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 LIBRARY 
 
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 U N I VERSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 1870 
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 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
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 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 % ^anmna. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF " OLIVE VARCOE," "PATIENCE 
 CAERHYDON," "SIMPLE AS A DOVE/' ETC. 
 
 "The rock, the vulture, and the chain, 
 All that the proud can feel of pain." 
 
 Bteow. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 1870. 
 
 \_All Bights reserved.^
 
 LONDOK: 
 
 SAVIII,, EDWABDS AOT) CO., PEINTEBS, CHANDOS STEEBT, 
 
 COVEIfT GAEDEK.
 
 
 ■S 
 
 in 
 
 
 
 
 
 rH 
 
 
 
 
 THIS WORK 
 
 
 
 
 
 IS 
 
 f ebxtatfb 
 
 TO 
 
 V 
 
 THE 
 
 DEAR 
 
 MEMORY OF THOSE I LOVED, 
 
 A 
 
 
 
 
 WHO, 
 
 
 
 B E 
 
 NEATH THE WHEELS 
 
 
 
 
 
 OP 
 
 
 
 
 
 TIME AND SORROW, 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 
 LIE SLAIN. 
 
 
 
 
 
 4
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OW lovely Lady Crehylls looks to- 
 night V said a languid lady to her 
 ^ partner. 
 
 The gentleman raised his eye-glass^ and 
 glanced at the beautiful young mistress of Castle 
 Crehylls with a faint interest. 
 
 " Yes/-' said he^, " she is perfect ; but hers is 
 the beauty of grace, of elegance, of refinement — 
 the beauty which grows naturally in a soil of 
 wealth and happiness. Take these from her, 
 and her face would lose its look of innocent joy, 
 its childish roundness, its serene trustfulness, if 
 I may so express myself, and I think it would 
 soon grow careworn and prematurely old.''^ 
 
 '' Mr. Pellew, what strange ideas you have V 
 cried the lady. " Hom^ can you suppose it pos- 
 sible, that Lady Crehylls will ever be touched by 
 trouble — at least not for years to come — till 
 perhaps in old age death may separate her from 
 her husband, or her children ?" 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " I have strange ideas at tiraes/^ said Mr. 
 Pellew; " and often, when I look at a face, I see, 
 not its present soft outlines, but the shape it 
 will wear at a harsher time, when sorrow and 
 care have set their marks upon it." 
 
 '^ Sorrow and care, coupled with Lady Cre- 
 hylls's name, seem to me utterly out of place," 
 returned the lady. ^^ Do you know she is my 
 pet model of happiness ? — young, beautiful, and 
 good, adored by her husband, idolized by her 
 father, loved by her friends, and possessing, with 
 all these gifts, the rank, position, and honour 
 which so many court. Where, again, can you 
 find a woman whose surroundings, and qualities 
 combine so many blessings ?" 
 
 " Nowhere within the circle of my know- 
 ledge," replied Mr. Pellew. '' Hence I grant 
 her all this, and more, because she has also a 
 most gentle nature. I take nothing from her 
 prosperity or her happiness : I was speaking only 
 of her beauty ; I said it would not bear sorrow. 
 I fear you ladies w-ander very much from the 
 point." 
 
 '' Sorrow !" cried Mrs. Gilbert, ignoring this 
 last sentence ; " and wherefore should she have 
 sorrow^ ? Why, Castle Crchylls in itself is 
 enough to make any moderate woman happy. 
 And think of all she has else ! Look at that 
 smiling, glorious boy, who has been handed round 
 to all loncrinjr arms this night for kisses and ca-
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 3 
 
 resses ! And then there is Lord Crehylls — what a 
 finC;, handsome fellow he is ! Why^ every girl in 
 the county envied Miss Lanyon when she married 
 him. I tell you^ Mr. Pellew, you must not put 
 a single shadow in Lady Crehylls's lot^ when you 
 speak of her to a woman.''-' 
 
 '' I will never do it when I speak of her to a 
 man/^ said Mr. Pellew^ smiling, " unless I wish 
 to make a thousand enemies^ for she is to most 
 men the ideal and perfection of loveliness.^^ 
 
 " And not to you '^'' asked !Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 " No, not to me/'' he replied. 
 
 '^ Then I should like to see your ideal/^ said 
 the lady ; " for you must be fastidious indeed.'''' 
 
 At this moment a young and beautiful girl, 
 seated alone in a recess formed by a bay window, 
 rose abruptly, and crossed the room towards a 
 doorway, where stood a white-haired old gentleman, 
 with a pale and careworn face ; and as the girl 
 laid her hand on this gentleman^s arm, and he 
 started, and turned towards her with an inde- 
 scribable, and sudden change in his whole aspect, 
 Mr. Pellew, who had followed her with his eyes, 
 said quietly to his companion, '^ There stands a 
 lady, whose beauty will bear both time and 
 sorrow. I could not allude to her before, 
 because she sat too near us.^^ 
 
 " Miss Sylvester V' exclaimed Mrs. Gilbert, in 
 a disappointed voice. '' Do you think her so 
 very beautiful ?" 
 
 \ \—i
 
 4 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " Yes^ according to my idea of beauty/^ he 
 replied ; " because hers is a face of power, 
 of intellect, of will ; and moreover, it is a 
 face capable of intense expression. As a tragic 
 actress she would be superb. Look now at the 
 grace of her figure — it is the perfection of 
 artistic beaut y.^^ 
 
 '^ But her face is a little hard,^^ said Mrs. 
 Gilbert. 
 
 " It is hard only as an Egyptian statue is 
 hard,'"' said Mr. Pellew — '' that is, not given to 
 change ; and I acknowledge there is something 
 Egyptian altogether in her aspect ; and, like 
 Cleopatra, she will be as beautiful at forty as she 
 is now at eighteen.'''' 
 
 " HoAV can you possibly tell that V asked 
 Mrs. Gilbert, incredulously. 
 
 " From the magnificence of her figure, and 
 the passionless calm of her face,^^ was the reply. 
 
 " The first indicates a health perfect and last- 
 ing ; the second betrays an extraordinary power 
 of self-control. She will not tear her face to 
 pieces with passion or with petty cares, as weaker 
 women do. The waves of grief will beat against 
 her health, her symmetry, her beauty, as against 
 a rock ; and Time's touch on her will be imper- 
 ceptible, as on the Sphinx.^' 
 
 Mr. Pellew finished this sentence thoughtfully, 
 and with his eyes fixed on the beautiful figure 
 still standing opposite, set as in a frame bv the
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 5 
 
 Gothic doorway. Either he did not reflect how 
 openly he was betraying his admiration of 
 Miss Sylvester^, or else he did not heed who 
 knew it. 
 
 '^ You have certainly studied this young lady 
 with great care/'' said Mrs. Gilbert, in a banter- 
 ing tone. 
 
 ^' And without reading her/^ returned Maurice 
 Pellew, with a certain sadness in his voice. "I have 
 said there is something Egyptian in her aspect ; 
 but there is still a darker shadow of Egypt on 
 her soul — that solemn, mysterious, ancient Egypt 
 which is dead and yet alive. This, to my fancy, 
 is the symbol of Miss Sylvester^s spirit. She is 
 fateful, sombre, unchangeable, and in some 
 phases harsh and mysterious, as those silent and 
 mighty ruins, which lie upon the Nile.^^ 
 
 "Am I speaking to a poct?^' said Mrs. 
 Gilbert, with a little of that jealousy, which every 
 woman feels on seeing another woman absorb the 
 thoughts of a clever man.''^ 
 
 " At twenty-four,^^ replied Maurice Pellew, 
 "if a man is not a poet, at least at heart, he 
 must be a worthless fellow indeed ; and in all 
 my thoughts of woman, I mean to be a poet to 
 my lifers end.^^ 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert smiled, appeased. 
 
 " After saying that you may praise !Miss Syl- 
 vester as much as you will,^^ she said ; " although 
 I confess myself that I don^t like her.^^
 
 6 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 *' Massive minds have great shadows/' returned 
 Maurice ; '' and evidently you are not fond of 
 shadow. NoWj in spite of ruggedness and shade, 
 the sombre and the mighty please me. I detest 
 pettiness of all kinds, even down to petty sins. 
 If a woman wishes to be wicked let her be 
 grandly wicked ; then one forgives her.'' 
 
 " Take care/' cried Mrs. Gilbert, tapping him 
 with her fan ; " you are approaching dangerous 
 ground. Should wickedness and Miss Sylvester 
 be spoken of in the same breath ? As a German 
 might say, your words project on my mind the 
 image of a woman, clothed in regal purple, deal- 
 ing out death and cruelties with an unfaltering 
 hand." 
 
 '^ But deeming it justice," said Maurice Pellew, 
 quickly. Then he paused, and for a moment a 
 deep gloom spread itself over his handsome 
 face. 
 
 " Justice !" repeated Mrs. Gilbert. " Tyranny, 
 cruelty, and revenge ever take that name. Kings 
 and priests have slain and burned, always ^nth 
 the cry of justice." 
 
 " You have taken the words from my lips," 
 said Maurice, sadly. ^' I was thinking how pos- 
 sible it was, for a noble mind to be overthrown 
 by a false idea of justice. I was remembering, 
 in the history of the world, how the emblems of 
 human justice have ever been the faggot, the axe> 
 and the halter."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 7 
 
 " And thought of all these ap7^opos to Miss 
 Sylvester ?" asked Mrs. Gilbert^ curiously. 
 
 Maurice Pellew laughed faintly _, as he re- 
 plied, " How is it_, Mrs. Gilbert, that I always 
 find myself talking confidentially to you ? I 
 think you married ladies gain more of a young 
 man''s thoughts in half an hour, than he would 
 tell to his male friends in a month. And to 
 prove this, I will explain why my thoughts were 
 apropos to Miss Sylvester. I am studying for 
 the bar, you know, and Miss Sylvester, being 
 aware of this, often converses with me on juris- 
 prudence. Thus I have discovered that her idea 
 of justice has the grand equity of the heathen 
 poet, or the Jewish lawgiver — ' An eye for an 
 eye, and a tooth for a tooth.^ Stripe for stripe 
 is her code. In short. Justice is to her a Nemesis 
 who pursues, overtakes, and avenges/^ 
 
 '^ I am inclined to think she is right there,^' 
 replied Mrs. Gilbert. 
 
 ^' Poetically, even justly speaking, she is so,^^ 
 said Maurice, uneasily. " But you would not 
 have a woman take pleasure in that kind of 
 justice ?" 
 
 " You mean you would look for the softer 
 qualities of mercy, and pity in a woman^s lieart,"^ 
 said Mrs. Gilbert. " Well, if you have not found 
 these in your ideal, I am really sorry for your 
 misplaced admiration. Now I observe her again, 
 I perceive she has not an amiable cxpression.^^
 
 8 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 For a moment Mr. Pellew coloured, then he 
 laughed. 
 
 " You mean/' said he, " that Miss Sylvester 
 has not the usual simpering young lady look, 
 and she is not very ready with her smiles. Fancy 
 an Egyptian statue smiling V 
 
 " Ah, I see nothing "vvill chill your admiration/' 
 said the lady. " By the bye, who is Miss Syl- 
 vester ? I have never seen her at Crehylls 
 before/' 
 
 " She is the adopted daughter of ^Ir. Lanyon/' 
 returned Maurice. '^ She resides with him at his 
 seat, Penkivel. She does not come often to 
 Crehylls. I fancy she dislikes the place/' he 
 added, thoughtfully. 
 
 " An adopted daughter V' repeated Mrs. 
 Gilbert. " The expression is delightfully vague ; 
 it really tells one nothing." 
 
 " I believe she is, in fact, a distant relative of 
 the Lanyons/'' continued Mr. Pellew, a little 
 coldly. '' At all events, Mr. Lanyon is her 
 guardian, and she has been under his care since 
 her early childhood." 
 
 " Oh, then you know all about her," responded 
 Mrs. Gilbert. "Now I can't imagine myself 
 how she can be a relative ; for, as an old Cornish 
 family, the Lanyon pedigree is pretty well known 
 in all its branches ; and it is hard to fix upon 
 Miss Sylvester's place on the family tree." 
 
 " Perhaps she has no place on it, Mrs. Gilbert/'
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 9 
 
 said Mr. Pellew. " She may be only the orphan 
 daughter of a friend.^^ 
 
 " Oh, I thought you knew/^ observed the lady, 
 carelessly. 
 
 Her tone provoked Maurice Pellew ; and long 
 as he had known Mrs. Gilbert^ and old fricud as 
 he counted her_, he yet felt inclined to resent it. 
 
 '' I have never inquired very particularly 
 into Miss Sylvester's pedigree/^ he observed, 
 coldly ; " but to oblige you, Mrs. Gilbert, I will 
 certainly get well posted up in the matter of her 
 genealogy, by the next time we meet. There is 
 not the slightest mystery, I can assure you, in 
 Mr. Lanyon's way of speaking of his ward.''' 
 
 Mrs. Gilbert coloured slightly, then laid her 
 hand kindly on the young man''s arm. 
 
 ** Old friendship has its privileges," she said, 
 ^' and I use mine to tell you that I hate mysteries. 
 If I was mistaken, and there is none, I am 
 glad. I suppose people know so little of this 
 young lady, because she was educated abroad.'' 
 
 '^ She has only been abroad during the last 
 three years, by her own wish, to study music," 
 returned Maurice. " Have you heard her sing ?" 
 
 " No," answered Mrs. Gilbert ; ^'and I am not 
 fond of Italian music." 
 
 Evidently she w^as determined not to sympa- 
 thize in any way, with his admiration for ]Miss 
 Sylvester, and the young man continued the 
 conversation in a tone of deeper pique.
 
 10 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " With Miss Sylvester's voice and genius^ all 
 music is beautiful/'' said he, '^ no matter of what 
 country. And you arc in error to suppose she 
 has had a foreign education. She was brought 
 up by a lady who resided near London, and Mr. 
 Lanyon, as I well know, travelled thither every 
 year to see her." 
 
 " Indeed V said Mrs. Gilbert, in a voice from 
 which she studiously extracted every expression 
 of interest. "Don^t you think Mr. Lanyon is 
 looking very ill to-night l!" 
 
 This last question was spoken kindly, and with 
 a marked difference of accent. Her young friend 
 bit his lip but made no reply. 
 
 " He ages fast,''"' resumed the lady, " and yet, 
 you know, he is not an old man." 
 
 "I suppose he is sixty," said Maurice. ^' I never 
 saw so worn a face. I was thinking of him, when 
 I said Lady Crehylls^s beauty would not bear grief. 
 You acknowledge she is very like her father ?" 
 
 " A mere family likeness," replied Mrs. Gilbert, 
 unwillingly. " I can never fancy her fair face 
 worn into lines like his. And why he should 
 look so careworn is a mystery ; for excepting the 
 loss of his wife, sorrow has never touched him, — 
 his whole life has been full of ease, comfort, and 
 honour." 
 
 '' Perfectly true," said Maurice ; " yet you see 
 the mere wear and tear of life has racked his face 
 terribly."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. * 11 
 
 " By Jove, you are right, young sir V observed 
 a jolly old gentleroan, Avbo had hobbled into the 
 recess near them a moment or two before; " but 
 it is entirely Lanyon^s own faiilt. He has made 
 himself an old man by his sedentary habits. 
 Why has he given up hunting ? Why did he 
 resign his commission as justice of the peace ? 
 There wasn^t a more active magistrate on the 
 bench, sir, than he was. I remember the time 
 when he was the hardest fellow amongst us 
 against poachers and smugglers, and all sorts of 
 scamps. Now that rascal Polgrain — and there 
 isn^t a greater smuggler going — may run a 
 cargo under his very window, and he never says 
 a word. Bless me, how he is changed ! Why, 
 my dear Mrs. Gilbert, you must surely recollect 
 that singular and dreadful murder, which he 
 hunted out, and sifted to the bottom with such 
 skill and celerity, that the guilty man was taken, 
 tried, and condemned in about three weeks.'''' 
 
 " I recollect very little about it,^^ replied 
 Mrs. Gilbert, who still thought herself a belle ; 
 ^' I was such a mere child at the time." 
 
 "Ah," continued the old gentleman, gazing 
 into her countenance with a look which took in 
 her age to a month or two, " I should have 
 thought you would have remembered it pretty 
 well ; the affair made such a fuss at the time." 
 
 " What were the circumstances ?" asked 
 Maurice. " I never heard them.^'
 
 12 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " I daresay not/^ replied the gentleman. 
 '' You must have been a boy ; and perhaps the 
 Cornish news scarcely travelled as far as your 
 place. Well^ it was a singular murder, and Mr. 
 Lanyon was very active in searching it out. It 
 happened just before the sessions, and some 
 thought the trial could not come off then for want 
 of sufficient evidence ; but through Mr. Lanyon''s 
 zeal and ability, the prisoner's guilt was proved, 
 and Mr. Lanyon was thanked by the Bench for 
 the great pains he had taken to sift out the 
 truth. Yet (will you believe it?) from that time 
 he takes a disgust to his duties, and never acts 
 as a magistrate again. We missed him, I assure 
 you ; for in those days some amongst us were 
 hardly as wise as their wigs.'"' 
 
 The old gentleman laughed, and hobbled 
 away again; but Maurice Pellew, who hardly 
 cared to talk longer to Mrs. Gilbert, if she would 
 not listen to his praise of Miss Sylvester, 
 followed him, and took a seat by his side. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Pydar,'' he said ; " I am a 
 stranger in this crowd, and therefore feel as 
 though I had a right to bore the few people I 
 know. This is my first visit to Castle Crehylls. 
 What a noble pile it is V 
 
 " Ah, it is Avorth looking at,'' replied the old 
 justice. '' Little boy Crehylls is born with a 
 golden spoon in his mouth, isn't he ? He'll 
 have this place and Penkivel too. That is what
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. IS 
 
 puts all the women into ecstasies. Bless you ! 
 it dazzles ''em when they see a child whose cap 
 might be a coronet, and who has parks and castles 
 tacked on to his short frocks.^^ 
 
 " True/' observed Maurice Pellew, smiling ; 
 '' but I think there is a little sentiment also in 
 their admiration of this lucky youngster. Lord 
 and Lady Crehylls are a very handsome and 
 attached couple, and so popular in their county 
 that every heart is touched by their joy.''^ 
 
 " Well, yeS; one likes these old families to have 
 a direct heir/^ remarked Mr. Pydar ; " and the 
 brother, young Mr. Crehylls, Avould be but a poor 
 representative of his race. Do you know him ?" 
 
 " Only slightly,^" replied Maurice ; ^' but Lord 
 and Lady Crehylls I have met often at Penkivel, 
 where I have visited for some years. ^' 
 
 " Then you knew her when she was Miss- 
 Lanyou, I suppose ?^^ said Mr. Pydar. 
 
 '' Yes," replied Maurice ; ^^ but I was ac- 
 quainted with her father long before I had the 
 pleasure of being introduced to his daughter. 
 He used to come up to London every year to 
 see his Avard, Miss Sylvester, and she, being at 
 the same school with my sisters, was often invited 
 by them to our town house. He called one day 
 to thank us for this, and that is how my acquain- 
 tance with Islv. Lanyon began. ''^ 
 
 " So you have known Miss Sylvester from a 
 child V exclaimed Mr. Pydar, with some
 
 14 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 curiosity. " The old gentleman is mighty close 
 about that ward of his. HadnH she a father or 
 mother;, or any one belonging to her then?"" 
 
 " She was quite alone, as she is now/"* replied 
 Maurice. " She had but her guardian, Mr. 
 Lanyon.''^ 
 
 " And who was her father ?" asked the old 
 justice, in a confidential whisper. 
 
 " An Indian officer, I believe/"' returned the 
 young man, drawing slightly back from his 
 questioner. ^' But to let you into a secret, no 
 one ever mentions him to his daughter, because 
 the manner of his death was so distressing. He 
 failed in some dangerous expedition on which he 
 was sent, and he took this so much to heart, 
 that he shot himself. [Mind, I never heard this 
 from Mr. Lanyon, so I cannot vouch for its 
 truth. I had it from my sisters, who learned it 
 from the lady at whose school Miss Sylvester 
 was educated. ^^ 
 
 "Ah, that accounts for the little air of mystery 
 there is around the young lady,^' said Justice 
 Pydar, in a satisfied tone. " Poor girl ! I am 
 sorry for her ; that may do her some harm now 
 in her chance of matrimony. Many men would 
 object to the daughter of a man, who died by his 
 own hand. You see it might be insanity."'^ 
 
 " Or it might be only distress of mind,'''' said 
 Maurice, who had raked up this old story of 
 Miss Sylvester's school-days, out of sheer vexation
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 15 
 
 at the tone in which^ for the second time this 
 evening, her name had been mentioned to him. 
 He knew the old justice would repeat it, but he 
 thought that even a gloomy report of this kind 
 would be better for the girl, than the vague 
 shadow now lying over her. 
 
 " You were speaking just now/^ he continued, 
 " of Mr. Lanyon^s retirement from all public 
 duties, and his lonely life at Penkivel. May not 
 the sad death of his friend have had something 
 to do with this V 
 
 " It may, sir,''"' replied the old justice, in whose 
 brain a new idea was slow to take root ; '^ but I 
 always set it down to — to that affair of the 
 murder.''^ 
 
 ^' How could that possibly affect Mr. Lanyon V 
 asked Maurice, in surprise. 
 
 Old Mr. Pydar gazed up at the magnificent 
 ceiling of the library, then out at the wide 
 doors to the reception-room beyond, where the 
 dazzling company flitted to and fro, and finally 
 he brought his eyes upon his own gouty foot. 
 
 " Upon my word I don't know that I can 
 tell you the story herc,"*^ he said ; " it seems 
 scarcely fair to rake up the past beneath a man^s 
 own roof." 
 
 " Do you mean to say," asked Maurice, with 
 increased astonishment, '^'that Lord Crehylls '^ 
 
 '^ Hush I"*' interrupted the old gentleman, 
 anxiously. " I don^t of course mean to say that
 
 16 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Lord Crehylls was in any "vvay accountable for 
 the guilt of the wretched man, who perished 
 justly for his crime, but it is certain that he 
 committed it in a frenzy of jealousy, and the 
 common talk was, that it was a mercy Lord 
 Crehylls had escaped the same fate, for he was 
 as jealous of him as of the man he slew/'' 
 
 Maurice Pellew bent forward eagerly to ask 
 for fuller details of a story, which interested him 
 more than the old justice could imagine ; but 
 Lady Crehylls at that moment disengaged her- 
 self from a group standing beyond the doorway, 
 and came towards him. 
 
 ^' Mr. Pellew,'"' she said, " I have been look- 
 ing for you everywhere, and at last Madeline 
 told me you were here. Do you mean to 
 desert the ball-room entirely?^' 
 
 " Not if Lady Crehylls will favour me with 
 a dance,^^ returned the young man, rising and 
 oflPering her his arm. 
 
 " I am afraid that I have promised more 
 dances already, than I shall be able to accom- 
 plish,^'' she replied ; " but I will carry you off a 
 captive notwithstanding. Mr. Pydar, I call you 
 to account for keeping a good dancer so long in- 
 active. ''' 
 
 " Upon my word, it is not my fault," said the old 
 gentleman. " Young men now-a-days are not 
 what they were in my time." He kissed his hand 
 gallantly in response to Lady Crehylls's smile.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 17 
 
 •saying to himself, as she and Maurice departed, 
 " Well^ she certainly is the loveliest woman I 
 ever saw, except Mrs. Sherborne — yes, excepting 
 her always. I am glad she carried off that 
 young fellow: I really didn^t want to rake up 
 that old story again. ^'' 
 
 TOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 T was the morning after the grand ball 
 at Castle Crchylls. All in the house 
 slept late except Madeline Sylvester; 
 and she, with silent, but firm step, came down 
 the great staircase ere yet a servant had stirred. 
 Undoing the bolt of a glass door leading into a 
 conservatory, she walked through it amongst the 
 flowers without casting a glance upon their 
 loveliness, and thence she stepped out upon the 
 lawn. Here she turned suddenly, and with folded 
 arms stood looking upon the stately pile, which 
 rose before her grand and massive, and glowing in 
 the morning sun. It was with no painter's eye she 
 scanned the noble building, it was scarcely even 
 with a womanly glance that her eyes, in deep and 
 earnest gaze, fixed themselves on the silent and 
 sleeping mansion. As she turned away at last, 
 a long-drawn sigh fell from her lips. 
 
 " A noble place,'-* she said, half audibly — 
 "worthy of a noble line. If honour and truth 
 had no other refuge upon earth, surely they 
 would find their home beneath a roof like this.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 19 
 
 How easy for the noble^ the wealthy, the 
 honoured to keep free from crime ! Easy, do I 
 say ? Ah_, rather let me cry, how impossible it is, 
 that the temptations which seize the outcast, 
 should ever touch their careless tranquillity with 
 a guilty shadow ! But human justice never 
 heeds this difference ; it punishes the sin, and 
 counts not the strength of the temptation. Now, 
 if a man in ease of life, dreaming away his days 
 in the silken rest of rank and riches, were sud- 
 denly to lift his hand against another, the blind 
 law would reckon his guilt no greater than that 
 of the poor shivering wretch, whom gaunt famine 
 and hard despair had driven into crime. The 
 sentence, perhaps,, in either case would be the 
 same. That is injustice — rank injustice ! But the 
 suffering '^ — here the girl stopped, and turned her 
 eyes again upon the glistening castle — " ah, the 
 suffering — supposing the owner of such a pile as 
 that could be guilty of a poor man-'s sins — would, 
 I grant, be ten times greater — as much greater 
 as the guilt would be. And so nature would 
 mend the law, and make the sentence equal.^' 
 
 She walked on quickly after saying this, with 
 her eyes upon the ground, and a certain trem- 
 bling on her lip, which in a weaker woman might 
 soon have turned to tears; but she shook the 
 weakness off with a slight shiver only, as she 
 drew her cloak around her, saying firmly as she 
 went on^ " I do not complain — I have no right 
 
 2—2
 
 20 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 to murmur. It is just that I should suffer. 
 Every man knows that his deeds live after him 
 in the happiness or the misery of his children ; and 
 this knowledge did not hold back my father's 
 hand. AVell, then, -'tis he has shaped my life, 
 and put this horror in my blood ; and I must 
 bear it as I can. I must walk beneath the cloud 
 and the shadow of his guilt all my life long. 
 He had no mercy on me ; no thought of his in- 
 nocent child stayed his reckless hand. Then 
 why should the world pity me ? Pity ! ah no, I 
 will never ask it for pity.'^ 
 
 Faster still she hurried on now, never lifting 
 her eyes from off the ground to note the flushed 
 and rosy sky, never heeding the long dewy lights 
 upon the grass, which quivering met her feet, as 
 she passed on sombrely beneath the shadow of 
 stately trees. Thus she crossed the park, re- 
 gardless of all its beauty, only staying once when 
 a browsing herd of deer, startled by her pre- 
 sence, dashed by with a sudden rush, turning 
 their brown eyes meekly on her as they passed. 
 
 " Poor frightened things,"*' she said, " they little 
 know how much happier they are than the mise- 
 rable, helpless creature whom thcj^ fear V 
 
 She leant against a chestnut tree as they went 
 by, and she stood here a minute listlessly, with 
 the shadows of the broad leaves falling darkly on 
 her beautiful pale face. These, or the gloom of 
 her own thoughts, made her shiver, and stepping
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 21 
 
 out from the shade of the great tree, she walked 
 on in a blaze of sunshine, with a lark high above 
 her head singing a sweet shrill song, which fell 
 down upon her ears in dewy music, fresh and 
 clear as the morning light. Up, up into the 
 bright blue soared the tiny bird, bearing with 
 him a long stream of melody rippling with a 
 thousand notes of joy, which stirred the air with 
 expectant gladness as they quivered downwards 
 from the azm'e sky. And beneath the music, 
 and in the sunshine, proud, bitter and joyless, 
 Madeline Sylvester walked onwards to one terri- 
 ble spot, which she had heard of but not seen, 
 and which her resolute soul had determined her 
 eyes should behold for themselves, and not through 
 the report of another. 
 
 •5f -X- ijc -X- 
 
 In the great wood of Crehylls, almost three 
 miles from the Castle, there ran brawling a nar- 
 row and shallow stream, strewn with rocks ; its 
 banks were high and irregular, parts being wooded 
 to the very edge, while, in other places, its pre- 
 cipitous sides were bare and rugged, standing up 
 like miniature cliffs, clothed only with scanty 
 hazel buslies, or here and there a gay tuft of 
 heath. But at one spot, where a sudden bend 
 brought the stream into a wider channel, there 
 was a singular rent in the rocks or wall hemming 
 it in ; the clifts here seemed split in twain, clear- 
 ing a path, as it were, for the wayfarer to a ford,
 
 'ZZ BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 across which ran a succession of flattened rocks 
 like stepping-stones. On the opposite side, a 
 similar opening in the rocks led the wanderer up 
 a rugged path, into the footway, which wound 
 through the wood, towards the sea, whose waves, 
 to a listening ear, joined like a distant murmur 
 with the sighing of leaf and branch. 
 
 In all the wood there was scarcely a more 
 secluded, or more beautiful spot than this little 
 ford ; and yet, as Madeline approached it through 
 the steep and lonely path, her heart beat 
 violently, and her whole frame trembled. She 
 was on the left bank, but the current drifted 
 towards the right, and there was always a per- 
 ceptible difference between the two shores; 
 notably so here at the ford, where the path 
 descended on the left through a dense wood, 
 while on the opposite side lay a kind of reach 
 bordered by a sloping bank of soft turf. On 
 this there was cut neatly a long cross, which, 
 leaving exposed the white rock beneath, glistened 
 painfully on the eye as the sun struck it. 
 
 Seeing this glittering through the leaves, as 
 she drew near, Madeline stopped suddenly, and 
 covered her face with her hands. She did not 
 weep or cry, yet her whole aspect was one of 
 drear and dreadful grief, and when at last her 
 hands drooped down by her side in an attitude 
 of despair, her face and lips were colourless. 
 Still, between the leafy screen, the cross gleamed
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 23 
 
 and glared upon lier eyesight, while the rippling 
 sound of the little waves npon the beach_, and 
 the rustle of innumerable leaves,, alone broke 
 the stillness, save when some huge roller rushed 
 with mighty roar upon the distant cliff, and 
 mingled its hoarse murmur with these softer 
 sounds. This lone cry of the ocean, terrible in 
 its suggestiveness of strength and woe, seemed 
 to Madeline like the wail of her own soul, as, 
 pent up in silence, it swelled beneath its storm 
 of grief. And thus the great, drear roar of the 
 sullen sea soothed her ; and with that strange, 
 immovable calm, which Maurice Pellew had 
 called Egyptian, set again upon her face like a 
 steadfast mask, she walked firmly on to the edge 
 of the shining water; but ere her foot had 
 touched the first stepping-stone, a voice accosted 
 her, and, looking up, she saw Maurice Pellew. 
 
 " It needed but this,^^ murmured Madeline to 
 herself, bitterly, " that I should find him here. 
 Well, I can bear this too, and yet live.^^ 
 
 ^'^This is indeed an unexpected pleasure," 
 cried Maurice, as, descending the bank hastily, 
 he ran forward, and held out his hand to assist 
 Madeline in crossing the brook ; but, not heed- 
 ing his proffered aid, slie stepped lightly over 
 the rocks, and stood in a moment by his side. 
 Then she gave him her hand, greeting him with 
 a calm and grave courtesy more befitting a 
 matron than a girl. Yet her heart stood still as
 
 24 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 the clasp of his warm fingers thrilled her veins, and 
 she resisted with iron force a passionate desire to 
 cry aloud in his ears all her anguish and pain. 
 
 " You startled me a little, Mr. Pellew/' she 
 said, quietly. '^ I thought I was the only one 
 at the Castle, whom the bright morning had 
 tempted out so early.^^ 
 
 " To tell the truth, I have not slept at all,'' 
 said Maurice. '' As I watched the carriages 
 drive away, I saw the sun rise gloriously, and 
 felt far more inclined for a stroll than for 
 slumber. So I came on here" 
 
 "And why here?'' asked Madeline, lifting her eyes 
 slowly from the ground, and fixing them on his face. 
 
 " I ask the same question," said Maurice, 
 laughing. "Why has Miss Sylvester chosen, 
 this solitary walk ?" 
 
 A strange look sprang into Madeline's grey 
 eyes, and a rush of colour mounted to her brow, 
 leaving her like marble as it faded. 
 
 " I suppose it was chance brought me here," 
 she replied, coldly, turning from him. 
 
 The young man misinterpreted instantly her 
 emotion, and her displeasure. 
 
 " Surely, Miss Sylvester," he cried, eagerly^ 
 " you cannot think I am such a coxcomb as to 
 
 "That I followed your steps, knowing you 
 to be here?" interrupted Madeline, with the 
 utmost composure. " No, indeed, Mr. Pellew >
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 2a- 
 
 I do more justice to your understanding than to 
 look on you in tlie light of a coxcomb. Good-bye, 
 — I am going on to the sea/^ 
 
 " Then you will let me walk with you ?^' he 
 exclaimed. " I was thinking of going to the 
 cliffs myself. After a night of dancing, and 
 dance music, a sight of the sea will be more 
 calming than sleep.^^ 
 
 Madeline looked wistfully down the brook, 
 and over the soft green bank, with a slight 
 shudder creeping over her frame. 
 
 '^ Yes,^"* she said, dreamily, " the might and 
 immensity of the sea soothe a vexed spirit 
 strangely. Before such overpowering strength 
 it is so useless to chafe ; it is only weakness, 
 Mr. Pellew, that frets at fate.'' 
 
 " But your fate is so bright. Miss Sylvester,'' 
 said Maurice, " that I wonder at your gloomy 
 thoughts this morning." 
 
 " This is such a wdld, gloomy place," she 
 replied — "it depresses me." 
 
 " Yes, it is strangely lonely and sad," he said ;. 
 " and doubtless it is the scene of some wild and 
 dreadful deed, or it would not be marked with 
 this cross. What terrible legend does it com- 
 memorate ? — can you tell me, INIiss Sylvester ?" 
 
 " Can I tell you ? — I ?" she reiterated, wildly,, 
 and her face grew grey and haggard as if witli 
 sudden pain. Then her manner changed abruptly, 
 and laying her hand lightly on the bark of the
 
 26 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 stout oak^. beneath whose shade she stood_, she 
 laughed musically, saying, " Ask this ancient 
 tree, Mr. Pellew — doubtless he saw the deed 
 done — whether it was good or evil; but as for 
 me, I am not rooted in this soil — I am a stranger 
 here; and if there be some black and evil tale 
 connected with this spot, you cannot hear it 
 from my lips.^^ 
 
 The grey shadow was on her face again as 
 she finished, and Maurice Pellew, gazing at her 
 curiously, wondered, with a pang of jealousy, 
 whether her strange mood was caused by love for 
 some unknown rival, whom he had never seen. 
 
 '' I am a stranger, too, you know,^^ said 
 Maurice ; " and since we have explored this 
 place together, I will give you the benefit of its 
 history when I hear it. I dare say Lord 
 Crehylls can tell it me.^"* 
 
 "I have no doubt he can/^ said Madeline, 
 stooping to gather a tuft of moss. But scarcely 
 had she lifted it in her white fingers, ere, with 
 an indescribable action of loathing, she flung it 
 away. " Ah,^' she cried, hurried!}^, " how could 
 I touch it V 
 
 Evidently she liad but culled the moss to hide 
 her face from Maurice PcIIcav, while at the same 
 instant some sudden horror made her cast it down. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked, coming 
 towards her in alarm. 
 
 " Nothing,^^ she answered, meeting his gaze
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 27 
 
 with, sad eyes ; " only I have a fancy this is 
 unholy ground^ and I am sorry my hand has 
 touched it. See_, I have stained it with this red 
 earth V' she added^ looking down upon the tiny 
 spot left by the root of moss^ with a gradual 
 paleness growing over her cheeks. 
 
 " Are you so superstitious ?'' asked Maurice, 
 laughing. " Wash your hand, then, in the 
 stream ; the water is beautifully clear and pure.^^ 
 
 '^ No, it is stained with blood/^ said Madeline, 
 gloomily. 
 
 Wiping her hand with her handkerchief, she 
 dropped it in the brook, and watched it float 
 away, while Maurice regarded her with some 
 curiosity. 
 
 " How well you said those tragic words !" he 
 cried. " For a moment I felt as if they were 
 really true. Shall I plunge into the stream for 
 your handkerchief? — or did you droj) it 
 wilfully?'^ 
 
 " Let us go on to the sea,^^ said Madeline, 
 without answering his question. ^' I long to get 
 out of this gloomy wood.^^ 
 
 Following the footpath, and walking briskly, 
 they soon emerged upon an open down, where 
 the sea-breeze met them freshly. 
 
 Just at the edge of the wood stood a small 
 thatched cottage ; beyond it, and at a considerable 
 distance, lay a pile of loose gi-anitc, or moor 
 ■stones, as they are commonly called. Madeline's
 
 28 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 gaze fell on those objects iu a curious^ -wistful 
 way. 
 
 " An old shaft lies up there among those granite 
 rocks/^ she said. " Do you think, Mr. Pellew^ 
 that a thatcher at work on that cottage roof 
 could see it distinctly?^'' 
 
 " What a curious question V' said Maurice. 
 " Firstly^ how do you know there is a shaft 
 there ?^^^ 
 
 Madeline looked at him with a quick, uneasy 
 glance ; then her eyes fell, and her lips quivered. 
 
 " I have heard Mr. Lanyon speak of it/^ she 
 replied. '^ The granite is piled round the shaft 
 as a guard ; else it would be easy enough to step 
 into it.'' 
 
 '' In that case/' returned Maurice, '^ I have 
 no doubt the place is perfectly visible from the 
 roof of the cottage ; but I don't perceive why 
 you are curious on the subject. If you wish to- 
 see the shaft, we can go up to the rocks and 
 look down its black depths.'^ 
 
 '^ No, thank you," said Madeline, abruptly. 
 
 "Walking on hurriedly, she kept strangely 
 silent, till, on mounting a long slope, a glorious 
 view of the sea burst upon them suddenly ; 
 then, with an exclamation of delight, she stot^d 
 still gazing on the scene, while a flush of un- 
 wonted joy lit up her face with a radiant beauty. 
 
 With his eyes fixed on her with a moiu-nful 
 and reluctant admiration, Maurice felt sorrow-
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 29 
 
 fully, that Madeline was the sole woman in the 
 world for whose love he could ever care, and 
 without her his life Avould be empty, dreary, 
 and hard. 
 
 " How absorbed and happy you look V he 
 ventured to say_, softly. 
 
 Recalled to herself by his words, Madeline 
 started, and the flush of joy died away from her 
 face. 
 
 " Oh yes, for a moment I had forgotten 
 myself,^^ she said, wearily. " I do not wonder 
 that the sick and sorrowful, come to the sea to 
 lay down their burden for a while.''^ 
 
 " But you,''"' returned Maurice, '^ so young, so 
 beautiful, what have you to do with sickness and 
 sorrow T' 
 
 " I am an orphan,-*' she answered ; " and care, 
 and trouble, and the workVs cruelty, fall heavily 
 on the friendless.^'' 
 
 " But Mr. Lanyon is better to you than a father ; 
 and there are others,^'' said Maurice, eagerly, 
 '^ who yearn to give you a life-long devotion.^' 
 
 As he spoke, a long, low roll of thunder 
 echoed from cliff to cliff, heavy drops of rain fell, 
 and the sea grew black with many shadows. 
 All these Avcre the warnings of a fast-coming 
 storm — one of those Summer storms, which tlie 
 Atlantic flings at times on the coast of Cornwall 
 with a suddenness, and strength only equalled by 
 the swiftness, with which they pass away.
 
 30 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 '' What shall we do ?' cried Madeline. " Is 
 there any shelter near T' 
 
 Maurice saw, with some embarrassment, that 
 she took advantage of the storm to evade re- 
 plying to his somewhat hasty and warm speech; 
 and, half glad to escape for a moment, he said, — 
 " If you will stay here an instant, I will run 
 down the hill, and see if there is any shelter, 
 nearer than the cottage we have passed." 
 
 As he went, IMadeline^s eyes followed him 
 with a look of wistful and passionate tenderness; 
 yet in a moment she turned proudly away, as 
 though chiding herself for her own weakness. 
 Then, as the rain fell heavily, she descended the 
 slope, and took shelter against one of the huge 
 moor stones with which the heath was scattered. 
 Here in a few minutes Maurice joined her. 
 
 " There is a house down here V he cried, 
 joyfully. " It stands just at the end of the 
 gorge, through which the stream finds its way 
 to the sea. If you do not mind crossing the 
 wood through the wet, and getting down a very 
 steep descent, we shall reach it quickly.''"' 
 
 The storm was raging now with so much 
 violence, that Madeline could scarcely stand 
 against it, as, bending her head to the wind, she 
 hurried on with Maurice through the blinding 
 rain. 
 
 The scene they traversed was wonderfully 
 wild and beautiful. To the left lay the great
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 31 
 
 Atlantic^ tossing darkly beneath the tempest, 
 while all around them was spread a wide, bare 
 moor, dotted with huge masses of granite, 
 looming out with ghostly whiteness through the 
 driving mists and shadows. Far below their 
 hurrying feet, stretched the deep leafy ravine, 
 with its troubled river flowing turbidly to the 
 sea, and its soft and varied tints of green form- 
 ing a wondrous contrast with the gloomy sea, 
 and the rugged moor. For though on the top- 
 most height of the gorge, the trees had given 
 place to heath and furze, the lower steeps 
 remained green and wooded, almost to the edge 
 of the sands. Mid-way on the descent, there 
 jutted out above the stream a natural platform 
 of rock, placed just where the narrow glen opened 
 to the ocean ; and on this, commanding a wild 
 view over sea and land, there stood a low 
 irregularly-built house surrounded by a balcony. 
 The wood pressed closely round it, except on one 
 side, where lay a neglected garden covered with 
 mingled weeds and flowers. 
 
 Thus hidden by rock and foliage, the house 
 bore a romantic and picturesque aspect, greatly 
 heightened by the wonderful beauty of its situa- 
 tion. Yet its extreme loneliness, and the rank 
 luxuriance of trees, ferns, and trailiiig plants, 
 which clustered all around, gave the ])lace a 
 dreary and melancholy look, which saddened the 
 beholder with thoughts of solitude and decay.
 
 ^2 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 To the door of this dwelling Maurice led his 
 companion, guiding her down the rocky road, 
 and through the weed-cumbered garden with a 
 careful hand. 
 
 '' I fear the place is uninhabited/'' he said, as 
 the echo of the bell he had pulled rang drearily 
 through the empty rooms. " Will you stay here 
 in the porch. Miss Sylvester ?^^ he continued; 
 " and I will go round to the other side, and en- 
 deavour to enter by a window, and then I will 
 unbar the door for you.^-* 
 
 He disappeared as he spoke ; but scarcely was 
 he gone, ere Madeline heard the bolt withdrawn, 
 and the dilapidated door, grating unwillingly on 
 its hinges, opened slowly, and she saw before her 
 a tall, dark, haggard man, wdth the grey colour- 
 less face of a corpse. 
 
 If the strange and ghastly look of this man 
 somewhat startled Madeline, his wild exclama- 
 tion of terror on seeing her alarmed her still 
 more. 
 
 "^Heaven help me !^' he cried, as he leaned 
 trembling against the wall. " The hour I have 
 dreaded for twelve years is come.^^ 
 
 Madeline drew back as he spoke, deeming him 
 a man disordered in his wits, and perhaps dan- 
 gerous ; but seeing her alarm, he came forward 
 quietly, with a wdstful smile on his pale lips. 
 
 " I am not mad,^^ he said. *' Such as I am 
 now, blind to the sunshine, and stricken in heart.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 33 
 
 I have been for many years ; but my mind is 
 clear and sound. Come in : who has so great 
 a right as you to the doleful shelter of St. 
 Eglon^s Hut r 
 
 As he uttered this^, a sharp cry escaped from 
 Madeline's lipS; and her face grew white as his 
 own. 
 
 "Is this St. Eglon^s Hut ?'^ she said; and 
 starting from the shelter of the porch^ she stood 
 out in the pelting storm^ looking up at the dis- 
 mantled windowS; the wild untrained plants that 
 fell about them_, and the weather-stained^ broken 
 balcony^ weed-covered, from which the rain drip- 
 ped down. This drear and desolate dwelling 
 seemed to find a mirror in her face, whereon to 
 picture all its woe : for as she looked, her cheeks 
 grew ashen grey, and the heaviness of death 
 weighed on her clouded eyes. 
 
