announcement, he added, " and 
 perhaps you would hardly like to be told who put 
 me on the road to it." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley confessed her ignorance of his 
 meaning. 
 
 " You must not take it unkind of me if I tell 
 you an unpleasant truth, ma'am," said Jim. " But
 
 222 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 I have been so hunted, and am likely to be again, 
 as though I was a wild beast of prey, that I must 
 take every chance I can find to pull myself out of 
 my old life and get at a new one." 
 
 " Still I don't understand you, Mr. Perks." 
 
 "Mr. Perks," replied Jim, with a melancholy 
 smile. " Ah ! that was it once on a time — that 
 was my ruin, ma'am. When I was poor Jim 
 Perks I was thought well on and trusted as I 
 deserved to be then. Mrs. Hartley, I don't like to 
 worry you, but I'm almost desperate, I am, and so 
 you must know the worst of it. You remember 
 when Mr. Hartley used to bring me now and 
 then to your house \ " 
 
 "Yes, perfectly." 
 
 " Do you know why he did so ? " asked Jim, 
 quietly but earnestly. 
 
 " No ; my husband never acquaints me with his 
 business matters." 
 
 " I thought not — I thought not," replied Jim, 
 adding after a short pause, " nayther would I if I 
 didn't see a chance of escape from my miserable 
 life. I can't help what I'm going to say. It
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 223 
 
 seems as if you was sent here to-day on purpose 
 to save me. When I used to come to your house 
 your husband was some way in my power. I 
 knowed of a something which he had done, and 
 nobody but I could accuse him of it." 
 
 Mrs. Hartley became deadly pale, and Jim saw 
 the effect his words had had upon her. 
 
 " I must speak on, ma'am, now. What I have 
 said is Heaven's truth, ma'am, and I received a 
 great deal of money from him to keep it a secret, 
 and he made me swear a oath — such a oath ! — 
 never to speak of what it was to living man or 
 woman. The money went the way of all such easy 
 earnings, and when I tried to get more from Mr. 
 Hartley, he taunted me with what he had done 
 — he told me what I had swored, and left me with 
 a laugh almost. Well, ma'am, down and down 
 I've gone since, and sorely have I been tempted to 
 up and tell the secret I knowed, but there was 
 two things stood in the way. I was afraid to 
 break the dreadful oath I had taken, for time 
 was, ma'am, when I had good teaching, more 
 shame o' me to say it ; and there was another
 
 224 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 reason came, even when temptation has been 
 almost too strong for me, — I thought that having 
 come to what I was, nobody would take my word 
 now, and I have nothing to show for what I had 
 to say, and so your husband has gone on to be 
 rich and respectable." 
 
 " Perks, what you have told me is very terrible ; 
 and though I cannot imagine what your secret 
 may be, I do not think you would have invented 
 such a wicked thing." 
 
 Jim made an asseveration of its truth. 
 
 " What is it you want from me ? " asked Mrs. 
 Hartley. 
 
 " A little money, ma'am," replied Jim. " I 
 want to get away to Ameriky, and I can't get 
 the money to pay my passage. If I could show 
 to one kind friend and lady, that some one had a 
 little faith in me, that some one beside herself did 
 not want to see me rot in a gaol, or die on a 
 gallows, I think she would find the way to help 
 me too, and I should be able to get away from 
 this cursed place and become a new man." 
 
 " Whether your story be true or false," said
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 225 
 
 Mrs. Hartley (poor wife! she guessed too truly), 
 " you shall not perish, and leave the sin of it at 
 our door. Here are five pounds, if that sum will 
 help you." 
 
 " It will ! it will ! " replied Jim, choking with 
 emotion. " Not a farthing of it shall be touched 
 for meat or drink if I am starving. For nothing, 
 but to put the sea between me and this place. 
 God reward you, ma'am, and forgive me if I have 
 made you anyways unhappy, but I was so despe- 
 rate miserable that I could only think of myself, 
 and of what was before me ! " 
 
 The poor fellow looked very sorrowful ami 
 lingered at the window as though asking for a 
 kindly word or two. Mrs. Hartley could not speak, 
 oppressed as she was by what the man had said, 
 but she held out her hand to the silent supplicant, 
 and that action seemed to set his mind at ease. 
 
 " Good-bye, ma'am," he said ; " we may never 
 meet again, going where I am going ; but should 
 Mr. Hartley ever tell you the truth, you will not 
 think so bad of me as some others has done ; or 
 think, ma'am, that this precious money has been
 
 226 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 ill gived when you know I was true to him and 
 what I saved him from." 
 
 Jim then placed his riches in an old moleskin 
 tobacco-pouch, and hiding it somewhere inside 
 his waistcoat, made a quiet bow to his benefac- 
 tress and left the platform. 
 
 Five Pounds ! Not a large sum, and Mrs. 
 Hartley had saved it for some trifling present for 
 her dear son Cecil. She had made a better 
 investment for him by giving the money to 
 Jim Perks.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WYCHERLY IS SCHOOLED BY KATE AND PROVES 
 HIMSELF NO WISER THAN HE OUGHT TO BE. 
 CECIL LOSES HIS NURSE. 
 
 Meanwhile Cecil had made new friends where 
 he had least expected to find them. On the 
 second morning after his accident Cecil was 
 sleeping, and Frank had gone to his chamber 
 overlooking the garden and little school-room of 
 Professor Ruth. Her duties were ended for the 
 morning, as the laughter and voices of her eman- 
 cipated pupils could be heard even through the 
 closed window. Down the cleanly swept garden- 
 path he saw pass tripping along an agile, graceful 
 form, snugly wrapped in a well-furred pelisse, 
 and he recognised both as having been seen on 
 the margin of Old Court lake, and knew them 
 to pertain to Miss Kate Wycherly. He saw her 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 enter the school-room, and hastening to Ruth 
 embrace her most affectionately. Frank, sus- 
 ceptible rogue ! would have given one of his ears 
 almost to have received the half of the kisses 
 passing between them. The weather was bitterly 
 cold, but Frank stood in his shirt sleeves utterly 
 regardless of it, watching the two friends now 
 engaged in earnest talk, and wondered what the 
 subject could be which interested them so much. 
 Presently the two girls came into the garden, and 
 Frank saw the earnest face of Kate turned for a 
 moment towards the window where poor Cecil 
 was lying and instantly divined that the conversa- 
 tion which had evidently interested both, had had 
 reference to his disabled friend. There was such 
 a look of gentle pity in Kate's face that Frank felt 
 there was other beauty than perfectness of feature 
 and complexion, and almost envied his friend his 
 mishap, as it seemed to have procured for him 
 a sympathiser like Kate Wycherly. 
 
 Frank proceeded rather deliberately to make 
 his best possible toi]et, and found, as is usual on 
 similar occasions, that his collars were intractable,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 221) 
 
 and that his cravat was perverse. Ho half satis- 
 fied himself at last, and then sauntered down 
 the stairs as though quite unconscious of the 
 presence of Ruth's visitor. He was properly 
 punished for his duplicity, as he only arrived 
 just in time to pay the ordinary civilities, and 
 hand the lady of Old Court into her little 
 pony carriage, which he watched out of sight. 
 Ruth and Mrs. Masham had left him to his con- 
 templation, and retired into their sanctum (as the 
 little parlour was now called) and as the door 
 was closed, Mr. Frank found himself in the posi- 
 tion of the waverer who had two stools to sit upon 
 and missed both. 
 
 " She certainly is a charming person, that Kate 
 Wycherly," he thought, " and gives a fellow no 
 chance of being more than ordinarily civil. A 
 strong contrast of character between her and 
 her friend Ruth, who is gentleness itself. 
 Pretty Ruth ; I hope I have not offended her 
 by my irrepressible admiration of her friend" 
 — and the lady-killer went off to the stables to 
 have a few minutes' conversation with his horse.
 
 230 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 When Kate and her father were seated at dinner 
 that day, he said, 
 
 " You made a short stay with Ruth this morn- 
 ing ; was she ill ? " 
 
 " No, papa," replied Kate, looking at her father 
 rather archly, " but I came away because I was 
 afraid you might take it into your dear wise head 
 to be angry with me if I had remained." 
 
 " Why so ? " asked her father. 
 
 " Young Hartley is staying there," replied Kate 
 bravely. 
 
 " Staying at the Rosebush ! What impudence 
 to take up his quarters under that roof ! " said 
 Wycherly angrily. 
 
 " It is not impudence which detains him there, 
 papa — it is a broken leg," replied Kate. 
 
 " What ! Has the lad met with an accident ? " 
 asked Wycherly in a more kindly tone. 
 
 " Yes, papa — so Ruth told me. His horse fell 
 with him on his return from a visit to his Aunt 
 Masham." Kate emphasized the word " Aunt " in 
 a peculiar manner. 
 
 " Has he dared to make himself known to poor
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 231 
 
 Hester and to claim relationship ? I wonder she 
 had not turned him out of the house," said 
 Wycherly quite in a passion again. 
 
 " On the contrary/' continued Kate. " Mrs. 
 Masham — Ruth told me — was so moved and 
 pleased at what Mr. Hartley said to her, that 
 she nearly threw her arms around his neck and 
 longed to kiss him." 
 
 " Well ! women are strange creatures, that's 
 certain," said Mr. Wycherly, turning up his eyes 
 and shaking his head. 
 
