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 AS SOON KILL A MAN AS KILL A BOOK 
 
 ^l}orr)0S • fi/lpf^ur • J0r)es. 
 
 What is a man 
 If his chief g;ood and market of his time 
 lie but to sleep and feed ? A beast, no more.
 
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 L I b RA R.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLR.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 C5 792- p 
 
 v.i
 
 PERIWINKLE 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 a
 
 NEW NOVELS AT THE LIBRARIES. 
 
 THE PIT TOWN CORONET. By Charles J. Wills. 3 vols. 
 A RECOILING VENGEANCE. By Frank Barrett. 2 vols. 
 THE MAN WITH A SHADOW. By G. Manville Fenn. 3 vols. 
 DIANA HARRINGTON. By B. M. Croker. 3 vols. 
 A LEAL LASS. By R. Ashe King (' Basil')- 2 vols. 
 THE LAST HURDLE. By Frank Hudson. 3s. 6d. 
 
 WARD & DOWNEY, Publishers, London.
 
 PERIWINKLE 
 
 AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 BY 
 
 ARNOLD GRAY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE WILD WARKINGTONS," "LIKE LOST SHEEP," 
 
 Etc. 
 
 •The more a man learns of the wonderfulness of this world the more 
 chary he is in saying what is and what is not a possible complica- 
 tion of events."— from an Article on Victor Hugo in the ''Athenamm." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES '^' 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WARD & DOWNEY 
 
 12 YORK STREET, COYENT GARDEN 
 
 1888 
 
 {All Rights reserved.']
 
 EDINBURGH 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY" 
 
 PRINTERS
 
 8^b 
 
 v.l 
 
 o 
 
 TO 
 
 JEr. anil Jlr©. Certl ilaUirjIt 
 
 to whom this book 
 
 (when appearing in serial form) 
 
 was the happy means of making me known 
 
 I WITH FEELINGS OP WARM REGARD 
 AND SOMETHING MORE THAN PLEASURE 
 DEDICATE THE STORY 
 OF 
 
 PERIWINKLE 
 
 A. G.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Book I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MOOR EDGE, ..... 1 
 
 Book II. 
 
 DARYL DARKWOOD'S WIFE, . . U5-
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 MOOR EDGE. 
 
 Gloomy, windy, and full of ghosts." — Ossian. 
 
 There are depths in man that go the length of lowest 
 Hell, as there are heights that reach highest 
 Heaven." — Carlyle. 
 
 " I have no companion .... 
 No friend in all the throng to hear my sighs; 
 No glance, but the cold stare of alien eyes." 
 
 Lewis Morris.
 
 PERIWINKLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'fe^T had been, thougli in mid- June, a 
 chill and dreary day, with a strong 
 breeze and frequent showers ; and 
 now that evening was come, the clouds hung 
 lower and lower over the moor, and heavy 
 rain-drops at intervals splashed upon the win- 
 dow-panes. 
 
 Upstairs the floors creaked uncannily as 
 the wind swept round the house ; the lattices 
 rattled ; strange hollow moanings came down 
 the chimneys. One upstairs door in particular 
 seemed on that gusty June evening to strain and 
 fret at its lock more loudly than any other, as 
 if it meant to fly back and lay bare the fearful 
 secret it guarded. 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 Periwinkle. 
 
 It was the door of Uncle Simon's own garret 
 — liis mysterious attic under the tiles of Moor 
 Edge ; a room which never was entered by 
 any soul save himself. Ah ! that dreadful 
 place — that evil room ! Even now, looking 
 back to those days of my life at Moor Edge, 
 the memory of it makes me shudder in every 
 vein, my heart sickens with horror ; yet never 
 once did I cross the threshold — never once 
 behold the interior of the room. The door 
 itself was enough for me. I am glad that I 
 never saw beyond. 
 
 I stood before the broad and deep-set kitchen 
 window, staring out upon the sage-gray moor- 
 land, bleared and troubled- looking in the stormy 
 twilight mist, patiently watching for Uncle 
 Simon. He had left home on the day before 
 yesterday ; but to-night we expected him back. 
 I was always glad to see him return to the lonely 
 house where we lived ; for his sister, Aunt 
 Hannah, was but sorry company for a girl of 
 nineteen like me. 
 
 She — Aunt Hannah — sat by the hearth, toast- 
 ing slices of bread. There was a bright fire 
 burning in the grate ; the teapot, covered with 
 a cosy, stood ready within the fender. As usual, 
 when the day's work was done, my aunt was
 
 Moor Edge. 3 
 
 dressed in a plain skimp gown of some sad- 
 coloured stuflf, a limp net cap with faded ribbons, 
 and a small and very rusty black silk apron. 
 The weather being chilly, her pointed shoulders 
 were draped — as indeed they generally were, 
 chilly or not — with a knitted pink wrapper, 
 which looked as if a visit to the wash-tub 
 would have much improved its condition. 
 Aunt Hannah was a very bony and a very 
 low-spirited person. Her cheeks were thin 
 and colourless, her long sharp nose was red 
 at the tip, looking always frost-bitten. She 
 was a nervous, bloodless creature, and at times 
 suffered painfully from a disorder which she 
 called ** the jumps." 
 
 I can understand now that it was no wonder, 
 poor soul ! Ah, now — but not then ! For what, 
 brought up as I had been, could I know of the 
 skeleton which dwelt at Moor Edge ? All her 
 life long, or nearly so, had Aunt Hannah been 
 familiar with the grisly thing. The rattling of 
 its bare bones, so to speak, was nothing fresh to 
 her ; though, in spite of her knowledge, her long 
 familiarity with the truth, " the jumps " would 
 occasionally overtake her. 
 
 I may as well say at once that I did not like 
 my Aunt Hannah ; I had never really liked
 
 4 Periwinkle. 
 
 lier — not even when I was a child. And yet, I 
 believe, to do her justice, she was fond enough 
 in her way of me. 
 
 " Flower," said she, without turning her head, 
 " is your uncle coming ? " 
 
 I strained my eyes in the twilight, with my 
 forehead pressed against the window. I could 
 descry nothing but the leaden undulations of 
 the moor ; not even a tree or a hawthorn-bush 
 was visible from the kitchen window. 
 
 " No," I answered slow^ly, watching still. *' It 
 is all so gray and misty ; and Uncle Simon, 
 when he went away, was wearing his gray 
 suit and his gray hat. He would, you see, 
 be the same colour as the evening, out-of- 
 doors." 
 
 " You might catch a glimpse of his black bag, 
 though," observed Aunt Hannah, in her thin 
 monotonous voice. 
 
 " Yes ; doubtless I shall see that first," an- 
 swered I carelessly. 
 
 Uncle Simon was never known to quit Moor 
 Edge without carrying with him his black bag. 
 I had long since ceased to wonder, whenever he 
 set out on those mysterious journeys of his — 
 which sometimes were of frequent occurrence and 
 at other times happened rarely — what it was that
 
 Moor Edge, 5 
 
 he took away in his " black leather friend," as he 
 called it, and what it was that he brought back 
 with him. I suppose Aunt Hannah knew ; but 
 neither he nor she had ever told me. When 
 Uncle Simon was at home at Moor Edge, look- 
 ing contentedly after his poultry, his two cows 
 — Daffodil and Daisy — his pigs and the garden, 
 the black bag was locked up in the attic under 
 the roof. We never saw it lying about in the 
 lower rooms. The attic was the best place 
 for it. 
 
 Aunt Hannah went on with her toasting, and 
 said no more. When the gusty wind was still, 
 the only sounds that broke the silence were 
 the ticking of the tall clock in its corner, and 
 the loud purring of our deaf tortoise-shell cat 
 Sally, which lay curled up comfortably upon 
 the cushion of my Uncle Simon's great arm- 
 chair. 
 
 I date the story of my life from this most un- 
 summerlike seventeenth day of June, because it 
 was the day, the memorable day, on which a 
 certain thing had come to pass — something which 
 had changed for me the whole aspect and tenor 
 of existence, and had conjured into being, so to 
 put it, all kinds of dim and sweet possibilities. 
 Hitherto I never had thought or troubled about
 
 6 Periwinkle. 
 
 the future. I had begun, shyly and half fear- 
 fully, to think of the future to-day. 
 
 " Shall I tell him "— ^' him " meaning Uncle 
 Simon, — *' or shall I not ? " I mused, marking 
 mechanically how a rook, then with difficulty 
 travelling homeward to the far-away woods near 
 Stony hamp ton, w^as *' blown about the sky." 
 " Suppose I should not see him to-morrow, as 
 he said ; suppose I should not meet him ever 
 again ? Why, in that case, it would be ridicul- 
 ous to — " I felt that in the fast-fading light a 
 hot blush was gradually over-spreading my face ; 
 my very ears began to burn ; for this second 
 "him" did not mean my Uncle Simon. It had 
 distinct reference to some one else. But what 
 matter ? Aunt Hannah was not looking — could 
 not see ; nor could she guess what was passing 
 through my mind. 
 
 " It's half-past seven," she cried presently, 
 glancing up at the solemn-faced old clock stand- 
 ing like a sentinel — or a sentinel's box rather — 
 in its shadowy niche. ** The toast will be as cold 
 as a stone, and so'll the tea, before — " 
 
 At that moment I caught sight of the short, 
 square familiar figure, clad in its shabby gray 
 suit, and, as usual, carrying the black bag in its 
 hand, coming, with head bent to the wet west
 
 Moor Edge. 7 
 
 wind, slowly and wearily over the dim moor, on- 
 ward to the lone house which was built upon the 
 confines of it. 
 
 " Here is Uncle Simon ! " I interrupted, in a 
 rejoicing tone. "It is so dull and wretched this 
 evening, Aunt Hannah — let me light the candles, 
 will you ? It will be more cheerful for him 
 when he comes in." 
 
 " It isn't really dark enough for candles," 
 complained my aunt ; " but light 'em if you 
 like." 
 
 Speaking, she came to the table whereon was 
 set the tea-tray awaiting her attention ; whilst I 
 at once busied myself with match-box and brass 
 candlesticks, in order to give the place a snugger 
 and more homelike appearance by the time our 
 tired traveller should come in. When he had 
 reached the gate in the low stone wall which 
 surrounded the garden at Moor Edge, I was 
 ready to open the front-door and to fly down 
 the path to meet him. 
 
 Why should I not throw my arms about the 
 neck of my Uncle Simon and kiss him % Did I 
 not love him ? Ah 1 kind Heaven, in those days 
 of my absolute innocence and ignorance, did I 
 not love him very sincerely ? Yes ; I see no 
 reason why I should not confess it. The cruel
 
 8 Periwinkle, 
 
 after-knowledge had not yet opened my eyes 
 and turned my unquestioning girlish aflfection 
 for him into something which, after all, I 
 think, was never hatred. No, it may have 
 been fear and shrinking and vague horror — 
 something very near akin perhaps to loath- 
 ing ; but. Heaven knows, it was never down- 
 right hatred ! 
 
 I had not then learned that he had wronged 
 me because he loved me. I was conscious only 
 that he was the one good friend I had ever 
 known, the one truly kind relation I had ever 
 known — indeed, the only parent I had ever 
 known. And so, remembering no other — be- 
 lieving that I had no other — I loved him and 
 looked up to him in those days as a child in its 
 simplicity looks up to and reveres its natural 
 guardian. Should I be blamed hereafter for an 
 extraordinary lack of instinct I cannot help it. 
 I merely state the truth. 
 
 " My pretty Flower," he said in his caressing 
 way, his arm at my waist, as together we went 
 up the garden path ; " and so you are glad to 
 have me home again — eh ? " 
 
 " Gladder than ever to-night, uncle," replied I 
 gaily ; "for it has come over so cold and stormy, 
 and one can't be out of doors with any comfort.
 
 Moor Edge. g 
 
 What makes you so late ? The tea has been 
 waiting for you ever so long." 
 
 '' The train was late, and Lang was late," said 
 Uncle Simon. " It was after seven o'clock when 
 he set me down upon the moor." 
 
 We were, I believe, more than five miles from 
 Stonyhampton. Whenever we wished to get to 
 the town, we walked across the wide and breezy 
 moorland, met Lang and his nag at the cross- 
 roads, and rode thither with him in his carrier's 
 cart. Moor Edge itself stood in utter solitude. 
 Garlands -on -the -Moor, the farm-house where 
 the Acres lived, was quite a mile and a half 
 from us. 
 
 Uncle Simon, as was his wont on his return, 
 went straightway upstairs ; and we heard him 
 unlock the creaking attic door, throw the black 
 bag just as it was into the dismal room beyond, 
 and lock the door again. Aunt Hannah just 
 then was pouring out the tea. The bony red 
 hand which held the teapot shook visibly, and 
 one of the cups, I noticed, overflowed upon the 
 tray. 
 
 When my uncle came down from the upper 
 part of the house, he had changed his shabby 
 gray suit for the one he always wore when at 
 home with Aunt Hannah and me, and had put on
 
 lo Periwinkle, 
 
 his slippers too. He went up to Aunt Hannah 
 and kissed her on the forehead. She shivered 
 and did not look at him. His mild kind face, 
 with its pale-blue gentle eyes, to me seemed 
 somewhat to overcloud at her unsisterly cold- 
 ness ; and so, drawing my chair close to that of 
 my Uncle Simon, I slipped my hand into his in 
 token of my affectionate sympathy. However, 
 we were both of us used to Aunt Hannah and 
 her queer repellent ways. 
 
 " Hannah, will you look at the newspaper ? " 
 he said, half drawing one from his pocket as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Not to-night, Simon, thank you." 
 
 " Do you feel nervous, Hannah % " he inquired 
 kindly. 
 
 " Not — not more so than usual, Simon, when 
 you come home to Moor Edge of an evening," 
 she replied. 
 
 " Have you the jumps, Hannah ? " asked 
 Uncle Simon playfully. 
 
 " No ; but I shall have them perhaps by-and- 
 by," she answered sullenly. " I suppose you 
 would like some ham with your tea ? " 
 
 " Thank you, Hannah," he said, with his quiet 
 smile. " I have had a hard day's work, and am 
 hungry."
 
 Moor Edge. 1 1 
 
 *' Don't ! " slie cried shrilly ; and, rising 
 abruptly from the table, she went into the 
 pantry upon the other side of the passage to get 
 the newly-boiled ham that was there. 
 
 Tea finished, the crockery put away, the fire 
 replenished, and the hearth swept clean, my 
 aunt, observing that there was a pile of linen 
 to be sorted and folded, left me and Uncle Simon 
 in the kitchen together. 
 
 The clean linen was kept in a huge mahogany 
 chest of drawers, with massive brass ring-shaped 
 handles, which stood behind the door in the 
 parlour — a large, low, square room, with a big 
 hard horsehair sofa and some slippery horsehair 
 chairs, some red-and-white china animals upon 
 the mantelpiece, and a case of stufi'ed birds upon 
 a table between the windows. The room faced 
 the north-east, and seemed always cold, earthy, 
 and silent, like a vault ; the chimney generally 
 smoked when a fire was first lighted in the grate ; 
 for the parlour was never used, except occasion- 
 ally on a Sunday. 
 
 But the linen was Aunt Hannah's pride, and 
 the drawers in the mahogany chest were 
 crammed full of it. She would sometimes kneel 
 before those heavy open drawers for hours to- 
 gether, marking, folding, arranging, rearranging.
 
 1 2 Periwinkle. 
 
 and putting in fresh muslin bags of dried 
 lavender : we had a row of stunted lavender- 
 bushes upon the southern side of Moor Edge. 
 But if ever I happened to come unawares upon her 
 kneeling before those open drawers, she would 
 shut them all up with a bang, one after another, 
 locking them in a kind of nervous haste. 
 
 "When he and I were alone — Sally, the tor- 
 toise-shell cat, now asleep upon the patch- 
 work rug, Aunt Hannah's handiwork, before the 
 kitchen fire — Uncle Simon, with a fond look at 
 me, said : 
 
 " Are you thinking that I have forgotten you 
 this time. Flower ? " 
 
 " Forgotten me, uncle ? " I echoed, rather 
 absently. ** Oh, no ! I was thinking — merely 
 thinking — " 
 
 He was feeling in his pocket again. He drew 
 out the newspaper which at tea-time he had 
 ofi"ered to Aunt Hannah, and which she had 
 declined to look at, and, folding it and pressing 
 it into a small square, with the poker he thrust 
 it under the glowing grate. Then he set fire to 
 the newspaper and stared at it meditatively 
 whilst it blazed away into nothingness. The 
 last tiny spark died out of the black smouldering 
 mass; and he looked up at me and smiled.
 
 Moor Edge. 1 3: 
 
 Then, again putting his hand into his roomy 
 pocket, he this time drew out a thick volume,, 
 richly but quietly bound in dark green, say- 
 ing,— 
 
 " No, I did not forget you, Flower. See ! " 
 
 He was holding out the book to me. It was 
 Macaulay's Essays, Critical and Historical — a 
 book that I had long desired to possess, having 
 often heard my Uncle Simon mention it in terms 
 of the warmest admiration. I perched myself 
 upon his knee, and thanked him with a hearty 
 kiss. 
 
 " You dear, kind generous uncle, how good you 
 are ! 
 
 Something like a sigh escaped him ; his gaze 
 once more wandering to the fire as he held me 
 upon his knee. 
 
 Rarely did my Uncle Simon return home from 
 one of those strange and secret journeys of his 
 without bringing to me a present in the shape of 
 a book worth having. Already the small book- 
 case in my bedroom contained the most popular 
 works of Dickens, Thackeray, and dear George 
 Eliot ; with those of Tennyson, Moore, and 
 Longfellow, and many others in prose and in 
 verse. 
 
 My Uncle Simon — a man, I believe, almost
 
 1 4 Periwinkle, 
 
 wholly self-educated— had been a great reader 
 in his time ; and indeed read much now, at this 
 period of his life, when he could find the leisure 
 for that which was his favourite recreation. Such 
 books, however, as those of Smiles or of Helps 
 were his chief delight in middle age ; though 
 occasionally a good novel pleased him mightily. 
 On a Sunday afternoon, if he was at home, he 
 always read Shakespeare ; and on a Sunday 
 eveniug the Bible. But he never went to church. 
 Nor, for the matter of that, did I and Aunt 
 Hannah very often go. For one thing, the 
 distance to Stonyhampton was a serious con- 
 sideration ; for another, when we did go, the 
 congregation stared at us strangely and coldly ; 
 and Aunt Hannah did not like this behaviour. 
 It made her cross and discontented, though 
 doubtless she understood it. If our life at 
 Moor Edge was not exactly peaceful, it was a 
 curiously quiet and uneventful one ; and quiet 
 is akin to peace. 
 
 **Just now," said my Uncle Simon, touching 
 my smooth black hair — it was beautiful, soft, 
 "purple-black" hair, he sometimes told me — 
 **just now you said that you were thinking 
 of — What was it. Flower ? " 
 
 For a second time that evening I could feel
 
 Moor Edge. 1 5 
 
 the blood going upward to my ears and forehead. 
 I laughed a trifle uneasily. 
 
 '' I was thinking — thinking that you are look- 
 ing unusually tired to-night, uncle," said I, 
 lightly stroking the fringe of gray-white whisker 
 which grew on either side of his kind face and 
 met beneath his chin. 
 
 " No, Flower, that is not what you were 
 thinking of," said my Uncle Simon gravely. 
 
 "■ Well, you are right," I cried impulsively, 
 after a pause. " I have not told you the actual 
 truth." And with contrition I dropped my head 
 to his shoulder and took his hand into mine. 
 
 " Tell me the truth now, then," he said gently. 
 
 *' I — I was thinking, uncle, that — that I ought 
 to confess something. That is the truth." 
 
 " Yes, my dear little girl ? " 
 
 '^ Something that happened to-day — this after- 
 noon, in fact." 
 
 " Let me hear it. Flower," said my Uncle 
 Simon; *'and afterwards you shall get me my 
 pipe." 
 
 " You know," I began somewhat lamely, " the 
 old quarry on the moor, don't you — the little 
 one, I mean, not the larger of the two — where 
 the turf and the broom hang over and form a 
 sort of cave ? "
 
 1 6 Periwinkle. 
 
 " Of course. Did you see any rabbits there 
 to-day ? " 
 
 " Lots ; and I also saw something else." 
 ** What was that, Flower ? " 
 I drew a quick breath, and answered hurriedly : 
 " A young man — a stranger — a gentleman." 
 I felt my uncle start, as if a spasm had seized 
 him ; and I fancied too that he muttered, as if 
 involuntarily — ''At last! Has it then come, I 
 wonder, at last ? " Yet it may be that I was 
 mistaken, for the next moment he was saying 
 as quietly and as gently as ever — " And did he 
 speak to you. Flower % " 
 
 *'Yes. It was like this. I was out on the 
 moor with Jack Sprat for a walk after dinner, 
 when a frightfully windy shower came on 
 suddenly ; and, as fast as I could, I ran down 
 into the quarry for shelter. There was nowhere 
 else to run. Of course, I never dreamed of 
 finding anybody there ; but in the cavern, uncle, 
 I ran right against this young man." 
 
 " And — and, child, you say he spoke to you ? " 
 "Yes. But — but I really cannot remember 
 what he said at first — I was much too confused 
 and astonished. However, by degrees, I began 
 to understand what he was saying ; and — and I 
 couldn't come away and leave him, uncle, you
 
 Moor Edge, 1 7 
 
 see, because of the rain. It was simply pelting 
 down just then." 
 
 " Ay — I see," said my Uncle Simon sadly. 
 " What did he talk about, Flower ? " 
 
 " Oh, he told me that he was an artist, and 
 that he was painting a picture called a * Summer 
 Storm,' and that, wanting a particular bit of sky 
 to put into this picture — which it seems is a 
 large one — he had come out on to the moor in 
 the hope of finding it overhead. He had with 
 him a small easel, a large umbrella, and other 
 things besides ; and — and he says that he is very 
 fond of the north of England, and has taken 
 rooms for the summer at Garlands." 
 
 " What !— at Garlands-on-the-Moor ? AVith 
 the Acres ? " 
 
 " Yes. he arrived there from London, I think 
 he said, the day before yesterday. He says he 
 is enchanted with Garlands and the wild scenery 
 hereabout." 
 
 " Did he tell you his name ? " 
 
 "Yes. Daryl Darkwood." 
 
 '' A good name," said my Uncle Simon thought- 
 fully. "And, Flower, my darling, did you" — 
 with something, I thought, like pain in his voice 
 — '' did you tell him yours ? " 
 
 " I felt that I ought to, uncle, you see, when 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 T 8 Periwinkle. 
 
 he asked me if I would. And of course I said 
 that it was Greedy— Flower Greedy." 
 
 " What — what did he say then ? " 
 
 This time I felt certain — it was no fancy of 
 mine — that there was real anguish in the voice 
 of my Uncle Simon. 
 
 " All that he said was, speaking slowly, * Greedy 
 — Greedy. And so your name is Greedy?'" 
 
 '* Ah ! " said my uncle then ; and he appeared 
 to be thinking deeply. 
 
 ''Uncle Simon," said I timidly, "if I should 
 ae^ain meet this Mr. Darkwood on the^moor — and 
 he says that he will most likely be painting there 
 every day — shall I recognise him — speak to him 
 — or would you rather that I did not ? I should 
 like to do what is right." 
 
 " I would rather. Flower, that you did not," 
 said my uncle, with a slow and wistful smile 
 that I did not understand ; '* but the fact is, 
 since matters have gone thus far, I do not see 
 how you are to avoid doing so. Perhaps — well, 
 perhaps the next time you meet him I may be 
 with you, dear ; and then — You are sure that 
 he is a gentleman ? " he broke off. 
 
 " Quite sure," I answered earnestly. Yet at 
 that time of my life, or at any rate until that 
 day of it, I do not suppose that I had ever once
 
 Moor Edge. 1 9 
 
 in my recollection spoken to wliat the world 
 calls '' a gentleman." Notwithstanding, I felt 
 positive that, if gentlemen walked the earth, 
 Daryl Darkwood was one. 
 
 '' I would not, if I were you, Flower, go 
 near the quarry again — at least not just yet," 
 observed my uncle, after a short silence, in his 
 kindest manner. ''It might appear, you know, 
 as if — well, as if you had wandered thither on 
 purpose." 
 
 " Oh, no ; I should certainly not go near the 
 quarry. Uncle Simon, unless I was obliged to," 
 I answered, laughing and reddening. " Mr. 
 Darkwood, when the rain stopped and he wished 
 me good-bye, said it was just the place for snakes, 
 he should think ; but I never saw one there, and 
 said so." 
 
 " Nor I, Flower. I hope," observed my Uncle 
 Simon, in his mild way, "that you did not find 
 one there to-day." 
 
 '' No ; as I told you, only rabbits without 
 number, and — Hark, uncle ! Is not that Jack 
 Sprat barking in the yard ? Yes ! Now, who 
 can be crossing the moor at this time of night ? " 
 
 With hand uplifted to enjoin silence, I had 
 slipped from my uncle's knee. We listened 
 attentively. The wind was still moaning in the
 
 20 Periwinkle. 
 
 chimney, though we could now see that the night 
 had grown clearer, for a star was twinkling in 
 the bit of dark sky which was visible through 
 the wide kitchen lattice, across which, as it 
 chanced, the curtain had not yet been drawn. 
 
 " Yes, that's Jack, sure enough ! " my uncle 
 was agreeing ; when the door behind us flew 
 back, and Aunt Hannah rushed into the kitchen. 
 She was trembling. Her face was white with 
 fright. She gasped rather than spoke, with her 
 lean hands clutching her breast, — 
 
 *' Simon, a footstep ! It came up the garden 
 and went round the house ! I was in the parlour 
 with the linen ; I heard it distinctly ; and then — 
 and then the dog began to bark. There — can't 
 you hear him now ? " 
 
 " A footstep in the garden ? Nonsense, 
 Hannah ! " said her brother soothingly. " It is 
 some one, as Flower says, crossing the moor; 
 and what of that ? Besides, Jack howls at the 
 moon sometimes — " 
 
 '' There's no moon to-night, Simon. Hah ! " 
 
 A cry of terror that was nearly a shriek here 
 broke from Aunt Hannah's lips, and she staggered 
 heavily against Uncle Simon's arm-chair. With 
 one bony red hand she gripped for support the 
 tall back of it ; with the other, with every finger
 
 Moor Edge, 2 1 
 
 quivering, she was pointing to the uncovered 
 window. 
 
 "A face, Simon," she whispered, as if she 
 were choking — " a face looking in ! A dead, 
 staring, awful face — it must be the face of one 
 of your — " 
 
 " Fool ! " 
 
 It was, or it seemed to be, the deft work of a 
 moment. Aunt Hannah, with ashy parted lips 
 and closed eyes, was lying back in the wooden 
 arm-chair ; and Uncle Simon, with iron grasp 
 ujDon her shoulders, was standing over her and 
 holding her thus. I could not see his face ; but 
 I noticed, I think for the first time, what fierce 
 strength there was in his flat wiry wrists. 
 
 ''Fool!" said my uncle again. He spoke 
 quite calmly ; but I, who had learned to know 
 every tone of his voice, detected the intense anger 
 which was breathed in that sinQ:le word. 
 
 "You hurt me, Simon ! " whined Aunt Hannah. 
 
 He removed his hands from her body ; but 
 shook her slightly as he did so. 
 
 "Don't you move," he said then, with all his old 
 gentleness. "Keep quiet, and you will get better." 
 
 Perceiving that she did not venture to stir, 
 he stepped to the cupboard by the fire-place and 
 took from an upper shelf in ifc the stone jar of
 
 22 Periwinkle, 
 
 whiskey from whicli he was accustomed to brew 
 his grog when he smoked his pipe of an evening. 
 The kettle upon the hob was at boiling-point; 
 and in less than a minute Aunt Hannah s brother 
 had mixed for her a tumblerful of strong spirits- 
 and-water. 
 
 " Your poor Aunt Hannah has got the jumps 
 with a vengeance to-night," said my Uncle Simon 
 pleasantly, turning to me, with the steaming 
 jorum in his hand. 
 
 I nodded, and smiled back at him. It was 
 not the first time by a good many that I had 
 seen Aunt Hannah with the jumps, though never 
 perhaps before had they seemed so bad as they 
 were now. 
 
 "Jack is quiet again," I whispered. "It was 
 really only someone going over the moor." And 
 I went to the window, and drew the curtain, so 
 shutting out the peeping stars. 
 
 " Of course that was all," said my Uncle Simon 
 aloud. 
 
 " That won't do ! I know better," contra- 
 dicted Aunt Hannah, shivering violently. *' I 
 saw — I saw — " 
 
 " The reflection of your own white face in the 
 firelit window," said her brother firmly. "Come, 
 Hannah — no more nonsense ! Drink this ! "
 
 Moor Edge, 23 
 
 Again lie was standing over her, his back 
 towards me, so that again I was unable to see 
 his face. But I fancied that I heard a slight 
 shuddering moan, such as might break from one 
 who was menaced with and quailing from an 
 immediate blow. Certain it was that Aunt 
 Hannah murmured piteously, — 
 
 " Don't look at me like that, Simon ! I can't 
 stand it ! I can do nothing whilst you look at 
 me like that ! " 
 
 " Pooh ! Drink it," he said in his gentlest 
 voice. 
 
 " I — I can't. I can't indeed," she answered 
 faintly, " so long as you glare — " 
 
 " My good soul, you shall." 
 
 And when my uncle moved away from her, I 
 saw that Aunt Hannah was obediently sipping 
 the hot whiskey-and-water ; and it appeared to 
 be giving her comfort, I was also glad to see. 
 
 My uncle kissed me with his customary affec- 
 tion and said, — 
 
 " We had tea so late to-night, we shall not, I 
 fancy, require any supper. So you had better 
 be off to bed. Flower. I have a letter or two to 
 write, my child, and I want to talk to your Aunt 
 Hannah." 
 
 At this my aunt half-fearfuUy glanced up
 
 24 Periwinkle. 
 
 from her tumbler, and dropped the wet spoon 
 into her lap. She looked indeed as if she had 
 but little desire for any further conversation 
 with her brother. 
 
 Not sorry to leave the kitchen for my own 
 neat chamber, with its small old chintz-covered 
 couch, its little round table by the window, and 
 the silent but best of all companions in the 
 bookcase, I took up my new Macaulay, who 
 was now to be added to that dear silent com- 
 pany, lit my lamp, and went to bed — having 
 first, however, dutifully put my lips to Aunt 
 Hannah's dingy cap, by way of a good-night 
 caress. I had always considered her an un- 
 pleasant person to live with ; and this evening 
 she had shown herself more unpleasant than ever. 
 
 Mv room, with its sweet wide view of wild 
 and breezy moorland, was at the end of a narrow 
 passage ; and in order to reach it I must pass 
 the bare stair-ladder which led up to the attic 
 in the roof. 
 
 I was humming softly to myself, and thinking 
 of the stranger whom I had that day met in the 
 quarry, when the rattling of the attic-door, jarr- 
 ing and fretting in the night wind, put him and 
 our meeting out of my mind. 
 
 I believe that scarcely a night at Moor Edge
 
 Moor Edge. 2 5 
 
 tad ever gone by without my wonderiug, some- 
 times sleepily and sometimes perhaps with an 
 almost acutely nervous curiosity, what strange 
 secret lurked there, and was hidden from me, 
 behind that garret-door. What was it ? What 
 could it be ? But, as I have already said, the 
 veil was not lifted in those days ; and so I knew 
 no actual fear.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ^^|HE next morning dawned hopelessly 
 wet ; tlie wild west wind had gone 
 down, and the rain could fall in 
 comfort, as it were. And it did fall now — 
 straight, steadily, in a quiet and determined 
 manner, as if, having at last got its chance, 
 it meant to keep on for ever. 
 
 I saw in a moment when we met at breakfast 
 that Aunt Hannah was once more herself — her 
 peevish, low-spirited, but ever-industrious self — • 
 with, of course, her dingy pink wrapper clingiug 
 limply to her pointed shoulders. Her nervous 
 attack of the past night seemed fortunately 
 entirely gone. 
 
 Somehow all the morning I could not " settle 
 to anything," as my Aunt Hannah querulously 
 expressed it ; and I chafed for a brisk long moor-
 
 Moor Edge, 2 7 
 
 land walk, with the free wide sky and the fresh 
 wild healthful air all around me, and faithful 
 Jack Sprat for my companion. 
 
 Jack Sprat was only a mongrel of the fox- 
 terrier kind ; but the right loyal heart within 
 his small coarse body made up for his sad lack 
 of beauty. A pedlar, called Wyse the Wanderer, 
 and well known in those northern parts, had 
 given the dog to me in his puppyhood. 
 
 But a walk in the present state of the w^eather 
 was out of the question. 
 
 My Uncle Simon, as was usual with him when 
 at home at Moor Edge, was busy to-day out of 
 doors ; but, owing to the rain, he could not 
 work in the garden, and his exertions were 
 perforce confined to the yard and the out-build- 
 ings. And indeed there was always somethiug 
 or other^ — with no servant or helper, either male 
 or female, upon the place — to be done amongst 
 the pigs and poultry. 
 
 Uncle Simon was exceedingly proud of his 
 two Alderneys, Daffodil and Daisy, who, if they 
 w^ere a trifle angular and poor-looking, were 
 certainly not lean upon the score of stinted 
 fodder. As often as not, too, they were roam- 
 ing at large over the rich moor, never, though, 
 straying out of sight of the squat gray-stone
 
 28 Periwinkle. 
 
 house, the humble cowshed adjoining which had 
 been their home for a good many years. To-day 
 their master, blithely whistling as he worked, 
 was cleansing their stalls and heaping in fresh 
 straw ; now and then patting their lean backs 
 and calling them his " pair of beauties." 
 
 Not until the twilight fell did the weather 
 begin to mend. Then, with a little warm even- 
 ing wind, the clouds parted and rolled away; the 
 stars rushed out silver- clear ; the drenched earth 
 sent up a refreshing fragrance ; and a slim new 
 moon, sailing face downward in the heavens, 
 made one hopeful of a bright to-morrow. Much 
 wearied with a long and — I fear — an idle day, I 
 went up early to my room ; but not to bed. I 
 wanted to be alone — to think — to dream ; any- 
 thing, in fact, to be away from Aunt Hannah 
 and her depressing prognostications about a wet 
 and dreary summer. She was sure of it, she 
 said ; we were *' in for " a bad summer. 
 
 " No, no ; let us hope not," said I as cheerily 
 as I could ; though it was by no means an easy 
 matter to take a blithe view of things, with Aunt 
 Hannah sniffing and prophesying on one hand, 
 and the rain coming down on the other. " It 
 has been lovely up till now." 
 
 " Ah, well," said she, in her thin dissatisfied
 
 Moor Edge, 29 
 
 voice, " this is the beginning of it — you'll see if 
 it isn't ! Mark my words ! " 
 
 No wonder my heart sank and life took a 
 melancholy hue ; for a wet summer at Moor 
 Edge meant days of endless monotony and isola- 
 tion unspeakable. But for Uncle Simon it made 
 no difference. Dry or damp, sun or gloom, 
 storm or calm — it was all the same to him. If 
 he had to go on a journey, forth he went, utter- 
 ing no word of complaint or of distaste, but 
 trudging patiently away, black bag in hand, 
 over the dim gray moor to meet Lang the carrier 
 at the cross-roads, and then on in the carrier's- 
 cart to the station at Stonyhampton. 
 
 Having opened wide the window, now that 
 the night had become so fine and warm, I sat- 
 down at the little table in my bedroom, turned 
 up my lamp, and tried to read an essay in my 
 new Macaulay. 
 
 I dipped into the one on Madame d'Arblay ; 
 it looked promising, most interesting — Evelina 
 and Cecilia were old friends of mine. But, 
 having read a few lines, and read them again, I 
 somehow discovered that I might just as well, 
 have been spelling over Greek for all the sense 
 I could make of the printed words under my 
 eyes. Clearly that night, then, I was in no-
 
 30 Periwinkle, 
 
 mood for self-improvement ; the long rainy day- 
 had thoroughly unsettled me. So, with a sigh, 
 dosing the book, I rested my head upon my 
 hand and prepared to give myself up to the 
 luxury of undisturbed reverie — the luxury, as 
 some one has called it, " of thinking of nothing 
 in particular." I heard my uncle ascend the 
 first stair-case, and then go on up higher to the 
 garret under the tiles. But that was nothing 
 unusual. Meanwhile Aunt Hannah downstairs 
 was turning keys and drawing bolts, and in her 
 own fidgety fashion was making everything safe 
 for the night. 
 
 It may have been some twenty minutes later 
 — I believe it was ten o'clock — when, as on the 
 previous night, I suddenly heard Jack Sprat 
 growling in the yard — a low, snarling, menacing 
 growl, which at any second might break into a 
 swift angry bark. However, before this could 
 happen, something flew whizzing through the air 
 beneath my window, and a piteous shriek 
 followed. Then Jack was still. 
 
 Full of wonderment at the circumstance, and 
 not without a suspicion of treachery, I leaned 
 out over the window-ledge — the casement was 
 deep-set in the dull-gray stone walls, as were all 
 the windows at Moor Edge — and peered cautiously
 
 Moor Edge. 3 1 
 
 to tlie right and to the left. My room, a corner 
 one, was on the south side of the house, and 
 looked sheer down on to the moor. As the house 
 itself was squat in shape, and as the passage 
 leading to my bedroom was distinctly on the 
 slant, ending in two downward steps into the 
 room, the floor of it in reality was but an in- 
 considerable distance from the green short turf 
 outside. 
 
 So, leaning stealthily out, and forgetting at 
 the moment that the burning lamp was upon the 
 table behind me, I very nearly screamed aloud 
 in my fright to meet in the star-lit gloom a face 
 upturned to mine. 
 
 " Hush I It is only I." 
 
 Immediately afterwards, the lamplight from 
 within falling upon them, I recognised the pale 
 handsome features and brilliant dark eyes — eyes 
 they were that had in them a singular red-brown 
 gleam — of the stranger whom I had yesterday 
 met in the quarry. He was smiling in some 
 amusement at my confusion and consternation : 
 but his mouth was entirely hidden by his heavy 
 dark-brown moustache — the one hirsute adorn- 
 ment he cultivated. He was very tall and 
 square-shouldered, yet slimly-built withal. As 
 he stood there upon the moor in the summer
 
 32 Periwinkle, 
 
 darkness, we could with ease have shaken hands 
 with each other. 
 
 " You must forgive," said he, speaking in a 
 distinct undertone, " my scaring you, as I fear I 
 have done ; but I quite thought the house was 
 on fire — " 
 
 " The house on fire ! " 
 
 " Do not, however, be alarmed," he hastened to 
 continue. ''It is all right — I was mistaken. I 
 came out for a stroll and a cigar after the 
 miserable day we have had, and from where I 
 was, upon the rising ground yonder, I saw what 
 I took to be a light — a growing fire — in the roof 
 of your house here. Of course I ran hither with 
 all possible speed; but I soon discovered my 
 error. It appears that you have a skylight or 
 something of the kind in the tiles ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," I told him in accents of relief— 
 "that is my Uncle Simon's garret — his own 
 private room ! You may often see a light there 
 when he is working at night." 
 
 " Working at night ! Then what does he do 
 up there all alone ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you," I answered simply ; add- 
 ing, as I prepared to withdraw from the window 
 and to wish Mr. Darkwood good-night — feeling 
 that it was far from proper and maidenly to be
 
 Moor Edge, 33 
 
 thus secretly conversing with him at such an 
 hour — " It was thoughtful and kind of you to 
 come ; and — and thank you very much." 
 
