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 http://www.archive.org/details/rhodaflemingstor01mere 
 
RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 % Storg. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MEREDITH, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 **THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD PEVEREL," " EVAN HARRINGTON," ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1865. 
 
 [^All riffhts of Translation and Rei»vductioH are reserced.'] 
 
LONDON : 
 
 SAVILL and EDWAhDS, PKIMTERS, CHAKDOS SIEEET, 
 
 COVEKT GABDEN. 
 
82-3 ®^ ' 
 
 V. I 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIEST VOLUME 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. THE KENTISH FAMILY . . ^ 1 
 
 II. QUEEN ANNE's farm 18 
 
 III. SUGGESTS THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON 39 
 
 IT. THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTUEE 56 
 
 V. THE SISTEES MEET 70 
 
 VI. EDWAED AND ALGEENON 77 
 
 VII. GEEAT NEWS FEOM DAHLIA 102 
 
 VIII. INTEODUCES MES. LOVELL 121 
 
 IX. EOBEET INTEEVENES 137 
 
 X. DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE 155 
 
 XI. AN INDICATIVE DUET IN A MINOE KEY . 176 
 
 XII. AT THE THEATEE 195 
 
 ^ 
 
vi CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XIII. THE FARMER SPEAKS 214 
 
 XIV. BETWEETf RHODA AND ROBERT .... 230 
 XT. A VISIT TO WREXBT HALL 244 
 
 XVI. AT FAIRLY PARK 259 
 
 XVII. A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED .... 276 
 XVIII. AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN . . . 297 
 
RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE KENTISH FAMILY. 
 
 Remains of our good yeomanry blood will be 
 found in Kent ; developing stiff, solid, unob- 
 trusive men, and very personable women. The 
 distinction survives there between Kentish 
 women and women of Kent, as a true south- 
 eastern dame will let you know, if it is her 
 fortune, or her fancy, to belong to that favoured 
 portion of the county where the great battle 
 was fought, in which the gentler sex performed 
 manful work, but on what luckless heads we 
 hear not ; and when garrulous tradition is 
 discreet, the severe historic muse declines to 
 hazard a guess. Saxon, I would presume, since 
 it is thought something to have broken them, 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
8 RHODA FLEMING. ^ 
 
 and in belialf of tlie Cymric originals. Neither 
 tlie women of Kent nor the Kentish women of 
 our day can claim to be essentially British, and, 
 if I am correct in my surmise, they are de- 
 scendants of the vanquished. But the glory of 
 a land is the heritage of its owners aboveground. 
 There is no record of a remonstrance having 
 been forwarded to them from the ancestral 
 shades below, whereby we may conjecture 
 hopefully that uneasiness upon the subject 
 does not anywhere exist. Time, who equalizes 
 all things, bestows the merit of magnificent 
 achievements upon the sons and daughters of 
 the earth universally ; nor, I think, will any- 
 one blame him, if he has had the courtesy to 
 show especial consideration, in this solitary case, 
 towards the daughters. 
 
 My plain story is of two Kentish damsels, 
 and runs from a home of flowers into regions 
 where flowers are few and sickly, on to where 
 the flowers which breathe sweet breath have 
 been proved in mortal fire. 
 
 Mrs. Fleming, of Queen Anne^s Farm, was 
 the wife of a yeoman-farmer of the county. 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 9 
 
 Both were of sound Kentish extraction, albeit 
 varieties of the breed. The farm had its name 
 from a tradition, common to many other farm- 
 houses within a circuit of the metropolis, 
 that the ante- Hanoverian lady had used the 
 place in her day as a nursery-hospital for the 
 royal little ones. It was a square, three-storied 
 building of red-brick, mAich beaten and stained 
 by the weather, with an ivied side, up which the 
 ivy grew stoutly, topping the roof in triumphant 
 lumps. The house could hardly be termed pic- 
 turesque. Its aspect had struck many eyes as 
 being very much that of a red-coat sentinel 
 grenadier, battered with service, and standing 
 iirmly enough, though not at ease. Surround- 
 ing it was a high wall, built partly of flint and 
 partly of brick, and ringed all over with grey 
 lichen and brown spots of bearded moss, that 
 bore witness to the touch of many winds and 
 rains. Tufts of pale grass, and gillifiowers, and 
 travelling stone- crop, hung from the wall, and 
 driblets of ivy ran broadening to the outer 
 ground. The royal arms were said to have once 
 surmounted the great iron gateway; but they 
 
 1—2 
 
10 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 had vanisliecl, either with the family, or at the 
 indications of an approaching rust. Rust defiled 
 its bars; but^ when you looked through them, 
 the splendour of an unrivalled garden gave vivid 
 signs of youth, and of the taste of an orderly, 
 laborious, and cunning hand. The garden was 
 under Mrs. Fleming's charge. The joy of her 
 love for it was written on its lustrous beds, as 
 poets Avrite. She had the poetic passion for 
 flowers. Perhaps her taste may now seem ques- 
 tionable. She cherished the old-fashioned delight 
 in tulips ; the house was reached on a gravel- 
 path between rows of tulips, rich with one 
 natural blush, or freaked by art. She liked a 
 bulk of colour; and when the dahlia dawned 
 upon our gardens, she gave her heart to dahlias. 
 By good desert, the fervent woman gained a 
 prize at a flower-show for one of her dahlias, and 
 *' Dahlia" was the name uttered at the christen- 
 ing of her eldest daughter, at which all Wrexby 
 parish laughed as long as the joke could last. 
 There was laughter also when Mrs. Fleming^s 
 second daughter received the name of ^' Elioda ;" 
 but it did not endure for so long a space, as it 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 11 
 
 was known that she had taken more to the soli- 
 tary and reflective reading of her Bible, and to 
 thoughts upon flowers eternal. Country people 
 are not inclined to tolerate the display of a 
 passion for anything. They find it as intrusive 
 and exasperating as is, in the midst of larger con- 
 gregations, what we call genius. For some 
 years, Mrs. Fleming's proceedings were simply a 
 theme for gossips, and her vanity was openly 
 pardoned, until that delusively prosperous ap- 
 pearance which her labour lent to the house, was 
 worn through by the enforced confession of there 
 being poverty in the household. The ragged elbow 
 was then projected in the face of Wrexby in a 
 manner to preclude it from a sober appreciation 
 of the fairness of the face. Critically, moreover, 
 her admission of great poppy-heads into her 
 garden was objected to. She would squander 
 her care on poppies, and she had been heard to 
 say that, while she lived, her children should be 
 fully fed. The encouragement of flaunting weeds 
 in ^a decent garden was indicative of a moral 
 twist that the expressed resolution to supply 
 her table with plentiful nourishment, no matter 
 
12 EIIODA FLEMING. 
 
 wlience it came^ or how proyicled^ sufficiently 
 confirmed. The reason ^rith which she was. 
 stated to have fortified her stern resolve was of 
 the irritating order^ right in the abstract^ and 
 ntterly unprincipled in the application. She 
 said_, '^ Good breads and good beef, and enough 
 of both^ make good blood ; and my children 
 shall be stout.^^ This is such a thing as may be. 
 announced by foreign princesses and rulers over 
 serfs ; but English "Wrexby^ in cogitative mood, 
 demanded an equivalent for its beef, and divers 
 economies, consumed by the hungry children of 
 the authoritative woman. Practically, it was 
 obedient, for it had got the habit of supplying 
 her. Though pajoncnt was long in arrear, the 
 arrears were not treated as lost ones by Mrs. 
 Fleming, who, without knowing it, possessed one 
 main secret for mastering the custodians of credit. 
 She had a considerate remembrance and regard 
 for the most distant of her debts, so that she 
 seemed to be only always a little late, and ex- 
 ceptionally wrong-headed in theory. Wrexby, 
 therefore, acquiesced in helping to build uj) her 
 children to stoutness, and but for the blindness 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 13 
 
 of all people^ save artists, poets, novelists, to the 
 grandeur of their own creations, the inhabitants 
 of this Kentish village might have had an enjoy- 
 able pride in the beanty and robust grace of the 
 young girls — fair-haired, black-haired girls, a 
 kindred contrast, like fire and smoke, to look 
 upon. In stature, in bearing, and in expression, 
 they were, if I may adopt the eloquent modern 
 manner of eulogy, strikingly above their class. 
 They carried erect shoulders, like creatures not 
 ashamed of showing a merely animal pride, which 
 is never quite apart from the pride of de- 
 veloped beauty. They were as upright as 
 Oriental girls, whose heads are nobly poised from 
 carrying the pitcher to the well. Dark Rhoda 
 might have passed for Kachel, and Dahlia called 
 her Rachel. They tossed one another their 
 mutual compliments, drawn from the chief book 
 of their reading. Queen of Sheba w^as Dahlia^s 
 title. No master of callisthenics could have set 
 them up better than their mother^s receipt for 
 making good blood, combined with a certain 
 harmony of thin systems, had done ; nor could 
 a schoolmistress have taught them correcter 
 
14 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 speaking. The characteristic of girls having a 
 disposition to rise, is to be cravingly mimetic ; 
 and they remembered, and crooned over, till by 
 degrees they adopted the phrases and manner of 
 speech of highly grammatical people, such as the 
 rector and his lady, and of people in story-books, 
 especially of the courtly French fairy-books, 
 wherein the princes talk in periods as sweetly 
 rounded as are their silken calves; nothing 
 less than angelically, so as to be a model to ordi- 
 nary men. The idea of love upon the lips of 
 ordinary men, provoked Dahlia^s irony ; and the 
 youths of Wrexby and Fenhurst had no chance 
 against her secret Prince Florizels. Them she 
 endowed with no pastoral qualities ; on the con- 
 trary, she conceived that such pure young gentle- 
 men were only to be seen, and perhaps met, in 
 the great and mystic City of London. Naturally, 
 the girls dreamed of London. To educate them- 
 selves, they copied out whole pages of a book 
 called the " Field of Mars,'^ which was next to 
 the family Bible in size among the volumes of 
 the farmer's small library. The deeds of the 
 heroes of this book, and the talk of the fairy 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 15 
 
 princes, were assimilated in their minds ; and as 
 tliey looked around them upon millers^, farmers^, 
 maltsters^_, and tradesmen's sons, the thought of 
 what manner of youth w^ould propose to marry 
 them became a precocious tribulation. Rhoda, 
 at the age- of fifteen, was distracted by it, owing 
 to her sister's habit of masking her own dismal, 
 internal forebodings on the subject, under the 
 guise of a settled anxiety concerning her sad 
 chance. In dress, the wife of the rector of 
 Wrexby was their model. There came once to 
 Squire Blancove's unoccupied pew a dazzling 
 vision of a fair lady. They heard that she was a 
 cousin of his third wife, and a widow, Mrs. 
 Lovell by name. They looked at her all through 
 the service, and the lady certainly looked at 
 them in return ; nor could they, with any dis- 
 tinctness, imagine why, but the look dwelt long 
 in their hearts, and often afterwards, when 
 Dahlia, upon taking her seat in church, shut her 
 eyes, according to custom, she strove to conjure 
 up the image of herself, as she had appeared to 
 the beafitifiil woman in the dress of grey-shot 
 silk, with violet mantle and green bonnet, rose- 
 
16 RKODA FLEMING. 
 
 trimmed ; and the picture she conceived was the 
 one she knew herself by, for many ensuing 
 years. 
 
 Mrs. Fleming fought her battle T.itli a heart 
 worthy of her countywomen, and with as much 
 success as the burden of a despondent husband 
 would allow to her. William John Fleming was 
 simply a poor farmer, for whom the wheels of the 
 world went too fast : a big man, appearing to be 
 difficult to kill, though deeply smitten. His 
 cheeks bloomed in spite of lines and stains, and 
 his large, quietly-dilated, brown ox-eyes, that 
 never gave a meaning, seldom showed as if they 
 had taken one from what they saw. Until his 
 wife was lost to him, he believed that he had a 
 mighty grievance against her ; but as he was not 
 wordy, and was by nature kind, it was her com- 
 fort to die and not to know it. This grievance 
 was rooted in the idea that she was ruinously 
 extravagant. The sight of the plentiful table v/as 
 sore to him; the hungry mouths, though he 
 grudged to his offspring nothing that he could 
 pay for, were an afflicting prospect. " Plump 
 ^em up and make ^em dainty," he advanced in 
 
THE KENTISH EAMILY. 17 
 
 contravention of liis ^^'ife's talk of bread and 
 beef. But lie did not complain. If it came to 
 an argument, tlie farmer sidled into a secure 
 corner of propliecy, and bade liis Y/ife to see 
 what would come of having dainty cliildren. He 
 could not "deny that bread and beef made blood, 
 and were cheaper than the port-wine which 
 doctors were in the habit of ordering for this and 
 that delicate young person in the neighbourhood ; 
 so he was compelled to have recourse to secret 
 discontent. The attention, the time, and tlie 
 trifles of money shed upon the flower-garden, 
 were hardships easier to bear. He liked flowers, 
 and he liked to hear the praise of his wife^s 
 horticultural skill. The garden was a distin- 
 guishing thing to the farm, and when on a Sun- 
 day he walked home from church among full 
 June roses, he felt the odour of them to be so 
 like his imagined sensations of prosperity, that 
 the deception was worth its cost. Yet the garden 
 in its bloom revived a cruel blow. His wife had 
 once wounded his vanity. The massed vanit}^ of 
 a silent man, when it does take a wound, desires 
 a giant^s vengeance ; but as one can scarcely 
 
18 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 seek to enjoy that monstrous gratification when 
 one^s y/ife is the offender, the farmer escaped 
 from his dilemma by going apart into a turnip- 
 field, and swearing, with his fist outstretched, 
 never to forget it. His wife had asked him, 
 seeing that tlic garden flourished and the farm 
 decayed, to yield the labour of the farm to the 
 garden ; in fact, to turn nurseryman under his 
 wife^s direction. The woman could not see that 
 her garden drained the farm already, distracted 
 the farm, and most evidently impoverished him. 
 She could not understand that, in permitting her, 
 while he sweated fruitlessly, to give herself up to 
 the occupation of a lady, he had followed the 
 promptings of his native kindness, and certainly 
 not of his native wisdom. That she should deem 
 herself " best man " of the two, and suggest his 
 stamping his name to such an opinion before the 
 world, was an incurable outrage. The dog will 
 get his bone, and dulness gnaws at its grievance 
 as greedily. 
 
 Mrs. Fleming was failing in health. On that 
 plea, with the solemnity suited to the autumn of her 
 allotted days, she persuaded her husband to adver- 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 19 
 
 tise for an assistant, who would pay a small sum 
 of money to learn sound farming and hear argu- 
 ments in favour of the corn laws solely. To please 
 her, he threw seven shillings away upon an ad- 
 vertisement, and laughed when the advertisement 
 was answered, remarking that he doubted much 
 whether good would come of dealings with 
 strangers. A young man, calling himself Robert 
 Armstrong, underwent a presentation to the 
 family. He paid the stipulated sum, and w^as 
 soon enrolled as one of them. He was of a 
 guardsman's height and a cricketer's suppleness, 
 a drinker of water, and apparently the victim of 
 a dislike of his species ; for he spoke of the great 
 night-lighted city with a horror that did not seem 
 to be an estimable point in him, as judged by a 
 pair of damsels for wiiom the mysterious metro- 
 j)olis flew with fiery fringes through dark space, 
 in their dreams. In other respects, the stranger 
 was well thought of, as being handsome and 
 sedate. He talked fondly of one friend that he 
 had, an officer in the army, which was considered 
 pardonably vain. He did not reach to the ideal 
 of his sex which had been formed by the sisters ; 
 
20 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 but ^Irs, Fleming, trusting to lier di^dnation of 
 his sex's character, whispered a mother's word 
 about him to her husband a little while before 
 her death. 
 
 It was her prayer to Heaven, that she might 
 save a doctor's bill. She died, without lingering 
 illness, in her own beloved month of June; the 
 roses of her tending at the open window, and a 
 soft breath floating up to her from the garden. 
 On the foregoing May-day, she had sat on the 
 green that fronted the iron gateway, when Dahlia 
 and Rhoda dressed the children of the village in 
 garlands, and crowned the fairest little one queen 
 of May : a sight that revived in Mrs. Fleming's 
 recollection the time of her own eldest and fairest 
 taking homage, shy in her white smock and 
 light thick curls. The gathering was large, and 
 the day was of the old nature of May, before 
 tyrannous east-winds had captured it and spoiled 
 its consecration. The mill-stream of the neigh- 
 bouring mill ran blue among the broad green pas- 
 tures ; the air smelt of cream-bowls and wheaten 
 loaves ; the firs on the beacon-ridge, far south- 
 ward, over Fenhurst and Helm villages, were 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 21 
 
 transported nearer to see the show, and stood 
 like friends anxious to renew acquaintance. 
 Dahlia and Ehoda taught the children to per- 
 ceive how they resembled bent old beggarmcn. 
 The two stone-pines in the miller^s grounds were 
 likened by them to Adam and Eve turning away 
 from the blaze of Paradise ; and the saying of 
 one receptive child, that they had nothing but 
 hair on, made the ilhistration undying both to 
 Dahlia and Rhoda. The magic of the weather 
 brought numerous butterflies afield and one 
 fiddler, to whose tuning the little women danced ; 
 others closer upon womanhood vrould have danced 
 likewise, if the sisters liad taken partners ; but 
 Dahlia was restrained b}^ the sudden conscious- 
 ness that she was under the immediate observa- 
 tion of two manifestly London gentlemen, and 
 she declined to be led forth by Robert Armstrong. 
 The intruders were youths of good countenance, 
 known to be the son and the nephew of Squire 
 Blancove of Wrexby Hall. They remained for 
 some time watching the scene, and destroyed 
 Dahlia's single-mindedness. Like many days of 
 gaiety, the gods consenting, this one had its 
 
22 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 human shadow. There appeared on the borders 
 of the festivity a young woman, the daughter of 
 a Wrexby cottager, who had left her home and 
 but lately returned it, with a spotted name. No 
 one addressed her, and she stood humbly apart. 
 Dahlia, seeing that every one moved away from 
 her, whispering with satisfied noddings, wished 
 to draw her in among the groups. She men- 
 tioned the name of Mary Burt to her father, 
 supposing that so kind a man would not fail to 
 sanction her going up to the neglected young 
 woman. To her surprise, her father became 
 violently enraged, and uttered a stern prohibition, 
 speaking a word that stained her cheeks. Rhoda 
 was by her side, and she wilfully, without asking 
 leave, went straight over towards Mary, and 
 stood with her under the shadow of the Adam 
 and Eve, until the farmer sent a messenger to 
 say that he was about to enter the house. Her 
 punishment for the act of sinfulness was a week 
 of severe silence ; and the farmer would have kept 
 her to it longer, but for her mother's ominously 
 growing weakness. The sisters were strangely 
 overclouded by this incident. They could not 
 
THE KENTISH FAMILY. 23 
 
 fathom the meaning of their father's unkindness^ 
 coarseness, and indignation. Why, and why ? 
 they asked one another, blankly. The Scriptures 
 were harsh in one part, but was the teaching to 
 continue so after the atonement ? By degrees 
 they came to reflect, ^nd not in a mild spirit, 
 that the kindest of men can be cruel, and will 
 forget their Christianity towards offending and. 
 repentant women. 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
24 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 QUEEN ANNE^S FARM. 
 
 Mrs. Eleming had a brother in London_, who 
 had run away from his Kentish home when a 
 small boy, and found refuge at a bank. The 
 position of Anthony Hackbut in that celebrated 
 establishment,, and the degree of influence exer- 
 cised by him there^ were things unknown ; but 
 he had stuck to the bank for a great number of 
 years, and he had once confessed to his sister that 
 he was not a beggar. Upon these joint facts 
 the farmer speculated, deducing from them that 
 a man in a London bank, holding money of his 
 own, must have learnt the ways of turning it 
 over — farming golden ground, as it were; conse- 
 quently, that amount must now have increased 
 to a very considerable sum. You ask, What 
 amount ? But one who sits brooding upon a 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FARM. 25 
 
 pair of facts for years^ witli the imperturbable 
 gravity of creation upon chaos, will be as suc- 
 cessful in evoking the concrete from the abstract. 
 The farmer saw round figures among the posses- 
 sions of the family,, and he assisted mentally in 
 this money-turning of Anthony^s, counted his 
 gains for him, disposed his risks, and eyed the 
 pile of visionary gold with an interest so remote, 
 that he was almost correct in calling it disinte- 
 rested. The brothers-in-law had a mutual plea 
 of expense that kept them separate. When 
 Anthony refused, on petition, to advance one 
 hundred pounds to the farmer, there was ill 
 blood to divide them. Queen Anne^s Farm 
 missed the flourishing point by one hundred 
 pounds exactly. With that addition to its ex- 
 chequer, it would have made head against its old 
 enemy. Taxation, and started rejuvenescent. But 
 the E^adicals were in power to legislate and 
 crush agriculture, and " Vye got a miser for my 
 brother-in-law,^^ said the farmer. Alas ! the 
 hundred pounds to back him, he could have sowed 
 what he pleased, and when it pleased him, partially 
 defying the capricious clouds and their treasures, 
 
 2—2 
 
26 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 and playing tunefully upon his land^ liis own 
 land. Instead of which^ and while too keenly 
 aware that the one hundred would have made 
 excesses in any direction tributary to his pocket, 
 the poor man groaned at continuous falls of 
 moisture^ and when rain was prayed for in 
 church, he had to be down on his knees, praying 
 heartily Avith the rest of the congregation. It 
 was done, and bitter reproaches were cast upon 
 Anthony for the enforced necessity to do it. 
 
 On the occasion of his sister^s death, Anthony 
 informed his bereaved brother-in-law that he 
 could not come down to follow the hearse as 
 a mourner. " My place is one of great trust,^^ 
 he said, " and I cannot be spared." He offered, 
 however, voluntarily to pay half the expenses 
 of the funeral, stating the limit of the cost. 
 It is unfair to sound any man's springs of action 
 critically while he is being tried by a sorrow ; 
 and the farmer's angry rejection of Anthony^s 
 offer of aid must pass. He remarked in his 
 letter of reply, that his wife's funeral should 
 cost no less than he chose to expend on it. 
 He breathed indignant fumes against "^ inter- 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FARM. 27 
 
 ferences." He desired Anthony to know that 
 he also was " not a beggar/-' and that he wouhl 
 not be treated as one. The letter showed a 
 solid yeoman^s fist. Farmer Fleming told his 
 chums, and the shopkeeper of Wrexby, with 
 whom he came into converse, that he would 
 honour his dead wife up to his last penny. 
 Some month or so afterwards it was generally 
 conjectured that he had kept his word. 
 
 Anthony^s rejoinder was characterized by a 
 marked humility. He expressed contrition for 
 the farmer's misunderstanding of his motives. 
 His fathomless conscience had plainly been 
 reached. He wrote again, without waiting for 
 an answer, speaking of the funds indeed, but 
 only to pronounce them worldly things, and 
 hoping that they all might meet in heaven, where 
 brotherly love, as well as money, was ready 
 made, and not always in the next street. A 
 hint occurred that it would be a gratification to 
 him to be invited down, whether he could come 
 or no ; for holidays were expensive, and journeys 
 by rail had to be thought over before they were 
 undertaken; and when you are away from your 
 
28 EilODA FLEMING. 
 
 post, you never knew who miglit be supplanting 
 you. He did not promise that he could come^ 
 but frankly stated his susceptibility to the 
 friendliness of an invitation. The feeling in- 
 dulged by farmer Fleming in refusing to notice 
 Anthony's advance towards a reconciliation, was, 
 on the whole, not creditable to him. Spite is 
 more often fattened than propitiated by peni- 
 tence. He may have thought besides (policy 
 not being always a vacant space in revengeful 
 acts) that Anthony was capable of something 
 stronger and warmer, now that his humanity 
 had been aroused. The speculation is commonly 
 perilous ; but farmer Fleming had the despera- 
 tion of a man who has run slightly into debt, 
 and has heard the first din of dunning, which 
 to the unaccustomed imagination is fearful as 
 bankruptcy (shorn of the horror of the word). 
 And, moreover, it was so wonderful to find 
 Anthony displaying humanity at all, that any- 
 thing might be expected of him. "Let's see 
 what he ivill do/' thought the farmer in an 
 interval of his wrath ; and the wrath is very 
 new which has none of these cool intervals. 
 
QUEEN ANNe's FARM. 29 
 
 The passions^ do but watch them, are all more or 
 less intermittent. 
 
 As it chanced, he acted sagaciously, for 
 Anthony at last wrote to say that his home in 
 London was cheerless, and that he intended to 
 move into fresh and airier lodgings, where the 
 presence of a discreet young housekeeper, who 
 might wish to see London, and make acquaint- 
 ance with the world, would be agreeable to him. 
 His project was that one of his nieces should fill 
 this office, and he requested his brother-in-law to 
 reflect on it, and to think of him as of a friend 
 of the family, now and in the time to come* 
 Anthony spoke of the seductions of London 
 quite unctuously. Who could imagine this to 
 be the letter of an old crabbed miser ? " Tell 
 lier,^^ he said, " there^s fruit at stalls at every 
 street- corner all the year through — oysters and 
 w'helks, if she likes — winkles, lots of pictures in 
 shops — a sight of muslin and silks, and rides on 
 omnibuses — bands of all sorts, and now and then 
 we can take a walk to see the military on horse- 
 back, if she's for soldiers.^-' Indeed, he joked 
 quite comically in speaking of the famous horse- 
 
30 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 guards — warriors who sit on their horses to be 
 looked at^ and do not mind it^ because they are 
 trained so thoroughly. " Horse-guards blue^, and 
 horse-guards red/^ he wrote — " the blue only 
 want boiling/^ There is reason to suppose that 
 his disrespectful joke was not original to him, 
 but it displayed his character in a fresh light. 
 Of course, if either of the girls was to go. 
 Dahlia was the person. The farmer commenced 
 his usual process of sitting upon the idea. That 
 it would be policy to attach one of the family to 
 this chirping old miser, he thought incontestable. 
 On the other hand, he had a dread of London, 
 and Dahlia was surpassingly fair. He put the 
 case to E/obert, in remembrance of what his wife 
 had spoken, hoping that Robert would amorously 
 stop his painful efforts to think fast enough for 
 the occasion. Hobert, however, had nothing to 
 say, and seemed willing to let Dahlia depart. 
 The only opponents to the plan were Mrs. 
 Sumfit, a kindly, humble relative of the farmer^s, 
 widowed out of Sussex, very loving and fat ; the 
 cook to the household, whose waist was dimly 
 indicated by her apron-string; and, to aid her out- 
 
QUEEN ANNE's EARM. 31 
 
 cries, the silently- protesting Master Gammon, an 
 old man with the cast of eye of an antediluvian 
 lizard, the slowest old man of his time — a sort 
 of foreman of the farm before Kobert had come 
 to take matters in hand, and thrust both- him 
 and his master into the background. Master 
 Gammon remarked emphatically, once and for all, 
 that "he never had much opinion of London." 
 As he had never visited London, his opinion was 
 considered the less weighty, but, as he advanced 
 no further speech, the sins and backslidings of 
 the metropolis were strongly brought to mind by 
 his condemnatory utterance. Policy and Dahlia's 
 entreaties at last prevailed with the farmer, and 
 so the fair girl went up to the great city. 
 
 After months of a division that was like the 
 division of her living veins, and when the com- 
 fort of letters was getting cold, Rhoda having 
 previously pledged herself to secrecy, though she 
 could not guess why it was commanded, received 
 a miniature portrait of Dahlia, so beautiful that 
 her envy of London for holding her sister away 
 from her, melted in gratitude. She had per- 
 mission to keep the portrait a week ; it was im- 
 
32 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 possible to forbear from sliowing * it to IMrs. 
 Sumfit_, vrlio peeped in awe, and that emotion 
 subsiding, siied tears abundantly. Why it was 
 to be kept secret, they failed to inquire; tlie 
 mystery was possibly not without its delights to 
 them. Tears were shed again when the portrait 
 had to be packed np and despatched. Rhoda 
 lived on abashed by the adorable new refine- 
 ment of Dahlia^s features, and her heart yearned 
 to her uncle for so caring to decorate the lovely 
 face. 
 
 One day Rhoda was at her bed-room window, 
 on the point of descending to encounter the 
 daily dumpling, which was the principal and 
 the unvarying item of the midday meal of the 
 house, when she beheld a stranger trying to 
 turn the handle of the iron gate. Her heart 
 thumijed. She divined correctlv that it was 
 her uncle. Dahlia had now been absent for 
 very many months, and Rhoda's growing fret- 
 fulness sprung the conviction in her mind that 
 something closer than letters must soon be 
 coming. She ran downstairs, and along the 
 gravel-path. He was a little man, square-built, 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FARM. 33 
 
 tind looking as if he liad worn to touglincss ; 
 with an evident Sunday suit on : blacky and 
 black gloves^ though the day was only ante- 
 cedent to Sunday. 
 
 " Let me help you, sir_," she said^ and her 
 hands came in contact with his, and were 
 squeezed. 
 
 " How is my sister ?" She had no longer 
 dJij fear in asking. 
 
 " Now, yon let me through, first," he replied, 
 imitating an arbitrary juvenile. "You^re as 
 tight locked in as if you was in dread of all 
 the thieves of London. You ain^t afraid o^ me, 
 miss ? I'm not the party generally outside of a 
 fortification; I ain^t, I can assure you. Tm 
 a defence party, and a regular lion when Pve 
 got the law backing me. Just so t'other way. 
 I'm a cur, my dear, at the bare thoughts of 
 
 what I could be, was I was I 
 
 and there I am, I'm — that I am ! — if I knew 
 where." 
 
 He spoke in a queer, wheezy voice, like a 
 cracked flute combined with the effect of an ill- 
 resined fiddle-bow. 
 
34 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " You are in the garden of Queen Anne's 
 IParm/' said Rhoda. 
 
 " And you're my pretty little niece, are you ? 
 ^ the darkie lass/ as your father says. ^ Little/ 
 says I; why, you needn't be ashamed to stand 
 beside a grenadier. Trust the country for 
 growing hue gals.'' 
 
 " You are my uncle, then ?" said Ehoda. 
 '^ Tell me how my sister is. Is she well ? Is 
 she quite happy ?" 
 
 ^' Dahly ?" returned old Anthony, slowly. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; my sister !" Rhoda looked at him 
 v>dth distressful eagerness. 
 
 " Now, don't you be uneasy about your sister 
 Dahly." Old Anthony, as he spoke, fixed his 
 small brown eyes on the girl, and seemed im- 
 mediately to have departed far away in specu- 
 lation. A question recalled him. 
 
 " Is her health good ?" 
 
 '^ Ay j stomach's good, head's good, lungs, 
 brain, what not, aU good. She's a bit giddy, 
 that's all." 
 
 "In her head?" 
 
 " Ay ; and on her pins. Never you mind. 
 
QUEEN ANNE S FATIM. 35 
 
 You look a steady one^, my dear. I shall take 
 to you_, I think /^ 
 
 " But my sister '' Hhoda was saying, 
 
 ■when the farmer came out, and sent a greeting 
 from the threshold — - 
 
 '' Brother Tony !" 
 
 " Here he is, brother William John/' 
 
 " Surely, and so he is, at last." The farmer 
 walked up to him with his hand out. 
 
 " And it ain't too late, I hope. Eh ?" 
 
 "^ It's never too late — to mend," said the 
 farmer. 
 
 " Eh ? not my manners, eh ?" Anthony 
 struggled to keep up the ball ; and in this way 
 they got over the confusion of the meeting after 
 many years and some differences. 
 
 " Made acquaintance with Ehoda, I see," 
 said the farmer, as they turned, to go in. 
 
 ''' The ^ darkie lass' you write of. She's like 
 a coal nigh a candle. She looks, as you'd say, 
 ' t'other side of her sister.' Yes, we've had a 
 talk." 
 
 " Just in time for dinner, brother Tony. 
 We ain't got much to offer, but what there 
 
36 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 is, is at your service. Step aside with 
 
 me.^^ 
 
 The farmer got Anthony out of hearing a 
 moment, questioned, and was answered; after 
 which he looked less anxious but a trifle per- 
 plexed, and nodded his head as Anthony occa- 
 sionally lifted his, to enforce certain points 
 in some halting explanation. You would have 
 said that a debtor was humbly putting his case 
 in his creditor's ear, and could only now and 
 then summons courage to meet the censorious 
 eyes. They went in to Mrs. Sumfit's shout that 
 the dumplings were out of the pot ; old Anthony 
 bowed upon the announcement of his name, 
 and all took seats. But it was not the same 
 sort of dinner-hour as that which the inhabitants 
 of the house were accustomed to; there was 
 conversation. 
 
 The farmer asked Anthony by what convey- 
 ance he had come. Anthony shyly, but not 
 without evident self- approbation, related how, 
 having come by the train, he got into conver- 
 sation with the driver of a fly at a station, who 
 advised him of a cart that would be passing near 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FARM. 37 
 
 Wrexby. For threepennyworth of beer, he had 
 got a friendly introduction to the carman, who 
 took him within two miles of the farm for one 
 shilling, a distance of fifteen miles. That was- 
 pretty good ! 
 
 ^' Home i)ork, brother Tony," said the farmer, 
 approvingly. 
 
 ^' And home-made bread, too, brother William 
 John," said Anthony, becoming brisk. 
 
 " Ay, and the beer, such as it is." The 
 farmer drank and sighed. 
 
 Anthony tried the beer, remarking — " That^s 
 good beer ; it don^t cost much." 
 
 "It ain^t adulterated. By what I read of 
 your London beer, this stuff^s not so bad, if vou 
 bear in mind it^s pure. Purees my motto. 
 ^Pure, though poor !' " 
 
 " Up there, you pay for rank poison," said 
 Anthony. " So, what do I do ? I drink 
 water and thank^em, that^s wise." 
 
 " Saves stomach and purse." The farmer 
 put a little stress on " purse." 
 
 " Yes, I calculate I save threepence a day 
 in beer alone," said Anthony. 
 
38 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ^^ Three times seven^s twenty-one, ain't it V* 
 
 Mr. Fleming said this, and let out his elbow 
 in a small perplexity:, as Anthony took him up : 
 — ^' And fifty-two times twenty-one V^ 
 
 " Well, that's, that's — how much is that, Mas' 
 Gammon ?" the farmer asked in a bellow. 
 
 Master Gammon was laboriously and steadily 
 engaged in tightening himself with dumpling. 
 He relaxed his exertions sufficiently to take this 
 new burden on his brain, and immediately cast 
 it off. 
 
 ^' A never thinks when I feeds — A was al'ays 
 a bad hand at 'counts. Gi'es it up." 
 
 " Why, you're like a horse that never was 
 rode ! Try again, old man," said the farmer. 
 
 " If I drags a cart," Master Gammon replied, 
 '^ that ain't no reason why I should leap a gate.'"* 
 
 The farmer felt that he was worsted as re- 
 garded the illustration, and with a bit of the 
 boy's fear of the pedagogue, he fought Anthony 
 off by still pressing the arithmetical problem 
 upon Master Gammon, until the old man, 
 goaded to exasperation, rolled out thunderingly — 
 
 " If I works fer ye, that ain't no reason why 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FARM. 39 
 
 I should think fer ye/' which seemed conclusive, 
 and caused him to be left in peace. 
 
 " Eh, Robert ?" the farmer transferred the 
 question ; '* Come ! what is it ?" 
 
 Robert begged a minute's delay, while An- 
 thony watched him with hawk eyes. 
 
 "I tell you what it is — it's pounds," said 
 Robert. 
 
 This tickled Anthony, who let him escape, 
 crying : '^ Capital ! Pounds it is in your pocket, 
 sir, and you hit that neatly, I will say. Let it 
 be five. You out with your five at interest, 
 compound interest ; soon comes another five ; 
 treat it the same : in ten years — eh ? and then 
 you get into figures; you swim in figures !" 
 
 " I should think you did !" said the farmer, 
 winking slyly. 
 
 Anthony caught the smile, hesitated and 
 looked shrewd, and then covered his confusion 
 by holding his plate to Mrs. Sumfit for a help. 
 The manifest evasion and mute declaration that 
 dumpling said '^ mum " on that head, gave the 
 farmer a quiet glow. 
 
 " When you are ready to tell me all about 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
40 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 my darlin'^ sir/^ Mrs. Sumiit suggested coax- 
 ingly. 
 
 ^^ After dinner, mother, after dinner/^ said 
 the farmer. 
 
 " And we're waitin', are we, till them dump- 
 lings is finished V she exclaimed, piteously, with 
 a glance at Master Gammon's plate. 
 
 " After dinner we'll have a talk, mother." 
 
 Mrs. Sumfit feared from this delay that there 
 was queer news to be told of Dahlia's temper ; 
 but she longed for the narrative no whit the 
 less, and again cast a sad eye on the leisurely 
 proceedings of Master Gammon. The veteran 
 was still calmly tightening. His fork was on 
 end, with a vast mouthful impaled on the prongs. 
 Master Gammon, a thoughtful eater, was always 
 last at the meal, and a latent, deep-lying irrita- 
 tion at Mrs. Sumfit for her fidgetiness, day 
 after day, towards the finish of the dish, added a 
 relish to his engulphing of the monstrous morsel. 
 He looked at her steadily, like an ox of the 
 fields, and consumed it, and then holding his 
 plate out, in a remorseless way, said, " You 
 makes 'em so good, Marm." 
 
QUEEN ANNE's FAKM. 41 
 
 Mrs. Sumfitj fretted as she was^ was not im- 
 pervious to the sound sense of the remark, as 
 well as to the compliment. 
 
 " I don^t want to hurry you, Mas' Gammon/' 
 she said ; " Lord knows, I like to see you and 
 everybody eat his full and be thankful ; but, all 
 about my Dahly waitin', — I feel pricked wi' a 
 pin all over, I do ; and there's my blessed in 
 London," she answered, " and we knowin' 
 nothin' of her, and one close by to tell me ! 
 I never did feel what slow things dumplin's 
 was, afore now V 
 
 Tlie kettle simmered gently on the hob. 
 Every other knife and fork was silent; so was 
 every tongue. Master Gammon ate and the 
 kettle hummed. Twice Mrs. Sumfit sounded a 
 despairing, " Oh, dear me V but it was useless. 
 No human power had ever yet driven Master 
 Gammon to a demonstration of haste or to anv 
 acceleration of the pace he had chosen for him- 
 self. At last, she was not to be restrained fi'om 
 crying out, almost tearfully : 
 
 "When do you think you'll have done, Mas' 
 Gammon ?" 
 
 3—2 
 
42 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Thus pointedly addressed, Master Gammon 
 laid down his knife and fork. He half raised 
 his ponderous, curtaining eyelids, and replied : 
 
 " "When I feels my buttons, Marm.^^ 
 
 After which he deliberately fell to work again. 
 
 Mrs. Sumfit dropped back in her chair as 
 from a mortal blow\ 
 
 But even dumplings, though they resist so 
 doggedly for a time, do ultimately submit to the 
 majestic march of Time, and move. Master 
 Gammon cleared his plate. There stood in the 
 dish still half a dumpling. The farmer and 
 E-hoda, deeming that there had been a show of 
 inhospitality, pressed him to make away with 
 this forlorn remainder. 
 
 The vindictive old man, who was as tight as 
 dumpling and buttons could make him, refused it 
 in a drooping tone, and went forth, looking at 
 none. Mrs. Sumfit turned to all parties, and 
 begged them to say w^iat more, to please Master 
 Gammon, she could have done? When Anthony 
 was ready to speak of her Dahlia, she obtruded 
 this question in utter dolefulness. Robert was 
 kindly asked by the farmer to take a pipe among 
 
QUEEN ANNE'S FARM. 43 
 
 them. Rhoda put a chair for him, but he 
 thanked them both, and said, he coukl not 
 neglect some work to be done in the fields. 
 She thought that he feared pain from hearing 
 Dahlia^s name, and followed him with her eyes 
 commiseratingly. 
 
 " Does that young fellow attend to business ? ^' 
 said Anthony. 
 
 The farmer praised Robert as a rare hand, but 
 one afilicted with bees in his nightcap ; who had 
 ideas of his own about farming, and was obsti- 
 nate with them ; " pays you due respect, but's 
 got a notion as how his way of thinking^s 
 better'n his seniors. It^s the style now with 
 all young folks. Makes a butt of old Mas' 
 Gammon ; laughs at the old man. It ain^t 
 respectful t' age, I say. Gammon don^t under- 
 stand nothing about new feeds for sheep, and 
 dam nonsense about growing such things as 
 melons, fiddle-faddle, for 'em. Robert's a begin- 
 ner. What he knows, I taught the young 
 fellow. Then, my question is, where's his ideas 
 come from, if they're contrary to mine ? If 
 they're contrary to mine, they're contrary to my 
 
44 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 teaching. Well, tlien^ what are they worth ? 
 He canH see that. He's a good one at work, 
 ni say so much for him." 
 
 Old Anthony . gave Rhoda a pat on the 
 shoulder. 
 
45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SUGGESTS THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 
 
 "Pipes in the middle of the day's regular revelry/' 
 ejaculated Anthony^ whose way of holding the 
 curved pipe-stem displayed a mind bent on reck- 
 less enjoyment J and said as much as a label 
 issuing from his mouth, like a figure in a comic 
 wood-cut of the old style : — " that's/' he pursued, 
 " that's if you haven't got to look up at the 
 clock every two minutes, as if the devil was after 
 you. But, sitting here, you know, the after- 
 noon's a long evening ; nobody's your master. 
 You can on wi' your slippers, up wi' your legs, 
 talk, or go for'ard, counting, twicing, and three- 
 timesing; by George ! I should take to drinking 
 beer if I had my afternoons to myself in the 
 city, just for the sake of sitting and doing sums 
 in a tap-room ; if it's a big tap-room, with pew 
 
46 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 sort o^ places^ and dark red curtains, a fire, and a 
 smell of sawdust, ale, and tobacco, and a boy 
 going by outside whistling a tune of tbe day. 
 Somebody comes in. ^ Ab, there^s an idle old cbap,^ 
 he says to himself, (meaning me), and where, I 
 should like to ask him, ^d his head be if he 
 sat there, dividing two hundred and fifty thousand 
 by forty-five and a half ! ^' 
 
 The farmer nodded encouragingly. He thought 
 it not improbable that a short operation with 
 these numbers would give the sum in Anthony^s 
 possession, and the exact calculation of his secret 
 hoard, and he set to work to stamp them on his 
 brain, which rendered him absent in manner, 
 while Mrs. Sumfit mixed liquor with hot water, 
 and pushed at his knee, doubling her enduring lips 
 in, and lengthening her eyes to aim a side-glance 
 of reprehension at Anthony^s wandering loquacity. 
 