 " Yes, dear papa, they are strange and forgiving 
 creatures, and Mrs. Masham is now nursing the 
 son of her old enemy with all the care and almost 
 with the love of a mother. Don't you think you 
 ought to forgive him also, especially as he has 
 never done anything to offend you ? " 
 
 Wycherly looked in his daughter's bright en- 
 quiring face for a few moments before he answered 
 her. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Kate. You are getting 
 too clever and are now taking me at a disadvan- 
 tage. What on earth can I say but f Yes 1 ' '
 
 232 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " And what ought you to say but ' Yes,' you 
 dear, old, darling, obstinate papa," said Kate, 
 rising and kissing her father fondly. " I was quite 
 ashamed of you the other day when I heard you 
 so unjust to one who had only been known to us 
 by his kindness and civility. Never be so naughty 
 any more, you dear papa," and she kissed him 
 again. 
 
 " I won't — if I can help it, Kate replied 
 Wycherly, "and I tell you what we wi!l do — to- 
 morrow I'll drive you over, and call on the 
 young fellow." 
 
 " You shall drive me over, and you shall call on 
 the young gentleman with pleasure, but if you 
 please I will confine my visit to Ruth," said Kate, 
 with more than the usual colour in her face. 
 
 " Of course — that's what I mean," replied 
 Wycherly ; " I hope none of his own people are 
 there ? " 
 
 "None at present, though Mr. Lockyer wrote 
 to them on the night of the accident. But you 
 omtst go now that you have promised — the more 
 so, as Mr. Hartley — so Ruth told me — noticed
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 233 
 
 your coolness at parting after our skating-party, 
 and " 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 " And that made him question Mr. Lockyer and 
 then go to Mrs. Masham, to whom he has confided 
 an arrangement which reflects the greatest honour 
 upon him — so Ruth told me," — said Kate in a 
 strangely embarrassed manner. 
 
 " May I ask to know what it is ? " enquired 
 Wycherly. 
 
 " I don't exactly know what it is myself," replied 
 Kate, " but I believe it is something for the ad- 
 vantage of poor Mr. Garrett," 
 
 " Poor Jerry ! Well I shall be glad to hear 
 that something has turned up to his advantage," 
 said Mr. Wycherly. " I shall ask Mrs. Masham to 
 take me into confidence. I should like to hear 
 some good of a Hartley, too, for I've faith in blood, 
 whether " 
 
 " Papa ! Papa ! " cried Kate, interrupting him, 
 " going to be naughty again ?" 
 
 " No ! no ! Peel me an apple, whilst I look 
 over the London paper."
 
 234 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Kate did as she was bidden, nor sought to 
 disturb her father in his pursuit of knowledge 
 in that book of daily life — a newspaper. 
 
 Cecil, on the following day, had scarcely re- 
 covered from the excitement caused by his father's 
 cold-blooded letter, when Mr. Wycherly requested 
 permission to see him, and Cecil experienced a 
 feeling of shame such as he had never known in 
 his life before. He now knew how much reason 
 Mr. Wycherly had had to discourage an intimacy 
 with him, and he was perplexed to divine the 
 object of this visit. 
 
 Mr. Wycherly attributed the flushed face and 
 averted eyes to the painful condition of the 
 sufferer, not guessing that Cecil was then enduring 
 pangs which made him indifferent to the throbbing 
 of his strained muscles and shattered bone. 
 
 " I am very grieved," said Wycherly, taking the 
 feverish hand lying on the bed-clothes, " very 
 grieved to find you lying here, Mr. Cecil " (he 
 purposely avoided mentioning the name he de- 
 tested so much). 
 
 " I must task my philosophy," replied Cecil with
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 2o5 
 
 some effort, " and believe matters might have been 
 much worse everyway." 
 
 " So they might ! So they might ! " said 
 Wycherly cheerfully. " Might have broken two 
 legs and not had this comfortable inn for an 
 hospital." 
 
 " Yes, I might have been less fortunate. My 
 Aunt Masham has been very kind, very." Cecil 
 was resolved that Mr. Wycherly should not think 
 he was willing to impose upon him any longer. 
 
 " Ah ! Yes ! Mrs. Masham is a good soul — a 
 kind soul, always was ! " replied Wycherly, going 
 to the window. " Oh ! a good view of Hilltown 
 Church and the valley, I see, but rather mono- 
 tonous I should fancy after a day or two." 
 
 14 1 have had plenty to occupy me at present," 
 replied Cecil — " the pain of my leg, and my good 
 friend Lockyer has only left me half an hour ago. 
 He returns again in the evening." 
 
 " Ah, so I heard, kind young fellow that," 
 said Wycherly, "kind and gentlemanly. You'll 
 have some of your own people presently, I 
 suppose ? "
 
 23 (j LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " Possibly my mother," replied Cecil colouring, 
 " I expect no one else." 
 
 " Then in that case," said Wycherly quickly, 
 " when you can get about again, Mr. Cecil, we shall 
 be glad to see you for a week or two at Old Court, 
 that is, if my young housekeeper Kate sees no 
 objection." 
 
 Cecil translated these words into what he 
 thought was their true meaning — " Come ! if you 
 and your mother can come together without the 
 man whose name you both bear, unless he should 
 have chosen a fitting helpmate, and that Kate's 
 woman's instinct will readily discover." That 
 such a doubt should be possible where his noble 
 mother was concerned offended his filial love, an4 
 he replied : 
 
 " Thanks, Mr. Wycherly, I am not likely to tire 
 of the Rosebush in the short time I hope to be 
 detained here, and I have already trespassed upon 
 your hospitality." 
 
 " Not in the least, sir ! not in the least," said 
 Wycherly, reproaching himself for his want of tact 
 and consideration. " I am afraid I was out of
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 237 
 
 humour when we parted at Old Court, but my 
 daughter has spoilt me by over indulgence, and I 
 must ask you to excuse me." He then pressed 
 the acceptance of his invitation so earnestly that 
 he extorted half a promise from Cecil, that, when 
 convalescent, he would become a guest at Old 
 Court. 
 
 There was no doubt but this visit helped greatly 
 to soothe the wounded spirit of Cecil, and Frank 
 found a marked change for the better when he 
 returned in the evening and heard what had 
 occurred during his absence, mentally resolving 
 that he would take the earliest possible oppor- 
 tunity of riding over to Old Court and thanking 
 the Wycherlys for their kindness to his friend. 
 Of course he did not suspect himself of having 
 any other motive for the call, and the day that 
 Mrs. Hartley started on her journey to the Rose- 
 bush, Frank presented himself at Old Court, and, 
 to his no small mortification, found neither Kate 
 nor her father at home. 
 
 During Frank's absence a fly from the station 
 stopped at the Rosebush. This was no unusual
 
 238 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 occurrence, but Mrs. Masham knew instinctively 
 that the new comer must be the wife of her old 
 enemy, as she was wont to call Jacob Hartley. 
 
 Mrs. Masham would have been more than 
 woman— forgiving as good women mostly are — 
 had she been capable of offering a sincere wel- 
 come to Mrs. Hartley. Hester knew how she had 
 partaken of Peter's hopes and fears and the inte- 
 rests she had had in his outgoings and incomings 
 not to believe that the same confidence had 
 existed between the Hartleys, and therefore she 
 debited the innocent wife with a full half of her 
 husband's delinquencies. And it was not until 
 she had remembered that the lady at the door 
 was Cecil's mother, the one of whom he had 
 spoken with such love and tenderness, that Hester 
 Masham felt amiable enough to do the honours 
 of her house with her usual politeness. 
 
 What a loving meeting between mother and 
 son ! Tears first and kisses — no words until each 
 full heart had so relieved itself, and then Cecil 
 made light of all his sufferings and strove to 
 dispel his mother's fears for his future well doing.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 23£ 
 
 Neither made mention of the selfish, cold-hearted 
 father, each understanding the other's silence, and 
 respecting each other's sorrow that there was love 
 withheld. 
 
 As the day wore on and they sat conversing 
 together, each became painfully conscious of a 
 restraint in their intercourse and of a strange 
 unusual feeling as though a cold dark shade was 
 continually passing between them until both 
 divined the cause, remaining alike unwilling to 
 make the disclosure of the disgraceful secrets 
 they had learned of late. 
 
 At length Mrs. Hartley with a burst of pas- 
 sionate grief narrated her interview with Jim 
 Perks, and found to her amazement that the 
 revelation had but slight effect upon Cecil, who 
 then told her in softened phrases and gentle 
 words much that he had learned of wrong to 
 others done by him whom they were commanded 
 by God to honour and by nature to love, who had 
 cast from him all reverence, — and had repelled 
 affection for the wicked greed of gain and the 
 despicable care of self. There was a sad relief
 
 240 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 in this exchange of humiliating confidences, and 
 mother and son became if possible dearer to each 
 other, believing that in the increase of their love 
 they should be better able to bear the voluntary 
 sorrows with which Selwyn Hartley filled his 
 home. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley so completely realized the cha- 
 racter which Cecil had given her, that Mrs. 
 Masham took her to her bosom and accepted her 
 as one of her dearest friends — whatever that may 
 represent in the catalogue of female emotions. 
 In woman's love we are the most orthodox of 
 believers. Of woman's friendship we are in- 
 clined to be sceptical, especially if the professors 
 of that sublime passion have husbands. We 
 fear they sometimes overlook Polonius's advice 
 to Laertes — 
 
 " The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
 Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; 
 But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
 Of each new-hatch' d, unfledg'd comrade. " 
 
 Ruth also displayed an affectionate attention 
 to Mrs. Hartley, but then she had had to learn
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 241 
 
 no worldly lesson, and had known no hardening 
 sorrow beyond the child's transient grief at the 
 death of her father. Ruth therefore had nearly 
 all the love and tenderness of her woman's nature 
 unapplied, and the gentle mother of cousin Cecil 
 was instantly endowed with a part. The more 
 so as she, poor lady, was so liberal in dispensing 
 her own affection, as Kate Wycherly and Ruth 
 had to endure loving recitals of Cecil's virtues, 
 Cecil's accomplishments, Cecil's nobleness, the 
 mother never tiring seemingly to "unpack her 
 heart with words." 
 