 " Pray don't go yet," he whispered hurriedly. 
 " I am sure you would not have shut the window 
 if I had not disturbed you with my stupid false 
 alarm. I saw your lamp, like Portia's 'little 
 candle/ shining out from afar ; and then — and 
 then I saw you sitting at the window, and — and 
 I couldn't withstand the temptation to come and 
 speak to you — perhaps only to look at you. 
 Shall I see you on the moor to-morrow ? " 
 
 I evaded this direct inquiry ; still hesitating, 
 with my hand upon the casement-bolt. 
 
 "You ought not to be here, I think. My 
 uncle would not like it if he knew." 
 
 '' Why should he know ? " 
 
 " Because he ought to know, and he will," I 
 answered him gravely. " I keep nothing from 
 my Uncle Simon." 
 
 " You good little soul," said he, not without a 
 suspicion of mockery in his voice. " Naturally 
 you told him that you had met me in the 
 quarry ? " 
 
 " Of course." Then a sudden conviction 
 flashed across my brain, and in momentary 
 excitement I leaned farther out. "Mr. Dark- 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 Periwinkle. 
 
 wood," I said, "I do believe now that it was 
 you who came here last night ! " 
 
 " It was," he replied boldly ; "I came to see 
 where you really lived. I wanted to know. 
 By- the- way," he inquired coolly, " don't you find 
 it fearfully lonely here ? In the depth of winter 
 it must be appalling." 
 
 " Sometimes — if we are snowed in," I acknow- 
 ledged. *'But — but, Mr. Darkwood, I must ask 
 you not to do it again — I — I mean not to come 
 here at night like this. Do you know, last even- 
 ing you frightened my aunt dreadfully. Don't 
 laugh ; I mean it — I do indeed ! She is a very 
 nervous person, and a little upsets her." 
 
 " I heard a woman scream," said he ; " but I 
 knew it wasn't you." 
 
 *' Well, let me beg you to be careful," I said 
 earnestly ; "for Jack Sprat, my dog, is uncertain 
 in his temper if he fancies there are tramps and 
 thieves about." 
 
 Mr. Darkwood laughed again ; softly and care- 
 fully, lest he should be overheard. 
 
 " Thank you," said he, with an amused nod. 
 " Jack Sprat, I am inclined to believe, is an ill- 
 conditioned little brute," he added. 
 
 " Indeed, he is nothing of the kind ! " I denied 
 rather hotly. "He is a faithful friend, though
 
 Moor Edge, 35 
 
 not a very pretty one. He would bark at you 
 now, only he knows my voice — low as I am talk- 
 ing, he can hear it. I hope you did not hurt 
 him just now ; if you did, I cannot forgive you." 
 
 " Hurt him ? Not for the world, if he is your 
 dog." 
 
 ''But I heard him cry out as though he were 
 hurt. What was it you threw at him % Not a 
 flint, I hope ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; merely a handful of gravel ! Be 
 lieve me, he wasn't in the least hurt. You 
 wouldn't have the whole neighbourhood aroused 
 by his noise, would you ? " 
 
 " The whole neighbourhood ! " I echoed. 
 " Why, Mr. Darkwood, we have no living neigh- 
 bours nearer to us than the people at Garlands- 
 on-the-Moor — where you lodge, you know. Poor 
 Jack would have to bark loud enough," I said, a 
 little sarcastically perhaps, " before he awoke the 
 Acre folk." 
 
 " I think you told me that you do not know 
 the people at Garlands — the Acres ? " he said 
 eagerly. "It is a pity — a great pity ; for we 
 might—" 
 
 "In the whole world I know no one except 
 my Aunt Hannah and my Uncle Simon." 
 
 " And me," said my new acquaintance re-
 
 36 Periwinkle, 
 
 proachfully — " do not forget me. You know me 
 now, Miss Greedy." 
 
 " Hardly. Until yesterday we never saw each 
 other." 
 
 "Oh, but surely our long talk together in the 
 quarry made us friends — the best of friends % 
 For me, at any rate, it was very pleasant." 
 
 My back being towards the lamp, he fortu- 
 nately could not see the bright colour which had 
 risen and was spreading in my cheeks. 
 
 *' Was it ? " It was, I have no doubt, a foolish 
 answer to make ; but I could hit upon no other 
 just then. 
 
 ''Kemarkably pleasant. In fact, as pleasant 
 as it was unexpected," replied Mr. Darkwood 
 emphatically. " And let me now tell you that, 
 if you do not permit me to see you again — and 
 I have explained to you that I shall, I hope, be 
 constantly painting out of doors ; that I have 
 come here expressly in order to paint out of doors 
 — I shall take it on your part, Miss Greedy, as a 
 great unkindness. What is that noise ? " he broke 
 off, stepping quickly backward and looking up to 
 the eaves of Moor Edo:e. 
 
 A muffled " tap, tap, tap — tap, tap, tap," like 
 the measured smiting together of hammer and 
 nail — a tapping notwithstanding that was a
 
 Moor Edge. ^y 
 
 familiar enough noise in my ears even at the 
 dead of night — had within the last minute or so 
 become audible from the reg:ion of the roof; 
 though I myself was able to give but a vague 
 explanation of the sound. 
 
 " Why, you look almost frightened, I declare ! " 
 I could not help saying, with a smile. "It is 
 only my Uncle Simon at work, sawing and tap- 
 ping — sawing and tapping ! We often at night 
 hear that noise in the attic. We are used to it, 
 you see, and take no notice of it. At least I do 
 not." 
 
 Mr. Darkwood's eyes met mine again. 
 
 " Does he make coffins up there ? " he asked 
 grimly. 
 
 The startling and unlikely question somehow 
 made me shiver. 
 
 " Coffins ! Do not imagine anything so horrible. 
 I — I should think not ! And now," — the impro- 
 priety of his being there beneath my window, and 
 the laxity of my own conduct in perhaps en- 
 couraging him to linger where he had no business 
 to be, again troubling my conscience — "good 
 night in earnest, and for the last time 1 I am 
 sleepy. Thank you once more — for indeed it was 
 very kind of you — for coming to our aid when 
 you believed that we were in danger."
 
 38 Periwinkle, 
 
 "I came because I believed that you" — with 
 emphasis — " were in danger." 
 
 I nodded a quick farewell to him, shut the 
 window, and drew down the blind. The tapping 
 in the attic had ceased for a while ; the night 
 was very still. A voice outside in the summer 
 darkness was saying, or rather softly singing, — 
 
 '* Good-night, good-night, my lonely, lovely 
 moorland flower ! " 
 
 I trembled with a nameless strange exulta- 
 tion, and, I know not why, buried my hot face in 
 my hands. I waited — waited, I think, minutes 
 before venturing to stir. 
 
 Was he gone ? 
 
 Scarcely daring to breathe, with slow and 
 cautious touch I drew the blind an inch or 
 two aside. 
 
 I peeped out upon the quiet purple night. I 
 let the blind go with a jerk. The pale handsome 
 face, with its eloquent smiling eyes, was still 
 there ; and Daryl Darkwood was kissing his hand 
 to me.
 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 ]£/^ '^ WEEK had gone by since the fateful 
 dav on which I had first seen Darvl 
 
 ^f^"^^ Darkwood ; or rather, to be accurate, 
 just a whole week had now elapsed since the 
 date of our second meeting — ^the night when he 
 came to my open window to tell me that he had 
 fancied the house was on fire. 
 
 When I, rather awkwardly, related to my 
 uncle this instance of Mr. Darkwood's good 
 nature, he shook his head slowly and smiled 
 straight into my eyes. 
 
 •'Xo, no, Flower — it wont do!" he said 
 sadly. 
 
 " What won't do, uncle ? " said I. 
 
 " That vounor man no more believed the 
 house was on fire than he believed that it was 
 vour Aunt Hannah whom he saw at the Horhted 
 
 window. ^ oukl he have come running over
 
 40 Periwinkle, 
 
 tlie moor, think you, child, to tell poor Hannah 
 that the house was on fire, when he knew all 
 the time that it wasn't ? No, no. Young men 
 will be young men, I suppose ; and — and — well, 
 it will surely come to pass by-and-by ; in some 
 way or other it must come to pass ! And I 
 wonder how I shall bear it — eh. Flower ? " 
 
 " Bear what ? " I asked, rendered vaguely un- 
 comfortable by his sorrowful look and tone. " I 
 do not understand you. Uncle Simon." 
 
 But he answered me evasively, capping my 
 question with another. 
 
 "You would not care, would you, my dear 
 little girl, to spend the whole of your life here 
 at Moor Edge ? " he said wistfully. " And yet 
 — and yet it might be best for you, dear ; who 
 knows ? " 
 
 " I should never care to go away from you, 
 Uncle Simon," I replied. And at the time I 
 meant it from my heart. 
 
 '' Young men ! " here put in Aunt Hannah, in 
 her sniffing, grumbling way — '' I never heard 
 any good of young men yet ; and, if you take 
 my advice. Flower, you'll have nothing to say to 
 'em when you do get the chance. Young men 
 — ugh ! They are all alike at bottom — all 
 vicious, all selfish, all naturally bad-inclined ;
 
 Moor Edge. 4 1 
 
 only some are quieter and deeper than others, 
 and some are rich and some are jDoor and some 
 are middling off — that's the only difference ! 
 But they are all alike inside. I know 'em." 
 
 Which was neither fair nor just of Aunt 
 Hannah, sour and discontented as she might be 
 feelino;. For, considerino; that she herself was an 
 old maid, and that, with the exception of my 
 Uncle Simon, no man, either young or old, was 
 ever known to plant foot across the doorstep 
 of Moor Edge, I did not think that she should 
 be accepted as a genuine authority upon the 
 matter. 
 
 And, oh, what an interminable week it had 
 seemed ; though it was possible to be out and 
 about all day long, and to roam beneath the 
 summer sky as far as one pleased ! July was 
 close at hand, and the weather was simply 
 glorious ; Aunt Hannah's doleful predictions 
 would assuredly not be verified. The high arch 
 above my head was of heaven's own blue, with 
 sometimes dim white clouds in fragments sailing 
 languidly with the delicious breeze which tem- 
 pered the warmth of the sun. The wide free 
 moorland beneath my feet was fresh and earthy, 
 sweet with thyme and the clustering gorse, over 
 the saffron bloom of which the wild bees swarmed
 
 42 Periwinkle. 
 
 and filled the lazy air with their busy hum. Far, 
 far away in the blue distance, and seemingly 
 lying low when viewed from our own high moor, 
 were the — to me — quite unknown woods of 
 Stonyhampton. Sometimes, when the wind was 
 in the right quarter, especially of a night, faintly 
 would come to us the sound of bells, chiming 
 mournfully or joyously ringing, with other sounds 
 common enough to the dwellers in towns. But 
 I knew nothing of life in a town. 
 
 Ah, how the larks soared and trilled and " ran " 
 in the sky, as Shelley says 1 How the old rabbits 
 skipped and played with the frisky little ones ; 
 how the tall grass and sturdy docks nodded to- 
 gether in the lightsome breeze ! Wild straw- 
 berries this year were as plentiful as blackberries 
 in autumn ; and the moss in the moister hollows 
 of the moor, where noisily bubbled up and flowed 
 the clear cold stream which supplied us with 
 water, was richer and softer than any costly 
 velvet, spreading and luxuriating there in every 
 shade of lovely gray and green. At any other 
 time this gracious weather would have filled my 
 heart with unspeakable joy, and I should have 
 been singing from morning until night. To feel 
 the simple unquestioning gladness of thoroughly 
 healthful youth is, I have learnt to comprehend,
 
 Moor Edge, 43 
 
 a blessing direct from Heaven that is indeed 
 beyond all price ! 
 
 I was angry with myself for not feeling more 
 glad — it seemed to me wicked — angry for being 
 conscious of the vague discontent and dis- 
 appointment which of late had crept into my 
 heart. During the whole of that intermin- 
 able week I had neither met nor even once 
 seen Daryl Darlcwood. Whither had he gone ? 
 Had he for some reason quite suddenly left 
 Garlands, and was he never coming back there 
 any more ? Could — could it then be that I 
 never should see him again ? True, the pro- 
 priety, first suggested to me by my Uncle 
 Simon, of keeping away from the neighbour- 
 hood of the quarry had prompted me to ramble 
 in an opposite direction ; nor had I during the 
 past week once ventured within a mile of 
 Garlands-on-the-Moor. Hitherto, in the days 
 before Mr. Darkwood had gone to lodge with the 
 Acres, I had not cared how often Jack Sprat 
 and I might wander past the old farm-house ; 
 although the booby boorish sons would come 
 and lean over the yard-gate to stare at me, and 
 the strapping loud-voiced daughters of the family, 
 with sleeves rolled high above their red elbows, 
 would from the windows look askance at me
 
 44 Periwinkle, 
 
 after the manner of the folk at Stony- 
 hampton. 
 
 " I want to see him — I do want to see him ! " 
 I said aloud to myself, with a petulant stamp 
 upon the turf. "For I particularly want to 
 give him a piece of my mind — don't I, Jack ? — 
 because he did hurt you on that night — didn't 
 he, my dear ? I know he did ; though of course 
 he didn't mean to, and couldn't help it, Jacky, 
 in the dark." 
 
 Jack Sprat danced about on three legs, frantic- 
 ally all the time working his poor coarse stump 
 of a tail ; and repeatedly jumped up my gown 
 as well, leaving dirty paw-marks behind him. 
 
 In the morning after the night when I had 
 last seen Mr. Darkwood, Jack had come limping 
 in-doors from his barrel — to which, by the way, 
 he was never chained or tied — with a nasty cut 
 upon his left fore-paw, which he held up pathetic- 
 ally to us all in turn with dumb pleading in his 
 faithful bright eyes. As well as I could I had 
 washed the clotted blood from the gash, and had 
 very tenderly dressed the wound ; and, although 
 now the paw was considerably healed, poor Jack 
 had gone lame ever since. 
 
 On the eighth day of my new strange loneli- 
 ness Uncle Simon announced at breakfast — after,
 
 Moor Edge, 45 
 
 as it was his habit in all weathers to do, he had 
 met the post-boy on the moor — that he was com- 
 pelled to leave home rather unexpectedly, and 
 would start from Moor Edge that night. 
 
 Curious as it may seem to those who have 
 troops of friends and who are blessed with near 
 home-ties, no letters ever came to Moor Edo;e 
 for me ; none ever came for Aunt Hannah — 
 unless Uncle Simon himself wrote to her when 
 he was absent on a journey to apprise her of the 
 date of his return. 
 
 I had no one in the whole world to write to 
 or to write to me ; nor do I believe had Aunt 
 Hannah herself anyone save her brother Simon. 
 So I never had received a letter in my life. As 
 I have said, my uncle in all weathers met the 
 post-boy on the moor ; and afterwards he read 
 his letters before coming into the house, some- 
 times in the garden and sometimes in the porch. 
 Then, if there was anything to tell us, he told 
 it ; if there was not, he was silent. 
 
 " Going away, Simon ? " whined Aunt Hannah. 
 " Oh, dear — for long ? " 
 
 " Longer," said Uncle Simon gently, " than 
 usual, Hannah, this time I fear I shall be away." 
 
 *' Where — where," said my aunt huskily, *' are 
 you going, Simon ? "
 
 46 Periwinkle, 
 
 Her knotted lean hands were tremblino; so 
 painfully that her black-handled knife and fork 
 rattled in her plate. So peevishly she pushed 
 it from her, rasher and all, and kneaded her 
 hands into her lap beneath the table-cloth. 
 
 " I am going," replied her brother quietly, 
 ^' on this occasion to Ireland ; and shall be 
 absent perhaps for a week or ten days — ten 
 days, Hannah, at the most. After that, I be- 
 lieve, and indeed hope, that I shall have a 
 holiday, little Flower " — playfully turning to 
 me — " a long, quiet, restful summer holiday at 
 Moor Edge." 
 
 " I am sure I hope so too," I echoed earnestly. 
 I had finished breakfast, and as I spoke I arose 
 and put my hand affectionately upon Uncle 
 Simon's shoulder. He imprisoned my fingers 
 within his own and rubbed them lightly thus 
 against his cheek. Ah ! should not I now find 
 my loneliness doubly hard to endure — my 
 Uncle Simon being away for so long — having 
 once known the hitherto unknown experience 
 of feeling my life's monotony so pleasantly 
 disturbed ? 
 
 What should I do with myself and my soli- 
 tude in all those coming ten long, endless 
 summer days, with no one but Aunt Hannah
 
 Moor Edge. 47 
 
 for human company ? Well, there were always 
 my books — yes, they had sufficed once ; and 
 there w^as Jack Sprat, and there was also the 
 free wide sweet moor. I had never really before 
 found my lone home dull and dreadful to con- 
 template — why should I begin to find it dull 
 and dreadful now ? 
 
 "I shall not sleep a wink the whole while 
 you're away," sniffed Aunt Hannah, gulping 
 down her tea, the rim of her cup knocking 
 audibly against her teeth. '' I shall be ill, 
 Simon, before you come back — see if I ain't." 
 
 " That is an old story," answered her brother, 
 his voice mild, but his eyes turned sternly upon 
 the quailing woman before him. " Don't you be 
 a fool, Hannah ! " 
 
 "I cant help it," said she, with something 
 between a gasp and a sob. 
 
 " Well, you had better not get frightening my 
 little girl here out of her wits Avith your absurd 
 'jumps,' as you call them," said my uncle, with 
 his quiet smile. 
 
 " I can't help it if I do," said Aunt Hannah 
 again. 
 
 '* You had better not ! " he observed, still 
 smiling benignly. Now, however, it was his pale 
 blue eyes that seemed to smile, and the iron
 
 48 Periwinkle, 
 
 sternness had crept into his low voice. *' It will 
 be the worse for you if you do, woman ! That 
 is all" 
 
 With that he got up and went out into the 
 yard. Whenever Uncle Simon called his sister 
 *' woman," it was a sure sign that he was terribly 
 angry. 
 
 A calm and sunny evening arrived ; tea was 
 over ; and my uncle, saying no word either to 
 me or to Aunt Hannah, went up to the attic in 
 the roof. He was locked up alone there for 
 more than an hour, and when he reappeared 
 it was between seven and eight o'clock, and 
 the sun in wide-spreading glory was setting 
 behind the woods of Stonyhampton. He came 
 down dressed in his gray suit, his gray hat, 
 his well-worn black silk neck-tie, and with his 
 boots nicely polished. In his hand he carried 
 the mysterious black leather bag, which this 
 evening bulged — or, at any rate, I fancied so — 
 somewhat more than usual. 
 
 When he kissed Aunt Hannah in the porch 
 and said good-bye to her, she began to shiver 
 and cry, and wiped away her tears with an end 
 of her old pink wrapper. He patted her thin 
 shoulder, telling her not to be more foolish than 
 common, but to take good care of Daffodil and
 
 Moor Edge. 49 
 
 Daisy, the sow and her litter, and the sitting- 
 hen ; and then, linking his arm in mine, he led 
 me with him as far as the garden-gate. I felt 
 very low-spirited at seeing him about to depart ; 
 and indeed, like Aunt Hannah's, the tears had 
 risen to my eyes. 
 
 " Never mind — cheer up, Flower ! " said my 
 uncle tenderly. " I shall soon be back ; the time 
 will soon pass. And by- the- bye, dear, would you 
 like a new gown this time, or something else to 
 add to the little library upstairs — eh ? " 
 
 " Oh, you are too kind, too generous by far, 
 dear Uncle Simon I " said I mournfully. '' Please 
 do not trouble. You let me want for nothing ; 
 and sometimes I think you cannot perhaps 
 afford it — " 
 
 " I can afford anything for you, dear. Come, 
 say which it is to be — a new gown or a new 
 book ? I shall be passing through London on 
 my way home, and of course I could buy a fine 
 new gown-piece there." 
 
 " I thought you were going to Ireland ? " 
 said I, looking up at him. 
 
 " So I am ; but I shall be in London before 
 I come back." 
 
 ''Well, I am very greedy, Uncle Simon dear. 
 I would rather have a book, since you give me 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 Periwinkle. 
 
 the choice. I have plenty of gowns for the 
 present." 
 
 Why, nobody would see a new gown at Moor 
 Edge if I had one ! thought I. But this re- 
 flection of discontent would certainly not have 
 occurred to me a month ago. 
 
 " I think Adelaide Procter s poems would be 
 a nice book for your shelves, Flower — eh ? " said 
 my uncle, his hand upon the latch of the garden- 
 gate, gazing meanwhile very wistfully into my 
 upturned eyes. " All young people — young 
 girls especially — should read Adelaide Procter." 
 
 " Yes, I would rather have them — those 
 poems, dear uncle — than anything else in the 
 world," I replied, trying hard to speak as 
 sincerely and as gratefully as I ought. 
 
 «• Very well, dear child, you shall then. 
 Good-bye, Flower — good-bye ! By-the-bye, my 
 little girl, you have not seen anything of that 
 Mr. — what is his name — Mr. Darkwood lately, 
 have you ? " 
 
 This was unexpected. My heart seemed to 
 stop for seconds ; then to go on again, beating 
 fast and loud. My eyes were burning with the 
 warmth of the blood which had suddenly rushed 
 upward to my head ; but if my Uncle Simon 
 noticed the guilty flush, he uttered no comment
 
 Moor Edge. 5 1 
 
 upon it. Heaven knows how I managed to say 
 as carelessly as I did — " Mr. Darkwood ? Oh 
 dear, no ! He has left the neighbourhood, I 
 should imagine, for good. I am sure I should 
 have met him on the moor if he had not gone 
 away." 
 
 "Now, I wonder whether he really is gone 
 away ? " observed my Uncle Simon thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "There is no doubt about it," I cried; and 
 I wondered drearily whether those six little 
 words actually sounded as light and indifferent 
 as I meant them to sound, or whether they in 
 any wise betrayed the sense of desolation which 
 was so heavily burthening my heart. 
 
 " You will be civil to him if — if you should 
 happen to meet him again, Flower ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, uncle dear — you said I might, you 
 know 1 Just civil, and that's all, of course ! 
 But I shall not meet him again ; it is not likely ; 
 and I care not a straw — why should I ? — if I 
 don't." I knew — who better? — that it was a 
 lie. Heaven forgive me ! 
 
 "My poor little girl — my dear little girl!'* 
 muttered my Uncle Simon ; and the next 
 moment he had embraced me, and was gone. 
 
 Very down-heartedly I watched him disap- 
 
 'jiV;v-!
 
 52 Periwinkle, 
 
 pearing over the purple-green undulations of 
 the moor ; straight before him the low rose 
 light of the sinking sun ; Moor Edge — I stand- 
 ing at the gate, and Aunt Hannah, with the 
 pink wrapper held over her face, crying in the 
 porch — fading behind him. There he went, to 
 meet Lang the carrier — growing as he trudged 
 onward momentarily smaller and smaller in the 
 distance, clad in his gray suit and gray hat, 
 the ugly bulging black bag carried in his left 
 hand. 
 
 Upon the rising ground he turned, his back 
 now to the sun's red glory. With his blue 
 cotton pocket-handkerchief he waved a last fare- 
 well to me ; and I fluttered my white one in 
 return. Then he went on again ; and a dip in 
 the moorland hid him from my sight. 
 
 Oh, Uncle Simon ! Uncle Simon ! when next 
 we meet, should we ever meet again, how will 
 it be with you and with me ? When next you 
 come back to your lone house upon the moor, 
 shall I be standing here at the gate of it, 
 with loving tones and with loving touch once 
 more to welcome you home ? Oh, Uncle Simon 
 .... in the near days that were coming, how 
 could I tell that, before I should see you 
 again, the horrid gulf which neither of us could
 
 Moor Edge. 53 
 
 cross would be for ever fixed between you and 
 me ! 
 
 The future is veiled from us — God knows it 
 is best so ! I stared forlornly at the fast-dying 
 sun, until a primrose mist seemed to dim the 
 splendour of it ... . and I turned away.
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 ACK SPEAT was barking loudly, but 
 joyously. Aunt Hannah and I were 
 at the back of the house, in the 
 yard, between us doing our best to perform 
 those duties which were the pride and the joy 
 of Uncle Simon's leisure when he was living 
 quietly at home with us at Moor Edge. 
 
 It was perhaps about eleven o'clock in the 
 morning, and Uncle Simon had been gone two 
 days. I was in the hen-house getting some 
 new-laid eggs ; and Aunt Hannah, in the cow- 
 shed hard by, was unchaining meek Daffodil 
 and Daisy, for it was time to send them forth 
 for their daily ramble on the moor. 
 
 " Who in the name of fortune can it be ? '* 
 my aunt called out, aware that Jack Sprat 
 would not make such a disturbance for nothing. 
 *' Flower, you go and see ; it isn't a tramp, or 
 he'd never bark like that."
 
 Moor Edge, 55 
 
 Setting down my basket among the straw on 
 the bricks, I entered the house and went to the 
 front door. There upon the doorstep under 
 the porch, his pack unfastened and his cheap 
 gay wares displayed enticingly, stood "Wyse the 
 Wanderer, as he was called. With him was his 
 dog, the pedlar's inseparable companion. Jack's 
 mother ; a truly ancient animal — if possible, 
 more ugly than poor Jack himself. For, though 
 she was perhaps on the whole better bred than 
 he, she had in her declining years lost an ear 
 in a fight, and was fast going blind with one 
 eye into the bargain. 
 
 Jack was as unfeignedly glad to see his 
 mother and his old master Wyse the Wanderer 
 as was I, Flower Greedy, myself; for old 
 Wyse's ''call" was by Aunt Hannah and me 
 regarded as an event worth remembering and 
 lookino: forward to. He " looked in " at Moor 
 Edge about three times in a year; and occa- 
 sionally once in every quarter. 
 
 I am unwilling to say it, but Wyse was a 
 very dirty and a very unsavoury old man — a 
 crooked, stunted, unwashed old figure, with 
 a battered hat scarcely fit for a scarecrow, 
 and a filthy old red comforter twisted round 
 his lean stubbly neck. In the winter he w^ore
 
 56 Periwinkle, 
 
 a rabbit-skin cap, with lappets tied over his 
 ears ; but, in winter and in summer alike, 
 always the old red comforter. He loved it as 
 Aunt Hannah loved her knitted pink wrapper. 
 
 The interior of his pack, however, presented 
 a striking and an agreeable contrast to the 
 grimy bearer thereof; for it was neat, clean, 
 and tastefully arranged ; the goods, when he 
 unstrapped and opened his treasure-house, being 
 a sight — or so I then used to think — well 
 worthy of industrious inspection. 
 
 There were laces, shoe-laces, ribbons, bottles 
 of scent, needles and reels of cotton, babies' 
 rattles, knitted shawls and wrappers — Aunt 
 Hannah's pink one had originally come out of 
 Wyse's pack — boxes of stale chocolate and 
 other sweets, writing-paper and sealing-wax, 
 black and red ; large envelopes, small envelopes, 
 buttons, purses, beads, and children's picture- 
 books ; and many other things besides both 
 for ornament and for use. Aunt Hannah always 
 would have it that Wyse had long ago made 
 his fortune, and had old stockings crammed full 
 of sovereigns hid away somewhere or other 
 in his hovel at Dartle Heath, where he lived. 
 This might or might not be true ; but if it was 
 so, Wyse certainly did not look like it.
 
 Moor Edge. 5 7 
 
 " Oh, Wyse," cried I, " you are as welcome 
 as the sunlight ! What have you got to show 
 us to-day ? Oh, what lovely things ! You have 
 more with you than ever ! " And I clasped my 
 hands, I fear, quite childishly for my age. 
 
 From beneath the brim of his disreputable 
 hat Wyse the Wanderer, I fancied, eyed me 
 somewhat curiously. 
 
 "The little dog," said he, in his slow, queer 
 dialect, which I could not write down correctly 
 if I were to try, " is lively enough, it seems, 
 though he do go a bit lame, I'm thinking ; but 
 as for you, my lass — why, you are not look- 
 ing so bonny as when I saw you last. What's 
 been ailing with ye. Miss Flowy ? Ain't you 
 well ? And where's your pretty colour all 
 gone to — eh ? Tell us that ! " 
 
 '' Oh, I am all right ! " I replied carelessly, 
 though taken somewhat aback at the pedlar's 
 unnecessarily free comments on my appear- 
 ance. " Yes," I made haste to go on, '' my 
 dear little doggy is, as you say, Wyse, lively 
 enough ; though — though he did have an acci- 
 dent the other day and hurt his fore-paw. But 
 it is nearly well now — ^just look at him ! " 
 
 Jack Sprat and his mother were racing 
 hither and thither among the cabbages ; and
 
 58 Periwinkle. 
 
 he, when lie did catch her, rolled her over 
 and over in most unfilial style — though it was 
 quite diverting for a looker-on. As Jack 
 craftily came up with and attacked her upon 
 her blind side, this feat was not difficult to 
 accomplish. However, his mother appeared to 
 enjoy his undutiful fun as thoroughly as did 
 Jack Sprat himself 
 
 " Yes," said the Wanderer drily, " it's plain 
 they're glad to see each other. Animals is 
 full of human natur , I always say, and knows 
 and sees and thinks a sight more than we are 
 willin' to give 'em credit for. Now, lass," said 
 he mysteriously, eyeing me hard again, '* let 
 me ask ye whether — " 
 
 I quickly interrupted him ; being uncertain, 
 and uneasy too, as to what the cunning old 
 Wanderer might be bent upon saying next. 
 
 " You must wait a moment ; I'll call Aunt 
 Hannah ; she is in the cowshed. She would 
 never forgive me if I did not tell her imme- 
 diately that you were waiting at the door." 
 
 ''Hi, Miss Flowy — bide a minute! Missis 
 Hannah will be here directly without your 
 going for her — no hurry, lass ! " I heard Wyse 
 crying hoarsely after me. 
 
 But I had run from the dirty shrewd-eyed old
 
 Moor Edge. 59 
 
 man and his open pack upon the doorstep, and 
 was in the court at the back of the house,, 
 calling, — 
 
 " Aunt Hannah, here — quick ! Here's Wyse 
 the Wanderer." 
 
 My aunt needed no second invitation. She 
 joined me at once. Her pinched faded face 
 lighted up ; her lack-lustre eyes positively 
 glittered. 
 
 " Well, Missis Hannah," cried the stunted 
 old man hilariously, rubbing his hands together 
 and smacking his lips, and altogether greeting 
 her in a very different tone from that in which 
 he had spoken to me — " how on this bonny 
 morning do I find you, ma'am ? How has the 
 world been a-using you, Missis Hannah, since I 
 was here last?" 
 
 " But poorly, Wyse — but poorly ! " replied 
 Aunt Hannah, with a sniff. Bending over the 
 open pack, her eyes dwelt upon it greedily. 
 "You've got a fine show for us to-day," said she. 
 
 "A fine show, truly," said the old man, 
 wagging his head — "the finest of its kind for 
 twenty miles round hereabout. But I don't 
 boast — I don't boast ! " said Wyse the Wanderer. 
 " You pays your money, Missis Hannah, and 
 you takes your choice ; and there's no hurry.
 
 6o Periwinkle, 
 
 ma'am, over your bargaining. That's the beauty 
 of it, don't you see ? " 
 
 *' So it is," said my aunt slowly and thought- 
 fully, her eyes still gloating over the pedlar's 
 tawdry wares — " so it is, Wyse. I can't abear 
 being hurried." He always politely addressed 
 her as "Missis," having long ago discerned that 
 the title pleased her mightily. Wyse the Wan- 
 derer, in his way, I suppose, was a student of 
 human nature. 
 
 " I ha' been telling Miss Flowy here," said 
 the pedlar, throwing another glance towards me 
 — a fatherly, bantering sort of glance w^hich 
 filled me with a sudden desire to then and there 
 push him from the door and to shut it in the 
 leering old face of him — " that she's lost her 
 roses o' late. She has growed into a fine and 
 promising lass within the last few months ; and 
 it's a pity the roses should fade, Missis Hannah, 
 before they have come to full bloom, ye know." 
 
 " The weather's w^arm, you see," said Aunt 
 Hannah mechanically. She had dropped upon 
 her knees before the pack, and was turning 
 everything in it upside down. ''And perhaps 
 she wants some brimstone-and-treacle. I took 
 a dose myself this morning." 
 
 How tiresome and fidgety she was !
 
 Moor Edge. 6 1 
 
 ''You're not slow in making up your mind,, 
 aunt," observed I, looking diligently down at 
 the back, of her head, and so avoiding old 
 Wyse's inquiring sidelong glances. ' ' You for- 
 get, perhaps, that I haven't chosen yet ! " 
 
 '' My purse is such a narrow one," grumbled 
 Aunt Hannah ; '' or, bless you, I see lots o' 
 things I should like if I could have 'em ! " 
 
 " The master is away — visiting, I suppose ? " 
 suggested the pedlar civilly. " Or he — " 
 
 *' Yes," — sharply, and without looking up. 
 
 " Not for long, o' course ? " remarked the 
 pedlar cheerily. 
 
 '' Longer than usual," snapped my aunt ; and 
 [ could perceive by the movement of her scraggy 
 aeck and shoulders that she was trying to re- 
 press the shiver which had begun to crawl over 
 tier. 
 
 " I heard yesterday in Stonyhampton," ven- 
 tured the pedlar, " that he had gone to Ireland. 
 [s that correct. Missis Hannah ? " 
 
 " It is. And now, old Wyse," said my aunt 
 mgrily, ''don't it strike you that you have asked 
 a>bout enough questions for once in a way % " 
 
 "No offence, ma'am — no offence, Missis 
 Hannah," cried the Wanderer, with a concilia- 
 tory duck of his disgraceful old hat.
 
 "62 Periwinkle, 
 
 She chose at last a shilling bottle of scent — 
 I imagined as a restorative to smell at in case 
 she should be taken with "the jumps" — some 
 buttons, some darning-cotton, and several yards 
 of lace ; and then she made room on the door- 
 step for me, and I bought a few yards of 
 ribbon of a peculiar shade of dull light blue, 
 which I thought extremely pretty, a box of 
 the not-too-new chocolate, and some of the lace 
 like Aunt Hannah's. The lace was really good ; 
 for it was pillow-made by the gipsies on Dartle 
 Heath. 
 
 " And now," said my aunt, patting her skirt, 
 but finding nothing beneath its folds, " I must 
 go upstairs for my purse. Bother it ! Old 
 Wyse " — looking over her shoulder as she went 
 — " you'd like a draught o' ale, wouldn't 
 you % " 
 
 "Well, thenky. Missis Hannah," replied he, 
 drawing his cuff across his unshaven jaw — his 
 invariable answer to the invitation — "don't 
 mind if I do." 
 
 " Flower, you draw it then," said my aunt ; 
 and disappeared on her errand up the staircase. 
 
 Her back well turned, the old man clutched 
 my wrist, and held it tight within his own 
 grimy claw.
 
 Moor Edge. 63 
 
 '' Hist ! " said he. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " I demanded, shrink- 
 ing from him. 
 
 " Miss Flowy," said Wyse in a hoarse whisper, 
 lest Aunt Hannah, descending, should overhear 
 him, " have you — have you ever had you fortun' 
 toJd?" 
 
 " No," I answered, interested in spite of my- 
 self — " never." 
 
 "For a new half-crown, then, I'll tell it you, 
 lass." 
 
 *' You ! " said I, partly in scorn, partly in 
 amusement. '' Who ever heard of an old man 
 like you telling fortunes ? Why, to begin 
 with — " 
 
 " Yes, me," interrupted the pedlar eagerly. 
 " I can tell 'em when I like as well and true 
 as any old gip-mother on Dartle Heath." 
 
 "My aunt wouldn't allow it, I'm sure. I 
 believe it would make her nervous to see it 
 done," said I ; it may be, shaking my head a 
 little longingly. "And — and besides, Wyse, I 
 haven't such a thing as a new half-crown, nor 
 am I likely to have ; so it's no good thinking 
 about it." 
 
 " I dare say an old one would do just as well," 
 said Wyse the Wanderer.
 
 64 Periwinkle, 
 
 *'But there's my aunt, you see," I began 
 again. **' I am certain that she — " 
 
 " S-s-s-h ! Do you know where the quarry is — 
 the little one with a cave like, and the big mossy 
 stones strewed about ? " whispered the pedlar 
 hurriedly; for Aunt Hannah's slip-shod tread was 
 heard overhead — evidently the purse was found. 
 
 *' Yes — yes," was all I could say. My heart- 
 beats were making themselves felt and my 
 colour was beginning to rise. 
 
 *' I shall be there, lass, in the quarry, for the 
 next hour or so," said the pedlar, with a nod and 
 a leer full of mystery — '* resting and taking a 
 snack, ye know, before I go on'ard to Howden 
 Fells. I sha'n't start Howden way, though, 
 before the afternoon ; for I must call at Gar- 
 lands-on-the-Moor — the buxom lasses there are 
 fond of gewgaws ; and so please yourself, o' course. 
 Miss Flowy ; but don't you forget as I Ccin tell 
 a pretty girl her fortun' as well and true as any 
 old gip-mother on Dartle Heath." 
 
 I gave him no answer — no definite answer — 
 either one way or the other ; but, holding my 
 head in a rather high and disdainful manner, I 
 vanished, jug in hand, down the cellar-steps; 
 just as Aunt Hannah descended the stairs and 
 again joined Wyse at the passage door.
 
 Moor Edge. 6 ^ 
 
 It was close on twelve o'clock when the 
 pedlar was paid and gone ; and then we 
 examined our purchases lovingly, Aunt Hannah 
 and I, after the manner of women to whom the 
 luxury of spending money is a rare one ; and 
 very shortly afterwards we set about spreading 
 the cloth for our early dinner. 
 
 By half-past one Jack and I together were 
 out on the moor ; leaving Aunt Hannah at home 
 in the tidied-up kitchen, sewing by the open 
 window. 
 
 Daffodil and Daisy were browsing within 
 earshot of home, and lashing their ribs with 
 their tails to scatter the teasing flies ; the fowls 
 were dusting themselves by the yard-gate ; in 
 the filth of the yard the pigs were sprawling, 
 and grunting with closed eyes under the noon- 
 day sun. 
 
 There always seemed to be a breeze upon the 
 moorland, let the day be as warm and still as it 
 might. I used sometimes to fancy that I could 
 smell the brine — of course ever so faintly, ever 
 so subtly — wafted upward from the bleak North 
 Sea upon the sweet free wind of the moor. 
 
 I had changed my cotton gown of the morn- 
 ing, and had put on an old blue muslin one ; I 
 mean it once had been blue, though there was 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 Periwinkle. 
 
 little colour left in it now. Eound my neck I 
 had tied some of the ribbon which I had bought 
 of Wyse the TVanderer; and some of it I had 
 twisted round the coarse yellow straw-hat which 
 shaded my eyes from the sun. 
 
 If the pedlar was going to tell my fortune, 
 was it not as well to look my best ; or at any rate 
 as well as I knew how to make myself look ? 
 Moreover, it might both flatter and inspire the 
 oracle to see me decked in his own gay wares. 
 
 Of course there was now no reason why I 
 should hesitate to venture near the cavern in the 
 quarry ; for was not Mr. Darkwood gone from 
 Garlands, so that in all likelihood I should never 
 see him again ? Next summer, perhaps — who 
 could tell? — he might return to paint upon the 
 moor. It was just possible. Heigh-ho ! — would 
 next summer ever come ? 
 
 I found the old man seated upon a stone, 
 drowsily smoking a short black pipe ; his back 
 to the grassy cave ; his pack and his dog upon 
 the earth at his feet. Jack and his mother met 
 again, overjoyed. 
 
 " Ha, ha," cried Wyse the Wanderer, at sight 
 of me rousing himself ; " so you've come at last, 
 my bonny lass, have you ? Lucky you're in time, 
 for I was just a-moving on."
 