 " Miss Sylvester!^' cried Maurice Pellew^s voice, 
 rousing her as from some terrible vision ; " why 
 do you stand there? Come in, 1 entreat you. 
 Do you not see the man has opened the door ?^' 
 
 He hurried her forward, eager to shelter her 
 from the storm, but she went like one impelled 
 by force, and in crossing the threshold, her 
 strength failed her utterly, and she would have 
 fallen but for Mr. Pellew^s arm, which was in- 
 stantly flung around her, holding her up in 
 safety. 
 
 " You are tired to deatli," he exclaimed 
 YOL. I. 8
 
 34 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 anxiously ; " and I fear yon are very wet. 
 Can we have a fire here ?^^ he said to the tall, 
 silent man, who stood regarding them. 
 
 '' There is a fire in the kitchen, if the lady 
 does not mind sitting there/'' he replied. 
 
 This proposition seemed to be a relief to Ma- 
 deline, who had drawn back from the damp and 
 dreary parlour with a shudder. 
 
 '' I do not mind at all/^ she said, quietly. 
 "■ That is, if we are not disturbing you.^^ 
 
 " There is no fear of that,''^ said the man ; 
 *^ your presence will disturb no one — the house 
 is empty. It has never been inhabited since '^ 
 
 But here, as he put a chair for Madeline by 
 the bright wood fire, he paused suddenly, and his 
 eye fell before the searching glance she fixed on 
 his face. 
 
 '^ And Avhose property is it T' asked Mr. 
 Pellew. 
 
 " It belongs to Lord Crehylls, sir,^^ replied the 
 man. '' My sister has charge of it, and lights 
 a fire here once a week ; but, as it happened to- 
 day, by chance — and yet no, nothing happens by 
 chance — I did that work for her this morning."'^ 
 
 As he spoke, he glanced uneasily at Madeline 
 and moved a little way beyond her, where she 
 could not see him without turning her head. 
 She, however, continued to dry her wet mantle, 
 listening, but not joining in the dialogue, or ap- 
 pearing to care much for what they said.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 35 
 
 xc 
 
 Then I suppose Lord Crehylls finds it diffi- 
 cult to get a tenant for such a lonely house ?^' 
 said Maurice. 
 
 " I don^t think he has ever tried to let it, 
 sir/^ returned the man, '' since — since the last 
 tenants left/'' 
 
 " And how long ago was that T' asked Mr. 
 Pellew. 
 
 " I donH know/"* replied the man, abruptly ; 
 and leaning forward, he flung a new log upon 
 the fire. As he did this, Madeline's eyes met 
 his, and a glance was exchanged between them^ 
 which, on her side, certainly thanked him for his 
 silence, while, on his part, the look expressed 
 something so strange — some feeling so full of an 
 inexplicable remorse and pity, — that her heart 
 beat fast with a vague fear and wonder. 
 
 " Upon my Avord,'' continued Maurice, ^' I am 
 surprised Lord Crehylls keeps up the place in 
 this way, if he does not mean to let it. He 
 should at least sell the furniture. Don''t you 
 think so, Miss Sylvester?'^ 
 
 " Perhaps he comes here himself sometimes in 
 the summer,'-' said Madeline. 
 
 She seemed to speak unwillingly, and there 
 was a curious repressed excitement in her manner, 
 which made the tones of her voice tremble. It 
 was not Maurice who answered her. 
 
 " Lord Crehylls never comes here," said the 
 pale man. " I believe his father built tliis place 
 
 3—2
 
 36 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 for a pleasure-house ; bat to me it is a ghastly 
 place^ with no pleasure in it/"* 
 
 ^' I think you are quite right/^ observed Mau- 
 rice,, laughing. " I was never in a more doleful 
 dwelling in my life. And yet the situation is 
 most beautiful.^'' 
 
 " You wouldn^t say so in the winter^ sir/"* re- 
 turned the other. " The wind howls round this 
 headland terribly ; and on stormy nights the sea- 
 spray dashes against the windows, and the house 
 rocks like a cradle. ^Tis a lonesome place then, 
 sir.^^ 
 
 "AVell, yes, I expect so/^ said Maurice; '^^ike 
 all romantic places, it has doubtless its dark 
 side.^^ 
 
 " Its dark side l'"* repeated the man, in a 
 voice of inexpressible pathos. '' Ah, it has 
 brought darkness to more than one." 
 
 Madeline turned her head hurriedly, and as 
 the strange calm and power of her beautiful face 
 flashed full on the man, he stopped, and a grey 
 shadow crept up to his very brow. Maurice had 
 walked to the window, and stood looking out 
 upon the sea. 
 
 " Does the tide ever run up this creek V he 
 asked, carelessly. 
 
 Mr. Pellew did not move his eyes from the 
 prospect without in speaking, and observing this, 
 the man bent suddenly, and with his lips close 
 to Mad(dine^s ear, he whispered, '' When and
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 3/ 
 
 -where can I see you again, miss ? I have a 
 message for yon from your father/^ 
 
 This Tvas said so hurriedly_, that, but for the 
 terrible paleness which overspread Madeline's 
 face, he would not have been sure that she had 
 heard him. The next moment he turned 
 towards Maurice^ and replied to his question. 
 
 " The tide runs up but a little way, sir. 
 except when there is a very heavy sea ; then I 
 have known the salt water reach the ford.^^ 
 
 " The ford ?' repeated Maurice. " Ah, that 
 is where the cross is cut on the bank. Can you 
 tell me what it commemorates V' 
 
 '' I believe a man was found there dead," 
 jeplied the other m a hesitating way. 
 
 The strange paleness of the man^s face grew 
 ghastlier as he spoke, and he looked at [Madeline 
 as though demanding permission to say more. 
 She had risen, and stood confronting him, her 
 whole attitude full of suspicion and defiance. 
 
 " Found dead V echoed Maurice. " Do you 
 mean he was found drowned ?" 
 
 " Spare us the details,^^ said Madeline. '' I 
 hate dismal stories. ^^ 
 
 Her words sounded to the man like a com- 
 mand, and by a motion of his eyelids he con- 
 veyed to her an intimation that she should be 
 obeyed. The fear and anguish shining on her 
 face were reflected doubly upon his, mingled with 
 -a deep pity for her, which Madeline felt, although
 
 38 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 no word of his expressed it. Full of anger at 
 this pity_, and full of wonder and fear at his. 
 mention of her father^ she stood proudly silent, 
 apparently resolved to make no reply to his 
 singular request. Seeing nothing of this strange 
 by-play, Maurice remained at the window, crying 
 out, suddenly, " Ah, here is the sun at last ! 
 Now, what do you say, will it clear up ?" 
 
 " It is useless to ask me,^^ said the man, with 
 a wistful smile. '' I never see the sun. The 
 brightest day is as grey and dull to me, as a 
 November evening.^^ 
 
 '' Are you blind then ^ inquired Madeline, 
 with a softer look upon her face. 
 
 "No, madam,-*^ he replied; '^'^ but all things 
 seem grey and dead to me. I have not seen 
 the sun these many years. ^' 
 
 He spoke in a low, hopeless tone, and there 
 was over all his aspect such a dull, leaden, 
 shadowy look, that it added a thousand-fold to 
 the strength of his words, and stopped all question 
 as to their truth. 
 
 " I think I have heard of you,^' said Maurice, 
 coming forward. " Your name is Michael 
 Polgrain. You are Lord Crehylls^ foster- 
 brother.'' 
 
 '^ Yes, sir,-" replied the other ; " and I am a 
 sailor.'' 
 
 " And somewhat of a smuggler, I fear," con- 
 tinued Maurice — " at least, so I have heard. I
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 39 
 
 wonder Lord Creliylls does uot do something 
 better for you; your blindness must make it 
 hard for you to live." 
 
 " I have never had a gift from Lord Crehylls, 
 and never will/" replied Michael Polgrain, with 
 sudden fierceness. " Heaven forbid that these 
 hands of mine should ever touch his money V 
 
 " Do you dislike him so much T' asked 
 Madeline, eagerly. 
 
 The man winced at her question, and, letting 
 his outstretched hands drop languidly, he said, 
 in the old mournful tone, — '' Dislike him ? No; 
 I would lay down my life for him any day ; but 
 that is no cause why I should take his money .■'' 
 
 Something in his tone pleased Madeline, and 
 her cheeks flamed with a bright and sudden 
 crimson. 
 
 " I wish I had some of your independent 
 spirit,-*" she cried. " The roughest, hardest calling 
 is sweeter than the false ease of dependence."" 
 
 " You have no call to say that, miss,"" returned 
 Michael Polgrain, with extreme gravity. "No 
 one has a greater right than you to the kindness 
 of them you are with."" 
 
 Again Madeline gave him a sharp glance of 
 amazement and fear ; but Maurice Pellew"s pre- 
 sence prevented the question that rose to her lips. 
 
 " Ideas of independence may be exaggerated,"" 
 observed Maurice, somewhat coldly. " As it 
 appears to me, you would be just as independent
 
 40 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 in a farm of Lord Crehylls as in pursuing au 
 unlawful, and dangerous calling on the sea/^ 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir/^ returned Michael^ in 
 the same grave way ; " living on Lord Crehylls'' 
 land would soon make me a madman ; but on 
 the sea I do not feel my affliction so much/^ he 
 said, putting his hand over his eyes • " and as to 
 uidawfulness, there^s many, me among them, who 
 see no harm in landing a keg on the shore ; it 
 is but free trade between country and country — 
 that's all/' 
 
 " Why do you feel your blindness less on the 
 sea ?'' asked Madeline, quickly, stopping the 
 argument against smuggling, which she saw 
 springing to Mr. Pellew^s lips. 
 
 " Because I take command of our craft at 
 night,-" returned Michael ; " my sight is clear 
 then ; and in darkness, in fog, or in danger, 
 there is no one can steer so safely as I can. 
 The excitement of a sea-faring life saves my 
 wits, I think,'' said he, passing his hand dreamily 
 over his forehead ; " on land, I'm w hisht as 
 moonlight." 
 
 "Miss Sylvester," asked Mr. Pcllew, impa- 
 tiently, '' shall we return to Crehylls ? The storm 
 is over." 
 
 " Will you step into the garden and take a 
 look at the sky ?" said Madeline, carelessly. 
 " It would be useless, I think, to send this jjoor
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 41 
 
 Of course her request was instantly obeyed, 
 and no sooner was Mr. Pellew gone, than she 
 turned on Michael Polgrain a face, on which 
 pride and anguish struggled fiercely. 
 
 " You seem to know me/' she said in a bitter 
 tone. " Mind, I do not deny my wretched 
 identity — I am too proud for that ; but T do 
 not understand how you can recognise me, when 
 it is so many years since I was last in this 
 miserable place.'' 
 
 "It is not strange that I should know you, 
 miss,'' returned Michael, in a tone more mournful 
 than her own ; '' Mr. Lanyon promised me he 
 would care for you; and so, hearing of you 
 as his ward, I Avas prepared to recognise you 
 when we met. You remember this house, 
 miss ?" 
 
 '' I remember it," answered ^ladclinc, drearily, 
 " but I see no reason Avhy you should ask me 
 that question. In all the painful recollections 
 -of my childhood, I cannot recall your face. I 
 find no place for you whatever in my life, there- 
 fore I am at a loss to comprehend, why you 
 address me as you presume to do ; and, above 
 all, why you wish for a second interview with 
 me. You spoke of a message from my most un- 
 happy father ; but that is impossible." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, and 
 though no groan or tear escaped her, it was 
 evident her heart was racked by a passionate
 
 42 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 sorrow — a sorrow she hated;, and would never 
 own. 
 
 ^' You are mistaken^, miss/^ said Michael 
 Polgrain ; " I saw your father just before he 
 died : and as truly as I live in shadow and in 
 sin^ so true is it that he gave me a message for 
 you.'' 
 
 As he spoke^ Maurice Pellew's step echoed 
 through the hall, and INIadeline rising, said, in a 
 hurried voice, " I will meet you here the day after 
 to-morrow, at the same hour in the morning.'' 
 
 " So let it be then, miss," replied the man ; 
 " and Heaven help us both !" 
 
 '^^The storm has cleared off beautifully," 
 said Maurice as he entered ; " but I fear 
 we shall get back to Crehylls rather late for 
 breakfast." 
 
 " What does it matter ?" said Madeline. " I 
 am much obliged to you for the shelter you have 
 given me," she said to Michael Polgrain; and 
 bending her head to him, she took Mr. Pellew's 
 arm, and without a word of thanks from him, both 
 walked away, beneath the rain-dripping trees. 
 
 Standing at the door, Michael Polgrain 
 watched Madeline's retreating figure, till the 
 leafy wood hid her from his sight. 
 
 " I don't like her," he said to himself with a 
 heavy sigh. '' I looked in her face for mercy 
 and pity, but I saw none. But the lot I have 
 di'awn I must bear ; it is too late to go back now."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ELL/^ said Maurice, gaily/*^ what do 
 you think of that crack-brained smug- 
 gler ? Did you perceive that,, like your- 
 self, he has his own ideas of justice ? Smug- 
 gling, he asserted, was only fair free trade 
 between country and country/^ 
 
 " And would it not be wise for nations to buy, 
 and exchange without taxing each others^ pro- 
 duce T^ asked Madeline. 
 
 " That will be a question for some future 
 generation,'''' returned Maurice ; " we are too 
 busy now pommelling each other to consider it.'^ 
 
 " Ah, there is another mistake,'''' said Made- 
 line, gloomily, — " war. What is there on the 
 earth so cruel, so wicked, so stupid as war? — 
 destroying and laying waste the labours of the 
 poor, and dealing fire and death on every side. 
 An army of succourers I could understand, but 
 this is what we never see ; men only congregate 
 together to destroy, never to relieve. Truly this 
 is a mad world, and I grow warped in it, I
 
 44 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 think. To me^ nearly all human customs seem 
 a blunder — a blinds, stupid blunder^ following al- 
 ways the prejudices of the age. And as for 
 human laws^ they are worse, for they punish and 
 kill the people,, and never teach them. So far 
 from being in advance of the civilization of their 
 time, they are ever behind it. Recollect how in 
 the old days they burned, beheaded, drew and 
 quartered, pandering always to the ignorance and 
 cruelty of the multitude ! Ah, it is rare indeed 
 when laws are on a par with the common sense 
 of the period, leaving out of the question the 
 mercy and the enlightenment of the few, who 
 walk in the van of their age. And even now, in 
 this year 1809, when we consider ourselves so 
 advanced in wisdom, are we not still irritated by 
 the sight of gibbets, and malefactors hanging in 
 chains ? And does a single day pass over these 
 realms, that tAventy or thirty miserable creatures 
 do not perish beneath a hangman^s hands ? I 
 tell you it is horrible l'^ 
 
 She spoke vehemently, with a rush of colour 
 crimsoning her face ; and ^laurice, who had 
 listened to her in silence, looked at her with 
 sorrowful surprise. 
 
 " We cannot do without laws,^^ he said, 
 gravely. ^' If you were injured, for instance, 
 would you take up yoiu' own cause, and do jus- 
 tice yourself ?^^ 
 
 " Yes, I would,^^ she answered fiercely. " If
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 45 
 
 it were possible to do so, I would deal out justice 
 with my own hand V 
 
 " Miss Sylvester,, you speak with the inexperi- 
 ence and impatience of youth/" returned Maurice; 
 " and it is well for you, that you have no power 
 to change times and customs. Young and beau- 
 tiful as you are^ it amazes me that you permit 
 such subjects to trouble your mind. You can- 
 not mend the laws or alter the world ; then why 
 not let your oAvn duties, and happiness in it con- 
 tent you ?" 
 
 " If I were happy, perhaps I could be selfish 
 enough to ignore the misery of others,^' said 
 Madeline ; " but I am not happy, Mr. Pellew ; 
 and so far from deriving pain from the contem- 
 plation of the suffering on this groaning ball, I 
 may, for aught you know, gain consolation from 
 it, and patience to bear my own burden."'' 
 
 Maurice Pellew, to whom such language from 
 a girl seemed out of place, looked grieved, as he 
 always did when she chose to show him the bitter- 
 ness of her spirit. 
 
 " How easily you exaggerate the crumpling 
 of a rose-leaf into a real disaster,"" he said. 
 " What burden can a young, flattered, beautiful 
 girl have upon her soul, that she should take such 
 gloomy views of the world ? And depend on it, 
 in spite of all bad laws and blunders, this is, after 
 all, a good world, filled with blessings for those 
 who accept them.""
 
 46 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Madeline was silent a moment;, but her heart 
 swelled proudly at Maurice^s rebuke. It was 
 evident he looked upon her gloom as imaginary, 
 arising only from the morbid musings of youth 
 and ease of life. 
 
 ^^ And I cannot undeceive him/^ she said to 
 herself; '^'^no,, I can never tell him the truth 
 while I live.^^ 
 
 " Perhaps you are right/-' she replied. " In 
 spite of wrong, of oppression, and of laws which 
 sport with human life, the world may have bless- 
 ings for those to whom they are given; but I affirm 
 they are not bestowed upon all. Look at this 
 bright sunshine around us ; well, Michael Pol- 
 grain cannot see it, therefore for him it does not 
 exist.'' 
 
 " But for you it does, Madeline/'' said Mau- 
 rice, tenderly, " and so do all other blessings. 
 You are wonderfully gifted, and formed to enjoy 
 all the happiness of your lot.'' 
 
 " My lot is a bitter lot," she retorted hastily ; 
 ^' and you know nothing of it or of me, when you 
 talk to me of happiness." 
 
 " I have known you since you Avere that high/' 
 said Maurice, stretching out his hand, above the 
 green sward, at the height of a little child, '' and 
 I have always seen you beautiful and intelligent, 
 surrounded by friends and the ease ensured by 
 riches ; and during all these years I have per- 
 ceived nothing, Madeline, in your fate, to give a
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 47 
 
 cause for tlie root of bitterness within you/^ 
 Madeline was silent^ and Maurice went on, with 
 a tinge of jealousy in his tone. " Unless, indeed, 
 during your stay in Italy, some occurrence, of 
 which I am ignorant, took place to grieve you." 
 
 Madeline had long ago taken her hand from 
 his arm, and she now walked on by his side, still 
 in silence. 
 
 " Madeline,^^ he said, earnestly, " did some 
 one during that time offer yoa his love T' 
 
 " If you will know it,''"' she answered coldly, 
 ^' I tell you — yes."*^ 
 
 " And — and you loved him ?" cried Maurice, 
 as he stopped suddenly in the path, and looked 
 at her with eyes full of jealousy and pain. 
 ^' You loved him, and it is this which causes your 
 moodiness and gloom.^^ 
 
 " I hated him," said Madeline, smiling wist- 
 fully. " I did more — I positively feared and 
 loathed the man, as one does a snake. Do not 
 let us talk of him," she added, with a shudder, 
 ^^ I always feel as though he would kill me some 
 day." 
 
 " Madeline," said Maurice, seizing her hand 
 eagerly, '^ I have always loved you. I can scarcely 
 remember the time, when you did not fill my 
 heart from boyhood up to this day. My love, 
 then, is nothing new to you ; it has always been 
 yours. Only tell me now that I may one day 
 hope " '
 
 48 Bf:\EATH THE \yiIEELS. 
 
 But in his agitation words failed him, and he 
 stopped, waiting breathlessly for her answer. 
 When he first began to speak she blushed deeply ; 
 but her face was death-white now, and the hand 
 he held grew cold as ice. 
 
 " Are you asking me to be your wife ?'' she 
 said. 
 
 For answer he put his arm around her, and 
 pressed his lips to her check. She bore the 
 caress silently, then she drew her hand from his^ 
 and said, in a wonderfully low, clear voice, 
 " Maurice, I would rather be wife to that man 
 whom I have told you I hate, than I would marry 
 you, and let you give me your name, and trust 
 your happiness to my keeping.^^ 
 
 Her lover gazed at her as though her words 
 had no meaning for him, and he strove vainly, 
 with trembling lips, to demand an explanation. 
 But Madeline turned away from him, apparently 
 resolved he should not read her face, or utter a 
 single pleading sentence. 
 
 " I am in earnest,^'' she said, in a low, decided 
 tone. " Do not seek to change me. I can ally 
 my fate with no man^s." 
 
 They were just on the confines of the park as 
 she spoke, and waving her hand to him, she 
 turned into another path, leaving him sorrowful, 
 angry, and bewildered. 
 
 Half an hour later, when more composed, but 
 still with every feeling of his wounded love
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 49 
 
 wri tiling within him, Maurice Pellew entered the 
 dining-room ; he found Madeline seated at the 
 breakfast table^ calm as a statue. Crossing over 
 to the opposite side^ he took a chair by Mrs. Gil- 
 bert. 
 
 '' Well/' whispered that lady, " is it all 
 settled ? I am sure you two have had a long 
 ■walk together this morning.''-' 
 
 " Yes/' returned Maurice, aloud ; '' we have 
 been to St. Eglon's Hut.'' 
 
 It seemed an innocent observation^ yet a blank 
 silence followed it. Mr. Lanyon, with a look of 
 sharper pain on his thin pale face, thrust his un- 
 tasted cup from him ; and Lord Crehylls^ with a 
 deep flush springing to his very brow, rose 
 abruptly and left the room. The embarrassment 
 that followed, added greatly to the confusion^ and 
 pain of Maurice Pellew's thoughts, and he was 
 fain to finish his breakfast in haste, and escape 
 into solitude. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ADELINE did not conceal from Mr. Lan- 
 yon^ that she had refused Maurice Pellew. 
 Some instinct told her that he wished 
 much for this marriage, and she thought it best 
 to let him uhderstand her feelings. They were 
 in the library at Crehylls when she spoke, telling 
 him, in her own calm way^ that she loved Mau- 
 rice, but had refused to be his wife. 
 
 " But you are ^Tong,^" said Mr. Lanyon. 
 '^ Why refuse him if you love him ?" 
 
 " Why !" exclaimed Madeline, while a bitter 
 expression passed over her proud face, — '' do you 
 ask why ? — you, you know who I am ?" 
 
 Mr. Lanyon bent low over his book, and 
 turned the leaves with a hurried hand before he 
 replied to her; then he said, with an eflPort, 
 " Why revert to this painful subject, Madeline ! 
 Has its sorrow or its stain touched you ? Have 
 I not from your infancy guarded you from the 
 very shadow of it ? Have I not so hedged you 
 in with honour and respect, that no one guesses 
 the truth? I have given you an honourable
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 51 
 
 name_, and a loving liome, and I only ask in re- 
 turn that I may see you happy. ''^ 
 
 The old man^s voice shook, and he covered 
 his eyes with his hand^ as though shutting out 
 some painful vision. The girl gazed at him 
 till tears blinded her ; then she came forward, 
 and knelt down by his side. 
 
 " I am not ungrateful/^ she said, leaning her 
 cheek against his hand tenderly, " and I would 
 be happy if I could ; but happiness is the one 
 blessing you cannot give me. It will not flourish 
 where there is no truth. The respect, the ho- 
 nour, the name you have given me are all false ; 
 they surround me like a wall of cards, which a 
 touch would fling down. You think that your 
 generous pity, and charity have guarded me from 
 the stain of my father's crime. I tell you no ; 
 I have sat all my life long within the shadow of 
 his guilt. Outwardly you might save me, but 
 the shadow is within, upon my soul, and I writhe 
 beneath it, like a degraded wretch beneath the 
 branding iron. You do not know how proud I 
 am, therefore you cannot fathom raj sufferings. 
 You cannot tell how at school, 1 shrank away 
 from companionship, knowing that I gained it 
 through a lie, and trutli would only bring me 
 scorn. You cannot tell, now that I am a woman, 
 how I shrink from friendship and from love." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, broken only by 
 the girl's sobs, for with her last words her grief 
 
 4—2
 
 52 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 burst its boncls^ and she wept bitterly. Yet had 
 a painter been there to look upon her face, and 
 upon that of the aged man, whose hand rested 
 upon her bowed head, his was the face which the 
 artist would choose as depicting the direr grief, 
 the more dreadful woe. 
 
 " I have no words to comfort you with, my 
 poor chikV said Mr. Lanyon, steadying his 
 trembling lips to speak ; " but I wish tliat — that, 
 for my sake, you could be happier.^^ 
 
 Oh the blind selfishness and cruelty of a proud 
 and stubborn nature ! She did not see his 
 grief; she did not hear the anguish in his voice. 
 Feeling only her own pain, she was blind to 
 his. 
 
 '^ I cannot be happy,^' she answered, bitterly. 
 " The word is a mockery to me. At school, 
 when other children played and sang, I wept 
 alone. There was a mark upon me, which I 
 could feel and see, if they could not. I was 
 alone in the midst of them. I had a dreadful 
 secret to keep. I had to use unchildish caution, 
 unchildish resolve and cunning. How then 
 could I have companions ? The very bands 
 which held me to their cold esteem were lies ; 
 my history, my name, my lineage, were lies ; my 
 whole life a lie, and I hate myself and it V' 
 
 She ended passionately, and struck her fore- 
 head with her clenched hand. 
 
 " You wrong yourself, Madeline,^^ said Mr.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 53 
 
 Lanyon^ pitifully. " Yoiu' feelings are morbid ; 
 you exaggerate with over-sensitiveness the sorrows 
 of your position. No good man would visit 
 upon you the sins of others.^' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon said this, Avith a spasm of pain 
 crossing his features, and a nervous contraction 
 of the hand, which showed that in speaking thus 
 he conquered some great anguish. 
 
 " But the world would/^ returned Madeline. 
 " It is only such a man as you, who would take 
 pity on the orphan of ^' 
 
 ^' Hush V said Mr. Lanyon, hurriedly. " Say 
 no more, I entreat you.^"* 
 
 He seemed unable to bear the word she was 
 about to speak, and he leant back in his chair 
 with a white face and trembling hands. 
 
 " You see,^' cried Madeline, as her proud face 
 flushed crimson, " even you, with all your gene- 
 rous pity, all your keen sense of justice — even 
 you cannot bear the utterance of my father's 
 name, or my father's crime. You seal them up, 
 you ignore them, you try to forget them ; you 
 cheat yourself when you look upon my face, and 
 you strive to think mc the child of an innocent 
 man." 
 
 Her words were shadowed on INIr. Lanyon's 
 face in a ghastly paleness like death, and he held 
 out both his hands towards her as praying her to 
 cease. 
 
 ^' Do you feel so much for me?" she said,
 
 54 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 softly ; and taking his outstretched hands in 
 hers^ she bent OA^er them and kissed them. But 
 the action seemed painful to Mr. Lanyon beyond 
 expression, and hurriedly repulsing her tender- 
 ness, he rose and paced the room. 
 
 Madeline's eyes followed him. Filled with the 
 bitterness of wounded pride, and shivering from 
 head to foot, she stood silent, with her arms 
 folded tightly across her bosom. In a moment 
 Mr. Lanyon saw her pain, and he came to her 
 and put his arm round her kindly. 
 
 ^'^ Is it possible you can mistake me, Made- 
 line ?'' he said. " You do indeed see all things 
 through a distorted prism, if you can imagine I 
 meant you an unkindness.'''' 
 
 "■ I fancied the thoughts of my father over- 
 powered you with loathing towards me,"' she re- 
 plied, ^'^ as it would Maurice Pellew, if he knew 
 what you know. But no caress of mine shall 
 ever be repulsed by a lover, as you repulsed me 
 just now/' 
 
 '^ Madeline !" exclaimed Mr. Lanyon, in a low, 
 agitated tone, " you try me too deeply at times. 
 You might spare the man, who has been a father 
 to you from your childhood, so unjust an accu- 
 sation as this. No thought of j^our unhappy 
 parent ever repels me from your side ; on the 
 contrary, his memory and his fate have drawn 
 me to you, and made me your guardian, and 
 your friend."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 The proud girl whom he addressed stood 
 quivering beneatli these words^ turning their 
 kindness into gall. 
 
 " I know I am an object of compassion/'' she 
 said ; " and good and just men like you love to 
 exercise their benevolence on the miserable^ even 
 when they are sullen, and wretched as I am. 
 Yet, sometimes I wish you had left me alone, — 
 left me unaided, my name unconcealed, my ter- 
 rible orphanage, and the blot upon me un- 
 shrouded from a prying world. Then at least I 
 should have an atmosphere of truth about me ; I 
 should not be borne down with falsehood as I am 
 now. Perhaps you cannot see into my heart — 
 you cannot guess what I suffer, when I hear my- 
 self addressed by a false name, and feel myself 
 covered by the false mantle of honour, which 
 your guardianshi]^, and the pretence of your re- 
 lationship, have thrown over me.'''' 
 
 She spoke these last words in a mournful tone, 
 and fixed her eyes on Mr. Lanyon with a look of 
 proud despair. 
 
 " Madeline, you grieve me to the heart ,^' replied 
 her guardian. '^ You have all the comforts, 
 all the honour which my wealth and station 
 can give you ; added to these you have talent, 
 and innocence, and beauty — these three last all 
 your own. Cannot you fling off morbid thoughts, 
 and let these gifts suffice for your happiness ?" 
 
 " Oh, if you only knew,''^ returned the girl.
 
 56 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 lifting up lier voice in anguish, " how far beyond 
 these I prize truth and justice, you would not 
 wonder at my sorrow. It is the falsehood of my 
 position that crushes me to the earth. There are 
 times when the burden of this deceit is so heavy, 
 that I long to shriek aloud the truth to the whole 
 gaping world. ^■' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon was silent, but he trembled ex- 
 cessively, and again he covered his shrinking 
 eyes with one hand, while his adopted daughter 
 clung to his other arm, weighing it down with 
 her passionate clasp. 
 
 " I have a nature which loves truth ,''^ she 
 continued, feverishly. " I am too proud to lie. 
 I hate — I abhor all falsehood, all deceit, all dis- 
 honour. Yet see — think what I have been forced 
 to do ! What meanness, what fencing, what sub- 
 terfuge my shrinking soul has practised ! To 
 a proud heart like mine such things have been a 
 daily draught of gall. I do not despise myself 
 for the crime of my father ; it is for my own 
 guilt I hate myself and long to die.^'' 
 
 She suddenly relinquished her feverish grasp 
 of her listener's arm, and sinking to the floor, 
 she buried her face in her hands. Mr. Lanyon 
 stood by her, looking down on her with unspeak- 
 able woe shadowed on his own face. 
 
 " Madeline,'^ he said, softly, " it is true that 
 I have never read your heart till to-day ; I could 
 not guess you sufiered thus. From the first
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 57 
 
 hour of your forlorn^ and terrible orphanage I 
 have succoured you^ and I dared to hope that 
 mj hand had shielded you from pain — my care 
 had guarded you from the sorrow, the shame, the 
 
 stain " he ceased a moment, overcome by 
 
 a rush of bitter thought. " But the hope I had 
 presumed to cherish was vain/^ he continued, in 
 a desolate voice, '^ and I see that all I have done 
 for your happiness, has only heaped greater 
 misery on your unhappy head — and on mine, — 
 on mine,"^ he added wildly. 
 
 Madeline, lost as she was in the contempla- 
 tion of her own sorrow, yet seemed touched by 
 this grief. 
 
 " Forgive me/' she said, more gently ; " I 
 would not have shown you my wretchedness if I 
 could have helped it, but I am mad to-day. I 
 have just flung from out my heart all my love, 
 all my hopes of earthly happiness — I have just 
 given up Maurice Pellew." 
 
 " And there, I tell you again, that you are 
 wrong, Madeline,^^ persisted Mr. Lanyon in an 
 eager voice. " Pellew loves you with his whole 
 soul. Why cannot you be his wife, and make 
 him and yourself happy ?'' 
 
 " Because I am a liar,^^ she answered, as she 
 bent her head still lower to the ground ; " and 
 Maurice Pellew shall never take a liar to his 
 heart. I am no snake to creep into a man\s 
 bosom, and sting him with the agony of such a
 
 ■58 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 life as mine. What right have I to a place by 
 his hearth ?" 
 
 " Every right, Madeline/"' replied Mr. Lanyon . 
 ^^ You love him, and he has chosen you. You 
 possess the beauty, the talent, the qualities he 
 admires ; he asks for no more in a wife than he 
 finds in jou." 
 
 " Yes, he asks for honour,''^ she cried, spring- 
 ing up suddenly ; ^' he expects in the mother of 
 his children an unsullied name, like his own; 
 and mine, through my father^ s guilt, is dragged 
 down into the dust ; therefore 1 cannot be his 
 wife. Do you not see that truth and justice 
 demand this sacrifice of me ?''■' 
 
 " Justice ! justice V exclaimed Mr. Lanyon, 
 stretching his hand towards her feebly ; '' what 
 do you know of justice, Madeline T' 
 
 " I know this,^^ she said, in a low voice, " that 
 my father suffered justly ; therefore I never com- 
 plain of the sentence, which has made me 
 what I am. Neither do I murmur against my 
 own sufferings : they are just also. And I love 
 justice so well, that I will never make another 
 suffer unjustly. If I allied my secret load of 
 sorrow, and of shame to Maurice Pellew's free 
 soul, bowing it down with unmerited pain, I 
 should commit an act of injustice so abhorrent 
 to my nature, that I prefer desolation, loneliness, 
 death — anything, rather than commit such a 
 wrong."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 59 
 
 " Madeline, Madeline V' cried Mr. Lanyon ; 
 and groping like a blind man, lie sank into a 
 chair, gazing at her with bewildered eyes. 
 
 " Are you frightened at my vehemence ?'' 
 asked Madeline, sadly. " I wish you could see 
 into my soul ; I wish you could read there all 
 my scorn and hatred of wrong, of injustice, of 
 falsehood. Do not pity me, that I give up my 
 love for Maurice. It is a relief, a joy to me un- 
 speakable, to suffer for justice^ sake, and for 
 truth. I, whose ignoble sufferings have been 
 caused by a deceitful shrinking from truth, may 
 well feel glad at last to suffer in a good cause. ^^ 
 
 " And do you renounce marriage for ever V 
 said Mr. Lanyon. " Are you so resolved — you, 
 so young ?^^ 
 
 " Yes,^^ she replied, " unless I can find my 
 equal : a man who has suffered as I have — a man 
 whose name is a reproach, an infamy, as mine is.^^ 
 
 " Madeline,"^ said her guardian, '' this is pride, 
 not love of justice or of truth.'' 
 
 "It is all three,'' she answered, drearily, 
 Then she utterly broke down, and crying, 
 " Maurice, Maurice !" she flung herself on the 
 ground, writhing in her proud, passionate misery, 
 like a wounded bird. 
 
 " Madeline, my poor child, can I do nothing 
 for you?" asked Mr. Lanyon, in a voice wliich 
 quivered with a strange pathos. 
 
 " Nothing," she replied, in a hopeless tone.
 
 60 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " What can be done for a girl like me ?'' she 
 asked;, fixing her large eyes on him with a look 
 of vacant woe. 
 
 Mr. Lanyon made her no answer, and in the 
 silence that fell down between them, there broke 
 the twittering of birds, and the rustle of Summer 
 leaves. Something in these peaceful sounds, or 
 in the stillness and sorrow of her guardian^s face, 
 softened the unhappy girl, and trailing herself 
 towards him, without rising, she laid her head 
 upon his knees and covered his hands with her tears. 
 
 " Do not hate me for my grief," she said, 
 pleadingly ; " and bear with me when I speak 
 out of the bitterness of my heart. Remember, 
 you are the sole friend I have upon earth, with 
 whom I can dare give myself the luxury, and the 
 relief of truth. To the world I am the gay, the 
 happy, the envied Miss Sylvester ; to you, and to 
 you only, I am the miserable, heart-broken 
 daughter of a man who lies in a shameful grave.^' 
 
 " I never forget any of this, Madeline,^' 
 returned Mr. Lanyon, " therefore I bear with you 
 gently, and ever will do so, though you torture 
 me to death.^^ 
 
 This was the first reproach ^Madeline had 
 heard from her guardian^s lips, and she looked 
 up at him hastily. 
 
 " As for your father,-'^ he continued, " his 
 name is engraven on my brain. Do not speak 
 of him again ; I cannot, I will not bear it."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. CI 
 
 He spoke with passion, and this sudden change 
 from his nsual calm gentleness startled Madeline. 
 
 " Is there anything I have left undone, unsaid/'' 
 continued Mr. Lanyon, vehemently, "to prove 
 my compassion, my sorrow for that unhappy 
 man ? Have I not shielded his child from 
 penury, and the contempt of the world? Have 
 I not given her the gentle tending, the high 
 culture, the delicate refinement, that could never 
 have been hers in her own miserable home P^" 
 
 He uttered this as if to himself, and with eyes 
 fixed upon some phantom in the air. 
 
 " All you have done for me,^"* said Madeline, 
 mournfully, " has not fallen A'asted, dead, upon 
 un ungrateful mind. I repay you by a love and 
 reverence past words. Seeing, as I do, how 
 callous and unjust is the world, I marvel more 
 and more, every day of my life, at the wonderful 
 and gentle charity of the man, who took such 
 pity on an outcast child, that he gathered her to 
 his bosom as a daughter. You see I am now 
 speaking calmly ; and even in passion I do you 
 justice ; but in calmness I do more, I bow down 
 in wonder before your goodness and your love.^'' 
 
 " Do I want thanks, Madeline, or flattery T' 
 -cried Mr. Lanyon, almost fiercely. " Cease, 
 child, cease V 
 
 " No,'^ she answered, " hear me out. It is not 
 all praise that I am going to utter. I thank 
 you for succouring me, yet I still believe my
 
 62 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 path would have been less bitter^ had you left me 
 to the fate that awaited me. I should have been 
 a drudge at a workhouse^ a parish apprentice at 
 a farm^ a poor, coarse, untaught slave all my 
 life long. But to counterbalance this, I should 
 have had truth and openness on my side. My 
 name would be my own, my story w^ould be 
 known to all ; and if it gained me contempt from 
 some, it would have wrung pity from better 
 hearts. And perhaps, hard as I should have been, 
 I might have cared for neither. Now, it is true 
 you have given me culture, refinement, gentle 
 breeding; but all these mean only the power to 
 suffer — yes, to suflFer : that is the gift you have 
 laid upon me. To the child who was wrapped 
 in a web of mystery and deceit, you taught truth 
 and religion; to the woman whose whole life 
 must be a lie, you have given passionate honour, 
 passionate love of honesty and of justice. I belie 
 my nature every day ; and when I writhe and 
 suffer you blame me. And it is you who are to 
 blame, because you have striven by falsehood to 
 ward from my miserable head, that great curse 
 which says, ' The sins of the father shall descend 
 upon the children.^ '' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon heard her in a silence which held 
 down within him a passion, and a woe deeper 
 than any her speech could touch. His face was 
 inexpressibly pale and wan as he turned it towards 
 her, and laid his hand gently on her fair hair.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 63^ 
 
 " No, Madeline, not on the children. The sins 
 of the father must not descend on innocent 
 heads/^ he said, steadfastly; " that shall never be.^' 
 
 ^' But it is so, it must be so,^^ she persisted, 
 laying her hand upon her heart. '' I feel it here.^^ 
 
 Mr. Lanyon smiled sadly. 
 
 ^'You are far happier than you think, Madeline,^^ 
 he returned, gazing in her face wistfully. '' You 
 have youth, beauty, innocence, and love. Why 
 then do you let the life and death of a man you 
 can scarcely remember, disturb your peace ?^^ 
 
 ^'^ Because he was my father,^^ she replied: " and 
 so far from scarcely remembering him, every word 
 and look of his is scorched upon my memory.''^ 
 
 "And remembering him, Madeline, can you 
 say justly, that he was as good a father to you as 
 I have been and am V said Mr. Lanyon. 
 
 " No,^^ returned the girl, frankly, " I cannot 
 say it ; yet he loved me, and you do not." 
 
 A flush rose swiftly on Mr. Lanyon^s face as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " That is a most cruel speech, Madeline," he 
 said, coldly. " Ask yourself whether I do not 
 bear words from your lips, which I would not 
 brook from any other. Have I not suffered 
 calmly to-day all your reproaches, all your 
 bitterness ?" 
 
 "Yes, you have borne with me calmly,"*^ she 
 replied. " Had you loved me, you miglit perhaps 
 in your anger have smitten me to the earth. Do
 
 €4 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 not think this is a new reproach/^ she continued, 
 in a tone of deep sadness. " No ; I can under- 
 stand fall well^ that the horror which you have 
 of crime, and the loathing you feel at my being 
 allied to it, have shut up your heart from loving 
 me. Ah, you cannot tell how often I have seen 
 you, even when I was a child, shrink away from 
 a caress of mine ! And I do not complain of it, 
 though I read daily your secret repugnance even 
 to the sight of my face. I know myself only a 
 poor leper, stained w^ith my father^s shame, and I 
 dare not hope for love. Then think of the lone- 
 liness in which my soul lives through these 
 things; think what it is to feel in secret the 
 "weight of a great crime, while bearing outwardly 
 to the world, all the marks and semblance of 
 innocence and honour V 
 
 Mr. Lanyon^s eyes, which had been fixed on 
 hers, fell, and his sunken cheeks took an ashen 
 and ghastly hue. 
 
 *^ Girl, girl ! your words are poniards V he 
 cried, hurriedly. 
 
 '^ Yet they do not speak all the sharpness of 
 my woe,"*^ continued Madeline. " But a man 
 like you, whose memory is pure, whose long life 
 is unsullied, can scarce understand my burden. 
 Yet I have as honourable a mind as you. I, too, 
 loathe crime, and shudder at the blood which 
 runs in my veins ; but I have not, like you, the 
 right to despise it.^'
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 05 
 
 ^^ Yoli wrong me/^ cried the old nian^ j^assion- 
 ately. " I have feelings of tenderness and pity 
 for you, that you do not dream of/^ 
 
 " But no love/'' interposed Madeline, turning 
 from him sadly. '' I have seen you shudder 
 as your eye fell upon my face. Oh, believe 
 me, I know too well what feelings I in- 
 spire in an honourable heart. Let us talk no 
 more of it. I am cruel to pain you so long 
 with my presence and my bitter thoughts.'''' 
 
 She glided to the door, and here she turned 
 and looked upon him. He sat in his large chair 
 like a shrunken shadow of old age, with his head 
 drooping forward resting on his thin hand, and 
 his eyes fixed vacantly on the floor. For a 
 moment Madeline hesitated, as though she would 
 fain go to him with words of comfort ; but the 
 morbid gloom and pride of her nature stepped in 
 and conquered the kindly wish. 
 
 " No,^^ she said to herself, disdainfully, " I will 
 not try to console him ; he would but shudder 
 at a kind touch or loving word from me.^'' 
 
 She passed out of the room, and closed the 
 door with a silent hand ; but her shadow, like a 
 dreadful blight, still rested on the shrunken 
 figure in the chair, and not all the sunshine, 
 which poured upon him in a golden flood, could 
 lift it from his heart. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ATHER/^ said a fresh, clear voice, "I 
 have been looking for you/^ And Lady 
 Crehylls, radiant in her youth and 
 loveliness, came in softly, and stood by her 
 father's chair. "We want yon to come and 
 wish some of the people good-bye; they are 
 going/' 
 
 " Certainly, my dear,^' returned Mr. Lanyon, 
 vaguely. " Which of your guests are leaving ?'' 
 '^ Oh, nearly all of them,"" replied his daughter, 
 and taking his arm, she drew him from the 
 library to the hall, where many of those, who 
 had passed the night after the ball at the Castle, 
 were now uttering farewells to each other, and to 
 their host. Lord Crehylls seemed full of life 
 and gaiety, his clear mellow voice ringing with 
 the joyousness of youth, as he spoke words of 
 hospitality and kindness to all around. And 
 Mr. Lanyon^s care-worn face lit up with a sudden 
 smile as he contemplated him — a smile which 
 beamed with a still fuller pleasure, when his 
 eyes turned on the innocent, happy look of his
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 67 
 
 daughter. Never had slie seemed to him more 
 lovely^ more dear than to-day_, when her gMish 
 beauty and the joy which beamed^ as it were, 
 unconsciously around her presence, came to him 
 in contrast with the pale and angry gloom of 
 Madeline's chiselled face. 
 
 At length, as carriage after carriage rolled 
 away, there remained only at the door Justice 
 Pydar's old-fashioned chariot, and Mrs. Gilbert's 
 modern phaeton. 
 
 " You'll come and see me soon," said the old 
 gentleman as he shook hands with his young 
 host. '' I shall keep all the pheasants for you. 
 And bring your young friend, Pellew, with you, 
 if he will do me the pleasure to come. I like 
 him much. Ah, by the bye, where is he ? I 
 have not said good-bye to him." 
 
 " I am here/' answered Maurice, coming out 
 of an arched doorway. " I was just about to 
 ask whether you, or Mrs. Gilbert would kindly 
 give me a lift as far as the coach road. I want 
 to meet the London mail, which passes at four 
 o'clock." 
 