 True, she was often led into these eloquent 
 panegyrics of her son by some careless word 
 spoken by Kate perhaps, which touched the 
 dominant chord of the mother's heart and set it 
 sounding pasans. And more strange than the 
 ready minstrelsy of the fond mother was the 
 untiring patience with which Kate listened to 
 those notes of praise as though she could have 
 joined in chorus had such exuberant exaltation 
 been permitted to a young lady of eighteen, when 
 the subject was the laudation of such a young
 
 242 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 gentleman as Cecil Hartley. Kate could have 
 had no such thought in her mind perhaps as she 
 had persuaded herself long ago, very long ago — 
 a year or more (as Mr. Frank Lockyer had done 
 more recently), that she should never marry. 
 
 Mrs. Hartley had rarely been as happy as she 
 was now, during the long period of her wedded 
 life. Cecil made so light of the pain which arose 
 from his broken limb that his mother forgot 
 there was cause for anxiety, and only rejoiced in 
 the society of her darling boy and his kind con- 
 siderate friends. Mr. Hartley might have sus- 
 pected as much, and his was not a disposition to 
 accept the happiness of others as any compen- 
 sation for discomfort to himself. He wrote to 
 Mrs. Hartley the following epistle upon a sheet 
 of office paper, as though among other articles of 
 commerce in which he dealt were job lots of home 
 affections which he retailed out in very small 
 quantities. If the annexed sample be a fair 
 extract from the bulk, the job lot was of very 
 inferior quality.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 24 8 
 
 *'D R Rebecca, 
 
 u Gutter Lane, 
 
 26/2/46. 
 
 " I have not replied to your two favours, 
 20th & 24th ulto., as I have been too hard worked 
 here, and a precious deal too uncomfortable at 
 home to have written anything pleasant to any 
 one. I suppose you are now thinking of coming 
 home again, as you say in your last that Cecil is 
 going on nicely, and that the people at the public- 
 house are very decent and attentive. Mind — 
 keep a check on what you have — gruel costs 
 very little making, and no man can do more 
 than four basins in four-and-twenty hours ; but 
 when I had a cold at Leicester, they charged 
 me half-a-crown a day for gruel and beef-tea. 
 The house seems to be getting in a pretty mess, 
 everything topsy turvy almost, but Sally Ster- 
 kins and Mary call it a cleaning, so I am shut 
 up if I attempt the mildest row. Clara came 
 home from school on Saturday as usual. I did 
 not see her until the morning, and then I 
 thought she looked very dull about the eyes and 
 
 r2
 
 244 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 feverish. She has also a nasty red spot on her 
 forehead — pustuley-like — but Sally says it is only 
 a pimple, and of course she knows, but she's not 
 her mother, that's all I say. Clara went to school 
 on Monday morning, and certainly appeared to be 
 livelier. Still there's the spot and the tendency 
 to fever, and recollect how some of our others 
 began to get queer. Would the people at the inn 
 buy some real Bengal sheroots — a job lot? Ask 
 'em — and they might go off the bill. We have 
 also a small lot of Turkey rhubarb, if the doctor 
 would like to have a sample. Also some Tartar 
 emetic which is excellent, as I tried a little on our 
 porter, and it answered wonderfully. Try the 
 Medico, as his bill will be stiffish I expect, and I 
 could sell both T.R and T.E. cheap. I shall ex- 
 pect you home certainly by the end of the next 
 iveek, as the tradesmen's books will be getting into 
 a mess, and the washerwoman was quite insolent 
 on Saturday. ' She couldn't give credit.' ' She 
 was a poor woman, and had another poor woman 
 to pay, and that Mrs. Hartley never served her 
 so.' So you see what you get by being ' con-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 245 
 
 siderate' as you call it. Consider yourself, that's 
 my motto. I haven't heard anything from the 
 school that Clara is worse, but when you write 
 again say if our doctor shall call — I mean the one 
 that contracts to physic our people in the ware- 
 house — I told him I should include ourselves, 
 unless in case of surgical operations. Ask Cecil if 
 he sounded the Lockyers about the goods. If not, 
 tell him to do so prompt — as I fancy cottons will 
 go down. C. can easily do it with young L. if he 
 is what you say, ' a most true and faithful friend.' 
 I could, and it's time Cecil turned his whole mind 
 to business. I don't think I have anything else to 
 say, and it's ten to five, so the porter will come for 
 the letters. Mind you write and say what I shall 
 do about Clara's redness on the forehead, and 
 be sure to come home either the middle or the end 
 — middle for choice — of next week, as I haven't 
 had a decent meal since you have been away. 
 " I remain, 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " Yours truly, 
 
 " J. Selwyn Hartley.
 
 24G LOVED AT LAS7. 
 
 "P.S. — Remember me to Cecil — tell him to get 
 well as fast as he can as I shall want him on a 
 matter of business, and mind he don't forget about 
 the cottons." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Hartley blushed and sighed by turns 
 as she read this affectionate communication, and 
 so did Cecil until he found his mother addressed 
 as " Dear Sir," and then he smiled very bitterly. 
 As for his father's indifference concerning his own 
 suffering and progress Cecil cared little, but he 
 felt a pang at his heart when he saw how lightly 
 his mother was regarded, and found in the lines 
 which he had just read a sad story of a wife's 
 endurance. He determined, if possible, to keep 
 his dear nurse where she was evidently so happy, 
 and he and Mrs. Masham and Ruth urged her to 
 disregard the selfish considerations of Mr. Hartley, 
 and remain until Cecil coidd return home with 
 her. 
 
 " It could not be," she said, shaking her head 
 sadly ; " her duties were divided, and she must do 
 her best to discharge them all, whether she were
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 247 
 
 rewarded with such happiness as she had recently 
 enjoyed, or with the sorrows, fears, and the neglect 
 which had for so long been her experiences of 
 home." 
 
 Mrs. Masham and Ruth tried vainly to alter 
 her resolution to return to London, as Mrs. Hart- 
 ley insisted that it would be only a selfish act 
 were she to remain now that she had seen Cecil, 
 and knew how considerately he was cared for by 
 Mrs. Masham and his other friends. 
 
 Swiftly, too swiftly, flew the next few days, and 
 Kate and Ruth and Hester all strove to make 
 them happier even than those which had gone 
 before, Frank Lockyer bearing his full share in 
 this labour of love. And when they parted, and 
 her pitying friends remembered how the maiden's 
 hopes had failed to fulfil their promise to the wife 
 and mother, they agreed to believe that such a 
 fate as Mrs. Hartley's was an exceptional example 
 of the ordinary chances of life, and that for them 
 there was no such future.
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 JIM PERKS RESOLVES TO GO INTO EXILE AND MR. 
 GARRETT AIDS HIM TO EFFECT HIS OBJECT — 
 A LITTLE DINNER AND A LITTLE MUSIC. 
 
 This will be a very short chapter, if, indeed, it 
 deserve to be a separate section of our story ; but 
 as tints and half tones are needed to make the 
 perfect picture, so is our imperfect word-painting 
 dependent for its effects on many trivialities of 
 incident and description. 
 
 It may for the moment appear hardly worthy of 
 record that Mrs. Masham received, in a few days 
 after her communication had reached her old 
 admirer, Jerry Garrett, a reply to that welcome 
 epistle. Hester remembered the old characters 
 of the superscription, although she had seen 
 them but seldom of late years, but there had been 
 a time when a day scarcely passed without some
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 249 
 
 ■excuse being found for a brief note to Miss H. 
 Mereweather from hers " most sincerely, Jeffy. 
 Garrett." 
 
 The letter she now received was sealed with 
 black wax, impressed by the chequered end of a 
 pencil-case. Jerry had apparently begun to write 
 "Dear Cousin M — ," but gathering courage, we 
 suppose, from the terms which had been applied 
 to himself, he had altered clumsily the M into H, 
 and written " Hester." The contents were com- 
 monplace enough, being earnest thanks to the 
 unknown donor or debtor, and honestly confessing 
 how much the comforts of his life would be 
 increased by this vast addition to his income. 
 The sentences were short and spasmodic, as 
 though the hand had laid a constraint upon the 
 utterances of the heart and would not allow the 
 old love, which could not die, to betray its hiding- 
 place. 
 
 Hester communicated the contents of the letter 
 to one more interested in them than herself, and 
 having done so, she proceeded to tear the paper 
 before consigning it to the flames, but when her
 
 250 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 eyes fell on the old familiar handwriting she 
 paused in the act of destruction, and, after a few 
 moments' reflection, threw the letter as it was 
 into a writing-desk which Jerry had given to her 
 years before. 
 
 Some four or five weeks had passed when Mrs. 
 Masham was surprised at receiving another letter 
 in the handwriting of Jerry Garrett. The first 
 letter had been received as a matter of course, 
 but this new comer was really a surprise and a 
 small perplexity, as the seal bore upon it the 
 blazonry of a pair of open scissors, and the legend, 
 "We part to meet again." 
 
 " Dear me i " thought Hester, colouring very 
 slightly, "I gave him that seal twenty years 
 ago!" 
 