 Moor Edge. 67 
 
 I smiled, but said nothing ; for I knew the 
 old wretch was lying. 
 
 " Have you brought that new half-crown wi' 
 ye ? " inquired he with a sly grin ; with an effort 
 getting on to his feet, and pocketing the short 
 black pipe. 
 
 " No ; but I've brought an old one — you 
 said an old one would do as well," I answered 
 brusquely. In reality, to speak the truth, I 
 was now half ashamed of myself for having in 
 any wise encouraged the Wanderer. I well 
 knew him to be a cunning old man ; and now I 
 fancied that he was laughing at me. 
 
 "Well, an old 'un will do," he conceded — "at 
 a pinch." 
 
 " A good half-crown, old or new, is a half- 
 crown," I interrupted, again with some asperity. 
 " Here " — holding out the coin — " take it ; and 
 — and now, if you like, you may tell me my 
 fortune." 
 
 "If I like ! " echoed the old man with a 
 chuckle. "Why, what are you here for. Miss 
 Flowy % Why, would it please you, I wonder, if I 
 was to take your money and never tell you your 
 fortun after all? Why — But there, there," 
 he broke off, in a sort of pitying way that was 
 very irritating — "women are strange cattle."
 
 68 Periwinkle, 
 
 I frowned ; looking beyond him, over his 
 head. I suppose I was " a very woman," and 
 therefore, woman-like, was inconsistently angry 
 with what I had brought upon myself 
 
 " Come, come — that's right ! " the pedlar was 
 saying slyly. " How smart we've made ourselves 
 with the pretty blue ribbon, which I do declare 
 almost matches our own bonny eyes — if the 
 colour was a bit brighter ! Did you expect to 
 meet anyone here besides poor old Wyse, my 
 dear ? " inquired the Wanderer suddenly. 
 
 "No, I did not," I replied quite sharply. 
 ** Take the half-crown, or home I go this 
 minute." 
 
 He took it at once ; spat upon it, and sent it 
 spinning into the air ; and then, having deftly 
 caught it, he dropped it into his breeches pocket. 
 
 " Give us your hand, my lass," said the pedlar. 
 
 So, not without a shiver of disgust which I did 
 my best to hide — for Wyse the Wanderer was 
 indeed a very unwashed old man — I put my 
 hand, palm upward, into the pedlar's grimy claw. 
 
 He bent his head, and pretended to examine 
 minutely my pink-lined palm. 
 
 " You're in love ! " said the pedlar briefly ; 
 without so much as an inch lifting his battered 
 old hat.
 
 Moor Edge. 69 
 
 I started, crimsoned violently, and tried to 
 drag away my hand. That, however, I could 
 not do, for the Wanderer held it fast. 
 
 " How dare you ? " I began in much indig- 
 nation. 
 
 "Pooh," said the pedlar, **I knew it, bless 
 ye, my dear, the moment I set eyes on ye 
 this mornino^ ! Yes, I knew the time was 
 come. Miss Flow}^, when you'd be glad to have 
 your fortun' told. Now, let me see. You love 
 a dark gentleman ; and what's more — " 
 
 " I — I — • Oh, how dare you, you wicked 
 old man ? I — " 
 
 " Ah, I thought so ! " said Wyse the Wan- 
 derer, unmoved, his grip tightening neverthe- 
 less. "You love a dark gentleman, I say; 
 and, what's more, the dark gentleman loves 
 you. You live in mystery, and are not what 
 you seem ; but the secret, if you live long 
 enough, will be cleared up in the end. You'll 
 marry your first love, that's clear, whoever he 
 may be ; but you won't know what real happi- 
 ness is, my lass, until you have first tasted of 
 real tribulation. That I don't think will kill 
 you, though ; yet it may be at the time you'll 
 fancy it will. H'm, 'm, 'm — yes, a fair gentle- 
 man too will come across your life ; but his
 
 70 Periwinkle. 
 
 coming, I am glad to see, will bring you nowt 
 but good. You will live very likely to see 
 things that will amaze you ; and when you are 
 a woman growed you'll wish you w^as a lass 
 again. H'm, 'm, 'm — that's bad ! But, as I 
 said before, Miss Flowy, if you can only 
 manage to live long enough — and I don't see 
 the line anywhere which means ' early death ' 
 — the clouds will surely break and roll away. 
 And though mayhap — I'm not certain about 
 this — you'll some day be a widow, the chances 
 are, my dear, you'll die a wife. There — that's 
 all ! And I think old Wyse the Wanderer has 
 given you your money's worth." 
 
 Before I could recover my breath — surprise, a 
 trembling excitement, a vague confused sense 
 of incredulity and belief contending with each 
 other, having for the moment robbed me of 
 it — the Wanderer had shouldered his pack, had 
 whistled to Jack's mother, and was trudging 
 out of the quarry. But on the earthy incline 
 at the mouth of it he halted for a few seconds ; 
 seemed to be pondering something ; and finally 
 he turned and came back to where I still stood, 
 dumb and bewildered, exactly as he had left 
 me. 
 
 Certainly I felt dazed, yet angry no longer.
 
 Moor Edge. 7 1 
 
 My strange fortune had been told ; and strange 
 indeed it appeared to me then. 
 
 " If," said the old man earnestly, with neither 
 leer nor banter about him now, " you should 
 never again set eyes upon Wyse the Wanderer, 
 you'll remember, won't you, my dear, the 
 pedlar's last words ? Mark 'em well, my bonny 
 lass, for they'll come true." 
 
 I did not reply — I was tongue-tied ; and in 
 the next minute the odd old man was gone — 
 really gone — and I stood there in the quarry 
 alone. 
 
 I sat down then upon a mossy hillock, and 
 clasped my hands round my knees ; my eyes 
 fixed on space ; my heart curiously chill. Jack 
 was snuffing and scampering among the rabbit- 
 burrows ; but I neither saw him nor heard him. 
 
 I tried, and with tolerable success, to re- 
 member — to repeat to myself — the pedlar's 
 remarkable prophecy. " ' A dark gentleman — 
 he loves you, and you love him .... You 
 live in mystery, and are not what you seem 
 . . . . A fair gentleman — a friend .... a 
 life of sorrow and tribulation, but joy and sun- 
 shine in the end.' " Oh, yes, I could remember 
 it all pretty accurately, sad stuff as it was ; and 
 — and what an idiot was I ever to consent to
 
 72 Periwinkle. 
 
 listen to it, and to part too with my half- 
 crown ! Dark men or fair men were nothing 
 to me, and — and half-crowns were by no means 
 so plentiful at Moor Edge that I could afford so 
 recklessly to fling them away. 
 
 "With energy I roused myself ; the dark man 
 and the fair man should trouble my thoughts no 
 longer. Common sense should help me ; it is 
 ever one's safest guide. 
 
 *' The sly, wretched old Wanderer ! " I ex- 
 claimed aloud. *' He knows, of course — 1 mean, 
 he must have seen us on that day here in the 
 quarry ; and the rest he made up out of his 
 own crafty old brain. And now I dare say he 
 has gone on to Garlands-on-the-Moor, and will 
 tell those big red plain Miss Acres precisely the 
 same nonsense that he has told me. * A mystery 
 about me,' indeed ; * I am not the person I think 
 I am.' Pooh ! — who, I wonder then, am I, if I 
 am not Uncle Simon s niece ? " 
 
 And ^ yet — and yet could it be possible that 
 disreputable old Wyse the AVanderer, even 
 he, knew more about me, in those young and 
 careless days of mine, than I knew about 
 myself ? 
 
 " Find 'em, Jack Sprat dear — find 'em, little • 
 man ! " I cried out to my companion cheerily,
 
 Moor Edge. ^2) 
 
 determined then and there to forget the fortune- 
 telling incident — to for ever banish it from my 
 memory. But this, albeit I lived to grow old, 
 I never was able to do. And Jack, encouraged 
 by the tone of my voice, yapped and scratched 
 amongst the sandy rabbit-holes with a vigour 
 worthy of a kindlier intent. 
 
 Over the great stones and gray chalky tufts 
 around me the periwinkle flowers climbed and 
 grew abundantly ; their pretty blue star-like 
 blossoms peeping coyly out from amidst their 
 trailing dark-green leaves. 
 
 I took ofi* my hat, and began to sing to my- 
 self. My voice, though wholly uncultivated, was 
 sweet and true, I knew. 
 
 " I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
 A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on ; 
 I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining — 
 The bark was still there, but the waters were gone. 
 
 And such is the fate of our life's early promise, 
 So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known ; 
 
 Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us 
 And leaves us at eve on the bleak shore alone. 
 
 Ne'er tell me of glories serenely adorning 
 
 The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; 
 
 Give me back, give me back the wild freshness of 
 Morning — 
 Her clouds and her tears are M^orth Evening's best light.
 
 74 Periwinkle, 
 
 Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning, 
 When passion first waked a new life through his frame. 
 
 And his soul — like the wood that grows precious in 
 burning — 
 Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame ! " 
 
 — sang I. The dear song was an old favourite 
 both of mine and of Uncle Simon's. We both 
 loved Tom Moore, once so sweet a singer of his 
 own melodies. And as I sang — for I had 
 brought no book with me, and was in a singu- 
 larly idle and unsettled mood that afternoon — 
 I gathered long sprays of the pretty periwinkle- 
 plant and fastened them round my hat. Some I 
 wreathed about my throat, and tied the cool 
 green necklet there with Wyse the Wanderer's 
 ribbon, the delicate tint of which, I perceived, 
 nearly matched the periwinkle bloom ; and some 
 of the starry sprays dangling longer than their 
 fellows I stuck in one side of the blue band at 
 my waist. And I had still a whole handful left. 
 
 Ah me, ah me, what a child was I then ! 
 What a woman am I, with a woman's know- 
 ledge, now ! 
 
 Suddenly a low menacing growl from Jack 
 Sprat made me start. I trembled ; I know not 
 why. A sweet, vague, nameless joy had taken 
 swift hold of my soul. The queer old pedlar
 
 Moor Edge. 75 
 
 and his forecasting of my fate were alike in- 
 stantly forgotten. 
 
 "Don't move," said a well-remembered voice 
 above me — " don't move, pray ! As you are 
 now you are lovely — you are perfect ! Don't 
 stir ! " 
 
 But I did stir. I did look up. How could 
 I help it ? Standing there upon the moor in 
 the sunlight, just over the grassy mouth of 
 the " cave," sketch-book in hand, was Daryl 
 Darkwood.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 CANNOT say how it came about — 
 for minutes my confusion and sur- 
 prise were overwhelming at again so 
 unexpectedly beholding Mr. Darkwood — but ere 
 long he was lying indolently upon the turf at 
 my side, and, having put away his sketch-book 
 and pencil, was trifling with the periwinkle 
 sprays in my hand. 
 
 As for me, I was dumb — had not yet 
 recovered the power of speech ; and I had 
 intended to be so distant, so indignant with 
 him for causing the injury to Jack's fore-paw. 
 But then — but then, I was reflecting insensibly. 
 Jack was now as good as well, and doubtless after 
 all he — Mr. Darkwood — had never really meant 
 to hurt him. At the worst it was an accident. 
 And so I was mute. Not, however, from anger or 
 indignation — it was sheer gladness at seeing him 
 again which kept me frightened and dumb.
 
 Moor Edge, 77 
 
 And all the while he was telling me, explain- 
 ing quite simply and quietly the reason of his 
 absence from Garlands-on-the-Moor, and why 
 it was that lately I had not seen him at his 
 painting out of doors. 
 
 He had, he said, been by telegram called 
 suddenly to London ; and had started forth- 
 with for town with scarcely five minutes' pre- 
 paration. Then unforeseen delays had cropped 
 up, and he had stayed away much longer than 
 he had anticipated. After having travelled all 
 night, he had got back to Garlands only on 
 the morning of that very day. 
 
 *'I did have half a mind," said he, looking 
 hard, I felt, at me as he spoke, " on my journey 
 to town, and indeed whilst there, to write to you 
 and explain my absence from these beautiful 
 northern wilds. I — I thought, you see, that 
 you would think me so rude and so unkind. 
 But I afterwards remembered that I did not 
 know your proper address ; and also perhaps," 
 he added vaguely, *'that it would not do to 
 write. By-the-way," said Mr. Darkwood earn- 
 estly, " how ought one in writing to you, Miss 
 Greedy, to address you at that dull and lone old 
 house of yours ? " 
 
 "I — I hardly know," I then timidly replied^
 
 78 Periwinkle, 
 
 venturing for the first time to meet the upward 
 gaze of his dark clear ardent eyes ; "but I should 
 imagine that * Moor Edge, near Stonyhampton, 
 would ba enough. I never have had a letter in 
 my life." 
 
 " Never ? " He did not utter the word in any 
 astonishment ; on the contrary, his tone just 
 then was exceedingly thoughtful. 
 
 " Never," said I quietly. 
 
 ''And how about books and magazines and 
 newspapers?" he asked. "Do you never see a 
 newspaper at Moor Edge ? " 
 
 ''Books — good books— I have in plenty," I 
 told him. "But as for newspapers and that 
 kind of thing — oh, no, I never see them ! My 
 Uncle Simon always says that the newspapers 
 now-a-days are not fit reading for girls ; and he 
 says, too, that a woman who is a politician is a 
 nuisance — a bore ; and that the other things 
 printed every day are not meant for women to 
 read. So when he brings home a newspaper, he 
 generally burns it. My Aunt Hannah, I believe, 
 detests the sight of them." 
 
 " Ah ! " Mr. Dark wood sprang up so im- 
 petuously to seat himself by my side upon 
 the great mossy stone I was sitting upon, that 
 Jack, who was not many yards away from us,
 
 Moor Edge, 79 
 
 immediately flew at him with white teeth omin- 
 ously bared. 
 
 " Be quiet this instant ! Lie down, sir, will 
 you % " cried I, feeling absurdly vexed with my 
 faithful mongrel for this ill-bred display of most 
 uncalled-for temper ; then little divining — how 
 should I ? — that the dog's instinct was surer 
 than my own. And Jack Sprat, with a growl 
 of smothered dissatisfaction, reluctantly obeyed 
 me. 
 
 " The little chap has taken a dislike to me, I 
 fear," observed Mr. Darkwood airily. " Never 
 mind ; we shall be better friends by-and-by, I 
 hope." But, alas ! they never were. " I was 
 about to ask," he cod tinned more seriously, 
 when seated quite near to me upon the conveni- 
 ent old stone, " whether you would mind telling 
 me something — anything — with regard to your- 
 self and your lonely life here ? As yet I know 
 so little about you ; and I want to know more. 
 Let us talk about yourself — will you ? Do 
 believe me, I have grave reasons for asking you ; 
 it is not impertinent curiosity. The truth is, I 
 am greatly interested in you — May I call you 
 ' Flower ' ? " he begged, softly breaking off. 
 
 I blushed a burning red. Little in those 
 days sufficed to make me blush.
 
 8o Periwinkle, 
 
 " Would it be — would it be right ? " I 
 stammered. 
 
 " There would be no harm in it, at any rate," 
 he said confidently, with a smile. "And it is 
 such a pretty name." 
 
 '' Do you really like it ? " 
 
 '' I never in my life heard a sweeter. Indeed, 
 I remember now that it once belonged to a dear 
 little cousin of mine ; a cousiu, however, whom 
 I never saw — for she died before I came to 
 England, in an unusually tragic way. Yes, it 
 is a lovely name, and suits you, I think, as no 
 other could." 
 
 I drew a deep breath, and was conscious of a 
 slight delicious tremor in every vein. I was 
 very happy — ah, so strangely, blindly happy ! — 
 on that perfect summer afternoon. And before 
 I was half-an-hour older I had actually told Mr. 
 Darkwood everything that I could remember of 
 my simple life — my uneventful life of nineteen 
 years. How I could recall no other existence 
 than the one I had always lived at Moor Edge 
 — in spring, summer, autumn, and in winter, 
 ever the same ; an undisturbed record of level 
 monotony from the end of one year to that of 
 another. How I had never been to school ; 
 could not play and sing like the strapping loud-
 
 Moor Edge. 8 1 
 
 voiced young women at Garlands-on-the-Moor ; 
 and how I was indebted for all that I knew — 
 which I discovered shortly afterwards was not 
 much to boast of — to the patient tuition and 
 the good sense of my Uncle Simon himself. I 
 could read, write, and cipher, at the same time 
 possessing a fair knowledge of much that was 
 best and brightest in the literature of my own 
 country ; and there was my education in a 
 nutshell. 
 
 I told Mr. Darkwood about my uncle's myste- 
 rious journeys, and how sorely he was missed by 
 Aunt Hannah and me when those times came 
 round for him to go away from Moor Edge ; and 
 what a useful little income was made out of our 
 garden and small farm-yard ; how Aunt Hannah 
 was occasionally overtaken with "the jumps;" 
 and how oddly the Stonyhampton people and 
 their children stared at us — at me and Aunt 
 Hannah — if we walked about the town on a 
 market-day. 
 
 This and more — which I have no doubt to 
 him sounded trivial enough, although to me it 
 was all very real — as concisely as I could on that 
 sweet lazy afternoon did I relate to Daryl Dark- 
 wood ; who sat there by my side on the great 
 gray stone in the quarry, idly fingering the peri- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 Periwinkle, 
 
 winkle sprays in my lap, but listening intently 
 to me all the same, I could see. 
 
 "And you are quite sure," said he slowly, 
 by-and-by, not now looking at me, but pulling 
 thoughtfully at one end of his heavy swart 
 moustache, " that your name, Flower, is * Greedy ' 
 — really ' Flower Greedy ' ? " 
 
 I was somewhat staggered at the question ; at 
 the calm manner in which it was put to me ; and 
 I could only stare for some seconds in silence at 
 the pale, handsome profile of my interlocutor. In- 
 deed, I barely noticed at the time how coolly and 
 easily he had made use of my Ghristian name. 
 
 ''Of course," I said at last. "Why, Mr. 
 Darkwood, what else should it be ? " 
 
 " In that case," he replied, but replying in- 
 directly, "your father must have been the 
 brother of Simon Greedy ? " 
 
 " I — I suppose so," was my uncertain rejoinder. 
 "But, to tell you the truth, the question has 
 seldom, if ever, troubled me. No — I have never 
 thought about it at all." 
 
 Yet now I did begin to feel rather uncomfort- 
 able. The suspicion that Mr. Darkwood had met 
 — perhaps, for some odd reason, was in league 
 with — Wyse the Wanderer began to dawn far 
 from pleasantly upon me.
 
 Moor Edge. %2i 
 
 It was all very curious and disquieting. It 
 was altogether extraordinary. 
 
 " And your mother, Flower," continued Mr. 
 Dark wood gently — '' do you remember nothing 
 of her ? " 
 
 "Nothing ; not even in the faintest degree. Mr. 
 Darkwood," I said in nervous haste, determined 
 to know the worst, " did you, I — I wonder, as 
 you came along here, meet uj)on the moor a 
 queer-looking and not very clean old man, carry- 
 ing a pedlar's pack, and with a dog very like 
 Jack — in fact, his mother, only she is blind of 
 one eye — trotting close to his heels % " 
 
 " No, that I did not," he answered, looking 
 up with a frank smile which spoke for itself ; 
 amused, I suppose, at my impulsive address. 
 " What about him — this unwashed old man % ' 
 
 ** Oh, nothing ! " said I, breathing more freely. 
 *' I thought — thought that you might perhaps 
 have met him ; that is all. He is only old 
 Wyse the Wanderer, as they call him about 
 here. He came with his pack to our house 
 to-day ; and — and we bought, as we always 
 do, a few trifles of the old man. This ribbon, 
 for instance" — touching it — "amongst the 
 number." 
 
 So happily, after all, it seemed that my alarm
 
 84 Periwinkle, 
 
 was groundless ; and Mr. Darkwood then could 
 know nothing of the folly I had been guilty of. 
 Oh, what would he have said, what would he 
 have thought of me, had he caught me in the 
 act of throwing away a good half-crown to hear 
 my fortune told — such rubbish as it was too ! 
 Nevertheless it was strange, to say the least of 
 it, that he should have fallen to speculating as 
 to whether or not in reality I was the niece of 
 Simon Greedy. 
 
 "And so," said Mr. Darkwood, quizzically, 
 " you bought this ribbon of the pedlar, did 
 you % It is a charming colour " — his eyes rov- 
 ing upward to my hat-brim — " and matches 
 the periwinkles." 
 
 I was aghast. 
 
 *' What ! " I exclaimed. " Do you mean to say 
 they are still there ? How silly I must look ! 
 I declare I had forgotten — I had indeed — " 
 In honest disgust at my own idle vanity, 
 I was about to raise a swift hand and to snatch 
 off the ridiculous wreaths from my throat and 
 my hat. But Mr. Darkwood caught my arm, 
 crying out hastily, — 
 
 " Oh, do not ! You look so pretty as you 
 are. I at once resolved to sketch you when I 
 found you sitting here ; but you would not
 
 Moor Edge. 85 
 
 remain quiet, you know. However, no matter. 
 My eyes since then have had a goodly feast ; 
 and I can very well paint you from memory." 
 
 I could only blush again, well pleased. I could 
 find no words in which to answer him — to 
 thank him for his praise. 
 
 "And, Flower," he went on, with a kind of 
 tender authority in his voice and in his manner, 
 *' we must talk more of this, if you do not mind. 
 I mean about yourself and — and the parents you 
 never have known. As I said a minute ago, I 
 am interested in you — interested deeply. You 
 must learn to trust me. Flower." 
 
 I was silent, vaguely troubled. What could 
 he mean ? Was not I content to be Uncle 
 Simon's niece ? Surely I wanted to be no one 
 else ! 
 
 "And you do trust me. Flower?" said Mr. 
 Darkwood earnestly, taking my hand into his. 
 
 " Yes ; I trust you," I answered simply — 
 perhaps a little sadly also. 
 
 His clasp tightened round my fingers. 
 
 " Your — your uncle is away, I kuow," he 
 said more rapidly ; " the Acre people told me 
 that he is gone to Ireland. So could not you 
 — could not you in his absence. Flower, per- 
 suade your aunt to invite me to Moor Edge ?
 
 86 Periwinkle. 
 
 I should so much like to see the interior of 
 that grim-looking old gray abode of yours. 
 Tell her that I am a painter, and your friend, 
 in search of the picturesque.'' 
 
 Here, recollecting Aunt Hannah's unflatter- 
 ing opinion of all young men, I was obliged to 
 laugh. Mr. Darkwood ceased to speak, and 
 looked inquiringly into my eyes. 
 
 " What amuses you ? " smiled he. 
 
 "That funny idea about getting my Aunt 
 Hannah to invite you into the house," I re- 
 plied. *' Ah, you do not know her ! " 
 
 ''You believe then that it would be vain to 
 ask her ? " 
 
 " I am quite sure that it would. Now, Uncle 
 Simon himself might do it — I am not certain about 
 him — if he were at home ; but, 3^ou see — " 
 
 Mr. Darkwood shook his head, frowning 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 "No, no, no," he muttered, more to himself 
 than to me; "it must be done, and done 
 promptly, if done at all, before his return." 
 
 I glanced wonderingly at my companion, now 
 wholly failing to comprehend him. 
 
 "When will your — your Uncle Simon come 
 back to Moor Edge ? " inquired Mr. Darkwood 
 abruptly. " Flower, can you tell me that ? '
 
 Moor Edge. Sy 
 
 I explained to Mr. Darkwood that Uncle Simon 
 had been gone two days, and that in all proba- 
 bility he would be back with us in about a 
 week, as his stay this time was to be a longer 
 one than customary. 
 
 "Ah," said he quickly; "there's a clear week 
 then!" 
 
 His dark eyes appeared to glow with sudden 
 passionate feeling ; the red-brown light in them 
 shone boldly out. I felt his arm gently touch- 
 ing my waist ; his searching eloquent gaze 
 seemed to thrill me through and through. 
 
 " If you will not invite me to the house, 
 Flower, you must meet me out here again upon 
 the moor as early as possible," he whispered 
 half-sternly, half-playfully. " I have more to 
 say to you ; and it shall be said. You trust 
 me ; you have confessed it ; and — and, well, 
 you must obey me." 
 
 "But anyway I must go now," I faltered, 
 hardly conscious of what I said — "indeed, 
 indeed I must." And I rose uncertainly to my 
 feet, feeling in truth rather faint. 
 
 Actually the fast-westering sun was dropping 
 to the fringe of the moor ; its glorious undula- 
 tions were taking rainbow hues beneath the low 
 spreading fiery light. The solemn rooks, in
 
 88 Periwinkle, 
 
 dusky battalions, were travelling slowly home- 
 ward to the woods of Stonyhampton. 
 
 "Jack, Jack," cried I, with, I fear, poorly- 
 assumed ease, "we are going home, like the 
 rooks, little man 1 Come along — say good-bye 
 to the rabbits, Jack ! " 
 
 But, as Daryl Darkwood still held my un- 
 gloved hand, I was unable to make a start. 
 
 "Flower," he said, ''you must let me see you 
 again soon — to-morrow — do you hear ? Pro- 
 mise ; or I shall not release you." 
 
 "Well, I — I promise," I whispered. 
 
 " And now. Flower, you must grant me some- 
 thing else." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " Something very simple — a kiss." 
 
 " You have — you have my hand in yours, 
 Mr. Darkwood," I answered tremulously. " If 
 you like, you — you may kiss that." 
 
 " Periwinkle, it is not enough," said he em- 
 phatically. He added softly, " Periwinkle — the 
 blue periwinkle that so charmingly becomes you 
 — means ' early friendship ; ' and how apt is a 
 quick friendship to ripen into a speedy love ! " 
 
 Without other preamble or ado, he lifted his 
 hat, bent down, and then and there kissed me 
 upon the lips.
 
 Moor Edge. 89 
 
 " I love you, my beautiful Flower," lie said. 
 
 My hand was free. I turned from liim and 
 fled — Jack Sprat racing on ahead of me, joy- 
 ously yapping at space. My clieeks and brow, 
 I well enough knew, were scarlet ; my eyes 
 tingled with unshed tears. But for all that 
 the heart within me was feather-light, and I 
 laughed for very gladness as I ran. Away, 
 away with all anxiety and misgiving I On 
 our side of gaunt Howden Fells, at least, I 
 believed that I was the happiest soul alive. 
 
 Ah me ! for the wild freshness of youth's 
 bright morning, when that first freshness of 
 life and of life's possibilities has for ever gone 
 from us, and left us sad and wise !
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OUR ramble, I should say, has done 
 you good, Flower," Aunt Hannah 
 observed, when, flushed and glad 
 and just in time for tea, I got back to Moor 
 Edge. ''You certainly look better." 
 
 *' I never was ill," I answered lightly. 
 
 " Still there's the brimstone and treacle on 
 my mantelpiece upstairs, if you like to try 
 it," said she peevishly. 
 
 " ' Throw physic to the dogs,' Aunt Han- 
 nah !" laughed I ; and took my place at the 
 table. 
 
 Sunset faded into twilight ; twilight died into 
 night. The white summer moon sailed high 
 over the moorland, and turned into fairy silver 
 the dew upon the heather and gorse. No sound 
 ever so faintly came up to-night from the dim
 
 Moor Edge, 9 1 
 
 far-off valley Stonyhampton way ; all nature 
 seemed hushed and resting beneath the light 
 of the clear summer moon. 
 
 Not without uneasiness, as bed-time drew 
 near, did I notice that Aunt Hannah looked 
 wan and drawn about the lips, restless and 
 strange about the eyes — sure signs, I was un- 
 comfortably aware, that she was threatened 
 with a nervous attack. 
 
 I deemed it prudent to hasten our move- 
 ments in an upward direction. Bed, I believed, 
 was the best place for Aunt Hannah — sleep 
 might avert the catastrophe. 
 
 As we were going upstairs, all being made 
 safe below, my aunt in front, clutching her pink 
 wrapper around her narrow shoulders and start- 
 ing at every shadow cast by her candle and big 
 flat candlestick ; I following with my own small 
 lamp, and wishing from the bottom of my heart 
 that Uncle Simon was at home — as we thus 
 together, two silly frightened women, ascended 
 the worn dark stairway, one of the cocks in the 
 hen-house suddenly crew. 
 
 As everybody knows, the crowing of a cock 
 after sunset, more particularly at night, is by no 
 means an ordinary occurrence. To superstitious 
 people the sound is an uncanny one ; and the
 
 92 Periwinkle, 
 
 harsh voice of the bird calling out in the dark 
 and stilly hours before midnight is by some said 
 to bode no good. 
 
 " There," shivered Aunt Hannah, halting upon 
 the landing and turning her gray twitching face 
 towards me — " that means misfortune ! " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! " said I, in a tone that I 
 strove hard to make valorous, in spite of the 
 curious chill which seemed to go straight into 
 my heart. 
 
 " And — and perhaps death'' shuddered my 
 aunt, her voice scarcely audible. '* Oh, there he 
 goes again ! Drat him ; I wish I could wring 
 his neck ! " 
 
 " You can wring it to-morrow if you should 
 be still in the same mind," I remarked, with 
 some petulance. "I do wish, Aunt Hannah, 
 that you wouldn't try to frighten me out of 
 my wits. You will make me as nervous as 
 yourself." 
 
 " How wicked and unkind you are, Flower ! 
 I'm sure I don't try to frighten you ; so for pity's 
 sake don't go and get telling your uncle that 
 story," whined she. " How can I help my 
 infirmity? I wish I could. You don't know, 
 girl — you don't know how I've been tried all 
 the many long and dreadful 3^ears that I've
 
 Moor Edge, 93 
 
 lived in this house Flower," said my aunt, 
 
 checking herself with a kind of jump, as if 
 for the moment she had fancied that Uncle 
 Simon was behind her, "would you — would 
 you mind just going out with the mop and 
 pushing him off the perch ? It's the game 
 Tom, I know by the crow. He'd be quiet 
 then ; and — and I'll wait here for you at the 
 top of the stairs." 
 
 " Yes, I should very much mind," I answered 
 
 flatly. " For goodness' sake. Aunt Hannah, da 
 
 not be so ridiculous ! Draw the bed-clothes 
 
 well over your head, and then you will not hear 
 
 im. 
 
 I persuaded her to go to her room, and at her 
 request remained with her whilst she got into 
 bed. When I bent over her pillow to bestow 
 my customary airy good-night kiss upon her 
 forehead, I saw and indeed could feel that she 
 was still shivering. 
 
 " Do you really believe, aunt," I inquired 
 anxiously, " that you will be taken with the 
 jumps to-night ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I do really believe that I shall. I feel 
 as I always do when they're coming on," was her 
 uncheering reply. And the bedstead itself began 
 to shake as I stood by it.
 
 94 Periwinkle. 
 
 Fortunately recollecting my Uncle Simon's 
 recipe for this distressing malady, I said, " Wait 
 a minute ; I'll be back directly ; " and quitted 
 the room. From past experience I was pretty 
 well certain that, had I suggested a jorum of hot 
 grog as a preventive against the threatened 
 attack, my aunt, with a sniff and a hurt air, 
 would obstinately have refused to touch it ; 
 though hankering for it, perhaps, all the same. 
 So, saying nothing to her of my intention, I 
 crept down — half fearfully, I own — to the kitchen 
 cupboard by the fireplace. A rat was gnawing 
 somewhere under the stairs ; but deaf Sally, the 
 cat, unmindful of crickets, was asleep within 
 the kitchen fender. Out in the hen-house at 
 intervals the game-cock contin ued to crow ; 
 doubtless mistaking the white moonlight for a 
 ghostly dawn. 
 
 The water in the kettle was still hot ; and I 
 was soon again standing by my Aunt Hannah s 
 bedside. 
 
 '* Here, Aunt Hannah — drink this ! " 
 
 " What is it, Flower ? " said she, partly raising 
 herself upon her elbow, and looking very lean and 
 droll in her night-attire, her face being quite 
 framed in a double row of large limp cap- 
 frills.
 
 Moor Edge. 95 
 
 "What Uncle Simon himself always insists 
 upon your having when you are nervous — hot 
 whiskey-and- water. " 
 
 For a wonder she was sincerely grateful to 
 me, the potion coming thus unexpectedly. But 
 she coughed and choked as she drank it, staring 
 up at me with swimming eyes. 
 
 ** Isn't it rather — rather strong?" she said 
 meekly. 
 
 I confessed that it was very strong. ''For I 
 want you to go to sleep," said I honestly. 
 
 " I fancied," remarked Aunt Hannah more 
 comfortably, when the tumbler was empty, 
 ''whilst you were downstairs just now, that I 
 heard a step in the garden — like — like I did 
 you know, a few nights ago. But, of course, I 
 may have been deceived." 
 
 "Very likely; we will not talk about it," I 
 said hurriedly. " Besides, Jack would have 
 barked — trust him — if any one had been near 
 the house." 
 
 " I often think," slowly went on my aunt, 
 gazing upward at the low cracked ceiling as 
 she lay flat on her back in the bed, "how 
 easily anybody, if he had a mind to, could 
 crawl up upon the roof just at this part of the 
 house ; first by mounting the wall by the
 
 96 Periwinkle. 
 
 cow -shed, then along the brew -house tiles, 
 and then on by the help 0' the spouting 
 to — 
 
 " Pray, do not encourage those horrid fancies 
 at this time of night," I interrupted earnestly ; 
 "but try your hardest to go to sleep. Aunt 
 Hannah, and then perhaps you will wake 
 up better to-morrow. I am sure I hope you 
 will." 
 
 I turned up the wick of her old-fashioned 
 night-lamp to a more cheerful point, so dis- 
 pelling one or two weird Witch of Endor-like 
 shadows that had taken flickering shape upon 
 ceiling and wall, and once more put my lips 
 to her forehead. Then, finally bidding her 
 good-night, I left her. 
 
 At last in my own room, I leant out of window 
 and lifted my face to the starry sky. How ex- 
 quisite, how still, how unspeakably beautiful was 
 the sleeping world ! That tiresome, wakeful fowl 
 in the yard was quiet now ; the only sound that 
 was in any wise audible was the smothered grunt 
 of a slumbering sow. A little frolicsome night- 
 wind blew sweetly and crisply from the north- 
 west. 
 
 Fondly I turned my eyes towards Garlands- 
 on-the-Moor.
 
 Moor Edge. 97 
 
 " My love — dear love," I murmured — " good- 
 night ! " 
 
 Was I dreaming ; or was I awake ? 
 
 It must have been past midnight, for the 
 waning moonlight lay in patches upon the floor 
 of my room, when I started up in bed, listening 
 acutely, convinced that some unusual noise had 
 reached my sense of hearing. By degrees it had 
 aroused my sleep-bound faculties, and I was now 
 almost broadly awake. 
 
 At first I believed that I must beyond all 
 question be dreaming — dreaming that thieves 
 and cut -throats were perhaps upon the roof, 
 Aunt Hannah's uncomfortable talk hazily re- 
 curring to my memory — for the ceiling above 
 my head was jarring in a peculiar manner, 
 as if some one, stealthily yet heavily, were 
 moving within the dark void of the roof 
 itself. 
 
 For a while I was horribly frightened ; and 
 the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet 
 grew moist with terror. Yet the next minute I 
 was out of bed ; hastily clad in my gown and a 
 shawl, and with slippers on my feet ; vainly 
 groping for a friendly match-box, which, of course, 
 in a moment of panic, was nowhere to be found. 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 Periwinkle. 
 
 Unlike Aunt Hannah, I was not accustomed to 
 burn a light throughout the night. 
 
 I had rushed to the conclusion that she was 
 ill, and moving about the house ; perhaps she 
 wanted assistance and was unable to make me 
 hear. But what on earth could she be doing 
 in Uncle Simon's garret ? — for now that I was 
 thoroughly awake, and with wits alert, I knew 
 that the strange sounds proceeded from the soli- 
 tary and mysterious attic across the grim thres- 
 hold of which I had never yet gone. 
 
 In despair abandoning my search for the 
 matches, I swiftly but noiselessly opened my 
 door and peeped cautiously out into the pas- 
 sage. If Aunt Hannah should be walking in 
 her sleep — and it was not impossible — one 
 could not be too careful in one's movements in 
 approaching her. 
 
 The white moonbeams pouring in at the small 
 stair-head window flooded the passage and the 
 landing. Out here it was as light as day ; but 
 with a light more cold and *' creepy" than that 
 of any day. 
 
 Stealing along the passage, with my heart 
 thumping, I came, almost before I was aware of 
 it, at a corner of the landing, upon the door of 
 Aunt Hannah's chamber.
 
 Moor Edge, 99 
 
 Kind Heaven protect me — I was wrong ! Her 
 door was shut ; and, listening, I could hear my 
 aunt, evidently in a deep sleep, snoring aloud in 
 her bed. 
 
 Then it was not she, either well or ill, who 
 was prowling about the house at this unearthly 
 hour. Who then could it be ? 
 
 Hark — yes ! Some one or something ivas 
 moving in the attic under the roof! 
 
 Was it a robber ? 
 
 Had Uncle Simon returned without warning, 
 and much earlier than he had anticipated ? And 
 if so, how had he managed to get into the house 
 in spite of shuttered windows and barred doors ? 
 Why, moreover — and this to me was the strangest 
 circumstance of all — had not Jack Sprat barked, 
 as after nightfall he never failed to do at the 
 slightest noise in the vicinity of Moor Edge ? 
 Had he growded and barked in that familiar 
 unappeasable way of his, I was certain that I 
 should directly have heard him, his barrel in the 
 yard being so near to my window. What ought 
 I to do ? It would be the worst of folly to 
 awaken Aunt Hannah. She would instantly be 
 taken with her nervous disorder in its most 
 alarming and serious form ; and perhaps in the 
 sudden terror of it all would die outright !
 
 I oo Periwinkle. 
 
 On the other hand, inactivity on my part — 
 and the precious moments were flying — might 
 mean a violent death both for her and for me ; 
 two weak women as we were, shut up with 
 some desperate wretch in a lonely house like 
 Moor Edge ! 
 
 " Wh — ir — ir — r-r-r ! " went the old eight-day 
 clock in the kitchen downstairs, and then struck 
 one ; jarring hideously upon the dead night- 
 silence. And in the same instant I heard a key 
 grate rustily in the garret-door ; the door itself 
 open gently — close — and a footstep then upon 
 the upper stairway about to descend to the 
 landing where I was. 
 
 Dumb, paralysed with fright, I fell back against 
 the passage- wall ; my arms extended behind me ; 
 my eyes wide, strained, unwillingly fascinated, 
 fixed upon the dusky narrow stair-ladder which 
 led up to that evil place. No moonlight touched 
 the garret-stairs ; all there was impenetrable 
 gloom. 
 
 Had my life depended upon promptitude 
 in flight, I could have stirred neither hand 
 nor foot. I could only keep staring, in a 
 voiceless agony of dread, upward at that flight 
 of steep bare stairs which led to my Uncle 
 Simon's den.
 
 Moor Edge, i o i 
 
 It seems to take minutes in telling, but 
 actually seconds only could have elapsed ere 
 dimly I perceived advancing towards me the 
 tall figure of a man --advancing with great 
 care, and, like a blind man, feeling his way 
 as he came. 
 
 Then from the ugly shadow he stepped into 
 the beautiful moonlight ; and a stifled shriek, 
 partly of relief, partly of mingled wonderment 
 and joy, broke from my dry lips. 
 
 The man was Daryl Darkwood ! 
 
 He saw me ; started — he was already very 
 pale — came quickly forward and sank upon 
 one knee at my feet. Too startled yet to 
 utter a word, I could only stand there petri- 
 fied in amazement, with my quivering arms 
 spread for support against the wall behind 
 me. 
 
