^^'
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 8Z3 
 FZ2b
 
 m.i^ 
 
 % 
 
 /
 
 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 TALES. 
 
 BY 
 
 HUGH CONWAY, 
 
 (F. J. FARGUS,) 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'CALLED BACK. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 REMINGTON AND CO., 
 
 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden. 
 1884. 
 
 [All A'/j^/ifs Reserved. "l
 
 TO MY FRIEND, 
 
 JOSEPH L. ROECKEL.
 
 2^5 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 *«^t I'AGE 
 
 V THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS* - - - i 
 
 ^ FLEURETTE* -44 
 
 ' A CABINET SECRET 8$ 
 
 THE BANDSMAN'S STORY* II3 
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST 1 57 
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT (A SOLICITOR'S TALE) - - - 23 1 
 
 n * These three tales were originally published in B/ac/rwood's 
 -Magazine. 
 
 4
 
 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 THE 
 
 SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 
 
 My friend Luigi is reckoned one of the 
 finest violin-players of the day. His won- 
 derful skill has made him famous, and he is 
 well known and honoured for his talent in 
 every capital in Europe. 
 
 If in these pages I call him by a name 
 other than the one he has made famous, it is 
 solely on account of a promise he exacted 
 from me, in case I should ever feel tempted 
 to make the following strange experiences, 
 we shared together, public property. I am 
 afraid, nevertheless, that too many will 
 readily identify the man himself with the 
 portrait I am obliged to draw. 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Lulgi — leaving his professional greatness 
 out of the question — would have been a 
 noticeable man In any company, a man at 
 whom people would look and ask not only, 
 ' Who Is he ?' but ' What has he done In the 
 world ?' knowing that men of his stamp are 
 seldom sent upon this scene to live an 
 ordinary everyday life. In person he was 
 very tall, standing over six feet. His figure 
 graceful : some might even have called It 
 slight, there was breadth of shoulder enough 
 to tell It was the figure of a strong man. A 
 face with a pale but clear complexion ; dark 
 deep-set eyes, with a sort of far-away expres- 
 sion In them ; black hair, worn long, after the 
 manner of geniuses of his kind ; a high but 
 rugged forehead ; a well-shaped nose ; a 
 drooping moustache ; a hand whose long 
 and delicate fingers seemed constructed ex- 
 pressly for their particular mission — violin- 
 playing. 
 
 Picture all these characteristics, and if you 
 enjoy the acquaintance of the musical world, 
 or even if you have been in the habit of 
 attending concerts where stars of the first 
 magnitude condescend to shine, I fear, in
 
 / 
 
 THE SECRET OP ~. STRADIVARIUS. 3 
 
 spite of my promise of concealing his name, 
 you will too easily recognise my friend. 
 
 Luigi's manner in ordinary life was very 
 quiet, gentlemanly, and reposed. He was, 
 in his dreamy sort of way, highly courteous 
 and polite to strangers. Although, when 
 alone with me or other friends he loved, he 
 had plenty to say for himself — and his broken 
 English was pleasant to listen to — in general 
 company he spoke but little. But let his left 
 hand close round the neck of a fiddle, let his 
 right hand grasp the bow, and one knew 
 directly for what purpose Luigi came into 
 the world. Then the man lived and re- 
 velled, as it were, in a life of his own 
 making. The notes his craft drew forth 
 were like bracing air to him ; he seemed 
 actually to respire the music, and his dreamy 
 eyes awoke and shone with fire. He did 
 that rare thing — rare indeed, but lacking 
 which no performer can rise to enduring 
 fame — threw his whole soul into his playing. 
 His manner, his very attitude as he com- 
 menced, was a complete study. 
 
 Drawing himself up to every inch of his 
 height, he placed the violin — nestling it, I
 
 4 BOUND '^9G1ther. 
 
 may say — under his chin, and then taking a 
 long breath of what appeared to be anticipa- 
 tory pleasure, swept his magician's wand 
 over the sleeping strings, and waking them 
 with the charmed touch, wove his wonderful 
 spell of music. The moment the horsehair 
 came in contact with the gut, the listener 
 knew that he was in the presence of a 
 master. 
 
 Luigi had come to London for the season, 
 having, after much negotiation and persuasion, 
 accepted an engagement at a long series of 
 some of the best, if cheapest and most popular 
 concerts held in London. It was his first visit 
 to En gland:he had ever disliked the country, 
 and believed very little in the national love for 
 good music, or in our power of appreciating it 
 when heard. He disliked, also, the trumpeting 
 with which the promoters of the concerts 
 heralded his appearance. Although his fame 
 was already great throughout the Continent, 
 he dreaded the effect of playing to an un- 
 sympathetic audience. His fears were, how- 
 ever, groundless. 
 
 Whether the people liked and understood 
 his music and style of playing or not, they
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 5 
 
 least appeared to do so ; and the newspapers, 
 one and all, unable to do things by halves, 
 went into raptures over him. They com- 
 pared him with Paganini, Ole Bull, and 
 other bygone masters, and their comparisons 
 were very flattering. Altogether, Luigi was 
 a great success. 
 
 I met him on two occasions at the houses 
 of some friends of rriine, who are in the habit 
 of spending much time, trouble, and some 
 money on that strange sport, lion-hunting. 
 His concerts were held, I think, on two 
 evenings in every week ; so he had time at 
 his disposal, and was somewhat sought after. 
 We were introduced, and I took a liking to 
 the quiet, gentlemanly celebrity, who, dif- 
 ferent from many others whose names are in 
 the mouths of men, gave himself no airs, nor 
 vaunted, by words or manner, the 'aristo- 
 cracy of talent.' 
 
 I could make shift to converse with him 
 fairly enough in his own soft language ; so that 
 upon my meeting him the second time, he 
 expressed his pleasure at again encountering 
 me. A few days afterwards we met by 
 chance in the street, and I was able to extri-
 
 6 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 cate him from some little difficulty, into 
 which his imperfect knowledge of English 
 and of English ways had betrayed him. 
 Then our acquaintance ripened, until it 
 became friendship ; and even at this day I 
 reckon him amongst the friends I hold the 
 dearest. 
 
 I saw a great deal of Luigi during his stay 
 in London. We made pleasant little excur- 
 sions together to such objects of interest as 
 he wished to visit. We spent many even- 
 ings together, nights I should rather say, 
 for the small hours had sounded when we 
 parted, leaving the room dim with the smoke 
 from my cigars and his cigarettes. Like 
 many of his countrymen, he smoked simply 
 whenever he could get a chance ; and when 
 alone with me, I believe the only cessation 
 to his consumption of tobacco was when he 
 took his beloved fiddle in his hand and 
 played for his own pleasure and my delight. 
 
 He was a charming companion — indeed 
 what man who had seen such varied life as 
 he had, could be otherwise when drawn out 
 by the confidence that friendship gives ? I 
 soon found that under the external calmness
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 7 
 
 of the man lay a nature full of poetry, and 
 not free from excitement. I was also much 
 amused to find a vivid vein of superstition 
 and belief in the supernatural running 
 through his character ; and I believe it was 
 only my merriment on making the dis- 
 covery that hindered him from expatiating 
 upon some ghostly experiences he had him- 
 self gone through, instead of darkly hinting 
 at what he could reveal. It was in vain I 
 apologised for my ill-timed mirth, and with a 
 grave face tried to tempt him. He only 
 said : ' You, like the rest of your cold- 
 blooded, money-making race, are sceptical, 
 my friend. I will tell you nothing. You 
 would not believe : you would laugh at me — 
 and ridicule is death to me.' 
 
 Another thing about which he was very 
 tenacious was showing his skill when invited 
 out. He invariably declined to do so, seem- 
 ing quite puzzled by the polite hints thrown 
 out by some of his entertainers. 
 
 'Why can they not come and hear me 
 in public i^' he asked me. ' Or can it be that 
 they only ask me to their houses for my 
 talents, not for my society ?'
 
 8 BOUND TOGETHER. ' 
 
 I told him I was afraid their motives were 
 rather mixed ; so he said quietly : 
 
 * Then I shall not go out again. When I 
 do not play in public to earn my living, I 
 play for myself alone.' 
 
 He kept his resolve as well as he could — 
 declining all of his many invitations, save 
 those to a few houses where he knew he was 
 valued, as he wished to be, for himself. 
 
 But when I was alone with him, when I 
 visited him at his rooms, then he was not 
 chary In showing his skill ; and, although I 
 blush to say so, at times I had violin-playing 
 ad nauseam. A surfeit of sweets — a satiety 
 of music. I often wonder if it has ever been 
 any man's lot to hear such performances as I 
 did In those days when, grown careless of the 
 good the gods would send me, I lay at full 
 length on Luigi's sofa ; and the master of the 
 magic bow expounded themes in a manner 
 which would have brought the house down. 
 Till then I little dreamt of what, in skilful 
 hands, the Instrument could do. How true 
 genius could bid it laugh, sob, command, 
 entreat — sink into a wail of pathetic pleading, 
 or soar to a song of scorn and triumph ! what
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 9 
 
 power to express every emotion of the heart 
 lay in those few inches of cunningly curved 
 wood ! Now I could understand why Luigi 
 could play so much for his own enjoyment ; 
 and at times it seemed to me that his execu- 
 tion was even more wonderful, his expression 
 more thrilling, when I alone formed his 
 audience, than when a vast assembly was 
 before him, ready, as the last impassioned 
 notes sank into silence, to break into a storm 
 of rapturous applause. 
 
 Luigi was a connoisseur in fiddles, and 
 owned several pet instruments by the most 
 renowned makers. Sometimes of an evening 
 he would bring out his whole stock, look 
 them carefully over, play a little on each, and 
 point out to me the difference in the tone. 
 Then he would wax eloquent on the peculiar 
 charms or gifts the master's hand had be- 
 stowed on each, and was indignant that I 
 was so obtuse as not to detect at once the 
 exquisite gradations of the graceful curves. 
 After a short time the names of Amati, 
 Ruggieri, Guarnerius, Klotz, Stainer, etc., 
 grew quite familiar to me ; and as I went 
 through the streets I would peep into the
 
 lO BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 pawnbrokers' and other windows with fiddles 
 in them, hoping to pick up a treasure for a 
 few shillings. Two or three I did buy, but 
 my friend laughed so heartily at my pur- 
 chases that I gave up the pursuit. 
 
 He told me he had for a long while been 
 looking for a genuine old Stradivarius, but, 
 as yet, had not succeeded in finding the one 
 he wanted. He had been offered many, 
 purporting to have come originally from the 
 great maker's hands, but probably they were 
 all pretenders, as he was not yet suited. 
 
 One evening when I visited Luigi I found 
 him with all his musical treasures arrayed 
 around him. He was putting them in order, 
 he said. I must amuse myself as best I could 
 until he had finished. I turned idly from 
 one case to another, wondering how any 
 experience could determine the build of any 
 particular violin, all of which, to my un- 
 tutored eyes, appeared alike. Presently I 
 opened one case which was closed, and drew 
 the fiddle it held from its snug, red-lined bed. 
 I did not remember having seen this one 
 before, so took it in my hand to examine it — 
 holding it, after the manner of connoisseurs,
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. I I 
 
 edgeways before my eyes to note the curves 
 and shape of it. It was evidently old — my 
 little knowledge told me that ; and as, even 
 though protected by the case, dust lay upon 
 it, I could see it had not been used for a long, 
 long time. Moreover, all the strings were 
 broken. Curiously, each one was severed at 
 exactly the same point — just below the bridge 
 — as if some one had passed a sharp knife 
 across, and with one movement cut all four. 
 
 Holding the ill-used instrument towards 
 Luigi, I said : 
 
 ' This one seems particularly to want your 
 attention. Is it a valuable one ?' 
 
 Luigi, who was engrossed by the delicate 
 operation of shifting the sounding-post of one 
 of his pet weapons some infinitesimal part of 
 an inch to the left or to the right, turned as I 
 spoke, still holding his ends of string in each 
 hand. As soon as he saw which violin I had 
 taken up, he let fall the one he held between 
 his knees, and, to my great surprise, said 
 hastily : 
 
 ' Put it down — put it down, my friend. I 
 beseech you not to handle that violin.' 
 
 Rather annoyed at the testy way in which
 
 12 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 my usually amiable friend spoke, I laid it 
 down, saying : 
 
 * Is it so precious, then, that you are afraid 
 of my clumsy hands damaging it ?* 
 
 ' Ah, it is not that,' answered Luigi ; * it is 
 something altogether different. I did not 
 know my man had brought that fiddle in. I 
 never intended it should have left Italy.' 
 
 * It looks an old one. Who is it by ?' 
 
 ' That is a real old Stradivarius — the acme 
 of mortal skill — the one thing human hands 
 have made in this world perfect — perfect as a 
 flower, perfect as the sea. A Stradivarius is 
 the only thing that cannot be altered — cannot 
 be improved upon.' 
 
 * Why do you never use it ?' 
 
 * I cannot tell you — you would not believe 
 me. There is a something about that fiddle I 
 cannot explain. I believe it to be the finest 
 in the world. It may be even that Manfredi 
 played upon it to Boccherini's 'cello. It may 
 be Kruger led with it when the mighty 
 applause rang through the Karntnerthor, 
 shaking it from floor to roof-tree, but which 
 he, the grand deaf genius, Beethoven, could 
 not even hear. Who can tell what hands
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 1 3 
 
 have used it ? and yet, alas ! I dare not play 
 upon it again.' 
 
 Rendered very curious by Luigi's enig- 
 matical words and excited manner, I ventured 
 to take the violin in my hands again, and 
 examined it with interest. I looked carefully 
 at the belly and the back, noting the beauti- 
 ful red but translucent varnish, known alone 
 to Stradivarius, with which the latter was 
 coated. I peeped through the/y's, to ascer- 
 tain if any maker's name appeared inside. If 
 one had ever been there, it was completely 
 obliterated by a dark stain, which covered 
 the greater portion of the inside of the back. 
 Luigi offered no remonstrance as I took the 
 fiddle for the second time, but sat silent, 
 watching me with apparent interest. 
 
 And now a strange thing occurred to me — 
 let who can explain it. After holding that 
 fiddle for a few minutes, I felt a wish — an 
 impulse — growing stronger and stronger each 
 moment, till it became almost irresistible — to 
 play upon it. It was not a musician's natural 
 itching to try a fine old violin — indeed, I am 
 no musician, although fond of listening to 
 music, and at times venturing to criticise ;
 
 14 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 neither have I learnt nor attempted to learn 
 the art of performing on any instrument, 
 from the Jew's-harp to the organ. And yet, 
 I say, as my fingers were round the neck — as 
 soft as silk it was — of that old violin, not only 
 did I feel a positive yearning to pass the bow 
 across it, but somehow I was filled with the 
 conviction, odd as it was, that all at once I 
 was possessed of the power of bringing rare 
 music forth, So strong, so intense was this 
 feeling, that, heedless of the ridicule from my 
 companion to which I should expose myself 
 — heedless, indeed, of his presence — I cuddled 
 the fiddle under my chin, and took up one of 
 the several bows lying on the table. My 
 left fingers fell instinctively into their proper 
 position on the strings, or rather, where the 
 strings should have been ; and then I remem- 
 bered the ruined state those strings were in, 
 and, with all my new-born skill, knew that no 
 miraculous inspiration, even if it produced a 
 fiddler, could bring forth music from wood 
 alone. Yet the impulse was on me stronger 
 than ever ; and, absurd as it may seem, I 
 turned to Luigi with the request on my lips 
 that he would restring the useless instrument.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 1 5 
 
 Luigi had been watching me attentively ; 
 no doubt he had studied every motion, every 
 vagary of mine since I again began to handle 
 the fiddle. Seeing me turn towards him, he 
 sprang from his seat, and before I could speak, 
 snatched the fiddle from my hands, replacing 
 it at once in its case ; then closingthe cover, he 
 heaved a deep sigh of relief. I had no time to 
 entreat, remonstrate, or resist ; but as he took 
 the fiddle from me, all wish to distino^uish 
 myself in a line that was not my own left me, 
 and I almost laughed aloud at the folly and 
 presumption of which I had been mentally 
 guilty. Yet it was strange — very strange. 
 
 * Ah !' said Luigi, as he placed the fiddle 
 out of sight under the table, ' so you felt it 
 also, my friend ?' 
 
 ' Felt what ?' 
 
 * The — I don't know what to call it — the 
 power, the sorcery of it.' 
 
 * I felt — don't laugh at me — that had the 
 strings been there, I, who never played a 
 fiddle in my life, could have drawn exquisite 
 music from that one. What does it mean ?' 
 
 Luigi returned no answer to my inquiry, 
 but said, as if thinking aloud :
 
 l6 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ' So it was no dream of mine. He, the 
 cool, collected Englishman — he felt it also. 
 He could not resist the impulse. It was no 
 dream — no creation of my fancy. Would he 
 see it, I v/onder ?' 
 
 * See what ?' I asked, curious to know 
 what his wandering sentences meant. 
 
 ' I cannot tell you. You would not believe 
 me.' 
 
 ' But what do you mean by the sorcery of 
 the fiddle ?' 
 
 ' Did I say sorcery ? — Well, I know no 
 other word that can describe it. Although I 
 tell you I believe that fiddle is the finest in 
 the world, I have only played upon it twice ; 
 and the second time I drew my knife across 
 the strings, that I might never again be 
 tempted to play upon it without due consider- 
 ation.' 
 
 * What is its history, then ? Where did 
 you get it ?' I asked, by this time thinking 
 my friend was suffering from some eccentri- 
 city that genius occasionally exhibits. 
 
 ' It was sent me originally from London. 
 When I found out its secret, I begged my 
 agent in England to ascertain its history.
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 1/ 
 
 After some trouble, he traced it to a house 
 where, for many years, it had lain unnoticed 
 in a garret. That house had once been a 
 lodging-house ; so doubtless the fiddle had 
 belonged to some one who had sojourned 
 there for a time. I could learn no more 
 about it, save what it told me in its music' 
 
 I saw Luigi was far away from any wish 
 to jest, so paused before I asked him the 
 meaning of his last sentence. He anticipated 
 me, and said : 
 
 * You wonder at my words. Did you notice 
 nothing else strange about it ?' 
 
 * Only a dark stain inside ; as if wine had 
 been spilt into it.' 
 
 ' Ah !' cried Luigi excitedly, * that is it ! 
 that is the secret — the meaning of the power 
 it holds. If it were not for the varnish that 
 fiddle would be stained outside and inside. 
 That stain is from a man's heart's blood, and 
 that fiddle can tell how and why he died.' 
 
 * I do not understand you.* 
 
 ' I do not expect you to — or believe me — 
 why should you ? What have you, an un- 
 imaginative Anglo-Saxon, to do with marvels.'* 
 How, in the centre of a great, cruel, material 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 l8 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 city, with the ceaseless sound of traffic out- 
 side our windows, should you expect anything 
 supernatural ? It may be I only dreamt it. 
 Perhaps you would not see it. And yet, one 
 night when I feel strong enough, we will take 
 the fiddle from its case, and I will play it to 
 you — I who, until to-night, have not laid a 
 finger on It for five years. And then, if its 
 music moves you as it moved me, I dreamt 
 no dream. If not, I will say it was a dream, 
 and I may at last be able to use this master- 
 piece of Stradlvarlus.' 
 
 I begged him to name an early day for the 
 curious performance, but he would make no 
 promise ; so we parted for the night. 
 
 A month passed by : Lulgl's London en- 
 gagement terminated, and he was now going 
 to win fresh laurels at Berlin. I had seen 
 him two or three times every week, but he 
 had never referred to the conversation which 
 had taken place upon the night when I drew 
 the strange violin from its case ; nor had he 
 offered to redeem his promise made on that 
 occasion. I had ceased to think about it, or 
 indeed only remembered it as a jest, laughing 
 at the Idea of a superstitious man not being
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 1 9 
 
 able to play on any particular fiddle. Two 
 days before he left England he wrote me 
 asking me to dine with him that night, adding, 
 ' I think I may keep my promise of playing 
 upon the Stradivarius/ 
 
 We dined at a well-known restaurant, and 
 about ten o'clock went to Luigi's rooms to 
 finish the night. The first thing I saw, upon 
 entering, was the fiddle-case lying on the 
 table — Luigi's favourite bow and several coils 
 of strings beside it. We sat down and talked 
 on various topics for about an hour, and then 
 I said : 
 
 * I see you have made preparations for the 
 performance. When do you intend to begin T 
 
 Luigi drew a deep breath. ' My friend,' 
 he said, * you will not blame me if my playing 
 agitates you ; and remember, when I once 
 begin I must continue to the end. It is no 
 pleasure to me — it is rather deadly pain. But 
 I am curious, and would satisfy my doubts.' 
 
 He was so much in earnest that I checked 
 the laugh his solemn manner called up, and 
 merely nodded acquiescence. He then rose, and 
 saying, * We must not be interrupted,' called 
 his servant, and after giving him the necessary
 
 20 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 instructions, locked the door, placing the key 
 in his pocket. He then opened the mysteri- 
 ous case, and with tender hands drew forth 
 the violin. His nimble fingers soon detached 
 the severed strings, knotted on the new ones, 
 and in the course of about a quarter of an 
 hour the instrument was ready, and tuned to 
 his satisfaction. I felt, as I watched him, I 
 should like to take the violin in my hands 
 once more, to see if the strange desire I had 
 before experienced would again come over 
 me — but I hardly liked to ask him to permit 
 me to do so. 
 
 And now all was ready — Luigi's critical ear 
 satisfied with the sound of the strings — and 
 he seemed about to strike his favourite atti- 
 tude. Yet I noticed his pale face was paler 
 than usual, and the hand poising the bow 
 seemed tremulous ; and as I looked at him, a 
 sympathetic feeling of fear — a dread of some- 
 thing, I knew not what — crept over me. It 
 seemed too absurd, however, to be disturbed 
 by an excitable Italian playing a violin in a 
 room with all the appliances of modern every- 
 day life around me ; so I laughed away the 
 feeling, placed myself at full length on the
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 21 
 
 sofa — my favourite attitude for listening to the 
 master's performances — and was prepared to 
 give my undivided attention to the music. 
 
 And yet, for a while Luigi did not begin, 
 although he saw I had resigned myself to 
 my fate. He had placed the violin under 
 his chin ; his left-hand fingers were on the 
 strings, but for some minutes he contented 
 himself with beating a sort of time, or 
 rhythmical measure, with the bow. One 
 would have said he was endeavouring to 
 recall something he had heard once, and 
 only imperfectly remembered. 
 
 * What theme are you going to play to 
 riie ?' I asked. 
 
 On hearing my voice he looked at me 
 vacantly, and only upon my repeating the 
 question did he seem aware of my presence. 
 Then with an effort he said, ceasing not to 
 beat time the while : 
 
 ' Ah, that I do not know. I am no longer 
 my own master ; I cannot choose. Let me 
 beg of you not to interrupt me again, my 
 friend.' 
 
 I said no more, but watched him with 
 anxious eyes. The left-hand fingers slipped,
 
 2 2 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 slid, and danced in dumb show up and down 
 the strings, the bow for ever beating time. 
 A sort of shiver passed over him ; then, 
 drawing himself up, he swept the bow across 
 the strings, and the fiddle, silent for so many 
 years, found tongue at last. 
 
 A weird strain, commanding the listener's 
 attention at once — a strain I knew I had 
 never heard before. So curious the opening 
 bars sounded, that, had I dared, I should 
 have said that several well-established rules 
 of harmony w^ere outraged. And yet, in 
 spite of its peculiarity, I knew that he who 
 created that music was a master in the art. 
 It was not Wagner, I was sure, although 
 somewhat of his remarkable power of ex- 
 pression, and gift of moving the mind 
 without the aid of melody, was present. 
 The first thirty bars, or so, appeared to me 
 to be of the nature of an overture, heralding 
 the performance to follow. In snatches of 
 mystic music the violin spoke of joy and 
 sorrow, pain and pleasure, love and hate, 
 hope and fear ; and as my own thoughts 
 responded to the varied emotions, I lay and 
 wondered who could have written the music
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVAKIUS. 23 
 
 which affected me so ; and thought how 
 fortunate the unknown composer was to have 
 such an exponent of his ideas as Luigi. 
 Yet, as I looked at the latter, it struck me 
 his style of playing to-night was different 
 from usual. Faultless though the execution 
 was — marvellous as were the strains those 
 facile fingers drew forth — the whole manner 
 of the man seemed to be mechanical, utterly 
 at variance with the fire and dash that ever 
 characterized his performances. The skill 
 was there, but, for once, the soul was want- 
 ing. With the exception of his hands and 
 arms, he stood so still that he might have 
 been a statue. He played as one in a trance, 
 and his eyes with a fixed look were ever 
 directed towards the end of the apartment. 
 Swifter and swifter his arm fiew backwards 
 and forwards — more strange, eccentric, and 
 weird the music became — stronger in its 
 expression, plainer in its eloquence, more 
 thrilling in its intensity, and ever exercising 
 its powerful spell on the hearer. At last, 
 with a sort of impulse, I turned my eyes 
 from the player and looked in the direction 
 in which he looked. Suddenly the music
 
 24 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 changed. There was now no lack of melody. 
 A soft, soothing, haunting measure began — 
 a sort of dreamy far-away tune ; and as its 
 gentle cadences fell on my ear, hitherto kept 
 in a state of irritating, if not unpleasing, 
 expectation, my thoughts began to wander to 
 old and half-forgotten scenes — distant events 
 came to my mind — recollections of vanished 
 faces, once familiar, flocked around me — all 
 things seemed growing misty and indistinct, 
 and I felt as one sinking into sleep — the sort 
 of sleep that one can almost realize and 
 enjoy. 
 
 It was not to be, however. A few harsh 
 notes from the fiddle, sounding like a warn- 
 ing or admonition, recalled me to wakeful- 
 ness ; and as my straying thoughts collected 
 themselves, that lulling song began again. 
 
 And yet, if fully awake and conscious, 
 where was I ? The scene was entirely 
 changed ; and although I knew I was still 
 lying where I had at first placed myself — 
 although I could hear within a few feet of 
 me the unceasing melody of Luigi's violin 
 — I was now looking into a strange apart- 
 ment, even as one looks into the representa-
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 25 
 
 tion of a room on the stage ; and I kn ew I 
 was dreaming no dream. It could be none ; 
 for, as I gazed, I felt a feeling of utter 
 astonishment — and that feeling is always 
 absent from a dream, however marvellous 
 its features may be. Yet, lying there, and 
 in as full possession of my faculties as I am 
 at the moment of writing these words, I saw, 
 opened as it were before me, a strange room, 
 and one I could in no way connect with any 
 chamber which I was in the habit of entering. 
 It appeared to be a large, lofty apartment; 
 and if I was looking at a vision, neither the 
 room nor its belongings presented any ap- 
 pearance of unreality. The latter, indeed, 
 gave the idea of wealth and comfort. The 
 furniture was after the fashion of the early 
 part of this century. The chairs were 
 covered with costly old brocade ; and a 
 short, square pianoforte — then the highest 
 triumph of the maker's art — stood open 
 against one wall. And as, with the sound of 
 the violin ever near me, I noted these things 
 and waited for what was to come, I knew — 
 although 1 did not attempt it — that I was 
 utterly powerless to turn my eyes from the
 
 26 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 phantom scene before me, even to ascertain 
 whether it could be that Luigi saw the 
 things I saw. 
 
 Another change in the wonder-working 
 music. A long rippling legato passage, 
 sweeping into a tender, passionate, pleading 
 strain — the eloquent notes speaking of joy 
 and fear mingled. As my heart followed and 
 understood the inspiration of the musician, 
 I whispered to myself, * This is love.' As if 
 in answer to my thoughts, the door of the 
 phantom room opened, and two figures entered 
 — a lady and a gentleman. Both wore the 
 dresses of that period to which I have 
 assigned the date of the furniture, and both 
 were young. Like the objects around them, 
 there was nothing in their appearance ghost- 
 like or supernatural. Their limbs looked as 
 firm and round as my own. It was some 
 little time before I could take my eyes from 
 the girl. She was supremely beautiful — tall 
 and fair, with a delicate, refined face ; and 
 the robe she wore plainly showed the ex- 
 quisite proportions of her figure. Her com- 
 panion was handsome, but his features wore 
 an expression of melancholy pride. I noticed
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 27 
 
 he carried under his left arm a violin, and 
 something told me he was a Frenchman. 
 With great courtesy he led the girl to a seat, 
 and, as if in obedience to a request of hers, 
 commenced playing the instrument. Still 
 the same sweet strain fell on my ears ; but 
 a stranger thing than any I had yet noticed 
 was that, as he played, the sound seemed to 
 come from his violin, and Luigi's was dumb. 
 And as he played, the girl looked up at him 
 with admiring eyes. He ceased at last, and 
 Luigi's fiddle immediately resumed the 
 melody, without a moment's break. Then 
 I saw the phantom place the violin and bow 
 in the girl's hands, instructing her how to 
 hold them ; and I knew that, during the 
 lesson, his voice as well as his eyes made 
 avowal of his passionate love. I saw his 
 fingers linger on hers as he placed them on 
 the strings ; I saw the blush deepen upon 
 her cheek, the lashes droop over her down- 
 cast eyes, and then I saw him lean over and 
 press his lips to the fair white hand which 
 held the bow ; whilst the music near me, 
 sinking almost to silence, and tremulous as 
 if a man's future lay on those vibrating
 
 28 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Strings, told me he sought his fate at her 
 lips. He threw himself at her feet, and I 
 saw the girl bend over him, and placing her 
 arms around his neck, kiss his forehead, 
 whilst high and loud rose the song of sweet 
 triumph from those impassioned chords, 
 doubtful of her love no longer. 
 
 Again the strain changed — a song of love 
 no longer : a few notes of warning, melting 
 into a strain that foretold and spoke of 
 sorrow. Again I saw the door of the 
 apartment open, and, with a hasty step, 
 another man entered. He, too, was young 
 and powerfully built, with an intensely 
 Enoflish face. Yet I could trace in his 
 harder features a resemblance, such as a 
 brother might bear, to the girl before me. 
 
 As he entered, the lovers sprang to their 
 feet ; then, covering her face with her hands, 
 the girl sank upon a chair, whilst her com- 
 panion faced the new-comer with an air as 
 haughty as his own, and words of scorning, 
 of contempt, of shaming, of defiance, were 
 hurled from man to man. True, I heard 
 them not — all the phantasmagoria came be- 
 fore me in dumb show : but the varied tones
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 29 
 
 of the violin told me all that passed between 
 the two men as truly as though their voices 
 smote upon my ear ; and, as the wild music 
 culminated in a fierce crescendo of thrilling 
 power, the two men grappled in their rage, 
 and the girl sprang to her feet and ran wildly 
 to the door. 
 
 For a moment all grew misty, and the 
 phantom actors of my vision were hidden 
 from my sight. When they reappeared, I 
 saw the young Frenchman quitting the room, 
 with blood trickling down his pale cheek ; 
 and as, with a look of undying hate on his face, 
 he closed the door behind him, the room and 
 all faded from my sight. 
 
 But no pause in the music ; still those 
 weird notes weaving the mystic spell that 
 chained me. Leaving me no time to reflect 
 on what I had seen, but enforcing my atten- 
 tion to the drama acted before me, the fiery 
 crescendo sank in a dull sullen theme, almost 
 colourless when compared with the foregoing 
 numbers ; then, as with dissolving views, 
 where one scene grows through another that 
 fades, I began to realize that I looked into 
 another room — one very different from the first.
 
 30 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 It was evidently, from the slanting roof 
 and small window, an attic, and its contents 
 spoke of poverty. A bedstead with thread- 
 bare hangings occupied one corner, and in 
 the centre, at a square table littered with 
 sheets of music, sat the young Frenchman. 
 His brow was contracted, and the wound yet 
 fresh on his cheek. He was writing, and 
 through the medium of the music I knew the 
 purport of his epistle as well as if I had 
 looked over his shoulder. It was a chal- 
 lenge — a challenge, which, he stated, his late 
 antagonist dare not decline, as the writer was 
 of even more noble family than the man who 
 had insulted him. 
 
 Having written the letter, he rose and 
 paced the small room, deep in thought. As 
 his steps went backwards and forwards 
 across the limited space — as his thoughts grew 
 black with hate as he remembered the insult 
 he had suffered, or grew bright with love 
 as he pictured the fair girl who had pledged 
 herself to him — so truthfully did the delicate 
 o-radations of the music harmonize with them, 
 that I could feel every emotion stirring his 
 heart, at times almost identifying myself
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 3 1 
 
 With him — making his joy, his sorrow, 
 mine. 
 
 After what seemed to be hours, he took up 
 the violin that lay on the table near him, and 
 commenced playing. As before, I say, 
 whether Lulgfs hands produced It or not, 
 the sound came from him ; and as he played, 
 the music, at first fierce, stern, and harsh, 
 gradually toned down until It became dreamy 
 and lulllnof — until at last he threw himself on 
 his poor bed, and Lulgl's violin resumed the 
 strain — the soft, soothing measure I have 
 before mentioned, telling of placid sleep. 
 
 Another change — hard, sharp, staccato pas- 
 sages. I was now looking — It might be from 
 a window — on a wide expanse of smooth 
 green turf As before, the scene was so real, 
 so material, that I might have stepped out 
 on to the sward. There was nothing in the 
 locality which I could Identify. A wall and 
 some palings, I remember, were on the left 
 hand ; a belt of trees on the right. As I 
 looked, I saw figures at some little distance. 
 
 Two men in their shirt-sleeves were en- 
 gaged in a deadly duel. They were not so 
 far away but I could plainly distinguish their
 
 32 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 features ; and I knew they were those of the 
 two men whom I had seen grapple in the room. 
 As their slender, flashing blades twined In 
 and out like serpents — as they thrust and par- 
 ried, advanced and retreated — the mysterious 
 music entered fully Into the fray, accompany- 
 ing every stroke, until, as the arm of one of 
 the combatants sank by his side, helpless — 
 pierced by his antagonist's blade — it swelled 
 to a strain of exultation. 
 
 It was the Englishman who was wounded; 
 and as the sword dropped from his grasp, his 
 opponent with difficulty checked the impulse 
 urging him to drive his weapon through his 
 unguarded breast ; then, seeing his foe was 
 quite unable to renew the combat, bowed with 
 cold politeness, sheathed his sword, and turned 
 away, leaving the wounded man to the care 
 of his second. As the Frenchman vanished 
 from my sight among the trees at the right 
 hand, the scene grew blurred and faded — only 
 the spell of the music continued ever. 
 
 The dismal measure and the dismal garret 
 once more. As I look at the poverty- 
 stricken room, the music, eloquent as before, 
 in some hidden manner makes me aware that
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 2>3 
 
 months have passed since I last looked at it. 
 The young Frenchman is present. Indeed, 
 J begin now to understand that no scene can 
 come beneath my eyes unless he be an actor 
 in it. It is his life, his love, the violin in its 
 own marvellous tongue relates. I wait with 
 interest now. I have no time to wonder at 
 or speculate upon what I have seen ; no time 
 to endeavour to explain the phantom scenes 
 and actions which the song of the Stradi- 
 varius has brought before me. I feel no fear 
 — curiosity and excitement only. Luigi's 
 presence I have forgotten, so intent am I 
 upon the drama played before me. 
 