 Whether it was that recollection, or any specu- 
 lation as to the contents of the letter, which made 
 her look so long at the seal before it was broken, 
 we are not inclined to enquire, but Hester gave 
 a very little sigh as she tore away the paper 
 from around the wax without destroying the 
 impression.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 251 
 
 There was much in what Jerry had written to 
 interest Hester, and prove to her that he was the 
 same soft-headed unselfish fellow that he had 
 ever been, and as the letter only explained in 
 part the causes which had led to its production, 
 we will return for a short time to Mr. Garrett's 
 school-house. 
 
 " He's coined, sir," said Mrs. Fielder, as she 
 poured out the Dominie's morning tea—he had 
 allowed himself that luxury now that he had 
 become such a rich man — " He's corned, sir — 
 corned last night." 
 
 "Who has come, Mrs. Fielder?" asked Jerry, 
 in his usual mild manner. 
 
 "Why him I spaked about, sir. My nevey 
 Jim Perks, and I declares to you, sir, I'm 
 quite ashamed of him ! " said Mrs. Fielder, ex- 
 hibiting to Jerry the palms of her not overclean 
 hands. 
 
 " Well, he is not a person to be very proud of, 
 I know," replied Jerry, " but he was a good lad 
 once, and may be sorry for the past." 
 
 "0, it's not that axactly that I means now.
 
 252 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 sir," said Mrs. Fielder, "it's his looks — they've 
 quite scraped his face, and cut his hair down to 
 the quick, as you may say, and might as well 
 have painted county gaol on him, he looks so 
 unnataral." 
 
 Jerry did not care for the man's appearance, 
 he said, the great question was, whether he in- 
 tended to do right for the future, and it was then 
 that Mrs. Fielder, having rolled her arms up in 
 her apron, either for warmth or concealment, 
 proceeded, in a very roundabout narrative, to 
 acquaint Jerry with the determination of her 
 nephew, Jim, to get out of the country as fast as 
 he could, and the only obstacle to the completion 
 of this good resolution was the want of sufficient 
 funds to carry him over the broad Atlantic. 
 
 "There is a lady has bore a good will to Jim, but 
 her father had been the means of putting him in 
 gaol for poaching his game, and it wasn't likely 
 she'd help him now — unless, may be, a friend could 
 be got to spake to her, and there was no one 
 more likely than Miss Ruth Masham who was a 
 great fav'rite at Old Court."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 'ly.} 
 
 Jim had not told his Aunt all he knew about 
 his own affairs. He had said nothing of the £•> 
 note which Mrs. Hartley had given him, but when 
 he had had a long evening's talk with Jerry, 
 and had moved that soft-hearted person to 
 promise to write to Mrs. Masham in his behalf, 
 Jim honestly told him of his interview with 
 " another lady " at the station, and of the money 
 which she had given to him. He did not mention 
 her name, as somehow or the other the word 
 stuck in his throat when he tried to give it 
 expression in the hearing of Jerry Garrett. 
 
 As Jim walked home in the bright moonlight 
 that night, he remembered the old poaching song 
 which he had sung so often drunk and sober, and 
 some lingering feeling for the old life came over 
 him for a moment, and so disturbed him that 
 his forehead became warm and damp despite the 
 cold frosty air. 
 
 " I must get away ! I will, too, someway or the 
 other," he muttered, " or my life will be a sad one 
 if I stay. If I get among my old pals I'm not 
 safe, I'm sure on't, and then gaol and gaol agen
 
 254 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 until a man gets desperate. Besides," he stopped 
 and leaned his back against a gate by the road- 
 side, " besides, if I was gettin honest bread again 
 I couldn't eat it here — knowin' what I know has 
 been done, when a word from me would have 
 given others their rights. That's past all, and 
 too late ; but I should be always seem' 'em, and 
 thinkin' what a great rogue me and him has been 
 — tho' he seems prosperin' enough, and is happy 
 enough. Only to think," he continued, after a 
 pause, " that I should be obliged to come to them 
 two — Jeffery Garrett and Peter Masham's wife — 
 to help me away from the consequences of the 
 wicked thing I have done to them ! O ! what a 
 bad rogue I ha' been, and what I ha' had to pay 
 for it. What I chucked awa}^ for a few pounds 
 spent in drink and other things as bad or worse ; 
 I was not bad till then — I strove to learn and do 
 my duty by Miss Kate, who used to like me then, 
 and never had a unkind word. O ! why did I 
 forget all that when I listened to that man ! 
 tempting me with his cursed money that never 
 did me good ! 0, if I could be as I used to
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 255 
 
 be ! 0, if I could ! " Jim turned round, and 
 clasping his hands together upon the top of 
 the gate, laid his head upon them and 
 muttered some rude earnest words, and called 
 them prayer. 
 
 It was the letter written on behalf of Jim 
 Perks, and bearing the impression of Hester's old 
 love gift — well, the words are written, let them 
 abide — that Mrs. Masham had received and 
 which she afterwards read aloud to Ruth and 
 Cecil : 
 
 " I am about to make a proposal to you, dear 
 Cousin Hester, which may at first sight appear an 
 unnecessary interference on my part in behalf of 
 one whom we have both reason to believe has in 
 some way assisted to do us an injury, but so many 
 years have passed since the wrong (if any) occurred 
 to us that I am determined to accept the good 
 which has come to me with all thankfulness 
 and to express my gratitude by any kindly act 
 within my power. ' When we have lost the 
 power to do great services to our fellow-creatures, 
 one may at least do good-natured trifles/ says
 
 2o() LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, and I bow my head and say 
 ' Amen.' " 
 
 " What is he going to propose after such a 
 preamble?" said Cecil laughing. "He could not 
 have been more circumlocutory if he was about 
 to offer you his hand and heart." 
 
 Mrs. Masham's face coloured all over and she- 
 had to give two or three short hems ! before she 
 could read on, and learn how Jeffery had seen Jim 
 Perks fresh from gaol and learned his strong desire 
 to begin a new life away from England, that 
 needing the means he had made bold to think 
 that if Miss Wycherly knew that he had found 
 one other friend to back her kindly opinion of her 
 old servant, that she would help him to work out 
 his good resolutions. Would Miss Ruth become 
 the poor gaolbird's advocate ? " 
 
 "If this appeal should fail, Cousin Hester," 
 Jerry's letter went on to say, " I should be much 
 obliged if you would let me have £5 on account of 
 the annuity so generously conferred on me, and 
 which I cannot use better than in giving this poor- 
 fellow a chance of escaping the gallows."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 257 
 
 "Just like Jerry Garrett!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Masham, " the same foolish, careless fellow that 
 he ever was ! He never valued money, and was 
 I believe happier for losing his share of old 
 Selwyn's property ! " 
 
 Jerry was unanimously declared to be an im- 
 provident donkey, and Ruth readily undertook to 
 communicate the contents of his letter to Kate 
 Wycherly. Kate had but one difficulty — the 
 consent of her father to be permitted to render 
 the assistance required by the " incorrigible 
 poaching scoundrel," as Mr. Wycherly had for 
 some time designated Jim. 
 
 Kate did not despair, and she made her ap- 
 proaches with great caution. 
 
 " You know, papa, what Mrs. Masham told you 
 of Mr. Garrett's good fortune " said Kate, giv- 
 ing a few extra stirs to her fathers nightcap of 
 grog. 
 
 " All, yes ! n answered Wycherly. " I wonder 
 who could have been so generous." 
 
 " So do I," said Kate quietly. 
 
 " Mrs. Masham's bound to secrecy, she says, and 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 so one has no right to pump her. I should like 
 to know, I confess." 
 
 " And so should I," said Kate. 
 
 " I think I can guess ! " 
 
 " And so can I," said Kate. 
 
 " Who ? " asked Wycherly abruptly. 
 
 " Nobody," answered Kate, blushing very red. 
 
 " Nobody ! It must be some one, that's certain, 
 and " 
 
 " Well, we are not permitted to enquire, papa," 
 interrupted Kate, " and it matters very little 
 where it comes from, so long as poor Mr. Garrett 
 is the better for it, which he won't be." 
 
 " Won't be ? what do you mean ? " 
 
 And then Kate told her father all that Mr. 
 Jerry Garrett had written, and had then to endure 
 a great many little spurts of temper and a few 
 rather hard and naughty words in connection 
 with Jim Perks, but the grog, or the better 
 nature, or the love of the foolish fond father for 
 his darling child, overcame all objections, and full 
 permission to act as she pleased was given at last 
 to the diplomatic Kate.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 259 
 
 Cecil's cure progressed very favourably, and he 
 was enabled to go abroad, sometimes driven out 
 by Frank, and two or three times by Mr. Wycherly, 
 who had become, so it seemed, to regard Cecil 
 with considerable favour. 
 
 The Lockyers had been very kind in their at- 
 tentions to their injured guest, visiting him very 
 frequently, and when business called the head of 
 the house to town, Frank took up permanent 
 quarters at the Rosebush and might have been 
 considered as one of the family seeing how he 
 invaded the sanctum at all times, and even pre- 
 senting himself in the little school-room when 
 Professor Ruth was relieved of her pupils. 
 
 If Kate Wycherly chanced to arrive before 
 Ruth was at liberty to receive her, Frank was 
 always ready to do the honours of the house 
 — to hand her from her pony carriage, and con- 
 duct her to the garden door of the sanctum, 
 through which she always entered. He carried 
 her music and entered into the freest criticism 
 upon the value of the different compositions, 
 the progress of Kate's pupil Ruth, and in fact
 
 260 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 exerted himself generally to be as agreeable as 
 j^ossible and quite as attentive as the lady of 
 Old Court would permit him to be. Frank 
 Lockyer evidently prided himself on being a lady's 
 man, without reflecting upon the responsibilities 
 of the character. 
 