 " My darling, forgive me ! " he passionately 
 whispered. '' I did not mean to disturb or to 
 alarm you ; but I couldn't help it. I found the 
 skylight in the roof unfastened — movable. It 
 seems, however, that it closes with a singular 
 kind of spring ; and I was speedily made a 
 prisoner. I struck a light, and luckily then 
 found an old key ; or " 
 
 My heart was beginning to thaw, as it were.
 
 102 Periwinkle, 
 
 My tongue became loosened, and was once more 
 my own. 
 
 " But— but, Mr. Darkwood," I gasped, " what 
 is the meaning of this — what are you here at all 
 for? It is — it is terribly wrong! Why, oh, 
 why did you do it — " 
 
 "Flower, I love you!" he cried breathlessly. 
 '' I love you, and mean to save you from the 
 desolate, unnatural life you are now living. 
 Dearest, this house, believe me, is no place, no fit 
 home for you. The people here have wickedly 
 deceived you — you are nothing to them, are 
 not of their kin. I am convinced of it from 
 what I have heard about them and you 
 in Stonyhampton and elsewhere. Yet, before 
 making this known to you, I was resolved 
 to ascertain the truth for myself — and to- 
 night I have done it. It is very ugly truth ; 
 and. Flower, you must quit this place — 
 say adieu to it for ever — the very hour that 
 I can arrange for you to fly with me to a 
 happier shelter ! My darling, with me you will 
 be safe ! No one can take you from me or 
 can in any wise harm you when once you are 
 my wife ! " 
 
 " In pity," I whispered distractedly — " not so 
 loud ! You will awaken my aunt else ; and that
 
 Moor Edge. 103 
 
 would be dreadful, dreadful, dreadful ! Go — 
 please go ! " 
 
 " I will. But you must first solemnly promise 
 me that you will be in the quarry to-morrow 
 morning — nay, it is now morning ! — not later 
 than eleven o'clock. I will explain everything 
 to you then." 
 
 "Oh, I'll promise anything if you will only 
 go ! " I moaned, almost sobbed, wringing my 
 hands in an anguish of distress. 
 
 He sprang to his feet, and clasped me in his 
 arms. I was too weak and unnerved — indeed 
 utterly powerless — to in the least resist him. 
 I could but lie passive in his sustaining arms 
 whilst he pressed his lips to mine. 
 
 *' Farewell, beloved, for a few hours," he mur- 
 mured. " Show me the best way of escape — 
 and I am gone ! " 
 
 ''The best way — the best way!" I dazedly 
 repeated to myself. Yes, yes, that would be 
 it — the quickest and the best way ! 
 
 " See ; straight before you — down this pas- 
 sage," I explained feverishly — "is the door 
 of my room. The window is exactly opposite 
 to the door ; the moor itself is, as you know, 
 merely a few feet from the window - ledge. 
 There is no better way than that. Oh, be
 
 1 04 Periwinkle, 
 
 quick, Mr. Darkwoocl, if you would be kind to 
 me — and go ! " 
 
 " Not until I have heard you say,—' Daryl, 
 I love vou ! ' " 
 
 It was, this extraordinary midnight encounter, 
 but the fourth time in my life of seeing him. 
 I — poor moth in the flame ! — obeyed him never- 
 theless. 
 
 " Daryl," I breathed, trembling exceedingly, 
 ''I— I love you!" 
 
 "Periwinkle," he murmured back, caressing 
 my head — "you are all the world to me, love! 
 My pretty Flower, Heaven shield you and bless 
 
 you!" 
 
 Again did he strain me to his heart, his lips 
 fastened upon mine. Then, releasing me, he 
 vanished down the moonlit passage ; and I 
 was alone. 
 
 No more sleep or rest for me that night. 
 My old life, as it were, had been suddenly 
 wrecked. 
 
 Was I plunged in deep ocean, or about to 
 touch the border-land of a glorious unknown 
 world? Whither was I drifting, or rather 
 being hastened ? Where and how would it 
 all end ?
 
 Moor Edge, 105 
 
 Was I deliriously happy, or prodigiously 
 scared. I did not know. I could not 
 decide. 
 
 The old Flower Greedy seemed to *me gone 
 — and I was changed into someone else !
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 EOSE betimes to sit by my open 
 window ; and the fresh pure air of 
 early morning wrought me more 
 good than anything else could have done. It 
 cooled my aching head and fevered eyes, and 
 brought back to me the bodily vigour of 
 which the excitement of the past night had 
 robbed me. Notwithstanding, at present, 
 steady and collected thought was a sheer 
 impracticability : that must wait until the 
 day was older and I had learnt more than I 
 already knew of the mystery which brooded 
 over Moor Edge. I could not, would not yet 
 think of that. A dispassionate view and reason- 
 ing of things must be put aside until I had 
 again seen Daryl Darkwood. Daryl — Daryl I I 
 could think only of him ; and not yet of Uncle 
 Simon, Aunt Hannah, and Moor Edge.
 
 Moor Edge, 107 
 
 Whatever of evil there might be about my 
 lone old home — and, having known no other, it 
 always had seemed really like '' home " to me — 
 had never hitherto troubled me in any harmful 
 way ; and therefore the grim thought of it 
 should not trouble me now. At any rate, not 
 for the present. No. My thoughts in these 
 early morning hours could only dwell, and dwell 
 fondly, upon my lover — that was enough. So I 
 watched the sun rise and spread upward from 
 the chill lovely east, and the pallid dawn-mists 
 roll silently away from the dim purple uplands 
 of the breezy moor — dreaming, dreaming all 
 the while of Daryl Darkwood. Blithely the 
 soaring lark shook the dew from his wings, 
 telling the waking world that another day was 
 come. 
 
 AVhen I heard Aunt Hannah astir below, 
 opening doors and windows and raking out the 
 ashes from the kitchen grate, I quietly arose 
 from my chair by the casement and went down- 
 stairs to join her in her work. I began to 
 wonder whether in appearance I was at all 
 changed from the Flower Greedy of the night 
 before. I suppose, though, there was no per- 
 ceptible difference in me — at all events, to 
 the eyes of my Aunt Hannah — for when she
 
 1 08 Periwinkle, 
 
 looked at me and said good morning, she 
 made no observation whatever of a personal 
 character. 
 
 She, I was glad to notice, looked better than 
 usual ; evidently a night's thorough rest had in 
 every sense been beneficial to her. 
 
 " Did — did you sleep well, aunt, after all ? " 
 I ventured, as carelessly as I could speak, as I 
 shook out and spread the cloth for breakfast and 
 clattered the crockery upon the table. 
 
 " Sound as a roach," answered she, quite 
 cheerfully for her. "That grog you made, 
 Flower, must have been very strong, I feel sure ; 
 and I wonder I have not a headache this morn- 
 ing — that I do ! " 
 
 "I told you it was strong. I thought you 
 needed it so," I struck in, with a short forced 
 laugh. "You did not want to hear that cock 
 crowing all night ; did you ? " 
 
 "No, indeed," shivered my aunt, as she 
 poured the boiling water upon the tea. " I dare 
 say you won't believe it, but my very marrow 
 ran cold as it was." 
 
 Again I laughed a little absently, perhaps 
 somewhat unfeelingly — for nothing in creation 
 is more selfish than a new-born love, a great and 
 an exultant love, and the crowding day-dreams
 
 Moor Edge. 109 
 
 whicli are born with it — and strolled to the open 
 back-door. 
 
 Why, where was Jack ? Why had not he, as 
 was his wont, come scampering indoors, his 
 stump of a tail quivering joyously, the moment 
 he heard us moving in the house ? 
 
 Bare-headed, I went out into the sunny court, 
 and gazed up and down it and over the wall 
 into the yard beyond. 
 
 "Jack, Jack," I called — ''little man, where 
 are you ? " And then, as I could whistle, I 
 whistled for Jack. 
 
 But there was no glad bark in reply ; no 
 bristly little four-footed form came hurtling along 
 the court in order to spring frantically upward 
 into my arms, there to nestle its small coarse 
 head delightedly against my breast, and always^ 
 if possible to favour me with a swift " doggy '* 
 lick. 
 
 Where could he be, my dear little mongrel 
 companion and friend ? So I ran to his barrel 
 and looked into it. 
 
 A sharp cry burst from me. I fell upon my 
 knees by the barrel's mouth. My tears had 
 suddenly gushed forth and blinded me. 
 
 There upon his side on the straw — half in, 
 half out of his tub — he lay, my faithful " little
 
 no Periwinkle, 
 
 man " that would never more answer to my 
 merry call, never more wander with me over 
 the wide and windy moor. His glassy eyes were 
 partly open ; his tongue, slightly frothy, hung 
 sidewise from his jaws ; his body, his limbs were 
 cold and stiff; in death he lay stretched to his 
 fullest length, which yet was barely that of a 
 good-sized hare. My cry of bitter grief speedily 
 brought out Aunt Hannah. 
 
 " Is — is he dead ? " said she, turning very 
 white. 
 
 " Yes — dead ! " was all I could say. 
 
 Aunt Hannah stooped over the little dead dog, 
 and warily examined the hanging tongue. Then 
 she looked up at me. In an awe-stricken voice 
 she said, — 
 
 " It must have happened last night when the 
 game-cock was crowing. He has been poisoned 
 — that's plain ! And who — who can have done 
 it, I wonder? Oh, Flower," whined she, ''didn't 
 I say that misfortune was coming ? And now 
 — and now, depend upon it, there's worse 
 behind!" 
 
 " My dear one, do not, oh, do not cry so 
 piteously ! It is terrible for me to see you. 
 Take heart, Flower. In a little while hence you
 
 Moor Edge, 1 1 1 
 
 will be far away from that dismal place yonder. 
 We shall be always together, in a purer atmo- 
 sphere—amorally purer, you know, I mean — with 
 no cares, no troubles, and as happy as the day 
 is long I " 
 
 " It is so — so much to have lost in a single 
 day — at a single blow," I sobbed, although 
 Daryl's dear arms were holding me as we sat 
 together upon the grass-grown quarry stones, 
 and Heaven's own fair radiant sky was overhead. 
 *' Faith — one's utter faith in one's nearest and 
 best — shattered at a single blow, and — " 
 
 " Now do not any longer call that old vil — 
 that old man your ' nearest and best,' Flower ! 
 I tell you that he is nothing to you — I am 
 thoroughly convinced of it ; nor are you aught 
 to him. He is an outcast, a pariah, a kind of 
 leper — what you will — that is all the world over 
 shunned by his fellow-men. Moor Edge, as I 
 tried to make you comprehend last night, is no 
 fit abode for you, my darling. It is an accursed 
 house — haunted, be sure, by many a ghost, if 
 ghosts of the poor dead there be. You must 
 by-and-by forget that you ever lived there ; that 
 you ever called it home." 
 
 " That will be impossible. I have known no 
 home but that : and — and Uncle Simon has been
 
 112 Periwinkle, 
 
 — has always been so good to me. I owe him so 
 much — everything, indeed ! " 
 
 "You owe him nothing. Whatever he may 
 have done for you, my dear little girl, rest well 
 assured that he has done it in the way of atone- 
 ment — having so wickedly wronged you. And, 
 Flower," said my lover almost sternly, ** do not 
 any more, I beg you, speak of him as * Uncle 
 Simon.' I do not like it — cannot bear to hear 
 it. I have a sensitive ear. Flower, and 'Uncle 
 Simon' grates upon it painfully." 
 
 1 sighed heavily, wearily, and could not stem 
 the flood of my tears. 
 
 " Then — then there is Jack," wept I, " my 
 dear little dog. Oh, I loved him so — I loved 
 him so ! He too is gone — all is'gone ! " 
 
 " Come, are not you a trifle childish, darling ? " 
 said Daryl half gently, half playfully. "Jack, 
 after all, was only a dog; and — forgive me. 
 Flower — a precious ugly and, I think, dangerous 
 one." 
 
 "Ah, but he was so faithful!" I managed to 
 
 say. 
 
 "No doubt. But some one, 1 suspect, with 
 intent to destroy stoats and other vermin, had 
 been throwing poisoned flesh about," answered 
 Daryl lightly.
 
 Moor Edge. 113 
 
 " I — I don't know. I wish I did," I sadly 
 rejoined. 
 
 Talking in a light and tender vein, Daryl did 
 his best to soothe and to comfort me — to encour- 
 age, to brace me, as it were, for the ordeal that 
 was ahead of me. And I was with him, his arms 
 were around me, his shoulder was my aching 
 head's sweet resting-place ; and so my grief over 
 the unalterable past, and my vague nervous 
 quailing from a shadowy and an unknown future, 
 were alike assuaged by his nearness, his touch, 
 his dear companionship, which soon would be a 
 constant joy that was never more to be taken 
 away 1 
 
 Alas ! when one loves blindly and absolutely, 
 one's faith in one's beloved is immeasurable ! It 
 is an infinity of trust that is supreme in its 
 blindness. Doubt, misgiving, any suspicion 
 whatsoever even is as sacrilege itself; he has 
 one's all — one's all, which begins in belief and 
 ends in adoration. So, at least, I know it is 
 with women. Men, as a rule, perhaps, in like 
 circumstances, are more cautious, more calculat- 
 ing, and therefore less confiding — they knowing 
 the world and its folly far better than we. 
 
 My lover on that morning, since I had joined 
 him in our sheltered trysting-place, had told me 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 114 Periwinkle, 
 
 many strange and disquieting things, explaining 
 also his startling appearance at Moor Edge in the 
 dead of the past night. He declared to me that 
 he had felt that he could not rest until with his 
 own eyes he had beheld the interior of Simon 
 Creedy's garret. He had heard from the folk at 
 Garlands and from other gossips in Stonyhampton 
 what the place was said to contain — what grue- 
 some secrets were believed to be hidden from the 
 light of day in that attic under the roof ; but, 
 before in any manner venturing to influence me 
 in the taking of the serious step which must for 
 ever cut me off from Uncle Simon and his guard- 
 ianship, he wished, said he, to make quite certain 
 that rumour for once was correct. When all 
 doubt upon the point was thoroughly set at rest, 
 then no time should be lost in persuading me to 
 fly with him, to thenceforward turn my back 
 upon the evil abode. As there appeared to be 
 not the remotest chance of his — Daryl Dark- 
 wood's — entering the house by fair means, why, 
 he must — so he reasoned — have recourse to 
 means that were not exactly fair. He described 
 to me how simple a matter it was to scale the 
 walls and roof of Moor Edge — remarkably simple 
 to a skilful climber — how he had found the sky- 
 light in the roof ajar (he supposed for ventila-
 
 Moor Edge. 1 1 5 
 
 tion's sake), and had at once carefully lowered 
 himself into the small and stuffy den beneath it. 
 To his horror, the skylight had closed with a 
 spring, the secret of which he had been unable to 
 detect, and there was he in the roof of Moor 
 Edge — a prisoner — caught like a rat in a trap, 
 laughed my lover — " As I told you, my dear one, 
 last night," added he. 
 
 '' But — but was it not very — very dark and 
 horrible up there ? " I faltered. 
 
 "Dark enough, in all conscience! However, 
 I had fortunately with me a box of wax lights ; 
 and there was, as you know, the cold white moon- 
 light besides. White and weird as it was, it was 
 nevertheless sufficient to show me — what I saw." 
 
 "" Oh, Daryl," I whispered, womanlike kind- 
 ling with curiosity, notwithstanding my sorrow 
 and uneasiness, " what did you see ? Remember, 
 I never was in the attic in my life." 
 
 " I saw, Flow^er," was his grim reply, "plain 
 tokens of — well, the hideous proofs of the old 
 man's guilt." 
 
 "And they were — " breathed I. 
 
 " My dear," said Daryl earnestly, "I do not 
 want to frighten you ; and you must have 
 patience. After we are married you shall learn 
 everything, or at any rate as much as I know
 
 1 1 6 Periwinkle. 
 
 myself. Let it be enough now — as I have 
 before said — that I consider Moor Edge no fit 
 home for you ; and you must exchange it for 
 the best, my own dear one, that it is within my 
 power to give you." 
 
 " I shudder to imagine," I said, clinging to 
 him, ''what might have happened last night 
 had you not so luckily found the rusty old 
 key-" 
 
 " Oh, well, in that case, I should have stamped 
 and shouted for assistance 1 " threw in Mr. 
 Darkwood lightly. 
 
 " Then, as surely as we are alive, you would 
 have been the death of Aunt Hannah," I told 
 him solemnly. 
 
 " And I should have gone raving mad. Flower, 
 had I for a bare quarter of an hour been kept a 
 prisoner in that foul hole of Simon Greedy 's. 
 Good Heaven, dear, what a lively household 
 we should then have been ! " 
 
 " Oh, pray do not jest about it ! " I entreated. 
 "It would have been all so real and so awful if 
 — if it had happened. " And I shuddered again 
 at the mere idea. 
 
 *' One can always jest about the unknown," 
 said Daryl Darkwood. And then he went on to 
 break to me what it was that the Stonyhampton
 
 Moor Edge, 1 1 7 
 
 gossips and the people at Garlands-on-the-Moor 
 could tell about me — concerning me, Flower 
 Greedy, as I was called ; though, being so friend- 
 less, so completely alone, I myself had never 
 heard the story. 
 
 I had, so it now appeared, quite sixteen years 
 or more before, by my Uncle Simon been brought 
 home to Moor Edge, to his lone house upon the 
 moor, which then, as now, was kept for him by 
 his sister Hannah. 
 
 Taking, as usual, the black bag with him, he 
 had one day set out upon one of his mysterious 
 journeys — Londonward, it was then thought ; 
 and after an absence of nearly a week he had 
 reappeared at Moor Edge, on this occasion 
 accompanied by a little child — a pretty little 
 toddling dark-haired mite of almost three years, 
 who, he gave out, was the orphan daughter of a 
 brother lately dead. 
 
 Nobody, however, at the time or since, had 
 beUeved the statement ; for in the neighbour- 
 hood it was tolerably well known to be a fact 
 that Simon Greedy had no near relatives above 
 ground save his scraggy sister Hannah, who 
 lived with him at Moor Edge. 
 
 I was that little child, who had been brought 
 so quietly no one knew whence, and reared in
 
 1 1 8 Periwinkle, 
 
 loneliness and the vigorous moorland air as the 
 niece of Simon Greedy. 
 
 Hence, I suppose, the disagreeable curiosity 
 my appearance never failed to excite whenever 
 I had accompanied Aunt Hannah into Stony- 
 hampton. 
 
 For was not I a creature of mystery ? And 
 was not Moor Edge, where I lived, a house as it 
 were under a ban ? 
 
 More than this, indeed, that day Daryl Dark- 
 wood revealed to me ; but I now cannot recollect 
 what were his exact words, being at the time so 
 bewildered, so unhappy, and yet withal so happy 
 too. Verily, as some people say, my brain on 
 that day " was in a whirl." 
 
 There was one thing my lover impressed 
 vehemently upon me — forced me to comprehend 
 — and that was the wisdom of getting our flight 
 well managed and over before Simon Greedy 
 should return to Moor Edge. 
 
 ''There will then be nothing unpleasant for 
 anybody," said Daryl with energy; ''and it is 
 quite as well perhaps that I and the old ruflian 
 should not meet." 
 
 " Do you think — do you think it is likely that 
 he will pursue us when he discovers that I am 
 gone?" I suggested timidly, "like — like Pharaoh
 
 Moor Edge. 1 1 9 
 
 after the Israelites, and try to take me away from 
 you ? Oh, Daryl, that would be dreadful ! " 
 
 "Not he, Flower. If we could be here, our- 
 selves unseen, when the blow falls, we should 
 see that he will accept the situation without a 
 murmur. I would wager anything I possess 
 that no one knows better than himself that he — 
 Simon Greedy — has no earthly right, no possible 
 claim to you, my darling." 
 
 A feeling of intense remorse seemed all at once 
 to overpower me. 
 
 " Oh, Daryl," I once more cried, and once 
 more bursting into tears, '*he has been so good 
 to me — so kind, so good in every way as far as 
 he could ! It seems such — such terrible ingrat- 
 itude to — to — Oh, surely you can tell me 
 something more, enlighten me further," I cried 
 piteously — " can tell me why it is wrong for me 
 to — to care for him ; I — I mean, what great 
 wickedness he has committed ; in what way is 
 his life so bad that I should shriiik from him, 
 leave him without a word, after all — after all — " 
 
 " What," interrupted my lover, with a sort of 
 masterful tenderness in his low and clear voice, 
 *' has it then come to this ? Oh, Flower, I am 
 disappointed in you ! You hesitate to believe in 
 me — hesitate to trust me — hesitate when I have
 
 1 20 Periwinkle, 
 
 told you the plain truth : that Moor Edge is not 
 a fit home for you ; that the man whom you 
 have learnt to call ' Uncle Simon ' is no proper 
 guardian for you — a young, sweet, and innocent 
 girl like you, Flower ! I thought you were 
 brave — not a coward, dear," he said with gentle 
 reproach. '' I thought you understood that a 
 crisis in your life has arrived, and that the time 
 is now at hand when you must choose between 
 Simon Greedy and me ! " 
 
 Kind Heaven, help me, guide me in my in- 
 nocence and ignorance ! No need to say — 
 being a foolish woman in the ecstasy of a first 
 love — that I chose and blindly clung to Daryl 
 Darkwood.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 HEN we — Daryl Darkwood and I — 
 parted on that morning, our plans 
 for the immediate future were mapped 
 out and settled. What had to be done must 
 be done promptly, he reiterated ; there was no 
 time to be lost. 
 
 Yet I did not altogether comprehend why 
 there should be so much haste in the matter ; 
 Uncle Simon — as I still could not help calling 
 him in my own thoughts, if not aloud — would 
 not return to Moor Edge for several days to 
 come ; and then — and then was not it most 
 pleasant and delightful, this being made love 
 to out of doors upon the moor, with the warm 
 sun and blue sky overhead, the sweet wild 
 northern breeze all around us, and the mossy 
 turf and the heather as a carpet for our feet ? 
 
 It was a time, halcyon and all too fleeting, 
 that I instinctively knew never would, never
 
 122 Periwinkle, 
 
 could come again. Why then be in such 
 haste to cut it short ? However, my lover, 
 I supposed, knew best ; and my whole love 
 and trust were now given to him. 
 
 So, like one moving in a dream, I went back 
 to the solitary house which for so long had 
 been my home, but which thenceforward was 
 to be my home never more ! 
 
 Daryl had been both careful and patient 
 in making me understand all that I was to 
 do. I was to keep a brave heart, he said, 
 and to forget nothing that he had told me to 
 remember. 
 
 For himself, he hastened home to Garlands- 
 on-the-Moor. He had, of course, a good deal 
 to do — much to see to and arrange with regard 
 to our flight, which was to take place even so 
 early as at dawn on the following day. We 
 should not meet again until then. 
 
 He had to settle in a pecuniary way with 
 the people at Garlands, and naturally to pay 
 them as much as they should in reason demand 
 of him in consideration of his so hurriedly 
 quitting the farm-house, after leading its in- 
 mates to expect that he would remain there 
 as their lodger for the whole of the present 
 summer.
 
 Moor Edge. 123 
 
 Then there were his things to pack ; I mean 
 not only his clothes, but his easels, his pictures, 
 his paint-boxes, and the many other chattels 
 appertaining to his delightful calling. 
 
 This done, he would drive with his luggage 
 to Stonyhampton, and thence take the train 
 to North minster ; where he would make all 
 needful preparations for our marriage on the 
 next day. In that sleepy ancient city, Daryl 
 said, we could be married before a registrar ; 
 for at Northminster neither of us was known ; 
 whereas, if the ceremony were performed at 
 the registrar's office in Stonyhampton, the 
 proceeding might create much impertinent 
 curiosity — which, of course, in a case like ours, 
 was better avoided. 
 
 Northminster was no very great distance 
 from our market-town — scarcely fifteen miles, I 
 fancy. 
 
 At daybreak, Mr. Darkwood would contrive 
 to be at my window, and I must be ready ; for 
 waiting for us upon the moor behind the out- 
 buildings there would be a vehicle of some 
 kind, in which we could at once drive off. I 
 was to take nothing with me from Moor Edge 
 beyond those things which were absolutely 
 necessary — as the garments, for instance, in
 
 124 Periwinkle, 
 
 which I stood upright ; because all that I 
 possessed in the world had been bought with 
 Simon Creedy's money ; and that, declared 
 Daryl Dark wood proudly, was accursed money. 
 Aught that I might want he himself would buy 
 for me, either in Northminster or in London ; 
 or even, should I prefer it, in Pa.ris — for to 
 Paris were we going after spending a few days 
 in the English capital. So no wonder my 
 brain " whirled," and I barely knew whether 
 I was dreaming or awake ! 
 
 All the same, I had pleaded for my books — 
 the few books I loved as I had loved my faithful 
 little cur. I had had so little to love ! Must I 
 lose them too ? Must they also go, those wise 
 and silent companions ? Must every vestige of 
 the old tranquil and lonely life, then, be made to 
 disappear ? Yes, it seemed so ; for, although 
 Daryl had answered me in a playful and smiling 
 manner, there was yet in that agreeable manner 
 of his something more than a sj)ice of unyielding 
 masterfulness. Young and inexperienced as I 
 was, knowing nought of men and their ways, 
 that gleam of tyranny, faint as it was, in the 
 nature of Daryl Dark wood, was at any rate not 
 lost upon my perception. 
 
 **No, Periwinkle," he said. "Did not Simon
 
 Moor Ed^e. 125, 
 
 Creedy likewise buy the books ? Leave them 
 behind with the rest ; besides, they'll be in the 
 way. I repeat, what you want in the future^ 
 your husband himself will see that you do not 
 lack. You are mine ; you belong to me now ; 
 you must look to me for everything." 
 
 What could I do but yield to him entirely ? 
 He knew best. 
 
 Notwithstanding, when we said good-bye, I 
 had whispered, as he held me to his heart, with 
 my arms lying round his neck, — 
 
 "And — and after we are married — will you 
 not, Daryl ? — you will try to find out who I — 
 who I really am — who, what she is that you 
 have made your wife ? You will not let me for 
 ever live — live as it were under a cloud ? For 
 your own sake — for mine — you will do this,. 
 Daryl?" 
 
 And, with passionate assurances of his un- 
 changing love, he promised me that he would. 
 
 " We will tackle Simon Creedy himself," said 
 Daryl, lightly and fondly, " after the honeymoon 
 — shall we % The secret, we may be sure, lie& 
 with him." 
 
 And so, like a woman moving in a dream, I 
 say, I went slowly back to Moor Edge. Dinner 
 I found was ready and waiting ; with Aunt
 
 126 Periwinkle. 
 
 Hannali, because I was ten minutes or so late, 
 "as cross" — in her own phraseology— "as two 
 sticks." 
 
 I looked at her dreamily, curiousl3^ wonder- 
 ingly ; and it was really a marvel that I did not 
 utter my thoughts aloud ! And so, I was insen- 
 sibly thinking, this lean angular woman, with 
 the sharp colourless face — colourless save for the 
 frost-bitten nose-tip — and nervous shifting eyes, 
 with the dirty pink wrapper and skimp frill-less 
 go^\Ti, was not my aunt after all ! How odd — 
 how very queer, to be sure ! Did she as well as 
 her brother know the true history of my birth, 
 my parentage? And how much, I wondered, 
 could she reveal if she chose ? 
 
 Ah, well, as my lover said, I must have 
 patience ! Every instant I thought, as I had 
 thought at breakfast, that she would make some 
 remark or other either on my appearance or on 
 my behaviour ; for I somehow felt that I could 
 not possibly be looking and acting as I had 
 hitherto been accustomed to look and to act, 
 now that so delicious and so solemn a secret was 
 locked away within my own breast. Indeed, I 
 trembled every instant lest by some sudden un- 
 guarded word or action I should betray my- 
 self, should lay bare my precious secret before
 
 Moor Edge. 127 
 
 those small and shifting eyes of my Aunt 
 Hannah. 
 
 But, with extraordinarily good appetite for 
 her, she was eating her boiled pork and peas — a 
 by no means unfamiliar dinner with us at Moor 
 Edge in the summer-time — and looked up by- 
 and-by to observe peevishly, — 
 
 " You don't eat a morsel, Flower. Ain't you 
 hungry ? " 
 
 Therefore with an effort I roused myself, and 
 made a pretence of eating a little, though in 
 reality to-day I had not the smallest appetite 
 for the homely fare upon our table. It was the 
 last dinner which I should ever sit down to 
 beneath that roof; yet, all the same, I could 
 swallow no particle of it. Somehow it seemed 
 to me then that I should never be hungry 
 again ! 
 
 Within the shadow of the cob-nut trees which 
 grew upon the south side of the garden, where 
 merely the low and rather broken stone w^all 
 divided the garden itself from the wide purple 
 moorland, I buried Jack Sprat — my small dumb 
 mongrel friend with the faithful brown eyes. 
 
 Need I say that it was a most sorrowful task ; 
 and that my tears fell fast upon the little grave ?
 
 128 Periwinkle. 
 
 However, it was clone at last ; and I suddenly 
 lifted my head to see standing there, on the 
 other side of the low stone wall, a youthful in- 
 truder who was intently regarding me. He was 
 a poorly-clad lad with a hungry look ; and in a 
 moment I perceived that he was no moorland- 
 bred hoy — plainly a pallid urchin from the back- 
 streets of Stonyhampton. 
 
 "What are you doing here?" I demanded 
 rather sharply. 
 
 " If you are the young lady, miss, as lives at 
 Moor Edge, I was to give you this," said he. 
 And from a pocket in his tattered jacket he 
 drew out a large square envelope with something 
 painted on it. It could, I of course knew, come 
 from no one but Daryl Darkwood ; and I im- 
 mediately leant with outstretched hand over the 
 broken wall, eager to possess the missive, what- 
 ever it might be. 
 
 *'I met the gentleman on his way to the 
 station, miss," explained the boy ; ** and he said 
 I was to be sure and wait about the place till I 
 see you." 
 
 I had a sixpence and a few halfpence in my 
 pocket, all of which I joyfully bestowed upon the 
 messenger — he should have had more, three 
 times as much, had I had more with me at the
 
 Moor Edge. 129 
 
 time to give ; and then I bade him hurry away 
 in order that I might be alone — alone with my 
 wonderful luck. The pallid waif scampered off 
 well pleased, doubtless not having reckoned upon 
 being paid at both ends of the journey. 
 
 Once more by myself, and with no one to 
 watch me, in a flutter of joy that was almost pain 
 I prepared to read what I thought was to be my 
 first love-letter. 
 
 There was no address upon the large square 
 envelope — only the word " Periwinkle," in fanci- 
 ful letters of pale-blue and olive-green, painted 
 across it from a top corner to a bottom one. 
 With eager, trembling fingers, yet with a touch 
 of reverent care, I broke the seal and peeped in 
 at my treasure. But there was no love-letter ! 
 What then could it be ? 
 
 Ah, something as sweet, if not sweeter, for it 
 was Daryl himself — his photograph ! There were 
 the handsome faultless pale features ; the heavy 
 swart moustache as in life hiding a perfect 
 mouth ; the wide white forehead and dark wavy 
 hair ; and Daryl's own wondrous beautiful dark 
 eyes gazing gravely, yet smiling a little, upward 
 into mine ! It was a marvellous, a most eloquent 
 likeness, and I kissed it a hundred times. 
 
 With the photograph there had come a clever 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 1 30 Periwinkle, 
 
 little sketch, done, even my untutored eye could 
 perceive, upon rough drawing-paper and in great 
 haste — the hurried sketch of a girl in a washed- 
 out blue-muslin gown, with blue ribbons knotted 
 loosely about her throat and hat ; and with long 
 sprays of the periwinkle plant adorning, in dusky 
 fantastic fashion, her person as well. The girl's 
 hair was soft and sombre as the purple black wing 
 of a young raven ; her heavily-lashed eyes, look- 
 ing straight at one with a questioning serious air, 
 were as clear and as blue as the periwinkle flower 
 itself. Perhaps the face in contour was a trifle 
 thin ; the lips in expression a little sad ; not- 
 withstanding — being by nature neither stupid 
 nor blind — I knew it was a lovely and no ideal- 
 ised portrait ; the genuinely healthful hue of the 
 fair young face being unquestionably the greatest 
 charm to be found in it. " Oh, Daryl," was the 
 silent glad cry in my heart, — *' how you must 
 love me, my darling, my darling, from memory 
 to paint me so faithfully ; in absence to remember 
 me so well ! " 
 
 And, yes ! on another scrap of paper there was 
 a line or so of writing too. After all, then, it 
 was really and truly a love letter ! 
 
 The written words, however, which my eyes 
 devoured were merely —
 
 Moor Edge. 1 3 1 
 
 "Beloved, farewell until dawn to-morrow. I 
 send the enclosed to you, my lovely Flower, so 
 that you may know that you are not forgotten by, 
 but are ever present in the tenderest thoughts of, 
 your own Daryl Darkwood." 
 
 With these dear words and the photograph 
 pressed to my lips, mutely I raised my eyes to 
 the high summer sky, and thanked Heaven thus 
 for so brave a lover.
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 all my favourite haunts I had said 
 good-bye ; nor did I forget the pigs, 
 the poultry, Daffodil and Daisy ; nor 
 the deaf and aged Sally upon the kitchen 
 hearth. Also had I paid my last visit to, wept 
 my last tears over, my little dog's grave under 
 the nut boughs in the garden. Yes, to all 
 then around me I had whispered that simple yet 
 often heart-breaking word " Good-bye." Good- 
 bye for a brief while only is sometimes bad and 
 sad enough in all conscience ; but when it comes 
 to good-bye for evermore — for evermore upon 
 this side of Eternity — then it is a wrench indeed ! 
 At least do I know that it is so if one's poor 
 human heart has taken, as it were, root in 
 the soil where the inevitable farewell must be 
 said. 
 
 There was only Aunt Hannah now ; and, as
 
 Moor Edge. 133 
 
 for Uncle Simon — But I must not — I dared 
 not think of him. 
 
 And so, when bed-time came, hardly know- 
 ing what I was about to do or say, I fell 
 upon Aunt Hannah's bony shoulder and hid 
 my face in the grimy pink wrapper. So, 
 clinging to her, I sobbed out my farewell. 
 Aloud, in tones husky and choked, it was 
 *' Good-night ; " under my breath it was '' Good- 
 l.ye ! " 
 
 She was evidently very much astonished at 
 this unwonted display of emotion on my part ; 
 and, I have no doubt, vividly enough afterwards 
 the circumstance recurred to her. 
 
 '•Why, bless me. Flower, child," said she, 
 more kindly than she generally spoke, " what's 
 the matter with you ? You don't feel nervous, I 
 hope — ^jumpy, or — or anything like that, do 
 you ? " added Aunt Hannah anxiously. 
 
 " No, no, no. I aui weak and silly — nothing 
 more," I stammered, quickly drying my eyes. 
 *' You see, 1 — I — I cannot help thinking of poor 
 Jack. I shall miss him so — so terribly ; and — 
 and — " 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it ? " said Aunt Hannah 
 in a relieved tone. " Well, it is silly to cry 
 about it, Flower ; though I must confess that
 
 134 Periwinkle. 
 
 it made me feel a bit shaky myself this morn- 
 ing when I saw him stretched out there on 
 the straw in his tub ; and — and I do trust 
 his death, being — being poisoned and all — 
 don't mean misfortune of any kind," said she, 
 shivering and looking scared. 
 
 Unable to bear more or to say more just then, 
 I slipped from Aunt Hannah's stiff and queer but 
 kindly-meant embrace ; fled to my own room, 
 locked^ the door ; and there in a passion of weep- 
 ing flung myself upon the bed. Yet all the 
 while I was conscious that I was, in spite of 
 everything, deliriously happy ; for Daryl Dark- 
 wood's picture — his own likeness — was lying 
 next my heart. 
 
 From sheer exhaustion, and w^orn out with 
 excitement, I must, I suppose, all dressed as I 
 was, have quickly fallen asleep, and slept, too, 
 soundly. And as the night wore on I dreamed 
 a frightful dream. 
 
 I thought that without warning Uncle Simon 
 had returned to Moor Edge, looking stern and 
 menacing, and altogether unlike the benign old 
 man I knew, to accuse me the moment we met 
 of base ingratitude and lack of natural feeling. 
 He seemed to be aware that I was flying from
 
 Moor Edge, 135 
 
 Moor Edg:e and from the vao-ue horror which 
 brooded over the lonely house ; because he said, 
 whilst his face grew wan with anger and a steel- 
 like glitter crept into his eyes, that my conduct 
 was unpardonable and more cruel than '' a 
 serpent's tooth." He dropped his hands upon 
 my shoulders ; and his wiry grip was like the 
 clutch of a skeleton. Dumb with despair and 
 fright, I sank at his feet ; and I noticed then 
 that he had the black bag with him. 
 
 He caught it up as if struck by a swift idea ; 
 and something in his pale evil look made me 
 gasp out, — 
 
 " Are you going to kill me ? " 
 
 And he answered quite quietly, — 
 
 "' Yes — living, you never shall leave Moor 
 Edge ; never shall take the secret with you. 
 One day, some day — who knows? — it may be 
 my fortune. So I will stifle the life out of you 
 with my black bag." 
 
 And in the next instant he was kneeling 
 upon my chest, holding me down thus, with 
 the black bag pressed heavily over my mouth 
 and nostrils. The horrid thing had a loath- 
 some, deathlike smell ; and frantically I struggled 
 to thrust it from my face. Vain ; the agony 
 of a violent end was stealing over me ; the voice
 
 136 Periwinkle, 
 
 of my Uncle Simon was humming in my ears. 
 ''Flower," it said — ''good-bye, Flower! I will 
 bury you in the attic with the others .... 
 at least there will be ghosts ever present to 
 bear you company .... such ghosts, dear ! 
 And then you can haunt the attic too. Flower 
 — poor Flower — to die so early ! . . . . 
 Flower !...." 
 
 "With a great and painful start I awoke. The 
 rose-gray light of dawn was in my room ; some 
 one without my window was softly calling, 
 '* Flower — Flower ! " and the thong of a whip 
 was smiting my window-sill. 
 
 Up I sprang ; pushed back my tumbled hair; 
 and ran — my ugly dream in a trice forgotten — 
 to the open casement. 
 
 Yes, it was new morning — young, lovely 
 day ; and the dawn had restored to me my 
 lover. I leant out into the sweet chill air, 
 stretching both hands towards him. He grasped 
 them and kissed them in gallant greeting. 
 
 **Ah, that is right!" he said gaily. "I see 
 you are up and dressed, and so we can start with- 
 out the least delay. It is now about a quarter to 
 four. I meant to have been even earlier, my 
 darling, but could not altogether manage it. It 
 has been rather a rush as it is."
 
 Moor Edge, 1 3 7 
 
 But I told him that I had not really been to 
 bed ; I had merely lain down with my clothes 
 on ; and in that fashion had fallen asleep un- 
 expectedly. And then shyly I began to thank 
 him for his gift of yesterday — the photograph, 
 the sketch, and the dear note. But he struck 
 in somewhat impatiently, — 
 
 " We'll talk about that going along, dearest. 
 Time's short — our breakfast is waiting at 
 Northminister. The old hag " — that was Aunt 
 Hannah — "may wake up directly, you know; 
 and then — and then. Flower, there'll be a 
 scene — a deuce of a row, perhaps ; and we 
 don't want that. Let us look sharp and be 
 gone ! " 
 
 " I will be ready in ten minutes, Daryl," I 
 promised quickly. 
 
 " Ten minutes ! " echoed he, frowning. 
 *' Why, what have you to do ? " 
 
 " I must make myself tidy and nice," I 
 answered timidly. "I — I feel rather confused 
 and bewildered at present, to tell the truth, 
 but plenty of cold water will soon wake me 
 up." 
 