 The young man, I notice, is handsome as 
 ever, but paler, thinner, and careworn. What 
 is the music saying now in that strange speech 
 which I interpret so readily ? Poverty and 
 hopelessness, loss of love, and with that loss 
 the wish to rise to fame. 
 
 He is writing ; but the paper before him 
 this time is a score — the score of a work he 
 once thought would hand his name down to 
 future times. Well I know, as I watch him, 
 that music will never be given to the world. 
 I know it is night ; and to kill his bitter 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 thoughts he is sitting down and working 
 without interest at his uncompleted score. 
 As I watch him, grieving at his grief, weird 
 and dreamy and unearthly sounds Luigi's 
 violin — bar after bar of the music monotonous 
 and sad. Then of a sudden it wakes to fresh 
 life with a sort of expression of keen surprise, 
 and the young man raises his head from the 
 work that interests him no more, and the 
 door of his poor dwelling opens. A few bars 
 of that haunting melody, that has caused me 
 to whisper, * This is love,' merge into a strain 
 of plaintive hopelessness, and the fair girl 
 enters. She is closely veiled, and enveloped 
 in a long dark cloak, and as she raises the 
 veil from her face, and looks at him with sad 
 and wistful eyes, the man's heart responds to 
 the impassioned strings and vibrates with 
 love, hopeless though it be. For I know 
 that ere two days are past she will wed 
 another, and the man knows it, and, 
 crushing down his love, curses her in his 
 heart for her faithlessness. He stands for 
 a moment after her entry helpless in 
 his surprise at seeing her, and then, with 
 a ^rand air of calm politeness, handing
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 35 
 
 her to one of the crazy chairs that furnished 
 his poor room, waits, with a cold face, to 
 learn the object of her visit. Then the 
 woman — or the music — pleads in pathetic 
 strains for pardon and forgiveness — pleads 
 the pressure put upon her by friends — pleads 
 her utter helplessness in their hands, — yet 
 tells him, even with the wedding-ring wait- 
 ing to encircle her finger, that he alone, the 
 exiled, poverty-stricken Frenchman, owns 
 the love her heart can give. And as the 
 tears fall from her eyes, the man waves his 
 arm round the squalid room, and showing by 
 that gesture his utter poverty and hopeless- 
 ness, commends, with a bitter sneer, the 
 course she has taken, or been compelled to 
 take, and asks how he could expect the 
 daughter of a noble English family to share 
 such a home and such a lot as his. I see 
 the girl hesitate, falter, and tremble, and as 
 she rises, the man, with a calm air and forced 
 composure, opens the door. Weeping bitterly, 
 she leaves him ; and as he closes the rickety 
 door upon her, a wail of music, more mourn- 
 ful than words can describe, lingers in the 
 air, and brings the tears to my eyes, whilst 
 
 3—2
 
 36 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 the man kneels down and kisses the very 
 boards on which her feet had rested. 
 
 With the mirthless smile upon his face, he 
 sits down thinking, thinking ; and the music, 
 playing ever, gives me his thoughts. As I 
 read them I shudder, knowing how every 
 fresh departure tends ever and only to the 
 same end — what has he to do with life any 
 longer ? — he, the last descendant of a noble 
 French family, his sovereign an exile, his lands 
 and possessions confiscated or squandered, 
 and now he lies starving, or soon to be starv- 
 ing, in a London attic. Even the fame that 
 he once hoped to win as a musician is far off; 
 and, if ever to be won, is it worth struggling 
 for ? The past, to him, is full of agonizing 
 recollections of relatives and friends whose 
 blood has slaked the guillotine's thirst. The 
 present is misery. The future, now that the 
 dream of love he had dared for a while to 
 dream is dispelled, hopeless — what, indeed, 
 has he to do with life any longer ? If he 
 knows not how to live, at least he knows 
 how to die. 
 
 Ever with the same dreary thoughts in his 
 mind, I see him take the bulky score — the
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADWARIUS. 37 
 
 result of months, it may be years, of labour — 
 and deliberately tear sheet after sheet to 
 pieces, until the floor is littered with the 
 fragments. And as his action tells me he 
 renounces hope, love, and fame, I know I am 
 fated to see an awful sight, but am powerless 
 to move my eyes from the scene. For still 
 the melancholy notes sound ; and I know- 
 that until Luigi's hands are at rest, I am 
 fettered by the spell the music weaves. I 
 watch the man, or the phantom, with concen- 
 trated interest. The last page of the score 
 falls in tatters to the ground, and, still seated 
 in the chair which he had placed for the girl, 
 he stretches out his hand, seeking for some- 
 thing amongst the papers on the table. Well 
 I know the object he seeks — a small knife, 
 with an elaborately chased silver handle — a 
 relic, doubtless, of former riches. To-morrow 
 even that would have been sold to provide 
 the bare necessaries of the life he ceases to 
 care for. He opens it, passes his fingers 
 across the keen edge, and removing his coat, 
 turns up his shirt-sleeve to the shoulder, and 
 deliberately severs a large vein or artery 
 in his arm. Oh, that maddening music ! —
 
 ^S BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 encouraging, tempting, even applauding his 
 crime of self-destruction ! I see, and sicken 
 at the sight, the first red rush of blood from 
 his white arm ; and then, drip, drip, drip, 
 follow the large quick-falling drops. So real, 
 so horrible is the vision, that I can even note 
 the crimson pool forming amid the tattered 
 paper covering the floor. Will the fatal 
 music never end ? Minutes are hours as 
 I watch the face grow whiter and whiter, as 
 the man sits bleeding to death. Now, whilst 
 I long to faint and lose the dreadful sight, he 
 rises, and, with tottering steps, walks across 
 the room and takes up the violin. With the 
 life-blood streaming from his left arm, once 
 more, and for the last time, he makes the 
 instrument speak ; and again, I say, the 
 music comes from him, and not from Luigi. 
 As he plays, even whilst I wait for what 
 must follow, I know that such rare music was 
 never heard on earth as the strain to which I 
 listen — fancying the while I can see the eager 
 wings of Death hovering around the player. 
 To what can I compare it ? A poet would 
 term it the death-song of the swan. It is the 
 death-song of a genius — one whom the world
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 39 
 
 never knew — whose own rash act has extin- 
 guished the sacred flame. Strong and wild 
 and wonderful rises the music for a while. 
 Now it sinks lower, lower, and lower. Now 
 it is so soft I can scarcely hear it ; it is 
 ebbing to silence, even as the heart's-blood is 
 ebbing to death. The face grows ghastly ; 
 the head sinks upon the breast ; the eyes 
 flicker like the dying flame of a candle ; the 
 violin drops from the reddened hand, and the 
 man falls sideways from his chair to the 
 ground, even as Luigi's violin completes the 
 bar his fall had broken off in the middle ; and 
 as it sums up the tragedy in one long-sus- 
 tained passage of hopeless grief, I see the 
 bloodless, white face of the man, now dead, 
 or soon to be dead, lying on the ruddy floor ; 
 whilst the left arm, motionless now, rests as 
 it had fallen across the violin, which those 
 nerveless fingers had at last been fain to 
 drop. 
 
 The music stopped — the spell was ended. 
 So powerfully was 1 wrought upon by the last 
 vision I had seen, that the moment my limbs 
 resumed their freedom, I rushed forward and 
 fell fainting on the very spot on which it
 
 40 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 seemed to me the man had died. When I 
 recovered consciousness, I found Luigi bend- 
 ing over me, and sponging my face with cold 
 water. He was pale and agitated, and 
 seemed from physical exhaustion scarcely 
 able to stand. I rose, and with a shudder 
 looked towards that part of the room where 
 the phantasmagoria had appeared. Nothing 
 was there now to move me. The familiar wall- 
 paper, the pictures I had so often scanned, 
 alone met my eye. As I gazed round, Luigi, 
 in a whisper, asked : 
 
 ' You saw it all, then, as I did ?* 
 
 * I saw it all : could it have been a dream ?' 
 He shook his head. * If so, three times 
 
 have I dreamed it, and each time alike in 
 every detail. The first time I said, '' It must 
 be a dream ;" the second time, " It may be 
 fancy." But what can I say now, when 
 another sees it also ?' 
 
 I could give him no answer — I could offer 
 no explanation — only I asked : 
 
 'Why did you not cease playing, and spare 
 me that last sight i^' 
 
 * I could not. It was your impulse to play 
 on that violin, when first you saw it, that led
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 4 1 
 
 me to think its strange power would act on 
 another besides myself, and induced me to go 
 through it all once more. But it will tell its 
 story to no one else.' 
 
 I turned inquiringly, and seeing on the 
 carpet a mass of small splinters of wood, 
 mixed with tangled strings and pegs, knew 
 what he meant. This, then^ was the end of 
 the masterpiece of Stradivarius. 
 
 * And you mean to say you had no power 
 to cease when once you began ? — were com- 
 pelled to play through the whole tragedy ?' 
 
 * I had no power to stop. Some force irre- 
 sistible compelled me. I was but an instru- 
 ment ; and absurd as it seems, I believe that 
 you, with no knowledge of the art, would 
 have played just as I did.' 
 
 * But the music ?' I asked. 'The wonderful 
 music ?' 
 
 * That to me,' replied Luigi, ' is the 
 strangest thing of all. Neither you nor I 
 can recall a single bar of it. Even those two 
 or three melodies which, as we heard them, 
 we thought would haunt us, have vanished.' 
 
 And it was so. Try how I would, I could 
 fashion no tune at all like them.
 
 42 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ' It bears out what I told yon,' said Luigi, 
 in conclusion. ' I was simply an instrument. 
 Indeed, it seemed the whole time not I, but 
 another was playing. But here is an end of 
 it.' 
 
 Then, late as the hour was, we kindled a 
 small fire, and consumed every atom of the 
 violin which held, in some mysterious, inex- 
 plicable way, the story of a man's love and 
 death. 
 
 We parted at last. Luigi left England as 
 arranged, and has not yet revisited it. 
 
 Is there any sequel to my incredible story? 
 None that will throw any light upon it, or 
 enable me- — as, indeed, I have litde hope of 
 doing — to win the reader's belief. Only, 
 some time afterwards, I saw in the house of 
 a man — known by name at least to all who 
 are familiar with the titles of the great ones 
 of the land — the portrait of a lady. It was 
 that of his mother, who had died a few years 
 after her marriage ; and if the painter's skill 
 had not erred, it was also the portrait of the 
 phantom-woman whom I had seen twice that
 
 THE SECRET OF THE STRADIVARIUS. 43 
 
 night in the visions brought before me by the 
 weird music. Every feature was so stamped 
 upon my memory, that I could not be mistaken. 
 And yet I did not trouble to inquire into her 
 private history. Even if I could have learnt 
 it, it could have told me no more than I knew 
 already. The story of her love and its tragic 
 ending — doubtless a sealed page in her life — 
 had been fully revealed to me as I lay in 
 Luigi's room listening to the varying strains 
 of the haunted Stradivarius.
 
 FLEURETTE. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 I HAD spent some years in the colonies, 
 doctoring diggers and the like rough-and- 
 ready folks. The novelty of the strange 
 scenes and free-and-easy life had at last 
 worn off, and I found myself sighing for the 
 respectability of broadcloth and a settled posi- 
 tion in my profession. Aided somewhat by 
 thrift, and more by a fortunate land specula- 
 tion, I had made money enough to supply 
 my wants for a few years to come; so I 
 returned to England, resolved to beat out a 
 practice somewhere. 
 
 Of course, the first person I went to see 
 was John. He was my brother — my only 
 brother — indeed, the one tie I had to 
 England. We were a couple of orphans,
 
 FLEURETTE. 45 
 
 but pretty sturdy ones withal, and well able 
 to wrestle with the world. Fortunately, our 
 father lived until his eldest son was of an 
 age to carry on his snug country practice ; so 
 John still occupied the old red-brick house in 
 the main street of the little town of Dalebury, 
 the same brass plate on the door doing duty 
 for him as for his father before him. 
 
 I found old John — so his closest friends 
 ever called him — little changed : rather 
 graver in mien, perhaps, but with the same 
 honest eyes and kindly smile, winning at 
 once the confidence, and soon the love, of 
 men and women. As we clasped hands and 
 looked in each other's faces, we knew^ that 
 the years which had made men of us had 
 only deepened our boyish love. 
 
 It was pleasant, very pleasant, for a wan- 
 derer like myself to find such a welcome await- 
 ing him. It was good to sit once more in that 
 cosy old room and talk with John late into the 
 night, discussing all that had happened since 
 last we sat there. I had many questions to 
 ask. Dalebury is only a little town. Having 
 been born and bred there, I knew all the in- 
 habitants. I had not been abroad long
 
 46 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 enough to forget old friends, so I plied John 
 with many inquiries as to the fate of one or 
 another. After a while I asked : 
 
 *Who lives now in the old house at the 
 corner — where the Tanners lived once ?' 
 
 ' A widow lady and her daughter, named 
 Dorvaux.' 
 
 ' French, I suppose, from the name ?' 
 
 ' No, I believe not. Her late husband 
 was French ; but so far as I have learned, 
 Mrs. Dorvaux is an Englishwoman.' 
 
 ' New-comers ! They must be quite an 
 acquisition to Dalebury. Are they pleasant 
 people ?' 
 
 * I don't know — at least, I only know the 
 daughter. She is very beautiful,' added 
 John, with something very much like a sigh. 
 
 My quick ears caught the suspicious sound. 
 Could I be on the eve of an interesting dis- 
 covery ? 
 
 ' Very beautiful, is she ? And what may 
 her Christian name be ?' 
 
 ' Fleurette — Fleurette,' replied John, re- 
 peating the soft French name, and lingering 
 upon it as though it were sweet to his lips, 
 like wine.
 
 FLEURETTE. 47 
 
 Then he changed the conversation, and 
 far away we drifted from beautiful maidens 
 and musical names, as I recounted some of 
 my colonial exploits — how I had treated 
 strange accidents, out-of-the-way diseases, 
 ghastly gunshot wounds ; until our talk be- 
 came purely professional, and without cheer- 
 fulness or interest for the laity. 
 
 I spent the next day in looking up old 
 friends and neighbours. I had brought 
 money back with me — not very much, it is 
 true, but rumour had been kind enough to 
 magnify the amount, so every one was glad 
 to see me. Mind, I don't say this cynically ; 
 I only mean that, leaving the nuisance of 
 appeals to the pocket, for old sake's sake, 
 out of the question, all must feel greater 
 pleasure at seeing a rolling-stone come back 
 fairly coated with moss than scraped bare. 
 So all my old friends made much of me, 
 and I wondered why the world in general 
 should be accused of forgetfulness. 
 
 Whilst I was at one house, another visitor 
 entered, and I was introduced to Miss 
 Dorvaux. As I heard her name, the recol- 
 lection of my grave brother's midnight sigh
 
 48 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 made me look at her intently and curiously ; 
 more so, I fear, than politeness allowed. 
 
 Now you must decide for yourself as to 
 whether Fleurette Dorvaux was beautiful. 
 When I say, candidly, that only one person in 
 the world admires her more than I do, that only 
 one person is her more devoted slave than I 
 am, I confess myself a partial witness, whose 
 testimony carries little weight. But to my 
 eyes, that day, Fleurette appeared as follows. 
 About twenty years of age ; scarcely middle 
 height, but with a dainty, rounded figure ; 
 brunette, with dark-brown eyes, long black 
 lashes, making those eyes look darker — such 
 black eyebrows and such black hair ! nose, 
 mouth, and chin as perfect as could be : 
 such a bright, bonny, lively little woman ! 
 Not, I decided at first, the wife for a hard- 
 working, sober doctor like John Penn. 
 
 Stay — Is the girl so bright, so lively, after 
 all ? On her entry she had greeted my 
 friends with a gay laugh and merry words, 
 emphasised with vivacious lltde French 
 gestures, and for a few minutes she was all 
 life and sunshine. She seemed Interested 
 when she heard my name, and with easy
 
 FLEURETTE. 49 
 
 grace began talking to me thoughtfully and 
 sensibly. As she talked, something in her 
 manner told me that life was not all sweet- 
 ness to her. At times her bright brown eyes 
 looked even erave and serious, and the 
 smile, ever on her lips as she spoke, softened 
 to a pensive one. The first impression 
 she made on me, the idea that she was only 
 a brilliant little butterfly thing, left me, and I 
 hastened to atone mentally for the wrong I 
 had done her by saying to myself, ' I am 
 for once mistaken ; the girl has plenty of 
 sense, and, likely enough, will and purpose 
 in that pretty head of hers.' However, 
 grave or gay, wise or foolish, I saw in 
 Fleurette Dorvaux a beautiful girl, and 
 pictured woe for many a youth in Dalebury. 
 
 After John had seen the last of his 
 patients that night, he joined me in the old 
 room, and with a bottle of good wine between 
 us, I said : 
 
 ' I saw your beautiful Miss Dorvaux to- 
 day.' 
 
 John started as he heard her name, but 
 made no reply ; so I determined to learn all 
 that was to be learned. 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 It was a very easy task. Old John had 
 never yet been able to keep a secret from 
 me — it may be he never meant to keep this. 
 Anyway, in a short time I heard the whole 
 history of his love. 
 
 Fleurette and her mother came to Dale- 
 bury some twelve months ago, and John, 
 whose heart had been proof against all local 
 charms, had at once surrendered. There 
 was something in the girl so different from 
 all others. Her beauty, her gracefulness, 
 even her pretty little foreign ways, had taken 
 him by storm ; and, so far as I can judge 
 from the symptoms he described, his case 
 was very soon as desperate as that of a boy 
 of twenty. It may be, the very strength of 
 the constitution which had so long defied 
 love made the fever rage more fiercely. 
 Yet, severe as the attack was, the cure 
 seemed easy enough. He had a comfortable 
 home and a good income to be shared ; so 
 he set to work seriously to win Fleurette's 
 love. All seemed going on as well as could 
 be wished ; the girl appeared happy in his 
 society, and, if she showed him no tangible 
 marks of preference, pleased and flattered by
 
 FLEURETTE. 5 1 
 
 his attentions. Yet at last, when he asked 
 her to be his wife, she refused him — sweetly 
 and sadly, it is true, but nevertheless firmly 
 refused him. 
 
 Now, although I, being four years younger, 
 and, moreover, his brother, choose to laugh 
 at John — call him grave, sober and old — you 
 must understand this is all in jest and by way 
 of good-fellowship, and that John Penn was 
 a man whom any girl should have been 
 proud of winning. He was no hero, or 
 genius, or anything of that sort ; but then 
 most of us move among ordinary men and 
 women, and only know heroes, heroines, and 
 geniuses, as we know princes and dukes — 
 by name. He was a clever, hard-working 
 doctor, with a good provincial practice. 
 Modesty deters me from saying much about 
 his personal appearance, as the world sees 
 a strong likeness between us. I will only 
 say he was tall and well-built, and carried in 
 his face a certain look of power, which right- 
 minded women like to see with men who 
 seek their love. His age was something- 
 over thirty. Our family was good and our 
 name unsullied. What could have induced 
 
 LIBRARY ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Fleurette Dorvaux to reject him ? Beautiful 
 she might be ; but the times are mercenary, 
 and beautiful girls don't win the love of 
 a man like John every day in the week. 
 
 Although John told me all about It in 
 a cynical sort of way — a way which sat upon 
 him as badly as another man's coat might 
 have done, he could not conceal from me 
 how deeply wounded he was — how dis- 
 appointed — or how intense had been his 
 love for the Qflrl. As he finished his recital 
 I grasped his hand, saying, with the assur- 
 ance of one who has seen much life : 
 
 ' Hard work Is the best antidote, and you 
 seem to have plenty of that — you will forget 
 all about it In time, old fellow.' 
 
 * I don't think I shall. I feel like a man 
 who, having been kept In twilight all his 
 life, is shown the sun for an hour, and then 
 again put back into twilight. He will forget 
 the sun no more than I shall forget 
 Fleurette.' 
 
 ^ She seemed to me such a sweet girl,' I 
 said doubtfully. 
 
 ' She is perfect,' said John. * You have 
 seen nothing of her as yet. Wait until you
 
 FLEURETTE. 53 
 
 can fathom the depths of thought and 
 feeling under that bright exterior. Then 
 you will say I was not wrong in loving her 
 as I did — as I do even now.' 
 
 ' Has any one else won her ? Was that 
 the reason she refused you ?' 
 
 ' No one. She loves me, and me only.' 
 
 * What do you mean ?' I asked, greatly 
 surprised. 
 
 ' That evening when she told me firmly 
 and decisively she would never marry me — 
 never could marry me — even whilst I said 
 mad cruel words to her, I saw love in her 
 tearful eyes. And when, forgetting all, I 
 held her and kissed her once, and once only, 
 I felt her lips linger on mine. Then she 
 broke away and fled ; but I know such a 
 woman as Fleurette Dorvaux would not suffer 
 a man's kiss unless she loved him. She 
 wrote me a few lines the next day, telling 
 me it could not be, begging me not even to 
 ask her why. Since then she shuns me, 
 and all is at an end ; so please talk no more 
 about it.' 
 
 Here was a nice complication ! Here was 
 a knot to untie ! John refused by a girl who
 
 54 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 loved him ! I own I was glad to hear him 
 assert his belief In her love, as, somehow, It 
 pained me to think of Fleurette sporting with 
 a man's heart. Although, as I told you, I de- 
 termined at first that she was not the right 
 wife for John, I had soon recanted, and thought 
 now how wonderfully she would light up the 
 old house, and how happy John would be with 
 such a bright little woman to greet him when 
 he returned of an evening weary and fagged. 
 So I resolved to see all I could of Fleur- 
 ette : to study her, and if I found her as good 
 as John said she was, to use my skill in un- 
 tying the knot and smoothing the strands of 
 their lives. I never doubted my ability to 
 arrange the matter. I had always been an 
 able family diplomatist. Had I not, at New 
 Durham, brought Roaring Tom Mayne back 
 to his faithful but deserted wife, and seen 
 them begin life together again with courage 
 and contentment ? Had I not made those two 
 old friends and partners — who for some time 
 had been prowling about with revolvers In 
 their pockets, hoping to get a snap shot at 
 each other — shake hands, and eventually left 
 them worklne a new claim toeether ? Had
 
 FLEURETTE. 55 
 
 I not stopped pretty Polly Smith from run- 
 ning away with that scamp Dick Long, who 
 had two or three wives already, somewhere 
 up country ? In fact, so successful had I 
 been in arranging other people's affairs, that 
 it seemed, to an experienced hand like myself, 
 an easy matter to place John and Fleurette 
 on a proper footing. 
 
 Dalebury is a very little town. Its enemies 
 even call it a village; but, boasting as it does 
 of a mayor and a corporation, it can afford to 
 treat their sneers with contempt. Different 
 people may hold different opinions as to 
 whether life is pleasanter in large cities or 
 small towns ; but at any rate, one advantage 
 offered by a small place like Dalebury is, that 
 everybody knows everything about everyone 
 else. You cannot hide a farthing rushlight 
 under a bushel. So if anybody has anything 
 to keep secret, don't let him pitch his tent in 
 Dalebury. 
 
 With the universal knowledge of one's 
 neighbours' affairs pervading the Dalebury 
 atmosphere, it is not strange that the first 
 person I chose to ask hastened to give me all 
 the information respecting the Dorvaux that
 
 56 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Dalebury had as yet been able to acquire. 
 Mrs. Dorvaux was a widow ; not rich, but, 
 it was supposed, fairly well off: she was a 
 great invalid, and rarely or ever went out. 
 Appearing to dislike society, she received no 
 one, and scarcely anyone knew her. Those 
 with whom she had been brought in contact 
 stated she was a quiet, ladylike woman, who 
 spoke very little. It was not known whence 
 they had come — probably France ; but this 
 was only conjecture, and the absence of cer- 
 tainty on this point rather distressed Dale- 
 bury. They kept only one servant, an old 
 woman, who had been with them many years. 
 Fleurette had made many friends, and, it 
 seemed, few, if any, enemies. She did not 
 go out much, being devoted to her invalid 
 mother ; but everyone was glad of her com- 
 pany when she chose to give it. Altogether, 
 Dalebury had nothing to say against the new- 
 comers — a fact speaking volumes in their 
 favour. 
 
 After this, as we were such near neigh- 
 bours, I used frequently to encounter Fleur- 
 ette, and would often join her and walk with 
 her. Whether she knew that John's secret
 
 FLEURETTE, 57 
 
 was mine I could not say, but she met my 
 friendly advances half-way. The more I saw 
 of her, the more I wondered how I could 
 have thought her so lively and gay. What- 
 ever she might seem to others, there was, to 
 me at least, a vein of thoughtful sadness in 
 the girl's character — at times I fancied it 
 even approached to despondency ; and I felt 
 almost angry with her, knowing that a turn 
 of her finger would bring one of the best 
 fellows in England to her feet. We met old 
 John once or twice as we were walking to- 
 gether. Fleurette cast down her long lashes 
 and simply bowed. 
 
 ' Of course you know my brother well ?' I 
 said. 
 
 ' I have often met him,' answered Fleurette 
 calmly. 
 
 ' And you like him, I hope ?' 
 * I like Dr. Penn very much,' she replied 
 simply. 
 
 ' He is the best fellow and the best brother 
 in the world,' I said ; and then I told Fleur- 
 ette what we had been to each other as boys: 
 how John had been as careful of mc as the 
 mother who was dead mio^ht have been — how
 
 58 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 we loved each other now ; and as I spoke, 
 I saw a blush on her clear brown cheek, and 
 although she said nothing, her eyes when they 
 next met mine were wistful and kind. 
 
 ' I shall soon make it all right,' I thought, 
 as I noted her look, and resolved to argue 
 the matter on the first fitting occasion. 
 
 There is a little river — a tributary to a large 
 one — running through Dalebury. Being too 
 shallow for navigation, it Is not of much use 
 except as a water-supply and for angling. 
 Still, one who knows It can get a boat with a 
 light draught a long way up. One afternoon, 
 thinking a little exercise would do me good, 
 I procured such a boat, and started to row 
 up as far as I could, and drift leisurely back 
 with the current. For some distance on one 
 side of the stream are rich fertile meadows ; 
 and the path along the bank, through these 
 meadows, is a favourite walk with the Dale- 
 bury folk. 
 
 As I paddled my boat up the stream, 
 guiding Its course by the old landmarks — 
 which came fresh to my memory as though I 
 were a boy yet — and starding the water-rats, 
 descendants of those amongst whom John
 
 FLEURETTE. 59 
 
 and I made such havoc years ago, I saw in 
 front of me on the river-bank the dainty Httle 
 figure of Fleurette. As I looked at her over 
 my shoulder, I could see she was walking 
 slowly, with her head bent down, as one in 
 thought. * Thinking of John and her own 
 folly, perhaps,' I said. So preoccupied was 
 she, that the sound of my oars did not attract 
 her attention until I was close to her. Then, 
 seeing who it was, she waited whilst I rowed 
 to the bank on which she stood. 
 
 * Good-afternoon, Miss Dorvaux,' I said ; 
 ' if you will step into my boat, I will row you 
 as far as the shallows will let me, and then 
 back home.' 
 
 Fleurette hesitated. 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Penn ; I think I prefer 
 strollinof alono^ the river-bank.' 
 
 o o 
 
 ' In that case I shall tie my boat to this 
 willow-stump, and, with your permission, walk 
 with you. But you had far better come with 
 me : the boat is quite safe, and I have not 
 forgotten my cunning.' 
 
 * I am not afraid of that,' said the girl, 
 stepping lightly into the stern of the boat ; 
 whilst I thought, ' Here is the chance to
 
 6o BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 reason and expostulate,' and in my conceit 
 felt certain that my arguments would let me 
 bring Fleurette back ready to accept her fate. 
 Well, pride goeth before a fall ! 
 
 Yet for a while I said nothing to my com- 
 panion. I did not even look at her. Poor 
 little Fleurette ! I saw, as soon as we met, 
 that tears were on those dark lashes. The 
 smile on her lip belied them, but the tears 
 were there, nevertheless. So I waited for 
 them to disappear before I talked to her, 
 although I half suspected my words might 
 bring others to replace the vanishing drops. 
 
 Presently Fleurette cried, in a voice of 
 pleasure : 
 
 ' There are some water-lilies ! Can we get 
 them ?' 
 
 With some trouble I got the boat near 
 them, and Fleurette gathered three or four. 
 As she sat opening the white cups and spread- 
 ing out the starry blooms, I said : 
 
 ' Why are you always so sad. Miss Dor- 
 vaux ?' 
 
 * Am I sad ? Very few people in Dale- 
 bury give me credit for that, I fancy.' 
 
 * My eyes look deeper down than the
 
 FLEURETTE. 6 1 
 
 Dalebury eyes. To me you are always sad. 
 Why is It ? You have youth, beauty, and, if 
 you wished it, could have love. Why is it ?' 
 
 Fleurette turned her eyes to mine. 
 
 ' Do you think these pale lilies have any 
 hidden troubles, Mr. Penn ?' 
 
 * None, I should say. They toil not, 
 neither do they spin, you know.' 
 
 ' The people who toil and spin are not the 
 only ones who are unhappy in the world,' 
 said Fleurette softly. 
 
 * Nor are the water-lilies the only flowers 
 that shut up their hearts, and only open them 
 after great persuasion.' 
 
 She placed one of the white stars in her 
 dark hair, and said : 
 
 ' We are getting quite poetical this after- 
 noon. Was that a kingfisher flew by ?' 
 
 Of course, It was no more a kingfisher than 
 It was an ostrich ; and as Fleurette was now 
 my prisoner In mid-stream, I was not going 
 to let her escape or evade my questions for 
 any bird that flew. 
 
 I steadied the boat with an occasional dip 
 of the oars, and looking her full in the face, 
 asked :
 
 62 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 * Fleurette, why do you treat John so 
 strangely ?' 
 
 Her eyes dropped. 
 
 ' I scarcely understand you,' she said. 
 
 * You understand fully. Why did you 
 refuse to marry him ?' 
 
 'I might plead a woman's privilege. If 
 we cannot choose, we can at least decline to 
 be the choice of any particular man.' 
 
 ' You might plead it if you did not love 
 him ; but you will not plead it, Fleurette. It 
 is because I know you love him that I ask you 
 for an answer to my question.* 
 
 Her fingers toyed nervously with her lilies, 
 but she said nothing. 
 
 'If I thought you did not care for him 
 — if you can tell me so — my question is 
 answered, and I am satisfied. Answer me, 
 Fleurette.' 
 
 She raised her head, and I saw her brave 
 brown eyes shining through her tears. 
 
 ' The proudest day in my life was when 
 John Penn asked me to be his wife — the 
 happiest day would be the day I married 
 him, and that will be — never.' 
 
 * Never, Fleurette ?'
 
 FLEURETTE. 63 
 
 ' Never — never — never ! Unless ' 
 
 Here the girl gave a sort of shudder, and 
 covered her eyes with her hands. 
 
 ' Tell me what obstacle there can be,' I 
 said gently. 
 
 ' I cannot. I will not. If I could not tell 
 John, why should I tell you ?' 
 
 * Your mother is a great invalid, is she not ?' 
 I asked, after a pause. 
 
 * Yes,' replied Fleurette. 
 
 ^ Is it possible you fear that John would 
 wish you to leave her ? Is that the reason, 
 Fleurette ?' 
 
 ' I will tell you nothing,' she said firmly. 
 ' Put me ashore, please.' 
 
 * Very well. Miss Fleurette,' I said, resting 
 on my oars. ' Then I give you fair warning, 
 I shall never cease until I find out every- 
 thing.' 
 
 The girl's face flushed with anger. 
 
 ' What right have you,' she cried, ' to 
 attempt to pry into my private life ? I hate 
 you ! Put me ashore at once.' 
 
 Fleurette not only had a will, but a temper 
 of her own. 
 
 ' I will not,' I said, ' until you give me
 
 64 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 some message I can take to John — some 
 word that will let him live on hope, at least.' 
 
 * Will you put me ashore ?' said Fleurette, 
 stamping her foot. 
 
 My only answer was a stroke of the oars, 
 which sent the boat some yards further up 
 the stream. 
 
 ' Then I shall go myself/ said Fleurette ; 
 and before I could comprehend her meaning, 
 she simply slipped overboard, and in a couple 
 of seconds was standing on the river-bank, 
 with the water dripping from her petticoats. 
 She darted across the meadow without even 
 looking back, and left me feeling supremely 
 ridiculous. The river was scarcely knee- 
 deep at this point, so she ran no risk of 
 drowning, and only suffered the inconvenience 
 of wet shoes and skirts ; but I could not 
 divest myself of the idea that had there been 
 six feet of water there, the beautiful little vixen 
 would have gone overboard just the same. 
 I had been completely outwitted by a girl of 
 twenty — but then no one could have imagined 
 that a young lady of the present day, attired 
 in an elegant walking-dress, would jump out 
 of a boat to avoid his society, however angry
 
 FLEURETTE. 65 
 
 she might be. Yet I felt very foolish as I 
 drifted back to Dalebury, and doubted 
 much if I had done John's cause any 
 good. 
 
 ' After all,' I said, * perhaps my boasted 
 tact and diplomacy only pass muster in the 
 free-and-easy community of New Durham, 
 and I shall be a failure in England. I 
 had better take the first steamer and go back 
 again.' 
 
 I met Fleurette in the road the next morn- 
 ing. Her face wore a demure smile. 
 
 ' You treated me shamefully,' I said. 
 
 ' I should be the one to complain, I think. 
 The idea of attempting to keep me against 
 my will ! My boots were spoiled ; I was 
 made most uncomfortable, and had to explain 
 my draggled appearance as best I could.' 
 
 ' But fancy my horror when you stepped 
 out of the boat, and picture what a fool I 
 have felt ever since ! Nevertheless, I for- 
 give you,' I said magnanimously. 
 
 ' And I forgive you,' said Fleurette, with 
 deep meaning in her voice. 
 
 So we shook hands, and renewed our 
 compact of friendship. 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 ' BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 1 had now been at Dalebury nearly a 
 month, and purposed, whilst I had time to 
 spare, to make a little trip to the Continent. 
 I intended to stay there two months, then 
 return and begin work. A few days before I 
 left Dalebury, I heard that some one was 111 
 at the house at the corner ; and, with the re- 
 membrance of Fleurette's wet shoes and stock- 
 ings before me, I was very uneasy. However, 
 we soon ascertained that Mrs. Dorvaux was 
 the sufferer, and that Dr. Bush, from the 
 other end of the town, had been called in. 
 I knew this was very annoying to John, as 
 Dr. Bush and he were not the best of 
 friends. In his professional capacity John 
 would, I believe, have attended Fleurette her- 
 self without show of emotion ; so why not 
 Fleurette's mother ? Nothing, of course, 
 could be said, as we live in a free country, 
 and people may employ what doctor they 
 choose. 
 