 Rhoda could bear it no more. 
 
 "Now let me hear of my sister, uncle,^^ she 
 said. 
 
 " I'll tell you what," Anthony responded, 
 " she basnet got such a pretty sort of a sweet 
 blackbirdy voice as you^ve got.^^ 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 47 
 
 The girl blushed scarlet. 
 
 " Oh^ she can mount them colours, too/^ said 
 Anthony. 
 
 His way of speaking of Dahlia indicated that 
 he and she had had enough of one another ; but of 
 the peculiar object of his extraordinary visit not 
 even the farmer had received a hint. Mrs. 
 Sumfit ventured to think aloud that his grog was 
 not stiff enough, but he took a gulp under her 
 eyes, and smacked his lips after it in a most 
 convincing manner. 
 
 " Ah ! that stuff wouldn^t do for me in 
 London, half-holiday or no half-holiday/^ said 
 Anthony. 
 
 "Why not?" the farmer asked. 
 
 " I should be speculating — deep — couldn''t hold 
 myself in : — Mexicans, Peroovians, Venzeshoo- 
 lians, Spaniards, at ^em I should go. I see bonds 
 in all sorts of colours, Spaniards in black and 
 white, Peruvians — orange, Mexicans — red as the 
 British army. Well, it's just my whim. If I 
 like red, I go at red. I ain't a bit of reason. 
 What's more, I never speculate.'' 
 
48 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 '* Why, that's safest, brother Tony/' said the 
 farmer. 
 
 '^And safe's my game — always was, always 
 will be ! Do you think'^ — Anthony sucked his 
 grog to the sugar-dregs, till the spoon settled on 
 his nose — ^^do you think I should hold the 
 position I do hold, be trusted as I am trusted ? 
 Ah ! you don't know much about that — should I 
 have money placed in my hands, do you think — 
 and it's thousands at a time, gold, and notes, 
 and cheques — if I was a risky chap ? Fm 
 known to be thoroughly respectable. Five and 
 forty years I've been in Boyne's bank, and, 
 thank ye, ma'am, gi'og don't do no harm down 
 here. And I loiJl take another glass. ' When 
 the heart of a man ! ' — but I'm no singer." 
 
 Mrs. Sumfit simpered, " Hem ; it's the heart 
 of a woman, too : and she have one, and it's 
 dying to hear of her darlin' blessed in town, and 
 of who cuts her hair, and where she gets her 
 gownds, and whose pills " 
 
 The farmer interrupted her irritably. 
 
 "Divide a couple o' hundred thousand and 
 more by forty-five and a half," he said. " Do 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 49 
 
 wait, motlier ; all in good time. Forty-five and 
 a-half, brother Tony; that was your sum — ah ! 
 — you mentioned it some time back — half of 
 what ? Is that half a fraction, as they call it ? 
 I haven't forgot fractions, and logareems, and 
 practice, and so on to algebrae, where it always 
 seems to me to blow hard, for, whizz goes my 
 head in a 31%, as soon as I've mounted the 
 ladder to look into that country. How ^bout 
 that forty-five and a half, brother Tony, if you 
 don'^t mind condescending to explain?^'' 
 
 "Forty-five and a half?" muttered Anthony^ 
 mystified. 
 
 " Oh, never mind, you know, if you don^t like 
 to say, brother Tony." The farmer touched him 
 up with his pipe-stem. 
 
 "Five and a half," Anthony speculated. 
 "That's a fraction you got hold of, brother 
 William John : — I remember the parson calling 
 out those names at your wedding : ^ I, William 
 John, take thee, Susan :' yes, that's a fraction, 
 but v/hat's the good of it ?" 
 
 " What I mean is, it ain't forty-five and half 
 of forty-five. Half of one, eh ? That's identical 
 
50 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 with a fraction. One — a stroke — and two 
 under it." 
 
 '^You've got it correct/^ Anthony assented. 
 
 " How many thousand divide it by ?" 
 
 " Divide ivhat by^ brother William John ? I^m 
 beat." 
 
 " Ah ! out comes the keys : lock up every- 
 thing : it^s time !" the farmer laughed, rather 
 proud of his brother-in-law's perfect wakefulness 
 after two stifp tumblers. He saw that Anthony 
 was determined with all due friendly feeling to 
 let no one know the sum in his possession. 
 
 " If it's four o'clock, it is time to lock up/' 
 said Anthony, " and bang to go the doors, and 
 there's the money for thieves to dream of — they 
 can't get a-nigh it, let them dream as they like. 
 "What's the hour, ma'am ?" 
 
 " Not three, it ain't," returned Mrs. Sumfit, 
 ^^ and do be good creatures, and begin about my 
 Dahly, and where she got that sumptions gownd, 
 and the bonnet with blue flowers lyin' by on the 
 table : now, do !" 
 
 Rhoda coughed. 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 51 
 
 " And she wears lavender gloves like a lady/' 
 Mrs. Sumfit was continuing. 
 
 K/lioda stamped on lier foot. 
 
 " OL ! cruel \" the comfortable old woman 
 snapped in pain^ as she applied her hand to the 
 inconsolable fat foot, and nursed it. ^' What's 
 roused ye, you tiger girl ? I shan't be able to 
 get about,, I shan't, and then who's to cook for 
 ye all ? For you're as ignorant as a raw kitchen 
 wench, and knows nothing." 
 
 " Come, Dody, you're careless," the farmer 
 spoke chidingly through Mrs. Sumfit's lamenta- 
 tions. 
 
 " She stops uncle Anthony when he's just 
 ready, father," said Rhoda. 
 
 " Do you want to know ?" Anthony set his 
 small eyes on her : " do you want to know, my 
 dear ?" He paused, fingering his glass, and 
 went on : " I, Susan, take thee William John, 
 and you've come of it, says I to myself when I 
 hung sheepish by your mother and by your 
 father, my dear, says I to myself, I ain't a 
 marrying man : and if these two,, says I, if any 
 
 <t OF ^^^ 
 
02 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 progeny comes to ^em — to bless tliem^ some 
 people 'cl say, but I know what life is, and what 
 young ones are — if — where was I ? Liquor 
 makes you talk, brother William John, but 
 whereas your ideas ? Gone, like hard cash ! 
 What I meant was, I felt I might some day 
 come forward and help the issue of your wife^s 
 weddin', and wasn^t such a shady object among 
 you, after all. My pipers out/^ 
 
 Rhoda stood up and filled the pipe, and lit it 
 in silence. She divined that the old man must 
 be allowed to run on in his own way, and for a 
 long time he rambled, gave a picture of the 
 wedding, and of a robbery of Boyne^s Bank : 
 the firm of Boyne, Birt, Hamble, and Company. 
 At last, he touched on Dahlia. 
 
 " What she ivants, I can^t make out,^^ he 
 said ; " and what that good lady there, or some- 
 body, made mention of — how she manages to 
 dress as she do ! I can understand a little 
 goin' a great way, if you^re clever in any way ; 
 but Fm at my tea :" Anthony laid his hand out 
 as to exhibit a picture. '' I ain^t a complaining 
 man, and be young, if you can, I say, and walk 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 53 
 
 about and look at shops ; but, I^m at my tea : I 
 corae home rather tired : there^s the tea-things, 
 sure enough, and tea^s made, and, may be, there's 
 a shrimp or two ; she attends to your creature 
 comforts. When everything's locked up and 
 tight and right, I'm gay, and ask for a bit of 
 society : well, I'm at my tea : I hear her foot 
 thumping up and down her bed-room overhead : 
 I know the meaning of that : I'd rather hear 
 nothing : down she runs : I'm at my tea, and in 
 she bursts." — Here followed a dramatic account 
 of Dahlia's manner of provocation, which was 
 closed by the extinction of his pipe. 
 
 The farmer, while his mind still hung about 
 thousands of pounds and a certain incompre- 
 hensible division of them to produce a distinct 
 intelligible total, and set before him the sum of 
 Anthony's riches, could see that his elder daugh- 
 ter was behaving fiightily and neglecting the 
 true interests of the family, and he was 
 chagrined. But Anthony, before he entered 
 the house, had assured him that Dahlia was 
 well, and that nothing was wrong with her. 
 So he looked at Mrs. Sumfit, who now took 
 
54 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 upon lierself to plead for Dahlia : a young thing, 
 and such a handsome creature ! and we were all 
 young some time or other : and would Heaven 
 have mercy on us, if we were hard upon the 
 young, do you think ? The motto of a truly 
 religious man said, try ^em again. And, may 
 be, people had been a little hard upon Dahlia, 
 and the girl was apt to take offence. In con- 
 clusion, she appealed to Rhoda to speak up for 
 her sister. Khoda sat in quiet reserve. 
 
 She was sure her sister must be justified in 
 all she did : but the picture of the old man 
 coming from his work every night to take his 
 tea quite alone made her sad. She found her- 
 self unable to speak, and as she did not, Mrs. 
 Sumtit had an acute twinge from her recently 
 trodden foot, and called her some bitter names ; 
 which was not an unusual case, for the kind old 
 woman could be querulous, and belonged to the 
 list of those whose hearts are as scales, so that 
 they love not one person devotedly without a 
 corresponding spirit of opposition to another. 
 Ehoda merely smiled. 
 
 By-and-by, the women left the two men alone. 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 55 
 
 Anthony turned and struck the farmer's knee. 
 
 " You've got a jewel in that gal^ brother 
 William John/' 
 
 " Eh ! she's a good enough lass. Not much 
 of a manager, brother Tony. Too much of a 
 thinker, I reckon. She's got a temper of her 
 own too. I'm a bit hurt, brother Tony, about 
 that other girl. She must leave London, if she 
 don't alter. It's flightiness ; that's all. You 
 musn't think ill of poor Dahly. She was always 
 the pretty one, and when they know it, they act 
 up to it : she was her mother's favourite." 
 
 " Ah ! poor Susan ! an upright woman before 
 the Lord.'' 
 
 " She was," said the farmer, bowing his head. 
 
 " And a good wife," Anthony interjected. 
 
 " None better — never a better ; and I wish 
 she was living to look after her girls." 
 
 " I came through the churchyard, hard by," 
 said Anthony ; " and I read that writing on her 
 tombstone. It went like a choke in my throat. 
 The first person I saw next was her child, this 
 young gal you call Rhoda; and, thinks I to my- 
 
 VOL. T. 4 
 
56 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 self, you miglit ask me, I'd do anything for ye — 
 that I could, of course." 
 
 Tlie farmer's eye had lit up, but became over- 
 shadowed by the characteristic reservation. 
 
 " Nobody'd ask you to do more than you 
 could," he remarked, rather coldly. 
 
 " It'll never be much," sighed Anthony. 
 
 ^' Well, the "world's nothing, if you come to 
 look at it close." The farmer adopted a similar 
 tone. 
 
 '^ What's money ?" said Anthony. 
 
 The farmer immediately resumed his this- 
 Tvorldliness : — 
 
 *^ Well, it's fine to go about asking us poor 
 devils to answer ye that" he said, and chuckled, 
 concei^dng that he had nailed Anthony down to 
 a partial confession of his ownership of some 
 worldly goods. 
 
 *' What do you call having money ?" observed 
 the latter clearly in the trap. " Fifty thou- 
 sand ?" 
 
 " Whew !" went the farmer, as at a big 
 draught of powerful stuff. 
 
 *' Ten thousand ?" 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 57 
 
 Mr. Fleming took tins second gulp almost 
 contemptuously^ but still kindly. 
 
 '^ Come," quotli Anthony, '* ten thousand's 
 not so mean, you know. You're a gentleman on 
 ten thousand. So, on five. I'll tell ye, many 
 a gentleman 'd be glad to own it. Lor' bless 
 you ! But, you know nothing of the world, 
 brother William John. Some of 'em haven't 
 one — ain't so rich as you !" 
 
 " Or you, brother Tony T' The farmer made 
 a grasp at his will-o^-the-wisp. 
 
 " Oh ! me !" Anthony sniggered. " I'm a 
 scraper of odds and ends. I pick up things in 
 the gutter. Mind you, those Jews ain't such 
 fools, though a curse is on 'em, to wander forth. 
 They know the meaning of the multiplication 
 table. They can turn fractions into whole num- 
 bers. No ; Fm not to be compared to gentle- 
 men. My property ^s my respectability. I said 
 that at the beginning, and I say it now. But, 
 1^11 tell you what, brother William John, it^s an 
 emotion when you've got bags of thousands of 
 pounds in your arms.^^ 
 
 Ordinarily, the farmer was a sensible man, as 
 
 4 — % 
 
58 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 straight on the level of dull intelligence as other 
 men ; but so credulous was he in regard to the 
 riches possessed by his wife's brother, that a very- 
 little tempted him to childish exaggeration of the 
 probable amount. Now that Anthony himself 
 furnished the incitement^ he was quite lifted 
 from the earth. He had, besides, taken more of 
 the strong mixture than he was ever accustomed 
 to take in the middle of the day; and as it 
 seemed to him that Anthony was really about to 
 be seduced into a particular statement of the ex- 
 tent of the property which formed his respecta- 
 bility (as Anthony had chosen to put it), he got 
 up a little game in his head by guessing how 
 much the amount might positively be, so that he 
 could subsequently compare his shrewd reckon- 
 ing with the avowed fact. He tamed his wild ideas 
 as much as possible ; thought over what his wife 
 used to say of Anthony^s saving ways from boy- 
 hood, thought of the dark hints of the Funds, of 
 many bold strokes for money made by sagacious 
 persons ; of Anthony's close style of living, and 
 of the lives of celebrated misers ; this done^ he 
 resolved to make a sure guess, and therefore 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON. 59 
 
 aimed below the mark. Money, when the 
 imagination deals with it thus_, has no substan- 
 tial relation to mortal affairs. It is a tricksy 
 thing, distending and contracting as it dances in 
 the mind, like sunlight on the ceiling cast from 
 a morning tea-cup, if a forced simile will aid the 
 conception. The farmer struck on thirty thou- 
 sand and some odd hundred pounds — outlying 
 debts^ or so, excluded — as what Anthony's will, 
 in all likelihood, would be sworn under — say, 
 thirty thousand, or, safer, say, twenty thousand. 
 Bequeathed — how ? To him and to his children* 
 But to the childi'en in reversion after his de- 
 cease ? Or how ? In any case, they might 
 make capital marriages ; and the farm estate 
 should go to whichever of the two young hus- 
 bands he liked the best. Farmer Fleming asked 
 not for any life of ease and splendour, though 
 thirty thousand pounds was a fortune ; or even 
 twenty thousand. Noblemen have stooped to 
 marry heiresses owning no more than that ! The 
 idea of their having done so actually shot across 
 him, and his heart sent up a warm spring of 
 tenderness towards the patient, good, grubbing 
 
60 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 old f(jllow^ sitting beside him, who had lived and 
 died to enrich and elevate the family. At the 
 same time, he could not refrain from thinking 
 that Anthony, broad-shouldered as he Avas, 
 though bent, sound in his legs, and well- 
 coloured for a Londoner, would be accepted by 
 any life insurance office, at a moderate rate, 
 considering his age. The farmer thought of 
 his own health, and it was with a pang that 
 he fancied himself being probed by the civil- 
 speaking life insurance doctor (a gentleman who 
 seems to issue upon us applicants from out the 
 muffled folding doors of Hades ; taps us on the 
 chest, once, twice, and forthwith writes down our 
 fateful dates). Probably, Anthony would not 
 have to pay a higher rate of interest than he. 
 
 "Are you insured, brother Tony?" the ques- 
 tion escaped him. 
 
 " No, I ain't, brother William John ;'' Anthony 
 went on nodding like an automaton set in mo- 
 tion. " There's two sides to that. I'm a long- 
 lived man. Long-lived men don't insure; that 
 is, unless they're fools. That's how the offices 
 thrive.'^ * 
 
THE MIGHT OF THE MONEY DEMON* 61 
 
 ^' Case of accident ?" the farmer suggested, 
 
 '* Oh ! nothing happens to me," replied 
 Anthony. 
 
 Tlie farmer jumped on his legs, and yawned. 
 
 " Shall we take a turn in the garden, brother 
 Tony?" 
 
 " With all my heart, brother William John." 
 
 The farmer had conscience to be ashamed of 
 the fit of irritable vexation wliich had seized on 
 him ; and it was not till Anthony being asked 
 the date of his birth, had declared himself twelve 
 years his senior, that the farmer felt his specula- 
 tions to be justified. Anthony was nearly a gene- 
 ration ahead. They walked about, and were seen 
 from the windows touching one another on the 
 shoulder in a brotherly way. When they came 
 back to the women, and tea, the farmer's mind 
 was cooler, and all his reckonings had gone to 
 mist. He was dejected over his tea. 
 
 '^What is the matter, father?" said Hhoda. 
 
 " V\l tell you, my dear," Anthony replied for 
 him. " He's envying me some one I want to 
 ask me that question when Fm at my tea in 
 London." 
 
62 RIIODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 
 
 Mr. Fleming kept liis foreliead from his daugh- 
 ter's good- night kiss until the room was cleared, 
 after supper, and then embracing her very 
 heartily, he informed her that her uncle had 
 offered to pay her expenses on a visit to London, 
 by which he contrived to hint that a golden path 
 had opened to his girl, and at the same time 
 entreated her to think nothing of it ; to dismiss 
 all expectations and dreams of impossible sums 
 from her mind, and simply to endeavour to 
 please her uncle, who had a right to his own, 
 and a right to do what he liked with his own, 
 though it were forty, fifty times as much as he 
 possessed — and what that might amount to no 
 one knew. In fact, as is the way with many 
 experienced persons, in his attempt to give advice 
 
THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 63 
 
 to aiiotlier_, he was very impressive in lecturing 
 himself, and warned that other not to succumb 
 to a temptation principally by indicating the 
 natural basis of the allurement. Happily for 
 young and for old, the intense insight of the 
 young has much to distract or soften it. Rhoda 
 thanked her father, and chose to think that she 
 had listened to good and wise things. 
 
 '^Your sister/^ he said — ^'^but we won^t speak 
 of her. If I could part with you, my lass, Fd 
 rather she was the one to come back.^^ 
 
 ^'Dahlia would be killed by our quiet life 
 now," said Hhoda, 
 
 " Ay," the farmer mused. " If sheM got to 
 pay six men every Saturday night, she wouldn't 
 complain o' the quiet. But, there ! — you neither 
 of you ever took to farming or to housekeeping; 
 but any gentleman might be proud to have one 
 of- you for a wife. I said so when you was gu'ls ; 
 And if youVe been dull, my dear, what's the 
 good o' society ? Tea-cakes mayn't seem to cost 
 money, nor a glass o' grog to neighbours ; but 
 once open the door to that sort o' thing and 
 your reckoning goes. And what I said to your 
 
64 nnoDA pleming. 
 
 poor mother's true. I said : our girls^ they're 
 mayhap not equals of the Hollands^ the Kashaws, 
 the Perrets, and the others about here — no ; 
 they're not equals, because the others are not 
 -equals o' them, maybe." 
 
 The yeoman's pride struggled out in this 
 obscure "way to vindicate his unneighbourliness 
 and the seclusion of his daughters from the 
 society of girls of their age and condition ; nor 
 was it hard for Pthoda to assure him, as she 
 earnestly did, that he had acted rightly. 
 
 Rhoda, assisted by Mrs. Sumfit, was late in 
 the night looking up what poor decorations she 
 possessed wherewith to enter London, and be 
 worthy of her sister's embrace, so that she might 
 not shock the lady Dahlia had become. 
 
 " Depend you on it, my dear," said Mrs. Sumfit, 
 " my Dahly's grown above him. That's nettles 
 to your uncle, my dear. He can't abide it. 
 Don't you see he can't ? Some men's like that. 
 Others 'd see you dressed like a princess, and not 
 be satisfied. They vary so, the teasin' creatures ! 
 But one and all, whether they likes it or not, 
 owns a woman's the better for bein' dressed in 
 
THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 65 
 
 the fashion. What do grieve me to my insidest 
 heart, it is your bonnet. What a bonnet that 
 was lying beside her dear round arm in the 
 portrait,, and her finger up making a dimple in 
 her cheek_, as if she was thinking of us in a sor- 
 rowful way. That's the arts o^ bein' lady- like : — 
 look sad-like. How coidd we get a bonnet for you ?" 
 
 " My own must do/^ said Rhoda. 
 
 " Yes, and you to look like lady and servant- 
 gal a-going out for an airin' ; and she to feel it ! 
 Pretty, that 'd be V 
 
 '^ She wont be ashamed of me,'' Rhoda fal- 
 tered; and then hummed a little tune, and said 
 firmly — " It's no use my trying to look like 
 what I'm not." 
 
 " No, truly ;" Mrs. Sumfit assented. '' But 
 it's your bein' behind the fashions what hurt 
 me. As well you might be an old thing like 
 me, for any pleasant looks you'll git. Now, the 
 country — you're like in a coal-hole for the 
 matter o' that. While London, my dear, its 
 pavement and gutter, and omnibus traffic; and 
 if vou're not in the fashion, the little wicked 
 boys of the streets themselves '11 let you know 
 
^6 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 it ; they Ve got such eyes for fashions, they have. 
 And I don't want my Dahly's sister to be 
 laughed at, and called ' coal-scuttle/ as hap- 
 pened to me, my dear, believe it or not — and 
 shoved aside, and said to — ' who are you ?' For 
 she reely is nice-looking. Your uncle Anthony 
 and Mr. Robert agreed upon that/' 
 
 E-hoda coloured, and said, after a time, " It 
 would please me if people didn't speak about my 
 looks.'' 
 
 The looking-glass probably told her no more 
 than that she was nice to the eye, but a young 
 man who sees anything should not see like a 
 mirror, and a girl's instinct whispers to her, 
 that her image has not been taken to heart 
 when she is accurately and impartially described 
 by him. 
 
 The key to Rhoda at this period was a desire 
 to be made warm with praise of her person. 
 She beheld her face at times, and shivered. 
 The face was so strange with its dark, thick, 
 eyebrows, and peculiarly straight-gazing brown 
 eyes ; the level, long, red under-lip and curved 
 upper; and the chin and nose, so unlike 
 
THE TEXT FKOM SCRIPTURE. 67 
 
 Dahlia^s, whose nose was, after a little dip from 
 the forehead, one soft line to its extremity, and 
 ■whose chin seemed shaped to a cup. Rhoda^s 
 outlines were harder. There was a suspicion of 
 a heavenward turn to her nose, and of squareness 
 to her chin. Her face, when studied, inspired 
 in its owner's mind a doubt of her being even 
 nice to the eye, though she knew that in 
 exercise, and when smitten by a blush, bright- 
 ness and colour aided her claims. She knew 
 also that her head was easily poised on her 
 neck ; and that her figure was reasonably good ; 
 but all this was unconfirmed knowledge, quickly 
 shadowed by the doubt. As the sun is wanted 
 to glorify the right features of a landscape, this 
 girl thirsted for a dose of golden flattery. She 
 felt, without envy of her sister, that Dahlia 
 eclipsed her; and all she prayed for, was that 
 she might not be quite so much in the back- 
 ground and obscure. 
 
 But great, powerful London — the new uni- 
 verse to her spirit — was opening its arms to 
 her. In her half sleep that night she heard 
 the mighty thunder of the city, crashing tumults 
 
68 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 of disordered harmonies^ and the splendour of 
 the lamp-lighted city appeared to hang up 
 under a dark-blue heaven, removed from earth, 
 like a fresh planet to which she was being 
 beckoned. 
 
 At breakfast on the Sunday morning, her 
 departure was necessarily spoken of in public. 
 Robert talked to her exactly as he had talked to 
 Dahlia, on the like occasion. He mentioned, 
 as she remembered in one or two instances, the 
 names of the same streets, and professed a similar 
 anxiety as regarded driving her to the station 
 and catching the train. " That^s a thing which 
 makes a man feel his strength's nothing/' he 
 said. '' You can't stop it. I fancy I could stop 
 a four-in-hand at full gallop. Mind, I only 
 fancy I could ; but when you come to do with 
 iron and steam I feel like a baby. You can't 
 stop trains." 
 
 ^' You can trip 'em," said Anthony^ a re- 
 mark that called forth general laughter, and 
 increased the impression that he was a man of 
 resources. 
 
 Khoda was vexed by Robert's devotion to his 
 
THE TEXT EEOM SCRIPTURE. 6^ 
 
 strength. She was goings and wished to go, 
 but she wished to be regretted as well; and 
 she looked at him more. He, on the contrary, 
 scarcely looked at her at all. He threw verbal 
 turnips, oats, oxen, poultry, and every possible 
 melancholy matter-of-fact thing, about the table, 
 described the farm and his fondness for it and the 
 neighbourhood ; said a farmer's life was best, and 
 gave Rhoda a week in which to be tired of London. 
 
 She sneered in her soul, thinking " how little 
 he knows of the constancy in the nature of 
 women \'' adding, '^ when they form attach- 
 ments." 
 
 Anthony was shown at church, in spite of 
 a feeble intimation he expressed, that it would 
 be agreeable to him to walk about in the 
 March sunshine, and see the grounds and 
 the wild flowers, which never gave trouble, 
 nor cost a penny, and were always pretty, 
 and worth twenty of your artificial contri- 
 vances. 
 
 ^* Same as I say to Miss Dahly," he took 
 occasion to remark; "but no! — no good. I 
 don't believe women hea)^ ye, when you talk 
 
70 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 a 
 
 sense of that kind. ' Look/ says I, ' at 
 violet.* ' Look/ says she^ ' at a rose.* Well, 
 what can ye say after that ? She swears the 
 rose looks best. You swear the violet costs 
 least. Then there you have a battle between 
 what it costs and how it looks.** 
 
 Robert pronounced a conventional affirmative, 
 when called on for it by a look from Anthony. 
 "Whereupon Rhoda cried out : 
 
 " Dahlia was right — she was right, uncle.** 
 " She was right, my dear, if she was a ten- 
 thousander. She wasn*t right as a farmer*s 
 daughter with poor expectations : — Pd say 
 humble, if humble she were. As a farmer's 
 daughter, she should choose the violet side. 
 That's clear as day. One thing's good, I admit ; 
 she tells me she makes her own bonnets, and 
 they're as good as milliners*, and that*s a proud 
 matter to say of your own niece. And to buy 
 dresses for herself, I suppose, she*s sat down 
 and she made dresses for fine ladies. Fve found 
 her at it. ' Save the money for the work/ 
 says I. What does she reply — she always has 
 a reply; ^ uncle, I know the value of money 
 
THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 71 
 
 better/ ' You mean, you spend it/ I says 
 to her. ' I buy more than it^s worth/ says 
 she. And 1^11 tell you what, Mr. Robert 
 Armstrong, as I find your name to be, sir; if 
 you beat women at talking, my lord, you^re a 
 clever chap." 
 
 Robert laughed. " I give in at the first 
 mile." 
 
 " Don't think much of women — is that it, 
 sir?" 
 
 i, i f " Pm glad to say I don't think of them 
 
 at 
 
 t^ all." 
 
 " Do you think of one woman, now, Mr. 
 Robert Armstrong?" 
 
 '' I'd much rather think of two." 
 
 '^ And why, may I ask ?" 
 
 " It's safer." 
 
 " Now, I don't exactly see that," said An- 
 thony. 
 
 ^^You set one to tear the other," Robert 
 explained. 
 
 " Y'ou're a Grand Turk Mogul in your reason- 
 ings of women, Mr. Robert Armstrong. I hope 
 as your morals are sound, sir ?" 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
72 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 They were on tlie road to churchy but Robert 
 could not restrain a swinging outburst. 
 
 He observed tbat he hoped likewise that his 
 morals were sound. 
 
 ^' Because/^ said Anthony^ ^^ do you see^ sir, 
 two wives '^ 
 
 '^ No, no ; one wife/' interposed Robert. 
 " You said ^ think about / Fd ^ think about^ any 
 number of women_, if I was idle. But the woman 
 you mean to make your wife^ you go to at once, 
 and don't ' think about' her or the question 
 either." 
 
 " You make sure of her, do you, sir ?" 
 
 " No : I try my luck ; that is all." 
 
 '' Suppose she wont have ye ?" 
 
 " Then I wait for her." 
 
 " Suppose she gets married to somebody 
 else?" 
 
 " Well, you know, I shouldn't cast eye on a 
 woman who was a fool." 
 
 ^^ Well, upon my " Anthony checked his 
 
 exclamation, returning to the charge with, " Just 
 suppose, for the sake of supposing — suppose she 
 was a fool, and gone and got married, and you 
 
THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 73 
 
 thrown backward on one leg, starin' at tlie other, 
 stupified — like 1" 
 
 ^'1 don^t mind supposing it/^ said Robert. 
 ^' Say, she^s a fool. Her being a fool argues that 
 I was one in making a fooFs choice. So, she 
 jilts me, and I get a pistol, or I get a neat bit 
 of rope, or I take a clean header with a cannon- 
 ball at my heels, or I go to the chemist^s and 
 ask for stuff to poison rats, — anything a fool *d 
 do under the circumstances, it don^t matter 
 what.'' 
 
 Old Anthony waited for E-hoda to jump over 
 a style, and said to her — 
 
 '^ He laughs at the whole lot of ye.'' 
 
 " Who ?" she asked, with betraying cheeks. 
 
 " This Mr. Robert Armstrong of yours." 
 
 " Of mine, uncle !" 
 
 " He don't seem to care a snap o' the finger 
 for any of ye." 
 
 " Then, none of us must care for him, uncle." 
 
 " Now, just the contrary. That always shows 
 a young fellow who's attending to his business. 
 If he'd seen you boil potatoes, make dumplins, 
 beds, tea, all that, you'd have had a chance. 
 
 5-i 
 
74 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 HeM have marclied up to ye before you was off 
 to London/^ 
 
 '^ Saying, ' You are the woman/ '^ Rhoda was 
 too desperately tickled by the idea to refrain 
 from uttering it^ though she was angry, and suf- 
 fering internal discontent. " Or else, ' You are 
 the cook/ '' she muttered, and shut, with the 
 word, steel bars across her heart, calling him, 
 mentally, names not justified by anything he 
 had said or done — such as mercenary, tyrannical, 
 and such like. 
 
 Robert was attentive to her in church. Once 
 she caught him with his eyes on her face ; but 
 he betrayed no confusion, and looked away at 
 the clergyman. When the text was given out, 
 he found the place in his Bible, and handed it 
 to her pointedly — " There shall be snares and 
 traps'^unto you/^ a line from Joshua. She re- 
 ceived the act as a polite parting civility ; but 
 when she was coming out of church, Robert saw 
 that a blush swept over her face, and wondered 
 what thoughts could be rising within her, unaware 
 that'^girls catch certain meanings late, and suffer 
 a fiery torture when these meanings are clear to 
 
THE TEXT FROM SCRIPTURE. 75 
 
 them. Rlioda called up the pride of her woman- 
 hood that she might despise the man who had 
 dared to distrust her. She kept her poppy 
 colour throughout the day^ so sensitive was this 
 pride. But most she was angered^ after reflec- 
 tioUj by the doubts which Robert appeared to 
 cast on Dahlia, in setting his finger upon that 
 burning line of Scripture. It opened a whole 
 black kingdom to her imagination, and first 
 touched her visionary life with shade. She was 
 sincere in her ignorance that the doubts were her 
 own, but they lay deep in unawakened recesses 
 of the soul ; it was by a natural action of her 
 reason that she transferred and forced them upon 
 him who had chanced to make them visible. 
 
76 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SISTERS MEET. 
 
 When young minds are set upon a distant object, 
 they scarcely live for anything about them. The 
 drive to the station and the parting with Robert, 
 the journey to London, which had latterly seemed 
 to her secretly- distressed anticipation like a 
 sunken city — a place of wonder with the waters 
 over it — all passed by smoothly; and then it 
 became necessary to call a cabman, for whom, 
 as he did her the service to lift her box, Rhoda 
 felt a gracious respect, until a quarrel ensued 
 between him and her uncle concerning sixpence ; 
 a poor sum, as she thought ; but representing, 
 as Anthony impressed upon her understanding 
 during the conflict of hard words, a principle. 
 Those who can persuade themselves that they are 
 fighting for a principle, fight strenuously, and 
 
THE SISTERS MEET. 77 
 
 may "be reckoned upon to overmatch combatants 
 on behalf of a miserable small coin ; so the cab- 
 man went away discomfited. He used such bad 
 language that Rhoda had no pity for him, and 
 hearing her uncle style it ^^ the London tongue/' 
 she thought dispiritedly of Dahlia's having had 
 to listen to it through so long a season. Dahlia 
 was not at home ; but Mrs. Wicklow, Anthony's 
 landlady, undertook to make E/hoda comfortable, 
 which operation she began by praising dark 
 young ladies over fair ones, at the same time 
 shaking Rhoda's arm that she might not fail to 
 see a compliment was intended. " This is our 
 London way," she said. But Ehoda was most 
 disconcerted when she heard Mrs. Wicklow relate 
 that her daughter and Dahlia were out together, 
 and say, that she had no doubt they had found 
 some pleasant and attentive gentleman for a 
 companion, if they had not gone purposely to 
 meet one. Her thoughts of her sister were per- 
 plexed, and London seemed a gigantic net 
 around them both. 
 
 "Yes, that's the habit with the girls up 
 
78 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 here," said Anthony; "that's what fine bon- 
 nets mean/' 
 
 E-hoda dropped into a bitter depth of brood- 
 ing. The savage nature of her virgin pride was 
 such that it gave her great suiFering even to 
 suppose that a strange gentleman would dare to 
 address her sister. She half-fashioned the words 
 on her lips that she had dreamed of a false Zion, 
 and was being righteously punished. By-and- 
 by the landlady's daughter returned home alone, 
 saying, with a dreadful laugh, that Dahlia had 
 sent her for her Bible; but she would give no 
 explanation of the singular mission which had 
 been entrusted to her, and she showed no will- 
 ingness to attempt to fulfil it, merely repeating, 
 '^ Her Bible !" with a vulgar exhibition of simu- 
 lated scorn that caused Bhoda to shrink from 
 her, though she would gladly have poured out a 
 multitude of questions in the ear of one who had 
 last been with her beloved. After a while, Mrs. 
 Wicklow looked at the clock, and instantly 
 became overclouded with an extreme gravity. 
 
 " Eleven ! and she sent Mary Ann home for 
 her Bible. This looks bad. I call it hypo- 
 
THE SISTERS MEET. 79 
 
 critical^ the idea of mentioning the Bible. Now, 
 if she had said to Mary Ann, go and fetch any- 
 other book but a Bible P^ 
 
 " It was mother's Bible," interposed Bhoda. 
 
 Mrs. Wicklow replied : "And I wish all 
 young women to be as innocent as you, my 
 dear. You'll get you to bed. You're a dear, 
 mild, sweet, good young woman. Vm. never 
 deceived in character.'^ 
 
 Vaunting her penetration, she accompanied 
 E/hoda to Dahlia's chamber, bidding her sleep 
 speedily, or that when her sister came they 
 would be talking till the cock crowed hoarse. 
 
 " There^s a poultry-yard close to us ?" said 
 Bhoda ; feeling less at home when she heard 
 that there was not. 
 
 The night was quiet and clear. She leaned 
 her head out of the windoAV, and heard the mellow 
 Sunday evening roar of the city as of a sea at 
 ebb. And Dahlia was out on the sea. Bhoda 
 thought of it as she looked at the row of lamps, 
 and listened to the noise remote, until the sight 
 of stars was pleasant as the faces of friends. 
 " People are kind here," she reflected, for her 
 
80 RHODA FLEMING . 
 
 sliort experience of the landlady was good, and a 
 young gentleman who had hailed a cab for her 
 at the station, had a nice voice. He was fair. 
 *' I am dark," came a spontaneous reflection. 
 She undi'essed, and half dozing over her beating 
 heart in bed, heard the street door open, and 
 leaped to think that her sister approached, 
 jumping up in her bed to give ear to the door 
 and the stairs, that were conducting her joy to 
 her; but she quickly recomposed herself, and 
 feigned sleep, for the delight of revelling in her 
 sister^s first wonderment. The door was flung 
 wide, and Rhoda heard her name called by 
 Dahlia's voice, and then there was a delicious 
 silence, and she felt that Dahlia was coming up 
 to her on tiptoe, and waited for her head to be 
 stooped near, that she might fling out her arms, 
 and draw the dear head to her bosom. But 
 Dahlia came only to the bedside, without leaning 
 over, and spoke of her looks, which held the giii 
 quiet. 
 
 " How she sleeps ! It^s a country sleep !" 
 Dahlia murmured. '' She's changed, but it's all 
 for the better. She's quite a woman; she's a 
 
THE SISTERS MEET. 81 
 
 perfect brunette ; and tlie nose I used to laugh 
 at suits her face and those black, thick eyebroAvs 
 of hers ; my pet ! Oh, why is she here ? What^s 
 meant by it ? I knew nothing of her coming. 
 Is she sent on purpose?" 
 
 E/hoda did not stir. The tone of Dahlia^s 
 speaking, low and almost awful to her, laid a flat 
 hand on her, and kept her still. 
 
 " I came for my Bible/^ she heard Dahlia say. 
 ^" I promised mother — oh, my poor darling 
 mother ! And Dody lying in my bed ! Who 
 would have thought of such things ? Perhaps 
 Heaven does look after us and interfere. What 
 will become of me ? Oh, you pretty innocent in 
 your sleep ! I lie for hours, and can^t sleep. 
 She binds her hair in a knot on the pillow, just 
 as she used to in the old farm days V 
 
 Rhoda knew that her sister was bending over 
 her now, but she was almost frigid, and could 
 not move. 
 
 Dahlia went to the looking-glass. " How 
 flushed I am \" she murmured. " No ; I'm 
 pale, quite white. Vve lost my strength. ^Yliat 
 can I do? How could T take mother's Bible, 
 
82 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 and run from my pretty one^ wlio expects me, 
 and dreams she^ll wake with me beside her in 
 the morning. I can^t — I canH ! If you love 
 me_, Edwardj you wont wish it." 
 
 She fell into a chair^ crying wildly, and 
 muffling her sobs. Khoda^s eyelids grew moist, 
 but wonder and the cold anguish of senseless 
 sympathy held her still frost-bound. All at 
 once she heard the window open. Some one 
 spoke in the street below; some one uttered 
 Dahlia^s name. A deep bell swung a note of 
 midnight. 
 
 " Go V cried Dahlia. 
 
 The window was instantly shut. 
 
 The vibration of Dahlia^s voice went through 
 Rhoda like the heavy shaking of the bell after it 
 had struck, and the room seemed to spin and 
 hum. It was to her but another minute before 
 her sister slid softly into the bed, and they were 
 locked together. 
 
83 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 
 
 BoYNE^s Bank was of the order of those old 
 and firmly -fixed establishments which have taken 
 root with the fortunes of the country — are 
 honourable as England^s name^ solid as her 
 prosperity, and even as the flourishing green tree 
 to shareholders : a granite house. Boyne him- 
 self had been disembodied for more than a 
 century : Burt and H amble were still of the 
 flesh ; but a greater than Burt or Hamble was 
 Blancove — the Sir William Blancove, Baronet, of 
 city feasts and charities, who, besides being a 
 wealthy merchant, possessed of a very acute head 
 for banking, was a scholarly gentleman, worthy 
 of riches. His brother was Squire Blancove, of 
 Wrexby; but between these two close relatives 
 there existed no stronger feeling than what was 
 
84 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 expressed by open contempt of a mind dedicated 
 to business on tlie one side, and qniet contempt 
 of a life devoted to indolence on the otlier. 
 Nevertbeless_, Squire Blancove, though everybody 
 knew how deeply he despised his junior for his 
 city-gained title and commercial occupation, sent 
 him his son Algernon, to get the youth into 
 sound discipline, if possible. This was after 
 the elastic Algernon had, on the paternal intima- 
 tion of his colonel, relinquished his cornetcy 
 and military service. Sir William received the 
 hopeful young fellow much in the spirit with 
 which he listened to the tales of his brother's 
 comments on his own line of conduct ; that is 
 to sav, as homage to his intellectual superiority. 
 Mr. Algernon was installed in the bank, and sat 
 down for a long career of groaning at the desk 
 with more complacency than was expected from 
 him. Sir William forwarded excellent accounts to 
 his brother of the behaviour of the heir to his 
 estates. It was his way of rebuking the squire, 
 and in return for it the squire, though somewhat 
 comforted, despised his clerkly son, and lived 
 to learn how very unjustly he did so. Adoles- 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 85 
 
 cents, wlio have tlie taste for running into 
 excesses, enjoy the breath of change as another 
 form of excitement ; change is a sort of debauch 
 to them. They will delight infinitely in a 
 simple country round of existence — in propriety, 
 and church- going — in the sensation of feeling 
 innocent. There is little that does not enrapture 
 them, if you tie them down to nothing, and let 
 them try all. Sir William was deceived by his 
 nephew. He would have taken him into his 
 town-house ; but his own son, Edward, who was 
 studying for the law, had chambers in the 
 Temple, and Algernon, receiving an invitation 
 from Edward, declared a gentle preference for 
 the abode of his cousin. His allowance from 
 his father was properly contracted (to keep him 
 from excesses, as the genius of his senior 
 devised), and Sir William saw no objection to 
 the scheme, and made none. The two dined 
 with him about twice in the month. 
 
 Edward Blancove was three-and-twenty years 
 old, a student by fits, and a young man given 
 to be moody. He had powers of gaiety far 
 eclipsing Algernon's, but he Avas not the same 
 
86 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 easy^ tripping sinner, and flippant soul. He was 
 in that yeasty condition of liis years wlien 
 action and reflection alternately usurp the mind ; 
 remorse succeeded dissipation, and indulgences 
 offered the soporific to remorse. The friends of 
 the two imagined that Algernon was, or would 
 become, his evil genius. In reality, Edward 
 was the perilous companion. He was composed 
 of better stuff. Algernon was but an airy 
 animal nature, the soul within him being an 
 effervescence lightly let loose. Edward had a 
 fatally serious spirit, and one of some strength. 
 What he gave himself up to, he could believe 
 to be correct, in the teeth of an opposing 
 world, until he tired of it, when he sided as 
 heartily with the world against his quondam 
 self. Algernon Alight mislead, or point his 
 cousin^s passions for a time ; yet if they con- 
 tinued their courses together, there was danger 
 that Algernon would degenerate into a reckless 
 subordinate — a minister, a valet, and be tempted 
 unknowingly to do things in earnest, which is 
 nothing less than perdition to this sort of 
 creature. 
 