 ^' You can't mean that you are going back to 
 town ?" cried Lord Crehylls. '' I really wont 
 allow that, Pellew." 
 
 " I fear I must go," replied Maurice, as he 
 faltered out some excuse about letters and pressiug 
 business. " And I am afraid, Mr. Pydar," he con- 
 tinued, " that I shall not be able to avail myself 
 
 5—3
 
 68 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 of the invitation you so kindly extended to me 
 just now ; for I am obliged to remain in London 
 all the autumn and winter. I fancy it will be 
 long before I shall visit Cornwall again/' 
 
 He could not repress the slight agitation and 
 trembling of the lip with which he said this ; and 
 as he turned away to hide it, he met Mr. 
 Lanyon's earnest gaze. The pale worn face, 
 whose lines he had often marked with a kind of 
 faint wonder, bore now a shadow of doubt and 
 pain, and Maurice instantly guessed that he saw 
 into his heart, and knew of Madeline^'s rejection 
 of his love. 
 
 " Can she have told him ?'' he thought ; and 
 the blood rushed to his heart with a sudden hope. 
 
 " You must not go,"*' said Mr. Lanyon, pain- 
 fully. ^' You have promised to go back to 
 Penkivel with Madeline and me, and I will not 
 give up your promise.^' 
 
 " No, indeed,^' cried Lady Crehylls, eagerly, 
 ^^we are not going to part with you so easily, 
 Mr. Pellew. And where is ^ladeline ? What 
 will she say about it? Go and find Miss Syl- 
 vester,''' she said to a servant, who was standing 
 by the hall door. 
 
 Maurice heard this command with great em- 
 barrassment. 
 
 ^^ It will be quite impossible for me to return 
 with you to Penkivel,^' he said to Mr. Lanyon, 
 in a low voice ; '^ it would pain me too much/'
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 69 
 
 " Ah, I see you mean to stay/^ observed old 
 Mr. Pydar ; ^'^ so I wish you good-bye for a time.''' 
 So saying, he retreated to his chariot, and drove 
 away. 
 
 At this moment the servant returned who had 
 gone for Madeline, and said, ^' Miss Sylvester is 
 in her room, indisposed, my lady. She begs you 
 will excuse her from coming down. She sends 
 her compliments to Mr. Pellew, and wishes him 
 a pleasant journey .'' 
 
 Maurice's face flamed, and he put out his hand 
 hurriedly to say good-bye to Mr. Lanyon. Lord 
 and Lady Crehylls looked both hurt and sur- 
 prised, but Mrs. Gilbert smiled. 
 
 " His Egyptian queen has refused him,'' she 
 said to herself, '' and the sooner he escapes his 
 misery the better for him. Mr. Pellew," she 
 cried, " if you really wish to catch the mail, it is 
 time we departed." 
 
 " I do, indeed," said Maurice, hurrying for- 
 ward. " A thousand thanks. Lady Crehylls, for 
 all your kindness ; we shall meet this winter in 
 London, I hope." 
 
 Mr. Lanyon heard this — heard also a tremor 
 in his voice which told of the pain hidden, but 
 not subdued, and there rose before him, pale and 
 reproachful, the face of Madeline. She loved 
 this man, she had confessed it, and with her bitter 
 and proud spirit what would her life be without 
 this saving love ? Wrecked, utterly wrecked and
 
 70 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 miserable, a curse to herself, and perhaps to 
 others. But with this kind true heart by her 
 side, peace and happiness would spring up in her 
 soul, and the morbid bitterness, which she now 
 cherished perversely, would gradually die away. 
 On the other side, what a root of anguish this 
 love would be ; what a source of spite and pain 
 and anger for the future, adding a double blight to 
 her life, if now in her proud misery she sent this 
 man from her ! 
 
 " And from all this I can save her by a single 
 word, if I will,^^ said Mr. Lanyon to himself. 
 " But what a word ! No, I cannot do it. He 
 mnst go.'-* 
 
 At this instant Maurice^s hand clasped Mr. 
 Lanyon^s, and bending low, he whispered, " Tell 
 Madeline I go for her sake. I would not pain 
 her by my presence a moment longer, than I 
 could help.^^ 
 
 He turned away. Mrs. Gilbert was already 
 in the phaeton ; her voice was calling to him to 
 be quick. Another moment he would be gone, 
 and Madeline's whole life would be barren and 
 hopeless. Mr. Lanyon's breath came painfully 
 and his heart trembled. 
 
 " No ; there has been wrong enough/' he 
 thought. " This further evil shall not full upon 
 her head, if I can hold it back. Maurice, 
 Maurice V^ he cried aloud. 
 
 Somewhat surprised, the young man hurried
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 71 
 
 back to hinij and leant forward to catch the faint 
 words he spoke. 
 
 " Maurice/^ said he^ " yon must stay ; my ward 
 wishes it. I have a message for you from her.^' 
 
 Maurice stayed; and Mrs. Gilbert, with eyes 
 full of astonishment_, caught up the reins, and 
 drove away. 
 
 " Come to me this evening in the library/^ said 
 Mr. Lanyon. " I have much to say to you. I 
 cannot bear it now; I am not well to-day. I 
 think I shall go and rest awhile. ^^ 
 
 With a heart full of hope, Maurice watched 
 his bent and shrunken figure as he retreated, 
 scarcely seeing him; but Lady Crehylls, whose 
 eyes followed him also, looked flushed and anxious. 
 And as he disappeared behind the great folding 
 doors of the hall, she turned her steps the same 
 way, silent and thoughtful. 
 
 Mr. Lanyon went straight to his own room, 
 and placed before him on a table, a small, old- 
 fashioned desk, brass bound, and firmly locked. 
 He opened it by a key which hung at his watch 
 chain, and taking up a bundle of papers, tied and 
 sealed, he unfastened it, and spread them on the 
 desk. As he did this, there was a gentle tap at 
 the door, and laying his hand hurriedly on the 
 letters, he was about to close the desk, when the 
 lock turned softly, and his daughter, with her 
 boy in her arms, entered, and coming up to him 
 tenderly, she laid her lips on his brow.
 
 72 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " Father^ I thought you looked tired and ill/' 
 she said ; " so baby and I have come to have a 
 cosy chat, and cheer you up a little. Kiss 
 grandpapa, little one.'' 
 
 The child put his soft arms round the old 
 man's neck, and with cherry lips he kissed him, 
 patting his withered cheek with his tiny hand, 
 and laughing gleefully. 
 
 ^* He is a fine little fellow," said Mr. Lanyon, 
 looking at him proudly, " and you are very happy, 
 Agatha, my dear. May God keep you so V 
 
 '' Why, father, my dear father, what makes you 
 so sad and earnest to-day ?" cried his daughter, 
 leaning her fair young face upon his shoulder. 
 '' Of course I am happy. You know how good 
 and loving Geoffrey is ; and then I have you and 
 baby, and all the other blessings that I so often 
 forget to count — wealth, honour, position — which 
 would be nothing to me though, without GeoflPrey 
 and you, and my darling here." 
 
 She kissed the child, and the two fair cheeks 
 lay close together, the mother's scarcely less fresh 
 and smooth than the rosy infant's. With his 
 trembling hand still spread upon his desk on the 
 faded letters, Mr. Lanyon gazed on this pretty 
 picture with shrinking woe- worn eyes. 
 
 " Ah, Agatha, my child, human happiness is 
 built upon sand !" he said. "A touch — a word de- 
 stroys it often. Do not make idols of your earthly 
 treasures, lest they should be taken from you."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 73 
 
 " My dear father/^ returned the young wife 
 and mother, kneeling down by him^ and enclosing 
 him and her child in her two white, rounded 
 arms, ^' surely my treasures are given to me to 
 love ; and to my mind it would be but poor 
 wisdom to give them a cold half love/^ 
 
 Kneeling as she was now, her shining blue 
 eyes were almost on a level with the desk, and 
 her glance fell on the packet of letters beneath 
 her father^s hand. They were in her husband^s 
 writing. 
 
 " Old letters of Geoffrey ^s V she said eagerly. 
 ^' What are they about, father — may I see 
 them V' 
 
 " Only business, my dear," he replied — " busi- 
 ness between me and him when he was a lad, and 
 I was his guardian. They would not interest 
 you, Agatha." 
 
 Mr. Lanyon strove to speak calmly, but there 
 was something forced and unnatural in the quiet 
 of his tone. 
 
 " Business !" repeated his daughter, peering 
 curiously on the desk. " What does this mean — 
 ^ Madeline, my beautiful Madeline ?^ Of what 
 Madeline is he writing?" 
 
 The next instant Lady Crehylls gazed at her 
 father with amazement, as he closed the desk 
 with quivering eager hand, and locked it. 
 
 " He means Madeline Sylvester, my love," he 
 replied, in a hurried voice ; " but you need not
 
 74 BENEATH THE AVHEELS. 
 
 be jealous; she was only six years old when 
 these letters were written/'' 
 
 Lady Crehylls believed him ; and yet his agita- 
 tion and the feverish flush in his pale face gave 
 her a strange^ uneasy feeling, such as her heart 
 had never trembled with before in all her married 
 life. 
 
 " You know_, Agatha/^ said Mr. Lanyon, more 
 softly_, " Geoff'rey Avas very fond of Madeline as a 
 child.^^ 
 
 " Was he T' said Lady Crehylls, a little coldly; 
 " then I suppose, father, she was more pleasant 
 as a child, than she is as a girl. Her pride and 
 gloom now often sadden me. Come, let me see 
 what Geoffrey said about her, when she was his 
 ' beautiful Madeline/ '' 
 
 She laid her hand playfully on the key of the 
 desk ; but Mr. Lanyon thrust it aside hastily. 
 " Not now, my dear,^' he said ; '' some other 
 time you may read Geoflfrey^s boyish epistles if 
 you choose, but I am busy now — I have letters 
 to write. The boy tires me, Agatha. You had 
 better take him to his nurse.^^ 
 
 He put his little grandson down from off his 
 knee, kissing him as he let him go ; but still the 
 young mother was slightly hurt, and as she went 
 away, leading her boy by the hand, she bore 
 with her that faint, small cloud of care which, 
 appearing only as a speck on the horizon, might 
 yet spread over all the sky, and darken the sun
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 75 
 
 of her lifers happiness for ever. As her slight 
 fragile figure disappeared^ as her pretty delicate 
 hand closed the door^ Mr. Lanyon sighed deeply, 
 and a strange shiver shook his feeble frame. 
 
 " No ; I cannot speak/^ he said to himself — 
 " I cannot put her happiness and her life in 
 Maurice Pellew^s hands. I must bear this 
 secret alone to the end. But Madeline — ah, if 
 I am silent, it is her happiness I crush, her life I 
 fling away. Oh if there were some middle 
 course ! — if there were something I could do, 
 which would save them both ! Let me reflect — 
 let me take counsel with myself.^^ 
 
 He placed his hand upon his brow, and remained 
 a few moments in deep thought ; then rising, he 
 bolted the door, and again unlocking his desk, 
 he took from it the small packet of faded letters, 
 and read them through. This done, he laid 
 them down with a great sigh of relief. 
 
 " There are no marks of guilt here/^ he said, 
 putting his hand upon them. " There is nothing 
 here but a boy^s fancy — a boy^s folly. The 
 story Polgrain told me is a mad dream of his. 
 I will shake it off". I will believe it no more. 
 Even if true, I cannot destroy my daughter. 
 But it is not true ; it is the vision of a crazed 
 brain — tlie man was guilty, and Madeline must 
 bear her fate.^^ 
 
 As he said this, he put the letters in the desk 
 hastily, as though he longed to shut them from
 
 76 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 his sight again ; but the rough movement 
 brought before his eyes a newspaper, and this he 
 seized with an eager grasp. 
 
 "Ah! I had forgotten this/' he said. ''I 
 could not tell Maurice Pellew, but I can let him 
 read for himself; and if he truly loves Madeline, 
 this will not change his love. Here then is the 
 middle course I wished for; here is the chance 
 of saving her that I desired ; not a generous one 
 perhaps, but still the best I have.''' 
 
 He slowly relocked his desk ; and taking the 
 paper with him, he left the room with a feeble step.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ADELINE had wept till lier tears were 
 spent. She was not a woman to weep 
 qnietly, her grief was a sort of fury^ in 
 which she had torn off her ornaments^ and 
 loosened her long thick hair^ which hung tangled 
 about her shoulders^ as with her head resting on 
 her hands she sat silent^ numbed by her own 
 despair. 
 
 ^' Madeline/^ said a sweet gentle voice, " wont 
 you open the door ? I want to speak with you.^' 
 
 It was Lady Crehylls, and Madeline bore 
 towards her one of those strange, undefinable dis- 
 likes which arise in jealous natures_, apparently 
 without reason. To admit her now, to let her in 
 upon these white cheeks, these traces of tears 
 and passion, irritated her already galled spirit, 
 yet she could think of no excuse for denying her 
 admission. She withdrew the bolts silently, and 
 while the closed door still stood between her and 
 Agatha Crehylls she let her dark eyes flash forth 
 all her hate and misery, but as it moved on its 
 hinges, and the lady entered, her eye-lids fell,
 
 78 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and going back a step she stood with pale set 
 face, and hands drooping by her side. 
 
 "You want me. Lady Crehylls/^ she said, 
 coldly. 
 
 "My dear Madeline/^ returned the other, 
 ^' how often must I beg you to call me Agatha ? 
 You forget how it pleases my father to see us 
 like sister s.^^ 
 
 She put her hand on the girFs shoulder, and 
 would have kissed her, but Madeline drew back. 
 
 " Sisters V^ she said slowly ; " the word is such 
 a mockery to me, that it embitters my lips like a 
 drink of gall. If I call you Agatha, in what 
 will that make us like sisters, or bring into our 
 fates the shadow of a similarity ?" 
 
 " My dear love,^^ said Lady Crehylls, pityingly, 
 " I know you are full of sorrow to-day. I guess 
 it all, and I come to give you good news. Mr. 
 Pellew has not left the Castle ; he is still here.^^ 
 
 A flush of crimson swept over Madeline's face. 
 
 " Why does he stay ?'' she cried. " He has 
 no right uo torture me like this. Agatha, I 
 cannot see him. I shall remain in my room till 
 he is gone.'' 
 
 Lady Crehylls gazed at her with astonishment. 
 
 "This is folly indeed, Madeline," she said, 
 gravely. " Mr. Pellew loves you, and you return 
 his aff'ection. Under what pretext then do you 
 fling away his happiness and your own ? Do 
 you do this only to gratify your moody temper ?'*
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 79 
 
 " Yes ; think so^ if you will/'' returned Made- 
 line. '' What does it matter T' 
 
 " It matters through your whole life/' replied 
 Lady Crehylls, in a gentle^ serious voice. " It 
 matters this, Madeline, that with Maurice Pellew 
 by your side you will be a good and a happy 
 woman, but without him you will be neither." 
 
 '^ I know it/-* said Madeline, gloomily. " Go 
 away — do go away." 
 
 But Lady Crehylls drew nearer to her, and in 
 spite of the shiver that ran through Madeline's 
 frame, she put her arm about her tenderly, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " What has gone wi'ong, Madeline ?" she said, 
 softly. " Come, tell me, and I promise you I 
 will set it straight, even if the whole world is 
 gone awry." Madeline, however, was silent. 
 
 " You know, my dear/' continued the young 
 wife, " my father will do anything I ask him, 
 and so will Geoffrey. If, then, you think that 
 either of them has it in his power to help you, 
 say so, Madeline, and it shall be done." 
 
 " She boasts of her power," thought Made- 
 line — '^ this woman with a loving husband and 
 father, and she boasts of it to me. Does she 
 want me to hate her ?" But she still kept silent, 
 suffering the other's embrace, suffering even her 
 tears coldly. 
 
 " You wont speak, Madeline ?" said Lady 
 Crehylls, as her eyes filled with disappointment
 
 80 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and wounded feeling. " I am so sorry for you, 
 my dear. I want to help you, if you wdll let me.^'' 
 
 " But there is no help for me in the world/'' 
 returned Madeline, calmly. " Why don^t you 
 believe me when I say it? I tell you there is 
 none. Lord Crehylls can do nothing for me, 
 and your father can do no more than he has 
 done.'^ 
 
 " Have you quarrelled with Maurice Pellew ?" 
 asked Lady Crehylls, eagerly. " Oh, Madeline, 
 be reconciled; he loves you so dearly.^^ 
 
 ^' I have not quarrelled with him," she answered, 
 extricating herself from Agatha^s embracing arm. 
 " I am not given to quarrels ; but this I know of 
 myself, that a quarrel with me would be deadly. 
 I should never make it up.''^ 
 
 " You are a strange girl," said her friend, 
 looking at her sorrowfully. " Perhaps, Madeline, 
 you think my father will not consent to your 
 marriage, and you are too proud to ask it." 
 
 '' You are mistaken," said Madeline. " Your 
 father this morning pressed me to accept Mau- 
 rice " 
 
 " And you refused ?" iuterruped her companion. 
 
 " And I refused," said Madeline. 
 
 "Then you do not love him," said Lady 
 Crehylls, coldly, " and I am sorry I have asked 
 him to stay." 
 
 As she spoke, Madeline turned towards her, 
 and Lady Crehylls saw that her face was without
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 81 
 
 colour to the lips^ and her eyes were strangely- 
 wild. 
 
 ^' Yon say so/' she cried fiercely, " who think 
 only of the love that gratifies itself. Bat there is 
 a greater and a better love, which refuses all hap- 
 piness, and deliberately chooses sufi'ering, rather 
 than let the shadow of sorrow pass over a beloved 
 head. Oh why should I speak of that love to 
 you ? — to you, the prosperous, noble lady, who 
 brought your husband a ricli dower, and an 
 honourable name?^'' 
 
 " What mattered my name and my fortune ?" 
 said Lady Crehylls, with some heat. '' Geofirey 
 cared only for me. And I do not understand 
 your words, Madeline. What sorrow would you 
 bring on Mr. Pellew ?'' 
 
 " Do not ask me,^^ returned the girl, mourn- 
 fully ; " let your father tell you, if he will. It is 
 by his wish, not mine, that my history has been 
 kept a secret. I am reckless now, and I care 
 not who knows it.^^ 
 
 She flung herself on the floor, where she sat 
 with her head drooping forward on her knees, 
 and her long hair covering her like a mantle. 
 For a moment. Lady Crehylls contemplated this 
 desponding, gloomy figure in silence; then she said, 
 in a trembling voice — " Madeline, I — I have 
 fancied, sometimes, that my father had some 
 sorrow weighing on his heart, but I never guessed 
 it had aught to do with you. If, by sharing the 
 
 VOL. 1. G
 
 82 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 secret, I could take the burden of it, I would ; 
 but if not, I will not ask him for it/^ 
 
 " As you please," said Madeline, in the quiet 
 tone of hopelessness. 
 
 " Understand me, my dear," continued Lady 
 Crehylls, leaning over her anxiously : " I am a 
 wife : I can have no secrets from my husband ; 
 therefore I dare not ask my father to tell me any- 
 thing which it might pain him to let Geoffrey 
 know." 
 
 Madeline's head sank yet lower, and her small 
 hands covered her face. 
 
 "^Ah, guard your happiness," she returned, in 
 the same low tone ; " perfect confidence is the key- 
 stone of married peace. Say no more to me of 
 love and marriage, for if I became a wife my heart 
 would be a sealed book to my husband for ever." 
 
 Lady Crehylls looked grieved and frightened; 
 she drew back a little, saying, " You are, doubt- 
 less, the best judge yourself, Madeline, of the 
 course you ought to follow. Perhaps you have 
 done right to reject Maurice Pellew." 
 
 Madeline started up from the floor instantly. 
 
 " Do you suspect me ?" she said, as her eyes 
 blazed. '' Do you think me less worthy of a 
 good man^s love than you are ? How dare you 
 to insult me in that cold, meek cruel way of yours ? 
 How dare you do me such a bitter wrong ? " 
 
 Lady Crehylls, who was a woman of an ex- 
 ceedingly timid nature, and of a most generous
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 83 
 
 hearty grieved at the meaning Madeline had ap- 
 plied to her words; she held out her hands 
 pleadingly ;, while tears started to her eyes. 
 
 " I thought,, Madeline^ you alluded to your 
 gloomy temperament/^ she said^ " and to this un- 
 happy secret of which you speak, as, both com- 
 bined, unfitting you for the duties of a wife. I had 
 no other thought but that when I spoke. You 
 wrong yourself when you accuse me of insulting 
 you.'' 
 
 Madeline took the profiered hand, half in 
 shame, half in sorrow. 
 
 " You see," she murmured, " how full of sus- 
 picion and unjust thought I am. I cannot even 
 have a friend. How long would a husband love 
 me ? And yet " Here she turned sud- 
 denly, and still holding the hand of Agatha 
 Crehylls, she led her to the tall pierglass, which 
 stood between the high windows. " Look V she 
 continued, more softly, as the two fair figures 
 flashed upon them from the mirror ; " can you 
 see there, Agatha, any cause why life for me 
 should be a blank desert, without hope and with- 
 out joy ?' 
 
 " There is no cause,'' replied Lady Crehylls, 
 " except, Madeline, in your morbid nature, which 
 rejects the happiness offered you." 
 
 " So I might say to you, were my soul in 
 your soul's place," said the girl, in the same 
 gentle way. '^ I am as full of words as you ; 
 
 G— 2
 
 84 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and were I as liappy^ I might be as blind. 1, 
 toO;, could deal out reproof and counsel^ and 
 bruise a wounded heart as well as you.^^ 
 
 '' I have no wish to wound you^ Madeline/' 
 interposed her companion^ quickly. " Remember, 
 your family history is unknown to me. I am 
 not, therefore, to blame if an inadvertent word 
 sometimes touches a sorrow of which I am igno- 
 rant. But I still warn you that, whatever the 
 cause of your grief may be, it is both unwise and 
 wicked to brood over it, and allow it poison the 
 springs of life.^^ 
 
 Lady Crehylls here would have released her 
 hand from Madeline's, but the girl's clasp 
 tightened on her fingers, and raising her other 
 hand, she pointed to the glass. 
 
 '^^ Can I help it, Agatha, if I am born with this 
 face, and you wdth that ?'' she said. ^^ Your 
 words, like a hammer in the hands of a blind 
 man, strike the air only. You might as reasonably 
 accuse me of having gray eyes, as of poisoning 
 my own happiness. I have had no power in 
 either case. Circumstances are all — circum- 
 stances are everything. Look upon my face and 
 your own ; we are gifted alike with rare beauty — 
 I speak the simple truth without vanity — and I 
 claim to have as high a soul as yours, talents per- 
 haps greater, and a heart whose every beat is as 
 true to a noble love as yours can be ; and yet no 
 single blessing that you possess can I ever dare
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 85 
 
 to hope for. 'No, it would be a crime in me to 
 ally myself to an honourable man ; while to you 
 marriage was but another garland in your wreath 
 of joys. Here^ then^ you see the images of two 
 women, formed alike by nature for happiness, 
 ^nd yet one is, and must be, hopeless. What 
 makes the difference between us, Agatha ? Cir- 
 cumstances which we could not help — circum- 
 stances which we neither made nor marred — 
 circumstances which our souls were not asked 
 either to choose or to reject. Helplessly, and 
 without choice, I was thrust into the place I fill, 
 and I find it a narrow dungeon ; with equal help- 
 lessness you awake in your niche, and discover 
 loving arms aroimd you, and flowers beneath 
 your feet at every step. We can neither of us 
 help it, Agatha ; but be merciful to me, when at 
 times I beat my hands against the bars of my 
 prison, and cry vainly for the love and light that 
 can never be mine.^^ 
 
 She dropped her companion's hand coldly, 
 calmly, as she had held it, and Lady Crehylls, 
 standing silent and sorrowful, saw her beautiful 
 face and her stately figure pass slowly out of the 
 glass like a fading vision. Tears stood in her 
 own eyes when she turned away, saying, wist- 
 fully, " Without seeking, Madeline, to pry into 
 affairs known perhaps only to my father and 
 yourself, tell me, is there anything I can do for 
 you ? or can Geoffrey help you V
 
 86 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Madeline shook her head mthout reply, and 
 the weary look in her eyes so plainly said — 
 Leave me; let me commune with my own heart 
 and be still — that Lady Crehylls quitted her 
 hastily, half in wonder, half in fear. And as in- 
 stinctively, almost unwittingly, she sought the 
 free air, and wandered away upon the soft turf, 
 beneath the shadow of leaves and the fragrance 
 of blossom, she felt that the small cloud of care, 
 which her heart had borne in quitting her father, 
 had deepened in gloom and intensity since she 
 had spoken with Madeline Sylvester.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AURICE PELLEW watched for the 
 evening shadows with an impatience 
 scarcely born of hope; his was rather 
 the eagerness which prefers a gloomy certainty 
 to a feverish suspense. Madeline had desired 
 that he should stay ; he obeyed her, but beyond 
 the expectation of receiving some explanation, 
 which might soften his rejection, he did not an- 
 ticipate any alteration in their relative positions. 
 A woman of so inflexible a nature was not likely 
 to change her mind. Hence he felt no surprise 
 when he saw Madeline's chair vacant at dinner, 
 and if it gave him a momentary pleasure to per- 
 ceive that she was not indifferent enough to meet 
 him calmly, and would not put herself to the 
 test, this faded instantly in the thought that her 
 absence also proved how firm was her resolve to 
 abide by her first decision. The dinner seemed 
 to him insufferably long and dull, and he almost 
 started when Lady Crehylls addressed him. 
 
 " You took shelter this morning at St. Eglon's
 
 88 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Hut/^ she said. "What do you think of that 
 gloomy place T' 
 
 " I saw it ill a storm/^ he answered, " and it 
 certainly had a most forlorn look ; the trees press 
 on it so closely, and the garden is a wilderness ; 
 but were all this put in order, I think it might 
 be made a pleasant place in sunshine/^ 
 
 " Ah, in sunshine,^^ returned Lady Crehylls ; 
 " but the spot is so unlucky, I believe it never 
 catches a glimpse of the sun. At all events I 
 have never made up a party to visit it that we 
 did not find a dull, gray sky, or clouds weeping 
 floods of rain. In fact, this dilapidated house is 
 a great eyesore on the clifi*, and I want Geoff'rey 
 to pull it down.^' 
 
 Evidently St. Eglon^s Hut was a slight bone 
 of contention between Lord Crehylls and his wife, 
 for he listened to her with a vexed air, and 
 made no reply to her remark. 
 
 " It would be a pity to pull it down,^'' said 
 Maurice ; " it would be better to put it in order, 
 and get a cheerful tenant for it.^^ 
 
 '^ A tenant for St. Eglon^s Hut V exclaimed 
 Mr. Lanyon. " No, no — I hope uot. Who is 
 talking of such a thing ?'^ 
 
 " No one, my dear sir," returned Lord 
 Crehylls. " I assure you I have no intention of 
 letting it,-''' he said, drily, addressing himself to 
 Maurice. Then, as though he felt he had been 
 ungracious, he added, in a tone of apology.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 89 
 
 *' The fact is, my conscience will scarcely allow 
 me to take rent for such a nest of ague and 
 rheumatism ; and I should certainly never get 
 a sane tenant. It would only be a madman 
 who would take such a place." 
 
 Remembering Michael Polgrain had spoken of 
 a former tenant, Maurice would have asked who 
 he was ; but when some subject is mooted painful 
 to another, though the pain may not find ex- 
 pression either by word or look, an indefinable 
 shadow of it falls on the mind, restraining speech, 
 and this kept back the question from his lips. 
 He changed the subject abruptly. 
 
 ^' Lady Crehylls was speaking of sunshine just 
 now,^' he said ; " that reminds me of the singular 
 man I met this morning, who declared he never 
 saw the sun." 
 
 " You mean Michael Polgrain,^^ returned Lord 
 Crehylls. '^ Yes, he is quite mad on that point, 
 poor fellow ! His sight is perfectly sound, and 
 yet he persists in declaring himself half-blind." 
 
 ^^We have a superstition in Cornwall," ob- 
 served Lady Crehylls, " that a perjurer — one who 
 by false swearing has taken away the life of 
 another — never sees sunshine ; but T believe poor 
 Michael was never a witness on any trial. Father, 
 she said, and she raised her voice slightly, '' have 
 you ever heard of Michael Polgrain giving evi- 
 dence in a court of justice ?" 
 
 Mr. Lanyon had risen from his chair, and
 
 90 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 his sharp, pinched face looked haggard and 
 wild. 
 
 " Evidence V he cried, " no ! What evi- 
 dence could Michael Polgrain give ? He had 
 nothing to say — absolutely nothing ; he was miles 
 away — I mean the man is mad. Who would 
 listen to him?^^ Then he sank into his chair 
 again, with a blank smile on his lips. " A glass 
 of water/" he said to the servant, faintly. He 
 drank it eagerly, then set the glass down with a 
 trembling hand. " My dear Agatha,"" he con- 
 tinued, " you have no idea how these late hours 
 disagree with me. I feel quite ill to-day."" 
 
 His daughter was leaning over him, and her 
 lips touched his brow as he spoke. 
 
 " Go into the library and lie down a while on 
 the sofa, dear father,"" she said, anxiously. " I 
 see you are feverish and weary. Come, will you 
 take my arm?" 
 
 Maurice sprang to the door and opened it for 
 father and daughter to pass out. But here Mr. 
 Lanyon stopped a moment. 
 
 " What do you say to being my escort, IMr. 
 Pellew ?"" he said. " If you will bear with an 
 old man"s tediousness, I shall be glad of your 
 society in my retreat."" 
 
 Maurice perceived at once that Mr. Lanyon 
 wished now to give him the promised interview, 
 so he acquiesced instantly ; and after a slight 
 demur on the part of Lady Crehylls, he prevailed 
 on her to give up her charge to him.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 91 
 
 A servant followed them to the library with 
 wine and fruity and Maurice felt an inexpressible 
 relief when the glasses and plates were at last 
 arranged, and the man closed the door, leaving 
 him alone with Mr. Lanyon. 
 
 '' You observed that my daughter's question 
 respecting Michael Polgrain startled me/' he 
 remarked uneasily. " The truth is_, I was just 
 then thinking of a strange trial,, which greatly 
 affected my mind at the time of its occurrence.'' 
 
 " What has this to do with Madeline ?" thought 
 Maurice, with intense impatience. "Oh, why 
 does he not come to the point ?" 
 
 " I have an old newspaper here/' continued 
 Mr. Lanyon, " containing rather an exaggerated 
 account of the affair, but nevertheless one true in 
 the main. Would you like to look at it ?" 
 
 As he spoke he took the paper from his pocket- 
 book and handed it to Maurice. It was a num- 
 ber of the Sherborne and Yeovil Mercury, the 
 oldest paper of the West, and the only one that 
 circulated in Cornwall during the end of the last 
 century. The small yellow sheet fluttered in 
 Mr. Lanyon' s hand as he pointed to the page 
 which he wished Maurice to peruse. 
 
 ^' Are you anxious I should read this ?" asked 
 the young man. " If so, I will look at it by and 
 bye in my room. At this present moment I 
 want to speak to you of Madeline ; and my mind 
 is so full of doubt and pain, that until it is some-
 
 92 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 what relieved, I fear I shall take very little in- 
 terest even in the strangest trial ever recorded/' 
 
 He stopped, surprised at the agitation which 
 Mr. Lanyon could now no longer suppress. 
 
 " Read this first/' he said hurriedly, " and then 
 I will speak of Madeline. I have something to 
 tell you concerning her — something serious ; but 
 I cannot utter a word until you have read that 
 trial.'' 
 
 With his eyes fixed earnestly on the white, 
 haggard face before him, Maurice listened with 
 a vague fear clutching at his heart, then he seized 
 the paper, and read down the closely printed page 
 in deep silence. Mr. Lanyon watched him 
 eagerly, with the fever of some great pain bring- 
 ing big drops of sweat upon his brow, yet, 
 when Maurice had concluded, he avoided his 
 gaze, and the young man's anxious eyes sought 
 his in vain. 
 
 " Did you know this — this tenant of St. Eglon's 
 Hut?" asked Maurice, as he folded the paper 
 with an unsteady hand. 
 
 " Slightly," returned Mr. Lanyon ; " but there 
 could be no friendship or even acquaintance be- 
 tween us. He was doubtless a gentleman by 
 birth, but broken in fortune and in reputation, 
 jaded in health, and dissipated and reckless in 
 character. You have read his trial, and — and 
 you think him guilty ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Maurice, in a slightly hesitating
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 93 
 
 tone j " but had I been his counsel, I should 
 have pleaded for time. The evidence is all cir- 
 cumstantial, and I would have asked that the 
 prisoner should be allowed time to procure wit- 
 nesses in his own favour.^^ 
 
 " That is a circumstance, Mr. Pellew, which 
 has always caused me keen regret/'' said Mr. 
 Lanyon. " I would give all my fortune, and the 
 small remnant of my life, if that unhappy man''s 
 trial had been postponed." 
 
 " Such a regret is very useless," observed 
 Maurice, " especially as there appears to have 
 been no doubt in the minds of judge and jury as 
 to his guilt. I see he was condemned, and I 
 suppose the sentence was carried out." 
 
 ^' No,''^ said Mr. Lanyon, laying his hand on 
 the young man^s arm ; " he anticipated the sen- 
 tence. He died by his own hand.^^ 
 
 A swift, dark flush covered Maurice Pellew^s 
 face to the brow, and the dreadful doubt that had 
 seized upon his heart now became a certainty. 
 
 '^ You give me this trial to read,^-* he faltered, 
 
 '' because But no, no, it cannot be, it is 
 
 too horrible !" 
 
 " Wait a moment before you judge, I entreat 
 you," cried Mr. Lanyon. '^ Remember, Madeline 
 is my daughter by adoption. The home, the 
 education, the affection she has received, have 
 not been influenced by the evils of her birth. 
 She has ever been surrounded by all that is good
 
 94 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and true. Tell me^ is she less pure, less noble 
 than any other lady whom you have met in 
 your own circle T' 
 
 Maurice had covered his face with his hands, 
 but he raised his head now, saying earnestly — 
 " No j on my life no ; she is as noble and as pure 
 as the best, and she is more intelligent, more 
 thoughtful than most ; yet there is a warp in 
 her mind, which I can well understand now I 
 have read this,^^ and he laid his hand on the 
 paper with a deep sigh. 
 
 '^You grant her talents, worth, and beauty,^^ 
 resumed Mr. Lanyon, pleadingly, " and these 
 are her own ; do you think, for a sin not her 
 own, she ought to suffer in your estimation ?" 
 
 ^' There is no need to plead her cause to me," 
 replied Maurice. " My heart speaks for her in 
 a voice deeper than yours, but I confess it is at 
 war with my reason, my prejudice, my prudence. 
 It is terrible to have a secret in one^s own house- 
 hold ; terrible to look in the faces of one^s children, 
 and feel there is a horror hidden from them, the 
 burden of which you have not courage to lay 
 upon their hearts." 
 
 Mr. Lanyon^s pale pinched face wore a deathly 
 hue as Maurice finished, and, stretching out his 
 shaking hand, he seized a glass of wine, which 
 he drank eagerly. 
 
 " True, Maurice," he said, " and yet you see I 
 have braved the trial. I have succoured Made-
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 95 
 
 line from the day she was left an orphan, and 
 neither Geoffrey nor Agatha has an idea of her 
 true parentage/^ 
 
 " Your kindness, your charity, your benevo- 
 lence, will doubtless meet their due reward,^-* 
 replied Maurice, softly. '' Such disinterested '' 
 
 " For pity^s sake, be silent,^' cried Mr. Lanyon, 
 hurriedly. " I detest a single word of praise on 
 this matter. Tell me at once, is your heart 
 turned from Madeline now that you have read 
 this history V 
 
 " No/^ answered Maurice, sadly, " the love of 
 years cannot be quenched in a moment, even by 
 such a flood of sorrow and sin as this. But I 
 think Madeline spoke truly, and acted nobly, 
 and like herself, when she said this morning she 
 could never be my wife.'^ 
 
 " Are you so poor in heart ?" asked Mr. Lanyon^ 
 a little scornfully. "Then I am sorry I have 
 divulged poor Madeline's history. I thought you 
 loved her.'"* 
 
 Maurice rose, and paced the room once or 
 tAvice before he answered, and he was still stand- 
 ing, when he said, in a low, quiet voice, — " Mr. 
 Lanyon, my heart is not so poor as you think, 
 but the question it has to resolve is so momen- 
 tous, that it will not decide hastily .'' 
 
 " What question do you mean ?" asked Mr. 
 Lanyon, in a feeble, querulous tone. 
 
 " I am asking myself,''"' said Maurice, " whether
 
 96 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 I have a rights for my love's sake^ to give up all 
 my hopes of a noble carieer_, all my ambition and 
 prospects. I am asking myself, whether I have 
 a right to disappoint my father's just expecta- 
 tionSj and destroy all the long- cherished hopes 
 which his affection and his care have built around 
 me.^^ 
 
 " Is there any need to destroy them V cried 
 Mr. Lanyon. " ISIadeline is a woman fit to 
 stand by her husband^s side^ if he wins the highest 
 honours in the land.'^ 
 
 " In herself she is/"* returned Maurice^ sor- 
 rowfully ; '' but yetj whosoever marries her must 
 be content to remain an obscure man ; he must 
 shrink from the public gaze, and live unknowing 
 and unknown/' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon was silent, and Maurice went on 
 more sadly still. 
 
 ^' You are aware/' he said, " that to be known 
 is the breath of a barrister's life. To bring him 
 self ever and always into the public arena, till he 
 is crowned victor in the fight, is his great hope ; 
 and for him who has whetted the edge of his 
 mind for the encounter it is a glorious struggle. 
 Mr. Lanyon, I have done this. The education 
 I have received, the honours I have won at Ox- 
 ford, the talents I possess, I have only valued as 
 the weapons I should use in this battle. It is 
 no light thing, then, to fling my arms down, and 
 retire from the field, before I have drawn a
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 97 
 
 *word ; it is no light tiling to renounce all hope 
 of wealth and position, and to tell my heart that it 
 must rest content with obscurity and poverty ; yet 
 I could do all this for Madeline''s sake^ if '^ 
 
 He paused^ unwilling to conclude; and Mr. 
 Lanyon filled up the silence with a long-drawn 
 ■sigh. 
 
 '^ If you were assured of Madeline\s affection, 
 you would say, Maurice ! Then take the as- 
 surance from my lips. In this room to-day she 
 told me all her heart, and confessed that her 
 entire love was yours."^ 
 
 A flush of transient joy crimsoned Maurice 
 Pellew's face a moment, then faded, leaving it 
 paler than before. 
 
 '^ Nevertheless,^' he said mournfully, ^' she 
 saw the necessity of sacrificing her love, she saw 
 that we must part. Her rejection of me this 
 morning was noble, like herself; and loving her 
 most dearly, as I do, I still bow to her decision." 
 
 Mr. Lanyon seemed to gasp for breath, his 
 agitation grew beyond his control, and shone out 
 now in every lineament of his careworn face. 
 When he spoke his voice had sunk to a Avhisper. 
 
 " So you reject her utterly,^' he said ; " ac- 
 knowledging her to be good and gifted, you 
 desert her — you visit upon her innocent head the 
 sins of her father, — a man she can scarce re- 
 member. For the mere accident of birth you 
 permit your prejudices to destroy your love. 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 9^8 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 What is your boast worthy, then, that you could 
 be content with obscurity for her sake T' 
 
 " I added an ' if/ '^ said Maurice, with deep 
 sadness. *^ I was about to say, if her name was 
 pure from the stain of so dreadful a guilt. I 
 confess to a sort of horror in my blood, which, 
 unjust or not, makes me shudder at the thought 
 of giving to my children a lineage which, on their 
 mother's side, would be a terror to me and them. 
 How can I tell how my mind would dwell on 
 this crime ? — how, in years to come, I might 
 watch in my wife, or my child, for some outbreak 
 of the father^'s temper, which might seem to me 
 the germ springing up to death ? Why, every 
 little venial, childish sin I saw in my home, 
 would pull at my heartstrings and make them 
 crack. No, I could not bear it — I tell you, I 
 could not bear it.'' 
 
 He finished vehemently, too agitated himself 
 to mark that his words had brought great beads 
 of sweat on Mr. Lanyon's brow, and driven the 
 blood from his face, leaving the care-lined lips 
 colourless and quivering with some strange 
 agony. 
 
 ^' Maurice,^' he said, extending his hand towards 
 him feebly, " do you mean that if Madeline's 
 father were guiltless you would not heed the ver- 
 dict of a jury, or the sentence of a judge, or the 
 prejudices of the world, but would take his^ 
 daughter gladly ?"
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 99 
 
 " I mean that," said Maurice stedfastly. " I 
 repeat it_, my love is not so poor as you think. 
 I would take Madeline to my heart to-morrow if 
 I could even doubt her father^'s guilt. Yes, the 
 mere doubt would satisfy me, and take the 
 creeping horror out of my veins." 
 
 Who can say through what a fiery furnace of 
 pain, Mr. Lanyon^s spirit passed as he heard this 
 avowal ? The fate of a human soul, of Madeline 
 Sylvester^s soul, hung upon his lips ; her destiny 
 for good or evil was in his hands ; he held the 
 balance ; he could make her life safe, pure, and 
 happy by a single word ; or by his silence he 
 could leave her to the solitude of her proud 
 misery, and let her perish. It was a terrible 
 moment — a moment of agony and indecision ; it 
 was awful to hold thus Avithin his power the whole 
 future of a human being. Passing before him 
 as in a glass, he saw Madeline as a wife and 
 mother, with all good thoughts, gentle and 
 womanly, springing up in the pure soil of home, 
 making her soul, like a watered garden, beautiful 
 for flower and for fruit. Following this vision, 
 came the figure of a woman to whom was denied 
 all the blessings of love and home, — a woman 
 erect in pride, but bowed in the spirit beneath a 
 burden of shame, her heart scarred as with fire, 
 and her soul a wilderness, on whose parched 
 sands the rain never fell, though the dwellers of 
 the desert, the scorpion and the serpent, found 
 
 7— a
 
 100 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 here food and shelter. The picture was horrible^ 
 and its truth passed over him like a withering 
 breath. Justice and Heaven cried out to him, 
 as he saw it_, to speak and save her ; and, 
 above all, knocking at his breast loudly, came 
 that small, steadfast, whispering voice in the 
 human heart, which demands that atonement 
 shall be made for wrong. 
 
 " Maurice,^^ he said nervously, '' there are 
 circumstances connected with this dire event, 
 which, if I had known them in time " 
 
 " Father,^^ interposed a very sweet voice, " I 
 have brought you a cup of tea myself. Are you 
 better V 
 
 Radiant in her grace and beauty. Lady Crehylls 
 laid her small hand softly upon his, and smiled 
 into his eyes in a pretty, childish, coaxing way, 
 peculiar to her. Her little boy was with her, 
 holding the folds of her blue silk dress in both 
 his chubby hands, and hiding his face half 
 shyly, half in fun, as Maurice patted his yellow 
 curls. 
 
 The presence of his daughter, and her child 
 brought a sudden revulsion of feeling to ]Mr. 
 Lanyon^s heart. What was Madeline to him, 
 compared with these ? And who was Maurice 
 Pellew, that he should put the happiness of those 
 dear lives into his keeping? Experience and 
 sorrow had taught him to put faith in no man. 
 Maurice might promise secrecy; but what is a
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 101 
 
 promise but idle breath ? And a secret is only safe 
 "vvhen held within one^s own lips ; to entrust it to 
 another is to send it forth to the fom^ winds ; and 
 if this secret went out to the svorld, what a crash 
 of ruin would follow, what dire dismay and anguish 
 would fall down upon this happy home, what 
 unutterable woe would swallow up all this 
 peace ! 
 
 " Agatha/^ said Mr. Lanyon, and his voice 
 shook, " I am glad you came, my dear — very 
 glad.^^ 
 
 " And me, too ?^' asked the child. " Is g'anpa' 
 glad Aubrey came too T' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon took the little one in his arms and 
 kissed him. 
 
 ^' Glad V said he — '^ yes, grandpapa is always 
 glad to see his dear boy." 
 
 With hands trembling like winter leaves, the 
 old man set the child upon his knee. 
 
 " Grandpapa will keep Aubrey safe," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " Safe !" returned the boy. ^' No one can 
 hurt Aubrey. Giants can^t come to this castle. 
 When I'm bigger, I'll have a sword, and fight 
 giants." 
 
 The grave man smiled, and the young mother 
 laughed joyously. 
 
 " And I'll kill all the ogres," cried the child, 
 clapping his little hands together — " the wicked 
 ogres who steal away children."
 
