X 
 
 L I E> RA RY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3
 
 yV*-- 
 
 U>
 
 GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST 
 
 VOL. t.
 
 GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST. 
 
 | HoDfl. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 LOST SIR MASSINGBEBD,' 'A PERFECT 
 TREASURE.' < FOUND DEAD, 5 &c. &c. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 1870. 
 
 [Ai> rights rptepvcd.]
 
 JOHN CHrLDS AND SON, PRINTERS
 
 2*3 
 
 V. 
 
 , 
 
 $• 
 
 
 
 \ 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS DEDICATED 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS, ESQ., 
 
 BY HIS FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/gwendolinesharve01gwen
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 THE SOWING. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. OX THE RIVER TERRACE .. .. 1 
 
 II. PLAIN SPEAKIXG 
 
 III. A MOMENT OF TERROR 
 
 IV. WHICH EXHIBITS SOME TRAITS OF 
 
 CHARACTER 
 
 V. DR GISBORXE 
 
 VI. AX OPPORTUXE IXVITATIOX .. 
 
 VII. GLEX DRUID 
 
 VIII. SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS , 
 
 IX. SIR GUY AXD GWEXDOLIXE 
 
 X. PLAIX SPEAKIXG, AXD ITS RESULTS . 
 
 XI. 'I NEVER EVEX HEARD OF THE PEO 
 PLE 1 
 
 15 
 
 31 
 
 46 
 
 68 
 
 97 
 
 115 
 
 134 
 loo 
 172 
 
 192
 
 CONTENTS. 
 THE EIPENING.. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XII. GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA .. ..205 
 
 XIII. PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE . . 227 
 
 XIV. A PUBLIC CEREMONY '.. . . . . 248 
 
 XV. DOWN GLENDALLACK .. .. ..265
 
 GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST, 
 
 THE SOWING. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ON THE RIVER TERRACE. 
 
 On the left bank of a certain river in 
 West Cornwall stood, a quarter of a cen- 
 tury ago, an ancient residence, entitled for 
 the most part by admiring tourists Belvi- 
 dere Court, but more properly designated 
 Bedivere. It was very old, and, for all 
 that is known to the contrary, may have 
 existed in some shape or other in King 
 Arthur's day, and been the country-seat of 
 Sir Bedivere himself, l the last of all his 
 knights ; ' though his stronghold it could
 
 2 GWENDOLINES HARVEST. 
 
 scarcely have been, by reason of its posi- 
 tion. A wide bend of the river, which 
 was navigable for small boats to the sea, 
 afforded on its southern shore the space 
 upon which the edifice was built; and it 
 was commanded of course by the opposite 
 bank, as well as by that which — now a wall 
 of autumn foliage — towered steeply up be- 
 hind it. The mansion, which was built of 
 stone, four-square, and with a courtyard 
 within, although an imposing and stately 
 edifice, exhibited traces not only of decay, 
 but of neglect. Time, that at last must 
 needs eat into the heart of stone itself, can 
 be bought off for a space like any other 
 barbarian ; but small attempt had been 
 here made to come to terms with him. 
 The grass in the courtyard was growing 
 up among the cracked stones; the vast oak 
 staircases needed the carpenter as well as 
 the polisher; the wood- work of the huge 
 windows was rotten and worm-eaten, and 
 even the panes in some of the disused rooms
 
 OX THE RIVER TERRACE. 6 
 
 were missing —that is, having been broken, 
 they had been removed altogether, to avoid 
 the unsightliness they would otherwise 
 have afforded. 
 
 From the river, however, Bedivere 
 Court looked every inch a palace, and you 
 would never have guessed that it was the 
 home of poverty. The furniture of the 
 reception-rooms was massive and striking, 
 if its splendour was somewhat faded ; and 
 the thick pile of its immense carpets had 
 in places grown thin and bare. The three 
 drawing-rooms, en suite, had gilt and or- 
 molu enough to furnish forth an acre of 
 first floor in Mayfair or Belgravia ; but in 
 the daylight they showed dull and lustre- 
 less, and the wax candles which would have 
 been necessary to light them up would have 
 consumed a week's income of their present 
 proprietor. Sir Guy Treherne had been 
 accustomed all his life to burn his candles 
 at both ends, and the same fashion had 
 held with his ancestors before him. In
 
 4 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Sir Guy's own sitting-room — a very snug 
 one, and in which no article of modern 
 luxury was wanting — hung a picture of 
 his great-grandfather, Sir Ealph, illustrat- 
 ive enough of this family peculiarity. It 
 represented a man of middle age, attired 
 in old velvet and tarnished lace, playing 
 at cards by himself w r ith a mug of ale 
 before him. The legend ran that this noble 
 gentleman had gambled so freely, and with 
 such continuous ill-luck, that he could at 
 last find no man so poor as to contend 
 with him, and was driven to play Put, his 
 right hand against the left, for pots of beer. 
 The game had this advantage, that which- 
 ever won, Sir Ralph alw r ays emptied the 
 mug ; but it was a sad falling- off from the 
 days when he could stake mine and moor 
 upon one turn of a card or one throw of 
 the dice ; and eventually, tired of this 
 solitary sport, he had been compelled to 
 marry an heiress. 
 
 On the floor above, the best furnished
 
 ON THE RIVER TERRACE. O 
 
 sleeping-room— and, indeed, it had nothing 
 to be desired which the London upholsterer 
 could supply — was again Sir Guy's ; and 
 if you had only looked at those two cham- 
 bers, you would have said that the interior 
 of Bedivere Court was in all respects in 
 keeping w T ith the stately character of its 
 external appearance — as seen, that is, from 
 the point of view we have already in- 
 dicated. The rare ' excursion '-parties — 
 which, in those pre-railway days, came in 
 pleasure-boats up the river — would tarry 
 opposite the ' Court,' and express their in- 
 nocent wishes that they were only half as 
 rich as the possessor of that imposing 
 structure ; but if their desire could have 
 been gratified, it would probably have 
 proved even more disappointing than ful- 
 filled desires usually are. It was only 
 strangers from a distance who could have 
 been under such a misapprehension at all. 
 Not a boatman at St Medards-on-Sea, 
 which was the nearest town ; not a cottager
 
 6 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 on the wide moorland that stretched to 
 southward, almost to the Land's End itself ; 
 not an under-ground worker in those 
 western mines that had long passed from 
 the lavish hands of the Trehernes ; but 
 knew that Sir Guy was almost as poor as 
 themselves, notwithstanding he still lived 
 at Bedivere Court, and that his daughter, 
 Miss Gwendoline, was the acknowledged 
 beauty of the county. And not only, it 
 might have been added, of the county, but 
 even of the London season. That very sum- 
 mer, Gwendoline Treherne had made a suc- 
 ces which had rilled many a Belgravian ma- 
 tron with jealous bitterness. She had come, 
 had been seen, and conquered, at seventeen, 
 the previous year ; and they had hoped she 
 would have gained her end, and left the field 
 free for others perhaps not less favoured by 
 nature than herself, although they might- 
 have lacked that imperial grace of which 
 they did not deny her the possession. 
 Fashion, more honest (because more auda-
 
 ON THE RIVER TERRACE. 7 
 
 cious) than mere Gentility, allows some 
 merits even in a rival, and it was confessed 
 on all hands that a more magnificent crea- 
 ture had never courtesied at St James's than 
 Gwendoline Treherne. Those were not 
 the days of chignons, and the genuineness 
 of those masses of bright brown hair, that 
 fell on either side of her broad white brow, 
 and would have rippled to her heels but 
 for the pearls that held them, was never 
 called in question. Her complexion, al- 
 though exquisitely fair, was almost colour- 
 less ; and it was urged that those splendid 
 eyes gazed, from under their long black 
 lashes, with too little interest upon the 
 whirl and glitter of the world, for one so 
 new to it ; that those fine features, faultless 
 as they were in form, somewhat lacked ex- 
 pression. None could doubt that she had 
 wit, but. that again, it was said, was of too 
 mature a sort ; too mocking and too world- 
 ly even for the idle jesting throng amid 
 whom her lot was cast. She sang, she
 
 8 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 played, and in none of those accomplish- 
 ments which Fashion has imposed on those 
 who aspire to be her favourites, acquitted 
 herself otherwise than well ; but in these 
 she failed to captivate, because it was plain 
 to all that she herself took no pleasure in 
 them. It was also hinted, by persons of 
 judgment of her own sex, that in a few 
 years Gwendoline Treherne would grow 
 i horribly coarse ' — contract too much of 
 what is scientifically termed adipose de- 
 posit; and indeed, in this Hebe of eigh- 
 teen, there was something — though it was 
 as much owing to her mature manner as to 
 her rounded charms — that reminded one 
 also of Juno. The fact was, her form was 
 one of those which Nature only now and 
 then permits herself to build, lest it should 
 discredit the rest of her human handiwork. 
 Graceful in youth — graceful in womanhood 
 — graceful, or possessing something closely 
 akin to grace, in age itself; strong, yet 
 supple ; delicate, yet enduring ; and which,
 
 ON THE RIVER TERRACE. 9 
 
 having suffered, shows no trace of Sorrow's 
 plough-share even until the end. Even at 
 eighteen, Gwendoline had had experiences 
 which would have marred the beauty of 
 some girls for life, but there was not a line 
 on that white brow to tell of them, nor one 
 reflex of regret even in the most secret 
 depths of those grand eyes. 
 
 Mark her now as she stands alone in 
 the late but sultry autumn evening, with 
 one hand on the balustrade of the terrace, 
 and her queenly head turned slightly to 
 one side, to catch an expected sound — the 
 beat of oars upon the river. So motionless, 
 she might have been a statue, save for the 
 quick rise and fall of the fair bosom, which 
 seems to resent the restraint even of its scant 
 muslin prison. She is attired, though the 
 materials of her dress are simple enough, 
 in the height (or rather lowness) of the 
 prevailing fashion ; her noble head has no 
 covering save that which bountiful Nature 
 has bestowed upon it, and her round white
 
 10 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 arms are bare. If she had had a mother, or 
 indeed any prudent person whatever to look 
 after her, she would surely at that late hour 
 have worn at least a shawl ; but she is a 
 stranger, and has ever been so, to the 
 veriest common-places of affection and 
 domestic care ; nor is there one of that 
 scanty household, including simple Fanny, 
 her own maid, who dares interfere even in 
 her own behalf with Miss Gwendoline's 
 caprices. 
 
 The expected oar-stroke is heard at 
 last, dull in the distance, and silver-sharp 
 as it draws nigh, and a light skiff shoots 
 up to the terrace stairs. At the first sound, 
 she withdraws into the square stone cham- 
 ber — which, half arbour, half greenhouse, 
 stands at the extremity of the river-front- 
 age — and there awaits the oarsman ; it is 
 not the first time that he has found her 
 there, for it is her accepted lover, Piers 
 Mostyn. 
 
 i You are late to-night, dear Piers,'
 
 ON THE RIVER TERRACE. 11 
 
 says she, in a tone that certainly lacks no 
 tenderness of expression ; ' and yet I told 
 you papa would be away by six o'clock ' — 
 
 ' And not return until to-morrow,' 
 added he, embracing her ; ' that will give 
 us the whole morning together, Gwendo- 
 line.' 
 
 That this handsome young fellow with 
 the short curly hair and blonde moustache, 
 that contrast so strongly with cheeks 
 bronzed by the southern sun, was in love 
 with her, was evident enough, and yet he 
 called her by no pet name, such as love 
 delights in. She was Gwendoline to him, 
 as to her father and to all the world. 
 
 ' Xo, Piers ; you will not see me to- 
 morrow, nor at all again for many a long 
 day,' returned she calmly ; ' so you must 
 
 make the most of me while vou can.' 
 
 j 
 
 He kissed her fondly, as he well might 
 do on such an invitation, and running his 
 fingers through her ample tresses, sighed, 
 somewhat wearily : ' What new enigma is
 
 12 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 this, my darling? You have always some- 
 thing in that scheming brain of yours to 
 trouble me with. I sometimes wish that 
 you were a little more like other girls.' 
 
 1 Like your cousin Maude may be, for 
 instance ? ' answered she quickl}^, and over 
 her pale face there came a sudden glow of 
 scarlet. 
 
 ' Now, don't be foolish, dear. How can 
 you be so jealous of a shadow ? — for she is 
 but a shadow compared with you, my em- 
 press ! I only meant that when I would 
 have you all love and tenderness, you so 
 often chill me with the recollection of our 
 penniless condition, and the obstacles that 
 intervene between us and happiness.' 
 
 ' It is better so, Piers : we must look 
 difficulties in the face if we would over- 
 come them.' 
 
 < Well, I look at them, but they get no 
 smaller for that,' answered the young man, 
 with a touch of petulance. c It is only 
 when I look at vou that I forget them.'
 
 OX THE RIVER TERRACE. 13 
 
 1 My darling Piers ! ' 
 
 To one who saw her, heard her now, it 
 would have seemed ridiculous enough that 
 any one should have ever said that Gwen- 
 doline's voice was wanting in flexibility, 
 her features in expression, her eyes in pas- 
 sionate tenderness. For a brief space she 
 seemed as ready as her lover himself to 
 forget, in their mutual caresses, the gulf, so 
 difficult to be bridged by marriage, between 
 the penniless daughter of Sir Guy and the 
 worse than penniless Piers Mostyn, the 
 younger brother of a childless but still 
 youthful lord, and whose slender patri- 
 mony was already exceeded by his debts. 
 She was, however, the first to recall this 
 stubborn fact to her remembrance — and to 
 his. 
 
 i Dear Piers,' said she, ' if you really 
 love me as you profess to do, you must 
 listen seriously to what I have to say, and 
 abide by it. I have had a long talk with 
 papa to-day. He has placed my future
 
 14 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 position before rne quite unreservedly.' 
 ' I can easily believe it, Gwendoline,' 
 returned the other with a bitter smile ; 
 ' Sir Guy can be a very plain speaker when 
 he chooses. I have had experience of that 
 myself.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, since he has only stated 
 what is the fact, it is worth our best at- 
 tention, Piers ; ' and she touched his some- 
 what effeminate cheek with her white hand, 
 and pushed him gently from her. ' You 
 must learn to live away from me, my own.' 
 ' Let me have these to comfort me,' 
 said he, snatching her fingers, and cover- 
 ing them with kisses ; * then, when you 
 come to speak of parting, it will seem less 
 bitter.'
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 
 
 1 You have said papa can speak plainly, 
 Piers, and you are right; moreover, he 
 never loses his temper. He called me into 
 his room to-day, and referred to my having 
 met you here the other evening — who 
 could have told him, I cannot guess, but he 
 has found it out — as coolly as though you 
 had been your brother, Lord Luttrel.' 
 
 1 Who, had he been a bachelor, would 
 scarcely have suited Sir Guy better/ ob- 
 served Piers parenthetically. ' The estate 
 is dipped deeper than I had thought, and
 
 16 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 if lie were to die childless to-morrow, I 
 should still be but a poor rnan.' 
 
 ' Then, even that chance may be put 
 out of the question,' observed Gwendoline 
 significantly ; ' and there is all the more 
 reason for your laying to heart what I 
 have now to say. You called me just now 
 your empress : Piers, I am obliged to you 
 for the compliment, but, as you don't hap- 
 pen to be King Cophetua, I am not likely, 
 so far as you are concerned, to be other 
 than I am — " a beggar-maid." Yes, Piers ; 
 not merely a girl with an inadequate por- 
 tion, you must understand, but an abso- 
 lutely penniless one. Even that tumble- 
 down old house yonder is only my home 
 so long as papa lives, nor has he one single 
 shilling to leave behind him.' 
 
 c Nay, Gwendoline ; I know that you 
 will be poor enough, but your father has 
 surely exaggerated the case ; it is im- 
 possible ' — 
 
 ( Nothing is impossible, Piers,' inter-
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 17 
 
 rupted she gravely, i when a man has sunk 
 the remnant of his fortune in a life-annuity.' 
 
 1 What ! with a daughter absolutely 
 dependent upon him ? Do you mean to 
 tell me that Sir Guy ' — 
 
 ( Nay, do not let us discuss the selfish- 
 ness of man, Piers, because it is an ex- 
 tensive subject, and the night is late,' ob- 
 served Gwendoline with cynical calm. 
 c Let us rather take matters as they are, 
 and make the best of them. Papa's notion 
 is — if his morality has any interest for you 
 —that he has invested a considerable sum 
 in my education, in my wardrobe, and in 
 my debut in London last year, and that I 
 must live upon what profit I can get out of 
 them, and look for nothing more from him. 
 He is so good as to say that I have very 
 considerable attractions of my own, which, 
 in combination with what he has done for 
 me, ought, it seems, to make my future 
 position quite secure. He informs me too 
 that men will bid higher for beauty than 
 
 VOL. 1. 2
 
 18 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 for aught else in the world ; and that, in 
 my case, it would be a great imprudence 
 not to close at once with the highest 
 bidder.' 
 
 ' And what did you say, Gwendoline ? ' 
 inquired her lover, gazing on her with 
 passion, yet in wonderment — wrapped in a 
 sort of charmed awe. 
 
 ' He did not give me time to speak, 
 Piers; but turning to the picture of our 
 ancestor, Sir Ralph, he said: " The Tre- 
 hernes have never been so poor as now 
 save once, my dear, which was in this 
 gentleman's time ; who, as you see, had to 
 take to beer, and backing his right hand 
 against his left at cards ; yet he contrived 
 to marry an heiress, and thereby kept 
 Bedivere Court in the family for a hundred 
 and fifty years after him. Now, what that 
 middle-aged profligate, in tattered clothes 
 yonder, could manage to effect, lies easily 
 enough, I fancy, within the reach of my 
 daughter, Gwendoline." Nor, indeed, could
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 19 
 
 I deny that papa spoke truth in that, 
 Piers.' 
 
 Self-conscious of the power of the 
 beauty of which she spoke, she drew her- 
 self up to her full height, and her dark 
 eyes flashed around her as though with the 
 triumph they foresaw. 
 
 i But did you not tell him that you had 
 promised yourself to me ? ' inquired her 
 lover, not without some touch of dignity. 
 
 1 I did not — because I saw he knew it 
 already, Piers. Papa knows everything 
 that can in any way affect himself, be sure 
 of that. He knows what is good for us, 
 since it also happens to be what is good 
 for him. He did not use a single menace, 
 nor even bid me never see you again. It 
 is likely enough he understood you would 
 be here to-night. He simply placed my 
 position and yours before me, on the social 
 map, just like a lesson in geography. " If 
 you choose to marry this pleasant young 
 sprig of nobility," said he, " you can of
 
 20 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 course do so. I will not even refuse my 
 blessing, but I doubt whether you can live 
 on that, or even pay his debts with it." ' 
 
 1 Gad, he is right there ! ' observed the 
 Honourable Piers Mostyn ruefully. 
 
 ' Of course he is right, Piers, or I would 
 not have troubled you with these notes of 
 his conversation. I love you, my darling ; 
 ah ! how I love you, but as for our mar- 
 riage ' — 
 
 ' Gwendoline, dearest « Gwendoline, 5 
 vv r hispered the young man passionately, 
 and passing his arm around her waist, ' let 
 the world take its own way without us ; 
 for your sake I can be content to live on a 
 crust ! Fly with me — to-night — to-mor- 
 row ! You shall stay with my old tutor 
 and his wife until I can get the license. 
 Nobody shall stop us ; nothing shall turn 
 me from you; you have only to say, "I 
 will." ' 
 
 For an instant — for a single instant — 
 Gwendoline was silent : charmed with the
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 21 
 
 glowing picture thus presented to her, her 
 white cheek grew whiter, sicklied o'er by 
 the pale hue of passion ; she closed her 
 eyes, as though to hide from herself that 
 comely appealing face she so often saw, 
 even in her dreams, but never so lover- 
 like and fond as now ; but the next mo- 
 ment she was herself again. i No, Piers. 
 We can neither of us afford this folly ; or, 
 at least,' added she, staying the vehement 
 protestation upon the threshold of his lips 
 with no trembling finger, i I for my part 
 cannot afford it. For argument's sake — or 
 rather to avoid argument — let it be granted 
 that you could undergo the sacrifice — that 
 you, accustomed to luxury from your cra- 
 dle, to extravagance and self-indulgence 
 from your boyhood, could, for my sake, 
 live, as you say, upon a crust ; but for me, 
 I am less simple in my tastes : 
 
 Love in a hut with water and a crust, 
 Is, Lord forgive us ! cinders, ashes, dust. 
 
 Even a poet has had the good sense to see
 
 22 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that, Piers ; and I am not a poet, nor 
 would be one even if I could. I too have 
 been brought up, if not in luxury, still 
 without lack of comforts, refinements, and, 
 of late years, I have tasted of the golden 
 water of life, the elixir of rank and wealth 
 — a Circe cup, as some call it — but which 
 is to me, I confess, most sweet and de- 
 lectable ; nay, what is more, Piers, wealth, 
 or what wealth can buy, has become indis- 
 pensable to my happiness. Look at me — 
 you who called me Empress but a while 
 ago, and ask yourself the question — could 
 this girl live a life of poverty ? No, Piers ; 
 not even for your sake. If that love for 
 you, which I have acknowledged with no 
 niggard tongue, is to be lasting, it must be 
 put to no such test. In your heart of 
 hearts you will soon confess that I have 
 spoken for both of us — you will thank me 
 for not having permitted you to indulge a 
 generous but reckless impulse ; but I am 
 content to bear the present blame myself;
 
 PLAIN SPEAKIXG. 23 
 
 to let the imputation of worldliness and 
 selfish caution rest upon my own shoulders. 
 You may call me calculating, but you can 
 scarcely call me cold, my darling.' 
 
 He had unclasped his arm from around 
 her waist, and over his finely chiselled 
 features there had stolen, while she spoke, 
 the same look of curiosity, almost of sus- 
 picion, that was already seen there once 
 before — a look that seemed to say : c This 
 girl is not like other girls ; I cannot fathom 
 her ; ' but her last loving words evoked his 
 smile again — and he had a very winning 
 smile. 
 
 'Xo, Gwendoline; you are not cold,' 
 said he fondly ; c it would be kinder to me 
 if you were, since your view of our future 
 is so unhopeful.' 
 
 'Do not despise me for my loving can" 
 dour,' exclaimed the young girl suddenly : 
 ' to tell you how I love you is the only 
 luxury which is at present within my 
 power, and now I have done with even
 
 24: Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that. You must leave St Medards to-mor- 
 row, Piers. You must go home, or, at least, 
 far from this place.' 
 
 ' Why so, my darling ? Matters can be 
 no worse than they are now. Your father 
 understands our mutual position, and has 
 confidence — not ill-founded, as it seems — 
 in his daughter's prudence. I have been 
 here only fou^ days, and seen you but 
 thrice.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, Piers, you must do as I 
 say, if you really wish to be one day able 
 to call me yours.' 
 
 i But how can my absence possibly 
 promote that end, Gwendoline ? ' 
 
 1 Do not ask me, darling — do not press 
 me, I conjure you. Strive to believe, 
 rather, that the sight of you, the know- 
 ledge of your nearness to me, would be 
 more than I have strength to bear. Or, 
 if not so, credit me, Piers, when I tell you 
 that your absence will promote that end, 
 will bring us — slowly but surely — more
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 25 
 
 near to one another; will make me — it 
 must, it shall, your wife at last ! ' 
 
 1 And in the mean time, Gwendoline, is 
 it possible I read you aright for once ? 
 Some other man is to be your husband.' 
 
 < Yes, Piers.' 
 
 A long silence fell between them : no- 
 thing was heard but the swift flow of the 
 river, and the. murmur of the fir-tree tops 
 upon the crest of the opposite bank. Upon 
 these, as they gently swayed in the moon- 
 lit air, they both fixed their eyes, not look- 
 ing upon one another. 
 
 1 x4nd is this to be a one-sided arrange- 
 ment ?' inquired the young man presently, 
 with a bitter laugh ; c or am I, too, to be 
 free to wed ? ' 
 
 1 Free do you call it ! ' exclaimed Gwen- 
 doline haughtily. ' Is it you, then, who 
 have to make the sacrifice ? Papa, indeed, 
 must have spoken truth when he said men 
 were all alike — harsh, selfish ' — 
 
 ' Dear Gwendoline, I ask pardon. It
 
 26 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 is you, of course, who will have to suffer. 
 I do see that. But the proposition so took 
 me by surprise, I scarce knew what I 
 said.' 
 
 i Nay, you were right to speak your 
 thought, Piers. It is necessary that we 
 should thoroughly understand one another. 
 If you promise to remain single, I on the 
 other hand, will not impose unreasonable 
 terms upon you. You have been told, like 
 me, that your best chance in life — your 
 only prospect, indeed, it is like enough — 
 is to make a wealthy marriage. Well, so 
 be it. I have a definite plan, a plan that 
 will succeed, I feel ; but if it fail — and it 
 may fail — I will release you at once from 
 your engagement. Or, if your debts should 
 so accumulate — although I trust to help 
 you there, Piers — as to necessitate — But 
 no ; I cannot bear to think of that, my 
 darling; you will wait for me. You will 
 be patient, for the sake of your poor 
 wretched Gwendoline. For I shall be
 
 PLAIX SPEAKING. 2V 
 
 wretched (ah, as you men can never guess) 
 until the time comes — until we shall be 
 both repaid for all. — You are not hating 
 me, darling, are you ? — not despising me 
 for casting away all hope of happiness for 
 years, for your dear sake ? ' 
 
 ' Nay, Gwendoline ; I am all admira- 
 tion : if your scheme seemed strange at 
 first, it is, I perceive, the only one that is 
 left to us. And yet I am lost in wonder 
 that you should have hit upon it. I have 
 always found women, even the wise ones, 
 so impracticable and full of sentiment. 
 Xow, you have no nonsense about you of 
 that sort.' 
 
 ' He does despise me,' thought Gwen- 
 doline, with a shudder. i He would have 
 loved me better had I been a fool, like 
 other girls.' But she smiled upon him 
 fondly, as she answered : 1 I am acting for 
 the best, mv darling, and must fit mvself 
 for the part I have to play as well as I can. 
 It is only the knowledge of your love that
 
 28 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 will support me through it. I possess it — 
 do I not, Piers ? — Yes, you say so, and I 
 believe you ; but you can never love me as 
 I love you.' 
 
 Again he pressed her to his breast with 
 passionate warmth, and she felt that he 
 was hers once more : the risk she had run 
 of losing him altogether had been greater 
 than she had expected, but it was over 
 now. The dangerous subject had been 
 entered upon ; she had skated over the 
 thin ice, and was safe ; but it was better 
 not to venture near that perilous spot 
 again. 
 
 ' You must leave me now, darling,' 
 said she, ' or that little fool of a waiting- 
 maid of mine will be coming out to look 
 for me. I will keep you well advised of 
 all that happens, but we must not meet 
 again at present. Remember, I am yours, 
 and yours only, for ever ! How I long for 
 that dear day when you shall have the 
 right to call me so! Farewell — nay, not
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING. 29 
 
 another kiss, Piers— my own dear love, 
 farewell.' 
 
 He leaped lightly into the skiff, and 
 keeping it under the shadow of the terrace, 
 and out of sight of the house, rowed rapidly 
 away. Gwendoline watched him to the 
 corner of the river-bend with hungry eyes, 
 then sank down upon the arbour- seat in a 
 paroxysm of tears and sobs. 
 
 1 What a life is now before me,' gasped 
 she, ' and without his smile to cheer it ! 
 My Piers, my Piers, how can I ever bear 
 it! And was he to be "free to wed," he 
 asked — no ; a thousand times no. I would 
 rather see him dead before my eyes ! He 
 was half- frightened at my plan, I know. 
 When papa said he was glad to see that 
 there was "no nonsense about me," it was 
 different ; I did not mind his words ; but 
 Piers thought ill of me for that, I know. 
 What do they mean, these men, w T ho bring 
 us up to splendour and pleasure, who flatter 
 us till there is no more simplicity of nature
 
 30 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 in us than in themselves, and then despise 
 ns for being what they have made us ! ' 
 
 Presently growing calmer, she put 
 aside the tresses that had fallen over her 
 drooping face, and gazed before her with 
 eyes no longer tearful. i How glad I am,' 
 mused she, i he did not press me for the 
 details of my scheme. He spared me 
 there, indeed, as did my father too. How 
 I flushed up, I know, when papa said this 
 morning : " There is nobody to marry you 
 hereabouts, Gwendoline, who does not 
 know a deal too much of the position of 
 my affairs." But yet he had no suspicion 
 of my plan. Even he has not the brains 
 that I have; and much less Piers. And 
 yet, ah, how I love dear Piers ! ' With a 
 softened look on her proud face, and with 
 her hands folded over her bosom, as though 
 nourishing the fond thoughts that nestled 
 there, Gwendoline moved slowly towards 
 the house.
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MOMENT OF TEEEOE. 
 
 Gwendoline's meeting with her lover 
 had occupied more time than either of 
 them had been aware of — it was not that 
 their spoken words had been so many, but 
 the thoughtful silences between them, the 
 tender caresses, the lingering farewell, had 
 prolonged their interview far into the 
 night. Her maid Fanny was the only one 
 of the household who had not retired to 
 rest when her young mistress glided, ghost- 
 like, up the garden-steps, and through the 
 glass-door of the drawing-room. Notwith- 
 standing that the population about St
 
 32 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Medards were, many of them, what are 
 called a ' rough lot,' burglaries w T ere quite 
 unknown in the neighbourhood, and no 
 shutters were ever fastened at Bedivere 
 Court. Indeed, it would have been a work 
 of considerable time, as well as toil, to 
 close the whole house ; and on that particu- 
 lar night, there was not a man in the place 
 to do it. Butler, properly so called, there 
 was none ; and Sir Guy's own man, with- 
 out whom he never moved, had accom- 
 panied his master to the county-town. Sir 
 Guy had been accustomed to such minis- 
 trations all his life, and he was not the 
 man, whatever his pecuniary difficulties, to 
 retrench in any matter of personal comfort, 
 far less to forego them. This absence, how- 
 ever, of all the male folk did leave the few 
 inmates of the Court somewhat lonely and 
 defenceless ; and a young lady with more 
 1 nonsense about her ' than Gwendoline 
 Treherne, might possibly have felt nervous. 
 Waiting-maid Fanny, who had been sitting
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 33 
 
 up by herself, with nothing but plain 
 needle-work to absorb an erratic imagina- 
 tion, had been in fact for hours a prey 
 to terror ; in her ears, every creak of 
 doors and rattle of windows had sounded 
 like burglary with violence. It was in- 
 famous, thought she, of Sir Guy to have 
 left them all so unprotected ; and it would 
 only serve him right if, when he returned 
 home on the morrow, he should find the 
 house pillaged and his daughter murdered; 
 not that the selfish old gentleman would 
 care much for the latter, so long as the 
 plate was safe and his cigars untouched ; 
 nor perhaps even at all, since, if Miss Gwen- 
 doline was put out of the way, he would 
 probably proceed to enjoy himself with 
 less regard to respectability than even at 
 present. What on earth should he want 
 of poor Adolphe, making him sit behind 
 the carriage over those long dreary miles 
 of moorland, which the dear fellow hated 
 
 so cordially, when his company and COn- 
 VOL. 1. 3
 
 34 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 versation would have been so unspeakably 
 consolatory to herself on an occasion like 
 the present ? For Adolphe, although not 
 exactly in the heyday of youth (he was 
 five-and-forty at the very least, but had 
 learned from his master to look ten years 
 younger) , had the most agreeable way with 
 him it was possible to conceive, and was 
 the most perfect gentleman imaginable ; 
 and how much nicer, thought Fanny, 
 would it be to be now listening to his 
 charming broken English, than to be sit- 
 ting alone in the huge kitchen with only 
 the fading fire for her companion. 
 