 ' " Well, that won't take long. Periwinkle," 
 he said. " Do be quick about it, dear ; for I 
 am getting hungry — fearfully hungry."
 
 138 Periwinkle. 
 
 "And I must say my prayers too, Daryl," 
 I finished gently. 
 
 He laughed. At any other time — a time 
 that ofi'ered opportunity for, that invited calm 
 and dispassionate reflection — the laugh would 
 have jarred upon me, hurt me. It is ever a 
 bad sign when a man lauo^hs at relig;ion. 
 However, as it was, in the novelty and ex- 
 citement of that fateful hour, his light regard 
 of what was to me so solemn and so true a 
 thing passed almost unnoticed. 
 
 " I'll give you ten minutes for everything," 
 he said blithely. "And, Flower," he added, 
 in a graver tone, " recollect what I have 
 told you. Bring nothing away with you 
 from this house, mind you, beyond the few 
 things which are absolutely indispensable. 
 All deficiencies shall be made good by-and- 
 
 by." 
 
 I earnestly assured him that no wish he 
 had expressed in the matter had been for- 
 gotten by me. His wishes were commands, 
 I told him, and should be obeyed to the 
 letter. 
 
 ''The chaise," said my lover, "is on the 
 moor ; just round the corner of that shed 
 yonder. I'll go and see whether the horse is
 
 Moor Edge. 139 
 
 all right — what a pickle we should be in if he 
 were to bolt ! — and will return here when the 
 time is up." 
 
 Daryl lit a cigar ; strolled off on his errand ; 
 and I withdrew from the window. 
 
 When the ten minutes were flown I was 
 ready. I had put on the best summer clothes 
 I possessed ; my sole luggage being an 
 antiquated sunshade — a faded mauve silk one 
 with a handle that doubled up and a deep 
 fringe — and a small hand-bag. I had taken 
 a last tender lingering look at my little 
 bookcase, the wise silent occupants of which, 
 I understood in after years, had been my 
 truest friends and companions at Moor Edge. 
 I had knelt by the side of my small white 
 rumpled bed, and in brief hurried prayer 
 had passionately asked Heaven's blessing upon 
 the step I was about to take — the new 
 life I was about to enter upon, my new 
 strange unknown life as Daryl Darkwood's 
 wife. 
 
 And then — and then, looking slowly round 
 the narrow familiar room, every homely bit of 
 furniture in which I can see before me now 
 as distinctly as if long and bitter years of 
 suffering could not by me be counted between
 
 1 40 Periwinkle, 
 
 *' the dim yesterday and the bright to-day," 
 I realised that there was indeed nothing more 
 to be done. 
 
 I was ready. 
 
 Again I went to the window. Daryl with 
 outstretched arms was waiting there. 
 
 " Come," said he. 
 
 " By this way— like this ? " I faltered. 
 
 "Yes. It is the simpleujt and the safest," he 
 replied. ''Hand me down the bag and the 
 
 parasol ; then take my hands firmly — and jump. 
 I will catch you, never fear ! " 
 
 '' One moment, Daryl," I pleaded, holding 
 back. "Do not — do not be angry; but — 
 but I should like, if I may, to leave behind 
 me some message, a written message — just 
 a word or two — for Uncle Si — for — for — 
 Oh, you know what I mean ! " I broke off 
 tremulously. 
 
 Daryl Darkwood struck the ground with his 
 foot, 
 
 " What folly ! " he exclaimed. " Why, 
 Flower—" 
 
 " Please, oh, please let me ! " I whispered. 
 " It won't take long." 
 
 Making no further objection on the point, 
 he hastily tore a leaf from a sketch-book he
 
 Moor Edge. 1 4 r 
 
 carried in his pocket, and scribbled upon 
 it,— 
 
 " Simon Ceeedy, — I know everything ; and 
 to-day I have left Moor Edge for ever. I 
 have found one who truly loves me, and 
 whom I dearly love. His home, not yours, 
 henceforth will be mine. 
 
 '' Flower Darkwood." 
 
 " There," said my lover coolly — " stick that, 
 dear, upon your pincushion. It will make the 
 old man sit up." 
 
 *' It looks too — too cold and unfeeling — 
 so cruelly brusque ! " said I very wistfully ; 
 with fast dimming eyes reading what Daryl 
 Dark wood had written. " And — and, besides, I 
 do not know everything. It is not the 
 truth—" 
 
 "Oh, hang it — oh, that's nonsense, dear, I 
 mean ! Surely you know enough, at any rate, 
 for the present. 
 
 " And — and there's the signature. Oh, 
 Daryl !" 
 
 " It's all right, my dear little girl. By the 
 time the old ruffian comes home and reads that, 
 why, you will of course be ' Flower Darkwood ' 
 — in fact, a quite old married woman ! "
 
 142 Periwinkle, 
 
 Ah, well, I had been called upon to choose 
 between the two men, and I had elected to trust 
 to Daryl Darkwood ! Him had I chosen before 
 all other men ; thenceforward I must do his 
 bidding — obey him — he was my master. His 
 wishes, his will, now and for ever after, must be 
 mine. 
 
 With my head turned aside, so that my 
 sad eyes should not witness the deed my 
 trembling hands must so unwillingly perform, 
 I pinned upon the cushion on my dressing- 
 table those cold lines of eternal farewell. Oh, 
 Uncle Simon — oh. Uncle Simon — good-bye — 
 good-bye ! 
 
 A few seconds later, with a poor forced 
 smile, I assured my lover that I was ready — 
 yes, really ready at last. I climbed on to 
 the window-ledge ; put my hands into his ; and 
 then, gazing trustfully down into his dark 
 tender eyes, I sprang fearlessly earthward, 
 to be safely caught within his strong and 
 sheltering arms. 
 
 The chaise that was waiting for us upon the 
 breezy moor was a somewhat dilapidated-looking 
 vehicle, I thought. It was the best he could 
 get in the neighbourhood, Daryl gaily said ; 
 and the animal attached to it — with no
 
 Moor Edge, 143 
 
 thoughts, I am sure, of bolting — was tran- 
 quilly cropping the sweet and dewy herbage. 
 The sun was waxing stronger ; the larks were 
 singing out of sight; upon the far uplands 
 the heather took faint crimson and purple 
 hues when viewed though the vanishing morn- 
 ing mists. 
 
 I was seated by Daryl Darkwood's side. I 
 was now very silent. I dared not look back at 
 the house I had forsaken. He gathered up the 
 reins ; gave the horse a sharp sting with the 
 whip ; we were off. " Ah," cried Daryl, suddenly 
 stooping and taking from beneath the seat of the 
 musty old chaise a handful of lovely real orange- 
 flowers — '' I ought to have remembered these 
 before ! See, sweetheart — fasten them at your 
 throat ! I wonder whether they are as becom- 
 ing as periwinkles ? " 
 
 For a moment, in a dazed unseeing way, I 
 stared at the exquisite blossoms. For a moment 
 I utterly failed to realise their tender and deep 
 significance ; because I believe that their rare, 
 unearthly fragrance had turned me somewhat 
 giddy and sick. 
 
 Daryl put the flowers on my lap, and passed 
 his arm round my waist. Fondly he drew 
 me to his side, and bent his dark head to
 
 144 
 
 Periwinkle. 
 
 mine. I clung to him helplessly — he was my 
 all now ! 
 
 " What ! — is it possible that you have for- 
 gotten, my dearest," whispered he, " that this is 
 our wedding-day ? "
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 DARYL DARKWOOD'S WIFE. 
 
 He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent 
 
 its novel force, 
 Something better than his dog, a little dearer than 
 
 his horse." — Tennyson. 
 
 0, what may man within him hide, 
 Though angel on the outward side ! " 
 
 Shakesi^eare. 
 
 "Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to 
 be understood."— ^a^p/i' Waldo Emerson. 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 CHAPTEKX. 
 
 IFE is real — life is bitter; but life 
 after all is — or so it sbould be — only 
 a pilgrimage to higher things. So 
 the sooner it be over the better. 
 
 Some such sad reflection as this was passing, 
 dimly and unuttered, through my tired brain, as 
 I sat by the open window of an up-stairs sitting- 
 room in a not-too-cheerful lodging-house which 
 stood in the neighbourhood of Shepherd's Bush, 
 with Hammersmith not far off. 
 
 It was evening. Twilight was deepening into 
 darkness. The sultry night promised to be 
 even sultrier than the midsummer day had been. 
 In this stuffy and third-rate suburban locality, 
 where cheap villas and gaudy shops abounded, 
 and where the near rumble of tram-car and om- 
 nibus seemed to make the windless air grow yet 
 more unendurably close, the mere thought of the
 
 1 48 Periwinkle. 
 
 real sweet fresh green country at eventide came 
 to one's lono-ino^ soul like a dream of Paradise. 
 
 The furniture of that up-stairs " drawing- 
 room " was both shabby and of a by-gone date ; 
 but the limp muslin curtains about the window 
 were tolerably clean, and that was something to 
 be grateful for. Flies, however, had made the 
 chandelier a favourite abiding place ; green and 
 yellow tissue-paper, fantastically cut diamond- 
 wise, draped the gilt frame of the mirror upon 
 the mantelpiece. 
 
 I was not alone in the room. Dozing upon 
 the hard sofa — which, notwithstanding its in- 
 flexibility, was rich in gay antimacassars of all 
 kinds — lay my little daughter, aged four years 
 and some months ; a delicate, patient little soul, 
 and " the image of her mother," strangers were 
 wont to say. I nevertheless could not discern 
 the likeness. To my eyes the little one was like 
 her father ; and sometimes, when my sad heart 
 was unusually low and sore, I grieved bitterly 
 that this should be so. 
 
 The sitting-room door opened softly ; and with 
 a start I looked round. The landlady of the 
 house had entered the room ; but she halted in 
 the dusk near the doorway. 
 
 " What, sitting all alone in the gloamin', Mrs.
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 149 
 
 Darkwood?" said the landlady. "Dear, dear, 
 'm, that is lonesome like, isn't it ? Let me light 
 the gas." 
 
 " Hush — no ! " I answered, in a rapid under- 
 tone. " I prefer the twilight, thank you. Do 
 not make a noise, Mrs. Eamage. Isla, I fancy, 
 is asleep." 
 
 " Pretty duck !" breathed Mrs. Eamage, clasp- 
 ing her hands and looking affectionately towards 
 the sofa. " Is she better to-night, mem, do you 
 think ? " 
 
 " I — I do not know. I hope so," I replied 
 
 '' You ought to have a doctor to her, you 
 really ought, Mrs. Darkw^ood," whispered the 
 landlady sympathetically — " The pretty angel ! 
 I don't like to say it, but — but she really seems 
 fading away. Eory says the same ; and a 
 doctor, you know, mem, if you had him in time, 
 would safe to be able to set matters straight a 
 bit. It seems such a pity, when there's Doctor 
 Morrison only just round the corner in the 
 Tregonda Eoad ; and — and," ventured Mrs. 
 Eamage as delicately as her kind heart could 
 prompt her, and waxing bold perhaps in the 
 friendly gloom, " he isn't a dear doctor, not by 
 any means, Mrs. Darkwood. I do assure you he 
 isn't — only three-and-sixpence a visit, which of
 
 150 Periwinkle. 
 
 course, though, don't include the medicine ; that 
 you get afterwards at the chemist's. He did 
 Miss de Yere — my Eory, you know — a lot of 
 good when some time back she was laid up with 
 a nasty sore throat. Indeed, I do verily believe 
 that if it hadn't ha' been for Doctor Morrison 
 she would have lost her engagement at the 
 theatre. And, as I said before, Mrs. Darkwood, 
 his fee is only three-and-sixpence ; and not so 
 much as that if you go to his house." 
 
 My hands were twisted fiercely together in 
 my lap ; the nails of one pierced the flesh of the 
 otlier. I interrupted the landlady, speaking 
 with difficulty. 
 
 " You are extremely kind and thoughtful, 
 Mrs. Eamage. I — I will tell Mr. Darkwood 
 what you say." 
 
 "Eeally I think it would be as well, mem," 
 said Mrs. Eamage earnestly. " And shall I lay 
 the supper cloth, Mrs. Darkwood, now ? Will 
 the Captain be in to supper ? " 
 
 " You forget," I said, with impatience, "what 
 I told you the other day. My husband is not 
 ' Captain.' He has nothing whatever to do 
 with the Army. He is simply ' Mr. Darkwood,' 
 and I shall be glad if you will call him so. 
 It grates upon my ear, Mrs. Eamage, to hear
 
 Daryl Darkwoocf s Wife. 151 
 
 you say * Captain/ when the title is so utterly 
 wrong/' 
 
 "Well, I'm sure I beg your pardon, mem," 
 simpered the landlady good-temperedly ; '* but 
 it will slip out sometimes, and I can't help it. 
 You see, it's all Kory's fault. She says that 
 Mr. Darkwood is the handsomest and the dis- 
 tangiest-\Qo\LVCi^ gentleman as she has ever set 
 eyes on, either in the Park or at the Levity, 
 or anywhere else for the matter o' that ; that 
 he has got the true mili-tary cut ; and that if 
 he ain't a captain, why, he ought to be one, 
 Eory says ; and so you must forgive — " 
 
 "Is Miss de Vere gone yet?" I inquired 
 gently, desirous to turn the drift of the talk. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Mrs. Darkwood ! "What— didn't 
 you see her run out to ketch the omlibus ? " 
 cried the mother of Miss de Vere proudly, 
 her voice going upward. " Why, it's close on 
 nine o'clock, and her turn comes on at — " 
 - " Oh, hush, please ! " I entreated, with a swift 
 glance towards the sofa. " If she is asleep, I 
 would not for anything have her disturbed." 
 
 " Pretty darling," breathed Mrs. Eamage 
 obediently, also again glancing at the sofa — 
 " pretty innocent dear ! As I was saying," 
 she continued in the smallest of whispers, " it
 
 152 Periwinkle, 
 
 is close upon nine o'clock ; and Eory, during 
 this week, is due at tlie theatre at 9*15. She 
 has a new song for this evening called ^ Would 
 you believe it ? ' and Eory says that the whole 
 orchestry, and indeed everybody at the theatre, 
 vows that the chorus is the most fetchinor one 
 that the Levity has heard for a long while past. 
 I told her, if the omlibus was late or crowded or 
 anything, she'd better take an 'ansom ; for she 
 had got on her silver-gray satin and her lovely 
 new purple-velvet ' princess ; ' and I wouldn't 
 have her spile 'em in a crowded old omlibus for 
 the world ! The proprietor and manager, Mr. 
 Binkworthy, has a supper on to-night ; and 
 of course Eory was invited. He said the party 
 wouldn't be complete without Miss Aurora de 
 Yere ; and, if ' Would you believe it ? ' proves 
 the big success that Mr. Binkworthy and all of 
 'em think it will, why, next week Eory will 
 have her name upon the bills in large red 
 letters a foot long, instead of in small blue or 
 black ones as she has had it up till now. And 
 her salary will be raised, Mr. Binkworthy 
 says — something considerable — and that, mem, 
 will be better than all ! " 
 
 "Well, you need not trouble to spread the 
 cloth unless Mr. Dark wood should come in
 
 Davy I DarkwoocTs Wife. 153 
 
 and want anything," I said wearily. ''And 
 if he should I will ring, Mrs. Eamage. I want 
 nothing myself, thank you." 
 
 " Not even the gas ? " said Mrs. Eamage, 
 reluctant to go. 
 
 '' Not yet. It is cooler in the dark," I 
 answered quietly. 
 
 " And the Captain — Oh, excuse me, 'm — 
 I forgot again ! Mr. Darkwood, then, you 
 think, won't be in just yet ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell. As I said, Mrs. Eamage, if 
 he comes in and wants anything, I will ring." 
 
 The landlady, feeling herself dismissed, backed 
 towards the door ; and having sidled out and 
 gained the landing, she closed the door as cauti- 
 ously as she had opened it a few minutes before. 
 
 Alone, I rose ghost-like from my chair and 
 crept over to the shadowy antimacassar-strewed 
 sofa to reassure myself that the little one had 
 not been aroused. No ; the child had fallen into 
 a- sound sleep — was breathing regularly, the 
 small pale face pillowed upon a tiny arm. Fear- 
 ful even of kissing my darling, I bent over the 
 sofa-head and murmured passionately, — 
 
 " Heaven help and have pity on us both, my 
 treasure, my own ! What shall we do — what 
 shall we do ! "
 
 154 Periwinkle, 
 
 Then, in a kind of dumb despair, pressing my 
 forehead downward into my hot palms, I moved 
 slowly back to my seat by the window ; there to 
 think — once more to try to think dispassionately 
 what could be done for the best. Alas, in dire 
 straits, ** the best" is always so hard to dis- 
 cover ! It was a problem worse than a night- 
 mare ; and with every day that came and went 
 it seemed to grow more terrific. To-night I 
 felt too weak to wrestle with the spectre — the 
 future was my spectre. Try how I would, in 
 my present state of mind, I could bring no con- 
 centrated thought to bear upon the torturing 
 question. Weeks of weary brooding upon the 
 inevitable, sleepless nights passed in contempla- 
 tion of the chaos ahead, had, I believed, rendered 
 my brain apathetic, when, for my own good and 
 for the good of others, it should have been keen 
 and alert. 
 
 And so my thoughts — as they so often did 
 when I, in an utter heart-sickness which was 
 nothing approaching resignation, sat down to 
 tussle with the riddle of my destiny — wandered, 
 without my will, back to the days that were 
 for ever dead. I was not the first woman, I 
 knew, nor should I be the last, who had made 
 a grievous blunder upon the threshold of her
 
 Daryl Da^^kwood's Wife. 155 
 
 womanhood. The wild freshness of life's morn- 
 ing is the time of sowing ; and woe for the 
 guerdon of the sower if that sowing-time be 
 lightly regarded ! The harvest thereof will be a. 
 barren one, and in truth means blackest failure. 
 
 As I sat there so stilly and with bowed head,, 
 my little sick child sleeping upon the couch a few 
 yards away, my girlhood came back to me once 
 more. I was a girl again — a girl, innocent, care- 
 less, and free — never dreaming that the day would 
 dawn which would see me Daryl Darkwood's wife. 
 
 How well did I remember my moorland life,, 
 and how far back in the unalterable past it all 
 now seemed — its health, its mystery, its simple 
 joys ; the glory of its lonely summer, the isola- 
 tion of its still lonelier winter ; my books, my 
 day-dreams, my faithful mongrel friend ; and 
 those two — the man and the woman — upon 
 whom for so long and so trustfully I had looked 
 as my sole kith and kin ! And then — and then 
 across my calm life-path had stepped Daryl Dark- 
 wood, bringing with him love, agony, mistrust, 
 terror, and a speedy severing of all that had 
 hitherto bound me to an existence which, before 
 his coming, had been enough. Yes, until he 
 came, I knew now that in my ignorance — whick 
 verily was bliss — I had been satisfied !
 
 156 Periwinkle. 
 
 But with him and his headlong passion all 
 was changed ; and the wild freshness of morn- 
 ing had fled for ever. With knowledge, as in 
 the first Eden days, had come pain ; and eyes 
 that had been strange to the anguish of weep- 
 ing had grown familiar with the bitterness of 
 real tears. Life is indeed very real, very earnest 
 — at least it is so to ninety-nine mortals out of 
 every hundred ! How vividly did I remember 
 my flight from Moor Edge ; our hasty marriage 
 before a registrar at Northminster ; our wondrous 
 honeymoon abroad, the brief delirium of which 
 joy-dream I cared not now to recall — for the 
 present was made up of sternest actualities, and 
 such contrasts are not kind. 
 
 The first year of my married life had not been 
 wholly unhappy ; and at the close of it my child 
 w^as born. Our little daughter Isla, as 1 have 
 already said, was at this date something more 
 than four years old ; and night and morning did 
 I thank Heaven that neither brother nor sister 
 had followed Isla. Far better so ! 
 
 No ; that first year of my wedded life, which 
 had been spent in Paris, where Daryl Darkwood 
 had appeared to possess many friends, both men 
 and women, had not been wholly unhappy ; 
 though it had not taken me a whole year to find
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 1 5 7 
 
 out that in the man whom I had married there 
 were two Daryl Darkwoods — the one who, in a 
 brief and secret wooing, had won me at Moor 
 Edge : the other, the husband and no longer 
 a lover, who had already grown tired of me, and 
 who made no feint of showing that this was not 
 the truth. 
 
 In those early days of our life together I had, 
 too, made other strange discoveries, which had 
 at first filled me with acute dismay. But in 
 time, alas, one gets used to anything and to 
 everything — even to a bad husband ! The 
 man I had married was cursed with the vice 
 which is the parent- vice of all the rest. He was 
 lazy. Being lazy, he was fond of pleasure, and 
 constantly seeking it ; oftentimes drank more 
 than was good for him ; and in his cups would 
 swear at me, his terrified wife, in language that 
 before my marriage had never assailed my ears. 
 
 " I thought you were an artist — a painter, 
 Daryl ? " I said wonderingly to him one day, 
 perhaps some six months after that hurried cere- 
 mony at Northminster. 
 
 ** So I am," said he. 
 
 *' Why, then, do you never paint ? " 
 
 " Oh, you don't understand 1 I am an 
 amateur ; and amateurs. Periwinkle, my dear,.
 
 158 Periwinkle. 
 
 paint just when they please — that is, whenever 
 inspiration is the motive power," was his careless 
 reply, delivered with a yawn. 
 
 I ventured to ask him no more then ; but 
 pondered, not without misgiving, the ways of 
 amateur painters. They seemed, if Daryl him- 
 self were a true specimen of the brotherhood, to 
 have plenty of money at their command. 
 Where did it come from ? I wondered every day, 
 but feared to put the question into plain words ; 
 and Daryl was not the man to notice timid hints. 
 He could be very deaf and very blind when he 
 chose. 
 
 I knew even now no more of him than I had 
 known on my wedding-day. His people were 
 all dead, he said carelessly, or he was dead to 
 them — which amounted to the same thing. If 
 anything, he was — as he had given out — a painter 
 by profession ; but he believed indeed that he 
 was getting sick of that ; though doubtless he 
 should take to painting again when once he got 
 back to England. 
 
 We had no fixed home, we Darkwoods — we 
 were wanderers upon the face of the earth. A 
 few months spent in one Continental town, a 
 few months passed in another, and so the years 
 went by — Daryl making friends, of a certain
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife. 159 
 
 sort, whithersoever we moved ; I seeking none. 
 From a shy, slender, a quite unformed girl I 
 had become a quiet, reserved, not to say a 
 proud woman ; looking, by reason of the 
 manner in which I carried myself, consider- 
 ably taller — so I was told — than I really was. 
 I had my child for companionship, for society, 
 and that was all ; for the men and the women 
 whose company was sought by Daryl, and who 
 seemed to find pleasure in his, were emphatically 
 not of a class of beings with whom I could in 
 any wise feel either at ease or at home. In- 
 stinctively I shunned and disliked them ; yet I 
 could give no reason for my dislike. Isla, my 
 little daughter, was all the world to me now. 
 
 It would not infrequently happen that Daryl 
 would fly into a passion with me for declin- 
 ing to make a friend of " Countess This," or 
 *' Mrs. That," and the husbands of them, who 
 were if possible more objectionable than the 
 women themselves ; and would tell me, Flower 
 Darkwood, that I was shy, unformed, foolish, 
 and that my curious bringing-up had made of 
 me something worse than a nun. 
 
 Naturally taunts, disputes of this nature 
 between us led to much misery in the way 
 of downright quarrelling. One night in Dres-
 
 1 60 Periwinkle. 
 
 den, Daryl had been drinking with some 
 American acquaintances of his in the town, 
 who he said were " painters." He came in 
 and reproached me for moping, for unsocia- 
 bility — he was evidently in a bickering humour 
 — and for the fiftieth time he told me that I 
 was shy and stupid ; enough, in fact, to drive 
 a man to the dogs. 
 
 There are limits to human forbearance ; and 
 unmerited reproach — to say nothing of un- 
 deserved neglect — is at all times hard to 
 endure patiently. 
 
 " If I was shy and stupid, Daryl," I said 
 bitterly, but as calmly as I was able, " why 
 — why did you marry me ? " 
 
 " Ah, why ? " answered he, with a disagree- 
 able sigh. 
 
 " And, having married me," I continued, 
 with rising warmth, " why don't you redeem 
 your promise, Daryl ? When you made me 
 your wife, you said — " 
 
 " If I had not been so confoundedly in 
 love with you, I never should have made you 
 my wife," grumbled he. " There was the 
 mischief of it ! " 
 
 " You said, you faithfully promised me — you 
 cannot deny it — that — that you would do your
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife. i6i 
 
 utmost to discover the true history of my 
 parentage in the days — in the days before I was 
 — before I was taken to " 
 
 ''Confusion seize that stale old grievance!" 
 he said violently. "Am I never to hear the 
 last of it ? If you were wise, Flower, you would 
 be content to let it rest — it is an ugly past — 
 would be satisfied with what you are and what 
 you have in the present. Take my word for it, 
 there's no good to be " 
 
 " Daryl, once for all, I do not mean to let it 
 rest. I am not satisfied. For my own sake, 
 for Isla's sake, I want to know — nay, I will 
 sooner or later know the truth ! You shall 
 have no peace until I know it." 
 
 He faced me savagely. 
 
 " You make me speak out," he cried, " when, 
 God knows, I don't want to — to hurt your 
 feelings ! " 
 
 I was standing at the time ; but, turning 
 suddenly faint, I sat down. 
 
 '' My feelings, Daryl ! " I echoed unwisely. 
 ''So it has only just occurred to you that I 
 am not unlike other women, after all ? " 
 
 " Oh, curse you. Flower ! You make a 
 fellow's life a burthen to him with your 
 everlasting whining and discontent. I say 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 Periwmkle, 
 
 again, let the dead past alone — let sleeping dogs 
 lie. Depend upon it, if I had honestly thought 
 that there was anything respectable to find out 
 concerning your antecedents, I should have 
 cleared up the business long ago. But, take my 
 word for it, I say — there isn't. I understand it 
 all — it's all plain enough — now. I married 
 * Flower Greedy ' before the registrar at North- 
 minster ; and I did but marry my wife in her 
 real and lawful name, or what " — with a shrug 
 — " was as good as such — that served as well. 
 Voila tout ! " 
 
 ''Then you believe now," I said huskily, 
 **that — that my uncle — I — I mean, that the 
 generous-hearted old man at Moor Edge was — 
 was in fact " 
 
 " Exactly," interrupted Daryl, with a hic- 
 cough. *' I believe that when years ago the old 
 scamp brought you home to Moor Edge, he had 
 simply, from some secret quarter or another, 
 claimed his own ; had seen fit to adopt — well, if 
 you will have jrt — his own child." 
 
 " But the Stonyhampton people used to say 
 that I had been stolen, Daryl, or — or something 
 of the kind," cried I piteously. " Often I have 
 heard you say so yourself. Oh, you must 
 remember ! "
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 163 
 
 '' The Stonyhampton people be — Pshaw," 
 broke off Daryl Darkwood roughly — "how 
 should the fools know ? Flower, I want some 
 brandy-and-seltzer. Get it, please ; look alive ; 
 and do, for Heaven's sake, cease this infernal 
 chatter about what can't be helped or mended." 
 
 I took no notice of his request ; but, white to 
 the lips, I rose to my feet and staggered over to 
 the armchair in which he lay sprawling, his 
 hands thrust down into his pockets, his long 
 legs stretched widely apart. 
 
 " I'll get you nothing — I'll never obey you in 
 any one trivial thing again, until — until I have 
 heard the truth. You shall speak out to-night ; 
 if — if in so doing you should break my heart 
 — should kill me outright," said I passionately. 
 "If I am the child of Simon Greedy, why then 
 was his house unfit to be my home ? What 
 were the horror and the mystery of Moor Edge, 
 and why did you terrify me into quitting its 
 roof ? Why " 
 
 *' I wanted you," he said sullenly. " I was 
 idiotically in love with you. A man will do 
 anything, dare anything, say or swear anything, 
 to get for his own the woman he loves. You 
 ought to know that by this time." 
 
 " What a man — and what a noble love ! " I
 
 1 64 Periwinkle, 
 
 said, with bitter scorn. He laughed disagree- 
 ably, with lowered eyelids. "Daryl," cried 
 I, "I will know ! Do you hear ? You shall 
 tell me ! Who — what was — what is Simon 
 Greedy? Tell me, Daryl ! " 
 
 With an oath Daryl Darkwood sprang un- 
 steadily from his chair ; and, gripping me by 
 the shoulders, he forced me downward upon 
 my knees. 
 
 "Tell you? I will!" he shouted, still 
 gripping me and swaying above me, as I 
 glanced upward at him with quailing, alBfrighted 
 eyes. " He is " 
 
 He bent low over me ; dropped his voice ; and 
 hissed the hideous words into my ear. Yet I 
 heard them — heard them each one distinctly. 
 Shuddering, I looked back into my strange 
 past and saw it all once more as if by lurid 
 lightning-gleams ; and I believed that Daryl 
 Darkwood had then spoken only the truth — 
 that I had heard the grim truth at last ! No, 
 I never then for an instant doubted that I was 
 Simon Creedy's child. . . . God help me ! 
 
 I was not very vigorous in those days ; on 
 that night I was really faint and ill. With 
 merely a gasp for breath, a short heart-broken 
 sob, I sank unconscious at Daryl's feet. For
 
 Daryl Dai'kwood's Wife. 165 
 
 days afterwards I kept to my bed, stricken 
 down with a kind of melancholy and low 
 fever ; but time, one knows, is a marvellous 
 physician, and by-and-by I rallied and grew 
 strons: ag;ain. Nevertheless, had it not been 
 for my child — my little dark-haired Isla — I 
 should, I thought, have prayed that I might 
 die and be at rest for ever. 
 
 After that ever-to-be-remembered night in 
 Dresden, the past — the fateful past in which 
 we two had met — was never again mentioned 
 between Daryl Darkwood and me. For myself, 
 I could only ponder it with horror unspeak- 
 able ; though oftentimes the old life would 
 come back to me in my dreams. 
 
 And my mother — what of her ? I wondered 
 sometimes. Was she liviug or was she dead ; 
 and, if living, where ? Did Simon Creedy 
 himself know? Perhaps yes — perhaps no. 
 And so — and so it was because of my birth 
 - — the shame of it — that he had in my 
 earliest years taught me to call him '* uncle." 
 The stain upon my life, he fancied, could be 
 hidden thus — hidden, but never rubbed out. 
 No wonder he had been so good, so generous, 
 always so kind and tender to me ! No wonder 
 I had cared for him in return ! Oh, Uncle
 
 1 66 Periwinkle. 
 
 Simon, it was then but natural, say what one 
 might — And yet the keen pain, the amazing 
 gloom and horror of it all ! . . . . 
 
 Heigh-ho ! How bitter and crooked was life 
 — how full of disappointment, of disenchant- 
 ment, and of rough awakenings from impos- 
 sible dreams ! 
 
 When Isla's fourth birthday had gone by, 
 it became plain to me — horribly plain — that 
 money was growing scarce in our little family. 
 Daryl's means, whatever their source, were 
 upon the brink of exhaustion ; his luck at the 
 gaming-tables — and for some time past he had 
 played a good deal — seemed utterly to have 
 deserted him. His sketches, his paintings, 
 appeared to be of no value abroad ; no one, 
 in fact, seemed to care about or to under- 
 stand the very English-looking pictures that 
 Daryl drew and painted. With every passing 
 day he grew more morose and black-browed ; 
 and when things " went wry," and loomed in 
 the near future more hopeless than ever, he 
 drank brandy and swore horribly, frightening 
 little Isla out of her wits. 
 
 Left, as I had been, so much to myself, I 
 had turned my leisure and my loneliness to 
 solid account. Naturally fond of books, and
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife, 167 
 
 keenly alive to the pleasure derived from their 
 silent companionship, I had by diligent study 
 during the past few years acquired — for an 
 Englishwoman — a thorough mastery over the 
 French and German tongues. For study, for 
 hard mental work of any kind, I found that I 
 had a genuine aptitude. The acquiring of 
 languages came easy to me ; music too had not 
 been neglected. 
 
 In our more prosperous days, whilst staying 
 in Munich, Daryl had consented to my study- 
 ing under the first-rate guidance of the famous 
 Herr Bode ; and afterwards, with other clever 
 tutors elsewhere, I had accomplished wonders. 
 My progress indeed had astonished myself. 
 
 It had proved that I was gifted with a strong 
 and beautiful voice, deficient in no quality — 
 powerful in its passion, sweet in its pathos ; and 
 patient hard work and right cultivation had 
 brought with them their usual reward. 
 - Yes, in the old dead-and-gone days I had 
 been a shy, light-hearted, an ignorant girl ; 
 but with hard schooling in a hard world I had 
 become a woman of many accomplishments — 
 reserved unquestionably, yet capable of intense 
 feeling — sufi'ering much, perhaps, where others 
 would sufi'er not at all.
 
 1 68 Periwinkle, 
 
 When we discovered that financial matters were 
 desperate — realised that something must beyond 
 all doubt be done to remedy them — we were in 
 Brussels, having lately arrived from Homburg. 
 
 " Properly managed, the journey would not 
 cost so much, Daryl," I gently suggested. *'Let 
 us go to England ! " 
 
 "What, pray, to do there?" he muttered, 
 with a frown. 
 
 ''I am certain that could teach French 
 and music," I said ; " and other things besides. 
 And you — you could, of course, sell your pic- 
 tures in London, Daryl." 
 
 Again he said something in a growling tone — 
 something to the effect that he was not, if he 
 knew it, going to have his wife slaving about the 
 London streets as a drudge of a daily governess. 
 
 A queer smile, I believe, passed over my 
 lips; although it was nothing fresh to me 
 to hear Daryl Darkwood take this lofty tone, 
 when all the while I knew that he cared not 
 a straw in so far as his wife's dignity or 
 inclination might be concerned. 
 
 After much grumbling and gloom on Daryl's 
 part, my suggestion was ultimately acted upon. 
 We came to London towards the end of May, 
 and found a cheap lodging in the Lambeth
 
 Daryl Da^'kwoocTs Wife. 169 
 
 district. But it soon became too evident to 
 my eyes that the child — delicate from her 
 birth — was sickening and growing frailer in 
 that low-lying locality near the river ; and I 
 therefore urged Daryl to quit Lambeth and 
 to move westward, where the air would be 
 lighter and purer. 
 
 After some difficulty, another lodging was 
 found in the vicinity of Shepherd's Bush — 
 *' Chesterfield Avenue " the place was called — 
 in the house of Mrs. Ramage and her daughter 
 Aurora ; and then Daryl emphatically refused to 
 move an inch farther out of town. From the 
 Tregonda Eoad, said he, we could, by the aid 
 of tram-car and omnibus, in a very short while 
 get to Kew or to Ealing Common ; and surely 
 those places were airy enough for anybody. 
 
 Could I have had my will, we should have 
 removed outright to some outlying breezy 
 suburb — this alone for the child's sake ; for it 
 iseemed to me that Shepherd's Bush was in 
 reality but a poor improvement upon the 
 Lambeth neighbourhood. Certainly Isla at 
 present looked little better for the change. 
 
 We had now been three weeks in Mrs. 
 Ramage's house ; two weeks' rent had been 
 somehow or other paid ; one was owing.
 
 1 70 Periwinkle, 
 
 What valuables in the way of trinkets I had 
 possessed had been quietly parted with before 
 we left the Lambeth lodging. Few as they 
 were, Daryl, I well knew, had missed them — 
 they were his own gifts to me ; I had no 
 others. But he said nothing ; nor would he, 
 I well knew too, say anything witt regard to 
 my jewels' disappearance. I sold my gold 
 chain one day for three pounds ; on the 
 following day Daryl had come to me and 
 had " borrowed " thirty shillings. 
 
 At the present time I had not a penny in the 
 world to call my own — it was the truth ; and 
 the little sick Isla was in need of many a luxury 
 that it was utterly out of my power to obtain 
 for her. 
 
 So far I had made no attempt whatever to 
 find pupils or employment of any sort ; for I 
 could not endure the thought of the child's being 
 left to the casual care and mercy of strangers — 
 though no two female hearts could well be more 
 thoroughly kind than were the hearts of Mrs. 
 Eamage and her daughter Aurora. 
 
 The latter was a rising " comedy artiste " at a 
 certain theatre of varieties situated somewhere 
 between Holborn and Soho, called the '* Levity," 
 where she figured in the bills and programmes as
 
 Daryl Dark-wood's Wife. 171 
 
 Miss Aurora de Vere ; the mother of Miss de 
 Vere having all her life, though in a humbler 
 capacity, been associated with theatres and 
 " caves of harmony " both in town and in the 
 " provinces." 
 
 Mrs. Kamage's husband, when alive, had in turn 
 been a carpenter — stage-carpenter — a super in a 
 crowd, a limelight man, a waiter in theatre 
 refreshment-rooms, and he had also in his time 
 filled other useful posts in the same busy and 
 interesting sphere of action ; whilst Mrs. Ramage 
 herself had been a " scrubber-out " of green-rooms 
 and dressing-rooms ; a dresser to third-rate 
 actresses and singers ; also, like her husband, a 
 super in a crowd ; and once, years back, she had 
 *' gone on " with Aurora when a real live baby 
 in long clothes was wanted in a harrowing scene 
 at an East-End theatre where realism perhaps 
 ranked before art. 
 
 But when her husband died, and she was 
 no longer young herself, Mrs. Ramage took to 
 letting lodgings at Shepherd's Bush. She was 
 an active, a good-hearted, and an honest soul, 
 and she flatly refused to live in idleness upon 
 her daughter's comfortable earnings. If she 
 could get members of " the profession " to 
 take her drawing-room floor, why, so much the
 
 172 Periwinkle, 
 
 better was Mrs. Ramage pleased ; they were 
 as a whiff of the old life she had known and 
 loved in her youth. If, however, lodgers of 
 this character were not forthcoming, she made 
 the best of those she could get in their stead. 
 
 Mrs. Ramage, indeed, was proud of her lodgers, 
 and never robbed them. Nevertheless, soft- 
 hearted as landladies of suburban lodging-houses 
 may occasionally prove, they do not like to 
 be kept unduly waiting for money honestly 
 their own. How, I wondered, as I sat there 
 in the summer night gloom by the open up- 
 stairs window — my head still bowed on my 
 locked hands, my heart sick with despair — 
 how was Mrs. Ramage to be paid that week ; 
 and not only that week, but the next, and 
 the week following ? How was Doctor Morri- 
 son, who lived " only just round the corner " 
 in the Tregonda Road, to be called in to 
 prescribe for Isla, when doctors want their 
 fees, no matter how reasonable those fees may 
 be ? Doctors, moreover, are chary of trusting 
 strangers — they, like other folk in this world, 
 must look after their own. 
 
 What was to be done ? "What must be 
 done for the best ? 
 
 I knew that Daryl had a little money with
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 173 
 
 him ; for a few days back lie had succeeded 
 iu selling; two or three water-colour drawino-s 
 to a dealer and frame-maker in the Strand. 
 But I did not know — he had not told me — 
 how much he had got for his pictures. AYhat 
 money he could obtain in this manner he 
 always wanted for himself. I hated — it was 
 agony to me — to be obliged to ask him for 
 a sino;le shillino;. 
 
 Ah, if he would only work or try to 
 work harder ! The talent was his undoubtedly 
 — the pluck, the application, the will, were 
 wanting. What, I wondered drearily, did 
 he do with his time, his money, when he 
 had any to spend? He was out nearly the 
 whole of the day. Whither did he go ? I, 
 his wife, knew no more than Mrs. Eamacre 
 
 o 
 
 downstairs. 
 