EDWARD AND AL-GERNON. 87 
 
 But the key to young men is the ambition, 
 or, in the place of it_, the romantic sentiment 
 nourished by them. Edward aspired to become 
 Attorney- General of these realms, not a judge, 
 you observe ; for a judge is to the imagination 
 of youthful minds a stationary being, venerable, 
 but not active ; whereas, your Attorney- General 
 is always in the fray, and fights commonly on 
 the winning side, a point that renders his position 
 attractive to sagacious youth. Algernon had 
 other views. Civilization had tried him, and 
 found him wanting; so he condemned it. More- 
 over, sitting now all day at a desk, he was civili- 
 zation's drudge. No wonder, then, that his 
 dream was of prairies, and primeval forests, and 
 Australian wilds. He believed in his heart that 
 he would be a man new made over there, and 
 always looked forward to savage life as to a bath 
 that would cleanse him, so that it did not 
 much matter his being unclean for the present. 
 
 The young men had a fair cousin by marriage, 
 a Mrs. Margaret Lovell, a widow. At seven- 
 teen she had gone with her husband to India, 
 where Harry Lovell encountered the sword of a 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
88 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Sikh Sirdar^ and tried tlie last of his much- 
 vaunted swordsmanship, which, with his skill at 
 the pistols, had served him better in two ante- 
 cedent duels, for the vindication of his lovely 
 and terrible young wife. He perished on the 
 field, critically admiring the stroke to which 
 he owed his death. A week after Harry ^s burial 
 his widow was asked in marriage by his colonel. 
 Captains, and a giddy subaltern likewise, dis- 
 puted claims to possess her. She, however, 
 decided to arrest further bloodshed, by quitting 
 the regiment. She always said that she left 
 India to save her complexion ; ^^ and people don^t 
 know how very candid I am,^^ she added, for 
 the colonel above-mentioned was wealthy — a 
 man expectant of a title, and a good match, and 
 she was laughed at when she . thus assigned 
 trivial reasons for momentous resolutions. It is 
 a luxury to be candid ; and perfect candour can 
 do more for us than a dark disguise. 
 
 Mrs. LovelFs complexion was worth saving 
 from the ravages of an Indian climate, and the 
 persecution of claimants to her hand. She was 
 golden and white, like an autumnal birch- tree — 
 
<3 
 
 EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 89 
 
 yellow hair, with warm -toned streaks in it, 
 shading a fabnlously fair skin. Then, too, she 
 was tall, of a nervous build, supple and proud 
 in motion, a brilliant horsewoman, and a most 
 distinguished sitter in an easy drawing-room 
 chair, which is, let me impress upon yon, no 
 mean quality. After riding out for hours with a 
 sweet comrade, who has thrown the mantle of 
 dignity half way oflP her shoulders, it is per- 
 plexing, and mixed strangely of humiliation and 
 ecstacy, to come upon her clouded majesty where 
 she reclines as upon rose-hued clouds, in a 
 mystic circle of restriction (she who laughed at 
 your jokes, and capped them, two hours ago) ; 
 a queen. 
 
 Between ^Margaret Lovell and Edward there 
 Avas a misunderstanding, of which no one knew 
 the nature, for they spoke in public very respect- 
 fully one of the other. It had been supposed 
 that they were lovers once; but when lovers 
 quarrel, they snarl, they bite, they worry -, their 
 eyes are indeed unveiled, and their mouths 
 unmuzzled. Now Margaret said of Edward : 
 *' He is sure to rise ; he has such good prin- 
 
 6 — 2 
 
90 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ciples/^ Edward of Margaret : " She only 
 "wants a liusband wlio will keep lier well in 
 hand/^ These sentences scarcely carried actual 
 compliments when you knew the speakers ; but 
 outraged lovers cannot talk in that style after 
 they have broken apart. It is possible that 
 Margaret and Edward conveyed to one another 
 as sharp a sting as envenomed lovers attempt. 
 Gossip had once betrothed them, but was now at 
 fault. The lady had a small jointure, and lived 
 partly with her uncle, Lord Elling, partly with 
 Squire Blancove, her aunt's husband, and a little 
 by herself, which was when she counted money 
 in her purse, and chose to assert her indepen- 
 dence. She had a name in the world. There 
 is a fate attached to some women, from Helen 
 of Troy downwards, that blood is to be shed for 
 them. One duel on behalf of a woman is a 
 reputation to her for life ; two are notoriety. If 
 she is very young, can they be attributable to 
 her? We charge them naturally to her over- 
 powering beauty. It happened that Mrs. LoveU 
 was beautiful. Under the light of the two duels 
 her beauty shone as from an illumination of 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 91 
 
 black flame. Boys adored Mrs. Lovell. These are 
 moths. But more^ the birds of air^ nay, grave 
 owls (who stand in this metaphor for whiskered 
 experience) thronged, dashing at the apparition, 
 of terrible splendour. Was it her fault that she 
 had a name in the world? 
 
 Mrs. Margaret LovelFs portrait hung in 
 Edward^s room. It was a photograph ex- 
 quisitely coloured^ and was on the left of a 
 dark Judith, dark with a serenity of sternness. 
 On the right hung another coloured photograph 
 of a young lady, also fair ; and it was a point 
 of taste to choose between them. Do you. like 
 the hollowed lily^s cheeks, or the plump rose's ? 
 Do you like a thinnish fall of golden hair, or an 
 abundant cluster of nut-brown ? Do you like your 
 blonde with limpid blue eyes, or prefer an endow- 
 ment of sunny hazel ? Finally, are you taken 
 by an air of artistic innocence winding serpentine 
 about your hearths fibres ; or is blushing sim- 
 plicity sweeter to you ? Mrs. LovelFs eye- 
 brows were the faintly-marked trace of a perfect 
 arch. The other young person's were thickish, 
 more level; a full brown colour. She looked 
 
92 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 as if she liacl not yet attained to any sense of 
 lier being a professed beauty : but the fair 
 widow was clearly bent upon winning yoU;, 
 and had a shy, playful intentness of aspect. 
 Her pure white skin was fiat on the bone; 
 the lips came forward in a soft curve, and, if 
 they were not artistically stained, were trium- 
 phantly fresh. Here, in any case, she beat her 
 rival, whose mouth had the plebeian beauty's 
 fault of being too straight in a line, and was 
 not trained, apparently, to tricks of dainty 
 pouting. 
 
 It was morning, and the cousins having 
 sponged in pleasant cold water, arranged them- 
 selves for exercise, and came out simultaneously 
 into the sitting-room, slippered, and in flannels. 
 They nodded and went through certain curt 
 greetings, and then Algernon stepped to a 
 cupboard and tossed out the leather gloves. 
 The room was large and they had a tolerable 
 space for the work, when the breakfast-table 
 had been drawn a little on one side. You 
 saw at a glance which was the likelier man of 
 the two, when they stood opposed. Algernon's 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 93 
 
 rounded features, full lips and falling chin, were 
 not a matclij tliough he was quick on his feet, 
 for the wary, prompt eyes, set mouth, and hard- 
 ness of Edward. Both had stout muscle, but in 
 Edward there was vigour of brain as well, 
 which seemed to knit and inform his shape : 
 without which, in fact, a man is as a ship 
 under no command. Both looked their best ; 
 as, when sparring, men always do look. 
 
 " Now, tlien,^^ said Algernon, squaring up 
 to his cousin in good style, '^ now^s the time 
 for that unwholesome old boy underneath to 
 commence groaning.^' 
 
 '' Step as light as you can,^^ replied Edward, 
 meeting him with the pretty motion of the gloves. 
 
 ^' ni step as light as a French dancing- 
 master. Let^s go to Paris and learn the savate, 
 Ned. It must be a new sensation to stand on 
 one leg and knock a fellow's hat off with the 
 other." 
 
 " Stick to your fists." 
 
 '' Hang it ! I wish your fists wouldn't stick 
 to me so." 
 
 " You talk too much." 
 
94 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " ^Gacl_, I clorL''t get puffy half so soon as you." 
 
 " I want country air/^ 
 
 ^^ You said you were going out^ old Ned." 
 
 " I changed my mind." 
 
 Saying which, Edward shut his teeth, and 
 talked for two or three hot minutes Avholly with 
 his fists. The room shook under Algernon's 
 boundings to right and left, till a blow sent 
 him back on the breakfast-table, shattered a 
 cup on the floor, and bespattered his close 
 flannel shirt with a funereal coffee-tinge. 
 
 " What the deuce I said to bring that on 
 myself, I don't know," Algernon remarked as 
 he rose. '' Anything connected with the country 
 disagreeable to you, Ned ? Come ! a bout of 
 quiet scientific boxing and none of these beastly 
 rushes, as if you were singling me out of a 
 crowd of magsmen. Did you go to church 
 yesterday, Ned? Confound it, you're on me 
 again, are you !" 
 
 And Algernon went on spouting unintelh- 
 gible talk under a torrent of blows. He lost 
 his temper and fought out at them ; but as it 
 speedily became evident to him that the loss 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 95 
 
 laid him open to punisliment, lie prudently 
 recovered it_, sparred, danced about, and con- 
 trived to sliake tlie room in a manner that 
 caused Edward to drop his arms, in con- 
 sideration for the distracted occupant of the 
 chambers below. Algernon accepted the truce, 
 and made it peace by casting off one glove. 
 
 " There ! that^s a pleasant morning breather," 
 he said, and sauntered to the window to look at 
 the river. " I always feel the want of it when 
 I donH get it. I could take a thrashing rather 
 than not on with the gloves to begin the day. 
 Look at those boats ! Fancy my having to go 
 down to the city. It makes me feel like my 
 blood circulating the wrong way. My father^Jl 
 suffer some day, for keeping me at this low 
 ebb of cash, by jingo V 
 
 He uttered this with a prophetic fierceness. 
 
 " I cannot even scrape together enough for 
 entrance money to a club. It^s sickening ! I 
 wonder whether I shall ever get used to banking 
 work ? There^s an old clerk in our office who says 
 he should feel ill if he missed a day. And the old 
 porter beats him — bangs him to fits. I believe 
 
96 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 he^d die off if he didnH see the house open to the 
 minute. They say that old boy's got a 
 pretty niece ; but he dont bring her to the 
 office now. Reward of merit ! — Mr. Anthony 
 Hackbut is going to receive ten pounds a year 
 extra. That^s for his honesty. I wonder 
 whether I could earn a reputation for the sake 
 of a prospect of ten extra pounds to my salary. 
 Pyq got a salary ! hurrah ! But if they keep 
 me to my hundred and fifty per annum, don^t 
 let them trust me every day with the bags, as 
 they do that old fellow. Some of the men say 
 he^s good to lend fifty pounds at a pinch. — Are 
 the chops coming, Ned V^ 
 
 " The chops are coming," said Edward, who 
 had thrown on a boating-coat and plunged into 
 
 a book, and spoke echoing. 
 
 " Here's little Peggy Lovell." Algernon 
 
 faced this portrait. "It don't do her justice. 
 
 She's got more life, more change in her, more 
 
 fire. She's starting for town, I hear." 
 " She is starting for town," said Edward. 
 " How do you know that ?" Algernon swung 
 
 about to ask. 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 97 
 
 Edward looked round to him. " By tlie fact of 
 your not having fislied for a holiday this week. 
 How did you leave her yesterday, Algy? Quite 
 well, I hope.^' 
 
 The ingenuous face of the young gentleman 
 crimsoned. 
 
 " Oh, she was well/^ he said. " Ha ! I see there 
 can be some attraction in your dark women.^^ 
 
 " You mean that Judith ? Yes, she's a good 
 diversion.^^ Edward gave a two-edged response. 
 " What train did you come up by last night T^ 
 
 " The last from Wrexby. That reminds me : 
 I saw a young Judith just as I got out. She 
 wanted a cab. I called it for her. She belongs 
 to old Hackbut of the Bank — the old porter, you 
 know. If it wasn't that there's always some- 
 thing about dark women which makes me think 
 they^re going to have a moustache, I should take 
 to that girFs face.^^ 
 
 Edward launched forth an invective against 
 fair women. 
 
 "What have they done to you — what have 
 they done ?^^ said Algernon. 
 
 " My good fellow, they're nothing but colour. 
 
dS RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 They^^e no conscience. If tliey swear a thing 
 to you one moment, they break it the next. 
 They can^t help doing it. You don^t ask a gilt 
 weathercock to keep faith with anything but the 
 wind_, do you ? It^s an ass that trusts a fair 
 woman at all, or has anything to do with the 
 confounded set. Cleopatra was fair; so was 
 Delilah ; so is the DeviFs wife. Reach me that 
 book of Reports.^'' 
 
 " By jingo V' cried Algernon, " my stomach 
 reports that if provision doesn't soon approach 
 
 ^\hj don't you keep a French cook here, 
 
 Ned? Let's give up the women, and take to a 
 French cook.'' 
 
 Edward yawned horribly. " All in good time. 
 It's what we come to. It's philosophy — your 
 French cook ! I wish I had it, or him. I'm 
 afraid a fellow can't anticipate his years — not so 
 lucky !" 
 
 " By Jove ! we shall have to be philosophers 
 before we breakfast !" Algernon exclaimed. " It's 
 nine. I've to be tied to the stake at ten, chained 
 and muzzled — a leetle — a dawg ! I wish I hadn't 
 had to leave the service. It was a vile conspiracy 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 99 
 
 against me tliere^ Ned. Hang all tradesmen ! 
 I sit on a stool^ and add np figures. I work 
 harder than a nigger in the office. That^s mv 
 life : but I must feed. It^s no use going to the 
 office in a rage." 
 
 "Will you try on the gloves again?" was 
 Edward^s mild suggestion. 
 
 Algernon thanked him^ and replied that he 
 knew him. Edward hit hard when he was 
 empty. 
 
 They now affected patience^ as far as silence 
 went to make up an element of that sublime 
 quality. The chops arriving, they disdained the 
 mask. Algernon fired his glove just over the 
 waiter^s head, and Edward put the case to his 
 conscience ; after which they sat and ate, talking 
 little. The difference between them was, that 
 Edward knew the state of Algernon's mind, and 
 what was working within it, while the latter 
 stared at a blank wall as regarded Edward's. 
 
 " Going out after breakfast, Ned ?" said Alger- 
 non, quietly. " WeTl walk to the city together, 
 if you like." 
 
 Edward fixed one of his intent looks upon 
 
100 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 his cousin. " Yoii^re not going to the city to- 
 day ?' 
 
 " The deuce, Fm not V 
 
 " You^re going to dance attendance on Mrs. 
 Lovell, whom it^s your pleasure to call Peggy, 
 when you^re some leagues out of her hearing/-' 
 
 Algernon failed to command his countenance. 
 He glanced at one of the portraits, and said, 
 ^' Who is that girl up there ? Tell us her 
 name. Talking of Mrs. Lovell, has she ever 
 seen it 1:" 
 
 " If you^ll put on your coat, my dear Algy, I 
 will talk to you about Mrs. Lovell.''^ Edward 
 kept his penetrative eyes on Algernon. " Listen 
 to me : you^ll get into a mess there.^^ 
 
 " If I must listen, Ned, Fll listen in my shirt- 
 sleeves, with all respect to the lady.^^ 
 
 "Very well. The shirt sleeves help the air 
 of bravado. Now, you know that V\q what 
 they call ' knelt at her feet.^ She's handsome. 
 Don't cry out. She's dashing, and as near being 
 a devil as any woman I ever met. Do you know 
 why we broke ? I'll tell you. Plainly, because I 
 refused to believe that one of her men had in- 
 
EDWAKD AND ALGERNON. 101 
 
 suited her. You understand what that means. 
 I declined to be a chief party in a scandal.''' 
 
 " Declined to fight the fellow T' interposed 
 Algernon. " More shame to you \" 
 
 " I think you're a year younger than I am, 
 Algy. You have the privilege of speaking with 
 that year's simplicity. Mrs. Lovell will play you 
 as she played me. I acknowledge her power_, and 
 I keep out of her way. I don't bet; I don't 
 care to waltz ; I can't keep horses ; so I don't 
 lose much by the privation to which I subject 
 myself." 
 
 " I bet, I waltz, and I ride. So," said Alger- 
 non, " I should lose tremendously." 
 
 " You will lose, mark my words." 
 
 '^ Is the lecture of my year's senior concluded ?" 
 said Algernon. 
 
 '^ Yes ; I've done," Edward answered. 
 
 " Then I'll put on my coat, Ned, and I'll 
 smoke in it. That'll give you assurance I'm not 
 going near Mrs. Lovell, if anything will." 
 
 *^^That gives me assurance that Mrs. Lovell 
 tolerates in you what she detests," said Edward, 
 relentless in his insight ; " and, consequently. 
 
102 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 gives me assurance that she finds you of parti- 
 cular service to her at present/^ 
 
 Algernon had a lighted match in his hand. 
 He flung it into the fire. " Tm hanged if I 
 don^t think you have the confounded vanity to 
 suppose she sets me as a spy upon you!" 
 
 A smile ran along Edward^s lips. '^ I don't 
 think you'd know it_, if she did.''' 
 
 " Oh, you're ten years older; you're twenty/' 
 bawled Algernon, in an extremity of disgust. 
 '' Don't I know what game you're following up? 
 Isn't it clear as day you've got another woman 
 in your eye?" 
 
 '^ It's as clear as day, my good Algy, that 
 you see a portrait hanging in my chambers, 
 and you have heard Mrs. Lovell's opinion of 
 the fact. So much is perfectly clear. There's 
 my hand. I don't blame you. She's a clever 
 woman, and like many of the sort, shrewd 
 at guessing the worst. Come, take my hand. 
 I tell you, I don't blame you. I've been little 
 dog to her myself, and fetched and carried, and 
 wagged my tail. It's charming while it lasts. 
 WiUyou shake it?" 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 103 
 
 " Your tail, man V Algernon roared in pre- 
 tended amazement. 
 
 Edward eased him back to friendliness by 
 laughing. " No ; my hand." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 
 *• All right/-' said Algernon. " You mean 
 well. It^s very well for you to preach virtue 
 to a poor de^dlj you^'^e got loose^ or you^re 
 regularly in love." 
 
 " Virtue ! by Heaven !" Edward cried ; " I 
 wish I were entitled to preach it to any man 
 on earth." 
 
 His face flushed. '^^ There, good-bye, old 
 feUow," he added. "Go to the City. Pll 
 dine with you to-night, if you like ; come and 
 dine with me at my club. I shall be dis- 
 engaged." 
 
 Algernon mumbled a flexible assent to an 
 appointment at Edward^s club, dressed himself 
 with care, borrowed a sovereign, for which he 
 nodded his acceptance, and left him. 
 
 Edward set his brain upon a book of 
 law. 
 
 It may have been two hours after he had 
 
 VOL, I. 7 
 
104 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 sat thus in his Cistercian stillness^, Tvhen a letter 
 was delivered to him by one of the Inn porters. 
 Edward read the superscription, and asked the 
 porter who it was tliat brought it. Two young 
 ladies, the porter said. 
 
 These were the contents : — 
 
 " I am not sure that you will ever forgive me. 
 I cannot forgive myself when I think of that 
 one word I was obliged to speak to you in 
 the cold street, and nothing to explain why^ 
 and how much I love you. Oh ! how I love you ! 
 I cry while I write. I cannot help it. I was 
 a sop of tears all night long, and oh ! if you 
 had seen my face in the morning. I am thank- 
 ful you did not. Mother^s Bible brought me 
 home. It must have been guidance, for in my 
 bed there lay my sister, and I could not leave 
 her, I love her so. I could not have got down 
 stairs again after seeing her there; and I had 
 to say that cold word and shut the window 
 on you. May I call you Edward still? Oh, 
 dear Edvrard, do make allowance for me. Write 
 kindly to me. Say you forgive me. I feel 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 105 
 
 like a ghost to-day. My life seems quite be- 
 hind me somewhere^ and I hardly feel anything 
 I touch. I declare to you, dearest one, I had 
 no idea my sister was here. I was surprised 
 when I heard her name mentioned by my land- 
 lady, and looked on the bed; suddenly my strength 
 was gone, and it changed all that I was think- 
 ing. I never knew before that women were 
 so weak, but now I see they are, and I only 
 know I am at my Edward^s mercy, and am 
 stupid ! Oh, so wretched and stupid. I shall not 
 touch food till I hear from you. Oh, if you are 
 angry, write so ; but do write. My suspense would 
 make you pity me. I know I deserve your anger. 
 It was not that I do not trust you, Edward. My 
 mother in heaven sees my heart and that I 
 trust, I trust my heart, and everything I am 
 and have to you. I would almost wish and wait 
 to see you to-day in the Gardens, but my 
 crying has made me such a streaked thing to 
 look at. If I had rubbed my face with a 
 scrubbing-brush, I could not look worse, and 
 I cannot risk your seeing me. It would excuse 
 you for hating me. Do you? Does he hate 
 
 7—2 
 
106 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 her? She loves you. She would die for you, 
 dear Edward. Oh ! I feel that if I was told 
 to-day that I should die for you to-morrow, 
 it would be happiness. I am dying — yes, I am 
 dying till I hear from you. 
 
 " Believe me, 
 " Your tender, loving, broken-hearted, 
 
 " Dahlia.'' 
 There was a postscript : — 
 
 " May I still go to lessons V 
 
 Edward finished the letter with a calmly peru- 
 sing eye. He had winced triflingly at one or 
 two expressions contained in it; forcible, per- 
 haps, but not such as Mrs. Lovell smiling from 
 the wall yonder would have used. 
 
 ^^ The poor child threatens to eat no dinner, 
 if I don't Avrite to her," he said; and replied 
 in a kind and magnanimous spirit, concluding — 
 '' Go to lessons, by all means." 
 
 Having accomplished this, he stood up, and 
 by hazard fell to comparing the rival portraits ; a 
 melancholy and a comic thing to do, as you 
 will find if you put two painted heads side by 
 
EDWARD AND ALGERNON. 107 
 
 side, and set their merits contesting, and reflect 
 on the contest, and to what advantages, per- 
 sonal_, or of the artistes, the winner owes the 
 victory. Dahlia had been admirably dealt with 
 by the artist ; the charm of pure ingenuousness 
 without rusticity was visible in her face and 
 figure. Hanging there on the wall, she was a 
 match for Mrs. Lovell. 
 
108 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 
 
 Rhoda returned home the heavier for a secret 
 that she bore with her. All through the first 
 night of her sleeping in London, Dahlia^s sobs_, 
 and tender hugs, and self-reproaches, had pene- 
 trated her dreams, and when the morning came 
 she had scarcely to learn that Dahlia loved some 
 one. The confession was made; but his name 
 was reserved. Dahlia spoke of him with such 
 sacredness of respect she seemed lost in him, and 
 like a creature kissing his feet. With tears 
 rolling down her cheeks, and with moans of 
 anguish, she spoke of the deliciousness of loving ; 
 of knowing one to whom she abandoned her will 
 and her destiny, until, seeing how beautiful a 
 bloom love threw upon the teariul worn face of 
 her sister, Rhoda was impressed by a mystical 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 109 
 
 veneration for this man_, and readily believed him 
 to be above all other men, if not superhuman ; 
 for she was of an age and an imagination to 
 conceive a spiritual pre-eminence over the weak- 
 ness of mortality. She thought that one who 
 could so transform her sister, touch her with 
 awe, and give her gracefulness and humility, 
 must be what Dahlia said he was. She asked 
 shyly for his Christian name ; but even so 
 little Dahlia withheld. It was his wish that 
 Dahlia should keep silence concerning him. 
 
 " Have you sworn an oath T^ said E-hoda, 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "No, dear love,^' Dahlia replied; "he only 
 mentioned what he desired.^' 
 
 E/hoda was ashamed of herself for thinking it 
 strange, and she surrendered her judgment to be 
 stamped by the one who knew him well. 
 
 As regarded her uncle, Dahlia admitted that 
 she had behaved forgetfully and unkindly, and 
 promised amendment. She tallied of the Farm 
 as of an old ruin, with nothing but a thin shade 
 of memory threading its walls, and appeared to 
 marvel vaguely that it stood yet. " Father 
 
110 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 sliall not always want money/^ slie said. She 
 "was particnlar in prescribing books for Rlioda to 
 read; good authors^ slie empliasized^ and named 
 books of history, and poets, and quoted their 
 verses. ^' For my darling will some day have a 
 dear husband, and he must not look down on her.'^ 
 Khoda shook her head, full sure that she could 
 never be brought to utter such musical words 
 naturally. " Yes, dearest, when you know what 
 love is," said Dahlia, in an underbreath. 
 
 Could Robert inspire her with the power? 
 Rhoda looked upon that poor, homely young 
 man, half- curiously when she returned, and quite 
 dismissed the notion. Besides, she had no 
 feeling for herself. Her passion was fixed upon 
 her sister, whose record of emotions in the letters 
 from London placed her beyond dull days and 
 nights. The letters struck many chords. A 
 less subser^dent reader would have set them 
 down as variations of the language of infatua- 
 tion ; but Rhoda was responsive to every word 
 and change of mood, from the, '^ I am unworthy, 
 degraded wretched," to " I am blest above the 
 angels." If one letter said, ^^We met yester- 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. Ill 
 
 day/^ Rhoda's heart beat on to the question, 
 " Shall I see him again to morrow ?^^ And will 
 she see him ? — has she seen him ? — agitated her 
 and absorbed her thoughts. 
 
 So humbly did she follow her sister, without 
 daring to forecast a prospect for her, or dreaming 
 of an issue^ that when on a summer morning a 
 letter was brought in to her at the breakfast- 
 table, marked " urgent and private/^ she opened 
 it, and the first line dazzled her eyes — the 
 surprise was a shock to her brain. She rose 
 from her unfinished meal, and walked out into 
 the wide air, feeling as if she walked on 
 thunder. 
 
 The letter ran thus : — 
 
 '^ My own Innocent ! 
 '^I am married. We leave England to-day. 
 I must not love you too much, for I have all my 
 love to give to my Edward, my own now, and 
 I am his trustingly for ever. But he will let 
 me give you some of it — and Rhoda is never 
 jealous. She shall have a great deal. Only 
 I am frightened when I think how immense my 
 
112 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 love is for him, so that anything — everything he 
 thinks right is right to me. I am not afraid to 
 think so. If I were to try, a cloud would come 
 over me — it does, if only I fancy for half a 
 moment I am rash, and a straw. I cannot 
 exist except through him. So I must belong to 
 him, and his will is my law. My prayer at my 
 bedside every night is that I may die for him. 
 We used to think the idea of death so terrible ! 
 Do you remember how we used to shudder 
 together at night when we thought of people 
 lying in the grave? And now, Vt^hen I think 
 that perhaps I may some day die for him, I feel 
 like a crying in my heart with joy. 
 
 " I have left a letter — sent it, I mean — en- 
 closed to uncle for father. He will see Edward 
 by-and-by. Oh ! may Heaven spare him from 
 any grief. Rhoda will comfort him. Tell him 
 how devoted I am. I am like drowned to 
 everybody but one. 
 
 " We are looking on the sea. In half 
 an hour I shall have forgotten the tread of 
 English earth. I do not know that I breathe. 
 All I know is a fear that I am flying, and my 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 113 
 
 strength will not continue. That is wlicn I 
 am not toucliing his hand. There is France 
 opposite. I shut my eyes and see the whole 
 country, but it is like what I feel for Edward — 
 all in dark moonlight. Oh ! I trust him so ! 
 I bleed for him. I could make all my veins 
 bleed out at a sad thought about him. And 
 from France to Switzerland and Italy. The 
 sea sparkles just as if it said ^ Come to the 
 sun;' and I am going. Edward calls. Shall 
 I be punished for so much happiness? I am 
 too happy ; I am too happy. 
 
 " God bless my beloved at home ! That is 
 my chief prayer now. I shall think of her 
 w^hen I am in the cathedrals. 
 
 '^ Oh, my Father in Heaven ! bless them 
 all ! bless Rhoda ! forgive me ! 
 
 " I can hear the steam of the steamer at the 
 
 pier. Here is Edward. He says* I may send 
 
 his love to you. 
 
 ^^ Address : — 
 
 ^' Mrs. Edward Ayrton, ^ 
 
 *' Poste Rest ante, 
 
 " Lausanne, 
 
 '^ Switzerland. 
 
114 RHODA PLEMING. 
 
 *^ P.S. — Lausanne is where — but another time, 
 and I will always tell you the history of the 
 places to instruct you, poor heart in dull England. 
 Adieu ! Good-bye and God bless my innocent 
 at home, my dear sister. I love her. I never 
 can forget her. The day is so lovely. It 
 seems on purpose for us. Be sure you write 
 on thin paper to Lausanne. It is on a blue 
 lake ; you see snow mountains, and now there 
 is a bell ringing — kisses from me ! we start. 
 
 I must sign. 
 
 " Dahlia.^^ 
 
 By the reading of this letter, llhoda was 
 caught vividly to the shore, and saw her sister 
 borne away in the boat to the strange countries ; 
 she travelled with her, following her with gliding 
 speed through a multiplicity of shifting scenes, 
 opal landscapes^ full of fire and dreams, and in 
 all of them a great bell towered. ^^ Oh, my 
 sweet ! my own beauty V' she cried in Dahlia^s 
 language. iNIeeting Mrs. Sumfit, she called her 
 '^ Mother Dumpling,^^ as Dahlia did of old, 
 affectionately, and kissed her, and ran on to 
 
GEEAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 115 
 
 Master Gammon, who was tramping leisurely 
 on to tlie oatfield lying on towards the mill- 
 holms. 
 
 " My sister sends you her love/^ she said 
 brightly to the old man. Master Gammon 
 responded with no remarkable flash of his 
 eyes, and merely opened his mouth and shut 
 it, as when a duck divides its bill, but fails to 
 emit the customary quack. 
 
 '^ And to you, little pigs ; and to you Mul- 
 berry; and you. Dapple; and you, and you, 
 and you." 
 
 Rhoda nodded round to all the citizens of 
 the farmyard; and so eased her heart of its 
 laughing bubbles. After which, she fell to a 
 meditative walk of demurer joy, and had a 
 regret. It was simply that Dahiia^s hurry in 
 signing the letter, had robbed her of the de- 
 light of seeing '^^ Dahlia Ayrto^^" written 
 proudly out, with its wonderful signification of 
 the change in her life. 
 
 That was a trifling matter; yet Rhoda felt 
 the letter was not complete in the absence of 
 the bridal name. She fancied Dahlia to have 
 
116 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ineant_, perhaps^ that she was Dahlia to her as 
 of old, and not a stranger. " Dahlia ever ; 
 Dahlia nothing else for jou/' she heard her 
 sister say. But how delicious and mournful, 
 how terrible and sweet with meaning would 
 ^' Dahlia Ayrton/^ the new name in the dear 
 handwriting, have looked ! " And I have a 
 brother-in-law/^ she thought, and her cheeks 
 tingled. The banks of fern and foxglove, and 
 the green young oaks fringing the copse, grew 
 rich in colour, as she reflected that this beloved 
 unknown husband of her sister embraced her 
 and her father as well; even the old bent 
 beggarman on the sandy ridge, though he had 
 a starved frame and carried pitiless faggots, stood 
 illumined in a soft warmth. Ehoda could not 
 go back to the house. 
 
 It chanced that the farmer that morning 
 had been smitten with the virtue of his wife^s 
 opinion of E-obert, and her parting recom- 
 mendation concerning him. 
 
 '' Have you a mind to either one of my 
 tw^o girls ?'' he put the question bluntly, finding 
 himself alone with Eobert. 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 117 
 
 E-obert took a quick breathy and replied, '^ I 
 have." 
 
 "Then make your choice/^ said the farmer, 
 and tried to go about his business, but hung 
 near Robert in the fiekls till he had asked : 
 " Which one is it, my boy ?" 
 
 Robert turned a blade of v/heat in his mouth. 
 
 "I think I shall leave her to tell that," was 
 his answer. 
 
 " Why, don't ye know which one you prefer 
 to choose, man ?" quoth Mr. Fleming. 
 
 " I mayn't know whether she prefers to 
 choose me," said Robert. 
 
 The farmer smiled. 
 
 " You never can exactly reckon about them ; 
 that's true." 
 
 He was led to think : " Dahlia's the lass ;" 
 seeing that Robert had not had many oppor- 
 tunities of speaking with her. 
 
 " When my girls are wives, they'll do their 
 work in the house," he pursued. " They may 
 have a little bit o' property in land, ye know, 
 and they may have a share in — in gold. That's 
 not to be reckoned on. We're an old family. 
 
118 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Robert, and I suppose TveVe our pride some- 
 •where down. Anyhow, you can^t look on my 
 girls and not own they^re superior girls. Vve 
 no notion of forcing them to clean, and dish 
 up, and do dairying, if it's not to their turn. 
 They^re handy with th' needle. They dress 
 conformably, and do the millinery themselves. 
 And I know they say their prayers of a night. 
 That I know, if that's a comfort to ye, and 
 it should be, Robert. For pray, and you can't 
 go far wrong ; and it's particularly good for 
 girls. I'll say no more.'' 
 
 At the dinner-table, Rhoda was not present. 
 Mr. Fleming fidgeted, blamed her and excused 
 her, but as Robert appeared indifferent about 
 her absence, he was confirmed in his idea that 
 Dahlia attracted his fancy. 
 
 They had finished dinner, and Master Gam- 
 mon had risen, when a voice immediately re- 
 cognised as the voice of Anthony Hackbut was 
 heard in the front part of the house. Mr. 
 Fleming went round to him with a dismayed 
 face. 
 
 " Lord !" said Mrs. Sumfit, " how I tremble !" 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 119 
 
 Robert^ too, looked grave, and got away from 
 the house. The dread of evil news of Dahlia was 
 common to them all ; yet none had mentioned 
 it, Eobert conceiving that it would be im- 
 pertinence on his part to do so, the farmer, 
 that the policy of permitting Dahlia's con- 
 tinued residence in London concealed the 
 peril; while Mrs. Sumfit flatly defied the 
 threatening of a mischance to one so sweet 
 and fair, and her favourite. It is the insin- 
 cerity of persons of their class ; but I need 
 not lay any stress on the wilfulness of unedu- 
 cated minds. Robert walked across the fields, 
 w^alking like a man with an object in view. 
 As he dropped into one of the close lanes 
 which led up to Wrexby Hall, he saw Khoda 
 standing under an oak, her white morning- 
 dress covered with sun-spots. His impulse was 
 to turn back, the problem, how^ to speak to 
 her, not being settled within him. But the 
 next moment his blood chilled; for he had 
 perceived, though he had not felt simultaneously, 
 that two gentlemen were standing near her, 
 addressing her. And it was likewise manifest 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
120 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 that she listened to them. These presently- 
 raised their hats and disappeared. E-hoda came 
 on towards Robert. 
 
 "You have forgotten your dinner/^ he said, 
 with a queer sense of shame at dragging in the 
 mention of that meal. 
 
 " I have been too happy to eat/^ Rhoda 
 replied. 
 
 Robert glanced up the lane, but she gave no 
 heed to this indication, and asked : " Has uncle 
 come V^ 
 
 " Did you expect him ?" 
 
 " I thought he would come.^' 
 
 " What has made you happy T' 
 
 ^^You will hear from uncle.^^ 
 
 " Shall I go and hear what those '' 
 
 Robert checked himself, but it would have 
 been better had he spoken out. Rhoda^s face 
 from a light of interrogation lowered its look to 
 contempt. 
 
 She did not affect the feminine simplicity 
 which can so prettily misunderstand and put 
 by an implied accusation of that nature. 
 Doubtless her sharp instinct served her by 
 
GREAT NEWS FHOM DAHLIA. 121 
 
 telling lier tliat lier contempt would hurt him 
 shrewdly now. The foolishness of a man 
 having much to say to a woman and not 
 knowing how, or where the beginning of it 
 might be, was perceptible about him. A shout 
 from her father at the open garden- gate^ 
 hurried Rhoda on to meet him. Old Anthony 
 was at Mr. Fleming's elbow. 
 
 '' You know it ? You have her letter, 
 father V said Rhoda, gaily^ beneath the shadow 
 of his forehead. 
 
 " And a Queen of the Egyptians is what 
 you might have been,^' said Anthony^ with 
 a speculating eye upon Rhoda^s dark bright 
 face. 
 
 Rhoda put out her hand to him, but kept 
 her gaze towards her father. 
 
 William Fleming relaxed the knot of his 
 brows and lifted the letter. 
 
 " Listen^ all ! This is from a daughter to 
 her father.^' 
 
 And he read, oddly accentuating the first 
 syllables of the sentences : — 
 
 8—2 
 
122 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Dear Father^ 
 " My husband will bring me to see you when 
 I return to clear England. I ought to have 
 concealed nothing, I know. Try to forgive me. 
 I hope you will. I shall always think of you. 
 God bless you ! 
 " I am^ 
 
 '^ Ever with respect, 
 
 '' Your dearly loving Daughter, 
 
 " Dahlia." 
 
 " Dahlia Blank ! " said the farmer, turning 
 his look from face to face. 
 
 A deep fire of emotion was evidently agitating 
 him, for the letter rustled in his hand, and his 
 voice was uneven. Of this, no sign was given 
 by his inexpressive features. The round brown 
 eyes and the ruddy varnish on his cheeks were a 
 mask upon grief, if not also upon joy. 
 
 "Dahlia — what? What's her name ? ■'^ he 
 resumed. " Here — ' mv husband will brings me to 
 see you^ — v/ho's her husband? Has he got a 
 name? And a blank envelope to her uncle here, 
 who's kept her in comfort for so long ! And 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 123 
 
 this is all she writes to me ! Will anyone spell 
 out the meaning of it ? " 
 
 '^ Dahlia was in great haste^ father/^ said 
 Rhoda. 
 
 '^ Oh^ ay^ you ! — you^re the one, I know/* 
 returned the farmer. " It^s sister and sister, 
 with yoLi.'^ 
 
 " But she was very, very hurried, father. I 
 have a letter from her, and I have only ' Dahlia' 
 written at the end — no other name/' 
 
 " And you suspect no harm of your sister ? " 
 
 " Father, how can I imagine any kind of 
 harm ? '' 
 
 '[ That letter, my gu'l, sticks to my skull as 
 though it meant to say, ' You've not understood 
 me yet/ Tve read it a matter of twenty times, 
 and I'm no nearer to the truth of it. But, if 
 she's lying, here in this letter, what's she walking 
 on ? How long are we to wait for to hear ? I 
 give you my word, Kobert, I'm feeling for you 
 as I am for myself. Or, wasn't it that one? 
 Is it this one ? " He levelled his finger at 
 Ehoda. " In any case, Robert, you'll feel for 
 me as a father. I'm shut in a dark room with 
 
124 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 the candle bloTS'n out. Fve heard of a sort of 
 fear yoii have in that dilemmer^ lest you should 
 lay your fingers on edges of sharp knives^ and if 
 I think a step — if I go thinking a step, and feel 
 my "way_, I do cut myself, and I bleed_, I do. 
 Eohert_, just take and say, it wasn^t that one.^^ 
 
 Such a statement would carry with it the con- 
 fession that it was this one for whom he cared — 
 this scornful one, this jilt, this brazen girl who 
 could make appointments with gentlemen, or 
 suffer them to speak to her, and subsequently 
 look at him with innocence and with anger. 
 
 "Believe me, Mr. Fleming, I feel for you as 
 much as a man can,'^ he said, uneasily, swaying 
 half round as he spoke. 
 
 " Do you suspect anything bad V The 
 farmer repeated the question, like one who only 
 wanted a confirmation of his own suspicions to 
 see the fact built up. " Robert, does this look 
 like the letter of a married woman? Is it 
 daughter-like — eh, man ? Help another : I can^t 
 think for myself — she ties my hands. Speak 
 out.'' 
 
 Robert set his eyes on Rhoda. He would 
 
GREAT NEWS FROM DAHLIA. 125 
 
 have given much to have been able to ntter, " I 
 do/' Her face was like an eager flower strain- 
 ing for light ; the very beanty of it swelled his 
 jealous passion, and he flattered himself with his 
 incapacity to speak an abject lie to propitiate 
 her. 
 
 " She says she is married. We^re bound to 
 accept what she says/' 
 
 That was his answer. 
 
 "/^ she married?^' thundered the farmer. 
 " Has she been and disgraced her mother in her 
 grave ? What am I to think ? She's my flesh 
 and blood. Is she " 
 
 " Oh, hush, father !" Rhoda laid her hand on 
 his arm. " What doubt can there be of Dahlia ? 
 You have forgotten that she is always truthful. 
 Come away. It is shameful to stand here and 
 listen to unmanly things." 
 
 She turned a face of ashes upon Robert. 
 
 " Come away, father. She is our own. She 
 is mv sister. A doubt of her is an insult to 
 us." 
 
 ^^But Robert don't doubt her— eh ?" The 
 farmer was already half distracted from his sus- 
 
126 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 picions. Have you any real doubt about the 
 girl, Robert ?'' 
 
 '' I don^t trust myself to doubt anybody/' said 
 Robert. 
 
 " You don't cast us off, my boy ?'' 
 
 " I'm a labourer on the farm/' said Robert, 
 and walked away. 
 
 '^ He's got reason to feel this more'n the rest 
 of us, poor lad ! It's a blow to him." With 
 which the farmer struck his hand on Rhoda's 
 shoulder. '' I wish he'd set his heart on a safer 
 young woman." 
 
 Rhoda's shudder of revulsion was visible as 
 she put her mouth up to kiss her father's 
 cheek. 
 