 It w T as with a great sense of relief that 
 she at last heard the boudoir-bell ring, and 
 knew that her weary watch was finished. 
 The very sight of Miss Gwendoline --so 
 self-centered, self-reliant, calm — would be 
 assuring to her. If she did not actually 
 love her young mistress, she had no cause 
 to dislike her, and she admired her beyond 
 all measure. Not only as respected her
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 35 
 
 personal beauty, but also for her mental 
 qualities, which, though she herself could 
 not fathom them, Adolphe had assured her 
 were magnificent. ' She is too great to be 
 English' (he had informed her in a mo- 
 ment of enthusiasm) : ' she ought to have 
 been born a Frenchwoman ; ' although, as 
 for her good looks, he had hastened to add, 
 he for his part preferred one with a rose on 
 her cheek, and a ravishing little smile 
 when one pats it tenderly comme ga. Wo- 
 men should not be too clever, for that was 
 almost certain to lead them into mischief. 
 Not that Miss Gwendoline's cleverness was 
 ever likely to do that, thought Fanny ; for 
 in her it always took the shape of prudence 
 and .caution. That very day, she had 
 been most unexpectedly taken into her 
 young mistress's confidence. Miss Gwen- 
 doline had told her that Mr Piers Mostyn 
 and herself, whom she had hitherto looked 
 upon as affianced lovers, would be hence- 
 forward strangers to one another, and that
 
 36 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that night's interview was to be their last. 
 It was, after all, only a foolish attachment, 
 she said, which must sooner or later end in 
 disappointment, and Sir Guy had been 
 doubtless right in peremptorily command- 
 ing her to put a stop to it. Fanny mar- 
 velled to hear her speak so calmly, but 
 never doubted her resolve, and the less so 
 inasmuch as Gwendoline had concluded 
 this dissertation upon her own affairs with 
 some excellent advice with resjDect to 
 Fanny's future government of herself in 
 love-matters, which she listened to with 
 much humility, though thinking in her 
 secret heart that she could never dismiss 
 dear Adolphe with such equanimity, even 
 though there was gra} r in one of his whisk- 
 ers, and he was not the brother of a lord, 
 as Mr Piers Mostyn was. 
 
 But notwithstanding this proof of Miss 
 Gwendoline's confidence, the relation be- 
 tween the two girls was by no means 
 so intimate as often exists between mis-
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 37 
 
 tress and maid at their age. There was 
 something about the former that was not 
 haughtiness, and yet which kept her far 
 more removed from her attendant than 
 any implied difference of social position. 
 Even now, that Fanny had been made the 
 repository of so delicate a secret — which 
 she did not know had only been revealed 
 to her after all the reasons for and against 
 such a revelation had been thoroughly 
 weighed — she did not seem to herself to 
 possess any hold over Miss Gwendoline, and 
 scarcely even to be on a more familiar foot- 
 ing with her than heretofore. Even had not 
 her thoughts been just then occupied with 
 more pressing matter, it is probable she 
 would not have ventured to speak to her 
 vouns: mistress of that interview which 
 she knew had just taken place, and which 
 had, for one of her simple and impulsive 
 nature, a very engrossing interest. Gwen- 
 doline's steady eyes and passionless face in 
 the glass before her — for Fannv was now
 
 38 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 engaged in brushing the ample tresses of 
 1 her young lady ' preparatory to her re- 
 tirement for the night — would in any case 
 have forbidden any such allusion. Yet 
 Fanny had something to communicate 
 which must needs be uttered, at all hazards, 
 no matter what reflections of her philoso- 
 phic mistress she might be breaking in 
 upon, for Fear is of all passions that which 
 stands the least upon ceremony, and may 
 so far indeed be said to be the most cour- 
 ageous. It was assuring, indeed, to see 
 Miss Gwendoline so calm and stately, un- 
 ruffled by any idea so vulgar as possible 
 burglars ; but then, thought Fanny, it will 
 be all the worse for me when I am dismissed 
 from her presence, and left to cower down 
 under the bed-clothes in my own room. 
 Still, she put off the proposition she was 
 about to make to the very last moment, when 
 the long brown locks hung in one broad 
 shining stream to the very ground, and the 
 ivory brush had fulfilled its task to the
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 39 
 
 uttermost. Then — ' If you please, Miss 
 Gwendoline, might I sleep on the sofa in 
 your room to-night ? ' inquired she sudden- 
 ly ; ' I am so terribly frightened.' 
 
 i Frightened at what, you silly girl ? 
 Are you afraid, simply because Adolphe 
 is not here to protect you, or because the 
 wind is bus}^ in the fir-w r ood ? ' 
 
 ( No, miss, it's not only that ; but I 
 am quite certain there will be mischief 
 here to-night, there have been such strange 
 sounds w^hile I have been w r aiting up for 
 you ; and just as your bell rang, I am 
 almost certain I heard the great iron gate 
 clang, and I am sure there is not wind 
 enough to make it do that. If it had 
 happened five minutes before, I should 
 have even risked your displeasure by run- 
 ning out upon the terrace, and ' — 
 
 ' It w r as well you did not, girl,' inter- 
 rupted Gwendoline severely ; l such foolish 
 follies are only suitable to regale persons 
 of your own class with. I am sorry to
 
 40 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 refuse your request, but it is a most un- 
 reasonable one as you ought to know. If 
 you are such a coward as you make out, go 
 and sleep with the cook or the housemaid.' 
 
 1 They would be no protection, Miss 
 Gwendoline ; indeed, I doubt whether 
 they would not be more frightened than 
 myself.' 
 
 1 That is as you please, Fanny ; but I 
 have a particular fancy for my own com- 
 pany to-night, and I mean to indulge it. — 
 What is that noise ? ' 
 
 1 Lord have mercy upon us ! it's the 
 li all-door banged, and they are in the house 
 already ! ' gasped the waiting-maid, clasp- 
 ing her hands. ' Oh, is Mr Piers Mostyn 
 really gone, ma'am ; and must we all be 
 robbed and murdered ? ' 
 
 ' Gone ! Child, are you mad ? Of course 
 he is gone. Put the candles out, and re- 
 main as still as death, while I see what this 
 means.' And Gwendoline, attired as she 
 was in her dressing-gown and slippers,
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 41 
 
 and with her long hair streaming over her 
 shoulders, passed quickly and noiselessly 
 from the room, which opened on to a cor- 
 ridor, from which she could look down 
 into the great hall itself. Though suspect- 
 ing that some intruder was in the house, 
 she did not even now entertain the idea of 
 burglary. Such a crime was not only, as 
 has been said, absolutely unknown in the 
 district — of which the leaving the front 
 door unlocked was proof enough — but Be- 
 divere Court was the last house in the 
 county that a professional robber would 
 attempt. There was little in it indeed to 
 make it worth his while ; and the risk, if 
 at least Sir Guy had been at home — and 
 his departure, quite suddenly resolved upon, 
 could scarcely have been known — was very 
 considerable. The baronet had firearms, 
 and his determination was beyond all 
 question. Indeed, it was rumoured, not 
 without justice, that he had used a pistol 
 with effect upon less occasion ; and if
 
 42 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Gwendoline's heart throbbed with some 
 excitement, as she leaned over the banisters 
 and peered down into the gloom below, it 
 was not with fear. 
 
 All was in shadow except the central 
 space, upon which the moonbeams poured 
 directly from the round north window that 
 faced the door ; and at first she could see 
 nothing. But presently the figures of two 
 men, motionless, and doubtless in the act 
 of listening like herself, could be made 
 out, standing at the foot of the broad stair- 
 case. There was a whispered colloquy, 
 and then a sound as though they were 
 taking their boots off; and in another 
 minute they stood together on the bottom 
 step, and it was plain they were coining 
 up-stairs. Gwendoline stepped back into 
 her own room, and without heeding her 
 waiting-maid's terrified inquiries, passed 
 through it with hasty steps into her father's 
 bed-chamber, with which it had a door of
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 43 
 
 communication. His pistol-box lay in its 
 usual place by his bed's head, and she took 
 from it one of the choice and highly orna- 
 mented little weapons it contained, ascer- 
 tained that it was loaded, capped it, and 
 dropped it into the pocket of her dressing- 
 gown. She hid the box, and returned to 
 Fanny, who had fallen on her knees, and 
 was listening at the keyhole of the outer 
 door, which her young mistress had not 
 omitted to make fast. Gwendoline had 
 fewer ornaments of price than most girls 
 in her position call their own. She did, 
 however, possess one diamond necklace, 
 the gift of a godmother, who, in bestowing 
 it upon her, had considered herself absolved 
 from all obligations, temporal and spirit- 
 ual ; and this she thrust, case and all, into 
 the bosom of her dressing-gown, leaving 
 the jewel -drawer with the rest of its con- 
 tents half open ; then, for the first time, 
 the hushed wail of her terrified attendant,
 
 44 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 imploring her to tell her what she had seen, 
 and who was in the house, attracted her 
 attention. 
 
 1 Cease that whining, girl ! ' said she 
 imperatively. ' Whoever these men are, 
 you must not appear afraid of them. Look 
 at me ; do I seem afraid ? And yet these 
 jewels are not yours, but mine.' 
 
 Standing in the moonlight, with one 
 hand in the pocket of her dress, and the 
 other raised as if for silence, her noble 
 features no paler than usual, and not less 
 calm, except for a certain twitching of the 
 nostril, which spoke of insulted dignity — 
 of angry pride rather than of any other 
 feeling — she certainly did not look afraid. 
 But Fanny was much too prostrated by 
 nervous terror to pluck comfort now from 
 even her mistress. 
 
 4 Then they are really robbers, are 
 they ? ' answered she. \ God help us ! ' 
 
 ' I don't know whether they are robbers
 
 A MOMENT OF TERROR. 45 
 
 or not,' was trie cairn reply ; k but they are 
 certainly here for no good. I saw them as 
 they were coming upstairs, and the moon- 
 light shone upon an iron ring that was 
 round one man's ankle. They are most 
 likely, therefore, convicts escaped from 
 Dartmoor.'
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 WHICH EXHIBITS SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 
 
 At this moment, the handle of the door 
 was cautiously tried from the outside. 
 
 < Who is there ? ? cried Gwendoline, in 
 tones whose very distinctness might have 
 shown to a keen observer that they were 
 the result of effort, but which at least spoke 
 of self-possession. 
 
 There was no answer to this inquiry. 
 
 ' Unbolt the door, girl ! ' continued 
 Gwendoline resolutely. 
 
 i What ! let them in ? ' ejaculated 
 Fanny, to whose weaker nature procras-
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 47 
 
 tination seemed something akin to safety. 
 ' No, no ! ' 
 
 1 Then I will do it,' said her mistress. 
 She swept across the room like a stage- 
 queen (perhaps she was in some sort re- 
 hearsing for the part she had set herself to 
 play, when the audience without should be 
 admitted), drew back the bolt, and threw 
 the door wide open. Never had oaken plank 
 divided persons more wholly different in 
 appearance than were those two, whom she 
 now confronted, from herself. Imagine, 
 on the one side, the haughtiest of fair 
 women, youthful, beautiful, and in an attire 
 in which those of her sex and condition 
 are only seen by their most intimate female 
 friends ; and, on the other, two outcasts, 
 ragged, wayworn, and yet with a scowl 
 upon their haggard faces, which recked 
 little indeed of rank and station, and boded 
 as ill as any royal tyrant's frown to whom- 
 soever should cross their wishes. Although 
 each had found means to exchange his
 
 48 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 prison-clothes, and, as it seemed, with 
 some scarecrow of the fields, Gwendoline's 
 quick glance had not misled her as to their 
 true character. On the ankle of each was 
 a strong iron ring, about which, whether 
 for concealment, or to prevent its rubbing 
 against the limb, a rag was loosely twisted. 
 They were both ill-looking, desperate-eyed 
 fellows enough, and the more assimilated 
 in ferocious expression by a three days' 
 growth of bristly hair upon lip and chin. 
 But even here Nature had stamped beyond 
 erasure some points of difference. The 
 shorter of the two, though they were both 
 tall men, was by far the most truculent- 
 looking. For an instant the spectacle thus 
 suddenly presented to his gaze of trans- 
 cendent female beauty and stateliness, 
 where he had expected to meet cringing 
 terror, took him with some surprise, and 
 he lowered the point of his rude weapon — 
 which was but a stake {Hacked from some 
 sheepfold — at the sight of it ; but the next
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 49 
 
 moment, as though resenting that involun- 
 tary tribute of respect, he raised it again, 
 and shook it in Gwendoline's face. * We 
 want no play-acting here, young woman, 
 nor any of your d — d airs and graces. I 
 heard you just now telling your wench 
 there that she was not to appear to be 
 afraid of us ; but she is afraid — and small 
 blame to her — and so are you.' 
 
 • If you heard that, sir,' said Gwen- 
 doline scornfully, and keeping her eyes 
 fixed upon the ruffian's face, notwithstand- 
 ing that his weapon was held within an 
 inch of them, ' you also heard me say that 
 I, for my part, was not afraid. Nor am I. 
 What is it you want here, man ? ' 
 
 ' Well, several things. Money to begin 
 with ; jewels, such as I see yonder ; and 
 food and drink above all.' 
 
 ' Money, I have none,' said Gwendoline 
 firmly ; * or, at least, what will seem none 
 to gentlemen of your ambition. There 
 lies my purse, however.'
 
 50 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 1 There must be more than that in a 
 house like this/ cried tfce villain im- 
 patiently. — ' Here, you with your eyes half 
 out of your head ' — and he turned sharply 
 round upon the wretched Fanny, who was 
 literally petrified with fear — c is this sleek 
 young mistress of yours telling us lies or 
 not ? If so, you had better not try the 
 same game, I promise you.' 
 
 1 Indeed, dear gentlemen, we have no 
 money,' gasped the waiting-maid implor- 
 ingly. l Sir Guy is from home.' 
 
 Gwendoline flashed upon her a glance 
 as of forked lightning, yet not so swiftly 
 but that her persecutor caught sight of it. 
 
 1 Ah,' said he contemptuously, i you may 
 spare yourself the trouble of all that, miss. 
 We are not to be imposed upon even by a 
 clever one like you. We have been watch- 
 ing about here all day in the wood above 
 the house yonder, and know exactly how 
 matters stand. We saw Sir Guy, if that's 
 the master's name, take hisself off, and his
 
 SOME TRAITS "OF CHARACTER. 51 
 
 man with him, this arternoon ; and more 
 than that, my fine lady, we saw your young 
 gentleman slip down the river so quietly 
 not half an hour ago, which was a pretty 
 time o' night, by the way, in my opinion, 
 for a perfect lady to be courted in a garden 
 arbour — not that Bob and I would have 
 cared two straws, only we were so deuced 
 sharp set for our supper.' 
 
 The man who spoke these words, a 
 waif and stray of society from his birth, 
 had been thrown from early youth among 
 dangerous company on sea and land, and 
 had fought his way among them to a bad 
 eminence through many a bloody brawl 
 and desperate conflict, and yet, perhaps, 
 he bad never been nearer to death than 
 he was that moment. If Gwendoline's 
 features maintained their outward calm, it 
 was only by means of indrawn breath and 
 tight clenched teeth ; her hand clutched 
 the weapon in the pocket of her robe with 
 feverish eagerness, while her eyes fixed 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 GWENDOLINE'S HARVEST. 
 
 themselves upon the ruffian's mocking face 
 with a hatred that had no longer contempt 
 to mitigate it. 
 
 ' And yet, if I kill this reptile,' mur- 
 mured she, i my whole plan must fail.' 
 
 1 What are you muttering now ? ' in- 
 quired the ruffian savagely. l It seems to 
 me you are just the obstinate sort of fool 
 as gets her brain-pan knocked in on little 
 occasions like the present. I shall have to 
 take you in hand myself, I see.' As he 
 stepped towards her, Gwendoline withdrew 
 her hand from her pocket. She could not 
 trust it there if he should lay a finger on 
 her — and yet the thought that her scheme 
 of life should be wrecked by this audacious 
 scum was even more terrible to endure. 
 
 ' You have no more money in the house, 
 you say,' said he, standing close beside 
 her ; * have you no more jewels than those 
 which we have already got ? ' She con- 
 fronted him haughtily as ever, and pointing 
 mechanically, to give corroboration to her
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 53 
 
 words, to the very spot where the diamonds 
 lay concealed, she answered : ' I have not.' 
 
 'And the plate, where does Sir Guy 
 keep his plate ? ' 
 
 i In the pantry, in an iron chest, of 
 which he has the key,' returned Gwendo- 
 line. 
 
 1 This won't do, miss,' ejaculated the 
 ruffian with a horrible oath, and he seized 
 her roughly by the wrist. 
 
 'Stop, Dick,' cried the other man, 
 speaking for the first time. ' Hands off; 
 I can't have that. The young lady is 
 speaking the truth, and what's the use of 
 bullying ? Besides, what could we do with 
 plate even if we found it. We have got 
 the gewgaws and the money ; let us now 
 have food and drink, for I feel as famished 
 as a w r olf.' The man called Dick threw 
 sullenly from him the plump white wrist 
 which still retained the mark of his cruel 
 clutch. 
 
 1 You were always a fool, Bob, where a
 
 54 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 woman was concerned; but this one at 
 least is not worth while for us two to 
 quarrel over; only I don't lose sight of 
 her while in this house, no, not for an in- 
 stant. — It is you who shall be our waiting- 
 maid at table ; and I shall keep my eye 
 upon you, my fine lady, lest you should 
 take a fancy to drug our drink. It would 
 do you all the good in the world to have a 
 master like me for a week or two. I'd tame 
 you, my young tigress.' 
 
 For the first time throughout this terri- 
 ble scene, Gwendoline fairly shuddered. 
 Pride of lineage, pride of position, haughti- 
 ness even of character itself, must needs 
 succumb sooner or later, if the necessity 
 be extreme. The contemptuous stoicism 
 of high breeding — but a faint shadow, 
 after all, compared with the stubborn im- 
 mobility of the thieving, lying savage — 
 requires for its foundation the possession of 
 what is vulgarly denominated the upper 
 hand. As in some general overturn of
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 55 
 
 society, a Robespierre becomes as calmly 
 terrible as any nobleman of twenty times 
 transmitted title, who could scatter his 
 lettres de cachet broadcast, and with tranquil 
 fac3 immure for life the canaille who aspired 
 to be his foes, with one stroke of his pen ; 
 so in particular cases, where something 
 that is not accustomed to be Might, sud- 
 denly becomes so (and, as is usual, with a 
 vengeance), even the supremest aristocratic 
 contempt of it is apt to break down — if 
 the pressure be only sharp enough. The 
 scornful demeanour may, indeed (and often 
 does), remain; but the victories of de- 
 portment, although by no means despica- 
 ble, are more effectual on canvas than in 
 real life. Thus Gwendoline Treherne, 
 although still a glorious picture of con- 
 temptuous dignity — and that bold show 
 stood her in good stead — had, in fact, for 
 the moment succumbed before the insolent 
 superiority of this familiar ruffian. In- 
 voluntarily, the vision of an impossible life
 
 56 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 with this brutal wretch, whose grasp she 
 still felt upon her wrist, as her master, 
 flashed upon her mind, and chilled her 
 with its horror. 
 
 1 You have the keys, Fanny/ said she 
 in a voice that all her resolution could not 
 keep free from tremor; 'let these men 
 have food and wine.' 
 
 'Ay, and my fine lady for company 
 also,' insisted runian Dick. ' She shall sit 
 at the head of the table, if she pleases, but 
 at our feast she shall be: next to drink, 
 and one or two other little weaknesses, I 
 enjoy the taming of tigresses above all 
 things. — And besides, Bob,' added he, as 
 his companion seemed again about to inter- 
 fere, ' who knows but there may be an 
 alarm-bell in the house, which this young 
 lady, if left here to herself, would be just 
 the one to pull with a will.' 
 
 But poor frightened Fanny was by no 
 means in a condition to undertake any 
 housekeeping arrangements whatever; it
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 57 
 
 was as much as she could do to accompany 
 her young mistress, and point out to her, 
 with trembling limbs and hysterical sobs, 
 where this and that was to be found, so 
 that Bob and Dick were in fact provided 
 for by Gwendoline's own hands ; and she 
 stood beside them while the hungry 
 wretches ate and drank their fill — as 
 strange a waiting-maid as ever served still 
 stranger guests. As the repast progressed, 
 the more silent of the two men grew talk- 
 ative, while the other in his turn kept 
 silence, the good cheer seeming only to 
 make him more morose and grim. 
 
 1 1 am sorry that we trouble you so 
 much, young lady,' said the former, ad- 
 dressing Gwendoline with some show of 
 respect ; ' but we have been near two days 
 without food, and know not when we may 
 get another meal.' 
 
 As Gwendoline did not vouchsafe one 
 word of reply, Fanny, who really felt a 
 kindliness towards this man (as being evi-
 
 58 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 clently the milder of the two, and who had 
 more than once interfered to check the 
 rudeness of his companion), suggested that 
 they should take some provisions with 
 them. 
 
 ' Right, little wench ! ' cried Dick ; 
 1 but my fine lady shall cut it for us, and 
 not you. — Nay, Bob, you may be served 
 as you will, but for my part I like to be 
 waited on by the quality.' As Gwendoline 
 took the bread-knife, without a word, and 
 proceeded to cut some slices, one more 
 acquainted with the fine arts than the pre- 
 sent company might well have likened her 
 to Judith in the tent of Holofernes. Al- 
 though this parallel did not occur to the 
 observant Dick, the expression of her face 
 did not escape him. ' Look at her how 
 she cuts the loaf,' he said ; ' how much 
 rather would she be carving you and me 
 with that big knife, than bread to help us 
 on our way. — Be quiet, you,' roared he,
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. ( J 
 
 interrupting himself suddenly. — ' What 
 noise was that outside ? ' 
 
 The wind had ceased, so that sounds 
 could be heard through the night-air from 
 far ; and it was not without intention that 
 Gwendoline had been clumsy with the 
 wooden i}late, and made it clatter upon 
 the clothless board. She had caught the 
 distant fall of horses' feet, and so — although 
 less distinctly — had her persecutor. The 
 two men started from their seats, and 
 listened eagerly; not like hunted hares, 
 but as wild beasts tracked to their lair, 
 they stood with savage eager looks, and 
 each with knife in hand. 
 
 ' Have you boats here ? ' cried the 
 shorter ruffian fiercely. 
 
 i yes, sir,' answered Fanny eager- 
 ly ; ' there is one under the terrace, 
 and ' — 
 
 ' I spoke to youf interrupted Dick, 
 turning upon Gwendoline a look of con-
 
 60 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 centrated rage. 'And you shall answer 
 me, or I will hang for it ' — 
 
 'Oh, answer him, Miss Gwendoline; 
 pray, answer him,' pleaded Fanny pite- 
 ously. 
 
 c I will show you where the boat lies, 
 if that is what you want,' said Gwen- 
 doline. 
 
 ' Be quick, then,' answered the ruffian. 
 ' But, first, I will hear both of you swear 
 by Heaven that you will say we have gone 
 over the hill yonder, and not by water.' 
 
 ' yes, sir, we will promise to do that. 
 I swear to tell them what you wish.' 
 
 'And you — you she-devil,' exclaimed 
 Dick, pointing at Gwendoline with his 
 knife, l will you swear too, or not ? ' 
 
 Gwendoline did not speak. Once more 
 her hand had sought the pocket of her 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 i Well, the boat first then,' cried the 
 ruffian impatiently, i and we will have the 
 promise afterwards.'
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 61 
 
 Gwendoline led the way into the gar- 
 den at a rapid pace. The two men fol- 
 lowed her ; but Fanny's limbs fairly refused 
 to carry her. 
 
 1 Will it not be better to make both 
 safe, Bob ? ' whispered Dick to his com- 
 panion hoarsely. ' Dead men tell no tales, 
 nor even dead women.' 
 
 1 No, no ; I will not have it,' answered 
 the other with a shudder : ' there is blood 
 enough on our hands already.' 
 
 1 There will be more on mine, if my 
 fine lady does not promise what I ask her,' 
 muttered the other to himself; and both 
 hurried down to the river's edge. Beneath 
 the stone arbour was a boat-house, with a 
 punt in it, and Gwendoline led them to it. 
 ' Is there none but that ? ' inquired 
 Dick suspiciously. ' You must have a skiff 
 here, surely.' 
 
 i The gentleman you saw to-night has 
 taken it,' returned Gwendoline quietly. 
 ' Curse him and you ! ' answered the
 
 62 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ruffian passionately. — i Get in, Bob. — Now, 
 mark you, my lady, I have no scruples 
 like my friend yonder, and upon your 
 answer to my next question will depend 
 whether you ever see that sweetheart of 
 yours again or not. If it be " Yes," then 
 well and good; but if it be " No," that 
 word will be your last ; ' and as though he 
 had known of the weapon that she had 
 hidden in her robe, he grasped both her 
 wrists in one huge hand, so that she was 
 powerless, and with the other he put the 
 naked knife to her white throat. l Do you 
 swear, as you hope for Heaven,' said he, in 
 a fierce whisper, ' to tell those curs who 
 are at our heels that we have gone over 
 yonder hill an hour ago ? ' 
 
 She felt the sharp blade press against 
 her skin. 
 
 c Quick, quick ! ' cried he through his 
 clenched teeth. 
 
 i I promise,' whispered she — i I 
 swear.'
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 63 
 
 1 Then you may live to trouble your 
 sweetheart yet,' said the ruffian with a 
 brutal laugh, and he leaped into the punt 
 as his companion pushed it swiftly from 
 the shore. 
 
 There was not a moment to lose. Lights 
 were visible, and voices heard, from the 
 house, as Gwendoline hastily returned 
 thither. An officer and four troopers, 
 armed to the teeth, had dismounted in the 
 court-yard, and the former was even then 
 engaged in cross-examining Fanny, while 
 some other terrified domestics stood by 
 with greedy ears. 
 
 1 It is strange how the}' could have 
 gone by the moor,' he said with perplexity; 
 ; we must have surely come across them 
 that way ourselves ' — 
 
 1 They are not gone by the moor,' in- 
 terrupted Gwendoline, gliding in with her 
 usual stateliness, and speaking in a voice 
 whose firmness strongly contrasted with 
 her maid's hysterical and broken speech.
 
 64 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 1 They are gone down the river, and not 
 five minutes ago.' 
 
 i Miss Gwendoline, and we promised 
 not to tell ! ' exclaimed the faithful Fanny. 
 
 1 You promised, you coward, but not 
 I ! ' answered her mistress contemptuously. 
 ' They have taken the punt, sir, in which 
 they can make little way. There is a four- 
 oar in the large boat-house, if your men 
 can row, in which you can overtake them 
 before they have gone a mile.' 
 
 ' That is excellent, madam ; we will be 
 off at once. — But, forgive me, your neck 
 is bleeding. These ruffians have surely 
 never dared to offer you any violence ! ' 
 
 ' One put a knife to my throat, sir, and 
 grazed it — that is all,' answered Gwendo- 
 line calmly. ' It was the shorter of our 
 two visitors.' 
 
 ' x4nd by far the most dangerous, ma- 
 dam. They have killed a warder between 
 them in making their escape, and will cer- 
 tainly both be hung; but the man you
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 65 
 
 speak of is the most ferocious ruffian that 
 even Dartmoor ever held . Now your peril 
 is over, I may tell you that I am as sur- 
 prised as delighted to rind you alive.' 
 
 All this was said as the party were 
 hurrying through the garden to the other 
 end of the terrace, where a larger boat- 
 house than that beneath the arbour was 
 situated. 
 
 i The trooper who remains with the 
 horses will be your protection until we 
 return,' continued the officer ; ' although, 
 of course, there is no further peril to be 
 apprehended. I am glad indeed ' — and he 
 courteously raised his cap — ' that it has 
 fallen to my lot to be able to afford some 
 assistance to Miss Treherne, of whom all 
 the world ' — 
 
 1 Your boat is ready, sir,' said Gwendo- 
 line coldly ; ' this is no time for compli- 
 ment ; and I shall reserve my thanks until 
 you return with those infamous wretches 
 as your prisoners.'
 
 66 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ' I trust to give a good account of them 
 shortly, madam/ answered the young lieu- 
 tenant, not a little abashed. — ' You two 
 there, take the oars ; and you other, sit in 
 the stern with all four carbines, and keep 
 a good look-out. If they do not surren- 
 der, take good aim, and fire.— Give way, 
 men ! ' 
 
 The boat shot out at a pace that must 
 needs^ bring them up with the object of 
 their pursuit in a few minutes. 
 
 Gwendoline remained upon the river 
 terrace with one or two women-servants, 
 the latter garrulous enough, she herself 
 wrapt in thought. 
 
 ' How glad I am,' mused she, ' that I 
 never used the pistol. My plan of life 
 must else have altogether failed. He could 
 never have understood the necessity for 
 such an action, nor forgiven me — except 
 in his cold formal way — though Piers 
 would have loved me none the less. — Well, 
 there is one advantage in this night's work,
 
 SOME TRAITS OF CHARACTER. 67 
 
 that it will be sure to bring them over 
 from Glen Druid to-morrow, and throw us 
 still more together. — That is something I 
 shall have to thank yon hateful villain for, 
 as well as for this flesh-wound, of which I 
 must make the most ! He has bruised my 
 wrist, too, with his brutal gripe; and I 
 shall be a most interesting young woman 
 for many a day to come ! If he had only 
 held them but a little less firmly he would 
 have been a dead man by this. — Hark ! ' 
 
 The silence of the autumn ni^ht was 
 broken by a musket-shot, of which the 
 echoes seemed to leap from bank to bank 
 from far down stream ; and then another, 
 and yet another shot. 
 
 ' Perhaps, he is a dead man now,' said 
 Gwendoline, ' and his fellow-ruffian with 
 him. I hope it is so. It Avould be much 
 better that the affair should end, so far as 
 they are concerned.'
 
 68 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 DR GISBOKNE. 
 