 My painful reverie was so deep, so self- 
 absorbing, that I failed to hear a latch-key 
 grate in the lock of the front-door, then a 
 Cjuick step upon the stairs, the sitting-room 
 door again open ; but not this time to admit 
 Mrs. Earn age. 
 
 The lamps — what few of them there were — 
 in Chesterfield Avenue were lighted ; the one 
 opposite No. 11 threw its wan light upward
 
 1 74 Periwinkle, 
 
 upon my bowed head. A hand dropped 
 heavily upon my back. With a great start 
 and wild dazed eyes I looked up. 
 
 " Why the deuce are you sitting in the 
 dark, Periwinkle ? " cried my husband boister- 
 ously. He always called me " Periwinkle " 
 when he was in high good humour, and occa- 
 sionally when he was not. '' Are you asleep ? " 
 
 In an instant I was thoroughly awake. 
 
 '* No. Dreaming though, perhaps," I an- 
 swered, myself unconscious of the bitter weari- 
 ness in my voice. 
 
 " Well, look here — Why on earth didn't 
 that old fool below light the gas ? It's a lot 
 past ten," he broke off, noisily proceeding to 
 draw down the chandelier and to search for 
 a box of matches that he carried in his waist- 
 coat-pocket. 
 
 " I asked her not to. And, Daryl, please 
 make less noise if you can. Isla has fallen 
 asleep upon the sofa ; she is very poorly to- 
 night." 
 
 He struck a match, and set the gas flaring 
 extravagantly. I perceived then that he had 
 been drinking ; though in a manner he was 
 now sober. 
 
 " Pooh, Flower — you are full of fancies
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 175 
 
 about that child ! She's naturally a bit delicate 
 — always was. With all your coddling, you only 
 make her worse — 'm sure of it ; and — and — 
 Why, she ought to have been in bed hours ago." 
 
 " Do you want any supper, Daryl ? " I asked 
 quietly. I was aware that our larder just then 
 was furnished scantily enough. 
 
 "Presently. Look here, Flower — I was in 
 luck's way to-day. In Piccadilly I ran against 
 an old schoolfellow — sort of cousin or connec 
 tion o' mine, I suppose he is — and he lent me 
 ten pounds." 
 
 " Lent you, Daryl ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said roughly. " Why not ? " 
 
 A burning flush spread in my cheeks ; it 
 was a flush partly of shame — for I was very 
 certain that this friend, cousin, or schoolfellow 
 of Daryl's, whoever he was, would never again 
 see his ten pounds — partly of sudden joy. I 
 went quickly to my husband's side and laid 
 . my hand upon his arm. 
 
 " Daryl, give me a sovereign of it," I said. 
 
 " What for, my dear ? " he hiccoughed. 
 
 " I want to see Doctor Morrison about Isla. 
 His fee, Mrs. Eamage says, is only three-and- 
 sixpence. But — but of course, Daryl, there 
 would be the medicine as well."
 
 176 Periwinkle. 
 
 *' Oh, hang it, Flower, if you arc going to 
 begin physicking the youngster with doctor's 
 stuff, you'll about do for her altogether — see 
 if you don't I " he remarked carelessly, going 
 somewhat unsteadily over to the bell-cord and 
 sharply pulling it. '' By-the-bye, I asked Leigh 
 Eversleigh to call — if he didn't mind coming out 
 to such an infernal hole as this. And he said 
 he would." 
 
 " Is Leigh Eversleigh the old friend whom you 
 met to-day, Daryl ? " I inquired ; resolving 
 then and there that, should this Leigh Evers- 
 leigh ever really find his way out to Chester- 
 field Avenue, I would thank him, let it cost 
 me what it might, for his generous and timely 
 *'loan." 
 
 " Yes, he is. And if — and if," said Daryl, 
 "you do positively want the money, why, 
 here's a couple of sovereigns for you. Periwinkle. 
 The old woman downstairs must be paid, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 I eagerly caught up the two gold pieces, 
 murmuring the while my feverish thanks, just 
 as the child upon the sofa stirred uneasily, 
 moaned a little, and then said plaintively, — 
 
 " Mamma — mamma, are you here ? " 
 
 In a moment I was by the child's side ;
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 177 
 
 kneeling upon the floor by the couch and 
 caressing the little dark head. 
 
 " I am here, Isla. And are you better, my 
 darling ? " 
 
 " I am very tired, mamma, and so thirsty." 
 " Are you, Isla ? And what would you like ? " 
 " Some lemonade, mamma." 
 " You shall have it directly, darling." 
 " Tired — lemonade ! " cried Daryl, laughing 
 loudly. " You're a nice young wom.an, you are, 
 after going to sleep the whole evening long, to 
 wake up tired and want lemonade ! Bless my 
 heart alive, what next ? " 
 
 '' Papa, is it you ? Are you come home 
 then ? " said Isla listlessly. She was always 
 listless now ; the weather was so w^arm ; and 
 nothing apparently astonished or interested her. 
 "So it seems, don't it, Toddlekins \ " said 
 her father boisterously. " Come in ! " shouted 
 he, in answer to a tap at the sitting-room door ; 
 and Mrs. Kamage, having heard the bell, accord- 
 ingly entered, bearing a supper-tray with every- 
 thing at once collected upon it that there was 
 to bring upstairs to her lodgers. 
 
 " Ah, Captain, how are you this evening ? " 
 said Mrs. Eamage, simpering and wriggling in 
 her own characteristic fashion as she set down 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 178 Periwinkle. 
 
 her load upon the sideboard. Then the good 
 soul threw a deprecatory glance at the kneeling 
 figure by the couch. '*0h, mem — Mrs. Dark- 
 wood," said she— ''I really beg pardon again; 
 do pray forgive me — it slipped out ! " 
 
 Daryl thanked Mrs. Eamage for her kind 
 inquiry, and told her that he was " first-rate " 
 — how w^as she herself? In perfect 'ealth, 
 Mrs. Eamage assured Daryl ; and then he went 
 on to talk to the landlady in a tone of 
 exaggerated politeness and banter which highly 
 diverted Mrs. Eamage. Her daughter. Miss de 
 Vere, would have called it " chaff". " 
 
 But I, kneeling there by the sofa, scarcely 
 heard them. I was anxious, broken-hearted, 
 full of unuttered fears. Ah, could it actually 
 be that I was indeed the Flower Greedy of the 
 old Moor Edge days ? Had I ever in reality 
 known a careless and happy girlhood in the dim 
 years that were gone ? It might be so. Yet 
 to me. Flower Darkwood, the w^oman now, 
 tried in the furnace of sorrow and experience, 
 the transformation seemed impossible !
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 N something less than a month from 
 that e.vening on which Leigh Evers- 
 Q^ leigh had first found his way out 
 to Shepherd's Bush, and thence to Chesterfield 
 Avenue, it seemed that he was always finding 
 excuses to call at No. 11. 
 
 When he was unable to come himself, he 
 would send to us instead — flowers from Covent 
 Garden, new books from Mudie's, toys and fruit 
 for Isla ; all these and more besides at different 
 times arrived at Mrs. Ramage's house — " For 
 Mrs. Darkwood," or ''For Miss Isla," as the case 
 might be. 
 
 Of course they were very welcome, these gifts 
 and attentions, and helped to make life infinitely 
 lighter and sweeter ; but, all the same, I, Flower 
 Darkwood, Daryl Darkwood's wife, was not quite 
 satisfied in my own mind upon the matter of 
 Mr. Eversleigh's extraordinary good-nature.
 
 1 80 Periwinkle. 
 
 I plucked up courage one evening — he had 
 driven home in a hansom with Daryl, who had 
 called in at the Temple for his friend, and had as 
 usual run up to our sitting-room with an armful 
 of costly offerings for Isla and me — and said to 
 him : 
 
 " I — I think I ought to put a stop to this, Mr. 
 Eversleigh. We cannot, indeed we cannot, for 
 ever be accepting these beautiful things. It is — 
 it is embarrassing, you know, to say the least 
 about it," I tried to explain. " You — you are 
 too kind — because it is not possible to find every 
 time a fresh supply of words in which to thank 
 you suitably." 
 
 " Why in any way attempt to thank me 
 then ? " said he, with a smile. " You know I 
 hate it, Mrs. Dark wood." 
 
 *' That is nonsense," I returned gravely. 
 
 " What a fuss you make about nothing at 
 all. Flower ! " called out Daryl impatiently. 
 The door of the bedroom, which opened into 
 the " drawing-room," was ajar ; and my 
 husband, in that farther room, was washing his 
 hands and changing his coat. ''You forget," 
 he added bluntly, and with what I thought was 
 a deplorable lack of good taste and nice feeling, 
 ''that Leigh is blest with more coin than he
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife. 1 8 1 
 
 knows what to do with. He's not oblio^ed — ■ 
 lucky dog ! — like some poor beggars I could 
 name, to look at a sovereign half a dozen times 
 over before he ventures to change it." 
 
 '' It's quite true," Mr. Eversleigh hastened to 
 assure me — " what Darkwood says, I mean. 
 Upon my word, I don't know what to do with 
 my money sometimes — it's a fact. My own 
 w^ants and inclinations are not, I believe, of a 
 ruinous stamp ; and, as you are aware, I have 
 neither brother nor sister ; no mother, no father ; 
 no wife to — " 
 
 " But you have troops of friends both in 
 town and in the country," I gently inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 He flushed to the roots of his cropped fair 
 hair. 
 
 '* I — I don't believe there is anybody in 
 the world whose friendship and esteem I 
 value so — so truly as I value yours, Mrs. 
 Darkwood," he stammered, quite awkwardly 
 for him. 
 
 More than perplexed, I could not decide 
 how to reply ; but I was beginning somehow, ^ 
 "You see, we have — I — I have — we have 
 known you for so short a time, that I — we, 
 I mean — " when Isla fortunately came to the
 
 i82 Periwinkle, 
 
 rescue, and Mr. Eversleigh at once gave his 
 whole attention to the child. 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Eversleigh," lisped she, "for 
 the grapes you sent yesterday. They were so 
 big and so nice." 
 
 He drew her affectionately to his knee, his 
 clear gray eyes full of tender interest, say- 
 
 iiig.— 
 
 " Were they, my dear little lassie ? I'm so 
 
 glad." 
 
 " Yes, beautiful ! " answered Isla, in her 
 earnest un-childlike way, '' So big and so 
 juicy ; and my throat was so sore." 
 
 " And what does Doctor Morrison say ? " 
 asked Leigh, lifting her wee pink hand and 
 kissing it. 
 
 *' Oh, Doctor Morrison says we ought to 
 go to the seaside, and see the waves and 
 the niggers, and paddle about in the water 
 without any shoes and stockings on, you know. 
 But mamma says that she is not yet certain 
 we can afford it ; and so we had better perhaps 
 not think — " 
 
 " Hush, Isla ! " I cried, distressed and vexed. 
 " Little girls shouldn't chatter about what 
 they don't understand ; they should be — " 
 
 " Seen and not heard, Toddlekins," called
 
 Daryl Darkwoocfs Wife, 183 
 
 out Daryl from the bedroom, laughing. " Never 
 you miud, young 'un, you shall go to the sea ! " 
 
 Isla's sensitive little face reddened imme- 
 diately ; and slipping from Leigh's encircling 
 arm, she crept to my side and hung her head 
 shyly — conscious, dear little soul, of an offence 
 committed, but ignorant of its extent and 
 character. 
 
 On these occasions, when Mr. Eversleigh 
 came to spend the evening in Chesterfield 
 Avenue, it was Daryl's invariable custom to 
 invite his guest to a game of cards ; and 
 Mr. Eversleigh as invariably accepted the in- 
 vitation — accepted with alacrity. To speak 
 the truth — and this it was that troubled 
 me — it appeared to me then that this horrid 
 card-playing was the real attraction which 
 drew Daryl's old schoolfellow to No. 11. He 
 came laden with gifts for Isla and me ; but 
 the cards were the magnet which brought 
 him to us. 
 
 And yet, thought I, Leigh Eversleigh di<i 
 not look like a gambler. Far from it. Frank- 
 ness and truth were stamped plainly upon his 
 fair tanned face, upon his broad calm brow ; a 
 chivalrous heart and a high regard for noble 
 things looked out direct at one from his clear
 
 184 Periwinkle, 
 
 keen eyes. He was not perhaps so tall as Daryl 
 — not quite — but apparently he was stronger ; 
 his hands too were strong-looking and beauti- 
 fully white ; and a very handsome fair mous- 
 tache hid a firm yet finely-cut mouth. 
 
 I do not understand cards and card-playing 
 — I never did. So, neither liking them nor 
 understanding them, it may be that I am 
 prejudiced against these '' playthings of the 
 devil," as I fancy I have heard them called. 
 What I certainly do know is that, whenever 
 Daryl and Leigh Eversleigh played together 
 in Chesterfield Avenue, there was always a 
 large amount of money — sovereigns mostly, in 
 little stacks — upon the table between them, 
 and that Daryl always, or nearly always, won. 
 
 Since we had known Mr. Eversleigh money 
 had no longer been grievously scarce with 
 us ; for through him — through his influence 
 and introductions in the right quarter — Dar}^ 
 had been enabled to sell numerous sketches 
 and pictures which had been lying on his 
 hands for years, and moreover to get astonish- 
 ingly good prices for them too ; for, alas, I 
 fear that they were, some of them, but poor and 
 insignificant productions after all ! How could 
 he hope to excel in achievement when he
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 185 
 
 would never really take pains ? Mr. Eversleigh 
 himself generally managed the business of 
 selling or dealing, or whatever it was that 
 took place, and handed the money to Daryl 
 afterwards. And so now, at least for the 
 present, the storm-clouds had sailed onward, 
 were overpast ; there was no longer occasion 
 to torture myself with the thought of a 
 perhaps hopeless hunt for pupils in music or 
 in languages, or in aught else that might 
 suggest itself as a likely field of enterprise. 
 Thanks to Leiofh Eversleio^h, that niofhtmare 
 had vanished — had vanished utterly for a 
 while — and Isla could continue to have as 
 heretofore my whole attention, my constant 
 care. Yes, thank Heaven and Leigh Eversleigh 
 for that ! 
 
 Besides, we had no debts now. Mrs. Eamage 
 was paid regularly. We could obtain, without 
 pinch, the right and wholesome food for the 
 child ; and, better than all — oh, blessed 
 thought ! — it might happen that by-and-by, 
 with planning and economy, we should be able 
 to carry her off to the sea for the change of 
 air which was so strongly advised for her. 
 
 If only that wretched card - playing could 
 be stopped ! Could that have been done, I
 
 1 86 Periwinkle, 
 
 should, I think, have been happier and easier 
 than I had been for many long months. Or, 
 since they would play, if only Mr. Eversleigh 
 might win more often than he did ; or, when 
 he won — which was rarely indeed — that his 
 winnings could somehow be made larger than 
 they appeared to be ! 
 
 When Daryl was the victor — which in fact 
 seemed to be the rule of the game they 
 played — he sometimes gathered up quite a 
 handful of gold ; and it hurt me to see it. 
 It hurt me, too, to be obliged sometimes to 
 take and to spend this money won from Leigh 
 Eversleigh at those everlasting hateful cards. 
 That which was the result of the picture-selling 
 was in my eyes honester money by far than 
 the other ; and I spent it or hoarded it — for 
 Daryl in his new good fortune was no niggard 
 — with a certain sense of housewifely pride ; 
 it was of my husband's just earning — the 
 reward of honourable labour. 
 
 But that other — ah, no ! Somehow it seemed 
 verily to scorch my fiDgers whenever I took 
 it from my purse. I felt ashamed to touch 
 it. For the truth was, I was haunted by 
 the notion that it was not — emphatically not — 
 fairly gained. Daryl at heart was a confirmed
 
 Dmyl DarkwoocTs Wife. 187 
 
 gamester, I too well knew — a master-hand, an 
 adept at all card-games and games of hazard ; 
 whilst Mr. Eversleigh, it appeared to me, was 
 the merest novice — a raw beginner — compared 
 with his opponent in this unequal warfare. 
 
 But what could I do ? I was a brave woman 
 in many ways ; but not in all ; and I feared 
 to arouse Daryl Darkwood's anger by speaking 
 out boldly and telling him what I thought. 
 
 With him that mode of approaching a diffi- 
 cult point — so past experience had taught 
 me — would inevitably lead to a downright 
 quarrel. He would swear at me. I should 
 wax calm and contemptuous as he grew more 
 violent. He then would swear more horribly 
 and taunt me with a hapless past. I, in silence 
 and in indignation and with head erect, should 
 march from his presence ; and days of chill 
 misery would follow as the sad result of all 
 this. I had gone through it all before — so 
 cruelly well did I know how it all would 
 be! 
 
 Yes, I was afraid to stir up my husband's 
 anger. It was too dreadful and too humiliating 
 in the consequences of it. So things, unchecked^ 
 undisturbed, went on as they had so strangely 
 begun.
 
 1 88 Periwinkle. 
 
 But I have recollections of other and happier 
 evenings which belong to that portion of my life 
 that was spent in the house of Mrs. Eamage. 
 Twice or thrice, when Isla had had a really good 
 day, and could without the least anxiety be left 
 to the motherly guardianship of Mrs. Ramage — 
 by whom, when she, Isla, was well and in better 
 spirits than common, the child for a change liked 
 being put to bed — Mr. Eversleigh had driven out 
 to Chesterfield Avenue to carry off Daryl and me 
 to some good theatre or other. He had, said he 
 cheerily, got stalls for the Haymarket — for the 
 St. James's — for the Lyceum, as the case might 
 prove. And go we must, for the piece " on " 
 was capital, and shouldn't for the world be missed 
 if one were in London to see it. And gone we 
 had ; and I, at all events, had enjoyed myself 
 surprisingly. 
 
 And then, after the theatre, nothing would 
 satisfy Leigh Eversleigh but that we must 
 go back with him for supper to the Temple. 
 It was awaiting us ; his servant, sitting up, 
 expected company ; he would hear of no 
 denial. 
 
 What beautiful rooms those of his were in 
 that great old straggling block of solemn gray 
 buildings that looked towards the river and the
 
 Daryl DarkzvoocT s Wife. 189 
 
 opposite shore and upon the quiet green gardens 
 of the historic Temple ! 
 
 In those chambers of Leio;h EversleiHh there 
 were pictures and hric-a-hrac — gems of their 
 kind — Oriental wind-curtains, many books, a few 
 marble busts, and some in terra-cotta ; delightful 
 lounging-chairs, and a fine piano. 
 
 " I am a barrister — a briefless barrister — you 
 know," he would say lightly, with a mirthful 
 gleam in his clear and pleasant eyes ; " but I am 
 afraid from my habits that one would hardly 
 suspect it." 
 
 " One wouldn't," agreed Daryl, with a dis- 
 contented shrug and a comprehensive glance at 
 the bachelor-like luxury around him. *' There're 
 not many such deucedly lucky briefless ones as 
 yourself, old man, I should guess, here in Sceptre 
 Chambers ! " 
 
 "Oh, I don't know about that ! " Leigh 
 answered sweet-temperedly. ''There are lots of 
 good fellows scattered about the dear old barrack, 
 if you only know where to look 'em up." 
 
 On one occasion, after supper, Mr. Eversleigh 
 asked me to sing ; and at once opened his lovely 
 piano — upon which instrument he himself was 
 no mean performer, having a voice that was a 
 clear true baritone.
 
 1 90 Periwinkle. 
 
 **I am somehow sure that you sing, Mrs. 
 Darkwood," he said ; " although I never have 
 heard you." 
 
 ** She ought to if she don't," threw in Daryl 
 indolently. He had drunk plenty of champagne, 
 ^nd was now lying hack at full length in an arm- 
 chair, with crumpled shirt front and white tie all 
 awry, and his long legs stretched to their widest 
 over the Persian rug before him — a favourite 
 attitude, this, of his. '' She had the best of 
 masters out yonder, I can tell you." By '' out 
 yonder " Daryl meant abroad. 
 
 "I studied chiefly in Munich and in Leipsic," 
 I observed quietly. " They used to tell me that 
 I sang well." 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh had a quantity of music, with 
 most of which it proved I was familiar ; and 
 I selected from the heap an exquisite German 
 love-song that was the composition of one of 
 my old masters, who himself had taught me 
 how it should be sung. 
 
 Leigh was enchanted, and was lavish in his 
 thanks and praise. 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Darkwood, you have a most 
 beautiful voice ! " he cried enthusiastically. " If 
 need were, you could with ease make a fortune 
 with it on the concert-platform or on the stage."
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 1 9 1 
 
 *' Could she — do you mean it ? " spoke up 
 Daryl eagerly. "By Jove, Periwinkle, you'd 
 better have a try ! " 
 
 I smiled a little coldly, and did not answer. 
 My ambition in life, as it happened, did not 
 tend towards the stag;e. But then one, alas, 
 never knows what is ahead of one in the future ; 
 and as often as not one's ambition has nothins^ 
 to do with one's destiny ! 
 
 Then, too, on more than one occasion, we had 
 dined out of town with Leio;h Eversleisfh ; dri- 
 ving in his phaeton, with its splendid dark chest- 
 nut pair, down to Richmond, or going by water 
 to Hampton Court. And once we had had a 
 real whitebait dinner with him at the " Ship " — I 
 think it was — at Greenwich. On these pleasant 
 healthy daylight excursions Isla had always 
 accompanied us ; and she said that Mr. Evers- 
 leigh was the kindest and the dearest gentleman 
 she had ever known. 
 
 - As soon as Daryl had discovered that Mr. 
 Eversleigh was a passionate lover of music, 
 he promptly hired a very good instrument 
 from a pianoforte -tuner's in the Tregonda 
 Road ; so that, with Miss de Yere often prac- 
 tising her songs in the sitting-room down- 
 stairs, and myself and Mr. Eversleigh singing
 
 192 Periwinkle, 
 
 German duets in the drawing-room above, 
 there was occasionally a good deal of musical 
 display to the fore at Mrs. Kamage's house in 
 the Avenue. Mrs. Eamage herself, however, 
 declared that it was just what she liked — it 
 was cheerful and lively, and she enjoyed it 
 amazingly ; but what our immediate neigh- 
 bours thought of it all I cannot say. 
 
 Often and often I wondered — indeed worried 
 myself terribly in secret, w^ondering so much 
 over the painful question — whether my hus- 
 band had ever told Leigh Eversleigh anything 
 or the whole of the history of our first meet- 
 ing ; the clandestine trysts that had followed 
 — the hurried flight — the hasty marriage ? Did 
 Leigh Eversleigh know that — and the anguish 
 of the thought at times made every vein in 
 my body tingle ; the shame of it seemed to 
 scorch me, as it were, from head to foot — 
 that — that his friend had first seen me at, 
 and taken me from. Moor Edge ? That I 
 had, in those days before my marriage, been 
 known as and called — Heaven pity me ! — 
 Flower Greedy ? Did Leigh Eversleigh know 
 this? 
 
 Thoroughly aware that Mr. Eversleigh was 
 a gentleman in every sense of that so often
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 193 
 
 glaringly misapplied word, I was confident that 
 he had sought no information touching my 
 antecedents, if Daryl himself of his own free 
 will had vouchsafed none. But had — and here 
 came the torturing doubt — my husband, per- 
 chance in a maudlin fit of sentimental friend- 
 ship, having drunk much strong drink, and 
 having won much of Leigh Eversleigh's money 
 into the bargain, voluntarily confided to his 
 old schoolfellow and college • companion the 
 story of those dead Moor Edge days when I 
 had lived under the dreadful roof of my 
 " Uncle Simon ? " 
 
 The two men seemed very intimate ; there- 
 fore it was not unlikely — nay, it was really 
 likely ; for not infrequently, when Leigh had 
 spent the evening in Chesterfield Avenue, 
 Daryl — particularly if the night, or, to speak 
 correctly, the early morning, were fine — would 
 on foot accompany Mr. Eversleigh part of the 
 way home. 
 
 " I will just stroll with you, old chap," my 
 husband would say, rising rather crookedly 
 and ramming on his hat, " as far as the corner 
 of the Thingumy Eoad, and see you into a 
 decent hansom." 
 
 And, Leigh having said " good night " to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 Periwinkle. 
 
 me, aud perhaps apologised for having stayed 
 so late, the two men, arm-in-arm, would start 
 out together. And every one knows that 
 moonlight chats are apt to wax somewhat 
 gushing ; especially after convivial hours and 
 over ** the last cigar ; " that things are then 
 said, secrets are then parted with, that never 
 would be allowed to escape in broad day. 
 But it was impossible to learn from Leigh's 
 manner, at all events, how much he knew, or 
 whether he knew anything at all. He was 
 always kind and cheery, always courteous, 
 always most winningly deferential in his least 
 word or action towards me. And not for 
 worlds could I have asked Daryl outright. 
 No, no ! Perhaps, had I plucked up the spirit 
 to ask him, he would not have told me the 
 truth. 
 
 However, an evening soon came when the 
 gnawing misgiving and the horrible uncer- 
 tainty were destroyed and entirely set at rest. 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh had arrived at No. 11 rather 
 later than his usual hour. He had brought 
 some magnificent peaches for Isla ; some lovely 
 flowers for me. He was expected, too, I re- 
 member, on that evening ; had come by special 
 invitation " for his revenge," as Daryl said — a
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 195 
 
 revenge, so it seemed to me, that was like a 
 Will-o'-the-wisp, never to be overtaken by 
 Leigh Eversleigh. But somehow Leigh did 
 not appear to mind ; and Daryl over his 
 friend's losses waxed oddly and boisterously 
 sympathetic. Yes, it was all very queer, and 
 to me then inexplicable. 
 
 Therefore, as Mr. Eversleigh was certain to 
 come, my husband was ready for him when he 
 did arrive. The card-table was open ; the packs 
 of cards were waiting upon the circle of green 
 cloth ; upon the sideboard, with its looking- 
 glass doors and cheap marble slab, there were 
 spirits and bottled ale, and a couple of large 
 siphons of seltzer and soda-water. 
 
 " I know I am late," said our guest genially 
 on entering ; " but I dined at the ' Holborn ' 
 this evening ; and there I met a man with 
 whom I am slightly acquainted, and he was 
 full of the summing-up business of the great 
 murder-trial at the Old Bailey. He literally 
 button-holed me — little as I know of him — • 
 so that I absolutely couldn't get away." 
 
 Murder ! The word smote my heart. I 
 turned suddenly faint and sick. 
 
 "Man o' law, of course?" observed Daryl 
 lazily.
 
 196 Periwinkle. 
 
 " Of course," assented Leigh, laughing ; 
 " and a terrible one of his kind, 1 do assure 
 you, let him once begin to talk. He means, 
 he says, to die a Q.C., and I fancy he will 
 attain his ambition. Mrs. Darkwood" — turning 
 to me — " I suppose you have seen a paper 
 to-day ? If not, I have a Globe special in 
 my pocket. Would you like to look at it ? 
 The verdict this afternoon was ' Guilty ; ' but it 
 could not possibly be anything else, could it ? 
 The punishment for so ghastly a crime could, 
 with justice, be no other than death. Other- 
 wise " 
 
 Daryl just then, lying back in his chair, 
 was looking at me through his half-closed 
 lids ; his brilliant eyes, with the singular gay 
 red-brown light in them, gleaming, I fancied, 
 quizzically but not unkindly through the 
 dusky drooping lashes. 
 
 "Flower doesn't care a bit about news- 
 papers," he put in tranquilly. "Women 
 seldom do, Eversleigh, whatever they may 
 affect. They like a thing with plenty of 
 fashion-plates, and a spicy novelette chucked 
 in occasionally. My wife, at any rate, I 
 believe, doesn't understand politics ; and I'm 
 very sure that she doesn't like murders."
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife, 197 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh was again about to address 
 me upon the subject of newspapers — perhaps 
 murder-trials ; but I was not going- to endure 
 it. I could not. With an effort I arose, out- 
 wardly calm and smiling faintly, and said, 
 before Leigh could continue, — 
 
 " No ; Daryl is right. I neither care for 
 nor understand politics ; and — and I never, 
 never look at the horrible parts of newspapers 
 — trials and murders, and — and so forth. 
 They make me ill." 
 
 Then I gently drew Isla towards me, 
 stroked her pretty short dark curls, and said 
 rather hurriedly, — 
 
 " My pet, it is your bed-time. Say good 
 night now to papa and to Mr. Eversleigh, and 
 come with me." 
 
 She put her tiny arms round Leigh's neck 
 and whispered more shy thanks for the 
 peaches ; kissed her father in a hesitating, 
 timorous manner ; and then, with her little 
 hand lost in mine, she trotted obediently off 
 to her cot, which stood by the bed in our 
 room. 
 
 When Isla, in her wee white gown, knelt 
 down to say her prayers, something — some 
 curious unuttered yearning, perhaps some
 
 igS Periwinkle. 
 
 vague indescribable feeling of great thankful- 
 ness — prompted me to kneel by the dear 
 little white innocent soul, and thus to gather 
 her to my side. 
 
 She stopped to look inquiringly upward, 
 and to ask, — 
 
 "You are going to say your prayers too, 
 mamma ? And are you going to bed with 
 me then, as well ? " 
 
 "Not going to bed, darling, yet. But I 
 will say my prayers with you now." 
 
 "But you must say them again by-and-by, 
 if you do," said Isla. 
 
 "Yes, again by-and-by. Hush, my dearest, 
 or you will forget to say properly what 
 mamma has taught you ! " 
 
 Thank Heaven ! Clearly, after all, our true 
 kind friend in that other room knew nothing 
 — nothing ! Had he, through Daryl, or 
 through anyone else, ever at any time 
 obtained a glimpse of the truth, he, with his 
 chivalrous heart and his sensitive regard for 
 the feelings of others, would never — I was 
 sure of it ! — in my hearing, have said what 
 he had said that nio-ht.
 
 CHAPTEE XI I. 
 
 ELL," heartily exclaimed Aurora 
 Eamage, or Miss de Vere, as 
 both the girl herself and her 
 proud yet simple - hearted mother preferred 
 that she should be called, — "well, I am glad 
 of that ! It will all fit in just beautifully 
 now, Mrs. Darkwood, and dear mother will 
 be able to have a change down there as well 
 as the rest of us. And I am sure she wants 
 it as badly as anyone. She works hard, you 
 know. I'm really tired of bothering her to 
 get a slavey to help her in the house — a 
 handy young ' general ' of some sort — for it's 
 no use. She says the dirty little creatures 
 are more plague than profit — never honest, 
 rarely civil after the first day or two — and 
 she'd rather be without them. You see, Mrs. 
 Darkwood, when I obtain a country engage- 
 ment, if mother can't go with me, I have to
 
 200 Periwinkle. 
 
 put up with the company of my Aunt Matilda ; 
 she's an old maid and lives at Hammersmith ; 
 and I never could, endure my Aunt Matilda. 
 She is fidgety for one thing, and horribly 
 particular for another." 
 
 " I wish," said I, feeling rather vexed over 
 the matter, *' that Doctor Morrison had not 
 so strongly insisted upon Thangate, of all 
 places in the world. I have heard that it 
 is always dreadfully crowded and — and not 
 too nice at this time of year." 
 
 '^Well, it is rather a scrunge, if you mean 
 that," admitted Miss de Vere, "just now, in 
 the middle of August. But all the same it 
 is very jolly, if one is happy and well. Were 
 you ever there, Mrs. Darkwood ? " 
 
 " Never. I know nothing beyond what I 
 have been told of English seaside places." 
 
 *'I do assure you, then, that Thangate isn't 
 half bad ; and the air there is the very finest 
 air in England. Everybody says so. Every 
 doctor in London would tell you so." 
 
 "Eeally you make one feel quite hopeful 
 about it. Miss de Vere ; and it will be pleasant 
 to meet you and Mrs. Eamage in a strange 
 place. I am indeed very glad that you are 
 coming too," said I, smiling cordially, as we
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife, 201 
 
 shook hands ; Aurora going on her way down- 
 stairs, I continuing my way up. 
 
 It was on the staircase that we had met, 
 as we frequently did ; and Miss de Yere, as 
 was her habit, had stopped me for a few 
 minutes' chat. She was a handsome girl of 
 the cool and easy type, with a quantity of 
 bright fair hair with a golden glint upon it, 
 which in front she wore elaborately frizzed, 
 and behind coiled into a knot. Ill-natured 
 people said that it was dyed ; but this was 
 not true. There was nothing false — • except 
 her stage-name — about Aurora Ramage. Her 
 complexion was surprisingly good, considering 
 the trying nature of her profession ; and though 
 her mouth was somewhat large and without 
 much expression, her teeth in every way were 
 unquestionably beautiful. As a rule, she was 
 remarkably well dressed, if sometimes just 
 a trifle too fashionably so ; and the Cockney 
 accent which was an accident of birth she 
 had, if not wholly conquered, at any rate 
 laboured hard to correct. In such words as 
 "I," ''my," "day," "way," it was perhaps 
 faintly noticeable ; but ordinarily, if not ex- 
 cited, she contrived to keep it well in sub- 
 jection. For Miss de Yere was no fool —
 
 2 o 2 Periwinkle. 
 
 far from that ; on the contrary, she was 
 shrewd, receptive, and naturally observant. 
 What she heard and saw in others she remem- 
 bered and turned to her own advantage — 
 that is, if there was aught to her own advan- 
 tage to be gained by the observation. And 
 this rare perceptive faculty of hers was always 
 arrested by the right thing; seldom indeed 
 by the wrong — hence her success. Yes, Miss 
 de Vere was undoubtedly clever, and was 
 perfectly capable of taking care of herself. 
 As she would sometimes say, with a comical 
 smile, and with, I think, pardonable vanity, 
 her theatrical trainer had had very little 
 difficulty in " knocking her into shape." 
 This was slangy, I admit ; but it was ex- 
 pressive ; and it was true. 
 
 On that day at breakfast it had been decided 
 that we could, after all, afford to go to the sea ; 
 for Daryl quite lately had again been most 
 fortunate in selling some more of his paintings. 
 And, although they were merely small water- 
 colour ones, and hastily done, they had fetched 
 at the dealer's an uncommonly good price. So 
 Mr. Eversleigh had assured us ; and he, as 
 formerly, had managed the transaction. 
 
 " We can do about a month of it well, Peri-
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 203 
 
 winkle," said my husband, in his most airy 
 and agreeable manner. " Where shall it be % " 
 
 " Oh, Daryl, I don't know ! " I replied, deeply 
 thankful. " I had better run round to Doctor 
 Morrison after breakfast, I think, and ask him." 
 
 " All right — do," said Daryl. "I don't care a 
 ^g where it is." 
 
 " The sea, mamma — and are we really going 
 to the sea ? " said Isla, more eagerly than she 
 usually spoke. 
 
 " Yes, my darling — really and truly," I told 
 her, gathering her wee pink hand into mine 
 and squeezing it under the table-cloth. ^' And 
 you shall have a bucket and spade, and dig in 
 the sand, and paddle in the water, and see the 
 nioorers, and — " 
 
 " And Mr Eversleigh — will he come too ? " 
 put in the little soul wistfully. 
 
 " No ; he won't, Toddlekins," answered Daryl, 
 w^ho had risen, stretched himself, and gone to 
 look out of the window. " He's off very soon 
 to Norway or to the Mediterranean — I'm not 
 sure which. But I dare say he'll wish you 
 good-bye, little 'un, before he goes. Tact, he'd 
 take you with him, no doubt, if you were to 
 ask him. Who knows ? Shall I make him a 
 present of you — eh ? "
 
 204 Pe7^iwinkle. 
 
 Isla was silent. Always rather afraid of her 
 father — for her frightened childish eyes had be- 
 held him in his very worst moods, and children's 
 memories are long ones — she was never quite 
 certain whether he was in fun or in earnest. 
 There were some days when she would be 
 unaccountably shy with him ; and Daryl then 
 would seize and " chaff " his little daughter 
 until the sensitive tears, bursting forth, com- 
 pelled him to desist in his cruel play. 
 
 Having strolled over to the sideboard and 
 mixed for himself a large soda-and-brandy — he 
 seldom ate any breakfast worth mentioning — he 
 carefully brushed his hat, looked intently at 
 himself in the glass, and then said he was 
 going out. 
 
 When he was fairly gone, I rushed round 
 to the Tregonda Eoad. Doctor Morrison was 
 at home, and saw me directly. No place on 
 earth like Than gate, he declared emphatically ; 
 and, since it was possible to give the child 
 a change this sultry trying weather, why, of 
 course, so much the better ; it was exactly 
 what she was in immediate need of; therefore 
 get her away to Thangate as soon as practicable. 
 The bracing air, the vigorous North Foreland 
 breezes, would set her up for the winter.
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 205 
 
 On my return to No. 11, the first person 
 I met in the house was Miss de Vere. Hearing 
 what Doctor Morrison had said about the 
 seaside, and that we were ordered to Thangate, 
 she promptly expressed her satisfaction as to the 
 arrangement in question. It appeared that 
 Mr. Binkworthy, the proprietor of the Levity 
 theatre, was now a temporary manager of 
 a place of public resort and entertainment 
 at Thangate, called — I was told by Miss 
 de Vere — the " Dome -by -the -Waves ; " and 
 Miss Aurora de Vere, with the most popular 
 songs in her London repertory, was shortly — 
 in fact, almost immediately — to be sent down 
 thither for a month's or six weeks' engage- 
 ment. 
 
 And, now that we also were going away, 
 Mrs. Ramage could shut up her house, or leave 
 it in the charge of a less fortunate neighbour, 
 and accompany her clever daughter Aurora for a 
 holiday to the sea. 
 
 Mrs. Ramage — grod amiable soul! — was 
 greatly delighted in consequence. There was 
 nothing now to hinder our starting as early 
 as possible ; and on that very day I began 
 to make the necessary preparations for our 
 journey out of town. That was on Monday^
 
 2o6 Periwinkle. 
 
 I remember ; on Thursday morning at mid-day 
 we were ready. 
 
 Miss de Vere had gone to the theatre for re- 
 hearsal — we had already said good-bye to her 
 — but Mrs. Eamage was nodding and beam- 
 ing in farewell to us at the cab window. 
 
 "We shall be down ourselves next week, 
 Mrs. Darkwood — Aurora and me," said Mrs. 
 Eamage. ** I do hope we shall see something 
 of you." 
 
 " I am sure I hope so too," replied I sincerely. 
 
 "Trust us ! We shall look out for you," said 
 Daryl, doffing his hat in his most absurdly polite 
 manner. '' I, for one, believe me, Mrs. Eamage, 
 shall not be happy until — until — Well, until 
 you arrive and we meet." 
 
 *' Lord, Captain, how you do talk ! " sniggered 
 Mrs. Eamage ; then, observing that the luggage 
 was secure overhead, and that there was nothing 
 more to wait for, Mrs. Eamage added, still nod- 
 ding and smiling, " Good-bye, Cap — sir, I mean ; 
 good-bye, Mrs. Darkwood ; good-bye, missy, 
 until next week ! " 
 
 And off we went jolting in our fusty rickety 
 four-wheeler from Chesterfield Avenue, leaving 
 Mrs. Eamage waving her hand to us upon the 
 doorstep of No. 11.
 
 Daryl DarkwoocC s Wife. 207 
 
 How little thought I on that morning that I 
 never should see the place again ! 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh was at Victoria to say good- 
 bye and to wish us a pleasant stay in Kent. 
 Overnight, at our rooms, he had said that 
 we should meet him in the morning at the 
 station. 
 
 " This will be a long farewell, Mr. Eversleigh," 
 I remarked, more regretfully it may be than I 
 myself was aware, "since you have decided 
 upon the Mediterranean cruise." 
 