 Evidently Mrs. Dorvaux's illness was not 
 of long duration, for I soon saw Fleurette 
 about again. She looked pale and worn, 
 probably from watching and nursing her 
 mother. My holiday at Dalebury had now
 
 FLEURETTE. (i'] 
 
 run down to its last dregs, so when we met 
 it was to say good-bye. 
 
 ' Can it never be, Fleurette ?' I whispered, 
 as our hands clasped before parting. 
 
 ' Never,' she replied — * never. Good-bye 
 — good-bye.' 
 
 Poor old John ! poor little Fleurette ! 
 What mystery was it that stayed the happi- 
 ness of these two ? 
 
 I returned home from my travels, tired of 
 idleness. Having heard of an opening that 
 promised well, I ran down to Dalebury to 
 consult my brother. John and I were very 
 bad correspondents, so I had no news of the 
 little town since I sojourned there. As I 
 passed the house at the corner I saw it was 
 void, 
 
 * They have left,' said John, as I eagerly 
 asked the reason. 
 
 ' Left ! Where have they gone to ?' 
 ' No one knows,' said John sadly. 
 ' Shortly after you went abroad, common 
 rumour said they were thinking of quitting ; 
 and last month they did go.' 
 
 * Did she leave no word — no message for 
 you .f*' 
 
 5—2
 
 68 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 * Only this,' replied John, opening a drawer 
 in front of him, in which he kept a variety of 
 cheerful-looking instruments. ' I found this 
 one morning on the seat of my carriage. I 
 suppose she threw it In.' 
 
 A single flower, the stem passed through 
 a piece of paper with the word ' Adieu ' 
 pencilled on it. 
 
 Sorry as I was to hear the news, I could 
 scarcely help smiling as John replaced the 
 flower in the drawer. It seemed almost 
 bathos, that little rose, tossed into a doctor's 
 carriage, and now lying amongst old lancets, 
 forceps, and other surgical instruments. 
 
 The weeks, the months, even the years, 
 passed by, and we heard nothing of Fleur- 
 ette. The flower, doubtless still lying In the 
 drawer, was all that was left of old John's 
 little romance. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 Three years soon went by. I was still in 
 England. I had purchased a share In a 
 London practice, and although I found much
 
 FLEURETTE. 69 
 
 drudgery in my work, it was a paying 
 practice, and one which would eventually be 
 entirely mine, as my partner, who was grow- 
 ing old and rich, talked of retiring. 
 
 Once or twice in every year I had been 
 down to Dalebury. All was the same there. 
 John was still unmarried ; and if he said 
 nothing about her, I knew he had not for- 
 gotten the dainty little girl who had rejected 
 his love. Yet not a word had Fleurette sent 
 him. She might be dead or married, for all 
 we knew. I used often to wonder whether 
 I should ever meet her again — whether I 
 should ever learn her secret trouble : for I felt 
 that Fleurette's sadness was not so much 
 from having to give up the hope of being 
 John's wife, as from the cause that compelled 
 her to take that step. I could only hope, and 
 say a word now and then to encourage John 
 to hope also. 
 
 One day, whilst snatching a hasty lunch, I 
 was informed that I was wanted at once. I 
 found a respectable servant waiting for me. 
 
 ' Please to come to my mistress at once, 
 sir,' she said. ' She is taken very ill, all of a 
 sudden.'
 
 70 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 * Where does she live ?' I asked. The 
 servant named a street within a short dis- 
 tance, and in a few minutes I was at the 
 house. 
 
 It was in that description of street which 
 we term respectable — dull, quiet, and re- 
 spectable — small houses on each side, letting 
 at low rents ; rents, most likely, decreasing 
 as an old tenant left and a new tenant came 
 in : the sort of place where the falling gentle- 
 man and the rising clerk or workman meet 
 in their downward and upward course. On 
 our way I asked the servant what had 
 happened to her mistress. 
 
 * I found her sitting in her chair, sir, look- 
 ing so wild and talking such gibberish, that I 
 came for you as fast as I could.' 
 
 She led the way to a sitting-room. 'Mis- 
 tress was in there when I left ; will you please 
 go in, sir ?' 
 
 I went in, but no mistress was visible. I 
 saw, with a quick glance, that the room 
 was prettily furnished — many little feminine 
 knick-knacks lying about. Hanging to an 
 easel near the window were two dead birds, 
 a goldfinch, and a bullfinch, and on the
 
 FLEURETTE. 7 1 
 
 easel stood a China plate, painted with a 
 faithful representation of the models. 
 
 ' Decayed gentlefolks,' I said to myself, as 
 the servant's voice, calling me from above, 
 put an end to all further speculations. There 
 was evident alarm in the girl's accents ; so I 
 hastened upstairs, and just inside the door 
 of a bedroom saw a woman lying on the 
 floor, either dead or insensible. 
 
 With the servant's assistance I lifted her 
 up and placed her on the bed ; then pro- 
 ceeded to ascertain what was the matter. It 
 needed, alas ! very little professional skill to 
 determine the primary cause of her illness. 
 
 I had before me one of those sad cases, 
 unfortunately becoming more and more 
 common, of drunkenness in one whose 
 education and station in life should have 
 raised her far above such a vice. There was 
 no doubt about it. Even if the odour of the 
 woman's breath had not told me the truth, I 
 had seen too many drunken women in my time 
 to be deceived. I could do little to relieve 
 her, then ; and after assuring the frightened 
 servant that her mistress was in no danger, I 
 placed her comfortably on the bed, and gave
 
 72 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 the girl instructions to loosen her clothes. 
 As she did so, I looked with pity and some 
 curiosity on the unhappy woman. 
 
 She was a lady, evidently — so far as the 
 common sense of the word reaches — deli- 
 cately nurtured and well dressed. Her 
 features were pleasing, regular, and refined, 
 yet, in spite of all this, she lay here a victim 
 to the same vice that urges the brutal collier 
 to pound his wife to death, and causes the 
 starving charwoman to overlie her wretched 
 baby. 
 
 I did not like to expose her weakness to 
 her own servant, so promised to send round 
 some medicine, and to look in again in the 
 evening. 
 
 As I stood with the door half open, and 
 turned to give the servant some last instruc- 
 tions, a girl passed by me hastily, not even 
 seeming aware of my presence. Before I 
 had time to speak, or even to look at her, 
 she had thrown herself on her knees beside 
 the bed, and was weeping bitterly over the 
 unfortunate woman. Her face as she knelt 
 was hidden from me, but I could see her 
 hair was black, and something in the turn
 
 FLEURETTE. J2) 
 
 of her graceful figure struck me as being 
 familiar. 
 
 * Oh, my poor mamma ! my poor mamma !' 
 she sobbed out. ' What shall I do ? — again, 
 again ! Oh, poor mamma !' 
 
 I drew near and said, ' You need not be 
 alarmed at your mother's illness ; she will 
 soon recover.' 
 
 The girl rose on hearing my voice. She 
 turned round quickly and looked at me. Lo 
 and behold, she was our long-lost Fleurette ! 
 
 Fleurette — and, as I could see, even through 
 her sorrow, as beautiful as ever ! I advanced 
 with outstretched hands ; but the girl drew 
 herself up and waved me aside with the dig- 
 nity of a diminutive empress. 
 
 ' And so, as you threatened, you have in- 
 truded upon my privacy. Go — I will never 
 speak to you again.' 
 
 * Miss Dorvaux,' I answered, almost as 
 angry as herself, 'your servant will tell you 
 how I happen to be here, and you will see it 
 is from no wish to intrude. I am going now, 
 but shall return to see my patient this even- 
 ing, when I hope, for the sake of old days, you 
 will eive me a few minutes' conversation.'
 
 74 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Then, as Fleurette returned weeping to her 
 mother, I departed, revolving many things in 
 my mind, as the writers say. 
 
 I had found Fleurette at last. Actually 
 living within a stone's-throw of my door ! 
 Perhaps she had lived there ever since she 
 left Dalebury. Now having found her, 
 what was I to do with her ? I guessed that 
 I had also fathomed her mystery. You see, 
 it was only a commonplace, vulgar little mys- 
 tery after all — a mother's drunkenness the 
 sum-total of it. Yet, when I thought of the 
 girl giving up her love and bright prospects 
 for the sake of keeping her erring mother's 
 vice a secret : most likely never complaining 
 of the sacrifice : wearing to the outer world a 
 bright face that hid from nearly everyone 
 the sorrow of her heart, it seemed to me that 
 our little Fleurette was something very near 
 a heroine, after all. 
 
 My first idea was to telegraph to John and 
 tell him where to find her ; but upon consider- 
 ation I thought it better to wait until after 
 our interview in the evening. 
 
 I found Fleurette alone. She was very 
 pale, very sad, very subdued — very different,
 
 FLEURETTE. 75 
 
 indeed, from the angry young woman who 
 had walked into the river three years a^o, or 
 the unjust tyrant who had ordered me from 
 her presence that afternoon. My first inquiry 
 was after her mother. Poor Fleurette coloured 
 as she told me that lady was now almost con- 
 valescent, and she did not think I need trouble 
 to see her again. Then she held out her 
 hand, and as I took it said : 
 
 ' Please forgive me for my unjust words 
 to-day ; but I was so vexed, I scarcely knew 
 what I said.' 
 
 * We are always forgiving each other, 
 Fleurette. Brothers unto seventy times seven 
 — why not sisters also?' 
 
 Fleurette smiled sadly and hopelessly. 
 ' Tell me, Fleurette,' I said, gently, as I 
 sat down beside her, ' was this the cause ?' 
 She nodded her pretty head. 
 
 * Tell me all about it. How lonor has it 
 been going on ? I can be as secret as you.' 
 
 And then Fleurette told me. I will not 
 give her words. They were too loving, too 
 lenient, and ever framing affectionate excuses. 
 It was a piteous litde tale, even as she told 
 it — a tale of hope growing stronger every day,
 
 76 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 till in one hour it was crushed, as a flower is 
 crushed under foot. Then came penitence, 
 contrition, shame, and the ever recurring 
 vows of amendment. And with them hope 
 sprang afresh and bloomed for a while — only 
 to be cut down as ruthlessly as before. And 
 so on for years, ever the same weary round, 
 and although she told me not, ever the same 
 loving care, the same jealous resolve to shield 
 her mother's sins from the vulgar gaze. It 
 was a hard burden for a girl to bear. For 
 this she gave up the hope of being John's 
 wife. She would not leave her mother to 
 perish, and would not injure John, as she 
 shrewdly feared might be the case if she sub- 
 jected him to the scandal of having a mother- 
 in-law of Mrs. Dorvaux's disposition living 
 with him. Knowing as I know the delicate 
 susceptibilities of patients in a place like 
 Dalebury, in my heart I thought that Fleur- 
 ette was right. 
 
 ' And why did you leave Dalebury ?' I 
 asked, when she had finished her recital. 
 
 'Mamma was — ill — there; so ill, I was 
 obliged to send for a doctor — and I feared 
 people might learn the cause.'
 
 FLEURETTE. ']^ 
 
 So that was why Dr. Bush had been called 
 in instead of John. 
 
 * Then we came to London/ she continued. 
 * London is so large, I thought we might hide 
 ourselves here.' 
 
 * How often do these — these attacks show 
 themselves ?' I asked. 
 
 * Sometimes not for months ; sometimes 
 twice a month. Oh, do you think she can 
 ever be cured ? She has been so good, so 
 good for such a long time! If I had not 
 gone out to-day, this might never have hap- 
 pened. Our poor old servant died some 
 months ago, and I could not trust the new 
 one, or she might have prevented it. Do you 
 think she can be cured ?' 
 
 I shook my head. I knew too well that 
 when a woman of Mrs. Dorvaux's age has 
 these periodical irresistible cravings after sti- 
 mulants, the case is wellnigh hopeless. Mis- 
 sionaries, clergymen, and philanthropists tell 
 us pleasing and comforting tales of marvellous 
 reformations, but medical men know the sad 
 truth. 
 
 I was so indignant at the sacrifice of a 
 young girl's life, that had I spoken my true
 
 78 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 thoughts, I should have said, * Leave the 
 brandy-bottle always full, always near at 
 
 hand, so that ' Well, I won't be too 
 
 hard on Fleurette's mother. She must have 
 had some good In her, for the girl to have 
 loved her so. 
 
 We had, as yet, said nothing about John. 
 That was to come. 
 
 ' Fleurette, I shall write to John to-night. 
 What shall I tell him ?' 
 
 Her black eyelashes were now only visible 
 
 ' What can you tell him ? You promised 
 to guard my secret.' 
 
 ' I shall, at least, tell him I have found 
 you, and then he must take his own course.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't let him come here,' pleaded the 
 girl. ' I could not bear to see him ; and per- 
 haps,' she added, with a faltering voice, ' he 
 doesn't care to hear anything about me now.' 
 
 Ah, Fleurette, Fleurette ! after all, on some 
 points you are only a weak woman. 
 
 The next day I begged leave of absence 
 from my partner and patients, and ran down 
 to Dalebury to tell John the news. 
 
 Yet I had little enough to tell him. I was 
 in honour bound to guard the girl's secret ;
 
 FLEURETTE. 79 
 
 SO all I could say was, I had found her again, 
 that she was as bewitching as ever, and, I 
 believed, loved him still. I could add that 
 now I knew the reason why she could not 
 come to him, and I was compelled to own it 
 was a weighty one — an obstacle which I could 
 give no hope would be removed for many years. 
 He must be content with that ; it was all the 
 news, all the hope, I had to give him. 
 
 ' Very well,' said John, with a sigh, ' I must 
 wait. All things come to the man who waits ; 
 so perhaps Fleurette will come to me at last.' 
 
 Now that I had found Fleurette, you may 
 be sure I was not going to lose sight of her 
 again. I was very grieved to learn that her 
 mother's circumstances were not so good as 
 of old. Some rascal who possessed the 
 widow's confidence had decamped with a 
 large sum of money. Our Fleurette eked 
 out their now scanty income by painting on 
 china, and very cleverly the girl copied the 
 birds and flowers on the white plates. She 
 never complained, but to me It was more 
 than vexatious to think that there was a good 
 home waiting for her If her mother's faults 
 would allow her to accept It. Now and again
 
 8o BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 I would give John tidings of her. He never 
 sought her, being far too proud to come to 
 her until she sent for him ; and as in the 
 course of the next twelve months the un- 
 happy Mrs. Dorvaux experienced three or 
 four relapses, I could see little chance of 
 John ever getting the message for which he 
 waited. I begged Fleurette to persuade her 
 mother to enter a home for inebriates, but 
 the girl would not even broach the subject to 
 her ; so here was youth drifting away from 
 John and Fleurette — kept apart for the sake 
 of a wretched woman, and I was powerless 
 
 to mend matters. 
 
 "^ "^ -^ "^ "^ 
 
 But did John and Fleurette ever marry } 
 You see, this Is not a romance, only a little 
 tale of real life, and, as such, the only way 
 out of the deadlock was a sad and prosaic 
 one — a way for which poor Fleurette could 
 not even wish. Reformation, I say, as a 
 medical man, was out of the question. 
 
 I hope Fleurette will not read these pages, 
 in which I am compelled to express .my true 
 feelings by saying that, a short time after a 
 year had expired, Mrs. Dorvaux was obliging
 
 FLEURETTE. 8 1 
 
 enough to die. I say ' obliging ' advisedly, 
 for sad though it be to think so, her death 
 made three people happy ; indeed, as her life 
 was so miserable to her, it may be I should 
 have said four. Fleurette mourned her sin- 
 cerely : all her faults were buried in her 
 grave, and left to be forgotten. Two months 
 after her death I wrote to John, bade him 
 come to town, and, without even warning 
 Fleurette, sent him to see her. Then he 
 found that all things do indeed come to the 
 man who can wait — even the love that seemed 
 so hopeless and far away. 
 
 I don't think John ever knew, or, unless he 
 reads it here, ever will know, the true reason 
 why Fleurette refused him and shunned him 
 for so long. He knows, from what I told 
 him, that it was a noble, self-sacrificing, and 
 womanly motive led her to reject his love, 
 and is content with knowing this. He feels 
 the subject must be ever painful to his bright 
 little wife, and has never caused her pretty 
 eyes to grow dim by asking for an explana- 
 tion. There is no sadness now with 
 Fleurette. She lights up that old red-brick 
 house ; she is the life of Dalebury, and, 
 
 VOL. I 6
 
 82 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 moreover, the one woman against whom 
 Dalebury says little or nothing. 
 
 The last time I was down there I rowed 
 Fleurette a long way up the shallow stream. 
 Not only Fleurette, but a couple of children 
 as well — dark-eyed, bonny boys, who chatter 
 in French and English indiscriminately. As 
 we passed the spot where the aquatic esca- 
 pade took place, I turned with a smile to my 
 sister ; but before I could speak, she said 
 beseechingly : 
 
 * Don't, please — don't. Old memories are 
 always sad. The present is happy, the future 
 promises fair — let us forget.' 
 
 And as she spoke for a moment I saw the 
 sad eyes of the Fleurette of old days. Old 
 memories are sorrowful — let them die !
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 
 
 A STORY. 
 
 I MADE Robert Headley's acquaintance in the 
 auction-room. I am an idle man, and, having 
 plenty of time, and occasionally a few pounds 
 to spare, have gradually contracted a love for 
 bric-a-brac, the pursuit of which enables me 
 to kill a good many weary hours, and to hoard 
 up, in the shape of old china, etc., money which 
 otherwise would be frittered away on equally 
 useless but less valuable objects. 
 
 Headley and I were among the most 
 regular attendants at Christie's, Sotheby's, 
 and other auction-rooms, and, as during the 
 season of the sales we met somewhere almost 
 daily, our mutual tastes soon led to an ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Headley was a tall, gentlemanly man of 
 
 6—2
 
 84 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 about thirty-eight, and evidently had studied 
 the ceramic art deeply. He put me right on 
 several little matters, and once or twice saved 
 me from buying spurious productions. As 
 the true collector loves nothing better than to 
 show his pet objects to another who under- 
 stands and appreciates their beauties, it was 
 not long before Headley asked me to pay 
 him a visit for that purpose. 
 
 * Come early,' he said ; ' then we shall 
 have time to go through the cabinets by 
 daylight. Afterwards I will give you some 
 dinner.' 
 
 Headley's house was in a quiet square in a 
 good, if not the most fashionable, part of 
 London. I found my host delighted to see 
 me, and panting to show his treasures. He 
 was a genuine member of that species known 
 as * the enthusiastic collector,' whose passion 
 for accumulating rarities amounts almost to a 
 mania ; and I am bound to say that his col- 
 lection was one to be proud of. I should tire 
 the reader, ignorant of those delicate distinc- 
 tive subtleties dear to a collector's heart, were 
 I to expatiate upon the beauties of his old 
 Dresden, Sevres, Wedgwood and Bentley,
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 85 
 
 rose-backed Nankin, blue-and-white hawthorn 
 pattern, etc. I admired greatly, and envied 
 more. 
 
 The collections were arranged with great 
 taste In suitable cabinets ; and among the 
 many choice specimens, I think the one that 
 struck me most was a magnificent old Chelsea 
 tea-set. It occupied the centre of one of the 
 cabinets, with articles of lesser value ranged 
 around It, as though paying homage to Its 
 superior worth. Leaving out of the question 
 the beautiful blue and white decoration, the 
 reticulated gilding and the artistic painting, 
 the set was the more valuable from the fact 
 that It was perfect. 
 
 Headley seemed pleased at the admiration 
 I expressed, and said, with a smile : 
 
 * You, a collector, may not be surprised at 
 hearing that I nearly bartered my happiness 
 to make that set perfect.' 
 
 I laughed, thinking he was joking, and 
 replied : 
 
 ' I don't think I would go quite so far as 
 that ; but I am sure my happiness would be 
 greater If I owned It.' 
 
 * So would any man's be. Look at the
 
 86 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 painting, the gilding, the shape, the colour ! 
 Feel the texture of it,' he added, taking the 
 teapot from its velvet-lined nest, and fondly 
 caressing it with his long white fingers ; ' you 
 or I could tell in the dark it was Chelsea by 
 the softness of the paste.' 
 
 ' Where did you get it from ?' 
 
 ' I had the teapot, sugar-basin, four cups 
 and saucers first. They belonged to my 
 mother, and, as I told you, I was nearly 
 paying too dearly for the rest of it. But I 
 will tell you all about it after dinner, if you 
 care to hear the story.' 
 
 The summer afternoon passed very plea- 
 santly among the old china, and at seven 
 o'clock we were summoned to the dinner-table. 
 
 I was presented to Mrs. Headley, a charm- 
 ing young woman of about twenty-eight. 
 She gave me a cordial welcome, and the 
 little dinner went merrily enough. We were 
 served on old Oriental plates ; the spoons 
 and salt-cellars were of the coveted Queen 
 Anne period, and the glass was rare old 
 Venetian. Headley certainly had refined and 
 expensive tastes, and, it seemed, plenty of 
 means wherewith to gratify them.
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 8/ 
 
 When Mrs. Headley rose she begged us, 
 pleasantly, not to linger too long over the 
 wine, as she was all alone. 
 
 ' Your husband has promised me the his- 
 tory of the Chelsea set,' I said ; ' but, under 
 the circumstances, I shall ask him to be as 
 brief as possible.' 
 
 ' If he does tell you, Mr. Burke,' she said, 
 laughing, ' I shall never, never forgive him, 
 and it would be impossible for me to look you 
 in the face again.' 
 
 ' My dear,' said Headley, ' our friend 
 Burke is a collector himself, and can sym- 
 pathize with my weakness. I should never 
 think of relating it, unless it were to a 
 kindred spirit who will fully enter into 
 my feelings.' 
 
 After closing the door upon my fair hostess, 
 I refilled my beautifully tinted glass with 
 Lafitte, and waited, with some curiosity, for 
 the promised recital. 
 
 Headley commenced : 
 
 ' Of course, it is all a joke now, and I can 
 well afford to laugh at it, but when the affair 
 of which I am going to tell you happened, it 
 was serious enough. The portion of the
 
 88 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Chelsea set I owned at first belonged to my 
 mother ; she inherited it from her father, and 
 there its history is lost. When I was first 
 seized with the passion for collecting, it 
 naturally formed the nucleus of my cabinet. 
 Everyone admired it, and envied me the 
 possession of it. One day — it was after I 
 had formed a decent collection and was 
 getting well known as a buyer— Wharton, 
 the dealer, called upon me to show me a few 
 things he had picked up in the country. I 
 drew his attention to my Chelsea ; he 
 examined it closely, and said : " Very strange ; 
 I saw the rest of that service a few days 
 ago." I asked him where, and he told me it 
 belonged to a lady living at Shepherd's Bush. 
 Was it for sale ? Certainly not, or he would 
 not have told me about it until he had secured 
 it. He had offered to give her a large sum 
 for it, but nothing would induce her to part 
 with it. It was, like mine, a family relic, 
 and as the owner was in no want of money, 
 there did not seem to be any chance of per- 
 suading her to surrender it. Her name, he 
 informed me, was Miss Crofton ; her residence, 
 142, College Road, Shepherd's Bush.
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 89 
 
 * Now, Burke, you will, I know, sympa- 
 thize with me when I say that, having dis- 
 covered that the rest of the exquisite set 
 was in existence, I felt that Hfe was simply 
 intolerable without It, and that at any sacri- 
 fice it must be mine. On this point my mind 
 was at once made up. 
 
 * The first thing was to see the china, and 
 satisfy myself that Wharton had made no 
 mistake ; so the next day I called upon Miss 
 Crofton. I found her a pleasant, polite lady 
 of about fifty, who presented the appearance 
 of a spinster whose circumstances were very 
 comfortable. It has always seemed to me 
 that anything to do with china makes the 
 whole world kin, and when I explained the 
 object of my call. Miss Crofton, refusing to 
 listen to any apology, at once led me to the 
 cabinet which held the treasure. My in- 
 formant had told the simple truth. I had 
 the teapot, four cups and saucers, and the 
 sugar-basin ; whilst Miss Crofton was the 
 fortunate owner of the cream-jug, eight cups 
 and saucers, and the two dishes. And as, 
 with dazzled eyes, I gazed on her portion of 
 that exquisite service, I felt as if a sacred
 
 90 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 duty had devolved upon me to reunite the 
 long-separated ceramic family ; and I knew 
 I should find little happiness until all the 
 beautifijl members of it reposed safely in 
 my possession. 
 
 * Miss Crofton and I soon became good 
 friends, especially when upon comparing 
 notes and tracing back the pedigree of the 
 Chelsea, we decided that at some time my 
 mother's and her father's families must have 
 been closely allied. When we had estab- 
 lished this fact to our satisfaction, I ventured 
 to hint, as delicately as I could, my wish to 
 possess the china ; then, as she took no 
 notice of my hints, I was at last compelled 
 to ask her, point blank, if she would sell it 
 to me, fixing any price in reason she chose 
 to. I found, as Wharton predicted, that 
 the good lady was obdurate, and there I sat 
 for an hour, with the coveted articles almost 
 within grasp, yet as far off as the gates of 
 heaven. 
 
 ' I did not, of course, despair entirely. " I 
 must manoeuvre," 1 thought. " I will have 
 it in time, by fair means or foul. I will 
 make myself very agreeable to her ; I will
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 9 1 
 
 show her attentions. Some day I may be 
 able to render her a service, and her heart 
 may open with gratitude, and I shall compass 
 my desire." To-day I could do no more, so 
 I bade my new-found relative, as I cunningly 
 called her, an affectionate good-bye, asking 
 permission to call on her again. 
 
 ' ** I shall be glad to see you at any time, 
 Mr. Headley," she said; *' but we shall 
 never have any china dealings together, so 
 you are fairly warned." 
 
 ' I went home feeling very mournful, and 
 for the rest of that day the eight cups and 
 saucers, the cream-jug, and the two dishes 
 were dancing about before my eyes. I sat 
 down for an hour or more with my own 
 portion before me. How meagre it looked 
 now ! I took the pieces out and re-arranged 
 the cabinet, leaving blank spaces for those I 
 coveted. I pictured the lovely appearance 
 the set would present, when the whole of it 
 was in my hands. 
 
 * I went to rest quite sorrowful, and the 
 cabinet, which only the morning before 
 seemed so well filled, was now empty, or nearly 
 empty, in my eyes. It is a small thing to say
 
 92 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 that I believe I dreamt of Miss Crofton and 
 her china the whole night. My honesty van- 
 ished as my eyes closed. I stole that china 
 at least a dozen times. I secreted it in the 
 most extraordinary places. I buried it for 
 safety and to avoid detection, but the eight 
 cups seemed endowed with life, and as fast 
 as I covered them up with earth, would pop 
 up in unexpected places. I committed other 
 crimes for the sake of that china. I de- 
 liberately murdered the unfortunate spinster, 
 and packed the articles which had urged me 
 to crime most carefully in a bag. Then the 
 hue and cry was raised, and I knew that men 
 were pursuing me, but I dare not venture to 
 run, lest I should break those fragile things 
 for which I had endangered my soul. It 
 seemed to me infinitely preferable to swing 
 on the gallows than to find one of those 
 exquisite cups in atoms. Even when the 
 morning came, and I found that the events 
 of the night were only dreams, my state was 
 not very much happier. I could not bear to 
 look at my cabinet. Something was wanting 
 there, and until that void which my desire 
 had created was properly filled, I felt that I
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 93 
 
 could find no pleasure in my former pur-' 
 suits. 
 
 ' You, although a collector, may think I 
 am joking, but I assure you I am not. I 
 hungered, I craved for that china, and felt 
 that, were it denied me, my dreams might 
 some day almost come true. 
 
 ' After the interval of a few days, I thought 
 I might venture to call upon Miss Crofton 
 once more. She received me kindly, told 
 me she was flattered by my paying her 
 another visit so soon, and allowed me to 
 handle the china again. I must have been 
 dull company too, for although I replied 
 mechanically to her chit-chat, my eyes were 
 ever turning to those eight cups and saucers, 
 cream-jug and two dishes. Miss Crofton 
 could see the bent of my thoughts, for she 
 said : 
 
 * " It's no use, Mr. Headley. I will not 
 sell them, and I love them too much to give 
 away." 
 
 * As she spoke a thought struck me. I 
 would take her to see the tea-pot, sugar- 
 basin, and the other cups and saucers, 
 mourning as it were for their long lost
 
 94 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 brethren. So I concealed my vexation, and 
 making an effort to smile, said : 
 
 * '' I am only admiring, Miss Crofton. 
 But I should be so pleased if you w.ould 
 honour me by calling and looking at my 
 little collection. If so, I will send the 
 carriage for you to-morrow." 
 
 * She accepted my invitation, and the next 
 day came to my house. I took care to have 
 a choice little repast prepared, of such things 
 as middle-aged spinsters love, and after we 
 had discussed it I led her to the room which 
 held my treasures. All the cabinets save 
 one were open to her view, but that one I 
 had covered with a dark cloth. After she 
 had seen the contents of the others, I led 
 her before this one, and in a theatrical 
 manner, with a beating heart, lifted the veil 
 and revealed my tea-pot, sugar-basin, cups 
 and saucers, looking beautiful, but sorrowful, 
 with the vacant spaces around them. I said 
 nothing, thinking this mute appeal to her 
 better feelings would do more than any words 
 of mine. She saw the plot at a glance, and 
 laughed long and loud, saying, as her merri- 
 ment subsided :
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 95 
 
 * " So, Mr. Headley, this is the meaning 
 of your hospitality ; you expect me to pay 
 for my dinner with the china ?" 
 
 ' I protested it was only a little hint to 
 show her how very anxious I was to possess 
 the remainder of the set, and then I told her, 
 seriously, how necessary it was to my happi- 
 ness and peace of mind to see those void 
 spaces filled. 
 
 ' No appeal of mine would soften her, and 
 the eight cups and saucers, the cream-jug, 
 and the two dishes, seemed as far away as 
 ever. At last she said decisively : 
 
 ' '^ As you are so bent upon it, I will 
 bequeath the china to you." 
 
 ' '' And I may have to wait twenty years 
 for it," I said sulkily, forgetting, in my morti- 
 fication, not only politeness, but the affection 
 I had expressed for my new-found relative. 
 
 **'A good deal longer, I hope," she re- 
 plied. '* But as you are so anxious, why not 
 pack up what you have and let me take it 
 back with me ? You can see it all in my 
 cabinet whenever you like ; and I dare say 
 its being there will give me the pleasure of 
 your company more often.'
 
 96 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ' But this plan did not suit me at all ; and 
 finding that my device had failed utterly, I 
 was obliged to conduct my visitor to her 
 home in a frame of mind not the sweetest. 
 
 ' A week went by ; but, try how I would, 
 I could not get that cursed china out of my 
 head, or resign myself to the disappointment. 
 I found myself growing worse instead of 
 better, and, as I fancied my health was 
 beginning to suffer, I determined to run 
 down to Brighton in the hope of distraction. 
 The weather was fine ; I met several pleasant 
 friends there, and, moreover, picked up one 
 or two Wedgwood medallions, the soft soapy 
 feel of which, so aptly compared by Mr. 
 Gladstone to the touch of baby's fiesh, was 
 eminently soothing and comforting ; and after 
 a day or two I began to think that in time I 
 might conquer the absurd craving for what 
 could not be mine. But even as I was con- 
 gratulating myself on the partial recovery 
 of my senses, I dreamed a dream so horrible, 
 that I fell back into my former unhealthy 
 state of mind. I dreamed that Miss Crofton's 
 maid — a red-cheeked, rough-fingered lass — 
 had broken two of the cups. I saw her do
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 97 
 
 it ; and suffered agonies from the sight ; also, 
 to make matters worse, I dreamed that she 
 put the precious fragments (which might 
 have been cemented) in her dustpan, with 
 the intention of throwing them away. I 
 really think the greatest feeling of pleasure 
 I had known for many days was to awake 
 and find it was only a dream. 
 
 ' I hurried back to town the same day. I 
 could endure the uncertainty, the anxiety, no 
 longer, and felt that to obtain my desire, 
 any sacrifice I could make must be made ; 
 so — don't laugh too much — I resolved, 
 upon my return, to ask Miss Crofton 
 to become Mrs. Headley ; and then upon the 
 day of our marriage the severed set would 
 be reunited. True, she must be somewhere 
 about fifty, whilst I was just thirty ; but 
 from what I had seen of her, I believed she 
 was a very worthy woman ; and, anyway, the 
 china would be mine. 
 
 * You will scarcely credit it, but I carried 
 out my resolution. Two days later I was at 
 the fair spinster's side, beseeching her to be 
 my wife. I could not bring myself to profess 
 a sudden passion for her ; but I told her I 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 9^ BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 was tired of living alone, and asked her to 
 share my lot. I said I was well-to-do in the 
 world, and promised to try and make her 
 future life a happy one ; and as, whilst 
 speaking, my eyes rested on the eight cups 
 and saucers, the cream-jug, and the two 
 dishes, no doubt I pleaded with a show 
 of fervour which must have considerably 
 puzzled the good lady. Like a sensible 
 woman, she expressed the greatest astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 * '* Let me understand you clearly," she 
 said. '* Do you mean to say you are in 
 love with me ?" 
 
 ' *' I will make you a good husband," I 
 replied, thinking as I spoke how beautifully 
 modelled the handle of the cream-jug was ; 
 '' and I am sure you will never regret ac- 
 cepting my offer." 
 
 ' "■ But do you really love me ?" she per- 
 sisted^ ^' an old woman as I am ?" 
 
 ' " Seventeen hundred and sixty," I said 
 mentally, ** that must be about the date it was 
 made ;" and then I answered, looking at the 
 eight cups and saucers, and thinking of the 
 vacant spaces at home : '* I esteem and
 
 A CABINET SECRET. 99 
 
 respect you highly, dear Miss Crofton, and I 
 am sure you will make a solitary home 
 cheerful." 
 
 * " Suppose," said Miss Crofton acutely, *' I 
 were to take the poker and demolish that 
 china, would you still repeat these flattering 
 assurances of affection?" 
 
 * **Oh, please don't!" I cried, starting up as 
 the horrors of my dream came back to me. 
 
 ' '' Mr. Headley," she said gravely, " you 
 will pardon me saying so, but sometimes I am 
 afraid you are not quite right in the head. Is 
 there any insanity in your family ?" 
 
 ' '* None at all," I replied. 
 
 * " Neither your father, nor mother, neither 
 any aunt nor uncle, shown any tendency that 
 w^ay f 
 
 ' ''Not the slightest." 
 
 * "Very well ; you had better go home now, 
 and think quietly over what you have said to 
 me. If, to-morrow, you wish to repeat your 
 words, you will find me at home all the after- 
 noon." 
 
 * I left her, and as I stepped out congratu- 
 lated myself that she had not accepted me at 
 once. 
 