 The young lieutenant of dragoons 
 brought back no prisoners to Bedivere 
 Court that night, but took the bodies of 
 two dead men into St Medards instead. 
 The convicts had refused to surrender, and 
 had been shot down accordingly. l It was 
 the best thing that could possibly have 
 happened to tliem,' as everybody said. Of 
 course it would have been a more exciting 
 course for the present narrator to have 
 preserved at least ruffian Dick alive ; with 
 his vengeance for her broken promise 
 hanging throughout three volumes over
 
 DR GISBOEXE. 69 
 
 the head of the proud and lovely Gwendo- 
 line ; but to Truth even Sensation must be 
 sacrificed, and the incident of the burglary 
 has been only mentioned just as it really 
 occurred, in order to illustrate the charac- 
 ter of her who may now be literally termed 
 our heroine, since she did in fact, after that 
 strange night's work, become the cynosure 
 of admiring eyes throughout the country 
 round. Her presence of mind, her noble 
 demeanour under such trying circum- 
 stances, and especially her resolution, un- 
 der pain of death itself, to withhold a 
 promise, that on one of her blue blood 
 would of course have been more binding 
 than the oath of any middle-class person- 
 age, were, thanks to Fanny's communicat- 
 iveness, the theme of a hundred pens, 
 notwithstanding that her mistress abhorred 
 such vulgar publicity, and discouraged it 
 to the uttermost. The sympathy, indeed, 
 of the whole district for this beautiful and 
 heroic young lady was so marked and ex-
 
 70 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 tensive (for even the ratepayers felt grate- 
 ful to her for having rid them of Bob and 
 Dick), that Sir Guy had almost begun to 
 hope that it might assume the form (and 
 dimensions) of a service of plate. ' In case 
 it should take that pleasing shape, my 
 dear/ was his characteristic advice to his 
 daughter, ' it will be necessary, before 
 accepting it, to consider whether it is 
 worth our while to do so ; to count the 
 cost in the most practical manner, to con- 
 sider whether the gain would be of such a 
 magnitude as to outweigh all other con- 
 siderations—such as that loss of prestige 
 which almost always accompanies the ac- 
 ceptance of any public gift. If the sub- 
 scription for the article in question — let us 
 say a service of gold plate — should reach 
 five thousand pounds, my dear, I should 
 recommend you to accept it ; but if it fall 
 short of that amount, I should consider it 
 my duty to decline it, in your name ; and 
 to add, that I should not have permitted
 
 DR GISBORNE. 71 
 
 you to take it, had it cost fifty thousand.' 
 Sir Guy had established with his 
 daughter that relation of perfect confidence 
 which is so often wanting between parent 
 and child. His frankness in the statement 
 of his views to her on every point was 
 always complete. His character, indeed, 
 was naturally candid ; he had no false 
 shame — nor, in fact, shame of any kind; 
 and it was commonly agreed of Sir Guy 
 Treherne, that though he miglit not be 
 without his faults, and even his vices, you 
 saw the worst of him at once, and could 
 never complain that you had been imposed 
 upon by appearances. Much, we do not 
 deny, should have been forgiven to the 
 last male descendant of an ancient family, 
 who w r as also a baronet, and who, although 
 far from rich, had, by judiciously spending 
 every shilling upon himself, contrived, 
 throughout his life, to deny himself nothing 
 in the way of luxury : so far as that went, 
 there were as many allowances to be made
 
 72 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 for him as for the most spoiled darling of 
 Fortune. But still, though he was no dis- 
 sembler, Sir Guy had a certain pleasing 
 honhommie about him — or could have, when 
 he pleased — which had all the effect of the 
 most finished hypocrisy, at a third of the 
 cost. With satire of the sharpest at his 
 command, he never intentionally wounded 
 a fellow-creature's feelings — not that he 
 gave himself the least trouble to avoid it, 
 but that his fine tact (the result of long 
 training in the school of manners) steered 
 him always clear. His air was concili- 
 atory, and without condescension ; his 
 smile, though stereotyped, was like the 
 approbation of a seraph. His attire was 
 always faultless : not even his daughter 
 had ever caught Sir Guy in his dressing- 
 gown. His wig was such a marvel of art, 
 that it was a matter of doubt, even among 
 his neighbours, as to whether he wore his 
 own hair. His small delicate hands — 
 which trembled a little, if you were rude
 
 DR GISBORNE. 73 
 
 enough to watch them narrowly — showed 
 no traces of that gout the tortures of which 
 at times made him believe in the possibility 
 of a Gehenna. Upon the whole, he sug- 
 gested some highly executed automaton, 
 which gracefully expresses almost every 
 human feeling without possessing it, and it 
 is not, therefore, to be wondered at that it 
 was the universal opinion, that whatever 
 his shortcomings — by which phrase the 
 absence of morality, religion, and all the 
 unselfish sentiments were indicated — Sir 
 Guy Treherne was pre-eminently a gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Even the one vulgar virtue which, in 
 its vulgar form, Sir Guy condescended to 
 possess, and, when necessary, to exhibit — 
 that of personal courage — was dashed with 
 artificiality. He would have fought his 
 enemy or his friend across a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, and never changed colour at the 
 measured i One, two, three ' of the signal- 
 ler; but he shrank from illness, and still
 
 74 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 more from the approach of death. He 
 used to openly confess that, had he been 
 rich enough, he would have maintained a 
 family physician — l Half-a-dozen of them/ 
 he was won't to add, ' rather than one 
 domestic chaplain.' And even as it was, 
 he liked to see his doctor pretty often. It 
 was one of the many blessings for which 
 Sir Guy used to express himself grateful — 
 for he was polite, if he failed to be win* 
 ninor even to Providence itself — that there 
 was a most excellent physician at St 
 Medards. Dr Gisborne was an accom- 
 plished and highly educated gentleman, a 
 philosopher, a man of great and varied 
 experience in human affairs, and a most 
 agreeable companion ; but what capped 
 all, in the baronet's estimate of his merits, 
 was, that he ' understood ' Sir Guy — by 
 which, of course, he meant that he under- 
 stood his constitution, knew which particu- 
 lar spring was likely to give way, and 
 patched it up, so that the sorely tried
 
 DR GISBORNE. <0 
 
 apparatus of his system (which had been 
 an excellent one in its time) was kept 
 going with as few break-clowns as possible. 
 Dr Gisborne and himself were in reality 
 cf the same age — namely, sixty-four, and 
 neither of them looked to be within ten 
 years of it. But what Art had done for 
 the baronet in this respect, Nature had 
 accomplished for the physician, so that the 
 equality was only superficial : in external m 
 appearance they were both fine old trees ; 
 but one was a heartless shell, the other was 
 still green and vigorous to the core. With 
 all his experience of mankind, Dr Gisborne 
 had still retained a certain simplicity. He 
 was an old bachelor ; yet the gambols of a 
 child could afford him pleasure, and the 
 beauty of a woman touched him with a 
 certain reverence. His devotion to Gwen- 
 doline, for instance, was so chivalric and 
 complete, that when Sir Guy, during that 
 conversation with his daughter of which 
 we have spoken, had remarked : l There is
 
 76 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 no one to many you hereabouts,' he had 
 added, with characteristic pleasantry — 
 ' unless you mean to take Dr Gisborne.' 
 Gwendoline had certainly no intention of 
 doing that ; and yet the physician was, 
 next to Piers, the man who had for her the 
 greatest attraction. Sir Guy had told him 
 truly that she had once observed that Dr 
 Gisborne was the man most worth talking 
 to she had ever met ; and the physician 
 was not perhaps insensible to flattery from 
 such lips as Gwendoline Treherne's. At 
 all events, he always put forth his best 
 conversational powers to please her, nor 
 ever balked her wishes, no matter into 
 what channels she might choose to lead his 
 talk ; and he liked her none the less that 
 some of them were strange ones for the 
 belle of a London season to select. Dr 
 Gisborne was not a wit, and at a modern 
 dinner-table he would have made no great 
 figure; in that rapid interchange of jest 
 and fancy which forms the charm of to-
 
 DR GISBOKXE. 77 
 
 day's entertainments, he would have taken 
 no part ; his fort was not so much convers- 
 ation as monologue. He was a raconteur 
 of the very first water, but of the old 
 school, and would have bored the present 
 generation in Pall Mall to extremity. But 
 to Gwendoline much that he had to say 
 was not only attractive in a very high de- 
 gree, but, as she felt, was a lesson of life : 
 she gleaned from him the experience of 
 threescore years, and carefully garnered 
 so much of it as seemed likely to be useful 
 to her. The study of humanity was itself 
 interesting to her, as it is to all persons 
 not wholly inane and frivolous, and the 
 more so because the results of it were 
 practical. She asked him for no advice. 
 He only saw in her an attentive and 
 beautiful listener. No woman could have 
 ever suffered harm from Dr Gisborne's 
 teaching — but then he was wholly unaware 
 that Gwendoline Treherne was his pupil at 
 all. Perhaps, when launched upon the
 
 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 great sea of his experience, he suffered at 
 times his memory to carry him too much 
 whither it would ; not, indeed, that he 
 ever forgot whom he was addressing, in 
 the sense that Madame Propriety would 
 understand it — but his narrations were so 
 wholly pagan, that they might have been 
 recorded by some savage chief, supposing 
 it were possible to find one with whom 
 truth was any object. To Dr Gisborne, 
 all such matters were the mere outside of 
 life ; to his perception, the great scheme of 
 Fatherly Beneficence still existed, notwith- 
 standing that he had mixed with a society 
 in foreign parts where people were not 
 only backbiters, but actually devoured one 
 another. To Gwendoline, these strange 
 experiences of her old friend and neigh- 
 bour only corroborated the view of Life 
 which her own bringing-up had already- 
 formed for her : it showed to her, in its 
 most favourable aspect, a landscape set
 
 DR GISBORXE. 79 
 
 more or less with (artificial) flowers, bor- 
 dered and terminated by the grave. 
 
 Dr Gisborne's reminiscences were of 
 course not exclusively cannibal ; but those 
 which he liked best to dwell upon, as 
 Gwendoline to listen to, were undoubtedly 
 such as dealt with the most striking — and 
 often the most terrible of human facts. 
 Those who war against Sensation — a 
 cuckoo-note of invective, however, which 
 certainlyseems to afford them extraordinary 
 pleasure — are indeed fighting, if not against 
 human nature itself, against all the more 
 robust and intelligent of mankind, and are 
 as likely to succeed as those who advocate 
 raw salads in preference to those prepared 
 according to the famous poetical recipe. 
 It is not really that they are more delicate 
 in their tastes than other people, but only 
 that they are more ignorant and feeble. 
 They boast of their weak stomachs, but it 
 is not their digestive organs which are at
 
 80 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 fault, so much as their mental powers. To 
 such bread-and-butter folks, everything 
 out of their own little round of life is toast 
 and caviare, with a dash of lemon ; and 
 their private opinion of Lear, and Othello 
 would be found quite as unfavourable, if 
 any one took the trouble to ask for it, as 
 the last railway novel with a murder in it, 
 and the illustration of that attractive in- 
 cident upon its yellow cover. The talk of 
 Dr Gisborne would certainly have some- 
 times made the flesh of these good gentry 
 to creep — caused them to feel more ' goosey 7 
 than even nature had intended them to be. 
 It might be easily imagined that the burg- 
 lary at Bedivere Court would rather have 
 encouraged than otherwise that sort of con- 
 verse in which the doctor and Gwendoline 
 both delighted. But talk will often fly off 
 at a tangent to apparently quite alien 
 topics, and so it was in this case. Dr 
 Gisborne had been one of the first at St 
 Medards to hear of the incident, and had
 
 DR GISBORXE. 81 
 
 ridden over early in the morning, and 
 obtained the details from his favourite's 
 own lips, as they walked together in the 
 garden. 
 
 1 Of course you are none the worse for 
 it all, my dear,' said he admiringly. l Give 
 me your pretty white hand again — pulse 
 tranquil, skin without a touch of fever ; 
 that's well. It would have given some 
 girls fits for life.' 
 
 ' I couldn't afford to have fits for life,' 
 observed Gwendoline demurely ; i but I 
 really was a little frightened at one time, 
 when the gentleman who was called Dick 
 remarked that he should like to be my 
 master, and break my spirit. Then, I 
 own, I felt cold all over.' 
 
 1 That was curious,' said the doctor 
 musing. ' One would have thought when 
 he seized you by the wrist — upon which 
 the brute has left his mark, bv-the-bv, I 
 see — that that would have been the 
 supreme moment of terror.'
 
 82 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 1 No,' said Gwendoline simply ; 1 1 did 
 not feel so frightened then.' 
 
 She did not mention that she had had 
 a loaded pistol in the pocket of her dress- 
 ing-gown even to her friend the doctor; 
 she had discussed that matter in her mind 
 in the mean time, and decided upon silence. 
 
 ' Well, it was a most striking experi- 
 ence,' said the physician, regarding her 
 from head to foot with great approbation : 
 he had known her for many a year, and 
 was far prouder of her than Sir Guy him- 
 self had ever been. ' That fellow Dick 
 must have been as bold as Jack Cade, to 
 dare to talk so to such a queen.' 
 
 1 A queen ; nay, my clear doctor,' re- 
 turned Gwendoline smiling ; i but that was 
 not his opinion, since lie called me a 
 tigress.' 
 
 ' Yet that was strange too,' replied the 
 physician gravely. ' He, of course, meant 
 the expression as a compliment in its way. 
 With folks of his stamp, who belong to
 
 DR GISBORNE. 83 
 
 the family of the great Carnivora^ it is the 
 tigress who is queen. I always thought 
 you myself as like the pictures of Catha- 
 rine Alexiewna as a good girl can be to a 
 very bad woman.' 
 
 i The Empress of Russia, was she not ? ' 
 said Gwendoline, not without a thrill of 
 pride, as she reflected that three such 
 different men as Piers Mostyn, ruffian 
 Dick, and Dr Gisborne should have thus, 
 within twelve hours, all paid their tributes 
 of admiration to her imperial bearing. 
 
 1 Yes, she was empress/ returned 
 the doctor contemptuously ; ' but she was 
 more fit to have kept a public-house. You 
 know I only care for Nature's empresses, 
 such as you, my dear.' 
 
 1 Yes, you are a true republican, I be- 
 lieve,' observed Gwendoline thoughtfully; 
 1 you take people for what they are worth, 
 and so forth; your motto is, " Handsome 
 is as handsome does ; " and your arms — 
 But there, you despise arms of course.'
 
 84: Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ' Well, my arms are a pestle and mor- 
 tar, you know,' replied the doctor smiling. 
 
 ' And you have been all over the world, 
 and seen life in all its phases,' continued 
 Gwendoline, still musing. 
 
 i Just so, my dear ; I have seen a great 
 many men and cities, but I prefer my 
 lodgings at St Medards. In that respect, I 
 am like an old gentleman whom my grand- 
 father, when quite a boy, was in the habit 
 of seeing — a small but very neatly dressed 
 personage of fourscore years and more, 
 who had three very stately daughters. 
 " For my part," he was wont to say, " I 
 am quite content and comfortable as I am 
 now ; but these ladies here, they can 
 never forget that their father was once 
 Lord Protector of Great Britain." I am 
 quite of Mr Richard Cromwell's opinion — 
 for the little old gentleman was no less — 
 but I am afraid, my dear, you side witli 
 his daughters. Well, that is the way of 
 all the women-folk ; they are caught with a
 
 DR GISBORXE. 85 
 
 glittering fly at all seasons ; but I hope 
 you will not henpeck me, my dear, as the 
 Misses Cromwell did their papa.' 
 
 ' And yet, doctor,' said Gwendoline 
 thoughtfully, and without taking notice of 
 her companion's last remarks, l you have 
 an uncommon reverence for some persons 
 who would be nothing but for the position 
 they have inherited.' 
 
 1 My dear Gwendoline, if you and I 
 were in the House of Commons together ' 
 observed the doctor with some severity, 
 1 and you had indulged in such a remark, 
 there would have been cries of " Name, 
 name," from somebody ; but being a young 
 lady, your little assertions need no corrob- 
 oration.' 
 
 'Now, that is the only thing whichmakes 
 me doubt your sincerity,' exclaimed Gwen- 
 doline ; ' you are always ruffled when any- 
 body questions this republicanism of yours.' 
 
 ' Not at all, my dear, not at all; but I 
 think it is as important to stick to truth in
 
 86 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 speaking of matters of opinion as in speak- 
 ing of matters of fact. I am interested, I 
 own, in the maintenance of the principle 
 which you have epitomized in your phrase 
 of " Handsome is as handsome does." I 
 think it very much for the public weal that 
 all things should be taken at their true 
 value, and not at a fancy price ; and as, in 
 these parts at least, I am generally in a 
 minority of one, I do not like to be mis- 
 represented (and especially by Miss Gwen- 
 doline Treherne), so that even what little 
 weight my influence might possess is 
 thereby counteracted, or even thrown into 
 the opposite scale. Now, what was it, my 
 dear, which caused you to say that I pay 
 reverence to people on account of the acci- 
 dent of birth ? ' 
 
 i Well, doctor, you know that we could 
 scarcely tear you aw T ay from Llandulph, 
 the day of our pic-nic, merely because of 
 that imperial tombstone — ' 
 
 1 Oh, that was it, was it ? ' interrupted
 
 DR GISBORNE. 87 
 
 the physician smiling. ' Well, I do plead 
 guilty there. But the fact is that, in the 
 first place, I have no objection even to 
 emperors, when their line is extinct ; and 
 secondly, my admiration was extorted by 
 the vicissitude of the family in question, 
 rather than by its quondam eminence. 
 The tombstone (if you remember) was 
 erected to the memory of a simple country 
 gentleman, who had married the daughter 
 of one William Ball, Esq. of Hadley ; but 
 he had a very curious name. It was Theo- 
 dore Pal?eologus — direct descendant of a 
 race that had given eight emperors to 
 Constantinople. He died two hundred 
 years ago, it is true ; but the inscription 
 says he left three sons; and yet, when — 
 the other day — a deputation came over 
 here from Greece, in hopes of finding a 
 descendant of the great Constantine fool 
 enough to be their king, no more could be 
 heard of the family than of the old Derby 
 Finderns — and indeed even less.'
 
 88 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 c I don't know about the Finderns,' said 
 Gwendoline, not displeased to lead her 
 companion from a topic on which she had 
 nothing in common with him — for as there 
 were few more devoted to the show and 
 glitter of life than herself, so there was 
 none more contemptuous of them than the 
 philosophic physician ; the one might have 
 been likened to Semiramis, the other to 
 Aristicles ; only in this case Aristides ex- 
 hibited the anomaly of a republican anti- 
 quary : even the memory of a Tyrant 
 became respectable in Dr Gisborne's eyes 
 after a sufficient number of centuries. 
 
 < Well, the story of the Finderns is 
 very curious. I only know it from Burke's 
 account ; but it always struck me as an 
 interesting illustration of the vanity of 
 what is called " position,'' and especially 
 of that ludicrous provincial branch of it 
 which is called a "position in the county." 
 The Finderns of Findern were a great 
 county family from Edward I.'s time;
 
 DR GISBORNE. 89 
 
 the old local records are full of them. Yet, 
 
 when Sir Bernard went down there, upon 
 one of his wild-goose chases — pedigree - 
 hunting, poor creature — he could not find 
 one single relic of the old race ; not a 
 stone seemed to have belonged to them — 
 not even in the church or churchyard. 
 11 We have no Finderns here/' said a vil- 
 lager ; " but we have the Findern flowers;" 
 and he led the visitor to a field which 
 still si lowed dim traces of terraces and 
 foundations. " There, " observed he, 
 pointing to a bank of garden-flowers grown 
 wild — " there are the Findern flowers, 
 brought by Sir Geoffrey from the Holy 
 Land ; and do what we will, they will 
 never die." That seems to me very touch- 
 ing/ observed the doctor pathetically ; 
 ' although, of course, the poor Finderns 
 never did anything worth speaking of, or 
 which anybody would care to remember. 
 For that matter, indeed, the old houses 
 that are remembered — the oldest houses in
 
 90 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 the world — have little to boast of in the 
 way of merit. In a long line of ancestors, 
 it would seem strange if some were not 
 more or less distinguished. And yet how 
 seldom is this the case ! The Montmoren- 
 cies, the Tremouilles, the Rochefoucaulds, 
 have, after all, had but one representative. 
 Of all the grandees of Spain, how many 
 have made it worth the world's while to 
 remember them? What have the most 
 ancient nobility in the world — the Mile- 
 sians — done for human kind ? What have 
 the Hapsburgs ? — among whom there has 
 been but one with a genius, and that only 
 for aggrandizing his own family. Or that 
 ducal family of Arcot — the most venerable 
 in the world, as we are told, simply be- 
 cause it can trace its descent up to the 
 Deluge (thereby saving you and me the 
 trouble of tracing ours some distance for 
 ourselves) — what did they ever do, beyond 
 spending a good deal of money in such 
 idle researches? The whole system of
 
 DR GISBORNE. 91 
 
 hereditary nobility is contrary to fact, as 
 well as to philosophy. It is the new blood, 
 and not the old, which enriches the world. 
 — You smile, my dear Gwendoline, be- 
 cause you see me curveting on my hobby, 
 but it is a matter of fact and common 
 sense, and lies within your own observa- 
 tion. Who is it, for instance, who does the 
 most and best service in this very district ? 
 Which are the more active for usefulness 
 and for good ? the old families or the new ? 
 Look at that new-comer and parvenu — as 
 all the old gentry hereabouts but your 
 father (who has better sense) are accus- 
 tomed to call him — Mr Ferrier of Glen 
 Druid for instance. T\ T hat an impetus has 
 he given to everything that is worth 
 pushing on, above ground and below it, as 
 well as on sea ! I tell you that our labour- 
 ers in the fields, our workmen in the mines, 
 our fishermen at St Medards, have better 
 reason to praise the wise benevolence that 
 enriches without enslaving them, than all
 
 92 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 the feudal patronage to which they have 
 been accustomed for these hundreds of 
 years.' 
 
 The enthusiastic philosopher paused 
 for sheer want of breath, not at all be- 
 cause he lacked other illustrations of his 
 theory. 
 
 i Mr Ferrier is a very good man/ said 
 Gwendoline, drawing figures upon the 
 gravel with the point of her parasol, c and 
 doubtless he does good. How hard it 
 seems that such a misfortune as you were 
 hinting at the other day should be im- 
 pending over him ! I suppose there is no 
 doubt of the fact ? ' 
 
 1 Unhappily, none whatever/ replied 
 the physician with a deep sigh. 
 
 ' I almost wish you had never told me 
 about it/ said Gwendoline. ' It was terri- 
 ble to hear that sweet little woman talk 
 but yesterday of going to Italy as soon as 
 she had got over her trouble, and I all the 
 time knowing that she was doomed never
 
 BR GISBORNE. 93 
 
 to see her native land again — but instead 
 of its bright landscapes and sunlit sea, to 
 go down into the cold dark grave.' 
 
 1 Yes, poor soul ; yet that will certainly 
 happen ; and it is likely enough the new- 
 born babe will share her fate. That is 
 scarcely to be regretted, if (as is almost 
 certain) the seeds of its mothers disease 
 should lie within it. And, indeed, so ter- 
 rible a family foe is consumption — the 
 complaint, of all others, which seems to 
 have a vendetta against an entire race — 
 that Mr Ferrier will be fortunate if even 
 his little Marion is spared to him.' 
 
 1 The dear little thing seems very de- 
 licate,' said Gwendoline pitifully. 
 
 ' Yes, a beautiful hot-house flower, like 
 her mother,' assented the doctor ; ' as fair, 
 and almost as fragile. The whole prospect 
 is so gloomy that I scarcely dare to exhibit 
 it to the husband and father, and yet, 
 sooner or later, it must be done.' 
 
 1 That will be very dangerous, doctor,
 
 94 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 surety ? I should have thought it would 
 have killed poor Giulia at once to tell her 
 that she was like to die.' 
 
 1 No doubt it would, and therefore she 
 must not be told. But I ought not much 
 longer to conceal the matter from her hus- 
 band.' 
 
 ' Well, that is one of those uncharacter- 
 istic statements with which you now and 
 then surprise me, my dear doctor, more 
 than I can say. Is it possible that you, 
 who are so wise, and who know men 
 so well, imagine that Mr Ferrier is a man 
 capable of hiding such a secret from one 
 he loves ? Of course you will do your 
 duty — perform the etiquette which, I sup- 
 pose, the Faculty imposes on you in such 
 cases — but such a course, I must say, ap- 
 pears to me to be the extremity of folly. 
 You magnify your calling, doctor, and per- 
 haps, as compared with others, with rea- 
 son ; but certainly, in some matters, your
 
 DR GISB0RXE. 95 
 
 profession is as conventional as that of any 
 fashionable preacher.' 
 
 1 How so?' inquired the doctor, with an 
 air half-serious and half- amused. 
 
 * Well, take the case in question. No- 
 thing can save this poor woman, you tell 
 me ; though, to look at her, so bright and 
 beautiful, the thing seems incredible to me 
 — the story of her doom a mere nightmare; 
 and yet, besides the risk of hastening the 
 calamity, you must needs make this old 
 man wretched before his time.' 
 
 1 There is something of reason, Gwen- 
 doline, in what you say,' returned the 
 physician thoughtfully ; l as indeed there 
 always is, and it is doubtless worth con- 
 sideration. — But was not that a ring at the 
 front-door just now? You must be pre- 
 pared for visits of congratulation this 
 morning, of course. — Why, surely that is 
 some one I know at the drawing-room 
 window ? '
 
 96 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 c Yes ; it is Mr Ferrier,' said Gwendo- 
 line quietly. ' How strange we should 
 just have been talking about him ! And 
 see, he has brought out poor Giulia with 
 him ! '
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AX OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 
 
 On the broad gravel- walk that ran be- 
 tween the whole frontage of the mansion 
 and the garden, were now standing a 
 married pair, whom no one who saw them 
 for the first time could possibly have taken 
 for man and wife. The husband might 
 have been a contemporary of Dr Gisborne's; 
 but if his frame was stouter, his eyes were 
 less bright, and indeed had already some- 
 thing of the lack-lustre look of advanced 
 senility, while his thin hair and neatly 
 trimmed whiskers were white as snow. 
 He had a quiet and not unthoughtful face ; 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 but a physiognomist would have predicated 
 weakness from the formation of the mouth, 
 notwithstanding its pleasant and even 
 genial smile. Upon his arm leaned a 
 young woman, so youthful indeed as to be 
 almost like a child, notwithstanding that 
 she had already a little girl of her own of 
 three years old, and that she was soon 
 again to become a mother. She was very 
 beautiful; and it did not need the heavy 
 mantle which she wore, even on that mild 
 autumn morning, to show that she had been 
 accustomed to a far more genial climate 
 even than that of Cornwall. Her olive 
 skin and raven hair might have belonged 
 to a gipsy ; but Giulia Ferrier had none of 
 the strength and hardihood of that wander- 
 ing tribe. Her cheeks had a colour more 
 brilliant, yet more limited in its extent, 
 than health ever bestows, and her large 
 black eyes had a preternatural lustre. She 
 was accustomed, in her half-playful, half- 
 complaining way, to speak of herself as
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 99 
 
 1 the exotic ; ' and an exotic she was — a 
 flower of a genial clime transplanted to a 
 too hardy soil, a too vigorous air. Nor 
 was it only the climate to which she was 
 unsuited. English manners, English cus- 
 toms, English tastes, were more than alien 
 to her — they were antagonistic. The 
 well-meant civilities of ( the county/ which 
 had been freely extended to her, appeared 
 at best but clumsy courtesies. Its hos- 
 pitalities were also oppressive ; and on the 
 other hand, the most estimable families 
 beginning with Tre, Pol, and Pen were 
 quite unable to 'make Mrs Ferrier out.' 
 She adored her child, she had a passionate 
 love for flowers (the only natural taste in 
 which she could now indulge), and she had 
 the utmost respect for her husband. A 
 warmer feeling could scarcely be expected 
 from a girl of twenty towards one who 
 might have been her grandfather. 
 
 Their marriage had taken place under 
 circumstances that were somewhat roman-
 
 100 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 tic, considering the character of the bride- 
 groom. It was certainly curious that a 
 Scotch gentleman of mature age and Pres- 
 byterian convictions, who had passed all 
 his life in mercantile pursuits, should offer 
 his hand (with an income of many thou- 
 sands a year in it) to a penniless foreigner 
 of the Catholic faith ; but this had actually 
 taken place. Her father, a struggling 
 painter, had died in Rome while Mr 
 Ferrier happened to be staying in the 
 Eternal City. She had been left forlorn 
 and friendless; and his kind heart had 
 taken pity upon her. He could not (thus 
 he reasoned with himself) leave her there 
 alone and unprotected, and only the more 
 likely, if she were well dowered, to be the 
 prey of some designing adventurer. But, 
 in fact, there was no necessity in the case 
 of one so beautiful as Giulia for even an 
 elderly gentleman to excuse himself at all. 
 They married, and, upon the whole, they 
 had lived very happily together ; only the
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 101 
 
 poor girl had been always haunted with 
 the desire of revisiting her native land, 
 and she had at last coaxed from Mr Fer- 
 rier a reluctant permission to do so, so soon 
 as the expected babe should be born, and 
 the mother have gained sufficient strength 
 for the journey. From the moment that 
 his assent had been obtained, she had 
 seemed a new creature, full of innocent 
 mirth and joyful expectation — like a child 
 who has been promised a new toy. It was 
 only those two who were now advancing 
 to meet herself and her husband across the 
 garden who had the least suspicion that 
 that promise could never be fulfilled. 
 
 Gwendoline, whose grace and beauty 
 delighted Giulia's artistic eye, had always, 
 of all their Cornish neighbours, been her 
 favourite, and the greeting between the 
 two girls was very cordial. 
 
 ' You great courageous creature ! ? cried 
 the latter in her pretty broken English (of 
 which, however, she was not a little proud,
 
 102 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 as well as of her scraps of knowledge of 
 our barbarian usages and phrases gener- 
 ally), and holding her friend at the ex- 
 tremity of her own slight arms, as if to get 
 a complete view of such a heroine. c How 
 sleek and unruffled you look, after all your 
 exploits. — Look at her, Bruce, dear! Is 
 she not a wonder ? ' 
 
 < Miss Treherne has always struck me 
 as being equal to any occasion that might 
 require courage and self-command/ ob- 
 served Mr Ferrier with polite elaboration. 
 
 'But it must have shaken you, my 
 dear,' went on Giulia impetuously. c It is 
 impossible that even your nerves can have 
 gone through such an ordeal as Fanny has 
 just been describing to us without having 
 suffered for it in some way. As for me, 
 the very hint of a horrid brigand being so 
 much as in the house would have killed me 
 outright.' 
 
 1 But they were not brigands, I assure 
 you, my dear Giulia,' replied Gwendoline
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 103 
 
 smiling. l Not at all the picturesque sort 
 of ruffians that are grown under your 
 native skies, with peaked hats, and tasseled 
 gaiters, and gracefully arranged shawls. 
 They were in rags and tatters ; and in- 
 stead of a beautiful inlaid stiletto, each 
 had a vulgar bludgeon. The whole affair 
 was thoroughly English, and would have 
 had no interest for an artist like you at all.' 
 
 1 No interest ? I never was so inter- 
 ested in anything in all my life. Pray, 
 tell me all about it. — They had masks of 
 crape, had they not? and an iron ring 
 round their ankles ; and one of them — yes, 
 that is why you wear that handkerchief — 
 pricked your lovely throat with the point 
 of his wicked knife ? ' 
 
 ' Why, you never mentioned that, 
 Gwendoline,' said Dr Gisborne reprov- 
 ingly. 
 
 1 No, of course she didn't,' continued 
 Giulia : ' she would die rather than confess 
 herself to have been either frightened or
 
 104: Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 hurt. But it is certain she must have been 
 both ; and what Bruce and I mean to do 
 is to carry her back to Glen Druid this 
 very day, to stay there, for change of air 
 and scene, till she is recovered. If she 
 will not come of her own free will, you 
 must give us a certificate of the necessity 
 of her removal, doctor, and then we will 
 take her by force, for that is English law ; 
 besides, we have found out — like the bri- 
 gands — that Sir Guy and his man are away, 
 so that there is nobody to resist. — Come, I 
 call upon you gentlemen, in the Queen's 
 name — for that is the law too — to attach 
 the person of Miss Gwendoline Treherne, 
 and help me to put her in prison at Glen 
 Druid.' 
 
 It was pitiful to hear her musical and 
 childish talk — pitiful to watch her lively 
 and graceful movements, as she laid her 
 little hand in mimic arrest upon Gwendo- 
 line's rounded arm ; and to know that all 
 that vitality and beauty were doomed to
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 105 
 
 perish ? and she so totally unconscious of it. 
 It was almost as pitiful to see the old man's 
 delight and pride in his young wife's win- 
 ning ways; and well might Dr Gisborne 
 shrink from the task of telling him that 
 there must soon remain of them nothing 
 except a bitter memory. 
 
 c But you will come, Gwendoline ? ' 
 urged Giulia with plaintive persuasion. 
 'It will be so much better for you than 
 remaining here, where every breath of 
 wind must sound like robbers ; and you 
 will be quite safe at Glen Druid, because 
 there are five great hulking men in the 
 house, and I don't know how many more 
 about the grounds.' 
 