 102 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " May I ask if Miss Sylvester is better V said 
 Maurice^ suddenly. 
 
 ^' Oh, Mr. Pellew^ I am really ashamed of my- 
 self/^ said Lady Crehylls, blushing a vi\4d rose ; 
 '^ I ought to have gone up to her room^ to see 
 how she is. 1^11 go at once. Come^, Aubrey ; 
 wish grandpapa good night now, and then 
 we^l go." 
 
 " Where is GeoflPrey V asked Mr. Lanyon. 
 
 " Oh, he is gone for a stroll in the park, the 
 evening is so lovely," replied Lady Crehylls. 
 " Father, do you know he has asked for Made- 
 line so many times this evening, that I am quite 
 jealous. What do you think of that ? " 
 
 She did not wait for an answer, but ran away, 
 laughing and singing to her boy as she went. 
 Her joyous presence, her air and tone had jarred 
 upon the time, in the mind of Maurice, and the 
 moment she was gone, he turned to Mr. Lanyon, 
 and entreated him to conclude what he was 
 about to say. Alas ! he little guessed that her 
 fresh fair face, and the child's innocent prattle, had 
 sealed Mr. Lanyon^s ]ips, and changed Madeline's 
 and his own fate for ever in this world. 
 
 ^^ The circumstance was, perhaps, immaterial," 
 observed Mr. Lanyon, looking down into his tea- 
 cup ; " but I will relate it, since I have alluded 
 to it. I must tell you the story from the 
 beginning, clearly, for the garbled account in 
 the paper will scarcely enable you else to under- 
 stand me.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 103 
 
 " In my capacity as trustee for the Crehylls 
 €states_, I was applied to by this — this ruined gen- 
 tleman, to let him St. Eglon-'s Hu.t. Unhappily, in 
 my anxiety to do the best I could for the property 
 under my charge, I consented, and the man and 
 his wife came down here and took possession of 
 the place. Maurice, this wife of his was the most 
 beautiful woman I have ever seen. At all times, 
 in all countries, she would have drawn a crowd 
 of gazers ; down here she w^as simply a wonder. 
 No one could see her without a start of admira- 
 tion and surprise; no one, having once looked 
 upon her face, could ever forget it again while 
 he lived. The marvellous beauty of the lady, 
 and the reckless dissipation of her husband, 
 became common talk. Every one knew they 
 lived unhappy lives ; every one knew the man 
 w^as passionate and jealous, the woman sullen 
 and bitter. Suddenly a friend came to stay with 
 them — the same who was found dead by the 
 river side. 
 
 "At the ford, where the cross is cut on the 
 bank ?^^ said Maurice, taking up the paper, and 
 putting it down again, wearily. 
 
 " Yes,'' replied Mr. Lanyon ; '' and this visitor, 
 this false friend, had not been long at St. Eglon's 
 Hut before people said, the wretched spend- 
 thrift husband had good cause for jealousy, for 
 he was certainly the secret lover of the beautiful 
 wife. About this time it came to my knowledge
 
 104 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 that Lord Crehylls — a boy then — was attracted 
 by the wonderful loveliness of this woman, and 
 was following her in her walks, and endeavour- 
 ing, by other foolish boyish ways, to evince his 
 admiration. Alarmed by this, I sent the lad 
 away on a cruise. I had interest enough to get 
 him on board the admiraFs ship, in the fleet then 
 at Plymouth, and he left the country, and was- 
 absent three years/^ 
 
 " Did you think the affair so serious between 
 him and the lady V^ asked Maurice. 
 
 " By no means,^^ said Mr. Lanyon, lifting his 
 trembling hand to his forehead, and pressing it 
 there a moment ; but I was the lad^s guardian, 
 and resolved, therefore, to save him from evil. 
 I feared the violence and jealousy of a man 
 Avhose wits were always half-maddened by drink > 
 so I thought it best to get Geoffrey out of the 
 way of such a husband and such a wife. Scarcely 
 was he safely embarked, when I heard, with dis-^ 
 may, that the wretched woman and her lover had 
 left St. Eglon^s Hut, and the forsaken husband 
 was there alone, brooding over his misery. A 
 few days passed, and the body of the lover was 
 washed up by the brook upon the bank. There 
 Avas no doubt that he was murdered. Then foU 
 lowed all the evidence you have read there — the 
 fearful quarrel overheard by the servants, and the 
 testimony of the thatcher on the roof of that little 
 cottage beyond the w^ood, who saw both men
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 105 
 
 enter the wood, but only one return — the one 
 who threw his blood-stained coat down the old 
 shaft, which lies among the moor-stones. Hidden 
 by the chimney of the cottage, the roof of which he 
 was repairing, the thatcher saw this deed plainly, 
 and wondered at it. This was the act which, in 
 the eyes of judge and jury, condemned the un- 
 happy father of Madeline Sylvester.^' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon paused, and Maurice looked at 
 him with a disappointed gaze. 
 
 " Are these the only circumstances you had to 
 relate to me ?" he said. '' They are much the 
 same as the paper tells ; and I see nothing in them 
 from which to derive a doubt of this wretched 
 gentleman^s guilt. He had been wronged, fear- 
 fully wronged ; and, in a moment of madness, he 
 slew the villain who had betrayed his friendship 
 and dishonoured his name. In most countries 
 such a sudden revenge on the part of a husband 
 would scarcely be called murder. There is a 
 chord of sympathy in the heart of every man 
 which half excuses the deed. Perhaps this is 
 the extenuating circumstance to which you 
 allude V 
 
 " No,^^ returned Mr. Lanyon. '' See here, 
 have you observed this?^' And taking up the 
 paper, he pointed, with a shaking finger, to the 
 evidence of the thatclier. ^^ Do you remark that 
 a third man is seen to enter the wood — enters it 
 first, before Mathcw Carbis, the wife's lover —
 
 100 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 plunges into it gloomily, followed by the hus- 
 band. And this man has never been seen 
 again from that day to this/^ said Mr. Lanyon, 
 slowly. 
 
 Maurice gazed at him with earnest eyes, while, 
 with trembling forefinger still upon the paper, 
 Mr. Lanyon went on. 
 
 " The disappearance of this man,^^ he said — 
 " one of those hawkers who ruin the Cornish 
 poor — was not thought much of at the time ; but 
 since he has never ventured into this^ county 
 again — since from that hour he has vanished from 
 human ken as completely as though he were a 
 dead man — I verily believe the statement of 
 this unhappy, ruined, reckless gentleman — that 
 he found Mathew Carbis dead by the brook side, 
 and lifting him, to see if he could give him aid, his 
 light great-coat became stained with blood. Then, 
 when he saw the man was murdered, it flashed 
 into his mind that of all men living, he would be 
 the one, whom the world would deem most 
 desirous of Mathew Carbis^s death. Trembling 
 at the thought, he flung the body into the stream, 
 and threw his coat into the depths of the old 
 shaft, and returning to his desolate home, he 
 held his peace. Remember, Maurice, he was a 
 man habitually given to intoxication — not a man 
 likely to act with cool sense, and judgment on 
 any matter — and now he was half crazed by his 
 wife^s flight. Hence, I repeat, that his defence.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 107 
 
 which I deemed incredible at the time^ I now 
 believe ; and it is my firm conviction, that he 
 was not the slayer of Mathew Carbis/^ 
 
 It was not the words alone which swelled in 
 clear tones from Mr. Lanyon's lips, bnt the look 
 of conviction, painful conviction, on his haggard 
 features which impressed and agitated Maurice 
 Pellew in a singular way. The expression he 
 used,, the faith he asserted, seemed to spring 
 from something stronger than a mere possibility ; 
 it was a belief so fixed and settled, that its root 
 appeared to stand in fact, not in faith. 
 
 " You appear sure of what you say,"*^ observed 
 Maurice ; " and yet, what motive of hate or of 
 revenge could this poor hawker have had against 
 this vile man ? Was there any search made for 
 him T' 
 
 Mr. Lanyon grasped Maurice's hand in both 
 his as he replied, " A very slight, a very ineffective 
 search was made ; and this is the circumstance 
 that grieves me, and preys on my mind to this 
 day. Disbelieving, then, entirely, the story told 
 by the prisoner, I impressed my opinion on 
 others. The trial was hurried on ; all demands 
 for a postponement were, through my influence, 
 refused ; and the result was, as you have read — 
 death.'' 
 
 " And why were you so over-zealous in the 
 cause of justice?'' asked Maurice. 
 
 " It was not I only," returned Mr. Lanyon.
 
 lOS BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " The feeling of the whole country* side was 
 against the man. He was essentially bad, 
 drunken, and dissolute. Every mind was ready 
 to believe the worst of him. No eye pitied or 
 spared him. The common sympathy was with 
 his wife.^^ 
 
 " And where is she now T' asked Maurice, 
 faintly. 
 
 " She has never been seen_, or heard of since 
 the day of the murder/'' replied Mr. Lanyon. 
 '' She told her servant^, Michael Polgrain^s sister, 
 that she was going to America, to join a brother 
 she had there. Whether she spoke truly or not, 
 no one can say ; but it is certain that, when she 
 quitted St. Eglon's Hut, she did not know that 
 her lover lay dead in the wood. Perhaps she 
 meant to join him. But it is useless to conjec- 
 ture concerning her fate ; the wildest surmises 
 were made at the time ; the woods and the dismal 
 shafts that lie round about were searched for 
 her body, but all in vain. Neither living nor dead 
 has the beautiful Mrs. Sherborne been ever seen 
 again.^^ 
 
 " This is a mystery which greatly complicates 
 the affair,-'^ said Maurice, reflectively ; " yet I can- 
 not see in it any grounds, for your judging the 
 man innocent. It would rather lead to the in- 
 ference, that in a jealous fury, he slew both wife 
 and paramour, and succeeded effectually in dis- 
 posing of her while he failed with the other."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 109 
 
 " You have hit upon the common belief/^ 
 said Mr. Lanyon ; " you have touched the sword 
 which slew that man. And yet I am strongly 
 impressed with the idea^ that we were all 
 wrong, and his own version of the story was 
 correct."^ 
 
 " Are you telling me all the facts on which 
 you ground that belief?" asked Maurice. 
 
 Mr. Lanyon's worn face flushed painfully^ and 
 he replied^ " I believe so^ except that to the last 
 moment of his life he asserted, that his hand had 
 never slain Mathew Carbis. And as time has sped 
 onwards, mellowing the prejudices and hatreds of 
 that dreadful day, and above all, as years have 
 passed by, and never brought again to the scene 
 of the murder that man who glided like a shadow 
 through the wood, I tremble to think that with 
 him may lie the guilt, and that Walter Sherborne 
 was condemned wrongfully." 
 
 The accents of conviction in wdiich Mr. 
 Lanyon spoke, the painful quiver in his voice, 
 the agony on his face, all struck Maurice far 
 more than the words themselves. He took up 
 the paper again, and read the account of the 
 trial all through. It was not a full and graphic 
 report, such as would be printed now in a daily 
 journal, but still there was enough of the evidence 
 given to enable a man of acute mind to come t(j 
 a tolerably just conclusion. 
 
 '^ Excuse me," said Maurice, looking up from
 
 110 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 the paper suddenly ; " but may I ask your secret 
 motive for hurrying this trial T^ 
 
 Mr. Lanyon came forward and laid both his 
 hands upon the table^ as though to steady his 
 trembling frame. His face shone ghastly white 
 in the twilight. 
 
 " As I trust to be forgiven/^ he said^ earnestly, 
 ^^ my motive was pure. Never doubting the man's 
 guilt, I wished to spare Geoffrey the misery of 
 seeing him — the misery of hearing all the dread- 
 ful details of the murder, and all the fearful sur- 
 mises concerning Mrs. Sherborne. He was a 
 sensitive lad, one whose mind could be easily 
 weakened by grief; he had felt a boyish admira- 
 tion for this woman — an admiration as pure and 
 chivalric as it was romantic and foolish ; and I 
 knew her doutful fate would cause him the 
 keenest distress, and lead him perhaps into some 
 frantic or Quixotic acts. Therefore 1 concealed 
 the whole story from him, and hoped it would 
 fade away in a few months, before he returned 
 home.^' 
 
 ^^ But he did not come back for three years ?" 
 persisted Maurice. 
 
 ^' I did not know his absence would be pro- 
 longed to that time,'' resumed Mr. Lanyon. ^' I 
 had only sent him, as I thought, on a short 
 cruise. I expected him to return at Christmas. 
 When I heard that he had resolved on going on to 
 the Indies, Walter Sherborne was already dead."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. Ill 
 
 With his eyes still bent on the paper^ Maurice 
 remained some moments in deep thought^ utter- 
 ing not a word. When he raised his head, his 
 face was faintly flushed, but its expression was 
 clear, bright, and earnest. 
 
 '' Mr. Lanyon,^"* he said, '' I have followed this 
 evidence, link by link ; I have listened to your 
 words, and I believe this hawker — the man who 
 anticipated the steps of Mathew Carbis into the 
 wood, and has since then disappeared from all 
 human ken — is either the actual murderer, or his 
 accomplice. I have come to this conclusion as a 
 barrister, as one accustomed to sift evidence. It 
 is enough : I doubt the guilt of Mr. Sherborne. 
 I will take his daughter Madeline, whom you 
 have called Sylvester, to be my wife, if she will 
 accept me.^" 
 
 The two men grasped hands fervently : an in- 
 expressible load seemed lifted from Mr. Lanyon^s 
 heart. 
 
 ^' Thank Heaven V he murmured, audibly. 
 " Madeline shall not come to you without fortune, 
 Maurice," he said. 
 
 " I am no romantic simpleton, to say no to 
 that," returned the other. " Give her what you 
 like ; it shall of course be her own. I shall not 
 touch it. Let me say one thing more, and tlicn 
 we will lay this dreadful subject at rest for ever. 
 It is my firm intention quietly to trace this hawker, 
 and find him if he is in the land of the li^^ng."
 
 112 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Was it the growing darkness, or a deep shadow 
 of fear, which crept over Mr. Lanyon^s face ? 
 
 ^^ You do not, I hope, think it wise to speak 
 of this to Madeline V he said. 
 
 '- No, certainly not," replied Maurice. " It 
 would be cruel to raise in her mind the fevered 
 -and uncertain hope of clearing her father's 
 memory. If ever I see cause to think tliis may 
 be done — if ever in my hand I hold a clue to the 
 truth, I will speak to her, but not till then. 
 Meanwhile, I will tell her that, knowing all her 
 history, my love withstands the shock, and awaits 
 her acceptance if she will take it."*' 
 
 " May Heaven bless you in it, Maurice V re- 
 turned Mr. Lanyon. And so this long conference 
 ended.
 
 CHAPTER VJII. 
 
 ITTLE dreaming of the discussion that 
 had settled her fate, Madeline rose in the 
 morning, heavy-hearted^ and went to St. 
 Eglon^s Hut, to the promised meeting with 
 Michael Polgrain. She walked swiftly yet 
 dreamily^ her thoughts more with her living 
 lover than her dead father. Yet a message 
 from the dead has in it something so inexpres- 
 sibly awful and touching, that ever and anon as 
 the girFs measured and graceful tread brought her 
 deeper into the wood^ among leaves and shadows, 
 there grew about her thoughts a chill fear and a 
 gloomy anticipation of coming sorrow. 
 
 '^ What message could he send to me save oue 
 of anguish 'i'' she said to herself. ^^ Perhaps he 
 asks forgiveness of the child he has beggared, the 
 child whom his deeds have so utterly ruined that 
 her very identity is hidden behind a false name, 
 and every hope she had on earth she has crushed 
 out of her heart with her own hands. Yes, and 
 better do that than drag a good man down to tlic 
 level of her misery. Love and happiness are 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 meant for such women as Agatha Crehylls ; they 
 do not fall to the lot of the orphan and the out- 
 cast. I have never whispered deceitfully to my 
 own soul that such things could be mine. No ; 
 in whatever shape they came to me^ I should 
 know them for a delusion, and answer ; these are 
 not for me ; take them out of my sight ; they 
 madden jne." 
 
 Then followed other thoughts more bitter still, 
 in which Madeline compared her own lot with 
 that of Agatha Crehylls, crying out it was unjust 
 this spoiled child of fortune should have all the 
 sunshine, while to her was given only pain and 
 darkness. Thus she built up in her heart a dull 
 smouldering fire of resentment against Lady 
 Crehylls, which one single touch might kindle 
 into the flame of active hatred. The sight of 
 her sunny joyousness, and the love and tender- 
 ness constantly la^dshed on her, and the honour 
 and respect ever round her, had often been as 
 gall to Madeline's moody spirit. Moreover, as a 
 child, she had seen with gloomy eyes that no 
 effort of hers woidd win love from Mr. Lanyon, 
 while Agatha, without an effort, gained ever his 
 ready smiles and kisses. She saw it often with 
 a bursting heart, and crushing her tears and 
 complaints into silence, she nursed her jealousy 
 in proud bitterness. Madeline was not a woman 
 to forget anything ; this childish jealousy rankled 
 in her soul still, only the shape it now took bore
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 115 
 
 Tvitli it a fiercer and more cruel sense of wrong. 
 It was all injustice — all: and life with some was 
 a burden of misery^ from birth even to the 
 grave. One man lives in the ease of wealth, and 
 his bones are full of marrow and fatness, and 
 another eateth his bread in bitterness all the days 
 of his life, having never known joy. 
 
 Madeline did not pursue the thought further ; 
 she was close on St. Eglon^s hut now, and flinging 
 up her veil, she gazed on the empty and desolate 
 windows with shrinking eyes. She could fix on 
 the one from which her childish face had often 
 looked out wistfully, longing for the cheerfulness 
 and companions which other children had, but 
 which never came to her. She could remember 
 watching from the balcony her father^s boat, a 
 tiny speck on the sea, when he went away gloomily 
 to fish alone. And dimly there came back to 
 her memory, the relief on her mother^s face when 
 he departed ; dimly too came the fierce words and 
 quarrels on his return, and the stealthy figure of 
 Mathew Carbis, as smiling he looked at both. 
 Then as the faint image of the man flashed upon 
 her mind, Madeline shuddered, and lifted her 
 hand to her brow to drive the thought away. 
 But it came again and again, always bringing 
 Mathew Carbis with silent step and sinister smile, 
 though every lineament of the face was lost to 
 her recollection, and even the figure itself was but 
 a shadow. Yet dim, shadowy as this stealthy 
 
 8—2
 
 116 
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 image might be^ it ever brought with it a suffo- 
 eating sense of horror^, and of hatred towards 
 the man, and a feeling of relief to think that he 
 was dead. 
 
 '' It was no murder to kill such a reptile V she 
 said to herself, fiereely. 
 
 With this thought there gi'ew upon her memory 
 the beautiful face of her mother, bowed down 
 upon her white hands, weeping grievously. An 
 unwonted weakness and tenderness filled Made- 
 linens heart, and she lifted up her arms to the 
 sky longingly. 
 
 '^ Oh that I could find her V she Avhispered,. 
 and her lips quivered with the unspoken words. 
 '^ Oh that this sky W'hich saw^ her depart, these 
 silent trees, this great dumb sea, would speak, 
 and tell me whether she went in innocence or 
 in guilt, whether she kissed me in my sleep 
 before she stole away; and whether, if she be 
 living now, her heart ever yearns towards the 
 child she deserted.^^ 
 
 Madeline turned her face towards the sea, and 
 shading her face with her hand, she looked out 
 over the far waters, as though asking of them the 
 secret of her mother's unknown fate. But she 
 saw only the heaving waves, while there fell 
 down upon her spirit a sense of darkness un- 
 fathomable in its gloom, dreadful in its pain. 
 
 " It is strange," she said, with a deep shudder ; 
 "but this horror falls upon me always, when
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 11?' 
 
 I strive to penetrate the mystery of my motlier^s 
 loss/^ 
 
 She shook off the gloomy fancy^ and looked 
 lip, to see Michael Polgrain standing before her. 
 The grey, leaden hue of his face, and the blue 
 line of his firm closed lips seemed ghastlier to- 
 <lay, and she shrank back, appalled by an appear- 
 ance which seemed to indicate the last stage of 
 some deadly disease. 
 
 " You look very ill/^ she said, kindly. " Is 
 there nothing they can do for you at the 
 Castle ?^^ 
 
 " If I were weak and ready to fall as a dying 
 leaf, Miss, I should never take help from the 
 Castle/^ returned ^Michael ; " but I Avant no 
 help — I am quite well. I have had this ugly 
 Jook upon my face a long, long while. Will 
 jou come in, Miss ? I have laid a fire in the 
 parlour, because the day is chill, and without 
 a cheerful blaze, St. Eglon^s Hut is but a whisht 
 place. ^^ 
 
 Madeline followed his steps into the house, and 
 entered a low square room having two windows, 
 one towards the sea, and the other looking up 
 the green glen. Both casements shook and 
 rattled with every gust of wind, and the walls 
 and ceiling were stained with damp and mildew. 
 The old-fashioned stiff furniture, the cracked oval 
 mirror above the mantelpiece, the decaying prints 
 which hung forlornly on the Avails^ and the tirne-
 
 118 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 worn paper, depicting the same landscape, the same 
 sheep, the same shepherdesses, and the same boy 
 swinging on a gate,Ayith a church steeple close upon 
 his nose, all following each other in an impossible 
 and maddening manner — the fields, the gate, the 
 sheep, and the steeple, standing on the sky of the 
 same landscape immediately below it; — all this 
 Madeline noted, and shuddered at. For piece by 
 piece, each hideous adornment in the dismal room 
 seemed to loom out of her inner consciousness, 
 making for itself a second vision on her brain, 
 vivid as the ugly reality now before her. This 
 was the room she had seen so often in her dreams 
 at school, only then, seated at the window looking 
 seawards, was the pale beautiful figure of her 
 mother, with listless hands lying idle in her lap, 
 and great weary eyes fixed steadfastly upon the 
 endless waters. In her childish sleep, when she 
 saw this figure, she had stretched her arms long- 
 ingly towards it, and awoke with a low cry, to 
 weep bitterly in silence; but now, as the faint 
 shadow seemed to flit by her, and take up its old 
 attitude of despair and w^eariness, she turned away 
 in scorn, saying to herself " Beautiful traitress, 
 false as a wife, false as a mother, it is long since 
 your haunting ghost has won a tear from the 
 child you abandoned. You cannot move me 
 now ; the misery your cruel deed left with me 
 has grown too hard for pity." 
 
 " Miss Madeline," said Michael, breaking in
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 119 
 
 upon her reverie with words sympathetic to her 
 own thought, '' I have seen youi' mother here in 
 this room many a time. Your face is not like 
 hers, miss ; you will bear trouble, I think, with 
 a braver spirit than she could. ^^ 
 
 '' I am glad I bear no resemblance to her,^'' 
 said Madeline, coldly. '' I would dash my face to 
 pieces against a rock if it was like hers. I am 
 come to hear something of my father, not of the 
 woman who forsook him/^ 
 
 Michael Polgrain looked earnestly into her 
 eyes as she spoke, and his own drooped sadly, 
 while a painful and perplexed expression shadowed 
 his gray face. 
 
 " I have tried to do right/" he said, nervously. 
 " I hope I^m doing right now. You know, miss, 
 we can^t raise the dead ; if wrong has been done 
 to them, it must rest a wrong for ever. But we 
 must think of the living; we mustn^t wrong 
 them.'' 
 
 ^' To what do you allude T' asked Madeline, 
 impatiently. " I cannot understand your mean- 
 
 '' I mean, miss, that it might happen to me, 
 or to you, or to any one, to do a wrong thing in 
 ignorance, not wishing harm to a single human 
 soul, and that would be forgiven us,'' I'cplied 
 Michael ; ^' but if we did it wilfully, with a hard 
 heart and a cruel hand, then the reckoning we 
 should have to pay would be the loss of our own
 
 120 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 peace for ever. I hope_, Miss Madeline, you 
 donH think ill of any one t'' 
 
 " I hope not/' said Madeline, gravely, because 
 she saw the man's face was grave ; but inwardly 
 she deemed him slow-witted, or, as Maurice had 
 said, half- crazed. 
 
 "And you think well of your friends. Miss 
 Madeline?'' said Michael. 
 
 " The few I have, certainly,'' she answered. 
 
 " His honour, Mr. Lanyon, has been like a 
 father to you," continued Michael, with growing 
 earnestness. " You would not grieve him, I 
 reckon, for worlds ?" 
 
 "Assuredly not," said Madeline, a little wearily. 
 " I do not believe myself ungrateful." 
 
 " I am glad of that," resumed Michael, in a 
 clearer voice. " Of course you are not ungrateful, 
 miss. Brought up, as you have been, among the 
 highest and the best in the land, and taught from 
 the first to be good and true, I am sure no hard 
 thought, no cruel thought, would ever come into 
 your heart. I am foolish to let the doubt of 
 them come to mine. But I am a poor man, miss, 
 and no scholar. I can't even read and write. 
 Book' learning, now, will have taught you kinder 
 and better things than I shall ever know." 
 
 Madeline smiled half sadly at the simplicity of 
 the man. 
 
 " Oh the weariness of books !" she said within 
 herself. " And the old deceit takes in the world
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 121 
 
 still. Eve grasped at knowledge and found sin ; 
 yet we still run after learniug^ and mistake it for 
 virtue and peace. ^' 
 
 " And so/'' continued Michael, " your life wont 
 be a mistake like mine — a i30or_, blind mistake. 
 You can bold a secret and do no sin ; you wont 
 shut the sunshine out of your soul as I have done, 
 and go through the world with all things gray 
 and dark upon your patli.^' 
 
 His solemn tone arrested Madeline's attention, 
 and she fixed her eyes upon his face and saw its 
 ashen hue, and the dead look in his dull eyes. 
 
 " I trust," she said, " your blindness will never 
 fall upon me. Of Avhat secret do you speak ?'' 
 
 " Did I say secret T' asked Michael, in a be- 
 wildered way. " Miss Madeline, you and my lord 
 are good friends.^' 
 
 ^' Certainly ,''' cried Madeline, impatiently. 
 
 ^' He must seem like a brother to you, miss," 
 said ]Michael ; '^ and you love him, I reckon, just 
 the same ?" 
 
 " I like him very much," replied Madeline, 
 gravely. 
 
 " And well you may, miss," said Michael. 
 " He is the kindest, noblest gentleman that ever 
 stepped, and the happiest — yes, I am thankful I 
 can say it — the happiest. You wouldn't hurt a 
 hair of his head, miss, I'm sure of that." 
 
 " No ; why should I hurt Lord Crehylls ?" said 
 Madeline. " He has alwavs been kind to rac."
 
 122 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " Like a brother T' continued Michael. 
 
 " Quite so/^ returned Madeline willingly. 
 
 " And my lady — she who was Miss Lanyon — 
 is like a sister to you_, miss ?" he resumed. 
 
 Madeline answered unwillingly now. 
 
 ^' What can it matter to you, Michael/^ she 
 said, " what my feelings towards Lady Crehylls 
 may be V 
 
 ^' The man turned his dull eyes towards her 
 slowly, and peered forward as though longing to 
 see more clearly. 
 
 '' You look very dark to me, miss, and your 
 answer is dark too,'"' he said, " but you must speak 
 plainly, miss, before I can say a word more."*^ 
 
 " Veiy well,"" said Madeline, shrugging her 
 shoulders slightly ; " then I must say I consider 
 Lady Crehylls a spoiled, petted child, who thinks 
 every shadow should creep out of her path, and 
 that all the sunshine in the sky was made for 
 her alone /^ 
 
 Michael Polgrain listened more to the inflection 
 of her voice than to her words, and this seemed 
 to distress him. 
 
 '' You do not like her,^' he said, in a low tone. 
 
 " My dislike will never hurt her,^^ returned 
 Madeline, with a slight laugh. '' With all the 
 world at her feet, it Avill scarcely matter that 
 Madeline Sylvester is not among the worshippers."" 
 
 The first part of this speech struck Michael's 
 ear more than the last.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 123 
 
 " Your dislike will never hurt her/' he repeated 
 quietly. " No, for her father and her husband^s 
 sake you would hold back your hand. Miss 
 Madeline^ do you know I saw your father die ? 
 And that is the last sight I ever beheld in sun- 
 shine/^ he added^ sorrowfully. " Since then my 
 face has always worn this look^ and the world is 
 all in shadow.^' 
 
 Madeline had risen^ apparently calm and self- 
 possessed ; but her dark eyes shone with a glow- 
 ing fire_, and she pressed her teeth upon her lip 
 to keep it still. 
 
 ^^ You saw him die/^ she repeated, mournfully. 
 " Well, and what was his message to me ?" 
 
 "He said, ' AYhen my daughter is eighteen, 
 and old enough to understand my words, seek 
 her out, and tell her from me that my hand never 
 touched Mathew Carbis.^" 
 
 Madeline started violently, then her face grew 
 like marble, hard and white. 
 
 " He spoke falsely, I suppose,^^ she said, in a 
 very low voice, which trembled in spite of all her 
 courage. ^^ Crime lies always. ''^ 
 
 " He spoke the truth ,^' said Michael Polgrain. 
 
 He sat so still, he looked so like a dead man, 
 as he uttered this, that Madeline's flesh quivered 
 at him, but still she kept her calmness. 
 
 " How do you know that he spoke truly?'' she 
 said, in a clear, sharp tone. 
 
 Michael Polgrain lifted his dull eyes to her face,
 
 124 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 then dropped them^, with an air of deep dejec- 
 tion. 
 
 '^ A man's knowledge comes to him many 
 'ways/'' he replied, " and it isnH likely he can al- 
 ways tell how he knows a thing. But this I 
 will say, — the man Mathew Carbis deserved his 
 •death. No meaner reptile ever crawled than he." 
 
 Perceiving, from this assertion, that Michael, 
 with his wild, untutored notions of justice, sym- 
 pathized with a deed which punished a traitor, 
 and thinking that his belief in her father^s inno- 
 cence meant only that he considered him justi- 
 fied, Madeline, with a deep sigh, stopped the 
 further questions which rose to her lips. It was 
 so utterly improbable, too, that this half-crazed 
 man should know more of this sad history, than 
 she had already learned herself from other and 
 better sources, that the very idea of seeking in- 
 formation from him seemed to her a folly. 
 
 " I am thankful lo receive my father''s mes- 
 sage," she said, calmly. " Can I repay you in 
 ^ny way for remembering it, a?id giving it to me 
 at last ?" 
 
 '' No, Miss Madeline, you owe me nothing 
 for that," returned Michael. " And the message 
 is not all I have to give you." 
 
 Madeline looked up eagerly, and met Michael's 
 earnest and agitated gaze. His face was full of 
 doubt and sorrow ; it was evident that every word 
 he spoke was drawn from him reluctantly, and
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 125 
 
 would never be uttered but for some strong fear 
 or superstition, which urged him to fulfil a pro- 
 mise made to the dead. 
 
 " You have said you don^t wish them any 
 harm/^ he murmured, almost unintelligibly ; 
 ^' and come what may of it, the lot is drawn : it 
 fell to me, and I must bide the issue. ^' 
 
 He took a very old leather purse from his 
 pocket, and drew thence a small but heavy-look- 
 ing key, which he placed in Madeline's hand. 
 
 " This is what your father gave me for you,'' 
 he continued. " He said it opened his desk, and 
 when you were eighteen you might unlock it, and 
 read all it contained." 
 
 ^' His desk !" repeated Madeline, bewildered ; 
 ^' where is his desk ?" 
 
 ^' Is it not in your possession?" asked Michael 
 Polgrain. 
 
 " No, I have never seen it," cried ^ladeline. 
 
 Michael wiped his brow with his handkerchief,, 
 and peered, with slow, dull eyes, round the dismal 
 room. 
 
 " I never mind seeing it stand here," he said, 
 *' but I saw it once in a little room upstairs." 
 
 '^ Let us look," said Madeline, instantly. 
 
 It was a gloomy search, and a vain one. The 
 dismantled and dreary rooms wore for Madeline 
 a look of unutterable woe. Childish recollections 
 came crovrding on her heavily, mingled with all 
 the pain of the present time.
 
 126 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " Oh that these walls had language \" she cried 
 within herself, " Oh that these deaf and dumb 
 witnesses of my father^s and mother's story could 
 speak, and resolve my doubts V 
 
 Following Michael Polgrain^s steps, she wan- 
 dered from room to room, aiding him in the open- 
 ing of empty presses and mouldy cupboards, and 
 still they found nothing but damp or cobwebs. 
 Only once the tears came into her eyes — it was 
 when she stood by the side of the little cot, where 
 she had slept when a child. Then she noted 
 how near it was to her mother^s bed ; and as she 
 looked upon the pillow, she thought of the beau- 
 tiful, weary face that had lain there, perhaps 
 sleepless and tearless, growing desperate in its 
 woe. 
 
 Miss Madeline, your father^s desk is not here,"^ 
 said Michael. '' Yet he must have made sure of 
 your having it, or he would not have sent you 
 the key.'' 
 
 " You say you saw it here/' observed Madeline. 
 " But when did you see it ?" 
 
 " About a week before the death of Mathew 
 Carbis," he answered. " Your father sat at this 
 table writing. I was in the garden at work, and 
 he called to me from the window to come up here 
 to him. Then I saw the desk open before him.'' 
 
 Madeline shaded her eyes with her hand, and 
 gazed at Michael in dismay. 
 
 "Are you the ruddy, happy -looking lad that
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 127 
 
 worked in our garden ?^^ she cried. "I well re- 
 member that boy ; but I should never have 
 guessed that you were he/' 
 
 '^ Yet I am the same^ miss/^ said Michael, 
 gloomily; and turning his face from her earnest 
 look, he led the way downstairs again. 
 
 Every room now had been searched for the 
 missing desk, and it was evident that it was not 
 to be found here. 
 
 " Are you quite sure,^^ said Madeline, " that 
 everything was left at St. Eglon^s Hut exactly as 
 it was during the time it was tenanted ?'' 
 
 '^ I am quite sure,^' replied Michael; " I have 
 heard Lord Crehylls say many a time, that not a 
 single thing should be moved. I know he gave 
 those orders to my sister ; and I know she has 
 obeyed them.^^ 
 
 '^ But at first,^^ said Madeline, conquering her 
 repugnance to allude to that dreadful time, " at 
 first, when my unhappy father was dragged away 
 from this place, might not some one have taken 
 the desk then ? Surely the house was searched at 
 that time; and of all things, the desk would be 
 the first placed in the hands of a magistrate.''^ 
 
 Michael started, and his long pale hands 
 drooped forward as though he was about to fall. 
 
 " You are right,^"* he said slowly; '^ for certain 
 the Justice had it ; — Mr. Lanyou, I mean ; he was 
 the only Justice here then.^^ 
 
 An expression of relief came over MichaeFs
 
 128 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 leadeu face as lie spoke, and lie held himself up- 
 right again. 
 
 " If Mr. Lanyon has it/' said Madeline, " the 
 affair will be very simple ; I will ask him for it, 
 and show him this key.'"' 
 
 As she said this, Michael's colourless lips broke 
 into a smile, and a look of satisfaction flashed for 
 a moment into his dull eyes ; but in an instant 
 this expression changed, and the ashen hue on his 
 face took a deeper gray, 
 
 " When the lot is drawn we can't escape," he 
 said, as if to himself. '^ What must be will be ; 
 and whether it be good or bad the heart must 
 bear it. If I break a jjromise to the dead he'll 
 folloAv me, even on the sea. Miss Madeline, I 
 have searched for that desk with an unwdlling 
 mind, and I was glad when I heard you say you'd 
 ask Justice Lanyon for it, because I know'd then 
 your eye would never see it, and your hand would 
 never touch it. No, Miss Madeline, if you want 
 truly to get it, say not a single word to Squire 
 Lanyon, but search the old mansion of Penkivel 
 from roof to cellar ; and when you find it, miss, 
 then may your load be lighter than mine." 
 
 His voice ceased with a sudden sob, and he 
 groped his way to the door with outspread hands, 
 blindly. 
 
 " Stop !" cried INIadeline ; " I have one word 
 more to say. Apparently you were trusted by 
 my father, and you visited him in prison. That
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 129 
 
 was kind. What I wish to say, is_, that his child 
 will never forget that^ and she thanks you — thanks 
 you with all her heart /^ 
 
 She came towards him, and held out her hand, 
 and her large steadfast eyes swam in unwonted 
 moisture, but Michael Polgrain shrank away 
 from her proffered clasp. 
 
 " Not to me, Miss Madeline/^ he said, hur- 
 riedly. " Do not offer your hand to me ! I dare 
 not touch it ; and I cannot take your thanks 
 either. It was not kindness that led me to the 
 prison.^^ 
 
 '' So even this man will not take my hand V^ 
 
 thought Madeline, bitterly, as she let it fall by 
 
 her side, and her face resumed its cold, proud look. 
 
 " Not for kindness,""* she said. " Then why 
 
 did you go to him T' 
 
 " I went to offer him his life,^^ replied Michael, 
 simply. " I went bitterly against my will, and I 
 went too late : he was dying V 
 
 Madeline heard him with such amazement that 
 her lips parted without words, and she stood for a 
 moment breathless and silent. 
 
 ^' To offer him his life,^^ she repeated, slowly. 
 '' Yes, simply that,^' said Michael. '' I would 
 have changed clothes with him, and got him 
 out of prison that way, or I would have taken 
 his place, and said 1 had done the deed myself. 
 Or, all this failing, I would have got a band of 
 miners together, and broken through the bars.^^ 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 ^' You are utterly mad/^ cried Madeline. " Did 
 you tell him you had come for such a wild 
 purpose V 
 
 " No, I found him dying ; so I held my peace. 
 It was of no use to speak then/^ said Michael, in 
 his gloomiest tone. " He was always a hasty 
 man ; he should not have laid hands upon his 
 own life. Why cannot his blood rest upon his 
 own head?^^ 
 
 The sudden loudness of his voice, the haggard 
 look on his gray cold face, and the startling 
 thoughts in her own heart, kept Madeline for a 
 moment too agitated to speak ; then she cried, 
 with sharp vehemence, '' Michael Polgrain, you 
 know something that you are holding back 
 from me ! What is this secret ? If I ought to 
 hear it, tell it at once.^^ 
 
 " You will never hear it from me. Miss Made- 
 line," he returned. " The curse I have borne so 
 long I can suffer to the end. No, I shall never 
 tell it, not even to see the sun again." 
 
 So saying. Michael Polgrain's groping hand 
 found the lock of the door, and turned it, and 
 he went away, with that gray, shadowy look upon 
 his face to the last. 
 
 Madeline walked swiftly away to the Castle, 
 with a new and passionate hope in her heart, 
 which lent wings to her feet, and brought to her 
 cheeks the glow of a sunny crimson.
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 ELL done^ Pellew/" cried Lord Crehylls, 
 gaily ; " that was a splendid shot ! What 
 a pity there is nothing better to kill this 
 time of the year than young rooks/^ 
 
 " I am so sorry to have the rooks killed/^ said 
 Lady Crehylls. '' I wish both your guns would 
 miss fire/^ 
 
 She was standing by her husband^s side^ and 
 as he turned to answer her_, he laid his hand 
 fondly on her shoulder. 
 
 " My dear Agatha/' he said^ laughing, " if we 
 •did not thin them out sometimes, the whole 
 black colony would desert us. There is nothing 
 the rooks like better than being shot. I assui'e 
 you they forsake the trees, unless there is a little 
 killing done amongst them every summer. And 
 fancy how queer and dismal it would be to have 
 no rookery at Crehylls ! Blaze away, Pellew V* 
 
 But Mr. Pellew fired this time very much at 
 random, and the scared bird flew away over his 
 head with a loud cry. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " Missed, by Jupiter V' exclaimed his friend. 
 *' Why, Avhat are you about, Maurice ?^' 
 
 There was no reply to this, unless the sudden 
 gleam of a bright- coloured dress between the dis- 
 tant trees was an answer. 
 
 " It is Madeline/^ said Lady Crehylls, smiling ; 
 '' and how beautiful she looks ! By the bye^ 
 Geoffrey, I am a little jealous. Why did you 
 never tell me that when you were a boy, you 
 were madly in love with your ^ beautiful Made- 
 line ^^^ 
 
 Lord Crehylls gazed at her in a way that 
 looked almost terror-struck, and his face grew 
 very pale. 
 
 " What are you talking of, Agatha ?'' he saidy 
 in a tone of forced quietness. 
 
 '' Don^t pretend not to understand me,"*^ said 
 his wife, with a slight laugh. " You know well 
 enough what I mean.^^ 
 
 Lord Crehylls was paler still now, and he laid 
 his gun upon the grass and then took it up 
 again, like a man suddenly bewildered by an 
 unexpected stroke. 
 
 '' Agatha,"^ he said, pleadingly, '^ if you only 
 knew how you pain me by this allusion, you 
 would, I am sure, never approach the subject 
 again. Heaven and my own heart alone know 
 how hard I have tried to blot it out of my life, 
 and how much I would give to forget it en- 
 tirely.^^
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 133 
 
 He spoke in a voice inaudible to Maurice^, 
 wlio was standing at some little distance, but 
 whose ear, nevertheless, detected something 
 strange in the dialogue. Lady Crehylls looked 
 at her husband with a face full of consternation 
 and grief. 
 
 " I had no idea/^ she said, " that your attach- 
 ment was so serious. I have been foolish enough 
 to think that I was your first love."*^ 
 
 She tried to speak in an indifferent, even in a 
 laughing tone ; but her voice trembled in spite 
 of the effort, and she walked away up the long 
 avenue of elms just as Madeline entered it on 
 the other side. In her surprise at her husband's 
 grave speech. Lady Crehylls had forgotten that 
 the Madeline of whom she was thinking was 
 only a child at the period of her marriage, four 
 years ago ; her mind dwelt only on Lord Crehylls^s 
 seriousness and on the words of the letter in her 
 father''s desk. She felt there was a mystery in 
 all this which she could not understand, and a 
 sense of depression and loneliness took pos- 
 session of her heart. She did not look back 
 and see with what wistful eyes Lord Crehylls 
 watched her depart ; she fancied herself ne- 
 glected, and walked on alone, a little coldly and 
 proudly. 
 
 Prom what small beginnings will dissension 
 and misunderstanding arise at times ! 
 
 Lord Crehylls went on shooting rooks, for the
 
 134 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 keepers stood by, and he scarcely liked to throw 
 down his gun so soon, after having himself 
 arranged the morning^s sport. But Maurice 
 Pellew gave his to a servant, and went to meet 
 Madeline as she approached. This was not 
 the first time they had met since her rejection 
 of him ; their mutual embarrassment was there- 
 fore somewhat less painful, and there was 
 even a smile on Madeline's lips as she greeted 
 him. 
 
 " Have you given u]) the work of slaughter 
 for to-day ?'" she said. " If there is any pleasure 
 in killing, pray go on with it, don't let me stop 
 you." 
 
 "Will you stay here as a spectator of our 
 prowess ?'' asked Maurice. 
 
 " No, indeed,'' she answered. " I would not 
 mind if the birds were killed outright, but I hate 
 to see them come fluttering and screaming 
 to the ground. I am going for a walk. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 ^^But Maurice walked on by her side, never 
 heeding the adieu she had dropped so carelessly. 
 This was the fourth day since their walk to St. 
 Eglon's Hut, and she had not asked him why he 
 lingered at the Castle, neither had she, after that 
 first evening, shunned him in any way. There 
 was a change in her manner more palpable to 
 the eye than the ear ; it was not in her voice or 
 in her words, but it rather showed itself in a
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 135 
 
 greater willingness to listen when he spokC;, a 
 greater willingness to accept the slight homage 
 which he dared to pay her. It was as though, 
 for the first time, she was yielding to her own 
 heart the permission to love. This change was 
 caused by her interview with Michael Polgrain : 
 his words had sown in her spirit a fevered and 
 dangerous hope, to which she clung with all that 
 tenacity of purpose peculiar to her character. If 
 her father was a martyr to circumstances, or the 
 victim of treachery, she was free to love; she 
 could with an unsullied conscience take that cup 
 of happiness which she had, but a few days be- 
 fore, set aside with a resolute hand. As the cur- 
 rent of her thoughts ran thus, her eyes grew 
 brighter, her cheeks glowed, her lips broke often 
 into smiles, and over all her aspect there quivered a 
 hope like sunlight, which made her indescribably 
 beautiful. The task set before her seemed in her 
 eyes glorious and noble. To reclothe a father^s 
 memory with innocence and honour, — such a 
 duty was worth living for, worth dying for. And 
 already she looked forward to the time when she 
 might proclaim her name aloud to the whole 
 world, and say even proudly, ^^ I am Madeline 
 Sherborne, the child of that wronged man, whom 
 a blind and vindictive world condemned to die by 
 the hand of a false justice.^" 
 
 Thus she dreamed in her sanguine moments ; 
 but between these came times of great depression,
 
 136 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 when the difficulties in her way loomed darkly on 
 her, when the thoughts of her inexperience and 
 her youth paralysed every faculty, and the me- 
 mory of the long, long years she had lived be- 
 neath the shadow of one dreadful deed, flung 
 her into despair. But this was not her mood 
 now, as she walked along by the side of Maurice 
 Pellew, listening as he talked. 
 