 7—2
 
 lOO BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 '^'What a fool I am!" I said. ''I shall 
 always esteem that woman for not taking 
 advantage of me. I will write and beg her 
 pardon for my silly conduct, and trust she will 
 still continue my friend." And yet, in spite of 
 these praiseworthy resolutions, the sight of 
 the vacant spaces sent all my good sense to 
 the winds ; and, to shorten the tale, I went 
 deliberately the next afternoon to Shepherd's 
 Bush, renewed my offer, and left the house 
 formally betrothed to Miss Lesbia Crofton. 
 She, at least, behaved in a very sensible 
 manner. 
 
 ' " You say you wish to marry me," she 
 said, ** and I am getting on in years now, so 
 cannot, in justice to myself, refuse such an 
 offer. I have inquired about you, and every- 
 one who knows you speaks in your favour. 
 Still, you may regret your choice, so you 
 shall have plenty of time for consideration. 
 We will not be married for six months, at 
 least." 
 
 ' Although, after taking the first plunge, I 
 should have been glad to go to the depths of 
 my folly without delay, I felt the wisdom of 
 her words, and acquiesced in this arrange-
 
 A CABINET SECRET. lOI 
 
 merit. Of course, with the new understand- 
 ing between us, I saw both her and the china 
 nearly every day ; and as Miss Crofton was 
 an extremely nice woman, I may say I grew 
 quite to love her — as a mother — and, had 
 fate not interposed, should doubtless have 
 married her at the expiration of the time she 
 named, and very probably should have been 
 happy enough, after a fashion. One thing 
 was very much to my Lesbia's credit : she 
 indulged in no raptures, nor did she expect 
 any from me. When we met, or parted, I 
 imprinted a kiss upon her forehead, and that 
 was all. She even interdicted the use of 
 Christian-names between us, and stipulated 
 that our engagement should be spoken of 
 to no one. Another thing I found strange, 
 was that she was continually harping, in a 
 good-tempered sort of way, upon the dis- 
 parity of our ages, instead of endeavouring 
 to make the difference as little as possible. 
 In fact, she seemed to treat me more as a son 
 than as a future husband. 
 
 * Feelings of delicacy prevented me from 
 asking her to allow me to remove the Chelsea 
 to my house before I had paid the price due
 
 I02 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 for it, and I quite blushed with shame when 
 one day she handed me the key of the cabinet, 
 and with a meaning smile begged I w^ould 
 take charge of it to ensure the safety of the 
 articles I so highly prized. 
 
 ' The course of our affection ran very 
 smoothly for about a month. I had quite 
 recovered my health, and I may say was 
 placidly happy. If, at times, whilst sitting 
 with my elderly bride-elect, and hearing her, 
 it may be, complain of some ailment which 
 she candidly attributed to advancing years, I 
 did feel a twinge of regret, I had but to turn 
 to the eight cups and saucers, the cream-jug, 
 and the two dishes, and it vanished. 
 
 * But fate and Miss Crofton had other 
 views for me, although I little suspected it. 
 
 ' According to custom, one afternoon I paid 
 my usual visit to my future spouse, and was 
 surprised as I entered the house to hear 
 the sound of a piano. I know something of 
 music, so at once became aware that the 
 instrument was played with great skill, and 
 much I wondered who the performer might 
 be. I had not as yet discovered that my 
 Lesbia possessed musical talent. The maid
 
 A CABINET SECRET. IO3 
 
 Opened the door of the drawing-room, the 
 music ceased, and I walked in, and found 
 myself face to face with one of the loveliest 
 girls I had ever met. 
 
 * Perhaps the surprise, the contrast, when I 
 saw her instead of the middle-aged lady I ex- 
 pected to greet, made this stranger look even 
 more charming. I could realize only at first 
 a bright young face, with masses of light hair 
 around it, turned to see who entered, and a 
 well- moulded figure, showing to great advan- 
 tage as she sat before the piano. Her dress 
 was of simple black, but well and becomingly 
 made, and as she rose when I entered, I 
 could see she was over middle height. 
 
 ' Women always behave with less awkward- 
 ness than men in chance meetings ; so whilst 
 I stood still and stammered out some words 
 of apology, she advanced with perfect ease 
 and said : 
 
 ' *' Mr. Headley, I am sure! My aunt told 
 me to expect you. She has gone out for a 
 short time, but hoped you would wait until 
 her return." 
 
 * I was only too pleased to accept the 
 invitation so frankly given, and recovering
 
 I04 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 my self-possession, in a few minutes was in 
 full swing of chat with my Lesbia's niece. 
 
 * I found her an unaffected girl, full of 
 spirits, and looking forward to the pleasures 
 of a stay in town. 
 
 ' " I suppose you will stay some time ?" I 
 asked. " Your presence will quite brighten 
 Miss Crofton's house." 
 
 ' " I shall stay as long as ever my aunt will 
 keep me," she replied. " Isn't she a dear old 
 soul, Mr. Headley ?" 
 
 ' I winced, and began to realize that my 
 situation was a painful one. 
 
 * " She is so antiquated," she continued, 
 ''and yet so romantic in many things." 
 
 ' I felt more foolish than ever, and for the 
 sake of saying something remarked : 
 
 ' " I wonder she did not tell me you were 
 coming. I suppose she meant to surprise 
 me. 
 
 * " I suppose so. But I assure you she has 
 talked to me a great deal about you, Mr. 
 Headley. You appear to be great friends. 
 Quite a flirtation, I tell her." 
 
 ' I coloured up to my ears, but managed to 
 say :
 
 A CABINET SECRET. IO5 
 
 ' '^ Then I conclude her report of me has 
 been favourable." 
 
 * " I shan't betray her confidence, Mr. 
 Headley ; and, anyway, It would have no 
 weight with me, as I prefer to form my own 
 opinions." 
 
 *As I felt we were getting on delicate 
 ground, I begged her to resume the music 
 which my coming had cut short. 
 
 ' She played a piece of Chopin's with great 
 feeling and brilliancy, and then, at my re- 
 quest, sang a couple of ballads. Her voice 
 was sweet and well trained — altogether she 
 was a very charming niece-to-be. 
 
 ' *' Do you play or sing ?" she asked. 
 
 ' '' Neither, unfortunately. I am but an 
 Indifferent critic, who understands music only 
 enough to praise when pleased." 
 
 ' ** Ah, I forgot ; you are a great china 
 collector." 
 
 * And as she spoke, it struck me that this 
 was the first time I had ever been inside this 
 room, and neglected to look and assure my- 
 self of the safety and well-being of the cups, 
 saucers, cream-jug, and dishes. 
 
 * And as the thought of the china brought
 
 I06 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Other thoughts in its train, I felt that I would 
 give a great deal to know whether Miss 
 Crofton had told her niece everything. Fer- 
 vently I hoped that she had not done so, as 
 I knew intuitively I should cut a sorry figure 
 in a young girl's eyes. 
 
 ' During my meditation Lesbia returned, 
 and instead of appearing jealous and annoyed 
 at the capital understanding between the fair 
 niece and future uncle, smiled and said : 
 
 ' ''Shall I introduce you young people, or 
 have you dispensed with that ceremony ?" 
 
 * "Your niece has the advantage of me in 
 knowing my name," I replied. 
 
 ' " Mr. Robert Headley, let me present 
 you to Miss Ethel Crofton, my favourite 
 niece," said Lesbia, with the politeness of the 
 old school. 
 
 ' " After that unnecessary ceremony I shall 
 go and dress for dinner," said Miss Ethel 
 Crofton. 
 
 ' I closed the door after her, and turned to 
 greet her aunt with the accustomed salute. 
 Perhaps from the same reason that the china 
 had lost its charm to-day, I found that semi- 
 maternal affection was scarcely satisfying
 
 A CABINET SECRET. IO7 
 
 enough, and could not help thinking my 
 future bride looked very aged. 
 
 ' *' Robert," she said — it was, I believe, the 
 first time she had used my Christian-name — 
 '* I should much prefer that Ethel should hear 
 nothing of our engagement at present. She 
 is young and giddy, and might not look upon 
 it in the right light." 
 
 ' I promised secrecy with a joy I could 
 scarcely conceal. At any rate, Ethel knew 
 nothing about it as yet. 
 
 * I dined that evening with the ladies. 
 Miss Crofton did the honours in a dress of 
 such antiquated design and material that 
 Ethel openly rallied her upon it. She herself 
 was beautiful in pale-blue silk, and I was so 
 struck by her fair, young bright face, her 
 pleasant natural manner, that before the 
 evening was half spent I had fully realized 
 what an ass I had made of myself. 
 
 ' My visits to Shepherd's Bush, for the 
 next few days, were as frequent as the most 
 exacting fiancde could have expected ; but I 
 am afraid that had my Lesbia been of a 
 jealous or suspicious nature she would not 
 have derived the pleasure from them which
 
 I08 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 she appeared to feel. I no longer sat In the 
 chair commanding the best view of the 
 cabinet that enshrined the treasures for 
 which I contemplated sacrificing myself and 
 my affections. I was ever by Ethel's side ; 
 at the piano, turning the leaves of her music ; 
 reading my favourite poems to her ; holding 
 her crewels, or winding wool for her. Con- 
 sidering the tender relations between Miss 
 Crofton and myself, I must own that my 
 behaviour towards her unsuspecting niece was 
 disgraceful. Indeed, had Lesbia thought fit 
 to pour a storm of reproach upon me, and 
 order me to quit her presence, she would 
 have been fully justified. However, she did 
 nothing of the kind, but sat In her favourite 
 corner, knitting, and apparently paying no 
 attention to the flirtation, or something more 
 serious, which was proceeding under her very 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Soon matters reached a climax. I could 
 no longer deceive myself I was hopelessly 
 in love with Ethel Crofton, and I felt bound 
 in honour to inform her aunt, and to throw 
 myself on the fair spinster's mercy before I 
 made the avowal of my love to Ethel.
 
 A CABINET SECRET. IO9 
 
 * I found Lesbia alone one day, so I took 
 the little key from my waistcoat pocket and 
 handed it to her. 
 
 ' '' And what is this for, Robert ?" she 
 
 asked gravely. 
 
 ' In a shamefaced manner I said : 
 
 ' '' I can't marry you — I love Ethel." 
 
 ' '' Oh, Robert— Robert !" said Miss Crof- 
 
 ton, putting her handkerchief to her eyes ; 
 
 " what can I say to you ? Only a month ago 
 
 I was indispensable to your future happiness ; 
 
 and yet you forsake me for the first young 
 
 face you see ;" and she appeared to sob 
 
 bitterly. 
 
 ' " It was the china," I expostulated. 
 
 ' ** I see ; and now you think you can have 
 
 Ethel and the china too, and prefer a young 
 
 bride and old china to an old bride and old 
 
 china. Faithless man !" 
 
 * I lost my temper utterly, and I am sorry 
 to say my politeness followed it. 
 
 ' ** Damn the china!" I cried; ''give me 
 Ethel, and she can smash it all if she likes. 
 I don't care." 
 
 * Women, I believe, under such circum- 
 stances as these, like to hear a man swear.
 
 no BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 It shows he is in earnest. Anyway, my 
 deposed bride leant back in her chair, and 
 laughed so heartily that I knew matters 
 would be soon arranged to my satisfaction. 
 In great delight I caught her in my arms, and 
 for once gave her a kiss of real affection. 
 
 ' '^ Did you think I was going to let you 
 marry me for the sake of a few cups and 
 saucers ?" she cried. '' I am not such a 
 stupid old woman as that. But in truth, 
 Robert, I have grown very fond of you, so if 
 Ethel will have you, take her. But only on 
 conditions." 
 
 * " Name them, dear Miss Crofton !" I 
 exclaimed; "anything — everything you 
 wish." 
 
 * *' You must prove the earnestness of your 
 love for my darling girl, and your recovery 
 from your temporary insanity, by sending me 
 your Chelsea as a present. I shall then give 
 the whole set to the South Kensington or 
 Jermyn Street Museum." 
 
 ' I mustn't tell you all about our love- 
 making, or Mrs. Headley would never forgive 
 me ; but Ethel and I arranged matters very 
 quickly, and upon my return home that even-
 
 A CABINET SECRET. I I I 
 
 ing, I opened my cabinet, and almost without 
 a pang packed my four cups and saucers, tea- 
 pot, and sugar-basin, In cotton wool, and the 
 next morning forwarded them to Miss Crof- 
 ton. You have seen Ethel, arid I dare say 
 you think I did not make a bad exchange.' 
 Here Headley paused ; perhaps he was not 
 sure what a collector would say to his 
 conduct. 
 
 ' I should think not,' I said. ' But how 
 comes the set to be In your cabinet now ?' 
 
 ' The old lady kept me In great suspense 
 all the time Ethel and I were engaged, and 
 although I hid my feelings, I soon began to 
 think that It would be very nice to have 
 Ethel and the china, but I dared not hint 
 such a thing to Miss Crofton, who, moreover, 
 teased me dreadfully by praising in Ethel's 
 presence my generosity in making her so 
 beautiful a present. 
 
 * Whilst on our honeymoon, I thought no 
 more of it — in fact, gave it up for lost ; and 
 you may guess my joy when we returned to 
 town, at seeing In my room a strange cabinet 
 with the set as you saw it to-day. So I got a 
 good wife and completed the service as well'
 
 112 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Just then the door opened, and Mrs. 
 Headley said, with assumed petulance : 
 
 ' Are you gentlemen ever coming ? Aunt 
 Lesbia is upstairs, Robert, and wishes to see 
 you before her carriage fetches her.' 
 
 ' Let us go up, Burke,' said Headley, as 
 we finished the last of the claret ; * and if 
 you want any more particulars of my Chelsea 
 mania. Miss Crofton will give them to you.'
 
 THE BANDSMAN'S STORY. 
 
 At twenty I believed I was sent into the 
 world to become a second Beethoven — at 
 twenty-five I was playing the flugel-horn in 
 a German band, and thought myself lucky in 
 getting that appointment. 
 
 It seems a great drop — a fall from the 
 stars to the mire ; but as my own particular 
 fortunes or misfortunes have little bearing 
 upon the events which I am going to relate, 
 I need not dwell upon them at any length. 
 Left an orphan at an early age, bred up in a 
 small village under the care of an old aunt, 
 what wonder that the astonishment caused in 
 the little world around, by the musical talent 
 of which I gave early evidence, quite turned 
 my head ? The boy who could play upon all 
 and every instrument by ear alone, and, 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 moreover, play melodies which he really 
 thought at the time were original, was looked 
 upon by the simple people about as a heaven- 
 born genius, and naturally felt averse to 
 earning a prosaic living by commerce. So 
 exalted was he, in fact, that having acquired 
 a smattering of harmony, and, through the 
 kindness of some old friends, a hundred 
 pounds to give him a start, he felt little fear 
 of failure when he resolved to wring fortune, 
 if not fame, from Music, heavenly maid. 
 
 How soon a man finds his level in London! 
 How soon I found mine ! and found, more- 
 over, that within the boundaries of the 
 United Kingdom there must be at least five 
 thousand young fellows each with talents 
 equal to, if not greater than, mine. 
 
 Having learnt my lesson, hard as it was, 
 thoroughly, the next thing was to find out 
 how to live. My money was at last spent, 
 and I think my dreams of success fled en- 
 tirely as I changed the last sovereign ; and 
 then, almost cap in hand, I was fain to wait 
 upon those great publishers whom in my 
 dreams I had patronised, and beg for work, 
 however humble. So then I became a helot,
 
 THE BANDSMAN'S STORY. 115 
 
 a drawer of water and carrier of wood to the 
 divine mistress, Art. I copied scores, I 
 tuned pianos when I could get that task in- 
 trusted to me ; I gave elementary lessons 
 when I could find pupils. It was dreary- 
 work, but somehow for the next few years I 
 managed to live ; and then, tired of the 
 ceaseless and unremunerative drudgery, I 
 sank all pride and donned the gay blue-and- 
 white uniform of the Upper Rhine Band, 
 engaged to perform from May to October 
 at the rising watering-place, Shinglemouth. 
 
 It was a hard life, but I believe not an 
 unhealthy one, if a man could boast a good 
 constitution, sound limbs and strong lungs. 
 Being on one's feet the whole day was the 
 most fatiguing part of it. It was unpleasant, 
 also, playing in half a gale of wind, or with 
 cold drizzling rain falling ; but worse than all 
 to me were the burning days in July and 
 August, when the sun glared down upon us 
 — vicious, it seemed to me, at finding his 
 dazzling rays reflected from our bright brass 
 instruments. Then I confess I looked with 
 envy upon the holiday folks for whom we 
 made sweet music, as they sat placidly under 
 
 8—2
 
 Il6 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 the shade of the trees or their own umbrellas ; 
 and I longed to tear off my close-fitting tunic 
 and revel in the green sea at my feet. Yet, 
 in spite of all these drawbacks, after my se- 
 dentary life in London, I was contented and 
 comfortable enough. 
 
 The Upper Rhine Band was not one of 
 those harrowing little atrocities which go 
 about with five or six ignorant performers, 
 braying on battered brass instruments — re 
 leasing one of their number every ten 
 minutes to go on a begging expedition. We 
 were a properly organized and fairly musical 
 company, engaged and paid by a committee of 
 the townspeople to enhance the natural at- 
 tractions of Shinglemouth. Far too dignified 
 were we to pass the hat round. If our 
 listeners chose to give, there was a box 
 placed conveniently for that purpose ; but as 
 all such vicarious contributions went to the 
 committee's fund, it mattered nothing to us. 
 
 Probably the inner life of a German band 
 would be without general interest, so I will 
 only say that our quarters were in a dingy 
 little street at the back of the fine row of 
 new buildings on the Esplanade. We lodged
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. llj 
 
 in twos and threes at various small houses. 
 We met together at a certain hour in the 
 morning to commence our rounds, and at 
 nine o'clock at night our duties were over, 
 our instruments put into their cases, and 
 each man his own master — free to smoke, 
 drink, or go to bed, as he pleased. 
 
 Although the name we gave ourselves — 
 ' The Upper Rhine Band ' — was intended to 
 stamp our origin as being Teutonic, there 
 were several in the company who, like my- 
 self, only spoke English ; but as these were 
 quite as good musicians as their German 
 comrades, the fraud was a very little one. 
 My tale concerns no more than two men, so 
 I need only mention the names of these — 
 Caspar Hoffman, a German, and Stephen 
 Slade, an Englishman. The former played 
 the clarionet — an instrument which, in the 
 constitution of a German band, takes the 
 place of the first violin in an orchestra. The 
 latter played that enormous mass of metal 
 called a serpent. 
 
 Hoffman was a tall, light-haired man : his 
 age was about thirty. His face was hand- 
 some, and bore an expression of great amia-
 
 Il8 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 bllity. His manner invited friendship at 
 once ; and my strange new life seemed easier 
 and pleasanter to me when this frank young 
 German chose to discover a kindred spirit in 
 mine, and insisted upon our lodging and 
 chumming together. It took me very little 
 time to find out that he was a man of educa- 
 tion and reading, and that his acquirements 
 were far more than might have been expected 
 from one in his position. He had lived In 
 England a long time, and spoke our language 
 easily, and he told me he was almost as well 
 acquainted with French. It seemed strange 
 to me that so well-educated, I might almost 
 say so accomplished a man, should fill so 
 lowly a post In the world. Indeed, I began 
 to weave a little romance about him, fancying 
 he must be an exiled nobleman or political 
 offender. When I knew him well enough to 
 venture to express my wonder, and ask for 
 an explanation, he laughed a bitter laugh, 
 saying : 
 
 * There is nothing to explain, my friend. 
 My little history is the history of thousands 
 of my countrymen. The eldest son of a 
 small farmer ; given an education that
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. II9 
 
 Straitened the means of my people ; sent out 
 as certain to find employment and fortune 
 for myself and all belonging to me in your 
 great London. 
 
 * Ach ! what find I there ? Tens of 
 thousands of young Germans like myself, all 
 striving to get into merchants' of^ces and 
 make the promised fortunes. Everywhere I 
 offered myself — not even a pound a-week 
 could I get. Then I began to starve, and 
 the consul offered to send me back. How 
 could I return ? Then I found I could make 
 a living by that gift natural to most of my 
 countrymen. And now I play the clarionet 
 till Fortune finds me something better 
 to do.' 
 
 Any way, if not a prince in disguise, my 
 light-haired German was a fine fellow : a true 
 friend to me when I most wanted a friend, 
 and a great favourite with all. Even the 
 surly toll-taker at the pier gates was civil to 
 him. The nursery-maids, heedless of their 
 charges, looked upon him with that open- 
 mouthed admiration usually reserved for the 
 military ; and, although with trembling I say 
 it, I have seen ladies whose rank in life
 
 I20 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 should have forbidden such condescension, 
 glance with approval at his fine face and 
 manly figure. Yet when I said above that 
 he was a favourite with all, I should have 
 made an exception — Stephen Slade, the 
 Englishman. 
 
 I knew little of this man, and that little 
 was not pleasing enough to make me wish 
 for a closer acquaintance. I may say, in 
 passing, that I am not a bandsman now. 
 Fortune at last gave the wheel a half-turn, 
 which placed me at least above such struggles 
 for a living. At the time of which I write, 
 I had little enough to be proud of; but, 
 fallen as I was in the world, there were a few 
 men in the band with whom I could scarcely 
 bring myself to associate on intimate terms. 
 This man Slade was one of them. 
 
 The son of the poorest parents, his pre- 
 sent position was to him as much a rise in 
 the world as it was a fall to Hoffman and 
 myself. Yet he appeared to be a sullen, 
 discontented man. Those who knew him 
 better than I did said he was clever and 
 crafty, but could be pleasant enough com- 
 pany when he chose. I never tried to ascer-
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 121 
 
 tain the truth of the latter assertion, although 
 I fully believed the former. I disliked the 
 man, his appearance, and his ways. He was 
 broad-shouldered and powerful, although 
 clumsily and coarsely made. That our dis- 
 like was mutual, I knew : indeed, we had 
 quarrelled about some trivial matter the first 
 day we met ; and ever since, I had studiously 
 avoided him. I felt that the man was of a 
 vindictive nature, and would do me an evil 
 turn if he found the opportunity ; but unless 
 I was foolish enough to be provoked to a 
 personal encounter, in which his great strength 
 would be of service to him, I could scarcely 
 see how he could harm me. 
 
 It often pleased him to throw out sneering 
 remarks about gentlemen and their ways — 
 intended, of course, for the benefit of Hoff- 
 man and myself. Caspar would parry these 
 attacks with jesting good-humour and ready 
 wit, oftentimes raising a hearty laugh from 
 his listeners at the expense of Stephen Slade. 
 Yet I knew that even if these merry sar- 
 casms struck well home, it was for another 
 cause that Slade hated my friend — that 
 cause which has ever been answerable
 
 122 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 for SO much bad blood between man and 
 man. 
 
 One night, when Caspar and I were sitting 
 in our poor little room, talking together, and 
 finishing our pipes before going to bed, Slade's 
 name was mentioned. 
 
 * How that wretch hates you !' I said. 
 
 * So ! hates me ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; I can see him glaring sideways at 
 you, even w^hilst blowing his heart out over 
 his awful instrument.' 
 
 ' Ah, he Is not a pleasant man. Yet I 
 thought it was you he honoured with his dis- 
 like, not me.' 
 
 * He dislikes me, and would no doubt injure 
 me if he could ; but you he hates. I see it 
 In his look.' 
 
 ' And for what cause ?' 
 
 ' Need we go very far to seek the cause ? 
 Certainly not a quarter of a mile.' 
 
 Casper laughed, but made no reply. 
 
 The cause of Slade's animosity lay very 
 near at hand. Where the corner of our 
 dingy little street went round towards the 
 Esplanade was a second or third rate inn ; 
 not an establishment that for a moment
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. I 23 
 
 dared to enter into competition with the 
 great hotels on the Esplanade, but which 
 nevertheless did a fair and lucrative business 
 with the rank and file of excursionists to 
 Shinglemouth. This inn we had to pass 
 and repass morning, noon, and evening, 
 going to and coming from the pier. After 
 our work was over, many of us, when able 
 to afford it, were glad to pause and drink a 
 glass of beer or spirits. The inn was kept 
 by a widow named Deane — a woman re- 
 ported well-to-do in the world, owning, as 
 she did, the house, and doing good business 
 there. Now Mrs. Deane had one daughter, 
 an only child, and reputed heiress to all her 
 mother s wealth — wealth that, to the German 
 members of our fraternity, must have seemed 
 fabulous — a dower almost large enough for 
 one of the numerous princesses of Father- 
 land. This girl, Mary Deane, was really 
 handsome — dark-eyed, dark-haired, and rich 
 in colour. She was, I must say, a well- 
 conducted, virtuous girl, perhaps showing at 
 times a little of that coquetry which appears 
 to be inseparable from good looks, when 
 owned by a girl of her rank in life. As it
 
 124 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 seems necessary for their comfort that every 
 body of men should raise up a goddess to 
 adore, Mary Deane, by common consent of 
 our unmarried members at least, was exalted 
 to that proud position ; and the amount of 
 broken but devoted English wafted to her 
 across the shining counter was enough to 
 give the girl ear-ache, if not heart-ache. Of 
 course I ought to have followed my fellows' 
 example, and fallen in love with her ; but 
 somehow — and somehow — in spite of all 
 failures, my dreams had not quite left me, 
 and genius in a white apron drawing beer 
 seemed rather out of the fitness of things. 
 Again, it was not long before I found that my 
 light-haired German, Caspar, was the man on 
 whom the girl had set her heart. 
 
 Have I written the above lines in a light 
 vein ? If so, it was far from my intention. 
 As I picture him now, smiling at the girl 
 with that frank open smile of his, and 
 calling up on her face that scarcely disguised 
 look of pleasure, my thoughts are only sad 
 ones. Not for a moment did I think that 
 Caspar was wooing the girl either for her 
 undoubted charms or possible possessions ;
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. I 25 
 
 but, like other men I have known, he had, 
 without meaning harm, a dangerous knack of 
 dropping his voice and softening those clear 
 blue eyes of his when speaking to a pretty- 
 woman ; and if Mary Deane mistook these 
 symptoms for dawning love, who can blame 
 her ? You must always remember that in 
 social standing, and so far as outside ap- 
 pearances went, there was a great gulf be- 
 tween her and a clarionet-player in a German 
 band, and she stood on the side nearer 
 heaven. Yet when Hoffman entered the 
 house and gave his modest orders, she in- 
 variably came out from the little parlour 
 behind to minister to his wants — an act of 
 condescension certainly not accorded to many 
 of our comrades. 
 
 Let Caspar be grateful or not for the favours 
 shown him, one other man, at least, would 
 have given much for them ; this was Stephen 
 Slade. 
 
 With all his faults, the man was not a 
 drunkard, yet at every leisure moment he 
 haunted the corner house, and in his own 
 unpleasant fashion wooed the girl. First to 
 enter and last to leave, he sat and scowled
 
 126 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 at' all who interchanged a word with Mary 
 Deane, till men grew nervous and uncom- 
 fortable under his sullen gaze, and the girl 
 herself could only escape it by taking refuge 
 in the private sanctum, where no one was 
 allowed, on any pretence, to enter. Caspar 
 alone heeded not his black looks : he was 
 not his rival, so troubled nothing about them, 
 but talked as long as he chose to Mary, letting 
 Slade scowl his blackest at the broad back 
 which hid his sun from him. 
 
 This, I say, was the reason why Caspar 
 Hoffman had one enemy amongst us. 
 
 On that evening when we had the conver- 
 sation as above, Caspar, with a sort of mock 
 gallantry, had given the girl a rose. The act 
 and his manner were harmless enough ; but 
 I felt distressed, having noticed the vivid 
 blush that came to her cheek as she pinned 
 his gift to her dress, and had now, in truth, 
 only led up to the subject under discussion 
 with a view of warning my friend not to make 
 the girl too fond of him. 
 
 So I resumed. 
 
 ' Slade, you must know, looks upon you as 
 a fortunate rival. He is madly in love.'
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. I 27 
 
 * Then I am sorry for it. I am not his 
 rival, although I fear he will have little chance, 
 for all that.' 
 
 ' But you really ought to be careful. I 
 don't want to flatter you, but the girl is in love 
 with you.' 
 
 ' Then I am more sorry yet. I am ver- 
 sprochen — bespoken. Far away in Vater- 
 land dwells a little made hen, with eyes of 
 blue, and flaxen hair. True and tender is 
 she ; and years, weary years, has she waited 
 for me. When I can I will send for her, or 
 else some day I will go back to her, and till 
 the earth, like my fathers before me, for a 
 living.' 
 
 I said no more, and Caspar's eyes grew 
 dreamy and far away as he fell into a deep 
 reverie, thinking, doubtless, of the little Ger- 
 man maiden waiting and waiting for her lover. 
 Then he sighed, and stretching out his arm, 
 took his clarionet, and played softly, very 
 softly, a plaintive little phrase. It was very 
 simple and very melodious. I was struck 
 with it, but could not remember having heard 
 it before. I listened attentively as he played 
 it over and over again. A sad little tune, and
 
 128 
 
 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 one I should no doubt always have been able 
 to recall, even if events to come had not im- 
 pressed it for ever upon my memory. 
 
 Andante con moto. 
 
 
 tempo. 
 
 P rit. 
 
 tempo. 
 
 When at last he laid his clarionet down, I 
 asked him w^hat he had been playing. 
 
 * A little Lied— 2. settine to one of Heine's 
 
 songs. 
 
 ' But who wrote it ? It is quite fresh to 
 
 me. 
 
 * A friend of mine, who had dreams once, 
 such as you confess to, mein Englander, but 
 who never dreams now.'
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 29 
 
 * You mean you wrote it yourself ?' 
 
 He laughed and nodded, and at my request 
 played his strange little song several times 
 more ; so that, when at last we went to bed, 
 I rocked my brain to repose with its rhythm. 
 
 The next day, in spite of the season being 
 summer, was bitterly cold. That evening we 
 played on the pier, with a keen north-east 
 wind cutting our hearts out, and making our 
 scanty audience stamp their feet and clap 
 their hands, more for the promotion of circu- 
 lation than for applause. 
 
 I had not been well all the day. I had only 
 done my part with a great effort ; and when 
 at length our hour of freedom came, and we 
 shouldered our music-stands and left the pier, 
 I think I felt worse than ever I did in my 
 lifetime. I was thoroughly worn out, and 
 my one desire was for warmth and rest. Hoff- 
 man and I walked together, as was our custom ; 
 and without telHng him how ill I felt, I said, 
 as we turned out of the Esplanade : 
 
 ' I am shivering with cold. I think I shall 
 step into Mrs. Deane's and get a glass of 
 brandy.' 
 
 * Very well ; although, after your lecture 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 last night, you cannot expect me to accom- 
 pany you. I shall go home and write a 
 letter.' 
 
 I entered the inn, and found the dark- 
 browed Slade there as usual. The spirits I 
 drank seemed to do me little or no good : but 
 as the gas was lit, I found the warmth of the 
 room pleasant ; so 1 sat down in a corner, 
 and, thoroughly ill and tired out, dozed off. I 
 must have slept a long time, for the sound of 
 the shutters being put up for the night aroused 
 me. I opened my eyes, and from the dusk 
 of my corner saw Stephen Slade leaning over 
 the counter, talking to Mary Deane, who kept 
 well out of his reach. 
 
 ' I tell you I love you,' I heard him whisper. 
 ' I will slave day and night until I can make 
 a home for you, if you will give me one word 
 of hope.' 
 
 'Why can't you take your answer, Mr. 
 Slade ?' replied the girl. ' When you asked 
 me before, I told you I cared nothing for you, 
 and never should. Why can't you leave me 
 alone and go elsewhere ?' 
 
 I saw the man's back shaking with sup- 
 pressed passion as he said :
 
 THE BANDSiMAN S STORY. I ; I 
 
 * If that long-legged cur of a German chose 
 to speak to you as I am speaking, you'd 
 give him a very different sort of answer, I'll 
 be bound.' 
 
 The girl's face flushed. 'What do you 
 mean by insulting me and a better man than 
 yourself?' she cried, with spirit. ' His friend 
 is sitting just behind you, so you had better 
 be careful what you say.' 
 
 Slade, who had doubtless forgotten my pre- 
 sence, faced round and looked at me. I had 
 the sense to shut my eyes again. 
 
 ' Damn them both for upstarts/ he growled. 
 ' The boy is drunk or fast asleep.' Then, turn- 
 ing again, he said in a hissing whisper, ' You 
 mind me, Mary Deane — I'll have you, or no 
 one shall. If I see that fellow making love 
 to you again, I'll shoot him like a dog that 
 he is. I will; I swear it! If it costs me 
 my life I will.' 
 
 The girl laughed scornfully, and without 
 another word turned her back upon him and 
 vanished through the curtained door. 
 
 After waiting a minute on the chance of 
 her reappearing, Slade, with a scowl and a 
 curse at my sleeping form, left the house, 
 
 9—2
 
 132 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 whence, after a proper Interval, I followed him 
 and crawled home. 
 
 The next morning I should have told 
 Caspar Hoffman all I had overheard, but 
 when I awoke I found myself scarcely able 
 to articulate a word, and suffering from severe 
 pain in my chest. I was seriously ill — there 
 was no doubt about it — and, moreover, rapidly 
 growing worse. That evening I was taken 
 to the hospital, where I lay for a fortnight, 
 with inflammation of the lungs. Caspar, like 
 a good fellow, came to see me every morning 
 and evening, until within a day or two before 
 I was pronounced well enough to quit. When 
 that time came and I stepped outside the 
 gates, I felt it would be some time before I 
 could resume my place in the Upper Rhine 
 Band. Slowly, very slowly, I walked home, 
 wondering what had kept Hoffman away 
 from me for the last few days, and looking 
 forward to the cheery greeting he would give 
 me when we met. Just before I reached our 
 house I encountered Stephen Slade. To my 
 surprise he stopped, and accostingme with quite 
 a show of friendship, inquired after my health, 
 congratulated me upon my recovery, and even
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORV. 1 33 
 
 carried his new-born civility far enough to 
 beg me to take some dinner with him, it being 
 now the time allotted for that meal. I began 
 to think that it might be, after all, I had mis- 
 judged the man — that his roughness was but 
 external, and his heart beneath as kind as 
 other people's hearts. However, as I was 
 anxious to get home and see my friend, I 
 declined his well-meant hospitality, saying 
 that Hoffman would be expecting me. 
 
 ' Hoffman !' he repeated. ' Have you not 
 heard the news ?' 
 
 ' What news ?' 
 
 ' Hoffman has left us — suddenly — without 
 a word to any one. He has gone back to 
 Germany, we all believe. Every one thought 
 you were in the secret.' 
 
 So saying, he bade me good morning, leaving 
 me too much surprised to utter a word. 
 
 I entered the room in which Caspar and I 
 had lived together for the last two months, 
 and the first thing I saw was a letter lying on 
 the table. It was addressed to me. I opened 
 it ; it ran thus : 
 
 ' Dear Friend, — 
 
 * I am called back to Germany at an
 
 134 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 hour's notice, and deeply regret that I 
 cannot find time to see you again. Please 
 guard all my belongings, and I will write 
 telling you where to send them. My pros- 
 pects being entirely changed, I shall return 
 no more.' 
 