 ' She is actually boasting of the extent 
 of her establishment ! ' exclaimed Gwen- 
 doline smiling. ' My dear Giulia, how 
 thoroughly acclimatized you are get- 
 ting.' 
 
 ' Nay, Miss Tr eh erne,' interposed mat- 
 ter-of-fact Mr Ferrier gravely ; i I am sure
 
 106 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 it was not my wife's intention to boast of 
 anything of the sort.' 
 
 1 1 boast ? ' cried Giulia in her turn. 
 8 dear, how dare anybody say that ! I 
 wish we had no servants at all ; I wish — ' 
 She stopped suddenly, catching sight of a 
 distressed look upon her husband's face. 
 1 1 wish I was not such a naughty child, 
 dear Bruce,' said she with pathetic self- 
 reproach ; and she put up her olive cheek, 
 tinged with a rose-blush, for the kind old 
 man to kiss. 
 
 6 Well, for my part,' said Gwendoline 
 simply, 1 1 should like to change house- 
 holds with you, my dear. You should 
 have Adolphe at Glen Druid, and wel- 
 come ; and all your people should come 
 and live in this great empty barrack, 
 where there would be plenty of room for 
 them, if nothing else. Then I should be 
 properly waited upon, do nothing for my- 
 self, and become the fine lady I should 
 like to be.'
 
 AX OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 107 
 
 ' You dear, lazy darling, then come to 
 Glen Druid ! ' cried Giulia rapturously. 
 1 You shall never put foot to ground there, 
 unless you please. We will sit in the 
 greenhouse and gather fruit with the 
 grape-catcher, without moving from our 
 easy-chairs. You shall have my own 
 maid, Susan, all to yourself, because she 
 understands lazy people ; and a horse — no, 
 you shall not have a horse to yourself, 
 because you would be running away from 
 me ; but we will have the pony-carriage 
 all to ourselves, and you shall drive the 
 little wretches, for you will not be afraid 
 of them, as I am. dear, how nice it will 
 all be ! ' 
 
 c It will certainly be very nice/ said 
 Gwendoline thoughtfully ; ' at least very 
 nice for me. But — ' 
 
 1 But, you would doubtless say, " I 
 should not like to leave my father," ' ob- 
 served Mr Ferrier kindly. c Our invita- 
 tion, however, of course extends to Sir
 
 108 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Guy also, if he will give us the pleasure of 
 his company — though I know he loves his 
 own roof when he is not in town.' 
 
 Giulia was silent, for she disliked Sir 
 Guy above all men. His artificiality, 
 which, in its would-be grace and pretended 
 candour, seemed to ape her own naturalness, 
 and to mock at it, was hateful to her. She 
 thought him a selfish old wretch, who 
 treated his daughter abominably ; and his 
 taking his valet with him, and leaving her 
 without male protection the previous night, 
 had been one of the topics of her discourse 
 with her husband on their way to the 
 Court that very morning. Gwendoline 
 had never thought of her father's accom- 
 panying her. Her < But ' had had no 
 reference to him whatever ; she had looked 
 towards Mr Ferrier, and affected to hesi- 
 tate, in the hope that he would have 
 finished her sentence for her in another 
 manner, by joining his own entreaties, 
 that she should return to Glen Druid, to
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 109 
 
 those of Giulia. She would not have had 
 Sir Guy under that roof with her just now, 
 for the most cogent reasons. 
 
 The situation might have been some- 
 what embarrassing but for the opportune 
 interposition of Dr Gisborne. 
 
 ' I think I can answer for Sir Guv,' 
 said he, ' for it was only a day or two ago 
 that he was asking whether I did not 
 think a few weeks in London would not 
 be a beneficial change for him. When 
 a patient puts his case in that way, his 
 doctor always understands how to treat it, 
 and I told him he ought to go ; so that 
 little difficulty is easily settled. — As for 
 you, Miss Gwendoline ' (and he gave her a 
 significant glance, which she well under- 
 stood to refer to Mrs Ferrier), ' it is cer- 
 tainly my opinion that you ought to accept 
 this invitation.' 
 
 1 Excellent man ! ' cried Giulia, clap- 
 ping her small hands. C I never liked a 
 horrid doctor before. — Well, you know I
 
 110 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 can't bear them, Bruce, with their long 
 faces and their solemn head -shakings, which 
 seem to foretell all sorts of horrors. They 
 frighten me almost to death before they 
 begin to cure me. — I don't mean to be 
 rude to you, Dr Gisborne ; so please to 
 forgive me, if I seem to be so.' 
 
 i I quite forgive you, dear Mrs Ferrier,' 
 said the physician witli a smile that was a 
 sad one, in spite of himself; l and I trust 
 it may be long before you have any cause 
 to see me show a long face, or shake my 
 head. It is most wise as well as kind of 
 you to suggest this change for Gwendoline; 
 and my certificate she shall have, if she 
 cannot be induced to go with you without 
 force of arms.' 
 
 ' There, you hear ! ' cried Giulia joy- 
 fully. ' Now make your arrangements at 
 once, my darling. Tell Fanny to pack 
 your things, and of course we will take her 
 with us in the carriage ; for my husband is 
 not too proud — are you, dear Bruce ? — to
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. Ill 
 
 sit on the same seat with a waiting-maid.' 
 
 1 Certainty not, my dear; I have nothing 
 to be proud of/ returned Mr Ferrier in a 
 tone that rather belied his words. 
 
 ' Nay, nay ; you offered me your own 
 Susan, remember,' cried Gwendoline play- 
 fully, l and I shall keep you to your word, 
 Giulia. Glen Druid would not be the 
 complete change which is to do me so 
 much good if I took Fanny with me.' 
 Next to her father, in fact, her waiting- 
 maid would have been the most objection- 
 able person to take with her, and the one 
 even more likely — from her unquenchable 
 loquacity — to injure her plans. 
 
 ( Come just as you will, alone or at- 
 tended, my dear Miss Treherne,' said Mr 
 Ferrier (not perhaps without a feeling of 
 gratitude for her having preserved him 
 from having Fanny for his fellow-traveller), 
 ' so long as you do come ; and for my wife's 
 sake.' 
 
 ' What a gauche old man is this ! '
 
 112 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 thought Gwendoline. ' How difficult it 
 will be to deal with him ! ' 
 
 ' I trust we may be able to make Glen 
 Druid sufficiently attractive to keep you 
 with us for some time.' 
 
 i It is most kind of you to say so, Mr 
 Ferrier. I will do my best to repay you 
 by being of as much use as I can to your 
 treasure here, and to my favourite little 
 playmate, Marion. — Now, do you sit down 
 here, dear Giulia, for I am sure you must 
 be tired of standing — ' and she wheeled 
 towards her a garden-chair — l while I run 
 in to tell Fanny to pack up.' 
 
 ' I am not at all tired, darling,' replied 
 Mrs Ferrier; but as her friend moved 
 away, she sat down wearily enough, never- 
 theless. 
 
 1 What a kind, dear creature Gwendo- 
 line is, and so unaffected — is she not, doc- 
 tor ?— but there, I need not ask, for I know 
 you have been in love with her for years.' 
 
 < That is true, my dear madam/ said
 
 AN OPPORTUNE INVITATION. 113 
 
 the physician, smiling gravely : ' I must 
 own the soft impeachment. Nothing but 
 the disparity,' he was about to say, ' in 
 our ages—' but recollecting on the instant 
 in whose presence he stood, he turned the 
 sentence as swiftly and naturally as swal- 
 low on the wing — i the disparity of birth 
 has prevented me from declaring myself 
 her devoted lover. I am quite a novus 
 homo, and the Trehernes were at Bedivere, 
 as folks say, in the days of the Cornish 
 giants.' 
 
 1 Good blood is nevertheless a good 
 thing,' observed the possessor of Glen 
 Druid, with a more decided northern accent 
 than was usual with him ; i and so far as 
 birth goes — though some of them have but 
 little siller — the Ferriers of Lanarkshire 
 can count a direct progenitor for every 
 finger.' 
 
 ' Does that include the thumbs, sir ? ' 
 inquired the physician, with an air of much 
 interest.
 
 114 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ' It does, sir,' said the old man, drawing 
 himself to his full height. 1 1 am the tenth 
 male of my line; and, please God, if all 
 things go well — ' and he cast a significant 
 glance at the unconscious Giulia, to whom 
 pedigree was a dead-letter — 'there may be 
 an eleventh, come Christmas next, or 
 thereabouts, as I am given to understand.' 
 
 1 Amen ! ' said Dr Gisborne with tender 
 gaiety. ' Let us hope it may be so ! '
 
 115 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GLEN DRUID. 
 
 Glen Druid, despite its antiquated 
 name, was quite a modern mansion, pur- 
 chased of him who built it by Mr Ferrier, 
 and transformed by the latter from a 
 merely handsome country-seat into one of 
 the most beautiful and perfect residences 
 in the south of England. Since Giulia 
 had always so regretted her native land, 
 her husband, himself greatly averse to 
 return thither, had gallantly resolved to 
 bring Italy as much as possible into Corn- 
 wall. The climate, although moist, was 
 really warm, and every flower and plant
 
 116 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 to which she had been accustomed was 
 either made to grow in the sheltered gar- 
 dens, or in the vast conservatory upon 
 which the great drawing-room opened. In 
 the house itself, again, were flowers in pro- 
 fusion; and flowering-trees alternated in 
 the fine hall and corridor with exquisite 
 statuary. Pictures of the old masters 
 adorned every sitting-room ; but Griulia's 
 boudoir was hung round with the works of 
 her own father's brush, with each of which 
 was associated in her mind some story, 
 which was now a tender recollection. 
 
 In curious contrast with the luxury 
 within the house, and with the artificial 
 beauty of its grounds and gardens, was 
 the natural scenery which surrounded the 
 place, and made it seem an oasis as well as 
 a paradise. It stood in a little bay on the 
 western coast ; north and south of it 
 stretched a long line of granite cliffs ; on 
 the east — from the winds of which it was, 
 however, well shielded — lay a vast waste
 
 GLEN DRUID. 117 
 
 of moorland, once, say the learned, posi- 
 tively, a forest, but now without a stick of 
 timber. There was nothing, indeed, that 
 stood higher than its patches of gorse, for 
 miles, except a stone erection, the nature of 
 which might possibly have puzzled you, 
 but about which the learned were equally 
 sure. It consisted of three mighty stones, 
 with a fourth upon the top of them, of such 
 a size that how it could ever have been 
 hoisted to its position in pre-scientific days 
 was a marvel in itself. These few mate- 
 rials formed quite a stately dwelling ; 'and 
 so far as the roof was concerned, they 
 might have served as such (without any 
 calling on the landlord for repairs, although 
 your lease had been one of those lengthy 
 ones extending to nine hundred and ninety- 
 nine years) ; but the sides were undeniably 
 draughty for such a purpose. The natives, 
 as usual, attributed its construction to the 
 Cornish giants, one of whom, it was sug- 
 gested, had left his three-legged stool in
 
 118 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that exposed situation ; but our antiqua- 
 rian friends termed it a cromlech or ancient 
 bmying-place. Beneath it was doubtless 
 interred some hardy chief, who had ex- 
 pressed a wish, since the north-easters had 
 seemed to do him good during his life- 
 time, to be buried where he could always 
 hear them blow. 
 
 But wild and bare as was the landscape 
 behind Glen Druid, it was tame compared 
 with the coast-scenery upon which it 
 looked down. There, walls of rock op- 
 posed themselves in storm to the whole 
 power of the Atlantic, and at all times 
 bore fearful traces of the conflict. On a 
 quiet summer day, indeed to see them 
 standing out of the blue waveless sea, so 
 seamed, and rugged, and defiant, gave 
 them even a more striking appearance than 
 in storm ; they looked like frowning veter- 
 ans, who, in some truce- time, which may 
 at any moment be broken by a smiling 
 but treacherous foe, stand sternly to their
 
 GLEN DRUID. 119 
 
 arms, showing their dints and scars in 
 justification of their grim mistrust. 
 
 On the south, the curve of the bay was 
 formed by a huge promontory — the ad- 
 vance-guard of all the rocks upon that 
 coast, and called locally, from some fancied 
 resemblance of shape, the Warrior's Helm. 
 But vaster far even than that famous head- 
 gear which so inconvenienced the Lord of 
 Otranto, it was onlv at a great distance 
 that you could catch the likeness which 
 had won for it its name. To one who 
 stood in the terraced gardens of Glen 
 Druid, it was merely a picturesque black 
 crag, around which, and up even to whose 
 beetling summit, a pathway had with in- 
 finite pains been excavated, which also 
 descended to the sands of what was called 
 Horseshoe Bay. A certain barren grand- 
 eur at all times, then, distinguished the 
 seaward view from the mansion : but when 
 the elemental strife was raging, it was 
 grand indeed : then the great arching bil-
 
 120 Gwendoline's hakvest. 
 
 lows rushed in with angry moan, and gave 
 the Warrior's Helm a creamy crest ; and 
 raged and roared among the stubborn 
 rocks, and gained a vantage ground, to lose 
 it the next instant in such a whirl of fight 
 around some pinnacle as might take place 
 about the body of a monarch slain in battle ; 
 and in the conflict as to who shall keep 
 him — friend or foe— the corpse itself is torn, 
 and one retires with half the ghastly tro- 
 phy, and one stands its ground. At times, 
 too, luckless ships were driven in ; and, as 
 though they belonged to sea, and not 
 to land, the inhospitable granite sentinels 
 denied them haven, and calmly listened to 
 their signal -guns for help, and calmly 
 watched them dash themselves to pieces 
 far below. And yet, within a few yards of 
 all this wild remorseless grandeur, lay the 
 wall-gardens and pineries of Glen Druid, 
 teeming with fruit and flower. 
 
 c How charmingly beautiful is all about 
 this splendid home of yours ! ' exclaimed
 
 GLEN DRUID. 121 
 
 Gwendoline to her friend and hostess, as, 
 followed, at a respectful distance b}^ the 
 latter 1 s waiting-maid, Susan Ramsay, they 
 moved slowly up and down a lower terrace 
 which gave access to the Warrior's Helm. 
 1 It seems to me so strange that you should 
 wish to exchange it for any other.' 
 
 1 Ah, but you don't know Italy, my 
 Italy,' answered Giulia enthusiastically. 
 ' I would rather live in Italy on the sum 
 that Susan yonder is paid for her yearly 
 wage — which would indeed be almost 
 riches there — than with all the luxury that 
 surrounds me at Glen Druid.' 
 
 i That is incomprehensible to me, my 
 dear,' said Gwendoline, looking at her 
 friend with something more than curiosity. 
 1 Xow, for my part, if I were in your place, 
 and judging from what I have seen during 
 the few days that I have been your guest, I 
 should have nothing to desire. Dr Gisborne 
 is the only person I have ever known to ex- 
 press opinions like your own, and yet you
 
 122 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 and he are so different. Sometimes I think 
 you are both hypocrites, and do not really 
 feel that contempt for wealth and luxury 
 which you express ; and sometimes, on the 
 other hand, I think myself dreadfully 
 worldly, in comparison with such virtuous 
 folks — for I do frankly own I love both 
 power and splendour.' 
 
 1 And you ought to have them, dear 
 Gwendoline,' replied her companion sim- 
 ply : l that brow of yours was made for an 
 earl's coronet at the very least — that is 
 what everybody says. And yet to see you 
 so gentle and unaffected, bearing with all 
 my foolish whims, and taking to my dar- 
 ling Marion as though you were her nurse ! 
 Even Mr Ferrier, who is not observant of 
 such things in general, noticed the — what 
 do you call it now ? — the — ' 
 
 c The incongruity, I suppose you mean,' 
 said Gwendoline, smiling with very genuine 
 pleasure, not for the compliment's sake, 
 but from the secret reflection : l Then the
 
 GLEN DRUID. 123 
 
 old man has noticed my care for his wife 
 and child already.' — ' But, in truth, dear 
 Giulia, there is no anomaly in the affair at 
 all. I might, for that matter, be only 
 practising for my future livelihood ; for if 
 anything were to happen to Sir Guy, I 
 must needs become a humble companion, 
 if not a nursemaid, or else starve.' 
 
 ' Starve ! ' ejaculated Giulia with a little 
 shudder. ' What dreadful words you use, 
 Gwendoline. The idea, to begin with, of 
 your ever wanting a home while Glen 
 Druid here stands where it is ! But I 
 know what English ladies mean by starv- 
 ing and being left without a shilling : they 
 mean, instead of driving two pretty little 
 ponies, they can only afford to keep one. 
 Now 1, Gwendoline, have been really 
 poor. When dear papa died, I was left 
 with nothing, absolutely nothing, except 
 a few what you call sterling pounds, and 
 even they were bespoken for just debts.' 
 
 i I do, however, assure you, Giulia,
 
 124 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 upon ray honour,' returned the other 
 earnestly, c that when Sir Guy dies, my 
 own case will resemble what you describe 
 as having been yours.' 
 
 1 But my papa always looked as though 
 he had no monev,' exclaimed the wonder- 
 ing Giulia, c although, dear soul, he was 
 always gay and cheerful, and we dwelt in 
 a poor house. But you, who live in a 
 castle, and whose father is a man of rank 
 — Sir Guy spends much upon himself, I 
 know, but is it possible he has spent all?'' 
 
 Gwendoline cast down her eyes in 
 silence. She desired that the pity which 
 was filling Giulia's tender heart should 
 take its full course. ' Let us talk of some- 
 thing more cheerful, dear,' said she ab- 
 ruptly. ' How blue the sea is this morn- 
 ing, and how exquisitely it contrasts with 
 the white sands ! I suppose it would fatigue 
 
 vou too much to venture down ? ' 
 
 j 
 
 Poor Giulia was not perhaps without 
 some secret misgiving respecting the fra-
 
 GLEN DRUID. 125 
 
 gile tenure upon which she held her life ; 
 at all events, as is usual in such cases, she 
 resented any suggestion of her being 
 weakly and delicate, and was obstinate to 
 prove herself otherwise. ' Fatigued ! Why 
 should I be fatigued ? I should like a 
 walk upon the sparkling sands above all 
 things ; ' and she moved briskly towards 
 the winding path. 
 
 But instantly there was a sound of 
 hurrying footsteps, and Susan Ramsay was 
 at the side of her young mistress. ' You 
 must not go down yonder, madam — in- 
 deed, you must not, said she firmly. It 
 looks easy enough to descend, but the 
 way back again is very steep.' 
 
 'You are quite right, Susan,' said 
 Gwendoline approvingly ; i I was just 
 saying that it would be much too fa- 
 tiguing.' 
 
 ' yes, I know I am right, miss,' re- 
 plied Susan, coldly. — 'You know, dear 
 mistress,' added she with earnestness, ' how
 
 126 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 particular Dr Gisborne is about your not 
 exerting yourself too much.' 
 
 1 1 am not Dr Gisborne's slave, nor 
 yours either, Susan, though you seem to 
 think sometimes that it is you who are the 
 mistress, and I your servant,' exclaimed 
 Giulia petulantly. ' I shall certainly have 
 a run on the sands ; and I will thank you 
 to go to the house and fetch Miss Marion — 
 there is nothing she likes so much as pick- 
 ing up shells.' 
 
 Susan cast one hasty glance at Gwen- 
 doline, as though to ask her to acid her 
 entreaties to her own ; but perhaps she 
 read in her face that she would only re- 
 ceive a lukewarm assistance. At all events, 
 she turned away the next instant, without 
 a word, to execute her mistress's orders. 
 
 1 Susan is an excellent creature, but she 
 takes too much upon herself,' exclaimed 
 Mrs Ferrier. 1 1 am really half afraid of 
 her, she has so strong a will.' 
 
 ' Scotch people often have,' remarked
 
 GLEN DRUID. 127 
 
 Gwendoline ; l but I am sure she is fond of 
 you in her way, and only wants a little 
 tact. Let me take your arm down this 
 steep place, my dear, so that we may 
 steady one another.' 
 
 And so they descended into Horseshoe 
 Bay, Gwendoline, under pretence of the 
 copartnership, almost entirely support- 
 ing Giulia, whose trembling limbs were 
 very ill qualified for the task imposed upon 
 them. On the level sand, however, she 
 tripped along gaily enough ; and when her 
 child was brought to her, it was not easy 
 to say which of the two enjoyed themselves 
 more artlessly among the shells and weeds. 
 The parallel was the completer, since, 
 when she ventured too near the waves, 
 and incurred the risk of a wetting, she was 
 reproved by Susan as Marion was, as 
 though she also had been a child. 
 
 ' Why, what is this ? ' cried Giulia pre- 
 sently. i Is it possible the good folks of Saint 
 Medards have been having a feast here,
 
 128 GWENDOLINES HARVEST. 
 
 and forgot to drink their wine ? See, here 
 is a bottle, and with the cork in it un- 
 drawn.' 
 
 I Yes/ said Gwendoline ; ' but there is 
 nothing inside it, if I know my com- 
 patriots.' 
 
 ( Ah, but there is, I tell you — there is 
 something white : it looks like a letter.' 
 
 < Then it is a message from the Sea,' ex- 
 claimed Gwendoline with interest. l Some 
 folks on shipboard, I mean, have written 
 the story of their peril, and confided it to 
 the waves. That is quite common. Have 
 you not seen such things in the bay be- 
 fore ? ' 
 
 i Never, never,' said Giulia sadly, 
 i though I have often heard of them. Poor 
 souls ! ' 
 
 ' But why not break the bottle ? ' 
 
 I I dare not. Do you do it, Gwendo- 
 line. I do hate anything dreadful. I 
 must hear it, however, now I have seen it. 
 What does the writing say ? '
 
 GLEN DRUID. 129 
 
 Gwendoline unfolded a rough slip of 
 paper, which the salt water had not 
 touched, and read as follows, while the 
 two women with beating hearts, and little 
 Marion with wondering eyes, clustered 
 about her. North Sea, April 3 (< That is 
 nearly five months ago, you see, dear ; so 
 their sufferings, whatever they were, have 
 long been over') — On board the Constance 
 from Gefle. ( l Where is Gefle, I wonder ? 
 I never so much as heard of the place.') 
 
 i Never mind that,' exclaimed Giulia 
 anxiously. ' Do, pray, go on. Poor souls, 
 poor souls ! ' 
 
 In distress, being near to sink, as the brig 
 has sprung a leak two days ago, and the water 
 alio ays increasing, notivithstancling all our 
 attempts to prevent it, ive have noiv come very 
 near the last moment of our lives. 
 
 6 Lord, have mercy upon them, and 
 forgive them their sins ! ' exclaimed Susan 
 piously. 
 
 Wherefore, although we must never see our 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 native land again, we beg him or her who may 
 find this letter to inform the pubtic of our mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 i Poor creatures ! We must send a 
 copy of this to the Times to-morrow. — My 
 darling Giulia, what is the matter ? ' Mrs 
 Ferrier had turned suddenly quite white, 
 and, but for Susan's aid, would have fallen 
 upon the sands. 
 
 ' We must never see our native land 
 again,' moaned she. L Oh, how I pity 
 them ! ' 
 
 ' But, dear heart, only consider they 
 have been in heaven, let us hope, this long 
 time,' urged Susan, l which is better than 
 any earthly abiding-place.' 
 
 But her young mistress only shook her 
 head, and covered her eyes with her 
 hands. 
 
 ' Marion, darling,' whispered Gwendo- 
 line, ' put your arms round mamma's neck, 
 and kiss her.' 
 
 The little child, perceiving her mother's
 
 GLEN DRUID. 131 
 
 grief, though without in the least under- 
 standing its cause, obeyed readily enough ; 
 and her embrace, as Gwendoline had 
 shrewdly guessed, proved the best cordial 
 that could have been administered. It 
 was not only pity for others which was 
 affecting poor Mrs Ferrier thus, bat also 
 apprehensions Tor herself; and the kisses 
 of her child diverted her thoughts into 
 another channel. 
 
 1 My sweet Marion, we will go together 
 to Italy,' said she, caressing her, ■ and 
 both get well and strong. The sun is 
 always shining there, and the great hills 
 stand out against the blue sky.' 
 
 ' And the gapes,' said Marion, who had 
 an eye, common to her time of life, for the 
 material productions of nature, rather than 
 for its picturesque beauties — * the gapes 
 you said gow in the open air, and me can 
 reach 'em my own self without the long 
 t atelier.' 
 
 Gwendoline laughed heartily at this.
 
 132 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 6 Come home and get the grape-catcher at 
 once, Marion, for I am sure you deserve a 
 bunch. Susan will carry you up the hill, 
 and mamma and I will follow.' In which 
 order the party accordingly returned; Mrs 
 Ferrier being so exhausted by the time 
 she reached the top that she had to retire 
 to her room for the rest of the day ; and 
 her husband and Gwendoline dined alone 
 together in stately fashion. The grandeur 
 of the entertainment suited her better than 
 the company ; though she flattered herself 
 that the rigid courtesy of Mr Ferrier 
 towards her was melting a little. 
 
 i It is impossible, however,' reflected 
 she as she lay awake that night, as her 
 custom was, and reviewed the day's pro- 
 ceedings, l that Giulia can have any real 
 affection for him ; and as for this passion- 
 ate desire to revisit Italy, I think I know 
 the secret of it. I am much mistaken if, 
 when she came to England as Mr Ferrier's 
 bride, she did not leave a lover in Italy.
 
 GLEX DRUID. 133 
 
 If so 3 I am sorry for her, for it is certain 
 she will never see him, poor fragile little 
 woman. I began to fear I should scarcely 
 have dragged her up that cliff alive ! '
 
 134 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 There are a good many mischievous 
 creeds which are believed in by society at 
 large as though they were true faith ; and, 
 on the other hand, there are a few popular 
 errors which it would be better for the 
 world had they more foundation in fact. 
 Of the latter, the following are examples : 
 that your true aristocrat is rarely insolent ; 
 that a bully is always a coward ; and that 
 children are never deceived by a mere pre- 
 tence of fondness for them. This last was 
 proved utterly untrue in the case of Marion 
 and Gwendoline. Gwendoline was not
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 135 
 
 fond of Marion, her character being one of 
 those exceptional ones among young women 
 to which child-nature is not attractive ; 
 but she laid herself out to please her young 
 friend, and she succeeded. She was never 
 so occupied but that she could put aside 
 book, pen, or needle, to have a romp with 
 the child. She was always ready for a 
 run with her in the garden, or a scramble 
 upon the Warrior's Helm, taking matronly 
 care to hold fast that trusting little hand 
 wherever the path was perilous. On wet 
 days she would take her on her knee, and 
 show her pictures or tell her fairy stories 
 by the hour. By these means, she not only 
 reaped her reward in a plentiful crop of 
 affection from her small playmate, but won 
 golden opinions from her parents. 
 
 Mr Ferrier would often express his 
 fears, in his grave way, that the child was 
 trespassing upon Miss Treh erne's good na- 
 ture, though he received her assurance 
 that c she doted upon children, and espe-
 
 136 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 cially upon good ones, like Marion/ with 
 the most perfect faith ; while his wife only 
 lamented that she was not strong enough 
 to play her friend's part in these romps 
 and gambols, which were in reality gradu- 
 ally transferring the love of her own little 
 one from herself to Gwendoline. She had 
 not the least suspicion or jealousy of the 
 guest who made herself so useful to her in 
 a hundred ways, and not in one officiously. 
 She felt better for her presence in body and 
 mind ; for not only did Gwendoline, with- 
 out the least parade of assistance, save her 
 from physical fatigue, but kept her cheer- 
 ful by her lively and graceful companion- 
 ship, and by high spirits that never seemed 
 to flag. Without sentiment, save her 
 passionate love for absent Piers, and with- 
 out sympathy, Gwendoline had a marvel- 
 lous adaptabilit} 7 , which stood her in good 
 stead for both. Her tact in pleasing was 
 so consummate that it fell little short of 
 geniality, and might have been easily
 
 SUSAN EAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 137 
 
 taken for it by more incredulous eyes than 
 those of simple Giulia. Her fine voice, 
 when she sang to her hostess — her brilliant 
 execution, when she played — seemed to 
 lack no feeling ; it was supplied by the 
 listener's ow r n spiritual nature. She read 
 aloud to her the poets of her land, and the 
 ' soft bastard Latin/ syllabled by one so 
 divinely fair, seemed to take the exile's 
 soul with a new bliss. In short, Giulia 
 yielded herself up a willing victim to these 
 pleasant arts, and grew to love and to 
 lean upon her friend with a feverish fond- 
 ness that was in itself disease. And all 
 this time Deatli was beckoning to her with 
 his silent finger, and drawing nearer and 
 nearer to her every day. 
 
 Mr Ferrier knew, of course, that his 
 wife was delicate, but attributed her later 
 and later rising of a morning, her earlier 
 withdrawal to her couch at night, to her 
 condition, and to the winter season (always 
 trying to the fragile woman), which had
 
 138 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 now set in with rigour. There was only 
 one person in the Glen Druid household 
 who suspected the true state of affairs, 
 and who even suspected the guest. Gwen- 
 doline, whose magical beauty fascinated 
 the very footmen, and whose gracious 
 affability disarmed the envy of the do- 
 mestics of her own sex, had failed to make 
 a favourable impression upon Susan Ram- 
 say. Perhaps, although the mother had 
 forgiven Gwendoline for engrossing the 
 affections of the child, the nurse had not — 
 for Susan was Marion's head-nurse, as well 
 as Mrs Ferrier's maid ; or perhaps Gwen- 
 doline's very charms and accomplishments 
 had placed the puritanical Scotchwoman 
 in antagonism to her. But, at all events, 
 Susan had never been fascinated with her, 
 for it was not her way to be fascinated, 
 like the other members of the household ; 
 and the more she watched her — and she 
 watched her very closely — the less she 
 liked her mistress's new friend. She held
 
 SUSAN EAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 139 
 
 her tongue, as it was her nature to do, 
 but she thought a good deal about Miss 
 Treherne and her ways, and more and 
 more unfavourably. She even gave her- 
 self the trouble to reflect upon her an- 
 tecedents, of which she knew something, 
 from Gwendoline's own maid, and would 
 have liked to know more. But Fanny 
 had been dismissed rather summarily from 
 Bedivere Court within a week of her 
 young lady's departure from it. The ex- 
 cuse was ready at hand, in the indiscretion 
 with which she carried on her flirtations 
 with Monsieur Adolphe ; but the real cause 
 lay in the waiting-maid's too garrulous 
 tongue. Even as it was, this had done 
 Gwendoline an ill turn, for it had informed 
 Susan that at one time at least the belle of 
 the county had had a lover; and was it 
 not very strange, and even suspicious, 
 that in that young lady's many confidential 
 chats with Mrs Ferrier, to which the wait- 
 ing-maid was often a privileged listener,
 
 140 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 she should never have descanted upon that 
 attractive theme ? Reticent enough upon 
 other subjects, even Susan liked to talk 
 about Sam Barland, the apothecary's head- 
 assistant at St Medards, to whom she had 
 been engaged for years, and might marry 
 to-morrow, but for certain far-sighted and 
 prudential reasons of her own ; and it was 
 not natural, she held, in Gentle or Simple, 
 to have been courted by a laddie, and not 
 crack about it to one's friends. 
 