 " Madeline," he said, suddenly, " I am going 
 to give up studying for the Bar.^^ 
 
 She lifted her eyes and looked him earnestly 
 in the face. 
 
 " Not on my account, I hope ?" she said hur- 
 riedly ; " not because I answered you as I did 
 three days ago ?" 
 
 " I give up the Bar, not in disappointment, 
 but in hope," replied Maurice, softly. 
 
 '^ In hope?" echoed Madeline. 
 
 " Yes," said he ; " in the hope that you will not 
 despise an unambitious man, whose mind is bent 
 on leading a quiet life, — not useless, I trust, but 
 utterly beyond the pale of fame or the round of 
 fashion.^' 
 
 " Are you in earnest ?" said Madeline, sadly. 
 
 " I was never more in earnest than I am now," 
 he answered. 
 
 " But are you justified in renouncing a career 
 so fitted to your abilities — a career on which you 
 had fixed so many hopes ?" she asked. 
 
 " I have fixed a better and a purer hope on
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 137 
 
 my new career/' he replied^ iu a clear voice. 
 " Tell me only that you do not despise my want 
 of ambition.'^ 
 
 " I do not despise it/' returned Madeline, with 
 a half sigh, " and yet I am disappointed too. I 
 thought to live to see you win higli honours. 
 "What is this new hope on which you have fixed 
 your heart ?'' 
 
 " It is both new and old/' he replied. " Oh, 
 Madeline/' he cried, " cannot you guess it ? It 
 is the one great hope of my life ever since boy- 
 hood." 
 
 Madeline Avas very pale. The cup of happi- 
 ness for which she longed was again at her lips. 
 Might she drink? might she accept the love of 
 this good and honourable man, and yet not drag 
 him into misery ? While she hesitated, with eyes 
 bent down and blood rushing swiftly to her heart, 
 Maurice spoke again. 
 
 " Do not answer me, Madeline, till I have told 
 you all," he said. ^'^ Three days ago there fell 
 into my hands an old journal. In it I read the 
 report of a trial, — the trial of a gentleman once 
 the tenant of St. Eglon's Hut. ^ladelinc, I 
 have doubts in my mind of that man's guilt. 
 More, I have even a deep conviction, that he was 
 innocent of the crime of which he was accused. 
 But whether he were innocent or guilty, my love 
 for his daughter withstands the shock of knowing 
 her allied to him. I love her for herself. No
 
 138 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 adventitious circumstances of rank, position, or 
 name could either weaken or strengthen that love. 
 Madeline, I am not a time-server ; I am not 
 fashion^s fool. I can surely live a good and 
 useful life, without seeking the gawds which suc- 
 cess brings to a man. My love, my dear love, 
 will you share that tranquil life with me ? — will 
 you take the heart which I give as willingly to 
 Madeline Sherborne as to Madeline Sylvester ?" 
 
 She did not answer him, but his arm was round 
 her, and his kiss fell upon her lips. 
 
 " Is this true V she murmured. '' Can you 
 really love me like this, and forsake the world, 
 and all your ambitious hopes T' 
 
 " Madeline,-" said Maurice, earnestly, " there 
 are surely better and higher hopes than those 
 which spring from ambition; and these can be 
 yours and mine, if we will. I have been am- 
 bitious for your sake ; I can renounce ambition 
 for your sake. Tell me, are you content V 
 
 Madeline said " yes " with her lips, but there 
 was a sting in her heart which made it but a faint 
 affirmative. It was hard to think that the man 
 she loved felt, in taking her, that henceforth he 
 must hide from the world, and rest satisfied with 
 obscurity. Her proud nature rebelled against 
 the thought that, notwithstanding how great his 
 love might be, there remained a settled convic- 
 tion in his mind, that the daughter of Walter 
 Sherborne was scarcely a fitting wife for a man
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS, 189 
 
 who sought to make his career a public one. But 
 for the great hope which Michael Polgrain had 
 23ut into her soul_, she could not have borne this^ 
 and she would have rejected his love a second 
 time as resolutely as she had rejected it at 
 the first. It was this hope which made her 
 now accept it. but with the inward resolve to 
 give Maurice back his troth, if time should 
 prove the hope groundless. Thus there was still 
 an uncertainty in her tone, a reserve in her 
 manner, which struck Maurice painfully. In his 
 mind there remained no lingering doubts, and 
 fears to hold back the foil tide of his love. Hav- 
 ing once come to a decision, having once told 
 himself that he deliberately chose Madeline from 
 out the world, in despite of circumstances and of 
 sorrow, there rested in him no shadow of wavering, 
 and no suspicion of wavering on her part entered 
 into his imagination. Her acceptance, he believed, 
 followed naturally when she knew that his love, 
 like an ark, surmounted the flood of terror be- 
 neath which her history was hidden. Consi- 
 deration for him had caused her to reject his 
 love, but he did not think that consideration 
 for herself might one day cause her to reject it 
 again. 
 
 Madeline had a calm voice — a wonderfully 
 calm, patient voice — telling to an acute ear a 
 long history of suppressed sufi'ering, pride, and 
 resolution. A¥hen she broke the silence now,
 
 140 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 ihere was a ring in this low^ quiet voice^, which 
 spoke of a woe deeper still — a flood for human 
 line too fearfully profound. 
 
 " Maurice/^ she said^ and in her passionless 
 calm, she did not move her cheek from the lips 
 pressed against it_, '^ it is not to me that discon- 
 tent will come in the future, but to you. I feel 
 you have not counted the cost of what you do. 
 Can you sit idle while others run the race and 
 win the crown ?^'' 
 
 " You will be my crown/^ said Maurice, and 
 his arm pressed her tightly. 
 
 With a pang at her heart which made her lip 
 quiver, Madeline drew back from his embrace. 
 She was no Cleopatra to love an indolent An- 
 thony — her soul was always with Csesar ; and at 
 this moment, when Maurice offered to give up 
 the world for her sake, he appeared smaller in 
 her eyes than she would have believed possible a 
 few hours ago. Madeline's was a spirit which 
 craA^ed for worldly honours and worldly respect, 
 and in loving Maurice she had consciously wor- 
 shipped a kindred spirit. She recognised in him 
 a passionate ambition, and a steady determina- 
 tion to win success, which were the exact qua- 
 lities she admired. Stripped of these, she felt 
 her lover grow insignificant, and lose the glory 
 with which her imagination had invested him. 
 And would not the result be the same with him ? 
 In a few years' time, how deep, how bitter would
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 141 
 
 be his regret that he had given up his brilHant 
 career for a woman ! 
 
 " I will never accept such a sacrifice/'^ she 
 said, resolutely. " 1 will never make you pay 
 such a price for me as the renunciation of all 
 your hopes. ^^ 
 
 " Not all, Madeline/' returned Maurice. " 1 
 have a thousand ambitions yet left me, which 
 you can share.'' 
 
 ^' 1 will not believe you," she answered. ^' Sit 
 here with me, upon this knoll, and I will tell you 
 all my heart." 
 
 " Do 1 not know your heart yet ?" said Mau- 
 rice, a little wistfully. 
 
 " No," she replied, " because you have only 
 just heard my history ; and until you knew that, I 
 was a sealed book to you. Maurice," she said, 
 and she laid her hand in his, " how can I ever 
 tell you how glad 1 am that this veil of mystery 
 and of falsehood which stood between us is torn 
 down ? It is not my fault that the truth was 
 not frankly told you long ago ; it was by Mr. 
 Lanyon's wish, even command, that I have been 
 silent. 1 have always hated the concealment 
 and deceptions by which I was walled in, and 
 shut up in loneliness. And it has hurt me, this 
 solitude, filled with the air of a prison, and the 
 horror of crime. 1 am not so good as 1 might 
 be." 
 
 Here she leaned her cheek upon her hand.
 
 142 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and the shadow of unshed tears sprang into her 
 eyes. 
 
 " My dear Madeline/^ began Maurice. 
 
 " No, noj don^t flatter me/' she cried, " let me 
 tell you the truth. I am proud, and moody, and 
 bitter. I hate myself at times ; and I know, if 
 I married you, and saw you leading an inactive, 
 an inglorious life, through shame of me and of 
 my name, I should grow desperate, and despise 
 both you and myself.^^ 
 
 ^^ Madeline, you are frank indeed," said Mau- 
 rice, in a vexed tone. 
 
 '^ Do not be angry until you have heard all I 
 have to say," she resumed, in her quietest voice. 
 " A man was slain down yonder in that glen," 
 she said, pointing to it as she spoke ; " and, in- 
 nocent or guilty, my father perished for that 
 man's death. You have told me you have doubts 
 of the justice of that sentence, which branded 
 him with a name I carry written on my heart. 
 Well, I have doubts too. If I had not, I should 
 not be sitting here with my hand clasped in 
 yours. My doubts, or rather let me say, my 
 belief, has come to me within the last twenty- 
 four hours, and with it has sprung up this firm 
 resolve, that until I clear my father's name I will 
 be no man's wife." 
 
 " Madeline, Madeline !" cried Maurice, " you 
 know not what you are saying. You cannot under- 
 stand the enormous difficulty and cost of pur-
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 148 
 
 suing such an inquiry. Yours is a rash vow in- 
 deed. You might waste your healthy your sub- 
 stance^ your life^ in striving to fulfil it, and yet 
 fail in the end. And would you make my ex- 
 istence and your own a desert for the sake of this 
 wild hope 1" 
 
 " No/^ she answered, sorrowfully, " but I would 
 have you wait for our marriage till the hope is no 
 longer wild, but sober and just ; and then I would 
 have you take me in the face of the world, by my 
 own name, and let your first cause — the cause 
 which shall bring you wealth and renown — be 
 mine and my father^s/' 
 
 " And so you would give me my first brief^ 
 Madeline ?" said Maurice, half smiling. " What 
 a dreamer you are \" 
 
 "It is no dream,"*^ replied Madeline, quickly. 
 ^^ I will make it a reality .^^ 
 
 " And you will make our love a reality also," 
 continued her lover. " I will work with you, 
 heart and soul, if you will promise to be my wife 
 in a year's time.'' 
 
 "A year?'' said Madeline, thoughtfully: "yes, 
 my hope will have nothing wild, nothing dream- 
 like about it by that time. I think I can safely 
 promise you. And so great is my faith, that I 
 will not shake it by adding a proviso. I will not 
 say that if my hope crumbles into dust we must 
 part, for I believe such an alternative will never
 
 144 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Maurice did not heed these last words ; he- 
 looked on Madeline as pledged to him now^ and 
 he began to talk^ lover-like, of future prospects 
 and future happiness. And as Madeline an- 
 swei^ed and listened;, the hours went swiftly by_, 
 till sunset crept upon them, and they thought 
 the day was short. 
 
 "I shall tell Mr. Lanyon to-night/' whis- 
 pered Maurice, as they hastened homewards 
 hand in hand, like children, laughing as they went. 
 
 To all but the lovers it was a gloomy 
 evening. Lord Crehylls was excited and talka- 
 tive, but he talked at random, and filled his glass 
 often with a nervous hand. Lady Crehylls was 
 pale and silent, while Mr. Lanyon, with his 
 worn face deeply lined with care, watched her 
 anxiously. 
 
 Scarcely was dinner over when Lord Crehylls, 
 murmuring something of an appointment with a 
 farmer, opened the window, and strode away 
 among the tall shadows lying on the lawn. Lady 
 Crehylls rose instantly with tears in her eyes, 
 and quitted the room. Madeline followed and 
 overtook her in the hall. 
 
 "Are you not going into the drawing-room, 
 Agatha V she said, in a disappointed tone. " I 
 want to speak to vou. I have something to tell 
 you.- 
 
 " I am ready to hear you, Miss Sylvester,^' 
 said Lady Crehylls, coldly. 
 
 Leading the way into the drawing-room, Lady
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 145 
 
 <^rcliylls seated herself on a lounge by the win- 
 dow. Here her eyes followed her husband^s figure, 
 and never turned once towards her companion. 
 Deeply hurt, Madeline stood near her, wondering 
 within herself what ncAv mood had seized this 
 spoiled child of fortune. There was a mementos 
 silence ; then Lady Crehylls broke it. 
 
 " Apparently/^ she said, with a nervous laugh, 
 " you have nothing to say, Miss Sylvester. I 
 am going up to the nursery to see my boy.''"' 
 
 She rose as she spoke, and would have passed 
 out of the room, but Madeline barred the way. 
 The two women seemed to have changed cha- 
 racter, and it was Madeline who, in her new- 
 found happiness, was quiet and gentle. 
 
 " I only wished to tell you,^^ she said, '^ that I 
 am engaged to Mr. Pellew. I thought you 
 would be glad to hear it.^^ 
 
 The colour flew to Lady CrehylFs face, dyeing 
 it a sudden scarlet. 
 
 '^ I am glad to hear it,^^ she answered ; " but 
 remembering all you said to me the other day, it 
 is hard to believe.^^ 
 
 With this. Lady Crehylls was gone, sweep- 
 ing by Madeline coldly, and without another 
 word. 
 
 As his daughter quitted the dining-room, Mr. 
 Lanyon looked after her with an uneasy glance. 
 His eyes followed her only; he never saw the 
 stately figure of Madeline as she passed through 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 the doorway^ and he started when Maurice men- 
 tioned her name. 
 
 ^' Has Madeline told you that we are en- 
 gaged V he said. 
 
 " Yes/^ returned Mr. Lanyon^ " she has told 
 me, Maurice ; and I am very thankful — inexpres- 
 sibly thankful — to hear that your sense and 
 courage have conquered. I knew Madeline loved 
 you, and I believe you will both be very happy. 
 I hope the wedding will be soon.^^ 
 
 " Then Madeline has not told you we are ta 
 wait a year ?'' observed Maurice. 
 
 " No. And why do so T' asked Mr. Lanyon, 
 playing nervously with his glass. " The fortune 
 I shall give my adopted daughter will be quite 
 sufficient for your mutual comfort, even if your 
 means were much smaller than they are.'''' 
 
 " Oh, but I am not the man to live on my 
 wife^s money,''^ said Maurice. "^And it seems 
 that Madeline has not named to you, that she 
 insists on my following my profession T' 
 
 " No,'' replied Mr. Lanyon ; '' but I think she 
 is right. I see no reason whj^ you should leave it.'" 
 
 " Nor I,'' said Maurice, " if, as Madeline sup- 
 poses, her father was ^dctimized by circumstances, 
 and has in reality left her a stainless name.'" 
 
 Mr. Lanyon set down his glass, and gazed at 
 the young man with a look of amazed fear, which 
 broke in a moment into anger. 
 
 " You promised me," he said, " not to mention
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 147 
 
 to her the fact of the hawker^s disappearance. It 
 is the sole fact which throws a shadow of doubt 
 on Walter Sherborne's guilt, and it is a shadow 
 so faint, that it is cruel — yes, I say cruel — to 
 name it to his daughter.^'' 
 
 Surprised at his passion, Maurice replied, 
 coldly, " Neither have I named it, Mr. Lanyon. 
 Madeline appears to have formed her opinion on 
 other grounds ; perhaps on inquiries she has made 
 in this neighbourhood. '"' 
 
 " Impossible V cried Mr. Lanyon. ^^ She 
 could hear nothing from the people round Cre- 
 hylls.^' 
 
 " I did not question her on the grounds of her 
 belief,^' said Maurice. " I was glad to avail my- 
 self of it, to overcome her objection to our en- 
 gagement ; but otherwise it is certainly not an 
 agreeable theme to me, any more than to your- 
 self, and I really think it would be wise if we 
 ceased to discuss it. I am resolved on this : I 
 will never lead Madeline's thoughts to this sub- 
 ject, or permit her to enlarge on it to me. She 
 has too morbid a cast of mind already.'' 
 
 " I agree with you entirely," said Mr. Lanyon, 
 with an air of infinite relief. ^' You have great 
 sense and judgment, Maurice. You will make 
 Madeline forget the whole story when she is your 
 wife. Bury it in oblivion — that is the best and 
 wisest way — bury it deep out of sight for ever. 
 Come, shall we go to the ladies ?" 
 
 10—2
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 fORD CREHYLLS sauntered gloomily 
 through the avenues of his great park. 
 Instinctively he sought the deepest sha- 
 dows^ and plunged on amid rank grass and tall 
 bracken^ growing wildly where the deer loved to 
 browse. The herds were feeding now, and many 
 a startled hind rushed by him in sudden fear as 
 his solitary step brushed the dew, and his solitary 
 shadow, huge and w^eird-like in the evening sun, 
 came sweeping over their pasturage, swift and 
 ghostly. His thoughts were troubled as he w^ent, 
 and his hasty stride showed the fever of his mind. 
 Why had his wife spoken to him to-day of ^ta- 
 deline — that Madeline whose beautiful face 
 haunted his uneasy dreams, even now at times 
 making him w^ake from slumber with a low cry 
 of pain upon his lips ? What had Agatha heard ? 
 Who had told her this old, forgotten story of his 
 foolish boj^-love ? Had he not suffered enough in 
 it, that it should be raked up now, and flung at him 
 reproachfully by his wife ? It was the painfiillest 
 memory he had, this romantic boy-passion, which
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 149 
 
 had been quenched in bloodshed, stifled by the 
 slain corse of Mathew Carbis, and the reproach- 
 ful, proud face of the ruined gentleman, Walter 
 Sherborne. Why should the haggard eyes, the 
 reckless, gaunt looks of this man, haunt him 
 now ? It was not his fault that he died in 
 prison by his own hand. He was far away upon 
 the sea, little guessing of the tragic woe at 
 home. Mr. Lanyon should have saved him for 
 his sake, whether he was guilty or no. Guilty ! 
 Who could be reckoned guilty that crushed the 
 life out of such a reptile as Mathew Carbis ? 
 
 So ran his thoughts, while from amidst the 
 evening mists there grew upon his eyes a pale, 
 lovely face, which smiled and beckoned, then 
 vanished sadly, shrouded in the deep night of 
 mystery and of crime. 
 
 Wandering on purposeless. Lord Crehylls 
 found himself at last in the long avenue of beech 
 trees, which ran through the park, and terminated 
 at the entrance-gate and lodge. The glimmer 
 of the tall granite pillars on either side the 
 gate, and the glitter of the Crehylls crest upon 
 the top — a mailed hand crushing a dragon — 
 caught his glance, and as he gazed more steadily, 
 he saw, amid the slanting beams of the setting- 
 sun, a man's figure beckoning to him sorrowfully. 
 Hastening his steps involuntarily, he perceived 
 in a moment that the man^s face was a dead 
 face, cold and gray as ice. " Michael ! " he cried 
 
 f
 
 150 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 aloud. Michael did not answer^ but he removed 
 his hat^ and stood uncovered till his foster-brother 
 reached him_, and grasped his hand heartily. But 
 their hands met between the bars of the heavy 
 iron gate^ for Lord Crehylls stood within it^ and 
 Michael stood without^ iipon the dusty road. 
 
 " Were you coming to the castle^ Michael ? " 
 asked Lord Crehylls. He flung the gate wide 
 open as he spoke^ as though inviting him to 
 enter ; but Michael Polgrain stepped back a pace 
 or two^ and_, catching the swinging gate as it 
 neared him^ he closed it gently. 
 
 " It is twelve years since I was within this 
 gate/' he said^ " and I shall never step within it 
 again^ my lord.^' 
 
 ^^ As you will; Michael/* returned Lord 
 Crehylls^ in that sort of tone in which one 
 might speak to a self-willed child. " It is very 
 long; you knoWj since I took offence at your 
 incivility. *' 
 
 If any colour could ever rise to Michael Pol- 
 grain's white face it might have risen now ; but 
 except a greyer tint upon his cheeks, no change 
 showed his emotion. 
 
 " Incivility^ do you call it ? '' he said wistfully. 
 " That's a hard word for a poor man like me to 
 use, but it would be a harder thing still to do. 
 Lord Crehylls, there is not one among your 
 grand friends would do for you what I would, 
 uncivil or no."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 151 
 
 " Do you think I don't know that, Michael ? '' 
 replied the young man, mournfully. " Pleasant 
 acquaintances I have many, and relations a few, 
 but I have but one friend — the same who, as a 
 boy, saved my life when I was drowning, and 
 the same who, as a man, has obstinately refused 
 to accept any kindness from me/' 
 
 " Sweet is the bread one earns oneself,'' said 
 Michael. 
 
 " That's all very well," observed Lord Crehylls, 
 pettishly ; " but you don't think, Michael, how 
 you hurt me by your moroseness. It is hard to 
 have all kindness and regard constantly thrown 
 back at one's own head." 
 
 Michael Polgrain gazed earnestly and sadly 
 at the speaker. 
 
 " That's truth too, 1 reckon," he said sorrow- 
 fully, '^ but I can never take a gift from you, for 
 all that. A gift blinds the eye, and deafens the 
 ear, and the world is dark enough to me as it 
 is." 
 
 Humouring him, as ayc humour those whom 
 some infirmity of brain has taken a point or two 
 beyond the bounds of reason. Lord Crehylls said 
 kindly — " No gift of mine shall ever take the 
 sunshine from you, Michael ; but you wont 
 object to Lady Crehylls doing you a kindness, 
 surely ? " 
 
 Michael looked up quickly, with a painful 
 -expression on his pallid face.
 
 152 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " I don^t know why we have got upon this 
 talk/^ he said^ in a gruff way. " I didn^t come 
 to this gate to talk about myself. Her ladyship 
 is very good, but the hand of a Lanyon shall 
 never give me anything in charity. I want 
 nothing, my lord. I am well off for a poor 
 man.^^ 
 
 " You are horribly provoking,-'^ returned Lord 
 Crehylls, in a vexed tone ; " you make it a 
 reproach to me in the country, that a man who 
 was my foster-brother, the companion of my 
 sickly childhood, the preserver of my life, is 
 permitted by me to be a smuggler and a vaga- 
 bond.^^ 
 
 '^ If they never bring a worse reproach than 
 that against you and me, my lord,^^ said Michael, 
 " I shall live content. And I am no vagabond ; 
 that was a hard word to say.'^ 
 
 " Well, Michael, we wont argue the point any 
 more,^"* said Lord Crehylls, ^^ as it is evident we 
 shall never agree. Smuggling, however, is un- 
 lawful ; and I must tell you, that if you are 
 brought before me by the revenue officers, when 
 I am sitting on the magisterial bench, I shall 
 have to commit you to gaol, no matter what my 
 private feelings may be.^^ 
 
 With his pale face growing whiter, and his 
 head still uncovered, Michael Polgrain stood 
 before his foster-brother, hearing this in perfect 
 silence.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 153 
 
 ^' Put on your liat^ man/^ said Lord Crehylls, 
 impatiently. " Why don^t you leave this smug- 
 gling, Michael ? You understand me, I hope ? 
 You perceive, that if you are captured one of 
 these nights, and brought before me, I must do 
 my duty, even if it cuts me to the heart/^ 
 
 Michael put his hands before his eyes, as 
 though driving away some mist of darkness which 
 stood there blinding him. 
 
 " Yes, yes, my lord," he said hurriedly, " I 
 understand. You^ll put me in prison and hang 
 me, if the king^s men seize me. It wont matter 
 much for a poor man like me, whether he dies 
 by drowning or hanging. I have no wife or 
 child to suffer dreadful grief for me ; I have no 
 rank and name to fall in the dust when I 
 fall." 
 
 " But you have a sister/^ returned Lord 
 Crehyll&, much moved ; " and surely, Michael, 
 you donH think me such a stock or stone that 
 I could see you suffer by the law for your offence, 
 without feeling bitter grief ? " 
 
 " Suffer by the law for your offence^" repeated 
 Michael, di'eamily, letting his eye rest for a 
 moment on the handsome, happy face of his 
 friend. '' Yes, you^l be sorry for me, I know. 
 But what then ? " he continued, echoing tlic 
 words Lord Crehylls had just said to him. 
 "One must do one's duty, even if it cuts one to the 
 heart. For only those who leave it uLdone can
 
 154 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 tell what the conscience suffers afterwards. 
 There^s a deal of dififerencej my lord^ between 
 wilful blindness and real blindness/^ 
 
 ^' Who doesn''t know that^ Michael? '^ responded 
 Lord Crehylls. more cheerfully. ^^ I wish you 
 would see it your duty to leave off cheating His 
 Majesty^'s Excise. In fact^ I wish with all my 
 heart_, my good Michael^ you weren^t half mad as 
 well as half blind.^^ 
 
 The words were a little careless, a little cruel, 
 perhaps, though Lord Crehylls did not mean 
 them so, and he turned on his heel as he spoke, 
 as though the conference were ended, and the 
 expostulation he had uttered were a duty he was 
 glad to be rid of. 
 
 " Stop,^^ said Michael, quietly ; " don^t go yet. 
 I have stood a long while at this gate, hoping to 
 get a word with you, and I have not said it yet. 
 You have talked to me about myself, and I 
 wanted to talk about you.^"* 
 
 "About me,'' cried Lord Crehylls. "Well, 
 Michael, what is it ? '' 
 
 " Only this,"' he replied, " that if you want 
 me, I am to be found, day and night, at my 
 sister's, Grace Chagwynne's. Mind, Tm there, 
 if sorrow comes upon you ; and you wont 
 blame me for it, I hope. I have struggled on so 
 many years," — here his arms dropped hopelessly 
 by his side, — " but there's no fighting against
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 155 
 
 Fate. When the clay comos^ the word aud deed 
 appointed for it come too/^ 
 
 Knowing the superstition of the man. Lord 
 Crehylls did not wonder much at this speech. 
 
 " Well^ Michael/' he said^ with a light laugh, 
 *^ if trouble comes to me, I wont lay it upon your 
 head. Never fear that. And I wont promise 
 to knock you up, either in the day or night, to 
 tell you of it.'' 
 
 " You are mistaken there," said Michael, 
 calmly. " You must come to me, and me only. 
 One thing more : I've got the fastest craft in the 
 Channel now : don't forget that. She is called 
 the Penkivel. I named her that because she is 
 built of Penkivel oak." 
 
 " And so you defy the revenue cutters ? " in- 
 terrupted Lord Crehylls, bursting into a laugh. 
 '^ Don't take me any further into your con- 
 fidence, Michael ; it is dangerous to tell one's 
 secrets." 
 
 The light words went away upon the summer 
 breeze, blowing over Michael Polgrain's un- 
 covered head, but they sounded in his ears with 
 a terrible strength, and made him shudder from 
 head to foot. 
 
 " The Penkivel is schooner-rigged, and faster 
 than any brig or cutter on the coast," he said, 
 gravely. " I could take you and Lady Crehylls 
 and the boy a cruise at an hour's notice." 
 
 " Thank you," said Lord Crehylls, laughing
 
 156 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 again ; '' that would a merry trip, Michael, with 
 all the king^s men racing after us ! '' 
 
 "' The king^s men can no more catch the Pen- 
 Jcivel, than they can take the moon up out of the- 
 sea in a dipper/^ said Michael, in the same grave 
 way. " Good night, my lord.'' 
 
 He did not tender the young nobleman his 
 hand. Lord Crehylls might forget the difference 
 in their rank, but Michael never did. 
 
 " Why, Michael, you are as surly as a bear," 
 cried Lord Crehylls. "If you wont step within 
 my gate, even to shake hands with me, I must 
 come out to you." 
 
 The heavy gate swung behind him as he spoke, 
 and the two young men stood on the dustjr 
 summer road, with clasped hands, and a curious 
 softening look of the old affection of boyhood ga> 
 thering wistfully on both their faces. Yet, what 
 a contrast they were ! Lord Crehylls so hand- 
 some, fresh, and young, with life in the glow on 
 his cheek and the sparkle of the eye ; and Michael, 
 grey and ashen, with death in all his leaden 
 aspect. 
 
 " It does one good to see you look so well,''^ 
 said Michael ; and his hand tightened its clasp, 
 and his dull eyes brightened as their gaze met 
 the clear, shining glance of his friend. 
 
 " I wish I could say the same,'' returned Lord 
 Crehylls ; " but truly, Michael, you are the most 
 dismal fellow I ever saw. And how you walk
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 157 
 
 ^bout with that countenance, I can^t tell. If I 
 had such a face, I should not be alive a week.''^ 
 
 MichaeFs hand had relaxed its hold, and he 
 turned away with a curious twitching of the lip, 
 which scarcely seemed a smile ; but Lord Crehylls, 
 in his careless health and ease, his gay indiffe- 
 rence, and thoughtless enjoyment of his own over- 
 flowing cup of daily joys, never noted it. He 
 had always patronized Michael Polgrain from a 
 boy, and he patronized him still, and sometimes 
 half praised himself for the constancy of his 
 affection, and thought he was really somewhat of 
 a good fellow, because neither rank, nor educa- 
 tion_, nor absence had been able to destroy the 
 old kindly feeling of brotherhood between them. 
 
 This had arisen naturally enough. Lord 
 Crehylls had been the sickliest of infants, the 
 puniest of children, and for years his nurse 
 — kind, motherly Grace Polgrain — was the sole 
 creature Avho could soothe the suffering fretful 
 boy. She was a young widow, whose husband, 
 a miner, had been killed when blasting a rock 
 underground ; hence there was no tie to hinder 
 her from performing a mother's duty to the 
 little sickly lordling placed in her charge. She 
 stipulated only that her own infant should not 
 be separated from her. To this Lady Crehylls 
 was obliged to consent, and so the little Michael 
 came to the castle with his mother. Years passed 
 on, and she still remained there, the young heir
 
 158 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 of Crehylls being too sickly to be entrusted to 
 other hands. His life, his health, weighed down 
 all other considerations, and since Grace would 
 not stay without her son, the boy was permitted 
 to remain also. It was something wonderful to 
 see the consideration shown by the healthy child 
 to the sickly one, the tender care and pity, which 
 Grace taught her boy to feel, for the pale puny 
 foster-brother, who was so much his superior in 
 rank as he was inferior in strength. Her own 
 heart being full of the old feudal deference for 
 the Crehylls, which was a part of her religion, 
 she instilled the same feeling into the soul of 
 the youthful Michael, so that to yield up life, 
 will, and happiness for the pleasure of his little 
 patrician playmate, seemed to him quite a natural 
 and proper state of things. It never struck him 
 in the light of a sacrifice, or an injustice; his 
 loyalty was too pure for that : it was simply a 
 duty, nothing more. With the old Tory prin- 
 ciples of their time deep rooted in their minds, 
 and unshaken as yet by French conventions and 
 the Cap of Liberty, it was not likely that Lord 
 and Lady Crehylls would see any injustice in all 
 this either. Thus it was not because their son 
 might grow selfish and ungenerous beneath such 
 teaching, that at six years of age they sought to 
 separate the children, but rather because they 
 deemed it wrong to permit any longer an unwise 
 companionship.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 159 
 
 It was a sad day when Michael and Grace 
 quitted the Castle ; and without them Geoffrey- 
 pined, and was laid on a bed of sickness again. 
 
 Just at this time another son was born to the 
 house of Crehylls ; and Lady Crehylls^ ill and 
 nervous, hastily recalled Grace and her boy to 
 the aid of her first-born. Finally^ the children 
 were not separated till they "were nearly nine 
 years old, when Geoffrey^'s increased stature and 
 strength enabled him to support the fatigue of 
 lessons. But the boys still met often ; and at 
 twelve years of age, when Michael was a big, 
 strong lad, and a wonderful swimmer, he saved 
 his foster-brother^s life when cramp had seized 
 him in bathing. After this there was nothing 
 Lord Crehylls, the father, would not have done 
 for Michael. He offered to apprentice him to 
 any trade he chose ; but the boy loved the sea, 
 and the thought of apprenticeship in a town 
 seemed stifling and hideous to him. So a share 
 was bought for him in a fishiug-smack and a 
 seine, and he was perfectly content. From early 
 association his manner and language were above 
 his lowly position, but he still remained perfectly 
 uneducated. Ignorant, the present world would 
 call him ; but his knowledge, for all that, far 
 surpassed many a bookworm's. He knew things, 
 not books ; he had studied the secrets of the sea, 
 and he grew learned in things upon the earth and 
 imder the earth. Many a polished gentleman,.
 
 100 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 whose ponderous learning hung heavy upon him, 
 unpractical and useless, had been forced to bow 
 to Michael Polgrain^s wisdom in ores and lodes, 
 in birds and fishes, plants and rocks, wind and 
 weather. It was strange that the old Lord and 
 Lady Crehylls had never thought of educating 
 their son^s companion ; but there were no schools 
 for the lower classes in those days, and the very 
 notion of teaching the poor was heresy and schism, 
 madness and revolution. So Michael Polgrain 
 educated himself out of the gi'eat book of Nature, 
 and never learned even to read and write. 
 
 This little history of the mutual boyhood of 
 these two men is necessary, in order to show how 
 strong was the tie between them, in spite of those 
 social distinctions which set their lives outwardly 
 so far apart. 
 
 ^^ Good night ! ^' they said to each other ; and 
 Michael went up the long road in darkness, while 
 Lord Crehylls, with a careless whistle, turned 
 back to the park.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OLLO ! '' cried a testy voice ; do you 
 want to be run over^, man ? " 
 
 Michael Polgrain stepped out of 
 the way quicklvj, and raised his hat with due 
 civility to the rubicund visage of Justice Pydar. 
 The old gentleman was in a low pony -chaise^ with 
 his gouty foot reposing on a cushion. 
 
 " Do you know if my lord is at home ? " he 
 asked, pulling up the pony with a jerk. 
 
 " He was at the gate a minute ago/^ replied 
 Michael. 
 
 " Tm glad of that/" cried the justice ; '^ it 
 will save me the trouble of going up to the house. 
 Run and tell him I Avant to speak with him a 
 moment." 
 
 " With me ? ^' said Lord Crehylls, when in two 
 minutes Michael reached the lodge, and de- 
 livered the message. ^^What is going on now, 
 I wonder ? Have the French landed and carried 
 off the Lizard?"" 
 
 This last question was addressed to the old 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 justice himself^ who had driven now up close to 
 the gate. 
 
 "Well, no" he answered, "I don^'t think 
 they^ll put the Land^s End, or the Lizard either, 
 in a French museum this year. The fact is, I 
 wanted to see you about a letter/^ 
 
 Here the justice fumbled in his pockets vainly. 
 
 " Hold the pony, Polgrain ! " he cried, as he 
 dropped the reins, and plunged both hands into 
 his pockets. " Ah, here it is ! Now, just read 
 that. Lord Crehylls, will you, please ? Can you 
 see ? is there light enough ? '^ 
 
 " Plenty,^^ returned Lord Crehylls, as he held 
 the letter slightly aslant to catch the fadings 
 light. Then he read aloud as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, — Seeing your name in the commission 
 of the peace, we are induced to make inquiry of 
 you respecting the daughter of the late Walter 
 Sherborne. Any information that you can give 
 us we shall be duly grateful for. We beg to call 
 your attention to the enclosed advertisement, 
 which will sufficiently explain our reason for wish- 
 ing to discover the young lady in question. We 
 acted for many years as solicitors to her great-aunt, 
 the late Mrs. Singleton of Lymington ; and we 
 are now acting on the behalf of her great-nephew, 
 Thomas Singleton, Esq., to whom, with her great- 
 niece. Miss Sherborne, she has left her property,, 
 the same to be equally divided between tliem."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 168 
 
 Here followed the signatures of the Lyming- 
 ton attorneys ; and beneath this^ carefully gum- 
 med to the letter-paper, was the following 
 advertisement, evidently cut from a London 
 journal : — 
 
 " Wanted, — Any information respecting the 
 only daughter of a gentleman named Walter 
 Sherborne, who quitted the neighbourhood of 
 Lymington about fifteen years ago, and has not 
 since been heard of. The young lady will hear 
 of something to her advantage if she will 
 apply,"^ &c. 
 
 Lord Crehylls did not finish reading this, but 
 stopped to look up with blank surprise at Mr. 
 Pydar. 
 
 " This is very strange,^^ he said. '^ I always 
 understood from Mr. Lanyon that the child of 
 this — this very unfortunate man Sherborne, was 
 sent to this great-aunt by her own request.^' 
 
 " That couldn^t be, you see,-*^ observed the 
 justice. 
 
 " Sp it seems,^^ returned Lord CrehyUs. 
 " Well, I cannot give you any information re- 
 specting her. I was sailing round the world 
 just at that time, if you recollect.^^ His voice 
 shook slightly, but his face was as bright and 
 untroubled as ever. 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Lanyon can tell you some- 
 thing of the young lady, sir,^' observed Michael, 
 
 11-- 2
 
 164 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 turning his white face towards the justice. He 
 spoke eagerly^ and his dull eyes shone with an 
 unwonted light. " Oh^ if this should take her 
 away^ far away/^ he said within himself, " per- 
 haps the lot I have drawn may be spared me 
 
 yet." 
 
 " Well;, yes, of course Mr. Lanyon will know 
 who took her away from St. Eglon^s Hut/^ re- 
 turned Mr. Pydar. " But then it is such an 
 inconvenient hour to trouble you all at the 
 Castle V^ he added, looking at Lord Crehylls, 
 inquiringly. 
 
 If he expected the ordinary civil reply that 
 the hour was a matter of no consequence, he 
 was disappointed, for Lord Crehylls caught at 
 this instantly as an excuse for delay. 
 
 '' Yes, you are right,^'' he said, " it is quite 
 late ; and Mr. Lanyon is not well. I think you 
 had better drive over in the morning, and see 
 him about it.^^ 
 
 " As you Avill, my lord,^^ returned the justice, 
 in rather a glumpy tone. " Perhaps you would 
 like to take the letter with you^ and let Mr. 
 Lanyon look at it.''^ 
 
 " No, no,^^ said Lord Crehylls, hastily, draw- 
 ing back from the profiered boon, " V\\ have 
 nothing to do with it, thank you. Let these 
 attorneys find their heiress themselves.^' 
 
 " Take the letter, my lord, for the love of
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 105 
 
 mercy /^ whispered Michael^ touching him on 
 the arm. 
 
 ''Eh, what?'' cried Mr. Pydar, leaning for- 
 ward to catch the faint words. '' What does 
 Polgrain say?"' 
 
 *' Nothing/' returned Lord Crehylls, shaking 
 off his hand, " except that the dew is falling, 
 and that wont improve your gout, Mr. Pydar." 
 
 " No, indeed," cried the old gentleman, gather- 
 ing up the reins hastily : '' and I've good four 
 miles to drive to get home. So you wont take 
 the letter?'' 
 
 '' No," replied Lord Crehylls, coldly : " and I 
 really don't see, why you should come to me at 
 all for information, respecting this Miss Sher- 
 borne." 
 
 " You forget the Sherbornes were your te- 
 nants," observed the justice. 
 
 '' My tenants ! " exclaimed Lord Crehylls, 
 angrily. " T was a boy at that disastrous time. 
 It was my trustee — it was Mr. Lanyon — who let 
 them have St. Eglon's Hut." 
 
 " Well, well, and doubtless he'll be able to 
 tell me all about the girl," said Mr. Pydar, in a 
 pacific voice. 
 
 '^ You can ask him to-morrow," said Lord 
 Crehylls. " Good night." 
 
 He turned away so very decidedly, that Mr. 
 Pydar was fain to drive off, greatly wondering 
 in liis own mind at the unwonted ill temper
 
 166 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 which the young nobleman had displayed. He 
 might have wondered still more had he heard 
 the oath which followed him. 
 
 " Meddling old fool ! ^^ exclaimed Lord Cre- 
 hylls. " Why does he not let the lawyers do 
 their own work? Why should he drive about 
 the country, raking up a story at which my soul 
 sickens ? Michael, I could scarcely keep my 
 temper." 
 
 Michael stood like a man lost and terror- 
 struck, with his eyes fixed on Lord Crehyils and 
 his hands drooping powerless by his side. 
 
 ^' Of what use is it to blame him V he said, 
 slowly. " I dare say the letter was in fact sent 
 to his brother, the attorney; and the justice^s 
 second son, you know, is in his uncle^s office." 
 
 " You have hit the truth, Michael," said Lord 
 Crehyils, laughing nervously. " And, depend 
 upon it, there is a good round sum offered to 
 the lawyer if he finds the girl ; and the old 
 justice has got a mind to share it." 
 
 " Likely enough,^ ^ said Michael, in the same 
 calm way ; '' but why did you not take the 
 letter, my lord? It would have been better for 
 us all if you had." 
 
 " I would not touch the letter," returned the 
 other, energetically. " Why should I question 
 and cross-question Mr. Lanyon on a subject 
 from which he shrinks with pain and disgust ? 
 I gave him trouble enough when a boy about
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 167 
 
 these people. I will not be the one to trouble 
 him again with their names. No ; if he must 
 be worried, let the lawyers come and do it. 
 They enjoy it — I don^t.^" 
 
 It is impossible to say how wistfully Michael 
 looked, and listened as the young man said 
 this. 
 
 "But you'll tell Mr. Lanyon/' he cried. 
 '' You wont let the old justice come, and 
 frighten him in the morning ?'' 
 
 " Frighten him ! " repeated Lord Crehylls, in 
 an angry tone "What are you talking of, 
 Michael V 
 
 " Mr. Lanyon is an old man, my lord,'' said 
 Michael. " I mean, it might hurt him to be 
 taken by surprise." 
 
 " Well, well, ril name it to him to-night," 
 said Lord Crehylls ; " but it will be a hateful 
 task. Ah, Michael," he added, suddenly grasp- 
 ing his foster-brother's hand, " you can scarcely 
 guess how I dread any allusion to that terrible 
 time ! " 
 
 " That's not hard to guess," said Michael. 
 " But this is all for the best. I am glad the 
 young lady will come into a fortune." 
 
 " I am neither glad nor sorry," said Lord 
 Crehylls. " I only wish they woidd not come 
 here to look for her." 
 
 He walked away as he spoke, and Michael 
 followed him a step or two to say, " You'll come
 
 168 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 to me if you want me ? And^ mind, the Penkivet 
 is the fastest craft in the Channel/'' 
 
 There were lights in the drawing-room when 
 Lord Crehylls got back, and these, as he en- 
 tered, showed his hair lank with dew, and his 
 face somewhat flushed and troubled. He looked 
 round anxiously for his wife, but she was not 
 present ; and it was strange how heavily this 
 slight disappointment sank upon his heart, 
 weighing it down as with some great misfortune. 
 
 '^ Where is Agatha ?^^ he said, as he sat down 
 wearily, leaning his arm on the table near him. 
 
 No one answered, each one seemed to wait 
 for the other to speak, and it was Mr. Lanyon 
 at last who looked up from his paper to say, 
 '^ I have not seen her since dinner.'''' 
 
 " Nor 1,'' observed Maurice. Madeline was 
 silent. 
 
 Then Lord Crehylls took up a paper-knife, 
 and seizing a magazine on the table, he began 
 to cut the leaves rapidly. It was while he did 
 this, bending his head over the pages, that he 
 said abruptly, '' I am afraid you will have a 
 troublesome visitor to-morrow morning, Mr. 
 Lanyon. Old Mr. Pydar is coming here. I 
 saw him just now at the entrance gate, and 
 stopped him from worrying you to-night.^^ 
 
 " His visit wont trouble me muclV^ said Mr» 
 Lanyon, carelessly. 
 
 " I fear it will vex you," said his son-in-law^
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 109 
 
 gravely. "He comes to make inquiries respect- 
 ing a missing heiress, the daughter of — of those 
 terrible people who lived at St. Eglon^s Hut." 
 
 Madeline started, and half rose from her 
 chair, while Maurice turned sharply toAvards 
 her, and laid his hand restrainingly on her arm. 
 He listened anxiously for Mr. Lanyon''s answer, 
 but not a word fell from his lips. 
 
 " It appears," continued Lord Crehylls, as he 
 turned the j)ages of his book with a quick, ner- 
 vous hand, " that some old lady has died, and 
 left her property to — to this young lady; and 
 the lawyers who have the charge of her affairs 
 fancy you can give them some information 
 concerning her." 
 
 Again Madeline would have risen, and again 
 Maurice^s restraining hand held her silent ; 
 again, also, he listened vainly for jNIr. Lanyon^s 
 answer. 
 
 The continued silence made Lord Crehylls 
 look up, and then he saw^ the three faces of hi& 
 listeners bent on him in strange excitement. 
 Mr. Lanyon, pale as death, Maurice flushed and 
 eager, Madeline with eyes that blazed, and lips 
 standing apart and quivering. 
 