 Ill, weary, disappointed, and sorely in need 
 of companionship and sympathy as I was, I 
 sank down on one of the rickety chairs, leant 
 my head upon the table, and fairly cried. 
 
 The letter was unsigned, but its beingr 
 written in that peculiar German caligraphy left 
 no doubt as to who was the writer. After 
 our daily and almost brotherly intercourse, 
 Caspar's abrupt departure seemed almost 
 unkind ; yet I felt that he was such a true 
 friend to me, that he must have had strong 
 reasons for it, and also for withholding his 
 present address. I could only hope that soon 
 I might hear from him. 
 
 In another week I had recovered my health 
 sufficiently to enable me to resume my place 
 among my Teutonic comrades, and found, 
 upon rejoining them, an idea prevailing that 
 Caspar Hoffman had inherited a fortune —
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 35 
 
 hence the reason he had left so sud- 
 denly. 
 
 I was still weak, and lagged behind the 
 others as we left the pier that evening. Just 
 outside the toll-gate I met Mary Deane. I 
 suppose she must have hidden herself until 
 Slade had passed by. If I looked ill, she 
 looked worse. The rich colour had flown 
 from her cheeks, her lips looked drawn, and 
 dark circles were round her eyes. Glancing 
 hastily around, she said, in a sharp, quick 
 whisper : 
 
 ' I want to see you — I must speak to you 
 — alone. Be outside our house at twelve 
 o'clock to-night without fail.' Then, without 
 waiting for any answer, she turned and hur- 
 ried away. 
 
 Her manner was so emphatic, so earnest, 
 that I never thought of disobeying her com- 
 mand, and twelve o'clock found me waiting 
 outside the corner house. The door opened 
 stealthily, and Mary, appearing, beckoned me 
 in. I entered, then, taking my hand, she 
 led me to the parlour. The gas, turned down 
 low, made a dreary twilight in the room, and 
 through it the girl's face looked wan and
 
 136 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ghost-like. I seated myself, wondering what 
 was the reason of this midnight appointment, 
 when, leaning over me, she whispered in my 
 ear : 
 
 'Where Is Caspar Hoffman ?' 
 
 * Caspar Hoffman !' I repeated. ' Why, 
 gone home to his friends and to fortune, they 
 say. He left me a letter — read it.' And as 
 I spoke I drew the letter from my pocket. 
 
 She waved it aside without giving it one 
 look. * He has not,' she said ; ' he is dead — 
 murdered — and that man has murdered him.' 
 
 'You are dreaming, or you must be mad.' 
 
 * I am not. I know it. I am sure of it. 
 He threatened to do so the night you were 
 taken ill, and he has done it now. When or 
 how I know not ; but every time I see his 
 black face and wicked eyes I can read the 
 deed there. Oh, my Caspar ! my bonnie 
 Caspar ! I will find out the truth.' 
 
 * But his letter to me — it is written as a 
 German writes. Look at it.' 
 
 She turned upon me with something like 
 contempt in her voice. 
 
 *And would not a man who murders forge 
 also ? Has he never seen'a letter written by
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 37 
 
 a German ? Ah, Stephen Slade Is a cleverer 
 man than either you or Caspar ever sus- 
 pected. Do you know Caspar's hand- 
 writing ?' 
 
 I was obliged to confess I could not re- 
 member having seen It. 
 
 * Then I say that letter Is only a forgery, 
 written to deceive us. He has killed him. 
 I know It. He comes to me In dreams, in 
 more than dreams, and tells me so. You, 
 who call yourself his friend, aid me In bringing 
 his murderer to justice. Oh, my Caspar ! my 
 Caspar !' and she threw her arms across the 
 table, and leaning her head upon them, sobbed 
 convulsively. 
 
 The girl's passionate words, excited manner, 
 and, above all, absolute, unswerving belief in 
 her wild statement, greatly impressed me. 
 Her dark suspicions were Infectious ; and as 
 my former opinion of Slade again reasserted 
 itself, I began almost to think that her hor- 
 rible fancy might have some foundation. It 
 may have been my Ill-health, or the mystery 
 of this midnight meeting, that induced me to 
 give any weight to her words ; but, any way, 
 I promised to leave no stone unturned, but
 
 138 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 try and ascertain whether Hoffman had really- 
 written the letter, and whether he had gone 
 back to Germany or not. Calmed, apparently, 
 by my promise, she bade me good night. 
 
 As she opened the door for me to go out — 
 as her hand lay in mine — as I was looking 
 into her great dark eyes, shining through the 
 dusk — solemn at one moment with the horror 
 they pictured ; fierce at another with fire of 
 revenge — as we stood thus, I say, a sound 
 came on the night wind — a sound that sent a 
 tremor through me and made the blood in 
 every vein run cold with unspeakable fear. 
 And I knew, from the way in which her 
 fingers closed on mine, that as I heard it and 
 trembled, so it was with my companion. It 
 was nearly one o'clock. The street w^as de- 
 serted by all save ourselves. So quiet was 
 all around, that we could catch the dash of 
 the waves on the shingle, audible, even at 
 that distance, through the stillness of the 
 summer night ; and then — soft, yet clear and 
 well defined — rose, as it were close to us, a 
 strain of plaintive music. So close it seemed, 
 that I turned instinctively to see the player ; 
 but we were alone in the street, which.
 
 THE bandsman's STORY. 
 
 139 
 
 although dimly lighted, held no recess where 
 one might hide ; and I felt, soft as the music 
 sounded, it was not distance that diminished 
 the power of the notes. Whoever or what- 
 ever produced it, was almost within arm's- 
 length. And bar after bar of the strange 
 music came sighing to us, until at last I had 
 recovered sense enough to understand the 
 language of the notes, and then my fear was 
 linked with horror, for this was the melody 
 that fell upon my ear : 
 
 Andante con mo to. 
 
 W 
 
 •ztzii-ot 
 
 H-:3Ei 
 
 poco rail. 
 
 3 
 
 '.•-9^ 
 
 tempo. 
 
 ^ ' "^^ZZi f rati. 
 
 ..0. 
 
 lr=]: 
 
 :#_•: 
 
 MM 
 
 Over and over again I heard the pathetic 
 
 tempo.
 
 I40 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 little phrase floating, it seemed, in the air 
 around me ; at times so low that I could 
 scarcely say I heard it — at times so clear and 
 distinct that I turned again and again to 
 detect the player, but each attempt was 
 futile. 
 
 Many minutes did Mary Deane and I 
 stand, hand in hand, listening with all our 
 power, neither speaking nor trying to speak, 
 until the notes grew fainter and fainter, and 
 finally died into the silence of the night, and 
 the distant murmur of the waves was the 
 only sound left. I looked into the girl's face, 
 but said nothing. ' 
 
 * You heard it ?' she whispered. 
 
 I nodded assent — my agitation was too 
 great for speech. 
 
 ' I did not tell you before,' she said ; ' but 
 I have heard it three times. But never so 
 clearly or for so long as to-night. What 
 does it mean ? Tell me.' 
 
 ' I do not know,' I replied ; and then with 
 an effort added, ' let us meet here again to- 
 morrow night at the same hour, and try and 
 find out its meaninof.' 
 
 She assented, and closed the door as I
 
 THE bandsman's STORY. I4I 
 
 turned away towards my home. Agitation Is 
 no word to express the state of my mind ; for, 
 although I dared not tell Mary Deane so, the 
 unearthly melody that came sighing so softly 
 to us that night was that same plaintive little 
 air that Caspar Hoffman had played to me 
 the last time we had sat together in the 
 room which now, without his cheery presence, 
 seemed so desolate. 
 
 I knew not what to think — what to do. 
 My sleep that night was restless, broken, and 
 dreamful. All sorts of horrors came to me, 
 but running through and In some way en- 
 twined with every dream was that haunting 
 melody. The figures in my visions moved 
 to Its notes ; their voices, when they spoke, 
 kept time to them. I seemed to breathe to 
 their rhythm ; and glad I was when I awoke 
 altogether and found it was broad daylight. 
 
 Somehow I dragged through the next day, 
 studiously avoiding Stephen Slade's eyes, lest 
 he should read in my look the growing but 
 as yet undefined suspicions I felt my eyes 
 must utter. At half-past nine I threw myself 
 on my bed and slept with my clothes on for 
 three hours. At one o'clock I was waiting
 
 142 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 outside the inn. There was no moon, but 
 the stars were bright above. I had not long 
 to wait ; the girl soon appeared, and closed 
 the door behind her. Her head was covered 
 with a thick hood which almost prevented 
 recognition. 
 
 We shook hands, and, without a word, 
 waited with nerves intent on catching the 
 first strains of the mysterious music, if indeed 
 it should be again audible to us. For some 
 time we listened in vain, and I was just on 
 the point of saying, ' It must have been our 
 fancy,' when close at my right hand arose the 
 plaintive and familiar strain. Mary's cold 
 fingers stole trembling into mine as, in spite 
 of last night's experience, I turned sharply 
 round, feeling convinced that some bodily 
 player must be close by. 
 
 Up and down the street I looked, but we 
 were alone, and yet the notes lay on the air. 
 Now they seemed at the right, now at the 
 left, now behind, now in front — departing, 
 returning, circling around, yet ever with us. 
 I am not ashamed to say dread — mortal 
 dread — came over me, as with a mournful 
 monotony I heard, over and over again,
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 43 
 
 Caspar Hoffman's sad little melody sighing 
 through the night, whilst, with her hand ever 
 in my own, the girl and I stood still, knowing 
 neither what to do nor how to account for 
 the phenomenon. At last, in an awe-struck 
 whisper, Mary Deane said : 
 
 ' It is Caspar playing. I know it is — I feel 
 it. What are we to do ?' 
 
 The sound of her voice recalled my reason- 
 ing faculties, and, unbeliever as I had ever 
 been in the supernatural, I felt now that it 
 might be for some weighty reason we were 
 permitted to hear this strange music on these 
 two occasions. I was brave now ; fear had 
 left me. I was only eager to learn what 
 message the music bore. 
 
 I drew my companion's arm through mine. 
 
 ' Let us move up the street a few paces, and 
 see if the music follows us,' I said. 
 
 We did so, but after walking some twenty 
 yards could hear it no longer. Then we re- 
 turned to the spot where at first we stood, 
 and the notes sounded as before. We then 
 walked a little way in the other direction, and 
 yet we heard the melody : farther yet we 
 went, and it was with us ; farther and farther
 
 144 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 yet, right to the end of the street, and yet it 
 kept near us. We turned to the left, and 
 heard it not. We retraced our steps, and 
 took the road to the right, and clearly we 
 heard each note once more. 
 
 We neither were frightened now : my 
 companion, like myself, had caught the 
 meaning of the music. It was not accom- 
 panying us, nor following us, but, as a bird 
 might, hovering before us — guiding us for 
 some purpose, to some end, although we 
 knew not to what or whither it might lead 
 us. The girl seemed transformed. Her 
 step grew firm and sure ; her arm trembled 
 on mine no longer. She turned her wild 
 eyes to mine, and said, almost in exulta- 
 tion : 
 
 ' I knew it — I knew that music meant 
 something. Listen ! it calls us to follow, 
 and it will lead us on and on until we learn 
 the truth. Yes, my Caspar, my love,' she 
 continued, speaking in a softer voice, as if 
 addressing one near at hand — ' yes, follow it 
 we will, even to the ends of the earth.' 
 
 She said no more ; and silently, for what 
 seemed hours, we followed as the music led
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 45 
 
 US. All fatigue had left me, and every nerve 
 was strung with excitement and curiosity. 
 Far along the main road we went, turning 
 neither to the right nor the left, with the 
 music ever circling and floating around us, 
 but ever advancing, as the mother bird that 
 seeks to draw the stranger from her nest and 
 its treasure. On and on for perhaps three 
 miles It led us by the road, till, glancing 
 back, I could only see the lights of Shingle- 
 mouth dim in the distance. Then the notes 
 stayed, and near us was a gate. We passed 
 through It, and the music passed before us. 
 We entered a grove of pine-trees, with which 
 the country round about Is thickly studded. 
 Spectral and weird the trunks looked as they 
 threw their straight shadows on the light 
 brown ground beneath, carpeted many inches 
 deep with cast needles. The pungent aro- 
 matic odour of the pines perfumed the air, 
 and to this day that odour sets my heart 
 beating with the memories it evokes. Then 
 out again to the open, with nothing between 
 us and the clear stars shining overhead. 
 
 We were now on the sward that stretched 
 away towards the sea-cliff. There was no 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 road, not even a footpath over the springy 
 turf ; but on and on our feet were led, straight 
 as the crow flies — the girl's step ever falling 
 in unison with mine, and as firm and resolute. 
 Gradually we seemed to be bearing across 
 the downs towards the sea ; and I was 
 wondering whether our destination was the 
 sea-coast, when I found we were descending 
 the side of a deepish hollow. We reached 
 the bottom, which was thickly covered with 
 large-sized stones, and then with one accord 
 we stopped short, for we heard the music no 
 longer. Suddenly as it came, so it went ; 
 one moment we heard it, as we had heard it 
 for so long, close at hand ; the next, and not 
 a sound broke the stillness of the night. I 
 raised my eyes and peered around. Just in 
 front of us was a small, square, grey build- 
 ing ; old and venerable it looked, like a ruin 
 of some sort. The sides of the hollow in 
 which we stood sloped upwards towards its 
 roof, which seemed almost on a level with 
 the higher ground. As I knew but little of 
 the neighbourhood round about, I turned to 
 the girl. 
 
 * Where are we ?^ I asked.
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 47 
 
 ' At the old lime-kiln, about five miles from 
 home.' 
 
 ' Is it worked now ?' 
 
 ' No ; it hasn't been worked for years. 
 No one ever comes near it.' 
 
 ' What shall we do now ?' 
 
 * I shall wait,' she answered decisively. 
 
 ' Wait !' I echoed ; ' for what ? The 
 music has left us. It has led us here, but 
 perhaps can do no more. Its mission is ac- 
 complished. Let us return by daylight and 
 try if we can find out anything.' 
 
 ' No matter — I shall wait. You can leave 
 me if you like ; I am not afraid.' 
 
 This was entirely out of the question ; so, 
 finding persuasion useless, I determined to 
 make the best of it. After all, some inner 
 voice which I could not hear might be tell- 
 ing the girl what course to take. I pressed 
 her no more, but begged her to sit down and 
 rest herself, and upon her complying, seated 
 myself beside her and longed for the morn- 
 ing to break. 
 
 And thus we sat and waited — neither 
 speaking — both listening for the weird music 
 to come again for our guidance — sat until I 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 feared we should be numbed with cold, for 
 we were not far from the sea, and the night 
 was chilly. 
 
 Being summer-time, the nights were very- 
 short, and with joy I saw at last the welcome 
 greyness tempering the eastern sky. With 
 the coming dawn a mist seemed to be gather- 
 ing, and a cold wind began to blow in from 
 the sea. I was shivering, and suggested to 
 my companion, who sat motionless as a 
 statue beside me, that it would be well if we 
 took shelter under the side of the lime-kiln. 
 She made no remark, but rising, followed 
 whither I led her. I placed her as comfort- 
 ably as I could ; and then, pressing her hands 
 on her eyes, she sat silent, ever thinking, I 
 well knew, of the man she loved. 
 
 The morning was now fairly breaking ; 
 and I was resolved, as soon as there was 
 sufficient light, to thoroughly examine the 
 place, and ascertain if what I dreaded to 
 think of might be hidden there. I had even 
 risen to begin my investigations — quietly, 
 without disturbing my silent companion, 
 thinking that whatever fearful discovery was 
 to be made had better be made by me alone
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 49 
 
 — when the noise of a stone rolllno- down 
 the declivity and falling with a slight crash 
 upon its fellows at the bottom drove all the 
 blood back to my heart. Grasping Mary's 
 arm, I forcibly pushed her back into the 
 darkness cast by the side of the lime-kiln, as 
 through the grey mist of the morning a 
 man strode down into the hollow and stood 
 within a few paces of us ; and as he stood 
 there, for a moment we heard once more 
 the melancholy notes that had led us so 
 far. 
 
 The girl clutched my arm with an energy 
 almost painful. 
 
 ' See,' she whispered — * see, there is 
 Caspar's murderer, led here, as we were led, 
 for us to know and accuse.' 
 
 And the man standing there with pallid 
 face and distorted features, with great drops 
 of sweat rolling from his forehead, was 
 Stephen Slade. Had he looked our way he 
 must have seen us, so close we were to each 
 other ; but all his attention seemed to be 
 riveted on one spot, the entrance to the dis- 
 used kiln, now almost hidden by a pile of 
 stones. He was breathing hard and quick,
 
 150 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 and stood gesticulating, shaking his fists and 
 glaring in that one direction. 
 
 ' Devil ! devil !' we heard him mutter, 
 * why will you not rest in peace and leave me 
 alone ? Three times has that cursed music 
 drawn me here against my will. I hate you 
 dead worse than living.' 
 
 Then, as if with an effort, he turned away 
 and began to retrace his steps. As he moved, 
 the girl broke from my hold and sprang after 
 him. Her hood had fallen back, her long 
 dark hair streamed loose about her shoulders, 
 and her eyes from under her black and 
 knitted brows gleamed like fire — an aveng- 
 ing fury she looked, claiming blood for blood. 
 Heedless of the consequences, she grasped 
 his arm and cried with a shrill voice, 'Murder! 
 murder !' I had followed her, both to pro- 
 tect and assist her : but as I did so, the 
 danger of bearding this desperate man flashed 
 through my brain like lightning. As he felt 
 Tier touch, I think he screamed with horror, 
 and with a livid face staggered back, seeming 
 about to fall. So helpless he appeared, that 
 I believe had we then and there thrown our- 
 selves upon him we might have bound him
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. I 5 I 
 
 as easily as a child. We let the opportunity 
 slip, and the delay was fatal. In a few mo- 
 ments he had recognised us ; then, knowing 
 he had to deal with mortals like himself, not 
 with avenging spirits, the man's horrible 
 courage and ferocity came to his aid. His 
 cruel eyes met mine in the early twilight ; 
 and well, from their expression, I knew what 
 was coming, and framed an inward prayer for 
 deliverance. 
 
 * So you have spied and tracked me,' he 
 said. ' You two, at any rate, will never tell 
 the tale. I can make room for both of you 
 beside your friend.' 
 
 Then, with fell murder written on his face, 
 he came towards me, and I braced myself for 
 the struggle — the struggle which I felt was 
 hopeless. 
 
 Slade, as I said before, was a broad- 
 shouldered man of great strength. What 
 chance could I have with him, broken as I 
 was with sickness, and worn out with the 
 night-watching ? I had no weapon, not even 
 a pocket-knife. Fly, and leave the girl to 
 his mercies, I could not. Truly, death 
 seemed very near to me at the moment when
 
 152 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 I felt those muscular arms thrown round me, 
 and my ribs bending beneath their strong 
 grip. I was an infant in his hands. Yet I 
 was not altogether unaided. Bravely the 
 girl stood by me, tore at his arms, at his 
 face, to make him release me. It was but 
 for a moment, however. He loosened his 
 left arm, and, with one backward sweep of it, 
 hurled her, stunned and senseless, upon a 
 heap of stones. 'You and I will have 
 another kind of reckoning by-and-by, my 
 pretty maid,' I heard him mutter as he closed 
 with me once more. Death was very, very 
 near me now. Backwards and forwards we 
 swayed, then we fell together — Slade upper- 
 most. I was utterly exhausted, and could 
 struggle no more. The ruffian tore himself 
 from my feeble grip, and kneeling on my 
 arms, pressed his thumbs upon my throat 
 As I lay helpless, I could look straight into 
 his wicked eyes, but saw no gleam of mercy 
 or relenting there. In three seconds my 
 head felt bursting, sense w^as failing me ; I 
 seemed to be trying to articulate these 
 words, ' How hor — ri — ble — to — die — like 
 this !' when — waking, dreaming, or dying — I
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. 1 53 
 
 heard close, close to me, the wail of Caspar 
 Hoffman's Lied — the same ghostly music 
 that had led us to this spot, and brought the 
 murderer face to face with us. And as I 
 heard it, I knew I was saved. Slade's vil- 
 lainous grip on my throat relaxed ; I breathed 
 once more ; and although too far gone to 
 move hand or foot to save my life, I could 
 see the ruffian rise, stare around him in a 
 bewildered manner, then, muttering like one 
 in a dream, and with a face as set as a som- 
 nambulist's, ascend the side of the hollow, 
 and vanish over the level ground. Then I 
 fainted. 
 
 When my senses returned I found Mary 
 Deane kneeling beside me and chafing my 
 hands. She had not been much injured, 
 and upon coming to herself found me lying 
 dead, as she thought, and Slade gone. 
 
 We were too much exhausted, indeed, too 
 much terrified, to make any investigation 
 that might solve the mystery of the night. 
 Painfully we dragged ourselves over the 
 downs until we reached the main road ; then, 
 having removed, so far as we could, all 
 traces of the recent deadly struggle, managed
 
 154 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 by the aid of a passing waggon to reach 
 Shinglemouth before its inhabitants were 
 astir. 
 
 What could I do now ? My only course 
 seemed to be that of going to the police and 
 accusing Slade of the murder of Hoffman. 
 I could give no common-sense reasons for 
 the accusation, but I might beg that the 
 lime-kiln be searched, and the man kept in 
 sight at least during the operation. It should 
 be no fault of mine If Slade escaped justice. 
 And so I went. 
 
 The inspector whom I saw was rather a 
 friend of mine, and gave me an attentive 
 hearing. Upon learning the gist of my 
 errand, he said : 
 
 ' You are an hour too late. The man is 
 in custody now, upon his own confession. 
 Says he murdered him and stuck the body in 
 the entrance of the lime-kiln, making a heap 
 of stones in front of it. We thought him 
 drunk or raving — kept on talking about 
 music that was driving him mad. Any way, 
 he's here safe enough, and some of our men 
 have gone off down coast to find out whether 
 his tale is true or false.'
 
 THE BANDSMAN S STORY. I 55 
 
 And true enough they found it. Three 
 hours afterwards I saw all that remained of 
 my light-hearted German friend ; and two 
 months afterwards Stephen Slade was hanged 
 at Dorchester gaol. 
 
 He simply confessed to the murder, but 
 would enter into no particulars. Plenty of 
 circumstantial evidence was forthcoming to 
 establish his guilt, but it was never ascer- 
 tained how he decoyed his victim to that 
 lonely and distant spot. A pistol-bullet 
 through the breast told the way In which 
 the deed was done, and that was all. 
 
 Slade died sullen and Impenitent. The 
 prison doctor thought there were grounds 
 for a reprieve, as the man was for ever talk- 
 ing wildly about music he, but no one else, 
 could hear. This was, however, attributed 
 to the profession he had followed, not to 
 higher causes ; so, as he had no friends to 
 take up his case, and as his character was not 
 such as to enlist strangers in his favour, no 
 steps were taken to mitigate his sentence, 
 and he met the fate he fully merited. 
 
 Since that night I have never heard that 
 ghostly music. Its mission was no doubt
 
 156 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 accomplished when the mysterious power it 
 wielded caused the murderer's hand to drop 
 nerveless from my throat, and drove him, 
 cruel, remorseless and impenitent as he was, 
 to make confession of a crime that might else 
 have remained undiscovered, and to reveal 
 the tragic end of Caspar Hoffman.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 The waves were tumbling in heavily on 
 Oversea beach. It was too dark to see the 
 white line of surf from the row of houses 
 which fronted the sea, but the sullen roar of 
 each wave as it broke, and the sharp crash 
 of the shingle as it followed the retreating 
 flood, were audible at a much greater dis- 
 tance off than Marine Parade. The wind 
 blew in fierce gusts, sending the rain against 
 the window-panes like a whip with a thou- 
 sand lashes falling at the same moment. 
 No one, except, perhaps, a passionate poet 
 with a raging heart, and a constitution good 
 enough to defy cold and wet, would, of his 
 own free-will, be out of doors on such a night 
 as this.
 
 158 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 The Rev. Cuthbert Wrey, curate In charge 
 of St. Nicholas, that Httle galvanized Iron 
 offshoot of St. Mary's, Oversea, was not a 
 poet ; therefore, he felt heartily glad when 
 he arrived at the door of his lodgings in 
 Marine Parade, without having been flattened 
 by the force of the gale against the low walls 
 and railings which enclose those wind-swept 
 little gardens facing the sea. He was afraid 
 to unbutton his mackintosh to get at his 
 latch-key — let the wind have one fair chance, 
 and he expected to find the garment stripped 
 from his shoulders and blown Into ribbons — 
 so he knocked, rather Impatiently, at the 
 door. 
 
 *An awful night, Mrs. Roberts!' he said 
 to his landlady, when, by dint of united efforts, 
 they had closed the door and barred out the 
 uproarious wind. 
 
 'Yes, sir; an awful night,' replied Mrs. 
 Roberts, taking the dripping mackintosh and 
 broad-brimmed hat. ' So awful, sir,' she added 
 apologetically, ' that I thought It better to 
 read a sermon at home, instead of coming to 
 hear you this evening.' 
 
 * Quite right. Did you more good, I dare
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 59 
 
 say/ answered the curate pleasantly, and as 
 one whose belief in the efficacy of sermons 
 was not unassailable. * I'm sure I wouldn't 
 have gone to church to-night, if I could have 
 helped it.' 
 
 Mrs. Roberts looked grave at hearing such 
 sentiments proceed from the cloth. 
 
 * Your tea is quite ready, sir,' she said. 
 * Would you please take off your wet boots 
 before you go up ? They mark the stair- 
 covering so, and washing is so expen- 
 sive.' 
 
 The Rev. Cuthbert complied. He went 
 up'Stairs in his stockings ; and having 
 changed sundry dripping articles of attire, 
 drew his chair to the table and commenced 
 his tea or supper, or whatever the meal might 
 be called. 
 
 Curates are not a well-paid race, and the 
 stipend allotted to the curate of St. Nicholas, 
 in return for the assistance he gave the 
 rector of that dreary little watering-place, 
 Oversea, was hardly enough to provide 
 delicate fare, such as induces people to linger 
 over their tables. He ate his cold meat with 
 a healthy appetite, drained out the last drop
 
 l6o BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 from the teapot, filled his pipe, and rang for 
 the tea-things to be cleared. 
 
 ' You may leave the kettle, Mrs. Roberts,' 
 he said. * I think, after my wetting, I may 
 Indulge In a glass of hot whisky and 
 water.' 
 
 ' Quite right, sir/ said the landlady. ' Ah, 
 It's on a night like this one pities the teeto- 
 talers.' 
 
 ' All extreme people must be pitied, Mrs. 
 Roberts,' said the curate, smiling. ' But bring 
 another glass with mine, and I will give you 
 some.' 
 
 Although the good lady murmured some- 
 thing about only taking spirits twice a year, 
 a second glass made its appearance, and she 
 left the room with the materials for a com- 
 fortable nightcap in her hand. 
 
 Cuthbert Wrey pushed back the table, 
 wheeled his chair in front of the fire, put his 
 feet on the fender, and clasping his hands 
 behind his head, sat watching the smoke 
 curling from his pipe. He felt that if any 
 man had a right to enjoy perfect rest that 
 evening. It was the curate of St. Nicholas. 
 He had conducted two services, and attended
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. l6l 
 
 the afternoon classes. He had visited his 
 sick, and, so far as he knew, done all that 
 duty demanded of him. Now let him take 
 his ease for an hour or two. He saw nothing 
 to interfere with it, unless the wind should 
 blow the windows in. 
 
 Cuthbert Wrey was a man of about 
 twenty-eight, tall, muscular, and good-look- 
 ing. His features, although strongly marked, 
 were not irregular ; indeed, a very little more 
 would have made him a remarkably hand- 
 some man. Perhaps he looked at the worst, 
 as we see him now with his face in repose. 
 Its expression was not quite a happy one. 
 It bore at times a kind of dissatisfied look — 
 a look which, it seemed, might soon grow 
 habitual. His brows had a trick of frowning 
 until they almost met, and at the same time 
 the corners of his mouth fell in a slightly 
 scornful manner — whether in scorn at the 
 world in general, or himself in particular, it 
 is doubtful if he could have determined. 
 Anyway, his face was not exactly the face of 
 a happy, successful, or contented man. Yet, 
 when he spoke — even when another's affairs 
 occupied his mind, and he was not thinking 
 
 VOL. I. 1 1
 
 1 62 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 of Cuthbert Wrey — this expression com- 
 pletely vanished. His words were kind, and 
 the smile which accompanied them always 
 frank and pleasing as the words themselves. 
 Altogether, he was a great favourite with both 
 the rich and poor of Oversea. 
 
 He did not look very clerical as he sat in 
 the shabby armchair. His long black coat 
 had been replaced by a comfortable loose fit- 
 ting garment, a relic of his Oxford days ; sad 
 enough in its decay, but not in its hue. 
 
 Well-earned as his rest was, he did not seem 
 to enjoy it much. He gazed on his smoke- 
 clouds for a lono^ time, and the dissatisfied 
 expression on his face deepened. Then he 
 sighed, and releasing his right hand, swept it 
 round with a kind of hopeless gesture. His 
 arm was a long one, and, in the circuit it 
 made, came in contact with the black sermon- 
 case which he had deposited on the mantel- 
 piece, and which contained the discourse he 
 had so recently delivered to the scanty con- 
 gregation who had braved the weather. It 
 fell at his feet ; and with a grim smile on his 
 fiice, Cuthbert let it lie. 
 
 ' It is no use,' he said, looking at the ill-
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 6 
 
 J 
 
 treated sermon, and apparently addressing his 
 remarks to it — ' it's no use. How can I ex- 
 pect to convince others, if I can't convince 
 myself? I wrote that sermon for myself; I 
 preached it for myself, not for my flock ; yet 
 I am more full of doubt than before. The 
 hard work, the penury, I did not mind, until 
 I began to doubt. There must be an end to 
 this. Why did I take orders ?' he continued, 
 looking fiercely at the passive sermon-case. 
 ' Why did I take orders ? Now, to answer 
 that question, a man must know himself better 
 than I do. I had to make my living in one 
 profession or another. I was ambitious, and, 
 I believed, clever. The Church was easy to 
 enter, and I may have fancied there was a 
 career there for a clever man. It was no 
 wrong to think this ; for in those days I be- 
 lieved I could do my duty as a clergyman. 
 Then my frame of mind at the time !' — here 
 his eyes grew sad and his voice dropped. 
 * Margaret had just died. She never knew I 
 loved her ; but I knew it. And then, Tra- 
 vers — ah, Travers, Travers, my friend ! with 
 your sweet childlike trust in every old tradi- 
 tion — your silvery tongue — you are answer- 
 
 I 1 — 2
 
 164 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 able for my mistake. Those walks together, 
 those arguments of yours, the fervid elo- 
 quence of which so moved me, that for a 
 time I could see all things by your own light ! 
 And you, I hear, were last month received 
 into the bosom of Rome. You will scarcely 
 blame me. Certainly, in leaving the Church, 
 I shall not be accused of self-interested 
 motives. I have nothing in view. On the 
 other hand, I don't make much sacrifice. 
 Fifty shillings a week is not a great Income 
 for a man to earn. I will set about making 
 the change at once. 
 
 ' Well, Mrs. Roberts, what is it ?' he asked 
 testily, as his landlady knocked, entered, and 
 cut short his meditations in a moment. 
 
 ' Some one from '' The Folly," sir, w^ith 
 this note.' 
 
 * Mrs. Blatchford is worse, I suppose,' said 
 the curate, opening the note. It contained a 
 few hastily written lines from the doctor : ' I 
 am afraid Mrs. B. cannot last out the night. 
 She is anxious to see you. Come at once.' 
 
 ' Poor woman !' ejaculated Cuthbert. ' So 
 much better she seemed yesterday, and now 
 dying.'
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. I 65 
 
 * Is she, indeed, poor thing ?' said Mrs. 
 Roberts, with a sympathetic face. 
 
 * Yes ; I must go at once.' He took off 
 his lounging-coat, preparatory to assuming his 
 clerical garb. * I don't know how I shall get 
 there through this weather.' 
 
 ' There is a carriage waiting, sir.' 
 
 * Then go down, and say I shan't be a 
 minute.' 
 
 Cuthbert attired himself as quickly as he 
 could. Then, with a half-sigh, he took his 
 pocket communion-service, and prepared him- 
 self for the solemn duty before him. ' I wish, 
 he said gravely, * that this sacred rite was to 
 be performed by some one who does not reek 
 of tobacco like I do.' He felt it no grievance 
 to be ■ called from his fireside. Duty was 
 clear enough, and no doubts harassed him 
 on that score. He would have gone as will- 
 ingly to the poorest member of his congre- 
 gation, or of anyone else's congregation, who 
 needed his aid, as he went to the richest lady 
 in Oversea, as Mrs. Blatchford was reputed 
 to be. He spoke a pleasant word to the 
 coachman, who sat, a shapeless bundle of 
 wraps, on the box, and entered the brougham,
 
 1 66 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 which drove off as fast at the horses could 
 draw it. It was not at a great rate of speed, 
 for the road was steep and the gale still at 
 its height, blowing the reins into graceful 
 curves, beginning at the driver's hands and 
 ending at the horses' bits ; even at times 
 threatening to overturn the carriage entirely. 
 The dying woman lived in a large house on 
 the top of the hill overlooking Oversea. In 
 whatever part of the town you stood, you 
 could see that house. When first built, it 
 had been christened some high-sounding 
 name ; but that name had long since vanished. 
 Nicknames often cling to people and to things 
 much longer than their proper names, and for 
 years this house had been known as ' The 
 Folly,' or sometimes as ' Barnes' Folly.' The 
 original Barnes, from whom it derived this 
 distinction, was a sanguine man, who had 
 imbibed the notion that, with proper treat- 
 ment. Oversea was destined to become one 
 of the most fashionable seaside resorts in 
 England. He was a tradesman who had 
 made money in the place, and claimed for it 
 natural advantages which few others could be 
 persuaded to see. His theory was, that if
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 67 
 
 suitable residences were erected, people of 
 station and importance would flock to them. 
 The feeling was patriotic, honourable, and 
 ruinous. He tested the truth of it by build- 
 ing a huge house on the very top of the hill. 
 It cost him several thousands of pounds, and, 
 when finished, no one could be tempted either 
 to buy it, or even to rent it. Lacking a 
 tenant, Mr. Barnes lived there himself for 
 some years — he could scarcely be said to 
 occupy it ; being a bachelor, his belongings 
 and himself barely filled a corner. By-and- 
 by some other speculations went awry ; Mr. 
 Barnes was ruined, and died eventually in the 
 county union. Then the mortgagee took 
 possession, and finding another sanguine 
 man, sold him the house for about one-third 
 of the sum it cost Barnes. After that it made 
 a few intermittent, spasmodic, and unavailing 
 efforts to earn a livelihood. At various times 
 it was a boarding-house without boarders, an 
 hotel without guests, a school without pupils, 
 and a hydropathic establishment without 
 patients. Then it gave up the battle, and 
 for several years lay void and lethargic — its 
 only use in the world being that of serving as
 
 1 68 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 a capital landmark to the Channel pilots, or a 
 warning to speculators who might fancy that 
 Oversea could be made anything of. 
 