 Miss Gwendoline, then, was, in her 
 eyes, l a deep one,' to begin with ; and in 
 the next place, she was a wicked one, for 
 she never went to kirk. It was just excus- 
 able, thought Susan, in the case of her own 
 mistress, brought up among outlandish 
 folk, in the faith of the Scarlet Woman, 
 that she should not take advantage of the 
 spiritual comforts which Mr Ferrier had 
 furnished for the locality, in the shape of a 
 Presbyterian church and preacher ; but 
 that Miss Treherne should pass the Sabbath
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 141 
 
 at Glen Druid very much as though it were 
 a week-day, and decline to attend church 
 at St Medards, under the transparent pre- 
 text of keeping her friend and hostess 
 company, was little better than rank hea- 
 thenism. If Mrs Ferrier was so ill as to 
 need folks to stay with her when they 
 ought to be at public worship, it was high 
 time that the puir blinded creature, who 
 thought so little of her soul, should be 
 made aware of her condition. 
 
 Susan had learned from Mr Samuel 
 Barland that the medicines prescribed for 
 her mistress by Dr Gisborne were not of a 
 nature to restore health, but only to give 
 relief; and the spiritual condition of her 
 mistress, as we have hinted, gave conscien- 
 tious Susan as much anxiety as her bodily 
 ailment. And yet she might be wrong 
 about the latter point — it seemed so strange 
 that Dr Gisborne should keep silence on 
 the matter, if there was real danger — and 
 therefore she still hesitated to confide her
 
 142 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 suspicions to her master, of whose dis- 
 pleasure she stood in wholesome fear ; still 
 less could she venture to confide to him her 
 doubts of Gwendoline, which indeed were 
 at best but shadowy misgivings ; and her 
 good sense told her that to make an ac- 
 cusation without proof would be only to 
 strengthen the hands that already wield- 
 ed so much power beneath her master's 
 roof. 
 
 An event had recently taken place, 
 however, which bade fair to bring Susan's 
 indignation up to the explosive point — 
 namely, the arrival of Sir Guy Treherne 
 at Glen Druid. In Susan's eyes, this ele- 
 gant and gay old gentleman was the very 
 embodiment of Satan ; and his attendant, 
 Monsieur Adolphe, a ministering fiend. 
 They talked together, doubtless upon the 
 most abominable subjects, in a language 
 that was unknown to her. There was 
 nothing in the house, in dining-room or 
 servants' hall, which was too good for
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 14J 
 
 either of them, or wliich both, in tlieir 
 several ways, did not take as a matter of 
 course. The way in wliich the latter, 
 whose faith, as she had been assured, was 
 plighted to absent Fanny, ' went on ' 
 with such of the female servants as were 
 young and pretty, was scandalous. If he 
 had dared to show any such marked atten- 
 tions to herself, she would have very soon 
 let him know what she thought of them 
 and of him ; and yet she resented, incon- 
 sistently enough, that he treated with such 
 respectful coldness the fiancee (as he once 
 called her, to her great annoyance, for she 
 thought it was * some impudence ') of Mr 
 Samuel Barland, who, in truth, had achiev- 
 ed an age beyond which the female sex 
 failed to interest the fastidious Frenchman. 
 It annoyed her exceedingly to see the 
 deference with which this gentleman was 
 treated by the authorities of the servants' 
 hall, but still more so to observe the respect 
 in which Sir Guy was held by her master.
 
 144 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 The butler had brought word how he was 
 permitted to jeer at table against sacred 
 things without reproof from staid Mr 
 Ferrier ; and indeed she herself had seen 
 him shrug his shoulders on a Sunday, when 
 he was asked if he was going to church, in 
 a manner that made her long to whip him. 
 No wonder that Miss Gwendoline — al 
 though she made no allowance for her on 
 that account — should be such a godless 
 young person, with the bringing-up that 
 she must have had from such a father. 
 Susan's only comfort under the circum- 
 stances was to reflect, that Sir Guy was cer- 
 tainly going at no distant date to a place 
 where his rank would not be considered, 
 and his long ages of ancestry would be as 
 nothing compared to the period for which 
 he would be doomed to suffer torment. It 
 might have been some mitigation to Susan's 
 irritated feelings that her mistress seemed 
 to dislike Sir Guy as much as she did, but 
 that, in Mrs Ferrier' s case, this objection to
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 145 
 
 the baronet only made her cling more 
 fondly to his daughter, whom she con- 
 sidered as his social victim. Susan, for her 
 part, disposed of that sentimental circum- 
 stance by two courses of reasoning, none 
 the less convincing to herself that they 
 were incompatible with one another. In 
 the first place, she argued that Miss Gwen- 
 doline was just the last person in the world 
 to permit her interests to be sacrificed to 
 those of any other human being ; and 
 secondly, that if they were so, she richly 
 deserved it. 
 
 It was while matters at Glen Druid 
 were in this very unsatisfactory condition, 
 in Susan's view, with Gwendoline domin- 
 ant, and Sir Gay an honoured, if not a 
 respected, guest, that a circumstance occur- 
 red in connection with them, of so astound- 
 ing and compromising a character, that 
 the knowledge of it seemed to place both 
 father and daughter in the waiting-maid's 
 power. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 It was Gwendoline's custom to rise 
 early at Glen Druid, and to perform those 
 duties of the breakfast-table to which her 
 hostess would scarcely have been equal, 
 even had it not been now her invariable 
 custom to take that meal in her own room. 
 Sir Guy elevated his eyebrows when he 
 saw his stately daughter cutting Mr Fer- 
 rier's newspaper for him, and humouring his 
 tastes in cream and sugar ; but he would 
 have raised them even higher had he 
 known that when the two were alone it 
 was not an unusual circumstance for their 
 host to read out portions of his private 
 letters to Gwendoline, and to await her 
 comments, not to say receive her advice, 
 with considerable deference. But on a 
 certain morning it so happened that she 
 was not punctually at her post — Giulia, 
 who had passed a worse night than com- 
 mon, having detained her with fretful com- 
 plaints — and, as ill luck would have it, there 
 was a letter from Piers Mostyn waiting for
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 147 
 
 her beside her plate, and within range of 
 Sir Guy's observant eye. She took it up 
 with the utmost coolness, and with a quiet 
 t Excuse me,' read it through without 
 moving a muscle; but her lover's indis- 
 cretion — for she had expressly enjoined on 
 him not to write until he had heard from 
 her — annoyed her exceedingly. Of course, 
 Mr Ferrier paid no attention to the circum- 
 stance : he would have made no remark, 
 nor have desired to make one, had she 
 received fifty letters by one post ; but she 
 knew that it would presently provoke com- 
 ment from her father, whom she had in- 
 formed that all relations between herself 
 and Piers were broken off; and might just 
 possibly — since the letters she had received 
 at Grlen Druid had been hitherto from 
 ladies only — attract the notice of others. 
 Unlike her sex, Gwendoline never ran a 
 risk, however small, when it could pos- 
 sibly be avoided ; and had she been on 
 the turf, would have hedged every shilling,
 
 148 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 no matter how much of l a moral ' the 
 event she stood to win on might have 
 appeared. When the risk was incurred , 
 she never shut her eyes to the con- 
 sequences, but made up her mind to meet 
 the worst. She did not know, of course, 
 that Susan Ramsay — as heedful of the 
 slightest indications afforded by an enemy 
 as herself — had noticed the superscription 
 on the envelope when she came to take her 
 mistress's breakfast up- stairs, but she was as 
 much prepared for such a misfortune as to 
 meet the more certain remonstrances of Sir 
 Guy. Gwendoline left nothing to chance ; 
 perhaps she was not without some vague 
 idea that she was thus making herself in- 
 dependent of Providence itself 
 
 The letter, which she presently took 
 out with her upon the lower terrace, and 
 re-read carefully again and again, walking 
 slowly to and fro, contained no great mat- 
 ter, but it affected her powerfully, never- 
 theless. As the blind are transported by
 
 susan Ramsay's view of affairs. 149 
 
 music, and the dumb by colour, so she, 
 with whom so many of the spiritual senses 
 were shut, was all the more given up to 
 her passion for her lover ; if she cared for 
 no other human being in the world, she 
 was devoted to handsome Piers Mostyn. 
 His written words were dearer a thousand 
 times than the presence of any other ; and 
 she almost forgave him now, in the rap- 
 turous delight she reaped from his very 
 act of disobedience. And yet there was 
 little in his letter, one would have thought, 
 to have given an affianced woman pleasure. 
 It was written from a great country-house 
 in Yorkshire, at present filled with a large 
 company of guests, and was mainly de- 
 scriptive of his gaiety (though he was 
 absent from her), and of his flirtations 
 (though he had plighted to her his troth). 
 But, at all events, he was open enough in 
 what he said ; if the tone of his epistle was 
 frivolous throughout where it was not 
 bitter, it was not the less characteristic on
 
 150 GWENDOLINES HARVEST. 
 
 that account ; and reading his words, she 
 might easily imagine that he himself was 
 beside her, with his light laugh and bril- 
 liant cynicism. Moreover, there was here 
 and there a passionate protestation of affec- 
 tion for her, that made up for all short- 
 comings and misdoings, and which brought, 
 as she read it, the colour to her cheek and 
 the love-light to her eye. i You need not 
 fear, notwithstanding all this impatience, 
 darling/ wrote he, after one of those fond 
 paragraphs, ' that I shall not wait for you, 
 for there is no opportunity for doing other- 
 wise : all the lovely creatures that I have 
 just described entirely understand that I 
 am quite ineligible. Perhaps their mothers 
 have told them so, but it is quite as likely 
 that their own fine perceptions have in- 
 formed them that I am a Detrimental. 
 We flirt, of course, immensely ; they prac- 
 tise upon me in that way as though I were 
 a lay-figure ; but though, to do them jus- 
 tice, they draw no very hard-and-fast line,
 
 SUSAN RAMS AY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 151 
 
 in that way, they make me quite under- 
 stand it is only a flirtation and nothing 
 more ; one of them actually asked me if it- 
 was true that I had been in a marching- 
 regiment, and got so brown in India ! So 
 you may imagine the social position that 
 had been assigned to me. When I told 
 her how I had been in the diplomatic line, 
 and got my tan from the Persian sun, I 
 did not improve matters. " Ah ! " said 
 she, " an wzpaid attache, I suppose ; " 
 with such a stress upon the first sylla- 
 ble. So, you see, my beautiful darling — ' 
 and Gwendoline murmured these words 
 aloud as a mother crows over her babe 
 — l I am yours, and ever yours, per- 
 force.' 
 
 1 If you please, ma'am,' said a cold and 
 quiet voice, all the colder and calmer by 
 contrast with those burning words, i Miss 
 Marion asked to be allowed to join you on 
 the terrace.' 
 
 Rapt in her own honeyed thoughts, she
 
 152 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 had not observed Susan Ramsay's ap- 
 proach, who now stood beside her, holding 
 little Marion's hand, and looking at her as 
 though her small black eyes were bradawls. 
 1 Dear little thing ! ' said Gwendoline, 
 stooping down to pat the child, and at the 
 same time to hide her own confusion ; 1 1 
 am afraid I must disappoint you this 
 morning, pretty one.' But here she caught 
 Sir Guy's well-preserved figure bearing 
 down upon her from the house ; and re- 
 flecting within herself that the little girl 
 would form a convenient third in the ex- 
 pected meeting, should it prove embar- 
 rassing, she added : ' But there, I can 
 never resist my little pet. — You may 
 leave her, Susan; and tell your mistress 
 not to be nervous about her getting on 
 the rocks, for that w r e shall not leave the 
 garden.' 
 
 Now, Miss Marion had not asked to be 
 allowed to join her l booful Dwendoline,'
 
 SUSAN RAMSAY'S VIEW OF AFFAIRS. 153 
 
 as in her baby-talk she designated her new 
 friend, until she had had that idea sug- 
 gested to her by Susan herself, who wished 
 to have a pretext for intruding on Miss 
 Treh erne's meditations ; and now that she 
 was dismissed, the waiting-maid did not 
 return to the house, as Gwendoline took 
 for granted she would do, but retired to an 
 arbour in the upper terrace, from which, 
 unseen, she could both see and hear much 
 that was passing below r . She also had 
 marked Sir Guy's approach, and argued 
 rightly that the indolent baronet, who 
 seemed to prefer a rocking-chair by the 
 fire to any outdoor exercise her master 
 could offer to him, had not made that un- 
 accustomed pilgrimage down so many 
 stone steps, oa that bright but frosty 
 morning, without an object, which was 
 probably a private talk with his daughter. 
 i Now, if I can only look over both 
 their hands at once,' thought Susan, bor-
 
 154 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 rowing a metaphor from a diversion she 
 had seen practised in the servants' hall, 
 and which had often excited her vehement 
 reprehension, i then I shall know better 
 how to play my cards.'
 
 155 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 
 
 Nothing could be quieter or more de- 
 mure than Sir Guy's aspect as he walked 
 slowly, and with that slightly balancing air 
 which advanced age, in combination with 
 high-heeled boots, is apt to produce, to- 
 wards his daughter and her little playmate. 
 Nothing less like an indignant father bent 
 upon strong measures with his disobedient 
 offspring coulclbe imagined than that un- 
 ruffled though not unwrinkled face, with a 
 sort of peach-bloom upon the cheeks, of 
 which himself and his man Adolphe alone 
 knew the secret. Partly as typifying the
 
 156 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 careless gaiety of his disposition, and partly 
 because he was conscious that in that 
 trembling of his fingers lay his weak point, 
 it was his custom to keep at least one hand 
 in his pocket ; the other, when abroad, 
 was generally provided with a clouded 
 cane, which steadied while it seemed to 
 adorn his movements. A closer observer 
 of human nature than she who was now 
 watching him in secret with all her eyes, 
 might have gathered from the unnecessary 
 force with which his cane was brought 
 down on the gravel at every step, that he 
 who carried it was not at ease in his mind; 
 but to Susan, the baronet looked the beau- 
 id^al of sleekness and prosperity, and her 
 mind flew instantly for comfort to the end 
 of the green bay tree, and of him who w r as 
 dressed in purple and fine linen every day. 
 To her intense chagrin, the baronet 
 addressed his daughter in that outlandish 
 tongue to which she had so often thanked 
 Heaven that she was a stranger, but which
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 157 
 
 she would for once have given one of her 
 own sharp ears to comprehend. 
 
 c There is no occasion for so much pru- 
 dence, papa/ was Gwendoline's reply in 
 English. l This is too small a pitcher to 
 carry a long ear ; and since I know that 
 you are going to scold me, it is better to 
 use the language that is made for scolding. 
 Let us keep our French for enjoyment, I 
 do beg.' 
 
 Gwendoline's face was calm and even 
 smiling, and she playfully pushed little 
 Marion's ball before her with her foot as 
 she spoke, and bade the child run after it. 
 
 1 You had a letter from Piers Mostyn 
 this morning, Gwendoline ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, papa. I have just been reading 
 it.' 
 
 i And yet you told me that you had 
 broken with him altogether, and forbidden 
 him to correspond with you.' 
 
 1 And so I did,' said she ; * but all 
 people have not the talent for obedience
 
 158 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that your daughter possesses. He has writ- 
 ten to me, as you say ; and after all, there 
 is no such great harm done.' 
 
 ' You don't know that,' returned the 
 baronet sharply. ' What 1 saw, others 
 may have seen ; and he may write some 
 day when there may be sharper eyes upon 
 the look-out than there are at Glen Druid. 
 It is greatly against a girl, in some men's 
 view, that she should keep up a corre- 
 spondence of this sort.' 
 
 ' It takes two to make a correspondence, 
 papa — as it does a quarrel.' She spoke the 
 last words with great deliberation, and 
 confronted her father face to face. 1 1 have 
 never written to Piers, and I do not intend 
 to write to him. I told him that I should 
 not do so, and I always keep my word.' 
 
 1 Then it's a piece of impertinence on 
 Mr Mostyn's part to pester you in this 
 manner, and I shall let him know that that 
 is my opinion. Whom is the fellow spong- 
 ing upon ? for I noticed that the letter had
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 159 
 
 a Yorkshire postmark, and his brother's 
 place is not in Yorkshire.' 
 
 ' He is staying with his cousin, Lord 
 Carruthers, at Stonegate, and has been 
 there for a week or so ; just as we are 
 staying here with the Ferriers, who are 
 not our cousins.' 
 
 i Pooh, pooh ! there is no parallel in the 
 two cases at all, and you know that as well 
 as I do. This Piers Mostyn has not a roof 
 to his head, nor a shilling that he can call 
 his own to buy him a night's lodging. 
 He can be only welcome at Stonegate to 
 take the bores off his lordship's hands, or 
 to turn over the leaves of his young wife's 
 music-book.' 
 
 ' Well, I would not write to him to tell 
 him that, if I were you — nor anything else. 
 You can quite safely leave him to me, papa. 
 When you last spoke to me upon this mat- 
 ter, your unreserve and frankness were so 
 complete that it was quite impossible to 
 misunderstand you. I am sensible of the
 
 160 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 state of my own affairs ; and I dare say 
 almost as much interested in them as you 
 are yourself.' 
 
 ' This letter did not look as if such was 
 the case, Gwendoline ; that's all I meant 
 to say,' remarked Sir Guy in mollified 
 tones. l You're a very clever girl, I know ; 
 but all women are fools when a young 
 fellow like Mostyn pretends to be in love 
 with them. I don't deny the vagabond 
 has good gifts — far from it. If he had ten 
 thousand a year, and would pass his word 
 to give up whist, you should marry him 
 to-morrow. But without wishing to hurt 
 your feelings, my dear, and allowing him 
 to have good taste in his tendresse for your- 
 self, Gwendoline, Piers is a born fool. I 
 have watched his play at the Portarlington, 
 and no man, no matter what his fortune or 
 his luck, could stand his ground for long 
 with such ideas as he has. A man who 
 finesses with king, ten — But, there ! you 
 know nothing of what I'm talking about.
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 161 
 
 What I want you to understand is this : 
 that time is money with a girl in your 
 position more than in anything, and that 
 here at Glen Druid (I wish you would 
 send that confounded child away) you are 
 losing your time.' 
 
 'Not altogether, papa, I think,' said 
 Gwendoline quietly. — < The ball is at my 
 feet ; and see, my darling Marion, I am 
 going to send it for you farther than ever;' 
 and off toddled the small creature, leaving 
 her seniors to converse alone together as 
 before. 
 
 ' Well, not altogether, I grant,' said 
 Sir Guy gravely. ' It is always well to 
 gain a foothold with people like the Fer- 
 riers. If the worst comes to the worst, 
 you will always have a home here, I pre- 
 sume : you have made friends of the Mam- 
 mon of Unrighteousness, and they can 
 scarcely have a more pleasant habitation 
 to offer one than Glen Druid.' 
 
 Susan Ramsay in her place of espial 
 
 TOL. I. 11
 
 162 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 lifted up hand and eye aghast at this idea ; 
 to hear her excellent master spoken of in 
 that manner, and this Satan in polished 
 leather boots applying Scripture to his own 
 ends ! 
 
 i Yes, the Ferriers are stanch friends, 
 papa, I assure you ; but I fancy you have 
 found that out already for yourself.' 
 
 ' Not at all, not at all, my dear,' an- 
 swered Sir Guy with a wave of his cane. 
 'It is true I have had a little ''business 
 transaction " with our friend and host, in 
 which he showed a liberal spirit. But he 
 got his quid pro quo, good moorland, for 
 his money : all between the sky and the 
 central fire is his, my dear; and who 
 knows but that there may be copper and 
 tin beneath that unpromising-looking turf, 
 enough to repay him ten times over.' 
 
 ' I am glad it was quite a business 
 transaction,' remarked Gwendoline coldly. 
 ' I was afraid you might be laying yourself 
 and me under some sense of obligation.'
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 163 
 
 < Not a bit, my dear Gwendoline,' said 
 the baronet, striking his chest theatrically, 
 which, being much padded, only emitted 
 a dull thud : f the obligation, if any, lies 
 on the other side. There are few Scotch- 
 men, and, for the matter of that, few Eng- 
 lish, I thank Heaven, but like to be on 
 intimate terms with any one who has a 
 handle to his name. Talk of the lever — 
 there is no power in this charming country 
 to be compared with that of the handle; if 
 one only possess, in addition, a few ances- 
 tors (and you may dig bushels of yours and 
 mine out of the Bedivere vaults), it is quite 
 surprising how marketable the property 
 comes to be.' And Sir Guy Treherne gave 
 a patronizing smile upon sea and sky, as 
 though they too might be not insensible of 
 his affability, and rattled the sovereigns in 
 his unaccustomed pocket. c But after all, my 
 dear Gwendoline,' resumed he gravely, 
 1 the affair you hint at was a small thing ; 
 a mere retaining fee in respect of that in-
 
 164 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 terest which I hope I shall never cease to 
 feel in your private affairs, and not to be 
 mentioned in the same breath with them. 
 Moreover, the moor is gone, and I have 
 nothing more to sell. What I have, there- 
 fore, to urge upon you now is the urgent 
 necessity of your leaving Cornwall, and 
 coming up at once to town; for it is not 
 here, as I have hinted to you, but only in 
 London, that you can expect to meet with 
 a suitable parti.'' 
 
 i Now I wonder what the wicked old 
 wretch can mean by that ? ' thought Susan 
 Earn say. 
 
 1 Of course,' returned Gwendoline 
 coldly ; l " that goes without saying." ' 
 
 1 Well, I want you to go without say- 
 ing — that is, without saying anything to 
 the contrary,' said the baronet peevishly. 
 i I detest argument and bother, and I 
 know so very much better what is good for 
 you than you do yourself. You will get 
 no good by being here any longer. You
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 165 
 
 can't hide yourself away from the world of 
 fashion for an indefinite time, and then 
 come out again like a debutante, and carry 
 all before you, as you did last year. 
 If you do not hold the position that you 
 have once secured for yourself, another, 
 believe me, will step into your place, 
 whom it may be difficult to oust.' 
 
 1 You speak of the belle of the season 
 as if she were a crossing-sweeper, papa,' 
 said Gwendoline with a quiet smile. 
 
 ' Never mind the homeliness of the 
 metaphor, my dear ; the fact is exactly as 
 I have stated it. You must cease playing 
 nursery-maid to that little brat yonder, 
 and sick-nurse to Mrs Ferrier, and return 
 with me to town next week.' 
 
 i I cannot leave Glen Druid so abrupt- 
 ly, papa,' answered Gwendoline gravely ; 
 ' but I promise you I shall remain with 
 Mrs Ferrier not much longer, though I 
 don't know exactly how long, or short, the 
 time may be.'
 
 166 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ( Why, I heard you, and I must say to 
 my amazement, making plans with her 
 only yesterday for accompanying her in 
 the spring to Koine.' 
 
 Gwendoline looked cautiously about 
 her, and once more sent her easily j)leased 
 little playmate for a long run after her 
 sisyphean toy. Susan, keeping her body 
 well concealed, craned forward eagerly, so 
 as to lose no word of the coming communi- 
 cation, the importance of which showed 
 itself even in Miss Treherne's calm and 
 composed face. 
 
 i Mrs Ferrier will never see Rome,' said 
 Gwendoline in low but distinct tones ; 
 1 she will never set foot again on her native 
 soil.' 
 
 1 Good heavens ! ' ejaculated Sir Guy 
 with genuine horror ; for the idea of 
 death, even when it did not concern him- 
 self, was obnoxious to him as vulgarity 
 itself. 'You don't mean to say she is 
 going to die ! Pooh ! it don't kill every
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 167 
 
 woman to have a baby, although it killed 
 your poor dear mother : a beautiful deli- 
 cate creature she was — quite unfit for that 
 sort of thing. Mrs Ferrier, to be sure, 
 does not seem very strong, but — ' 
 
 ( She is a doomed woman,' interrupted 
 Gwendoline solemnly. ' Nobody knows it 
 but Dr Gisborne and myself. But so it is: 
 when the baby is born, she will die — that 
 is quite certain.' 
 
 c Why, bless my soul, then it might 
 happen any day ! ' ejaculated Sir Guy, 
 reflecting instantly how very disagreeable 
 the occurrence of an incident of that kind 
 under the same roof with him would be, 
 and deciding in his own mind to receive a 
 letter the next morning which should re- 
 quire his presence in Pall Mall at once. 
 
 1 Yes, it might happen any day ; and 
 it must happen within a month or so/ said 
 Gwendoline coldly. 
 
 i It does not seem to disturb you much,' 
 observed Sir Guy involuntarily, for he was
 
 168 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 really staggered at his daughter's sang- 
 froid. 
 
 1 No, papa ; I am not easily disturbed 
 by other people's misfortunes/ returned 
 she. c I have my own affairs to look to ; 
 and as you have so often told me, one's 
 own affairs, even when they are little ones, 
 are of more interest than the great ones 
 of other people. Besides, if 1 cannot credit 
 your excellent training with the whole of 
 my pHilbsophy, I am accustomed to the 
 idea of what is about to happen : I have 
 known the truth for many weeks. When I 
 have taken my friend's feverish hand, and 
 kissed her hectic cheek at morn and eve, 
 I have often said to myself : Shall I ever 
 do this again ? or when I next touch them, 
 will they be cold and dead ? ' 
 
 1 What a dreadful notion ! ' exclaimed 
 the baronet, with a movement of disgust. 
 c I am sure I am sincerely sorry for the 
 poor woman, and grieved, for my friend 
 Ferrier's sake. I know what it is to lose
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 169 
 
 a wife myself. But, as I cannot possibly 
 be of any use here, and, in fact, should be 
 very much in the way — Should I not, 
 Gwendoline, eh, now ? ' 
 
 i Certainly, papa, you would be of no 
 use here in case anything happened to 
 Giulia; and I think you would be quite 
 right to leave Glen Druid.' 
 
 1 You do, do you ? Well, that is quite 
 my view. If I could be of any possible 
 service — but then I can't ; now you — 
 would you be prepared to go with me, 
 Gwendoline, in case any important busi- 
 ness should make it necessary for me to 
 leave to-morrow — or how ? ' 
 
 i I shall stay here, papa,' said Gwen- 
 doline firmly, < till all is over.' 
 
 i Now, there you are right again, my 
 clear. I like to see women behave kindly 
 and friendly towards one another — it's a 
 thousand pities they don't always do it. 
 Yes, yes; you'll stay; and there will be 
 no necessity for my coming down again
 
 170 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 here to fetcli you, will there ? If the rail- 
 way had got here, it would be different ; 
 but posting comes so devilish expensive, 
 don't you see ? ' 
 
 1 1 understand the situation exactly, 
 papa ; and the other situation also 
 about which we spoke at first. Believe 
 rne, I am quite prepared for the incon- 
 veniences to which I must necessarily be 
 subjected by remaining here; and I do 
 not wish you to share them. All I ask is, 
 that you keep what I have told you a pro- 
 found secret — that is absolutely necessary 
 for more than one reason.' 
 
 1 My dear Gwendoline, I will be silent 
 as the gra — I mean, as the Warrior's 
 Helm yonder ; you may depend upon me 
 for that, since I never speak upon such 
 disagreeable matters at all. I am almost 
 sorry that you mentioned the thing ; and 
 yet anything is better than to have had it 
 happen while I was — Dear me, and Dr Gis- 
 borne came yesterday without my sleep-
 
 SIR GUY AND GWENDOLINE. 171 
 
 ing-pills : I don't know what I shall do 
 to night without my pills.' 
 
 i Some one shall be sent at once to St 
 Medards for them,' said Gwendoline qui- 
 etly. — l And now, Marion, my darling, I 
 think we must go in, for dear mamma will 
 be expecting us.' 
 
 And so the old man and the young 
 girl and the child, went up the steps toge- 
 ther, and by the arbour — from which but 
 a few minutes before the hidden listener 
 had fled, with pallid cheeks and beating 
 heart — and found Mr Ferrier himself at 
 the front-door, who asked, in cheerful tones, 
 whether Miss Gwendoline did not think it 
 would ' do ' for Giulia to take a drive that 
 morning, while the sunshine lasted, since, 
 in Ills opinion, there was ' nothing like 
 fresh air for setting a lady up when she 
 w r as a little ailing.'
 
 172 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 
 
 We have said that Susan Ramsay was 
 by nature reticent, except when she al- 
 lowed herself the pleasure of conversing 
 upon the topic of Mr Samuel Barland ; but 
 she had also the gift of preaching, or, at all 
 events, of reproving evil-doers in minis- 
 terial language, in quite a remarkable de- 
 gree, and enjoyed the exercise of it exceed- 
 ingly. It was therefore with the utmost 
 difficulty that she restrained herself for 
 four-and-twenty hours from giving a piece 
 of her mind to Miss Gwendoline Treherne 
 respecting the wicked duplicity of her con-
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 173 
 
 duct with regard to her poor mistress. But 
 although she felt moved to this so strongly, 
 and her conscience even reproached her 
 with some cowardice as she thought of the 
 injunction ' to reprove, rebuke, in season 
 and out of season,' prudential reasons re- 
 strained a while her righteous indignation. 
 It was advisable, in the first place, to wait 
 until her two enemies were reduced to one, 
 which happened at noon on the next day, 
 through the departure of Sir Guy — a step 
 necessitated by a summons to town of the 
 last importance, which had arrived by that 
 morning's post. Her master, and even 
 her mistress, accompanied the baronet to 
 the hall steps ; and she saw from an upper 
 window the hypocritical old wretch take 
 the latter's hand, and raising it to his lips, 
 express a hope that the next time he had 
 the pleasure of seeing her, she might be 
 quite well and strong ; then he kissed his 
 daughter's cheek, and bade her take the 
 greatest care of their dear hostess, or he
 
 174 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 should never forgive her; and then there 
 was a long warm leave-taking with shrewd, 
 but unsuspicious Mr Ferrier — the Mammon 
 of Unrighteousness, as he had called him — 
 which Susan, who ' could not abide such 
 falseness,' had not the patience to see 
 out, but drew her head in, and shook it 
 menacingly at wickedness in high places 
 generally, with a particular reference to 
 the Trehernes of Bedivere. 
 
 But even now that Sir Guy was gone, no 
 opportunity offered itself for some hours 
 for the deliverance of Susan's testimony 
 against his daughter, since her good sense 
 told her that that must be done without a 
 witness. Miss Treherne was far too self- 
 contained a foe to be attacked with mere 
 vehemence and indignation before a third 
 party, with whom one dexterous but quiet 
 parry might seem to put the assailant in 
 the wrong ; so she waited, with quick beat- 
 ing heart and ire suppressed, throughout 
 that day, even until her mistress had re-
 
 PLAIN SPEAKIXG, AND ITS KESULTS. 175 
 
 tired to her boudoir preparatory to going 
 to bed. Thither, as often happened while 
 Susan ministered unto her, came Gwen- 
 doline, also in her dressing-gown, to have 
 a cosy chat with her dear Giulia ; and this 
 was, of all that had happened that day, 
 the severest trial to the justly indignant 
 waiting-maid ; for the conversation of the 
 pair, to which she had per force to listen, 
 turned upon their plans and projects for 
 that coming spring, which the one was so 
 well aware that the other would never see. 
 To hear her poor mistress talk with such 
 gaiety and fervour of her native land, and 
 of how she was certain she should be quite 
 herself again if once she could breathe its 
 warm blue air, was sad and pitiful enough ; 
 but when she came (as she did) to take 
 such thought of that bright future as to 
 picture the fair scenes they would visit in 
 company, a grave slow voice interrupted 
 her suddenly : f Boast not thyself of 
 to-morrow, dear mistress, for thou know-
 
 176 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 est not what a day may bring forth.' 
 1 What does she mean — what does this 
 woman mean ? ' asked Mrs Ferrier, look- 
 ing with frightened face at Gwendoline. — 
 c Why do you interrupt me, Susan, with 
 such dreadful words ? ' 
 
 'It is only her Scotch way,' said 
 Gwendoline in Italian, f These puritans 
 cannot resist the temptation to quote a 
 text, and especially when it tends to turn 
 one's happy thoughts into melancholy. It 
 is nothing more, darling : do not mind her.' 
 Susan did not speak again ; she did not, 
 of course, know what Gwendoline had said 
 to her mistress, but the use of the foreign 
 tongue was a humiliation to her (as it 
 always is to those who do not understand 
 it when it is understood by others), and 
 she felt that her imprudence had already 
 put her at a disadvantage. She would be 
 silent henceforth, if she had to hold her 
 tongue with her teeth. But no further 
 ordeal had to be undergone. Her late re-
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 177 
 
 mark, brief as it had been, had shaken the 
 nerves of her fragile mistress, and indis- 
 posed her for further talk. 
 