 "And so," resumed Lord Crehylls, more 
 slowly, as his glance wandered from one to the 
 other, "old Pydar, whose brother the attorney 
 has evidently been written to on the subject, is 
 coming here to learn from you what became of
 
 170 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 the child when — when she was left alone at St. 
 Eglon's Hut/' 
 
 The effort with which he said this was visible, 
 and the hand which he passed across his fore- 
 head trembled. 
 
 ^' The answer to that question is easily given/ ^ 
 said Mr. Lanyon, forcing his voice into calm- 
 ness. " 1 sent the child to a distant relative, — 
 a Mrs. Singleton, at Lymington.^' 
 
 Maurice heard this with consternation, and 
 Madeline . rose decidedly, and walked forward till 
 she stood beneath the full blaze of the chan- 
 delier, where the wax lights flung their glow on 
 her crimson face. 
 
 " Unfortunately,^'' said Lord Crehylls, a little 
 drily, " it is that very relative's executors who 
 are searching for her, advertising for her, and 
 writing for her, declaring she has never been 
 seen at Lymington.'' 
 
 " Very well,'' said Mr. Lanyon, still calmly, 
 " then she must have been lost by the way. I 
 can tell them nothing more." 
 
 " Mr. Lanyon ! " exclaimed Maurice. 
 
 ^' I will speak to you another time, Mr. 
 Pellew," said Mr. Lanyon, in a decided tone. 
 
 " But you will speak to me now," interposed 
 Madeline, in a steady, calm voice, whose clear 
 tones rang through the room. " You will let 
 me tell Lord Crehylls the truth ; I am weary of 
 falsehood. I cannot aid in this deception."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 171 
 
 " Do you know anything of this matter, Miss 
 Sylvester T' asked Lord Crehylls in extreme 
 surprise. 
 
 " Be silent_, Madeline ! '' exclaimed ~Siv. Lan- 
 yon. "You owe me obedience. I demand it 
 of you now.^^ 
 
 " But you have commanded me all my life 
 long to live beueath a \iq," she returued, stea- 
 dily, *^and that makes obedience too hard forme. 
 If I do not fear the truth, why should you V 
 
 " Do you care so much for this money ?" said 
 Mr. Lanyon, coming forward to whisper the 
 words in her ear. " I will double this fortune, 
 whatever it may be, if you will be silent.^' 
 
 Madeline was stung now^ into bitterness, and 
 as she stood beneath the great chandelier, with 
 the blaze of many lights falling on her, Maurice 
 saw her cheeks burning with a deep crimson, 
 and her eyes shining with unshed tears. 
 
 " You never loved me, Mr. Lanyon,^^ she said, 
 with inexpressible pathos ; " but I did not knoAV, 
 until this moment, that you scorned me. You 
 have offered me money to be silent. I would 
 rather die now than not speak. Lord Crehylls, 
 I will not remain another instant beneath your 
 roof deceiving you. I am Madeline Sherborne, 
 the daughter of that man and that woman, 
 whose miserable lives have left a shadow of 
 shame, and sorrow even on the house Avhere they 
 dwelt. Haunted by their sad presence, St.
 
 172 BKXEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Eglon-'s Hut brings now to every mind thoughts 
 of mystery and of crime/^ 
 
 The clasped hands^ the bowed head^ the ming- 
 ling of pride and shame in her aspect^ all moved 
 Maurice to admiration, and riveted his glance 
 upon her face ; thus he did not perceive that 
 Lord Crehylls was gazing at her as though he 
 saw a spectre, while Mr. Lanyon was pale with 
 fear. 
 
 ^' You do not answer me/^ said Madeline, look- 
 ing from one to the other with pained eyes. " Is 
 there such a brand upon me that my name shocks 
 you into silence ? '' 
 
 " Miss Sylvester,^^ said Lord Crehylls, in a 
 voice he strove to make clear and courteous, " no 
 gentleman would ever allude in your presence to 
 events, which render you an object of respectful 
 sympathy, and pity to every thinking heart. I 
 thank you for your truth and candour, but I ob- 
 ject most strenuously to the deception, which has 
 been practised on Lady Crehylls and myself for a 
 long series of years. I object to a lady being 
 forced on my wife as a companion under a false 
 name, and on false pretences ; I object to any 
 guest being brought beneath my roof under any 
 character or any name except her own ; and I 
 call upon Mr. Lanyon to explain to me his rea- 
 sons for such a strange course of conduct. "Will 
 you answer me, sir ? What have vou to sav to 
 this ?''
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 173 
 
 '' Notliiug/^ replied Mr. Lanyon^ with white 
 lips — " nothing/^ 
 
 '^ Nothing ! " exclaimed Lord Crehylls, hotly. 
 ^^ But I consider, Mr. Lanyon_, that you owe me 
 an explanation. I am sorry to say anything to 
 pain Miss Sherborne, but you force me to speak 
 frankly. You have chosen, with doubtful pru- 
 dence, to give your daughter a companion whose 
 very name breathes a horror to men's hearts; 
 but when Agatha became my wife you should 
 have remembered that I claim a right to select 
 her acquaintances, and I confess — without mean- 
 ing the slightest unkindness to a young lady 
 whose character I respect — that I would never 
 willingly have brought her in contact with the 
 name of Sherborne. You have done me a wrong, 
 Mr. Lanyon, a cruel wrong.^^ 
 
 " A wrong ! " repeated the old man, gazing 
 round him in a bewildered way, — " Good heavens, 
 hear him ! He says I have done him a 
 wrong ! '' 
 
 Erect and firm, though very pale, Madeline 
 came to him swiftly, and stood by his side. 
 
 '' If he has done you and Lady Crehylls a 
 Avrong in forcing me upon your acquaintance/"' 
 she said, " it is a wrong easily rectified. I am 
 perfectly willing henceforth to look upon you and 
 her as strangers ; and I am ready to leave your 
 roof this moment."^ 
 
 " Lord Crehylls,^^ exclaimed Maurice, " do you
 
 174 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 consider it manly to force such words as these 
 from the lips of a young lady — your guest ?" 
 
 But Lord Crehylls set his question aside like 
 a feather. 
 
 " I insist on it that an explanation is due to 
 me/'' he said^ with increased passion. " Mr. 
 Lanyon, you know that the name of Sherborne 
 is hateful to me^, and^ from out the whole worlds 
 one of that blood and of that breed would be the 
 last I would admit to my hearth, or my friendship. 
 What ! am I to be cheated into receiving a Sher- 
 borne ? — cheated into liking a Sherborne ? — 
 cheated into making a Sherborne the companion 
 of my wife ? What answer do you give me to 
 this, Mr. Lanyon?^^ 
 
 " Nothing/' replied the old man again, " except 
 that you are mad, and cannot understand the hor- 
 rible injustice of your words. ''' 
 
 "Injustice, indeed,^' cried Maurice, indig- 
 nantly. " I think. Lord Crehylls, however great 
 your hatred may be against the Sherbornes, or 
 however great the cause, you might, as a gentle- 
 man, spare the feelings of an innocent girl, who 
 is quite as much their victim as ever you can be.'' 
 
 Lord Crehylls looked at him, and listened to 
 him, without taking in the sense of his words. 
 His usual good-natured ease, his presence of 
 mind, his courtesy and good temper, were all 
 gone — vanished in the tempest of his passion. 
 
 " You do not comprehend this matter, Pellew/'
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 175 
 
 he saidj setting him aside ; " it is an affair between 
 me and Mr. Lanyon. I mean no unkindness to 
 Miss — Miss Sylvester ; but he knows how odious, 
 how more than hateful to me, must be the pre- 
 sence of a Sherborne. And I assert that no man 
 in my own house has a right to subject me to 
 torture. Do you still say nothing, Mr. Lanyon ? 
 Do you still refuse to give me your reason for 
 doing this ?^^ 
 
 Mr. Lanyon^s careworn face was turned to- 
 wards him wistfully as he spoke, as though 
 anxious to catch his words, hoping they would be 
 softer, and when the last angry question fell 
 upon his ear, his courage seemed to break down 
 suddenly, and holding his trembling hands up- 
 ward, he murmured, " For his sake and hers — 
 great heavens, for his sake ! Oh Geoffrey, Geof- 
 frey, you were like a son to me ! Your father 
 gave you and your brother into my hands on his 
 deathbed. I was bound to hold you safe.^^ 
 
 "Is that all your answer T^ cried Lord Crehylls, 
 still beside himself with some strange emotion. 
 " Let us talk of those things another time. I 
 ask now, why you took upon yourself the guar- 
 dianship of the child, of such people as Walter 
 Sherborne and his wife?^^ 
 
 " Let me answer you," said Madeline, with the 
 superb calm of her manner still unruffled, still 
 hiding the fiery lava beneath. " He took me, 
 because in the great charity of his heart, he had
 
 176 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 pity on the orphan,, who was cast out both by 
 friends and relations. This woman, now dead, 
 who has left me her money, refused me a shelter 
 then. And so, when all the world forsook me, 
 this noble heart gaA^e me a home, and hid the 
 :generous deed even from his daughter. You 
 ask why he called me by a false name, why he 
 has deceived you with regard to my sorrowful 
 parentage. I answer you, it Avas because lie was 
 over-pitiful, over-generous ; he wished to shield 
 me from the curse that clings to the wicked ; he 
 thought to give me a city of refuge wherein I 
 should escape from that law which says, the ^ sins 
 of the fathers ' shall be visited ' upon the children.'' 
 Lord Crehylls, twenty times this evening you have 
 insulted me cruelly, twenty times you have shown 
 me the hatred and loathing you have for the 
 blood that runs in my veins ; let it suffice that 
 hatred then, to know that I have not escaped 
 this curse. The wall of false honour and respect, 
 so generously built up around me, has been no 
 barrier to the shame and pain, the burning pain, 
 that always quivers in my heart. Does that 
 soften you. Lord Crehylls ? Or do you, in your 
 unstained rectitude, your nobility and honour- 
 able pride, still despise me too much to feel 
 pity ? " 
 
 As she uttered this, rapidly, but with steadfast 
 calm, and as she praised him, Isix. Lanyon listened 
 with dilated eyes full of haggard fear, and a face
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 177 
 
 that grew wan and shadowy. But above all;, he 
 shrank when she appealed to Lord Crehylls^ 
 pride and untainted honour. 
 
 '' Cease, Madeline, cease ! '^ he said, grasping 
 her arm with his thin hand. 
 
 '^ I cannot cease/^ she answered. " I will do 
 you justice. Only a few days ago, Lord Crehylls, 
 I reproached the compassionate heart and hand 
 that had rescued my childhood from misery. I 
 said it would have been better for me, if I had been 
 left alone to grow hard, and callous beneath the 
 sharp edge of woe and want. I retract that word 
 now. I own myself grateful, most grateful, to 
 Mr. Lanyon ; for I see how easy it would have 
 been for him to have left me thus to the world, 
 — I see how hard it was for him to succour 
 me. So hard, that he had to hide the gene- 
 rous deed from his daughter, and to-night he 
 has to lower his head before the reproaches of 
 his son.^^ 
 
 She ceased. ]5ut she ceased with her arms 
 around Mr. Lanyon, acd her tears and kisses fall- 
 ing on his woe-worn face. And then, raising her 
 hand once more, she cried out, "Forgive me, dear! 
 forgive me. I have been so proud and wilful, so 
 unloving and hard. I did not think of all you 
 suffered for my sake — no, not till to-night, when 
 I heard you reproached for your goodness, when 
 I heard you answer him nothing in reply to his 
 questions, because you were too noble to speak 
 
 VOL. T. 12
 
 178 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 of your kindness^ too noble to boast of your own 
 worthy deed.^^ 
 
 Like a man bereft of sense^ Mr. Lanyon beard 
 her dimly and strove to free himself from her 
 clinging arms. Her words were torture^ her 
 kisses torture, her caressing touch terrible, — he 
 could not bear them; and as he broke from 
 her clasping hands, he tottered, and fell feebly to 
 the ground. Lord Crehylls rushed forward and 
 raised him, and it was then that Maurice, bend- 
 ing over Madeline, put his arm around her 
 tenderly. 
 
 " I am justified in my love,^^ he said to himself, 
 proudly ; " she is a noblewoman, in spite of faults/' 
 
 But Madeline did not heed his whisper or his 
 caress; she knelt by the side of Mr. Lanyon, in 
 an agony of grief. 
 
 ^^ We have all spoken selfishly,^'' she cried, 
 " not thinking of his weakness. Lord Crehylls, 
 I meant to quit your house to-night, — now I 
 conquer all my own feelings, and say, let me 
 remain and nurse him.'^ 
 
 " Stay,'^ said Lord Crehylls ; ^' I have no quar- 
 rel with you, Madeline.'''' 
 
 Whether it was contrition for the cruel words 
 he had uttered, or grief at iNIr. Lanyon^s state, 
 or remembrance of his boy -love, who can say ? 
 But as he spoke her name his voice took a 
 strange inflection of tenderness. And at this 
 very instant. Lady Crehylls entered the room.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 179 
 
 " Here is Agatha/^ he said^ almost wildly ; 
 ^' be silent^ I entreat you/'' 
 
 His wife heard his words^ and her heart felt 
 cold and dead. 
 
 " Your father is ill^, — he is taken suddenly ill/^ 
 said her husband^ looking up at her. 
 
 Then the room swam around her ; and with 
 eyes almost blinded^ she took her father^s white 
 head from Madeline's hands and laid it on her 
 lap. 
 
 12—2
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SMALL^ cramped room in a small house^, 
 l^nda sickly woman propped up by pil- 
 ows on a hard, stiff chair, around her a 
 lieap of shreds and patchwork of many colours, 
 and over all the room an unutterable aspect of 
 forlorn wretchedness, discomfort, and woe. A 
 broken cage hung at the window, mended here 
 and there roughly with twig and twine, and 
 from within there came at times a feeble chir]), 
 showing the wretched little feathery inmate was 
 still alive, though lean with famine and grimy 
 with dirt. On the floor sat three hard-faced 
 children, big-eyed and big-mouthed, squabbling 
 with each other with a spasmodic eagerness boru 
 of weariness, and want. Upon the woman's lap 
 there lay a heap of little shreds of silk, like those 
 littered around her, and with trembling, fevered 
 fingers she cut them into hearts, diamonds, or 
 rounds, and sewed them into needle-books and 
 pincushions. She did not weep as she worked — 
 she was long past tliat ; but ever and anon a 
 certain tremulous movement of the lip showed
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 181 
 
 that although tears might be repressed, through 
 patience and habit, yet suffering was busy at her 
 heart, and spoke at times in a gasping sob or a 
 weary sigh. 
 
 '^ Be quiet, children ! ^^ she cried, eagerly. " I 
 hear a step ; run and see if it is your brother 
 Tora.^^ No one stirred. " Why don^t you go, 
 Edward ? '' she said, fretfully. 
 
 '' Because I don^t choose,"'" answered the 
 l)iggest boy. " Tm always on the run. I 
 fetched candles last night, and thread this 
 morning. Make Alice go ,• she never does 
 anything."" 
 
 '' You are a great story,"" cried the indignant 
 Alice. " I do lots of things. Who tidies the 
 room, I wonder, except me ? '" 
 
 " A pretty sort of tidiness/" retorted the boy. 
 '' The room is beastly. We are the wretchedest 
 lot in all the row. I heard one of the neigh- 
 bours say so last night."" 
 
 Too sickly and feeble to enforce obedience 
 and order, or indeed to do anything except the 
 poor work she held in her trembling fingers, the 
 invalid leant back on the stiff chair, and closed 
 her patient eyes wearily. Then tears came one 
 by one dropping down on her thin hands un- 
 heeded. 
 
 " The wretchedest lot,"" she repeated, vaguely. 
 '' Yes, none more wretched on the earth. And 
 all my fault— all.""
 
 182 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 " There, Ted, you have made mother crj^^' 
 observed Alice. '' Fll tell Tom of you/' 
 
 " She's always crying/' said Ted, placidly ; 
 " so what does it matter ? " 
 
 At this moment the step which, during this 
 dialogue, had been heard plainly coming down 
 the dismal, quiet, suburban row, stopped now at 
 the door, and a hand with a sharp jerk pulled 
 the bell. 
 
 '^That is not Tom," cried the sick woman, 
 and her pale face grew blanched with fear. 
 " Go to the door one of you, and see who it is." 
 
 ^' And suppose it is the tax-gatherer, or the 
 water-rate," asked Alice, " what am I to say ? '' 
 
 " Say your brother is not in, but he'll be sure 
 to attend to it in a day or two." 
 
 At this instant a man's face looked in at the 
 window, and the sick woman, letting her work 
 fall from her lap, shrieked aloud. 
 
 " It's father !" said the gaunt children, in a 
 trembling voice, and the girl Alice began to cry, 
 while the youngest, a boy of four, crept instinc- 
 tively to his mother's side. 
 
 " Open the door," cried the man, with an oath. 
 
 There was no disobedience now. Both the 
 boy and girl ran frightened to the door, and 
 undid the bolt with trembling hands. Then, as 
 they set it open, there came a swaggering step, 
 an oath, a blow, and a smothered ciy from the 
 boy, who staggered beneath it.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 183 
 
 '' We were as quick as we could be^ father. 
 Oh^ don't beat Ted/' cried Alice. 
 
 The man stooped^ and putting his hideous 
 face against the child's, he kissed her. A kiss 
 from such a man seemed worse,, more dreadful 
 than a blow, and so the girl seemed to feel it, 
 for she shrank against the wall, cowed and 
 shuddering. Passing her, as heedless of this as 
 of all else, the man entered the dingy, untidy 
 room with a careless air, and sat down opposite 
 his wife. 
 
 " You don't look particularly glad to see me," 
 he said, with a laugh. 
 
 There was no answer, except for the nervous 
 clasping and unclasping of her hands, and the 
 upraised look to Heaven, as though appealing to 
 the justice of God against the injustice of man. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Rathline, I don't exactly expect 
 smiles aiid kisses on my arrival," continued her 
 husband. '^ Is there anything to eat and drink 
 in the house ? " 
 
 "There is a loaf and a bit of salt butter," 
 she said, feebly. 
 
 The amiable Mr. Rathline received this intelli- 
 gence with a face of great disgust. 
 
 " Here, Ted," he cried, '^ come to your mother 
 for some money ; and then go and fetch me a 
 plate of hot roast beef at the cookshop round 
 the corner, and bring a pint of hollands to wet 
 it with."
 
 184 BENEATH THE WHEEl.S. 
 
 '^ I have no money for such things/' expostu- 
 lated his wifc_, in the same meek way. 
 
 " Nonsense ! We always kill the fatted calf 
 for the prodigal's return/' said Mr. Rathline, 
 playfully ; and^ making one stride to her chair, 
 he seized her by the wrist with a grasp which 
 seemed strong enough to crush the bone. " Look 
 at these pretty little things/' he cried, tossing 
 the bits of silk into the air. ^' Where are our 
 earnings for these ? Oh^ we make three or 
 four shillings a week sometimes with our needle 
 and thread. You see I know all about it." 
 
 Pale with agony and fear, his victim implored 
 him meekly to release his cruel grasp on her arm. 
 
 " I thought you wanted help to find yodr 
 purse, my dear," said Mr. Rathline. 
 
 The hideous assumption of playfulness with 
 which he cruelly twisted her arm as he said this, 
 and finally jerked her from her seat, and flung 
 her like a rag into the corner of the room, was 
 horrible to see. It was an ugly spectacle alto- 
 gether, — the frightened, sobbing woman, the 
 shrieking children, and the brute in man's form, 
 who stood like a torturer over his victims, 
 enjoying their pain. With one hand hanging 
 useless, and livid marks around her wrist, ^Irs. 
 Rathline took her purse from her pocket, and 
 gave it to him. 
 
 ^' I wonder you are not ashamed to take it,'"* 
 she said, hysterically. " The money is my own —
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 185 
 
 my own earnings. When do you ever bring a 
 penny into the house ? ^^ 
 
 Ignoring this question^ the delightful Mr. 
 Rathline replied only to the preceding re- 
 mark. 
 
 "Your own money ! Your own earnings ! — 
 eh ? That^s something new, that is. Ap- 
 parently, Mrs. Rathline, you are not aware that a 
 married woman can never possess half-a-crown of 
 her own. You have no money — it is mine ; you 
 have no earnings — they are mine. That^s the 
 law of the land, that is.^^ And Mr. RatJdine 
 looked round the room grimly. " And I should 
 ]ike to know what woman is going to alter 
 it?^^ 
 
 During this exposition of the just laws of his 
 country, both Mr. Rathline and his hard- 
 featured boy Ted swelled considerably, as though 
 the beauty, and power, and majesty of this 
 equitable code added to their own individual 
 importance. Alice, however, looked from the 
 one to the other with a face of consterna- 
 tion. 
 
 " If that's the law, father,'' she said, '' I'll be 
 lazy as the days are long when I get married." 
 
 Mr. Rathline, over whom his daughter ap- 
 peared to have a slightly softening influence, 
 laughed at this, and patted her on the head. 
 
 " That's the law," he repeated ; '' and so let 
 us see how much money of mine Mrs. Rathline
 
 ]86 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 has got in this purse. Only three and sixpence V^ 
 he cried_, as he emptied the contents into his 
 palm. " Come, come, this wont do at all ! You 
 are not going to humhug me like this, Mrs. 
 Rathline. Out with your hoards ! ^' 
 
 ^*^You can kill me if you like/^ said Mrs. 
 Rathline ; '^ but I have not a penny more in the 
 world.'^ 
 
 " Will you dare tell me that, when your old 
 aunt, Madge Singleton, is dead V cried her 
 husband. " You can^t blind me ; I know all 
 about it. You thought to keep it a secret, I 
 suppose; but you are mistaken/'' 
 
 '' My aunt would not help me living, and she 
 has not helped me in dying,^^ replied his wife. 
 " She has left me nothing.^^ 
 
 '^ But she has left a fortune to Tom,"*^ he said. 
 ^' Our ' dear Tom ' has got the money. Oh, you 
 can^t cheat me. And now you are rich, I am 
 coming back to live among you, and be a father 
 to you all again. ^^ 
 
 This declaration brought a blank look of 
 dismay to the children's faces, and the little 
 one clinging to his mother burst into a loud 
 cry. 
 
 " You are mistaken,'^ said Mrs. Rathline, as 
 she hushed the child on her lap ; '^ Tom has not 
 come into a fortune ; and if he had, you have 
 no claim on him. You can^t compel my first 
 husband^s son to maintain you."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 187 
 
 Mr. Rathline smiled contemptuously at this 
 speech. He knew his power, and he knew how 
 to use it. 
 
 '^ But I can compel Tom Singleton^s mother, 
 who is my wife, to live with me/' he observed, 
 carelessly, " and I shall do it, unless Tom makes 
 it worth my while to keep myself still as a 
 gay bachelor." 
 
 ^' You don't seem to know,'' continued his 
 wife, trying to speak bravely, '^ that Tom has not 
 got aunt's money, and can't have it. She has 
 left it between him and Walter Sherborne's 
 daughter, and he is not to have a shilling till 
 the girl is found, nor even then unless " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, for so strange a look 
 had come over Mr. Rathline's face, that it 
 checked her speech in amazement. 
 
 " Here, Ted," he said, huskily, throwing the 
 silver across the table, " take this, and fetch me 
 some dinner. Your mother's news are hard to 
 swallow." 
 
 The boy departed instantly, and Mr. Rathline 
 stationed himself at the window to watch for his 
 return, and there, with his face completely 
 hidden from her view, he ordered his wife to 
 continue her story. 
 
 " There is not much more to tell," she said, 
 " except that Aunt Madge has left a queer will. 
 Tom is not to have the money unless he marries 
 her great-niece, Margaret Madeline Sherborne,
 
 188 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 and if he does not fulfil this condition, the 
 money is to accumulate till either Tom or 
 Miss Sherborne dies, then it will be paid over to 
 the survivor/^ 
 
 " Then Tom has not got a chance/^ observed 
 Mr. Rathline, " for the Sherbornes live as long 
 as oaks. Whv, your aunt was ninety, wasn^t 
 she?^^ 
 
 " Nearly/^ was the reply — " she was eighty- 
 seven. I know the Sherbornes are wonderfully 
 strong/^ she added, with a sigh at her own 
 weakness ; '' but I don't see why Tom should not 
 :find this girl, and marry her.'' 
 
 " Find her !" repeated Mr. Rathline. " That's 
 not likely. She is gone to the deuce by this 
 time. But why did old Madge Singleton make 
 such a will ?" 
 
 " How can I tell ?" responded his wife, feebly ; 
 ^' unless it was to give Tom and me trouble. 
 Perhaps she thought she was doing fairly, when 
 she left the money between her own great-niece 
 and her husband's great-nephcAV ; but it is my 
 belief she wanted her own blood — the Sher- 
 borne girl — to have it all ; else w^hy did she 
 make it a condition that Tom should marry 
 her ?" 
 
 At this point in the conversation Mr. Rathline's 
 dinner made its appearance, and he betook him- 
 .self to his repast with great cheerfulness, first, 
 however, carefully pocketing the small change
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 189 
 
 left from the three shillings and sixpence. It 
 was nothing to him^ that he devoured at this 
 meal as much as would have kept his wife and 
 children for two days; it was nothing to him 
 that he had robbed them of the power ta 
 procure food for days to come. No considera- 
 tion for others impaired his appetite; and the 
 more he ate and drank, the more disagreeable 
 he became. 
 
 '^ Well, Mrs. Rathline/^ he said, as he primed 
 himself with a glass of raw spirits, " I am sorry 
 to make a painful observation, but unless you 
 can find your husband a little more money, that 
 ill-used individual will be compelled to call 
 in a broker, and dispose of a few of these 
 effects.^^ 
 
 " You will not dare to rob us any more V* 
 exclaimed his wife, gasping for breath. " The 
 miserable bit of furniture there is in the house 
 belongs to Tom. I paid for it with his money.^^ 
 " And because you bought it, and you paid 
 for it, my love, it belongs to mc,^" returned 
 Mr. Rathline, with great ease of manner. The 
 law and the power being on his side, he could 
 afford to keep his temper, and to hear unmoved the 
 tears and cries of his victims. 
 
 " If Tom were home you would not dare 
 say so,^^ exclaimed his wife, witli the courage of 
 despair. ^^ You know Tom is gone to Lyming- 
 ton, else you would not be here to-day."
 
 190 ' BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 '^ Exactly, my dear/^ he replied. " Now, can 
 you find me any more money V 
 
 A sob was the only answer ; and hiding her 
 face with her thin right hand — the left lay 
 swelled and useless in her lap — the wretched 
 wife wept silently. 
 
 Mr. Rathline drank another glass of spirits, 
 and then peremptorily ordered Ted to go and 
 fetch a broker. Pending the arrival of this 
 individual, he condescended to explain more fully 
 his present proceedings. 
 
 " I am in a fix, Mrs. Rathline,^^ he remarked, 
 " and therefore I must have money. I thought 
 to find you pretty well ofi", as your aunt was 
 dead; but as things are as they are, I am 
 obliged to sell you up. It is a cursed affkir, 
 that old woman raking up those dead and gone 
 Sherbornes. They wont do me any good, nor 
 you either ; therefore I shall keep clear of 
 them. It is evident that you and Tom wont get 
 any of this fortune ; for, if the girl is found — and 
 I don''t believe she will be, she must have died in 
 a ditch or a workhouse long ago — the marriage 
 may be as far off" as ever. She may be married 
 already, or she may refuse to marry Tom. 
 What does the will say, then T' 
 
 Mrs. Rathline looked up at this in weak 
 .amazement. 
 
 " Refuse to many Tom \" she said. " Is it 
 likely, such a girl as Walter Sherborne^s daughter
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 191 
 
 must be^ will refuse to marry an industrious 
 good young man like Tom ? No indeed. But 
 what I can^t bear is, tbat lie should sacrifice 
 himself — as 1 know he will — for my sake. It is 
 frightful to think that he should be obliged to 
 marry that dreadful man^s daughter. 1 shall 
 hate her, 1 know 1 shall.^^ 
 
 The answer to this was a strange gulp in 
 Mr. Rathline^s throat, followed by a hasty 
 draught of spirits. 
 
 '^ The will V he cried, hoarsely ; " I asked you 
 what the will said ?^^ 
 
 " I am sure, Mr. Rathline, 1 donH know why 
 I should tell you anything — you, who are such a 
 bitter enemy to me,^^ returned the weak Mrs. 
 Rathline, querulously ; ^^ and I wouldn^t do it, 
 only Tom said, you could read the will yourself 
 for a shilling, at some place where the doctors 
 have their commons : so 1 suppose wills are no 
 secrets, and I may just as well tell you all I can 
 understand about this one. Aunt Madge has 
 left her money very unfairly. If Tom refuses 
 to marry this horrid Sherborne girl, he is to 
 have nothing ; but if she refuses, she is to have a 
 hundred a year, and all the property when Tom 
 dies. So it is a mere pretence to give the whole 
 to her, that^s all ; for sickly and hard-wrought as 
 Tom is, he can^t expect to outlive a Sher- 
 borne.^^ 
 
 " 1 tell you what I think of it/^ returned
 
 192 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Mr. Rathlinc, coolly, " and that is, that I 
 wouldn't give Tom sixpence for his chance. So 
 you see, since there is nothing to look forward 
 to in the future, I must grab all I can in the 
 present. I shall let the broker have all the 
 traps in the house cheap — dirt cheap. It will be 
 a sacrifice for me I know, but I can't help it. 
 If I only had time, I could go to a fellow who 
 would give me a fair price for them ; but I 
 haven't got time, so I must just put up with 
 being cheated. It wilJ be a good many pounds 
 out of my pocket, Mrs. Rathline, that it will." 
 
 The hard blind brutality of the man spoke so 
 plainly in this speech, that his wife, knowing 
 him, perceived it would be vain indeed to ask for 
 pity. He took the power the law gave him, with 
 a selfishness too obtuse to understand its cruelty, 
 and its injustice. What was his wife's was his, 
 and he could do what he liked with it ; that was 
 the law, and it appeared to his mind an equi- 
 table state of things. He was in his right, and 
 there was an end. He even thought himself 
 very generous, when, at Alice's intercession, he 
 left her mother her bed, and the stift' chair in 
 which she sat rocking herself to and fro in silent 
 misery. 
 
 There are depths of woe, unsentimental, un- 
 poetical, unromantic, which the pen shrinks from 
 touching. They do not tell well in a story, they 
 are too real, too horrible and harrowing, there-
 
 BENEATH THE AVHEELS. 193 
 
 fore I leave undescribed all that wretcliedness, 
 Avhich the triumphant Mr. Rathline quitted with 
 a careless whistle^ wheu^ \vith fifteen pounds in 
 his pockety he wished his family an affectionate 
 ^ood-bye, and left them to the four bare walls of 
 their dismal dwelling. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 USTICE Pyclar called vainly at Castle 
 Crehylls. Mr. Lanyon was too ill to be 
 'J seen. 
 
 '^ So we must wait^ I suppose/^ observed the 
 gentleman,, testily, " until he is weU enough to 
 tell us, in whose custody the child quitted St. 
 Eglon^s Hut.^^ 
 
 " I presume you must/^ replied Maurice, 
 gravely. Upon which the justice departed, 
 fuming and irate. 
 
 In deference to Lord Crehylls' earnest en- 
 treaty, Mr. Pellew had given Mr. Pydar this 
 answer. 
 
 " Don't tell that meddling old man anything/' 
 he had said. '' It is better to wait until Mr. 
 Lanyon can explain things himself. And, mean- 
 while, if there is a legacy left to Madeline, it 
 wont run away." 
 
 With this view of things Maurice for a time 
 acquiesced, but there was an irritable feeling in 
 his mind which the courtesy of his host could 
 not soothe. The words Lord Crehvlls had used
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 195 
 
 in speaking of and to Madeline had galled him 
 deeply ;, and out of this irritation there grew a 
 sort of feverish resolve to set the name of 
 Sherborne right with the world. He had looked 
 at this vaguely at first, as a thing within the 
 bounds of possibility ; now, he grasped the idea 
 more closely, and began to examine the proba- 
 bilities of success. The hawker ! — with him 
 surely lay the solution of the great question of 
 Walter Sherborne^s guilt or innocence ; for this 
 man then, he must search, and although, after 
 such a lapse of time, the chance of discovering 
 him might seem faint, yet perseverance and 
 patience would in the end track him down. 
 Never had a man disappeared so completely ; 
 never had a man quitted a country, leaving 
 behind him so small a vestige of his presence as 
 this man had. The fact in itself was suspicious. 
 It was noteworthy also that the few who remem- 
 bered him spoke of him as a sharp dealer, crafty 
 and smooth in his talk, yet of a hasty temper. 
 Fond of money too, and acute at a bargain, yet 
 he had never claimed the many little debts still 
 owing to him by the farmers\'ind miners' wives, and 
 daughters. Such a man must have a very cogent 
 reason, if he were still alive, for never returning 
 to gather in these sums. Surely, nothing short 
 of some strong fear for his own personal safety, 
 would deter a greedy trader from seeking to 
 recover his gains. 
 
 13—2
 
 196 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Thus Maurice argued^ after spending two days 
 in random inquiries among the inhabitants of 
 the hills, and dales around Crehylls. Madeline's 
 close attendance on Mr. Lanyon had left him 
 free to do this, for had she been with him, he 
 felt such open questioning of the peasantry 
 would have been impossible. It is not necessary 
 to relate at present all he elicited during his in- 
 quiry; enough that it made him impatient to 
 return to London. Mr. Lanyon was evidently 
 too ill to travel for some weeks to come, so his 
 visit to Penkivel must be deferred. He wished, 
 however, that Madeline would return thither, for 
 the coolness of Lady Crehylls towards her was 
 now so perceptible that Maurice chafed at it, as 
 indeed he did at the whole atmosphere of Castle 
 Crehylls, The air was troubled around him, and 
 there was a palpable unrest in the quiver of 
 every breath, there was a shadow to be felt, not 
 described, which brooded over the heart like the 
 presage of a storm. In this shadow they all 
 sat day by day, and Maurice felt impatient to 
 fling it off, saying within himself, that a frank 
 and open quarrel would be better than this secret 
 fear, this sombre silence. He told Madeline of 
 his intention to return to London, adding his 
 resolve to go round by Lymington, and see the 
 solicitors of the late Mrs. Singleton, and ascer- 
 tain the amount of the legacy bequeathed by 
 her to her great-niece.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 197 
 
 " I shall be glad to see you independent, 
 Madeline/' he said. " I do not like your posi- 
 tion here.'^ 
 
 " Nor I/' she answered. ^^ And after the 
 cruel reproaches used by Lord Crehylls to his 
 father-in-law^ I would not have remained a day 
 beneath his roof, if the duty and gratitude I owe 
 to Mr. Lanyon did not imj^eratively force me to 
 stay.'' 
 
 " Have you had any quarrel with Lady Cre- 
 hylls ? " asked Maurice^, anxiously. 
 
 A deep flush crimsoned Madeline's face, and 
 she replied, hastily, " No, I have scarcely spoken 
 to her lately. She is a spoiled child, and I 
 suppose there is some crumpled rose-leaf in 
 her path at present, for she is strangely 
 gloomy." 
 
 '^ Perhaps it is anxiety for her father," re- 
 turned Maurice. 
 
 " I don't see why that should make her cool 
 to me," said Madeline, '^ unless, indeed, she is 
 jealous." 
 
 " Jealous ! " exclaimed Maurice. 
 
 " Yes — of her father's regard. But she need 
 not be," said Madeline, and her lips shook ; " for 
 Mr. Lanyon has no love for me. There are 
 times when he can scarcely bear my presence." 
 
 Maurice could not believe this. 
 " It is only the whim of a sick man," he said. 
 " And as for Lady Crehylls, can it be that she
 
 198 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 knows who you are^, and shares her husband's 
 dislike to the name of Sherborne ? '' 
 
 Maurice should not have asked this question 
 of Madeline^ and he repented the thoughtless 
 words the moment they w^ere uttered. He saw 
 the pain and bitterness on the proud face^ though 
 he could not see how her spirit shrank away 
 from him^ or how, in the solitude of her own 
 soul she told herself that_, with all things false 
 around her, she had done wrong to accept his 
 love. 
 
 '^ Lord Crehylls assured me to the contrary 
 yesterday/' she returned coldly. " He also en- 
 treated me to keep my name a secret still from 
 his wife, telling me, with some very unnecessary 
 apologies, that although he might bear the 
 presence of a Sherborne himself, he would not 
 ask Lady Crehylls to do so knowingly." 
 
 " He insults you,'' cried Maurice, biting his 
 lip. " Madeline, will you leave this house with 
 me, and permit me to place you in some other 
 home until I can offer you one myself ? " 
 
 " No," answered Madeline, steadily. " I will 
 not be beholden to any man's charity — not even 
 yours ; and I shall not quit Castle Crehylls while 
 Mr. Lanyon hangs between life and death. I 
 have often been unjust and ungrateful to him, 
 not understanding that what he had done for me 
 had cost him so much. It is right now that I 
 should bear for his sake the coldness of his
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 199 
 
 daughter, and the insults of his son. He has 
 borne more for me than these.^^ 
 
 " It is always a sense of justice that moves 
 you/^ said Maurice,, smiling, ^' even when you 
 punish yourself by it, Madeline.''^ 
 
 Madeline did not smile in return. 
 
 "Yq^" she said, gravely; "whatever is just I 
 can suffer patiently. Still it is hard for me, I 
 confess, to remain here; and the kindest thing 
 you can do for me, Maurice, is to put me in 
 possession, as quickly as possible, of my aunt^s 
 legacy. This will, I hope, make me independent. 
 Not that I intend to continue here until then. 
 I shall go the instant Mr. Lanyon is better.'''' 
 
 " And where will you go, Madeline ? " asked 
 her lover, anxiously. 
 
 " If Mr. Lanyon wishes it, I shall return to 
 Penkivel. I owe him too much duty and grati- 
 tude to dispute his wishes,^'' she said, calmly. 
 '- But if, as I think he will do, he sets me free 
 from his strange adoption of me, and cares not 
 whither I wend my steps, I shall then come to 
 London.^^ 
 
 With all her calmness, she could not hide the 
 deep sorrow and wounded affection which spoke 
 in these words. 
 
 ^' To come to London would be the best thing 
 you could do/" said Maurice, '' both to prove 
 your identity and to receive your legacy. But 
 what reason have you, Madeline, to imagine that,
 
 200 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 after befriending you all your life, Mr. Lanyon 
 should be suddenly anxious to cast you off' 
 altogether ? '^ 
 
 " 1 have no reason/' she replied. " I have 
 only my instincts, which tell me so. I feel that 
 he will do it to please Lord Crehylls. I feel — I 
 cannot tell you why — that neither he nor Mr. 
 Lanyon himself could endure to have my true- 
 name known in this neighbourhood. Their pride 
 shrinks from owning, that Walter Sherborne's 
 daughter has been received beneath their roof as 
 a lady, and an honoured guest. They shrink, too, 
 from the acknowledgment of a long deception — 
 a deception which the world, to whom they 
 have introduced me, would be slow to 
 forgive. If then, by letting Madeline Sher- 
 borne lose herself in the great wilderness 
 of London, they can avoid all blame and all 
 scandal, do you think they will not gladly do 
 it ? '' 
 
 Maurice was silent. He felt that what she 
 said was true. Mr. Lanyon, through kind 
 motives, doubtless, had placed himself in an 
 awkward position, and it would be pleasanter for 
 him if Madeline left Cornwall, and only took 
 her true appellation at a distance, where no one 
 could identify Miss Sherborne with his beautiful 
 ward, Miss Sylvester. 
 
 " Let us speak of other things, Madeline," said 
 Maurice, abruptly. " I leave you to-morrow.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 201 
 
 and tliat thought now swallows up all others. 
 You will write to me often, Madeline ? ^' 
 
 '' Yes^ I will write to you/^ she answered. 
 
 " And do not grudge me a kind word or two/' 
 continued her lover. " I shall need some assu- 
 rance of your affection, Madeline, to convince 
 me, when I am no longer with you, that this is 
 not a dream.'' 
 
 " A dream ! " she repeated. " Ah, Maurice, I 
 feel it a dream even now, while you are here. 
 When you are gone, I shall think of it as only 
 the shadow of a dream. How can I dare hope 
 to be happy ? " 
 
 Her lips quivered, and her eyes filled with 
 tears, but she yielded her hand passively to her 
 lover's clasp, and strove to believe the cheering 
 words he uttered; but there was a heavy fore- 
 boding at her heart which belied them even as 
 he spoke. 
 
 The next day they parted; and as the coach 
 went lumbering on through the day into the 
 night, and from night into day again, Maurice 
 sat silent, and pondered on many things. 
 A few weeks ago, when this same coach had 
 brought him to Crchylls, he had thought of 
 Madeline as Miss Sylvester, Mr. Lanyon's 
 ward — he had thought of her as possessing all 
 the advantages which wealth, honour, and posi- 
 tion give. One by one he had seen these 
 defences torn down from her name; he had
 
 202 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 found that for honour she had dishonour^ for 
 position^ shame ; and for wealth, poverty. Yet 
 his love had borne the shock of all this, and 
 more — it had borne to see, that in the shadow 
 beneath which she lived, her nature, like a plant 
 kept in darkness, had suffered blight. Mr. 
 Lanyon, by forcing upon her the misery of a 
 secret, and the pain of deception, had created 
 around her a solitude in which her thoughts had 
 grown morbid,, and her spirit bitter. Seeing all 
 this with clear eyes, there grew out of his love a 
 tender pity and forbearance, which no other 
 woman, nursed in happiness and prosperity, 
 could ever hope to receive at his hand. Yet he 
 could not deceive himself. He felt that with 
 such a nature happiness was uncertain, and the 
 shadow of a cloud coming between them might 
 even now separate them for ever. 
 
 Arrived at Lymington, Maurice sought out 
 the solicitor of the ancient Mrs. Singleton, and 
 heard with dismay of the singular condition she 
 had annexed to her bequest. 
 
 ^' Miss Sherborne will not marry Mr. Single- 
 ton,^^ he said, abruptly. 
 
 " But Mr. Singleton is an exceedingly 
 honourable, high-minded man,^^ returned Mr. 
 Brydges ; " and I cannot see why the young 
 lady should object to him.^^ 
 
 " Eor the very simple reason that she is en- 
 gaged to some one else,^^ said Maurice.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 203 
 
 The lawyer^s countenance fell considerably. 
 
 " I am grieved to hear that news/^ he said. 
 " I fear it will be a sad blow to Mr, Singleton. 
 He was here a day or two ago^ and expressed a 
 hope that Miss Sherborne would be found, and 
 that she would prove a genteel young person 
 whom he could like/^ 
 
 ^' A genteel young person whom he could 
 like ! " echoed Maurice, in indignation. " Really, 
 Mr. Singleton is making a great mistake when 
 he talks of Miss Sherborne in this way. What 
 insufferable impertinence ! ^' he added to himself. 
 
 "There was no offence meant, I assure you,"*^ 
 replied the lawyer. " Mr. Singleton is a very 
 inoffensive young man ; and, considering his 
 position, it was not strange that he should 
 express , himself with anxiety respecting Miss 
 Sherborne. You see the will is made in every 
 way in her favour. Old Mrs. Singleton, during 
 her last years, was touched by remorse for her 
 refusal to succour her niece, and she wished to 
 make her some reparation ; but in doing this, 
 she has been somewhat unjust to her nephew.^^ 
 
 " I don^t perceive that,-*^ said Maurice. 
 
 " When you understand the matter better, 
 sir, you will,^^ responded Mr. Brydges. " Mr. 
 Singleton was brought up as his aunt^s heir, and 
 had every expectation of inheriting the whole of 
 this fortune. Now he finds he cannot even 
 have the half, unless he takes a wife who may
 
 204 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 not suit him, — and if the lady refuses him, a 
 thing Mrs. Singleton never anticipated, — he will 
 be completely disinherited/^ 
 
 " Miss Sherborne certainly will not marry 
 Mr. Singleton/^ cried Maurice, chafing consider- 
 ably at the mere idea. 
 
 " Then all I can say, sir, is, that the will is a 
 A^ery unfortunate one for him,^^ resumed Mr. 
 Brydges. "And the more so that his circum- 
 stances are very sad. His mother made an 
 unhappy second marriage ; her husband was 
 a showy, fine-looking man, but he turned out a 
 thorough scamp. He deserted his wife and 
 children, after spending every penny she pos- 
 sessed, and Tom Singleton has maintained 
 them ever since out of his small salary as a clerk 
 in a London bank. His father left a very good 
 property, but, unluckily, he bequeathed a life 
 interest in it to his widow, and this her husband 
 has sold and mortgaged to the last halfpenny. 
 Our firm looks after Mr. Singleton^s interest, 
 but while his mother lives, we can of course 
 do nothing to help him. But we can speak 
 highly of his honour and integrity. Miss Sher- 
 borne will be acting most cruelly, aud without 
 reason, if she refuses to fulfil her aunt^s wishes."" 
 