127 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 
 
 That is Wrexby Hall, up on the hill between 
 Fenhurst and Wrexby : the white square man- 
 sioUj with the lower drawing-room windows one 
 full bow of glass against the sunlight, and great 
 single trees spotting the distant green slopes. 
 From Queen Anne^s Farm you could read the 
 hour by the stretching of their shadows. Squire 
 Blancove, who lived there, was an irascible, gouty 
 man, out of humour with his time, and beginning, 
 alas for him ! to lose all true faith in his Port, 
 though, to do him justice, he wrestled hard with 
 this great heresy. His friends perceived the 
 decay in his belief sooner than he did himself. 
 He was sour in the evening as in the morning. 
 There was no chirp in him when the bottle \i ent 
 round. He had never one hour of a humane 
 
128 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 mood to be reckoned on now. The day, indeed, 
 is sad when we see the skeleton of the mistress 
 by whom we suffer, but cannot abandon her. 
 The Squire drank, knowing that the issue wouhl 
 be the terrific, curse-begetting twinge in his foot ; 
 but, as he said, he was a man who stuck to his 
 habits. It was over his Port that he had quar- 
 relled with his rector on the subject of hopeful 
 Algernon, and the system he adopted with that 
 young man. This incident has something to do 
 with Rhoda^s story, for it was the reason why 
 Mrs. Lovell went to Wrexby Church, the spirit 
 of that lady leading her to follow her own im- 
 pulses, which were mostly in opposition. So, 
 when perchance she visited the Hall, she chose 
 not to accompany the Squire and his subservient 
 guests to Fenhurst, but made a point of going 
 down to the unoccupied Wrexby pew. She was 
 a beauty, and therefore powerful ; otherwise her 
 act of nonconformity would have produced bad 
 blood between her and the Squire. 
 
 It was enough to have done so in any case ; 
 for now, instead of sitting at home comfortably, 
 and reading off the weeVs chronicle of sport 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 129 
 
 while lie nursed liis leg*^ tlie unfortunate gentle- 
 man had to be up and away to Fenhurst eveiy 
 Sunday mornings or who would have knoY/n that 
 the old c^use of his general abstention from Sab- 
 bath services lay in the detestable doctrine of 
 Wrexby's rector? 
 
 Mrs. Lovell was now at the Hall^, and it was 
 Sunday morning after breakfast. The lady stood 
 like a rival head among the other guests, listen- 
 ing, gloved and bonneted, to the bells of Wrexby, 
 west of the hills, and of Fenhurst, north-east. 
 The Squire came in to them, groaning over his 
 boots, cross with his fragile wife, and in every 
 mood for satire, except to receive it. 
 
 " How difficult it is to be gouty and good P' 
 murmured Mrs. Lovell to the person next her. 
 
 " Well,^^ said the Squire, singling out his 
 enemy, " you^re going to that fellow, I suppose, 
 as usual — eh ?" 
 
 " Not ^ as usual,' '^ replied Mrs. Lovell, sweetly ; 
 " I wish it were !" 
 
 " Wish it were, do you ? — you find him so 
 entertaining? Has he got to talking of the 
 fashions ?^' 
 
130 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " He talks properly ; I don't ask for more." 
 Mrs. Lovell assumed an air of meekness under 
 persecution. 
 
 " I thought you were Low Church."^ 
 
 " Lowly of tlie Churchy I trust you thought/' 
 she corrected him. " But, for that matter, any 
 discourse, plainly delivered, will suit me." 
 
 " His elocution^s perfect," said the Squire ; 
 " that is, before dinner." 
 
 " I have only to do with him before dinner, 
 you know." 
 
 " Well, Pve ordered a carriage out for you." 
 
 " That is very honourable and kind." 
 
 ^' It would be kinder if I contrived to keep 
 you away from the fellow." 
 
 " Would it not be kinder to yourself," Mrs. 
 Lovell swam forward to him in al] tenderness, 
 taking his hands, and fixing the swimming blue 
 of her soft eyes upon him pathetically, " if you 
 took your paper and your slippers, and awaited 
 our return ?" 
 
 The Squire felt the circulating smile about the 
 room. He rebuked the woman^s audacity with a 
 frown; "^Tis my duty to set an example," he 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 131 
 
 said, his gouty foot and irritable temper now 
 meeting in a common fire. 
 
 " Since you are setting an example/^ rejoined 
 the exquisite widow, '^ I have nothing more to 
 say." 
 
 The Squire looked what he dared not speak, 
 A woman has half, a beauty has all the world 
 with her when she is self-contained, and hoJds 
 her place ; and it was evident that Mrs. Lovell 
 was not one to abandon her advantages. He 
 snapped round for a victim, trying his wife first. 
 Then his eyes rested upon Algernon. 
 
 " Well, here we are ; which of us will you 
 take ? '' he asked Mrs. Lovell in blank irony. 
 
 '^ I have engaged my cavalier, who is waiting, 
 and will be as devout as possible.'''' Mrs. Lovell 
 gave Algernon a smile. 
 
 '\ I thought I hit upon the man,^^ growled the 
 Squire. '^ You^re going in to Wrexby, sir ! 
 Oh, go, by all means, and I shan^t be astonished 
 at what comes of it. Like teacher, like 
 pupil! " 
 
 " There ! '^ Mrs. Lovell gave Algernon another 
 smile. " You have to bear the sins of your 
 
132 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 rector, as well as your own. Can yon sup- 
 port it ? " 
 
 The flimsy fine dialogue was a little above 
 Algernon's level in tlie society of ladies ; but lie 
 muttered, bowing, tbat lie would endeavour to 
 support it, with Mrs. LovelPs help, and this did 
 well enough; after which, the slight strain on 
 the intellects of the assemblage relaxed, and 
 ordinary topics were discussed. The carriages 
 came round to the door ; gloves, parasols, and 
 scent-bottles were securely grasped; whereupon 
 the Squire, standing bare-headed on the steps, 
 insisted upon seeing the party of the opposition 
 off first, and waited to hand Mrs. Lovell into 
 her carriage, an ironic gallantry accepted by the 
 lady with serenity befitting the sacred hour. 
 
 '^ Ah ! my pencil, to mark the text for you, 
 Squire," she said, taking her seat ; and Algernon 
 turned back at her bidding, to get a pencil ; 
 and she, presenting a most harmonious aspect in 
 the lovely landscape, reclined in the carriage as 
 if, like the sweet summer air, she too were 
 quieted by those holy bells, while the Squire 
 stood, fuming, bare-headed, and with boiling 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 133 
 
 blood, just within the bounds of decorum on the 
 steps. She was more than his match. 
 
 She was more than a match for most ; and it 
 was not a secret. Algernon knew it as well as 
 Edward, or anyone. She was a terror to the soul 
 of the youth, and an attraction. Her smile was 
 the richest flattery he could feel ; the richer^ 
 perhaps, from his feeling it to be a thing impos- 
 sible to fix. He had heard tales of her ; he 
 remembered Edward^s warning ; but he was 
 very humbly sitting with her now, and very 
 happy. 
 
 '^ I^m in for it,^' he said to his fair companion ; 
 " no cheque for me next quarter, and no chance 
 of an increase. He^ll tell me IVe got a salary. 
 A salary ! Good Lord ! vrhat a man comes to ! 
 I've done for myself with the Squire for a 
 year.'^ 
 
 " You must think whether you have com- 
 pensation," said the lady, and he received it in 
 a cousinly squeeze of his hand. 
 
 He was about to raise the lank^ white hand 
 to his lips. 
 
 "■ Ah !" she said, " there would be no com- 
 
134 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 pensation to me, if that were seen;" and her 
 dainty hand was withdrawn. " Now, tell me," 
 she changed her tone. " How do the loves 
 prosper ?" 
 
 Algernon begged her not to call them ^' loves." 
 She nodded and smiled. 
 
 "Yonr artistic admirations/^ she observed. 
 " I am to see her in Church, am I not ? 
 Only, my dear Algy, don't go too far. Rustic 
 beauties are as dangerous as Court Princesses. 
 Where was it you saw her first ?" 
 
 " At the Bank," said Algernon. 
 
 " Keally ! at the Bank ! So your time there 
 is not absolutely wasted. What brought her to 
 London, I wonder ?" 
 
 " Well, she has an old uncle, a queer old 
 fellow, and he's a sort of porter — money porter — 
 in the Bank, awfully honest, or he might half 
 break it some fine day, if he chose to cut and 
 run. She's got a sister, prettier than this girl, 
 the fellow^s say ; I've never seen her. I ex- 
 pect I've seen a portrait of her, though." 
 
 " Ah !" Mrs. Lovell musically drew him on. 
 " Was she dark, too ?" 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 135 
 
 " No, she's fair. At least, she is in the 
 portrait.'^ 
 
 " Brown hair ; hazel eyes ?'' 
 
 " Oh — oh ! You guess, do you ?" 
 
 "I guess nothing, though it seems profitable. 
 That Yankee betting man ' guesses,' and what 
 heaps of money he makes by it !'^ 
 
 " I wish I did/' Algernon sighed. ^' All 
 my guessing and reckoning goes wrong. I'm 
 safe for next spring, that's one comfort. I 
 shall make twenty thousand next spring." 
 
 " On Templemore ?" 
 
 " That's the horse. I've got a little on 
 Tenpenny Nail as well. But I'm quite safe 
 on Templemore ; unless the Evil Principle 
 comes into the field.'^ 
 
 " Is he so sure to be against you, if he does 
 appear ?" said Mrs. Lovell. 
 
 *^ Certain !" ejaculated Algernon, in honest 
 indignation. 
 
 " Well, Algy, I don't like to have him on 
 my side. Perhaps I will take a share in your 
 luck, to make it — ? to make it?" — She played 
 prettily as a mistress teasing her lap-dog to 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
136 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 jump for a morsel ; adding : " Oh ! Algy, you 
 are not a rrenchman. To make it divine, sir I 
 you liave missed your chance/^ 
 
 " There^s one chance I shouldn't like to miss/' 
 said the youth. 
 
 ^' Then, do not mention it/' she counselled 
 him. " And, seriously, I will take a part of 
 your risk. I fear I am lucky, which is 
 ruinous. We will settle that, by-and-by. 
 Do you know, Algy, the most expensive posi- 
 tion in the world is a widow's." 
 
 '^ You needn't be one very long," growled he. 
 
 " I'm so wretchedly fastidious, don't you see ? 
 And it's best not to sigh when we're talking of 
 business, if you'll take me for a guide. So, the 
 old man brought this pretty rustic Miss Rhoda 
 to the Bank ?" 
 
 " Once," said Algernon. " Just as he did 
 with her sister. He's proud of his nieces; 
 shows them and then hides them. The fellows 
 at the Bank never sav/ her again." 
 
 " Her name is ?" 
 
 '' Dahlia." 
 
 ^' Ah, yes ! — Dahlia. Extremely pretty. 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 137 
 
 There are brown dahlias — dahlias of all colours. 
 And the portrait of this fair creature hangs up 
 in your chambers in town ?" 
 
 " DonH call them my chambers/^ Algernon 
 protested. 
 
 " Your cousin^ s^ if you like. Probably Edward 
 happened to be at the Bank when fair Dahlia 
 paid her visit. Once seems to have been 
 enough for both of you.^^ 
 
 Algernon was unread in the hearts of women, 
 and imagined that Edward's defection from Mrs. 
 LovelFs sway had deprived him of the lady's 
 sympathy and interest in his fortunes. 
 
 '^ Poor old Ned's in some scrape, I think," 
 he said. 
 
 *' Where is he V the lady asked, languidly. 
 
 " Paris.'' 
 
 ^' Paris ? How very odd ! And out of the 
 season, in this hot weather. It's enough to 
 lead me to dream that he has gone over — one 
 cannot realise why." 
 
 " Upon my honour !" Algernon thumped on 
 his knee ; "^ by jingo !" he adopted a less com- 
 
 9—2 
 
138 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 promising interjection ; " Ned's fool enough. 
 My idea is^ he's gone and got married/' 
 
 Mrs. Lovell was lying back with the ne- 
 glectful grace of incontestible beauty ; not a line 
 to wrinkle her smooth^ soft features. For one 
 sharp instant her face was all edged and puck- 
 ered, like the face of a fair witch. She sat 
 upright. 
 
 " Married ! But how can that be when we 
 none of us have heard a word of it ?" 
 
 " I dare say you haven't/' said Algernon ; 
 " and not likely to. Ned's the closest fellow 
 of my acquaintance. He hasn't taken me into 
 his confidence, you may be sure : he know's 
 I'm too leaky. There's no bore like a secret ! 
 I've come to my conclusion in this affair by 
 putting together a lot of little incidents and 
 adding them up. First, I believe he was at 
 the Bank when that fair girl was seen there. 
 Secondly, from the description the fellows give 
 of her, I should take her to be the original of 
 the portrait. Next, I know that Bhoda has a 
 fair sister who has run for it. And last, Bhoda 
 has had a letter from her sister > to say she's 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 139 
 
 away to tlie Continent and is married. Ned's 
 in Paris. Those are my facts^ and I give you 
 my reckoning of them/^ 
 
 Mrs. Lovell gazed at Algernon for one long 
 meditative moment. 
 
 '^ Impossible/^ she exclahned. " Edward has 
 more brains than heart.^^ And now the lady's 
 face was scarlet. '^ How did this Rhoda^ with 
 her absurd name^ think of meeting you to tell 
 you such stuff? Indeed^ there's a simplicity in 
 
 some of these young women ." She said 
 
 the remainder to herself. 
 
 " She^s really very innocent and good/^ Alger- 
 non defended Ehoda. '' She is. There isn't 
 a particle of nonsense in her. I first met her in 
 town, as I stated, at the Bank ; just on the 
 steps^ and we remembered I had called a cab for 
 her a little before ; and I met her again by 
 accident yesterday." 
 
 "You are only a boy in their hands_, my 
 cousin Algy V said Mrs. Lovell. 
 
 Algernon nodded with a self-defensive know- 
 ingness. " I fancy there^'s no doubt her sister 
 has written to her that she's married. It's 
 
140 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 certain she has. She's a blunt sort of 
 girl; not one to lie, not even for a sister or 
 a lover, nnless she had previously made up 
 her mind to it. In that case, she wouldn't 
 stick at much.'' 
 
 '^ But, do you know/' said Mrs. Lovell — " do 
 you know that Edward's father would be worse 
 than yours over such an act of folly? He 
 would call it an offence against common sense, 
 and have no mercy for it. He would be 
 vindictive on principle. This story of yours 
 cannot be true. Nothing reconciles it." 
 
 '' Oh, Sir Billy will be rusty ; that stands to 
 reason," Algernon assented. ^^It mayn't be 
 true. I hope it isn't. But Ned has a mad- 
 ness for fair women. He'd do anything on 
 earth for them. He loses his head entirely." 
 
 ''That he may have been imprudent ." 
 
 Mrs. Lovell thus blushingly hinted at the lesser 
 sin of his deceiving and ruining the girl. 
 
 '' Oh, it needn't be true," said Algernon ; and 
 with meaning, '' Who's to blame if it is ?" 
 
 Mrs. Lovell again reddened. She touched 
 Algernon's fingers. 
 
INTRODUCES MRS. LOVELL. 141 
 
 " His friends mustnH forsake him, in any 
 
 case/' 
 
 ^' By Jove ! you are the right sort of woman," 
 cried Algernon. 
 
 It was beyond his faculties to divine that her 
 not forsaking of Edward might haply come to 
 mean something disastrous to him. The touch of 
 ^Irs. LovelPs hand made him forget Rhoda in 
 a twinkling. He detained it, audaciously, even 
 until she frowned with petulance and stamped 
 her foot. 
 
 There was over her bosom a large cameo- 
 brooch, representing a tomb under a palm-tree, 
 and the figure of a veiled woman with her head 
 bowed upon the tomb. This brooch was falling, 
 when Algernon caught it. The pin tore his 
 finger, and in the energy of pain he dashed 
 the brooch to her feet, with immediate outcries 
 of \dolent disgust at himself and exclamations 
 for pardon. He picked up the brooch. It was 
 open. A strange, discoloured, folded substance 
 lay on the floor of the carriage. ^Ii's. Lovell 
 gazed down at it, and then at him, ghastly pale. 
 He lifted it by one corner, and the diminutive 
 
142 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 folded squares came out, revealing a bloody 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Mrs. Lovell grasped it, and thrust it out of 
 sight. 
 
 She spoke as they approached the church- 
 door : '' Mention nothing of this to a soul, or 
 you forfeit my friendship for ever/' 
 
 When they alighted, she was smiling in her 
 old, affable manner. 
 
143 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IIOBERT INTERVENES. 
 
 SoxME consideration for Robert,, after all, as 
 being tlie man who loved her^ sufficed to give 
 liim rank as a more elevated kind of criminal in 
 Rhoda's sight, and exquisite torture of tbe 
 highest form was administered to him. Her 
 faith in her sister was so sure that she could 
 half pardon him for the momentary harm he 
 had done towards Dahlia with her father ; but, 
 judging him by the lofty standard of one who 
 craved to be her husband, she could not pardon 
 his unmanly hesitation and manner of speech. 
 The old and deep grievance in her heart as to 
 what men thought of women, and as to the 
 harshness of men, was stirred constantly by the 
 remembrance of his irresolute looks, and his 
 not having dared to speak nobly for Dahlia, 
 
144 RHODxV FLEMING. 
 
 even tliougli lie might have liad the knavery 
 to think evil. As the case stood^ there was still 
 mischief to counteract. Her father had will- 
 ingly swallowed a drug^ but his suspicions 
 only slumbered, and she could not instil her 
 own vivid hopefulness and trust into him. 
 Letters from Dahlia came regularly. The first 
 from Lausanne, favoured Uhoda^^s conception of 
 her as of a happy spirit resting at celestial 
 stages of her ascent upward through spheres 
 of ecstacy. Dahlia could see the snow-moun- 
 tains in a flying glimpse ; and again, peace- 
 fully seated, she could see the snow-mountains 
 reflected in clear blue waters from her window, 
 which, Khoda thought, must be like heaven. 
 On these inspired occasions, Robert presented 
 the form of a malignant serpent in her ideas. 
 Then Dahlia made excursions upon glaciers with 
 her beloved, her helpmate, and had slippings 
 and tumblings — little earthly casualties which 
 gave a charming sense of reality to her other- 
 wise miraculous flight. The Alps were crossed : 
 Italy was beheld. A profusion of " Oh^s \" de- 
 scribed Dahlia's impressions of Italy ; and " Oh ! 
 
EGBERT INTERVENES. 145 
 
 the lieat!^^ sliowed lier to be mortal^ notwithstand- 
 ing the sublime exclamations. Como received 
 the blissful couple. Dahlia wrote from Como : — 
 
 " Tell father that gentlemen in my Edward^s 
 position cannot always immediately proclaim 
 their marriage to the world. There are reasons. 
 I hope he has been very angry with me : then 
 it will be soon over_, and we shall be — but I 
 cannot look back. I shall not look back till 
 we reach Venice. At Venice, I know I shall 
 see you all as clear as day; but I cannot even 
 remember the features of my darling here.*^ 
 
 Her Christian name w^as still her only sig- 
 nature. 
 
 The thin blue-and-pink paper, and the foreign 
 postmarks — testifications to Dahlia's journey not 
 being a fictitious event, had a singular delicious- 
 ness for the solitary girl at the Farm. At 
 times, as she turned them over, she was 
 startled by the intoxication of her sentiments, 
 for the wild thought would come, that many, 
 many whose passionate hearts she could feel 
 as her own, were ready to abandon principle 
 and the bondage to the hereafter, for such a 
 
146 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 long, delicious gulp of divine life. Khoda found 
 herself more than once brooding on the possible 
 case that Dahlia had done this thing. 
 
 The fit of languor came on her unawares, 
 probing at her weakness, and blinding her 
 to the laws and duties of earth, until her 
 conscious Avomanhood checked it, and she sprang 
 from the vision in a spasm of terror, not know- 
 ing how far she had fallen. 
 
 After such personal experiences, she suffered 
 great longings to be with her sister, that the 
 touch of her hand, the gaze of her eyes, the 
 tone of Dahlia^s voice, might make her sure of 
 her sister's safety. 
 
 Rhoda's devotions in church were frequently 
 distracted by the occupants of the Blancove pew. 
 Mrs. Lovell had the habit of looking at her 
 with an extraordinary directness, an expression- 
 less dissecting scrutiny, that was bewildering 
 and confusing to the country damsel. Algernon 
 likewise bestowed marked attention on her. 
 Some curious hints had been thrown out to 
 her by this young gentleman on the day 
 when he ventured to speak to her in the lane, 
 
IIOBEET INTERVENES. 147 
 
 whicli led lier to fancy distantly that he had 
 some acquaintance with Dahlia^s husband^ or 
 that he had heard of Dahlia. 
 
 It was clear to Rhoda that Algernon sought 
 another interview. He appeared in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the YsLYm. on Saturdays, and on 
 Sundays he was present in the church, some- 
 times with Mrs. Lovell, and sometimes with- 
 out a companion. His appearance sent her 
 quick wits traA^elling through many scales of 
 possible conduct ; and they struck one ringing 
 note : — she thought that by the aid of this 
 gentleman a lesson might be given to Robertas 
 mean nature. It was part of Robert's punish- 
 ment to see that she was not unconscious of 
 Algernon's admiration. 
 
 The first letter from Venice consisted of a 
 series of interjections in praise of the poetry of 
 gondolas, varied by allusions to the sad smell 
 of the low tide water, and the amazing quality 
 of the heat; and then Dahlia wrote more com-* 
 posed ly — 
 
 " Titian the painter lived here, and painted 
 ladies, who sat to him without a bit of garment 
 
148 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 on, and indeed", my darling, I often think it 
 was more comfortable for the model than for 
 the artist. Even modesty seems too hot a 
 covering for human creatures here. The sun 
 strikes me down. I am ceasing to have a com- 
 plexion. It is pleasant to know that my Ed- 
 ward is still proud of me. He has made ac- 
 quaintance with some of the officers here, and 
 seems pleased at the compliments they pay 
 
 me. 
 
 " They have nice manners, and white uniforms 
 that fit them like a kid glove. I am Edward's 
 'resplendent wife.' A colonel of one of the 
 regiments invited him to dinner (speaking Eng- 
 lish), ' with your resplendent wife.' Edward 
 has no mercy for errors of language, and he 
 would not take me. Ah ! who knows how 
 strange men are ! Never think of being happy 
 unless you can always be blind. I see joii 
 all at home — Mother Dumpling and all — as I 
 thought I should when I was to come to 
 Venice. 
 
 ^' Persuade — do persuade father that every- 
 thing will be well. Some persons are to be 
 
ROBERT INTERVENES? 149^ 
 
 trusted. Make Iiim feel it. I know that I 
 am life itself to Edward. He lias lived as men 
 do, and lie can judge^ and lie knows that there 
 never was a wife who Lroiiglit a heart to her 
 hnsband like mine to him. He wants to think, 
 or he wants to smoke, and he leaves me ; but 
 oh ! when he returns, he can scarcely believe 
 that he has me, his joy is so great. He looks 
 like a glad, thankful child, and he has the 
 manliest of faces. It is generally thoughtful; 
 you might think it hard, at first sight. 
 
 " But you must be beautiful to please some 
 men. You will laugh — I have really got the 
 habit of talking to my face and all myself in 
 the glass. Rlioda would think rae cracked. 
 And it is really true that I was never so humble 
 about my good looks. You used to spoil me at 
 home — you and that wicked old Mother Dumpling, 
 and our own dear mother, Rhoda — oh, mother, 
 mother ! I wish I had always thought of you 
 looking down on me ! Y'^ou made me so vain — 
 much more vain than I let you see I was. There 
 were times when it is quite true I thought myself 
 a princess. I am not worse-looking now, but I 
 
150 - SHOD A FLEMING. 
 
 suppose I desire to be so beautiful tliat nothing 
 satisfies me. 
 
 " A spot on my neck gives me a dreadful 
 fright. If my hair comes out much -when I 
 comb it^ it sets my heart beating; and it is a 
 daily misery to me that my hands are larger 
 than they should be, belonging to Edward^s ' re- 
 splendent wife/ I thank Heaven that you and 
 I always saw the necessity of being careful of 
 our finger-nails. My feet are of moderate size, 
 though they are not French feet, as Edward 
 says. No : I shall never dance. He sent me 
 to the dancing-master in London, but it was 
 too late. But I have been complimented on 
 my walking, and that seems to please Edward. 
 He does not dance (or mind dancing) himself, 
 only he does not like me to miss one perfection. 
 It is his love. Oh ! if I have seemed to let you 
 suppose he does not love me as ever, do not 
 think it. He is most tender and true to me. 
 Addio ! I am signora^ you are signorina. 
 
 '^ They have such pretty manners to us 
 over here. Edward says they think less of 
 women : I say they think more. But I feel 
 
ROBERT INTERVENES. 151 
 
 lie must be right. Oli, my clear^ cold, loving 
 innocent sister ! put out your arms ; I shall 
 feel them round me_, and kiss you, kiss you 
 for ever V 
 
 Onward from city to city, like a radiation of 
 light from the old farm-house, where so little of 
 it was. Dahlia continued her journey ; and then, 
 without a warning, with only a word to say that 
 she neared Rome, the letters ceased. A chord 
 snapped in Uhoda^s bosom. While she was 
 hearing from her sister almost w^eekly, her confi- 
 dence was buoyed on a summer sea. In the 
 silence it fell upon a dread. She had no answer 
 in her mind for her father^s unspoken dissatisfac- 
 tion, and she had to conceal her cruel anxiety. 
 There was an interval of two months : a blank 
 full charged with apprehension that was like the 
 humming of a toneless wind before storm ; worse 
 than the storm, for any human thing to bear. 
 
 llhoda was unaware that Robert, who rarely 
 looked at her, and never sought to speak a word 
 to her when by chance they met and were alone, 
 studied each change in her face, and read its 
 signs. He w^as left to his own interpretation of 
 
 VOL. 1. 10 
 
152 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 them_, but tlie signs lie knew accurately. He 
 knew that her pride had sunk, and that her heart 
 was desolate. He believed that she had dis- 
 covered her sister^s misery. 
 
 One day a letter arrived that gave her no joy- 
 ful polouring, though it sent colour to her cheeks. 
 She opened it, evidently not knowing the hand- 
 writing; her eyes ran down the lines hurriedly. 
 After a time she went upstairs for her bonnet. 
 
 At the stile leading into that lane where 
 Robert had previously seen her, she was stopped 
 by him. 
 
 " No farther/^ was all that he said, and he 
 was one who could have interdicted men from 
 advancing. 
 
 " Why may I not go by you V said Rhoda, 
 with a woman^s afifected humbleness. 
 
 Robert joined his hands. ^' You go no farther. 
 Miss Rhoda, unless you take me with you.-*^ 
 
 '' I shall not do that, Mr. Robert.'' 
 
 ^' Then you had better return home.'' 
 
 " Will you let me know Avhat reasons you 
 have for behaving in this manner to me ?" 
 
 " I'll let you know by-and-by," said Robert. 
 
ROBERT INTERVENES. 153 
 
 " At present^ you^ll let tlie stronger of the two 
 have his way/^ 
 
 He had always been so meek and gentle and 
 inoffensive, that her contempt had had free play, 
 and had never rken to anger; but violent anger 
 now surged against him, and she cried, " Do you 
 dare to touch me ?^' trying to force her passage by. 
 
 Hobert caught her softly by the wrist. There 
 stood at the same time a fuU-statured strength 
 of will in his eyes, under which her own 
 fainted. 
 
 " Go back \" he said ; and she turned that he 
 might not see her tears of irritation and shame. 
 He was treating her as a child; but it was to 
 herself alone that she could defend herself. She 
 marvelled that when she thought of an outspoken 
 complaint against him, her conscience gave her 
 no support. 
 
 " Is there no freedom for a woman at all in 
 this world?" E,hoda framed the bitter question. 
 
 Rhoda went back as she had come. Algernon 
 Elancove did the same. Between them stood 
 Eobert, thinking, '' Now I have made that girl 
 hate me for life.^^ 
 
 10—2 
 
154 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 It was iu November tliat a letter^ dated from 
 London, reached the Farm, quickening Rhoda's 
 blood anew. " I am alive/' said Dahlia ; and 
 she said little more, except that she was waiting 
 to see her sister, and bade her urgently to travel 
 np alone. Her father consented to her doing so. 
 After a consultation with Robert, however, he de- 
 termined to accompany her. 
 
 " She can't object to see me too/' said the 
 farmer; and Rhoda answered "No." But her 
 face was bronze to Robert when they took their 
 departure. 
 
155 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 
 
 Old Anthony was expecting. them in London. 
 It was now winter^ and the season for theatres ; 
 so^ to show his brother-in-law the fun of a theatre 
 was one part of his projected hospitality, if Mr. 
 Fleming should haply take the hint that he must 
 pay for himself. 
 
 Anthony had laid out money to welcome the 
 farmer_, and was shy and fidgetty as a girl who 
 anticipates the visit of a promising youth, over 
 his fat goose for next day's dinner, and his 
 shrimps for this day^s tea, and his red slice of 
 strong cheese, called of Cheshire by the reckless 
 butterman, for supper. 
 
 He knew that both Dahlia and Rhoda must 
 have told the farmer that he was not high up in 
 Boyne's Bank, and it fretted him to think that 
 
156 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 the mysterious respect entertained for his wealth 
 by the farmer^ which delighted him with a novel 
 emotion^ might he dashed by what the farmer 
 might behold. 
 
 During his last visit to the Farm^ Anthony 
 had talked of the Funds more suggestively than 
 usual. He had alluded to his own dealings in 
 them^ and to what he would do and would not 
 do under certain contingencies ; thus shadowing 
 out, dimly luminous and immense^ what he could 
 do, if his sagacity prompted the adventure. The 
 farmer had listened through the buzzing of his 
 uncertain grief, only sighing' for answer. '' If 
 ever you come up to London, brother William 
 John/^ said Anthony, " you mind you go about 
 arm-in-arm with me, or you^ll be judging by ap- 
 pearances, and says you, ^ Lor', what a thou- 
 sander fellow this is V and ' What a millioner 
 fellow that is V You^ll be giving your millions 
 and your thousands to the wrong people, when 
 they haven't got a penny. All London ^11 be 
 topsy-turvy to you, unless youVe got a guide, 
 and he'll show you a shabby- coated, head-in-the 
 gutter old naan ^11 buy up the lot. Everybody 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 157 
 
 that doesn^t know him says — look at him ! but 
 they that knows him — hats off, I can tell you. 
 And talk about lords ! We don^t mind their 
 coming into the city, but they know the scent of 
 cash. Fve had a lord take off his hat to me. 
 It's a fact, I have.^^ 
 
 In spite of the extreme caution Anthony had 
 impressed upon his country relative that he 
 should not judge by appearances, he was never- 
 theless under an apprehension that the farmer^ s 
 opinion of him, and the luxurious, almost volup- 
 tuous, enjoyment he had of it, were in peril. 
 When he had purchased the well -probed fat 
 goose, the shrimps, and the cheese, he was only 
 half- satisfied. His ideas shot boldly at a bottle 
 of wine, and he employed a summer-lighted 
 evening in going a round of wine-merchants' 
 placards, and looking out for the cheapest bottle 
 he could buy. And he would have bought 
 one — ^he had sealing-wax of his own and could 
 have stamped it with the office-stamp of Boyne's 
 Bank for that matter, to make it as dignified 
 and costly as the vaunted red seals and green 
 seals of the placards — he would have bought one. 
 
158 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 had lie not, by one of his lucky mental illu- 
 minations^ recollected that it was within his 
 power to procure an order to taste wine at the 
 Docks, where you may get as much wine as you 
 like out of big sixpenny glasses, and try cask 
 after cask, walking down gas-lit paths between the 
 huge bellies of wine which groan to be tapped and 
 tried, that men may know them. The idea of 
 paying two shillings and sixpence for one mise- 
 rable bottle vanished at the richly-coloured pro- 
 spect. " That^ll show him something of wliat 
 London is/' thought Anthony ; and a companion 
 thought told him in addition that the farmer, 
 with a skinful of wine, would emerge into the 
 open air imagining no small things of the man 
 who could gain admittance into those marvellous 
 caverns. " By George ! it's like a boy's story- 
 book," cried Anthony, in his soul, and he 
 chuckled over the vision of the farmer's amaze- 
 ment — acted it with his arms extended, and 
 his hat unseated, and plunged into wheezy fits 
 of laughter. 
 
 He met his guests at the station. Mr. 
 Fleming was soberly attired in what, to An- 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 159 
 
 thony's London eye^ was a curiosity costume ; 
 but the broad brim of the hat, the square cut of 
 the brown coat, and the leggings, struck him as 
 being very respectable, and worthy of a presen- 
 tation at any bank in London. 
 
 "^ You stick to a leather purse, brother William 
 John ?" he inquired, with an artistic sentiment 
 for things in keeping. 
 
 '^ I do,^^ said the farmer, feeling seriously at 
 the button over it. 
 
 '^ All right; I shan^t ask ye to show it in 
 the street,^'' Anthony rejoined, and smote 
 Ehoda^s hand as it hung : 
 
 " Glad to see your old uncle — are ye V 
 
 Rhoda replied, quietly, that she was, but had 
 come with the principal object of seeing her 
 sister. 
 
 " There V cried Anthony, " you never get a 
 compliment out of this gal. She gives ye the 
 nut, and you^re to crack it, aud there may be, or 
 there mayn^t be, a kernel inside — she don^t 
 care.^^ 
 
 " But there ain't much in it P' the farmer 
 ejaculated, withdrawing his fingers from the 
 
1 60 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 button they liad been teasing for security since 
 Anthony's question about the purse. 
 
 " Not much — eh ! brother William Jolin ?" 
 Anthony tmew up a puzzled look. " Not much 
 baggage — I see that \" he exclaimed ; " and. 
 Lord be thanked ! no trunks. Aha, my 
 
 dear" — he turned to Rhoda — "you remember 
 
 ■I 
 your lesson, do ye? Now, mark me — FU re- 
 member you for it. Do you know, my dear," 
 he said to R-hoda confidentially, " that six- 
 penn'orth of chaff which I made the cabman 
 pay for — thei^e was the cream of it ! — that was 
 better than Peruvian bark to my constitution. 
 It was as good to me as a sniff of sea-breeze and 
 no excursion expenses. Pd like another, just 
 to feel young again, when I'd have backed myself 
 to beat — cabmen ? Ah ! I've stood up, when I 
 was a young 'un, and shut up a Cheap Jack at 
 a fair. Circulation's the soul o' chaff. That's 
 why I don't mind tackling cabmen — they sit 
 all day, and all they've got to say is ' rat-tat/ 
 and they've done. But I let the boys roar. I 
 know what I was when a boy myself. I've got 
 devil in me — never you fear — but it's all on 
 
DAHLIA IS KOT VISIBLE. 10 1 
 
 the side of tlie law. IS^ow, let^s off, for tlie 
 gentlemen are starin^ at you, wliich wont hurt 
 je, ye know^, but makes me jealous/^ 
 
 Before the party moved away from the plat- 
 form, a sharp tussle took place between Anthony 
 and the farmer as to the porterage of the bulky 
 bag; but it being only half-earnest, the farmer 
 did not put out his strength, and Anthony had 
 his way. 
 
 " I rather astonished you, brother William 
 John," he said, when they were in the 
 street. 
 
 The farmer admitted that he was stronger 
 than he looked. 
 
 " Don't you judge by appearances, that's all,'' 
 Anthony remarked, setting down the bag to 
 lay his finger on one side of his nose for im- 
 pressiveness. 
 
 '^^Now, there we leave London Bridge to the 
 right, and we shoulder away to the left, and 
 quiet parts." He seized the bag anew. " Just 
 listen. That's the roaring of cataracts of gold 
 you hear, brother William John. It's a good 
 notion, ain't it ? Hark ! — I got that notion 
 
162 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 from one of your penny papers. Yon can buy 
 any amount for a penny, now-a-days — poetry 
 up in a corner, stories, tales o^ temptation — one 
 fellow cut liis lucky with his master's cash, 
 dashed away to Australia, made millions, fit 
 to be a lord, and there he was ! liable to the 
 law ! and everybody bowing their hats and 
 their heads off to him, and his knees knocking 
 at the sight of a policeman — a man of a red 
 complexion, full habit of body, enjoyed his 
 dinner and his wine, and on account of his 
 turning white so often, they called him — ^ Seal- 
 ing-wax and Parchment' was one name ; ' Car- 
 rots and turnips^ was another ; ' Blumonge and 
 something/' and so on. Fancy his having to 
 pay lialf his income in pensions to chaps who 
 could have had him out of his town or country 
 mansion and popped into gaol in a jifiy. And 
 found out at last ! Them tales set you think- 
 ing. Once I was an idle young scaramouch. 
 But you can buy every idea that^s useful to 
 you for a penny. I tried the halfpenny journals. 
 Cheapness ain't always profitable. The moral 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 163 
 
 is J Make your money _, and you may buy all 
 the rest. 
 
 Discoursing tlius by the way^ and resisting- 
 the farmer^s occasional eftbrts to relieve him 
 of the bag, with the observation that appear- 
 ances were deceiving, and that he intended, 
 please his Maker, to live and turn over a little 
 more interest yet, Anthony brought them to 
 Mrs. Wicklow's house. Mrs. Wicklow pro- 
 mised to put them into the track of the omni- 
 buses running towards Dahlia's abode in the 
 south-west, and Mary Ann Wicklow, who had 
 a burning desire in her bosom to behold even 
 the outside shell of her friend^s new grandeur, un- 
 dertook very disinterestedly to accompany them. 
 Anthony's strict injunction held them due at 
 a lamp -post outside Boyne's Bank, at half-past 
 three o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 " My love to Dahl}^," he said. " She was 
 always a head and shoulders over my size. 
 Tell her when she rolls by in her carriage, 
 not to mind me. I got my own notions of 
 value. And if that jMr. Avrton of hers '11 
 
164 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 bank at Boyne^s^ PU behave to him like 
 a customer. This here^s the girl for my 
 money." He touched Rhoda^s arm, and so dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 The farmer chid her for her cold manner 
 towards her uncle_, murmuring aside to her : 
 '^ You heard what he said." Rhoda was frozen 
 with her heart's expectation^, and insensible to 
 hints or reproof. The people who entered the 
 omnibus seemed to her stale phantoms bearing 
 a likeness to every one she had known, save 
 to her beloved whom she was about to meet, 
 after long separation. 
 
 She marvelled pityingly at the sort of mad- 
 ness which kept the streets so lively for no 
 reasonable purpose. When she was on her 
 feet again, she felt for the first time, that 
 she was nearing the sister for whom she 
 hungered, and the sensation beset her that she 
 had landed in a foreign country. Mary Ann 
 Wicklow chattered all the while to the general 
 ear. It was her pride to be the discoverer of 
 Dahlia's terrace. 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 165 
 
 " Not for worlds would she enter the house," 
 she said, in a general tone ; she knowing better 
 than to present herself where downright entreaty 
 did not invite her. 
 
 E-hoda left her to count the numbers along 
 the terrace-walk, and stood out in the road 
 that her heart might select Dahlia^s habitation 
 from the other hueless residences. She fixed 
 upon one, but she was wrong, and her heart 
 sank. The fair Mary Ann fought her and beat 
 her by means of a careful reckoning, as she 
 remarked : — 
 
 "/ keep my eyes open; Number 15, is 
 the corner house, the bow-window, to a cer- 
 tainty." 
 
 Gardens were in front of the houses ; or, to 
 speak more correctly, strips of garden-walks. 
 A cab was drawn up close by the shrub-covered 
 iron gate leading up to No 15. Mary Ann 
 hurried them on, declaring that they might be 
 too late even now at a couple of dozen paces 
 distant, seeing that London cabs, crawlers as 
 they usually were, could, when required, and 
 paid for it, do their business like lightning. 
 
166 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Her observation was illustrated the moment 
 after tliey had left her in the rear ; for a gen- 
 tleman suddenly sprang across the pavement, 
 jumped into a cab_, and was whirled away, with 
 as much apparent magic to provincial eyes, as 
 if a pantomimic trick had been performed. 
 Rhoda pressed forward a step in advance of 
 her father. 
 
 ^^ It may have been her husband," she 
 thought, and trembled. The curtains up in 
 the drawing-room were moved as by a hand ; 
 but where was Dahlia's face ? Dahlia knew 
 that they were coming, and she was not on 
 the look-out for them ! — a strange conflict of 
 facts, over which Uhoda knitted her black brows, 
 so that she looked menacing to the maid opening 
 the door, wdiose " Oh, if you please. Miss," 
 
 came in contact with " My sister — Mrs. , 
 
 she expects me. I mean, Mrs. " but no 
 
 other name than " Dahlia" would fit itself to 
 llhoda's mouth. 
 
 " Ayrton," said the maid, and recommenced, 
 ^' Oh, if you please. Miss, and you are the young 
 lady, Mrs. Ayrton is very sorry, and have left 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 167 
 
 word_, would you call again to-morrow, as she 
 have made a pressing appointment, and was 
 sure you W'ould excuse her, but her husband 
 was very anxious for her to go, and could not 
 put it off, and w^as very sorry, but would you 
 call again to-morrow at twelve o'clock ? and 
 punctually she would be here." 
 
 The maid smiled as one who had fairly accom- 
 plished the recital of her lesson. Rhoda w^as 
 stunned. 
 
 '' Is Mrs. Ayrtou at home ? — Not at home ?" 
 she said. 
 
 ^^ No : don^t ye hear ?" quoth the farmer, 
 sternly. 
 
 " She had my letter — do you know ?" Rhoda 
 appealed to the maid. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Miss. A letter from the 
 country." 
 
 ^^ This morning ?" 
 
 '^ Yes, miss ; this morning." 
 
 '' And she has gone out ? What time did 
 she go out ? When will she be in ?" 
 
 Her father plucked at her dress. " Best not 
 go making the young Avoman repeat herself. 
 
 VOL. I. 1] 
 
168 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 She says^ nobody^s at home to ask us in. There^s 
 no morej then, to trouble her for/' 
 
 ''^At twelve o'clock to-morrow?^' Rhoda 
 faltered. 
 
 ^' Would you, if you please, call again at 
 twelve o'clock to-morrow, and punctually she 
 ■would be here,'' said the maid. 
 
 The farmer hung his head and turned. 
 Rhoda followed him from the garden. She 
 was immediately plied with queries and inter- 
 jections of wonderment by Miss Wicklow, 
 and it was not until she said : " You saw him 
 go out, didn't you ? — into the cab ?" that Rhoda 
 awakened to a meaning in her gabble. 
 
 Was it Dahlia's husband whom they had 
 seen? And if so, why was Dahlia away from 
 her husband ? She questioned in her heart, but 
 not for an answer, for she allowed no suspicions 
 to live. The farmer led on with his plodding 
 country step, burdened shoulders, and ruddy- 
 jowled, serious face, not speaking to Ehoda, 
 who had no desire to hear a word from him, 
 and let him be. Mary Ann steered him and 
 called from behind the turnings he was to take. 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 169 
 
 ■\vliile she speculated aloud to Rhoda upon the 
 nature of the business that had torn Dahlia from 
 the house so inopportunely. At last she an- 
 nounced that she knew what it was, but E-hoda 
 failed to express curiosity. !Mary Ann was 
 driven to whisper something about strange things 
 in the way of purchases. At that moment the 
 farmer threw up his umbrella, shouting for a 
 cab, and Rhoda ran up to him : 
 
 " Oh, father, why do we want to ride ?" 
 