 Shortly after Cuthbert Wrey entered upon 
 his duties as curate of St. Nicholas, Barnes' 
 Folly took a new start. The gossip of the 
 place said that a rich widow, now the owner 
 of the deserted mansion, had made up her 
 mind to reside in it. It is not clear how 
 Mrs. Blatchford became possessed of such 
 an undesirable property ; probably it was by 
 way of mortgage ; but it had been hers for 
 several years, and her intentions were as 
 gossip asserted. The shuttered windows 
 were once more opened; painters, plasterers, 
 and paperhangers spent a busy and profitable 
 three months in the house ; van-loads of 
 furniture arrived, and Barnes' Folly was 
 again inhabited. 
 
 As no one save an eccentric person would 
 have lived from choice in such a house, the 
 Oversea folk were not surprised at finding 
 that Mrs. Blatchford was eccentric. She 
 was a widow of about fifty-five — without, so 
 far as people knew, son, daughter, or near 
 relative. She was haughty as a Spaniard,
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 69 
 
 proud as Lucifer, and cold as the east wind. 
 She lived in dreary solitude in the big house, 
 neither going into society nor entertaining 
 company. That she was rich, was self- 
 evident ; but no one knew the true extent of 
 her wealth. To those of her own station 
 with whom chance brought her into contact, 
 she was repellantly polite ; to her inferiors, 
 she was rigidly just. She subscribed to the 
 various local charities in a severe, business- 
 like, but substantial manner ; and, although 
 living alone, her establishment was conducted 
 on a liberal scale most comforting to the Over- 
 sea tradesmen. She drove about in her great 
 carriage, a stately solitary lady ; and with the 
 exception of Cuthbert Wrey, no one in the 
 neighbourhood could be said to stand on 
 terms of friendship with her. 
 
 Curiously enough, between Mrs. Blatch- 
 ford and the curate something very much 
 like friendship had for some years existed. 
 As in duty bound, he had called upon her 
 shortly after her arrival. It may be, his 
 natural manner and pleasant words made an 
 impression upon her — anyway, he had not 
 found her so stern and repellant as she
 
 I/O BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 appeared to her other visitors. A little while 
 afterwards, he had been able to render her a 
 trifling service, or so it appeared ; but which 
 had in all probability saved her house from 
 becoming the prey of burglars. Since then, 
 the solitary lady had shown him decided 
 marks of her favour. Cuthbert was a gentle- 
 man, and if a very poor one, perfectly inde- 
 pendent — far too much so to let the rich lady 
 imagine she was in any way condescending 
 by showing him friendship. Moreover, he 
 was a clever, clear-headed man, such as a 
 woman likes to consult when any difficulties 
 arise in her business affairs. So Mrs. Blatch- 
 ford found not only his society entertaining, 
 but, on occasions, his help and advice valu- 
 able. Thus it was that he was the one 
 person she seemed glad to see ; and for a 
 long time he had been, if not the only visitor, 
 the only welcome visitor at The Folly. 
 
 On his side, when he had penetrated the 
 veil of reserve with which she covered her- 
 self, Cuthbert found her an intellectual, well- 
 informed woman. From chance remarks, he 
 decided that her nature had been spoiled and 
 her life soured by some great grief ; and he
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 17I 
 
 soon found that she possessed an iron will, 
 and determination to have her own way at 
 any cost. Yet she was not exacting or un- 
 reasonable ; and to him, whose interests could 
 in nowise clash with her own, she appeared a 
 sincere, if somewhat undemonstrative, friend. 
 It can scarcely be said that he loved her — 
 her nature was not a lovable one — perhaps it 
 was good-natured pity for her loneliness that 
 induced him to visit her so often, and to 
 trouble himself about her affairs. Certainly 
 it was with no thought of personal advantage, 
 unless it were for the use of her well-stocked 
 library ; although malicious people — chiefly 
 Dissenters, who knew not Cuthbert — wagged 
 ill-natured tongues, and prophesied that one 
 day the strangely assorted pair of friends 
 would forget the disparity of their years. 
 
 During the last few months it had been 
 the man's turn to want an adviser. His 
 doubts as to his fitness for the profession he 
 had chosen needed to be ventilated. Each 
 day, the feeling that he must no longer 
 remain in the Church grew stronger and 
 stronger ; yet he dreaded taking the final 
 step. Mrs. Blatchford had given him good
 
 172 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 counsel, and advised him to act as honesty 
 of purpose impelled him. Only the day be- 
 fore she was taken ill, she had said, with 
 more feeling than he had ever known her 
 exhibit : 
 
 '(Mr. Wrey, you are my friend — perhaps 
 my only friend. I can see you are troubled. 
 Make an end of this, and be yourself once 
 more. I am as fond of you as I am of any 
 one in the world. I am old enough to be 
 your mother. If you want money for a fresh 
 start in life, you must take it from me.' 
 
 Cuthbert had declined the offer, firmly but 
 gratefully. If he left the Church for conscience' 
 sake, he must make some sacrifice, or he would 
 not feel right in his own mind. Still, he was 
 glad to think that this stern, proud woman 
 was so kindly disposed towards him. 
 
 Since that day, he had not seen her. The 
 next day she was taken seriously ill, and 
 doctors and nurses were summoned. Of 
 course he had called regularly until to-day, 
 when his duties had been so heavy he could 
 not find time to mount the hill. And yester- 
 day he had heard she was so much better. 
 
 The horses struggled bravely to the top of
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. I 73 
 
 the hill on which The Folly stood, braving 
 the fury of the storm. A grave servant, 
 whose face spoke of impending calamity, 
 showed Cuthbert into the library, where the 
 doctor joined him. 
 
 ' She has been delirious all day,' he said, 
 ' calling for her son.' 
 
 ' Her son ! Has she a son ?' asked Cuth- 
 bert, surprised. 
 
 ' She must have ; and by the way she 
 talks, I should think he had been but little 
 joy to her. Consciousness returned about 
 an hour ago, but it means the end. She 
 asks for you continually, and you are barely 
 in time. Come with me.' 
 
 He was barely in time. Mrs. Blatchford 
 was dying fast. Her aquiline features were 
 sharp and drawn ; but her face bore a softer 
 expression than Cuthbert could remember 
 having seen upon it. He knelt beside her 
 and took her hand. Seeing she strove to 
 speak, he leant his ear close to her lips. 
 
 * Under my pillow,' were the only words 
 he could catch. 
 
 He put his hand as directed, and drew 
 forth a letter addressed to himself.
 
 174 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 * Shall I read it ?' he asked softly. 
 
 The slight movement she was able to make 
 was a negative one. Cuthbert again bent 
 down to catch her faint words. 
 
 ' Read it,' she gasped — ' after my funeral — 
 alone. Promise — swear you will obey it to 
 the letter.' 
 
 ' So far as I consistently can, I swear — I 
 promise, on my honour as a gentleman.' 
 
 His words seemed to satisfy her. He felt 
 the faintest pressure of her fingers ; then, 
 like one who has done with worldly things, 
 she sank once more into stupor. The doctor, 
 until now, had, from feelings of delicacy, 
 drawn aside. He came near and shook his 
 head ominously. Nothing more could be 
 done. 
 
 Yet she awoke again. Her fingers tightened 
 round Cuthbert's, and her disengaged hand 
 seemed trying to find him through the dark- 
 ness. She even spoke again; and her voice, 
 although faint, was distinct and passionate. 
 
 * My son — my only child ! You have come 
 back at last — at last ! But it is too late ! I 
 forgave, but I could not forget. I have done 
 it for the best, darling. — He is a true man,
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 75 
 
 and will keep his oath. — Good-bye ! You 
 have come back, and I fear nothing.' 
 
 So Honoria Blatchford died, happy in the 
 merciful delusion that the hand she held was 
 that of the son with whom, years ago, she 
 had parted in anger, and whom she had never 
 since seen. 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 CuTHBERT rose, and gently disengaging his 
 hand, left the room. The letter he placed in 
 his breast, wondering even in his grief what 
 the contents could be. He waited down- 
 stairs until the doctor joined him. 
 
 * We can do nothing else,' that gentleman 
 said. ' Let us go home.' 
 
 The carriage was in readiness, and took 
 them to their respective abodes. 
 
 ' Poor woman !' said the doctor, as they 
 parted ; ' what a dreary, lonely death. She 
 seemed to have no friend except you. If you 
 know her lawyer's address, you had better
 
 176 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 telegraph the first thing in the morning. 
 Who are her near relatives ?' 
 
 ' She has none. She told me once her 
 relatives were all distant ones, and she liked 
 none of them. I will telegraph, as you sug- 
 gest.' 
 
 ' You will be certain to come in for a 
 good thing,' continued the doctor, rather 
 enviously. 
 
 Cuthbert started. He had not considered 
 the probability, and felt annoyed at the 
 remark. 
 
 ' I neither believe nor expect it,' he said. 
 ' We were friends, and that is alL' 
 
 'Well, wait and see. Good-night, if you 
 won't come in,' said the doctor, as the carriage 
 stopped at his door. 
 
 Cuthbert went to his room, raked together 
 his smouldering fire, and for a long time sat 
 thinking over the death -bed scene. He felt 
 truly sorry at the loss of a friend, and, with 
 all her peculiarities, a true friend ; yet, in his 
 sorrow, he could not help wondering what 
 could be the contents of that mysterious 
 letter lying before him. It must have been 
 written when Mrs. Blatchford was in good
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 77 
 
 health, as the writing on the cover was firm 
 and powerful. Well he knew that plain but 
 characteristic handwriting — just the sort one 
 would have expected from a stern and strong- 
 minded woman. But speculation was idle ; 
 for some days he must remain in ignorance of 
 the wishes he had so solemnly promised to 
 see carried out ; so he locked the letter in his 
 desk in company with the maltreated sermon, 
 which Mrs. Roberts had picked up and 
 reverentially placed on the table ; then, 
 feeling worn-out with the work of the day, 
 he went to bed and slept an untroubled 
 sleep. 
 
 At an early hour next morning Mr. Hard- 
 ing, solicitor, Lincoln's Inn Fields, learned 
 that one of his best clients was dead ; and by 
 the first possible train he made his appear- 
 ance at Oversea. He looked rather curiously 
 at the curate as they met, and his manner was 
 polite, if not deferential. Cuthbert was glad 
 to see the legal adviser appear so promptly, 
 thinking his advent would shift all responsi- 
 bility from his own shoulders. 
 
 * And what day will you fix for the funeral, 
 Mr. Wrey ?' asked the solicitor, after hearing 
 
 VOL. I. 1 2
 
 178 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 what little there was to hear about his client's 
 rather sudden death. 
 
 * What day will I fix?' 
 
 * Yes. If you don't know It, I may as well 
 tell you that unless Mrs. Blatchford has made 
 a fresh will within the last few months — a 
 most unlikely event, as we were entirely in 
 her confidence — entirely — unless she has 
 made a new will, you are the sole executor.' 
 
 * I am !' 
 
 * Yes, you ; and I may add, a beneficiary to 
 a considerable extent. Our client was a 
 strang-e woman, Mr. Wrey — strange and 
 eccentric ; but perfectly sane — perfectly 
 sane.' 
 
 ' No one who knew her could doubt that.' 
 ' No — fortunately, perhaps, for you — no. 
 The will is In duplicate. You will find one 
 copy in her secretaire ; the other is at our 
 office. For form's sake, you had better ask 
 her relatives, although they are but distant 
 ones.' 
 
 ' I don't even know their names, so must 
 leave it all to you, Mr. Harding.' 
 
 * Then I will send you a list. Saturday 
 would suit me very well, if you wish me to
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. I 79 
 
 come down and pay the last tribute of respect 
 to my poor client — I may say friend/ 
 
 ' Saturday be it, if it rests with me,' replied 
 Cuthbert, who was longing to be alone in 
 order to digest Mr. Harding's intelligence. 
 
 What did it mean ? The lawyer's enig- 
 matical and impressive words — the promise 
 given to the dying woman, and in the back- 
 ground the sealed letter ? He thought about 
 it long, earnestly, and anxiously. He guessed 
 that the dead hand laid some heavy burden 
 upon him, and he longed to know what it 
 might be, feeling that no weight could be 
 heavier than the suspense he must endure 
 during the five days which must elapse before 
 he could open that mysterious letter. But 
 again and again he vowed, as a true man, he 
 would carry out in their entirety the wishes of 
 the dead woman, though he longed for the 
 day to come when he jmight set his mind 
 at rest as to what was required of him. 
 
 It came at last. He had followed Mr. 
 Hardinor's instructions, and cousins bearini^^ 
 the name of Blatchford, and cousins bearing 
 other names, assembled in Oversea. The 
 rector, as was due to his richest parishioner, 
 
 1 2 — 2
 
 l8o BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 performed the ceremony, which, for the con- 
 venience of those who came from a distance, 
 was fixed as late as the Hght would allow. 
 Then the mournful party assembled in the 
 large dining-room at The Folly, and Mr. 
 Harding read the will. It was short — very 
 short. If any of the hearers fostered hope, it 
 only lived through fifty lines of clerkly writing 
 on a sheet of foolscap. The testatrix kept no 
 one long in suspense. A few generous but 
 not absurd legacies to old servants, a couple 
 of charitable bequests, and then — whilst the 
 most stoical of the relatives held his breath or 
 fidgeted in his chair — the whole of the resi- 
 due, real and personal, to my friend, Cuth- 
 bert Wrey, clerk in holy orders — he to be 
 also sole executor. That was all ; too plain, 
 too simple, not to be fully understood by the 
 most commonplace intelligence. There was 
 no outward evidence of disappointment, no 
 outcry, no passionate or scandalous scene. 
 No cousin had been sanguine enough to 
 think his chance worth much, and each one 
 had the consolation of knowing that if he got 
 nothing, his kin were in the same plight. All 
 had been prepared for disappointment. For
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. l8l 
 
 many years Mrs. Blatchford had held little 
 communication with her family. She had 
 responded, as a duty, to any appeals for 
 assistance made by the most needy members; 
 but no one had been foolish enough to expect 
 the reversion of any part of her wealth. Sc, 
 after all, the Rev. Cuthbert Wrey was the 
 most astounded of the party. 
 
 He seemed dazed. He scarcely heard the 
 lawyer's whispered congratulations or his old 
 rector's outspoken ones. He bowed mechani- 
 cally as the majority of the cousins filed from 
 the room. The very magnitude of the be- 
 quest told him that something lay behind the 
 words of the will. Had he been given five, 
 ten, even twenty thousand pounds, he might 
 have recognised it as an act of generous 
 friendship. But all — everything ! The dead 
 woman's last words rang in his ears ; the 
 letter, lying in his desk at home, rose before 
 his eyes. Whatever that will might say, 
 Cuthbert knew that Its true meaning lay in 
 that sealed cover, and his only wish was to 
 get home and learn his fate. He could bear 
 the uncertainty no longer. The only persons 
 left in the room were the lawyer, the rector,
 
 I 82 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 and two little knots of antagonistic cousins, 
 who had recovered from their surprise, and 
 were conversing in low but excited tones at 
 opposite windows. 
 
 ' I feel bewildered,' he said, rising and 
 draining a glass of wine. ' I must go home 
 and think it over quietly.* 
 
 ' Quite right, my dear boy,' said the rector, 
 whispering as he shook hands : ' Don't trouble 
 about to-morrow. I will take the whole ser- 
 vice at the church, and Tinley shall come 
 round to St. Nicholas.' 
 
 * I dare say you will run up to town and 
 see me next week,' suggested Mr. Harding ; 
 'or, if you like, I will come down again.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; I will come up,' said Cuth- 
 bert. 
 
 Then he left the house, and walked home 
 to Marine Parade. 
 
 He went to his room, shut and locked the 
 door, then took out the letter. From force of 
 habit, he wheeled his chair round to its usual 
 position in front of the fire, and prepared to 
 set his mind at rest as to the true value of the 
 will which he had so lately heard read. He 
 had actually torn the cover open — in another
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 83 
 
 minute he would have known all — when a 
 temptation rose, stood before him, and stared 
 him in the face — a temptation so perfectly- 
 organized, with each feature so sharply and 
 clearly defined, that it might have owned a 
 palpable and tangible form. Should he destroy 
 the nni^ead letter' ? 
 
 Cuthbert Wrey, like every other son of 
 Adam, had many times in his life been 
 tempted to sin, error, or folly ; but never as 
 yet to commit an act which would in his own 
 eyes and in the eyes of the world rank as 
 base dishonour. His first sentiment was that 
 of surprise — surprise at such a thought pre- 
 suming to invade his brain — so, in scorn and 
 anger, he bade it begone and trouble him no 
 more. But the thought remained — it re- 
 mained, and every moment gathered strength, 
 purpose, and cohesion. It spoke with thrilling 
 words ; it woke old dreams ; it unfolded wings, 
 and bore him to the top of a mental moun- 
 tain, and bade him gaze on the future and the 
 glories thereof ; whilst, lij||e a strange rhythm, 
 the words of the will beat upon his ears : 
 ' All my real and personal estate to my dear 
 friend, Cuthbert Wrey.' He sat motionless,
 
 184 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 the half-opened letter in his hand, In front of 
 him the glowing coals, which in three seconds 
 could reduce the paper he held to tinder. 
 
 The thoughts, the ideas, the visions which 
 crossed his mind during the hours he sat there, 
 unable to do what was right, and unwilling to 
 do what was wrong, would fill a book. He 
 knew enough of his friend's affairs to guess that 
 the w^ealth of which she had to dispose was 
 great. It was not a question of a few paltry- 
 hundreds which tempted him ; nor, to do him 
 justice, was it the possession of great riches. 
 It was the career those riches would open to 
 him ; for, although not a brilliant success in 
 the calling he had chosen, Cuthbert Wrey 
 had not lost faith in himself or his talents. It 
 was not common greed that assailed him, 
 although the stake, he knew, was a large one. 
 He saw himself freed from a profession for 
 which he had no love ; he saw wealth open 
 the doors of public life to him, and the dream 
 of younger days realized. He even saw him- 
 self famous and wielding power. Yes ; from 
 the pinnacle which commanded the future, 
 the winged thought showed him all this, and 
 more ; urging him, for the sake of these things,
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 85 
 
 to laugh at scruples, and to turn his back on 
 what men call honour. And hour after hour 
 he sat with beads of perspiration on his brow, 
 the letter trembling in his trembling hands ; 
 whilst below him, and so near, the fire threw 
 out little spits and darts of flame, as though 
 urging him to commit the secret to its keep- 
 ing, and let it be hidden for ever and ever in 
 the depths of its wicked red heart. 
 
 He yielded again and again in theory ; but 
 he could not bring himself to do so in deed. 
 However the conflict might end, there was 
 one thing he felt he would not do — he would 
 not read that letter before he destroyed it. 
 Its message should perish with it. If he 
 committed crime, he would remain in igno- 
 rance as to its extent and influence on other 
 people's destinies. Only if right and honour 
 conquered, would he read. So he sat on 
 and on, making a good fight — sat until the 
 fire died out. He would not trust himself to 
 replenish it, and almost laughed as a fantastic 
 thought came to him — how sullen and dis- 
 appointed the half-burned cinders looked. 
 
 But the candles were living, and would do 
 the work equally well. With a great effort
 
 I 86 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 of will, he rose and extinguished them. For 
 some time he sat in darkness ; then he found 
 himself searching for his matches. Too well 
 he knew why he wanted them. He struck 
 one with an unsteady hand. It went out, 
 but not before he caught sight of his white 
 changed face reflected by the mirror. 
 
 ' Shall I see my face like that all my life- 
 time/ he muttered, ' if I do this thing ?' 
 
 He threw the match-box from him. 
 
 Yet the letter was still in his hand. It 
 was as easy to tear it to pieces as to burn it. 
 Although still mistrusting himself, he was 
 growing stronger every minute. He groped 
 his way to the secretaire, placed the letter in 
 its former resting-place, turned the lock, and 
 went to bed. 
 
 In the morning he was himself again, but 
 feeling — if the mind may be compared to the 
 body — as he had sometimes felt after a hard 
 bout of football at Rugby — although rested 
 and refreshed, with a sense of fatigue and 
 recollection of a severe struQ^Q^le still lino^er- 
 ing. 
 
 ' I will never laugh again at old Luther's 
 battle with the devil,' he said, almost humbly.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 187 
 
 ' I see how easily an Imaginative and super- 
 stitious man may believe in his personality.' 
 
 Cuthbert Wrey never forgot that night ; 
 ever afterwards he was lenient, perhaps too 
 lenient, with transgressors ; but before he 
 condemned, he thought of that glowing fire 
 and the unread letter trembling in his hand. 
 
 After breakfast he took the letter, and in a 
 calm business-like way sat down to read it. 
 It was something like he had anticipated. It 
 was dated some months back, carefully worded 
 and written : 
 
 * My dear Mr. Wrey, 
 
 ^ To-day I have made my will. If I 
 judge you rightly, no one will be more sur- 
 prised than you at its contents. I leave you 
 all ; but I leave It in trust. Years ago, my 
 son, my only child, left me — or I should 
 rather say I cast him off. The life he had 
 led amply justified this step. But he is my 
 son yet. I love him ; but I dare not leave 
 him money to work evil with. Where he is, 
 I know not, having neither seen nor heard of 
 him since we parted In anger. He may be 
 changed, or he may change. If so — If you
 
 iSS BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 are satisfied that he is living even the life of 
 an ordinary man, the Income arising from my 
 property must be his. If he marries, or Is 
 married, all must be settled on his children — 
 all except five thousand pounds, which I beg 
 you to accept as a token of friendship. 
 Should my son be dead before me, and 
 leave no children, take my wealth and use It 
 as your own, and may It bring you greater 
 happiness than It has brought me. I trust 
 you In this as few women of my age have 
 ever trusted a man. If I urged you to keep 
 faith, I should show doubt, and this letter 
 would be waste-paper. You will read this 
 after my death, and will, I am pleased to 
 think, regret a little your friend, 
 
 ' HONORIA BlATCHFORD. 
 
 ^ P.S. — His name Is Ralph.' 
 
 It was as he had Imagined — coupling her 
 last words with the delivery of that letter 
 — she gave with one hand and took away 
 with the other. Knowing Mrs. Blatchford's 
 character so well, he could read plainly 
 between the lines of that letter. He could 
 see the pride which had kept her to the text,
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 89 
 
 but not to the spirit of a determination which 
 she had vowed should be Irrevocable. How- 
 ever much her son had wronged her, she 
 had forgiven him in her heart ; but having 
 sworn she would not leave him a penny, had 
 In this extraordinary way compounded with 
 her self-respect. 
 
 Although the passing dream of great wealth 
 must come no more, Cuthbert could only feel 
 thankful. He could with a clear conscience 
 accept the five thousand pounds, the interest 
 on which would give him about double the 
 Income he now enjoyed. He could free him- 
 self from his bondage, and make a fresh start 
 under easy circumstances. So he felt very 
 grateful, and vowed that the Instructions that 
 letter contained should be followed to the 
 best of his ability. That Ralph Blatchford 
 was dead, never entered his mind. He would 
 hear of his mother's death, and make his ap- 
 pearance — next week, next month or next 
 year, according to the distance at which his 
 tent was pitched. Whether he would be fit to 
 be trusted with the money or not, must be an 
 after-consideration. The decision would be 
 a great responsibility ; but he hoped, after
 
 I go BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 last night's struggle, to be able to judge 
 fairly. For himself, he was now a free man, 
 with five thousand pounds ; and Cuthbert 
 went that evening to the little galvanized iron 
 apology for a church, and preached his last 
 sermon with a thankful heart. 
 
 After such a turn of fortune's wheel, no 
 one wondered at his leaving his profession 
 immediately. Legal matters were settled ; 
 the will duly proved, and although caveats 
 were threatened by sundry relatives, the 
 threats came to nothing; and Cuthbert Wrey, 
 to all appearance, stepped from a curate's 
 stipend of one hundred and twenty pounds 
 into rents, dividends, and interest, amounting 
 at the least to four thousand pounds a year ; 
 and as yet Ralph Blatchford had made no 
 sign. 
 
 By Cuthbert's instructions, the notice of 
 Mrs. Blatchford's death was inserted in the 
 newspapers of nearly every civilized country. 
 Then, as nothing was heard of the wanderer, 
 the notice was changed into an advertisement 
 requesting Ralph Blatchford to communicate 
 with Messrs. Harding and Co., Solicitors, 
 etc. Several impostors responded to it, and
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. IQI 
 
 told Incredible tales, but were in turn dis- 
 missed. So months went on, and readers of 
 newspapers in all parts of the world found 
 the repetition of the same advertisement 
 growing monotonous and a trifle irritating. 
 
 Cuthbert meanwhile lived in London, 
 occupying Inexpensive rooms, and deter- 
 mined to limit his expenditure to the interest 
 on the sum to which he was morally entitled. 
 He strove to keep himself from building 
 castles which might be shattered any moment. 
 He had entered for the bar, thinking that 
 was the best opening for his ambition. The 
 few people who knew him, and were ac- 
 quainted with the terms of the will, wondered 
 at his mode of life. Why should a man of 
 his wealth wish to adopt a profession ? He 
 told no one, not even his solicitors, under 
 what reservation he held the property. He 
 worked hard, for it was his nature to do so, 
 and managed to live contentedly enough for 
 a year, willing to resign everything when 
 called upon so to do. Then, gradually, he 
 began to grow unsettled. No word or tidings 
 came of Ralph Blatchford. Another year 
 passed ; and then, only then, Cuthbert Wrey
 
 192 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 thought — perhaps hoped — that Ralph Blatch- 
 ford was known not in the land of the living. 
 
 After this, the advertisements appeared at 
 intervals only. Still Cuthbert feared to enter 
 into his kingdom. 
 
 ' I will wait another year,' he said. * Then 
 I shall be a barrister. If he turns up by that 
 time, I will try and succeed as an advocate ; 
 if not, I must believe he is dead.' 
 
 In due time he was called to the bar ; but 
 never held a brief nor appeared in any 
 court. Ralph Blatchford was still unheard 
 of; and Cuthbert made up his mind to use 
 and enter into full enjoyment of his strangely 
 acquired wealth. 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 Ten years have passed by. It is now the 
 middle of August, and Parliament has some 
 days been prorogued. The Member for 
 Blacktown has gone down to his country-seat 
 to spend a few weeks in absolute quiet and 
 enjoyment of home ; for although public life 
 sadly interferes with domestic virtues, he is a
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 93 
 
 home-loving man. He is still young ; has 
 plenty of confidence in himself, and is content 
 to wait his time; trusting that when his 
 chance does come, he may know how to use 
 it. Yes, Cuthbert Wrey, the member for 
 Blacktown, is not only an ambitious man, 
 but, so far as he has gone, a successful one. 
 
 He has been in Parliament about seven 
 years. He could scarcely believe the truth, 
 when he found his first attempt successful. 
 No one knows exactly how candidates are 
 brought forward and matters managed ; but 
 if a man chooses to drop a hint to the proper 
 people that he is willing, at his own charge, 
 CO lead a forlorn hope, it is not so very long 
 before he is allowed to do so. 
 
 Upon leaving the Church and taking pos- 
 session of Mrs. Blatchford's wealth, Cuthbert's 
 one aim had been the Senate. He devoted 
 CO this the three years' income which had 
 accumulated whilst he considered the inherit- 
 ance in abeyance. Of course he had to wait 
 his chance, and that chance when offered to 
 lim, seemed so slight that he looked upon 
 fighting the borough of Blacktown as advan- 
 aoreous onlv because it orave him a certain 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 claim on his party for the future. It was a 
 bye-election, and, hopeless as it seemed, was 
 to be contested on principle. He went down 
 to try his best. Several chances favoured 
 him. The principal man in the place, his 
 opponent's chief supporter, turning sulky over 
 some trifling social piece of legislation, not 
 only kept Achilles-like to his tent, but gave his 
 dependants free license to vote as they chose. 
 The Government, again, had selected as a 
 candidate a man who was so clever that they 
 wanted his assistance, but who had, never- 
 theless, made himself so unpopular, that he 
 had been already rejected by two constitu- 
 encies. They thought that Blacktown was a 
 safe seat, so sent him down there. Perhaps 
 the free and independent electors resented 
 this, perhaps the man with great local Influ- 
 ence did more than abstain from voting — 
 anyway, Cuthbert was returned by a decent 
 majority, and walked up to the table of the 
 House amid frantic Opposition cheers, as the 
 harbinger of the returning flood of power. 
 At the general election, which followed in 
 about two years, he was returned by an over- 
 whelming majority. He had made himself
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 95 
 
 known and popular, and more than that, the 
 sulky man had now thrown his lot in with 
 Cuthbert's party, and, like all renegades, was a 
 bitter foe to his former faith. 
 
 We need not follow his Parliamentary 
 career. Of course he was still in the second 
 rank ; but his name began to be heard in the 
 mouths of men. He had kept himself before 
 the public. His speeches were listened to, 
 and, what is more, reported at length. He 
 had made one or two hits, and people knew 
 that when his party were in power he would 
 fill one of the lesser offices. More than this 
 he had no right to expect — at present. 
 
 Cuthbert has changed somewhat since we 
 first saw him. Although in many ways the 
 past years have improved him, he shows 
 traces of hard work. His hair is sprinkled 
 with grey, and there are lines of thought on 
 his broad forehead ; but he looks stalwart 
 and strong enough to face any amount of toil 
 and fatigue, whether bodily or mental. An 
 erect, strongly built man, with a powerful but 
 pleasing face, and possessing the knack of 
 winning, not only the confidence and trust 
 of one or two persons, but that of large
 
 196 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 audiences. Indeed, he Is looked upon as one 
 of the safest and best men of his party to 
 address a large gathering of people. He 
 speaks well and easily ; his logic is simple 
 and goes straight to the point ; he possesses 
 a commanding presence, and, moreover, 
 argues as from honest conviction. He is 
 now forty-one — quite young, in a political 
 point of view ; and if Cuthbert Wrey, whilst 
 smoking his morning cigar under the shade 
 of his favourite tree, sees in the immediate 
 future very pleasant probabilities, who can 
 wonder ? 
 
 In spite of Mrs. Blatchford's wealth, she 
 had possessed no residence save Barnes' 
 Folly. Cuthbert had not made it his home ; 
 although to this day it remained his property, 
 and unproductive as ever. He had purchased 
 a small estate in the west of England ; and 
 that, except when Parliament was sitting, was 
 his home. It was little more than a comfort- 
 able country-house with well-kept gardens 
 and a small park. He had no wish to set up 
 as a county magnate. His honours were to 
 be won amid the bustling strife of cities ; but 
 he loved his home and those who filled it.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 97 
 
 He sat lazily skimmlno^ yesterday's paper. 
 Being some distance from a post town, letters 
 only reached him once a day. As the news- 
 paper gave no account of debates, his interest 
 in it was but languid. The weather was so 
 fine that he felt little inclination for work, 
 although he knew that a pile of letters awaited 
 him indoors. He looked the picture of placid 
 content as he sat in the shade of the large 
 sycamore tree. Few would have imagined 
 that idle gentleman in a soft slouch-hat and 
 old shooting-coat, whose thoughts seemed 
 centred on the excellent cigar he was 
 smoking, to be a rising legislator, who hoped, 
 some day, to take an important part in the 
 government of his country. When Cuthbert 
 settled down to rest, he did so as he did 
 everything else — thoroughly ; he rested men- 
 tally and physically. A clump of arbutus hid 
 the house from him, so there was nothing to 
 disturb his even frame of mind. So comfort- 
 able he felt, that he resolved to postpone his 
 correspondence until the evening — to sit and 
 simply enjoy the sunshine and shade as long 
 as he could. 
 
 Then, with the sound of merry laughter,
 
 19^ BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 four children ran round the arbutus bushes. 
 They came in single file, headed by a sturdy 
 boy of nine, and whipped In by a toddling 
 female thing of three. They Invaded and 
 clambered on Cuthbert, treating him as an 
 equal, with a happy Ignorance of the import- 
 ant position he occupied In the world. In 
 breathless delight they Informed him they had 
 'runned away.' 
 
 Then a tall and beautiful lady appeared, 
 shaking her head with mock severity at the 
 culprits. ' You rascals !' she said, * coming 
 out and disturbing your father like this. — 
 Shall I send them in, Cuthbert ?' 
 
 * Let them stay,' he answered pleasantly. 
 ' We don't see too much of each other in the 
 course of the year. Public life and domestic 
 duties don't walk hand In hand.' 
 
 His wife leant over and kissed him. 
 
 * How delightful,' he continued, 'this perfect 
 rest and quiet ! No dismal speeches to listen 
 to ; no questions to ask the right honourable 
 gentleman ; no bores airing grievances. The 
 very birds following our laudable August 
 custom, and lapsing Into silence. Here I am 
 safe even from constituents, deputations, and
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 1 99 
 
 petitions. I could almost wish It might last 
 for ever/ 
 
 * Yet how you will be longing for work 
 again before the recess is over !' said Mrs. 
 Wre}^ almost sadly. 
 
 ' That, my dear, is man's perverse nature. 
 Anyway, I enjoy myself now, if only in the 
 perfect immunity from interruption and bother. 
 I wish you would burn all my letters — un- 
 opened — for the next week.' 
 
 How strangely a chance word brings up 
 old memories ! The remark he made about 
 burning unopened letters sent his thoughts 
 back a dozen years. Even now his face grew 
 grave as he remembered how nearly he 
 had yielded to the temptations of a certain 
 night. 
 
 Just then a servant appeared and in- 
 formed him that a 'person' wished to see 
 him. 
 
 * A person ! What sort of a person ? Man 
 or woman ?' 
 
 ' A man, sir.' 
 
 ' You told him I was not to be seen by 
 any one on business ?' 
 
 * Yes, sir. But he said he had travelled
 
 200 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 from Bristol expressly to see you on a private 
 matter, and hoped you would spare him a 
 minute.' 
 
 Cuthbert's first impulse was to send that 
 person about his business ; but the old priestly 
 habit of being at everyone's disposal still 
 lingered about him ; so, disengaging himself 
 from the children, he tossed the end of his 
 cigar away, and walked across the lawn to 
 the house. 
 
 The servant had used the term 'person' 
 with propriety. The visitor seemed to merit 
 rather more than the definition * man ;' but 
 no servant knowing his duties would have 
 announced him as a gentleman. A thickset, 
 strong, weather-beaten fellow, with the look 
 of a sailor about him — a sailor dressed in un- 
 conventional shore-clothes. His age might 
 have been about the same as Cuthbert's, 
 although exposure to wind and weather made 
 him look some years his senior. He was 
 waiting in the library, and, as the master of 
 the house entered, he rose, making an uneasy 
 sort of salutation. Cuthbert bade him reseat 
 himself. 
 
 * Now, what can I do for you ?' he said.
 