 '^ She is the best judge of her own happiness, 
 sir/^ replied Maurice, stiffly. 
 
 " You will put us in communication with 
 Miss Sherborne, sir, I hope ?^^ said Mr. Brydges.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 205 
 
 " Certainly/^ returned Maurice ; " but not 
 until I have first consulted her wishes/^ 
 
 " It is a pity there should be any delay/' con- 
 tinued Mr. BrydgeSj with a perplexed air. 
 " You perceive^ sir^ the law will make delay 
 enough. Miss Sherborne must fully prove her 
 identity. We shall require the certificate of her 
 birth ; we have searched the churches here 
 for it in vain^ and in fact, on Mr. Singleton's 
 behalf, we shall exact undoubted proofs that 
 Miss Sherborne is the person she represents her- 
 self to be.'' 
 
 " You shall have the proofs/' said Maurice, 
 shortly. " Will you inform me what is the 
 amount of the fortune left by Mrs. Single- 
 ton ?" 
 
 " About twelve thousand pounds, invested in 
 the funds/' returned Mr. Brydges. " Nothing, 
 you see, very enormous, yet a great deal under 
 present circumstances to Mr. Singleton." 
 
 Maurice sighed; he had hoped the sum was 
 smaller. He had wondered whether he could 
 compensate the hard-toiling young man for the 
 loss of Madeline, but he saw now that that idea 
 was hopeless. 
 
 " Have you any objection to give me Mr. 
 Singleton's address ?" he asked. 
 
 " I might answer you that 1 would consult 
 his wishes first," returned Mr. Brydges, smiling ; 
 " but I will not. I will give you his address
 
 206 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 frankly, knowing, as I do, how anxious he is to 
 hear some news of his cousin/' 
 
 "And here is my address/^ said Maurice, 
 as he handed him his card. " I assure you if 
 for the present I withhold Miss Sherborne^'s, it is 
 in deference to the wishes of those who have 
 befriended her during her deserted childhood. 
 She felt bound to obey them, otherwise she 
 would have written to you at once on seeing 
 your advertisement.'^^ 
 
 Here the interview ended, and during the re- 
 mainder of the journey to London, Maurice 
 certainly found sufficient subject for unpleasant 
 cogitation. With her peculiar views of justice, 
 what would Madeline say to this will? How 
 would she act when she found her engagement 
 to him virtually disinherited Thomas Singleton ? 
 
 And he, not a man rich, and in no necessity, 
 but a hard-working, striving clerk, maintaining 
 a sickly mother and three half-brothers and 
 sisters. Would she bear to disappoint them, 
 and plunge them into misery ? She, whose 
 severe notions of justice had so often startled 
 him, would she accept her own happiness now, 
 at such a cost to them? 
 
 Maurice trembled as he asked himself the 
 question. Then again his courage revived as he 
 remembered that she loved him, and she owed 
 him a duty too, which neither honour nor justice 
 would permit her to ignore.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 207 
 
 '^But I will tell her the whole truth/' he 
 said ; ^' I am bound to do that/' 
 
 Accordingly^ he was no sooner at home than 
 he indited her a long letter^ in which he gave 
 her the fullest details of his interview with 
 Mr. Brydges. This done, he set off in a hack- 
 ney coach for that dull, dismal suburb;, and the 
 small row of mean houses, wherein resided 
 Thomas Singleton and his mother. 
 
 We have already visited that uninviting spot ; 
 but its aspect was forlorn indeed when Maurice 
 stepped within the four bare walls and con- 
 fronted the sickly woman, and the three hard- 
 faced children. He glanced round the empty 
 room and took in all its misery ; then his eyes 
 fell with deepest pity on Mrs. Bathline's wan 
 looks and trembling hands, quivering feebly 
 over their work. Next he gazed upon the chil- 
 dren seated on the floor ; and then he started in 
 sudden amazement, for he saw the queer oblong 
 box they were using for a table was a hawker's 
 knapsack.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 N prosperity, when every material com- 
 fort surrounds the body, and ease, and 
 luxury, and elegance are such daily 
 accompaniments of life, that no note is taken of 
 them, and they are received as carelessly as the 
 blessings of sleep and sunshine, the mind, clogged 
 by all this honey, grows fretful, and exaggerates 
 small evils till they swell to great misfortunes. 
 It is then that " the grasshopper is a burden,^^ 
 the day a weariness, and the night a woe. It is 
 then that a real sorrow falliug upon the weakened 
 soul shatters strength and courage, aud lying- 
 in the dust, it lets the wheels of time and fate 
 go over it, crushing it into helpless despair. 
 
 Perhaps Lord and Lady Crehylls had been too 
 fortunate. All good gifts, all pleasant things, 
 Iiad been theirs, till maybe they had learned to 
 deem happiness their right, and if they had 
 thought of human grief, it was only as a dim, 
 uncertain shape, from whose fiery touch they 
 were exempt. Hovering now over the tranquil 
 sea of their content were two shadows, beneath
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 209 
 
 wliicli the quiet waves grew troubled. And yet 
 these shadows were but one^ and that one — 
 Madeline. 
 
 Hitherto Lady Crehylls had found loving 
 hands to remove every roughness from her path 
 — hitherto her sky had been untroubled ; it was 
 not strange^ then, that her father's illness, and 
 the slight coldness between herself and her 
 husband weighed upon her heavily, and seemed 
 to her unaccustomed heart burdens harder than 
 she could bear. How sharp the shadows arc in 
 sunshine we all know, it is in the sombre day we 
 scarcely heed them ; and there are lives so 
 bright that if the quivering of a leaf do but let 
 fall a shadow on their path, they shiver, and cry 
 aloud for pain and fear. 
 
 " If only my father were well, that I might 
 ask him for those letters of Geofirey's,'' sighed 
 Lady Crehylls to herself, as she sat by his 
 bedside. '^ I know I should be happier if I 
 read them. This foolish suspicion would die 
 away, when I foimd they Avere only letters 
 written to a child.'' 
 
 Meanwhile the estrangement between husband 
 and wife grew wider. Lord Crehylls was in a 
 gloomy and irritable mood. It was an infinite 
 annoyance to him, that one of these Sherborues 
 — people whom he had striven to put out of his 
 memory for ever — had like a sliadow been 
 constantly at his elbow. That a Sherborne 
 
 S^OL. I. 14
 
 210 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 should be beneath his roof, that a Sherborne 
 should sit at his table,, and pry into his face^ 
 and listen to his words, and he be in ignorance 
 of her presence, vexed him like a thorn in his 
 side. He looked on the deception Mr. Lanyon 
 had put on him in an ugly light, and hated its 
 aspect. This sense of wrong which he cherished 
 against his father-in-law, deepened the shade of 
 coolness and silence between him and his wife. 
 
 " I cannot complain to Agatha of her own 
 father,^^ he said to himself, " especially while he 
 is ill ; and in fact I cannot have any explanation 
 with her, while Madeline is here. I sicken at the 
 thought. I must wait, till the girl has gone out 
 of our sight for ever, before I can speak.^^ 
 
 Thus he held his peace from day to day, 
 although he saw his wife^s face pale, and her 
 eyes heavy ; and all this while he treated her 
 with that tenderness and kindness which says so 
 plainly, " I will do all things for you, except the 
 one thing you wish — I will not open my heart 
 to you. I will talk to you on all subjects, 
 except that single one on which you desire me 
 to speak, and on that I have laid a seal you must 
 not touch. ■'■' 
 
 Without a word being said. Lady Crehylls 
 understood this perfectly. If she but drew near 
 Madeline's name, she felt that her husband 
 surrounded himself with a barrier of ice, which 
 she dared not pass, or she saw him rise and walk
 
 EENEATH THE WHEELS. 211 
 
 away abruptly. It was in vain_, after tliis^ that 
 his voice took a tenderer tone in addressing her ; 
 vain that he showed her some lover-like attention^ 
 which at a happier time would have brought to 
 her lips a ready smile of thanks ; it seemed to 
 her now a deception, and she turned away with 
 grave sorrow in her eyes, or anger unspoken 
 trembling on her lips. 
 
 Lady Crehylls had not the least idea that she 
 was jealous. Jealousy comes to its victims in so 
 many shapes, that perhaps it was not singular 
 she did not recognise the fiend. And it was less 
 likely still that Lord Crehylls should discover 
 the fact that his wife was jealous, of all women 
 in the world, of Madeline Sherborne ! And yet 
 apparently Lady Crehylls had cause. Why did 
 she so often find her husband and Madeline 
 conversing almost in whispers, and why when 
 she came did the conversation stop suddenly, 
 while all her nerves felt jarred by the air of 
 mystery around them ? Nor was this all. 
 Madeline surely discussed some secret too with 
 her father, for when she entered his room she 
 found his face flushed, and heard the quiver of 
 his eager voice; yet here also her presence 
 brought silence and embarrassment, and the same 
 barrier of reserve like a wall reared itself between 
 her father^s heart and hers, as between her 
 and her husband. Who had a right to the love 
 and confidence of these two men, she or 
 
 14—2
 
 212 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Madeline ? Were they her father and her 
 husband ? or were they bound body and soul to 
 this strange girl_, this interloper^ who had stolen 
 into their affections with a crafty and quiet step ? 
 Such questions as these coursed through Lady 
 Crehylls^ brain like a fire^ and she began_, with 
 the impatient misery of a first grief, to fret for 
 an opportunity to utter her wrongs. Was not 
 this castle her own home ? — was she not mis- 
 tress here ? Why then, should she bear the 
 presence of a woman, who destroyed her happi- 
 ness so cruelly ? Was she so powerless, that she 
 could not show Madeline Sylvester that she was 
 an unwelcome guest? No, surely not. This 
 power at least was left her, and she would use it 
 at once. And from the hour that Lady Crehylls 
 made this resolve, she treated Madeline with a 
 studied coldness and reserve, most galling to a 
 girl of her proud and bitter nature. She little 
 knew what she was doing. Before this Madeline 
 had looked upon her own dull, inactive dislike 
 of Mr. Lanyon''s daughter as a feeling she ought 
 to quell, an injustice which Agatha did not 
 merit. Now all was changed ; she considered 
 her dislike was justified, and she counted her 
 childish instincts truer than her womanly 
 reason. 
 
 " Have you told your wife who I am ?" she 
 said to Lord Crehylls one day, almost a week 
 after Maurice^s departure.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 213 
 
 " No^ indeed/^ he answered abruptly. ^^ I 
 fihould be sorry to do tliat.^^ 
 
 Madeline steadied lier trembling lip^ and then 
 turned towards him resolutely. 
 
 " Then may I ask why she treats me with 
 studied insult ? Is it by your orders ?" she de- 
 manded. 
 
 Lord Crehylls looked pained and surprised. 
 
 '' Do you suppose me capable of laying such 
 a command on her V he said in an angry 
 tone. 
 
 " I see and feel every hour in the day/^ re- 
 turned Madeline,, " that her manner towards me 
 is full of marked coldness, and I imagine of 
 course that her husband sees this also, and 
 approves of it.^" 
 
 " You do me the honour to make a great 
 mistake/^ replied Lord Crehylls, with stiff 
 courtesy. '' I hope I am inca^^able of rudeness 
 to any guest beneath my roof.''^ 
 
 " Even a Sherborne/^ said INIadeline, mourn- 
 fully. " Lord Crehylls, you can understand 
 how painful it is to me to remain here ; surely, 
 then, it is a rudeness to add to that pain, by 
 showing me relentlessly how^ unAvclcome I 
 am.'^ 
 
 '^ 1 am sorry any one has done so,^^ returned 
 Lord Crehylls, with the same cold politeness. 
 " But I do not disguise from you. Miss Sylvester, 
 that I shall be glad when Mr. Lanyon will con-
 
 214 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 sent to your departure. Your stay here is not 
 adding to the happiness of Lady Crehylls and 
 myself/^ 
 
 Madeline grew very white ; she had scarcely 
 expected this. As Miss Sylvester — as Mr. 
 Lanyon''s ward^ Lord Crehylls hitherto had 
 treated her with every deference and kindness. 
 Now he was coolly telling her to leave his 
 house^ and this change she imagined she owed 
 more to Lady Crehylls^ dislike than to his 
 knowledge of her true name. 
 
 " If you cannot guess what it has cost me to 
 do my duty to Mr. Lanyon in remaining 
 here/^ said Madeline^ with mournful pride, 
 ^' then I will not tell it to you. Only, 
 you must surely know that it is at his re- 
 quest — almost delirious entreaty — that I have 
 stayed."*^ 
 
 " I am fully aware of that/^ replied Lord 
 Crehylls^ stiffly. " I can only repeat I am sorry 
 your stay is so painful. ^^ 
 
 " I am sorry Lady Crehylls has made it so/' 
 answered Madeline, with burning cheeks. " It 
 was to nurse her father and to soothe him I re- 
 mained. That thought ought to have gained 
 me her consideration and kindness, but it has 
 weighed as nothing with her. By his bedside, 
 as elsewhere, she has treated me in the same 
 cold way. If this is due to my unhappy name, 
 it is cruel ; but if, as you say, she is ignorant of
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS^ 215 
 
 that, theu it is insulting, and I shall demand an 
 explanation/^ 
 
 " A man is bound to take his wife^s part, 
 even if she be in the wrong,^^ said Lord Crehylls, 
 in a softer voice; " but I assure you. Miss 
 Sylvester, Agatha^s behaviour is as much an 
 enigma to me as to you/^ 
 
 '' It shall not remain an enigma to me,'^ re- 
 tm'ned Madeline. ^' I must and will know the 
 cause of it. And since I hate deceptions of all 
 kinds, I shall be glad. Lord Crehylls, to speak to 
 her openly. I want to tell her who I am. I 
 am anxious she should know that it was by her 
 father^ s wish " 
 
 Lord Crehylls here interrupted her eagerly, 
 and said, in a firm voice, " No, Miss Sylvester ; I 
 must entreat you to do nothing of the kind. I 
 hold you to your promise. I would not let 
 Agatha know anything of this for the world/^ 
 
 He stopped abruptly, for standing at the door- 
 way, with face white as snow, was Lady Crehylls 
 herself. 
 
 "What is the secret you Avould not let me 
 know for the world ? '' she said, in a forced 
 voice. 
 
 " If it is a secret, it is evident you arc not to 
 know it,^-* said Lord Crehylls, trying to laugh. 
 " It is a new greenhouse I am going to build 
 for you, Agatha." 
 
 Madeline walked silcntlv from the room, and
 
 2IG BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Lady Crehylls followed her with eyes half scoru- 
 ful_, half tearful. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself to teli falsehoods, 
 Geoffrey/' she said, suppressing her tears. '^ I 
 know perfectly well you were not talking to that 
 girl of greenhouses."" 
 
 " That girl ! '' repeated Lord Crehylls. " I 
 wish, with all my heart, Agatha, you would be 
 more civil to Madeline. You are not treating 
 her well. She has complained to me of your 
 rudeness.'' 
 
 Poor blundering Lord Crehylls, how fearfully 
 he increased the breach by this blind re- 
 mark ! 
 
 " Has she dared complain of me to you ? " 
 exclaimed his wife. " And have you listened to 
 her? Geoffrey, this is too much. Madeliae 
 Sylvester must leave Crehylls at once." 
 
 " Are you mad, Agatha ?" cried her husband, 
 in dismay. " You cannot treat your father's 
 ward in this manner." 
 
 " She is a wicked girl," said Lady Crehylls, 
 bursting into tears. " I shall tell my father so. 
 She and I never liked each other as children. 
 She has a hard, cruel, designing nature." 
 
 " I don't see it," said Lord Crehylls, a little 
 drily. ^' She has had more to suffer than you 
 dream of, Agatha. You are unfair to her. She 
 is going away soon. Be at least civil to her 
 for the short time she remains here."
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 217 
 
 " You demand too much iu asking that/'' 
 returned Lady Crehylls. " I cannot be a 
 hypocrite. As I feel towards her, so shall I 
 act.'' 
 
 " I don't perceive what cause you have to feel 
 unkindly towards the girl/' continued her 
 husband_, gazing pertinaciously out of the 
 window. " I only know she complained very 
 bitterly to me of your manner, and I should 
 like you to alter it. I don't often find fault 
 with you, Agatha, but I must say, I consider it 
 unfair to bully the poor girl, just because she 
 remains here against her will, to nurse your 
 father." 
 
 Lord Crehylls took Madeline's part because 
 he was conscious that he had been ungracious to 
 her himself, and he would willingly have seen 
 his wife make amends to her for this ; he was 
 utterly ignorant that his words to Lady Crehylls 
 were as barbed arrows quivering in the flesh. 
 He waited a moment for an answer, and finding 
 utter silence, he looked round and found she had 
 quitted the room. The sudden silence and 
 emptiness sank down upon his heart, and a 
 -strange chill fear ran through all his frame. 
 His wife's tears had hurt him, yet he had hidden 
 his pain under a careless manner. Feeling he 
 could not be frank, he dared not speak sooth- 
 ingly to her, lest he should betray the invitation 
 of his own thoughts, so he had held aloof from
 
 218 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 her sorrow^ and spoken coldly. Now she was 
 gone^ he wondered at himself. 
 
 " Is the name of Sherborne always to be a 
 curse to me ? " he said, bitterly. " What mad- 
 ness possessed Mr. Lanyon to bring this girl 
 here ? "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HAVE a letter from Maurice/' said 
 Madeline^ bending over Mr. Lanyon's 
 pillow. " Shall I tell you what he 
 ?'' 
 
 ^' Read it^ my dear/' he answered^ feebly ; 
 and the hollow eyes looking into hers grew 
 feverish and restless with a strange excite- 
 ment. Then Madeline read, in that calm, 
 quiet voice peculiarly her own_, the history 
 Maurice had written of his visit to Lymington^ 
 and all he had learned there respecting Mrs. 
 Singleton's will. Mr. Lanyon listened to every 
 word with an intent earnestness_, not interrupting 
 her once, till with deliberate fingers she had re- 
 folded the letter, and laid it on her lap. 
 
 " A hundred a year," he said, looking eagerly 
 in her face ; '^ is it worth while, for the sake of 
 that small sum, Madeline, to blazon abroad your 
 name, and quit all the ease, and honour, and 
 comfort of your present position ? " 
 
 " It is worth while," answered Madeline, " be- 
 cause it will be independence and truth. There
 
 220 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 is no lionour^ no comfort, in my present position; 
 it is false and full of misery ; and I am insulted 
 every hour/'' 
 
 " Insulted/" said Mr. Lanyon, and his. worn 
 face was lighted up with sudden anger. " Who 
 dares insult you ? " 
 
 '' Your daughter/" returned Madeline. " And 
 your son^ Lord Crehylls_, has just told me to quit 
 Ms house. Can you part with me ? Will 
 you let me go to-morrow ? I am so miserable 
 here."" 
 
 " They are both mad ! "" exclaimed Mr. Lan- 
 yon, in an excited voice ; " mad and ungrateful. 
 I have suffered too much for them. They are 
 bound to obey me, and they shall."" 
 
 " Calm yourself/" said Madeline, quietly. 
 " You shall not quarrel with them on my account, 
 neither will I consent to remain here on suffe- 
 rance, even at your petition. If you wish it, I 
 will return to Penkivel to-morrow, although I 
 would rather go to London."" 
 
 Mr. Lanyon looked into her pale, resolute face, 
 and seemed to feel that it w^ould be useless to 
 expostulate further. 
 
 " I am grieved you should leave me, Madeline,"" 
 he answered ; ^' no one nurses me as you do."" 
 She stooped and kissed him, and he went 
 on in a voice slightly tremulous, — ^' But I am 
 better, and I will soon follow you to Penkivel. 
 You must go there, Madeline, and postpone
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 221 
 
 your journey to London until I can accompany 
 you/' 
 
 " I will do as you wish/' she said. " But 
 these papers for which Maurice asks, can you 
 ^ive them to me ? I should like to send them 
 to him by this post."" 
 
 ^' I have them in my desk/' he replied. 
 " Hand it to me_, Madeline ; here is the key on 
 my watch-chain." 
 
 Madeline placed the old-fashioned, brass-bound 
 desk on the bed, and took the key in her hand, 
 scarcely looking at it ; but as she stooped to put 
 it in the lock, her heart gave a sudden bound, 
 and her face grew white as marble. The small, 
 strange, heavy-looking key was the exact counter- 
 part of the one given to her by Michael Polgrain. 
 But she uttered no exclamation. Remembering 
 even at that moment of surprise, Michael's 
 warning, she repressed the cry that sprang to her 
 lips, and bending down her head to hide the 
 whiteness of her face, she watched Mr. Lanyon 
 as his weak, trembling fingers drew forth the 
 papers for which Maurice had asked. 
 
 '^ I found them at St. Eglon's Hut/' he said, 
 ^' and seeing they were family papers — certificates 
 of your parents' marriage and your baptism 
 among them — I sealed them up, and have never 
 opened them since. You had better forward 
 them to Maurice at once, my dear." 
 
 She took the packet mechanically, but her
 
 222 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 eyes were riveted on the desk, and her spirit was 
 in a dream. One of those swift revelations of 
 memory had come back to her, which spring 
 upon us at times from the forgotten past at sight 
 of some old relic, dimly familiar, disused per- 
 chance and broken now ; yet, as it stands before 
 us, dragged irreverently into view, it speaks with 
 the passionate voice of youth, or the innocent 
 laughter of childhood, and its very dust seems 
 sacred in our tearful eyes. Thus, at sight of this 
 desk, as it lay open before her, Madeline saw 
 herself at St. Eglon^s Hut a child, standing by 
 her father^s side, eager and curious, while he was 
 showing her the trick of a secret drawer lying 
 below these yellow, faded papers. But while she 
 gazed and wondered, Mr. Lanyon closed the 
 desk and locked it, and placed the key again 
 beneath his pillow. 
 
 " You cannot marry this young Single- 
 ton, Madeline,^^ said Mr. Lanyon as he did 
 this. 
 
 ^' No,^^ she answered, with eyes still fixed and 
 dreamy. " No ; that will be impossible.''^ 
 
 ^' Doubtless he is in every way beneath you," 
 continued Mr. Lanyon — " will you put back the 
 desk, Madeline ? — and I dare say he will be quite 
 satisfied if you give up to him the hundred a 
 year, which your aunt bequeaths to you.''^ 
 
 " But I have no intention of giving it up to 
 him," she answered, taking the desk in both her
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 223 
 
 hands. " I want it for myself. It is mine, and 
 I shall keep it.^^ 
 
 " As my daughter/^ said Mr. Lanyon, " and 
 living with me at Penkivel, you will want 
 nothing, Madeline, till Maurice Pellew makes 
 you his wife, when you will go to him with a 
 fortune befitting the education, and the position I 
 have given you.^"* 
 
 Madeline had laid the desk on a little table 
 near the door, out of the sick man^s sight, and 
 now, as he uttered these generous words, her 
 heart smote her painfully, and she turned back 
 to the bedside. 
 
 " I will not wait — I will speak now/^ she said 
 to herself ; " for I leave hiin to-morrow, and who 
 can say when we shall meet again ? We will 
 talk of this legacy another time," she said aloud, 
 " when you are well enough to bear it. I want 
 to tell you now, before I go away, how sorry I 
 am for all my hardness and pride. I want to 
 tell you that I am grateful, though I have not 
 appeared so. I want to tell you, that if I have 
 not shown you all the love held so silently in my 
 heart, it is because I have thought you have not 
 cared to see it, and I have feared to weary you. 
 But I will not leave you in sickness without 
 saying, that you are dearer to me than any one 
 else on earth. And through all my pride, and 
 passion, and sullen misery, I have loved 
 you as a child loves a father. I have not
 
 224 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 been so wicked, so hard, so unloving as you 
 thought/' 
 
 " Madeline ! Madeline ! " cried her sick and 
 woful listener, stretching out his hand to grasp 
 hers — " I never thought so cruelly of you, my 
 dear child/' 
 
 ^'^And whatever may happen in the future to 
 part us,"" continued Madeline, a little feverishly, 
 as she bent her head till her cheek touched the 
 hand she held, '^ I want you always to think of 
 me as loving you. If you have ever thought 
 the contrary, forget that now, and re- 
 member me only as you have seen me since 
 your illness— repentant, remorseful, and grate- 
 ful.'^ 
 
 " My dear, I will think of you as you wish,'' 
 said Mr. Lanyon. " But we shall not be parted 
 long; I shall soon follow you to Penkivel. It is 
 strangely cruel in Agatha " 
 
 He stopped, looking at her pitifully, as though 
 begging her to spare him the pain of blaming his 
 daughter ; but Madeline took no heed of this 
 mention of Lady Crehylls. 
 
 ^^As for me," she said dreamily, ^^ wherever 
 circumstances may drive me, or whatever fate 
 may impel me to do, I give you this promise, 
 that deep down in my heart I will keep my love 
 for you intact. It is the best and purest feeling 
 I have," she added mournfully ; " for. Heaven 
 knows, amid all this blight and wrong, my soul
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 225 
 
 has suffered mildew, and it has grown full of evil 
 spots/^ 
 
 There was a little bitterness in her voice,, but 
 it died away in the last words, and she stooped 
 and kissed him tenderly. 
 
 " Heaven bless you ! my dear/^ murmured the 
 old man. '' But this is not a good-bye. I shall 
 see you again in the morning. You must for- 
 give Agatha and Geoffrey, Madeline. They are 
 spoiled children, blinded by too much happiness. 
 You must not be angry.''"' 
 
 " What does my anger matter ? " she asked, 
 " or their unkindness ? Let the son and 
 daughter do what they may, I shall always re- 
 member their father was my dearest friend on 
 earth, the dearest friend I shall ever have.'^ 
 
 With these words she was gone, lingering a 
 moment at the door to look again upon his face. 
 Then she took the desk in her hands silently — 
 it scorched them as she walked along — and went 
 with a swift step to her own room. Here she 
 closed the door and locked it, and placing the 
 desk upon the floor, she sat down over agamst 
 it, weeping bitterly. 
 
 " The dearest friend I have on earth,^^ she 
 repeated; ^' the dearest friend I shall ever have. 
 And when I open this, perhaps he will be my 
 cruellest enemy, or I his, and we shall behold 
 each other face to face no more. Has the dead 
 father, for whose sake I do this, ever done for 
 
 VOL. 1. 15
 
 226 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 me what this man has? — was he as good^ as 
 tender^, as wise a friend to me as this friend f 
 Oh nO;, no, never. Oh, what shall I do ? Where 
 does my duty lie ? Spare me, spare me, heaven.^'' 
 She flung herself down, with her face lying on 
 her arm, that she might not see the hated 
 desk, and thus resting motionless, there poured 
 over her heart a thousand contending feelings. 
 All her aSection was with Mr. Lanyon — she 
 owned it now; she could feel it here in her 
 struggling bosom, which seemed rent with dry 
 sobs. And this dead father, whose reckless,, 
 passion-scarred face she could dimly remember, 
 seemed nothing to her, in comparison with the 
 living friend, whose generous band had plucked 
 her from misery. What, if his motive, as she 
 suspected, had not been all generous, all good, 
 why should she seek to look too keenly into it, 
 seeing the result to her was the same? Might 
 she not let things rest as they were ? Her 
 action would rescue no one from shame and 
 sorrow but herself; her father was dead, she 
 could not help him ; and if she were content 
 thus, did it matter what secret lay hidden in the 
 jDast ? In London she could take her own name. 
 Who would notice it there, or connect it with 
 the dark story of St. Eglon^s Hut ? And her 
 aunt^s legacy would make her independent of all 
 the world — no need to touch Mr. Lanyon's 
 money, or bear the insolence of his children.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 227 
 
 But with that thought there came a reaction, 
 and there swept over her a flood of bitterness in 
 which pride and courage sprang to life again, 
 and all her weakness vanished. 
 
 She seized the desk, and drew it towards her 
 with fierce eagerness, then paused again. What 
 if it were Mr. Lanyon^s desk, not her father^s ? 
 Keys were often alike, and desks too. And if 
 she mistook her right in opening this, how could 
 she excuse the traitorous act? How could she 
 ever avow that she had stolen Mr. Lanyon^s 
 desk, and with another key unlocked it to pry 
 into his secrets? But as she asked herself this 
 question, her heart sank, for there came with it, 
 like a clear ray, a vision of her father^s long, 
 thin, womanish hand, showing her the trick of 
 the secret drawer, and she heard his words 
 again — " There is not another desk in England, 
 Madge, like this one. It is an invention of my 
 own, and I got it made by a poor carpenter, who, 
 while he lives, will never get materials again to 
 make another desk like mine.^^ 
 
 Then Madeline rose up deliberately, and put 
 the desk upon her knees. 
 
 " If I find this drawer,'^ she said, '' I shall 
 know it is my father^s ; if not, I will not look at 
 a single paper here, but I will shut the desk 
 again, and carry it quietly back to Mr. Lanyon^s 
 table." 
 
 With that she turned the key firmly, and the 
 
 15—2
 
 228 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 desk was open ; then she turned the key again, 
 once, twice, thrice, and with a sharp click there 
 sprang out against her hand a narrow drawer, 
 from which there gazed up into her startled eyes 
 the beautiful face of her mother. The miniature 
 was set in gold and gems, and on the back, 
 beneath a crystal, lay a long coil of bright brown 
 hair, on which there rested, in small diamonds, 
 the monogram " M. S/' 
 
 Madeline took the picture in her hand, noting 
 all this rapidly, then she gazed for a moment on 
 the lovely features, which seemed to smile at all 
 the woe and misery they had made, and with a 
 sigh she set it down again, hiding the face. The 
 next instant she held between her trembling 
 fingers a sealed letter, addressed /' To Madeline, 
 my daughter ;^^ and here her courage failed her 
 for a time, and rising, she placed the desk upon 
 a table, and paced the room with a hurried step 
 and eyes that blazed with a strange fever. 
 
 Falling on her knees, she broke the seal at 
 last, and with the letter spread before her, she 
 read it, still kneeling and faint with fear. And 
 as she read, the veil that covered the past 
 dropped from her eyes, and she saw her father, 
 innocent and wronged, perishing in prison, while 
 the man for whose guilt he had died, stood before 
 the world unstained, unsuspected, rich, honoured, 
 and happy. 
 
 Amazement and horror kept her silent for a
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 229 
 
 time ; then_, with straining eyes, she read the 
 letter again and again_, slowly taking in the 
 sense ; slowly believing the dreadful words, and 
 realizing their truths and more slowly still under- 
 standing her own terrible position. 
 
 An avenger ! Great heavens ! what was she 
 called upon to do ? Must she denounce this 
 careless, happy man, who hid his crime under a 
 cloak of gaiety and laughter, and whose daily 
 life, apparently so open and kindly, made him a 
 favourite with rich and poor? Why, the first 
 word she spoke against him would slay Mr. 
 Lanyon, as surely as though she pierced his 
 heart with a sword. Who was Mathew Carbis, 
 that she should deal such death and misery 
 around her to avenge his traitorous blood? 
 
 Alas !' it was not his blood — it was her father's. 
 And seizing the letter again, Madeline fixed her 
 eyes on it in agonized silence, shivering in every 
 limb. All the joy she had thought to feel 
 seemed dead and cold ; it sank lifeless before the 
 pain and horror which chilled her veins. Then, 
 as though it were a relief to break the blank 
 silence quivering breathlessly around her, she 
 read the letter aloud, in a low and trembling tone, 
 listening to it, as if it were another's voice she 
 heard, and not her own. 
 
 " Madeline,'"' — so ran the letter, — "I have been 
 told to-day that Mathew Carbis has been found 
 in the wood slain. They suspect me, it seems.
 
 230 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Now, whatever may happen to me, mark this, 
 child : I never touched the man ; my hand never 
 struck him. I saw him lying by the brook- side, 
 and lifted him ; then — whether wisely or un- 
 wisely, I know not — T left him I neither hated 
 the man nor loved him ; and I know your 
 mother^s heart too well to be jealous of Mathew 
 Carbis. She adores wealth and rank ; she has 
 fled from her home, and I pledge my life she is 
 gone with no poor man. Who quitted this place 
 on the same day she did ? Ask that, and when 
 you hear the answer, judge for yourself. Ask, 
 too, who was most jealous of Mathew Carbis — 
 he or I ? Or, stay : let the letters I have found 
 in your mother's desk answer that question. 
 They speak in no uncertain words : they ring 
 with as mad a passion as ever was felt by man. 
 People say he is a boy : at eighteen we are not 
 boys ; and, boy or not, he can give this fair, false 
 woman all the luxuries and gauds she loves. I 
 do not say they are gone together; Mr. Lanyon 
 is too watchful for that ; but they will meet 
 abroad, and live abroad, hoping for my death. 
 
 " Mr. Lanyon has hated me from the first — 
 remember that always, Madeline. Twenty times 
 he has asked me to leave St. Eglon's Hut. But 
 I had the law on my side, and so refused him 
 carelessly enough. Then he tried to bribe me ; 
 and, that failing, he used threats. When it 
 came to these, I swore I would remain till the
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 231 
 
 last hour of my seven years' lease was run. 
 You see I was careless then; I did not believe 
 my wife so lost^ that she would listen to a boy. 
 When Carbis came, he taught me better — ^he 
 showed me the truth. I say this to do him jus- 
 tice, though I never liked the man ; and then I 
 was half sorry I had not left St. Eglon's Hut. 
 But mark the selfishness, Madge, of this man 
 Lanyon from the beginning. He only feared for 
 his ward, the young lordling. It was to save 
 him, that I, a poor man, ruined in purse and in 
 happiness, was to leave the home I had found 
 down here, and shift about, penniless, from place 
 to place, from misery to misery. What was that 
 to him, so that Geoffrey Crehylls was free from 
 the wiles of the gambler^s wife ? — that was the 
 name he gave me ; and your mother's name, 
 your mother's honour, were nothing to him 
 either. His tongue has been the busiest in utter- 
 ing the lying slanders spread here of her and 
 Carbis. This, too, is done, to shield the young 
 lord from blame, and more than blame — from 
 suspicion of the truth ; and if my blood be needed 
 to save this silly youth, ^Ir. Lanyon will take it 
 ruthlessly. I am poor and defenceless, wrecked 
 in character and in fortune ; he is rich and 
 powerful, and all men speak well of him. If 
 he fastens this murder on me, and says, ' Walter 
 Sherborne did this deed,' all the country round 
 will cry the same. Gaping peasant, drunken.
 
 232 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 squire, and ignorant justice, all will follow the 
 great man^s lead. Only let liim point a finger 
 at me, and I have no more chance for my life 
 than if I were wrecked in mid-ocean, clinging to 
 a straw for my only stay. Who will dare to 
 speak a gentle word in behalf of a bankrupt 
 stranger, when the owner of Penkivel, and the 
 master of Crehylls — he is master there — is his 
 enemy, and has sworn that he shall die ? 
 
 " Oh, I understand it all. I see through his 
 tactics for years to come. He means to marry 
 his silly, soft-eyed daughter, to the young lord ; 
 and to gain that noble end, he would crush many 
 a better man than Walter Sherborne. 
 
 ^' Madeline, you are a child now, but when 
 you read these words you will be a woman. Then 
 1 call upon you to avenge me. If it be possible,. 
 I will plant you in the house of my enemies to 
 be to them a firebrand for ever. Eemember my 
 injuries and your own. Your mother has de- 
 serted us, and the brainless, passionate youth 
 with whom she has fled, will return hither, in 
 honour and wealth, to marry Agatha Lanyou, 
 while she, dishonoured, miserable, and forsaken, 
 will perish in some foreign land. Remember it, 
 Madeline, and when you strike, strike home. 
 And if the memory of your father ^s face ever 
 returns to your young heart sorrowfully, call up 
 with it the bitter truth, that ^Ir. Lanyon perse- 
 cuted him to save Geofi'rcy Crehylls — accused(
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 233 
 
 him of a crime he never committed^ to save 
 Geoffrey Crehylls — and if he tries and condemns 
 mCj he will do it to save Geoff'rey Crehylls ; and 
 this he does for the sake of his puny daughter, 
 whom he loves to distraction. To insure her 
 happiness he will make my child fatherless, her 
 name a disgrace, and her history a blank. 
 
 " Alone and forsaken of all, I write this by 
 your little cot, Madeline, where you lie sleeping 
 unconsciously ; and perhaps when you read it you 
 will wonder why, foreseeing my fate, I did not 
 flee. My dear, Mr. Lanyon''s spies surround 
 me at this moment, and the people on every side 
 are his slaves. Moreover, I confess it ; I do not 
 care for life. For me the play is played out; 
 and if, in a grim farce and pretence of justice, 
 these men finish the drama with a trial, which 
 will be to me a mockery, I shall laugh, and 
 laughing, die and escape them. They will not 
 hasten my death one hour. Betrayed and de- 
 serted, reckless and half mad, I have resolved 
 to ' shuffle off" this mortal coil,^ and leave a world 
 in which hollowness and treachery follow us, 
 even to the gravels brink. 
 
 " Farewell ! little one. I do better for you in 
 dying than I could in living. And I leave you 
 this legacy — my innocence, my love, and my 
 fame. If a day should ever come when you can 
 do justice, do it in my name, remembering these 
 are my last words — It was the hand of Geoffrey
 
 234 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Crehylls that struck down Mathew Carbis ! And 
 if jou suffer^, and I suflPer, it is because Aubrey 
 Lanyon sacrifices us on the altar of his idol — his 
 sickly child. 
 
 '^ With a kiss upon your sleeping face,, Made- 
 line^ I say farewell for ever ! " 
 
 Madeline was weeping now^ and she held 
 the letter pressed against her bosom^ clutched 
 tightly with both hands^ while her hurried steps 
 went to and fro^ taking her she knew not whither, 
 for sorrow and fear had made her wild. This 
 reading of her father^s words aloud had wrought 
 a change in all her thoughts. It had made the 
 great wrong done to him and herself a reality. 
 Before she heard the dreadful letter, sentence by 
 sentence, ringing in her ears, spoken out by her 
 own voice, it had seemed to her a dream — a mad, 
 impossible dream — a thing so untrue and wild 
 that her love, running still in old grooves, settled 
 wistfully on Mr. Lanyon^s age and sorrows, and. 
 on Lord Crehylls^ careless life, shattered and 
 lying waste henceforth for ever. Now her sym- 
 pathy ran feverishly to this poor lost man, her 
 father, and holding the letter to her heart, it 
 cried aloud to her for vengeance. No, not ven- 
 geance — ^justice, only justice — she would take 
 nothing more. 
 
 The thought calmed her, and she sat down be- 
 fore the desk with her head leaning on her hand, 
 and read — till her cheeks flamed with anger.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 285 
 
 all the foolisli, fond words^ — all the boyish, 
 passionate words which Lord Crehylls had ad- 
 dressed to her mother. Reading them with her 
 father's jealousy hot upon her, they did not appear 
 to her, as to Mr. Lanyon, the mere madness of a 
 boy ; she saw only the unthinking passion,, the 
 blind adoration of a guilty love. She saw, too, 
 the strongest, fiercest jealousy of this human 
 snake, Mathew Carbis — a jealousy expressed in 
 boyish threats, perhaps meaning nothing, but 
 which, to her eyes, looked full of cruel death 
 and murder. 
 
 All this she read, and folded the letters again with 
 untrembling hand, half-smiling to herself at the 
 folly in Mr. Lanyon, which had kept untouched 
 these records of the guilt of his daughter's hus- 
 band. Next, she searched beneath the faded 
 papers for other proofs, and found a few blotted 
 lines written by her father, and sent to Mr. 
 Lanyon by the hand of Michael Polgrain. 
 
 '' You have taken my life,'''' he said, " to save 
 your intended son-in-law. I demand, in return 
 for my blood, an asylum in your house for my 
 child. I bequeath her to you; and as you act 
 to her, so may she reward you. Believing you 
 will not refuse my last request, I die in silence. 
 And if you would know what that means, ask of 
 Michael Polgrain, who struck Mathew Carbis 
 down, and then fled like a coward, to leave a 
 brave man to die for him.
 
 236 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 '^ One word more and I have done : vengeance 
 sleeps, but it does not die. When all is most 
 prosperous with you — when you have married the 
 idol of your worldly heart to the man, for whom 
 she pines in girlish ambition and sickliness, and 
 all smiles in careless ease around you, then the 
 blow will fall. And here, in prison, with the 
 mist of death before my eyes, I see whose hand 
 will strike it. 
 
 " I have nothing to leave my daughter, except 
 a few family papers, useless to all but her. They 
 are in my desk, — give her that when she is 
 eighteen ; and if you are generous, leave the 
 lock untampered with and untouched till her 
 hand opens it. If you do not succour my child, 
 Michael Polgrain has promised me he will not 
 be silent, though I am.^^ 
 
 The last words of this letter struck at Made- 
 linens heart with a double stab. In selfishness 
 and fear Mr. Lanyon had given her an asylum, and 
 to gain her this home, to insure her a refuge, 
 her father had died, and '' made no sign.^^ This 
 thought brought to her spirit the terrible doubt 
 that perhaps it was for her, her father had re- 
 solved to die, to give her this rich, prosperous 
 home, and save her from poverty and all its 
 suffering. The fear half-stifled her : a cry burst 
 from her, a dreadful cry, and falling on her 
 knees, she laid her white face upon the desk, and 
 clenched her hands in frenzied anguish.
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 237 
 
 At that instant a hand knocked sharply at her 
 door, and starting up, Madeline, in a strange 
 voice, unlike her own, demanded who was there. 
 
 ^' It is I — Agatha Crehylls/'' was the hurried, 
 angry reply. " Open the door instantly. Miss 
 Sylvester ! You have taken my father^s desk 
 from his room, and he is asking for it.''^
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 EWILDERED and fevered by her new- 
 born jealousy, Lady Crebylls had quitted 
 her husband, bent on speaking to her 
 father of her fancied wrongs. But after a burst 
 of tears in her own room, when she came to his 
 bedside and looked down on his pale, pinched 
 face, she felt it would be cruel to pour her griefs 
 into his weary ears now in his weakness, and she 
 wisely held her peace. Still, it was intolerable 
 that Madeline should dare complain of her to 
 Geoffrey, and the rebuke he had administered, 
 prompted, as it was, by her, rankled in her heart, 
 firing all her veins with a dull, miserable pain. 
 She was an only child, and ever since she could 
 remember, her will had been a law to the house- 
 hold, and the love of her father and of her hus- 
 band had been as a wall to her on either side, 
 sheltering her from every sorrow. Were these 
 beaten down now, and was she left alone and 
 unsheltered in the cold world? Was her grief 
 nothing? Were her tears to be looked at care- 
 lessly ? — tears so precious once that these two
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 239 
 
 men^ whose idol she was^ would have given all 
 the substance of their house to spare her the pang 
 of this salt rain. Through indulgence^ and love, 
 and unchecked prosperity, her thoughts took a 
 morbid cast, and she wept for self-pity long and 
 bitterly. Her father^s idolatry had weakened 
 her ; she was unfit for grief, and she broke down 
 before it, like a flower without root. A woman 
 less gentle, less timid, less generous by nature, 
 would have grown hard and selfish under the in- 
 dulgence of every fancy ; but she only became 
 more timid, more weak, more unfit to form a 
 judgment for herself, or to take a single step in 
 life without helping hands on either side. Thus, 
 when the torment of jealousy struck her, her 
 first feeling was amazement and terror. What ! 
 was there sorrow in the world for her, and no 
 ready help at hand to take the burden instantly 
 from her heart? She wanted to be soothed, 
 caressed, comforted, and this sorrow lifted from 
 her soul at once, as all other sorrows had been 
 ever since her childish feet had run among the 
 flowers. But there was no voice to comfort her, 
 no hand to help her. GeoffiTy was careless and 
 changed, and she must not speak of her grief to 
 her father, lest he should be too feeble to bear 
 it. When he was well he would help her. Yet, 
 in her impatient weakness, she felt she could not 
 wait for this time, suff'ering as she was, and the 
 thought struck her that she might look at those
 
 240 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 letters of Geoffrey to Madeline, and so solve 
 her doubts and find peace. By-and-by, when lier 
 father was well, she would tell him she had 
 opened his desk, and he would excuse her. In- 
 deed, the matter scarcely took, to her, the shape 
 of an offence needing excuse. To her father all 
 things she did were well done, and so would this 
 deed be also. " I shall find a key somewhere to 
 unlock it/^ she said to herself, as her eyes wan- 
 dered round the room in search of the desk. Then 
 she found it gone, and a suspicion that her hus- 
 band had taken it struck at her heart cruelly. 
 