 '' Yes, I tell ye !" said the farmer, chafing 
 against his coat- collar. 
 
 " It is an expense, when we can walk, 
 father.'^ 
 
 " What do I care for th' expense ? I shall 
 ride.^^ He roared again for a cab, and one came 
 that took them in ; after which, the farmer, not 
 being spoken to, became gravely placid as before. 
 They were put down at Boyne's Bank. Anthony 
 was on the look-out, and signalled them to stand 
 away some paces from the door. They were 
 kept about a quarter of an hour waiting between 
 two tides of wayfarers, which hustled them one 
 way and another, when out, at last, came the 
 
 11—2 
 
170 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 old, broad, bent figure, with little finicking steps, 
 and hniTied past them head foremost, his arms 
 narrowed across a bulgy breast. He stopped to 
 make sure that they were following, beckoned 
 with his chin, and proceeded at a mighty rate. 
 Marvellous was his rounding of corners, his 
 threading of obstructions, his skilful diplomacy 
 with passengers. Presently they lost sight of 
 him, and stood bewildered ; but while they 
 were deliberating they heard his voice. He 
 was above them, having issued from two swing- 
 ing bright doors ; and he laughed and nodded, 
 as he ran down the steps, and made signs, by 
 which they were to understand that he was 
 relieved of a weight. 
 
 " I^^e done that tw^cnty year of my life, 
 brother William John," he said. '' Eh ? Per- 
 haps you didn^t guess I was worth some thou- 
 sands when I got away from you just now? 
 Let any chap try to stop me ! They may just 
 as well try to stop a railway train. Steam^s up, 
 and Tm ofi?' 
 
 He laughed and wiped his forehead. Slightly 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 171 
 
 vexed at the small amount of discoverable as- 
 tonishment on the farmer^s face, he continued : 
 
 '' You don^t think much of it. Why, there 
 ainH another man but myself Boyne^s Bank 
 would trust. They^' e trusted me thirty year : — 
 why shouldn^t they go on trusting me another 
 thirty year ? A good character, brother William 
 John, goes on compound-interesting, just like 
 good coin. Didn^t you feel a sort of heat as I 
 brushed by you — eh ? That was a matter of 
 one — two — three — four ;" Anthony watched the 
 farmer as his voice swelled up on the heightening 
 numbers: "five — six — six thousand pounds,, 
 brother William John. People must think 
 something of a man to trust him with that 
 sum pretty near every day of their lives^ Sundays 
 excepted — eh ? don't you think so V 
 
 He dwelt upon the immense confidence re- 
 posed in him and the terrible temptation it 
 would be to some men^ and how they ought to 
 thank their stars that they were never thrown, 
 in the Avay of such a temptation, of which he 
 really thought nothing at all — nothing ! until 
 
172 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 tlie farmer^s countenance was lightened of its 
 air of oppression^ for a puzzle was dissolved in 
 his brain. It was now manifest to him that 
 Anthony was trusted in this extraordinary 
 manner because the heads and managers of 
 Boyne^s Bank knew the old man to be pos- 
 sessed of a certain very respectable sum : in 
 all probability they held it in their cofiFers for 
 safety and credited him with the amount. 
 Kay, more ; it was fair to imagine that the 
 guileless old fellow^ who conceis^ed himself to 
 ])c so deep^ had let them get it all into their 
 hands without any suspicion of their prominent 
 object in doing so. 
 
 Mr. Fleming said^ " Ah, yes, surely.'^ 
 He almost looked shrewd as he smiled over 
 Anthony^s hat. The healthy exercise of his 
 wdts relieved his apprehensive paternal heart; 
 and when he mentioned that Dahlia had not 
 been at home when he called^ he at the same 
 time sounded his hearer for excuses to be raised 
 on her behalf, himself clumsily suggesting one 
 or two_, as to show that he was willing to 
 swallow a very little for comfort. 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 173 
 
 " 01i_, of course !" said Anthony, jeeringly. 
 '^ Out ? If you catcli lier in, these next three 
 or four days, you^ll be lucky. Ah, brother 
 William John V 
 
 The farmer, half frightened by Anthony^s 
 dolorous shake of his head, exclaimed : " What^s 
 the matter, man?^^ 
 
 " How proud I should be if only you was in 
 a way to bank at Boyne's !" 
 
 '^ Ah V went the farmer in his turn, and he 
 plunged his chin deep in his neckerchief. 
 
 " Perhaps some of your family will, some 
 day, brother William John.^^ 
 
 " Happen, some of my family do, brother 
 Anthony V 
 
 '^ Will is what I said, brother William 
 John ; if good gals, and civil, and marry de- 
 cently — eh ?" and he faced about to Rhoda who 
 was walking with Miss Wicklow. " What does 
 she look so down about, my dear ? Never be 
 down. I donH mind you telling your young 
 man, whoever he is; and Fd like him to be a 
 strapping young six-footer Vve got in my eye, 
 who farms. What does he farm with to make 
 
174 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 farming answer now-a-days? Why, he farms 
 with brains. You^ll find that in my last week^s 
 Journal, brother William John^ and thinks I^ as I 
 conned it — the farmer ought to read that ! You 
 may tell any young man you like^ my dear, that 
 your old nucleus fond of jq" 
 
 On their arrival home^ Mrs. Wicklow mel; 
 them with a letter in her hand. It was for 
 E-hoda from Dahlia, saying that Dahlia was 
 grieved to the heart to have missed her dear 
 father and her darling sister. But her husband 
 had insisted upon her going out to make par- 
 ticular purchases, and do a dozen things ; and 
 he was extremely sorry to have been obliged to 
 take her away, but she hoped to see her dear 
 sister and her father very, very soon. She wished 
 she were her own mistress that she might run to 
 them, but men when they are husbands require 
 so much waiting on that she could never call 
 five minutes her own. She would entreat them 
 to call to-morrow, only she would then be 
 moving to her new lodgings. '' But, oh ! my 
 dear, my blessed Bhoda !" the letter concluded, 
 " do keep fast in your heart that I do love you 
 
DAHLIA IS NOT VISIBLE. 175 
 
 SO, and pray that we may meet soon, as I pray 
 it every niglit and all day long. Beg father to 
 stop till we meet. Things will soon be arranged. 
 They must. Oh ! oh, my Rhoda, love ! how 
 handsome you have grown. It is very well to 
 be fair for a time, but the brunettes have the 
 happiest lot. They last, and when we blonde 
 ones cry or grow thin, oh ! what objects we 
 become V 
 
 There were some final affectionate words, but 
 no further explanation. 
 
 The wrinkles again settled on the farmer^ s 
 mild, uncomplaining forehead. 
 
 Rhoda said : ^' Let us wait, father.^' 
 
 When alone, she locked the letter against her 
 heart, as to suck the secret meaning out of it. 
 Thinking over it was useless. 
 
176 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 AN INDICATIVE DUET IN A MINOR KEY. 
 
 Dahlia, the perplexity to her sister's heart, lay 
 stretched at full length upon the sofa of a 
 pleasantly furnished London drawing-room, sob- 
 bing to herself, -with her handkerchief across 
 her eyes. She had cried passion out, and 
 sobbed now for comfort. 
 
 She lay in her rich silken dress like the 
 wreck of a joyful creature, while the large 
 red winter sun rounded to evening, and threw 
 deep- coloured beams against the wall above 
 her head. They touched the nut-brown hair 
 to vivid threads of fire : but she lay faceless. 
 Utter languor and the dread of looking at 
 her eyelids in the glass kept her prostrate. 
 
 So, the darkness closed her about ; the 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. ITT 
 
 sickly gas-lamps of the street showing her as 
 a shrouded body. 
 
 A girl came in to spread the cloth for 
 dinner, and went through her avocations with 
 the stolidity of the London lodging-house maid- 
 servant, poking a clogged fire to perdition^ and 
 mildly repressing a songful spirit. 
 
 Dahlia knew well w^hat was being done ; 
 she would have given much to have saved 
 her nostril from the smell of dinner; it was 
 a great immediate evil to her sickened senses; 
 but she had no energy to call out, nor will 
 of any kind. The odours floated to her, and 
 passively she combatted them. 
 
 At first she was nearly vanquished ; the 
 meat smelt so acrid, the potatoes so sour; each 
 afflicting vegetable asserted itself peculiarly ; 
 and the bread, the salt even, on the wdngs 
 of her morbid fancy, came steaming about her, 
 subtle, penetrating, thick, and hateful, like the 
 pressure of a cloud out of w^hich disease is 
 shot. 
 
 Such it seemed to her, till she could have 
 
178 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 shrieked; but only a few fresh tears started 
 down her cheeks, and she lay enduring it. 
 
 Dead silence and stillness hung over the 
 dinner-service, when the outer door below was 
 opened, and a light foot sprang up the 
 stairs. 
 
 There entered a young gentleman in even- 
 ing-dress, with a loose black wrapper drooping 
 from his shoulders. He looked on the table, 
 and then glancing at the sofa, said : 
 
 " Oh, there she is V and went to the window 
 and whistled. 
 
 After a minute of great patience, he turned 
 his face back to the room again, and commenced 
 tapping his foot on the carpet. 
 
 " Well V he said, finding these indications 
 of exemplary self-command unheeded. His 
 voice was equally powerless to provoke a sign 
 of animation. He now displaced his hat, and 
 said, " Dahlia V 
 
 She did not move. 
 
 '^ I am here to very little purpose then," he 
 remarked. 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 17^ 
 
 A fluttering fall of her bosom was per^ 
 ceptible. 
 
 ^^ For Heaven^s sake^ take away that hand- 
 kerchief, my good child ! Why have you let 
 your dinner get cold ? Here," he lifted a 
 cover ; " here's roast-beef. You like it — why 
 don't you eat it? That's only a small piece of 
 the general inconsistency^ I know. And why 
 haven't they put champagne on the table for 
 you? You lose your spirits without it. If 
 
 you took it when these moody fits came on 
 
 but there's no advising a woman to do any- 
 thing for her own good. Dahlia^ will you do 
 me the favour to speak two or three words 
 with me before I go ? I would have dined here, 
 but I have a man to meet me at the club. Of 
 what mortal service is it shamming the in- 
 sensible? You've produced the required effect, 
 I am as uncomfortable as I need be. Abso- 
 lutely ! 
 
 " Well/' seeing that words were of no avail 
 he summed up expostulation and reproach in 
 this sigh of resigned philosophy : '' I am going. 
 
180 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Let me see — I have my Temple keys ? — yes ! 
 I am afraid that even when you are inclined 
 to be gracious and look at me_, I shall not be visible 
 to you for some days. I start for Lord Elling^s 
 to-morrow morning at five. I meet my father 
 there by appointment. I^m afraid we shall 
 have to stay over Christmas. Good-bye.^' He 
 paused. '' Good-bye, my dear.^^ 
 
 Two or three steps nearer the door, he said, 
 ^' By the way, do you want anything ? Money ? 
 — do you happen to want any money? I will 
 ' send a blank cheque to-morrow. I have suf- 
 ficient for both of us. I shall tell the land- 
 lady to order your Christmas dinner. How 
 about wine? There is champagne, I know, 
 and bottled ale. Sherry? 1^11 drop a letter 
 to my wine-merchant; I think the sherry's run- 
 ning dry.'' 
 
 Her sense of hearing was now afiiicted in 
 as gross a manner as had been her sense of 
 smell. She could not have spoken, though her 
 vitality had pressed for speech. It would have 
 astonished him to hear that his solicitude con- 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 181 
 
 cerning provender for her during his absence 
 was not esteemed a kindness ; for surely it is 
 a kindly thing to think of it; and for whom 
 but for one for whom he cared would he be 
 counting the bottles to be left at her disposal^ 
 insomuch that the paucity of the bottles of 
 sherry in the establishment distressed his mental 
 faculties ? 
 
 " Well, good-bye/^ he said finally. The door 
 closed. 
 
 Had Dahlia^s misery been in any degree 
 simulated, her eyes now, as well as her ears, 
 would have taken positive assurance of his de- 
 parture. But with the removal of her hand- 
 kerchief, the loathsome sight of the dinner- 
 table would have saluted her, and it had already 
 caused her suffering enough. She chose to 
 remain as she was, saying to herself, "I am 
 dead;" and softly revelling in that corpse-like 
 sentiment. She scarcely knew that the door 
 had opened again. 
 
 ^^ Dahlia !" 
 
 She lieard her name pronounced, and more 
 entreatingly, and closer to her. 
 
182 RKODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Dahlia,, my poor girl V' Her hand was 
 pressed. It gave her no shudders. 
 
 " I am dead/^ she mentally repeated, for 
 the touch did not run up to her heart and 
 stir it. 
 
 " Dahlia, do be reasonable ! I can^t leave 
 you like this. We shall be separated for some 
 time. And what a miserable fire you^ve got 
 here ! You have agreed with me that we are 
 acting for the best. It^s very hard on me ! I 
 
 try what I can to make you comf happy ; 
 
 and really, to see you lea^dng your dinner to 
 get cold ! Your hands are like ice. The meat 
 wont be eatable. You know I^m not my own 
 master. Come, Dahly, my darling V' 
 
 He gently put his hand to her chin, and 
 then drew away the handkerchief. 
 
 Dahlia moaned at the exposure of her tear- 
 stained face ; she turned it languidly to the wall. 
 
 " Are you ill, my dear ?" he asked. 
 
 Men are so considerately practical ! He 
 begged urgently to be allowed to send for a 
 doctor. 
 
 But women, when they choose to be unhappy, 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 183 
 
 will not accept of practical consolations ! She 
 moaned a refusal to see the doctor. 
 
 Then what can I do for her? he naturally- 
 thought, and he naturally uttered it. 
 
 " Say good-bye to me/' he whispered. " And 
 my pretty one will write to me. I shall reply so 
 punctually ! I don^t like to leave her at Christ- 
 mas ; and she will give me a line of Italian^ and 
 a little French — mind her accents, though ! — and 
 she needn^t attempt any of the nasty German — 
 kshrra-kouzzra-kratz ! — which her pretty lips 
 canH do, and wont do ; but only French and 
 Italian, Why, she learnt to speak Italian ! ' La 
 dolcezza ancor dentro me suona,' Don't you re- 
 member, and made such fun of it at first ? 'Amo 
 zoo / ' no amo me ?' my sweet ! 
 
 This was a specimen of the baby-lover talk, 
 which is charming in its season, and may be 
 pleasantly cajoling to a loving woman at all times, 
 save when she is in Dahlia's condition. It will serve 
 even then, or she will pass it forgivingly, as not 
 the food she for the moment requires ; but it must 
 be purely simple in its utterance, otherwise she 
 detects the poor chicanery, and resents the mean- 
 
 VOL. T. 12 
 
184 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ness of it. She resents it with unutterable sick- 
 ness of soul^ for it is the language of what were 
 to her the holiest hours of her existence, which 
 is thus hypocritically used to blind and rock her 
 in a cradle of deception. If corrupt, she may be 
 brought to answer to it all the same, and she 
 will do her part of the play, and babble words, 
 and fret and pout deliciously ; and the old days 
 will seem to be revived, when both know they are 
 dead-; and she will thereby gain any advantage 
 she is seeking. 
 
 But Dahlia^s sorrow was deep : her heart was 
 sound. She did not even perceive the opportu- 
 nity offered to her for a wily performance. She 
 felt the hollowness of his speech, and no more ; 
 and she said, " Good-bye, Edward.^^ 
 
 He had been on one knee. Springing cheer- 
 fully to his feet, ^' Good-bye, darling,^^ he said. 
 ^' But I must see her sit to table first. Such a 
 wretched dinner for her V and he mumbled, **' By 
 Jove ! I suppose I shanH get any at all myself !" 
 His Avatch confirmed it to him that any dinner 
 which had been provided for him at the club 
 would be spoilt. 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 185 
 
 "Never mindj" he said aloud, and examined 
 the roast beef ruefully^ thinking that, doubtless, 
 it being more than an hour behind the appointed 
 dinner-time at the club, his guest must now be 
 gone. 
 
 For a minute or so he gazed at the mournful 
 spectacle. The potatoes looked as if they had 
 committed suicide in their own steam. There 
 were mashed turnips, with a glazed surface, 
 like the bright bottom of a tin pan. One block 
 of bread was by the lonely plate. Neither hot 
 nor cold ; the whole aspect of the dinner-table 
 resisted and repelled the gaze, and made no pre- 
 tensions towards alluring it. 
 
 The thought of partaking of this repast en- 
 dowed him with a critical appreciation of its 
 character, and a gush of charitable emotion for 
 the poor girl who had such miserable dishes 
 awaiting her, arrested the philosophic reproof 
 which he could have administered to one that 
 knew so little how a dinner of any sort should 
 be treated. He strode to the windows, pulled 
 down the blind he had previously raised, rang the 
 bell, and said : 
 
 12—2 
 
186 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Dahlia, there — I'm going to dine with you, 
 my love. I've rung the bell for more candles. 
 The room shivers. That girl will see you, if you 
 don't take care. "Where is the key of the cup- 
 board? We must have some wine out. The 
 champagne, at all events, wont be flat.'' 
 
 He commenced humming the song of compla- 
 cent resignation. Dahlia was still inanimate, but 
 as the door was about to open, she rose quickly 
 and feU in a tremble on the sofa, concealing her 
 
 face. 
 
 An order was given for additional candles, 
 coals, and Avood. When the maid had disap- 
 peared, Dahlia got on her feet, and steadied her- 
 self by the wall, tottering away to her chamber. 
 
 " Ah, poor thing !" ejaculated the young man, 
 not without an idea that the demonstration was 
 unnecessary. For what is decidedly disagreeable 
 is, in a young man's calculation concerning 
 women, not necessary at all — quite the reverse. 
 Are not v*'omen the flowers which decorate sub- 
 lunary life ? It is really irritating to discover 
 them to be pieces of machinery that, for want of 
 proper oiling, creak, stick, threaten convulsions, 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 187 
 
 and are tragic and stir us the wrong way. How- 
 ever, champagne does them good : an admirable 
 wine — a sure specific for the sex ! 
 
 He searched around for the keys to get at a 
 bottle and uncork it forthwith. The keys were 
 on the mantelpiece : a bad comment on Dahlia^s 
 housekeeping qualities ; but in the hurry of action 
 let it pass. He welcomed the candles gladly, 
 and soon had all the cupboards in the room 
 royally open. 
 
 Bustle is instinctively adopted by the human 
 race as the substitute of comfort. He called for 
 more lights, more plates, more knives and forks. 
 He sent for ice : the maid observed that it was 
 not to be had save at a distant street : " Jump 
 into a cab — champagne^s nothing without ice, 
 even in winter," he said, and rang for her as she 
 was leaving the house, to name a famous fish- 
 monger who was sure to supply the ice. 
 
 The establishment soon understood that Mr. 
 Ayrton intended dining within those walls. Fresh 
 potatoes were put on to boil. The landlady came 
 up herself to arouse the fire. The maid was for 
 a quarter of an hour hovering between the order 
 
188 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 to get ice and the execution of immediate com- 
 mands. One was that she should take a glass 
 of champagne to Mrs. Ayrton in her room. He 
 drank off one himself. Mrs. Ayrton's glass being 
 brought back untouched, he drank that off like- 
 TvisC; and as he became more exhilarated, was 
 more considerate for her, to such a degree that, 
 when she appeared he seized her hands and only 
 jestingly scolded her for her contempt of sound 
 medicine, declaring, in spite of her protestations, 
 that she was looking lovely, and so they sat down 
 to their dinner, she with an anguished glance at 
 the looking-glass as she sank in her chair. 
 
 " It's not bad, after all,'' said he, drenching 
 his tasteless mouthful of half- cold meat with 
 champagne. " The truth is, that clubs spoil us. 
 This is Spartan fare. Come, drink with me, 
 my dearest. One sip." 
 
 She was coaxed by degrees to empty a glass. 
 She had a gentle heart, and could not hold out 
 long against a visible, lively kindliness. It pleased 
 him that she should bow to him over fresh bubbles ; 
 and they went formally through the ceremony, 
 and she smiled. He joked and laughed and 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 189 
 
 talked, and she eyed him with a faint sweetness. 
 He perceived now that she required nothing more 
 than the restoration of her personal pride, and 
 setting bright eyes on her, hazarded a bold com- 
 pliment. 
 
 Dahlia drooped like a yacht Avitli idle sails 
 struck by a sudden blast, that dips them in the 
 salt ; but she raised her face with the full bloom 
 of a blush : and all was plain sailing afterwards. 
 
 " Has my darling seen her sister V he asked 
 softly. 
 
 Dahlia answered : " No,^^ in the same 
 tone. 
 
 Both looked away. 
 
 " She wont leave town without seeing 
 you V^ 
 
 " I hope — I don^t know. She — she has called 
 at our last lodgings twice/' 
 
 "Alone?'' 
 
 " Yes ; I think so." 
 
 Dahlia kept her head down, replying ; and his 
 observation of her wavered uneasily. 
 
 " Why not write to her, then ?" 
 
 " She will bring father.'' 
 
190 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 The sob thickened in her throat; hut, alas 
 for him who had at first, while she was on 
 the sofa, affected to try all measures to revive 
 her, that I must declare him to know well how 
 certain was his mastery over her, when his 
 manner was thoroughly kind. He had not 
 much fear of her relapsing at present. 
 
 ^' You can't see your father V^ 
 
 '' No." 
 
 '' But, do. It's best.'' 
 
 '' I can't." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Not " she hesitated, and clasped her 
 
 hands in her lap. 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know,'' said he; "but still! 
 You could surely see him. You rouse sus- 
 picions that need not exist. Try another glass, 
 my dear." 
 
 " No more." 
 
 " Well ; as I was saying, you force him to think 
 — and there is no necessity for it. He may be 
 as hard on this point as you say ; but now and 
 then a little innocent deception may be practised. 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 191 
 
 We only require to gain time. You place me 
 in a very hard position. I liave a fatlier too. 
 He has his own ideas of things. He's a proud 
 man, as Tve told you; tremendously ambitious, 
 and he wants to push me, not only at the 
 bar, but in the money market matrimonial. 
 All these notions I have to contend against. 
 Things can't be done at once. If I give him 
 a shock — well, we'll drop any consideration of 
 the consequences. Write to your sister to tell 
 her to bring your father. If they make parti- 
 cular inquiries — very unlikely I think — but, if 
 they do, put them at their ease." 
 
 She sighed. 
 
 " Why was my poor darling so upset, when I 
 came in?" said he. 
 
 There was a difficulty in her speaking. He 
 waited with much patient twiddling of bread- 
 crumbs ; and at last she said : 
 
 " My sister called twice at my — our old 
 lodgings. The second time, she burst into tears. 
 The girl told me so." 
 
 '^ But women cry so often, and for almost 
 anything. Dahlia." 
 
192 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Rhoda cries with her hands closed hard, 
 and her eyelids too/'' 
 
 " Weil, that may be her way/' 
 
 " I have only seen her cry once^ and that 
 was when mother was dying, and asked her to 
 fetch a rose from the garden. I met her on the 
 stairs. She was like wood. She hates crying. 
 She loves me so.'' 
 
 The sympathetic tears rolled down Dahlia's 
 cheeks. 
 
 " So, you quite refuse to see your father ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 '' Not yet !" 
 
 " Not yet," he repeated. 
 
 At the touch of scorn in his voice, she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! not yet, I cannot. I know 
 I am weak. I can't meet him now. If my 
 
 Rhoda had come alone, as I hoped ! but he 
 
 is with her. Don't blame me, Edward. I can't 
 explain. I only know that I really have not 
 the power to see him." 
 
 Edward nodded. " The sentiment some 
 women put into things is inexplicable," he said. 
 
AN INDICATIVE DUET. 193 
 
 " Your sister and father will return home. 
 They will have formed their ideas. You know 
 how unjust they will be. Since, however, the 
 taste is for being a victim — eh T' 
 
 London lodging-house rooms in winter when 
 the blinds are down, and a cheerless fire is in 
 the grate, or when blinds are up and street- 
 lamps salute the inhabitants with uncordial rays, 
 are not entertaining places of residence for rest- 
 less spirits. Edward paced about the room. 
 He lit a cigar and puffed at it fretfully. 
 
 ^^ Will you come and try one of the theatres 
 for an hour V he asked. 
 
 She rose submissively, afraid to say that 
 she thought she should look ill in the staring 
 lights; but he, with great quickness of per- 
 ception, rendered her task easier by naming 
 the dress she was to wear, the jewels, and the 
 colour of the opera cloak. Thus prompted. 
 Dahlia went to her chamber, and passively 
 attired herself, thankful to have been spared the 
 pathetic troubles of a selection of garments from 
 her wardrobe ; when she came forth, Edward 
 thought her marvellously beautiful. 
 
194 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Pity that she had no strength of character 
 whatever, nor any pointed liveliness of mind 
 to match and vrrestle with his own, and cheer 
 the domestic hearth ! But she was certainlj^ 
 beautiful. Edward kissed her hand in com- 
 mendation. Though it was practically annoying 
 that she should be sad, the hue and spirit of 
 sadness came home to her aspect. Sorrow 
 visited her tenderly-falling eyelids like a 
 sister. 
 
195 
 
 CHAPTER XTI. 
 
 AT THE THEATRE. 
 
 Edward's engagement at his club had been 
 with his unfortunate cousin Algernon ; who 
 not only wanted a dinner but '*^five pounds or 
 so ^^ (the hazy margin which may extend inimi- 
 tably^ or miserably contract, at the lender^s 
 pleasure, and the necessity for which shows 
 the borrower to be dancing on Fortune's tight- 
 rope above the old abyss). 
 
 " Over claret/' was to have been the 
 time for the asking ; and Algernon waited 
 dinnerless until the healthy - going minutes 
 distended and swelled monstrous and horrible 
 as viper - bitten bodies, and the venerable 
 Signior, Time, became of unhealthy hue. 
 Eor this was the first dinner which, during 
 the whole course of the young man's career. 
 
196 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 had ever been failing to him ! Reflect 
 iipoQ the mournful gap ! He could scarcely 
 believe in his ill-luck. He suggested it to 
 himself with an inane grin^ as one of the far- 
 away freaks of circumstance that had struck 
 him — and was it not comical ? 
 
 He waited from the hour of six till the 
 hour of seven. He compared clocks in the 
 hall and the room. He changed the posture 
 of his legs fifty times. For a while he 
 wrestled right gallantly with the apparent 
 menace of the Fates that he was to get no 
 dinner at all that day; it seemed incredibly 
 derisive, for, as I must repeat, it had never 
 happened to him by any accident before. 
 ^' You are born — you dine." Such appeared 
 to him to be the positive regulation of affairs, 
 and a most proper one : — of the matters of 
 course following the birth of a young being. 
 
 By what frightful mischance, then, does he 
 miss his dinner? By placing the smallest 
 confidence in the gentlemanly feeling of another 
 man ! Algernon deduced this reply accurately 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 197 
 
 from his own experience,, and whether it can 
 be said by other ^ undined ^ mortals, does not 
 matter in the least. Perhaps, when keenly- 
 looked to, it will. But, we have nothing to do 
 with the constitutionally luckless : the calamitous 
 history of a simple empty stomach is enough. 
 Here the tragedy is palpable. Indeed, too sadly 
 so, and I dare apply but a flash of the micro- 
 scope to the raging dilemmas of this animalcule. 
 Five and twenty minutes had signalled their 
 departure irom the hour of seven, when 
 Algernon pronounced his final verdict upon 
 Edward^s conduct by leaving the club. He 
 returned to it a quarter of an hour later, and 
 lingered on in desperate mood till eight. 
 
 He had neither watch in his pocket, nor ring 
 on his finger, nor disposable stud in his shirt. 
 The sum of twenty-one pence was in his pos- 
 session, and, I ask you, as he asked himself, how 
 is a gentleman to dine upon that ? He laughed 
 at the notion. The irony of Providence sent him 
 by a cooVs shop, where the mingled steam of 
 meats and puddings rushed out upon the way- 
 
198 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 farer like ambushed bandits^ and seized him and 
 dragged him in, or sent him qualmish and 
 humbled on his way. 
 
 Two little boys had flattened their noses to 
 the whiteness of winkles against the jealously 
 misty windows. Algernon knew himself to 
 be accounted a generous fellow,, and remem- 
 bering his reputation, he, as to hint at what 
 Fortune might do in his case, tossed some 
 coppers to the urchins, who ducked to the 
 pavement and slid before the counter, in a flash, 
 with never a ' thank ye,^ or the thought of it. 
 
 Algernon Avas incapable of a]3preciating this 
 childish faith in the beneflcence of the unseen 
 Powers who feed us, which, I must say for him, 
 he had shared in a very similar manner only 
 two hours ago. He laughed scornfully : " The 
 little beggars V^ considering in his soul that of 
 such is humanity composed : as many a dinner- 
 less man had said before, and will again, to point 
 the speech of fools. He continued strolling on, 
 comparing the cramped, misty London aspect 
 of things with his visionary free dream of the 
 glorious prairies, where his other life was : the 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 199 
 
 forests, the mountains, tlie endless expanses ; 
 the horses, the flocks, the slipshod ease of 
 language and attire ; and the grog-shops. Aha ! 
 There could be no mistake about him as a 
 gentleman and a scholar out there ! Nor 
 would Nature shut up her pocket and demand 
 innumerable things of him, as civilization did. 
 This he thought in the vengefulness of his out- 
 raged mind. 
 
 Not only had Algernon never failed to dine every 
 day of his life : he had no recollection of having 
 ever dined without drinking wine. His conception 
 did not embrace the idea of a dinner lacking wine. 
 Possibly he had some embodied understanding that 
 wine did not fall to the lot of every fellow upon 
 earth ; he had heard of gullets unrefreshed even 
 by beer : but at any rate he himself was accus- 
 tomed to better things, and he did not choose to 
 excavate facts from the mass of his knowledge in 
 order to reconcile himself to the miserable chop 
 he saw for his dinner in the distance — a spot of 
 meat in the arctic circle of a plate, not shone 
 upon by any rosy-Avarming sun of a decanter ! 
 
 But metaphorical language, though nothing 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
200 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 other will convey the extremity of his misery, 
 or the form of his thoughts, must be put aside. 
 
 " Egad, and every friend I have is out of 
 town V he exclaimed, quite willing to think it 
 part of the plot. ^ 
 
 He stuck his hands in his pockets and felt 
 vagabond-like and reckless. The streets were 
 revelling in their winter muck. The carriages 
 rolling by insulted him with their display of 
 wealth. 
 
 He had demod'atic sentiments regarding 
 them. O, for a horse upon the boundless 
 plains ! he sighed to his heart. He remem- 
 bered bitterly how he had that day ridden his 
 stool at the bank, dreaming of his wilds, where 
 bailiff never ran, nor duns obscured the 
 firmament. 
 
 And then there were theatres here — huge, 
 extravagant places ! Algernon went over to an 
 entrance of one, to amuse his mind, cynically 
 criticizing the bill. A play was going forward 
 within that enjoyed great popular esteem : " The 
 Holly Berries." Seeing that the pit was 
 crammed, Algernon made application to learn 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 201 
 
 the state of tlie boxes, but bearing that one box 
 was empty, he lost his interest in the per» 
 formance. 
 
 As he was strolling forth, his attention was 
 taken by a noise at the pit-doors, which swung 
 open, and out tumbled a tough, little old man 
 with a younger one grasping his coat-collar, who 
 proclaimed that he would sicken him of pushing 
 past him at the end of every act. 
 
 " You're precious fond of plays," sneered the 
 junior. 
 
 " Pm fond of everything I pay for, young 
 fellow," replied the shaken senior ; " and that's 
 a bit of enjoyment you've got to learn — ain't 
 it?" 
 
 " Well, don't you knock by me again, that's 
 all," cried the choleric youth. 
 
 " You don't think I'm likely to stop in your 
 company, do you ?" 
 
 " Whose expense have you been drinking 
 at?" 
 
 ^' My country's, young feUow ; and mind you 
 don't soon feed at the table. Let me go." 
 
 13—2 
 
202 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Algernon's hunger was appeased by the pros- 
 pect of some excitement, and seeing a vicious 
 shake administered to the old man by the young 
 one, he cried " Hands off V and undertook 
 policeman's duty ; but as he was not in blue, 
 his authoritative mandate obtained no respect 
 until he had interposed his fist. 
 
 When he had done so, he recognised the 
 porter of Boyne's Bank, whose enemy retired 
 upon the threat that there should be no more 
 pushing past him to get back to seats for the 
 next act. 
 
 "1 paid," said Anthony; "and you're a 
 ticketer, and you ticketers shan't stop me. I'm 
 worth a thousand of you. Holloa, sir," he cried 
 to Algernon ; " I didn't ' know you. I'm much 
 obliged. These chaps get tickets given 'm, and 
 grow as cocky in a theatre as men who pay. 
 He never had such wine in him as I've got. 
 That I'd swear. Ha ! ha ! I come out for an 
 airing after every act, and there's a whole pitfuU 
 of ticketers yelling and tearing, and I chaff 
 my way through and back clean as a redhot 
 poker.'^ 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 203 
 
 Anthony laughed^ and rolled somewliat as lie 
 lauglied. 
 
 " Come along, sir, into tlie street," Le said, 
 boring on to the pavement. " It's after office 
 hours. And, ha ! ha ! what do you think ? There's 
 old farmer in there, afraid to move off his seat, 
 and the girl with him, sticking to him tight, 
 and a good girl too. She thinks we've had 
 too much. We been to the Docks, wine- 
 tasting : port — sherry : sherry — port ! and, ha ! 
 ha ! * what a lot of wine V says farmer, never 
 thinking how much he's taking on board. ' I 
 guessed it was night,' says farmer, as we got 
 into the air, and to see him go on blinking, 
 and stumbling, and saying to me ' You stand 
 wine, brother Tony !' I'm blest if I ain't 
 bottled laughter. So, says I, ' come and see 
 "The Holly Berries," brother William John ; 
 it's the best play in London, and a suitable 
 winter piece.' ' Is there a rascal hanged in the 
 piece ?' says he. ' Oh, yes !' I let him fancy 
 there was, and he — ha ! ha ! old farmer's stick- 
 ing to his seat, solemn as a judge, waiting for 
 the gallows to come on the stage." 
 
204 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 A thought quickened Algernon's spirit. It 
 was a notorious secret among the young gen- 
 tlemen who assisted in maintaining the prosperity 
 of Boyne's Bank, that the old porter — the " Old 
 Ant/' as he was called — possessed money, and 
 had no objection to put out small sums for a 
 qertain interest. Algernon mentioned casually 
 that he had left his purse at home ; and " by the 
 way/' said he, " have you got a few sovereigns 
 in your pocket ?" 
 
 " What ! and come through that crush, sir ?" 
 Anthony negatived the question decisively with a 
 reference to his general knowingness. 
 
 Algernon pressed him ; saying at last, " Well, 
 have you got one ?" 
 
 " I don't think I've been such a fool," said 
 Anthony, feeling slowly about his person, and 
 muttering as to the changes that might possibly 
 have been produced in him by the Docks. 
 
 " Confound it, I haven't dined !" exclaimed 
 Algernon, to hasten his proceedings ; but at this, 
 Anthony eyed him queerly. " What have you 
 been about then, sir?" 
 
 '' Don't you see I'm in evening dress ? I had 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 205 
 
 an appointment to dine with a friend. He didn't 
 keep it. I find Fve left my purse in my other 
 clothes." 
 
 " That^s a bad habit^ sir/^ was Anthony^s 
 comment. ^^ You don't care much for your 
 purse." 
 
 " Much for my purse, be hanged !" interjected 
 Algernon. 
 
 " You'd have felt it, or you'd have heard it, 
 if there'd been any weight in it," Anthony 
 remarked, shrewdly. 
 
 " How can you hear paper ?" 
 
 ^^ Oh, paper's another thing. You keep paper 
 in your mindj don't you — eh? Forget pound 
 notes ? Leave pound notes in a purse ? And 
 you Sir William's nephew, sir, who'd let you 
 bank with him and put down everything in a 
 book, so that you couldn't forget, or if you did, 
 he'd remember for you ; and you might change 
 your clothes as often as not, and no fear of your 
 losing a penny." 
 
 Algernon shrugged disgustedly, and was gi\ang 
 the old man up as a bad business, when Anthony 
 
206 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 altered his manner. " Oh ! well, sir, I don't 
 mind letting you have what Fve got. Fm out 
 for fun. Bother affairs I" 
 
 The sum of twenty shillings was handed to 
 Algernon, after he had submitted to the in- 
 dignity of going into a public-house, and writing 
 his I. O. U. for twenty -three to Anthony Hack- 
 but, which included interest. Algernon remon- 
 strated against so needless a formality; but 
 Anthony put the startling supposition to him, 
 that he might die that night. He signed the 
 document, and was soon feeding and drinking 
 his wine. This being accomplished, he took 
 some hasty puffs of tobacco, and returned to 
 the theatre, in the hope that the dark girl 
 Rhoda was to be seen there ; for now that he 
 had dined, Anthony^s communication with re- 
 gard to the farmer and his daughter became his 
 uppermost thought, and a young man^s upper- 
 most thought is usually the propelling engine to 
 his actions. 
 
 By good chance, and the aid of a fee, he ob- 
 tained a front seat, commanding an excellent 
 side-view of the pit, which sat wrapt in contem- 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 207 
 
 plation of a Christmas scene : snow, ice, bare 
 twigs, a desolate house, and a woman shivering — • 
 one of man's victims. 
 
 It is a good pnblic that of Britain, and will 
 bear anything, so long as villany is punished, 
 of which there was ripe promise in the oracular 
 utterances of a rolling, stout, stage-sailor, whose 
 nose, to say nothing of his frankness on the 
 subject, proclaimed him his own worst enemy, 
 and whose joke, by dint of repetition, had almost 
 become the joke of the audience too ; for when- 
 ever he appeared, there was agitation in pit and 
 gallery, which subsided only on his jovial thun- 
 dering of the familiar sentence ; whereupon 
 laughter ensued, and a quieting hum of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 It was a play that had had a great run. 
 Critics had once objected to it, that it was made 
 to subsist on scenery, a song, and a stupid piece 
 of cockneyism pretending to be a jest, that was 
 really no more than a form of slapping the 
 public on the back. But the public likes to 
 have its back slapped, and critics, frozen by the 
 Medusa-head of Success, were soon taught man- 
 
208 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ners. The office of critic is now, in fact, vir- 
 tually extinct ; the taste for tickKng and slap- 
 ping is universal and imperative; classic appeals 
 to the intellect, and passions not purely domestic, 
 have grown obsolete. There are captains of the 
 legions, but no critics. The mass is lord. 
 
 And behold our friend the sailor of the 
 boards, whose walk is even as two meeting 
 billows, appears upon the lonely moor, and salts 
 that uninhabited region with nautical inter- 
 jections. Loose are his hose in one part, tight 
 in another, and he smacks them. It is cold; so 
 let that be his excuse for showing the bottom 
 of his bottle to the glittering spheres. He takes 
 perhaps a sturdier pull at the liquor than 
 becomes a manifest instrument of Providence, 
 whose services may be immediately required; 
 but he informs us that his ship was never known 
 not to right itself when called upon. 
 
 He is alone in the world, he tells us likewise. 
 If his one friend, the uplifted flask, is his enemy, 
 why then he feels bound to treat his enemy as 
 his friend. This, with a pathetic allusion to his 
 interior economy, which was applauded, and the 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 209 
 
 remark " Ain't that Christian V which was just 
 a trifle risky ; so he secured pit and gallerj'^ at 
 a stroke by a surpassingly shrewd blow at the 
 bishops of our churchy who are, it can barely be 
 contested, in foul esteem with the multitude — 
 none can say exactly for what reason — and 
 must submit to be occasionally offered up as 
 propitiatory sacrifices. 
 
 This good sailor was not always alone in the 
 world. A sweet girl, whom he describes as 
 reaching to his knee-cap, and pathetically believes 
 still to be of the same height, once called him 
 brother Jack. To hear that name again from 
 her lips, and a particular song ! — he attempts it 
 ludicrously, yet touchingly withal. 
 
 Hark ! Is it an echo from a spirit in the 
 frigid air? 
 
 The song trembled with a silver ring to the 
 remotest corners of the house. 
 
 At that moment the breathless hush of the 
 audience was flurried by hearing " Dahlia^' called 
 from the pit. 
 
 Algernon had been spying among the close- 
 packed faces for a sight of Ehoda. Rhoda was 
 
210 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 now standing up amid gathering hisses and out- 
 cries. Her eyes were bent on a particular box, 
 across which a curtain was hastily being drawn. 
 *' My sister \" she sent out a voice of anguish, 
 and remained with clasped hands and twisted 
 eyebrows, looking passionately towards that one 
 spot, as if she would have flown to it. A glance 
 showed that she was wedged in the mass, and 
 could not move. 
 
 The exclamation heard had belonged to brother 
 Jack, on the stage, whose burst of fraternal sur- 
 prise and rapture fell flat after it, to the disgust 
 of numbers keenly awakened for the sentiment of 
 this scene. 
 
 Roaring accusations that she was drunk ; that 
 she had just escaped from Bedlam for an even- 
 ing ; that she should be gagged and turned 
 headlong out, surrounded her ; but she stood like 
 a sculptured flgure, vital in her eyes alone. The 
 farmer put his arm about his girPs waist. The 
 instant, however, that Anthony^s head uprose on 
 the other side of her, the e\dl reputation he had 
 been gaining for himself all through the evening 
 produced a general clamour, over which the 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 211 
 
 gallery played^ miauling, and yelping like dogs 
 that are never to be divorced from a noise. 
 Algernon feared mischief. He quitted his seat, 
 and ran out into the lobby. 
 
 Half-a-dozen steps, and he came in contact 
 ■with some one, and they were mutually drenched 
 with water by the shock. It was his cousin 
 Edward, bearing a glass in his hand. 
 
 Algernon's wrath at the sight of this offender 
 was stimulated by the cold bath; but Edward 
 cut him short. 
 
 " Go in there ;" he pointed to a box-door. 
 "A lady has fainted. Hold her up till I come." 
 