 This pleasant life, however, was to have an 
 end, as Cecil determined to return home as soon as 
 he could bear the exertion of the journey. Not 
 that he was weary of his confinement, or of the 
 small friendly circle which was made of Kate 
 Wycherly, Euth, Frank and Aunt Hester, but 
 he knew there was a lonely loving woman who 
 longed to have him by her side again and who 
 was not permitted to come to him. She had not 
 told him so in any of her letters, but he knew 
 that her love would not have left him to the 
 care of strangers however kind and skilful they 
 might have been, could she have ministered to 
 his wants and alleviated his suffering. 
 
 He was right, as Hartley had told his wife, 
 " that now she was back again he hoped she 
 would remain and attend to her house affairs
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 261 
 
 as he wasn't going to have his many anxieties 
 increased by looking after servants and all that 
 and perhaps have a sick child brought home when 
 a little motherly attention might save a long- 
 illness — he had had enough of that." 
 
 The dutiful wife submitted quietly to her task- 
 master and kept all his bitter sayings as secrets in 
 her heart, never seeking to awaken the sympathy 
 of her son by revealing them. She knew that her 
 Cecil believed in her love for him, and in that 
 belief she bore patiently, almost contentedly, the 
 lot which had been assigned her. 
 
 On the day preceding Cecil's return home, he 
 and Ruth and Frank Lockyer had accepted Mr. 
 Wycherly's invitation to an early dinner at Old 
 Court, and the party had been as 'pleasant as 
 could have been expected under the circumstances. 
 They had all been brought together strangely 
 enough, but a feeling of regret at the approaching 
 separation could not fail to intrude itself and 
 occasionally cast a shade upon the pleasant 
 gathering. Such shadows as these came and 
 passed almost unnoticed — certainly by Mr. Wy-
 
 2G2 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 cherly, who, when they were all assembled in the 
 dining-room in the early evening, displayed an 
 amount of animal spirits quite unusual with him. 
 except when he had undergone some great anxiety 
 and from which he had obtained a welcome relief. 
 Could he have been only acting a friendly bearing 
 towards Cecil in accordance with his promise to 
 Kate, and was he now glad that the play was 
 ending ? It might be so. Wy cherly had a per- 
 verse nature as well as an honest one, and his 
 contempt for Selwyn Hartley was ineradicable. 
 Cecil was that man's son, and a guest at Old 
 Court by compulsion. 
 
 Music was, of course, the chief amusement of 
 the evening, Cecil lying on the sofa being the only 
 non-executant, as even Mr. Wycherly volunteered 
 his co-operation, being occasionally out of time 
 and frequently out of tune, but he only exposed 
 himself to very tolerant critics. 
 
 Poor Cecil, as he looked at the choristers and 
 heard their cheerful harmony, thought of another 
 home where such grateful accessories might have 
 obtained also, but for one who made discord of
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 263 
 
 his own life and of those committed to his 
 charge. 
 
 Kate had sung, and Ruth had sung) and 
 Frank Lockyer had been invited to take the 
 place at the piano, by whose side Ruth was 
 sitting. 
 
 " With pleasure," said Frank in answer to the 
 invitation, " I will try a ballad I heard some time 
 ago if I can remember it. The words are simple 
 enough, but the air is the composition of one 
 of our most graceful song-writers. I think you 
 will like it if I do not spoil it by my indifferent 
 singing." 
 
 He struck a few chords on the instrument, and 
 then looking at Ruth as though he addressed 
 himself to her, sung the following homely 
 
 BALLAD. 
 
 Say, wilt thou bo my bride, Kathleen, 
 
 Though lowly I may be ? 
 My only wealth is this poor heart, 
 
 Which beats alone for thee ; 
 The gems that others bring, Kathleen, 
 
 Upon thy breast to shine,
 
 2G4 LOVED AT LA^T. 
 
 Oh ! do they speak of love and truth 
 
 Like this poor gift of mine ? 
 I've not rich robes for thee, Kathleen, 
 
 Thy beauty needs no dress : 
 The pride of queenly splendour fades 
 
 Before thy loveliness ; 
 1 have no banquet hall, Kathleen, 
 
 To grace thy bridal day ; 
 But I've a heart where thou wilt live 
 
 Till life shall pass away. 
 
 When he had ended, Ruth rose and seated 
 herself by the side of Kate without speaking a 
 word. Kate took her friend's hand and pressed 
 it gently, but gentle as was the pressure of her 
 small, soft fingers, it forced a crimson blush into 
 the face of Ruth. 
 
 What did that wordless commentary imply that 
 it should have received such a maidenly reproof ? 
 Or what chord had answered to that touch to 
 vibrate through the life, perhaps, of both those 
 youthful friends ? To record such incidents may 
 seem to be waste of ink and paper, but how slight 
 a touch will darken the shadows or increase the 
 light on the painter's canvas. Our story is only 
 word-painting.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 265 
 
 The part)- broke up soon after, evidently to the 
 relief of Ruth, who remained at' Old Court, whilst 
 Cecil and Frank, happily unconscious of the 
 future which that night would help to influence 
 for good and ill, returned to the Rosebush. 
 
 As Cecil was to leave on the morrow, Frank 
 insisted upon continuing the evening festivities in 
 Mrs. Masham's sanctum, nor did their hostess seek 
 to close the sitting until nearly midnight, as she 
 was loth to part from one of her guests whom she 
 now regarded almost with the affection due to 
 her assumed relationship, and which Cecil was to 
 increase more and more as time moved onward.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CECIL GAINS AN INSIGHT INTO HIS FATHER'S 
 MODE OF DOING BUSINESS, AND AFTERWARDS 
 MAKES A VOYAGE TO AMERICA. 
 
 Cecil had so arranged the time of his return, 
 that he and his mother had some hours of sweet 
 converse together before Mr. Selwyn Hartley came 
 home from the City. As the near advent of that 
 gentleman approached, Cecil discovered how 
 changed his mother seemed from what she had 
 been when they parted only four short weeks 
 before, and he readily divined who and what had 
 worked the transformation. It was with some 
 effort that he compelled himself to assume the 
 appearance of respect which he considered that 
 filial duty demanded from him when his father 
 entered the room. 
 
 " Well, Cecil, my boy," said Mr. Hartley, in his
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 26*3 
 
 cheeriest manner ; " a pretty mess you have been 
 making of it since we said good-bye to each other. 
 Breaking legs and all that, and, by Jove, it has 
 pulled you down and no mistake. Oh ! ah !" 
 observing Cecil's extended hand, "how are you 
 after your journey ? None the worse, I hope." 
 
 " I hope not," replied Cecil, very little disturbed 
 by the singularity of his reception, " I am fatigued, 
 of course, nothing more." 
 
 " Yes, of course you are, and you won't be 
 strong again for some time I shouldn't wonder, 
 and just as I could have made you of use to me. 
 But I must put up with that for the present, and" 
 — looking at his watch — " only ten minutes to 
 dinner, just time to wash my hands and put on 
 a clean collar — dress for dinner, as I call it," — 
 and then the affectionate father left the room. 
 
 Cecil looked after him with a saddened face, 
 not thinking so much of himself as of that gentle 
 mother who had lived so many years in the icy 
 coldness of the place which should have been ;j 
 home. Selwyn Hartley called it by that name, 
 but he had long since driven from it all the gentle
 
 268 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 influences which might have blessed his dwelling- 
 place, and have made him less accountable for 
 duties neglected and wickedness committed. 
 
 Mr. Selwyn Hartley restrained any curiosity he 
 might have felt as to his son's absence and re- 
 covery, until he had dined and settled himself to 
 his satisfaction before the fire, as was his custom 
 whenever he expected to make himself more than 
 usually disagreeable, or to provoke remarks which 
 might not be very acceptable to himself. 
 
 "Well, now, tell me, who have you seen since 
 you have been away ? Your mother has been 
 alternately in the sulks or the dumps ever since 
 her return, and I never care to interfere with 
 her when that's the case." 
 
 Cecil looked angrily at his father, but the mute 
 appeal for forbearance which his mother made 
 to him, silenced the sharp answer already on his 
 tongue. 
 
 " There were the Lockyers, of course," con- 
 tinued Mr. Hartley, sipping his wine. "You 
 ought to have tried 'em on about those cottons. 
 I got out of that lot very well after all, con-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 2<j.9 
 
 sidering they tumbled down a penny a yard the 
 week after I sold 'em — well, there were the Lock- 
 yers — Rebecca, just see if that window 'a closed, 
 I fancy I feel a draught somewhere — and then 
 put some coals on." 
 
 Cecil could not spare his patient mother the 
 performance of these commands, but his pale 
 face flushed visibly when she chided his indig- 
 nation with a smile. 
 
 "That'll do! that'll do! I don't want to be 
 roasted," said Mr. Hartley, drawing back his 
 chair a little way from the fire. " Coals are 
 coals just now, I can tell you, and — well, who 
 else did you meet ? " 
 
 Cecil almost ground his teeth together as he 
 said emphatically — " Mr. Wycherly, of Old Court, 
 sir," — and so marked was the expression of the 
 words, that Mr. Selwyn Hartley paused in the 
 act of drinking his third glass of sherry, and almost 
 ventured to look at his son, but recovering his self- 
 possession instantly, he continued seated as he had 
 been, and exclaimed angrily, " Rebecca ! you never 
 told me you had seen Mr. What 's-his-name ! "
 
 270 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 "You never inquired whom I had seen, Sel- 
 wyn," replied the wife. 
 