 THE BLATCIIFORD BEQUEST. 20I 
 
 The man looked uncomfortable, and waited 
 a few moments before he spoke. 
 
 ' I am speaking to C. Wrey, Esq., M.P. ?' 
 he asked, evidently thinking the magic letters 
 should be attached In conversation. 
 
 * Wants something, of course,' thought 
 Cuthbert, as he owned to his name and 
 honours. 
 
 *C. Wrey, Esq., M.P.,' continued the 
 person. * That's the name, sure enough. I 
 wrote it down at once.' 
 
 ' Well, go on, my man. Let me hear what 
 you have to say.' 
 
 ' It's like this, sir, you see. I came down 
 from London to Bristol by express. They 
 don't put third-class on express, so I had to 
 get in with my betters.' [' Railway grievance,' 
 thought Cuthbert.] ' Well, sir, there were 
 two or three gentlemen there talking politics ; 
 they talked a deal about you, sir.' 
 
 Cuthbert was not overwhelmed at hearing 
 of this tribute to his fame. His visitor went 
 on. ' '* Extraordinary clever fellow," says 
 one. — " A conceited chap," says another — 
 begging your pardon, sir. I didn't pay much 
 heed, as I don't know much about politics.
 
 202 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Never had a vote to sell. But, by-and-by, 
 one of 'em says : " Used to be a parson, 
 starving on a hundred a year." — '' Very rich 
 now," says another. '' How did he get his 
 money ?" — " Old woman named Blatchford 
 left him ten thousand a year, lucky fellow !" 
 says another. Then I got interested, Mr. 
 Wrey.' 
 
 Cuthbert also was growing interested. 
 An absurd thought crossed his mind, to be 
 dispelled as he looked more attentively at the 
 speaker. 
 
 ' Well, go on,' he said. 
 
 'Would you mind telling me, sir,' asked 
 the man respectfully, ' if that Mrs. Blatchford 
 ever had a son named Ralph ? Blatchford 
 isn't a common name, you see.' 
 
 It was some years since Cuthbert had been 
 troubled by a claimant to the name of Blatch- 
 ford, but he had not forgotten how to deal 
 with them. 
 
 ' Now look here, my man,' he said sharply ; 
 'don't beat about the bush. If you are going 
 to assert that you are Ralph Blatchford, who 
 has been kept away all these years by un-
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 2O3 
 
 avoidable circumstances, say so at once, and 
 I shall know how to treat you.' 
 
 The man looked at him in open-mouthed 
 astonishment. He laughed aloud, then said : 
 
 ' Lord love ye, sir! I'm not Ralph Blatch- 
 ford. Bad chap as I've been in my time, I'd 
 be sorry to have been such a one as him. 
 But, bad as he was, Ralph Blatchford always 
 looked what I don't, a gentleman. He's 
 been dead and buried this fourteen years.' 
 
 Cuthbert had felt convinced of this for 
 many years ; but he was not sorry to have 
 clear proofs of his death. 
 
 'When did he die ?' he asked. ' How did 
 he die ? I have been trying for years to 
 ascertain his fate. What proofs have you of 
 his death ?' 
 
 The man gave a sort of chuckle. 
 
 * I don't know about proofs, sir ; but when 
 you've seen a fellow with a ounce bullet making 
 a hole in his lungs big enough to shove your 
 two fingers into, I guess you don't want 
 much more proof, or burial certificate either.' 
 
 'Very well. If you saw him die, tell me 
 all about it.' 
 
 * 'Tisn't much to tell, sir. I was down at
 
 204 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 San Francisco fourteen years ago this autumn. 
 —Know Trisco, Mr. Wrey ?' 
 
 Cuthbert shook his head. 
 
 * Ought to know 'Frisco, sir. 77/^ grandest 
 city in the world, but chock full of villainy. 
 Somehow, all the scum of the universe turns 
 up in 'Frisco. Suppose that's how I got 
 there,' he added, rather sadly. ' Well, sir, 
 one night I went into a drinking and 
 gambling shop, and sitting down there, I 
 saw Ralph Blatchford. I'd known him else- 
 where, you see. Up I went to him and held 
 out my hand. ''Why, Mr. Blatchford," I 
 said — for Dandy Ralph was always above 
 me in manner. — He scowled. " My name 
 ain't Blatchford," he said.— '' All right," I 
 
 said. " Let your d name be what you 
 
 like, it don't matter to me." Then I walked 
 away ; but I couldn't help keeping an eye 
 on him. He sat down with some men and 
 played cards. He seemed to be winning. 
 They were playing euchre. — Know euchre, 
 Mr. Wrey ?' 
 
 Cuthbert's education in this direction had 
 been neglected. He again shook his head. 
 
 The speaker continued, slowly and medita-
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 205 
 
 lively, as though endeavouring to solve a 
 mental problem as he proceeded : 
 
 * Now, this is what puzzles me about 
 Ralph Blatchford. He must have been a 
 fool — although we always thought him a 
 smart clever chap — to go and play a stale, 
 worn-out trick on men like that. He must 
 have been downright desperate, or fancied 
 they would never expect him to insult their 
 intelligence with such a poor affair. Anyway, 
 he miis^ have been a fool.* 
 
 * Did he cheat ?' asked Cuthbert. 
 
 * They all do, when they can,' answered 
 the man simply. ' But he was clumsy at it. 
 There was a flare-up ! Out came the shoot- 
 ing-irons. I sat down as low as I could in 
 my chair — always do that, sir, when you see a 
 derringer drawn — and when I looked up in 
 two seconds, Ralph Blatchford was a dying 
 man.' 
 
 ' What a place !' said Cuthbert, with a 
 shudder. 
 
 ' Well, it is a hasty, sudden-death sort of 
 a place ; but not so bad as you guess. If 
 that card hadn't been found on him, the man 
 who shot would have been strung up, and his
 
 2o6 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 kicking all over, in less than ten minutes. 
 But the card was there, sure enough, so no 
 one could say anything/ 
 
 ' What a death !' said Cuthbert, as his 
 thoughts went back, and he heard the last 
 words of affection and forgiveness spoken by 
 Honoria Blatchford to the one whom she be- 
 lieved, in the delirium of the moment, to be her 
 penitent son — her son, who, months before, 
 had been shot down, a common cheat, in a 
 gambling house — ' what an end !' 
 
 But all doubts were now dispelled. He 
 turned to his visitor. 
 
 * I am much obliged to you,' he said, 'for 
 your information. What became of him, has 
 always been a mystery till now. You must 
 allow me to remunerate you for your trouble, 
 and I dare say you will like some refresh- 
 ment. I will order it to be sent to you.' 
 
 His visitor had not quite finished his tale. 
 
 * Thank you kindly, sir,' he said. ' I don't 
 want any money ; but I should like a bite 
 and a sup. — But, Mr. Wrey, there's some- 
 thing else I want to say.' 
 
 ' Speak on. What is it ?' 
 
 * They carried him into a back-room, sir ;
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 207 
 
 and I thought the poor chap would like to 
 see a face he knew, so I went to him. He 
 knew me well enough then. I sat with him 
 till it was all over. Just before he died, he 
 turns to me. " Dick," he says, gasping — 
 ** Dick, I've been a devil, and I'm dying like 
 a dog. I've got a wife and a boy somewhere 
 in England ; find them out, and take them 
 to my mother. She'll be good to them for 
 my sake, although I don't deserve it." Those 
 were Ralph Blatchford's last words, sir.' 
 
 Like one who dreams a dreadful dream, 
 Cuthbert heard these words. After all these 
 years, his fool's paradise had tumbled to 
 pieces. A wife — a son ! The very con- 
 tingency provided for by the dead woman. 
 He stared for some moments at the speaker 
 without the power of utterance. He knew 
 human nature too well to doubt that the man 
 was telling the simple truth. A wife and 
 son ! waiting, perhaps, to claim what they 
 could of the property which had been his so 
 long. 
 
 The bearer of these evil tidings looked at 
 him so Inquisitively, that he nerved himself 
 to make further Inquiries; but when he spoke
 
 208 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 his voice was so changed that It seemed to 
 the listener hke the voice of another man. 
 
 * How Is It ?' he asked — ' how Is It I only 
 hear of this now — fourteen years after his 
 death ?' 
 
 His Informant looked uncomfortable, as If 
 the pressing of the question would be un- 
 pleasant. 
 
 * I was bound for Australia, next day/ he 
 said ; * so I put the matter by until I could 
 earn some money and get back to England. 
 But I lost all I made as soon as I got It, for 
 years and years. It was only last year I had 
 a streak of luck, and followed It up. I 
 haven't been In England two months. Be- 
 sides,' he added, rather defiantly, * Ralph 
 Blatchford was no particular friend of mine ; 
 I couldn't go hunting about England for a 
 woman and a boy. I did see an advertise- 
 ment once In a Sydney paper about him.' 
 
 * Why not have answered It ?' 
 
 ' I was up In the Bush ; but I made shift 
 to write a letter ; I sent it by a mate to the 
 nearest post-town. He was never heard of 
 again. Got killed, or lost in the Bush, I 
 suppose.'
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 2O9 
 
 ' Then you know nothing about his wife 
 and child ?' 
 
 ' Nothing whatever, sir. I'd almost for- 
 gotten about the whole affair. Only, when 
 I heard that talk about Mrs. Blatchford's 
 money, her son's last words came back to me, 
 and I felt conscience-struck like, and made 
 up my mind to come and repeat them to 
 you. That's all I've got to say, sir.' 
 
 Cuthbert mused for a while. How came 
 it that the widow had never applied to the 
 old lady for assistance ? Why had she taken 
 no notice of the advertisements addressed to 
 her late husband ? Either she was dead, 
 or was In Ignorance of her husband's true 
 name and station In life ; most likely the 
 latter. 
 
 ' What name did he pass under, when you 
 saw him last ?' he asked. 
 
 His visitor scratched his head. 
 
 'Ah, there you have me, sir; I've been 
 trying to remember it all the way down. I 
 know I did hear It at the time. Wilson, or 
 Johnson, or some commonish name like that ; 
 but for the life of me, I don't know which.' 
 
 * How can I find out ?' 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 * Only way I can think of is to get some 
 one in 'Frisco to go to " Daley's Bar" — it's 
 still running, I know — and ask if any one 
 remembers a man who was shot there 
 September 12th, fourteen years ago. To 
 be sure, there must have been a good many 
 shot about that time, but some one may be 
 able to spot the right one.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I will do so. — Your name 
 is.^' 
 
 'Richard Dunn's my name. Quay, Bristol, 
 will find me. Vm trying to do something as 
 a stevedore. I've a bit of money, and want 
 to stay in England, if I can.' 
 
 Cuthbert rang the bell, and told the servant 
 to minister to Mr. Dunn's wants ; then, bid- 
 ding him good-morning, left the house by a 
 side-entrance, and, unseen by wife or children, 
 departed on a solitary walk through the neigh- 
 bouring lanes, in order to think the matter 
 over without interruption. 
 
 It was the worst intelligence he could have 
 received ; even worse, he thought, than that 
 of the existence of Ralph Blatchford. Despite 
 the lapse of years, the restrictions were to 
 him binding as before. Yet to be called
 
 THE BLATCHFORT) BEQUEST. 21 T 
 
 upon to surrender all to a woman and child 
 who might be living in the lowest rank of 
 life, perhaps in crime, seemed preposterous. 
 Besides, now he would have to surrender 
 more than wealth ; he must give up ambition, 
 realized ambition, with it. Would he have 
 the strength to conquer this time ? He 
 feared not. But that question must be post- 
 poned for the present. However he acted 
 eventually, whether true to his own idea of 
 truth, whether he could bring himself to 
 compound with his conscience, one thing was 
 clear — Ralph Blatchford's widow and child 
 must be found. Another day should not 
 pass without steps being taken to insure 
 this. When found, and the necessity of 
 action stared him in the face, he would 
 decide what to do. Having resolved this, 
 he returned to the house. 
 
 Although he was now old enough to have 
 learned the way to control emotion, Mrs. 
 Wrey saw that something was amiss with 
 him. When dinner was over and the day 
 had closed, she sat beside him and looked 
 into his face anxiously. 
 
 * Cuthbert dear, something is worrying you. 
 
 14 — 2
 
 212 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Is It a public or a private affair ? I can at 
 least share the last.' 
 
 He drew her close to him. Should he tell 
 her ? It was better not. Why should she 
 be made anxious by thinking of a calamity 
 which might never arrive ? She knew some- 
 thing of the moral obligation which overrode 
 his legal title to his Inheritance — that should 
 Ralph Blatchford appear, a great sacrifice 
 must be made ; but all danger of that seemed 
 dispelled years and years ago. 
 
 ' Do I seem worried ?' he said pleasantly. 
 * If so, I am ashamed of myself, as it Is only 
 a question of money. I may lose some 
 soon.' 
 
 His manner reassured her. 
 
 ' Is that all ?' she said. ' I feared it was 
 something worse than that.' 
 
 He kissed her upturned face, and could 
 not refrain from saying : 
 
 'If I lost everything In the world, you 
 would be the same to me, Marlon ?' 
 
 His wife took both his hands and gazed 
 earnesdy Into his eyes. 
 
 * Go back ten years, and answer that 
 question for me. Think how you first saw
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 213 
 
 me — how you took me from a dependent 
 position, and gave me love, trust, and every- 
 thing worth Hving for. Oh, my husband, 
 how good you have been to me !' 
 
 Marion Wrey spoke the truth. In linking 
 his life with hers, Cuthbert had made no 
 grand alliance. She brought him neither 
 wealth nor influence. Ten years ago he had 
 met her at the house of a clerical friend, the 
 Rev. Mr. Mayne. She was a pale, sad, but 
 beautiful girl, who had awakened his interest 
 at once. For some time she had been acting 
 as governess to his friend's children. A faint 
 resemblance she bore to the first woman he 
 had ever loved appealed to Cuthbert ; and 
 after seeing her a few times interest grew to 
 admiration, and admiration culminated in 
 love. He was not a man to linger long in 
 suspense. One day he went to her and asked 
 her to be his wife; pleading for the gift of 
 her love in so earnest a way, that she could 
 not fail to understand the depth of the passion 
 he felt. Yet the girl hesitated. She made 
 no secret of the fact that she loved him, but 
 begged for a couple of days' grace before she 
 gave him the promise he craved. Puzzled,
 
 214 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 but hopeful, he left her, returning at the time 
 specified for her answer. 
 
 Marion took his hand. ' I have thought 
 and thought,' she said, ' but I cannot decide. 
 Will you take me just as I am — just as you 
 find me — without one question as to my past, 
 or one allusion to it ? My life has been a 
 bitter one ; and if I become your wife, let me 
 bury and utterly blot out the past. Will you, 
 can you do this ?' 
 
 With a lover's impetuosity, he vowed that 
 neither now nor hereafter did he care or would 
 he wish to know anything save and except 
 that she loved him ; and as, without a shadow 
 of evil in them, her clear eyes met his, he 
 knew that he should never regret or wish to 
 break the vow. 
 
 * If,' she said after a pause — * if you think I 
 ask too much, go to Mr. Mayne ; he knows 
 my history. It is a sad one — so sad, that I 
 should like to think you never heard It.' 
 
 But Cuthbert preferred to trust entirely, 
 and keep his promise, like the loyal man he 
 was. If there had been sorrow, let it be 
 burled for ever. Marlon's happiness was his 
 future charge.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 215 
 
 They were married almost Immediately, 
 and from that hour every trace of sadness 
 vanished from Marlon's face. Every day, her 
 husband thought, she grew more beautiful. 
 She was twenty-six when Cuthbert married 
 her ; and now, ten years afterwards, she was 
 a fair, refined, dignified woman, fit to move 
 in the best society, and doing the honours of 
 her house to, often, distinguished visitors with 
 perfect grace and composure. Dearly as she 
 loved her husband, much as she longed for 
 his constant presence, she was no bar to the 
 success of his ambition. His aims were hers, 
 and she could make any sacrifice to compass 
 what he had at heart. No husband and wife 
 could have been better matched, and none 
 loved better. 
 
 Yet Cuthbert decided not to tell her the 
 purport of Mr. Dunn's visit, until something 
 more definite was ascertained. The next day 
 he went up to town, and made arrangements 
 with a noted inquiry agent to send some one 
 at once to San Francisco, in the hope of 
 getting some Information about a man, name 
 unknown, who, fourteen years ago, was shot 
 like a dog in a gambling saloon. Then, dis-
 
 2l6 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 missing, so far as he could, the whole thing 
 from his mind, he went back to what holiday 
 he could allow himself 
 
 Chapter III. 
 
 It was several months before the agent re- 
 turned from America. He had been ordered 
 to spare neither time nor money, and had 
 kept his instructions to the letter, but with 
 little result as yet. Having, after some 
 trouble, ascertained that the man who was 
 shot, as described by Mr. Dunn, passed under 
 the name of Winslow, he went to work to trace 
 him back. It was a difficult task, but it 
 would have been even more so had not the 
 so-called Winslow, by sundry villainous acts, 
 left his memory green in the minds of some 
 with whom he had come in contact. It will 
 doubtless seem as though the search was 
 l^egun at the wrong end ; but, years ago, the 
 other way had failed. From the time when 
 he quarrelled irrevocably with his mother, 
 Blatchford could be traced a certain distance ; 
 then he disappeared.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 21 7 
 
 At last the agent returned. By the merest 
 chance he had found a man who had sailed 
 from Liverpool in the same boat that carried 
 Blatchford or Winslow. He, like others, 
 had reasons of his own for remembering 
 him. So this was the result of the inquiry : 
 Blatchford sailed from Liverpool at a certain 
 date, under the name of Winslow. After a 
 short but discreditable career in various cities 
 in North and South America, he had met his 
 fate as described. Nothing was known about 
 his wife. 
 
 Cuthbert heard the agent's report. 
 
 * We had better advertise for Mrs. 
 Winslow,' that gentleman suggested. 
 
 Cuthbert considered. 
 
 ' Not yet,' he said. ' Go down to Liver- 
 pool, and try and trace back from there. He 
 was a saloon passenger, you say. Most 
 likely he stayed at a good hotel. A list 
 of the guests may show where he came 
 from, as he appears to have been contented 
 with one alias. Go down and see what 
 you can do ; but don't write me or come to 
 me until you think the case hopeless, or until 
 you have learnt all'
 
 2l8 
 
 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 The agent went his way ; and Cuthbert 
 knew that the time was drawing near when 
 the old battle must be refouQ^ht. He strove 
 to dismiss the matter from his mind ; but, do 
 what he would, it was always with him. The 
 sacrifice would now be so tremendous. Even 
 if all went well with his party, and he had 
 office, what good could be expected of a 
 statesman who has only the emoluments of 
 his place to depend upon ? He must de- 
 generate — must sooner or later become a 
 place-seeker, when office was a matter of life 
 and death to those he loved best in the 
 world. No ; if he gave up — as he was by 
 his own code of honour bound to give up — 
 Mrs. Blatchford's wealth, farewell to public 
 life. All that would be over. 
 
 And with these thoughts always with him, 
 dreading that each post would bring him news 
 of the missing people, despite himself, the 
 man's manner changed. He grew moody, pre- 
 occupied, and silent ; even the smile with 
 which he greeted his wife and children was 
 different- — so different, that for the first time 
 since she had been married, Marion Wrey 
 felt unhappy and full of strange fears.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 219 
 
 It was about a month after her husband's 
 last Interview with the confidential agent 
 that Marion sat alone. Cuthbert had gone 
 to the north of England to speak at an Im- 
 portant meeting, held that night in a large 
 town, one of the strongholds of his anta- 
 gonists. Although — the Wreys being now 
 people of some note — Marlon had half-a-dozen 
 invitations for this particular evening, she 
 preferred spending it at home and alone. 
 She sat thinking of many things, past and 
 present, but most of all of Cuthbert's changed 
 manner of late. It had for some time been 
 a source of great uneasiness to her. He did 
 not complain or show any sign of Illness ; 
 he was sanguine as to the outcome of public 
 affairs ; his ambition was not so high as to 
 ensure disappointment. What, then, had 
 changed him — changed his way of speaking, 
 changed his smile ? Could it be, she thought, 
 with the quick suspicion of a loving woman, 
 that his affection for her was waning ? Did 
 he at last begin to think that, in marrying 
 one so lowly as herself, he had thrown a 
 chance away ? But such thoughts were but 
 passing ones. He had given her too many
 
 2 20 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 proofs of the endurance of his love to permit 
 her to harbour such unworthy doubts. Yet 
 she sighed, and prayed that whatever 
 weighed upon her husband's mind might be 
 removed, or that he would let her share the 
 burden. After a while she rose and rang 
 the bell. 
 
 ' Bring me to-night's letters,' she said. 
 
 Cuthbert kept no secretary. He was an 
 energetic man, equal to any amount of work ; 
 but whilst the House was sitting, his corre- 
 spondence was so voluminous that, recently, 
 his wife opened many of his letters and 
 sorted them according to the importance 
 they bore. In this way she saved him much 
 time. 
 
 There was a goodly pile to-night. She 
 opened and examined each letter in turn — 
 all save one or two which she laid aside un- 
 touched, knowing, from the initials on the 
 envelopes, that they contained political matter 
 so weighty, that she must not be the first to 
 read it. Presently she came upon a thick 
 packet, sealed and registered. It bore the 
 Liverpool post-mark, and was marked 
 * Priv^ate ' — but so was every second enve-
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 221 
 
 lope. Without hesitation she broke the 
 cover and drew the letter out, leaving the 
 other papers which accompanied it behind. 
 
 'A begging petition with testimonials,' she 
 said as she opened the letter, preparing 
 to take a hasty glance at its contents. As 
 she unfolded the paper, a small bright object 
 dropped from It on to her lap. It was a gold 
 cross, one arm of which was broken off. She 
 took it in her hand, looked at It for a moment, 
 and then started as If a snake had bitten her. 
 With the trinket still in her hand, she turned 
 to the letter, and her face grew paler with 
 every line she read. 
 
 The missive was short ; its meaning must 
 have been plain, as Marion had no need to 
 reperuse it. As she read the last word, she 
 let both letter and trinket fall, then, utterino- 
 a low cry of pain, placed her hands upon her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' O my darling !' she moaned, * and is this 
 the reason ? — this is why you have changed 
 so, lately ! My love, I may have deserved it, 
 but not like this !' 
 
 So she sorrowed for a time ; then her mood
 
 2 22 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 changed. She rose, and dashing her tears 
 away, paced the room like a queen. 
 
 ' If an angel had told me this, I would have 
 laughed him to scorn ! After so many years 
 — so many happy years ! Cuthbert, Cuth- 
 bert ! why did you do it ? How could you 
 do it ? It was your right to know. Had 
 you wished it, I would have told you — told 
 you freely, in spite of your promise. But 
 oh ! to learn it like this, through a hired 
 spy!' 
 
 Then her proud bearing forsook her, and 
 the hot tears sprang forth again. But at last 
 she grew composed ; but there was a world of 
 sweet regret in the words she addressed to 
 her absent husband : 
 
 ' Yes, you will still love me, and I shall for- 
 give even this. But never, never again shall 
 we be the same to each other — never quite 
 the same, Cuthbert !' 
 
 She looked at the contents of the packet. 
 Two or three letters in a w^oman's handwrit- 
 ing — one well known to her — which gave 
 her the feeling as of ghosts rising from the 
 past. She replaced everything in the cover, 
 and locking it away, sat late into the night,
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 223 
 
 thinklncr and thinkincr — lono^In^r for the 
 morrow to end her suspense. 
 
 The next day, Cuthbert returned just in 
 time to greet her for a moment before he 
 went down to the House. He had a ques- 
 tion on the notice paper, one that, he knew, 
 would stick Hke a barbed arrow into the 
 Home Secretary's well-seasoned flank. He 
 was in better spirits than usual. 
 
 * We shall smite them hip and thigh !' he 
 cried. * Inside their own fortresses we shall 
 slay them ! — My darling, how ill you look. 
 What is the matter ?' 
 
 * I have passed a bad night,' she faltered. 
 She could not reproach him at that moment. 
 She could not understand why, with that 
 letter waiting for him, his voice should 
 express such unmistakable anxiety and soli- 
 citude. 
 
 * Lie down, dearest,' he said, 'and rest till 
 I come home. I shall be back to dinner.' 
 
 He kissed her, and went to St. Stephen's. 
 Except for the fear as to what news any 
 post might bring him from his detective, he 
 was very joyous. Every paper had a leader 
 on the speeches of last night, and his speech
 
 2 24 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 had been an Important and favourably criti- 
 cized one. 
 
 He was in good spirits when he came home 
 to dinner. His bout with the Home Secre- 
 tary had succeeded to a marvel. His manner 
 to Marion, who still looked worn and weary, 
 had never been more affectionate. She felt 
 bewildered. 
 
 Dinner over, he must go " to his duties 
 again. She could not let the moment pass. 
 She placed herself in a low chair near him — 
 her favourite seat. 
 
 * Must you go to the House to-night, 
 Cuthbert ?' 
 
 * I don't know about " must." I ought to, 
 although there will be no division of import- 
 ance. If you feel ill, my darling, I will stay 
 with you.' He kissed her so lovingly, that 
 she knew it could be no pretence, and won- 
 dered more and more. ' How cold your lips 
 are,' he said. ' Yes ; I will stay with you to- 
 night.' 
 
 She thanked him, but waited a while, as in 
 deep thought, before she spoke again. 
 
 * Cuthbert,' she said, sweetly but gravely, 
 ' may I tell you a little tale of real life ?'
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 225 
 
 He looked at her, and felt sure there was 
 some grave meaning in her request. 
 
 * By all means,' he said. 
 
 Calm as she forced herself to be, her heart 
 beat and her hand trembled as she drew out 
 the little broken gold cross and placed it in 
 his hand. He looked at it and then at her 
 inquiringly. 
 
 * That was given me, years ago,' she said 
 with an effort, * by the man who was my 
 husband, or who I fancied was my husband.' 
 
 Cuthbert started. 
 
 * Wait a moment, Marion. I did not ask 
 for this. I do not want it. But if you wish 
 to tell me, tell me with your hand in mine ; 
 for I swear that whatever you may choose to 
 let me know shall make no difference be- 
 tween us.' 
 
 His voice was passionate as when he first 
 pleaded for her love. 
 
 She did not understand. She looked at 
 him almost dreamily, but did not place her 
 hand in his. 
 
 ' No, Cuthbert. It may be I shall have a 
 question to ask you. Let me tell it my own 
 way.' 
 
 VOL. r. 15
 
 226 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 He saw she was quite serious, so listened 
 with growing fear. 
 
 * I was but a girl,' she said, very quietly 
 and with her eyes cast down — * a girl of 
 twenty. He told me he loved me. He was 
 young, and, I believed, would change his 
 manner of life for my sake. I married him. 
 For a few months I was happy ; then I 
 found him as he really was — a false liar, a 
 coward, a swindler. When years afterwards 
 he told me I was not even his wife — that 
 even in that he had deceived me — I think, in 
 spite of the shame, my heart leapt for joy. 
 
 He could claim me no more. — Did I wrong 
 you, my Cuthbert, by marrying you ? I was 
 only sinned against. My silence must have 
 
 made you think it even worse than this. — 
 
 Now, I will give you your letter.* 
 Cuthbert was very grave. 
 ' Why do you tell me this, Marion ? I 
 
 was of course bound to guess at something 
 
 of the kind. Why tell me now ? I never 
 
 asked ; I never wished to know.' 
 
 He had not noticed her mention of the 
 
 letter, nor would he have known what she 
 
 meant by it. She drew it from her breast.
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 2 2/ 
 
 * My husband,' she said sadly, as she 
 handed it to him, 'we can never be quite 
 as we were before you did this thing. If 
 you doubted, why not have asked me ? 
 Why not have asked Mr. Mayne ? I will 
 not reproach you, but you have degraded 
 both me and yourself.' 
 
 He took the letter in stupid astonishment. 
 That he and Marion were at cross-purposes, 
 that she was under some delusion, was 
 evident. What it was he could only learn 
 from reading the letter, so, without another 
 word, he read : 
 
 * Dear Sir, 
 
 ' I would have seen you, but am 
 ordered away on an affair of great import- 
 ance. I do not neglect your interests in 
 going. A child might now follow the clue. 
 Winslow and his wife lived for some time at 
 D . He left her — deserted her, prob- 
 ably, when he sailed for the States. She 
 
 lived on at D for a while, trying to 
 
 make an income by keeping a small 
 school. Then she fell seriously ill, and at 
 last was taken away by a gentleman, whose 
 
 15—2
 
 2 28 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 name my informant forgets, but who was 
 Rector of St. Winifred's, a church on the 
 outskirts of London. This should be ample 
 for your purpose ; but I enclose some letters 
 and a trinket left behind her when she 
 quitted the house at which she lodged.' 
 
 As he finished the letter and read the 
 signature of his confidential agent, Cuth- 
 bert's head felt in a whirl. It was some 
 little time before he could see the connection 
 between his wife's grief and this letter which 
 brought the dreaded moment close to hand. 
 His first thought was that Marion was 
 troubled by his having concealed the matter 
 from her. 
 
 He glanced at the letter once more, and 
 this time the mention of St. Winifred's 
 arrested his attention. The whole truth 
 came to him like a flash of lightning. 
 Astonishment no longer expressed his state. 
 He stared at his wife. She stood with her 
 eyes cast down, her beautiful face pale and 
 sad, and with tears slowly running down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 * But the child !' gasped Cuthbert — * your 
 child !'
 
 THE BLATCHFORD BEQUEST. 229 
 
 Still Ignorant of the truth, she looked at 
 him with reproachful eyes. Why should he 
 wish to probe every old wound ? 
 
 * Poor little baby !' she said ; ' poor little 
 boy ! The only thing in all that time 1 can 
 look back to with a happy thought — the only 
 gleam of sunshine in my life. But he died, 
 Cuthbert — died before I wrote to my old 
 friend Mrs. Mayne, begging her to come 
 and save me from starvation or worse. 
 Then it was I said, " I will have no past." ' 
 
 Cuthbert rose and clasped his wife to his 
 heart. Had she wished to resist, those 
 strong loving arms of his would have made 
 resistance useless. 
 
 ' Marion, my wife, my darling !' he cried, 
 * can you not understand } I have been 
 sending across the world to find traces of 
 the widow and son of Ralph Blatchford, to 
 whom, if I could have done what was right, 
 I must have given up nearly every farthing 
 of the wealth we enjoy ; and from this letter 
 I learn that Ralph Blatchford was the man 
 who married you under the assumed name 
 of Winslow ! Marion, if you understood 
 what this means to me, to you, to the
 
 230 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 children, you would be happier than ever 
 you have been before !' 
 
 Marion understood. 
 
 She laughed a half-delirious but entirely 
 happy laugh ; her hand stole into her hus- 
 band's, and the whole question of the 
 Blatchford bequest was ended, and at rest 
 for ever.
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 
 
 (A SOLICITOR'S TALE.) 
 
 Chapter I. 
 
 ' Mr. Brownlow, sir/ said my small clerk, 
 opening my office door. 
 
 ' Show him in/ I said, covering with a 
 bulky draft the novel which I was reading. 
 
 Then my first client stood before me. 
 
 My first client! In spite of the bundles 
 of documents, docketed, endorsed, and ar- 
 ranged in due order ; in spite of the litter of 
 papers in front of me ; in spite of other 
 clever devices which I hoped gave my office 
 the look and odour of g^ood substantial leo^al 
 business, until now I was clientless. 
 
 It is true I had not long been practising 
 on my own account. Ten days, if I remem-
 
 232 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ber rightly; but those ten days, during which 
 I waited for business to come to me, were 
 the dullest and dreariest in my life. I was 
 beginning to despair. I did not even know 
 from which quarter to expect business. Far 
 away in the dim future I saw a possibility of 
 being employed to draw up a marriage settle- 
 ment. The landlord of the house in which 
 I lodged was in hot dispute with his neigh- 
 bours about the right of using a pump, and 
 had sounded me as to the probable cost of 
 legal proceedings. With these exceptions, I 
 had nothing to look forward to when my first 
 client made his appearance. 
 
 An elderly, delicate-looking man ; his eyes 
 blue, with a kind, mild expression in them ; 
 his hair light and thin. Evidently a timid, 
 halting, irresolute man, of no strength of 
 character. Born, not to command, but to be 
 bullied by wife, son, daughter, or anybody 
 with whom he came in contact. Stooping 
 somewhat, as if accustomed to yield to 
 storms, not to resist them. Speaking hesi- 
 tatingly and respectfully, with a plaintive 
 inflexion in his voice. Clothes good, but 
 old-fashioned.
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 233 
 
 Such was my first client. 
 
 I begged him to be seated, then waited to 
 hear why he came. 
 
 * I want a httle matter attended to,' he 
 said. ' Mr. Johnson, of High Street, advised 
 me to come to you.' 
 
 Johnson was my bootmaker — I registered 
 a vow of gratitude, to be discharged by 
 future orders; then, bov/ing in acknowledg- 
 ment, asked my client what he required. 
 
 It was, as he said, a small matter. An 
 agreement for a lease of a house which he 
 was about lettingf. His name I found was 
 James Brownlow; his address, Vine Cottage, 
 North Road ; his description, retired builder 
 — in legal phraseology, gentleman. 
 
 So far as the grave and learned air which 
 I was bound to assume permitted, I made 
 myself very pleasant and affable to him. 
 He listened to my words with deference, 
 agreed to all my suggestions, wished me a 
 respectful good-morning, and went his way. 
 
 Of course I told him my hands were so 
 full of business that it was impossible for me 
 to get the agreement prepared under two 
 days. At the time appointed he called with
 
 234 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 his tenant, paid me my modest costs, and 
 disappeared for the space of several months. 
 
 When next I saw him, he brought me 
 something well worth having. He had sold 
 some houses, and wished to invest the pro- 
 ceeds by way of mortgage, so that my 
 second bill of costs was of a respectable 
 length and of a comforting amount. From 
 what he told me I found that he possessed, 
 one way and another, a good deal of pro- 
 perty. How he could have made his money 
 was to me a mystery. Judging from his 
 timid and yielding disposition, I should have 
 thought him the last man in the world to 
 get on. I suppose our fathers made money 
 much more easily than their sons do, in 
 these days of cut -throat competition and 
 mortgage-broking — But let that pass. I, for 
 one, must not complain — now. 
 
 One evening I passed Vine Cottage. My 
 client was at the gate, and begged me to 
 enter. His house was a pretty one, built by 
 himself, and surrounded by a large well-kept 
 garden. I found that whatever energy he 
 did possess was devoted to horticulture. 
 Plants being gentle, unresisting organizations,
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 235 
 
 no doubt he was able to cope with them 
 successfully. He was proud of his flowers, 
 but even more so of his grapes, one variety 
 of which, he told me, had become famous 
 under the name of ' Brownlow's Seedling/ 
 
 As I am fond of gardening, and know 
 something about it, the old man seemed to 
 find a kindred spirit in mine, so much so 
 that, after our inspection of the garden and 
 the greenhouses, he urged me to stay to 
 supper with him. I had another engage- 
 ment, but, as my new friend seemed likely to 
 be such a good client, I felt I ought not to 
 neglect the opportunity, so I accepted the 
 offer, and entered the house. 
 