 No time was allowed for explanation. Algernon 
 passed into the box, and was alone with an inani- 
 mate shape in a blue bournous. The uproar in 
 the theatre raged ; the whole pit was on its legs 
 and shouting. He lifted the pallid head over 
 one arm, miserably helpless and perplexed, but 
 his anxiety concerning Rhoda's personal safety in 
 that sea of strife prompted him to draw back the 
 curtain a little, and he stood exposed. Rhoda 
 perceived him. She motioned with both her 
 hands in dumb supplication. In a moment the 
 
212 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 curtain closed between them. Edward's sliarp 
 white face cursed liim mutely for his folly, while 
 he turned and put water to Dahlia's lips, and 
 touched her forehead with it. 
 
 ^' What's the matter ?" whispered Algernon. 
 " We must get her out as quick as we can. 
 This is the way with women ! Come ! she's re- 
 covering." Edward nursed her sternly as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " If she doesn't, pretty soon, we shall have the 
 pit in upon us," said Algernon. *' Is she that 
 girl's sister?" 
 
 '^ Don't ask damned questions." 
 Dahlia opened her eyes, staring placidly. 
 " Now you can stand up, my dear. Dahlia ! 
 all's well. Try," said Edward. 
 
 She sighed, murmuring, " What is the time ?" 
 and again, " What noise is it ?" 
 
 Edward coughed in a vexed attempt at tender- 
 ness, using all his force to be gentle with her as 
 he brought her to her feet. The task was diffi- 
 cult amid the threatening storm in the theatre, 
 and cries of ^^ Show the young woman her sister !" 
 
AT THE THEATRE. 213 
 
 for E/hoda had won a party in tlie humane 
 public. 
 
 ^^ Dahlia, in God^s name give me your help V^ 
 Edward called in her ear. 
 
 The fair girFs eyelids blinked wretchedly 
 in protestation of her weakness. She had no 
 will either way, and suffered herself to be led 
 out of the box, supported by the two young 
 men. 
 
 '' Run for a cab,^^ said Edward ; and Algernon 
 went ahead. 
 
 He had one waiting for them as they came 
 out. They placed Dahlia on a seat with care, 
 and Edward, jumping in, drew an arm tightly 
 about her. *' I can^t cry,^^ she moaned. 
 
 The cab was driving off as a crowd of people 
 burst from the pit-doors, and Algernon heard the 
 voice of Farmer Fleming, very hoarse. He had 
 discretion enough to retu'e. 
 
214 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE FARMER SPEAKS. 
 
 Robert was to drive to tlie station to meet Rlioda 
 and her father returning from London, on a spe- 
 cified day. He was eager to be asking cheerful 
 questions of Dahlia^s health and happiness, so 
 that he might dispel the absurd general belief 
 that he had ever loved the girl, and was now re- 
 gretting her absence; but one look at Rhoda^s 
 face when she stepped from the railway carriage 
 kept him from uttering a word on that subject, 
 and the farmer's heavier droop and acceptance of 
 a helping hand into the cart, were signs of bad 
 import. 
 
 Mr. Fleming made no show of grief, like one 
 who nursed it. He took it to all appearance as 
 patiently as an old worn horse would do, although 
 such an outward submissiveness will not always 
 indicate a placid spirit in men. He talked at 
 
THE FARMER SPEAKS. 215 
 
 stale intervals of tlie weather and the state of the 
 ground along the line of rail down home, and 
 pointed in contempt or approval to a field here 
 and there; but it was as one who no longer had 
 any professional interest in the tilling of the 
 land. 
 
 Doubtless he was trained to have no under- 
 standing of a good to be derived by his commu- 
 nicating what he felt and getting sympathy. 
 Once, when he was uncertain, and a secret pride 
 in Dahlia^s beauty and accomplishments had 
 whispered to him that her flight was possibly the 
 opening of her road to a higher fortune, he made 
 a noise for comfort, believing in his heart that 
 she was still to be forgiven. He knew better 
 now. By holding his peace he locked out the 
 sense of shame which speech would have stirred 
 within him. 
 
 " Got on pretty smooth with old Mas^ Gam- 
 mon T' he expressed his hope ; and Robert said, 
 " Capitally. We shall make something out of 
 the old man yet, never fear.^^ 
 
 Master Gammon was condemned to serve at 
 the ready-set tea-table as a butt for banter; 
 
 VOL. I. 14- 
 
216 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 otherwise it was apprehended well that Mrs. Sumfit 
 would have scorched the ears of aU present^ save 
 the happy veteran of the furrows, with repetitions 
 of Dahlia^s name, and wailings about her darling, 
 of whom no one spoke. They suffered from her 
 in spite of every precaution. 
 
 ^^ Well, then, if I'm not to hear anything 
 dooring meals — as if I'd swallow it and take it 
 into my stomach ! — Pll wait again for what ye've 
 got to tell,'' she said, and finished her cup at a 
 gulp, smoothing her apron afterwards. 
 
 The farmer then lifted his head. 
 
 " Mother, if you've done, you'll oblige me by 
 going to bed," he said. " We want the kitchen." 
 
 " A-bed ?" cried Mrs. Sumfit, with instantly 
 ruffled lap. 
 
 '^ Upstairs, mother ; when you've done — not 
 before." 
 
 " Then bad's the noos ! Something have hap- 
 pened, William. You'm not going to push me 
 out ? And my place is by the tea-pot, which I 
 cling to, rememberin' how I seen her curly head 
 grow by inches up above the table and the cups. 
 
THE FAEMER SPEAKS. 217 
 
 Mas' Gammon/' she appealed to the sturdy 
 feeder, " five cups is your number ?" 
 
 Her hope was reduced to the prolonging of 
 the service of tea, with Mr. Gammon's kind 
 assistance. 
 
 " Four, marm/' said her inveterate antagonist, 
 as he finished that amount, and consequently put 
 the spoon in his cup. 
 
 Mrs. Sum fit rolled in her chair. 
 
 " O Lord, Mas' Gammon ! Five, I say ; and 
 never a cup less so long as here you've been." 
 
 " Four, marm. I don't know," said Master 
 Gammon, with a slow nod of his head, " that 
 ever I took five cups of tea at a stretch. Not 
 runnin'." 
 
 " I do know, Mas' Gammon. And ought to ; 
 for don't I pour out to ye ? It's five you take, 
 and please, your cup, if you'll hand it over." 
 
 '^ Four's my number, marm," Master Gammon 
 reiterated resolutely. He sat like a rock. 
 
 " If they was dumplins," moaned Mrs. Sumtit, 
 " not four, no, nor five, 'd do till enough you'd 
 had, and here we might stick to our chairs, 
 
 14—:: 
 
218 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 but yoii^cl go on and on; you know you 
 would/^ 
 
 " That's eatin', marm ;" Master Gammon con- 
 descended to explain tlie nature of liis habits. 
 " Fm regular in my drinkin'." 
 
 Mrs. Sumfit smote her hands together. ^^ Oh 
 Lord, Mas' Gammon_, the wearisomest old man I 
 ever come across is you. More tea^s in the pot, 
 and it ain't watery, and you wont be comfort- 
 able. -May you get forgiveness from above ! is 
 all I say, and I say no more. Mr. Robert, per- 
 haps you'll be so good as let me help you, sir? 
 It's good tea; and my Dody," she added, cajol- 
 ingly, " my home girl '11 tell us what she saw. 
 I'm pinched and starved to hear." 
 
 " By-and-by, mother," interposed the farmer ; 
 " to-morrow." He spoke gently, but frowned. 
 
 Both Rhoda and Robert perceived that they 
 were peculiarly implicated in the business which 
 was to be discussed without Mrs. Sumfit's assis- 
 tance. Her father's manner forbade Rhoda from 
 making any proposal for the relief of the forlorn 
 old w^oman. 
 
 " And mc not to hear to-night about your 
 
THE FARMER SPEAKS. 219 
 
 play-going !" sighed Mrs. Sumfit. " Oli, it's 
 hard on me. I do call it cruel. And how my 
 sweet was dressed — like as for a ball." 
 
 She saw the farmer move his foot im- 
 patiently. 
 
 '' Then^ if nobody drinks this remaining cup, 
 I will/' she pursued. 
 
 No voice save her own was heard till the cup 
 was emptied, upon which Master Gammon, 
 according to his wont, departed for bed to 
 avoid the seduction of suppers, which he 
 shunned as apoplectic, and !Mrs. Sumfit pre- 
 pared, in a desolate way, to wash the tea-things, 
 but the farmer, saying that it could be done in 
 the morning, went to the door and opened it for 
 her. 
 
 She fetched a great sigh and folded her hands 
 resignedly. As she was passing him to make her 
 miserable enforced exit, the heavy severity of his 
 face afflicted her with a deep alarm ; she fell on 
 her knees, crying — 
 
 " Oh, William ! it ain't for sake of hearin' 
 talk ; but you, that went to see our Dahly, the 
 blossom, 've come back streaky under the eyes. 
 
220 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 and you make the house feel as if we neigh- 
 boured Judgment Day. Down to tea you set 
 the first moment, and me alone with none of 
 you, and my love for my girl known well to you. 
 And now to be marched off ! How can I go 
 a-bed and sleep, and my heart jumps so ? It 
 ain't Christian to ask me to. I got a heart, 
 dear, I have. Do give a bit of comfort to it. 
 Only a word of my Dahly to me." 
 
 The farmer replied : " Mother, let's have no 
 woman's nonsense. What we've got to bear, let 
 us bear. And you go on your knees to the 
 Lord, and don't be a heathen woman, I say. 
 Get up. There's a Bible in your bed-room. 
 Find you out comfort in that." 
 
 ^' No, William, no !" she sobbed, stiU kneel- 
 ing; ^'^ there ain't a dose o' comfort there when 
 poor souls is in the dark, and haven't got 
 patience for passages. And me and my Bible ! 
 — ^how can I read it, and not know my ailing, 
 and astract one good word, William ? It'll seem 
 only the devil's shootin' black lightnings across 
 the page, as poor blessed granny used to say, and 
 she believed witches could do it to you in her 
 
THE FARMER SPEAKS. 221 
 
 time, when they was evil-minded. No ! To- 
 night I look on the binding of the Holy Book, 
 and I don't, and I won't, I shan't open it." 
 
 This violent end to her petition was wrought 
 by the farmer grasping her arm to bring her to 
 her feet. 
 
 " Go to bed, mother." 
 
 "I shan't open it,'^ she repeated, defiantly. 
 '^ And it ain't,^' — she gathered up her comfor- 
 table, fat person to assist the words — "it ain't 
 good — ^no, not the best pious ones — I shall, and 
 will say it ! as is a? ays ready to smack your face 
 with the Bible. 
 
 " Now, don't ye be angry .^' She softened 
 instantly. 
 
 " William, dear, I got fifty-seven pounds 
 sterling, and odd shillings, in a savings-bank, 
 and that I meant to go to Dahly, and not to 
 yond" dark thing sitting there so sullen, and me 
 in my misery ; I'd give it to you now for news 
 of my darlin'. Yes, William; and my poor 
 husband's cottage, in Sussex — seventeen pound 
 per annum. That, if you'll be goodness itself, 
 and let me hear a word." 
 
222 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Take her upstairs/' said the farmer to 
 Rhoda, and Rhoda went by her and took her 
 hands^ and by dint of pushing from behind 
 and dragging in front, Mrs. Sumfit, as near on 
 a shriek as one so fat and sleek could be, was 
 ejected. The farmer and Robert heard her 
 struggles and exclamations along the passage, 
 but her resistance subsided very suddenly. 
 
 " There's power in that girl," said the farmer, 
 standing by the shut door. 
 
 Robert thought so too. It affected his 
 imagination and his heart began to beat sick- 
 eningly. 
 
 " Perhaps she promised to speak what 
 
 has liappened, whatever that may be," he sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Not she ; not she. She respects my 
 wishes." 
 
 Robert did not ask what had happened. 
 
 Mr. Fleming remained by the door, and shut 
 his mouth from a further word till he heard 
 Rhoda^s returning footstep. He closed the 
 door again behind her, and went up to the 
 square deal table, leaned his bodv forward on 
 
THE FARMER SPEAKS. 223 
 
 the knuckles of his trembling fist, and said, 
 " AVe^re pretty well broken up, as it is. Fve 
 lost my taste for life." 
 
 There he paused. Save by the shining of 
 a wet forehead, his face betrayed nothing of 
 the anguish he suffered. He looked at neither 
 of them, but sent his gaze straight away under 
 labouring brows to an arm of the fireside chair, 
 while his shoulders drooped on the wavering 
 support of his hard-shut hands. Uhoda^s eyes, 
 ox-like, as were her father^s, smote fiill upon 
 Robert's, as in a pang of apprehension of what 
 was about to be uttered. 
 
 It was a quick blaze of light, wherein he 
 said that the girl's spirit was not with him. 
 He would have stopped the farmer at once, 
 but he had not the heart to do it, even had 
 he felt in himself strength to attract an intelli- 
 gent response from that strange, grave, bovine 
 fixitv of look, over which the human misery 
 sat as a thing not yet taken into the dull 
 brain. 
 
 " My taste for life,'' the old man resumed, 
 ^' that's gone. I didn't bargain at set-out to go 
 
224 EHODA ELEMING. 
 
 on fighting agen the world. It^s too much for 
 a man o' my years. Here's the farm. Shall't 
 go to pieces? Pm a farmer of twenty year 
 back — ^twenty year back, and more. I'm abont 
 no better 'n a farm labourer in our time, which 
 is to-day. I don't cost much. I ask to be 
 fed, and to work for it, and to see my poor bit 
 o' property safe, as handed to me by my father. 
 Not for myself, 't ain't ; though perhaps there's 
 a bottom of pride there too, as in most things. 
 Say it's for the name. My father seems to 
 demand of me out loud, 'What ha' ye done 
 with Queen Anne's Farm, William ?' and there's 
 a holler echo in my ears. Well; God wasn't 
 merciful to give me a son. He give me 
 daughters." 
 
 Mr. Fleming bowed his head as to the very 
 weapon of chastisement. 
 
 " Daughters !" He bent lower. 
 
 His hearers might have imagined his headless 
 address to them, to be also without a distinct 
 termination, for he seemed to have ended as 
 abruptly as he had begun; so long was the 
 
THE FAKMER SPEAKS. 225 
 
 pause before,, with a wearied lifting of his body, 
 he pursued, in a sterner voice : 
 
 '^Don^t let none interrupt me/' His hand 
 was raised as towards where Rhoda stood, but he 
 sent no look with it ; the direction was wide 
 of her. 
 
 The aspect of the blank, blind hand motion- 
 ing to the wall away from her, smote an awe 
 through her soul that kept her dumb, though 
 his next words were like thrusts of a dagger in 
 her side. 
 
 " My first girl — she's brought disgrace on this 
 house. She's got a mother in heaven, and that 
 mother's got to blush for her. My first girl's 
 gone to harlotry in London." 
 
 It was Scriptural severity of speech. Robert 
 glanced quick with intense commiseration at 
 Khoda. He saw her hands travel upward till 
 they fixed in at her temples and crossed fingers, 
 making the pressui'e of an iron band for her 
 head, while her lips parted, and teeth, and 
 cheeks, and eyeballs were all of one whiteness. 
 Her tragic, even, in and out breathing, where 
 
226 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 there was no fall of the breast^ but the air was 
 taken and given, as it were the square blade 
 of a sharp-edged sword, was dreadful to see. 
 She had the look of a risen corpse, recalling 
 some one of the bloody ends of life. 
 
 The farmer went on — 
 
 " Bury her ! Now you here know the worst. 
 There^s my second girl. She^s got no stain on 
 her ; if people ^11 take her for what she is her- 
 self. She's idle. But I believe the flesh on her 
 bones she'd wear away for anyone that touched 
 her heart. She's a temper. But she's clean 
 both in body and in spirit, as I believe, and 
 say before my God. I — what Vd pray for is, 
 to see this girl safe. All I have shall go to 
 her. That is, to th'e man who will — wont 
 be ashamed — marry her, I mean !" 
 
 The tide of his harshness failed him here, 
 and he began to pick his words, now feeble, 
 now emphatic, but alike wanting in natural ex. 
 pression, for he had reached a point of emotion 
 upon the limits of his nature, and he was now 
 wilfully forcing for misery and humiliation right 
 
THE FARMEFv SPEAKS. 227 
 
 and leftj in part to show what a black star 
 Providence had been over him. 
 
 " She^ll be grateful. I shall be gone. What 
 disgrace I bring to their union, as father of the 
 other one also, will, I^m bound to hope, be 
 buried with me in my grave ; so that this 
 girFs husband shan't have to complain that her 
 character and her working for him ainH enough 
 to cover any harm he's like to think o' the 
 connexion. And he wont be troubled by rela- 
 tionships after that. 
 
 " I used to think Pride a bad thing. I 
 thank God we've all got it in our blood — the 
 Flemings. I thank God for that now, I do. 
 We don't face again them as we offend. Not, 
 that is, with the hand out. We go. We're 
 seen no more. And she^ll be seen no more. On 
 that, rely. 
 
 ^' I want my girl here not to keep me in 
 the fear of death. For I fear death while 
 she's not safe in somebody's hands — kind, if I 
 can get him for her. Somebody — young or 
 old! 
 
228 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 The farmer lifted his head for the first time, 
 and stared vacantly at Robert. 
 
 " IM marry her," he said, '^ if I was knowing 
 myself dying now or to-morrow morning, Pd 
 marry her, rather than leave her alone; I^d 
 marry her to that old man, old Gammon/^ 
 
 The farmer pointed to the ceiling. His 
 sombre seriousness cloaked and carried even 
 that suggestive indication to the possible bride- 
 groom's age and liabits, and all things asso- 
 ciated with him, through the gates of ridicule; 
 and there was no laughter, and no thought 
 of it. 
 
 " It stands to reason for me to prefer a 
 young man for her husband. He'll farm the 
 estate, and wont sell it ; so that it goes to our 
 blood, if not to a Fleming. If, I mean, he's 
 content to farm soberly, and not play Jack 
 o' Lantern tricks across his own acres. Eight 
 in one thing's right, I grant; but don't argue 
 right in all. It's right only in one thing. 
 Young men, when they've made a true hit or 
 so, they're ready to think it's themselves that's 
 right.'' 
 
THE FAPtMER SPEAKS. 229 
 
 This was of course a reminder of the old 
 feud with Robert, and sufficiently showed whom 
 the farmer had in ^dew for a husband to Rhoda, 
 if any doubt existed previously. 
 
 Having raised his eyes, his unwonted power 
 of speech abandoned him, and he concluded, 
 wavering in look and in tone — 
 
 ^^ I'd half forgotten her uncle. Fve reckoned 
 his riches when I cared for riches. I can't 
 say th' amount ; but, all — Fve had his word 
 for it — all goes to this — God knows how much ! 
 — girl. And he don't hesitate to say she's worth 
 a young man's fancying. May be so. It 
 depends upon ideas mainly, that does. All goes 
 to her. And this farm. — I wish ye good- 
 night." 
 
 He gave them no other sign, but walked in 
 his oppressed way quietly to the inner door, and 
 forth, leaving the rest to them. 
 
230 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 BETWEEN RHODA AND ROBERT. 
 
 The two were together, and all preliminary diffi- 
 culties had been cleared for Robert to say what 
 he had to say, in a manner to make the saying 
 of it well-nigh impossible. And yet his silence 
 might be misinterpreted by her. He would have 
 drawn her to his heart at one sign of tenderness. 
 There came none. The girl was frightfully torn 
 with a great wound of shame. She was the first 
 to speak. 
 
 " Do you believe what father says of my 
 sister ?" 
 
 "That she ?" Robert swallowed the 
 
 words. " No !" and he made a thunder with 
 his fist. 
 
 " No !" She drank up the word. " You do 
 
BETWEEN RHODA AND ROBERT. 231 
 
 not ? No ! You know that Dahlia is inno- 
 cent ?'' 
 
 Uhoda Avas tremhliug with a look for the 
 asseveration ; her pale face eager as a cry for 
 life ; but the answer did not come at once, 
 hotly as her passion for it demanded. She 
 grew rigid, murmuring faintly : " Speak ! Do 
 speak !" 
 
 His eyes fell away from hers. Sweet love 
 would have wrought in him to think as she 
 thought, but she kept her heart closed froui him, 
 and he stood sadly judicial, with a conscience of 
 his own, that would not permit him to declare 
 Dahlia innocent, for he had long been imagining 
 the reverse. 
 
 Rhoda pressed her hands convulsively, moan- 
 ing '' Oh !" down a short, deep breath. 
 
 " Tell me what has happened ?'' said Robert, 
 made mad by that reproachful agony of her 
 voice. " I'm in the dark. Fm not equal to you 
 all. If Dahlia's sister wants one to stand up for 
 her, and defend her, Avhatever slie has done or 
 not done, ask me. Ask me, and I'll revenge 
 her. Here am I, and I know notliing, and you 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
232 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 despise me because don^t think me rude or 
 
 unkind. This hand is yours, if you wUl. Come, 
 Rhoda. Or, let me hear the case, and TU 
 satisfy you as best I can. Feel for her ? I feel 
 for her as you do. You don't want me to 
 stand a liar to your question? How can I 
 speak ?" 
 
 A woman's instinct at red heat pierces the 
 partial disingenuousness which Robert could only 
 have avoided by declaring the doubts he enter- 
 tained. Rhoda desired simply to be supported 
 by his conviction of her sister's innocence, and 
 she had scorn of one who would not chivalrously 
 advance upon the risks of right and wrong, and 
 rank himself prime champion of a woman belied, 
 absent, and so helpless. Besides, there was but 
 one virtue possible in Rhoda's ideas, as regarded 
 Dahlia : — to oppose facts, if necessary, and have 
 her innocent perforce, and fight to the death them 
 that dared, cast slander on the beloved head. 
 
 Her keen instinct served her so far. 
 
 His was alive when she refused to tell him 
 what had taken place during their visit to 
 London. 
 
BETWEEN RHODA AND ROBERT. 233 
 
 Slie felt that a man would judge evil of the 
 circumstances. Her father and her uncle had 
 done so : she felt that Robert would. Love for 
 him would have prompted her to confide in him 
 absolutely. She was not softened by love ; there 
 was no fire on her side to melt and make them 
 run in one stream, and they could not meet. 
 
 ^' Then^ if you will not tell me/^ said Eobert, 
 " say what you think of your father^s proposal ? 
 He meant that I may ask you to be my wife. 
 He" used to fancy I cared for your sister. That's 
 false. I care for her — yes ; as my sister too ; 
 and here is my hand to do my utmost for her, 
 but I love you, and I^^e loved you for some 
 time. Fd be proud to marry you and help on 
 with the old farm. You don't love me yet — 
 which is a pretty hard thing for me to see to be. 
 certain of. But I love you, and I trust you. I 
 like the stuff you^re made of — and nice stuff I'm 
 talking to a young woman/^ he added, wiping 
 his forehead at the idea of the fair, flattering 
 addresses young women expect when they are: 
 being wooed. 
 
 As it was^ Rhoda listened with savage con- 
 
 15—2 
 
234 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 tempt of his idle talk. Her brain was beating 
 at the mystery and misery wberein Dahlia lay 
 engulphed. She had no understanding for 
 Robert's sentimentality, or her father's requi- 
 sition. Some answer had to be given, and 
 she said : — 
 
 '^ I'm not likely to marry a man w^ho sup- 
 poses he has anything to pardon.'^ 
 
 " I don't suppose it," cried Robert. 
 
 '^ You heard what father said." 
 
 '' I heard what he said, but I don't think the 
 same. What has Dahlia to do with you ?" 
 
 He was proceeding to rectify this unlucky 
 sentence. All her covert hostility burst out 
 on it. 
 
 " My sister ? — w hat has my sister to do with 
 me ? — you mean ! — you mean ! — you can only 
 mean that we are to be separated and thought 
 of as two people ; and we are one, and will be 
 till we die. I feel my sister's hand in mine, 
 though she's away and lost. She is my dar- 
 ling for ever and ever ! We're one ! we're 
 one !" 
 
 A spasm of anguish checked the girl. 
 
BETWEEN RHODA AND EGBERT. 235 
 
 " I mean/' Robert resumed steadily, " tliat 
 her conduct, good or bad, doesn't touch you. 
 If it did, it'd be the same to me. I ask you 
 to take me for your husband. Just reflect on 
 what your father said, Rhoda." 
 
 The horrible utterance her father's lips had 
 been guilty of flashed through her, filling her 
 with mastering vindictiveness, now that she had 
 a victim. 
 
 " Yes ! I'm to take a husband to remind me 
 of what he said.'^ 
 
 Robert eyed her sharpened mouth admiringly; 
 her defence of her sister had excited his esteem, 
 wilfully though she rebutted his straightforward 
 earnestness : and he had a feeling also for the 
 easy turns of her neck, and the confident poise 
 of her figure. 
 
 " Ha ! well !" he interjected, with his eye- 
 brows queerly raised, so that she could make 
 nothing of his look. It seemed half maniacal, 
 it was so ridged with bright eagerness. 
 
 " By Heaven ! the task of taming you — that's 
 the blessing I'd beg for in my prayers ! Though 
 you were as wild as a cat of the woods, by 
 
236 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Heaven ! Vd rather have the taming of you 
 than go about with a leash of quiet/' he checked 
 
 himself " companions/^ 
 
 Such was the sudden roll of his tongue, that 
 she was simply lost in the astounding lead he 
 had taken_, and stared. 
 
 ^^ You^re the beauty to my taste, and Devil is 
 what I want in a woman ! I can make some- 
 thing out of a girl with a temper like yours. 
 You donH know me. Miss Uhoda. Fm what 
 you reckon a good young man. Isn't that it?" 
 Robert drew up with a very hard smile. 
 " I would to God I Avere ! Mind, I feel for 
 you about your sister. I like you the better for 
 holding to her through thick and thin. But my 
 sheepishness has gone, and I tell you I'll have 
 you whether you will or no. I can help you 
 and you can help me. IVe lived here as if I 
 had no more fire in me than old Gammon 
 snoring on his pillow up aloft ; and who kept me 
 to it ? Did you see I never touched liquor ? 
 What did you guess from that ? — that I was a 
 mild sort of fellow ? So I am : but I haven^t got 
 that reputation in other parts. Your fathered 
 
BET\v"EEN KHODA AND ROBERT. 237 
 
 like mc to marry you^ and I^m ready. Who 
 kept me to work^ so that I might learn to farm^ 
 and be a man, and be able to take a wife ? I 
 came here — FU tell you how. I was a useless 
 dog. I ran from home and served as a trooper. 
 An old aunt of mine left me a little money, 
 which just woke me up and gave me a lift of 
 what conscience I had, and I bought myself out. 
 
 " I chanced to see your father's advertise- 
 ment — came, looked at you all, and liked you — 
 brought my traps and settled among you, and 
 lived like a good young man. I like peace and 
 orderliness, I find. I always thought I did, 
 when I was dancing like mad to hell. I know 
 I do now, and you're the girl to keep me to 
 it. IVe learnt that much by degrees. With 
 any other, I should have been playing the 
 foo], and going my old ways, long ago. I 
 should have wrecked her, and drunk to forget. 
 You^re my match. By-and-by, you'll know me 
 yours ! You never gave me, or anybody else 
 that I've seen, sly sidelooks. 
 
 " Come ! I'll speak out now I'm at work. 
 I thought you at some girl's games in the 
 
238 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 summer. You went out one day to meet a 
 young gentleman. Offence or no offence, I 
 speak and you listen. You did go out. I was 
 in love with you tlien, too. I saw London 
 had been doing its mischief. I was down about 
 it. I felt that he would make nothing of you, 
 but I chose to take the care of you, and you^^e 
 hated me ever since. 
 
 " That Mr. Algernon Blancove^s a rascal. 
 Stop ! You^ll say as much as you like presently. 
 I give you a warning — the man's a rascal. I 
 didn't play spy on your acts, but your looks. 
 I can read a face like yours, and it's my home, 
 my home ! — by Heaven, it is. Now, Khoda, 
 you know a little more of me. Perhaps I'm 
 more of a man than you thought. Marry 
 another, if you will ; but I'm the man for you, 
 and I know it, and you'll go wrong if you 
 don't too. Come ! let your father sleep well. 
 Give me your hand." 
 
 All through this surprising speech of Robert's, 
 which was a revelation of one who had been 
 previously dark to her, she had steeled her 
 spirit as she felt herself being borne upon un- 
 
BETWEEN RHODA AND ROBERT. 239 
 
 expected rapids, and she marvelled when she 
 found her hand in his. 
 
 Dismayed, as if caught in a trap, she 
 said : 
 
 '* You know Vve no love for you at all/' 
 
 "None — no doubt,^' he answered. 
 
 The fit of verbal energy was expended, and 
 he had become listless, though he looked frankly 
 at her and assumed the cheerfulness which was 
 failing within him. 
 
 " I wish to remain as I am,'' she faltered, 
 surprised again by the equally astonishing recur- 
 rence of humility, and more spiritually subdued 
 by it. *^ I've no heart for a change. Father 
 will unde:^stand. I am safe V 
 
 She ended with a cry : " Oh ! my dear, my 
 own sister ! I wish you were safe. Get her 
 here to me, and I'll do what I can, if you're 
 not hard on her. She's so beautiful, she can't 
 do wrong. My Dahlia's in some trouble. Mr. 
 Robert, you might really be her friend?" 
 
 " Drop the Mister," said Kobert. 
 
 " Father will listen to you," she pleaded. 
 "You wont leave us? Tell him you know I 
 
240 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 am safe. But I liaven^t a feeling of any kind 
 while my sister^s away. I will call you Robert, 
 if you like.^^ She reached her hand forth. 
 
 " That^s right/^ he said, taking it with a 
 show of heartiness : " that's a beginning, I 
 suppose." 
 
 She shrank a little in his sensitive touch, 
 and he added : " Oh never fear. Pve spoken 
 out, and don't do the thing too often. Now 
 you know me, that's enough. I trust you, 
 so trust me. PU talk to your father. I've 
 got a dad of my own, who isn't so easily managed. 
 You and I, Rhoda — we're about the right size 
 for a couple. There — don't be frightened ! I 
 
 was only thinking I'll let go you^ hand in 
 
 a minute. If Dahlia's to be found, I'll find 
 her. Thank you for that squeeze. You'd wake 
 a dead man to life, if you wanted to. To- 
 morrow I set about the business. That's settled. 
 Now your hand's loose. Are you going to say 
 good night? You must give me your hand 
 again for that. What a rough fellow I must 
 seem to you ! DiflPerent from the man you 
 
BETWEEN KHODA AND KOBERT. 241 
 
 thought I was ? Vm. just what you choose 
 to make me_, Rhoda ; remember that. By 
 Heaveu ! go at once, for you^re an armful '' 
 
 She took a candle and started for the 
 door. 
 
 " Aha ! you can look fearful as a doe. Out ! 
 make haste V 
 
 In her hurry at his speeding gestures, the 
 candle dropped; she was going to pick it 
 up, but as he approached, she stood away 
 frightened. 
 
 " One kiss, my girl,^"* he said. '^ Don^t keep 
 me jealous as fire. One ! and I'm a plighted 
 man. One ! — or I shall swear you know what 
 kisses are. Why did you go out to meet that 
 fellow ? Do you think there's no danger in it ? 
 Doesn't he go about boasting of it now, and 
 saying — that girl ! But kiss me and I'll forget 
 it; I'll forgive you. Kiss me only once, and 
 I shall be certain you don't care for him. 
 That's the thought maddens me outright. I 
 can't bear it now I've seen you look soft. I'm 
 stronger than you, mind." He caught her by 
 the waist. 
 
242 EIIODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Yes/^ E-hoda gasped, '' you are. You are 
 only a brute." 
 
 " A brute's a lucky dog, then, for Fve got 
 you !" 
 
 '^ Will you touch me ?" 
 
 " You're in my power." 
 
 '^ It's a miserable thing, Robert." 
 
 '^Why don't you struggle, my girl? I shall 
 kiss you in a minute." 
 
 " You're never my friend again." 
 
 " I'm not a gentleman, I suppose !" 
 
 " Never ! after this." 
 
 '' It isn't done. And first you're like a 
 white rose, and next you're like a red. Will 
 you submit?" 
 
 '^ Oh ! shame !" Rhoda muttered. 
 
 *' Because I'm not a gentleman ?" 
 
 " You are not." 
 
 " So, if I could make you a lady — eh ? the lips 
 'd be ready in a trice. You think of being 
 made a lady — a lady !" 
 
 His arm relaxed in the clutch of her figure. 
 
 She got herself free, and said : " We saw Mr. 
 Blancove at the theatre with Dahlia." 
 
BETWEEN RHODA AND ROBERT. 243 
 
 It was her way of meeting his accusation 
 that she had had an ambitious feminine dream. 
 
 He, to hide a confusion that had come upon 
 him, was righting the fallen candle. 
 
 " Now I knoiv you can be relied on ; you 
 can defend yourself/^ he said, and handed it to 
 her, lighted. " You keep your kisses for this or 
 that young gentleman. Quite right. You really 
 can defend yourself. That's all I was up to. 
 So let us hear that you forgive me. The 
 door's open. You wont be bothered by me 
 any more; and don't hate me overmuch.'^ 
 
 ^' You might have learnt to trust me without 
 insulting me, Robert," she said. 
 
 "Do you fancy Td take such a world of 
 trouble for a kiss of your lips, sweet as they 
 are ?" 
 
 His blusterous beginning ended in a specu- 
 lating glance at her mouth. 
 
 She saw it would be wise to accept him in 
 his present mood, and go; and with a gentle 
 "Good night," that might sound like pardon, 
 she passed through the doorway. 
 
244 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 A VISIT TO WREXBY HALL. 
 
 Next day, wliile Squire Blancove was superin- 
 tending the laying down of lines for a new 
 carriage drive in liis park, as lie walked slowly 
 up the green slope^ he perceived Farmer Fleming, 
 supported by a tall young man ; and when the 
 pair were nearer, he had the gratification of 
 noting likewise that the worthy yeoman was 
 very much bent, as with an acute attack of his 
 well-known chronic malady of a want of 
 money. 
 
 The Squire greatly coveted the freehold of 
 Queen Anne^s Farm. He had made offers to 
 purchase it till he was tired, and had gained for 
 himself the credit of being at the bottom of 
 numerous hypothetical cabals to injure and oust 
 the farmer from his possession. But if Naboth 
 
A VISIT TO WEEXBY HALL. 245 
 
 came with liis vineyard in his hancl_, not even 
 Wrcxby^s rector (his quarrel with whom haunted 
 every turn of his life) could quote Scripture 
 against him for taking it at a proper valuation. 
 
 The Squire had employed his leisure time 
 during service in church to discover a text that 
 might be used against him in the event of the 
 farmer's reduction to a state of distress, and his, 
 the Squire^s, making the most of it. On the 
 contrary, according to his heathenish reading of 
 some of the patriarchal doings, there was more 
 to be said in his favour than not, if he increased 
 his territorial property ; nor could he, through- 
 out the Old Testament, hit on one sentence that 
 looked like a personal foe to his projects, likely 
 to fit into the mouth of the rector of Wrexby. 
 
 '^Well, farmer,^^ he said, with cheerful fami- 
 liarity, '^ winter crops looking well ? There^s a 
 good show of green in the fields from my 
 windo\Ys, as good as that land of yours will 
 allow in heavy seasons.^^ 
 
 To this the farmer replied, ^' V\q not heart or 
 will to be roundabout, Squire. If you^ll listen 
 to me — here, or where you give command." 
 
246 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Has it anything to do Tvith pen and paper, 
 Fleming ? In that case you^d better be .in my 
 study/' said the Squire. 
 
 " I donH know that it have. I don't know 
 that it have." The farmer sought Robert's 
 face. 
 
 " Best where there's no chance of interrup- 
 tion/' Robert counselled, and lifted his hat to 
 the Squire. 
 
 " Eh ? Well, you see I'm busy." The latter 
 affected a particular indifference that, in such 
 cases, when well-acted (as lords of money can do 
 — Squires equally with usurers), may be valued at 
 hundreds of pounds in the pocket. " Can't you 
 put it ofi' ? Come again to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow's a day too late," said 'the 
 farmer, gravely. Whereto replying, " Oh ! well, 
 come along in, then," the Squire led the 
 way. 
 
 '^ You're two to one, if it's a transaction," he 
 said, nodding to Robert to close the library door. 
 " Take seats. Now then, what is it ? And if 
 1 make a face, just oblige me by thinking no- 
 thing about it, for my gout's beginning to settle 
 
A VISIT TO WREXBY HALL. 247 
 
 in tlie leg again_, and shoots like an electric tele- 
 graph from purgatory." 
 
 He wheezed and lowered himself into his 
 arm-chair ; but the farmer and Robert remained 
 standings and the farmer spoke : — 
 
 " My words are going to be few^ Squire. IVe 
 got a fact to bring to your knowledge, and a 
 question to ask." 
 
 Surprise, exaggerated on his face by a pain he 
 had anticipated, made the Sqnire glare hideously. 
 
 " Confound it, that's what they ask a prisoner 
 in the box. Here's a murder committed: — Are 
 you the guilty person ? Fact and question ! 
 Well, out with ^em, both together.". 
 
 '^ A father ain't responsible for the sins of his 
 children," said the farmer. 
 
 " Well, that^s a fact," the Squire emphasized. 
 " iVe always maintained it ; but, if you go to 
 your church, farmer — small blame to you if 
 you don't — that fellow who preaches there — I 
 forget his name — stands out for just the other 
 way. You are responsible, he swears. Pay 
 your son's debts, and don't groan OA^er it : — He 
 spent the money, and you're the chief debtor ; 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
248 BHODA FLEMING. 
 
 that's his teaching. Well ; go on. What's your 
 question ?" 
 
 " A father's not to be held responsible for the 
 sins of his children, Squire. My daughter's left 
 me. She's away. I saw my daughter at the 
 theatre in London. She saw me, and saw her 
 sister with me. She disappeared. It's a hard 
 thing for a man to be saying of his own flesh 
 and blood. She disappeared. She went, know- 
 ing her father's arms open to her. She was in 
 company with your son." 
 
 The Squire was thrumming on the arm of his 
 chair. He looked up vaguely, as if waiting for 
 the question to follow, but meeting the farmer's 
 settled eyes, he cried, irritably, ^^ Well, what's 
 that to me V 
 
 '^ What's that to you. Squire ?" 
 
 '^ Are you going to make me out responsible 
 for my son's conduct? My son's a rascal — 
 everybody knows that. I paid his debts once, 
 and I've finished with him. Don't come to me 
 about the fellow. If there's a greater curse than 
 ^out, it's a son." 
 
 '^ My girl," said the farmer, " she's my flesh 
 
A VISIT TO WREXBY HALL. 249 
 
 and blood_, and I must find her^ and I^m here to 
 ask you to make your son tell me where she^s to 
 be found. Leave me to deal with that young 
 man — leave you me ! but I want my girl.^' 
 
 " But I can^t give her to you/' roared the 
 Squire, afflicted by his two great curses at once. 
 " Why do you come to me ? I'm not respon- 
 sible for the doings of the dog. I'm sorry for 
 you, if that's what you want to know. Do you 
 mean to say that my son took her away from 
 your house ?" 
 
 " I don't do so, Mr. Blancove. Fm seeking 
 for my daughter, and I see her in company with 
 your son." 
 
 " Very well, very well,'' said the Squire ; "that 
 shows his habits ; I can't say more. But what 
 has it got to do with me ?" 
 
 The farmer looked helplessly at E-obert. 
 
 *' No, no," the Squire sung out, " no inter- 
 lopers, no inter]3reting here. I listen to you. 
 jMy son — your daughter. I understand that, so 
 far. It's between us two. You've got a daughter 
 who's gone wrong somehow : I'm sorry to hear 
 
 16—2 
 
250 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 it. I've got a son who never went right ; and 
 it's no comfort to me, npon my word. If j^ou 
 were to see the bills and the letters I receive ! 
 but I don't carry my grievances to my neigh- 
 bours. I should think, Fleming, you'd do best, 
 if it's advice you're seeking, to keep it quiet. 
 Don't make a noise about it. Neighbours' gossip 
 / find pretty well the worst thing a man has to 
 bear who's unfortunate enough to own children." 
 
 The farmer bowed his head with that bitter 
 humbleness which characterized his reception of 
 the dealings of Providence towards him. 
 
 " My neighbours ^11 soon be none at all," he 
 said. " Let 'em talk. I'm not abusing you, 
 Mr. Blancove. I'm a broken man : but I want 
 my poor lost girl, and, by God, responsible for 
 your son or not, you must help me to find her." 
 
 The Squire hastily seized a scrap of paper on 
 the table and wrote on it. 
 
 '^ There ;" he handed the paper to the farmer ; 
 " that's my son's address, ' Boyne's Bank, City, 
 London.' Go to him there, and you'll find him 
 perched on a stool, and a good drubbing wont 
 
A VISIT TO WREXBY HALL. 251 
 
 hurt liim. Yoll^x my hearty permission, I can 
 assure you : you may say so. ' Boyne^s Bank/ 
 Anybody will show you the place. He's a rascally 
 clerk in the office, and precious useful, I dare 
 swear. Thrash him, if you think fit.^^ 
 
 "Ay,'' said the farmer, " Boyne's Bank. 
 I've been there already. He's absent from work, 
 on a visit down into Hampshire, one of the young- 
 gentlemen informed me; Fairly Park was the 
 name of the place : but I came to you, Mr. Blan- 
 cove ; for you're his father." 
 
 " Well now, my good Fleming, I hope you 
 think I'm properly punished for that fact." The 
 Squire stood up with horrid contortions. 
 
 Robert stepped in advance of the farmer. 
 
 '^ Pardon me, sir," he said, though the Squire 
 met his voice with a prodigious froAvn ; *^this would 
 be an ugly business to talk about, as you observe. 
 It would hurt Mr. Fleming in these parts of the 
 country, and he would leave it, if he thought fit; 
 but you can't separate your name from your 
 son's — begging you to excuse the liberty I take 
 in mentioning it — not in public ; and your son 
 
252 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 has the misfortune to be well known in one or 
 two places where he was quartered when in the 
 cavalry. That matter of the jeweller " 
 
 " Hulloa/^ the Squire exclaimed, in a per- 
 turbation. 
 
 "Why, sir, I know all about it, because I 
 was a trooper in the regiment your son, Mr. Al- 
 gernon Blancove, quitted; and his name, if I 
 may take leave to remark so, wont bear print- 
 ing. How far lien's guilty before Mr. Fleming 
 we can^t tell as yet; but if Mr. Fleming holds 
 him guilty of an offence, your son ^11 bear the 
 consequences, and what^s done will be done 
 thoroughl3^ Proper counsel will be taken, as 
 needn^t be said. Mr. Fleming applied to you 
 first, partly for your sake as well as his own. 
 He can find friends, both to advise and to aid 
 him.'' 
 