 " Of course I didn't, if you did not choose to 
 tell me without," said Mr. Hartley, assuming the 
 tone of an injured man, " but I understand your 
 silence now — fully — quite ! That fellow Wy- 
 cherly never had a good word for me in his life, 
 and I wonder he had the civility to receive my 
 son." 
 
 " He did not know that I was your son until 
 after our introduction," answered Cecil spite- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oh, he didn't ! eh % And do you mean by 
 that to imply that he wouldn't have known 
 you had it been otherwise ? " asked Hartley 
 snappishly. 
 
 "I think it very probable," replied Cecil 
 coolly, and averting his eyes from his mother. 
 
 " Oh, you do 3 then I suppose you heard some- 
 thing to my 1 would say that backbiting 
 
 old fellow abused me to my own son," said Hart- 
 ley, fidgeting about in Iris chair, and then poking 
 the fire.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 271 
 
 " No, sir — he never mentioned your name to 
 me/' replied Cecil. " It was Mrs. Masham of the 
 Rosebush who led me to infer that you and Mr. 
 Wycherly were not on friendly terms." 
 
 " Mrs. Masham !" cried Hartley, turning round 
 at last. " You don't mean to say that you and 
 your mother there have been staying all this time 
 in the house of Hester Masham ?" 
 
 " Why not, sir ?" asked Cecil, looking his father 
 full in the face. 
 
 "And why was I not told of it ?" asked Hart- 
 ley, directing his eyes upon his wife. 
 
 " Because," answered Cecil, " my condition and 
 whereabout seem to have been partly forgotten 
 among your business anxieties." 
 
 " Forgotten, sir! What do you mean by that ?" 
 asked Hartley. "Haven't I sent you money — 
 that is, your mother has, which is all the same, 
 regularly, and written twice or three times a 
 week? Which was it, Rebecca — three times a 
 week you wrote ? " 
 
 " For all which consideration I am sincerely 
 grateful, and should, I confess, have been more so
 
 272 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 if you had sent me a few fatherly sentences. But 
 pray let us have no altercation." His mother 
 had again mutely appealed to him. 
 
 " Very well ! so be it — only I should like to 
 know what those ungrateful connexions of mine 
 have said behind my back." Cecil was silent. 
 " I see they have been saying something about 
 me, and I can guess what it is pretty well. They 
 behaved badly to me !" and here Mr. Hartley 
 dashed his hand violently on the table. " They 
 would have cheated me out of my inheritance — 
 my mess of porridge I may say — but I was too 
 sharp for them. Had they treated me with 
 proper respect — that old Wycherly particularly 
 — I shouldn't have pressed Masham and Garrett 
 to pay me my own. They tried to frighten me 
 with big words — to bully me — they threatened 
 me with law ! Why didn't they do it ? Answer 
 me that ! No — they didn't dare to face a British 
 jury — an intelligent British jury — though my 
 lawyer told 'em we were ready to meet 'em and 
 swear to the truth of our allegations." 
 
 " The irrevocable panjt can only be regretted,
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 273 
 
 4 
 
 father," said Cecil ; " but we have the future for 
 atonement." 
 
 " Very well ! Let them atone then to me for 
 their slanders, and then — and then, what do ye 
 call it," replied Hartley, again facing the fire. 
 " Let 'em own they were wrong, and I don't mind 
 shaking hands with my relations — not old 
 Wycherly, mind. He threatened to kick me 
 down-stairs on one occasion, and I have always 
 believed and shall believe to my dying day that 
 he would have done it, if I hadn't prevented him 
 by not going near him." 
 
 Cecil blushed to hear this confession from one 
 whose blood ran in his own veins. 
 
 "No — one word for all, Rebecca and Cecil," 
 said Mr. Hartley, poker in hand. " I desire that 
 neither of you hold communication of any sort 
 with those down there. I never thought Cecil 
 would have stopped more than a week with the 
 Lockyers, or that they had any acquaintance, being 
 such new comers, or I shouldn't have let him 
 gone. But the mistake has been made and can't 
 be unmade. The what's-a-name past is — you 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 * 
 understand — but for the time to come, I forbid 
 
 either of you to mention in my hearing anything 
 
 about those people, and I won't have you talk 
 
 about them between yourselves — now mind that. 
 
 Rebecca, I'm going to bed, and it's time that you 
 
 and Cecil went also. Good night." 
 
 And both mother and son felt greatly relieved 
 when they heard the master of the house close 
 his dressing-room door with a bang, although the 
 noise was an indication that Mr. Hartley was 
 seeking his couch in a state of temper not pro- 
 perly conducive to calm repose. 
 
 " Cecil/' said Mrs. Hartley, "I can hardly approve 
 of all which has passed between you and your 
 father." 
 
 " I know you cannot, my dear mother," replied 
 Cecil. " I know that you would bear without 
 a murmur any indignity which he might put 
 upon you—I will try and be as patient for your 
 sake. This little thunderstorm has cleared the 
 air, and I am greatly relieved by getting rid of 
 the 'perilous stuff' pent up in my bosom. I 
 should have felt I was always acting the hypocrite
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 275 
 
 whilst allowing my father to remain in ignorance 
 altogether of the miserable knowledge I have 
 obtained, and " — he was about to add — u and 
 which will throw a shadow over my future life," 
 but remembering who was his auditor he left the 
 words unspoken. 
 
 "Do not be alarmed for the future, dear mother," 
 he continued after a pause, " we shall never resume 
 the painful subject of to-night again. Depend 
 upon that. My father will not desire it, and I 
 will avoid it ; so kiss me, and good night." 
 
 Selwyn Hartley ! Selwyn Hartley ! you parried 
 and thrust adroitly enough, but you have retired 
 from the fight wounded sorely and crest-fallen 
 before your own son. Sleep as you may. 
 
 Cecil was right in supposing that his father 
 would never willingly revert to Hilltown and 
 those connected with it, and Mr. Hartley was such 
 an artist at concealing his emotions that for the 
 next few weeks he was almost hilarious, and cer- 
 tainly more happy, apparently, than a man with 
 an evil conscience ought to have been. 
 
 " Cecil, my dear boy," he said, one morning after 
 
 T 2
 
 27G LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 breakfast, " how is that leg of yours ? Quite right 
 again, I hope ? " 
 
 " As right as it will ever be, I fear," replied Cecil. 
 " It was thought to have been skilfully set, but 
 some displacement has occurred, and I am a cripple 
 for life. 
 
 " Dear me ! dear me ! But you walk with only 
 a slight limp ! Not quite dot and go one ! " said 
 the sympathetic father laughing. 
 
 " Exactly," replied Cecil, " but a slight limp is 
 hardly to be desired by a man of two-and-twenty. 
 However I am philosopher enough not to repine. 
 'What cannot be cured must be endured.' " 
 
 " That's a capital motto — one of my guides 
 through life," said Mr. Hartley. " What do you 
 say to coming with me to the City? You've been 
 idle too long, some of my friends say, but I saw 
 that you were cutting in to a good connexion for 
 yourself, and I didn't consider that as time lost, 
 besides, I like 'em to think that I could afford 
 it — the proud beggars. But business now, if you 
 please, and I should like you to come to the City 
 with me every day."
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 'Ill 
 
 " Yes, with pleasure/' said Cecil, but the words 
 and the tone in which they were uttered were 
 sadly discordant. 
 
 " Well, then, we'll be off — ten to nine — late this 
 morning, Mrs. — my dear ! Not altogether your 
 fault, as we've been talking. Now, Cecil, I've sent 
 for a cab, and here it is, if you're ready." Mr. 
 Hartley got into the cab first, leaving his lame 
 son to follow. 
 
 " Tell cabby to push on, Cecil, and say I'll 
 give him an extra fourpenny-bit if he makes 
 haste." 
 
 Cecil delivered this communication to the cab- 
 man with the best grace he could command, and 
 was rather disconcerted when the driver touched 
 his hat and enquired with a smile " if he was to 
 have all that at once." Cabby evidently knew 
 Mr. Hartley, and had no very high estimate of his 
 present generosity. Hartley would spend money 
 freely enough at times, but then he would have 
 " value received," as he called it, and never 
 believed that he had that just equivalent out of a 
 cabman. Perhaps he was right in that conclusion.
 
 278 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 When they had arrived at the warehouse in the 
 City, Mr. Hartley became a man of importance. 
 The porters and warehousemen bowed as he passed 
 them on his way to the counting-house at the 
 further end of the building. Writing tables 
 neatly arranged, iron safes opened, displayed quite 
 a library of ledgers and day books, and two or 
 three cash boxes were rather conspicuously 
 exhibited. A speaking-pipe, the mouth-piece 
 attached to Mr. Hartley's chair, appeared to com- 
 municate with a room or cellar beneath the 
 counting-house, and when Mr. Hartley had ex- 
 amined his letters he called down the tube for 
 " Mr. Bosbury ! " 
 
 " I am about to introduce you, Cecil, to our 
 
 principal assistant, and Oh ! here is Mr. 
 
 Bosbury." 
 