 At the supper-table I found two middle- 
 aged women, his daughters. The elder, I 
 learned, was a widow ; the younger, un- 
 married. I already knew that my client's 
 wife had been dead many years, and from the 
 conversation at the table I gathered that the 
 widowed daughter had two or three children. 
 Afterward, I ascertained that she and her 
 family lived with Mr. Brownlow, who sup- 
 ported them all. 
 
 As I inspected my new acquaintances, I
 
 236 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 decided that in appearance and disposition 
 they must take after their deceased mother, 
 and argued that, if my supposition was 
 correct, the late Mrs. Brownlow was not 
 the pleasantest of her sex. Father and 
 daughters were never less alike. The latter 
 were two tall, bony, hard-faced women, and 
 as I noticed that when Mr. Brownlow spoke 
 to them his manner was more timid, his 
 speech more hesitating than ever, I felt sure 
 I had not missed my mark when I summed 
 him up as a man much bullied by his nearest 
 relatives. It was easy to see that the poor 
 old fellow's womankind ruled him with a 
 rod of iron — a domestic sceptre no doubt 
 handed down together with traditions of 
 home tyranny from mother to daughters. 
 He seemed to smoke his pipe surrepti- 
 tiously ; to drink his whisky and water 
 apologetically ; to laugh guardedly ; in fact, 
 in his daughters' presence, to do all things 
 with the hope of approval, or the fear of 
 correction before his amiable eyes. 
 
 To me, the ladies, although patronizing, 
 as became our respective positions, were 
 civil enough. When I said good-night, they
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 237 
 
 were good enough to hope to see me again 
 at Vine Cottage. ' When we trust,' added 
 the widow, 'to entertain you better — but 
 having expected no one,' etc. In spite of 
 fair words, I did not Hke them. They were 
 too severely moulded to suit me, and I felt 
 sure that the moment my back was turned 
 poor old Brownlow would be taken to task 
 for having invited a guest without notice to 
 his joint sovereigns. 
 
 After this visit to Vine Cottage I saw my 
 old client frequently, both at my office and 
 out of doors. If I passed his house of an 
 evening I generally found him at the gate, 
 anxious that I should enter and admire some 
 new floral triumph. Through the kindness 
 of a friend I had been able to present him 
 with some choice varieties of several of his 
 pet plants. He was absurdly grateful. Per- 
 haps even a trifling act of spontaneous 
 kindness was a new experience to him. 
 Sometimes, not often, I spent the evening 
 with him, and each time I did so, and saw 
 him in the company of his sour-looking 
 daughters, I was more confirmed in my 
 opinion that he was very unkindl)' treated
 
 238 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 at home. At last I grew to dislike the 
 oppressors as much as I pitied and liked 
 the oppressed, whom I found so gentle, 
 kind, and hospitable, that, leaving all mer- 
 cenary considerations out of the question, I 
 began to entertain a sincere regard for him. 
 
 One morning, to my surprise, his widowed 
 daughter, Mrs. Wrench, paid me a visit. If 
 either of my client's daughters was sourer, 
 harder-looking — in fact, more objectionable 
 than the other — it was Mrs. Wrench. She 
 was a hungry-looking woman, with long 
 teeth and high cheek-bones. She was always 
 dressed in black, but her garments looked 
 old and rusty. Out of doors she wore black 
 thread gloves, the touch of which set my 
 teeth on edge. She entered my office, and 
 after giving me her rasping, rigid hand, 
 seated herself. 
 
 ' My father would have called himself, Mr. 
 Carr,' she began, ' but did not feel equal to 
 the walk.' 
 
 * I hope he is not ill,' I said politely. 
 
 ' No, not exactly ill ; but upset by an un- 
 pleasant family matter.' 
 
 * Can I be of any service to him ?'
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 239 
 
 ' Yes. He wishes you to write a letter — 
 at once; so he asked me to call and give you 
 instructions.' 
 
 I bowed, and waited the instructions. 
 
 ' You will ^please write to-day,' she said, 
 in her incisive, metallic voice, her ill-favoured 
 face growing harder as she spoke. ' You 
 will write to Mrs. Richard Brownlow, i8, 
 Silver Street, and say that no further appli- 
 cation she makes to Mr. Brownlow will be 
 noticed. Say also,' she added, ' that Mr. 
 Brownlow, in justice to others, is seriously 
 thinking of reducing the amount he has for 
 some years been in the habit of sending her.' 
 
 Whoever Mrs. Richard Brownlow might 
 be — whether her claim on my client were just 
 or unjust — such a peremptory refusal, written 
 by a solicitor, admitting of no appeal and 
 ending with a threat, was so much at variance 
 with my old friend's easy and vacillating 
 nature, that I hesitated. 
 
 * I am clearly to understand, Mrs. Wrench, 
 that these are Mr. Brownlow's expressed 
 wishes ?' 
 
 She snapped her thin lips, and looked at 
 me in a manner far from pleasant.
 
 24P BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 'Undoubtedly, Mr. Carr — moreover, he 
 wishes you to write at once. Let there be 
 no delay, If you please.' 
 
 'If you please' is an innocent -looking- 
 phrase, but the expression Mrs. Wrench 
 threw Into those words was most significant. 
 Considering it had settled the matter, the 
 hard-faced widow rose, gathered up her rusty 
 skirts, and bade me a severe good-day. 
 
 ' Now, who may Mrs. Richard Brownlow 
 be ?' I said, as her angular, ungracious form 
 vanished through the green baize door. 
 * Some poor relation asking for help, I sup- 
 pose. I doubt very much whether the old 
 man knows anything about the appeal, and I 
 dare say my Instructions emanate only from 
 the charming Mrs. Wrench.' 
 
 Nevertheless, I wrote the letter ; my not 
 doing so would, I felt sure, make a bitter 
 enemy of Mrs. Wrench, and enemies were 
 luxuries which I could not yet afford. If I did 
 wrong in following her instructions, I could 
 throw all the blame on her shoulders. So 
 the next post took my letter to the address 
 she gave me — a poo street in a poor part of 
 the town.
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 24 1 
 
 Chapter II. 
 
 At the end of the week Mr. Brownlovv 
 called, looking more timid and nervous than 
 ever. He said nothing about the letter, but 
 having finished discussing the business which 
 I was conducting for him, fidgeted about and 
 seemed very ill at ease. He made contra- 
 dictory remarks about the harvest and the 
 crops, and could not, apparently, make up his 
 mind whether to go or to stay. Presently he 
 reseated himself, and dropping his voice to a 
 whisper, said : 
 
 ^ Will you do me a kindness, Mr. Carr ?' 
 
 I begged him to command me in any way. 
 
 ' I feel it is not quite the right thing to 
 ask,' he said, with a feeble attempt at a laugh, 
 ' but will you allow your clerk to take a cab 
 and go with a letter for me ? He will bring 
 some one back. It will only be a little girl. 
 Perhaps you would not mind my seeing her 
 here for a few minutes V 
 
 ' He shall go at once,' I said ; ' but where 
 is the letter ?' 
 
 / I must write it.' 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Therewith, after spoiling several sheets of 
 my paper, he completed to his satisfaction a 
 short note. It was addressed Mrs. Richard 
 Brownlow, 18, Silver Street. 
 
 ' You know I wrote to this lady a few days 
 ago, by your request ?' I asked. 
 
 * Yes, yes — I know it,' he replied sadly. 
 * My daughters Insisted. No doubt they are 
 right, for they are good daughters, Mr. Carr, 
 and have never yet given me a moment's 
 trouble. Oh yes, my daughters are always 
 right ; but I want to see the little girl.' 
 
 I gave my clerk the letter and instructions. 
 When I returned, Mr. Brownlow was saying 
 to himself: 
 
 ' Yes, I must see the little girl. Richard's 
 little girl.' 
 
 ' Your expected visitor is a relation of 
 yours ?' I asked. 
 
 * My granddaughter. My poor son Dick's 
 child. Dick went wrong, Mr. Carr. I can't 
 think why he should have gone wrong,' he 
 added plaintively ; ' he never had a harsh or 
 unkind word from me.' 
 
 This I quite believed ; but I wondered 
 if a few harsh words at the proper season
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 243 
 
 might not have prevented his son from going 
 wrong. 
 
 ' Yes, he disgraced us all,' continued the 
 old man. ' Then he married and made matters 
 worse. His wife was not the wife for such 
 as Dick. Then he quarrelled with me, and 
 said such things that I was obliged to alter 
 my will and leave him nothing — but that was 
 only to try and break his spirit, Mr. Carr. 
 Then he left me in anger and went abroad. 
 I never saw him again. He took to drink- 
 ing, they told me, and soon died. He was a 
 terrible disgrace and trouble, but he was my 
 only son, and I should like to see the little 
 
 girl' 
 
 ' Have you never seen her ?' 
 
 * Never. Dick's widow has only just 
 returned to the town. Since Dick's death I 
 have been allowing her something, although 
 my daughters say she has no claim on me ; 
 but I could not let her starve. Now she has 
 written for more money, to give the child a 
 proper education, she says. But I cannot be 
 expected to do that, can I, Mr. Carr ?' 
 
 He spoke timidly, as though my decision 
 was a matter of great moment. 
 
 16 — 2
 
 244 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 I knew it was not what he could do, but 
 what my friend Mrs. Wrench and her sister 
 would allow him to do. 
 
 ' Better wait and see what your grandchild 
 is like,' I suggested. 
 
 * Yes, yes, so I will,' he said, brightening 
 up. * But, Mr. Carr, you will say nothing 
 about this at home ?' 
 
 I reassured him, whilst marvelling at his 
 weakness. Soon the door opened, and my 
 clerk led in a girl of about twelve years of age. 
 
 A pretty, winning child, with bright eyes, 
 long soft hair, and an intelligent face. Her 
 dress, although of poor material, neat and 
 well fitting. I was able to trace in her young 
 features a certain likeness to my client. 
 Perhaps her natural timidity and shyness at 
 entering a strange room and finding strangers 
 awaiting her made the resemblance more 
 apparent. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow held out his hand. The 
 little maid went up to him, and after drop- 
 ping an old-fashioned courtesy, put her small 
 fingers into his. 
 
 ' And what is your name, my dear ?' he 
 asked kindly. 
 
 * I am Miss Lilian Brownlow, sir.'
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 245 
 
 * Lilian — Lilian,' repeated the old man. 
 * A very pretty name, too ; and do you know 
 who I am ?' 
 
 * You are my poor papa's papa,' she 
 replied. * Mamma said I should see you if I 
 went with the young gentleman.' 
 
 * What else did your mamma tell you ?' 
 asked Mr. Brownlow, rather unfairly. 
 
 ' She said I was to be very good, and then, 
 perhaps you would give her the money to 
 send me to a beautiful school.' 
 
 Old Brownlow looked very foolish as he 
 heard this candid avowal. He twisted in his 
 chair, and his eyes appealed to me for assist- 
 ance. 
 
 ' She is very like you,' I said, to create a 
 diversion. 
 
 He seemed pleased at my remark, and 
 placing his hands on her shoulders, looked at 
 her attentively and kindly. 
 
 * Like me, is she ? Well, she is like Dick. 
 She has his eyes, and people always said 
 Dick was like his father.' 
 
 ' Suppose I can't send you to school,' he 
 asked the child, ' will you give me a kiss all 
 the same, my pretty one ?'
 
 246 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ' Yes, I will give you a kiss,' she said, look- 
 ing half inclined to cry. 
 
 She held up her little red mouth : the old 
 man kissed it many times, then placed her on 
 his knee and put his arms round her. They 
 made quite an affecting group. In the child's 
 interests, and feeling sure that I should put 
 a spoke in Mrs. Wrench's wheel, I thought it 
 better to leave them, so I quitted my office 
 for awhile. 
 
 In an hour's time I returned and found 
 them the best of friends. With many kisses 
 Mr. Brownlow once more gave Lilian in 
 charge of the young gentleman, my clerk. 
 He saw them safely off, then returned to me. 
 For once he spoke like a man whose mind 
 is made up. It was clear that his pretty 
 granddaughter had found a short cut to his 
 heart. Memories of his dead son, loving and 
 pleasant ones, had arisen and erased his faults. 
 The child bore his name, and, Mrs. Wrench 
 notwithstanding, he felt that something must 
 be done for her. 
 
 * Mr. Carr,' he said, ' kindly write to Mrs. 
 Brownlow and tell her to send the child to 
 ]\Iiss H — 's school. The bills can be sent to
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 247 
 
 you, If you don't mind the trouble of settling- 
 them. Also tell Mrs. Brownlow that you are 
 instructed to pay her ten pounds every 
 quarter in addition to what she now receives 
 from me. Perhaps,' he added, with a return 
 of his old manner, * it would be well to make 
 some inquiries as to what kind of woman she 
 is — my daughters say such strange things 
 about her.' 
 
 I promised to carry out his wishes, and 
 expressed my pleasure that the child had 
 found such favour in his eyes. 
 
 * A sweet little thing I' he said. ' A good, 
 clever little child ! I only wish I could take 
 her home to live with me — but there are ob- 
 stacles — and very likely she would not be 
 happy,' he added, as if thinking aloud. 
 
 I did not put my thoughts into words, but 
 I agreed with him. There were obstacles, 
 and, even if Mr. Brownlow could attack and 
 surmount them, they must impede the march 
 of the little interloper's happiness. 
 
 Although he dared not take the child home 
 — although he never went near Silver Street 
 — Mr. Brownlow continued to see Lilian 
 frequently. He made my office quite a con-
 
 248 BOUND TOGETHER, 
 
 veniency. He usually called there on Wed- 
 nesday and Saturday afternoons, the girl's 
 half-holidays, and, with many apologies for 
 the liberty he was taking, despatched my 
 clerk in search of her. Then they sallied 
 forth together. It was his custom to take a 
 cab, drive some distance into the country, 
 alight, and ramble about the fields until it 
 was time to return home. I laughed as I 
 drew mental pictures of the state in which 
 the amiable Mrs. Wrench and her sister would 
 be if they should chance to learn how their 
 father employed so much of his time. As 
 yet they had discovered nothing, although 
 years had gone by, and the girl was growing 
 tall, and bidding fair to become an attractive 
 and accomplished young lady. 
 
 My client had several times spoken to me 
 about making a fresh will and providing for 
 Lilian, but as yet nothing had been done. 
 Although I had tried to do so, I had not 
 been able to get any definite instructions from 
 him. I believe he was deterred by that 
 absurd superstition which influences more 
 men than one would think, that a will should 
 not lightly be meddled with — making a new
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 249 
 
 one or altering an old one being often the 
 precursor of a quick decease. It was to be 
 made — it should be made — yet it was not 
 made. The friendly relations now existing 
 between us allowed me to hint to him that 
 in case of his death Lilian and her mother 
 would be penniless. He quite saw the force 
 of my remarks, yet he still hesitated and 
 postponed. How many men have done 
 the same thing, and the ones whom they 
 loved best in life have suffered from the 
 foolish delay ! 
 
 Chapter HI. 
 
 Some two years after Lilian made her first 
 appearance, three half-holidays in succession 
 passed without my client paying me his usual 
 visit. My clerk — the original young gentle- 
 man, for I had more than one clerk now — 
 looked out for him wistfully. Probably cer- 
 tain half-crowns which from time to time 
 changed hands were a welcome addition to 
 his weekly stipend, or it may be that, in his 
 secret heart, the youth nourished tender
 
 250 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 feelings towards his little charge. Such a 
 protracted absence being unprecedented, I 
 called at Vine Cottage to learn what was the 
 cause of it. One of the daughters received 
 me, and informed me her father was ill. He 
 had been in bed several days. Was he 
 seriously ill ? They feared so. Was he con- 
 scious ? Yes, but very weak. Could I see 
 him ? Utterly out of the question — he was 
 too ill to see anyone. 
 
 The woman's manner made me dread the 
 worst. I thought of that graceful child, who 
 had grown so dear to the old man, thrust 
 back into poverty. Her mother and herself, 
 at the best, kept from sheer starvation by 
 what small pittance might be wrung from 
 the stony sisters. I pitied the mother almost 
 as much as the child, for the result of the 
 inquiries which I had instituted by Mr. 
 Brownlow's request showed her to be of un- 
 doubted respectability. A factory girl origin- 
 ally, whose pretty face had caught Richard 
 Brownlow's fancy ; but a girl, evidently, with 
 thoughts and ideas above her class. Poor 
 woman, she had suffered much ! Her hus- 
 band had ill-used her, and during Lilian's
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 25 I 
 
 early years her life had been one hard struggle. 
 The two last years must have been the 
 happiest since her marriage ; they were at 
 least free from anxiety and semi-starvation. 
 And now, if old James Brownlow died, all her 
 misery must begin again. 
 
 So I begged as his friend and legal adviser 
 to be allowed to see him, if only for a 
 moment. Whilst I urged my request, the 
 second daughter entered the room and joined 
 her sister in an absolute refusal. So rigid 
 and unbending was their attitude, that I 
 feared they must suspect something of the 
 truth. I tried them every way I could think 
 of, but without getting them to yield an inch. 
 The doctor, they said, had utterly forbidden 
 it. 
 
 * Will you allow me,' I said, ' to wait until 
 the doctor comes ? I can show him how 
 necessary it is that I should see Mr. Brown- 
 low.' 
 
 * Certainly not,' replied Mrs. Wrench, with 
 a face of adamant. * Not with my consent 
 shall my poor father's last hours, it may be, 
 be disturbed by matters of business.' 
 
 * Certainly not,' echoed her sister.
 
 252 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 Entreaty failing, I turned to craft. Taking 
 my hat, I rose, shrugging my shoulders like 
 one who had cleared his conscience by trying 
 to do his duty. 
 
 ' As you like, my dear ladies ; but I must 
 not be blamed by-and-by. I can only say 
 that, unless I speak to him to-day, it may 
 make a great pecuniary difference to your- 
 selves.' 
 
 This was true enough, but not exactly as 
 I meant them to understand it. 
 
 The shaft went home. I had touched the 
 key-note — avarice. They glanced at each 
 other, and held a whispered consultation. I 
 hoped I had outwitted them ; but two such 
 women are more than a match for the sharpest 
 lawyer on the rolls. 
 
 ' Mr. Carr/ said the widow, ' if you choose 
 to tell us the exact facts of the case, we will 
 decide if they justify our running the risk.' 
 
 She snapped up her thin lips and gave me 
 a searching glance. 
 
 * No, I cannot do that. The business is of 
 a private nature. Many interests are in- 
 volved. You must take my word for its 
 vital importance.'
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 253 
 
 The sisters exchanged a look which plainly 
 said, * I told you so.' Mrs. Wrench folded 
 her huge bony hands on her sombre lap. 
 
 ' Then, sir,' she said, ' you will not see him. 
 What secrets can a father wish to keep from 
 his daughters ?' 
 
 'We don't believe a word of your tale/ 
 added the other most offensively. 
 
 ' If there is any secret,' continued Mrs. 
 Wrench venomously, ^ perhaps this letter, 
 found by us a few days ago, has something to 
 do with it.' 
 
 She handed me a letter. It was in a 
 girlish handwriting, and ran thus : 
 
 ' Darling Grandpa, — 
 
 ' I have a bad cold and cannot come 
 
 to-day. 
 
 ' With love and kisses, your 
 
 ' Lilian.' 
 
 Then they knew or guessed everything. 
 Poor little Lilian I 
 
 ' Answer me, sir !' cried Mrs. Wrench, 
 stamping her heavy foot. * Who is Lilian ? 
 That shameful woman's child, I suppose } Is 
 it on her account you want to see my father ? 
 Is she your important business? Answer me I'
 
 254 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 I was spared the task. The door opened 
 suddenly, and in staggered a feeble, wasted 
 figure, clothed in an old dressing-gown. It 
 was my client. He sank into the nearest 
 chair, and panted for breath. 
 
 I needed no doctor to tell me that my poor 
 old friend's hours were numbered. He had, 
 in the course of some ten days, wasted away 
 almost to nothing. Death was written legibly 
 on his white and ghastly face. He seemed 
 so exhausted that the fear came over me 
 that, then and there, his eyes would close for 
 ever. 
 
 His daughters, spell-bound by the turn 
 events had taken, gazed at each other in 
 blank astonishment. Even in that moment 
 I was able to exult in their discomfiture. 
 I ran to the sideboard, where, luckily, stood 
 a spirit-case and glasses. I poured out a 
 glass of brandy. The dying man drank a 
 little and revived. 
 
 * Go,' he said hoarsely, waving his thin 
 hand towards his daughters. ' Go — at once.' 
 
 Frightened as the women were, they kept 
 their seats in sullen defiance. 
 
 * Go,' he said again. ' Go ; or, by heaven !
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 255 
 
 Mr. Carr shall make a will and leave every- 
 thing to the hospital/ 
 
 His voice was low, and he spoke with 
 difficulty ; but words and accent were so 
 stern and fierce that I could scarcely believe I 
 was listening to my timid, hesitating old friend. 
 
 His daughters, doubtless even more sur- 
 prised than I was, left the room, muttering 
 their dissatisfaction. My client sank back in 
 his chair. 
 
 ' Lock the door,' he whispered. I did so. 
 Then he laid one wasted hand on mine. 
 
 ' Thank God, you have come at last. I 
 expected you every moment for days past.' 
 
 * I had no idea you were ill, Mr. Brown- 
 low.' 
 
 *They told me they had sent and written. 
 They said you were from home.' 
 
 * I have had no letter, and have not been 
 out of town for weeks.' 
 
 ' Then they lied. They let me see no one. 
 Until three days ago I did not know I must 
 die. Even that they kept from me. I heard 
 your voice, and just managed to creep down- 
 stairs. I was bound to see you before it was 
 too late.'
 
 256 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 The moisture rose to his brow. He looked 
 so faint that I made him swallow more 
 brandy. 
 
 ' Make a codicil,' he said. ' Leave my 
 pretty girl all — leave her all.' 
 
 * Not all, surely ! I said, surprised. 
 
 He relapsed into his familiar hesitation 
 and uncertainty of purpose. 
 
 ' No — no,' he said, * not all. They have 
 been good daughters. No ; leave my 
 darling girl, my poor Dick's child, six thou- 
 sand pounds.' 
 
 * I will draw up a codicil at once,' I said, 
 looking round for pen and paper. His pro- 
 crastinating habit still clung to him. 
 
 ' No, not now,' he said. ' I am better. 
 Perhaps I shall get well. But bring it to- 
 morrow morning, that I may sign it and 
 make sure.' 
 
 I had no intention of letting death forestall 
 me, so, without heeding his words, I began 
 to write. Before I had finished two lines I 
 saw that my old client had fainted. 
 
 I tried, without success, to revive him. 
 With a heavy heart I went for help. Mrs. 
 Wrench was in the passage. Her ear, I felt
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 257 
 
 sure, had that moment left the keyhole. Her 
 sister stood just behind her. The looks 
 they gave me showed what they thought of 
 my proceedings. 
 
 We carried Mr. Brownlow to his bed. The 
 servant ran for the doctor, and I left to 
 prepare the codicil, praying the while that 
 Mr. Brownlow might find strength of mind 
 and body enough to insist upon seeing m.e in 
 the morning. 
 
 At nine o'clock the next morning I was at 
 Vine Cottage, and was not at all surprised 
 when I was curtly refused admittance. I 
 waited until the doctor paid his visit, accosted 
 him before he entered, and begged him to 
 aid me, or at least to let his patient know 
 that I was outside. He would promise 
 nothing, and his manner told me that the 
 account he had received of last evening's 
 events prejudiced me in his eyes. No doubt 
 more lies were told him on this visit, for 
 when he came out of the house he was good 
 enough to inform me that he thought such 
 unprofessional conduct as mine must damage 
 any young solicitor. I kept my temper, and 
 endeavoured to make him understand the 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 facts of the case. He refused to listen to 
 me. 
 
 ' At least you will tell me how you find 
 Mr. Brownlow this morning,' I said. 
 
 'As bad as can be. He has but a few 
 hours to live.' 
 
 ' Then,' I said, * by refusing to aid me you 
 doom the one he loved best in the world to 
 utter poverty.' 
 
 ' I have nothing to do with family dis- 
 putes,' he said coldly, as he closed the door 
 of his brougham and drove away. 
 
 I left the house, but returned there several 
 times during the day. Each time I was 
 denied entrance. I was at my wits' end. 
 Bribery and corruption of servants was out 
 of the question, as the door was always 
 opened by Mrs. Wrench or her sister. No 
 legal process would enable me to enter ; and 
 a forcible invasion for such a purpose as 
 mine would, I felt certain, ruin us if the 
 matter came to litigation. 
 
 At last I grew sick and weary of the 
 whole thing. I went home determined to 
 try again to-morrow, although I knew it 
 would be useless unless Mr. Brownlow
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 259 
 
 rallied in some unexpected manner, and 
 grew strong enough to insist upon my being 
 sent to him. 
 
 Chapter IV. 
 
 I LIVED at some distance from Vine Cottage. 
 There were other lodgers in the house : the 
 rooms over mine being occupied by a man 
 with whom I was on very friendly terms. I 
 had finished my tea and settled down to read, 
 when Robinson came to my door, and asked 
 me to join some friends of his in a rubber. 
 I was not in the mood for society. I felt 
 melancholy and upset. The faces of a 
 dying man and a bright, happy child haunted 
 me. I declined my friend's invitation, pre- 
 ferring to spend the evening with my book 
 and my pipe. I read for a long, long time, un- 
 disturbed by the laughter which, at intervals 
 of the game, I heard overhead. But read as 
 hard as I would, I could not get Mr. Brown- 
 low out of my thoughts. Perhaps at that 
 very moment he was dying, and calling for 
 me to carry out his wishes. I shuddered as 
 I pictured the two hard-hearted mercenary 
 
 17 — 2
 
 26o BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 women keeping watch over his bed, waiting 
 for him to die. I saw them heeding his 
 cries no more than stone figures might. 
 Then, through my smoke - wreaths, rose 
 LiHan's glad young face. How changed, I 
 thought, it will look in six months' time, 
 when privation and sorrow tell upon it. I 
 blamed my old client bitterly for his folly. I 
 blamed myself for not having urged him 
 again and again until he made proper pro- 
 vision for the girl. Altogether, I knew the 
 business had been badly managed, and felt 
 miserable at my share in it. 
 
 The clock struck half-past eleven. I 
 closed my book, and debated whether to go 
 to bed or fill another pipe. At that moment 
 I heard a knock at the street door. ^ One of 
 Robinson's friends come late,' I said. * They 
 mean to make a night of it.' I heard my 
 landlady answer the summons ; then my door 
 opened, and to my amazement — even horror 
 — in walked Mr. Brownlow. 
 
 I thought I must be dreaming — the thing 
 seemed impossible. Mr. Brownlow, the man 
 yesterday evening scarcely able to totter 
 downstairs — whose dying look had haunted
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 261 
 
 me ever since — here, In my room — dressed 
 as when last I saw him about ! He looked 
 as ill and ghastly as when I saw him in his 
 own dining-room, but his step was not so 
 feeble. The unexpected sight deprived me 
 of speech and motion ; the only sensation I 
 was capable of feeling was wonder — wonder 
 as to how he managed to reach my house. 
 A man so enfeebled that only yesterday he 
 fainted after walking a few steps and speak- 
 ing a few words. It was Inexplicable, but It 
 was not Impossible, for here he was ! 
 
 I recovered my senses, and placed a chair 
 for him. He seated himself wearily. 
 
 * My dear sir !' I said ; ' surely this is most 
 imprudent !' 
 
 He turned his head and looked at me. 
 
 What was it in that look that froze my 
 blood — that made my hair rustle — that sent 
 wild thoughts rushing through my brain ? 
 To this day I dare not answer the question ; 
 but something nameless was there — some- 
 thing which changed astonishment into sheer 
 terror — such terror that for a moment my 
 impulse was to rush out of the room and hide 
 myself.
 
 262 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 ' I must sign that codicil to-night/ he said. 
 
 Although his voice sounded strange, it 
 recalled me to myself. 
 
 It should be no fault of mine if the oppor- 
 tunity was lost. I took the document 
 from my pocket and spread it out before 
 him. 
 
 * Wait one minute,' I said : * I must fetch 
 witnesses.' 
 
 ^ You must be quick,' he answered, and his 
 eyes again met mine. I shunned them, but 
 as I left the room I felt that I was trembling 
 in every limb. 
 
 Outside the door I could laugh at my 
 fears. Robinson's card party was a lucky 
 incident. I would go up and ask two of the 
 players to act as witnesses. First let me get 
 that codicil signed and attested : after that I 
 could learn how Mr. Brownlow managed to 
 reach my house. 
 
 Robinson and his friends raised a shout of 
 welcome when I entered the room. I knew 
 nearly every man there, and among the 
 party were two solicitors of my acquaintance. 
 
 ' I am sorry to disturb you,' I said apolo- 
 getically, ' but would two of you come down
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 263 
 
 and witness a will. Perhaps Thomas and 
 Hicks' — my legal friends — *will spare me a 
 minute.' 
 
 Thomas and Hicks laid down their cards 
 and followed me to the door. Then a 
 sudden thought occurred to me. The cir- 
 cumstances of the case were so unparalleled : a 
 man leaving what was said to be his death- 
 bed late at night to make a serious alteration 
 in his will. If he died to-morrow, or in the 
 course of a few days, this codicil would most 
 certainly be disputed. Here were nine men. 
 Let them all witness it. Such testimony 
 might defy anything. So I turned and 
 said : 
 
 ' On second thoughts, as litigation is sure 
 to come out of this, may I ask all of you to 
 come down ?' 
 
 * Can't be too careful,' said Hicks approv- 
 ingly, as the whole party rose and trooped 
 after me. 
 
 * It's old Brownlow !' I heard Thomas 
 whisper as we entered the room. 
 
 'So it is/ replied Hicks. 'They told me 
 the poor old boy was dying.' 
 
 I handed my client a pen. As I did so
 
 264 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 our hands met. His touch sent an icy-cold 
 shiver through me. He signed his name 
 pretty firmly. His signature was duly 
 attested by Thomas and Hicks, whilst the 
 other men looked over their shoulders with 
 great curiosity. 
 
 Mr. Brownlow bowed to them politely, 
 whilst I thanked them for their services and 
 apologized for the trouble I had given them. 
 After wishing us good-night they went back 
 to their game. I locked up the codicil and 
 then turned to question my client. 
 
 But the words died on my lips as I met 
 his eyes, and once more saw in them the same 
 mysterious, indescribable look which had 
 before so strangely affected me. Again I 
 trembled from head to foot. 
 
 ' I must go back,' he said, rising like one 
 wearied by some great exertion. 
 
 ' Let me fetch a cab,' I said, recovering as 
 before when I heard his voice. 
 
 He shook his head, walked to the door, 
 opened it, and passed through. I followed 
 him. On the threshold he turned, and for 
 the last time his eyes met mine. I sank on 
 a chair powerless, and, save for the throbbing
 
 MV FIRST CLIENT. 265 
 
 of my heart, motionless. The clock struck 
 twelve. 
 
 In a few seconds, by a great effort, I forced 
 myself to rise and go in pursuit of him. One 
 way only led to his house. I ran along the 
 road as fast as I could, but saw no sign of 
 him. Thinking I must have passed him, I 
 retraced my steps. He was nowhere in 
 siofht. I turned once more and ran on and 
 on until I reached Vine Cottage. I rang the 
 bell. The door was soon opened — it was 
 evident that the inmates no longer feared 
 assault. A maid, with her apron before her 
 eyes, stood at the door. 
 
 ^ Has Mr. Brownlow come in ?' I asked. 
 
 The girl stared at me stupidly. I re- 
 peated my question, adding that he had just 
 left my house. 
 
 She did not seem to understand me. 
 
 * Master died at half-past eleven,' she said, 
 again applying her apron to her tearful 
 eyes. 
 
 He died at half-past eleven ! Then I 
 must be mad or dreaming. I went home. 
 Robinson's card party was still in full swing. 
 I unlocked my secretaire. There, safe and
 
 266 BOUND TOGETHER. 
 
 sound, was the codicil signed just before 
 twelve o'clock ! What could I think ? 
 
 4'f ^ ^ -rr -rr 
 
 The outcry raised by my notice of the 
 existence of the codicil beggars description. 
 The amiable sisters forced their way to my 
 presence, and assured me nothing would 
 satisfy them until I stood in the dock charged 
 with forgery, conspiracy, and a few other 
 crimes — their last penny should be spent to 
 bring this about. Fortunately, the executors 
 were men of business, and their solicitors 
 men of honour who would not allow clients 
 to go to law when they must lose. I had 
 nothing to conceal, and it was soon ascer- 
 tained that James Brownlow had signed the 
 codicil in the presence of ten disinterested 
 witnesses, leaving my landlady, who opened 
 the door to him, out of the question. Every 
 man who witnessed that sio^nature was a 
 
 o 
 
 respectable citizen, whose word would carry 
 weight with judge and jury. Let the others 
 swear that it was physically impossible for 
 James Brownlow to leave his bed that night, 
 we had overwhelming evidence that he did 
 so — that he came to my house — that he
 
 MY FIRST CLIENT. 267 
 
 signed the document. Moreover, our 
 evidence was unbiased : theirs was tainted 
 by animus and self-interest. I laughed as I 
 thought whose shoulders eventually must 
 bear the charge of conspiracy. 
 
 The law courts were never troubled with 
 the matter. It was too simple. So, after 
 some attempts at a compromise, which were 
 sternly rejected, the legacy was paid, and the 
 popular theory was that my client managed 
 to slip from his bed unnoticed, and found 
 strength enough to reach my house and 
 ensure that his last wishes should be carried 
 out. 
 
 It was years before I would exchange a 
 word with the doctor who had lent so ready 
 an ear to my calumniators. But he made 
 me ample amends, and, at last, I forgave 
 him. He told me a stranore thinsf. 
 
 To all appearance his patient died at half- 
 past eleven that night. The doctor went 
 downstairs and talked to and comforted the 
 women as best he could. Before leaving the 
 house he went back to the chamber of death 
 to look once more on the dead man. Whilst 
 gazing on the peaceful face, the eyes sud-
 
 268 I50UND TOGETHER. 
 
 denly opened, and the man he had pro- 
 nounced dead gave a deep drawn sigh — a 
 sigh, it seemed, of reHef — then the Hds fell 
 again, and this time all was over. 
 
 ' But,' said the doctor, ' I would swear in 
 any court of law that it was a simple impos- 
 sibility for him to have moved hand or foot. 
 Thank heaven I was not obliged to do so. 
 Your evidence was so overpowering that I 
 should have been ruined professionally. If 
 one believed in the supernatural, now ' 
 
 Just so. But, like the doctor, I don't 
 believe in It. Anyway, it is not as yet recog- 
 nised by law. Nevertheless, the circum- 
 stances connected with my first client are 
 strange — very strange ! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 J-ONDON : REMINGTON AND CO.