 " You mean, sir,'' thundered the Squire, " that 
 he can find enemies of mine, like that infernal 
 fellow who goes by the title of Reverend, down 
 below there. That '11 do, that will do ; there's 
 some extortion at the bottom of this. You're 
 putting on a screw." 
 
A VISIT TO WliEXBY HALL. 253 
 
 " We^re putting on a screw, sir," said Robert, 
 coolly. 
 
 " Not a penny will you get by it." 
 . Robert flusbed with heat of blood. 
 
 " You don^t wish you were a young man half 
 so much as I do just now," he remarked, and 
 immediately they were in collision, for the Squire 
 made a rush to the bell-rope, and Robert stopped 
 him. " We^re going," he said ; " we don^t want 
 man-seiTants to show us the way out. Now 
 mark me, Mr. Blancove, youVe insulted an old 
 man in his misery : you shall sufiPer for it, and 
 so shall your son, whom I know to be a rascal 
 worthy of transportation. You think Mr. Flem- 
 ing came to you for money. Look at this old 
 man, whose only fault is that he^s too full of 
 kindness ; he came to you just for help to find 
 his daughter, with whom your rascal of a son 
 was last seen, and you swear he^s come to rob 
 you of money. Don^t you know yourself a 
 fattened cur. Squire though you be, and called 
 gentleman? England's a good place, but you 
 make England a hell to men of spirit. Sit in 
 your chair, and don't ever you, or any of you. 
 
254 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 cross my path ; and speak a word to your servants 
 before we^re out of the liouse, and I stand in the 
 hall and give ^em your son^s history, and make 
 Wrexby stink in your nostril, till you^re glad 
 enough to fly out of it. Now, Mr. Fleming, 
 there^s no more to be done here ; the game lies 
 else where. ^^ 
 
 Robert took the farmer by the arm, and was 
 marching out of the enemy^s territory in good 
 order, when the Squire, who had presented many 
 changing aspects of astonishment and rage, ar- 
 rested them with a call. He began to say that 
 he spoke to Mr. Fleming, and not to the young 
 ruflBan of a bullv whom the farmer had brous^ht 
 there : and then asked in a very reasonable 
 manner what he could do — what measures he 
 could adopt to aid the farmer in finding his 
 child. Kobert hung modestly in the background 
 while the farmer laboured on with a few sen- 
 tences to explain the case, and finally the Squire 
 said that, his foot permitting (it was an almost 
 pathetic reference to the weakness of flesh), he 
 would go down to Fairly on the day following 
 and have a personal interview with his son, and 
 
A VISIT TO WREXBY HALL. 255 
 
 set things riglit, as far as it lay in liis power, 
 though he was by no means answerable for a 
 young man^s follies. 
 
 He was a little frightened by the farmer^s 
 having said that Dahlia, according to her own 
 declaration, was married, and therefore himself 
 the more anxious to see Mr. Algernon, and hear 
 the truth from his estimable offspring, whom he 
 again stigmatized as a curse terrible to him as 
 his gouty foot, but nevertheless just as little to 
 be left to his own devices. The farmer bowed to 
 these observations ; as also when the Squire 
 counselled him, for his own sake, not to talk of 
 his misfortune all over the parish. 
 
 " I'm not a likely man for that. Squire ; but 
 there's no telling where gossips get their crumbs. 
 It's about. It's about." 
 
 " About my son ?" cried the Squire. 
 
 " My daughter !" 
 
 " Oh, well, good day," the Squire resumed 
 more cheerfully. " I'll go down to Fairly, and 
 you can't ask more than that." 
 
 When the farmer was out of the house and 
 out of hearing, he rebuked Kobert for the incon- 
 
256 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 siderate rashness of his behaviour^ and pointed 
 out how he^ the farmer, by being patient and 
 peacefulj had attained to the object of his visit. 
 Robert laughed without defending himself. 
 
 ^^ I shouldn^t ha' known je" the farmer re- 
 peated frequently ; " I shouldn't ha' known ye, 
 Robert." 
 
 ^' No, I'm a trifle changed, may be," Robert 
 agreed. '^ I'm going to claim a holiday of you. 
 I've told Rhoda that if Dahlia's to be found, I'll 
 find her, and I can't do it by sticking here. 
 Give me three weeks. The land's asleep. Old 
 Gammon can hardly turn a furrow the wrong 
 way. There's nothing to do, which is his 
 busiest occupation, when he's not interrupted at 
 it." 
 
 " Mas' Gammon's a rare old man," said the 
 farmer, emphatically. 
 
 ^^ So I say. Else, how would you see so many 
 farms flourishing !" 
 
 " Come, Robert : you hit th' old man hard : 
 you should learn to forgive." 
 
 '* So I do, and a telling blow's a man's best 
 road to charity. I'd forgive the Squire and 
 
A VISIT TO WKEXBY HALL. 257 
 
 many another, if I had them within two feet of 
 my fist." 
 
 "Do you forgive my girl Rhoda for putting 
 of you off ?" 
 
 Kobert screwed in his cheek. 
 
 "Well, yes, I do;'' he said. "Only it 
 makes me feel thirsty, that's all." 
 
 The farmer remembered this when they had 
 entered the farm. 
 
 " Our beer's so poor, Robert," he made 
 apology ; *^ but Rhoda shall get you some for 
 you to try, if you like. Rhoda, Robert's solemn 
 thirsty." 
 
 " Shall I ?" said R^hoda, and she stood await- 
 ing his bidding. 
 
 "I'm not a thirsty subject," replied Robert. 
 " You know I've avoided drink of any kind since 
 I set foot on this floor. But when I drink," he 
 pitched his voice to a hard, sparkling heartiness, 
 " I drink a lot, and the stuff must be strong. 
 I'm very much obliged to you. Miss Rhoda, for 
 what you're so kind as to offer to satisfy my thirst, 
 and you can't give better, and don't suppose that 
 I'm complaining ; but your father's right, it is 
 
258 . RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 rather weak_, aud T\ouldnH break tlie tootli of my 
 thirst if I drank at it till Gammon left off 
 thinking about his dinner." 
 
 With til at he announced his approaching 
 departure. 
 
 The farmer dropped into his fireside chair, 
 dumb and spiritless. A shadow was over the 
 house_, and the inhabitants moved about their 
 domestic occupations silent as things that feel 
 the thunder-cloud. Before sunset Robert was 
 gone on his long walk to the station, and Rhoda 
 felt a woman^s great envy of the liberty of a 
 man, who has not, if it pleases him not, to sit 
 and eat grief among familiar images, in a home 
 that furnishes its altar-flame. 
 
259 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 AT FAIRLY PARK. 
 
 Fairly, Lord Elling^s seat in Hampshire, lay 
 over the Warbeach river ; a white mansion among 
 great oaks, in view of the summer sails and win- 
 ter masts of the yachting squadron. The house 
 was ruled, during the congregation of the Christ- 
 mas guests, by charming Mrs. Lovell, who relieved 
 the invalid Lady of the house of the many serious 
 cares attending the reception of visitors, and did 
 it all with ease. Under her sovereignty the place 
 was delightful, and if it was by repute pleasanter 
 to young men than to any other class, it will be 
 admitted that she satisfied those who are loudest 
 in gi^ang tongue to praise. 
 
 • Edward and Algernon journeyed down to 
 Fairly together, after the confidence whicli the 
 astute young lawyer had been compelled to repose 
 
260 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 in his cousin. Sir William Blancove was to be 
 at Fairly, and it was at his fatlier^s pointed request 
 that Edward had accepted Mrs. LovelFs invita- 
 tion. Half in doubt as to the lady^s disposition 
 towards him, Edward eased his heart with sneers 
 at the soft, sanguinary graciousness they were 
 to expect, and racked mythology for spiteful com- 
 parisons ; while Algernon vehemently defended 
 her with a battering fire of British adjectives in 
 superlative. He as much as hinted, under insti- 
 gation, that he was entitled to defend her ; and 
 his claim being by-and-by yawningly allowed by 
 Edward, and presuming that he now had Edward 
 in his power and need not fear him, he exhibited 
 his weakness in the guise of a costly gem, that 
 he intended to present to Mrs. Lovell — an opal 
 set in a cross pendant from a necklace ; a really 
 fine opal, coquetting with the lights of every gem 
 that is known : it shot succinct red flashes, and 
 green, and yellow ; the emerald, the amethyst, 
 the topaz lived in it, and a remote ruby ; it was 
 veined with lightning hues, and at times it slept in 
 a milky cloud, innocent of fire, quite maidenlike, 
 '' That will suit her,^^ was Edward^s remark. 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 261 
 
 " I didn^t want to get anything common/^ said 
 Algernon, making tlie gem play before his eyes. 
 
 " A pretty stone/^ said Edward. 
 
 " Do you think so ?^' 
 
 " Very pretty indeed/'' 
 
 " Harlequin pattern.^^ 
 
 *^ To be presented to Columbine ! " 
 
 "The Harlequin pattern is of the best sort, 
 you know. Perhaps you like the watery ones 
 best ? This is fresh from Russia. There's a set 
 V\Q my eye on. I shall complete it in time. I 
 want Peggy Lovell to wear the jolliest opals in 
 the world. It's rather nice, isn't it ?" 
 
 " It's a splendid opal," said Edward. 
 
 " She likes opals," said Algernon. 
 
 " She'll take your meaning at once," said 
 Edward. 
 
 " How ? I'll be hanged if I know what my 
 meaning is, Ned." 
 
 " Don't you know the signification of your 
 gift?" 
 
 " Not a bit." 
 
 " Oh ! you'll be Oriental when you present it." 
 
 " The deuce I shall !" 
 
262 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ft 
 
 It meanSj ' You^re the prettiest widow in the 
 world/ ^^ 
 
 " So she is. 1^11 he right there^ old boy.^^ 
 
 " And, ' You^re a rank, right-down widow, and 
 no mistake : you^re everything to everybody ; not 
 lialf so innocent as you look : you^re green as 
 jealousy, red as murder, yellow as jaundice, and 
 put on the whiteness of a virgin when you ought 
 to be blushing like a penitent.^ In short, ^You 
 have no heart of your own, and you pretend to 
 possess half a dozen : you're devoid of one steady 
 beam, and play tricks with every scale of colour : 
 you're an arrant widow, and that's what you are.' 
 An eloquent gift, Algy." 
 
 " Gad, if it means all that, it'll be rather cre- 
 ditable to me," said Algernon. " Do opals mean 
 widows ?" 
 
 " Of course," was the answer. 
 
 "Well, she is a widow, and I suppose she's 
 going to remain one, for she's had lots of offers. 
 If I marry a girl I shall never like her half as 
 much as Peggy Lovell. She's done me up for 
 every other woman living. She never lets me 
 feel a fool with her ; and she has a way, by Jove, 
 
AT FAIRLY PAKE. 263 
 
 of loolni]g at me, and letting me know she's up to 
 my thoughts and isn't angiy. What^s the use of 
 my thinking of her at all ? She'd never go to the 
 Colonies^ and live in a log-hut and make cheeses, 
 while I tore about on horseback, gathering 
 cattle/' 
 
 "I don't think she would/' observed Edward, 
 emphatically ; " I don't think she would." 
 
 " And 1 shall never have money. Confound 
 stingy parents ! It's a question whether I shall 
 get Wrexby : there's no entail. I'm heir to the 
 governor's temper and his gout, I dare say. He'll 
 do as he likes with the estate. I call it beastlv 
 unfair." 
 
 Edward asked how much the opal had cost. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," said Algernon; "that is, I never 
 pay for jewellery." 
 
 Edward was curious to know how he managed 
 to obtain it. 
 
 " ^Tiy, you see," Algernon explained, " they, 
 the jewellers — I've got two or three in hand — the 
 fellows are acquainted with my position, and they 
 speculate on my expectations. There is no harm 
 in that if they like it. I look at their trinkets, and 
 
 VOL. I. 17 
 
264 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 say^ ' Fve no money / and tliey say, ' Never 
 mind j^ and I don^t mind mucli. The under- 
 standing isj tliat I pay them when I inherit/^ 
 
 " In gout and bad temper V 
 
 " Gad, if I inherit nothing else, they^ll have 
 lots of that for indemnification. It^s a good sys- 
 tem, Ned ; it enables a young fellow like me to 
 get through the best years of his life — which I 
 take to be his youth — without that squalid poverty 
 bothering him. You can make presents, and 
 wear a pin or a ring, if it takes your eye. You 
 look well, and you make yourself agreeable ; and 
 I see nothing to complain of in that.^^ 
 
 " The jewellers, then, have established an in- 
 stitution to correct one of the errors of Provi- 
 dence.^^ 
 
 *' Oh ! put it in your long-winded way, if you 
 like,^^ said Algernon ; " all I know is, that I 
 should often have wanted a five pound note, if — 
 that is, if I hadn^t happened to be dressed like a 
 gentleman. With your prospects, Ned, I should 
 propose to charming Peggy to-morrow morning 
 early. "We mustn^t let her go out of the family. 
 If I can^t have her, I^d rather you would." 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 265 
 
 ^' You forget the incumbrances on one side/^ 
 said Edward^ his face darkening. 
 
 '^ Oh ! that^s all to be managed/^ Algernon 
 rallied him. "Why, Ned, you^ll have twenty- 
 thousand a-year, if you have a penny ; and you^ll 
 go into Parliament;, and give dinners, and a 
 woman like Peggy Lovell ^d intrigue for you like 
 the deuce /^ 
 
 " A great deal too like/^ Edward muttered. 
 
 " As for that pretty girl/*^ continued Algernon ; 
 but Edward peremptorily stopped all speech re- 
 garding Dahlia. His desire was, while he made 
 holiday, to shut the past behind a brazen gate ; 
 which being communicated sympathetically to 
 his cousin, the latter chimed to it in boisterous 
 shouts of anticipated careless jollity at Eairly 
 Park, crying out how they would hunt and snap 
 fingers at Jews, and all mortal sorrows, and have 
 a fortnight, or three weeks, perhaps a full month, 
 of the finest life possible to man, with good 
 horses, good dinners, good wines, good society, 
 at command, and a queen of a woman to rule 
 and order everything. Edward aff'ected a dis- 
 
 17—2 
 
266 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 dainful smile at the prospect ; but was in reality 
 the weaker of the two in his thirst for it. 
 
 They arrived at Fairly in time to dress for 
 dinner, and in the drawing-room Mrs. Lovell sat 
 to receive them. She looked np to Edward^s 
 face an imperceptible half-second longer than the 
 ordinary form of a welcome accords — one of 
 the looks which are nothing at all when there is 
 no spiritual apprehension between young people, 
 and are so much when there is. To Algernon, 
 who was gazing opals on her, she simply gave 
 her fingers. At her right hand, was Sir John 
 Capes, her antique devotee ; a pure, milky white 
 old gentleman, with sparkling fingers, who 
 played Apollo to this Daphne, and was out of 
 breath. Lord Suckling, a boy with a boisterous 
 constitution, and a guardsman, had his place near 
 her left hand, as if ready to seize it at the first 
 whisper of encouragement or opportunity. A 
 very little lady of seventeen. Miss Adeline 
 Gosling, trembling with shyness under a cover 
 of demureness, fell to Edward^s lot to conduct 
 down to dinner, where he neglected her dis- 
 gracefully. His father. Sir William, was pre- 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 267 
 
 sent at the table, and Loi^d Elling, with whom 
 he was in repute as a talker and a wit. 
 Quickened with his host^s renowned good wine 
 (and the bare renown of a wine is inspiriting), 
 Edward pressed to be brilliant. He had an 
 epigrammatic turn, and though his mind was 
 prosaic when it ran alone, he could appear inven- 
 tive and fanciful with the rub of other minds. 
 Now, at a table where good talking is cared for, 
 the triumphs of the excelling tongue are not for a 
 moment to be despised, even by the huge appetite 
 of the monster, Vanity. For a year, Edward 
 had abjured this feast. Before the birds appeared 
 and the champagne had ceased to make its 
 circle, he felt that he was now at home again, 
 and that the term of his wandering away from 
 society was one of folly. He felt the joy and 
 vigour of a creature returned to his element. 
 Why had he ever quitted it ? Already he 
 looked back upon Dahlia from a prodigious dis- 
 tance. He knew that there was something to be 
 smoothed over ; something written in the book of 
 facts which had to be smeared out, and he seemed 
 to do it, while he drank the babbling wine and 
 
268 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 heard himself talk. Not one man at that table, 
 as he reflected, would consider the bond which 
 held him in any serious degree binding. A lady 
 is one thing, and a girl of the class Dahlia had 
 sprung from altogether another. He could not 
 help imagining the sort of appearance she would 
 make there ; and the thought even was a 
 momentary clog upon his tongue. How he used 
 to despise these people ! Especially he had de- 
 spised the young men as brainless cowards in 
 regard to their views of women and conduct to- 
 wards them. All that was changed. He 
 fancied now that they, on the contrary, would 
 despise him, if only they could be aware of the 
 lingering sense he entertained of his being in 
 bondage under a sacred obligation to a farmer^s 
 daughter. 
 
 But he had one thing to discover, and that 
 was, why Sir William had made it a peculiar 
 request that he should come to meet him here. 
 Could the desire possibly be to reconcile him with 
 Mrs. Lovell ? His common sense rejected the 
 idea at once. Sir William boasted of her wit and 
 tact, and admired her beauty, but Edward 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 269 
 
 remembered his having responded tacitly to his 
 estimate of her character^ and Sir William was 
 not the man to court the alliance of his son with 
 a woman like Mrs. Lovell. He perceived that 
 his father and the fair widow frequently took 
 counsel together. Edward laughed at the notion 
 that the grave senior had himself become fasci- 
 nated^ but without utterly scouting it^ until he 
 found that the little lady whom he had led to 
 dinner the first day, was an heiress ; and from 
 that, and other indications, he exactly divined 
 the nature of his father^s provident wishes. But 
 this revelation rendered Mrs. Lovelies behaviour 
 yet more extraordinary. Could it be credited 
 that she was abetting Sir Willi am^s schemes with 
 all her woman^s craft ? " Has she," thought 
 Edward, "become so indifferent to me as to care 
 for my welfare ?'' He determined to put her to 
 the test. He made love to Adeline Gosling. 
 Nothing that he did disturbed the impenetrable 
 complacency of Mrs. Lovell. She threw them 
 together as she shuffled the guests. She really 
 seemed to him quite indifferent enough to care 
 for his welfare. It was a point in the mysterious 
 
270 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ways of woman, or of widows, that Eclward^s ex- 
 perience had not yet come across. All the 
 parties immediately concerned were apparently 
 so desperately acquiescing in his suit, that he soon 
 grew uneasy. Mrs. Lovell not only shuffled him 
 into places with the raw heiress, but with the 
 child's mother ; of whom he spoke to Algernon 
 as of one too strongly breathing of matrimony to 
 appease the cravings of an eclectic mind. 
 
 " Make the path clear for me, then,^^ said 
 Algernon, '' if you don^t like the girl. Pitch 
 her tales about me. Say, IVe got a lot in me, 
 though I don^t let it out. The gamers up between 
 you and Peggy Lovell, that's clear. She don't 
 forgive you, my boy.'' 
 
 " Ass !" muttered Edward, seeing by the light 
 of his perception, that he was too thoroughly 
 forgiven. 
 
 A principal charm of the life at Fairly to him 
 was that there was no one complaining. No 
 one looked reproach at him. If a lady was pale 
 and reserved, she did not seem to accuse him, 
 and to require coaxing. All faces here were as 
 light as the flying moment, and did not carry 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 271 
 
 tlie shadowy weariness of years_, like that burden- 
 some fair face in the London lodging-house, to 
 which the Fates had terribly attached themselves. 
 So, he was gay. He closed, as it were, a black 
 volume, and opened a new and a bright one. 
 Young men easily fancy that they may do this, 
 and that wdien the black volume is shut the tide 
 is stopped. Saying, '' I was a fool,^^ they believe 
 they have put an end to the foolishness. What 
 father teaches them that a human act once set 
 in. motion flows on for ever to the great account ? 
 Our deathlessness is in what we do, not in what 
 we are. Comfortable youth thinks otherwise. 
 
 The days at a well-ordered country-house, 
 where a divining lady rules, speed to the measure 
 of a waltz, in harmonious circles, dropping like 
 crystals into the gulfs of Time, and appearing 
 to write nothing in his book. Not a single hinge 
 of existence is heard to creak. There is no 
 after-dinner bell. You are waited on, without 
 being elbowed by the humanity of your attend- 
 ants. It is a civilized Arcadia. Only, do not 
 desire, that you may not envy. Accept humbly 
 what rights of citizenship are accorded to you 
 
272 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 upon entering. Discard the passions when you 
 cross the threshold. To breathe and to swallow 
 merely, are the duties which should prescribe 
 your conduct; or, such is the swollen condition 
 of the animal in this enchanted region, that the 
 spirit of man becomes dangerously beset. 
 
 Edward breathed and swallowed, and never 
 went beyond the prescription, save by talking. 
 No other junior could enter the library, without 
 encountering the scorn of his elders; so he 
 enjoyed the privilege of hearing all the scandal, 
 and his natural cynicism was plentifully fed. It 
 was more of a school to him than he knew. 
 
 These veterans, in their arm-chairs, stripped 
 the bloom from life, and showed it to be bare 
 bones. They took their wisdom for an experience 
 of the past : they were but giving their sensations 
 in the present. Not to perceive this, is youth^s 
 error when it hears old gentlemen talking at 
 their ease. 
 
 On the third morning of their stay at Fairly, 
 Algernon came into Edward^s room with a letter 
 in his hand. 
 
 '' There ! read that V he said. " It isn't ill- 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 273 
 
 luck ; its infernal persecution ! What, on earth ! 
 — why, I took a close cab to the station. You 
 saw me get out of it. 1^11 swear no creditor of 
 mine knew I was leaving London. My belief is 
 that the fellows who give credit have spies about 
 at every railway terminus in the kingdom. They 
 won^t give me three days^ peace. It^s enough 
 to disgust any man with civilized life ; on my 
 soul, it is !" 
 
 Edward glanced at the superscription of the 
 letter. " Not posted/^ he remarked. 
 
 "No; delivered by some confounded bailiff, 
 who^'s been hounding me.^'' 
 
 " Bailiffs don^t generally deal in w^arnings.^^ 
 
 " Will you read it V Algernon shouted. 
 
 The letter ran thus : 
 
 *^ Mr. Algernon Blancove ; ' 
 
 " The writer of this intends taking the first 
 opportunity of meeting you, and gives you warn- 
 ing, you will have to answer his question with 
 a Yes or a No ; and speak from your conscience. 
 The respectfulness of his behaviour to you as a 
 gentleman will depend upon that.^' 
 
274 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 Algernon followed his cousin's eye down to 
 the last letter in the page. 
 
 " What do you think of it V he asked eagerly. 
 
 Edward's broad, thin-lined brows were drawn 
 down in gloom. Mastering some black medita- 
 tion in his brain, he answered Algernon's yells 
 for an opinion : — 
 
 " I think — well, I think bailiffs have improved 
 in their manners, and show you they are deter- 
 mined to belong to the social march in an age 
 of universal progress. Nothing can be more 
 comforting." 
 
 '^ But, suppose this fellow comes across me ?" 
 
 " Don't know him." 
 
 " Suppose he insists on knowing me ?" 
 
 " Don't know yourself." 
 
 " Yes j but hang it ! if he catches hold of 
 me?" 
 
 " Shake him off." 
 
 ^' Suppose he won't let go ?" 
 
 " Cut him with your horsewhip." 
 
 ^^ You think it's about a debt, then ?" 
 
 ^^ Intimidation, evidently." 
 
 " I shall announce to him that the great 
 
AT FAIRLY PARK. 275 
 
 Edward Blancove is not to be intimidated. Yoii^ll 
 let me borrow your name^ old Ned. Vve stood 
 by you in my time. As for leaving Fairly,, I tell 
 you I can^t. It^s too delightful to be near 
 Peggy Lovell.^^ 
 
 Edward smiled with a peculiar friendliness, 
 and Algernon went off, very well contented with 
 his cousin. 
 
276 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 
 
 "Within a mile of Fairly Park lay tlie farm of a 
 another yeoman ; but he was of another character. 
 The Hampshireman was a farnler of renown in 
 his profession ; fifth of a family that had culti- 
 vated a small domain of one hundred and seventy 
 acres with sterling profit^ and in a style to make 
 Sutton the model of a perfect farm throughout 
 the countiy. Royal eyes had insj)ected his pigs 
 approvingly ; Royal wits had taken hints from 
 Jonathan Eccles in matters agricultural ; and 
 it was his comforting joke that he had 
 taught his Prince good breeding. In re- 
 turn for the service^ his Prince had trans- 
 formed a lusty radical into a devoted royalist. 
 Framed on the walls of his parlours were 
 letters from his Prince^ thanking him for 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 277 
 
 specimen seeds aud worthy counssl : veritable 
 autograph letters of the highest value. The 
 Prince had steamed up the salt river, upon 
 which the Sutton harvests were mirrored, and 
 landed on a spot marked in honour of the event 
 by a broad grey stone; and from that day Jona- 
 than Eccles stood on a pinnacle of pride, enabling 
 him to see horizons of despondency hitherto un- 
 known to him. For he had a son, and the son 
 was a riotous devil, a most wild young fellow, who 
 had no taste for a farmer's life, and openly de- 
 clared his determination not to perpetuate the 
 Sutton farm in the hands of the Eccles' s, by run- 
 ning off one day and entering the ranks of the 
 British army. 
 
 Those framed letters became melancholy ob- 
 jects for contemplation, when Jonathan thought 
 that no posterity of his would point them out 
 gloryingly in emulation. Man's aim is to 
 culminate ; but it is the saddest thing in 
 the world to feel that we have accom- 
 plished it. Mr. Eccles shrugged with all 
 the philosophy he could summon, and trans- 
 ferred his private disappointment to his country. 
 
278 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 ^vhose agricultural day was, he said, doomed. 
 " We shall be beaten by those Yankees." 
 He gave Old England twenty years of con- 
 tinued pre-eminence (due to the impetus of 
 the present generation of Englishmen), and 
 then, said he, the Yankees will flood the 
 market. No more green pastures in Great Bri- 
 tain; no pretty, clean-footed animals; no yellow 
 harvests; but huge chimney pots everywhere; 
 black earth under black vapour, and smoke- 
 begrimed faces. In twenty years^ time, sooty 
 England was to be a gigantic manufactory, until 
 the Yankees beat us out of that field as well; 
 beyond which Jonathan Eccles did not care to 
 spread any distinct border of prophecy; merely 
 thanking the Lord that he should then be under 
 gi'ass. The decay of our glory was to be edged 
 with blood ^ Jonathan admitted that there would 
 be stufi" in the fallen race to deliver a sturdy fight 
 before they went to their doom. 
 
 For this prodigious curse, England had to 
 thank young Robert, the erratic son of Jonathan. 
 
 It was now two years since Robert had in- 
 herited a small lesracv of money from an aunt. 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 279 
 
 and spent it in waste, as the farmer bitterly sup- 
 posed. He was looking at some immense seed- 
 melons in his garden, lying about in morning 
 sunshine — a new feed for sheep, of his own inven- 
 tion, — when the call of the wanderer saluted his 
 ears, and he beheld his son Robert at the gate. 
 
 " Here I am, Sir," Robert sung out from the- 
 exterior. 
 
 " Stay there, then," was his welcome. 
 
 They were alike in their build and in their 
 manner of speech. The accost and the reply 
 sounded like reports from the same pistol. The 
 old man was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular 
 — a grey edition of the son, upon whose dis- 
 orderly attire he cast a glance, while speaking, with 
 settled disgust. Robert's necktie streamed loose ; 
 his hair was uncombed ; a handkerchief dangled 
 from his pocket. He had the look of the pro- 
 digal, returned with impudence for his portion 
 instead of repentance. 
 
 " I can't see how you are. Sir, from this dis- 
 tance," said Robert, boldly assuming his privilege 
 to enter. 
 
 VOL. I. 18 
 
280 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Are you drunk ?'^ Jonathan asked, as Eobert 
 marclied up to Idm. 
 
 " Give me your hand, Sir/^ 
 
 '* Give me an answer first. Are you drunk ?'^ 
 
 Robert tried to force the complacent aspect of 
 a mind unabashed, but felt that he made a stupid 
 show before that clear-headed, virtuously-living 
 old man of iron nerves. The alternative to flying 
 into a passion, was the looking like a fool. 
 
 '^ Come, father,^' he said, with a miserable snig- 
 ger, like a yokeFs smile ; " here I am at last. I 
 don^t say, kill the fatted calf, and take a lesson 
 from Scripture, but give me your hand. T\e 
 done no man harm but myself — damned if I've 
 done a mean thing anywhere ! and there^'s no 
 shame to you in shaliing your son's hand after 
 a long absence." 
 
 Jonathan Eccles kept both hands firmly in his 
 pockets. 
 
 ^^ Are you drunk ?'' he repeated. 
 Robert controlled himself to answer, "I'm 
 not.'' 
 
 '^ Well, then, just tell me when you were drunk 
 last." 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 281 
 
 " This is a pleasant fatherly greeting !" Robert 
 interjected. 
 
 "You get no good by fighting shy of a simple 
 question, Mr. 36b" said Jonathan. 
 
 Robert cried querulously, " I don^t want to 
 fight shy of a simple question. ^^ 
 
 " Well, then ; when were you drunk last ? 
 answer me that.^^ 
 
 " Last night.'' 
 
 Jonathan drew his hand from his pocket to 
 thump his leg. 
 
 " Fd have sworn it !'' 
 
 All Robert's assurance had vanished in a 
 minute^ and he stood like a convicted culprit 
 before his father. 
 
 " You know, sir, I don't tell lies. I tvas 
 drunk last night. I couldn't help it." 
 
 "No more could the little boy." 
 
 " I was drunk last night. Say, I'm a beast." 
 
 " I shan't !" exclaimed Jonathan, making his 
 voice sound as a defence to this vile charge 
 against the brutish character. 
 
 " Say, I'm worse than a beast^ then," cried 
 Robert, in exasperation. " Take my word that 
 
 18— z 
 
282 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 it ]iasn''t happened to me to be in that state for a 
 vear and more. Last nieht I was mad. I can^t 
 give you any reasons. I thought I was cured ; 
 but Vve trouble in my mind^ and a tide swims 
 you OA^er the shallows — so I felt. Come, sir — 
 father, don^t make me mad again.^^ 
 
 " ^Yhere did you get the liquor ?" inquired 
 Jonathan. 
 
 '' I drank at ' The Pilot.' '' 
 
 " Ha ! there's talk there of ' that damned old 
 Eccles ' for a month to come — ' the unnatural 
 parent.' How long have you been down here ?" 
 
 " Eight and twenty hours." 
 
 '' Eight and twenty hours. When are you 
 going ?" 
 
 " I want lodging for a night." 
 
 " What else ?" 
 
 " The loan of a horse that'll take a fence." 
 
 '' Go on." 
 
 " And twenty pounds." 
 
 " Oh !" went Jonathan. " If fanning came as 
 easy to you as face, you'd be a prime agricul- 
 turalist. Just what T thought ! What's be- 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 283 
 
 come of that money your aunt Jane was looi 
 enough to bequeath to you ?'' 
 
 " Tve spent it/' 
 
 " Are you a Deserter r^' 
 
 For a moment Robert stood as if listening, 
 and then white grew his face, and he swayed and 
 stmck his hands together. His recent intoxica- 
 tion had unmanned him. 
 
 *' Go in — go in/' said his father in some con- 
 cern, though wrath was predominant. 
 
 " Oh, make your mind quiet about me." 
 Robert dropped his arms. " I'm weakened 
 somehow — damned weak, I am — I feel like a 
 woman when my father asks me if I've been 
 guilty of villany. Desert ? I wouldn't desert 
 from the hulks. Hear the worst, and this is 
 the worst : I've got no money — I don't owe a 
 penny, but I've haven't got one." 
 
 "And I won't give you one," Jonathan 
 appended ; and they stood facing one another 
 in silence. 
 
 A squeaky voice was heard from the other side 
 of the garden hedge of clipped yew. 
 
284 EHODA ELEMING. 
 
 " Hi ! farmer, is tliat the missing young 
 man ?'' and presently a neighbour, by name 
 John Sedgettj came trotting through the gate, 
 and up the garden path. 
 
 '^ I say,^^ he remarked, '^ here^s a rumpus. 
 Here's a bobbery up at Fairly. Oh ! Bob 
 Eccles ! Bob Eccles ! At it again P' 
 
 Mr. Sedgett shook his wallet of gossip with an 
 enjoying chuckle. He was a thin-faced creature, 
 rheumy of eye, and drawing his breath as from a 
 well ; the ferret of the village for all underlying 
 scandal and tattle, whose sole humanity was what 
 he called pitifully ' a peakin ' at his chest, and 
 who had retired from his business of grocer in 
 the village upon the fortune brought to him in 
 the energy and capacity of a third wife to con- 
 duct affairs, while he wandered up and down and 
 knitted people together — an estimable office in a 
 land where your house is so grievously your 
 castle. 
 
 " What the devil have you got in you now ?" 
 Jonathan cried out to him. 
 
 Mr. Sedgett was seized by his complaint and 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 285 
 
 demanded commiseration, but recovering, he 
 chuckled again. 
 
 '' Oh, Bob Eccles ! Don^t you never grow 
 older ? And the first day down among us again, 
 too. Why, Bob, as a military man, you ought 
 to acknowledge your superiors. Why, Stephen 
 Bilton, the huntsman, says, Bob, you pulled the 
 young gentleman off his horse — you on foot, and 
 him mounted. Fd ha^ given pounds to be there. 
 And ladies present ! Lord help us ! Fm glad 
 you^re returned, though. These melons of the 
 farmer^s, they^re a wonderful invention ; people 
 are speaking of ^em right and left, and says, says 
 they, T'armer Eccles, he^s best farmer going — 
 Hampshire ought to be proud of him — he^s worth 
 two of any others — that they are fine ones. 
 And you^re come back to keep ^em up, eh. Bob ? 
 Are ye, though, my man V 
 
 '' Well, here I am, Mr. Sedgett,'' said Eobert, 
 " and talking to my father.'^ 
 
 "Oh! I wouldn^t be here to interrupt ye 
 for the world.^^ Mr. Sedgett made a show of 
 retiring, but Jonathan insisted upon his dis- 
 
286 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 burdening himself of his tale^ saying : '^ Damn 
 your raw beginnings, Sedgett ! AVhat's been 
 up ? Nobody can hurt me.'' 
 
 " That they can't, neighbour ; nor Bob neither, 
 as far as stand-up man to man go. I give him 
 three to one — Bob Eccles ! He took 'em when 
 a boy. He may you know, he may have the 
 law agin him, and by Gearge ! if he do — why, 
 a man's no match for the law. No use bein' 
 a hero to the law. The law masters every man 
 alive; and there's law in everything, neighbour 
 Eccles ; eh, sir ? Your friend, the Prince, owns 
 to it, as much as you or me. But, of course, 
 you know what Bob's been doing. What I 
 dropped in, to ask was, why did ye do it, Bob ? 
 Why pull the young gentleman off his horse ? 
 I'd ha' given pounds to be there !" 
 
 ^^ Pounds o' tallow candles don't amount to 
 much," quoth Robert. 
 
 " That's awful bad brandy at the ' Pilot,' " 
 said Mr. Sedgett, venomously. 
 
 " Were you drunk when you committed this 
 assault ?" Jonathan asked his son. 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 287 
 
 *' I drank afterwards," Robert replied. 
 
 " ^ Pilot^ brandy's poor consolation," remarked 
 Mr. Sedgett. 
 
 Jonathan had half a mind to turn his son 
 out of the gate, but the presence of Sedgett 
 advised him that his doings were naked to the 
 world. 
 
 " You kicked up a shindy in the hunting- 
 field — what about ? Who mounted ye ?" 
 
 Robert remarked that he had been on foot. 
 
 "On foot — eh? on foot!" Jonathan specu- 
 lated, unable to realize the image of his son 
 as a foot-man in the hunting-field, or to com- 
 prehend the insolence of a pedestrian who 
 should dare to attack a mounted huntsman. 
 " You were on foot ? The devil you were on 
 foot ! Foot ? And caught a man out of his 
 saddle ?" 
 
 Jonathan gave up the puzzle. He laid out 
 his forefinger decisively : — 
 
 " If it's an assault, mind, you stand damages. 
 ]My land gives and my land takes my money, 
 and no drunken dog lives on the produce. 
 
288 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 A row in tlie hunting-field^s un-English, I 
 caU it/' 
 
 ^^ So it is, sir/' said Robert. 
 
 " So it be, neighbour/' said Mr. Sedgett. 
 
 Whereupon Robert took his arm, and holding 
 the scraggy wretch forward, commanded him 
 to out with what he knew. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know no more than what I've 
 told you." Mr. Sedgett twisted a feeble remon- 
 strance of his bones that were chiefly his being 
 at the gripe ; " except that you got hold the 
 horse by the bridle, and wouldn't let him go, 
 because the young gentleman wouldn't speak 
 as a gentleman, and — oh ! don't squeeze so 
 hard : " 
 
 " Out with it !" cried Robert. 
 
 '^ And you said, Steeve Bolton said, you said — 
 'Where is she?' you said, and he swore, and 
 you swore, and a lady rode up, and you pulled, 
 and she sang out, and off went the gentleman, 
 and Steeve said she said, Tor shame."' 
 
 " And it was the truest word spoken that 
 day 1" Robert released him. " You don't know 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 289 
 
 much, Mr. Sedgett; but it^s enougli to make 
 me explain tlie case to my father^ and, with 
 your leave, Pll do so/^ 
 
 Mr. Sedgett remarked : " By all means, do j" 
 and rather preferred that his wits should he 
 accused of want of brightness, than that he 
 should miss a chance of hearing the rich his- 
 tory of the scandal and its origin. Something 
 stronger than a hint sent him off at a trot, 
 hugging in his elbows. 
 
 ^^ The postman won't do his business quicker 
 than Sedgett '11 tap this tale upon every door 
 in the parish,''* said Jonathan. 
 
 " I can only say I'm sorry, for your sake ;" 
 Robert was expressing his contrition, when his 
 father caught him up : 
 
 " "Who can hurt me ? — my sake ? Have I 
 got the habits of a sot ? — what you'd call ' a 
 beast !' but I know the ways o' beasts, and 
 if you did too, you wouldn't bring them in to 
 bear your beastly sins. Who can hurt me? — 
 You've been quarrelling with this young gen- 
 tleman about a woman — did you damage him ?" , 
 
290 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " If knuckles could do it_, I should have 
 brained him, sir," said Robert. 
 
 " You struck him, and you got the best of it ?" 
 
 ^'He got the worst of it any way, and will 
 again.'''' 
 
 " Then the devil take you for a fool ! why did 
 you go and drink ? I could understand it if you 
 got licked. Drown your memory then, if that 
 filthy soaking^s to your taste ; but why, when 
 you get the prize, we^ll say, you go off headlong 
 into a manure pond ? — there ! except that you^re 
 a damned idiot !" Jonathan struck the air, as 
 to observe that it beat him, but for the foregoing 
 elucidation : thundering afresh, '^ Why did you 
 go and drink V 
 
 " I went. Sir, I went — why did I go ?" Robert 
 slapped his hand despaii'ingly to his forehead. 
 '^WTiat on earth did I go for? — because I''m at 
 sea, I suppose. Nobody cares for me. Vm. at 
 sea, and no rudder to steer me. I suppose that^s 
 it. So, I drank. I thought it best to take spirits 
 on board. No; this was the reason — I remem- 
 , ber : that lady, whoever she was, said something 
 that stung me. I held the fellow under her eyes, 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 291 
 
 and shook liim, tliougli slie was begging me to 
 let him off. Says she — but I've drunk it clean 
 out of my mind." 
 
 "There^ go in and look at yourself in the 
 glass," said Jonathan. 
 
 " Give me your hand first," — Robert put his 
 own out humbly. 
 
 " ni be hanged if I do," said Jonathan firmly. 
 " Bed and board you shall have while I^m alive, 
 and a glass to look at yourself in ; but my hand^s 
 for decent beasts. Move one way or toother : 
 take your choice." 
 
 Seeing Robert hesitate, he added, " I shall 
 have a damned deal more respect for you if you 
 toddle." He waved his hand away from the 
 premises. 
 
 " Tm sorry youVe taken so to swearing of late. 
 Sir," said Robert. 
 
 ^' Two flints strike fire, my lad. When you 
 keep distant, I^m quiet enough in my talk to 
 satisfy your aunt Anne." 
 
 " Look here, Sir ; I want to make use of you, 
 so m go in." 
 
 " Of course vou do," returned Jonathan, not 
 
292 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 a wMt displeased by his soiVs bluntness ; '^ wliat 
 else is a father good for ? I let you know the 
 limits and that's a brick wall ; jump it, if you 
 can. DonH fancy it^s your aunt Jane you're 
 going in to meet/' 
 
 Robert had never been a favourite with his aunt 
 Anne, who was Jonathan's housekeeper. 
 
 " No, poor old soul ! and may God bless her 
 in heaven !" he cried. 
 
 ^^ For leaving you what you turned into a 
 thundering lot of liquor to consume — eh ?" 
 
 " For doing all in her power to make a man 
 of me ', and she was close on it — kind, good old 
 darling, that she was ! She got me with that 
 money of hers to the best footing I've been on 
 yet — bless her heart, or her memory, or what- 
 ever a poor devil on earth may bless an angel for ! 
 But here I am." 
 
 The fever in Robert blazed out under a pres- 
 sure of extinguishing tears. 
 
 " There, go along in," said Jonathan, who con- 
 sidered drunkenness to be the main source of 
 water in a man's eyes. ^' It's my belief you've 
 been at it already this morning." 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 293 
 
 Kobert passed into the house in advance of 
 his father, whom he quite understood and appre- 
 ciated. There was plenty of paternal love for 
 him, and a hearty smack of the hand, and the in- 
 heritance of the farm, when he turned into the 
 right way. Meantime Jonathan was ready to 
 fulfil his parental responsibility, by sheltering, 
 feeding, and not publicly abusing his ofispring, 
 of whose spirit he would have had a higher 
 opinion if Kobert had preferred, since he must go 
 to the deuce, to go without troubling any of his 
 relatives ; as it was, Jonathan submitted to the 
 infliction gravely. Neither in speech nor in tone 
 did he solicit from the severe maiden, known as 
 Aunt Anne, that snub for the wanderer whom he 
 introduced, which, when two are agreed upon the 
 infamous character of a third, through whom they 
 are suflfering, it is always agreeable to hear. He 
 said, " Here, Anne ; here^s Robert. He hasn^t 
 breakfasted.^^ 
 
 '^ He likes his cold bath beforehand,^^ said 
 E-obert, presenting his cheek to the fleshless^ 
 semi-transparent woman. 
 