 A closely cropped head, dark eyebrows, small 
 whiskers, keen black eyes, pale complexion, and 
 irregular teeth, gave rather a Mephistophelean 
 ensemble to the gentleman bearing the name of 
 Bosbury, who had been summoned by his prin- 
 cipal from the lower regions of the establishment.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 279 
 
 " Mr. Cecil, *ny son — Mr. Bosbury, my buyer," 
 said Mr. Hartley ; " may you be better known to 
 each other." Cecil and Bosbury bowed and smiled 
 in the usual way. "Mr. Cecil " — when in business 
 Mr. Hartley always Mistered everybody, especially 
 his own people, whom it must be confessed seemed 
 to be rather a "shady lot"— "Mr, Cecil— Mr. 
 Bosbury will excuse me, I am sure, in saying what 
 I do — it has been one of the most fortunate 
 accidents of my life that I have known this 
 gentleman, for if the commercial world has 
 reason to be proud of any of its members that 
 member is Mr. Bosbury." 
 
 Mr. Bosbury merely closed his eyes and bowed. 
 He had heard the same panegyric pronounced 
 upon himself too often to be moved by it. He 
 knew what the words really meant. 
 
 " Mr. Bosbury, you must lunch with us here at 
 one," said Mr. Hartley, as though he were uttering 
 a royal command, and so his dependent received 
 it, as he only bowed again and prepared to leave 
 the counting-house. 
 
 "TelJ Mr. Jones I want him, if . you please. Mi.
 
 280 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Bosbury," said Mr. Hartley, adding to Cecil 
 — " Our principal clerk and cashier — such a 
 treasure ! " 
 
 Mr. Jones was a veiy wizened, hawk-eyed, snub- 
 nosed person, and appeared sharp enough to add 
 up the pounds, shillings, and pence columns at 
 one operation. 
 
 " My son, Mr. Cecil," said Hartley — Mr. Jones, 
 formerly of Rothschild Brothers' and other dis- 
 tinguished firms in this great city — and, I may 
 add, every way worthy the confidence of the 
 Governor and Company of the Bank of England. 
 A man, Mr. Cecil, that you might trust at mid- 
 night in the bullion cellars and feel no anxiety for 
 the safety of ' the Best.' " 
 
 Mr. Jones spread out his little hands on either 
 side of him — not very unlike a medieval saint on 
 a missal — and turning up the whites of his eyes 
 uttered a short prayer to the effect that he might 
 never abuse the confidence reposed in him by his 
 employers, but might be entitled to have said 
 of him that he was faithful to the end. 
 
 " Amen ! " said Mr. Hartley rather sharply, as he
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 281 
 
 had heard Mr. Jones's supplication on many similar 
 occasions. " You will lunch with us at one if you 
 please, Mr. Jones," and the head clerk and cashier 
 1 laving grinned his submission, left Mr. Hartley's 
 private counting-house. 
 
 Mr. Hartley then applied himself to the re- 
 perusal of his correspondence, after giving Cecil the 
 Post Office Directory to amuse him, intimating 
 that under " Merchants " he would find the pa- 
 rental firm of Hartley, Jobling & Co. 
 
 " Jobling & Co. ? " said Cecil, " I did not know 
 that you had partners." 
 
 " Nor have I, my boy," replied Hartley proudly, 
 ''every stick and stock about this place is your 
 father's, Cecil, and all paid for, every scurrick. 
 No, ' I am myself alone,' as Julius Caesar says, but 
 a firm always sounds so much more respectable 
 I fancy than a oner, though Selwyn Hartley 
 wouldn't sound bad in the market." Selwyn 
 Hartley had a bad sound in London city, and well 
 its owner knew it, therefore he had attached to it 
 Jobling & Co. 
 
 Cecil was not pleased with his mornings visit
 
 282 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 to his father's place of business nor with subse- 
 quent experiences when he came to know more of 
 Mr. Bosbury, the pride of commerce, and Mr. Jones, 
 the perfect treasure. Perhaps it may be as well 
 to justify Cecil in his disapproval of their mode 
 of conducting the business of Hartley, Jobling 
 &Co. 
 
 Mr. Bosbury one morning invited Mr. Cecil 
 to accompany him to his department under the 
 counting-house, and Cecil was surprised to find 
 that it was limited to a very small room, lighted 
 by gas, having no other communication apparently 
 with the outer world than a pigeon-hole just 
 large enough to admit a man's hand. A desk 
 and stool for Mr. Bosbury, and a broken rush- 
 bottomed chair for any distinguished visitor, 
 like Cecil, was all the furniture in this singular 
 " department." 
 
 " I'm afraid you are either too late or too early, 
 Mr. Cecil, to see any good business done to-day," 
 said Mr. Bosbury, l: but as money is very tight in 
 the City we may have a nibble." 
 
 Cecil was quite at a loss to understand what
 
 LOVED AT LAST, 283 
 
 was meant, so he resolved to wait patiently for 
 its solution. 
 
 "There's some one coming down the steps," 
 said Mr. Bosbury, applying his eye to what might 
 have been a gimlet hole. " Oh, it's you, Mr. 
 Chuckleford, is it. Twice in a fortnight! — you 
 must be pretty hard up for money, that's cer- 
 tain." These observations were delivered as a 
 soliloquy. 
 
 Presently a piece of paper was presented through 
 the pigeon-hole by some person outside, and Bos- 
 bury beckoned Cecil to come and inspect it. It 
 was an invoice of certain goods sold by a country 
 manufacturer to Mr. Chuckleford, and amounted 
 to £195. The goods were advised to be coming 
 per rail, and would be delivered on the following 
 morning. Mr. Bosbury winked wickedly at Cecil, 
 and wrote in pencil on the invoice " £95," and 
 then, through the pigeon-hole, returned the in- 
 voice to the unknown without. 
 
 " Oh no ! that w T on't do at all ! " said a voice. 
 " More than a hundred per cent, off ! Bankruptcy 
 is better than that," and a foot was heard slowly
 
 284 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 ascending the stairs leading into the street at the 
 back of the warehouse. 
 
 " Is it ? and isn't it ? " said Bosbury, with a 
 fiendish chuckle. " Not much matter to you I 
 fancy, Mr. Chuckleford. I suppose, Mr. Cecil, you 
 are up to what I've been doing 1 " 
 
 "No, Mr. Bosbury, I certainly am not," an- 
 swered Cecil. 
 
 " Oh ! I thought the governor might have let 
 you into our secrets a little ; but as he has asked 
 me to bring you to my department, I suppose he 
 don't like entering you himself, and so has 
 handed you over to me. Hark ! here's Chucky 
 coming back, I'll lay a hundred," and having 
 satisfied himself of the correctness of his con- 
 jecture by peeping through the hole, he rubbed 
 his hands and winked at Cecil, adding "All 
 right." 
 
 "Well, I've come back," said the voice. '* You 
 must make it an even hundred, and the goods 
 shall be here by eleven to-morrow." 
 
 Bosbury made no reply, but erasing the figures 
 £95 with his pencil substituted £100, and placed
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 285 
 
 the invoice on a file. He then wrote, " All right, 
 £100/' on another slip of paper and passed it 
 through the pigeon-hole to the person out- 
 side. 
 
 " There now, that transaction is complete as far 
 as I am concerned, Mr. Cecil, and will exjriain 
 itself. That man brought me that invoice of 
 goods bought — amount, one-nine-five. He wants 
 money — hard up, in fact, and brings the invoice 
 to me. I offer nine-five. He springs a fiver, and 
 I give a hundred. Do you see, sir ? " 
 
 " I think I do," answered Cecil, astounded at 
 the man's coolness. 
 
 "Very well. To-morrow the goods reach London 
 — are then forwarded to us — if according to in- 
 voice the money will be forthcoming after Mr. 
 Jones has worked the oracle in his depart- 
 ment." 
 
 " What may working the oracle mean ? " asked 
 Cecil. 
 
 " Oh ! it's very simple. Party goes to be paid 
 and cheques are never given in such cases, so the 
 word is cash. Very well, cash it i*, but Jones
 
 286 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 pays in 'country notes where there's no London 
 agent ; the party can't get them changed without 
 payment of a shilling, and not always then. 
 Then Mr. Jones uses his judgment — if party is 
 very pressing, Jones rubs off a shilling in the 
 pound, if not, Jones gets as much as he can. The 
 plan's ingenious, and works well, very well," and 
 Mr. Bosbury's face expressed the sublimest con- 
 tentment. 
 
 When Cecil returned to his father's room he 
 was glad to find he had gone out, for Mr. Bosbury's 
 revelation had so distressed, so disgusted his young 
 principal, that he required some time for reflection 
 before he could determine upon the course of 
 action which it was his duty to adopt. That he 
 could ever be a consenting party to such nefarious 
 proceedings he knew to be impossible if he knew 
 himself ; but how to communicate his impressions 
 of what he had seen and heard to his father was 
 a subject of grave anxiety. He had one friend of 
 whom he could take counsel — Frank Lockyer — 
 but there was something so humiliating in the 
 statement which he would have to make, that he
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 287 
 
 paused more than once on the way to Frank's 
 place of business, irresolute as to the propriety of 
 the exposure, even to such a true friend. He 
 must confide in some one, he felt, or he must leave 
 
 home without a word, and then his mother 
 
 He would see Frank. 
 
 The narrative was briefly given, but with burn- 
 ing cheeks and averted eye. 
 
 " And now, Frank, what am I to do ? I cannot 
 stay longer in that man's house. I will not be a 
 partner in his dishonest business. What shall I 
 do to live ? I partly guess why I have been left 
 idle so long, and bitterly do I regret that so much 
 of my youth has been wasted. What shall I 
 
 do r 
 
 Frank took Cecil's hand before he replied to 
 him. 
 