 We were strolling up and down the busy 
 platform, with a quarter of an hour to spare, 
 alongside the waiting train — I, Leigh Evers- 
 leigh, and Isla, who had got tight hold of her 
 kind friend's hand. Daryl had gone for the 
 tickets. 
 
 " Yes," replied Leigh absently. 
 
 " I very much wonder that you have remained 
 in town so long, Mr. Eversleigh, when every- 
 body who could do it went away weeks ago," I 
 said, simply making the observation because he 
 was so silent. He did not, I fancied, seem in 
 his usual spirits to-day. 
 
 " Do you '? " he smiled — a quiet, thoughtful 
 smile. 
 
 " Yes, I do. Daryl says London is empty —
 
 2o8 Periwinkle. 
 
 a howling wilderness ; but that of course is 
 nonsense." 
 
 " Yes ; that is nonsense," said Leigh, as if 
 however he was thinking of something else. 
 
 I made another attempt to support the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Well," said I briskly, "yachting this glori- 
 ous weather must, I should imagine, be charm- 
 ing work — or sport — for those who are fond 
 of it and who are good sailors." 
 
 "Perhaps; it depends, you know," said Mr. 
 Eversleigh vaguely. 
 
 Here Daryl came back, pushing his way 
 through the crowd, heated and inclined to 
 be hilarious. Besides the booking-office, he 
 had doubtless paid a visit to a refreshment- 
 bar. 
 
 " There's no second, I hear, to this train. 
 Flower," said he ; " it's either first or third. 
 So I took firsts." 
 
 "Oh, Daryl — " I was beginning involun- 
 tarily ; but he cut me short. 
 
 "Hang it all, you wouldn't have us go 
 down packed in with a lot of beastly excur- 
 sionists, would you ? " he exclaimed impa- 
 tiently — " unless you particularly wish to get 
 smothered in crumbs and be deafened by a
 
 Daryl Dm^kwood's Wife. 209 
 
 chorus of yelling babies ! Come, little 'un, 
 look sharp and jump in with your mother — 
 there's no time to lose." 
 
 He was holding open the door of an empty 
 first-class compartment ; and, as there was no 
 gainsaying him, in we got. It was Daryl's 
 way. When he had money to spend, he spent 
 it extravagantly — recklessly ; when it was all 
 gone, and he wanted more and could not 
 get it, then came the time for anathemat- 
 ising everything and everybody about him 
 save himself. 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh, suddenly recollecting the 
 bookstall, had rushed off to another part of 
 the station. He as speedily returned, laden 
 with society journals and illustrated papers. 
 
 " To enliven the tedium of the journey, little 
 maid," he smiled, pushing them through the 
 open carriage window into Isla's arms. Her 
 pocket was already stuffed with a large box of 
 Mr. Eversleigh's chocolate creams ; and the 
 papers and the magazines, I knew, were meant 
 for me. 
 
 " I do wish you were coming too ! " said 
 she, with an earnestness [that was almost 
 pathetic in a child like Isla. 
 
 ''Who can tell? The yacht may sail your 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 2 1 o Periwinkle, 
 
 way, Isla," said Leigh gravely. " Yachts are 
 very unmanageable things sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, how I wish it would ! " lisped she, 
 her small face lighting up at the bare idea. 
 
 ''Bon voyage I'' cried Daryl, putting Isla 
 roughly aside from the window and leaning 
 out himself to grasp Leigh Eversleigh's strong 
 white hand, whereon the one massive gold 
 ring that he ever wore flashed with its diamond 
 in the midday sun. '' Let us have a line, if 
 possible, old chap, before you start — we'll send 
 you our address as soon as we've got one ; 
 and let us hear occasionally of your where- 
 abouts too. Will you ? " 
 
 " All right — you shall," promised Leigh, with 
 fair head uncovered. 
 
 " Good-bye ! " 
 
 " Good-bye ! " 
 
 The bell had rung for the last time. Late 
 passengers, with luggage nowhere to be seen, 
 were running wildly up and down. The engine 
 gave a horrid shriek and poured forth clouds 
 of angry white steam. Then the train seemed 
 to strain and groan as if it wanted a friendly 
 push behind just to start it ; and we began 
 to move slowly out of the station. 
 
 How well can I recall every incident — every
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 2 1 1 
 
 trivial incident — of that sunny August morn- 
 ing, when, steaming out of the huge Pimlico 
 station, bound for our seaside trip, we left 
 Leigh Eversleigh standing alone upon the 
 platform, staring after the vanishing train !
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 lARYL DARKWOOD soon wearied of 
 a place like Thangate. 
 
 If lie was in a good temper, this 
 seaside town, according to hira, was *' really- 
 jolly — so free and easy — and all that." If 
 his humour was a bad one, the place was 
 " a filthy hole," or " beastly low," or some 
 other equally choice epithet would with vigour 
 be applied to it, to distinguish it from the 
 superior watering-places elsewhere that he had 
 known and frequented in bygone days. 
 
 This being the case with my husband, he 
 found manifold excuses for running up to 
 town. There were some sketching materials 
 that he wanted and must have, and that could 
 be got only at a certain shop either in Bond 
 Street or in Piccadilly ; or a picture-dealer in 
 the Haymarket particularly wanted to see him, 
 so that if he did not go directly he would in
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife, 213 
 
 all likelihood lose the chance of a " good thing." 
 There were other transparent excuses besides ; 
 but I cannot remember them now. 
 
 Therefore it happened that Isla and I were 
 at all times left a good deal to ourselves, to 
 amuse ourselves in the best way we could. 
 But I do not think we much cared ; we were 
 very happy together ; and I was so thankful 
 — so unspeakably thankful — to perceive that 
 her dips into the sea and the wild sea-breezes 
 keen with ozone were bringing a faint tinge 
 of rose-colour into the dear little wan cheeks 
 of my child. 
 
 She often, long and patiently, looked over 
 the blue-green sea, watching for '' Mr. Evers- 
 leigh's yacht." 
 
 '' Is this it, mamma, do you think ? " she 
 would say wistfully, when the London boat, 
 bound for some summer haunt farther along 
 the coast, stopped on its way at the head of 
 Thangate pier ; or when some other distant 
 steamer, with black smoke vein in g the fair 
 sky, loomed in sight upon the dim horizon 
 where heaven and sea seemed to meet. 
 
 It hurt me to have to tell her that he 
 would never come as she expected — she looked 
 so sorrowful and disappointed. Still, I do not
 
 214 Periwinkle. 
 
 think that she altogether believed me ; for her 
 faith in Leigh's word was firm ; and had not 
 he said to her that yachts were sometimes 
 unmanageable things, and that he might after 
 all come sailing her way ? 
 
 And so Isla, notwithstanding my assevera- 
 tions, watched every day. The weather was 
 perfect ; lovely beyond description. Thangate 
 was " crammed," as people expressed it — truly 
 a somewhat mixed multitude — a motley crowd. 
 
 But we had been most fortunate, all the 
 same, in the matter of rooms ; having found 
 some quite clean and well -furnished apart- 
 ments, in terms not too extravagant, upon the 
 higher and healthier part of the town, in a 
 " crescent " hard by the great Cliff Hotel 
 itself. 
 
 Everybody at Thangate went on to the pier, 
 which, owing to its length and diversified 
 attractions, was the principal lounge and pro- 
 menade of the town. Indeed the humours of 
 Thangate pier would fill a big volume, I used 
 to think. 
 
 Isla and I had, as usual, been down to the 
 sands for our morning dip ; to listen to the 
 nigger- minstrels, the hurdy-gurdy grinders, 
 and to the other vagrant musicians that
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife, 215 
 
 abounded there ; then into the town for a 
 little necessary shopping ; and then on to 
 the long and breezy pier for our midday 
 blow. 
 
 Daryl had gone up to London by an early 
 train, and would not come back — so he fancied 
 — until the following day. 
 
 At this lazy sunny noontide hour the pier 
 was thronged. 
 
 There were a few invalids to be seen in 
 bath-chairs, but the sufferers really looked as if 
 they were well upon the high-road to health 
 again, and they chatted and joked with the 
 friends who gathered round them and snuffed 
 the Thangate air meanwhile. The band — a 
 passable one — was playing favourite airs from 
 the newest comic opera, and other popular 
 tunes ; the refreshment bars in the gay pavilion 
 were driving their customary lively morning 
 trade. There was much bustle ofoino: forward 
 at and above the landing-stag^e ; for the 
 London boat, packed thick with fresh arrivals, 
 was just in at the pier-head. 
 
 We had now been at Thangate something 
 over a week ; but wx had heard nothing at 
 present of Leigh Eversleigh — although Daryl, 
 as soon as we were settled in our lodgings
 
 2 1 6 Periwinkle, 
 
 on the cliff, had written to him at his old 
 address in the Temple. Clearly he had not 
 yet started on the Mediterranean cruise ; or, 
 if he had started, he must have forgotten us. 
 
 I had brought with me a book from the 
 circulating-library ; but I was not reading. 
 I was watching the people. 
 
 Good heavens 1 what a number of young 
 men and young women from the London shops 
 there seemed to be taking holiday down at 
 Thangate — at least, from an indescribable 
 something or other about them, it might be 
 in their attire, or in their manner, perhaps 
 in their voices, one judged them to be of 
 that class. What a number of fat — awfully 
 fat — overdressed women of all sorts, years, and 
 conditions ! What swarms of children, with 
 third-rate nurse-maids ! What flurried hot 
 mammas, with yet more children ; and what 
 queer-looking papas, with rugs and hand-bags, 
 there were now arriving by the London boat ! 
 And how ill, too, some of them looked — those 
 poor adventuresome folk who in a rash 
 moment had elected *' to go down by boat ! " 
 
 Jews as well, I noticed, appeared to be 
 very fond of Thangate. They were to be 
 met with at every corner ; adding in no
 
 Daryl Dai^kwood's Wife. 217 
 
 mean measure to the brilliancy of the company 
 by their rich apparel and their gorgeous jewels. 
 Here and there one caught sight in the 
 crowd, but only occasionally, of some one 
 who looked actually " nice " — I mean, some 
 one who was indubitably a gentleman or a 
 gentlewoman — an agreeable contrast to im- 
 mediate surrounding's that diverted for a 
 while but soon palled. Yet such glimpses, I 
 repeat, were rare. Presently Isla came run- 
 ning up to where I was sitting, my head 
 and back well protected by my large sun- 
 umbrella, and cried breathlessly: "Mamma, 
 mamma dear, Mrs. Eamage and Miss de Yere 
 are here ! " 
 
 I started at the news, genuinely pleased to 
 hear it. 
 
 " Are they, darling — where ? " 
 
 "Over there," nodded Isla — ''looking at the 
 boat. Shall I go and tell them that you are 
 here as well, mamma ? " 
 
 "Do, dear," I willingly told her. And away 
 the little creature scampered on her errand. 
 Yes, beyond a doubt, the Thangate air was 
 doing wonders for Isla. Doctor Morrison was 
 quite right ! Never before in her brief young 
 life had I seen her so active and so bright.
 
 2 1 8 Periwinkle. 
 
 Soon she returned to me, borne in the arms 
 of Mrs. Kamage, with Mrs. Ramage's over- 
 whelming kisses still smarting upon her delicate 
 cheeks. Miss de Yere, cordially smiling and 
 showing her fine teeth, followed more leisurely 
 in her mother's wake. 
 
 Mrs. Ramage was gaily attired in brand-new 
 clothes, in which perhaps she seemed scarcely 
 at ease, whilst Miss de Vere was more quietly 
 dressed than usual in the palest of pretty pink 
 gowns and plain large white straw hat. She 
 was neatly gloved and shod, and looked strik- 
 ingly handsome ; revealing her admirable sense 
 by never on any pretext or on any occasion 
 whatever wearing paint or powder out of doors 
 — indeed never off the stage. Naturally of 
 robust health, she naturally always looked 
 well ; albeit she did not disdain a most becoming 
 pink lining to the sunshade she had brought 
 out with her that morning. No one would 
 have guessed, at any rate from her appearance, 
 that she was the identical Miss Aurora de Yere, 
 " the lady serio-comic artiste " from the Levity 
 theatre in London, whose name, in the biggest 
 and boldest of capitals, stared at one from all 
 the hoardings in Thangate. 
 
 I liked Aurora Ramage ; for I respected her.
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 219 
 
 The young actress and singer was honest and 
 good, and worked hard to maintain the position 
 she had won. 
 
 As Mrs. Eamage herself was always ready 
 and proud to admit — " No mortal mother could 
 possibly have been blessed with a kinder 
 daughter than her clever girl Aurora was in 
 every respect to her." 
 
 Our friendly greetings over, and Mrs. Eamage 
 having again and again expressed her delight 
 to think that they — she and Miss de Vere — 
 should have found us there upon the pier, we 
 all sat down together near to the pavilion in 
 the breezy sunlight of that perfect summer day. 
 
 The grand expanse of blue-green sea was 
 heaving languidly under the cloudless sky. 
 The pleasure-boats were coming home slant- 
 wise from their morning sail, with some of 
 their ''jovial crew" sick and some of them 
 singing. The band was playing selections 
 from lolanthe, I remember, with the hot 
 sunshine flooding down upon the glittering 
 brazen instruments. Certainly there was a 
 red-striped awning flapping over the players ; 
 but an awning like that was of little value 
 on such a radiant day. 
 
 Then Mrs. Eamage inquired feelingly whether
 
 2 20 Periwinkle. 
 
 we had found " nice rooms " without a draw- 
 back of any kind to them ; and I assured her 
 that we had ; the good soul going on to say 
 that she and Miss de Yere havino; arrived at 
 Thangate only on the previous evening, they 
 had taken apartments which faced the sea in 
 the lower part of the town. The house, said 
 Mrs. Eamage, was on the Marina and close 
 to the Dome-by-the- Waves. 
 
 " You see, mem," remarked Mrs. Eamage, 
 ^* we must be handy to the Dome " — she 
 called it " Doom " — '' because of Kory. She 
 has to sing there twice a day." 
 
 '*I begin my engagement this afternoon," 
 Miss de Yere put in. " Will you come and 
 hear me, Mrs. Darkwood ? " 
 
 " I — I should like to," I replied, not without 
 hesitation, "if — if — Well, do you think I 
 may bring Isla ? " I did not know how to 
 hint what I meant ; but Miss de Yere instantly 
 understood. 
 
 " Oh, my songs are harmless enough, if 
 you are aiming at that ! " she laughed good- 
 temperedly. " I flatly refuse to sing them — • 
 it's my rule, and I break it for nobody — if 
 they are in the least suggestive or horrid. Mr. 
 Binkworthy, not so very long ago, thought
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife, 221 
 
 fit to swear at me because I would not put 
 on fleshings — tights, you know. But that's 
 a thing I have never yet done, and I never 
 W'ill do, Mrs. Darkwood ; and I did not 
 speak to him for a whole week. He knows 
 me better now," she added, with a serenity 
 which bespoke conviction. 
 
 " I suppose you have brought down some 
 new songs with you ? " I inquired, feeling a 
 strong and growing interest in this shrewd 
 and sensible young woman, who went her 
 fearless way upon a dangerous road, and 
 who upon it too could hold her own without 
 dismay. 
 
 '' A few, Mrs. Darkwood," she answered 
 pleasantly ; adding that her chief ones were 
 the best of her old London favourites, such as 
 "Would you believe it?" and '^ So I hear," 
 which, with new topical verses smartly written 
 up to date, would be sure to prove successful 
 at Thangate. 
 
 I promised to visit the Dome in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 " Thank you," said the girl simply. Then 
 she continued, — "And if you don't care about 
 the show, why, you can but leave it and 
 take Isla out into the gardens at the back
 
 2 2 2 Periwinkle. 
 
 of the concert hall. The wild beasts and 
 the merry-go-rounds will amuse her. Have 
 you seen the wild beasts yet, you sweet little 
 thing ? " said Aurora, suddenly bending over 
 a,nd kissing the child in a thoroughly hearty 
 and unaffected fashion. 
 
 " No," said Isla, with wide upturned eyes. 
 '* Lions and tigers ? " 
 
 '' Yes, both ; and laughing hyenas into the 
 bargain." Then deftly she lifted the little 
 one on to her lap and began to describe to 
 her all the wonderful sights that were to be 
 seen in the gardens of the Dome-by-the-Waves. 
 
 "But, dear me, where is the Captain, 
 mem, all this while ? " cried Mrs. Eamage, 
 just then recollecting my husband's existence. 
 
 In a few words I explained to her whither 
 Daryl was gone ; and with much concern she 
 said immediately, — 
 
 " But the poor dear gentleman will find 
 No. 11 all shut up, Mrs. Darkwood. What, 
 mem, will he do for a bed ? " 
 
 I reminded Mrs. Eamage that London was 
 not wholly destitute of hotels, and that my 
 husband was a man who could well attend to 
 his own comfort. At this she laughed, and 
 said amiably — " Ah, yes, indeed — gentlemen
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 223 
 
 could always take care of number one — there 
 was no doubt about that ! " And then, as 
 the band had ceased to play and one o'clock 
 had struck, it was time that we should be 
 going homeward to our early dinner. Every- 
 one, in fact, was leaving the pier, with appe- 
 tite sharpened for luncheon or dinner. 
 
 The Ramages accompanied me and my 
 little girl as far as the entrance-part of the 
 pier, and there we separated to go our 
 different ways ; but with the understanding 
 that, if Isla were not tired, we should meet 
 again at the Dome in the afternoon. 
 
 Arrived home at our lodgings on the cliff, 
 we met our landlady, Miss Piper, in the hall. 
 
 '* There's a gentleman upstairs, madam, 
 waiting to see you," said she. AVe had the 
 drawing-room floor in Miss Piper's house — 
 it was bigger, airier, altogether better than 
 the downstairs floor. 
 
 " A gentleman ! " I echoed, astonished. 
 ** What is his name % " 
 
 '* T do not know, madam ; but he said that 
 he was very well acquainted with you and 
 Mr. Darkwood." 
 
 Isla had heard. She had vanished up the 
 staircase. Her instinct was surer than mine.
 
 2 24 Periwinkle. 
 
 I followed her wonderingly. Who could it 
 be? 
 
 Ere I reached the landing however a little 
 smothered cry of intense joy broke from the 
 child. I quickly entered the drawing-room. 
 There by the open bay-window stood Leigh 
 Eversleigh. 
 
 Isla, speechless, was hugging his neck — she 
 being hoisted aloft to his shoulder, clasped in 
 the strong arms of her friend.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 "^^HE tide was out ; the sands under 
 the cliffs were swarming with 
 hundreds of busy youngsters, who 
 were building castles and digging moats around 
 them, or hunting for shrimps in the little 
 dykes and pools which the outgoing sea had 
 left behind it. 
 
 Isla herself was there amongst those noisy 
 young ones, with Mr. Eversleigh, a most 
 accomplished architect in sand and seaweed, 
 in the rdle of her obedient slave. 
 
 I, with book and sun-umbrella, was occupy- 
 ing my favourite corner at the far end of the 
 pier ; the salt life-giving wind blowing gently 
 from the north-west and waftine^ shoreward the 
 sad soft sighing cadence of the distant waves. 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh had now been at Thangate 
 for three or four days, and was staying at 
 VOL. I. P
 
 2 26 Periwinkle, 
 
 the cosy "Black Stag." He shunned on 
 principle, he said, all such monster edifices 
 as the huge hotel on the cliff; preferring the 
 real comfort and the capital cookery, the 
 charming hostess and the courteous host, for 
 all of which attractions the "Black Stag" at 
 Thangate had acquired a wide reputation. 
 Indeed the "Black Stag" w^as famous, and 
 worthily so. 
 
 It was odd, I thought, that Mr. Eversleigh 
 should say nothing about his going back to 
 town, or how long he intended to remain at 
 the "Black Stag." As for Daryl, he had not 
 yet returned from London ; nor had he once 
 taken the trouble to write to me to in any 
 wise account for his lengthened absence. I 
 suppose he meant us to understand that we 
 were to expect him when we should see him 
 — that he would come back to us when he 
 pleased, and not before. This was Daryl's 
 "way" — at least, it was one of them. He 
 had several others peculiarly his own that 
 were equally erratic and unsatisfactory. 
 
 As I sat on the pier under my serviceable 
 umbrella, the queer crowd trooping past like 
 an organised procession round and round the 
 gay pavilion for morning exercise, the band
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife. 227 
 
 playing, the flags adorning the pavilion-roof 
 
 floating out upon the wind, two strangers — 
 
 young men — came alonof and seated themselves 
 
 close to my side. 
 
 But they took no notice of — never looked 
 at — the quiet woman reading under her um- 
 brella ; and, in fact, they continued to chat 
 together as coolly as if she had not been 
 there at all. 
 
 Feminine curiosity prompted me to peep 
 forth cautiously in order to ascertain what 
 kind of neighbours these of mine were. So 
 I looked ; and I then saw that they were of 
 the genus which I had heard Daryl term the 
 " masher " breed — voice and accent revealing 
 that they were young men of breeding too. 
 Decidedly they were not of the ordinary herd 
 that rushed in their thousands to Thangate. 
 I went on reading. 
 
 In another moment or two I had wholly 
 forgotten that I was not alone in my favourite 
 corner. But presently, the name of Miss de 
 Vere falling distinctly on my ear that was 
 nearest to this pair of male loungers, I caught 
 myself involuntarily listening to the talk that 
 was going on between them. 
 
 " Look here, old chappie," one of them was
 
 2 28 Periwmkle. 
 
 saying very quietly and kindly — " I don't think 
 I altogether — er — approve, don't you kDow, 
 of your ' Aurora-ing ' Miss de Vere quite so 
 freely now. It makes a lot of difference when 
 a fellow's in earnest and as good as engaged to 
 a girl, don't you know % It makes a lot of 
 difference then ! " 
 
 And his companion, with a more perceptible 
 drawl, answered, — 
 
 " In earnest, Tracy — surely you are not in 
 earnest ! But if so, old man, of course she shall 
 be Miss de Vere for the future." 
 
 " You'll see, Gaveston," said the first speaker, 
 dropping his glass from his eye. " I don't much 
 fancy — er — that I should have followed her 
 down here if — er — if I had not been in earnest 
 — head over heels in earnest — eh ? " 
 
 The other laughed. 
 
 " By Jove," he said, '' what a deuce of a row 
 there'll be at Starch when the gov'nor hears of 
 it ! " 
 - "I dare say," replied the one called Tracy 
 serenely. " But it won't be the first, dear fellow, 
 by a good many, that I've been compelled to 
 have out with the old man at home. It does 
 him good, I believe — wakes him up, don't you 
 know."
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 229 
 
 '' Can he disinherit you, old chappie — I forget 
 — or otherwise in that direction make himself 
 obnoxious ? " 
 
 " Fortunately he can't ; or I have not the 
 least doubt in the world he would have done it 
 long ago." 
 
 The other laughed again. I noticed that he 
 usually laughed before he spoke. 
 
 "The Countess will have a fit," he drawled. 
 
 ''Not she — she's too tough. You don't know 
 how tough my mother is. She'll storm, of 
 course ; but storms don't last for ever. They 
 blow over in time." 
 
 " And Lady Cassandra, old man — how about 
 her ? " 
 
 Tracy yawned ; a long yawn, with something 
 like a groan at the end of it. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Cassandra be — " He recollected 
 himself; for the first time perceived also that a 
 gown was in close proximity to — indeed was 
 brushing — his dandy legs. " Oh, Lady Cassandra 
 be jiggered ! " he supplemented mildly. 
 
 The next remark that fell upon my ears caused 
 me to start visibly ; but these young men 
 noticed it not. Never for a moment did it 
 occur to them that I was interested in what they 
 were saying. My book nearly slipped from my
 
 230 Periwinkle. 
 
 hand. I was listening voluntarily now — listen- 
 ing intently — scarcely breathing, lest a syllable 
 of the strange talk should escape me. 
 
 " By-the-bye," said he of the irritating draAvl, 
 " Daryl Darkwood, so Tm told, has lately been 
 seen here at Thangate — at Thangate, of all places 
 in creation ! I wonder where he has been hiding 
 for these five or six years or more. Abroad, I 
 fancy — perhaps the best place for him." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," replied the one called Tracy. 
 "Your brother Eollo was at Cambridge with 
 him ; wasn't he ? " 
 
 " Yes. He and Darkwood and Leigh Evers- 
 leigh were all three of 'em at Ursula's too^ether. 
 I never knew much of Daryl Darkwood myself. 
 He's older than I am. What I heard of him 
 came from Eollo." 
 
 '* A rather loose fish ; wasn't he ? " said 
 Tracy pleasantly. 
 
 " Who — Darkwood ? Eather ! And he 
 made such a mess of it at last — ended so 
 deuced badly — one couldn't help feeling sorry 
 for him, poor chap ! They said — Eollo or 
 somebody said — that he turned painter ; 
 married and turned painter, you know. He 
 always, so I've heard, had a taste in that 
 direction. I have seen some of the sketches
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 231 
 
 he gave to Eollo — really awfully clever some 
 of 'em ; and — and, well, as I say, lie went 
 abroad presently, and we lost sight of him. 
 Where he went Heaven knows ! " 
 
 " Did his wife go with him % " 
 
 "I suppose so. But who she was, or where 
 the dickens he picked her up — whether she 
 was pretty or whether she was plain, or 
 whether she was at all acquainted with the 
 true character of the husband she'd got hold 
 of — all this is unknown to me, and I believe 
 to everybody else. The whole thing was a 
 mystery." 
 
 " And Eedknights, Marc," said Tracy lazily 
 — ''how about Eedknights then?" 
 
 '' Oh, Darkwood, of course, never went 
 there as^ain — has never been there since ! 
 After the scandal, the frightful row they had 
 — and I suppose the poor beggar deserved it 
 — the old Squire kicked him out ; disowned 
 him ; swore he'd done with him for ever. It 
 was a most miserable business, no doubt." 
 
 "But what I mean is," said the admirer of 
 Miss de Vere — " how about the entail at 
 Eedknights ? " 
 
 " Why, there is none," was the reply. " Old 
 Darkwood, in that way, can do exactly as he
 
 232 Periwinkle. 
 
 pleases. He can leave every penny of his 
 money, house and all, to the County Hospital 
 if he likes. And, pon my word, I shouldn't 
 wonder if he did it. He is quite in his 
 dotage now, so they say, and acknowledges 
 no kinship whatever save that of his daughter, 
 Mrs. Eversleigh, who lives with him. And 
 she's a great invalid — had a lot o' trouble 
 in her time." 
 
 ''Well, 'tis lucky for me," observed Tracy 
 lightly, " that the old man at Starch is not 
 possessed of the same power ; that's all I 
 can say ; or it would be all the worse in 
 the end for me and Aurora." 
 
 The other laughed out loud and long, as 
 if the domestic tempest ahead of his friend 
 were the greatest joke imaginable for a looker- 
 on. 
 
 "Devilish lucky indeed for you, old chappie!" 
 he drawled at last. " As some illustrious poet 
 says somewhere or other, * Best for you and 
 best for Miss de Vere — ' " 
 
 " Hush, man," suddenly interrupted Tracy 
 — " here they come — she and her mother ! " 
 
 I had overheard enough. I was scarcely, as 
 may be conceived, in a humour to be recog- 
 nised by Mrs. Kamage and Aurora ; particu-
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 233 
 
 larly after all that I had just heard. An 
 agreeable state of things it would be for every 
 one concerned if Miss de Vere marched up 
 in her cordial fashion and insisted forthwith 
 upon introducing me to the young man called 
 Tracy and to the friend with him ! Both, 
 then, to their consternation and confusion, 
 would learn that they had all the while been 
 sitting close to Daryl Darkwood's wife ! The 
 thought was dreadful. 
 
 I rose swiftly and noiselessly, my large 
 sunshade lowered well over my head and 
 shoulders, and walked away in a direction oppo- 
 site to that from which I was somehow conscious 
 that Mrs. RamaQ:e and her daue^hter were 
 approaching. 
 
 I was soon lost in the promenading crowd. 
 
 My emotions just then were of a conflicting 
 nature. I felt keenly hurt, humiliated, angry — 
 curiously lonely all at once in the midst of 
 so many people. My bosom ached with its 
 sense of pain and bitterness ; I believe that 
 hot and passionate tears were rising thick in 
 my eyes ; I know that I could hardly see 
 whither my steps were leading me. 
 
 Although I had never — never from the first — 
 been in my husband's confidence, in some vague
 
 234 Periwinkle, 
 
 manner it galled me to reflect that strangers 
 and outsiders — the cold and careless world 
 generally — should know more of the man I 
 had married than I myself knew. Indeed the 
 world, it appeared, knew all ; whilst I knew 
 nought. What right had he to keep me in the 
 dark — to enlighten me, his wife, in no wise ? 
 What right had he to marry me in secret, under 
 cruelly false colours ; and — if he was in truth 
 the reprobate that those men seemed to 
 hint — what right had he to drag me down to 
 his 
 
 Then the recollection of my own grievous 
 parentage, of my own sad past, rushed as it 
 were headlong upon me, bringing with it, as 
 it ever did, a hot wave of shame and horror 
 which seemed to flow over me, to burn me 
 from head to foot ; and in a kind of dim sorrow- 
 ful way I realised that I should rightly be 
 grateful to, and not wroth with, my husband, 
 Daryl Darkwood ; for, after all, I owed him 
 much ! 
 
 If, on the one hand, he had seen fit to 
 keep his shameful past a secret from me — from 
 me who should have been the participant of 
 all his secrets if there were any — had not he, 
 on the other, given to me a name, a name
 
 Daryl Dai^kwood's Wife. 235 
 
 that could be mine so long as I lived, a name 
 lawful alike in the eyes of God and of man, 
 and for ever taken me from the evil shelter 
 that I had from my earliest years been taught 
 to call my " home " ? Moreover, he was Isla's 
 father. No, no — I could not, dared not now 
 reproach him for aught he had done ; for who, 
 alas, was I that I should presume to pry into, 
 to sit in judgment upon, the past of the man 
 who, at any rate, w^hatever his offences, had 
 been unselfish enough to make me his wife ? 
 Throughout our married life I never had 
 reproached him for his unnatural reticence ; 
 I would not begin to reproach him now. 
 Knowing Daryl's temper, I would be wise ; I 
 would be as cautious and as forbearing with 
 him as I had ever been. So I then resolved. 
 
 All the same, I was unhappy, dissatisfied, 
 ill at ease — perha|)s because deep in my heart I 
 was conscious that, had I now loved Daryl as 
 dearly and as truly as I had loved him in the 
 old dead days, my misery of that morning, 
 the galling sense of injustice and wrong, would 
 have been infinitely greater than it was — 
 infinitely harder to endure ! Was it any fault 
 of mine that my once strong love for him 
 had decayed and grown poor? Well, Heaven
 
 236 Periwinkle, 
 
 above me knew the truth, though man might 
 never know it ! 
 
 I had passed the iron turnstiles which cut off 
 the broader and more popular part of the pier 
 from the longer and narrower part which 
 touched the town, when I walked blindly 
 against some one who was hurrying towards 
 the iron barriers. 
 
 " Eeally, I beg your pardon," I was begin- 
 ning. The next instant I saw that formal 
 apology was needless. It was Leigh Evers- 
 leigh. 
 
 ** I was on my way to look for you, Mrs. 
 Darkwood," he explained, laughing ; whilst I, 
 unseen, managed to brush the tears from my 
 eyelashes and to call up a smile to my set 
 lips. 
 
 "The sunlight was in my eyes," I said at 
 random. Then, marking that the child was 
 absent, I cried anxiously, " Isla — where is 
 she ? " 
 
 " It is all right — she is perfectly safe," he 
 answered. " We have had an uncommonly 
 industrious morning on the sands, and it was 
 warm work into the bargain ; and by-and-by 
 the little one got tired, and wanted me to 
 take her home."
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 237 
 
 ^'And you did?" 
 
 '' Yes ; I carried her home and laid her in 
 her cot, and, at her earnest request, began to 
 tell her stories ; but in five minutes she was 
 asleep as sound as a roach, and looking as 
 well and as rosy as you could wish to see 
 her. I am so glad you brought her to 
 Thangate." 
 
 " So am I." In the next breath, ** How 
 good and kind you are to her, Mr. Evers 
 leigh ! " I added gratefully. 
 
 He stooped, and rather abruptly said, — 
 
 ''Have you — forgive me — heard bad news V 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " I inquired, in a faint 
 voice. 
 
 *'You are looking so — so pale and sad,'* 
 said he very kindly, flushing somewhat through 
 his tan as he spoke ; " though I fear you 
 will think me impertinent for remarking 
 it." 
 
 If there was one man in the whole world 
 whom I felt I could trust before all other 
 living men, that man was Leigh Eversleigh. 
 
 " If," I said, more firmly, " you will walk 
 homeward with me, I will tell you what I 
 have heard this morning." 
 
 He turned directly, his head slightly bent, hi&
 
 238 Periwinkle. 
 
 hands and stick behind his back. So he walked 
 by my side towards the town. 
 
 Then I, without further parley, and reserving 
 nothing, told him all that I had by chance over- 
 heard, not half an hour before, in the desultory 
 conversation of those two young men. For some 
 seconds he offered no comment ; then he said 
 slowly, — 
 
 " That must be Viscount Tracy, the only son 
 of the Earl of Starch ; and his companion 
 doubtless was Marc Gaveston, Kollo Gaveston's 
 younger brother." 
 
 " And is it possible that Lord Tracy is going 
 to marry Aurora Eamage — Miss de Yere ? " I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 ** Actually it seems like it," smiled Leigh. " I 
 heard in town, a short while back, that he was 
 partly engaged to some handsome young woman 
 who was on the stage ; but I had not the least 
 idea that the lady so favoured would prove to 
 l)e your Miss de Vere." 
 
 " Will it not be considered a — a — a very 
 extraordinary occurrence, Mr. Eversleigh ? " I 
 inquired ; amused and amazed at the same 
 time. 
 
 " Well, hardly. Lord Tracy will be by no 
 means the first of his rank who has chosen a
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 239 
 
 wife from the same quarter. Whether such 
 ventures as a rule turn out well is quite another 
 question." 
 
 " It is a queer world, Mr. Eversleigh ! " said I, 
 sighing unawares. 
 
 "Can it be that you have only just mastered 
 the fact, Mrs. Darkwood ? " returned he, with a 
 swift and somewhat quizzical downward glance 
 at me. 
 
 ** No. I found it out years ago." 
 
 I had spoken more passionately, perhaps — 
 with more bitterness, I am certain — than I had 
 meant to speak. So I hastened to cover what I 
 felt to be an error by hastily saying, before 
 Leigh himself could speak, — 
 
 " And do you know — personally, I mean — 
 this young Viscount Tracy % " 
 
 *' I have met him once or twice — it may be 
 oftener — at the Gavestons'. As you heard, 
 Eollo Gaveston and I and Daryl Darkwood 
 were all three of us together as quite young 
 men at Ursula's." 
 
 " And the Mrs. Eversleigh mentioned this 
 morning by Mr. Marc Gaveston," I ventured to 
 ask, — " who is she ? You, Mr. Eversleigh, I 
 know, have no mother. You have told me so 
 yourself," I gently added.
 
 240 Pe7'iwinkle. 
 
 "Ah, you mean the Mrs. Eversleigh at 
 Eedknights ? " said Leigh, in his frank 
 way. 
 
 " Yes — at — at Eedknights," said I, in a rather 
 husky and uncertain tone. 
 
 " Well," Leigh tried to explain, " she is in 
 reality no kinswoman whatever of mine ; for 
 I and her late husband, Captain Eversleigh, 
 were merely cousins two or three times removed 
 — I positively cannot tell you which ; for I 
 am not, you see, sure myself," he laughed. 
 " However, I know Mrs. Eversleigh intimately ; 
 for, besides our being just slightly connected 
 through her marriage with Captain Eversleigh, 
 I used frequently to meet her, in the days before 
 she became a confirmed invalid, at Gaveston 
 Priory — a fine old place, and only a few miles 
 from Eedknights itself. But it strikes me, 
 Mrs. Darkwood," said he pleasantly, '' that some- 
 how you never have thoroughly understood 
 the Eversleigh-Darkwood connection. Have 
 you ? " 
 
 '* It would be odd," I replied, trying to speak 
 without pain, " if I had. You are aware — you 
 must have seen for yourself — how little I know 
 of Daryl's affairs ; how little I am in my 
 husband's confidence."
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife. 241 
 
 " But surely," cried Leigh, as if involun- 
 tarily, " you have heard of Redknights ? " 
 And I answered as calmly as I could, — 
 ''I never heard of Eedknights until this 
 morning ! " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 F the reply touching my ignorance 
 upon the subject of Redknights and 
 its history created any astonishment 
 in the mind of Leigh Eversleigh, he allowed 
 naught of the surprise to escape him. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Darkwood," he said, with a rather 
 suspicious cheeriness and rapidity of utterance, 
 " Daryl, I think, could not possibly object to my 
 making a slight family complication somewhat 
 clearer to you than it is evidently at present, 
 because I notice that in your hearing he some- 
 times — though perhaps it is in jest — speaks of 
 me as his cousin ; which of course I am not. It 
 is misleading, you know ; and there's no secret 
 in the matter ; there cannot be. Besides," 
 added he, with that sunny smile of his own 
 which could be so singularly winning when he 
 chose, " I consider that it is as much my family
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 243 
 
 story as it is Daryl's. You see, it was in this 
 wise. Old Squire Darkwood, who is himself 
 yet alive, had two children — a son and a 
 daughter ; Marion, who became Mrs. Evers- 
 leigh ; and Daryl — Daryl's father — who, to- 
 gether with his wife and Captain Eversleigh, 
 fell a victim to an outbreak of some terrible 
 fever in India. All three of them were out 
 there, as it happened, at the same time ; the 
 separate regiments of the two Captains being 
 stationed only a few miles apart from each 
 other ; and all three of them were carried off by 
 the epidemic, with many another European, 
 within the space of a few days. The news for 
 the old Squire at Redknights — who, by-the-way, 
 had lost his own wife in the earlier years of 
 their married life — was a great blow ; people 
 said, indeed, that it aged him prematurely. 
 
 " Fortunately for Mrs. Eversleigh herself, 
 whose health just then was delicate, she had 
 been unable — like Mrs. Darkwood, the other 
 Captain's wife — to accompany her husband out 
 to the Indian station. The Darkwoods had 
 taken their boy with them ; but Marion Evers- 
 leigh and her little daughter remained behind 
 in England with her father at Redknights. 
 
 "But Fate, it seemed, was to be strangely
 
 244 Periwinkle. 
 
 cruel to the Dark wood family. Scarcely had the 
 sad tidings arrived from India, telling the old 
 Squire that his only son Daryl, his son-in-law 
 Captain Eversleigh, and his daughter-in-law, 
 Daryl's wife, w^ere no more, and that Captain 
 Darkwood's boy, now a youngster of eight or 
 nine and his grandfather's heir, was about to be 
 sent home to England by friends of his dead 
 parents — scarcely, I say, had this sorrowful in- 
 telligence reached Eedknights, when a fresh and 
 crushing calamity fell upon the newly-widowed 
 Mrs. Eversleigh. 
 
 " Her only child — the darling of its mother's 
 heart, and the pet of its grandfather's too — met 
 with a tragic end. The little Flower, when only 
 about two and a half years old " 
 
 " Flower — Flower ! " I interrupted, keenly 
 interested. " Was, then, the child of this Mrs. 
 Eversleigh — who, I perceive, must be Daryl's 
 aunt — called Flower ? " 
 
 *''Yes," replied Leigh gravely. "Her name, 
 sweet as it is singular, was the same as yours, 
 Mrs. Darkwood. Often since I have known 
 you have I thought what an extraordinary 
 circumstance it is that Daryl's wife should be 
 called Flower." 
 