 <I am going to bed,' said she with 
 childish peevishness ; ' and I have no fur- 
 ther need of you, Susan, to-night. If you 
 have anything else to say that is unpleas- 
 ant to listen to, keep it till I feel a little 
 stronger, please. — Good-night, Gwendo- 
 line, dear. How I love you, and wish 
 everybody else was like you in this cold, 
 harsh England ; then, perhaps, I could 
 bear to live in it.' With a lingering, lov- 
 ing embrace she took leave of her friend, 
 and retired to her own room, which was at 
 the end of a little corridor, and not, as 
 usual, immediately next the boudoir. 
 
 Susan, though sincerely attached to her 
 mistress, was not one whose feelings were 
 easily < hurt ; ' but the indignation within 
 her did not lessen to see herself in such 
 disfavour, and Gwendoline held in such 
 affection. It almost seemed to her, as she 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 now looked at her beautiful foe, that she 
 must be a witch such as the Scriptures 
 spoke of, who, by her magical charms, 
 could steal even human hearts, though it 
 was clear enough, by the expression of the 
 waiting-maid's face, that they had not 
 stolen hers. 
 
 i Your mistress has left these flowers 
 behind her,' observed Gwendoline ; ; I 
 know she meant to take them with her.' 
 For such was Giulia's passionate love for 
 flowers that a bouquet of them always 
 stood opposite her dressing-table glass, so 
 that she could see them double — flower 
 and reflection, from her pillow. It was 
 not a healthy practice, for flowers absorb 
 the air, but l What did it signify,' Dr 
 Gisborne said, ' since they pleased the poor 
 doomed lady.' 
 
 1 Stop a moment, Miss Treherne,' said 
 the waiting-maid firmly, as Gwendoline 
 took up the vase and was about to follow
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 179 
 
 Mrs Ferrier ; ' I have got a word or two 
 to say to you.' 
 
 So far as Susan's news went — the in- 
 formation that she knew of her mistress's 
 state of health, and also that Gwendoline 
 was aware of it — her face had already be- 
 trayed it to her shrewd adversary, 
 
 1 You are irritated, Susan,' said she 
 smoothly, ' because Mrs Ferrier loves me, 
 and chooses to show it ; but it is foolish to 
 be angry with me for what I cannot help. 
 Nor must you be annoyed with your mis- 
 tress for her sharp words, for, indeed, she 
 is far from well, and when she speaks so, 
 it is not from harshness, but from inward 
 pain.' 
 
 This half avowal of the true state of 
 the case was not only adapted to weaken 
 the force of the accusation she foresaw 
 was coming, but the long sentence also 
 gave her time, while she was framing it, 
 to consider how the charge could possibly
 
 180 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 have arisen. The idea, however, that her 
 conversation with Sir Guy upon the ter- 
 race on the previous morning had been 
 overheard, did not occur to her. 
 
 ' Oh, I am not annoyed with my poor 
 mistress, madam; and I know now, as 
 well as you have Jcnoivn all along, how much 
 she suffers, and what the end of it all 
 needs must be.' 
 
 ' Then you should be more careful, my 
 good Susan, not to distress her with ill- 
 timed remarks, such as the one to which 
 you gave utterance just now. Rest and 
 ease are all that are to be hoped for in her 
 case, Dr Gisborne says, and we should do 
 our best to give them to her.' 
 
 ' That is a very wicked way of talk- 
 ing,' retorted Susan, though not without 
 consciousness that the remark was by no 
 means equal to the occasion. It was un- 
 intelligible, even to her, hoiv the wind had 
 been taken out of her sails ; but here they 
 were flapping idly against the mast, and
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS, 181 
 
 the whole vessel of her wrath well-nigh 
 becalmed. She had feared for the very 
 force of the hurricane of indignation upon 
 which she expected to be borne, and lo ! 
 it was now a matter of difficulty to her to 
 be indignant enough. She seemed, in- 
 deed, to have been herself in fault, rather 
 than the other, who thus talked of Mrs 
 Ferrier's desperate condition as though it 
 were a thing well known, and treated by 
 all with delicate consideration. \ A very 
 wicked way, I say,' reiterated Susan, l of 
 talking, and of acting too, Miss Treherne. 
 It is all very well for Dr Gisborne, who 
 has only the body in view ; but have we 
 not all our responsibilities as regards one 
 another's immortal souls ? If the grave 
 were the end of us, your conduct might 
 perhaps be excusable. Is it the part of a 
 Christian woman — for I suppose you do 
 call yourself that — and one who pretends 
 to be her friend too, to let a poor doomed 
 creature sink and sink, without even so
 
 182 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 much as knowing of her clanger, into what 
 may (for all w r e know) be the bottomless 
 pit? Think of the weeks she has spent 
 in frivolous pleasures — how you, knowing 
 what you did, could share in them, far 
 less propose them, I can't think ; but God 
 is your judge, not me — when they might 
 have been passed in preparing herself, as 
 well as she could, poor ignorant soul, for 
 Death. How could you do it, Miss Tre- 
 lierne ? — how dared you do it ? And to 
 see you look so calm, and smile so sweet, 
 when my dear mistress talks of getting 
 well and strong.' 
 
 c No doctor is infallible ; and who 
 knows but that she will get well ? ' inter- 
 rupted Gwendoline in firm unruffled tones. 
 
 c You know it ! ' exclaimed Susan, rais- 
 ing her voice and hand in passionate pro- 
 test against such hypocrisy. i You and your 
 father know it, if no one else ! To hear 
 him wish her Good-bye this morning, and 
 say, u We shall soon meet again, you
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 183 
 
 know — " as I beard him say — sent quite a 
 chill through ine. Yet even he is not so 
 false, and not so cruel, as were you just 
 now. To lead her on, poor soul ! to dream 
 such dreams as never, never could be 
 realized — to flatter her with prospects of 
 blue skies, when long before the time 
 comes that she pictures, she will be lying 
 in the cold dark tomb, and as likely as not 
 with her dead babe beside her — ' 
 
 ' Hush, fool ! ' cried Gwendoline im- 
 periously ; but the warning came too late. 
 At the half-opened door stood the very 
 subject of their talk, with her large eyes 
 glaring out of their deep sockets, and her 
 thin face damp with the dews of terror. 
 She had come back almost at once for her 
 vase of flowers, and overheard the whole 
 of their discourse. Doomed woman as 
 she was, she looked far worse than doomed 
 - — half-dead already — as, leaning against 
 the door-way, she gazed from one to the 
 other in an agony of speechless fear. The
 
 184 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 next moment she uttered a long wailing 
 shriek (it seemed to Susan like the despair- 
 ing cry of a lost soul), and before either 
 Gwendoline or the waiting-maid could 
 prevent her, fell heavily upon the floor. 
 
 That frightful cry aroused the house ; 
 Mr Ferrier himself rushed up-stairs, only 
 to find his wife unconscious of his presence. 
 They had placed her in her bed, where 
 she lay in stupor, staring vacantly at the 
 flowers which Gwendoline had not forgot- 
 ten to put in their usual place. It flashed 
 through the latter' s mind that it might not 
 be yet too late to conceal the peril of Mrs 
 Ferrier's condition from her husband, and 
 that even she herself might be persuaded, 
 when she came to consciousness, to believe 
 that all she had overheard was but the 
 product of her own disordered fancy. 
 Might not Susan, whose intemperate zeal 
 had certainly caused the mischief, be dis- 
 posed, from fear of the consequences to 
 herself, to accede to this course of proceed-
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 185 
 
 ing ? But a look at the waiting-maid's set 
 face convinced Gwendoline that she could 
 not count upon her as an ally, and there- 
 fore she at once decided upon treating her 
 as a foe. 
 
 When Mr Ferrier, with Giulias cold 
 unanswering fingers clasped in his, in- 
 quired hoarsely how all this had happened, 
 Gwendoline pointed quietly to the wait- 
 ing-maid, and said : c That woman's folly 
 has wrought it all. She meant no harm 
 (I will say that for her even now) ; but she 
 was so imprudent as to express her belief 
 that Mrs Ferrier would not survive the 
 birth of her babe, within her hearing ; and 
 Heaven grant that her projohecy may not 
 have brought with it its own fulfilment ! ' 
 
 1 Is this true, woman ? ' asked Mr Fer- 
 rier hoarselv — not that he had the least 
 doubt of Gwendoline's word, but because 
 the love of justice, which was very strong 
 in him, mechanically suggested the in- 
 quiry.
 
 18G Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 c Yes, master, it is true, in a sense/ 
 said poor Susan ; l but — ' 
 
 ' Leave this room, where you have done 
 mischief enough, woman ! ' returned Mr 
 Ferrier imperatively; ' and never set foot 
 in it again.' 
 
 Loving fears for her mistress, and pity 
 for her master, were filling Susan's honest 
 heart : the sight of them before her faith- 
 ful eyes — the one in a swoon, from which 
 she might never awake; the other, hag- 
 gard and sorrow-stricken, and looking 
 already five years older since he had 
 entered the room — overcame her utterly, 
 and for the present swept from her mind 
 all thought of combat with her foe, and 
 even of self-justification. ' sir,' said she 
 with passionate earnestness, i your dear 
 wife is a dying woman ; if I have un- 
 knowingly done her harm, forgive me, for 
 it was for her poor soul's sake. For God's 
 sake, speak to her of that, if in His mercy 
 He again should give her ears to hear ! '
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 187 
 
 1 I think she had better leave the room, 
 Mr Ferrier,' said Gwendoline, with a sig- 
 nificant look towards his wife, into whose 
 eyes consciousness was evidently slowly 
 returning. 
 
 ' If she does not, I will put her out by 
 the shoulders,' exclaimed Mr Ferrier 
 angrily. — < Go, mischievous tattler, and 
 never again shall you see the mistress 
 whom you have so injured ! ' 
 
 1 God forgive you, master, as I do ! ' 
 said Susan meekly, < and keep you,' added 
 she, with a steady look at Gwendoline, 
 c from all designers and deceivers ! I have 
 done my duty here in His sight, if not in 
 yours.' 
 
 But Mr Ferrier heeded not her words ; 
 he only knew that she had obeyed his 
 bidding and left the room. His thoughts 
 were solely occupied with the fragile form 
 that lay before him gasping painfully, but 
 now returning the pressure of his fingers 
 sensibly enough. Gwendoline guessed by
 
 188 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 her frightened eyes that she was holding 
 fast to him for protection from that shadowy 
 Pursuer, from whom there is no safety in 
 the centre of an armed host ; and even her 
 husband w 7 as stricken with a vague dread 
 that such w- as the case. c Let Dr Gisborne 
 be sent for instantly/ whispered he. 
 
 1 That was done at once,' said Gwen- 
 doline quietly. i I heard the messenger 
 gallop off five minutes ago. 1 
 
 c You think of everything,' said Mr 
 Ferrier gratefully. 
 
 And indeed Gwendoline w^as thinking 
 of a good many things just then : how she 
 should excuse herself, when the time for 
 explanation should come, for not having 
 told him of his wife's condition — how 
 she should excuse herself to Giulia. But 
 mainly she was endeavouring to recall her 
 yesterday's interview with her father, to 
 which Susan's reference to Sir Guy had 
 shown she had been a witness. What had 
 she said about Piers? and how far, if at
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS EESULTS. 189 
 
 all, had she compromised herself with re- 
 spect to Mr Ferrier ? Some expression 
 she surely must have used in connection 
 with him ; or what did Susan mean by 
 ' designers and deceivers?' But perhaps, 
 after all, that was only a random shaft of 
 the waiting-maid's, ^loosed from the string 
 of her tongue, in Parthian fashion, as she 
 fled the battle. 
 
 In the mean time, her friend and host- 
 ess was agitated by far other apprehensions. 
 Plots and plans, her simple, child-like mind 
 had never entertained ; but now it had done 
 for ever even with its harmless schemes of 
 pleasure. 
 
 1 Why do you look so frightened, dear 
 Giulia ? ' inquired her husband tenderly. 
 1 There is no one here but me and your 
 friend Gwendoline. What ails you, dar- 
 ling ? ' 
 
 ' Death ! Death 1 ' was the passionate 
 reply that burst from her fevered lips. 
 < It is Death I fear ! It is Death I feel !
 
 190 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 They have deceived me : I shall never see 
 Italy — never, never ! I shall be lying, as 
 Susan said, "in the cold dark tomb" in- 
 stead, with my dead babe lying beside 
 me ! ' 
 
 Gwendoline smiled compassionately : 
 unutterable pity and sorrow seemed to over- 
 come her endeavours to look cheerful. 
 ' Susan was very wrong and very foolish, 
 dear Giulia,' said she : ' we must not take 
 everything an ignorant woman says for 
 gospel.' 
 
 c Gospel, gospel ! ' murmured the sick 
 woman ; * that is what she is always talk- 
 ing about. dear, dear ! Let a priest 
 be sent for at once, Bruce — a priest of my 
 own faith.' 
 
 It would have been difficult in every 
 sense to gratify the unhappy Giulia's de- 
 sire, for in the first place there was no 
 Catholic priest within a score of miles ; 
 and in the second, she had no faith of her 
 own, to call such, of any kind. Her
 
 PLAIN SPEAKING, AND ITS RESULTS. 191 
 
 father's religion, composed at best half of 
 Superstition, half of Art, the poor girl had 
 imbibed from him at second-hand ; but her 
 early marriage and removal to England 
 had erased its impressions from her mind, 
 on which, as on a palimpsest, the creed of 
 her husband, or rather of Susan, had been 
 since as vaguely inscribed. Her soul was 
 shaken by Calvinistic terrors, while her 
 thin hand was mechanically making the 
 sign of the cross upon her bosom, and her 
 tongue reiterating, l Send for a priest, 
 Bruce — send for a priest.' 
 
 ' Dr Gisborne has been sent for, dar- 
 ling,' said Gwendoline softly ; and in- 
 stantly a ray of comfort shone upon that 
 troubled face. 
 
 1 Thanks, thanks ! ' she murmured. 
 1 He is good as well as wise ; he is a priest 
 and a physician in one ; and perhaps, since 
 he is so clever, perhaps he may save me 
 even still.'
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 'i NEVER EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 
 
 It would be painful as well as unneces- 
 sary to dwell further upon poor Giulias 
 illness and distress of mind. Dr Gisborne 
 came as soon as tlie message from Glen 
 Druid reached him, which was as quickly 
 as the man could get to St Medards ; for 
 that physician was not an ordinary country 
 doctor, liable to be called hither and 
 thither, and always away when wanted on 
 an emergency, but only attended a few 
 families, and that quite as much for his 
 pleasure as his profit, notwithstanding 
 that his gratuitous services were ever at the
 
 * I NEVER EVEN HEAED OF THE PEOPLE.' 193 
 
 service of the poor. He had guessed from 
 what he had gathered from the groom, 
 that the crisis of Mrs Ferrier's fate must 
 be at hand, and he made up his mind to 
 face her husband's possible displeasure 
 — for the doctor had had his doubts of the 
 rectitude of his own silence — for having 
 concealed from him his wife's state of 
 health. His satisfaction was therefore 
 considerable at finding, on his arrival, that 
 his favourite Gwendoline had already 
 smoothed that matter over for him, and 
 taken the blame upon her own shoulders. 
 She had made the confession with quiet 
 frankness to Mr Ferrier himself, as they 
 sat together watching Griulia, who, worn 
 out with feverish excitement, had fallen 
 into a short sleep, from which her husband 
 was already drawing a favourable augury. 
 ' How came that stupid woman to take 
 it into her head that Giulia was so ill, I 
 wonder ? ' said he, as much in soliloquy as 
 in interrogation. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 1 94 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 1 1 am afraid that was my fault, Mr 
 Ferrier,' said Gwendoline softly. c I was 
 indiscreet enough to let her know that 
 your sweet wife was in a very perilous 
 state.' 
 
 1 Perilous you mean, of course, as re- 
 spects her condition ? ' 
 
 1 Hush ! no ; I wish I did. Dr Gis- 
 borne informed me some time since that we 
 could not hope to have her with us for 
 many months.' 
 
 < Good God ! Miss Treherne, what are 
 you saying ? ' 
 
 i Alas, only the truth, Mr Ferrier.' 
 
 ' And why, in Heaven's name, has this 
 been kept a secret from me, whom it con- 
 cerned the most ? ' 
 
 ' For that very reason, dear Mr Ferrier. 
 If anybody is to blame, blame me. Dr 
 Gisborne was in doubt as to whether he 
 should tell you all or not, and I persuaded 
 him to be silent. It is not as if you could 
 possibly have anything to reproach yourself
 
 1 I NEVER EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 195 
 
 with. Another husband might have had mo- 
 ments of irritation or displeasure with his 
 wife, for which, now that he saw her thus, 
 his conscience would reproach him; but with 
 you, who are all patience and indulgence, 
 this, I knew, could never be the case. 
 Moreover, your very love for her was such, 
 I argued, that you could not have con- 
 cealed from your darling the knowledge of 
 the calamity that was overhanging her ; 
 and the disclosure would at once have pro- 
 duced the catastrophe which we see here, 
 and which has, in fact, been brought about 
 in the way I feared,' 
 
 The rare tears stood in Mr Ferrier's 
 eyes as he gazed upon his fair young wife 
 with that yearning love which we only 
 feel when we perceive the certainty of its 
 object being taken away from us ; and 
 the sigh he uttered seemed a farewell to all 
 hope. 
 
 Gwendoline did not venture to breathe 
 a word of pity ; she did not even touch
 
 196 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 his arm with that slight pressure of the 
 fingers which, in moments of sorest sorrow, 
 may bring, if not the balm of sympathy, 
 at least a moment's distraction of our 
 thoughts, in the remembrance that a friend 
 and well-wisher is by. She for once dis- 
 carded the weapons of her charms, feeling 
 that at such a time they would win her 
 nothing, and finished what she had to say 
 in calm collected tones, in which lay 
 neither apology nor tenderness. 
 
 1 1 am sorry the course I thought it 
 best to take has displeased you, dear Mr 
 Ferrier, but I am not surprised. When 
 misfortune comes, it always seems that we 
 might have been better prepared to meet 
 it. It only remains for me now to make 
 amends, as far as in me lies, for my tres- 
 pass against you, by devotion to our dear 
 one.' 
 
 1 Yes, yes ; you will stay with us, 
 Gwendoline, I know,' sighed the old man ; 
 i you will not desert us in our hour of trial.'
 
 1 I NEVER EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 197 
 
 She knew that he was unaware he had 
 called her by her Christian name, but his 
 having done so gratified her, nevertheless, 
 as did his other words, although they 
 also were spoken half mechanically. The 
 one convinced her how familiar to the 
 mind of her host her presence had be- 
 come; the other how necessary she had 
 made herself to him and his. She had 
 not mentioned to him the second argument 
 for silence which she had used with Dr 
 Gisborne, because she foresaw that he — if 
 only in gratitude for her having taken the 
 blame upon herself — would certainly reveal 
 it to Mr Ferrier ; and so it presently hap- 
 pened. 
 
 In the long private talk that ensued, 
 after the physician had seen his patient, 
 between the husband and himself, the 
 latter told the former that Gwendoline had 
 begged him to keep Giulia's disease a 
 secret, to save Mr Ferrier pain. ' Besides 
 the risk of hastening the calamity — such
 
 198 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 were her very words — why make her good 
 husband wretched before his time ? ' 
 
 ' That was at least kind and thought- 
 ful of her/ said Mr Ferrier ; ' and I am 
 sure I forgive her from my heart. She 
 has been a sunbeam in this house for weeks, 
 doctor ; and now that all is gloom, she 
 seems to shine the brighter.' 
 
 ' And yet there are folks who say that 
 she is cold-hearted/ said the physician 
 indignantly, ' and only cares for fashion 
 and frivolity. I happen to know that she 
 might have been all this time in town (and 
 indeed Sir Guy pressed her to go thither), 
 the idol of that world to which she is said 
 to be devoted ; but she told me that she 
 felt her place to be here with her sick friend 
 — as it will be, Mr Ferrier, I am certain, 
 until the end.' 
 
 And the end was not destined to be 
 very far off. After giving premature 
 birth to a little daughter, poor Giulia
 
 1 I NEYEB EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 199 
 
 passed out of the world, for which she 
 was so little suited, with a gentle smile. 
 Her terrors had all departed, and with her 
 last breath she whispered to her husband 
 that she saw her dear Italy before her, and 
 that she was going there after all. Her 
 affection for Gwendoline seemed to have 
 met with some sudden check, for she nei- 
 ther caressed nor addressed her. She gave 
 no explanation of this change in her feel- 
 ings, nor did Mr Ferrier, rapt in his great 
 grief, observe it ; and it was Gwendoline 
 who ministered to her to the last, and 
 whose arms raised little wondering Marion 
 to the bedside to take her mother's farewell. 
 In one particular only did Mr Ferrier 
 show himself not utterly overwhelmed 
 with the fact of his bereavement — he was 
 resolute in his determination to dismiss 
 Susan Ramsay, at whose door he persisted 
 in laying the catastrophe, or, at all events, 
 the hastening of it ; and with characteris-
 
 200 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 tic firmness, he paid her what was due to 
 her with his own hands, and, as it happen- 
 ed, in Gwendoline's presence. 
 
 Susan, dissolved in genuine tears, had 
 not a word to say in mitigation of her 
 master's wrath ; she was not thinking of 
 herself at all, for indeed further service 
 was no object to her, but only of her dead 
 mistress and of her darling Marion, from 
 whom it deeply grieved her to part. 
 
 1 Is that your just due, woman ? ' in- 
 quired Mr Ferrier sternly, putting her 
 money with the extra month's wage, in 
 default of warning, into her hand. 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; and I thank you for all your 
 kindness,' sobbed Susan. ' I have only one 
 favour to ask you more — that I may see 
 my dear dead mistress once before I go.' 
 
 1 Never ! ' said Mr Ferrier vehemently. 
 ' That shall be your punishment. She 
 forgave you ; and I, for — yes, I forgive 
 you, and that is enough.' 
 
 i sir,' cried Susan, ' anger should not
 
 1 I NEVER EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 201 
 
 last beyond the grave ; and I did love her 
 so ; pray, let me.' 
 
 Mr Ferrier's iron face relaxed ; her un- 
 expected tears and tone were softening him. 
 
 1 If my intervention may have any 
 weight at all, dear Mr Ferrier,' said Gwen- 
 doline appealingly, 1 1 pray you put it in 
 the scale of mercy. I entreat you to let 
 this faithful, if mistaken woman have her 
 wish.' 
 
 Susan drew herself up quickly, and her 
 black eyes flashed through her tears. ' I 
 am speaking to my master, miss, and want 
 no grace from you, nor never shall.' 
 
 1 Excuse me, Miss Treherne,' said Mr 
 Ferrier angrily, < but I cannot suffer your 
 unfailing kindness to be thus abused. Not 
 another word I beg. — And you, Susan, you 
 insolent coarse woman — whom T shall not 
 stoop to tell how this honoured young lady 
 has spoken on your behalf before — leave 
 my house at once ; and never darken its 
 doors again.'
 
 202 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 So Susan Ramsay, in disgrace, betook 
 herself to St Medards, to dwell for the pre- 
 sent with Mr Sam Barland's mother, not 
 only until such time as the banns could be 
 put up, and their little arrangements made 
 for marriage, but for a considerable inter- 
 val in addition, which Susan insisted upon, 
 as a mark of respect to the memory of that 
 dear mistress of whom she had been so 
 harshly forbidden to take farewell. And 
 to this arrangement Mr Samuel Barland, 
 who was a philosopher, as well as a man 
 of science, unresistingly assented. 
 
 The news of the catastrophe at Glen 
 Druid was carried, in black-bordered mis- 
 sives, to no numerous yet to widely differ- 
 ent circles. To Miss Judith Ferrier, the 
 widower's only sister, for instance, who 
 had her habitation in her native Glasgow ; 
 and to Sir Guy Treherne, who had his 
 lodgings over his club, on the shady side 
 of Pall Mall. Also to the Honourable 
 Piers Mostyn at Stonegate Hall, York-
 
 ' I NEVER EVEN HEARD OF THE PEOPLE.' 203 
 
 shire, whom it reached in rather a strange 
 fashion. 
 
 The rest of the men who were staying 
 in the house had gone hunting that morn- 
 ing, but he himself being more a squire of 
 dames than a fox-hunter, was starting for 
 a ride with two of the ladies, when the 
 post arrived, and brought him a letter ad- 
 dressed in Gwendoline's hand. He had had 
 no word from her — although she had pro- 
 mised to keep him acquainted with her 
 movements — since that night of his dismiss- 
 al from Bedivere Court ; and he opened the 
 envelope with enough of agitation to make 
 the keen eyes that were slily watching 
 him twinkle with merriment. Could Sir 
 Guy be dead, and had she written, in her 
 loneliness and poverty, to say that she 
 would wed him, as he had pressed her to 
 do? There was not a line of her hand- 
 writing within, but only two slips, cut out 
 of a Cornish newspaper. ' On the 2-ith 
 ■inst, at Glen Druid, the wife of Bruce Fer-
 
 204 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 rier, Esq., of a daughter? And culled from 
 the death-column of the same paper, the 
 following : c On the 2oth inst., Giulia, the 
 beloved wife of Bruce Ferrier, Esq., of Glen 
 Druid? 
 
 Piers Mostyn muttered an oath beneath 
 his breath. Confound the girl ! What 
 did she mean by sending him that sen- 
 timental rubbish, as though this dead 
 woman had been her dearest friend ? Of 
 course she only did so as an excuse for her 
 long silence ; but she was foolish indeed if 
 she supposed that such a subterfuge would 
 impose upon Mm, l The Ferriers of Glen 
 Druid ? Why, I never even heard of the 
 people.'
 
 205 
 
 THE RIPENING. 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 
 
 There is no occupation in which (to 
 honest eyes) a }^oung girl looks so attract- 
 ive as when she is ministering to the 
 happiness of children ; and this is more 
 especially the case when those children 
 have no protectress of their own. Gwen- 
 doline, although retiring nightly to Bedi- 
 vere Court, passed her days, as before, at 
 Glen Druid, devoting herself to little 
 Marion and the baby, with the former of 
 whom, at least, she filled, and more than 
 filled, the place of her dead mother; for
 
 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 the late Mrs Ferrier had not really pos- 
 - ssed the stamina requisite for the per- 
 formance of the duties of head of a family, 
 far loss of a great household ; and the \vi- 
 dowed husband, despite his grief, could not 
 help observing how much more smoothly 
 matters were ruled under the new dynasl 
 than when the c exotic,' as poorGiulia had 
 nicknamed herself, was mistress of his 
 house. If it had not been for the children, 
 Gwendoline would not, of course, have 
 had the shadow of an excuse for revisiting 
 the plaee after her friend's death ; but 
 their motherless condition was for the pre- 
 sent her warrant, while they themselves 
 afforded always a subject of conversation 
 with her host, and the means of escape 
 from all embarrassment, if, indeed, she 
 ever felt any. 
 
 A tranquil sigh or two over the fate of 
 the bright flower which death had snatched 
 from them ; and a few words of eulogy, or 
 modestly tendered counsel, regarding the
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 207 
 
 small tenants of the nursery, were all that 
 Gwendoline herself ventured to utter at 
 their solitary meals ; she initiated no other 
 topic whatever ; but after a time, Air Fer- 
 rier began, as usual, to converse with her 
 upon business matters, and with greater 
 frankness than ever. In particular, he 
 talked to her with perfect unreserve con- 
 cerning his property, which she learned, 
 without surprise, produced an income of 
 nearly thirty thousand pounds a year. He 
 was not by nature addicted to horse or 
 carriage exercise ; and since the neigh- 
 bours had not been very congenial with 
 his late wife, he had kept much at home, 
 so that he had already been thrown into 
 Gwendoline's society far more than is 
 generally the case with host and guest of 
 their respective ages ; and now, when he 
 was restricted by his recent calamity more 
 than ever to his own roof and grounds, 
 there was scarce an hour in the day that 
 he passed out of the comforting sunshine
 
 208 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 of her presence. Nevertheless, Mr Ferrier 
 could not rid himself of scruple with respect 
 to Gwendoline's tarry at Glen Druid, so 
 easily as she did. Respectability was an 
 important part of his religion, and to out- 
 rage it, was in itself a species of blasphemy, 
 in which, however pleasant, he could not 
 permit himself to indulge. Moreover, 
 there was Gwendoline's own reputation 
 to be considered. Of course, the idea of 
 anything unpleasant or malicious being 
 said of her, had never entered into her 
 innocent head : wrapped up in the me- 
 mory of her dear friend, and in her de- 
 votion to those left, but for her own tender 
 solicitude, to a hireling's care, she had 
 never given a thought to what the world 
 might say ; it w r as therefore all the more 
 incumbent upon him to lay before her, as 
 delicately as he could, the true state of 
 the case ; a difficult duty enough, since, in 
 the first place, it required rather tender 
 handling ; and in the second (although he
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 209 
 
 did not know it), Gwendoline had fully 
 made up her mind to misunderstand him. 
 The arrival, however, of a letter from his 
 sister at Glasgow, gave Mr Ferrier the 
 long-looked-for, though scarcely desired, 
 opportunity of unburdening his conscience 
 upon this matter. 
 
 1 My dear Miss Treherne/ said he, 1 1 
 have been thinking as to whether it would 
 not be advisable to ask Judith to come and 
 stay at Glen Druid.' 
 
 Gwendoline opened her large eyes, and 
 with a smile, almost the first which she 
 had yet ventured to wear, replied : < I am 
 most pleased to hear it, Mr Ferrier. It 
 seems a pity you should be so long 
 estranged from your only living relative ; 
 and, to say truth, I had always entertained 
 an idea that there was not the cordial feel- 
 ing between you — though I am sure the 
 fault does not lie with one so kindly as 
 yourself — which should always exist be- 
 tween brother and sister. 7 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ' Nay ; Judith is an excellent woman 
 in her way, though she is somewhat narrow 
 and prejudiced in her views. We always 
 got on together very well — until of late 
 years.' 
 
 1 Is it possible, then, that she could 
 find anything amiss with your poor lost 
 darling ? ' said Gwendoline with innocent 
 indignation. 
 
 i Not " amiss " exactly, for that, as you 
 hint, would be impossible. But Judith 
 has always lived in the north, and among 
 her own people ; she had a sort of horror, 
 I fancy, of all foreigners, and disapproved 
 altogether of my marriage.' 
 
 < You did not ask her leave, however, 
 I suppose ? ' said Gwendoline, again smil- 
 ing. 
 