 " Father, I do not see your desk here,^' she 
 said, trying to speak carelessly. 
 
 ^' My love, I had it a minute or two ago," he 
 answered, " and Madeline put it back for me. 
 You had better ask her where she has placed it. 
 I don^t like to miss my desk." No suspicion of 
 the truth touched him. 
 
 " Has Madeline put it away ?" exclaimed his 
 daughter, as the instant conviction flashed upon 
 her that the desk was now in her possession. 
 Then she hurried from the room, thinking as she 
 went, ^^Ah, those were no letters to a child. 
 My father is deceiving me out of pity." And in- 
 dignation roused her tones to unwonted anger as 
 she clamoured at jNIadeline^s door for admittance ; 
 but Madeline locked the desk deliberately, and 
 placing it in her half-packed trunk, she locked 
 that as well before she set the door open, and
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 241 
 
 looked straight into tlie pale_, agitated face of 
 Lady Crehylls. Madeline too ^^as pale ; but 
 what a difference between the whiteness of her 
 resolute face and the pallor of the timid woman, 
 who, frightened at her own anger, stood before 
 her half tearful and shrinking. 
 
 " Give me my father^s desk, Miss Sylvester,^' 
 she said, in a quick, nervous voice. 
 
 *^ I have no desk belonging to Mr. Lanyon,^"* 
 answered IMadeline, stepping back to let Lady 
 Crehylls pass, as she entered and gazed round 
 the room with anxious eyes. 
 
 " Have you not taken it from my father's 
 room ?^'' she asked, in the same quick, angry 
 way. 
 
 " I took what belonged to me, not to him,'" 
 said Madeline. She could not help the contempt 
 that rang out in her voice, or the scornful pity 
 in her eyes. It w^as for the sake of this poor, 
 weak, tearful idol, Mr. Lanyon had slain her 
 father ; it was for the sake of this weeping, whim- 
 pering woman that she, Madeline, had been 
 forced all her life long to live beneath a lie, and 
 hide her name as shameful, when there was no 
 shame in it. To keep tears from the eyes of this 
 poor spoiled, peevish child, Mr. Lanyon had 
 basely put another-s crime upon her father's 
 head, and taught his daughter to hate him, and 
 shudder at his memory. 
 
 AVith this great injustice binding her like an 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 iron chainj that eats into the soul_, Madeline 
 spoke those few words calmly, with a strength of 
 bitterness impossible to describe, while her 
 wounded hearty speaking in her eyes, made them 
 Avonderfiil for indignant sorrow. 
 
 " Yours V exclaimed Lady Crehylls — '' yours ! 
 Is that your answer ? Why, my father has had 
 that desk for years."*^ 
 
 '^ And for years he has done a wrong, and kept 
 it from its lawful owner,''^ said Madeline. '' It 
 was my father^s once, and, dying, he bequeathed 
 it to me.^'' 
 
 " I know nothing, and desire to know nothing 
 of your father,''^ returned Lady Crehylls, a little 
 scornfully. " I have always been made to under- 
 stand, that Mr. Sylvester was a person of whom 
 it would be wise not to speak.^^ 
 
 " It would be wise in you if you would be 
 silent now,^^ said Madeline, holding down her 
 mighty anger like a rock held back in a giant^s 
 hand. " Shall I crush a shaking leaf P^"" she mur- 
 mured to herself. " No — let me be just — she is 
 not the criminal. When I strike I will strike 
 the guilty.''^ 
 
 " But I cannot and will not be silent,^^ cried 
 Lady Crehylls, bursting into a flood of pitiful 
 tears. " I know there are letters of my hus- 
 band^s in that desk.''^ 
 
 ^' I do not deny it,^' answered Madeline. 
 
 '^ Are you so daring V' exclaimed the wretched
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 243 
 
 wife. " I insist on your giving those letters to 
 me.^^ 
 
 ^' No, we are told even in justice to remember 
 mercy /^ said her antagonist. " I will not give 
 them to you_, Lady Crehylls." 
 
 The unhappy lady started up wildly, wringing 
 her hands together. 
 
 ^^ You are afraid to let me see them/"* she 
 cried. " They are addressed to ' Madeline^ — 
 ' my beautiful Madeline.' '^ 
 
 " Again, I do not deny it/-* returned Made- 
 line, calmly. '^ It is the least of your sorrows 
 that they are so addressed. Lady Crehylls.-'^ 
 
 " You are shameful — you are infamous/' cried 
 the wife, in a voice rent by sobs. 
 
 For the first time during this passionate inter- 
 view the colour rose into Madeline's marble face. 
 
 " Are you utterly mad. Lady Crehylls," she 
 asked, '^ that you dare use this language to me ? 
 Do you know I hold your husband's very life in 
 my hands, and if I do justice to myself, you will 
 behold his face no more on earth ?" 
 
 Lady Crehylls answered by a cry of dismay 
 and anguish. 
 
 " Is it come to this ?" she said. " Is your 
 power so great over him? I will go to my 
 father instantly — I will tell him all you have 
 said." 
 
 " No," said Madeline, barring the way reso- 
 lutely. '' You will not do that, your words 
 
 IG— 2
 
 244 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 would kill him. In spite of this great flood of 
 bitterness there is still some remnant of old affec- 
 tion lingering in my hearty and I entreat you to 
 spare him, as all his life long he has spared 
 you/' 
 
 Lady Crehylls looked at her wildly ; blinded 
 by her own jealousy, she understood nothing of 
 her words but misinterpreted them all. 
 
 " Will you leave my house ?'' she said. " On 
 that condition I will not speak to my father. 
 One roof cannot cover us both.'' 
 
 '^ I am going to-night/' returned Madeline, 
 mournfully. " I am going almost at once. And 
 if with this poor unwilling hand of mine I draw 
 down utter wreck and ruin upon your head — if 
 through me you and your husband are separated 
 for ever, believe me, I cannot help it. Circum- 
 stances are too strong both for you and me. I 
 told you so once. I say it again now with ten- 
 fold cause." 
 
 Madeline stopped, for Lady Crehylls had fainted, 
 and lay on the ground Avhite and senseless. She 
 looked at her with a deep commiseration, which 
 for a moment forgot all wrongs, then she turned 
 resolutely away from the sad sight. 
 
 " I must do justice if it kills her," she said ta 
 herself. '' It will be her father and her husband 
 who will be her slayers — not I." 
 
 Then she called Lady Crehylls' maid, and saw 
 her carried to her own room and laid upon the
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 245 
 
 T^ed, and, stooping over the insensible face^ she 
 laid her hand for one moment on her brow. 
 
 This was her farewell of Agatha Crehylls. In 
 her superb pride and innoeence, Madeline had 
 never guessed at her jealousy^ and many a sor- 
 rowful day passed away before she knew it. 
 
 Returned to her own room, Madeline sat 
 down face to face with her grief; and, shrinking 
 from the task before her, the thought came to 
 her mind, that she ought to seek some other 
 proof besides her father^s letter. She would see 
 Michael Polgrain and force him to speak ; and, 
 ointil she had had this interview, she would 
 delay to strike. She would go and ask one of 
 the servants where his sister^s cottage was, and 
 how far it was from the castle. Passing down 
 the great staircase for this purpose, she saw 
 Michael himself in the hall, a prisoner, with 
 Lord Crehylls and four rough men standing 
 near him.
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 OME men from the coast-guard station- 
 wish to see yoU;, my lord/^ 
 Lord Crehylls was reading, or pre- 
 tending to read,, and he looked up from his book 
 with an expression of intense annoyance. 
 
 '^ What do they want V he said, sharply. 
 
 '^ They have a prisoner with them, my lord/' 
 returned the servant, " and I believe they want 
 to hand him over to the village constables to 
 take him to Bodmin Jail.^^ 
 
 '^ Let them take him there themselves, and be 
 hanged,^^ said Lord Crehylls. 
 
 The servant took a step towards the door, then 
 stopped. '' My lord,''' he said, " the prisoner is 
 Michael Polgrain.^^ 
 
 Lord Crehylls uttered an oath, and flung the 
 book from him with an angry hand. 
 
 " I warned Michael of this a week ago,'"' he 
 cried. " Confound the fellow ! Why couldn''t he 
 leave off smuggling T' 
 
 As he spoke he hurried out of the library and 
 across the hall into the justice-room, where he
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 247 
 
 guessed the men to be. Here he confronted 
 four rough, weather-beaten veterans of the Pre- 
 ventive Service, and, standing in the midst of 
 them, the calm figure of Michael Polgrain, with 
 dead- white face unmoved. 
 
 ^' My lord,^"* said the spokesman, pulling hard 
 at a lock of gray hair which hung on his fore- 
 head, " there was a bit of a scrimmage this 
 morning just afore sunrise, "twixt two of our 
 men and a boat''s crew of the darndest lot of 
 smugglers on this coast, and they got clear off to 
 their boat except this chap here, who seemed 
 blinded-like by the sunrise, and so fell over a 
 rock, and was cotched. You see the others 
 were too many for us, and when they seed their 
 comrade in our hands they were for coming back 
 to fight for him; but sighting eight or ten of 
 our men running down the path to the cliff to 
 help us, they sheered off. And we^^e kept this 
 here chap at the coast-guard all day, your 
 honour — ^my lord ; but our leftenant have heerd 
 as how he^s the cap^en of the gang, and one of 
 our spies has been round to tell us as they mean 
 to attack us to-night to get ^un back. So his 
 honour, Mr. Broad, our leftenant, sends him 
 down to you, my lord, so as if you^ll be so good 
 as to make out a warrant like for \in, and put 
 \in safe in Bodmin Jail.^^ 
 
 "No,'' said Lord Crehylls, shortly. '^f 
 your lieutenant yields him up from his own
 
 248 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 hands into mine, I can tell him that I have no 
 power to commit a man to prison unexamined, 
 and with no charge brought against him/' 
 
 " My lord, your worship/' said the sailor, 
 " the charge is, as we cotched him landing kegs 
 of brandy on the shore. And Mr. Broad would 
 lodge him in jail, as he've got a right to do, only 
 he can't spare none of we to go. We've heerd 
 from a sure hand, that the new craft, which this 
 here man is master of," and he jerked his thumb 
 at Michael, ^^ is to be in a sartain cove to-night, 
 and since most all the crew be coming up to 
 attack we, why we means to give 'em the slip, 
 and take that there craft easy. I don't mind 
 saying this before him," he added, with another 
 jerk of the thumb, " because w^hy, you see, he's 
 got the bilboes on, so he can't do no mischief 
 anyhow." 
 
 Here a brother veteran nudged him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 ^' You've spun a long yarn, Joe," he remarked, 
 grimly ; " when you might so well have spared 
 your breath, and let our cap'en's letter tell it 
 hisself" 
 
 Thus admonished, the man wiped his fore- 
 head, in a burst of perspiration at his own 
 forgetfulness. 
 
 '' I'm darned if I remembered the letter," he 
 observed confidentially to his friend. But pro- 
 ducing it now with great difficulty from the tight
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 249 
 
 pocket of his tight trousers, he handed it to 
 Lord Crehylls. 
 
 The letter contained merely a polite request, 
 that his lordship would either send the smuggler 
 on to Bodmin, or place him in safe custody for 
 that night, as, from certain information he had 
 received, he knew a rescue would be attempted, 
 and as all his own men would be required on 
 dangerous service, he could not spare any of 
 them to guard the prisoner. 
 
 The intense irritation which Lord Crehylls 
 felt betrayed itself in his tone and manner, 
 as he turned towards the preventive man. 
 
 '' I am not going to make my house a jail,^^ 
 he said, angrily. " Lieutenant Broad must look 
 to his prisoners himself.^^ 
 
 On hearing this, the men shuffled about, as 
 uncertain what to do, and Michael Polgrain for 
 the first time looked earnestly and pleadingly 
 into his foster-brother^ s face. Lord Crehylls 
 flushed deeply, and shook his head with an 
 almost imperceptible movement. 
 
 " Some people will take no warnings,^^ he said, 
 hurriedly. '^ I have told the constables they 
 ought to have a lock-up in the village ; but since 
 there is none there, I donH see what is to be 
 done.^^ 
 
 " I think the man would be safe enough in 
 the strong room, my lord,^^ observed an unex- 
 pected voice.
 
 250 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 The speaker was Grylls the butler — a man 
 who had been thirty years in the service of the 
 Crehylls family, and was therefore privileged to 
 speak. This remark secretly annoyed Lord 
 Crehylls terribly, but he was unwilling to let the 
 bystanders perceive his irritation. He was not 
 a ready man in an emergency, not a man of 
 strong will ; essentially a fair-weather man, who 
 in trial, in storm, or in danger, would break 
 down w^eakly, and obey the first determined 
 voice. Thus, while he hesitated, irresolute, the 
 rough-and-ready sailor caught at once at the 
 butler^s offer. 
 
 " If youVe a strong room here,^^ he said, " it^s 
 all as one, as good most as the hold of a ship ; 
 and with the bilboes on, you see, he^ll be harm- 
 less as a babby. So if his lordship''s worship 
 will give the word, we^ll stow him away at once ; 
 and in the morning, when we've got all the rest 
 of his crew^ in irons, weTl come and fetch him, 
 and march ^em all off to Bodmin together .^^ 
 
 '^ Dear me ! now will you T' asked Grylls, 
 with an innocent look of surprise. " How will 
 you do that V 
 
 The veteran, who was an infant of some sixty 
 years, grinned delightedly, and winked at his 
 companion Joe. 
 
 '^'^My partner here can tell you,^^ he said. 
 " He^s a better hand at a yarn than me.^^ 
 
 " Well, it^s like this here," observed Joe, com-
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 251 
 
 placently. " They leaves their craft with only 
 two men and a boy aboard of her^ while they all 
 comes to shore to rescue their cap^en — Dead-eyes 
 we calls ^un — and_, meanwhile^, we boards the craft, 
 d^ye see ? and takes her. Then, when the crew 
 creeps back, we seize ^em as they come up the 
 side, and clap the bilboes on ^em comfortable.^" 
 
 " A very capital arrangement,"" said Lord 
 Crehylls, with a laugh, " if your commander can 
 only carry it out ; but I am afraid he takes too 
 many into his confidence for that.'" 
 
 " I suppose, my lord,"" interposed Grylls, 
 ^' the sailors can put this man in the strong 
 room ?"" 
 
 It was noticeable that Grylls said " this man,'" 
 as though Michael were a stranger to him, and 
 the preventive men, who came from a station 
 some dozen miles away, evidently concluded such 
 to be the case. They were in perfect ignorance 
 of Michael"s connexion with the Crehylls fa- 
 mily; and when Lord Crehylls had given his 
 consent unwillingly to this disposal of their 
 prisoner, they departed promptly, with a promise 
 to return as early as possible on the following 
 morning. 
 
 Grylls paced after his master to the library, 
 and placed the key of the strong room on the 
 table. 
 
 " It is a good thing, my lord,"" he observed, 
 cheerfully, '' that they brought poor Michael
 
 252 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 here. I can let liim out when it falls dark, and 
 nobody will be the wiser.^^ 
 
 '' You will do nothing of the kind/-* answered 
 Lord Crehylls, sternly. '^ Michael must take 
 his chance ; he has brought this upon his own 
 head. I cannot compromise my name and 
 honour by conniving at his escape. You can 
 leave the room, Grylls. That is all I have to 
 ^ay.^^ 
 
 " But, my lord/^ cried Grylls, excitedly, with 
 a face of the utmost dismay, " Michael is your 
 foster-brother, and there wont be a good word 
 said of you for years to come if '' 
 
 " Is it of Michael Polgrain you are speaking T' 
 asked a calm voice. 
 
 It was Madeline's. She was white as marble, 
 and as composed. 
 
 " Will you permit me to speak to him for a 
 few minutes. Lord Crehylls T' she said. " I saw 
 him led away prisoner just now as I stood on 
 the staircase, and I wish earnestly to see him.'' 
 
 Lord Crehylls gazed at her in surprise. 
 
 " You make a strange request. Miss Sylvester/^ 
 he observed. " May I ask why you wish to see 
 Michael Polgrain ?" 
 
 " When I have spoken to him it will be my 
 ^ad duty to tell you," she answered. 
 
 As she spoke, Lord Crehjdls noted the white- 
 ness of her face, and that steadfastness iii her de- 
 meanour which had something terrible in its
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 253 
 
 calmness_, inasmucli as it covered an excitement 
 deeper than any which can be evinced by agita- 
 tion of manner. 
 
 " Miss Sylvester J you are not well/'' he said. 
 " Let me advise you to sit down.''"' 
 
 He offered her a chair_, but as he approached 
 her_, Madeline drew back^ avoiding him with a 
 horror which she could scarcely repress. 
 
 " I am quite well. I wish to see Michael 
 Polgrain/^ she reiterated^ calmly. 
 
 " He is a very formidable fellow/^ said Lord 
 Crehylls,, with a nervous laugh^ " a terrible 
 smuggler,, and all that sort of thing, you know — 
 not the person exactly for a young lady to visit." 
 
 Madeline stretched out her hand towards the 
 large key lying on the table. 
 
 " All that matters nothing/' she said, mourn- 
 fully. " Give me the key, Lord Crehylls." 
 
 " Really, Miss Sylvester, I am sorry to re- 
 fuse a lady's request ; but I don't see how 
 I can. I am responsible for the man's 
 safety, and, whatever it may cost me, I am 
 resolved on delivering him up to-morrow morn- 
 ing to the authorities. It is horribly annoying; 
 it is painful to me beyond expression ; but I 
 must do it. Much as I like Michael, it does not 
 become me to sympathize with and aid a smuggler, 
 a constant law-breaker." 
 
 Madeline listened and held down her impa- 
 tience with an iron power ; she even smiled.
 
 254 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 half contemptuously^ at Lord Crehylls^ vacilla- 
 tion. It was so evident that he longed to set 
 Michael free, yet could not justify the deed to 
 himself, and so hid his weakness and his pity 
 under a pretence of duty. 
 
 " Are you so hard against the law-breaker T' 
 asked Madeline, with strange steadfastness. 
 *^ Well, so am I ; and I say that neither sorrow 
 nor affection should hinder us from letting 
 justice take its course. If Michael Polgrain is 
 guilty, let him suffer the penalty of his guilt. I, 
 for one, would not lift a finger to help him to 
 escape. You can give me the key of his prison 
 safely.^^ 
 
 Her hard words startled Lord Crehylls. He 
 did not heed their justice, he felt only their 
 strength, and his slumbering affection for Mi- 
 chael aroused itself to defend him. 
 
 " I cannot allow that Polgrain is very guilty,^^ 
 he said. '' Smuggling is popular ; it suits the 
 adventurous spirits of the Cornish. And all 
 along the coast the people sympathize with the 
 smuggler, and give him practical aid as well.''' 
 
 How Madeline listened to him, she knew not ; 
 how she held her agony silent, she could not tell ; 
 yet she did, and looking at him, she wondered at 
 his puerile talk — she w^ondered he did not feel, 
 and see the dreadful hand, which held the sword 
 above his head. 
 
 " What does it all matter V she asked, a little
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 255 
 
 wearily. " Lord Crehylls^ I want to see Michael 
 Polgrain on a subject of great importance to me_, 
 and when I have seen him_, it will be my duty to 
 tell you what this subject is. Will you give me 
 the keyr 
 
 Again her aspect and voice struck Lord Cre- 
 hylls as strange and unnatural, yet she stood 
 before him so calmly, awaiting his decision, that 
 he was deceived, and thought his fear a mere 
 fancy. 
 
 " You are so earnest,''^ he said, " that I yield 
 to your request. Here is the key. Grjdls will 
 turn it in the lock for you; it is too heavy for 
 your hands/'' But Grylls had long ago left the 
 room, so Lord Crehylls went himself down the 
 long passage, Madeline following him, and stop- 
 ping before a stout door, iron-plated, he unlocked 
 it, and admitted her to the presence of Michael 
 Polgrain. 
 
 " You can wait for me,'' she said quietly, as 
 she entered ; " I shall not be long.''
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 I HE interview between Madeline and Mi- 
 chael Polgrain was, as she had pro- 
 mised, short, and as the heavy door 
 turned again on its hinges, Lord Crehylls heard 
 him savj " DonH talk of law, Miss Madeline, or 
 of justice, but have mercy, as you hope for mercy 
 yourself/^ 
 
 Madeline did not answer him, and she passed 
 Lord Crehylls with a face so white and cold, that 
 it seemed of snow or marble. 
 
 " Will you follow me to the library ?" she 
 said, bending her head to him slightly as she 
 went by. 
 
 He had not time to reply before Michael had 
 seized him by the hand. 
 
 " Let me go free,^^ he whispered, eagerly. " In 
 another hour or two it will be too late.^"* 
 
 With a flush of vexation over all his face. Lord 
 Crehylls withdrew his hand from MichaeFs grasp. 
 
 " My dear Michael, I really cannot/'' he said, 
 angrily. " Don''t distress me by another word. 
 You will not change my resolution, so you only 
 pain me and yourself.^'
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 257 
 
 Here, with an oath against the whole Preven- 
 tive Service, Lord Crehylls would have closed the 
 door, but Michael held it back with the strength 
 of a giant. 
 
 " See here, my lord/'' he said, gently, " I have 
 not stepped within your threshold for twelve 
 years, and now I am in your house a prisoner. 
 You will not keep me so ? — you must not. You 
 will be ruined if you do not let me go.^"* 
 
 ^' I shall be ruined if I do,''^ returned Lord 
 Crehylls, with increased anger. 
 
 " You have often made it a reproach to me 
 that I accepted no favour at your hands,^' said 
 Michael, " and now I ask you one, you refuse 
 me/^ 
 
 " I tell you, man, I cannot helj) it,^^ cried Lord 
 Crehylls, with infinite distress. " All T could do 
 for you I did, when I had those cursed irons 
 knocked ofF.^^ 
 
 " Good Heavens V' cried Michael, ^' could you 
 bear irons, — could you bear a prison, — could you 
 bear a judge^s sentence V 
 
 '' Hardly, Michael,'' replied Lord Crehylls, 
 with a wistful smile. 
 
 "Neither shall you,-" returned Michael, with 
 quiet strength ; and at the same instant Lord 
 Crehylls found himself on the floor, pinned there 
 by Michael's sinewy hand. " Kemcmber what I 
 told you of the Penkivel" he whispered, eagerly. 
 " Come to my sister's to-night." 
 
 VOL. 1. 17
 
 258 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 With this he sprang down the long, unfre- 
 ijuented passage, and before Lord Crehylls could 
 rise, he heard the slam of a distant door, which 
 told him Michael Polgrain was free. His first 
 feeling was infinite annoyance, then came a sort 
 of rueful amusement at his own discomfiture, and 
 lastly, a genuine sense of relief and pleasure at 
 his foster-brother^s safety. 
 
 ^^ Half crazy as he is, Michael wont let him- 
 self be caught again,^^ he said, as he went to- 
 wards the library. " I expect he^ll save that 
 craft of his, the Penkivel, yet.'^ 
 
 He entered the library with a half smile on his 
 lips, but this was checked instantly as his gaze 
 fell on Madeline. She was standing in the mid- 
 dle of the room, pale and steadfast, and in her 
 outstretched hand she held an old faded letter. 
 
 " Is this your handwriting, my lord ?" she 
 said, calmly. 
 
 Even at this lapse of time he recognised the 
 boyish scrawl, — it was one of the letters written to 
 her mother, and all the agony of that sad passion, 
 that youthful, mournful, mad love, struck at his 
 heart again. 
 
 ^' How did you get that letter T^ he asked, in 
 broken accents. 
 
 " I found it, with many others, in my father^s 
 desk,^^ she replied. " Lord Crehylls, I demand 
 to know in what foreign land you left my mo- 
 ther to die.^''
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 259 
 
 He looked at her with face aghast and blanched 
 to deadly whiteness. 
 
 '' I know not what you mean^ Miss Sylvester. 
 I am in utter ignorance of Mrs. Sherborne^s fate. 
 You do me an injustice^ and you do your mother 
 a cruel wrongs when you make such a demand of 
 me.^^ 
 
 This was his answer; but it struck upon un- 
 believing ears^ and Madeline's lip curled uncon- 
 sciously with contempt and anger. 
 
 '^ I do not expect you to reply truthfully to 
 such a question/'' she said, in her coldest tones. 
 " I am a fool to ask it.'"' 
 
 Lord Crehylls bit his lip, and a sudden co- 
 lour I'ose to his face. 
 
 " If you were a man, Miss Sherborne/' — he 
 gave her name unwillingly, — "I would answer 
 you, and in a way very different to this." 
 
 " I am only a girl," she returned, " but you 
 will find I am not without courage. Lord Cre- 
 hylls, for many days past you have treated me 
 like a criminal, or the daughter of a criminal, 
 when, as you know full well, I am neither. I 
 pass over that ; and though I look on you as my 
 bitterest enemy, I j)ass over that also. But for 
 you my mother deserted her husband ; for your 
 crime my father died ; and these things I will 
 not pass over. Woman as I am, you will see I 
 am not too weak to demand justice."" 
 
 She walked to the door, but Lord Crehylls 
 
 17—2
 
 260 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 sprang forward, and stood there first, barring the 
 way. 
 
 '^ Of what do you accuse me ?" he said. His 
 face was colourless, his lips pale and trembling. 
 
 " I accuse you of the murder of Mathew 
 Carbis/'' she answered. " I accuse you of cowar- 
 dice and treachery double-dyed, inasmuch as 
 you tied with the wife, and left the husband to 
 suffer for your crime, and perish in your 
 stead." 
 
 " It is false !" he cried. " On my life and soul, 
 this accusation is false \" 
 
 Madeline looked into his shrinking face with 
 withering contempt. 
 
 "Your life and soul!" she said. "What are 
 both worth ? What a lie your whole life has 
 been ! Fair-seeming, happy, careless, and pros- 
 perous, you have accepted homage from all the 
 world, while your soul was black with guilt. 
 I will unmask you to this blind world. Lord 
 Crehylls. I will show these silly worshippers of 
 rank and wealth, the true shape of the idol to 
 whom they have bowed. All that is good and 
 beautiful, true and pure, will leave you to the 
 punishment you merit. Why, even now your 
 wife lies weeping on her bed, struck senseless by 
 only the faint hint I gave her of the truth." 
 
 " My wife !" repeated Lord Crehylls, in wild 
 dismay. " What have you said to her ?" 
 
 " Only this ; that what I do, I cannot help
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 261 
 
 doing," said Madeline, and her voice dropped to 
 a tone of anguish. '' Lord Crehylls, save your 
 life ; that is all I dare say to you/' she con- 
 tinued, vehemently. '' I want justice, not re- 
 venge. The law would murder you, I wont. 
 But neither will I let you remain here in the 
 possession of every prosperity the world can 
 give — that would be rank injustice, and I will 
 not suffer it.''"' 
 
 '' Miss Sherborne,'' replied Lord Crehylls, " I 
 cannot understand your words ; they pass over 
 my brain, and bring me no meaning. I once 
 struck Mathew Carbis ; I never killed him.'" 
 
 " No ! " said Madeline, returning to her calm 
 tone, half in scorn, half in bitterness. " And 
 yet I come to you with no uncertain speech. 
 I did not take the evidence alone of the reckless, 
 injured, desperate man whom your deed drove to 
 suicide — no ! I went to Michael Polgrain, and 
 asked him if the dreadful tale was true, before I 
 dared bring against you an accusation, which 
 drags you down to the lowest depths of misery 
 and crime " 
 
 She stopped, for there was a change on the 
 face of Lord Crehylls, which appalled her. He 
 seemed struck with some deadly fear, and 
 staggering, he leant against the wall like a man 
 seized with sudden sickness. Hitherto he had 
 listened to her in amazement, and if his face 
 was pale, it had not looked like the whiteness of
 
 262 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 fear^ but now on all his features there stood a 
 stony terror, fixed and dreadful. 
 
 " What did Michael say ?''' he gasped forth in 
 a faint voice. ^' What did you ask him T' 
 
 " I asked him if you had struck down Mathew 
 Carbis in the wood of Crehylls, and he answered 
 yes." 
 
 " But not killed him T' broke in Lord 
 Crehylls_, hurriedly. 
 
 " Killed him V answered Madeline, steadily. 
 " And you fled from England the same day. 
 You know what happened next — you know by 
 what a cunningly devised plot Walter Sherborne 
 was made to suffer for your deed — you know 
 that in three years, you returned hither un- 
 scathed to marry Agatha Lanyon, and live your 
 free and careless life, while one victim lies in a 
 felon''s grave, and the other, if living, wanders 
 an outcast in some foreign land.^^ 
 
 As she ceased her face took an expression of 
 disgust, and weariness and, loathing unutterable, 
 and she turned her eyes from him with a deep 
 shudder. 
 
 '^^You wrong me,''^ said Lord Crehylls, hotly. 
 " You have no right to judge me in this hasty 
 way.-'-' 
 
 This roused her. 
 
 " Wrong you,-'^ she cried. " Do you dare 
 speak of wrong to me — to the daughter of 
 Walter Sherborne ? Can you fathom the depth
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 263 
 
 of suffering you have inflicted on me from 
 childhood to this day ? No^ you cannot gauge 
 it. Free, easy, and careless man that you are, 
 you have lived your selfish life without a 
 thought/' 
 
 " If all you say of me were true,'"' he an- 
 swered, ^^my life would indeed be selfish and 
 careless.^' 
 
 Madeline did not heed him ; her words swept 
 over his words like the rushing down of many 
 waters. 
 
 " You question my right to judge you,'-* she 
 said. '^'^I assert I have a right. By all the 
 wrongs heaped upon my father, by his despair 
 and death, by his lost name, buried unjustly in 
 infamy, I claim the right to be your judge. By 
 all the sufferings poured upon myself; by all 
 the bitterness, blight, and mildew hanging on 
 me now ; and by all the misery and shame 
 beneath which my mother's life lies hid, I assert 
 I have the right to judge you.'''' 
 
 " Hear the truth first,'' cried Lord Crehylls. 
 *' I repeat I am innocent of the charges you 
 bring against me. Your mother's face I have 
 never seen since the day I quitted England ; and 
 if the random blow I gave Mathew Carbis 
 killed him. Heaven knows I went away unwitting 
 of the fact." 
 
 " Do you expect me to believe you ?" returned 
 Madeline. " Things look too black against you,
 
 264 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 Lord Crehylls. And I have been deceived too 
 long to believe anything a Lanyon, or a Crehylls 
 can tell me now/"* 
 
 " Ah^ Mr. Lanyon is indeed to blame/'' ex- 
 claimed Lord Crehylls, catching at her words. 
 " If he knew the truth, he should have recalled 
 me instantly. He should not have permitted an 
 innocent man to suffer unjustly. As for me, if 
 what you say be true, it was but homicide at the 
 worst.''"' 
 
 " Homicide \" repeated Madeline. " If it were 
 that then, what is it now, when Walter Sherborne 
 lies beneath the stones of a prison yard ? I 
 weary of these excuses, these shufflings of your 
 crime on others. And as for Mr. Lanyon — I 
 have been cheated into loving him, and he is old 
 — I will spare him if I can.^"* 
 
 For one instant her steadfast calm broke 
 down, and she put her hand upon her eyes, 
 wiping the tears hastily that sprang to them. 
 
 "Now, hear my resolve,^^ she continued, 
 steadying her voice into a cold, hard tone. " I 
 am a girl, not afraid to do justice myself, young 
 as I am ; and my right here to do it is incon- 
 testable. I give you your choice of two things : 
 Exile yourself for ever from England, and from 
 home, or to-morrow morning I go to the nearest 
 magistrate, and charge you with the murder of 
 Mathew Carbis. Nor will this be the sole 
 charge. I must denounce you and Mr. Lanyon
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 265 
 
 both, as guilty of a vile conspiracy^ to fix the 
 guilt of this crime on my father/^ 
 
 As she spoke, a tide of horror rushed over 
 the heart of the young man who listened to her. 
 He was essentially a weak man, not ready and 
 prompt iu an emergency, and sense and courage 
 failed him now. The pain and shame of such a 
 charge ; the difficulty, perhaps impossibility, of 
 proving himself innocent ; the agony of his wife, 
 the disgrace of Mr. Lanyon ; all rushed over 
 him in a grievous flocd, drowning resolution and 
 hope. 
 
 " How long a time will you give me to 
 decide ?" he asked, in a faint voice. 
 
 " Until to-morrow morning at eight o^clock,^^ 
 she said, firmly. '^ And I repeat, it is not my 
 wish to give you up to the law — the laws of this 
 land are murderous, they will slay you. And I 
 do not forget I have eaten of your bread, and 
 sat at your board. Cruel as you have been to 
 me and mine, I do not desire your death, or the 
 ruin of all you love — I am willing to spare them 
 — above all, I am willing to spare Mr. Lanyon, 
 and for his sake I would spare his daughter also.^' 
 
 Her voice broke, and ceased, leaving her lips 
 apart and quivering. 
 
 Lord Crehylls was so shaken in soul, that he 
 found no w^ords in which to answer, but, 
 bewildered and silent, he stood gazing at her in 
 blank dismay.
 
 266 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 ^' It is fair to myself/'' she continued^ rallying 
 her strength and speaking with inexpressible 
 pathos^ " that I should tell yon what I renounce 
 on my part^ when I take justice into my own 
 hands,, and spare you all the rigours and murders 
 of the law. I renounce for ever the dear hope 
 of clearing my father^s name — I renounce also 
 my love, and the man who has given me his true 
 heart — I go forth into the world solitary, hiding 
 your guilt in my own breast — I do this, because, 
 unproved, I would scorn to speak of it. I leave 
 you your fame and your name — two blessings 
 never mine ; I take from you your love and 
 your home — two blessings I shall never, never 
 have. I have finished. Now tell Michael 
 Polgrain, when you see him, that I have listened 
 to his words, and in my justice I remembered 
 mercy.^^ 
 
 " Till eight o^clock to-morrow morning, did 
 you say?^'' said Lord Crehylls, lifting his head 
 from his clasped hands. 
 
 Madeline bowed silently in assent, and left 
 him as quietly as a shadow.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HEN Madeline returned to her room she 
 sat down on the floor desolate. The 
 thought of her future life lay like a 
 mountain on her heart ; hope was cut off" on 
 every side^ and she seemed like one standing on 
 a desert waste^ utterly alone. She began to 
 repent of her mercy. 
 
 " Have I not suffered enough at the hands of 
 these people T' she said to herself. " Why 
 should I wreck my whole life now to spare 
 them ? I will denounce Mr. Lanyon^ I will de- 
 nounce Lord Crehylls — I will drag the whole 
 gaping world around them to hear what I have 
 to say.'^ 
 
 But here her eyes closed^ and she shuddered 
 from head to foot. The punishment was so dire 
 that she could not look upon it even in thought. 
 And whatever Mr. Lanyon^s guilt might be 
 towards her^ she felt she could not be his accuser, 
 she felt she could not load him with infamy in 
 his old agCj and bring his gray hairs to the grave 
 with shame.
 
 268 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 ^' For his daughter's sake he has shown me 
 no mercy/' she said to herself, bitterly, "but for 
 his own sake I will spare him. As for Lord 
 Crehylls, on him I will have no pity, save the 
 pity of silence, and if I could strike him without 
 piercing Mr. Lanyon's heart, I would not hold 
 back the blow a moment. Every instant of 
 hesitation, and of forbearance, is a wrong to my 
 father and mother." 
 
 She started up, as this thought stung her, and 
 began to pace the room; then her eyes fell on 
 her lover's letter, lying on the table where she 
 had placed it, before unlocking the desk. She 
 caught it up and kissed it passionately, and 
 unfolding it, read it slowly, letting quiet tears 
 drop unchecked upon the paper. It was a large 
 sheet, folded in the old-fashioned way, when the 
 postage between Cornwall and London was a 
 shilling, and stamps and envelopes were things 
 unthought of, — and as it trembled in her hand, 
 she saw upon the edges, doubled inwards, a sen- 
 tence which had escaped her eye. It read 
 thus : — 
 
 " I think you will truly be my first client, 
 Madeline, for I have seized a clue to that strange 
 Carbis mystery. I hold it in my hand now, and 
 following it, as I mean to do, I shall soon track 
 down that man — the hawker, who has so curiously 
 disappeared from all his haunts since the terrible
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 269 
 
 day of Carbis^s death. I promised Mr. Lanyon 
 I would not name this matter to you unless I had 
 good cause to believe I should find the man. 
 Judge how good the cause is by my tell- 
 ing it."*^ 
 
 Madeline laid down the letter, and passed her 
 hand across her eyes^ bewildered by these strange 
 words. Then she thought she understood it all 
 — it was another deception of Mr. Lanyon-'s, 
 another lie he had told to screen and save his 
 daughter's husband. Evidently he was careless 
 how many victims he made, so he kept intact 
 Agatha's happiness, and Geoffrey Crehylls' name 
 and fame. 
 
 Seizing pen and ink eagerly, Madeline 
 wrote, with a hurried hand, "You are de- 
 ceived entirely. Take care what you do. I 
 beseech you, let no other innocent man suffer ; 
 one is surely enough. Do not search for 
 the hawker ; he is as innocent and ignorant 
 of this crime as you and I. The criminal is 
 here, in this county, close at my hand, if 
 I choose to seize him. I have spoken with 
 him, and he confesses his guilt. After this 
 avowal, you will drop the clue of which you 
 speak. The whole idea is false, and it was 
 falsely and purposely put into your mind.'' She 
 added a few lines more, to say she was coming 
 to London by the next day's mail; then she
 
 270 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 stole down softly to the hall^ and placed her 
 letter in the post-bag. 
 
 " I will not lose a day in preventing an in- 
 justice/^ she said. As she crossed the hall again 
 she met Grylls. 
 
 " Dinner is served^, miss/^ said he. 
 
 His tone was quiet but uneasy. It is strange 
 how soon the shadow of trouble spreads in a 
 household. 
 
 Dinner! Madeline had never thought of it. 
 Was it five o'clock already ? When a great wave 
 of trouble overwhelms us_, time seems swallowed 
 up. There is no future, no past, it is all present ; 
 and the world stands still while the woe goes over 
 us. The trivial round of the hours upon the 
 clock, the quiet routine of life, once so smooth 
 and comfortable, strike us now as a wonder, or a 
 pain ; or sometimes, as in this instance, it comes 
 in shape so incongruous, so inopportune, that the 
 chafed spirit is moved to laughter. 
 
 Madeline looked Avithin the stately room and 
 glanced at the flower-decked table, and laughed 
 to think she should be asked to sit down to 
 eat and drink with Lord and Lady Crehylls. 
 
 " I am going away,''^ she said to the amazed 
 domestic. " I have not time to dine. Have 
 you told your master and mistress their dinner is 
 served V^ 
 
 " My lady is too ill to leave her room,^^ said 
 Grylls, ^' and we have searched all through the
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 271 
 
 house and grounds for my lord in vain. Oh, 
 Miss Madeline, what is the matter?^'' 
 
 But he spoke to the walls, for Madeline did 
 not turn her head as she went up the great stair- 
 case, with slow, soft footfall. Something told 
 her she would not see Lord Crehylls again. He 
 had been a coward all his life, he was a coward 
 still, and as he had fled once from the place of 
 his crime, so would he flee now from the sight 
 and fear of the victims his guilt had made. 
 Above all, he would flee from suffering — the 
 ease-loving, careless man ; and she felt sure he 
 had mistrusted her promise, and had already 
 escaped her hand. But what a punishment was 
 his, what a home he quitted, what hearts he 
 crushed, what bitterness he took with him into 
 exile ! Sighing, she gazed around her, on the 
 statues, the paintings, the marble pillars, the 
 wealth of flowers, and all the signs of luxury 
 lavished on every side ; and she wondered whether 
 Walter Sherborne, in his prison, forsaken of all, 
 and condemned to die, was not a happier man 
 than Geoffrey Crehylls would be in safety in a 
 foreign land, self-banished. 
 
 Once more in her own I'oom, Madeline finished 
 her packing, and dressed herself, and counted the 
 stock of money she had, and then sat down 
 patiently to wait for the chaise, for which she 
 had sent on quitting Lord Crehylls. While 
 waiting thus, it struck her she ought to write
 
 272 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 to Mr. Lanyon, and tell him something of all 
 this^ otherwise he would expect to find her at 
 Penkivel, and he would wonder she was gone 
 without a leave-taking ; so she wrote thus : — 
 
 ^^ Your daughter has commanded me to leave 
 her house, and I obey; but I do not go in 
 ignorance. I took my father's desk from your 
 room ; in it there is a secret drawer,, unknown 
 to you, and in this I found a history which has 
 killed in my soul all love, all affection, all grati- 
 tude. You have cheated me of these as you have 
 cheated me in all else. Yet I cannot in one 
 moment forget the lessons of twelve years^ and 
 in pity to your age and your remorse I leave 
 you my forgiveness, and I promise you my 
 silence. The secret you have kept from your 
 daughter you can keep still ; but her husband is 
 an exile for life. This is the sole justice I do. 
 How much I leave undone you alone can tell, 
 and in your grief and your repentance — for 
 surely you do repent — think of the greater suf- 
 fering and the shame I spare you, and not of the 
 lesser pain I inflict. Disgrace to gray hairs is 
 terrible, and it seems unnatural, in spite of all 
 my wrongs, that I, a young girl, should strike 
 you such a blow. It is dreadful that you have 
 given me the right to say such words as these to 
 you ; more dreadful still that, old as you are, and 
 young as I am, you have given me the right to
 
 BENEATH THE AVHEELS. 273 
 
 despise you. Injustice, of all sins, is the one I 
 most abhor; and what a mountain of injustice 
 you have heaped upon me and mine ! T suffer 
 it still ; I shall suffer it always, because I give 
 you the great pity of my silence. Farewell." 
 
 She was not pleased with this letter ; but there 
 was no time to choose sharper, clearer words. 
 She wrote it without tears, although her cheeks 
 grew fevered and her fingers trembled. As she 
 folded it, she bethought herself of some means by 
 which it should surely reach Mr. Lanyon^s hands 
 without being seen by his daughter, and she re- 
 solved to drive round by Grace Chagwynne^s and 
 give it to her, with a strict charge to carry it to 
 him herself. 
 
 A moment more, and the summons came for 
 which she waited. 
 
 " The chaise you ordered is here, miss,^^ said a 
 servant ; " but my lady desired me to say, you are 
 quite welcome to take anyof theCrehylls^ carriages 
 to drive to Penkivel." 
 
 " Is she so gracious ?" thought Madeline, and 
 her lip curled. '' Thank you," she said, quietly, 
 " I prefer the chaise." 
 
 Then she went down the long corridor, passing 
 Mr. Lanyon's door with one wistful glance, and 
 looking back but once after she had hurried 
 by. 
 
 '^Wont you go into Mr. Lanyon^'s room and 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 
 
 say good-bye, miss?^' asked the maid, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " I have said it/'' replied Madeline. 
 
 Her voice was forced and strange, her heart 
 was bounding against her side in hurried beats 
 that took her breath away, and there was a dim- 
 ness over all her sight — a dimness more dreary 
 and depressing than tears can bring. In this dark- 
 ness she went down the great staircase, her hand 
 touching the balustrade softly as she went ; in 
 this darkness she passed through the hall, seeing 
 the servants as in a mist, and bending her head 
 to them in farewell. She thought she spoke to 
 them ; but though her lips moved, no word came ; 
 and finally, in this darkness she took her last look 
 of Castle Crehylls, gazing at it earnestly from 
 tower to basement; then a great shadow like 
 night fell between her and the stately granite pile, 
 and she found herself in the carriage on her 
 knees weeping. 
 
 " Who is that come 7' cried Lady Crehylls, 
 starting up at the rumble of the wheels. 
 
 " It is Miss Sylvester, gone, my lady,^-* answered 
 her maid, who was sitting at the open window. 
 " I heard her tell the post-boy to take her to 
 Grace Chagwynne^s — that^s quite two miles out 
 of the road; and I am sure she wont reach
 
 BENEATH THE WHEELS. 275 
 
 Penkivel till midniglit as it is. I can't see what 
 she wants to go to Grace's for^ my lady/' 
 
 " What does it matter where she goes,, so that 
 she goes away for ever ?" said the lady. " Oh, 
 where is Lord Crehylls ?" she cried. " Will he 
 never, never come home ? I am weary of this 
 suspense." 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LOM-DON : 
 
 SAVILL, EDWAEDS AND CO., PEINTEES, CHAITDOS STEEET, 
 
 COVENT GAEDEW.
 
 * *