 "Surely," said I musingly, "the child you
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 245 
 
 speak of must have been the little cousin whom 
 Daryl has once or twice mentioned in a casual 
 manner. Ah, I remember now ! " 
 
 " Yes. But Daryl Darkwood, now your hus- 
 band, never in his life saw her, though," Leigh 
 gently put in. " For, as children, they never 
 had met before he was taken out to India ; and 
 before he returned from that treacherous country 
 little Flower Eversleigh was dead. She had been 
 killed, the tragedy was over — Daryl knows it 
 only by hearsay — by the time he came to live 
 with his grandfather at Kedknights." 
 
 ** Killed!" I echoed. '^How dreadful, Mr. 
 Eversleigh ! How was she killed ? " My voice 
 sank to an almost awe-stricken whisper ; my 
 blood, as the saying goes, ran cold. 
 
 I was thinking of my own darling, my little 
 Isla, with her soft short dark curls and her wist- 
 ful blue, her intensely blue and dark-lashed eyes 
 — "Periwinkle the Second," as Daryl some- 
 times in his boisterous moods called her ; and 
 I wondered, with a dull sense of unspeakable 
 anguish, how should I be able to go on living 
 as this other mother, it appeared, had gone 
 on living, and was living still, if my child were 
 thus to be snatched violently from me ? 
 
 "Yes," quietly continued Leigh; "poor little
 
 246 Periwinkle, 
 
 Flower Eversleigh was murdered — murdered, 
 for revenge' sake, by a vindictive woman-servant 
 who had for insolence been dismissed from 
 service at Kedknights. 
 
 *' She was Mrs. Eversleigh's abigail ; and 
 was called, if I remember rightly, Kachel Owen. 
 She had an accomplice, though I forget his 
 name, in this fiendish deed ; but I know that 
 he was the lover of the woman Owen, and an 
 under-keeper or something on the Squire's 
 estate. It was a most cruel thing — they being 
 well aware how dear was the little one in the 
 sio;ht of the old man and his daus^hter — and 
 caused, so I've been told, in those days great 
 stir and excitement throughout Buckingham- 
 shire. " 
 
 " Is — is Eedknights then in Buckingham- 
 shire ? '^ 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' But those — those wretches, Mr. Evers- 
 leigh — you have not yet told me how they 
 murdered the child ? " 
 
 ** They drowned her," he answered. " Wind- 
 ing through a hollow or valley in the park 
 of the old house there is a deep and swift- 
 flowing river, with many a muddy and weedy 
 hole hidden away in the dangerous bed of
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 247 
 
 it. This deep swift stream, Mrs. Darkwood, 
 was that little child's grave." 
 
 ''And the murderers — the man and the 
 woman," I said indignantly — " they were of 
 course caught and properly punished for the 
 
 crime " I stopped ; turning, as I invariably 
 
 did when bloodshed and the hideous conse- 
 quences of it were dominant in my thoughts, 
 suddenly faint and sick. 
 
 ''Well," Mr. Eversleigh said more blithely, 
 '* the really most extraordinary part of the story 
 is that, although every effort was made at 
 the time to track the man and the woman 
 to their hiding-place, all endeavour tow^ards 
 this righteous end failed utterly. But by- 
 and-by the rumour got abroad — yet no one 
 in the Darkwood family to this day, I 
 believe, is quite certain whether or not the 
 report was correct — that justice, in a singularly 
 complete manner, had overtaken Rachel Owen 
 and her infamous companion in guilt. 
 
 " As man and wife, and under an assumed 
 name, it was said that they had fled to 
 and hidden themselves in some north-eastern 
 locality of London. Here it came about 
 that, in a deadly brawl between this worthy 
 couple, Rachel Owen was slain by her brute-
 
 248 Periwinkle, 
 
 lover — kicked and beaten to death by this 
 man, whose name I cannot just now re- 
 member. However, the end of the affair was, 
 he, sullenly making no attempt to escape, was 
 taken red-handed ; tried, condemned to death, 
 and speedily " 
 
 I wished to hear no more. It was all too 
 horrible. Warm as was the day, I shivered. 
 We were ascending the higher part of the 
 town on our way to my lodgings upon the 
 cliff; and here I was thankful for an excuse 
 to ask for some real support. 
 
 " Do not tell me any more of it," I said, 
 with difficulty controlling my faint voice — 
 " the story is so — so dismal. It is dreadful ; 
 
 and — and I Mr. Eversleigh, will you be 
 
 good enough to lend me your arm just here — 
 merely for a moment ? I always fancy that 
 this part of the ascent, especially on a warm 
 day, is most fatiguing." 
 
 " It is," he readily assented ; the assistance 
 I had asked for being instantly forthcoming. 
 **The heat has not made you feel ill, I trust, 
 Mrs. Darkwood ? " he added anxiously. 
 
 " No, no ! I am rather tired — indeed that 
 is aU." 
 
 We had gained the summit of the heights.
 
 Daryl Dai^kwoocTs Wife. 249 
 
 The sea-wind met us afresh. I drew in a 
 deep draught of it, and felt stronger. But 
 I was determined that the talk should not 
 drift back to the gloomy theme of murder 
 and sudden death — I had had enouo-h of it : 
 it tried me too sorely. 
 
 " Now that I have the chance — that the 
 opportunity is here," so I made haste to say 
 — " I should very much like to — to put a 
 certain question to you, Mr. Eversleigh. I 
 wonder whether you will answer it ? " 
 
 " I will if I can," he replied gravely, after 
 a pause. My hand still rested upon his 
 arm. 
 
 '' I am sure that you can ; but I am not sure 
 that you will." 
 
 "Let me hear it," said he. 
 
 " This is the second time to-day — the second 
 time within the past hour — that I have made to 
 you the humiliating confession that, although 
 I am Daryl Darkwood's wife, I know almost 
 absolutely nothing of his affairs — certainly 
 nothing of his past," observed I. 
 
 Leigh, an honest gentleman, was silent. He 
 knew that I spoke only what was true. There- 
 fore I went on, — 
 
 " It is painfully clear to me that there is a
 
 250 Periwinkle. 
 
 secret in Daryl's life. It is equally clear to me 
 that from his own lips I never shall hear what 
 that secret is. If hitherto I have been fool 
 enough to doubt that this was actually so, young 
 Viscount Tracy and his friend this morning 
 dispelled all uncertainty upon the matter. 
 From their conversation the truth was forced 
 upon me — there is a dark chapter in Daryl's 
 life." 
 
 Still Leigh was silent. 
 
 So I continued more nervously, — 
 
 "" Of course I, as Daryl's wife, cannot stoop to 
 ask you, Mr. Eversleigh, to lift the veil, to let 
 in the light upon the gloom, as it were ; equally 
 as a matter of course you, as Daryl's friend, 
 could not do so mean a thing even were I so 
 far to forget myself as to beseech you at this 
 moment to do it. But — but this I do freely 
 own I should like to know — I think that I 
 have a right to know it : was the offence — this 
 trespass of Daryl Darkwood's — a very great, a 
 very heinous one ? That is my question ; and, 
 do you know, I am rather hopeful about it ? It 
 cannot be very bad, can it," said I wistfully, if 
 somewhat vaguely — " or — or you, Mr. Eversleigh, 
 would not be his friend ? " 
 
 He was staring at the ground as he walked.
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife, 251 
 
 He seemed to be pondering something before he 
 could make up his mind to speak. 
 
 "Will you tell me," I begged earnestly, "so 
 much, if nothing more ? Indeed I ask you for 
 nothing more. Do tell me, Mr. Eversleigh, that 
 it was not anything very terrible — at any rate,, 
 that it was nothing wholly unpardonable ? " 
 
 At last he said, with great kindness of 
 manner, — 
 
 " You see, it is not fair, not just, that a man 
 should suffer for ever for a — a fault once com- 
 mitted and past undoing. He sins, let us say, 
 and suffers for that sin. But surely, though 
 reparation, atonement, may not altogether lie 
 within his power, after much suffering and 
 sincere repentance on account of the transgres- 
 sion, he should be forgiven and his fault be 
 forgotten ? That is only just." 
 
 I was far from satisfied. I was disappointed 
 and uneasy ; the truth of the case being that 
 I somehow could not bring myself to conceive 
 that Daryl had ever really suffered, much less 
 repented. One could not in fancy associate 
 penitence and humility with the reckless, not 
 to say selfish, spirit of Daryl Darkwood. They 
 are qualities of a divine stamp, and are impos- 
 sible to the natures of some people. According
 
 252 Periwinkle. 
 
 to Daryl himself, he was never to blame for 
 anything. It was always his " accursed luck " — 
 " his destiny " — that was answerable for the 
 mischief that happened. 
 
 I sighed and said, — 
 
 "Yet, in spite of all, whatever the 'all' may 
 be, you are — are you not ? — his real, his sincere 
 friend ? " 
 
 We were close to Miss Piper's door ; there 
 was no time for more ; and after to-day the 
 question, I felt, could never be unearthed again. 
 
 And Leigh, as gently and as kindly as before, 
 replied, — 
 
 "I can truthfully say, Mrs. Darkwood, that 
 I believe I am his sincere friend — and yours." 
 
 "Ah, I know well enough that you are 
 mine ! " I answered gratefully ; albeit perhaps 
 a trifle sadly. Was I hurt, I wonder, because 
 he had not been more frank with me ? I do not 
 know. 
 
 There was some one standing within the open 
 doorway of Miss Piper s house, smoking a cigar 
 that made the air around delightful. At first 
 1 thought it was one of the lodgers who 
 occupied the dining-room floor below us, and 
 did not recognise him ; for he — the strange 
 man, as I thought — was dressed in a new
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife, 253 
 
 summer suit of very light gray and woolly-look- 
 ing tweed, admirably fashioned and vastly be- 
 coming to the tall dark handsome stranger who 
 wore it. His hat, a deerstalker, matched the 
 gray suit in just the right way ; his tie was 
 a knot of dusky crimson silk caught in a gold 
 ring ; and his boots were of new patent leather 
 topped with light-coloured cloth. A black 
 walking-stick with a silver knob, and a white 
 Bond Street button-hole, finished off the gentle- 
 man's attire. 
 
 "Like a good and dutiful dame, Periwinkle," 
 he called out, with an unpleasant light in his 
 brilliant eyes, and an offensive smile just visible 
 beneath his heavy swart moustache — " I perceive 
 that you look inconsolable for the absence of 
 your true knight and master." 
 
 Suddenly, as if it had been burnt, my hand 
 dropped from Leigh Eversleigh's arm. I had 
 totally forgotten that it remained there. 
 
 Leigh, in his easy, thorough-bred manner, 
 lifted his hat to the man upon the doorstep ; for 
 it was his friend, and my husband, Daryl Dark- 
 wood.
 
 CHAPTER XYL 
 
 OTWITHSTANDING his strange mien 
 and his curious smile in greeting me 
 and Mr. Eversleigh, Daryl clapped 
 Leigh upon the shoulder in the heartiest way 
 possible, and invited him in to " luncheon." 
 
 But Mr. Eversleigh, though he came upstairs 
 for a few minutes' chat, firmly declined to stay 
 for our mid- day meal. He was going to drive 
 over to Shipgate, he said, to call upon some 
 people he knew who had taken a house there 
 for the autumn ; and he must get back to the 
 *' Black Stag" at once. 
 
 A mutual explanation took place between 
 the two men, whilst I went to see whether Isla 
 was yet awake, to take off my hat, and to 
 smooth my hair. The Thangate breezes of a 
 morning were apt to wax rough in their play. 
 
 Leigh Eversleigh explained to Daryl what
 
 Daryl DarkwoocC s Wife. 255 
 
 I naturally already knew : how it was that he — 
 Leigh himself — had turned up so unexpectedly 
 at Thangate. The father of his yachting friend 
 had died suddenly in Scotland ; the son in great 
 haste had been telegraphed for ; the yachting- 
 party and their plans were of course broken up 
 in consequence ; and the whole scheme had been 
 abandoned — postponed indefinitely until a hap- 
 pier time. Having made all his arrangements 
 with this cruise in view, and really looking for 
 ward to what would be his first glimpse of the 
 Mediterranean, Leigh declared that he had been 
 at a loss to decide what to be at, or whither to 
 go for his "autumn holiday," when this sudden 
 upsetting of their plans was brought about by 
 the death in Scotland. 
 
 Eecollecting, however, that we were at Than- 
 gate, and having our address in his possession, 
 he thought that he could not do better than run 
 down to the seaside and in person ascertain how 
 we were " getting along." 
 
 So he came, and took rooms at the "Black 
 Stag ; " and indeed was so comfortable at that 
 famous hostelry that he had no intention just 
 yet of going away from it. 
 
 " Well, as for me," threw in Daryl carelessly, 
 '* I merely went up to town for the day, as I
 
 256 Periwinkle. 
 
 thought. But strolling along the shady side of 
 the Strand, don't you know, whom should I run 
 against but that queer fish Herr von Eosenberg 
 — why, you must remember Rosenberg, Peri- 
 winkle, don't you ? " — turning rather sharply to 
 me. Isla was still resting in her cot ; and I had 
 returned to the sitting-room. 
 
 "Yes," I replied briefly. Distinctly I re- 
 membered Herr von Eosenberg ; but I could 
 remember nothing good of him. 
 
 " I wonder how it is," pursued Daryl, in a 
 voice of aff'ected plaintiveness, "that so many 
 foreigners invade our shores — come over to Mo ' 
 the English capital — at such an impossible time 
 of year ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's only those who don't know any 
 better ! " said Leigh. 
 
 " Suppose that is it," agreed Daryl languidly. 
 " And it's so deuced hard to make 'em compre- 
 hend, don't you know, that London in mid- 
 August isn't exactly the same thing as London 
 in May." 
 
 "Did you stop then, Darkwood, with this 
 Herr von Eosenberg ? " Mr. Eversleigh inquired. 
 
 "Yes," replied Daryl, sinking into the easiest 
 chair the room contained and stretching apart 
 his long legs in that remarkably cool and
 
 Daryl DarkwoocTs Wife. 257 
 
 favourite fashion of his. "He said he felt 
 lonely and wanted somebody. And so, as he 
 was snugly housed at Clagg's, 1 saw no reason 
 why-" 
 
 " What !— in Brook Street ? " put in Leigh, in 
 accents of quiet astonishment. 
 
 "Yes, Brook Street," said Daryl, nodding 
 indolently at his friend. " Rosenberg, in one 
 respect, you see, old man, is unlike the gener- 
 ality of his needy brethren of the Vaterland. 
 He has a nice little property of his own some- 
 where or other in the Saxon Switzerland region, 
 and is as free as an Australian millionaire with 
 the coin it brings him in. Not half a bad chap, 
 Eversleigh, for a German ! Should like, by- the 
 bye, to introduce you." 
 
 " Thanks," was all Leigh said. But the single 
 word was spoken with perfect kindliness, and 
 might mean anything. 
 
 " Come, old fellow," cried my husband, rous- 
 ing himself, " if you are so confoundedly obsti- 
 nate and won't stop, you'll have a sherry-and- 
 bitters, or a seltzer-and-brandy, or something 
 before you go ? Now, Periwinkle, my dear, 
 look alive. Your notions of hospitality are pro- 
 digious." 
 
 The becoming gray suit, the patent-leather 
 VOL. I. R
 
 258 Periwinkle, 
 
 boots, the smart walking-stick, and the gold 
 ring which encircled the crimson necktie, were 
 all now accounted for. I no longer marvelled to 
 myself over the perfection of my husband's 
 appearance. 
 
 For this was the plain fact — Herr von 
 Eosenberg was a confirmed gamester ; but, 
 even in those days when we had known 
 him in Dresden and elsewhere, he never had 
 in that direction been a match for Daryl 
 Darkwood. 
 
 When Mr. Eversleigh was gone, and indeed 
 for the rest of that day, Daryl's curious 
 and highly unpleasant humour towards me 
 remained unchanged. I hardly knew how to 
 interpret it, or in what light to view it ; it 
 was in truth almost suggestive of — well, I 
 cared not to imagine what. I chose rather 
 to ascribe the mood to one of his manifold 
 " ways," and kept my temper, I flatter myself, 
 admirably under the sting of his provoking 
 manner. 
 
 He had two " seltzer-and-brandies " before 
 dinner ; and, when the weary lodging-house 
 maid-of-all-work toiled up from the unknown 
 kitchen regions to spread the cloth for luncheon,
 
 Daryl DarkwoocVs Wife. 259 
 
 as Daryl called it — she having left the sit- 
 ting-room door ajar, so that the sea- wind, 
 rushing in at the open bay-window, blew his 
 newspapers and society-journals into a wild 
 confusion together — he swore at her volubly 
 but quietly, smiling all the while. But it 
 was only his lips that smiled — there was 
 a darkling, savage light in his half-closed 
 eyes. 
 
 Daryl ate his " luncheon " in silence, with 
 a magazine open by his plate, alternately 
 taking a mouthful and turning a page. The 
 meal over, he lit one of those deliciously 
 frao;rant ciofars which he had brous^ht down 
 with him from town — got, doubtless, from 
 Herr von Rosenberg — and then dragged Isla 
 by the arm to his knee. Like a shy small 
 culprit in a pinafore she stood there, arraigned 
 before her judge. 
 
 " And so you have been horribly dull, I sup- 
 pose, Tupp'ny," said her father, " whilst I've 
 been away — eh ? " 
 
 " Yes — no, papa," said Isla, in the weakest 
 of whispers. 
 
 *' Come, speak up ! " shouted Daryl, giving 
 her a slight shake. 
 
 Isla, with drooping head, became dumb.
 
 26o Periwinkle, 
 
 " Now I daresay you have had lots of rides 
 in a goat-chaise — eh ? " said Daryl, more kindly. 
 *' Is that about it, little 'un ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " And built castles in the air — I mean, upon 
 the sands ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 ''And driven in a carriage to Shipgate, I'll 
 wager anything ; and to Lowstairs ; and to 
 Beachford ; and to Tagwell Bay ; and to — 
 well, dickens knows where we haven't been in 
 a carriage with Mr. Eversleigh — always with 
 Mr. Eversleigh— eh, Tupp'ny ? " 
 
 "Yes, papa," said the child, brightening, 
 reassured by a smile — a queer one though it 
 was — from Daryl, and by the magic of the 
 name that she knew and loved ; " and we've 
 been to the Dome-by-the-Waves to hear Miss 
 de Vere sing, and seen the wild beasts in the 
 gardens, and the monkeys, and the big funny 
 birds-" 
 
 " Oh, done all that, have you ? " her father 
 cut in. " Why, bless me, you can't have 
 been so dull then, after all ? " 
 
 " No, papa." 
 
 "Humph — ah! ''said Daryl, with a mock 
 scowl at his little daughter. "You want
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 261 
 
 looking after a bit, young woman, I can 
 plainly see, when your father's away on 
 business in London. I must lock you up 
 next time I go — yes, I must — in a dark cup- 
 board, Tapp'ny, and take the key in my 
 pocket ! " 
 
 As the child began to look pale and 
 frightened, and Daryl feared that the tears 
 were about to flow, he gave her a push and 
 said airily, — 
 
 *' There, cut along with you — I'll forgive 
 you this once ; but mind and be a better 
 girl next time — that's all 1 " 
 
 Just as Isla and I were about to sit down 
 to our tea, Daryl, with gray hat and silver- 
 topped walking-stick, strolled into the sitting- 
 room and gave out his intention of wandering, 
 as he said, as far as the " Black Stag." He 
 wanted a game at billiards or something ; and 
 perhaps Leigh Eversleigh had got back from 
 Shipgate, said he. 
 
 I had not yet taken my seat in front of 
 the small tray, but was standing at the o^^en 
 window, looking out at the sea. It was seven 
 o'clock. One after another the lamps along 
 the cliff were being lighted. Someone — a 
 woman with a mandolin — was singing under
 
 262 Periwinkle, 
 
 tbe windows of the Cliff Hotel. Thangate 
 visitors, in smart apparel, were hastening off 
 to the already crowded pier, that now stretched 
 out into the tranquil sea a mere dim dark 
 line dotted with coloured lights ; or were 
 swarming down to the concert and dance at 
 the popular Dome-by-the- Waves. 
 
 A melancholy greenish hue rested upon the 
 lovely still sea, with here and there a dead-gold 
 gleam or a dull splash of wannest rose that had 
 been left by the fading sun. And here and 
 there, too, in the hazy sapphire distance a 
 motionless yacht or steamer was faintly limned. 
 
 Daryl came to my side. He put his arm 
 around my waist and brushed my cheek roughly 
 with his moustache. 
 
 " So sorry, is she," said he jestingly — " so 
 sorry that her true knight and master has re- 
 turned ? And yet — was she not ? — she was 
 moped to death without him I " 
 
 Steadily — perhaps not without contempt — I 
 turned and met his dark and cruel smiling eyes ; 
 and, as I did so, with cool firm hands I loosened 
 his fingers from about my waist. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Daryl," I said. 
 
 " We live and learn, Periwinkle," laughed he, 
 odiously obscure.
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife. 263 
 
 " We do," was my brief reply. 
 
 As I spoke I moved coldly from him ; and 
 again stared — but now blindly, for my bosom 
 was rising visibly, and tears, proud hot tears, 
 had started to my eyes — out at the fast-darken- 
 ing sea. 
 
 *' Shall I bring Leigh back with me, if I see 
 him. Flower ? " 
 
 '' You may please yourself, Daryl." 
 
 " And you too, of course," said he jauntily. 
 
 Oh, how could he be so cruel to me — how 
 could he find the heart to wound me so ! What 
 had I done to deserve it ? I had not deserved 
 it — no, I had not ! I had not ! Even that 
 untranslatable smile of his was like a stab ; and 
 he knew it. 
 
 This time I vouchsafed no reply to his re- 
 mark. I would not — nay, I could not ; that is 
 nearer to the truth. So my husband called out, 
 *' Ta-ta, Periwinkle!" and shut the door. I 
 heard him laughing quietly to himself as he 
 descended the stairs ; and in that moment — 
 God forgive me ! — I hated him.
 
 CHAPTEE XYIL 
 
 )T soon became apparent that the old 
 days, or rather evenings, of the 
 ^.^Ji^ Chesterfield Avenue kind, in all their 
 odious risk and perplexing nature, were to be 
 revived here at our Thangate lodgings ; and 
 once more returned the old uneasiness, the 
 old anxiety, when I perceived that this would 
 inevitably be the case. 
 
 The bare sight of the cards seemed to smite 
 my heart with a deadly chill ; but I was utterly 
 powerless to hinder the play. So well knowing 
 Daryl's temper, I dared not interfere. 
 
 Nevertheless, I felt as certain as I was of my 
 own existence that evil, sooner or later, must 
 come of this bad state of things. And the fore- 
 boding, alas, proved a true one ! 
 
 It is no wonder that even now T cannot look 
 back to those days in my life without a shrink-
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife. 265 
 
 ing sense of acutest humiliation, of intolerable 
 shame. Knowledge, when it did overtake me, 
 was indeed terrible — terrible in the consequences 
 that it brought in its train ! 
 
 Somehow I never could endure to go to bed — 
 though all Thangate save ourselves had long 
 since gone thither — and to leave the two men 
 sitting up together and playing into the small 
 hours of a new day ; with the siphons and the 
 spirit-bottles upon the slab of the sideboard, and 
 the littered cards — oftentimes dice — upon the 
 oval table between them. 
 
 Leigh Eversleigh, however, was always him- 
 self — self-possessed, cool-headed, temperate. It 
 was Daryl who waxed excitable and noisy, and 
 who drank about three times as much as he 
 ought. 
 
 Little piles of gold, on such evenings as these, 
 very quickly seemed to accumulate at the elbows 
 of the two men, and glittered in the gas-light 
 from the chandelier above their heads. And 
 sometimes I heard the crisp rustle of a bank- 
 note ; but for what amount I never saw. 
 
 I used to sit silently behind the curtains 
 within the open bay-window ; my arms upon 
 the window-sill, my head in my hand ; looking 
 out with troubled eyes at the vast plain of water
 
 266 Periwinkle, 
 
 before me — upon which sometimes the moon- 
 beams fell chilly and weirdly, and quivered for 
 miles in a thin bright amber track athwart the 
 restless bosom of the lone dark sea. 
 
 How awful, how divinely mysterious was that 
 sea in its midnight loneliness ! There was to 
 me something appalling in its solemnity ; in its 
 great and utter solitude. What terrific force, 
 what crushing strength, lay sleeping beneath the 
 ripples of its cold quiet tide ! And yet in some 
 way it seemed to ease my heart, to soothe the 
 vexed soul within me, to gaze thus out in the 
 hushed darkness at the gentle but mighty sea, 
 with the tremulous moonbeams and the chill 
 salt breeze just lightly wrinkling the surface of 
 it. 
 
 For I felt that God Himself was there ; whilst 
 in the gas-heated, spirit-smelling, card-tainted 
 room behind me, devils invisible might be 
 holding high sway. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to state that afiairs 
 of the evening here at our Thangate lodgings 
 ended precisely as they used to end at Mrs. 
 Ramage's house in Chesterfield Avenue ; Mr. 
 Eversleigh invariably — or nearly so — at pale 
 dawn returning homeward to the '' Black Stag " 
 a poorer man than he had come up to the cliff.
 
 Daryl Darkwood' s Wife. 267 
 
 Nevertheless, I have some pleasant memories 
 associated with that visit of ours to Thangate* 
 One's past is never all gloom. 
 
 With daylight and sunshine and vigorous 
 breezes, my heart usually grew buoyant again ; and 
 all morbid dread and gnawing anxiety took flight. 
 
 Perhaps it was the splendid air of the place — 
 the life-giving ozone that made old folk feel 
 young, and young folk fancy that they could 
 never grow old. Any way, in the daytime 
 my fears were forgotten ; and all thought 
 of the future I resolutely put away. The 
 present at any rate was bright and real — so 
 I then believed ; the past, please Heaven, 
 was for evermore done with. So it is that, 
 when one is happy, one is too apt to hug 
 oneself, as it were, in a mantle of false security. 
 
 One morning — it was in the first week of 
 September, I recollect — Mr. Eversleigh, Isla^ 
 and I were down upon the sands under the 
 cliffs. The tide was far out ; the slimy flat 
 black rocks were bare. There was a stiff wind 
 blowing from the north-west, and woolly clouds 
 went racing over the somewhat cold blue sky. 
 The clull-o^reen waves in the distance were 
 foam-capped and frolicsome ; the soft white 
 sea-birds wheeled above them. Now and again.
 
 268 Periwinkle, 
 
 with a curious plaining cry, they swept lightly 
 and low through the salt spray, to ride at 
 graceful ease upon the romping billows. 
 
 And so, as the pier was just now too breezy 
 to be aorreeable, we had souo-ht the shelter of 
 the rugged old cliffs. 
 
 Isla, with some other youngsters like her- 
 self, was industriously digging holes in the 
 wet sand ; her frock and petticoats pinned 
 up conveniently, her wee pink feet bare. Mr. 
 Eversleigh and I, our backs to the towering 
 <3halk wall in the rear of us, were watching 
 her operations from the higher and drier ground. 
 
 I had a book on my lap ; but I was not 
 reading. He was lying idle by my side. Daryl 
 was playing billiards at the " Black Stag," 
 and doubtless drinking whiskey-and-soda mean- 
 while. 
 
 Suddenly the light in front of us was 
 darkened, and a woman stood there upon the 
 sands close to us — a thorough-born Sibyl if 
 one ever walked the earth. 
 
 Her wily eyes were as black as was her 
 shining oily hair; her wrinkled face w^as of 
 the colour of the duskiest cocoanut ; she had 
 large gold rings — or rings that looked like 
 gold — in her ears and upon her hands. She
 
 Daryl Dm^kwoocT s Wife. 269 
 
 wore a brilliant red shawl tied around her 
 in singular fashion, since at her back it served 
 as a sort of hanging cradle for a baby as swart 
 as herself. The child was asleep. Yet the 
 woman could scarcely have been the mother 
 of it — she was too old. 
 
 '' Tell your fortune, pretty lady ? " said the 
 gipsy, in the whining, wheedling voice familiar 
 to every one. 
 
 Instantly, so to put it, the sealed book of 
 my past life was opened — fell then and there 
 apart at a well-remembered page. Involun- 
 tarily shrinking, I glanced upward at the 
 fortune-teller, and said hurriedly, — 
 
 " No, no, no ; go away, please ! " I laid an 
 entreating hand upon Mr. Eversleigh's arm. 
 " Don't let her stop — send her away ! " I 
 beo'Q-ed, in a voice which had grown nervous 
 in spite of myself. Leigh put his hand into 
 his pocket. The gipsy's eyes glittered. An 
 offensively fawning smile crept over her coffee- 
 brown face. 
 
 "You are as beautiful, lady, as the flowers 
 you favour and after which they christened 
 you in your sweet innocent babyhood," said 
 she glibly. " And as for the gallant handsome 
 gentleman by your side — ah, believe the poor
 
 2 70 
 
 Periwinkle. 
 
 gipsy when she tells ye that he'd go through 
 iire and water, my dear, to serve " 
 
 '' Make her go away, Mr. Eversleigh," I broke 
 in desperately — " please do ! " 
 
 Leigh sprang to his feet. He thrust a half- 
 crown into the Sibyl's ready claw. " Be off ! " 
 said he sternly. " We want none of your 
 gibberish here. Go, I say ! " 
 
 Smiling, leering, curtseying, as she pocketed 
 the piece of silver, for one wavering moment 
 she eyed the resolute speaker. But in him 
 she could discern no shadow of relenting — 
 nothing but a swift and an iron determina- 
 tion that would brook no thwarting when 
 once he had spoken. 
 
 " The police are not far off," calmly remarked 
 Leigh, as he settled himself leisurely by my 
 side again. 
 
 The fortune-teller kissed her brown hand to 
 us ; nodded with grinning insolence as she 
 turned away ; and then vanished, with the 
 living bundle tied to her back, into the crowd 
 w^hich covered the sands. 
 
 ''Then you don't believe in palmistry, Mrs. 
 Darkwood ? " Leigh said pleasantly, aflfecting 
 not to have noticed my loss of composure, and 
 interpreting, in his own tactful fashion, my
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife, 271 
 
 shuddering aversion to the hag and her foolish 
 trade. '*You are not a bit superstitious, I 
 perceive," Laughed he. 
 
 " Nevertheless, I was absurd enough once 
 — long ago — to have my — my fortune told," 
 I said. And then, in the next instant, I 
 wished that I had not spoken ; had not told 
 him this ; and my gaze wandered nervously 
 away from Leigh. 
 
 " And did it come true ? " he asked, in 
 an amused tone. ''Has any part of it ever 
 come true ? " 
 
 "Yes — no. I — I mean, I'm sure I forget. 
 It is all so long ago — or it seems so," I 
 answered at random, wishing more than ever 
 now that I had held my tongue. I felt in- 
 tensely vexed at my own stupidity. Yes, it 
 had happened long ago ; but, as vividly as 
 though I had heard it only on the day 
 before, could I then recall every word of the 
 strange prophecy spoken of my future by 
 old Wyse the Wanderer, in the quarry upon 
 the northern moor. *' A fair man," so the 
 Wanderer had told me, would come into my 
 life ; and here, at vulgar, matter-of-fact Than- 
 gate, was Leigh Eversleigh lounging under 
 the cliffs by my side.
 
 272 Periwinkle. 
 
 I tried to give a turn to the conversation ; 
 and directed Mr. Eversleigh's attention towards 
 an Italian organ-man who had with him a sad- 
 faced little monkey dressed in a garment of 
 faded red and green. But the cogitations of 
 my companion appeared still to be running 
 upon the dreadful gipsy and her fortune- 
 telling. 
 
 " It is really astonishing," I heard him 
 saying thoughtfully, as he picked up little 
 pebbles from the cliff's jagged base and 
 aimed them, with indifferent result, at some 
 child's forgotten sand-castle a few yards off 
 — ** what clever shots, so to speak, these 
 nomadic old prophetesses do sometimes make. 
 Of course it is only occasionally that they 
 succeed in hitting something like the truth ; 
 and of course it is nothing in the world 
 but pure chance even then — everybody knows 
 that. Still," ruminated Mr. Eversleigh aloud, 
 *4t is odd." 
 
 " You mean," I said, continuing to watch the 
 pitiful antics of the marmoset, " that horrid 
 woman's allusion with regard to my own name ? 
 It was odd, I admit. Fortune-tellers — although 
 no sane person ever puts an atom of faith in 
 their predictions — are uncanny folk, I think."
 
 Daryl DarkwoocCs Wife, 273 
 
 " I suspect, Mrs. Darkwood," observed Leigh, 
 in the same light yet preoccupied manner, " that 
 she guessed you to be a ' Violet ' or a ' Lily ' or a 
 ^ Kose ' or a ' Hyacinth,' or a something of the 
 kind equally commonplace and sentimental. I 
 fancy it would have puzzled her, her dark gifts 
 notwithstanding, to hit upon the right one — 
 would it not ? " 
 
 ''Yes, indeed ! " 
 
 " After all, though, it would have been rather 
 good fun to tackle her upon the subject," he 
 smiled. 
 
 **She never would have guessed * Peri 
 winkle,' " said I, with a rather bitter laugh. 
 
 Mr. Eversleigh bestirred himself — sat up. 
 
 '* Mrs. Darkwood, you must not think me 
 impertinent," he said more soberly ; " but do 
 you know that I should very much like to hear 
 — I have so often wondered — who it was that 
 first christened you ' Periwinkle ' ? " 
 
 " Daryl," I answered briefly. I cared not to 
 rake up the old dead trivial story of how the 
 fanciful name had in the first instance been 
 given to me. Those old past days, with their 
 gladness and their gloom, their innocence and 
 their horror, for ever were done with. Let 
 them rest in their unhallowed grave ! 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 274 Periwinkle, 
 
 Just then bare-footed Isla came trotting 
 delicately over the sands towards us, and 
 wanted her frock unpinned and her shoes 
 and stockings put on. She was tired — had 
 had enough of paddling and digging holes ; 
 and, more than anything else, she wanted 
 her dinner. She was so huugry ! 
 
 ''But gracious, darling," cried I briskly, 
 feeling almost feverishly grateful for the in- 
 terruption to our tete-a-tete, which the ap- 
 pearance of the child beside us had now 
 completely effected, " where are the cakes 
 and the chocolate-creams that Mr. Eversleigh 
 bought for you in High Street this morning ? " 
 
 " All gone," whispered Isla, hanging her 
 head. 
 
 " Thangate air ! " laughed Leigh, catching my 
 darling to him, and himself beginning to put 
 on for her Isla's stockings and shoes ; just as 
 Daryl, coming along the sands to find us, and 
 swinging his stick as he came, cried out — 
 having suddenly espied our whereabouts, — 
 
 " By Jove, I^eigh, old chap, you'll make 
 an admirable family-man by-and-by ! " 
 
 *'Do you think so?" inquired Leigh, un- 
 moved. 
 
 " ' Yes, I think so ! * " replied Daryl absurdly,
 
 Daryl DarkwoocT s Wife. 275 
 
 quoting a then favourite catch-phrase from a 
 certain popular extravaganza of the day. "But 
 I say, you two," continued my husband, with 
 his careless laugh — " such a joke ! What'ye 
 think? For the last half-hour or so I have 
 been on the pier with the Ramage gang ; 
 Marc Gaveston and that young fool Loftus 
 Tracy were there, and Binkworthy, the man- 
 ager of the Levity, who it seems has run 
 down for a few days to see how the fair 
 Aurora is getting along at the Dome. As it 
 was frightfully rough out yonder at the pier- 
 end, we took shelter in the pavilion ; where 
 the Viscount stood us ' fizz ' in the most 
 liberal manner. It is a pity that he is bent 
 upon making such a confounded ass of him- 
 self." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " inquired Leigh coolly, 
 without lifting his eyes from a tiresome job 
 touching a refractory top-button of Isla's boot. 
 Mr. Eversleigh's hands were so big, and the 
 buttons were so small, Isla seriously explained 
 to her valet de chamhre — " That's why he 
 couldn't do it." 
 
 " He swears that he'll marry the girl," 
 answered my husband, with a shrug. 
 
 "And a man like Tracy might certainly do
 
 276 Periwinkle. 
 
 worse, rejoined Leigh calmly. *' If lie is in 
 earnest, he can't do less." 
 
 '* Well, it's no affair of mine," said Daryl, 
 in his airy way. *'He may marry the old 
 mother herself if lie pleases. But I was going 
 to tell you, Mrs. Eamage gives a supper to- 
 morrow night — that is after Miss de Yere 
 has done her turn, as she calls it, at the Dome 
 — and the old lady got me aside this morning 
 and made me promise that I would bring you, 
 Flower, to the festival ; and * my friend Mr. 
 Eversleigh' as well, added the old girl. It 
 was devilish awkward, you know — she would 
 hear of no refusal. She says she must do 
 something in a small way to celebrate 'Miss 
 de Vere's engagement,' which is now, it appears, 
 an open secret. There will be only Binkworthy, 
 the Viscount, and young Gaveston as guests — 
 and ourselves, of course. Just * a nice little 
 family party,' as Mrs. Eamage says." 
 
 ''I— I don't think I'll go, Daryl, thank you," 
 I gently observed. 
 
 " Not go ! Why, pray ? " he demanded 
 brusquely. 
 
 " There is Isla, you see," I began ; *' and — 
 and — " 
 
 '' Oh, hang it all, Miss Piper can look after
 
 Daryl Darkwood's Wife. 277 
 
 the youngster, can't she ? I have promised for 
 you, Flower, and you must accompany me. I 
 don't care about going alone ; and what's more, 
 Periwinkle, I am not going alone." 
 
 I said no more. As I have before recorded 
 in this autobiography of mine, by this time I 
 thoroughly knew my lord and master. It was 
 easier to yield to him than to resist him. Ex- 
 perience had made me wise. 
 
 " You, Eversleigh, will make no fuss about it, 
 I suppose ? " said Daryl carelessly. 
 
 Leigh was half frowning, half smiling. But 
 he plainly hesitated. 
 
 " Why, man alive," cried Daryl, " who cares a 
 — a — a rag what one does here at Thangate? Any- 
 thing for a change ! Who knows ? Who cares ? 
 You are not in Belgravia. I told Mrs. Eamage 
 and the accomplished Aurora that, since I and 
 my wife would be happy to assist at her party^ 
 you sooner or later would be safe to put in 
 an appearance too. I felt quite certain, you see, 
 that they might count upon you, old man." 
 
 " Oh, all right then ! " said Leigh, getting up 
 quickly, and — having at last conquered his task 
 — gathering Isla's hand into his own. " Perhaps 
 I shall run against Mrs. Eamage between now 
 and to-morrow evening ; and then, Darkwood,
 
 278 Periwinkle, 
 
 if I should, ril thank her on my own account. 
 By-the-bye," said he, changing the subject, " I 
 got the phaeton and horses down from town this 
 morning — it's time they had a little thorough 
 exercise. What do you say" — looking from me 
 to my husband — ** to a drive to Canterbury and 
 back this afternoon ; and dinner afterwards at 
 the * Black Stag ' ? " 
 
 I smiled my gladness, my grateful assent ; 
 and Isla glanced shyly but very happily upward 
 into Leigh's fair tanned face, because a pressure 
 of the hand had assured her that she was not 
 to be left behind. 
 
 " With all the pleasure in life, old fellow," 
 Daryl answered ; with vigour smiting his friend 
 upon the shoulder — "that is, if you'll consent to 
 come up to the cliff now, and eat your luncheon 
 with us. Will you ? " 
 
 Leigh said that he would. And so, bending 
 our heads to the strong sea-wind, we all went up 
 to Miss Piper's house together. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
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