 "My dear old fellow, you are thinking and 
 acting like your own noble self. You have not 
 much surprised me by what you have disclosed to 
 me. Such matters are never quite hidden from 
 the light, and there are others, I regret to say, as 
 bad as "
 
 288 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " My father," added Cecil. " I am sorry to 
 hear it." 
 
 " For yourself, Cecil, something shall be done. 
 I have the right to say that. Perhaps only a 
 clerkship for a time, but I shall soon be admitted 
 into partnership with my father, and then I can 
 help you on, old boy ! The most difficult part of 
 the case is your mother." 
 
 " No. I thought at first that it would be, but 
 upon reflection I am sure she would suspect and 
 approve my motive ; and I know how much more 
 she would desire that I should live an honest man 
 than a rich one." 
 
 So it was arranged that as Cecil was desirous 
 to avoid another altercation at home, he should 
 inform his mother that he intended to dine and 
 sleep at Frank Lockyer's. 
 
 Mr. Bosbury was a keen fellow — keen as he 
 looked, and he had not failed to discover that Mr. 
 Cecil was too unsophisticated, too much of a gen- 
 tleman to take kindly to the "job-lot" business, 
 especially as conducted by Hartley, Jobling & Co., 
 and their representatives, and Mr. Bosbury com-
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 289 
 
 municated his impressions to the governor during 
 their usual afternoon's review of the day's pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 It could hardly be said that Mr. Hartley was 
 surprised at this communication, and he did not 
 despair of removing Cecil's scruples when they 
 came to discuss the matter together. 
 
 " Slept at Lockyer's last night, eh, Cecil ? " said 
 Hartley in the morning when his son entered 
 the private counting-house ; " a capital house 
 of business that, and could be made very useful 
 to us." 
 
 " I fancy you are mistaken, sir," replied Cecil. 
 " Their mode of conducting business is very dif- 
 ferent from yours, if I am to judge by what I saw 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Oh yes ! " said Hartley, " Lockyers are pure 
 merchants, merely merchants. Consignors and 
 consignees — commission agents, as it were. Now 
 we are absolute buyers and sellers, making our 
 profits by the exercise of our knowledge and 
 judgment and acquaintance with the markets." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," said Cecil, " but from what I 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 saw yesterday your profits seem to be made from 
 a far more questionable source. Are you aware of 
 the business transacted in Mr. Bosbury's depart- 
 ment ? " 
 
 " Perfectly so," replied Hartley folding his hands 
 together and looking Cecil calmly in the face. 
 " Perfectly so. Parties bring goods for sale and 
 Mr. Bosbury buys them if he considers they will 
 suit our clients." 
 
 "And also without regard as to the manner 
 in which the goods are procured 1 " added Cecil. 
 
 " Not so : Mr. B. knows that they are made by 
 certain manufacturers, and therefore they are 
 worth their money," said Hartley mildly. 
 
 " That is not my meaning," replied Cecil. " I 
 know that he has that knowledge, and that he is 
 also aware that he buys them in an irregular 
 manner, and at prices which must ruin the seller 
 and rob the honest creditor." 
 
 " Mr. Bosbury has nothing, my dear boy, to do 
 with other people's business. He buys what is 
 offered, and there his responsibility ends," said 
 Hartley showing his teeth.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 291 
 
 " I think very differently, sir/' rejoined Cecil 
 warmly. " I think that the course pursued by — 
 well, Mr. Bosbury, — is another most cowardly way 
 of receiving stolen goods," 
 
 " Not from a commercial point of view," replied 
 Hartley, not moved in the least. " No, I assure 
 you that you speak from your utter ignorance of 
 the first principles of commerce — buy in the 
 ■cheapest market and sell in the dearest. Mr. 
 Bosbury is the most respected man in his 
 trade." 
 
 " And so was Dick Turpin ! " said Cecil, stung 
 out of patience by his father's coolness and defence 
 of his dishonest dealing. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! poor Bosbury compared to Dick 
 Turpin, with his cocked hat, big boots, and horse- 
 pistols ! I wonder what you say of me ? " asked 
 Hartley ironically. 
 
 "That you are the husband of my dear 
 mother " 
 
 " And your father, Cecil, don't forget that, if you 
 please, as I've no wish to have a row with you. 
 Just think for a few days over the matter. If 
 
 u 2
 
 292 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 you're fool enough to give away such a golden 
 goose as I have reared up, for any of your non- 
 sensical notions of — what shall I call it — fas- 
 tidiousness — yes, that's the word — why, well and 
 good. I won't play the cruel father, and chain 
 you up in Mr. Bosbury's department. No ; if you 
 won't go my way you can go your own — that is, if 
 you've any other business in view than being the 
 gentleman, and I'm afraid you haven't got capital 
 enough for that." 
 
 " You offer fairly enough, sir," replied Cecil, not 
 perceiving quite clearly the drift of his father's 
 observations, " I will think over my position and 
 advise with you as to my future." 
 
 "Much obliged, I'm sure," said Hartley again 
 showing his teeth. 
 
 " And perhaps, sir, until I have decided 
 upon what my future is to be, you will not 
 mention my objection to follow your business to 
 my mother." 
 
 " Not likely, Cecil, I never trouble her with any 
 business matters, depend upon it. She's got her 
 own affairs to attend to, and would make them
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 293 
 
 much more agreeable to herself and to me if she 
 wouldn't snivel and sulk over them quite so much 
 as she does. However, I make some allowance 
 for her ; the loss of the little ones, and a slight 
 tendency to consumption I've always said, in 
 herself, may have changed some of her sweetness 
 into vinegar. No ; I'll not say anything to her, 
 depend on't." 
 
 Cecil's choice was soon made, and two or three 
 days after the preceding conversation, he an- 
 nounced to his father his wish to resign any pre- 
 tensions to a part in the "job lot " business, as he 
 preferred to accept a clerkship in the house of the 
 Lockyers. 
 
 " A clerkship at Lockyer's," said Mr. Hartley 
 contemptuously, " and so, after all that I've paid 
 for school bills, tailor's bills, doctor's bills, and 
 every other kind of bill, the flower of the family, 
 as your stupid mother calls you, is content to 
 perch himself upon a high stool for fifteen bob 
 a-week ! O Cecil, Cecil ! you've brought your 
 pigs to a fine market ! " 
 
 " An honest one, at any rate," replied Cecil,
 
 294 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 " and I hope that some day you will think I have 
 chosen wisely." 
 
 " I hope I shall never be such a fool as that, 
 Cecil. A clerk to Lockyer I And finely they'd 
 chuckle in the trade to know that young Hartley, 
 who was such a swell with the Surrey, is down to 
 a second clerk. Oh no, my boy. That won't suit 
 my book, nor yours either, depend upon it. Come, 
 I thought how you would decide after what Mr. 
 Bosbury told me, and so I have something to pro- 
 pose rather more to your advantage than your 
 friend Lockyer s fifteen bob's worth. As you 
 won't join me, I think if I give you two 
 thousand pounds to start with, I do a father's 
 part." 
 
 " Two thousand pounds ! " said Cecil in 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes, and in case you think mine all dirty 
 money, you may be glad to know that you've got 
 to earn it before you touch it. Old Philcher, my 
 late partner, has just discovered that a runaway 
 debtor of his in America is able to pay if he is 
 looked up. The debt is over £4,000, without
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 295 
 
 interest, and I have proposed that you should go 
 over to New York ; and if you recover the money 
 you shall have half. Philcher agrees to that, and 
 I will pay all preliminary expenses. Will you 
 go?" 
 
 "I will," said Cecil, without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, the money influencing his decision less than 
 the novelty of the journey. 
 
 Frank Lockyer was delighted at the prospects 
 of his friend, and surprised rather at the liberality 
 of the remuneration which he was to receive. 
 He would not have been had he known all the 
 truth. Hartley did not care, for his own sake, to 
 quarrel with Cecil, nor did he think it advisable 
 to allow his son to take a clerkship in any house 
 but his own, and this debt of Old Philcher's 
 turned up most opportunely. Hartley, and not 
 Philcher, had obtained the information as to the 
 solvency of the old debtor, and by the exercise of 
 his undoubted tact Mr. Hartley proved too cunning 
 for his old partner, and bought the debt of him 
 for one thousand pounds, payable when the money 
 should be recovered. Philcher believed that
 
 296 LOVED AT LAST. 
 
 Hartley was sending good money after bad, and 
 so it was diamond cut diamond. 
 
 As Cecil had only one matter of business to 
 arrange, and that with Aunt Hester, he was soon 
 ready for his departure, and having fully impressed 
 his mother with the belief that a sea voyage was 
 absolutely necessary for the perfect restoration of 
 his health, he bade his friends adieu with a lighter 
 heart than he had known since the ice frolic at 
 Old Court. 
 
 When the ship was well at sea, Cecil was 
 walking that part of the deck usually assigned 
 to the second class passengers, and so continued 
 to occupy himself until the evening closed in. 
 He was thinking over the past few months of his 
 life and the changes which had come with them, 
 when he was startled by an incident most simple 
 in itself. One of the steerage passengers had, by 
 the cook's permission, gone into the galley to 
 warm some broth of which he had need, having 
 left a hospital to come aboard. In order to raise 
 the nearly extinguished fire, the man, with his 
 mouth, blew the coals into a glow.
 
 LOVED AT LAST. 297 
 
 As the light fell upon his face, Cecil recalled 
 feature by feature those of the poacher he had 
 seen in Pemberton Wood when lighted up so 
 strangely by the flash of his gun. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, rRlNTEHS, WHITKKKIAR.S.
 
 Ki