 Aunt Anne divided her lips to pronounce a crisp, 
 
294 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 subdued " Ow \" to Jonathan after inspecting 
 Robert ; and she shuddered at sight of Uobert, 
 and said " Ow V repeatedly, by way of an inter- 
 jectory token of comprehension, to all that was 
 uttered ; but it was a horrified " No !" when 
 Robertas cheek pushed nearer. 
 
 " Then, see to getting some breakfast for 
 him," said Jonathan. " You're not anyway 
 bound to kiss a drunken ." 
 
 "Doge's the word, sir/' Robert helped him. 
 " Dogs can afford it. I never saw one in that 
 state; so they don't lose character." 
 
 He spoke lightly, but dejection was in his 
 attitude. "VYhen his aunt Anne had left the 
 room, he exclaimed : 
 
 " By jingo ! women make you feel it, by some 
 way that they have. She's a religious creature. 
 She smells the devil in me." 
 
 " More like, the brandy/' his father responded. 
 
 " Well ! I'm on the road : I'm on the road !" 
 Robert fetched a sigh. 
 
 " I didn't make the road," said his father. 
 
 '^No, sir; you didn't. Work hard: sleep 
 sound : that's happiness. I've known it for a 
 
A YEOMAN OF THE OLD BREED. 205 
 
 year. You^re the man Vd imitate, if I could. 
 The devil came first : the brandy^s secondary. 
 I was quiet so long. I thought myself a safe 
 man.^^ 
 
 He sat down and sent his hair distraught with 
 an effort at smoothing it. 
 
 "Women brought the devil into the world 
 first. It's women who raise the devil in ns, 
 and why they V' 
 
 He thumped the table just as his Aunt Anne 
 was preparing to spread the cloth. 
 
 " Don^t be frightened, woman/^ said Jonathan, 
 seeing her start fearfully back. " You take too 
 many cups of tea, morning and night — hang the 
 stuff V 
 
 " Never, never till now have you abused me, 
 Jonathan,^^ she whimpered, severely. 
 
 " I don^t tell you to love him ; but wait on 
 him. That^s all. And 1^11 about my business. 
 Land and beasts — they answer to you." 
 
 Robert looked up. 
 
 " Land and beasts ! They sound like blessed 
 things. When next I go to Church, I shall 
 
 VOL. I. 19 
 
296 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 know what old Adam felt. Go along, sir. I 
 sliall break nothing in the house.^^ 
 
 '^ You won^t go, Jonathan V begged the 
 trembling spinster. 
 
 " Give him some of your tea, and strong, and 
 as much of it as he can take — he wants bringing 
 down," was Jonathan's answer ; and casting a 
 o'lance at one of the framed letters, he strode 
 through the doorway, and Aunt Anne was alone 
 with the flushed face and hurried eyes of her 
 nephew, who was to her little better than a 
 demon in the flesh. But there was a Bible in 
 the room. 
 
 An hour later, Robert was mounted and nding 
 to the meet of hounds. 
 
297 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 
 
 A SINGLE night at the Pilot Inn had given life 
 and vigour to Robert's old reputation in Warbeach 
 village, as the stoutest of drinkers and dear ras- 
 cals throughout a sailor-breeding district, where 
 Dibdin was still thundered in the ale-house, and 
 manhood in a great degree measured by the capa- 
 city to take liquor on board as a ship takes ballast. 
 There was a profound affectation of deploring the 
 sad fact that he drank as hard as ever, among the 
 men, and genuine pity expressed for him by the 
 women of Warbeach ; but his fame was fresh again. 
 As the spring brings back its flowers, Robert's 
 presence revived his youthful deeds. There had 
 not been a boxer in the neighbourhood like Robert 
 Eccles, nor such a champion in all games, nor, 
 when he set himself to it, such an invincible 
 
 19—2 
 
298 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 drinker. It was he who thrashed the brute, 
 Nic Sedgett, for stabbing -with his clasp-knife 
 Harry Boulby, son of the landlady of the Pilot 
 Inn ; thrashed him publicly, to the comfort of all 
 Warbeach. He had rescued old Dame Garble 
 from her burning cottage, and made his father 
 house the old creature, and worked at farming, 
 though he hated it, to pay for her subsistence. 
 He vindicated the honour of Warbeach by drink- 
 ing a match against a Yorkshire skipper till four 
 o'clock in the morning, when it was a gallant 
 sight, my boys, to see Hampshire steadying the 
 defeated north- countryman on his astonished zig- 
 zag to his flat-bottomed vessel, all in the cheery 
 sunrise on the river — yo-ho ! ahoy ! 
 
 Glorious Robert had tried, first the sea, and 
 then soldiering. Now let us hope he'll settle to 
 farming, and follow his rare old father's ways, 
 and be back among his own people for good. 
 So chimed the younger ones^ and many of the 
 elder. 
 
 Danish blood had settled round Warbeach. To 
 be a really popular hero anywhere in Britain, a 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 299 
 
 lad must stilly I fear^ have sometliing of a Scan- 
 dinavian gullet ; and if, in addition to his being 
 a powerful drinker, he is pleasant in his cups_, 
 and can sing, and forgive^ be free-handed^ and 
 roll out the grand risky phrases of a fired brain_, 
 he stamps himself, in the apprehension of his 
 associates, a king. 
 
 Much of the stuff was required to deal King 
 Kobert of Warbeach the capital stroke, and com- 
 monly he could hold on till a puff of cold an* 
 from the outer door, like an admonitory mes- 
 senger, reminded him that he was, in the great- 
 ness of his soul, a king of swine ; after which his 
 way of walking off, without a word to anybody, 
 hoisting his whole stature, while others were 
 staggering, or roaring foul rhymes, or feeling 
 consciously mortal in their sensation of feverisli- 
 ness, became a theme for admiration : ay, and 
 he was fresh as an orchard apple in the morn- 
 ing ! there lay his commandership convincingly. 
 What was proved overnight was confirmed at 
 dawn. 
 
 Mr. Kobert had his contrast in Sedgett^s sod. 
 
300 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 NicodemiTS Sedgett^ whose unlucky Christian 
 name had assisted the wits of Warbeach in be- 
 stowing on him a darkly-luminous relationship. 
 Young Nic loved also to steep his spirit in the 
 bowl ; but;, in addition to his never paying for his 
 luxury, he drank as if in emulation of the colour 
 of his reputed patron, and neighbourhood to Nic 
 Sedgett was not liked when that young man be- 
 came thoughtful over his glass. 
 
 The episode of his stabbing the landlady's son 
 Harry clung to him fatally. The wound was in 
 the thigh, and nothing serious. Harry was up 
 and off to sea before Nic had ceased to show the 
 marks of Robert's vengeance upon him ; but blood- 
 shedding, even on a small scale, is so detested by 
 Englishmen, that Nic never got back to his right 
 hue in the eyes of Warbeach. None felt to him 
 as to a countryman, and it may be supposed that 
 his face was seen no more in the house of gather- 
 ing, the Pilot Inn. 
 
 He rented one of the Fairly farms, known as 
 the Three-Tree Farm, subsisting there, men 
 fancied, by the aid of his housekeeper's money. 
 For he was of those evil fellows who disconcert 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 301 
 
 all righteous prophecy^ and it was vain for Mrs. 
 Boulby and Warbeacli village to declare that no 
 good could come to him, when Fortune manifestly 
 kept him going. 
 
 He possessed the rogue^s most serviceable art : 
 in spite of a countenance that Avas not attractive, 
 this fellow could, as was proved by evidence, 
 make himself pleasing to women. " The truth 
 of it is/"* said Mrs. Boulby, at a loss for any 
 other explanation, and with a woman^s love 
 of sharp generalization, "it^s because my sex 
 is fools."^ 
 
 He had one day no money to pay his rent, 
 and forthwith (using for the purpose his last five 
 shillings, it was said) advertised for a housekeeper ; 
 and before Warbeacli had done chuckling over 
 his folly, an agreeable woman of about thirty-five 
 was making purchases in his name; she made 
 tea, and the evening brew for such friends as he 
 could collect, and apparently paid his rent for 
 him, after a time; the distress was not in 
 the house three days. It seemed to War- 
 beach an erratic proceeding on the part of 
 Providence, that Nic should ever be helped 
 
302 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 to swim ; but our modern prophets liave small 
 patience, and summon Destiny to strike without 
 a preparation of her weapons or a warning to the 
 A^ctim. 
 
 More than Robertas old occasional vice was at 
 the bottom of his popularity, as I need not say. 
 Let those who generalize upon ethnology deter- 
 mine w^hether the ancient opposition of Saxon 
 and Norman be at an end ; but it is certain, to 
 my thinking, that w hen a hero of the people can 
 be got from the common popular stock, he is doubly 
 dear. A gentleman, however gallant and familiar, 
 will hardly ever be as much beloved, until he 
 dies to inform a legend or a ballad : seeing that 
 death only can remove the peculiar distinctions 
 and distances which the people feel to exist be- 
 tween themselves and the gentleman- class, and 
 which, not to credit them with preternatm^al 
 discernment, they are carefully taught to feel. 
 Dead Britons are all Britons, but live Britons 
 are not quite brothers. 
 
 It was as the son of a yeoman, showing com- 
 prehensible accomplishments, that Bobert took his 
 lead. He was a verv brave, a sweet-hearted, and 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 303 
 
 a handsome young man, and lie liad very chival' 
 rous views of life that were understood by a suf- 
 ficient number under the influence of ale or 
 brandy, and by a few in default of that material 
 aid; and they had a family pride in him. The 
 pride was mixed with fear that threw over it a 
 tender light, like a mother^ s dream of her child. 
 The people, I have said, are not so lost in self- 
 contempt as to undervalue their best men, but it 
 must be admitted that they rarely produce young 
 fellows wearing the undeniable chieftain^s stamp, 
 and the rarity of one like Robert lent a hue of 
 sadness to him in their thoughts. 
 
 Fortune, moreover, the favourer of Nic Sedgett, 
 blew foul whichever the way Robert set his sails. 
 He would not look to his own advantage; and 
 the belief that man should set his little traps for 
 the liberal hand of his God, if he wishes to prosper, 
 rather than strive to be merely honourable in his 
 Maker's eye, is almost as general among poor 
 people as it is with the moneyed classes, who 
 survey them from their height. 
 
 When jolly Butcher Billing, who was one of 
 the limited company which had sat with Robert 
 
304 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 at the ^ Pilot^ last niglit; reported that lie had 
 quitted the army_, he was hearkened to dole- 
 fully^ and the feeling was universal that glorious 
 Robert had cut himself off from his pension and 
 his hospital. 
 
 But when gossip Sedgett went his rounds/ 
 telling that Robert was down among them again 
 upon the darkest expedition their minds could con- 
 ceive, and rode out every morning for the purpose 
 of encountering one of the gentlemen up at 
 Pairh^, and had already pulled him off his horse 
 and laid him in the mud^ calling him scoundrel 
 and challenging him either to yield his secret or 
 to fight, and that he followed him, and was out 
 after him publicly, and matched himself against 
 that gentleman, who had all the other gentlemen, 
 and the earl, and the law to back him, the little 
 place buzzed with wonder and alarm. Faint 
 hearts declared that Robert was now done for. 
 All felt that he had gone miles beyond the mark. 
 Those were the misty days when fogs rolled up 
 the salt river from the winter sea, and the sun 
 lived but an hour in the clotted sky, extinguished 
 near the noon. 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 305 
 
 Robert was seen riding out, and the tramp of 
 his horse was heard as he returned homewards. 
 He called no more at the ^ Pilot/ Darkness and 
 mystery enveloped Jiim. There were nightly 
 meetings under Mrs. Boulby's roof, in the belief 
 that he could not withstand her temptations ; 
 nor did she imprudently discourage them ; but 
 the woman at last overcame the landlady within 
 her, and she wailed : '^ He wont come because 
 of the drink. Oh ! why was I made to sell 
 liquor, which he says sends him to the devil, 
 poor blessed boy ? and I can^t help begging him 
 to take one little drop. I did, the first night he 
 was down, forgetting his ways ; he looked so 
 desperate, he did, and it went on and went on, 
 till he was primed, and me proud to see him get 
 out of his misery. And now he hates the 
 thought of me.'''' 
 
 In her despair she encouraged Sedgett to visit 
 her bar and parlour, and he became everywhere 
 a most important man. 
 
 Farmer Eccles's habits of seclusion (his pride, 
 some said), and more especially the dreaded 
 austere Aunt Anne, who ruled that household. 
 
306 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 kept people distant from the Warbeacli farm- 
 house, all excepting Sedgett, who related that 
 every night on his return, she read a chapter 
 from the Bible to Robert, sitting up for him 
 patiently to fulfil this duty ; and that the 
 farmer^s words to his son had been : ^' Rest 
 here ; eat and drink, and ride my horse ; but not 
 a penny of my money do you have." 
 
 By the help of Steeve Bilton, the Fairly 
 huntsman, Sedgett was enabled to relate that 
 there was a combination of the gentlemen 
 against Robert, whose behaviour none could 
 absolutely approve, save the landlady and 
 jolly Butcher Billing, who stuck to him with 
 a hearty, blind faith. 
 
 ^' Did he ever," asked the latter, " did Bob 
 Eccles ever conduct himself disrespectful to his 
 superiors? Wasn^t he always found out at his 
 wildest for to be right — to a sensible man^s way 
 of thinking ? — ^hoM^h not, I grant ye, to his own 
 interests — there^s anothsv tale." And Mr. Bil- 
 ling^s staunch adherence to the hero of the 
 village was cried out to his credit when Sedgett 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 307 
 
 stated, on Stephen Biltongs authority, that 
 Robertas errand was the defence of a girl vvho 
 had been wronged, and whose whereabouts, that 
 she might be restored to her parents, was all he 
 wanted to know. This story passed from mouth 
 to mouth, receiving much ornament in the 
 passage. The girl in question became a lady; 
 for it is required of a mere common girl that she 
 should display remarkable character before she 
 can be accepted as the fitting companion of a 
 popular hero. She became a young lady of for- 
 tune, in love with Robert, and concealed by the 
 artifice of the offending gentleman whom Robert 
 had challenged. Sedgett told this for truth, 
 being instigated to boldness of invention by 
 pertinacious inquiries, and the dignified sense 
 that the whole story hung upon him. 
 
 Mrs. Boulby, who as a towering woman 
 despised Sedgett^s weak fi'ame, had been willing 
 to listen till she perceived him to be but a man 
 of fiction, and then she gave him a flat contra- 
 diction, having no esteem for his custom. 
 
 '^ Eh ! but, !Missis, I can tell you his name — 
 
308 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 the gentleman^s name/' said Sedgett, placably. 
 ^' He's a Mr. Algernon Blancove, and a cousin 
 by marriage^ or something, of Mrs. Lovell.'' 
 
 " I reckon you're right about that, goodman/' 
 replied Mrs. Boulby, with intuitive discernment 
 of the true from the false, mingled with a desire 
 to show that she was under no obligation for the 
 news. " All Mother's a tale of your own, and you 
 know it, and no more true than your rigmaroles, 
 about my brandy, which is French; it is, as sure 
 as my blood's British." 
 
 " Oh ! Missis," quoth Sedgett, maliciously, 
 " as to tales, you've got witnesses enough it 
 crassed chann'l. Aha ! Don't bring 'em into 
 the box. Don't you bring 'em into ne'er a 
 box." 
 
 '^ You mean to say, Mr. Sedgett, they wont 
 swear ?" 
 
 ^^ No, missis ; they'll swear, fast and safe, if 
 you teach 'em. Dashed if they wont run the 
 ^ Pilot ' on a rock with their swearin'. It ain't 
 
 a sfood habit. 
 
 }} 
 
 & 
 
 " Well, Mr. Sedgett, the next time you drink 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 309 
 
 my brandy and find the conseqnences bad, you 
 let me hear of it/^ 
 
 '^ And whaVll you do_, Missis_, may be V^ 
 
 Listeners were by_, and Mrs. Boulby cruelly 
 retorted : " I won^t send you home to your 
 wife '" which created a roar against this hen- 
 pecked man. 
 
 " As to consequences, Missis, it^'s for your sake 
 Fm looking at them" Sedgett said, when he had 
 recovered from the blow. 
 
 " You say that to the excise, Mr. Sedgett ; 
 it, belike, ^11 make ^em sorry.^^ 
 
 " Brandy^s your weak point, it appears. 
 Missis.'' 
 
 " A little in you would stiffen your back, Mr. 
 Sedgett/' 
 
 " Poor Bob Eccles didn't want no stiffening 
 when he come down first," Sedgett interjected. 
 
 At which, flushing enraged, Mrs. Boulby 
 cried : ^^ Mention him, indeed ! And him and 
 you, and that son of your'n — the shame of yoiu' 
 cheeks if people say he's like his father. Is it 
 your son, Nic Sedgett, thinks to inform against 
 me, as once he swore to, and to get his wage that 
 
310 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 he may step out of a second bankruptcy ? — and 
 he a farmer ! You let liim know that he isn^t 
 feared by me^ Sedgett^ and there^s one here to 
 give him a second dose^ without waiting for him 
 to use clasp-knives on harmless innocents/^ 
 
 " Pacify yourself, ma^am, pacify yourself/^ re- 
 marked Sedgett, hardened against words abroad 
 by his endurance of blows at home. " Bob 
 Eccles, he^s got his hands full, and he, may be, 
 ^11 reach the hulks before my Nic do, yet. And 
 how ^m I answerable for Nic, I ask you ?" 
 
 " !More luck to you not to be, I say ; and either, 
 Sedgett, you does woman^s work, gossipin' about 
 like a cracked bell-clapper, or men's, the biggest 
 gossips of all, which I believe ; for there's no 
 beating you at your work, and one can't wish ill 
 to you, knowing what you catch." 
 
 *^ In a friendly way. Missis," — Sedgett fixed 
 on the compliment to his power of propagating 
 news — " in a friendly way. You can't accuse 
 me of leavin' out the ' 1 ' in your name, now, can 
 you? I make that observation," — the venomous 
 tattler screwed himself up to the widow insinu- 
 atingly, as if her understanding could only be 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 311 
 
 seized at close quarters, — " I make that observa- 
 tion, because poor Dick Boulby, your lamented 
 husband — eh ! poor Dick ! You see, Missis, it 
 ain^t the tough ones last longest : he'd sing, 'I'm 
 a Sea-Booby' to the song, 'I'm a green Mermaid :^ 
 poor Dick ! ' a-shinin' upon the sea deeps' ETe 
 kept the liquor from his head, but didn^t mean it 
 to stop down in his leg." 
 
 " Have you done, Mr. Sedgett?^^ said the widow, 
 blandly. 
 
 '' You ain^t angry. Missis V 
 '' Not a bit, Mr. Sedgett ; and if I knock you 
 over with the flat o^ my hand, don^t you think so.^^ 
 Sedgett threw up the wizened skin of his fore- 
 head, and retreated from the bar. At a safe 
 distance, he called : " Bad news that about Bob 
 Eccles swallowing a blow yesterday \" 
 
 Mrs. Boulby faced him complacently till he 
 retired, and then observed to those of his sex 
 surrounding her, " Don^t ' woman-and-dog-and- 
 walnut-tree ' me ! Some of you men M be the 
 better for a drubbing every day of your lives. 
 Sedgett yond^ "d be as big a villain as his son, 
 only for what he gets at lionie/^ 
 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
312 RHOD A FLEMING. 
 
 That was lier way of replying to the Parthian 
 arrow ; but the barb was poisoned. The village 
 was at fever heat concerning Robert, and this 
 assertion that he had swallowed a blow, produced 
 almost as great a consternation as if a fleet of 
 the enemy had been reported off Sandy Point. 
 
 Mrs. Boulby went into her parlour and wrote 
 a letter to Robert, which she despatched by one 
 of the loungers about the bar, who brought back 
 news, that three of the gentlemen of Fairly were 
 on horseback, talking to Parmer Eccles at his 
 garden gate. Affairs were waxing hot. The 
 gentlemen had only to threaten Farmer Eccles, to 
 make him side with his son, right or wrong. In 
 the evening, Stephen Bilton, the huntsman, pre- 
 sented himself at the door of the long parlour of 
 the 'Pilot,^ and loud cheers were his greeting 
 from a full company. 
 
 " Gentlemen all,^' said Stephen, with dapper 
 modesty ; and acted as if no excitement were cur- 
 rent, and he had nothing to tell. 
 
 ^' Well, Steeve?'^ said one, to encourage him. 
 
 '' How about Bob, to-day V said another. 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 313 
 
 Before Stephen had spoken, it was clear to the 
 apprehension of the whole room that he did not 
 share the popular view of Robert. He declined 
 to understand who was meant by 'Bob/ He 
 played the questions off; and then shrugged, 
 with, " Oh, let's have a quiet evening/' 
 
 It ended in his saying, " About Bob Eccles ? 
 There, that's summed up pretty quick — he's mad." 
 
 ^' Mad !" shouted Warbeach. 
 
 ''That's a lie," said Mrs. Boulby, from the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Well, mum, I let a lady have her own 
 opinion." Stephen nodded to her. "There 
 ain't a doubt as t' what the doctors 'd bring him 
 in. I ain't speaking my ideas alone. It's written 
 like the capital letters in a newspaper. Lunatic's 
 the word ! And I'll take a glass of' something 
 warm, Mrs. Boulby. We had a stiff run to- 
 day." 
 
 "Where did ye kill, Steeve ?" asked a dispirited 
 voice. 
 
 " We didn't kill at all : he was one of those 
 'long shore dog foxes, and got away home on 
 the cliff." Stephen thumped his knee. "It's 
 
 20— a 
 
314 KHODA FLEMING. 
 
 mv belief the smell 0"* sea gives ^em extra 
 
 cunnins:/^ 
 
 " The beggar seems to have put ye out rether 
 —eh, Steeve?" 
 
 So it "was generally presumed : and yet the 
 charge of madness was very staggering ; madness 
 being, in the first place^ indefensible, and every- 
 body's enemy when at large ; and Kobert's be- 
 haviour looking extremely like it. It had already 
 been as a black shadoAV haunting enthusiastic 
 minds in the village, and there fell a short silence, 
 during which Stephen made his preparations for 
 filling and lighting a pipe. 
 
 *^ Come ; how do you make out he's mad ?" 
 
 Jolly Butcher Billing spoke ; but with none of 
 the irony of confidence. 
 
 " Oh V' Stephen merely clapped both elbows 
 against his sides. 
 
 Several pairs of eyes were studying him. He 
 glanced over them in turn, and commenced 
 leisurely the puff" contemplative. 
 
 " Don't happen to have a grudge of e'er a 
 kind against old Bob, Steeve ?" 
 
 "Not IP 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 315 
 
 Mrs. Boulby herself brought his glass to 
 Stephen_, ancl_, retreating, left the parlour-door 
 open. 
 
 "What causes you for to think him mad, 
 Steeve ?'' 
 
 A second "Oh!" as from the heights dominating 
 argument, sounded from Stephen^s throat, half 
 like a grunt. This time he condescended to add : 
 
 " How do you know when a dog^s gone mad ? 
 Well, Robert Eccles, he^s gone in like manner. 
 If you don^t judge a man by his actions, you've 
 got no means of reckoning. He comes and attacks 
 gentlemen, and swears he'll go on doing it." 
 
 " Well, and what does that prove ?" said jolly 
 Butcher Billing. 
 
 Mr. William Moody, boat-builder, a liver - 
 complexioned citizen, undertook to reply. 
 
 " AVhat does that prove ? What does that 
 prove when the midshipmite was found with his 
 head in the mixed-pickle jar ? It proved that 
 his head was lean, and t' other pai't was 
 rounder." 
 
 The illustration appeared forcible, but not 
 direct, and nothing more was understood from it 
 
316 SHODA FLEMING. 
 
 than that Moody, and. two or three others who 
 haid been struck by the image of the infatuated 
 young naval officer, were going over to the enemy. 
 The stamp of madness upon Robertas acts cer- 
 tainly saved perplexity, and was the easiest side 
 of the argument. By this time Stephen had 
 finished his glass, and the effect was seen. 
 
 " Hang it V^ he exclaimed, '^ I don^t agree 
 he deserves shooting. And he may have had 
 harm done to him. In that case, let him fight. 
 And I say, too, let the gentleman give him 
 satisfaction.''^ 
 
 " Hear ! hear \'^ cried several. 
 
 '^And if the gentleman refuse to give him 
 satisfaction in a fair stand-up fight, I say he 
 ain^t a gentleman, and deserves to be treated as 
 such. My objection's personal. I don't like any 
 man who spoils sport, and ne'er a rascally vulpeci' 
 spoils sport as he do, since he's been down in our 
 parts again. I'll take another brimmer, Mrs. 
 Boulby." 
 
 " To be sure you will, Stephen," said Mrs. 
 Boulby, bending as in a curtsey to the glass ; and 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 317 
 
 SO soft with him that foolish fellows thought 
 her cowed by the accusation thrown at her 
 favourite. 
 
 '^ There^s two questions about they valpecies. 
 Master Stephen/^ said Farmer Wainsby, a farmer 
 with a grievance^ fixing his elbow on his knee for 
 serious utterance. "There^s to ask^ and t' ask 
 again. Sport, I grant ye. All in doo season. 
 But/^ he performed a circle with his pipe stem, 
 and darted it as from the centre thereof towards 
 Stephen^s breast, with the poser, ^' do we support 
 thieves at public expense for them to keep 
 thievin^ — ^black, white, or brown — no matter, eh ? 
 Well, then, if the public wunt bear it, dang me 
 if I can see why individles shud bear it. It ent 
 no manner o^ reason, net as I can see ; let 
 gentlemen have their opinion, or let 'em not. 
 Foxes be hanged V^ 
 
 Much slow winking was interchanged. In a 
 general sense. Farmer Wainsby's remarks were 
 held to be un-English, though he was pardoned 
 for them as one having peculiar interests at 
 stake. 
 
818 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " Ay, ay ! we know all about that/'' said 
 Stephen, taking succour from the eyes surround- 
 ing him. 
 
 ^^ And so, may be, do we,^^ said Wainsby. 
 
 " Fox-hunting ^11 go on when your great- 
 grandfather's your youngest son, farmer; or 
 t' other way.'' 
 
 " I reckon it '11 be a stuffed fox your chil'ern 
 '11 hunt, Mr. Steeve ; more straw in 'em than 
 bow'ls." 
 
 ^' If the country," Stephen thumped the table, 
 ^^ were what you'd make of it, hang me if my 
 name 'd long be Englishman !" 
 
 '' Hear, hear, Steeve !" was shouted in sup- 
 port of the Conservative principle enunciated 
 by him. 
 
 '^ What I say is, flesh and blood before foxes !" 
 
 Thus did Farmer Wainsby likewise attempt a 
 rallyiug-cry ; but Stephen's retort, " Ain't foxes 
 flesh and blood ?" convicted him of clumsiness, and, 
 buoyed on the uproar of cheers, Stephen pur- 
 sued, " They are ; to kill 'em in cold blood's 
 beast-murder, so it is. What do we do ? We 
 give 'em a fair field — a fair field and no favour ! 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 319 
 
 We let ^em trust to tlie instincts Nature, she^s 
 given ^em ; and clon^t the old woman know best ? 
 If they can get away, they win the day. AlFs 
 open, and honest, and aboveboard. Kill your 
 rats and kill your rabbits, but leave foxes to 
 your betters. Foxes are gentlemen. You don^t 
 understand ? Be hanged if they ain^t ! I like 
 the old fox, and I don^t like to see him mur- 
 dered and exterminated, but die the death of a 
 gentleman, at the hands of gentlemen ''■' 
 
 " And ladies,^"* sneered the farmer. 
 
 All the room w^as with Stephen, and would 
 have backed him uproariously, had he not reached 
 his sounding period without knowing it, and thus 
 allowed his opponent to slip in that abominable 
 addition. 
 
 ^' Ay, and ladies,^^ cried the huntsman, keen 
 at recovery. " "Why shouldn^t they ? I hate a 
 field without a woman in it; don^t you? and 
 you? and you? And you, too, Mrs. Boulby? 
 There you are, and the room looks better for you 
 —don't it, lads ? Hurrah V 
 
 The cheering was now aroused, and Stephen 
 had his glass filled again in triumph, while the 
 
320 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 farmer meditated thickly over the ruin of his 
 argument from that fatal effort at fortifying it 
 by throwing a hint to the discredit of the sex, 
 as many another man has meditated before. 
 
 " Eh ! poor old Bob V Stephen sighed and 
 sipped. " I can cry that with any of you. It^s 
 worse for me to see than for you to hear of him. 
 Wasn^t I always a friend of his, and said he 
 was worthy to be a gentleman, many a time ? 
 He^s got the manners of a gentleman now ; offs 
 with his hat, if there^s a lady present, and such 
 a neat way of speaking. But there, acting^s the 
 thing, and his behaviour's beastly bad ! You 
 can^t call it no other. There^'s two Mr. Blan- 
 coves up at Fairly, relatives of Mrs. LovelFs — 
 whom m take the liberty of calling My Beauty, 
 and no offence meant — and it^s before her that 
 Bob only yesterday rode up — one of the gentle- 
 men being Mr. Algernon, free of hand and a good 
 seat in the saddle, t^other^s Mr. Edward; but 
 Mr. Algernon, he^s Bobert Eccles^s man — up 
 rides Bob, just as we was tying Mr. Reenard^s 
 brush to the pommel of the lady^s saddle, down 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 321 
 
 in Ditley Marsh ; and lie bows to the lady. Says 
 he — but he^s mad^ stark mad V' 
 
 Stephen resumed his pipe amid a din of dis- 
 appointment that made the walls ring and the 
 glasses leap. 
 
 " A little more sugar, Stephen ?" said Mrs. 
 Boulby, moving in lightly from the doorway. 
 
 " Thank ye, mum ; you^re the best hostess 
 that ever breathed/^ 
 
 " So she be ; but how about Bob ?'' cried her 
 guests — some asking whether he carried a pistol 
 or flourished a stick. 
 
 " Ne^er a blessed twig, to save his soul ; and 
 there^s the madness written on him/^ Stephen 
 roared as loud as any of them. " And me to see 
 him riding in the ring there, and knowing what 
 the gentlemen had sworn to do if he came across 
 the hunt ; and feeling that he was in the wrong ! 
 I haven^t got a oath to swear how mad I was. 
 Pancy yourselves in my place. I love old Bob. 
 Fve drunk with him ; I owe him obligations from 
 since I was a boy upward ; I don^t know a better 
 than Bob in all England. And there he was : 
 
o 
 
 22 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 and says to Mr. Algernon, ^ You know Avhat I^ra 
 come for/ I never did behold a gentleman so 
 pale-shot all over his cheeks as he was, and pink- 
 ish nnder the eyes ; if you^^e ever noticed a chap 
 laid hands on by detectives in plain clothes. 
 Smack at Bob went Mr. Edward^s whip/^ 
 
 "^h\ Algernon^''^ Stephen was corrected. 
 
 " Mr. Edward^s, I tell ye — the cousin. And 
 right across the face. My Lord ! it made my 
 blood tingle.''^ 
 
 A sound like the swish of a whip expressed 
 the sentiments of that assemblage at the 'Pilot.^ 
 
 *'Bob swallowed it?'' 
 
 "What else could he do, the fool? He had 
 nothing to help him but his hands. Says he. 
 That's a poor way of trying to stop me. My 
 business is with this gentleman ; and Bob set his 
 horse at Mr. Algernon, and Mrs. Lovell rode 
 across him with her hand raised; and just at 
 that moment up jogged the old gentleman. Squire 
 Blanco ve, of Wrexby ; and Bobert Eccles says to 
 him, ' You might have saved your son something 
 by keeping your word.' It appears according to 
 Bob, that the Squire had promised to see his son. 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT IXX. 323 
 
 and settle matters. All Mrs. Lovell could do 
 Avas hardly enougli to liold back Mr. Edward 
 from laying out at Bob. He was like a white 
 devil, and speaking calm and polite all the time. 
 Says Bob, I^m willing to take one when Vvc 
 done with the other ; and the squire began talk- 
 ing to his son, Mrs. Lovell to Mr. Edward, and 
 the rest of the gentlemen all round poor dear old 
 Bob, rather bullying-like for my blood; till Bob 
 couldn^t help being nettled, and cried out. Gen- 
 tlemen, I hold him in my power, and I^m silent 
 so long as there^s a chance of my getting him to 
 behave like a man with human feelings. If 
 theyM gone at him then, I don^t think I could 
 have let him stand alone : an opinion^s one thing, 
 but blood^s another, and I^m distantly related to 
 Bob ; and a man wdio^s always thinking of the 
 value of his place, he ain^t worth it. But Mrs. 
 Lovell, she settled the case — a lady, Farmer 
 Wainsby, with your leaA^e. There^s the good of 
 having a lady present on the field. That^s due 
 to a lady V 
 
 " Happen she was at the bottom of it," the 
 farmer returned Stephen's nod grumpily. 
 
324 EHODA FLEMING. 
 
 " How did it end^ Stephen, my lad V said 
 jolly Butcher Billing, indicating a ^ never mind 
 him.' 
 
 " It ended, my boy, it ended like my glass 
 here — hot and strong stuff, with sugar at the 
 bottom. And I don^t see thiSj so glad as I saw 
 that, my word of honour on it ! Boys all \" 
 Stephen drank the dregs. 
 
 Mrs. Boulby was still in attendance. The 
 talk over the circumstances was sweeter than the 
 bare facts, and the replenished glass enabled 
 Stephen to add the picturesque bits of the affray, 
 unspurred by a surrounding eagerness of his 
 listeners — too exciting for imaginative effort. In 
 particular, he dwelt on Robertas dropping the 
 reins and riding with his heels at Algernon, 
 when Mrs. Lovell put her horse in his way, and 
 the pair of horses rose like waves at sea, and 
 both riders showed their horsemanship, and 
 Robert an adroit courtesy, for which the lady 
 thanked him with a bow of her head. 
 
 " I got among the hounds, pretending to 
 pacify them, and call ^em together,^^ said StepheUj 
 ^^ and I heard her say — just before all was over. 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 325 
 
 and lie turned off — I heard her say : ^ Trust this 
 to me : I will meet you/ Fll swear to them 
 exact wordsj though there was more^ and a 
 ^ where ' in the bargain, and that I didn^t hear. 
 Aha ! by George ! thinks I, old Bob, you^re a 
 lucky beggar, and be hanged if I wouldn^t go 
 mad too for a minute or so of short, sweet, 
 private talk with a lovely young widow-lady as 
 ever the sun did shine upon so boldly — oho ! 
 
 You've seen a yacht upon the sea, 
 She dances and she dances, ! 
 As fair is my wild maid to me, 
 
 Something about ' prances, O !^ on her horse, 
 you know, or you^re a hem^d fool if you don^t. 
 I never could sing; wish I could! It^s the joy 
 of life ! It^s utterance ! Hey for harmony !" 
 
 " Eh ! brayvo ! now you^re a man, Steeve ! 
 and welcome/' and welcome6'^; yi — yi, O V jolly 
 Butcher Billing sung out sharp. ^' Life wants 
 watering. Here^s a health to Robert Eccles, 
 wheresoever and whatsoever ! and ne^er a man 
 shall say of me I didn^t stick by a friend like 
 Bob. Cheers, my lads !" 
 
 Robert's health was drank in a thunder, and 
 
326 RHODA ELEMIXG. 
 
 praises of the purity of the brandy followed the 
 grand roar. Mrs. Boulby received her compli- 
 ments on that head. 
 
 " 'Pends npon the tide. Missis, don^t it V one 
 remarked, with a grin broad enough to make the 
 slyness written on it easy reading. 
 
 " Ah ! first a flow and then a ebb/^ said 
 another. 
 
 " It's many a keg I plant i' the mud, 
 Coastguardsman, come ! and I'll have your blood !" 
 
 Instigation cried, " Cut along ;" but the de- 
 fiant smuggler was deficient in memory, and like 
 Steeve Bilton, was reduced to scatter his con- 
 cluding rhymes in prose, as ^ something about ;' 
 whereat jolly Butcher Billing, a reader of song- 
 books from a literary delight in their contents, 
 scraped his head, and then, as if he had touched 
 a spring, carolled : 
 
 " In spite of all you Gov'ment pack, 
 I'll land ray kegs of the good CognyAc" — 
 
 " though,^' he took occasion to observe when the 
 chorus and a sort of cracker of irrelevant rhymes 
 had ceased to explode ; '• though I^m for none of 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 327 
 
 them games. Honesty ! — there^s the sugar o^ 
 my grog/^ 
 
 " Ay, but you like to be cock-sure of the stufi' 
 you drink, if e^er a man did/" said the boat- 
 builder, whose eve bhized vellow in this frothino: 
 season of song and fun. 
 
 " Eight so, Will Moody V returned the jolly 
 butcher : " which means — not wrong this time V^ 
 
 " Then, w^hat^s understood bv vour sticking 
 prongs into your hostess here concerning of her 
 brandy? Here it is — which is enough, except 
 for discontented fellows/" 
 
 " Eh, missus V the jolly butcher appealed to 
 her, and pointed at Moody"s complexion for 
 proof. 
 
 It was quite a fiction that kegs of the good 
 cognac were sown at low water, and reaped at 
 high, near the river- gate of the old Pilot inn 
 garden ; but it was greatly to Mrs. Boulby"s 
 interest to encourage the delusion which imaged 
 her brandy thus arising straight from the very 
 source, without villanous contact with excisemen 
 and corrupting dealers ; and as, perhaps, in her 
 husband"s time, the thing had happened, and 
 
 VOL. I. 21 
 
328 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 still did^ at rare intervals;, she complacently 
 gathered the profitable fame of her brandy being 
 the best in the district. 
 
 " Fm sure I hope you^re satisfied, Mr. 
 Billing/^ she said. 
 
 The jolly butcher asked whether Will Moody 
 was satisfied, and Mr. William Moody declaring 
 himself thoroughly satisfied, " then Fm satisfied 
 too !^^ said the jolly butcher; upon which the 
 boatbuilder heightened the laugh by saying he 
 was not satisfied at all; and to escape from the 
 execrations of the majority, pleaded that it was 
 because his glass was empty : thus making his 
 peace with them. Every glass in the room 
 was filled again. 
 
 The young fellows now loosened tongue; and 
 Dick Curtis, the promising cricketer of Hamp- 
 shire, cried, " Mr. Moody, my hearty ! that^s 
 your fourth glass, so don^t quarrel with me, 
 now \" 
 
 " You V' Moody fired up in a bilious frenzy, 
 and called him a this and that and t'other 
 young vagabond ; for which the company, feel- 
 ing the ominous truth contained in Dick Curtis's 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 329 
 
 remark more than its impertinence, fined Mr. 
 Moody in a song. He gave the — 
 
 " So many young Captains have walked o'er my pate, 
 It's no wonder you see me quite bald, sir," 
 
 with emphatic bitterness, and the company 
 thanked him. Seeing him stand up as to 
 depart, however, a storm of contempt was 
 hurled at him; some said he was like old 
 Sedgett, and was afraid of his wife ; and 
 some, that he was like Nic Sedgett, and drank 
 blue. 
 
 " You're a bag of blue devils, oh dear ! oh dear ! " 
 
 sang Dick to the tune of " The Campbells 
 are coming.^^ 
 
 " I ask e'er a man present,^' Mr. Moody put 
 out his fist, " is that to be borne ? Didn^'t 
 you,'' he addressed Dick Curtis, "didn't j^ou 
 sing into my chorus — 
 
 ' It's no wonder to hear how you squall'd, sir ?' 
 
 You did !" 
 
 '' Don't he," — Dick addressed the company, 
 — " make Mrs. Boulby's brandy look ashamed 
 
330 RHODA FLEMING. 
 
 of itself in his face ? I ask e^er a gentleman 
 present." 
 
 Accusation and retort were interchanged, 
 in the course of which, Dick called Mr. Moody, 
 Nic Sedgett's friend ; and a sort of criminal 
 inquiry was held. It was proved that Moody 
 had been seen with Nic Sedgett; and then 
 three or four began to say that Nic Sedgett 
 was thick with some of the gentlemen up at 
 Fairly ; — just like his luck ! Stephen let it be 
 known that he could confirm this fact ; he 
 having seen Mr. Algernon Blancove stop Nic 
 on the road and talk to him. 
 
 " In that case,^^ said jolly butcher Billing, 
 " there^s mischief in a state of fermentation. 
 Did ever anybody see Nic and the devil 
 together ^'^ 
 
 " I saw Nic and Mr. Moody together," said 
 Dick Curtis. " Well, Fm only stating a fact," 
 he exclaimed, as Moody rose, apparently to 
 commence an engagement, for which the 
 company quietly prepared, by putting chairs 
 out of his wav : but the recreant took his ad- 
 
AN ASSEMBLY AT THE PILOT INN. 331 
 
 vantage from the error^ and got away to tlie 
 door, pursued. 
 
 " Here^s an example of what we lose in 
 having no President/' sighed the jolly butcher. 
 " There never was a man built for the chair 
 like Bob Eccles, I say ! Our evening^s broke 
 up, and I for one, 'd ha' made it morning. 
 Hark, outside ; By Gearge ! they're snow- 
 balling.'' 
 
 An adjournment to the front door brought 
 them in view of a white and silent earth 
 under keen stars, and Dick Curtis and the 
 bilious boatbuilder, foot to foot, snowball in 
 hand. A bout of the smart exercise made Mr. 
 Moody laugh again, and all parted merrily, 
 delivering final shots, as they went their several 
 ways. , 
 
 " Thanks be to Heaven for snowing," said 
 Mrs. Boulby ; " or when I should have got to 
 my bed, Goodness only can tell !" With which, 
 she closed the door upon the empty inn. 
 
 E\D OF VOL. I. 
 
liONDON : 
 
 iAVIir, AND EDWARDfi, lEINTEKS, CHANBOS STUTfliT, 
 
 COTENT GAKDE>'.