 1 No, indeed,' returned Mr Ferrier, with 
 a flush upon his grave shrewd face. ' I 
 have, throughout my life, been my own 
 master in all respects. But my union with 
 Giulia produced a coolness between myself
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 211 
 
 and Judith. You, however, who have such 
 tact, and — and — who make yourself so 
 pleasant to everybody, would find no diffi- 
 culty, I am sure, in getting on with my 
 sister : she is a little stiff and formal, but 
 she has really a good heart, and — and — ' 
 ( My dear Mr Ferrier,' interrupted 
 Gwendoline quietly, ' you may be quite 
 certain that I should do my best to be 
 courteous and respectful to any one so 
 nearly related to yourself as the lady in 
 question. I could easily forgive her any 
 such defects as you mention ; and would 
 very gladly submit, for your sake, to any 
 wholesome reproof with which she might 
 please to visit my unregenerate self. But 
 what I can not forgive — and if I could, 
 what I could not be able to forget, so that 
 it must needs (I feel) influence my be- 
 haviour towards Miss Ferrier, in spite of 
 myself — is her dislike of my sweet friend, 
 your late beloved wife. I quite understand 
 the course of training, and the social
 
 212 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 associations which may have caused your 
 sister to regard Giulia as she did ; it may 
 not have been her fault at all, but only her 
 misfortune, yet I cannot — indeed, I cannot 
 — in justice to that dear memory, consent 
 to treat as my friend the woman who so 
 misjudged her.' 
 
 i I really don't know what is to be 
 done, then,' said Mr Ferrier doubtfully. 
 < I was in hopes you might have contrived 
 to get on with Judith ; and I scarcely see, 
 unless she comes here, how — I really think 
 it would be advisable — ' He stammered 
 and hesitated, and for the first time, to 
 Gwendoline's eyes, his rugged features 
 wore an appealing and almost tender look. 
 She instantly perceived that his proposal 
 to invite his sister was mainly suggested 
 by the idea that she herself might not only 
 retain her present position at Glen Druid 
 without impropriety, but be more con- 
 stantly there even than before ; and her 
 heart beat with triumph to learn it. Her
 
 GWENDOLINES TELLS PAPA. 213 
 
 tone, however, was quiet and cold enough, 
 as she replied : 1 1 cannot understand your 
 difficulty, my dear Mr Terrier. There is 
 surely no sort of reason why you should 
 not invite your own sister to Glen Druid, 
 especially now the innocent cause of her 
 displeasure is no longer here.' 
 
 Mr Ferrier paused, and bit his lip. 
 Gwendoline was purposely taking the 
 course most calculated to make Judith 
 intolerable to him : she had another shaft 
 too in her quiver yet, and the time had 
 come for her to let it fly. ' There is cer- 
 tainly one objection to Miss Ferrier's com- 
 ing,' said she musingly, '" though it hardly 
 becomes me to mention it, and I must ask 
 you to forgive me the liberty, for the sake 
 of the motive that prompts me to take it. 
 Your darling Marion is growing of an age 
 to understand the feelings as well as the 
 mere spoken words of those about her ; 
 and it would cut your loving heart to the 
 core, sir — for I leave my own purposely
 
 214 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 out of the question — if you should have 
 cause to think that your daughter should 
 be learning to despise her mother. I know 
 from Giulia's own lips that Miss Ferrier 
 was wont to regard her at the best — as a 
 papist and a foreigner — with pious horror. 
 Do you think it certain she may not in- 
 spire the child with similar feelings ? 
 Marion has a most loving, but also a most 
 impressionable nature ; and, for my own 
 part, I have done my best to guard it from 
 receiving the thought of harm — the idea 
 of contempt for anybody ; but another and 
 more strong-minded teacher might soon 
 undo my poor lessons.' 
 
 1 My dear Miss Treherne,' exclaimed 
 Mr Ferrier, earnestly, and as he spoke he 
 rose and took her hand in his, 1 1 can never 
 forget your kindness to me and mine. It 
 would indeed be a sad loss to all of us — all 
 that are left, that is — and to my little ones 
 in particular, should your kind face cease 
 to shine upon us at Glen Druid. But,
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 215 
 
 perhaps, if you were to consult Sir Guy 
 upon the matter, he is so perfectly con- 
 versant with all that the best society exacts 
 or expects — ' 
 
 6 Oh, I see ! ' ejaculated Gwendoline, 
 with a low musical laugh. i How very, 
 very stupid you must have thought me, 
 Mr Ferrier ! I have, I now understand, 
 been setting at defiance the opinion of the 
 world, in being so much at Glen Druid. 
 The fact is,' added she with a sadder air, 
 1 my world has been limited of late to those 
 two little ones above-stairs, and — and — to, 
 yourself, Mr Ferrier.' 
 
 1 1 know that well, my dear Miss Tre- 
 herne,' said the old man with emotion ; 
 'and Heaven knows how unwillingly I 
 have performed my duty in thus drawing 
 your attention to what, in itself most inno- 
 cent and laudable, may yet possibly set in 
 motion the tongue of vulgar scandal.' 
 
 < Vulgar scandal, my dear Mr Ferrier,' 
 said Gwendoline haughtily, c does not af-
 
 216 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 feet me very seriously, though I thank you 
 for your warning, and appreciate it. I 
 would bear far more, for the sake of you 
 and yours, than the knowledge that the 
 good people at St Medards have expressed 
 an opinion adverse to my discretion. I 
 could undergo the reserve of its banker's 
 wife, and the cold-shoulder of its attorney's 
 daughter, and yet survive.' It was im- 
 possible to conceive a more graceful shape 
 of scorn than Gwendoline exhibited as she 
 pronounced those words with a sweep of 
 her stately arm, in the calm contempt of 
 which it almost seemed that Mr Ferrier 
 himself was included. 
 
 c It is very natural, my dear Miss Tre- 
 herne,' said he hastily, ' that you, being 
 what you are, should despise such people 
 and their possible talk. I only hinted at 
 the matter because I saw that it had never 
 entered into your mind — as, indeed, why 
 should it do so ? But it really would be a 
 relief to me — since I could never forgive
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 217 
 
 myself if your devotion to my little ones 
 should expose you to the shadow of an im- 
 putation — if you would lay the matter 
 before Sir Guy as I have ventured to put 
 it before yourself.' 
 
 1 1 will do that, my dear Mr Ferrier, 
 and in person; for papa, whether influ- 
 enced by the same motive as yourself I 
 know not, has, in this very note, written 
 me to say that he is shortly about to return 
 home.' 
 
 ' But why should he not come here, in- 
 stead of to Bedivere Court ? ' pleaded Mr 
 Ferrier. ' Why should you not both come 
 here, and stay as before ? It would be so 
 kind of you to take pity on my loneliness ; 
 and — little Marion would be so pleased.' 
 
 And thus it happened that Sir Guy and 
 his daughter became once more located at 
 Glen Druid, nominally as guests, but with- 
 out any definite limit to the duration of 
 their visit. Everything was made as plea- 
 sant for the old baronet as could be con-
 
 218 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 trived. He had had his doubts about 
 coining to stay at a place where anything 
 so unpleasant * as death had recently oc- 
 curred ; and was pleased to express his 
 approbation at the c good sense ' which 
 characterized the chief mourner in abstain- 
 ing from all allusion to the topic. Sir Guy 
 looked upon the Great Calamity as a care- 
 ful housewife regards a spot upon her 
 carpet or her curtains — something to be 
 erased, if possible, at once and altogether ; 
 but, if kept in memory, to be carefully put 
 out of sight, and never hinted at. And these 
 precautions were taken at Glen Druid with 
 respect to its deceased mistress. No allu- 
 sion to the melancholy topic was ever 
 made in his presence ; he ate and drank of 
 the best ; he rose and retired when it suited 
 him ; the resources of the establishment 
 were placed as much at his own disposal 
 as though it had been his own. But after 
 a time he began to get tired, as usual, with 
 even so favourable a specimen of country
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 219 
 
 life, and to pine for the pleasures of Picca- 
 dilly. This was excusable, or, at all events, 
 natural in Sir Guy's case ; they were the 
 only pleasures, and, indeed, the only pur- 
 suits, that he had ever known ; and though 
 they were less vivid than they had used to 
 be, in the absence of any other magnet 
 they were still attractive. The course of 
 a selfish voluptuary towards its close is — 
 with the substitution of one sort of work 
 for another — in many respects similar to 
 that of an agricultural labourer. The lat- 
 ter, with feebler powers, has to toil on at 
 jDrecisely the same work to which he so 
 vigorously applied himself in his youth; 
 his trembling hands still wield the spade 
 or the hoe, although the return for his 
 labour has become so lamentably small : he 
 knows no other thins; to do. And so the 
 ancient man of pleasure continues in his 
 scarcely less narrow groove, enjoying less 
 and less, but still doing his best to enjoy. 
 Now, Sir Guy, although he disliked all
 
 220 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 mention of the fact, was secretly aware 
 that old age was creeping upon him, and 
 that he had not much time to waste in ad- 
 miring, or pretending to admire, the pic- 
 turesque in Cornwall. He had arrived at 
 the epoch when every year brings with it 
 a change that is felt in loss, and it was 
 most important to utilize what faculties yet 
 remained to him. It would be time enough, 
 when every capacity for pleasure was ex- 
 hausted, to lie and stare at the sky and the 
 sea. But it was difficult to express these 
 sentiments to another with the perspicuity 
 with which they presented themselves to 
 his own mind, or, indeed, to express them 
 at all without incurring an imputation of 
 egotism beyond what even he was prepared 
 to bear. He proceeded, therefore, to at- 
 tribute his resolution to depart to the im- 
 portance of time to his daughter, and the 
 necessity of her repairing with him to 
 London for her own sake. Moreover, he 
 was not without his suspicions of the part
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 221 
 
 which she was playing in respect to their 
 host, the widower, and he willingly seized 
 the opportunity of discovering how far 
 they were correct. Thereupon, one bright 
 warm day in early spring, upon that ter- 
 raced walk on which Gwendoline had 
 informed him of the approaching death of 
 their late hostess, Sir Guy and his daughter 
 had a second conversation together, only 
 the latter took care that it should be on 
 this occasion without an eavesdropper. 
 
 c I have been thinking a good deal 
 lately of our stay here, Gwendoline,' said 
 Sir Guy a little clumsily — for she pur- 
 posely offered him no chance of gliding 
 imperceptibly on to this topic — i and, upon 
 my life, I think it ought to come to an 
 end.' 
 
 1 Do you think we are outstaying our 
 welcome, papa?' inquired she coldly. 
 1 Don't you get the same wine that you 
 liked so much at first ? ' 
 
 i My dear Gwendoline, what a vulgar
 
 222 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 notion ! Of course everything is as it 
 should be in that respect. To do Mr Fer- 
 rier justice, whatever money can buy — 
 down here — he places at my disposal : his 
 domestic expenditure, in fact, is princely ; 
 but I suppose his income fully justifies 
 that ;' and Sir Guy gave a sharp glance at 
 his daughter. 
 
 ' He has nearly thirty thousand pounds 
 a year, papa ; he told me so with his own 
 lips.' 
 
 1 Indeed ! That is a large rent-roll, or 
 rather, it is something better, for I fancy 
 his fortune is invested in more valuable 
 securities than fields and farms.' 
 
 'Yes; it is mostly in government 
 stocks, and could be realized (if he wished 
 to do so) to-morrow. Mr Ferrier has told 
 me all about it.' 
 
 i So it seems, my dear,' said Sir Guy 
 significantly. c But, however rich our host 
 may be, he is not a man to neglect his 
 children. The channels which his wealth
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 223 
 
 will flow in hereafter, are already marked 
 out; so that, in my opinion, Gwendoline, 
 you are wasting valuable time by staying 
 down here.' 
 
 'I think not, papa.' Her tone was 
 quiet and distinct, and the gaze with 
 which she met Sir Guy's impatient glance 
 was as steady as her tone. 
 
 ' But I tell you, you are,' urged he. 
 ' It is not only that you are losing here all 
 opportunity of securing a suitable position 
 in life, but you are also in some sort com- 
 promising yourself. I hinted, you know, 
 by letter, at the inadvisability of your 
 being here so much after Mrs Ferrier's 
 death; and even now, though I am with you, 
 our making so long a stay at Glen Druid 
 must needs certainly provoke remark.' 
 
 ' I will take the risk of that, papa. 
 Thanks to your frankness months ago, I 
 thoroughhy understand my own affairs ; I 
 have looked at the situation from all points, 
 I assure you.'
 
 224 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 1 Do you mean me to infer, Gwendoline, 
 that the opportunities which a London 
 season might afford are no longer of any 
 consequence in your eyes — that you have 
 made your plan in life altogether inde- 
 pendent of them ? ' 
 
 1 Just so, papa.' 
 
 He understood her at once ; and upon 
 the whole he was not displeased. Out of 
 so large a fortune as Mr Ferrier's, there 
 would doubtless be pickings for himself, 
 as well as ample provision for his daugh- 
 ter : but yet so high was the opinion that 
 he entertained — and justly — of the effect 
 of Gwendoline's charms, that he could not 
 help feeling that they might have been 
 disposed of elsewhere to even still greater 
 advantage. 
 
 1 It is, as you say, your own affair, my 
 dear Gwendoline,' mused Sir Guy — < quite 
 your own affair. But, of course, I, as 
 your father, cannot but feel a very deep 
 interest in this matter ; and it does strike
 
 GWENDOLINE TELLS PAPA. 225 
 
 me that your ambition is somewhat easily 
 gratified; that you might have looked a 
 little higher.' 
 
 She smiled and raised her eyebrows a 
 hair-breadth. 
 
 ' There is nothing objectionable in Mr 
 Ferrier, it is true,' he continued ; ' he is a 
 gentleman, and knows how to behave him- 
 self. But are you sure, my dear Gwendo- 
 line, you are quite suited for the sort of 
 humdrum life, which, as his wife, you 
 must needs lead ? Without the least offence 
 to his excellent abilities — and they tell me 
 he is a first-rate man of business — does it 
 not occur to you that our admirable host 
 is just a trifle dull? He will not get 
 brighter, Gwendoline, as time goes on, 
 remember that; and he is already, for a 
 husband, an old man.' 
 
 1 Yes, he is an old man,' said Gwendo- 
 line. 
 
 The phrase was a mere reiteration of 
 her father's words, but it was uttered in a 
 
 vol. r. 15
 
 226 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 tone of great significance. No other word 
 was added ; and Sir Guy, on his part, did 
 but nod his head, to let her know that he 
 quite comprehended her meaning.
 
 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 
 
 In accordance with the perfect mutual 
 understanding which existed between Sir 
 Guy and his daughter, and which is said 
 to be so great a desideratum in those 
 relations, not another word was hinted of 
 the former's return to town. For the sake 
 of his child, almost as much as for any 
 profit that might accrue to himself out of 
 her contemplated plan, the good baronet 
 determined to make a sacrifice of the plea- 
 sures of the London Season. He may 
 have been, and probably was, impatient in 
 secret, but externally he was imperturbable.
 
 228 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 He listened to Mr Ferrier's anecdotes of 
 his early struggles after fortune with a cairn 
 despair, that the narrator took for admiring 
 wonder, and heard with genuine interest 
 the twice-told story of his success, for in 
 the fruits of the latter he felt that he might 
 have some share. He even, on one occa- 
 sion, honoured with his presence the insti- 
 tution of family prayer ; this condescen- 
 sion, however, was a failure, nature and 
 art (in Sir Guy's legs and trousers) having 
 equally incapacitated him from kneeling, 
 wdiile devotional monotone at once super- 
 induced repose. The domestics trooped 
 out of the room in suppressed hysterics, 
 while Sir Guy with his face buried in his 
 chair was in the land of dreams. 
 
 Whenever his daughter had had a few r 
 minutes' talk alone with their host, poor 
 Sir Guy would cast a covert glance of in- 
 quiry towards her, to know whether all 
 these sacrifices had met with their reward, 
 or if he was still doomed to suffer on. But
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 229 
 
 although Mr Ferrier had as fully made up 
 his mind to propose to Gwendoline as 
 Gwendoline had to accept him, those ideas 
 of respectability, with which no amount of 
 fortune will permit men to dispense unless 
 they have also been brought up in good 
 society, delayed the declaration month 
 after month. It was almost time enough 
 — taking the conventional ' year and a day' 
 as the correct limit — for the widower to 
 marry again before he ventured to offer 
 himself in marriage. 
 
 The proposal was made in characteris- 
 tic terms. He did not allude to his ad- 
 vanced time of life, to the disparity be- 
 tween their respective ages, at all ; but he 
 told Gwendoline— and quite truly — that 
 however strange it might seem, she was 
 the only person who had ever inspired him 
 with what he imagined to be Love. He 
 had loved his late wife, he said, in the 
 sense that most persons could be content 
 to accept the word ; but he had never ex-
 
 230 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 perienced in her case those feelings of 
 respect, admiration, and worship which 
 were actuating him now. And yet he 
 confessed, that, even thus, he would have 
 forborne to declare himself, did he not feel 
 that in doing so he was endeavouring to 
 secure for his two children the kindest and 
 wisest guardian they could ever hope to 
 know. 
 
 And Gwendoline's reply, though she 
 was very careful not to wound the old 
 man's amour propre, dwelt upon the child- 
 ren also, to whom she modestly hoped she 
 might prove herself a nearer and dearer 
 relative than what is commonly suggest- 
 ed by the term of step-motlier. There was 
 as little of protestation or appeal on the 
 one side, as there was of coyness or hesita- 
 tion on the other. The upshot of it all 
 took none in the household by surprise, and 
 scarcely any one in the neighbourhood. 
 
 When Sir Guy and his daughter depart- 
 ed for their own house, it was taken as a
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 231 
 
 sign by all the county that Glen Druid 
 would presently become more their home 
 than ever. 
 
 There was a certain letter despatched 
 from St Medards to Glasgow the next 
 morning describing the matter as fully 
 settled, and not at all as mere common 
 report. 
 
 1 My dear Madam,' it ran, ' the engage- 
 ment of which I have always written to 
 you as certain to happen between your 
 brother and Miss Treherne has at last 
 taken place. I am myself surprised that 
 she did not cause him sooner to forget my 
 poor dear mistress ; though it is early days 
 enough for him to think of wedding again, 
 goodness knows. It seems but the other 
 day that he sent for me, on your kind re- 
 commendation, to be her waiting-maid at 
 Glen Druid. Well, well, it is not my 
 good master's fault ; she would hoodwink 
 the sharpest eyes that ever man wore — 
 though she never hoodwinked mine.
 
 232 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Heaven grant it may not turn out to be 
 his misfortune ! The wicked Sir Guy took 
 his daughter back with him yesterday — 
 until I suppose the marriage takes place — 
 to Bedivere Court ; else they have not 
 been there, except for a day or two at a 
 time, for months. For my part, I call 
 such goings-on scarcely decent, but then I 
 am only a poor person, who, it seems, 
 is not fit to be a judge of what is right 
 among people of quality. That is what 
 my husband says, and one is bound to 
 believe one's husband. 
 
 * In communicating this sad news, ac- 
 cording to your request, directly I hear it, 
 it is only right to add that all the folks at 
 Glen Druid are agreed that Miss Treherne 
 behaves well enough to the dear children 
 — that is, at present. My sweet Marion 
 was certainly very fond of her ; but the 
 fact is she comes over everybody, man, 
 woman, and child, and, if folks were served 
 as they deserve, would be burned as a
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES EESTIYE. 233 
 
 witch. There's Mr Alexander Blackett of 
 the Glen, for one, is said to be ready to 
 shoot himself because of this news ; his 
 sister, who is a very proper-minded lady, 
 actually called at our shop for medicines 
 for him to-day; and yet Miss Treherne 
 can certainly never have given him much 
 encouragement. But then a smile from 
 her goes further with the men than ' (here 
 some w^ords had been carefully erased in 
 the manuscript, and the following written 
 over them) — ' than the most excellent gifts 
 and pleasant discourse in another. Ah, 
 madam, and that reminds me how I envy 
 you in Glasgow, with such great opportu- 
 nities of hearing the Truth from persuasive 
 preachers ; we have none such in this 
 graceless place ; and I doubt whether Mr 
 Ferrier has done much good in paying 
 for the ministry. The last tracts came safe 
 enough to hand, but I could not do much 
 with them. The door here is not yet open 
 wide enough. I blush to say that with the
 
 234 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Smoker's Fate my husband lit his pipe. 
 What good, however, might you not effect 
 by coming down hither in person ! I sup- 
 pose Mr Ferrier will bid you to the wed- 
 ding. I can think of nothing else than 
 that ; all my thoughts come round to it 
 again, whithersoever they wander. When 
 time and place are arranged, you shall 
 hear without fail, dear madam. — Yours 
 respectfully, Susan Barland.' 
 
 This was not the first letter, by many, 
 that Susan had written to her old patron- 
 ess and fellow-country-woman since her 
 summary dismissal from Glen Druid. 
 With all her faults and prejudices, Susan 
 had an honest heart, which nourished no 
 bitterness against her late master, and a 
 most passionate affection for little Marion. 
 Her mind was thoroughly made up as to 
 the character of Miss Treherne ; and not 
 the most eloquent preacher in North 
 Britain could have persuaded her to take 
 a different view of it.
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 235 
 
 Miss Ferrier was not, upon the whole, 
 displeased to learn that her brother had 
 fallen the second time a victim to woman's 
 wiles ; it served him right for not having 
 had his sister to live with him, who under- 
 stood scheming hussies of all kinds so 
 thoroughly ; and would have protected him 
 from their arts. The fact was, however, 
 that Mr Ferrier and Judith had dwelt 
 under the same roof together (though not 
 at Glen Druid) for some years, until the 
 latter, with her strait-laced ways and acid 
 religion, had fairly driven him from it to 
 Italy, and (as it happened) to Griulia. 
 Perhaps the foreign painter's daughter had 
 even proved more attractive to him from 
 the complete contrast which she afforded 
 to the honest and kind-hearted, but severe 
 and oppressive, Scotchwoman. Judith was 
 one of those uncompromising social des- 
 pots who are always causing, or, at all 
 events, precipitating, domestic revolutions, 
 and yet remain totally unconscious of their
 
 236 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 own folly : they lay all the fault at the 
 door of the rebels, whom they accuse, as 
 Charles T. did, ' of impatience of taxation ; ' 
 and protest that, i for their part, they have 
 nothing to reproach themselves with ; and 
 if the time came round again, they should 
 behave precisely the same — ' which indeed 
 they would probably do. It is these well- 
 meaning but impracticable folks — with 
 their opposites — who make one sometimes 
 think that the devil has stolen not only 
 ' all the best tunes,' but all the best man- 
 ners, tastes, and tempers also. It was 
 curious, but also very characteristic, in 
 Judith Ferrier, that notwithstanding she 
 had received from Susan such an unflatter- 
 ing portrait of Gwendoline, she spent 
 several afternoons in driving about her 
 native town in triumph to inform her kins- 
 folk and acquaintance that Bruce was en- 
 gaged to be married to an English baron- 
 et's daughter, who had been the belle of 
 a London Season. Perhaps, however, it
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 237 
 
 was to recompense herself for the silence 
 she had been compelled to keep with re- 
 spect to his first wife, concerning whom 
 and her antecedents she could only close 
 her eyes and hold up her hands. 
 
 All unconscious of the interest which 
 she was thus exciting in the great northern 
 city, Gwendoline was sitting at home 
 calmly receiving the congratulations of 
 her friends. The first step of her proposed 
 life-journey — or rather of the introduction 
 to it — had been safely accomplished, and 
 her future was secured. Under such cir- 
 cumstances, one might have supposed she 
 would have rested carelessly on her oars a 
 little, and drifted easily down the stream 
 that was bearing her to fortune. But she 
 was not at all at ease, and very far from 
 being without care. While her friends 
 were felicitating her upon the coming 
 event, and even her father was compli- 
 menting her on the success her prudence 
 had achieved, she felt by no means sure of
 
 238 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 victory. At this supreme moment, when 
 she had written him word that her pro- 
 posed plan— or, as she wrote it, * our plan ' 
 — was already bearing fruit, the patient 
 Piers had turned restive and dangerous. 
 
 The Honourable Piers Mostyn was 
 neither better nor worse than many men 
 of his class, while in appearance he offered 
 a favourable type of it. He took the same 
 pains in his personal adornment and effect 
 as any of them, and he had excellent native 
 material to work upon. He was really a 
 very handsome, if somewhat effeminate- 
 looking, young gentleman, to begin with, 
 and he was always faultlessly attired. 
 What he would have looked like in cordu- 
 roys and a bad hat — what would have 
 become of all that distingue and aristocratic 
 appearance then — can never be known. 
 He never wore corduroys nor a bad hat. 
 He had a very engaging smile, though it 
 was only fascinating, and not genial ; an 
 insinuating address, and a musical voice
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES EESTIVE. 239 
 
 devoid of drawl. But, except in attire and 
 manners, be owed nothing to ' the long 
 result of time ; ' the centuries behind him 
 1 like a fruitful land reposed,' but they had 
 borne no fruit, save in the above particulars, 
 for him. He had no knowledge, no tastes 
 (to be called such), no acquirement what- 
 ever, beyond the French language, which 
 he spoke easily, and with a good accent. 
 What his feelings might have been under 
 more favourable circumstances, can never 
 be known ; all his moral machinery had 
 been l brutalized ' very early, and was now 
 hopelessly out of gear. Although but the 
 younger son of a poor peer, he had breathed 
 the incense of flattery from his cradle. He 
 had been toadied at Eton by boys whose 
 fathers had sent them thither with that 
 especial purjDose; he had been sighed for 
 (and had not denied them) by scores of 
 young women of the middle class. The 
 radicals, who pretend that an hereditary 
 aristocracy is no better than any other
 
 240 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 section of the community, are in this the 
 unconscious flatterers of the very class 
 they would decry ; for if those born with 
 1 handles to their names ' contrive, held 
 aloft from the first by social sycophants, 
 and exempt from the rubs of the world, to 
 grow up to manhood as no worse than their 
 fellow-creatures, that itself were a consider- 
 able feat, and would argue much in favour 
 of the hereditary principle. 
 
 The Honourable Piers Mostyn had not 
 been hitherto fortunate in making pecuni- 
 ary profit out of his prefix ; he had moved 
 in somewhat too elevated circles; but he 
 had a well-founded idea that he had only 
 to show himself (with his card pinned to 
 him) on the next plateau of society, to 
 secure a wife with a suitable dower. At 
 present, he had only received his share of 
 ' that gigantic system of out-door relief for 
 the aristocracy,' the Diplomatic Service, 
 and the income thence derived had been 
 wholly insufficient for his needs. These
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 24:1 
 
 last were on a scale commensurate with his 
 hereditary position. His passion for gam- 
 bling was intense, but he now had, un- 
 fortunately, not even a stake to risk ; he 
 had spent his patrimony of five thousand 
 pounds in that pursuit, and already owed 
 as much again for his necessary expenses. 
 For the Honourable Piers Mostyn could 
 not be maintained (nor did his country 
 expect it) at the usual charges of an un- 
 titled gentleman ; he was a fancy article, 
 and was well aware, if the worst came to 
 the worst, that he could fetch — in the 
 matrimonial market — a fancy price. In 
 the mean time, he was madly in love. Of 
 course we do not use that term in the vul- 
 gar sense ; it was not that sort of sentiment 
 that takes up the harp of life, and i smites 
 the chord of self, which, trembling, fades in 
 music out of sight.' Far from it. A more 
 thoroughly selfish being than Piers Mos- 
 tyn had become at two-and-twenty could 
 scarcely be found, even among his own 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 frivolous and pampered class. Nor was his 
 passion of that sort which monopolizes its 
 possessor, to the exclusion of other female 
 objects of devotion. Among his eastern 
 friends in Persia, it was the custom to 
 marry a score or two of ladies, and yet 
 reserve one as the queen of the harem ; 
 and our youthful diplomatist emulated 
 their example, as far as the more stolid 
 institutions of his native land permitted. 
 Gwendoline Treherne was his queen of the 
 harem, and he adored her above all the 
 rest. Her love for him was not only 
 grateful to him as a lover ; it flattered his 
 vanity in a very high degree ; for it was 
 quite on the cards that Gwendoline might 
 have been a duchess, had she directed her 
 marvellous energy and unrivalled charms to 
 the attainment of that end. A marriage 
 with her, even now, would have invested 
 him (for a fortnight or so) with consider- 
 able interest ; the world (his world) would 
 have talked about it unceasingly, until
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE, 243 
 
 some other occurrence of an equally en- 
 thralling character turned up ; but then, 
 unfortunately, one cannot live on eclat 
 
 Marriage with Gwendoline had been 
 always impossible, but flirtation with her 
 had been by no means less pleasant upon 
 that account ; quite the reverse ; there had 
 been even a soupcon of impropriety about 
 it ; it had been almost like making love to 
 somebody else's wife. And now that she 
 was absolutely engaged to be married, her 
 fascination for him was greatly increased. 
 The case of the man who adored pork, and 
 wished he was a Jew, in order that he 
 might have the additional pleasure of sin- 
 ning while he ate it, is not altogether an 
 exceptional one. When one has no other 
 pursuit than pleasure, innocent delights 
 soon begin to pall ; when the appetite is 
 jaded, one takes to sauces a la tartar e — to 
 sherry and bitters. Vice, of course, is 
 pleasant to everybody ; but when it comes 
 to be pleasant because it is vice, matters
 
 244 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 become serious, and require the attention 
 of the clergy. At present, however, the 
 Honourable Piers Mostyn had scarcely 
 reached this point, and we are perhaps do- 
 ing his training an injustice in attributing 
 such a fruit to it so early. With all his 
 heart — with all the dregs of what he had 
 left in him in the way of sentiment — he 
 really did love Gwendoline Treherne. If 
 it had been possible for him to have made 
 any sacrifice whatever for the sake of 
 another person (which it was not), he 
 would have done it for her. He had not 
 seen her for a whole twelvemonth, and he 
 was now resolved to do so. He had suf- 
 fered enough (he wrote) during that en- 
 forced estrangement, and he must hear the 
 music of her voice once more, and feel the 
 soft clasp of her hand. Tvhat possible 
 harm could there be in that, even in the 
 eyes of Mr Ferrier? He had been very 
 good and obedient to her hitherto ; this one 
 interview was a very small reward for his
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES RESTIVE. 241 
 
 patient submission to her will, and he 
 would have it. 
 
 Gwendoline was equally resolved that 
 he should not have it. Her will was vastly 
 stronger than his ; but, on the other hand, 
 his easy disposition would now and then, 
 she knew, indulge itself in an outbreak of 
 wilful obstinacy, with which it was very 
 difficult to deal. Who has not experienced 
 the sudden whims of a weak nature, and 
 seen the ruin they have wrought in the 
 plans of a stronger? And Gwendoline's 
 plan was now threatened with such a 
 catastrophe. She could not make Piers 
 understand Mr Ferrier's nature — and in- 
 deed it had cost her months of assiduous 
 study to learn it herself — nor dispossess 
 him of the idea that his attentions to her 
 would be considered by that respectable 
 personage in the light of a compliment to 
 himself. The old merchant was phleg- 
 matic — not quick of observation, and con- 
 ventional, as we have seen, in his views of
 
 246 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 society; but bis respect for rank would 
 never have induced him to forget his re- 
 spect for himself. His ideas of right were 
 fixed and absolute : he was not a man to 
 be trifled with by anybody, and least of 
 all, she felt, by a professional trifler like 
 Piers Mostyn ; for she was not less quali- 
 fied to judge of Piers because his interests 
 and her own were one. It was by no 
 means unlikely, in short, that the latter' s 
 appearance at Bedivere Court might be 
 the destruction of that social edifice of 
 which she had with such infinite pains 
 just laid the foundation, and she deter- 
 mined by all means to avoid an inter- 
 view with him. At the same time, she 
 could scarcely feel angry with her lover 
 for conduct which, after all, was sug- 
 gested by the love he professed, and 
 which she herself reciprocated seven- 
 fold. 
 
 ' I forbid you to come to Cornwall,'
 
 PIERS MOSTYN BECOMES EESTIVE. 217 
 
 wrote she with earnest vehemence; 'and 
 if you come, I will not see you.' 
 
 * I must come, however, and shall at 
 all events see you? was the infatuated 
 young gentleman's reply.
 
 248 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 
 
 It had not been Gwendoline's habit 
 to mingle much with the society about 
 Bedivere Court. She had not had many 
 opportunities of doing so, for Sir Guy 
 detested country amusements, and (so- 
 called) gaieties, and of course she could 
 not partake of them without his escort; 
 moreover, there had been hitherto nothing 
 to be got by them. But now that she was 
 engaged to be married to a gentleman of 
 the county, matters were very different. 
 It was absolutely necessary that she should
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 249 
 
 make herself popular in the neighbourhood 
 of her future home, not merely for the 
 sake of being well received as Mrs Ferrier 
 of Glen Druid, but for ulterior reasons of a 
 much more important kind. In the scheme 
 of life that she had planned out for herself, 
 the good opinion of the world, and espe- 
 cially that of her neighbours, must by all 
 means be secured, and as large a fund of 
 it laid up as possible ; so that when the 
 time came, she might be able to draw 
 ujDon it for charitable excuses and a liberal 
 construction of her own conduct. Sooner 
 or later, she would have to present the 
 cheques, and it was well to make arrange- 
 ments as early as possible for getting them 
 honoured. She never shut her eyes to the 
 difficulties of her position, however far 
 away they might lie, but did her very best 
 from the first to smooth the way before- 
 hand. It was pitiable indeed that so astute 
 and prudent a general should be liable to 
 disgrace and defeat, through the ignorant
 
 250 Gwendoline's harvest.' 
 
 impetuosity of sucli an ally as^ Piers 
 Mostyn. 
 
 However, notwithstanding his rebellious 
 rejoinder to her last letter, she thought, 
 upon the whole, he would not venture to 
 force upon her that foolish 'just one' in- 
 terview, which she felt might not alone be 
 dangerous in its consequences, but would 
 shake her own resolve to its foundation. 
 She was too proud and too wise to tell 
 him that ; but the fact was she could not 
 trust herself to see him while it was yet 
 possible to become his wife. It was hard 
 enough to have to feign respectful affection 
 for Mr Ferrier, to have to receive with 
 smiles the congratulations of his friends, to 
 have to enter with apparent interest and 
 pleasure into plans for a future that she 
 looked upon with contemptuous aversion — 
 it was hard and bitter enough to have to 
 do all this in presence of the recollection 
 of the man she loved with such intensity 
 of passion; but to see him again face to
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 251 
 
 face, to speak with hiru, to press his hand, 
 and perchance his lips, and then to turn 
 away with a smothered sigh, and the full 
 consciousness of the contrast, to become 
 the wife of Mr Bruce Ferrier until death 
 should them part, was an ordeal from 
 which she shrank with shuddering. Had 
 the case of herself and Piers been reversed, 
 she would not perhaps have hesitated to 
 place him in the same position ; but then 
 Gwendoline was a woman, and would 
 have done so to triumph over her coming 
 rival, whereas Piers Mostyn's design had 
 only his own selfish wilfulness to excuse it. 
 Sir Guy and Miss Treherne, then, were 
 now become much more sociable than their 
 neighbours had hitherto found them to be, 
 and the fact that they were so gave quite 
 an impetus to the county hospitalities. 
 Mr Ferrier was of course an invited guest 
 on all these occasions, and it was more 
 than once remarked what an earnest anx- 
 ious glance his beautiful bride-elect would
 
 252 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 throw round her as she entered such scenes 
 of gaiety, as if to see if her future lord 
 was there. The observers were correct 
 enough in their data, though not in their 
 conclusions. Gwendoline never joined a 
 pic-nic, nor an archery party, without cast- 
 ing one hurried, anxious gaze about her to 
 make sure that Piers Mostyn had not car- 
 ried out his threat, and sought her presence 
 there. She had made up her mind what 
 to do even in such a case : she would have 
 taken his hand, and welcomed him as an 
 old friend, and as such introduced him to 
 Mr Ferrier. But could she rely upon her- 
 self to execute her own intentions ? In 
 her secret heart, she did not think she 
 could ; and hence it was that to keen spec- 
 tators (such as happily ' the county ' did 
 not afford) her face would seem to have 
 worn not only anxiety on such occasions, 
 but positive terror. 
 
 It was arranged that her marriage 
 should take place in London ; and as the
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 2od 
 
 autumn waned, the county gaieties, though 
 of course they now mostly took an indoor 
 shape, increased, until they became an 
 almost unbroken round of farewell festivi- 
 ties, which it was well understood — with- 
 out the least reflection on Cornish hospi- 
 tality — would be returned with interest 
 when the bride and bridegroom came to 
 reside at home. There was still one out- 
 door fete , notwithstanding the inclement 
 season, in connection with the great Glen- 
 dallack copper-mines. The board of direct- 
 ors were mostly gentlemen of the county ; 
 and the completion of a tramway from the 
 surface to nearly a mile under the sea had 
 been the excuse for a great dinner and ball 
 at the mansion of one of the largest share- 
 holders. The ceremony itself was not 
 without local interest, and attracted a vast 
 number of spectators from St Medards and 
 other places, for hitherto the mine had been 
 worked only by the usual method of levels 
 and ladders ; and the introduction of a
 
 254 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 wheeled carriage into its subterranean 
 depths was an event in its history. It was 
 understood that some of the ladies of the 
 neighbourhood, including Miss Treherne, 
 would condescend to use this novel con- 
 veyance ; but when they came to look at 
 the vehicle in question, and the road which 
 it had to travel, the determination of most 
 of them gave way. Imagine a tramway 
 descending across the face of a bleak cliff 
 at an angle of forty-five degrees; for a 
 hundred yards or so, the sheer crag was on 
 one side, and on the other — with no sort 
 of wall or guard — the winter sea ; beyond 
 that was what looked like a small black 
 hole, through which the vehicle disappeared 
 to finish the rest of its journey in pitch 
 darkness beneath the cliff and the ocean. A 
 princess as courageous as charming, has 
 achieved the adventure of late years, but 
 at that time no member of the female sex 
 had ever visited the dark depths of Glen- 
 dallack ; nor was it to be wondered at that
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 255 
 
 they shrank upon this occasion from the 
 steep unprotected way and the black 
 portal. 
 
 The car, as it was euphuistically called, 
 was by no means an attractive equipage. 
 It was a small carriage, or rather truck, of 
 solid iron, which would hold with comfort 
 — if such a term be not totally out of place 
 — six persons, two and two, sitting very 
 close behind each other. It was let down 
 and pulled up by means of a stationary 
 engine working an endless chain. Most of 
 the fair visitors had of course expected to 
 find a first-class saloon railway carriage, and 
 a level road agreeably lighted up for their 
 convenience ; and it did not tend to pro- 
 mote their confidence when they were in- 
 formed that the car fitted almost as closely 
 into the tunnel before them as a bullet 
 in a gun, so that they must not move hand 
 or foot while passing through it. Lastly, 
 it was necessary to put over their fine 
 clothes certain garments, very considerate-
 
 256 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ly made for the occasion, but still neither 
 elegant nor becoming. As for the gentle- 
 men, they were provided with regular 
 miners' attire. Under the circumstances, 
 out of the dozen fine ladies who had come 
 to Glendallack with the expressed inten- 
 tion of going down in the car, and who 
 saw the preparations made for their descent 
 in presence of an admiring throng, ten 
 unhesitatingly declined to make the ven- 
 ture. They were very sorry, they said, to 
 disappoint the public, but the public would 
 survive it, whereas they felt confident they 
 themselves never should. When pressed, 
 they took a still more dignified attitude, 
 and refused upon the ground of religious 
 principle. It was all very well for per- 
 sons whose business lay in such places 
 to go down there twice a day after tin 
 and copper (or * whatever it was '), but 
 in their own case they felt it would be 
 ' tempting Providence.' In vain it was 
 urged that it was a wrong view to take of
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 257 
 
 that beneficent power to suppose that it is 
 always ready to do us an ill turn when it 
 catches us at a disadvantage ; they had 
 no wish to argue the matter, they replied, 
 but they would stay above-ground, and 
 out of harm's way. 
 
 Gwendoline alone, and Miss Blackett, 
 expressed their intention of carrying out 
 the programme ; an announcement that 
 was received with enthusiasm by the pub- 
 lic at large, and with solemn head-shakes 
 and doleful warnings by their recusant sis- 
 ters. It was a most dangerous and foolhardy 
 adventure ; and if Mr Ferrier had been there 
 (which on this particular occasion he did 
 not happen to be, but was closeted with his 
 lawyer at Glen Druid), they were sure he 
 would never have permitted Miss Treherne 
 to undertake it. As for Miss Blackett, 
 ' she was old enough to know better ; ' or 
 indeed, some did not hesitate to whisper 
 that the idea of getting a beau all to her- 
 self, on whom she could lean and confide 
 
 TOL. I. 17
 
 258 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 throughout the journey, was so attractive a 
 bait to that excellent but somewhat ancient 
 maiden lady, that it had overcome her 
 fears. We do not venture to say whether 
 this was or was not the reason. She 
 averred that she went solely to take care 
 of her brother, who was infatuated with 
 Miss Treherne, and had foolishly consti- 
 tuted himself her escort. But in the case 
 of Gwendoline, the possible danger of the 
 trip was itself the chief attraction : she 
 welcomed any excitement, because it pre- 
 vented her from dwelling upon her own 
 thoughts, and the more strange and stir- 
 ing it was, the better it pleased her. 
 
 It was amid great cheering that the two 
 ladies, having retired into the manager's 
 house to put on their dress, reappeared 
 upon the platform en costume, and were 
 presently followed by the similarly meta- 
 morphosed gentlemen. With respect to 
 Gwendoline, whatever she put on anew 
 seemed to become her best. She looked
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 259 
 
 as though that tight-fitting flannel gown 
 and solid wide-awake had been donned ex- 
 pressly to enhance her charms, and a buzz 
 of involuntary admiration greeted her as 
 she stepped with a quiet smile whither 
 the car was standing ready for departure. 
 If her companion's personal appearance 
 had not similarly improved, it, at all events, 
 had not suffered much damage. But that 
 of the male adventurers was sorely deterior. 
 ated. The expression 'Nature's gentle- 
 men' had probably no reference to costume; 
 otherwise, we must deny its apjDiication, 
 even to the most noble- looking of mortals, 
 when rigged out in a suit of coarse white 
 sailcloth, and surmounted by a solid round 
 hat with a tallow-candle stuck in the brim. 
 The company who were to make the 
 first trip consisted of six persons, arranged 
 in the following order : in the first seat, 
 Miss Blackett and a Mr Kerr of St Me- 
 dards were to place themselves ; in the 
 second, Miss Treherne and Mr Blackett ;
 
 260 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 and behind were the brakesman and a 
 guide for the underground passages. There 
 was no room for any one else ; but the 
 narrow stone steps that ran by the side of 
 the tramway into the mine, and which had 
 hitherto formed the only mode of ingress 
 and egress, were crowded all along, down 
 to the very mouth of the tunnel, with 
 workmen. Poor Mr Blackett, who, com- 
 pared with his energetic sister, might have 
 been almost said to be the less masculine of 
 the two, nervous, dyspeptic, and quite un- 
 accustomed to publicity, exhibited at this 
 supreme moment, just as the car was about 
 to move, a truly pitiable spectacle. He 
 was devoted, in his feeble sentimental way, 
 to Gwendoline (who was aware of his 
 existence, and that was all), and in an evil 
 moment of chivalrous enthusiasm, he had 
 volunteered to be her escort down Glen- 
 dallack ; but he now bitterly repented him- 
 self of that hazardous undertaking. He 
 shuddered, not so much from the nipping
 
 A PUBLIC CEREMONY. 261 
 
 and eager air which the wintry sunshine 
 could not warm, as with the terrors of the 
 prospect before him. The steepness of the 
 incline; the roaring and dashing of the 
 sea immediately beneath him, and into 
 which it seemed as likely they would 
 slide off as not ; the small black hole into 
 which they had presently to enter, and that 
 looked scarcely large enough to accom- 
 modate the car even without its inmates ; 
 and the unimaginable terrors of the mine 
 itself, appalled him. As he sat staring 
 blankly before him, with two tallow- 
 candles stuck in his hard round hat, he 
 looked like some badly executed patron 
 saint in wax, to whom a poor but pious 
 neighbourhood had devoted their dips with- 
 out conciliating him. At the very last 
 moment, he suddenly jumped up, and made 
 an effort to get out of the car. He had 
 already adjured Gwendoline not to persist 
 in going down the mine, and protested, 
 with all the eloquence which truth inspires,
 
 262 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that for her sake he would give up the 
 adventure without a pang of regret ; and 
 she had quietly announced her intention of 
 going through with it. He had washed 
 his hands, therefore, of all responsibility — 
 so far as she was concerned — and had no- 
 thing to consult but his own precious per- 
 sonal safety. A roar of disapprobation 
 arose when his intention was discovered : 
 there was a moment of indecision, in 
 which he seemed to Gwendoline (who 
 mercifully averted her eyes) to get out and 
 get in again, and the machine began to 
 move slowly down the incline. 
 
 It really was a nervous moment: to 
 the tenants of the car it seemed as if they 
 were gliding into the sea itself; and Miss 
 Blackett clung to Mr Kerr, as though he 
 were her patron saint, and should be pro- 
 pitiated whether he would or not. But, 
 after the first moment, Gwendoline began 
 to enjoy it ; the roaring wind, the leaping 
 spray, the black rock in front, that seemed
 
 A PUBLIC' CEREMONY. 263 
 
 to yawn for those that were about to ex- 
 plore its secrets, seemed to string her 
 nerves and stir her blood. For the first 
 time in all her life she recognized what it 
 was to be face to face with the great powers 
 of nature ; vigorous of mind and strong of 
 will though she was, her whole existence 
 had hitherto been artificial; her intellect 
 had never been braced by one broad 
 thought ; she had been hemmed in by con- 
 vention from her cradle, and no yearning 
 to escape from its dull round had ever 
 visited her. What all her life had been, 
 now suddenly contrasted itself in her 
 mind with another sort of life, of which 
 she had only read. How would it be with 
 her now, had she always passed her clays 
 with honest simple folk, who lived mostly 
 in the open air amid such sights and sounds 
 as were now about her ? 
 
 well for the sailor lad 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the bay ! 
 
 some poet had written, and those words
 
 264 Gwendoline's haevest. 
 
 came back to her with a far other and 
 deeper meaning than they had ever had 
 before. ' Would it not have been well 
 for her if, instead of the life she was now 
 living — outwardly so gay and pleasant, 
 but inwardly one net of fraud and lies — a 
 life in whose atmosphere she never seemed 
 to draw one natural breath — ' The car 
 had already glided under the little tunnel, 
 into warmth indeed, but total gloom, a 
 type of the very existence which she was 
 picturing ; but ere she could continue her 
 reflections, a hand was lightly laid on hers, 
 and a voice which she well knew, and 
 which thrilled every fibre of her frame 
 with anger, and joy, and fear, whispered : 
 1 Gwendoline ! '
 
 265 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 DOWN GLEXDALLACK. 
 
 At the same moment wherein Gwen- 
 doline became conscious that Piers Mostyn, 
 and not Mr Blackett, was sitting beside 
 her in the car, the machine was suddenly 
 brought to a full stop, for the purpose of 
 lighting the candles which, in the open 
 air, would at once have been extinguished. 
 Even when all were provided with these 
 beacons, they did little more than make 
 the rugged roof immediately above them 
 visible, and cast a feeble glimmer upon 
 the wet walls. When Miss Blackett turned 
 round to ejaculate: 'Horrible; is it not,
 
 266 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 Alec ? ' she would not, perhaps, have dis- 
 covered that Alexander had decided upon 
 limiting his conquests to the earth's sur- 
 face, and had left the guardianship of her 
 friend to another ; Piers, not knowing 
 what line to take, remained silent, but 
 Gwendoline replied promptly for him : 
 ' Your brother is not here ; he was afraid 
 of catching cold, I suppose.' 
 
 1 Oh, I see ; one of the workmen has 
 taken his place. Well, perhaps it's better 
 so, my dear. You will be in safer hands, 
 for Alec is quite unfitted for these sort of 
 expeditions : I told him so when he pro- 
 posed it. — my goodness! Mr Kerr' 
 (and she gave her neighbour a most 
 genuine squeeze), l if we ain't going lower 
 still!' 
 
 Considering that they had only just 
 entered the mine, this was not to be won- 
 dered at ; but the fact was, as poor Miss 
 Elackett subsequently observed, i she had 
 seemed to have passed a lifetime in the
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 267 
 
 dreadful place already,' and could do no- 
 thing throughout the journey but pinch 
 Mr Kerr, and say her prayers. Her at- 
 tention and that of her companion being 
 thus entirely absorbed, Piers and Gwendo- 
 line were left to converse almost as freely 
 as if they had been alone, except for the 
 brakesman and his assistant, who had 
 other matters to engage their minds. 
 
 i How dare you come here, Piers ? ' 
 
 ' Because I love you, dearest. Orpheus 
 went down to a similar locality — to see his 
 wife ; and I have come here to see you. I 
 really could not resist it, my own darling.' 
 
 Gwendoline did not withdraw her hand 
 from his w r arm pressure — she could not 
 deny herself so great a pleasure ; but her 
 tone had much resentment in it still, as 
 she replied : i It was a most dangerous and 
 foolish thing to do, Piers. Does any one 
 know of your being here ? ' 
 
 c Not a soul save the brakesman behind 
 us, and he does not know T w T ho I am. I
 
 268 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 said I wished to go down the mine, and 
 they gave me this dress, and bade me wait 
 for the next car. If " Alec " (who's Alec ?) 
 had not got out, I should have come down 
 the ladder, and taken my chance of seeing 
 you. How beautiful you look with that 
 star upon your forehead, like a goddess.' 
 
 'Do I? I cannot return the compli- 
 ment : Miss Blackett took you for one of 
 the workmen.' 
 
 ' Bless her. So will everybody else, I 
 hope. I wish I ivas a workman ; that is, 
 if you were also employed on the same 
 level. I could travel to the centre of the 
 earth like this, and enjoy it beyond every- 
 thing.' 
 
 1 Could you ? ' Gwendoline was pout- 
 ing; but he missed that from the insuf- 
 ficient supply of light, i Then you cannot 
 be much devoted to scenery,' 
 
 'I see your face, darling, and that is 
 the fairest scene to be beheld upon earth — 
 or beneath it. Confound it ! we are stop-
 
 DOWN GLEXDALLACK. 269 
 
 ping again. These people will insist upon 
 our going to look at something.' 
 
 Xever was explorer of mine so easily 
 satisfied as Piers Mostyn. He would have 
 been content to have been lowered through 
 scores of miles of mere tunnel, and then 
 dragged up again. He wished to see no- 
 thing but the face beside him — to hear 
 nothing but that voice, which was cer- 
 tainly growing less resentful, and even 
 almost tender towards him. But Science 
 is a severe schoolmistress, who has no 
 patience with such ridiculous follies, and 
 must be listened to whenever she speaks. 
 The brakesman's assistant had had his 
 orders to ' explain Glendallack ' to the 
 distinguished visitors of the day, and he 
 conscientiously did it. It was like hearing 
 a lecture at the Polytechnic. But never 
 had those instructive walls contained so 
 unheedful an audience. Miss Blackett 
 was otherwise engaged, as we know, and 
 could not listen. Mr Kerr had shares in
 
 270 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 the mine, and knew all about it. Gwen- 
 doline w r as staring straight before her, 
 looking (if there had been light enough to 
 see) haggard rather than bored : she al- 
 most wished that the rope would break, 
 and the enigma of her life be solved in 
 that fashion. Piers, beneath his silken 
 moustache, was muttering curses in the 
 Parisian tongue. The brakesman's assist- 
 ant having premised that he was unac- 
 customed to speak in public, discoursed 
 w T ith a fluency that could only have been 
 acquired by constant practice. He had 
 himself a smattering of science, and had 
 invented something — a pump, or a valve, 
 or a coupling-chain — of which he had a 
 model at home, and would be happy to 
 show it to the ladies and gentlemen when 
 they got above-ground. 
 
 i Ah, if ever we do ,' sighed Miss Black- 
 ett. She was a thrifty soul, but she would 
 have given ten golden guineas at that 
 moment to have been in a position to
 
 DOWN GLEXDALLACK. 271 
 
 behold the model referred to. Happy 
 Alec ! He was a coward, but not a fool ; 
 he was on terra fir ma, and not under it. 
 How she hated Mr Kerr, who must have 
 known where he was bringing her to ! 
 Heaven might forgive him, but she cer- 
 tainly did not make that special request 
 in his favour. Why was it so frightfully 
 hot, and -what was that which was drop- 
 ping on her head and shoulders from the 
 roof? She interrupted the torrent of the 
 lecturer's eloquence, to ask these two 
 questions. 
 
 1 Well, mum, as for the heat, that is 
 said to arise from our propinquity to a 
 very hot place indeed.' 
 
 ' Great Heaven deliver us ! ' exclaimed 
 Miss Blackett fervently. 
 
 ' No, mum ; it is not the place you are 
 thinking on : I was referring to the Central 
 Fire. The warm air we are breathing, 
 however, although inconvenient to parties 
 unaccustomed to it, is not hurtful. As for
 
 272 Gwendoline's hakvest. 
 
 the iron drippings, they are quite harm- 
 less.' 
 
 1 But what do they come from, man ? ' 
 urged the poor lady. 
 
 i Well, they come from the sea, mum : 
 we are half a mile out or more under the 
 waves. The faint hollow boom you would 
 hear — if you were to listen very quiet — is 
 the noise of the sea above your head.' 
 
 i Just so, my man,' said Mr Kerr with 
 the patronizing tone of a proprietor. ' Now, 
 will you tell us how many feet of rock, in 
 the roof here, lie between us and the 
 water ? ' 
 
 i Well, where you are pointing, sir, 
 about six feet ; but where that wooden 
 plug is put, not above three. If I was to 
 knock it away this moment — ' 
 
 An agonized cry broke forth from Mr 
 Kerr. ' My dear Miss Blackett, you ran a 
 pin into me ! ' 
 
 i I know I did,' exclaimed that lady 
 with the calmness of despair ; l and I'll do
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 273 
 
 it again, if you don't make that man leave 
 off, and instantly take us up again. You 
 ought to be ashamed of yourself for bring- 
 ing ladies into such a place at all. The 
 idea of one's trusting to a wooden plug ! 
 I am sure I have turned quite gray within 
 the last five minutes.' 
 
 If Mr Kerr had had anv action at law 
 brought against him by the lady, on the 
 ground of this personal damage to her 
 charms, it is possible he might have pro- 
 duced witnesses to prove that she was 
 turning gray some time previous to her 
 descent into Glendallack ; but he was 
 much too gallant as well as prudent to hint 
 at anything of the sort just now^. 
 
 ' My dear madam,' answered he, * I 
 assure you there is not the slightest danger. 
 People are working all along yonder 
 gallery, and do so every day, just as safely 
 as though they were digging potatoes in 
 their own gardens : nobody gets so far as 
 this down the mine without leaving the 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 carriage and going to see them. We must 
 take back with us some memento of our 
 visit, in the shape of a bit of tin or copper 
 ore. Come — let me give you my arm — 
 and see the specimens hammered out with 
 our own eyes.' 
 
 c I don't move one step out of this car 
 for all the wealth of Golconda ; and you 
 don't either, Mr Kerr,' added Miss Blackett 
 hastily : ' I am not going to be left alone 
 in this place for a single instant. — What 
 do you say, Miss Treherne ? You have 
 had enough of these dreadful proceedings, 
 I am sure : no young woman with any 
 sense of propriety would wish for any more; 
 with the candles all guttering down as 
 they are, and not likely to last a bit longer 
 than we want them to do.' 
 
 'I am quite at your service, Miss 
 Blackett,' said Gwendoline quietly. c It 
 is a matter of perfect indifference to me 
 whether we remain or return.'
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 275 
 
 ' Then let us go back at once, man,' 
 exclaimed Miss Blackett. 
 
 'Just as you please, mum/ returned 
 the brakesman's assistant. i Only, if you 
 won't go to the workings, you will never 
 be sure that the specimen you buy above- 
 ground was really found here. But I'll 
 just knock you down a lump or two from 
 the roof — ' 
 
 Again a cry of irrepressible agony 
 broke forth from the unhappy Mr Kerr. 
 < This confounded woman — that is, I mean 
 this lady here,' said he, correcting himself, 
 ' is exceedingly timid, my man. Give the 
 signal to draw up at once — immediately — 
 do you hear me ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry if I have hurt you,' said 
 Miss Blackett, reserving her apology until 
 the machine began sensibly to ascend ; 
 ' but I really couldn't help it : I would 
 have done the same if it had been the lord- 
 lieutenant.'
 
 276 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ' I wish it had been the lord -lieutenant, 
 madam, with all my heart/ returned Mr 
 Kerr viciously, and continuing to rub his 
 leg, for the pin had, this time, hurt him 
 exceedingly. 
 
 Nature is often complimented upon 
 making so many folks, and yet none of 
 them (save her twins) altogether similar in 
 feature ; but the variety of character with 
 which she dowers us is infinitely greater. 
 Even twins are sometimes of totally op- 
 posite dispositions. 
 
 The little car that was now toiling up 
 from the depths of Glendallack was bring- 
 ing what auctioneers call i a very mixed 
 lot ' to join their fellows above-ground. 
 That Mr Kerr was of the same flesh and 
 blood as his companion, she indeed had 
 proved to his great inconvenience ; but 
 beyond that they had scarcely anything 
 in common. He was a gambler in railway 
 and mining shares, and speculative even in 
 his religious opinions. She was prudent
 
 DOWN GLEXDALLACK. 277 
 
 and orthodox, but devoted to sixpenny loo, 
 from which he shrank, as being an immoral 
 dissipation. The brakesman, again, wdio 
 had been specially imported from a dis- 
 tance, on account of his great gifts in his 
 particular line, was almost as much a 
 machine as the invention he controlled and 
 admired as the perfection of human skill ; 
 while his companion and assistant was a 
 Brunei in embryo, dissatisfied with every 
 mechanical institution as ineffectual, and 
 only not guilty of ruining railway com- 
 panies with his ingenious novelties, because 
 the opportunity had not as yet been afforded 
 him. 
 
 The applause of board-room meetings to command, 
 The threats of loss and ruin to despise, 
 
 his lot forbade; but he yearned to wade 
 through treasure to the throne of chief- 
 engineer, and to shut the gates of Economy 
 on the British shareholder. 
 
 Like the ham of the sandwich, Piers 
 and Gwendoline, between these two differ-
 
 278 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 ing pairs, most certainly partook of the 
 qualities of neither ; nor, perhaps, though 
 they had a common interest in life, which 
 the others lacked, were their characters, on 
 the whole, more similar. 
 
 1 1 am glad to have seen you, and 
 pressed your hand, dear Gwendoline, at 
 all events,' murmured Piers. l This must 
 last me for some time, I suppose.' 
 
 Passionately as Gwendoline loved this 
 man, it was perhaps a part of her punish- 
 ment for doing so that her keen eyes were 
 not closed to his faults — that is, to those 
 shortcomings, which, measured even by the 
 moral standard which she used, were faults. 
 She well knew that he was inordinately 
 selfish; but that phrase of his, 'last me/ 
 just as she was about to part from him on 
 the cross-road of life, sent a chill to her 
 very heart. Her silence, and the sudden 
 relaxing of the fingers which lay in his 
 grasp, at once informed him of his error. 
 
 ' Dearest Gwendoline/ continued he
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 279 
 
 tenderly, ' do not think me selfish, for you 
 and I — as it seems to me — are one. When 
 far away from you, I have only the recol- 
 lection of you to comfort me : I seem but 
 half myself, and that the worse half. When 
 — when may I hope to see you again ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know, Piers ; perhaps never. 
 I wish that I could die this moment — thus, 
 with my hand in yours.' She was dread- 
 fully agitated : she was trembling in every 
 limb for the love and the loss of him ; and 
 he knew it. 
 
 ' No, no, dearest ; you shall live on. 
 We will be happy together yet: do not 
 doubt it. When — when are you coming 
 to town ? ' 
 
 c Papa and I go the beginning of next 
 month. Mr Ferrier follows us, with the 
 children. The marriage is to take place 
 on the 20th.' 
 
 i And I am not to see you betwixt this 
 and then ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not, Piers. If you have one
 
 280 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 single spark of genuine love for me, you 
 will avoid me, not only betwixt now and 
 then, but for months to come. We shall 
 be in Italy for a long time. I will write 
 to you ; but you must not write to me. It 
 is a small thing enough to ask of you, 
 Piers, in return for much; but will you 
 promise me that ? ' 
 
 ' I will, dear ; I do. But you will 
 think of me ; you will not forget me, 
 Gwendoline ? ' 
 
 1 Forget you ? No, Piers. — Ah me ! ' 
 (she muttered to herself) ' would to Heaven 
 I could ! ' 
 
 'You are shivering, dearest: I trust 
 this confounded place has not given you 
 cold. I feel the draught myself: we must 
 be getting near the day-light. I do not 
 say good-bye, darling — au revoir? 
 
 Their hands parted with a tender 
 squeeze, and not a moment too soon. The 
 candles began to pale, the gloom to thin, 
 the fresh salt air to make itself felt. Amid
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 281 
 
 the sound of beating waves, and blowing 
 winds, and cheering human voices, the car 
 was drawn up to the platform whence it 
 had started. An immense crowd wel- 
 comed their arrival ; among whom, though 
 modestly keeping in the second rank, were 
 Mr and Mrs Samuel Barland, the latter of 
 whom always made a point of patronizing 
 all entertainments that were gratuitous. 
 
 * You are looking rather white, Miss 
 Treherne,' said Mr Kerr, as he assisted her 
 to alight. c I trust you were not as fright- 
 ened as Miss Blackett; though, if you were, 
 I am sure you behaved yourself better. — 
 Hollo ! what has become of your friend ? — 
 Brakesman, here is something for yourself, 
 and for your assistant also ; and, although 
 as it happened there was nothing for him 
 to do, here is a couple of shillings for the 
 other workman. He has mixed with the 
 rest, and I can't tell one man from the 
 other ; but you will see he gets it.' 
 
 None present had the slightest suspicion
 
 282 Gwendoline's harvest. 
 
 that Gwendoline had gone down Glendal- 
 lack with Piers Mostyn sitting by her side. 
 Mrs Barland, however, did remark, as her 
 husband and herself trudged home together 
 that afternoon : c Yon was a bonnie laddie 
 that took Mr Blackett's place by Miss Tre- 
 herne, eh ? Did you ever see him before ? ' 
 
 < I dare say/ was Mr Barland's careless 
 reply. ' There's a matter of six hundred 
 men as works at Glendallack, and most of 
 'em comes to our shop when their insides 
 wants looking to. You're a nice young 
 woman, you are, to be so curious about 
 " bonnie laddies," and only a six-months' 
 bride yourself! I am downright ashamed 
 of you, Susan.' But he did not look 
 ashamed of her by any means, but regarded 
 her, head aside, with complacent criticism, 
 as an investment with which he had every 
 reason to be satisfied. 
 
 i Nay, it wasn't so much his bonnie 
 face that took me, Sam. But I thought it 
 unco strange that he should have flitted
 
 DOWN GLENDALLACK. 283 
 
 away without staying to get his siller from 
 Mr Kerr.' 
 
 Mr Samuel Barland's philosophic face 
 relaxed into a smile, and his gray eyes 
 twinkled with merriment, as he tapped the 
 ashes out of his pipe, and observed ap- 
 provingly : ' It's plain ye come from the 
 far north, Susan.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 JOHN CH1LDS AND SON, PRINTERS.